Roadside Bodhisattva Part 12

Sid turned around. "Youre coming along, Kid? You know were going to be spinning a lot of platters, dont you? I thought you hated jazz."

"'Spinning platters? Even if you mean listening to more of this snooze music, Im up for it. Its never too late to learn to appreciate new things, right?"

Sid said, "Well, Sonnys gonna bike home in a few minutes like usual. Let his sister know to expect us, dig out his Armstrong records, whip up some munchies, stuff like that. And then Angiell drive you and me in the truck around six. That okay, Ange?"

"Sure."

"Ill be ready."

Sue didnt seem too bothered by me playing hard to get. She just shrugged and said, "Whatever. I know boys need their night out. I just feel sorry for poor Evelyn. Maybe another time for you and me, Kid."

I changed the subject then by asking Sonny for a BLT and some onion rings.

Toward the end of our lunch, a truck pulled up outside and started beeping. It seemed to be towing something, but I couldnt quite make out the trailer from where I sat.

Sid jumped up. "Thatll be the sign. Ange, the Kid and Ill see you at six."

Sid headed for the door. I crammed the last onion ring down, wiped off ketchup from my fingers onto my s.h.i.+rt and said, "Wait for me!" This looked like a good chance to get Sid alone and talk about Sue.

Yasmine hailed me on the way out. "Ill leave your share of todays tips with Ann, Kid." Amazing. She actually sounded friendly.

Behind the pickup truck trailed one of those mobile signboards on wheels, a big white expanse of plastic that could hold letters on each side and light up. Sid had the driver of the truck position the new sign right next to the pole that held the original deer park diner sign, so that drivers on Route 1 could get a good view of it. Sid unhooked the trailer from the truck, scribbled his name on a delivery slip the driver offered, and the truck took off.

I followed Sid over to the sign. Two bags of flat plastic letters were duct-taped to the cha.s.sis. A coiled electrical cord stuck out of one end of the sign. Sid uncoiled the cord and plugged it into an outlet on the pole. He took out a pocket knife, sliced the duct-tape and removed the bags of letters.

"You do one side, Kid, and Ill do the other. Ill tell you what to spell out."

"Okay."

I took my letters to the far side of the sign. Not being able to see Sid would make it easier to talk about Sue, I realized. But I didnt bring up that topic right away.

"Sid, about the juke box-"

"One second. Okay, first line, 'Jazz up your meals, exclamation point."

I looked for a "J" in the bag, found it and slid it under the retainers on the sign that held it in place. "Sid, how come a juke box and not a regular sound system? You probably couldve got a good deck and several speakers for a lot less than the rent on that juke. Then we couldve played any cd we wanted to."

"And then how would the customers have felt they were partic.i.p.ating, Kid?"

"Huh?"

"To use a buzz word I normally hate, the juke box is interactive. The customer gets to decide whats playing. Its more of a democracy. One quarter, one vote. Your way is like a musical dictators.h.i.+p. Some almighty dj forces the customers to listen to whatever he wants them to hear. Even if he picks stuff they like, theyre still disenfranchised from the whole process. Thats no way to get people excited about the restaurant. Which is what Im trying to do."

"But the juke box has all your selections in it to start with. Whats the difference?"

"Only most of the choices are mine, theres still some songs I never wouldve picked. And theres a thousand selections, Kid. And dont forget the sequence. The way the songs play off against each other is important too. I dont determine that."

I thought about Sids points. "Okay, I can see the difference between my way and yours. But did all the songs have to be that Sting s.h.i.+t?"

Sid laughed. "Sting! If you think Sting is jazz, Kid, youre gonna get an education tonight! Now pay attention. Second line, 'Bop at breakfast. Third line, 'Swing at lunch. Fourth line, 'Boogie down at Deer Park Diner. Now, get a move on. I wanna squeeze in a shower before Angie shows up."

"How do you spell 'boogie?"

"Kid, you are so square."

"Only geezers say square."

"What would you say?"

"Lame."

"Okay. Kid, you are so lame."

"Gee, thanks. Coming from a geezer like you, thats a compliment."

Just as we were finis.h.i.+ng laying out the message, a squad car pulled up, and out climbed Officer Vakharia, stuffed into his uniform like some kind of bloodless worm, his face half-concealed by his shades. He came over to us with one thumb stuck in his belt next to his gun. I thought of the yardbulls that used to ha.s.sle Jack when he was hopping freight trains.

"Whats up with the sign, Hartshorn?"

"Just letting the world know about the new attractions at Deer Park, Officer. We laid in a juke with some cla.s.sic stuff on it. Gillespie, Coltrane, Miles. You should check it out some morning over ham and eggs. Perk you up better than a double shot of espresso. I predict this new features gonna really make Miz Danielsons business boom."

Vakharia appeared to consider this news before he spoke. "Seems like maybe Deer Parks coming close to needing an entertainment license. You got a permit for this signage, by the way?"

I could see Sid trying to stay cool and calm. "A permit? n.o.body mentioned anything about a permit at the rental agency, Chief. h.e.l.l, half the businesses up and down Route One have these signs. They all got permits?"

"Were not talking about all those other places, were talking about Deer Park."

Sid squinted. "Maybe you should speak to Miz Danielson about all this, Officer. Im just the hired help."

"Ill do that thing," Vakharia said. He walked away toward the office.

Once the cop couldnt hear us, I said, "Whats up with that?"

Sid shook his head and looked sad and frustrated. "Seems Officer Vicarious has itchy palms that need greasing. Looks like my brilliant idea has, at the outset anyhow, caused some headaches for our boss lady. I hope to h.e.l.l this scheme pays off in the end. Otherwise Im gonna be kicking myself for a top-notch jerk."

I thought of some words of the Prophet. "'You cannot separate the just from the unjust and the good from the wicked. And the robbed is not blameless in being robbed."

Sid sighed. "Kid, that guff might be true on some cosmic level where none of us actually live. But when some a.s.shole mugger, whether hes in a uniform or not, sticks his pistol in my back and takes my wallet, Im not gonna beat up on myself for walking innocently down his street. You see, this is exactly the kind of thing that makes Gibran so f.u.c.king useless."

I didnt get angry at Sids words so much as disappointed. "Sid, you just wont admit anybody could have more insight into the way the world works than you do."

"Kid, Ill learn from anyone whos got something to teach me. But I wont endorse airy-fairy philosophizing that directly contradicts my own experiences. Your problem is, you just dont have enough experience yet."

"Now youre just back to the whole age thing again."

Sid flung his hands up in defeat. "Youre absolutely right. Im just a sour defeated geezer whos forgotten what it was like to be young. Thank Christ Ive got you around to remind me."

Vakharia came out of the office then, looking smug. He went to his car without bothering to talk to us again, got in and drove off.

"He didnt tell us to take down the sign," I said.

"Must mean he got what he wanted. Oh well, theres nothing for us now but to make all this investment pay for itself and turn a profit."

"How much did Ann have to invest in the jukebox and sign?"

"Just a few hundred. But thats a lot for her. I kicked in some too."

"Out of your pay?"

"Sure. What better thing could I spend the money on?"

"Arent you saving up for the road?"

"The road will provide in its own good time, Kid. There was need for that money right now, right here."

I didnt say anything to that. I was too confused about whether I wanted to stay or go to accuse Sid of betraying our ultimate goals.

Then, almost like he was reading my mind, Sid said, "How did you and Sue make out last night?"

"It was pretty f.u.c.ked up." I told him everything about our night in Lumberton and the gang Sue was chilling with. The only thing I didnt mention was Lita and the gas huffing. That part seemed private, not relevant to anything developing between Sue and me.

When I had finished, Sid stayed quiet for a few seconds before finally saying, "s.h.i.+t. Its not the worst I couldve imagined, but its not the best either. I can a.s.sume that both of us would prefer that Sue was not getting down with these losers. That girl has too much brains and potential to waste it all on getting stupid twenty-four-seven. She just needs some direction in her life, a star to aim for. If someone could show her that, shed drop those bozoes in a flash."

"And whos gonna show her this s.h.i.+ning star? I dont have a clue about what would really turns her on. We havent really gotten into that kind of stuff yet."

"Well, if you havent sussed what gets her creative juices flowing yet, neither have I. But that doesnt mean I wont get inspired. Especially if you try to sound her out and fill me in on whatever you can learn. Now listen, lets get cleaned up before Angie gets here."

Sid bent over and flicked a switch on the sign, and it came alive.

I wished getting Sue to come alive with me could be that easy.

"Angie, do you like jazz too?"

Once again I was sandwiched between Angie and Sid in the cab of the tow truck, driving down Route 1. It wasnt dark yet, and I could see landmarks that told me Sonnys house wasnt far away, a.s.suming I was remembering Sues tour last night correctly.

Angie answered me without hesitating. Since he had started having lunch with us, after Sid had broken down his ancient guilt trip, he had gotten to the point where he could actually conduct a conversation without sounding like Frankenstein with brain damage.

"Uh, I couldnt say. I dont know enough about it. At the garage, I usually just listen to whatevers on the radio."

"You are in for a treat tonight, my friend," said Sid. "If Sonnys collection reflects the straight dope he was spouting, then its gotta be pretty impressive. From Armstrong to Dolphy is a big range."

"So youre saying Sonny knows what he was talking about?" I asked.

"Oh, yeah. As soon as he named Teagarden, I knew I was wrong about Kid Ory. It takes a good ear and a lot of savvy to nail a player that fast, after just a few bars."

I wondered about something, and said, "Where do you listen to music anyhow, Sid, if youre always on the road? I sure didnt ever see you carrying an iPod."

"Libraries, Kid, libraries. The music-loving b.u.ms best friend."

"Oh. Well, anyway, how come you went ahead and made that bet with him if you knew he was right?"

"Isnt it obvious? Just to get him to invite us to his home. He never says more than two words at the Diner-thats because of the stuttering, natch-and I was starting to think Id never get him to open up with us."

"But why are you interested? Why do you care?"

"Kid, youre always quoting that so-called poetry of yours to me, so now Im gonna lay a line on you. 'The proper study of mankind is man. Thats good ol Alex Pope. People are endlessly fascinating to me. I like nature okay-you have to enjoy trees and rivers and s.h.i.+t when youre hoofing it all alone through the middle of nowhere-and art and science and other highflown stuff like that can be amusing. But you cant beat your naked, unadorned fellow man, woman and child for educating and entertaining you. People are a perpetual circus for me. Call it selfish if you want to, but the more I dig into other peoples lives, the more I feel qualified to live my own."

"So people are a freak show to you? Or like bugs under your microscope?"

"Not so, Kid. Theres no voyeurism or science about it. Its ninety percent empathy and ten percent reflection. Other people are more like parts of my own self that Ive never experienced before. Think a minute. Arent you glad you met ol Jack through his book? Didnt getting to know him feel like connecting with some dimension of your own soul? What would your life be like if you never met him?"

Before I could answer, Angie said, "I like to try to figure out people too. Like for instance, this old lady drove up to the pumps today, and she asked me to check her oil. She didnt need any, and I when I told her that, she gave me a quarter and said, 'This is for your trouble, young man. At first I thought she was busting my chops. Then I realized that to her, a quarter still meant something. Then I started thinking about how my mother used to save Green Stamps, and how n.o.body nowadays could be bothered with that kind of money-saving ch.o.r.e."

"You see, Kid? Any behavior you can imagine-and plenty you cant-are all out there for your edification."

"Green Stamps? What the h.e.l.l are 'Green Stamps? Do you two even live on the same planet as me?"

Sid and Angie just laughed at me, and pretty soon we were at Sonnys place. I was glad to see it was in a nicer neighborhood than Jayzees crib.

Two houses in from the main drag, Sonnys home was a neat little ranch house. Sky blue paint getting a little faded, black shutters ditto, yellow curtains in the windows. The yard was smoothly mowed. Some flowers and shrubs hid the foundation walls. Sonnys bike was neatly chained to the railing of the front steps. We got out of the truck and went to the front door. Sid rang the bell.

Evelyn Taylor looked more like Sonnys mother than his sister. He was kinda baby-faced and lanky and child-like, but she was short and pruney, and I could instantly tell that her personality was wrapped up tighter than a thirty-dollar piece of steak. Her hair was half grey and coiled close to her head in a bun and held down with enough clamps to keep a hamster from escaping. She wore a blouse colored like mud and a skirt thick as an Army blanket and shoes shaped like Kleenex boxes. She might have had a halfway decent figure, but I couldnt tell because of her bulky clothes. Sonny, meanwhile, had changed from his work outfit into some kind of old-man shorts and a plaid b.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt. Seeing her and Sonny side by side in the doorway was like seeing two comedy stars onscreen put together especially to make you laugh, and I had to hide a smile.

"Tha-these are my fuh-friends, Evie."

Sonnys sister actually smiled then, and the unexpected expression made her into a new person. She lost some of her stiffness, and I began to think maybe she wouldnt turn out to be so dry. Maybe what I had taken for a tight-a.s.s personality was really just sadness or loneliness or tiredness. We introduced ourselves and shook hands.

"Please come in, gentlemen."

We entered a living room where all the weird furniture was like nothing I had ever seen. The chairs and couches and tables mustve been about a hundred years old. And all the seats had transparent plastic covers over them. Shelves were filled with a zillion little cheap statues and souvenir plates and junk like that. The place smelled like a closet full of old wool clothes and rubber boots.

"Sonny tells me youre here to listen to some of our fathers record alb.u.ms."

If Sid had been wearing a hat, I got the feeling he would have taken it off and held it to his chest. "Thats right, maam. Were all music-lovers of the first degree. And your boy-your brothers been tantalizing us with some hints as to the magnitude of this collection."

Evelyn seemed to take this as a personal compliment, lighting up like a Christmas tree. "Our father was a true afficionado of jazz. He compiled what was probably the largest collection of records in Lumberton before his untimely death. Im sure youll find something there to appreciate, no matter what your tastes."

Sid winked at Evelyn and said, "And theres a little wager at stake as well, maam. Just to spice up the evening."

Evelyn turned to Sonny with a stern look on her face. "Sherman, have you actually been gambling?"

Sonny hung his head, but I could see he was trying to stop a smile from breaking free. "Nuh-not really, Evie."

"It was all my fault, Miz Taylor. I disputed your brother on a point of knowledge, and he wouldnt back down. Hes got character that way, I can tell. After some wrangling, we just stipulated a small sum to change hands, once the matter was settled. Hardly a real bet at all."

"Well, all right, I suppose. Just remember, Sherman, how father felt about gambling. Why dont you men go the the music room now, and Ill bring in some refreshments soon."