About Schmidt - Louis Begley [94]
The advantage of this handyman-artist is that most of the time, unless something sets him off, he doesn’t talk, and doesn’t seem to mind if Schmidt is silent as well. When a question is put to him, he answers politely in a soft voice, his words gentle around the edges, like a little boy’s. Before she left for Florida, his mother must have taught him not to use bad words and to speak carefully. You’d think he was sixteen, and yet he must be close to thirty! There is nothing childlike about his body: it is short but powerful. One can imagine him on the chin-up bar, putting in his five minutes every morning. The impression comes rather from the perfect oval face and cheeks that blush so easily under blond fuzz. There is another aspect, a little out of place: the tiny earring, the long, thin blond hair gathered in a ponytail, the fake elephant-hair bracelet, the fingers with nails that have been chewed raw, and something disagreeable about the eyes. At first the eyes seem “who? me?” Li’l Abner candid, but a careful observer cannot fail to notice that the whites are in fact yellow, and that Bryan doesn’t look you in the eyes. He looks away, furtively. Is it better when he has on his aviator glasses? Hard to tell. It turns out that Bryan considers carpentry as only a means to get enough bread. In reality, he is an artist. He has brought over his paintings for Schmidt to look at. They provoke a similar unease in spite of their banality: huge canvases covered by tantric patterns. The boy has a weakness for poison green, magenta, purple, and pink. What of it? You wouldn’t expect Carrie to have a beau from Skull and Bones!
Perhaps it’s time for conversation? Schmidt asks him: Is this your day off, Bryan, or is business slow? The slump must hurt even on the South Fork.
It really does, Albert. Something awful.
Another redeeming grace. Although nine times out of ten, Bryan’s kind of person proceeds immediately to a first-name basis, for instance on the telephone, calling you from the garage to say he’s finished the lube job on your car, Bryan did not. It was Mr. Schmidt this and Mr. Schmidt that, although Schmidtie, seeking to ingratiate himself, told him early on to skip the Mr. and use the cozy, softened version of his name. Bryan replied with a pretty lisp: Gee, I just can’t, it sounds so disrespectful! Would you mind if I call you Albert instead?
My buddy who lives in Springs is real worried. He’s making payments on his truck. I’m lucky. I’ve got these other jobs.
Oh yes? Things you can do when the carpentry is slow?
That’s right. I watch houses, like if you go on vacation to Florida or Europe, and for people who only come out on weekends. And I’m beginning to detail cars.
What’s that?
You know, if you want your car to be superclean, cleaner than new! I get all the dirt and grease off, right down to the original surface, and then vacuum and wax. In this one garage where I work, there are customers that get brand-new cars detailed before they will drive them. I’m getting pretty good at it—it’s artistic work.
He snickers, rolls a joint, and licks it until the paper is soaked through.