Slide - Kyle Beachy [75]
“No. And now they're in the middle of a major West Coast road stretch of Giants, Dodgers, then Diamondbacks. Then it's here against Chicago, which will be sold out. Then they're in Houston.”
“I know he was really hoping to go,” she said.
“Tell me this much. Be honest for one second.”
“Don't attack me, Potter. Don't use that tone.”
“Tell me this much. How often do you see Freddy?”
“Oh. Son.”
“Please don't make me feel crazy. Asshole is plenty for now.”
“How are you an asshole?” she said. “You haven't done anything wrong.”
“That is false.”
“There's no reason to yell.”
“I don't mean to!”
My mother set down the empty glass and poured another before recrossing her arms in the manner from before.
“We never lied to you, Potter.”
“Fuck.”
Still holding the wine, she leaned over the sink and spoke calmly into my face.
“I see Freddy everywhere I look. I see him in the basement by the washing machine and in our closet while I'm getting dressed and in the office. Right now your brother is sitting next to you. He's right there, Potter.”
I left her in the kitchen and went to my car. I was halfway to Ian's before I realized his father would be home, and I turned around.
At Stuart's, a man was standing among the automobiles. I waited at the end of the driveway and watched him peer into one car, bending at the waist before stepping back and glancing over each shoulder, at which point he spotted my car and came toward me. It took me a minute to realize who it was. He was dressed in a clean white button-down shirt, a slim blue tie, shiny black loafers, and dark-gray dress pants. Dark-gray slacks. As he approached the passenger side of my car, I saw he was freshly shaven, leaving stark tan lines where the beard had been.
“If it isn't Potter Mays.”
He got inside and held down the button to move the seat backward. The last person to sit there was Ian.
“Edsel.”
“I have to get to Shannon's Bar and Grill downtown.”
“You were going to steal one of these cars. Tell me I'm wrong.”
“Seven cars sitting here and the cockblower won't let me drive the ugly one he got for free.”
“Is that gabardine?”
“Big event tonight. Start of a new moment, crucial step in what I plan to become. You'll be underdressed, but so what. Lessgo.”
I had no reason to resist a trip downtown. Yes, why not, Richard's downtown, surely something to learn from the deserted shells of once-prosperous buildings and the ignored, downtrodden people who lived among them. As I drove, Edsel read to me from the pamphlet he was holding.
“Successful St. Louisan's monthly Meet ‘n’ Greet Happy Hour is the region's premier opportunity for fiscally motivated, success-driven men and women to expand their network of connections and further their goals of career triumph.”
Behind us, the sun dipped into a sky the color of scotch and water.
“There's a two-dollar lot just around the corner.”
I paid the attendant and found a spot. Here was the ogre, beardless and wearing some sort of costume. I sensed we might be sitting in the car for a bit and left the windows down. He pulled a crumble of aluminum foil from a pocket along with a palm-sized vanity mirror. Inside the foil were two milky-green trapezoidal pills. He placed the pills and mirror in the console's cup holder, then leaned back in his seat.
“What are you doing here, Edsel?”
“You're here,” he said.
I considered this.
“Making my move,” he said. “Everything I've done in the past six years has been preparation for this moment. I've hustled Talkative and Relaxation. I went to bed with roughly a hundred different women. Give or take. I have traveled and treated my body like it's my favorite hammer. I got no other option but some bovine cattle commitment to following this thing through to its end.”
“You shaved. I assumed the beard was linked to the size issue. Your force.”
“One way these people level the playing field is by frowning officially on facial hair at the lower levels. This world of theirs believes in the concept of reward. Facial hair is part of this. If I ever get high enough here, I promise you I'll