Linelle Williams was home before her children after school on Monday. She opened the door and gave each of them the hug she'd been saving up ever since that morning, when she'd left home before they were awake for her early shift at the supermarket. The little ones got a big both-together cuddle from her as they entered, one arm around each as she smiled and kissed them in turn.
"Come here, give me a big hug. Oh I missed you guys this morning," she babbled sincerely and Patrick noticed a hint of New Orleans in her accent. Andy was grinning down at his mom by the time she released the hug and the little kids went inside. He was taller than she was but the look of affection he gave her in that moment was the mirror image of the one on her face. Andy must have inherited his expressive features from his mom and both were so happy to see each other that Patrick felt a pang of envy, looking down the hallway for a few seconds so as not to intrude further on their shared moment. Andy's home address told Patrick that his family weren't wealthy but Andy was the product of a happy home.
"Greetings number one son," Linelle's voice was full of laughter as she hugged him, with a warmth that belied the words. This was obviously a well-worn family joke greeting. Patrick could hear the smile in Andy's voice as he replied.
"Greetings honoured parent." Still grinning he stood to one side and added, "This is my new friend Patrick Jane, Mom."
Game face on, Patrick thought as he looked up with his own bright, open smile firmly in place and his hand out to shake hers. "Hello Mrs. Williams, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thanks for inviting me over to Andy's for dinner today."
Linelle couldn't stop staring for a moment. This was not the person she'd imagined when Andrew talked about Patrick. Andrew's description, 'a white boy with blond hair and blue eyes,' coupled with the stories of his exploits in his first week at school and the article about his dad in the newspaper had her imagining a delinquent near-thug with an air of entitlement, the kind of bad boy the girls liked before they learned better. Instead she was confronted by this sweet-looking, polite little kid in a green vest who looked much younger than her son. Linelle had found that her son's previous middle school friends looked at their feet – or her cleavage – and mumbled if they spoke at all, two of the many things she had hated about them. This kid was a sharp contrast.
"Hello, Patrick, it's nice to meet you, too. Andrew's told me so much about you! Please, come in."
"Thank you, ma'am." Patrick saw her initial mild hostility evaporate in that first second and he relaxed. His appearance had surprised her, but in a good way. As he dropped his bag with the others then slipped off his shoes and jacket he fleetingly wondered what she had expected. Andy had been impressed by him asking Ashley to be his girlfriend and also when he'd called on his lawyer. She'd expected a rich kid or a criminal who was also a bit of a dog. This was the second time in three days he felt grateful for looking younger than his age.
"It sounds like my reputation's preceded me," Patrick continued, laughter in his eyes and his voice. "It's all true," his grin turned gently mischievous, "unless Andy told you any bad stuff, in which case – it's all lies." Linelle chuckled. In spite of his 'little kid' appearance, after that speech she found she could well believe that Patrick Jane asked a girl out on his second day at school. Patrick didn't seem malevolent but was clearly slightly larger than life, all confidence and easy charm and she could see why her son liked him. Andrew was almost the opposite, tall and grown-up-looking but still more of an unsure little kid inside.
For his part Patrick liked that fact that Linelle had laughed rather than looking scandalized at his talk of truth and lies. She looked to be no older than thirty, even younger than his own dad. She must have been a teen when she had Andy yet she had not only kept her baby, she'd also made a happy home for them both. She was tougher than she looked. Patrick wondered whether the youngsters were in fact Andy's half-sister and brother. There was a big age gap and less of a family resemblance between them and Andy than between each other. On the other hand, Andy called the man 'dad' not 'stepdad'. Patrick decided to see if he could satisfy his curiosity without saying anything, he wanted to make a good impression here this evening not dig skeletons out of closets.
"Did you really set your lawyer onto Principal Goole, Patrick?" Linelle asked as they entered the apartment.
"Yes ma'am," he replied. "I asked for Mr. Taylor because he said he'd look out for me if I ever got in trouble. Dad's, well, I guess you know my dad's in jail." Linelle looked briefly uncomfortable at this, as if she had been caught out. They walked through to the open space that seemed to combine living area and kitchen, where Linelle had started preparing their meal. She'd actually left out a tray of milk and cookies on the table for the kids. Patrick thought that only ever happened on TV.
"Are your parents divorced?" Linelle asked.
"I never had a mom, ma'am. She died when I was born," Patrick recited evenly. Andy's face registered surprise – they hadn't talked about it at school – and his expression said clearer than words that he didn't want to talk about it now. Linelle's expression was full of pity.
"I am sorry to hear that, Patrick," she began in a sincere tone.
"It's okay," he interjected quickly before she could go on, "you don't miss what you never had." Linelle looked as though she didn't quite believe this, though when she spoke it was to change the subject.
"Uh, how do you like fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, Patrick?" All her children started voicing their approval around the cookies in their mouths.
"Oh yes, ma'am, very much, thank you!" Patrick agreed with such an eager grin it made Linelle smile, that sounded more like the little kid he appeared to be. Teenagers, she thought, they managed to be big kids and little grown-ups at the same time.
"When y'all finish your snack you can go out to the playground while I cook. Can you look after Gloria and Troy, Drew honey? And make sure you're back in plenty of time. Dinner's at six after their dad gets home," she added for Patrick's benefit.
The local playground wasn't far. There was a basketball court, currently occupied by some older teens, a small skateboard park that was very crowded and a fenced-off area with swings, a roundabout and a couple of climbing frames for the youngsters. To one side of the skate park it looked as though someone had laid a roll of linoleum on the pavement where another bunch of kids was using it to show off their breakdancing, the music provided by a huge ghetto blaster.
Andy and Patrick stood in line with the youngsters then pushed them on the swings for a while, chatting about nothing much. Andy knew some of the other kids so he and Patrick drifted around the playground, chatting to a few boys in the breakdancing crowd before joining the basketball players. Patrick declined their friendly invitation to play – they were all much taller than him – instead introducing himself to the small group of girls who were sitting at the side of the court and definitely not at all watching the boys showing off. After a while the girls genuinely stopped paying attention to the game as Patrick – in his natural element – had them screaming with laughter in a way that made the older basketball players eye him thoughtfully.
It was Gloria Williams who stopped anything bad from developing. She appeared at the opposite side of the basketball court but didn't approach either Andy or Patrick. As soon as he spotted her Patrick excused himself from the girls.
"Hey, Gloria! You doing okay?" Patrick asked when he got close enough to talk without having to shout across the court. Gloria had been much shyer than her little brother with Patrick so far, so he wasn't surprised when she said nothing, instead shrugging and looking everywhere except at him. "You getting a bit bored with the swings?" earned him another shrug as Troy Williams ran up to join his big sister.
"Come play tag with us!" Troy demanded, grabbing Patrick's hand and tugging ineffectually to drag him away. Patrick addressed Gloria again.
"Would you like me and Andy to come over and play tag with you guys?" Yet again this resulted in a shrug from Gloria, but also a quiet 'I dunno' and a first, fleeting glance in his direction.
"Hey Andy!" Patrick called across the court. "You gonna come play tag with Gloria and Troy?" A minute later Andy had indeed joined them and they headed away from the basketball court.
The four kids started a game of tag which rapidly expanded as other youngsters wanted to join in. Patrick entertained and infuriated the little kids in turn as he didn't bother running, simply gyrating away from them at the last minute, gracefully dodging every attempt to make him 'it'. The game lasted until some players accidentally ran into each other, one ending up on the floor in tears with a grazed knee. Patrick noted how comfortable Andy was exercising his older-brother authority on his home turf, finding the crying girl's friends and making them take her home. The game of tag was over five minutes later, however, when her irate mom came into the playground to tell everyone off for playing too rough.
When they got back to Andy's apartment a man answered the door. Patrick could see straight away that this guy was Troy and Gloria's dad. There was no resemblance between him and Andy. Though less expressive in his features than Andy and his mom, George Williams hugged and smiled at all three kids with the same affection, Patrick was watching for it but couldn't see any difference in his behaviour towards Andy and the two who were definitely his. George might not be Andy's biological father but it seemed he was his dad in every other sense. Patrick yet again felt a little envious of his friend.
When the man turned to Patrick his face showed the same split second of surprise that Linelle had.
"You must be Patrick Jane. You were in Drew's class at elementary school?" To George's astonishment Patrick held his hand out to shake George's.
"Hello, Mr. Williams." Patrick's handshake was firm, he looked the man in the eye with a friendly, open smile. "Yessir, then I was put in his class again when I started at Carson Springs middle school last Monday." Slightly disconcerted George gestured for him to come inside.
"Drew said you were one of the kids from the carnival. You can do magic tricks, he said."
"Yeah, though I don't do the magic so much any more, sir. My family, we're the gypsy psychics at the carnival." Patrick watched the man's reaction closely. This guy was a skeptic and Patrick could see the moment he decided it would be rude to start arguing about the existence or otherwise of psychic powers with his son's new friend. Patrick was relieved, he wanted to make a good impression not participate in an argument. He decided not to mention the word 'psychic' again if he could help it.
"Gypsies?" George's eyes flicked to Patrick's blond hair. The guy was skeptical about that too.
"It's as good a name as any," Patrick replied smoothly. "My family travels, Mr. Williams, we have for generations. I never had a home town."
George seemed to accept this. "I don't recall seeing you at Drew's old school." His frown was one of thought, not hostility. "We'd go to sports games, pageants, performances, all kinds of things like that."
"I guess we weren't always around, carnival season starts before the end of the school year." Patrick felt confident enough now to try a little humor. "Besides, we didn't usually participate in things like that. What self-respecting carnival boy would give it away at a school show when we make four dollars a head at the county fair?" Patrick smiled his most knowing grin and George chuckled, shaking his head.
Dinner went well after that. Linelle's fried chicken was excellent. Patrick told the story of Goole And The Lawyer, then he made the story of Barty and his detention sound hilarious. Linelle had plenty of outrageous stories about supermarket customers. George Williams operated the lathes and other metalworking machines at a local engineering firm. After his story of some rich guy and the unnecessary modifications to the engine of his Porche, Patrick got talking to him about car engines in general, which naturally moved on to George asking questions about the carnival trucks and ride machinery. Patrick also gave a brief account of having to break up with Ashley, leaning heavily on the prejudice angle, which gained him sympathy from both Linelle and George. He explained that he didn't know much about his dad's crime but made no secret of the fact that his dad couldn't afford not to plead guilty, and had been able to make a deal because of the elections on Thursday. By the end of that story George was denouncing all politicians and Linelle gave him an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert.
After dinner while Linelle cleaned up George brought out his guitar. Gloria, who had continued to be shy all evening, now came into her own, duetting with her dad on a couple of Blues standards and a Beatles song. She had a real talent, a sweet rich singing voice with a surprising range. Andy was embarrassed about it all but Patrick enjoyed it. Home-made music was a feature of the carnival back lot during the rare periods of downtime, there were musicians of various abilities among the crewmen and families and he loved it when they got together and did their thing.
Andy was excused more personal embarrassment. His party piece was spinning and otherwise maneuvering a basketball, which he wasn't allowed to do indoors. Troy recited a poem he'd learned in class. When George looked at Patrick, unsure whether to ask, Patrick surprised him by asking to borrow his guitar.
"Magic needs props," Patrick said in non-explanation. "Y'all will have to to invite me over again so I can pay for my next supper with magic tricks," he joked as he confidently checked the tuning. Without any more ado he launched into 'House of the Rising Sun'. His voice was thin and a little reedy rather than the gravel that the song demanded, but he could carry a tune and Linelle was delighted by the mention of New Orleans in the very first line. Her accent had in fact precipitated his decision to play the song rather than show off his coin tricks. Afterwards Gloria insisted he play it again so she could sing it with him, impressing Patrick with how quickly she picked up the lyrics and how her voice lent a freshness to the song. When he handed the guitar back to her dad Patrick had to confess he wasn't really a guitarist, that song was the start and end of his repertoire. George then played 'Scarborough Fair' which Gloria sang on her own, the melody really showing off her vocal talents, her eyes never leaving Patrick as she sang it.*
Patrick switched his charm offensive to Tran on Tuesday, which is why after school Patrick was back at the arcade with the boy. He took the controls of the Star Wars game with trepidation and, as expected, lasted maybe twenty seconds before he lost the first life. Tran helped with the second life, pointing out which space ships to shoot at, but even so he didn't last much longer. He had just handed the controls over to Tran when a member of the watching crowd heckled him.
"Hey, blond kid!" Patrick turned around and was faced with an older boy, someone in high school, Patrick guessed. "You're really shit at playing Star Wars, blondie!" The guy laughed and two other older boys chortled too.
"Leave him alone." Tran was still playing the game, hadn't even turned around to say this but had called out loud enough to make himself heard above the noise in the arcade. Patrick cast a quick glance at Tran then turned back to the older boys. These kids were tall but skinny. After his dismal performance on the video game he was feeling as restless as he had the day he'd taken Jenni and Paul to steal apples and walnuts. This could be a useful opportunity to let off some steam and develop his relationship with Tran if he was willing to take a risk – and could get the timing right...He'd have to listen to the noises the machine was making as Tran played the game. There were four more lives before the game would be over, the hits made a distinctive sound so he just had to listen for those. Tran would be more likely to leave the arcade if the game was over, or nearly so.
"Is that right, Beanpole?" Patrick said to the older boy. "That's real witty. You should be on Saturday Night Live with material like that."
"Huh?"
Okay, the guy wasn't sure he'd been insulted. Patrick would have to wind it down a few notches if he was going to successfully provoke the older boy. Or… in the background Tran lost his next life. Three left. Tran was a better player than that, he must have been listening in to this conversation.
"I guess there's people like Chi here, who have a real talent at this kind of thing," Patrick began, "then there's kids like me whose talents lie …elsewhere. And then there's kids like you. You don't have the game skills to make it onto the high score tables but you don't have the smarts to find anything better to do so you hang around here wasting your life watching other people achieve something." Tran lost another life. Two left. "It's okay! That's America, boys. It's a land of opportunity, not a gravy train. Some of us are going to be rich, some of us are going to be famous, and of course we'll need people like you to mow our lawns and clean our bathrooms," Patrick grinned his most insolent grin, "or maybe instead you have a bright future in the food service industry?"
"You saying I'm stupid, Blondie?" There was unmistakable aggression in the boy's voice now.
"Oh I don't believe you'll ever hear me say anything like that," Patrick shot back. Tran sniggered at these weasel words – and lost another life. He was down to his last one.
"So what are you saying?" the boy demanded.
"Nah, man, that isn't the question you should be asking." Patrick was still grinning. "You ask, 'would you like fries with that?' No, wait!" Patrick said as the kid squared off, "I heard they're hiring at Macy's in the furniture department. You can get a job as a bed tester. I can tell you have a talent for spending your working day lying around on your back." Patrick moved closer to the guy and murmured something. Tran lost his last life on the game as the guy's face turned thunderous and Patrick started running. Tran turned around just as Patrick made it through the arcade doors, barely ahead of the three kids chasing him. Swearing, Tran also headed to the doors in time to see Patrick racing around the corner of the block and down an alley, the boys in hot pursuit. Tran jogged to the corner and there was Patrick, caught in a kind of pincer movement near some dumpsters, the three older boys closing in from every side.
"Gonna teach you some manners, Blondie! When I'm finished with ya, you'll regret you ever said anything about my mom, you little punk!" The kid Patrick had insulted sounded menacing, looked ready for a fight. Tran didn't hesitate. As the first kid shoved Patrick against the dumpster then winded him with a gut punch, Tran rushed the nearest boy, bowling him down from behind. Patrick had ended up on the floor as Tran appeared behind the kid who had punched him, grabbed his fist and twisted the kid's arm up his back. The kid yelled in pain and surprise, then Tran turned him around and shoved him towards the open end of the alley.
"Scram," Tran yelled. The kid he had knocked down was already doing just that and the other two took off as well. Tran watched them go before turning to Patrick.
"What the hell were you doing, man?" Tran asked, panting. Patrick wheezed as he lay on the floor for a few long moments, unable to speak but holding up his hands as if to say he hadn't done anything, honest. Shaking his head, Tran reached down and pulled Patrick to his feet.
"Guy – whew – couldn't – take – joke," Patrick gasped out, trying to laugh.
"You are one crazy-ass dude, you know that?" Tran was shaking his head, though he couldn't help grinning. Patrick was shaking with adrenaline and suppressed laughter. "You carry on like that, you're gonna wind up dead."
"That kid couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag," Patrick retorted with undisguised contempt.
"Yeah, but you aren't as tough as a paper bag, dude!"
Patrick laughed out loud at this, then groaned as his laughter brought the fresh bruises around his midriff to his urgent attention.
Ten minutes later Tran and Patrick were heading up the steps to the library.
"Those guys might hang around at the bus station, they're not gonna come in here looking for trouble," Patrick explained.
Patrick returned a few books and took the opportunity to sign up Tran for a borrower's card. A few days earlier he had found what he considered the perfect first book for Tran. He carefully maneuvered the boy towards the right shelf on the pretext of looking for some movie book for himself, then subtly tricked Tran into picking out the book he had previously found. There were stills from the first Star Wars film on one side of each double-page spread, with a quote from the script on the page opposite and Tran was flicking through the book before he realized what he was doing. It wasn't as difficult as he had expected to convince Tran to borrow the book. He picked up another at random to borrow for himself, and they both checked them out at the front desk.
The bus station was thankfully free of guys wanting to beat up Patrick, so they passed the time flicking through Tran's book and quoting the lines from the movie that went with each still. Patrick's English accent for 'These aren't the droids you're looking for' and 'He's more machine now than man, twisted and evil' was good, but Tran was a champion at the noises. His 'R2-D2' was good, his 'light sabre' noise was better and his 'Chewbacca' knocked Patrick's attempt into a cocked hat. They each took turns at trying to perfect the 'Darth Vader' breathing noise for a while until Patrick's sudden coughing fit made them both dissolve into laughter.
Patrick had a bulky letter from Taylor's office waiting for him when he got back from the library. It contained Alex's new prison details and included a booklet from the state pen that was full of rules for friends and relatives of prisoners regarding letters, phone calls and visits. There was also a note from Taylor himself.
Dear Paddy,
I just got Alex's details for Volano state penitentiary so here they are (enclosed). The rules for communicating with prisoners are also enclosed. Be warned, Paddy, these rules are strictly enforced. If you don't follow them your letters will be returned or destroyed; they are quite prepared to confiscate items of contraband or turn visitors away at the prison gates. Alex can receive magazines but on subscription only, not forwarded from you.
Patrick was surprised and pleased about that. He quickly cast an eye over the booklet containing the rules. He smiled when he saw that while it would be fine to arrange for Alex to be sent his 'Amusement Business' and 'Showtime' every month, he had better not do the same with his dad's 'Hustler'.
Taylor's note continued:
Don't worry about paying me, I already sent Alex my initial invoice and with his written permission can deduct my fee from your cash which is currently in my safe. I will be doing more work on his behalf between now and the end of his sentence so there will be more invoices. I know you were planning some expenditure for your act so I suggest that you budget a total of $3000 for my fees and $500 for my expenses.
Nearly half of what was left at the end of last season. It couldn't be helped but it was a blow. Of course, Patrick reflected, there wouldn't be any living expenses apart from putting money in Alex's commissary account. It might not be so bad as it seemed.
I am looking forward to seeing you on Thursday, when I will no doubt be as surprised at your card playing prowess as I have been by your other abilities.
Yours, in anticipation,
Taylor's signature was a flamboyant scribble.
That made Patrick smile. He wasn't bad at poker. He knew the probabilities, being able to read people helped as did being able to cheat when dealing. He needed to play against people who were better than him if he was going to improve his actual game play. His reading of Taylor suggested the man was a very good player. Patrick wanted to hear more about his life story too, right from the start he'd been intrigued at the idea of a carny (what had Taylor done at the carnival back in the day?) becoming a successful lawyer.
"Am I allowed to go to Stoney Ridge this evening, Mrs. Brodie?" Patrick asked aloud. "I have a little business to attend to."
Liss snorted derisively. She had been sharing the kitchen table with him, doing homework as he read his letter. Patrick shot her a curious glance. He hadn't seen much of her today – she had been chatting with Ashley and Julia at lunchtime on a table that had no free spaces, Patrick had sat with Andy and Tran instead – and now this. He wasn't sure what was going on with her.
"Is your homework finished, Patrick?" Sally Brodie interrupted his thoughts. "Do you need to do anything for your tests tomorrow in math and English?"
"I finished all my homework. I can't think of anything I can do for the tests tomorrow. I guess I either pass and move up a grade or fail and stay where I am." Patrick now had every intention of failing both tests, Portman had agreed for him to skip language arts class for the library and he was getting special tuition from Smith in math class, covering a lot of probability right now. Last lesson he'd brought in an old score card and they'd spent a little time looking at razzle dazzle, a very old, very corrupt carnival game now banned in every state. By the end of the class Patrick had been enormously impressed by whoever invented it, some mathematically-minded showman whose name was lost in the mists of time. Smith had told him she'd be happy to take him through some game theory once his algebra was up to the challenge.
"Then I guess it's fine, Patrick, you can go there once the washing up's finished. Back by ten."
"Of course, ma'am." Patrick headed up to his room. He wanted to start a letter to his dad straight away if he was going to be out for the evening, so he could post it on the way to school in the morning.
Patrick was in his room, lying on the bed and halfway through preparing his letter – Zack the Library Guy's technique for essays was proving useful again – when there was a knock on the door, followed immediately by Liss opening it and entering.
"Come on in, Liss" Patrick said mildly once she'd shut the door behind her. She stalked across the room and claimed the space on the end of his bed, leaning her back against the wall, stretching out her legs and crossing her arms. Patrick sat up a bit more against the headboard.
"Is it always this tidy?" she asked, looking around the spartan room.
"I never thought about it," Patrick replied with a serene smile. "I guess so."
"Where's your stuff?"
"In the drawers and the closet," Patrick shrugged.
"No, I mean your stuff, not your clothes, the things you own that are yours."
"In my pockets," Patrick replied curiously, puzzled by her question.
"But what about big stuff, photos, ornaments, stuff like that. You don't even have a Walkman or, I don't know, trading cards or anything!"
"I don't have much stuff like that, Liss. The act has some assets, Dad has some personal things, they're all in storage up at Stoney Ridge."
"You turned into a monk now? Not interested in material things?"
"I don't want trading cards or trash like that. I want… I was in this big fancy department store one time, Kansas City I think, there was a weird-looking stereo system there, European not Japanese, it cost four thousand dollars and had the best sound reproduction I ever heard. I saw some tea cups and saucers in an antique store in Chicago, they were so thin if you held them up you could see light shining through them and they were beautiful, hand painted and gilded. The guy said they were two hundred years old and cost three hundred dollars each. In the Gold Rush museum there's a big leather-topped walnut desk that's worth thirty grand, the mine owner there got it because he could, because he owned a goddamn gold mine." Patrick grinned. "I wouldn't mind having a desk job if it meant I worked at a desk like that every day. I saw this beautiful Italian sports car one time when we were on the road–"
"Jeez, okay, I get it!" Liss had been impatient while he was talking and was now emphasizing her irritation with hand gestures. "It's the very best or nothing for the great Patrick Jane. Is that why you broke up with Ashley? Wasn't she good enough for you?" She had turned to face him, now, eyes narrowed, sitting up cross-legged with her arms crossed too, leaning towards him as she spoke.
"What? I didn't break up with her!"
"Then why's she the one who's upset and you're just fine?"
"You have no idea how I feel about it, Liss," Patrick began in a low, icy tone. "Her mom never met me but she wrote in the newspaper about my dad being sent to jail and based on that she decided I wasn't good enough for Ashley. It was Ashley's mom who broke us up." Liss's eyes were wide now. "Maybe I seem fine to you because it isn't the first time this happened to me. Parents can be real prejudiced against gypsy boys. Don't you go believing I would ever feel fine about being on the receiving end of that." It was mostly true, he thought. He hadn't been in love with Ashley – whatever that meant – but it had been huge fun being Ashley's first boyfriend. Although he'd anticipated her mom's reaction, being judged like that sucked. It hadn't happened often but it really wasn't the first time some parent had decided he was unworthy of their precious little girl without ever meeting him in person.
Patrick enjoyed styling himself a 'gypsy boy'. His dad hated the word, said he'd had it yelled at him as an insult too many times, and anyway they were Irish showmen, not Romani gypsies. On the rare occasions Lily spoke of his mom's family she had scathingly referred to them as 'no-good gypsy horse-thieves' though with a maiden name of O'Brien his mom had definitely been of Irish extraction too. The insults that came Patrick's way had always been more along the lines of 'trailer trash' and 'filthy carny' rather than 'gypsy' so Patrick had grown up liking the word. He felt that calling himself a 'gypsy psychic' made him sound exotic, it added romance and mystique to the decidedly unromantic, unmysterious reality of life on the road.
Liss was now sitting with her mouth slightly open, staring at him silently and Patrick realized with dismay that he was once again feeling the intimacy of the situation. His dad's words, 'temptation's more tempting if it's there all the time' sprang to his mind, this time as much a possible remedy as a warning. Even his dad – especially his dad, now he thought about it – could work a mark who was a pretty woman without reacting to her like this. Was it because the money was at the forefront of his dad's mind, not the woman? Patrick concentrated on how outraged he felt about being judged unworthy and his physical reaction to Liss's presence started to subside.
"I'm – I'm sorry, Patrick," Liss finally managed. She looked it too, her righteous anger all gone and embarrassment coloring her cheeks. That wasn't helping.
"That's okay, Liss. It's a sisters job–" Sister! Sister! He shouted inside his head as he spoke, why did blushing make girls look even prettier? – "to tell her brother if she thinks he's been a jerk."
Why was this happening to him with Liss? He truly didn't find her attractive and he certainly hadn't been this out of control of his own body when he was with Ashley. But then he'd been very much the one in charge with Ashley whereas Liss kept blindsiding him when he hadn't had time to plan for her close proximity. And bedrooms were, well, for some reason bedrooms in a house felt more intimate to Patrick than anywhere else ever had, even the RV. That was what his dad meant, he realized. A girl his age living in the same house would be an easy option, regardless of how attractive he found her. That thought, finally, had the desired effect. His dad always chose the easy option where women were concerned and Patrick knew with every fiber of his being that he didn't want to be like Alex, the idea revolted him. Liss started talking.
"No, it's not okay, Patrick, I hate it when people judge me because they think they know…" Her voice faded into a gesture that could have meant anything.
Patrick shuffled along his bed and gave Liss a brief chaste hug around her shoulders. Yup, not like Alex. He sat next to her now, relaxed, back to the wall and legs stretched in front of him across the bed, just like Liss.
"Do you really think I believe I'm better than everyone else?" Patrick wasn't sure whether to be flattered or offended by this.
"Yeah, well, you act like you got everything sussed. Your life is just how you like it, you get your way all the time – you got a later curfew from Sally and William, you called your lawyer into school to get you out of trouble, I still can't believe you did that. You got Sally to let us go trick-or-treating. It's like you breeze through life and get everyone to rewrite the rules in your favor. That's why I thought it was you who wanted to break up with Ashley."
"If I really got my way all the time I wouldn't be here," Patrick said quietly.
That quietened Liss, too. "Yeah, me either," she agreed in a small voice. They sat in silence for a moment.
"Ashley didn't say I broke up with her, did she?"
"She didn't say anything. She was just really sad, yesterday and today. And you didn't seem to be anything!" Liss added in frustration.
"Oh come on, Liss. You never put on a face for the outside world?"
"I guess I just never thought you did. You're always so sure of yourself, it's like you're never out of your depth, nothing embarrasses you. I didn't think you..." She gestured vaguely again.
"Yeah, well." This earned him an exasperated look from Liss. Patrick bumped his shoulder against hers. "Y'know, brothers are allowed to tell their sisters off when they've been jerks, too," he grinned. "Just sayin'."
"When hell freezes over, Trick," Liss replied, though she was smiling when she said it.
"Trick. That's funny. Y'know, as nicknames go I quite like that," Patrick grinned. Liss rolled her eyes.
"Well of course you do."
The math test was easy to fail. The answers were multi-choice, entered onto a special sheet by marking one of the letters A-E for each question. Patrick ensured he would flunk the test by entering the correct answers for each question – but not in the correct order.
The language arts written test was too easy. Patrick was surprised that seventh-graders weren't asked more advanced questions. He read the test through, then settled back and really went to town. If it was possible to misunderstand something in the reading exercise, he did. If a question asked for an example of one type of word he would give it's opposite. For the rest he carefully identified what was required then wrote something utterly tangential to what the question asked. Finally while doing the creative writing piece he amused himself by cramming as many spelling mistakes and grammatical errors into each sentence as he could, while also making his story as difficult as possible to follow, starting in the middle, jumping around, repeating himself and concluding with a paragraph containing no fewer than four non-sequiturs and a deus ex machina of gargantuan proportions. At the end he realized his writing was too neat, he would get some marks for penmanship though for very little else.
Alex received Patrick's letter on Wednesday.
Dear Dad,
I hope my letter finds you well, as I am also. I enclose a money order for your prison commissary account, let me know if it is enough, in future I'll bring cash when I visit so we don't need to pay commission. Also enclosed is a rough budget for our spending this year, it is tight so let me know what you think.
Alex snorted at the money order, disgruntled at the idea of his son giving him pocket money, for chrissakes. However the alternative – having Taylor sort out the money – would result in even more fees and they were already giving the lawyer more than they could afford. Paddy allocating money to him like this made sense but Alex didn't have to like it. The rest of the numbers... well, it looked as though the boy hadn't done too badly although he did want more money in his commissary account every month. Fifteen a week was too low even though there wasn't any spare money in Paddy's budget. The kid would just have to find another few hundred from somewhere.
Remember that gig we did in Saint Paul with the surprising dressing rooms? Foster care has been unexpectedly similar recently. I remembered what you said about temptation and 'forewarned is forearmed' as the proverb says. I can tell you all the details when I visit.
Alex did remember, the surprise being that the dressing rooms didn't exist. Instead the theater had a big communal area backstage which they shared with all the other acts, including the resident dancing girls. The boy had seemed to take the girls' briefly-glimpsed nudity in his stride at the time. The dancers must have made more of an impression on Paddy than he'd thought. They had impressed the hell out of Alex... He wondered how literal Paddy was being about his foster home. He'd mentioned there was some girl there, hadn't he? It seemed unlikely she would wander about as bare as the Majestic Theater dancers. Though Paddy had claimed he wasn't tempted the last time Alex saw him, the boy was only human. Those teenage hormones would be kicking in even if he still looked like a little kid. For the millionth time Alex wished he could be a fly on the wall, able to at least keep an eye on the boy even if he couldn't intervene.
Visiting day for minors this month is the Saturday before Thanksgiving, in December it is the one before Christmas. Please could you add as many people as possible to your visitor list, names from the lot as well as the Brodies. I need an adult to bring me or I won't be allowed to see you and those are busy weekends for a lot of people.
That made sense though Alex was very uneasy about signing up a lot of his fellow carnies as visitors, not many would thank him for doing it. He'd have to think carefully about that.
I'm starting to make friends at school, I had a girlfriend for a few days but not any more, we had to break up.
Oh really? Well that was something else he'd have to ask about when the boy visited.
Freddy Snaps was doing the photographs for Katy and Mick on Saturday, we borrowed his Polaroid for a while so I enclose a few pictures. The new girl Pete Barsocky seems so fond of is Sam Rose, from Billy Ruskin's circuit.
There was Paddy looking relaxed and happy sitting with Pete and someone he assumed was Sam, a pretty black girl who also seemed fond of Pete too, at least from the look she was giving him in the photo; Paddy grinning from inside a Tilt-A-Whirl car, an arm around each of the Ruskin kids; one of Paddy on his own sitting at a table looking... Dammit, looking too much like his mom. His mind might be all Alex Jane but his face was pure Maura, even more so as he got older. He looked more like her than Alex remembered her brothers ever did. Alex put that photo back into the envelope but stuck the others on the wall by his bunk.
I was thinking about the pursuit of excellence the other day
What the hell? He knew Patrick would go off at a tangent sometimes. Lily had brought the boy up to think sideways in the same way she did. A letter was a good way to get inside the boy's head, he supposed, so long as he made some kind of sense. Okay, let's see where he's going with the pursuit of excellence.
I was thinking about the pursuit of excellence the other day because I met someone who claimed he always worked to the best of his ability. I still think that most people try to make their lives as easy as they can by doing the least they can get away with, even though experience would surely teach them that can be counterproductive. A librarian I met in Wichita told me Confucius said 'choose a job you love and you will never have to work a day in your life'. I like the act and everything we do, but I think we can do better. I know you said no changes for next season but can we talk about that when I visit? I can't help thinking that one or two very small changes would have me loving everything we do, which would surely make our work much more lucrative.
Love,
Paddy
Shit! Alex hadn't seen that coming. The boy wanted to change the act or... Everything we do. Damn, Paddy was still bitching about that 'magic rock' con they ran in the summer. More lucrative my ass! You didn't get more lucrative than ten grand! Which they had very nearly lost because the boy got cold feet! He chose the marks and the cons they ran on them, not Paddy! The kid didn't have a clue.
Alex swallowed. Probably didn't. He had that real quick way about him, half the time Alex didn't have to teach him because he'd already picked up what he needed to know. Alex had always thought of that as one of Paddy's better traits, there was nothing worse than having to go over and over something because someone didn't understand the simplest things. Was that going to bite him on the ass now?
Thirteen... Paddy was growing up, no doubt about it, and the boy was smart. Probably – Alex thought uncomfortably – smarter than he was himself. Alex remembered how much he had hated being under his own dad's thumb as a teenager. This was completely different, though, he thought. Alex didn't beat Paddy into submission, he persuaded. He'd never raised his hand to that boy his whole life and god knows there's plenty of fathers who would, the kid had a smart mouth. He just wished the boy would get himself laid. The pursuit of girls should be distracting him from the pursuit of fucking excellence, whatever that might mean – apart from screwing with Alex's cozy little world. Prison was bad enough, he didn't need the boy wanting to make changes when he got out. Though maybe girls were starting to distract Paddy, Alex thought, reading again the passage about the theater in Saint Paul.
This was going to take some careful handling as well. Paddy wasn't going to wait for him to get out of prison before he started growing up. Thirteen… Alex only had five years left of that particular gravy train before the boy was technically an adult. Maybe he could stretch it to eight if he did make some small changes to accommodate the boy. Eighteen might be an adult but the boy would find it hard to get work on his own until he was old enough to work in venues with an alcohol license. Yeah, it definitely needed some careful thought.
Dear Paddy,
Thanks for the photos. I'm already looking forward to your visit, we have plenty to talk about. Don't make any big spending decisions before we have a chance to meet up. There really is no need to rush into anything, everything is always cheaper after Christmas.
Love,
Dad
There. Maybe if he didn't encourage it the boy would forget about pursuing excellence and he wouldn't really have to make any changes after all. Alex couldn't see anything wrong with doing the least he could get away with. It did make his life easier. The boy had no idea.
These are the poem and the songs I imagined when I wrote this:
'Mother Doesn't Want A Dog', Judith Viorst, 1981
'Walkin' Blues', Robert Johnson, 1936
'Kansas City', Lieber & Stoller, 1952
'Octopus's Garden', Richard Starkey (The Beatles), 1969
'House of the Rising Sun', Traditional, arranged by Alan Price (The Animals), 1964
'Scarborough Fair', Traditional, arranged by Paul Simon, 1966
