Chapter 41
Marjorie was tight lipped when she and George told Ron that there was going to be a baby. She tried to smile but Ron could see that her heart wasn’t in it. George didn’t know that though. He was worried about money. His gambling debts had worsened since he had the added expenses that came with not living at home. It was true that Marjorie earned a good salary for a woman. But each Thursday, George forked over half of his paycheck from the printing company to the two guys that showed up and were friendly enough but wanted to be paid.
“Who are these guys?” said Ron.
“They’re friends of George’s.”
“They don’t look like friends.”
“You’re better off not knowing some things Ronald.”
Ron felt stung. “Since when?”
Marjorie was at her wits end. She had already taken out two finance company loans. She couldn’t get a third. He had promised her twice that he was done gambling. Each time he had lied. Each time he’d promised that it would be the last time. Ron had listened to these late night confessions while they thought that he was sleep.
“I don’t know what to do, Margie. I just can’t seem to stop.”
“Don’t you care about anybody but yourself?”
“That’s not it.”
“It must be the case. Otherwise you wouldn’t do this to me.”
George said, “What about the other bankbook?”
Marjorie looked at him in shocked disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never touched that. Not even when we didn’t have the rent. It’s not my money.”
Ron knew what they were talking about now. When he was in second grade, they had begun a bank savings program in his school. Whenever he was given any money for birthdays or holidays, at least half of it went into the bank. His mother kept it for him. He didn’t know how much was there.
“We could use it to get out from under this,” said George.
“George, the two of you don’t get along. How can I ask him for this?”
“You don’t ask him, you tell him.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it used to be like between him and me. I can’t just tell him.”
“If I miss a payment, you know what will happen.”
“They aren’t going to damage someone who pays George. That wouldn’t be good business. You know these guys most of your life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said George morosely.
Two days later, Marjorie told Ron what she needed to do. She had gone to see Vinnie Caputo, the shy. He tallied up George’s number for her. In addition to the one thousand dollar loan that they had at each of the finance companies, George was into Vinnie for fifteen hundred more. Ron’s bankbook could wipe that out. The vig was ten percent of the balance each week. That meant that on the fifteen hundred dollars, George was paying one hundred and fifty dollar a week in interest. It had to stop. The numbers would never allow them to climb out from under and George would keep dreaming for that big hit that would make everything even.
“If I pay it off, will you promise not to loan him anymore money?”
“I really can’t do that, Marjorie. George is a friend.”
The irony of this would not allow her to hold her tongue. “Is this what a friend does? What kind of a person ruins his friend’s life?”
Vinnie the Shy was a short squat man with salt and pepper hair. They were Caruso’s Ristorante. As a silent partner, Vinnie owned half of the place. It gave him a declarable income and a spot to do business. Marjorie sat in front of her cold cup of coffee thinking that none of these places knew how to make a good cup of coffee. She stared up at Vinnie the Shy. “If you loan him anymore money, I’ll leave him.”
“That’s none of my business,” said Vinnie.
For two days Marjorie agonized about what to do. She was sick in the mornings now. It was an effort to get herself to work each day, but George said that it would pass and that she would feel better soon.
“Ronald, I need a favor.”
“Sure.” He knew it was coming. He had heard the conversation. He could read the resolute look on her face.
“George and I need to borrow the money in your bankbook.” She said it flatly. She had forced the words out. She hadn’t wanted to say them but here it was and now she had said it. “I’ll make sure that you get it back,” she added.
Ron felt the anger rise up in him that George wasn’t even there. He’d left this shitty job to his mother. “Just take it,” said Ron.
“Ronald, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t you. I know that.”
“Yes, it is. It’s me here asking you.”
“It’s your money Mom. There wouldn’t be a me without you.”
“Would you like to go and visit Aunt Dottie? See if any of your old friends are around?”
“Sure. When?”
“Let’s go now.”
From the appearance of the way that her life was now, a person who didn’t know would not think that Dorothy Thomas had any important friends. Sure she dolled up in her minks and diamonds on Saturday nights when they went to the corner bar, but that didn’t mean anything really. Dorothy had once been married to the president of the teamsters in Newark. She was on a first name basis with Newark’s mayor. She had been friends with Peter Rodino was a member of the House of Representatives.
Marjorie explained what had happened. Dorothy’s scowl was deep.
“What are you doing with this loser?”
“He’s a hard worker.”
“He’s dumb. He thinks being a hard worker entitles him to be stupid.”
“Will you make a phone call?”
“And say what?”
“Get them to stop loaning him money.”
“I’d rather get them to break his legs.”
“Don’t say that. Aunt Dottie, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Why did you do that?”
“It just happened.”
“It never just happens. Does Ron know?”
“Yes.” Marjorie paused. This last part was going to be more difficult. “He said that I could take his bankbook to pay off the Shy.”
Dorothy’s gaze felt like a razor blade. “You really should be ashamed of yourself.”
Marjorie wanted with all her heart to remind her aunt that she had been a little girl in a rooming house with her grandmother, Dorothy’s mother, when they were too poor
to ride the bus and Dorothy was spending weekends on yachts.
Dorothy shook her head. “I’ll make the call, but Margi if a man is hungry to gamble, he’ll find a way to get the money.”
Chapter 42
“When’s Ron coming over?” said Angel.
“Not until much later. He’s working,” said Celeste.
“I don’t like it when he works. Why does he have to do that?”
“That’s what adults have to do.”
“Are you an adult?”
Barbara and Anna grinned at the precocious question.
“Yes,” said Celeste, ignoring the smirks.
“Why can’t you work? Ron can stay here and play with me.”
Part of Celeste had dreaded springing this information on her mother and cousin, but the time was right. “I am going to start working,” said Celeste.
Anna and Barb froze. What was she talking about? What kind of shit did she think she was going to pull now?
Angel wandered away to play with her tea set. She had wanted to play tea party with Ron. She didn’t understand the implications for her and Celeste had decided that she would explain all of that to her later. Right now, she had dropped a bomb and was waiting for the explosion.
Anna began slowly. “What do you mean that you are going to work?”
Celeste’s income consisted of her support checks from Angel’s father and her welfare checks. She hated taking public assistance, but Anna and Mario had assured her that was what it was there for. Mario had never been proud about taking handouts and this wasn’t even in his name.
“I’m taking a part time job at a doctor’s office.”
“You have a baby!” said Anna. Barb nodded in a very quiet and supportive way that told Celeste that she had no ally in this situation. “I’m sorry Celeste. I’m just not able to take care of her. She’s too much.”
“I know that Mom. I’m going to enroll her in daycare.”
“At her age? Are you crazy?”
Barb spoke up for the first time. “Horrible things happen at those places, Cele. It’s a bad idea.”
“I won’t allow it,” said Anna.
“It’s not your decision, Mom.”
“What kind of a mother are you?” said Anna.
“You always worked,” said Celeste.
“I had no choice,” glared Anna. “And you were never left with strangers. You were always with family.”
“It’s a good day care center. It’s right at the Community College. It will only be for four hours a day.”
“Four hours a day!” screamed Anna. In her younger days, Anna would have taken off her shoe and thrown it at Celeste. Now the pain in her back made the bending too difficult for it to be her response.
Celeste got up and left the room to check on Angel.
Barb said, “She won’t really do it.”
“Yes, she will,” said Anna. “She wants this guy and she is willing to anything that she has to do in order to have him.”
“Foolish girl. She has a beautiful baby. That should be enough,” said Barb.
“Nothing has ever been enough for her,” said Anna.
Chapter 43
Marjorie sat George down. Ron was with Harry. She’d called him and said that golf or no golf that he needed to see his son, and Harry had agreed. He’d stopped taking Ron to work with him on a regular basis. That had stopped a while ago. Harry was learning a new game. He’d gotten too old for softball. Bowling held limited interest. Then he discovered golf. He knew that he’d gone overboard. His new wife didn’t know how to complain as long as food was on the table and her bills were paid and her daughter provided for. Now she was pregnant with another one. But Marjorie was right. He’d neglected his son.
“George, I went to the doctor’s yesterday.”
“What did he say?” George’s tone and the expectation of the question telegraphed the need to hear that everything was alright. He wanted a rubber stamp. He expected it.
“George, there are problems. The doctor says that I’ve got to slow down and take it easy.”
“What does he mean?”
“He thinks that I should work less and spend more time in bed. He thinks that I shouldn’t be lifting things or scrubbing floors.”
“I’ll mop the floors,” said George. “I don’t think that we can afford to have you cut back at work.”
Marjorie agreed. She might lose her job.
Harry Tuck snapped a quick throw at Ron. He snagged it and whipped it back. Harry smiled. The throw stung his hand. His son had a decent arm. He blooped a toss. He watched Ron hold the glove up. He saw him squint, but he caught it and a grin spread from his face through his body as it winged it back.
“George, I’m not sure that I can do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tired. I’m trying. I don’t feel right.”
“You’ll feel better soon,” said George.
Chapter 44
The miscarriage hit the day before Ron’s birthday. It happened in the kitchen. Marjorie was on her knees with the pain. The blood was flowing out of her along with pieces of something else. She screamed but it wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t move and even though she was home, she was alone.
Marjorie clawed at the linoleum floor. George walked into the house and stood there horrified at the sight of her. He called an ambulance. He rode with her to the hospital.
It was officially determined that she’d had a miscarriage and needed what was known as a D&C. Marjorie, who was now more than half crazed, said no. It was her son’s birthday and she had to be there for him. She needed to see him. If he wasn’t there, she was alone in the world.
Against the objections of doctors, nurses and two hospital administrators, Marjorie signed herself out. They had her in an adult diaper because she was still leaking blood.
Ron was at home watching TV. It was late on a Saturday afternoon in June and he had been out all day. After dinner he wanted to go out again. These were the long days when summer had almost started. He could play ball until it was almost nine o’clock.
He looked up when they came in. Something was very wrong. His mother was walking very slowly and painfully. She was pale. George was holding her arm. Something was very wrong.
Ron was on his feet. “What happened?”
“They took me to the hospital,” wailed Marjorie.
Ron ran to her and then stopped. Would it hurt if he held her? “What’s wrong?”
“I lost the baby,” said Marjorie with a tint of shame.
“You’re hurt,” said Ron.
“They want me to have an operation.”
“Why?”
“Because I lost the baby.” Marjorie made it sound like it was a punishment.
George watched as a different kind of look overcame Ron. He became very composed. He straightened. His eyes were dark green when they flicked to George. “Why isn’t she still in the hospital?”
Marjorie seemed to shrink a little. George said, “She signed herself out.”
“You let her?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
The look of disdain that crossed Ron’s face reminded Marjorie of Harry and she felt, for that instant, safer. “You’re right,” said Ron. He turned to his mother. “We have to go back there right now.”
“Can’t we wait until after your birthday?”
Ron’s face softened when he gazed into her eyes. “No, we can’t.”
George was stunned when she just turned around and let them take her back through the door. She would have never done that for him.
Chapter 45
After baking in the sun for the last several days and spending most of the summer in shorts and t-shirts, Ron fidgeted uncomfortably in his jacket and tie. He had traded his over the shoulder, green canvas bag for a book salesman’s sample bag. It looked like a medium sized piece of luggage, but Ron found that if it stood it on his desk that it was the perfect height for a podium. It might weigh as much as thirty pounds at different times of the year, but it was durable and had room for everything that he needed.
He didn’t have his own classroom at Perpetual Help. There was no place to hang his Lincoln and he missed having it in the classroom. There were no pictures on the walls and no decorations of any kind expected or allowed and Ron was also pleased with this.
He undid he top shirt button and ran his finger around the inside of his collar as he watched the students for his American Literature class file in. They were not required to wear uniforms of any kind. They were expected to be presentable at all times.
There was little freedom in his curriculum and the finals were departmental so the pacing of what was covered when was also of some importance. He hadn’t chafed against these restrictions in his first year. He’d just been trying to make a good impression. He knew that this was considered one of the most academically challenging private high schools in the northern part of the state. If he didn’t cut it, they would cut him in an eye blink.
His class sizes were larger. The total number of students that he had in his five classes had climbed to a staggering one hundred and fifty students. It was almost twice as many as he had at his previous school and Ron had learned that a series of frequent vocab quizzes were essential.
Some of his students knew him as Coach Tuck and others just called him Mr. Tuck. Ron noted with some pleasure that their faces had the same eager looks that all the students he’d ever taught had.
“Good morning. My name is Mr. Tuck and this is American Literature Honors. Check your schedules and make sure that you’re in the right place.” He paused a moment as the students stared at the computer generated printouts of schedules that they received in the mail. “Some people believe that American Literature starts of slowly. That for the longest time, it was just a parody of English Literature. Early American settlers didn’t have much time or use for books and reading.” Ron heard a soft cheer go up from two guys sitting in the back of the room. He smiled up at them and made eyes contact. “Oh, so you both like that philosophy?” They grinned and nodded. “I see. You and I may have an area of disagreement there. Here is how we are going to resolve it. You will embrace literature like it was a pretty sixteen year old girl in a bikini.” The class laughed.
“What is your name please?” said Ron. He pointed. “You, cheerleader on the left.” The class laughed again.
“Mark Simon.”
“Would you like to embrace a pretty sixteen year old who was wearing a bikini?”
Mark nodded enthusiastically.
“Then you must learn to use the language properly and have some sophistication about what you read. Do you know why?”
Mark shook his head back and forth.
“In frontier times, you might need a good plow, a good horse, maybe a cow if you were lucky. Have you ever milked a cow, Mr. Simon?”
“No,” said Mark blushing and laughing at the same time.
“Neither have I. Now we have machines that milk them. Do you understand what that means?”
Ron let Mark Simon off the hook. He swiveled his head. “Cheerleader on the right. What is your name?”
“Paul Panini.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“You’re saying that the world has changed.”
“Very good Paul. The world has changed and now, in order to get the little passionate girl in the bikini, it’s better to be smart than brawny. Using the language helps you to get smarter.” Now Ron could borrow from some other openings that he’d used when he taught all girls. His class was grinning and interested. He had them. They had been easy.
Ron circled back to his book bag. “Literature book,” he held it up for them to see. “Vocabulary book,” he held up the thin, narrow paperback. “You are to have a notebook with you each and every day. I’ll tell you when we will be using the grammar books.” Ron paused and stared at them. “I would like to have to use the grammar books as little as possible, but that will depend on your essays. I’ll want a writing sample as soon as possible and so for tonight you will begin with this.
Ron read a poem that he’d found in a book of Native American Poetry. It was called, We The First People. Then he passed out a copy to each of them.
“I know that not all of you have your books yet, so we will start with them at the next class. For now, I would like a short five paragraph essay on your responses to this poem. That’s right guys, you are to write it tonight.”