Rex Zero, King of Nothing Page 8

  “Brian is the new manager of precious jewels,” says Cassie.

  “Like diamonds?” says Letitia.

  “Yes, diamonds,” says Mr. Odsburg. “Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires.”

  “Lovely,” says Mum. “When I was young we had a cat named Opal.”

  “Mother,” says Cassie. “Opals are only semi-precious.”

  “Well, she wasn’t a very nice cat.”

  “Is that the one I ran over?” asks Dad.

  Mum stops serving the lamb roast for a moment and then smiles.

  “Why, yes. I think it was. In the Austin?”

  Dad nods.

  “Now that, my man, was a real car.”

  Mr. Odsburg has a piece of potato almost to his mouth but he’s forced to put it down in order to reply.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve heard good things about the Austin. They’re difficult to buy here.”

  “More’s the pity,” says Dad.

  “Brian has a Nash,” says Cassie.

  “Have you tried Calmitol?” asks Mum. “It will take away the itch.”

  “A Nash, Mother. Not a rash.”

  “A 1952 Nash Rambler Country Club two-door hard-top,” says Mr. Odsburg.

  “I don’t believe it!” says Annie Oakley, bringing her fists down on the table.

  “It’s true,” says Cassie. “It’s black, with a red interior.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” says Annie. “Didn’t anybody hear what Daddy said? He said he drove over a cat.” She glares at Mum. “When I shot the neighbour’s cat, you took away my bow and arrow for two weeks.”

  “Yes, dear,” says Mum. “But your father didn’t mean to run over Opal and you did mean to shoot the neigbour’s cat.”

  “I didn’t hurt it,” says Annie. “Those arrows are rubbish.”

  The Sausage has been playing airplane with his string beans, but now he looks up fearfully.

  “Annie wants to shoot an apple off my head.”

  “Like William Tell!” says Letitia. Then she leans forward to get Mr. Odsburg’s attention. Her heart-shaped locket ends up in her beans but she doesn’t notice. “I can play the William Tell Overture on my cheeks. Would you like to hear?”

  She immediately starts pitter-patting on her cheeks with her fingers and the theme from The Lone Ranger comes galloping out of her mouth.

  “Na na na, na na na, na na na, na, na!”

  “No singing at the table,” says Mum. “And, Annie, you are not to shoot anything off Rupert’s head.”

  “Who’s Rupert?” asks Flora Bella.

  “Your little brother,” says Cassie. “The Sausage.”

  “Oh, right!”

  “Really, this family...”

  “Mr. Odsburg!” says Mum in such a startled way that we all look at her and then at him. “You have no meat.”

  “Uh, well...”

  “Brian is a vegetarian,” says Cassie. “We are vegetarians.”

  Sure enough, Cassie’s plate is meatless. But it’s the first I’ve heard of it. She sure ate her share of bacon at breakfast last Sunday.

  Flora Bella leans close to me and whispers in my ear.

  “What’s a vegetarian?”

  “Someone from Vegetaria.”

  “Can I get you some marmite and toast?” says Mum.

  “No thanks.”

  “An egg?”

  “Really, it’s not a problem.”

  “How about some cheese?” She is already wiping her mouth with her napkin and getting to her feet. “I have some lovely Stilton.”

  “No, no!” cries Mr. Odsburg. “Please. Everything is just hunky dory. Don’t disturb yourself. I’m a light eater.”

  Flora Bella suddenly starts choking and Annie hits her so hard on the back, Flora Bella’s barrette flies off into the gravy boat. Even Mr. Odsburg finds that funny.

  “Children, children,” says Dad. “Kindly contain your hilarity with a modicum of restraint.”

  When he says that we always laugh more. I’m glad to see him in a better mood. Then Flora Bella fishes out her barrette and puts it right back on her head so the gravy drips down her face. She is the queen of gravy!

  Before anyone can stop her, she excuses herself from the table and runs from the room. She’s back in a minute with a lightbulb, which she hands to Mr. Odsburg.

  “Eat it,” she says.

  “Pardon me?”

  Flora Bella puts one hand on her hip and looks at me with a can-you-believe-it expression.

  “You said you were a light eater,” I explain.

  “Oh,” he says weakly. “Another joke.” He looks overcome.

  Cassiopeia folds her hands quietly in her lap. She bows her head.

  “You see what I have to live with?” she says, but not in a theatrical way. She can be very theatrical, but this is more like a hopeless prayer.

  Mr. Odsburg solemnly takes her hand. She manages a little smile just for him. I’m sitting right across the table and I watch them – study them like a science project.

  While all around me plates are collected and the sherry trifle is brought out and Letitia sings something from The Music Man and the Sausage complains because Annie is washing his face and hands too roughly with a face cloth and Dad is cleaning out his pipe and beginning to look sad and far away again, I watch my oldest sister and her boyfriend who used to work in china but has been promoted to precious jewels. And I realize something I’ve never actually realized before.

  One day – one day soon – she’s going to leave us.

  14

  The Woman in Black

  I GO OUT FOR A WALK in the not quite winter night. There’s so much going on, no one will notice I’m missing as long as I’m back by bedtime. I need to clear my head. I need to think.

  I pause by the mailbox at the corner of Clemow and Bank with the letter to Miss Garr in my hand. I stand there so long I start to shiver. I should probably have checked it over one more time. But even if I found a mistake, I wouldn’t want to type it again so what’s the point. I’m not sure I want to send it but I kind of have to now. I promised Kathy.

  I hesitate one long, last time.

  Then I quickly push it through the letter hole and walk away. There! I shove my hands in my pockets and bury my chin in my scarf.

  Dr. Love, out for a midnight stroll.

  I take a deep breath and the frosty air tickles the back of my throat. I wish there was a channel straight from my mouth to my brain so that the wind could get in there and blow away all the extra thoughts I seem to be having lately. My brain feels like my bedroom. A lot of things are on shelves or in boxes or cupboards or hanging up in the closet or in the drawers under my bed. I know where to find them. But there is this other stuff – comics, football cards, dirty laundry, schoolwork, the busted horn from my bike – lying around, so thick I feel as if it’s going to trip me up. I don’t even recognize some of it. I feel the same way about my brain. Who’s been piling things up there? Heck, I don’t need the wind – I need a shovel!

  Will my sister marry Mr. Odsburg? It seems impossible and yet...

  Could Dr. Arnold fall in love with Miss Garr?

  Does Mein Liebchen really mean My Darling?

  I end up turning on to Quigley Street. I’m not sure why. I hardly know why I do anything these days. I hope I don’t have some tragic mental disease.

  As I make my way through the puddles of streetlight towards the dead end, I’m not sure what I’m hoping for. Maybe I’ll get to number twenty-nine and Natasha will be standing at the front door looking out at the night just like before.

  This time I won’t hide. I’ll walk right up to her.

  “Who are you?” she’ll ask.

  “People call me Rex Zero.”

  Then I’ll hand her the little black book.

  She’ll gasp. “I’ve been looking everywhere for this,” she’ll say. “Thank you so much, Rex Zero. Here’s a dollar.”

  I shake this thought from my head like a wet dog shaking off wate
r. I don’t want money! And she wouldn’t say she’s been looking everywhere for the book because it isn’t hers. Whoever the book belongs to wrote her name down wrong – Nate instead of Natasha.

  As I get nearer to twenty-nine, I notice a truck parked out front. It’s a big truck with a chrome bulldog on the top of the grille. The engine is rumbling. The headlights are on. The light dazzles my eyes, but squinting through it, I can see a brown suitcase sitting on the edge of the front porch.

  She’s leaving!

  But no. The front door opens and a man steps out on to the porch, still putting on his coat. Then right behind him steps Natasha Lavender.

  I stop behind a telephone pole. She’s not in white tonight. She’s in black. Black high heels, black tight skirt and a black turtleneck sweater. Her blonde hair is piled up on top of her head, held in place by a black comb.

  I pick my way through the shadows to the driveway of twenty-seven Quigley, which runs right beside number twenty-nine. There’s a hedge separating the two properties and from behind it I can see them standing in profile under the porch light. He’s an inch shorter than her, but stocky, strong. He’s searching through the pockets in his plaid winter jacket for something. His lighter.

  He pulls out his cigarettes and lights up. He’s not looking at her. He’s looking out at the truck.

  “Drive safe,” she says.

  “Why, how thoughtful of you,” he says. I recognize his voice. It’s Mr. Nasty, all right. “I’ll phone,” he says. “Soon as I get to Petawawa. And when I hit North Bay, too. And then Sudbury and the Soo. And you’d better be in, you hear?”

  She looks tired. “Larry, we’ve been through this...”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and picks up his suitcase. He’s still not looking at her, still not moving.

  “Watch your step, Tasha,” he says. “You hear what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, Larry. The whole street can hear you.”

  “That’s enough of your lip!” he says. Then he chuckles. “You got enough trouble with your lip without you should be exercising it all the time.”

  I can’t believe he said that.

  She opens her mouth to say something but changes her mind. She wraps her arms around herself and bows her head. Larry’s fist tightens on the suitcase.

  “It’s going to get better,” she says.

  “What? Your face?”

  “Larry, please...”

  “Oh, right!” he crows. “Now I know what you mean. I’m back in the saddle. Got a job. Yippee-aie-oh-ky-aye! A two-week stint hauling hand warmers to Winnipeg. Hand warmers, for the love of Pete!”

  “It’s a start. And I don’t mind us living on my salary...”

  She covers her mouth. It was the wrong thing to say. He turns very slowly to look at her.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” he says. Then he starts down the steps, shaking his head the whole way and muttering to himself.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?” she says.

  He stops at the bottom of the stairs and finally he turns to look up at her. He takes another long drag on his cigarette, then blows out the smoke.

  “Why bother,” he says. “It’s like you forgot how.”

  “Larry, I’m sorry...”

  “Ah, can it, Tash. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ You should hear yourself.” He jumps up on the running board, opens the passenger-side door and shoves his suitcase into the cab of the truck. He shuts the door, takes one last drag on his cigarette and flicks it away. Then jumps back down to the street.

  “You do some thinking while I’m gone.”

  She nods.

  He seems to have something stuck on his lip – a piece of tobacco maybe. He worries at it with his tongue and then spits.

  “Good,” he says. But the way he says it isn’t good. He walks around the front of the truck. I press myself into the hedge. If he looks this way he’ll see me but he’s got other things on his mind.

  “Take care,” she says.

  He doesn’t answer, just climbs up into the cab of his truck and closes the door behind him. Then he puts the truck in gear and pulls away from the curb. I watch it rumble down the street, stop, and turn left on to Fifth.

  By the time I round the bushes to her pathway, Natasha is already closing the front door. I pause for just one second on the bottom step and then scramble up.

  She turns and looks out at me, curious. She knows everyone in the building, I guess, and I’m not one of them. My heart is beating hard as I step up to the door. Then I go cold all over.

  Her eye.

  Her right eye is black and blue. She lifts her hand to her cheek. She opens the door to her apartment, then turns to see if I’m still there. I open the front door.

  “What is it?” she says.

  “Natasha?”

  “Yes? Who are you?”

  I don’t answer. I pull the little black book from my pocket and hand it to her. She looks confused. Then she opens it.

  “What is this?”

  “I found it.”

  Her forehead creases. She flips through the pages. Then her eyes light up. She’s in the L section. She closes the book. Holds it to her chest. She looks at me again.

  “Your eye,” I say.

  “It’s nothing,” she says. “Walked into something...the corner of a cupboard. Where did you get this?”

  “I found it. I’m sorry. I phoned, but...”

  “A week ago,” she says. I nod. I rub my hands on my pant legs. Her face clouds over. “And today?” she says. “Did you call today?”

  I don’t exactly nod but she knows I did. The muscles in her face tense up. There is rage in her eyes. I step backward, afraid that she’s going to slug me or yell or something, although I can’t believe she would. Then her expression changes and she looks...I’m not sure what. Doomed?

  “I’m really sorry.”

  She rolls her upper lip inside her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut. It looks as if she’s going to cry, but to my surprise she laughs, and then covers her mouth with her hand.

  “I phoned today because I wanted to tell you about the address book,” I say. “Then when a man answered, I got all confused.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  “He got really steamed.”

  She nodded. “He does that.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Lavender.”

  “Mrs. Lavender,” she corrects me. Then she looks away and laughs again, but not because anything is funny. “Mrs. Lavender,” she says again.

  She wipes her eye, the one that isn’t black and blue. Then she looks at me. I guess I’m shaking, because she suddenly looks worried.

  “You’d better step inside,” she says.

  I do and she reaches around me to close the front door.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Rex. Rex Zero.”

  Her brow puckers, then she sighs. She’s thinking – I don’t know what – and I hold my breath so I won’t disturb her. I could probably hold my breath for twenty minutes right now! She is just as beautiful in black as she was in white.

  She taps the book gently against her leg. Then, as if she has suddenly remembered that I am there, she smiles at me. It’s a wobbly smile – a smile with trainer wheels. She holds up the book.

  “I’ll make sure this gets back to its owner,” she says.

  I breathe again. “Thanks.”

  She opens the door to 2B and waves goodbye.

  “Well, thanks, Rex.”

  “Watch where you walk,” I say.

  15

  A Man’s Got to Do

  WHEN I GET HOME things seem to have settled down. I stand in the vestibule listening to the warmth. There is still the smell of roast meat in the air. The dishwasher is on in the kitchen, the heat clangs in the radiators. I can hear the television in the TV room upstairs, the faint sound of a radio from behind the door of one of my sisters’ rooms.

  I’m just about to go up when I go c
old all over.

  The rough draft of my letter to Miss Garr! I don’t remember what I did with it.

  Without knocking I open the door to my father’s study. He’s standing on a footstool reaching up to replace a book on the highest shelf. He turns awkwardly and sees me. He looks red in the face. He’s a big man, a bit over-weight, and it’s a long way up.

  “Oh, sorry,” I say.

  “That’s all right, chum,” says Dad. He quickly stuffs the book in among the others. It’s a very old-looking book, thick and red with gold decorations on the spine. The whole shelf is stacked with old books. Ancient history, I guess. Dad loves history.

  He dusts off his hands and steps down off the foot-stool. “What can I do for you?”

  I cross the room, glancing at the desktop. The Dr. Love letter isn’t there. Either he’s got it or I took it to my room. Now that I’m here I’m pretty sure I took it to my room. I figure I’ll find out pretty soon.

  “Looking for something?”

  “Uh, some homework.”

  “Ah, yes. The redoubtable Miss Fish. How is that going?”

  Strange he should mention my teacher. I can’t tell from his face if he saw the letter or not. But he doesn’t look like he’s going to give me a talking to. He just looks a little flustered.

  “She’s pretty terrible,” I say. “But maybe things will get better.”

  “Well, let’s hope,” he says.

  “I was typing,” I say. “Something for school?”

  I glance at him nervously.

  “Well, I didn’t find anything,” he says.

  I turn to go and then I remember something else. Life has gotten so complicated, I forgot all about my list of mysteries to solve.

  “What is it, son?”

  “Mum says you have something to tell me.”

  His brow puckers.

  “Hmmm,” he says. “Really? What kind of something?”

  I shrug.

  “I think I already mentioned the robotic gyropter I’m building in the garage?”

  “Dad.”

  “Was it my upcoming trip to Brazil to capture the wild marangue-utan?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a distant cousin of the orangutan, only tastier.”

  I roll my eyes. “Something real, Dad.”

  “Ah, well, why didn’t you say?”