Chapter 5
Clark, smiling at his good fortune, held the door open for two exceptionally attractive young women and followed them into the coffee shop. From his vantage point, the décolletage of both women was clearly in evidence. ‘Someday, I must broaden my horizons’, he thought to himself. His play on words amused him.
He spied Keith waiting in one of the lines to order and sauntered over to join him. “Been waiting long?” he queried. Since the two had given each other long-time-no-see bear hugs the night before, upon Keith’s return home from Tuscaloosa, Clark simply stuck his mitt out for the ritual handshake.
“Just got here myself. I ran a couple of errands this morning since I’m still operating on Central Time,” Keith answered in his usual go-with-the-flow demeanor.
No one would have guessed that the two men were brothers. They were born at opposite ends of the gene pool. Clark, a blonde, was, by his own self-description, five feet twenty-two inches tall. He had had to duck coming in the coffee shop door. His height and his Scandinavian locks frequently triggered second looks by the gals just as had happened moments ago. Clark relished the attention, but was quick to downplay its importance to his mental well being. He had an engaging personality and an unusually cheerful disposition. The Nordic fold in his eyes, however, gave him the ability to project a more serious, even stern, attitude when he found it to be to his advantage. Clark was of the ‘que será, será’ school. The demands of secondary academia had been woefully inadequate to motivate Clark, but his innate brainpower was now enabling him to stay ahead of the game in the local mechanical engineering offering at UNM. He referred to it as University Near Mom. Clark had been quite active in Marine Corps ROTC in high school and, upon his own volition, attended a summertime boot camp normally attended by juvenile delinquents. He had held his own admirably vis-a-vis the other attendees. He also stayed with the Boy Scouts program throughout high school and attained all the ranks including Eagle Scout virtually unaided by other members of his family. He was very proud of that accomplishment in that only 2 percent of Tenderfoot Scouts make it all the way to Eagle. As a consequence of his tenacity, he was already an avid hunter and camper. His deportment generally reflected quite strongly his commitment to the 12 laws that define a Scout. Most fortunately, the collegiate mechanical engineering curriculum was apparently finally firing his previously lacking enthusiasm for academic achievement. But notwithstanding all these established and developing virtues, Clark still had a taste for mischief. A spirit inside him rebelled when told he couldn’t do something. He was his own man.
His brother was three years his senior and obviously farther along on the maturation spectrum. Keith had finished his schooling and had embarked more or less on his career. He too was tall, but a more commonplace, these days anyway, six feet two. Keith was heavy set revealing a dedicated desire to satisfy his appetite over the somewhat demanding past few years. He had dark hair and a darker complexion and, while he too had the Nordic fold, the potential austere look was hidden behind thick-rimmed glasses. Keith was a nerd and proud of it. The rigors of academic competition suited him to a T. In the space of four years, he had attained a bachelor degree in computer science and a master degree in computer engineering – both from the University of Alabama on scholarships and both with honors. Keith too would be a high scorer when evaluated on the Boy Scout laws, but his high school pursuits were mostly academically oriented. He gloried in helping others perceive some difficult mathematical concept or resolve some esoteric computer glitch. Like his younger brother, he also relishes a caper, but with the motivation being ‘for its own sake’. Keith’s personal life’s philosophy might be best summarized as – ‘sufficient unto the day is the fullness thereof’.
Interests in common are few. Neither cares much for spectator sports. Each now mostly enjoys pool and tennis, after having dabbled in soccer, golf, swimming, football, shot put, and discus in their formative years. Both now seem passionate for board games and card games and have shown a strong interest in appreciating the finer points of bridge – highly unusual for someone in their age group. Typical for their age group, however, they also enjoy computer games in their solitude to such an extent that mesmerization frequently ruins what might otherwise have been a full night’s rest.
Each ordered and paid for his own. The big screen TV was reporting the recovery of a stolen Grant Wood painting called American Gothic, as important to national art lovers as Whistler’s Mother or a portrait of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart. Several smaller TVs blared with play-by-play reporting of a professional soccer game going on somewhere. Preferring to snub all of that interruption to their conversation, the two of them went outside and meandered to the far end of the patio where the only available tables were half in the sun. Putting their trays down, they started to arrange themselves to take advantage of what shade there was.
“I don’t understand why you do that,” said Keith.
“Do what?” answered his still smiling brother.
“Order a cafe au lait and ask them to leave room for cream,” said the disapproving Keith.
“ I love to see the looks on their faces when they realize I’m being sarcastic,” Clark said delightedly.
Keith grunted in response to Clark while simultaneously struggling with a chair that rocked on the unevenness of the patio. Swiping a shim from under a chair at the unoccupied table next to them, he solved his problem and gratefully ensconced himself in the shade once again. He carefully spread a napkin across his knees and picked up the front page of the daily paper that had been left on their recently vacated table. “Are you ready for today’s headline?” Without waiting for a response, Keith paraphrased the lead article,“UNM professor named in student rape.” Keith tittered, “What kind of school is that that you go to?”
“What are you talking about? It’s no different at UA,” said Clark, who continued in the pontificating manner that he liked to use in addressing his brother. “We are all animals with most of us trying to pretend that we’re not. There’s an alleged rape every day in every city of the world. They say the sexual drive is second only to staying alive; it’s all a reaction to a natural desire to procreate. Grampa told me that his grandmother told him in his adolescent years to mind his manners because ‘a stiff dick has no conscience’. I suspect there might be a lot of truth in that, but then I wouldn’t know.” Clark basked in the audacity of his statement.
Keith looked quizzically over the paper at Clark, frowned, and lowered his voice with his response. “Well! I haven’t heard that one and I frankly don’t believe that his grandmother told him that,” said Keith. “But it fits with the other pithy sayings he attributes to his grandmother. Mother told me that he was four years old when his last grandparent died.”
Both brothers spent a fair amount of time at their mother’s parents’ house in their youth. Since their own parents’ divorce some four years ago, their father moved to the west coast, Keith went off to ’Bama, and Clark stayed with his mother in Albuquerque. Keith had returned on several school breaks, of course, but now that he was temporarily here at least, the three of them once again were about to become grandma and grampa’s frequent guests for dinner and games. The grandfather reference reminded Keith...
“Speaking of grampa, mother told me this morning that we’re having dinner there this evening. I have missed the family hoots and hollers this past year especially. I am even looking forward to hearing that grampa-quoting-his-grandmother ditty that goes ‘winning merely signifies the end of the game’. Does he still say that every time he loses at any family contest?”
Clark quickly chimed in, “And you’ll also hear ‘the world is full of starters’. I hear that every time I play pool with him if he falls behind in a best four out of seven.”
Keith nodded as he took another bite out of his Napoleon, “I think he has one for every occasion. When he misses a shot, it tickles me when he says ‘one thing I absolutely will not tolerate is incompe
tence - especially in others’ or, if he makes a particularly difficult shot, it’s ‘as my grandmother used to say, effort is no substitute for ability’. The latter is my all time favorite. I must admit the veracity of his quips is undeniable.”
“Yes, his repertoire by and large is little changed. His latest though is to tell me ‘watch and learn’, but I notice it’s always after he makes a shot, not before,” responded Clark. “But, fortunately for me, he can’t really attribute that to his grandmother.”
“Anyway, I’m looking forward to reclaiming my championship at the pool table,” boasted Keith as he reached to lay the newspaper on the adjacent empty table.
“We’ll see! You may have to bribe me to get the job done,” retorted Clark.
Both men had big grins as they moved their attention to finishing the coffees that had now cooled to something less than a serving from McDonalds. They both dearly loved their pool matches with their grampa. As kids they were ceded ‘ball in hand’ on every turn. Nowadays, they generally had the better eye and the steadier hand. In the past several years, in fact, grampa had been permitted to invoke ‘the old man’s rule’ to correct certain unintentional ball movements or to take a mulligan on the occasional terrible miscue when breaking the rack. Nonetheless, any one of the three could plan ahead for shape and be fully capable of ‘running the table’ when the situation presented itself.
The patio was crowded with patrons of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Keith and Clark always enjoyed being here for that very reason. It highlighted the multi-cultural aspects of Albuquerque. There aren’t that many cities where one might expect to see a Black, a Native American, an Hispanic, and an Anglo all sitting at the same table having a casual cup of coffee. Besides, their own exceptional physical dimensions were less conspicuous in this environment. Although the fair sex was also most notably represented in the clientele, neither Clark nor Keith was yet a practiced Don Juan at this point in their lives. When quizzed, either would say ‘I don’t have the time and I don’t have the money!’ Actually, all the men in the family had been late bloomers.
Both brothers had jobs, but this was a delightful Saturday morning in early June. The skies were a turquoise blue with not a cloud yet to be seen.
The two were situated at their table such that they could see all the coffee shop’s comings and goings. Suddenly, it was obvious to both of them that a very good-looking young woman was heading directly to their table. Clark recognized her immediately as one of the gals he had ‘escorted’ into the shop. They both rose to their feet.
“Excuse me, please, gentlemen!” she said with a smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting and I hope I am not being over-bearing, but, in this life, sometimes it’s nothing ventured, nothing gained.” She turned to Clark and continued, “Your name is Clark, is it not? I saw the name on your helmet as you locked it to your motorcycle.”
Clark stammered a response, “Yes, I’m Clark Watson and, ah, this is my older brother, Keith. Won’t, ah, won’t you please sit down and join us?”
Keith motioned her to sit in his chair as he fetched a replacement from the next table.
“I won’t stay but a moment and, frankly, I feel just a little silly. Perhaps I should explain. My name is Kayla Sullivan and I teach English Lit at Albuquerque Academy. I was here having coffee with a friend who has a friend who is quite tall, Clark, but not as tall as you. She has trouble running into guys who are single. I’m making a mess of all this. Do you ever consider blind dates, Clark? Her name is Jenny Sorenson; she’s going to UNM this summer, living in the dorm, majoring in Nursing, and she loves skiing. Now why did I mention that in the middle of summer?” Handing a previously prepared note to Clark, she concluded, “Here’s her name and cell phone number. Would you be willing to give her a call?” Clark took the note, but was not immediate in his response.
Keith instinctively reached over and touched Kayla’s hand. It was something between a pat and a caress; it had an unsaid ‘there, there’ connotation to it. “I used to attend the Academy and I’ll make sure he calls her. Write your number on this napkin and I’ll give you a report as soon as there is one to be made.” Kayla smiled broadly at Keith and did exactly as he asked. Keith was flabbergasted. Both men stood and shook Kayla’s hand as she took her leave. Keith quickly added ‘Kayla Sullivan’ to the bottom of the napkin and placed it in his wallet. Kayla’s note with Jenny Sorenson’s name and number went into Clark’s wallet at the same time as Keith mumbled something about it being time for everyone to come of age. They both sat again seemingly befuddled and dumbfounded.
Clark at last broke the silence, “Did I tell you about the poster that Uncle Bob gave me?” Keith encouraged him to continue just by raising his eyebrows. “I’ve got it up on my bedroom wall. It’s two turkey vultures sitting together on a dead tree limb apparently talking to each other. The caption is ‘Patience, hell; I’m gonna kill something!’ That got me thinking.” Both brothers were prone to mischief and Keith looked at Clark expectantly.
A rendition of the Marseillaise announced an incoming contact on Keith’s cell phone. “Excuse me a sec,” said Keith as he walked over to a back wall to take the call. He returned rather quickly saying, “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you this evening.”
Clark gave him that hurtful look that he has mastered when things aren’t going the way he wants “Yeah, I’ll be there.” They arose and bussed their dishes as they walked back through the building to exit through the front door. Out front, they said “hasta luego” simultaneously and parted as they had parked on opposite sides of the building.