“When’s payday?”
Kraft grinned, “Every other week.” He handed Stump a legal pad. “Use this to keep track of your hours. You know anything about painting?”
“A little.” Truth was, all he’d ever done along those lines was remove some graffiti when he got caught stealing liquor. Oh, well. He’d just fake it.
A half-hour later, Stump had a new tarp under a section of wrought iron fence encircling the pool. He dunked his three-inch brush deep into the can so it could absorb as much paint as possible; then, he quickly flung the drenched brush to the top of one of the bars and essentially slapped the drooling paint on the bars as it raced to the bottom, ending up with more polka dots on the tarp than a leopard’s hide.
He dipped again and again, slopping just as much paint on the tarp as the bars. Then, just when he was making some decent progress, “That’s a weird way to paint,” a female voice said from behind him. He pivoted his head to see a Hispanic girl, about his age.
“You scared the heck out of me,” he said.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
He wiped his hands on his pants. Looked closer. She was sorta cute. Dark hair, honey-colored skin, lady-parts big enough to need a bra.
She pointed toward the corner of the parking lot. “You have a funny-looking bicycle.”
Who the hell does she think she is? He would have liked to tell her off but he’d said worse things about Ol’ Ug’. “Better than walking.”
She pointed to building three. “I just put our last load of clothes in the dryer. I thought I’d say hi while I wait.”
“I can’t talk now. I’m supposed to get this fence painted.”
She rested a hand on her hip. “If you’d slow down a little, you’d get more paint on the rails and less on your clothes and everything else.”
What the hell did she mean by that? Then he felt it. His belly was wet and sticky. There was a shiny black spot about the size of a basketball covering the front of his shirt. Most of the rest of him had accumulated a collection of shiny blobs and splatters too. “You think you could do better?”
“At least I know you don’t hold a paintbrush like a hammer. You got a smaller one?”
Stump clucked his tongue and pointed to the box he’d placed across the sidewalk on the grassy area. “Yeah, the wimpy, girly ones are over there.”
She crossed over and glanced in the box. “Your brush should only be a little bigger than the bars.” She pulled out a one-incher. “Like this one.”
Stump nearly laughed in her face. He didn’t need no stinking girl telling him how to paint. His way was good enough. The paint was getting onto the bars. That’s the important thing. He looked at his shirt again and his spotted legs and his shoes and the hundreds of paint droplets he’d left on Mr. Kraft’s new tarp. Dammit. Just as before, when she said his bike was funny looking, she was right. He’d made a mess of it all.
“If you use a lighter one like this,” she continued while approaching one of the bars, “you can hold it in the tips of your fingers, more like a pencil. Then only dip the lower third of the bristles into the paint.”
Stump raised his hand to examine the black brush-of-death he’d been dipping all the way to the top of the bristles. He recalled the excess paint that swooshed over his hand like a shiny black waterfall when he held the paint-filled brush with the bristles facing up and hurried the brush down the bars. “I like to go faster, so I put more paint on my brush.”
She grinned. “And everywhere else. Here, let me show you.” She knelt down and dabbed a modest amount of paint on the bottom of one of the bars. “After you’ve got it started, you add new paint to the dry area just above the wet paint and drag it toward the wet area that you already painted. Always go from dry to wet. That way you cut down on brush strokes, get an even distribution, and it dries properly.” She looked up.
He had to admit she knew more about it than he did. “I guess your way is almost as good.”
“No mess either.”
Wow. She didn’t even need a tarp. He smiled. “My name’s Stump.”
“Stump? Is that your real name?”
Was she going to criticize that too? “No. It’s Neal if you must know.”
She tilted her head toward her shoulder, “Well, I like Stump better. It’s original. My name’s Maria.”
Flirting! She was actually flirting. Just when Stump looked his absolute worst a rad girl came out of nowhere and went out of her way to put some moves on him. He already hoped he’d have another chance to see her when he didn’t look so ridiculous.
Before he could think of what to say he heard sandals flapping towards them. He turned to see Dixon Browne march right into their space and glance at Stump’s clothes and the tarp. “You call that painting?” he said. “It’s a good thing you don’t work for me ’cause I’d fire your ass and give this job to somebody who knows what they’re doing, not some spoiled rich kid.”
“I gotta go,” Maria said as she set down her brush on Stump’s paint can.
“Good idea,” Dixon said. He turned back toward Stump then aimed his jaw toward the bike rack. “That your bike with the handcuffs on it?”
Maria stood behind Dixon’s back, facing Stump. She opened and closed her mouth like a ventriloquist’s dummy, mocking Dixon’s loose-fitting false teeth. Stump damn near laughed out loud. “My dad said I could use them to lock the bike up.”
“That’s a laugh. Who’d want to steal that pile of rust?” Dixon spit some goo onto the grass. ”The way I see it, you’re the one who’s a thief for taking a job that somebody else needs.”
Dixon was clearly trying to provoke Stump, but Stump couldn’t risk losing thirty bucks per hour. He ignored the bait.
“Don’t you know there are people around here who could have used that money to feed their families?”
“Well, I need money too.”
“Oh, yeah. Did your rich daddy refuse to buy you some Gummy Bears?”
One good uppercut would airmail those teeth of his back to wherever they come from, but he said, “I need money to buy a car.”
“Yeah. Good luck with that. How much the old man paying you anyway?”
Stump picked up the brush Maria had placed on the paint can and dipped it into the paint as Maria suggested. “That’s personal.”
“Whatever it is, it would have made a huge difference to a workingman trying to pay his rent and feed his babies. Now he won’t have that chance. How’s that make you feel?”
Stump shifted his weight. For the third time in fifteen minutes somebody else’s version of the truth made him uncomfortable. Dixon was right. Considering the deal Stump had cut with Myles, he was making way more than a family man would get to do the same job. On top of that, he had several million bucks stashed away in the Milky Way Trust. For the first time in his life, Stump felt guilty for having too much money, especially compared to people who had kids to feed. On the other hand, he only had a quarter in his pocket. “I’m sorry for those people, but I need this job too.”
Dixon scoffed. “This ain’t no place for children.” He pointed to Stump’s shirt. “The old man deserves what he gets for hiring a pig.”
As Dixon walked away, Stump looked toward building three. Maria was standing behind one of the lower windows. She waved. Stump grinned and delicately dipped the smaller paintbrush in the can. He held it up to show her it wasn’t dripping and mouthed the words thank you.
Chapter Fifteen
The next couple of days Stump painted more and more of the wrought iron fence and chatted with Maria whenever she swung by, but he was fed up with Dixon Browne’s snide comments.
Then, on Wednesday, Maria must have watched for him to finish his work for the day because she was waiting on one of the picnic tables near the pool when he checked out. ”Well. I see you didn’t get as much paint on that T-shirt as you did on the one you wore the other day.”
Happy to see her, he wondered why women paid so much atten
tion to other people’s clothes. “I had a good teacher,” he said as he sat across from her.
“By now, you’re probably planning on becoming a professional painter.”
“I haven’t really thought about a career all that much, but I’m pretty good with puzzles.”
“Puzzles? Like what?”
“License plates and phone numbers. When I look at either one, I can convert the numbers to letters and see hidden words.”
“What good is that?”
He snickered. “One time it helped me catch two killers, that’s all.”
Maria smirked and put her hand to her chin. “You know something? I think you’re just making that up to impress me. You’re hoping I’ll let you kiss me.”
“Wrong.”
“So, you don’t want to kiss me?”
“What? No. Wait. I didn’t mean that. Of course I want to do what you said, but I was talking about the murders. You can look it up or talk to my dad or even Mr. Kraft. They all know about it. I saw some bad guys dump a big crate in a dumpster and remembered their license plate. It was Oreo cookies.”
“That’s silly. What did cookies have to do with anything?”
“Easy. Silly things are easier to remember. Sometimes I change numbers into letters and see words that are easier to remember than the numbers.”
She was staring at him as if he were one of those wacky nerds on The Big Bang Theory. “Honest,” he said. “I really did memorize their license plate and told the cops. They used my tip to arrest a lady who was in on four murders altogether.” Now that he thought about it, it sounded sorta unbelievable to him, too. “You have to believe me. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
Maria gazed at him. “I guess that is pretty good. You’re smart. You should go to college.”
Whew. She believed him. “Is that what you’re going to do—go to college?”
“I think so,” she said, tilting her head from side to side. “Mama says it’s okay, but we don’t have no money.”
“Well, there are community colleges and grants and scholarships.”
“I was thinking about becoming a community organizer, like the President, only I don’t really know what they do. I’d just like to help people.”
“I don’t know if you have to go to college for that. What about your dad? Can he help?”
“I never got to meet him. Mama said he died fighting drug lords in Mexico just before I was born.”
“Wow. A real hero. That must make you proud.”
“Sure it does. What about your papa?”
“That’s something you and I have in common. I never met my dad either. Mom said I was an accident. You know a mistake that some women make. She didn’t know much about him and never really wanted to find out. She said it would just complicate things. Finally, she met Myles. After she died he adopted me.”
“I like people who are nice to children.”
Children? Is that what she thought of him? “I wasn’t no child. I was already thirteen, and I’m sixteen now and getting a car real soon.”
Maria straightened up “You are? That’s rad. When can we go for a ride?”
“As soon as I save up the money.”
Her head lowered slightly. “Oh.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am. You said you’re getting a car real soon, but you’re not. You have to work first. Save up the money. That’s going to take a long time. You know something? I think this is just another one of your made-up stories to impress me so I’ll let you kiss me.”
“No it’s not. I promise. I’m working to get something that will just get me by for a while but after that I’ll have a really, really, really cool car, and lots of money.”
If her rolled eyes had gone any higher they might have spun into orbit.
“I mean it,” he said. “I own the Milky Way Trust.”
She shook her head mockingly, “What’s that?”
Time to really impress her. “Just millions of dollars. That’s what.” Her eyes flashed over his shoulder, indicating she hadn’t even heard about his mysterious fortune.
“I hate that guy,” she said.
“What guy?” Stump turned to see Dixon Browne across the courtyard. “Oh. I get it. I don’t like him either.”
“Really? We’re a lot alike. I think I’ll make you my crushboy.”
“Crushboy? You’re not going to try to crush me are you, because I might hurt you.”
“Not that, silly. It’s a term girls use to explain their relationships. First you meet somebody, then you get a crush on him, then you let him kiss you, then he becomes your boyfriend, then you get engaged, then married, then one of you has an affair and then you get divorced.”
Divorced? Jumpin’ Jesus!!! Stump didn’t even know this girl’s last name yet, and already she was planning their divorce.
“Okay. You can kiss me, but make it quick. Mama’s waiting for me.”
Chapter Sixteen
Alone, stump closed the bathroom door and turned on the fan so nobody in the nearby apartments could hear him. He considered turning off the light too just to enhance the mood, but that would be too dark. He slid the stepstool to the front of the vanity and climbed up one step where the middle of the mirror was within easy reach.
He assumed that other people had practiced kissing mirrors too, but even if they didn’t it had to be the kind of skill that girls, especially Maria, would appreciate if their kisses were to escalate beyond the quick peck by the pool. He straightened his shoulders.
From a foot back he focused on his lips, imagining he was kissing Maria as he alternated between relaxing his lips and then pressing them together. Relaxed lips equaled fluffy; pressed together lips looked like he’d just choked down some broccoli. Relaxed was better.
Still back from the mirror, he tilted his head to the side. Then farther. Then back to center. What if he got into some super-serious Frenching? He opened his mouth all the way. If he looked back there far enough it reminded him of a miniature cave with a single stalactite hanging down. What was that thing for anyway? He’d check Google later. Okay, he’d made a decision. If he opened his mouth in mid-kiss, it wouldn’t be all the way.
He stuck out the pointy tip of his tongue, swung it slowly from side to side like a horizontal dimmer switch. Not that much, dummy, she’d never have her tongue way over there. He crept it forward a little and rolled the edges upwards. Couldn’t imagine why Maria might like that—unless she rolled her tongue too. Did girls do that? Why was he salivating? He grinned.
Just how far could he stick his tongue out there anyway? He inched it out a bit, then a little more until his stalactite thing hurt. He stretched his tongue upwards, tried to touch it to his nose—then back toward his toes. Touch it to my nose, then touch it to my toes. Cute rhyme, but he had more erotic things to think about.
Ready for some genuine practice, Stump leaned forward and touched his lips and nose to the mirror. He couldn’t avoid seeing his eyes. Movie stars usually closed theirs, but wouldn’t they want to see what was going on? He compromised, closed one eye and watched his head tilt from side to side. As his lips puckered and his head swirled in perfect sync with the matching head in the mirror, he moaned. MMMMMM!!! Not that loud, dummy. It sounds like you hurt yourself. Mmm. Yeah, like that.
With one eye open and lip-locked with his mirror buddy, he looked down his cheek to the tongue in the mirror. It reached for his own and they touched for a second before they spun around like ice-skaters. The guy in the mirror needed a breath mint. He smiled and made unintended eye contact with the slobbery-faced, one-eyed gay partner who was licking his own tongue. He giggled and accidentally drooled down his chin, causing him to laugh and pull back.
Conclusion: Frenching was sorta gross, but aside from the fact that he felt like a wet-faced fool, there was a certain comfort in knowing a few things not to do should he find himself in a round of saliva-trading with Maria; like, don’t open one eye. If she happened to be doing the
same thing, he’d probably laugh so hard something would squirt out his nose.
Finished, he used a bath towel to wipe down the mirror, then flicked the switch and swung the door open just as he heard a key in the front door. The knob turned. Oh shit, Myles was back.
Myles stepped in and glanced at the footstool “What’s going on?”
Hmm. Stump couldn’t admit to slurping mirror syrup. “Just finished changing a light bulb. How’s Grandma Pauline?” he asked, smoothly changing the subject.
“Not good. I think she’s going to have to move.”
“I hope you don’t mean to an old people’s home.”
“Well, sometimes she needs company and my sister can’t take her.”
“Then bring her here. She can live with us.”
“You don’t know what that means,” Myles said while wheeling his suitcase to his room. “There’s daily supervision, bathing schedules, a special diet. You and I aren’t exactly health bugs, you know. Then there’s all her pills—somebody has to take her to the doctor.”
“Don’t matter. I know how bad you’re gonna feel when your mom is gone. You’ll miss her more than you think. I’d love to supervise my mom now, or help her with a diet or any of those other things you mentioned. When your mom goes away, you’ll be thinking the same thing. I say we should welcome her, even if that means we have to move again and get me a car to drive her around.”
Myles raised a finger. “You had me going there for a while.”
“Okay, I admit I was just throwing that last part in to test the waters, but I meant the rest of it. We could get one of those assistants you told me about.”
Myles put his hand on Stump’s shoulder. “You know something, Stumpster? You may only be 16, but sometimes you’re pretty darn wise. Thank you for saying all of that. In fact, you’ve made me feel better. I’ll look into this a little more.”
“She can have my room if she needs it.”