Breaking into Cars Page 5

  I was almost disappointed. I’d been so ready for rest and relaxation, or at least, some peaceful, non-life-and-death good old fashioned fun for a while. Maybe a good deal of alone time with Brandon? I had a feeling this was going to be another tornado of eventfulness. I hoped she liked dogs. Oh, and please, no more coming of age or life lessons well learned shit, okay?

  She pulled up in front of us. The news van had driven on a short ways and for the moment was ignoring us. Brandon and I crept out of the limo and walked over to the new—thing. I had no idea what it was. Were all old people crazy? Walking beside me, though, Brandon was all excited. “Ooh, what is this? I love this!” Who knew? “I love old cars!”

  The redhead smiled broadly. Broad, I thought. Dame. Just like hussy. “I’m Francine, but you can call me Ducky,” she said. She was thin without looking frail. I wondered just how old she was and just what Elvis saw in her. “Get in. Do you have any baggage, messieurs?”

  All we had was one chewed up backpack with nothing in it I wanted. We really did have nothing. Well, I still had that $50 I had found. I stood there looking at this vehicle that Brandon was in love with. We would have to sit in the rumble seat. Just as we were climbing in, Busted came rushing up with the kitten riding on his back, either holding on for dear life or steering; I couldn’t tell which. He stood up beside the car, and the kitten jumped off into my lap. Busted said, “Woof!” and took off again. I got it. I was babysitter for a kitten.

  It was a bumpy ride. The scenery had been chewed up. You know how they say overacting is called chewing up the scenery? Some giant had chewed up this whole neighborhood. Then when we crossed a street, it was as if a paint brush had stopped right there. One side was all dirty and brown and torn up, and everything across the street was normal, the usual green trees and grass and white houses. There were still branches down and an occasional swing set on its side, bricks at the base of a chimney. We rode in silence. It was even smooth; I don’t know anything about shocks or springs but it was a nice ride, considering how ratty the car actually looked, if it even was a car.

  The kitten was inside my shirt where its little heart was rapidly making me want to fall asleep. I think its purring was the loudest thing going. How could a car this ugly, with its engine exposed because it had no hood, be so quiet?

  Francine, I mean Ducky pulled into a driveway of a three-story house that looked like something out of a Victorian novel, or an Addams family cartoon. It looked decrepit at first glance, but when you stared long enough, you could see that it was in perfect shape. Had she had it deliberately toned down to keep burglars away, like her car? Or was this just her sense of humor. Like the car.

  “Here we are, lads,” she said, as an automatic garage door opened to admit us. She pulled in beside another vehicle. Brandon, closeted car fan, jumped up and down in his seat. “Ooh! Is that a…wait…is that a…what is that?”

  “Check it out, see what you can learn about it,” Francine said, smiling. The kitten and I both yawned. Francine walked over to the door to the house, the outside door came down, the lights came on, the door opened, and she and I walked into her quiet, clean, in one piece, home. “I’ll give you the guided tour, short version,” she said. She took me around the first floor, kitchen, dining room, living room, library…parlor. She pointed to a grand staircase. “My room is the big one in the front. Take any other you want; I recommend the big one across the back. The bed is huge and it has its own bathroom. Used to be my son’s and some of his clothes are still in there. Help yourself to what you need. Then both of you come for lunch. I’ll have the maid get on it right away.”

  “You have a maid?” I asked, in awe.

  “Yes, me.” With that, she walked away laughing. “Oh,” she called back, “Pass me the kitten. I’ll get her fed and find her a litter box.”

  I thought we were done but she hollered back, “Just don’t go to the third floor. It’s haunted.” And with that, she disappeared into the kitchen.

  I forgot everything at the sight that greeted me behind door number three, or whatever it was. The room was large, and sunny with white drapes framing several large windows that looked out over fields and forest behind. There were several trees down and some branches and roof tiles scattered around the back yard. A lawn chair was blown over onto its side.

  The bed was covered in a soft blue quilt, and there were three doors off various walls. The first I opened was to a closet, which had jeans and shirts still hanging in it. They looked about my size. The second opened onto a spacious and modern bathroom complete with toiletries. The third door opened onto a flight of narrow stairs, leading upward. Being stupid, I’d already forgotten what she had said about the third floor, but I was drawn to the huge tub behind door number two, so shut it and forgot about it. I went into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and ran a bath.

  I fell asleep in a bathtub full of bubbles.

  I woke up as the water cooled, and watched some of my band aids float around. Gross! I took off the rest and learned I was beginning to get hair on my belly. Is that normal? My scrapes all looked raw but I didn’t know what to do about them.

  When I dressed in the old fashioned clothes, oddly enough I felt really cool. This style was retro enough to be coming back into fashion anyhow. All I needed was a pack of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of my T-shirt. Then I could challenge my mortal enemy to a chickie run he’d die and I’d get the girl. I laughed at myself as I went downstairs. When I went in the kitchen, Ducky turned, took one look at me, gasped, shrieked, and sat down. I rushed over to her and knelt by her. “Do I look too much like your son? Is he dead?” I asked frantically. “Should I take these off?” Oh, God, what had I done?

  When she got herself together, fanning her face with her equally old fashioned apron, she said, “No, you look like him but not, I mean, that wasn’t it. It was her…I mean…the third floor…you didn’t go up there, did you?”

  I hadn’t. “Well, I opened the door and saw the stairs but then I took a bubble bath.” I sounded sheepish and felt foolish. “Why?”

  Her face belied what she said next. “No, it’s fine, it’s just that the…I mean, I haven’t seen her in a long time.” I wanted to ask who her was but then Brandon burst through the garage door. He was filthy and happy, a huge smile on his face. Even his hair was dirty. “I got it,” he said happily, blowing dust out as he spoke. “It’s not an Excalibur, is it? No, wait, see, I thought so at first but then I looked at…” (there followed a series of terms I did not understand), “and I realized it’s a 1959 Rolls Royce Phantom V Hooper Limousine! Am I right?”

  A huge smile appeared on Ducky’s face. She nodded happily.

  I’d never seen Brandon so excited and happy. Who knew? A car freak. And here I was, stereotypical gay boy, wanting to at least ask him what color the interior was. While they discussed this car in some language I’d never heard of (it sounded like Greek to me, ha-ha), Brandon stood there dripping dirt and soot and cobwebs, happy as a clam. I was thinking I should be upset with him but I couldn’t. I realized that I might just be in love with this person.

  There was a plate of sandwiches on the counter and one small kitten nibbling daintily at the edge of one. I went over and helped her finish it up. It was tuna, duh. I heard Ducky say, “My goodness, you’re filthy. Go upstairs and have a shower. Jack will show you where. And oh Jack dear?” she turned to me. “Make sure that attic door is shut and locked, please.” I put the cat on the floor and thought, oh, okay, attic, stairs, third floor, haunted, her…got it. And oddly enough, it didn’t bother me at all.

  Except for the huge shiver climbing up my back…Oh, then I felt the claws and had to laugh at myself. The stupid kitten didn’t want to be on the floor. It leapt off my back onto the counter again. I picked her off again, and Brandon and I went off to get him cleaned up, his unknown babble of car language trailing behind us.

  Did I take advantage of the big bed and our privacy? Nope. Besides the fact of the kitten standin
g guard at the door to the attic, her fur on end and her tail three times its normal size, there was the whole when-you’re-naked-I-see-girl-things going on. How the hell was I going to have a love affair with the love of my life and future, if I wasn’t attracted sexually to this person? It’s not like I was eighty years old or something when it wouldn’t matter.

  Brandon came bouncing out of the bathroom still completely naked. I looked away. I felt ashamed, but I did. I pointed to the dresser and closet and by the time I had scooped up the kitten, played with the drapes and looked out the window (what the heck, there were tombstones out there! That one field, that wasn’t a field, it was a cemetery!) and turned around, he looked like a mirror reflection of me. Both of us reincarnated as 1950’s James Deans. Okay, I know, ancient, but still old enough to be cool again, so there.

  I thought I had the kitten calmed down again but then Brandon said, “I forgot to thank that lady who brought me in the extra towels. Was that the maid?”

  No one had walked through this room to the bathroom. No one. Now both the kitten and I were getting chicken skin again.

  After more lunch, Brandon and Ducky went into the garage. I don’t know why he’d bothered to get cleaned up; it wasn’t going to last. The kitten and I went wandering around the other first floor rooms. I had zero curiosity about the house, well, that’s a flat out lie. I was dying to know more about the off-limits third floor, but I also didn’t want to stir things up, go by myself, or be a rude guest. Anyhow I found a grand piano in the sunroom, and the kitten and I played duets all afternoon. I always could get lost in music, but thought I’d never get to play again when I’d left home.

  Of course when Ducky handed me some really old hand-written sheet music and asked me to play it, I did. And when I finished and looked around, there was only a pale white shadow against the couch, and then that faded like the last notes of the music. Her, I thought, not Ducky; her. It wasn’t just the third floor that was haunted, apparently, but oddly enough, I was no longer afraid. The mutual love of and appreciation for the beautiful music had bonded us in some inexplicable way.

  I played a few more things and then heard applause. Both Ducky and Elvis were sitting on the couch now. Elvis had not cleaned up yet and was sitting on a towel, his feet bare. I didn’t see Busted. With my face red from being overheard, I asked about him.

  “Brandon has him in the shower,” Elvis laughed. “I don’t know which one was dirtier!”

  “He loves those cars,” Ducky said smiling. “He spent half the afternoon either beneath them or poking around in the engines. He so much wanted to take the engines out and take them apart, that I felt I’d better keep him away from the tool boxes.”

  I wanted to ask Ducky about the ghost but was overcome by shyness for some reason. I said instead, “Did Busted find more—people?”

  Elvis answered. “Yes he did. Live and otherwise. He’s a national hero so he’s here in hiding also. If he’s been lost or stolen and a bona fide owner shows up on TV, well we’ll know about it, and you and Brandon will be faced with a decision.

  “If the guy he ran away from is his owner, that changes things. He was cussing at him.”

  “Yeah, well, that happens. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “You boys love that dog, don’t you?” Ducky asked.

  I swallowed hard and just nodded. Now I was overcome in a different way. Back to Plan A. “Does your ghost, does she love music?”

  There was a dead silence. Then Ducky said, “Why don’t I tell you the whole story over supper? Everyone should be clean by then.”

  We were, but you couldn’t tell, because the power blew out and the sirens took off again. Brandon came back downstairs half-dressed and quaking. “I’m not scared,” he lied. “I just wanted to be here with real people.”

  “And I have to check the gas stove,” Ducky laughed. “Would someone light the candles in the dining room please?”

  “But the sirens…” I stammered. The phrase safe as houses popped up in my mind again, but not in a good way.

  Ducky hugged me. “Bless you child. This house is one hundred and forty years old. It has withstood six major tornadoes. I understand how you feel, but we’re not going anywhere. If you want to read about its construction and what it’s made of, the blueprints are in the storage room, on the third floor.” With that taunt, she winked at me and left. Brandon trailed along behind her. So did Busted. So did the kitten. Somewhere far away, like up on the third floor, I heard a trill of laughter, and then a door slammed and it was gone.

  Wonderful. A darkened room: It was a dark and stormy…well, you know. Gloom and sirens and a haunted house. How old fashioned and stereotypical could you get? I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

  I personally would have pulled the heavy drapes shut, but the window did let in a lot of light. Every time the lightning flashed, I could see more of the room and the people, when they came back. I suppose it was a good thing that we could actually see the lightning. And the rain; I guess it’s still rain if it’s going sideways, right? To top off all the light issues, there was the moaning. Was it just the wind or the ghost? What is this, a séance? If it was, it was a séance with food. It was wonderful! Momma never cooked like this.

  “This is delicious,” I said, then asked, “what is this?”

  Ducky said carelessly, “Stewed bat, pig dung and…what?” she asked. Even I could see Brandon’s face turning color and even I, asshole that I am and hopefully future lover or something of this person, laughed heartlessly.

  “I’m sorry,” Ducky got out between belly laughs.

  “You don’t sound sorry,” Brandon replied, pouting. I wanted to kiss him. I was actually leaning over toward him when a particularly loud clap of thunder split the air. Busted tried to jump into my lap, and managed to steal some meat off my plate as he did. The kitten, puffed out to about three times its usual size, leapt up onto Busted’s back, riding him like a tiny rodeo champion as he slunk back down to the floor and curled up under the table.

  After a minute things quieted down. Ducky continued, “You may have noticed this house is haunted. Did my ancestors build on an Indian burial site? Nope, or rather, who knows? But this ghost, this white lady, came along much later. Sometime in the early part of the last century a family that lived nearby had an albino daughter. Her name was Emily Rose. Emily was not a happy child. Many people were afraid of her and thought she was a witch. She was ostracized, or perhaps just a loner by nature. Anyway, she was around your age when something terrible happened to her. Some said she was raped, some said a rogue Indian snatched her. Anyway, she took to roaming the woods and paths, sometimes looking in windows, sometimes stopping someone and trying to tell them something. Once in a while she warned them of something dire that was going to happen to them soon. Those who didn’t believe her invariably found her predictions to be true. Very often, people died. All too soon, the people started blaming her for these incidents.”

  I looked around me. Brandon was spellbound, and making no effort to hide it. Elvis just kept on eating as if had heard this story a hundred times before, but I could see a twinkle in his eyes and occasionally a hint of a smile.

  Me? I didn’t know what to think, except that I had seen this woman, you know? I had interacted with her.

  My lack of fear had apparently lasted as long as it was able to, because I found I was shivering now, and it wasn’t from the cold.

  Busted was sacked out on the floor on his back, as ungainly as it was possible to be. The kitten was asleep on his chest, her little head tucked under one of his legs, her ears twitching in her sleep.

  “My grandfather had one of the first automobiles in this area,” Ducky went on. “He was a judge. It was odd, but it was his car that ran that poor woman down and killed her. One night, a stormy night just like this one, someone took out his car for a joy ride. We never learned if they hit her on purpose or not, or even who it was. Just the same, her body was found not half a mile from her
e, mangled to bits, and the car was back in the garage. It was only later in the day when the blood stains and bits of hair and scraps of her clothing were found on the front of the car, and on the tires as well.

  “Since then she’s been seen many times, and seems to have taken up residence on the third floor of this house. She always loved music, had been drawn to it like a moth to a flame. After her death, every piano in town fell out of tune, and to this day sometimes they will start playing, all by themselves, in the middle of the night, and you know she is nearby.

  “She’s buried out there in the public cemetery, right behind this house…”

  A sudden thunder clap rang out, and Brandon and I both jumped a foot.

  Elvis laughed, trying to hide it behind his napkin, but failing completely.

  “Elvis dear, how about a song for these kids? I think our resident piano player,” she nodded at me, “can play anything you wish.”

  Oh, I thought, Elvis. That’s why he goes by that name.

  Indeed that was why. The rest of that evening was spent with me pounding out rock and roll songs on the piano while Alvin, A.K.A. Elvis, crooned and rocked out, fortunately without most of the original Elvis’ signature moves, and often accompanied by Busted’s baying, eerie howls.

  You can imagine that ‘Hound Dog’ was a rousing success.

  Eventually my brain kicked in and I asked, “Don’t you want us to sleep in the car?”

  Elvis smiled. “No, not really. I was just trying to make you feel you hadn’t freeloaded, teach you responsibility, stuff like that. You’ve both done that way more than I could have ever expected. Go on upstairs and be comfortable. You’ve earned it.”

  I’d never felt so proud of myself.

  As we went upstairs, I wondered if we’d be leaving the next day, but it didn’t work out that way. Brandon and I goofed around a little in bed and then fell asleep before anything really interesting happened. I slept like a log. No ghosts or sirens or anything.