The Trick

Joe pulled the collar of the poplin jacket his aunt had insisted he wear, snug around his neck and turned to look down at the beach. Abandoned at dinner time, the sand was scarred with footprints, gouges and paper litter. Further out, the mighty Atlantic ocean churned dirty grey and cold. Joe had just turned fourteen. All summer long he had been hoping to meet a girl, but he had had no luck. Now the big crowds were gone, along with his chances. There were still some vacationers around, but they would leave in a week after the Miss American pageant.

"Watch the car, please."

The voice was tired and bored, but not impolite. It belonged to the driver of the electric sedan chair now rolling past Joe. Like triangular shaped golf carts, the battery-powered chairs cruised the boardwalk, carrying the wealthy, older people who did not care to walk as they took in the sights and sounds. Three- wheeled, the front of the vehicle contained a bench seat for the passengers who usually had a blanket tucked around their legs to keep out the ocean's chill. The 'car' tapered back to where the driver, an emaciated man wearing a cap, sat on a grimy, dilapidated cushion, steering the chair with a small wheel. There was something in the man's face, like he had gotten the worst in a fight recently or something. Joe felt sorry for him. Joe had recently realised that all the chair-drivers had the same, beaten look, as if they were related. It was strange; it didn't matter whether they were white or black.

The wind came steadily and stiffly off the ocean, its cool fingers mussing Joe's hair. A seagull cried out suddenly and Joe turned. It glided across the boardwalk, headed right toward him. Pulling in its wings slightly, its webbed feet reaching out, it alighted on the rail not six feet away. It almost seemed to Joe as if it had singled him out, as if it had some message for him. It was big, maybe eighteen inches from feet to head. An albatross perhaps? He wondered if they came ashore like this. The bird looked at him for a moment, then jumped off the rail. It rose effortlessly on the breeze with a few powerful flaps of its wings. Joe watched it fly out over the ocean, disappearing from view. He imagined it flying at a great height, unafraid as it looked down upon a stormy sea. Its powers of flight and freedom awed him and he felt suddenly heartened.

He looked over at the neon signs above the shops across the boardwalk. The deepening dark had brightened the colours and they now beckoned him hopefully. He walked over, approaching a pinball parlour. A loud song on the juke box wafted out, "Our day will come," by a group called Ruby and the Romantics. The sweet, dreamy voice of the female lead floated atop a bubbly cloud of wurlitzer sound, like a scoop of ice cream on a soda fizz. The song comforted and tantalised Joe at the same time. "Our day will come," it promised. Yeah, he thought, someday his day would come, and he would meet a special girl, a girl who would like him as much as he did her. He would take her for walks and hold her hand in his. It was bound to happen someday, but when? "Maybe tonight," something inside him said softly, "maybe tonight." It was crazy, the summer was over... But there was something different about tonight. The seagull had suggested that. He had to try one more time.

Joe put his hand in his pocket and felt for the two quarters his aunt had given him to spend on the boardwalk. With them he could buy a big slice of pizza and play four games of pinball, or buy a frozen custard and play five games of pinball. The cool night dictated his choice and he imagined a big, floppy slice of pizza warming his hand, the smell of oregano and cheese in his nostrils. He decided to go to Luigi's on Florida Avenue. Luigi had the best pizza and there might be some girls there too.

Later, Joe looked through Luigi's neon-framed window at the fist-sized patties of white dough waiting in an orderly row. Luigi would massage and twirl them into pizzas for the entertainment of the passers-by. Inside, only one table was taken, but it was occupied by girls, six of them. They appeared to be Joe's age and three of them were real cute. He went in.

The girls looked up at him. He returned their look for a moment and then looked away nervously. After a minute or so he could tell they were talking about him. He looked around nonchalantly. Luigi's place had wall panels of alternating bright red and yellow, and about a dozen white Formica-topped tables. Luigi worked behind the long counter top in front of the ovens. Despite the coolness of the night, he wore his usual uniform of thin white slacks and a white T-shirt. A tuft of black hair pushed out of the top of his shirt. He nodded inquisitively at Joe.

"Gimme a slice of pepperoni," said Joe, "... and a Coke."

Luigi got him the Coke and Joe sat two tables away from the girls, but facing them. He pretended not to be interested as he sipped at the Coke, delighting in the bite it gave his tongue. From time to time he looked at the silver Timex watch his parents had given him for his fourteenth birthday.

Of the three girls that sat facing him, the redhead at the end seemed to be the leader. Taller than the others, she had braces on her teeth. Sharp points like inverted ice cream cones pushed out of her white mohair sweater. Her eyes slid back and forth subtly as she talked quietly with the others. The girl at the other end of the table was attractive, with blonde hair and glasses, but Joe was struck by the beauty of the girl in the middle. She had brown hair and soft, moist brown eyes. Her lips were pursed, like a doll's. The girl's friends knew she was a beauty too, and seemed to have showcased her in the centre of the bench. As if she needed that, Joe thought.

Joe looked away. He knew he was average-looking, no movie star. She was too pretty for him.

Luigi brought Joe's slice of pizza over and Joe tried to eat. The girls were talking about him. He knew it and his appetite left him. He looked up at the pretty brunette and she smiled at him. He looked away nervously, almost not believing it. He tried to think of some neat, interesting things to say to her, and wished the others weren't hanging around. Then he had a depressing thought. He knew what would really happen. He would sit here, thinking about what he would like to say, but never saying a word! Then he would leave and for the rest of the year he would curse himself for being so shy. Yeah, that's what would happen. That's what always happened.

"Do you like her?"

Joe knew it was the redheaded leader even before he looked up. "Huh?" he said, embarrassed.

The girls laughed.

He stopped trying to eat and looked at the redhead.

"Her name's Janet," said the redhead. "What's yours?"

"Joe."

The redhead turned to the others. "Joe and Janet... sounds dreamy, doesn't it?"

The girls tittered. Janet the brunette looked nervous and turned to whisper shyly to the redhead.

"She wants to go out with you," said the redhead.

"Carr-roll!" said Janet embarrassedly.

Joe was nervous too, but he wanted to take away Janet's discomfort. "Would you like an ice cream?" he blurted out, surprised at himself. His voice rasped with nervousness.

Again, Janet's court tittered conspiratorially. There was something in the laughter that Joe picked up, but couldn't quite identify, nervousness and ... what?

When they had quieted, Joe looked at Janet. "Do you want to go get some ice cream?"

Silence.

Luigi looked over briefly, a sad smile on his handsome face. Joe prayed that she would say yes. He'd look like such a dip if she didn't.

Janet nodded. "Okay."

Joe's heart was pounding. He got to his feet and waited. Suddenly the girls were awfully quiet. None of them would look at him as Janet turned around on the bench. She bent down to get something on the floor behind her. The other girls remained mute; their faces pinched with nervousness.

Janet straightened and held up two silvery crutches. They squeaked metallically as she put her weight on them. When she came around the table he saw the smooth, pinkish stump below her knee where one of her legs should have been. It hung below the hemline of her dress and flexed uselessly as she walked on her crutches.

Out on the boardwalk, Joe's ears reddened at the squeak of her crutches. Everyone on the boardwalk was staring at them and he looked straight ahead. He spotted a frozen custard sign and turned to her quickly, forcing his eyes not to drop and see her stump. "Let's go in here." He saw the hopeful beginnings of a smile on her beautiful face before quickly looking away.

As she read the menu board, he tried not to look, but out of the side of his eyes he saw it hanging there. The thought of it scared and repulsed him. How did it happen? Did it hurt?

Outside, the redheaded girl from Luigi's walked past. She didn't see them. Anger flared in Joe and he felt like shouting at her. He wanted to run out and confront her. Why'd she do this to him? It wasn't fair. He had never done anything to her, didn't know her from Adam, yet she and her girlfriends had played this trick on him. He remembered their strange silences, their conspiratorial smiles back and forth. And what about Janet? He felt bad, really bad for her.

He looked at her again. She was still studying the signboard. His breath came hard and he felt dizzy. The other customers in the store were sneaking looks at them. He bolted out of the entrance and ran down the boardwalk. The coloured lights were a blur as he turned at the long wooden ramp that led down to the avenues. He ran onto the pavement through crowds of people in suits and furs. He heard shouts, laughing. His sneakers slapping asphalt, he was vaguely aware of the bright lights and marquis of the clubs on Pacific Avenue. A mob of well-dressed people blocked the sidewalk ahead. He ran out between two cars. A car skidded, horn honking loudly. A woman screamed and something knocked him down. He sat up on the street, looking into the blazing headlights of a big black car. A car door clicked, then shut solidly. Several men stood over him. One was a cop. People began crowding around him.

"You all right son?"

It was the cop. Joe nodded in confusion and got to his feet. A man in a black tuxedo with a white scarf around his neck was looking angrily at him. Joe was sure he'd seen him on TV. "He okay?" the man said.

"I think he's all right, Mister Sinatra," said the cop.

"You see him run out in front of the limo?" said Mister Sinatra. "It's a good thing Angelo was slowing down..."

A lot of people had closed around Joe and the other two men. He felt in a panic.

The man named Sinatra came closer and looked into Joe's face. "You like the movies?"

Joe nodded nervously, looking around.

"Here." The man smiled, then slipped something in Joe's shirt pocket. "You go see a movie." He turned around to the people watching. "And don't go running out into traffic, for Crissake!"

Several people laughed good-naturedly and he turned and walked off.

The cop leaned close to Joe. "You sure you're okay, son?"

Joe nodded. "Can I go?"

"Sure, kid."

Joe pushed through the crowd. Behind him he heard the cop's voice, "Okay folks, move it back. Let Mister Sinatra into the door."

Joe came to the edge of the mob and started running again. He ran until the lights and colours of Pacific Avenue were gone, the buildings dark and quiet. He came to Texas Avenue and stopped. He took the thing out of his pocket. He could tell by the feel, it was a bill, but he couldn't read the numbers. He thought again of the girls. Anger and tears threatened to overwhelm him and he started running toward his Aunt's house. It wasn't fair, he thought angrily, it just wasn't fair.

^

Biography

Paul Clayton is of Irish descent. He writes fictions and has published three novels. He is the author of "Calling Crow." This novel will soon be available as a downloadable "e-book" from "e-reads," and also from Amazon.com. He has written a number of poems over the years. His work has previously appeared in the last three issues of Electric Acorn.