Lawn Boy(48)

“I know the feeling.”

I squared the check with my hundred-dollar bill from Goble, leaving an inordinately large tip that was not lost on Remy.

“Your mother taught you well.”

And there we were in a parking lot again, leaning against Remy’s car, waiting for a cue to proceed.

Remy finally made the move, and we were soon kissing. She tasted of lip balm and anchovies, and her tongue was much more active this time, slithering around in my mouth like a live goldfish. I didn’t really know what to do with my hands, until Remy placed them around her waist. We were conjoined for a good five minutes, her hands patrolling my denim-clad butt cheeks without ever straying toward my crotch.

Finally, she pulled away, breathless.

“You wanna come to my place?” she said.

And there it was: the monkey, the burdensome, shameful, flea-bitten pest that had been clinging mercilessly to my back since the dawn of puberty, the one howling ceaselessly in my ears through adolescence and into adulthood, the one Nick continually teased and fed peanuts to, that monkey had just been served to me on a golden platter. How much nagging insecurity and self-doubt, how many flinty, overcooked, indigestible rib eyes and flat sodas had I endured to get to this point? No way was I going blow this.

“Uh, I’ve actually got a big day tomorrow at work.”

“On Saturday?”

“Yeah, I know. The guy I work for is a real dynamo. You’ve probably seen his realty signs all over town—‘Team Goble. Goble or Go Home’? Anyway, he’s got all these new properties that he wants me to—”

“I get it,” she said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. It’s actually kind of sweet.”

“It is?”

“Most guys want to move too fast. I think it’s nice that you don’t want to rush.”

“You do?”

“Like I said, your mother taught you well.”

She gave me a little peck on the lips and touched my cheek. “You know, we don’t have to have sex.”

“We don’t?”

She smiled mischievously, squeezing my butt and pulling herself into me. “Not right away.”





Clubbin’ It The next morning, Goble knocked impatiently on my shed door. Before the door had fully opened, he ducked inside and started sizing the place up, which didn’t take him long.


“Mike, you really need some new digs.”

“I’m working on it.”

“C’mon, let’s grab some breakfast. I’ve got a proposition for you.”

He took me to the Agate Pass Café, the new place next to the Tide’s Inn. We call it the I Got Cash Café. But since Goble was buying, I had an omelet with salmon and capers in it. I wasn’t crazy about the capers, to tell you the truth. Goble had two egg whites and a slice of sprouted-wheat toast.

“Look, Mike,” he said, sipping his coffee and patting his lips dry. “I’ve got a very exclusive job for you. Can you borrow a truck?”

I immediately thought of Dale’s truck, then Rocindo’s truck.

“Something that looks decent?” Goble added.

I tried unsuccessfully to think of someone else’s truck.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll borrow one. Hell, maybe I should just buy one. It’d be handy. Look, this is the country club we’re talking about. It doesn’t get more exclusive. This place has zero turnover. If they do sell, they usually use Sotheby’s or one of their own. I had to do several favors to land this listing. And I mean direct favors. Three percent of 6.6 mil—do the math. I’ll do it for you: it’s a lot. So don’t fuck this up, Mike. And I don’t mean the yard. I know you’re good. But you gotta look like a pro for this one. This is one of the most exclusive communities in Washington we’re about to infiltrate. They don’t want to see For Sale signs in their neighborhood, and they don’t wanna see Mexicans, either—Mexican Mexicans, I mean. You’re okay, we already went over that. What they really want to see is a whole lot of old white people eating leg of lamb and swinging croquet mallets. But times are tough, even for some of these people.”

“Screw those people.”

“Shhh,” he said. “See, this is what I’m worried about with you. Team Goble has to look like a classy outfit. You’ve got to suck it up a little and quit with all this grumbling. I’m not asking you to go to Princeton and start wearing a bow tie, but clean up a bit, comb your hair. Go out and buy a pair of coveralls—white, if you can find them. Yeah, white, that’s genius. Rich people like stuff that’s hard to maintain. I’m going to get you a truck temporarily. But eventually, you’re going to have to buy your own. You can’t drive around with a lawn mower in the trunk of your Datsun and expect to make a living wage.”

“It’s a Toyota. So pay me more, and I’ll get my own truck. I’ll get some white coveralls. I’ll get a haircut. I’ll get new tools.”

He considered me closely for a while—my dark hair, my olive skin, my dark eyes, my missing teeth. “If you don’t fuck it up, I’ll pay you twenty-five.”

“That’s too much,” I said.

“Make it twenty-four, then.”