My Name Is Venus Black(20)

It works again, this time at the Burger Bar on Catalina Avenue, where they were advertising for a swing-shift cook. It means that he’ll have to leave Leo alone in the afternoon and evening, but so far the kid seems surprisingly self-sufficient. He even puts himself to bed, and Tinker’s starting to think it’s the same time every night. The kid is always looking at his yellow plastic watch.

Tinker lets Leo take the bed, since the boy seems to assume it’s his. He doesn’t mind the pullout, especially since he likes to stay up and drink beer and fall asleep in front of the TV. Pretty soon he’s going to get one of the waitresses to bed, and he can only hope the boy sleeps hard.

After a couple of days in the new apartment, he’s made a little progress on the food with Leo. He ate the bologna that Tinker brought home one night. He carefully removed the edges, but he didn’t count the bites. He rolled up each piece into a tube, put it to his eye and looked through it, then ate it.

It made Tinker laugh, but the boy was dead serious. Tinker thinks how proud Ray would be to see his brother taking such good care of Leo. He’s pretty sure Ray’s looking down from heaven and cheering him on.

Next he tries to get Leo to eat peanut butter, but something about the jar upsets him. He shoves it away with a grunt. Maybe it’s creamy instead of chunky, or the wrong brand, or the wrong color. Damn, who’d raise a kid to be so damn picky? Inez. Inez would.

He’s seen a commercial that said, “Choosy mothers choose Jif,” so next time he tries that kind. As soon as Leo spots the Jif, he grabs the jar and takes two slices of the Wonder bread, as if he wants to make the sandwich himself. Tinker reluctantly offers him a butter knife. Starting in the middle of each piece, Leo makes perfect swirls of Jif outward until none of the bread shows, then he slaps the two slices together.

Tinker is surprised but relieved to discover the boy can make his own sandwich. But he’s annoyed, too. Choosy mothers make choosy kids, and then look what happens. They turn out like Leo.



After a few nights, Tinker realizes that the boy should probably have a bath. But he knows better than to think he can touch Leo, so how’s he going to get him in the water? He pictures all kinds of screaming and crying and rocking shit.

But as soon as Tinker turns on the water and starts to run the bath, Leo comes to the door. He begins to strip off his clothes himself, which is a huge relief. Tinker makes a mental note that he needs to buy the boy some changes of clothes.



* * *



—

THURSDAY AFTERNOON, TESSA comes home from school, bakes some oatmeal cookies, and arranges half of them on a paper plate. She never would have tried this with the grouchy old man who last lived in the apartment, but she’s curious to meet the new boy next door.

Maybe all the knocking he does is his way of apologizing to her for staring. Weird, but you never know with boys. She’s been watching for him to come out of the apartment, but if he does, it’s when she’s at school. While she was baking cookies, though, the fat-belly man—her dad says his name is Phil—drove away in the white Impala. The boy wasn’t with him, and so she figures he’s in the apartment alone.

But what if he thinks the cookies are stupid? Or what if he’s rude to her again? To be on the safe side, Tessa decides she’ll act like she thought his dad was at home. When he answers the door, she’ll say Is your father around?

And if he’s mean about the cookies, maybe she’ll be mean right back and say I made them for your father, not for you.

Tessa is working up the courage to knock when she hears a faint sound coming from inside the apartment. It sounds like hard raindrops hitting the window, but that can’t be. Finally, she knocks three times. The intermittent sound of rain continues but nothing else. She knocks again, harder, and the tinkling stops. She pictures the boy. Alone, trying to decide.



“Hello?” she calls. “Anyone home?”

Moments later, she hears a knock on the other side of the door. She is flustered. What’s that supposed to mean? She knocks again, two raps. She hears two raps in return. She gets it now: It’s a game, like the other night. But what is she supposed to do? Stand here and play knock-knock all afternoon?

“Hello!” she says loudly to the door. “Do you want to answer the door?”

Silence. She waits. She smells the warm cookies she’s holding in her left hand. She wishes they had chocolate chips in them. She is about to knock again when she hears the tinkling sound resume.

She can’t even believe it! Why would he knock back and then ignore her?

Made bolder by frustration, she puts her hand on the knob—not to open the door, she assures herself. Just to see if it’s locked, which it is.

Finally, she makes up her mind. She sets the cookies on the ground and darts back down the stairs to the shop. She knows her father keeps the master key to the apartments on a ring in the back of a desk drawer.

Moments later, she’s standing at the boy’s door again, master key in hand. She pictures how much trouble she could get in if her dad found out she broke in to someone’s apartment. But she’s not breaking in, is she? She’s just worried about the boy. That’s it! What if the boy needs help?

She feels her face burning with shame even as she forces herself to slide the key in the lock. She tells herself she doesn’t really mean to turn the knob and push the door. But, of course, she knows better. She always knows better, even when she doesn’t want to.