Alter Boys (21 page)

“Are you ok with that?”

“Yes”

“It’s going to mean memorizing a lot of lines.  Like the playground scene you read yesterday.”

Thinking it was a request, Greaser proceeded to recite the playground scene nearly verbatim.  Even improving on the inflection and cadence from his scripted performance the day before.

Ms. Bagner was awestruck. 

“Well then.  Ok.  I’m going to be posting the cast list in about an hour.  Please don’t tell anyone that I told you ahead of time.”

She didn’t think the boy had any friends to share the news with, but why take chances. 

Greaser
’
s silence conveyed his agreement. 

Ms. Bagner nodded him in dismissal.  She watched as her Charlie Brown left the room-plaid pants, vertically striped green shirt.  An easy fix for the stage via the costume department.  However above the chameleon clothing was that ungodly matted mop dripping with Pennzoil. 

If she could only do something about that hair.

5

The direct approach.  Janice Bagner thought it to be best.  The first Parent teacher conferences of the year would take place two weeks before opening night. 

Everything about the play was going smoothly, except for the growing concern she could feel from the cas
t (and herself included) about G
reaser
’
s hygiene.  ‘I should have cast him as pigpen.’ She mused for about the hundredth time. 

But parent teacher conferences would give her the opportunity to resolve, if not a bit awkwardly, the dilemma.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. 

By 10 p.m. she was alone in the teachers lounge, grimacing over the cup of sludge that had once been this
morning’s
coffee and lamenting the nights debacle.  Mister Lamb, the History teacher, had been the last to go about twenty minutes earlier.  He might still have been there but he had run out of conversational gambits; trying to engage the hot new staff member in pass/failure ratios. 

He was not referring to education.  They both knew it.  Finally he gave up and left, leaving her alone to puzzle out the bizarre encounter with Greaser’s mom. 

A lot of parents attended that night.  The disdainful looks from the moms and the lurid
drooling
of the few dads who showed up, she expected.

But oh my God.  My God.  What she hadn’t expected was that awful, disgusting woman.  The one with whom she had hoped to have a gentle heart to heart with.  She shuddered and turned back to her cup.

It had been a complete train wreck.

The woman had entered the classroom and flitted from side to side like a moth trapped under a lampshade.  Lips stuttering a muted prayer commingled with some nursery rhyme, eyes rotating like ambulance lights.   A garish satchel that would have looked better in the grip of a destitute hobo swung from one hand.  The other hand was vigorously performing thee most disgusting of nasty habits.

“Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll get started.”  Janice Bagner gestured to one of the two office style chairs that had been delivered by the custodial staff for tonight’s festivities.   

The woman saw the chair as if for the first time.  She took her place in the seat and dropped her purse unceremoniously to the floor. 

Now both hands were free. 

She sat across from her sons homeroom teacher and unabashedly crammed finger after finger into her nostrils, corkscrewing her hands back and forth, extracting chunks of varying sizes, shapes and consistencies.          

“Do you need a…”  Kleenex was supposed to be the next word.  But there were none at the desk.  Besides, the woman appeared to have the situation well in hand (so to speak).  The gritties and
gooey’s
were stuffed under yellowed fingernails that had clearly been the home to many previous nostril orphans.

Ms. Bagner tried again.  “Do you need a… cup of coffee?” 

Without waiting for a response she stood and filled a Styrofoam cup and retrieved an excessively large handful of paper napkins.   

“Oh coffee! …is it free?...and the wise men brought gifts…to Georgie
Porgie
girl…he’s the dumb one.”

What the hell was all that?

Disregarding the mumbo jumbo and taking control of the dialogue seemed best.  Steadily:  “So.  Your sons grades are very good as you can see by the progress card.”  She held it out to the woman. 

One hand had been mercifully occupied by the coffee cup.  Any chance that the progress card would occupy the other one was too much to hope for.  It remained busy with nasal extraction. 

“He has perfect attendance and his conduct is very good.”  Ms. Bagner retrieved the card from its unclaimed state of suspension and pointed out the citizenship section.

“To miss a day would be a sin…brewed, not instant…American Express progress card, don’t leave home without it…Jesus wept.”

Was this woman nuts?  Or maybe a religious fanatic?

She parked the card on her desk and willed herself to learn forward.

“I’m sure you’re proud that your son is in the school play.  It opens in just two weeks and he knows all of his lines.  But there’s something I’d like for you to talk to him about.” 

“He can’t read…not the calendar…he’s the dumb one…a lost cause St. Jude..so I drank the coffee.”

As if to prove the point she noisily slurped from her cup, and then cupped a snot from her nose.    

Wise men.  Jesus.  St. Jude. 

It presented an angle.  If Janice Bagner could use some kind of religious analogy, maybe she could get through to this woman.  Yes, there was a religious thread to be played.  Certainly not an intellectual one, but definitely a religious one.  Janice Bagner scanned her mind and found what she was looking for.

“Cleanliness is next to Godliness” she recited.  “Even Mary Magdalene used her
hair
(she stressed the word) to wash the feet of Jesus.  Your son is growing up.  He needs to learn to wash his hair
every day
with
shampoo
.”

Every word after ‘Magdalene’ fell on deaf ears.

“The fornicator…temptress of the savoir…where’s my rosary!”  The woman crossed herself with four striking blows, leaving a fresh green snot on her forehead and a stringer running across her chest.

“No, don’t misunderstand me.  What I’m trying to tell--, to suggest to you…”

“You have pink underwear…I told him I would tell…forgive me Mrs. Folgers.”  The half drank coffee cup was pitched into the garbage and the woman bolted out of the room reciting the first lines of the apostles creed as she pawed for her rosary.

Class dismissed.

Now, well after 10 o’clock, Janice Bagner startled herself from her memory of the encounter to realize that the custodian had been cleaning and re-cleaning the same section of the faculty lounge for far too long.  It meant one of two things:  Either a non verbal message to clear out of here lady, I want to go home, or damn, I’ll happily wipe this counter til Doomsday just to keep catching glances
of
that fantastic rack.

Either way, it prompted her to her feet.  The direct approached with the mother had failed.  Badly.   And the night had not gotten any better.

She strode out of the lounge and offered a token ‘g’night’ as the custodians eyes crawled greedily over her body.

6

A direct approach with the kid could have been the next logical step, but logic along with hygiene were absent values in that bloodline.  Besides, suppose she were to suggest shampoo to the boy and he were to look at her vacantly with a ‘what exactly is shampoo, we don’t have anything like that at our house’ expression. 

Luxuries such as shampoo, running water and toilet paper were likely devices of the devil in that dysfunctional household.  Best that the situation be handled differently.

The opening night of the play, first year instructor Janice Bagner arrived at the school with her clipboard of director’s notes, a box of 500 programs fresh from the print shop, and a bottle of Suave.

She headed directly to the boys locker room that had been converted (temporarily and begrudgingly by Mr. Stonehoe
c
ker) into a costume and makeup area.  The equipment cage had been partially cleared of football helmets and track cleats to accommodate a rack of costumes while three sets of folding tables and chairs served as makeup stations.     

“Thank God this isn’t War and Peace.” She said aloud for her own benefit.  Charlie Brown was about as fundamental as they came and even it had been a pain in the ass to pull off.  You had your cast but still you needed to recruit ticket takers and ushers and sound and lighting techs and on and on and on…

“English lit. 
J
ust hang on to that thought.  The right teaching job will come along.”

Within a half an hour the entire cast, along with the makeup and costume mistresses, were present and excited to get started. 

“Alright, I know it’s not show time yet, but I want everyone to start getting in character.  From this minute on, refer to each cast member by their character name.  Snoopy and Lucy,” she nodded toward Chris Millen and Judy Zimmer, “makeup at station one.  Linus and Peppermint Patty, station two.”

The cast took their places and bibbed up to have their faces painted and powdered. 

“Sue
Hespen
and Charlie Brown, if you could come with me please.”

Sue
Hespen
was a blond sophomore, a real catch for any guy who likes a girl who applies her makeup with a spatula.  Years later she would be the proud owner of a pink Cadillac with plates reading “MERRY K”, but for now she was the head hairstyle and
makeup mistress for the school play with her name printed prominently in the program at the bottom of page 3.     

“Sue, you’re the head of the department, so you get to work with the star of the show.”  Sue was summarily honored and mortified.

“And you’re going to start first with this.”  Janice Bagner held up the new bottle of suave shampoo and nodded toward the row of sinks. 

“Eeeew!  No!  Gross!  I’m not touching that Greaser’s hair!”  More than half of the heads in the dressing room turned in their direction.  The excited chatter muted to a few words uttered either by those who had missed the incident or by those highly skilled in filling awkward lapses in conversation.

It was precisely how Janice Bagner had planned it.  For weeks, the entire cast had voiced their concern about the appearance of their leading man.  Now, something was to be done about it.

“Head of hairstyle and makeup, that’s your duty.  That’s how it’s printed in the program is it not?” 

Sue
Hespen
’s life was blond moments, one after the next.  But on this point she was perfectly clear.  She
was
the head hairstyle and makeup mistress.  Her name was in the program.  If the Greaser kid went on stage looking like that, it would be her name that everyone would be thumbing to in the program wondering what in God’s name she was thinking.

“No, please…” she said the words softly, pleadingly, looking at the Greaser and back to Ms. Bagner.  ‘A case of the clap would be better than touching that oil rag,’ her eyes conveyed.

“Alright, we’ll do this.  I’ll wash Charlie Browns hair.”  She emphasized the name, subtly chastising Sue for using the ‘G’ word and scanned her gaze across the room to the 20 sets of eyes
that were following the drama.  “And then
you
will
style
Charlie Browns hair.”