Hope For Garbage (3 page)

CHAPTER
5

“Darn it!” shouted Lorene.

Bea looked up from her biology homework, “What’s wrong?”

“I just sucked up an earring,” she said peering into the long vacuum hose.  She sat on the ground and opened up the vacuum.  The little gold bobble gleamed amidst the dirt and grime in the canister. “Is this yours?” she held it up to Bea.

“Lorene, I don’t have pierced ears, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right.”  How could Lorene have forgotten?  She was the one who had taken the girl three different times to get them pierced.  Except they never got pierced—because every time Bea looked at the piercing gun, she almost fainted.  Bea got squeamish that way. 

“It must be your mom’s.”  Lorene set it on the table and started up the vacuum again.

Lorene was the Stewart family housekeeper.  She came to the house when Bea was six years old and had played the role of mother and friend and everything in-between.  Monday through Friday, at six-thirty a.m., she got on the bus at East 220
th
street in Cleveland.  She rode into downtown, and boarded another bus that took her out of the city, along the lakeshore, and into Harbor Village.

Anyone living in the area knew that the west side and the east side of Cleveland were essentially worlds
apart.  Geographically they were separated by downtown and Lake Erie to the north, but culturally they were separated as well.

After a few trips to the grocery store, Lorene quickly learned there weren’t many black folks living in the western suburbs.  It wasn’t just the fact that she never ran into any.  It was also the way white people reacted to her—just slightly surprised to see her.  It was very subtle, but enough that she noticed.

She joked with her husband Reggie about it, “I know Harbor Village is only across town, but I swear, it feels like I’m on a different planet.”

Lorene and Reggie had been married thirty-two years and it had never been boring.  He was an architect for a local construction firm and she had always stayed home with the kids.  When the kids were in high school, she wanted to make some extra money.  Retirement wasn’t far off for Reggie and they eventually wanted to travel more, see the world.  That’s when she took the housekeeping job at the Stewarts.

The truth was they had saved enough money to buy a house in the more upscale suburbs, but they were comfortable where they were.  They didn’t want to be labeled as the ‘black family’ that moved in.  Reggie had always said that was part of the problem.  People want to stay where they’re comfortable.

Maybe that’s why she had stayed with the Stewarts for eleven years.  Lorene was comfortable there.  That, and the fact that she couldn’t even think about leaving Bea alone in that crazy house.

“Lorene, I’ve got to tell you something!” Bea suddenly blurted out.

Her cheeks were flushed and she was grinning from ear to ear.  The girl was a stunner, and t
he older she got, the more beautiful she became.  Thankfully, she also had a good head on her shoulders.

At every chance she got, Lorene had tried to instill positive values in her.
  Lord knows she didn’t get any guidance from her parents.  Lorene had always emphasized the importance of judging people based on what’s inside, and not their outside appearance. 

This life lesson may have been what spurred Bea’s dramatic decision last summer
to cut off all her hair.  And to top it off, she dyed her naturally blond hair, jet black.  Lord, did that make Mrs. Stewart furious.

Lorene put the vacuum hose down and sat at the table.  “Sounds serious.  What is it?”

The girl was beaming, “I met a boy!”

This was news. “Really?  A boy?”  Bea never talked about boys.

“Yeah, and Lorene he is so nice.  His name is Trevor.”  She was almost giddy.  “He’s really cute.”

Lorene was happy for her
and wanted to hear more. “Well, tell me everything.  Where’d you meet him?  I know it wasn’t at school.”

Bea went to a private all-girls high school.  She was in the end of her
junior year and hated it.  Well maybe hate was too strong a word, but she definitely wouldn’t be there if she had any choice in the matter.  She despised the uniforms and complained about how most of the girls were snobs.  “It isn’t the real world” she would say.  Lorene had news for her.  This bubble of rich suburbia wasn’t the real world either.  Bea was a good girl but she was still a little naïve.

“That’s the kind of weird thing.  I met him here.  Well, actually in the front yard…down by the street,” Bea was
suddenly stammering.

Lorene
raised one eyebrow.  This was curious indeed.

“Don’t look at me like that!”

Lorene tried to put on her best poker face, “Go on.”

“Well, he’s really nice.  Probably around my age.  I met him this morning before school.  I heard this strange noise when I was pulling out of the driveway... See, he got scratched really badly by a raccoon and I…”

“W
hat
?” Lorene interrupted.  “Did you say a raccoon?”

“Yeah,” Bea was avoiding her eyes, “And so I had to help him, you know, clean it up and stuff.”

Lorene was afraid to ask the next question, “So, you let him into the house?”

Bea looked at Lorene with her ‘Please don’t be mad at me’ face, “Well I needed to get him some bandages.
  He was really hurt.”

Lorene shook her head.  She thought she had taught the girl to be more careful.  “So, what was he doing?  Walking to school or something?”

“Not exactly…”  A sheepish smile was forming on Bea’s face.  “He’s not from around here.”

Lorene began picking at her cuticles.  It was a bad habit that she
only resorted to when getting exceptionally nervous. “Okay, where’s he from?”

“I’m not sure.  He might’ve said Westwood.”

Westwood was a twenty minute drive.  “So what was he doing
here
?”

Bea’s silly grin still hadn’t left her face.  Lorene was exasperated. “Would you please tell me?  As much as I love a little suspense, I’ve got to get dinner started.”

Bea’s voice got quiet and she looked at the ground, “He was… garbage-picking.”

Lorene sat back in her chair, not saying what she was thinking. 
Oh this was rich. This was rich indeed
.

CHAPTER 6

After school Trevor headed over to his sanctuary in the backyard.  He called it the Box.  To anyone on the outside it just looked like a run-down garage.  To him it was a haven, a place where he could do what he loved.  It was an escape from all of the chaos in his world. 

But today it was going to be hard to concentrate on work.  He couldn’t stop thinking about this morning, about her.  He had told Bea pretty much everything.  He told her why he was at her house—he told her about the lawnmower and how he wanted to garbage-pick it.  She could’ve been a snob about it, or at the very least laughed at him, but she didn’t.  In fact, she really didn’t seem to care why he was there.  She listened to him and didn’t judge him, which was pretty cool.

He wasn’t an expert at reading girls, but he got a feeling Bea really liked him.  Trevor had never had a
girlfriend before.  Unlike most seventeen year olds, girls weren’t the center of his universe.

School wasn’t either.  He didn’t play sports, and he wasn’t in band.  He didn’t join chess club, or pep club, or any other asshole club.  He ate alone in the cafeteria and read.  Kids pretty much left him alone, and he was sure the term ‘freak’ was used a lot behind his back.

Some might feel sorry for him, but the truth was, he liked it that way.  He went to school and did the bare minimum.  His focus was, and always had been, on things outside of school.

Before Trevor left Bea’s house, he got her phone number and asked if he could call her sometime.  Her exact response was, “Anytime.”  At school, it was all he could think about.

He got lucky with Uncle Gary’s truck too.  When he came back from Bea’s house, the fat-ass was still asleep.  On his way to take another shower, Trevor had peeked into his bedroom only to find Uncle Gary spread eagle on the bed, fully dressed and snoring like a dying animal.  A strong whiff of whiskey mixed with cigarettes hit Trevor in the face.  It must’ve been a rough night.

But lately it seemed like every night was a rough one for Uncle Gary.  He pretty much stuck to the same routine since Trevor had moved in.  Go to the shop, go to the Barley Tavern, go home and pass out.  Over the last year, it seemed to be getting worse.  Now he was sleeping past eight and having one of his lackeys open up the shop for him.

Uncle Gary was the proud owner of McNulty Mechanics, a small garage shop that dabbled in fixing everything from cars to lawnmowers.  They also sold a lot of junk on the side.  His uncle had inherited it from Trevor’s grandfather, Sean McNulty, twenty years ago.

According to
Mr.T, it had been a very respectable business at one time.  But then Grandpa McNulty started drinking away his profits and things went downhill quick.  When Uncle Gary took over, the shop was just about to go under.  He was only around twenty back then, just a little older than Trevor was now.

And Trevor had to give him credit.  Uncle Gary managed to save the shop with some creative business ideas.  They might be ethically appalling, but financially they were genius.  He knew how to scam people and it didn’t bother his conscience one bit.

As soon as Trevor stepped foot into his uncle’s house, he was lectured on the world according to Gary.  A kid like Trevor was only going to get ahead in this world by screwing people over—simple as that.  “Honesty won’t get you anywhere kid.  Being nice won’t either.  I mean you’re always nice to a customer’s face, but you aren’t nice to their wallet.  You understand?”

Trevor just nodded his head and thought to himself,
how can I be related to this idiot?

The next thing
Uncle Gary enlightened him with, was one of his secrets to keeping costs down—garbage-picking.  “There is nothing more profitable than selling something you got for free,” he would say.

And that’s where Trevor really came in handy.  If he wanted to live in his house, he had to live by Uncle Gary’s rules and earn his keep.

Garbage-picking was like going to one of those early bird specials at Kmart.  The key to getting the good stuff was getting out there early—but not too early, or the merchandise wouldn’t be ready.

Uncle Gary would say he was too old to be getting up at the crack of dawn.  Trevor would say he was too hung over.  Regardless, now it would be Trevor’s job.  In return, he got the privilege of livin
g with one of the biggest assholes on the planet.

But at least Uncle Gary had introduced him to
garbage-picking.  It may sound strange to some, but this new chore had become a passion to Trevor, a much needed distraction.  Of course it could be embarrassing when someone caught him picking through their trash, but he found most people didn’t mind at all.  In fact, Trevor figured they probably thought of it as an act of charity on their part.

An adrenaline rush always kicked in when he set out early in the morning.  Not knowing what he would find was the thrill.  It was amazing what some people would throw away: perfectly good furniture, like dressers that just needed new knobs; appliances with blown fuses; toys that kids had simply outgrown.  So many things just needed a little work to be useful again.  And, if it wasn’t for
garbage-picking, he never would’ve gone out to Harbor Village, and he never would’ve met Bea.

Uncle Gary would never know he went to forbidden territory this morning.  He would also never know that he missed out on a Honda HRX.  The mower had been just out of reach, on the other side of the tree lawn, the whole time.  But by the time he had left Bea’s house, it was long gone.

Any other time Trevor would’ve kicked himself over being so stupid.  Those chances didn’t come around very often.  But neither did the chance to meet a cool girl.  No, he couldn’t seem to get pissed at anything today, not even himself.  Today was a great day. Today was the day he met Bea.

CHAPTER 7

Bea and Lorene sat at the kitchen table finishing their shrimp stir-fry when the side door opened and Evelyn Stewart walked in.

“Hi ladies!” She got an Evian bottle out of the refrigerator.  Her blond hair was pulled back in a butterfly clip, her face flushed, but her make-up still perfect.  “What a day!  God, I’m exhausted.”  She took a long drink of her water. 

Lorene had to give Mrs. Stewart credit for her hard work ethic.  Of course, having the money to start up her salons was easy to get, but making them into a successful chain was anything but easy.  Although Mrs. Stewart didn’t need the money, Lorene figured the woman had to be making a fortune.  While dusting in the office last week, Lorene found some of her salon pamphlets and had to take a peek.  Eighty-five dollars for a pedicure!  Lorene just
didn’t understand why women would pay that kind of money to get their toes painted.

“Any packages arrive today?” Mrs. Stewart asked.  She was always ordering something from the internet, and packages arrived daily.

“No I didn’t see any today,” said Lorene.  She made a point to check the front porch every day.  She could never hear the UPS truck from inside that mammoth house.

“Okay.” Mrs. Stewart glanced over at Bea, “So how was your day Barbara?”

Bea was moving a shrimp around the plate with her fork.  She shrugged, “It was fine.  Same old stuff.”  Lorene could see the agitation on Bea’s face.  She despised being called Barbara.

Mrs. Stewart was studying Bea.  “Anything going on I should know about?”

Bea glanced up at her mother.  “No, nothing new and exciting to report.  Oh, I did forget one thing.  I get to represent my school at the regional environmental fair.”

“That’s great honey.
”  Mrs. Stewart walked over and gave her a quick hug.  Bea sat motionless. 

No mention of the boy.  That didn’t surprise Lorene.  The relationship between Bea and her mother was amicable, but not close lik
e some mothers and daughters were.  Bea had definitely paid the price for her mother’s success.  For most of Bea’s childhood, Mrs. Stewart just wasn’t there.  It wasn’t unusual for Bea and her mother to speak via cell phone only—sometimes for days at a time.  And because Bea was an only child, it made things even lonelier.  Many days, Lorene found herself staying at the Stewarts later than was required, simply to keep the poor girl company.

“Well, I’ve got an early meeting with the staff before we open tomorrow.  We’re introducing a new product line.  It’s very exciting.”  Mrs. Stewart had been eyeing the stir-fry since she walked in, “How’s the dinner?”

“It’s delicious.  There’s plenty here,” said Bea.

“No thanks Hon,” she smiled.  “I ate at the salon.”

Under the table, Bea nudged Lorene with her knee.

“Well, goodnight girls,” she said as she started up the staircase. “Oh, and Lorene, before you leave, could you find my Marc Jacobs sweater?  The red cashmere one?  Thanks.”  Mrs. Stewart waved over her shoulder and jogged up the stairs.

Bea got up and walked over to the fridge.  She took out the chocolate cheesecake Lorene had made for dessert.  “Do you want a piece?” she asked, cutting a generous slice for herself.

Lorene took her plate to the sink. “No thanks.  I think I’ll go look for that sweater before I leave.”

“Screw the sweater,” Bea muttered from behind.  “I think she’ll survive without it.” 

Lorene turned to find
Bea sticking a big chunk of cheesecake into her mouth.  She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this one.  Bea had issues with her mother; there was no doubt about it.  But Lorene felt it was best to approach the subject cautiously.  Even though she didn’t understand Mrs. Stewart’s priorities, it was important to stay neutral.  Painting Bea’s mother in a bad light wouldn’t help anything. “Okay, what’s this about?”

Bea’s mouth was puffed out with cheesecake, but it didn’t stop her.  “Do you notice how she doesn’t eat anything?  I mean it’s ridiculous!  I’m a size six and I look like a cow next to her.  She’s obsessed with being thin.”

“You know what Bea, I think she’s just stressed out.  She works very hard and it’s not easy dealing with those persnickety women all day.”

This behavior from Bea was something knew.  She never seemed to care much about anything her mom was doing, let alone how much she was eating. Was this jealousy?  Lorene didn’t think so.  Mrs. Stewart was a beautiful woman, but so was Bea.  The girl was probably
just worried about her mother, and unfortunately, she had good reason to be.

Mrs. Stewart had lost a lot of weight.  Lorene thought the weight loss probably had to do with the stress of her job, or the fact that she was turning the big four-0 soon.  Or, it could be because Mrs. Stewart was insecure and didn’t think she looked good enough for that jackass she was married to.

Bea’s father, Bill Stewart, was intolerable to Lorene.  He was a prominent business man in Cleveland and was on the board of directors for several companies.    He was never home, and fortunately, she only ran into him on rare occasions.

Lord, the man was full of himself.  Yes, he was good-looking if you were into the tall, light and handsome.  But even someone who looked like Robert Redford—and probably had as much money as him—didn’t impress Lorene.  Unless he had a strong character, all of the other
traits meant nothing.  The man acted so self-important, it was almost unbearable to be in the same room with him.

The Stewarts obviously didn’t have the time to do their own shopping, so Lorene bought everything: the groceries, the clothes, even the toiletries.  Early on in her employment, Mr. Stewart presented her with a computerized list of what he needed on a weekly and monthly basis.  The man used more products than any woman Lorene had ever known.  Anti-wrinkle lotion, eye-firming serum, exfoliating scrub, clay mask, night-time cream, day-time cream…and this was all just for his face!

All of these items were purchased at the cosmetics counter at Sak’s.  No Wal-Mart products in his bathroom.  When she bought him the Armani aftershave lotion in original formula instead of the sensitive skin formula, he acted like she had handed him a bottle of piss water.

“Hello?  Lorene?”  Bea interrupted her thoughts.  “Don’t you think so?”

“Sorry Hon.  Think what?”

Bea shoveled another huge
forkful of cheesecake into her mouth, “That she’s starting to look anorexic.”

All Lorene could do was shrug, “I do think she’s a little too thin.”  But weight loss didn’t seem to be Mrs. Stewart’s only problem.  Lorene didn’t tell Bea, but Mrs. Stewart had started closet-drinking.

Over the last few months, Lorene had found several empty bottles of Absolut under the bathroom sink.  Absolut vodka was Mrs. Stewart’s drink of choice—but usually with cranberry and a lime—not straight out of the bottle.

But, if anyone could drive a person to drink, it was Bill Stewart.  Lord knows if Lorene had been married to that horse’s ass, she would’ve been in the crazy house a long time ago.

***

Lorene got off the bus and started walking home.  Another week was done and it had been an eventful one.  Bea’s news about the boy was a surprise.  She wasn’t sure what was going to come of it, but it would be interesting when Mr. and Mrs. Stewart found out.  Lorene had a feeling that a garbage picker from Westwood would not be the Stewart’s first choice of an ideal boyfriend for their only daughter.

She opened the front door of her colonial on Revere Road.  Although she was technically in Cleveland city limits, she lived in one of the nicer areas on the East side.  They were close to two prominent universities as well as the museums and the orchestra hall.

She hoped Reggie was home.  She needed to let off some steam and he was a good sounding board.  He always listened and acted interested, even when she knew he wasn’t.  “Hey honey!”  She hung her jacket on a hook by the door and went into the kitchen.  She always brought home the leftovers for Reggie.  It was close to eight o’clock, but he didn’t mind a late dinner.

“I’m on the porch!” Reggie yelled from the back of the house.

Lorene joined Reggie on the porch, sitting on a wicker chair and putting her feet up on the ottoman.  “What a week.”

Reggie was hunched over his work table.  “Yeah?  What’s happening over in rich-man’s land?” he asked, paintbrush in hand.

Reggie collected model trains.  In the evenings he would spend hours on the three-season porch working on his hobby.  In the corner of the porch, sat a large display table with a replica countryside on top.  A myriad of railroad tracks crossed over mountains and through tunnels.  All of his train cars were Lionel, and they all were made prior to 1960.  Depending on their condition, he could spend days on one car, sometimes even months.

“Oh, I’m just a little worried about Bea, that’s all.”

“Okay…” He dipped his paintbrush into some red paint.  “Tell me about it.”

“You’re going to think I’m over-reacting, but I just have a really bad feeling about something.  See, she met this boy, and she was so excited about it.  I can tell she really likes him.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad.  She’s like seventeen isn’t she?  This is the time she’s going to start dating and all that.”

Lorene got up and walked back into the kitchen.  “I know.  But let me tell you how they met.  You’ll love this.”  She took out a frying pan to warm up the shrimp stir-fry.  “She’s going to school in the morning, pulling out the driveway, and she sees this kid getting up off the ground.”  She peeked around the corner into the porch.  “Are you listening to me?”

Reggie stopped painting, “Yes, I heard you Lorene.”

“Well, get this.  Bea sees that his arm is bleeding badly.  Blood all over the kid’s sweatshirt.  Apparently, he had been attacked by a raccoon.  Can you believe that?”

Reggie looked up, a big smile on his face, “Are you kidding me?”

“I swear,” she put her hands up in the air.  “And guess why he got attacked by that raccoon?”

“I know you’re going to tell me,” Reggie chuckled.

“He was hiding in some bushes at the end of the Stewart’s driveway.  And you may ask, ‘Why was he hiding in the bushes Lorene?’  And I would tell you, because he was garbage-picking!”

Reggie shook his head, “Oh no.”

Lorene went on, “I know!  Can you just see Bill Stewart’s face?  ‘Hey daddy, I’d like you to meet my new boyfriend.  I met him while he was picking through our garbage.’  Oh, it’s just too much Reggie.”

“Well you know what they say…”

“To each his own,” Lorene replied.  “To each his own.”