Cadillac
Jake crept into the back seat of his grandpa’s Cadillac. The interior light faded. The darkness made it feel colder. He tried to stifle the giggle that he always got when pulling a prank. It had seemed like a good idea to surprise his grandparents, but the cold leather numbing his thighs was causing him doubts. He shivered. He’d left his jacket on the floor of his room.
The new Cadillac was a reflection of his grandpa’s real estate success. It was classy, unlike his dad’s station wagon. There were no baby seats, no Cheerios on the floor, no smell of kids. It felt rich, like something J.R. Ewing would drive around Dallas. Jake always admired his grandpa’s heroic military career. Now he wondered if he would like to be a real estate agent.
“Money costs a lot,” his grandpa had told him. “I can’t be Utah’s top agent and drive clients around in a clunker.”
Jake slipped from the leather seat to the carpeted floor mat. He bunched his legs into his chest and huddled against the back of the passenger seat. The pocket behind the seat had some business cards in it. He took one and held it up to the light from the streetlamp. The print was embossed, a gold foil bar was shimmering along the bottom edge. There was a color photo of his grandpa wearing a white cowboy hat, a dark suit, and a bolo tie with a silver ram on the clip. Under the photo, near his name, it read USAF, Retired. He imagined what his own business card might look like⎯a photo of him wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie. Below the photo an inscription, Jake Wheeler, PI. He put his grandpa’s card in his back pocket.
He exhaled; his breath looked like the wake of a jet airliner. He watched it fade away and wondered how long he would have to wait in the cold.
* * *
Dad had been reading the paper in the living room. Jake sat at the counter while his mother cooked. She rotated to each station in the kitchen like she was on a carousel. She whisked at the stove, stirred at the counter, chopped at the island. Her best friend, Lu, had agreed to take the twins for the night so Mom didn’t have to fuss with them while serving a five-course meal to her parents.
The twins were crying when Lu arrived. Mom took two baby bottles from the fridge. When she handed them to Jake to put in the baby bag, one slipped and bounced off the counter. Milk sprayed across the kitchen. Mom bit her lip and kept cooking. Lu and Jake cleaned up as much as they could with dish towels.
Lu shouldered the baby bag, and Jake handed her the twins. She carried them, one in each arm.
“It will all work out,” Lu said. “It will be okay.” Mom nodded her head. A squirming tempest of crying babies whirled as Lu went out the front door.
Jake stood at the steamed-up window in the dining room and drew the star design from Rush’s 2112 album cover. Through his finger painting, snow was falling.
“Did you clean the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hang clean hand towels?”
“Yes.”
“Did you…”
“Mom, yes. The ‘grandpa chores’ are all done.”
“Don’t say that.”
Dad chimed in from the front room. “Did you prepare the royal red carpet for His Majesty the Colonel?”
Mom left the mixing bowl on the counter and went to the living room. Jake followed.
“Do not disrespect my parents, Ray,” she said. She poked his newspaper with a stirring spoon.
“It’s just a bit much.”
She leaned in and said, “You better change your attitude. We need this.”
“That’s what you think,” Dad said. He turned a page. Mom tore the newspaper down the middle with the spoon.
“How does it feel to sit in my father’s recliner?”
Dad wiggled in the chair. “It’s roomy.”
Her reluctant grin turned to a sneer.
“Set the table.” She threw her apron at him. “I’m going to get ready.” The bathroom door shut behind her. Dad stood up and pulled at his collar.
Jake smiled because he knew what his dad was going to say.
“I tell ya, Jake. I get no respect. No respect at all.”
* * *
They set the table. There was a new tablecloth, red with gold trim. The silverware gleamed. They stared at it.
“Does that look right to you?”
“I can never remember,” Jake said.
“If we could just serve cereal, we’d only have to put out spoons,” Dad said. “Wouldn’t that be something?”
Jake tried to imagine his grandpa eating Cheerios. The thought made him laugh. When Mom returned, she was applying cherry-red lipstick. She pressed her lips onto a tissue. He couldn’t remember the last time she wore lipstick. She pointed at the table on her way to the kitchen.
“Forks go on the left.”
* * *
When Jake’s brother Mike got home, he tore his coat and boots off and piled them in the foyer. He slid across the kitchen floor on his socks until he bumped into Mom.
“What are we eating?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” she said.
“But I’m hungry.”
She swiped at him with a spatula, nearly hitting his nose. “Go wash your hands.”
Mike started to spin around. “I’m hungry! I’m hungry!”
“Stop it, Mike.” She waved the spatula like she was directing a symphony. “You can wait.”
He stopped spinning and pointed at Mom. His voice was deep and eerie. “You must feed me! The power of Christ compels you!”
Dad dropped a spoon. It clanked off one of the plates. Mom reared back the spatula, primed to slap. “What did you say?”
Mike looked at Jake. Jake shook his head. Mom skipped any volume buildup and let out a full scream. “Where did you hear that?”
Mike slapped his hands over his mouth. Mom dragged him to the table. “Jake?”
Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Ray!” Mom yelled.
Dad started around the table, his hands up, annoyed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Uh,” she groaned. “Help me.” She whipped the spatula back at the boys. They flinched each time it was swiped by their faces. “I’m going to count to three.”
Mike backed up against Jake, shielding him with his arms. He blurted out, “We watched the exercise movie with the devil lady at Robbie’s.”
Jake pushed Mike away. “It’s called The Exorcist, stupid.”
Mom’s mouth opened, silent and astonished.
“You watched The Exorcist?” Dad asked.
Mom turned on him. “I told you, Ray. I told you not to let the boys go over there.” She turned to Jake. “You’re eleven. You know better. Your brother will probably have nightmares for months.” She tapped the spatula on Jake’s nose as she spoke. “I don’t have time for this.”
“That’s enough,” Dad said. He took the spatula from Mom. She tugged at her blouse, flipped her hair, and pulled a tissue from her pocket. She tapped her forehead with the tissue. They watched in silence as she re-applied lipstick and pursed her lips.
“They’ll be here soon,” she said. She looked at Dad. “You take care of this.”
Dad started to say something. Mom cut him off, her hand up like she was stopping traffic, and said, “Now.”
* * *
Jake sat on his parents’ bed. He was worried he was going to get spanked. Dad closed the door behind him. He stood with his arms crossed.
“Son, you know the rules,” he said. He began reciting the long list of things that Mormons do not do. “We don’t drink alcohol. We don’t smoke,” Dad continued to cite vices, temptations, and other evils. Jake pretended to listen to the lecture. It was as routine as pledging allegiance each morning when school started, going through the motions, staring at the flag, wondering what he’d play at recess, four square or basketball.
Dad ended emphatically. “And we don’t watch R-rated movies.”
“Sorry,” Jake said.
“Of all the movies, The Exorcist? How did you watch that movie anyway? Did the Burnetts get cable?”
“They got a LaserDisc.”
Dad was stunned. “No shit?” He held his hands up like he was holding a basketball. “A LaserDisc? The one from the November Consumer Reports magazine?”
Jake stood up from the bed. “It’s unbelievable. Only ten came in at Gibson’s. Robbie’s dad got one. It’s the only one in the neighborhood. Can you imagine? An LD?”
“Wow. An LD.”
“Yep. Gibson’s gave him a free movie disc with it.”
“I like the sound of that.” Dad nodded his head. “And the picture?”
“Like the movies,” Jake whispered. He motioned with his arms like an umpire calling a baseball player safe at home plate. “No fuzz at all.”
“What movies do they have?”
Jake named them, raising a finger for each movie. “Jaws was the free disc. Pete’s Dragon. The Blue Lagoon. The Warriors. And, well, you know.”
“What’s the sound like?”
Jake nodded his head, building up his dad’s suspense. “You won’t believe it. Robbie’s dad wired it to his JBL towers.” Jake pounded his fist into his hand. “Boom! It’s amazing.”
Jake was describing how the LD remote could freeze the movie and you could watch frame by frame when the doorbell rang. Jake slumped as if the lunch bell had rung and he had to go back to class.
“We better go eat,” Dad said. He opened the bedroom door and turned back. Jake saw the look on his face. It was the look he’d get every time they bought illegal fireworks in Wyoming. “I have to see what that picture is like.”
* * *
Jake gave both his grandparents a hug and sat down at the dining table. Dad sat at his end of the table. Grandpa sat at the other end.
“Everything looks wonderful, dear,” Grandma said. “So fancy.”
Mom poured iced tea from a crystal pitcher. There were napkin holders and lots of shiny serving spoons and white dishes. The food was extravagant. Mom’s Yorkshire puddings looked like tiny pancakes with broth syrup. She hated making it, but it was something that her mother had come to expect. They were all served red Jell-O placed on top of a leaf of lettuce. Mom had mixed in fruit cocktail, and when it set, pears, cherries, and grapes were suspended in the rubbery square. It wiggled when Jake bumped the table.
“Careful ol’ boy,” Grandpa said. “That plate is from China.”
“Yes,” Grandma said. “It’s our old china from China!” She snorted. Everyone laughed except for Jake’s dad.
Jake watched Grandpa slice a piece of roast beef and push it into his mashed potatoes. He pointed with his knife. “Have I ever told you about the time we had to flee China in a B-25 bomber in the middle of the night?”
“Yes. I love that story.”
“Not a story, ol’ boy. It’s the truth.”
“Can we please talk about something else?” Mom asked.
Grandpa finished chewing his food. He began to cut another piece. “Well then, perhaps Ray can entertain us.”
Dad set down his fork. He crossed his hands over his plate. “Ben, home entertainment has gone to the next level. Have you heard about LaserDisc?”
“Toys?” Grandpa laughed. “What about these damn gas prices?”
“Not toys, Ben. It’s 1980. It’s the age of technology.”
Jake couldn’t stop himself. “Can we get one, Dad?”
“Wouldn’t that be something?”
“You already have a TV,” Grandpa said.
“But it’s black and white.”
“Sometimes you have to learn to appreciate the things you have,” Grandpa said.
“We don’t even have a VCR.”
Grandma touched her napkin to her lips and cleared her throat. “We had a lesson on being thrifty in Relief Society. You know, Ray. Living within our means.”
“I was talking about a LaserDisc, Lynn,” Dad said. “Not preaching a sermon.” He started eating again.
Jake recognized defeat. He smashed peas on his plate with his fork.
Grandpa looked at Jake. “It’s up to you, ol’ boy,” he said. “How many girlfriends do you have now? Six, seven?”
Before Jake could reply, Mike leapt from his chair. “I’m done.”
“Wait a minute, young man,” Grandpa said. “What do we say?”
Mike looked confused.
“We say, ‘May I be excused?’” Grandma said.
“Okay,” Mike said. He flopped to his belly at the top of the carpeted basement stairs and did his best Bugs Bunny voice. “Bon voyage.” He slid away, escaping to the basement.
* * *
Jake helped his mom serve the pineapple upside-down cake. His grandpa began the story about the escape from China. He paused to take a drink. Mom stood up from the table and picked up her plate of half-eaten cake. “It’s time to talk.”
Dad looked at Jake. “We need some time to talk.”
“I’m old enough.”
“Sorry ol’ boy,” Grandpa said. “We’ll catch up sometime soon. I’ll finish my story about China later.”
Betrayed by both men, Jake excused himself and started downstairs. Nobody was smiling. It was like the moment before his teacher at school would make the class put their heads on their desks.
* * *
Jake sat on his bed flipping through a Star Wars comic book. He tried to listen to the conversation through the ceiling vent. He could only make out a few words here and there. His dad was doing most of the talking. The somber conversation made him edgy, and he didn’t want to eavesdrop anymore. He threw his comic book at the wall.
Maybe it was his love for James Bond movies or the obsession to be a spy that made him come up with the idea to surprise his grandparents. It would be fun, he thought. A spy mission. Everyone likes surprises. He planned his mission. It would be a hide-and-surprise assignment. He eased open the basement door and made his way around the house to his grandpa’s Cadillac.
The last time he was in his grandpa’s car, they’d driven to Mirror Lake to go fishing. His hands had smelled like salmon eggs and rainbow trout. He liked that his grandma caught a lot of trout because she paid him a quarter each time he took a fish off her hook and re-baited it. He had counted the coins in the back seat. They smelled like fish from his hands. His grandparents were singing along to a Frank Sinatra song. He fell asleep on the way home.
* * *
It felt like he had been hiding in the Cadillac for a very long time. When the porch light came on, Jake felt a spike of adrenaline and raised his head enough to see his dad push a snow shovel down the walkway. He made himself smaller against the back of the passenger seat.
The front door opened. Snowflakes fluttered into the car. Jake stopped breathing. He felt the seat push against him as his grandma sat down. His dad was yelling from the porch. Grandpa was yelling back. When his grandpa opened the driver’s side door, Jake heard his dad.
“Oh yeah? Wouldn’t that be something?”
The front door of the house slammed shut.
“God damn you, Ray,” his grandpa yelled.
The porch light turned off.
Jake gripped his knees. The car rocked side to side as his grandpa moved in behind the wheel. Bing Crosby’s Christmas Song came on when the engine started.
“Goddammit,” his grandpa said. The Cadillac lurched out of the driveway. “God damn that bastard!”
“Ben!” Grandma said. “Enough.”
The car fishtailed up the icy road. Jake braced himself against the seat. From the front seat there came an unmistakable click-click of a lighter, followed by a soft glow. The glow ended with another click. Grandma exhaled heavily.
“Do you want one?” she asked.
“You know I hate Virginia Slims,” Grandpa said.
Cigarette smoke drifted over the back seat and swirled around Jake. It smelled like the arcade at Hilltop Lanes. The smoking was so unexpected, for a moment he thought he was dreaming. He kept thinking, Oh my gosh, my grandma is smoking a cigarette!
“I knew it. God damn Jiminy Christmas!” Grandpa said. “I knew it.”
The passenger window opened enough to let cold air in. Cigarette smoke rushed out.
Jake followed the turns in his mind during the short drive toward his grandparents’ condo. Left on Jefferson Street. Right on Madison. Right on Emerald Lane. The car came to a stop under the covered parking. When the engine was turned off, the music stopped. In that moment of silence, Jake was certain his grandparents could hear his heart pounding.
Abort surprise mission, he thought. This is now a survival mission.
Grandpa twirled the car keys around his finger. Grandma blew smoke toward the crack of the window. Most of it drifted into the back of the car. Jake held his breath.
“You would have thought that they would have bought their own china by now,” Grandma said. “And that Yorkshire pudding.” She snorted and chuckled. “I don’t have the heart to tell her.”
“I’m not going to do it,” Grandpa said.
“Ben, dear,” she said. Her cigarette crackled lightly. “Yes, you will.”
“Not this time.”
“Oh, Ben.” Jake heard her leather glove pat Grandpa’s shoulder. “We were young once.”
“I need a nightcap.”
“I’ll be in to make us one,” she said. “Give me a minute.”
Grandpa cussed as he struggled to get out of the car. He stood in the open door. “I’ll go to the bank in the morning,” he said.
The door shut. Grandma started humming the Christmas song that had been playing. He heard the ashtray under the dash creak open and shut. “Chestnuts roasting…” she sang. She was still humming when she stepped out of the car and shut the door.
* * *
Jake walked along the tire tracks in the unplowed road. From Emerald Hills, he could see across the Ogden Valley. The snow illuminated the evening like a nightlight in a dim hallway. The white cap of Mount Ogden glowed against the sky.
Jake debated whether his grandma had started smoking in China or England. Probably China. He imagined her smoking in an elegant restaurant, wearing a scarf and wool beret, looking like Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca.
Adrenaline gave way to the cold air. He hadn’t been this cold since they drove away from his house. Now his ears were freezing. He walked faster and tried not to think about it.
The argument between his dad and grandpa played over and over in his mind. He felt for the business card in his back pocket and stopped to look at it. He imagined Dad and Grandpa in a fist fight, the cowboy hat knocked off his grandpa’s head from a punch. The thought made him sick. He flipped the card into the snow and ran the rest of the way home.
Jake crept through the back door, past the laundry room, and up the stairs. The regular tablecloth was back on the table. His mom was standing at the kitchen sink. She didn’t look up when he sat at the counter. Jake watched her wash dishes.
“Where’s Dad?”
She set another stack of dishes in the sink. Her eyes were red. The lipstick was gone. She took off her rubber gloves, leaned over the counter, and put her hands on his face. Her skin was hot.
“You need to make better decisions, young man. No more evil movies.”
Jake nodded his head.
“Promise?”
Any other time he would have said, I’ll think about it, or some other smartass comment, but there was an unfamiliar look of disappointment on her face.
“Okay,” he said. He felt ashamed, like he might start crying. He bit down on the inside of his cheek.
Mom put her gloves back on and went back to washing dishes. He wanted to ask her about Grandma’s smoking. He wanted to tell her Grandpa was going to go to the bank in the morning. He wanted to say what Lu had said, that everything would be alright, even though he wasn’t sure it would be. But he didn’t say any of it.
“Dad’s in the garage,” she said. “He called down for you.”
Jake cringed. “Is he upset?”
“Go see him,” she said.
On his way to the garage, he stopped and stood behind his mom. She looked up. In the window above the sink, they could see their reflections. He held his hand flat over the top of his head and then floated it slightly up to the top of her head.
“Almost as tall,” she said. She winked at him.
Jake went to open the door to the garage.
“Say a prayer he can fix it this time,” she called after him.
* * *
A Rolling Stones cassette tape was playing. The mechanic’s heater made it warmer in the garage than in the house. Dad was singing along with Mick. He backed out from under the hood of the station wagon. He was wearing the orange jumpsuit from an auto mechanics class he took at Weber State College.
“Where’ve you been? I was calling you.”
“Nowhere.”
Dad tapped his socket wrench on the engine. “I’d like to go there someday.” He handed Jake a flashlight. “It might be the timing. It might be the alternator.”
Dad leaned on the engine and reached to turn a bolt. As he worked, he told a Rodney Dangerfield joke, the one about the briefcase handle, the doorknob, and going to the bathroom.
“Nothing? Not even a chuckle?” Dad asked. He kept working on the bolt. “No respect, I tell ya. None at all.”
Jake still didn’t laugh. Dad stopped working.
“What’s wrong?”
“I just want the car to be fixed. That’s all.” Jake turned off the flashlight. “I heard you and Grandpa.”
“Oh?” Dad pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped his hands.
“Yeah,” Jake said. “He sounded pissed.”
Dad laughed. “That’s because he was.” He placed the socket wrench in his toolbox and unzipped his jumpsuit. “Your mom has his temper. Be glad she doesn’t cuss like him.”
Jake smiled.
“Watch your fingers,” Dad said, and lowered the hood.
Jake followed Dad out the side door, through the snow to the street. He had to jog to keep up. They went a couple houses down the block to the Burnetts’.
“We’re in luck,” Dad said. He pointed down at the basement window. “They’re watching something.”
Robbie’s dad answered the door. Jake smelled popcorn.
“Sorry it’s late, Bob,” Dad said.
“No problem. We’re all up. What can I do for you?”
“I’m working on my car, and my socket wrench is missing. Can I borrow yours?”
“Of course. Come on in,” Robbie’s dad said. “It’s just another Friday night at the Burnetts’. We’re watching Jaws. You ever see it?”
When Robbie’s dad turned back into the house, Dad gave Jake a thumbs up sign.
The Burnetts were in the family room. Dad stood in the back talking to Robbie’s dad about the LaserDisc. Jake sat on the floor next to Robbie and his sisters.
“It’s half over,” Robbie said, without taking his eyes off the television.
Quint and Hooper compared scars in the galley of the Orca. When Dad sat on the couch, Jake knew they’d be staying for a while.
* * *
As they walked home, his dad spun the borrowed socket wrench. He made the socket click slowly like the fishing reel clicked in Jaws. He started mimicking the theme to Jaws. “Duh nuh, duh nuh, duh nuh. The sound was incredible.”
“Told you.”
All the lights were off at the house. Dad blew in his hands. Jake could tell he wasn’t going to tell a joke or talk about Jaws.
“Promise me something, Jake. Don’t ever get in debt.”
“Okay,” Jake said.
Dad shook his head. “I mean it. Owing money is not good. Understand?”
Jake nodded. “I understand.”
Dad turned on the garage lights, the heater, and the Rolling Stones.
“It’s late,” Jake said.
“Car’s not going to fix itself.”
Jake handed Dad tools. They took out the alternator. Jake flipped the Rolling Stones tape each time it ended. The fourth time he flipped the tape, he returned yawning.
“Why don’t you go to bed,” Dad said. “I’m almost done.”
Jake thought about going inside.
“I’ll stay,” Jake said.
He got into the back seat of the station wagon, balled up a nursery blanket, and leaned against the one of the twins’ car seats.
Tools clinked against the engine. The station wagon rocked when his dad leaned on it. He could hear him singing with the Stones. Jake mumbled the words as he fell asleep: But don’t play with me, ’cause you’re playing with fire.
JAMES R. WEST
James R. West studied creative writing at the University of New Mexico. He writes short stories about growing up in Utah. He has been blessed to have worked with Native American tribes for the past 23 years. His beloved birth mother and Native mother are both named Linda.