The Girl in White Pajamas Page 6

  Bogie placed the bag on the counter and said, “I bought some things for breakfast.”

  Trudie looked at him surprised. “You can see all the things for breakfast are here. The coffee’s even ready.”

  Trying not to hurt the old woman’s feelings, he said, “After I had a heart attack, I had to have open-heart surgery. In order to get better and stay better I needed to change the way I live, the way I eat.”

  Confused Trudie asked, “Don’t you eat breakfast anymore?”

  Bogie nodded. “I do, but it’s different.” He started removing containers of yogurt, fresh fruit and a box of herb tea from the bag. He lifted a large Cadbury chocolate bar from the bag and handed it to Trudie. “For you…since you don’t need to diet.” He took two packs of Tareyton cigarettes out and handed them to James who thanked him as though he’d handed him gold.

  Trudie’s eyes filled with tears and she smiled. “You always remember.”

  “Of course, we were neighbors!” Bogie said referring to his assigned bedroom in the house which was on the third floor in the servants’ quarters. “And how many meals have we had together?”

  James and Trudie both shook their heads as they sadly remembered the poorly-dressed boy and his cardboard suitcase holding a white slip of paper as he stood at the front door. He awkwardly introduced himself as Boghdun Uchenich and added that his father, Baxter McGruder, was expecting him. Baxter, however, showed him no kindness or hospitality. McGruder instructed James to take the boy to the third floor bedroom so he could put his suitcase down. When the unsophisticated boy returned to the ground floor, he was led to the dining room where Baxter, Elizabeth, their son Bud, and little Ann were already at the table. A bottle of wine was opened as Baxter sat at the head of the table. China plates with the food decoratively placed on them were brought in from the kitchen by Trudie and James. Trying to be polite, Boghdun looked around the dining room and addressed Baxter and Elizabeth. “Do yunz eat like this every night?” he asked speaking in his typical Pittsburghese. They flinched as though he’d cursed at the table, and Bud smirked. When no one answered him, the boy started to eat. He ate quickly and hungrily since he hadn’t eaten since he left Pittsburgh that morning. As he gobbled his food, he used the index finger of his left hand to push it onto his fork since a fork or spoon was the only cutlery he’d ever been given. Bogie continued to eat until he noticed the silence in the room. He looked up to find Baxter and Elizabeth studying him as though an animal was sitting at their table. Bud continued to smirk, his round dimpled cheeks puffing out. Baxter put down his knife and fork. He stood up and called, “James! James!” James quickly walked into the room. He watched as Baxter pointed to Bogie. “Take him out of here! He’ll eat in the kitchen with you until he learns some table manners and how to talk!”

  Mortified, Bogie rose from his seat and followed James from the room. None of the uneducated, classless people on the South Side of Pittsburgh had ever humiliated him the way these fancy Boston folks had.

  Bogie never ate another meal with the McGruder family.

  As the months passed, Bogie worked on removing the Pittsburghese from his vocabulary while Trudie showed him how rich folks used forks and knives. When Baxter asked if he was ready to join the family for a meal, Bogie said he wasn’t. Two years later, Baxter asked him the same question and Bogie gave him the same response. Baxter’s only comment was, “Fuck you!” When Bogie muttered something in Ukrainian under his breath, Baxter grabbed him by the throat and pushed him against the wall. “I can understand that hunky talk, you punk! You’ll show me some respect!” Bogie’s suspicions were confirmed, Baxter was a liar. Once, when Bogie’s mother wasn’t too drunk she told him that Baxter had difficulty pronouncing Boghdun and made no attempt to learn Ukrainian or any other Slavic languages spoken on the South Side. Besides, if Baxter had actually understood what Bogie said, he probably would have knocked his teeth out before he put him through the wall.

  As Bogie, James and Trudie shared meals together, they formed a bond. With no children of their own the couple tried to look out for the boy. When Bogie was ready for school, he was required to take placement exams. He overheard Baxter telling Elizabeth that the short bus would probably be coming to the house to pick Bogie up for school since Baxter believed the kid was another dumb hunky. More than anyone, Baxter was shocked to learn of his son’s extremely high IQ and placement in the prestigious Boston Latin School, which was free for gifted Boston children. That was an accomplishment that neither Bud, with a legion of tutors, nor little Ann would ever attain. James and Trudie were as proud as if their own child had won the Nobel Prize. Trudie got out a mix and put together a cake to share that night. By then, Bogie knew that Trudie wasn’t really much of a cook. Her culinary skills were limited to opening packages and cans and displaying things nicely on plates. That was fine with Elizabeth and Baxter. It wasn’t the food so much as the presentation and pretense that made up the meal.

  Trudie was shocked when Bogie fixed himself a cup of herbal tea and passed on the coffee. “But you love coffee!” she protested.

  “I love coffee, I love cigarettes, I love beer, but I love something more–my life! I want to enjoy my life with my children and grandchildren. Giving up those things is a small price to pay.”

  “Speaking of your children, what about little daughter, Isabella? Are you going to see her?” James asked.

  “So far, her mother hasn’t told me she exists.”

  James studied Bogie. “Are you being stubborn or are you afraid Bailey won’t let you have a part in the child’s life.”

  “Both.”

  13 SO MANY QUESTIONS, SO FEW ANSWERS

  Weston, Massachusetts

  The little girl held the Cambodian woman’s hand as they walked out the cellar door of the converted farm house toward the carriage house at the end of the driveway. Isabella argued with the older woman. “I must, Kim! Uncle George hasn’t seen me in days! He misses me. He’s sad when I don’t come to visit him.”

  “But he’s resting,” Kim argued.

  “That’s all everybody does! Everybody’s so sad and resting all the time.” She reached up and pushed the buzzer waiting for the white curtain on the glass to move. When it did, she grinned as did the slim man with a long mane of black hair. He opened the door, grabbed Isabella, lifted her up and twirled her around. They both laughed.

  “Thanks for bringing her over, Kim!” George said.

  “She say she must see you.”

  George Doyle Hampfield grinned at Isabella as she nodded. “Well, Izzy, since you’ve come to visit me, maybe we should have some milk and cookies!”

  The chubby little redhead agreed. “And we can read a book, too,” Isabella added.

  The handsome man turned to Kim. “If you have something to do, you can come back in an hour.”

  Kim nodded, waved good-by to George and Isabella, and turned to walk away. While she moved across the lawn to the large house, George noticed a dark sedan driving slowly down the road past the property. He thought it odd because their street had very light traffic.

  When Kim was gone, the little girl took her uncle’s hand, “Uncle George, I’m worried. Something bad is happening! Mommy’s always crying. She slept for two whole days.” Raising her two fingers to make her point. “Is she going to die?”

  The handsome man sadly lifted the little child and hugged her. “I promise, she’s not going to die. Some things happened to make her sad, but she’ll be okay.”

  “Why did she cry when she answered her phone this morning?”

  George shook his head. “I don’t know. We’ll have to ask her, won’t we?”

  Isabella nodded. “And you and Uncle Jack haven’t come to visit me.”

  “I haven’t been feeling well, I’ve been home and Uncle Jack’s had to do my work and his.” George pointed to the yellow floral pattern loveseat and indicated that Isabella should sit down. Th
e living room was decorated with white, lace curtains and yellow and orange accents throughout with white end tables. George called it ‘Early Doris Day’. Isabella picked up the remote control and flicked through the stations of the TV until she found what she was looking for.

  When George returned to the living room with a small tray holding two glasses of milk and a plate of cookies, he studied Isabella as she watched two blondes with over-processed hair arguing and trading obscene hand gestures while members of Jerry Springer’s audience egged them on. George placed the tray on the coffee table, picked up the remote control and switched off the TV. They smiled at each other, and he sat down. “Do you think we should find out what Stuart Little is up to today?” he asked as he reached for the book.

  Isabella nodded as she chewed her cookie.

  *****

  Boston

  After Bogie, James and Trudie finished their breakfast, James stepped outside to enjoy one of his new cigarettes. Bogie checked his watch. “Everybody still sleeping?”

  Trudie shook her head. “Miss Amanda left before you got here. Rose picked her up. I believe they went shopping.”

  “Where?” Bogie asked.

  “I think Copley Place,” Trudie offered.

  With visions of Neiman Marcus, Saks and high-end boutiques going through his head, he sighed.

  “Let her be,” Trudie suggested. “Rose enjoys spoiling Amanda. She’s like a mother to her. She wants her to have the finer things.”

  “No, Rose is more like Auntie Mame! She helps develop delusions of grandeur in Mandie then leaves me with the cleanup detail. I’d rather Rose encouraged her to be more practical.”

  Trudie smiled. “Well, as you like to say ‘She is what she is’! Amanda’s a beautiful girl! Rose wants her to look her best. I saw pictures of her mother. Amanda looks just like her, doesn’t she?”

  Bogie nodded. “I just hope she doesn’t turn out like her.”

  “She’s a good girl, with a good heart. She’ll be fine.”

  “You know she’s pregnant?”

  Trudie nodded.

  Bogie laughed. “Does Herself or Ann have a clue that you and James probably know more about what’s happening in this house than they do?”

  Trudie smiled and shrugged.

  “But she’s so young. He’s so young,” Bogie lamented.

  “And how old was her mother when you married her?”

  “Nineteen.”

  “And how old were you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Isn’t that similar to Amanda and her young man?”

  “I hope not!” Bogie said. “You saw how well that turned out! Besides it’s up in the air whether he’s still her young man.”

  14 ALL IN THE FAMILY

  After breakfast, Bogie went next door to the brownstone with one large outside door, a vestibule and two inside doors. As he walked up the stairs, he remembered hurrying down these same steps four years earlier when he was angry with everyone. That day, Amanda had been dilly dallying, and they were going to miss their flight. But more than that, he was concerned about Bailey. She was being touchy and unreasonable. Even through the fury, he thought that everything would work out. It didn’t. It all turned to shit!

  When he noticed there were two holes where the doorbells used to be, he knocked on the downstairs door. Frustrated, he found himself pounding on the glass insert so hard it was rattling in the frame.

  Jeannie McGruder yanked the door open, and Bogie almost gasped.

  Fifteen years earlier Jeannie was treated like a movie star in the Boston Police Department. With her platinum colored hair and 38DD bust she was the sexiest looking rookie on the force. Jeannie was in top physical condition and could outrun any of the guys. Unfortunately, she didn’t run fast enough to get away from Bud McGruder. He pursued her, married her and, in the tradition of his father before him, began to look for new conquests before the ink on the marriage license was dry. After the birth of their beautiful baby girl, Jennifer, Bud swore he’d mend his ways and be a good husband and father. He didn’t, and the marriage turned into a series of bitter alcohol fueled fights. One night, drunk and desperate, Jeannie pulled her service revolver out when he came home with the smell of another woman all over him. She aimed at his arm, but struck the wall next to him. The bullet went through the wall and killed little Jennifer, who was asleep in the next room. Jeannie’s life as a mother, cop and useful member of society ended that day.

  Looking at her now, Bogie had difficulty believing this enormous woman with a bloated face and black slits for eyes was Jeannie.

  “What the fuck?!” She slurred and spit, “Who the fuck?”

  “Hi, Jeannie,” he said a bit shaken.

  Her hand moved to her mouth and she started sobbing when she recognized him. Bogie put his arm around her and led her into the downstairs apartment that he once called home.

  When Bogie was married to his father’s mistress, Olga, they lived here pretending to be a family while Baxter McGruder paid the rent. Bogie and Amanda moved their simple furniture from their Quincy house into this apartment. The cheap furniture was probably out of place in the formal living room, but Bogie didn’t care. The dining room was turned into Amanda’s bedroom and the den into a bedroom for the happy couple and baby Barbara. Bogie never slept in that room and only went in there once to change the crying baby’s diaper when Olga was passed out on the bed. He kept his few belongings in Amanda’s room and slept on the couch. Although they were somewhat crowded with baby paraphernalia placed around the apartment, it was as neat as possible as a result of Bogie’s obsession with order and cleanliness.

  As he looked around this place now it was unrecognizable to him. Some of the old furniture was still there but totally destroyed. The blue tweed couch now had springs popping out of the back and large stains over the cushions. Some of the unidentifiable stains were three dimensional. They matched similar stains on the carpeting. The walls had unusual substances attached to them. As he glanced at the one wall, Bogie remembered the saying ‘If you throw enough shit at the wall, some of it sticks’. It looked like some of the shit stuck to this wall. There were bullet holes in the wall between the living room and what had been Amanda’s bedroom. The furnace was running nonstop and waves of heat made the room feel like it was a hundred degrees, but he felt a cold breeze as he crossed the hall to the living room. He assumed the fresh air was a result of Mother McGruder shooting out the kitchen window.

  The smell in the apartment was a combination of second hand booze, greasy take-out, dirty bodies and shit.

  Sadly, Bogie looked down at Jeannie’s greasy, gray hair, her enlarged abdomen and her swollen hands and feet. He helped her to the couch and said, “I’m sorry, Jeannie.”

  She squinted as she studied him then made a curling motion with her index fingers as she tried to point to him. “Sorry,” she repeated. “You hated him!” She cackled.

  “I’m not sorry for him. I’m sorry for you. You’re the one who got the shit end of the stick.”

  “We have to make arrangements for Bud. Are you up for it?” Bogie asked.

  “I don’t give a shhhhit! He’s dead!”

  “Don’t you want to be involved?”

  “Involvvved? He lived up there!” She pointed to the ceiling. “Wouldn’t even let me come up any more. This is myyy…hous…,” she tried to say with her finger still twirling above her. “He said I was…he was a bad...”

  “I know,” Bogie said softly. “You don’t rent out this apartment anymore?”

  She looked at him blankly then shook her head. “Not since you.” And then she seemed to drift away into her thoughts.

  “How about if I come back tomorrow, and we can talk about the arrangements?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll send somebody over this afternoon to fix your window.”

  Jeanie moved her head in a strange moti
on resting the side of her face on one shoulder and then the other. “Why?”

  “So you won’t have animals crawling through your window,” Bogie said.

  Jeannie cackled again. “Like the old lady?”

  Bogie smiled and repeated, “Like the old lady.”

  “She’s fuck’n crazy! They should lock her up and throw away the key!”

  Bogie only nodded.

  “What happened…to...you and the kid? Where’d you go? You look…different.”

  “We moved to Florida.” Since she probably wouldn’t remember it the next day, Bogie figured that was all the explanation she needed.

  Bogie left the apartment and walked down the stairs even faster than he had four years earlier. This time he needed fresh air, but he was also in much better shape than he had been just before the heart attack, the big wake-up call! He was forty pounds lighter with no fat. All flab had long since turned to muscle.

  As Bogie returned to the McGruder house, he somehow resented that these God-awful tasks were falling on his shoulders. He wasn’t a real McGruder and his old man and Elizabeth McGruder went to great pains to remind him of that on a regular basis. They did, however, change his name. They believed Boghdun Uchenich just wasn’t an acceptable handle in Boston society. Even that turned into a battle when the judge in Family Court asked him if he was okay with changing his name to Bradley McGruder. Bogie told the judge that he didn’t want to change his name; he was being forced to change it. Bogie pointed out to the judge that his father had helped name him Boghdun and was the one who shortened it to Bogie. The judge was surprised to hear that Baxter McGruder lived with Mary Uchenich and their son Boghdun until he deserted them when Bogie was three years old. Bogie told the judge that it would be disrespectful to his dead mother to change his name. Without glancing at Baxter or Elizabeth McGruder, Bogie knew they were glaring at him and wanted to kill him. He maintained his sincere expression, the one he used when he was an altar boy back on the South Side of Pittsburgh a million years earlier. The judge ruled that for family continuity, his last name would be changed to McGruder and he could keep his first name.