“I won’t be able to award Wesley any belts,” Rubin said. “And with school coming up and my own tae kwon do lessons, I wouldn’t have time to teach him.”
“You work with him now,” Dad said.
“But that’s only tutoring,” Rubin said. “I only help him with what he learns at the dojo.
That doesn’t take nearly the time it would if I had to show him everything from the beginning.”
I thought Rubin and Mr. Lopez were making headway with Dad, who now had both feet on the floor and sat up in his recliner. Dad motioned to Mom’s empty recliner and Mr. Lopez sat in it. Rubin and I remained standing in the archway between the dining and living rooms. This was the closest I’d been to Rubin since the closet, and I wasn’t frightened by his presence. Strangely, I was comforted by it, because somehow, and maybe this was wishful thinking, I thought Rubin had suggested to his father that they come and talk with Dad. During the silence, Rubin looked at me and flashed a faint smile.
“You’re sure you couldn’t teach him?” Dad asked.
“No way, and keep up my own training,” Rubin said.
“Guess I’ve got to go talk to that sonofabitch tomorrow,” Dad said.
The next night Dad and I waited in the dojo’s parking lot until we saw people walking out after class. I wanted to wait until everyone was gone before we went in, but Dad got out of the station wagon as soon as the first kid walked out, so I had to walk past all the kids who were clearly astonished to see me back in the dojo. Donnie made eye contact and held it; I looked away and went to sit in the waiting area next to Mr. Lopez. Even with my back to Donnie, I could sense his hateful eyes on me. After the way Dad had embarrassed him, I couldn’t blame Donnie for the way he felt towards me.
Mr. Bollars and Rubin were at the head of the workout area putting up equipment and Dad stood at the entrance to the workout area next to Mr. Bollars’s office. His hands gripped the metal tube and he looked straight ahead at Mr. Bollars. I had no idea what Dad would say, but I was glad that Mr. Lopez and Rubin were still here—witnesses who might stop Dad or Mr. Bollars from doing anything too bad to each other.
Mr. Bollars walked towards his office and saw Dad. He paused for a step, then continued.
I noticed the paused step and I knew Dad had too. Dad kept his eyes on his opponent the entire time. Dad had told me how before Grandfather Royal conducted a business deal he would work up a half dozen or so propositions and have them at the ready when it came time to talk business.
This way Grandfather Royal was never at a loss for anything to say and always had a counter offer. I wondered if Dad was that prepared.
“Good evening, Bollars,” Dad’s voice was gruff yet pleasant.
“Mr. Royal, Wesley.” Mr. Bollars bowed his head slightly at me when he spoke. “How can I help you?”
“Mr. Lopez, Rubin, would you please leave so Mr. Bollars and I can speak in private?” Dad said.
I needed them here. Who was going to keep Dad from losing his cool, cursing Mr. Bollars, and having me barred from every dojo in the state?
“Are you certain, Señor Royal?”
“I appreciate all you’ve done,” Dad said, “but I can take it from here.”
Mr. Bollars patted Rubin on the back as he walked past him and Mr. Lopez waved goodbye as they walked out the door. I looked for Donnie on the sidewalk but he was gone. I was so focused on Dad and Mr. Bollars that I hadn’t heard that loud station wagon.
“Let’s have a seat,” Dad said, and motioned to the folding chairs in the waiting area where I was. This caught me off guard. I expected them to go into Mr. Bollars’s office and, like a magician, Dad would perform his trick away from my eyes. Mr. Bollars’ gi fell open at the chest when he sat and I saw the black hairs on his chest that looked like sweaty, curly worms. His chest was firm and didn’t droop. I hoped to have a chest like Mr. Bollars’s one day, hair and all; I figured the hair would hide the acne. Dad turned a chair around and sat on it backwards in front of Mr. Bollars. He would have corrected me if I sat in a chair in such a fashion, but I supposed this was his business-talking position.
“I was a little out of order yesterday,” Dad said, “and I apologize for that. But you can’t blame a father for wanting the best for his son and not wanting his son to be cheated.” Dad sounded like a veteran diplomat, not the man who bullied everybody with whom he came into contact. “Please, go ahead and explain how Donnie took the test.”
Mr. Bollars was silent for a moment. I thought Dad’s new approach had thrown him off balance.
“Well, Mr. Royal, Donnie’s mother called me the afternoon of the test and explained how they had car trouble and asked if he could come in and make up the test.”
His mother called, not his father. I was almost certain now that Donnie was one of those kids without a father.
“That explains the forms,” Dad said, not quite cutting Mr. Bollars off, but not allowing him to finish his thought. “But what about the sparring?”
“Like I said yesterday, Donnie sparred with me.”
“But you’re a black belt. How was this fair?”
“I limited myself to white belt moves,” Mr. Bollars said, his breathing steady, and his voice relaxed. “Front kicks, punches, simple blocks, and I took care to watch my speed of execution.”
Dad nodded and seemed happy with that answer.
“Now, Mr. Bollars, I have to ask you the all important question: can my son come back to your dojo?”
“Wesley never had to leave.” Mr. Bollars looked at me and smiled. “He’s a good student. Hard-working and obedient. You should be proud of him, Mr. Royal.”
“I am. Believe me, I am.” Dad stood.
“But, Mr. Royal, you have caused two scenes in my dojo. One more and I will have to bar you and Wesley. Is that understood?”
“Loud and clear,” Dad said, his hand already extended for Mr. Bollars to shake.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow night, Wesley?” Mr. Bollars asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Inside I felt happy and light. I had never seen this side of Dad, cooperative and humble.
On the drive home Dad said, “Now that’s how you fool a fool. Daddy Royal always told me you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, and that Bollars was the biggest fly I’ve
got in a while. I want you to be a black belt, and now I’m bound and determined it’s going to be from that chump Bollars. It’s principle now. He’s got to be fucked.”
Besides selling plants, Mom leased some to businesses around Pensacola, and during the summer I accompanied her on the weekly route while Dad stayed home in case any customers came by the nursery. But today no one was home watching the nursery. Dad, in search of more plants, had hitched up his air-conditioned gooseneck trailer to his flatbed truck and made off for South Florida. He’d been gone four wonderful days. The house’s air felt light and we were happy. No cursing, no yelling, no pressure on me to be on guard at all times.
Most of the plants were leased to restaurants, but there was also the downtown Ramada Inn that had an arcade in its lobby. Arcades were forbidden to me by Dad who saw them as a waste of money. “You’re gonna give a machine a quarter so you can play it? And even if you win, you don’t get your quarter back or any other money. Those things are for suckers.” Then a sucker I was, because every time I saw the arcade at the Ramada Inn I wanted to go in and spend quarters.
That day there was a black teenager in the arcade. He looked like what Dad would call a Yankee nigger: he wore a sports coat rolled up to his elbows and had a Nikon camera hanging around his neck. He played Donkey Kong, a game that I had tried once, but didn’t like because I couldn’t save the girl or get any extra men, and extra men were important for me. I didn’t play often, so I had to make my games last, and I found that Ms. Pac-Man was the best game for me.