The True Story of Pete and Repeat
Sunday, April 17, 2011 – 11:12 am
Pete leaned far over the guardrail at the apex of Hightower Bridge. The carriage bolts that held the railing in place bent slightly in protest. Repeat held his breath, shutting his eyes as his nerves tingled with shameful anticipation.
What a sissy I am, he thought. I can’t even watch after all the effort I’ve put into this? His eyes remained closed as he waited on his bench. Every muscle in his body throbbed from last night’s harrowing activities.
“What the hell is that?” Pete asked. His voice seethed with anger. “Get over here and look at this!”
Repeat’s eyes snapped open. He exhaled slowly, trying to appear nonchalant as his blood pressure escalated just a few notches. Pete was standing upright now, a foot or two away from the guardrail, gesturing wildly to something over the side of the bridge.
Repeat did not need to look. He already knew what his friend was so worked up about. But he lumbered off his bench anyway, groaning as his arthritic back knotted with displeasure. He hobbled slowly toward his friend, making sure to stay well behind him.
“I can’t believe it!” Pete said, leaning forward again. “There she is in broad daylight, right in front of everyone! After all these years, she has the nerve to – “
A simple push. That’s all that was needed. Repeat didn’t have much strength left in his weary old body, but it didn’t require that much effort. Pete didn’t even have time to resist him. Luckily, no one was around on that quiet Sunday morning. All the “Do Not Enter” and “Danger: Bridge Under Repair” signs he’d affixed the night before ensured their complete privacy.
Pete flew like a sack of feathers over the side of the bridge as the guardrail finally gave way. Somehow, he managed to catch onto a rung of the metal railing as the bolts further loosened from their fittings. His eyes bulged as he called out a silent cry for help.
Repeat stared at Pete as he dangled a hundred feet over the Swathern River by one flimsy hand while the other flailed about. His mouth was agape as his breaths came out in quick bursts. A loud horn sounded from the boat below, vibrating under Repeat’s feet and prompting Pete’s fragile form to sway dangerously from side to side, further threatening his precarious grip.
Repeat had waited a long while to see his friend in this position. It felt better than he expected. He bent down, his back muscles screaming their disapproval, and he lowered himself to his belly gingerly, grabbing for his friend’s hand.
Pete frantically grasped his wrist, kicking to gain momentum. His other hand reached up to gain hold of Repeat’s shirt cuff, but without hesitation, Repeat slapped it away.
Pete stared at his lifelong friend, his desperate eyes pleading for mercy. They revealed just how clueless he actually was. “But, why?” he sputtered as Repeat stared back with forty years of rage. The teapot had been simmering long enough.
Pete did not have time to question him further. Repeat pried his fingers away, one by one, as his friend frantically attempted to hold on for his precious life. As Pete plummeted toward the wake formed by the Queen of the Jeweled Sea tour boat, Repeat solemnly gave him a one-finger salute.
“Farewell, my dear old friend.”
***
Sunday, April 17, 2011 – 10:38 am (about 35 minutes before)
“What, no cookies today?” Repeat asked as Pete flew out the front door before he had a chance to knock.
“Nah. Myrna had her book club meeting this morning and left a little while ago. Guess she didn’t get the chance to make any.”
Pete’s wife always had a fresh batch ready for their weekly jaunt into Langley to meet up with the old gang at Guisseppe’s Tavern. Every Sunday morning for the past forty years, while Pete got ready (which took longer than it should for any self-respecting man), Repeat had the pleasure of those delightfully warm almond cookies sprinkled with just a touch of cinnamon while he visited with Myrna for a spell. It was always the highlight of his week.
“Don’t they usually meet on Sunday evening?” Repeat asked as he lowered himself slowly down the porch stairway. He grabbed the banister for support as Pete sprung off the last step.
“Yeah. But, it got changed last minute. Myrna was all excited ‘cause they just made her president. Guess it’s her inauguration or something.”
“I see. Well, good for her,” Repeat said as he followed in his friend’s shadow.
Pete spun around at the end of the front walk, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “Hey, there’s something I need to talk to you about before we meet up with the others.”
Repeat winced as the gesture sent a wave of pain down his spine.
“Geez, what’s with you this morning?” Pete asked, finally noticing his friend’s discomfort.
“Nothing. Just a little sore from trying to fix that squeaky door in my kitchen,” he lied, knowing his friend would never get the chance to verify it.
Pete eyed his aging friend, who held his back as he walked stooped over like a man twenty years older. He poked at Repeat’s arm, grinning in his I’m-better-than-you-way that made Repeat want to deck him right there. But, he had other plans, so a good whacking just wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t compare to what was coming next.
“You gotta get yourself to the gym and start pumping some iron, my man. Does a body good.” Pete patted his chest and flexed a bicep to show off his superior physique. A slight hump formed in the wrinkled and sagging skin. Repeat suppressed a laugh. “Anyway, like I was saying, there’s a delicate matter I need to discuss.”
“Oh?” Repeat asked, arching an eyebrow as he paused to catch his breath. “I can only guess.”
“Nah, it’s not what you think.”
He waited for Pete to utter another half-hearted, sorry-but-I-could-keep-it-in-my-pants admission. He usually did this while making eyes at his next conquest. Was it the cashier at the fruit market this time? Or perhaps the woman who delivered his mail? Or the lady police officer who pulled them over for speeding last week when they drove back from the baseball game? Or perhaps it was that toll collector on the turnpike headed into Carraway? She’d been awfully friendly last month when they’d gone to bet on the horses.
“I swear it! There’s no one new. I’ve really turned over a new leaf this time.” His palms were splayed upward in his familiar earnest gesture. His face was the picture of innocence as he marched backward down the street.
Repeat snorted, smirking at his friend. “How many times have I heard that? I think I’ll have that inscribed on your headstone.”
Pete’s angelic face magically morphed into a somber one, the usual mischievous grin replaced by a solemn expression he’d not even displayed at his own father’s funeral. “Look, I’m in trouble here and I have nowhere else to turn.”
“Yeah? What’d you do this time?”
“There was this lawyer that came into the office last week. I knew it was one cause of the way he carried himself. All important-like. Walked around like he owned the friggin’ place. I tried to see what was going on, but I couldn’t get a straight answer outta’ anybody. Then, Friday, when I was just packing up to go home, Judy hands me the afternoon mail. There’s this big envelope in the stack, real official looking. I rip it open to find a summons from the courthouse.”
They had neared the entrance to Hightower Bridge by then, and Pete stopped when he saw all the warning signs. “Hey! Would’ya look at that. They’re finally fixing this rickety old thing. When did this happen?”
Repeat kept a straight face and shrugged. “Wanna’ turn back?”
Pete was already ducking under the chains, just as Repeat had predicted. “Hell no. We can’t let a little thing like this stop us from meeting the guys, right?” He beckoned his friend toward the chain that he was holding up.
Repeat had gambled and won. “Course not,” Repeat said as he stumbled under. “They wouldn’t know what to do without us!”
“Right. So, as I was sayin’, I’m supposed to appear in court next week just for skimming a little here and there. Bart’s been trying to get the company up from under me all these years, and I think this time he may just do it. Damn smug bastard!”
Pete and his brother Bart had been bitter rivals most of their lives, and it had been their father’s last cruel joke to leave the family business for both of them to run when he died. Repeat watched with amusement as they constantly tried to outdo each other, silently rooting for Bart every time. But, somehow, Pete always managed to one-up him, and he was now the president of the company while Bart held a lower position as the creative director.
Repeat found a bench at the crest of the bridge and gratefully sank down, huffing to catch his breath while Pete jogged in place. “So, did you?” Repeat finally managed.
“Did I what? Take some? Course I did. How did you think I afforded that swanky penthouse for Gini or that mink coat for Lola or those diamond hoops for Brigette?“
Repeat wasn’t aware of these things; he couldn’t keep up with all of Pete’s women or the lavish gifts he used to keep them around, and he’d stopped trying long ago. “So, what will you do?” he asked, but he didn’t really care what Pete answered. It would be his usual sorted version of the truth. No matter what he did, he always ended up on top anyway.
A seagull swooped down out of nowhere, coming within inches of landing on Pete’s head, just as the ear-splitting shriek of a horn blasted from a boat passing under them. Repeat looked up just as Pete leaned far over the guardrail and pointed.
***
Sunday, April 17, 2011 – 10:05 am (about a half-hour before)
Myrna looked around as a swarm of children pushed past her, racing for the gangplank. She didn’t see any of the women from her book club waiting for her. Shirley said they’d be meeting on the Queen of the Jeweled Sea tour boat that morning at a quarter after ten for a spontaneous brunch cruise around the bay. She was a tad early, but she thought she’d see someone familiar by now.
“Why the sudden change?” she’d asked when Shirley phoned earlier this morning to tell her. They always met at 6 pm on Sunday evenings, and they either traded hosting duties at their respective houses or met at a cafe in town to discuss the book they’d all read that week.
“We thought we’d do something extra special to celebrate having you as a new president. It’s been a long time coming!” Shirley said with a chuckle.
Myrna laughed in agreement. “Here, here!”
Celia Darby had been the reigning president for the past four years, and her demanding ways had gotten on all their nerves, taking the fun out of the club they’d once enjoyed. Half the group had already quit; they just didn’t want to put up with her antics anymore. Everything had to be her way, from what books they read to what snacks they served to what order they were permitted to offer their critiques. But, when her husband suddenly took ill last month, she regretfully relinquished her duties. That very day, the group unanimously elected Myrna to take her place, hoping she’d build the club back up to what it once was.
“Well, that’s really nice,” Myrna continued, smiling at her husband as he did his sit-ups at the foot of the bed. She wondered what young thing he was trying to impress now. “A Sunday brunch cruise with the girls is just what I need!”
So, now there she was, trudging up the ramp to the ship, and no one was coming out to greet her. “Maybe they’re on the upper deck?” she mused, eyeing the overhanging balustrade. She wondered if they were planning a surprise party or something.
As Myrna scanned the growing crowd waving wilding over the upper railing to others on the pier, she lost sight of her step and stumbled into someone in a dark windbreaker.
“Oh, excuse me!” she said, and as she pushed herself upright, she felt the muscled arm of the man who held her and flushed like a teenager.
The younger man helped her step up onto the ship. “That’s quite alright. I get that reaction a lot.” He grinned, exposing a dimple as his white teeth flashed.
“Thank you. Enjoy your trip now,” Myrna mumbled, waving as she walked toward the stairway.
The man rushed to her side. “May I assist you?” he asked, offering his thick arm.
“After nearly knocking you overboard? You’re such a dear.” Myrna’s sciatica was acting up as she slowly climbed the stairs, and after several pauses to let the pain subside, she finally made it to the top. She glanced around, wondering where the devil the book club ladies were. There weren’t any elevators that she could see, and there was no way Marjorie Jenkins and Stella Roberts would ever be able to make it up there on the stairs. One was permanently in a wheelchair and the other used a walker.
“Looking for someone?” the man asked as she continued scanning the large area. There were several lounge chairs flanking a central bar. Lifeboats hung to her left and there was a small wading pool to her right.
Myrna sighed, peering over the railing as the ship was pushing away from the port. No one in the crowd below resembled those in her group, who were all her age or older and tended to wear dresses of a flowery sort with Sunday bonnets covering white or gray hair. All those on the lower deck were much younger, with children running around like racing dogs newly released from their gates. “I was supposed to meet a large group of ladies. But, I don’t see them anywhere.”
“Would you like me to help you look?” the man offered, extending his arm again.
Myrna put up a hand in humble protest. “I couldn’t do that. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
The man shrugged. “Actually, not really. I just came here to sort of – well – you know, to get away. So, either I could be sitting over there with my troubled thoughts,” he said, pointing to a lounge chair in the corner, “or I could be assisting a lovely lady such as yourself to find your friends. Do you want me to be sulking in the corner or here with you?”
Myrna blushed, stifling a giggle. This handsome man brought that out in her for some reason. She hadn’t felt giddy like that in a long while. “With me, I guess.”
“Okay then, off we go.” The man introduced himself as Jason, and they made small talk as they wandered back down the stairway and through the numerous areas of the lower deck. After turning up empty, they headed to a table near a bar at the rear of the ship. “Seems we’re both alone then,” Jason said as he held Myrna’s chair out for her.
“I guess so. I just talked to Shirley this very morning, and she definitely said this ship at this time. I’m sure of it. This doesn’t make sense at all.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said simply, crossing his legs and signaling a waiter. After ordering a couple of mimosas, Jason stretched back and took in a hefty breath of the cool morning air. “This is much better,” he said, showing her a dimple again.
Myrna stirred her drink, wondering how she’d ended up on this ship with this nice-looking and much younger man instead of at her inauguration meeting with her book group.
Jason’s eyes clouded over suddenly, and he bent forward, covering his head with his hands. “Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” he said, wiping at his eye with his sleeve. “I need to stop doing this!”
“Doing what?” Myrna asked, her problem forgotten. She offered him a tissue from her purse.
“Feeling sorry for myself. I told myself today, I would not feel sorry for myself. But here I am, with a perfectly lovely woman, and all I can do let it all get to me.”
Myrna patted his hand. “Sometimes, that’s what’s needed most.”
“I’ve been feeling like crap, ‘scuse the French, for too damn long. I have to somehow move on.” After a bit of coaxing, Myrna got Jason to tell her what was troubling him. And the more he talked, the sorrier she was that she had prompted him, for it was the saddest story she’d ever heard.
“My girlfriend, who I love more than anything in the world, came to me not too long ago and told me she was pregnant. Well, at first, I was scared like anything. I mean, I’m in school right now and holding down two part-time jobs, and barely making it. But, after a little time, I decided I was thrilled, more than thrilled, really, and we’d somehow work it out. I’d asked her to marry me once before, but she said we were too young. So, I asked her again a week after I found out about the baby, and to my surprise, she said yes!”
“Well, that’s wonderful! So, why the long face?” Myrna asked. “Sounds like you got everything you wanted.”
“I thought so, but then two weeks later, I came home from one of my jobs to find Tracy passed out on the bathroom floor with blood seeping between her legs. I called the ambulance and was able to revive her, but as you can probably guess, she lost the baby.”
Myrna patted Jason’s hand again as he wiped at another stray tear.
“As if that weren’t bad enough, the doctor said he wanted to keep Tracy a few days for observation. I’m workin’ around the clock wondering how I’m going to afford that, but I finally got to see her between shifts. She wouldn’t even look at me. Her mother was there and took me aside. Told me Tracy had terminal uterine cancer. At 23, my girl has cancer. And she’s in the end stages.”
By then, Myrna was dabbing her own tears away.
“Now, she got released from the hospital. But, she won’t see me. Nor her family. Called her mother yesterday, and she said Tracy disappeared. Left a note saying she wants to die alone.”
The boat passed under the Hightower Bridge as Myrna leaned over to embrace Jason with tears streaming down her face. By the time they cleared the bridge, he had enveloped her in a deep kiss. She fought against it, her mind wondering what the heck was going on, but his muscled arms held her so tight she couldn’t breathe. His lips pressed hard against hers as she tried to scream.
Little did Myrna know that her husband was leaning over the railing of the bridge gawking at her in a passionate embrace with another man just seconds before he would plunge headfirst to his death in the choppy waters behind her tour boat.
***
Sunday, April 17, 2011 – 3:26 am (earlier that morning)
The rain was slick as Repeat plodded from his car, which he'd hidden in some tall shrubs, over to the entrance to the Hightower Bridge. He carried a black case and a flashlight, shielding them under his dark coat. He shivered in the cool night air as he stepped up onto the bridge and peered around.
He looked over the side, where the land sloped to meet the lapping water. Thankfully, no one was sleeping under there. Sometimes, bums liked to gather there to shield themselves from the elements, but luckily this evening, the place was deserted.
It had taken Repeat several months to gather the right signs. He had stolen them late at night after he saw them during the day, all from different construction sites. He had collected eight in all. A few said “Danger: Bridge Under Repair”, others said “Do Not Enter”, and one read “Men At Work”. He’d purchased several lengths of heavy chain from different department stores over the last month. He’d examined the hex bolts on the guardrails a few times as he pretended to tie his shoe on his weekly Sunday walks over the bridge, and he made sure to get several wrenches and drill bits that could loosen them. He was pretty sure he’d thought of everything.
First, he made his way up to the top of the bridge. He withdrew his cordless drill and attached a hex bit. He loosened all the bolts on the three center guardrails on each side of the bridge, just to be sure he had enough coverage. There was no telling where Pete would lean.
Easy enough so far. He ran back to the car, or jogged as his body would allow, and then he lugged the bulky signs from the trunk. This required a few trips. He had to carry four of them all the way to the other side of the bridge. He didn’t want anyone to enter the bridge from either end the next morning. Hopefully, others would heed the warning signs and take a detour.
He secured the chains with pliers to each side of the bridge and affixed the signs as best he could. He trotted back to the home side, and that’s when he saw a bulky figure hunched over his drill case.
“Hey there, what are you doing?”
A woman with gray streaked through her greasy black hair grinned at him. Most of her teeth were missing, and the remaining few made her look like a Jack-o-lantern. “Lookin’ at my stuff,” she said gruffly. She turned back, studying his drill as if it had fallen from the sky.
“Uh, ma’am, I believe that’s mine,” Repeat said awkwardly, unsure why the woman was so fascinated with a simple drill and some wrenches.
“I found ‘em first. Guess they mine,” she said.
Repeat paced, unsure of what to do. “I just left for a second. I brought them here.”
Large hands encircled Repeat just as he moved forward toward the woman, and the stench of garbage mixed with stale booze assaulted his nostrils, causing him to flinch and wretch at the same time. Before he knew it, he was watching his feet dragging along the dirt as his body was hauled backward. He was dropped hard on the ground, and as pain shot up his spine, a thick arm encircled his neck. “I believe you owe the lady an apology, man,” a voice hissed in his ear.
Repeat tried to look back, but the arm kept his head forward. “I – uh – I’m sorry, ma’am. I must be mistaken. I thought those were my things.”
“That’s better,” the voice said, grounding his knuckle into Repeats head, giving him a “noogie” like he’d gotten when he was a teenager. “So, what’cha wanna pay for her stuff? Seems like you want it real bad.”
“I, uh, I’m not sure. Let me see what I have.” Repeat went to reach for his wallet, but suddenly it was in front of him.
“Hands forward where I can see ‘em,” the man said gruffly. “Now, what’cha gonna pay for her stuff?”
Repeat forgot how much he had in his wallet, and he was dismayed to find only eight dollars wadded between his gas card and license. He showed the man behind him what he had, and this earned him a shove forward. The man wrestled Repeat to the ground, pushing his face into the dirt so that he tasted the earth in a whole new way. He preferred even brussel sprouts to the mouthful he got.
“That ain’t hardly enough!” the man said, spitting next to him. “Vera, you think that’s enough for all your stuff?”
“Nah. No way. I need at least a hun’red. Yeah, a hun’red. That’d do it.” She reached over, patting Repeat on the head. “So, you go and get that hun’red for me, and then I see ‘bout getting you my things.”
Before Repeat could respond, the man with the large hands hauled him up to his feet in one swift motion, knocking the air from his lungs. Repeat inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself, but before he could, the hands were pushing him forward. “Get on to the ATM now, ol’ man. I’ll come wit’ you, jus’ so I know you’s gonna’ come back. It’s right down that alley there, ‘roun the corner, near the party store.”
Repeat started walking in that direction. He heard the large man lumbering behind him. Ten minutes later, they returned. Repeat thought he’d collapse right there. He hadn’t been this active in years.
He handed the woman the hundred dollar bill, but she looked up at him with a sneer. “You think I wan’ a big bill like that? How’m I gonna’ spend it when no one’ll take it? Go break it. I want two twenties, eleven fives, and five ones. And make it snappy. I ain’t got all night.”
Repeat sighed, but then he trudged back to the party store with the giant behind him shoving him every few feet. His back ached with every step, and he felt so winded, he hoped he would make it back without having a coronary.
After Repeat gave the woman the money the way she liked it, she handed over his drill and wrenches with a slight curtsy. “Pleasure doin’ business wit’ you.”
“Likewise,” Repeat said, watching the pair walk off toward town.
As he drove away, he wondered if all his efforts to hang the signs and loosen the railings were for naught. Those two had seen him. Then again, who would believe them? After tossing and turning in his bed for much of the night, he decided it wouldn’t matter. He had enough saved so that he wouldn’t be around when the police came to question him, if they felt the need to do so. He wouldn’t worry about those two fools.
***
Thursday, April 14, 2011 – 4:15 pm (a few days before)
“You want me to do what?” the younger man said as Repeat hunched over the table they shared at the Coffee Hut to whisper to him.
“Keep your voice down, please,” Repeat said, leaning closer. The younger man backed away. Repeat was invading his personal space. “I have this script here,” Repeat said, pushing some stapled papers toward him. “I want you to locate this woman, on the Queen of the Jeweled Sea tour boat on Sunday morning at around 10 am. Ask her if she needs help finding her friends. She will be expecting to meet a large group of ladies. Then, just as the boat goes under the bridge, I want you to stop whatever you’re doing and kiss her.”
The younger man wrinkled his nose. “What does she look like?”
Repeat slid a picture of Myrna toward him. He frowned.
Sighing, Repeat slid over an envelope with ten hundred-dollar bills. “Think this’ll make it worth your while?”
The man counted the bills twice. His face brightened. “I guess so. How long do I have to kiss her?”
Repeat tried not to roll his eyes too much. “At least thirty seconds, ok?”
“With tongue?”
“Whatever you want. Now, listen, do I have your word you’ll be there?” Repeat gathered his coat and stood. He grabbed the envelope of cash and took a few bills out.
“Hey! What’s the deal?” The other man was standing now, his brows arching in anger.
“I’ll give you the rest when I see you’ve done what I’ve asked. I’ll bring it by the acting school on Monday.” Repeat walked toward the door.
“And if you don’t?’ the man asked. As a starving wanna-be actor, bussing tables at one greasy joint and washing dishes at another, that money would pay two months rent in the dingy room he rented and then some. He pictured enjoying a nice steak dinner instead of the usual mac and cheese and his mouth watered.
“Then I won’t be able to get this back from you,” Repeat said, sliding a fake Rolex off his wrist and handing it to the man.
The man eyed it, smiling. “Okay then, it’s a deal.” He put it on his wrist, admiring the way it shimmered in the fluorescent light.
“See you Monday. There may even be a bonus if you do exactly as the script says.” He walked out without looking back. He knew he had the poor bastard for a measly thousand bucks.
***
Sunday, April 10, 2011 – 10:15 am (a week before Pete’s demise)
“Hey there, Myrna. Looking lovely as always,” Repeat said as Myrna unlocked the back door.
“You’re a bit early this morning,” Myrna said, putting an almond cookie in his hand.
Repeat smiled, chewing a bit while trying to quiet his hammering heart. She always did this to him. The woman had no idea. All these years, and he could tell she was unaware of the effect she had on him. Repeat’s doctor would probably say that seeing her was detrimental to his health, the way she made his blood pressure raise so high. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he said, joining her on a stool at the center island
in the kitchen where a carafe of steaming coffee was waiting.
“So, what’s new?” Repeat asked, and as he listened, his eyes drifted over to Myrna’s pocketbook, which was on a nearby counter between the microwave and the toaster.
Myrna was staring at him, waiting. She’d asked him a question, but he hadn’t heard it. “I’m sorry, did you ask me something? I suddenly have this terrible headache, and I wasn’t able to focus.”
Myrna at once hopped from her stool. “I’ll be right back. I think I have some aspirin in the medicine cabinet in the powder room. I’ll just go grab it.”
“That would be great,” Repeat said, massaging his temples. As soon as she disappeared, he hopped off his own stool and ran toward Myrna’s purse. He reached into his pocket and slipped the device he’d gotten online at the Spy Store into the inner zippered compartment, making sure it was facing toward the outside. That would ensure the best reception.
Later that evening, after drinking a few with the guys at Guisseppe’s, he went straight to his computer and logged into the software that came with the listening device he’d put in Myrna’s purse. To his delight, the damn thing worked. He could hear Myrna scolding Pete for flirting with some woman at the fruit market. He pressed record and waited for the software to alert him that the voice had been calibrated. He then put on the headset that came with the device. He spoke into the mike.
“Hello. Testing 1 – 2 – 3.” He smiled when the voice that came out of the headset was Myrna’s instead of his. “Perfect!” he said to his screen.
Later that evening, at 6 pm, he sat by his computer and listened intently. He could hear Myrna chatting with someone.
“That Celia is such a nuisance. I’m so glad she’s out of the group!” the woman was saying.
Repeat clicked the record button.
“Me too. I’m sorry her husband is ill and all, but I was starting to think I’d have to find another group. She’s just too much!”
The ladies went on and on as the software distinguished between their voices and allowed him to store them separately.
“Alright, Shirley, I have to powder my nose before the meeting gets under way. Save a seat for me, will you?”
Repeat smiled. Now, he had a name for the other voice. He needed that.
Muting the computer, he put on his headset and started speaking. The voice came out as Shirley’s. “Hi Myrna! It’s me, Shirley. Guess what? Change of plans for this morning. Yes, we’re meeting on the Queen of the Jeweled Sea tour boat at 10:30 am instead of this evening. Yes, yes, we wanted to do something special to welcome you as our president.”
“I’ll be damned,” Repeat said, although it sounded like Shirley’s voice in his ears. “This thing will bring the miracle I’ve been looking for. With Pete out of the way, who knows what can happen?”
***
Some Saturday at 3:00 pm, forty-five years before
“So, I was thinking of asking Myrna to the senior prom. You think she’ll say yes?” Repeat was holding on for dear life as Pete swerved around another car.
Pete eyed him for a long while instead of looking at the road. “Maybe.” He sighed. “I don’t know. Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I was asking,” Repeat said, his knuckles white as Pete pressed down the gas pedal.
The convertible whizzed by a police car, and immediately the lights started flashing. The cruiser gunned behind them, and Pete let it ride a few blocks before pulling over to the shoulder.
Pete never responded further about whether he should ask Myrna out because he was pulled roughly from the car by his shirt collar and thrown onto the hood. He was cuffed and shoved into the back of the police car. Repeat drove Pete’s car to his house, wondering if Pete would somehow beat him home.
About an hour after Repeat returned the car to Pete’s driveway and walked to his own house on the next block, Pete called him. “Record time?” he asked. Repeat could see his mischievous grin through the phone lines.
“I won’t even ask. You work miracles like I’ve never seen.”
The next week at school, Repeat was at his locker getting his books together for his afternoon classes when Myrna and the two girlfriends always at her side walked by. They stopped at the drinking fountain, giggling and whispering.
“Okay, I know you have something going on today,” one girl said to Myrna. She put her hands on her hips while Myrna blushed and looked away.
“Tell us, or I’ll tell the whole school that you stuffed your bra last week for Andy’s party.”
“You wouldn’t!” Myrna said, slugging her friend’s shoulder. The two friends stared at her, until finally she folded. “Alright, I’ll tell you. But don’t you dare say a word to anyone! I don’t want anyone to know until I’m sure!”
“Tell us already!” the friends said in unison.
“Well, Pete Stewart asked me out last night. I snuck out after Mama and Papa went to bed. I was real nervous. I never did that before. But, he was a perfect gentleman. We strolled on the Margoline Boulevard for a bit, and then had a shake at the diner, and then he kissed me goodnight!”
Her friends practically fainted. “How romantic! So, did he ask you out again?”
“Yes, but better than that! He asked me to the prom! Imagine me, a sophomore, going to a senior prom!”
Repeat couldn’t see straight. The red before his eyes skewed everything in his way. He threw his things back into his locker and headed out the nearest door. He couldn’t deal with school for the remainder of the day. There was no telling what he’d do to Pete if he did.
Some Monday at 8:00 am – two years before
“Hey Repeat!” someone called. Giovanni Marcello did not turn, because he did not know that he had been given a new nickname.
The voice was closer now. “I said, hey Repeat! Don’t you hear me?”
Giovanni was eyeing a girl with dark brown hair and a long skirt walking toward him. He smiled shyly at her, and her cheeks grew flushed as she pretended not to notice and looked down at a book in her hands. A sudden push from behind, and he was flying toward her.
Giovanni came within inches of the girl, causing her to jump back into a group of students behind her.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning toward whoever shoved him.
Some guy much larger than him was grinning at him. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” He shoved at Giovanni’s shoulder, glaring now. “When I say jump, you jump. Do you comprendo?”
“Si, I mean, yes. I understand,” Giovanni said, wishing he had the English words to tell this guy off.
Nothing he could say would matter, because the guy’s fist would be splitting his nose before he could get the words out anyway. Giovanni went down fast, much to his chagrin in front of a growing crowd.
“What’s with you?” the girl he’d been admiring shrieked, and at once she bent down to help him. “Why’d you do that? This boy is new to our country. Is this how you welcome him?”
The larger boy backed off a bit. “He had it coming. Annoying us all with repeating everything we say. Why do you do that, man?”
He kicked at Giovanni’s knee. “I asked you a question! Why? Are you mocking us all in your fancy accent?”
“No,” Giovanni said, getting to his feet with Myrna’s help. “I do so I can learn language.” He wiped off his pants, balling his fists.
“I do so I can learn language,” the boy mocked, and the crowd laughed. Giovanni’s face turned scarlet, disguising the blood spurting from his nose.
He turned away from the larger boy, but he felt another shove and almost went down again. The girl somehow caught him. “Leave him alone, Joe. Go find a short pier and jump off of it!” The boy came at Giovanni again, but the girl put her body in front of him. The boy’s fist came very close to her chin and stopped.
He sneered. “Seems these foreigners need girls to protect them, huh?”
The girl glared as Giovanni stepped around her. “You is son of bitch!” he said, and as his fist connected with the boy’s jaw, the crowd gasped.
The boy laughed. “That the best you got?”
The girl’s knee went to his groin, and he doubled over. “I’m sure he had better, but who could resist?”
Giovanni looked at her with awe. The boy stumbled away groaning and the crowd soon dispersed.
“You do good job,” he said, smiling through the blood.
“You’re not so bad yourself. I’m Myrna, by the way.” She extended a hand to him, and as soon as Giovanni touched her, he knew he’d love her forever.
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