burned out. This happens to all of us, especially as we approach the ten-year mark. Our subject can’t be our sole inspiration, Kevin. We need outside interests. I have some of my own. And we need the aid of our compatriots in bleak times. Certainly a scholar of the Continental Army knows this.” A smirk flashed, then vanished. “Perhaps if you spent more time with the rest of the department, became more involved. Certainly the Revolution is fascinating, but there are endless compelling subjects in American history. Some right here on Staten Island.” He shrugged. “My latest endeavor, for instance.”
“Bloodroot,” I said. I leaned back in my chair, nodding. I felt like the new kid at boarding school. If you’d just try harder to make some friends . . . why don’t you join my chess club? So that was the inspiration for Whitestone’s sudden attack of sensitivity. Nagging me to join his group had failed and he had turned to seduction. I thought of Whitestone’s scarred hands. Join me, Luke . Know the power of the dark side.
“Those lost children from Bloodroot deserve a champion,” Whitestone said. “When the atrocities they suffered saw the light of day in the late seventies, care of the orphaned and the disabled there and everywhere else in this country changed forever and for the better. The changes were, dare I say it, revolutionary. Their sacrifices, though unwitting, deserve commemoration.”
It was quite a speech. I was almost moved. I knew the stories, too, about how kids left at Bloodroot from the forties through the seventies lived little better than the inmates of concentration camps. My family had been part of that story. Grandpa O’Malley had played a huge role in shuttering the place and disgracing the doctor in charge. But that wasn’t the reason I was getting the hard sell. Whitestone surely knew about what my grandfather had done, but he didn’t know I was Dr. O’Malley’s grandson. It was the kids at Richmond that Whitestone wanted. The students, complaints and all, loved me. If I joined the Friends of Bloodroot, kids would start signing up the next day. Admin didn’t much care what their teachers wanted, but the kids who paid tuition? That was another story. I could be a hell of a recruiting tool for him.
“I’ve got to catch up on my grading,” I said, standing, “before I can take on anything else.”
“Before you go,” Whitestone said, “pick up those papers for me.”
I bent and gathered the fallen complaint forms.
“I understand your workload,” Whitestone said. “But I don’t know how long I can carry someone unwilling to show true commitment to the department.”
“Duly noted,” I said, handing the papers across the desk. “I’ll get caught up. No more complaints. I promise.”
Whitestone reached for the papers but snapped his arm back when he saw me staring at his scarred hand. “Childhood accident,” he said. “You’re dismissed, Curran.”
ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES AFTER I got home from campus, I heard Al’s Charger rumbling outside the apartment building. I buzzed Danny in when the doorbell rang. I would’ve preferred a call first as I was staring into the fridge, wearing only my boxers, strap-T, and dress shirt when Danny knocked on the door. I let the fridge door swing closed and answered as I was.
Looking sharp again, I thought. Another fifty-dollar T-shirt, midnight blue, under another black suit jacket that probably cost more than everything I owned put together. He had a diamond in his ear now, replacing the dull silver hoop he’d worn for years.
“Nice outfit,” Danny said. “The look works for you.”
“You’d think it’s the tie that kills me,” I said, passing through the living room toward my bedroom. “But it’s the pants. I fucking hate dress pants.”
In the bedroom, I dropped the boxers, pulled on some jeans. I opened my wallet. Payday wasn’t till next Friday. Forty bucks had to last me a week. Like they did
“Bloodroot,” I said. I leaned back in my chair, nodding. I felt like the new kid at boarding school. If you’d just try harder to make some friends . . . why don’t you join my chess club? So that was the inspiration for Whitestone’s sudden attack of sensitivity. Nagging me to join his group had failed and he had turned to seduction. I thought of Whitestone’s scarred hands. Join me, Luke . Know the power of the dark side.
“Those lost children from Bloodroot deserve a champion,” Whitestone said. “When the atrocities they suffered saw the light of day in the late seventies, care of the orphaned and the disabled there and everywhere else in this country changed forever and for the better. The changes were, dare I say it, revolutionary. Their sacrifices, though unwitting, deserve commemoration.”
It was quite a speech. I was almost moved. I knew the stories, too, about how kids left at Bloodroot from the forties through the seventies lived little better than the inmates of concentration camps. My family had been part of that story. Grandpa O’Malley had played a huge role in shuttering the place and disgracing the doctor in charge. But that wasn’t the reason I was getting the hard sell. Whitestone surely knew about what my grandfather had done, but he didn’t know I was Dr. O’Malley’s grandson. It was the kids at Richmond that Whitestone wanted. The students, complaints and all, loved me. If I joined the Friends of Bloodroot, kids would start signing up the next day. Admin didn’t much care what their teachers wanted, but the kids who paid tuition? That was another story. I could be a hell of a recruiting tool for him.
“I’ve got to catch up on my grading,” I said, standing, “before I can take on anything else.”
“Before you go,” Whitestone said, “pick up those papers for me.”
I bent and gathered the fallen complaint forms.
“I understand your workload,” Whitestone said. “But I don’t know how long I can carry someone unwilling to show true commitment to the department.”
“Duly noted,” I said, handing the papers across the desk. “I’ll get caught up. No more complaints. I promise.”
Whitestone reached for the papers but snapped his arm back when he saw me staring at his scarred hand. “Childhood accident,” he said. “You’re dismissed, Curran.”
ABOUT TWENTY MINUTES AFTER I got home from campus, I heard Al’s Charger rumbling outside the apartment building. I buzzed Danny in when the doorbell rang. I would’ve preferred a call first as I was staring into the fridge, wearing only my boxers, strap-T, and dress shirt when Danny knocked on the door. I let the fridge door swing closed and answered as I was.
Looking sharp again, I thought. Another fifty-dollar T-shirt, midnight blue, under another black suit jacket that probably cost more than everything I owned put together. He had a diamond in his ear now, replacing the dull silver hoop he’d worn for years.
“Nice outfit,” Danny said. “The look works for you.”
“You’d think it’s the tie that kills me,” I said, passing through the living room toward my bedroom. “But it’s the pants. I fucking hate dress pants.”
In the bedroom, I dropped the boxers, pulled on some jeans. I opened my wallet. Payday wasn’t till next Friday. Forty bucks had to last me a week. Like they did
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