Junior's Luck

Junior's Luck-Chapter 3

Arlene!

The moment he sat down in Mr. Warren's old Plymouth, Kelsey remembered he was supposed to meet Arlene at her locker after school. In his excitement over his teacher's offer, Kelsey had forgotten his date to walk Arlene home.

Most days Arlene's older sister picked her up, but today her sister had an activity after school. Kelsey had agreed to walk Arlene home.

Mr. Warren had the engine running; Kelsey couldn't back out on his teacher's offer now. He had no choice but to stand Arlene up. After all, Mr. Warren was doing him a favor, and Kelsey still hoped the teacher might change his mind about punishing the class.

Arlene would be angry with him for standing her up. He hated it when she was mad because she quit talking to him. No, it was worse than that; she shunned him. The more he tried to make amends, the more determined she became not to forgive him. It continued for days, even weeks, until one day, for no apparent reason, she would speak to him. He blubbered apologies for a few days after that. Arlene listened to them with a pleasant smile on her face, but Kelsey's words didn't have any effect on her. She had moved on.

Not only would Kelsey have to suffer Arlene's anger, but he had missed a rare opportunity to walk through Willow Park with her. There, among the forsythia bushes that crowded around a slimy green pond, he hoped to steal his first kiss. Every time Arlene asked Kelsey to walk her home, he expected them to end up in the forsythia bushes, but he had never suggested it to Arlene. He didn't think she was ready. He decided to wait until he received a sign that she wanted him to kiss her.

Junior told Kelsey not to worry. A man knows when to kiss a woman; it's instinct. Junior's advice didn't reassure him.

Kelsey wondered if this would have been the day Arlene gave him the sign.

Mr. Warren lived in a lime green bungalow with a screened-in front porch. That is where they found Mr. Warren's father, sitting in a ragged, overstuffed easy chair.

"This is my father, Clyde Warren. Father, this is one of my best students, Kelsey Landis."

The old man winked at Kelsey. "Call me Clyde."

"Kelsey has some questions about the Hartley Mansion blueprints."

"Ho, ho!" Clyde said. "The Hartley project. Quite a deal in its time. Big bucks for the firm, too. I did most of the scut work in those days. Got no credit for it. Hell, I was a pup-only twenty-eight. I-I..."

The old man, who had been smiling and jovial while he spoke, frowned and began convulsing with hacking coughs, which caused him to bounce around in the easy chair. Kelsey thought he was dying and backed away.

As if signaling for Death to halt, Clyde raised a quivering hand. He coughed out the word whiskey. "Whiskey!" he demanded.

Mr. Warren, who had been patting his father on the back and looking worried, hustled into the house and returned with a decanter and a glass. When Clyde saw them, he nodded his head and reached for his son with both arms. Mr. Warren sloshed some whiskey into the glass and helped his father get it to his lips. The amber liquid disappeared in one continuous flow. The old man's coughing spasm subsided. After he gulped another glassful, it quit altogether.

Clyde poured himself a third glass of liquor and took a sip. He held it up before his eyes, turning the glass in his fingers as he examined it.

"The elixir of life, it is," he said and stared at Kelsey. "Whiskey, my boy! Why, by the time I was your age, I was accustomed to the stuff. Not a drunkard, you see. Never a drunkard. No, sir. Just enough to keep the body tuned and to ward off disease."