“So you like cold pizza?” concluded Tim.
“It's the only smart way to eat it, as far as I'm concerned,” said Rooster.
Mrs. Yuler called for the next question. “Roseann, what would you like to know about Rooster?”
Roseann began licking her fingers again.
“Oh, please don't do that.” Mrs. Yuler shook her head. “It's so distracting.”
“I can't help myself.”
“Why not?”
“I'm nervous. Like he is.”
“But he's not licking his fingers.”
“No. Goddamn hill. Heh, heh. That's a funny one.”
“Roseann, I thought we said no more of that kind of talk.”
“He started it.”
“No more, Roseann.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Now get on with your question. What would you like to know about Rooster?”
“I won't say it again. I'm sorry.”
“What's your question, Roseann?”
“Uhm.” She removed her glasses and rubbed them with the fingers that had just been in her mouth. “Uhm.” She put her glasses back on. “Tell me what you know about bowling.”
Rooster smiled to himself. This was a question he'd been hoping for.
“It's funny you should ask me that, Roseann,” he said.
“It is?”
“Yes, it is.”
“How come it's so funny?”
“Because I don't know anything about bowling.” He had to remind himself not to look happy as he said it.
“You don't?”
“Nothing.”
“You've never bowled before?”
“Once. At a birthday party. I dropped a ten-pin ball on my toe and I cried for three hours.”
“Three hours?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You cried for three goddamn hours?”
“Roseann. One more time and you're out,” said Mrs. Yuler.
“I'm sorry. I won't say it again.”
“My toe was the size of a smokie. It was all black and blue. One of the worst days of my life and it happened at a bowling alley.”
“Were your mother and father with you?” said Dorothy-Jane-Anne. She had a very compassionate way of talking. Her voice was much softer and gentler than Roseann's.
“Yes, they were, actually.”
“Didn't they help you?”
“Yes, they did. My dad picked me up. Mom bought me a pop, I think.”
“They couldn't stop you from crying?”
“Apparently not. I cried for a long time.”
“How old were you?”
“I think I was about five. Maybe six.”
“Why did they let such a little boy pick up such a big ball?”
“I wandered away to a different lane. They didn't see me until it was too late.”
“Weren't they watching you?”
“I was pretty sneaky.”
“Were they drinking?”
“Okay, Dorothy-Jane-Anne,” said Mrs. Yuler. “That's enough. Rooster answered the question.”
“No he never.”
“Yes, he did. Let's move on, please.”
Rooster smiled in relief. Truthfully, he had bowled several times in his life and had enjoyed himself each time, including many fun outings at birthday parties when he was still in elementary school. It was only a couple of months ago that he had dropped a ball on his foot, during a night out with Jolene, Jayson and Puffs. It had hurt his big toe, but it hadn't made him cry.
“Percival? You've been unusually quiet so far,” said Mrs. Yuler. “What would you like to ask Rooster?”
Percival was a towering man with messy gray hair and a brooding face. He shook his head glumly from side to side in response to Mrs. Yuler. Then he turned away from her to look out the window.
“Oh, come on now. What's the matter? You always have something to say.” Mrs. Yuler prodded him for a question.
Percival remained silent. Then, finally, he faced her again and exploded. “The man's a moron!” he said, slamming his hand on the table. His voice hissed out of his mouth like air from a high-pressure hose. “He drops bowling balls on his toes! He gets lost with his parents! I can't work with someone like him! Throw him out!”
Mrs. Yuler was used to these outbursts from Percival, as were the other members of the Strikers. “No name-calling, Percival,” she said. “That's a house rule and it will not be broken.”
“I can't help myself! I've sat here too long without saying anything! Now it's coming out of my ears!”
From his chair, Rooster stared at Percival with a mixture of fear and horror.
“He doesn't even like bowling! How can we work with someone who doesn't even like bowling?!”
“He got me into trouble,” said Roseann. She was waving her wet fingers in front of her face. “Goddamn hill. Heh, heh.”
“Roseann,” said Mrs. Yuler, “did you just say what I think you just said?”
“I'm sorry. I won't say it again. I'm sorry.”
“That's the absolute last time.”
“He started it.”
“Roseann.”
“Do you like it when Percival calls you a moron?” said Dorothy-Jane-Anne.
Rooster looked at her in surprise. “Do I
like
it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“No. Why, am I supposed to like it?”
“How come you didn't say anything?”
Rooster had no immediate answer to that question. Under any other circumstances, he would have retaliated for the remark, either with a choice selection of name-calling or with his fists. But he was way out of his element now. He was no longer thinking of ways to blow the interview. He just wanted to survive it.
“I guess it didn't bother me,” he said in reply to Dorothy-Jane-Anne. “I don't know.”
“It didn't bother you that he called you a moron?”
“I don't know. I don't know why I didn't say anything.”
“Have you been called a moron lots before?”
“I wouldn't say lots.”
“A few times?”
“Probably, yes. A few times.”
“Did you ever say anything?”
“I probably did, yes.”
“Why not this time?”
Rooster shook his head. He was on the brink of an eruption himself when Tim piped up and interrupted him.
“I've decided that I like cold pizza too,” Tim said. He was rocking in his chair, and his eyes were as big and lively as a squirrel's. “I think, I think Rooster has a really good point there. It's a really good point, and after thinking about it long and hard, I've decided that I agree with him. There's nothing wrong with cold pizza. It doesn't burn you. It's easier to eat. And it's a good way to make the pizza last longer. That's one that he didn't think of. So I'm with you on that one, buddy. I'm with you. Rock on.” He raised his fist in the air and shook it toward Rooster. “I'm with you on that one.”
Rooster stared at Tim for a moment and didn't respond.
“Rock 'n' roll,” said Tim, beaming with the decision he'd made.
“I really need a cigarette,” Rooster said finally, to no one in particular. “I need air.” He rose to leave.
“Maybe we could all take a break,” said Mrs. Yuler, glancing at her watch. “Five minutes? Is that enough?”
“I'll let you know,” said Rooster. He slipped past her and quickly walked out of the office and toward the front doors. Mrs. Nixon went after him. She caught up with him outside near the front courtyard, where a few of the other Common House residents were enjoying the late sun on a warm spring day.
“I'm glad to see you're not turning this into an escape attempt,” she said, coming up beside him.
He pulled long and hard on his cigarette and closed his eyes as he held the smoke in his lungs. “I cannot go back in there,” he said, after exhaling.
“You have to,” said Mrs. Nixon.
“No I don't.”
“Yes you do.”
He gulped before speaking again. “This isn't about blowing off the interview anymore, if that's what you're thinking. Those people are going to kill me in there. They're going to freakin' kill me.”
“Oh, they are not.”
“Oh, they are too. God almighty. Cold pizza. Calling me a moron.”
“You've been called worse, I'm sure.”
He shook his head. “Don't you think it's weird in there? It's like we're on some other planet. It's like these people have taken over Common House and now they want to expand. They want me to help them expand and take over all of Winston.”
“What did you think they were going to be like? Were you expecting a neat little docile group of people sitting in their chairs with knitted blankets pulled over their legs, begging you to take them bowling?”
“That would have been nice.”
“It would have been easy, you mean.”
“Easy to what?”
“Easy to brush them off. That's what you wanted, wasn't it? No emotional connections. No memories of any kind. Just in and out, real quick.”
“You think I'm emotionally connected with those people in there?”
“Do you think you're going to forget them any time soon?”
“With the help of a large amount of alcohol, I plan on forgetting them in about twenty minutes.”
“Finish your cigarette and let's go see what they have to say.”
He took another drag. “I'm not going in there.”
Mrs. Nixon remained adamant. “Listen, if they say they don't want you as their team leader, I'll tell Mrs. Helmsley that you tried your best. It just didn't work out. If you refuse to go back, I'll have to tell her you quit. Which would you rather live with?”
“And if they say yes to having me as their team leader? An offer that I've never actually extended, by the way.”
Mrs. Nixon smiled encouragingly. “I think you're up to the challenge, Rooster. I really do. I think it would be good for everyone if you took them on. You just have to spend some time getting to know them.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course.”
“You think I could actually take these guys bowling and change their lives, or whatever Helmsley wants me to do?”
“I think you can, yes. I really do.”
He smiled back at her. “Okay. Why?”
“Why?”
“Yes. I asked you before why you thought I could do this and you never came up with anything. You were saved by Helmsley barging into your office. But since we're alone now, I'd love to hear it. Why do you think I could do this? Because I sure as hell don't think I could.”
Once again, just as she had the first time this question had been raised, Mrs. Nixon had to think for a moment. For the second time, no clear reasons came springing to her mind. “Oh, Rooster.” She rubbed her forehead. “Rooster, let me be honest about this. When Mrs. Helmsley suggested your name for this project, I thought she'd gone crazy. I was totally dead set against it. I thought she would ruin my idea if you became a part of it. But you know, people like you. I'm not completely sure why they like you, but they do. I mean, you're funny. You're clever. You can be smart when you want to be. I thought the first time you sang âHere Comes the Bride' was one of the sweetest things I'd ever heard. Of course, then you did it over and over and over again until I was ready to tear your hair out.”
“So I should do this because people like me? That's the only thing I have going for me?”
“Not everything you need to make it in this world comes from a textbook, Rooster. After meeting the Strikers, I'm not so sure that the girls I had chosen could have done this at all. They're both very bright and very sweet, but I don't think the people in there need bright and sweet. They need something else and I'm not even sure what it is, but I think you have it and I think you could provide it for them.”
Rooster thought for another moment. “Do you think they're gonna offer it to me?”
“That I don't know.”
“Do you think it's possible?”
“Well, you certainly made your first impression a lasting one. If that has any bearing on their decision, I would have to say no.”
“But â ”
“But who knows if it will or not. Tim seems to like you. Dorothy-Jane-Anne can't take her eyes off you. Roseann and Percival don't care for you very much. If the vote is a tie, Mrs. Yuler will have the final say. I don't know what she thinks of you.”
Rooster dropped his cigarette and mashed it out with his foot. “If Roseann touches me after her fingers have been in her mouth, I'm gonna freak. I'm telling you in advance.”
“I'll freak too, if she touches me,” said Mrs. Nixon. “Are you ready to go see?”
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If Mrs. Nixon was right, and he agreed with her logic, he had a fifty-fifty chance of getting out cleanly. They weren't the greatest odds in the world, but under the circumstances, they were as good as he could hope for. “All right,” he said.
They re-entered Common House and proceeded to the office. A smiling Mrs. Yuler greeted them. “Well,” she said, “welcome back. We had a little meeting while you were away. Rooster, the Strikers and I would like to offer you the position of team leader.”
Rooster was taken aback.
They made their decision
that fast? Where was the show of hands? The final
debate?
“It was unanimous,” she added.
“Unanimous?” Mrs. Nixon and Rooster spoke simultaneously. Their faces registered the same level of surprise.
“Well, Percival didn't vote,” said Mrs. Yuler.
“Yes he did,” said Roseann. “He did so vote.”
“He did not, Roseann. We talked about this.”
“Yes he did. He voted no.”
“He spoiled his ballot. He slammed his hand on the table and he kept shouting âNo! No! No!' But that is not how we conduct a vote here at Common House, and after several warnings he was told he no longer had one.”
“But the rest of you voted for Rooster, right?” said Mrs. Nixon, looking hopeful.
“We sure did,” said Tim. “We sure did. I'm looking forward to working with him. I really am. I think it's gonna be good. I think it's gonna be real good. Really really good.”