The Wisdom of Perversity Read Free Page A

Hush Puppies. He shoved himself clear of the desk. Johnny’s mug spun from the force of his release, its base emitting ominous notes.
    Jeff jumped out of the hot seat and with flailing arms leapt off the carpeted island onto the black sea, a terrified passenger abandoning ship. In a flash, Jeff managed to appear to have had nothing to do with the violation of Johnny’s set, while Brian was caught red-handed in the sacred chair, Johnny’s royal blue mug spinning on the desk.
    â€œBrian, get the fuck out of Johnny’s chair!” Richard Klein bellowed, red-faced.
    Other than his important job title, Brian knew little about Klein. When Klein and Sam had popped into Jeff’s room last Sunday to say hello, he had impressed Brian, in dress and speech, as quite different from Jeff’s slovenly dad or Brian’s garrulous father. Klein wore a gray pin-striped suit enlivened by a maroon tie and he smelled of Old Spice, an aftershave familiar to Brian because his father doused himself with it on very special occasions, like when he took Mom out for her birthday. It usually tickled his nose. At one point Klein had leaned close to Brian to peer at the Monopoly board. One whiff of him had provoked Brian into a series of violent ah-choos. “You’re allergic to adults,” Klein had joked, patting Brian’s helmet of very straight black hair. Richard Klein had also impressed him with the self-confident way he smiled indulgently at the awed questions Brian had asked about his glamorous job. He had also made clever fun of Harriet’s hypochondria. Jeff’s mother spent most of her waking hours in bed with a heating pad that she shifted restlessly, always with a groan and a sigh, the location of her complaint moving from lumbar to forehead to kneecap, a general invalidism that prevented her from cleaning, shopping, or cooking. “Have to get back to your mother’s hospital bed,” he had kidded as he left. He seemed a master of self-control, nothing like the easily upset adults of Brian’s experience. So this new side of Klein, red-faced, spewing obscenities, made it clear to Brian that he was in big, big trouble.
    Brian’s essential shyness, his reflexive reluctance to announce his desires, to demand his due, was trumped by a keen sense of what is just and what is unjust, in particular when someone attempted to apply justice to him. He got to his feet and declared the truth, “It was Jeff’s idea!” Unfortunately for his righteous cause, the energy of his rising out of Johnny’s magic chair caused it to recoil rapidly and whack hard into the base of a tall potted fern.
    The large planter wobbled violently. They all watched as the wobbling worsened, tipping more and more precariously, until it seemed inevitable that a collapse onto the painted Manhattan skyline would result. Brian glanced at Klein and Sam. Both were paralyzed with horror. Brian saw the future with oracular clarity: a toppled fern destroying the set would transform embarrassment into disaster.
    He leapt at the potted plant without regard to his body’s preservation. His chin smacked painfully into the brick-colored pot, but he remained fixed on his goal, flinging his arms around the moist planter. Its circumference was too great for him to encompass and too heavy for him to prevent from tipping over—except by pulling it onto himself. The ceramic planter fell against his neck and shoulder; wet soil spilled down the collar of his one and only white dress shirt, especially ironed by his mother for today’s grand occasion.
    â€œHelp,” he groaned, squeezed by the planter’s weight. He had forestalled the destruction of the set, but the fern was still in jeopardy and so was Brian. The pot continued to slide farther onto him, dirt spilling at a faster rate.
    Sam righted the planter. Brian rolled onto his back and sighed. Only then did he feel the ooze of slimy soil settling into the