The Aquaguardians - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO – CHARLEY GOERTZ



    Charley Goertz arrived at Seaview High School early.  As he climbed the six marble steps leading to the main entrance, he checked his watch.  7:30. I could still be in bed, he thought resentfully. But I have to have an early appointment with Jack Asshole.

    His head hurt. Getting to bed at 4 o’clock in the morning only to have a meeting three and a half hours later was no joke. He would have preferred remaining in bed until his usual awakening time at nine. After all, his first teaching assignment didn’t begin until ten, and he was only 15 minutes from the school. There were dreams he had wanted to continue. He didn’t remember the exact details, but the feelings remained with him even now.

    Last night was a blur. I’ll never do this again, he promised silently. He had just gone to Bradley’s for a light supper and a couple of beers. He remembered listening to Frank, the aging proprietor, complain about being unable to take a vacation. “My kids don’t want to bother with the business, and me and my wife would like to get away more often and maybe spend some time down at the Shore. Right now, there ain’t nobody I can leave in charge so I can get away and still have a clear head.”

    As Charley leisurely ate his Reuben, a few of the regulars had walked in. The political arguments began, and Charley found himself in the midst of them. Two beers led to God knows how many more because rounds were bought by everyone, but now he was paying for them in earnest.

    Charley sluggishly moved down the main corridor to the principal’s office. The fluorescent fixtures created a glare on the highly polished tile floor causing Charley’s eyes pain. I wonder if Bobby is going to show up with his parents. The kid’s father will probably beat the shit out of him if he has to take a couple of hours off from work. Principal Asshole should have never suspended him anyway. Talk about travesties of justice.

    He veered to his left and walked to the oak and glass door marked “Principal’s Office.” Grabbing the brass knob, he turned it with a vengeance. I wish this were his balls. He smiled at the thought.

    Jack Ahole sat behind his huge mahogany desk in the inner office. He was shuffling through a pile of papers, which were haphazardly strewn over the green desk blotter. He barely looked up as Charley came in, merely motioned to him to sit down, and continued his shuffling.

    Charley sat. Asshole’s getting his desk in order. Company’s coming. Again he smiled. He examined the balding little man behind the desk. Why are some little men afflicted with a Napoleonic complex? A line from the song “Short People” wove through Charley’s brain. “Short people got no reason to live.” This should be Asshole’s theme song, he decided. Except that the principal did have a reason to live—to make everyone’s life around him miserable.

    Teachers and students alike hated the principal. His name lent itself to the derisive but apt nickname-”Asshole.”  Even though Jack accented the “ho” and pronounced the “le” lay, it made no difference. That’s what had gotten Bobby into trouble.

    Bobby Vernale did not fit the image Ahole had of an honor student. The kid’s hair was too long, his six-foot frame was too muscular, and the silver cross, which dangled, from his left ear was upside down. The kid was a rocker, not a worker, and Ahole had pigeonholed him as such, arbitrarily deciding that the good grades the boy received were unearned.

    Ahole had objected to handing an award at the Honors Assembly to a person dressed in a black leather jacket complete with chains, torn dungarees, and a Metallica T-shirt. He had considered this a personal affront and when giving the Principal’s List Award to the student sarcastically said, “How can you see your books with all that hair hanging in your eyes?”

    Bobby looked down at the man’s balding head and responded equally as sarcastically. “Obviously you have no trouble in seeing your books.”

    The microphone had picked up this encounter and although the students snickered at Ahole’s remark, they roared at Bobby’s. The whistles and hoots took all the teachers’ efforts to extinguish, and the auditorium had to be cleared early. It was after this incident that Ahole’s vendetta against Bobby began.

    Bobby couldn’t walk to his classes without Ahole’s smoldering eyes burning into the student. The principal had gone as far as to bribe other students with additional points on their final grades if they could catch Bobby in some act worthy of suspension. Up until this time, Ahole had no luck: Bobby’s nose was clean and those Ahole had approached had been Bobby’s friends.

    On this particular day, Ahole’s scrutiny had paid off.  As Bobby walked through the hall during passing, he was accidentally jostled by another student and dropped his notebook practically at the principal’s feet. When Ahole instinctively bent down to pick it up, he saw an extremely unflattering cartoon of himself depicted as a human rear end, with the words “JACK ‘THE JERK’ ASSHOLE” written boldly across the top.

    Bobby grabbed for his book, but he was too slow. The damage had been done. Ahole’s crimson face twisted in triumphant hate as he held the offending cartoon.

    “I want to see both your parents up here tomorrow or you will not be permitted to come to school,” he shouted.  ”I’m calling home right now.”

    Bobby ran directly to Charley to tell him what had happened, and the teacher promised that he would intercede on the kid’s behalf.

    Later that day, during his free period, Charley went to Ahole’s office. The principal sneered as Charley entered.

    “I hold you responsible for that boy’s lack of discipline,” he screamed. “It’s bleeding hearts like you who are the cause of this entire nation going to hell. You baby these pieces of shit to the point where they become totally unmanageable.”

    Charley was unsuccessful in softening Ahole’s stand. Every time the teacher attempted to open his mouth, he was shouted down by this irate, little man. In frustration and anger, Charley slammed out of the office in the middle of Ahole’s diatribe. It was then he decided that he would head for Bradley’s as soon as the school day finished.

    Charley found Bobby waiting for him in his room. “Well, what happened?” questioned the anxious student.

    “Sorry, Bobby. He wouldn’t even give me the chance to speak.”

    “I bought it, Mr. G. I can’t go back to school because I won’t tell my father that he has to come up here to see the principal. If I do, I’m gonna get killed. He’ll bust my face. I can’t quit ‘cause that’ll kill my mom. I’m fuckin’ stuck.  I can’t even go home tonight.”

    Charley cursed Ahole silently.  The principal was aware of Bobby’s situation at home. That asshole was probably gloating right now over the dilemma he had placed Bobby in.

    Charley asked Bobby if there were some place he could hang out until about 10 o’clock. “I’m going out tonight for a while, but I should be home by ten.  Call me then and we’ll talk about some strategy. Maybe I’ll even go home with you.”  But Charley had not anticipated that he would lose track of time and himself at Bradley’s and come rolling in at four in the morning. He hadn’t meant to have more than a couple of beers with dinner, but the alcohol quieted his seething anger as surely as CO2 extinguished a fire.  He began to drink because of Bobby and in the course of the night, had forgotten about the student.

    Compounding his anger was the message Jack had left on his answering machine demanding that Charley meet with him at 7:30 in the morning. Charley had listened to this message before he left to go to dinner. Just the sound of Ahole’s voice made him almost lose his appetite.

    Now he experienced the same sensation of disgust as he faced the little man this morning. Fused with this was the shame he felt for having let Bobby down. When he awoke that morning, the blinking red eye on his answering machine alerted him that he received calls while he was busy getting drunk. Running the tape had been futile; the person left no voice message—just a click and a dial tone. But Charley know that those calls had been made by Bobby just as certainly as if the boy had spoken into the machine. He only hoped that Bobby had spent the night safely and that he could be of some help to the student, today.

    A petulant whine brought Charley out of his reverie. “Well, I trust you’re satisfied, Mr, Goertz. I want you to know that I received a call from my secretary at 6 o’clock today. It seems that she knows Mrs. Vernale. It appears as though Bobby didn’t go home last night and the mother is in a state. Any explanations as to where the boy might be?” Ahole asked accusingly.

    A pang of dread gripped Charley’s gut. “What do you mean, he didn’t come home?”

    “Oh, come off it, Goertz. You know damn well that you’re shielding that little shit. Right now, he’s probably at your place.”

    “Fuck you, Asshole!” His fear for the boy’s safety intensified his anger at Ahole and he erupted. “You sanctimonious little dick. You think I’d keep the boy from contacting his mom when I know how she’d worry about him? She’s his only ally in that damn house and you know it. If anything has happened to the kid I’m going to kick the shit out of your little ass.”

    Ahole momentarily blanched at the teacher’s violence, then shouted a response. “You’re fired, Goertz!  And I’ll make sure that you never teach again in a New York City school because you threatened a principal!”

    “Up your ass.” Charley shouted back and stormed out of the office without bothering to shut the door.  He barreled down the corridor to his class, passing some of his colleagues as they were arriving.  The other teachers watched in stunned silence as Charley kicked the door to his room open and slammed it behind him. But they were not prepared for the revelation that was to come.

    The kick had damaged the lock and the twisted metal prevented the door from remaining shut.  It bounced back, opening upon a tableau more befitting a horror film than a high school.  There, hanging from an electrical cord suspended from a light fixture, was the blue-faced corpse of Robert Vernale; in his shadow stood Charley, tears streaming down his cheeks.

    An inquiry into Bobby’s death proved that the young man had committed suicide.  Apparently, he had secreted himself in the labyrinth of the basement, only to come out when all the custodians had gone for the night.  From the pay phone outside the cafeteria, Bobby called Charley repeatedly, with no success.  The teenager could see no way out of his predicament.  His sole source of aid had disappointed him and he chose the only clearly visible path.

    Even though Mr. G.’s classroom had been locked, Bobby found the entry easy.  Locks were no problem for Bobby. He became adept at opening any door; it was a matter of survival.

    When he was as young as ten, his father would lock him out of the house after the burly man had dispensed his punishment, usually in the form of a brutal beating. Although his mother pleaded Bobby’s case, it was never to any avail. She would be forbidden to allow the youngster entry.  Bobby would wait until he was certain his father had gone to sleep and then the boy would attack the lock.  Invariably, the lock would open and Bobby would silently slip down to the basement to spend the night huddled in the corner behind the water heater.

    Mr. G. had the large chemistry laboratory/classrom on the first floor in the east wing.  The first marble-topped lab table had served as a base for the chair, which Bobby had placed on it, thus allowing the boy to reach the light fixture in order to attach the slide projector cord. They found a desk chair lying on its side next to the lab table. It was the last solid ground Bobby’s feet would ever touch.

    Charley spent the next week under heavy sedation in Staten Island Hospital. When he was allowed to emerge from the drug-induced haze, he knew he couldn’t return to teaching, even in a private school. He promised himself that one day he would get Jack “The Jerk” Asshole and make him pay for Bobby’s death. Only in this way would he be able to receive absolution for his part in the tragedy.

    Charley took a job bartending in Bradley’s.  His request for a job came as an answer to Frank’s prayers. The owner wanted to spend more time away from the demands of his business.  He knew Charley, knew he could trust him, knew how the kid’s death had kicked the shit out of the poor guy. They both would benefit from having Charley work in the bar.