The Good-Luck Bogie Hat Read online

  EARLY BIRD BOOKS

  FRESH EBOOK DEALS, DELIVERED DAILY

  BE THE FIRST TO KNOW ABOUT

  FREE AND DISCOUNTED EBOOKS

  NEW DEALS HATCH EVERY DAY!

  The Good-Luck Bogie Hat

  Constance C. Greene

  For Phil, with love

  1

  “How do you like them apples?” Ben asked. “Look at the kid. Sharp. I mean really sharp. Beautiful, baby. Just plain beautiful.”

  He threw back his head, making slits of his eyes while he admired his new vest in the mirror. It was bright red with brass buttons and practically no moth holes.

  His brother Charlie sat on the edge of the bed and watched Ben get dressed. He put his clothes on in layers. For underwear he wore cut-off jeans and a Camp Okachobee T-shirt. He had been a counselor-in-training last summer at Camp Okachobee.

  “I know plenty of guys who don’t wear any underwear at all,” Ben said.

  “Where’d you get the vest?” Charlie asked.

  “Sammy’s. Where else?”

  Ever since Ben had discovered Sammy’s shop in an alley behind the railroad station he had been a cool dresser. Sammy dealt in old clothes and the price was right. He bought up whole attics and closets full of stuff when people moved or did their spring cleaning.

  “Take me with you next time you go to Sammy’s?” Charlie asked.

  “Sure.” Ben patted his vest fondly. “I know a guy who wrote an essay on why he didn’t wear any underwear and the teacher gave him an Incomplete and said he’d have to write another paper if he wanted to get credit for the course. Some people have no sense of humor.”

  “Why didn’t the guy wear any underwear?” Charlie wanted to know.

  “He said he was so secure he didn’t have to,” Ben explained.

  “You forgot your pants,” Charlie said.

  “Hey, comrade, you’re not going out like that, are you?” Ack Ack Ackerman, a friend of Ben’s, put his head around the door jamb. “The fuzz’ll throw you in the pokey. They’ll also throw the book at you if you go down Main Street with those gorgeous gams exposed.”

  A lot of people, mostly parents, thought Ack Ack was sort of peculiar looking. He was very tall and thin and kept looking over his shoulder as if he were being trailed. Charlie always knew when it was Ack Ack on the telephone. “Ben there?” his voice, low and whispery and quick, would ask. You couldn’t be too careful. There might be a wire tap on the phone. Even when he was calling home to say he’d be late or could he stay for dinner at a friend’s, he talked the same way. He’d put his hand over the receiver and turn his head rapidly from left to right to make sure no one was listening. Actually, it was Ack Ack’s ambition to be on the Ten-Most-Wanted-Criminals list. “That’s class,” he said. “Only ten cats they want and you’re one of them. I mean, how exclusive can you get?”

  Of all of Ben’s friends, Ack Ack was Charlie’s favorite. Mostly because he treated him like an equal, not like a kid brother.

  “Peace.” Ack Ack lay on the floor and put his feet on Ben’s record player.

  “I didn’t believe you when you said you were fifteen pounds underweight for your height, comrade, but now I get a load of your pins, I do believe,” Ack Ack said.

  Ben looked at his legs. They were skinny.

  “But look at those calves,” he said. “It isn’t often that you see such a well-shaped calf.”

  “Only down on the farm,” Ack Ack said.

  Ben fished a pair of denim work pants out from under the bed and put them on. Then he donned a pair of scruffy desert boots he’d bought off a kid at school for ten cents. He was set.

  “How much did the vest set you back?” Charlie asked.

  “Seventy-five cents. For anyone else it’d be a buck. For me, seventy-five cents. Plus a shirt thrown in for good measure. Sammy and I have rapport,” Ben said, smiling.

  Charlie didn’t know what rapport was but he wished he too had it with Sammy. Charlie had never met him but he figured he was a good man to know.

  “You better get out before Mom sees you, Ben,” Charlie advised. “You know how she is.”

  Ben gave a final check to his outfit. He wore a brown-and-blue striped shirt under the red vest and a Brooks Brothers sport jacket whose shoulder seams came halfway to his elbows.

  “If they had a list of best-dressed citizens in this town, you’d be on it,” Ack Ack said solemnly.

  “Funny thing,” Ben said, pleased. “I mean, I used to not care what I wore. I’d wake up in the morning and put on any old thing that happened to be lying around. I couldn’t care less. I never thought I’d turn out to be a sharp dresser. The same thing will probably happen to Charlie when he’s my age.”

  “I doubt it,” Charlie said. “I only like hats. I’d sure like to have that black hat of yours. You hardly ever wear it. Why not give it to me?”

  “Not my good-luck Bogie hat,” Ben said, taking the black fedora from the bedpost where it had been hanging for weeks. It had a huge floppy brim, and when Ben put it on and pulled the brim down over his eyes and talked out of the corner of his mouth, he really did sound like Humphrey Bogart.

  “Not this hat. This is one in a million. When they made this baby, they threw away the mold.” Ben put it on.

  “Sammy has this hat you’ll like, though. A real Sherlock-Holmes-type hat, you know, checked and all. He wants a buck for it. I think he might give it to you for less. It’s not worth a buck except to a guy who really likes hats.”

  “Cool,” Charlie said. “That’d be cool. Some girl called you yesterday when you were at work.”

  Ack Ack opened his eyes. He took frequent cat naps throughout the day. It was the only thing that kept him going, he said. His teachers had warned him. Once more and out, they had said.

  “A girl called up Ben?” he asked, incredulous. “What’d she want to sell him, life insurance or a magazine subscription?”

  “Who was it?” Ben asked.

  “She said it was Laurie.”

  “Laurie who?”

  “How do I know? How many girls named Laurie do you know?” Charlie asked.

  “Laurie is a very big name these days.” Ben ticked off on his fingers. “There’s Laurie Black, Laurie McIver and Laurie what’s-her-name, the one who has her own Mustang. She has this fantastic red Mustang her father gave her for her birthday and she hardly knows how to drive. She sits behind the wheel and looks like she expects the thing to go up in smoke any minute. Can you imagine wasting a car like that on a stupe like her?”

  “Her father must be loaded,” Charlie said. “How come you don’t ask her to the movies or something? That way, maybe she’d give you a shot at driving it.”

  “A similar thought had just occurred to me,” Ack Ack said. “The price of two tickets to the movies is prohibitive, I agree, but with a shot at driving a Mustang as your reward, it might be worth it. I wouldn’t even care what color it was,” he added magnanimously.

  “It’s not worth it,” Ben said. “She’s a fool. She talks all the time and when she isn’t talking, she’s laughing. Ever since she had the braces taken off her teeth, she’s always flapping those fangs in my face.”

  “That’s all right,” Ack Ack said. “Whenever the conversation slows down, you can always admire her orthodontia, ask how many thou it set her old man back, stuff like that.”

  “Ben! Charlie!”

  “There’s the old lady,” Ben said, hunching his shoulders down into his jacket.

  “I’m out of here,” he said. “Tell Mom I had to go to the library to work on my term paper.”

  “Where are you really going?” Charlie asked.

  “I probably will go to the library for a while. Then it’s poss
ible I might go to listen to a couple of albums at Ed Reilly’s house.”

  “When your plans firm up, let me know,” Ack Ack said. He looked as if he might drop off again at any minute.

  “Listen, if I don’t split now, my mother will have me painting the shutters and waxing the floors. Be a pal,” Ben said to Charlie, “and divert Mom’s attention while I make my getaway.”

  The telephone rang, and Charlie answered.

  “Is Ben there?” a girl’s voice said.

  “It’s for you,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah? Who’s this? Oh, Laurie. Sure, hi.” Ben looked at Charlie and Ack Ack through the buttonhole of his jacket. “I don’t know. I think it’s to read the first three chapters and make an outline of them. You’d better call someone else, though. I’m not absolutely sure that’s right. O.K.” He hung up.

  “I’m out of here,” he said again.

  Ack Ack opened one eye. “I don’t like to see you brushing off a chick who owns her own Mustang,” he said. “That’s pretty shortsighted of you.”

  “You want to get involved, you get involved,” Ben said. “She’s more your type anyway. Let’s go.”

  Ack Ack got to his feet reluctantly. “I’m off to the madding crowd, kid,” he said to Charlie. “Peace,” and he shuffled after Ben.

  2

  “I bet you don’t know how many feet you’re supposed to park from a fire hydrant, Dad,” Ben said. He had just got his driver’s license. The sun had barely set on his sixteenth birthday last month before he had memorized the driver’s manual and passed his driver’s ed course.

  “Listen, I’ve been driving for twenty-three years and I haven’t had a ticket for parking too close to a fire hydrant yet,” his father said.

  “How many feet?” Ben pursued.

  “It varies in different states,” his father answered.

  “I knew you didn’t know,” Ben said triumphantly. “Tell you what. I’m going to give you all a break. I’m going to take the whole family for a ride. Mom, Dad, Charlie, let the ace take over.”

  Charlie was in the car like a shot. He thought Ben was a cool driver. It took Mom and Dad a little longer. Dad said he had some bills to pay; Mom said she was in the middle of a meat loaf; but eventually they were persuaded to hop aboard.

  “Is there any kind of insurance for this kind of trip?” Dad muttered.

  It was an unforgettable journey.

  Ben and his father sat in front; Charlie and his mother in back, strapped in their seat belts as if they were going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. Before Ben turned the key in the ignition, his mother started putting on the brakes. She sat there in the back seat practically shoving her foot through the floor boards she was putting on the brakes so hard.

  “Slower, slower,” she yelled.

  “I haven’t even started,” Ben said patiently. “Take it slow, Flo,” he murmured under his breath. His mother’s name was Beatrice.

  “To the right, over to the right, you’re driving too far over on the left,” Dad shouted. Ben yanked the wheel over hard and almost ran into a parked car.

  “Just go down to the light and take a right turn, then head for home,” the old man said from between clenched teeth. “I don’t think I’m up to this.”

  One thing about Ben, Charlie noticed, was that when he came to to a traffic light, he counted on its being green. If it wasn’t, he put the car into first and drove about two miles an hour, hoping the light would change. It hurt his pride to bring the car to a full stop. It was against his principles.

  As the happy family approached the red light, Ben shifted into second, then first. He inched his way down the street. Charlie’s mother dug her fingers deep into his arm.

  “For Pete’s sake, Mom,” Charlie hollered, “he’s only doing five miles an hour. Cut it out! That hurts! Relax!”

  The light remained red. Ben came to a grinding halt behind a car already stopped. Charlie tried to escape from his mother’s clutching hands. She was faster than he. And stronger. She grabbed him and hung on. She was so busy putting her foot on the nonexistent brakes and moving her lips in prayer that she paid no attention to his cries.

  “Benny boy, how’s it going?” A creature in a giant crash helmet swooped around the corner, gunning the motor of his motorbike so he’d sound like a hotshot. It was Ack Ack.

  “He looks like he’s suited up for Sebring,” Ben said admiringly.

  Casually, no sweat, he took his hand off the wheel to salute his friend.

  It was a fatal mistake. The engine coughed once, twice, and died. The light changed to green. The car behind Ben sounded its horn, then the one behind it did the same.

  “Get a move on!” a voice shouted.

  Ben had stalled. Beautifully, embarrassingly, he had stalled. He was holding up an entire line of cars. Before he could get the car going again, the light changed back to red. Cars pulled from behind him, forming a new line. Every driver gave him a dirty look. Ben, Charlie, the old folks all stared straight ahead.

  A red Mustang with a girl driving pulled alongside Ben.

  “Hey, Ben,” she said, smiling, “you need some help?”

  Charlie saw Ben’s face flush. Even the tips of his ears were bright.

  He waved his hand, shrugged his shoulders. “Just a little transmission trouble,” he said. “I can handle it. Thanks anyway.”

  The Mustang pulled away. After an eternity, Ben got the car into gear. Unfortunately, he mistook third for first. The passengers rolled and tossed as if they were riding a ship during a storm in the North Atlantic. The two in the front seat almost went through the windshield. In the rear, Charlie felt a little seasick. He and his mother, safely encased in their seat belts, were bounced around like a couple of demented Yo-yos.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. Ben pulled up in front of the house. The parents debarked. They looked older than when they had started.

  As they helped each other up the path and into the house, Ben said disgustedly, “My gosh, you’d never suspect Dad was a jet pilot in the war. What’s he get so uptight about a little ride to the corner for? I wasn’t going all that fast.”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, unfastening his seat belt. When he got out of the car, his legs felt a little rubbery. With Ben at the wheel, everything seemed stepped up. There was something about the way he took a curve, something about the way he downshifted at every opportunity, about the way he approached a stop sign, the way he yielded when the sign said Yield, that made the whole business of driving with him a real adventure.

  3

  Muttering to himself, Ben went inside. Charlie sat down on the front steps to rest his legs and get his equilibrium back. To look busy and give himself a project, he went to work on the scab on his knee. Even it seemed a trifle pale after the ride with Ben. It really was a beauty, though. It was almost the exact shape of Texas. He planned to lift it off in one unbroken piece and present it, gift wrapped, to his friend Arthur, who hated scabs worse than anything. They made him sick to his stomach.

  The last scab Charlie’d saved for Arthur had been shaped just like Florida. But at the crucial moment, when he was getting ready to lift off that one, Miami and Miami Beach had broken off. Somehow, it had never been the same after that.

  As if he’d heard someone call his name, Arthur came around the corner of the house, legs churning, breathing hard.

  “Made it in forty-two seconds this time,” he panted, checking the second hand on his watch. Arthur lived three houses down from Charlie. He was always trying to better his time from portal to portal.

  “What held you up?” Charlie asked, yawning. Charlie and Arthur had been best friends since they’d gone to the same nursery school and Charlie had been bounced because the lady who ran the school said he was a disruptive influence. That meant he was always picking a fight with Arthur or somebody. There was nothing Charlie liked better than a good squabble. The lady who ran the school was a personal friend of Arthur’s mother so, naturally, Charlie had
been kicked out. One of them had to go, the lady said.

  Unfortunately, that same day their mother had had a call from Ben’s teacher, saying he also was a disruptive influence and a nuisance and she couldn’t cope with him. Was he a problem at home too?

  Their mother had hung up the phone, put her head in her hands, and cried. She had failed, she said. Two sons and each of them a misfit in society. When their father heard that Charlie and not Arthur had been tossed out of nursery school, he called it favoritism, because Arthur’s mother and the school head were friends. Then he settled down and gave Ben his special half-hour lecture on the values of education and toeing the line and facing up to Life and Responsibility. Ben knew large sections of the lecture by heart, he had heard it so often.

  But now Ben was a junior in high school and a member of the Honor Society, and Charlie and Arthur were in the sixth grade at Broad River School. There was no Honor Society in the sixth grade, which was a break.

  Arthur was much taller and weighed a lot more than Charlie but he didn’t have as much muscle and he couldn’t run anywhere near as fast. Charlie was small and considered himself wiry. He did twenty push-ups a night and was sure he detected a swelling in his biceps that had not been there before. He figured a small guy with muscles had more chance than a big flabby guy.

  Arthur wrote poems which he read standing up in full view of Miss Peterson’s English class. Charlie was so embarrassed on these occasions that he asked to be excused to go to the boy’s room. But after the first few times, Miss Peterson caught on. She was much too smart for Charlie. She told him that in just those words.

  “I’m much too smart for you,” she said, smiling her cruel smile and clicking her teeth. Miss Peterson was engaged to be married, which was all right with Charlie. The sooner the better. Then maybe she’d have some kids of her own and she could smile her cruel smile at them and tell them how smart she was and not let them go to the boy’s room either.