Eddie and the Cruisers by P.F. Kluge

Author:P.F. Kluge [KLUGE, P.F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781468303568
Publisher: ABRAMS, Inc. (Ignition)
Published: 2012-06-09T00:00:00+00:00

10

You know how it is, when you leaf through your college alumni magazine? You see that so-and-so is a senior counsel and someone else is taken seriously in the State Department and yet another ex-classmate is performing surgery? And you remember them, not as future lawyers, diplomats, or doctors, but as dormitory masturbators, dance-weekend drunks, exam-time plagiarists? You know that somebody has got to be kidding.

That’s how I felt when I found that First Mountainside was a church not a bank, a red brick neo-Colonial complex across the street from a shopping center, with a school, a rectory, and an ample parking lot in which the Reverend Kenneth Hopkins waited to keep his appointment with me.

“So it really is you!” he exclaimed, as he walked over to the car.

He was a good-looking man, blond and trim. He wore brown corduroy trousers, a purple turtleneck sweater, and some brightly striped running shoes.

“How are you doing, Kenny?” I asked, as we shook hands. “Are you the Reverend Kenneth E.?”

“That’s me. And my father before me. I kept it a secret when I was a Cruiser. Now I keep the Cruiser stuff a secret.”

“Just going through a phase back then?”

He acknowledged his old slogan with a smile that was only slightly forced. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Expecting me?”

“Yes. Or someone like you. Come inside where we can talk.”

He led me across the parking lot, through a side door, and down some steps to one of those bright, multipurpose basements where teenagers are supposed to play Ping-Pong and drink Coke instead of hanging out on street corners. In the rear was Hopkins’ office, a book-lined Protestant confessional, with comfortable seats and a cup of coffee for all comers. There was no one in the basement. So far as I could see, we had the whole place to ourselves. Still, he looked out cautiously and made a point of closing the door.

For a moment we just stared at each other, measuring memories against changes, checking out the growing and the aging. We both did it, so neither one was embarrassed. Then Hopkins broke the silence.

“What’s going on, Frank?” he asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“I saw that television show. People tearing apart the Wilson house. And now … here you are.”

“Well, Eddie’s back, they tell me.”

“What does that mean?”

“I know it’s crazy. I don’t understand it myself. You’re the preacher. Know much about miracles?”

“Miracles? Not much.”

Just then the door pushed open, and a woman backed into the office carrying a good-sized coffee urn. Hopkins helped her set up the urn. Then he introduced his wife, Jeanette, an utterly plain, pleasant woman who stared at me as if she expected to give my description to the cops. She left only when her husband pointedly thanked her and held open the door. Even then, I guessed she was eavesdropping right outside.

“No tits, no ass, buck teeth, but I love her,” Hopkins whispered. “Usually she doesn’t bring the coffee machine till after lunch. She saw that show last night, and then I made the mistake of telling her that you’d be coming by.

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