There in the Garage

Racine, Wisconsin — Spring 2003
Sue shifted her five-speed Mustang into second gear as she turned onto their street. The drive home had given her plenty of time to think about the haircut she had just gotten.
She had gone shorter than she’d originally intended, but not nearly as short as she’d worn her hair years earlier. She wondered whether Malcolm would like it. More importantly, she wondered whether he would even care.
Things between them had been difficult for quite some time.
She pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. Malcolm’s oversized garage was open, and she could see their eighteen-year-old daughter sitting at the pub-style table he had set up inside.
Sue walked over, set her purse on the table, and reached for a cigarette.
“Well?” she asked.
Her daughter looked up.
“Oh my God, Mom! You actually did it!”
Sue smiled and turned her head so her daughter could see the back.
“That’s a lot shorter than it was,” her daughter said. “I like it.”
“Your father might not.”
“Mom, Dad’s been complaining about your hair for months.”
“I know.”
Sue lit her cigarette and sat down on the other stool.
For a few moments, neither said anything.
Then Sue looked around the garage. The fishing equipment was neatly organized along one wall, and several rods were already rigged for trolling.
“You know what I wish?” Sue said.
“What?”
“I wish things could just get back to normal. Like when we used to go out on Lake Michigan together.”
Her daughter smiled.
“Remember when Dad would get us up before sunrise? We’d complain all the way to the marina, and then once we got out there, nobody wanted to come home.”
Sue laughed.
“And your father would get irritated because you girls wanted to eat all the sandwiches before we caught the first fish.”
“Those were good times, Mom.”
“They really were.”
“Why don’t we go again?”
Sue looked toward the house.
“I don’t know if your father would want to.”
“Ask him.”
Sue took another drag from her cigarette.
“Maybe I will.”
She finished smoking, left her purse on the table, and walked into the house.
Their sixteen-year-old daughter was in the kitchen.
The girl looked up and immediately noticed her mother’s hair.
“Mom! You got it cut!”
Sue turned around.
“What do you think?”
“I love it! Dad’s going to love it too.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“Are we going somewhere tonight?”
Sue hesitated.
“I was thinking maybe we could all go trolling.”
The girl’s face lit up.
“Seriously? For coho?”
“If your father agrees.”
“Mom, please ask him! We haven’t gone together in forever.”
Sue smiled.
“All right. I’ll ask.”
She walked down the hallway toward Malcolm’s office.
He was sitting behind his desk, going through paperwork related to his radio advertising business. Several invoices were spread out in front of him.
Sue stood in the doorway.
“Malcolm?”
He didn’t look up immediately.
“What?”
“The girls and I were talking. We were wondering if it would be possible to go trolling tonight.”
That got his attention.
He turned around in his chair.
“Fishing?”
“Yes, fishing.”
“On the lake?”
“Where else would we go trolling for coho?”
He stared at her.
“I didn’t think any of you liked going fishing anymore.”
“We do, Malcolm. We always did.”
He started to say something else, but then noticed her hair.
“You cut your hair.”
Sue reached up and touched the back of her head.
“Yes.”
He stood up and walked toward her.
“Turn around.”
She did.
He studied the haircut for a moment.
“That’s more like it.”
Sue looked at him.
“Is that all you’re going to say?”
He smiled slightly.
“It looks good, Sue. Really good.”
For the first time in weeks, she smiled back at him without forcing it.
“I was hoping you’d think so.”
Malcolm reached for her hand.
“Come here.”
The paperwork could wait.
They went into their bedroom and closed the door.
For a little while, the arguments, disappointments, and distance that had grown between them were forgotten. They held each other, kissed, and rediscovered some of the affection that had been missing from their marriage.
Later, they were still in bed when someone knocked.
“Mom? Dad?”
It was their sixteen-year-old daughter.
“Are you decent?”
“No!” they both answered at exactly the same time.
They looked at each other and burst out laughing.
Outside the door, their daughter smiled. It had been a long time since she’d heard her parents laugh together like that.
Maybe things really were going to get better.
“Well, I have something I need to tell you.”
Sue pulled the sheet up.
“What is it, honey?”
“Grandma and Grandpa are here. They’re out in the garage.”
Malcolm’s expression changed immediately.
“What the hell do those people want?”
He threw the covers aside and reached for his jeans.
Sue sat up.
“Malcolm, before you get upset, there’s something I should explain.”
He stepped into his jeans.
“What?”
“Your mother found out that my aunt died. Her church is having a rummage sale, and they don’t have much merchandise. She asked whether she could have some of my aunt’s things.”
“And?”
“I brought some boxes back with me. They’re in the Mustang.”
Malcolm tightened his belt.
“So they came over to get free stuff.”
“That’s basically it.”
Sue hesitated, then smiled a little.
“Actually, I found something rather interesting when I was going through my aunt’s things.”
“What?”
“One of those old personal massagers that connects to a vacuum cleaner.”
Malcolm stopped pulling on his T-shirt.
“A vacuum cleaner?”
“Yes. Apparently it was some sort of unusual attachment.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Well, that’s certainly not going to the church rummage sale.”
Sue laughed.
“I didn’t think you’d want it donated.”
“I’d be interested in seeing how that contraption works.”
“Would you now?”
He smiled.
“We can discuss that later.”
Malcolm pulled his shirt down, opened the bedroom door, and headed toward the garage.
Sue still needed to get dressed, so he arrived several minutes ahead of her.
The garage was larger than most, with plenty of room for the Mustang, tools, fishing equipment, and Malcolm’s little barbershop.
Years earlier, Malcolm’s father, Anthony Balistrieri, had given him an old barber chair that had once belonged to Frank, Anthony’s godfather.
Frank had operated a barbershop for many years, and the chair had eventually passed into Anthony’s possession. Anthony and his wife had never really had a use for it. Both had spent their working lives in union factory jobs, and Anthony had always been practical about possessions.
A barber chair meant another large piece of furniture to store, clean, and maintain.
When they moved into a smaller house, Anthony decided that Malcolm could have it.
Malcolm had been delighted.
He built a proper little barbershop nook in one corner of his oversized garage. There was a large mirror, a counter, shelves for combs and clippers, a barber’s cape, and the old chair, which Malcolm kept polished and in excellent condition.
When Malcolm walked into the garage, he found his sixteen-year-old daughter sitting in the chair.
His eighteen-year-old daughter was sitting at the pub-style table, smoking a cigarette in front of her grandparents.
Anthony and his wife were standing nearby.
Malcolm looked at his younger daughter.
“What are you doing in my chair?”
She grinned.
“Oh, Dad, I thought you could do my undercut.”
“Your undercut?”
“Yeah. It’s getting grown out.”
Malcolm looked at the back of her head.
She normally had her undercut maintained at a local unisex barbershop that the family liked. Malcolm wasn’t accustomed to doing her hair, but he knew exactly what the haircut looked like.
“All right. Since you’re already sitting there.”
He took the striped barber’s cape from its hook, shook it open, and fastened it around her neck.
“How short?”
“Number three. Same as always.”
Malcolm took his Oster clippers from the counter. They were professional-quality clippers, not one of the inexpensive sets sold in department stores.
He fitted the number-three guard, switched them on, and listened to the familiar hum.
“Put your head down.”
His daughter lowered her chin.
He lifted the longer hair above the undercut, then started running the clippers upward from the nape of her neck.
Small pieces of hair fell onto the cape.
Anthony watched.
“Since when did you become a barber?”
“Since my daughter decided she wanted a haircut.”
Malcolm continued working.
“Now, what exactly did you two come over here for? Because we’re planning on going trolling tonight, and I’d like to get things settled.”
Anthony looked at his wife.
“Trolling?”
“Yeah. Fishing.”
“On Lake Michigan?”
“That’s generally where we go for salmon.”
Anthony smiled skeptically.
He knew Malcolm worked in radio advertising, and he’d never considered that a particularly dependable way to earn a living. In Anthony’s mind, a good union factory job was something a man could count on. Advertising was something else entirely.
“Well, that would be nice,” Anthony said. “Your mother and I have never been out on Lake Michigan.”
Malcolm guided the clippers around his daughter’s right ear.
His daughter immediately spoke up.
“Oh, Grandpa, you don’t want to go. It’s dangerous.”
Anthony glanced toward Malcolm.
He thought he’d caught his son exaggerating again. Even the girl was apparently trying to give her father an excuse.
“Dangerous, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Especially at night.”
Malcolm nodded.
“She’s right.”
Anthony chuckled.
“Of course you’re going to agree with her.”
But the girl wasn’t finished.
“We’re going after coho. In the spring they’re right along the shoreline, so everybody’s fishing close to shore. And Dad says there’s way too many people out there who don’t know what they’re doing.”
Malcolm moved the clippers across the back of her head.
“Keep your chin down.”
She obeyed.
“And people can get credit so easily now,” she continued. “They go buy these big expensive boats, and half of them don’t even understand the rules.”
“That’s exactly right,” Malcolm said.
“And some of them have been drinking. Especially when they’re coming back from somewhere at night.”
Anthony folded his arms.
“So now the lake’s full of drunks?”
“Not everybody,” Malcolm said. “But enough of them to make you pay attention.”
He switched the clippers off for a moment and brushed loose hair from his daughter’s neck.
“You’ve got people running thirty or forty miles an hour who don’t understand navigation lights. We’re trolling along at two miles an hour, and they’re coming right at us. Sometimes they don’t realize we’re there until they’re practically on top of us.”
His daughter nodded enthusiastically.
“I’ve heard Dad say that a thousand times.”
Malcolm switched the clippers back on and started trimming the other side of the undercut.
“That’s because it’s true.”
Anthony shook his head.
“Well, I suppose that explains how you managed to get yourself a boat. If they’re giving credit to anybody these days.”
Malcolm stopped the clippers.
He looked directly at his father in the mirror.
“For your information, Dad, I own my boat outright.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows.
“Do you now?”
“Yes. No payments. No bank loan. It’s mine.”
He turned the clippers back on.
“And I’ve owned it for years.”
Anthony shook his head.
“You know something, Malcolm? It’s about time you gave up this charade you’ve been living.”
Malcolm glanced at his father in the mirror.
“What charade is that, Dad?”
“This radio advertising business of yours. When are you going to quit fooling around and get yourself a real job?”
“Dad, I’ve been doing this for years.”
“And that’s exactly my point. You’ve wasted enough years already. Chrysler expanded that engine plant again last year. You ought to get yourself down there and put in an application.”
Malcolm continued running the number-three guard along his daughter’s undercut.
“I’ve already got a job.”
“You’ve got something you call a job. Your sister’s got a career.”
Malcolm rolled his eyes.
“Here we go.”
“Your sister is thirty-five years old, Malcolm. Thirty-five! She’s already got seventeen years in at that plant. She went to work for American Motors when she was eighteen years old. Didn’t waste her time chasing dreams. She got herself into the engine department right from the beginning.”
Malcolm tilted his daughter’s head forward.
“Keep your chin down, sweetheart.”
Anthony continued.
“And you know what happened? Chrysler bought American Motors in 1987. Then they shut down automobile assembly in 1988. Thousands of people lost their jobs. But that engine department survived, and your sister was smart enough to be working in it.”
“I know the history, Dad.”
“Well, apparently you haven’t learned anything from it! They expanded the engine plant in 1997, and they expanded it again in 2002. They’re putting money into that place. Your sister’s got seventeen years of seniority, good union wages, benefits, and something to look forward to when she retires.”
Malcolm switched off the clippers.
“And I’m supposed to be jealous?”
“No. You’re supposed to learn something from her. She’s three years younger than you, and she’s got her life figured out.”
Malcolm looked at his father.
“I’ve got my life figured out too.”
“Then why aren’t you working somewhere that pays real money?”
Malcolm shook his head and switched the Oster clippers back on.
Anthony wasn’t finished.
“I worked in the factories. Your mother worked in the factories. Your sister works in the factory. We understood that when somebody offered you good union wages, you took the opportunity. You didn’t throw it away to go selling advertisements on the radio.”
“Dad, somebody has to sell those advertisements. That’s how radio stations make money.”
“Well, maybe the radio stations make money. I don’t know how much you’re making.”
Malcolm’s eighteen-year-old daughter looked up from the pub-style table.
“Grandpa, Dad makes good money.”
Anthony waved his hand dismissively.
“That’s what he tells you.”
Malcolm stopped cutting again.
“Dad, I own this house. I’ve got two daughters I’ve raised. I’ve got a business that’s been supporting us, and I’ve got a boat sitting down at Reefpoint Marina that I own outright. I don’t owe a bank one dime on that boat.”
Anthony smiled skeptically.
“Anybody can say they own a boat.”
Malcolm stared at him.
“You really don’t believe me, do you?”
“I’m saying you ought to think about your future. Chrysler’s expanding. Your sister could probably tell you who to talk to. Get yourself down there, get some seniority started, and maybe someday you’ll have something dependable.”
Malcolm turned back toward his daughter and carefully finished trimming around her ear.
“Dad, I’m thirty-eight years old. I’m not starting over at the bottom of a factory seniority list just because you don’t approve of what I do for a living.”
Anthony folded his arms.
“Your sister listened to me. Look where she is today.”
“And I’m happy for her,” Malcolm replied. “But I’m not my sister.”
His daughter smiled beneath the striped barber’s cape.
“And besides, Grandpa, if Dad worked at Chrysler all the time, who’d take us fishing?”
Anthony shook his head.
“Fishing. That’s another thing. You people act like you’ve got money to throw away.”
Malcolm switched off the clippers and reached for his neck brush.
“Well, Dad, since you’re so interested in my boat, maybe tonight you’ll finally get to see it.”
Just then, Sue came into the garage.
She had dressed and brushed her freshly cut hair into place.
Malcolm’s mother noticed immediately.
“Sue! You cut your hair!”
“Yes, I did.”
“It looks very nice.”
“Thank you.”
Sue looked toward the driveway.
“Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve got those boxes in the back of the Mustang. We can get them for you.”
Malcolm’s mother followed her outside.
They walked down the driveway together.
Sue opened the hatch of the Mustang and began moving boxes around.
“These are the things I thought your church might be able to use.”
Malcolm’s mother picked up one of the smaller boxes.
“Thank you, Sue. We really appreciate it.”
Sue took another box.
As they started back toward the garage, Malcolm’s mother looked at her.
“Sue, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Does Malcolm really have a boat?”
Sue looked surprised.
“Of course he does.”
“Anthony didn’t seem to think so.”
Sue laughed.
“Well, Malcolm’s had a boat for a couple of years.”
She thought for a moment.
“Actually, no. It’s been longer than that. I think our oldest was ten or eleven when he bought it.”
She did the arithmetic in her head.
“Goodness, we’ve probably had that boat for about seven years now.”
“Seven years?”
“Something like that.”
“And you keep it on Lake Michigan?”
“At Reefpoint Marina in Racine.”
Malcolm’s mother looked astonished.
“Oh my gosh. That must be expensive.”
Sue nodded.
“It certainly isn’t cheap.”
“How much does something like that cost?”
“Well, just the marina fees are around fifteen hundred dollars a season.”
“Fifteen hundred!”
“And that’s only the beginning,” Sue continued. “Then there’s winter storage, gasoline, insurance, maintenance, repairs, fishing equipment. It all adds up.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“We’ve managed it so far.”
Sue adjusted the box in her arms.
“Malcolm really enjoys it. And the girls used to love going out with him. That’s actually what we’re hoping to do tonight.”
“Go fishing?”
“Yes. We thought it might be nice to do something together again.”
They reached the garage.
Their sixteen-year-old daughter was now out of the barber chair, standing in front of the mirror and admiring her freshly trimmed undercut.
Malcolm was brushing the loose hair from the cape before hanging it back on its hook.
Anthony turned toward his wife.
“Well, apparently we’re going to have our first experience out on Lake Michigan tonight.”
He smiled in that familiar, skeptical way.
“On Malcolm’s boat.”
He said it almost as though the whole thing were a joke.
As though he still didn’t believe there was any boat at all.

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