“It may seem good,” Dadio said, “but it’ll never support a family. Your brother’s in for a rude awakening.”
“He might start his own company.”
“I’m giving Troy a year to come to his senses. If he doesn’t enroll in college, I’m booting ‘im out.”
The black waiter delivered trout on white platters shaped like fish. Our dishes included rice pilaf, steamed broccoli, and a sprig of mint. “Careful, gentlemen,” he warned, “these plates are awfully hot.”
“That’s looks good,'” Dadio said. “Doesn’t it look good, Kirbo?”
“Yes.”
“May I get you gentlemen tartar sauce?”
Dadio shook his head. “None for me.”
“I’ll have some,” I said.
The waiter nodded and hustled off.
My father cleared his throat. “Kirby, there’s something I’ve been meaning to mention, something I noticed.”
I squeezed a wedge of lemon over the fish and took a bite. It tasted bland compared to mahi-mahi. “What’s that?”
“You’re starting to act like a wise guy, someone with a chip on his shoulder. That could land you in trouble at the university.”
“I won’t get into trouble.”
“Nobody likes a wise guy. Some football player might get offended and rough you up.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Well, don’t call me if you get in a scrape.”
“I won’t. Not even if I land in jail.”
“I’ll remember that,” he replied.
***
Dadio started snoring in our room at the Brown Palace. I wandered over to the window and stared down at the cars gliding along 17th Street. I thought about my father’s hanai days, when he’d sleep on a cot in the parlor. Bobby and Granny slept on cots, too, because she’d given her sons the bedrooms. Hickman slept on the porch. My father had told me he wanted slit Hickman’s throat. He thought about Uncle Carlos, the lawyer brother who’d stolen Granny’s land. He was determined to excel in school the way Carlos had, to graduate with honors from Saint Louis High and then win a UH scholarship. Law school would follow. He saw Granny roll off her cot, slink through the back door, and sneak onto the porch. My father watched her lift up the mosquito netting and slip into Hickman’s bed.
***
We rolled north for Boulder after continental breakfast. I’d found glossy brochures in the lobby and unfolded them riding shotgun. “Let’s check out the sights,” I said.
“What sights are those?” Dadio asked.
“Pike’s Peak and Aspen. There’s this monster brewery in a town called Golden.”
“Sounds like a waste of time.”
“Isn’t Coors your favorite beer?”
“Yes.”
“They let you drink all the Coors you want for free.”
Dadio sneezed. It smelled like old sneakers. “Kirby,” he said, “I’m not driving willy nilly all over Kingdom come. You’re lucky I’m here at all and not taking a bus to Boulder.”
We headed through fields of wheat that were flat and stretched to the eastern horizon. A threshing machine looked like a giant praying mantis. We passed a house with a barn and cows behind wire. There was a big tank on stilts with GAS painted in red on its side.
“I have responsibilities to the firm,” Dadio explained. “You’ll learn about that after you’re married.”
He sneezed again. Droplets speckled the windshield. He pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and blew his nose. It was as if all the joy and wonder had been squeezed out of him, and I was sitting beside the pulpless rind of a man. He’d never believed you could see the moon in the afternoon sky and, after I pointed it out, he refused to look up. He followed his own set of rules, and challenging them was a no-win situation. I switched on our radio, spun the dial, and settled on “Everybody is a Star.”
My father winced. “You like that crap?”
“I thought you liked Diana Ross?”
“That’s not her. Turn it to the news.”
***
We hoofed it around campus, opened a bank account, and ate burgers at the Alfred E. Packer Grill. Troy was right. My life wasn’t my own because of my father’s expectations. We drove to the Boulder Mall and entered Montgomery Wards.
A salesman with a bow tie wandered over. “May I be of some service?”
“I need cool threads,” I told him.
“What do the CU students wear?” Dadio asked.
“Follow me,” the salesman said and led us to Men’s Clothing.
I fingered an orange down jacket. “I like this.”
“Orange is too loud,” my father barked. He perused the sales rack and pulled a brown jacket with a thin lining off a hanger. “This is more like it,” he said. He picked out my boots, two pairs of pants, and three flannel shirts
“Do you have enough BVDs?” he asked.
“Yes. I have plenty.”
“Good. Let’s check you into your dorm and get some dinner. I’ve got a long drive back to the airport.”
***
Baker Hall was in the center of campus. It was the only dorm with a room still available because I’d been accepted late. The first day of classes was a week away, and Baker Hall was deserted.
“What beautiful red brick,” Dadio said, “just beautiful.”
We found the Headmaster’s office on the first floor and got the room key from a secretary. She warned us the heat hadn’t been turned on.
“My boy’s tough,” Dadio said.
She handed me a wool blanket. “The nights do get cold.”