Work Text:
Disclaimer: This unauthorized work is based on the characters and settings of others, including Dan Aykroyd and John Landis. I did not originate these characters, and make no profit from them.
* * *
Jake careened around a corner and dove under one of the dormitory's 16 cots. Not his own - they'd find him there, for sure - but the cot two from the end, on the right. That bed didn't belong to anyone, not since Desmond got adopted last year. Desmond was 10, and they all figured he was too old to get adopted. Everyone knew that 7 was the cut-off; after that you stopped being cute and no one wanted you. Jake was 8, and he knew that meant he'd be here with the Penguin until he turned 18. Which might as well be forever. Jake pulled the blanket down off the side of the bed a little, and realized that it wouldn't come down far enough to cover him without showing from the top. It would have to do. He inched back toward the wall, listening for the footsteps of the mob.
And there they were, sounding like a herd of . . . animals that traveled in herds. 28 sneakered feet carrying 14 angry boys, clamoring into the dormitory hall, out for blood. Jake couldn't see them from his makeshift shelter, but he could hear as most of them thundered by, and a couple of them followed behind, checking under beds.
This was his only chance. He dashed out from under the bed, heading back in the direction he (and the other boys) had come from. This meant there were only two of them to get through. Dodge left, dodge right, and he was through the needle before they got re-oriented. Jake heard a yelp behind them (did two of his pursuers collide?) and imagined he was a football player, broken field running for the end zone. He barreled forward, toward the door. He reached the threshold and . . . oof. Right into the knees of the Penguin.
He glanced down at the Penguin's orthopedic shoes. Not enough space between them to squeeze out under her. To the left, to the right - robes blocked the way, inches from the doorjamb. There was no escape. He looked up, plaintive.
"Jaake." She intoned his name slowly, voice descending at the end. It was the sound of disappointment, which was the same as anger, as far as the Penguin was concerned. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"The others were chasing me, and we were only having fun, and I didn't start it . . ." Two of those three things were true. "And we didn't hurt anything . . ." Jake turned his head to follow the Penguin's glare. The dormitory was in disarray, with sheets and pillows littering the floor. One of the pictures of Jesus was crooked, and Jimmy was visibly limping. So that was what that yelp was about. "And anyway, I had to run, because they would have hurt me if they caught me." They would have. They still would.
The Penguin looked skeptical. "Show me your hands."
"My what?"
"Open your fists. Show me your hands."
Jake thought about running again, but he knew he would never make it past the boys arrayed behind him. So, with a slow shrug, he opened them. His right palm held a brooch, small and golden and shaped like a little bouquet of flowers. Jake knew - and knew that the Penguin knew - that it had belonged to Jimmy's mother. Jake looked down and scuffed his toe against the floorboards.
The Penguin took Jake by the ear. She pulled him up the stairs, past Jesus (his eyes sad and judging) and in to her office. Then came the ruler. (Always the ruler.) Then, confession. Then - and this was the one that hurt - no dinner.
Jake's tummy grumbled as he pulled up the covers. It was a nice brooch.
* * *
It was springtime. Not that you could tell from the inside - St. Helen's was the same all the time, except for the nativity at Christmas - but you could go outside without a coat, and if you sat on the stoop, you could see little bits of grass poking up next to the sidewalk. There were puddles in the vacant lot down the street. Puddles usually meant Spring. Jake splashed in a few, just enough to get the cuffs of his pants muddy, and thought it would be a good time for a Coke. But getting a Coke meant getting a dime, and getting a dime was not going to be easy.
Jake was still thinking about dimes and sodas as he walked into the dormitory to see a satchel on that bed, Desmond's bed. There was a kid next to the satchel, lying down, too tall for his pants. The kid sat up as Jake approached.
"Hi." Gotta start somewhere.
"Hi."
"I'm Jake."
"I'm Elwood."
"Elwood. That's a funny name."
"Yup."
Jake wanted to ask about where the name came from, but that was like asking about parents, and you didn't ask about parents. "Elwood, you want a Coke?"
Elwood looked like maybe he didn't want a Coke. Or maybe he just didn't want to be here.
"Well, Elwood, I want a Coke. You got a dime?"
Elwood shook his head. "Nope. But I got a big coat."
It sounded to Jake like Elwood maybe had a plan for getting a Coke, which involved a big coat, and probably a distraction of some sort. It sounded spectacular. But then a couple of the other kids came in with a bag of something, and Elwood waved at them, and they glared at Jake, and they introduced themselves to Elwood, and soon they were sitting in a circle, looking at baseball cards, and Jake was sitting on his bed alone, thinking about dimes and Cokes and big coats.
* * *
Whenever a light bulb burned out around St. Helen's, the same guy was there to fix it. Jake had seen him in church, too, a few times, and once when Jake snuck out of church, that guy saw him. Looked right at him, and nodded, as if to say "I know you're sneaking out of church, kid, and God does too."
Every time Jake saw him, that guy was always wearing the same thing. Black pants, white shirt. Thin black tie. Jake wondered if he had a change of clothes. And how he knew when there was a bulb out. Maybe God told him, or the Penguin did.
* * *
Jake sat on the edge of his bed, pondering what to do with his dollar. He could hardly believe his good fortune: He had found the dollar right out in the open (well, actually, it was inside Robert's pillowcase, but that's close enough). A dollar was a whole bunch of Cokes. But if he went out to buy a Coke now, Robert would surely see him, and it was only a matter of time before he'd discover the dollar was missing.
Jake folded the dollar neatly and slid it between his sock and his shoe, just as Elwood walked into the room.
"Hey, Elwood," Jake began as innocently as possible, "what would you do if you had a dollar?"
Elwood didn't have to think at all. "Shrimp cocktail."
"Huh?" Jake was surprised. Elwood had been at St. Helen's for months, now, and Jake had never seen him eat anything but toast. Once, Jake saw the Penguin pacing behind Elwood during dinner, frowning and muttering about "malnutrition," so this shrimp cocktail thing was right out of the blue. "What's that like?"
"It's the best thing ever. Shrimp, that you can dip in this sort of tomato sauce, but it's different from regular tomato sauce, it's a little bit spicy, and you get this tiny fork but you eat it with your fingers, and it comes in a martini glass." Elwood paused, and looked down. "I had it once."
With your parents, Jake thought. Clearly, Shrimp Cocktail was special. "And it costs a dollar?"
"Maybe." Elwood thought for a few moments. "No, it probably costs more."
"So what would you do if you had just a dollar?" Jake asked.
But by this time, they weren't alone. A few of the others had walked in during the discussion of shrimp cocktail, and Jake hadn't noticed. Robert, on the other hand, had noticed that his dollar was missing. He pointed at Jake and Elwood, and hollered. "You! Give me back my dollar!"
Jake grabbed Elwood's hand, and ran.
They ran out the dormitory door, toward the kitchen, and Jake looked for hiding places all along the way, with no luck. The door to the kitchen was locked. The curtains were out for cleaning. They'd surely be spotted behind the umbrella stand. Jake started trying doors.
A stroke of luck. The door under the stairwell was unlocked. Jake had never been through the door; the other boys said it led to the Penguin's dungeon. But a dungeon was better than another angry mob, so in he went, dragging Elwood behind.
They were not prepared for the stairs. The two of them tumbled down, thumping and yelping all the way. A light bulb hung at the bottom, showing pipes along the walls, and their exclamations echoed, bouncing off the pipes.
Elwood righted himself at the bottom of the stairs and glared at Jake, who sat on the floor facing up the stairs. "Why'd you grab me like that? What did you do? What does this have to do with me? What's going . . ."
Elwood stopped yelling when a door opened at the end of the little hallway. Soft music poured through the door, and there was an old man, looking down at them. "Hush, boys," he said, "that's Elmore James." He shook his head. "Ain't no cause for screamin' when Elmore James is playin'."
Jake looked up. "You're that man. The one with the light bulbs."
"Yes, I s'pose I am," he replied, "although that's not what I'm called, usually. I'm Curtis. And you, I gather, are Jake, and you are Elwood. Now why don't you boys come in, and have something to drink, and cool your blood for a spell."
He knew their names. That meant he might be in league with the Penguin. But something to drink sounded very good. So did putting another door between them and Robert. They followed him.
The room they entered was a whole other world. It was cozy, and kind, and old. A little table sat in the middle of the room, with three chairs, and there were pictures on the wall of people other than Jesus. There was a bed, and a refrigerator, and a sink. A couple of guitars hung from the wall, by the pictures. Music sang from a record player in the corner, sounding like nothing Jake had ever heard.
"You boys sit down," Curtis said, gesturing to the chairs. They did. Curtis went to the refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of milk, which he poured into two glasses. He added something to each, and stirred. He put two glasses on the table. "Here. Chocolate Milk for you. Something else for me." He walked over to the electrical panel near the door and retrieved a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Don't tell the Sister," he said.
"You mean the Penguin?" Elwood said.
"Well," Curtis responded, "I've heard her called that. But I don't like to take chances with the Lord." He paused. "And she lets me stay here."
This seemed okay to Jake and Elwood, and they took the milk. It was sweet, and chocolatey, and comfortable. And there were a lot of things you could call St. Helen's, but none of them were comfortable.
They started asking questions. Who were the pictures of? Why did he have them? What were the guitars for? What did Curtis do for the Penguin? What was that thing on top of the record player?
Curtis replied, patiently. Martin Luther King. W.E.B. Du Bois. Rosa Parks. They're heroes to the black man. For playing the blues. Looked after the place, fixed the boiler, changed light bulbs, that sort of thing. A harmonica.
"What's a harmonica?" Elwood asked.
"It's the sound of laughing and crying at the same time," said Curtis. "Want to try it?"
Elwood nodded. Curtis handed the harmonica to Elwood, who held it in his palms like a baby bird.
"Now you blow into it on this end," Curtis explained, pointing, "and move it side to side to change notes."
Elwood blew into the harmonica, and moved it from side to side, riffling up and down the scale. "Doesn't sound much like music," he concluded.
"Not yet, it don't," Curtis replied. "You'll learn, though. Ain't nothing worth doing that don't take practice to get right." He paused. "Now listen to this."
Curtis turned up the volume on the record player, and nodded reverently. "This is the Blues." The man on the record player sang in gravelly tones about a lover who had left him for another man. "Don't let no one tell you that suffering can't be beautiful."
"I've got suffering," Jake offered.
"Then the blues is the music for you."
After a few songs, Jake started tapping his foot. Elwood nodded to the beat. "It's fine if you want to dance," said Curtis, who had walked to the counter to refill his glass. "Some music just tells you to move." He shuffled a bit to the beat as he sat down.
Jake stood up and tried the same shuffle. Maybe later.
For now, they listened, and drank their drinks, and closed their eyes. Jake dropped off to sleep as the man sang:
When I put you in my arms,
my heart gets full of frowns
When I get you in my arms,
my face gets full of frowns
When you whisper "Daddy, daddy, daddy",
you know my love come tumblin' down . . .
When he woke up, Jake tapped Elwood on the shoulder, and they crept out quietly, so as not to wake Curtis. The sun had set while they were in the basement, and they snuck back into the dormitory room for bed. Robert and the others were waiting for them, brows furrowed and fists prepped. The bruises took weeks to heal. They didn't mind so much.
* * *
After that, Jake and Elwood spent every minute they could in Curtis's room. Sometimes they couldn't come downstairs for weeks at a time; other times they were in there every day. But it was always the same: blues on the record player, and chocolate milk to drink. Elwood practiced harmonica, and Jake sang along with the records. Curtis sang, too, and played guitar. They even danced, a little, once in a while. "Don't tell the Sister," said Curtis. "She don't much care for dancing."
"Why do you live here?" Jake asked, once. "Why not get your own place, without the Penguin?"
"No one else'll have me," replied Curtis, flashing a smile. "I wasn't always a boiler man." A cloud passed over his face. "Not much call in the work force for a nigger with a record."
"You've been to jail?" Jake asked, eyes wide.
"Now don't you be so impressed, son," Curtis said. "I'm a boiler man now." He paused. "It's never too late to mend."
Curtis began to sing along with the music, again, and the boys joined him. And so, while they weren't even paying attention, they learned the blues.
* * *
Jake didn't have a birthday. Well, he was sure that he had been born on a day, but he didn't know what day it was, and if the Penguin knew, she wasn't telling. She just called all the boys a year older every first of January. But Elwood knew when his birthday was, and every year on Elwood's birthday, Curtis had a little piece of toast with a candle in it for Elwood, and a Coke for Jake, and sometimes a gift for each of them. When they were 13, he gave Elwood a harmonica, and Jake a tambourine. They kept their new treasures down in Curtis's room, and played them when they came to visit.
They didn't always play along with a record. Some of the time they played alone, the three of them. Jake would make up words:
I don't got a momma
And I don't got a pop
But when I see you walkin'
I'll chase you like a cop . . .
"Don't give up your day job," Curtis chuckled, but under his breath, he murmured "God bless the child who's got his own."
Whatever that meant.
* * *
Over the years, Curtis changed the pictures on his wall, a little. Malcolm X went up, and Bobby Kennedy.
Elwood asked, once, about the Bobby Kennedy picture. "Why do you have a picture of a white man on your wall?"
Curtis smiled. "Ain't no matter if you're black or white, Elwood, if you keep your heart in the right place." He paused. "After all, you boys is white, and I don't hold that against you."
* * *
When they were 14, Curtis said he didn't have a gift for them; he had something better. He led them to an alley outside. There was a car there. He signaled for them to slide in across the bench-like front seat. Elwood's face lit up like a movie house marquee.
"Now, boys, you're 14, and that means by law you can get a license to drive." He flipped down the visor to show a card with his picture on it. "But first you got to learn how. You watch now." Curtis started the car, and pulled forward a bit before backing out of the alley. He drove around the block a few times, pointing out the different gears and signals. "Now you."
Elwood nodded, confidently, and slid in to the driver's seat as Curtis walked over to the passengers' side. The car bucked and sputtered as he tried to start it in first gear.
On the second try, Elwood got the car started, and lurched forward. He slammed on the breaks. Jake glared at him. Elwood hit the gas again, lurched forward again, and slammed on the breaks again. Jake glared at him again. "You got to listen to the car, Elwood," Curtis said, soothingly. "What does she want you to do?"
Elwood eased on the gas, gradually, and pulled on to the street. He turned right on to the next street, gaining speed and confidence. After a few blocks, he was going pretty fast. Jake looked a bit green. By the time they made it back to the alley, Jake seemed all too happy to slide out on to solid ground.
"Your turn, Jakey," said Curtis.
"If you don't mind, I'll pass," Jake replied. "Lead foot Louie over there can do the driving for both of us."
* * *
"You can't hang around here forever." Curtis stated the obvious.
Jake and Elwood had wanted nothing more than to leave St. Helen's for as long as they could remember, and now that they were 17, they weren't sure they wanted to. Elwood voiced it. "You're as close to family as we've got."
"That's as it is," Curtis suggested, "but you two got to find some housing. And some work."
"But we make money now, tips and stuff, sitting in at Big John's and Theresa's and the Purple Onion."
"And you can't sit in forever, neither. You want to play for real, boys, you're going to have to find yourself a band, and you're going to have to make a splash."
It was true. All the greats had bands, nowadays. Elwood looked down. "But we're just two guys."
"None of that." Curtis stood firm. "You're two brothers. Two Blues brothers. Elwood, you're as clever as anything. And Jake, you could charm a snake with nothing but your eyes. You find the best musicians you can find, and you go do something, and you do it big."
The two of them headed down to Theresa's on Monday night, as usual, and sat in, as usual. They talked to the ones who played the best. "We're putting a band together."
The response tended to be the same. "You get us a gig, we'll show."
Curtis beamed with pride when they told him about their first gig. It was nothing big: the third show on Thursday at T's Basement, going on at 2:00. "It'll be nothing but drunks and sleepers," Elwood sighed, sounding maybe a little relieved.
"But you go out there, and you perform, and you'll wake them up, alright." Curtis smiled thoughtfully. "Those lights come up on you, boys, and you'll glitter like the stars at midnight."
And just like that, they were standing in front, in black suits and white shirts and thin black ties and black hats, and sunglasses.
* * *
Jake felt the beer's cold sting on the back of his throat. The beer was cold, and his throat tightened, raw. He threw the bottle into the footwell of the back seat, and looked at Elwood, resolute. They walked up the stairs together.
They had promised the Penguin they'd come back when they got out, and so they had. She snorted her disapproval, but nodded. She even walked downstairs with them, when they asked after Curtis. She opened the door behind the boiler room, and waved them in, retreating.
He wasn't there. They knew he wouldn't be. But it was just as they remembered, the bed and the guitars and the pictures on the wall. Jake opened the electrical panel and poured three glasses. Elwood started the record player. They sat at the table, listening.
"I think everything good we ever had, we got from him," Elwood said, softly.
Jake thought a moment. "Except each other."
Elwood paused, and looked around. "Nope, that too."