by William Markly O'Neal

Mr. Fauntleroy is glowering at him and Albert feels panicked. He almost falls to his knees and begs for the job but then, much to his surprise, he realizes he knows the right answer. Albert Albert tells Ferguson Fauntleroy, "I have an excellent sense of smell."
He's not lying either. He has an exceptional nose, particularly when it comes to smelling buttered peas.
"I could put you to the test, you know," says Mr. Fauntleroy. "If I thought you were lying I could mix together some flavors and have you use this excellent nose of yours to identify them. What do you think about that, Bert?"
"I'll take your test," says Albert, thinking the worst part of this job is going to be getting used to being called Bert.
If he gets the job.
Mr. Fauntleroy shakes his head. "Never mind. I'd know if you were lying." As he looks Albert up and down, Mr. Fauntleroy lights up a cigarette. He then leans closer, blowing smoke at Albert as he rattles off the following scenario: "A group of eight masked men drive up to your Frigid Shack, point AK-47s at you, and demand you give them all your money, as well as making them eight brazier burger combo-meals with banana papaya slushies." Mr. Fauntleroy points at Albert, shouting, "What do you do?"
"Um. . . I, um . . . ."
Frowning, Mr. Fauntleroy holds up his wrist, looking at his fake Rolex as he says, "Ten seconds!"
"I . . . um . . ."
Mr. Fauntleroy shakes his head with disgust.
Knowing he's going to be rejected if he doesn't say something, Albert blurts out, "I say, 'I'm sorry but I can't make brazier burgers because we don't have grills or meat! If you're looking for combo-meals and tons and tons of cash, the place you're actually looking for is Dairy Queen, which is on Fifth Street, north of here, hang a left!'"
Mr. Fauntleroy glares at him. "That's what you'd say?"
"Oh, yeah," says Albert. "I'd also say, 'And I'm doubly sorry but I can't make your slushies because we're temporarily out of papaya.'"
Albert sweats bullets, waiting for the verdict.
"'Temporarily out of papaya,' eh?" Uncle Fergie nods for a long time before admitting it's a, "Good answer!"
Albert lets out of sigh of relief.
Mr. Fauntleroy has one last test. "Since you're a friend of my nephew's, I know you're no dirty double-crosser. So tell me. . . ." He points at Albert. "If you work for me and I tell you not to give Johnny free syrup, if I tell you it's for special employees only, and then Johnny comes to you and begs for free syrup, honeydew, we'll say, or maybe even raspberry, 'just a little bit,' he says, 'just a little taste,' and he says, 'You promised, Bert, you promised to cop me some of the good stuff,' what would you do? What would you do? Would you double-cross me, your employer, and forsake the Frigid Shack ideal or-"
"No," interrupts Albert. "If I work for you and you tell me not to give Johnny the juice -- good stuff or otherwise -- I won't give it to Johnny. If I work for you, Mr. Fauntleroy, I'll never double-cross you."
Mean old Uncle Fergie now looks truly agonized. "But that means you'll need to double-cross Johnny!"
"No, sir." Albert says, "Johnny is my best" and only "friend. I wouldn't be double-crossing him if I told him I wouldn't steal for him. He would be double-crossing me . . ." Albert points back to Mr. Fauntleroy, "and you by asking me to steal the good stuff for his own selfish pleasure."
For a moment, Mr. Fauntleroy doesn't react. Then he begins nodding. "Good answer." After puffing on his cigarette, he tells Albert, "Okay, Bert. You're hired. But don't get any ideas. You're not going to be working at this jewel." He points to the dilapidated old Frigid Shack. "You'll be working out on the old highway."
Albert bottles this disappointment, the way he's bottled them all. He was hoping to get a job at the Frigid Shack on Broadway.
"I expect all my employees to be loyal and on time. If you call off sick, you damn well better be dying. If you have car trouble, it damn well better be totaled. Understand me?"
Albert can't believe he's employed. He tells Mr. Fauntleroy, "I won't call off sick. And I've got reliable transportation." Albert is driving a beat-up old Dodge Colt abandoned by one of his older brothers. The car is far from reliable and Albert is driving it illegally, since he can't get accepted for car insurance.
Mr. Fauntleroy tells him, "You'd better! Because I expect you at work during your scheduled shift, come Hell or high water."
"When will my scheduled shift be?"
"You'll be working weekends, that's for certain. And holidays too. You don't have a problem working the Fourth of July, do you? Or Thanksgiving?"
"No," says Albert. "I don't have a problem working weekends or holidays."
Puffing up a cloud of tar around his head, Mr. Fauntleroy hands Albert a business card. The phone number at the bottom has been scratched out with blotchy blue ink and a new one has been handwritten in. "Call me on Friday around noon. I'll give you your schedule then."
"Okay," says Albert, barely able to contain his excitement.
Mr. Fauntleroy blows contemptuous smoke in Albert's face, saying, "I have to have your real name to write your paycheck, you know. So if it isn't Albert Albert, now would be the time to tell me."
Albert sighs. "My name is really Albert Albert."
Snorting smoky laughter, Mr. Fauntleroy gets into his purple Cadillac and drives away.
Albert runs to the nearest pay phone and calls Johnny, telling him, "I got the job!"
"I told you! As long as you can smell, he'll hire anyone."
Albert grumbles, "It wasn't that easy."
Johnny says, "Now we can concentrate on finding a place to live."
"A place to what?"
"Well, duh, dude! Your dad is kicking you out! My 'rents are kicking me out!" Furious, Johnny squeals, "What the Hell are we gonna do? We gotta share expenses or we'll croak!"
"You're right," says Albert. "So, what's the plan?"
They end up sharing a cheap apartment. Johnny gets a job at a Family Video store, where he becomes an assistant manager. He pays about two-thirds of their joint bills. Johnny is satisfied, however, because he loves the syrups Albert brings home from Frigid Shack.
To Johnny, 7-Up mixed with flavored syrup is the nectar of the Gods.
The first time Albert goes to pick up a paycheck from Mr. Fauntleroy, his boss tells him, "To Hell with this! From now on, I'm mailing you your paycheck! Let the mailman have the grief!"
Albert works during prime-time evening hours for minimum wage in a thin kiosk with no heat or air-conditioning twenty-seven miles from civilization, mostly on the weekends, and gets paid by mail every two weeks, never seeing his boss, who admittedly hates him.
These are the good times.

******

In 2004, Albert's tenuous existence falls apart.
It happens on the evening after Albert and Johnny go to see Spider-Man 2 together. They've just returned home when Johnny says, "So, man? Doc Ock." He nods like that says it all.
"Doc Ock what?"
"Dirty double-crosser or not?"
"No," says Albert, without hesitation.
"No?" asks Johnny incredulously.
"No, man. Even when the tentacles took over his mind, he still was true to his ideals. He was a man of science and he never double-crossed science!
"Not to mention, in the end of the movie, he pretty much saved the city when he drowned the doojama-thingie."
Johnny looks stunned. He says nothing for a long time.
Albert realizes, too late, something is wrong. "What?"
"Doctor Octopus is a villain, man. He's evil! He's the worst kind of evil because he's about two-thirds insane and therefore has no conscience. Doc Ock -- not a dirty double-crosser?" Johnny shouts, "BAD answer!"
Albert quickly eats his words. "You're right, dude. I don't know what I was thinking. Doc Ock sucks."
With a look of disappointment, Johnny says, "We're not friends any more. I expect you out of the apartment by the end of the week. Otherwise I'll burn all your stuff and then give it to Goodwill."
"Dude!" Albert can't believe it. "Are you serious?"
Johnny has never looked more serious. "Man, when you said you never saw Blade Runner, it was almost over right then. I let that one slide out of respect."
Johnny walks out of the room.
Outside, a crash of nearby thunder ushers in the storm. Rain begins to fall.
Albert can pack his meager belongings in a couple hours. He could be out of here tonight, if he only had someplace to go.
With nowhere else to turn, he eventually picks up the phone and calls home. His brother Archie (who's now living back at home) answers the phone. "It's Albert," says Albert. "I need to talk to dad."
Archie yells, "Dad! Albert is on the phone!"
In the background, he hears his father shout, "Albert who?"
"Albert Albert," yells Archie. Then he further clarifies by shouting, "Your youngest son!"
There's a pause and then Albert hears his father shout, "Screw him!"
A moment after that, without saying another word, Archie hangs up.
Albert should have known calling home was a mistake. That's the source of all his greatest rejections.