As You Like It

Far away in the city of Thunder Bay, two brothers, Duke and Fred Jones, owned and operated a trailer park. Duke, the elder brother, was sly, scrawny, and a whiz at customer relations. Fred was beefy, strong as a moose, and could kick out undesirable tenants faster than you could say, “Hit the road, Jack.”

Big changes were afoot in King’s Court Trailer Park because one night, while listening to a televangelist, a lightning bolt of revelation hit Fred Jones: “The meek shall inherit the earth.”

“The meek? That’s me!” Fred shouted. His burly physique concealed a mild, unassuming guy who was constantly bossed around by his big brother Duke.

The very next day Fred claimed full inheritance of King’s Court and kicked Duke out.

Fred’s only child, Celia, was best friends with Duke’s daughter, Roz. Each girl stayed in her own small Airstream trailer. Cousins by blood, kindred spirits by temperament, the two had spent all their years growing up together, playing games of “dress-up” and “pretend” with their mothers’ clothes. Last year, their moms had scarpered to Hollywood, where they were waiting for their lucky break. “Any day now,” they assured their girls by FaceTime. “Take care of each other…help out at King’s Court… once we land something steady, we’ll send you tickets to join us after graduation.” The girls lived on Lucky Charms and pie-in-the-sky dreams.

Most guys Roz and Celia knew at high school were dropping out in Grade 10 or 11. The best-paying jobs were at the nearby amethyst mines, where no diploma was needed, just a strong back, can-do attitude, and a certain fearlessness about working in small, cramped tunnels deep in the bowels of the earth.

*       *       *

You needed connections to get such jobs, and if you had no connections, like being an immigrant child, it made sense to stay in school. A dashing senior named Orlando Hernandes attended the same high school. He was desperately trying to erase his fresh-off-the-boat image, starting with his glasses, his thrift-store wardrobe, and ultimately his flowery foreign name, which he promptly changed to Lanny.

With every change Lanny made, his big brother pestered him more. Oliver had trouble with the new language and customs, and had even failed a grade, to his lasting shame. What better release than to take it out on your kid brother?

Both boys lived with Nana, their abuela, who had sponsored their immigration. She had toiled in Thunder Bay for years, saving up pennies so her grandsons could enjoy a better life, and maybe help her in her old age. She absolutely expected them to graduate.

Lanny had a secret crush on glamour girl Roz, but he was too shy to make the first move. When he learned Roz was captain of the drama club, he volunteered as stagehand. Oliver, on discovering his brother’s new after-school activity, was merciless in his mockery. One day the teasing grew too intense, and Lanny grabbed his knapsack and left in a huff. He planned to couch-surf at his buddy Adam’s place on the west side of the city near the Arcadian Forest.

*       *       *

The more Duke Jones thought about it, the angrier he became over losing his half of King’s Court Trailer Park. He spent his days at the Red Lion pub, nursing a beer, spreading rumors that Fred used to wet the bed, and that he, as big brother, always had to take the blame and change the sheets for “Bed-Wetter Fred.” The nickname stuck and soon everyone down at the Red Lion was having a laugh.

Fred got wind of the ugly rumor and retaliated by evicting Duke’s daughter, Roz, from King’s Court. “Besides, you look too much like your old man. Get outta my sight, Miss Rosalind Jones!”

Shrieking in dismay, Roz barged into Celia’s bedroom, where she was brushing her thick auburn hair. Roz flung herself on the Princess bed and wept. “I can’t believe Uncle Fred would banish me,” she wailed. “Your dad is the meanest guy alive!”

Celia, perched on a stool before her vanity dresser, , sighed heavily. “He hasn’t been the same since Mama left. A total cheapskate! He even times my showers. What’s next, charging us rent?”

“So it’s not just me he’s attacking?” Roz blew her pretty ski-jump nose.

“Good lord, no. When he took over from your dad, it fed his ego. Now he thinks he can stomp all over us.” Celia brandished her hairbrush. “It’s time to teach him a lesson! Why don’t we both hit the road?”

Roz drew back in surprise. “You and me? Run away, you mean?”

“Uh-huh!” Celia confided, “And you know the best way to turn the knife in Daddy’s side? I need to run off with some guy he’s never met…. Roz, could you help me?”

“What, find a stranger for you to run away with?”

“No.” Celia poked her cousin’s shoulder. “You be the guy.”

Roz laughed, waving dismissively at her cousin.

Celia grew solemn. “Come on, girl. Aren’t you curious to see if you could pass as a guy? You were an awesome Hamlet in that play last year.”

 “Hm.” Roz chewed her lip. “You mean, see how the other half lives?” She ran to her Airstream, got the Wahl trimmer that Mom used to buzz-cut Dad’s hair, and begged Celia to give her a boys’ style.

Ten minutes later, Celia stood back, admiring her handiwork. “You don’t even look blonde anymore!”

“Hey… right—all my sun-faded hair is gone and the new stuff has come in darker.” Roz preened in front of the mirror. “And look, Celia… look into my eyes.”

“Ohmigod,” Celia gasped. “Your eyeballs! What’ve you done?”

Roz chuckled. “Yes, these color contact lenses are amazing! They turn my wimpy blue eyes into this cool chestnut brown.” She went to Celia’s closet and dug out athleisure clothes she’d worn to camp two years ago. She pulled them on. “Ta-da! Now I’m your runaway man, Celia! Call me…Grant.” She paused before selecting the name of the boy in Grade 3, the one who’d been such fun to play with.

Celia muffled a squeal. “Oooh, dahling, let’s run away together.”

“I’ll borrow someone’s car and pick you up tomorrow.” Roz returned to her Airstream and practiced how she moved, making it more deliberate and less graceful, like the guys she knew.

Celia threw herself into acting the part of Grant’s girlfriend. She took the name Alana, wore her hair in braids, and donned a pair of spectacles.

The next morning, a Saturday, Roz roared up in a borrowed Mustang and Celia clicked her heels as she strolled past the King’s Court office, where her daddy was totalling invoices for lot rentals at the trailer park. She hooted with excitement as she ran out and hugged Grant/Roz and together they crammed eight suitcases into the car.

“Celia,” Fred shouted out the window to his daughter. “Where the heck are you going? I need you in here, right now, to do invoices.”

“You kicked out Roz, Daddy. Big mistake. Me and her are gonna find someplace for ourselves. I’m sick of your stupid rules.” With Fred watching, she gave her accomplice a mighty kiss. “My friend Grant said he’d help move my stuff.”

Fred hustled out to stop them, but the Mustang was already roaring out of the parking lot and down the access road, kicking up so much dust he couldn’t read the license plate.

*       *       *

Duke had persuaded the owner of Arcadian Forest to hire him. As the former proprietor of a trailer park, he possessed the ideal skill set for managing tenants in short-term housing. The Arcadian Forest was a set of two dozen old cabins on a wooded lot outside western city limits. The cabins used to be bunkhouses for itinerant workers, chiefly fruit-pickers. To attract the new tourists, owner had tarted up the décor, installed indoor plumbing, better fans, and now offered short-term rentals.

Roz and Celia, well into character as “Grant” and “Alana,” drove to the east side of the city, where Roz’s dad now worked.

Near the turnoff to Arcadian Forest, they saw a half-ton parked at an odd angle, its front right end damaged. “Looks like some fender-bender,” Grant/Roz said, and they climbed out to inspect. A man was hunched over the lifeless body of a deer. He was cradling the big head of the deer, and one forearm was streaked with blood. “She jumped out of the ditch—right here—I couldn’t stop.” Grant and Alana felt queasy so they offered to report the mishap at the main office. They left the tearful man, Jacques, mourning the deer’s death.

“I hope that’s not an omention

At the main office, they told the duty clerk about Jacques and the deer. The clerk said, “I’ll tell Duke. Maybe he knows what to do.”  

They rented a cabin. As they took Alana’s eight suitcases out of the Mustang, a wizened sun-baked man introduced himself. “Name’s Colin.” He shook Grant/Roz’s hand and nodded at Alana/Celia. “Lemme give you a hand with those.”

Afterward Colin explained some features of the cabin. He was kindly and helpful, but was clearly freaked out about reno-eviction. “I’ve lived here since forever. I been a fruit-picker for fifty years and now that new whippersnapper, Duke Jones, is gonna kick me out.”

“Whoa! Nobody’s talking about eviction,” Grant/Roz said, trying to keep a slow, deep voice. This was something to ask Duke about—of course “Grant” would have to drop the pretence and appear as Roz, Duke’s daughter.

In their cabin, Grant and Alana snacked on Lucky Charms and mused aloud about keeping a long-term worthy tenant like Colin in place. Minutes later, they heard a van drive up and its doors slam.

Alana nudged the curtain, curious to see the new neighbors. “No way! It’s two dudes from our school!”

“Who?” Roz/Grant said, crowding Alana at the window. “Oh, I know that guy! He’s a stagehand for the drama club.”

“Hm, quite the looker,” Alana said. “Have you ever spoken to him?”

“Nah,” said Roz/Grant. “He’s so shy he runs from his shadow. It’s hopeless.” But she stayed at the window, watching and pondering.

“He’s in my English class,” Alana said. “Him and Adam are big Shakespeare buffs.” She scrolled to an Instagram account and read aloud. “Let me not to the hook-up of true friends admit impermanence. Love is not love which when the season changes doth change to fit the fashion.”

“Huh? What does that even mean?” Roz grimaced. “Is D-O-T-H a real word? Sounds like someone’s writing with a lisp.”

They decided to walk around a bit, see if anyone was throwing out old furniture.

*       *       *

Swatting away bugs in the July heat, Lanny sat on his lawn-chair outside his cabin. Grant and Alana staggered by, each carrying one end of a sofa. “Damn hot day to be moving furniture,” Lanny said.

Grant/Roz dropped her voice an octave. “We got some cold beers waiting for us after this.” She gave him the side-eye and said, “Cold beer for us—and anyone who helps move this fine chesterfield.”

Lanny stood up, tugged on his Orlando Magic cap. “Sign me up.” With his additional muscles, the job was soon done.

“You seem a little glum,” Grant handed Lanny a brewski.

“Woman troubles,” Lanny said, quaffing the beer. “There’s a girl named Roz…”

Grant choked on his beer.

Lanny thumped his back, then studied Grant’s face. “You remind me of her—same ski-jump nose—but anyway, she doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Then forget her, man! Who needs the aggravation?” Grant shrugged. “You and me, we can hang out, play some music, go shoot some hoops, and you can forget all about messy relationships.”

*       *       *

In her cabin across the road, green-haired Phebe heard the thwack-thwack of the basketball give way to soft strumming of guitar and ukulele strings. She ambled over and listened with puppy-dog attentiveness. “Take Me Home, Country Roads” was her all-time favorite and these two dudes were eye-candy.

“Sorry, my fingers are getting a little sore,” Grant lied, “and look, here’s my girlfriend Alana.” Grant/Roz was relieved to be rescued by Alana/Celia’s demand to go shopping.

As the Mustang backed up, a man stepped in the way. “Hey there, neighbor! Silvio’s my name, music’s my game.” He held up his six-string banjo. “Did I hear someone playing Country Roads?” Lanny and Grant were already driving away.

Silvio grinned at green-haired Phebe. “Hey, you’re the gal who moved in last March. I ‘member ‘cause it was St. Patrick’s Day and I thought you was a leprechaun.”

Phebe self-consciously stroked her hair and turned away.

*       *       *

Citizens of Thunder Bay from east to west were building to a fever pitch of excitement for the Rendezvous Festival. Every year, hundreds of re-enactors from across North America converge to re-create the summer gathering first held two centuries ago when old Fort William was the gateway to the fur trade.

The folks at Arcadian Forest were animatedly discussing who was taking whom to the Rendezvous. Silvio, Phebe, Grant/Roz and Lanny were arguing while Alana/Celia sat at a picnic table, chin resting on knuckles as she daydreamed.

“Here’s what I’ll do,” Grant/Roz said to Lanny with a straight face. “I’ll see if I can find Roz. She might want to go with you.” Lanny nodded, hope written large on his face.

Grant turned to Phebe and said, “It might take me a long time to find Roz.”

“I gotta get singing again.” Phebe crossed her arms and pouted.

Grant/Roz brightened. “But here’s Silvio! He’s dying to play Country Roads!”

Silvio nodded and twanged the first two chords on his banjo.

“Almost heaven!” Phebe sang, a smile obliterating her pout. Silvio returned the smile and soon a duet broke out. Grant/Roz felt mightily pleased to be a matchmaker.

*       *       *

Lanny wandered among the stunted trees of Arcadian Forest, dressed in a borrowed costume for the Rendezvous re-enactment. He was suited up as a Queen’s Guard and carried a “show” rifle. He was well away from the cabins when he spotted a familiar figure: his big brother, Oliver.

Oliver was crouching lower and lower—discreetly taking a dump in the bush and Lanny, ever polite, turned in the opposite direction. In his peripheral vision, he saw a cougar getting ready to pounce—on Oliver! Oh no!

Lanny grabbed his fake-rifle like a club and, screeching like a banshee, he swung at the cougar, clipping it once on the flank.

Oliver screamed and hoisted his pants. Eyes wide, he saw the cougar go running away. “¡Dios mío!” he cried. Then he saw the little brother he used to tease and bully had in fact saved his life. “¡Me salvaste la vida, hermano!” They hugged and cried.

Oliver repented for his cruelty and Lanny forgave him.

*       *       *

As they neared the clearing, the Hernandes brothers heard music. They saw Alana/Celia at the picnic table. She had removed her Alana disguise of spectacles and unbraided her hair.  She was singing and dancing a lively Spanish number, almost as good as Shakira, and Oliver got up the courage to ask her to be his date for the Rendezvous.

And the other two, Silvio and Phebe, sang every song they knew… and some they didn’t. Up close, in real life, the banjo had a delicate resonance Phebe fancied.

Lanny saw Roz and flashed a smile. “You’re here! Wonderful! Grant told me he knew where to find you.” 

“Yes,” Roz said. “Somehow Grant knows exactly where I’m at.”

 *      *       *

At King’s Court Trailer Park, Fred Jones tuned into the late-night televangelist show, the same one that advocated the meek inheriting the earth. But this time, the sermon proclaimed “render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s.” Fred watched, open mouthed, then jumped up, shouting for Duke.

Duke was on the other side of town, in Arcadian Forest, but word eventually got back to him, thanks to the tireless yaggers Red Lion regulars. Fred called his lawyer and asked her to set up a fair fifty-fifty ownership agreement.

Fred wanted a leave of absence so he could become an ordained minister. As he explained matters to Duke, Fred glanced up at Jacques, the tenant who had accidentally killed the deer. Jacques was also planning to adopt the religious life, and together he and Fred would go into the world and spread the word of God.

THE END