by Tom Hogan
Defeated by the wallpaper, Alexis shifted to working with Josh on repairing the floors and laying the carpet. They talked as they worked, then usually drove in Alexis’s cab to The Gimp’s for happy hour.
One Friday, when it was Alexis’s night to cook, they bypassed The Gimp’s and went to the L, where Josh volunteered to act as sous chef. When the phone rang, William was the only other one up there to answer. He talked for a few moments, then held the phone up to Josh, who shook his head.
“It’s not Paul. It’s Jerry. His agent.”
Josh frowned and took the handset. He listened for the better part of ten minutes, asking a question or two, but mostly listening, his face darkening. Then he thanked Jerry and hung up. He walked back to the sink and picked up the lettuce, but William reached over and took it from his hand.
“Uh-uh. What was that all about?”
“Paul just got canned from that shirt commercial—the national one—and he’s not taking it too well.”
“What happened?”
“According to Jerry, the art director canned him for ‘insubordination.’ Said he wouldn’t take direction and didn’t treat her with respect.”
“And what’s Paul’s story?”
“According to Jerry, that she had a thing for him. Since it was a clothing campaign, she was always placing her hands on him, adjusting things. But always staying a bit too long, touching him when it wasn’t necessary. He tried to laugh it off, chalk it up to her style. But—and this is Paul’s version, remember—two nights ago she just shuts the door to his trailer and tells him he’s sleeping with her that night, that there seven guys in her files who could be on the set by the next morning. Paul told Jerry that in the past he’d have gone along. But he’d learned his lesson, he said, and declined. So he’s out.”
“Do you believe him?” William asked.
“I honestly don’t know. I’m not that objective—or insightful—when it comes to my brother.” He motioned at William. “You’re the therapist—what’s your take?”
“If you take the personalities out of it, her story is the more plausible. “But you can’t take the personalities out of it, not when it comes to Paul. This kind of thing happens to him.”
“I realize that, but…”
“I don’t know if you do, Josh. You never went on any of those trips, you never saw the way women make themselves available to him, make their desires clear. It’s… unnerving.”
Josh looked at Alexis. “What’s your take?”
“On paper, I’d believe the women. And so would both of you. But then there’s Phoenix and the woman at the bar. Both times he was innocent.” When both men nodded, she continued. “And there’s one other thing. You know Donna would cut off her lips before she defended someone who abused women.”
“What’s Jerry saying?” William asked.
“He wants me to come down and get Paul out of his funk. Also, he wants me to help him talk Paul into going over to Japan to work. He says he’s a big deal over there and he could make enough to retire in one year.”
“Are you going to go down?” Alexis asked.
“No. Paul’s a big boy. He can make his own decisions.”
The shelter officially opened three weeks later. The firm that handled PR for Donna’s books volunteered their services. The local media, print and broadcast, were there, all having agreed to honor Donna’s two requests—that they were to keep her name out of it and, for safety purposes, withhold the shelter’s address. Throughout the house the new residents were talking with media, their identities protected, their stories harrowing.
“You done good, you two,” Jody, the house’s new director, said to Donna and Josh, raising a glass of sparkling apple cider to them. She was a woman in her forties, her face showing the history of abuse that had both led her to this new position and which allowed her to connect so quickly and intimately with the new residents.
“All we provided was the funding,” Josh said. “Clark did the heavy lifting.”
She nodded as she drank. “I’ve already thanked him.” She smiled. “As profusely as I could while keeping my dignity. He’s a quiet boy, isn’t he?” She nodded towards the kitchen, where William was listening in on one of the interviews. “And William, with all his pro bono therapy. You guys are all treasures.”
Josh smiled. “You haven’t met Lucky yet, have you?” At her confused look, he shrugged. “Never mind.”
“I’m serious,” Jody continued. “You don’t know how important it is to these women to see—and better yet, to interact with—you guys. To get a glimpse into what their lives could be.” She squinted. “You understand?”
“Not really,” Josh said.
“Clark comes in here, doesn’t say a word, but he reeks of decency. Does what he does and never expects anything in return. They’re not used to that. William treats them with respect, listens to them. Really listens. They’re not used to that, either. So now, if these women do get involved with another man—and I hate to say it, but most of them feel they need a man in their lives—at least they’ll be measuring them against guys like you, Clark and William and not just the guy who used to beat them.”
“That was a nice evening,” Alexis said to Josh on the ride back to the camp. “I could use a few more like those in my life.”
Josh nodded. “It’s nice to see Clark—and Jerry and Bones, for that matter—get the recognition and thanks they deserve. Up here we take them for granted. Your house is damaged in a storm, your car won’t run—they’re there in a heartbeat. And they won’t take any payment for their services.”
She looked over. “You don’t get the thanks you deserve, either. I know what you contributed, and the sales of your book don’t cover that. That house doesn’t get built without you. And Donna.”
“Yeah, well…” His eyes slid off into the night.
Ten minutes later, Alexis looked over. “Can I ask you something?” Seeing him tense, she leaned over and shoved him. “Relax, Josh, this isn’t about me and you. Just you.” She smiled. “How’s that for a teaser?”
Josh shifted. “I always tiptoe into conversations with you, it seems like.”
“What you were just saying about Clark—you’re right, he’s a great guy, there when you need him. But most of his life is up at the camp, doing what he loves to do. And Donna, as much as she does with her speaking and donations, she’s essentially doing what she wants to do—thinking and writing.”
“Okay so far.”
“I’m just saying that most of us do our good works on the side and live our main lives in a more self-centered way. People like you—whose primary work is for a cause—are rare. And I’m wondering, once you chose that direction for your life, why did you pick prisons? Why not someplace…”
“More deserving. Like Ethiopia? Or Appalachia?”
“You’re mocking me, but yes. Someplace where the people are—for lack of a better word, ‘innocent.’ People like you are a finite resource, and I’m wondering if working with prisoners was the best use of that resource.”
“That’s pretty harsh, wouldn’t you say?”
“Maybe, but you taught me that most of the guys in prison deserve to be there. That’s not true of Ethiopia or Appalachia.”
“You’re forgetting something. Coming out of grad school, I was no prize. I had a prison record and I was…socially limited. So I went with what I knew best. And that was prison.”
“But once you had the success you had, you could have gone anywhere. From what Donna and Will say, you had offers—big-buck offers—to try out your theories in different settings.”
He looked at the road, at the striped line and black-green trees framing the road. “There are three types of prisoners. The first type—and this group is the largest by far—screwed up once, perhaps big-time, but they’re not inherently bad. Given the right opportunities and
options, they can serve their time and return to their family—and society—a better, more capable person. But a guy who boosts a car and goes joyriding and gets two years, by the time he’s done with those two years, without better options he’ll have learned to knife and rape without any sense of guilt. I thought I could help them, maybe better than anyone else, since I’d been on both sides of the bars.”
They drove on for a couple of minutes, then Alexis said, “What are the other two?”
“Other two what?”
“You said there are three types of prisoners. What are the other two?”
“The second group is the guys who’ve been in too long, who’re too warped to let out. They need to stay there for the rest of their lives.”
“And the third?”
“They’re the ones who should be killed.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The ones who killed and raped to get there in the first place. Who killed and raped while they were inside, and who’d kill and rape if they ever got out.”
“So you’d kill them, is that what you’re saying?”
He paused. “I’m just saying there are some people too evil to let live.” He looked over at her. “How the hell did we get on this subject, anyway?”
Twenty minutes later they pulled up in front of the L. As Josh reached for the door handle, Alexis touched his arm. “One last question. I swear. Then I’m done prying.” She smiled at him. “At least for tonight.”
“What is it?”
“You were talking about the three types of prisoners—the ones who can change, the lifers and the ones who should be…”
“Killed. What about it?”
“Obviously you were in the first group. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“And…?”
“And I’m wondering why, for someone who has forgiven so many people in his life, you can’t forgive yourself for something that happened half a lifetime ago.”
“We’re not talking about someone who hotwired a car. Or sabotaged draft files, for that matter.”
“Clark killed a man.”
“What’s your point?”
“That even with a convicted killer next door, I don’t lock my doors at night. Because people change. You said that yourself. Why don’t you give yourself credit for the same thing?”
“Because when you can’t remember doing something, you can’t be sure it won’t happen again.”
“But the women you’ve been with since then…did you ever come close to anything like what happened in Baltimore?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You either have or you haven’t.”
He turned to face her. “I’ve never been with a woman, not the way you mean.”
She looked at him closely. “Ever?”
“Ever.”
CHAPTER 46
A Styrofoam cup of coffee between her hands, Alexis listened to the motor idle. Her rule, one learned during her first year of cabbing, was if she was going to sit for more than three minutes, turn off the engine. Otherwise, leave it on and avoid the wear on the engine and wasted gas involved in constant re-starting.
The coffee was her acknowledgement that it was going to be a long night. She had an eleven-thirty bar call scheduled already, another at midnight, and a twelve-thirty pickup for an SFO airport run, a San Tomas exec on the 6AM flight to New York.
She waited another two minutes, then turned off the engine. Slipping her foot out of her sandal, she slung it up onto the dashboard and sipped idly at the cooling coffee. Then she reached over to the passenger seat and grabbed a thick paperback and began to read under the parking lot lights.
Twenty pages later she heard her call number: “Twenty-one. Come in, twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one. What’s up, Murray?”
“Got another special.” There was a pause, the dead air meaning that, with his one-way radio, Murray was fielding complaints from one or more of the other drivers.
“Fuck you, Henderson,” Murray said. “You think it’s worth eight hundred bucks to put AC in your cab, then do it. Not everyone likes to sit in the same car you’ve been sweating in for ten hours, you know.”
There was another pause, then Murray was back. “You there, sweetheart? Okay, check with me at the corner of Hill and Galaxy. I’ll give you the address then. I don’t want any of these cowboys jumping your fare.”
“What’s the destination?”
“Needs to go over to Kinsella and pick something up, then back here.” He raised his voice. “Hear that, Henderson? A few fares like that and your AC’s paid for.” He rang off.
As she neared the corner of Hill and Galaxy, she checked in with Murray. Her fare would be waiting in front of the 3-Spot, a bar less than a block away. She pulled up in front a moment later, but there was no one there. As she was reaching for her radio, the bar door opened and Paul stepped out.
“Hey,” he said, getting into the front seat. He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for coming so quick.”
She leaned back slightly and appraised him. “Okay. This is a surprise.”
He smiled. “It’s good to see you,” he said, his words a little rushed.
“You, too. Did you just get in? And why didn’t you call me to get you at the airport?”
“Jerry gave me a ride up. My agent. I’ve been at Le Jardin the last few days.”
“Does anyone know you’re here? Josh?”
“Just you. It’s good to see you.” His words had the slightest slur to them.
“We’ve established that.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is everything alright?”
“Sure. Why shouldn’t they be?”
“Okay. Where can I take you?”
“Moetown, eventually. I need to say goodbye to Josh. But for now, let’s just drive. I’ll pay whatever, but for now I just want to drive. And talk.”
“I don’t make friends pay. What’s this all about, Paul?”
“Just drive for a minute and let me figure out how I want to go about this.” He rolled his neck, rotating it until a thin cracking sound filled the cab. “There. That’s been there all day.”
They drove through the city street in silence. Finally, Alexis steered the Cadillac onto a frontage road that led into Highway 18. Paul’s posture straightened. “Not yet. I’m not ready for the camp quite yet.” He motioned to a side road that fed into the foothills. “Take that one.” After a quarter mile there was a dirt patch on the side of the road. “Pull over there,” he gestured. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Alexis pulled over and shut off the engine. “Okay. Now can you tell me what’s up?”
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“For where?”
“Tokyo.”
“Nice assignment. For how long?”
“No assignment. I’m going there to live. There’s a cigarette company over there—you know the Japanese and their cigarettes—and they want me. Not just as the face of the campaign but as their spokesman. Television, print, public appearances—the works. So I’ll have to live there at least a year, Jerry says, maybe more.” He looked at her. “It pays five hundred thousand. Minimum.”
She let go a low whistle. “That’s great. You looking forward to it?”
“That depends.”
“On what.”
“On whether you come with me.”
She took her hands from the wheel. It looked for a moment like she had no idea what to do with them, until she settled them in her lap. “Didn’t we already have this conversation? You don’t want me. You want…”
“Don’t tell me what I want. I know what I want. I want a fresh life, to see if I can be something more than some images on paper. And I want to do it with you.”
“Why
me? Sure, we’re pals and all, but…”
“Because my looks don’t matter to you. Because you’re the first woman I’ve ever wanted who didn’t want me back.”
“That’s not true. And you know it. It’s just that…”
Paul looked out the windshield and shook his head. “Josh doesn’t want you. And he doesn’t need you. I do.” He reached over and took hold of her forearm. “Come with me.”
She reached for the key in the ignition. “Let’s call it a night, Paul. C’mon, I’ll get you back to Le Jardin. Tomorrow you can…”
His hand tightened. “Don’t condescend to me. I hate it when a bitch condescends to me.”
She jerked her arm away and reached for the door with her left hand. “Fine. You stay here and sleep it off. I’ll…” Her words grabbed at the air as Paul’s hand flashed out of the darkness and closed around her throat.
“Let you, go bas…” Her words throttled, she tried to scream, but her throat contracted, a thin spray coming from her mouth.
“That’s it. Spit on me.” His free hand came out of the dark. The skin above her eye held for a moment, then burst. Her left eye filled with blood and she blinked with bewilderment.
Josh was the only one up and in the L when Murray called, asking for Alexis. “She’s working all night. Why would she be here?”
“Because she stood up her eleven o’clock call. And her eleven-thirty. I’m worried about her.”
“Can’t you raise her on the radio?”
“I’ve been trying for the past hour. It’s not like her to go silent, especially on a night shift.”
Josh grabbed Clark and they headed down. They drove randomly at first, then in a grid, starting at the top of town, Clark marking their progress on a map. Every half hour they stopped at a pay phone and made two calls—one to Murray, the other up to the L.
But no one answered the calls to the L—not the ones from Josh or the one from the police, reporting that Alexis had been found.
