Never Again, Seriously

by Forrest Steele

  A few “Yeahs.”

  “How many people here know what the shag is?”

  Loud “Oh, yeahs” and one “Oh, yeah, baby” rang out from a table at the back of the room, followed by hoots, hollers, and whistles.

  “Some Carolina girls here. Boys too, of course. Let’s go!” Shivani donned a pair of sunglasses below his fedora and set the mic on the floor.

  Preceded by a short tattoo drumbeat, General Johnson’s voice burst out of the speakers, singing, “Give Me Just a Little More Time,” as the music snapped into a “one-and-two-and-three-and four-and” groove at 130 beats per minute. Bass guitar, piano, and drums drove the lilting beat, fronted by Johnson’s pitch-perfect tenor voice, soon joined by horns.

  After establishing a series of basic steps during the first verse, Shivani threw the shades aside and began making subtle variations, slight turns of his hips left and right, small shuffles and kicks almost too quick to see. These moves had the effect of emphasizing his knife-crease tan slacks and sockless penny loafers. Three-hundred-sixty-degree spins right and left brought more cheering from the back. He moonwalked across the dance floor, then somersaulted backward to where he’d started, losing his fedora.

  He picked the microphone off the floor and shouted, “Double hop.” The moves became bigger but no less rapid, Shivani’s feet flashing and his body gyrating in progressively more unusual ways, until it appeared he would lose his balance. He didn’t.

  At the end of the song, he planted his feet, swung his arms forward and up, launched himself into the air, and finished his backflip with a split, in time to lip sync, “Please, baby,” as the music trailed off.

  Shivani’s Carolina constituency screamed and pounded the table. The rest of the audience stood with broad smiles, loud clapping, and piercing whistles.

  DJ Pete strode up next to Shivani and summoned Jake. Pete called out to the crowd, “Now you vote. First, cheer for Jake, and remember, the one receiving the loudest applause wins.” The resulting cacophony drowned out Pete’s attempts to speak. By walking back and forth and making damping motions with his hands, he was able to silence them, although the occasional scream of “Elvis!” continued to erupt.

  Pete gestured with an open hand toward Shivani and crowed, “Let’s hear it for Ray.” The members of the Carolina cohort screamed, “Ray … Ray … Ray!” and the rest of the room followed suit. Hooting, clapping, and whistling vibrated the windows.

  After quieting the room, Pete said, “So far, we have a tie. Much as I hate to say it, we have to do the applause thing again. Ray first this time.”

  The crowd noise was even louder than before.

  When Pete gestured toward Jake, the crowd noise didn’t seem as loud to Sharon, so she decided to help. She slipped behind the three men and lifted her hands in the universal motion for “more.” The din increased to jet-engine decibels as she continued waving her arms. Someone in the back yelled, “Sit down, lady.” Then someone booed. The catcalls picked up, and Sharon dropped her arms. It was too late. Her effort had backfired. The enthusiasm was gone, the applause continuing halfheartedly.

  The DJ pointed to Shivani.

  Jake shook Shivani’s hand. “Congratulations. You won fair and square. But it was pretty close, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course.”

  Once it was clear the entertainment was over, the diners rushed and bunched up at the door, as though in an emergency evacuation. On the way out, a few waved. One couple approached them, wearing vacant grins, and shook hands all around. Jake smiled when the man spoke to him, but Sharon drew back in shock.

  Chapter 35

  Jake, Shivani, and Sharon retired to the adjoining bar where two somnolent men were planted at one end, lost in their drinks. They showed no sign of having noticed the festivities.

  At the other end of the bar, Sharon sat between her companions. She said, “That man who shook our hands. Did he say he hadn’t had so much fun since the pigs ate his sister? His dentures were slipping, and I’m not sure I caught all the words.”

  Jake laughed. “That’s what he said. I’m not sure he was all there.”

  “Gross.” Sharon turned to Shivani. “You certainly are different. I can’t decide whether you’re a guru or a con man, though.”

  “False dichotomy is a common fallacy, and it leads to wrong conclusions.”

  Sharon stared. “Dichotomy.”

  Shivani’s expression was somber. “What I mean is, who says it has to be one or the other? Couldn’t it be possible to have elements of both? Then the question would be which side is dominant at a particular time, and why.”

  Sharon’s brow knitted. “I suppose so, but which are you right now?”

  “I’m surprised you—”

  Sharon raised her hand in a gesture to stop. Jake hadn’t been paying attention to their conversation. He faced the drink on the bar before him, his lips parted.

  “Jake.” She shook his shoulder, but he kept his head down. “You have to tell me what’s the matter. Please.” She moved in close and put her hand on his cheek, turning his head to her.

  “I don’t know, Sharon. I feel terrible.” He hung his head lower.

  Shivani, sitting on the other side of Sharon, leaned over. “In your life, you did the best you knew how.”

  Jake scowled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your feelings are obvious. You’re haunted by what you might have been and can’t shake off the contrast with what you are.”

  Jake put both hands to his face. “Make him go away.”

  “Sit up!” Shivani looked into Jake’s eyes and spoke in a low voice. “You are part of the continuous creation. Everything that happens leads to something else. The only thing meaningful now is new decisions you make based on the things you’ve learned along the way.”

  Jake blinked, his face slack.

  Sharon put her hand over his. “The black dog’s back, isn’t it?”

  Shivani raised an eyebrow.

  “He’ll be fine. I told you sometimes he gets down in the dumps, after he’s been on a high or after a stressful event. We’re working on it.”

  Shivani searched Jake’s eyes. “The black dog might be telling you that you can’t be happy in your present situation. You thought you wanted money, and now you don’t know what you want.”

  “Shivani, you’re amazing.” Jake gazed at the wall, engrossed in concentration.

  He turned to Shivani, still in thought. “What do I want?”

  “That’s for you to find.”

  “And you?”

  Shivani smiled. “What do I want? For me, the answer is to stop wanting. Desire leads to suffering, if you think about it.” His eyes glittered. “I just like to amuse myself. And play Robbing Hood once in a while.”

  Jake’s lips twitched. “The correct pronunciation is Robin Hood. A person’s name.”

  “I like it my way.”

  “May I interrupt this … whatever it is?” Sharon made a rolling motion with her hand. “He’ll need time to think, later.”

  She slipped off the bar stool. “Is helping people what you do? Like Robin Hood?”

  Shivani regarded her with soft eyes. “Something like that.”

  With a dismissive wave, she said, “Let’s go for a ride, boys. Breathe some fresh air and have a late dinner at Weller’s. It’s a good restaurant, and we can talk more. I’ve got a surprise waiting for you there, Jake.”

  Jake raised his eyes. “You’ve always got something going on, don’t you?”

  Candles illuminated the tables at Weller’s. Dim recessed lights glowed overhead. At each table, faces shone as around a campfire. When they sat, Jake said, “Tablecloths. Nice.”

  A young man in a pressed shirt and narrow tie appeared. “Welcome to Weller’s. My name is Rick. Would you like to start off with something to drink while you loo
k at your menus? Then I can answer any questions.”

  Sharon smiled at Rick. “I’m the lady who called about the special order—Black Dog Triple Gold Reserve. You were supposed to have it in today.”

  “The bartender was talking about this. The bottle’s unopened.”

  “It’d better be. Let’s start with three, neat, water on the side.”

  Wonder on his face, Shivani said, “I’ll take a glass of club soda instead of water.”

  “Still neat, still plain water on the side for me,” Sharon said.

  Jake nodded.

  “Black Dog is from India.” Shivani rubbed his hands and finished with a soft clap. “Excellent whisky. Never had it in the United States. What a treat.”

  Sharon smiled at the questions in Jake’s eyes. “This is a ceremony, boys. When Jake and I leave this town, we’re leaving the black dog behind.” She peered at Jake. “Seriously. We’re going to get you some professional help, to make sure.”

  The whisky came, and they all sipped, reflecting on their own thoughts. Shivani sat back and sighed. “Better than I remember it. Strong wood flavors, a mere suggestion of fruit, just a hint of vanilla and a slight sweetness to finish.”

  Sharon thought the flavor could be replicated using motor oil and vodka. But her opinion of the whisky didn’t matter. She was glad to see Jake savoring it.

  Shivani said, “By the way, I got a text from my friend in Miami about Willis Turek, also known as Trip. He was found dead in his apartment a couple weeks ago. Head bashed in.”

  Sharon blanched. “Oh, that’s awful.”

  Jake grunted. “Sweetie, it lets us off the hook.”

  “Still.” Sharon sat motionless, letting her thoughts run.

  “I wouldn’t wish that on Willis—Trip, but it’s done and over,” Jake said.

  Sharon nodded, a tear spilling from her eye. “Yeah, done.” She forced a smile past the sadness at the corners of her mouth.

  Shivani took a sip and held it before swallowing. “Yes. No one is left to worry about.” He took another sip. “If you two ever plan another swindle, possibly you could use a partner. Sometimes three is better. What do you say?”

  “Never again,” Jake and Sharon said in unison.

  They chuckled, then Sharon knit her brow. “Seriously.”

  They clinked glasses. Sharon set hers down. “I feel better about Rachel. That place impressed me.”

  “Me too.” Jake smiled.

  Shivani nodded. “We could be the Robbing Hoods.”

  “We told you never again,” Jake said. Sharon nodded.

  “Never say never,” Shivani said.

  All three laughed and raised their glasses in a final toast.

  About the Author

  Forrest Steele is originally from North Carolina. He retired from investment banking and now lives in Florida.