The Amazing Harvey

by Don Passman

  The station went to a commercial for dog food.

  I leaned back, closed my eyes, then suddenly sat up straight.

  Wait a minute.…

  A hidden camera. Maybe …

  I deflated. No way there was any kind of security camera at Sherry Allen’s apartment. First, the owners were obviously too cheap, and second, the cops would’ve found it right away.

  But … hang on.…

  Maybe there’s another place.…

  * * *

  I didn’t get to sleep that night because I got hooked on Casablanca for the eighteenth time and couldn’t stop watching until the two men walked off in their beautiful friendship.

  Around seven in the morning, I took a shower, then drove over the hill to Wilshire Boulevard. I parked on the street, sat in the car, and scanned the stores while I waited for them to open. Dry cleaner’s, restaurant, supermarket, fast food, and …

  Morris’s Jewelry Store.

  That’s the best bet.

  Just before nine, I saw a short old man, hunched at the shoulders, walk up to the jewelry store and take out his keys. I waited until he was inside, so he wouldn’t think I was trying to jump him, then walked in.

  He looked up from behind the counter. “Good morning, young man. How may I help you?”

  “Does your store have a surveillance camera?”

  The old man stiffened. I saw his hand go under the counter. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

  * * *

  Later that morning, groggy but pumped with adrenaline, I walked into Hannah’s office.

  She was yelling before I was halfway through the door. “I told you I would not tolerate any more tardiness and I meant it. You’re fired. I resign as your lawyer. Get out.” She stuck her arm out stiffly, pointing at the door like she was giving some low-level Nazi salute.

  I held up my hand like a traffic cop. “Before you froth over, let me tell you where I’ve been.”

  “I don’t give a good goddam where you’ve been. You’re ten times over your screwup limit. Out!” Her face was reddening, her stiffened arm trembling.

  “Fine. Fire me. Then I won’t bother telling you how I just saved your ass on the Desmond case.”

  Her face screwed up in puzzlement. “Your cutesy little tricks won’t work this time. Just get out.”

  “So I should take this with me?” I held up a DVD.

  “Yes. Go.”

  She was actually kinda hot-looking when she got all red-faced and sweaty. I said, “I don’t think you mean that.”

  “You bet your ass I mean it. OUT!”

  “You really ought to see this.”

  Her eyes shot to the DVD. I could see she was curious despite herself. “What is that thing?”

  “It’s a DVD.”

  “I can see that, smart-ass. I’ve got no time for games.”

  “Sorry, it’s the performer in me. You know, building up to the big moment.”

  “Performers should know how to read their audience. Make your point in the next ten seconds or get out.”

  I held up the DVD and turned it so it sparkled in the light. “This is a surveillance video from a supermarket on Wilshire Boulevard. Taken on March eighteenth, at one eighteen A.M.”

  Her eyebrows lowered. “The time Oliver Desmond was stopped by the police?”

  “Precisely.”

  Hannah took a step closer, lowering her weapon arm. Her face was draining toward neutral. She said, “It’s a video of the street?”

  “Yes. And guess what? It’s a full-on view of a cop stopping Desmond’s car. A car whose headlights were turned on.”

  Hannah’s mouth fell open. She shook her head. “Really?”

  “No, April Fool’s.” I smirked, nodding my head. “Yes, for real. Watch it.”

  She took the DVD and cradled it like it was some fragile flower. Hannah ran over to her computer, stuck it in the drive, and clicked PLAY.

  She watched the video intently, then looked up at me. “Harvey, you’re … brilliant.”

  I felt myself blush. “Actually, I’m more of a late-night TV fan, but I’ll take ‘brilliant.’”

  * * *

  That afternoon, I felt someone shaking me. As I sat up with a start, I realized I’d been sleeping. Shit. I’d fallen asleep on Hannah’s desk. She was still shaking me.

  I blinked away the fog and I noticed I’d drooled a spit blot on her desk pad. I put my arm over the wet spot.

  I looked up at Hannah, who was grinning. She said, “Guess what?”

  I swallowed the foul taste in my mouth. “I give up.”

  Hannah said, “I showed the district attorney your DVD and he’s dropping the Desmond case. They don’t want to embarrass the cops, and I suspect they’re also hoping we don’t sue the city for harassment.”

  I stood up. “Congratulations!”

  Hannah made a pumping motion with her hand. “Yes! I won the case that my father told me to plead out.”

  “Excellent!”

  She nodded rapidly. “On the way back from downtown, I phoned Desmond’s parents. They were so grateful that they gave me a huge bonus!” Beaming, she bobbed her head from side to side.

  “Awesome.”

  Suddenly, I felt the burden of my case slam into me like some party-crashing thug. My case wasn’t going away so easily. My shoulders sagged and I slumped into a nosedive depression.

  She said, “Harvey.”

  “Yeah?”

  The tip of her tongue came through her lips. “Because you found the video, I’m going to give you a five-thousand-dollar bonus.”

  I felt my head snap up. “Uh … thanks.” Not sure I sounded very enthusiastic.

  She said, “I’ll also have enough to loan you some money. You won’t have to sell your trick.”

  I felt my breath catch and turned fully toward her. I looked her in the eyes and blinked hard, to make sure my eyes stayed clear.

  I said, “I can’t tell you how much that means to me, but I can’t go any further in debt. It’ll take me years to get above water, even after I sell the trick.”

  She looked at me with an “Are you sure?” expression.

  I picked up to the metal punch, stuck in some papers, and jammed the lever down hard.

  Hannah clapped her hands, startling me. She said, “Well, I’m buying dinner tonight. To celebrate.”

  “I don’t need charity.”

  “Why do you have to say an asshole thing like that to someone who’s trying to be nice?”

  “Sorry.”

  She took a step forward. “Is that a yes?”

  Well, I don’t exactly feel like celebrating, but I guess it beats sitting home and moping. “Sure.”

  * * *

  Considering the state of my pocketbook, I’d have been thrilled with McDonald’s. Hannah chose Tommaso’s, an Italian place on Ventura Boulevard.

  We walked into the dark restaurant, which was almost empty. Through the low lights, I saw brick walls with oozing mortar, hung with tattered Italian wine posters. There was also a poster for the Italian version of Rambo, and the obligatory map of Italy.

  We sat in a dark red booth in the back. The lights were so atmospheric that I could barely read the damn menu. The waiter brought a basket of breadsticks. Hannah’s eyes shot to them. I took one and snapped off a piece. I offered the basket to Hannah and got the same vigorous headshake I’d gotten when I’d offered her peanuts at the bar.

  I said, “You don’t eat bread?”

  “If you’re that curious about how I keep my weight off, why didn’t you come into the Overeaters Anonymous meeting after you followed me?”

  Oh shit. I felt my face flush up like a gas burner. “Uh, well, umm—”

  Can she see me redden in this light?

  “You are possibly the worst tail I’ve ever seen. I saw you the second you came after me. I easily lost you on the freeway the first time, and I’d have ditched you the second time, except I was running late.”

  Why is my back sud
denly itching? “I guess I owe you an apology.”

  “Yes. You do.”

  “I’m sorry. How come you didn’t say anything before now?”

  “I was going to skewer your ass when I got back from the meeting, but you have so much trouble in your life that I felt guilty coming down on you.”

  “So now I get the skewering?”

  “That was a slap on the wrist. If you were being skewered, your guts would be hanging out on the table.”

  I closed the menu. “Well, now I’m really hungry.”

  She laughed. Had I seen her laugh before?

  I said, “It’s an occupational hazard of magicians that we have to look behind the curtains. I can’t watch a magic show without figuring out how it’s done. Secrets drive me nuts. So when you made your meetings a mystery, I couldn’t help myself.”

  A waiter appeared. “Signora e signore, what will we be having this evening?”

  Hannah looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have broiled fish, steamed vegetables, and a green salad. You have low-fat dressing?”

  He didn’t look up from scribbling on a pad. “No, signora.”

  “Okay, just bring oil and vinegar.”

  The waiter kept writing. “And you, signore?”

  I said to Hannah, “Would it, like, bother you if I have pasta?”

  She waved her hand. “Have whatever.”

  I ordered a Caesar salad and spaghetti with sausage.

  Why do I feel like I should oink?

  When the waiter left, I said, “So, were you inviting me to ask about your meeting, or not? I can’t really read you.”

  “Good. I like being unreadable.”

  “That’s nice, because you just did it again.”

  She repositioned her knife, fork, and spoon. “I’ll tell you a little about OA; then the subject is closed.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “It’s basically Alcoholics Anonymous applied to food. I can’t describe what it’s like to have an addiction, since you don’t have one. How would you tell a person who was blind from birth what the color orange looks like?”

  “I guess I couldn’t.”

  “Right. There’s no common vocabulary. Why would someone get drunk and lose his family, his house, and his business? Not rational. Yet he’s compelled to do it. Same thing with food. Why would someone overeat when they know it’s unhealthy? Knowing how to lose weight is easy. Just eat less, right?”

  “Sounds right to me.”

  “Knowing and doing are very different things. I can’t do it without the support of the organization.”

  “So, it’s like a diet club, where you weigh in?”

  “No weighing. Nothing like that. It’s based on the Twelve Steps.”

  “Wasn’t that an old Hitchcock movie?”

  “Close. That was The Thirty-Nine Steps.”

  The waiter showed up with the salads. Hannah dribbled some of the oil and vinegar on hers.

  I took a forkful of Caesar and said, “You don’t feel deprived, knowing there’s things you can’t eat?”

  “Not really. I feel so much better living a healthy life. Besides, there’s nothing I can’t eat. Just things I choose not to eat.”

  “You can go the rest of your life without eating bread or nuts?”

  “I don’t know. But I can do it for twenty-four hours. That’s all I have to worry about.”

  “How do you—”

  Hannah held up her fork. “That’s enough about OA. If you’re really curious, there’s tons of information on the Internet.” She took a bite of salad and chewed.

  I tried to get a crouton on my fork. It split in half.

  Hannah said, “My father called right before we left the office.”

  “Oh?”

  “I told him how I resolved the Desmond case. He was surprised.”

  Surprised that anyone did something well without him?

  Hannah grinned. “I told him I was going to dinner to celebrate, and he asked for the name of the restaurant. He said he was sending something over.”

  I leaned closer. “That’s intriguing. What do you think it is?”

  She shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Let’s guess.” I scrunched my forehead. “Hmm.” I raised my index finger as if to say, Aha. “I got it. A chorus of belly-button whistlers.”

  She laughed. Her eyes twinkled.

  Hannah shook her head. “Too trite. I think”—she twisted her mouth to the side—“a troupe of dancing dogs.”

  I chuckled. Not bad for someone who probably tells jokes by numbering the paragraphs, like she’s writing a legal brief. I said, “Maybe a snake charmer, complete with flute, wicker basket, and cobra.”

  The waiter walked up to the table, picked up the salad plates, and left.

  I said, “Whatever your father does, it’s very thoughtful of him.”

  “Yeah. If he doesn’t forget.”

  Hannah rearranged the position of her knife, fork, and spoon again. She pulled her water glass a little closer, then gave it a small turn in place. She said, “Are you close to your father?”

  “He passed away when I was fifteen.”

  Her eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I should have remembered. You told that to Sherry’s father.”

  “It was really hard on my mom.”

  Hannah said, “He must have been pretty young.”

  “Forty-eight. Heart attack. I came home from school and the police were there. A deliveryman had seen him through the front window and called the cops. One of the officers phoned Mom. He said there’d been a burglary at the house and asked her to please come home.” I felt my voice catch. “They were nice enough to wait and tell her in person.”

  She patted my hand, then left hers on top of mine. Hannah said, “I guess your father issues trump mine.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not a contest.”

  A woman’s voice said, “Well. Hello, you two.”

  Hannah pulled back her hand. We looked up at Hannah’s sister, Susan, who had materialized next to our table. Susan had a sly smile, like she’d caught us making out. She was clutching a gold handbag against her skinny blue silk dress, which was cut low to show off her tits-standing-at-attention.

  Hannah cleared her throat. “Hi.”

  I said, “Nice to see you again.”

  Susan looked at me. She smiled, almost sexily, like she was debating whether it might be fun to take me away from Hannah. I smiled back. I might be had for a night.…

  Susan turned her attention back to Hannah. She said, “Daddy asked me to bring this by.” Susan opened her purse, pulled out an envelope, and gave it to Hannah.

  Hannah took it and laid it on the table.

  Susan stood there. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Hannah glanced at her. “Later. Thanks for bringing it.”

  Susan closed her purse with a snap.

  Hannah toyed with her fork.

  Guess we’re not inviting Susan to join us.

  Susan smiled stiffly. “Well, have a nice evening.” She shot a quick glance at the envelope on the table, then turned and walked off.

  As soon as Susan’s back was to us, Hannah relaxed her posture.

  I said, “How much older is Susan?” I’d learned that trick a long time ago. Always assume the other woman is older, even if her hair’s in pigtails.

  “Actually, I’m four months older.”

  “You don’t look…” My mouth dropped a bit. I shook my head, like I was trying to rattle something loose. “Did you say four months?”

  Hannah nodded.

  “How could…”

  The waiter showed up with our dinners. “Okay. Which of you had the fish?”

  Hannah held up her hand. He slid the plate in front of her, then dropped the spaghetti in front of me.

  He said, “Need anything else?”

  My friend here would like a sisterectomy. “No, we’re fine.”

  As soon as the waiter left, I scrunched a little closer to Hannah. “H
ow can your sister be four months younger?”

  She sighed. “When I was fourteen, my mother found out that my father had a second family.”

  I felt my eyebrows jolt up. Well, Bruceie Baby.

  Guess that explains Susan’s anorexic gene.

  Not to mention the divorce …

  I forced my brows back down.

  Hannah cut a piece of fish, speared it with the fork, then set the fork on her plate without eating. “Dad never married Susan’s mother. He later left Mom for his Pilates instructor. And no, she’s not the current wife. Gillian is number three.”

  I looked at Hannah. “I think you just pulled ahead in the father derby.”

  “As someone once said, ‘It’s not a contest.’” She picked up her fork and ate the bite of fish, then cut off a chunk of broccoli.

  I clapped my hands, startling her. “You know, you’ve successfully gotten me out of my funk, so let’s make tonight a real celebration. Let’s do something exotic after dinner.”

  Hannah drew back. “‘Exotic’?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go … to a gay disco. Or let’s ride the bumper cars at the Santa Monica pier. Or find a karaoke bar and sing some oldies.”

  Her expression looked as if she were rapidly sinking in quicksand. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “C’mon. Loosen up. It’ll be good for you.”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t got the energy for any of those things.”

  “Okay. What do you suggest?”

  Hannah scrunched her brow. “Huh?”

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “Well … I read. I like word puzzles. I watch some television.”

  I twisted another forkful of spaghetti. “What kind of television?”

  “News, mostly. A few PBS shows.”

  Aren’t you a ball of fire? “You like music?” I stuffed the spaghetti in my mouth and chewed quickly.

  “I don’t hear much. When I’m in the car, I listen to NPR news and a few of the talk shows. But I like music.”

  “Lemme see … You’re probably not a heavy-metal freak.”

  “Good guess.”

  I speared a slice of sausage. “Okay. I got it. I know where we’re going.”

  “Who said we’re going anywhere?”

  “I did. It’ll be fun.” I popped the sausage in my mouth.

  “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  “I’ll have you home before your curfew.” I went for more spaghetti.