CLUB MEDicine: A Novel

by Jack Kinsley

  Dani had vacillated for days as to whether she would stay or make an early exit from the program. She had asked the opinion of just about everyone, including Lucy — who had inadvertently saved Crystal Heights from being clientless. She had convinced Dani to join the millions of singles online; she could stay on for another month during the process. Lucy was an avid user, frequented several sites, and it was a confirmed rumor she held an insatiable appetite for dark-skinned men. According to Chef Tom, who had become her confidante and part-time therapist over the years, Lucy had just recently been an active participant in a ménage à trois. He had a new secret pet name for her, Oreo Cookie, to which she giggled like a school girl every time he mentioned it.

  The entire team pulled together to help Dani present herself in the best light. There was nothing else for Travis to do but join the fun. As usual, there was a lot more going on than addiction therapy under the roof at Crystal Heights, and Travis was thankful for the diversion this morning.

  First, Lucy took Dani to Best Buy, where they purchased an iPad — the vehicle she would use to launch her new identity into the stratosphere. While Lucy set this up for a basic dating profile, Sarah took Dani shopping at Nordstrom's, where they bought an entire new wardrobe to compliment her curves, with the assistance of a personal shopper (a friend of Sarah's). Chef Tom pitched in with his minor in English and began working on her profile text — appropriate, since her profile was coming from more of a male perspective on the lesbian scale. Barbara was called in to give her a new 'do and makeup (she never asked about or mentioned Devon's pup, thank God), and Travis took pictures of Dani and edited them in Photoshop. He pushed the envelope in blurring the lines of reality and beauty, but he knew deception was part of the course, if not at least expected, with internet dating.

  Travis had been victim to such gross misrepresentation before, after meeting a woman online once. She appeared petite in her photograph, smiling under a pair of bug-eye sunglasses that sat on top of her head. When they had finally met in person, she was twenty pounds heavier, eight years older, but still had the same sunglasses holding her hair back. No way sister, you ain't foolin' me, was his first thought. He'd wondered if she kept the pair in a safe, using them only for first dates, or if she'd had the foresight to purchase a dozen of them.

  Travis and his staff worked diligently into the afternoon on Dani's profile, like hunters setting up bear traps in the woods. He hoped in some universal show of irony, she would meet another member with an equally exaggerated profile. He thought her chances were quite good as long as she didn't shoot too high.

  After giving Dani everything she needed, Chef Tom set her up outside and served her an early lunch, where she nibbled on a sandwich and Terra root chips for hours. By then, she had cast her line from four different profiles and had acquired her first response. Unfortunately, it was a man who had mistakenly searched for a 'woman looking for a woman.' She wrote him back nonetheless, pointing out his error, and wished him the best of luck in finding what he was really looking for. The man matched her cordial behavior, writing her a second time, also wishing her the best, and just like that — the virtual ice had been broken. At the very least, it proved that her profile was indeed up and working and there were some decent people out there in the big, strange world. The seed of hope and expectation had been firmly planted.

  "I guess now I just sit and wait?" she asked Travis while he cleared her dishes from the patio table.

  "No, no, no. Now you start looking for who you want to meet. Hell, if we all waited for things to come to us, we'd get nothing but leftovers and scraps. You start making the first move. After all, you've got nothing to lose. You don't have them now."

  Dani listened, weighed the advice, and then delved into the thicket of profiles displayed on her iPad with newfound determination.

  "Just don't lead with your money," he reminded her, and carried the collected plates into the kitchen.

  Inside, Chef Tom was molesting a chicken; his hand completely up its ass, ramming some vegetables into the carcass. A light sheen of olive oil tinted its pale plucked skin, and there was the poignant scent of fresh chopped garlic in the air.

  "Is that what you learn in culinary school? Nail them while they're vulnerable and no one's looking?"

  "Love is never made right without a little foreplay." He flipped the bird over and massaged more olive oil onto its legs. "What you want to do is trap the moisture in...the sign of a great chef and a thoughtful husband." He slapped the back of the bird and then shoved a healthy stem of rosemary into it. "Only thing is, I'm a forgetful husband at times. I forgot to buy the damn potatoes for the homemade mash. I'll make another run after I get her in the oven."

  "I'll go for you," Travis told him. There was nothing left for him to do, and he could take the long-cut around town to check up on his missing giant.

  "That would be great."

  "How many do you need?"

  "Well...since it's mostly staff." His sight drifted briefly out into the Pacific. "Bring me seven, if they're the size of my fist — and eight, if not. And make sure they're Yukon Gold — none of them Russets. Oh! And pick up some sour cream. Get the light, Knudsen."

  "You got it, amigo. How much time do I have?"

  "About an hour, hour and a half, no real hurry."

  Travis left immediately. He didn't even stop in the office for petty cash or give Sarah a heads-up. If he was going to do the rounds, he was going to need every minute.

  Just yesterday, Sarah had driven the company car to the dealership and swapped out the lease on the old SUV for another. It was still a Lexus, but a year newer, and she surprised Travis by picking a GX 460 in white. Although, she claimed it wasn't white at all and described it as starfire pearl. Whatever the color, it was a refreshing change from black. Travis had yet to take it for a spin.

  Inside, he got familiar with the basics of it (almost the same as the last one), but before driving off, he checked his phone for the hundredth time for a message. Still nothing. A new wave of fear swept over him. He began adding up the monetary value of what was at the giant's disposal and currently in his possession: the Chris-Craft was worth around eighty thousand (easily), the Honda Pilot was roughly another thirty-five thousand, and Travis had given him two thousand in petty cash for any unforeseen emergencies. The giant prick could have simply skipped town and made more money than he would have by sticking around and honoring his end of the deal. Just what had Travis been thinking?

  It incited him, and the new Lexus blew down the street as if it wasn't even touching the ground. He first tried the motel, and had a mixed reaction when he saw the Honda was missing. Was it a good sign or a bad sign? It depended on whether he considered Dallas a murderer or a thief, really. He could be using the car to track Ana, or he could be driving it out of state or out of country to have it stripped and sold. Next, Travis drove past his Victorian home, performing numerous drive-bys — up and down in front of the house — and then around the blocks. He quickly realized and appreciated his newfound anonymity inside the latest Lexus with its tinted windows — neither Ana nor Dallas knew him in this car.

  There was no sign of them anywhere. He decided to drive the distance to Marina Del Rey and see if the boat was in the slip. It was pushing his time constraint, and traffic was starting to thicken, but he needed the peace of mind; the trek could possibly reveal something about his giant's mysterious disappearance.

  The boat was there. And again, Travis didn't know what to think. The name in bold white letters on the back now seemed to mock him: Ship for Brains.

  Travis turned the car back around and headed for a last drive-by past the motel and house, and then he'd go pick up Chef Tom's potatoes. As he drove, he felt his cigarette pack tight in his pocket, a hard corner digging into his thigh. He hesitated for a mile, but then cracked the window and lit one up. Does anyone really care about the new car smell? The hell with it... It's a lease.

  His mind began to circle again. What does this
mean? He didn't take the boat, but he took the SUV. It's probably easier to unload an SUV than a boat. That's almost a guarantee. And you know what? You know what he's doing? The colossal cunt's heading for the border right now — going to sell the Honda for shit money, get high, and go dig up Melinda's corpse for another push from behind to celebrate. Should have never trusted that son of a bitch.

  Dallas still had an official extra day in their loose plans, as he'd been given a lot of flexibility to formulate and finalize the showdown with Ana, but keeping Travis completely out of the loop was never part of it. Dallas knew Travis needed to be included so he could be certain Bella was in preschool, or make other arrangements to keep her safe. It was the not-knowing-shit part that was driving him crazy. If Dallas had split town, fine. At least he knew. If it was still game on, then even better — but he had to know, and know now. Travis's heart sank another foot when the last of his drive-bys produced nothing.

  After clearing the Victorian house, he gave up spiritually and on the giant, and pulled into the Albertsons' parking lot just down the street. Chef Tom had already shot him a text, and the homemade mash was running late. Absently, Travis parked a few empty rows over from the middle. He sat quietly in the car and faced the grocery store. While begging for mercy from the good Lord above (though he knew he had no right), his eyes picked up a large silhouette behind the smoked reflecting windows of the Albertsons. It was heading toward the exit, and Travis knew there weren't too many bald beasts that could draw that kind of outline. It had to be his giant.

  The automatic exit doors separated like magic and there he was, like a rabbit from a hat. At once, Travis loved and hated the sight of him. The giant was smiling and pushing a shopping cart that was nearly full — too many groceries for one man, even one his size. Then, what followed him was something Travis could have never imagined. At first, his mind couldn't make sense of what it was seeing and all was just a mish mash of fear, shock, and utter perplexity — the sound and haphazard direction of a pinball shooting wildly.

  Ana and Bella trailed just behind the giant. Bella held her mother's hand, skipping and yanking it like she always did, and Dallas slowed down for them to catch up. He looked back at them and said something, making the two of them laugh. When Ana got close to him, she slapped his back as if to say he was 'just too silly' and then Bella ran up and did the same — hitting him on his thigh. Dallas made it appear as if she'd really hurt him and he started limping and hanging onto the shopping cart for support, dragging his leg behind him. Then he jumped upright, laughed it off, and pushed the cart smoothly again toward Ana's Volvo.

  What the f...

  Travis's mind continued to race in all directions, half-forming irrational thoughts, discarding them, and then regurgitating them a second, third, and fourth time. Finally, he abandoned all attempts to try and understand and simply watched in horror as they stopped at the Volvo and opened the hatchback. Ana began to load the groceries while Dallas lifted Bella into his arms and carried her to the backseat. She took his nose between her fingers as if to steal it.

  How could this be? He'd seen the giant in action, knew he was a smooth talker, a charmer, but to gain this kind of trust within days seemed ridiculous! And Travis couldn't do anything about it — all he could do was sit and watch Dallas move in on his family. His head dropped heavily back onto the headrest and he demanded that God give him a reason for the terrible unraveling of his life. Why had he been made to suffer at every crossroad? Was there no mercy?

  The inevitable answer came back in a rush: You're trying to kill your wife and you want me to help your dumb ass? Of course, he knew asking for this kind of assistance from a higher power was blasphemy squared, and about as worthless as throwing coins into a fountain.

  This was his rock bottom. There was no place down from here: he'd lost his family, lost his little girl, financial ruin was waiting to strike, and his body was starting a slow but steady revolt against the pills he was poisoning himself with. And to top it off, some giant redneck had outwitted him and would soon be screwing his ex-wife (if he hadn't already) and playing Got Your Nose with his daughter.

  The sight of the giant hunched over inside the car as he buckled Bella into her child seat drove Travis into a blind toxic rage. He felt the fluids inside boil and foam, eating away at his rationality until nothing was left. His eyes cemented on the loathsome spectacle and a ghastly premonition burned inside him. Ana and Dallas lying twisted and snapped under his Lexus. He could hear his engine continue to roar, and see the tread of his tires smoking and slipping on top of Dallas's face — shooting and whipping out shards of flesh, cartilage, and skull until his head was no more than a red tattoo on the asphalt.

  Travis had never completely understood murder-suicide until now. He'd always considered it a selfish, deplorable, and inexcusable act — but that meant nothing to him at this very moment. There was only one desired result, and collateral damage didn't matter — not even his little Bella. If he couldn't have her, then nobody would. Maybe he'd get a chance to kiss her a last time in the afterlife, before the devil found out he was dead.

  Kill them all, he thought. Chef Tom will have to make do without his Yukon Golds tonight.

  He slapped the sun visor down for added camouflage, and then eased off the brake and let the Lexus creep closer to them in the next parking row. He stopped only fifteen yards away and was in perfect position for a line drive straight into the back of the Volvo. Ana was still loading the bags in the back, but he would wait until Dallas walked back around the car to help finish with the final few bags. Pinch them both, he thought. The force of the impact would probably cut them in two against the bumper, and if he was really lucky, maybe even decapitate one of them with the metal edge of the lifted hatchback.

  He ran his wet palms down the length of his slacks a few times, and then got a solid grip on the steering wheel. His foot was heavy and at the ready, like one of those pyramid cartoon weights with 1,000 lbs written on the side of it, all set to wreak havoc. His knuckles rose on the wheel, colorless. He could feel the shit-eating, mad grin that split his face.

  Dallas shut Bella's back door and started toward the rear.

  Wait, wait...almost in position.

  Dallas was a step away from target — a split second away from Travis jamming the pedal through the floorboard — when the giant looked right at him and gave him a wink. It was almost too late; his synapses nearly fired the command.

  Wait! Wait! What!? Was that a wink? Did he just wink?

  Travis steadied himself, held his breath, and made a conscious effort to hold still. He lingered, his foot remaining cocked and dangerous. Would there be another signal? Was he seeing things? There was time, but not much — maybe a second, maybe two. He could shatter them still.

  Dallas placed the last bag in the cubby hole and then turned and met Travis's eyes again. This time, Travis was certain the look was meant for him. The giant's gaze was long enough to make his point; as if to say, 'I see you there — we're still in this together.' The giant slammed the hatchback closed and then dawdled a bit while Ana went to the driver's side of the car. He stood there, an open and willing target, as if to prove himself.

  Travis eased his grip on the wheel, knuckles turning pink again, and put the SUV into park. He was riddled with suspicion and his last nerve continued to sizzle, but the flashpoint had ceased to burn as Dallas got into the passenger seat and Travis watched the Volvo slowly pull away. It meandered through the parking lot of cars and randomly placed carts and then slipped out of sight at the northern exit.

  Chef Tom would have his potatoes after all.

  — — —

  God was already manning the dimmer switch as Travis drove back to Crystal Heights. The underbelly of cloud above had started to warm and yellow while a deepening cobalt blue pushed the rest of the daylight down. The first winter chill was in the air and it required Travis to heat the car as he blew smoke out the cracked driver's-side window. There were a barrage of
messages on his cell, mostly from Sarah, that he hadn't even felt vibrate in his pants pocket when he was at Albertsons. Chef Tom had sent one text (he didn't seem too upset, just wondering), but the several texts from Sarah were a bit odd. He couldn't put his finger on it, but they just seemed mixed — not consistent.

  Chef Tom was sitting at the table when Travis walked into the kitchen with the groceries. He tapped his fingers three times in succession to let him know he'd been waiting.

  "So sorry, I know you said Yukon Gold, but they didn't have them at the first Alberstons. And then—"

  "You decided to grow them?"

  "Yeah, no excuse, man. I know."

  "It's okay, amigo." Chef Tom peered into the bag. "Dani had a late lunch and I'm sure the rest of you can wait." He looked Travis over, giving him a visual physical. "You okay? You're looking really pale."

  He felt pale — white as milk. Cold, too. The earlier events had sucked the blood right out of him and the last Valium he'd taken in the parking lot hadn't had any effect. His nerves were frayed and he felt he was wearing them like the sleeves of a Mohair sweater.

  "No worries, Chef... Nothing a good night's sleep won't cure." He couldn't wait to feel Sarah's warm body wrapped around him tonight.

  "You forgot the sour cream?" Chef Tom searched the bag a second time.

  "Damn. I knew there was something. I'll run out again."

  "No, no, don't worry. These guys need time to boil anyway." He began removing the potatoes one by one from the bag with the care and delicate nature of someone who loved their craft. "And I wouldn't mind getting out. Dani's been a bit clingy. We've already rewritten her profile three times since you've been gone."

  "No responses yet?"

  Chef Tom shook his head.

  "Well, it ain't going to happen overnight."

  "Hey, any word on any new clients coming in?"

  "Well, it ain't gonna happen overnight," he repeated. Travis smiled at him. He could sense his trepidation and knew exactly what he was driving at. "But don't worry, we always have a few waiting in the wings. We'll have a full house running in no time."