“They open at one, but the owner lets me have a key in exchange for sexual favors.”
“That’s good.”
“That was a joke, Judd.”
“I know.”
“You used to laugh at my jokes.”
“You used to be funnier.”
She laughs at that. “They all can’t be gems.” Penny looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees. I was plain-looking back in high school, when we were best friends and the sexual tension was mine alone. I’m still plain-looking, only now I’m older, thicker, and sadder.
“Listen, Judd,” she says. “I think we’ve reached that point where this conversation runs the risk of devolving into small talk, and I don’t think either of us wants that. So I’m going to give you a kiss and send you on your way.” She leans forward and kisses my cheek, just grazing the corner of my lips. “I did that on purpose,” she says with a grin. “Give you something other than your ex-wife to think about while you sit all day.”
I smile. “You were always so good at not covering up.”
Penny’s smile is sad and a little off. “It’s the antidepressants. They’ve obliterated whatever filters I have left.”
We made the pact when we were twenty. We were on summer break from our respective colleges. Her boyfriend was backpacking through Europe, and my girlfriend was as of yet nonexistent, and miraculously, after years of seeing me as nothing more than a friendly ear and a sympathetic shoulder, Penny finally seemed ready to recognize other parts of my anatomy. I spent my days working in the flagship store and my nights coming up with places to almost but not quite have sex with Penny, who had arrived at a moral rationale concerning her boyfriend that grandfathered me in as long as there was no actual intercourse. One night, as we lay naked and sweaty in the darkness of my basement while my parents slept upstairs, she stopped her moaning and grinding against my erection to press her damp hands against the sides of my face. “You know you’re my best friend,” she said.
“I do.” It was infinitely less painful to hear it then, with the full length of her hot skin pressed wetly against mine.
“This could be the last summer we ever spend together. The last time at all that we’re even here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Real life, Judd,” she said. “It’s coming for us. Who knows where the hell we’ll end up? So we should make a pact.”
“What kind of pact?” We were still moving lightly against each other, maintaining our rhythm, like joggers at an intersection.
“Two-pronged. First: We always speak on our birthdays, no matter where we are, no matter what’s happening. No exceptions.”
“Okay.”
“And second: If neither one of us has someone by the time we’re forty, we get married. We don’t date; we don’t have long, annoying talks about it. We just find each other and get married.”
“That’s a serious pact.”
“But it makes sense. We love each other, and we’re clearly attracted to each other.” She pressed her damp groin into mine for emphasis.
And what I wanted to say right then was, If it makes so much sense, why do we have to wait until we’re forty? Why can’t we be together right now? But there were backpacking boyfriends and separate colleges to consider. This was summer fun, sweet and loving, but if Penny thought I was falling for her, she’d have put an end to it right then and there, and that was unthinkable to me.
“Come on, Judd,” she said with a grin, running two fingers down the groove of my slick spine. “Will you be my fail-safe?”
I smiled right back at her, like someone who totally got it. “Of course I will.”
And then, to seal the pact, she spit onto her fingers and reached down between us, and for a while there was nothing but the soft wet sounds of lubricated skin on skin and thrashing tongues, until I shuddered and came violently across her soft, pale belly. She smiled at me as I finished, kissed my nose, and then grabbed my hand and pressed it between her spread thighs.
“Now you do me,” she said.
8:50 p.m.
WHEN I STEP out of the store, Horry is sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, trembling. His hand is suspended out the window, the cigarette in it long burned down to the butt.
“Hey, man,” I say.
He doesn’t answer. His head bobs up and down on his neck, and his lips tremble with exertion, like weights are holding his mouth closed. “Unggh,” he says.
His arm is dead weight as I maneuver it back through the window and onto his lap. I drive slowly, but on the first right turn he falls sideways, his head landing on my shoulder, so I pull over and we just sit there for a while, Horry’s head resting on my shoulder as his body trembles like there’s a small electrical current running through him.
Gradually, the trembling subsides, and then, after a little bit, Horry grunts and sits up, wiping the drool off of his chin with the back of his hand. He looks over at me and nods. “You see Penny?”
“Yeah.”
He nods and clears his throat and I can hear the loose smoker’s phlegm rattling around in his chest.
“Can you hear me when you’re, you know, out of it like that?”
“Yeah. Usually. I just can’t talk. It’s like part of me blows a fuse, but the rest of me is there, waiting for the lights to go back on.”
I start the car. “You ready?”
He looks out the window. “This is the block, isn’t it? Where you and Paul got attacked.”
I hadn’t really been paying attention to the scenery, but now I can see we’re on Ludlow, just a few driveways down from Tony Rusco’s house. Paul and I ran for our lives down this sidewalk, the Christmas jingle of the rottweiler’s tags coming up fast behind us. I close my eyes against the sidewalk, but I can still hear his screams, still feel the cold terror crushing my bowels.
Horry leans back in his seat and lights up a cigarette. “I hit Wendy once.”
It takes me a minute to register what he’s said. “I remember.”
“I don’t know if I ever even said I’m sorry for that.”
“She forgave you.”
“I really clocked her good.”
Wendy had taken off a semester to help Linda and Mom care for Horry when he came home from the hospital. Back then they hadn’t yet found the right dose to take the edge off his anger, and he would descend into fits of rage where he tried to destroy anything he could get his hands on. Wendy, who had seen too many movies, decided the best thing to do would be to throw her arms around him and hold on until her love calmed him, but he hurled her across the room, and then when she came back he landed a solid punch, hard enough to break two of her teeth. Wendy didn’t hold it against him, but I think she became a little scared of him after that, and when Linda insisted she go back to school and get on with her life, she didn’t object. The next time Wendy came back to Elmsbrook, it was with Barry in tow.
“That was a long time ago, Horry. You weren’t yourself.”
He nods and blows his smoke out into the night, watching it dissipate in the amber glow of the streetlight. “I’m still not,” he says.
Friday
Chapter 17
2:00 a.m.
I am having sex with Jen. She bucks and writhes under me, her hips rising up hard against mine. Her nails slice my back; her fingers grab my ass and then slide down my thigh to where my leg ends at midcalf in a hard, creased stump. But it’s not me, it’s Wade lying on top of Jen, and I’m sitting on the reading chair by the window, watching them go at it while I pull at the worn straps of my prosthesis, trying to strap it on so that I can get the hell out of there. And now it’s me again, lying in the smooth delta of Jen’s opened thighs, but it’s no longer Jen, it’s Penny Moore, and I’ve got both of my legs again, and Penny’s got her legs wrapped around me, and she’s biting down on my earlobe as she moans, and it’s actually feeling pretty good. Then, from behind me, a low guttural growl, and when I turn, I see the rottweiler, with
the tattered threads of Paul’s red T-shirt still hanging from his teeth, alongside a thick chain of white drool. And when I turn back to Penny, she’s Chelsea, Phillip’s old girlfriend, and I’ve got one leg again, and the dog is crouching, getting ready to attack, and no matter how much I try to pull out of Chelsea, she just keeps rocking her hips and licking her lips. And then the rottweiler is upon us, and I can smell his feral scent and feel the crush of his jaws on the back of my neck, and I’m sandwiched between Phillip’s old girlfriend and a vicious rottweiler and I’ve got one and a half legs and this is not any way to die. And just as I feel the searing pain of the dog’s teeth sinking into the skin of my neck, my shout fills the basement and I wake up shivering violently in my own sweat.
It’s like Stephen King is writing my dreams in to Penthouse Forum.
Chapter 18
8:25 a.m.
The lights go out again while I’m in the shower. When I step out into the basement, Alice is at the electrical panel again in her bathrobe. “We must stop meeting like this,” she says.
“This house sucks,” I say.
Alice smiles. “Which one is it, again?”
“I think it was number fourteen.”
“I can’t see the numbers.”
I go over to her, holding my towel in place with one hand.
“You smell like a little boy.”
“They’ve only got baby shampoo down here.”
“I love that smell.” She leans back against me, breathing deeply. “The smell of a clean baby.”
“Yes. Well . . .” Her own hair is freshly shampooed and has that clean, blow-dried smell, like baked honey, and that, combined with the sheer fabric of her bathrobe and my highly sensitized libido, makes for an awkward family moment. “I’ll have to find a new manly fragrance when I start dating again.”
“Oh, right,” she says, turning around to face me. “We haven’t really talked about that. How are you doing, Judd?”
“I’m fine.” I need to curtail this conversation for reasons both emotional and anatomical. “Here it is.” I lean past her to flip a breaker. The lights don’t go back on, but from upstairs, we can hear Paul yelling, “Who’s dicking around with the damn lights?!”
Alice chuckles and turns around to flip it back. “Paul signs the payroll while he’s on the toilet.”
“Two turds with one stone.”
She laughs and flips another switch. The lights come back on. “Let there be light.”
“Amen.”
“Anyway, Judd,” she says, turning back to me. “I know you’re going through a lot right now, and your family . . . well, they’re not exactly famous for their emotional wherewithal. So, if you ever want to talk, just remember, we were friends long before we were family.”
“Thanks, Alice. I’ll keep that in mind.”
She seems about to say something else, but after a moment she just nods and leans forward to kiss my cheek. I lean forward, not so much to accept the kiss, but to avoid any incidental lower-body contact. Things are hard enough already.
So to speak.
9:37 a.m.
BREAKFAST IS SERVED. On platters, of course. The pastries and bagels continue to arrive every day, courtesy of my parents’ friends and set out by Linda, who quietly lets herself in every morning to see to things. Horry’s here too this morning, sipping thoughtfully at his coffee, sneaking glances at Wendy over the rim of his mug. His T-shirt says, YOU’RE UGLY, BUT YOU INTRIGUE ME. Beneath the T-shirt, his compact muscles bulge in exactly the way mine never did. Tracy is buttering a bagel for Phillip, and Phillip is creaming her coffee, and they’re smiling at each other in a way that makes it hard to look at them. I guess there was no lasting fallout from the Chelsea/Janelle/Kelly visit. Wendy is giving the baby a bottle while Barry chews a muffin and reads the Wall Street Journal. Ryan and Cole are watching cartoons on the small television in the kitchen. Mom is in the kitchen with Linda, organizing the endless array of catered platters. You could fill an airlift to Africa with all the food generated by one dead Jew. Alice is spreading fat-free cream cheese on a rice cake, and Paul is sitting next to her, chewing a glazed donut. He’s at the head of the table, but just to the side of Dad’s chair, which sits symbolically empty.
No one says anything. No one dares.
“Listen,” Paul says. “We need to talk about the Place.”
“The Place” was how Dad referred to the business. He never called it the store, or the shop, or the company. “I’m heading out to the Place,” he would say. “We hired a new girl at the Place.” I guess Paul picked it up somewhere along the way. Alice looks up from her rice cake, and you can hear her ticking, the woman behind the man. Whatever he’s going to say, she knows all about it.
“What about it?” Phillip says.
“Barney will come by at some point to discuss Dad’s will. But this is the part I want to discuss. Dad left half of the business to me. The other half is divided into three even shares for Wendy, Judd, and Phillip. So together, each of you will own one-sixth of a business that has not shown a profit in going on three years. The shares won’t generate any cash for you. Barney will have the bank valuate the shares, and then I’m going to buy them back from you. Depending on the value, I may not have the cash readily available, so I hope you’ll all cut me a little slack until I come up with it.”
“What is each share worth, roughly?” Phillip says. “I mean, what are we talking about here?”
“What about Mom?” Wendy asks. “Isn’t the business hers too?”
“Between Mom’s royalties and Dad’s life insurance and pension, she’s more than taken care of for the rest of her life,” Paul says. “I know you all might have been expecting a little bit more from Dad’s estate. Unfortunately, there’s not much that isn’t tied up in the business, which, like I said, isn’t in the best shape. There is the house though. It’s been assessed at upwards of a million dollars. Dad has it set up in a trust for us. When Mom sells it, we’ll all make a nice profit.”
“I’m not selling the house,” Mom says from the kitchen doorway.
“Well, not right now.”
“Not ever!” she says. “I’m only sixty-three years old, for God’s sake.”
“I just meant—”
“I know what you meant. You want to pull up the floorboards and look for money, you go right ahead. But make no mistake, I’m going to die in this house!”
“Okay, Mom,” Paul says, turning red. He and Alice exchange a quick, guarded look. “Forget I said anything.”
Mom starts to say something else, but Linda comes up behind her and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Hill,” she says. “He didn’t mean it like that.”
“This is my home,” Mom says, still irate.
“I know,” Linda says, leading her back into the kitchen. “It’s okay.”
We all stare at Paul, pissed at him for implicating us.
“The point is,” Paul says, “I’ve been working my ass off to try to save this business. I still don’t know if I’m going to be able to. We’re looking at closing one or possibly two stores—”
“I was actually thinking I’d like to join the company,” Phillip says.
His statement is greeted with stunned silence. Alice looks at Paul, her eyes wide with alarm. Tracy looks at Phillip, proud and knowing. Even Barry puts down his paper to pay attention. Wendy looks at me, her eyes widening with glee. Her smile says, This is about to get good.
“What are you talking about?” Paul says.
Phillip wipes his mouth and clears his throat. “I talked to Dad about it a little while back. It’s something he built for us, something he wanted to pass on. It’s his legacy to us, and I’d like to be a part of it.”
“Okay.” Paul nods his head and puts down his coffee mug. “And what is it you’d like to do for the company, Phillip?”
“I want to help you grow it.”
“The only thing you’ve ever grown was hemp.”
“And I made a profit.”
“Not nearly as much as we spent on your lawyers when you got busted.”
“Listen, Paul. You don’t believe in me. I get that. I never believed in myself either, really. But people can change. I’ve changed. And we complement each other. You’re the brains of the operation, I know that. But what about advertising and promotion? What about personnel and PR? I’m a people person, Paul. That’s who I am. And you’re . . . not one. You’re a good guy, but you’re a hard-ass and, let’s face it, you’re a little scary. You’re actually scaring me right now. Your face looks very red. Are you even breathing? Is he breathing?”
Paul brings his hand crashing down on the table. “This is my life!” he shouts. “I have given the last ten years of my life to this company, and it’s barely supporting Alice and me. I’m in debt up to my ass, and the company is in trouble. I’m sorry, Phillip, but we just can’t afford to be the next stop on your tour of professional self-destruction.”
“I understand why you’d say that, I do,” Phillip says. “But this is a family business, Paul. And I’m in the lucky sperm club, same as you.”
Paul gets up and shoves his chair back. “We’re not having this conversation.”
Mom comes back into the room, looking concerned. “What conversation?”
“Fine,” Phillip says. “I kind of dropped that like a bomb on you. It’s a lot to absorb, and you need a little time.”
“Absorb what?” Mom says. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”
“There’s nothing to absorb, you dumb shit! You’re not coming to work for me!”
“Well, technically speaking, we’d be partners. I’ll buy out Judd and Wendy. Judd’s not interested in the business, right, Judd? And Wendy, you’re going to be richer than God.”
I steal a glance at Barry to see if he’s offended. He is not.
“Baby brother, you can’t even buy a goddamn suit.”
This Is Where I Leave You: A Novel Page 11
