Slipstream

by Leslie Larson

  It was the most amazing thing he’d ever heard. More incredible than the fact that she was pregnant with his child. It seemed ages ago that she’d taken out the pregnancy test, showed it to him.

  “You never told me,” he said.

  She shook her head. “That’s just the way this thing has worked with us, isn’t it? I guess I was afraid to tell you. Afraid if I did, that would be it. That I’d scare you away.”

  She was probably right, but he didn’t let on. His own inadequacy gaped before him like a black pit. She had told him she loved him. It was his turn, now. That much he knew. That was the script: one person says I love you, the other answers I love you, too. Simple. But he couldn’t, just couldn’t. He was a chunk of meat. Limp, numb, mute.

  A gust of wind whipped through the eucalyptus trees, making it sound like they were applauding. Wylie felt mocked.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Carolyn said. “I just decided to tell you.” She pursed her lips and scrutinized him. “What’s wrong with your eyelid?”

  He put his hand over it to stop the jumping. “It’s like there’s something in there trying to hatch out. Damn thing’s driving me crazy. I’m a mess. A nervous wreck.”

  They laughed and things relaxed a little. He felt better, good enough to say, “It’s just kind of hard, the whole thing being up to me.”

  Oops. Wrong move. Carolyn colored and flared. “It’s my choice, Wylie. I know that. I’m not some chick waiting for you to make the decision. I told you I want this kid, but not if I have to raise him or her alone. I just don’t want to do that. I can’t. So that’s the situation and we both have to live with it.”

  “I know, I know,” Wylie said. Jesus, she could go from I love you to pissed off in five seconds. He got up and put his arms around her.

  She pushed him away. “Are you saying you want me to go ahead with it then? To go ahead and get rid of it?”

  “For Christsake, Carolyn. Do you have to say it like that?”

  “Well, what should I say?” Her nose turned red when she was mad.

  “It just sounds so brutal. I mean, I don’t think about it like it’s a thing, like I don’t have feelings for it. I—I think about it all the time.” If you only knew, he thought.

  “It!?”

  “Her, then. Or him. Whatever.”

  “Can you give me some idea of where you’re headed with this? And could you please quit saying whatever?”

  Now was his chance. Just lay it on the line. Be honest. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. She didn’t have much hope for him, he realized. The mournful look in her eyes was not for their predicament, but for him. Was he that pathetic?

  “We didn’t plan this,” he said, more like a question than anything else.

  “No, we didn’t,” she confirmed. She watched him gulp air a minute, then said, “Listen, don’t decide yet. Give it a little more time. A week or so. We can wait that long. I want you to be sure.”

  “But that just makes it harder,” he wailed. God, what a whiner. “Harder on you,” he added in a firmer voice. “You know, the longer we wait. It’s not fair to you.”

  Carolyn rolled her eyes. “God knows we have to be fair.”

  He bent down and pressed his face into her hair. It felt damp, warm near her scalp. Was it the eucalyptus or the turpentine he smelled? Maybe it was her shampoo.

  “You want me to stay?” he whispered against her neck.

  She shook her head. “No, I think you better go. I’m tired. I’m about ready to hit the hay.” She took his hand and pressed the palm to her lips.

  He kissed her cheek, then her mouth. Without looking at her again, he got up and stumbled away, floundering along the path in the dark, the slick eucalyptus leaves sliding under his feet.

  The phone was ringing when he got back to his house. He struggled with the lock, cursing. He was sure it was Carolyn, calling to tell him, on second thought, to go fuck himself. Who could blame her? The dogs mobbed him when he got inside, Elsa tangling in his feet and Murphy launching himself at his stomach. “Get down!” Wylie shouted. The damned dog had never learned not to jump up. They’d also torn something up on the rug under the table. The ice cream carton and the ravioli box, it looked like. Shredded to confetti. The icing on the cake was the indentation in his chair. Someone, Elsa most likely, had been sleeping there.

  “Bad dogs!” he yelled before picking up the phone.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” a male voice said. “I was ready to give up on you.”

  “Hi,” Wylie said tentatively. His heart thumped—wildly, painfully, irregularly. He probably needed bypass surgery, triple or even quadruple.

  “What’s up, man? How’re you doing?”

  Whoever it was obviously thought he needed no introduction. The voice was familiar, but Wylie couldn’t place it. “I’m doing okay,” he said, playing along in hopes that he’d recognize the guy if he spoke a little more. “How’re you?”

  “I’m great, man. Doing fine. That’s why I’m calling. I won this contest and I’ll be taking a little trip. To Mexico, man. Can you believe that? All expenses paid. I’m going to set up down there, really put some roots down, and turn everything around—”

  Whoever it was was flying high. Wylie glanced at the clock: ten minutes until eleven. The guy was a motormouth, talking a mile a minute. Maybe it was a wrong number.

  “And these jobs, they’re just not getting me anywhere. Same thing, day in day out. Working for peanuts, man. Can’t save a dime, and I’m living in a dive, and where’s that going to get me? It’s like I’m going nowhere, fast. It’s not me, you know? I really want to do something with my life, turn it around, and if I stay here doing this I’m just sinking deeper and deeper into a hole. You get me? You know what I’m saying?”

  Elsa stood in front of Wylie wagging her tail. He pointed to the phone, shook his head, and shrugged.

  “Tommy? You there, man?”

  As soon as he heard his first name, Wylie knew it was Logan. The fact that it had taken him so long to recognize his voice showed how far his half brother was from his thoughts. Wylie’s guard went up immediately. When it came to Logan, you were usually talking trouble. He was a sweet guy, a fun guy, but trouble. Always had been. And Wylie had been around enough users to know when someone was high. “You’re going to Mexico?” he interrupted.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying, bro. That’s why I’m calling. I thought maybe we could hook up before I left. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone and I really want to see you. You were always there for me, man. You’re my bro, you know? So before I take off I’d like to get together.”

  Poor guy. To Wylie, their brotherly relationship consisted mostly of him getting Logan out of scrapes when there was no one else around to do it. It’s not like they’d been raised together. “When are you leaving?” he asked.

  “Week from Friday. Friday the thirteenth! Think that’s bad luck?”

  “Nah, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Wylie hesitated before asking, “Listen, Logan. Is everything okay? I mean, is it okay for you to take a trip? You know, leave the country and all?”

  “I won this contest, like I said,” Logan answered brightly, ever the con man. “All expenses paid. How often does that happen? I think it’s a sign for me to pack up and move on, you know what I mean? I really gave it a try here, you know? Tried to stick with things, but they just weren’t working out. I think this is my big chance. Like I can really turn the corner here. You know what I’m saying?”

  “Wait a minute. Are you talking about a vacation, or leaving for good? I’m not really getting what you have in mind.”

  Logan paused in his rapid-fire barrage, and in that moment’s hesitation Wylie felt just how lost his brother was. The dumb shit.

  “Because if you’re talking about leaving for good, about moving to Mexico, I really think you could be making a mistake,” Wylie said as kindly as he could. At the same time he wondered why he was bothering. If Logan left,
he’d be one less thing to worry about. One less bad-news phone call.

  “It’s a lot harder than you think to just go and set up down there,” Wylie went on, despite his better instincts. “For one thing, it’s probably not even legal. I’m pretty sure that if you try something like that, they’re going to lock you up again, Logan.”

  “They’re not going to lock me up again, Tommy,” Logan snarled in a menacing tone. He was definitely high, probably strung out. “I am not breaking the law, they are not going to catch me, and they’re definitely not going to lock me up.” He huffed audibly several times. When he spoke again he was calmer. “I just need a change of scenery, that’s all. I’m going to play it by ear. See what happens. That’s all.” He heaved a huge sigh. “So, do you want to get together or not?”

  Wylie sighed, too. He looked down at Elsa, who was staring toward the kitchen. Murphy was back under the table, licking the pieces of torn-up paper.

  “Sure, Logan. Sure I want to see you. When do you want to get together?” I’ve got a kid on the way, he thought of saying. Any advice?

  “Great, that’s just great, because I really want to see you. You mean a lot to me, you know, Tommy.”

  Logan, the man of many moods. Wylie just wanted to get off the phone.

  “I thought maybe I could see you on my way out,” Logan said. “You know, at the airport. I could come a little early and stop by the bar.”

  “Fine,” Wylie said. “What time will you be there?”

  “Well, my plane leaves at eight, so I figure around six-thirty or seven. How’s that?”

  “I can’t. I work days, Logan. Seven to three. I’ll have to meet you some other time.”

  “Shit, man. Too bad. Let’s see—”

  “Wait, not this Friday, right?” Wylie interrupted him. “You said next Friday, didn’t you?”

  “Right, the thirteenth, remember?”

  “Yeah, how could I forget? It just so happens I traded shifts with the other bartender that day. She has her daughter’s birthday party or something. So I’ll be there, believe it or not.” Wylie laughed. “I never work nights. You always get your way. You’re a lucky son of a bitch, Logan. Always were.”

  Logan laughed, too. “That’s right. How do you think I won this contest? Things always work out for me. One way or another, they always do.”

  Friday, December 13

  24

  Jewell didn’t see Eli’s car, so she parked in front of the address he’d given her and waited. It was a hilly section of Boyle Heights: the street in front of her rose like a hump on a rollercoaster. The houses were wood frame, three stories, unusual for L.A. The house at 2624 must have been yellow once, but now it was faded to the color of old parchment, the trim a brownish red. Fallen berries from a big eugenia bush on one side of the house had stained the driveway purple. At this hour, two o’clock, the only person in sight was the mailwoman who walked with a slow, deliberate pace up to each house. She was tea-colored, large, wearing shorts that showed off her sturdy legs. Sunk in the driver’s seat, studying the scraggy lawns and the sagging faces of the sun-bleached houses, Jewell felt like she was on a stakeout. She wondered how people ever decided to fold up and clear out, how they managed to leave each other, find new homes, start new lives. She wondered how she would ever do it.

  Eli’s car appeared in her rearview mirror, and she watched it slide down the hill and pull up behind her. Just a couple of weeks before Christmas and he had on shorts, too, like the mailwoman. Flip-flops, sunglasses, a Hawaiian print shirt.

  She got out of her car and leaned against the side.

  “So, what do you think?” Eli said when he walked up.

  Jewell shrugged. “Looks nice. Seems like a quiet street and everything.”

  “Wait till you see it. My friend, the guy who just moved out, lived here three years. It’s funky, but cool. There’s something special about it.”

  “That’s good, because I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel. You wouldn’t believe what’s out there. Yesterday I looked at a place with this woman named peregrine. peregrine. Small p. You can’t believe the rules. No meat, no scents, no booze or drugs of course.”

  “No tuna, no sugar, no men with penises?” Eli added.

  “Right.” Jewell managed to laugh.

  “You still living in the closet?”

  Jewell shook her head. “Celeste has more or less moved out. She stays at Dana’s almost all the time. Stops by to pick up her mail or get some clothes, but she never spends the night. She already gave notice. She’ll be back with her happy little family in no time.”

  Jewell stared down at the street and watched the asphalt blur as her eyes filled. She pressed her lips together to keep her chin from quivering and waited until the blacktop came back into focus. She was so sick of crying.

  “Well, shall we go have a look?” Eli said, too cheerfully. “I have the key.”

  “You know I’ve never even lived by myself?” For some reason Jewell didn’t want to go inside. The sky was overcast and there was a light wind, but during the lulls between the gusts, the weak sun pushed through the clouds. The warmth felt good.

  “You haven’t?”

  “Nope, I just realized it the other night. Either I’ve lived in a house with a bunch of people, or I’ve gone from one person to another. You know, I was living with Hasani when I met Celeste, and I moved straight in with her. I always think that this one’s going to be different, but they’re all the same. And worst of all I realize that I’m the same, that I’ve done it again.”

  “Well, maybe this time it’ll be different. Shall we go?” Eli indicated the house with his chin. “Sorry, but I have a shift later today, so I don’t have a lot of time.”

  They walked down a driveway that ran around the side of the house, to a rickety wooden stairway strung against the outside wall.

  “Remember these berries?” Eli said when they passed the eugenia tree. “Did you used to eat them when you were a kid?”

  “Yeah. We used to write on the sidewalk with them.” She bent down and scraped a message on the driveway with the biggest berry she could find: SOS. “Hey, it still works.”

  “Better not come home too wasted if you live here,” Eli said as they climbed. “One false step and you’re roadkill on these stairs.”

  “Yeah, too bad. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it when I’m an old lady.”

  At the top of the stairs, the porch felt like a pile of matchsticks fastened to the side of the building with four nails, max.

  “Fucking hell, is this safe?” Jewell asked.

  They were three stories up; the door was just under the roof. From the porch you could see over the other rooftops. In the next yard a fat kid was bouncing a ball against the back of the house. He looked up and waved.

  “You get used to it,” Eli said. “Besides, that’s what makes it so affordable. If it was a legal apartment, everybody would be swarming the place. Here we go.”

  He pushed the door open and Jewell caught the smell of sun-warmed hay. She peered into the long, narrow space. The ceiling sloped; the beams were open. There were three windows, a wood floor. Something stirred in her chest. At the far end of the room, looking down on the backyard, was a makeshift kitchen with a tiny fridge, a stovetop, and a small sink.

  “Bathroom’s there,” Eli said, pointing to the other end of the room, toward the street. “And Jules, come here. Check this out. You put your mattress right here,” he said when she’d joined him under a skylight. “At night you see the stars.”

  Jewell looked up at the naked sky. Had it really come to this? “I don’t know,” she said after a long pause.

  “Ah, Jules. Come on! What’s not to like?”

  “When do I have to let the landlady know whether I want it or not?”

  “You snooze, you lose, girlfriend. It’s already Friday. Chriselda needs the money pronto, and there are plenty of people who’ll take it. She wants to know before the weekend’s over.”

/>   “Why’re you pressuring me?” she snapped.

  With a look of amazement, Eli held up his hands. Jewell watched the emotions pass over his face: surprise, disappointment, and finally dismissal. “Hey, no pressure,” he said. “Do whatever you want.”

  “I just don’t want to give up if it’s not really over. Relationships aren’t easy, you know. They take work,” Jewell recited. She realized how lame she sounded, but she couldn’t stop. “And there’s Rachel, too—her little girl. And Celeste. I still, you know—” She looked at Eli, watched him blur around the edges. “I still—have feelings for her.”

  “Look, Jewell. I’m not telling you what to do,” Eli said in a tired voice. “If you don’t want the apartment, don’t take it.”

  She walked to the window in the little kitchen and looked down into the yard. There was a clothesline, a barbecue, a weather-beaten lawn chair. Now or never, she told herself.

  “I need time to think,” she told Eli.

  “Okay, let’s go, then.”

  Jewell felt like she should hold on to the rain gutter while Eli locked up, in case the porch gave way. The fat boy with the ball was gone. You could see a lot from that height: billboards a few streets over, telephone wires, the freeway overpass, trees.

  “The river’s right over there,” Eli said.

  “Where?”

  “Just there, on the other side of the freeway.”

  “Wow,” Jewell said, picturing it not as it was now, a brown spill imprisoned between concrete walls, but as it had been: a real river lush with cattails, twisting and turning.

  “Thanks, Eli. I’ll let you know,” she said, resting her hand on his shoulder as they made their way back down the wobbly stairs.

  Celeste’s car was parked out front when Jewell got home. It had been over a week since they’d seen each other face-to-face. A wave of joy washed over her. Idiotic and definitely not a good sign, but she rushed to get out of her car all the same, as excited as if they were newly in love, as if they’d been involuntarily separated for some time and were about to have a happy reunion. When she got to the sidewalk there was a racket and a clatter. She turned just as the Avon Lady bumped over the curb on her crazy bike.