A Friend Is a Gift You Give Yourself

by William Boyle

Harry laughing again. “KO?”

  “Fucking KO.”

  “Rena’s got a little Mike Tyson in her, how about that shit?”

  “I wake up. Blood everywhere. Head’s killing me.”

  “You got a chubby from the Viagra?”

  “Mean one.”

  Harry’s laugh becoming a cough, leaning forward, straining against the seatbelt. He taps Lou. “You hearing this? You’re not laughing? Enzio wakes up with a boner, covered in blood. Old broad bopped him one with an ashtray. That’ll teach you about consent.”

  Lou nods.

  “I make it over to the phone,” Enzio says. “Call nine-one-one. Ambulance shows up. They take me out on a stretcher. I’m so cloudy I don’t even notice.”

  “Notice what?” Harry says.

  “The fucking Impala’s gone. They take me to Maimonides, I get twenty stitches. Doctors look me over, I’m otherwise okay. I get a car service home. That’s when I notice. I get out of the car-service car, I see an empty driveway, my tarp balled up in the garbage. I’m thinking, at that point, it’s just a regular theft. Some kid from the Marlboro Projects taking it out for a joyride on the Belt or something. I’m about to call it in to the cops, it occurs to me: Fucking Rena. My key’s gone. Just the Impala key. Missing from my big ring. I go over, check her house, she’s nowhere to be found. I know she’s got this daughter over in the Bronx. I’m guessing she thinks she killed me, so she stole my car and went on the lam.”

  “You gotta be shitting me,” Harry says.

  “I shit you not.”

  “Well, my friend, you are in an unenviable position, I’d say.”

  “I want the Impala back, that’s it.”

  “What happens it’s not where you think it is?”

  Lou chimes in: “Or it’s messed up?”

  “Cross that bridge when we get to it,” Enzio says.

  Enzio’s antsy to get to Adrienne’s, but Harry wants to be dropped at Nancy’s in Bronxville. He tells Enzio Lou will take him to look for the Impala. Lou saying, “Yeah, right on.”

  Fifteen minutes to Nancy’s, a little brick joint with flowers in the yard, red shutters, a DirecTV dish, and a heavy-duty mailbox. The suburbs, that’s what it looks like. Harry struggles out when they pull up to the curb, asking Enzio if he’s hungry, maybe he wants to come in and eat something first, Nancy’s got some Arthur Avenue Italian bread and can defrost some gravy. Enzio says he’d rather find the car first, it’s tap-dancing on his nerves not knowing where it is or even if it’s in one piece.

  Harry says, “I don’t gotta warn you, do I, it looks like Vic’s crew is involved at all, I’d like my nephew out of there?”

  “They’re not around. It’s a restrained situation. No danger for the kid.”

  “Some of the beefs you had back in the neighborhood, you could be a little reckless.”

  “I could be a hothead, yeah.”

  “I’d say treat Rena with kid gloves, you can. This is a widow. This is Vic Ruggiero’s widow.”

  “I know, I know. I got blinders on for the Impala right now.”

  “Understandable.”

  Harry disappears inside.

  “You want to ride up here?” Lou says.

  “I’ll stay in the back,” Enzio says. “How long to get there?”

  “You got an address?”

  Enzio digs around in his bag, finds the address where he scribbled it on last week’s church bulletin. He shows it to Lou.

  “Silver Beach. Probably take us twenty minutes to get back. We weren’t far when you got off the train.” Lou pulls away.

  “So, what’s your story? You just drive your uncle around all day?”

  “I’m an artist.”

  “An artist, huh?”

  “I do comics.”

  “That’s art?”

  “You don’t think it is?”

  “Superheroes, all that silly shit?”

  “I don’t do that kind of stuff. I write and illustrate stories about regular people. Barflies, clerks in grocery stores, jockeys, a lot of kinds of people.”

  “Sounds boring.”

  “People living isn’t boring.”

  “You draw big jugs, anything like that, maybe you’re talking my language. I see the appeal there.”

  Silence as Lou negotiates them through traffic back to the Hutch. Enzio staring out the window, tapping the glass. Red lights swamping the road.

  “Tell me about your car,” Lou says.

  “It’s a 1962 Chevy Impala two-door. Black paint a mile deep. Red interior. Red vinyl seats with cloth inserts and carpet that’s got black flecks. Under the hood’s a 5.3-liter LS 2 with less than a thousand miles since rebuild. Champion three-row radiator fed by a Holley 600 carburetor. Freshly rebuilt Muncie four-speed manual transmission. Rear axle houses a set of 3.36 gears. Borgeson power steering. Power front disc brakes. New polyurethane bushing between the body and in the control arms. Radial tires. Aluminum alloy wheels. You know cars at all? Long time I’ve had this car. A lot of dough I’ve put into it. Got a guy who works on it special over on Avenue X.”

  “I don’t know shit about cars,” Lou says.

  “You don’t know shit about cars, why’d you ask?” Enzio says.

  Lou shrugs. “You ever think how amazing the world is? Three hours ago, I’m jerking off with this hand.” He takes his right hand off the steering wheel and holds it up. “Now I’ve got it on the wheel, driving you around. A couple more hours, I’ll be eating pretzels with it while I watch the rerun of last week’s Sopranos finale. Not really a finale, but you know. The end of part one of this last season. Anyhow, that’s amazing, isn’t it? Same hand. You’d think maybe we should have different hands for different things. Like: Oh shit, it’s time to put on my jerking-off hand or driving hand or eating hand.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Guys with hooks for hands, how you think they jerk off? Just rub against stuff?”

  “Why you got me thinking about guys with hook hands? What is this?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  “You’re just saying?”

  Lou shrugs, and they drive on in silence.

  When they pull up to Adrienne’s house, Enzio is relieved to see that the Impala is parked out front. Undamaged. He lets out a breath. “Thank Christ,” he says.

  “What?” Lou says.

  “We pull up, it’s just here, was the best-case scenario. That’s come to pass, and I’m relieved.”

  “You want me to stay?” Lou says. “In case there’s any issues?”

  “Nah. Car’s here. I’m gonna get the key and go.”

  “You don’t want to follow me back to Bronxville? You told Uncle Harry you might stay the night.”

  “Same shit, I drive to Bronxville or back to Brooklyn. I don’t like driving in the dark, but I’ve got to do it, I might as well just go home.”

  “Okay. You got Uncle Harry’s number, you need it. Just let us know.”

  “Thanks for the ride,” Enzio says, pushing out his door and then closing it behind him.

  Lou gives him a salute through the window. The Maxima screeches away.

  Enzio walks around the Impala, looking for little nicks and scratches and dents in the glow of the streetlamp it’s parked under. Nothing he can see. He tries the handle. Locked.

  It’s just dark out, the sky still showing a bit of purple on the horizon. It’s nice out here in this part of the Bronx. Different. Feels a little like a beach town or some shit. He takes in the houses around him. A goddamn quality tricycle on one lawn. Enzio wonders why anyone needs such a nice tricycle. How long’s a kid gonna use it? And then to leave it outside like that. Fancy.

  He approaches the house. No bulb on over the front door. He rings the bell, the button crackling a little when he pushes it. He wonders if maybe he should’ve brought a weapon. Not a piece—he’s never liked carrying a piece. But maybe a bat, something like that. He needs to get a little mean, a little confrontational, it�
�s good to have something to swing around.

  Door pops open, and there’s the daughter. Must be the daughter. Even prettier than he remembers. Nice brown eyes, like the girls he went to school with. And she’s got these long nails. Sexy. He imagines them scratching up his back as he throws a mean lay on her. A little bit of Brooklyn left in her, but she’s got some Bronx swagger now. That’s sexy, too. Behind her, he can see the living room’s a mess. Clothes strewn on the couch. A couple of boxes overflowing with junk.

  “Jesus Christ,” she says, looking him up and down, really lingering on the bandages. “Enzio from the corner?”

  “That’s my car out there,” Enzio says. “Where’s your mother?”

  “I recognized it.”

  “Recognized what?”

  “Your car. You’re what—dating Rena now? She says no. Says you let her borrow the car. I’m thinking you don’t just let someone borrow a car like that unless you’re fucking.”

  “I’m not dating Rena, believe me.” He looks over her shoulder. “And I’m definitely not making time with her. She in there?”

  “She’s not here. I didn’t want to see her. I don’t know why the car’s still here. She was hanging out with the lady across the street earlier. Maybe she’s over there.”

  Enzio turns and looks at the house opposite them. “I want this to be easy,” he says.

  Adrienne, dismissive: “I’ve got nothing to do with this.”

  Enzio biting his tongue.

  “Good luck finding Rena,” she says, trying to shut the door on him.

  He stops it with his foot. “I’m not done talking to you.”

  Adrienne sighs. “Whatever’s going on, I’ve got nothing to do with it.”

  Enzio looks over her shoulder again, not believing that Rena’s not in there. “But she’s been here and maybe she’s coming back.” He moves forward. “I remember you from the neighborhood. Your old man, I had a lot of respect for him obviously.”

  “Don’t talk to me about Vic.”

  “Far as your mother, I was just trying to be nice. She clocked the shit out of me and stole my Impala.”

  “Rena did that to you?” Adrienne says, pointing at his head. She laughs. “What’d you do to make Rena go nuts?”

  “Don’t worry what I did. She was out of line.”

  “Well, great to see you, but it’s time for you to fuck off.” Adrienne succeeds in forcing the door closed, Enzio getting his foot out of there before it gets rammed against the jamb.

  Enzio walks back to the Impala and tries the handle again. Still locked, as if it would’ve miraculously opened itself. He looks at the house across the street, tries to get a sense of whether Rena’s in there.

  A big car turns the corner and pulls up behind his Impala. It’s a white ’82 Cadillac Eldorado. Enzio soaks it in. A beaut. His buddy Phil Gambole used to have one just like it, except brown.

  The Caddy purrs to a stop.

  When the guy behind the wheel gets out, Enzio’s taken aback. It’s Richie Schiavano, Gentle Vic Ruggiero’s onetime right-hand man. Richie’s admiring the Impala, maybe remembering it. They only ever talked a handful of times, a Hey, how’s it going here and there.

  “I know this car,” Richie says, looking up at Enzio. “I know you.”

  “Richie, how’s it going?” Enzio says.

  “Vic’s neighbor, right? Fuck you doing here?”

  “Let’s just say there’s been a little issue. It’s under control now.”

  “Issue, huh?”

  Adrienne comes out of the house. Harried. Looking all around.

  “I’m here, sweet thing,” Richie says. “You ready for a new adventure?”

  “Where’s my daughter?” Adrienne says. To Enzio: “You see my daughter come out?”

  “She what, left?” Richie asks.

  “I thought she was upstairs packing,” Adrienne says. “I go up, she’s nowhere to be seen. You believe this shit?”

  “Maybe she’s with Rena?” Enzio says.

  “Rena’s here?” Richie says.

  “I need this like I need a hole in my head,” Adrienne says.

  Richie: “We gotta scoot.”

  Adrienne: “I know we’ve gotta scoot. I didn’t anticipate this shit.”

  “Crea gets wind of this fast, he knows to look here for me. I wish he’d been at Caccio’s so I could’ve just taken care of him, too. Lu got a friend she’d run over to their house?”

  “Maybe she’s with Rena?” Enzio asks again.

  Richie’s confused. “Fuck’s Rena doing here?”

  “You said maybe Rena’s across the street?”

  Richie to Enzio: “What’s your business with Rena?”

  “She stole my car. I just want the key back, that’s all, and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Rena stole your car?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “That can’t be the whole story.”

  Enzio ignores Richie and slug-shuffles in the direction of the house across the street, picking a rose from a well-tended, overflowing bush as he passes it. He hears the trunk of the Caddy open and slam shut behind him, hears Richie telling Adrienne, “I did it, I got the dough,” and then they’re bickering, but he doesn’t look back. He climbs the front stoop of the neighbor’s joint, using the railing for leverage. Standing before the door, he knocks as hard as he can, clutching the rose in his fist, careful not to get pricked by its thorns.

  RENA

  Rena is glad that she allowed herself to be drawn back in by Wolfstein’s words. Hold on a sec. Just hold on. She’s sitting on the couch, Lucia next to her, and thinking about what to do. She takes off with Lucia, what exactly happens? Where will they even go? Not back to her house in Brooklyn. Will Richie and Adrienne pursue her? How much does Adrienne really care about Lucia? And what about Enzio? Is he dead? If he’s still kicking, how far will he go to get the Impala back? Maybe she should just leave it where it is and catch a Greyhound. Her head’s spinning with questions. She can’t believe where the day started and where it’s gone, and there’s that Bobby Murray just passed out at the kitchen counter to make everything that much stranger.

  “Life’s a wild card,” Wolfstein says, touching the bouquet of dried roses that hangs from her ceiling. “That’s one thing I’ve learned. I knew this girl Yum Yum out in L.A. Real sweetheart. She was on the lam from something. I never figured out what. But I’ll never forget, the last time I saw her, she says to me, ‘Wolfie, what’s it all for? All that ever happens is I get my heart broken.’ And that really stayed with me. Everything we do, every decision we make, we’re just trying not to get our hearts broken, right? My thinking is you can’t live in fear of heartbreak. Sometimes you’ve gotta face it head on.”

  “That’s true,” Rena says.

  “I can’t tell you what to do,” Wolfstein says. “I can just suggest you not be rash about your decision. Adrienne comes over, what happens?”

  “I’m not going with her,” Lucia says.

  “What do you want to do, sweetie?” Rena asks her.

  “I don’t know. Tell me something about Papa Vic. What did he like?”

  “I’ll talk about Papa Vic until I’m blue in the face, that’s what you want. He would’ve been so proud of you. Especially with that Yankees cap on.” Rena breaks the tension with a wink.

  Lucia half-smiles. The way she’s sitting, though, Rena can see just how much aggression and worry she carries in her body. Slouch to her shoulders. Legs goose-pimply and quivering. She picks up one of Wolfstein’s crossword puzzle books from the coffee table and thumbs through it anxiously.

  Some commotion out on the street now. Voices whisper-yelling. Night all of a sudden, Rena sees through the blinds, a purplish gloom burying the neighborhood. A trunk slams. Footsteps. And then a loud knocking at the door.

  “Guessing that’s your daughter,” Wolfstein says in a huff.

  “We should’ve just gone, maybe,” Rena says.

  “I’m not going with he
r and Richie,” Lucia says again.

  “I know.”

  Wolfstein goes over and opens the door, ready to duke it out with Adrienne.

  But it’s not Adrienne.

  Enzio stands there. Anger coloring his cheeks. His head bandaged. A rose in his hand. He looks past Wolfstein at Rena on the couch. She can’t believe it’s him. She’s more surprised than shocked or scared.

  “You’re alive?” she says. “How’d you find me?”

  “You’re gonna go where but your daughter’s?” Enzio says. “You don’t like daisies, how about a rose?” He underhands the rose in her direction, and it falls at her feet.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” Rena says, “but you shouldn’t—”

  “This is the guy?” Wolfstein says to Rena. And then to Enzio, getting in his face: “You shouldn’t touch a woman who says don’t touch her.”

  “Where’s the key to my car?” Enzio asks, one hand stroking his bandages, ignoring Wolfstein.

  “I’ll give you the key,” Rena says. “Just go.”

  Richie and Adrienne come trudging up the walkway behind Enzio. “Where’s my daughter?” Adrienne asks, pushing past Enzio.

  “Rena, what are you doing here?” Richie says.

  “I’m not going with you two,” Lucia says.

  Adrienne: “The hell you’re not.”

  Rena: “Adrienne.”

  Adrienne puts up her hand. “Don’t you fucking speak to me.”

  Enzio clears his throat. “Where’s the key, you crazy old bitch?”

  Rena takes the key out of her pocket and throws it at Enzio. It bounces off his shoulder, clanking to the floor.

  “Now you’re throwing keys at me!” He trembles into a lean, struggles to pick up the flat key. “These miles you put on my car. There should be hell to pay for this behavior. Be happy I’m a forgiving guy.”

  “You can shove your hell to pay up your ass,” Rena says. “What you did, you’re lucky I don’t have you killed.”

  Richie puffs up. “This stugatz did something to you, Rena?”

  Adrienne shoulders against him. “Stay out of it. Let’s get Lucia and go.”

  “He tried to rape me,” Rena says.

  “You tried to what her?” Richie says to Enzio.