“You got a problem?” I say, and I grab him. “What are you staring at?”
“Go screw yourself!”
I try to live and let live, but some people have it coming. Know what I’m saying? Next thing, I’m whaling on him. Blood is gushing out his nose. He’s on the ground, and I’m kicking his head like a broken parking meter.
“Stop it!” Reese says. “He wasn’t doing anything! Stop it!” Meanwhile, other people are cheering me on. LA, huh?
Finally, my car arrives. Reese gets in. I’m still not played out, but Stuart isn’t moving anymore, so I let him be, then throw down the ticket and twenty bucks.
“Take a shower.”
“Let’s go, okay?” Reese says from the car.
Is any of this resonating with you?
Things get nuts back at the apartment. We’re going at it pretty good. Reese is saying my name over and over.
“I can’t believe how you took care of him! Oh! You— You were so good. Sooooo goooood.”
No one can resist this kind of bed talk. I was an animal. After, I’m lying there wrung out. I used to smoke, so now I wish I had a cigarette.
“You are so great. It’s like you know what I want.”
Check it out. Reese looks at me and says, “I want it, too.”
But something is still bothering me. “Listen. Did you know that guy back there at the restaurant?”
“Long time ago. Don’t worry; it’s nothing. I’m here for you.”
I’m starting to get these deep feelings. It’s too soon, but I can’t help it. “I really want us to—”
“Shh,” Reese says. “I want what you want. That’s all. Only what you want. You’re so good. Sooooo goooood.”
For no reason at all, I cry—I can’t help it. I’m like a baby. The tears are running hot all down Reese’s body. Meanwhile, Reese is saying over and over, “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” I felt like an ass.
I don’t know when I drifted off, but I had that dream again. Clouds. The squeaking noise. The fat rope inching its way over the rusty pulley. The tips of angel’s wings slowly coming into view. Now I see the angel. It’s me, only I’m bald and wearing an LA Angels jersey with cheap foil wings—being lifted up by the belly. I look around, and discover that the clouds are actually painted on a phony background, like some community theater production. I look up to see a huge brown rat on the rope. He’s chewing through it deliberately. I hate rats.
When I wake up, I can still hear that horrible chewing noise. Reese is gone. It’s time to get ready for my presentation.
We were meeting in the large conference room. That made me nervous. America’s Pride Adult Diapers is a new prospective account. Procter & Gamble acquired them not too long ago. The idea was, if things went well with the new brand, P&G might throw more business our way. We needed it. Things hadn’t been so good for a while.
So, I’m setting up my laptop for the presentation. The table is surrounded by suits with gray hair and sour faces—you know the type. One of these faces belongs to our senior vice president. Like I said, I’m nervous as hell. My mind keeps wandering back to the previous night with Reese, only it gets all mixed up with that stupid dream. Suddenly, I hear the squeaking noise, and I’m about pass out. When I turn, I can see the catering people pushing a food cart with a bad wheel through the open doors.
The good news is, the presentation went off without a hitch. The client loved the campaign. Active seniors seizing the day and all. So, I’m heading back to my office when I see the SVP talking to my boss. I figure they’re replaying my presentation. It was awesome, by the way.
Later, I’m on the phone with a director who’s shooting an ad for another client. My assistant Julie comes in with a message.
“There’s a Reese on the other line,” she says. So, naturally, I take the call.
“Hello? Hi. No, it’s fine. Tonight? Yeah, that would be great. Listen, I think I pulled it off. Just like you said. No big deal.”
Later that night, I’m lying in bed with Reese.
“You should’ve seen that old bastard Miller,” I say. “He was mesmerized.”
“The client? I’ll bet.” Reese’s voice sounds kind of funny.
“Yeah. He invited me to go sailing with him. Can you believe it?”
“So, will you get a promotion?”
“Promotion?” I hadn’t even thought about that. “Yeah, I guess someday,” I say. “No, right now it’s brownie points. I get in good with my boss. Later, he makes it worth my while. It’s like an investment.”
“But you’re in it for the long haul, aren’t you?”
“What, are you kidding? I have to be. I’m not letting the rest of those losers get past me. No way. Hey, I put in the hours.”
Then Reese gets out of bed and dresses.
“Where are you going? I thought you were going to stay over.”
“I have to go. Call me tomorrow, okay?”
“Sure.” This was a little strange—I’m hoping you can help me. Feel free to chime in.
Before leaving, Reese turns to me and says, “I hope you get everything you want.” To be honest, I was a little creeped out.
That night, I had the dream again. Clouds. The squeaking noise. The rope inching its way over the pulley. I’m bald, and I’m being hoisted up by the belly. I look down and open my mouth to say something. Only now I have no teeth. I see someone way down below on the ground.
It’s Reese.
Reese is the one controlling me. Only it’s not Reese. It looks like a statue the color of bronze. And there are no eyes. Just these slit-like openings that lead into total blackness.
The next morning, I’m rushing to the office. The wind is blowing again. A stewbum and some woman in Armani are suddenly dancing, then are blown apart again. It’s the little things, am I right?
For some reason, I have no messages. Julie informs me that my boss wants to see me. I’m thinking they want to promote me based on my presentation. So, I’m drinking coffee at my desk, reading the Wall Street Journal. Finally, Julie pokes her head in and tells me it’s time.
My boss has the nicest office on the floor. The whole thing is decorated with antiques. I’m standing there, checking out a beautiful Chesterfield cabinet filled with photos and pricey ceramics, and I’m thinking, yeah, you killed yesterday. Here we go. My boss walks in behind me, then closes the door. Here’s how it all went down. You’ll like this part.
“Have a seat,” he says. “Want some coffee?”
“No, thanks. Um, did Miller decide yet?”
“As a matter of fact, he did. They want to go with us.”
“That’s great! I had a feeling he liked me.”
“Well, don’t forget that Harlan did most of the work before you came on board. Solid work.”
“Of course.”
“But let’s get on to new business. As you know, the agency hasn’t done so well the last three quarters. We’ve been struggling pretty badly, in fact.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’ve been trying to focus—”
“The thing is, to stay competitive, we’ve really got to cut back. You understand. I’m afraid I have to let you go.”
“What?”
“Business isn’t picking up the way we had hoped. It’s not your fault; it’s the damned economy.”
“But I got you the America’s Pride account!”
“I’m sorry. I wish it were different.”
“I can’t believe it—”
“You have a meeting with HR now to discuss your separation package. Again, I’m sorry.”
It was like a nightmare. I had to suck back the tears as I cleaned out my desk. The whole time, a security guard is watching me uncomfortably.
“You don’t have to breathe down my neck! I’m not going to steal anything!” I say. At least I got him to flinch.
Outside, the wind is still blowing. An inflatable sex doll shoots by and sticks to the window like it was open for business, then disappears.
Now I’m sitting behind the steering wheel of my Porsche in the parking lot, not really looking at anything. Damn thing isn’t even paid off. I notice a terrified mongrel dog running in circles without reason. The thing of it is, I was on a fast track. I call Reese, but there’s no answer. I go to leave a message, but I hang up instead.
For the next few hours, I drive around aimlessly through LA. It’s getting dark. Two punks on the street hassle an old man. Some wretch, wearing a dress and a fake fox fur, pushes his shopping cart in front of my car. “Fast track,” he says. Now he’s giggling uncontrollably. A lonely old woman in rags pulls a couple of hollow-eyed children onto a city bus. In an alley, raccoons tear at the clothes of some stewbum who died earlier. An elderly priest makes the sign of the cross toward me as I pass his graffiti-covered church.
“Save someone who gives a shit,” I say.
I end up in some rat-hole bar on Skid Row—I don’t know where. There are mostly men in there. The game is on the big flat screen TV. I decide to get hammered. Over the next two hours, I take turns throwing down Johnnie Walker and calling Reese. I see that smelly valet Stuart with some of his drinking buddies. They’re all dressed like valets. I turn back to the TV right when an America’s Pride Adult Diaper commercial comes on. Images of happy, active geezers winning at everything appear on the screen. Here comes the tagline—my tagline: Turn “incontinent” into “confident.”
The anger wells up inside me. Next thing, I’m hurling my glass at the flat screen. Well, they throw me out on my ass. I try to remember where I parked and, as I make my way past the homeless and the old winos, I’m actually cursing to myself like one of those crazy people on the street. Then Stuart appears from out of the shadows. His friends are with him. I try to focus, but I can’t.
“Hey, diaper boy,” he says. This strikes me as funny, and I giggle.
Now he pushes me. Okay, so now I’m scared. I try to run, but the other valets drag me into an alley.
“Lemme go!” I say. “What the hell!”
The others hold me by the arms as Stuart punches me in the face and stomach. Payback. I double over. They let me collapse to the ground. I vomit. That was it. I thought I was dead. My temple is streaming blood. I can no longer see out of my left eye. One of the other valets comes toward me with a white box—the kind you get from the laundry. He tosses it on the ground next to me. I don’t know what to think. They’re all standing there, waiting.
“What is it?” I say.
“Open it.”
So, I pull the lid off the box. What do you think was inside? Come on. Take a guess. I’ll give you a dollar. No?
A black vest.
“What?”
“It’s your only way out,” Stuart says.
“I don’t give a loose crap what—”
“Think it over,” he says. Then they leave.
The wind whistles through the alley. Groaning, I look out toward the street. A mirage-like man in a white jacket moves toward me with a silver tray. I try to focus my good eye. It’s that waiter from Totentanz—Salvador! He comes over with some kind of beverage. Helps me into a sitting position.
“Come on, drink,” he says. “It’s iced coffee.”
“I puked.”
While I sit there in my own sick drinking the coffee, Salvador goes to find my car. We’re in the street now where my car is waiting. He opens the passenger door and helps me inside. I look over to see who’s driving.
It’s Reese.
But you probably guessed that, right? Hey, don’t go. This is the best part. So, Reese moves quickly through traffic now, not looking at me.
“What happened?” I say.
“You were beat up.”
“What for?”
I must’ve drifted off. When I open my eyes, Reese has pulled over on a freeway overpass. The wind is screaming through the empty streets. It’s a desert, after all. We both get out. Below, I can see cars racing in both directions. I’m delirious—rocking and looking over at all the traffic below. Reese comes up behind me. We have to scream to be heard.
“People go over all the time,” I say. “People without identities. With stupid little problems nobody cares about.”
“But your problems are a lot bigger, aren’t they?” Reese says. “You’ve got so much to carry on those broad shoulders of yours.”
“That’s right, I do! I make a lot of money—”
“Made a lot of money.”
“What’re you contradicting me for? I thought you were on my side! I’m telling you, I’m somebody!”
“And you do things, don’t you? We know how you roll, baby.”
“All these responsibilities! I pay my fair share! I keep this stinking country on its feet! Not like the rest of these assholes.”
“And what about all those service industries? Think of the families you’re feeding. Children too poor to have milk.”
“You sarcastic—”
“What’s needed here is a statement. You need to lead the way for others, as you’ve always done in the past. Show us. Show us what it means to be a man. No, a leader of men.”
“I should do it. Screw all of you! What does anybody care?”
“Come on. Put on the big boy pants. Show us your bravery.”
Without another word, I go over. But I can still hear Reese. “It’s like you said. Some people have it coming.”
I saw you flinch there. It doesn’t make any sense, I admit. Guy jumps the railing; next thing he’s talking to me in a bar. Finish your drink. I can’t wait to tell you.
I did go over, but I didn’t clear the sign that’s bolted to the overpass, see? I got caught on it and hung there like meat. I could hear my Porsche starting up. Always loved the sound of that car. Anyway, some driver on the freeway must’ve spotted me and called 911. After about ten minutes, a fire truck appears, and they pull me up just like in the dream. Then they take me to Emergency—Good Sam, I think. I find out that I have a detached retina. That’s what the bandage is for. Not sure I’ll ever see out of my left eye again. Whatever.
After an hour or so, I’ve had enough and check myself out. I have no car, and I’m on the wrong side of the 110 freeway. I can hear loud music coming out of some Mexican bar on Sixth Street. I have to get my head straight. I could’ve called a cab to take me back to my apartment; I still had my wallet and my credit cards. But I was feeling, I don’t know, alive. Like I’d almost died up there on that sign. And I wanted to see how far I could take this thing. Hard to explain, but there it is.
What I needed was a gun.
It took me a long time to get here. Call it luck—whatever—I spotted my car outside this place. The keys were still in it. Pretty sloppy, I’d say.
I came in from that bitch of a wind looking for you. I thought you’d be glad to see me—happy that I wasn’t dead. No? You should have checked, Reese. Made sure I’d actually fallen into traffic. I guess maybe you were tired. Understandable. I am a handful. Fortunately, as you can see, I was able to locate a gun. I’ll give you a ten-minute head start for old times’ sake.
Now, run.
A Bone in the Throat
If you’re going to kill yourself, you need to put some thought into it. Sol considered the array of prescription medications lined up on the kitchen counter. In the old days, you would put your head in the oven, he remembered. Sloppy but effective. Nowadays, you used a gun. Or pills. He didn’t own a gun, and he had no intention of going through all the mishegoss of trying to acquire one.
Sol had a lot of ailments to be sure. He was nearing eighty-five, and since his wife Esther died, he had been in lousy spirits. Family helped. His younger brother Ben came over to the house regularly to cheer him up. They played chess like they used to when they were kids, only now it wasn’t for quarters. Sometimes, Sol’s nephew came along, and they would all enjoy a game of Monopoly. He adored his nephew.
But it was the business with the house that had finally gotten to Sol. Bills were going unpaid. The gas company threat
ened to cut him off. He didn’t want to turn into a charity case. He had always made his own money—he had never relied on anyone. That’s why he never told Ben about his mortgage problems. Instead, he went to the bank to work things out on his own. That didn’t help. Their hands were tied, they said. Nothing they could do, what with the economy. His only option was to sell.
Sol didn’t want to sell. He had lived in the house—in the neighborhood—for most of his life. It was the home he bought for Esther when they married. He had waited until he had enough for a down payment, which necessitated a five-year engagement. He wasn’t sure Esther would put up with it. She was a beautiful girl from Hancock Park with sparkling blue eyes and curly blonde hair. With her looks, she could have married anyone.
But she did wait for him, God bless her. She knew a good catch, he supposed. And she never complained about not having the big fancy wedding and the honeymoon on a cruise ship. It was enough for her they were married. Sweet girl.
Though they both wanted them dearly, they were never blessed with children. Sol often asked God why, and the answer was always the same. A profound silence that could have been interpreted as It is not for you to know, Sol, or Why are you asking me?
Eventually, Sol stopped asking and concentrated on working and saving enough to put his nephew through medical school since his brother couldn’t afford it. Once that was accomplished, Sol thought he would retire so he and Esther could travel like they had always talked about.
Then Esther became ill.
After all the doctors and the hospitals and the operations, their nest egg had dwindled away. By the time his wife died in the hospice, Sol was left with nothing but the house and the furniture and the memories of their time together. And now even the house was in peril.
So he went to see a young man named Mr. Phillips, who promised to get Sol out of trouble. He seemed sincere as he explained how he had done this for lots of folks like Sol. He would find a renter—giving Sol permission to remain in the house of course—and the money would take care of the mortgage payments.
Come As You Are Page 9
