Granted, Tobias supplied ninety percent to Brody’s ten, but it was the ten percent that tied the works together. Brody liked to compare their collaboration to an automobile, with his contribution representing the tires. Sure, Tobias was the body, the chassis, the engine, the fancy upholstery and the horn, but without Brody’s tires, the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere.
It took only a few seconds for these separate revelations to pass through both men’s minds. But as they regarded each other, they simultaneously decided the promise of another crack at immortality was better than what either of them had going on now.
Cranking out a few more memorable songs did have limited rewards, but those seemed a lot more appealing than sinking into oblivion so early in their lives, especially after such stunning successes. Plus, Brody needed that sense of purpose.
Tobias, though he spent virtually all his time hidden in hats and glasses, missed the adoration and fame, but it was unlikely he’d ever admit that to himself or anyone else. So, both men had something to prove and something to gain. Having acknowledged this fact to themselves, they wordlessly agreed to rise above trivial conflicts and concentrate on recapturing their old magic.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Problem is, I’m not sure I’ve got anything in the fridge that’s edible,” Brody said as he hugged Roberta close to him.
“I think there’s a frozen pizza, and maybe some eggs,” she said.
“Well, that’s not going to cut it after a workout like this,” Brody said, removing his hand from around Roberta’s waist. “What do you say we go get a proper meal, Tob? I haven’t had anything but a power shake for breakfast. I know the way you eat—you’ve got to be ravenous by now. Want to go out and do it right, kind of a celebration for our first song? Why don’t you call Monique, see if she wants to join us,” Brody offered magnanimously. It was no secret he and Monique were hardly bosom buddies.
Tobias had used every bit of his concentration working up his new song, and had been completely oblivious to his corporal needs. He suddenly realized he too was in the need of food, but that need was secondary to his desire to be alone for a while. He consulted his watch as he considered his response.
“That sounds like a great idea, man, but I’ll have to take a rain check. Monique already has some sort of plans for this evening. In fact, I’m going to catch hell from her if I don’t get a move on,” he said, standing.
Brody was disappointed, but he tried not to show it. “Oh sure, man—we’ll do it some other time. I just want you to know this was awesome, man. I really mean it. It’s like we turned back the clock,” he said, suddenly feeling emotional.
Tobias held out his hand, which Brody took, shaking it vigorously. Then he pulled Tobias to him for a manly hug. Tobias endured the crushing without comment, wishing for the moment to pass as quickly as possible.
Tobias patted Brody roughly on the back to speed things up a bit. “All right, man. I’ll call you,” Tobias said, releasing himself from his partner’s embrace as gently as possible.
“Okay, man,” Brody said, visibly affected by their renewed closeness. Roberta moved in to provide a replacement for Tobias, one that Brody gratefully accepted.
Once outside, Tobias’s mood soared. As soon as the session was over, he started yearning for fresh air and time by himself. What had just transpired required time to digest. Without theatrics or mind-wrenching contortions, Tobias had managed to recapture control over the indefinable source of his talent. Somehow, he had broken through the invisible barrier that had prevented him from writing new music.
And yet, it had happened so effortlessly. Why had he not initiated a reunion before now? Why had he put Brody off for so long? Because he doubted himself. Until a few short hours ago, he had only a slim hope of rending anything even remotely promising from what remained of his soul. And now—now he had crossed the line, slipped back to the other side of the looking glass, done the impossible.
Tobias shivered. He broke out in a cold sweat as he realized what he had accomplished. He felt high, without the aid of drugs. He was so giddy, he laughed like a schoolgirl, generating suspicious looks from passersby. Somehow, he had broken the spell. This song was a bit of a lark, nothing serious and certainly not substantial enough to solidify a successful comeback. But writing it made him feel he was on the right track, with nothing but green lights ahead of him.
No doubt, it was far too early to feel smug. He had a good start, and more importantly, he could feel the change in himself. It was for real, but there were no guarantees it would last. He had to guard this valuable reconnection with his talent, guard it from all the elements that had caused him to lose it in the first place.
Tobias sighed. He already knew this was going to be unpleasant. The people and habits that had weakened his hold on his creative pulse were the very ones he craved the most. He liked hanging out with pretty young things, wasting time and money on their compulsive pursuits of fleeting satisfaction. He liked drinking, carousing, staying out late, philandering, spending extravagant sums on a whim. He even liked the stalemate his marriage to Monique had become, preferring it to the alternative, which was too ugly to think about.
His command of his virtuosity had been reinstated less than a day, and already it was making unreasonable demands of him. Yet, he knew he had no choice. Now that it was within reach, every fiber in his body yearned for his old way of life, the life of the post-beatnik poet swinging the world by the tail.
He walked toward Union Square for no particular reason. Once there, he kept walking, more aimlessly now, walking merely to keep moving, to keep his thoughts flowing. After about an hour, he was forced to entertain more practical thoughts, such as what to do about his voracious hunger and his growing fatigue.
He was loath to go home; nothing could stymie his momentum faster than an inopportune encounter with Monique. There was a good chance she’d be out, but then again, he didn’t want to take that risk. He couldn’t fathom spending time with Simone and her brothers, benign as they were.
Yet he couldn’t feel completely free knowing they could both be leaving an endless barrage of voicemails for him, impatiently trying to run him to ground. He ducked into the nearest phone booth and took the decisive step of deflecting their assaults. He avoided using his cell phone, as he didn’t really want to know how many voicemails he had. He called his house first, got a recording, and called Monique’s cell phone.
“Hey, it’s me. Where are you?” he asked, taking the offensive before his wife could get her wits about her.
“I’m downtown with Lila. We’ve just done a little shopping and we’re on our way to meet Per and Anatole at their hotel for a drink, then take it from there. Did you get my voicemails? I called you at least three times today,” she said snapping back into her usual mode.
“No, that’s why I called you. I lost my phone somewhere.”
“Oh shit. Better call to cancel service. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow, if I can find the time. Where are you?”
“Brody’s. We’ve had an unbelievable session today—”
“Really?” she asked icily.
“Really,” Tobias countered.
“Great—that’s awesome. Hey, why don’t you join us?” she asked with unaccustomed enthusiasm. “We’ll probably go to L’Etoile or Jasmine later on. It would be fun. It wouldn’t hurt to put in an appearance with the ol’ wifey every now and then,” she said, growing snide again. Tobias could tell she already had a few cocktails in her.
“Sorry, can’t. I just called to let you know Brody and I are making major headway—we’re really on fire right now, and we don’t want to break the flow. Don’t expect me any time soon. What’s your day like tomorrow?” he asked.
“Tomorrow is going to be a real bitch for me. I’ve got an ungodly early Pilates class, then appointments all day. Why do you ask?”
“Just wanted to let you know there’s a chance we might head up to Brody’s country place for some intensive
brainstorming,” he lied.
“When will you be back?” Monique asked somewhat skeptically.
“Don’t know—don’t know for sure if we’re even going. I’ll let you know. Okay, got to get back to work. Love you,” he said.
“You too, babe. Call me,” she said rather urgently. Tobias hung up and dialed Simone’s apartment. She didn’t answer, so he left a message, a gentler rehash of the story he had just told Monique. He made it short and sweet, just long enough to establish an alibi for at least a couple of days. He exited the phone booth, feeling freer than he had in years. To secure his liberation, he discreetly tossed his cell phone in the first trashcan he came across, a step that lightened his load even more.
Tobias never so much as glanced at his watch all night. He wandered from one drinking establishment to the next, stopping at an all-night diner at some point, prowling through parts of the city he had never been to before, moving through the night like an unseen alien. He felt almost invisible. The less conspicuous he became, the more at ease he became. There was no one around him who knew who he was, no one who wanted a piece of him or his time. He was absolutely anonymous.
The pace of his evening energized him, washing away his fatigue. It was as if he drew strength from feeding off the conversations of those around him, like an undetectable human leach. He emptied his mind of his own thoughts so he could absorb his impressions of the strangers he encountered, sizing them up as he read the clues they displayed about themselves.
Gradually, the bars and pubs closed, leaving him to wander after-hours clubs and extra-sleazy flesh joints. Those places quickly lost their appeal, and Tobias was left with cruising down the deserted streets, the blocks slipping by as he automatically plodded along. He walked all the way uptown and made a loop, by dawn arriving where he had started out.
He laughed weakly as he discovered he was across the street from Frank’s Coffee Shop. This was where it had all started almost twenty-four hours earlier. It amazed him that one day had forever altered his life.
It was only quarter to seven, and already there was a light but steady stream of customers coming and going. Tobias leaned against a lamppost and watched the activity for a while. He was so desperate for something to eat and a cup of coffee, even Frank’s coffee would be welcome. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to go inside.
As he watched Priscilla and her coworker from a distance, he recognized in them the type of life he had gravitated to once he had sabotaged his father’s hopes for him becoming a Wall Street guru. His expulsion from Harvard Business School for smoking pot took care of that. Horrified as everyone was, they never learned of his real offenses—dealing, gambling, selling term papers—nor did they give him credit for his newly acquired principles of capitalism.
His parents were certain he was trying to drive them into early graves when he took a job as a delivery truck driver for a meat distributor. Even though it had only lasted nine months, it had a profound effect on him. It had changed his whole outlook, giving him a taste of life on the lower rungs of the class structure, forever cementing his phobia of being one of the bourgeoisie.
Of course, looking back, he appreciated how lowbrow and crass that episode of his life really was. Beer cans stuffed full of cigarette butts, gas-guzzling muscle cars and easy camaraderie flashed across his mind’s eye, but he could still recall how exciting and stimulating it seemed back then.
Life on the top hadn’t been so bad either, on the surface, but it had a numbing effect on his soul. He had become so insulated, so protected, he had lost touch with his empathy, and with it his ability to tap into the raw truths about people and life. All he needed was to reacquaint himself with the nitty-gritty, and boom, his mind began to fire on all cylinders. Oh, it was good to feel alive again, half dead from exhaustion, but still more alive than he’d been in years.
His hunger and fatigue finally reached the level that required action. He was on the verge of hallucinating. He was just about to lurch across the street for another unappetizing meal at Frank’s, when a fresh refrain floated through his head.
“Don’t you remember how it feels…Don’t you remember how it feels…Don’t you remember how it feels?” Tobias stood there, frozen, as if experiencing a stroke. The rest of the lyrics came to him not as words, but as a fully formed idea that had been torn into fragments; it was all there, it just needed to be sorted through and assembled.
He reached for his cell phone, forgetting for a moment he had disposed of it. No problem—Brody was an early riser. Without another thought to his physical needs, he headed off in that direction, the new song fairly splitting his head as he sprinted down the avenue.
Seven
Philip sat next to his attorney as they faced off against Marianne and her hired gun, Lou Michelson, the man who surely had inspired every nasty joke ever told about attorneys. His loathsomeness was his calling card; sometimes all it took was the mention of his name to prod the other side into settlement negotiations. He was so repellent, his own clients seldom referred to him by name. Most attorneys dreaded going head to head against him, and very few managed to walk away with their dignity intact.
It took every speck of willpower on Martin’s part to keep from squirming as Lou glared at him and his client with blatant contempt. Martin maintained his appearance of nonchalance by repeatedly reminding himself of all the attributes and privileges he had that his adversary lacked: Ivy League degree, various prestigious country club memberships, and a well-respected name in New York society.
As the two attorneys squared off with a preliminary of bad vibes, Philip stole the occasional glance at his soon-to-be ex-wife. From what he could tell, Marianne was as composed and unflustered as if she were ensconced in her box at the Metropolitan Opera. Her complexion was flawless, her attire was discreetly expensive, and her expression gave no clues as to what lie behind the perfect façade. She would not look at him, though she didn’t give the impression she was intentionally avoiding him, but rather, as far as she was concerned, he didn’t exist.
Her slight of him inflamed Philip at first, but then he began to find the whole charade amusing. If they hadn’t all been assembled for the express purpose of dividing the proceeds of his life’s work, he might have laughed out loud. This was all a farce, anyway. He knew how it would all come down: the lion’s share would go to Marianne, while both lawyers would pocket smaller fortunes, with precious little left for him. He didn’t know why he had to suffer through the pretense of negotiations.
Eventually, the game got underway, with each attorney trying to trump the other by producing documentation supporting their respective client’s position. For every property appraisal Martin offered, Lou flashed another of greater valuation, thereby pumping up Philip’s net worth in order to make a claim for a higher dollar amount. As only three of Philip’s many holdings were already in the process of being sold, there was a lot of room for speculation.
The more the lawyers quibbled over the value, the less interested Philip became in the outcome. One way or another, the three of them were going to bleed him dry. The tediousness of watching them chisel it all up was enough to put him to sleep. That changed, however, when Martin made an objection that prompted Marianne to break her silence.
“You seem to be forgetting I have my young daughter’s future to look out for,” she said, with all the piousness of a devoted, self-sacrificing mother.
“Caitlin will be amply provided for,” Martin said calmly.
Marianne regarded him coldly through thickly lashed eyes. “Not if your client has his way.”
Instantly, Philip’s anger flared. “What are you talking about?” he barked indignantly. “I’ve already agreed to the outrageous sum of six thousand a month for child support.”
“That’s not going to be enough,” she said, still refusing to look his direction.
“What do you mean, that’s not enough? This is one child we’re talking about, one that will be spending half her time with me, don’
t forget.”
The haughty way Marianne raised her eyebrow made Philip flinch. There was an implied threat there that he couldn’t read. What imaginary grievance was she working up now, he wondered apprehensively.
“We’ve already established the child support payments, Marianne,” Martin said with exaggerated courtesy.
“We’ve rerun the numbers, and that figure ain’t going to fly,” Lou said. “You’re going to have to make it eight thousand, or we’ll have to let the court set the amount. You’re going to have to come up with a better alimony figure, while you’re at it,” he said menacingly.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Philip said, shooting up from his chair like a Jack-in-the-box. “You demanded twenty-thousand a month, and that’s what we reluctantly agreed to. And not a penny more.”
“Sit down, Philip,” Martin cautioned him.
“Tell your client that based on his income and the expenses of my client, not to mention the length of the marriage, he will have to pay her alimony in the amount of twenty-five thousand a month,” Stan said, his menacing grimace making his features more repugnant. Philip turned to Martin in disbelief.
“I’m afraid that’s out of the question—” Martin began to protest.
“What income?” Philip exclaimed. “Are you forgetting that my firm is no longer solvent? Just exactly how do you expect me to come up with that kind money if you’re forcing me to liquidate all my assets?” For the first time since they sat down, Marianne turned to face him.
“We were married for nearly sixteen years, Philip—that has to count for something. After all, you did take the best years of my life,” she said with such trite predictability, Philip laughed.
Marianne colored under her makeup. “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were you,” she warned, her lovely features hardening.
Alligators in the Trees Page 7
