I was left standing there, barely comforted by the drone of a lawnmower in the distance. The harried sound of a troubled wind whipped through the windows and froze me. Or maybe it was the haunting scolds of crows that held onto a secret they were dying to tell.
“Caw.
“Caw, caw!”
Chapter 37
As I drove home, I thought about what had just happened. Sure, Jack was unstable and predisposed to tantrums. I learned to accept that when I first met him. When he added psychosis to the menu, I read it over and decided not to order it. But I knew it was there for future consideration and consumption.
Was he hateful? No. You have to feel, to feel hatred. Hurtful? Absolutely, even though it wasn’t deliberate. Sure, it was intentional. But not intentional in the way that one plans to hurt someone, with malice. Jack’s hurtful nature was the by-product of ruthless indifference.
He accused me of being jealous of him. That pissed me off. He thought that I envied him, desired to be him! When I pathetically followed him around and called him ‘friend,’ did he think he was better than me? No doubt.
Did I stay because of an ulterior libidinous desire to latch onto his throwaways? Absolutely! I always knew that being around him afforded me opportunities that I’d have never found on my own. But the fact that he knew it infuriated me.
I had been his only friend, through times and things that would have made any normal person get as far away as they could from the sick fuck. I was the one who held his head in the toilet when he came home oversexed and full of liquor. I stood by him, after he brutally raped and beat those two girls. I called him ‘friend’ and tried not to judge him. I put up with all his bullshit and didn’t ask myself WHY? Not even once!
Of course, he was right. And it pissed me off. I was jealous.
The conscienceless asshole defiled Elizabeth before I even had a chance to know her. He treated her like shit and then tossed her to me like he was giving a well-chewed bone to a starving dog. Pathetic moron that I am, I chose to dismiss his behavior when she was finally mine.
She wasn’t much better. She walked right into his arms and kept me waiting in the wings like a eunuch. Until she saw his true nature. Then – and only then – she cried on my shoulder and rewarded me like the loyal puppy dog. True, I found comfort in her arms, but only because she knew that she couldn’t have him.
I should have told the both of them to go fuck themselves when I had the chance.
God, I was pathetic. I pounded the steering wheel with my fist and cursed out loud. I wished the both of them could hear me.
“Fuck you!” I was enraged. Even more so, because as usual I had tried to help Jack. But once again, he chose to fuck me where I lived. It was like someone punched me in the solar plexus.
Fuck him. Fuck her. Fuck the both of them. I was done with this bullshit. He could destroy himself for all I cared. He would destroy himself without me to pick up the miserable pieces. I was done with him.
As for her? She can rot in Hell before I call her back.
Weary and pale with angst and irreconcilable rage, I parked my car and trudged to the steps of my townhouse. The pavement was slathered with dead leaves, once colored in the most obstinate hues; they had become sickly yellow. They were pasted onto the sidewalk and street, garish in what they represented. The end of a season.
And the beginning of another. Another step toward the inevitable fate which the universe had prepared for me, long before I even had a chance to make choices. Another step toward oblivion. But a different kind of oblivion, than the one with which I lived for ten years. This oblivion wasn’t the bliss that romantic poets expound upon. This was the oblivion of destruction, horror, unending restlessness and eternal heartbreak. Oblivion that was neither my friend nor my companion.
It was my stalker.
The sun sparkled onto the streets and townhouses. Although it was bright and cheerful, I was forced to wince. Its appearance was sickening and garish and I was sad, because it had once represented warmth, light and life. But the autumn sun was a harbinger of darkness and the eternal freezing of death. I shivered and pulled my overcoat closely to my body. The collar encircled my neck like a cowl that threatened to choke me lifeless, as the icy threat of winter announced itself through autumn’s relentless messenger. The cruel Arctic wind.
Children ran and played in the street, bundled in warm sweaters, coats and hats. People milled around and chatted with each other. Or walked sullenly, as if they didn’t know anybody and didn’t care to. Cars and trucks passed by. Sirens wailed. The harsh noises of the city permeated this small microcosm that I once called home. It was just a crypt to me now. A tomb which closed in on me without fear or remorse. I had been ignorant of its presence, because it crept up on me so stealthily. That all changed.
I was totally impotent to do anything about anything. I went home because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I couldn’t go to the office. I had no desire, nor even the ability, to consider work right now. It wasn’t important to me. The business ran fine without me. Maybe even better.
Prior to that day, I had injected my presence there as a matter of necessity. So I didn’t have to consider the alternative: that I was useless to the business. But I knew the truth, and while I was content with that the day before, now it was the whore whose climax spoke irrefutable truth.
I had nowhere to go. No friends in Montreal that weren’t Jack’s friends – if they could be called friends. They were acquaintances at best. And most of them were women.
I didn’t want anything to do with women.
Home was a joke. It wasn’t a home! It was a place to go so I didn’t have to sleep in my car. It was a place with a bed, couch, stereo, microwave, television, telephone, and most importantly, a liquor cabinet.
I tromped up the steps and rummaged for the key. I opened the door and walked in. Heated air hit my face. Normally a welcome change from the chill autumn air, it felt stale and unwelcome. But it was warmth, and it was the only thing which greeted me, so I respected it.
As I closed the door behind me, I stood and listened to the silence, as if my presence would wake it from its trance. It didn’t.
The sound of a silent house is devastating. No-one to greet you and hug you. No-one to ask you how your day went. No-one was there to cheer for me, when I was most in need of cheering.
No-one was happy to see me. There was nothing. Just a dark hallway overpopulated with dust particles that danced in stray beams of light for no-one’s amusement. The only thing that greeted me was a liquor cabinet that lied to me. For it promised me that it would never let me down.
This time, I did let my cashmere coat drop to the floor. I didn’t give a shit. I walked into the living room, picked up the remote and pressed ‘play.’ Opera. I skipped the disc. More opera. Skipped it again. Same thing.
I went to the stereo and ejected the CD tray. Ripping the discs out one by one, I hurled them as hard as I could into the hearth. They landed with a clatter but didn’t break. So I took the last one and bent it until it snapped with a loud crack in my hands.
“Jesus!” The pain in my sprained wrist shot up my arm like a searing red-hot iron. I looked at my hands. They bled from the knife-like shards of plastic. Shrugging, I went to my CD rack and pored over it, looking for music that best suited my mood.
Pink Floyd. That would do nicely. I popped the Wall and the Dark Side of the Moon into my CD player and turned the volume way up. As pulsating tones began, I went to the liquor cabinet.
I grabbed a highball glass and a bottle of Glenkinchie. Returning to the couch, I flopped like 180 pounds of dead weight. Pouring a tall one, I gulped. The strong liquor caressed my tongue and I put the glass between my eyes and the window. Sunlight shone through the smoky gold liquid. I smiled. This stuff never let me down.
Denial.
After a moment, I lowered the glass to the table and slowly rubbed the palm of my right hand along my forehead. I dragged it over my eyes and down m
y right cheek. When I felt my fingertips grace the side of my face, I noticed a warm sticky sensation. I looked at my hand with remembrance. Right…my hands are bleeding. Oops. I shrugged. This called for another drink.
It was then that I noticed the flashing light on my phone. I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw, hoping the screaming music would scare unwelcome thoughts away from my troubled mind. It worked, but only briefly. Patience and I aren’t on a first-name basis.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up and walked to the phone. I picked up the handset like it was an indictment and returned to the couch.
There were two new callers. Jack and Elizabeth. His call was made not long after he left Montreal, Elizabeth’s a few minutes before I got home.
I grimaced and shook my head violently. Slammed the handset onto the table with a loud crack, and swore. I flicked it away with my fingertips, as if pushing it two inches further away from me would change the fact that I was about to listen to whatever messages were left. I hoped to God that she left one this time, and I hated myself for wanting that.
Finally, accepting the inevitable, I drained my glass and refilled it, then picked up the handset and dialed.
“You have one…new message. To listen to your…” I dialed 1-1.
“Mal, this is Jack. Just checking to see if you’re alright. You didn’t seem yourself this morning. I’m heading for Nova Scotia, will give you a call when I get there. Take care, bud. Thanks for all the help.” –click-
I was too messed-up to even consider the ludicrousness of Jack’s message, considering how we parted ways. I sat dejectedly and watched her name and number on the phone. No message.
I took another gulp of Scotch. Closing my eyes, I tried to let the pounding tones of Pink Floyd soothe my tortured soul, but I just couldn’t think straight. I had tried so hard, all those years, to make a life for myself.
But suddenly I was living in the past again. With Jack on one side of me and Elizabeth on the other.
Something had changed, though. Both of them were screwing me at the same time.
And no, it wasn’t good for me.
Chapter 38
Honestly, as worried as I had been about his mental state, I had my own problems and so lost interest in trying to chase him down. I figured that I’d hear from him when he was ready to talk.
I did get strange phone calls at home and wondered which of them it was. Each time it came up as ‘Unknown Caller,’ and each time, I answered and said ‘hello.’ There was undoubtedly someone on the line, but whoever it was didn’t say a thing, nor did they hang up.
I shook it off and assumed that, Jack or Elizabeth, they’d talk when they were good and ready.
I wasn’t wrong.
I was sitting around one night debating whether to crack a 40-year old bottle of Scotch that a client had given me as a Christmas present. The good stuff won, and I was enjoying it a little too much when the phone rang. It showed up on the phone as ‘Unknown Caller,’ and I sighed as I picked up. Fully expecting to hear nothing but static on the line.
“Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, motherfucker!” It was Jack, and he was jovial, maybe even manic. I wondered why.
“It’s February, Jack. Little late for that. I was ready to send a search party out for you. You don’t know how to dial a phone anymore?” He chuckled.
“Sorry, pal. I’ve been busy. I got your messages, but between the travel and the construction, it’s been an insane few months.”
“Mmmm…has it been that long?” I was trying to be cool, because now that he finally called and I knew he was alright, I was a little peeved that he had been avoiding me.
“Hahah…yeah, it’s been that long and you can quit trying to be cool. I know you too well. I’m sorry, okay? Besides, I call. You just never answer.” I nodded and smiled.
“Alright, apology accepted. So enough already. What have you been up to?”
“What haven’t I been up to? God, there’s so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start…I guess I should start with the big news. I’m getting hitched.” I nearly choked on my Scotch.
“What? Are you kidding me?” I knew there was a story behind this one, and I couldn’t wait to hear it.
“Nope. No joke. I met someone when I was in Italy last month and well, long story short, we had a whirlwind romance and we’re getting married. That’s why I called. I want you to be my best man.” I smiled. Something actually made me happy.
“Okay, okay, you know I will, but back up for a second. Who is she? How did you meet?”
“This is really cool! It was in Florence. I was there because I purchased some paintings from an auction house. I had just completed the transaction, and I was in Florence, so I wasn’t about to sit around and play with myself in my hotel room until my flight out the next day.
“So I went to see Michelangelo’s David. Mal, it is truly amazing. Jesus, I wish I could buy it! I highly recommend you see it sometime. I must have spent two hours just staring at it. Granted, the guy wasn’t that well hung. I’d have been embarrassed to be the model. But the detail, the passion behind the work…”
“Jack! The girl!” I was dying to hear this, and I wasn’t prepared to be as patient as I could have been. After all this time, I was a little envious that he was getting married. It made me think of Elizabeth. But I was curious, and he laughed softly.
“Okay, okay. So I went to this great little nightclub near the Duomo…a really amazing place. I was standing there talking to these two gorgeous models, when out of nowhere, this woman comes up and introduces herself. Turns out they were her models. She’s a fashion designer. Well, we talked for awhile, a few drinks, bada boom, bada bing, I took her back to my hotel room and gave her one of the pieces I purchased that day.”
“Really? That was generous.” Strange as it seems, I could imagine Jack giving a woman anything to get her into bed, but I couldn’t imagine him giving up a piece of his coveted artwork.
“Heheh…I know it was. It worked like a charm. It wasn’t anything significant. Just a piece of pottery from an obscure Etruscan artisan. It only cost me twenty thousand Euros. But it worked like a charm.” I did a quick calculation. Twenty thousand Euros was about $25,000, give or take.
“Wow. Really generous. Expensive night.”
“Not one night, my friend. We’ve spent most of the last month together. Well, every available moment, anyway. She went back to Italy this morning to take care of a fashion show that she’s putting on. I’m flying over on Thursday. It’s love, my man.”
“What’s her name?”
“Anastasia. Anastasia Ramazotti. Ahhhhh…her name rolls off my tongue like sweet nectar!” I smiled and shrugged.
“Good for you. When’s the wedding?”
“Next Saturday. Not this one coming up, but a week from that.” I blinked. I had already gotten the suggestion that the wedding was going to be in Milan. I rifled through my mind all the things that I had to do. God, couldn’t he have given me better notice?
“So…where’s it at?”
“The Duomo, of course. You can make it, right?” Irritatingly, the suggestion in his voice left no room for me to wiggle out. And I knew already that I couldn’t very well turn down the opportunity to be his best man.
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. When are we leaving?”
“I’m going on Thursday, but you have to be there a week from Friday. Can’t miss an opportunity to have one last blow-out before the big day, right?”
“Right.” Why did I know this was going to turn out badly?
I didn’t know at the time, but I did know this: Jack meeting a woman at a club and marrying her one month later did not a match in heaven make. I knew that this was going to be interesting. But at that point, I had no idea just how interesting.
***
I wasn’t looking forward to having a final blowout with Jack before the wedding. For I was in no mood to party. After I arrived in Florence, I grudgingly went out with
him on Friday night. Fortunately the night was tame and without incident.
We sat and drank while I had to listen to him obsess about the house in Nova Scotia and the art that he continued to amass. We even talked a little bit about Anastasia, but while he appeared to be excited about the ensuing union, he was more interested in talking about the construction plans and moving into the new house. Construction was slated to commence in March.
He said he was staying nearby so that he could keep tabs on the construction and ensure that it was going according to plan. I assumed that he found a nice resort to shack up in and was jealous at the thought of Champagne and Jacuzzis by the ocean.
He kept on saying that everything was coming together, now that he found a woman with whom he could expunge all the memories from the past. He wanted to focus on just one woman, one who could make him truly happy. I didn’t buy it for a second, but he seemed happy enough.
The wedding was quite incredible. The gowns were lavish – provided of course, by the bride-to-be – and dozens of doves were launched into the air when the bride and groom left the cathedral. The Duomo is an incredible structure. I felt six centuries of history, art, literature and beauty swell around me, while I stood next to the man who played such a strange role in my life and watched him take a bride.
Of course, she was gorgeous. Even if she weren’t wearing a wedding gown, she was stunning and I was envious. She had the beauty that only an Italian woman of pure lineage and uncorrupted bloodline could have. She had raven-black hair which flowed down over her shoulders like the Venus, and her well-sculpted facial features were underscored by rich brown eyes and a shapely figure. Jack could certainly pick them and I felt envy while he took her for his wife. I probably would have given my right arm for one night of passion with her.
Jack, of course, looked dashing in a black tux and white tie. But I was startled to notice the Icarus amulet hanging around his neck. I had been standing there feeling anxious to get this over with so I could get back to Montreal, when I looked at his chest and saw the glimmering little thing idly hanging there.
The House that Jack Built Page 25
