The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  “I’m not.”

  “Because of my work?” he asked, grabbing onto the metal walker.

  “That’s some of it.”

  “And the rest?” he prodded.

  “I’m not sure. Probably has to do with the way you handle yourself. I’m not a complete stranger to death,” I added.

  Jayson glanced at my sagging face before pushing his way to the back of the loft. “Could you get those?” he asked, nodding toward a curtained set of French doors.

  I opened the doors and stepped into a messy room with huge windows and oversized skylights. Tables overflowed with tubes of paint, cans of paint thinner, brushes of all sizes and shapes. Canvasses leaned against the walls, vibrating with color and amazing images.

  “Do you mind?” I asked kneeling next to a pile of paintings. “You are a prolific son of a bitch,” I said, quickly looking through the large stack. I said it without thinking and when I heard the sound coming from his bird-like throat, I thought he was choking.

  It took a second to realize it was laughter.

  “It’s a pleasure to be called ‘a son of a bitch,’” Jayson almost crowed. “Other than Stephen and Heather, I haven’t had a natural response in a very long time.”

  I looked up at him. “You represent some scary shit. And you don’t look so hot either.” I really liked him, and my like was letting loose.

  “Thanks,” he smiled.

  “Don’t keep thanking me or I’ll just get uptight. These are terrific,” I said, shaking my head.

  “They’re not all mine. Heather Heywood uses the studio.”

  I was still poking through the canvasses and noticed a couple with her signature scratched into a corner. She was good. Jayson was great.

  While I was pawing, he moved to a large easel in the corner of the room and yanked off a thin burlap cover. I stood and rocked back onto my heels. Painted in different shades of gray, stages of life were superimposed one on top of another. The closer you looked, the more faces and bodies could be seen. The portrait reminded me of Picasso. With one significant difference—Jayson’s images stopped at a much younger age than The Old Guitarist in Chicago.

  I felt my eyes moisten as memories of Chana and Rebecca sprang to mind.

  “You like it?” Jayson asked.

  When I didn’t respond he slowly turned toward me. “You said you were familiar with death.”

  I nodded, my eyes stuck to the painting.

  He swung back and for the next couple of minutes we stood silently—me facing ghosts, Jayson staring at his life.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he eventually murmured. “I can only deal with the smell in here a little at a time and I want to save the time.

  “Do you want me to put the cover back on?”

  Jayson shook his head. “I don’t think so. It might be a good day to work.”

  When I was a kid, a group of us climbed on an abandoned train trestle that ran high over a creek. There was no water in the creek, just sharp jagged rocks and ankle deep shards of broken bottles and rusted cans. The trestle was rotted but we paid no mind. My older cousin crawled onto the highest point and it shattered under his weight. He grabbed onto another weather-beaten plank and dangled until the rest of us pulled him to safety. There was total silence on the way back to his house where we sat on the porch awed by our near miss.

  I felt that way now.

  And Jayson knew it. “How close were the people who died?” he asked once we were back in our chairs.

  “Very. Wife and young child. A major car accident. They were running an errand I didn’t want to do.” I’d never told the last part to anyone. Not Boots, Lou, not Simon, not even Gloria my ex-shrink.

  “Do you blame yourself?”

  I shrugged, “Not as much as I used to.”

  “Nobody gets out of here alive, you know.”

  “How do you control the bitter?” I asked.

  “I know how lucky I’ve been. I had some talent and an opportunity to use it. Even caught my fifteen minutes.

  “Anyway, Stephen has more than enough bitter for both of us,” Jayson said with regret.

  The name jerked me back to the reason I was there. “You like him a lot, don’t you?”

  “I’ve loved him for years. I was the person Stephen finally came out with.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Through Lauren. She wanted posters for a Gay Pride parade.”

  “Lauren knew that Stephen was gay?”

  “No, but she was extremely political and gay was a front-burner. I got involved with her family and one thing led to another.” He paused. “I never did the posters though. Peter Max was well before my time and not an influence.”

  I shrugged, “You’d still be on tee shirts.”

  “Thanks. Just what I always hoped for. Actually, Stephen’s home life was a disaster. What he said about the Hacienda was absolutely true. The house and ocean were his only stability until I came along. Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “I know Lauren was intensely self-involved, but what about his father? Didn’t he have anything for Stephen?”

  “It wasn’t simply self-involvement that motivated Lauren. She always had an honest commitment to her causes. It just didn’t leave her time for kids. By the time I came along Paul was out of the house. Just as well since he was pretty rough. I think he suspected that Stephen was in the closet and hated him for it. He probably thought it reflected on his own manhood.”

  “How old was Stephen when you met?”

  “Mid-twenties. We’ve been together a long time.”

  “And the only one who caught Paul’s shit?”

  “Ian eventually came in for his share. Paul uses his sons to take out his anger.”

  And Anne. “Alexis gets off free?”

  “She’s had her problems with Lauren, but the relationship with Paul has always been,” Jayson groped for a word, “close. Their closeness is something he never got from Lauren.”

  “Sexual?” I asked bluntly.

  “Nothing actual,” Jayson replied, unfazed by the question. “But what isn’t sexual? The entire family has a truckload of worms.” Jayson ran out of breath and fingered the dial on the machine.

  I hadn’t asked about the car night, but I was afraid I’d taken too much of his life. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He shook his head so I sat quietly and waited.

  Jayson spent the next couple of minutes regaining his breath then said, “I like you and that doesn’t happen much anymore. I’m sorry we won’t have time to become friends. But I don’t think you came to find out how Stephen and I met, and I know you’re not a social worker.”

  He was tiring rapidly so I spoke straight. “Something went on up here the night Lauren’s car was trashed. I know Stephen lied about it and I hoped you wouldn’t.”

  “I won’t lie,” he smiled weakly, “but I won’t talk about it either. If Stevie wants to tell you he will. Why do you want to know?”

  I told him I was worried about Lou’s safety and his relationship with Lauren. Then I found myself talking about Lou’s acceptance of my marriage with his daughter Chana, despite discomfort with my background and prior marriage. I told Jayson all about Lou’s support before the deaths, his commitment to me after. I recounted my four years of therapy and the way Lou stood by me, making sure I had a roof over my head and the building to keep me from killing myself, or anyone else. Told him about the trouble Lou and I had after his wife died and he wanted to move here from Chicago.

  I told him how much Lou meant to me.

  When I finished, I caught myself wiping tears off my rough, lined face. And suddenly felt better than I had in a real long time.

  My feel good didn’t last long. I’d missed the elevator’s rumble so, when the door slid open, Stephen and Heather suddenly appeared as if Scotty had beamed them up.

  “What are you doing here?” Stephen demanded, pushing the mop from his eyes with a brusque gesture.

  “I invited him in,
Stephen,” Jayson said.

  “Why?”

  Jayson shrugged, “I wanted to.”

  Stephen looked incredulous.

  One glance at Stephen’s sneer, one note of his hostile voice, and my inside open clamped closed like solid steel shutters on a ghetto jewelry store. Contact with Jayson notwithstanding, I’d come to the loft for a reason. It wasn’t going to play the way I’d planned, but now, there was no leaving without learning what happened to Lauren’s car. Or maybe I was just pissed at the interruption.

  “See, I’m not such a bad guy,” I smiled, plotting a way to pop him.

  “You were instructed not to bother us,” Stephen said scowling.

  “He wasn’t bothering me,” Jayson said.

  “Did you tell him anything, JB?”

  Jayson rose to his feet and gripped the walker. “I told him to talk to you. I’m going to the studio while I still can breathe with its smell. It’s been nice visiting with you, Matt. I’m glad you liked the portrait.”

  “You showed him the painting?” Heather and Stephen asked simultaneously.

  Jayson grunted and scraped toward the French doors.

  “I’ll get it,” Heather said walking quickly to his side.

  Stephen stood shaking his head.

  “Why don’t we sit down?” I asked, helping myself to a seat.

  “You aren’t going to be here long enough to bother.”

  I felt my temper kick, thought about pulling a Washington Clifford, but the remnants of my conversation with Jayson held me in check. “You can’t be a total asshole,” I started quietly. “Jayson likes you too much.”

  “Fuck you,” he said.

  “You talk the talk but there’s nothing behind it. Must be afraid to drop your attitude.”

  “What should I be frightened about?” he asked arrogantly, though he sat down on the couch.

  “If you strip it down, you’ll discover there’s nothing underneath.”

  “Don’t you need a license to shrink?” he said smirking.

  “Not to see through you and your lies.”

  “What lies?”

  “‘Did you tell him anything, JB?’“ I mimicked. “Actually, I’m glad we have a moment alone. It’s a chance to stop the act.” If I wasn’t going to whack the truth out of him, I had to push past Stephen’s tenuous stability.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  “Of course you do. You lied when I asked about your mother’s car, then ran right behind her skirt. Now the two of you are playing possum.”

  “Who do you think you are, calling me a liar?”

  “Almost part of the family, Stevie,” I snapped, honing in. “And a helluva family it is. One parent ignored you, the other crapped on your parade. Neglect and abuse. But can’t let go, can you?”

  His face looked like a gathering storm.

  “Both of us know the pathology, ‘Love thy oppressor.’ Let’s not kid ourselves, your mom grabbed the testosterone and your old man used what was left to beat on you. And what did Stephen have? A rundown house. Looking for love from sticks, stones, and salt water.”

  “Blow it out your ass,” he sputtered, his eyes darting around the room.

  “There you go again,” I shook my head. “All bluster, no balls. Story of your life. Your parents turn you into a sniveling snot; still, you run to Mommy the minute you’re in trouble.”

  “What trouble?” Stephen asked. He tried to feign confidence, but couldn’t keep his hand away from his hair. As much as he wanted me gone, he wasn’t doing much to make it happen. He suddenly slumped forward, helpless, maybe weakened by all the truths I’d pitched at him.

  “Me. And you know it.”

  Before he answered Heather returned to the room and flopped her black clad skinny next to Stephen, oblivious to the tension and Stephen’s defeated posture. “Jayson had a terrific time with you, Matt.”

  “See, Stevie? I told you I’m okay. So no reason to keep lying.” I felt bad using Jayson’s term of endearment, but not enough to stop.

  “Mother Theresa could have slept with you for all I care,” he said. “I want you out of my life,” he said without any bite.

  “That’s why you ran to Mommy.”

  “What’s going on here?” Heather demanded.

  “The pig was about to leave,” Stephen said with a resurgence of anger.

  “Sweetheart, I ain’t going anywhere until you tell me the truth,” I said, a hard edge to my voice. The more he resisted, the greater my need to know.

  “It was gay bashing, that’s all.”

  I ignored him. “Get real, Stevie, you’ll hide behind your mama’s skirt but you don’t really like her. Hell, why should you? Says something when you play second best to bra burnings.”

  “Why aren’t you out of here, asshole! I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  Between his helplessness and rage he was an explosion waiting to happen and I was gonna light the fuse. “Sure you do, Stevie, or you wouldn’t be yanking out your hair.”

  “What are you two fighting about?” Heather asked.

  “Something seriously violent happened twice around this family, and that’s two times more than I’ll accept. Lou is my family and if he’s going to be involved with Lauren, I’m going to find out what happened to her car.”

  “Stephen doesn’t know what happened,” Heather said.

  “So he lies to you too. No surprise, it’s what he does best. I’m sure you’ve been lying to Jayson as well. One of your jealous fucks take out the car?”

  I shook my head, stood, and strolled behind the couch. “That’s the ticket, isn’t it, Stevie?” I said, clamping my hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been two-timing.”

  “Take your hand off me!”

  “What are you doing Matt?” Heather asked, twisting in her seat.

  “Getting to the truth.”

  Stephen tried to squirrel free but I forced him to stay still. “I don’t know anything,” he said, breathing heavily.

  “Stop it, Stevie,” I warned, tightening my grip. “We’re working with new rules and the first is no more lies.”

  “You’re going to hurt him!” Heather yelped, jumping to her feet.

  Stephen struggled to stand so I loosened my grip then shoved him back down.

  “Matt!” Heather said angrily.

  “So Stevie, who did it? A jealous boyfriend? Someone tired of blow-jobs in the bushes?” I ripped off the questions in rapid fire, then lifted my hand as if to slap his face.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” he hissed, leaping to his feet.

  He faced me from in front of the couch, so I leaned across and chucked him under the chin. “You little turd. Cheating on a dead man!” Words instead of fists but they were landing.

  “Leave Jayson alone, you bastard.”

  “There’s no need for this,” Heather warned. “You’re acting like you’re going to hit him!”

  I circled to their side of the couch. “What’s he gonna do? Tell his mommy? Maybe I’ll just give him a spanking. Shoulda happened a long time ago.”

  “Get out of my fucking house!”

  “Some secret boy-toy takes a lead pipe to Mommy’s car and you weasel her into covering it up.”

  Heather squeezed her stringbean body between us. “Leave him alone! He doesn’t have to take this!”

  “He’s gonna take worse.” I reached over Heather and disparagingly tapped Stephen on the top of his head with an open hand. I didn’t want to hurt him. “Leeching off a dying man. You plan to move your new friend in when Jayson dies?”

  “Fuck you!” Stephen said, pushing Heather out of the way.

  “I got you pegged, don’t I?” I goaded. “Takes a tough leech to live off someone else’s talent. Is your cheat rich, Stevie? Gonna suck him dry too?”

  Stephen came flying at my face but I stood my ground while he furiously swung his fists. This wasn’t going to help me heal from my last beating, but I’d wa
nted him over the top. Stephen flailed away while I played rope-a-dope without a boxing ring. The more ineffectual his punches, the wilder he became until he was lost in an open-mouthed frenzy.

  Heather tried to pull him off, but too many years of hatred were tearing loose, and neither he nor I was in a rush to close it down. In fact, I continued to bait him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jayson emerge from the studio, an angry expression on his face.

  Eventually I reached out and smothered Stephen in a vice-like grip. Entirely out of control, he hysterically made one attempt after another to escape until his energy slowly ground down. “I’m not your parents, Stephen,” I whispered, throwing him roughly onto the couch where he completely broke.

  Heather started toward him but Jayson called from the other side of the room, “Let him be, Heather!”

  Stephen sobbed as the rest of us silently watched. I rubbed my stinging arms. There had been enormous fury behind his attack. I was gonna have more black and blues.

  “Why did you do this?” Heather whispered, stunned.

  I paused and stared at Stephen who had his eyes all over me. His tears had slowed but the rage hadn’t returned.

  “He didn’t leave me any choice.”

  “Are you going to torture him more?” Heather asked, her shock quickly turning into anger. “He doesn’t know what happened!”

  “Just tell him, Steve, Jayson said, pushing the walker back to his chair. There’s no reason not to.”

  “But I promised,” Stephen wailed.

  “Promised who?” I pounced.

  “My mother, goddammit!”

  Once he tanked, the rest came out in a moan. “Ahh shit, I did the fucking car.”

  “What did you say, Stephen?” Heather asked incredulously.

  “I did it,” he repeated. “I trashed the goddamn car.”

  Heather threw herself into a chair. “What the hell is going on?”

  “You were out of control?” I asked quietly.

  “No, no, you don’t understand, I was trying to keep control,” he groaned. “If I hadn’t run and smashed the car I might have hurt her. Lauren understood, she didn’t even try to stop me.”

  “What were you fighting about?”

  He looked toward Jayson, who nodded.

  “Lauren has been giving us money to live on. I need to be home with Jayson, so we have no income. That night she told us she was tapped out. She had nothing left. My father apparently cut her off when he realized she was really serious about Lou. He’d stopped giving her money months ago, but she’d been using her savings to keep us going.”