You Say Goodbye

by Keith Steinbaum

  Chapter 27

  After three consecutive months of below-average sales, August’s robust results generated a healthy turnaround that seemed to lift everyone’s spirits, matching the warm and breezy, blue-skied Santa Monica weather of the last Friday of the month. A rejuvenated Tom Claiborne, walking the floor and joking with various employees, reminded Sean of a bear’s reemergence from hibernation, representing an all-around, elevated mood that hadn’t appeared for a while. The notable exception, contrasted by his usual inclination to laugh at even the most inappropriate of times, was Roger. From the moment he’d arrived that morning, his somber disposition and weight-of-the-world body language implied something bothersome beyond the boundaries of work. The answer didn’t take long to understand.

  Shortly before eleven, Roger approached Sean asking for a lunch together that day. “I want to tell you something that’s happened,” he explained, “and a decision that I’ve made.” After agreeing on a time, Sean started walking away but Roger grasped his arm. “I have a confession to make about Merissa because it’s something you should know. But now’s not the time.” As the sunshine streamed through the store windows, Sean found himself in a sudden fog.

  The park up the street provided an inviting location on this temperate afternoon, so after getting burritos, chips, and a soda from the local lunch truck, they walked the two blocks in what appeared to be, at least in Sean’s perspective, Roger’s avoidance of anything pertinent. Small talk about bowling and sales projections for the month ahead neither minimized his unease nor the tension he sensed in Roger.

  After spotting an open bench on the grass between a children’s playground and the tennis courts, they sat on opposite ends, each angled toward each other with space between them to place their cardboard lunch boxes.

  “So what’s going on, Roger?” Sean asked, his eyes narrowing in anticipation of something of which he had no idea, but wasn’t necessarily prepared to hear. “What’s this confession you want to make?”

  Roger opened the box and clutched his burrito. Pointing to Sean’s unopened box, he gestured for him to do the same before wiping a hand across his face and staring in silence for several moments. “The first thing I’ll tell you is that Anita’s filed for divorce.”

  Sean swallowed and reached for a chip, hearing something as unexpected as a child’s shout from a playground slide. He didn’t particularly care, and if nothing else, felt good for Anita.

  “I don’t blame her, either,” Roger admitted, his voice quiet yet firm. “I’ve been a shitty, philandering husband, and she’s a class act who never signed on for this.”

  “Sorry to hear that, Roger,” Sean replied, hearing the echo of his clichéd response. “But it wasn’t that long ago you claimed to be a new man, remember? You told me your cheating days were behind you.”

  “I wanted to believe it myself,” he answered, food still in his mouth. Waiting until he swallowed, he continued. “But I’m too damn weak when it comes to women. I see them, and I want them.”

  “I’m sure a lot of married men will tell you the same thing,” Sean said. “But most of them draw the line between what’s in their heads and actually doing something about it.”

  In silent affirmation, Roger adjusted his sunglasses and nodded.

  “So that marriage counselor thing obviously didn’t work,” Sean remarked.

  Roger closed his eyes and shook his head, uttering an airy nostril fueled laugh. “That marriage counselor turned out to be my first foray back into the cheating business.”

  Sean’s eyes widened, genuinely surprised this time at the man’s admission.

  Roger took another bite and placed the half-eaten burrito back in the box. He leaned back, clasped his hands on top of his head, and gazed in the direction of the playground where a couple of women chatted while children played around them. “I also wanted to tell you this is my last day at work. Tom’s known about it, but I asked him to keep it a secret.” After letting that comment linger for several moments, he looked back at Sean.

  “Why?” Sean asked, adjusting his sunglasses. “Because of the divorce?”

  “Yep. I’m packing up and leaving town on Sunday.”

  “Where you going?”

  “I’m keeping that to myself, buddy,” he answered, a coy smile placing a visual period to the sentence. “I’ve hired a lawyer to take care of the paperwork and place whatever’s mine in storage, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. We don’t have kids and the house is leased, so all that’s left for me to do is hit the road, Jack, and not look back.”

  Sean placed the remaining scraps of his burrito back inside the box and took another sip of his orange soda. “I never had kids either, but my divorces busted my ass--especially the first one. She took half my money. You’re lucky that yours won’t have the stormy shit I went through.”

  Roger whistled softly. “You can say that again, brother.” His eyes looked downward toward the grass, tightening into a squint. “Maybe in the back of my mind, I somehow knew to hold back on my commitment to Anita.” He brought his gaze upward, looking at Sean again. “We certainly talked about kids, and her mother made no secret of her unhappiness without grandchildren, but I even think Anita wasn’t sure about a future with me. Same thing with the house. We talked about buying a place one day, but that’s all it amounted to.”

  Sean pushed himself into a straight-backed position and took a quick, deep breath. “Okay, Roger,” he said, “what the hell is this confession you have about Merissa?”

  Roger bit his upper lip and held his mouth in place, nodding slowly up and down several times. Sliding his hand down his chin, his expression turned solemn, perhaps, as Sean observed, even pensive. The breeze brushed across their faces as the trees rustled like a sleep-inducing soundtrack, creating a leafy audio buildup to whatever Roger intended to say. “You probably won’t be seeing me again after today,” he said. “So I’ve decided that I may as well clear the air and come clean as to my real whereabouts the night Merissa was killed. I feel I owe it to you.”

  Remaining silent, Sean gripped the bench and nodded for Roger to continue.

  “I’ve lied to you twice about where I was that night,” he said. “The first time you asked me, I told you I was out drinking with some fraternity brothers. Do you remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, the second answer I gave you wasn’t true either.” Roger held his gaze, each succeeding second of silence seeming much longer to Sean. “I told you I screwed my dental hygienist but was home at eleven. I did screw her, but that was another time.”

  Despite the comforting ocean breeze continuing to blow through the park, Sean felt a surge of heat in the back of his neck. He didn’t know where Roger was going with this, but the increase of his heartbeat preceded the trickle of sweat forming at the edge of his forehead. He swallowed and felt the sandpaper in his throat as he prepared to ask the question.

  “So where were you that night?”

  Roger looked down at his shoes, moving them back and forth in a small line along the ground. His finger slid across the bottom of his nose as he sniffed and stared back at Sean. “I’m not proud of my actions,” he said, “but I was in a motel on Pico Boulevard with a prostitute named Lucy Sweets. And that wasn’t the first time either. As long as the money’s there, that woman always did whatever I wanted to keep me happy.”

  Sean rested his elbow on the top of the bench and his chin on the back of his fist, staring at Roger with partial relief over not hearing a murderer’s confession, but also contempt for the scumbag husband continually betraying Anita. “If you weren’t married to someone I know and like, I wouldn’t give a shit where you stick your dick, Roger. But for Anita’s sake, that’s fucked up. Really fucked up.”

  Roger stared down at his shoes again, holding that pose. “I know,” he mumbled. A long silence ensued between them.

  “You also lied about the time you got home, didn’t you? You told me eleven but Anita said it was more like two.
”

  Roger’s eyes darted back at Sean. “When did this conversation come up?” he asked, his voice rising. “You two talking about me in secret?”

  Sean grasped the rail of the bench and squeezed it as his eyes narrowed in anger. “Oh, I see,” he snarled, “suddenly you have a right to the truth about something concerning your wife? Who the hell are you kidding, man? You cashed in your ‘right to know’ card a long time ago.”

  Roger shot up from the bench and glared at Sean. “You’re a fucking asshole!” he spat, looking down from lightning bolt eyes. “I’m glad I won’t be seeing you after today, you sanctimonious piece of shit.”

  Sean’s anger caused his will to strengthen as his thoughts deviated from Anita to Detective Maldonado. “If the police needed to question this Lucy Sweets to verify your story,” he said, muttering the name through clenched teeth, “could you locate her for them?”

  Roger’s mouth opened but he didn’t say a word, only staring in apparent surprise, even shock. He gaped at Sean as if he’d been asked if he had a vagina. Sean kept a cool, steady focus on Roger, making it understood that he meant what he said.

  “What the fuck are you implying, Sean?” Roger’s brows furrowed as pronounced lines of anger appeared on his forehead. “That--that I killed Merissa? Jesus Christ!” He rushed to lean down over Sean, glowering within a few inches of his face. “Fuck you, asshole!” he shouted, spittle emerging from his mouth. “How dare you think something like that? How dare you!”

  He straightened up, yanked on the sides of his shirt, and stormed off. Sean continued to stare at him as he walked farther away, knowing he needed to inform Maldonado about all of this before Roger’s Sunday departure for whereabouts unknown. After all, he never answered the question about this alleged prostitute named Lucy Sweets.

  He sat back and looked at the two women by the playground who commanded Roger’s attention earlier, wondering what dark deeds he may have been contemplating, what horrific act he may have been imagining. But after another few moments of contemplation, he closed his eyes and shook his head, still hesitant to believe a man he befriended and worked side by side with could be The Beatles’ Song Murderer. Reaching into his pocket, Sean removed his phone and dialed the familiar number for a name he’d come to accept, but for a reason he never would.

  ***

  “Juicy Lucy Sweets?” Maldonado replied. Sean heard a humorless chuckle. “Oh yeah, she’s real.”

  “So I guess Roger wasn’t lying.”

  “Well, based on what you’ve told me about him, you’re probably right. Lucy Sweets has been in and out of here a few times, but other than a possible STD or two, she’s basically harmless and looking out for herself.”

  “An STD or two?” Sean thought of Anita and shook his head. “Good ol’ Roger, spreading the love.”

  “Juicy Lucy is what she calls herself, by the way,” Maldonado said, “and I have to admit, she’s quite a character. She’ll talk about everything from politics to penis size and is pretty damn funny about it.” Maldonado chuckled again.

  “I assume we scratch Roger off the list then?”

  “Until we know for sure, I’m not ready to scratch anybody off the list, but it certainly makes him look like less of a candidate for the moment.”

  Sean flicked a spider off his pant leg, recognizing the appropriateness of Roger as the topic of conversation.

  “We ever gonna find this guy, Ray?”

  “Eventually, yeah,” he answered, “and I really believe we’re getting closer. Process of elimination is part of the course of things, but it takes time. Look at Roger, for example. I’m not ready to give him a pass just yet, but we’ll find Lucy, show the photo, and see if she identifies him. Lucy probably won’t remember if she was with him the night of Miss Franklin’s murder, but if Roger told you the truth about being with her on multiple occasions, she’ll recognize his face, and it’ll prove he wasn’t just throwing out a name he heard.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “As is much of the world population, so it’s fortunate that’s not the sole criteria for finding this piece of shit. Process of elimination on that scale would take way too long.”

  ***

  The lunchtime conversation with Roger dominated his thoughts for the remainder of the day like a relentless rain, yet the soft, summer breeze caressing his senses as he approached his car to go home inspired him to first drive west along Santa Monica Boulevard toward Ocean Boulevard. Gazing at the enticing blue water in the distance as the sun continued to loiter, he decided the isolating windshield view from above wasn’t fulfilling enough, so he drove to California Street and eased his way down the ramp to head north along Pacific Coast Highway. Like revisiting a former friend who meant so much despite a previous altercation, Sean sought a complete reconciliation. Tomorrow, an off day, he’d make his first return visit to the beach, spending the hours in the same blue skied, salt-air locale where the sirens of suicide beckoned several months before.

  Chapter 28

  As he drove west toward the beach along Colorado Boulevard, on a Saturday morning intended to feel as intoxicating as the summer zephyr blowing through his hair, Sean attempted to ignore those dissonant thoughts of another poorly timed phone call from his mother less than an hour before. With an apparent belief in her razor-sharp ability to resolve his needs, Sean evaluated her opinions in a different manner; an unparalleled capacity to irritate him.

  This morning’s nails-on-the-chalkboard conversation pertained to a friend of hers who had a niece, “a lovely, intelligent girl,” transferring to the Los Angeles branch of her advertising company.

  “You know, dear, I don’t expect you to ever get over what happened completely, but you need to move on. You’ve got such a bright future in your father’s business, and any woman in her right mind would be able to see what a kind, sensitive man you are, and...”

  With the one-way conversation still reverberating like a brick thrown through glass, Sean turned off his cell phone and placed it in the glove compartment, dedicating the day to nothing but oceanic serenity without disturbances of any kind. Pulling into a public parking lot, he inhaled the invigorating salt air and hurried from his car to a prime spot on the sand, leaving his towel and folding chair in place before discarding his flip-flops to walk toward the shore.

  Although the view seemed appealing again, the past sense of wonderment and motivation eluded him, leaving the mast of his thoughts unable to catch hold of a friendly breeze. Once his feet touched the water, however, the comforting sound and smell of the ocean offered a therapeutic shot of the Southern California lifestyle he always treasured, and stooping to examine a multi-colored seashell curled within itself like a cresting wave, he started to regain a connection to his surroundings. But as he proceeded northward, invisible fingers of wind caressing him and inciting his senses with each succeeding step, a sudden, stupefying sight brought his body and thoughts to an immediate halt.

  Gaping open-mouthed, in transfixed confusion, he saw Merissa jogging toward him.

  Sean stared in wonderment, immobilized by this clone nearing him as she ran, and he felt determined to observe everything about the woman as a tribute to Merissa’s memory. She possessed the same high forehead with the shoulder length dark-blonde hair tied back in the ponytail style she often favored. She had those round, sensuous eyes, highlighted by the accent of long, angular eyebrows. The unique similarity also included the defined cheekbones, bookmarking the slightly downward dipping nose that created a visual pronouncement to those insecure moments of Merissa’s over reactionary self-consciousness.

  As the space between Sean and the woman lessened, he also acknowledged her similar height, with a matching body described in the line from “Devil with the Blue Dress” about being neither too skinny nor too fat. With unabashed focus, he admired and remembered the sizable breasts, so round and memorable, moving up and down in the subtle, arousing allowance from the sports bra beneath the sleeveless shirt. Nothin
g escaped his attention, including the perturbed expression she threw his way as she passed, causing the hypnotic spell he’d been under to dissolve slowly, like the watery white foam on the shore.

  Sean continued staring at the woman as her figure diminished with the increasing distance. Still close enough for further observations, however, he reflected on the similar hips and ass, and those muscular calves and shoulders Merissa developed through her affinity for working out. When the final blurring details of the woman’s body faded away, lost among other beachgoers walking to and from the shore, Sean returned to his towel and sat, shaken by the unexpected, surreal experience.

  He thought of the jogger’s flapping ponytail, reminding him of Merissa’s secret decision to cut her hair and leave the ponytail days behind. Without informing him, she started saving pictures from magazines to show Dino, and as he explained to him after her death, Merissa looked forward to witnessing his surprised expression that night--the night of her murder.

  ***

  “Welcome back, Dino,” Sean said, settling into his chair.

  Dino finished tying the smock and caressed Sean’s cheek. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes misting. Offering a smile, Dino ran his fingers through Sean’s long, wet hair. “Oh my God, honey,” he scolded, “your hair looks like you got the caveman special!”

  “Haven’t given much thought to my appearance lately,” Sean replied, agreeing with the assessment as he looked in the mirror. “But now that you’re here again, it’s time.”

  “You’re not the first man I’ve rescued from himself,” Dino remarked with a wink.

  Chuckling, Sean clutched his wrist. “I’m glad you’re back.”