Tumbledown

by Robert Boswell

“Don’t be an ass,” he said. “You act like this is me being controlling, when—”

  “My job is telling people what to do. You don’t think that’s controlling?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Violet, you understand what’s wrong with this, don’t you?”

  “I’d rather you didn’t drag me into the middle here.”

  “I am a health professional, and I have to make certain that my relationship with my clients is a professional one.”

  “Then by all means you should not come with us. Not that we invited you.”

  They passed a big truck, and its windy bellow silenced them.

  Violet understood they were not obliterating their relationship after all. They were tearing away the initial illusions each had about the other with the underlying belief that this violence would permit them to rebuild afresh—like people taking apart the pieces of a puzzle before beginning the real work of assembly. (Human behavior is no simple matter, and the unfolding of a single act can paper a house. This book is that house.)

  How men and women lived together was never rational, Violet decided. The walls in James’s miserable house were hollow, and she heard James and Lolly having sex all the time. Oddly enough, she didn’t mind it. She did not enjoy it, but it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it might. A man and a woman about to take the leap of marriage ought to pitch their bodies against one another as often as possible. If Lolly had insisted that they wait to marry before having intercourse, they would already be husband and wife. The promise of Lolly’s body was too much for any healthy young man to resist, but perhaps repetition would reveal its limits.

  She had not asked him to see the painting because she didn’t want to go with Lolly, who would want to know what it might sell for. Or she would gush about it, say how much she loved it, no matter what. Violet would get Jimmy to explain some time when they were alone. Right now, she needed to think about her own life. Arthur’s publishing house had sold for a nice profit, and she’d made out well on the flat. He’d had decent life insurance, and the retirement plan he’d put in place for himself was now hers. She wasn’t a wealthy woman, but neither did she need to work. She could not imagine herself dating men, but the frequency of sexual relations taking place about her had forced her to imagine having sex. She suspected that if the extra man in the house were someone at all presentable she might have slipped off one night to his room for erotic exercise. This was not and would never be a possibility with Billy Atlas. She would troll the bars like a harlot before she’d have anything carnal to do with him.

  Arthur, like any man, had had his little preferences. He liked to have sex outside the bedroom. The couch was a natural favorite, but he also liked to bend her over some piece of furniture or have her lie on her back on the kitchen table. In his eyes, she was youthful and beautiful. He saw no imperfections in her body and no signs of aging. He had children from an early marriage, and he did not want children with her. She accepted that—or she had until near the end when she had tried to get pregnant. Erections were not governed by muscle and he could still get them to the day that he died, and she would crawl on top of him—in the bed or in his wheelchair, or sometimes she would have a nurse help her position him on the couch. But she had never gotten pregnant, and she guessed that she had waited too long to try.

  Her brother would have children. With Lolly or some other woman. She examined his troubled face. She liked the idea that he would one day become a papa.

  Candler, for his part, regretted the argument and blamed himself. Why had he rushed off to get them? Had he assumed he’d be rescuing them from the tedium of the Barnstone? And why hadn’t he taken them to the beach? This stupid mess was his own fault. It was just such a wearying thought, the traffic, the crowd—what was it Lise called them? Body nazis. He imagined Barnstone’s motley bunch among the beach crowd, Andujar Freeman and Cecil Fresnay, Mutt and Jeff of the mentally ill. He began laughing.

  “I didn’t know you find my plans and ambitions funny,” Lolly said. “I was thinking about that scene at the Barnstone’s. The naked manchild on the patio and that buffalo playing the piano.”

  “I thought we were talking about my trip—mine and Violet’s—to the ocean.”

  “You’ve made it clear that you know more about the well-being of my clients than I do, so fine, go to the beach with Mick and the gang. By that time this other stuff will be over.”

  “You mean your interview?” Lolly asked.

  “Barnstone is good at managing chaos,” he continued, “which is more or less what we teach our clients to do—how to manage their chaos.”

  “I guess it was a funny scene,” she admitted.

  From the back boot came laughter. Violet covered her mouth but could not contain it. Lolly joined in, and then James. And the animosity slipped away.

  “Mick described a vacant beach that he used to go to before he became ill,” Violet said. “That’s what I’d like. Someplace without people.”

  “On the weekend, every inch of the beach is packed,” James said. “I suppose there could be some secluded place, but Mick . . . It’s your decision. What do I know? As long as it’s after Friday afternoon, you two do whatever you want.”

  Violet said, “I haven’t decided whether I’m going.”

  “Oh, you must!” said Lolly.

  James turned his head and eyed his sister. “Don’t let her tell you what to do now.”

  Lolly slapped his shoulder and laughed again.

  “You’ll need to have someone from the Center with you. If the Barnstone can’t go, nab someone else. Otherwise, the trip could be misconstrued as an official but unsupervised function, and that creates a bad situation for me. Especially right now. I absolutely cannot be party to it.”

  “I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your promotion,” Lolly said.

  Candler whipped around, ready to battle again, but he realized the statement was in earnest. He put his hand on her knee and she covered it with her hand.

  “But I absolutely am going to the beach with my friends,” Lolly said. It had the tone of an addendum. “So that’s settled?”

  When Jimmy turned to Lolly and nodded, his chin rubbed against Violet’s shoulder.

  “The Barnstone strikes again,” he said softly.

  Lolly unbelted herself to kiss Jimmy, and Violet tried to move her head, but the blond swath of hair swatted her cheek. The car was an abomination, and she understood that she was ready to go home, her real home. Let these two make their stupid mistakes without her, she wanted to go home—if only she had one.

  After they exited the freeway, just a few miles from Jimmy’s house, Violet thought of the wad of paper Andujar had pressed into her hand. She casually stuck her fingers in her purse to be sure it was there, but she waited until the car was in the garage, and the lovers had disappeared into the bedroom. In her room, she flattened the paper over the mattress, running her hand repeatedly over the crinkled paper. The single word MAP was printed on one side. She turned the sheet over. A pencil mark made a flat line for about an inch, and then it angled down to the right.

  PART FIVE

  Chaos in the Hacky Sack

  To forget one’s purpose is the commonest form of stupidity.

  —FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

  9

  Candler had not been to many bars in Onyx Springs, and he had never even heard of the Fish Out of Water Saloon, a dive in what had obviously once been a fast-food restaurant, complete with a drive-through. The new management had filmed the glass, changed the lighting, and piped in marimba music. Though it was noon, the room was so dark that there was a two-dollar cover charge for the penlights they handed out at the door. “You get your money back when you leave,” the girl at the door said, “as long as you return the light.” Her teeth glowed green in the reflected light. “Or some people leave the two dollars as a tip.”

  “I’m meeting someone,” h
e said. “Am I supposed to just shine my light in every face till I find him?”

  “Is it Billy you’re looking for?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “He told me his friend would be coming.” She motioned with her hand. “Follow me.”

  Candler could have made his way minus the light and the guide, but he could not have made out the faces without stopping at each table to peer. Fast-food booths still lined the walls. An inflatable shark hung from the ceiling, lit from within by a blue bulb. Billy had moved out on Sunday and Candler hadn’t spoken with him since he left. It was only Wednesday, but it felt funny, and Candler decided to respond to the lunch invitation that Billy had left on his machine.

  His guide shone her light on a booth and then in Candler’s face. “You’re right here,” she said.

  Candler thanked her. Billy sat alone in a corner booth. The hostess and Billy exchanged a few words and she left to get them a pitcher of beer.

  “I can’t drink beer,” Candler said. “I have to get back to work. So do you.”

  “I asked for a personal day to move in,” Billy said. “Drinking at noon is about as personal as I know how to be.”

  “This is a weird place,” Candler said.

  “I didn’t actually get the personal day,” Billy went on, “ ’cause I haven’t worked at the Center for three months yet. I’m just taking a personal lunch.”

  “Everything all right at the workshop?”

  He might have nodded. “Best job I’ve ever had. I usually go out to lunch with the crew. They’re good company.”

  “Nice of you to make the sacrifice to see me. I can’t quite get over this place.”

  “Used to be a Long John Silver’s,” Billy said. “I like it. I know when we were in college we’d’ve loved it, which I remind myself whenever I get bored here. Also, it’s in walking distance from my new place.”

  “I would never have guessed such a bar existed in Onyx Springs.”

  “There’s fajitas. Pot stickers. Pita sandwiches. Junk food from around the world.”

  “It’s good to see you, if I could see you.”

  “You can see me.” Billy set his mini flash on the table, angling the ray to provide some illumination. Billy’s face was ghostly in the strange light.

  “Let me get something out of the way. Did you move out because of Lise?”

  “No way.” Billy smiled, his teeth glowing purple. “She was just using me to get you back. And I had fun being used. So . . . no hard feelings.”

  This exchange permitted Candler to say that he had been seeing her on the sly, that he was obsessed with her, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  “Why don’t you marry her instead of Lolly?” Billy said.

  “I love Lolly.”

  “Then why don’t you quit seeing Lise?”

  “I think about her all the time.”

  “We’re back to number one. Either choose Lise or quit thinking about her. If you’re thinking about marrying Lolly while you’re obsessed with Lise, well, I’m no expert, and I’ve had less than perfect luck with women, but I think that makes you a prick. You need to pick one and stick with her. It’s not actually complicated.”

  A waitress wearing eyeglasses with tiny headlights in them appeared with a pitcher of beer and frosted mugs. She took their lunch orders and filled the mugs before leaving. Her platform heels lit up as she walked, like kids’ sneakers.

  “I’m not sleeping with Lise,” Candler said.

  “That must mean she won’t let you,” Billy replied. “That’s not the same as being true to Lolly.”

  “At lunch, I guess it was Monday, Lise told me about going with her mother on a special trip to St. Louis to buy clothes when she was about to start high school, and—you know that kind of story. It took some twists and turns, and they bought a lot of expensive stuff the family could not afford, and worse, it was all her mom’s taste and Lise knew she would never wear it.”

  “Yeah,” Billy said, nodding, “conversation, sometimes it’s no fun.”

  “That’s the thing,” Candler insisted. “It was a good story. Or I liked it anyway, and I came here thinking I’d tell you about it, but then I realized it’s just some mom-daughter shopping-bonding story that you wouldn’t have any interest in hearing.”

  “Go ahead and tell me. Give me the long version, if you want. I’ll listen.” He switched off his light. “At least, it’ll seem like I’m listening.”

  “I liked the story because of the way Lise told it, or just because it was her telling it, or . . . Fuck, Billy, I’m losing my mind.”

  “No you’re not.” He flicked his penlight back on. “The interview go okay?”

  Candler had spent Tuesday with the personnel committee, chatting and answering questions, hearing one official spiel or another, answering more questions. His presentation to the board had taken no more than an hour. If you could change one thing about the Center, a gargoyle asked, what would it be?

  “If you mean magically change something, then I’d have an anonymous donor provide us with enough money to fund everyone who needs treatment. That’s not likely going to happen, but I do understand that fund-raising is a crucial component of the director’s job.” Candler had smiled then, and they all smiled back. It was a slick answer they knew was prepared in advance and signified nothing, but they nonetheless treated it as if it were genuine.

  While he explained all of this to Billy, their pita sandwiches arrived in webbed plastic bowls. The bowls glowed in the dark. Candler said, “They seemed to like me. From what Egri says I maybe didn’t hit it out of the park, but a solid ground rule double.”

  “Once this stuff is settled, you’ll feel better,” Billy said. “The job, the women, the various hoops and ceremonies they’re putting you through. When at least some of this stuff is over, we’ll have a real conversation. I’ve got plenty of things to tell you. Big things, small things, all kinds of things. Important things. And a few questions. Like, am I going to be your best man?”

  “Who else?”

  “For either babe?”

  “I’m marrying Lolly, and you’re my best man.” They ate for a while in silence. The glowing shark turned its head in their direction. Except for its luminescent blue eyes, it was a realistic-looking shark. “If I get the promotion,” Candler said, “I’ll take her to Hawaii for the honeymoon. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. If I don’t get the promotion, I don’t know where we’ll go, maybe Tijuana. I could almost afford Tijuana.”

  “I’m not going to date Lise,” Billy said, “no matter who you marry. Just so you know.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I wish you could’ve been my best man,” Billy said, “but it was all of a sudden, and you didn’t even live in Flagstaff anymore.”

  “I understand. Not a problem.”

  “Any time I get married, I’d prefer for you to be my best man,” Billy said, “whether you actually do it or not. If I get married ten times, it’s you times ten, even if you’re never around.”

  “You should eat something.”

  “And if you do something that pisses me off, I’ll forgive you. No matter what.”

  “Are we talking about Lise?”

  “Just talking. Friends forgive each other, is what I’m saying. Even if one does something he knows will piss off the other. He must have a good reason, so he gets forgiven.”

  “We are talking about Lise.”

  Billy may have shrugged. Some dim movement of his neck and shoulders seemed to have occurred. Candler was reminded of talking in bed, those darkened conversations that anticipate sleep. A waitress down the aisle appeared in the halo of her penlight and seemed to be looking right at him. The penlight flicked off and he realized that he had not been imagining Lolly or Lise in his personal dark, but Dlu. He took another drink and understood that his plastic mug was empty again. Three beers on a work
day lunch. Why on earth was he thinking about Dlu?

  “You could go to Tucson,” Billy said, “honeymoon wise, as long as it’s not a summer wedding. Tucson’s cheap and you could see your mom. Does the best man go on the honeymoon?”

  “Not traditionally.”

  “I might, though, if you go to Tucson. I could stay with your mom.”

  “You could stay with your mom.”

  “Of course. Sure. Your mom’s a better cook, though, and she likes me better.”

  “Which of them would you pick?”

  “My mom or your mom?”

  “Lolly or Lise.”

  “If I were you and not me, then . . . uh, I’d marry either one of them,” he said, “and I don’t want to pick one ’cause if you wind up with the other one, then I’m the idiot who tried to prevent it, and if you choose the one I like, any time you have a fight you’ll blame your good old bud Billy for your troubles.”

  “What a load of shit. I’m asking you as a friend for help.”

  “Lolly is technically prettier, but they’re both plenty good enough looking.”

  “Let’s get beyond the surface.”

  “Okay, the deep stuff. Lolly is sexier, but Lise is plenty sexy.”

  “That’s not the deep stuff.”

  “You mean like, what? Personality?”

  “Personality and deeper.”

  “Like heart and soul?”

  “Yeah, who would Springsteen tell me to marry?”

  Billy finished his beer and used one of the penlights to check his watch. “All I can say is that night at Petco Park? It was like the best time I’ve had in maybe ten years.”

  “That was fun,” Candler agreed. “But haven’t you had sex in the past ten years?”

  “It was way more fun than sex. C’mon. Baseball, your best friend, a bottle of scotch, a bucket of beer, and Lise was pretty nice that night.

  Really nice. And we almost got that foul ball. If it’d bounced our way instead of the wrong way, we’d’ve nabbed it. Look at it like this: who do you turn to when you need to talk?”