Episode Three of 'Steven's Story' an original story
by
Melissa J. Vivigatz
~ * ~
"Secrets"
I was doing the final buttons up on my shirt as the doctor returned to the examination room, traditional clipboard of the profession in hand, papers being folded back and ‘ah-hummed’ over. Lucked out because he wasn’t one of the young ones, you know, kids who seemed to look for respect by tossing out big words at you, like they had to prove they knew what they were doing before they shoved a thermometer up your ass. Arrogance and insecurity all in one. No, this was an old fellow, hair white and thick, and if not exactly in a comfortable situation, at lease someone you could speak too.
“So what’s the bad news, Doc?”
“None for you, Mr. Hanscom. Only for myself, I am glad your complaint is not the norm, otherwise I would never be able to keep that place at Martha’s Vineyard. And before you ask, no, despite the blood work, which will not be in for a week or so, I see no reason for a cat scan.”
Relief in part, because such machines and environment brought back bad memories, still.
“So you know what is wrong? The, well, reason for my problem?” He grunted and I was glad it did not have to be repeated. Talk about an embarrassing thing to speak about with another guy. (Unless you were at a bar and there was something long legged-and fine sitting in view to wonder about that was.) Then again, imagine what it was like for the poor S.O.B.s who could only point south?
“I might have an idea. Couple of questions first. Said you recently went through a divorce?” I nodded. “Bad one?”
I snorted bitterly, “Aren’t they all?”
“Not always, though sad to say usually.”
Thank you for leaving it there and not telling me about yourself, old timer. You still wear a ring. Long set and grown together, a comfortable graft of bright gold and aging flesh. Part of something, never alone...
Oh, Shell...
Flip of paper, “Now, this so-called problem of yours started about two months ago you said?” I nodded. “Right after the divorce?”
What did that have to do with anything? “That ended a year ago.” Not technically, but physically. Out the door and no looking back except at her stuff. Jesus, the bitch had all but needed a tractor trailer for her clothes alone!
Well, if nothing else, her and her broke broker could start one hell of a second hand clothing boutique. Not that that would ever happen. No, once Sheila got her claws into something she never let got...not unless she found something she liked better.
Bitch, bitch, Sheila, you whoring, bitch!
“Mm-hmm.” Nod, sound of my tight voice clearly telling.
The doctor lowered his board, bottom edge against his potbelly with crossed hands bracing on the other end and looked at me, getting ready to lay out the heavy.
“Now then, Mr. Hanscom, to make things clear you are as healthy as a Kentucky race horse at the gate. Racquetball is probably the strangest method developed by man for a couple of guys to try and kill the other, but it sure keep you fit. Ones like you, I mean, not the other half which ends up down in emergency with a busted ticker. What the hell happened to good old fashion jogging for crying out loud?”
“In this city?” I huffed wryly.
“Yes, suppose you’re right. Back to you though, Mr. Hanscom.” He braced himself a little, not a good sign. “Now again, I’m not a head-shrink, the mind isn’t my field, only in my time I have seen people go through the most horrible things, stresses and situations I return home thankful with prayers every night I never had to go through myself. Just saying this so you know that despite my degree, I’ve had opportunity to see real people.”
“Are you telling me I am crazy?” Yeah, I was planning to commit suicide in a couple of weeks, (not that I’d mentioned that,) but crazy? Shit.
“Hell no,” he said to my semi-relief. “What I am saying, Mr. Hanscom, is that you are a man who has clearly gone through it, still is, and from the deep-set look in your eyes will be for a long while yet. Only during this time you’ve been wrapped up in this thing you’ve met someone. A someone your body is trying like crazy to tell your head about. My professional advice is to stop beating around the bush and get to it.”
“Doc, swear to god, if I had met someone, that is exactly what I would be doing now instead of standing here talking to you!”
He laughed, “Good man. Yet that is just it, Mr. Hanscom, there is someone out there close to you, but you just can’t see the rose through the thorns. Tell me, when exactly does your little problem rise?”
Oh, fun-ny. “That’s just it, Doc, it happens all the time. Both when I am alone at home and at work surrounded by people.” And in the car, while shopping, hell, I was just lucky I managed to get out of the kitchen ‘unnoticed’ that time David was at my place cooking dinner! Talk about a close call, imagine getting a rock hard one when you had one of your buddies around! Guys would think you were queer for them or something. Not that I had a lot of friends to hang around with, but still!
“Hmm.”
“Tell me about it.”
“No, you tell me about it, Mr. Hanscom. You work in an office building?”
“I am a lawyer, yes.” Considering the situation, I was not going to add that it was a ‘big firm’. Christ!
“So, anyone new around? You said at first this happened mostly while you were at work. A new lady lawyer there, perhaps a cute secretary?”
“God, I hope not.” He looked at me, white eyebrow arched expectantly. “What I mean is there are a couple of new people, but the only one I can imagine is a bi... She is a worse gold-digger than my wife is, which is saying a lot. I can’t stand her at all.
“Besides, word around the office is she’s tapping one of my bosses. A married one three times her age.” Just the word? Ha!
“Ouch.”
“Believe me, Doc, it is not her.”
He took a deep breath and sighed, “Well, Mr. Hanscom, I have done just about all I can for you. I still think I’ve called this correctly, and suggest you pay more attention. Note exactly what you are thinking about and who is in your surroundings when this thing happens. Worse case scenario, if you can’t get this situation figured out and managed then come back to me. Old trick from the navy, salt peter in mashed potatoes. Keeps all the sailors down if you catch my drift.”
“That’s sick,” I shuddered.
He shrugged a shoulder, “Fact of life, Mr. Hanscom. Get trapped in close quarters for a few weeks or months, nothing to do and everyone all young and healthy, ready and able as it were. Well, as the old saying goes, any port in a storm.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Pray all you want, lad, doesn’t change a thing.”
“No, but they pay for it.”
“Church go’er, eh?”
“Every Sunday,” I nodded proudly.
“Hmm. Well, check that place out as well. Can’t all be spinsters sitting nearby. Perfume is a strong trigger. Shampoo, hair spray, never know what gets the old hind-brain to wondering. The olfactory senses are amazing things. Triggers, Mr. Hanscom.” He tapped the side of his head, “It all starts up here.”
Swell, my brains were in my dick. Then again, that was how Sheila always led me around. Cock and balls, and from there is was a homerun straight to the wallet.
“Pipe man, eh? Comes off the jacket,” he sniffed as I pulled it on.
I nodded, “I’m not about to get a lecture, am I?”
“Hell no! Just jealous. Got too much slack around here. All this crap being spouted about these days, research that doesn’t hold up, yet sounds mighty fine on paper. Research grants, catch my drift? Told more than once how it wasn’t ‘healthy’ for my career so gave it up. These damn yuppy kids in their management suites, don’t know a stethoscope from a tongue depressor, younger than some of my grandkids for Christ’s sake, and they think they know better than me?
“That’s what I loved about George Burns,” he said as we started walking towards the door, “that joke that wasn’t a joke about him outliving all his doctors. Killed me every time I heard it. Poor bastards probably worked here. Damn, I count the days to retirement if only for that,” he finished with a grunt.
“Maybe I am the lucky one, Doc. All I had to wait for is my wife to leave me.” Right when I turned forty. Happy Birthday, Steven!
He grinned, “Oh yes, a true pipester, Mr. Hanscom. Always find the silver lining no matter what. Fellows are the salt of the earth.”
I liked the old gent and we shook hands at the door, “Well, I won’t torture you then about the Peterson Anniversary edition I have coming in.”
“You better not, or instead of the peter I have to solve you’re problem I’ll prescribe a scalpel!”
“Ouch, Doc.”
He squeezed my hand tightly, good grip on the old codger, “That’s my middle name, kid. Doc R. ‘Ouch’ Samlin. And don’t you forget it.”
“Not with this hand,” I said, shaking back the circulation and he grinned.
Well, I tried the advice, at least so far as my head was concerned, yet nothing there.
That night though, tossing and turning in my bed, punching a pillow that just would not get right, drifting in and out of restless sleep I had some hellified dreams.
Started out with Sheila. (Didn’t they always, though?) My wife—ex-wife, damn it!—coming to me...coming home. So real, it was like she was in our—my—bed with me.
Talk about smells! Her hair, always her wonderful hair, amber from touch of Irish decent (even had green eyes, exact same shade as my own) and the way, despite her liking for chic was never cut, never styled anything but natural, long, curly waves free flowing.
Loved that hair, sight, smell and feel. The way the silk coils just wrapped about the fingers like caressing snakes of Eden; never tangling no matter how much it was played with...way I would bury my face in it and inhale deeply everything that was woman about her.
Gorgeous body, could have been a model, even did a little work back when we were younger and money was tight. She loved the spotlight, but not the fact that it was work; the only glamour there long after the shutter was clicked and her legs were gracing some add or other.
Oh, those legs. Smooth as satin and went all the way up just like an angel’s trapped on earth were supposed to, beckoning one towards the warmest of heavens between them.
Not an angel though, not Sheila. Cold heart so opposed to the fire she instilled in men, calculating mind with eyes to match.
Only in the dream she wasn’t like that. In the dream she had actually meant those words she spoke to me during or final video call together. Fact that she was sorry, that she knew she had made a mistake, had been a fool to have slept with another man.
(Yeah, for two years she had made that ‘mistake’. Over and over again, several times a week in our home. Our bed, the couch, on the god damn kitchen island. I knew because she had left a DVD of the action for me in the player. On purpose after she left, the bitch.)
Except in the dream none of that had mattered, did not exist, and more, as she came slinking across the wide bed, red silk robe open, her firm, voluptuous breast swinging freely she did something she never had when we were married. No, mouths were not for ‘that place’, yet in the dream they were, and it was gripping the pillow for other reasons then as pouting lips opened and I felt touch of her tongue.
Nothing sharp about it here, soft, delicate...then used stronger so that one of my hands came down, slipped through the coils of her hair, wrapped themselves deeply in it as she was taking me deeply and I looked down...saw that the color had changed.
Blond, not amber. Still her face though, same eyes, so at odd with the shade now cascading down from her head across both me and the bed.
Not Shell. Not Sheila’s hair, that. And thank god it was not the eye-popping bottle tone of Baxter’s whoring little ‘secretary’; the one who’s little ‘flirts’ with me, the younger, the divorced and well moneyed option, were getting bolder—more teeth-grating annoying—every day.
No, this was natural, innocent of falsehoods, a younger person’s hair.
David... David’s girlfriend had hair like that. Like my friend’s own, very close to it, trimmed in short cut, and if the young idiot would just come to his senses, forget about his own horribly ended failed relationship then he and Kimberly would get married and have children with the same. Just one, picture perfect family; an beacon of light in a world dark and made of shit.
Thank god it was still Sheila’s face, still her mouth on me, but—no, oh no, I have no interest in Kimberly. My god, I wouldn’t do that to David!
Came full awake from the dream at that instant, my dick a clear tent no matter the heavy covers and I hurt. Not sexual, but an physical, actual pain and I had to do something about it, would die if that aching was not released...
Yet it was same as it always was, the self abuse exactly that; no relief to be had from the orgasm despite it being a hard one. Mess of the bed, mess of myself and I just lay there in it, the drying stickiness as disgusting as I felt myself to be. No relief though, just a pressure still within, something trapped deep inside, just biding its time till the next which would end the same way. Unsatisfied, pointless, unfulfilled...just like my life.
Just a few more weeks, Steven. Hold on just a few more. Still some things to do yet, items needing taken care of.
Could I make it though, that was the question? Two days after Thanksgiving, too many remaining between now and my appointment with my maker at Christmas. Winter in New England, my final walk into the woods...
Talk about a sacrilege. Suicide at that holies of times.
Again though, what did it matter? Hell was my destination, a step from one to another with no stops between, unless I was already in that place of limbo. Possibly. More than likely even, still, so many things left to do...
No, one had to be careful, do these things right. Shift accounts carefully, close some and open others, make all the right transfers under the radar; no warning flags made, hints of what I was about and planning. No risk of any loopholes.
Only friend I have in the world, David my boy. Everything to you. God, what a laugh. Barely knew the kid, only started working for the firm a few months back, yet in the entire world he was the only one I could think of, the only deserving human being I knew.
Yet I know what I see, David. You are a good person who never should have suffered a fraction of what you did. (Anger at that, the knowledge of what my friend had been forced to deal with in his life. Deal with alone, yet he had survived and come out the better. Yup, that was David, a survivor, who no matter what, came through with a smile. That and absent flip back of the unruly lock of hair always in his blue eyes and a ‘cool beans, man’ attitude.) Won’t matter what happens when I’m gone to cinders, yet I do know, deep in this dead heart of mine that you’ll do better than I did with this shit we call life.
Merry Christmas, kid.
Not a son, no, I did not view him as that, half my age though he was. No, David was something far better. He was a friend. A real one who had helped me last this long. Lawyers and windows were so fucking cliché. Least I would be saved that indignity, if no other. Yeah, just for that alone he had earned his ‘Christmas present’—a new life, a new start and a chance.
With Kimberly. Oh, that damn doctor had better be wrong! Yet even if he was, for the life of me I did not see it. Felt nothing beyond a mild affection because she was so close to David. Was good for him; a helper no matter he was always quick to claim he didn’t need such from anyone, ever. Was used to that being the case. Far too used to it in my book, no matter the age.
Little Davey against the world, she calls him. Kicked out of his home, left to live on the streets at age fourteen and by god, just look at him now! Oh, yeah, if there was anyone ever destined to be someone, to make a difference in the world, it was our cute Little Davey.
Suppose I should feel weird about that, calling him cute in my mind, but straight truth was that was what he was. Cute handsome, same as his Kimberly was a chipper little button. Meant for the other and no doubts about it.
I smiled, “Do me proud, kid. Keep the flash and the cash on the outside where it belongs. Get over your hang-ups and keep that girl in your heart.
“Not too deeply though, David, just enough. Keep safe and keep alive. Don’t end up like me. Please, God, do not let him do that. Amen.”
And on that note, I finally managed to sleep the last remainder of the night through.
Since my promotion (a thing that only happened because David had done the stunning thing of giving over complete credit to his sole weeks’ worth of sleepless work wading through the worm corrupted load of monster files and fixing a hardy chunk of them to me. Screw the promotion, my friend had saved my job with that move. Felt a little better, because he had been shocked that I told the high-ups that the young man had helped me. David was right, no one else in this place would have done that. No, they would have just grabbed the laptop and fired his ass before risking the truth come out.) I had started to work Sundays. Still part of the Thanksgiving ‘holiday’ though, and unlike normal, I was one of the few there. (No family after all. No, fucking wife.) I liked it like that, no teeny-bopper ‘secretaries’ shaking their plastic doctor’s tits at me, all in hopes I would nab her as my trophy wife.
No thanks and no how, baby. Twenty and hard as they came, that bitch Sally would have to be to even manage a single episode with the real monster of the law firm, non-affectionately called Beast Baxter. Old, ugly and mean as sin, his office’s ‘red’ phone was certain to have a direct line to Old Nick himself. Fact that the girl could manage it was proof enough to keep well clear even if there wouldn’t be fall out from the Beast.
Had to watch it though, had feeling there was a steak of vindictiveness there in her. Not so subtle at all her last time, had all but asked straight out if I’d like a hand-job, but no matter my ‘rising’ problem, just the though that those hands had touched the Beast’s shriveled me right up. Thank god for small favors, yet if I wasn’t careful she might go tell my boss that she had.
Tell you truth, if it weren’t for those like old Betty, head of the secretarial department and David’s girl Kimberly I would give up on the breed entirely. Wright women off as nothing but bad news. Not that I had anyone to write off; not that I had had anyone in my life since Sheila.
Possibly soon though. That girl behind the dessert counter at the local gourmet shop near my building was nice so far. Had only seen her twice, the first time that night David and me were having a batch dinner (though the way my friend could cook he could open a restaurant. Lamb roast with ‘scratch-made’ mint jelly. F me.) Saw her the second time the day before Thanksgiving, determined not to just booze that ‘holiday’ away in my apartment, attempt in some small way to do something a little extra. The pumpkin pie was nothing like my Aunt Lillian would make, too fancy with the spices, yet that along with the pre-made packaged turkey breast and assorted tubs of ‘sides’ had helped.
Heating times right on the label and I followed them exactly. I didn’t know if this had me elevated past the boil-water-and-dump-in-spaghetti and twist-open-jarred-sauce-top level or not, but at least this take-out hadn’t tasted like the stuff it had come boxed in.
The girl though, Susan, (I had gotten her name this time) mid-twenties, brown hair with eyes to match was nice looking. No bombshell; short, a real person in my book with only scant touch of makeup, was nice in manner as well. Offered her name, not me asking, so yes, might just be a possibility there at that.
Hmm, no reaction at the thought. Mixed relief I supposed. Someone like that did not need a guy coming into her life just to walk out of it after the bed business was done. Nice, friendly, yet not anyone I was about to change my plans because of. Certainly she was not the one the old doctor had told me to look out for either. My problem had started long before meeting her after all.
No, I just needed a good lay. Over a year, I imagine even a real ‘Kentucky race horse’ would be scratching at his stall over the lack, if not flat out battering the thing down to get loose before his balls exploded.
Well, who knew, maybe my luck would change and that would be seen to tonight. Sunday, going to take a half day because tonight the plan was to go out. Me and David hitting the clubs, just two guys catching some live jazz, and considering his looks, it was good thing only one of us would be on the prowl.
“Forty-one isn’t old, Steven.” No, but it sure as hell wasn’t sandy blond, blue eyed and twenty-one either, kid.
Tell you though, half of me was glad that Kimberly was off with her folks for the weekend. Man, talk about being a third wheel otherwise! No, this would work out well both for me and David. No fun being alone, and all heard of troubles between her and her folks aside, David’s girl sure did spend plenty time away with them. I wondered how those two had met? Clearly the girl’s family was well off. Kimberly having a nice little car at nineteen (twenty in January) and was always picking up or driving David to work in it.
David Taylor, who had been kicked out of his house two years after his mother had passed away, on the streets at age fourteen (though he still hadn’t told me that, just an overheard conversation when the two young people thought they were alone) and then despite everything, managed to grow up and get into college, a good one, yet a one which had left him with student loans up the ass. Not so bad, except he had lost everything with the breakup with his old girlfriend six months ago; living together for three years, mutual savings and checking accounts, the insane girl tossing David out and over for some psychotic who had gotten, literally, everything.
I had never seen the place David was living in now, the only thing he could manage having to start completely over again with loans on his back. Only knew it was bad. Real bad; so fucking slum-poor that the kid couldn’t even leave his place dressed in his work cloths for risk of being mugged. (Though he had been anyway. Swear, bad luck seemed to follow David. First the accident at the skating ring which left him a scar on his cheek, then mugged a few weeks later, looking like a grinning raccoon around the office, then not paying attention and tripping down the stairwell, reading a book at the time notwithstanding, the only luck there not ending up with a broken neck.) Changed before arrival at the god damn bus station, for Christ’s sake. Went white as a sheet at thought of me driving him home in my car, a full goody-spouting black BMW which would all but demand the junkies set on us in riot.
Where he managed the money to get the tools he needed for the job, from laptop to clothes (he had only escaped with a half-bag of such) I had no idea, not on the pittance work intern paycheck he had been subsisting on before that miracle with the Parkinson files had seen us both upped the ladder, yet he had, no one here at the firm left the wiser.
So he had lied on his dossier to get in, so what? Again, I would never tell his secret. Smart, yet honest in all ways that counted, a survivor with hardened steel under that boyishly charming, humorous exterior. Nor was his housing situation going to change soon even with the little increase in his check, not with rents being what they were in this big meat grinder of a city.
Not for much longer though, David. Set you up right, home to the beamer once it is shipped back here. Just a couple more weeks, kid. You can hold out till then, I know you can.
Smile at the thought, because reconsidering him and his girl’s situation, that might be exactly the reason the two didn’t tie the knot. The girl’s mother was reported to be a bit of a snob, the two always fighting and one extended week when I knew David had been barred from coming over. ‘Just friends’ my ass, you little scamp. Only hope you two kids got to finish your fun before the old broad caught you on the couch.
Ouch.
“Son of a bitch,” I swore and shifted in my chair. “No, I will not have this, do you hear me down there? I have no idea what you are thinking, but it sure as hell does not jive with what is going on with the real one in charge so forget it!” No, the old quack was way off on this one. What he had called just routine blood work tests were not back yet, not at this time, another week at least considering the holiday. Had to be something there, an imbalance, and if things came back negative (Figures, doctors called finding you were healthy ‘negative’. Talk about shysters!) then he, Steven was going to go to one of those ‘managerial suits’ and have them do the works, cat scans, probes, whatever, because this was torture.
A brain tumor, or more like brain cancer. Told him it ran in the family. Cancer that was, even if it wasn’t in the head. Three that I know of including Aunt Lillian, so sorry ‘Doc’, you just leave the head-shrinking to those with the degrees for it.
Head shrinking. God damn it, this hurt!
Everything right and proper, the matter ‘taken in hand’ as it were in the restroom and suit shucked back at his apartment, it was in ‘casual’ slacks and cotton shirt, heavy, brown leather jacket to ward off the late November chill; a simple elevator’s ride down to the lobby of my building, standatory waves to security and the door keep, (Oh yeah, good afternoon to you too, you bastards. Pleasant day and all that to all of you who just sat around on your asses for two fucking years laughing behind my back while my wife had an affair. Son of a bitch even had a reserved parking space, his own, fuck him key-card issued to my home! Some ‘security’ job, alright.) and I was going down the marble steps; smiled as smell of pipe smoke came drifting over.
“Hey, David,” I called and he got up from his sit against side of the building and waved, nose a touch red from the cold. “Why the hell didn’t you wait inside?”
“No smoking in the lobby,” he said as he grinned around his pipe stem. Gift from me, and swear god, even if it wasn’t a ‘Lord of the Ringer’ he still looked like an elf with that curled garlic in his red-nosed pucker.
“Well there is in my apartment. Why didn’t you use the key-card and come up?” He just shrugged. I had given him the bit of coded plastic soon as I’d heard about his trouble at Kimberly’s place. I was at the firm more often then not, the empty apartment perfect for a little rendezvous with his girl. Far as I know they hadn’t used it, the stubborn little bastard.
Ah well, just a couple more weeks, “So then, ready for dinner?”
“You bet!”
We finished our way down the steps and I tried to wave down a taxi without getting flattened by one, while he, with casual moves (clearly practiced,) tapped and then blew out the remainders in his pipe before rolling it up in its protective pouch and tucking the lot into his green parka.
“So what do you feel like having tonight?”
“How about some Indian? That Ganesha CD put me in the mood for it.”
“Oh yeah, Mr. Tusker.” I had forgotten about that lark purchase. Picked up in the gourmet shop because it looked like a tea box. I loathed tea, but that was David’s drink. Ah well, each to their own.
“Hey, he’s a god.”
“Sure he is,” I snorted as we got into the cab. (Ugh, cigarettes. Never could understand the attraction. Agreed, there were some pipe blends out there enjoyed more by the puffer than the bystander, yet name one time you’d ever heard of someone walking into a cigarette smoker’s den and go ‘mm’—including another cigarette smoker!)
“You tell him,” David said to the cabby. Not surprising it was one of the ones covered in gee-gaws and beads. “Ganesha is a god.”
Heavily accented, I got a little spiel about something or other. Not just a ‘god’ but a lord as well. Wisdom or something. Obstacles in the path. Considering his ‘horizontally-challenged’ figure, I could get the obstacle part. That was one dude who would have a narrow hallway all to himself, all right.
I cut the guy off, meter running and all that, “So you should know of some Indian restaurants I imagine?” Of course he did, and I left David and the cabby to talk things over and we were off.
“I already knew about him, by the way,” David started up again as we cruised through traffic just to wait at stoplights.
“Who?”
He rolled his eyes at me, “Ganesha of course! Only I wanted to hear that Japanese and Chinese music you found, more. I figured you weren’t ready for Hindi stuff yet.”
“As long as my stomach is, that’s all that matters.” He shook his head. “So how come you know that weird stuff?”
“Because I read. I think I spent half my life in some library or another. How I got into music as well. You’d be amazed at some of the stuff people donate. I’m glad everything transferred over into computers, but I still miss all those cards. I think it is sort of funny that you go into the library and have to use a computer to find a book, but at least it is faster.” I nodded. I hadn’t been in a real library since I was a kid in Connecticut, the stacks at college not counting. Beyond the weekly cribbage meet, Aunt Lillian had a book club, and once a week we were down at the local one, rows of small wooden drawers with their little paper cards far as the young eye could see. They had replaced that with computers? Man, what a loss.
Yet Mr. Lord Ganesha wasn’t the only thing David had once mentioned he read about. We hadn’t had a chance to finish that conversation yet, disturbing though it was.
“About coming back,” I said. Reminded him about the few sentences passed across the table before the lamb had been brought out, “You really believe that garbage?”
Hand to flick back his lock, “Just because someone thinks differently than you it doesn’t mean it is garbage.”
My turn to shrug, “Maybe.” Crap on that, we lived and we died. No more ‘coming back to learn new stuff’. Just ‘the end’ case closed. Still, I saw no reason to get into a fight about it. I had never seen David mad before, determined, upset, sure, but now there was a hint of that steel in those blue with green flecked eyes which spoke of a nerve being stepped on.
I think he realized it and sat back, smiling easily, annoyance vanished.
“What church do you go to?” I asked suddenly.
He just shrugged, thing which unsettled.
“Oh, I haven’t been to one of those since I was a kid.”
“That’s not good, David.”
“That is what you think.”
“David, I am serious here,” I grit my teeth as he wrinkled his nose teasingly.
“So am I.”
More serious, “Steven, I’ll tell you the difference between us.”
“You’re Jewish.”
He rolled his eyes, “No, I am not Jewish.”
“Hey, I have nothing wrong against Jews. Plenty at the firm. Some are decent guys.”
“Good for them, but even they go to Synagogue. Not me though, I don’t need a big building with someone up on stage telling me what to do, how to live my life, and if I don’t do it just right according to them I’ll get punished.”
“So where do you go?”
“I don’t have to go anywhere. It’s all right here you see,” he tapped his chest, then gestured outside the cab window. “You say God made everything, right? So how come you can only ‘connect’ when you are in certain buildings? That’s so stupid.”
“No, that is, well, that’s the way it is.”
“Ha,” he snorted, still smiling easily, “Oh, I can understand making a place a little more separate to concentrate easier in, but that doesn’t mean that place is all there is. Some places are nicer, but that doesn’t make them better, Steven. All made up by God, right? So no, I do not need a building where someone else tells me what to do. I’ve got as much right as anyone to listen and connect all on my own. Just go in here and rely on that.” He tapped his chest again and grinned.
“How old are you again?”
“Old enough to stay up as long as I want where I want. I mean, it’s a good thing we are eating early, because The Echo is small. The cool stuff is going to start around nine, but if you want a table with stable legs you have to get there early, and word I got is there are going to be some great folks playing tonight. Kimberly’s friend Casey is a waitress there. I don’t know how I missed the place before meeting Kimber, but like I said, it is really small.”
Not the restaurant we went to though. Large, yet tiny all at the same time, small booths like islands with hanging carpets and sequined things enough to give a claustrophobic fits. Busy place, even Mr. Tusker, who had grown some extra arms, was seated in one corner draped in scarves, bowl of water with flower petals floating in it, candles surrounding. Other statuary wearing beads, which were like, yet not, rosaries here and there.
“This place is great,” David said with a grin as he tried to catch in everything.
“Plenty to look at, that’s for sure.” Smells galore, no telling the difference between spicy foods and incense.
“Come on, you like it, I know you do.”
“Some of it,” I admitted. Not exactly my style, my culture, yet there were some fine looking antiques about the place. Things of cut brass and bronze; wall scones for candles; raised decoration trays hung along above a carved and bright painted beam polished just enough, yet not sparkling, allowing the touch of remaining tarnish to bring out the edges of the designs more. “Which one is that,” I asked as I picked out another statue. A seated lady with a flower in her hand. Reminded me of an aristocratic hippy.
“That’s Tara. A white one. She comes in different colors, but in her white aspect it means compassion, long life, healing and serenity. That blue one in the painting is also her. Helps deal with anger, teaches you to use the energy generated by it for better things.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.” Sounded very Christian, actually.
He was smiling, “See the yellow one by the cash register? Wealth and prosperity.” Cool beans, she had the Jews covered as well. (Not that I meant it or had anything against them, hell some of the jokes Stanowitz told would get him barred from his synagogue faster than you could say kosher. Still, more and more the place was looking like a finance lawyer’s Mecca.)
“Huh. Is there a reason she doesn’t have a top on?” Nor was rainbow lady the only one. Place felt like a statuary nudie bar. Whew, talk about brass knockers.
“Yup. It is because they are more spiritual representations that don’t have hang-ups about the body.”
No kidding. The more you looked the more it felt like the place needed an R-17 rating. Or many a good, solid X from the look of the ‘happy’ couple across the bar. Meditating my ass, those two needed a room. Ouch.
Cleared my throat and had some beer. A Taj Mahal with bottle size to match. Good thing there were two of us to split it, “I don’t think I’d like to meet that lady on the tiger. Talk about a woman with issues!”
“Geesh, Steven. She needs that stuff. Durga goes around fighting demons to keep the world safe. She’s really pretty nice.”
“If you say so.” I wasn’t going to ask about the other one though. Talk about giving a man the creeps!
“That’s Kali,” he said with a wink. “She fights demons too. Kicks ass hard.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever tried to eat something with someone holding up a severed head before. Not unless it was Halloween.”
“Yeah, she likes to show her victories, sort of like, ‘See this, you other demons? You don’t want to mess with me, so stay away’. See that one? That’s her husband.”
“The one dancing like a Russian on fire?”
“Well, I don’t know about that, but the circle around him is the universe. He dances it into creation and Kali destroys it.”
“I can relate. Poor bastard.”
“No, it’s not like that at all. Imagine a copy machine that you can’t shut off. It just spews out paper after paper till the room it full and clogs up. Nothing moving anywhere, just stuck jammed in place. Kali is like the one who gathers it up and puts it in the recycler so there can be more paper. Keep the circle flowing, right?”
“Seems kind of pointless to me.”
“Yeah, but you’re young yet.”
“Bite your tongue,” I said, using one of his expressions back at him.
“I probably wouldn’t notice. ‘Medium’ means different things to different people I guess. I bet you’re going to like the coffee here. Steven, it is okay, right?”
“You want the truth?” He nodded seriously, the gesture requiring him flip his hair back again. I smiled, “Yes, I do. The music makes more sense now.”
“I know. It is like you get the colors in it. Everything all layered upon itself, just like the decoration.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
“Cool beans.”
“Groovy, man,” I said and he tilted over laughing. That expression always killed him.
The coffee at the end of the exotic meal was good. Like espresso, and I drank mine while David had something milky that smelled strongly of ginger spice. Apparently you could do a lot of things with tea.
All sorts of desserts (I could tell he wasn’t going to get anything) but I ordered us an assortment of things anyway, small, white little dishes on a silver tray.
“Mango ice cream, what will they think up next?”
“How about fried ice cream?”
“You are making that up. You can’t fry ice cream.”
“The Japanese do. See, they drop a scoop into the middle of some dough and then dunk it quick in a fryer. It is so hot and in and out so fast that the ice cream doesn’t have time to melt. I’ve only had it once with Kimberly, but it was really neat.”
“Sounds like a plan for next time. Though at the moment I am wondering what this is. A donut hole or something?” I poked the gooshy sphere around with my spoon.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained,” and I scooped it up along with some of the clear syrup it was laying in. Whoa, talk about a sugar hit! David laughing when I grabbed the last bit of my coffee to get it down. “I didn’t know it was hot. Man, I am going to be up all night now.”
“Good. About ready to go?”
“Yup. David, put your wallet away, I have this.”
“Why?” he flushed.
“Because I still haven’t covered you for my half of that lamb dinner you cooked yet is why. Come on, my treat. Besides, I’d have never even known a place like this existed if you hadn’t thought of it. Not to mention an statue lesson included in the bargain. You can leave the tip if you want to though.”
He did, exact amount as traditional. Ouch for David, I was going to see if there was a way to possibly ‘drop’ a twenty spot someplace for him to ‘find’ at the nightclub. Then again, knowing David, he would probably hand it to a waitress in case anyone came looking.
There was a section by the register on the way out, “A restaurant and tourist shop, how groovy is that? I’ve never had incense in my place. Anything you recognize to recommend?”
“No, I usually burn sage and stuff. They smell good though, whatever they are.”
“So you do burn your dinner sometimes!”
“No,” he snorted as I grabbed some bright things at random. “White sage. You don’t use it for cooking, just incense. Native American thing.”
“You can tell me about it in the cab. You want Mr. Tusker to go along with the CD?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Steven, come on. You don’t have to, well...” he shrugged, lips pressed tightly.
“All right. Just felt funny only getting a souvenir for myself is all. Feels like we went to India itself.” I stood up from the case and shook my head at the young guy in the bright clothes who’d come smiling over to assist. “Maybe next time.” Shit, the kid was right. What was I doing? I had once told him this life was all about trade. Was that what I was doing then, some pathetic attempt to show gratitude or something? Or was it worse, just an ingrained habit?
Shell, you messed me up bad. Just another sign missed on my part; fact that the only way I could feel good about myself was to give someone something, pay them for sharing some time with me.
Sheila, you really are a whore. And what did that make me? Not a husband, just a fucking john with a ring on his finger...
“Which one were you thinking of getting? For yourself?”
Annoyed, “I don’t know. Was kicking that idea of yours about the herb plants and grow light in the kitchen. Thought a mini statue would work in a mini garden.”
“Then get a Green Tara.”
“Not a blue?” I scoffed.
“It would look like a Smurf.”
“Yeah, with tits. Ah well, next time.”
“No, go ahead.”
Habit, yet the only one I knew, “Only if you pick one out as well. Come on, we can trade them off like action figures.”
“All right, but I will get Rama if that is okay?”
“Sure, whatever you want,” I said as the little white-painted dude with the arrows and curvy bow (wearing a skirt, but that seemed to be all these guys wore, just like most of the women. Oomph, what a culture,) was nabbed from the case. “What’s his deal?” I asked as they were wrapped in some paper, snorting sardonically inside because if I was a dog my tail would be wagging as comfort patterns were reestablished.
Pathetic, Steven. Real pa-the-tic.
A shrug after we’d popped them into coat pockets, “He sort of when through some stuff, but it all worked out in the end. Even became emperor of the world for a few thousand years.”
“Lucky.” No, it sounded perfect. Not that I was going to leave him the world or anything, but it was best I could do.
“Yeah, well, you know. He just kept going, no matter what happened, you know?”
No, I didn’t then, but I did later. Amazing what you could learn on the internet.
Lord Rama: exiled for fourteen years from his father’s house. His wife Sita, captured by a demon during that time and a terrible war fought to get her back. Happy ending, everything fine and dandy with smiles for everybody. Ta-da!
Oh, David...
The little hole-in-the-wall jazz club called The Echo took some time to get to. One of those mid-point places where one side of the street was fine, almost residential, but the next one over had broken streetlamps and more garbage on the walk. The way he felt about my car, it was no wonder David had suggested taking a cab. (Well, buses, actually, yet even I had to draw the line someplace.)
“You can smoke here,” he ‘whispered’ with a sly grin and wink.
“My god, a speak-easy!”
“A what?”
“Ha! My turn to learn you something. There was a time when the US of A outlawed alcohol. There were special places everyone knew about but no one talked of called ‘speak-easies’ or just ‘speaks’. Folks of all background would gather and party down, listen to the real jazz greats no matter they were black. Broke down some barriers as well as gave rise to the old-world gangsters. You know, Al Capone and all them.”
“Oh, right,” he said with a quick nod, yet I got the feeling he had no idea who I was talking about.
“His nick-name was the Big Cap.”
“Geesh, I know that,” he snorted and flicked back his hair. “Table!” he suddenly yelled and went dashing off to where some folks were just standing, leaving me to follow more slowly through the tight and dimly lit place, small frown inside.
“You lose,” he said with a smug grin as already seated he tapped an empty spot on the table ‘first’.
“Warn a guy next time.”
“Nope.”
Things moved quickly here, and I was just sitting when a sexy voice behind me drawled, “So what’s your poison a’ the night, sugars?”
“Hey, Casey,” David grinned as the girl, the black woman of late twenties complete with small fro, tops of chocolate boobs all but pillowing out of her low cut top sidled around, white teeth flashing.
“’Lo, Davey-child.”
“She just fakes it,” David leaned over and explained.
“Ain’t nothin’ fake ‘bout these babies, white-bread,” she said and with arm hefted her goods higher. “What you think, Mr. Man?”
“Works for me,” I managed, eyes popping.
“Leave him alone, Casey,” David—not my friend at the moment—snorted.
Oof when she picked up the tip left by the last patrons and slipped the fold straight down into her ‘safe’. Yowza.
“Been hangin’ round that snooty Queen B too long, child.”
“Not after that last stunt you pulled at Kimbers. I’ve been banned for a month.”
“What a’ bitch,” the woman flounced her fro, “Just cause I ain’t on the sah-vant staff.”
“No, it’s because...well, just because.”
“Gotcha,” she winked. “So, Davey, keepin’ Mr. Man’s name all to yourself or what?”
“Casey, this is Steven. Steven, Casey. We work together at the law firm.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Casey.”
“Bet your ass it is, Mr. Man.”
“Case.”
“Sure ‘nough.” She leaned over and started gathering up empty bottles and glasses. “Here,” she pulled a piece of folded paper out of her low-cut jean’s pocket and slid it across the table to David who nodded and slipped it in his. “Call anytime.”
He nodded, “Thanks.”
“Kimber is going to kill me,” she said, loosing the drawl.
“I said thanks, Casey.”
“Sure ‘nough.” Flash of teeth, “So, usual poison, white-bread?”
“No, I want a Keoki tonight.”
“Ooo, fancy. Uh, Davey? Boss was riding my ass the other week.”
“Gotcha. It’s cool, I got a raise!”
“Well Lordy be praised now. ‘Bout time, too.” Turned to me, “How ‘bout you, Mr. Man? Got yourself a’ taste for somethin’ sweet?”
Whoa, did I ever! Chocolate pudding all the way.
“Just a beer for now, Miss Casey. How about you tap me something dark?”
“Ooo, I like this friend a’ yours, Davey, suit or not.”
“Hey, I’m not wearing a suit,” I protested.
Then had another mental ‘whoa’ as she leaned full over and pinched my cheek, “Not yet your not, Mr. Man.”
“Ouch,” I said aloud as I watcher her round bottom swagger off.
“Sorry, Steven, she just does it to get higher tips.”
“We’ll she’s got mine high, that’s for sure.” I turned to him though, “David, seriously though, is this something I shouldn’t mention to Kimberly? Passing you her phone number I mean?” Don’t do it, kid.
He blushed, “No, it’s not like that. Casey and Kimberly are good friends.”
“That hasn’t stopped many before. It rates high on the top ten reasons for divorce cases.”
“Maybe, but this is different. Steven, I...well,” he ducked his face away. “See, there are some people out there. Sometimes, well, they need a little help.”
“Like what?”
“Well, like someone to talk to sometimes.”
“About what?”
“All sorts of things. Only, they need someone who can sort of relate to them, you know?”
I nodded, though I didn’t. Could imagine though. Homeless kids, maybe runaways. That overheard conversation between David and his girl about why he was so determined to become a defense lawyer, because there were those out there who couldn’t do it for themselves...and there was no one else who cared to.
Little Davey against the world. What a kid.
One who did not know that I knew he had once been one of them.
I know he finished college, those documents and recommends are not fake, not the way these things get check out. But not knowing Big Al, David? Holy crap, how did he get into the college he did on a god damn G.E.D?
“And Kimberly has a problem with that?”
He flushed and then raised his chin, “She just likes to worry about stuff. It’s no big deal, Steven.”
“All right. Just be careful.” Because if it had Kimberly worried it probably meant he was going to shelters and like places. Or maybe finding kids to bring them to such.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can.” He grinned at me, like I had given him the finest compliment in his life or something.
Bouncy Casey returned with our drink, but the place was getting busier and she couldn’t stay for much banter. No free tables that I could see, apparently we had timed out arrival just right.
“A coffee?” I asked as he sidled up to his whip-cream topped drink.
Standard duck and blush, “I always wanted to try one.”
“Well good luck. I think coffee is the last thing they add to those, though.”
He sipped from a straw, “Wow.”
“Sounds like they got it right. Just be careful, those things can knock you on your ass.”
“I believe it. I think it just burned away the spices!” he said as his nose went pink.
For myself, Casey had brought some sort of larger, dark with a foamy head. Groovy.
I picked it up and leaned back to sip. The place was dim, but eyes were adjusted now easy. Good, because there were some interesting people to be seen. A lot my age as well I was relieved to note. Very mixed crowd, some even wearing suits. Ha.
Another outstanding ‘profile’ silhouette, and I just had to ask the kid about her again.
“She calls herself a ‘free performance artist’,” David told me. “Casey can do voices like you wouldn’t believe. Said she wanted to be an actress, but because of her ‘bussom buddies’ she only got offers for certain types of movies she wasn’t interested in. Waitressed around a lot, changed styles according to where she was working. Sometimes she comes here in full sixties costume, others times it’s all disco sequins.”
“She must make a hell of a disco ball.” Yeah, a real two-fer.
“For real. Once she wore this silver top and sat on the bar with a couple of flashlights on her. She’s not allowed to wear it anymore, even the band couldn’t play.”
Lord have mercy.
“Here we go,” David said as the lights flickered and the canned music (Miles Davis) went off as a trio picked up where the famed horn blower had ended.
“Hey, they are good.”
“I told you.” And determined to make an impression as ‘coffee’ was pushed aside (smart kid) and he brought out his pipe fixings.
Packed and lit, (an drug store cherry. Sighs.) but he got it going first try, leaned back (feet tucked in though, too much risk of tripping someone) and smiled as he puffed.
“And there you have it,” I applauded. He made a dashing elf, if too tall for a hobbit. “Keep that up and you’ll be beating them off with a stick.”
“Nah, I’m cool. How about you?”
I snorted, “Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell me this was a speak.”
“I’m sorry. You want it?” he offered the thing across the table.
Christ, did he think I was that desperate?
I just waved my hand, “Nope. Virginia man, I told you.”
His look a little nervous, “But this is okay, isn’t it, Steven?”
“Of course it is! Why should I mind what you smoke?” I chuckled wryly.
“Well, because it’s your pipe and everything.”
“It is your pipe, you mean.”
“Well, yeah, but...”
“No buts. And no putting it away, either.”
“Okay.” Except it did not look like he was enjoying it so much anymore.
“Anything the matter?”
“Nope.”
A ‘coffee’ drink and now upset because he was smoking the wrong thing. (Which was impossible. You smoked what you liked and screw the other guy.)
Oh come on, David, what are you trying to do, impress me? Or if you’re trying to emulate the old man, forget it. If anything, there should be more people trying to be like you.
I sat back (feet tucked under chair) and tried to relax with the music. He’d once said he wanted to be just like me. I guess sometimes even David could be an idiot, too.
No comment a little later when he put it away, because it was true relaxing then, just listening to the music and crowd watching as we talked easy stuff.
Lots of applause when the set finished and the canned music resumed.
“Four o’clock,” David the scamp, said to me.
“I’m not blind, kid,” I answered back as the lady in the side-slit skirt ‘idly’ glanced my way again and switched her crossed legs after returning her ‘attentions’ back to the bar where she was sitting. Alone.
“Well, I was just checking. Most people start needing glasses after thirty.”
“You are so looking for a good ass kicking, I swear to god,” I laughed...then caught the lady’s eye again.
“Go on already,” he all but shooed me.
“David... No, it’s fine. Hey,” I frowned suddenly, “This wasn’t just some ploy, was it? Get the mopey old man out of the office?” Christ, David, am I that pathetic even in your eyes? Don’t tell me this night wasn’t just about two friends hanging out together...
He smirked, “What do you want to bet that I can get her pone number before you?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I don’t know, Steven. I was searching the web and there’s this site that has all the pipes from the Rings on it. Strider’s looked cool. Though the way you’re acting maybe Gandolf’s would be better for you.”
“For your information, kid, Strider is like a couple hundred years old.”
“He is?”
“Yup. Picked up the extended version and they talked about it. During that scene where the blond almost killed him with her cooking. I think he’s part elf or something.”
“I didn’t see that part.”
“Bring some beers over tomorrow night and you will. That is if I am not busy.”
“Then you better hurry up, because I think she’s getting the idea you aren’t interested in girls.”
“That’ll be the day!”
“Yup.”
So on that note I picked up my near empty and made way through the crowd to the bar to get another. Nervous as a kid myself—more like twisted in knots—on the inside, but I was a lawyer, and a large part was being able to come across as confident even when you knew the party you were defending wasn’t worth shit. What a life.
Rusty? I’ll say, but it was the lady who had made the invitation, so the few casual greetings and comments did not go so badly.
