Gina’s Problem
“Mom, are you ever going out of the house again?
Gina could see that Tommy was angry. His face had a familiar scowl, the one she always associated with spinach because it was with strained spinach that she saw it for the first time. He was stomping away now, shaking his head in affected disgust, his ponytail bouncing out an admonition. When she heard the dishes begin to slam against the counter, she turned to her screen and typed ...RTI bbl... (real time interruption be back later) and closed out the window. Her modem informed her that she had been on-line for 4:35:17, but she knew that wasn’t really the case. There had been a restart to activate some newly acquired software. Reluctantly she moved her mouse to click on disconnect.
“Tommy, what is the problem?”
The fourteen-year-old boy looked up with an exaggerated snarl. “I’m hungry and you don’t give a shit! That’s the problem!”
Gina felt an rt pang. She was uncomfortable with it. As she walked across the kitchen floor, her mind typed,* slowly walking across the kitchen floor * She moved to her son and put her arms on his shoulders. * extending my arms and embracing Tommy* Then she felt him shrug her off.
“Jesus, Mom. I just wanted something to eat!”
“I’ll fix you something.”
* his face pouting * “What?”
“How about hot-dogs and eggs?”
* Tommy smiling * “OK.”
She had just begun to scramble the eggs when she heard Merry wake up crying from her nap. “Mommy will be right there,” she said. The crying got louder. Gina worked faster, speeding up her mechanics.* a trickle of sweat running down her forehead...*
An hour later she was back into her dialup network, feeling better, having had an rt exp, and feeling like she had earned her way back into the room. She connected at a slick 33,600 BPS (Bytes Per Second) and saw her handle flash onto the screen:
Damsel enters the room....
Brown eyed girl says: Hello Damsel * smile *
Pierre winks at Damsel: there she is ...the woman of my dreams
Alec nods knowingly: Supermom is back without so much as a hair out of place
Damsel blushes: good evening everyone *smiles demurely*
This room was a general chat area that was populated by adults. Not part of the AOL or Microsoft networks, it was included in the geocities complex called The Paris Cafe. Gina particularly liked it because there were people, mostly from Quebec and Montreal, who sometimes conversed in French. It gave her a chance to get in some practice.
Damsel was known for her wit and her wisdom. She was also known as someone who had been around the cyber block and would not be taken by surprise. In such a role she was often a counselor for newbee’s.
Her fingers clicked across the keyboard at a the speed of a screen flicker. Gina was multitasking. She activated her ICQ line and found out which of her circle of friends might be online elsewhere. She shifted into an observer’s role at the Cafe and minimalized the screen on her monitor. She rechecked her other dialogue boxes and flipped through some messages. Things had happened while she was off line.
Her ICQ icon was blinking to inform her of a message: Damsel, he says that he’s confused and that we need to take a break from each other * tears flowing * It hurts and I need to talk to you...Sultry Wench.
Gina’s heart was squeezed. Sultry was one of her best friends and the affair was young and hot, and she had tried to warn Sultry to go slow because it was following a familiar pattern. She saw that Sultry was off-line and dismissed the urgency of the situation. There were other things to do.
Much later in the night, after Merry had been given her bottle and put down, after her son Nick had gone out and come home with beer on his breath that Gina decided not to confront, after she finished reading her self-assigned Shakespearean history, after she found herself doing some work research at the Internet Business Camera Data Base, Damsel met Browning in a private chat room.
Slowly raising her ankle length skirt for his kisses, which she applied with her moistened fingers, she rubbed her clitoris and moaned for her lover. One handed typing passed between them and the orgasm built to a sweet intensity until she broke loose and
typed
....mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
mmmmmmmmmmmm.... to let him know of her release. He responded with an orgasm of his own, and they held each other tenderly, staring out of their windows looking at the same moon and the same stars from 500 miles apart. Then they said good night and Gina crept through her rooms checking her children, and finally she turned off the monitor for the night. In the morning she would have to work very hard on the two web pages that her customers expected. But for now she felt peaceful and content.
The doorbell was startling. She had been hard at work for hours and was just finishing the second of the webpages. The customer there to pick up the work she had completed had only spoken to her on the phone, professing his lack of knowledge of computers and explaining that he had been reluctant to advertise on the net. Gina was able to easily convince him of the multiplicity of advantages that came along with online
advertisement. He was a little early, but she was prepared for him. Wearing a long black skirt that buttoned up the front and showed off her long legs and her slender waist, Gina answered the door. Her cotton blouse was thin and gave her an airy feel.
Mark, from The Mansfield Funeral Parlor, was a good looking man. He was tall and had a friendly face. His brown mustache had happy ends that curled up and seemed to say hello and give him a permanently uplifting smile. Gina was aware of his eyes on her as they walked over to her work station. He said yes to a cup of coffee. He sauntered alongside her in a way that she found delightful...* walking together
through my rooms * thinking that I could just reach up and take his hand and that he would let me have it without so much as a moment of awkwardness... Her mind posted her body typed out reports of her feelings.
It took her well over an hour to explain all of the anchors and links that she had embedded into his page. Everything was there, from pictures of caskets and pics of the viewing rooms to pricing information about additional services. There were examples of
guest books and memorial cards. In short, a customer could plan the entire service without having to come into the office. Or a loved one, too bereaved to go to the parlor, could see it all on line while other relatives communicated with that person on the phone
or on line and made the appropriate decisions. It was all there, right down to a picture of Mark, appropriately attired in a dark suit with a comforting though not jovial expression on his face.
“Well, I’ll tell you true, you’ve done one heck of a job here, Miss. Hennessey.”
“Call me Gina, please,” she said smiling. “I just put it together, Sir. All of this was in the materials that you supplied, but I do believe that it extends an additional service to your customers.” She paused wondering if she should go ahead with the results of last night’s research. “There is one more thing that I would like you to consider?’
“And what would that be”
“Well, for a fair price we could have cameras placed in the room and offer direct online access to people who could not actually attend the wake.”
At first Mark seemed jolted by the idea, but then he slowly nodded and said,
“Can you show me what you mean?”
As Gina took him through an explanation of the technology that she had researched for him, she began to see the advantages dawning on him. The equipment could be paid for from its own uses in a year. It was a one-time cost and it allowed them to offer what no other parlor in the area had. His smile was growing more flexible and she could see his eyes surfing over her face and her body with soft, unobtrusive glances.
Tommy crashed in through the back door. “Mom, is that guy still here? Merry wants to have lunch!” Tommy shouted his question before he entered the room.
“Mr. Mansfield, this is my son Tom.”
“Hi,” he said, dismissing the man instantly. “How long are you gonna’ be?”
Mark smiled at Tommy and at Gina. “I wonder if you would let me treat you and your children to some lunch,” he said.
...Damsel blushing...”Oh thank you so very much, but I think it would be more of a production than you realize. Tommy, I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Fine, but if she starts crying I’m outta there, Mom.”
As Tommy walked out of the room, Gina felt a slight pressure of Mark’s knee pressed into her thigh. She did not move.
“Perhaps we could meet for dinner and you could go over this for me again,” Mark said
“It’s very hard for me to get out,” Gina said.
“Well, I’ll tell you what. I have a niece who is an excellent baby-sitter. If I send her over and you are comfortable with her, what do you say?”
*blushing wildly ...heart throbbing * I’d say that you were most resourceful, Sir.”
Gina made the date. Mark left. She was flushed. Her cheeks were burning. She went into the back yard and relieved Tommy. He was angry again. Gina didn’t care. “I was working, Tommy.”
“Yeah, well, that guy was working you, Ma!” Tommy stomped off.
Gina held Merry in her arms and said, “Mommy’s gonna get us some Macdonalds.” The little girl smiled.
Later that evening: Damsel enters the room
Browning kisses her hand: You look radiant tonight, my Damsel
Sultry Wrench shouts: Honey, am I glad to see you!!
Gina settled in to ask her friends what she could do about the problem of her
latest rti.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Hell House
Hell house
The cafeteria noise had the crisp feel of the fall. Joseph Petrelli, a newly anointed senior, held the attention of his table as he had never before held the attention of any group. His brown eyes shifting from one face to the next as he spoke. “There are demons. We all know there are demons. Each of us has seen his own demon and knows deep in his heart the name by which it is called.” He was quoting, but they didn’t know that. He was imitating the pauses and the eye contact, but it was working with a larger charm than he ever thought possible. “Sometimes, we have a chance to confront a host of demons at the same time. To see them in all their grotesque splendor.” Grotesque splendor, he especially liked that phrase. Their eyes were widening. Their mouths open far enough for Joseph to see the metal work on their braces. He took the tapes from his bag and spread them out on the table. The picture on the cover was a hooded skull holding up a candle. “When you play this tape, you might be frightened, but not as frightened as you will be on Friday night!”
After school he met Branlee. She had been even more successful with distribution. He gazed with wonder at the energy that poured out of her contact tinted blue eyes. She was vibrant. She hugged him and pressed her young breasts into his chest. He felt them against his shirt and immediately became physically excited. She broke the embrace, and he hoped that she wouldn’t notice the evidence of his excitement. He shifted the bag to hold in front of him. “I can’t wait to see how many everybody else gave out,” she said. “It’s only been two days and there are at least a thousand of them everywhere.” Branlee giggled like a zealot and placed her cool white fingernails on his forearm. Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go to the church,” she whispered. Joseph nodded. Holding the book bag protectively in front of himself, he walked with her to the car. The scent of her perfume caressed him like a silk glove. Joseph matched her steps as they walked, feeling now for the first time ever that he was part of the plan.
Andrew Blake was still holding his coffee container and wearing his raincoat when the woman came into his office. She was a fiftyish blonde whose concern for her figure had been reduced to avoiding obesity. The lines of her pudgy face showed worry, fear, and insecurity. No one liked Blake’s office. It had a dismal feel to it; stains left by people who weren’t happy to have been in this room. She handed him the tape and said, “This is devil worship.”
Blake trained his eyes on her face without taking off his jacket. She had trouble looking up as she spoke. He liked the feeling of power. “My son brought this home. He told me what was on it. He said that his friends all had them. He’s in fifth grade and told me that it didn’t scare him, but it sure scares me, and something needs to be done about it, either here or by the police.”
“Where did you son say he got the tape?”
“From students here, at the high school,” she said, nodding her head and finding the strength to stare up at his eyes; judging what he was going to do about it. His head was salt and pepper somber, and it reassured her.
Blake drank his coffee. He was turning the hard plastic cover over and over as he listened to the tape. The electric guitar scream that dissolved into a human scream, the confused voices, a choir of them all talking at once; voices all rising at once. The electric guitar coming back over them… The voices screaming, the guitar screaming and then the macabre whisper, “I need you to be with me. It is our destiny to rule the night. It is our future to rule the grave. We must crawl inside of each other. Let me crawl inside of you. You will feel good; you will be strong; you will need nothing else but me inside of you, and I will never crawl back out! Together, sweet decay… We shall make sacrifices of those too stupid to know what we need. Together we will drink blood. Together we will feast on the unimaginable. There will be no rules to stop us. We will be all of what we are; all of what we can be. We’ll be all.” The screams and the guitar rising with the drums “We can be.” Then the screams became laughter, uncontrolled, unstable, mocking laughter, and then thin high voices singing, small children’s voices singing a fairy tale rhyme. The rhyme voicing the invitation to come on Friday night over and over like an incantation… Blake’s face darkened into a perplexed frown. He hadn’t encountered anything like this before
By the end of the morning, two more tapes had been turned into him. One was brought by a freshman named Jacob, who said that he thought that it was “screwed up” and that somebody should know about it. Jacob’s hair hung in his face while he talked. Blake questioned him in a soft voice and got a name.
Then he brought the tape to the principal’s office and tried to explain what was happening, but she was on her way to a conference and wasn’t really listening. She told Blake that she was sure he could deal with whatever it was. He nodded and said, “I can handle it.”
Now Joseph Petrelli sat in Blake’s office and stared at the poster on the wall that said, Be Under Your Own Influence. The boy tried to console himself, but he was too nervous. He told himself that we were all always either under the influence of God or of Satan. How difficult they made it seem when it was really so simple! Then tried to convince himself that he believed that, but he knew that he didn’t. He closed his eyes and thought about the way Branlee smiled at him and took his hand.
“Did you give these tapes out, Joseph?” Blake held the hard plastic cover and twirled it slowly in his hand as he spoke.
“Yes Sir, I gave them out all day yesterday.”
“Where did you get them?”
“At my church.”
“And is that the Church of the Lighted Mountain?” Blake had seen the name in very small print at the bottom of the plastic cover.
“Yes, Sir,” said the boy proudly. Joseph could see the kind, focused eyes of his pastor. Hear the pastor saying, “This is the most important work that you can do with your life.” He remembered the feel of Branlee’s breasts on his bare arm yesterday when she smiled, so he knew that she had pressed them there on purpose.
“Did you have anyone’s permission to distribute these tapes?”
“What kind of permission, Mr. Blake?”
“Well, Joseph, when you bring things from an outside organization into the school, don’t you think that it’s right to let somebody know before you give them out?”
“I didn’t think of it that way, Mr. Blake.”
“What is this tape about, Joseph?”
“It’s an invitation. It’s nothing bad. My church is sponsoring this event on Friday night”
“What kind of church is it?”
“It’s a church that believes in doing God’s work, Mr. Blake.”
“Joseph, I want you to stop giving these tapes out, turn over the ones that you have to me, and promise that you’ll try to get back the tapes that you can recover.”
Joseph’s hands were sweating profusely. They left streak marks on his tan slacks. He closed his eyes and saw Branlee’s breasts. Then he managed to look up at Blake. “No, Sir. I won’t do that!”
“Joseph, did you know that these tapes were scaring people? Did you know that they have frightened young children?
Joseph blinked and tried to think of what to say, but he decided to say nothing. He told himself that maybe it was good that they were scared.
“We don’t belong to this Church,” said Mrs. Petrelli. Her voice showed the stress behind it. We’re Catholics. My husband and I are Italian! We don’t know about cults.”
Blake tried to sound sympathetic. “Have you tried to talk to him about this cult?”
“I don’t know what they are. I really don’t know if it’s a cult.” She shook her head sadly. “They read the bible. My son used to be normal. He went to church with the family and once in a while with his friends, but that was it. My husband and I don’t talk religion in our home. Now, everything is about Jesus.” Her face crumpled up like a bag. “I’ve grown to hate the sound of the Lord’s name, and I feel like there must be something wrong with me because of it.”
Blake nodded again and stared at her. She wore glasses with rhinestones in the corners of the frames. She wore a print dress. She wore one strand of pearls on her wrist. “I want you to take him home, Mrs. Blake. He can return when he’s ready to accept my conditions, or on Monday of next week.”
When the door to Mr. Blake’s office opened, Branlee Tucker was standing there holding a stack of the tapes. “Mr. Blake, I want you to know that I also intend to continue to distribute these tapes, and if you try to stop me that you’ll have to deal with my father!” Blake felt things slipping away just a bit; there was a sound like thunder in the distance of his calm.
Gregory Tucker speaking into the telephone said, “Let me ask you something, Mr. Blake. When your other students pass the trash that they listen to from one person to the other in the cafeteria, the CD’s with lyrics about drugs, and permissive sex, do you haul those students into your office as well?”
“Mr. Tucker, I didn’t haul Branlee in here either. She presented herself.”
“Yes, after you hauled her friends in and interrogated them. My daughter called me just a few moments ago, Mr. Blake. I know full well what she’s doing, and she’s doing it with my permission.”
Blake’s mind was on a fast track, trying to think ahead now, trying to determine if how far into this he had been manipulated. He was silent for a moment. He felt like he was on an island and that the ocean was creeping up the shore as the rain fell.
“Mr. Blake, what policy is it that states my daughter cannot distribute these tapes?”
Blake wasn’t sure. He knew that he must have the right to limit the distribution of the tapes but he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing something in print. The floating feeling was inside of his stomach. “I’ve had complaints, Mr. Tucker.”
“What kinds of complaints?”
“Parents, other students...” Blake gained confidence as his mind seized onto something. “…and that makes it a disruption of the educational process.” He felt himself find firm ground now. “I have to make decisions about what I believe is in the best interests of the educational process, Mr. Tucker. In this instance, my decision is that since no one was consulted about the distribution of these tapes, and since I have people who have been upset by them, that it is going to stop.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that.”
“I need your daughter’s promise that she will not continue to distribute these tapes until we have figured this out, Mr. Tucker.”
“My daughter isn’t making any promises.”
“If I see her distributing the tapes, I’ll have to suspend her.”
“That would be an unfortunate decision for you, Mr. Blake.”
Branlee was staring at him with a defiant glow. “I want to talk to my father!”
“Daddy, he might as well suspend me right now. You know that I won’t stop doing the Lord’s work”
Mr. Tucker lowered his voice when he spoke into the receiver. “Do you have any tests this afternoon?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head back and forth with little girlish emphasis.
“Mr. Blake, I’ve decided to take this to your Superintendent of Schools before I press charges. Am I correct that you are suspending my daughter?”
“Yes, if she distributes the tapes I’ll suspend her. Mr. Tucker, I was hoping that as the adults involved we could work to give her better counsel.”
Blake heard the phone click down.
Perhaps it was fate or faith or mutual boredom or fear and maybe they are interchangeable in the instance, but Joseph and Branlee both wound up back at the church after their suspensions. They both went to the basement of the meeting room, where the Hell House was being constructed. There the tiny coffin would be displayed, filled with the blood and bones of the human sacrifice of abortion. There the worm infested, lesion covered corpse of the homosexual aids victim would speak from beyond the grave where the demons continued to torment him.
Joseph was just sitting by the coffins when Branlee walked in. She sat down next to him. They exchanged a smile and shared the comfort of standing up for what was right. Branlee told Joseph that he had been heroic and had inspired her. Joseph kissed her. Branlee wrapped her arms around him and pressed those breasts into his chest again. Joseph squeezed her towards him. Branlee moved on top of him; her mouth open. Her hips moved on him. Joseph kissed her and groaned, transported. Branlee, excited now, was squirming on him. Joseph exploded in his pants; his testicles and penis convulsing, pumping out sperm into his underwear. Holding her tight, panicked at the thought that she must know what had happened. Branlee pushed him away from her, looking at him like he was a little boy. “What did you do?” she said with a look of repulsion.
Joseph was shrinking quickly, feeling sticky and small. “I couldn’t help it,” he said.
That night Joseph got sick. He vomited over and over again. The next morning his mother tried to feed him some broth and he vomited it up before he was done eating it. He ran a fever. They took him to the doctor, who said that it must be some kind of an intestinal thing. Joseph slept and tried to eat, vomited and fell asleep for two days. On Saturday afternoon he was able to keep some toast in his stomach. On Saturday night he held down some cereal and by Sunday he was better.
Branlee’s father met with the Superintendent the afternoon of her suspension. They both agreed that they did not wish their town to become the place for a testcase with all the baggage that came along with that kind of publicity. The Superintendent agreed to sponsor the formation of a prayer group that his daughter could lead and which would meet in the school each morning before classes. They both knew that this was better for al concerned in the long run.
Joseph felt lighthearted as he walked into school on Monday morning. He didn’t realize that he had been punched in the side of the face until after he was on the floor. His head began spinning. He felt the blood in his mouth. “That’s what I think of you and you’re fuckin’ Jesus. I’m a Jew, and I’m glad we killed him. We waited too goddamned long to kill him. Tell that to your asshole pastor.” Jacob was screaming at him his face red his blonde hair pulled back out of his eyes.
Joseph opened his mouth. “What’s wrong with you?” he sputtered.
Jacob leaned in and swung his fists like hammers, crying “My cousin died of AIDS, you stupid asshole.”
Joseph pushed back blindly, his eyes were closed and he was thrashing to get free. It was then that he felt another presence and thought that god must have intervened for him, but it was Mr. Blake and he was holding Jacob back. He was saying they were going to the nurse.
As they walked down the hall, other kids were laughing at him and staring. Jacob was only a freshman, and Branlee was looking at him like he was a pathetic thing with no self-control.
The cafeteria noise had the crisp feel of the fall. Joseph Petrelli, a newly anointed senior, held the attention of his table as he had never before held the attention of any group. His brown eyes shifting from one face to the next as he spoke. “There are demons. We all know there are demons. Each of us has seen his own demon and knows deep in his heart the name by which it is called.” He was quoting, but they didn’t know that. He was imitating the pauses and the eye contact, but it was working with a larger charm than he ever thought possible. “Sometimes, we have a chance to confront a host of demons at the same time. To see them in all their grotesque splendor.” Grotesque splendor, he especially liked that phrase. Their eyes were widening. Their mouths open far enough for Joseph to see the metal work on their braces. He took the tapes from his bag and spread them out on the table. The picture on the cover was a hooded skull holding up a candle. “When you play this tape, you might be frightened, but not as frightened as you will be on Friday night!”
After school he met Branlee. She had been even more successful with distribution. He gazed with wonder at the energy that poured out of her contact tinted blue eyes. She was vibrant. She hugged him and pressed her young breasts into his chest. He felt them against his shirt and immediately became physically excited. She broke the embrace, and he hoped that she wouldn’t notice the evidence of his excitement. He shifted the bag to hold in front of him. “I can’t wait to see how many everybody else gave out,” she said. “It’s only been two days and there are at least a thousand of them everywhere.” Branlee giggled like a zealot and placed her cool white fingernails on his forearm. Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go to the church,” she whispered. Joseph nodded. Holding the book bag protectively in front of himself, he walked with her to the car. The scent of her perfume caressed him like a silk glove. Joseph matched her steps as they walked, feeling now for the first time ever that he was part of the plan.
Andrew Blake was still holding his coffee container and wearing his raincoat when the woman came into his office. She was a fiftyish blonde whose concern for her figure had been reduced to avoiding obesity. The lines of her pudgy face showed worry, fear, and insecurity. No one liked Blake’s office. It had a dismal feel to it; stains left by people who weren’t happy to have been in this room. She handed him the tape and said, “This is devil worship.”
Blake trained his eyes on her face without taking off his jacket. She had trouble looking up as she spoke. He liked the feeling of power. “My son brought this home. He told me what was on it. He said that his friends all had them. He’s in fifth grade and told me that it didn’t scare him, but it sure scares me, and something needs to be done about it, either here or by the police.”
“Where did you son say he got the tape?”
“From students here, at the high school,” she said, nodding her head and finding the strength to stare up at his eyes; judging what he was going to do about it. His head was salt and pepper somber, and it reassured her.
Blake drank his coffee. He was turning the hard plastic cover over and over as he listened to the tape. The electric guitar scream that dissolved into a human scream, the confused voices, a choir of them all talking at once; voices all rising at once. The electric guitar coming back over them… The voices screaming, the guitar screaming and then the macabre whisper, “I need you to be with me. It is our destiny to rule the night. It is our future to rule the grave. We must crawl inside of each other. Let me crawl inside of you. You will feel good; you will be strong; you will need nothing else but me inside of you, and I will never crawl back out! Together, sweet decay… We shall make sacrifices of those too stupid to know what we need. Together we will drink blood. Together we will feast on the unimaginable. There will be no rules to stop us. We will be all of what we are; all of what we can be. We’ll be all.” The screams and the guitar rising with the drums “We can be.” Then the screams became laughter, uncontrolled, unstable, mocking laughter, and then thin high voices singing, small children’s voices singing a fairy tale rhyme. The rhyme voicing the invitation to come on Friday night over and over like an incantation… Blake’s face darkened into a perplexed frown. He hadn’t encountered anything like this before
By the end of the morning, two more tapes had been turned into him. One was brought by a freshman named Jacob, who said that he thought that it was “screwed up” and that somebody should know about it. Jacob’s hair hung in his face while he talked. Blake questioned him in a soft voice and got a name.
Then he brought the tape to the principal’s office and tried to explain what was happening, but she was on her way to a conference and wasn’t really listening. She told Blake that she was sure he could deal with whatever it was. He nodded and said, “I can handle it.”
Now Joseph Petrelli sat in Blake’s office and stared at the poster on the wall that said, Be Under Your Own Influence. The boy tried to console himself, but he was too nervous. He told himself that we were all always either under the influence of God or of Satan. How difficult they made it seem when it was really so simple! Then tried to convince himself that he believed that, but he knew that he didn’t. He closed his eyes and thought about the way Branlee smiled at him and took his hand.
“Did you give these tapes out, Joseph?” Blake held the hard plastic cover and twirled it slowly in his hand as he spoke.
“Yes Sir, I gave them out all day yesterday.”
“Where did you get them?”
“At my church.”
“And is that the Church of the Lighted Mountain?” Blake had seen the name in very small print at the bottom of the plastic cover.
“Yes, Sir,” said the boy proudly. Joseph could see the kind, focused eyes of his pastor. Hear the pastor saying, “This is the most important work that you can do with your life.” He remembered the feel of Branlee’s breasts on his bare arm yesterday when she smiled, so he knew that she had pressed them there on purpose.
“Did you have anyone’s permission to distribute these tapes?”
“What kind of permission, Mr. Blake?”
“Well, Joseph, when you bring things from an outside organization into the school, don’t you think that it’s right to let somebody know before you give them out?”
“I didn’t think of it that way, Mr. Blake.”
“What is this tape about, Joseph?”
“It’s an invitation. It’s nothing bad. My church is sponsoring this event on Friday night”
“What kind of church is it?”
“It’s a church that believes in doing God’s work, Mr. Blake.”
“Joseph, I want you to stop giving these tapes out, turn over the ones that you have to me, and promise that you’ll try to get back the tapes that you can recover.”
Joseph’s hands were sweating profusely. They left streak marks on his tan slacks. He closed his eyes and saw Branlee’s breasts. Then he managed to look up at Blake. “No, Sir. I won’t do that!”
“Joseph, did you know that these tapes were scaring people? Did you know that they have frightened young children?
Joseph blinked and tried to think of what to say, but he decided to say nothing. He told himself that maybe it was good that they were scared.
“We don’t belong to this Church,” said Mrs. Petrelli. Her voice showed the stress behind it. We’re Catholics. My husband and I are Italian! We don’t know about cults.”
Blake tried to sound sympathetic. “Have you tried to talk to him about this cult?”
“I don’t know what they are. I really don’t know if it’s a cult.” She shook her head sadly. “They read the bible. My son used to be normal. He went to church with the family and once in a while with his friends, but that was it. My husband and I don’t talk religion in our home. Now, everything is about Jesus.” Her face crumpled up like a bag. “I’ve grown to hate the sound of the Lord’s name, and I feel like there must be something wrong with me because of it.”
Blake nodded again and stared at her. She wore glasses with rhinestones in the corners of the frames. She wore a print dress. She wore one strand of pearls on her wrist. “I want you to take him home, Mrs. Blake. He can return when he’s ready to accept my conditions, or on Monday of next week.”
When the door to Mr. Blake’s office opened, Branlee Tucker was standing there holding a stack of the tapes. “Mr. Blake, I want you to know that I also intend to continue to distribute these tapes, and if you try to stop me that you’ll have to deal with my father!” Blake felt things slipping away just a bit; there was a sound like thunder in the distance of his calm.
Gregory Tucker speaking into the telephone said, “Let me ask you something, Mr. Blake. When your other students pass the trash that they listen to from one person to the other in the cafeteria, the CD’s with lyrics about drugs, and permissive sex, do you haul those students into your office as well?”
“Mr. Tucker, I didn’t haul Branlee in here either. She presented herself.”
“Yes, after you hauled her friends in and interrogated them. My daughter called me just a few moments ago, Mr. Blake. I know full well what she’s doing, and she’s doing it with my permission.”
Blake’s mind was on a fast track, trying to think ahead now, trying to determine if how far into this he had been manipulated. He was silent for a moment. He felt like he was on an island and that the ocean was creeping up the shore as the rain fell.
“Mr. Blake, what policy is it that states my daughter cannot distribute these tapes?”
Blake wasn’t sure. He knew that he must have the right to limit the distribution of the tapes but he couldn’t for the life of him remember seeing something in print. The floating feeling was inside of his stomach. “I’ve had complaints, Mr. Tucker.”
“What kinds of complaints?”
“Parents, other students...” Blake gained confidence as his mind seized onto something. “…and that makes it a disruption of the educational process.” He felt himself find firm ground now. “I have to make decisions about what I believe is in the best interests of the educational process, Mr. Tucker. In this instance, my decision is that since no one was consulted about the distribution of these tapes, and since I have people who have been upset by them, that it is going to stop.”
“Well, we’ll have to see about that.”
“I need your daughter’s promise that she will not continue to distribute these tapes until we have figured this out, Mr. Tucker.”
“My daughter isn’t making any promises.”
“If I see her distributing the tapes, I’ll have to suspend her.”
“That would be an unfortunate decision for you, Mr. Blake.”
Branlee was staring at him with a defiant glow. “I want to talk to my father!”
“Daddy, he might as well suspend me right now. You know that I won’t stop doing the Lord’s work”
Mr. Tucker lowered his voice when he spoke into the receiver. “Do you have any tests this afternoon?”
“Nope,” she said, shaking her head back and forth with little girlish emphasis.
“Mr. Blake, I’ve decided to take this to your Superintendent of Schools before I press charges. Am I correct that you are suspending my daughter?”
“Yes, if she distributes the tapes I’ll suspend her. Mr. Tucker, I was hoping that as the adults involved we could work to give her better counsel.”
Blake heard the phone click down.
Perhaps it was fate or faith or mutual boredom or fear and maybe they are interchangeable in the instance, but Joseph and Branlee both wound up back at the church after their suspensions. They both went to the basement of the meeting room, where the Hell House was being constructed. There the tiny coffin would be displayed, filled with the blood and bones of the human sacrifice of abortion. There the worm infested, lesion covered corpse of the homosexual aids victim would speak from beyond the grave where the demons continued to torment him.
Joseph was just sitting by the coffins when Branlee walked in. She sat down next to him. They exchanged a smile and shared the comfort of standing up for what was right. Branlee told Joseph that he had been heroic and had inspired her. Joseph kissed her. Branlee wrapped her arms around him and pressed those breasts into his chest again. Joseph squeezed her towards him. Branlee moved on top of him; her mouth open. Her hips moved on him. Joseph kissed her and groaned, transported. Branlee, excited now, was squirming on him. Joseph exploded in his pants; his testicles and penis convulsing, pumping out sperm into his underwear. Holding her tight, panicked at the thought that she must know what had happened. Branlee pushed him away from her, looking at him like he was a little boy. “What did you do?” she said with a look of repulsion.
Joseph was shrinking quickly, feeling sticky and small. “I couldn’t help it,” he said.
That night Joseph got sick. He vomited over and over again. The next morning his mother tried to feed him some broth and he vomited it up before he was done eating it. He ran a fever. They took him to the doctor, who said that it must be some kind of an intestinal thing. Joseph slept and tried to eat, vomited and fell asleep for two days. On Saturday afternoon he was able to keep some toast in his stomach. On Saturday night he held down some cereal and by Sunday he was better.
Branlee’s father met with the Superintendent the afternoon of her suspension. They both agreed that they did not wish their town to become the place for a testcase with all the baggage that came along with that kind of publicity. The Superintendent agreed to sponsor the formation of a prayer group that his daughter could lead and which would meet in the school each morning before classes. They both knew that this was better for al concerned in the long run.
Joseph felt lighthearted as he walked into school on Monday morning. He didn’t realize that he had been punched in the side of the face until after he was on the floor. His head began spinning. He felt the blood in his mouth. “That’s what I think of you and you’re fuckin’ Jesus. I’m a Jew, and I’m glad we killed him. We waited too goddamned long to kill him. Tell that to your asshole pastor.” Jacob was screaming at him his face red his blonde hair pulled back out of his eyes.
Joseph opened his mouth. “What’s wrong with you?” he sputtered.
Jacob leaned in and swung his fists like hammers, crying “My cousin died of AIDS, you stupid asshole.”
Joseph pushed back blindly, his eyes were closed and he was thrashing to get free. It was then that he felt another presence and thought that god must have intervened for him, but it was Mr. Blake and he was holding Jacob back. He was saying they were going to the nurse.
As they walked down the hall, other kids were laughing at him and staring. Jacob was only a freshman, and Branlee was looking at him like he was a pathetic thing with no self-control.
Cut
Cut
Beth held the straight edged Gillette razor to the back of her left hand, just above the wrist, a rather innocuous place to begin. Sharon took her razor and held it to the same place on her hand. Judy did the same. Anticipation of an intimate exchange floated among them. They giggled the laugh of sixteen year old girls. Beth's face tightened; her eyes were dark. She put pressure against her skin from the top of the blade; at first a dent, the blade pressing in. Slowly, with her mouth open and her eyes glowing like dark searchlights, the silver blade slit her flesh. Fresh blood appeared like magic. "Ahhh!" She slumped forward, hair covering her face. Sharon followed Beth's lead, and so did Judy. Each of them watched her own blood. Beth lifted an arm into the air, the blood seeping and trickling down her skin. She adored it. Sharon and Judy matched her, studying their patterns with solemnity. Then each of them held a finger to the cut and then to their mouths. They lapped like little kittens. They giggled again. "OK, Sharon, your turn."
"Thighs," announced Sharon. She uncovered her left thigh and held the razor to the inside, close to the top. Beth and Judy imitated her. Each had baby fat thighs. Each had wet blades. Beth's red hair was full and thick and shone with healthy luster. Her eyeliner was delicate and enhanced the invitation of her face. She looked, as her mother was fond of saying, perfect.
Sharon worshipped Beth with her eyes as she cut, the razor sweeping across her thigh with light touch speed. The slice was long. She raised the blade into the air with the flourish of a Musketeer. Immediate results. "Oooooo," said Sharon, slumping forward. Staring down at her thigh, panting. Beth and Judy sliced together.
Judy said, "You do me, Beth."
Sharon laughed, "You want Beth to do you?"
Judy opened her legs wider and gave a wicked little grin. The girls giggled nervously. Beth scooted over next to Judy. "And you do Sharon."
"And I'll do you!" said Sharon, her face bubbly.
"You count, Judy. It's your turn!" said Beth.
Each of the girls took the other's left arm and placed it into her lap. Blood was still oozing from the top of their left wrists. At three, they cut each other’s thighs and laughed, as if they were playing with dolls. The tingle of the escaping energy was vibrating in their bodies. Then they studied themselves, transfixed by the webbed pattern, the hot flow, the release.
* *
"But why the hell would you do that! What's wrong with you?" Her father paced back and forth in her room, staring down at the stains on the shag rug.
Beth's face scrunched into an expression of utter disbelief. "There's nothing wrong with me! What's wrong with you?"
Her voice and the look on her face caused a prickly pin feeling on his skin. He wanted to grab her; and hit her; and scream into her that she was ruining her life. That she was ruining his life. That her mother's life was already unsalvageable. He did none of those things. He had to stay in control. She wasn't going to listen if he screamed. He knew that. "You can't do these things to yourself, Beth."
"Yes I can," Beth said softly. She looked down at her hand lovingly. It had felt so good! When she cut she was right there, all in the moment. Everything was right in focus, not a hair out of place.
Beth's mother sat on the edge of the bed silently. She was not crying or saying a word. Joan had positioned herself so that the words of her daughter and her husband traveled across her. She knew that her husband's screaming wouldn't help. "Charley, let's leave her alone for a little while.”
Beth’s gaze popped up to her mother's face. She locked eyes with her. They had identical eyes, only Beth's were brighter and her mother's were softer. When she was sure they had attached to each other, Beth delivered her line. "Yes Mother, leaving me alone is a really good idea." The words burnt into Joan like a cigarette being held to her arm and put out. Beth felt good.
. Charley screamed, "Why are you such an ungrateful little bitch?"
"I don't know, Dad, but thanks for caring, OK!"
Charley left the room and Joan tried hard to manage a smile at her daughter but couldn't. She reached out and took her hand. Beth's palm was dry and her hand was limp and unfeeling. "Can't you tell me what's hurting you?"
The girl’s voice was a low and intense whisper. "You're hurting me. He's hurting me. Everything is hurting me. I hate my life. Ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?" Her lips were trembling and she felt held down all of a sudden. She got up from the bed and went to her bathroom. She shut the door. Joan wanted to say leave the door open, but she didn't say it.
* *
Charley and Joan sat at the analyst's office, holding containers of coffee. "We just don't know what to do," said Charley. "If she was using drugs, everyone in the world would be there to help us." Charley leaned forward with his knees on his elbows. Joan and Moyra were watching him, knowing that he wasn't finished. "We called the crisis management center. We took her up there, and they made us feel like we had done something wrong. She winds up laughing and joking with the counselor, who looks like he understands her a hell of a lot better than he understands us. He winds up telling us that sometimes kids play dangerous games and that he's sure that Beth is really OK. She's not OK. She's sick. She's been sick for a long time, and we can't get her any help. She won't come to see you anymore. She says that you are part of a Christian conspiracy to make everyone ashamed of themselves."
"Which is strange, considering that she knows I'm a Jew," said Moyra.
There was short, mirthless laughter among them. Joan was staring at Moyra, waiting. Wanting for her to say, this is what we should do here... The lines around Joan's eyes were getting deeper and showing an intricate pattern of their own. She saw them in the mirror that morning and drew her skin back from her cheekbones to spread them away. Her skills with makeup had improved with her need to use it, she thought. Then she was back in the room again and her heart was hurting, and her daughter was off someplace doing she didn't know what. She couldn't remember the last time her husband had kissed her.
"At some point, she will bottom out," said the psychologist. She shifted in her chair and adjusted the flaps on her blazer. The office felt warm today. The light was glowing behind the closed blinds. Her plants were reaching up for it. "At some point, she may very well have to be medicated." She had known these people for six years and they seemed bright and caring and helpless. "At some point she may very well need to be placed in a hospital."
"Maybe she should be in a hospital now," said Charley. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth. He was studying Moyra.
"That may very well be the case," said Moyra, "but you would have a hard time convincing a psychiatrist of that right now."
"Why? She was cutting herself. Jesus!"
"Because she does not appear to be a danger to herself or to anyone else right now. The law is very much in her favor. She would need to request hospitalization, in my opinion, unless she did something that was more harmful to herself."
Charley said, "That sucks, Moyra."
"It is a set of laws designed for the protection of the patient's rights. They had been widely abused in the past, particularly the rights of children." Moyra found herself smiling at Charley as he tried to nod in agreement. He was a good looking man in his early forties. He was fit. Moyra particularly liked the way that he dressed. His fabrics were soft and hung about him very well. Nothing was ever too tight or too loose on his body. She could see that he took some care in the way he presented himself
"So what can we do?" said Charley, his hands flat now, palms spread open.
"We have to wait," said Moyra. She watched Joan's face collapse with her words.
* *
Beth was sitting cross-legged on her bed talking on the phone. She was staring at the thin, white slice on her thigh. "My dad is mad because he doesn't want to have to be bothered dealing with me, and now he's gotta. Too bad. And my mother is pathetic. She wants to understand."
"It felt so good when you did it to me, Sharon, better than when I did it myself"
"I wanted you to do me too," said Sharon, "but it was Judy's idea, and, well, you know... Sharon paused. "What do you think your parents are gonna do, Beth?"
"What they always do. Charley will scream and then try to be reasonable. Joan will suffer. She loves to do that. They will talk to everybody and come back and say that we should try again to understand each other."
"Yup, why can’t we all get along?” said Sharon- doing her imitation voice.
The girls giggled.
* *
Joan sat at her vanity in front of a large glass of water and two bottles of pills. She had taken her dose of Valium for the morning, but it hadn't calmed her today. She had taken the first Xanex an hour ago and only felt it work for a few minutes. Now, she shook two more Xanex out of the amber bottle. They were white cylinders, tiny actually. She felt their hardness in her palm and thought... they’re so small. Then she swallowed both of them with a wash down of tap water. She waited for the fifteen minutes they took to kick in. Sometimes it didn’t take that long.
Beth’s music was a muffled blare that forced its way through two closed doors. Joan felt herself bounced along on the steady bass. It was thumping just like a heartbeat. She wanted to lie down and put her head back and close her eyes and vanish. She wanted to float and feel whole and desirable. She wanted to hear her child call her mommy and be able to turn the little girl’s frown to a smile with the simplest of actions: a hug and a smile, a band aide, a song like the one that she used to sing to her. She wanted to walk around her bedroom in her panties. She wanted to watch her husband become distracted by the sight of her and have him come up from behind her and bend her over the vanity the way that he had done once and the way she had dreamed of him doing ever since.
The blare of the music seemed to be fading as she lay on the bed. She wondered how she had come to be a weak person. What had happened to her? Was it the way that she loved Charley and Beth that made her weak? She had done what had come naturally to her. Did that mean that she was naturally weak? Should weak people not love other people?
The Xanex was working. She felt the pressure at the base of her skull disappear and felt the warm strokes of relaxation moving across her body like a massage. She drifted into the snuggle of the soft bed and let it embrace her. The lines fell from her face.
* *
At first the phone was a soft, distant voice, but the second ring made it louder, and she reached out a lazy hand and lifted the receiver. Slowly, she brought it to her ear and heard voices.
"Thank you for calling me back, Moyra There are some things that I really need to speak with you about" Joan's mouth said Charley but no sound came out.
"It's OK, Charley. You must feel that you can always call. You are in a very delicate position. Where is Joan?"
"She's upstairs. She took too many pills again. She left the bottles open on her vanity. She's just withdrawing further and further every day."
"I could see that when the two of you were in my office. You are the source of strength for both of them now. And that's OK because you are a very strong man,"
Joan's mouth opened again but no sound came out.
"I feel as if I can accomplish anything after I have been in your office, but then I have a job and I get distracted and that feeling evaporates. I get distracted by the moment."
"We need to talk about ways that you can maintain a perspective that allows you not to be drained that way. They will both try to drain you, Charley."
"I feel that way. I feel them draining me, and it feels as if I should let them because they need me."
“Charley you have to do what you need to do for yourself. Take what you wish to take for yourself." There was a pause and then a smaller voice, a low soft voice. "Whatever you wish to take for yourself is there for you, Charley." Joan's eyes opened wider. Her face felt as stiff as a mask.
"I need to see you without anyone else around," said Charley.
"Do you wish to come into the office or ..." It was the soft voice again
"Could we meet for a drink?" said Charley.
That might be comfortable," said Moyra. "There's a bar called Henessey's about three miles from where I live on the north side of town."
"I know Henessey's," said Charley.
"I can meet you there now. I've just finished my last session.
"I'll be there in a few minutes. We can talk then."
Joan felt as if she had been beaten up. Her stomach hurt. Her face was stiff. She did not think that she could stand. The music had stopped in Beth's room. She heard Charley go out the front door and heard the car starting.
Beth and Sharon were lying very close to each other on the bed. The cd was over but neither of them wanted to move. While the music was on, they had begun to touch the white lines on each other's thighs, and now their hands were inside each other's shorts, almost afraid to move. And then they kissed. They kissed the way they kissed boys, but better. They were easy on each other’s lips and long in their embrace. Their tongues were wet electric wires that shocked other parts of their bodies.
Beth began to tug Sharon's shorts down. Sharon responded by wagging her tongue wildly in Beth's mouth. Soon both of their bottoms were off and they were inside of each other with needy fingers.
When Joan opened the door to Beth's room she saw her daughter's ass humping back and forth on Sharon's hand. She stood there without saying a word. When the girls sensed a presence, they looked up in panic. Joan's eyes were glazed.
"Mom, we were just pretending," said Beth.
They disengaged and were frantic in their efforts to get their clothes back on. Joan couldn't move. She stood there, a soundless, pathetic statue. It took all of her strength to close the door.
Wobbling back to her bedroom, she thought, I have no family.
Underneath the sink was a package of old razor blades that Charley liked to use before he took up his affair with electricity. Joan took out a shiny blade and sat at her sink staring at it. It looked new and held a sense of promise in the glint of its smile. The blood moved through her veins like a heavy ribbon of weight. She wanted to be released from it.
Beth held the straight edged Gillette razor to the back of her left hand, just above the wrist, a rather innocuous place to begin. Sharon took her razor and held it to the same place on her hand. Judy did the same. Anticipation of an intimate exchange floated among them. They giggled the laugh of sixteen year old girls. Beth's face tightened; her eyes were dark. She put pressure against her skin from the top of the blade; at first a dent, the blade pressing in. Slowly, with her mouth open and her eyes glowing like dark searchlights, the silver blade slit her flesh. Fresh blood appeared like magic. "Ahhh!" She slumped forward, hair covering her face. Sharon followed Beth's lead, and so did Judy. Each of them watched her own blood. Beth lifted an arm into the air, the blood seeping and trickling down her skin. She adored it. Sharon and Judy matched her, studying their patterns with solemnity. Then each of them held a finger to the cut and then to their mouths. They lapped like little kittens. They giggled again. "OK, Sharon, your turn."
"Thighs," announced Sharon. She uncovered her left thigh and held the razor to the inside, close to the top. Beth and Judy imitated her. Each had baby fat thighs. Each had wet blades. Beth's red hair was full and thick and shone with healthy luster. Her eyeliner was delicate and enhanced the invitation of her face. She looked, as her mother was fond of saying, perfect.
Sharon worshipped Beth with her eyes as she cut, the razor sweeping across her thigh with light touch speed. The slice was long. She raised the blade into the air with the flourish of a Musketeer. Immediate results. "Oooooo," said Sharon, slumping forward. Staring down at her thigh, panting. Beth and Judy sliced together.
Judy said, "You do me, Beth."
Sharon laughed, "You want Beth to do you?"
Judy opened her legs wider and gave a wicked little grin. The girls giggled nervously. Beth scooted over next to Judy. "And you do Sharon."
"And I'll do you!" said Sharon, her face bubbly.
"You count, Judy. It's your turn!" said Beth.
Each of the girls took the other's left arm and placed it into her lap. Blood was still oozing from the top of their left wrists. At three, they cut each other’s thighs and laughed, as if they were playing with dolls. The tingle of the escaping energy was vibrating in their bodies. Then they studied themselves, transfixed by the webbed pattern, the hot flow, the release.
* *
"But why the hell would you do that! What's wrong with you?" Her father paced back and forth in her room, staring down at the stains on the shag rug.
Beth's face scrunched into an expression of utter disbelief. "There's nothing wrong with me! What's wrong with you?"
Her voice and the look on her face caused a prickly pin feeling on his skin. He wanted to grab her; and hit her; and scream into her that she was ruining her life. That she was ruining his life. That her mother's life was already unsalvageable. He did none of those things. He had to stay in control. She wasn't going to listen if he screamed. He knew that. "You can't do these things to yourself, Beth."
"Yes I can," Beth said softly. She looked down at her hand lovingly. It had felt so good! When she cut she was right there, all in the moment. Everything was right in focus, not a hair out of place.
Beth's mother sat on the edge of the bed silently. She was not crying or saying a word. Joan had positioned herself so that the words of her daughter and her husband traveled across her. She knew that her husband's screaming wouldn't help. "Charley, let's leave her alone for a little while.”
Beth’s gaze popped up to her mother's face. She locked eyes with her. They had identical eyes, only Beth's were brighter and her mother's were softer. When she was sure they had attached to each other, Beth delivered her line. "Yes Mother, leaving me alone is a really good idea." The words burnt into Joan like a cigarette being held to her arm and put out. Beth felt good.
. Charley screamed, "Why are you such an ungrateful little bitch?"
"I don't know, Dad, but thanks for caring, OK!"
Charley left the room and Joan tried hard to manage a smile at her daughter but couldn't. She reached out and took her hand. Beth's palm was dry and her hand was limp and unfeeling. "Can't you tell me what's hurting you?"
The girl’s voice was a low and intense whisper. "You're hurting me. He's hurting me. Everything is hurting me. I hate my life. Ok? Is that what you wanted to hear?" Her lips were trembling and she felt held down all of a sudden. She got up from the bed and went to her bathroom. She shut the door. Joan wanted to say leave the door open, but she didn't say it.
* *
Charley and Joan sat at the analyst's office, holding containers of coffee. "We just don't know what to do," said Charley. "If she was using drugs, everyone in the world would be there to help us." Charley leaned forward with his knees on his elbows. Joan and Moyra were watching him, knowing that he wasn't finished. "We called the crisis management center. We took her up there, and they made us feel like we had done something wrong. She winds up laughing and joking with the counselor, who looks like he understands her a hell of a lot better than he understands us. He winds up telling us that sometimes kids play dangerous games and that he's sure that Beth is really OK. She's not OK. She's sick. She's been sick for a long time, and we can't get her any help. She won't come to see you anymore. She says that you are part of a Christian conspiracy to make everyone ashamed of themselves."
"Which is strange, considering that she knows I'm a Jew," said Moyra.
There was short, mirthless laughter among them. Joan was staring at Moyra, waiting. Wanting for her to say, this is what we should do here... The lines around Joan's eyes were getting deeper and showing an intricate pattern of their own. She saw them in the mirror that morning and drew her skin back from her cheekbones to spread them away. Her skills with makeup had improved with her need to use it, she thought. Then she was back in the room again and her heart was hurting, and her daughter was off someplace doing she didn't know what. She couldn't remember the last time her husband had kissed her.
"At some point, she will bottom out," said the psychologist. She shifted in her chair and adjusted the flaps on her blazer. The office felt warm today. The light was glowing behind the closed blinds. Her plants were reaching up for it. "At some point, she may very well have to be medicated." She had known these people for six years and they seemed bright and caring and helpless. "At some point she may very well need to be placed in a hospital."
"Maybe she should be in a hospital now," said Charley. His hands were clasped in front of his mouth. He was studying Moyra.
"That may very well be the case," said Moyra, "but you would have a hard time convincing a psychiatrist of that right now."
"Why? She was cutting herself. Jesus!"
"Because she does not appear to be a danger to herself or to anyone else right now. The law is very much in her favor. She would need to request hospitalization, in my opinion, unless she did something that was more harmful to herself."
Charley said, "That sucks, Moyra."
"It is a set of laws designed for the protection of the patient's rights. They had been widely abused in the past, particularly the rights of children." Moyra found herself smiling at Charley as he tried to nod in agreement. He was a good looking man in his early forties. He was fit. Moyra particularly liked the way that he dressed. His fabrics were soft and hung about him very well. Nothing was ever too tight or too loose on his body. She could see that he took some care in the way he presented himself
"So what can we do?" said Charley, his hands flat now, palms spread open.
"We have to wait," said Moyra. She watched Joan's face collapse with her words.
* *
Beth was sitting cross-legged on her bed talking on the phone. She was staring at the thin, white slice on her thigh. "My dad is mad because he doesn't want to have to be bothered dealing with me, and now he's gotta. Too bad. And my mother is pathetic. She wants to understand."
"It felt so good when you did it to me, Sharon, better than when I did it myself"
"I wanted you to do me too," said Sharon, "but it was Judy's idea, and, well, you know... Sharon paused. "What do you think your parents are gonna do, Beth?"
"What they always do. Charley will scream and then try to be reasonable. Joan will suffer. She loves to do that. They will talk to everybody and come back and say that we should try again to understand each other."
"Yup, why can’t we all get along?” said Sharon- doing her imitation voice.
The girls giggled.
* *
Joan sat at her vanity in front of a large glass of water and two bottles of pills. She had taken her dose of Valium for the morning, but it hadn't calmed her today. She had taken the first Xanex an hour ago and only felt it work for a few minutes. Now, she shook two more Xanex out of the amber bottle. They were white cylinders, tiny actually. She felt their hardness in her palm and thought... they’re so small. Then she swallowed both of them with a wash down of tap water. She waited for the fifteen minutes they took to kick in. Sometimes it didn’t take that long.
Beth’s music was a muffled blare that forced its way through two closed doors. Joan felt herself bounced along on the steady bass. It was thumping just like a heartbeat. She wanted to lie down and put her head back and close her eyes and vanish. She wanted to float and feel whole and desirable. She wanted to hear her child call her mommy and be able to turn the little girl’s frown to a smile with the simplest of actions: a hug and a smile, a band aide, a song like the one that she used to sing to her. She wanted to walk around her bedroom in her panties. She wanted to watch her husband become distracted by the sight of her and have him come up from behind her and bend her over the vanity the way that he had done once and the way she had dreamed of him doing ever since.
The blare of the music seemed to be fading as she lay on the bed. She wondered how she had come to be a weak person. What had happened to her? Was it the way that she loved Charley and Beth that made her weak? She had done what had come naturally to her. Did that mean that she was naturally weak? Should weak people not love other people?
The Xanex was working. She felt the pressure at the base of her skull disappear and felt the warm strokes of relaxation moving across her body like a massage. She drifted into the snuggle of the soft bed and let it embrace her. The lines fell from her face.
* *
At first the phone was a soft, distant voice, but the second ring made it louder, and she reached out a lazy hand and lifted the receiver. Slowly, she brought it to her ear and heard voices.
"Thank you for calling me back, Moyra There are some things that I really need to speak with you about" Joan's mouth said Charley but no sound came out.
"It's OK, Charley. You must feel that you can always call. You are in a very delicate position. Where is Joan?"
"She's upstairs. She took too many pills again. She left the bottles open on her vanity. She's just withdrawing further and further every day."
"I could see that when the two of you were in my office. You are the source of strength for both of them now. And that's OK because you are a very strong man,"
Joan's mouth opened again but no sound came out.
"I feel as if I can accomplish anything after I have been in your office, but then I have a job and I get distracted and that feeling evaporates. I get distracted by the moment."
"We need to talk about ways that you can maintain a perspective that allows you not to be drained that way. They will both try to drain you, Charley."
"I feel that way. I feel them draining me, and it feels as if I should let them because they need me."
“Charley you have to do what you need to do for yourself. Take what you wish to take for yourself." There was a pause and then a smaller voice, a low soft voice. "Whatever you wish to take for yourself is there for you, Charley." Joan's eyes opened wider. Her face felt as stiff as a mask.
"I need to see you without anyone else around," said Charley.
"Do you wish to come into the office or ..." It was the soft voice again
"Could we meet for a drink?" said Charley.
That might be comfortable," said Moyra. "There's a bar called Henessey's about three miles from where I live on the north side of town."
"I know Henessey's," said Charley.
"I can meet you there now. I've just finished my last session.
"I'll be there in a few minutes. We can talk then."
Joan felt as if she had been beaten up. Her stomach hurt. Her face was stiff. She did not think that she could stand. The music had stopped in Beth's room. She heard Charley go out the front door and heard the car starting.
Beth and Sharon were lying very close to each other on the bed. The cd was over but neither of them wanted to move. While the music was on, they had begun to touch the white lines on each other's thighs, and now their hands were inside each other's shorts, almost afraid to move. And then they kissed. They kissed the way they kissed boys, but better. They were easy on each other’s lips and long in their embrace. Their tongues were wet electric wires that shocked other parts of their bodies.
Beth began to tug Sharon's shorts down. Sharon responded by wagging her tongue wildly in Beth's mouth. Soon both of their bottoms were off and they were inside of each other with needy fingers.
When Joan opened the door to Beth's room she saw her daughter's ass humping back and forth on Sharon's hand. She stood there without saying a word. When the girls sensed a presence, they looked up in panic. Joan's eyes were glazed.
"Mom, we were just pretending," said Beth.
They disengaged and were frantic in their efforts to get their clothes back on. Joan couldn't move. She stood there, a soundless, pathetic statue. It took all of her strength to close the door.
Wobbling back to her bedroom, she thought, I have no family.
Underneath the sink was a package of old razor blades that Charley liked to use before he took up his affair with electricity. Joan took out a shiny blade and sat at her sink staring at it. It looked new and held a sense of promise in the glint of its smile. The blood moved through her veins like a heavy ribbon of weight. She wanted to be released from it.
Medbet
Medbet
When a blue Toyota stomped on its brakes, a jarring screech shouted down the other sounds of the highway. Veering over the centerline, sparking like crossed wires, the car spun in a wild jig. The cameras showed that the Chevy had no time to react. Explosion shattered and pounded the steady, rush hour buzzing with a crunching whack! Drivers were slammed against headrests; their bodies in spasm. TheToyota was smacked back across the centerline. The Chevy bounced hard to the right and staggered for the guardrail. Tire screams echoing everywhere- Airbags covered the passengers with white cocoons. The Chevy slapped the rail. It was a seeing-eye miracle that it struck no other car. The Toyota stopped spinning, dead in the center of the road, leaking smoke and fluids. Safety glass pebbles reflected the sun on the highway with the glimmer of shattered diamonds. The camera, the beautiful sleek steady eye of the camera, caught every second of it.
“MedBet Alert....5:17..head on US 14.....male and female.... head trauma and possible internals....one conscious.....camera ready.....ten minutes from extraction and arrival at NewBeth....”
The alert was accompanied by synthesized voice on Nathan’s screen. It looked promising. He toe paddled his rolling chair into place behind his workstation. He was wearing a very thin wired headset and had three monitors in front of him. Barbara sat on a lower chair to the right at a smaller station that was slaved into his control. Her gray eyes flicked between Nathan and her screens. “OK, I need the EMT, the emergency room at New Beth, and get me the camera footage. In that order please.” His voice was smooth and well modulated, only showing just a trace of excitement with the request for the accident footage. The cameras were a relatively new feature and it was still a bit exciting to snag one live. But then his afterthought showed clear annoyance. “Barbara, make sure they keep the thing on for the extraction and the scenery this time.”
Nathan saw the icon flashing for an audio patch. He plugged it in to his head set.
“Keynon EMT James Pike, # 1728.... We have two participants… a male… early to mid 30’s with facial lacerations and head trauma.... a female mid to late…20’s with head trauma and possible internals. We have guarded confidence of live delivery and should have amb-pics within two minutes.”
“Evaluation stage two,” said Nathan. A steady flow of life-sign data on both subjects began to flow into the split screen just to his left. Heart rate, pulse, breathing and whatever else was necessary for him to work. The screen to his right popped up the live scene. Cars stopped in a street-choking pattern…
Barbara stepped on the heels of his sentence. “We have a stage two situation with feed from US 14 and will be on a dedicated follow awaiting further determination.” The dedicated follow informed the Center not to patch any new reports to the team at this point. Then she opened a line that would give Nathan’s direct feed to the receiving locations. “I have hubs ready for you, Nathan.
“Make sure that I am hooked on the big tits first,” said Nathan.
“Yes Sir, their nipples are waiting for you.”
The big tits were the New York and Los Angeles connections. Nathan did not want to take a chance of getting squeezed out by a severed finger or some other bullshit event. The Med-betting on this kind of an accident could be huge. The time of day was great, and if they could connect with a live feed, there were eight figure possibilities.
The first ambpics were good. There was frantic activity. There was some blood. There was the girl moaning and trying to thrash around. The guy was out, but his face was handsome. Nathan and Barbara exchanged a grin when they saw him. She scrunched her nose for him, in a way that brought her freckles together. His grinning dimples flashed her.
It was magic time. He had to make some quick calls now or run the risk of losing the live ingredient. The live ingredient, showing all of it to the players as it unfolded, could be worth more than 250% on the outlay, which made it worth that much more on his commission. “Barbara, get me crash speed estimates.” He clicked audio into the amb, “How much time to arrival?”
“ETA three minutes,” said Pike #1728
“Nathan, I got the crash footage. It’s perfect, it’s perfect Nathan!”
Nathan grinned. “Don’t get wet yet.” Barbara lowered her head, smiled and blushed.
The hospital showed that Dr. Grane Chatlew was in charge of the NewBeth room right now. That was good. Chatlew was a rising star.
“Give me the nipples,” said Nathan.
Barbara obediently sent his patch over. Nathan had already brought up his actuarial. He didn’t really need them for this one, but it was policy. Nathan smiled again. Mid twenties and early thirties; a long fight going here. Secondary betting as the event progressed- The life signs were just erratic enough to be a tease, but familiar enough for him to be confident of live delivery. There was a flickering on the screen of the unconscious male, probably from the activity.
“OK, we have a live feed situation from New Jersey highway US#14 with a male and a female from different vehicles. Patching through vitals now and we’ll call it a 17-5 on double survival, an 8-6 on the female and a 10-5 on the unconscious stud. We are piping live crash pics.” He pointed at Barbara and held out three then two then one finger, “Now... and are recommending a big screen approach. Piping in amb pics in.” again the fingers. She loved it when he pointed at her. “Five seconds,” a pause “that’s now.”
Barbara said, “We have ER room info and two minutes to arrival.”
New York and Los Angeles would be going crazy now. They would be piping to affiliates, cutting into existing situations, calling for instant hook. Nathan was ready. He loved this part.
“MedBet, this is Pike 1728...I’m showing a repeater signal on the ID for both subjects.” Nathan’s mouth opened. Barbara stopped moving immediately. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!!!!” screamed Nathan. “When were you gonna’ check the ID? When they were on the operating table?”
“This is Pike 1728, again. I am sending ID information for you to confirm the repeater status.”
“Yeah, you’re a real peach, Pike.”
The screen ID numbers were coming into both Barbara and Nathan. “Get me a workup and put the hubs on standby.” Nathan went back to the amb pics to see what was there. The screen went blank and came back. The guy was still out. His heart rate was steady but at 96. His pressure was 125/60. Dammit! It looked real! It looked solid! He might be a crasher, but if he was, it was high stakes crashing. The female was still moaning and had been restrained. Her vitals were more erratic, but it was because she was making such a fuss.
“We’ve got one reported prior for him, a single. And we’ve got two reported priors for her, a single as driver and a triple as passenger.”
“Screw it!” said Nathan. “Tell the tits that we aren’t going with live feed.”
“New York is screaming at me, Nathan. They are saying that they have taken action and that they have lines and a high level of interest.”
“Give me the patch!”
Instantly Nathan heard a New York accent in his ear. “We got a line of betters here that would fill your wazoo, lady!”
“We got repeaters. Do you want to override? I don’t care what you do, but make your call right now, New York.”
“Repeaters! Ah shit! No, let it go!”
The names of the repeaters were Jennifer Wren and Roger Edicot. Jennifer was a dental assistant, age twenty-five. She had been involved with her first crash at the age of twenty-two. She had sustained a broken collarbone and collapsed lung. She had stopped breathing, presumably from the shock, and had been resuscitated in the ambulance. She had made the screen and gone off at 4-5. There had been a fair amount of interest, nothing overwhelming. She had recovered easily. On the second occasion the driver had checked out. Jennifer had suffered a concussion and two broken legs. The front seat must have slammed into her. The third passenger had been uninjured and unreported. That was unusual. The two out of three had gone off at 11-6 and the company had cashed in on it. Roger’s one reported situation had been just six months ago. He had hit a tree and suffered a concussion.
`Nathan was liking it less and less. Head injuries were weird. Airbags had reduced them dramatically. They still got people’s attention, but they weren’t as real as a crushed sternum or a broken neck. They were going to have to drop it all together.
MedBet didn’t like taking those kinds of chances. They had watchdogs to ensure the integrity of the system, and in the five years since its inception they had steadily improved their ability to sniff out fraud. He looked over at Barbara. She looked worn out. The instant intensity was an adrenaline rush and having it end like this was prematurely frustrating. He would have to fill out an incident report and he might have to sit through the lecture again. Four hours of how there came to be a Med-bet and how it served the needs of the HealthCare industry better than any insurance policy had ever served the needs of the country. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but how many times could she hear it.
* * *
New Beth hospital was proud to be a MedBet facility. In order to qualify it had updated their trauma rooms, which now had all the cutting edge equipment needed to provide a full range of immediate services. No one wanted to hear that there was a procedure available that a facility wasn’t able to perform. And now more than ever before, the public new exactly what was available. Response! The official MedBet magazine outlined in layman’s terms the latest developments in trauma treatment. Also, in the new growth area, long term betting on the chronic care patients who were receiving donor organs. The risk of rejection and infection and the outside envelope for life expectancy was a whole new, long range frontier. There had been a resurgence of research and development in every area that the MedBet Corporation touched. For this and other financial reasons, New Beth was not thrilled with having to treat Jennifer Wren. The MedBet philosophy was Care for All and New Beth was providing care, but they didn’t have to be happy about it.
Jennifer and Roger were placed in the same room. Hospital officials were not about to use up two private rooms on them, and they also didn’t want these two contaminating the other patients in the population. Jennifer’s injuries were not life threatening.
She moaned and tossed for most of the evening. The television in her room had not been activated. Her head throbbed and seemed to both want her both to sleep and to wake up. Her face was swollen and very sore. When she saw the outline of Roger’s body on the other side of the curtain, she rang for the nurse immediately. She had difficulty talking because of the raw stiffness of her mouth.
“Why is there a man here?” she said.
The nurse smirked and said, “I don’t do the room assignments.”
“This isn’t fair!” Tears ran from Jennifer’s eyes. “I’ve been in an accident.”
“We’re very busy,” said the nurse, pivoting on her rubber sole and exiting the room quickly.
Jennifer pressed her buzzer again and again. The
nurse didn’t come back. Tears were dripping onto the bandages on her face, when Herbert Scottie came into the room. He was holding a clipboard and spoke in quiet, well-rounded tones. A medium sized man with absolutely no distinguishable characteristics, he did not seem to
notice Roger.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Wren?”
Finally, Jennifer thought. “I’m a bit upset at the moment,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I am in a room with this man! My television doesn’t work and my head and face are throbbing. No one is helping me”
“We’ll have to see what we can do to make you more comfortable,” he said. She heard his pencil scratch the pad. What happened to you?”
“I was in an accident. My car went spinning. There were people everywhere. I lost control of it.”
“Do you remember how you lost control?
“No,” she said shaking her head as if she were trying to reach back in her memory. “Who are you?”
“Oh,” he said flashing a non-descript grin. “I’m an investigator for MedBet. We’re just doing a little follow-up here, for our records.”
Jennifer tried to smile. “This wasn’t a MedBet feature, was it?”
“Didn’t you know?” Scottie looked as if he were genuinely surprised. “Yes, it was a prime feed.” He paused, “And, you can’t remember how it happened? It is always so much better when the history is complete.”
“Well,” said Jennifer. “I remember thinking that we were all so lucky to be driving such new cars. All the cars on the road seemed so new and then.......I just can’t think.”
“The tape we have of your accident shows that your car applied the brakes very hard, but we can’t see what it was that made you do it. The crash was really rather spectacular, you know. A real miracle that more people weren’t hurt-” Scottie tried to coax another smile out of Jennifer. He succeeded.
“Maybe I saw something in the road,” she said.
“Yes, perhaps you did.”
Jennifer felt reassured. Soon after Scottie left, the television was turned on, although they had forgotten to give her a remote control, and she only had the one all news channel. And the nurse came back in with an injection that she said would make her more comfortable. She began to drift in and out of sleep and the evening slid into the early morning. At four am, a doctor came into the room to officially pronounce Roger dead. He recorded the time for the nurse and left. It was the only time she had seen anyone at Roger’s bed, but she was too drowsy to understand what was happening.
* * *
“Nathan, why are they asking both of us to report to the inquiry room on our day off?”
He answered her smoothly, not pretending to be asleep. “…because of the repeaters. We let it go out as a live feed. Bets were taken. New York was pissed. So we are gonna get pissed on a little.”
“I’ve never been in the inquiry room before,” she said in a small voice.
“You had one responsibility today, to do as you were told. Is that correct?”
Barbara pouted out a sexy smile, “Isn’t that always my responsibility when I am with you?”
He didn’t answer. “I made the calls. You took nothing into your own hands.”
She reached over to take his shoulder, but he shrugged her away. “Now get out of bed and sleep on the floor for the rest of the night. You woke me up.”
“Yes Sir,” said Barbara and quickly slipped onto the floor beside the bed. “May I have a pillow?” With a soft thud, it hit her head in the dark. She curled into a ball and tried to go to sleep, resting her grateful head on the pillow.
* * *
The MedBet inquiry room was a famous place. It had the comfortable feel of a conference room except that there was a large mural comprised of faces of MedBet employees that seemed to be watching everyone in the room. Everything was taped and available for viewing by all those who had security clearances. Instructional session viewing was required for all MedBet employees. Over the top of the door was a sign that read Care For All. Nathan glanced up at it and nodded as if seeing an old friend. In theory, he believed the words of the sign. The faces of his colleagues made him feel secure and part of an important community.
Barbara was sitting next to him, hoping that they didn’t ask her too many questions. She held Nathan’s hand under the table. Herbert Scottie was smiling at both of them. They went through the sequence of events. Scottie was very polite and nodded with understanding and approval as they spoke.
“When did you first request identification?” said
Scottie.
“As soon as extraction was complete,” said Nathan, but he couldn’t remember having done it. Usually the assistant did that with the EMT.
“That would have been the correct time,” said Scottie. “But the audio tape shows that you went directly to the live feeds.”
Nathan’s mind picked up speed. Had he done that? Had he skipped over the ID check because he was trying to get the live feeds? He shook his head. “I may have made an error.” Nathan felt Barbara let go of his hand.
“Have you ever met Jennifer Wren?” said Scottie
Nathan’s mouth opened slightly. “No, I have not. I would have called for a team switch immediately.”
Scottie turned to Barbara. “And you have never met
Jennifer Wren either?”
“I don’t think so,” said Barbara
“Well, that’s all I have for right now,” said Scottie.
Nathan observed Scottie’s mechanical smile and had the feeling that the investigator had definitely gotten what he was looking for.
* * *
NewBeth hospital released Jennifer the next afternoon. Her doctor told her that she had suffered a concussion and some fairly extensive facial lacerations and that if she experienced any unexplainable nausea, she should contact her local physician. No one asked for her insurance identification card. No policeman interviewed her about the accident. No mention was made of her car, and what had happened to it. She was driven home by a hospital employee who told her that he sometimes provided transportation for patients who needed it. She didn’t believe him.
The telephone startled her. She had been lying in
bed with the television on the all
news channel and drifting in and out of consciousness.
“It’s Jim. Are you ok?”
“I guess so.”
“I want to come over.”
“Wait until later. Come later.”
When she hung up the phone, Herbert Scottie checked the caller location. It came from a public phone located just outside the EMT station located on US Highway #14. Herbert Scottie smiled. Sometimes things were so simple.
Two hours later, Jim Pike sat in the inquiry room. He was sweating and contrite. His reddish blonde hair kept the imprint that his cap made before he took it off. He looked to Scottie as his friend, someone who would help him through this mess.
“When did you first meet her?”
“We had a mutual friend who had an accident while she was giving us a ride to a concert. I ran away from the scene because I was in training and I knew that it would look bad for an EMT to have a fatal accident in his past.”
“How soon after that did she contact you?”
“Maybe it was a year later.”
“And then what happened?”
“She said that she had a plan that could make a bundle of money for us. She said she would take all the risk. She asked where the camera location was on US#14. She said that she knew how to rig her car so that she survived a violent crash.”
“And what was your job, Mr. Pike?”
“I had to keep her ID from the Medbet people until it was too late and they had to go with it.”
“We were gonna put everything she owned on her recovery. But the guy died in the ambulance and I had to cut the feed to Medbet early so that the odds-setter didn’t see his vitals. The only way was to distract him with the ID so he wouldn’t notice. The assistant made it easy because she was so excited.”
“Have you ever met the odds setter or his assistant?”
“Those people are weird. They keep to themselves like some kind of a secret society.”
“Yes, they do Pike. I understand what happened to you. You were frightened of being exposed about something that wasn’t really your fault.”
“I really am a good EMT, Sir. I care about people
and I react well in crisis.”
“I can see that you do, Pike.” Scottie allowed his smile to show condescension.
* * *
Scottie accompanied the arresting officers to Jennifer Wren’s apartment. She was reluctant to let them in. She said that she felt nauseous. Scottie sized up her diminutive frame. Her movements were specific. She claimed to be woozy but didn’t seem to have any wasted or careless gestures.
“Before we talk at all Ms. Wren, I would like you to listen to this tape.”
Jennifer sat down on her couch. She lit a cigarette and took that first sweet drag. She held the smoke in and timed the release to the mention of the Pike’s name. She half expected it, but when it came out she was startled. She glanced up at Scottie and tried to read his face. His smile was implacable. It was unnerving. It was almost gentle. It was knowing. She watched the smile as the tape played. She did not raise her eyes to meet his, but kept focused on the carefully upturned ends of his mouth. She brought the cigarette to her mouth with a steady hand and sucked on it softly. She would survive being caught too. She always survived.
“Things will go more smoothly if you just agree to answer all of my questions, Ms. Wren.”
“Just clearing a few more things up for the file?”
she said with an ironic grin.
“Exactly,” said Scottie. “Did you know Mr. Roger Edicot?”
“No.”
“Was James Pike the only person with whom you worked?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Who was going to place the bets? Pike wouldn’t have been able to bet.”
Jennifer Wren’s was smile was cold. “Well I guess the file will have to stay closed incomplete on that little part of things, won’t it?”
“Perhaps,” said Scottie. “But when you are charged with murder, it will cause a massive search through the records of everyone that you have ever met cross matched with those who bet on your incident.”
Jennifer paused. She looked like a reptile. “Is there any way to avoid the murder thing?”
“What was the name of the person placing the bets?” repeated Scottie
Jennifer gave him the name the address and the amount of money that had been bet.
“Can I ask you one question?” said Jennifer.
Scottie instinctively knew what she wanted to ask.
He excused the patrolman from the room. “What is it?”
“Why did you put a dead man in the room with me for eleven hours?”
“We needed about eleven hours before we were ready to prnounce him dead Ms.Wren.” Scottie smiled. Now, there were other matters to discuss. The rest of it would go smoothly now. The door opened and the administrator from New Beth came into the room.
“We’re ready for you now,” said Scottie.
* * *
Nathan and Barbara were called back to the inquiry room the next morning. Barbara had been very nervous and had chattered all morning about how sorry she was for her mistake. Finally, Nathan threatened to gag her, knowing how much she hated to be gagged. She fell very quiet.
Herbert Scottie and an administrator from New Beth were sitting at the conference table when Nathan and Barbara arrived. Nathan was cautiously optimistic about being called back so soon. He thought that it was a good sign.
Scottie smiled and began to speak directly to Nathan. “The investigation is drawing to a close folks. It seems that the two of you were set up by a couple of people. Jennifer Wren staged the accident in collusion with James Pike. They have confessed, and MedBet is satisfied that neither you nor your assistant had any knowledge of the scheme.”
Nathan exhaled slowly. He loved MedBet. Everything would be fine now.
“There is just one more thing. We would like you to do a re-creation of your response to the accident with a different EMT. Barbara, this time you will ask for proper identification, and we will learn that Jennifer Wren is a repeater. We will immediately sever her from the action. We will continue with interest focused on the comatose Roger Edicot who will be operated on and who will die eleven hours after surgery.”
Perfect timing, thought Nathan. That’s when most deaths occurred, but after ten hours the payoff was smaller for those who bet for death. After ten the payoff odds were significantly lower. Larger profit for MedBet. All round good deal-
“Barbara and I will be happy to do whatever it takes
to clear this up for all concerned.”
When Nathan said that, the NewBeth administrator got up, shook hands with Scottie and left the room,
without looking at either Nathan or Barbara again.
“Is there going to be a trial?” said Nathan.
Barbara gave him a worried look, wondering who was going to be placed on trial.
“Trials are expensive. And with trials like this, there is small profit and little interest. Let’s say there is going to be an accommodation.”
Nathan knew that he was part of the accommodation and so he pressed the point. “Can I ask what it is?”
“Of course! Unnecessary secrecy is a burden that slows everyone and does not add to efficiency in the slightest.” Scottie’s grin was real this time. He would be congratulated for working things out this comprehensively. “Because Mr. Pike and Ms. Wren have no desire for a trial, we have agreed upon an administrative settlement. Mr. Pike will find a new career. Ms. Wren will be paying damages to Mr. Edicot’s family. She has volunteered to sell one of her kidneys and one cornea in order to immediately raise the $75,000 that is required. She has also permanently forfeited her health care and of course her driving privileges. Each of them is going to relocate immediately.
“What’s going to happen to us?” blurted Barbara.
Scottie’s grin held genuine amusement when he spoke to her. “You are going to have some well needed additional training.”
Barbara face panicked for a second and then she relaxed. “Yes Sir,” she said.
Nathan knew how to wait. Scottie was much too thorough to have left him out.
He would miss Barbara, but she had not been his first assistant. The unwritten rules about assistants and odds-setters never varied.
“Nathan, you are a loyal employee. I find that this one mistake, this one time, can be overlooked. Of course, it must go into your file. Any expenses that MedBet does not make up from the re-creation will be deducted from your commissions over the next two years. But I think that we will actually turn a small profit out of this.” Scottie stood up and extended his hand to Nathan. Nathan smiled.
When a blue Toyota stomped on its brakes, a jarring screech shouted down the other sounds of the highway. Veering over the centerline, sparking like crossed wires, the car spun in a wild jig. The cameras showed that the Chevy had no time to react. Explosion shattered and pounded the steady, rush hour buzzing with a crunching whack! Drivers were slammed against headrests; their bodies in spasm. TheToyota was smacked back across the centerline. The Chevy bounced hard to the right and staggered for the guardrail. Tire screams echoing everywhere- Airbags covered the passengers with white cocoons. The Chevy slapped the rail. It was a seeing-eye miracle that it struck no other car. The Toyota stopped spinning, dead in the center of the road, leaking smoke and fluids. Safety glass pebbles reflected the sun on the highway with the glimmer of shattered diamonds. The camera, the beautiful sleek steady eye of the camera, caught every second of it.
“MedBet Alert....5:17..head on US 14.....male and female.... head trauma and possible internals....one conscious.....camera ready.....ten minutes from extraction and arrival at NewBeth....”
The alert was accompanied by synthesized voice on Nathan’s screen. It looked promising. He toe paddled his rolling chair into place behind his workstation. He was wearing a very thin wired headset and had three monitors in front of him. Barbara sat on a lower chair to the right at a smaller station that was slaved into his control. Her gray eyes flicked between Nathan and her screens. “OK, I need the EMT, the emergency room at New Beth, and get me the camera footage. In that order please.” His voice was smooth and well modulated, only showing just a trace of excitement with the request for the accident footage. The cameras were a relatively new feature and it was still a bit exciting to snag one live. But then his afterthought showed clear annoyance. “Barbara, make sure they keep the thing on for the extraction and the scenery this time.”
Nathan saw the icon flashing for an audio patch. He plugged it in to his head set.
“Keynon EMT James Pike, # 1728.... We have two participants… a male… early to mid 30’s with facial lacerations and head trauma.... a female mid to late…20’s with head trauma and possible internals. We have guarded confidence of live delivery and should have amb-pics within two minutes.”
“Evaluation stage two,” said Nathan. A steady flow of life-sign data on both subjects began to flow into the split screen just to his left. Heart rate, pulse, breathing and whatever else was necessary for him to work. The screen to his right popped up the live scene. Cars stopped in a street-choking pattern…
Barbara stepped on the heels of his sentence. “We have a stage two situation with feed from US 14 and will be on a dedicated follow awaiting further determination.” The dedicated follow informed the Center not to patch any new reports to the team at this point. Then she opened a line that would give Nathan’s direct feed to the receiving locations. “I have hubs ready for you, Nathan.
“Make sure that I am hooked on the big tits first,” said Nathan.
“Yes Sir, their nipples are waiting for you.”
The big tits were the New York and Los Angeles connections. Nathan did not want to take a chance of getting squeezed out by a severed finger or some other bullshit event. The Med-betting on this kind of an accident could be huge. The time of day was great, and if they could connect with a live feed, there were eight figure possibilities.
The first ambpics were good. There was frantic activity. There was some blood. There was the girl moaning and trying to thrash around. The guy was out, but his face was handsome. Nathan and Barbara exchanged a grin when they saw him. She scrunched her nose for him, in a way that brought her freckles together. His grinning dimples flashed her.
It was magic time. He had to make some quick calls now or run the risk of losing the live ingredient. The live ingredient, showing all of it to the players as it unfolded, could be worth more than 250% on the outlay, which made it worth that much more on his commission. “Barbara, get me crash speed estimates.” He clicked audio into the amb, “How much time to arrival?”
“ETA three minutes,” said Pike #1728
“Nathan, I got the crash footage. It’s perfect, it’s perfect Nathan!”
Nathan grinned. “Don’t get wet yet.” Barbara lowered her head, smiled and blushed.
The hospital showed that Dr. Grane Chatlew was in charge of the NewBeth room right now. That was good. Chatlew was a rising star.
“Give me the nipples,” said Nathan.
Barbara obediently sent his patch over. Nathan had already brought up his actuarial. He didn’t really need them for this one, but it was policy. Nathan smiled again. Mid twenties and early thirties; a long fight going here. Secondary betting as the event progressed- The life signs were just erratic enough to be a tease, but familiar enough for him to be confident of live delivery. There was a flickering on the screen of the unconscious male, probably from the activity.
“OK, we have a live feed situation from New Jersey highway US#14 with a male and a female from different vehicles. Patching through vitals now and we’ll call it a 17-5 on double survival, an 8-6 on the female and a 10-5 on the unconscious stud. We are piping live crash pics.” He pointed at Barbara and held out three then two then one finger, “Now... and are recommending a big screen approach. Piping in amb pics in.” again the fingers. She loved it when he pointed at her. “Five seconds,” a pause “that’s now.”
Barbara said, “We have ER room info and two minutes to arrival.”
New York and Los Angeles would be going crazy now. They would be piping to affiliates, cutting into existing situations, calling for instant hook. Nathan was ready. He loved this part.
“MedBet, this is Pike 1728...I’m showing a repeater signal on the ID for both subjects.” Nathan’s mouth opened. Barbara stopped moving immediately. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me!!!!” screamed Nathan. “When were you gonna’ check the ID? When they were on the operating table?”
“This is Pike 1728, again. I am sending ID information for you to confirm the repeater status.”
“Yeah, you’re a real peach, Pike.”
The screen ID numbers were coming into both Barbara and Nathan. “Get me a workup and put the hubs on standby.” Nathan went back to the amb pics to see what was there. The screen went blank and came back. The guy was still out. His heart rate was steady but at 96. His pressure was 125/60. Dammit! It looked real! It looked solid! He might be a crasher, but if he was, it was high stakes crashing. The female was still moaning and had been restrained. Her vitals were more erratic, but it was because she was making such a fuss.
“We’ve got one reported prior for him, a single. And we’ve got two reported priors for her, a single as driver and a triple as passenger.”
“Screw it!” said Nathan. “Tell the tits that we aren’t going with live feed.”
“New York is screaming at me, Nathan. They are saying that they have taken action and that they have lines and a high level of interest.”
“Give me the patch!”
Instantly Nathan heard a New York accent in his ear. “We got a line of betters here that would fill your wazoo, lady!”
“We got repeaters. Do you want to override? I don’t care what you do, but make your call right now, New York.”
“Repeaters! Ah shit! No, let it go!”
The names of the repeaters were Jennifer Wren and Roger Edicot. Jennifer was a dental assistant, age twenty-five. She had been involved with her first crash at the age of twenty-two. She had sustained a broken collarbone and collapsed lung. She had stopped breathing, presumably from the shock, and had been resuscitated in the ambulance. She had made the screen and gone off at 4-5. There had been a fair amount of interest, nothing overwhelming. She had recovered easily. On the second occasion the driver had checked out. Jennifer had suffered a concussion and two broken legs. The front seat must have slammed into her. The third passenger had been uninjured and unreported. That was unusual. The two out of three had gone off at 11-6 and the company had cashed in on it. Roger’s one reported situation had been just six months ago. He had hit a tree and suffered a concussion.
`Nathan was liking it less and less. Head injuries were weird. Airbags had reduced them dramatically. They still got people’s attention, but they weren’t as real as a crushed sternum or a broken neck. They were going to have to drop it all together.
MedBet didn’t like taking those kinds of chances. They had watchdogs to ensure the integrity of the system, and in the five years since its inception they had steadily improved their ability to sniff out fraud. He looked over at Barbara. She looked worn out. The instant intensity was an adrenaline rush and having it end like this was prematurely frustrating. He would have to fill out an incident report and he might have to sit through the lecture again. Four hours of how there came to be a Med-bet and how it served the needs of the HealthCare industry better than any insurance policy had ever served the needs of the country. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe it, but how many times could she hear it.
* * *
New Beth hospital was proud to be a MedBet facility. In order to qualify it had updated their trauma rooms, which now had all the cutting edge equipment needed to provide a full range of immediate services. No one wanted to hear that there was a procedure available that a facility wasn’t able to perform. And now more than ever before, the public new exactly what was available. Response! The official MedBet magazine outlined in layman’s terms the latest developments in trauma treatment. Also, in the new growth area, long term betting on the chronic care patients who were receiving donor organs. The risk of rejection and infection and the outside envelope for life expectancy was a whole new, long range frontier. There had been a resurgence of research and development in every area that the MedBet Corporation touched. For this and other financial reasons, New Beth was not thrilled with having to treat Jennifer Wren. The MedBet philosophy was Care for All and New Beth was providing care, but they didn’t have to be happy about it.
Jennifer and Roger were placed in the same room. Hospital officials were not about to use up two private rooms on them, and they also didn’t want these two contaminating the other patients in the population. Jennifer’s injuries were not life threatening.
She moaned and tossed for most of the evening. The television in her room had not been activated. Her head throbbed and seemed to both want her both to sleep and to wake up. Her face was swollen and very sore. When she saw the outline of Roger’s body on the other side of the curtain, she rang for the nurse immediately. She had difficulty talking because of the raw stiffness of her mouth.
“Why is there a man here?” she said.
The nurse smirked and said, “I don’t do the room assignments.”
“This isn’t fair!” Tears ran from Jennifer’s eyes. “I’ve been in an accident.”
“We’re very busy,” said the nurse, pivoting on her rubber sole and exiting the room quickly.
Jennifer pressed her buzzer again and again. The
nurse didn’t come back. Tears were dripping onto the bandages on her face, when Herbert Scottie came into the room. He was holding a clipboard and spoke in quiet, well-rounded tones. A medium sized man with absolutely no distinguishable characteristics, he did not seem to
notice Roger.
“How are you feeling, Ms. Wren?”
Finally, Jennifer thought. “I’m a bit upset at the moment,” she sobbed. “I don’t know why I am in a room with this man! My television doesn’t work and my head and face are throbbing. No one is helping me”
“We’ll have to see what we can do to make you more comfortable,” he said. She heard his pencil scratch the pad. What happened to you?”
“I was in an accident. My car went spinning. There were people everywhere. I lost control of it.”
“Do you remember how you lost control?
“No,” she said shaking her head as if she were trying to reach back in her memory. “Who are you?”
“Oh,” he said flashing a non-descript grin. “I’m an investigator for MedBet. We’re just doing a little follow-up here, for our records.”
Jennifer tried to smile. “This wasn’t a MedBet feature, was it?”
“Didn’t you know?” Scottie looked as if he were genuinely surprised. “Yes, it was a prime feed.” He paused, “And, you can’t remember how it happened? It is always so much better when the history is complete.”
“Well,” said Jennifer. “I remember thinking that we were all so lucky to be driving such new cars. All the cars on the road seemed so new and then.......I just can’t think.”
“The tape we have of your accident shows that your car applied the brakes very hard, but we can’t see what it was that made you do it. The crash was really rather spectacular, you know. A real miracle that more people weren’t hurt-” Scottie tried to coax another smile out of Jennifer. He succeeded.
“Maybe I saw something in the road,” she said.
“Yes, perhaps you did.”
Jennifer felt reassured. Soon after Scottie left, the television was turned on, although they had forgotten to give her a remote control, and she only had the one all news channel. And the nurse came back in with an injection that she said would make her more comfortable. She began to drift in and out of sleep and the evening slid into the early morning. At four am, a doctor came into the room to officially pronounce Roger dead. He recorded the time for the nurse and left. It was the only time she had seen anyone at Roger’s bed, but she was too drowsy to understand what was happening.
* * *
“Nathan, why are they asking both of us to report to the inquiry room on our day off?”
He answered her smoothly, not pretending to be asleep. “…because of the repeaters. We let it go out as a live feed. Bets were taken. New York was pissed. So we are gonna get pissed on a little.”
“I’ve never been in the inquiry room before,” she said in a small voice.
“You had one responsibility today, to do as you were told. Is that correct?”
Barbara pouted out a sexy smile, “Isn’t that always my responsibility when I am with you?”
He didn’t answer. “I made the calls. You took nothing into your own hands.”
She reached over to take his shoulder, but he shrugged her away. “Now get out of bed and sleep on the floor for the rest of the night. You woke me up.”
“Yes Sir,” said Barbara and quickly slipped onto the floor beside the bed. “May I have a pillow?” With a soft thud, it hit her head in the dark. She curled into a ball and tried to go to sleep, resting her grateful head on the pillow.
* * *
The MedBet inquiry room was a famous place. It had the comfortable feel of a conference room except that there was a large mural comprised of faces of MedBet employees that seemed to be watching everyone in the room. Everything was taped and available for viewing by all those who had security clearances. Instructional session viewing was required for all MedBet employees. Over the top of the door was a sign that read Care For All. Nathan glanced up at it and nodded as if seeing an old friend. In theory, he believed the words of the sign. The faces of his colleagues made him feel secure and part of an important community.
Barbara was sitting next to him, hoping that they didn’t ask her too many questions. She held Nathan’s hand under the table. Herbert Scottie was smiling at both of them. They went through the sequence of events. Scottie was very polite and nodded with understanding and approval as they spoke.
“When did you first request identification?” said
Scottie.
“As soon as extraction was complete,” said Nathan, but he couldn’t remember having done it. Usually the assistant did that with the EMT.
“That would have been the correct time,” said Scottie. “But the audio tape shows that you went directly to the live feeds.”
Nathan’s mind picked up speed. Had he done that? Had he skipped over the ID check because he was trying to get the live feeds? He shook his head. “I may have made an error.” Nathan felt Barbara let go of his hand.
“Have you ever met Jennifer Wren?” said Scottie
Nathan’s mouth opened slightly. “No, I have not. I would have called for a team switch immediately.”
Scottie turned to Barbara. “And you have never met
Jennifer Wren either?”
“I don’t think so,” said Barbara
“Well, that’s all I have for right now,” said Scottie.
Nathan observed Scottie’s mechanical smile and had the feeling that the investigator had definitely gotten what he was looking for.
* * *
NewBeth hospital released Jennifer the next afternoon. Her doctor told her that she had suffered a concussion and some fairly extensive facial lacerations and that if she experienced any unexplainable nausea, she should contact her local physician. No one asked for her insurance identification card. No policeman interviewed her about the accident. No mention was made of her car, and what had happened to it. She was driven home by a hospital employee who told her that he sometimes provided transportation for patients who needed it. She didn’t believe him.
The telephone startled her. She had been lying in
bed with the television on the all
news channel and drifting in and out of consciousness.
“It’s Jim. Are you ok?”
“I guess so.”
“I want to come over.”
“Wait until later. Come later.”
When she hung up the phone, Herbert Scottie checked the caller location. It came from a public phone located just outside the EMT station located on US Highway #14. Herbert Scottie smiled. Sometimes things were so simple.
Two hours later, Jim Pike sat in the inquiry room. He was sweating and contrite. His reddish blonde hair kept the imprint that his cap made before he took it off. He looked to Scottie as his friend, someone who would help him through this mess.
“When did you first meet her?”
“We had a mutual friend who had an accident while she was giving us a ride to a concert. I ran away from the scene because I was in training and I knew that it would look bad for an EMT to have a fatal accident in his past.”
“How soon after that did she contact you?”
“Maybe it was a year later.”
“And then what happened?”
“She said that she had a plan that could make a bundle of money for us. She said she would take all the risk. She asked where the camera location was on US#14. She said that she knew how to rig her car so that she survived a violent crash.”
“And what was your job, Mr. Pike?”
“I had to keep her ID from the Medbet people until it was too late and they had to go with it.”
“We were gonna put everything she owned on her recovery. But the guy died in the ambulance and I had to cut the feed to Medbet early so that the odds-setter didn’t see his vitals. The only way was to distract him with the ID so he wouldn’t notice. The assistant made it easy because she was so excited.”
“Have you ever met the odds setter or his assistant?”
“Those people are weird. They keep to themselves like some kind of a secret society.”
“Yes, they do Pike. I understand what happened to you. You were frightened of being exposed about something that wasn’t really your fault.”
“I really am a good EMT, Sir. I care about people
and I react well in crisis.”
“I can see that you do, Pike.” Scottie allowed his smile to show condescension.
* * *
Scottie accompanied the arresting officers to Jennifer Wren’s apartment. She was reluctant to let them in. She said that she felt nauseous. Scottie sized up her diminutive frame. Her movements were specific. She claimed to be woozy but didn’t seem to have any wasted or careless gestures.
“Before we talk at all Ms. Wren, I would like you to listen to this tape.”
Jennifer sat down on her couch. She lit a cigarette and took that first sweet drag. She held the smoke in and timed the release to the mention of the Pike’s name. She half expected it, but when it came out she was startled. She glanced up at Scottie and tried to read his face. His smile was implacable. It was unnerving. It was almost gentle. It was knowing. She watched the smile as the tape played. She did not raise her eyes to meet his, but kept focused on the carefully upturned ends of his mouth. She brought the cigarette to her mouth with a steady hand and sucked on it softly. She would survive being caught too. She always survived.
“Things will go more smoothly if you just agree to answer all of my questions, Ms. Wren.”
“Just clearing a few more things up for the file?”
she said with an ironic grin.
“Exactly,” said Scottie. “Did you know Mr. Roger Edicot?”
“No.”
“Was James Pike the only person with whom you worked?”
“Yes.”
“Really? Who was going to place the bets? Pike wouldn’t have been able to bet.”
Jennifer Wren’s was smile was cold. “Well I guess the file will have to stay closed incomplete on that little part of things, won’t it?”
“Perhaps,” said Scottie. “But when you are charged with murder, it will cause a massive search through the records of everyone that you have ever met cross matched with those who bet on your incident.”
Jennifer paused. She looked like a reptile. “Is there any way to avoid the murder thing?”
“What was the name of the person placing the bets?” repeated Scottie
Jennifer gave him the name the address and the amount of money that had been bet.
“Can I ask you one question?” said Jennifer.
Scottie instinctively knew what she wanted to ask.
He excused the patrolman from the room. “What is it?”
“Why did you put a dead man in the room with me for eleven hours?”
“We needed about eleven hours before we were ready to prnounce him dead Ms.Wren.” Scottie smiled. Now, there were other matters to discuss. The rest of it would go smoothly now. The door opened and the administrator from New Beth came into the room.
“We’re ready for you now,” said Scottie.
* * *
Nathan and Barbara were called back to the inquiry room the next morning. Barbara had been very nervous and had chattered all morning about how sorry she was for her mistake. Finally, Nathan threatened to gag her, knowing how much she hated to be gagged. She fell very quiet.
Herbert Scottie and an administrator from New Beth were sitting at the conference table when Nathan and Barbara arrived. Nathan was cautiously optimistic about being called back so soon. He thought that it was a good sign.
Scottie smiled and began to speak directly to Nathan. “The investigation is drawing to a close folks. It seems that the two of you were set up by a couple of people. Jennifer Wren staged the accident in collusion with James Pike. They have confessed, and MedBet is satisfied that neither you nor your assistant had any knowledge of the scheme.”
Nathan exhaled slowly. He loved MedBet. Everything would be fine now.
“There is just one more thing. We would like you to do a re-creation of your response to the accident with a different EMT. Barbara, this time you will ask for proper identification, and we will learn that Jennifer Wren is a repeater. We will immediately sever her from the action. We will continue with interest focused on the comatose Roger Edicot who will be operated on and who will die eleven hours after surgery.”
Perfect timing, thought Nathan. That’s when most deaths occurred, but after ten hours the payoff was smaller for those who bet for death. After ten the payoff odds were significantly lower. Larger profit for MedBet. All round good deal-
“Barbara and I will be happy to do whatever it takes
to clear this up for all concerned.”
When Nathan said that, the NewBeth administrator got up, shook hands with Scottie and left the room,
without looking at either Nathan or Barbara again.
“Is there going to be a trial?” said Nathan.
Barbara gave him a worried look, wondering who was going to be placed on trial.
“Trials are expensive. And with trials like this, there is small profit and little interest. Let’s say there is going to be an accommodation.”
Nathan knew that he was part of the accommodation and so he pressed the point. “Can I ask what it is?”
“Of course! Unnecessary secrecy is a burden that slows everyone and does not add to efficiency in the slightest.” Scottie’s grin was real this time. He would be congratulated for working things out this comprehensively. “Because Mr. Pike and Ms. Wren have no desire for a trial, we have agreed upon an administrative settlement. Mr. Pike will find a new career. Ms. Wren will be paying damages to Mr. Edicot’s family. She has volunteered to sell one of her kidneys and one cornea in order to immediately raise the $75,000 that is required. She has also permanently forfeited her health care and of course her driving privileges. Each of them is going to relocate immediately.
“What’s going to happen to us?” blurted Barbara.
Scottie’s grin held genuine amusement when he spoke to her. “You are going to have some well needed additional training.”
Barbara face panicked for a second and then she relaxed. “Yes Sir,” she said.
Nathan knew how to wait. Scottie was much too thorough to have left him out.
He would miss Barbara, but she had not been his first assistant. The unwritten rules about assistants and odds-setters never varied.
“Nathan, you are a loyal employee. I find that this one mistake, this one time, can be overlooked. Of course, it must go into your file. Any expenses that MedBet does not make up from the re-creation will be deducted from your commissions over the next two years. But I think that we will actually turn a small profit out of this.” Scottie stood up and extended his hand to Nathan. Nathan smiled.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Snake Garden Paradise
Chapter 1
Ron turned the key to his gold Chevy half hoping that it wouldn't start. No such luck… The fucking thing purred like it was factory fresh. He got out of the car and gave her a last imploring look. She said, "I don't really want you to go. I don't think that I can ever live with anyone else… But if you stay here, I’ll never be able to sort my feelings out.” He couldn't help thinking that if she would let him take her back upstairs and fuck her brains out that all of her confusion would disappear. The reality, however, was that he hadn't fucked Robin's brains out in a long time.
She stroked his face. "Remember what the doctor said about taking it easy on the drive back.” He nodded and thought that she was more beautiful now than she'd ever been before. When they hugged, her body electrified his. Her green eyes looked into his green eyes. Her blonde hair brushed against his light brown hair. The sun and the summer had touched both of them. She opened her mouth for his tongue. The plump fullness of her chest pressed against his chest. He felt her pelvis against him, her sweet, sweet pelvis. Then she pushed him away, and he got into the car and watched her walk back across University Avenue. His eyes watched the swing of her hips. His eyes crying for her to turn around. She didn’t. He dropped the Chevy into gear.
Driving out of Minneapolis was easy. Before he was even settled into his driving position, he was on the Interstate. His mind went into split screen. In front of him were the road and the traffic, but she was embedded in his brain. In the summer time, her freckles glowed from the sun. The season filled her body, giving her breasts a ripened fruit presence, her sex the delicate scent of a beguiling blossom. She'd pull her hair back off her neck and show the distinct contours of her face and shoulders. She made him crazy in the summertime, when she never wore underwear and always had some loose, transparent thing on.
She used to look at his cock all the time and constantly rubbed some part of herself on it, but for the last eight weeks his dick hadn't existed for either of them. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about it or touch it or try to put it in her. And then it didn't exist anymore. It was soft and distant when he needed to urinate with it. He told himself that he could live that way forever, if she would let him stay close to her. His body had become thinner than it had ever been in his life. He was gaunt in his six-foot frame. His ribs and hips were prominent. He didn’t look strong or well.
The tape recorder lay next to him on the front seat. He managed to start the recording device and propped the mic up against the top of the steering wheel. He had five 90-minute cassettes. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with them, but he wanted to begin by talking himself through this.
"Well, who would have thought that I'd be on my way back home this early in the game? Probably everybody, that's who! She really kicked the shit out of me! Not that I didn't deserve to get the shit kicked out of me, but fuck, I feel broken in more places than I knew I had.
"What did I expect? I know what I wanted. Her and me, away from our families, away from our pasts, starting over, in love and making everything work this time. She loves me. I can see in her face that she loves me. She wants me to pay for being an asshole for the last four years, and I can understand that, and I'm willing to pay, but the truth is that she's not coming back to me no matter how much I pay.”
He stopped for a second, took a deep breath and continued. There was confusion in his voice.
"If she doesn't want me back then why does she want me to pay? And why did she start up with him? I mean the guy's married to her fucking cousin; doesn't that mean anything to her? He's a father, and she knows what happens to kids when families fall apart. Didn't that happen with both our parents too?
"I'm sure that I hate him more than I've ever detested anyone in my entire life. If there were a way that I could get him back to Jersey, it would be so easy to kill him. I'd tie him down and stomp on his face. I'd drive those stupid black glasses right into his eyes and make him gag on his own teeth. I'd bust him up so good that not even his fat wife would be able to look at him anymore."
Ron put the tape recorder on pause and stared out at the road. Wisconsin was still green and beautiful. The hills rolled like waves that carried him down toward Chicago.
"OK, so let's start over again. Why did I come out here? Didn't she tell me that she didn't want to sleep with me anymore when she came back home at Christmas time? But it wasn't that she didn't want to sleep with me, was it? She stayed at my apartment, not her mother's. And she slept in the same bed that I slept in every single night. And we spent the entire time together because that was exactly the way that she wanted it. But she said right from then that she didn't want to fuck anymore. That was exactly how she put it too."
He remembered picking her up at the airport and driving her back to his apartment. Before they had even gotten out of the car she said, "Ron, I think that you should know that I'm not going to fuck you while I'm out here. In fact, I don't think that I'm going to fuck anybody.” That last part certainly made him feel better. Who else had
she been fucking out here? Maybe it meant something different. Maybe it meant that... He didn't know what else it could have meant, but she said it and that was the way she said it. The iron willed cunt didn't really change her mind until the last night of her visit. She said that she wanted to go back to his apartment and feel close to him again. They got a bottle of wine and turned on some of their old songs and she even let him get naked in bed with her. Then she told him that she was all mixed up and that things were changing too quickly for her. She asked him whom else he'd been sleeping with.
Ron went back to his tape. "Now, who we each slept with has always been a really weird aspect of our relationship. We were a contemporary couple, whatever the fuck we thought that meant. I know what it means now. It means that we didn't know shit about love and fidelity, and so we claimed that the one didn't matter and that we were redefining the other. Yes, I had fucked other women, more than one of them, and I fully expected that she had other guys that she fucked, but the deal was that none of them were supposed to really mean anything. They didn't mean anything to me. The only one that's ever meant anything was her."
He turned the recorder off and began to cry. The thought that it didn't matter any longer that she was the only person who meant anything to him was overwhelming.
The Chicago Loop was packed. It was early rush hour. Ron watched the commuters with a mixture of envy and disgust. They were mostly mindless turds but they had a place to go and someone who was waiting for them to arrive. That said something about who the real turd was didn't it? Ron turned the tape player back on. "The only real question is what I'm going to do now. I'm twenty-five years old and in the middle of a masters degree that doesn't mean shit to me. I could go back to the school and spend another semester as a graduate assistant. I could try to find a job that I liked. I could continue on with my fucked-up miserable life and pretend that she never existed or that she died or something. But the truth is that I don't want any of those things anymore. I want to rest and get healthy and find out exactly how much damage I've done to myself.
"I always wanted to be thin. That's one advantage to all of this. I've got a thirty-two inch waist and weigh less than 145 pounds. Pretty good for somebody whose been fighting the big 200 forever. I haven't done any drugs in a couple of months and I do Yoga every day for at least two hours. I don't eat meat and I don't drink. I'm perfectly positioned to live out a completely healthy, if totally meaningless, life.
"That's it, isn't it? Without her there isn't anything that I want. And I can't have her, or at least she says that I can't have her. But suppose I can outlast her? Suppose I can look so good and be so gentle and so attractive that she can't resist?"
The Chevy made its way through the corner of Illinois and on into Ohio. Ron started the tape again. "The doctor says that I'll be OK if I don't push myself too far. Fuck him. I'm driving through on a non-stop, and if I can't make it that's just too fucking bad for me.
“I only went to the doctor because Robin got scared. Alex was coming over for a few hours and she told me that I had to get out of the apartment. I walked down to Dinkytown and had some soup. I'd decided that the best thing to do was just to walk the streets until he left. After all what's a three-hour walk to a stud like me. I had the soup and walked to the Mississippi. I crossed the bridge and then crossed back the other way. I walked back into Dinkytown and found a corner to stand on. I don't remember when the pain started, but I remember that my reaction was to keep walking until it went away. It was a bulge in my chest. I could feel it after a while. Then I decided to punch the sucker down. I hit myself hard and began to gasp for breath. Then I hit myself again to see what would happen. I got very dizzy and began to stagger. I went down. Somebody asked me if I needed help. I said no, got up and kept on walking. The sweat was making the clothes stick to my body, but all I could think about was Alex fucking Robin back at the apartment. Before I'd left, she'd made sure to show me that she didn't have any panties on. I didn't want his cock in her, but it was there and she liked it being there.
“When I realized that I'd been walking back to the apartment, I knew that I intended to go in. He was still there. I slammed into the door and it opened. He had these red jockey shorts on, and there was a big bulge in them. She was on her knees in front of him and not wearing anything at all. I felt a look of disgust go across my face as I nodded and collapsed onto the bed. She said, 'What's the matter, Ron? What happened to you?'
"Something is wrong. I don't feel right."
Alex rubbed his cock and said that they should do something else. He said something about going out. She turned on him and said that she couldn't leave me lying there like this and that he should go home. The fucker was disappointed. I could see him grimace and say something about this being the only night that he could get away this week and that everything had gotten complicated since I'd shown up. She said that she didn't care about how complicated things were and that she wanted him to leave. I felt like a little boy who'd gotten sick when his mother was trying to get laid, and I tried to get up. I remember thinking that I was going to have to let myself fall down and how much of a relief it was when I did. They rolled me onto the bed and I could hear her voice on the phone and then there were strange people in the apartment and they were putting me on a stretcher and Robin was crying. Alex was gone.
The whole thing felt stupid. I was feeling much better by the time we got to the hospital. Dr. Bloom was a friendly guy who didn't seem very much older than I was. He told me that the Emergency Response people had listed my heartbeat close to 110 and my blood pressure at 190/90. He said that he thought that I was having an anxiety attack but that he wasn't sure and that he wanted me to spend the night there. I told him that I had no insurance and that I couldn't afford to pay for a night in the hospital. He said that he would let me go home if I promised to visit his clinic the next day. That's when things got really screwed up. By the next day my heartbeat was back to 72 per, but my blood pressure was 105/60. Dr. Bloom said that something was wrong. He said that the deviation was far too great for such a short period of time and that I needed further observation. I told him about was going on with Robin and promised that I would start seeing a psychologist regularly. I told him that I hadn't been eating regularly and that I would change all that. That's when he said all that stuff about not pushing myself too far. But the way that I figure it, I can't wake up in this nightmare any more. I've got to get back to a place where I know what's going on and I've got to get there as soon as possible."
When Ron hit the western tip of Pennsylvania he was sure that he could make it all the way. It was a clear night and he was afraid to turn the car off for fear that it would be too exhausted to start back up. He got himself two containers of coffee and bit a hole in the lid of the first and lodged the second between his legs.
Rahway would be waiting for him; Rahway would always be there. The early morning highway was pretty much empty except for the ever-present trailer trucks. The road felt ancient and tired. The coffee was surging in his blood. The truth was that Rahway was the only place that he really called his home anymore. The visits to his family were short and nostalgic, but Rahway was the place he had faith in. They were the family that he had chosen. Rahway had been the first place that he and Robin had lived together. It had been the place from which he had left. They would take him in, not without a lot of questions and explanations, but they would always take him in.
Ron switched the tape back on after he'd opened the second container of coffee. "Chris is the only real friend that I've got. He's the only one who'll be happier to see me than curious about what happened. Warren will be curious about what's happened, but Chris will care. I suppose the important question is if I care. I wonder if you can be as self obsessed as I am and at the same time not care? It doesn't sound possible."
The late night fog was coming down on the Pennsylvania hills. Ron was into the second container of coffee. His mind was seeing Robin call Chris the night before. It had started, like a lot of other things lately: inside, without him being aware of it. Then it had just come out. He was telling Robin about not being the one selected for the job at the Minneapolis Star. She was telling him that it was all right. She was saying that he had enough money for at least a couple of more months and that she was sure he would get something before then.
"Trying to find a job in the middle of the summer is tough. After the summer is over, things will loosen up. I think you should go down to the food co-op or to one of the theater companies for the rest of the summer."
Ron was staring straight ahead, sitting in the lotus position he'd been so proud of attaining. "I think I should go back to New Jersey."
She looked at him sharply, "And do what?"
"I don't know. I don't think I can stay here anymore. I told you that I came out here for the city, but I lied. I came out here to be with you."
"I can't give you that anymore."
"I know."
"It's crazy but I don't want you to go away. You make me feel safe."
"I'm going to leave in the morning."
He got up and walked into the kitchen. He smiled to himself about how there was no stiffness in his legs and about how he'd kept breathing from his diaphragm without having to think about it. "I'm going to leave in the morning," he said. And now he was beginning to feel better. He had said something that had changed things. He'd made a statement, without thinking about it and planning how it would come out, and now that statement was real. It had been just that easy all along. She came into the kitchen after him. "Do you think that I should go back too?"
Instantly, Ron felt weak. "You want to come back?"
"I know that what's going on out here is unhealthy. It just happened."
Her face had the look that Ron had always found magical. It carried the promise of the existence of the impossible. It expressed faith in a magical universe. It was childlike and more. It was breathing beauty.
"Come with me now," he said.
"No. I'm not running away again. I'm going to set things straight, and then I'm coming back home."
Ron could almost feel tears on his face, but he stopped them before they were even close. If he really wanted to have her, he could never be weak in front of her again. It brought out her destructive instincts. "That would be the best," he said.
That night they went to sleep and when he held her, she held him back. The feeling of her hands bringing him to her made him trance-like. He felt her breathing and rose and fell with it until he was asleep.
In the morning she gave him a box of fabrics that she had been collecting for ten years. They were odd, exotic pieces that she used when she sewed things. "Would you take this with you? It’ll be a heavy box that I don't have to move."
The fog was now very thick, and Ron was yawning uncontrollably. He gripped hard on the steering wheel and brought Alex's face up in his mind. He smashed it and spit on it. His fingers ripped it to shreds and his eyes burned the remains with a look that spread like acid. He was surrounded by fog. Fog was everywhere, inside and outside of him.
He switched on his tape. "Rahway is a living dream. We discover things about the limits of our being there.” His eyes saw the gigantic living room with the white brick, split flume fireplace. There was a picture window over the fireplace and Warren had hung a birdcage just outside of it. The southern wall was a bank of windows that looked out from its entire length at an overgrown piece of property that tangled down to a branch of the river. He eyes panned and dissolved his mind through a wall and into the long narrow kitchen with a large oval oak table at the end. He saw Warren Lashly sitting with his back against the wall and his chair wedged into the corner against the edge of the windowsill. He was smoking an after dinner pipe and he was resting his foot on the sill. "Do you know why you're going out there?” He'd said.
"It's time for me to leave."
"Have you read the last chapter of the Journey to Ixtlan recently?"
"I remember what it says."
"For your sake, you'd better."
Ron squinted through the fog and wondered if Warren had the right to act like a sorcerer. His vision crosscut to Chris. They were propped against pillows in front of the fireplace he had in his burgundy walled bedroom. They were playing their guitars. "Warren's no more magical than anyone else, he just needs to think he is."
"Why?"
"It sure helps him get over with his students, particularly the female ones that he wants to sleep with."
"I know," Ron laughed. "Isn't it amazing?"
Ron stayed in one of the two small rooms in the back of the house the night of that conversation with Chris. He wrote the lyrics to The Hypofesser Blues. They sang it for Warren at the dinner they had for Ron just before he left for Minnesota.
The car continued to roller coaster its way through the hills and for the first time since that last night in Rahway, Ron began to sing the song he’d written.
"I read em' my poems and play em' my songs
And then I screw em'
I turn out the lights just to wish them good night
That's when I lose em'
If they're there the next day to say that it was OK
That's when I abuse em'
I tell em' that they're lost and that they need a boss
But that's just to confuse em'
If they sat that I'm rough, I tell em' they're too tough
And I got to find me some new 'uns
Their models for me in my memory
I use my fingers when I salute em'
I'm a Hypofesser. Oh it's true
What am I doing that you wouldn't do?
Think of what I win before you think of what I lose
I run my hand up their thighs while I hand em' my line
I say I'm gonna do this for ya’
Won't you loosen up your spine? Ain't you heard I'm a great time?
It's gonna floor ya
Did you feel me cum? Ahh, wasn't that fun?
I hope I didn't bore ya
I'll put my Vaughan Williams on an then it's off to the John
But I'll be back here ready for ya
You do get that much to say but remember you get an A
And I get to explore ya"
Ron sang the song over and over. He bounced on the seat and shouted out some renditions of it. He stopped when he noticed the first light of the early morning sky. The Delaware Water Gap took his breath away. It was huge and green and it loved him. He opened his heart to the surroundings and felt its embrace. The energy made him believe that he was soaring. He was safe.
From the middle of the night, his mind felt tugged by a voice that had spoken to him in the hills. The fingers of the fog stroked his brain and sifted the images of where he was now and where he’d been. It was only now, in the daylight, that he could hear the words that had surrounded him and poured into him when he wasn’t sure if he’d been awake or asleep. He turned on the tape recorder and spoke without knowing what he was going to say.
“Like highways standing too long, used and untouched.
I know that we share knowledge and know nothing of what comes before and nothing of the nothing that comes after.
I feel such things grow as they die- expanding”
He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t know what it meant, but something deep in him would have bet his life that it was real. After he said it, he smiled and looked at the sun as if he was his friend. How could New Jersey feel this good?
Chapter 2
Robin walked into her building and back up to her apartment. She poured a glass of ice tea that she carried with her and sipped as she walked through the rooms. It felt good to have her apartment back again. Her eyes saw the spaces that his leaving had uncluttered. She spread her clothing back into all the drawers of her bureau. She moved the lamp and table back into the corner where he'd piled his suitcases and things. She changed the sheets on the bed. She cleaned the bathroom. She felt the apartment returning to her. When the phone rang, she jumped. The rings sounded like Ron. She wondered if he wanted to come back, if his car had broken down, if she would let him.
Alex’s voice had an accent that he'd never lost or wanted to lose. It was almost the last thing that he still had from his own country.
"Did Ron leave?"
"A while ago."
"Do you want me to come over?"
"Tonight?
"I'm not sure that I can get away."
"I want you to come over tonight," said Robin.
"I'll have to try to work it out."
"I'll talk to you then."
She put the phone down and started to cry. She paced through the rooms crying. Maybe she should just pack up and leave. Maybe this wasn't a good place to be. Maybe Ron was right and Alex was making her into something that she would hate herself for being. She needed time. She needed to feel secure in herself, and the men in her life had never understood that. It was why nothing had ever worked. They just wouldn't give her the time to decide how she wanted her life to turn out because they were afraid that it would turn out without them. Fuck them. It was her life and her life didn't come along with an obligation to share it with anyone. And that included her cousin. Of course, it seemed really shitty to start fucking Alex in Penelope's house while her cousin was giving her a place to stay until she found something of her own. No one would know or care about how Penny had told her that she had grown to detest sex with men, and how she'd hinted that she wanted to sleep with her. So, she had started fucking Alex. She needed to have someone, and he was right there going to waste.
Robin took a long cool bath. She'd thought about going swimming but decided that she didn't want to leave the apartment. Besides, the sky was building up to its usual late afternoon thunderstorm.
She got out of the tub to answer the phone. It was Amanda. "Well, did you live?"
She scrunched her face. "Yes. He's gone and I'm quite alive, thank you.” They both giggled.
"Was it difficult?"
"Everything about Ron is difficult."
"What about Alex?"
"I told him to come over tonight."
“Good for you. You haven't really enjoyed yourself all summer. When are you working again?"
"Not until tomorrow night. Do you want to have lunch and do something tomorrow?” said Robin.
"Sure. You call me when you get up?"
As Robin went back into the bathroom, the sky blew up. She put on a T-shirt and a pair of panties and sat in front of an open window. The view was magnificent. The wind was driving the rain clouds over her head like a herd of black horses. Their hooves thundered and the lightning cracked like a whip. The rain beat down and foamed like seltzer water being sprayed into the ground. In minutes, the street flooded onto the sidewalk. Then the street became a rapidly flowing river, and then pavement disappeared and it was all water rushing with fury everywhere. After about three-quarters of an hour, the ferocity of the storm subsided and just became rain, but it was still too deep to allow for traffic.
The next time the phone rang, it was Alex. "I've got a great idea. I could say that the car was flooded and that I got stranded. I could be there in ten minutes."
"OK," said Robin, "but be careful. The street actually is bad."
"I'll get there if I have to swim."
Robin laughed and told him good-bye.
When Alex got there, Robin realized that she was horny. She stared at his ass as he turned around. She watched his hips and his crotch as he walked through the kitchen and bent down to kiss her. His aftershave smelled good and his lips tasted sweet. His dark curly hair and his slight frame excited her. She liked his glasses; they looked European. She didn't want to make small talk, and she didn't want to talk about Ron. She got up from the couch and brought him through the French doors that led into her bedroom. She undid his pants and sat him down on the bed. His balls and cock looked like bulging fruit in the plum colored jockey shorts. She put her hands inside and rubbed them.
"I missed having you like this,” he moaned.
She climbed on top of him and rubbed her cunt along his leg. She reached down and pulled his cock out over the top of the waistband. When it was very hard, she crammed it inside of her and bounced like a person riding a horse. She came hard and screamed through the first surges of her orgasm. Then he jerked and sprayed his sperm into her. She held his shoulders and bucked until she felt it go soft.
Alex was in and out in an hour. Robin let the apartment get dark. She sat in her living room and scooped out half a cantaloupe. She was wondering about how far Ron had gotten, and she was feeling cheap. A midnight black cat with white socks rubbed against her legs. "Well, isn't it nice to see that you're still around! Where have you been hiding all day?” The cat meowed and walked into the kitchen. Robin heard her lap some water and then saw her standing in the doorway. Their eyes met and she meowed again. "He isn't here anymore. He went back home and didn't want you.” The cat meowed again and walked quickly through the living room, through the French doors and into the bedroom. She rubbed against the leg of the bed and meowed again. "Don't take it out on me. It's not my fault that he left.” Leni came back into the living room and sat at her feet in front of the rocking chair. She swished her tail along the floor and then made a sudden leap into Robin's lap. She meowed again. "I know. I liked having him around too. It just couldn't work out. He didn't really love either one of us until we were gone. Do you remember how long it used to take him to change your litter box? Do you remember how many times he forgot to feed you? Do you remember how scared he was to let you out because he was always afraid of what other people thought about black cats?” Robin was crying now. There were no sobs, just a steady stream of tears that filled her eye sockets and rolled down her face. "This is stupid," she said and got up to throw out the cantaloupe rind. Leni jumped from her lap as she rose, meowed again and disappeared back into a hiding place.
Robin settled down by the phone. She began to read a play called Birdbath. She continued to cry as she read. It was one of the plays that she and Ron had done together back in New Jersey. It was about a girl who had killed her mother and then gone to a luncheonette, where she was befriended by a counterman, who was also a would-be poet. She began to smile as she cried. Every time they had tried to rehearse the play they had ended up making love. On the floor of his mother's office, in her mother's living room, at school, at Surprise Lake... It seemed that whenever they held each other, sex was the result. Then there was the night of the drama festival. He had gotten mixed up and delivered a line from the end of the scene at the beginning. Their eyes met quickly and they decided to just go on and ad lib their way back to the key pieces of action. The audience loved them. They were given the Best Scene Award. Of course Ron decided to tell them what a mistake they'd made when he got up to say thank you, and of course he managed to make them feel like fools for awarding the scene anything, but she had loved him for that too.
What she hated was his dependencies: his drugs, his friends, and his family. What she hated was how he had become oblivious to how dependent he was on her. He just expected her to keep on doing things for him forever. What he was going through now wasn't heartbreak as much as it was withdrawal. He would never remember that she wanted him to leave New Jersey with her. He would never remember how she had warned him about how much he was going to miss her and about how she wasn't going to guarantee that she would wait for him. Then he shows up out here after almost a year, without his drugs, his friends and his family and he expects her to just drop her life and replace all of them. And he calls that love. What did he expect her to do?
Robin had been crying for what seemed like forever. She closed the book that she hadn't been reading for a long time and stared at the telephone. He wasn't going to call. She knew that now. He had left her again. More correctly, she had driven him out, and it had set her back. She hadn't felt this lonely for months and months.
It was 10:30 p.m. Minnesota time when Robin dialed her mother's phone number. She answered on the third ring. Robin could hear the slur in her mother's voice immediately.
"Hello."
"Hi, it's me," she said cheerfully.
"Robin? Is that you? Robin?"
"How are you?"
"I fell down, Robin."
Robin winced and bit her lip. "You did? Are you hurt?"
"I think I broke my arm."
"Did you go to the hospital?"
"I haven't told anybody yet. I was going to call you.”'
"I'm in Minnesota."
"I know. Why did you go there? Didn't you know I needed you? Didn't you know this would happen to me?” Robin swallowed the tears. She knew that if she started crying, her mother would know something wrong.
"I think that you should call the police."
"No police. I don't want police."
Robin was trying to hold on but her jaw was quivering. "Well, then I think that you should see a doctor in the morning."
"I don't know how to get there. My arm hurts too much."
"What about your friend, Trudy?"
"Who?"
"Trudy, the woman who lives next door."
"She went out."
"When you hear Trudy come home, why don't you tell her what happened."
"I did tell her."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"When did you fall down?"
"I don't know."
"Listen mom, I have to go now I'll call you back in the morning."
"When?"
"In the morning."
"OK, I'll see you then, Robin."
Robin heard her hang up the phone. She stormed through the rooms. She threw herself on her bed and slammed her fist into the mattress. After a while she went to her closet and got down her winter blankets. She arranged them under her sheet in a long cylinder next to her, shut off the light and held them until she was asleep.
Chapter 3
Ron Tuck turned his Chevy onto the gravel driveway off St. George Avenue. He was home. The familiar sound of the crunching stones under his tires soothed him. The Chevy glided underneath the carport to the back of the house. When Ron turned the key, the engine stopped with a relieved groan. He stroked the dashboard appreciatively. He said, "You kept me alive, honey."
Chris Calvin's was the only other car in the back, which as far as Ron was concerned was perfect. Chris had heard a car in the driveway and was making his way through the kitchen to the back door. He saw Ron getting out of the Chevy and held the door open with an extended arm. "All right," said Chris. When Ron turned around, Chris blinked and blinked again. Ron's beard was gone and his hair was short. He looked very thin and haggard. Chris smiled and said, "You made it back here in great time."
"Straight through," said Ron. He reached out to shake Chris's hand. Chris took his free hand and put it on Ron's shoulders. Then he slapped him on the back. "All right, you made it."
They walked into the kitchen, past a sink that was monstrously overflowing with dirty dishes, and into the living room. Chris was a deceptively tall guy. His shoulders were slender and his long black hair had lazy waves that bounced on his shoulders as if they were a beach. He was perpetual motion, tapping a foot or snapping his fingers, smiling and giggling continuously. Chris went to the record shelves and fished out his Jackson Browne For Everyman album. He put on the side that started with Take It Easy and said, "Do you want some coffee?"
"For sure," said Ron.
Ron let his eyes caress the setting. The broken down brown couch and the sidewalk-rescued easy chairs were covered with books and guitars. There was a new addition: a full set of drums was set up in one of the corners of the room and there was an upright piano that had been added to another corner. It looked comfortable and loud.
He followed Chris into the kitchen. Not only was the sink filled with dishes, but so was most of the counter space. “You guys must have been having fun last night."
"Rock 'n Roll band practice," said Chris.
"You started a band?"
"I didn't start it but I'm in it."
"Playing guitar?"
"Guitar, flute, and vocals," said Chris bobbing his head and smiling.
"Warren must love having a rock band practice in his house.
Chris cocked his head to one side and shrugged. "He just goes to New York and stays there on the nights we practice.” Chris stared into Ron's face and looked down at his body and then back at his eyes again. "You shaved off your beard, huh?"
"I was trying to find work."
"You look tired."
"Not really. I'm just glad to be back."
"Are you gonna move back in here?"
Ron loved Chris. He always found a way to offer things that he wanted you to have, so that it seemed as if you had the option to take them, not as if he had the option of giving them. "I'd like to stay for a while."
"I think you should," said Chris. "Let's have coffee and smoke a joint."
Ron hadn't smoked a joint since the night that he left Rahway to go to Minnesota, but Chris didn't wait for an answer. He just said that Ron should pour the coffee that had been perking for some time while he went and got some pot.
"Maybe I should take a shower first," said Ron.
"Go ahead," said Chris.
Ron walked back out the Chevy and opened his suitcase. He fished out a change of underwear and a clean pair of jeans, some socks and a wrinkled shirt. When he walked back into the kitchen, and saw Chris cleaning a large pile of pot. The coffee was still perking. Ron walked through the kitchen, into the middle room that was never used for anything and turned into the bathroom. The smell of mildew lunged out at him from the shower curtain as he turned the water on full blast and stepped in. He scrubbed his body let his hands run down over the bony contours of his ribs and hips. He dried himself with a damp towel that was last used by he didn't know or think about who, and slid into his clothes. They were too big for his new body and he liked the feel and look of his thinness. He brushed his teeth with his finger and gargled with some mouthwash. On his walk back into the kitchen, he realized that he was very tired.
The coffee was poured and three joints had been rolled, and the rest of the bag was sitting in front of his cup. "So where is everybody?"
"Warren will be out later this afternoon. He said that should call when you got in. Laureen and Nancy will be for dinner."
"What about Sara?"
"She moved to Boston. She'll be down in a week or so."
"Art Collins is back from Zurich. He's splitting his time between here and Warren's place in New York."
"Are you still going to law school in the fall."
"Probably," said Chris as he lit up the joint.
"I should call Robin," said Ron.
"What for?"
"I told her that I'd let her know when I got back."
"Relax. Let her wait for a while. Nobody expected you to get back this early."
Ron swallowed some coffee and wondered if he should smoke the joint. When Chris offered it to him, he said, "I don't know if I should."
"Why not?"
"I've had some physical problems out in Minnesota. I don't really know what kind of shape I'm in."
"You don't look bad."
The album had made its way down to the I Thought I Was a Child cut. Ron felt himself wanting to cry. It was a song that caused him to see Robin. Rahway was a place that caused him to see Robin everywhere, in everything. He picked up his coffee and went to the phone. "I think I'm gonna call Robin," he said. Chris continued to smoke the joint and watch him. It was probably the first time he could remember Ron turning down pot. Maybe there was something to be worried about.
Ron entered the area code and the number. The extra digits felt strange because he had just been there yesterday, and now he needed three extra digits to reach this place. There was something that seemed important about that. Robin answered the phone on the second ring.
"I'm back," said Ron.
"You are?"
"I drove straight through."
"But the doctor said..."
"It doesn't matter because I made it."
“Oh."
"Are you OK?"
"Yes. Have you seen Alex?"
"Yes."
“Oh.”
"I'm going to come out there in about ten days."
Ron couldn't hide the excitement in his voice. "You are?"
"Will you pick me up from the airport?"
"Of course."
"Where can I reach you?"
"At Rahway."
"Oh. There was a very long, nervous pause from Robin. “ Aren’t you going home?"
"Not yet"
"What should I say if your mother calls?"
"Tell her that you think I left."
"I can't say that."
"Sure. Just say that I left whatever day it is that she calls."
"She's going to hate me even more."
"It doesn't matter, does it?"
Robin drew away from the phone. He sounded very strange. "I'll call you at Rahway and let you know when I'm coming in.”
"I'll talk to you then," said Ron.
Chris watched Ron hang up the phone. He could stop concentrating on him getting home now. He hadn't told anyone about it, but he sensed that he could feel Ron's spirit through the night as he drew closer. He wasn't really surprised to see him arrive about ten hours early. Ron's specialty was unexpected entrances and exits. "What do you feel like doing now?” said Chris.
"Would you mind if I tried to sleep?” said Ron softly.
"Wherever you want," said Chris.
"Do you mind if I use your room?"
"Go ahead," said Chris. Ron's voice seemed to have changed after he'd been on the phone. It had dropped to a whisper. The circles under his eyes seemed deeper. Without saying anything more, he walked back into Chris's room. Chris got up and followed him.
There were four stereo speakers attached to the unit in the living room. Two of them fed Chris's bedroom. He flipped the record over and re-lit the joint on his way. Sitting on his bed, he and Ron smoked the joint without saying much. They listened to the music, and Ron's face relaxed as he got stoned.
When they'd finished, Chris got up and left. He went into the living room and turned off the stereo and put his flute together. Ron picked up pad and brought it into the bed with him. It was the bed in which they’d made love for the last time. He was so tired, but when he closed his eyes a light seemed to go on in his brain, and her face was illuminated.
“She sat across from me with summer freckles and a smile that slid over to my face like the feel of her hands creeping into my pockets as we walked.”
* * *
Robin began to take care of things when she woke up that morning. She called her mother's friend Trudy and found out that her mother had fallen down earlier in the week but that she hadn't broken her arm. Her mother was on a binge, but Trudy said that there was nothing unusual about it. After the conversation, Robin wrote her mother a letter explaining that she was coming out for a visit and that she would see her in about a week and a half. Then she called Alex at the office.
"I need to see you today," she said.
"I've got a luncheon at two, but I can sneak away for about an hour after that. Are you working tonight?"
"At six.”
"I can come over at four."
"That will be fine. We have to cut this out, Alex. When you come here today, it's going to be for the last time."
"I'm not going to let you do that," said Alex.
Robin could hear that there wasn't real worry in his voice. This hadn't been the first time that she'd told him that she wanted things to be over. "It's not your decision, It's mine."
"I won't leave you alone."
"Then I'll have to move, won't I?"
"You're upset because of Ron. I know that."
"He doesn't have anything to do with this. I'm upset because of what I've allowed myself to do."
"We need to talk. I'll cancel my luncheon and come over at one."
"I've made plans with Amanda. I'll meet you here at four."
"Why are you doing this?” said Alex.
"We'll talk later.” Robin hung up the phone without waiting for him to answer. At least she was going to be able to control some things.
Lunch was helpful. Amanda rode over on her bike and Robin drove them first to a deli and then out to one of the lakes. Amanda was the one real friend Robin had made in Minnesota. She was a tall, thin girl with straight brown hair that was always tied into a ponytail. She wore large frame glasses, blue cotton work shirts and jeans with suspenders on all occasions. Whether they were going to the Guthrie Theater or for a walk through Dinkytown, Amanda's outfit was the same. She often teased Robin about her New York wardrobe and how much space it took up. Robin defended her clothes, saying that she'd made to keep herself from going crazy with boredom in the winter. She didn't tell Amanda that most of the things were collected from thrift shops and second hand stores. Amanda wouldn't have cared and Robin knew that, but Amanda also didn't care what she said to other people, and Robin knew that too.
Talking to Amanda about men was another matter. They emptied out their hearts and memories to each other about every man that they'd ever known. Amanda was no luckier with men than Robin was. Amanda’s problem was wanting one so badly that she went overboard at the taste of a kiss. This was coupled with a taste for men who shared the ironically common trait of having just ended a long-term relationship with someone that Amanda knew. The effect was a double whammy, often costing Amanda both a potential boyfriend and a girlfriend who resented Amanda for jumping into a bed that she'd just vacated.
Amanda had a good sense of humor about it. She often told Robin that from the time she'd first learned that Robin was involved with a married man; she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Robin assured her that she could have one or all of her ex-men. She did feel a bit queasy about introducing Amanda to Ron, but she was sure that Ron wouldn't be interested. Amanda had tiny tits and a flat ass. Ron could have cared less. Amanda did make the uncontrollable passes, but got insulted when Ron didn't notice them.
Robin learned everything she knew about Minneapolis from Amanda. The stores, the lakes, the gardens, the theaters, the restaurants, the zoo... All of it came by way of Amanda's guiding. They sat on a blanket they'd spread out on the bank of one of the city's lakes. They ate salads and sandwiches and giggled about how wonderful it was to be able to eat like pigs without it showing. The sun felt particularly good and the lake was populated by only a handful of mid-week swimmers. The full greens of summer and the light reflecting water caused Robin to grin and put the mess that she was in out of her head.
Then she said, "I've got to end this thing with Alex."
"Why?"
"Because it's over. I'm not excited by the secrecy of it, and he doesn't really love me."
"How do you know that?"
"He doesn't ever talk about leaving Penelope since I told him not to. He thinks I'm great to have on the side. Yesterday, he stopped by to fuck me on the way home and pretended that his car got flooded in the thunderstorm. After he fucked me, he left. His sperm wasn't even dry on my legs and he was out the door and on his way home for supper."
"That really sucks."
"I'm going to tell him today."
"When?"
"Before I go to work."
"Maybe he couldn't help having to go home."
"Amanda! Don't you dare."
"I wouldn't"
"After all," said Robin with a nasty little smirk on her face, "He is my cousin's husband."
"You're a complete bitch."
"Only sometimes."
When they finished laughing, Amanda gave Robin the latest installment in the never-ending story of Todd, her one true love who, according to Robin, was also a true piece of shit. He'd stopped by Amanda's apartment at one in the morning to boff her and borrow forty dollars. "It wasn't so bad. He gave great head."
Robin laughed until her belly hurt. She'd never heard a female use the expression before. Amanda had crinkled up her mouth and smiled like a fish after she said it.
"I'm going to go back to New Jersey for a visit at the end of next week."
"Robin.” Amanda's face was serious now. "Do you think that’s gonna be good for you."
"I need to visit my mother, and I want to see what he's doing."
"Did he call you?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell him that you were going back?"
"How did he sound?"
"Like he was going to cum on the phone."
They began to laugh again. Amanda didn't press the issue about Robin going back. She felt it was the wrong thing for Robin to do, but she'd made that clear and she knew that Robin was going to go ahead with it.
Chapter 4
The first part of Ron's sleep was unconscious. He didn't know what caused him to wake up but drifted back off listening to Chris play flute along with Van Morrison's Moondance. He saw himself walking through an English garden holding Robin's hand. They were both dressed in white. Robin was saying, "It's time for us to be together again now."
Ron answered, "But you said that would never happen."
"These are your dreams," said Robin. "You can always have me here." Ron smiled as he slept.
When he woke up again, it was late afternoon. The pad was next to him on the bed. He could still taste her as he wrote.
“She stumbled and rubbed almost out of her dreams,
eating oranges that were the sky and drinking coffee that was the sea.
When she was flying on a flying spoon that winked while she rode on its back.”
Rahway was working its magic on him already. He hadn’t written a word all the time that he’d been in Minneapolis.
He went into the living room and found that Chris had shifted over to guitar. "You feel better?"
"Yeah," said Ron. "I had the strangest dream about Robin. Is there anymore coffee?"
"There's a fresh pot."
Ron went into the kitchen. The dishes were still stacked in the sink and on the counters. He'd just sat down at the table when he heard a car gravel its way up the driveway. The bells over the back door jingled and Warren Lashly, carrying his ever-present canvas bag of books and papers, came into the kitchen. He was a skinny guy with tinted steel rimmed glasses. His blonde hair was long, though not to his shoulders and swept across his forehead. At thirty-two, he still retained his boyish appeal. This was accented by the North Carolina drawl that he’d spiced up with New York City speed. He peered at things with an attitude of inspection and judgment that was ever present.
When he saw Ron he said, "Hey, how are you?” And then scanned the front of the refrigerator for messages.
"I'm OK," said Ron.
"Hey Chris, did Art call?"
"Nope.” Chris continued to play guitar.
Warren moved over next to Ron. "Is there anymore coffee?"
"I think so."
He poured himself a cup and moved in back of Ron and over to his spot in the corner. "So how are you, really?"
"Thin," said Ron.
"That's an understatement," said Warren. "What happened to you out there?"
"I don't know. I got clobbered."
"How?” Warren's eyes were inspecting Ron, and they didn't much care for what they were seeing. He was more than thin. He was unhealthy looking. His face seemed pained even when he wasn't trying to grimace. Warren was used to inspecting his former students. He believed that he could tell more from the first impression that he received off of a glance that most of what they said to him.
"I don 't know.”
And his answers were too short. Usually, Ron was ready to talk his ear off and usually Ron thought that he knew just about everything. Warren waited, but Ron didn't say anything else. “Do you want to talk about this?"
"I don't know what to say. I mean... I just don't know."
Warren was feeling perplexed. He lit his pipe. "Let's talk about some things that we do know."
There was a long pause. Warren didn’t say anything. He was waiting. Art had been teaching him about waiting and this would be easy because Ron never made anyone wait, not ever.
"I deserved it."
"Deserved what?"
"I deserved to get clobbered. I deserved to get the shit kicked out of me because I've spent most of my life being an asshole."
Warren didn't hear any anger in Ron's voice. What he said would have made sense if he had said it with anger, but there wasn't anything. His voice was flat. Chris walked in from the living room holding a joint and handed it to Ron. Warren frowned noticeably.
"The house looks great," said Warren sarcastically.
"Come on," said Chris.
"I feel like doing some dishes," said Ron. "There's nothing like the most enormous piles of dirty dishes that you ever saw collected in one place in your life to absolutely assure you that you're back at Rahway."
Chris laughed, and Warren got up to put his bag in his room. Chris followed him, still smoking the joint. "What are you going to do now?"
“I'm going to try to find Art."
"Do you think he went back to the massage parlor?” said Chris giggling.
Warren smiled. "It's a possibility. What do you think about Ron?"
"I told him he could live here for a while."
Warren's face changed. It wasn’t a large grimace, but it was unmistakable. "That's not really what I want."
"It'll be OK. He needs to be here right now."
"I'm not sure what he needs, but I don't think that drugs are the best idea."
Chris stared at him for a long few seconds. "Laureen called. She's going to come over tonight. Are you having anybody over?"
"Well, Ruth is going to come over in a little bit and then Joyce'll be over for dinner at around ten."
"Are you going up to Boston to see Sara this weekend?"
"I think so. A lot of that depends on what Art has decided to do. I might want to have him talk to Ron a bit."
"That couldn't hurt," said Chris twirling his mustache. "Have Art tell him that doing dishes is great therapy."
Warren cackled and threw his canvas bag onto the bed.
Ron was still doing dishes about an hour later when he heard the backdoor bells and looked around the square column that separated the sink from the back door entrance. A slightly chubby girl with very white skin smiled at him. "Hi, is Warren home?"
"I think he's back in his room,” said Ron, returning to his dishes.
"I'm Joyce."
"Hi," said Ron. He continued to wash and stack.
Joyce made her way through the kitchen and then through the empty room and then to Warren's door. She knocked and said, "It's me."
"Come on in," said Warren. He put down his book and calculated. He had two hours before he had to get her out. That would give him enough time to change the sheets and take a shower before Ruth came over.
* * *
When Robin got back to her apartment, Alex was waiting for her. It was only 3:15. "I thought that you were coming over at four."
"I couldn't concentrate on anything."
"I know. This thing isn't any good for either one of us,” said Robin.
"That's not true."
"How is it good, Alex? I'm going to lose my family and so are you."
"I only know that I want to be with you."
"And what about your wife? And what about your son?"
"We've been all through this. Yuri will understand, and Penelope doesn't love me anymore anyway."
"I don't want this any more," said Robin. Alex tried to move over and take her in his arms. "I said no, Alex. No more."
"Now you don't want to be with me either. Is that what your friend Ron said was the right thing for you? To be alone and have no one because you're finished with him?"
"I'm not so sure that I'm finished with him."
"So, you finally bought his sympathy act, didn't you?"
"I didn't buy anything. Ron and I are still very close."
"Did you sleep with him before he left?"
"That's my business, isn't it?"
"You slept with him, didn't you?
"I don't want to sleep with anyone."
"That's not the way you acted yesterday."
"Go home to your wife, Alex. Make a life with her."
"After what we've had, you expect me to go back to her?"
"You never left her."
"That's what you want, isn't it?"
"You want me to prove that I don't love her any more by leaving her. I'll do it tonight, if that's what you want."
"I don't want you to prove anything except that you can muster some common respect for my feelings. I don't want this anymore!" Robin found herself screaming the last line. Her mouth began to shake. Alex tried again to hold her. This time she let him.
"I can't let you get away from me as easy as that. I love you too much."
"I care for you too. But this is wrong, and it’s got to be over."
"I'm telling you that you let Ron mix you up. Things were good before he got here."
"If things were so good, why did I want him to stay?"
"You knew how to get him to stay if you really wanted him to."
"That's right. But it was killing him. Couldn't you see that?"
"I saw a spoiled little boy who was disappointed and pouting.”
"And how are you acting?"
"Like someone who loves you."
"You don't love me, you want me. You want to fuck me on your way home and when you can think of some excuse to get away. You want to call me on the phone and tell me you love me and then go and watch TV with your safe, smug little secret."
Alex put his head down. "I know this hasn't been easy for you. I'll make it up to you."
"You're wrong, Alex. This has been very easy for me, too easy."
"You're the only thing I think about, day and night."
"When was the last time you slept with your wife, Alex?” He seemed startled by the question and hesitated. "You've been sleeping with her right along haven't you?"
"Only once in a while, so that she wouldn't think that anything was going on."
"You're a fool. She knows exactly what's going on."
"Did you talk to her?"
"No, not in weeks, does that tell you anything? She used to call me every couple of days."
"She hasn't said anything to me."
"What's she supposed to say? ‘I know you're fucking my cousin, so stop it?’"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to leave me alone. I want you to walk out of here with a notch on your belt, and tell your friends at the gym about the hot little cunt that you used to have."
"I'll bet it's still hot," said Alex with a big grin on his face.
"You're a pig. Ron was right about that. You are a pig."
"But I'm your pig."
"No, you're not. That's the point."
"Do you really think that you won't want me to come back if I leave?"
"Whether I want you to or not isn't a question. What I want is a life I can face myself with, and this isn't it."
"OK, Robin, I'll give you what you want. If it's really what you want."
"I want to feel clean and natural, and right now I want to feel alone."
"Promise me that you won't go back to him."
"Why so you won't have to feel like he beat you out?"
"Because he isn't any good for you."
"You don't know that."
"I know some things, Robin. At least admit that I know some things."
"I think you should go home."
"I think that we should go to bed."
"Haven't you heard anything that I've said? Am I talking to a wall?"
"I don't think that I can leave you."
"Then I've got to move far enough away so that you don't have a choice."
"You're going back to New Jersey?"
"I don't know. I'm going back to see my mother next week."
“Will you call me after that?"
“No,” she said with a determined stare.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not going to call you any more after today."
"So you want me to just walk away and forget about you?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you."
"Then don't believe me, but just do it.” Things continued to go round and round for what seemed to Robin like forever. Finally she said, "I have to get ready to go to work."
"I'll call you tomorrow," said Alex.
"Don't call me."
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, and then he left.
Chapter 5
The rest of the current Rahway people began arriving after sundown. Laureen was the first of them. She had a job waitressing at a diner in Cranford and was temporarily staying in one of the small back rooms. She was at home when Ron packed his car and left for Minnesota. She was a combination of Italian and Irish ethnicity that was always internally in battle. She had long brown hair and an aquiline nose, crocodile teeth and a luxurious mouth. They offered a slightly off-centered invitation. They'd kissed good-bye when he’d left for Minneapolis, but were both so uncomfortable with the physical intimacy that they ended up laughing before their lips actually touched. They were less reluctant to hold each other when she saw him at the kitchen table. They hugged and continued to hold hands while they exchanged the regular questions and answers. It was Laureen who pulled away first. She was special to Ron, and there was the connection to Robin. They’d been born on the same day in the same hospital. Laureen was all dark-haired and olive skinned. They were a study in the similarity of contrasts.
"So what do you think about what's going on here?"
Ron didn't know what she was talking about and the expression on his face showed it right away. He shrugged.
“What'd ya’ mean?"
"Have you seen Warren and Chris together in the same room yet?"
"Just for a second."
"They're very tense with each other."
"Why?"
"Warren told Chris that the drug stuff has to stop."
"What'd ya’mean?"
"He really wants the whole thing stopped: the pot, the cocaine, the speed, the mescaline, but he'll settle for Chris to stop selling anything from here and for him to just keep very small amounts of pot around for their private use.” Laureen stopped talking and watched for Ron's reaction. He didn't say anything; he just continued to stare into her face with an intense expression. “Chris hates having anyone try to tell him what to do, and he knows how much Warren loves to control things, but Chris is out of hand. We have a rock and roll band that plays extremely loud, mediocre, blaring music here three or four nights a week. Sometimes they get too high to stand up and Chris is dealing to all of them."
"Out of here?"
"Yes. And to make things worse Joey Z. Got busted."
"Where?"
"He was dealing joints out of a rooming house on North Avenue.”
"Oh no," said Ron. "I like Joey, but that's so stupid. Why didn't he know that he would have to get caught with that kind of a situation? How much did they catch him with?"
"Over a pound."
"Shit. Felony distribution."
"Exactly.” They paused. Their eyes exchanged a troubled look. "Warren doesn't want it around anymore. He says that if this keeps up, Chris will never make it to law school."
"What do you think will happen?"
"Well, first Warren tried to get Chris into a discussion about it. But Chris didn't really want to have the conversation, so he just kept on changing the subject and throwing Warren off balance. Finally, Warren got really angry during dinner one night. It was just the three of us because Ruth had to work an odd shift. Warren started out trying to bring up the subject of the integrity of the law. Chris didn't bite and Warren finally threw down his fork and said 'What I've been trying to tell you for a long time now is that I hate having the drugs and the people that come with them around all the time.'"
"And Chris got up and left," said Ron with a note of understanding.
"First he just sat there and put his head against the wall and shook it back and forth. Then he looked at Warren and me and said, 'I'm not hungry anymore,' and walked away from the table."
"Then what happened?"
"They've been avoiding each other."
"What about dinners?"
"Chris just hasn't been eating with anyone. He snacks all day long and either goes out or has friends over when Warren wants to have dinners. So, Warren's been spending more and more time in New York, but something's got to come to a head soon."
"Are you going to be here for dinner tonight?"
"Sure," said Laureen. Her dark eyes flashed as she pulled her black hair away from her face. "I'm addicted to seeing anyone try to talk to Chris about something that he doesn't want to discuss."
Ron heard the mixture of anger and satisfaction in her voice. She and Chris would probably still be together if it hadn't been for the abortion. Baggage like that wasn't easy to unload. Ron knew she was still in love with Chris, but it had been some time since it had been mentioned between them.
Warren and Joyce came out of his room after she'd helped him change the sheets. He said good-bye to her at the front door and she told him again about how much she was looking forward to being in his class again in the fall. She wasn't gone fifteen minutes when Ruth arrived.
Ruth was a tall strikingly pretty woman who looked impeccably healthy. She came over to the kitchen table and kissed Ron on the cheek "How are you feeling?"
"I'm good," said Ron.
Laureen laughed with a mocking tone and said, "Yup, he's never been better."
Ron smiled and put his head down. Ruth gave him a chiding expression but didn’t say anything. She went off to see Warren, and Laureen went to take a shower. Ron wandered back in to Chris's room.
The mixed piles of clean and dirty clothes gave it a comfortable feel. Chris was playing his electric guitar without an amplifier. The TV news was on in the background. Ron said, "Do you feel like smoking a joint?"
"Only if you roll it," said Chris.
He continued to play soft blues riffs and stared at the TV screen. Ron glanced up at Chris's tinted brown glasses and shoulder length wavy hair. Chris always looked perfectly at ease. There was a picture of a rocketship blasting off on its way to the fist soft landing on Mars. The commentator was talking about how it was a great achievement and was bringing us one step closer to the stars. Ron and Chris were oblivious to the story. Religiously, they turned the news on daily and never reacted or spoke about anything that they saw. Not anymore.
"Laureen's been telling me about Joey getting busted.” Chris blew out a sigh. "I told him to stop dealing joints. But he knew better."
"What's going to happen?"
"He'll probably get a couple years probation."
"Could he go to jail?"
"I don't think so."
"What about Warren?” Said Ron. He lit the joint and handed it to Chris.
Chris stopped playing and took a long toke. "You mean the Sheriff?"
"The Sheriff?” Ron's grin broke out all over his face. Chris giggled when he saw the amusement.
"Laureen says that he's been giving you a hard time."
"He's been trying," said Chris giggling some more. "And what have you been doing?"
"Well.” They both laughed again.
"What do you think about what he says about law school?"
"What I think is that you have to be stupid to get caught. Nobody cares anymore. They aren't putting people in jail for what I'm doing, and I don't intend to get caught anyway"
"Did you tell Warren that?"
"I shouldn't have to. He's been around long enough. I just paid both off his and my dentists' bills in pot. He didn't complain much about that. He hasn't had to pay rent on his New York crib in more than two years, and that doesn't seem to bother him much. I'll just wait until his current campaign takes its course, and then I'll remind him of a few things."
"Are we all going to have dinner together tonight?"
"Why not? You came back today didn’t you?"
They finished smoking the joint and Chris said, "Did you bring your guitar in yet?"
“Not yet.
"Have you been playing?"
“No."
"Let's play."
Preparations for dinner were very ritualistic. They usually began about 9:30. It had been difficult to find food that they all liked, and when they finally had settled on a mutually acceptable meal it never varied: London broil, green salad, French fries and mixed vegetables, supplemented by large amounts of Beaujolais. The repetitive nature of the menu reinforced the patterns of preparation.
Warren and Ruth would begin by going into the kitchen and getting things out of the refrigerator. Ruth cooked the meat. Warren tended to the frozen French fries and vegetables. Laureen made the salad and Chris set the table and controlled the music. Ron smoked cigarettes and watched.
When it was time for the meal, they lit candles and turned out the lights. Warren shifted the music over to his classical collection. Aqualung was exchanged for Brahms, and they gathered along three sides of an oval, oak table, jammed into a space clearly designed to create a feeling of being close.
As they were filling their plates, Warren noticed that Ron hadn't taken any meat and had limited himself to small potions of vegetables and salad. He took a long swallow of Beaujolais and asked if anyone had gotten the phone. Laureen got up and took it off the hook. On her way back to the table, she asked if Warren had heard from Art Collins.
"We finally talked to each other. He's going to stay at the New York place for a couple more days. I'm going in tomorrow afternoon.” He looked over at Ruth. "Will you be able to come in tomorrow night?"
"I've got to work so I can have Saturday and Sunday off."
"You're going to be able to do that then?” said Warren.
"Unless you've got other plans."
"No. So, actually you're going to be finished on Friday afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Good," said Warren.
"Art wants us to drive out to the airport, then, to pick up Helga."
"He's really going to marry this woman, isn't he?” said Laureen.
"It seems that way."
Ron was picking at his food slowly. Warren looked at his plate again. "Aren't you going to have any meat?"
"I don't think so."
"Did you eat already?"
"I don't eat meat anymore."
"Why?"
"It makes me sick."
"How can steak make you sick?"
"I don't know."
"You should eat some."
"I don't think I can."
"That's not true," said Warren looking over the top of his glasses. "You may decide not to have it but you could eat it if you wanted to."
Ron shifted in his chair and put his fork down on his plate. "It's not good for you."
Chris put his head back and said, "Yeah, I don't feel like having any vegetables either. They're starting to do me in."
"That's not what I'm talking about," said Warren.
“Did you know that Susan became a vegetarian too?” said Laureen.
"That's because she can't afford meat," said Warren.
Laureen laughed. "That's also true."
Susan, an old lover of Warren's who had become very close friends with Laureen, was living in a cabin on some squatter's land down in Virginia. Since she'd broken up with Warren and moved down South, her lovers had strictly been Black men.
"So, Ron, everybody's really been waiting to hear about Minnesota," said Laureen.
Ron looked at each one of them. Warren leaned back and Ruth leaned forward. Laureen smiled and Chris got up to go change the record. "I don't know what to say,"
"Well, how's Robin doing?” said Ruth.
"She's fine."
"Is she working?"
"She's got a job waitressing at a bar."
"Is she going to school?"
"The University of Minnesota. She says that it's really different to go to a real school."
"Why did you leave?” said Warren.
"I was afraid that I wouldn't be strong enough if I didn't leave when I did."
The silence that followed the answer was not what anyone would have expected Ron to say. It was too true and too complete an admission of weakness and failure.
Then the talk shifted to comments about the food. Ruth said that the steak was great. Chris took a second helping of salad. Laureen lit a flame under the coffee and Warren poured out more portions of Beaujolais.
Laureen said, "The funniest thing happened at work today. There was this man at the counter who never tips anybody, and he put his sleeve in his soup. Pea soup. He's wearing a suit and a dress shirt with cuff links, and he dunks it all in his soup. He sat there and then he realized what he'd done. I was watching him from the end of the counter, and so was the short order cook. So, he takes a napkin and tries to get it off, but it drips down onto his pants. Now he's angry and pushes the dish away and it sloshes out onto his hand and burns him so that when he flinched he banged his elbow on the counter. Then he looked really embarrassed and just left some money on the counter."
Chris was laughing especially hard. He loved slapstick situations, and Laureen had facial expressions and hard gestures that always got him started.
"Did he bang his knee on the way out?” said Ron.
"No, that would have been too obvious," chirped Warren, doubling Chris over with an uncontrolled series of giggles that came out like rapid fire "hummphs."
Ruth said, "Are we going to go to see the Caulder exhibit on Saturday."
Warren took another swallow of wine. "Yes."
"What color was his suit?” Chris was finally able to ask.
"Light tan and blue plaid," Laureen paused until it seemed like she was finished, "With a dark green border. The thing that we thought was really odd
was that it was the first time that he'd tipped us."
Chris immediately started humphing and Ron caught the contagious giggle. Warren cast an appreciative glance at Chris and Laureen as he watched Ron laugh and drink the rest of his glass of wine. Then they cleared the table and poured the coffee.
Warren put the phone back on the hook. He was going to have to find a way to call Boston without doing it in front of Ruth. He had planned on calling Sara before Ruth arrived but Joyce had stayed longer than he figured.
Chris was getting the milk out of the refrigerator and Warren took the opportunity of having Chris standing next to him to say, "What are you thinking about?” In a way that he hoped would lead him to a little confusion about his intent.
"Pea soup and mobiles," said Chris giggling and walking back to the table. He clapped Ron on the shoulder and said, "I think it's just about time for another joint."
"I agree," said Ron.
Chris walked back off to his room to get his pot tray and Warren said, "How much of that stuff have you been smoking with him?"
"Just a couple joints," said Ron.
"Just a couple joints among friends, Sheriff. Honest.” Chris returned with his hand raised in the exaggerated position of an oath, "I haven't done anything to ruin the boy's character, more than it's been decimated already."
Laureen and Ruth laughed and Warren smiled. Chris lit the already rolled joint and gave it to Ron.
"When's the next rock n' roll dope fest gonna be?” said Warren.
Chris raised his arm again and brought the gettyup Western drawl back into his voice, "Honest, Sheriff, there ain't been no rock 'n roll ever played in this house. We play nothing but Beethovan and Neil Diamond."
The telephone rang. Laureen answered it and talked for a minute then she told Warren that Art wanted to talk to him. Warren went to the phone and said hello.
Sara said, "I don't want to interrupt you because I know she's there, but I thought you were going to call before."
"I tried but I got tied up.” Warren stretched the phone down the step that led to the back door and out onto the porch.
Chris said, "Let's go back in my room and play guitars.” Laureen moved into the living room and switched off the stereo. She picked up a book and settled in to read. Ruth finished clearing the table and went back into Warren's room to get undressed. She turned down the bed and smiled at the clean sheets. She always loved that about Warren.
It was late when Ron headed into the back room opposite Laureen’s to go to sleep. His voice was filled with songs and the sounds of the guitars. He looked at the bed. It was the first bed he’d had sex with Robin in. First bed and last bed both at Rahway. He thought about all the beds in between. His mind was spinning him on a delightful journey of moans and sighs and images that had caused him to accept his body for the first time in so very long. He tried to write about the beds, but he couldn’t. He heard the light thuds of the moths on the reading lamp and then the sizzle of completion when they got to the white-hot bulb. He felt like his mind was taking photographs wherever it looked. He wrote:
Summer bugs stray in these rooms.
moths beat themselves against my reading lamp.
The advancing shapes blend from a compositry to a pureness
like grain in a magnified photograph,
where time is place
and personalities call to the phantoms we’ve taken inside.
Chapter 6
Robin finished work at two a.m. But she didn't want to go home alone. When she'd finished cleaning her tables, she went over to Richard the bouncer and invited him back to her apartment for a glass of wine. He was a weight lifter with curly brown hair who had spent his entire life in Minnesota. Robin was pretty sure that he'd never had a serious thought about a woman in his life, and the idea of that, plus the muscles made him very attractive. He followed her to the apartment in his jeep and grabbed her ass on the stairs up to her place. He kissed her hard on the mouth as soon as she closed her door and pinched her nipples until she yelped. Then they fucked. He rammed himself into her like he was using his cock to beat in a drunk's face. She clawed his back and shoulders with her nails until he said, "Hey baby, you're hurting me."
She grinned up at him and said, "I know."
"You little cunt.” He grunted as he took his cock out of her and grabbed her by her hair and shoved it into her face. "Open your mouth, bitch!" Robin did as she was told. She started to gag a little on the taste of herself, but then his cock exploded in her mouth and she choked and spit it out in time to get the last part of his orgasm in her face. Then he collapsed and said, "You were great."
"You were perfect too," said Robin, "but I need to get some sleep and I'd like to be alone now."
As he was standing by the door, he said, "We never even got to the glass of wine."
"Isn't that strange?” said Robin.
"Maybe we should do this more often," said Richard.
"I'll let you know, but I'm sort of involved with some things right now."
"I know what you mean. Good night."
He left without kissing her. Robin poured herself a large glass of wine and opened a book. She sipped her wine and thought about how a brute like Richard would significantly uncomplicate her life. Things were funny that way. She thought about how she would definitely call him Dick from now on, even though he did have a small one considering the size of him.
At five a.m., the telephone woke her up. It was Alex.
"I'm going to lose my mind if I can't see you again," he said.
"You're not going to lose your mind. You're going to make a life with Penny and Yuri and forget that anything ever went on between us."
"I can't do that."
"You haven't tried."
"I don't want to live without you, Robin"
"That's a very silly thing to say."
"Can we meet for lunch?"
"I'm going to be very busy today."
"What about tomorrow?"
“No."
"Robin, please!"
"No. I'm going to hang up now," she said and clicked down the receiver.
The phone rang again. She thought about not picking it up but decided that he would keep on trying.
"Robin, I need you."
"Alex, if you call me again, I'm going to go out and see Penny and tell her everything that she only suspects is true."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"To make you go away," said Robin and hung the phone up again. This time he didn't call back.
Robin made some coffee. She would have to get more sleep at some point, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to fall back just yet and thought that she might as well do some work.
Leni wandered into the kitchen and meowed at her.
"What did you think of the bull that was here tonight, Leni?"
The cat walked over to her litter box and stared at it and then back at Robin.
"Well, aren't you being judgmental this morning? I'd like to get a look at some of the alley cats that you stick your tail up for. I'll bet some of them are real prizes.” Leni meowed at her.
"OK, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit cranky from lack of sleep. Don't take it personally."
By 7:30, she had bathed and straightened out the apartment. She cut up some fresh vegetables for a salad that she was going to have for dinner. Then she drove down to St. Paul and went to church. She sat quietly in the last pew and watched the priest and the old people celebrate Mass. She thought about how her grandmother used to plant seeds in her garden and get down on her knees and say, "God, please make this grow.” She wondered what her grandmother would think of her now. After the Mass was over, she went up to one of the side altars and lit a candle. She didn't pray but knelt there and watched the flame dance on the melting wax. She thought that she must have stayed there for a long time because her knees were quite stiff when she rose and drove back to her apartment. She climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When Ron woke up, his head was foggy from the pot he'd smoked with Chris the night before. He'd dreamt of Robin again. This time they were in bed together and they were making love. He remembered the feel of her fingertips on his rear and how she whispered to him, "Cum good inside me. Let it all out.” Ron didn't want to get up. He reached under the covers and felt for his cock. It was sticky. "Shit, I had a wet dream," he said, and threw the covers back and got out of bed.
Warren was sitting in the kitchen and writing on a pad that he'd attached to a clipboard. "How are you?” he drawled.
"I had a good night's sleep, except for the dreams."
"What'd you dream about?"
"Robin and me."
Warren didn't answer and Ron poured himself some coffee and sat down. He lit a cigarette.
"Don't you find it a bit contradictory to be a vegetarian and do all that yoga stuff and still smoke cigarettes?” said Warren.
"I never thought about it."
"Have you thought about what you're going to do with your life?"
"I suppose I should."
"What happened to you out there, Ron?"
"I just got all fucked up in my head. And now I don't know how to get out of it."
"I think that you should come into the city tonight and spend some time with Art Collins."
Ron raised his head and their eyes met. Warren was looking at him gently and Ron could sense his concern. "OK."
"Good. Come on in around nine p.m. And the three of us can have a talk."
Chris came into the kitchen wearing a pair of horizontally striped jeans and no shirt. His hair hung down below his shoulders. When he saw Ron and Warren talking, he stopped, stretched, and wiggled his toes. He cracked his fingers and poured himself some coffee. "What's on the agenda for today?” he said to Warren.
"I'm going to get some work done this morning and head the city early this afternoon. You're having the boys tonight, right?"
"Rock n' roll band practice."
"Is this 'band' ever going to do more than practice and get high?"
"Oh man, first thing in the morning? Yeah, we've got a gig at Pistol Pete's in two weeks."
"Ron," said Chris, "could you lay down some basic rhythm cords so that I can work on my flute?"
"When?"
He looked at Warren and said, "Let's do it now."
"Sure."
"Let's smoke a joint first," said Chris still staring at Warren.
Warren grimaced. "I'm going to go down to the college and finish up my work. Then I'll head straight into the city from there. Let's have dinner tomorrow night."
"I don't know," said Chris. "I'm waiting to hear from Peter."
"When is that going to happen?"
"In the next few days."
"Give me some warning, OK?"
"Sure.
Chris got up from the table and returned with his tray of pot. "Roll a joint, man," he said to Ron.
Warren watched Ron clean the seeds out of the pot. He took out his pipe and began to fill it from his tobacco pouch. When the seeds and twigs were at the bottom of the tray, he watched the way Ron delicately searched through the cleaned pot and pick out the last couple of seeds and seed shells. He was very thorough, trying to preserve as much leaf as he could. Then he folded the paper and loaded it up. He wrapped the paper around in a tight tube and lightly crushed it together as he rolled the cylinder up to the glue top, which he licked lightly and quickly before sealing. Chris sat and watched as well. He rolled a second joint and Ron realized that they would watch him as long as he rolled.
Then Chris got up and headed for the stereo. "I want to learn a flute solo to put with Dylan's All Along the Watchtower. You know the cords, right?"
"Yeah," said Ron.
Warren got up and went to his room to pack his books and papers. As the music started, Chris lit the joint and began to put his flute together.
Chris and Ron spent the day smoking joints and playing music. Laureen and Ruth had left for work before any of the guys had gotten up and so, after Warren left, they had the house to themselves.
Ron said, "I'm going into the city tonight to talk with Warren and Art Collins."
"On purpose?"
"What do you mean?” Ron laughed, "Yeah, on purpose."
"What for?"
"I'm having some very weird dreams, and I don't really feel that my head's in a good place at all."
Chris continued to fiddle with his unconnected electric guitar while Ron spoke. "Why not?"
"Pretty much because of what happened out in Minnesota. I haven't really told anyone about it yet."
"I figured you would when you were ready."
"Robin's got another man, and well, it's her cousin’s husband. I didn't realize it at first. I thought that they were friends, the same way they were friends when we were living together out here and he would come out on business and spend a day or two at our house. Robin and I haven't really slept together since she moved away, but I figured that we would get it back together when I got out there and it was just the two of us, you know?” Chris nodded and kept on playing. "I was there for about four days when he came over after work. Robin told me that he was stopping by and that the three of us were going to go out for dinner. I wondered where his wife was, but I figured she was home with the kid, you know?
The dinner was tense because nobody was talking about much of anything and I remember feeling a bit queasy when Robin sat next to Alex in the booth. After dinner we went back to her apartment and that's when they told me that they were having an affair."
"What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything. I kept playing Leonard Cohen songs on the stereo and rocking back and forth in the rocking chair. I kept on inventing reasons why it wouldn't be a good idea for them to keep on seeing each other. I could see that I was getting absolutely nowhere, but I couldn't stop myself from talking and trying to reason with them. It went on for hours and by the end I was screaming at myself to shut up on the inside, but I was still talking with them about what was going to happen to his son and what it had been like for me when my parents got divorced. I remember seeing Robin wince when I brought that stuff up and I thought that after Alex went home I would be able to get someplace with her by appealing to her sense of loyalty and family. You got to understand, Chris, that at the same time I'm doing all this I'm also calling myself a chicken-shit coward for not just grabbing him by the throat and killing him. I must be a chicken-shit because that's exactly what I should have done."
"Would that have made anything better?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't feel that I acted like quite as much of a jerk-off, you know? Well, Alex didn't go home."
"What do you mean?"
"He slept in the apartment with her that night."
"Where did you sleep?"
"In the apartment."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It was very late when we finished talking and that's when Robin came over next to me for the first time and whispered in my ear that Alex was going to sleep there. I didn't know where to go. I didn't have a car because we had brought it over to a shop to have the oil changed and a bent tire rod that I picked up on the way out there fixed. When she told me, I lost control. I started to cry in front of them. Then I picked up the cushions from the couch and dragged them into the kitchen because it was the only room besides the bathroom that had a door. She fucked him all night. They didn't sleep. I know because I didn't sleep. She fucked him all night long with me in the next room.
"I haven't felt right about myself since then. Except that I made one promise to myself and that was that even if it killed me I was going to destroy that relationship."
Chris spoke carefully. "It sounds like this is really tearing you up inside."
"That's how it feels too. It's not just being sad; it's something very physical like something in me that's broken. And I think it's stupid and I want it to stop but I can't make it stop."
Chris looked a little uncomfortable. He started to reach for the pot tray and then decided that wasn't a good idea. He thought about picking up his guitar but decided against that. He felt very relieved when Ron got up and said that he was going to take a shower.
Telling Chris about what had happened in Minneapolis didn’t make him feel any better. It made him feel further away from her. Somehow when he kept it to himself, kept it inside, it was better because it only belonged to the two of them. He sat in the back room after the shower and stared at the pad that he had been using. Somehow, telling it to the paper could bring them close again. Warren had taught him to love poetry, but when he wrote he was alone with Robin. He could bring her there and keep her there for as long as he could sustain the vision.
“That morning after she had me sleep on the floor
and I told her I had to go away,
She said I looked like I wanted to die;
I told her I’d be OK.
She asked how I knew and lit a candle;
in the center of the room
crashing in my heart was like the thunder in the sky.
She drew in with her hands from the North
and began to chant.
The air filled with dancers as large as the dust,
she said a careless death was a sloppy compromise
that brought nobody any closer…”
It hadn’t happened that way, but it was the way he saw it in his imagination. She had said those things to him, not that morning but she had said them. He could see her sitting there and chanting, and he wondered where that came from. The room was absolutely and he could see himself there sitting with her. He put the pen down and tried to stay there. If he didn’t move and no one made a sound, it would be OK.
Chapter 7
Warren's New York apartment was on the fourth floor of a brownstone on West 85th Street. Ron planned to get there just around nine p.m. Warren had called out to Rahway late in the afternoon to remind Ron to bring the extra set of keys in with him just in case he decided to come in early. Actually, it was because Warren and Art planned on being a couple of hours late. It had been Art's idea when Warren mentioned that Ron might be a bit resistant to talking about what was going on with him. Art said that they should leave him waiting for a couple of hours and that way Ron himself would have to accept the notion that he was there for help because he wanted to be helped. Either that or he would leave. Art had made it clear to Warren that he was interested in helping Ron if that's what Warren wanted, but that he wasn't interested in wasting his time. So, the two of them went out to dinner at 8 p.m. They walked through the park and over to a restaurant on 2nd Avenue.
Art had just returned from seven years in Zurich, where he'd been studying at the Jungian Institute. He was now a qualified Jungian analyst. He and Warren had been friends since they shared their adolescence in North Carolina. Art had left for Switzerland just before Warren's wife had given birth to their daughter. He had missed the crazy period surrounding Warren's divorce and the alimony battles that had even included Warren being thrown in jail. Art had been spending that time like a character from a Thomas Mann novel. When he came back down from the mountains and across the sea, he realized that he was a vastly different person than he'd been when he'd left. He and Warren had kept up a steady communication of letters during the time of his absence and Warren had never failed to write and to be supportive of everything except for Helga, which is what they talked about during dinner.
After meandering around to it, Warren said, "I guess what it comes down to is that I don't understand how you can marry a woman that you're not that interested in sleeping with."
“That's not exactly what I said," said Art, stroking the obligatory full beard he'd grown in Zurich and peering at Warren through his thick, black rimmed glasses. "I said that we don't sleep together that often."
"I don't understand that."
"Hasn't sex gotten better for you since you were divorced?"
"There are a number of things that have contributed to the change of my sex life but that's surely one of them."
"Wouldn't you say then that perhaps sex and marriage, unless we're talking about children, don't really have much to do with each other?"
"You mean that you'll have affairs with other women."
"Probably from time to time I will, but I'm not exactly planning on it or making it one of the conditions of our marriage."
Warren still didn't like it but he had too much respect for Art to press things any further. Besides, suppose Art was correct.
* * *
Ron climbed the four flights of stairs and let himself into the apartment. It was the first time he'd been there without Warren being around. It was a small, two-room place that was made even more claustrophobic by the floor-to-ceiling book shelves that Warren had installed over every square inch of wall space, and by the two couches that he'd set up in an L shape, and the two desks (one for a typewriter and one for longhand), and by the over-stuffed reading chair that was wedged up against the radiator. There were corridors that led through the arrangements of furniture and books but no other floor space. The bedroom contained a large double bed and a dresser, more books and a gigantic painting of a naked woman rolled into a ball and clenching her teeth. Ron stared at the painting and examined the way the artist had made her exposed genitals the center of focus. He studied the details of the exposed vagina and wondered if Warren found the picture erotic.
He made himself a cup of instant coffee and thought briefly about the fact that he hadn't eaten since the dinner of the night before and probably not for a day or so before that. It didn't matter that much. He wasn't hungry. He scanned the book titles as he walked around the apartment with his cup of coffee. He opened the desk drawers and looked in the closet. Then he just sat down in the reading chair and waited.
Warren’s things had the feel that a teacher’s objects have for a student. Ron would always probably be one of his students. It had been Warren that had grabbed hold of Ron when he was running wild without a sense of direction and purpose and convinced him that he had talent and insight that he was wasting. More than anyone else, Warren had given him the inspiration to study literature and to write. Having given Ron that, Warren had earned the right to be excused for a whole lot of other stuff. Ron was more than willing to put up with an amount of abuse from Warren. He knew that he wasn’t easy to teach. He had seen enough teachers give up on him in the past to know that he was no picnic in the park.
It felt as if he was there a very long time and he thought about driving back to Rahway to catch the end of rock n' roll band practice, but he'd come this far and found it very difficult to get out of the chair. When he finished with his coffee, he put his head back and closed his eyes. The apartment was very warm, and Ron hadn't thought to open any of the windows. He felt some perspiration run down the side of his face but didn't move or open his eyes. He was still sitting that way when he heard Warren's voice on the stairs. He must have dozed off, because the voice startled him. He got a little nervous and looked around to make sure that he hadn't disturbed anything. He saw that he'd left the top off the coffee jar and that there was a roach on the counter, inside the top. Ron got out of his chair and crossed to the sink. He was squishing the roach in between his fingers when Warren and Art walked into the room.
"Good," said Warren, "you're here."
"Did I get the times mixed up?” He flicked the roach into the garbage pail and looked back up at the electric clock on the wall over the sink.
"No, we just had things take a little longer than we expected them to."
Ron nodded. "How are you, Art?” He extended his hand, and Art Collins took it in his, after staring at it for a long second.
"I'm going to make some coffee and then maybe we should go out on the balcony," said Warren.
The balcony was a rooftop that was outside of Warren's bedroom window. He unlocked the metal gate and drew it back with several jerks and creaks. They stepped out of the window and found some chairs and a table set up on the roof. The adjoining backyards of several other brownstones had created this tree and vine filled canyon that was totally hidden from any access to the street. They sat in their chairs and Warren came out with the coffee. He and Art hadn't said anything to each other while Warren was gone. Ron stared up at the trees and roof tops. From where he was sitting he could also look down to the ground. It flashed through his head that if he made one impulsive leap that his life might just be over and that maybe that would be a good thing. He stared into the darkness and the dirt and thought that it looked quite comforting.
"Ron's just got back from Minneapolis a couple of days ago," said Warren for openers.
"How was it out there?” asked Art.
"Beautiful," said Ron. "The city is filled with lakes and at the end of the day they pump classical music out of the bus stop enclosures. Between that and the fountains, it feels wonderful. And the streets are clean, and I don't know, I guess I saw it at its best in the summer time, you know...”
"Why did you come back?” said Art.
"Things hadn't really worked out the way that I thought they would."
Warren put his feet up and sipped his coffee. "How did you expect them to work,” he asked.
"You know, with Robin."
"Tell me about Robin," said Art. "How would you describe her, I don't think that I've ever met her. He glanced over to Warren who shook his head no.
"She's very pretty," said Ron. "She about 5’2” and has real blonde hair and high cheekbones and a wonderful imagination and a sense of the beauty of the world."
"Does she have big tits?” said Art.
Ron stared at him and didn't answer.
"Does she have big tits?” Art repeated.
"Yes," said Ron in a very soft voice.
"And a nice, tight ass?"
"Yes."
"And a naturally blond pussy, huh?"
"Why are you talking about her like that?” said Ron.
"What do you mean?” said Warren.
"He's asking me to describe her like a fuck and I don't think about her that way."
"Did you ever?” said Art.
Ron put his head back down and his voice got small again. "Yes.”
"You sound like you're ashamed of it," said Warren.
"I am, a bit."
"When did Robin stop sleeping with you?” asked Art. Ron recounted the story that he told Chris earlier that afternoon. He stared at his feet as he talked, and spoke in the same small voice that he'd been using earlier. They listened quietly. Warren had expected something like this, but when Ron got to the part about her fucking all night long with Ron in the next room, his mouth fell open.
"What happened the next day?” said Warren.
"I tried to talk her out of seeing him anymore."
"Why didn't you leave?” said Art.
"Because I love her and I thought that it would stop."
"Did it?"
"Well, he didn't spend the night any more, and she would let me know when he was coming over and I would go out."
"She didn't have to have him stay the night again,” said Warren. “She knew what it would do to you after the first time,"
"I don't think that she was trying to hurt me," said Ron.
Warren yelped, "You don't? What did you think she was trying to do?"
"She just got in over her head."
"She was trying to kill you, and she almost did!" Warren snarled as he spoke.
"She wouldn't do that on purpose."
At this point Art started singing very softly. "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so...
Warren laughed. When Art got to the chorus, he joined in. "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves."
Ron's eyes grew dark staring at their smiling faces in the night. He looked over the ledge of the roof and thought again about leaping off. "Why are you guys doing that?” He asked softly.
"You're the one that's done it," said Art.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you want to be like Jesus so that you don't have to face what's going on inside of you.” Ron didn't know what to say and put his head down. Art began to sing again.
Ron wanted him to stop, but he didn't. Finally, he said, "Maybe I should just go."
He started to get up and heard Warren's voice, strong and harsh, say, "Sit down and listen."
"What's happened to you was that you wanted to kill her and didn't know what to do about it, so you've shut everything down. That's why you can't eat and that's why you don't have your own voice or your own vocabulary. She took your soul, or at least your balls, which in your case is almost the same thing. Your body saw what you were doing and got sick at the thought of it."
"I never thought about hurting her. I deserved this. I did some really rotten things to Robin."
"Yes, Jesus loves me," sang Art.
Finally Ron said, "That sucks, and I wish you'd stop it."
"What's the matter with being like Jesus?” said Art.
"That's not what I mean. I'm nothing like Jesus. You're just mocking me."
"I'll bet you're becoming more like Jesus every day. You're fasting aren't you? And you're celibate, too, I suppose."
Ron sat there quietly and hoped that Art would stop. A guy like Art could never understand what the feelings he had for Robin were like.
"Do you know," Warren said to Art, "the night before he left for Minnesota, he sang a song that he wrote about me that kicked the shit out of me better than I can remember anyone doing in quite a while. He was sleeping with at least two good looking women and teaching two courses at his college while he was taking a Master's Degree. He'd learned more about teaching in one semester than most people learn in years and look at him now. No wonder his body got sick at the thought of what he was doing."
"I was unhappy," said Ron.
"You could have fooled me," said Warren.
"Are you happier now that you don't have your balls any more?” asked Art.
"I've still got my balls," said Ron in a weary voice.
"She's got them," said Art, "and she won't even let you use them is my bet."
"What do you mean?"
"She owns you."
The conversation continued like this for more hours. They drank coffee and talked until the sky got light. Art told Ron that Robin was a kind of witch. Now that she was through with him as a lover, she wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to be any good for anyone else. In that way she would control him for the rest of his life, because no woman would ever measure up to the way he felt about her, because she owned his balls.
"She's going to be here next week," said Ron.
"Of course," said Art. "She wants to watch you while she plays with your balls."
"Maybe it's because she loves me."
"How could she love you?” said Warren angrily. “Look at what you've done and what you're doing to yourself!"
Art said that they had made all the progress that they were going to make for one night and that they should talk again over the weekend. Warren said that Ron should try to concentrate on being able to eat and on building up some of his strength. "You wouldn't know it to look at him now, but somewhere inside of this mess is still quite a man."
Ron smiled. It was the nicest thing that Warren had ever said to him
Chapter 8
Robin's next couple of days went by quickly. She worked each night and during the day she read and worked on a new dress that she wanted to have finished by the time she went out to New Jersey. Alex still called each day, but the calls grew shorter and the time that they would come grew predictable. Richard asked her each night if she wanted him to follow her home after work so that they could "get it on" as he put it. She'd decided that an occasional mindless fuck with Dick would be all right but that she would have to be careful that he didn't think that they were actually involved in anything. She'd decided to at least wait until after she came back from Jersey before she would indulge herself in that.
Tonight was going to be her first real problem because she had the night off and mid-afternoon she could feel herself getting lonely. Then the phone rang. She was hoping that it would be Amanda wanting to do something, but the ice water of Penelope's voice splashed her from the other end of the phone.
She tried to recover quickly. "Hi, how are you?” she said very cheerfully.
"I'm shitty. And how are things going for you?" Without waiting for a reply, Penelope continued, “Listen, Robin, I'm going to be in town and I'd like to stop over."
"Oh."
"Are you going to be busy? I mean is there any reason why you wouldn't want me to drop by?"
'No, of course not. I'd love to see you. I haven't heard from you in weeks."
"Yes, I know."
"Is something wrong?"
There was a short bitter laugh on the other end of the line and Robin could picture Penny's face screwed up in a snarl as she was doing it. "You might say that."
"I'll brew some ice tea."
"That's just great," said Penelope. "I'll see you in about an hour then."
Robin's hands were shaking when she hung up the phone. She walked around the apartment in a frantic circle searching for any clues of Alex that she might not otherwise notice. There were two of his ties in the closet and a pair of slippers that she'd bought for him. There were the letters that he'd written her and the beer mug that he used along with two bottles of his brand in the refrigerator. She boxed the stuff quickly and brought it down to her trunk. Then she put the water on for the tea and sat at the kitchen table wringing her hands. Alex usually called between four and five in the afternoon. That meant there was a good chance of him calling while her cousin was there. She decided that she would have to call him at work, but he wasn't in the office and that made her even more nervous. Suppose he showed up while Penelope was there? Maybe she should just leave a note on the door saying that something had happened to Amanda and that she had to go out and that she was sorry but would call Penelope later that night? Maybe she should just call Amanda and tell her that she was coming over.
She was still trying to decide what to do when the doorbell rang. She ran down the stairs and saw the top of her cousin's head over the curtain on the front door. She put a smile on her face, opened the door wide and tried to sound as carefree as she could.
"Hi, how are you?” she said and kissed her cousin on the cheek. Penelope didn't return the kiss or the embrace. "Come on upstairs."
Penelope was wearing sunglasses and a dark peasant blouse and skirt that hid her girth. "Are you sure that it's all right?"
"Of course."
After they settled at the table and Penelope spent a minute or two playing with Leni, she said, "I came to find out why you're trying to ruin my life, Robin."
Robin smiled nervously. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you trying to take my husband away from me?"
Robin stared at her blankly. "I wouldn't do that."
"But you've been going to bed with him, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't.” She cursed herself for the shakiness in her voice. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I had a taping device that Alex doesn't know about installed on my phone. I've listened to the two of you on the phone together.” She paused to allow her disclosure have its affect. Robin’s face grew impassive. “Couldn’t you find a man of your own? Did you have to take mine? Don't you know that we've got a child?” Penny raised the voice each question louder than the previous one.
Robin's hands began shaking uncontrollably again. She brought them up over her face. "Penny, I'm very sorry that you had to find out that way."
"You're sorry that I had to find out, you little piece of shit!"
"I'm sorry that it happened. I don't know what to say.” Robin began to cry.
"You don't know what to say! When you moved out here to get away from Ron, didn't I take you in? Didn't I listen for hours about your problems and try to be a friend to you?"
"Yes.” Robin was starting to sob loudly.
"Then why did you do it? Are you just a whore that fucks anything she can find with a cock?"
"Yes," said Robin. "I must be to have done something like this to you."
"Don't give me the pathetic bullshit, Robin. That crap doesn't work on me anymore. I knew that Alex was screwing around, but I never thought that it was with somebody in my family."
"I broke it off," cried Robin. "I knew it was wrong and I broke it off."
"Wasn't that big of you? What am I supposed to do now, compete with the memory of your tight little ass? You might as well keep him because I'm throwing him out!"
"It was my fault, not his."
"It was your fault all right.” She got out of her chair and advanced on Robin who looked up in time to see the hand that smashed into her face. The crack of the slap reverberated in the room. Robin cried out in pain. Penelope slapped her face again and Robin hid herself in her hands crying for Penny to stop. Penelope slapped the top of Robin's head over and over again until she also began to cry. Then she picked up her purse and said, "I don't ever want to see or hear from you again.” And she left.
Robin sat at the table whimpering until she couldn't cry anymore. The phone rang but she didn't answer it. Her cousin was right. She was a little piece of shit.
* * *
At three a.m. Ron was asleep and dreaming of Robin. She was telling him that after this period of confusion that every thing was going to be all right and that they'd be back together. He was saying that he believed her and that he would always believe her no matter what.
His room was the closest to the phone and it woke him almost immediately. He staggered out of his room with his eyes still half closed and the sound of her voice in his head.
"Hello," he mumbled.
"Hi," she said.
Ron blinked and shook his head a little. "Robin, is that you?"
"I'm glad you answered the phone. I miss you.”
"I miss you too."
"Are you eating?"
"Some."
"Ron, you have to start taking better care of yourself."
"OK," he paused to listen to her breathing. He could see her face with the phone held up close to it. "When are coming out here?"
"On Wednesday."
"Do you still want me to pick you up?"
"Yes."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"I don't know yet."
"Do you want to stay here with me?"
"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea," said Robin.
"Ron, I have so much to talk to you about."
"What?"
She could hear the excitement in Ron's voice. She smiled. He had a one-track mind when something that he wanted was involved. "A lot of things, but they'll keep until Wednesday. I love you, Ron. You should go back to sleep now."
Ron felt his eyes start to well up with tears. "I love you too."
He poured himself a glass of juice, sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. For sure he knew that the dreams he'd been having were coming straight from Robin, or at least from whatever it was that was holding them together.
Laureen had been awakened by the phone and had listened to the conversation. She walked out of her room and poured herself a glass of diet Pepsi. She sat down next to him at the table.
"I'm sorry that the phone woke you up," he said.
"I don't have to work tomorrow, so it doesn't matter."
"It was Robin."
"I gathered that," she said smiling.
Ron had always felt the connection between Robin and Laureen. They both liked to act and had worked for the same director. They held each other in high regard, but at a distance. "Do you think that she'll ever come back to me?"
"No," said Laureen. "I don't think she'll ever come back here to live, but I do think that the two of you aren't finished with each other yet."
"Did you think that I would come back here?"
"Yes, I knew you would. I was surprised that you actually left."
"I didn't want to leave, but I wanted to be with her so bad."
"I know."
"What is it about her? I mean, why her?"
"I remember when I first saw her, I thought ‘that would be the perfect girl for Ron.’”
"Come on."
"I swear to you. It was before you even met her and we were in the snack bar at school, and she was wearing this hot pants outfit with dark pantyhose."
"The burgundy one?"
"Yes. She looked very sophisticated and a bit scared at the same time, and I could just picture you going wild for her."
"Why?"
"Because you admire sophistication and love to feel that you protect your women. It's the city boy in you."
Ron laughed. "So, how did we fuck everything up so badly."
"Let's say it was a joint effort in all senses of the word."
They laughed with each other. Ron stared at her long dark hair and the way she held the cigarette to the side when she took a drag off of it. "Do you like her?"
"We're a bit too much alike to be friends, but yes, I think she's very smart and I think she's got a lot of guts."
"Because she moved away by herself?"
"Partially that but mostly because she just goes after what she wants regardless of what anybody thinks about it."
"That's surely true."
"I'm going back to bed," said Laureen.
"Me too," said Ron.
For a moment Laureen wished that Ron were someone else. She would have very much liked to get laid, but she'd decided a long time ago that she would never sleep with Ron.
He sat in the room smoking a cigarette and staring at the pad. The paper felt smooth like Robin as he slid his hand over it. He caressed it as he wrote.
If there were no forces between you and me
If there were no places and there was no time
If hope could turn black as a night cat’s eyes
glowing in the fire of their darkness
and we lived in the light of the moon
and I returned this lurking shape to the shadows...
If I was ever without you when I was alone,
designing my feelings in the air of a room
I could close my eyes and accept...
It was never clear between you and me
The inside voice came through us
Ron stared at the walls of the room. He felt as if he existed in a twilight region and could only fully be alive when he was alone in the house. He walked back out into the livingroom and sat on one of the couches and listened. In every direction that he looked, he saw possibilities for magic. He loved this house almost as much as he loved her.
Chapter 9
Early on Saturday morning 150 pounds of pot arrived from California. Chris met the car down in Perth Amboy at a broken down hole of a house that he'd bought because it had a garage underneath it. He helped the driver take the screws from the false bed of the El Camino that they used for transport. The dope was wrapped in plastic garbage bags, which he loaded into a hole in the floor that he had dug and lined with concrete.
When they'd finished the unloading, the driver left to go back to Rahway and get some sleep. He was in a hurry and intended to leave for San Diego that night. By noon, most of the pot was distributed. The dealers came in pick-up trucks and appeared to belong to the contractors that the house was obviously in need of. Five trucks drove away with twenty-five pounds each. Two of them were going to the shore. One was going to East Orange. Two more were headed for Plainfield. Chris closed up the hole with the last twenty-five pounds in it and drove to a phone booth and called San Diego.
"Is Steve there?"
"Not right now."
"Well, is Peter home?"
"Hold on."
That was Peter's code. He was Steve and he was Peter, but until you asked for both of them, he was never there. Chris waited for Peter to get on the phone, but it was Carol's voice that said, "Is that you, Chris?"
"Yeah. Everything's fine here."
"I'll tell him. When are we going to see you?"
"I should be out in no more than a week."
"We'll look forward to seeing you."
"Right."
While Chris drove back to Rahway, he calculated his split. If everything went as planned, which it almost never did, he would clear about $3,000 after expenses and private stock. "Not bad," he said to himself. The unloading had gone smoothly, but collecting the money and getting together with everybody was more time consuming. This time the expenses of the deal included a week in San Diego. Chris snapped his fingers and smiled at the thought of partying for a week with Peter. They had been friends since they were little kids. Peter had showed Chris how to roll up comic books inside the newspaper and walk out of the store with them, and he had showed Chris that the best place to write cheat sheets for school was on the bottoms of your shoes. He had taught him how to siphon gasoline out of somebody else's tank. Peter was a great outlaw, just crazy enough to be scary and definitely smart enough to know what he could get away with. And damn did he know how to party! The last time Chris had been out there, they'd gone to the ball game and gone for a cruise and gone back stage at a Jackson Browne concert and snorted cocaine with some of the people there. They'd ridden horses out on Peter's ranch and eaten like kings. And, of course, there would be some California honey that Peter wanted Chris to meet and she would be tan and beautiful and fuck like a bunny. The California trip was always something Chris anticipated with glee.
By the time Ron got up on Saturday morning everyone was out of the house, except for Laureen, who was still sleeping. Ron decided that it was time that he let his family know that he was back from Minnesota. He debated whether he should call first but decided to just drive up. The thirty-five minute ride sped past the same way the drive into New York had. Ron wondered if it was a permanent benefit left over from driving for over 24 hours without stopping but decided that it was most likely temporary.
He still had his key, but decided to ring the doorbell. He immediately heard Chipper barking and grinned. Someone walked to the door very fast and Ron recognized his stepfather silhouetted through the curtain.
* * *
George Bombasco smiled as he opened the door. "When did you get back?"
"Just a little while ago," said Ron.
"Marjorie, look who's here?” hollered George.
"I haven't even washed my face yet," he heard his mother say. "Who is it?"
"Come and see," said George.
When she opened the door, Chipper came running out into the hall. Marjorie was stunned. "Ronald!"
"Hi, Mom."
"You're home," she said smiling broadly. "I spoke with Robin yesterday and she said that you were out somewhere and that she didn't know when you'd be back."
"I don't know why she'd say that," lied Ron.
Chipper whimpered and jumped up on Ron. Ron bent down and let the dog lick his face, which she continued to do for at least two minutes while Marjorie stood there beaming and said, "You'd think that royalty had arrived.” Then Chipper began to pee in the hall and Marjorie bellowed, "George, the dog peed all over the rug again.
"Jesus Christ," he heard his stepfather say from inside apartment as he galloped over to the broom closet to get the roll of paper towels and disinfectant.
"Is Aunt Dotty upstairs?” said Ron.
"Why don't you go say hello to her while I wash my face and then we can talk. Have you had breakfast?"
"Yes," Ron lied.
"Marjorie stepped back. "You've lost an awful lot of weight, haven't you?"
"Only a little."
"You're too thin," she said staring at him.
"I'm going to go see Aunt Dotty, but I'd love a cup of coffee.
"OK,” said his mother and walked back into the apartment as George came out with the towels and the disinfectant.
George screamed at Chipper, "What did you do?” The dog put her tail between her legs and hid in back of Ron. Chipper followed him up the stairs, all the time watching George down on his hands and knees rubbing the carpet and cursing.
His great aunt occupied the second floor of the two-family house. She lived alone in the four-room apartment since her third husband had died. Ron rapped on the door.
"Come in," said Aunt Dotty.
"When I heard all the ruckus downstairs I knew that it was you. They hugged and kissed. Chipper began to whimper again. Dotty turned to him and said, "Don't you pee up here. Go back down in the hall if you need to pee. Maybe they'll start letting you out in the morning like I told them to."
The dog stared at the wrinkled finger the old woman was pointing at her and licked Dotty's hand. "That's a good girl," said Dotty.
"How are you feeling, Aunt Dot?"
"The same. Good days and bad days.” She lit a cigarette. "I'm still able to puff though."
"Good for you," said Ron.
"I go to the doctor's every three weeks and I've been telling him that I quit smoking for the last six months. He keeps on saying how much I've improved since I stopped."
They laughed and Ron sat down at her kitchen table. "You look good," he said.
"I know what I look like," said Dotty. "What happened with Robin? Did she dump you?"
Ron was silent. His mind went to pain. He didn’t want his eyes to fill. He stayed quiet and waited, trying to hold on till it passed.
"Well, you're young and there are a lot of girls out there for you."
"I wanted her."
"Well, if she doesn't want you there isn't much you can do about it except to forget about her."
"I don't think I can."
"Well, don't let her know that or you'll never get her back. Did she stay out there?"
"Yes, but she's coming back for a visit on Wednesday."
"You make yourself scarce so that she doesn't think you're waiting around for her."
"That's a good idea, Aunt Dot. Tell me about you."
"At my age and in my condition, there isn't a lot to tell. I have to use the damn breathing machine all the time, and they've got me taking about sixteen pills a day. It's no fun getting old, but nuts to them! I still do what I want whenever I feel like it.” Ron grinned again. "Are you back for good?"
"I think so?"
"Do you need money?"
"No. I'm fine.
"I haven't got much, but what I have is yours. Don't be ashamed to ask."
"I won't be."
"Now you better go back down stairs before your mother has a cow. She missed you terribly."
"OK. I'll call you soon."
"Forget the call me. Show your face."
"OK, Aunt Dot."
When he stood up, she said, "Did you get so thin worrying about that girl?"
"I suppose."
"That's not worth it, you know."
"You're probably right."
"Don't be saying things that you think I want to hear. What I'm telling you is for your own good."
"Really, I know."
"All right now, go and see your mother."
Ron went back downstairs and found that his mother had set out three cups and a plate of breakfast buns.
"How do you think your aunt looks?"
"Not bad."
"She's been very sick. Did she tell you?"
"She said that the doctor thinks that she's stopped smoking."
"She thinks that she's fooling everybody, your aunt, but it's not doing her any good."
"How are things with you?"
"All right. Tell me about Minnesota."
"It's a great place to live, Mom, but it's just not home."
"I knew you'd be back. What made you decide to leave?"
"I just wanted to come home."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"I'm going to stay in Rahway for a while."
"Have you seen them yet?"
"Yes."
"When did you get back?"
"A few days ago."
"A few days ago? Why didn't you call?” George came into the kitchen and poured his coffee. He picked out an apple turnover and bit into it. "Ron's been home a few days, George.” George grunted. "Did you go and see your father yet?"
"What for?"
"Because he's your father!"
"I'll get around to it."
"I'm sure you've seen all of your so called friends."
"I haven't really seen anyone, Mom. The truth is that I'm a little confused about things right now."
George had finished his turnover and gulped down the last of his coffee. "I'm going to get the cold cuts. You want anything special?"
"You're what?” said Marjorie. "My son just showed up at the door, unexpectedly, after I wasn't sure if I was ever going to see him again, and you want to know if I want anything special from the delicatessen?"
"I just asked," said George indignantly.
"No, George," she said in a voice edged with sarcasm. "There's nothing special that I want from the delicatessen. Is that all?"
"Jesus."
"I mean, don't you want to know how he is?"
"He said he felt OK."
"Fine. You go to the deli and the milk store and run into your mother's house say hello and run out again. That is what you intend to do, isn't it?"
"You're upset with him. I don't see why you have to take it out on me."
“I'm not taking anything out on you. Maybe Aunt Dotty wants something from the stores."
"I'll ask her before I go. Are you still going to be here when I get back?” he said to Ron.
"I don't know," said Ron.
"That's a wonderful greeting. 'Are you still going to be here when I get back?' I'm surprised he doesn't leave now."
"That's not what I meant and he knows it. Take care of yourself, Ron. I'm glad that you're back."
"Thanks," said Ron.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” said Marjorie.
"Sometimes you're just too much," said George as he left.
"You want to know how things have been around here? They'll never change. This is how they are."
"I know. I came to see you and Aunt Dotty."
They talked for about an hour about Minnesota and Robin and what Ron was going to do now.
"I'll probably do the second half of the graduate assistantship in the fall," said Ron.
"I sent you the papers. Did you mail them in?"
"Yeah, I figured just in case, you know?"
Ron remembered getting the papers on his graduate work while he was out in Minnesota. He filled them out and told himself that he was just keeping his options open, but he wondered if that was when he really decided to come back home.
Before he left, Marjorie said, "You know that you always have a home here?"
"I know that."
"Do you have to pay rent down in Rahway?"
"Not at the moment."
"Well, I'm sure they won't let you stay there for nothing."
"Nobody has said anything about money just yet."
"How's Chris?"
"He's good."
"Tell him I said hello. I like Chris."
When they kissed, she began to cry. "I missed you very much. It's not like it was between us when you were little."
"It can't be."
"I don't know what I've done to you to make you want to stay away like this."
"You haven't done anything."
"I've tried not to interfere, even when I saw you being hurt."
"I know that."
As Ron was leaving he called good-bye up to his Aunt who was sitting on the top of the steps holding Chipper.
"Be careful," she said, "and pay attention to what I told you."
"I will, Aunt Dot," he said and closed the door. He was glad that he'd gotten this over with.
Marjorie came out into the hall and exchanged a worried look with Aunt Dotty. "He's made himself awfully sick over this girl," said Marjorie.
"He just needs time to get over her, that's all."
"He's never acted like this before over anyone," said Marjorie.
"He was head over heels and he's a young man and right now he's not sure of anything. Just give him time and don't pressure him about anything."
"I'm not going to stand by while my son ruins his health."
"Margie, I said give him time!" Dotty began to cough after she shouted and got up from the stairs and went back into her apartment. Marjorie listened to the sound of the breathing machine as she started it up.
Chapter 10
On Saturday night Robin went over to Amanda's apartment. Neither one of them felt like going out. Robin said that she would buy a bottle of wine and come over. Amanda said that she wanted to cook up some spaghetti, and so they made the date. It was a very hot, muggy night and Amanda had an air conditioner in her bedroom. They decided that they would escape from the weather and catch up on what had been happening.
Robin bought two bottles of wine because she was undecided about whether she liked the Napa Valley rose or the B & G Beaujolais. Amanda was breaking the spaghetti and dropping it into a large pot of boiling water. She was wearing panties with yellow flowers and a yellow T-shirt with white flowers. Robin sat at the table and watched her cook. Her thighs and calves were very muscular and nothing about her seemed to jiggle when she walked across the room to open up the jar of spaghetti sauce. Robin put a corkscrew into the rose and opened it up. It was very warm in the kitchen.
"Why don't you take off your jeans and your shirt," said Amanda. "You look very uncomfortable."
Robin hesitated. "We'll be in the air conditioning in a minute," she said. Then she decided to open up the French wine as well. She poured out a glass of each and asked Amanda to tell her which one she liked better.
"They're both great. Let's drink the rose with dinner because it's more sloshy. We can do the French stuff later," she said smiling at Robin and then going back to the spaghetti.
Robin thought that there was something very sexual about Amanda's manner. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination of if her friend had just made a pass at her.
They carried the food into the bedroom where Amanda had spread a checker board table cloth across the bed, and set out dishes and silverware.
"The trick to eating in bed is not to put too much on your plate at one time," said Amanda.
"Ron always used to spill things that stained the sheets. Once he spilled a whole pint of blueberries on these satin ones that we had, and then he had the nerve to tell me that he didn't think that it would stain."
"Was he always a slob too?"
"He'd go in spurts, two weeks as Oscar Madison and then three frantic days as Felix Unger. It would drive me crazy."
"Brian was the same way, only he skipped the Felix stage."
"At least you knew what to expect."
"The thing was that he wouldn't admit to it until I backed him into a corner and then he'd find some little thing that I didn't do that irked him and try to equate it with the constant mess that he created."
"The spaghetti is good, not too mushy," said Robin.
"Tell me about what happened with Penelope."
"It was horrible. She had me dead to rights and made me lie about it before she really confronted me. She was a complete bitch about the whole thing."
"What's she going to do?"
"She says that she doesn't want him anymore, but I know that's not true. The only question is whether she'll make his life so miserable that he'll leave."
"Would you want him if he did?"
"No, definitely not."
"Why?"
"Because I'd never be able to get free of him, and I don't think that it would be much fun to be married to him."
"Well," said Amanda, "we do know that he cheats."
"Don't be a cunt, Amanda. But, you know, in a sick kind of way I think you're right. It would definitely be something that I would think about before I got seriously involved with him."
"Is he still calling?"
"Not since Penny paid her little visit."
"So you think he's out of the picture?"
"He's just laying low for a while, but he's out of the picture as far as I'm concerned."
"Robin, can I ask you something weird?"
Robin hesitated again and involuntarily glanced at the outline that Amanda's nipples made on her T-shirt. "Go ahead."
"Do you think that there was a connection between Alex and Ron?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you start up with Alex in order to drive Ron away?"
"Maybe, but not the way that I think you mean. I never really thought that Ron would come out here. If he had called me before he got to fucking Wisconsin, I would have told him not to come. Having Alex around gave me somebody to think about that wasn't Ron, that's for sure."
"What about after he got here?"
Robin poured each of them another glass of wine. "I was really pissed when he got here I felt invaded and that he was just going to take over my life again. Ron can make me feel so safe and secure, and I started feeling all of those things, and I didn't want to feel them."
"Is that why you set up the night with Alex?"
"I thought he'd walk out as soon as I told him about Alex. Then after Alex spent the night, I thought that Ron would either beat the crap out of him the next day or just leave, but he didn't. He fell apart."
"Had he done that before?"
"He'd gotten upset, but this was like he was devastated. Then he just started to show me what a jerk Alex was. He was relentless. And he wouldn't eat, and then we had to take him to the hospital. It was all very frustrating."
"Was it exciting too?"
"Like a pressure cooker is exciting," said Robin.
"You know where I was the day that Penelope come over your house."
"You said that you were with Brian."
"You know what we were doing?"
"What?"
"Fucking."
"I could have guessed that."
"With two other people.” Amanda saw the shock register on Robin's face and smiled at her proudly as she slurped the last of her spaghetti into her mouth with a smack of her lips and a red trail of sauce on her cheek.
"Tell me," said Robin.
"We drove up to this cabin to meet with his friend Joseph and Joseph's girlfriend Cynthia. We were going to do some canoeing on the St. Croix and then have lunch. We went out on the river and it was really hot, and then the guys started fooling around with the canoes and, of course, we both turned over. We came back to the cabin and our clothes felt tremendously grungy, so we just took them off. The guys started teasing me about how much bigger Cynthia's tits were than mine. Of course everybody," she said staring at Robin's boobs, "has bigger tits than I do, so I started teasing Brian about how Joseph's cock was bigger than his."
Robin began to laugh in the middle of a swallow of wine and it went up her nose. Then Amanda started laughing too. "Well, go on."
“Brian said that the only real way to measure a guy's cock was when he was hard, so I told him to make it hard so that I could see. Joseph was already standing up straight because the whole thing was turning him on. Then Cynthia rolled him over on his back and started playing with it. I told Brian to get next to him and I did the same thing. So, there were these two cocks and Cynthia and I were playing with them. The guys had their eyes closed by that time, I guess they were concentrating, and the next thing I know, I was reaching over to squeeze Joseph's cock and Cynthia starting playing with Brian. So we gave each of them a hand job. They came so hard."
"Whose was bigger?"
"You know, Brian was right about that. Once they both got hard, they were about the same size, but Joseph's was definitely thicker and squirted further."
"You slut," laughed Robin. She poured herself the last glass of the rose and Amanda started on the B & G.
"That's just the beginning. Then the guys said that it was their turn and that they wanted to look at our asses. So, we exchanged places, and they started squeezing our cheeks and reaching underneath to play with our pussies. Then they both ate us."
"That's very weird."
"Then they said that they wanted to watch us do each other.
"What did you do?"
"We said that we'd only do that if they would do each other too."
Robin laughed, "And did they?"
"No, of course not. But Cynthia said that she wanted to suck on one while the other fucked her. I played with her tits and both of the guys asses and balls while it happened."
"Then did you do it too?"
"I got beat. The guys came all over her and then they couldn't get them up again, so we went home."
"Did you like it?"
"It was certainly different. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it all while it was happening, but later on I felt very odd about it."
"That's guilt," said Robin. "It fucks you over every time."
"Did you ever play with a vibrator, Robin?"
“No.”
"I've got one."
"Let's see."
Amanda jumped off the bed and skipped over to her dresser. She opened the drawer and took it out from underneath her underwear. Amanda was staring at her now and holding up the vibrator. Robin poured another glass of wine and asked herself if she really wanted to do this.
"Amanda, you're the best friend, the only friend that I have out here. I really don't want to make things strange between us."
The smile vanished from Amanda's face. "Do you think it would? I wasn't thinking about that."
"Sex definitely makes people weird with each other. I don't think that just happens between men and women."
"You're probably right," said Amanda. "I just got excited telling you that story."
"Do you think you'll do it again?"
"If it just happens, well, you know, it's hard to say."
Then they were quiet for a while. Robin suggested that they clear the dishes off the bed and wash them, and that broke the tension. The rest of the night was a typical Robin and Amanda visit. When Robin left, she was quite drunk. Amanda told her that she should spend the night, but Robin said something about her cat.
She drove home in a blur and luckily found a large parking space. She went upstairs and went to bed. Before she fell asleep she found herself wondering if she'd made a mistake by not playing with Amanda. Maybe it was different between women. Maybe they could just have fun together and not let it spill over. Then she said, "Too dangerous," and allowed herself to drift off.
Chapter 11
On Saturday night at Rahway, Chris and Ron were alternating between playing guitars and playing chess. At about 9:30, Chris got a call from Nat Rossi. When he came back to the living room, he said, "Nat's going to come over in a little while, but I have to go out for about an hour."
"Sure," said Ron.
It meant that Ron would be alone in the house. Laureen had a date and Warren had called earlier and said that he and Art were going to stay in the city until Sunday afternoon. Chris got his car keys and left quickly. Ron closed up the chess set and started playing around with a melody that he was working on for a new song. It was, of course, a song about Robin. After a few minutes, Ron put down the guitar and began to wander through the rooms. He started with Warren's room.
It was a fairly large bedroom with extra long windows on its front and one of its sides. Warren had filled it with two full size beds that he'd strapped together at the frame, a dresser, a reading chair, a desk, a television, and books. It was the first room that he and Robin had lived in together. He sat on the chair and thought about that summer three years ago. Warren was going to Greece and he rented the room to Ron and Robin for the summer. They were going to try living together. It was a very hot summer and Chris's room was the only one with air conditioning. During the day, they would open the adjoining door to cool off both of the bedrooms, but at night it got very warm. Chris had a live-in girlfriend with whom he had an arrangement. She would do his share of the chores and he would give her a place to live. However, Judy wasn't allowed to use the word love with Chris, and he made it clear that if she started any of the love stuff, it would be the end of their relationship. Judy always said that Laureen had made Chris scared to death of the word love.
Robin and Judy got along well at first, but after the first few weeks, things began to sour. Robin complained to Ron that Judy was lazy and just stayed in bed all day and that she felt like all the work was being pushed on her. Finally, Ron and Chris had an argument about it. Chris claimed that Judy wasn't feeling that well and that Robin had decided from the beginning that she didn't want to live there. Ron countered that the house was a mess and that he and Robin were the only ones that did any of the work. Finally, Chris told him that he didn't have time for this petty shit and that if he didn't like the way things were, he and Robin should just get their own place now instead of waiting for the fall.
But that wasn't what he remembered most. He remembered how it felt to have Robin in bed with him at night. He remembered how they played with each other's bodies for hours and how Robin said that he could have her whenever he wanted her. Then there was the conversation with Judy.
"So when are you and Robin going to get married?” said Judy.
"We're not getting married."
"That's not what she said. She said that you would probably live here until Warren came back from Greece and then get married. At least that was the impression I got."
Sitting in the chair, Ron wondered if it had been true. He would never have agreed to marry Robin at that point but maybe if he hadn't been so much of an asshole and told her to stop complaining about Chris and Judy and just shut up until they had enough money to move out... Maybe it would have been very different.
He got up and wandered through the adjoining door into Chris’s room. He rolled a joint from the bag of pot that was lying on the bed. The last time he and Robin had made love had been in this room. They had spent the night together in Chris's room, and the next day she'd left for Minneapolis. She had already gotten rid of her furniture, and Ron had decided to move into a renovated garage up in Paterson. When they made love that night, she had cried out with her orgasm and held him to her for all that she was worth. All of the problems they'd had in the previous months seemed to disappear in their lovemaking. She had asked him to keep the cat, and he said that Leni belonged with her and that she would know that he was right at some point.
He wandered back through the dining room that wasn't used for anything, and thought about the way Leni had broken out of her traveling case on the parkway and how Robin had called him to come and help her because she couldn't get the cat back into the cage and that she was all scratched up from trying. Ron remembered talking Leni into his arms and feeding her the tranquilizer pills and then putting her back into the cage. Robin had thrown her arms around him and told him that she was scared and that this was a mistake and that she wasn't going to be able to get along without him. Maybe if he'd just brought her back to the garage with him then, he thought. But he hadn't starting missing her yet and he had convinced himself that this was a good thing for Robin and that he would move out there in January, as soon as he had finished the last semester of his undergraduate degree.
He walked back through the kitchen and into the room he was using now. This was the first place that he'd ever slept with her, the first time they'd gone out together. It was the party that was celebrating Chris and Warren getting this house. They had both been seeing other people but had felt so drawn to each other. She was having her period, but Ron had pulled out her tampon, and they'd made love for hours. She'd told him that he was the first man that she'd ever met who would do that kind of thing and not be grossed out.
It had been a summer of magic and new experience. Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer had been playing for the chess championship. Ron had become intrigued by the event. He’d played chess since he was a young boy, and now he was recalling some of those afternoons that he’d spent with the old men at the boys club. Robin knew how to play chess too, and they lay on their bed with a chessboard between them for hours. She would build her position slowly and refuse to attack. She’d wait for Ron to attack and then she’d defend against each of his thrusts. While they played they talked about musicals, and movies, and drama, and politics, and art. They dreamt together and told each other secrets over the chessboard and into the night. Sometimes they would forget the game and just gaze at each other and hold hands. He loved to have her tell him about when she was a little girl and about how she had learned to count using colors. He told her about football and about how he’d written poetry and won an award for it in sixth grade, and she would get him to sing silly songs from musicals that he’d never heard of. He remembered her teaching him to sing, I would die, I would die, I would strangle myself with my tie, if ever you said good-bye, then I’d die! The house was caressing his memory again. Ron found his pad and wrote easily.
She’d say I was the silliest man she’d ever met
and make me laugh until I was as loose
as an easy truth
There was a girl who put angels on winter lawns
and liked catching boys playing in the sand.
I brushed the world aside for her and she ran for me
Ron heard gravel in the driveway, walked back into the living room and turned on the stereo. The Eagles Desperado was on the turntable and the first harmonica riffs of Doolin Dalton filled the house.
Laureen's date, a thin, dark-haired guy with features that reminded Ron a lot of Chris, was named Craig. When they came into the room, Laureen said with a nervous laugh, "This is Ron, Craig."
The two shook hands and Craig quipped, "Alone and stoned Saturday night. Sounds like a good title for a Dylan or some shit like that."
Ron didn't answer. Laureen laughed her nervous laugh again and said, "Bob Dylan is Ron's favorite song writer."
"Imagine that," chirped Craig. "I never would have guessed it. It just came right out."
The back door opened again and Nat Rossi called in, "Hey Chris, you home."
Laureen giggled again.
Ron said, "He said that you should wait for him, Nat. Come on in?"
"Who's that? Is that Ron Tuck's voice I hear."
Craig giggled at the sound of Ron's name, and Ron felt a sneer make its way to his face, but somewhere, in confused connections, it got lost and didn't come out.
Ron and Nat shook hands.
"Hey Ron, you're looking great. How long did Chris say he was going to be? I only came by, you know?"
"Not more than a couple minutes," said Ron. "Sit down."
Nat stood there a little uneasily, Laureen said, "Yeah, Nat, sit down and tell us what you've been doing with yourself."
Nat seemed to talk non-stop for the ten minutes until Chris got back. He walked in carrying a large garbage bag, said hello and walked straight into his room, left the bag and came out. "What's everybody doing?” said Chris.
"Just waiting for you, Chris," said Laureen and again there was the nervous laughter.
"All right!" said Chris. "Would anyone like to smoke a joint?"
"Chris," said Nat, "listen, I got to go. Can I talk to you in the other room for a minute?"
"Sure."
The two of them got up and walked back into Chris's room. Ron didn't move. Laureen said, “Aren't you going to smoke a joint with Chris and Nat?"
"Not right now," said Ron.
"Nat sure is nervous, isn't he?” said Craig.
"He sure is," said Laureen, and again there was the strained laugh.
"Is there any beer in this house?” said Nat.
"I doubt it,” said Laureen. "There's probably some wine.
"Wine is for fags. I feel like having some beer, you know what I mean Ron?"
"No," said Ron. "I like wine."
"I think that wine is mostly what fags drink."
Laureen got off the couch. She saw that Ron wasn't answering and was now glaring at Craig. "I think that maybe we should go out and have some beers someplace."
"Do you want us to bring you anything back, Ron," said Craig.
"No thanks."
On the way out the door, Ron heard Craig say, "Everybody around here is a doper except for me."
Nat came out of the room about five minutes after they left. He was carrying the trash bag. He said a quick so-long to Ron and was gone.
"I got to go out again," said Chris. "Do you feel like taking a ride with me?"
"Where are we going?"
"To a telephone and to a Western Union office."
They went to the phone booth at the corner gas station and called California, but Peter still wasn't around. Then he wired some money out to San Diego. Since all of Peter's pot was fronted, it was better if he got a chunk of it back there as soon as possible. Chris decided that since it was late, he would use the Rahway Western Union office. He usually tried to spread the business around so that nobody recognized him as a regular.
Chapter 12
After Craig left on Sunday morning, Laureen went out to the pay phone at the gas station and called Warren in New York. She told him that Chris had been dealing a large quantity of pot out of the house. It had been the one thing that Chris and Warren had always been in agreement on: the only dope in the house should be what was used for personal consumption.
Warren was clearly angry. "Who did he sell it to?"
"Nat Rossi."
"How much of it was there?"
"A lot. Pounds I think. Craig knew what was going on. I mean I walked in and the house was reeking of pot and there was Ron, sitting in the living room smoking away."
"Wasn't Chris there?"
"He came in later on with this huge bag, and then he and Nat disappeared into his room, being about as obvious as possible about why he was there. Craig was getting nervous about it, so we left. Not everyone is as comfortable around drug deals as Chris is."
"It's going to have to stop. I'll take care of it. Don't you say anything to Chris about it."
"OK. I mean it's his house, you know? Maybe I should just move out."
"I'm beginning to see clearly now that Rahway is going to have to be changed. Either Chris has to stop or he has to go, and there have been more than too many people smoking dope around the place day and night. It's putting everything that we have in jeopardy. Are you going to be around for dinner tonight?"
"I don't know. Are you going to be there?"
"Art and I are coming out this afternoon."
"I'm going to visit my folks, but I'll make sure that I come back in time for dinner," said Laureen.
Chris tried to reach Peter twice more on Sunday. Both times Peter's brother asked when Chris was going to be coming out there with the rest of the money. Chris said that he would have everything collected and was planning on coming out there in no more than a week. Peter's brother said that Peter probably wouldn't be back from Mexico until then, but that everybody knew that Chris was coming out and that he should just call back with an arrival time, so there would be somebody around to meet him at the airport.
When Chris got back to the house, he saw that Warren and Art had arrived. He found the two of them sitting in the living room with Ron. Chris shook Art's hand and asked how things were going.
Art smiled and nodded his head. He stroked his beard and said, "Everything's fine, Chris. How are things going for you?"
"Everything's moving along," said Chris.
Warren cackled and said, "Yes, I hear that a lot of stuff has been moving."
Chris gave Ron an inquiring look, and Ron shrugged as if he didn't know what Warren was talking about either. Chris said, "I've got to go out for a while. I'll be back later."
"You just came in, said Warren.
"I was only down at the corner talking to California."
"And how's California?” asked Warren.
"Good. I'm going out there next Sunday."
Chris went back into his room, got his briefcase and left.
Art turned to Ron and said, "Tell me about the dreams."
"They're vivid and bright and make me feel like I'm taking a bath in warm, clear water. She's always in them and she's always saying something like ‘it's going to be OK and we'll be together again when we're both all right.’ We’re always touching, either we're walking along a beach or lying in bed. She's always comforting me, and I always feel her still inside of me when I wake up."
"She's certainly inside of you. The question is how to get her out."
"It's the time when I feel the absolute best of any point in the day."
"That's another reason why it's no good. Do you want to live your life with the high point of the day being when you're asleep?"
"I can't make the dreams stop."
"The dreams will change if you look at her more honestly."
"What does that mean?"
"Come on, Ron, don't play games. You know exactly what I mean by now."
"I don't think I do."
Warren said, "He means that some of this is acting. That you're enjoying some of the attention and leeway that people are giving you."
"That's what you think?” Ron paused and looked squarely into Warren Lashly's face. "Warren, I really didn't ask for your help. You offered it and I appreciate it, but I don't feel like swallowing shit in order to get it."
"We're trying to help you to stop swallowing shit, Ron," said Art.
"I know that I need to straighten some things out about myself before I'll really have control again. That's clear to me. What I'm having a hard time with is the notion that I'm possessed, and that Robin is some kind of witch or something evil."
"Look at the shape of you!" said Warren.
"I know, but how do we come to the conclusion that she's responsible for that. And how do we get around to the notion that this person that I've been living with for the last three years all of a sudden has become so powerful."
"Her power is relative to your weakness," said Art. "You're the one who needs to get stronger. The dreams are an example of your need to rely on her in order to be all right. Like you said, she's the one that is always saying that things are going to work out when you're both better or when you're ready for her, but she's the one who is always making the determination.”
"So, you're saying that I'm giving her the power to be like this by being weak."
"In effect, yes."
"So you don't really think that there's anything strange about her."
"I've never met her," said Art. "There's no way for me to tell you what she's like. All I have to judge her on is what you've told me and what you do."
Ron shook his head in agreement. "Warren, what about you? You know Robin. What do you think?"
"I think that you were lucky to get back here alive. I told you that. I think that you're far from out of the woods yet. I think that the major problem is that you've decided that your life is dependent on what she decides to do. That's too much power to give anybody."
"What I want to do is get her back. How do you think I should go about trying to accomplish that?"
"I don't think you can," said Warren. "I think that you're no match for her right now."
Ron put his head down and closed his eyes. "Well, I've got until Wednesday to get stronger, because I think that if I lose hold of her now, it's over."
"Ron," said Art. "Warren's point is a good one and you shouldn't lose sight of it. One of the things that has made you this weak is feeling that your life isn't your own anymore."
"I know what you mean," said Ron.
Chris didn't come back for dinner, and Warren seemed agitated about it. Laureen, Ruth, Art, Warren, and Ron sat down to eat at about 10:30.
Warren watched to see what Ron would put on his plate. He skipped the steak and took portions of salad, vegetables, French fries, and wine. "You need to eat meat!" said Warren with exasperation. He forked a slice of London broil and dropped it on Ron's plate.
"Warren, I told you that it makes me sick, and that I don't eat it anymore."
"Meat couldn't make you sick after not eating it for two months. Try some."
Ron stared down at the slice of meat. His mind flashed on the horrid images his imagination had produced as he was going past the Chicago stock-yards. Living things being brought to a place where their throats were slit. He'd decided that he wasn't going to be a part of it anymore.
Laureen was asking Art about the role intuition played in the analysis of dreams. Art was saying that intuition could be trained like any other voluntary part of the mind.
"You think intuition is voluntary?” she said.
"Yes. It can be directed. It can be denied. It can be enhanced."
Warren said that he didn't necessarily agree with all that. He said that intuition was a gift from the gods, and that it should be treated as such. Art countered that it was impossible to say what gifts the gods had given to us and how they were intended to be used. Laureen said that she thought that it was a gift that was best used by women, and that told her that it had to do with how well developed a person's interior life was. Ruth said that she thought that people either had it or they didn't. Ron stared at his meat.
Finally, Warren asked him what he thought about intuition.
"I don't feel like I have any right now, but at the same time I think that I'm living almost completely inside of myself. I think that I used to have it, but that I didn't know very much about where it came from or when to trust it."
"I think that your lack of trust pretty much illustrates the lack of an interior life," said Laureen.
Warren said that Ron was too confused right now to be an example of anything except confusion. Just as he was finishing his sentence, Chris came in the back door with two girls. One was a girl named Jade who Ron hadn't seen for a couple of years, and the other he recognized as her friend Carol. They were laughing and talking to each other as they walked into the kitchen. Chris was talking a little too loudly, the way he did when he was drunk.
"I thought you were going to be here for dinner?” said Warren.
"I guess that I kind of forgot about it," said Chris.
That put an end to the conversation about intuition. The eight of them huddled around the oval shaped oak table. Warren introduced Jade and Carol to Art, who seemed more than interested in Jade's smooth, thin face and body.
Jade picked up on Art's interest, blinked her eyes slowly and turned to him. "And what do you do?” she said.
"I'm an analyst," said Art.
"Has Warren made you the official Rahway analyst, or are you just here as someone's friend?” Jade stared at Laureen and smiled when she asked the last part of her question.
"Art's my friend," said Warren.
"That's a switch," Jade was slurring her words ever so slightly. "I didn't know that Warren had any friends that he didn't fuck."
"Take it easy," said Warren.
"Oh, I'm just teasing you, Warren. Isn't Rahway famous for being the place where you can talk about anything?"
Carol laughed, and Ruth said that she thought she would like to go to bed. Warren said that he was going to stay up for a while.
Jade called after Ruth, "Don't be like that. Everybody here has probably fucked everybody else at some time or other haven't they? I mean at least the men and women have, right Chris?"
"You're a little out of control," giggled Chris, after Ruth had left the table and Warren had excused himself, saying that he'd be right back. "Why don't we go into my room and smoke a joint. Anybody else who wants to come is welcome," said Chris bobbing his head in Ron's direction.
"I want to cum," said Carol laughing.
"We all know how much you like to cum, Carol," said Jade.
Chris got up from the table and the two girls followed him. Ron stayed there with Art and Laureen.
Laureen shot a fierce look at Ron. "Is he ever going to change? Is anything ever going to be more than a good time to him?"
"I don't know," said Ron. "I love him. You know that."
"But he's headed for trouble, Ron. Can't you see what he's doing?"
"I think that Chris usually knows exactly what he's doing."
"Then you're blind too!"
Chris walked back into the kitchen and said to Ron, "Aren't you going to come back in and smoke a joint?"
"Sure," said Ron.
Then Chris said, "Would you like to get high, Art?"
Art smiled and said that he was fine.
"What about you, Laureen?"
"Sometimes you're such a fool, Chris"
"Sour grapes," said Chris, smiling and snapping his fingers, he turned on his heel.
Ron stayed in the room while they smoked a joint. Then he said that he was tired and was going to bed.
"Why don't you just stay here?” said Carol.
"I don't think I'm up to it," said Ron.
"Are you still with Robin?” said Jade.
"Sort of."
"And you've decided to be a good boy now?” Jade was staring between his legs.
"I guess."
"Where is she?” said Carol, stroking the inside of his thigh.
"In Minnesota."
"Visiting?” She continued to stroke
"No, she lives there."
"And you're still faithful to her?” said Carol. "That's romantic. But, you know, she probably wouldn't mind you having a little bit of fun."
"Ron's too serious for fun," said Jade.
Chris laughed and said, "I wouldn't bet on that."
Ron was confused. About six years ago he'd panted after Jade, and she's told him that he wasn't ready for her. He had spent a night with her and Carol while Robin had been visiting Minnesota a couple of years ago and had been so guilty that he'd told Robin about it. They were a pair and he hadn't slept with anyone in months, but there was a voice inside of him that was saying that this wasn't the right thing to do. The person that he wanted to make love to was Robin and neither of these girls could ever be Robin.
Ron grabbed a joint from Chris's tray and said, "You guys have fun."
"This house just isn't as much fun as it used to be," said Jade.
Chris giggled and said, "Wanna' bet?"
Ron closed the door in back of him. The kitchen was empty. Ron could hear the muffled sounds of Laureen and Art talking in her bedroom. He went into his room, took off his clothes and lit the joint. He picked up his note book and began scribbling some lines to another song that he started, about Rahway this time. He wrote the title across the top of the page: Snake Garden Paradise. He puffed on the joint and began to write.
The song came out easily and he liked playing with the rhymes. Then he turned back to the pad of poetry that he was writing and began sliding the side of his hand across it. The conversations with Art and Warren came back to him. When they were here, Rahway felt like their playroom with the emotionally traumatized.
The doctor nods as if he hasn’t heard at all,
“But that wasn’t exactly the dream that you had?”
I went to a theater that was all closed-in
with half-filled rows of chairs
The work-lights came on and she started to move
The curtains stayed closed, and the audience took parts,
wearing cardboard masks that smiled or frowned.
She humped and rolled, saying her intentions were good
I got up to run, but I never did move
After Warren finished with Ruth, he came back out into the kitchen. He smiled when he heard the noises coming out of Laureen's room. He frowned when he smelled the pot coming from the room that Ron was in. He sat down at the table, filled his pipe, put his head against the wall and listened.
Chapter 13
On Wednesday evening Ron started to get ready to meet Robin at the airport. Everything else seemed to fade into the background for him. He wore a pair of jeans and a shirt that he'd laundered for the occasion. He turned down the joints that Chris wanted to smoke with him that afternoon. He avoided Warren's phone call by having Chris say that he wasn't at home. He asked Laureen for advice about what he should do.
"Don't come on too strong with her. Give her a chance to feel comfortable, and for God's sake lighten up a little," Laueen told him.
Art had left for Denver the previous day. Ron had called him in New York to thank him for all of his help. "I didn't do anything that you wouldn't have figured out for yourself if you'd had a little more time," said Art. "I just hurried things along for you a little bit."
On Monday night Warren had read to him from the Odyssey. It was the chapter where Odysseus went to meet Circe. He told Ron that he needed to keep his head clear and not be drawn in by her beauty or his desire for her. Ron thought about what everyone had told him while he was waiting for her in the airport. But most of all he remembered what Chris had said. "If she doesn't want you, it's her loss more than it is yours. She's not going to find somebody as good as you very easily.” Leave it to Chris to make him feel good.
He watched her plane land and followed it as it taxied over to the terminal. He stood off to the side as the passengers got off. He watched the people greet each other and wondered if she would be happy to see him. And then she was there. She walked into the terminal carrying a flight bag and a baggage stub in her hand. Ron could feel his heart begin to race. He walked over to her quickly. She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. They kissed each other warmly and then she held him at a polite distance.
"How are you?"
"I'm good. How was the flight?"
"Except for O’Hare Airport, which always sucks, it was great."
"You had a stopover?"
"They wanted an extra $75 for a direct flight."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm starved."
"Let's go get something to eat," said Ron.
They walked, each holding the other around the waist, down to get her bags. Ron reveled in the ease of motion that they had when they walked together. He told himself that he would never feel that good walking with another human being as long as he lived.
"How's everybody out here?” she said.
"They're the same," said Ron. "How are things back in Minneapolis?"
"A mess," said Robin.
Ron stared down at her eyes. They looked tired. Their green color seemed to have faded since he'd seen her last. "Where have you decided to stay?"
"With my mother. She's in Westfield again. She got an apartment over a car dealership."
They drove away from the airport and stopped at a diner on the highway. They'd eaten there together a bunch of times before. All of a sudden, Ron was also feeling very hungry. He ordered a tuna salad platter, while Robin had a club sandwich. At first they talked about Robin's mother in a little bit of detail. She told Ron about the falling down and about how she had been on a long binge. He countered by telling her about his mother and his aunt. He waited for her to bring up something real but she didn't. When they finished eating and were headed for his car, she again took his hand. Once in the car, he reached over and kissed her. She kissed back, but it seemed to Ron that she was kissing from a distance.
Ron was too impatient to let that happen. Why couldn't he see that she just couldn't think about them right now. “It feels like something from the past when I see you, Robin?”
"You make everything sound so final," she said.
"That's how it feels."
"If things get forced, sometimes the timing of them creates the outcome."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Not really anything. My mother's apartment is at the next corner. Will you come upstairs with me for a few minutes?"
Ron knew that she wanted him to be there with her when she saw her mother, because there was the chance that she would have to run out of the place. At first he told himself that he should turn her down. If she wanted her life to be lived alone, she couldn't just use him when she needed him. But then he reasoned that if she saw how much she really did need and rely on him, she might just figure out that they should be together. He parked the car.
The door to Doris Henkel's apartment was unlocked and the apartment itself was dark. Robin opened the door and called, "Mom, it's me.” At first there was no answer. She called again as they walked into the apartment and again as they entered the kitchen.
"Robin, did I hear you?" she said sluggishly slurred voice.
Robin glanced at Ron and mouthed the word "shit.” Then she said, "It's me. All the way from Minnesota… Come on out here, Mom."
"Come in here, Robin. I don't think that I can get out”
"How long do you figure you're going to be here?" said Ron.
"My flight back is on Sunday night."
In spite of himself, Ron slipped and said, "You're going to keep on living out in Minnesota, aren't you?
"I think so," said Robin.
"Because of Alex?"
"Because of me. I worked really hard to make Minneapolis my home and I don't think that I want to throw that away for anybody."
Ron felt sick. He wanted her to tell him that they were important. That it made some difference to her if they were together or not, and she just kept talking about herself.
She said, "Are you OK?"
"I'll be fine," said Ron.
"It's not because of you. It's got nothing to do with you really."
"That makes me feel better."
"I love you Ron, and you're very special and important”
Ron felt tears starting to congregate inside his head. He tried to take hold of his mind strongly to keep them away from his eyes. He saw her watching him. “But we're not going to have a life together, are we?"
She didn't answer at first. He was having real trouble keeping the tears in his head and out of his eyes now. He glanced at her profile from the corner of his eye.
Robin wished that he hadn't said anything to her about them tonight. She just wanted things to be pleasant and to just work themselves out, but she'd known all along that Ron wouldn’t be able to allow that to happen.
Her mother’s apartment was dark and when they knocked on the door, it opened. Robin called out twice before she heard her mother answer.
“I’m getting out of bed right now. I was fast asleep."
"Oh God," said Robin. She reached for Ron's hand. "Please don't leave yet."
"Go ahead, it's OK," said Ron. “I’ll stay.”
Robin walked through the hall that led past the bathroom and into the bedroom, turning on lights as she went. She reached the opening of the bedroom and flipped on the wall switch that she found there. Two naked, hundred watt bulbs shocked the darkened room. Doris shut her eyes and Robin looked around at the piles of clothes and the two empty bottles that she could see right out in plain view.
"Robin please! The light hurts my eyes. I never use the overhead light."
"Hi, Mom. How are you?” Robin stood frozen in the doorway and seemed somewhat transfixed by the scene. She wondered if this was always going to be the way that she found her mother. Then she moved over to the night table and switched on the lamp. She walked quickly back to the doorway and turned off the light.
"That's better," said Doris, opening her eyes and trying to focus.
"Ron's with me."
"Oh, for goodness sake, shut the door then, please. Tell Ron that I'm not feeling too well right now. Tell him that I'll see him tomorrow. Is he staying here too?"
"No," said Robin. "He just picked me up at the airport. He said that he wanted to say hello to you. I'll go tell him that you're really not up to it, and I'll be right back.” Robin shut the door behind her. For a second she wondered if she could stand to stay here with her mother. Then she told herself that she was being really silly. This wouldn't be any different than she remembered life with her mother before she and Ron moved in together. "She's really drunk," said Robin. "I don't think she's going to be able to stay awake for long. Do you want some tea or something?"
"Not really," said Ron.
"Will you come and get me out of here in the morning?"
"Yes."
She kissed him good night, and he left. She took her suitcase and opened it onto the couch, telling herself that it was only going to be for a few days.
Chapter 14
By the time Ron got back to Rahway, they were just starting dinner. Laureen, Ruth, Warren and Chris were at the table. When Ron walked in, Warren said that he should get himself a plate and sit down.
"I just ate," said Ron, "but I'll have a glass of wine and sit with you."
"Where's Robin?” said Laureen.
"She's at her mother's house."
"Is that where she's going to stay?"
"I guess so."
"How is she?"
"Beautiful."
Laureen laughed. "We know that you think she's beautiful, but how's she doing?"
"She seems fine. She'll be here until Sunday."
"The more important question," said Warren, "is how are you?"
“I' m OK.”
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. I don't feel suicidal. I don't feel too much of anything. I'm just OK."
"And where were you on the night of August 1st?” said Chris, mimicking that he was shining a flashlight on Ron's face.
Laureen laughed. Warren grimaced. Ron smiled. And Ruth, her oval face as hard as stone, said that she didn't feel like having much dinner and that she was just going to bed.
"Don't fall asleep in there," said Warren. "I want to talk to you about what happened today."
There was a tired tone in her voice. "Wake me up when come in, if you want to talk," she said. Then she left the table.
After Warren heard her close his door, he said, "She's upset about a patient of hers that died today."
"I don't know how she does it?” said Laureen.
"She's strong and she's a professional," said Warren. "But every once in a while it gets to her. Particularly if she thinks that the person should have been able to make it."
"Why don't you go and talk to her then?” said Laureen.
"In a bit. It'll keep. What I want to talk about, while everybody whose living here is together and alone, is the shape of things around here. As I see it I've got two choices. I can either have some changes made around here, or I can leave. I've decided, I think and I might be wrong, that changes are going to have to be made."
Chris put his fork down and leaned back with his head against the paneled wall. "What are you talking about?” he said.
"To begin with, I think that drugs here are completely out of hand. We had an agreement, Chris, that there wouldn't be any dealing in this house. You're jeopardizing everyone by what you're doing?"
"What am I doing?” said Chris, twirling the end of his mustache and bringing his foot up to the seat of his chair.
"You’re selling drugs and you're stoned all the time. You make it impossible to have anyone over here who doesn't want to be stoned all the time."
Chris looked at Laureen. "This is coming through you?” he said.
"What do you mean?” said Laureen in a shocked voice. "I'm hearing this for the first time too."
Chris stared at her but didn't say anything. "What else?” he said to Warren, without looking in his direction.
"I want band practice limited to no more than once a week, and I want to know in advance what day that's going to be."
Chris looked at him with disgust. "What else?"
"I want Ron out of here by the end of the month.” Chris looked over at Ron and back at Warren.
"I say that Ron can stay here for as long as he wants. What else?"
"I don't want the California people staying here when they drive out your shipments."
"What else?"
"That's it for now," said Warren.
"Are you sure?"
“Yes.”
"Well, you're always good for a laugh, Warren. To me, the solution to all of this seems really simple: you made the wrong basic decision. If this is how you feel, you should go.”
"I told you that I considered that and rejected the idea."
"Reconsider. Because, as I recall, we got this place together. You weren't in charge then and you're not in charge now."
"You've lost control of things, Chris. Can't you see what's happening?"
"I see what's happening. You're finally getting around to trying to run my life. And on top of that you're doing it like an asshole. That's what I see."
"Make the changes by the end of the month, Chris."
"Fuck you, Warren."
"Taking that kind of an attitude isn't going to help resolve this."
"I think," said Chris clasping his fingers and speaking very slowly, "that you don't really want to do this"
"I'm doing this for you. Do you believe that you've got a prayer of making it through law school with the way you ' re living?"
"I think that's my concern. When I want you to do something for me," he said imitating Warren's drawl, "I'll ask you."
"It's not just a question of you."
"I know that, Sheriff. You're doing it for the good the whole community and now you've enlisted the aid of a deputy."
"Chris, why are you trying to drag me into this?” said Laureen.
"Because darling, you're someplace near the bottom of it all.”
"That's not true!" said Laureen.
Chris stared at her and began to giggle. "You really thought that you'd slither on through here, didn't you?"
Ron stared at Warren and wondered why he was doing this and why he was picking now to do it. Wasn't there enough going without Warren complicating everything?
"Look," said Warren, "I realize that without the dealing that money will be tight for a while. Laureen and I talked out it, and we decided that if you straighten out your life, you can live here rent free."
Chris giggled again. "You did? I don't think that I can stand living with either of you now, and I'm paying for most everything. Imagine how great it would be to have the two you supporting me?"
"Warren, this just doesn't make any sense," said Ron.
"You're wrong about that. It's one of the best decisions I ever made."
"Right up there with coming north, huh Sheriff?” said Chris. This time Ron burst out laughing too.
"I can see that you're in no shape to discuss this any further right now," said Warren.
Laureen said, "I think I'm going to bed."
Chris and Ron laughed, and she left the table quickly. Warren said, "Maybe the two of us can talk this through in the morning.” And then he left Ron and Chris sitting at the table.
Chris looked over at Ron and said, "Well, this should be interesting."
Ron said, "Let's smoke a joint, man."
Chris went into his room and brought his pot tray into the living room. He handed it to Ron and went to the stereo and chose an Eric Clapton album. Warren was just getting into bed to begin talking with Ruth when the first lines of I Shot the Sheriff blasted from all four speakers. Warren clenched his jaw and stared at his closed door. "I'm dealing with children," he said to Ruth.
"Yes, you are. And the truth is that I'm a bit jealous because there's nothing left for me when I need some support."
"You've got a right to be upset," said Warren.
"But that doesn't mean that anything is really going to change, does it Warren?"
"I'm going to clean the house out."
"I don't care about the house. What about you and me?"
"I care about the house, and you do to. Sometimes it's difficult to keep sight of the things we care about."
Ruth gave Warren an ironic smile and said that she wanted to go back to sleep. When she turned over, she felt his hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and opened her legs.
Laureen lay on her bed and listened to the music. She thought about Chris and how stubborn he was. She told herself that he deserved what was going to happen because he didn't respect other people's feelings.
When the song ended, Chris got up carrying the joint and put the needle back on the beginning. He was thinking about what was going to happen next and decided that he would be in a better position to deal with this after he came back from California.
After smoking the joint, Ron wandered back out into the livingroom with his pad. He felt as if he could feel the house reaching out to him, encouraging him, telling him that he belonged there. He stared at the fireplace. It was empty except for some twigs. He took a piece of wood from the side and opened the flue. Everything was dry and caught quickly. It was a small fire, not like the ones that they had the rest of the year that blazed for hours and hours. Ron just needed to stare into the flames. Something that wasn’t good was going to happen here. He felt for the first time there that it might happen that Rahway would no longer be there for him. It would another door that closed. Just outside the picture window over the fireplace he could see that bird feeder swaying gently in the night.
Outside the window over our fireplace hangs a feeder:
I watch the birds come to eat, you watch the flame
We have different fantasies, but the feeling is the same
I watch the bird, you stare into the flame
We’re cross-eyed from our visions
When we’re together, ecstatic electricity
shorting out the pulsing in our veins..
We watch our imagination drown the bird in the flames
Chapter 15
Ron and Warren sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Warren had his clipboard and was making a list of things that he wanted to accomplish that day. Laureen and Ruth had gone to work and Chris had disappeared early that morning. Ron had wanted to ask Warren why he was included on the list of ultimatums. He didn't want to do it in front of other people, but now they were alone.
"I guess you were waiting to say what you said last night for a long time."
"I had been waiting too long. That's why it turned out the way it did."
"Why me?"
"It's not you. It's what you represent."
"What's that?"
"Drugs, instability..."
"That's what you think of me?"
"What I think of you isn't important. It's the effect that you and Chris have on each other. With you around, the party just won't ever stop, and it's very difficult to have a serious conversation with either of you when you're together."
"If it's about money, I still have a few hundred dollars left. I'll pay my share of things. I've always done that, Warren.”
"It's not about money. It's about this being my home and me being able to feel comfortable here."
"It's the wrong way to approach Chris. You know that."
"Chris knew what I was feeling and he chose to ignore those feelings, and now there just isn't room for any more compromise or discussion. I've told everyone what has to happen."
"But what makes you believe that you're in charge here?"
"I'm putting myself in charge. If Chris wants to contest that, he's going to get hurt badly. I'm not fooling around here. You should tell him that."
Ron was about to say that he didn't want to be placed in the role of a messenger when the phone rang. It was Robin.
"Hi, I'm at my father's in Elizabeth."
"How did you get there?"
"I took a bus over early this morning. Will you pick me up?"
"Sure."
"When can you be here?"
"When do you want to leave?"
"How about in an hour?"
"I'll be there."
He hung up the phone and came back to the table to find Warren grinning at him. "What are you going to do about her?"
"I don't know. When I heard her voice just now, I got best feeling I've had since I kissed her good night. That's the way it is for me. The feelings are really strong."
"You're lost."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your soul is gone. She's got it, and she isn't finished with you yet."
"I can't really believe that she would do me any harm on purpose."
"Then don't believe it."
"Why are you acting this way about Robin, about the house?"
Warren paused and thought about how to answer the questions. Part of it was Art leaving. Part of it was Ruth feeling deprived. Part of it was being forced to argue with Chris and knowing that Chris was correct when he said that Warren should be the one to leave. Very little, if any of it, had to do with Ron and his problems, which were a complication that Warren just didn't have the energy for right now, and which was less interesting to him than it had been a few days ago.
"I'm not sure what you mean, said Warren. "I'm doing what I know to be the right thing. If people are being made uncomfortable by it, then they'll have to deal with that the best way that they can."
"Chris was right about Laureen, though, wasn't he?"
"Look, I'll give you one last piece of advice, and then I want to get some things accomplished today. Don't get involved in anything between Chris and Laureen. There's too much history and too many truly deep feelings there, and you'll just get sucked in and chewed up into little pieces before you know what's happened to you."
"This whole thing is going to suck, big time, Warren. I don't know how it's going to turn out, but I dread it. I'll leave here, one way or the other, by the end of the month. You can have that. Why don't you just take it, ask Chris to cut back on his pot smoking, and declare victory. He knows that he shouldn't be dealing out of the house. We've discussed that dozens of times, but if you keep on like a dictator, things will get very bloody around here. That's my advice, for what it's worth. I've got to take a shower and pick up Robin."
"Are you bringing her back here?"
"I doubt it."
After he took his shower and had gotten dressed, Warren told him that he should feel free to bring Robin back there today if he wanted to. "I don't want you to feel like you've got to walk around here on eggs or anything," said Warren.
"I appreciate that," said Ron.
"Don't be afraid to let her know that she's hurt you either.”
"I don't know about that," said Ron. "Are you going to be here tonight?"
"I'm going into the city this afternoon. I don't know when I'll be back out."
"I'll see you then," said Ron.
Warren nodded his head and Ron was out the door. He got into the car and took his tape recorder out of the glove compartment. He removed the last tape he'd used on the way home from Minnesota and replaced it with a blank one. On the way over to Elizabeth, he talked into the microphone about how he wished that he could just take Robin and get away from the whole mess. “But then I'd just be running away again, wouldn't I? Warren's right about one thing: when you know what the right thing to do is, you have to have the courage to stand up and act on your beliefs and worry about whether they're right or wrong later on.” He paused. "Do I really believe that or is it just something that I think sounds real good. Is where any place in my life that I'm really strong enough to do that?” The answer came back to him quickly. "With Robin. I'm doing what I believe is right with Robin."
John Hinkle lived on the third floor of an old brick apartment building around the corner from the last place that Ron and Robin had shared. Ron didn't like to go there, mostly because her father was just as liable to be drunk as her mother was, and because her father's room mate was a double amputee who had lost both of her legs to diabetes and had kept on drinking. Ron couldn't figure out what John was doing there with her, but he suspected that it had something to do with her disability checks.
When Ron got there, the three of them were sitting in the kitchen having tea. Robin looked tense. John got up and asked Ron if he wanted something to drink. Ron politely refused. The apartment had a stale odor in it, and Ron was anxious to leave from the instant that he arrived.
"Robin's been telling me that you're going for a master's degree and that you've been teaching at your college.”
"That's true."
"Well I want both of you to know that I've decided to go to college and that I've been accepted."
Robin's face brightened until it had the look of a small girl. "That's great, daddy. What are you going to study?"
"I don't think that I'll be able to study anything, but I will be studied, that’s for sure."
"What do you mean?” Robin's face had a rapidly returning mask of tension.
"Let me show you.” He went to a drawer underneath one of the cabinets and took out a folded piece of paper and a plastic card. He handed it to Robin.
"You've decided to be an organ donor after your death, and you’re donating your body to a medical school, ” she said slowly.
"What kind of thing is that to show your daughter!" said the woman in the wheelchair. "Help me into the other room. It was nice to see you, Robin?"
John rose and helped her get the chair through the doorway to her bedroom. "I'll be right back," he said.
"We've got to be going anyway," said Robin.
When her father returned, they said good-byes and left. On the way down the stairs, Ron said, "Well, at least it's not like a holiday when we'd have to go to see both of my parents now."
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for coming to get me."
"Why did you leave your mother's so early?"
"I knew that you wouldn't want to have to do this with me, and I had to visit him."
"What should we do now?"
"Could we go down to the shore?"
“You know, I don't think that we ever did that together before."
"I know. I can't remember that last time that I saw the ocean, but I didn't really start to miss it until I couldn't have it."
They drove to her mother's apartment and she picked up her camera and a bathing suit. Ron had an old suit in the trunk of his car and felt saved that he didn't have to bring her back to Rahway. There wasn't any traffic on the road, and they got to the beach at Bradley in less than an hour.
"You know when I used to work nights, I would sometimes come down to the beach and sleep during the day."
"I wish we'd met then," she said dreamily.
"Why? I think I was more mixed up then than I am now."
"It was before the pot and before Rahway.” She paused and he absorbed what she said. "Do you remember when we first met?"
"Very well."
"I'd been watching you for a while. I remember that I liked your smile and how sure you were of yourself."
"I only thought that I knew what was going on."
"Sometimes that's enough."
"Only for a while. What did I do that made you want to hurt me so much?"
"Do we have to talk about that?"
"I'd like to."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand."
"Some things just happen, Ron, and you've got to learn to accept them."
"Why did you do it?"
"You mean with Alex?"
He glanced at her face and saw that she wasn't looking at him. She was staring out the window and was holding her arms across her chest. "To begin with, he kept pressuring me to tell you about us, and I couldn't figure out a way to do it. I didn't really want you to show up out there. After you got there, I didn't want you to leave. So, I decided that if you knew what was happening, you'd be so angry that you'd go and then I wouldn't have to make any decisions."
"It was that simple?"
"It wasn't simple at all."
"What I really want to know," said Ron, "is how you feel about me now."
"I don't know."
"What do you think?"
"It doesn't have much to do with thinking. I think that you press me to tell you things that I haven't decided about yet."
"But you've decided that you don't want us to be lovers?"
"Not right now."
"Does that mean that at some point in the future that you might want us to be together again?"
"I don't know."
"It just doesn't make any sense to me. I never knew how to love anybody before I met you and now that I love you, we can't be together. It seems really fucking unfair.” It happened before he realized it, and then it was too late. The tears were streaming down his face and falling onto his arm. She was looking at him now and there was a softness around her eyes, but her jaw and cheekbones were chisel hard.
"If you think that it would be easier for you if we didn't see each other at all, I would do what you wanted."
"You're still trying to get me to tell you to go away, aren't you?"
"Maybe," she said.
He found a place to park at the meters next to the boardwalk. She jumped out of the car and squealed, "Let's go on the beach!"
Ron followed her and watched the way she walked. The swing of her hips excited him, and the skinniness of her arms and shoulders made him feel as if she needed protection. She pulled the back of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into the front of her belt and then kicked off her shoes. She pranced down to the edge of the water and began to take pictures of the waves and the jetties. Then she turned and said, "Will you stand over there, so that I can take your picture.” Ron obeyed and stood with his back to the water. He grinned and posed for her.
They found a public bathroom and changed into their swimsuits. He pulled an old blanket from the trunk of his car and spread it out on the beach. When they lay down in the sun, he remembered again what it felt like to be next to her body, the way it had been in Minneapolis. She was right there but he couldn't reach out for her. He wondered what would have happened if he did. She wanted him to be strong? Maybe he should just overpower her and be done with it. Then he called himself an asshole and reminded himself that he wanted more than just to have sex with her again. He opened his eyes and looked at the contours of her ribs. He lightly brushed some sand from her ribs with his fingertips. She didn't move away.
"The sun feels so wonderful, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he said softly.
When they went into the water, they splashed each other and dove under the waves. They held hands and went out beyond the point where she could touch bottom. She put her arms around his neck and he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. The sun was strong and the water warm, and he was invincible again. If he just kept her out here, where she needed him, they would be together forever. "This is how I remember us," he said.
Her laughter faded and the smile disappeared. "Let's go to shore," she said.
On the way back home, he told her what was going on in Rahway. "It sounds to me like Warren has a good point."
"You should only wish that he was as charitable about you.”
"What do you mean?"
"He says that you're a witch whose taken my soul and eventually wants to kill me."
"What?"
"That's what he says"
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him about what happened with Alex out in Minneapolis."
"Why?"
"Because I needed help."
"And did Warren help you?” She spoke slowly, deliberately; phrasing the words like weapons.
"I don't know."
Her face was very hard now, and her arms were rigidly stiff, the way they were when she was on stage and had gotten nervous. "Who else did you tell?"
"Chris."
"What did you all do, have a good old fashioned Rahway discussion about what a bitch I was, and who I was sleeping with?"
"No, that didn't happen."
"I'll bet," said Robin. She turned away from him and didn't say anything else until they had almost gotten to her mother's house. "This is a mistake," she said. "Don't you see what's going to happen to us? We're going to destroy anything that we ever had that was any good."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, but you don't know how much you hurt me."
"Yes, I do," said Robin and she got out of the car. "I'm going to spend the evening with my mother."
"Can I call you tomorrow?"
"Only if you don't think that I'll steal your soul and hurt you so much that you want to die."
"I shouldn't have said anything."
"Look, I'll call you tomorrow,' said Robin. She grabbed her camera and her suit and walked into her mother's building. Ron watched two salesman through the store front under Robin's mother's apartment watch her walk by. He wanted to drive his car through their window and crush them. When he looked down, he saw that his hands were shaking and that he'd begun to cry again.
On the way back to Rahway, he spoke into the tape recorder again. He spoke slowly and felt the words coming from someplace inside of him that he really wasn’t sure was there.
We lay on the beach with no blanket. The repetition of the waves
brings on her sleep
I touch the soft backs of her thighs with the warmth my eyes feel.
My fingers brush sand on the traces of ribs
What was between us has left
space
Chapter 16
Laureen and Craig were sitting at the kitchen table drinking diet soda when Ron got to the house. Laureen met his eyes, turned away, got up, and said that she was going to take a shower, so that she and Craig could get going. Ron was putting together the fixings for a pot of coffee when he heard the shower start to run.
"How long do you know Laureen, Craig?"
"About three months. Why, how long do you know her?"
"We go back about six or seven years."
"What was she like then?” said Craig.
"More obvious."
"What's that mean?"
"Well," said Ron putting the flame under the pot, "maybe she wasn't any more obvious then. Maybe I've just been around her long enough to learn more of her maneuvers. You know?"
"No, what do you mean?"
"I guess I must have seen her go through at least twenty-five guys, and I'll be damned if she didn't leave everyone of them bleeding. But I'm sure somebody like you wouldn't let that happen. You know what I mean, the way she just draws you close and then scratches the shit out of you like an alley cat."
"That's a nice thing for a friend to say."
"Oh, it's nothing for you to feel threatened about, but I've seen her rip some guys up pretty good."
"And I'll bet you were one of them," said Craig with a condescending tone in his voice.
"No, not me. How do you think we were able to stay friends this long. Once you start fucking her, she seems to develop this need to take you apart, but she doesn't ever seem to get them back together properly. You know, like a kid with a clock syndrome or something."
"I don't believe any of that shit. It sounds to me like you must be stoned or something."
"That's probably it, but, you know, I haven't had anything to smoke in a couple days. You think the effects are that long lasting?"
"I never got the feeling that I was being taken apart."
"That's good," said Ron. "She'll probably change her whole approach to men because of you. That's probably what'll happen.”
"You're trying to fuck my head up, aren't you?"
"Not, really. I'm just making conversation while I wait for the coffee to perk. But ask her how she got the nickname Snake sometime."
When Laureen came out of the shower, she saw Craig sitting on the back porch looking depressed. Ron was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. "Do you know what time Chris is going to be back?” she asked Ron.
"Nope."
"I think he's having band practice tonight, isn't he?"
"I guess so."
"Did you see Robin today?"
"We went to the beach."
"How was that?"
"Great."
"I know you're pissed off, but there's more going on here than you've been around for, Ron. Chris isn't the together person that he makes himself out to be."
"Tell him," said Ron.
"You're just being stubborn," said Laureen. She went into her room and got dressed. Then she came back into the kitchen. "Craig and I are going into the city."
"Have a real good time," said Ron.
After they left, he got out his notes and starting working on the song he was writing about Rahway.
She was tall. She had black hair, a crooked nose and crocodile teeth.
I said to myself, 'Well at least she looks too mean to be diseased.’ He put down his pen and went for his guitar. He sang the new line of Snake Garden Paradise over and over trying to hear what would come next. Then it came:
I said, 'you're a bitch.' She answered 'I'm a goddess.' Like a fool I said, 'let's find out.’ Now he was ready for the new variation to the chorus. He wailed,
"Snake Garden Paradise. Uhhh! She makes it feel so nice. Playing Adam and Eve.
I had my own room, I never wanted to leave. If you come here more than once, you'll come all your life, To the Snake Garden Paradise."
That was it; the last stanza that he needed to put it together. He was singing it through for about the fourth when Chris came in.
"Hey man," said Ron.
"All right," said Chris. "Are you workin' on a new song?"
"I think I just finished it, but I need some help with the music. My music all sounds the same, you know what I mean."
"It's all in the same key," said Chris.
"Yeah... Flat.” said Ron. They paused and then both laughed. "let's smoke a joint in your room and I'll play it for you."
They went into Chris's bedroom and Chris tuned his guitar to Ron's while Ron worked on rolling a couple of joints. "It's about somebody going to a whore house for the first time," said Ron.
"Far out."
"His father sends him there. There is here and the starring whore is none other than our friend, the Snake."
Chris began to giggle. "Oh no."
They smoked about half of the joint and Ron said, “Why don't you finish that and just listen the first time."
Chris began giggling almost immediately. By the time Ron got to the new lines, Chris was laughing so hard that he had infected Ron, who had to stop playing. He lit the second joint.
"I think we should play it for the bitch along with a reprise of The Hypofesser Blues."
"How do you think of these things?"
Ron drew in on the joint and held the smoke in his lungs. "I owe it all to drugs," he said as he exhaled. Chris giggled some more. "I think I made sort of a pre-emptive nuclear strike on her this afternoon."
"What do you mean?”
Ron told Chris about what he'd said to Craig.
Chris began giggling uncontrollably again. Then he said, "Why did you do that?"
"Fuck her and the fizz-males like her," said Ron.
Chris slapped him on the back. "Well boy, it seems to me that you're well on the road to returning to your old vituperative self."
Ron laughed. "Where'd you disappear to today?"
"I had some business," said Chris, "and then I stopped by to see Wally Ventross."
"The landlord?"
"Yup. I paid next month's rent in my name. The Sheriff is going to have to deal with how that affects his new laws."
"Oh, man, Warren's not going to like that."
"Fuck him too," said Chris. "Are you going to stick around for band practice tonight."
"I don't know," said Ron. "It depends on if I hear from Robin."
At about seven o'clock, he called her mother's house, but Mrs. Hinkle said that Robin wasn't there. She said something about her going to visit a friend. Ron started to wonder which friend. Suppose she just avoided him and went back to Minneapolis? It really might be the last time that he saw her, ever. The thought disturbed him and made him pace back and forth in the kitchen. He was still pacing when he saw Robin standing in the doorway by his room.
"Hi."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything to anyone about us. I should have known that nobody would understand what was going on."
She was about to answer when Chris came around the corner and into the kitchen. He was smoking a joint. "R.H.," said Chris. "How are you doing?"
Ron noticed her flinch at the sight of Chris and fix her eyes on the joint when she answered. "Fine, Chris. How are you?"
"High," said Chris.
Robin gave him a nervous laugh.
Ron said, "We're going out for a while. We'll see you later.”
When they got into the car, Robin said, "Have you been smoking again?"
"Just a little," lied Ron. "Not like I was before."
"I thought you said that you'd quit?"
"Chris is real persistent, you know? But I've got it under control this time."
"Ron, you're addicted to that stuff. There isn't any way for you to have it under control."
"I'll be fine," said Ron. "Did you start to say something back at the house?"
"Nothing important," said Robin. She wondered why he couldn't see what the sight of him around drugs did to her, but decided that she'd lost that argument and given up that battle a long time ago and that it would be best for her to just let it go.
"What do you feel like doing?” said Ron.
"I don't know. Listen, what I came to see you about was that my plans have changed. I'm going back to Minnesota tomorrow night."
Ron looked stunned. "Why?"
"A lot of reasons. Mostly what it comes down to is that I really don't want to be here anymore. I don't belong here."
"Are you going back to Alex?"
"I'm going back to me. It's my home, my job, my life, my cat, and I miss them."
"OK."
"Staying with my mother isn't comfortable, and from what you've told me about what's happening in Rahway, and what the people there think of me, I certainly don't want to stay there."
"Are we going to stay in touch with each other?"
"I'd planned on it."
"What I need to know is how I fit into your life now?"
"You're very special to me."
"What does that mean?"
"Ron, do you really want to do this?"
"I don't know what I really want to do about anything. I don't know where I really want to live, what I really want to do or anything. The only thing that I do know is that I really want you, and I can't have you."
"You're going to kill everything we had because you just won't leave anything alone."
"I can't help it."
"I know."
"You used to respect my persistence."
"I respect you. I'm just not in love with you any more."
Ron felt the tears filling up his eyes at the sound of the words. He wanted to cry out "why not?” And tell her that she couldn't leave him, but none of that would have done any good. "You're going to wind up hating me, you know."
"I don't think so."
"It's going to become too much trouble to deal with, and I'm probably going to keep on saying the wrong things at the wrong time, just the way I'm doing now."
"I wish you'd stop the self-pity. It not something that I like seeing you do to yourself, and it isn't healthy."
Ron spoke fiercely. "It's not self-pity. It's you and me and it's dying, and I think it sucks that it's dying. You're not ever going to find someone who loves you as I do."
"Then I'll learn to be alone."
"Now who's doing the self-pitying?"
She gave him a sharp look.
"It feels shitty when somebody says that to you, doesn't it?” said Ron.
The car was quiet. Ron didn't know where to drive, but he didn't know where to stop either. It was dark now and a large, harvest moon had risen in the sky. He wanted to drive toward it. He wanted to show her something that she'd never seen before, something that would overwhelm her so much that she couldn't stand the thought of not being with him. "The sky is beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes,” she said. She took hold of his hand and kissed his fingers.
Ron’s mind slid through scene after scene of their time together as they rode in the car. Their favorite plays, their favorite books, their favorite places. Each of the scenes flashed in back of his eyes, and then he glanced over at her and she seemed to be seeing them too.
After he dropped her off, the voice played in his head. They had loved Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolfe but it had scared them too.
When George and Martha had their kid,
they gave it shape and form between them
and kept the thing from the outside
Sad, sad George and Martha
So much stronger than you and I
Each with a child lost inside us.
Chapter 17
Rahway was so packed with cars that Ron had to find a spot on the street. The band was playing Brown Eyed Girl and the rooms were shaking with the music. Laureen was sitting at the kitchen table, chain smoking and drinking diet soda. She hated the band and usually tried to avoid the house on practice nights, but after the argument that she wound up having with Craig, and after he told her what Ron had said, she was loading up and waiting for him. She thought that she heard the bells on the back door, but she couldn't be sure. Then she saw him. She got up from the table glaring at him and said, "Come outside, Ron. I want to talk to you.” They sat down on the back porch. “You rotten bastard! How dare you say anything about my personal life to a man I'm seeing."
"I didn't mean to upset him," said Ron with a half grin that he was trying to restrain.
"You lousy fuck. You knew exactly what you were doing, and I know exactly why you did it. It wasn't any of your business.”
"Really," said Ron lightly. Then he let his face turn dark. "Maybe I'm too fucked up to understand, but I think that Warren is trying to throw me out of this house, and I think that you decided in your sick, little mind that somehow you were just doing the right thing for Chris. And the fact that you're screwing everybody around, coincidentally to your own advantage, is the fault of fucking fate or something."
"That has nothing to do with what you did. Do you know how many women I watched you take advantage of before you met the one who you couldn't and decided that it must be love? I never interfered. I stood by and let you fuck my best friends when I knew that you didn't give a shit about them."
"What do you figure that says about you?"
"I trusted you, Ron, and you shit all over me."
"It was payback time and to tell you the truth it was pretty mild. I'm sure that what I told him couldn't be the truth."
"Fuck you, Ron. I'm getting out of here until you and Child of Woodstock get what you both deserve, but I'll never trust you again."
"Do what you want, but maybe you should think a little about why you decided to snake out on Chris. And maybe you should look at who you're lining up with and whether you're only doing it because you think that it will work out to your advantage."
"I don't need to hear any of this from you.” She got up and went into the house. She closed the door to her room and began to pack her things.
Ron lit a cigarette and listened to the band, which had now shifted over to Moondance. Ron thought that they sounded pretty good. He liked the piano and Chris on the flute. He thought the drums needed more of a variety of loud and soft, and he couldn't hear the bass at all, but, on the whole, he didn't think that they'd embarrass themselves. Everybody would have a bunch of fun listening to them on Saturday.
After Laureen finished packing, she called Warren in the City. "I'm leaving," she said.
"Why?"
"Because this house sucks with Chris around, and Ron pulled some very nasty shit on me.”
"What did he do?"
"I don't want to get into it now. Where are you going to be this weekend?"
"In Boston."
"Would it be all right if I came in and stayed at your place?"
"Do you want to come in tonight?"
"Is Ruth there?"
"No, she has to work in the morning."
"Can you pick me up at the train station?"
"When are you leaving?"
"Now."
No one heard Laureen leave, and there wasn't anyone that she wanted to say good-bye to. She went out the front door so that she wouldn't have to run into Ron again. She walked the half-mile to the train station feeling like a refugee, and cursing Chris because he was so blind all the time.
When the band finished playing, they began to party. Three of them had brought girls with them who sat in the living room through the entire ear-shattering practice. Ron heard voices and sounds of the instruments packing up and decided that it was safe to go in. He recognized almost everybody. Pete, the drummer, had shown up with Jade, who he thought was his new main thing. Pete shook Ron's hand and Jade slipped him a condescending smirk. Ron glanced at Pete and smirked back at her. Rex, the keyboard guy, was there with his fiancée. She looked completely out of place in polyester slacks, a frilly blouse, and a copy of Bride's Magazine, but when she got up to walk across the room, Ron noticed that she a great ass that moved with a captivating motion. The other girls noticed that all the guys stared at Dina's behind as she shook it on her way to the bathroom. Joey, the snitch that had given Chris's name to the cops when he'd gotten busted, was playing guitar. He had a new girlfriend named Carol whom nobody, except for Chris, had anything good to say about. The bass player was a stranger, and Ron didn't bother to get his name.
"Did you hear us?” said Rex.
"I was listening to you,” said Ron.
"The dead also heard you," said Jade.
Rex considered what she said and turned to Ron. "Do you think that we're too loud too?”
"It's hard to say in a small room like this, but you guys definitely had it cranked up."
"Bar bands got to be loud," said the snitch. "I heard a lot of bands that would drown us out."
"That's why Clapton is going deaf," said Rex.
Then they began drinking and smoking in earnest. Ron grabbed hold of a couple joints, wandered off into his room.
He lit the first joint and sat listening to the sounds that came from the people in the other room. They were far enough away to not be distinguishable as specific words and phrases, but the background noise that they offered was like music.
The house always felt right when it was filled with people. Whether it was Warren holding one of his classes in the livingroom or having on of his Sunday night discussions, or Chris just plain having fun, the house accommodated a large group well and seemed to breathe so easily when it was full. The converse was also true. When it was empty, the creaks and silences could be frightening to some of the people there.
Ron loved it both ways. When it was frightening to others, it seemed to embrace Ron, and he was able to give himself over to it, to open his mind and his heart to the place and let it inside of him.
Here, there are mirrors where there is no glass.
Where objects have been handled or gazed at so long that they have their feeling,
reflecting but unable to give you the settled ease of things
comfortable with their place
Where there are no noises, there are shadows
who speak their darkness through the silence that has made them
Ron stared at what he’d written and drew in on the joint. He wondered if the house tried to tell a story through him. He wondered if he and Robin, their time together was as connected to this place as he thought that it was. If he was right and it was, it shouldn’t be lost him that she now hated Rahway and saw it with a jaundiced eye.
Warren picked Laureen up at the train station and they drove back to his apartment. They opened a bottle of wine and began to talk about Rahway.
"Chris isn't going to change until he's ready," said Laureen. “And I don't think that he's anywhere near ready. Something has to happen that shocks him into seeing what's happening to him."
"My hope is that damage which he can't recover from doesn't occur.”
"He's never going to understand or agree with your stand, Warren. Believe me, he'll see it as a contest that he's being challenged to and just try to figure out what he's got to do to win."
"What about Ron?” said Warren
"I don't care about Ron. He's hopeless and now he's becoming vindictive."
"Ron's brighter than you think."
"He's bright, but he's got such a distorted picture of himself that if he ever makes a correct decision, it's by luck. He thinks of himself as this street-wise city kid and he doesn't realize that he lost that point of view a long time ago. He thinks that there's something he can do to make things right with Robin and she's gone for good."
"As his lover," said Warren, "you're correct. But she isn't finished with him yet. She wouldn't have followed him out here if she was."
"I think she came out to see her family, and Ron's a good taxi."
"There's more to it than that, but mostly you're right. The thing that I want to talk about is the house. I think that it'll probably become necessary to put Chris out. It would be better if he left on his own, but I don't think that will happen."
"He paid next month's rent, you know?” said Laureen.
"The whole thing?"
"Yes."
"That was a mistake. Now he's going to force me to up the stakes and I had hoped to keep things as friendly as possible. Anyway, after Chris and Ron are out of there, I'd like you to move in."
Laureen grinned. "You would?"
"I think that what we share is a common vision of what Rahway could be, and I think that we can work toward that together."
"Who else?” said Laureen.
"I don't know yet. We can work that out after we finish up this business with Chris."
"Warren, I don't think that I would like living with you and Ruth there."
"There's no chance of me moving Ruth in. That would make everything very crazy, and I'm looking for a little sanity in my life for a change. Besides, I think that the people who live in the house shouldn't sleep together."
Laureen smiled and poured some more wine. "Warren?"
"Yes."
"Wanna fuck?"
Warren flashed a Southern grin and drawled," I think that we should talk about some things first."
"Warren, get your cock out. We'll talk later on."
Chapter 18
Robin began to relax when the plane leveled off. She couldn't say that the visit had gone well, but she'd gotten through it. She felt more free from New Jersey and her old life there than she'd ever been before. In that sense, she told herself, it had been a success. She'd told her mother and father that it would be some time before she'd be able to afford to visit again. Ron had been very quiet, and she'd been able to kiss him good-bye and leave before he'd really been able to start in on her again. In short, she was quite alone and excited about her state of affairs.
Minneapolis would still offer some complications, but she felt that she had a handle on what should occur there as well. It was time for her to grow up and that meant that, for a time, she should be alone and get her bearings and learn to be by herself. She was happy to be rid of Alex. She didn't feel good about what had happened with Penelope, but, she told herself, that growing up included making mistakes and some parts of maturing were sad. Penelope was one of those, but she wasn't going to let that bother her anymore.
She thought about how happy she would be to see Leni, and how good it would feel to make dinner in her own kitchen. She'd take a shower and eat and then curl up with a glass of wine and a book and let the tension that was afflicting her body ebb out of her. People presented problems. The people that she knew seemed to want so many things and be so insistent on getting them. The last few months had convinced her that trying to give people what they wanted was impossible, if she wanted anything of her life to be left for her. Perhaps her mother blamed her for the way life had turned out, and wanted her to continue to be the parent of an aging alcoholic. Maybe her father really did delight in building her hopes up, and then tearing them down with cruel jokes. And suppose Ron did want her to think that she was a cruel and heartless bitch? What she had learned was that she didn't have to give in to any of them. What she had learned was that as long as she tried to live up to people's perceptions of her, she would be perpetually unhappy. Growing up meant that she had the right to create her own happiness without anyone's approval and it might seem to others that she was late in learning that lesson, but that wasn't important either. The only thing that was important was that she kept her personal goals square in her sights.
* * *
Convinced that he would never see Robin again, Ron watched the plane take off and told himself that he had severely blown the best thing that ever happened to him. He was aware of the movement of everything around him as he walked out of the terminal and back to his car. He stared up at the large, full, moon that illuminated the August sky and told himself that he had earned a scene somewhere in the magic story of love. Now it was his job to capture and relate what he had learned. It was true that he couldn't have her, but he could have the story of him and her, and he could transform what he felt into a work of art. Something special had happened, and now he could make something else special out of it. He told himself that this was what it felt like to be an artist. Robin was no longer his lover, but now she was his muse. It was like a new beginning for them, and what made this almost better was that no one could take it away from him.
He drove to Rahway and told Chris about his realizations. Chris exhaled from the joint they were smoking and shook his head.
"You might not want to give yourself more reasons for thinking about Robin than you already have."
"It won't matter if I'm able to write songs and poems about it, man. Otherwise, it was all for nothing. Everything that I know about her will be nothing more than empty knowledge."
“You’re going to do what you want to do anyway," said Chris.
"Do you think I'm being stupid?"
"I think that you're probably going to make things harder for yourself, but who knows? That just might be your way."
The band's concert was the next night, and the guys had spent the afternoon and evening in a marathon practice session that had been all business. Chris was feeling ready and had made arrangements to make the weekend one of the best of his life. Directly after the gig, he was going to drive himself to the airport and be off to San Diego. He was bringing his guitar with him, along with more than $20,000. The deal was over and had moved along as smoothly as an untravelled interstate. The ride was going to do everyone a world of good. Mercifully, Warren was spending the weekend in Boston and Snake had moved out, writing him a note that said that she loved him, but that it was evident that he didn't want her around any more. He couldn't fault her accuracy, but there was something about Laureen having another bad experience around him that gave him an uneasy feeling. There was only so much good karma that could be maintained in the face of negativity.
Chris went to bed early that night. Ron said that he wanted to write and disappeared into his room. It was just as well. Chris turned on the TV and lay in bed. At about ten o’clock that night he decided to call California, but Peter's chick said that he wasn't due back from Mexico for another four or five hours. "What's he doing, buying a house down there?” said Chris.
"I don't know what he's up to," said Lonnie, "but everybody is expecting you out here and we'll meet you at the airport. Good luck with your concert. I'm sure you'll be a hit."
Chris smiled into the phone and twirled his mustache. Idly, he wondered what Lonnie was like in bed. She was a hard lines brunette who loved good dope and horses. Chris imagined that she was also hot and solid in the sack too. Peter wouldn't have put up with anything less.
Ron sat in the room looking over what he’d written so far. He played through the tape-recorded monologues that he’d made. There were pieces there, little snippets, but nothing seemed unified yet. He told himself that the thing to do was to keep on writing. What it meant that it didn’t make any sense yet was that he hadn’t gotten to the place where it made sense yet, nothing more. He had to trust that it would make sense if he kept working at it. He believed that it would more than he had believed in anything since he’d been a child. In some strange way, this writing, this poetry thing was like being a child all over again each time he created a poem.
Images, he wanted images. Images of Minneapolis… Images of the time there when they were in tune with what was around them; when he felt himself reaching out to the world and felt the world reaching back for him.
Walking through the parking lot
to the botanical garden and the zoo
arms and hands locked together.
We went to the half-acre cage where they kept the wolves:
One white male with dog sad eyes and yellow green teeth
twitching his ears at the summer flies
in hopes of a piece of meat.
One elephant held to a tree by a chain
that clanks beneath each step…he walks round and round.
The buffalo won’t move an inch, make a sound or blink.
The monkeys are modeled on New York City,
packed in and surrounded by a moat.
Some shout to the people outside,
Shouting among themselves,
Moving with the business of the tribe,
Some asleep and some silent.
The imported gardens,
screaming with flying song and mumbling trees that reach up to a glass covered sky;
and the garden statue,
with her smooth body and surprised face,
holding up her hands for water.
The next day was a waiting game, but Chris knew how to wait. If the years of dope dealing had taught him anything, it was how to be patient and not rush things. He had a good breakfast at a diner with Ron and then he came back to Rahway and took a nap.
The guys in the band began to arrive at about five o'clock. Chris had been fooling around with his flute for about an hour and felt good about the way it felt in his hand and at his mouth. The notes seemed particularly clear and he was able to hear himself with an unusual clarity. It was going to be a good night.
By seven o'clock they had arrived at Pistol Pete's and were setting up. Everybody was up and excited. The sound checks and tuning took a bit longer than usual, because of nerves and a desire to make everything more than just OK.
The stage was small but the lighting was good. Chris looked out at the empty room and wondered if this was the beginning of something big or just another pipe dream, what Ron called ‘going to hunt tigers in Africa before they were extinct.’ They were due to begin their first set at nine o'clock and play forty minutes on and twenty off until the place closed at two a.m. The band had compiled four sets of music, which meant that the last two would be mixes and matches of the tunes that had gone the best. Chris would be singing the first song and that did make him a little nervous. The song reminded him of Laureen. He wondered if she would be there to hear it.
The band started like a sprinter at a marathon, pouring every bit of energy they had into the first song. Chris strained to keep his voice on key and in time with the music. He was happy when “Brown Eyed Girl” was over, and he could slip back into the flute background on “Moondance.” The band finished their first forty-minute set in just under a half an hour. The guys turned around and looked at each with an expression of ‘what happens now?’ The crowd had been enthusiastic but mainly consisted of their friends, who were cheering loudly at every available occasion. At the moment of indecision, Chris stepped up to the mic and said that he was going to introduce the band, and that they were going to close their first set with a blues jam. Pistol Pete winced. People didn't come to hear jams, they came to listen to songs that they knew. He wondered if he'd made a mistake by using amateurs and banking on their friends drinking enough to make his night. Chris ended the loosely organized and sometimes painfully redundant jam by saying, "I'm Chris Calvin and we're Pantheon. Tell your friends about us.” The crowd cheered as the guys laid down their instruments and jumped down from the stage. Pistol Pete looked at his bartender and grumbled, "They've got every friend they know in the world here already, and they're not drinking. Did these guys bill this as a free show?” The bartender shrugged and paced the bar, refilling an occasional beer.
The second set was better. The guys were more settled down and some of Pistol Pete's regulars had arrived. Stones music always went over big in bars and the guys had been right to fill their entire set with standards. Pistol Pete relaxed a little and even began to smile.
By the third set Pete was chuckling. His place was packed and the band was belting out a combination of Beatles tunes and Motown dance music. Pistol Pete loved it when people danced because when they danced they drank. Chris was feeling euphoric. He could make out some of the faces in the crowd, but it all seemed to spread out in front of him like a friendly ocean. Nobody heard their mistakes or seemed to react to them, and the guys in the band were beginning to display some showmanship.
During the fourth set Chris began to feel the effects of the seven or eight beers that he'd consumed on a fairly empty stomach. The guys had decided to simply replay the first set because they were sure that it would sound so much better that it would be different. Chris was loose at the mic for Brown Eyed Girl. His eyes roamed the crowd and found smiling female faces everywhere.
Sitting at the end of the bar for the entire night, Ron was a soda-drinking mixture of envy and satisfaction. Chris deserved this, but secretly Ron had hoped that at some point Chris would have invited him up to sing one of the songs that they had worked out at Rahway. During the next to last set an exotically thin, short-haired girl had slipped into the seat beside him. She was smoking long slender cigarettes and drinking rum and cokes. Ron could have sworn that she was familiar but couldn't remember seeing her anywhere. Then she swung round on him with an easy, graceful motion and said, "You're Ron Tuck, aren't you?"
Ron's mouth fell open. He managed to say, "Yes."
"Warren Lashly told me quite a bit about you, but I didn't really expect you to be here. I'd heard that you were someplace out in the Midwest."
"I was but I came back."
"Did you enjoy the Midwest?” Her eyes were fantastic. A spread of warmth from her smile was filling him and the rest of the bar was fading out quickly.
"No," said Ron. "I belong around here. Things are too simple out there. I guess I'm jaded because I really seem to enjoy complexity and congestion. Who are you?"
She smiled. "That's right! We've never met, have we? I know enough about you to feel like I've known you for years. I'm April."
Ron flashed his grin. "And how is it that you know so much about me, April?"
"Warren says that we're doubles."
"He never said it to me."
"I don't think that he wanted us to meet. He was always very protective of who he introduced me to."
"Do you know these guys?” Ron gestured up at the stage where “Wild Horses” was being played for the third time that evening.
"Only Chris."
"What do you think?"
"Their awful, aren't they?” said April grinning back at him and pressing the tip of her pointed shoe against his leg.
"They're OK," said Ron. "This is their first gig."
"Do you think they'll get another?"
Ron laughed. "I don't know. Anything's possible."
"Would you mind driving me back to Rahway?"
"Warren 's in Boston."
"Is he?"
"He left yesterday. I'm the only one there tonight."
"Would you like some company?"
Ron felt his throat tighten. He was being picked up. It was the first time in his life that he could remember something like this happening. "Sure."
"Can we leave after this set?"
"If you'd like."
"I've just got to tell someone on the other side of the room that I won't be leaving with him," said April. "It will only take me a minute."
Ron watched her walk away. She moved like pure class and he shook his head in wonder at what she found to be so interesting about him.
She returned more quickly than he expected her to. "Take me out of here now, and I'll love you forever."
Ron flashed his best grin and threw down a tip. He felt her reach for his hand as they made their way through the crowd and out onto the street.
"There isn't any food back at Rahway. Do you want to stop for something on the way?"
“I don't really like to eat," said April. Ron felt jolted from someplace inside of him, and he grinned his very best dimpled-grin.
"Do you know that your eyes are very bright?” said April.
"No,” he said and lowered his lashes for the compliment.
"They're alive, and I get the feeling that they see everything and understand much more than you ever let on."
"That's a wonderful thing to say," said Ron. "I'm not sure that I believe you, but it makes me feel very good to hear it."
When they got into the car, she moved next to him on the seat. "So tell me what Warren's told you about me,” said Ron.
"He says that you're stronger than most men that he's met, and that you're probably going to be a great teacher some day."
"Warren said that?"
"He also says that you're horribly compulsive, and that he's convinced that you're self-destructive."
"I believe that he said that. How is it that you and Warren have spent this much time talking about me?"
"I already told you. You're my double."
"I know this is going to sound pretty stupid, but I don't know what that means."
"You're a Gemini, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's one thing that absolutely brings us together."
Ron's head spun as they drove back to the house. This was beginning to feel eerie. Things like this just didn't happen to him. "Who were you at the bar with, April?"
"A guy."
"A date?"
"Sort of. But he wasn't anybody that I cared at all about."
When they got to Rahway, he led her into the kitchen and took a good look at her. She was wearing a tan silk blouse, a tight leather necklace and white cotton slacks that looked very expensive. "Do you want some wine?” said Ron.
"Yes," she said over her shoulder as she went into the living room.
Ron brought the carafe of wine into the living room and found April looking through the record albums. She picked out one of Warren's classical pieces and put it on the turntable.
Ron sat on the couch, watching the way that she moved and thinking that she was far too elegant for him. She sat down next to him and took the glass of wine. "Tell me about your friend Robin," said April.
"Robin!" Ron blinked like someone who had been shocked and stared ahead blankly for an eternity of seconds.
"That's her name, isn't it? The girl that you live with."
"We aren't together anymore," said Ron. He stared at her again. The mention of Robin's name had changed everything. Now her face appeared a bit insect-like, and Ron noticed that she had an overbite. "There isn't too much to tell. We were together for four years, and then she moved away. I tried to move out there this summer, but things were different and I came back."
"Then the two of you are finished with each other?"
"I believe so."
"That's good to know," said April.
"Why?"
"You're an attractive man, Ron, and I want to get to know you better, but you know how complicated things get if there are jealousies involved."
"I don't think that's much of a problem, but I'm not sure that someone like you would be that interested in me."
"Why do you say that?"
"You're very sophisticated, April."
"Isn't it disgusting? I've been doing my best to get away from it from the time that I first realized that it was true.” She brought her face very close to his and licked her lips. She put her hands inside his shirt and slid them across his chest. "You have a beautiful face and very smooth skin, Ron."
Ron couldn't believe what happened next. He wasn't even sure what made him do it, but he pulled away from her and said, "I'm not ready for this, April. My head is spinning, and a few minutes ago I felt that my cock was going to hemorrhage at the very sight of you."
April smiled and looked down at the bulge in his pants. "That's so sweet. I can't remember when anyone ever told me that the very sight of me was going to cause them to have an orgasm."
"It's just my body. It doesn't understand emotion yet. I'm hoping that it matures past adolescence at some point in the future, but there's no indication of it at present."
April laughed and lightly rubbed Ron's bulge. "You're priceless," she said. "I'm not going to tease you anymore, but I would love to have that thing of yours explode."
Ron smiled. He hadn't allowed himself to even think about an orgasm since the first night in Robin's bed when he had rubbed himself on her behind, and she had stiffened and moved away from him. "This is like a very weird dream, you know?"
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just being selfish and a bit insensitive. I'm going to sleep in Warren's room tonight. Come in whenever you want."
Having said that, April got up and, carrying her glass of wine, went into Warren's room. She left the door open and began to undress. Ron sat there paralyzed. Then he went into the bathroom and took a shower. Naked and wet he went to Warren's doorway and knocked on the open door. She was lying on her back. "Come here and lie down, Ron.” He obeyed, and she took some oil from the night table beside Warren's bed. "I just want you to relax.” Ron closed his eyes and lay very still as she started to message his feet. "Do you know what Rolfing is?"
“No,” he said, “but you can do it.”
"It's a kind of erotic message that teaches that the feet are the center of the body's sensitivity. She took the knuckle of her index finger and pulled it along the bottom of his foot very firmly. "This breaks up calcium deposits," she said.
Ron’s feet felt they’d been opened up with a drill. He grimaced but fought successfully to allow himself to not pull away. His brain kept trying to whisper, relax!
When she finished with his feet, she oiled his legs and his ass, then his back, neck, arms and fingers. "Now turn over so that I can finish you off.” Ron did as he was told, and she oiled his cock and balls and rubbed them until they were very hard and tight. "Do you like to watch women play with themselves?” she said.
"I don't know," said Ron.
"Now you're not allowed to touch yourself or me in any way. Just lie there and watch. She straddled him and Ron gasped at the sight of her fully shaved pussy. "I dislike body hair on a woman, don't you?” Ron nodded and gaped as she spread herself and ran two of her fingers along the sides of her labia. "What do you like to call a woman's vagina, Ron? I mean cock fits a man so well. I prefer calling it a cunt to calling it a pussy."
"Cunt is fine," said Ron, stammering and then answering very fast.
She smiled down at him. "You like cunt, too? Well just watch my cunt Ron and I'll put on a little show for you.” She rubbed herself back and forth for a long time. "I'm almost there, Ron. Now I'm just going to put your cock in me and let you finish me off. Is that OK?” Ron nodded again. She squatted over him. "Now I'm just going to sit on it very slowly, because it’s very big and hard and I want it to go all the way in me. Remember, you're not allowed to move.” Ron closed his eyes and felt the lips of her cunt on the head of his cock. Then he felt her slide down his length with an exquisite slowness. A groan escaped from him and his hips bucked involuntarily. She slapped his face and whispered fiercely, "Lie still Ron and hold it as long as you can.” She continued to go up and down very slowly. Ron saw her thighs start to shake and looked at the leather collar that she'd left on when she threw her head back and moaned loudly, but she didn't move any faster. If anything she slowed down even more. For two or three luxurious minutes the slow motion continued. Then April said, “You've been so good, but I think you shouldn't wait any more. She raised herself off of him and knelt on the floor beside the bed. Ron's cock was more swollen and purple than he'd ever seen it before. "Now just relax and let everything go.” She took two fingers and began to go up and down very quickly and lightly. Ron felt the orgasm start in his balls. He felt his cock get more unbelievably hard than he'd ever remembered it being. At first clear liquid began to seep out of the little hole in the top. April put her whole palm on the shaft and began to move it furiously. "Here it comes, Ron! Here it comes!" It shot out in long, hot splashes that continued forever. She continued to rub, and it continued to squirt as he moaned with his eyes closed, and his head pressed back into the pillow. Then it oozed and finally it dribbled.
Ron felt like he was losing consciousness. When he heard her say, "I think you really needed that.” He nodded and passed out. When he woke up, April was gone. There was a note on the refrigerator. "I had to leave. You're extraordinary. I'll find you again."
Chapter 19
Chris's plane landed in San Diego at seven in the morning, West Coast time. Lonnie and Harry were waiting for him at the terminal. They looked uneasy. Chris knew that neither of them liked airports very much, but that had more to do with the nerves that were connected with their early days of carrying pot in flight bags.
"Where's Peter?” said Chris.
"Let's talk in the car," said Lonnie after she kissed Chris hello.
"Did you have a good flight?” said Harry.
"I slept most of the time," said Chris.
Harry looked a lot like Peter; the same lanky hard build and the same streaky blonde hair and the same nervous energy. He drove the Mercedes that was parked on the Incoming Flights ramp and had gotten a ticket for being there too long. "You know, it's fuckin' worth the $25 not to have to hike all the way out to the lots that they have around here," said Harry as he crumpled the ticket into the glove compartment.
"Is Peter at the ranch or the beach house?” said Chris happily. The warm sun and the expectation of California were raising his spirits quickly.
Lonnie took hold of his hand. "Chris, there's something that we need to talk about before we get to the house."
"What's happening?"
"Peter isn't here any more.”
"What do you mean?"
"He overdosed, Chris," said Lonnie.
"How is he? I mean he isn't...
"He's dead, Chris," said Harry. "We cremated him on Thursday. The coroner fucked us around with an autopsy and everything, Chris."
"He's dead?"
"Nobody really knows how it happened," said Lonnie. "We found him out at the ranch."
"He's dead?"
"We wanted to tell you, Chris, but we couldn't. You know how it is."
Tears rolled out of Chris's eyes, and he brought his hand up to his mouth. His mind instantly produced an image of Peter. They were seventeen, and he was showing Chris how to siphon out a tank of gasoline for his car. Chris heard him say, The taste of that first mouthful is awful, but it gets you around.
"Chris, we needed to see you and talk about what we're going to do now," said Harry.
Chris didn't answer. He searched for Lonnie's eyes and found them. "He's really gone?"
"It was how he lived, Chris. He always said that he didn't care if he ever saw thirty-five, and he was right."
"Oh shit," said Chris. Then the car was quiet until they reached the beach house. Chris stared at their faces as they got out of the car. It frightened him that he didn't see any emotion. He reached for Harry's arm, and the blonde hair swung around and faced him. There was a desperate expression in his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Harry."
"Me too. He was all I had, but we live a risky life, Chris, all of us. Now that it's like this, you just gotta move on and get to the next thing, so that the last one doesn't swallow you up."
"Ahh man," said Chris. "I don't think that I can stay here."
"Chris, you're always welcome with us," said Lonnie "Everybody knew how Peter felt about you. You were as much like his brother as Harry."
Chris felt himself losing control and said that he just wanted to walk for a minute. Under his breath, he muttered, "Peter, you stupid fuck.” Then he picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could into the hills. Then another and another… Lonnie and Harry stood watching him.
"Do you think there's going to be any shit about the money?” said Harry.
Lonnie answered in an exasperated tone. "He hasn't even begun to think about how we got him out here, much less why he came.” She walked over to Chris and stood next to him while he continued to fire the stones wildly through his tears. When he was exhausted, she said, "Do you want to come into the house?"
Chris turned around slowly and reached into his pocket. He produced an enormous roll of $100 bills wrapped in a rubber bands. "Here's the money, all of it. That's what you guys were worried about wasn't it?"
"It wasn't my idea to do things like this, Chris. Klu and Harry thought it would be better to wait until you got here."
"We talked," said Chris, "and you joked with me about what he was doing. You were his chick! He cared about you!"
"He made the difference in my life, but he isn't here anymore, and I am. I've got to deal with that, and so do you."
"Right," said Chris.
"You think badly of me, don't you, Chris?"
"I'm not thinking at all. Give me a little time."
"There's a room all ready for you," said Lonnie. She put her arm around Chris and led him into the house.
"Who's Klu?"
"He was Peter's partner. They got together about six months ago and branched out into cocaine and opium. A lot of people are smoking opium out here now."
"Right," said Chris.
"Look, I'm going to make sure that everybody leaves you alone for a little while until you get your head together, and then we can talk."
"I need a little bit of time," said Chris. When he got to the room, he found a telephone beside the bed and called Rahway. Ron answered the phone.
"I'm coming back tomorrow," said Chris. "There's some trouble out here."
"What do you need?” said Ron.
"I need you to be around," said Chris.
"You guys sounded great last night," said Ron.
Chris had forgotten last night and Pistol Pete's. He ran his hand across the patchwork quilt that covered the king sized bed and said, "Yeah, far out. It was great.” Then he hung up.
Ron sat holding the phone and grimaced. Chris never said that he needed anything from anyone; it just wasn’t his way. Part of the confidence that people had in him was the way that he was able to see through every situation and not become alarmed or needy. It was that spirit that he infused into Rahway, the place where anything was possible. But Ron had heard fear in his voice. He thought about calling Warren and sharing it with him, and then he frowned deeply and furrowed his eyebrows. Warren really had fucked the place up. He couldn’t call him and tell him what he felt, because Warren couldn’t be trusted not to use it on Chris, or on Ron, to make a point later on. He wasn’t a part of them anymore, and now might be the one time when he actually was needed.
Ron lit a cigarette and sat over the pad. He wanted to capture in an instant the spirit of the place. It seemed all screwed up now, but that wasn’t the way that it started. It had started out being something new and filed with possibilities, just like he and Robin. The possibilities for both were dwindling quickly.
When we’ve burned our senses away for being too much of us,
what will want to feel?
When we learn that we’ve learned the illusions of color,
what shall we wish to see?
Chris lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Peter couldn't really be dead. He was gonna bust into the room at any time now laughing about the look on Chris's face and telling him about what he planned for them to do in the next few days. This was so sick that it couldn't be true. When Chris felt himself starting to drift off, he opened his eyes. He didn't want to sleep here. He'd done what they wanted him to do. He brought the money out, and now he wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. His mind brought Peter's face back into his eyes. "Life's crazy, man," said Peter, "and if you're crazier than the next fucker, you'll get over and he'll get lost in the shuffle.” In his mind, he studied the face. It didn't make sense. No matter what he did, Peter was always on top of things and had them under control. Then a thought hit him. Peter had everything under control except himself.
He didn’t hear her come into the room at first. He must have fallen asleep. Lonnie took off her clothes and lay down next to him on the bed. Her long blonde hair was hanging loose. Chris had taken his clothes off and was under the sheet. He felt her when she spooned against him and was startled by her presence.
“I haven’t let anyone touch me since I heard he was dead. I need to be held too, Chris. I can’t let these guys see that I’m hurting, and that I’m vulnerable right now. I’m afraid they’ll chew me up.” She was whispering in his ear and stroking his shoulders, lifting his hair gently and replacing it. “Please make love to me, Chris. Help me say good-bye.”
She began to rub her crotch against him. Chris hadn’t moved or said anything. She ducked her head under the sheet and he turned over on his back. She took his cock into her mouth and began to suck it with a regular sliding motion. Peter had always told him that Lonnie gave the best head of any chick that he’d ever been with. Her mouth moved as if its muscles were oiled and dancing on his cock. He felt that his organ had been placed in a wet silk machine that applied gently squeezing pressure on his most sensitive areas. He moaned. She pumped harder. He was very hard.
When she came out from under the sheet, she was smiling. She loved making men hard like this. They were so easy to control when they were like this. She lay on her back next to him, reached down and grabbed her ankles. She spread herself and pulled her legs back into the air.
“This is yours right now. Come and do me, Chris. Do me good.”
He felt himself throbbing. He needed her. He needed to fuck her hard. He threw himself into her and pumped her furiously. She humped back without letting go of her ankles. She grunted harshly as he went in and out of her. Then she screamed. The scream seemed to grab his cock in a new way. When he heard it, he felt his own orgasm shooting up his shaft. It felt so good.
She held him in her arms and put her finger up to her lips in a quieting gesture. “It’s like it never happened,” she whispered, and then she left.
Chris got up and went to take a shower. He scrubbed himself clean and changed his clothes. Then he walked down stairs in the redwood cabin and looked around. His eyes fixed on the huge fireplace. ‘The Ponderosa look,’ Peter had called it. Lonnie and Harry were sitting on the couch smoking a joint with Klu, a big guy with straggly, shoulder length hair, a scar under his chin, and a chipped tooth smile.
"It's good to see you, Chris," said Klu. "I'm really sorry that we have to end up meeting under these circumstances. Lonnie and Harry have told me that you want to go back home, but we need to talk for a little bit first.” Chris shook his hand and sat down.
"This is some of the best weed that you'll ever smoke," said Klu and offered it to Chris.
"I'll pass," said Chris.
Klu produced a bag and dropped it in front of Chris. "This is yours. Peter would have wanted you to have it, you know?"
"Thanks."
"I wish you'd change your mind about leaving so quickly," said Lonnie. "It feels good to have you here."
"I think that I'd like to go back," said Chris.
"Whatever you need to do, man," said Harry as he sucked on the joint and held the smoke in his lungs until he produced a giant exhale.
"This business arrangement has been good to everybody," said Klu. "There might be some problem with fronting you all of the next shipment, but I'm pretty sure that we can work it out.” Klu gave him a nod and a snaggle-toothed grin that made Chris uneasy.
"I'd like to think about it. I'll call you after I get back to Jersey."
Lonnie said, "We have Peter's ashes in this urn. Would you like to see it?"
Chris shrugged, and Lonnie got up to get the urn.
"She's a great old lady. She took care of Peter through a lotta shit, Chris. She's grieving for him on the inside, just the way all of us are."
"I wish someone would have told me," said Chris.
"Yeah," said Klu. "I don't know how that happened the way it did."
Chris looked at Harry who got up and said that he had some stuff to do out back. "I don't want to upset anyone by going over this, but who found Peter?"
"Harry," said Klu. "He went fuckin' nuts, banging on the walls and screaming ‘fuck you God’ and everything. We didn't know if he was going to be able to keep it together at all."
Lonnie came back into the room with the urn and set it on the unfinished wood table in front of Chris. He stared at it, and the thought that it looked like something that somebody was going to store oil in. He picked it up and held it in his hands, but there was no special feeling that he experienced. He thought that Peter would have been happier with a headstone and grave, but decided not to say anything.
Klu said, "Life's too fuckin' short."
Chris felt like saying amen but just put the urn back on the table.
Chapter 20
The car with North Carolina plates cruised south along the New England Thruway. Warren Lashly was feeling pretty good about the weekend and upcoming week. Weekends with Sara were always special because they both anticipated them and prepared delights for each other. On this occasion, Warren had borrowed the college's video camera, and they had made movies of the two of them doing all kinds of kinky things. Sara had rented some costumes and dressed up first as a maid and then as a cat. The variations had driven Warren wild, and they wound up fucking even more than usual. They had fucked so much that even Warren felt as if he needed a rest and was thinking about a way to avoid being with Ruth that night. In the back of his mind, he knew that he would wind up seeing her. Ruth was particularly sensitive after his weekends with Sara, and she always demanded that he sleep with her as soon as he came back. Warren rubbed his cock and sighed. This was definitely the life that he'd chosen.
His first order of business was to set Rahway straight. It needed to be cleaned, and he needed to establish a different climate in the house. With Chris spending the week in California, that was going to be very possible. The next thing that he wanted to do was convince Ron that he should leave as soon as possible. Warren believed that there was an outside chance of getting Ron out of the place by the end of the week. He might have to help him find another place to stay, but he was willing to spend some time doing that if it meant that he was going to get Rahway back. Ron wouldn't be able to stand up to him without Chris around, and with Ron gone, Chris would be much easier to deal with when he got back from the coast. The next thing that he was going to do was move Laureen back in. Once Ron was gone, that would also be easy and would even give him an advantage when dealing with Chris. Having Laureen around always kept Chris just a little off balance.
As the car crossed over the Tappanzee Bridge, Warren let his mind drift off to thinking about Art. He hadn't heard from him since he'd left for Denver and hoped to at least find a letter waiting for him. In the last conversation that the two of them had, it had become clear to Warren that Art had decided that the emotions connected to sex-oriented relationships were debilitating in that they consumed both of the people involved. Warren wondered why Art had decided to deny his body and decided that it was a residual effect of spending years with the cold and stiff Swiss, and that it would wear off. And then what would Art do? He'd be stuck in a marriage to a woman that he didn't desire, and he'd probably wind up getting a divorce.
The car hummed down the Garden State Parkway, and Warren decided that it would be a good idea to call Ruth up and have her come over right away so that they could get started with the cleaning. He decided that his earlier thoughts about avoiding her were weak and needed to be ignored.
He was surprised to see Chris's car in the driveway but figured that he'd used Ron to get him to the airport. When he opened the back door, he immediately smelled a very strong presence of pot and heard the Jackson Browne music on the stereo. He strode toward the living room without dropping his shoulder bag and was slightly stunned by the sight of Chris and Ron sitting on the floor with a pot tray between them and a low hanging cloud of smoke over their heads.
Warren called out over the music in a cranky voice, "I thought that you were going out to California."
"I'm back," said Chris.
"I can surely see and smell that."
"Leave me alone, Warren," Chris's voice sounded thick and strange, almost as if he'd been crying.
"I suppose that now is as good a time as any to get this over with," said Warren.
"No, it's not," said Chris.
"I can see that you haven't been listening and paying attention to me at all when I've tried to talk to you nicely about the way things are going on around here."
"I don't want to talk with you about this now. There are too many other things on my mind."
"When's the next shipment of dope coming in from the addicts out there?"
"Fuck you, Warren. Peter's dead and fuck you!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he's dead, and I mean that I want you to leave me alone. If you press this now, I'm going to wind up punching you in the mouth.” Chris stood up and his hands were shaking. Ron stood up too, thinking that he would have to jump in if Chris did anything really crazy.
Warren walked into his room without saying any more. He sat down on his bed and thought about what to do next. Maybe the best way to console Chris would be to leave him alone for a bit and let him get as stoned as he wanted to be. Chris would come around to talking about what had happened in a day or two, and maybe the best thing would be to just put his plans on the back burner for a while. But Warren still felt like he was stuck in a quandary. He wanted to talk with Chris about what had happened to Peter, but from the way things had just gone, he knew that it would be very difficult to approach him without being confrontational. He decided to just do it, and got off the bed and went back into the living room.
Ron and Chris watched without speaking as he sat down on the couch that was the closest to them. When Chris passed the joint, he reached for it. "What are you doing?” said Chris shaking his head.
"I care about your feelings," said Warren as he took the joint and drew in on it. He saw Ron stare at him in wide-eyed amazement. "And I care about what happened to Peter. He was a good guy."
Song for Adam was playing on the stereo for what seemed like the tenth consecutive time. Chris would just get up when it got to the end and start the track over again, and Ron was going to support anything that Chris wanted to do.
"I suppose that he overdosed, but nobody really explained any of it to me. Lonnie just showed me this jar with his ashes in it, but nobody wanted to talk about how it happened."
"When did it happen?” said Warren.
"That's one of the bad parts. They found him about a week ago."
"And why didn't they tell you?"
"I guess they were worried about their money coming back, and just decided to play it safe. I don't know. That's probably what they did anyway."
"How's Harry doing?"
"He's worried about his next fix and about what's going to happen now."
"And Lonnie?"
“I’m pretty sure that she’ll survive."
"And you decided to get out of there as fast as you could?"
"Yeah," said Chris sadly. "There was no reason to be there anymore.” Chris stood up and said, "I'm pretty tired, and I haven't really slept since I got back. I'm going to lie down for a while. I'll see you guys later.” He stopped by the record player and started Song for Adam again, switched on the speakers that piped the music into his room and went to bed.
Ron and Warren sat looking at him go and then they faced each other. "I'm going to call Ruth up and tell her to come over," said Warren. "I think that the house needs to have a dinner tonight."
"Don't press him," said Ron.
Warren stared at him without answering for a few seconds and then got up and went to the telephone. The pot had been very strong, and he felt stoned. Maybe he would smoke more of it later. It would help him to get it up for Ruth.
Chris lay in bed listening to the song and thinking that he should have been able to see this coming. Everything had been there. He should have sensed that something was wrong when Peter wasn't there to answer any of his phone calls. If he could really sense things that were approaching him the way that he'd been telling himself that he was able to do, he would have been able to sense this. The truth was that he couldn't sense anything. He was just as blind as everybody else and maybe more blind than some people.
Peter had gotten two of his bad habits, craziness and drugs, together and that's what had killed him. He had always gone closer to the edge than anyone else whom Chris had known. Chris let his mind drift to the conversations that he'd had with Peter about getting him out of busts after he'd become a lawyer. Now that had become ‘hunting tigers in Africa before they became extinct’ too.
Ron was beginning to straighten up the living room when Warren came back from the phone. "I met April on Friday night," said Ron.
"You did? Where'd you meet her?"
"She was at Pistol Pete's to hear Chris's band."
Warren grinned and shook his head. "She must have loved that," he said facetiously.
"Not at all. But she did seem to know an awful lot about me."
Warren looked at Ron suspiciously. "What do you mean?
"She kept on dropping these pieces of information about my life that she said she'd gotten from you."
"Such as what?"
"She knew about Robin."
"She didn't get that from me. Maybe from Laureen but not from me."
Now Ron was surprised. "She knows Laureen?"
"Who was she there with?"
"Some guy. I didn't meet him."
“She was there with a guy?”
“That’s what she said.”
"And who did she leave with?"
"Me."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now don't go falling in love because you slept with her, or you'll just get all chewed up again."
"What does that mean?"
"April doesn't want to have a love affair with you, believe me."
"How do you know?” said Ron defensively.
"She has a lover."
"She said that the guy didn't mean anything to her."
"Her lover isn't a man. Be careful of April. She doesn't really like men very much."
"She's a lesbian?"
"I don't understand this compulsion that you have to put labels on everything."
"Did you tell her that she was my double?"
Warren smiled again and shook his head. "I'm sure that you found that line very intriguing, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. Did you tell her that?"
"I might have. I don't remember."
"What do you think about Chris?” said Ron.
"I think that this is a warning, a very strong warning from the world. He thinks he got hit pretty hard this time, but it won't be anything compared to what the next message is going to be like."
Ron waited for Warren to ask his opinion, but the question didn't come, and Ron decided that he wasn't going to volunteer anything that Warren might end up using on Chris when this grace period was over.
Ruth walked in the back door carrying her overnight bag and a hanger with her freshly pressed uniform on it. She said hello to the two of them and kissed Warren lightly on the cheek. "Where's Chris?” she said.
"He's in his room trying to get some sleep," said Warren. "I thought that maybe you and I would go and do some food shopping."
Without answering, she went into Warren's room and hung her uniform on his closet door. Then she went to the door that connected the room to Chris's room and pushed it gently open. Chris was lying on his side with his pillow crumpled against his chest. He saw Ruth's dark brown hair and big eyes flash past him, and then he felt her sit down on the bed. She took his head in her arms and held it to her breasts. She rocked him slowly back and forth and whispered in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Chris.” Then she kissed him and turned him over on his stomach. She began to rub his back until his breathing became very regular, and she knew that he was asleep. Then she covered him and walked lightly out of the room. Just before she left, she heard him say, "Thanks Ruth, you're the best."
When she came back out into the living room, she found Warren still straightening it up. Ron was doing the dishes.
"Let's go to the store, Warren," she said stiffly. Warren stopped what he was doing, and they both went into the kitchen to check the refrigerator.
They took Warren's car to the store and drove the first part of the ride without saying anything. Then she asked how Peter had died, and they spoke a little about how Chris was reacting. Warren said that he was worried about the way he seemed to be walking around in a trance.
"He's mourning his friend, Warren. That's the healthy thing for a normal human being to do."
"That sounds pretty hostile," said Warren.
"How was your weekend?” said Ruth.
"You don't really want to know about my weekend."
"I don't? Would you like to hear about mine?"
"Sure," said Warren.
"Pick a day."
"What did you do yesterday?"
"They called from the hospital, so I worked. Would you like to know what else I did?"
Warren knew where this was going, but there really wasn't anything that he could do about it. "Sure."
"I sat around the house and waited for you to call me. Do you remember saying that you were going to call?"
"I didn't think that it would be a wise thing to do."
"Then why did you say that you were going to call? Were you afraid to take the time away from her?"
"That had nothing to do with anything and you know it."
"I know that when you're with her, it's like I don't exist, and I know that it feels rotten every time it happens. And I know that you keep on telling me that I should get used to it, and that if I stopped dwelling on it that it wouldn't bother me as much. And I know how I feel, and that what you say is bullshit that's designed to help get you your own way."
"I understand how you feel."
"No, you don't. Because if I'd told you that I had a date this weekend, and that I'd slept with my date, you wouldn't be able to handle it."
"Did you?"
"Maybe.
"Don't do this to me, Ruth. Tell me who it was."
"It wasn't anybody, Warren."
"Did you sleep with someone this weekend?"
"No, I should have, but I didn't."
"Who should you have slept with?"
"Someone who's never heard of you or Rahway or the college or anything else."
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
The conversation continued like this while the two of them shopped for the food. Ruth didn't realize until much later that they'd stopped talking about the woman that Warren had slept with and were now talking about who she might have slept with. Warren kept questioning her about potential boyfriends until she was worn out and tired of the whole conversation, and by then they were back at Rahway.
Chapter 21
The next few days were relatively quiet ones. No one outside the house knew that Chris wasn't in California, and so a lot of the phone calls and drop-ins ceased. Chris called a girl named Lynnette on the Sunday night of his return, and she wound up staying in his room for the week. It always made Warren more comfortable when Chris was sleeping with a woman on a steady basis. Ron had begun to eat normally again, although he still wouldn't touch meat. Warren and Ruth took up their normal two-week cycle in between weekends with Sara, and Laureen temporarily stayed in the New York apartment.
The dinners were fun. Lynnette, who had met Chris through Warren, teased everyone and acted very zany. Chris nicknamed her The Bird, and by the middle of the week she had transformed the unused middle room into a painting studio and had begun to do a mural on one of its walls. At dinner on Thursday, Chris dropped his bombshell. Klu was arriving from San Diego the next day, and there was going to be a band practice at the house on Friday night.
At first Warren just stared at him, and then he fell very quiet. When Bird, Ruth, and Ron tried to make social talk, it became obvious that there was a new tension that was choking communication at the table. Chris and Bird left the table as soon as they were done eating. Since Chris had nicknamed her, Lynnette had taken to making whistling sounds and calling herself The Bird. She was a very tall, thin girl with short, straight hair that added to the effect.
Warren said, "She was crazy enough before he started to play with her."
"He's just taking cover for a while, Warren," said Ron.
"Just until tomorrow,” said Warren sharply.
Ruth said, "We won't be here anyway, will we?"
"I don't know. Maybe we should change our plans."
"Warren, about the last thing that I want to do is to be trapped in a house with music that's going to give me a headache."
"We can figure out what we're going to do later," said Warren. He turned to Ron. "Middle of next week is the end of the month. Have you decided what you're going to do? It will only make things bloodier if I have to throw you out."
Ron stiffened. "What do you mean? Physically throw me out?"
"That's what I'm trying to avoid."
Ron gave him a menacing look. "I told you that I'd leave, but if I were you, I would try to avoid having a physical confrontation with me too."
Warren stared back at Ron and quipped, "When the end of the month comes, I'm going to do everything that I said I thought should be done. If you're in the way, they'll be a problem."
"Why are you trying so hard to alienate me, Warren?"
"I've told you what kind of an influence I think you are."
"Isn't much wonder that Robin didn't want me around either then, is it?” Ron got up from the table, slammed his chair under it, and went to the stereo. He was at the sink when the first cords to I Shot the Sheriff froze the look on Warren's face. Ron looked over at him, smiled into a sneer, saluted and began to wash the dishes.
Ruth leaned over and whispered to Warren, "Let's not make a big deal out of this. If you don't feel like doing anything on Friday night, we can just stay at my apartment."
"That's really not the point," said Warren, puffing on his pipe and leaning back against the wall. "The point is that I've let things get out of hand all over. I can't go into to the city because Laureen is there, and I don't want to stay here for Drug Store Night. If Chris is having people to do drugs and play music, I think that we can assume he's not in mourning any more."
"Just don't do things that you're going to be sorry for," said Ruth, trying to meet his eyes and show him that she supported him but that she wanted him to go easy right now.
"I've already done a lot of things that I'm sorry for," said Warren. "Now the question is when I'm going to rectify my mistakes."
Chris took The Bird to the airport to meet Klu the next afternoon. When he had called and asked if he could come out and talk, Chris was, at first, reluctant to say yes but decided that Rahway was his territory, and he could afford to say yes to meeting in a place where he would feel strong. He also knew that Klu wanted to talk about keeping the business arrangement intact and that he wanted to push for more up front money, so that he would feel that his investment was protected. In Chris's judgment, none of those things was necessarily bad, but the feeling that he got from Klu was important and would determine whether or not he was willing to take part. Klu was alone and looked out of place getting of f the plane at the airport. His boots, cowboy shirt, and the meandering way he walked made him appear to be a character in costume and drew a certain amount of attention from the people passing him by. They shook hands, and Chris introduced Lynnette as simply The Bird. Bird squawked and said that he reminded her of the Lone Ranger. "He was a cop," said Klu. "My granddaddy would take great offense to hearing that one of his own resembled the law."
"Everybody's got to look like something," chirped The Bird. She sat between the two men on the front seat of Chris's car and when she saw Klu staring at her legs, she moved closer to Chris and put her arm in back of his head and stroked the ends of his curls. She brought her face close to his ear and said, "Are you going to feed your bird when we get home?"
Chris smiled over at Klu, "Just keep quiet for a little while now, and find something to do when we get back to the house."
When they got into Chris's bedroom, Klu produced a large vial of cocaine and took a necklace with a spoon attached to it from around his neck. He handed both of them to Chris and said, "Tell me what you think."
Chris took two snorts from the spoon and felt the immediate clean-rush of the cocaine clear his head out. "That's great stuff.” he said.
"Uncut, pharmaceutical pure," said Klu nodding. He took two snorts himself. "Does your chick or the guy in the back room want any?"
"I don't think so," said Chris.
"Chris, I've got to fly back tomorrow, so I'll get to the point. It was a shitty thing that we did about not telling you that Peter had checked out. I know that, and we all feel pretty bummed out about it, but the trouble was that we were real short of money, and we had just gotten stiffed by one of Peter's other connections. But everybody, especially Lonnie and Harry, knew that you were nothing but righteous, man. I was the one who fucked things up because I didn't know you. I'm hoping that we can take care of that while I'm here."
"What I hated most was that Peter was dead. The rest of it didn't really matter, except that I didn't want to be in his house with things being like that."
"Chris, we all understand that, and nobody has any complaints about anything that you ever did with regard to business, but now we got a new shipment of weed ready to come out here, and we can add on a couple of ounces of coke, if you think that you can move it."
"I don't know about the coke. I'd have to talk to my people. But it's still summer, and the pot moves quickly because a lot of people aren't getting it from their usual places, and a lot of people are home from school and have jobs, and there's a lot of partying going on. So, I don't think that it would be a problem to move stuff at the right price and with the same deal."
Klu handed the vial and spoon back to Chris who snorted one into each side of his nose. Klu took two snorts and leaned forward rubbing his nose for a minute. "Damn this stuff is good!" he said. "The price is going to pretty much stay the same, but do you think that you can get your people to come up with at least $60 a pound up front or at least a hundred a pound on delivery?"
"Up front doesn't feel too good. On delivery might be OK, but it's going to slow things down a lot if they have to have $500 or so before they can come and see me. They're going to wind up having to go back to the people that they sell to, and everybody gets paranoid when the rules of the game get changed."
"I'm telling you that the count will be very righteous for everybody, and that most everything is being paid for right away now. It's bigger than it used to be when Peter was carrying pounds out in his flight bag, you know?"
"I'm going to have to talk to my people," said Chris.
"Well, like I said, I was hoping to fly back tomorrow. Do you think that you can tell me anything before then?"
"Probably not," said Chris, "but I can talk to some people and get an idea of how they feel about it."
"OK, that's the way it's going to have to be, then. By the way, who is the guy in the back room?"
"That's Ron. He's OK."
"Are you sure? I mean I didn't like the way that he was looking at me when I came in.”
Chris laughed. "East coast paranoia is catchy. Ron's fine, and he doesn't move any weight, so there isn't really anything to talk to him about."
"That's cool," said Klu.
There was a knock at Chris's door, and Ron's voice said, "Chris, I'm going to be heading up north until tonight. I'll see you later."
"Wait a second," said Chris. He went to the door and unlocked it. "Do you want to snort some coke before you split?"
"I don't think so," said Ron.
"Band practice is tonight. Are you going to come back and listen?"
"Yeah, probably. We need to sit down and talk at some point over the weekend," said Ron.
Chris nodded. "0k, we'll work it out."
Chris closed the door again and Ron started back through The Bird's studio. She was painting at the wall in the standard panties and T-shirt uniform that she wore no matter who was in the house. She felt him rivet his eyes on her ass as he passed and flexed her cheeks to tease him, but he didn't stop and just said, "So long, Lynnette.” She wished that he would call her Bird like everybody else in the house did.
While Ron drove up the Parkway, he started his tape recorder. “Big time changes are going to happen in Rahway. Maybe if Chris just moves in the Bird it will be OK for a while, but having Klu out here is a mistake. I swear that I don't understand how his mind works sometimes. It's true that Warren's being an asshole about this, but I can't shake the feeling that when I talk to him alone it feels like somewhere in there he's got a point that deserves to be listened to.
It feels now like I never went to Minneapolis and like I made Robin up in some dream about a perfect woman or something. Even though I stopped talking about her, I still think about her all the time, and if it wasn't for Rahway, I think that would be all that I would do. I guess I'm going to find out about that soon enough though. The poetry is what keeps it real in my head right now. Rahway is what keeps it real. Without those things, it would all slip away."
The drive to his mother's house seemed to be over in no time. He opened the door with his key this time and bent down to pet Chipper who was scratching at the hall door when she heard him. He hugged the dog close to him and cleaned the sleepers from her eyes. "Do you want to go out?” He said. Chipper began to cry and run around in little circles. He led the dog through the kitchen and out into the back yard. He sat on the back steps smoking a cigarette while the dog sniffed around and peed. Then he heard his Aunt's voice.
"Is that you, Ronald?"
"Yeah, I'm out here, Aunt Dot."
"I'm glad that somebody else besides me thinks to let this dog out," said Aunt Dotty. "They sure enough know that they need to pee and crap, but do you think that either one of them thinks about this dog?"
"I don't know, Aunt Dot. How are you feeling?"
"The same. I don't get better any more, Ron. Listen, there's something that I want to talk to you about. Come upstairs after Chipper’s ready to come in.
His Aunt Dotty was sitting in the kitchen with the ever-present cigarette in her hand and the open package of Malomars in front of her. "Can I get you something?"
"No. Sit down here. I want to know what you've decided to do."
Ron shifted a little uneasily and lit another cigarette. He always chain smoked around his aunt and guessed that it was her influence. "For right now, I'm going to go back to school, I guess."
"And are you going to stay in that hippie commune?"
"It's not a hippie commune, Aunt Dot, and I don't know."
"I've never asked you for very much, Ron, but I'm going to ask you a big favor now."
"What do you need?"
"I want you to come and live up here with me. Now, before you say that you fight with your mother and don't get along with George, let me tell you that I want you to live up here, and I want to clean out the front room and let you put whatever it is that you want in there. You can stay away from them downstairs as much as you want."
"I don't have a lot of money, Aunt Dot."
"I don't need your money. I need somebody who isn't going to let me die alone."
Ron winced hard on the words. "You're not ready to die yet."
"Don't talk foolishness. I want you to come up here, and promise that you'll stay with me until I die. Can you do that?"
Ron put his head down for a minute. He felt guilty about the idea that he really didn't have any other place to go, and that she didn't know it, but he nodded and said, "I should at least be able to do that for you."
Then his Aunt shocked him. She put her hands on either side of his face and drew him to her for a kiss. "You're the one I always felt the closest to, Ron. You know that don't you?"
"Yes, Aunt Dot."
"We'll have some good times here before I kick."
"We sure will," said Ron.
"When can you move in?"
"How about the middle of next week?"
"Good. That will give me enough time to get George to clean the furniture out of that room. Now you better go down stairs. Your mother will be home any minute, and I don't want her to think that you just came here to see me."
"I've got to go, Aunt Dot. Tell her that I called or that I was here earlier."
"Ronald, you're really something," she said laughing. And then the laugh became a cough, and the coughing led her to begin to choke and spit some phlegm into the tissues that she had crumpled around her everywhere. When she regained her composure, she said, "If you're going to go, then get out of here now before she comes home and finds you here. Then you'll have to stay for supper."
"Tell her that I'm moving in with you. It'll make her happy."
"I already told her that I was going to ask you the next time that I saw you."
Ron, who had gotten up, shook his head and looked down at her. "That wasn't exactly fair, Aunt Dot. Suppose I said no.”
"I knew you wouldn't," she said smiling. "Now get out of here quick."
When Ron got into his car, he went on automatic pilot and found himself driving to the apartment that he and Robin used to share. He stopped the car in front of it and looked up at the screen windows. He put his head down and started to cry again. Then he punched himself on the leg. He was sick of being like this. He was still so raw that anything could set him off.
Set back from the street and surrounded by trees, we played at being married
When we wished for who we wanted to be
We started a garden alongside our bed,
But weak things grew and the cat ate them
What Ron expected to find and what he saw when he arrived at Rahway were two very different things. The house was dark and there were no cars in the driveway except for Chris's. Ron got to the back door and found it locked. He couldn't remember that ever having been the case before. Even when there wasn't anybody home, the back door was always open. He knocked on the door. He saw Chris's form flash from the kitchen and disappear into the room Ron was using. Then he saw Chris sneak a peak at the doorstep from in back of the drapes, and finally Chris opened the door.
"Where is everybody?” said Ron.
"You wouldn't believe it," said Chris. He let out a disgusted sigh that shook his whole body.
"Where's Klu?"
"On a plane by now."
"And the band?"
"I called off the practice."
"Why?"
"The Sheriff, no good motherfucker that he is, called the landlord this afternoon. He told him that drug taking and drug dealing were going on at the house, and that he needed the landlord's help to clean the place up."
"He did what?"
"So, then the landlord calls here and tells me what happened and says that he wants everybody, except for Warren, out of the house in seventy-two hours, or he's calling the police and having us raided"
"The fucking Sheriff," said Ron. "Have you found him yet?"
"I haven't looked for him."
"What are you going to do?"
Chris scrunched his face into a fierce snarl, but then, almost comically, he wasn't able to say any words.
"Let's smoke a joint," said Ron.
"Are you crazy?"
"How much pot have you got here?"
"There was almost a half a pound. I buried just about everything in the vacant lot after I got back from California."
"So you got less than an ounce here?"
"About that."
"Don't worry so much. What could they find here? Have you got records?"
"Nothing that would mean anything to anybody."
"Do you have a book of phone numbers?"
"In the briefcase?"
"Let's get it."
"How about speed or cocaine?"
"Klu left a little coke and there's some speed."
"Put them in plastic bags and hide them in one of Warren's sport jackets. Fuck him!" Chris giggled. He liked the idea. "Now let's roll up a couple of joints and stash the rest of the dope inside a pair of his socks.” After they'd rolled a half a dozen joints, Chris took the pot and with Ron they went to find a place in Warren's sock drawer. "Now," said Ron, "I think that we should definitely relax, smoke a joint and figure out what to do."
"I already decided what to do," said Chris. "It's over. Done. I want to take everything that belongs to me out of here this weekend."
“Where are we going to put it?"
"Storage. I already rented a place over in Clark from somebody that I know. The only trick will be to dig up the dope. I owe the storage guy a quarter of a pound, and I'll store the rest at my parents' house."
"Let's not dig it up until the last minute, Chris. If anything is going to happen, I think that if it does go down, it'll be before we get to the moving truck."
"We need to get the quarter over there before we bring the stuff," Chris stopped and thought for a second, "or at least when we bring the stuff. OK, that's what we'll do."
"Where are you going to live?"
"I'll have to go back home for a couple weeks. Then I'm going to get a place in The City."
"Do you think that we should beat the shit out of Warren?” said Chris.
“I think that we should sell tickets and have the living room made into ring and have you waiting to really fight him for the house when he gets here."
Chris started to laugh, but couldn't. A weird smile crossed his face. "He wrote to me and asked if we could make this place together. It became more than we ever thought it would. Motherfucker! What was he thinking about? He says that he's afraid that I'll get caught and not be able to go to law school, and then he goes and turns me in. And now I'm evicted from my house within three days or else I get raided! A no good fucking sheriff!"
Chris didn't bother looking, and Warren was no where to be found for the rest of the night. They both spent the evening trying to act normal while they kept on checking the windows, pacing through the rooms and peering out at the street.
At about one in the morning, a squad car stopped a motorist for drunken and reckless driving about three houses down the street. Because the house was just set back from a main drag, this happened quite frequently, but when Chris saw the second car with flashing lights pull up, he became concerned. It took about twenty minutes to test and arrest the drunk. Chris stood there quietly watching as they took the man out of his vehicle and stood him up against the squad car. He saw that the man appeared disoriented. Then he watched while the cops loaded him into the back seat. He was leaving Rahway. That was for sure.
Chapter 22
On Saturday morning Chris went apartment hunting. Ron stayed at Rahway, writing and playing guitar in between the joints that he went into Chris's room to smoke. It was late in the morning when Warren showed up along with Laureen. Ron was sitting on the floor with his guitar and several piles of papers in front of him. Warren came to the back door and found it locked. When Ron heard the loud knocking, he froze. He went to the door and peered out through the glass into Warren's angry face.
"Why's the door locked?” said Warren in a half-shouted drawl.
"We've been half waiting for the cops to come by and raid the place," said Ron after he took the latch off. He saw Laureen standing in back of Warren and sneered at her as she followed him into the house with her head down and her eyes averted from his gaze.
"Do you know where Chris is?” asked Warren.
"He's in New York."
"When's he coming back?"
"After he's found an apartment," said Ron.
Warren and Laureen stared at each other and what seemed to be a concerned look passed between them. "Why's he doing that?"
"You'll have to ask him, Warren. The landlord made it pretty clear that he had to get out. Actually that all of us, except for you two, have to get out."
"That wasn't necessary. He should have talked to me first. I would have been able to work something out for him.” Warren paused with his next thought “When are you leaving?"
"I'll be out by the end of the month, right in line with your proclamation."
"That'll be fine," Warren, ignoring the sarcastic tone, took his book bag towards his room.
Laureen watched him go, feeling abandoned. She looked over at Ron, and then with a nervous suddenness and said, "I didn't know that he was going to call the landlord and tell him about the pot.” Ron glared at her. She continued. "After what you did to me, how could you expect me to come back here and stay with the two of you?"
"I didn't do anything that caused you more than a little bit of inconvenience. You might just as well have called the cops yourself, Snake."
"That nickname is cruel."
"Maybe. But it sure seems appropriate. Let me guess, you'll be moving back in here with Warren after he's finished throwing Chris and me out, right?"
"That's really not any of your business," said Laureen. She turned and walked across the parlor and into Warren's room.
Ron went back to his pad. When he heard the back door again, he was hoping that it was the police, but it was Chris and The Bird.
"Warren and Laureen are here," said Ron.
"Are they?” said Chris. "Let's go back into my room."
Ron sat on the bed and watched Bird take off her jeans and sweatshirt. She bent over from the waist to pick up her discarded clothes in front of the two guys and stayed there for an extra second. Ron and Chris stared at her ass, and then exchanged a smile. Chris said, "Would you make Ron and I some coffee?"
Lynnette chirped and said, "The Bird makes it strong. Is that the way you like it?"
"Sure," said Chris. They watched her ass twitch its way out of the room. Chris turned and said, "I found a place on the Lower East Side, a fourth-floor walk up. It's cheap. The neighborhood is pretty bad, but I think that I'll be safe there. I'm going to get a truck, and the guys from the band to help us move things out of here tomorrow."
There was a knock on the connecting door to Warren's room. Chris didn't answer. Warren knocked again and then tried to open the door and found it latched from his side. "Open up the door, Chris."
Chris still didn't move, and finally Ron said, "I'll get it. Is that OK?” Chris shrugged, and Ron opened the door.
"I need to talk to you alone," said Warren.
"Fuck the alone shit, Warren. What do you want?"
"We need to have some privacy first," said Warren.
Chris again didn't answer at first. Ron sat there. Finally, Chris said, "What do you want, Sheriff?"
"I want to explain to you that you don't have to get out of the house. That was never part of what I was trying to do."
"You called the fucking cops on me, and now you've got the balls to stand there and say that you weren't trying to get rid of me. What kind of an asshole are you, Warren?"
"What I want to see happen is for you to quit the drugs. If you stop them all together, you can stay on here with Laureen and me for as long as you like and it doesn't have to cost you anything."
"Oh, you're willing to support me, huh?"
"That's right."
"I can't stand living with either of you now, and I'm paying for just about everything. Imagine how good it would be if I was living off you, Sheriff?"
"I just want you to know that the house isn't being closed off to you."
"Is that supposed to make you feel better about being a jerk-off, Warren?” Chris stared full into his face. "This was supposed to be my home, too. You got on your sanctimonious horse and rode in here like you were the keeper of the flame or something. Now it’s time to do what I want, and what I want is for you to get the fuck out of here and stay the fuck out until I've had a chance to leave."
"Where are you going?"
"I try not to tell assholes how they can find me. I'll be gone before the end of the week and then I don't want to know you or anything about you."
"I think that you're over-reacting here."
"I don't give a shit what you think, Warren."
"I want you to know that you can take anything that you need from the house."
"I intend to."
"Would you mind if Laureen slept here for the next few nights. I'm going to be in the city, and there isn't going to be room for her in there too."
"That's her problem. I don't want her here. I don't need any more spies around me either. Now you get the fuck out while I can still control the urge to punch you in the mouth."
"You can have the house for the next five days. Then, I'll be back."
Chris didn't answer. Warren went back into his room and closed the door. Laureen was sitting on Warren's bed with tears in her eyes. Warren said, "We'll give him a few days to get his things together. There wasn't any way to salvage anything else out of this right now."
On Monday and Tuesday, Ron, Chris and the band guys emptied the Rahway furniture into two rented trucks and brought the stuff over to Chris's parents' garage. Chris took every piece of furniture in the house with the exception of what was in Warren's room and the round oak table in the kitchen, which he left minus the chairs that were distributed around it. After he and Ron finished with the last load, they went back to his room and smoked two or three joints while Chris burnt some old papers and notebooks in his fireplace.
"It's just Warren's house now," said Chris. "Thanks for helping me with everything. I'll give you a call at your Aunt's house after I get a phone.” Then they quietly got into their cars and left a very dark and empty house.
The ghosts make noise in the cold wind
that blows through these rooms, trying to latch on to a soul
The Bird disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. She told Chris that she would be in touch with him and borrowed his car to take her painting supplies to an undisclosed location. All that she left was the half-painted mural of a group of people sitting around a table, laughing and drinking wine.
She had never been there when the place was like that. She had only heard the stories, but what she left and the table were the only hints that it had ever been more than it was at that moment.
After Chris left, Ron circled back to the house and crawled in through a window that he’d left open. The place felt sad and lonely. He could have sworn that the walls were crying out for them to come back. He closed his eyes and pictured Robin. Rahway was gone and she was gone and neither one of them was coming back. He was empty.
Chapter 23
It seemed to Ron that the first students who entered the lecture hall were a bit overwhelmed by its size. He watched them from his seat alongside the lectern that was sunken into the front of the hall. Dr.T. Browning Resthill had not yet arrived, nor had Ron found the time to meet with the chairman of the philosophy department, to whom he had been assigned for this semester of his graduate assistantship. When the professor did arrive, the room was more than half full. He came directly over to where Ron was sitting and asked if he was the graduate assistant. Ron nodded.
“I'm Browning Resthill. We'll need to speak after class about your duties. For today, I would appreciate it if you would collect and alphabetize the student entrance cards and take notes on the course requirements."
Ron nodded again. "My name's Ron Tuck."
"Good," said Resthill.
The professor opened his bag on the table in front of Ron and removed the folder marked Introduction. He turned on his mic and activated the monitors that were mounted from different columns through the upper two-thirds of the lecture hall. He welcomed the class, before all of them had actually arrived, introduced himself and began to read from the notes assembled in front of him. Thirty minutes later he looked up, told the students that the graduate assistant would now collect their admit cards. When Ron got up, Dr. Resthill continued to the class, "As you can see, this is a large class that will require a slightly different approach from most other learning situations that you've encountered. To begin with, there really won't be time for any questions by individual students. In the event that you have a question, you should take it up with the graduate assistant before or after class, or during the office hours on which he is available. He will bring queries that require my attention to me, and I shall address them with the group before the start of the next day's lecture. The graduate assistant will also answer any questions regarding grades and assist any students that require extra help."
Ron smiled at the group as he collected their cards. He wondered what they could possibly be thinking about, and why no one objected to the fact that the students were to be given no opportunity for direct contact with the course's professor. He decided that he didn't care and went back to his table to alphabetize the cards. Dr. Resthill called upon him almost immediately after he'd sat down and asked him to distribute copies of the course syllabus. Then the students started to leave. Ron returned the remaining copies of the syllabus to him, after laying aside several copies for himself.
"You'll need the rest of these for late arriving students and for those who misplace their copies. Have you had a chance to finish alphabetizing the class cards yet?"
"No," said Ron. "I haven't even begun.”
"Well, you're to make two copies of the list in these gradebooks before you return it to me with any appropriate additions or subtractions. Your duties will be to keep a strict count on attendance, correct any quizzes and tests and check with me at regular intervals about any notable situations."
"How am I supposed to answer students' questions?"
"I'll give you copies of my lecture notes which you can feel free to annotate, and that should about take care of it."
Ron stared at the short, trim man in the steel framed glasses, and decided that he didn't like him but that he would wait and see what was going to happen. "Is there anything else that you need me for?"
"No, but I'd like the list and the cards at some point today."
Ron said that he would leave them with Dr. Resthill's secretary before noon-time, and then he bolted from the room. Coming back to this place had been a mistake.
Too many years as a schoolboy, he told himself.
The student center was just beginning to fill up as the ten a.m. Class people arrived for their coffee. Ron wondered how he would ever be able to get up there to listen to Resthill by eight a.m. on the three mornings of class. He found an empty seat and counted the class cards. There were 187 of them. "Holy Shit," said Ron to the deck of cards. He began to sort them into piles and looked around at the other tables. The people seemed young, and Ron had the feeling that he had been in the situation that was occurring at every table that he saw. A few words of conversation, or a gesture of body language seemed to be enough for him to see what it was and lose interest. He sorted the cards for almost an hour, and then he began to list the names. He went to get some coffee in the middle of the process and heard someone call out to him.
"Ron Tuck! I thought sure that you'd be dead by now.” Daniel Mathews slapped Ron on the shoulder. "None of us is ever going to leave this place, you know. That's the secret of these colleges. The idea has always been to find reasons to keep us here forever."
"Do you have courses here?” said Ron.
"Graduate assistant, same as yourself. We share an office you know."
Ron stared at Daniel's immense leather shoulder bag and tan raincoat. He had never been quite sure about Daniel, but always felt slightly ill at ease around him. They had names and places in common, but Ron never had been sure about how he felt about Daniel. Robin had hated him and continually referred to him as a pompous ass. Once she had grabbed his hand while he was in the midst of one of his monologues about the sublime nature of surrealism, and sharply sunk her teeth into it, so that he had cried out with a yelp of pain and pushed her away with a startled and angry glare of surprise. Robin had laughed at him and ignored him when he demanded to know why she'd bit him. Later, she told Ron that it was the first way that she'd thought of to just get him to shut up. Ron smiled as he thought about Robin. "I've got to get this work done for Resthill before the end of the morning and then I want to get out of here."
"I'll see you tonight for class then."
"Yeah," said Ron, “in class."
Ron decided not to go to class that evening. He and his Aunt ate shrimp cocktails for dinner and sat talking at her kitchen table.
"Do you think that you'll be comfortable here?”
"It's going to be fine,” he told his Aunt Dotty. “ It's good to be around you."
"I want you to know that this is your house now, and that I don't want you to walk around like you're on eggs while you're here."
"I was always so afraid of breaking anything in your house, Aunt Dot. I'm just trying to be careful."
"It's a bunch of junk, Ronald. It doesn't mean anything to me any more."
Ron's eyes got very wide at the sound of what his aunt was saying. For his entire life, he heard her talk about how important her things were to her. How she had spent her life collecting her furs and jewels and how she had painstakingly assembled her furniture. "What do you mean?"
"What can I do with it? The only place that I get dressed up to go is the clinic when they give me treatments. I'm too sick to entertain anyone, and I wouldn't want them around even if I were well. My stuff is filled with dust, and I haven't got the strength to take care of it. I wish that I didn't have to look at the stuff."
"I'll clean it for you, Aunt Dot."
"I don't want you cleaning my furniture. That's not why I asked you to move in here."
"Whatever you want."
"I want to be able to take a shrimp and cover it with cocktail sauce and follow it up with a long swallow of rum and coke."
Then they laughed. "Did you ever think that you'd feel that way about your furniture, Aunt Dot?"
"I wish I had."
"Did you ever think that you could have gone to Europe for the price of the mirror in your bedroom?"
"I never wanted to see Europe. Still don't. There's nothing there to see but a bunch of weak people and old crap."
Ron laughed. "I guess it wasn't worth the mirror then. What do you wish that you had instead of the furniture?"
"My youth."
"What would you do with it?"
"Probably just about the same, but I'd like the time to just do it again, even if nothing changed one bit."
"Most people would like to change things."
"That's your mother's fantasy and her problem. It doesn't matter as much what you've done as it does to do it."
"That's pretty profound, Aunt Dot," said Ron smiling as he polished off the last of his shrimp.
"I think I heard it on a talk show last night, Johnny Carson or something," she said, waving her hand back and forth to dismiss his smiling compliment. "I can't finish this shrimp. Do you want this last one?"
"Sure," said Ron. She watched him cover it in cocktail sauce and say, "I'll skip the rum and coke. OK?"
She smiled and licked her lips as he ate it.
Professor Resthill gave his first quiz at the end of the second week of class. When Ron graded the quizzes, he was shocked at the number of students who had failed, but even more surprised by the number of students who didn't seem to have any clue at all. He raised this concern with Dr. Resthill before class on Monday morning.
"Things go slowly at first,” said Resthill, “and a number of these people don't actually belong in college, and they'll find that out rather quickly. I wouldn't worry too much about student performance."
Ron distributed the quizzes at the end of the class. Most of the students took their papers back without reaction, but there were a few who stayed behind to talk to him and to ask if they could make appointments. Ron hadn't been to the graduate assistants' office yet and hadn't made any decisions about office hours. He decided to deal with as many problems as he could on the spot and make appointments for those in need of help later on. Most of the problems were very quickly solved, particularly as the time after the class grew longer. Actually there was only one girl waiting for him to talk to her after he'd finished with the rest.
Laura Cheater stood with her straw-like blonde hair covering most of her face until she felt Ron's eyes on her. Then she looked into his round face, brushed her hair away, and said, "Do you have time to get a cup of coffee with me?"
"Sure," said Ron smiling. "I've just got to go back to my office and clear some things up."
"Could get us the coffee and bring it up to your office?” Ron gave her a small smile and said that he would go with her to get the coffee.
That night she drove down to his mother's house to visit him. Ron introduced her to his aunt and then took her into the room that had been converted for his use. Laura had arrived carrying a painting that she had just completed and wanted Ron's opinion of. By then the only things that Ron was aware of was that he could seduce the girl very easily, and that she had a body that reminded him very much of Robin's.
They sat on his bed while she explained her painting, and he pretended to look at it while he stared at her breasts and the way they swung back and forth under her T-shirt. They weren't as full as Robin's, but they stood out very straight, and Ron kept reminding himself that even though they were very close, and he was being very obvious, that he didn't know Laura well enough to just reach out and squeeze one of them. Then she asked him if it would OK to light a joint that she'd brought with her. Ron smiled again and nodded
It was cheap pot, but before they'd finished smoking it, Laura was lying on her back on his bed and stroking his arm. Slowly, Ron reached down with the joint still in his hand and squeezed the breast he'd been studying. Then they began to kiss, and Ron realized that Laura had been hot for him all along.
Her shirt was off and her jeans were down around her knees, and she was now lying on her stomach. She had taken Ron's prick out of his pants and kissed it before saying that she knew that he was going to make her feel very good. Ron stared down at her ass. The soft blonde hair from her pussy trailed up in between her cheeks and gave them a softly lit glow. He told her that they'd have to be very quiet and then he slid his cock into her while he held her cheeks apart. She moaned in a deep, loud voice, and Ron froze. Within seconds there was a knock on the door to his room. They both pulled up their pants, and after Ron was sure that Laura had her shirt back on, he opened the door.
Aunt Dotty wasn't smiling. "Would you and your friend like something to eat, Ron?"
"Not at all, Aunt Dot."
"I'm going to go to bed pretty soon."
"OK, Aunt Dot."
His aunt stood there like she was trying to think of what she wanted to say, but then she shook her head and said that they'd talk in the morning. Laura was pulling her jeans back down by the time he returned to his bed. "It felt so good in there. Put it right back there, just the way you had it in before."
"This isn't a good place for us to be doing this," said Ron.
"You're not going to finish fucking me?"
"I don't feel comfortable with my aunt in the next room."
"She said that she was going to bed, didn't she?"
"I just don't think that I can relax, is all."
"I know what would make you relax, and me too."
"You're right, but I just moved back in here a couple of weeks ago and she really is pretty sick. I don't think that we'd better."
Laura was clearly annoyed when she pulled her jeans back up. She told Ron that she wanted to leave her painting with him for a few days so that he would have time "to live with it a little.” Ron flinched a little at the sound of the way that she put it. After she left, he masturbated immediately and let the calm after the orgasm help him to drift off to sleep.
The next morning his aunt told him that she'd made a mistake by asking him to come and live there. "I know that you're a man and that you have needs, but I don't think that I can stay out of your way enough for you to sleep with girls in my apartment."
"I didn't sleep with her," said Ron.
"But you would have, if I hadn't interrupted you."
Ron put his head down and said that he'd find a place to live by the end of the week. Then he left for school.
He didn't return until quite late that night and found that his aunt was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. "I want to talk to you about this morning," she said.
"I'm really sorry about last night," said Ron. "You've got a right to be comfortable in your own home, and I'm not going to take that away from you."
"I don't want you to leave. It's more important to me that you stay with me. I want you to fill this place up with life, so that I won't have to feel like I'm surrounded by my own dying. Just get them out of here before morning. That’s all I ask. The ideas that my generation had about sex all come from them being frightened of the way that it would look to other people if they admitted to doing it. I bought that line too and I believed in it until it was too late for me to think any differently for myself."
"I won't let anything happen that upsets you anymore," said Ron tenderly. They hugged and she said that she was very tired and needed to go to bed. Ron watched her move slowly off to her bedroom and realized that she'd been waiting there for him to come home for hours.
Chapter 24
The end of the summer relieved and depressed Robin. Alex was finally gone and Ron was 1500 miles away, but autumn was short in Minnesota and the winter lay in front of her like an endless tunnel. Her life felt empty and silent. The nights that she spent with her books and her cat had moved from being comforting and restful to just being boring. She told herself that she needed to stop punishing herself and had to get out and live. Amanda agreed and together they joined The Mississippi River Players, a local theater group that used an old warehouse close to the river to put on their plays. Robin found herself cast in a local playwright’s one act called Curtains. The story revolved around a curtain shop in a small mid-western town where she was the store clerk. The plot involved the increasing despondency of her pathetic and mousy little character. Sally, her character, eventually found love and meaning in her life through a sexual liaison with a mailman who had a fetish for lace. Amanda's role was that of a daily customer who filled Sally in on the goings on round the town, and who eventually discovered her affair with the mailman and told his wife and had Sally fired and driven out of the town. Robin believed that they were both hopelessly typecast, but Amanda had already begun boffing the director and telling Robin that the playwright was walking around with a constant erection that was sticking out on Robin's behalf. Robin was unimpressed by the entire scenario, but she had to agree that getting out of her apartment on a regular basis was good for her.
One night Amanda simply showed up at the bar where Robin worked accompanied by the director and the author. Robin was furious but agreed to go back to Amanda's to have a couple drinks with them, when she got off from work. After about an hour of drinking and small talk, Todd and Amanda announced that they were going to fuck and that anyone who wanted to join them was welcome. Robin said that she was going home, and Keith asked if she would mind dropping him off at his apartment.
He was a thin, dark haired guy with a deep tan and large eyes. It wasn't until they got into her car that Robin smelled his cologne. She decided that she liked the fact that he was one of the few guys that she saw who didn't live in jeans. As she drove, she asked him about his play.
"I know it's not very good, but I like the characters, and I think the experience of seeing my work in front of people is going to be good for me, even though right now the whole idea scares the shit out of me, and I half hope that something is going to happen to keep from going on."
“That’s a natural feeling," said Robin. "There are things about your play that I like."
He answered with a quick intensity that seemed to light up her car "What are they?"
"The characters are real," said Robin thoughtfully. "I don't think that there’s enough happening in the plot, but Sally is somebody who has feelings and thinks the way a lot of women that I've met think."
"Coming from you, that's pretty good."
"Why? Do I seem like that much of a bitch?” said Robin, laughing nervously.
"No, not at all, but you seem to know a lot more about the theater than anyone else around there, and you're the only person that I ever met who studied and acted in New York.”
"Did Amanda tell you that?"
"Isn't it true?"
Robin laughed nervously again. "Well, it's sort of true. I went to school in New York, but it's not like I grew up back stage or anything."
"You're a better actress than anybody else that I ever met, and your opinion means something to me."
Robin smiled deeply, and then they were at his house, and he asked her if she wanted to come in and have some coffee, and she told him that she didn't think so.
"Could I take you to dinner sometime?” he said easily.
"Why don't we just leave things the way they are for right now.” Robin gave herself a disgusted look from the inside. That really wasn't what she wanted to say.
"Don't say it, " he laughed with mock terror. "Please, the dreaded response that every guy who has ever asked a girl lives in terror of: Let's just stay friends.”
Robin laughed too. "That wasn't what I was thinking. I work nights and between rehearsals and my job, there just isn't very much time. Besides, dating someone that you work on a play with is absolutely deadly."
"So, you're telling me to ask you again after the play is over."
"If you don't, I'll ask you," said Robin.
Robin drove home smiling and dreamy. Something real and natural was finally going to happen to her if she didn't figure out a way to louse it up.
* * *
Chris Calvin had become used to the strong smell of gas fumes in the hall between the second and third floors. His apartment was on the fourth floor, and at first the fumes had alarmed him, but now they were something to which he'd grown accustomed. He was carrying a sandwich and some fresh ground coffee from Zabars. His book bag was heavy, and the ascent had him sweating by the time he reached his apartment. The music from the radio that he'd left on to discourage thieves and the hot air smacked him like a wall when he opened the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a trio of roaches heading for cover. He switched on his fan and opened all three of his windows, hoping for a bit of cross breeze. Then he stripped off his clothes and climbed up into the stall shower that was centrally located in his kitchen. He saw two more roaches try to run out the top of the stall when he turned on the water, but he knocked them off the wall, stepped on them. Then drowned them for good measure, with a sneer on his face that twisted the ends of his mustache. He made the water as cold as it could get and sighed with relief as the heat seemed to course out of his body and through the top of his head. He began to feel refreshed. He didn't bother to put clothes on after his shower, but sat on the floor with a couple of pillows under him and his books and notes spread out all around him.
He began to read again the classic torts case of the unlucky conductor who had attempted to help a man laden with fireworks onto his train. Of course the man had stumbled and the fire works had discharged, causing the man serious injury. The railroad had been sued and held, in a famous opinion written by Oliver Holmes, to be responsible for the man's injuries. He looked at his notes on the case and wondered if he would have been able to see how the law was not at all concerned with the good intentions of the conductor. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the railroad worker after the incident, but then he decided that he didn't have time to clutter his mind with those kinds of anecdotal details and pressed on.
By nine p.m. the apartment had cooled considerably, and he decided to take a walk in order to give his head a chance to clear so that he could move on to his last prep for tomorrow’s class. He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and headed down the stairs and up to the all night fruit stand. He bought a box of chocolate donuts and started back. He liked the way he felt blended in with the other people in his neighborhood and thought for a second about the contrast of this life with the one he'd been living last month, but somehow the image of Warren Lashly worked its way into his reverie, and he mentally kicked the image in the balls as he concentrated on not stepping in dog shit on the way back to his place.
He heard his telephone from the third floor and ran up the last flight of stairs and into the apartment to try to catch the call. The sound of Laureen' s voice shocked him and caused the donut box to slip out of his hand.
"Chris, this is Laureen."
"I know."
"Are you going to hang up on me?"
"What do you want?"
"I've been thinking about you and wondering how you 're doing.”
"Yeah. How'd you get the number?"
"I called your mother."
"She must have been happy about that."
"Actually, she was very pleasant."
"That's good."
"You don't want to talk to me, do you?"
"Not really."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry and that I never knew what Warren planned on doing with the landlord.” Chris didn't answer. "I was wondering if maybe I could come into the city, and we could have dinner down in your neighborhood some night."
"I'll think about it."
"I know that you really don't want to stay angry at me for this long."
"That's not true," said Chris. "I really think it would be better for me if I stayed feeling just the way I feel right now.” There was a long pause while Chris stared down at his box of donuts and lightly kicked it with his foot. "Look, if you want to come over give me a call early some evening, and I'll let you know what I'm doing."
When Laureen put down the phone, she stared across the table at Warren, who was puffing hard on his pipe and pushing back against the wall with his chair. "How does he sound?"
"Like he's very pissed off and very alone."
"Do you think that the dinner will come off?"
"I think that he'll make me wait, but that if I'm persistent enough, he'll give in."
"Do you think that he'll ever understand that I had to do what I did?"
"No," said Laureen, laughing at Warren's look of concern. "I think that he'll probably hate you forever and me too for that matter."
Warren returned to his papers while Laureen went into the livingroom stereo. She selected a Bob Dylan album and placed the needle on a cut. Dylan’s twang cut through the half-empty rooms. “Mama take this badge offa me, I can’t wear it any more,” Dylan pleaded. Warren grimaced. The house felt cold.
Chapter 25
By Halloween, Ron had stopped attending all of his graduate courses. He told himself that he didn't care and that the only reason that he'd gone back to school was that he didn't know what else to do. He'd only received one letter from Robin and that spoke, in the most general terms, about a play that she'd become involved with and the first snow which had depressed the hell out of her. On most weekends, he went into the city and hung out with Chris. They played guitars and bought pot from a telephone service that Chris had discovered, and that they had dubbed Dial-a-Dime. After he'd fucked Laura a few times, he lost interest in her, but promised that he would see to it that she passed her philosophy course. He continued to fuck her once a week and daydreamed through the entire process about how her ass reminded him of Robin. She told him that she liked their sex together, but that he always seemed so distant. He had decided that she was only a kid, a fact that had been driven home to him by the sight of her room, which was filled with dolls and stuffed animals. Lately, he'd been fighting the urge to take a ride down to the college and talk with Warren.
Warren's office was always unlocked. Ron knocked at the door and, receiving no answer, sauntered in and sat down at Warren's desk. Someone was painting a mural on his wall, and Ron recognized the work as belonging to the Bird. He smiled to himself and called Warren, a son of a bitch under his breath. After about a half an hour, Warren arrived accompanied by April. Warren stopped short with his hand on the knob of his door, but April gave Ron a warm smile and took his head in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. Warren was clearly confused by Ron's presence at his desk and walked round the office awkwardly lifting things up and putting them back down. Finally, he drawled, "How are you?"
"I'm OK, Warren, but I'd like to talk to you."
"I was going to be leaving anyway," said April.
"You can stay," said Ron. "It's really good to see you. I've wondered what happened to you a bunch of times."
"Why don't I just give you my phone number, and then you can call the next time you're thinking about me.” April smirked at Warren as she wrote down the number and handed it to Ron. She squeezed his fingers and rested her hand on his shoulder as he took it. "Are you doing OK?” she said.
"More or less."
"Where are you living?"
"With my aunt up in Glen Ridge."
"Don't forget to call. I'm always home."
"That's a lie," said Warren with a cackle.
"I'm always home when I want someone to find me," said April with a smooth voice.
Ron was entranced by the way her earrings hung down from her ears in a twisting shimmer and how the brown leather collar reflected their light. Then, she was gone, after saying something to Warren that Ron couldn't quite hear.
With April gone, Ron felt less secure sitting at Warren's desk and found himself needing to get up and light a cigarette. He moved over to the wall with the mural and said, "You got the Bird to come in here?"
"It does resemble her work, doesn't it?” said Warren smiling. "No, it's being done by a girl in my 101 class. She's quite talented actually."
"We all appear to be talented in the beginning, don't we, Warren?"
"I'm not interested in arguing," said Warren as he sat at his vacated desk.
"Too much got said already. I did needed to be done, and I've got to live with that.”
"I suppose you do."
"How's Chris doing?"
"He's going to be OK. He landed on his feet and, you know Chris, he's getting on with things like they were always the way that they are now."
"Is he still doing drugs?"
Ron froze because he didn't know how to answer and didn't expect the question, although as he told himself later, he should have.
"I don't think that he would want me to discuss that subject with you, Warren.” Ron pulled in on his cigarette and Warren began to fill his pipe. "I came to tell you that I understand why you did what you did. I think that it was wrong, and I think that you went about it like a real asshole, but I know now that your motives were probably pretty decent."
"Something that my father always said was that once a man decided to act that it no longer mattered what anybody thought about what he'd done. Finally, what that means is that the only things worth discussing about human actions are those that are about to take place, not those that have already occurred."
"That's probably true," said Ron, telling himself that he spent much too much time wondering about why people had done the things that had already happened and how Warren's analysis made that seem like a gigantic waste of time.
"Have you heard from Robin?"
"She wrote me a letter."
"She's not done with you, you know."
"It sure feels like she is."
"Only for as long as she wants it to feel that way. Then she'll surface, and you won't be able to think of anybody else."
"I don't think that it would be that way if I was with somebody like April."
"You're really crazy, aren't you? I mean that's like taking a wrong turn, winding up in hell and then trying to find your way back there."
Ron liked the description of himself, because it showed him as being somebody who was tough enough to withstand anything that was thrown at him. "Well, at least I would have been strong enough to get out the first time."
"If you continue to confuse strength with luck, the world is going to teach you a very harsh lesson."
Ron left the office without ever really getting around to what he'd gone there to talk about. His aunt was going to die, and he didn't know how he was going to be able to face it when the time came. He wanted to read books about how other people had approached death, so that he could help her. But somehow the subject had seemed too close to bring it up with Warren. He was not at all interested in Warren’s theories about anything having to do with Aunt. He decided that he had to help his aunt on his own and that he wasn't ever going to try to talk with Warren or anybody else about it.
That night he called April. "It didn't take me long to start thinking about you did it?"
"Ron, is that you? Where are you?"
"I'm at home."
"Do you want to come over?"
"I don't know where you live."
"I've got the apartment next door to Ruth. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes. I could be there in about a half an hour. Do you want me to bring anything?"
"Bring some wine and pot, if you want to smoke it."
Ron found himself at April's door with a nervous tremor in his stomach. This person had sought him out and stroked an exotic passion in him that he'd only dreamed about until then. He couldn't figure it out. What did she want with him? How could he be of the slightest interest to her.'
The questions and fears evaporated at the sight of her. She simply took away his breath along with his ability to think. Her tan skin stood out through the yellow silk cape that reached to the floor. It was attached at her waist by a small, fragile clasp that covered nothing but created shadows. She led him into her dimly-lit apartment with its twelve-foot ceilings and thick oak woodwork. There were bean-bag chairs scattered around the floors and two low-cut glass coffee tables. Ron produced a bottle of wine that he'd gone down into his step-father's basement and liberated. It was an Italian red with a date and the picture of the town on the label. Ron noticed how neatly she'd tucked the cape into her collar and how strong eyes studied him and scrutinized and gave approving looks.
They sat on two chairs that he dropped together in front of one of the tables. She brought her face very close to his mouth and searched his eyes like an explorer. Then her fingertips scraped their way up from his knees to his belt. She held him like that for what seemed like long time. She sat up after they slowly and lightly kissed. She said, "Let's drink some of your wine,"
She put some jazz on her stereo and they sipped at their glasses. "Do you know that sometimes when I'm alone, I dance to this music in the dark, or just with some candles on the floor.”
"Dance now," whispered Ron.
"Only if you'll do whatever it is that I ask you to do."
"If I can," said Ron.
"You can," said April.
She swallowed down her wine and lifted herself with her cape pulled back from her body. The material seemed to become her wings as she floated about the room on the air currents of the saxophone. As the music heightened, she threw off the cloak and brought her leather wrapped wrists together over her head and writhed as the violin whipped her. Then she began to spin in quickly revolving and progressively tighter circles that crumpled her to the floor while the fading bass and drum humped her rising and falling rear.
Ron poured a glass of wine and gulped it down. He raised the bottle to her and said, "I never saw anything like in my life."
"Do I get my request," said April smiling up from the floor with her naked
ass still quivering ever so slightly. Ron nodded and moved down to the floor next to her.
"Write poems about me."
Ron drew his head away from her face. He reached down and rubbed the palm of his hand across her nipples. He could write about her. She inspired that in him. Not the way that Robin did, not anywhere near as close. April was on the outside like something that he could stand back and appreciate. Robin spoke to him from inside of his heart.
Chapter 26
It was very late on a mid-week night in the middle of November, and Ron wasn’t able to sleep. He came out of his room and walked into the dark kitchen. He poured a glass of milk and stared momentarily into his aunt's bedroom. She was lying on the couch supported by a large pile of pillows that allowed her to rest without coughing. She wasn't asleep, but he thought that she was. She listened as he dialed the telephone.
"Robin, it's Ron. Did I wake you?"
"No, I just got in from work a few minutes ago. I'm glad you called."
“I couldn't sleep and as usual I wound up thinking about you.”
"I have nights like that too."
"How are things going for you?"
"Pretty well. The play is over and I'm going to enroll in classes at the University in January."
"That's great."
"I was going to call you about Leni, but I didn't know how you'd take it.'
"What do you mean?"
"She was killed by a car."
"When?"
"Last week."
"Did you bury her?"
"Yes. A friend of mine took me out to the St. Croix and we dug a grave for her out there."
"She was always really happy out there. She played tiger in the jungle and brought home mice that Penny and I had to keep throwing away."
"How is Penny?"
"All right I guess. She hates me. I'm pretty sure of that. I really don't expect to hear from either one of them again."
"That's too bad."
"It's just the way things work out. That saying that you used to use all the time, you know, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I find myself saying that quite a lot lately. I think of you when I say it some of the time."
"That's great, Robin.” Ron felt fully fucked and completely unable to see the joke.
"I didn't mean it like that. God, what's happened to your sense of humor? You used to be so delightfully warped, didn't you?"
"Oh, I'm still warped. But the world changes, you know. Things that you always thought were going to be there disappear, and it makes you think that you're going to disappear too, that is if you haven't disappeared already."
"If you're going to be morose, I'm going to bed."
"I love you, Robin. I mean it. I've been sleeping with these two girls out here, and they're great but neither one of them means anything to me."
"Then why are you sleeping with them?"
"The truth? One of them has an ass that reminds me of yours and the other one came after me and is just overwhelming."
"I think that it's important to be careful about who you sleep with Ron. Things can happen."
"I know. I'm being a jerk, but it just seems to come naturally to me."
"Now you're feeling sorry for yourself."
"Look, I shouldn't have called you. I'm really tired and I guess I'm not in the best of moods."
"Why don't you write me a letter when you're feeling better?”
"Are you coming out here for a visit over the holidays?"
"I wasn't planning on it, but maybe I will."
"I would like that very much."
"We'll see."
"Good night, Robin."
"Good-bye, Ron."
He got off the phone wondering if to her saying good-bye instead of just goodnight meant anything. He went to look in on his aunt.
"I'm awake," he heard her say from her room.
He sat down on the floor along side of her bed. "Did the phone wake you?"
"I've been awake for a long time. I don't need as much sleep as I used to need. I guess that's because I really don't do anything all day long. What did Robin have to say?"
“Not too much. It was a mistake to call her."
"Then don't call her anymore. Let her get in touch with you."
"I'm afraid that she won't ever call me."
"If she's through with you, all the calls in the world aren't going to change anything, except that you're going to lose your self respect."
"I don't feel like I have very much self respect to lose.” She raised her head off the pillows.
"Then get some of it back. No woman wants to be involved with a whimp."
Ron smiled. "I like the way that you put things, Aunt Dot."
"I'm going to try to go to sleep now," she said quietly.
Ron went back into his room and took out a pad of paper. He was thinking about Leni. He’d loved the cat, and it had truly been theirs, something that they had nourished together. Now it was dead. One more distance that could not be crossed.
The night seemed to be speaking to him now, and he began to write. At first, he wasn't sure what he was writing about. April had asked for poems, and Robin had told him to write a letter, but Ron wasn't sure what he could say to or about either person. His thoughts returned to Rahway.
Warren wouldn’t ever be able to create the balance that had existed there again. He would never be able to give up control to anyone again. Other people would live there with him, and there would be interesting and unique things that happened, but it would all have the stamp of his control on it, and that would limit its possibilities and his.
It was the same with Robin and him. Each of them would surely not consider this the end of their lives, but their balance was broken for good. Whatever it was they had was over. Ron knew that now. He also knew that he couldn’t stop trying and that maybe there was magic in the world, and maybe there were things that were possibilities beyond the realm of what he thought was possible for the two of them but he didn’t really believe it anymore.
He wondered what would happen to everything they had learned about each other. She knew him as no other person knew him. She had reached into him and touched a child-like spirit that he didn’t know that he still had. She had taught him to see the world playfully. He wondered if he would ever see the world that way again without thinking of her. He wondered if he would ever think of her without feeling sadness and loss.
It was like that about Robin; it was like that about Rahway. He knew that he had loved them both. Most people would try to forget about both of them in order to move on, he thought. He knew that he didn’t want to do that, and right now it didn’t feel like he was capable of doing it anyway.
Ron wrote late into the night, combining his images of Robin and Rahway and himself. The time stood still in the night for him. It was dawn before he fell asleep with small piles of paper scattered all around him. The paper felt warm, and as he closed his eyes, he held the images gently against his mind and began to dream.
Examining Snake Garden Paradise
Snake Garden Paradise is a story set in the mid 1970’s. Its major characters are young people who carry the baggage of their years with the spirit of the times. They are part of a generation who grew up on the dream of a better society, and thought that it would come as easily as all other things had come to them. They brought their energy, confidence, and self-absorption to their projects with creativity and the brash sureness that was part of their country and their age. This is a story about how some of them dealt with change and personal loss.
People who entered their twenties in the 1970’s were already recoiling from an amount of cultural disillusionment. They were old enough to remember the New Frontier of John Kennedy and impressionable enough to have bought into his vision for America. The Civil Rights Movement had affected them, and they had viewed the injustices that were perpetrated against certain underprivileged of the society. They had objected to the Viet Nam War, and they had taken part in political demonstrations. They had stood witness to America’s Space program, and they had learned that the possibilities of what man together could achieve were closer to the dreams of fantasy that any before them had supposed. They saw the pop culture as something that they created, and they assumed the music that went with it was just one in what would be an endless series of manifestations of their creative visions.
In addition to this array of experiences, about which they knew better was the world of street drugs. Marijuana and what was known at the time as non-addictive cocaine were their tickets to both economic freedom and to worlds yet unexplored. They saw the drug as something they could use with impunity and discarded any information to the contrary as inaccurate hypocrisy.
The central group of characters in this story are not arch-typical representations of segments of the time and youth culture. However, the story does have allegorical themes. As the title suggests, this is a story that includes a fall, a breakup, a being thrown out of paradise. It is a story of how love sometimes ends, with confusion and longing and an emptiness that seems to stretch out for all time to come.
In most instances we are shown this kind of story from the point of view of one sympathetic character. We identify with his or her pain, and we ally ourselves to that character and hope that he or she moves on with life in a positive and constructive way. We even root for the other characters to see the error of their ways and either return to our protagonist , or be found less than acceptable by our protagonist after a return is desired. The resolution of those stories leaves the character better off than before, because he or she is wiser, or perhaps has discovered true love. The protagonist has learned that what existed before was more of an illusion. This story deviates from that formula greatly.
The perspective of several characters is shown in a number of situations. The reader can choose one or the other with which to sympathize. Hopefully, the reader will be pulled back and forth in his sympathies as the story progresses. This sets up a dynamic relationship between the reader and the story. It is one that probes the likability of each character, and then presents each as a person with flaws and strengths. The story explores the weaknesses that love exploits, as viewed from both the inside and the outside.
The major characters in this story were in love. They did have it good. There was a balance of security and excitement, need and fulfillment that existed between them, but it’s gone. It was there and now it isn’t. Although they are searching for the same things, they cannot find them in the same ways that they once did.
Ron and Robin do not come to these realizations easily. It is a slow process that seems destructive because they are ejecting things from their lives. Some of the process is unconscious and must be viewed through their actions rather than their thoughts and words. They keep hoping that there is a way for them to salvage each other and finding out that there is not. But what are lovers to do with all of the information that they have gained about each other? What uses can they find for the shorthand they have developed between them and the insights they have gained as a couple? Perhaps none, but if they keep at it, perhaps something. The resolution of this story for Ron and Robin is that they do keep at it. Although they have not found much to sustain them, they keep sifting their lives through each other and trying to restructure things. We know that they probably won’t be successful, but isn’t there an affirmation in their effort?
This is not a story of only Robin and Ron, but also the story of a group of people’s relationship to a place. Rahway was also involved in a love affair. The place joined with the people who were living there and created the balance of possibility and excitement.
How does a place do that? There are the sinister depictions of place such as those that were used in The Fall of the House of Usher or The Shining. In those stories, the place actually dominates the characters, controls them. Rahway doesn’t do that with its characters; it helps them, reaches out to them, subtlety strokes and caresses them. Except for the relationship with Ron, it happens unconsciously and mostly through auditory stimulation. Characters sometimes hold back their heads and listen to the house, but they only do that when they are alone and can be with the house.
The presence of the place is also intertwined with the relationship that is ending between Warren and Chris. It was they who conceived the idea for the house to be what it was, and it is they who are now destroying it. In some ways they have a parallel experience to that of Ron and Robin.
There was a time when they had it very good among the three of them, Warren Chris, and Rahway. That time is now over. Each of the three of them will suffer through the loss. When Chris leaves Rahway, he goes to a place that literally stinks and is infested. He has been tossed out of paradise, but it is only once that he is out that he is able to begin a new life. Warren inherits the garden, but he finds it empty, except for a very few traces of what used to be there. He won, but he didn’t get what he wanted. The music of the place is still mocking him as “the Sheriff,” even with Ron and Chris gone. Laureen will not be able to resist whispering the reminders into his ear for a host of reasons.
Ron goes to a place where he is trying to learn to go on with his life through caring for someone who is dying. What seems to save him is that he is oblivious to the contradictions that he is embracing. He feels that he is making some progress but all the outward signs are pointing to the contrary. He has stopped going to classes in graduate school. He still hasn’t broke free of Warren and the influence that Warren exercises over him. He misses Rahway terribly, and the reader can deduce that he will again start visiting Warren’s place, if he is allowed. He is still obsessed with Robin and clings to smaller and smaller shreds of hope in that regard.
Robin seems to be the only character who has been able to get free of the things that were controlling her. She is not in love with Rahway. In fact, even though she has lived there, she dislikes the place and feels some repulsion to it. She has created new possibilities and a new sense of home to which she is attracted and drawn. What is different about her is that she is not addicted to anything, not to any substance, not to any place, and not to any persons. She seems to resent attachments when they hold her back, and she is quite ruthless in her attempts to break free of them. The reader can dislike her for what she has done to her cousin, think that she is selfish when it comes to Ron, but it is difficult not to admire her focus and her willpower. She is the character who understands the difference between focus and obsession. She is the character who is tempted by fruits into which she chooses not to bite . She doesn’t sleep with Ron after she has decided that she shouldn’t any longer, even though there are times when she needs him and wants him. She doesn’t sleep with Amanda, even though she is sorely tempted. She successfully holds the bouncer Richard at bay, while she is able to utilize him for her own purposes. She rids herself of Alex. She accepts her betrayal of Penelope. She distances herself from her parents. She avoids having any kind of a confrontation with either Warren or Chris. She makes her life work. Although the story belongs more to Ron than it does to her, it is she who undergoes the greatest amount of change, and she who moves with the least amount of encumbrances and covers the most distance, both literally and figuratively, in the story.
The sinister aspect of character and place in this story comes from California. Did Klu and Lonnie have something to do with Peter’s death? Was it a combination of his bad habits, or was it poor choices in the people that he’d let close to him. Because we never meet Peter, we don’t really know. We know that it is question with which Chris deals very indirectly. By the end of the story, he is buying pot for personal consumption, and so we know that he is no longer dealing. What we don’t learn is whether it is because he no longer cares to associate with the California, or because he has grown to see Warren’s point. He lands on the coast to have a good time. When he is hit with the news of Peter’s death, he gets out of there as soon as he can. His instincts are telling him to leave from the moment he gets the news. The underworld connection showing itself for the life is cheap business that it is, surfaces only through Klu and Lonnie and only in California. The irony of the good time visit is Chris sleeping with Lonnie, more out of obligation to keep things smooth than desire.
A second tier of characters who each embody some of the flaws and the draws of their time also accents the fabric of the story. Here we have Amanda, Alex, Laureen, Ruth, Art, and April. Most of these characters arrive as friends or lovers, but each of them acts as an agent of change. Amanda helps and protects Robin as she goes through her freeing. Alex also helps in this role for Robin, but he is an unwilling participant. He is one of those characters who would have liked the story to work out differently.
Laureen is a catalyst for change at Rahway, and she tries, unsuccessfully to convince Ron to let go of his obsession with Robin. Ruth is a complex person who is maturer than the situation in which she finds herself. Although she is Warren’s girlfriend, she never takes sides in his dispute, and she is quick to offer solace to Chris when he is in need. She is more like Robin than any other character in the story, and the reader gets the feeling that her time with Warren will come to an end soon enough.
Art brings with him the outside influence of an organized discipline, a philosophy to which he is dedicated, a professionalism that he has embraced; although he now goes to massage parlors for sex and is intending to marry a woman for whom he has limited passion. He is a conscious embracer of contradictions. Finally, April moves through the story with a sense of mystery. Her connections clearly exist on her terms, but she is a giver who finds the energy of Ron as attractive as the intellect of Warren.
There is, of course, a generation gap among the characters. The two sets of parents are treated as old folks by the two main characters. Their questions are from a drastically different perspective and are counterpoints in rhythm to the way that the other characters think and speak. The exception to this is Aunt Dotty. Her rhythms and her thinking, although not her language, bridge the gap between the two generations. This connection is influenced by the connection that existed in the generation depicted here and the generation of the 1920’s from which Dotty hailed.
These characters serve the needs of the major characters in the story, but each of them has a level of development beyond the needs that they serve. Whether trying to seduce one of the major characters, serve the needs of a friendship, or free themselves from their pasts, each is after a complexity of things.
It is this widespread complexity, fragmentation, and duality of motivation that also marked the time period and distinguishes modern characters from those of classical pieces. These characters operate on a small, rather than on a large scale. Recoiling from the large-scale events of the culture, they turned inward and tried to control and influence their personal lives and those of others. It is of some significance that the only pieces of news that are mentioned in the story are about a championship chess match and the launching of a rocketship to another planet: manipulations and dreams.
Most of this story is told through dialogue. And most of the dialogues are between two characters. In most instances there is an attempt to modify the “he said, she said” descriptors because it breaks the natural cadence of the exchanges. Mostly, the descriptors of who is talking are used solely for identification and clarity.
When the exchanges include three or more people, this is rarely possible, and then the rhythms must be longer and tend to include more description. These conversations occur exclusively at Rahway, which is a silent partner and witness to them.
Finally, the conversations incorporate a liberal amount of contractions and colloquialisms. Young people tend to use saltier language, and these are no exception. It is more than likely that like a baseball player who begins to spit the moment that he walks on the field, that Rahway is more than in part an inspiration to the proliferation of obscenity that splashes through their communication.
Snake Garden Paradise is also a story about the writing of poetry and lyric. The three things that Ron holds onto throughout this story are his love for Robin, his love of Rahway, and his need to write.
The search for his voice, both literally and figuratively, carries him home. He starts out trying to talk about what has happened. Then he moves to singing the songs that he’s written in an effort to keep focus. Finally, it is his voice as a poet speaking to him from a place that he can’t recognize. Throughout the story, he seeks the voice and the feeling that it gives him to hear it. He attributes it to everything except himself, but he longs for it and cultivates it. He desires what it has to offer. The reader is given an insight into this character’s interior life by getting to see him write and see what it is that he writes. It gives the character a level of understanding that the reader would not otherwise see in him. The writing taken away, the reader might see Robin as only an object of Ron’s sexuality. After all, he does tell her that what he misses most is her ass, but because the reader sees into Ron’s interior life, he knows that isn’t the whole truth.
Was it Robin who became Ron’s muse, or Robin’s absence that fulfilled that role?
He would say her and she would say her absence, and Laureen would say that it was he not being able to get what he wanted. The truth is that it doesn’t matter why he is inspired to write; it only matters that he does. The role of the house is again prominent in this aspect of the story. It was on the energy of the place that Ron fed. It was the house that made him hungry or forced him to eat.
The novel is not a long one, and there are few pieces of action in it. The story is streamlined to its essentials. The plot is a simple one. Most connections are more inferred than stated. The love is real. That is the composition. The characters have voices that speak with their volumes and timbre. They are the instruments. If there is music, it must be fusion. That is how people and place find their way inside of each other.
Snake Garden Paradise is a novel about everyday life. There are no extraordinary events in this story. We see people learning that even the ordinary events of life are filled with a volume of emotions and insights interwoven.
Ron turned the key to his gold Chevy half hoping that it wouldn't start. No such luck… The fucking thing purred like it was factory fresh. He got out of the car and gave her a last imploring look. She said, "I don't really want you to go. I don't think that I can ever live with anyone else… But if you stay here, I’ll never be able to sort my feelings out.” He couldn't help thinking that if she would let him take her back upstairs and fuck her brains out that all of her confusion would disappear. The reality, however, was that he hadn't fucked Robin's brains out in a long time.
She stroked his face. "Remember what the doctor said about taking it easy on the drive back.” He nodded and thought that she was more beautiful now than she'd ever been before. When they hugged, her body electrified his. Her green eyes looked into his green eyes. Her blonde hair brushed against his light brown hair. The sun and the summer had touched both of them. She opened her mouth for his tongue. The plump fullness of her chest pressed against his chest. He felt her pelvis against him, her sweet, sweet pelvis. Then she pushed him away, and he got into the car and watched her walk back across University Avenue. His eyes watched the swing of her hips. His eyes crying for her to turn around. She didn’t. He dropped the Chevy into gear.
Driving out of Minneapolis was easy. Before he was even settled into his driving position, he was on the Interstate. His mind went into split screen. In front of him were the road and the traffic, but she was embedded in his brain. In the summer time, her freckles glowed from the sun. The season filled her body, giving her breasts a ripened fruit presence, her sex the delicate scent of a beguiling blossom. She'd pull her hair back off her neck and show the distinct contours of her face and shoulders. She made him crazy in the summertime, when she never wore underwear and always had some loose, transparent thing on.
She used to look at his cock all the time and constantly rubbed some part of herself on it, but for the last eight weeks his dick hadn't existed for either of them. He had promised himself that he wouldn't think about it or touch it or try to put it in her. And then it didn't exist anymore. It was soft and distant when he needed to urinate with it. He told himself that he could live that way forever, if she would let him stay close to her. His body had become thinner than it had ever been in his life. He was gaunt in his six-foot frame. His ribs and hips were prominent. He didn’t look strong or well.
The tape recorder lay next to him on the front seat. He managed to start the recording device and propped the mic up against the top of the steering wheel. He had five 90-minute cassettes. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with them, but he wanted to begin by talking himself through this.
"Well, who would have thought that I'd be on my way back home this early in the game? Probably everybody, that's who! She really kicked the shit out of me! Not that I didn't deserve to get the shit kicked out of me, but fuck, I feel broken in more places than I knew I had.
"What did I expect? I know what I wanted. Her and me, away from our families, away from our pasts, starting over, in love and making everything work this time. She loves me. I can see in her face that she loves me. She wants me to pay for being an asshole for the last four years, and I can understand that, and I'm willing to pay, but the truth is that she's not coming back to me no matter how much I pay.”
He stopped for a second, took a deep breath and continued. There was confusion in his voice.
"If she doesn't want me back then why does she want me to pay? And why did she start up with him? I mean the guy's married to her fucking cousin; doesn't that mean anything to her? He's a father, and she knows what happens to kids when families fall apart. Didn't that happen with both our parents too?
"I'm sure that I hate him more than I've ever detested anyone in my entire life. If there were a way that I could get him back to Jersey, it would be so easy to kill him. I'd tie him down and stomp on his face. I'd drive those stupid black glasses right into his eyes and make him gag on his own teeth. I'd bust him up so good that not even his fat wife would be able to look at him anymore."
Ron put the tape recorder on pause and stared out at the road. Wisconsin was still green and beautiful. The hills rolled like waves that carried him down toward Chicago.
"OK, so let's start over again. Why did I come out here? Didn't she tell me that she didn't want to sleep with me anymore when she came back home at Christmas time? But it wasn't that she didn't want to sleep with me, was it? She stayed at my apartment, not her mother's. And she slept in the same bed that I slept in every single night. And we spent the entire time together because that was exactly the way that she wanted it. But she said right from then that she didn't want to fuck anymore. That was exactly how she put it too."
He remembered picking her up at the airport and driving her back to his apartment. Before they had even gotten out of the car she said, "Ron, I think that you should know that I'm not going to fuck you while I'm out here. In fact, I don't think that I'm going to fuck anybody.” That last part certainly made him feel better. Who else had
she been fucking out here? Maybe it meant something different. Maybe it meant that... He didn't know what else it could have meant, but she said it and that was the way she said it. The iron willed cunt didn't really change her mind until the last night of her visit. She said that she wanted to go back to his apartment and feel close to him again. They got a bottle of wine and turned on some of their old songs and she even let him get naked in bed with her. Then she told him that she was all mixed up and that things were changing too quickly for her. She asked him whom else he'd been sleeping with.
Ron went back to his tape. "Now, who we each slept with has always been a really weird aspect of our relationship. We were a contemporary couple, whatever the fuck we thought that meant. I know what it means now. It means that we didn't know shit about love and fidelity, and so we claimed that the one didn't matter and that we were redefining the other. Yes, I had fucked other women, more than one of them, and I fully expected that she had other guys that she fucked, but the deal was that none of them were supposed to really mean anything. They didn't mean anything to me. The only one that's ever meant anything was her."
He turned the recorder off and began to cry. The thought that it didn't matter any longer that she was the only person who meant anything to him was overwhelming.
The Chicago Loop was packed. It was early rush hour. Ron watched the commuters with a mixture of envy and disgust. They were mostly mindless turds but they had a place to go and someone who was waiting for them to arrive. That said something about who the real turd was didn't it? Ron turned the tape player back on. "The only real question is what I'm going to do now. I'm twenty-five years old and in the middle of a masters degree that doesn't mean shit to me. I could go back to the school and spend another semester as a graduate assistant. I could try to find a job that I liked. I could continue on with my fucked-up miserable life and pretend that she never existed or that she died or something. But the truth is that I don't want any of those things anymore. I want to rest and get healthy and find out exactly how much damage I've done to myself.
"I always wanted to be thin. That's one advantage to all of this. I've got a thirty-two inch waist and weigh less than 145 pounds. Pretty good for somebody whose been fighting the big 200 forever. I haven't done any drugs in a couple of months and I do Yoga every day for at least two hours. I don't eat meat and I don't drink. I'm perfectly positioned to live out a completely healthy, if totally meaningless, life.
"That's it, isn't it? Without her there isn't anything that I want. And I can't have her, or at least she says that I can't have her. But suppose I can outlast her? Suppose I can look so good and be so gentle and so attractive that she can't resist?"
The Chevy made its way through the corner of Illinois and on into Ohio. Ron started the tape again. "The doctor says that I'll be OK if I don't push myself too far. Fuck him. I'm driving through on a non-stop, and if I can't make it that's just too fucking bad for me.
“I only went to the doctor because Robin got scared. Alex was coming over for a few hours and she told me that I had to get out of the apartment. I walked down to Dinkytown and had some soup. I'd decided that the best thing to do was just to walk the streets until he left. After all what's a three-hour walk to a stud like me. I had the soup and walked to the Mississippi. I crossed the bridge and then crossed back the other way. I walked back into Dinkytown and found a corner to stand on. I don't remember when the pain started, but I remember that my reaction was to keep walking until it went away. It was a bulge in my chest. I could feel it after a while. Then I decided to punch the sucker down. I hit myself hard and began to gasp for breath. Then I hit myself again to see what would happen. I got very dizzy and began to stagger. I went down. Somebody asked me if I needed help. I said no, got up and kept on walking. The sweat was making the clothes stick to my body, but all I could think about was Alex fucking Robin back at the apartment. Before I'd left, she'd made sure to show me that she didn't have any panties on. I didn't want his cock in her, but it was there and she liked it being there.
“When I realized that I'd been walking back to the apartment, I knew that I intended to go in. He was still there. I slammed into the door and it opened. He had these red jockey shorts on, and there was a big bulge in them. She was on her knees in front of him and not wearing anything at all. I felt a look of disgust go across my face as I nodded and collapsed onto the bed. She said, 'What's the matter, Ron? What happened to you?'
"Something is wrong. I don't feel right."
Alex rubbed his cock and said that they should do something else. He said something about going out. She turned on him and said that she couldn't leave me lying there like this and that he should go home. The fucker was disappointed. I could see him grimace and say something about this being the only night that he could get away this week and that everything had gotten complicated since I'd shown up. She said that she didn't care about how complicated things were and that she wanted him to leave. I felt like a little boy who'd gotten sick when his mother was trying to get laid, and I tried to get up. I remember thinking that I was going to have to let myself fall down and how much of a relief it was when I did. They rolled me onto the bed and I could hear her voice on the phone and then there were strange people in the apartment and they were putting me on a stretcher and Robin was crying. Alex was gone.
The whole thing felt stupid. I was feeling much better by the time we got to the hospital. Dr. Bloom was a friendly guy who didn't seem very much older than I was. He told me that the Emergency Response people had listed my heartbeat close to 110 and my blood pressure at 190/90. He said that he thought that I was having an anxiety attack but that he wasn't sure and that he wanted me to spend the night there. I told him that I had no insurance and that I couldn't afford to pay for a night in the hospital. He said that he would let me go home if I promised to visit his clinic the next day. That's when things got really screwed up. By the next day my heartbeat was back to 72 per, but my blood pressure was 105/60. Dr. Bloom said that something was wrong. He said that the deviation was far too great for such a short period of time and that I needed further observation. I told him about was going on with Robin and promised that I would start seeing a psychologist regularly. I told him that I hadn't been eating regularly and that I would change all that. That's when he said all that stuff about not pushing myself too far. But the way that I figure it, I can't wake up in this nightmare any more. I've got to get back to a place where I know what's going on and I've got to get there as soon as possible."
When Ron hit the western tip of Pennsylvania he was sure that he could make it all the way. It was a clear night and he was afraid to turn the car off for fear that it would be too exhausted to start back up. He got himself two containers of coffee and bit a hole in the lid of the first and lodged the second between his legs.
Rahway would be waiting for him; Rahway would always be there. The early morning highway was pretty much empty except for the ever-present trailer trucks. The road felt ancient and tired. The coffee was surging in his blood. The truth was that Rahway was the only place that he really called his home anymore. The visits to his family were short and nostalgic, but Rahway was the place he had faith in. They were the family that he had chosen. Rahway had been the first place that he and Robin had lived together. It had been the place from which he had left. They would take him in, not without a lot of questions and explanations, but they would always take him in.
Ron switched the tape back on after he'd opened the second container of coffee. "Chris is the only real friend that I've got. He's the only one who'll be happier to see me than curious about what happened. Warren will be curious about what's happened, but Chris will care. I suppose the important question is if I care. I wonder if you can be as self obsessed as I am and at the same time not care? It doesn't sound possible."
The late night fog was coming down on the Pennsylvania hills. Ron was into the second container of coffee. His mind was seeing Robin call Chris the night before. It had started, like a lot of other things lately: inside, without him being aware of it. Then it had just come out. He was telling Robin about not being the one selected for the job at the Minneapolis Star. She was telling him that it was all right. She was saying that he had enough money for at least a couple of more months and that she was sure he would get something before then.
"Trying to find a job in the middle of the summer is tough. After the summer is over, things will loosen up. I think you should go down to the food co-op or to one of the theater companies for the rest of the summer."
Ron was staring straight ahead, sitting in the lotus position he'd been so proud of attaining. "I think I should go back to New Jersey."
She looked at him sharply, "And do what?"
"I don't know. I don't think I can stay here anymore. I told you that I came out here for the city, but I lied. I came out here to be with you."
"I can't give you that anymore."
"I know."
"It's crazy but I don't want you to go away. You make me feel safe."
"I'm going to leave in the morning."
He got up and walked into the kitchen. He smiled to himself about how there was no stiffness in his legs and about how he'd kept breathing from his diaphragm without having to think about it. "I'm going to leave in the morning," he said. And now he was beginning to feel better. He had said something that had changed things. He'd made a statement, without thinking about it and planning how it would come out, and now that statement was real. It had been just that easy all along. She came into the kitchen after him. "Do you think that I should go back too?"
Instantly, Ron felt weak. "You want to come back?"
"I know that what's going on out here is unhealthy. It just happened."
Her face had the look that Ron had always found magical. It carried the promise of the existence of the impossible. It expressed faith in a magical universe. It was childlike and more. It was breathing beauty.
"Come with me now," he said.
"No. I'm not running away again. I'm going to set things straight, and then I'm coming back home."
Ron could almost feel tears on his face, but he stopped them before they were even close. If he really wanted to have her, he could never be weak in front of her again. It brought out her destructive instincts. "That would be the best," he said.
That night they went to sleep and when he held her, she held him back. The feeling of her hands bringing him to her made him trance-like. He felt her breathing and rose and fell with it until he was asleep.
In the morning she gave him a box of fabrics that she had been collecting for ten years. They were odd, exotic pieces that she used when she sewed things. "Would you take this with you? It’ll be a heavy box that I don't have to move."
The fog was now very thick, and Ron was yawning uncontrollably. He gripped hard on the steering wheel and brought Alex's face up in his mind. He smashed it and spit on it. His fingers ripped it to shreds and his eyes burned the remains with a look that spread like acid. He was surrounded by fog. Fog was everywhere, inside and outside of him.
He switched on his tape. "Rahway is a living dream. We discover things about the limits of our being there.” His eyes saw the gigantic living room with the white brick, split flume fireplace. There was a picture window over the fireplace and Warren had hung a birdcage just outside of it. The southern wall was a bank of windows that looked out from its entire length at an overgrown piece of property that tangled down to a branch of the river. He eyes panned and dissolved his mind through a wall and into the long narrow kitchen with a large oval oak table at the end. He saw Warren Lashly sitting with his back against the wall and his chair wedged into the corner against the edge of the windowsill. He was smoking an after dinner pipe and he was resting his foot on the sill. "Do you know why you're going out there?” He'd said.
"It's time for me to leave."
"Have you read the last chapter of the Journey to Ixtlan recently?"
"I remember what it says."
"For your sake, you'd better."
Ron squinted through the fog and wondered if Warren had the right to act like a sorcerer. His vision crosscut to Chris. They were propped against pillows in front of the fireplace he had in his burgundy walled bedroom. They were playing their guitars. "Warren's no more magical than anyone else, he just needs to think he is."
"Why?"
"It sure helps him get over with his students, particularly the female ones that he wants to sleep with."
"I know," Ron laughed. "Isn't it amazing?"
Ron stayed in one of the two small rooms in the back of the house the night of that conversation with Chris. He wrote the lyrics to The Hypofesser Blues. They sang it for Warren at the dinner they had for Ron just before he left for Minnesota.
The car continued to roller coaster its way through the hills and for the first time since that last night in Rahway, Ron began to sing the song he’d written.
"I read em' my poems and play em' my songs
And then I screw em'
I turn out the lights just to wish them good night
That's when I lose em'
If they're there the next day to say that it was OK
That's when I abuse em'
I tell em' that they're lost and that they need a boss
But that's just to confuse em'
If they sat that I'm rough, I tell em' they're too tough
And I got to find me some new 'uns
Their models for me in my memory
I use my fingers when I salute em'
I'm a Hypofesser. Oh it's true
What am I doing that you wouldn't do?
Think of what I win before you think of what I lose
I run my hand up their thighs while I hand em' my line
I say I'm gonna do this for ya’
Won't you loosen up your spine? Ain't you heard I'm a great time?
It's gonna floor ya
Did you feel me cum? Ahh, wasn't that fun?
I hope I didn't bore ya
I'll put my Vaughan Williams on an then it's off to the John
But I'll be back here ready for ya
You do get that much to say but remember you get an A
And I get to explore ya"
Ron sang the song over and over. He bounced on the seat and shouted out some renditions of it. He stopped when he noticed the first light of the early morning sky. The Delaware Water Gap took his breath away. It was huge and green and it loved him. He opened his heart to the surroundings and felt its embrace. The energy made him believe that he was soaring. He was safe.
From the middle of the night, his mind felt tugged by a voice that had spoken to him in the hills. The fingers of the fog stroked his brain and sifted the images of where he was now and where he’d been. It was only now, in the daylight, that he could hear the words that had surrounded him and poured into him when he wasn’t sure if he’d been awake or asleep. He turned on the tape recorder and spoke without knowing what he was going to say.
“Like highways standing too long, used and untouched.
I know that we share knowledge and know nothing of what comes before and nothing of the nothing that comes after.
I feel such things grow as they die- expanding”
He didn’t know why he’d said it. He didn’t know what it meant, but something deep in him would have bet his life that it was real. After he said it, he smiled and looked at the sun as if he was his friend. How could New Jersey feel this good?
Chapter 2
Robin walked into her building and back up to her apartment. She poured a glass of ice tea that she carried with her and sipped as she walked through the rooms. It felt good to have her apartment back again. Her eyes saw the spaces that his leaving had uncluttered. She spread her clothing back into all the drawers of her bureau. She moved the lamp and table back into the corner where he'd piled his suitcases and things. She changed the sheets on the bed. She cleaned the bathroom. She felt the apartment returning to her. When the phone rang, she jumped. The rings sounded like Ron. She wondered if he wanted to come back, if his car had broken down, if she would let him.
Alex’s voice had an accent that he'd never lost or wanted to lose. It was almost the last thing that he still had from his own country.
"Did Ron leave?"
"A while ago."
"Do you want me to come over?"
"Tonight?
"I'm not sure that I can get away."
"I want you to come over tonight," said Robin.
"I'll have to try to work it out."
"I'll talk to you then."
She put the phone down and started to cry. She paced through the rooms crying. Maybe she should just pack up and leave. Maybe this wasn't a good place to be. Maybe Ron was right and Alex was making her into something that she would hate herself for being. She needed time. She needed to feel secure in herself, and the men in her life had never understood that. It was why nothing had ever worked. They just wouldn't give her the time to decide how she wanted her life to turn out because they were afraid that it would turn out without them. Fuck them. It was her life and her life didn't come along with an obligation to share it with anyone. And that included her cousin. Of course, it seemed really shitty to start fucking Alex in Penelope's house while her cousin was giving her a place to stay until she found something of her own. No one would know or care about how Penny had told her that she had grown to detest sex with men, and how she'd hinted that she wanted to sleep with her. So, she had started fucking Alex. She needed to have someone, and he was right there going to waste.
Robin took a long cool bath. She'd thought about going swimming but decided that she didn't want to leave the apartment. Besides, the sky was building up to its usual late afternoon thunderstorm.
She got out of the tub to answer the phone. It was Amanda. "Well, did you live?"
She scrunched her face. "Yes. He's gone and I'm quite alive, thank you.” They both giggled.
"Was it difficult?"
"Everything about Ron is difficult."
"What about Alex?"
"I told him to come over tonight."
“Good for you. You haven't really enjoyed yourself all summer. When are you working again?"
"Not until tomorrow night. Do you want to have lunch and do something tomorrow?” said Robin.
"Sure. You call me when you get up?"
As Robin went back into the bathroom, the sky blew up. She put on a T-shirt and a pair of panties and sat in front of an open window. The view was magnificent. The wind was driving the rain clouds over her head like a herd of black horses. Their hooves thundered and the lightning cracked like a whip. The rain beat down and foamed like seltzer water being sprayed into the ground. In minutes, the street flooded onto the sidewalk. Then the street became a rapidly flowing river, and then pavement disappeared and it was all water rushing with fury everywhere. After about three-quarters of an hour, the ferocity of the storm subsided and just became rain, but it was still too deep to allow for traffic.
The next time the phone rang, it was Alex. "I've got a great idea. I could say that the car was flooded and that I got stranded. I could be there in ten minutes."
"OK," said Robin, "but be careful. The street actually is bad."
"I'll get there if I have to swim."
Robin laughed and told him good-bye.
When Alex got there, Robin realized that she was horny. She stared at his ass as he turned around. She watched his hips and his crotch as he walked through the kitchen and bent down to kiss her. His aftershave smelled good and his lips tasted sweet. His dark curly hair and his slight frame excited her. She liked his glasses; they looked European. She didn't want to make small talk, and she didn't want to talk about Ron. She got up from the couch and brought him through the French doors that led into her bedroom. She undid his pants and sat him down on the bed. His balls and cock looked like bulging fruit in the plum colored jockey shorts. She put her hands inside and rubbed them.
"I missed having you like this,” he moaned.
She climbed on top of him and rubbed her cunt along his leg. She reached down and pulled his cock out over the top of the waistband. When it was very hard, she crammed it inside of her and bounced like a person riding a horse. She came hard and screamed through the first surges of her orgasm. Then he jerked and sprayed his sperm into her. She held his shoulders and bucked until she felt it go soft.
Alex was in and out in an hour. Robin let the apartment get dark. She sat in her living room and scooped out half a cantaloupe. She was wondering about how far Ron had gotten, and she was feeling cheap. A midnight black cat with white socks rubbed against her legs. "Well, isn't it nice to see that you're still around! Where have you been hiding all day?” The cat meowed and walked into the kitchen. Robin heard her lap some water and then saw her standing in the doorway. Their eyes met and she meowed again. "He isn't here anymore. He went back home and didn't want you.” The cat meowed again and walked quickly through the living room, through the French doors and into the bedroom. She rubbed against the leg of the bed and meowed again. "Don't take it out on me. It's not my fault that he left.” Leni came back into the living room and sat at her feet in front of the rocking chair. She swished her tail along the floor and then made a sudden leap into Robin's lap. She meowed again. "I know. I liked having him around too. It just couldn't work out. He didn't really love either one of us until we were gone. Do you remember how long it used to take him to change your litter box? Do you remember how many times he forgot to feed you? Do you remember how scared he was to let you out because he was always afraid of what other people thought about black cats?” Robin was crying now. There were no sobs, just a steady stream of tears that filled her eye sockets and rolled down her face. "This is stupid," she said and got up to throw out the cantaloupe rind. Leni jumped from her lap as she rose, meowed again and disappeared back into a hiding place.
Robin settled down by the phone. She began to read a play called Birdbath. She continued to cry as she read. It was one of the plays that she and Ron had done together back in New Jersey. It was about a girl who had killed her mother and then gone to a luncheonette, where she was befriended by a counterman, who was also a would-be poet. She began to smile as she cried. Every time they had tried to rehearse the play they had ended up making love. On the floor of his mother's office, in her mother's living room, at school, at Surprise Lake... It seemed that whenever they held each other, sex was the result. Then there was the night of the drama festival. He had gotten mixed up and delivered a line from the end of the scene at the beginning. Their eyes met quickly and they decided to just go on and ad lib their way back to the key pieces of action. The audience loved them. They were given the Best Scene Award. Of course Ron decided to tell them what a mistake they'd made when he got up to say thank you, and of course he managed to make them feel like fools for awarding the scene anything, but she had loved him for that too.
What she hated was his dependencies: his drugs, his friends, and his family. What she hated was how he had become oblivious to how dependent he was on her. He just expected her to keep on doing things for him forever. What he was going through now wasn't heartbreak as much as it was withdrawal. He would never remember that she wanted him to leave New Jersey with her. He would never remember how she had warned him about how much he was going to miss her and about how she wasn't going to guarantee that she would wait for him. Then he shows up out here after almost a year, without his drugs, his friends and his family and he expects her to just drop her life and replace all of them. And he calls that love. What did he expect her to do?
Robin had been crying for what seemed like forever. She closed the book that she hadn't been reading for a long time and stared at the telephone. He wasn't going to call. She knew that now. He had left her again. More correctly, she had driven him out, and it had set her back. She hadn't felt this lonely for months and months.
It was 10:30 p.m. Minnesota time when Robin dialed her mother's phone number. She answered on the third ring. Robin could hear the slur in her mother's voice immediately.
"Hello."
"Hi, it's me," she said cheerfully.
"Robin? Is that you? Robin?"
"How are you?"
"I fell down, Robin."
Robin winced and bit her lip. "You did? Are you hurt?"
"I think I broke my arm."
"Did you go to the hospital?"
"I haven't told anybody yet. I was going to call you.”'
"I'm in Minnesota."
"I know. Why did you go there? Didn't you know I needed you? Didn't you know this would happen to me?” Robin swallowed the tears. She knew that if she started crying, her mother would know something wrong.
"I think that you should call the police."
"No police. I don't want police."
Robin was trying to hold on but her jaw was quivering. "Well, then I think that you should see a doctor in the morning."
"I don't know how to get there. My arm hurts too much."
"What about your friend, Trudy?"
"Who?"
"Trudy, the woman who lives next door."
"She went out."
"When you hear Trudy come home, why don't you tell her what happened."
"I did tell her."
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"When did you fall down?"
"I don't know."
"Listen mom, I have to go now I'll call you back in the morning."
"When?"
"In the morning."
"OK, I'll see you then, Robin."
Robin heard her hang up the phone. She stormed through the rooms. She threw herself on her bed and slammed her fist into the mattress. After a while she went to her closet and got down her winter blankets. She arranged them under her sheet in a long cylinder next to her, shut off the light and held them until she was asleep.
Chapter 3
Ron Tuck turned his Chevy onto the gravel driveway off St. George Avenue. He was home. The familiar sound of the crunching stones under his tires soothed him. The Chevy glided underneath the carport to the back of the house. When Ron turned the key, the engine stopped with a relieved groan. He stroked the dashboard appreciatively. He said, "You kept me alive, honey."
Chris Calvin's was the only other car in the back, which as far as Ron was concerned was perfect. Chris had heard a car in the driveway and was making his way through the kitchen to the back door. He saw Ron getting out of the Chevy and held the door open with an extended arm. "All right," said Chris. When Ron turned around, Chris blinked and blinked again. Ron's beard was gone and his hair was short. He looked very thin and haggard. Chris smiled and said, "You made it back here in great time."
"Straight through," said Ron. He reached out to shake Chris's hand. Chris took his free hand and put it on Ron's shoulders. Then he slapped him on the back. "All right, you made it."
They walked into the kitchen, past a sink that was monstrously overflowing with dirty dishes, and into the living room. Chris was a deceptively tall guy. His shoulders were slender and his long black hair had lazy waves that bounced on his shoulders as if they were a beach. He was perpetual motion, tapping a foot or snapping his fingers, smiling and giggling continuously. Chris went to the record shelves and fished out his Jackson Browne For Everyman album. He put on the side that started with Take It Easy and said, "Do you want some coffee?"
"For sure," said Ron.
Ron let his eyes caress the setting. The broken down brown couch and the sidewalk-rescued easy chairs were covered with books and guitars. There was a new addition: a full set of drums was set up in one of the corners of the room and there was an upright piano that had been added to another corner. It looked comfortable and loud.
He followed Chris into the kitchen. Not only was the sink filled with dishes, but so was most of the counter space. “You guys must have been having fun last night."
"Rock 'n Roll band practice," said Chris.
"You started a band?"
"I didn't start it but I'm in it."
"Playing guitar?"
"Guitar, flute, and vocals," said Chris bobbing his head and smiling.
"Warren must love having a rock band practice in his house.
Chris cocked his head to one side and shrugged. "He just goes to New York and stays there on the nights we practice.” Chris stared into Ron's face and looked down at his body and then back at his eyes again. "You shaved off your beard, huh?"
"I was trying to find work."
"You look tired."
"Not really. I'm just glad to be back."
"Are you gonna move back in here?"
Ron loved Chris. He always found a way to offer things that he wanted you to have, so that it seemed as if you had the option to take them, not as if he had the option of giving them. "I'd like to stay for a while."
"I think you should," said Chris. "Let's have coffee and smoke a joint."
Ron hadn't smoked a joint since the night that he left Rahway to go to Minnesota, but Chris didn't wait for an answer. He just said that Ron should pour the coffee that had been perking for some time while he went and got some pot.
"Maybe I should take a shower first," said Ron.
"Go ahead," said Chris.
Ron walked back out the Chevy and opened his suitcase. He fished out a change of underwear and a clean pair of jeans, some socks and a wrinkled shirt. When he walked back into the kitchen, and saw Chris cleaning a large pile of pot. The coffee was still perking. Ron walked through the kitchen, into the middle room that was never used for anything and turned into the bathroom. The smell of mildew lunged out at him from the shower curtain as he turned the water on full blast and stepped in. He scrubbed his body let his hands run down over the bony contours of his ribs and hips. He dried himself with a damp towel that was last used by he didn't know or think about who, and slid into his clothes. They were too big for his new body and he liked the feel and look of his thinness. He brushed his teeth with his finger and gargled with some mouthwash. On his walk back into the kitchen, he realized that he was very tired.
The coffee was poured and three joints had been rolled, and the rest of the bag was sitting in front of his cup. "So where is everybody?"
"Warren will be out later this afternoon. He said that should call when you got in. Laureen and Nancy will be for dinner."
"What about Sara?"
"She moved to Boston. She'll be down in a week or so."
"Art Collins is back from Zurich. He's splitting his time between here and Warren's place in New York."
"Are you still going to law school in the fall."
"Probably," said Chris as he lit up the joint.
"I should call Robin," said Ron.
"What for?"
"I told her that I'd let her know when I got back."
"Relax. Let her wait for a while. Nobody expected you to get back this early."
Ron swallowed some coffee and wondered if he should smoke the joint. When Chris offered it to him, he said, "I don't know if I should."
"Why not?"
"I've had some physical problems out in Minnesota. I don't really know what kind of shape I'm in."
"You don't look bad."
The album had made its way down to the I Thought I Was a Child cut. Ron felt himself wanting to cry. It was a song that caused him to see Robin. Rahway was a place that caused him to see Robin everywhere, in everything. He picked up his coffee and went to the phone. "I think I'm gonna call Robin," he said. Chris continued to smoke the joint and watch him. It was probably the first time he could remember Ron turning down pot. Maybe there was something to be worried about.
Ron entered the area code and the number. The extra digits felt strange because he had just been there yesterday, and now he needed three extra digits to reach this place. There was something that seemed important about that. Robin answered the phone on the second ring.
"I'm back," said Ron.
"You are?"
"I drove straight through."
"But the doctor said..."
"It doesn't matter because I made it."
“Oh."
"Are you OK?"
"Yes. Have you seen Alex?"
"Yes."
“Oh.”
"I'm going to come out there in about ten days."
Ron couldn't hide the excitement in his voice. "You are?"
"Will you pick me up from the airport?"
"Of course."
"Where can I reach you?"
"At Rahway."
"Oh. There was a very long, nervous pause from Robin. “ Aren’t you going home?"
"Not yet"
"What should I say if your mother calls?"
"Tell her that you think I left."
"I can't say that."
"Sure. Just say that I left whatever day it is that she calls."
"She's going to hate me even more."
"It doesn't matter, does it?"
Robin drew away from the phone. He sounded very strange. "I'll call you at Rahway and let you know when I'm coming in.”
"I'll talk to you then," said Ron.
Chris watched Ron hang up the phone. He could stop concentrating on him getting home now. He hadn't told anyone about it, but he sensed that he could feel Ron's spirit through the night as he drew closer. He wasn't really surprised to see him arrive about ten hours early. Ron's specialty was unexpected entrances and exits. "What do you feel like doing now?” said Chris.
"Would you mind if I tried to sleep?” said Ron softly.
"Wherever you want," said Chris.
"Do you mind if I use your room?"
"Go ahead," said Chris. Ron's voice seemed to have changed after he'd been on the phone. It had dropped to a whisper. The circles under his eyes seemed deeper. Without saying anything more, he walked back into Chris's room. Chris got up and followed him.
There were four stereo speakers attached to the unit in the living room. Two of them fed Chris's bedroom. He flipped the record over and re-lit the joint on his way. Sitting on his bed, he and Ron smoked the joint without saying much. They listened to the music, and Ron's face relaxed as he got stoned.
When they'd finished, Chris got up and left. He went into the living room and turned off the stereo and put his flute together. Ron picked up pad and brought it into the bed with him. It was the bed in which they’d made love for the last time. He was so tired, but when he closed his eyes a light seemed to go on in his brain, and her face was illuminated.
“She sat across from me with summer freckles and a smile that slid over to my face like the feel of her hands creeping into my pockets as we walked.”
* * *
Robin began to take care of things when she woke up that morning. She called her mother's friend Trudy and found out that her mother had fallen down earlier in the week but that she hadn't broken her arm. Her mother was on a binge, but Trudy said that there was nothing unusual about it. After the conversation, Robin wrote her mother a letter explaining that she was coming out for a visit and that she would see her in about a week and a half. Then she called Alex at the office.
"I need to see you today," she said.
"I've got a luncheon at two, but I can sneak away for about an hour after that. Are you working tonight?"
"At six.”
"I can come over at four."
"That will be fine. We have to cut this out, Alex. When you come here today, it's going to be for the last time."
"I'm not going to let you do that," said Alex.
Robin could hear that there wasn't real worry in his voice. This hadn't been the first time that she'd told him that she wanted things to be over. "It's not your decision, It's mine."
"I won't leave you alone."
"Then I'll have to move, won't I?"
"You're upset because of Ron. I know that."
"He doesn't have anything to do with this. I'm upset because of what I've allowed myself to do."
"We need to talk. I'll cancel my luncheon and come over at one."
"I've made plans with Amanda. I'll meet you here at four."
"Why are you doing this?” said Alex.
"We'll talk later.” Robin hung up the phone without waiting for him to answer. At least she was going to be able to control some things.
Lunch was helpful. Amanda rode over on her bike and Robin drove them first to a deli and then out to one of the lakes. Amanda was the one real friend Robin had made in Minnesota. She was a tall, thin girl with straight brown hair that was always tied into a ponytail. She wore large frame glasses, blue cotton work shirts and jeans with suspenders on all occasions. Whether they were going to the Guthrie Theater or for a walk through Dinkytown, Amanda's outfit was the same. She often teased Robin about her New York wardrobe and how much space it took up. Robin defended her clothes, saying that she'd made to keep herself from going crazy with boredom in the winter. She didn't tell Amanda that most of the things were collected from thrift shops and second hand stores. Amanda wouldn't have cared and Robin knew that, but Amanda also didn't care what she said to other people, and Robin knew that too.
Talking to Amanda about men was another matter. They emptied out their hearts and memories to each other about every man that they'd ever known. Amanda was no luckier with men than Robin was. Amanda’s problem was wanting one so badly that she went overboard at the taste of a kiss. This was coupled with a taste for men who shared the ironically common trait of having just ended a long-term relationship with someone that Amanda knew. The effect was a double whammy, often costing Amanda both a potential boyfriend and a girlfriend who resented Amanda for jumping into a bed that she'd just vacated.
Amanda had a good sense of humor about it. She often told Robin that from the time she'd first learned that Robin was involved with a married man; she breathed a huge sigh of relief. Robin assured her that she could have one or all of her ex-men. She did feel a bit queasy about introducing Amanda to Ron, but she was sure that Ron wouldn't be interested. Amanda had tiny tits and a flat ass. Ron could have cared less. Amanda did make the uncontrollable passes, but got insulted when Ron didn't notice them.
Robin learned everything she knew about Minneapolis from Amanda. The stores, the lakes, the gardens, the theaters, the restaurants, the zoo... All of it came by way of Amanda's guiding. They sat on a blanket they'd spread out on the bank of one of the city's lakes. They ate salads and sandwiches and giggled about how wonderful it was to be able to eat like pigs without it showing. The sun felt particularly good and the lake was populated by only a handful of mid-week swimmers. The full greens of summer and the light reflecting water caused Robin to grin and put the mess that she was in out of her head.
Then she said, "I've got to end this thing with Alex."
"Why?"
"Because it's over. I'm not excited by the secrecy of it, and he doesn't really love me."
"How do you know that?"
"He doesn't ever talk about leaving Penelope since I told him not to. He thinks I'm great to have on the side. Yesterday, he stopped by to fuck me on the way home and pretended that his car got flooded in the thunderstorm. After he fucked me, he left. His sperm wasn't even dry on my legs and he was out the door and on his way home for supper."
"That really sucks."
"I'm going to tell him today."
"When?"
"Before I go to work."
"Maybe he couldn't help having to go home."
"Amanda! Don't you dare."
"I wouldn't"
"After all," said Robin with a nasty little smirk on her face, "He is my cousin's husband."
"You're a complete bitch."
"Only sometimes."
When they finished laughing, Amanda gave Robin the latest installment in the never-ending story of Todd, her one true love who, according to Robin, was also a true piece of shit. He'd stopped by Amanda's apartment at one in the morning to boff her and borrow forty dollars. "It wasn't so bad. He gave great head."
Robin laughed until her belly hurt. She'd never heard a female use the expression before. Amanda had crinkled up her mouth and smiled like a fish after she said it.
"I'm going to go back to New Jersey for a visit at the end of next week."
"Robin.” Amanda's face was serious now. "Do you think that’s gonna be good for you."
"I need to visit my mother, and I want to see what he's doing."
"Did he call you?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell him that you were going back?"
"How did he sound?"
"Like he was going to cum on the phone."
They began to laugh again. Amanda didn't press the issue about Robin going back. She felt it was the wrong thing for Robin to do, but she'd made that clear and she knew that Robin was going to go ahead with it.
Chapter 4
The first part of Ron's sleep was unconscious. He didn't know what caused him to wake up but drifted back off listening to Chris play flute along with Van Morrison's Moondance. He saw himself walking through an English garden holding Robin's hand. They were both dressed in white. Robin was saying, "It's time for us to be together again now."
Ron answered, "But you said that would never happen."
"These are your dreams," said Robin. "You can always have me here." Ron smiled as he slept.
When he woke up again, it was late afternoon. The pad was next to him on the bed. He could still taste her as he wrote.
“She stumbled and rubbed almost out of her dreams,
eating oranges that were the sky and drinking coffee that was the sea.
When she was flying on a flying spoon that winked while she rode on its back.”
Rahway was working its magic on him already. He hadn’t written a word all the time that he’d been in Minneapolis.
He went into the living room and found that Chris had shifted over to guitar. "You feel better?"
"Yeah," said Ron. "I had the strangest dream about Robin. Is there anymore coffee?"
"There's a fresh pot."
Ron went into the kitchen. The dishes were still stacked in the sink and on the counters. He'd just sat down at the table when he heard a car gravel its way up the driveway. The bells over the back door jingled and Warren Lashly, carrying his ever-present canvas bag of books and papers, came into the kitchen. He was a skinny guy with tinted steel rimmed glasses. His blonde hair was long, though not to his shoulders and swept across his forehead. At thirty-two, he still retained his boyish appeal. This was accented by the North Carolina drawl that he’d spiced up with New York City speed. He peered at things with an attitude of inspection and judgment that was ever present.
When he saw Ron he said, "Hey, how are you?” And then scanned the front of the refrigerator for messages.
"I'm OK," said Ron.
"Hey Chris, did Art call?"
"Nope.” Chris continued to play guitar.
Warren moved over next to Ron. "Is there anymore coffee?"
"I think so."
He poured himself a cup and moved in back of Ron and over to his spot in the corner. "So how are you, really?"
"Thin," said Ron.
"That's an understatement," said Warren. "What happened to you out there?"
"I don't know. I got clobbered."
"How?” Warren's eyes were inspecting Ron, and they didn't much care for what they were seeing. He was more than thin. He was unhealthy looking. His face seemed pained even when he wasn't trying to grimace. Warren was used to inspecting his former students. He believed that he could tell more from the first impression that he received off of a glance that most of what they said to him.
"I don 't know.”
And his answers were too short. Usually, Ron was ready to talk his ear off and usually Ron thought that he knew just about everything. Warren waited, but Ron didn't say anything else. “Do you want to talk about this?"
"I don't know what to say. I mean... I just don't know."
Warren was feeling perplexed. He lit his pipe. "Let's talk about some things that we do know."
There was a long pause. Warren didn’t say anything. He was waiting. Art had been teaching him about waiting and this would be easy because Ron never made anyone wait, not ever.
"I deserved it."
"Deserved what?"
"I deserved to get clobbered. I deserved to get the shit kicked out of me because I've spent most of my life being an asshole."
Warren didn't hear any anger in Ron's voice. What he said would have made sense if he had said it with anger, but there wasn't anything. His voice was flat. Chris walked in from the living room holding a joint and handed it to Ron. Warren frowned noticeably.
"The house looks great," said Warren sarcastically.
"Come on," said Chris.
"I feel like doing some dishes," said Ron. "There's nothing like the most enormous piles of dirty dishes that you ever saw collected in one place in your life to absolutely assure you that you're back at Rahway."
Chris laughed, and Warren got up to put his bag in his room. Chris followed him, still smoking the joint. "What are you going to do now?"
“I'm going to try to find Art."
"Do you think he went back to the massage parlor?” said Chris giggling.
Warren smiled. "It's a possibility. What do you think about Ron?"
"I told him he could live here for a while."
Warren's face changed. It wasn’t a large grimace, but it was unmistakable. "That's not really what I want."
"It'll be OK. He needs to be here right now."
"I'm not sure what he needs, but I don't think that drugs are the best idea."
Chris stared at him for a long few seconds. "Laureen called. She's going to come over tonight. Are you having anybody over?"
"Well, Ruth is going to come over in a little bit and then Joyce'll be over for dinner at around ten."
"Are you going up to Boston to see Sara this weekend?"
"I think so. A lot of that depends on what Art has decided to do. I might want to have him talk to Ron a bit."
"That couldn't hurt," said Chris twirling his mustache. "Have Art tell him that doing dishes is great therapy."
Warren cackled and threw his canvas bag onto the bed.
Ron was still doing dishes about an hour later when he heard the backdoor bells and looked around the square column that separated the sink from the back door entrance. A slightly chubby girl with very white skin smiled at him. "Hi, is Warren home?"
"I think he's back in his room,” said Ron, returning to his dishes.
"I'm Joyce."
"Hi," said Ron. He continued to wash and stack.
Joyce made her way through the kitchen and then through the empty room and then to Warren's door. She knocked and said, "It's me."
"Come on in," said Warren. He put down his book and calculated. He had two hours before he had to get her out. That would give him enough time to change the sheets and take a shower before Ruth came over.
* * *
When Robin got back to her apartment, Alex was waiting for her. It was only 3:15. "I thought that you were coming over at four."
"I couldn't concentrate on anything."
"I know. This thing isn't any good for either one of us,” said Robin.
"That's not true."
"How is it good, Alex? I'm going to lose my family and so are you."
"I only know that I want to be with you."
"And what about your wife? And what about your son?"
"We've been all through this. Yuri will understand, and Penelope doesn't love me anymore anyway."
"I don't want this any more," said Robin. Alex tried to move over and take her in his arms. "I said no, Alex. No more."
"Now you don't want to be with me either. Is that what your friend Ron said was the right thing for you? To be alone and have no one because you're finished with him?"
"I'm not so sure that I'm finished with him."
"So, you finally bought his sympathy act, didn't you?"
"I didn't buy anything. Ron and I are still very close."
"Did you sleep with him before he left?"
"That's my business, isn't it?"
"You slept with him, didn't you?
"I don't want to sleep with anyone."
"That's not the way you acted yesterday."
"Go home to your wife, Alex. Make a life with her."
"After what we've had, you expect me to go back to her?"
"You never left her."
"That's what you want, isn't it?"
"You want me to prove that I don't love her any more by leaving her. I'll do it tonight, if that's what you want."
"I don't want you to prove anything except that you can muster some common respect for my feelings. I don't want this anymore!" Robin found herself screaming the last line. Her mouth began to shake. Alex tried again to hold her. This time she let him.
"I can't let you get away from me as easy as that. I love you too much."
"I care for you too. But this is wrong, and it’s got to be over."
"I'm telling you that you let Ron mix you up. Things were good before he got here."
"If things were so good, why did I want him to stay?"
"You knew how to get him to stay if you really wanted him to."
"That's right. But it was killing him. Couldn't you see that?"
"I saw a spoiled little boy who was disappointed and pouting.”
"And how are you acting?"
"Like someone who loves you."
"You don't love me, you want me. You want to fuck me on your way home and when you can think of some excuse to get away. You want to call me on the phone and tell me you love me and then go and watch TV with your safe, smug little secret."
Alex put his head down. "I know this hasn't been easy for you. I'll make it up to you."
"You're wrong, Alex. This has been very easy for me, too easy."
"You're the only thing I think about, day and night."
"When was the last time you slept with your wife, Alex?” He seemed startled by the question and hesitated. "You've been sleeping with her right along haven't you?"
"Only once in a while, so that she wouldn't think that anything was going on."
"You're a fool. She knows exactly what's going on."
"Did you talk to her?"
"No, not in weeks, does that tell you anything? She used to call me every couple of days."
"She hasn't said anything to me."
"What's she supposed to say? ‘I know you're fucking my cousin, so stop it?’"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to leave me alone. I want you to walk out of here with a notch on your belt, and tell your friends at the gym about the hot little cunt that you used to have."
"I'll bet it's still hot," said Alex with a big grin on his face.
"You're a pig. Ron was right about that. You are a pig."
"But I'm your pig."
"No, you're not. That's the point."
"Do you really think that you won't want me to come back if I leave?"
"Whether I want you to or not isn't a question. What I want is a life I can face myself with, and this isn't it."
"OK, Robin, I'll give you what you want. If it's really what you want."
"I want to feel clean and natural, and right now I want to feel alone."
"Promise me that you won't go back to him."
"Why so you won't have to feel like he beat you out?"
"Because he isn't any good for you."
"You don't know that."
"I know some things, Robin. At least admit that I know some things."
"I think you should go home."
"I think that we should go to bed."
"Haven't you heard anything that I've said? Am I talking to a wall?"
"I don't think that I can leave you."
"Then I've got to move far enough away so that you don't have a choice."
"You're going back to New Jersey?"
"I don't know. I'm going back to see my mother next week."
“Will you call me after that?"
“No,” she said with a determined stare.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not going to call you any more after today."
"So you want me to just walk away and forget about you?"
"Yes."
"I don't believe you."
"Then don't believe me, but just do it.” Things continued to go round and round for what seemed to Robin like forever. Finally she said, "I have to get ready to go to work."
"I'll call you tomorrow," said Alex.
"Don't call me."
"I'll call you tomorrow," he said, and then he left.
Chapter 5
The rest of the current Rahway people began arriving after sundown. Laureen was the first of them. She had a job waitressing at a diner in Cranford and was temporarily staying in one of the small back rooms. She was at home when Ron packed his car and left for Minnesota. She was a combination of Italian and Irish ethnicity that was always internally in battle. She had long brown hair and an aquiline nose, crocodile teeth and a luxurious mouth. They offered a slightly off-centered invitation. They'd kissed good-bye when he’d left for Minneapolis, but were both so uncomfortable with the physical intimacy that they ended up laughing before their lips actually touched. They were less reluctant to hold each other when she saw him at the kitchen table. They hugged and continued to hold hands while they exchanged the regular questions and answers. It was Laureen who pulled away first. She was special to Ron, and there was the connection to Robin. They’d been born on the same day in the same hospital. Laureen was all dark-haired and olive skinned. They were a study in the similarity of contrasts.
"So what do you think about what's going on here?"
Ron didn't know what she was talking about and the expression on his face showed it right away. He shrugged.
“What'd ya’ mean?"
"Have you seen Warren and Chris together in the same room yet?"
"Just for a second."
"They're very tense with each other."
"Why?"
"Warren told Chris that the drug stuff has to stop."
"What'd ya’mean?"
"He really wants the whole thing stopped: the pot, the cocaine, the speed, the mescaline, but he'll settle for Chris to stop selling anything from here and for him to just keep very small amounts of pot around for their private use.” Laureen stopped talking and watched for Ron's reaction. He didn't say anything; he just continued to stare into her face with an intense expression. “Chris hates having anyone try to tell him what to do, and he knows how much Warren loves to control things, but Chris is out of hand. We have a rock and roll band that plays extremely loud, mediocre, blaring music here three or four nights a week. Sometimes they get too high to stand up and Chris is dealing to all of them."
"Out of here?"
"Yes. And to make things worse Joey Z. Got busted."
"Where?"
"He was dealing joints out of a rooming house on North Avenue.”
"Oh no," said Ron. "I like Joey, but that's so stupid. Why didn't he know that he would have to get caught with that kind of a situation? How much did they catch him with?"
"Over a pound."
"Shit. Felony distribution."
"Exactly.” They paused. Their eyes exchanged a troubled look. "Warren doesn't want it around anymore. He says that if this keeps up, Chris will never make it to law school."
"What do you think will happen?"
"Well, first Warren tried to get Chris into a discussion about it. But Chris didn't really want to have the conversation, so he just kept on changing the subject and throwing Warren off balance. Finally, Warren got really angry during dinner one night. It was just the three of us because Ruth had to work an odd shift. Warren started out trying to bring up the subject of the integrity of the law. Chris didn't bite and Warren finally threw down his fork and said 'What I've been trying to tell you for a long time now is that I hate having the drugs and the people that come with them around all the time.'"
"And Chris got up and left," said Ron with a note of understanding.
"First he just sat there and put his head against the wall and shook it back and forth. Then he looked at Warren and me and said, 'I'm not hungry anymore,' and walked away from the table."
"Then what happened?"
"They've been avoiding each other."
"What about dinners?"
"Chris just hasn't been eating with anyone. He snacks all day long and either goes out or has friends over when Warren wants to have dinners. So, Warren's been spending more and more time in New York, but something's got to come to a head soon."
"Are you going to be here for dinner tonight?"
"Sure," said Laureen. Her dark eyes flashed as she pulled her black hair away from her face. "I'm addicted to seeing anyone try to talk to Chris about something that he doesn't want to discuss."
Ron heard the mixture of anger and satisfaction in her voice. She and Chris would probably still be together if it hadn't been for the abortion. Baggage like that wasn't easy to unload. Ron knew she was still in love with Chris, but it had been some time since it had been mentioned between them.
Warren and Joyce came out of his room after she'd helped him change the sheets. He said good-bye to her at the front door and she told him again about how much she was looking forward to being in his class again in the fall. She wasn't gone fifteen minutes when Ruth arrived.
Ruth was a tall strikingly pretty woman who looked impeccably healthy. She came over to the kitchen table and kissed Ron on the cheek "How are you feeling?"
"I'm good," said Ron.
Laureen laughed with a mocking tone and said, "Yup, he's never been better."
Ron smiled and put his head down. Ruth gave him a chiding expression but didn’t say anything. She went off to see Warren, and Laureen went to take a shower. Ron wandered back in to Chris's room.
The mixed piles of clean and dirty clothes gave it a comfortable feel. Chris was playing his electric guitar without an amplifier. The TV news was on in the background. Ron said, "Do you feel like smoking a joint?"
"Only if you roll it," said Chris.
He continued to play soft blues riffs and stared at the TV screen. Ron glanced up at Chris's tinted brown glasses and shoulder length wavy hair. Chris always looked perfectly at ease. There was a picture of a rocketship blasting off on its way to the fist soft landing on Mars. The commentator was talking about how it was a great achievement and was bringing us one step closer to the stars. Ron and Chris were oblivious to the story. Religiously, they turned the news on daily and never reacted or spoke about anything that they saw. Not anymore.
"Laureen's been telling me about Joey getting busted.” Chris blew out a sigh. "I told him to stop dealing joints. But he knew better."
"What's going to happen?"
"He'll probably get a couple years probation."
"Could he go to jail?"
"I don't think so."
"What about Warren?” Said Ron. He lit the joint and handed it to Chris.
Chris stopped playing and took a long toke. "You mean the Sheriff?"
"The Sheriff?” Ron's grin broke out all over his face. Chris giggled when he saw the amusement.
"Laureen says that he's been giving you a hard time."
"He's been trying," said Chris giggling some more. "And what have you been doing?"
"Well.” They both laughed again.
"What do you think about what he says about law school?"
"What I think is that you have to be stupid to get caught. Nobody cares anymore. They aren't putting people in jail for what I'm doing, and I don't intend to get caught anyway"
"Did you tell Warren that?"
"I shouldn't have to. He's been around long enough. I just paid both off his and my dentists' bills in pot. He didn't complain much about that. He hasn't had to pay rent on his New York crib in more than two years, and that doesn't seem to bother him much. I'll just wait until his current campaign takes its course, and then I'll remind him of a few things."
"Are we all going to have dinner together tonight?"
"Why not? You came back today didn’t you?"
They finished smoking the joint and Chris said, "Did you bring your guitar in yet?"
“Not yet.
"Have you been playing?"
“No."
"Let's play."
Preparations for dinner were very ritualistic. They usually began about 9:30. It had been difficult to find food that they all liked, and when they finally had settled on a mutually acceptable meal it never varied: London broil, green salad, French fries and mixed vegetables, supplemented by large amounts of Beaujolais. The repetitive nature of the menu reinforced the patterns of preparation.
Warren and Ruth would begin by going into the kitchen and getting things out of the refrigerator. Ruth cooked the meat. Warren tended to the frozen French fries and vegetables. Laureen made the salad and Chris set the table and controlled the music. Ron smoked cigarettes and watched.
When it was time for the meal, they lit candles and turned out the lights. Warren shifted the music over to his classical collection. Aqualung was exchanged for Brahms, and they gathered along three sides of an oval, oak table, jammed into a space clearly designed to create a feeling of being close.
As they were filling their plates, Warren noticed that Ron hadn't taken any meat and had limited himself to small potions of vegetables and salad. He took a long swallow of Beaujolais and asked if anyone had gotten the phone. Laureen got up and took it off the hook. On her way back to the table, she asked if Warren had heard from Art Collins.
"We finally talked to each other. He's going to stay at the New York place for a couple more days. I'm going in tomorrow afternoon.” He looked over at Ruth. "Will you be able to come in tomorrow night?"
"I've got to work so I can have Saturday and Sunday off."
"You're going to be able to do that then?” said Warren.
"Unless you've got other plans."
"No. So, actually you're going to be finished on Friday afternoon?"
"Yes."
"Good," said Warren.
"Art wants us to drive out to the airport, then, to pick up Helga."
"He's really going to marry this woman, isn't he?” said Laureen.
"It seems that way."
Ron was picking at his food slowly. Warren looked at his plate again. "Aren't you going to have any meat?"
"I don't think so."
"Did you eat already?"
"I don't eat meat anymore."
"Why?"
"It makes me sick."
"How can steak make you sick?"
"I don't know."
"You should eat some."
"I don't think I can."
"That's not true," said Warren looking over the top of his glasses. "You may decide not to have it but you could eat it if you wanted to."
Ron shifted in his chair and put his fork down on his plate. "It's not good for you."
Chris put his head back and said, "Yeah, I don't feel like having any vegetables either. They're starting to do me in."
"That's not what I'm talking about," said Warren.
“Did you know that Susan became a vegetarian too?” said Laureen.
"That's because she can't afford meat," said Warren.
Laureen laughed. "That's also true."
Susan, an old lover of Warren's who had become very close friends with Laureen, was living in a cabin on some squatter's land down in Virginia. Since she'd broken up with Warren and moved down South, her lovers had strictly been Black men.
"So, Ron, everybody's really been waiting to hear about Minnesota," said Laureen.
Ron looked at each one of them. Warren leaned back and Ruth leaned forward. Laureen smiled and Chris got up to go change the record. "I don't know what to say,"
"Well, how's Robin doing?” said Ruth.
"She's fine."
"Is she working?"
"She's got a job waitressing at a bar."
"Is she going to school?"
"The University of Minnesota. She says that it's really different to go to a real school."
"Why did you leave?” said Warren.
"I was afraid that I wouldn't be strong enough if I didn't leave when I did."
The silence that followed the answer was not what anyone would have expected Ron to say. It was too true and too complete an admission of weakness and failure.
Then the talk shifted to comments about the food. Ruth said that the steak was great. Chris took a second helping of salad. Laureen lit a flame under the coffee and Warren poured out more portions of Beaujolais.
Laureen said, "The funniest thing happened at work today. There was this man at the counter who never tips anybody, and he put his sleeve in his soup. Pea soup. He's wearing a suit and a dress shirt with cuff links, and he dunks it all in his soup. He sat there and then he realized what he'd done. I was watching him from the end of the counter, and so was the short order cook. So, he takes a napkin and tries to get it off, but it drips down onto his pants. Now he's angry and pushes the dish away and it sloshes out onto his hand and burns him so that when he flinched he banged his elbow on the counter. Then he looked really embarrassed and just left some money on the counter."
Chris was laughing especially hard. He loved slapstick situations, and Laureen had facial expressions and hard gestures that always got him started.
"Did he bang his knee on the way out?” said Ron.
"No, that would have been too obvious," chirped Warren, doubling Chris over with an uncontrolled series of giggles that came out like rapid fire "hummphs."
Ruth said, "Are we going to go to see the Caulder exhibit on Saturday."
Warren took another swallow of wine. "Yes."
"What color was his suit?” Chris was finally able to ask.
"Light tan and blue plaid," Laureen paused until it seemed like she was finished, "With a dark green border. The thing that we thought was really odd
was that it was the first time that he'd tipped us."
Chris immediately started humphing and Ron caught the contagious giggle. Warren cast an appreciative glance at Chris and Laureen as he watched Ron laugh and drink the rest of his glass of wine. Then they cleared the table and poured the coffee.
Warren put the phone back on the hook. He was going to have to find a way to call Boston without doing it in front of Ruth. He had planned on calling Sara before Ruth arrived but Joyce had stayed longer than he figured.
Chris was getting the milk out of the refrigerator and Warren took the opportunity of having Chris standing next to him to say, "What are you thinking about?” In a way that he hoped would lead him to a little confusion about his intent.
"Pea soup and mobiles," said Chris giggling and walking back to the table. He clapped Ron on the shoulder and said, "I think it's just about time for another joint."
"I agree," said Ron.
Chris walked back off to his room to get his pot tray and Warren said, "How much of that stuff have you been smoking with him?"
"Just a couple joints," said Ron.
"Just a couple joints among friends, Sheriff. Honest.” Chris returned with his hand raised in the exaggerated position of an oath, "I haven't done anything to ruin the boy's character, more than it's been decimated already."
Laureen and Ruth laughed and Warren smiled. Chris lit the already rolled joint and gave it to Ron.
"When's the next rock n' roll dope fest gonna be?” said Warren.
Chris raised his arm again and brought the gettyup Western drawl back into his voice, "Honest, Sheriff, there ain't been no rock 'n roll ever played in this house. We play nothing but Beethovan and Neil Diamond."
The telephone rang. Laureen answered it and talked for a minute then she told Warren that Art wanted to talk to him. Warren went to the phone and said hello.
Sara said, "I don't want to interrupt you because I know she's there, but I thought you were going to call before."
"I tried but I got tied up.” Warren stretched the phone down the step that led to the back door and out onto the porch.
Chris said, "Let's go back in my room and play guitars.” Laureen moved into the living room and switched off the stereo. She picked up a book and settled in to read. Ruth finished clearing the table and went back into Warren's room to get undressed. She turned down the bed and smiled at the clean sheets. She always loved that about Warren.
It was late when Ron headed into the back room opposite Laureen’s to go to sleep. His voice was filled with songs and the sounds of the guitars. He looked at the bed. It was the first bed he’d had sex with Robin in. First bed and last bed both at Rahway. He thought about all the beds in between. His mind was spinning him on a delightful journey of moans and sighs and images that had caused him to accept his body for the first time in so very long. He tried to write about the beds, but he couldn’t. He heard the light thuds of the moths on the reading lamp and then the sizzle of completion when they got to the white-hot bulb. He felt like his mind was taking photographs wherever it looked. He wrote:
Summer bugs stray in these rooms.
moths beat themselves against my reading lamp.
The advancing shapes blend from a compositry to a pureness
like grain in a magnified photograph,
where time is place
and personalities call to the phantoms we’ve taken inside.
Chapter 6
Robin finished work at two a.m. But she didn't want to go home alone. When she'd finished cleaning her tables, she went over to Richard the bouncer and invited him back to her apartment for a glass of wine. He was a weight lifter with curly brown hair who had spent his entire life in Minnesota. Robin was pretty sure that he'd never had a serious thought about a woman in his life, and the idea of that, plus the muscles made him very attractive. He followed her to the apartment in his jeep and grabbed her ass on the stairs up to her place. He kissed her hard on the mouth as soon as she closed her door and pinched her nipples until she yelped. Then they fucked. He rammed himself into her like he was using his cock to beat in a drunk's face. She clawed his back and shoulders with her nails until he said, "Hey baby, you're hurting me."
She grinned up at him and said, "I know."
"You little cunt.” He grunted as he took his cock out of her and grabbed her by her hair and shoved it into her face. "Open your mouth, bitch!" Robin did as she was told. She started to gag a little on the taste of herself, but then his cock exploded in her mouth and she choked and spit it out in time to get the last part of his orgasm in her face. Then he collapsed and said, "You were great."
"You were perfect too," said Robin, "but I need to get some sleep and I'd like to be alone now."
As he was standing by the door, he said, "We never even got to the glass of wine."
"Isn't that strange?” said Robin.
"Maybe we should do this more often," said Richard.
"I'll let you know, but I'm sort of involved with some things right now."
"I know what you mean. Good night."
He left without kissing her. Robin poured herself a large glass of wine and opened a book. She sipped her wine and thought about how a brute like Richard would significantly uncomplicate her life. Things were funny that way. She thought about how she would definitely call him Dick from now on, even though he did have a small one considering the size of him.
At five a.m., the telephone woke her up. It was Alex.
"I'm going to lose my mind if I can't see you again," he said.
"You're not going to lose your mind. You're going to make a life with Penny and Yuri and forget that anything ever went on between us."
"I can't do that."
"You haven't tried."
"I don't want to live without you, Robin"
"That's a very silly thing to say."
"Can we meet for lunch?"
"I'm going to be very busy today."
"What about tomorrow?"
“No."
"Robin, please!"
"No. I'm going to hang up now," she said and clicked down the receiver.
The phone rang again. She thought about not picking it up but decided that he would keep on trying.
"Robin, I need you."
"Alex, if you call me again, I'm going to go out and see Penny and tell her everything that she only suspects is true."
"Why would you want to do that?"
"To make you go away," said Robin and hung the phone up again. This time he didn't call back.
Robin made some coffee. She would have to get more sleep at some point, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to fall back just yet and thought that she might as well do some work.
Leni wandered into the kitchen and meowed at her.
"What did you think of the bull that was here tonight, Leni?"
The cat walked over to her litter box and stared at it and then back at Robin.
"Well, aren't you being judgmental this morning? I'd like to get a look at some of the alley cats that you stick your tail up for. I'll bet some of them are real prizes.” Leni meowed at her.
"OK, I'm sorry. I'm just a bit cranky from lack of sleep. Don't take it personally."
By 7:30, she had bathed and straightened out the apartment. She cut up some fresh vegetables for a salad that she was going to have for dinner. Then she drove down to St. Paul and went to church. She sat quietly in the last pew and watched the priest and the old people celebrate Mass. She thought about how her grandmother used to plant seeds in her garden and get down on her knees and say, "God, please make this grow.” She wondered what her grandmother would think of her now. After the Mass was over, she went up to one of the side altars and lit a candle. She didn't pray but knelt there and watched the flame dance on the melting wax. She thought that she must have stayed there for a long time because her knees were quite stiff when she rose and drove back to her apartment. She climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
When Ron woke up, his head was foggy from the pot he'd smoked with Chris the night before. He'd dreamt of Robin again. This time they were in bed together and they were making love. He remembered the feel of her fingertips on his rear and how she whispered to him, "Cum good inside me. Let it all out.” Ron didn't want to get up. He reached under the covers and felt for his cock. It was sticky. "Shit, I had a wet dream," he said, and threw the covers back and got out of bed.
Warren was sitting in the kitchen and writing on a pad that he'd attached to a clipboard. "How are you?” he drawled.
"I had a good night's sleep, except for the dreams."
"What'd you dream about?"
"Robin and me."
Warren didn't answer and Ron poured himself some coffee and sat down. He lit a cigarette.
"Don't you find it a bit contradictory to be a vegetarian and do all that yoga stuff and still smoke cigarettes?” said Warren.
"I never thought about it."
"Have you thought about what you're going to do with your life?"
"I suppose I should."
"What happened to you out there, Ron?"
"I just got all fucked up in my head. And now I don't know how to get out of it."
"I think that you should come into the city tonight and spend some time with Art Collins."
Ron raised his head and their eyes met. Warren was looking at him gently and Ron could sense his concern. "OK."
"Good. Come on in around nine p.m. And the three of us can have a talk."
Chris came into the kitchen wearing a pair of horizontally striped jeans and no shirt. His hair hung down below his shoulders. When he saw Ron and Warren talking, he stopped, stretched, and wiggled his toes. He cracked his fingers and poured himself some coffee. "What's on the agenda for today?” he said to Warren.
"I'm going to get some work done this morning and head the city early this afternoon. You're having the boys tonight, right?"
"Rock n' roll band practice."
"Is this 'band' ever going to do more than practice and get high?"
"Oh man, first thing in the morning? Yeah, we've got a gig at Pistol Pete's in two weeks."
"Ron," said Chris, "could you lay down some basic rhythm cords so that I can work on my flute?"
"When?"
He looked at Warren and said, "Let's do it now."
"Sure."
"Let's smoke a joint first," said Chris still staring at Warren.
Warren grimaced. "I'm going to go down to the college and finish up my work. Then I'll head straight into the city from there. Let's have dinner tomorrow night."
"I don't know," said Chris. "I'm waiting to hear from Peter."
"When is that going to happen?"
"In the next few days."
"Give me some warning, OK?"
"Sure.
Chris got up from the table and returned with his tray of pot. "Roll a joint, man," he said to Ron.
Warren watched Ron clean the seeds out of the pot. He took out his pipe and began to fill it from his tobacco pouch. When the seeds and twigs were at the bottom of the tray, he watched the way Ron delicately searched through the cleaned pot and pick out the last couple of seeds and seed shells. He was very thorough, trying to preserve as much leaf as he could. Then he folded the paper and loaded it up. He wrapped the paper around in a tight tube and lightly crushed it together as he rolled the cylinder up to the glue top, which he licked lightly and quickly before sealing. Chris sat and watched as well. He rolled a second joint and Ron realized that they would watch him as long as he rolled.
Then Chris got up and headed for the stereo. "I want to learn a flute solo to put with Dylan's All Along the Watchtower. You know the cords, right?"
"Yeah," said Ron.
Warren got up and went to his room to pack his books and papers. As the music started, Chris lit the joint and began to put his flute together.
Chris and Ron spent the day smoking joints and playing music. Laureen and Ruth had left for work before any of the guys had gotten up and so, after Warren left, they had the house to themselves.
Ron said, "I'm going into the city tonight to talk with Warren and Art Collins."
"On purpose?"
"What do you mean?” Ron laughed, "Yeah, on purpose."
"What for?"
"I'm having some very weird dreams, and I don't really feel that my head's in a good place at all."
Chris continued to fiddle with his unconnected electric guitar while Ron spoke. "Why not?"
"Pretty much because of what happened out in Minnesota. I haven't really told anyone about it yet."
"I figured you would when you were ready."
"Robin's got another man, and well, it's her cousin’s husband. I didn't realize it at first. I thought that they were friends, the same way they were friends when we were living together out here and he would come out on business and spend a day or two at our house. Robin and I haven't really slept together since she moved away, but I figured that we would get it back together when I got out there and it was just the two of us, you know?” Chris nodded and kept on playing. "I was there for about four days when he came over after work. Robin told me that he was stopping by and that the three of us were going to go out for dinner. I wondered where his wife was, but I figured she was home with the kid, you know?
The dinner was tense because nobody was talking about much of anything and I remember feeling a bit queasy when Robin sat next to Alex in the booth. After dinner we went back to her apartment and that's when they told me that they were having an affair."
"What'd you do?"
"I didn't do anything. I kept playing Leonard Cohen songs on the stereo and rocking back and forth in the rocking chair. I kept on inventing reasons why it wouldn't be a good idea for them to keep on seeing each other. I could see that I was getting absolutely nowhere, but I couldn't stop myself from talking and trying to reason with them. It went on for hours and by the end I was screaming at myself to shut up on the inside, but I was still talking with them about what was going to happen to his son and what it had been like for me when my parents got divorced. I remember seeing Robin wince when I brought that stuff up and I thought that after Alex went home I would be able to get someplace with her by appealing to her sense of loyalty and family. You got to understand, Chris, that at the same time I'm doing all this I'm also calling myself a chicken-shit coward for not just grabbing him by the throat and killing him. I must be a chicken-shit because that's exactly what I should have done."
"Would that have made anything better?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't feel that I acted like quite as much of a jerk-off, you know? Well, Alex didn't go home."
"What do you mean?"
"He slept in the apartment with her that night."
"Where did you sleep?"
"In the apartment."
"Why?"
"I don't know. It was very late when we finished talking and that's when Robin came over next to me for the first time and whispered in my ear that Alex was going to sleep there. I didn't know where to go. I didn't have a car because we had brought it over to a shop to have the oil changed and a bent tire rod that I picked up on the way out there fixed. When she told me, I lost control. I started to cry in front of them. Then I picked up the cushions from the couch and dragged them into the kitchen because it was the only room besides the bathroom that had a door. She fucked him all night. They didn't sleep. I know because I didn't sleep. She fucked him all night long with me in the next room.
"I haven't felt right about myself since then. Except that I made one promise to myself and that was that even if it killed me I was going to destroy that relationship."
Chris spoke carefully. "It sounds like this is really tearing you up inside."
"That's how it feels too. It's not just being sad; it's something very physical like something in me that's broken. And I think it's stupid and I want it to stop but I can't make it stop."
Chris looked a little uncomfortable. He started to reach for the pot tray and then decided that wasn't a good idea. He thought about picking up his guitar but decided against that. He felt very relieved when Ron got up and said that he was going to take a shower.
Telling Chris about what had happened in Minneapolis didn’t make him feel any better. It made him feel further away from her. Somehow when he kept it to himself, kept it inside, it was better because it only belonged to the two of them. He sat in the back room after the shower and stared at the pad that he had been using. Somehow, telling it to the paper could bring them close again. Warren had taught him to love poetry, but when he wrote he was alone with Robin. He could bring her there and keep her there for as long as he could sustain the vision.
“That morning after she had me sleep on the floor
and I told her I had to go away,
She said I looked like I wanted to die;
I told her I’d be OK.
She asked how I knew and lit a candle;
in the center of the room
crashing in my heart was like the thunder in the sky.
She drew in with her hands from the North
and began to chant.
The air filled with dancers as large as the dust,
she said a careless death was a sloppy compromise
that brought nobody any closer…”
It hadn’t happened that way, but it was the way he saw it in his imagination. She had said those things to him, not that morning but she had said them. He could see her sitting there and chanting, and he wondered where that came from. The room was absolutely and he could see himself there sitting with her. He put the pen down and tried to stay there. If he didn’t move and no one made a sound, it would be OK.
Chapter 7
Warren's New York apartment was on the fourth floor of a brownstone on West 85th Street. Ron planned to get there just around nine p.m. Warren had called out to Rahway late in the afternoon to remind Ron to bring the extra set of keys in with him just in case he decided to come in early. Actually, it was because Warren and Art planned on being a couple of hours late. It had been Art's idea when Warren mentioned that Ron might be a bit resistant to talking about what was going on with him. Art said that they should leave him waiting for a couple of hours and that way Ron himself would have to accept the notion that he was there for help because he wanted to be helped. Either that or he would leave. Art had made it clear to Warren that he was interested in helping Ron if that's what Warren wanted, but that he wasn't interested in wasting his time. So, the two of them went out to dinner at 8 p.m. They walked through the park and over to a restaurant on 2nd Avenue.
Art had just returned from seven years in Zurich, where he'd been studying at the Jungian Institute. He was now a qualified Jungian analyst. He and Warren had been friends since they shared their adolescence in North Carolina. Art had left for Switzerland just before Warren's wife had given birth to their daughter. He had missed the crazy period surrounding Warren's divorce and the alimony battles that had even included Warren being thrown in jail. Art had been spending that time like a character from a Thomas Mann novel. When he came back down from the mountains and across the sea, he realized that he was a vastly different person than he'd been when he'd left. He and Warren had kept up a steady communication of letters during the time of his absence and Warren had never failed to write and to be supportive of everything except for Helga, which is what they talked about during dinner.
After meandering around to it, Warren said, "I guess what it comes down to is that I don't understand how you can marry a woman that you're not that interested in sleeping with."
“That's not exactly what I said," said Art, stroking the obligatory full beard he'd grown in Zurich and peering at Warren through his thick, black rimmed glasses. "I said that we don't sleep together that often."
"I don't understand that."
"Hasn't sex gotten better for you since you were divorced?"
"There are a number of things that have contributed to the change of my sex life but that's surely one of them."
"Wouldn't you say then that perhaps sex and marriage, unless we're talking about children, don't really have much to do with each other?"
"You mean that you'll have affairs with other women."
"Probably from time to time I will, but I'm not exactly planning on it or making it one of the conditions of our marriage."
Warren still didn't like it but he had too much respect for Art to press things any further. Besides, suppose Art was correct.
* * *
Ron climbed the four flights of stairs and let himself into the apartment. It was the first time he'd been there without Warren being around. It was a small, two-room place that was made even more claustrophobic by the floor-to-ceiling book shelves that Warren had installed over every square inch of wall space, and by the two couches that he'd set up in an L shape, and the two desks (one for a typewriter and one for longhand), and by the over-stuffed reading chair that was wedged up against the radiator. There were corridors that led through the arrangements of furniture and books but no other floor space. The bedroom contained a large double bed and a dresser, more books and a gigantic painting of a naked woman rolled into a ball and clenching her teeth. Ron stared at the painting and examined the way the artist had made her exposed genitals the center of focus. He studied the details of the exposed vagina and wondered if Warren found the picture erotic.
He made himself a cup of instant coffee and thought briefly about the fact that he hadn't eaten since the dinner of the night before and probably not for a day or so before that. It didn't matter that much. He wasn't hungry. He scanned the book titles as he walked around the apartment with his cup of coffee. He opened the desk drawers and looked in the closet. Then he just sat down in the reading chair and waited.
Warren’s things had the feel that a teacher’s objects have for a student. Ron would always probably be one of his students. It had been Warren that had grabbed hold of Ron when he was running wild without a sense of direction and purpose and convinced him that he had talent and insight that he was wasting. More than anyone else, Warren had given him the inspiration to study literature and to write. Having given Ron that, Warren had earned the right to be excused for a whole lot of other stuff. Ron was more than willing to put up with an amount of abuse from Warren. He knew that he wasn’t easy to teach. He had seen enough teachers give up on him in the past to know that he was no picnic in the park.
It felt as if he was there a very long time and he thought about driving back to Rahway to catch the end of rock n' roll band practice, but he'd come this far and found it very difficult to get out of the chair. When he finished with his coffee, he put his head back and closed his eyes. The apartment was very warm, and Ron hadn't thought to open any of the windows. He felt some perspiration run down the side of his face but didn't move or open his eyes. He was still sitting that way when he heard Warren's voice on the stairs. He must have dozed off, because the voice startled him. He got a little nervous and looked around to make sure that he hadn't disturbed anything. He saw that he'd left the top off the coffee jar and that there was a roach on the counter, inside the top. Ron got out of his chair and crossed to the sink. He was squishing the roach in between his fingers when Warren and Art walked into the room.
"Good," said Warren, "you're here."
"Did I get the times mixed up?” He flicked the roach into the garbage pail and looked back up at the electric clock on the wall over the sink.
"No, we just had things take a little longer than we expected them to."
Ron nodded. "How are you, Art?” He extended his hand, and Art Collins took it in his, after staring at it for a long second.
"I'm going to make some coffee and then maybe we should go out on the balcony," said Warren.
The balcony was a rooftop that was outside of Warren's bedroom window. He unlocked the metal gate and drew it back with several jerks and creaks. They stepped out of the window and found some chairs and a table set up on the roof. The adjoining backyards of several other brownstones had created this tree and vine filled canyon that was totally hidden from any access to the street. They sat in their chairs and Warren came out with the coffee. He and Art hadn't said anything to each other while Warren was gone. Ron stared up at the trees and roof tops. From where he was sitting he could also look down to the ground. It flashed through his head that if he made one impulsive leap that his life might just be over and that maybe that would be a good thing. He stared into the darkness and the dirt and thought that it looked quite comforting.
"Ron's just got back from Minneapolis a couple of days ago," said Warren for openers.
"How was it out there?” asked Art.
"Beautiful," said Ron. "The city is filled with lakes and at the end of the day they pump classical music out of the bus stop enclosures. Between that and the fountains, it feels wonderful. And the streets are clean, and I don't know, I guess I saw it at its best in the summer time, you know...”
"Why did you come back?” said Art.
"Things hadn't really worked out the way that I thought they would."
Warren put his feet up and sipped his coffee. "How did you expect them to work,” he asked.
"You know, with Robin."
"Tell me about Robin," said Art. "How would you describe her, I don't think that I've ever met her. He glanced over to Warren who shook his head no.
"She's very pretty," said Ron. "She about 5’2” and has real blonde hair and high cheekbones and a wonderful imagination and a sense of the beauty of the world."
"Does she have big tits?” said Art.
Ron stared at him and didn't answer.
"Does she have big tits?” Art repeated.
"Yes," said Ron in a very soft voice.
"And a nice, tight ass?"
"Yes."
"And a naturally blond pussy, huh?"
"Why are you talking about her like that?” said Ron.
"What do you mean?” said Warren.
"He's asking me to describe her like a fuck and I don't think about her that way."
"Did you ever?” said Art.
Ron put his head back down and his voice got small again. "Yes.”
"You sound like you're ashamed of it," said Warren.
"I am, a bit."
"When did Robin stop sleeping with you?” asked Art. Ron recounted the story that he told Chris earlier that afternoon. He stared at his feet as he talked, and spoke in the same small voice that he'd been using earlier. They listened quietly. Warren had expected something like this, but when Ron got to the part about her fucking all night long with Ron in the next room, his mouth fell open.
"What happened the next day?” said Warren.
"I tried to talk her out of seeing him anymore."
"Why didn't you leave?” said Art.
"Because I love her and I thought that it would stop."
"Did it?"
"Well, he didn't spend the night any more, and she would let me know when he was coming over and I would go out."
"She didn't have to have him stay the night again,” said Warren. “She knew what it would do to you after the first time,"
"I don't think that she was trying to hurt me," said Ron.
Warren yelped, "You don't? What did you think she was trying to do?"
"She just got in over her head."
"She was trying to kill you, and she almost did!" Warren snarled as he spoke.
"She wouldn't do that on purpose."
At this point Art started singing very softly. "Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so...
Warren laughed. When Art got to the chorus, he joined in. "Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves."
Ron's eyes grew dark staring at their smiling faces in the night. He looked over the ledge of the roof and thought again about leaping off. "Why are you guys doing that?” He asked softly.
"You're the one that's done it," said Art.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that you want to be like Jesus so that you don't have to face what's going on inside of you.” Ron didn't know what to say and put his head down. Art began to sing again.
Ron wanted him to stop, but he didn't. Finally, he said, "Maybe I should just go."
He started to get up and heard Warren's voice, strong and harsh, say, "Sit down and listen."
"What's happened to you was that you wanted to kill her and didn't know what to do about it, so you've shut everything down. That's why you can't eat and that's why you don't have your own voice or your own vocabulary. She took your soul, or at least your balls, which in your case is almost the same thing. Your body saw what you were doing and got sick at the thought of it."
"I never thought about hurting her. I deserved this. I did some really rotten things to Robin."
"Yes, Jesus loves me," sang Art.
Finally Ron said, "That sucks, and I wish you'd stop it."
"What's the matter with being like Jesus?” said Art.
"That's not what I mean. I'm nothing like Jesus. You're just mocking me."
"I'll bet you're becoming more like Jesus every day. You're fasting aren't you? And you're celibate, too, I suppose."
Ron sat there quietly and hoped that Art would stop. A guy like Art could never understand what the feelings he had for Robin were like.
"Do you know," Warren said to Art, "the night before he left for Minnesota, he sang a song that he wrote about me that kicked the shit out of me better than I can remember anyone doing in quite a while. He was sleeping with at least two good looking women and teaching two courses at his college while he was taking a Master's Degree. He'd learned more about teaching in one semester than most people learn in years and look at him now. No wonder his body got sick at the thought of what he was doing."
"I was unhappy," said Ron.
"You could have fooled me," said Warren.
"Are you happier now that you don't have your balls any more?” asked Art.
"I've still got my balls," said Ron in a weary voice.
"She's got them," said Art, "and she won't even let you use them is my bet."
"What do you mean?"
"She owns you."
The conversation continued like this for more hours. They drank coffee and talked until the sky got light. Art told Ron that Robin was a kind of witch. Now that she was through with him as a lover, she wanted to make sure that he wasn't going to be any good for anyone else. In that way she would control him for the rest of his life, because no woman would ever measure up to the way he felt about her, because she owned his balls.
"She's going to be here next week," said Ron.
"Of course," said Art. "She wants to watch you while she plays with your balls."
"Maybe it's because she loves me."
"How could she love you?” said Warren angrily. “Look at what you've done and what you're doing to yourself!"
Art said that they had made all the progress that they were going to make for one night and that they should talk again over the weekend. Warren said that Ron should try to concentrate on being able to eat and on building up some of his strength. "You wouldn't know it to look at him now, but somewhere inside of this mess is still quite a man."
Ron smiled. It was the nicest thing that Warren had ever said to him
Chapter 8
Robin's next couple of days went by quickly. She worked each night and during the day she read and worked on a new dress that she wanted to have finished by the time she went out to New Jersey. Alex still called each day, but the calls grew shorter and the time that they would come grew predictable. Richard asked her each night if she wanted him to follow her home after work so that they could "get it on" as he put it. She'd decided that an occasional mindless fuck with Dick would be all right but that she would have to be careful that he didn't think that they were actually involved in anything. She'd decided to at least wait until after she came back from Jersey before she would indulge herself in that.
Tonight was going to be her first real problem because she had the night off and mid-afternoon she could feel herself getting lonely. Then the phone rang. She was hoping that it would be Amanda wanting to do something, but the ice water of Penelope's voice splashed her from the other end of the phone.
She tried to recover quickly. "Hi, how are you?” she said very cheerfully.
"I'm shitty. And how are things going for you?" Without waiting for a reply, Penelope continued, “Listen, Robin, I'm going to be in town and I'd like to stop over."
"Oh."
"Are you going to be busy? I mean is there any reason why you wouldn't want me to drop by?"
'No, of course not. I'd love to see you. I haven't heard from you in weeks."
"Yes, I know."
"Is something wrong?"
There was a short bitter laugh on the other end of the line and Robin could picture Penny's face screwed up in a snarl as she was doing it. "You might say that."
"I'll brew some ice tea."
"That's just great," said Penelope. "I'll see you in about an hour then."
Robin's hands were shaking when she hung up the phone. She walked around the apartment in a frantic circle searching for any clues of Alex that she might not otherwise notice. There were two of his ties in the closet and a pair of slippers that she'd bought for him. There were the letters that he'd written her and the beer mug that he used along with two bottles of his brand in the refrigerator. She boxed the stuff quickly and brought it down to her trunk. Then she put the water on for the tea and sat at the kitchen table wringing her hands. Alex usually called between four and five in the afternoon. That meant there was a good chance of him calling while her cousin was there. She decided that she would have to call him at work, but he wasn't in the office and that made her even more nervous. Suppose he showed up while Penelope was there? Maybe she should just leave a note on the door saying that something had happened to Amanda and that she had to go out and that she was sorry but would call Penelope later that night? Maybe she should just call Amanda and tell her that she was coming over.
She was still trying to decide what to do when the doorbell rang. She ran down the stairs and saw the top of her cousin's head over the curtain on the front door. She put a smile on her face, opened the door wide and tried to sound as carefree as she could.
"Hi, how are you?” she said and kissed her cousin on the cheek. Penelope didn't return the kiss or the embrace. "Come on upstairs."
Penelope was wearing sunglasses and a dark peasant blouse and skirt that hid her girth. "Are you sure that it's all right?"
"Of course."
After they settled at the table and Penelope spent a minute or two playing with Leni, she said, "I came to find out why you're trying to ruin my life, Robin."
Robin smiled nervously. "What do you mean?"
"Why are you trying to take my husband away from me?"
Robin stared at her blankly. "I wouldn't do that."
"But you've been going to bed with him, haven't you?"
"No, I haven't.” She cursed herself for the shakiness in her voice. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I had a taping device that Alex doesn't know about installed on my phone. I've listened to the two of you on the phone together.” She paused to allow her disclosure have its affect. Robin’s face grew impassive. “Couldn’t you find a man of your own? Did you have to take mine? Don't you know that we've got a child?” Penny raised the voice each question louder than the previous one.
Robin's hands began shaking uncontrollably again. She brought them up over her face. "Penny, I'm very sorry that you had to find out that way."
"You're sorry that I had to find out, you little piece of shit!"
"I'm sorry that it happened. I don't know what to say.” Robin began to cry.
"You don't know what to say! When you moved out here to get away from Ron, didn't I take you in? Didn't I listen for hours about your problems and try to be a friend to you?"
"Yes.” Robin was starting to sob loudly.
"Then why did you do it? Are you just a whore that fucks anything she can find with a cock?"
"Yes," said Robin. "I must be to have done something like this to you."
"Don't give me the pathetic bullshit, Robin. That crap doesn't work on me anymore. I knew that Alex was screwing around, but I never thought that it was with somebody in my family."
"I broke it off," cried Robin. "I knew it was wrong and I broke it off."
"Wasn't that big of you? What am I supposed to do now, compete with the memory of your tight little ass? You might as well keep him because I'm throwing him out!"
"It was my fault, not his."
"It was your fault all right.” She got out of her chair and advanced on Robin who looked up in time to see the hand that smashed into her face. The crack of the slap reverberated in the room. Robin cried out in pain. Penelope slapped her face again and Robin hid herself in her hands crying for Penny to stop. Penelope slapped the top of Robin's head over and over again until she also began to cry. Then she picked up her purse and said, "I don't ever want to see or hear from you again.” And she left.
Robin sat at the table whimpering until she couldn't cry anymore. The phone rang but she didn't answer it. Her cousin was right. She was a little piece of shit.
* * *
At three a.m. Ron was asleep and dreaming of Robin. She was telling him that after this period of confusion that every thing was going to be all right and that they'd be back together. He was saying that he believed her and that he would always believe her no matter what.
His room was the closest to the phone and it woke him almost immediately. He staggered out of his room with his eyes still half closed and the sound of her voice in his head.
"Hello," he mumbled.
"Hi," she said.
Ron blinked and shook his head a little. "Robin, is that you?"
"I'm glad you answered the phone. I miss you.”
"I miss you too."
"Are you eating?"
"Some."
"Ron, you have to start taking better care of yourself."
"OK," he paused to listen to her breathing. He could see her face with the phone held up close to it. "When are coming out here?"
"On Wednesday."
"Do you still want me to pick you up?"
"Yes."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"I don't know yet."
"Do you want to stay here with me?"
"I'm not so sure that would be a good idea," said Robin.
"Ron, I have so much to talk to you about."
"What?"
She could hear the excitement in Ron's voice. She smiled. He had a one-track mind when something that he wanted was involved. "A lot of things, but they'll keep until Wednesday. I love you, Ron. You should go back to sleep now."
Ron felt his eyes start to well up with tears. "I love you too."
He poured himself a glass of juice, sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. For sure he knew that the dreams he'd been having were coming straight from Robin, or at least from whatever it was that was holding them together.
Laureen had been awakened by the phone and had listened to the conversation. She walked out of her room and poured herself a glass of diet Pepsi. She sat down next to him at the table.
"I'm sorry that the phone woke you up," he said.
"I don't have to work tomorrow, so it doesn't matter."
"It was Robin."
"I gathered that," she said smiling.
Ron had always felt the connection between Robin and Laureen. They both liked to act and had worked for the same director. They held each other in high regard, but at a distance. "Do you think that she'll ever come back to me?"
"No," said Laureen. "I don't think she'll ever come back here to live, but I do think that the two of you aren't finished with each other yet."
"Did you think that I would come back here?"
"Yes, I knew you would. I was surprised that you actually left."
"I didn't want to leave, but I wanted to be with her so bad."
"I know."
"What is it about her? I mean, why her?"
"I remember when I first saw her, I thought ‘that would be the perfect girl for Ron.’”
"Come on."
"I swear to you. It was before you even met her and we were in the snack bar at school, and she was wearing this hot pants outfit with dark pantyhose."
"The burgundy one?"
"Yes. She looked very sophisticated and a bit scared at the same time, and I could just picture you going wild for her."
"Why?"
"Because you admire sophistication and love to feel that you protect your women. It's the city boy in you."
Ron laughed. "So, how did we fuck everything up so badly."
"Let's say it was a joint effort in all senses of the word."
They laughed with each other. Ron stared at her long dark hair and the way she held the cigarette to the side when she took a drag off of it. "Do you like her?"
"We're a bit too much alike to be friends, but yes, I think she's very smart and I think she's got a lot of guts."
"Because she moved away by herself?"
"Partially that but mostly because she just goes after what she wants regardless of what anybody thinks about it."
"That's surely true."
"I'm going back to bed," said Laureen.
"Me too," said Ron.
For a moment Laureen wished that Ron were someone else. She would have very much liked to get laid, but she'd decided a long time ago that she would never sleep with Ron.
He sat in the room smoking a cigarette and staring at the pad. The paper felt smooth like Robin as he slid his hand over it. He caressed it as he wrote.
If there were no forces between you and me
If there were no places and there was no time
If hope could turn black as a night cat’s eyes
glowing in the fire of their darkness
and we lived in the light of the moon
and I returned this lurking shape to the shadows...
If I was ever without you when I was alone,
designing my feelings in the air of a room
I could close my eyes and accept...
It was never clear between you and me
The inside voice came through us
Ron stared at the walls of the room. He felt as if he existed in a twilight region and could only fully be alive when he was alone in the house. He walked back out into the livingroom and sat on one of the couches and listened. In every direction that he looked, he saw possibilities for magic. He loved this house almost as much as he loved her.
Chapter 9
Early on Saturday morning 150 pounds of pot arrived from California. Chris met the car down in Perth Amboy at a broken down hole of a house that he'd bought because it had a garage underneath it. He helped the driver take the screws from the false bed of the El Camino that they used for transport. The dope was wrapped in plastic garbage bags, which he loaded into a hole in the floor that he had dug and lined with concrete.
When they'd finished the unloading, the driver left to go back to Rahway and get some sleep. He was in a hurry and intended to leave for San Diego that night. By noon, most of the pot was distributed. The dealers came in pick-up trucks and appeared to belong to the contractors that the house was obviously in need of. Five trucks drove away with twenty-five pounds each. Two of them were going to the shore. One was going to East Orange. Two more were headed for Plainfield. Chris closed up the hole with the last twenty-five pounds in it and drove to a phone booth and called San Diego.
"Is Steve there?"
"Not right now."
"Well, is Peter home?"
"Hold on."
That was Peter's code. He was Steve and he was Peter, but until you asked for both of them, he was never there. Chris waited for Peter to get on the phone, but it was Carol's voice that said, "Is that you, Chris?"
"Yeah. Everything's fine here."
"I'll tell him. When are we going to see you?"
"I should be out in no more than a week."
"We'll look forward to seeing you."
"Right."
While Chris drove back to Rahway, he calculated his split. If everything went as planned, which it almost never did, he would clear about $3,000 after expenses and private stock. "Not bad," he said to himself. The unloading had gone smoothly, but collecting the money and getting together with everybody was more time consuming. This time the expenses of the deal included a week in San Diego. Chris snapped his fingers and smiled at the thought of partying for a week with Peter. They had been friends since they were little kids. Peter had showed Chris how to roll up comic books inside the newspaper and walk out of the store with them, and he had showed Chris that the best place to write cheat sheets for school was on the bottoms of your shoes. He had taught him how to siphon gasoline out of somebody else's tank. Peter was a great outlaw, just crazy enough to be scary and definitely smart enough to know what he could get away with. And damn did he know how to party! The last time Chris had been out there, they'd gone to the ball game and gone for a cruise and gone back stage at a Jackson Browne concert and snorted cocaine with some of the people there. They'd ridden horses out on Peter's ranch and eaten like kings. And, of course, there would be some California honey that Peter wanted Chris to meet and she would be tan and beautiful and fuck like a bunny. The California trip was always something Chris anticipated with glee.
By the time Ron got up on Saturday morning everyone was out of the house, except for Laureen, who was still sleeping. Ron decided that it was time that he let his family know that he was back from Minnesota. He debated whether he should call first but decided to just drive up. The thirty-five minute ride sped past the same way the drive into New York had. Ron wondered if it was a permanent benefit left over from driving for over 24 hours without stopping but decided that it was most likely temporary.
He still had his key, but decided to ring the doorbell. He immediately heard Chipper barking and grinned. Someone walked to the door very fast and Ron recognized his stepfather silhouetted through the curtain.
* * *
George Bombasco smiled as he opened the door. "When did you get back?"
"Just a little while ago," said Ron.
"Marjorie, look who's here?” hollered George.
"I haven't even washed my face yet," he heard his mother say. "Who is it?"
"Come and see," said George.
When she opened the door, Chipper came running out into the hall. Marjorie was stunned. "Ronald!"
"Hi, Mom."
"You're home," she said smiling broadly. "I spoke with Robin yesterday and she said that you were out somewhere and that she didn't know when you'd be back."
"I don't know why she'd say that," lied Ron.
Chipper whimpered and jumped up on Ron. Ron bent down and let the dog lick his face, which she continued to do for at least two minutes while Marjorie stood there beaming and said, "You'd think that royalty had arrived.” Then Chipper began to pee in the hall and Marjorie bellowed, "George, the dog peed all over the rug again.
"Jesus Christ," he heard his stepfather say from inside apartment as he galloped over to the broom closet to get the roll of paper towels and disinfectant.
"Is Aunt Dotty upstairs?” said Ron.
"Why don't you go say hello to her while I wash my face and then we can talk. Have you had breakfast?"
"Yes," Ron lied.
"Marjorie stepped back. "You've lost an awful lot of weight, haven't you?"
"Only a little."
"You're too thin," she said staring at him.
"I'm going to go see Aunt Dotty, but I'd love a cup of coffee.
"OK,” said his mother and walked back into the apartment as George came out with the towels and the disinfectant.
George screamed at Chipper, "What did you do?” The dog put her tail between her legs and hid in back of Ron. Chipper followed him up the stairs, all the time watching George down on his hands and knees rubbing the carpet and cursing.
His great aunt occupied the second floor of the two-family house. She lived alone in the four-room apartment since her third husband had died. Ron rapped on the door.
"Come in," said Aunt Dotty.
"When I heard all the ruckus downstairs I knew that it was you. They hugged and kissed. Chipper began to whimper again. Dotty turned to him and said, "Don't you pee up here. Go back down in the hall if you need to pee. Maybe they'll start letting you out in the morning like I told them to."
The dog stared at the wrinkled finger the old woman was pointing at her and licked Dotty's hand. "That's a good girl," said Dotty.
"How are you feeling, Aunt Dot?"
"The same. Good days and bad days.” She lit a cigarette. "I'm still able to puff though."
"Good for you," said Ron.
"I go to the doctor's every three weeks and I've been telling him that I quit smoking for the last six months. He keeps on saying how much I've improved since I stopped."
They laughed and Ron sat down at her kitchen table. "You look good," he said.
"I know what I look like," said Dotty. "What happened with Robin? Did she dump you?"
Ron was silent. His mind went to pain. He didn’t want his eyes to fill. He stayed quiet and waited, trying to hold on till it passed.
"Well, you're young and there are a lot of girls out there for you."
"I wanted her."
"Well, if she doesn't want you there isn't much you can do about it except to forget about her."
"I don't think I can."
"Well, don't let her know that or you'll never get her back. Did she stay out there?"
"Yes, but she's coming back for a visit on Wednesday."
"You make yourself scarce so that she doesn't think you're waiting around for her."
"That's a good idea, Aunt Dot. Tell me about you."
"At my age and in my condition, there isn't a lot to tell. I have to use the damn breathing machine all the time, and they've got me taking about sixteen pills a day. It's no fun getting old, but nuts to them! I still do what I want whenever I feel like it.” Ron grinned again. "Are you back for good?"
"I think so?"
"Do you need money?"
"No. I'm fine.
"I haven't got much, but what I have is yours. Don't be ashamed to ask."
"I won't be."
"Now you better go back down stairs before your mother has a cow. She missed you terribly."
"OK. I'll call you soon."
"Forget the call me. Show your face."
"OK, Aunt Dot."
When he stood up, she said, "Did you get so thin worrying about that girl?"
"I suppose."
"That's not worth it, you know."
"You're probably right."
"Don't be saying things that you think I want to hear. What I'm telling you is for your own good."
"Really, I know."
"All right now, go and see your mother."
Ron went back downstairs and found that his mother had set out three cups and a plate of breakfast buns.
"How do you think your aunt looks?"
"Not bad."
"She's been very sick. Did she tell you?"
"She said that the doctor thinks that she's stopped smoking."
"She thinks that she's fooling everybody, your aunt, but it's not doing her any good."
"How are things with you?"
"All right. Tell me about Minnesota."
"It's a great place to live, Mom, but it's just not home."
"I knew you'd be back. What made you decide to leave?"
"I just wanted to come home."
"Where are you going to stay?"
"I'm going to stay in Rahway for a while."
"Have you seen them yet?"
"Yes."
"When did you get back?"
"A few days ago."
"A few days ago? Why didn't you call?” George came into the kitchen and poured his coffee. He picked out an apple turnover and bit into it. "Ron's been home a few days, George.” George grunted. "Did you go and see your father yet?"
"What for?"
"Because he's your father!"
"I'll get around to it."
"I'm sure you've seen all of your so called friends."
"I haven't really seen anyone, Mom. The truth is that I'm a little confused about things right now."
George had finished his turnover and gulped down the last of his coffee. "I'm going to get the cold cuts. You want anything special?"
"You're what?” said Marjorie. "My son just showed up at the door, unexpectedly, after I wasn't sure if I was ever going to see him again, and you want to know if I want anything special from the delicatessen?"
"I just asked," said George indignantly.
"No, George," she said in a voice edged with sarcasm. "There's nothing special that I want from the delicatessen. Is that all?"
"Jesus."
"I mean, don't you want to know how he is?"
"He said he felt OK."
"Fine. You go to the deli and the milk store and run into your mother's house say hello and run out again. That is what you intend to do, isn't it?"
"You're upset with him. I don't see why you have to take it out on me."
“I'm not taking anything out on you. Maybe Aunt Dotty wants something from the stores."
"I'll ask her before I go. Are you still going to be here when I get back?” he said to Ron.
"I don't know," said Ron.
"That's a wonderful greeting. 'Are you still going to be here when I get back?' I'm surprised he doesn't leave now."
"That's not what I meant and he knows it. Take care of yourself, Ron. I'm glad that you're back."
"Thanks," said Ron.
"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?” said Marjorie.
"Sometimes you're just too much," said George as he left.
"You want to know how things have been around here? They'll never change. This is how they are."
"I know. I came to see you and Aunt Dotty."
They talked for about an hour about Minnesota and Robin and what Ron was going to do now.
"I'll probably do the second half of the graduate assistantship in the fall," said Ron.
"I sent you the papers. Did you mail them in?"
"Yeah, I figured just in case, you know?"
Ron remembered getting the papers on his graduate work while he was out in Minnesota. He filled them out and told himself that he was just keeping his options open, but he wondered if that was when he really decided to come back home.
Before he left, Marjorie said, "You know that you always have a home here?"
"I know that."
"Do you have to pay rent down in Rahway?"
"Not at the moment."
"Well, I'm sure they won't let you stay there for nothing."
"Nobody has said anything about money just yet."
"How's Chris?"
"He's good."
"Tell him I said hello. I like Chris."
When they kissed, she began to cry. "I missed you very much. It's not like it was between us when you were little."
"It can't be."
"I don't know what I've done to you to make you want to stay away like this."
"You haven't done anything."
"I've tried not to interfere, even when I saw you being hurt."
"I know that."
As Ron was leaving he called good-bye up to his Aunt who was sitting on the top of the steps holding Chipper.
"Be careful," she said, "and pay attention to what I told you."
"I will, Aunt Dot," he said and closed the door. He was glad that he'd gotten this over with.
Marjorie came out into the hall and exchanged a worried look with Aunt Dotty. "He's made himself awfully sick over this girl," said Marjorie.
"He just needs time to get over her, that's all."
"He's never acted like this before over anyone," said Marjorie.
"He was head over heels and he's a young man and right now he's not sure of anything. Just give him time and don't pressure him about anything."
"I'm not going to stand by while my son ruins his health."
"Margie, I said give him time!" Dotty began to cough after she shouted and got up from the stairs and went back into her apartment. Marjorie listened to the sound of the breathing machine as she started it up.
Chapter 10
On Saturday night Robin went over to Amanda's apartment. Neither one of them felt like going out. Robin said that she would buy a bottle of wine and come over. Amanda said that she wanted to cook up some spaghetti, and so they made the date. It was a very hot, muggy night and Amanda had an air conditioner in her bedroom. They decided that they would escape from the weather and catch up on what had been happening.
Robin bought two bottles of wine because she was undecided about whether she liked the Napa Valley rose or the B & G Beaujolais. Amanda was breaking the spaghetti and dropping it into a large pot of boiling water. She was wearing panties with yellow flowers and a yellow T-shirt with white flowers. Robin sat at the table and watched her cook. Her thighs and calves were very muscular and nothing about her seemed to jiggle when she walked across the room to open up the jar of spaghetti sauce. Robin put a corkscrew into the rose and opened it up. It was very warm in the kitchen.
"Why don't you take off your jeans and your shirt," said Amanda. "You look very uncomfortable."
Robin hesitated. "We'll be in the air conditioning in a minute," she said. Then she decided to open up the French wine as well. She poured out a glass of each and asked Amanda to tell her which one she liked better.
"They're both great. Let's drink the rose with dinner because it's more sloshy. We can do the French stuff later," she said smiling at Robin and then going back to the spaghetti.
Robin thought that there was something very sexual about Amanda's manner. She wasn't sure if it was her imagination of if her friend had just made a pass at her.
They carried the food into the bedroom where Amanda had spread a checker board table cloth across the bed, and set out dishes and silverware.
"The trick to eating in bed is not to put too much on your plate at one time," said Amanda.
"Ron always used to spill things that stained the sheets. Once he spilled a whole pint of blueberries on these satin ones that we had, and then he had the nerve to tell me that he didn't think that it would stain."
"Was he always a slob too?"
"He'd go in spurts, two weeks as Oscar Madison and then three frantic days as Felix Unger. It would drive me crazy."
"Brian was the same way, only he skipped the Felix stage."
"At least you knew what to expect."
"The thing was that he wouldn't admit to it until I backed him into a corner and then he'd find some little thing that I didn't do that irked him and try to equate it with the constant mess that he created."
"The spaghetti is good, not too mushy," said Robin.
"Tell me about what happened with Penelope."
"It was horrible. She had me dead to rights and made me lie about it before she really confronted me. She was a complete bitch about the whole thing."
"What's she going to do?"
"She says that she doesn't want him anymore, but I know that's not true. The only question is whether she'll make his life so miserable that he'll leave."
"Would you want him if he did?"
"No, definitely not."
"Why?"
"Because I'd never be able to get free of him, and I don't think that it would be much fun to be married to him."
"Well," said Amanda, "we do know that he cheats."
"Don't be a cunt, Amanda. But, you know, in a sick kind of way I think you're right. It would definitely be something that I would think about before I got seriously involved with him."
"Is he still calling?"
"Not since Penny paid her little visit."
"So you think he's out of the picture?"
"He's just laying low for a while, but he's out of the picture as far as I'm concerned."
"Robin, can I ask you something weird?"
Robin hesitated again and involuntarily glanced at the outline that Amanda's nipples made on her T-shirt. "Go ahead."
"Do you think that there was a connection between Alex and Ron?"
"What do you mean?"
"Did you start up with Alex in order to drive Ron away?"
"Maybe, but not the way that I think you mean. I never really thought that Ron would come out here. If he had called me before he got to fucking Wisconsin, I would have told him not to come. Having Alex around gave me somebody to think about that wasn't Ron, that's for sure."
"What about after he got here?"
Robin poured each of them another glass of wine. "I was really pissed when he got here I felt invaded and that he was just going to take over my life again. Ron can make me feel so safe and secure, and I started feeling all of those things, and I didn't want to feel them."
"Is that why you set up the night with Alex?"
"I thought he'd walk out as soon as I told him about Alex. Then after Alex spent the night, I thought that Ron would either beat the crap out of him the next day or just leave, but he didn't. He fell apart."
"Had he done that before?"
"He'd gotten upset, but this was like he was devastated. Then he just started to show me what a jerk Alex was. He was relentless. And he wouldn't eat, and then we had to take him to the hospital. It was all very frustrating."
"Was it exciting too?"
"Like a pressure cooker is exciting," said Robin.
"You know where I was the day that Penelope come over your house."
"You said that you were with Brian."
"You know what we were doing?"
"What?"
"Fucking."
"I could have guessed that."
"With two other people.” Amanda saw the shock register on Robin's face and smiled at her proudly as she slurped the last of her spaghetti into her mouth with a smack of her lips and a red trail of sauce on her cheek.
"Tell me," said Robin.
"We drove up to this cabin to meet with his friend Joseph and Joseph's girlfriend Cynthia. We were going to do some canoeing on the St. Croix and then have lunch. We went out on the river and it was really hot, and then the guys started fooling around with the canoes and, of course, we both turned over. We came back to the cabin and our clothes felt tremendously grungy, so we just took them off. The guys started teasing me about how much bigger Cynthia's tits were than mine. Of course everybody," she said staring at Robin's boobs, "has bigger tits than I do, so I started teasing Brian about how Joseph's cock was bigger than his."
Robin began to laugh in the middle of a swallow of wine and it went up her nose. Then Amanda started laughing too. "Well, go on."
“Brian said that the only real way to measure a guy's cock was when he was hard, so I told him to make it hard so that I could see. Joseph was already standing up straight because the whole thing was turning him on. Then Cynthia rolled him over on his back and started playing with it. I told Brian to get next to him and I did the same thing. So, there were these two cocks and Cynthia and I were playing with them. The guys had their eyes closed by that time, I guess they were concentrating, and the next thing I know, I was reaching over to squeeze Joseph's cock and Cynthia starting playing with Brian. So we gave each of them a hand job. They came so hard."
"Whose was bigger?"
"You know, Brian was right about that. Once they both got hard, they were about the same size, but Joseph's was definitely thicker and squirted further."
"You slut," laughed Robin. She poured herself the last glass of the rose and Amanda started on the B & G.
"That's just the beginning. Then the guys said that it was their turn and that they wanted to look at our asses. So, we exchanged places, and they started squeezing our cheeks and reaching underneath to play with our pussies. Then they both ate us."
"That's very weird."
"Then they said that they wanted to watch us do each other.
"What did you do?"
"We said that we'd only do that if they would do each other too."
Robin laughed, "And did they?"
"No, of course not. But Cynthia said that she wanted to suck on one while the other fucked her. I played with her tits and both of the guys asses and balls while it happened."
"Then did you do it too?"
"I got beat. The guys came all over her and then they couldn't get them up again, so we went home."
"Did you like it?"
"It was certainly different. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with it all while it was happening, but later on I felt very odd about it."
"That's guilt," said Robin. "It fucks you over every time."
"Did you ever play with a vibrator, Robin?"
“No.”
"I've got one."
"Let's see."
Amanda jumped off the bed and skipped over to her dresser. She opened the drawer and took it out from underneath her underwear. Amanda was staring at her now and holding up the vibrator. Robin poured another glass of wine and asked herself if she really wanted to do this.
"Amanda, you're the best friend, the only friend that I have out here. I really don't want to make things strange between us."
The smile vanished from Amanda's face. "Do you think it would? I wasn't thinking about that."
"Sex definitely makes people weird with each other. I don't think that just happens between men and women."
"You're probably right," said Amanda. "I just got excited telling you that story."
"Do you think you'll do it again?"
"If it just happens, well, you know, it's hard to say."
Then they were quiet for a while. Robin suggested that they clear the dishes off the bed and wash them, and that broke the tension. The rest of the night was a typical Robin and Amanda visit. When Robin left, she was quite drunk. Amanda told her that she should spend the night, but Robin said something about her cat.
She drove home in a blur and luckily found a large parking space. She went upstairs and went to bed. Before she fell asleep she found herself wondering if she'd made a mistake by not playing with Amanda. Maybe it was different between women. Maybe they could just have fun together and not let it spill over. Then she said, "Too dangerous," and allowed herself to drift off.
Chapter 11
On Saturday night at Rahway, Chris and Ron were alternating between playing guitars and playing chess. At about 9:30, Chris got a call from Nat Rossi. When he came back to the living room, he said, "Nat's going to come over in a little while, but I have to go out for about an hour."
"Sure," said Ron.
It meant that Ron would be alone in the house. Laureen had a date and Warren had called earlier and said that he and Art were going to stay in the city until Sunday afternoon. Chris got his car keys and left quickly. Ron closed up the chess set and started playing around with a melody that he was working on for a new song. It was, of course, a song about Robin. After a few minutes, Ron put down the guitar and began to wander through the rooms. He started with Warren's room.
It was a fairly large bedroom with extra long windows on its front and one of its sides. Warren had filled it with two full size beds that he'd strapped together at the frame, a dresser, a reading chair, a desk, a television, and books. It was the first room that he and Robin had lived in together. He sat on the chair and thought about that summer three years ago. Warren was going to Greece and he rented the room to Ron and Robin for the summer. They were going to try living together. It was a very hot summer and Chris's room was the only one with air conditioning. During the day, they would open the adjoining door to cool off both of the bedrooms, but at night it got very warm. Chris had a live-in girlfriend with whom he had an arrangement. She would do his share of the chores and he would give her a place to live. However, Judy wasn't allowed to use the word love with Chris, and he made it clear that if she started any of the love stuff, it would be the end of their relationship. Judy always said that Laureen had made Chris scared to death of the word love.
Robin and Judy got along well at first, but after the first few weeks, things began to sour. Robin complained to Ron that Judy was lazy and just stayed in bed all day and that she felt like all the work was being pushed on her. Finally, Ron and Chris had an argument about it. Chris claimed that Judy wasn't feeling that well and that Robin had decided from the beginning that she didn't want to live there. Ron countered that the house was a mess and that he and Robin were the only ones that did any of the work. Finally, Chris told him that he didn't have time for this petty shit and that if he didn't like the way things were, he and Robin should just get their own place now instead of waiting for the fall.
But that wasn't what he remembered most. He remembered how it felt to have Robin in bed with him at night. He remembered how they played with each other's bodies for hours and how Robin said that he could have her whenever he wanted her. Then there was the conversation with Judy.
"So when are you and Robin going to get married?” said Judy.
"We're not getting married."
"That's not what she said. She said that you would probably live here until Warren came back from Greece and then get married. At least that was the impression I got."
Sitting in the chair, Ron wondered if it had been true. He would never have agreed to marry Robin at that point but maybe if he hadn't been so much of an asshole and told her to stop complaining about Chris and Judy and just shut up until they had enough money to move out... Maybe it would have been very different.
He got up and wandered through the adjoining door into Chris’s room. He rolled a joint from the bag of pot that was lying on the bed. The last time he and Robin had made love had been in this room. They had spent the night together in Chris's room, and the next day she'd left for Minneapolis. She had already gotten rid of her furniture, and Ron had decided to move into a renovated garage up in Paterson. When they made love that night, she had cried out with her orgasm and held him to her for all that she was worth. All of the problems they'd had in the previous months seemed to disappear in their lovemaking. She had asked him to keep the cat, and he said that Leni belonged with her and that she would know that he was right at some point.
He wandered back through the dining room that wasn't used for anything, and thought about the way Leni had broken out of her traveling case on the parkway and how Robin had called him to come and help her because she couldn't get the cat back into the cage and that she was all scratched up from trying. Ron remembered talking Leni into his arms and feeding her the tranquilizer pills and then putting her back into the cage. Robin had thrown her arms around him and told him that she was scared and that this was a mistake and that she wasn't going to be able to get along without him. Maybe if he'd just brought her back to the garage with him then, he thought. But he hadn't starting missing her yet and he had convinced himself that this was a good thing for Robin and that he would move out there in January, as soon as he had finished the last semester of his undergraduate degree.
He walked back through the kitchen and into the room he was using now. This was the first place that he'd ever slept with her, the first time they'd gone out together. It was the party that was celebrating Chris and Warren getting this house. They had both been seeing other people but had felt so drawn to each other. She was having her period, but Ron had pulled out her tampon, and they'd made love for hours. She'd told him that he was the first man that she'd ever met who would do that kind of thing and not be grossed out.
It had been a summer of magic and new experience. Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer had been playing for the chess championship. Ron had become intrigued by the event. He’d played chess since he was a young boy, and now he was recalling some of those afternoons that he’d spent with the old men at the boys club. Robin knew how to play chess too, and they lay on their bed with a chessboard between them for hours. She would build her position slowly and refuse to attack. She’d wait for Ron to attack and then she’d defend against each of his thrusts. While they played they talked about musicals, and movies, and drama, and politics, and art. They dreamt together and told each other secrets over the chessboard and into the night. Sometimes they would forget the game and just gaze at each other and hold hands. He loved to have her tell him about when she was a little girl and about how she had learned to count using colors. He told her about football and about how he’d written poetry and won an award for it in sixth grade, and she would get him to sing silly songs from musicals that he’d never heard of. He remembered her teaching him to sing, I would die, I would die, I would strangle myself with my tie, if ever you said good-bye, then I’d die! The house was caressing his memory again. Ron found his pad and wrote easily.
She’d say I was the silliest man she’d ever met
and make me laugh until I was as loose
as an easy truth
There was a girl who put angels on winter lawns
and liked catching boys playing in the sand.
I brushed the world aside for her and she ran for me
Ron heard gravel in the driveway, walked back into the living room and turned on the stereo. The Eagles Desperado was on the turntable and the first harmonica riffs of Doolin Dalton filled the house.
Laureen's date, a thin, dark-haired guy with features that reminded Ron a lot of Chris, was named Craig. When they came into the room, Laureen said with a nervous laugh, "This is Ron, Craig."
The two shook hands and Craig quipped, "Alone and stoned Saturday night. Sounds like a good title for a Dylan or some shit like that."
Ron didn't answer. Laureen laughed her nervous laugh again and said, "Bob Dylan is Ron's favorite song writer."
"Imagine that," chirped Craig. "I never would have guessed it. It just came right out."
The back door opened again and Nat Rossi called in, "Hey Chris, you home."
Laureen giggled again.
Ron said, "He said that you should wait for him, Nat. Come on in?"
"Who's that? Is that Ron Tuck's voice I hear."
Craig giggled at the sound of Ron's name, and Ron felt a sneer make its way to his face, but somewhere, in confused connections, it got lost and didn't come out.
Ron and Nat shook hands.
"Hey Ron, you're looking great. How long did Chris say he was going to be? I only came by, you know?"
"Not more than a couple minutes," said Ron. "Sit down."
Nat stood there a little uneasily, Laureen said, "Yeah, Nat, sit down and tell us what you've been doing with yourself."
Nat seemed to talk non-stop for the ten minutes until Chris got back. He walked in carrying a large garbage bag, said hello and walked straight into his room, left the bag and came out. "What's everybody doing?” said Chris.
"Just waiting for you, Chris," said Laureen and again there was the nervous laughter.
"All right!" said Chris. "Would anyone like to smoke a joint?"
"Chris," said Nat, "listen, I got to go. Can I talk to you in the other room for a minute?"
"Sure."
The two of them got up and walked back into Chris's room. Ron didn't move. Laureen said, “Aren't you going to smoke a joint with Chris and Nat?"
"Not right now," said Ron.
"Nat sure is nervous, isn't he?” said Craig.
"He sure is," said Laureen, and again there was the strained laugh.
"Is there any beer in this house?” said Nat.
"I doubt it,” said Laureen. "There's probably some wine.
"Wine is for fags. I feel like having some beer, you know what I mean Ron?"
"No," said Ron. "I like wine."
"I think that wine is mostly what fags drink."
Laureen got off the couch. She saw that Ron wasn't answering and was now glaring at Craig. "I think that maybe we should go out and have some beers someplace."
"Do you want us to bring you anything back, Ron," said Craig.
"No thanks."
On the way out the door, Ron heard Craig say, "Everybody around here is a doper except for me."
Nat came out of the room about five minutes after they left. He was carrying the trash bag. He said a quick so-long to Ron and was gone.
"I got to go out again," said Chris. "Do you feel like taking a ride with me?"
"Where are we going?"
"To a telephone and to a Western Union office."
They went to the phone booth at the corner gas station and called California, but Peter still wasn't around. Then he wired some money out to San Diego. Since all of Peter's pot was fronted, it was better if he got a chunk of it back there as soon as possible. Chris decided that since it was late, he would use the Rahway Western Union office. He usually tried to spread the business around so that nobody recognized him as a regular.
Chapter 12
After Craig left on Sunday morning, Laureen went out to the pay phone at the gas station and called Warren in New York. She told him that Chris had been dealing a large quantity of pot out of the house. It had been the one thing that Chris and Warren had always been in agreement on: the only dope in the house should be what was used for personal consumption.
Warren was clearly angry. "Who did he sell it to?"
"Nat Rossi."
"How much of it was there?"
"A lot. Pounds I think. Craig knew what was going on. I mean I walked in and the house was reeking of pot and there was Ron, sitting in the living room smoking away."
"Wasn't Chris there?"
"He came in later on with this huge bag, and then he and Nat disappeared into his room, being about as obvious as possible about why he was there. Craig was getting nervous about it, so we left. Not everyone is as comfortable around drug deals as Chris is."
"It's going to have to stop. I'll take care of it. Don't you say anything to Chris about it."
"OK. I mean it's his house, you know? Maybe I should just move out."
"I'm beginning to see clearly now that Rahway is going to have to be changed. Either Chris has to stop or he has to go, and there have been more than too many people smoking dope around the place day and night. It's putting everything that we have in jeopardy. Are you going to be around for dinner tonight?"
"I don't know. Are you going to be there?"
"Art and I are coming out this afternoon."
"I'm going to visit my folks, but I'll make sure that I come back in time for dinner," said Laureen.
Chris tried to reach Peter twice more on Sunday. Both times Peter's brother asked when Chris was going to be coming out there with the rest of the money. Chris said that he would have everything collected and was planning on coming out there in no more than a week. Peter's brother said that Peter probably wouldn't be back from Mexico until then, but that everybody knew that Chris was coming out and that he should just call back with an arrival time, so there would be somebody around to meet him at the airport.
When Chris got back to the house, he saw that Warren and Art had arrived. He found the two of them sitting in the living room with Ron. Chris shook Art's hand and asked how things were going.
Art smiled and nodded his head. He stroked his beard and said, "Everything's fine, Chris. How are things going for you?"
"Everything's moving along," said Chris.
Warren cackled and said, "Yes, I hear that a lot of stuff has been moving."
Chris gave Ron an inquiring look, and Ron shrugged as if he didn't know what Warren was talking about either. Chris said, "I've got to go out for a while. I'll be back later."
"You just came in, said Warren.
"I was only down at the corner talking to California."
"And how's California?” asked Warren.
"Good. I'm going out there next Sunday."
Chris went back into his room, got his briefcase and left.
Art turned to Ron and said, "Tell me about the dreams."
"They're vivid and bright and make me feel like I'm taking a bath in warm, clear water. She's always in them and she's always saying something like ‘it's going to be OK and we'll be together again when we're both all right.’ We’re always touching, either we're walking along a beach or lying in bed. She's always comforting me, and I always feel her still inside of me when I wake up."
"She's certainly inside of you. The question is how to get her out."
"It's the time when I feel the absolute best of any point in the day."
"That's another reason why it's no good. Do you want to live your life with the high point of the day being when you're asleep?"
"I can't make the dreams stop."
"The dreams will change if you look at her more honestly."
"What does that mean?"
"Come on, Ron, don't play games. You know exactly what I mean by now."
"I don't think I do."
Warren said, "He means that some of this is acting. That you're enjoying some of the attention and leeway that people are giving you."
"That's what you think?” Ron paused and looked squarely into Warren Lashly's face. "Warren, I really didn't ask for your help. You offered it and I appreciate it, but I don't feel like swallowing shit in order to get it."
"We're trying to help you to stop swallowing shit, Ron," said Art.
"I know that I need to straighten some things out about myself before I'll really have control again. That's clear to me. What I'm having a hard time with is the notion that I'm possessed, and that Robin is some kind of witch or something evil."
"Look at the shape of you!" said Warren.
"I know, but how do we come to the conclusion that she's responsible for that. And how do we get around to the notion that this person that I've been living with for the last three years all of a sudden has become so powerful."
"Her power is relative to your weakness," said Art. "You're the one who needs to get stronger. The dreams are an example of your need to rely on her in order to be all right. Like you said, she's the one that is always saying that things are going to work out when you're both better or when you're ready for her, but she's the one who is always making the determination.”
"So, you're saying that I'm giving her the power to be like this by being weak."
"In effect, yes."
"So you don't really think that there's anything strange about her."
"I've never met her," said Art. "There's no way for me to tell you what she's like. All I have to judge her on is what you've told me and what you do."
Ron shook his head in agreement. "Warren, what about you? You know Robin. What do you think?"
"I think that you were lucky to get back here alive. I told you that. I think that you're far from out of the woods yet. I think that the major problem is that you've decided that your life is dependent on what she decides to do. That's too much power to give anybody."
"What I want to do is get her back. How do you think I should go about trying to accomplish that?"
"I don't think you can," said Warren. "I think that you're no match for her right now."
Ron put his head down and closed his eyes. "Well, I've got until Wednesday to get stronger, because I think that if I lose hold of her now, it's over."
"Ron," said Art. "Warren's point is a good one and you shouldn't lose sight of it. One of the things that has made you this weak is feeling that your life isn't your own anymore."
"I know what you mean," said Ron.
Chris didn't come back for dinner, and Warren seemed agitated about it. Laureen, Ruth, Art, Warren, and Ron sat down to eat at about 10:30.
Warren watched to see what Ron would put on his plate. He skipped the steak and took portions of salad, vegetables, French fries, and wine. "You need to eat meat!" said Warren with exasperation. He forked a slice of London broil and dropped it on Ron's plate.
"Warren, I told you that it makes me sick, and that I don't eat it anymore."
"Meat couldn't make you sick after not eating it for two months. Try some."
Ron stared down at the slice of meat. His mind flashed on the horrid images his imagination had produced as he was going past the Chicago stock-yards. Living things being brought to a place where their throats were slit. He'd decided that he wasn't going to be a part of it anymore.
Laureen was asking Art about the role intuition played in the analysis of dreams. Art was saying that intuition could be trained like any other voluntary part of the mind.
"You think intuition is voluntary?” she said.
"Yes. It can be directed. It can be denied. It can be enhanced."
Warren said that he didn't necessarily agree with all that. He said that intuition was a gift from the gods, and that it should be treated as such. Art countered that it was impossible to say what gifts the gods had given to us and how they were intended to be used. Laureen said that she thought that it was a gift that was best used by women, and that told her that it had to do with how well developed a person's interior life was. Ruth said that she thought that people either had it or they didn't. Ron stared at his meat.
Finally, Warren asked him what he thought about intuition.
"I don't feel like I have any right now, but at the same time I think that I'm living almost completely inside of myself. I think that I used to have it, but that I didn't know very much about where it came from or when to trust it."
"I think that your lack of trust pretty much illustrates the lack of an interior life," said Laureen.
Warren said that Ron was too confused right now to be an example of anything except confusion. Just as he was finishing his sentence, Chris came in the back door with two girls. One was a girl named Jade who Ron hadn't seen for a couple of years, and the other he recognized as her friend Carol. They were laughing and talking to each other as they walked into the kitchen. Chris was talking a little too loudly, the way he did when he was drunk.
"I thought you were going to be here for dinner?” said Warren.
"I guess that I kind of forgot about it," said Chris.
That put an end to the conversation about intuition. The eight of them huddled around the oval shaped oak table. Warren introduced Jade and Carol to Art, who seemed more than interested in Jade's smooth, thin face and body.
Jade picked up on Art's interest, blinked her eyes slowly and turned to him. "And what do you do?” she said.
"I'm an analyst," said Art.
"Has Warren made you the official Rahway analyst, or are you just here as someone's friend?” Jade stared at Laureen and smiled when she asked the last part of her question.
"Art's my friend," said Warren.
"That's a switch," Jade was slurring her words ever so slightly. "I didn't know that Warren had any friends that he didn't fuck."
"Take it easy," said Warren.
"Oh, I'm just teasing you, Warren. Isn't Rahway famous for being the place where you can talk about anything?"
Carol laughed, and Ruth said that she thought she would like to go to bed. Warren said that he was going to stay up for a while.
Jade called after Ruth, "Don't be like that. Everybody here has probably fucked everybody else at some time or other haven't they? I mean at least the men and women have, right Chris?"
"You're a little out of control," giggled Chris, after Ruth had left the table and Warren had excused himself, saying that he'd be right back. "Why don't we go into my room and smoke a joint. Anybody else who wants to come is welcome," said Chris bobbing his head in Ron's direction.
"I want to cum," said Carol laughing.
"We all know how much you like to cum, Carol," said Jade.
Chris got up from the table and the two girls followed him. Ron stayed there with Art and Laureen.
Laureen shot a fierce look at Ron. "Is he ever going to change? Is anything ever going to be more than a good time to him?"
"I don't know," said Ron. "I love him. You know that."
"But he's headed for trouble, Ron. Can't you see what he's doing?"
"I think that Chris usually knows exactly what he's doing."
"Then you're blind too!"
Chris walked back into the kitchen and said to Ron, "Aren't you going to come back in and smoke a joint?"
"Sure," said Ron.
Then Chris said, "Would you like to get high, Art?"
Art smiled and said that he was fine.
"What about you, Laureen?"
"Sometimes you're such a fool, Chris"
"Sour grapes," said Chris, smiling and snapping his fingers, he turned on his heel.
Ron stayed in the room while they smoked a joint. Then he said that he was tired and was going to bed.
"Why don't you just stay here?” said Carol.
"I don't think I'm up to it," said Ron.
"Are you still with Robin?” said Jade.
"Sort of."
"And you've decided to be a good boy now?” Jade was staring between his legs.
"I guess."
"Where is she?” said Carol, stroking the inside of his thigh.
"In Minnesota."
"Visiting?” She continued to stroke
"No, she lives there."
"And you're still faithful to her?” said Carol. "That's romantic. But, you know, she probably wouldn't mind you having a little bit of fun."
"Ron's too serious for fun," said Jade.
Chris laughed and said, "I wouldn't bet on that."
Ron was confused. About six years ago he'd panted after Jade, and she's told him that he wasn't ready for her. He had spent a night with her and Carol while Robin had been visiting Minnesota a couple of years ago and had been so guilty that he'd told Robin about it. They were a pair and he hadn't slept with anyone in months, but there was a voice inside of him that was saying that this wasn't the right thing to do. The person that he wanted to make love to was Robin and neither of these girls could ever be Robin.
Ron grabbed a joint from Chris's tray and said, "You guys have fun."
"This house just isn't as much fun as it used to be," said Jade.
Chris giggled and said, "Wanna' bet?"
Ron closed the door in back of him. The kitchen was empty. Ron could hear the muffled sounds of Laureen and Art talking in her bedroom. He went into his room, took off his clothes and lit the joint. He picked up his note book and began scribbling some lines to another song that he started, about Rahway this time. He wrote the title across the top of the page: Snake Garden Paradise. He puffed on the joint and began to write.
The song came out easily and he liked playing with the rhymes. Then he turned back to the pad of poetry that he was writing and began sliding the side of his hand across it. The conversations with Art and Warren came back to him. When they were here, Rahway felt like their playroom with the emotionally traumatized.
The doctor nods as if he hasn’t heard at all,
“But that wasn’t exactly the dream that you had?”
I went to a theater that was all closed-in
with half-filled rows of chairs
The work-lights came on and she started to move
The curtains stayed closed, and the audience took parts,
wearing cardboard masks that smiled or frowned.
She humped and rolled, saying her intentions were good
I got up to run, but I never did move
After Warren finished with Ruth, he came back out into the kitchen. He smiled when he heard the noises coming out of Laureen's room. He frowned when he smelled the pot coming from the room that Ron was in. He sat down at the table, filled his pipe, put his head against the wall and listened.
Chapter 13
On Wednesday evening Ron started to get ready to meet Robin at the airport. Everything else seemed to fade into the background for him. He wore a pair of jeans and a shirt that he'd laundered for the occasion. He turned down the joints that Chris wanted to smoke with him that afternoon. He avoided Warren's phone call by having Chris say that he wasn't at home. He asked Laureen for advice about what he should do.
"Don't come on too strong with her. Give her a chance to feel comfortable, and for God's sake lighten up a little," Laueen told him.
Art had left for Denver the previous day. Ron had called him in New York to thank him for all of his help. "I didn't do anything that you wouldn't have figured out for yourself if you'd had a little more time," said Art. "I just hurried things along for you a little bit."
On Monday night Warren had read to him from the Odyssey. It was the chapter where Odysseus went to meet Circe. He told Ron that he needed to keep his head clear and not be drawn in by her beauty or his desire for her. Ron thought about what everyone had told him while he was waiting for her in the airport. But most of all he remembered what Chris had said. "If she doesn't want you, it's her loss more than it is yours. She's not going to find somebody as good as you very easily.” Leave it to Chris to make him feel good.
He watched her plane land and followed it as it taxied over to the terminal. He stood off to the side as the passengers got off. He watched the people greet each other and wondered if she would be happy to see him. And then she was there. She walked into the terminal carrying a flight bag and a baggage stub in her hand. Ron could feel his heart begin to race. He walked over to her quickly. She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. They kissed each other warmly and then she held him at a polite distance.
"How are you?"
"I'm good. How was the flight?"
"Except for O’Hare Airport, which always sucks, it was great."
"You had a stopover?"
"They wanted an extra $75 for a direct flight."
"Are you hungry?"
"I'm starved."
"Let's go get something to eat," said Ron.
They walked, each holding the other around the waist, down to get her bags. Ron reveled in the ease of motion that they had when they walked together. He told himself that he would never feel that good walking with another human being as long as he lived.
"How's everybody out here?” she said.
"They're the same," said Ron. "How are things back in Minneapolis?"
"A mess," said Robin.
Ron stared down at her eyes. They looked tired. Their green color seemed to have faded since he'd seen her last. "Where have you decided to stay?"
"With my mother. She's in Westfield again. She got an apartment over a car dealership."
They drove away from the airport and stopped at a diner on the highway. They'd eaten there together a bunch of times before. All of a sudden, Ron was also feeling very hungry. He ordered a tuna salad platter, while Robin had a club sandwich. At first they talked about Robin's mother in a little bit of detail. She told Ron about the falling down and about how she had been on a long binge. He countered by telling her about his mother and his aunt. He waited for her to bring up something real but she didn't. When they finished eating and were headed for his car, she again took his hand. Once in the car, he reached over and kissed her. She kissed back, but it seemed to Ron that she was kissing from a distance.
Ron was too impatient to let that happen. Why couldn't he see that she just couldn't think about them right now. “It feels like something from the past when I see you, Robin?”
"You make everything sound so final," she said.
"That's how it feels."
"If things get forced, sometimes the timing of them creates the outcome."
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Not really anything. My mother's apartment is at the next corner. Will you come upstairs with me for a few minutes?"
Ron knew that she wanted him to be there with her when she saw her mother, because there was the chance that she would have to run out of the place. At first he told himself that he should turn her down. If she wanted her life to be lived alone, she couldn't just use him when she needed him. But then he reasoned that if she saw how much she really did need and rely on him, she might just figure out that they should be together. He parked the car.
The door to Doris Henkel's apartment was unlocked and the apartment itself was dark. Robin opened the door and called, "Mom, it's me.” At first there was no answer. She called again as they walked into the apartment and again as they entered the kitchen.
"Robin, did I hear you?" she said sluggishly slurred voice.
Robin glanced at Ron and mouthed the word "shit.” Then she said, "It's me. All the way from Minnesota… Come on out here, Mom."
"Come in here, Robin. I don't think that I can get out”
"How long do you figure you're going to be here?" said Ron.
"My flight back is on Sunday night."
In spite of himself, Ron slipped and said, "You're going to keep on living out in Minnesota, aren't you?
"I think so," said Robin.
"Because of Alex?"
"Because of me. I worked really hard to make Minneapolis my home and I don't think that I want to throw that away for anybody."
Ron felt sick. He wanted her to tell him that they were important. That it made some difference to her if they were together or not, and she just kept talking about herself.
She said, "Are you OK?"
"I'll be fine," said Ron.
"It's not because of you. It's got nothing to do with you really."
"That makes me feel better."
"I love you Ron, and you're very special and important”
Ron felt tears starting to congregate inside his head. He tried to take hold of his mind strongly to keep them away from his eyes. He saw her watching him. “But we're not going to have a life together, are we?"
She didn't answer at first. He was having real trouble keeping the tears in his head and out of his eyes now. He glanced at her profile from the corner of his eye.
Robin wished that he hadn't said anything to her about them tonight. She just wanted things to be pleasant and to just work themselves out, but she'd known all along that Ron wouldn’t be able to allow that to happen.
Her mother’s apartment was dark and when they knocked on the door, it opened. Robin called out twice before she heard her mother answer.
“I’m getting out of bed right now. I was fast asleep."
"Oh God," said Robin. She reached for Ron's hand. "Please don't leave yet."
"Go ahead, it's OK," said Ron. “I’ll stay.”
Robin walked through the hall that led past the bathroom and into the bedroom, turning on lights as she went. She reached the opening of the bedroom and flipped on the wall switch that she found there. Two naked, hundred watt bulbs shocked the darkened room. Doris shut her eyes and Robin looked around at the piles of clothes and the two empty bottles that she could see right out in plain view.
"Robin please! The light hurts my eyes. I never use the overhead light."
"Hi, Mom. How are you?” Robin stood frozen in the doorway and seemed somewhat transfixed by the scene. She wondered if this was always going to be the way that she found her mother. Then she moved over to the night table and switched on the lamp. She walked quickly back to the doorway and turned off the light.
"That's better," said Doris, opening her eyes and trying to focus.
"Ron's with me."
"Oh, for goodness sake, shut the door then, please. Tell Ron that I'm not feeling too well right now. Tell him that I'll see him tomorrow. Is he staying here too?"
"No," said Robin. "He just picked me up at the airport. He said that he wanted to say hello to you. I'll go tell him that you're really not up to it, and I'll be right back.” Robin shut the door behind her. For a second she wondered if she could stand to stay here with her mother. Then she told herself that she was being really silly. This wouldn't be any different than she remembered life with her mother before she and Ron moved in together. "She's really drunk," said Robin. "I don't think she's going to be able to stay awake for long. Do you want some tea or something?"
"Not really," said Ron.
"Will you come and get me out of here in the morning?"
"Yes."
She kissed him good night, and he left. She took her suitcase and opened it onto the couch, telling herself that it was only going to be for a few days.
Chapter 14
By the time Ron got back to Rahway, they were just starting dinner. Laureen, Ruth, Warren and Chris were at the table. When Ron walked in, Warren said that he should get himself a plate and sit down.
"I just ate," said Ron, "but I'll have a glass of wine and sit with you."
"Where's Robin?” said Laureen.
"She's at her mother's house."
"Is that where she's going to stay?"
"I guess so."
"How is she?"
"Beautiful."
Laureen laughed. "We know that you think she's beautiful, but how's she doing?"
"She seems fine. She'll be here until Sunday."
"The more important question," said Warren, "is how are you?"
“I' m OK.”
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know. I don't feel suicidal. I don't feel too much of anything. I'm just OK."
"And where were you on the night of August 1st?” said Chris, mimicking that he was shining a flashlight on Ron's face.
Laureen laughed. Warren grimaced. Ron smiled. And Ruth, her oval face as hard as stone, said that she didn't feel like having much dinner and that she was just going to bed.
"Don't fall asleep in there," said Warren. "I want to talk to you about what happened today."
There was a tired tone in her voice. "Wake me up when come in, if you want to talk," she said. Then she left the table.
After Warren heard her close his door, he said, "She's upset about a patient of hers that died today."
"I don't know how she does it?” said Laureen.
"She's strong and she's a professional," said Warren. "But every once in a while it gets to her. Particularly if she thinks that the person should have been able to make it."
"Why don't you go and talk to her then?” said Laureen.
"In a bit. It'll keep. What I want to talk about, while everybody whose living here is together and alone, is the shape of things around here. As I see it I've got two choices. I can either have some changes made around here, or I can leave. I've decided, I think and I might be wrong, that changes are going to have to be made."
Chris put his fork down and leaned back with his head against the paneled wall. "What are you talking about?” he said.
"To begin with, I think that drugs here are completely out of hand. We had an agreement, Chris, that there wouldn't be any dealing in this house. You're jeopardizing everyone by what you're doing?"
"What am I doing?” said Chris, twirling the end of his mustache and bringing his foot up to the seat of his chair.
"You’re selling drugs and you're stoned all the time. You make it impossible to have anyone over here who doesn't want to be stoned all the time."
Chris looked at Laureen. "This is coming through you?” he said.
"What do you mean?” said Laureen in a shocked voice. "I'm hearing this for the first time too."
Chris stared at her but didn't say anything. "What else?” he said to Warren, without looking in his direction.
"I want band practice limited to no more than once a week, and I want to know in advance what day that's going to be."
Chris looked at him with disgust. "What else?"
"I want Ron out of here by the end of the month.” Chris looked over at Ron and back at Warren.
"I say that Ron can stay here for as long as he wants. What else?"
"I don't want the California people staying here when they drive out your shipments."
"What else?"
"That's it for now," said Warren.
"Are you sure?"
“Yes.”
"Well, you're always good for a laugh, Warren. To me, the solution to all of this seems really simple: you made the wrong basic decision. If this is how you feel, you should go.”
"I told you that I considered that and rejected the idea."
"Reconsider. Because, as I recall, we got this place together. You weren't in charge then and you're not in charge now."
"You've lost control of things, Chris. Can't you see what's happening?"
"I see what's happening. You're finally getting around to trying to run my life. And on top of that you're doing it like an asshole. That's what I see."
"Make the changes by the end of the month, Chris."
"Fuck you, Warren."
"Taking that kind of an attitude isn't going to help resolve this."
"I think," said Chris clasping his fingers and speaking very slowly, "that you don't really want to do this"
"I'm doing this for you. Do you believe that you've got a prayer of making it through law school with the way you ' re living?"
"I think that's my concern. When I want you to do something for me," he said imitating Warren's drawl, "I'll ask you."
"It's not just a question of you."
"I know that, Sheriff. You're doing it for the good the whole community and now you've enlisted the aid of a deputy."
"Chris, why are you trying to drag me into this?” said Laureen.
"Because darling, you're someplace near the bottom of it all.”
"That's not true!" said Laureen.
Chris stared at her and began to giggle. "You really thought that you'd slither on through here, didn't you?"
Ron stared at Warren and wondered why he was doing this and why he was picking now to do it. Wasn't there enough going without Warren complicating everything?
"Look," said Warren, "I realize that without the dealing that money will be tight for a while. Laureen and I talked out it, and we decided that if you straighten out your life, you can live here rent free."
Chris giggled again. "You did? I don't think that I can stand living with either of you now, and I'm paying for most everything. Imagine how great it would be to have the two you supporting me?"
"Warren, this just doesn't make any sense," said Ron.
"You're wrong about that. It's one of the best decisions I ever made."
"Right up there with coming north, huh Sheriff?” said Chris. This time Ron burst out laughing too.
"I can see that you're in no shape to discuss this any further right now," said Warren.
Laureen said, "I think I'm going to bed."
Chris and Ron laughed, and she left the table quickly. Warren said, "Maybe the two of us can talk this through in the morning.” And then he left Ron and Chris sitting at the table.
Chris looked over at Ron and said, "Well, this should be interesting."
Ron said, "Let's smoke a joint, man."
Chris went into his room and brought his pot tray into the living room. He handed it to Ron and went to the stereo and chose an Eric Clapton album. Warren was just getting into bed to begin talking with Ruth when the first lines of I Shot the Sheriff blasted from all four speakers. Warren clenched his jaw and stared at his closed door. "I'm dealing with children," he said to Ruth.
"Yes, you are. And the truth is that I'm a bit jealous because there's nothing left for me when I need some support."
"You've got a right to be upset," said Warren.
"But that doesn't mean that anything is really going to change, does it Warren?"
"I'm going to clean the house out."
"I don't care about the house. What about you and me?"
"I care about the house, and you do to. Sometimes it's difficult to keep sight of the things we care about."
Ruth gave Warren an ironic smile and said that she wanted to go back to sleep. When she turned over, she felt his hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and opened her legs.
Laureen lay on her bed and listened to the music. She thought about Chris and how stubborn he was. She told herself that he deserved what was going to happen because he didn't respect other people's feelings.
When the song ended, Chris got up carrying the joint and put the needle back on the beginning. He was thinking about what was going to happen next and decided that he would be in a better position to deal with this after he came back from California.
After smoking the joint, Ron wandered back out into the livingroom with his pad. He felt as if he could feel the house reaching out to him, encouraging him, telling him that he belonged there. He stared at the fireplace. It was empty except for some twigs. He took a piece of wood from the side and opened the flue. Everything was dry and caught quickly. It was a small fire, not like the ones that they had the rest of the year that blazed for hours and hours. Ron just needed to stare into the flames. Something that wasn’t good was going to happen here. He felt for the first time there that it might happen that Rahway would no longer be there for him. It would another door that closed. Just outside the picture window over the fireplace he could see that bird feeder swaying gently in the night.
Outside the window over our fireplace hangs a feeder:
I watch the birds come to eat, you watch the flame
We have different fantasies, but the feeling is the same
I watch the bird, you stare into the flame
We’re cross-eyed from our visions
When we’re together, ecstatic electricity
shorting out the pulsing in our veins..
We watch our imagination drown the bird in the flames
Chapter 15
Ron and Warren sat drinking coffee at the kitchen table. Warren had his clipboard and was making a list of things that he wanted to accomplish that day. Laureen and Ruth had gone to work and Chris had disappeared early that morning. Ron had wanted to ask Warren why he was included on the list of ultimatums. He didn't want to do it in front of other people, but now they were alone.
"I guess you were waiting to say what you said last night for a long time."
"I had been waiting too long. That's why it turned out the way it did."
"Why me?"
"It's not you. It's what you represent."
"What's that?"
"Drugs, instability..."
"That's what you think of me?"
"What I think of you isn't important. It's the effect that you and Chris have on each other. With you around, the party just won't ever stop, and it's very difficult to have a serious conversation with either of you when you're together."
"If it's about money, I still have a few hundred dollars left. I'll pay my share of things. I've always done that, Warren.”
"It's not about money. It's about this being my home and me being able to feel comfortable here."
"It's the wrong way to approach Chris. You know that."
"Chris knew what I was feeling and he chose to ignore those feelings, and now there just isn't room for any more compromise or discussion. I've told everyone what has to happen."
"But what makes you believe that you're in charge here?"
"I'm putting myself in charge. If Chris wants to contest that, he's going to get hurt badly. I'm not fooling around here. You should tell him that."
Ron was about to say that he didn't want to be placed in the role of a messenger when the phone rang. It was Robin.
"Hi, I'm at my father's in Elizabeth."
"How did you get there?"
"I took a bus over early this morning. Will you pick me up?"
"Sure."
"When can you be here?"
"When do you want to leave?"
"How about in an hour?"
"I'll be there."
He hung up the phone and came back to the table to find Warren grinning at him. "What are you going to do about her?"
"I don't know. When I heard her voice just now, I got best feeling I've had since I kissed her good night. That's the way it is for me. The feelings are really strong."
"You're lost."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean your soul is gone. She's got it, and she isn't finished with you yet."
"I can't really believe that she would do me any harm on purpose."
"Then don't believe it."
"Why are you acting this way about Robin, about the house?"
Warren paused and thought about how to answer the questions. Part of it was Art leaving. Part of it was Ruth feeling deprived. Part of it was being forced to argue with Chris and knowing that Chris was correct when he said that Warren should be the one to leave. Very little, if any of it, had to do with Ron and his problems, which were a complication that Warren just didn't have the energy for right now, and which was less interesting to him than it had been a few days ago.
"I'm not sure what you mean, said Warren. "I'm doing what I know to be the right thing. If people are being made uncomfortable by it, then they'll have to deal with that the best way that they can."
"Chris was right about Laureen, though, wasn't he?"
"Look, I'll give you one last piece of advice, and then I want to get some things accomplished today. Don't get involved in anything between Chris and Laureen. There's too much history and too many truly deep feelings there, and you'll just get sucked in and chewed up into little pieces before you know what's happened to you."
"This whole thing is going to suck, big time, Warren. I don't know how it's going to turn out, but I dread it. I'll leave here, one way or the other, by the end of the month. You can have that. Why don't you just take it, ask Chris to cut back on his pot smoking, and declare victory. He knows that he shouldn't be dealing out of the house. We've discussed that dozens of times, but if you keep on like a dictator, things will get very bloody around here. That's my advice, for what it's worth. I've got to take a shower and pick up Robin."
"Are you bringing her back here?"
"I doubt it."
After he took his shower and had gotten dressed, Warren told him that he should feel free to bring Robin back there today if he wanted to. "I don't want you to feel like you've got to walk around here on eggs or anything," said Warren.
"I appreciate that," said Ron.
"Don't be afraid to let her know that she's hurt you either.”
"I don't know about that," said Ron. "Are you going to be here tonight?"
"I'm going into the city this afternoon. I don't know when I'll be back out."
"I'll see you then," said Ron.
Warren nodded his head and Ron was out the door. He got into the car and took his tape recorder out of the glove compartment. He removed the last tape he'd used on the way home from Minnesota and replaced it with a blank one. On the way over to Elizabeth, he talked into the microphone about how he wished that he could just take Robin and get away from the whole mess. “But then I'd just be running away again, wouldn't I? Warren's right about one thing: when you know what the right thing to do is, you have to have the courage to stand up and act on your beliefs and worry about whether they're right or wrong later on.” He paused. "Do I really believe that or is it just something that I think sounds real good. Is where any place in my life that I'm really strong enough to do that?” The answer came back to him quickly. "With Robin. I'm doing what I believe is right with Robin."
John Hinkle lived on the third floor of an old brick apartment building around the corner from the last place that Ron and Robin had shared. Ron didn't like to go there, mostly because her father was just as liable to be drunk as her mother was, and because her father's room mate was a double amputee who had lost both of her legs to diabetes and had kept on drinking. Ron couldn't figure out what John was doing there with her, but he suspected that it had something to do with her disability checks.
When Ron got there, the three of them were sitting in the kitchen having tea. Robin looked tense. John got up and asked Ron if he wanted something to drink. Ron politely refused. The apartment had a stale odor in it, and Ron was anxious to leave from the instant that he arrived.
"Robin's been telling me that you're going for a master's degree and that you've been teaching at your college.”
"That's true."
"Well I want both of you to know that I've decided to go to college and that I've been accepted."
Robin's face brightened until it had the look of a small girl. "That's great, daddy. What are you going to study?"
"I don't think that I'll be able to study anything, but I will be studied, that’s for sure."
"What do you mean?” Robin's face had a rapidly returning mask of tension.
"Let me show you.” He went to a drawer underneath one of the cabinets and took out a folded piece of paper and a plastic card. He handed it to Robin.
"You've decided to be an organ donor after your death, and you’re donating your body to a medical school, ” she said slowly.
"What kind of thing is that to show your daughter!" said the woman in the wheelchair. "Help me into the other room. It was nice to see you, Robin?"
John rose and helped her get the chair through the doorway to her bedroom. "I'll be right back," he said.
"We've got to be going anyway," said Robin.
When her father returned, they said good-byes and left. On the way down the stairs, Ron said, "Well, at least it's not like a holiday when we'd have to go to see both of my parents now."
She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for coming to get me."
"Why did you leave your mother's so early?"
"I knew that you wouldn't want to have to do this with me, and I had to visit him."
"What should we do now?"
"Could we go down to the shore?"
“You know, I don't think that we ever did that together before."
"I know. I can't remember that last time that I saw the ocean, but I didn't really start to miss it until I couldn't have it."
They drove to her mother's apartment and she picked up her camera and a bathing suit. Ron had an old suit in the trunk of his car and felt saved that he didn't have to bring her back to Rahway. There wasn't any traffic on the road, and they got to the beach at Bradley in less than an hour.
"You know when I used to work nights, I would sometimes come down to the beach and sleep during the day."
"I wish we'd met then," she said dreamily.
"Why? I think I was more mixed up then than I am now."
"It was before the pot and before Rahway.” She paused and he absorbed what she said. "Do you remember when we first met?"
"Very well."
"I'd been watching you for a while. I remember that I liked your smile and how sure you were of yourself."
"I only thought that I knew what was going on."
"Sometimes that's enough."
"Only for a while. What did I do that made you want to hurt me so much?"
"Do we have to talk about that?"
"I'd like to."
"Why?"
"Because I need to understand."
"Some things just happen, Ron, and you've got to learn to accept them."
"Why did you do it?"
"You mean with Alex?"
He glanced at her face and saw that she wasn't looking at him. She was staring out the window and was holding her arms across her chest. "To begin with, he kept pressuring me to tell you about us, and I couldn't figure out a way to do it. I didn't really want you to show up out there. After you got there, I didn't want you to leave. So, I decided that if you knew what was happening, you'd be so angry that you'd go and then I wouldn't have to make any decisions."
"It was that simple?"
"It wasn't simple at all."
"What I really want to know," said Ron, "is how you feel about me now."
"I don't know."
"What do you think?"
"It doesn't have much to do with thinking. I think that you press me to tell you things that I haven't decided about yet."
"But you've decided that you don't want us to be lovers?"
"Not right now."
"Does that mean that at some point in the future that you might want us to be together again?"
"I don't know."
"It just doesn't make any sense to me. I never knew how to love anybody before I met you and now that I love you, we can't be together. It seems really fucking unfair.” It happened before he realized it, and then it was too late. The tears were streaming down his face and falling onto his arm. She was looking at him now and there was a softness around her eyes, but her jaw and cheekbones were chisel hard.
"If you think that it would be easier for you if we didn't see each other at all, I would do what you wanted."
"You're still trying to get me to tell you to go away, aren't you?"
"Maybe," she said.
He found a place to park at the meters next to the boardwalk. She jumped out of the car and squealed, "Let's go on the beach!"
Ron followed her and watched the way she walked. The swing of her hips excited him, and the skinniness of her arms and shoulders made him feel as if she needed protection. She pulled the back of her skirt between her legs and tucked it into the front of her belt and then kicked off her shoes. She pranced down to the edge of the water and began to take pictures of the waves and the jetties. Then she turned and said, "Will you stand over there, so that I can take your picture.” Ron obeyed and stood with his back to the water. He grinned and posed for her.
They found a public bathroom and changed into their swimsuits. He pulled an old blanket from the trunk of his car and spread it out on the beach. When they lay down in the sun, he remembered again what it felt like to be next to her body, the way it had been in Minneapolis. She was right there but he couldn't reach out for her. He wondered what would have happened if he did. She wanted him to be strong? Maybe he should just overpower her and be done with it. Then he called himself an asshole and reminded himself that he wanted more than just to have sex with her again. He opened his eyes and looked at the contours of her ribs. He lightly brushed some sand from her ribs with his fingertips. She didn't move away.
"The sun feels so wonderful, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he said softly.
When they went into the water, they splashed each other and dove under the waves. They held hands and went out beyond the point where she could touch bottom. She put her arms around his neck and he could feel her breasts pressing against his chest. The sun was strong and the water warm, and he was invincible again. If he just kept her out here, where she needed him, they would be together forever. "This is how I remember us," he said.
Her laughter faded and the smile disappeared. "Let's go to shore," she said.
On the way back home, he told her what was going on in Rahway. "It sounds to me like Warren has a good point."
"You should only wish that he was as charitable about you.”
"What do you mean?"
"He says that you're a witch whose taken my soul and eventually wants to kill me."
"What?"
"That's what he says"
"What did you tell him?"
"I told him about what happened with Alex out in Minneapolis."
"Why?"
"Because I needed help."
"And did Warren help you?” She spoke slowly, deliberately; phrasing the words like weapons.
"I don't know."
Her face was very hard now, and her arms were rigidly stiff, the way they were when she was on stage and had gotten nervous. "Who else did you tell?"
"Chris."
"What did you all do, have a good old fashioned Rahway discussion about what a bitch I was, and who I was sleeping with?"
"No, that didn't happen."
"I'll bet," said Robin. She turned away from him and didn't say anything else until they had almost gotten to her mother's house. "This is a mistake," she said. "Don't you see what's going to happen to us? We're going to destroy anything that we ever had that was any good."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything, but you don't know how much you hurt me."
"Yes, I do," said Robin and she got out of the car. "I'm going to spend the evening with my mother."
"Can I call you tomorrow?"
"Only if you don't think that I'll steal your soul and hurt you so much that you want to die."
"I shouldn't have said anything."
"Look, I'll call you tomorrow,' said Robin. She grabbed her camera and her suit and walked into her mother's building. Ron watched two salesman through the store front under Robin's mother's apartment watch her walk by. He wanted to drive his car through their window and crush them. When he looked down, he saw that his hands were shaking and that he'd begun to cry again.
On the way back to Rahway, he spoke into the tape recorder again. He spoke slowly and felt the words coming from someplace inside of him that he really wasn’t sure was there.
We lay on the beach with no blanket. The repetition of the waves
brings on her sleep
I touch the soft backs of her thighs with the warmth my eyes feel.
My fingers brush sand on the traces of ribs
What was between us has left
space
Chapter 16
Laureen and Craig were sitting at the kitchen table drinking diet soda when Ron got to the house. Laureen met his eyes, turned away, got up, and said that she was going to take a shower, so that she and Craig could get going. Ron was putting together the fixings for a pot of coffee when he heard the shower start to run.
"How long do you know Laureen, Craig?"
"About three months. Why, how long do you know her?"
"We go back about six or seven years."
"What was she like then?” said Craig.
"More obvious."
"What's that mean?"
"Well," said Ron putting the flame under the pot, "maybe she wasn't any more obvious then. Maybe I've just been around her long enough to learn more of her maneuvers. You know?"
"No, what do you mean?"
"I guess I must have seen her go through at least twenty-five guys, and I'll be damned if she didn't leave everyone of them bleeding. But I'm sure somebody like you wouldn't let that happen. You know what I mean, the way she just draws you close and then scratches the shit out of you like an alley cat."
"That's a nice thing for a friend to say."
"Oh, it's nothing for you to feel threatened about, but I've seen her rip some guys up pretty good."
"And I'll bet you were one of them," said Craig with a condescending tone in his voice.
"No, not me. How do you think we were able to stay friends this long. Once you start fucking her, she seems to develop this need to take you apart, but she doesn't ever seem to get them back together properly. You know, like a kid with a clock syndrome or something."
"I don't believe any of that shit. It sounds to me like you must be stoned or something."
"That's probably it, but, you know, I haven't had anything to smoke in a couple days. You think the effects are that long lasting?"
"I never got the feeling that I was being taken apart."
"That's good," said Ron. "She'll probably change her whole approach to men because of you. That's probably what'll happen.”
"You're trying to fuck my head up, aren't you?"
"Not, really. I'm just making conversation while I wait for the coffee to perk. But ask her how she got the nickname Snake sometime."
When Laureen came out of the shower, she saw Craig sitting on the back porch looking depressed. Ron was in the kitchen drinking a cup of coffee. "Do you know what time Chris is going to be back?” she asked Ron.
"Nope."
"I think he's having band practice tonight, isn't he?"
"I guess so."
"Did you see Robin today?"
"We went to the beach."
"How was that?"
"Great."
"I know you're pissed off, but there's more going on here than you've been around for, Ron. Chris isn't the together person that he makes himself out to be."
"Tell him," said Ron.
"You're just being stubborn," said Laureen. She went into her room and got dressed. Then she came back into the kitchen. "Craig and I are going into the city."
"Have a real good time," said Ron.
After they left, he got out his notes and starting working on the song he was writing about Rahway.
She was tall. She had black hair, a crooked nose and crocodile teeth.
I said to myself, 'Well at least she looks too mean to be diseased.’ He put down his pen and went for his guitar. He sang the new line of Snake Garden Paradise over and over trying to hear what would come next. Then it came:
I said, 'you're a bitch.' She answered 'I'm a goddess.' Like a fool I said, 'let's find out.’ Now he was ready for the new variation to the chorus. He wailed,
"Snake Garden Paradise. Uhhh! She makes it feel so nice. Playing Adam and Eve.
I had my own room, I never wanted to leave. If you come here more than once, you'll come all your life, To the Snake Garden Paradise."
That was it; the last stanza that he needed to put it together. He was singing it through for about the fourth when Chris came in.
"Hey man," said Ron.
"All right," said Chris. "Are you workin' on a new song?"
"I think I just finished it, but I need some help with the music. My music all sounds the same, you know what I mean."
"It's all in the same key," said Chris.
"Yeah... Flat.” said Ron. They paused and then both laughed. "let's smoke a joint in your room and I'll play it for you."
They went into Chris's bedroom and Chris tuned his guitar to Ron's while Ron worked on rolling a couple of joints. "It's about somebody going to a whore house for the first time," said Ron.
"Far out."
"His father sends him there. There is here and the starring whore is none other than our friend, the Snake."
Chris began to giggle. "Oh no."
They smoked about half of the joint and Ron said, “Why don't you finish that and just listen the first time."
Chris began giggling almost immediately. By the time Ron got to the new lines, Chris was laughing so hard that he had infected Ron, who had to stop playing. He lit the second joint.
"I think we should play it for the bitch along with a reprise of The Hypofesser Blues."
"How do you think of these things?"
Ron drew in on the joint and held the smoke in his lungs. "I owe it all to drugs," he said as he exhaled. Chris giggled some more. "I think I made sort of a pre-emptive nuclear strike on her this afternoon."
"What do you mean?”
Ron told Chris about what he'd said to Craig.
Chris began giggling uncontrollably again. Then he said, "Why did you do that?"
"Fuck her and the fizz-males like her," said Ron.
Chris slapped him on the back. "Well boy, it seems to me that you're well on the road to returning to your old vituperative self."
Ron laughed. "Where'd you disappear to today?"
"I had some business," said Chris, "and then I stopped by to see Wally Ventross."
"The landlord?"
"Yup. I paid next month's rent in my name. The Sheriff is going to have to deal with how that affects his new laws."
"Oh, man, Warren's not going to like that."
"Fuck him too," said Chris. "Are you going to stick around for band practice tonight."
"I don't know," said Ron. "It depends on if I hear from Robin."
At about seven o'clock, he called her mother's house, but Mrs. Hinkle said that Robin wasn't there. She said something about her going to visit a friend. Ron started to wonder which friend. Suppose she just avoided him and went back to Minneapolis? It really might be the last time that he saw her, ever. The thought disturbed him and made him pace back and forth in the kitchen. He was still pacing when he saw Robin standing in the doorway by his room.
"Hi."
"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have said anything to anyone about us. I should have known that nobody would understand what was going on."
She was about to answer when Chris came around the corner and into the kitchen. He was smoking a joint. "R.H.," said Chris. "How are you doing?"
Ron noticed her flinch at the sight of Chris and fix her eyes on the joint when she answered. "Fine, Chris. How are you?"
"High," said Chris.
Robin gave him a nervous laugh.
Ron said, "We're going out for a while. We'll see you later.”
When they got into the car, Robin said, "Have you been smoking again?"
"Just a little," lied Ron. "Not like I was before."
"I thought you said that you'd quit?"
"Chris is real persistent, you know? But I've got it under control this time."
"Ron, you're addicted to that stuff. There isn't any way for you to have it under control."
"I'll be fine," said Ron. "Did you start to say something back at the house?"
"Nothing important," said Robin. She wondered why he couldn't see what the sight of him around drugs did to her, but decided that she'd lost that argument and given up that battle a long time ago and that it would be best for her to just let it go.
"What do you feel like doing?” said Ron.
"I don't know. Listen, what I came to see you about was that my plans have changed. I'm going back to Minnesota tomorrow night."
Ron looked stunned. "Why?"
"A lot of reasons. Mostly what it comes down to is that I really don't want to be here anymore. I don't belong here."
"Are you going back to Alex?"
"I'm going back to me. It's my home, my job, my life, my cat, and I miss them."
"OK."
"Staying with my mother isn't comfortable, and from what you've told me about what's happening in Rahway, and what the people there think of me, I certainly don't want to stay there."
"Are we going to stay in touch with each other?"
"I'd planned on it."
"What I need to know is how I fit into your life now?"
"You're very special to me."
"What does that mean?"
"Ron, do you really want to do this?"
"I don't know what I really want to do about anything. I don't know where I really want to live, what I really want to do or anything. The only thing that I do know is that I really want you, and I can't have you."
"You're going to kill everything we had because you just won't leave anything alone."
"I can't help it."
"I know."
"You used to respect my persistence."
"I respect you. I'm just not in love with you any more."
Ron felt the tears filling up his eyes at the sound of the words. He wanted to cry out "why not?” And tell her that she couldn't leave him, but none of that would have done any good. "You're going to wind up hating me, you know."
"I don't think so."
"It's going to become too much trouble to deal with, and I'm probably going to keep on saying the wrong things at the wrong time, just the way I'm doing now."
"I wish you'd stop the self-pity. It not something that I like seeing you do to yourself, and it isn't healthy."
Ron spoke fiercely. "It's not self-pity. It's you and me and it's dying, and I think it sucks that it's dying. You're not ever going to find someone who loves you as I do."
"Then I'll learn to be alone."
"Now who's doing the self-pitying?"
She gave him a sharp look.
"It feels shitty when somebody says that to you, doesn't it?” said Ron.
The car was quiet. Ron didn't know where to drive, but he didn't know where to stop either. It was dark now and a large, harvest moon had risen in the sky. He wanted to drive toward it. He wanted to show her something that she'd never seen before, something that would overwhelm her so much that she couldn't stand the thought of not being with him. "The sky is beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes,” she said. She took hold of his hand and kissed his fingers.
Ron’s mind slid through scene after scene of their time together as they rode in the car. Their favorite plays, their favorite books, their favorite places. Each of the scenes flashed in back of his eyes, and then he glanced over at her and she seemed to be seeing them too.
After he dropped her off, the voice played in his head. They had loved Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolfe but it had scared them too.
When George and Martha had their kid,
they gave it shape and form between them
and kept the thing from the outside
Sad, sad George and Martha
So much stronger than you and I
Each with a child lost inside us.
Chapter 17
Rahway was so packed with cars that Ron had to find a spot on the street. The band was playing Brown Eyed Girl and the rooms were shaking with the music. Laureen was sitting at the kitchen table, chain smoking and drinking diet soda. She hated the band and usually tried to avoid the house on practice nights, but after the argument that she wound up having with Craig, and after he told her what Ron had said, she was loading up and waiting for him. She thought that she heard the bells on the back door, but she couldn't be sure. Then she saw him. She got up from the table glaring at him and said, "Come outside, Ron. I want to talk to you.” They sat down on the back porch. “You rotten bastard! How dare you say anything about my personal life to a man I'm seeing."
"I didn't mean to upset him," said Ron with a half grin that he was trying to restrain.
"You lousy fuck. You knew exactly what you were doing, and I know exactly why you did it. It wasn't any of your business.”
"Really," said Ron lightly. Then he let his face turn dark. "Maybe I'm too fucked up to understand, but I think that Warren is trying to throw me out of this house, and I think that you decided in your sick, little mind that somehow you were just doing the right thing for Chris. And the fact that you're screwing everybody around, coincidentally to your own advantage, is the fault of fucking fate or something."
"That has nothing to do with what you did. Do you know how many women I watched you take advantage of before you met the one who you couldn't and decided that it must be love? I never interfered. I stood by and let you fuck my best friends when I knew that you didn't give a shit about them."
"What do you figure that says about you?"
"I trusted you, Ron, and you shit all over me."
"It was payback time and to tell you the truth it was pretty mild. I'm sure that what I told him couldn't be the truth."
"Fuck you, Ron. I'm getting out of here until you and Child of Woodstock get what you both deserve, but I'll never trust you again."
"Do what you want, but maybe you should think a little about why you decided to snake out on Chris. And maybe you should look at who you're lining up with and whether you're only doing it because you think that it will work out to your advantage."
"I don't need to hear any of this from you.” She got up and went into the house. She closed the door to her room and began to pack her things.
Ron lit a cigarette and listened to the band, which had now shifted over to Moondance. Ron thought that they sounded pretty good. He liked the piano and Chris on the flute. He thought the drums needed more of a variety of loud and soft, and he couldn't hear the bass at all, but, on the whole, he didn't think that they'd embarrass themselves. Everybody would have a bunch of fun listening to them on Saturday.
After Laureen finished packing, she called Warren in the City. "I'm leaving," she said.
"Why?"
"Because this house sucks with Chris around, and Ron pulled some very nasty shit on me.”
"What did he do?"
"I don't want to get into it now. Where are you going to be this weekend?"
"In Boston."
"Would it be all right if I came in and stayed at your place?"
"Do you want to come in tonight?"
"Is Ruth there?"
"No, she has to work in the morning."
"Can you pick me up at the train station?"
"When are you leaving?"
"Now."
No one heard Laureen leave, and there wasn't anyone that she wanted to say good-bye to. She went out the front door so that she wouldn't have to run into Ron again. She walked the half-mile to the train station feeling like a refugee, and cursing Chris because he was so blind all the time.
When the band finished playing, they began to party. Three of them had brought girls with them who sat in the living room through the entire ear-shattering practice. Ron heard voices and sounds of the instruments packing up and decided that it was safe to go in. He recognized almost everybody. Pete, the drummer, had shown up with Jade, who he thought was his new main thing. Pete shook Ron's hand and Jade slipped him a condescending smirk. Ron glanced at Pete and smirked back at her. Rex, the keyboard guy, was there with his fiancée. She looked completely out of place in polyester slacks, a frilly blouse, and a copy of Bride's Magazine, but when she got up to walk across the room, Ron noticed that she a great ass that moved with a captivating motion. The other girls noticed that all the guys stared at Dina's behind as she shook it on her way to the bathroom. Joey, the snitch that had given Chris's name to the cops when he'd gotten busted, was playing guitar. He had a new girlfriend named Carol whom nobody, except for Chris, had anything good to say about. The bass player was a stranger, and Ron didn't bother to get his name.
"Did you hear us?” said Rex.
"I was listening to you,” said Ron.
"The dead also heard you," said Jade.
Rex considered what she said and turned to Ron. "Do you think that we're too loud too?”
"It's hard to say in a small room like this, but you guys definitely had it cranked up."
"Bar bands got to be loud," said the snitch. "I heard a lot of bands that would drown us out."
"That's why Clapton is going deaf," said Rex.
Then they began drinking and smoking in earnest. Ron grabbed hold of a couple joints, wandered off into his room.
He lit the first joint and sat listening to the sounds that came from the people in the other room. They were far enough away to not be distinguishable as specific words and phrases, but the background noise that they offered was like music.
The house always felt right when it was filled with people. Whether it was Warren holding one of his classes in the livingroom or having on of his Sunday night discussions, or Chris just plain having fun, the house accommodated a large group well and seemed to breathe so easily when it was full. The converse was also true. When it was empty, the creaks and silences could be frightening to some of the people there.
Ron loved it both ways. When it was frightening to others, it seemed to embrace Ron, and he was able to give himself over to it, to open his mind and his heart to the place and let it inside of him.
Here, there are mirrors where there is no glass.
Where objects have been handled or gazed at so long that they have their feeling,
reflecting but unable to give you the settled ease of things
comfortable with their place
Where there are no noises, there are shadows
who speak their darkness through the silence that has made them
Ron stared at what he’d written and drew in on the joint. He wondered if the house tried to tell a story through him. He wondered if he and Robin, their time together was as connected to this place as he thought that it was. If he was right and it was, it shouldn’t be lost him that she now hated Rahway and saw it with a jaundiced eye.
Warren picked Laureen up at the train station and they drove back to his apartment. They opened a bottle of wine and began to talk about Rahway.
"Chris isn't going to change until he's ready," said Laureen. “And I don't think that he's anywhere near ready. Something has to happen that shocks him into seeing what's happening to him."
"My hope is that damage which he can't recover from doesn't occur.”
"He's never going to understand or agree with your stand, Warren. Believe me, he'll see it as a contest that he's being challenged to and just try to figure out what he's got to do to win."
"What about Ron?” said Warren
"I don't care about Ron. He's hopeless and now he's becoming vindictive."
"Ron's brighter than you think."
"He's bright, but he's got such a distorted picture of himself that if he ever makes a correct decision, it's by luck. He thinks of himself as this street-wise city kid and he doesn't realize that he lost that point of view a long time ago. He thinks that there's something he can do to make things right with Robin and she's gone for good."
"As his lover," said Warren, "you're correct. But she isn't finished with him yet. She wouldn't have followed him out here if she was."
"I think she came out to see her family, and Ron's a good taxi."
"There's more to it than that, but mostly you're right. The thing that I want to talk about is the house. I think that it'll probably become necessary to put Chris out. It would be better if he left on his own, but I don't think that will happen."
"He paid next month's rent, you know?” said Laureen.
"The whole thing?"
"Yes."
"That was a mistake. Now he's going to force me to up the stakes and I had hoped to keep things as friendly as possible. Anyway, after Chris and Ron are out of there, I'd like you to move in."
Laureen grinned. "You would?"
"I think that what we share is a common vision of what Rahway could be, and I think that we can work toward that together."
"Who else?” said Laureen.
"I don't know yet. We can work that out after we finish up this business with Chris."
"Warren, I don't think that I would like living with you and Ruth there."
"There's no chance of me moving Ruth in. That would make everything very crazy, and I'm looking for a little sanity in my life for a change. Besides, I think that the people who live in the house shouldn't sleep together."
Laureen smiled and poured some more wine. "Warren?"
"Yes."
"Wanna fuck?"
Warren flashed a Southern grin and drawled," I think that we should talk about some things first."
"Warren, get your cock out. We'll talk later on."
Chapter 18
Robin began to relax when the plane leveled off. She couldn't say that the visit had gone well, but she'd gotten through it. She felt more free from New Jersey and her old life there than she'd ever been before. In that sense, she told herself, it had been a success. She'd told her mother and father that it would be some time before she'd be able to afford to visit again. Ron had been very quiet, and she'd been able to kiss him good-bye and leave before he'd really been able to start in on her again. In short, she was quite alone and excited about her state of affairs.
Minneapolis would still offer some complications, but she felt that she had a handle on what should occur there as well. It was time for her to grow up and that meant that, for a time, she should be alone and get her bearings and learn to be by herself. She was happy to be rid of Alex. She didn't feel good about what had happened with Penelope, but, she told herself, that growing up included making mistakes and some parts of maturing were sad. Penelope was one of those, but she wasn't going to let that bother her anymore.
She thought about how happy she would be to see Leni, and how good it would feel to make dinner in her own kitchen. She'd take a shower and eat and then curl up with a glass of wine and a book and let the tension that was afflicting her body ebb out of her. People presented problems. The people that she knew seemed to want so many things and be so insistent on getting them. The last few months had convinced her that trying to give people what they wanted was impossible, if she wanted anything of her life to be left for her. Perhaps her mother blamed her for the way life had turned out, and wanted her to continue to be the parent of an aging alcoholic. Maybe her father really did delight in building her hopes up, and then tearing them down with cruel jokes. And suppose Ron did want her to think that she was a cruel and heartless bitch? What she had learned was that she didn't have to give in to any of them. What she had learned was that as long as she tried to live up to people's perceptions of her, she would be perpetually unhappy. Growing up meant that she had the right to create her own happiness without anyone's approval and it might seem to others that she was late in learning that lesson, but that wasn't important either. The only thing that was important was that she kept her personal goals square in her sights.
* * *
Convinced that he would never see Robin again, Ron watched the plane take off and told himself that he had severely blown the best thing that ever happened to him. He was aware of the movement of everything around him as he walked out of the terminal and back to his car. He stared up at the large, full, moon that illuminated the August sky and told himself that he had earned a scene somewhere in the magic story of love. Now it was his job to capture and relate what he had learned. It was true that he couldn't have her, but he could have the story of him and her, and he could transform what he felt into a work of art. Something special had happened, and now he could make something else special out of it. He told himself that this was what it felt like to be an artist. Robin was no longer his lover, but now she was his muse. It was like a new beginning for them, and what made this almost better was that no one could take it away from him.
He drove to Rahway and told Chris about his realizations. Chris exhaled from the joint they were smoking and shook his head.
"You might not want to give yourself more reasons for thinking about Robin than you already have."
"It won't matter if I'm able to write songs and poems about it, man. Otherwise, it was all for nothing. Everything that I know about her will be nothing more than empty knowledge."
“You’re going to do what you want to do anyway," said Chris.
"Do you think I'm being stupid?"
"I think that you're probably going to make things harder for yourself, but who knows? That just might be your way."
The band's concert was the next night, and the guys had spent the afternoon and evening in a marathon practice session that had been all business. Chris was feeling ready and had made arrangements to make the weekend one of the best of his life. Directly after the gig, he was going to drive himself to the airport and be off to San Diego. He was bringing his guitar with him, along with more than $20,000. The deal was over and had moved along as smoothly as an untravelled interstate. The ride was going to do everyone a world of good. Mercifully, Warren was spending the weekend in Boston and Snake had moved out, writing him a note that said that she loved him, but that it was evident that he didn't want her around any more. He couldn't fault her accuracy, but there was something about Laureen having another bad experience around him that gave him an uneasy feeling. There was only so much good karma that could be maintained in the face of negativity.
Chris went to bed early that night. Ron said that he wanted to write and disappeared into his room. It was just as well. Chris turned on the TV and lay in bed. At about ten o’clock that night he decided to call California, but Peter's chick said that he wasn't due back from Mexico for another four or five hours. "What's he doing, buying a house down there?” said Chris.
"I don't know what he's up to," said Lonnie, "but everybody is expecting you out here and we'll meet you at the airport. Good luck with your concert. I'm sure you'll be a hit."
Chris smiled into the phone and twirled his mustache. Idly, he wondered what Lonnie was like in bed. She was a hard lines brunette who loved good dope and horses. Chris imagined that she was also hot and solid in the sack too. Peter wouldn't have put up with anything less.
Ron sat in the room looking over what he’d written so far. He played through the tape-recorded monologues that he’d made. There were pieces there, little snippets, but nothing seemed unified yet. He told himself that the thing to do was to keep on writing. What it meant that it didn’t make any sense yet was that he hadn’t gotten to the place where it made sense yet, nothing more. He had to trust that it would make sense if he kept working at it. He believed that it would more than he had believed in anything since he’d been a child. In some strange way, this writing, this poetry thing was like being a child all over again each time he created a poem.
Images, he wanted images. Images of Minneapolis… Images of the time there when they were in tune with what was around them; when he felt himself reaching out to the world and felt the world reaching back for him.
Walking through the parking lot
to the botanical garden and the zoo
arms and hands locked together.
We went to the half-acre cage where they kept the wolves:
One white male with dog sad eyes and yellow green teeth
twitching his ears at the summer flies
in hopes of a piece of meat.
One elephant held to a tree by a chain
that clanks beneath each step…he walks round and round.
The buffalo won’t move an inch, make a sound or blink.
The monkeys are modeled on New York City,
packed in and surrounded by a moat.
Some shout to the people outside,
Shouting among themselves,
Moving with the business of the tribe,
Some asleep and some silent.
The imported gardens,
screaming with flying song and mumbling trees that reach up to a glass covered sky;
and the garden statue,
with her smooth body and surprised face,
holding up her hands for water.
The next day was a waiting game, but Chris knew how to wait. If the years of dope dealing had taught him anything, it was how to be patient and not rush things. He had a good breakfast at a diner with Ron and then he came back to Rahway and took a nap.
The guys in the band began to arrive at about five o'clock. Chris had been fooling around with his flute for about an hour and felt good about the way it felt in his hand and at his mouth. The notes seemed particularly clear and he was able to hear himself with an unusual clarity. It was going to be a good night.
By seven o'clock they had arrived at Pistol Pete's and were setting up. Everybody was up and excited. The sound checks and tuning took a bit longer than usual, because of nerves and a desire to make everything more than just OK.
The stage was small but the lighting was good. Chris looked out at the empty room and wondered if this was the beginning of something big or just another pipe dream, what Ron called ‘going to hunt tigers in Africa before they were extinct.’ They were due to begin their first set at nine o'clock and play forty minutes on and twenty off until the place closed at two a.m. The band had compiled four sets of music, which meant that the last two would be mixes and matches of the tunes that had gone the best. Chris would be singing the first song and that did make him a little nervous. The song reminded him of Laureen. He wondered if she would be there to hear it.
The band started like a sprinter at a marathon, pouring every bit of energy they had into the first song. Chris strained to keep his voice on key and in time with the music. He was happy when “Brown Eyed Girl” was over, and he could slip back into the flute background on “Moondance.” The band finished their first forty-minute set in just under a half an hour. The guys turned around and looked at each with an expression of ‘what happens now?’ The crowd had been enthusiastic but mainly consisted of their friends, who were cheering loudly at every available occasion. At the moment of indecision, Chris stepped up to the mic and said that he was going to introduce the band, and that they were going to close their first set with a blues jam. Pistol Pete winced. People didn't come to hear jams, they came to listen to songs that they knew. He wondered if he'd made a mistake by using amateurs and banking on their friends drinking enough to make his night. Chris ended the loosely organized and sometimes painfully redundant jam by saying, "I'm Chris Calvin and we're Pantheon. Tell your friends about us.” The crowd cheered as the guys laid down their instruments and jumped down from the stage. Pistol Pete looked at his bartender and grumbled, "They've got every friend they know in the world here already, and they're not drinking. Did these guys bill this as a free show?” The bartender shrugged and paced the bar, refilling an occasional beer.
The second set was better. The guys were more settled down and some of Pistol Pete's regulars had arrived. Stones music always went over big in bars and the guys had been right to fill their entire set with standards. Pistol Pete relaxed a little and even began to smile.
By the third set Pete was chuckling. His place was packed and the band was belting out a combination of Beatles tunes and Motown dance music. Pistol Pete loved it when people danced because when they danced they drank. Chris was feeling euphoric. He could make out some of the faces in the crowd, but it all seemed to spread out in front of him like a friendly ocean. Nobody heard their mistakes or seemed to react to them, and the guys in the band were beginning to display some showmanship.
During the fourth set Chris began to feel the effects of the seven or eight beers that he'd consumed on a fairly empty stomach. The guys had decided to simply replay the first set because they were sure that it would sound so much better that it would be different. Chris was loose at the mic for Brown Eyed Girl. His eyes roamed the crowd and found smiling female faces everywhere.
Sitting at the end of the bar for the entire night, Ron was a soda-drinking mixture of envy and satisfaction. Chris deserved this, but secretly Ron had hoped that at some point Chris would have invited him up to sing one of the songs that they had worked out at Rahway. During the next to last set an exotically thin, short-haired girl had slipped into the seat beside him. She was smoking long slender cigarettes and drinking rum and cokes. Ron could have sworn that she was familiar but couldn't remember seeing her anywhere. Then she swung round on him with an easy, graceful motion and said, "You're Ron Tuck, aren't you?"
Ron's mouth fell open. He managed to say, "Yes."
"Warren Lashly told me quite a bit about you, but I didn't really expect you to be here. I'd heard that you were someplace out in the Midwest."
"I was but I came back."
"Did you enjoy the Midwest?” Her eyes were fantastic. A spread of warmth from her smile was filling him and the rest of the bar was fading out quickly.
"No," said Ron. "I belong around here. Things are too simple out there. I guess I'm jaded because I really seem to enjoy complexity and congestion. Who are you?"
She smiled. "That's right! We've never met, have we? I know enough about you to feel like I've known you for years. I'm April."
Ron flashed his grin. "And how is it that you know so much about me, April?"
"Warren says that we're doubles."
"He never said it to me."
"I don't think that he wanted us to meet. He was always very protective of who he introduced me to."
"Do you know these guys?” Ron gestured up at the stage where “Wild Horses” was being played for the third time that evening.
"Only Chris."
"What do you think?"
"Their awful, aren't they?” said April grinning back at him and pressing the tip of her pointed shoe against his leg.
"They're OK," said Ron. "This is their first gig."
"Do you think they'll get another?"
Ron laughed. "I don't know. Anything's possible."
"Would you mind driving me back to Rahway?"
"Warren 's in Boston."
"Is he?"
"He left yesterday. I'm the only one there tonight."
"Would you like some company?"
Ron felt his throat tighten. He was being picked up. It was the first time in his life that he could remember something like this happening. "Sure."
"Can we leave after this set?"
"If you'd like."
"I've just got to tell someone on the other side of the room that I won't be leaving with him," said April. "It will only take me a minute."
Ron watched her walk away. She moved like pure class and he shook his head in wonder at what she found to be so interesting about him.
She returned more quickly than he expected her to. "Take me out of here now, and I'll love you forever."
Ron flashed his best grin and threw down a tip. He felt her reach for his hand as they made their way through the crowd and out onto the street.
"There isn't any food back at Rahway. Do you want to stop for something on the way?"
“I don't really like to eat," said April. Ron felt jolted from someplace inside of him, and he grinned his very best dimpled-grin.
"Do you know that your eyes are very bright?” said April.
"No,” he said and lowered his lashes for the compliment.
"They're alive, and I get the feeling that they see everything and understand much more than you ever let on."
"That's a wonderful thing to say," said Ron. "I'm not sure that I believe you, but it makes me feel very good to hear it."
When they got into the car, she moved next to him on the seat. "So tell me what Warren's told you about me,” said Ron.
"He says that you're stronger than most men that he's met, and that you're probably going to be a great teacher some day."
"Warren said that?"
"He also says that you're horribly compulsive, and that he's convinced that you're self-destructive."
"I believe that he said that. How is it that you and Warren have spent this much time talking about me?"
"I already told you. You're my double."
"I know this is going to sound pretty stupid, but I don't know what that means."
"You're a Gemini, aren't you?"
"Yeah."
"Well, that's one thing that absolutely brings us together."
Ron's head spun as they drove back to the house. This was beginning to feel eerie. Things like this just didn't happen to him. "Who were you at the bar with, April?"
"A guy."
"A date?"
"Sort of. But he wasn't anybody that I cared at all about."
When they got to Rahway, he led her into the kitchen and took a good look at her. She was wearing a tan silk blouse, a tight leather necklace and white cotton slacks that looked very expensive. "Do you want some wine?” said Ron.
"Yes," she said over her shoulder as she went into the living room.
Ron brought the carafe of wine into the living room and found April looking through the record albums. She picked out one of Warren's classical pieces and put it on the turntable.
Ron sat on the couch, watching the way that she moved and thinking that she was far too elegant for him. She sat down next to him and took the glass of wine. "Tell me about your friend Robin," said April.
"Robin!" Ron blinked like someone who had been shocked and stared ahead blankly for an eternity of seconds.
"That's her name, isn't it? The girl that you live with."
"We aren't together anymore," said Ron. He stared at her again. The mention of Robin's name had changed everything. Now her face appeared a bit insect-like, and Ron noticed that she had an overbite. "There isn't too much to tell. We were together for four years, and then she moved away. I tried to move out there this summer, but things were different and I came back."
"Then the two of you are finished with each other?"
"I believe so."
"That's good to know," said April.
"Why?"
"You're an attractive man, Ron, and I want to get to know you better, but you know how complicated things get if there are jealousies involved."
"I don't think that's much of a problem, but I'm not sure that someone like you would be that interested in me."
"Why do you say that?"
"You're very sophisticated, April."
"Isn't it disgusting? I've been doing my best to get away from it from the time that I first realized that it was true.” She brought her face very close to his and licked her lips. She put her hands inside his shirt and slid them across his chest. "You have a beautiful face and very smooth skin, Ron."
Ron couldn't believe what happened next. He wasn't even sure what made him do it, but he pulled away from her and said, "I'm not ready for this, April. My head is spinning, and a few minutes ago I felt that my cock was going to hemorrhage at the very sight of you."
April smiled and looked down at the bulge in his pants. "That's so sweet. I can't remember when anyone ever told me that the very sight of me was going to cause them to have an orgasm."
"It's just my body. It doesn't understand emotion yet. I'm hoping that it matures past adolescence at some point in the future, but there's no indication of it at present."
April laughed and lightly rubbed Ron's bulge. "You're priceless," she said. "I'm not going to tease you anymore, but I would love to have that thing of yours explode."
Ron smiled. He hadn't allowed himself to even think about an orgasm since the first night in Robin's bed when he had rubbed himself on her behind, and she had stiffened and moved away from him. "This is like a very weird dream, you know?"
"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm just being selfish and a bit insensitive. I'm going to sleep in Warren's room tonight. Come in whenever you want."
Having said that, April got up and, carrying her glass of wine, went into Warren's room. She left the door open and began to undress. Ron sat there paralyzed. Then he went into the bathroom and took a shower. Naked and wet he went to Warren's doorway and knocked on the open door. She was lying on her back. "Come here and lie down, Ron.” He obeyed, and she took some oil from the night table beside Warren's bed. "I just want you to relax.” Ron closed his eyes and lay very still as she started to message his feet. "Do you know what Rolfing is?"
“No,” he said, “but you can do it.”
"It's a kind of erotic message that teaches that the feet are the center of the body's sensitivity. She took the knuckle of her index finger and pulled it along the bottom of his foot very firmly. "This breaks up calcium deposits," she said.
Ron’s feet felt they’d been opened up with a drill. He grimaced but fought successfully to allow himself to not pull away. His brain kept trying to whisper, relax!
When she finished with his feet, she oiled his legs and his ass, then his back, neck, arms and fingers. "Now turn over so that I can finish you off.” Ron did as he was told, and she oiled his cock and balls and rubbed them until they were very hard and tight. "Do you like to watch women play with themselves?” she said.
"I don't know," said Ron.
"Now you're not allowed to touch yourself or me in any way. Just lie there and watch. She straddled him and Ron gasped at the sight of her fully shaved pussy. "I dislike body hair on a woman, don't you?” Ron nodded and gaped as she spread herself and ran two of her fingers along the sides of her labia. "What do you like to call a woman's vagina, Ron? I mean cock fits a man so well. I prefer calling it a cunt to calling it a pussy."
"Cunt is fine," said Ron, stammering and then answering very fast.
She smiled down at him. "You like cunt, too? Well just watch my cunt Ron and I'll put on a little show for you.” She rubbed herself back and forth for a long time. "I'm almost there, Ron. Now I'm just going to put your cock in me and let you finish me off. Is that OK?” Ron nodded again. She squatted over him. "Now I'm just going to sit on it very slowly, because it’s very big and hard and I want it to go all the way in me. Remember, you're not allowed to move.” Ron closed his eyes and felt the lips of her cunt on the head of his cock. Then he felt her slide down his length with an exquisite slowness. A groan escaped from him and his hips bucked involuntarily. She slapped his face and whispered fiercely, "Lie still Ron and hold it as long as you can.” She continued to go up and down very slowly. Ron saw her thighs start to shake and looked at the leather collar that she'd left on when she threw her head back and moaned loudly, but she didn't move any faster. If anything she slowed down even more. For two or three luxurious minutes the slow motion continued. Then April said, “You've been so good, but I think you shouldn't wait any more. She raised herself off of him and knelt on the floor beside the bed. Ron's cock was more swollen and purple than he'd ever seen it before. "Now just relax and let everything go.” She took two fingers and began to go up and down very quickly and lightly. Ron felt the orgasm start in his balls. He felt his cock get more unbelievably hard than he'd ever remembered it being. At first clear liquid began to seep out of the little hole in the top. April put her whole palm on the shaft and began to move it furiously. "Here it comes, Ron! Here it comes!" It shot out in long, hot splashes that continued forever. She continued to rub, and it continued to squirt as he moaned with his eyes closed, and his head pressed back into the pillow. Then it oozed and finally it dribbled.
Ron felt like he was losing consciousness. When he heard her say, "I think you really needed that.” He nodded and passed out. When he woke up, April was gone. There was a note on the refrigerator. "I had to leave. You're extraordinary. I'll find you again."
Chapter 19
Chris's plane landed in San Diego at seven in the morning, West Coast time. Lonnie and Harry were waiting for him at the terminal. They looked uneasy. Chris knew that neither of them liked airports very much, but that had more to do with the nerves that were connected with their early days of carrying pot in flight bags.
"Where's Peter?” said Chris.
"Let's talk in the car," said Lonnie after she kissed Chris hello.
"Did you have a good flight?” said Harry.
"I slept most of the time," said Chris.
Harry looked a lot like Peter; the same lanky hard build and the same streaky blonde hair and the same nervous energy. He drove the Mercedes that was parked on the Incoming Flights ramp and had gotten a ticket for being there too long. "You know, it's fuckin' worth the $25 not to have to hike all the way out to the lots that they have around here," said Harry as he crumpled the ticket into the glove compartment.
"Is Peter at the ranch or the beach house?” said Chris happily. The warm sun and the expectation of California were raising his spirits quickly.
Lonnie took hold of his hand. "Chris, there's something that we need to talk about before we get to the house."
"What's happening?"
"Peter isn't here any more.”
"What do you mean?"
"He overdosed, Chris," said Lonnie.
"How is he? I mean he isn't...
"He's dead, Chris," said Harry. "We cremated him on Thursday. The coroner fucked us around with an autopsy and everything, Chris."
"He's dead?"
"Nobody really knows how it happened," said Lonnie. "We found him out at the ranch."
"He's dead?"
"We wanted to tell you, Chris, but we couldn't. You know how it is."
Tears rolled out of Chris's eyes, and he brought his hand up to his mouth. His mind instantly produced an image of Peter. They were seventeen, and he was showing Chris how to siphon out a tank of gasoline for his car. Chris heard him say, The taste of that first mouthful is awful, but it gets you around.
"Chris, we needed to see you and talk about what we're going to do now," said Harry.
Chris didn't answer. He searched for Lonnie's eyes and found them. "He's really gone?"
"It was how he lived, Chris. He always said that he didn't care if he ever saw thirty-five, and he was right."
"Oh shit," said Chris. Then the car was quiet until they reached the beach house. Chris stared at their faces as they got out of the car. It frightened him that he didn't see any emotion. He reached for Harry's arm, and the blonde hair swung around and faced him. There was a desperate expression in his eyes. "I'm really sorry, Harry."
"Me too. He was all I had, but we live a risky life, Chris, all of us. Now that it's like this, you just gotta move on and get to the next thing, so that the last one doesn't swallow you up."
"Ahh man," said Chris. "I don't think that I can stay here."
"Chris, you're always welcome with us," said Lonnie "Everybody knew how Peter felt about you. You were as much like his brother as Harry."
Chris felt himself losing control and said that he just wanted to walk for a minute. Under his breath, he muttered, "Peter, you stupid fuck.” Then he picked up a stone and threw it as far as he could into the hills. Then another and another… Lonnie and Harry stood watching him.
"Do you think there's going to be any shit about the money?” said Harry.
Lonnie answered in an exasperated tone. "He hasn't even begun to think about how we got him out here, much less why he came.” She walked over to Chris and stood next to him while he continued to fire the stones wildly through his tears. When he was exhausted, she said, "Do you want to come into the house?"
Chris turned around slowly and reached into his pocket. He produced an enormous roll of $100 bills wrapped in a rubber bands. "Here's the money, all of it. That's what you guys were worried about wasn't it?"
"It wasn't my idea to do things like this, Chris. Klu and Harry thought it would be better to wait until you got here."
"We talked," said Chris, "and you joked with me about what he was doing. You were his chick! He cared about you!"
"He made the difference in my life, but he isn't here anymore, and I am. I've got to deal with that, and so do you."
"Right," said Chris.
"You think badly of me, don't you, Chris?"
"I'm not thinking at all. Give me a little time."
"There's a room all ready for you," said Lonnie. She put her arm around Chris and led him into the house.
"Who's Klu?"
"He was Peter's partner. They got together about six months ago and branched out into cocaine and opium. A lot of people are smoking opium out here now."
"Right," said Chris.
"Look, I'm going to make sure that everybody leaves you alone for a little while until you get your head together, and then we can talk."
"I need a little bit of time," said Chris. When he got to the room, he found a telephone beside the bed and called Rahway. Ron answered the phone.
"I'm coming back tomorrow," said Chris. "There's some trouble out here."
"What do you need?” said Ron.
"I need you to be around," said Chris.
"You guys sounded great last night," said Ron.
Chris had forgotten last night and Pistol Pete's. He ran his hand across the patchwork quilt that covered the king sized bed and said, "Yeah, far out. It was great.” Then he hung up.
Ron sat holding the phone and grimaced. Chris never said that he needed anything from anyone; it just wasn’t his way. Part of the confidence that people had in him was the way that he was able to see through every situation and not become alarmed or needy. It was that spirit that he infused into Rahway, the place where anything was possible. But Ron had heard fear in his voice. He thought about calling Warren and sharing it with him, and then he frowned deeply and furrowed his eyebrows. Warren really had fucked the place up. He couldn’t call him and tell him what he felt, because Warren couldn’t be trusted not to use it on Chris, or on Ron, to make a point later on. He wasn’t a part of them anymore, and now might be the one time when he actually was needed.
Ron lit a cigarette and sat over the pad. He wanted to capture in an instant the spirit of the place. It seemed all screwed up now, but that wasn’t the way that it started. It had started out being something new and filed with possibilities, just like he and Robin. The possibilities for both were dwindling quickly.
When we’ve burned our senses away for being too much of us,
what will want to feel?
When we learn that we’ve learned the illusions of color,
what shall we wish to see?
Chris lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Peter couldn't really be dead. He was gonna bust into the room at any time now laughing about the look on Chris's face and telling him about what he planned for them to do in the next few days. This was so sick that it couldn't be true. When Chris felt himself starting to drift off, he opened his eyes. He didn't want to sleep here. He'd done what they wanted him to do. He brought the money out, and now he wanted to get out of here as soon as he could. His mind brought Peter's face back into his eyes. "Life's crazy, man," said Peter, "and if you're crazier than the next fucker, you'll get over and he'll get lost in the shuffle.” In his mind, he studied the face. It didn't make sense. No matter what he did, Peter was always on top of things and had them under control. Then a thought hit him. Peter had everything under control except himself.
He didn’t hear her come into the room at first. He must have fallen asleep. Lonnie took off her clothes and lay down next to him on the bed. Her long blonde hair was hanging loose. Chris had taken his clothes off and was under the sheet. He felt her when she spooned against him and was startled by her presence.
“I haven’t let anyone touch me since I heard he was dead. I need to be held too, Chris. I can’t let these guys see that I’m hurting, and that I’m vulnerable right now. I’m afraid they’ll chew me up.” She was whispering in his ear and stroking his shoulders, lifting his hair gently and replacing it. “Please make love to me, Chris. Help me say good-bye.”
She began to rub her crotch against him. Chris hadn’t moved or said anything. She ducked her head under the sheet and he turned over on his back. She took his cock into her mouth and began to suck it with a regular sliding motion. Peter had always told him that Lonnie gave the best head of any chick that he’d ever been with. Her mouth moved as if its muscles were oiled and dancing on his cock. He felt that his organ had been placed in a wet silk machine that applied gently squeezing pressure on his most sensitive areas. He moaned. She pumped harder. He was very hard.
When she came out from under the sheet, she was smiling. She loved making men hard like this. They were so easy to control when they were like this. She lay on her back next to him, reached down and grabbed her ankles. She spread herself and pulled her legs back into the air.
“This is yours right now. Come and do me, Chris. Do me good.”
He felt himself throbbing. He needed her. He needed to fuck her hard. He threw himself into her and pumped her furiously. She humped back without letting go of her ankles. She grunted harshly as he went in and out of her. Then she screamed. The scream seemed to grab his cock in a new way. When he heard it, he felt his own orgasm shooting up his shaft. It felt so good.
She held him in her arms and put her finger up to her lips in a quieting gesture. “It’s like it never happened,” she whispered, and then she left.
Chris got up and went to take a shower. He scrubbed himself clean and changed his clothes. Then he walked down stairs in the redwood cabin and looked around. His eyes fixed on the huge fireplace. ‘The Ponderosa look,’ Peter had called it. Lonnie and Harry were sitting on the couch smoking a joint with Klu, a big guy with straggly, shoulder length hair, a scar under his chin, and a chipped tooth smile.
"It's good to see you, Chris," said Klu. "I'm really sorry that we have to end up meeting under these circumstances. Lonnie and Harry have told me that you want to go back home, but we need to talk for a little bit first.” Chris shook his hand and sat down.
"This is some of the best weed that you'll ever smoke," said Klu and offered it to Chris.
"I'll pass," said Chris.
Klu produced a bag and dropped it in front of Chris. "This is yours. Peter would have wanted you to have it, you know?"
"Thanks."
"I wish you'd change your mind about leaving so quickly," said Lonnie. "It feels good to have you here."
"I think that I'd like to go back," said Chris.
"Whatever you need to do, man," said Harry as he sucked on the joint and held the smoke in his lungs until he produced a giant exhale.
"This business arrangement has been good to everybody," said Klu. "There might be some problem with fronting you all of the next shipment, but I'm pretty sure that we can work it out.” Klu gave him a nod and a snaggle-toothed grin that made Chris uneasy.
"I'd like to think about it. I'll call you after I get back to Jersey."
Lonnie said, "We have Peter's ashes in this urn. Would you like to see it?"
Chris shrugged, and Lonnie got up to get the urn.
"She's a great old lady. She took care of Peter through a lotta shit, Chris. She's grieving for him on the inside, just the way all of us are."
"I wish someone would have told me," said Chris.
"Yeah," said Klu. "I don't know how that happened the way it did."
Chris looked at Harry who got up and said that he had some stuff to do out back. "I don't want to upset anyone by going over this, but who found Peter?"
"Harry," said Klu. "He went fuckin' nuts, banging on the walls and screaming ‘fuck you God’ and everything. We didn't know if he was going to be able to keep it together at all."
Lonnie came back into the room with the urn and set it on the unfinished wood table in front of Chris. He stared at it, and the thought that it looked like something that somebody was going to store oil in. He picked it up and held it in his hands, but there was no special feeling that he experienced. He thought that Peter would have been happier with a headstone and grave, but decided not to say anything.
Klu said, "Life's too fuckin' short."
Chris felt like saying amen but just put the urn back on the table.
Chapter 20
The car with North Carolina plates cruised south along the New England Thruway. Warren Lashly was feeling pretty good about the weekend and upcoming week. Weekends with Sara were always special because they both anticipated them and prepared delights for each other. On this occasion, Warren had borrowed the college's video camera, and they had made movies of the two of them doing all kinds of kinky things. Sara had rented some costumes and dressed up first as a maid and then as a cat. The variations had driven Warren wild, and they wound up fucking even more than usual. They had fucked so much that even Warren felt as if he needed a rest and was thinking about a way to avoid being with Ruth that night. In the back of his mind, he knew that he would wind up seeing her. Ruth was particularly sensitive after his weekends with Sara, and she always demanded that he sleep with her as soon as he came back. Warren rubbed his cock and sighed. This was definitely the life that he'd chosen.
His first order of business was to set Rahway straight. It needed to be cleaned, and he needed to establish a different climate in the house. With Chris spending the week in California, that was going to be very possible. The next thing that he wanted to do was convince Ron that he should leave as soon as possible. Warren believed that there was an outside chance of getting Ron out of the place by the end of the week. He might have to help him find another place to stay, but he was willing to spend some time doing that if it meant that he was going to get Rahway back. Ron wouldn't be able to stand up to him without Chris around, and with Ron gone, Chris would be much easier to deal with when he got back from the coast. The next thing that he was going to do was move Laureen back in. Once Ron was gone, that would also be easy and would even give him an advantage when dealing with Chris. Having Laureen around always kept Chris just a little off balance.
As the car crossed over the Tappanzee Bridge, Warren let his mind drift off to thinking about Art. He hadn't heard from him since he'd left for Denver and hoped to at least find a letter waiting for him. In the last conversation that the two of them had, it had become clear to Warren that Art had decided that the emotions connected to sex-oriented relationships were debilitating in that they consumed both of the people involved. Warren wondered why Art had decided to deny his body and decided that it was a residual effect of spending years with the cold and stiff Swiss, and that it would wear off. And then what would Art do? He'd be stuck in a marriage to a woman that he didn't desire, and he'd probably wind up getting a divorce.
The car hummed down the Garden State Parkway, and Warren decided that it would be a good idea to call Ruth up and have her come over right away so that they could get started with the cleaning. He decided that his earlier thoughts about avoiding her were weak and needed to be ignored.
He was surprised to see Chris's car in the driveway but figured that he'd used Ron to get him to the airport. When he opened the back door, he immediately smelled a very strong presence of pot and heard the Jackson Browne music on the stereo. He strode toward the living room without dropping his shoulder bag and was slightly stunned by the sight of Chris and Ron sitting on the floor with a pot tray between them and a low hanging cloud of smoke over their heads.
Warren called out over the music in a cranky voice, "I thought that you were going out to California."
"I'm back," said Chris.
"I can surely see and smell that."
"Leave me alone, Warren," Chris's voice sounded thick and strange, almost as if he'd been crying.
"I suppose that now is as good a time as any to get this over with," said Warren.
"No, it's not," said Chris.
"I can see that you haven't been listening and paying attention to me at all when I've tried to talk to you nicely about the way things are going on around here."
"I don't want to talk with you about this now. There are too many other things on my mind."
"When's the next shipment of dope coming in from the addicts out there?"
"Fuck you, Warren. Peter's dead and fuck you!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean he's dead, and I mean that I want you to leave me alone. If you press this now, I'm going to wind up punching you in the mouth.” Chris stood up and his hands were shaking. Ron stood up too, thinking that he would have to jump in if Chris did anything really crazy.
Warren walked into his room without saying any more. He sat down on his bed and thought about what to do next. Maybe the best way to console Chris would be to leave him alone for a bit and let him get as stoned as he wanted to be. Chris would come around to talking about what had happened in a day or two, and maybe the best thing would be to just put his plans on the back burner for a while. But Warren still felt like he was stuck in a quandary. He wanted to talk with Chris about what had happened to Peter, but from the way things had just gone, he knew that it would be very difficult to approach him without being confrontational. He decided to just do it, and got off the bed and went back into the living room.
Ron and Chris watched without speaking as he sat down on the couch that was the closest to them. When Chris passed the joint, he reached for it. "What are you doing?” said Chris shaking his head.
"I care about your feelings," said Warren as he took the joint and drew in on it. He saw Ron stare at him in wide-eyed amazement. "And I care about what happened to Peter. He was a good guy."
Song for Adam was playing on the stereo for what seemed like the tenth consecutive time. Chris would just get up when it got to the end and start the track over again, and Ron was going to support anything that Chris wanted to do.
"I suppose that he overdosed, but nobody really explained any of it to me. Lonnie just showed me this jar with his ashes in it, but nobody wanted to talk about how it happened."
"When did it happen?” said Warren.
"That's one of the bad parts. They found him about a week ago."
"And why didn't they tell you?"
"I guess they were worried about their money coming back, and just decided to play it safe. I don't know. That's probably what they did anyway."
"How's Harry doing?"
"He's worried about his next fix and about what's going to happen now."
"And Lonnie?"
“I’m pretty sure that she’ll survive."
"And you decided to get out of there as fast as you could?"
"Yeah," said Chris sadly. "There was no reason to be there anymore.” Chris stood up and said, "I'm pretty tired, and I haven't really slept since I got back. I'm going to lie down for a while. I'll see you guys later.” He stopped by the record player and started Song for Adam again, switched on the speakers that piped the music into his room and went to bed.
Ron and Warren sat looking at him go and then they faced each other. "I'm going to call Ruth up and tell her to come over," said Warren. "I think that the house needs to have a dinner tonight."
"Don't press him," said Ron.
Warren stared at him without answering for a few seconds and then got up and went to the telephone. The pot had been very strong, and he felt stoned. Maybe he would smoke more of it later. It would help him to get it up for Ruth.
Chris lay in bed listening to the song and thinking that he should have been able to see this coming. Everything had been there. He should have sensed that something was wrong when Peter wasn't there to answer any of his phone calls. If he could really sense things that were approaching him the way that he'd been telling himself that he was able to do, he would have been able to sense this. The truth was that he couldn't sense anything. He was just as blind as everybody else and maybe more blind than some people.
Peter had gotten two of his bad habits, craziness and drugs, together and that's what had killed him. He had always gone closer to the edge than anyone else whom Chris had known. Chris let his mind drift to the conversations that he'd had with Peter about getting him out of busts after he'd become a lawyer. Now that had become ‘hunting tigers in Africa before they became extinct’ too.
Ron was beginning to straighten up the living room when Warren came back from the phone. "I met April on Friday night," said Ron.
"You did? Where'd you meet her?"
"She was at Pistol Pete's to hear Chris's band."
Warren grinned and shook his head. "She must have loved that," he said facetiously.
"Not at all. But she did seem to know an awful lot about me."
Warren looked at Ron suspiciously. "What do you mean?
"She kept on dropping these pieces of information about my life that she said she'd gotten from you."
"Such as what?"
"She knew about Robin."
"She didn't get that from me. Maybe from Laureen but not from me."
Now Ron was surprised. "She knows Laureen?"
"Who was she there with?"
"Some guy. I didn't meet him."
“She was there with a guy?”
“That’s what she said.”
"And who did she leave with?"
"Me."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"Yes."
"Good. Now don't go falling in love because you slept with her, or you'll just get all chewed up again."
"What does that mean?"
"April doesn't want to have a love affair with you, believe me."
"How do you know?” said Ron defensively.
"She has a lover."
"She said that the guy didn't mean anything to her."
"Her lover isn't a man. Be careful of April. She doesn't really like men very much."
"She's a lesbian?"
"I don't understand this compulsion that you have to put labels on everything."
"Did you tell her that she was my double?"
Warren smiled again and shook his head. "I'm sure that you found that line very intriguing, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did. Did you tell her that?"
"I might have. I don't remember."
"What do you think about Chris?” said Ron.
"I think that this is a warning, a very strong warning from the world. He thinks he got hit pretty hard this time, but it won't be anything compared to what the next message is going to be like."
Ron waited for Warren to ask his opinion, but the question didn't come, and Ron decided that he wasn't going to volunteer anything that Warren might end up using on Chris when this grace period was over.
Ruth walked in the back door carrying her overnight bag and a hanger with her freshly pressed uniform on it. She said hello to the two of them and kissed Warren lightly on the cheek. "Where's Chris?” she said.
"He's in his room trying to get some sleep," said Warren. "I thought that maybe you and I would go and do some food shopping."
Without answering, she went into Warren's room and hung her uniform on his closet door. Then she went to the door that connected the room to Chris's room and pushed it gently open. Chris was lying on his side with his pillow crumpled against his chest. He saw Ruth's dark brown hair and big eyes flash past him, and then he felt her sit down on the bed. She took his head in her arms and held it to her breasts. She rocked him slowly back and forth and whispered in his ear, "I'm so sorry, Chris.” Then she kissed him and turned him over on his stomach. She began to rub his back until his breathing became very regular, and she knew that he was asleep. Then she covered him and walked lightly out of the room. Just before she left, she heard him say, "Thanks Ruth, you're the best."
When she came back out into the living room, she found Warren still straightening it up. Ron was doing the dishes.
"Let's go to the store, Warren," she said stiffly. Warren stopped what he was doing, and they both went into the kitchen to check the refrigerator.
They took Warren's car to the store and drove the first part of the ride without saying anything. Then she asked how Peter had died, and they spoke a little about how Chris was reacting. Warren said that he was worried about the way he seemed to be walking around in a trance.
"He's mourning his friend, Warren. That's the healthy thing for a normal human being to do."
"That sounds pretty hostile," said Warren.
"How was your weekend?” said Ruth.
"You don't really want to know about my weekend."
"I don't? Would you like to hear about mine?"
"Sure," said Warren.
"Pick a day."
"What did you do yesterday?"
"They called from the hospital, so I worked. Would you like to know what else I did?"
Warren knew where this was going, but there really wasn't anything that he could do about it. "Sure."
"I sat around the house and waited for you to call me. Do you remember saying that you were going to call?"
"I didn't think that it would be a wise thing to do."
"Then why did you say that you were going to call? Were you afraid to take the time away from her?"
"That had nothing to do with anything and you know it."
"I know that when you're with her, it's like I don't exist, and I know that it feels rotten every time it happens. And I know that you keep on telling me that I should get used to it, and that if I stopped dwelling on it that it wouldn't bother me as much. And I know how I feel, and that what you say is bullshit that's designed to help get you your own way."
"I understand how you feel."
"No, you don't. Because if I'd told you that I had a date this weekend, and that I'd slept with my date, you wouldn't be able to handle it."
"Did you?"
"Maybe.
"Don't do this to me, Ruth. Tell me who it was."
"It wasn't anybody, Warren."
"Did you sleep with someone this weekend?"
"No, I should have, but I didn't."
"Who should you have slept with?"
"Someone who's never heard of you or Rahway or the college or anything else."
"Is that what you want?"
"Yes."
The conversation continued like this while the two of them shopped for the food. Ruth didn't realize until much later that they'd stopped talking about the woman that Warren had slept with and were now talking about who she might have slept with. Warren kept questioning her about potential boyfriends until she was worn out and tired of the whole conversation, and by then they were back at Rahway.
Chapter 21
The next few days were relatively quiet ones. No one outside the house knew that Chris wasn't in California, and so a lot of the phone calls and drop-ins ceased. Chris called a girl named Lynnette on the Sunday night of his return, and she wound up staying in his room for the week. It always made Warren more comfortable when Chris was sleeping with a woman on a steady basis. Ron had begun to eat normally again, although he still wouldn't touch meat. Warren and Ruth took up their normal two-week cycle in between weekends with Sara, and Laureen temporarily stayed in the New York apartment.
The dinners were fun. Lynnette, who had met Chris through Warren, teased everyone and acted very zany. Chris nicknamed her The Bird, and by the middle of the week she had transformed the unused middle room into a painting studio and had begun to do a mural on one of its walls. At dinner on Thursday, Chris dropped his bombshell. Klu was arriving from San Diego the next day, and there was going to be a band practice at the house on Friday night.
At first Warren just stared at him, and then he fell very quiet. When Bird, Ruth, and Ron tried to make social talk, it became obvious that there was a new tension that was choking communication at the table. Chris and Bird left the table as soon as they were done eating. Since Chris had nicknamed her, Lynnette had taken to making whistling sounds and calling herself The Bird. She was a very tall, thin girl with short, straight hair that added to the effect.
Warren said, "She was crazy enough before he started to play with her."
"He's just taking cover for a while, Warren," said Ron.
"Just until tomorrow,” said Warren sharply.
Ruth said, "We won't be here anyway, will we?"
"I don't know. Maybe we should change our plans."
"Warren, about the last thing that I want to do is to be trapped in a house with music that's going to give me a headache."
"We can figure out what we're going to do later," said Warren. He turned to Ron. "Middle of next week is the end of the month. Have you decided what you're going to do? It will only make things bloodier if I have to throw you out."
Ron stiffened. "What do you mean? Physically throw me out?"
"That's what I'm trying to avoid."
Ron gave him a menacing look. "I told you that I'd leave, but if I were you, I would try to avoid having a physical confrontation with me too."
Warren stared back at Ron and quipped, "When the end of the month comes, I'm going to do everything that I said I thought should be done. If you're in the way, they'll be a problem."
"Why are you trying so hard to alienate me, Warren?"
"I've told you what kind of an influence I think you are."
"Isn't much wonder that Robin didn't want me around either then, is it?” Ron got up from the table, slammed his chair under it, and went to the stereo. He was at the sink when the first cords to I Shot the Sheriff froze the look on Warren's face. Ron looked over at him, smiled into a sneer, saluted and began to wash the dishes.
Ruth leaned over and whispered to Warren, "Let's not make a big deal out of this. If you don't feel like doing anything on Friday night, we can just stay at my apartment."
"That's really not the point," said Warren, puffing on his pipe and leaning back against the wall. "The point is that I've let things get out of hand all over. I can't go into to the city because Laureen is there, and I don't want to stay here for Drug Store Night. If Chris is having people to do drugs and play music, I think that we can assume he's not in mourning any more."
"Just don't do things that you're going to be sorry for," said Ruth, trying to meet his eyes and show him that she supported him but that she wanted him to go easy right now.
"I've already done a lot of things that I'm sorry for," said Warren. "Now the question is when I'm going to rectify my mistakes."
Chris took The Bird to the airport to meet Klu the next afternoon. When he had called and asked if he could come out and talk, Chris was, at first, reluctant to say yes but decided that Rahway was his territory, and he could afford to say yes to meeting in a place where he would feel strong. He also knew that Klu wanted to talk about keeping the business arrangement intact and that he wanted to push for more up front money, so that he would feel that his investment was protected. In Chris's judgment, none of those things was necessarily bad, but the feeling that he got from Klu was important and would determine whether or not he was willing to take part. Klu was alone and looked out of place getting of f the plane at the airport. His boots, cowboy shirt, and the meandering way he walked made him appear to be a character in costume and drew a certain amount of attention from the people passing him by. They shook hands, and Chris introduced Lynnette as simply The Bird. Bird squawked and said that he reminded her of the Lone Ranger. "He was a cop," said Klu. "My granddaddy would take great offense to hearing that one of his own resembled the law."
"Everybody's got to look like something," chirped The Bird. She sat between the two men on the front seat of Chris's car and when she saw Klu staring at her legs, she moved closer to Chris and put her arm in back of his head and stroked the ends of his curls. She brought her face close to his ear and said, "Are you going to feed your bird when we get home?"
Chris smiled over at Klu, "Just keep quiet for a little while now, and find something to do when we get back to the house."
When they got into Chris's bedroom, Klu produced a large vial of cocaine and took a necklace with a spoon attached to it from around his neck. He handed both of them to Chris and said, "Tell me what you think."
Chris took two snorts from the spoon and felt the immediate clean-rush of the cocaine clear his head out. "That's great stuff.” he said.
"Uncut, pharmaceutical pure," said Klu nodding. He took two snorts himself. "Does your chick or the guy in the back room want any?"
"I don't think so," said Chris.
"Chris, I've got to fly back tomorrow, so I'll get to the point. It was a shitty thing that we did about not telling you that Peter had checked out. I know that, and we all feel pretty bummed out about it, but the trouble was that we were real short of money, and we had just gotten stiffed by one of Peter's other connections. But everybody, especially Lonnie and Harry, knew that you were nothing but righteous, man. I was the one who fucked things up because I didn't know you. I'm hoping that we can take care of that while I'm here."
"What I hated most was that Peter was dead. The rest of it didn't really matter, except that I didn't want to be in his house with things being like that."
"Chris, we all understand that, and nobody has any complaints about anything that you ever did with regard to business, but now we got a new shipment of weed ready to come out here, and we can add on a couple of ounces of coke, if you think that you can move it."
"I don't know about the coke. I'd have to talk to my people. But it's still summer, and the pot moves quickly because a lot of people aren't getting it from their usual places, and a lot of people are home from school and have jobs, and there's a lot of partying going on. So, I don't think that it would be a problem to move stuff at the right price and with the same deal."
Klu handed the vial and spoon back to Chris who snorted one into each side of his nose. Klu took two snorts and leaned forward rubbing his nose for a minute. "Damn this stuff is good!" he said. "The price is going to pretty much stay the same, but do you think that you can get your people to come up with at least $60 a pound up front or at least a hundred a pound on delivery?"
"Up front doesn't feel too good. On delivery might be OK, but it's going to slow things down a lot if they have to have $500 or so before they can come and see me. They're going to wind up having to go back to the people that they sell to, and everybody gets paranoid when the rules of the game get changed."
"I'm telling you that the count will be very righteous for everybody, and that most everything is being paid for right away now. It's bigger than it used to be when Peter was carrying pounds out in his flight bag, you know?"
"I'm going to have to talk to my people," said Chris.
"Well, like I said, I was hoping to fly back tomorrow. Do you think that you can tell me anything before then?"
"Probably not," said Chris, "but I can talk to some people and get an idea of how they feel about it."
"OK, that's the way it's going to have to be, then. By the way, who is the guy in the back room?"
"That's Ron. He's OK."
"Are you sure? I mean I didn't like the way that he was looking at me when I came in.”
Chris laughed. "East coast paranoia is catchy. Ron's fine, and he doesn't move any weight, so there isn't really anything to talk to him about."
"That's cool," said Klu.
There was a knock at Chris's door, and Ron's voice said, "Chris, I'm going to be heading up north until tonight. I'll see you later."
"Wait a second," said Chris. He went to the door and unlocked it. "Do you want to snort some coke before you split?"
"I don't think so," said Ron.
"Band practice is tonight. Are you going to come back and listen?"
"Yeah, probably. We need to sit down and talk at some point over the weekend," said Ron.
Chris nodded. "0k, we'll work it out."
Chris closed the door again and Ron started back through The Bird's studio. She was painting at the wall in the standard panties and T-shirt uniform that she wore no matter who was in the house. She felt him rivet his eyes on her ass as he passed and flexed her cheeks to tease him, but he didn't stop and just said, "So long, Lynnette.” She wished that he would call her Bird like everybody else in the house did.
While Ron drove up the Parkway, he started his tape recorder. “Big time changes are going to happen in Rahway. Maybe if Chris just moves in the Bird it will be OK for a while, but having Klu out here is a mistake. I swear that I don't understand how his mind works sometimes. It's true that Warren's being an asshole about this, but I can't shake the feeling that when I talk to him alone it feels like somewhere in there he's got a point that deserves to be listened to.
It feels now like I never went to Minneapolis and like I made Robin up in some dream about a perfect woman or something. Even though I stopped talking about her, I still think about her all the time, and if it wasn't for Rahway, I think that would be all that I would do. I guess I'm going to find out about that soon enough though. The poetry is what keeps it real in my head right now. Rahway is what keeps it real. Without those things, it would all slip away."
The drive to his mother's house seemed to be over in no time. He opened the door with his key this time and bent down to pet Chipper who was scratching at the hall door when she heard him. He hugged the dog close to him and cleaned the sleepers from her eyes. "Do you want to go out?” He said. Chipper began to cry and run around in little circles. He led the dog through the kitchen and out into the back yard. He sat on the back steps smoking a cigarette while the dog sniffed around and peed. Then he heard his Aunt's voice.
"Is that you, Ronald?"
"Yeah, I'm out here, Aunt Dot."
"I'm glad that somebody else besides me thinks to let this dog out," said Aunt Dotty. "They sure enough know that they need to pee and crap, but do you think that either one of them thinks about this dog?"
"I don't know, Aunt Dot. How are you feeling?"
"The same. I don't get better any more, Ron. Listen, there's something that I want to talk to you about. Come upstairs after Chipper’s ready to come in.
His Aunt Dotty was sitting in the kitchen with the ever-present cigarette in her hand and the open package of Malomars in front of her. "Can I get you something?"
"No. Sit down here. I want to know what you've decided to do."
Ron shifted a little uneasily and lit another cigarette. He always chain smoked around his aunt and guessed that it was her influence. "For right now, I'm going to go back to school, I guess."
"And are you going to stay in that hippie commune?"
"It's not a hippie commune, Aunt Dot, and I don't know."
"I've never asked you for very much, Ron, but I'm going to ask you a big favor now."
"What do you need?"
"I want you to come and live up here with me. Now, before you say that you fight with your mother and don't get along with George, let me tell you that I want you to live up here, and I want to clean out the front room and let you put whatever it is that you want in there. You can stay away from them downstairs as much as you want."
"I don't have a lot of money, Aunt Dot."
"I don't need your money. I need somebody who isn't going to let me die alone."
Ron winced hard on the words. "You're not ready to die yet."
"Don't talk foolishness. I want you to come up here, and promise that you'll stay with me until I die. Can you do that?"
Ron put his head down for a minute. He felt guilty about the idea that he really didn't have any other place to go, and that she didn't know it, but he nodded and said, "I should at least be able to do that for you."
Then his Aunt shocked him. She put her hands on either side of his face and drew him to her for a kiss. "You're the one I always felt the closest to, Ron. You know that don't you?"
"Yes, Aunt Dot."
"We'll have some good times here before I kick."
"We sure will," said Ron.
"When can you move in?"
"How about the middle of next week?"
"Good. That will give me enough time to get George to clean the furniture out of that room. Now you better go down stairs. Your mother will be home any minute, and I don't want her to think that you just came here to see me."
"I've got to go, Aunt Dot. Tell her that I called or that I was here earlier."
"Ronald, you're really something," she said laughing. And then the laugh became a cough, and the coughing led her to begin to choke and spit some phlegm into the tissues that she had crumpled around her everywhere. When she regained her composure, she said, "If you're going to go, then get out of here now before she comes home and finds you here. Then you'll have to stay for supper."
"Tell her that I'm moving in with you. It'll make her happy."
"I already told her that I was going to ask you the next time that I saw you."
Ron, who had gotten up, shook his head and looked down at her. "That wasn't exactly fair, Aunt Dot. Suppose I said no.”
"I knew you wouldn't," she said smiling. "Now get out of here quick."
When Ron got into his car, he went on automatic pilot and found himself driving to the apartment that he and Robin used to share. He stopped the car in front of it and looked up at the screen windows. He put his head down and started to cry again. Then he punched himself on the leg. He was sick of being like this. He was still so raw that anything could set him off.
Set back from the street and surrounded by trees, we played at being married
When we wished for who we wanted to be
We started a garden alongside our bed,
But weak things grew and the cat ate them
What Ron expected to find and what he saw when he arrived at Rahway were two very different things. The house was dark and there were no cars in the driveway except for Chris's. Ron got to the back door and found it locked. He couldn't remember that ever having been the case before. Even when there wasn't anybody home, the back door was always open. He knocked on the door. He saw Chris's form flash from the kitchen and disappear into the room Ron was using. Then he saw Chris sneak a peak at the doorstep from in back of the drapes, and finally Chris opened the door.
"Where is everybody?” said Ron.
"You wouldn't believe it," said Chris. He let out a disgusted sigh that shook his whole body.
"Where's Klu?"
"On a plane by now."
"And the band?"
"I called off the practice."
"Why?"
"The Sheriff, no good motherfucker that he is, called the landlord this afternoon. He told him that drug taking and drug dealing were going on at the house, and that he needed the landlord's help to clean the place up."
"He did what?"
"So, then the landlord calls here and tells me what happened and says that he wants everybody, except for Warren, out of the house in seventy-two hours, or he's calling the police and having us raided"
"The fucking Sheriff," said Ron. "Have you found him yet?"
"I haven't looked for him."
"What are you going to do?"
Chris scrunched his face into a fierce snarl, but then, almost comically, he wasn't able to say any words.
"Let's smoke a joint," said Ron.
"Are you crazy?"
"How much pot have you got here?"
"There was almost a half a pound. I buried just about everything in the vacant lot after I got back from California."
"So you got less than an ounce here?"
"About that."
"Don't worry so much. What could they find here? Have you got records?"
"Nothing that would mean anything to anybody."
"Do you have a book of phone numbers?"
"In the briefcase?"
"Let's get it."
"How about speed or cocaine?"
"Klu left a little coke and there's some speed."
"Put them in plastic bags and hide them in one of Warren's sport jackets. Fuck him!" Chris giggled. He liked the idea. "Now let's roll up a couple of joints and stash the rest of the dope inside a pair of his socks.” After they'd rolled a half a dozen joints, Chris took the pot and with Ron they went to find a place in Warren's sock drawer. "Now," said Ron, "I think that we should definitely relax, smoke a joint and figure out what to do."
"I already decided what to do," said Chris. "It's over. Done. I want to take everything that belongs to me out of here this weekend."
“Where are we going to put it?"
"Storage. I already rented a place over in Clark from somebody that I know. The only trick will be to dig up the dope. I owe the storage guy a quarter of a pound, and I'll store the rest at my parents' house."
"Let's not dig it up until the last minute, Chris. If anything is going to happen, I think that if it does go down, it'll be before we get to the moving truck."
"We need to get the quarter over there before we bring the stuff," Chris stopped and thought for a second, "or at least when we bring the stuff. OK, that's what we'll do."
"Where are you going to live?"
"I'll have to go back home for a couple weeks. Then I'm going to get a place in The City."
"Do you think that we should beat the shit out of Warren?” said Chris.
“I think that we should sell tickets and have the living room made into ring and have you waiting to really fight him for the house when he gets here."
Chris started to laugh, but couldn't. A weird smile crossed his face. "He wrote to me and asked if we could make this place together. It became more than we ever thought it would. Motherfucker! What was he thinking about? He says that he's afraid that I'll get caught and not be able to go to law school, and then he goes and turns me in. And now I'm evicted from my house within three days or else I get raided! A no good fucking sheriff!"
Chris didn't bother looking, and Warren was no where to be found for the rest of the night. They both spent the evening trying to act normal while they kept on checking the windows, pacing through the rooms and peering out at the street.
At about one in the morning, a squad car stopped a motorist for drunken and reckless driving about three houses down the street. Because the house was just set back from a main drag, this happened quite frequently, but when Chris saw the second car with flashing lights pull up, he became concerned. It took about twenty minutes to test and arrest the drunk. Chris stood there quietly watching as they took the man out of his vehicle and stood him up against the squad car. He saw that the man appeared disoriented. Then he watched while the cops loaded him into the back seat. He was leaving Rahway. That was for sure.
Chapter 22
On Saturday morning Chris went apartment hunting. Ron stayed at Rahway, writing and playing guitar in between the joints that he went into Chris's room to smoke. It was late in the morning when Warren showed up along with Laureen. Ron was sitting on the floor with his guitar and several piles of papers in front of him. Warren came to the back door and found it locked. When Ron heard the loud knocking, he froze. He went to the door and peered out through the glass into Warren's angry face.
"Why's the door locked?” said Warren in a half-shouted drawl.
"We've been half waiting for the cops to come by and raid the place," said Ron after he took the latch off. He saw Laureen standing in back of Warren and sneered at her as she followed him into the house with her head down and her eyes averted from his gaze.
"Do you know where Chris is?” asked Warren.
"He's in New York."
"When's he coming back?"
"After he's found an apartment," said Ron.
Warren and Laureen stared at each other and what seemed to be a concerned look passed between them. "Why's he doing that?"
"You'll have to ask him, Warren. The landlord made it pretty clear that he had to get out. Actually that all of us, except for you two, have to get out."
"That wasn't necessary. He should have talked to me first. I would have been able to work something out for him.” Warren paused with his next thought “When are you leaving?"
"I'll be out by the end of the month, right in line with your proclamation."
"That'll be fine," Warren, ignoring the sarcastic tone, took his book bag towards his room.
Laureen watched him go, feeling abandoned. She looked over at Ron, and then with a nervous suddenness and said, "I didn't know that he was going to call the landlord and tell him about the pot.” Ron glared at her. She continued. "After what you did to me, how could you expect me to come back here and stay with the two of you?"
"I didn't do anything that caused you more than a little bit of inconvenience. You might just as well have called the cops yourself, Snake."
"That nickname is cruel."
"Maybe. But it sure seems appropriate. Let me guess, you'll be moving back in here with Warren after he's finished throwing Chris and me out, right?"
"That's really not any of your business," said Laureen. She turned and walked across the parlor and into Warren's room.
Ron went back to his pad. When he heard the back door again, he was hoping that it was the police, but it was Chris and The Bird.
"Warren and Laureen are here," said Ron.
"Are they?” said Chris. "Let's go back into my room."
Ron sat on the bed and watched Bird take off her jeans and sweatshirt. She bent over from the waist to pick up her discarded clothes in front of the two guys and stayed there for an extra second. Ron and Chris stared at her ass, and then exchanged a smile. Chris said, "Would you make Ron and I some coffee?"
Lynnette chirped and said, "The Bird makes it strong. Is that the way you like it?"
"Sure," said Chris. They watched her ass twitch its way out of the room. Chris turned and said, "I found a place on the Lower East Side, a fourth-floor walk up. It's cheap. The neighborhood is pretty bad, but I think that I'll be safe there. I'm going to get a truck, and the guys from the band to help us move things out of here tomorrow."
There was a knock on the connecting door to Warren's room. Chris didn't answer. Warren knocked again and then tried to open the door and found it latched from his side. "Open up the door, Chris."
Chris still didn't move, and finally Ron said, "I'll get it. Is that OK?” Chris shrugged, and Ron opened the door.
"I need to talk to you alone," said Warren.
"Fuck the alone shit, Warren. What do you want?"
"We need to have some privacy first," said Warren.
Chris again didn't answer at first. Ron sat there. Finally, Chris said, "What do you want, Sheriff?"
"I want to explain to you that you don't have to get out of the house. That was never part of what I was trying to do."
"You called the fucking cops on me, and now you've got the balls to stand there and say that you weren't trying to get rid of me. What kind of an asshole are you, Warren?"
"What I want to see happen is for you to quit the drugs. If you stop them all together, you can stay on here with Laureen and me for as long as you like and it doesn't have to cost you anything."
"Oh, you're willing to support me, huh?"
"That's right."
"I can't stand living with either of you now, and I'm paying for just about everything. Imagine how good it would be if I was living off you, Sheriff?"
"I just want you to know that the house isn't being closed off to you."
"Is that supposed to make you feel better about being a jerk-off, Warren?” Chris stared full into his face. "This was supposed to be my home, too. You got on your sanctimonious horse and rode in here like you were the keeper of the flame or something. Now it’s time to do what I want, and what I want is for you to get the fuck out of here and stay the fuck out until I've had a chance to leave."
"Where are you going?"
"I try not to tell assholes how they can find me. I'll be gone before the end of the week and then I don't want to know you or anything about you."
"I think that you're over-reacting here."
"I don't give a shit what you think, Warren."
"I want you to know that you can take anything that you need from the house."
"I intend to."
"Would you mind if Laureen slept here for the next few nights. I'm going to be in the city, and there isn't going to be room for her in there too."
"That's her problem. I don't want her here. I don't need any more spies around me either. Now you get the fuck out while I can still control the urge to punch you in the mouth."
"You can have the house for the next five days. Then, I'll be back."
Chris didn't answer. Warren went back into his room and closed the door. Laureen was sitting on Warren's bed with tears in her eyes. Warren said, "We'll give him a few days to get his things together. There wasn't any way to salvage anything else out of this right now."
On Monday and Tuesday, Ron, Chris and the band guys emptied the Rahway furniture into two rented trucks and brought the stuff over to Chris's parents' garage. Chris took every piece of furniture in the house with the exception of what was in Warren's room and the round oak table in the kitchen, which he left minus the chairs that were distributed around it. After he and Ron finished with the last load, they went back to his room and smoked two or three joints while Chris burnt some old papers and notebooks in his fireplace.
"It's just Warren's house now," said Chris. "Thanks for helping me with everything. I'll give you a call at your Aunt's house after I get a phone.” Then they quietly got into their cars and left a very dark and empty house.
The ghosts make noise in the cold wind
that blows through these rooms, trying to latch on to a soul
The Bird disappeared as suddenly as she had arrived. She told Chris that she would be in touch with him and borrowed his car to take her painting supplies to an undisclosed location. All that she left was the half-painted mural of a group of people sitting around a table, laughing and drinking wine.
She had never been there when the place was like that. She had only heard the stories, but what she left and the table were the only hints that it had ever been more than it was at that moment.
After Chris left, Ron circled back to the house and crawled in through a window that he’d left open. The place felt sad and lonely. He could have sworn that the walls were crying out for them to come back. He closed his eyes and pictured Robin. Rahway was gone and she was gone and neither one of them was coming back. He was empty.
Chapter 23
It seemed to Ron that the first students who entered the lecture hall were a bit overwhelmed by its size. He watched them from his seat alongside the lectern that was sunken into the front of the hall. Dr.T. Browning Resthill had not yet arrived, nor had Ron found the time to meet with the chairman of the philosophy department, to whom he had been assigned for this semester of his graduate assistantship. When the professor did arrive, the room was more than half full. He came directly over to where Ron was sitting and asked if he was the graduate assistant. Ron nodded.
“I'm Browning Resthill. We'll need to speak after class about your duties. For today, I would appreciate it if you would collect and alphabetize the student entrance cards and take notes on the course requirements."
Ron nodded again. "My name's Ron Tuck."
"Good," said Resthill.
The professor opened his bag on the table in front of Ron and removed the folder marked Introduction. He turned on his mic and activated the monitors that were mounted from different columns through the upper two-thirds of the lecture hall. He welcomed the class, before all of them had actually arrived, introduced himself and began to read from the notes assembled in front of him. Thirty minutes later he looked up, told the students that the graduate assistant would now collect their admit cards. When Ron got up, Dr. Resthill continued to the class, "As you can see, this is a large class that will require a slightly different approach from most other learning situations that you've encountered. To begin with, there really won't be time for any questions by individual students. In the event that you have a question, you should take it up with the graduate assistant before or after class, or during the office hours on which he is available. He will bring queries that require my attention to me, and I shall address them with the group before the start of the next day's lecture. The graduate assistant will also answer any questions regarding grades and assist any students that require extra help."
Ron smiled at the group as he collected their cards. He wondered what they could possibly be thinking about, and why no one objected to the fact that the students were to be given no opportunity for direct contact with the course's professor. He decided that he didn't care and went back to his table to alphabetize the cards. Dr. Resthill called upon him almost immediately after he'd sat down and asked him to distribute copies of the course syllabus. Then the students started to leave. Ron returned the remaining copies of the syllabus to him, after laying aside several copies for himself.
"You'll need the rest of these for late arriving students and for those who misplace their copies. Have you had a chance to finish alphabetizing the class cards yet?"
"No," said Ron. "I haven't even begun.”
"Well, you're to make two copies of the list in these gradebooks before you return it to me with any appropriate additions or subtractions. Your duties will be to keep a strict count on attendance, correct any quizzes and tests and check with me at regular intervals about any notable situations."
"How am I supposed to answer students' questions?"
"I'll give you copies of my lecture notes which you can feel free to annotate, and that should about take care of it."
Ron stared at the short, trim man in the steel framed glasses, and decided that he didn't like him but that he would wait and see what was going to happen. "Is there anything else that you need me for?"
"No, but I'd like the list and the cards at some point today."
Ron said that he would leave them with Dr. Resthill's secretary before noon-time, and then he bolted from the room. Coming back to this place had been a mistake.
Too many years as a schoolboy, he told himself.
The student center was just beginning to fill up as the ten a.m. Class people arrived for their coffee. Ron wondered how he would ever be able to get up there to listen to Resthill by eight a.m. on the three mornings of class. He found an empty seat and counted the class cards. There were 187 of them. "Holy Shit," said Ron to the deck of cards. He began to sort them into piles and looked around at the other tables. The people seemed young, and Ron had the feeling that he had been in the situation that was occurring at every table that he saw. A few words of conversation, or a gesture of body language seemed to be enough for him to see what it was and lose interest. He sorted the cards for almost an hour, and then he began to list the names. He went to get some coffee in the middle of the process and heard someone call out to him.
"Ron Tuck! I thought sure that you'd be dead by now.” Daniel Mathews slapped Ron on the shoulder. "None of us is ever going to leave this place, you know. That's the secret of these colleges. The idea has always been to find reasons to keep us here forever."
"Do you have courses here?” said Ron.
"Graduate assistant, same as yourself. We share an office you know."
Ron stared at Daniel's immense leather shoulder bag and tan raincoat. He had never been quite sure about Daniel, but always felt slightly ill at ease around him. They had names and places in common, but Ron never had been sure about how he felt about Daniel. Robin had hated him and continually referred to him as a pompous ass. Once she had grabbed his hand while he was in the midst of one of his monologues about the sublime nature of surrealism, and sharply sunk her teeth into it, so that he had cried out with a yelp of pain and pushed her away with a startled and angry glare of surprise. Robin had laughed at him and ignored him when he demanded to know why she'd bit him. Later, she told Ron that it was the first way that she'd thought of to just get him to shut up. Ron smiled as he thought about Robin. "I've got to get this work done for Resthill before the end of the morning and then I want to get out of here."
"I'll see you tonight for class then."
"Yeah," said Ron, “in class."
Ron decided not to go to class that evening. He and his Aunt ate shrimp cocktails for dinner and sat talking at her kitchen table.
"Do you think that you'll be comfortable here?”
"It's going to be fine,” he told his Aunt Dotty. “ It's good to be around you."
"I want you to know that this is your house now, and that I don't want you to walk around like you're on eggs while you're here."
"I was always so afraid of breaking anything in your house, Aunt Dot. I'm just trying to be careful."
"It's a bunch of junk, Ronald. It doesn't mean anything to me any more."
Ron's eyes got very wide at the sound of what his aunt was saying. For his entire life, he heard her talk about how important her things were to her. How she had spent her life collecting her furs and jewels and how she had painstakingly assembled her furniture. "What do you mean?"
"What can I do with it? The only place that I get dressed up to go is the clinic when they give me treatments. I'm too sick to entertain anyone, and I wouldn't want them around even if I were well. My stuff is filled with dust, and I haven't got the strength to take care of it. I wish that I didn't have to look at the stuff."
"I'll clean it for you, Aunt Dot."
"I don't want you cleaning my furniture. That's not why I asked you to move in here."
"Whatever you want."
"I want to be able to take a shrimp and cover it with cocktail sauce and follow it up with a long swallow of rum and coke."
Then they laughed. "Did you ever think that you'd feel that way about your furniture, Aunt Dot?"
"I wish I had."
"Did you ever think that you could have gone to Europe for the price of the mirror in your bedroom?"
"I never wanted to see Europe. Still don't. There's nothing there to see but a bunch of weak people and old crap."
Ron laughed. "I guess it wasn't worth the mirror then. What do you wish that you had instead of the furniture?"
"My youth."
"What would you do with it?"
"Probably just about the same, but I'd like the time to just do it again, even if nothing changed one bit."
"Most people would like to change things."
"That's your mother's fantasy and her problem. It doesn't matter as much what you've done as it does to do it."
"That's pretty profound, Aunt Dot," said Ron smiling as he polished off the last of his shrimp.
"I think I heard it on a talk show last night, Johnny Carson or something," she said, waving her hand back and forth to dismiss his smiling compliment. "I can't finish this shrimp. Do you want this last one?"
"Sure," said Ron. She watched him cover it in cocktail sauce and say, "I'll skip the rum and coke. OK?"
She smiled and licked her lips as he ate it.
Professor Resthill gave his first quiz at the end of the second week of class. When Ron graded the quizzes, he was shocked at the number of students who had failed, but even more surprised by the number of students who didn't seem to have any clue at all. He raised this concern with Dr. Resthill before class on Monday morning.
"Things go slowly at first,” said Resthill, “and a number of these people don't actually belong in college, and they'll find that out rather quickly. I wouldn't worry too much about student performance."
Ron distributed the quizzes at the end of the class. Most of the students took their papers back without reaction, but there were a few who stayed behind to talk to him and to ask if they could make appointments. Ron hadn't been to the graduate assistants' office yet and hadn't made any decisions about office hours. He decided to deal with as many problems as he could on the spot and make appointments for those in need of help later on. Most of the problems were very quickly solved, particularly as the time after the class grew longer. Actually there was only one girl waiting for him to talk to her after he'd finished with the rest.
Laura Cheater stood with her straw-like blonde hair covering most of her face until she felt Ron's eyes on her. Then she looked into his round face, brushed her hair away, and said, "Do you have time to get a cup of coffee with me?"
"Sure," said Ron smiling. "I've just got to go back to my office and clear some things up."
"Could get us the coffee and bring it up to your office?” Ron gave her a small smile and said that he would go with her to get the coffee.
That night she drove down to his mother's house to visit him. Ron introduced her to his aunt and then took her into the room that had been converted for his use. Laura had arrived carrying a painting that she had just completed and wanted Ron's opinion of. By then the only things that Ron was aware of was that he could seduce the girl very easily, and that she had a body that reminded him very much of Robin's.
They sat on his bed while she explained her painting, and he pretended to look at it while he stared at her breasts and the way they swung back and forth under her T-shirt. They weren't as full as Robin's, but they stood out very straight, and Ron kept reminding himself that even though they were very close, and he was being very obvious, that he didn't know Laura well enough to just reach out and squeeze one of them. Then she asked him if it would OK to light a joint that she'd brought with her. Ron smiled again and nodded
It was cheap pot, but before they'd finished smoking it, Laura was lying on her back on his bed and stroking his arm. Slowly, Ron reached down with the joint still in his hand and squeezed the breast he'd been studying. Then they began to kiss, and Ron realized that Laura had been hot for him all along.
Her shirt was off and her jeans were down around her knees, and she was now lying on her stomach. She had taken Ron's prick out of his pants and kissed it before saying that she knew that he was going to make her feel very good. Ron stared down at her ass. The soft blonde hair from her pussy trailed up in between her cheeks and gave them a softly lit glow. He told her that they'd have to be very quiet and then he slid his cock into her while he held her cheeks apart. She moaned in a deep, loud voice, and Ron froze. Within seconds there was a knock on the door to his room. They both pulled up their pants, and after Ron was sure that Laura had her shirt back on, he opened the door.
Aunt Dotty wasn't smiling. "Would you and your friend like something to eat, Ron?"
"Not at all, Aunt Dot."
"I'm going to go to bed pretty soon."
"OK, Aunt Dot."
His aunt stood there like she was trying to think of what she wanted to say, but then she shook her head and said that they'd talk in the morning. Laura was pulling her jeans back down by the time he returned to his bed. "It felt so good in there. Put it right back there, just the way you had it in before."
"This isn't a good place for us to be doing this," said Ron.
"You're not going to finish fucking me?"
"I don't feel comfortable with my aunt in the next room."
"She said that she was going to bed, didn't she?"
"I just don't think that I can relax, is all."
"I know what would make you relax, and me too."
"You're right, but I just moved back in here a couple of weeks ago and she really is pretty sick. I don't think that we'd better."
Laura was clearly annoyed when she pulled her jeans back up. She told Ron that she wanted to leave her painting with him for a few days so that he would have time "to live with it a little.” Ron flinched a little at the sound of the way that she put it. After she left, he masturbated immediately and let the calm after the orgasm help him to drift off to sleep.
The next morning his aunt told him that she'd made a mistake by asking him to come and live there. "I know that you're a man and that you have needs, but I don't think that I can stay out of your way enough for you to sleep with girls in my apartment."
"I didn't sleep with her," said Ron.
"But you would have, if I hadn't interrupted you."
Ron put his head down and said that he'd find a place to live by the end of the week. Then he left for school.
He didn't return until quite late that night and found that his aunt was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for him. "I want to talk to you about this morning," she said.
"I'm really sorry about last night," said Ron. "You've got a right to be comfortable in your own home, and I'm not going to take that away from you."
"I don't want you to leave. It's more important to me that you stay with me. I want you to fill this place up with life, so that I won't have to feel like I'm surrounded by my own dying. Just get them out of here before morning. That’s all I ask. The ideas that my generation had about sex all come from them being frightened of the way that it would look to other people if they admitted to doing it. I bought that line too and I believed in it until it was too late for me to think any differently for myself."
"I won't let anything happen that upsets you anymore," said Ron tenderly. They hugged and she said that she was very tired and needed to go to bed. Ron watched her move slowly off to her bedroom and realized that she'd been waiting there for him to come home for hours.
Chapter 24
The end of the summer relieved and depressed Robin. Alex was finally gone and Ron was 1500 miles away, but autumn was short in Minnesota and the winter lay in front of her like an endless tunnel. Her life felt empty and silent. The nights that she spent with her books and her cat had moved from being comforting and restful to just being boring. She told herself that she needed to stop punishing herself and had to get out and live. Amanda agreed and together they joined The Mississippi River Players, a local theater group that used an old warehouse close to the river to put on their plays. Robin found herself cast in a local playwright’s one act called Curtains. The story revolved around a curtain shop in a small mid-western town where she was the store clerk. The plot involved the increasing despondency of her pathetic and mousy little character. Sally, her character, eventually found love and meaning in her life through a sexual liaison with a mailman who had a fetish for lace. Amanda's role was that of a daily customer who filled Sally in on the goings on round the town, and who eventually discovered her affair with the mailman and told his wife and had Sally fired and driven out of the town. Robin believed that they were both hopelessly typecast, but Amanda had already begun boffing the director and telling Robin that the playwright was walking around with a constant erection that was sticking out on Robin's behalf. Robin was unimpressed by the entire scenario, but she had to agree that getting out of her apartment on a regular basis was good for her.
One night Amanda simply showed up at the bar where Robin worked accompanied by the director and the author. Robin was furious but agreed to go back to Amanda's to have a couple drinks with them, when she got off from work. After about an hour of drinking and small talk, Todd and Amanda announced that they were going to fuck and that anyone who wanted to join them was welcome. Robin said that she was going home, and Keith asked if she would mind dropping him off at his apartment.
He was a thin, dark haired guy with a deep tan and large eyes. It wasn't until they got into her car that Robin smelled his cologne. She decided that she liked the fact that he was one of the few guys that she saw who didn't live in jeans. As she drove, she asked him about his play.
"I know it's not very good, but I like the characters, and I think the experience of seeing my work in front of people is going to be good for me, even though right now the whole idea scares the shit out of me, and I half hope that something is going to happen to keep from going on."
“That’s a natural feeling," said Robin. "There are things about your play that I like."
He answered with a quick intensity that seemed to light up her car "What are they?"
"The characters are real," said Robin thoughtfully. "I don't think that there’s enough happening in the plot, but Sally is somebody who has feelings and thinks the way a lot of women that I've met think."
"Coming from you, that's pretty good."
"Why? Do I seem like that much of a bitch?” said Robin, laughing nervously.
"No, not at all, but you seem to know a lot more about the theater than anyone else around there, and you're the only person that I ever met who studied and acted in New York.”
"Did Amanda tell you that?"
"Isn't it true?"
Robin laughed nervously again. "Well, it's sort of true. I went to school in New York, but it's not like I grew up back stage or anything."
"You're a better actress than anybody else that I ever met, and your opinion means something to me."
Robin smiled deeply, and then they were at his house, and he asked her if she wanted to come in and have some coffee, and she told him that she didn't think so.
"Could I take you to dinner sometime?” he said easily.
"Why don't we just leave things the way they are for right now.” Robin gave herself a disgusted look from the inside. That really wasn't what she wanted to say.
"Don't say it, " he laughed with mock terror. "Please, the dreaded response that every guy who has ever asked a girl lives in terror of: Let's just stay friends.”
Robin laughed too. "That wasn't what I was thinking. I work nights and between rehearsals and my job, there just isn't very much time. Besides, dating someone that you work on a play with is absolutely deadly."
"So, you're telling me to ask you again after the play is over."
"If you don't, I'll ask you," said Robin.
Robin drove home smiling and dreamy. Something real and natural was finally going to happen to her if she didn't figure out a way to louse it up.
* * *
Chris Calvin had become used to the strong smell of gas fumes in the hall between the second and third floors. His apartment was on the fourth floor, and at first the fumes had alarmed him, but now they were something to which he'd grown accustomed. He was carrying a sandwich and some fresh ground coffee from Zabars. His book bag was heavy, and the ascent had him sweating by the time he reached his apartment. The music from the radio that he'd left on to discourage thieves and the hot air smacked him like a wall when he opened the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a trio of roaches heading for cover. He switched on his fan and opened all three of his windows, hoping for a bit of cross breeze. Then he stripped off his clothes and climbed up into the stall shower that was centrally located in his kitchen. He saw two more roaches try to run out the top of the stall when he turned on the water, but he knocked them off the wall, stepped on them. Then drowned them for good measure, with a sneer on his face that twisted the ends of his mustache. He made the water as cold as it could get and sighed with relief as the heat seemed to course out of his body and through the top of his head. He began to feel refreshed. He didn't bother to put clothes on after his shower, but sat on the floor with a couple of pillows under him and his books and notes spread out all around him.
He began to read again the classic torts case of the unlucky conductor who had attempted to help a man laden with fireworks onto his train. Of course the man had stumbled and the fire works had discharged, causing the man serious injury. The railroad had been sued and held, in a famous opinion written by Oliver Holmes, to be responsible for the man's injuries. He looked at his notes on the case and wondered if he would have been able to see how the law was not at all concerned with the good intentions of the conductor. Vaguely, he wondered what had happened to the railroad worker after the incident, but then he decided that he didn't have time to clutter his mind with those kinds of anecdotal details and pressed on.
By nine p.m. the apartment had cooled considerably, and he decided to take a walk in order to give his head a chance to clear so that he could move on to his last prep for tomorrow’s class. He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and headed down the stairs and up to the all night fruit stand. He bought a box of chocolate donuts and started back. He liked the way he felt blended in with the other people in his neighborhood and thought for a second about the contrast of this life with the one he'd been living last month, but somehow the image of Warren Lashly worked its way into his reverie, and he mentally kicked the image in the balls as he concentrated on not stepping in dog shit on the way back to his place.
He heard his telephone from the third floor and ran up the last flight of stairs and into the apartment to try to catch the call. The sound of Laureen' s voice shocked him and caused the donut box to slip out of his hand.
"Chris, this is Laureen."
"I know."
"Are you going to hang up on me?"
"What do you want?"
"I've been thinking about you and wondering how you 're doing.”
"Yeah. How'd you get the number?"
"I called your mother."
"She must have been happy about that."
"Actually, she was very pleasant."
"That's good."
"You don't want to talk to me, do you?"
"Not really."
"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I was sorry and that I never knew what Warren planned on doing with the landlord.” Chris didn't answer. "I was wondering if maybe I could come into the city, and we could have dinner down in your neighborhood some night."
"I'll think about it."
"I know that you really don't want to stay angry at me for this long."
"That's not true," said Chris. "I really think it would be better for me if I stayed feeling just the way I feel right now.” There was a long pause while Chris stared down at his box of donuts and lightly kicked it with his foot. "Look, if you want to come over give me a call early some evening, and I'll let you know what I'm doing."
When Laureen put down the phone, she stared across the table at Warren, who was puffing hard on his pipe and pushing back against the wall with his chair. "How does he sound?"
"Like he's very pissed off and very alone."
"Do you think that the dinner will come off?"
"I think that he'll make me wait, but that if I'm persistent enough, he'll give in."
"Do you think that he'll ever understand that I had to do what I did?"
"No," said Laureen, laughing at Warren's look of concern. "I think that he'll probably hate you forever and me too for that matter."
Warren returned to his papers while Laureen went into the livingroom stereo. She selected a Bob Dylan album and placed the needle on a cut. Dylan’s twang cut through the half-empty rooms. “Mama take this badge offa me, I can’t wear it any more,” Dylan pleaded. Warren grimaced. The house felt cold.
Chapter 25
By Halloween, Ron had stopped attending all of his graduate courses. He told himself that he didn't care and that the only reason that he'd gone back to school was that he didn't know what else to do. He'd only received one letter from Robin and that spoke, in the most general terms, about a play that she'd become involved with and the first snow which had depressed the hell out of her. On most weekends, he went into the city and hung out with Chris. They played guitars and bought pot from a telephone service that Chris had discovered, and that they had dubbed Dial-a-Dime. After he'd fucked Laura a few times, he lost interest in her, but promised that he would see to it that she passed her philosophy course. He continued to fuck her once a week and daydreamed through the entire process about how her ass reminded him of Robin. She told him that she liked their sex together, but that he always seemed so distant. He had decided that she was only a kid, a fact that had been driven home to him by the sight of her room, which was filled with dolls and stuffed animals. Lately, he'd been fighting the urge to take a ride down to the college and talk with Warren.
Warren's office was always unlocked. Ron knocked at the door and, receiving no answer, sauntered in and sat down at Warren's desk. Someone was painting a mural on his wall, and Ron recognized the work as belonging to the Bird. He smiled to himself and called Warren, a son of a bitch under his breath. After about a half an hour, Warren arrived accompanied by April. Warren stopped short with his hand on the knob of his door, but April gave Ron a warm smile and took his head in her hands and kissed him on the mouth. Warren was clearly confused by Ron's presence at his desk and walked round the office awkwardly lifting things up and putting them back down. Finally, he drawled, "How are you?"
"I'm OK, Warren, but I'd like to talk to you."
"I was going to be leaving anyway," said April.
"You can stay," said Ron. "It's really good to see you. I've wondered what happened to you a bunch of times."
"Why don't I just give you my phone number, and then you can call the next time you're thinking about me.” April smirked at Warren as she wrote down the number and handed it to Ron. She squeezed his fingers and rested her hand on his shoulder as he took it. "Are you doing OK?” she said.
"More or less."
"Where are you living?"
"With my aunt up in Glen Ridge."
"Don't forget to call. I'm always home."
"That's a lie," said Warren with a cackle.
"I'm always home when I want someone to find me," said April with a smooth voice.
Ron was entranced by the way her earrings hung down from her ears in a twisting shimmer and how the brown leather collar reflected their light. Then, she was gone, after saying something to Warren that Ron couldn't quite hear.
With April gone, Ron felt less secure sitting at Warren's desk and found himself needing to get up and light a cigarette. He moved over to the wall with the mural and said, "You got the Bird to come in here?"
"It does resemble her work, doesn't it?” said Warren smiling. "No, it's being done by a girl in my 101 class. She's quite talented actually."
"We all appear to be talented in the beginning, don't we, Warren?"
"I'm not interested in arguing," said Warren as he sat at his vacated desk.
"Too much got said already. I did needed to be done, and I've got to live with that.”
"I suppose you do."
"How's Chris doing?"
"He's going to be OK. He landed on his feet and, you know Chris, he's getting on with things like they were always the way that they are now."
"Is he still doing drugs?"
Ron froze because he didn't know how to answer and didn't expect the question, although as he told himself later, he should have.
"I don't think that he would want me to discuss that subject with you, Warren.” Ron pulled in on his cigarette and Warren began to fill his pipe. "I came to tell you that I understand why you did what you did. I think that it was wrong, and I think that you went about it like a real asshole, but I know now that your motives were probably pretty decent."
"Something that my father always said was that once a man decided to act that it no longer mattered what anybody thought about what he'd done. Finally, what that means is that the only things worth discussing about human actions are those that are about to take place, not those that have already occurred."
"That's probably true," said Ron, telling himself that he spent much too much time wondering about why people had done the things that had already happened and how Warren's analysis made that seem like a gigantic waste of time.
"Have you heard from Robin?"
"She wrote me a letter."
"She's not done with you, you know."
"It sure feels like she is."
"Only for as long as she wants it to feel that way. Then she'll surface, and you won't be able to think of anybody else."
"I don't think that it would be that way if I was with somebody like April."
"You're really crazy, aren't you? I mean that's like taking a wrong turn, winding up in hell and then trying to find your way back there."
Ron liked the description of himself, because it showed him as being somebody who was tough enough to withstand anything that was thrown at him. "Well, at least I would have been strong enough to get out the first time."
"If you continue to confuse strength with luck, the world is going to teach you a very harsh lesson."
Ron left the office without ever really getting around to what he'd gone there to talk about. His aunt was going to die, and he didn't know how he was going to be able to face it when the time came. He wanted to read books about how other people had approached death, so that he could help her. But somehow the subject had seemed too close to bring it up with Warren. He was not at all interested in Warren’s theories about anything having to do with Aunt. He decided that he had to help his aunt on his own and that he wasn't ever going to try to talk with Warren or anybody else about it.
That night he called April. "It didn't take me long to start thinking about you did it?"
"Ron, is that you? Where are you?"
"I'm at home."
"Do you want to come over?"
"I don't know where you live."
"I've got the apartment next door to Ruth. Do you know where that is?"
"Yes. I could be there in about a half an hour. Do you want me to bring anything?"
"Bring some wine and pot, if you want to smoke it."
Ron found himself at April's door with a nervous tremor in his stomach. This person had sought him out and stroked an exotic passion in him that he'd only dreamed about until then. He couldn't figure it out. What did she want with him? How could he be of the slightest interest to her.'
The questions and fears evaporated at the sight of her. She simply took away his breath along with his ability to think. Her tan skin stood out through the yellow silk cape that reached to the floor. It was attached at her waist by a small, fragile clasp that covered nothing but created shadows. She led him into her dimly-lit apartment with its twelve-foot ceilings and thick oak woodwork. There were bean-bag chairs scattered around the floors and two low-cut glass coffee tables. Ron produced a bottle of wine that he'd gone down into his step-father's basement and liberated. It was an Italian red with a date and the picture of the town on the label. Ron noticed how neatly she'd tucked the cape into her collar and how strong eyes studied him and scrutinized and gave approving looks.
They sat on two chairs that he dropped together in front of one of the tables. She brought her face very close to his mouth and searched his eyes like an explorer. Then her fingertips scraped their way up from his knees to his belt. She held him like that for what seemed like long time. She sat up after they slowly and lightly kissed. She said, "Let's drink some of your wine,"
She put some jazz on her stereo and they sipped at their glasses. "Do you know that sometimes when I'm alone, I dance to this music in the dark, or just with some candles on the floor.”
"Dance now," whispered Ron.
"Only if you'll do whatever it is that I ask you to do."
"If I can," said Ron.
"You can," said April.
She swallowed down her wine and lifted herself with her cape pulled back from her body. The material seemed to become her wings as she floated about the room on the air currents of the saxophone. As the music heightened, she threw off the cloak and brought her leather wrapped wrists together over her head and writhed as the violin whipped her. Then she began to spin in quickly revolving and progressively tighter circles that crumpled her to the floor while the fading bass and drum humped her rising and falling rear.
Ron poured a glass of wine and gulped it down. He raised the bottle to her and said, "I never saw anything like in my life."
"Do I get my request," said April smiling up from the floor with her naked
ass still quivering ever so slightly. Ron nodded and moved down to the floor next to her.
"Write poems about me."
Ron drew his head away from her face. He reached down and rubbed the palm of his hand across her nipples. He could write about her. She inspired that in him. Not the way that Robin did, not anywhere near as close. April was on the outside like something that he could stand back and appreciate. Robin spoke to him from inside of his heart.
Chapter 26
It was very late on a mid-week night in the middle of November, and Ron wasn’t able to sleep. He came out of his room and walked into the dark kitchen. He poured a glass of milk and stared momentarily into his aunt's bedroom. She was lying on the couch supported by a large pile of pillows that allowed her to rest without coughing. She wasn't asleep, but he thought that she was. She listened as he dialed the telephone.
"Robin, it's Ron. Did I wake you?"
"No, I just got in from work a few minutes ago. I'm glad you called."
“I couldn't sleep and as usual I wound up thinking about you.”
"I have nights like that too."
"How are things going for you?"
"Pretty well. The play is over and I'm going to enroll in classes at the University in January."
"That's great."
"I was going to call you about Leni, but I didn't know how you'd take it.'
"What do you mean?"
"She was killed by a car."
"When?"
"Last week."
"Did you bury her?"
"Yes. A friend of mine took me out to the St. Croix and we dug a grave for her out there."
"She was always really happy out there. She played tiger in the jungle and brought home mice that Penny and I had to keep throwing away."
"How is Penny?"
"All right I guess. She hates me. I'm pretty sure of that. I really don't expect to hear from either one of them again."
"That's too bad."
"It's just the way things work out. That saying that you used to use all the time, you know, fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I find myself saying that quite a lot lately. I think of you when I say it some of the time."
"That's great, Robin.” Ron felt fully fucked and completely unable to see the joke.
"I didn't mean it like that. God, what's happened to your sense of humor? You used to be so delightfully warped, didn't you?"
"Oh, I'm still warped. But the world changes, you know. Things that you always thought were going to be there disappear, and it makes you think that you're going to disappear too, that is if you haven't disappeared already."
"If you're going to be morose, I'm going to bed."
"I love you, Robin. I mean it. I've been sleeping with these two girls out here, and they're great but neither one of them means anything to me."
"Then why are you sleeping with them?"
"The truth? One of them has an ass that reminds me of yours and the other one came after me and is just overwhelming."
"I think that it's important to be careful about who you sleep with Ron. Things can happen."
"I know. I'm being a jerk, but it just seems to come naturally to me."
"Now you're feeling sorry for yourself."
"Look, I shouldn't have called you. I'm really tired and I guess I'm not in the best of moods."
"Why don't you write me a letter when you're feeling better?”
"Are you coming out here for a visit over the holidays?"
"I wasn't planning on it, but maybe I will."
"I would like that very much."
"We'll see."
"Good night, Robin."
"Good-bye, Ron."
He got off the phone wondering if to her saying good-bye instead of just goodnight meant anything. He went to look in on his aunt.
"I'm awake," he heard her say from her room.
He sat down on the floor along side of her bed. "Did the phone wake you?"
"I've been awake for a long time. I don't need as much sleep as I used to need. I guess that's because I really don't do anything all day long. What did Robin have to say?"
“Not too much. It was a mistake to call her."
"Then don't call her anymore. Let her get in touch with you."
"I'm afraid that she won't ever call me."
"If she's through with you, all the calls in the world aren't going to change anything, except that you're going to lose your self respect."
"I don't feel like I have very much self respect to lose.” She raised her head off the pillows.
"Then get some of it back. No woman wants to be involved with a whimp."
Ron smiled. "I like the way that you put things, Aunt Dot."
"I'm going to try to go to sleep now," she said quietly.
Ron went back into his room and took out a pad of paper. He was thinking about Leni. He’d loved the cat, and it had truly been theirs, something that they had nourished together. Now it was dead. One more distance that could not be crossed.
The night seemed to be speaking to him now, and he began to write. At first, he wasn't sure what he was writing about. April had asked for poems, and Robin had told him to write a letter, but Ron wasn't sure what he could say to or about either person. His thoughts returned to Rahway.
Warren wouldn’t ever be able to create the balance that had existed there again. He would never be able to give up control to anyone again. Other people would live there with him, and there would be interesting and unique things that happened, but it would all have the stamp of his control on it, and that would limit its possibilities and his.
It was the same with Robin and him. Each of them would surely not consider this the end of their lives, but their balance was broken for good. Whatever it was they had was over. Ron knew that now. He also knew that he couldn’t stop trying and that maybe there was magic in the world, and maybe there were things that were possibilities beyond the realm of what he thought was possible for the two of them but he didn’t really believe it anymore.
He wondered what would happen to everything they had learned about each other. She knew him as no other person knew him. She had reached into him and touched a child-like spirit that he didn’t know that he still had. She had taught him to see the world playfully. He wondered if he would ever see the world that way again without thinking of her. He wondered if he would ever think of her without feeling sadness and loss.
It was like that about Robin; it was like that about Rahway. He knew that he had loved them both. Most people would try to forget about both of them in order to move on, he thought. He knew that he didn’t want to do that, and right now it didn’t feel like he was capable of doing it anyway.
Ron wrote late into the night, combining his images of Robin and Rahway and himself. The time stood still in the night for him. It was dawn before he fell asleep with small piles of paper scattered all around him. The paper felt warm, and as he closed his eyes, he held the images gently against his mind and began to dream.
Examining Snake Garden Paradise
Snake Garden Paradise is a story set in the mid 1970’s. Its major characters are young people who carry the baggage of their years with the spirit of the times. They are part of a generation who grew up on the dream of a better society, and thought that it would come as easily as all other things had come to them. They brought their energy, confidence, and self-absorption to their projects with creativity and the brash sureness that was part of their country and their age. This is a story about how some of them dealt with change and personal loss.
People who entered their twenties in the 1970’s were already recoiling from an amount of cultural disillusionment. They were old enough to remember the New Frontier of John Kennedy and impressionable enough to have bought into his vision for America. The Civil Rights Movement had affected them, and they had viewed the injustices that were perpetrated against certain underprivileged of the society. They had objected to the Viet Nam War, and they had taken part in political demonstrations. They had stood witness to America’s Space program, and they had learned that the possibilities of what man together could achieve were closer to the dreams of fantasy that any before them had supposed. They saw the pop culture as something that they created, and they assumed the music that went with it was just one in what would be an endless series of manifestations of their creative visions.
In addition to this array of experiences, about which they knew better was the world of street drugs. Marijuana and what was known at the time as non-addictive cocaine were their tickets to both economic freedom and to worlds yet unexplored. They saw the drug as something they could use with impunity and discarded any information to the contrary as inaccurate hypocrisy.
The central group of characters in this story are not arch-typical representations of segments of the time and youth culture. However, the story does have allegorical themes. As the title suggests, this is a story that includes a fall, a breakup, a being thrown out of paradise. It is a story of how love sometimes ends, with confusion and longing and an emptiness that seems to stretch out for all time to come.
In most instances we are shown this kind of story from the point of view of one sympathetic character. We identify with his or her pain, and we ally ourselves to that character and hope that he or she moves on with life in a positive and constructive way. We even root for the other characters to see the error of their ways and either return to our protagonist , or be found less than acceptable by our protagonist after a return is desired. The resolution of those stories leaves the character better off than before, because he or she is wiser, or perhaps has discovered true love. The protagonist has learned that what existed before was more of an illusion. This story deviates from that formula greatly.
The perspective of several characters is shown in a number of situations. The reader can choose one or the other with which to sympathize. Hopefully, the reader will be pulled back and forth in his sympathies as the story progresses. This sets up a dynamic relationship between the reader and the story. It is one that probes the likability of each character, and then presents each as a person with flaws and strengths. The story explores the weaknesses that love exploits, as viewed from both the inside and the outside.
The major characters in this story were in love. They did have it good. There was a balance of security and excitement, need and fulfillment that existed between them, but it’s gone. It was there and now it isn’t. Although they are searching for the same things, they cannot find them in the same ways that they once did.
Ron and Robin do not come to these realizations easily. It is a slow process that seems destructive because they are ejecting things from their lives. Some of the process is unconscious and must be viewed through their actions rather than their thoughts and words. They keep hoping that there is a way for them to salvage each other and finding out that there is not. But what are lovers to do with all of the information that they have gained about each other? What uses can they find for the shorthand they have developed between them and the insights they have gained as a couple? Perhaps none, but if they keep at it, perhaps something. The resolution of this story for Ron and Robin is that they do keep at it. Although they have not found much to sustain them, they keep sifting their lives through each other and trying to restructure things. We know that they probably won’t be successful, but isn’t there an affirmation in their effort?
This is not a story of only Robin and Ron, but also the story of a group of people’s relationship to a place. Rahway was also involved in a love affair. The place joined with the people who were living there and created the balance of possibility and excitement.
How does a place do that? There are the sinister depictions of place such as those that were used in The Fall of the House of Usher or The Shining. In those stories, the place actually dominates the characters, controls them. Rahway doesn’t do that with its characters; it helps them, reaches out to them, subtlety strokes and caresses them. Except for the relationship with Ron, it happens unconsciously and mostly through auditory stimulation. Characters sometimes hold back their heads and listen to the house, but they only do that when they are alone and can be with the house.
The presence of the place is also intertwined with the relationship that is ending between Warren and Chris. It was they who conceived the idea for the house to be what it was, and it is they who are now destroying it. In some ways they have a parallel experience to that of Ron and Robin.
There was a time when they had it very good among the three of them, Warren Chris, and Rahway. That time is now over. Each of the three of them will suffer through the loss. When Chris leaves Rahway, he goes to a place that literally stinks and is infested. He has been tossed out of paradise, but it is only once that he is out that he is able to begin a new life. Warren inherits the garden, but he finds it empty, except for a very few traces of what used to be there. He won, but he didn’t get what he wanted. The music of the place is still mocking him as “the Sheriff,” even with Ron and Chris gone. Laureen will not be able to resist whispering the reminders into his ear for a host of reasons.
Ron goes to a place where he is trying to learn to go on with his life through caring for someone who is dying. What seems to save him is that he is oblivious to the contradictions that he is embracing. He feels that he is making some progress but all the outward signs are pointing to the contrary. He has stopped going to classes in graduate school. He still hasn’t broke free of Warren and the influence that Warren exercises over him. He misses Rahway terribly, and the reader can deduce that he will again start visiting Warren’s place, if he is allowed. He is still obsessed with Robin and clings to smaller and smaller shreds of hope in that regard.
Robin seems to be the only character who has been able to get free of the things that were controlling her. She is not in love with Rahway. In fact, even though she has lived there, she dislikes the place and feels some repulsion to it. She has created new possibilities and a new sense of home to which she is attracted and drawn. What is different about her is that she is not addicted to anything, not to any substance, not to any place, and not to any persons. She seems to resent attachments when they hold her back, and she is quite ruthless in her attempts to break free of them. The reader can dislike her for what she has done to her cousin, think that she is selfish when it comes to Ron, but it is difficult not to admire her focus and her willpower. She is the character who understands the difference between focus and obsession. She is the character who is tempted by fruits into which she chooses not to bite . She doesn’t sleep with Ron after she has decided that she shouldn’t any longer, even though there are times when she needs him and wants him. She doesn’t sleep with Amanda, even though she is sorely tempted. She successfully holds the bouncer Richard at bay, while she is able to utilize him for her own purposes. She rids herself of Alex. She accepts her betrayal of Penelope. She distances herself from her parents. She avoids having any kind of a confrontation with either Warren or Chris. She makes her life work. Although the story belongs more to Ron than it does to her, it is she who undergoes the greatest amount of change, and she who moves with the least amount of encumbrances and covers the most distance, both literally and figuratively, in the story.
The sinister aspect of character and place in this story comes from California. Did Klu and Lonnie have something to do with Peter’s death? Was it a combination of his bad habits, or was it poor choices in the people that he’d let close to him. Because we never meet Peter, we don’t really know. We know that it is question with which Chris deals very indirectly. By the end of the story, he is buying pot for personal consumption, and so we know that he is no longer dealing. What we don’t learn is whether it is because he no longer cares to associate with the California, or because he has grown to see Warren’s point. He lands on the coast to have a good time. When he is hit with the news of Peter’s death, he gets out of there as soon as he can. His instincts are telling him to leave from the moment he gets the news. The underworld connection showing itself for the life is cheap business that it is, surfaces only through Klu and Lonnie and only in California. The irony of the good time visit is Chris sleeping with Lonnie, more out of obligation to keep things smooth than desire.
A second tier of characters who each embody some of the flaws and the draws of their time also accents the fabric of the story. Here we have Amanda, Alex, Laureen, Ruth, Art, and April. Most of these characters arrive as friends or lovers, but each of them acts as an agent of change. Amanda helps and protects Robin as she goes through her freeing. Alex also helps in this role for Robin, but he is an unwilling participant. He is one of those characters who would have liked the story to work out differently.
Laureen is a catalyst for change at Rahway, and she tries, unsuccessfully to convince Ron to let go of his obsession with Robin. Ruth is a complex person who is maturer than the situation in which she finds herself. Although she is Warren’s girlfriend, she never takes sides in his dispute, and she is quick to offer solace to Chris when he is in need. She is more like Robin than any other character in the story, and the reader gets the feeling that her time with Warren will come to an end soon enough.
Art brings with him the outside influence of an organized discipline, a philosophy to which he is dedicated, a professionalism that he has embraced; although he now goes to massage parlors for sex and is intending to marry a woman for whom he has limited passion. He is a conscious embracer of contradictions. Finally, April moves through the story with a sense of mystery. Her connections clearly exist on her terms, but she is a giver who finds the energy of Ron as attractive as the intellect of Warren.
There is, of course, a generation gap among the characters. The two sets of parents are treated as old folks by the two main characters. Their questions are from a drastically different perspective and are counterpoints in rhythm to the way that the other characters think and speak. The exception to this is Aunt Dotty. Her rhythms and her thinking, although not her language, bridge the gap between the two generations. This connection is influenced by the connection that existed in the generation depicted here and the generation of the 1920’s from which Dotty hailed.
These characters serve the needs of the major characters in the story, but each of them has a level of development beyond the needs that they serve. Whether trying to seduce one of the major characters, serve the needs of a friendship, or free themselves from their pasts, each is after a complexity of things.
It is this widespread complexity, fragmentation, and duality of motivation that also marked the time period and distinguishes modern characters from those of classical pieces. These characters operate on a small, rather than on a large scale. Recoiling from the large-scale events of the culture, they turned inward and tried to control and influence their personal lives and those of others. It is of some significance that the only pieces of news that are mentioned in the story are about a championship chess match and the launching of a rocketship to another planet: manipulations and dreams.
Most of this story is told through dialogue. And most of the dialogues are between two characters. In most instances there is an attempt to modify the “he said, she said” descriptors because it breaks the natural cadence of the exchanges. Mostly, the descriptors of who is talking are used solely for identification and clarity.
When the exchanges include three or more people, this is rarely possible, and then the rhythms must be longer and tend to include more description. These conversations occur exclusively at Rahway, which is a silent partner and witness to them.
Finally, the conversations incorporate a liberal amount of contractions and colloquialisms. Young people tend to use saltier language, and these are no exception. It is more than likely that like a baseball player who begins to spit the moment that he walks on the field, that Rahway is more than in part an inspiration to the proliferation of obscenity that splashes through their communication.
Snake Garden Paradise is also a story about the writing of poetry and lyric. The three things that Ron holds onto throughout this story are his love for Robin, his love of Rahway, and his need to write.
The search for his voice, both literally and figuratively, carries him home. He starts out trying to talk about what has happened. Then he moves to singing the songs that he’s written in an effort to keep focus. Finally, it is his voice as a poet speaking to him from a place that he can’t recognize. Throughout the story, he seeks the voice and the feeling that it gives him to hear it. He attributes it to everything except himself, but he longs for it and cultivates it. He desires what it has to offer. The reader is given an insight into this character’s interior life by getting to see him write and see what it is that he writes. It gives the character a level of understanding that the reader would not otherwise see in him. The writing taken away, the reader might see Robin as only an object of Ron’s sexuality. After all, he does tell her that what he misses most is her ass, but because the reader sees into Ron’s interior life, he knows that isn’t the whole truth.
Was it Robin who became Ron’s muse, or Robin’s absence that fulfilled that role?
He would say her and she would say her absence, and Laureen would say that it was he not being able to get what he wanted. The truth is that it doesn’t matter why he is inspired to write; it only matters that he does. The role of the house is again prominent in this aspect of the story. It was on the energy of the place that Ron fed. It was the house that made him hungry or forced him to eat.
The novel is not a long one, and there are few pieces of action in it. The story is streamlined to its essentials. The plot is a simple one. Most connections are more inferred than stated. The love is real. That is the composition. The characters have voices that speak with their volumes and timbre. They are the instruments. If there is music, it must be fusion. That is how people and place find their way inside of each other.
Snake Garden Paradise is a novel about everyday life. There are no extraordinary events in this story. We see people learning that even the ordinary events of life are filled with a volume of emotions and insights interwoven.
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