Read Online Bagmen (A Victor Carl Novel) by William Lashner - Free Book Online
Authors: William Lashner
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lying.”
I had been wrong about what I had told Melanie on the phone in Chicago. Yes, I had eaten the steak and downed the drinks and nuzzled the ear, but I hadn’t slept an ounce on the flight home, and I was neither fit nor in the mood to be part of a scene where I played the straight man for some love-crazed sweet thing. And yet there I was, supposed to fix whatever it was that had driven Amanda Duddleman to feign suicidal distraction. There wasn’t enough glue in Kentucky. I didn’t know who the lying bastard she was referring to was, but I figured if I didn’t let on to all I didn’t know, I’d find out soon enough.
“I just can’t take the dishonesty anymore,” said this Amanda Duddleman. “I know it’s built into the bones of what we have. I went to Barnard, I studied Derrida, I know how to deconstruct the text of our relationship. He’s married, which means that every bottle of champagne, every kiss, every hump on the kitchen floor is a lie to his wife, and ultimately to the people.”
“How will they ever survive?”
“I am nothing but his lie, and I can handle that. Truthfully, I’m not sure I would want to be anything more. His little helpmeet? A bauble on some congressman’s arm? His wife can have that honor. I went to Barnard, for Christ sake. But when he starts lying to me, that’s the part I can’t abide. Lying to his lie, my God, where will it end?”
“Exactly what I was wondering,” I said.
She tilted her head down to stare at me for a moment. Her eyes lost their desperate wobble as she pointed the knife at me. “Some questions are rhetorical.”
“I thought I’d help move things along.”
“I’m sorry if my trauma is keeping you awake.” She was unaccountably lovely, Amanda Duddleman, young and tawny, with perfect skin and healthy teeth. She must have been quite the sight cutting across the Columbia campus, legs flashing, sunlight glinting off her hair, the very perfection of raw youth. She must have destroyed the hearts of all the mad young boys.
“You don’t mind if I doze off here, do you?” I said.
“You’re not being very sympathetic. I’m in crisis here. I love him. I love him so much I want to rip out my heart and serve it to him on a silver platter.”
“With fava beans and a nice Chianti?”
“But when I call him with sobs and pleading and the worst kinds of threats, instead of coming himself to kiss my tearstained face and make sweet love to me, he forces me to wait for hours, and then you show up. And you’re no prize, let me tell you. Who are you, anyway?”
“All you need to know is that for the time being, as long as you’re putting on the crazy, I’ll be the guy you’ll be dealing with.”
“Where’s Colin? Colin knows how to calm me down. We talk, share a joint, listen to some tunes.”
“Colin’s in rehab.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re Pete’s new errand boy?”
“Something like that.”
“I suppose you don’t have any weed.”
“No, sorry, I’m straighter than a crossing guard in a back brace. But enough about me. Let’s go back to the lying.”
“Yes, let’s. The lying.” Her chin tilted up as she lifted her hand so that the handle of the knife was on her forehead. “I just can’t take the lying.”
“What was he lying about?”
“Is that important?”
“Always.”
“Isn’t the lying itself enough?”
“Never.”
“Really?”
“No one gets upset when someone lies about a surprise party. Or in a deposition. Or about their mother-in-law’s hair. But, just to grab an example, when someone is upset that her lover is lying about cheating on her, I’ve generally found that, no matter what she says, she is more upset about the cheating than the lies. So what is he lying about?”
“He’s cheating on me.”
“Well, blow me over and call me Kip.”
“I had a fish named Kip.”
“A salmon?”
“Of course he’s cheating on me, Kip, he’s a politician. But to be so obvious about it,
I had been wrong about what I had told Melanie on the phone in Chicago. Yes, I had eaten the steak and downed the drinks and nuzzled the ear, but I hadn’t slept an ounce on the flight home, and I was neither fit nor in the mood to be part of a scene where I played the straight man for some love-crazed sweet thing. And yet there I was, supposed to fix whatever it was that had driven Amanda Duddleman to feign suicidal distraction. There wasn’t enough glue in Kentucky. I didn’t know who the lying bastard she was referring to was, but I figured if I didn’t let on to all I didn’t know, I’d find out soon enough.
“I just can’t take the dishonesty anymore,” said this Amanda Duddleman. “I know it’s built into the bones of what we have. I went to Barnard, I studied Derrida, I know how to deconstruct the text of our relationship. He’s married, which means that every bottle of champagne, every kiss, every hump on the kitchen floor is a lie to his wife, and ultimately to the people.”
“How will they ever survive?”
“I am nothing but his lie, and I can handle that. Truthfully, I’m not sure I would want to be anything more. His little helpmeet? A bauble on some congressman’s arm? His wife can have that honor. I went to Barnard, for Christ sake. But when he starts lying to me, that’s the part I can’t abide. Lying to his lie, my God, where will it end?”
“Exactly what I was wondering,” I said.
She tilted her head down to stare at me for a moment. Her eyes lost their desperate wobble as she pointed the knife at me. “Some questions are rhetorical.”
“I thought I’d help move things along.”
“I’m sorry if my trauma is keeping you awake.” She was unaccountably lovely, Amanda Duddleman, young and tawny, with perfect skin and healthy teeth. She must have been quite the sight cutting across the Columbia campus, legs flashing, sunlight glinting off her hair, the very perfection of raw youth. She must have destroyed the hearts of all the mad young boys.
“You don’t mind if I doze off here, do you?” I said.
“You’re not being very sympathetic. I’m in crisis here. I love him. I love him so much I want to rip out my heart and serve it to him on a silver platter.”
“With fava beans and a nice Chianti?”
“But when I call him with sobs and pleading and the worst kinds of threats, instead of coming himself to kiss my tearstained face and make sweet love to me, he forces me to wait for hours, and then you show up. And you’re no prize, let me tell you. Who are you, anyway?”
“All you need to know is that for the time being, as long as you’re putting on the crazy, I’ll be the guy you’ll be dealing with.”
“Where’s Colin? Colin knows how to calm me down. We talk, share a joint, listen to some tunes.”
“Colin’s in rehab.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re Pete’s new errand boy?”
“Something like that.”
“I suppose you don’t have any weed.”
“No, sorry, I’m straighter than a crossing guard in a back brace. But enough about me. Let’s go back to the lying.”
“Yes, let’s. The lying.” Her chin tilted up as she lifted her hand so that the handle of the knife was on her forehead. “I just can’t take the lying.”
“What was he lying about?”
“Is that important?”
“Always.”
“Isn’t the lying itself enough?”
“Never.”
“Really?”
“No one gets upset when someone lies about a surprise party. Or in a deposition. Or about their mother-in-law’s hair. But, just to grab an example, when someone is upset that her lover is lying about cheating on her, I’ve generally found that, no matter what she says, she is more upset about the cheating than the lies. So what is he lying about?”
“He’s cheating on me.”
“Well, blow me over and call me Kip.”
“I had a fish named Kip.”
“A salmon?”
“Of course he’s cheating on me, Kip, he’s a politician. But to be so obvious about it,
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