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Authors: Mark Safranko
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was that now we were without a source of income unless I came up with a gig. For the past several weeks, I’d been living off Livy’s largesse.
“Well, I guess I could try Manpower again, or—”
“Don’t sweat it, Max. Something will come up.”
Sure, I thought, something will come up. But it’ll be my dick—which can’t sign checks.
I talked Livy into hitting the road for a while. Why not? We had no obligations and nothing to hang around for. We locked the apartment, packed up my old Impala, and started driving, without a destination. I loved that old dinosaur; it had been with mefor years through thick and thin, even surviving a ramrod front-fender shot from a pickup truck on a foggy highway outside Toronto shortly after I bought her. In those days everybody drove V–8s, it was nothing to be ashamed of….
Whenever I set out I thought of all the great ones before me who’d taken to the road: Rimbaud … Miller … Hamsun … Dylan. (Never Kerouac and that bunch. I never did get what that Beat shit was all about.) When in doubt, I always headed west. It was a stunning morning and our spirits were high. The asphalt in front of us was like the promise of an unfurling destiny—which was nothing but romantic bullshit, but I had to believe that we were traveling for a reason. For the first few hours the open highway was great, until Livy began to get the fidgets from sitting on her ass too long. We decided to spend the night in a rustic cabin in some godforsaken western Pennsylvania forest. The accommodations were less than first class, but for twenty-five bucks we weren’t about to get the Hilton.
I was outside gazing at Venus and Jupiter with a smoke and a beer when Livy came up behind me.
I want to go back home tomorrow morning.
Why?
No real reason. I’m just not in the mood for this roughing it crap.
I knew what that meant. Women have this thing about bathrooms with all the amenities. The Whispering Pines didn’t even feature hot water as an attraction.
Come on, I said. You haven’t given yourself much of a chance. How about we try one more day. Maybe you’ll change your mind.
If you don’t drive back to New Jersey first thing tomorrow morning, I’m going by myself.
There was nothing more to say.
14.
Sometimes without explanation Livy would disappear for long clips of the day, leaving me to wonder where the hell she’d gotten to. She’d show up finally toward evening laden with new stuff for the apartment—a loveseat we just had to have, an expensive Persian rug she couldn’t resist, a wok we’d be sure to get tons of use out of. More often than not, there’d be a bag full of new duds, too.
Knowing that she’d used her credit cards for the binges, I’d try to sneak in a question about how she planned to pay for the items when the invoices arrived at the end of the month—especially with both of us being out of work and the last bill having gone unattended.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Shopping makes me feel better. And stop fretting, Max—it’ll get taken care of one way or another.”
She had reserves I wasn’t privy to—that had to be it. No way Livy would purposely plunge herself into a slough of debt she couldn’t extricate herself from—she was far too intelligent for something like that.
But I had my doubts. Not enough, though, to go out and scare up a job.
B y now I was exasperated and bored with the melancholy that resulted from our weekend pilgrimages out to the old family “estate.” No doubt Livy’s dejection had to do with the fact that her parents had split up. But I had to cop to a nagging curiosity, too.
“If you miss your family so much, why don’t we just go visit one of them?”
“You don’t get it. It’s not that easy.”
“Okay, I’m sure it’s not. But why not just face whatever it is that bothers you? That’s always the best way—face up to it. Besides, I’ll be there. That has to count for something, right?”
To that
“Well, I guess I could try Manpower again, or—”
“Don’t sweat it, Max. Something will come up.”
Sure, I thought, something will come up. But it’ll be my dick—which can’t sign checks.
I talked Livy into hitting the road for a while. Why not? We had no obligations and nothing to hang around for. We locked the apartment, packed up my old Impala, and started driving, without a destination. I loved that old dinosaur; it had been with mefor years through thick and thin, even surviving a ramrod front-fender shot from a pickup truck on a foggy highway outside Toronto shortly after I bought her. In those days everybody drove V–8s, it was nothing to be ashamed of….
Whenever I set out I thought of all the great ones before me who’d taken to the road: Rimbaud … Miller … Hamsun … Dylan. (Never Kerouac and that bunch. I never did get what that Beat shit was all about.) When in doubt, I always headed west. It was a stunning morning and our spirits were high. The asphalt in front of us was like the promise of an unfurling destiny—which was nothing but romantic bullshit, but I had to believe that we were traveling for a reason. For the first few hours the open highway was great, until Livy began to get the fidgets from sitting on her ass too long. We decided to spend the night in a rustic cabin in some godforsaken western Pennsylvania forest. The accommodations were less than first class, but for twenty-five bucks we weren’t about to get the Hilton.
I was outside gazing at Venus and Jupiter with a smoke and a beer when Livy came up behind me.
I want to go back home tomorrow morning.
Why?
No real reason. I’m just not in the mood for this roughing it crap.
I knew what that meant. Women have this thing about bathrooms with all the amenities. The Whispering Pines didn’t even feature hot water as an attraction.
Come on, I said. You haven’t given yourself much of a chance. How about we try one more day. Maybe you’ll change your mind.
If you don’t drive back to New Jersey first thing tomorrow morning, I’m going by myself.
There was nothing more to say.
14.
Sometimes without explanation Livy would disappear for long clips of the day, leaving me to wonder where the hell she’d gotten to. She’d show up finally toward evening laden with new stuff for the apartment—a loveseat we just had to have, an expensive Persian rug she couldn’t resist, a wok we’d be sure to get tons of use out of. More often than not, there’d be a bag full of new duds, too.
Knowing that she’d used her credit cards for the binges, I’d try to sneak in a question about how she planned to pay for the items when the invoices arrived at the end of the month—especially with both of us being out of work and the last bill having gone unattended.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Shopping makes me feel better. And stop fretting, Max—it’ll get taken care of one way or another.”
She had reserves I wasn’t privy to—that had to be it. No way Livy would purposely plunge herself into a slough of debt she couldn’t extricate herself from—she was far too intelligent for something like that.
But I had my doubts. Not enough, though, to go out and scare up a job.
B y now I was exasperated and bored with the melancholy that resulted from our weekend pilgrimages out to the old family “estate.” No doubt Livy’s dejection had to do with the fact that her parents had split up. But I had to cop to a nagging curiosity, too.
“If you miss your family so much, why don’t we just go visit one of them?”
“You don’t get it. It’s not that easy.”
“Okay, I’m sure it’s not. But why not just face whatever it is that bothers you? That’s always the best way—face up to it. Besides, I’ll be there. That has to count for something, right?”
To that
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