one’ll be on the house.”
“Joe doesn’t believe in the concept of ‘on the house,’ as near as I can recall.”
“What Joe don’t believe in is coming in once in a while to find out what the fuck is going on.” She laughed. “Got him a new young honey.”
“At his age?”
“Ain’t no age limit on love, Lew.”
“How about ‘at his size,’ then?”
“There’s always ways.”
“Right. Wills and ways. What does Martha have to say about this?”
She shrugged. “What’s Martha said about all the others? She’d better be clean, not in his house ever, watch the money, knock on my door when it’s over.”
After a few more scotches I joined the dart throwers and hit four nipples in a row. Goaded on by them, I ate four of Joe’s eggs, then we started in together on the drinks lined up by the zonked guy at the corner table. A long time later I realized that Nancy had her purse and was standing by the door.
“Hey, you coming with?” she said. “Or not?”
“With,” I said. I was wobbly on the way to the car, hers, but I rolled the window down and let air blow in my face all the way to her place and got at least halfway straight.
In her bed, one mattress stacked on top of another, we held one another closely, and soon slept.
Chapter Eight
I WOKE UP FEELING LIKE THE INSIDE OF SOMEONE ’ S SHOE.
There was a clock on the floor beside the bed and it read 9:43. In the kitchen there was coffee and soft music and a note that said “Thanks, Lew.” There was also, warming in the oven, breakfast.
A cross and a heart-shaped locket hung together from a magnetic hook on the refrigerator.
I finished off the pot of coffee. I couldn’t face food but dumped it in the toilet and flushed, so she wouldn’t know. I showered off the whiskey’s sour smell, her perfume, a little bit of my shakiness and shame.
By eleven I was at the office. There were three messages on the machine. One was from Nancy and said I wish there could be no past, only the present and a future. The second was from Francy, to tell me that Mom was sick with what they were calling an acute depression. The last was from Sanders. Come out to Algiers, he said, 408 Socrates.
I was heading out the door when the phone rang.
“Lew?” LaVerne said when I answered. “Back off Bud Sanders. Please.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, then I said, “I don’t know where this is starting, I don’t know what’s being said here.”
“You don’t have to. Shit, you have to understand everything?” I heard ice cubes clinking against a glass. “He’s a good man, Lew. Everything’s coming down on him now and I don’t know how much more he’s gonna be able to take.”
“You’re telling me he’s a client.”
“No.” Ice again. “I’m telling you he’s a friend, Lew. For a long time now.”
“Like me.”
“Right.”
“And you know what he does for a living?”
“Just like I know what I do for a living. What you do for a living. What we all do, one way or another.” She took another drink. “We aren’t angels, Lew. Angels couldn’t breathe the air down here. They’d die.”
“Right. But I need some information, Verne.”
“He’ll give it to you. But Lew—”
“Yes?”
“I think he’s in love. I don’t know if he can let her go. Be gentle with him, try to understand.”
“For you?”
“Whatever.” Ice clinked again against glass. “I’m drunk, Lew. I can’t afford to be drunk; this is one of my regular spots.”
“I’ll come and get you, Verne.”
“No, I’ll be all right. Just switch to coffee and sit here a while. You go on. But Lew?”
“Yes?”
She was silent for several seconds.
“Everything’s so shitty, Lew, so fucked up. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for a long time.”
“No one ever has. Ever will.”
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. You be careful.
“Joe doesn’t believe in the concept of ‘on the house,’ as near as I can recall.”
“What Joe don’t believe in is coming in once in a while to find out what the fuck is going on.” She laughed. “Got him a new young honey.”
“At his age?”
“Ain’t no age limit on love, Lew.”
“How about ‘at his size,’ then?”
“There’s always ways.”
“Right. Wills and ways. What does Martha have to say about this?”
She shrugged. “What’s Martha said about all the others? She’d better be clean, not in his house ever, watch the money, knock on my door when it’s over.”
After a few more scotches I joined the dart throwers and hit four nipples in a row. Goaded on by them, I ate four of Joe’s eggs, then we started in together on the drinks lined up by the zonked guy at the corner table. A long time later I realized that Nancy had her purse and was standing by the door.
“Hey, you coming with?” she said. “Or not?”
“With,” I said. I was wobbly on the way to the car, hers, but I rolled the window down and let air blow in my face all the way to her place and got at least halfway straight.
In her bed, one mattress stacked on top of another, we held one another closely, and soon slept.
Chapter Eight
I WOKE UP FEELING LIKE THE INSIDE OF SOMEONE ’ S SHOE.
There was a clock on the floor beside the bed and it read 9:43. In the kitchen there was coffee and soft music and a note that said “Thanks, Lew.” There was also, warming in the oven, breakfast.
A cross and a heart-shaped locket hung together from a magnetic hook on the refrigerator.
I finished off the pot of coffee. I couldn’t face food but dumped it in the toilet and flushed, so she wouldn’t know. I showered off the whiskey’s sour smell, her perfume, a little bit of my shakiness and shame.
By eleven I was at the office. There were three messages on the machine. One was from Nancy and said I wish there could be no past, only the present and a future. The second was from Francy, to tell me that Mom was sick with what they were calling an acute depression. The last was from Sanders. Come out to Algiers, he said, 408 Socrates.
I was heading out the door when the phone rang.
“Lew?” LaVerne said when I answered. “Back off Bud Sanders. Please.”
I didn’t say anything for a while, then I said, “I don’t know where this is starting, I don’t know what’s being said here.”
“You don’t have to. Shit, you have to understand everything?” I heard ice cubes clinking against a glass. “He’s a good man, Lew. Everything’s coming down on him now and I don’t know how much more he’s gonna be able to take.”
“You’re telling me he’s a client.”
“No.” Ice again. “I’m telling you he’s a friend, Lew. For a long time now.”
“Like me.”
“Right.”
“And you know what he does for a living?”
“Just like I know what I do for a living. What you do for a living. What we all do, one way or another.” She took another drink. “We aren’t angels, Lew. Angels couldn’t breathe the air down here. They’d die.”
“Right. But I need some information, Verne.”
“He’ll give it to you. But Lew—”
“Yes?”
“I think he’s in love. I don’t know if he can let her go. Be gentle with him, try to understand.”
“For you?”
“Whatever.” Ice clinked again against glass. “I’m drunk, Lew. I can’t afford to be drunk; this is one of my regular spots.”
“I’ll come and get you, Verne.”
“No, I’ll be all right. Just switch to coffee and sit here a while. You go on. But Lew?”
“Yes?”
She was silent for several seconds.
“Everything’s so shitty, Lew, so fucked up. It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out for a long time.”
“No one ever has. Ever will.”
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. You be careful.
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