I couldn’t sleep. Again.
I went downstairs to the kitchen, avoiding the living room on the way. I warmed myself a glass of milk on the stove. I always warmed my milk on the stove. The microwave made it taste strange. Like someone had peeled an onion over it.
I would have added some Scotch, but we ran a dry house. Except for Melissa’s statutory AA bottle. The temptation talisman. They’re supposed to keep one in the house. To show that they can live without touching it.
No smoking in the house either. No substances, Dr. Steiglitz insisted. I had to sneak out back. Maybe I should quit, I often thought. It’s bad for you, I’d heard.
I took my warm glass to the bedroom. I lay down. I turned on the TV. CNN. The Albanians were protesting in Macedonia. Fascinating. I watched blankly. I drank the milk slowly.
The milk didn’t do it for me.
I gave in to it. I had no choice. I got up. I smoothed the creases from my suit. I sucked in my gut. I said, okay, that’s you, in the mirror there. That’s you. You’re good-looking, sort of. Accomplished. Compared to most. You have nothing to fear. Get back to the bar.
And so I went. I glanced into the living room. Melissa on the couch, reading. I went out the back door. Around the side of the house. Down the block. Back to the Wolf’s Lair.
I sauntered through the door. It felt like I had never left. I looked around, surveying my territory. I sniffed the air, to see if any strange dogs had left new spoor.
I didn’t see Jake.
I felt a vague and unexpected disappointment.
Thom behind the bar. His welcoming smile.
The usual?
Can’t say no.
Make it a double?
Thom knew my predilections.
Twist my arm, I said.
Thom poured my drink, wiped the counter clean. The Scotch was warm and comforting. I took a magazine from the rack. The Economist. What’s happening in Armenia. The Minister of Justice announces court reform. Good luck.
Two stools down, an older guy. I’d seen him there before. Long gray hair. Ponytail. Kodiaks. Pall Mall non-filter. Thick hands. Thin lips. A worldly air. A working man. A poet. I remembered his name. Hal.
Hey Thom? I asked.
Rick.
You know this Jake guy?
Sure, he said. Been around here quite a bit lately.
Says he’s a carpenter. So I hear.
You know anybody can tell me if his work’s any good?
Not really, Thom said. But I can ask around.
I’d appreciate it, I said.
Hal turned to me.
Hey, man.
Hey, Hal.
What’s up?
Nothing much.
What brings you here?
I don’t know. Conflict. Disaster. Depression.
More laughter. The dark warm mahogany of the bar. The cool brass rail.
Hey, you were talking about Jake? asked Hal.
Yeah.
Kind of weird, that guy.
Weird? How so?
I don’t know. Just something about him. Something in his eyes. The way he looks at you.
How’s that?
Like you’re not there. Like he’s thinking of something else.
I hadn’t noticed that.
Look for it, next time. You’ll see what I mean.
I made a mental note.
Hal went back to his beer, I to my double. The Scotch began to do its work. The warm seeped slow and dreamlike into my extremities. I drank the rest. I sat awhile. My brain slowed down. I smiled, paid Thom, ambled for the door.
Now, I thought, I can sleep.