Wiggy lay in the tall grass, raised the bottle of gin to the moon, and made a promise. “I shall buy the most expensive fuctioning automobill in the world once I get a whale paying job.” The moon isn’t yellow. Lifting himself from the grass, he bowed. He glanced out over the valley at the creek moving like a silver snake through the trees. God, it’s pretty. A laugh spurted out of his mouth as he collapsed once again onto the tall lush grass.
Cathy howled with laughter, smoke splattering out of her mouth.
“What’s a fuctioning automobill?”
“What’s a whale paying job?” Terry added, holding his stomach, his laughter tied in knots in his abdomen. Why do they say the moon is yellow?
Frank lifted himself off the grass into a seated position, his sobriety a wonder to his friends. “What is the proper use of shall?” Cathy looked at Frank with a puzzled expression. Are you real? Wiggy was about to untangle himself from the tall grass and address the group again when Adelle grabbed him by the sleeve and passed him a joint.
“Don’t say another word,” Adelle pleaded, looking at her other friends lying around on the long grass, laughing in gasps, holding their stomachs, tears running down their cheeks. “You’re going to hurt someone.” Wiggy shrugged his shoulders, a bottle of gin in one hand, a joint in the other. He looked up into the sky where clouds were huddling around the moon. Where’s my other hand?
“The moon looks like a scalper outside the Gardens.”
“What happened to the word shan’t?” Frank asked. “It’s completely disappeared from the language. Are there any other words that have disappeared?” Maybe whole languages have disappeared.
Adelle looked at Frank. Why do you always problem solve when you get stoned?
Frank looked back. Are you asking me a question?
Wiggy pointed into the sky. “The moon looks like a child in bed and someone is putting a pillow over its face.”
“That’s certainly a cheerful insight,” Terry said.
Adelle wiped the tears from her cheek. “Whose got the joint?” Wiggy passed the bottle of gin to Adelle who looked at it, shrugged, and took a swallow. Tastes like scotch tape.
“It sure is getting dark,” Cathy said as she moved closer to Terry.
Terry smiled and put his arm around her shoulder. She stared at the tall pines, their heads softly swaying in the night.
“The tree tops look like the Supremes.” She pointed at one particular tree and added, “That one is Diana Ross.”
Wiggy turned to Cathy. “Looks more like Van What’s-his-name.”
“Van Gogh,” Adelle offered. “The Dutch painter. His paintings are all curls and streaks like someone took an electric blender to nature.” Beauty is loneliness come to fruition.
“Didn’t he lose an ear?” Frank asked. Can you still hear if you don’t have ears?
“Cut it off himself,” Terry added.
“He did those weird sunflowers,” Adelle said. “My mom has a calendar with them on it. June, I think. My mom told me that he never sold a painting during his lifetime.”
“That’s right.” Cathy nodded then began to giggle. They should teach business management at art school.
“Never sold a painting?” Wiggy cried, sitting up. “Some artist, eh?
What did he do for dough? Sell dope? I heard about guys who got stoned on sunflower seeds. It must be a special recipe ’cause I could never get off on them.”
“Didn’t he kill himself?” Adelle asked. “Didn’t I read that on Mom’s calendar?”
“Don’t look at me when you ask questions,” Frank responded.
Cathy took the bottle of gin from Adelle and swallowed a mouthful, made a face of indescribable distaste, and handed the bottle to Terry.
“Shot himself,” Terry said, pointing his finger at his forehead like it was the barrel of a gun.
“I don’t doubt it,” Wiggy said, shaking his head. “Never sold a painting? Man, he must have been one pretty depressed dude. If I’m not a 41 millionaire by the time I’m twenty-five you can check your local river because I’ll be floating in it.”
Frank grinned. Looking forward to that.
“And now his paintings are worth millions,” Cathy said with a sigh, falling back on the tall grass and once again gazing into the sky. Why is emptiness always black?
Wiggy laughed. “Wouldn’t that burn ya, eh? Enough to make you do yourself again. Don’t you just love it when these famous types off themselves, eh? Did you hear how Catherine the Great of Russia died?”
“We heard,” Adelle responded, “and we don’t need to hear it again.”
“But, it’s such a weird death. Who would think that someone who was royalty could be so perverted? Being crushed by a horse while you’re getting porked.”
“We know the story,” Adelle repeated impatiently. “No matter what you discuss with guys, it always ends up in the gutter.” Why would she fuck a horse? They stink.
“Did you ever feel totally happy and depressed at the same time?” Cathy asked.
“I always wanted to play the banjo.” Frank sighed.
“On the one hand you feel completely free,” Cathy continued. “Being here, being stoned, with your friends. At the same time, you have a knot in your stomach. Too much fun. Fun don’t last. Friends don’t last. Weed goes up in smoke. One afternoon while you’re taking out the garbage or you’re opening a bill, you turn into your parents. Fat and responsible.
Hate what you’re doing. Hate who you are.”
“Live for the moment!” Wiggy laughed and passed the joint to Cathy.
“That’s what our parents did,” Cathy cried. My dad and his toys.
“There was a murder in this valley,” Terry blurted out.
There was silence.
Cathy sat up. Don’t!
Adelle’s mouth dropped. What?
Frank choked.
Wiggy fell to the ground. “Say it isn’t so, man!”
“Not that story,” Cathy pleaded, passing the joint back to Wiggy.
“Who was murdered?” Wiggy asked, took a puff off the joint and handed it to Frank who smiled, sucked on it, then passed it on to Adelle.
“My mother told me about it,” Terry said. “It was one of her friends.
They were down here partying one night.”
“Hey, I heard about that,” Frank said. “Didn’t they all get drunk, pass out, and when they woke up the next morning, one of them was missing?”
“That’s what they told the police,” Terry said, smiling smugly.
Wiggy leaned forward, almost whispering. “What’s the real story, man?”
“This isn’t going to scare me, is it?” Adelle asked, looking around at the darkness. “We should make a fire.”
“I’m so hot,” Cathy responded. Don’t tell it, Terry.
“Take your top off,” Frank suggested with a grin.
“You wish,” Cathy said, punching Frank in the arm.
Frank winced and laughed. “Hey, that hurt.” Then sat up. “What’s the story?”
“Ya, man,” Wiggy added, chewing on a long stem of grass. “Don’t leave us sitting here wondering.”
Terry sat up. The others huddled closer to him, except for Cathy who found a large leaf from a wild rhubarb plant and was fanning herself.
Terry began. “They were drinking wine behind the barn over there.” Terry pointed to a dilapidated structure up the hill. “One of them had a deck of cards and they started playing strip poker.”
“I ain’t taking anything off,” Adelle insisted. She took a puff of the joint and handed it to Cathy.
“Your mother told you she used to play strip poker?” Frank asked.
“They were kids too,” Cathy suggested.
“I know, but…God, I’d gag thinking about my old lady stripping.”
“We should have brought some cards,” Wiggy added.
“They were getting pretty drunk,” Terry said. “Laughing, drinking, and playing their hands. They made a fire so it was easy to read their cards. There were three girls and two guys and one of the girls lost her bra. When she hesitated to take it off two of the boys held her down while the other two girls took off the girl’s bra and tossed it into the darkness. They all thought this was great fun except for the girl who was now almost naked. She started to cry. ‘I don’t want to play this game anymore,’ the girl whined. She got up to find her clothes and collapsed.
She was too drunk. They all laughed except for the topless girl. She continued to cry, curled up in a ball to hide her nakedness. ‘I always lose,’ she complained. ‘Somebody better get her clothes before she freaks out,’ one of the boys said. He tried to get up but he too was too drunk to attempt a search. One of the other two girls rose.”
“Your mom?” Wiggy asked, his eyes bulging with a thirst for details.
“No,” Terry said. “Anyway, the girl, I think her name was June, staggered into the darkness to find the clothes the kids had tossed. Some time passed. June’s been gone a long time, one of the boys noticed. Just then they heard June scream.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” Cathy cried, putting her hands over her ears. “I hate these stories. You promised you wouldn’t tell any more of your stories while I was stoned. I get too freaked out.”
“Sobered by the sudden scream,” Terry continued, ignoring Cathy’s pleas, “all four rushed into the darkness. They heard another scream like June was begging someone to let her go. They couldn’t quite make out what she was crying. And then…”
“Yes?” Frank asked.
“No!” Cathy insisted and crawled over to Adelle, burrowing into her side for protection. Don’t say it! Don’t!
“There was nothing.” Terry smiled and looked around.
“Nothing?” Wiggy asked, his mouth dropping.
“Silence,” Terry added.
“Holy shit!” Frank gasped, dropping the bottle of gin to the ground and then immediately grabbing it before what was left of the gin spilled into the grass.
For several minutes Terry did not speak. Instead he soaked up the delicious silence around him. And then when the time was ripe, he began to speak again, softly, almost inaudibly.
“They waited a long time, huddled together. When it was clear that June was not going to return, they gathered all their clothes and dressed.
How were they going to tell their parents that they’d gotten drunk, played strip poker, than lost one of their friends? Who was going to believe them? The police would think that they’d done something to June, that some terrible accident had befallen their friend and that the rest of the friends were trying to cover it up. They made an oath among themselves never to tell the truth, the complete truth.” Cathy began to weep. “You know I hate these stories, Terry. You know I get nightmares…”
“Did they ever find the chick?” Wiggy asked.
Terry shook his head.
“Holy shit!” Frank gasped, raised the bottle of gin to his mouth and forgot to drink before he placed it back at his feet.
“So, like, they never found who grabbed the girl?” Wiggy added.
“Nope!” Terry responded. “And for all we know whoever dragged the girl off could still be out there in the darkness tonight.” 44
“Jesus!” Wiggy said, his head swiveling as he searched the darkness.
Adelle started to laugh. Cathy wiped the tears from her eyes and glared at her friend.
“He made it up,” Adelle said to her friends.
Cathy turned from Adelle to Terry. Terry looked at her for a moment then started to laugh. Except for Cathy, they all began to laugh.
“I knew you were putting us on,” Wiggy said with a chuckle.
Everyone looked at him skeptically.
“Well, I did,” he added.
The Spy
With an elbow on the bar and her head leaning on her hand, a cigarette stuck between her fingers and smoke twisting and turning through the curls of her hair, Mary watched Jack polishing the bar. There was something safe and secure about a man working.
“You worry too much about your kid, Mary,” Jack said.
“I’m a mother,” she sighed. “Maybe not a good one, but a mother nevertheless.”
Jack slipped the towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar as if he were getting ready to do pushups.
“You’re doing your best.” He turned and wrote something down on a pad. “They don’t give you a manual when these kids are handed to you.”
“You got that right, Jack.” Mary looked affectionately at the bartender.
“You got kids, Jack?”
Jack held up two fingers.
“And two grandchildren,” he added as he turned around. “Greatest kick in the world, having grandchildren. You get all the good stuff and when they get tired and cranky, you hand them back to Mom.”
“I didn’t know you had grandchildren.” Mary rubbed her cigarette hand on her forehead. She drew lightly on her cigarette. “I’m looking forward to that. Right now I’ve just got the boy. It’s the attitude that gets to you. How do they know everything? When did they suddenly get so angry? Sometimes I’m afraid I might be living with a serial killer. He says I pry. I’d like to know a few fundamental things, like whether he’s healthy. God, he hasn’t been to the dentist in two years. And how’s he doing in school. I haven’t seen a report card since grade nine. I ask a question and Terry makes me feel as if I’m acting like J. Edgar Hoover.
Terry tells me nothing. I can only guess what he’s up to. And I’m so tired. Do you ever get plain tired of everything, Jack?” Jack nodded. “Oh ya. My dogs get so fatigued they fall asleep on me while I’m standing still.”
Grinding her cigarette out in an ashtray, Mary sipped her Bloody Caesar. She played with the stock of celery that stuck out of the glass and then bit off a piece.
“Sometimes, Jack, I just want to have a little fun. You know what I mean? Let my hair down and really let it all hang out. Like when I was a kid. God, I’m getting too old too fast.”
“You’re still a young woman.” Jack looked at Mary and smiled. She’s getting old fast.
“Almost forty,” Mary smiled sadly.
“That’s not old.” Jack smiled, patting Mary on the hand. “You’re just a baby, and an attractive one, I might add. Why, if I wasn’t already hitched to a wagon, I might take a little gander your way.” Mary laughed and slapped Jack affectionately on the hand.
“If you weren’t married, I might rope you in myself.” Mary laughed again. She stopped. “I lied. I’m forty-one.”
“Well, there you go.” Jack laughed. “You look ten years younger.”
“Oh, you know how to keep your regulars happy.” Mary smiled as she took her package of cigarettes out of her purse. Jack reached for a lighter under the bar and lit her up.
“How’s it going with your new fellow?” Jack asked.
“Hank?” Mary drew deeply on the cigarette, her eyes closed.
“The tall long drink of water I saw you in here with yesterday,” Jack said.
Mary sighed. “Did you see the size of his hands? Like sides of beef hanging on the ends of his arms. Things are up and down.” Jack laughed.
Mary smiled. “You have a filthy mind. I love it.” Mary drew on her cigarette and released a sigh inside a cloud of smoke.
“The other night he told me that the world ended in 1950.” Jack shook his head. “He’s a strange one.”
“I have so much trouble reading men. One moment Hank seems really interested in me and the next… It’s like he’s off somewhere else on some distant planet. The first night I met him we were all over each other. Oh, I don’t know if I should say this…”
“Don’t worry, love,” Jack said. “I’ve heard it all.” 46
“You know where my apartment is. Over the variety store. God, we were like young kids all the way along the street. I guess I’d had a few drinks. He pushed me into a telephone booth and had his hands up my pants. Oh, God, it was wonderful. And the funny thing is, the phone was off the hook and some guy was on the other end asking who was calling, and I was moaning like a cat in heat. He must have thought we were a couple of perverts. I always make that mistake with men.”
“What mistake is that, Mary?”
Mary sucked deeply on her cigarette.
“Mistaking lust for affection. I always think they like me when what they want is between my legs. God, I wish I could do without them. Men have brought me nothing but tears. I adore my lovers but I get treated like an old dishrag. Just once I’d like to be the one who is adored.”
“You think he’s lost interest?”
Mary shrugged her shoulders. “Hank is different. I don’t think he’s really interested in the sex. He doesn’t seem too concerned with…getting off. Once I’ve been satisfied, he gives up. I’m willing to… you know. But he tells me that it’s all right. He’d rather talk.” Jack nodded and stood erect. Back is acting up again. He looked at Mary with concern.
“What do you know about this fella, Mary?”
Mary butted out her fresh cigarette absentmindedly and took a sip of her drink.
“Not much. Now that I think of it, I don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know his last name. I know it sounds loose but I’m beyond caring. God, sometimes I feel so lonely. I can’t stand being alone. When I’m in the apartment by myself, the television or radio is always on. Silence terrifies me. Without another human voice, I feel vulnerable. I’ve never been really alone. I know that there are people who need their space. I hate space. The here and now scares the hell out of me. I get so angry at Terry when he leaves the apartment and he turns off all the lights. I walk into the apartment and am immediately traumatized. I run around turning everything on. I don’t care about my electrical bills. Can you imagine living in the middle ages? All those noises. Crickets, the wind, animals. I need the cocoon of twentieth-century technology. Remember that blackout we had a few years ago? Lasted for hours. I spent the whole time in my girlfriend’s car listening to the radio.” Mary stopped to take a breath. “The first time I met Hank, I felt safe. Maybe it’s his size. And as you know, Hank likes to talk. He can go on for hours.
Puts me to sleep. It’s boring and comforting at the same time.” 47
Jack laughed, then added, “He’s certainly got something for the year 1950.”
Mary said, “Last night he told me about two Englishmen who stole state secrets for Russia. Files for nuclear weapons, H-bombs. How would he know about that? Do you think Hank could be a spy?” Jack chuckled. “I doubt that. There wouldn’t be too many top secret plans to be found here in the Six Points.”
“He asks a lot of questions though. Isn’t that what spies do?”
“What sort of questions?”
“He asks me a lot of things about my ex, Terry’s father. Of course, there’s not much to talk about there. The guy just walked out on me one day and never returned. At first I thought that Hank might be jealous.
But he wasn’t interested in any particulars about my ex. Just wanted to know about the night the bastard ran off.”
“Just that night?” Jack sighed.
Mary smiled. “What? What are you thinking?”
“Did he ask about any other disappearances?” Mary stared at Jack for a moment and thought. She took a sip of her drink.
“He asked me about an incident that happened when I was a kid.”
“Incident?” Jack asked.
“A friend of mine disappeared. Now that I think of it, a lot of questions that he asks are about people who have disappeared. Do you think he might work for the police?”
“I know most of the cops,” Jack said, shaking his head. “Sam Kelly would have mentioned something about him.”
Mary reached into her bag for another cigarette but then thought better of it.
The Bed
Mary sighed with relief as Hank released his grip of her shoulders and slid off to one side of the bed. For a moment she remained on her hands and knees, her face pressed into the pillow.
“That was nice,” Mary purred. She turned over and burrowed under Hank’s arm. “Can we do it some more?”
Hank chuckled. “Just give me some time to recover. I’m not eighteen.” Mary slid closer, leaning her head on Hank’s chest.
“Do you think my breasts sag?” she asked.
Hank ran a finger around Mary’s ear. She moaned with delight.
“Your breasts are perfect.”
Mary moaned softly. “I could do this all night.”
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?” he asked.
Mary giggled. “Fuck work! Oh, Hank, you make me feel so alive. I haven’t felt this good in years. We could take pictures.” There was a long pause.
“Why would your husband leave a sexy woman like you alone in bed to get a package of cigarettes?” Hank asked.
Mary played with the short hairs on Hank’s chest.
“That’s a question I’ve asked myself a thousand times. My ex had a wandering eye. Variety is the spice of life, I suppose.”
“Were you faithful?” Hank asked.
Mary hesitated. “No. But he deserved it. Why are we talking about my ex anyway? I’ve got a Polaroid camera in the dresser. We could have a little fun.”
Hank ran his hand down Mary’s arm. “What if he didn’t leave you?
What if something else happened to him?”
The Incident
“I don’t know who he was,” Jack said. “But he came in here the other afternoon, asked for a drink and downed it, and then asked for a second.”
Sam Kelly nodded, scribbling notes on a pad.
“He was sweating, Sam,” Jack said, “and pale as a ghost. After his second drink he stares at me and says, ‘I just let a man die.’ It gave me the willies. I’ve been tending bar for a lot of years but this was one for the records.”
Jack paused for a moment, reliving the conversation with the stranger.
“He said he killed someone or he allowed someone to die?” the detective asked as he scribbled away with a short stubby pencil.
Jack took a breath. “He said he was standing at the corner just outside here, at the corner, and he was bending over to buy a newspaper. I don’t know which paper. Is that important?”
Sam Kelly shook his head.
Jack continued. “He was bending over the newspaper box when he heard something behind him. He turned around. An old man was lying on the sidewalk, his feet in the telephone booth, his mouth open. The old man seemed to let out a small cry. Oh yes, and the receiver on the phone was dangling loose. ‘I let him die,’ he said over and over.” 49
“Did he notice the old man before that moment? Did he drive or walk to the newspaper stand?”
“Walked, Sam,” Jack replied. “Said he lived in the neighborhood, but I’ve never seen him before. He didn’t notice the old man at all. He told me that the corner was empty when he arrived. Sam, how could you miss an old man lying on the ground? Oh ya, he said that the emptiness struck him as odd because usually there was always someone in the plaza or walking along the sidewalk. There was no one on the street or in the plaza. He used the word empty. There is always someone coming in or out of the drugstore. It’s open twenty-four hours. And the Canadiana Restaurant has a do on every night. But he used the word empty. The landscape was empty. And it was dead quiet. Sam, you can always hear Highway 27 from here. It’s constant. Like living next to the ocean. That roar is always there and yet he said he couldn’t hear the highway.” Detective Kelly looked up from his pad.
“Couldn’t hear anything?”
“Do you think that’s important?”
The detective shrugged. “It is strange. You get used to the roar of traffic but it’s always present. But he noticed the silence. There’s nothing else that stood out about this fellow, no scar or accent, no tic, no idiosyncrasy?”
Jack thought for a moment. “He was upset. And he sweated a lot. Real sweet smell. And his clothes.”
“What about his clothes?”
Jack shook his head. “It’s so obvious, Sam. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. He was wearing shorts. On a cold fall day, this guy was wearing shorts. And one of those ugly Hawaiian shirts.”
“Maybe he was jogging,” the detective suggested. “You mentioned that this guy called for an ambulance. There should be a record of that.
And a squad car should have been sent as well. I’m surprised I didn’t hear about it.”
“An old man’s death can’t be that uncommon,” Jack suggested.
Detective Kelly scribbled a few more notes in his pad before placing it back in his pocket.
“People die everyday, but not in the streets. I’ll look into it,” he said.
“I appreciate it, Sam. Been preying on my mind. The police talked to him. He told me that. A few minutes after the ambulance left, a squad car arrived and a cop asked him a few questions. It seems that the old guy was on the line to the police. He’d had an argument with someone.”
“The police questioned him?” the detective asked.
Jack nodded then blushed with embarrassment. “Didn’t I tell you that, Sam?”
The detective reached for his pad.