The Railroad (28 page)

“Mike?” a female voice said. I smiled, realizing how much trouble hearing a woman’s voice say my name on the phone had been causing me so far. I knew I’d heard this voice before, but no bells rang. She must

have sensed my predicament because she giggled. “You were drunk the last time you saw me.”

“Ah. Melinda. How are you?”

“Not as good as I’d like to be. You didn’t call me.”

“Uh…I explained that to Steve. Maybe he told you that my life is a bit troubled right now.”

“He didn’t tell me much, but he did say that he thought I should call you. So I did.”

“The soul of discretion is Steve.”

“Are you unhappy about it?”

“No. I just don’t want to get you involved in anything awful.”

“I think I can take care of myself. But, shit, I don’t want to get into an argument. I want to invite you to a party.”

A party didn’t sound so good just then, but I played along to be nice. “What kind of party?”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic. It’s a party for The Westchester Legal Defense Fund. They’re this organization that helps people who have nowhere else, go for legal help. They help a lot of women who are having trouble with their spouses.”

She sounded so hopeful and enthusiastic that I got suspicious. “I guess I should have realized that Moskowitz would have told you about Eileen.”

She giggled nervously. “Don’t be angry at Steve. He just wanted to show me the kind of man you are.”

“Did he tell you the type of man that’s stalking me?”

“Yes. I know about Benoit. I got to hear a lot about him a couple of years ago when Steve was involved in the case.”

“And that doesn’t scare you?”

“Steve seems to feel he’s no threat. I trust his judgment about things like that.”

“Why?”

“He’s dealt with a lot of violent people. He knows how they’ll act. He’s got an amazing intuition about these things.

“His intuition told me to watch out for Benoit a couple of months back. Now he’s telling me he’s harmless. He actually told me he thought I should move back to Manhattan. So what’s changed?”

“Benoit’s in trouble.”

“Not much. He has lawyers that are better than Steve Moskowitz.”

“Look, I don’t want to argue. Do you want to come to a party or not?”

“I’d like to think about it. You may not think Benoit’s a problem, but I do.”

“Mike. Think about it. We’ll be at a party with over a hundred people. What do you think he’s going to do there?”

I thought it over. “He could take a shot at my car when we leave. And you could be in it.”

She laughed. “I’ll take my chances. He didn’t come after us the last time we were together.”

I didn’t like the way she’d said
together
. It made me feel as though we already had a relationship. “I don’t know.”

“Just go! You can tell me to go away after that if you feel uncomfortable.”

I was tired of being a quasi-hermit and I did like Melinda. “Okay,” I told her.

Chapter Fourteen

About four I had lost myself in some TV Land euphoria. I considered the fact that months had gone by and that it seemed like nothing had changed. The phone rang and, in my drunken state, I wondered if it was Eileen calling me.

“Hey,” Moskowitz said simply.

“Steve?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry...It doesn’t sound like you. I expect more talking.”

“Well believe it or not, even I have moments when I’m not a salesman for life. I’m having one of those now.”

“That sounds serious. No shit. What happened?”

“Nothing. Just something I’m not sure what to do about. Listen, what are you doing for dinner?”

“This isn’t a good day for me either. I’m doing nothing. What do you have in mind?”

“A good Chinese restaurant with a good bar. I’m not feeling much like being sober tonight.”

“Wow. Are you saying you need someone to talk to?”

“I trust you, Mike. Is that hard to understand? I may help everyone else, but when I need to talk…I don’t really have anyone like that.”

“What about your wife?”

“I don’t want to trouble her with shit. I’m grateful enough that she’s with me. I’m not going to mess it up.”

“Okay. I guess I have to say I’m flattered. And I’m available. Where do you want to eat?”

“There’s a place called Taste of Hunan in the Peterson Mall in Bardstown.”

“I‘ve seen it. I’ve never been there.”

“They not only have good food, but a real bartender which is rare for an ethnic restaurant.”

“Okay. I’m fine with that.” I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Moskowitz was a pain at best. But so was staying in the house improving the economy of Scotland one bottle at a time.

It was about 7:30 when I finally made it to Taste of Hunan. I was back in bad form, downing at least two stiff drinks before taking my lingering depression out into the world. When I entered the place I almost started to laugh; this was one of those old fashioned restaurants with décor from the 70’s. For some reason the owner or owners had never bothered to modernize it. Perhaps there in Bardstown it had some kind of cache.

Moskowitz sat in an ugly booth near the back. The seats were covered with some kind of imitation leather in an ugly beige shade. I’d have been willing to bet a lot that they were once red back in the old days. What looked like a scotch sat half-finished on the table in front of him; some of it had slopped onto the inevitable zodiac place setting that graced most Chinese restaurants circa 2000.

He looked up at me and raised his drink. “They don’t have Laphraoig here,” he began. “But they do have Glen Garioch. I think that’s because it’s still cheap.”

I sat down and picked up the menu. Almost immediately a young girl scampered to the table. “Would you like a drink, sir?” she asked.

“Whatever he’s having.”

She smirked for a second. “Certainly. And would you like me to bring the Pu
-
Pu platter now that your friend has arrived?” she asked Moskowitz.

“Sounds good. I took the liberty of ordering what I consider to be the best appetizer in the house.”

The name Pu
-
Pu brought back memories from my childhood. “I didn’t think most Chinese restaurants served that anymore.”

“They don’t. That’s one of the reasons I like this place. It’s sort of a throwback to the past. Very comforting.”

“Hmmm. We are not our usual happy person tonight are we?”

“No. We aren’t.”

“Well I can ask you what’s wrong right up front or maybe we should wait until we’ve had some more scotch.”

“Sounds good.” He stared moodily into his drink.

We passed some time drinking quietly and I wondered why I was there in the first place. I had no reason to expect that a needy Moskowtiz would be any easier to deal with than a self-righteous pain in the ass Moskowitz. When the appetizer came, the silence extended itself for quite a while.

I had come to terms with the situation, deciding that I’d most likely spend another hour or two with a silent dinner companion and then go home even more depressed. But Moskowitz threw a monkey wrench into that just about the time the hot and sour soup showed up.

“I guess I just feel overloaded,” he announced suddenly.

I was taken aback but rallied in time to shoot a salvo of supportive bullshit at him. “Your life isn’t simple. You have a lot of people’s lives in your hands and you seem like you’re trying to help people on the side.”

He stared at me and then chuckled. “I know you don’t like me, Mike. You can tell me what you really think. I won’t fade.”

“Sorry. I didn’t come prepared. I don’t know what kind of role I’m supposed to play. Maybe you should tell me what’s bothering you.”

He looked down into his scotch again and sighed. The he looked up.

“What would you like to do about Benoit?”

“Is Benoit your problem?”

I saw something indefinable in his eyes. “He’s your problem. He’s Eileen’s problem. He’s probably a lot of other people’s problem. So what would you like to do with him?”

“Are you taking orders?”

To my surprise, he laughed. “Yeah. Sure. If I could take orders what would you do?”

“Well I’ve had my fantasies. But I guess it would be most practical to have him convicted of child molestation and have him spend time behind bars. I think that would take a lot of the macho bullshit out of him.”

“Maybe. It might make him worse.”

“Possibly. Honestly, I guess if he were to randomly get hit by a car or something that would be better. Then he’d be out of everyone’s hair.”

He laughed again, seemingly to himself. “But that’s not going to happen. And all of us are stuck with him. He’s an inevitability. So we might as well give the devil his due.”

“What?”

“I mean, my hands are tied and so are yours. I think the last couple of months have taught you that. No matter what we think is right, we have to go on and live our lives. We might as well just accept people like Benoit.”

“This is really strange. Whatever happened to protecting people you care about?”

To my surprise his eyes got a little misty. “I guess what happened to it is that…there’s only so much I can do. I’ve got a law practice. I’ve got people who are counting on me. My family counts on me. You count on me. I’m involved in some political organizations in Westchester County, some of them to help people like Eileen. I’m trying to keep my house and that’s an uphill battle. There isn’t enough time or money.”

“Money? Is that what this is about?”

“In a way. It comes down to that a lot, in the end. I can’t save anyone if I can’t save myself.”

“Moskowitz, what is this all about? Are you having a problem keeping your house?”

“That’s part of my problem. I’ve put a lot into trying to help people and I sometimes feel like there isn’t enough time or money to do what I want to do. I have to start taking care of myself.”

“I can’t even say I know what you’re talking about. So why did you bother to bring me out here to listen to it?”

He drained his drink. “Maybe my conscience is bothering me.”

“Are you afraid you’re going to sell out or something?”

He eyed me strangely and then smiled a sad smile. “Maybe. Maybe to get what I want I’m going to have to go against my own values.”

“I wish I knew what you were talking about. But all I can say is that you can’t do everything. You have to pick your battles and I think your priority has to be the people you care about most, like your family. If you can’t change something, then I guess you have to work on changing what you can.”

“Twelve-step philosophy from you?”

“I hadn’t thought about where I heard that from. But it does make sense. That prayer isn’t the property of twelve-step groups.”

He turned toward the back of the room and raised his glass; in a couple of minutes the waitress returned with another glass of scotch. “To changing what I can,” he said raising his new glass.

I raised mine in return. “I guess I’m not going to get to find out what you’re talking about, am I?”

“Maybe it isn’t necessary. You’ve helped me make a decision.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be pissed with me. You’re a much better friend than you give yourself credit for. I could tell that when I met you. Anyway, you’ve made me feel better. Now you need to follow your own advice.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that you have to figure out what you can change as well.”

“Okay. I’m even more confused, but at least you’re happy. I guess we can call this a constructive evening.”

“I think we can.”

*

The party was two nights later and, in the intervening two days, I went back and forth a hundred times, wondering if I should just call and bow out. In the end, guilt won out. Why I was afraid of hurting Melinda, a person I hardly knew, was beyond me. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The party was held at the Drunell Civic Center. Hearing the name, I imagined ugly paneled walls, faded Formica tiles and maybe a moose head or two. Drunell must have had some money; the architecture was reminiscent of some museums in New York. The food was well above average Knights of Columbus fare, and there was even a string quartet in the corner of the big room.

I had gone to pick up Melinda around seven. She showed up in a clingy black embroidered dress, topped off with a light knit wrap around her shoulders. I stared at her openly and when she saw my face, her laugh did my heart good.

“My face isn’t so good, but my figure has always been my best feature.”

I realized she was fishing, but I let her have her way. “Who told you your face wasn’t good?”

She blushed and beamed and I felt like a real hack. She was strangely quiet on the drive over, moving her hands nervously.

“Don’t you like parties?” I asked.

She looked startled. “They excite me, but I feel like I’m going to screw up somehow,” she answered.

I nodded. I’d never had any trouble talking to people at parties, but I’d found them a little wearing those last few years in New York. “They used to be fun when I was younger. Now, not so much fun. How did you find out about this one?”

“Steve told me. He’s going to be there, you know.”

“Oh. I guess I should have known. Steve wouldn’t start a campaign to get us together without doing his best to control things.”

I saw her looking hurt out of the corner of my eye.
Good one Mike
. “I didn’t mean I’m not interested. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

She let me see a quick smile, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I let it go; figuring things would take care of themselves. When we pulled into the parking lot, she let out a big sigh.

“What?” I asked her.

“I’m really glad you wanted to come. I’ve met a lot of strange men lately.”

I laughed. “I might not be a change of pace."  

“I don’t think so.”

As we entered the hall, I heard the string quartet and my pulse quickened. I was back in the world of the normal, going to a party. This wasn’t so different from being back in New York and attending a gallery opening, something that Barbara had loved to do. In an odd way I felt like maybe there was a possibility of getting my old life back.

I got a drink and a plate of various things, the best of which were the Swedish meatballs. Melinda repeated her Martini trick and stuck with salads and fruit. We stood in a state of mild awkwardness until a pat on the back almost dislodged the food from my mouth.

I knew who I’d see. Steve Moskowitz beamed at both of us. A woman stood by his side that I’d never seen. She gave me a smile and disappeared, almost as if on cue.

“Who was that?” I asked him.

“The
Great
Gatsby
.”

“What?”

“That’s her book.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m very serious about that. You should know that by now.”

“Great.”

He ignored the sarcasm. “I’m glad you came, Mike. Doesn’t Melinda look great?”

“Actually she does. She looks really sensational. But this isn’t eBay. You can stop selling. I think that she and I are old enough to handle things by ourselves.”

“Whoops. I guess I messed up. Sorry.” But he smiled his usual smug smile and I knew he felt in control of things. I wanted to beat the shit out of him.

“Do you know what this organization does?”

“Melinda gave me an idea.”

He nodded. “There are a whole bunch of people being helped that are pretty much in the same situation as Eileen. It’s about a year and a half old. I could have used the money and the legal talent for Eileen, but none of this existed then.”

I thought that mentioning Eileen wasn’t politically correct with Melinda standing right next to us. “That’s an old subject.” I stared meaningfully at Moskowitz.