The Weight of Gravity (22 page)

             
“Yes ... I guess … and re-establishing contact with Erika.  I’m more confused now than before.”

             
“Look, Max.  I’ve never thought the answer to your problems was going to be solved by coming back here to see Erika.  Coming back here wasn’t a bad idea, but I don’t think Erika is the answer.” 

             
“I’m coming to that conclusion ... I think.”

             
“Have you thought that maybe it’s not Erika, but what she represents for you?”

             
“Meaning what?”

             
“Erika represents a particular time in your life.  The moments you two shared were incredibly important in molding who you are, the person who left here to become a writer.  I’m not sure it’s so much about Erika.  Maybe it’s about the magic you found together.”

             
“Was I wrong to come back to Cottonwood?”

             
“Max, it’s not about being right or wrong.  Life is nothing more than making choices.  You chose to leave; you chose to come back twenty-four years later.  Now, if you can believe as I do that it’s impossible to make a wrong choice, then you’ll stop second guessing yourself.”

             
“Where did you get all this wisdom?”

             
“Are you flirting with me, Max Rosen?”  She patted his arm and walked back into the kitchen.  She returned a moment later. “Phone, Max.  It’s Clay.”

             
Clay asked Max to meet him and Cindy at the
PonyTail Lounge
.  Wednesday was karaoke night.  “Cindy loves to sing Elvis,” Clay explained on the phone.

             
“Go, you’ll have fun,” Doris encouraged.

             
“After dinner,” Max insisted.  “There’s no way I’m going to pass on that roast, potatoes and sweet bread.”

             
“Don’t forget the high-class, five-fifty discounted merlot, Son.”

             
“Let’s start with that.”  Max hugged Doris.  “Thanks for being you, lady.”

After dinner, Doris declined Max’s offer to sing a duet at the
PonyTail Lounge
.  She planned to watch her favorite sit-com and go to bed early -- feeling more tired than usual. 

“Rainy weather always makes me want to curl up in bed with a good book … maybe a Max Rosen novel.  I always sleep better after a storm.  Have fun!”

Max found the
PonyTail Lounge
where Clay said it would be, behind the
Stardust Bowling Alley
, which was across the highway from the
Travel Lodge
that fronted Pennsylvania Boulevard.  Of course there was only one
Travel Lodge
and the bowling alley was a popular hangout when Max was in school, so Clay gave him more information than he needed.  Regardless, he missed the turn into the bowling alley and ended up circling back through the
Tasty Freeze
drive-thru.  For a moment, he felt like he was in high school again, cruising Pennsylvania Avenue on a Friday night with Clay and Maybeth McWilliams. 
Maybeth McWilliams!  Haven’t thought about her in ages.  Damn, she was a lot of fun!

The
PonyTail Lounge
was cliché for bars around the southwest.  The first thing Max noticed was neon – everywhere – and a mirror ball over the dance floor.  Four pool tables were tucked back on the far side of the room.  It was not nearly as crowded as the
Fox and Hound
the night he went dancing with Doris, but people were coming in at a steady pace. 

Cindy and Clay were sitting at a booth just to the left of the door.  They were not alone.  It looked like a setup.

“Max, meet Pauline,” Clay said as he approached.

“Hi ya, Max.  Nice to make your acquaintance.”  Pauline stood and shook Max’s hand.

What the hell is Clay thinking?
  Max’s blind date was an elementary school teacher – or, more correctly -- a teacher’s aide, she told him.  Thirty-five, divorced --  “but only just,” Clay emphasized, -- “and only once,” Cindy added.  She had a seven-year old daughter who won the school science fair.  She was pretty, Max thought.  Not too provincial in the way she dressed; cotton top, jeans and silk scarf across her shoulders.  Her hair, too, was more fashionably cut than he’d imagine for a teachers aide in an obscure southwestern city.  Pauline was local, born and raised, -- strike one – and she liked reading Barbara Cartland novels – strike two.  Max wasn’t interested in exploring how she might strike completely out of the game.  He was flattered that Clay and Cindy would try to “fix him up,” as Clay eloquently put it while standing at the urinals during a visit to the “Hombre” room.

“So, Pauline, what made you decide to become a teacher?” Max asked when they returned to the table.

“I always thought they needed good teachers.  My teachers were pretty crappy, you know?  I didn’t learn nothin at all.  So I thought, ‘hell, why don’t I become a teacher and make the world a better place than I grew up in,’ you know?”

“Right on!” Cindy sipped her white wine.  Max was sure Cindy wanted a beer, but ordered the wine thinking he’d be impressed.

“What subjects do you teach?” Max asked.

“All subjects.  Mostly I help with story time and monitoring the children on the playground.”

“I see,” Max said, lost for any ideas about where the conversation should proceed.

“Pauline is a regular in my shop,” Cindy said.

“Top and bottom girl?” Max asked, proud of his knowledge of beauty shop jargon.

“Say, what?” asked Pauline.

“You know,” Cindy said, “manicures and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

Max noted that Pauline was, unpretentiously, drinking beer.

He
hadn’t expected a
Pauline
to be part of his evening with the Bakers.  Clay and Cindy were obviously proud of their matchmaking, but he was not in the mood.  In truth, his mind was on Erika, wondering when she’d call, wishing she’d call so that he could hear her voice.  Hoping she’d ask to see him again.  He wanted more time with her.

“I read one of your novels, Max,” Pauline said.

“Really?  Which one?”

“The one about the guy on the sailboat.  I don’t remember the title.”

“
Veritas
,” he said.  “Did you like it?”

“I liked his car.  It was a BMW, wasn’t it?  I hav’ta confess I didn’t finish it.  Cindy told me how it ended.  Ew, that’s just awful what happens to that girl and all.”

“Do you think so?” Max asked.  “Maybe I should change the ending.”

“Okay,” she said, as if changing his published work was an option.  Looks aren’t everything, Max thought, noticing for the first time how crowded the club had become.

Someone turned on the karaoke screen and amplifier.

“It’s show time,” Cindy squealed, bouncing up and down in her seat.

A young man, who doubled as the deejay on most evenings according to Cindy, took the microphone and stepped up onto the dance floor.  “To start us off this evening is one of our regulars.  Let’s have a big hand for Cindy Baker, everyone!”

Max moved to one side to let Cindy exit the booth.  Applause and cheers accompanied her as she rushed up onto the dance floor.

“Whatcha gonna sing to start us off tonight, Cindy Lou?” he asked, holding the microphone to her face.

“
Are You Lonesome Tonight
,” she said.  “Elvis.”

“Elvis.  Why does that not surprise us?”

“I always sing Elvis, Ray.  You know that.”

“And you always do him justice, darlin.”  He turned back to the crowd.  “Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Cindy Lou Baker singing
Are You Lonesome Tonight
.”  He handed her the microphone and stepped down from the stage.

Cindy didn’t need the words on the screen.  She assumed a solemn expression and waited; her feet slightly apart, her head down – just like the King.  When the music began, she raised her eyes to the spotlight as if she was staring into heaven itself, held the microphone in both hands and began to croon, “
Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me tonight, are you sorry we drifted apart?”
 

“She’s good, ain’t she, buddy?” Clay proudly announced.

“Yes, she is, Clay.”  And she was, Max thought.  She hit every note, never missed a word, and her performance had the crowd – rowdy at first -- silent in awe before she finished.  Max was impressed.  He liked Cindy the first time they met and admired her even more now.  Max was also impressed with Clay for having the wisdom and good sense to marry this charming and talented young woman.

“Wish I could get up there like that,” Pauline said when Cindy returned to the table.

Clay gave his wife a bear hug and kiss.  “Sweet,” he said, smiling at her.

“Hell, Pauline, you can do it,” Cindy urged.

“Nah.”

“Sure, go on, give it a try.  What songs do you know?” Cindy asked.

“I know
Breathe,
by Faith Hill,” Pauline said.

“Wall, go on.  Git up there, girlfriend!” Cindy screeched.

Pauline smiled sheepishly and started up to the stage.

“Okay, who’s next?” the deejay asked.

“Me!” Pauline raised her hand above her head.

“SHE’S GONNA SING
BREATHE!
” Cindy shouted, standing on her seat to be heard over the crowd.

“Good choice,” the deejay said.  “We’ll cue it up.”

She looks good under lights, Max thought.  The music began and Pauline whispered the words into the microphone, “
I can feel the magic floating in the air
.”  It was immediately obvious to everyone, including Pauline, that she was flatter than a ten-penny nail.

“Good god,” Clay whispered.  “My daddy’s Ford sounds better than that.”

“Can I start again,” Pauline asked into the microphone.  The music started over and she did no better.  A few in the crowd jeered and Pauline got the message.  She stopped mid-sentence.  “Not sure I’m up to this.”  She handed the microphone to the deejay. 

The jerks that jeered her off the stage cheered and the deejay asked for the next singer.  A blocky cowboy jumped onto the stage and announced he was going to sing Toby Keith’s
Wanna Talk About Me
.  Everyone quickly forgave and forgot Pauline.  She moped back to the table on the verge of tears, but within half an hour she and Cindy were off on new subjects, smiling and laughing over their drinks.

Before the evening was over,
Cindy was inspired by her fans to do another song.  She chose
Heartbreak Hotel
.  “My favorite Elvis song of all time and his favorite, too,” she told the crowd, demonstrating her vast knowledge on the subject. 

They tried to convince Max to sing, Clay even offering to do a duet with him, but Max was certain that no amount of alcohol or money would ever inspire him to take the microphone.

“It’s been a pleasure, Pauline,” he said, when the hour approached midnight.

“Hey, we’re just getting warmed up,” Cindy said.  “Dancing’s gonna start soon and go ‘til two.”

“Thanks, but I have some work to do before I call it a night,” Max told them.

“Oh, sure, we understand,” she said.  “You being a writer and all; makes sense.  Maybe you’ll want to write about karaoke night at the
PonyTail Lounge
.”

“Yeah, but don’t put in the part about Pauline killing Faith Hill,” Clay said.

“Shut up, Clay.”  Cindy nailed him hard in the arm. “She had the guts to get up there.”

Pauline had too much alcohol in her system to be offended.  “Yeah!” she said, tapping Clay playfully.

“Thanks, guys, for inviting me out.  I’ll call before I hit the road.”  Max shook hands with Pauline, but hugged Cindy warmly and kissed her on the cheek.

Approaching the Jaguar in the crowded parking lot, Max could see something white on the windshield. 
A ticket?
  It was an envelope, tucked beneath the wiper blade, partially hidden by the hood of the car.  He slid it out from under the blade, got into the car and turned on the overhead light. 

Chapter 27 - Max

The stationary was lavender and there was a gold
Hallmark
seal on the backside of the envelope.  Inside was a card with a picture of a bouquet of red roses tossed carelessly over the top of an ebony grand piano.  Opening the card, Max read – in beautiful handwriting,

Let us brave a troubled tempest where few would rush to be

                            Tomorrow holds no promise,

At the bottom of the page she’d written,
One more moment, Max -
Please hurry, before I change my mind - 6591 Sunset Cliff Drive.
  How long had the card been on his windshield?  And where the hell was Sunset Cliff Drive?  Max used his OnStar service – his deus ex machina, he called it -- to direct him to an upscale neighborhood called
The Ravens
, on the mountainside of the golf course. The streets here were sensibly named -
Eagles Nest, Cactus Row, Cholla
, then
Sunset Cliff Drive.