Time and Chance (29 page)

Going south on I-24,
Stella held the speed at 55 MPH. Windows down, Peggy's head hanging limply out
the passenger side window, her blonde hair flapped in the wind, Stella saw,
four cars ahead, a motorcycle. She thought she recognized the two riders. She inched
the Cadillac forward.
Son’ bitch
, she said to herself, Gillian and Carr.

She glanced at Peggy,
stoned, slowed into the right lane and took the next exit off I-24.

CHAPTER 25

Jack’s Time

Heading back to the
farm, Gillian pulled into a One Stop, said she had to check in with Angelo,
tell him she was feeling better, would be in Monday night for sure. I should
fill up the bike with gas. She went to the pay phones and I noticed, just like
before, after she made the first phone call, she made a second.

* * *

We got back to the
farm around low sun. She had bought one of those rotisserie chickens and a
bucket of some greenhouse spinach salad, said I needed to eat more greens.
Cactus tea Snapple accompanied dinner on the porch, full moon, coffee; we got
to sleep around after midnight.

CHAPTER 26

Real Time

Monday, 7:01:00 A.M. CDT

Opening her eyes,
Peggy placed a palm to her forehead, paused, then stood from bed slowly. She
went downstairs to her bar, put two extra strength Excedrin in her mouth,
poured a double shot of vodka in a small glass of cranberry juice, and
swallowed.

After starting a pot
of coffee, she took a dip in the pool, then a hot shower. Getting dressed, she
called Stella, asked her what happened. After Stella explained that Peggy had
kicked her out, Peggy said she was sorry and she would see her at the Knife
& Fork, after the noon rush, for lunch.

CHAPTER 27

Jack’s Time

Awake, the rooster
calling, sure it was Monday morning, I think, Gillian's leg over my stomach, I
thought about waking her, proposing again, but things were perfect and don't
fix perfect. She must have heard me because she opened her eyes and smiled.

* * *

Later, in the kitchen,
Gillian said she would be going to her apartment this afternoon, then to work
tonight.

I asked again where
her apartment was.

“Later.”

“What's the big
secret?”

She looked through me
to Boston.

I figured she'd tell
me when she got ready.

Then she reminded me,
that this place, the farm, was our little secret.

“I don't get it.” I
said.

“Later.”

* * *

Dragging myself away
from her, I suggested she call me, later, at the office. With our work
schedules, maybe we could meet for something, when she got off tonight. She
said it would be late. I knew that, didn't care. She said she would call me.

Home to change
clothes, I checked my phone, twenty messages, caller ID indicated Peggy,
anonymous, Berry, Joe, and TV12. I turned the volume down, erased them all,
then took a hot shower and dressed in my Monday-to-work uniform—khaki slacks,
long sleeve oxford button down, mauve tie, black loafers, blue blazer.

The morning sunshine
brilliant, Winston's top down, the wind buffeting my hair, I settled in the
right lane of I-24 and, contemplating futures, still not believing it, I hadn't
thought about futures for … I don't know. I glanced at my eyes in Winston’s
rear view mirror. The iris green still tarnished, the whites were whiter. The
Snapple.

Pulling into the TV12
parking lot, I was aware that, for the first time, in I couldn't remember when,
I was driving into this lot minus a hangover. Hadn't had a drink since the pink
champagne Saturday night. Honest. Sunday, just Snapple. Gillian didn't want to
“blur things up”. Too good to be true. Believe it.

Parking beside Joe's
Chrysler, Berry's Humvee in the next slot over, I glanced at the Blancpain
time. 8:45. Running late.

I shut Winston down,
stepped out, took a deep breath of Tennessee air, and inside, Marcie, at the
receptionist desk, looked puzzled.

I said, “What's the
matter?”

“You're smiling.”

Then she told me Berry
was looking for me. What else is new. I wondered if he had any new ideas from
his most recent trip to New York. I walked down the hall with eerie misgiving
for Gillian, her gig at Felix The Cat, all those slimy things crawling around
at that dump. I hoped Snakebite was at his Memphis Pink Poodle II play site,
and Chuck dickhead was back in Texas.

I entered my outer
office.

Joy wasn't at her desk
but I couldn't miss the headline note she had taped to my door:

Jack,

Caution!!! FIRE IN THE HOLE!!! Front office
looking for you, meeting. I'll be back in 10 minutes or next millennium. In the
copy room. HELP!!!

Joy

The meaning was clear.
Berry was starting fires again. I glanced at the Blancpain—8:50, entered my
office, and checked my in-basket. Joy had put there the printout of Friday's
A.C. Nielsen overnight ratings. I quickly surveyed our news' numbers. The trend
continued: TV12 news down another rating point, Channel 3 up two. I went back
to Joy's area, filled my mug with coffee, walked past the newsroom, observed
around six levels of anxiety, and pushed Otis's up-button.

Waiting for Otis, I
heard: “Hey, Jack.”

I looked. Sago leaned
out the newsroom door. I said, “What's up?”

“We got a couple
calls, from the weather department, looking for you.”

I knew he meant Peggy.
“What'd you tell her?”

“Meeting.”

“Good.”

“Sally is looking for
you too.”

“What else is new.”

“You wouldn't believe
me if I told you.”

“Okay,”

“We need to talk S-Stuff.”

“Lunch.”

Otis opened. I stepped
in, had a thought, stopped the door, looked back to where Sago had been, and
called, “Sago.”

He looked out, “Jack.”

I said, “Could you
call your pal, Nashville's finest, see if they have any thing on a Gillian
Phoenix.”

“What's up?”

“Nothing, read
something.”

“What?”

“Lunch.”

I released Otis's door
and, as it closed, I felt a tinge of guilt about checking on Gillian. But
something didn't jive and I needed to flush it out, as much for Gillian, I
thought, as for myself. Maybe more for me.

Not feeling any upward
motion, I realized I hadn't pushed the up button. I pushed it and began
conjugating the immediate. Unfamiliar with the sober world, I rapidly tried to
sort some meaning out of Joy's message and what Sago had said about Sally
looking for me. I remembered a message on my phone machine, in particular, the
one from Berry that said, “What the fuck happened on tonight's weather! Call me
immediately!”

Otis yawned open to a
view of the Parthenon and I headed down the hall.

* * *

Stopped at Berry's
outer office, Judy's fingers raced over her keyboard like a bullet train. She
looked exceptionally pretty today, pixie hair perfect, long sleeve white
blouse, touch of peach color on her delicate lips.

She looked up at me,
rolled her smoke-blues, glanced toward the office door, rolled her blues the
other way, and kept typing.

I knew the message
well.

I smiled. “Meeting
start yet?”

Still typing. “Yes.”

“You're kidding,
without me?”

Still typing, she
shook her head then whispered, “Sal—” she caught herself, “Mr. Frazer stepped
out,” she paused, “to look for you.” She stopped and searched my face, “Is Jay
in trouble?”

I knew, but her eyes
so innocent, I said, “Say, are you and Jay … you know….”

Her face an open book,
she resumed typing.

“Judy, I didn't know
that.”

She shook her head,
nodded toward Berry's office, said with a little fear, “Please.”

“How long ago did
Berry, ah, step out to look for me?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Funny, I didn't see
him, maybe he's on the roof checking for leaks.”

“Uh huh.”

 
I checked the time—little before 9:00.
“Listen, when Berry gets back, tell him I've been looking for him since before
the chickens got up, had to go down to City Hall, pick up a press release at
the mayor's office, one of our reporters is out sick.” I winked.

“Are you crazy, I….”

“Lie a little, goes a
long way, also fits the decor.”

She stopped typing and
whispered, “Did you hear about Friday night's weather….”

I noticed her freeze
and glance past me to Berry's office door.

I turned.

Joe Galbo, who had
been inside Berry's office, blocked the entrance like a cloud on a sunny day.
Red tie, white shirt, charcoal double breasted suit, boat-sized black wingtips,
he burped like he had had a big breakfast of goose liver.

“Hi, Joe.” I said.

He sucked his front
teeth. “You're late, hotshot.”

“We're all late, one
way or another.” I walked past him into the office and looked around.

The office meat cooler
cold, Berry's sweet Gucci cologne hung in the air, and sunlight struggled
through the picture window.

Thinking: when sober
it’s more difficult to breathe in the bleakness, I started to light a Salem,
stopped, thought of Gillian, then went ahead. I'll quit next week. I lit up.

Joe settled into a
stuffed chair, crossed his legs, and said, “Your Pretty Boy Floyd ass is in
more trouble than Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”

“That's a lot of
trouble.”

Joe seeming pleased about
something. I had sensed, a while back, that Joe liked to see other people in
trouble. Thrived on it. I think it’s an old Chinese theory, maybe English, or
French, definitely Galbo.

I went behind the
Berry’s bar to freshen my coffee and said to Joe, “So, how are you Joe, this
fine Monday morning?”

Joe crossed his legs
the other way. “What are you so happy about this morning … find another job?”

“I would never think
of leaving you, big guy.”

“Bite me, Carr. Did
you see Friday night's weather?”

“No. Why?”

“Moore laid a Henny
Penny egg, big time.”

“What happened?”

“She walked off the
set. Live! On the air!”

“You're kidding.”

“Would I kid a nice
guy like you?” Joe burped.

I went to the sofa and
settled into the soft cushions, “Is that what this meeting is about?”

Joe, smile spreading
back to his molars, said, “Berry's after you in a biiiig mimosa way.”

“That all.”

I noticed heavy
breathing and little cat footsteps and then, like a summer squall on Percy
Priest Lake, Berry was in his office heading for his desk. I quickly inspected
his dark gray pinstripe suit, argyle socks, and tiny cordovan loafers.

Behind his desk,
standing, he stared at me. While he stared, I noted his pink shirt and stop-sign-red
tie. He smashed his desk with a dainty right, and said “The goddamn office
hours at this television station start at eight-thirty! Not goddamn nine
o’clock. And nobody better forget it again or they're out of here on their ass!
Is that goddamn plain enough for you, Carr?”

I felt myself
grinning. “Plain enough.”

Berry sat and, as I
studied the red splotches high on his cheeks, he daggered me: “Did you see the
weather Friday night?”

“I saw Friday's
overnight ratings.”

He smashed his desk
with his fist. “Goddamn it, did you see the weather?”

I said, “Ah, no, but
Joe said something….”

“Joe said something….”
Berry wiped his lips. “Peggy walked off the set, live, just fucking walked
off.”

“Joe said that, she
walked off.” I had a hunch what might have caused her to do that but I wasn't
going to bring that up. Then I thought, gotta say something, take a shot, left
hook, half the truth. “Heard she quit Snakebite, dumped it all. Maybe that was
it. Maybe Snakebite threatened her or something, you know, he's a nasty loser
sometimes, I hear.”

Berry leaned back in
his chair, laced his fingers, and looked at me in a Buddha cogitating way.
After several moments of serious cogitating, he asked, placidly, “Where'd you
hear that?”