Tumbledown (47 page)

“On the weekend, every inch of the beach is packed,” James said. “I suppose there could be some secluded place, but Mick . . . It’s your decision. What do I know? As long as it’s after Friday afternoon, you two do whatever you want.”

Violet said, “I haven’t decided whether I’m going.”

“Oh, you must!” said Lolly.

James turned his head and eyed his sister. “Don’t let her tell you what to do now.”

Lolly slapped his shoulder and laughed again.

“You’ll need to have someone from the Center with you. If the Barnstone can’t go, nab someone else. Otherwise, the trip could be misconstrued as an official but unsupervised function, and that creates a bad situation for me. Especially right now. I absolutely cannot be party to it.”

“I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your promotion,” Lolly said.

Candler whipped around, ready to battle again, but he realized the statement was in earnest. He put his hand on her knee and she covered it with her hand.

“But I absolutely
am
going to the beach with my friends,” Lolly said. It had the tone of an addendum. “So that’s settled?”

When Jimmy turned to Lolly and nodded, his chin rubbed against Violet’s shoulder.

“The Barnstone strikes again,” he said softly.

Lolly unbelted herself to kiss Jimmy, and Violet tried to move her head, but the blond swath of hair swatted her cheek. The car was an abomination, and she understood that she was ready to go home, her real home. Let these two make their stupid mistakes without her, she wanted to go home—if only she had one.

After they exited the freeway, just a few miles from Jimmy’s house, Violet thought of the wad of paper Andujar had pressed into her hand. She casually stuck her fingers in her purse to be sure it was there, but she waited until the car was in the garage, and the lovers had disappeared into the bedroom. In her room, she flattened the paper over the mattress, running her hand repeatedly over the crinkled paper. The single word
MAP
was printed on one side. She turned the sheet over. A pencil mark made a flat line for about an inch, and then it angled down to the right.

To forget one’s purpose is the commonest form of stupidity.

—FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

Candler had not been to many bars in Onyx Springs, and he had never even heard of the Fish Out of Water Saloon, a dive in what had obviously once been a fast-food restaurant, complete with a drive-through. The new management had filmed the glass, changed the lighting, and piped in marimba music. Though it was noon, the room was so dark that there was a two-dollar cover charge for the penlights they handed out at the door. “You get your money back when you leave,” the girl at the door said, “as long as you return the light.” Her teeth glowed green in the reflected light. “Or some people leave the two dollars as a tip.”

“I’m meeting someone,” he said. “Am I supposed to just shine my light in every face till I find him?”

“Is it Billy you’re looking for?”

“How’d you know?”

“He told me his friend would be coming.” She motioned with her hand. “Follow me.”

Candler could have made his way minus the light and the guide, but he could not have made out the faces without stopping at each table to peer. Fast-food booths still lined the walls. An inflatable shark hung from the ceiling, lit from within by a blue bulb. Billy had moved out on Sunday and Candler hadn’t spoken with him since he left. It was only Wednesday, but it felt funny, and Candler decided to respond to the lunch invitation that Billy had left on his machine.

His guide shone her light on a booth and then in Candler’s face. “You’re right here,” she said.

Candler thanked her. Billy sat alone in a corner booth. The hostess and Billy exchanged a few words and she left to get them a pitcher of beer.

“I can’t drink beer,” Candler said. “I have to get back to work. So do you.”

“I asked for a personal day to move in,” Billy said. “Drinking at noon is about as personal as I know how to be.”

“This is a weird place,” Candler said.

“I didn’t actually get the personal day,” Billy went on, “ ’cause I haven’t worked at the Center for three months yet. I’m just taking a personal lunch.”

“Everything all right at the workshop?”

He might have nodded. “Best job I’ve ever had. I usually go out to lunch with the crew. They’re good company.”

“Nice of you to make the sacrifice to see me. I can’t quite get over this place.”

“Used to be a Long John Silver’s,” Billy said. “I like it. I know when we were in college we’d’ve loved it, which I remind myself whenever I get bored here. Also, it’s in walking distance from my new place.”

“I would never have guessed such a bar existed in Onyx Springs.”

“There’s fajitas. Pot stickers. Pita sandwiches. Junk food from around the world.”

“It’s good to see you, if I could see you.”

“You can see me.” Billy set his mini flash on the table, angling the ray to provide some illumination. Billy’s face was ghostly in the strange light.

“Let me get something out of the way. Did you move out because of Lise?”

“No way.” Billy smiled, his teeth glowing purple. “She was just using me to get you back. And I had fun being used. So . . . no hard feelings.”

This exchange permitted Candler to say that he had been seeing her on the sly, that he was obsessed with her, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Why don’t you marry her instead of Lolly?” Billy said.

“I love Lolly.”

“Then why don’t you quit seeing Lise?”

“I think about her all the time.”

“We’re back to number one. Either choose Lise or quit thinking about her. If you’re thinking about marrying Lolly while you’re obsessed with Lise, well, I’m no expert, and I’ve had less than perfect luck with women, but I think that makes you a
prick.
You need to pick one and stick with her. It’s not actually complicated.”

A waitress wearing eyeglasses with tiny headlights in them appeared with a pitcher of beer and frosted mugs. She took their lunch orders and filled the mugs before leaving. Her platform heels lit up as she walked, like kids’ sneakers.

“I’m not sleeping with Lise,” Candler said.

“That must mean she won’t let you,” Billy replied. “That’s not the same as being true to Lolly.”

“At lunch, I guess it was Monday, Lise told me about going with her mother on a special trip to St. Louis to buy clothes when she was about to start high school, and—you know that kind of story. It took some twists and turns, and they bought a lot of expensive stuff the family could not afford, and worse, it was all her mom’s taste and Lise knew she would never wear it.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, nodding, “
conversation,
sometimes it’s no fun.”

“That’s the thing,” Candler insisted. “It was a
good
story. Or I liked it anyway, and I came here thinking I’d tell you about it, but then I realized it’s just some mom-daughter shopping-bonding story that you wouldn’t have any interest in hearing.”

“Go ahead and tell me. Give me the long version, if you want. I’ll listen.” He switched off his light. “At least, it’ll seem like I’m listening.”

“I liked the story because of the way Lise told it, or just because it was her telling it, or . . . Fuck, Billy, I’m losing my mind.”

“No you’re not.” He flicked his penlight back on. “The interview go okay?”

Candler had spent Tuesday with the personnel committee, chatting and answering questions, hearing one official spiel or another, answering more questions. His presentation to the board had taken no more than an hour.
If you could change one thing about the Center,
a gargoyle asked,
what would it be?

“If you mean magically change something, then I’d have an anonymous donor provide us with enough money to fund everyone who needs treatment. That’s not likely going to happen, but I do understand that fund-raising is a crucial component of the director’s job.” Candler had smiled then, and they all smiled back. It was a slick answer they knew was prepared in advance and signified nothing, but they nonetheless treated it as if it were genuine.

While he explained all of this to Billy, their pita sandwiches arrived in webbed plastic bowls. The bowls glowed in the dark. Candler said, “They seemed to like me. From what Egri says I maybe didn’t hit it out of the park, but a solid ground rule double.”

“Once this stuff is settled, you’ll feel better,” Billy said. “The job, the women, the various hoops and ceremonies they’re putting you through. When at least some of this stuff is over, we’ll have a real conversation. I’ve got plenty of things to tell you. Big things, small things, all kinds of things.
Important
things. And a few questions. Like, am I going to be your best man?”

“Who else?”

“For either babe?”

“I’m marrying Lolly, and you’re my best man.” They ate for a while in silence. The glowing shark turned its head in their direction. Except for its luminescent blue eyes, it was a realistic-looking shark. “If I get the promotion,” Candler said, “I’ll take her to Hawaii for the honeymoon. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii. If I don’t get the promotion, I don’t know where we’ll go, maybe Tijuana. I could almost afford Tijuana.”

“I’m not going to date Lise,” Billy said, “no matter who you marry. Just so you know.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you could’ve been my best man,” Billy said, “but it was all of a sudden, and you didn’t even live in Flagstaff anymore.”

“I understand. Not a problem.”

“Any time I get married, I’d prefer for you to be my best man,” Billy said, “whether you actually do it or not. If I get married ten times, it’s you times ten, even if you’re never around.”

“You should eat something.”

“And if you do something that pisses me off, I’ll forgive you. No matter what.”

“Are we talking about Lise?”

“Just talking. Friends forgive each other, is what I’m saying. Even if one does something he knows will piss off the other. He must have a good reason, so he gets forgiven.”

“We
are
talking about Lise.”

Billy may have shrugged. Some dim movement of his neck and shoulders seemed to have occurred. Candler was reminded of talking in bed, those darkened conversations that anticipate sleep. A waitress down the aisle appeared in the halo of her penlight and seemed to be looking right at him. The penlight flicked off and he realized that he had not been imagining Lolly or Lise in his personal dark, but Dlu. He took another drink and understood that his plastic mug was empty again. Three beers on a workday lunch. Why on earth was he thinking about Dlu?

“You could go to Tucson,” Billy said, “honeymoon wise, as long as it’s not a summer wedding. Tucson’s cheap and you could see your mom. Does the best man go on the honeymoon?”

“Not traditionally.”

“I might, though, if you go to Tucson. I could stay with your mom.”

“You could stay with
your
mom.”

“Of course. Sure. Your mom’s a better cook, though, and she likes me better.”

“Which of them would you pick?”

“My mom or your mom?”

“Lolly or Lise.”

“If I were you and not me, then . . . uh, I’d marry either one of them,” he said, “and I don’t want to pick one ’cause if you wind up with the other one, then I’m the idiot who tried to prevent it, and if you choose the one I like, any time you have a fight you’ll blame your good old bud Billy for your troubles.”

“What a load of shit. I’m asking you as a friend for help.”

“Lolly is technically prettier, but they’re both plenty good enough looking.”

“Let’s get beyond the surface.”

“Okay, the deep stuff. Lolly is sexier, but Lise is plenty sexy.”

“That’s not the deep stuff.”

“You mean like, what? Personality?”

“Personality and deeper.”

“Like heart and soul?”

“Yeah, who would Springsteen tell me to marry?”

Billy finished his beer and used one of the penlights to check his watch. “All I can say is that night at Petco Park? It was like the best time I’ve had in maybe ten years.”

“That
was
fun,” Candler agreed. “But haven’t you had sex in the past ten years?”

“It was way more fun than sex. C’mon.
Baseball,
your best friend, a bottle of scotch, a bucket of beer, and Lise was pretty nice that night.

Really nice. And we almost got that foul ball. If it’d bounced our way instead of the wrong way, we’d’ve nabbed it. Look at it like this: who do you turn to when you need to talk?”

“You.”

“Yeah, well, you and I are already married, so the question is, which one of them is most like me?” He poured the last of the pitcher into the two glasses.

“You are
no
fucking help.”

“Eeny, meeny, miny, moe?”

“You’d marry Lise? Is that what you’re telling me? ’Cause she got us Padres tickets? That’s the deciding factor?”

“You could stay single.”

“That’s good advice. That may be the first good advice you’ve ever given me.”

“I’ve given you a ton of good advice. Who told you to lay off teasing that goon Parsons?”

“That was seventh grade.”

“Eighth. And I’m not telling you not to get married. I love being married. Quit thinking so much is what you should do. Use this.” He reached over the table and patted Candler’s chest.

“Use my rib cage?”

“The ticker in the cage.” Billy gulped down the last of his beer. “I’ve got to go. I’ve got to be there when my gang gets back.”

“When am I going to see your place?”

“I’m studying how to make phylo-topped Moroccan chicken stew. It’s harder than it looks. The first try was not so impressive. Cumin is a dangerous spice when used in large quantities. But I’m working on it. Then I’ll have you and Violet and Lolly and/or Lise over for Moroccan chicken stew. Really, I can’t see entertaining until you drop one or more girl from the menu. For that matter, the thought of cooking for your sister terrifies me.”

“She wouldn’t come, anyway.”

“Thanks for lunch,” Billy said, standing.

“Who says I’m paying?” Candler asked, but Billy merely stepped away from the table and shut off his penlight.

Rainyday phoned him to say that Mick, his one o’clock appointment, was in. “By the way,” she said, “the scrambling over the corpses has begun.”

“What are you talking about?” Candler asked. He was cleaning his desk with a Clorox-laden towelette, wishing he was better prepared for his afternoon. He didn’t feel drunk so much as sleepy, but he had no idea what she was referring to.

“Your clients,” she said. “They’ll have to be divvied up once you’re the head muckety-muck. Patricia has asked for Mick. Seeing him here reminded me.”

It took him a moment to turn
Patricia
into
the Barnstone.
Of course, she’d ask for Mick. The phrase
she wanted him in her clutches
came to mind but that was ridiculous. The request annoyed him, but there was no argument to make against it. She was a good counselor, and she already had a relationship with Mick.

“Hey-ey, anybody there?” Rainyday said. “You don’t have any objection, do you?”

“Let me think about it.” He hung up the phone and took in a big breath, which made him yawn. He recalled one of the exercises that Clay Hao had taught him.
Look at your client as he or she walks into your room as if you’d never seen the person before. See who’s actually there, rather than what you expect to see.

The door swung open. Candler saw a young man of average height and slight build with incisive green eyes, a surprisingly handsome if uncertain face. Candler took a moment to place the uncertainty, which was not that of a person opening the door on what might be a tiger, but of a person wary of looking into a mirror, afraid to see who he might be today. Mick Coury was a good kid, but he did not know it because he could not lay hands on who he was. He walked through life with the distraught manner of someone fretting over imminent catastrophe, and he understood that the source of the devastation was from within. He was not paranoid, did not think the world conspired against him, but understood that his mind conspired against itself. “Come in, Mick. Have a seat. Give me a second to look at your file.” Those stabbing green eyes! How had he never noticed them before? Lustrous and tragic and belonging to a child. He was not a child, but those eyes. They were not an adult’s eyes.