A Small Matter (11 page)

“The Last Rites aren’t for the dead,” he
said. “They’re a prayer for healing and recovery for the gravely
ill. I’m doing the same for Mulroney tonight in light of his
imminent surgery. But don’t get me wrong. I’m banking on the both
of you gaining full recovery and living a long life together. When
you do, you’re going to have to learn to stop thinking only of
yourself and more about sacrificing yourself for others.”

“Duly noted, Father,” she said. “But at this
point, I’ll need a miracle to recover.”

“It’s times like these,” he said, “when
miracles are most likely to occur.”

“Father,” she said. “Now that I’ve confessed,
is it possible for me to receive Jesus?”

He pulled out a silver disk, snapped it open
and removed a flat, circular, white wafer, which he broke in half,
carefully returning half to the disk. He held up the Bread of
Angels before her eyes. “The Body of Christ,” he said.

“Amen,” Vickie said, taking the semi-circle
onto her tongue. She chewed thoughtfully and with some vigor before
swallowing.

“I’m taking the other half to Mulroney,” he
said.

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “I’m as
prepared for Heaven now as I’ll ever be--but I still wonder if I’m
doing the right thing by running away from the medical
treatments--am I guilty of murdering myself?”

Father drained his coffee cup. “It all
depends,” he said. “Tell me why you’re refusing treatment for the
cancer.”

“Pure fright,” Vickie said. “They’ll inject
me with heavy cancer fighting drugs that’ll waste me--if the drugs
fail, they might even go in and cut out my insides until there’s
nothing left.”

“Avoiding suffering,” Father said, “or
choosing a lesser suffering in the final stages of life isn’t
necessarily wrong--it certainly isn’t self-murder. On the other
hand, it isn’t the high road, either--it’s somewhat selfish. Again,
we’re back to the compassion issue--you’re also lacking in
compassion for yourself.”

“But am I wrong?” Vickie said. “What if
there’s an outside chance they can stop the tumor?”

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “You’re not
guilty of murdering yourself because either way, the outcome is
unknown. It’s your choice to make. It’s your call. There’s no
condemnation either way.”

“Thank you, Father,” she said. “I wanted to
keep my dignity.”

“And so you shall, Vickie,” he said. “And so
you shall.”

Chapter 16

“Vickie,” the voice said. “Vickie.” It was
dark all around her. Inside the darkness, she was alone. She felt
centered, secure, and peaceful. The sound of the voice calling her
name contaminated the spaces of her darkness with a harsh energy.
She discovered that, by nodding her head downward, she could sink
deeper and deeper into the void and away from the energy of her
name. She finally sank far enough to where she knew she’d be able
to rest completely--a place where she had no name and no
identity--a place where she was nothing--where the nothing was so
complete that even nothing was nothing.

Something was wrong. There was a shaking in
the nothing, and a sharp smell. The shaking and the smell flung her
upward and outward into a universe of light and pain.

“Vickie,” Dalk’s voice said.

Her eyes snapped open. She was back in her
booth, feeling the rough hand of Dalk grasping her neck from
behind, the air she breathed still tingling from the smelling salts
he was waving under her nose. A deep sigh escaped her as she looked
around.

“You were out like a light,” Dalk said.
“Welcome back.”

“You should have left me down there,” Vickie
said.

The joint had filled up and the smell of
bodies, booze and burgers frying draped her in a cape of nausea.
The jukebox was hammering her ears with Dionne Warwick’s, Don’t
Make Me Over, the singer’s tender buzz saw soprano cutting crudely
through the ambient crowd noise. She rubbed her cheeks and her
hands came away wet. She looked down.

“Aww,” she said. “I don’t even remember
falling asleep. I’ve been lying here in a puddle of my own drool.
How long was I out? What time is it? I think I’m going to be
sick.”

“It’s a little after 9,” Dalk said. “I just
got here. The bartender said you’ve been lying here face down for
over two hours.”

“You mean everybody that’s come in here in
the past two hours has had to walk past my sleeping body, and that
bartender didn’t try to wake me?”

“I’m afraid so,” Dalk said.

“I want you to jump over the bar and do one
of your nasty judo pinches on him,” Vickie said.

“That wouldn’t be too cool,” Dalk said. “It
has a certain lack of compassion. Besides, you probably needed the
rest. At least you’re safe when you’re passed out in here. None of
the other cops would let anybody touch you or rip off your
purse.”

“Don’t start in on me about compassion,”
Vickie said. “I already got an earful from Father Larry. And don’t
preach to me with your Zen-babble about how everything’s the way
it’s supposed to be.”

“You need to eat something and pull yourself
together,” Dalk said. “Your makeup’s all over your face--you look
like a clown on LSD. I’ll get us a couple of burgers.”

“Not for me,” she said. “And you can’t
either. Listen to me--I’m getting married in three hours.”

“Tonight?” Dalk said.

“In the UCLA Medical Center Chapel,” Vickie
said. She extended her ring finger. “Check out the rock. That’s at
least thirty-five-thousand-dollars’ worth.”

“May I ask whom you’re marrying, and why
you’re doing it in a hospital?” Dalk said. “Would that be too
much?”

“Mulroney proposed to me this morning,” she
said. “But he’s going in for a bypass tomorrow morning, so we’re in
kind of a hurry--we want to be married in case the doctors blow
it--and we need you to be best man.”

Dalk rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “You’re
putting out an awful lot of thermal energy,” he said. “I can almost
feel the clouds of steam rising in every direction--dare I mention
the car I found waiting for me at Simonson Mercedes earlier this
evening? I’m now driving a rocket sled on wheels that undoubtedly
costs more than most people’s homes. They even had two goons come
out and forcibly remove my existing vehicle, saying something about
taking it to the dump to be burned.”

“Do you like your new car?” she said.

“How can I put this,” Dalk said. “I’ve spent
the last fifteen years pursuing the Zen ideal of simplicity. I had
almost made it to the point where by next year, all I’d have to do
is sit under a street lamp on Ventura Boulevard and meditate until
I melted into the void. But this evening, a whole heap of
materialism fell across my path, and now it looks as though I’ll be
doing my meditating in a red-and-black leather car seat.”

“Dalk,” Vickie said. “Cut the Zen chatter and
give it to me in a language this old Valley Girl can
understand.”

“In a word,” Dalk said, “no--make it two
words--the car is--totally awesome!”

“Like it?”

“Love it!”

“I knew you would. But that’s not all--I’ve
got a few other surprises for you. In addition to your new ride,
I’ve also found you a house and a wife!”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh,” Dalk chuckled.

“Don’t laugh,” Vickie said. “I’m
serious.”

“A house and a wife?” he said. “Okay, I’ll
play along--tell me about my new house and my new wife.”

“The house I’m not sure about yet,” Vickie
said, “but your new wife’s name is Mary-Jo and I can tell you right
now, she’s a knockout--a for-real Pam Anderson.”

“Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh. And I suppose this
beautiful woman is going to walk in here any minute and propose to
me.”

“See for yourself,” Vickie said. “That’s her
right there, coming through the door.”

Chapter 17

Mary-Jo’s fast fresh appearance triggered an
eerie silence across the barroom as every male eye fell under the
hypnotic dazzle of her abundant sensuality. She slid into the booth
opposite Dalk and Vickie and for a moment it seemed as though one
could hear the slamming of the doors of hope in a couple of dozen
boozed-up cops’ hearts as they realized she was taken.

As there was no protocol for the first
meeting among equals insofar as arranged marriages were concerned,
nobody said anything for what seemed an eternity. Vickie sat
twirling a mini-braid through her fingers. Dalk sat dumbly, like a
deer caught in the headlights of Mary-Jo’s beauty. Mary-Jo, the
trained salesperson of the three, and probably used to difficult
psychic encounters where a lot was at stake, took a deep breath and
entered the water first.

“I’m going to openly speak my mind,” she
said. “And I hope what I have to say doesn’t put up any boundaries
between us. First of all, Dalk, hello. My name is Mary-Jo. I’ve
been thinking about our first meeting all afternoon, wondering what
you’d be like, and what I’d say, and what you’d say to what I’d
say, and I went through a lot of anxiety. I wondered if I’d come
off looking foolish because we wouldn’t be on the same wavelength
or whatever.”

“Excuse me,” Vickie said. “But did you find a
house?”

Mary-Jo’s face brightened. “I got you a
fabulous Tudor-style on Hill Street, a few blocks from the beach,”
she said. “We chartered a helicopter and courier'd all the
documents for the necessary signatures, and I even bribed a friend
of mine at the County who recorded the transaction for us an hour
ago. A friend of mine from the Design Center is over there now,
setting the place up. By tomorrow morning, the house will be
completely furnished and stocked with every imaginable amenity. As
we speak, the moving company is packing up everything at your old
place and getting ready to transfer Dalk’s personal belongings to
the Hill Street property.”

“What?” Dalk said. “You bought me a house?
I’m moving to Santa Monica?”

Mary-Jo nodded, and pulled out a handful of
pictures of the house and a key ring holding a dozen keys. “The
house is yours,” she said, sliding the keys over to Dalk. “We can
go over and see it tonight if you like.”

Vickie flipped quickly through the pictures.
“Check it out,” she said to Dalk.

Dalk flipped through the pictures. “This is
my new house?” he said.

“For life,” Vickie said. “There’s even a
trust account to pay all the taxes, insurance and any upkeep you’ll
need done. Since you have no taste, I even had Mary-Jo furnish it
for you.”

Dalk hugged Vickie gently, the tears
streaming from his eyes. “I’m completely stunned,” he said.

“It’s about time you were stunned by
something,” Vickie said.

“If I’m not careful,” he said, “this may turn
out to be the greatest day of my sorry life.”

“Mary-Jo, I need your help,” Vickie said.

“Anything,” Mary-Jo said.

“I’m getting married tonight at midnight,”
Vickie said. “My fiancé’s going in for a bypass in the morning.
It’ll be our last chance to tie the knot for awhile. Dalk’s filling
in as best man, but I’d consider it a huge favor if you’d be my
maid of honor.”

“Oh my gosh, of course I will,” she said.

“Thank you,” Vickie said. “Help me out of the
booth,” she said to Dalk. “I’m going to the powder room. When I get
back, we’ve got to clear out of here and make tracks for the
wedding site.”

Mary-Jo looked at Dalk. “Blast,” she said. “I
had this all planned, but when I walked in and saw you sitting
there, the whole thing flew right out of my mind.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Dalk said. “At least you
had some time to think about my sister’s crazy idea. I learned of
your existence about five minutes ago. Vickie made the announcement
about you, and the next thing I knew, you were coming through the
door. I feel a little embarrassed. Hey, look--I know I’m out of
your league--we can drop the whole thing after the wedding if you
want to.”

“How did you feel when you saw me walk in?”
she said. “Disappointed?”

“I’ll give it to you straight,” Dalk said.
“When I first saw you, my mouth dried up completely. I felt like a
schoolkid who discovers he has a crush on his homeroom
teacher.”

“But you said you felt embarrassed. Why?”

“I hate to admit this,” Dalk said, “but
before you walked in, I was making fun of Vickie’s announcement
that she’d found me a wife. I was mocking her. I asked her if a
beautiful woman was going to walk in and propose to me--I was
teasing her about it, but suddenly there you were and it hit me
hard. I had the crazy thought that my jest was about to come true,
that you were going to walk up and ask me to marry you, and I was
going to say yes.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have minded having
me, a total stranger, walk right up to you and propose?”

“It does sound crazy, and not a little
sexist,” Dalk said, “but when I saw you, I had this hope come over
me that somehow my sister had really and truly found me a
wife.”

Mary-Jo smiled.

“Ohhh,” Dalk said. “Your smile is
unbelievable--it moved my insides around.”

“I had a moment of doubt outside the door,”
Mary-Jo said. “You know, the feeling that when it came right down
to it, was this going to turn into another pickup in a bar? At that
point, I almost didn’t come in.”

“What kept you going?” Dalk said.

“I figured where was the harm?” Mary-Jo said.
“But when I saw you, I, too, was moved--excessively.” She blinked
hard, the beginnings of tears sparkling in her wide green eyes.
“This can’t be happening,” she said. “The truth is, I’d kind of
gotten used to my life the way it was--not exactly a joy every day,
nor an adventure, but it was bearable.”

“Go on,” Dalk said hoarsely.

“I’m 35 years old,” she said. “I guess I’d
gotten used to the idea that I couldn’t have my dreams. The pain of
getting used to that is brutal--but one adjusts. Of course, the
spark goes out inside--that’s the price.”

“Yes,” Dalk said. “It’s like they take away
the good things one-by-one until finally you’re left with the
feeling that it’s not worth trying anymore.”