Good to the Last Kiss (5 page)

‘Was the river beautiful?’

‘We thought it was. So far away from other people. A little wild. Odd flowers and leaves. I’m sure it doesn’t compare to the Amazon rainforest.’

‘And what happened to Donnie?’

‘Don’t know. After awhile, we grew up, I guess. No time to go out and play.’

‘I really want you to come out and play with me.’

‘You really think I am an adequate antidote to your malaise? Maybe you just need to find someone richer, more bored than you are.’

‘What if I don’t like rich people?’

‘I’m not sure that I do either,’ Julia said, unable to suppress a grin.

‘Let me tell you a little secret. I’m not sure I like the vast middle class. Boring. Cows. Maybe some day you’ll have to show me the Cedar River. Change my mind.’

‘You think I could change your mind? About anything.’

‘Do something,’ he said.

‘I’m happy,’ she said.

‘What’s going on? How many years do we have on this earth? Doesn’t matter. We’re content with cable TV. It’s unfathomable. Worse, there are millions of homo sapiens who are more excited by virtual reality than reality. What are they saying? “I want to live in a world that looks like the one I can control.” Aren’t they saying, “I don’t want to have a relationship with a real, live, breathing human being?” Christ, breathe. Live! There is a real world out there to experience. Do everything once.’

Maldeaux looked around, noticed others were staring. ‘We’ve already covered that, right? Tomorrow? One more opportunity to get to know one another?’

‘I’m going out of town. I have a little cabin up around Russian River. My escape.’

‘Another river, right?’ he smiled. ‘You like rivers.’

‘I guess,’ she said.

‘Maybe I’ll go with you.’

‘No. I think you’ve just missed the point.’

At the door to the Estrella apartments they stood quietly.

‘I’m not going to invite you up,’ Julia said.

‘OK. Despite what you might think I wasn’t trying to work my way into your bed.’

‘Good.’

‘I’m not sure I’m looking for romance.’

‘Just a pal, huh?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know why I expect you to understand me. Do you have a yearning?’

‘A yearning?’

‘Yes. A word we don’t use anymore. It is a want you want so bad it’s painful. Do you?’

‘What about you?’ She didn’t want to think about it.

‘There doesn’t seem to be much left. That’s pretty frightening.’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Julia said.

‘I know. I know you don’t. I’m babbling. I guess I don’t want to leave you just yet.’

‘No, tell me what you mean about being frightened.’

‘Maybe . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. You’ve got your key?’

Julia nodded.

‘I’m gone.’ Thaddeus Maldeaux said, disappearing around the corner.

That night two things were on her mind. A bit of guilt about David Seidman. No matter how much she tried to justify her rightness of action and no matter how many times he said he understood, Seidman seemed to stoke her guilt.

Number two was obvious: Thaddeus Maldeaux. Julia tried to think of something else. It didn’t work. The more she tried to get her thoughts away from him, the more they were tugged back to Thaddeus. It had been a long time since she had these kinds of feelings. Frightened, hopeful, elated – all simultaneously or at least in rapid succession.

These were schoolgirl feelings. ‘Get a grip on it Julia,’ she told herself. ‘He’ll take you for a little ride out to the middle of nowhere and you’ll have to walk back.’

She remembered when she was fifteen. Donnie Patton. She remembered how he made her feel all rubbery. She remembered the walk by the muddy Cedar River – a dozen or more miles outside of Iowa City – out in the middle of nowhere. She remembered her dog, the white German Shepherd romping along the shore. She remembered the brown water, the dragonflies, the kissing on the sultry summer day – his body pressing up against hers, his moist lips, softly pressing at first, until her heart began to beat rapidly. Julia remembered it clearly. He pressed harder, sucking her breath from her.

She remembered his hand slipping inside her blouse, underneath the bra. He took her hand brought it down, past the waist, pressed her palm against the hardness beneath the coarse denim of his jeans.

Julia pulled away. She allowed her hand to go back, to be guided inside. She let him remove her blouse, then finally the rest. His palms were sticky and he smelled of oranges. Funny, she thought. Funny what you remember. She remembered her white blouse waving like a flag, stuck on the limbs of a dead tree.

The next day Donnie ignored her.

Julia didn’t want to think of Donnie anymore, or of any of the others, including the one she married. She climbed out of bed, went to the window and looked down on Ivy Street, little more than an alley two floors beneath her window.

She felt alone and lonely. When she realized at least she hadn’t been thinking of Thaddeus, she smiled. But, there she was. Thinking of Thaddeus. She was too old for this, she thought. Too old. It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t sensible. It was frightening.

Her choices in men had never been too wise. Despite the enormous pull he already had upon her, she was sure she needed to resist.

Julia climbed back into bed. She felt safer in the little alcove. She thought about calling Paul. It was too late.

She closed her eyes. Did she have a yearning? Yes. She did.

The Camaro rumbled first down Dolores, then swung over to Mission Street. The car and its
basso profundo
engine and the familiar rap repetition didn’t cause much of a stir. Mean, loud cars weren’t rare in the neighborhood.

There were a lot of people still on the street despite the lateness of the hour. The night didn’t feel right. Too many people. Somebody would see her get into the car. A brother, maybe. A friend. He looked at his gas gauge. He was maybe twenty miles until empty. It wouldn’t do to have someone in the car while he stopped for gas.

If this sexual freakiness welled up in some dark part of his brain, as it seemed to, young Earl Falwell sensed he was still in the half-light, still in control, though barely. He could get through the night. Surely he could. He wanted to. He didn’t like what was going to happen. He never did. This was the worst time in the cycle. He was being torn apart. It always tore him apart until he gave into it.

What if he just locked himself up in a room somewhere? He’d even thought about going to a head doctor. He thought about going to the police. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He only thought about turning himself in when the urge was early up on him. By the time it got a grip, he could tell himself – convince himself – this would be the last time – and he could convince himself it was just this once. Just this one time. One more time.

Once he found the right person, there were no thoughts about what he would or wouldn’t do. He would be in the middle of doing it. Afterward, after the ritual, after his tension was relieved and the obsession released its hold, the next morning he’d be so disgusted he couldn’t imagine himself ever doing it again. He always thought it was over. But it never was. Maybe he could chain himself to the wall and go cold turkey, rid himself of these relentless urges altogether. Be free. Live a life.

He could get through the night, he thought. He’d just pick up a bottle of tequila or gin and drink himself silly. When he was drunk he only thought about doing it. Sober, it was hell.

He swung back around the block on his third pass at 24th Street and headed back toward Market. He took Van Ness north to Lombard Street and Lombard west until he found a gas station. He pulled in.

He looked around. He kind of liked Lombard. Though he was born in rural Tennessee, Lombard reminded him of a lot of streets in a lot of cities he’d passed through. It was comfortable in a way. It was an everywhere street, with its gas stations and motels. Could have been Dallas or Kansas City or Nashville. Certain parts of any city were all the same. The street was still busy – a stream of cars headed west to get on the Golden Gate.

At the pump, as he put the nozzle in the hole, he saw a girl get out of her car. Once she passed to the pumps and the green fluorescent light shown on her, he thought she might be the one. She had that look. Somewhere between pain and death. A strange nervousness that made for a familiar sadness. A long, delicate neck. This was irresistible.

He felt it all come back. If only that one chick hadn’t spoiled it all the other night. If that woman’s face hadn’t spoiled his ritual, he could have gone for awhile without him getting caught up in it. It was coming on altogether too quick. Now, dammit. It was going to happen now. With this girl. Damn!

He pushed the little gadget on the hose that let the gas flow on its own and walked over to the chick that got out of her Mazda. It was an old Mazda, the one with the aluminum, rotary engine. A wonder it was still running, he thought.

‘Need help?’ he asked her.

She kind of jerked her head up in surprise. ‘Oh’ slipped from her lips almost accidentally.

‘Didn’t mean to scare you,’ he said, looking from her eyes to her long, graceful neck.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. But it was obvious she didn’t mean it. ‘I don’t need help.’

She was definitely scared. Her eyes darted about like a bird’s. She was in her twenties, late twenties. Older than he normally found to be right.

‘I can check the oil for you.’ He noticed movement in the backseat of her car. It was a child. The child was in a car seat. It wouldn’t be a problem.

‘I’m in a hurry.’ She said it hurriedly.

It would be tough for him to let her go.

One more, he thought. ‘Then I’ll stop it. If I have to kill myself to do it, I’ll stop it. After this one.’

He had miscalculated. When next he looked up she was paying for her gas. He shut off his pump immediately; but she was on her way back to her car. He had to pay. Pay quickly. Just as he got to the register the guy behind the counter got a phone call. He chatted. She was in her car. For a moment he thought about making a break, leaving a twenty and a ten dollar bill on the counter to cover the twenty-one on the pump. No. Damn. Fuck. She was driving away. She peeled out of the station as if she knew of her specific and immediate peril.

Damn, he was getting too desperate, too careless. He’d have to make it through tonight.

He didn’t understand these mood swings. How quickly fear would overtake his confidence or – as quick as the flick of a switch – how suddenly he could see so clearly the object of his desire and know how to obtain it.

The steroids, probably, he thought. Cool it, he told himself.

The next day seemed especially long for Julia Bateman. Because Paul was to pull eight hours on Saturday and Sunday, Julia took Friday by herself. There wasn’t much of a point. The subject of her investigation hadn’t budged from the house.

She discovered Thaddeus standing in front of the entrance to the Estrella when she returned home.

‘No,’ she said, simply.

‘Why don’t I go with you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said again.

‘We can go to Mexico.’

‘That’s not the point. The point is that I need a rest. A little solitude. And there’s no point at all in the two of us doing much of anything together.’

‘You’re terrible,’ he said, smiling.

‘I do mean it.’

‘Look, what’s wrong with Mexico?’

‘Nothing. Go. Enjoy yourself.’ Julia turned, took the keys from her purse and moved into the small entryway before the locked doors.

He followed.

‘The only thing about the lovely middle class is that they put such limits upon themselves. They can’t allow someone to do something nice for them. They can’t do anything on the spur of the moment. Let me show you an extraordinary place in Costa Rica. Really. It’s not the least bit decadent.’ He smiled. ‘It’s wholesome and everything.

She had to acknowledge that part of her, the ‘I don’t want to be indebted’ part of her personality. She might also have to agree that she lacked real spontaneity.

‘Thanks,’ she said, putting the key into the lock. ‘But I don’t want to go.’

‘Do it for me, please. I am so bored. Everybody I know is so cynical about all the things one shouldn’t be cynical about and not the least bit cynical of the things they should. I want to show you this absolutely incredible jungle in Costa Rica. You won’t regret it. We’ll be like brother and sister or two five-year-olds on a hike into the woods. We won’t even play doctor. It will be fun. Innocent. An adventure.’

‘Please take no for an answer,’ she said. She knew she was being stubborn. She also felt her resolve slip. She was more than tempted to accept. And what would be wrong with that? Nothing, except that she didn’t want things to move as fast as they would if the two of them were to spend that kind of time in that kind of place – just the two of them.

She didn’t want to feel what she was feeling. There was no way the two of them would be forever. And she didn’t want a short-term emotional investment with someone who was improbably but definitely appealing. ‘No.’ She stared at him before going in.

‘You must let me help you experience what it means to be alive.’ Thaddeus was speaking to no one now.

The next morning Thaddeus tried calling her. The answering machine picked up. He decided not to leave a message. She was on her way to the river, apparently.

He called David Seidman. And Seidman agreed to meet him at the club. An hour of handball. A quick lunch. David could squeeze it in, he said.

Seidman picked up a surprising win. He hadn’t been skillful, but he was full of determination. Thaddeus called it ‘heart’ and was pleased. Winning wasn’t the objective for Maldeaux. Never was. Keeping fit, challenging himself was. For Seidman winning was the purpose of the game. It was the purpose of life.