Ladies and Gentlemen (11 page)

Her husband answered the phone.

“George?” Thane said, over the racket of children’s voices in New York.

“Who’s this?”

“It’s Roddy.”

Nothing.

“Roddy Thane.”

“Oh,” he said. “Right.”

Now hearing Ashley in the background, he turned up the volume on the receiver and asked, “How are you?”

But George had already dropped the phone with a clatter. In spite of everything old and new alike, Thane was excited to speak with Ashley. It had been several years, and there was much to say.

“Who is it?” he heard her ask.

“It’s Roddy,” George said.

“What does he want?”

“
I
don’t know,” George said.

She took the phone and said, “Roddy,” cooly, as her little girl screamed in the background.

“Is this a bad time?”

Ashley quieted the daughter down. “What does it sound like?”

He now heard the son screaming back at his sister. “How are the kids?” he asked, insanely thinking of them as his children, the ones he should’ve had with Ashley.

“You know, they’re kids. Joy and work, work and joy.” She covered the receiver and said something to the boy, then announced that she’d come back on by clearing her throat.

“I can imagine,” Thane said.

Ashley waited. Thane waited back. He needed to tell her something, today or maybe later, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it. He could feel her considering this.

“What is it, Roddy?”

They still knew each other, after all. “Something happened to me,” he said, “something serious. I need legal advice.”

But she again covered the receiver and spoke sternly to the boy, who was complaining about something his sister had made him eat. Thane envisioned what Ashley would look like at this moment, still in her suit, just home from work, balancing it all.

“Go on,” she said.

“It concerns something I’ve heard. Actually, that I’ve been
told
. But I’m afraid to tell you because I don’t want to involve you.”

“Then don’t tell me.”

This tone had been only a budding threat when they were together, but now it had matured. Here he was, emotional, on the edge, while she chose to stay above it, all calm and stoic. He didn’t say a word.

“One second,” she said, the strain palpable in her voice as the boy’s complaints grew louder. She’d lifted him into her arms. “There,” she said. “Go on.”

Thane whispered now, cupping the receiver. “I’ve been told about a murder. A murderer, I mean. His whereabouts. It’s all over the papers here. But the man who did it is still at large. But he’s being helped.”

“You’re not making sense.”

He took a deep breath. “A man I’ve become acquainted with claims to be giving shelter to this criminal. A suspected murderer. At his house, right now.”

Ashley cleared her throat again. “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it?”

“Do I sound like it?”

“Do you believe this guy?”

“Given his background, I think he might be telling the truth.”

“But do you
believe
him?”

“I don’t know.”

The little girl’s screams made Thane jump.

“Jason!” Ashley yelled. “
Never
throw things at your sister!”

“I
hate
salt,” the boy blurted.

“What are you asking me, Roddy?”

“What I want to know …” He took a deep breath. “What I need to figure out before I do anything …” He looked up at the ceiling and draped his arm over his eyes. This reminded him of all the long conversations they had after she’d first left, when he felt his grip on her slipping, their time together ending, but he wanted to hold her attention for as long as possible, no matter how bitter the discussion. “Is this aiding and abetting?” he asked. “I mean legally, what’s my responsibility here? Do I have to call the police, or turn this guy in? Ashley, I don’t know what to do.”

She was silent for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, no,” she said. “Jesus, Roddy, you actually had me worried for a second.” She let out a loud guffaw. “No, it’s hardly aiding and abetting. There’s not a court in the country that would convict you for doing nothing.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Think about it. You’ve got secondhand knowledge you’d never believe in the first place about a crime that’s been committed. And this man you’re talking about could just as well be some psycho you passed on the street. Are you sure this friend of yours isn’t crazy?”

Thane let her suggestion pass without comment.

“No,” she said. “You have no responsibility at all.”

“But what if this person commits another act of violence?”

“Who? This figment fugitive this other character’s hiding? What if he does?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s a moral question. And it’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Thane listened to himself breathe.

“Trust me, Roddy, you’re safe.”

They were quiet again.

“Tell me something, though. Why did you get involved with a guy like this in the first place?”

He thought about his book idea, then closed his eyes. “It just happened. Why?”

“Because it’s surprising.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just isn’t your speed.”

“And how’s that?”

“It’s kind of dangerous.”

“I don’t understand.”

She sighed, and he thought he could detect a hint of fondness in it.

“Remember, Roddy, when we lived in St. Louis? In that little apartment of yours. Where was it? Dogtown, right?”

“On Clayton.”

“We used to hear gunfire at night, that
clap-clap
sound. The DA I was working for and I both told you that sooner or later the
person firing that gun would eventually find his way to my desk. And you said you never could do what I do. You’d never go there.”

“Yes,” he said, and heard the little girl say, “Pick me up too.”

“Hold the phone for me then, up to my ear,” Ashley told her.

He could hear Ashley breathing hard as she lifted the second child—a sound from deep within her he’d heard so many times he was shocked by how familiar it was.

“Who’s that?” the boy asked.

“A person I know,” Ashley said.

“Who?”

“Just someone.”

“Is he your friend?”

“Maybe I should go,” Thane said.

“Look, don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s probably just a story.”

“Absolutely.”

“Everything else good?”

“Good. Great job in Roanoke. Beautiful house in the mountains. You?”

“Good.” She set her children down, and they scrambled off. “Busy.” The boy screamed again. “Life.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Take care,” she said. “And Roddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t go there, okay?” She was referring to the incident, though he knew she really meant something else altogether.

“Good-bye,” he said.

After their conversation, he sat staring at the telephone. Finally, after a period of time he couldn’t measure, he grabbed his car keys and left the office.

He taped a note on the classroom door saying the seminar was canceled, then got in his car and drove downtown, having no idea where he was going or why. Downtown was only ten miles from the university, but there was a wreck on the interstate and he was stuck in traffic, just another vehicle in a long line of taillights inching forward, of tailpipes blowing steam into the air, stop-starting by inches toward whatever destruction lay ahead for them to slow down and gaze upon. Then everything came to a complete halt. Thane sat in the endless line with his foot on the brake until he grew tired and put the car in park. Drivers were getting out of their cars to look, a few even sitting on their hoods, their bodies blanched of color from the headlights behind them. Thane opened his own door for a moment but didn’t unbuckle his seat belt, just looked at the road and, for reasons he didn’t understand, reached down to touch the pavement: it was cold. Then he closed the door and cut the ignition. To his right was a family of four, two little girls in back watching separate screens attached to the back of their parents’ headrests, their faces ablaze with cartoons. Their father’s hands were fixed on the wheel in a pantomime of driving, his wife’s face illuminated by the ghostly light from her PDA. To Thane’s left, a woman in a business suit was painting her nails. He heard a roar and saw her look up as a Life Flight helicopter passed directly overhead, so low that the drivers standing
on the road ducked and winced, their clothes rippling with the rotors’ spill. The craft shrank quickly into the distance and soon all was silent again. “No good news arrives by helicopter,” a doctor friend had once told him, and he thought of what Ashley had said—“Don’t go there”—and then remembered Donato’s note in his pocket. He imagined calling him, threatening to alert the police if he didn’t let him come by immediately. He wanted to see the man Donato was protecting, to stand before him, to smell his fear, to hear what he had to say, if only to make sure he was real. Thane put the car in drive, looked at the median to his left, and saw he could make a U-turn out of this mess. It would mean something, wouldn’t it? To break from his character, his story. To seize something. And he wondered: Was the old wisdom true? If you entered the dragon’s lair, challenged and defeated the beast, were all its riches then yours? Or was there a succession of beasts, of one battle after another with no final outcome, no rest between victories? Because the world seemed too wide, its fortunes too random, and its blessings too fleeting to honor one man’s bravery—or to punish his cowardice. Yet in the end, something must be done.

We were sitting on the floor of Will’s dorm room, smoking pot, when the conversation turned to death.

“My sister, Elise, saw her boyfriend get killed in a car wreck,” Casey said. She exhaled contemplatively, blowing a stream of smoke toward the lit end of the joint, which she held like a cigarette. “They’d left this party together. But they were in separate cars. And … what was his name—Doug! He was driving behind her. He had all these kids from the party piled in his dad’s Mustang. Apparently he wasn’t drunk or anything, but they were driving on this winding road along the coast near our house, and the next thing Elise sees in the rearview mirror is the Mustang crashing through the guardrail and going over the cliff.”

“She saw this?” Alyssa said.

Casey passed her the joint and she took a hit even though she didn’t like pot. Casey and Will were both seniors; they’d been a couple since the dawn of time. I was going to break up with Alyssa that night, but she didn’t know it yet. It was 1986, and we’d just started our sophomore year.

“Just like I said, she saw them go over the cliff. That was it.”

“Did the other kids in the car die?”

I couldn’t tell if Alyssa was really taken with the story, or just trying to feign deep concern to a girl higher up on the social ladder.

“Yes,” Casey said. “And no. Including Dave, the boyfriend, there were five kids in the car, and three of them died, one ended up a paraplegic, and the fifth, who wasn’t wearing a seat belt, got thrown from the car and hooked on a branch. He hung there like a cartoon character until the fire department came.”

“You’re full of shit,” Will said.

Casey shot him a look. “I’m
not
full of shit.” They already communicated like an eternally married couple, their expressions registering with each other as clearly as if they were telepathic. “This was a legendary tragedy in my high school and a defining moment in my sister’s life.”

“There’s no such thing as a defining moment,” Will said. “We invent defining moments.”

“Well, aren’t you a fucking philosopher.”

“How come I’ve never heard this story before? How did this one escape me?”

“Maybe you weren’t listening. You never listen.” She burst out laughing. We all did, then stared at one another’s feet.

“I don’t know anyone personally who’s died,” Alyssa said after a while. “Not that I’m rushing to have that experience.” She was part Lebanese and had short dark hair, olive-colored skin, and enormous brown eyes—just heart-stoppingly beautiful. Occasionally I caught Will looking at her, enthralled, and it pleased me. She was trophy-pretty and just as smart as hell, and there was a feeling
of one-upmanship in his admiration of her that I couldn’t help but enjoy.

“But my brother was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck and it caused severe brain damage, so I guess he’s kind of dead.”

Alyssa considered her brother for a moment. She had that far-off look you don’t realize you get when you’re stoned. I thought she might even cry, though she was rarely sentimental about Danny. I personally found him frightening, and not at all worthy of tears.

I’d met him this past summer—though you don’t meet Danny so much as see him—when I’d spent the weekend with Alyssa at her house, ostensibly to take care of her younger sister and brother while her parents went out of town, but really so we could fuck every free minute that we had. Danny was the eldest sibling and very tall, easily six foot two. He was olive-skinned like his sisters, but slack-looking in the eyes. We all stood in the kitchen together while Alyssa’s mother laid down the law for the weekend, and Alyssa’s father, who was a plaintiffs’ attorney for Vietnam veterans and scary rich, was standing with Danny and me by the padlocked kitchen cabinets. (Even the refrigerator had a digital keypad.) Danny was shifting his weight back and forth and watching his father the way a dog watches someone eat, which Mr. Richardson eventually noticed.