Last Night at the Lobster (14 page)

They’re waiting for him in the break room—Ty wearing his slashed coat like Manny’s twin, Leron fitting his skully over his ears precisely, as if it’s a style. Manny remembers Jacquie going skating with him in that coat, the wispy fake fur of the hood tickling his chin, and burying his cold nose in her warm neck. She yelped and did the same to him, payback.

“Everybody got everything?” he asks.

“Looks like you got something,” Roz says, and he opens the bag to show her.

“Only you.”

“What is it?” Rich asks.

“Crap,” she says.

They file out, Manny trailing, killing the lights. They stop at the front doors to bundle up while he clicks off the bar and then the dining room section by section until they’re in the dark. Behind them the live tank burbles, while the wind whips snow over the walk. He cuts the outside lights, peering through the doors to be sure, then shoos everyone so he can set the alarm. On the wall, the marlin’s curved belly glimmers, and he has to remind himself that this isn’t his last time in the Lobster, even if it feels like it.

He does it quickly, not wanting to let Rich and Leron get away. They’re already starting across the lot for the lights of the mall and the bus stop, and Manny has to chase after them, keys knocking at his hip, calling into the blizzard. They look back, wary, as if he might confiscate their bottles.

“Hey,” he says, “I just wanted to thank you for working today,” and shakes their hands. “If either of you guys is interested in the Olive Garden, come by this week and I’ll see what I can do, ’cause Warren’s definitely not getting it.”

“All right,” Leron says, or, “That’s all right,” Manny can’t tell which.

“That’s in Bristol,” Rich asks.

“Think about it,” Manny says, and lets them go.

Jacquie and Roz and Ty are trudging around the side, sticking to the tire tracks. The plow guy hasn’t been back, and Manny wonders if he should call them, as if he’s being graded on the lot tomorrow.

They all help Roz clean off her CRV. Manny clamps the end of his sleeve in his fingers and wipes off her headlights with his wrist. With her four-wheel drive she has no problem getting out of her spot, but waits for Ty and Manny, in case they need a tow. They don’t, and Jacquie goes over to her window to say good-bye. It takes a while, a little powwow, and Manny wonders what they’re talking about.

“See you Monday,” Roz calls.

“Drive safe,” Manny and Ty both say, waving her away.

It’s time for good-byes, even though Rodney hasn’t shown. Ty just assumes Manny will stay with Jacquie, and Manny’s not going to argue.

“All right, boss,” Ty says. He takes Manny’s hand and draws him against his chest, thumping his back. He does the same with Jacquie, but gentler, bending to her, then gets in his Supra. “You kids have fun now.”

“You know we will,” Jacquie says.

Once he’s gone, she gets in the Regal and tells Manny to pull around front. He has to put on a gangster lean to see around the patched window. He’s so close to her he can smell the coconut of her lotion, and pictures her rubbing it in after a shower.

The wipers snag on the garbage bag. He stops them and cranks the defroster.

“I can give you a ride home if you want.”

“Like this? No thanks.”

“D’you call him?”

“He’s like five minutes away.”

Not much time, Manny thinks, but better than nothing.

They wait, facing the stop sign, snow slanting through his headlights, shifting with the wind like a spooked school of fish. The neon logo on the mall winks off, leaving an afterimage like a brand. Manny’s doing his best not to smoke, when beside him Jacquie unzips a pocket inside her jacket and digs out a pack. By reflex he fishes for his lighter. When he flicks it, she’s not holding a cigarette but a green velvet box, offering it to him like a gift.

So she’d planned this all along. And here he thought things were going his way for once.

He lets the light go out.

“Manny, I’m sorry, I can’t keep this.”

“It’s yours.”

“I know it is, and you know how much I love it, but I can’t wear it when I’m with someone else. Do you understand that?”

“What am I going to do with it?”

“I don’t know. I just can’t keep it anymore, okay?”

She pushes the box toward him. If she dropped it now it would fall in his lap.

“Please, Manny? Don’t make this harder for me.”

She makes it sound like he’s supposed to save her, doubly unfair, since she knows that’s something he can’t resist. In the dark he can’t see the box, and imagines she’s passing him a loaded gun. His hand closes around it, and it’s his again, or no one’s.

“Thank you,” she says, and with a rustle of her jacket leans over and kisses his jaw up by his sideburn.

“Sure,” Manny says, rubbing a thumb over the velvet.

“I probably got lipstick on you.”

“That’s okay.”

“I was going to write you a letter, but I didn’t think that was right.”

“Thanks.” But really, he wishes she’d be quiet. He looks beyond her to the road, expecting to find Rodney’s headlights, but there’s just another cop going somewhere.

“Hey, come on,” she says, “we did the right thing. That’s got to count for something.”

“It’s got to.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” he says, looking down.

“Like that.”

The silence that follows reminds him of why they broke up in the first place. At the end, he dreaded coming in when she was scheduled. The truce they declared was strange—not talking—but somehow easier than having the same fight day after day. He has the same headache now that he used to get from concentrating on their arguments, or maybe it’s just the defroster drying out his sinuses.

He needs to change the mood, and remembers the two of them in her low bed, motionless and sated after making love, lying there as if asleep. That was the best time, even with the picture of Rodney in his cricket whites smiling down from the dresser. Silently he’d raise himself on one elbow to admire her, crane over and kiss her eyelids. It might seem like an illusion now, but he felt stronger then, smarter, thinner.

“You made me feel lucky,” he says.

“Aw,” she says, pressing a hand to her heart as if he’s touched her. “You made me feel lucky too. If things were different with us . . .”

She seems content to let it rest there, and maybe that’s as much of an explanation as he ever needed, he was just too stubborn to give up. He thinks he should ask if he can still call her, but knows the answer.

He could never figure out what to say to her. She was always a couple steps ahead of him. In some ways he liked the challenge of keeping up. Being with her sharpened him, and now, without her, he feels dull.

He watches a plow grind along the highway, its blade throwing a wake of snow. At the light, coming the other way, a long car pulls into the turning lane and waits, signaling.

“There he is,” he says, and then, like a father’s threat, “He better treat you right.”

“I’m the one who needs to do better. You too. You want that baby to be proud of you.”

“Yeah,” he agrees mildly, unconvinced.

“You do.”

The Caprice has turned in and is heading up the access road. For a second it’s eclipsed by the giant mound of snow, then reappears, closer.

“Hey,” he says, “thanks for coming in.”

“What was I gonna do, say no? You know me better than that.”

“You didn’t have to stay.” As he says it, he realizes he’s waving the box at her, but she’s watching Rodney make the left into the lot. His headlights pick out the cracks in Manny’s windshield, silvering them for an instant.

“You gonna be okay?” Jacquie asks.

“Yeah,” Manny says.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Rodney’s right beside them, their cars door-to-door like a drug deal.

“I’ve gotta go,” she says, but hesitates, giving him a last look, as if that’s a substitute for a kiss.

“Go,” Manny says, and then when she opens the door, he ducks across the brake and waves to Rodney, who returns the wave like the good guy he is. He watches her walk around the hood and get in, hoping she’ll look back, but isn’t surprised when she doesn’t.

Rodney glances over, giving him a chance to pull out first. Manny waves him on, as if he still has stuff to do here.

He doesn’t have to stall long. He doesn’t open the box, just adds it to the bag with his other souvenirs and sits there a minute, letting Rodney catch the light at the highway. He smooths the duct tape around the patch and adjusts the defroster—and remembers that he forgot to turn down the thermostat.

“Shit.”

It would take him five seconds to slip in and reset the code. And now, with no one around and the Regal screening the front door, he wonders, nearly seriously, if he should steal the marlin. He can see himself driving away with the beak poking out a window. It’s got to be held on with bolts, and he doesn’t have the right tools. He can’t just leave a big hole in the wall. Plus there’s mall security circling the lots constantly. They’re probably watching him, sitting here looking suspicious with his windshield busted in. The regular cops would probably think he’s drunk. So no. The drive home’s going to be a bitch as it is.

He reaches for his seat belt and discovers he’s wearing it, shifts into drive and guides the Regal to the stop sign, signaling as if someone’s behind him. The access road isn’t bad, a wet path down the center. He’s vaguely hungry, and thinks of the Wendy’s on the far side of the mall, their spicy chicken sandwich and a cup of chili instead of fries. He knows it’s open till midnight, but they might have closed with the snow. Not everyone’s as crazy as he is.

At the light he has to decide, and finally takes a right, heading for Route 9 and home. He’s fat enough, and it’s been a long day already, with all the drama. It’s late, and he needs to get to bed if he’s going to make it in early tomorrow.

Special thanks for sharing their inside knowledge goes to:
Jim Kehoe
Brynn Lafferty
Maria Lavendier
Esaul Rodriguez
Aaron Thompson

Constant thanks to my faithful readers:
Paul Cody
Lamar Herrin
Liz Holmes
Stephen King
Lowry Pei
Alice Pentz
Susan Straight
Luis Urrea

As always, deepest thanks to Trudy, Stephen, and Caitlin for putting up with a year of Red Lobster talk.

And last, grateful thanks to David Gernert and Josh Kendall for believing.