Middle Men (13 page)

“No, but I'm thirsty.”

“Good, because there's nothing to be nervous about. This is the easiest thing in the world. My wife and I have joint custody of our dog. It sounds silly, but it's true. I'm sure you've heard people laughing about it at the office. Anyway, I'm supposed
to get Misty on weekends. But Joanne, that's my wife, she's decided, once again, to make things difficult. She wouldn't let me see Misty this weekend. Don't ask me why. It's impossible to know what goes on inside her head. The point is I'm tired of dealing with that woman. Misty's an old dog and I don't want to lose any time with her.” He looked at his watch. “Joanne's extremely lazy. She always goes to
noon
mass at St. Elisabeth's. That's in Van Nuys. Do you know Van Nuys?”

“Not really.”

“Van Nuys is a shit hole,” said Max, moving toward the front door. “There's no other way to describe it. But that's where she chooses to live. It pains me to see her living like that. Like a frump.”

Adam followed him into the foyer. Max opened a closet and pulled out a leash.

“Twenty-five years in Los Angeles and I never got a driver's license,” he said. “That might be my greatest accomplishment in life.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Misty's in the backyard. You'll just walk back there and get her. Or climb the fence if the gate's locked. I'd do it myself but obviously I don't want to be seen.”

“What's her address?”

“Misty's?”

“Your wife's.”

“Don't worry about that. I'm going with you.” Max put on a pair of sunglasses. “Misty's bladder gets erratic in new situations. That's why I asked you to bring towels. We'll park around the block and I'll wait for you in the car.”

They turned left on Laurel Canyon and coasted down into the valley. Max put the passenger seat into an almost upright
position, gripped his knees firmly, and with the windows down and the wind in his hair, he said, “So the point I was trying to make, before you hung up on me, was that you can draw a direct line from Ravaillac to Oswald.”

“Where should I turn?”

Max pointed left. “The similarities are uncanny. Like Ravaillac, Oswald imagined that he was part of something bigger, but like everyone else he was just acting out his own psychotic crusade. And yet it's amazing to me what a single person can be responsible for. Both men changed the course of history. That's really the idea at the heart of my book, if I ever finish it. I'm not like Sonck. Everything came easy to him. He published a book every year, sometimes two, and most of them were brilliant. It's demoralizing to think what other men have accomplished.”

“You've done well for yourself,” said Adam. “You're way more famous than . . . Sonck.”

“A hollow victory.” Max snapped his fingers and pointed. Adam turned off Roscoe Boulevard and onto a residential street of stucco ranch houses.

“Vile,” said Max.

“I grew up in a neighborhood just like this,” said Adam.

“Misty might start barking. Just make sure you approach slowly. Give her a rub under the chin. She likes that.”

They passed the house, making sure Joanne's car was gone, and then Adam parked at the end of the street.

“Don't rush her on the way back,” said Max. “If she wants to stop and sniff something, that's her right.”

On his way down the block, Adam walked over a fading hopscotch and passed an old woman who was sitting in a lawn chair in the shade of her open garage. The transistor
radio in her lap was tuned to the Dodgers game. When he got to Joanne's house, he stood for a moment at the edge of the patchy front lawn. It was a nice little house, light blue with white aluminum awnings over the front windows. He opened the side gate without any fuss and walked around the house to the backyard, which was completely paved over except for a few weeds sprouting in the cracks. Everywhere he looked he saw piles of dog shit swarming with flies. There was a gazebo in one corner, filled with junk, and sections of the brown cinder-block wall behind it had crumbled during some previous earthquake. Misty was nowhere to be found. Adam called her name a few times. When he didn't hear anything, he walked to the back door, which had a doggy door. He kicked at the flap, to see if there was a locked panel behind it, but there wasn't. Without any further ceremony, he got down on his hands and knees and stuck his head through the flap.

“Misty!”

She was right in front of him, curled up in the laundry room. She lifted her head and immediately started barking. Adam wedged his right shoulder through the doggy door and reached up, looking for the knob. He unlocked it and pushed the door open. He moved slowly, as Max insisted, but Misty retreated from the laundry room, still barking, her claws clattering on the dusty wood floor. Adam lunged, but the floor was wet and he slipped backward, landing hard on his hip and elbow. Misty was still barking. Adam, realizing he had slipped in dog piss, sprang to his feet. He walked into the kitchen, where he immediately met the gaze of a red-haired woman in a black bathrobe. She was drinking coffee at a small table.

“Are you a messenger?” she asked, calmly, holding her coffee cup just under her lips.

Adam shook his head slowly; he was too nervous to speak. Behind her, on the wall, there was a giant bulletin board overflowing with yellow newspaper clippings. Misty, suddenly quiet, was sitting at her feet.

“Don't worry,” she said. “You're not in trouble.”

“I work for the show. I'm the new P.A.”

“I guess Max burned his way through all the messengers.” She took a sip of coffee. “Is he here?”

“He's waiting in my car.”

She nodded quietly. Her hands were pale and freckled and Adam could see thick crescents of dirt under her nails. In front of her a pair of scissors was resting on a thick pile of newspapers from all over the world, with headlines written in several different languages. He saw a fly looping over a sink full of dishes.

“Did he tell you what happened last week?” she asked.

“No.”

“He took Misty on a walk up in the canyon and she got sprayed by a skunk. So do you know what that man did? He had a cabdriver bring her back here. He must've paid the guy a fortune.” She shook her head in disgust and then looked at Adam. “Are you okay?”

“I'm sorry,” said Adam. “I'm not feeling well.”

“Do you want something to drink?” Her expression remained calm and businesslike.

“That would be great,” said Adam.

She got up, adjusted her robe, and walked over to the sink. She pulled a glass off the pile of dishes, rinsed it out, filled it, and handed the glass to Adam. A pair of reading glasses dangled from her neck; instead of a chain they were held fast by a grimy white shoelace. Adam, still smelling piss on his shorts,
looked down at Misty, who seemed exhausted after all the excitement. She had trouble keeping her eyes open.

“Has Max told you about his book?” asked Joanne.

“Yeah, he's talked about it. A lot.”

“That's what he'll do. He'll talk about it and talk about it. And he'll never finish it. Do you know why?”

Adam shook his head.

“Because then he wouldn't be able to talk about it anymore.”

“I'm really sorry about all this,” said Adam. “Max said you would be at mass.”

She blew her nose on the sleeve of her robe. “I'm sure he did. This isn't the first time he's tried something like this.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I know you're just doing your job.” She reached down and rubbed Misty behind the ears. “You can go out the front door. Tell Max I said hello.”

On his way out, Adam saw more bulletin boards; they covered every wall of the living room, layer after layer of curled yellow clippings, creeping up the walls like ivy.

Adam took his time getting back to his car. When he climbed in, Max said, “Where's Misty?”

The glove compartment was open and several maps were strewn about Max's feet, unfolded.

“What's that smell?” said Max.

Adam reached for a towel and started wiping himself off.

“What happened?” Max said.

“Joanne was waiting for us,” said Adam.

“Goddamn her.” Max slapped the dashboard and lolled his head back in frustration. “That woman is a genius.”

Adam started the car, but Max gripped him firmly by the wrist.

“What are you doing? You have to go back.”

“I can't go back in there.”

“Remind her that you're acting within my legal rights.”

“She just caught me breaking and entering.”

Max let go of Adam's wrist. “Okay. Drive over to the house. We'll both go.”

“No.”

“You don't understand. She doesn't exercise Misty. The woman just sits there all day, doing nothing.”

“She told me about the skunk.”

“Listen. I've made mistakes in my life. I know that. But to have my life
annulled
? You will never understand that kind of pain.”

“How much did you pay the cabdriver?”

“My whole life I've abided in the magisterium, and now it's being used against me. I haven't taken the sacraments in five years. What if I died right now?”

“Did you even hose her off?”

Max finally looked at him. “Of course I did. I did everything I could for that dog, within reason. Now let's go.”

“I'm not going back.”

“Drive!”

“Stop yelling. I have a headache.”

“Drive!”

“Mr. Lavoy, will you please shut up? Please?”

•  •  •

On Monday morning, Melanie bought Adam lunch at the studio café and they ate outside in the courtyard. He asked her more about her acting days, and she told him a few good stories, including the time she auditioned for
The Rockford
Files
. She didn't get the part, but she met James Garner, who seemed like a very sweet and genuine man.

“Please put me down as a reference,” she said later, picking through her salad. “You won't have trouble landing somewhere on the lot.”

“Are you getting a temp?”

“Sure. For a little while.”

Adam wanted to recommend the guy he used to temp with, but he couldn't remember his name. One of the casting offices was disgorging midgets. Melanie gave him a hug and went back to her office.

Adam dropped his badge off at the police station on Main Street and then walked to City Hall to collect his final paycheck. Melanie had arranged for him to get a generous severance. When he got back to the show's offices, Doug had the keys to the Benz and he gave him a ride to the parking structure. He wasn't wearing his mask.

“So what was she like?”

“Who?”

“Max's ex-wife.”

“She's probably the most amazing person I've ever met,” said Adam. He got out of the cart and shook Doug's hand.

“Good luck with
Paralegals
.”

“That's dead. My new project's called
Nurse Practitioners
.”

They agreed to meet for lunch in a couple weeks, but Adam knew it wouldn't happen. Doug was a busy man and, in spite of himself, he was a total pro. Adam knew this was the last time he'd ever set foot on the lot.

•  •  •

On Friday, he arrived early. Frankie was stoned out of his mind and had no real memory of Adam's ignoble speech from the week before.

“I got my hands on some truly evil shit from Vancouver,” he explained, holding up a plastic baggie. “Sometimes you have to treat yourself.”

Adam tried to apologize, but Frankie told him to forget it.

By seven o'clock most of the regulars had shown up. Chris Hobbs returned, wearing a porkpie hat, and Adam instantly hated him again, but not as much as before. Hobbs found Adam and sheepishly promised to repay him for dinner, as soon as he could. Adam sat down, taking his normal place among the terrorists. The pedophile was there, as weird and dauntless as ever, and Ramon and Trapper Keeper were there, and a bunch of new people. Adam had nothing prepared. His plan was to sit there all night, drinking and cheering and listening to all the other souls who, like him, depended on the incorruptible spirit of El Goof.

U
ncle Ray called me from the ninth hole at Canyon Crest.

“Listen, Sean,” he said. “I want to do you a favor. Me and Fig, we've been talking. We've got a story for you.”

It was ten o'clock on Friday morning. I got out of bed and looked out the window. The sky was still gray. I usually tried to sleep late enough for the morning fog to burn off along the coast. Sometimes this meant sleeping past noon, but I was willing to do it. I hadn't talked to Ray in over a year.

“Your mom says the studio is giving you the runaround,” he said.

“You two are talking?”

“I called her yesterday to wish her happy birthday.”

“Her birthday was six months ago.”

“Come meet me and Fig for lunch.”

“Out there?”

“We're getting steaks at the Mission.”

“You're buying?”

“Sean,” he said. “Get cleaned up. We're going to tell you this story. You can put it in a movie.”

“You're buying, right?”

“Yeah, me and Fig.”

Eventually I found some long pants and got ready for the drive out to Riverside. When I stepped onto the second-floor landing, I spotted Mr. Nishihara, the landlord, down below in the courtyard, trying to fix the pump on the fountain. The stone cherubs were parched. I waited for him to take a break, but he just kept at it, so I popped the screen out of my bathroom window and jumped down onto a dumpster.

Minty was down in the alley, taking a shortcut back from the beach. With his board under his arm, he walked barefoot on the jagged asphalt, expertly sidestepping broken glass.