My Friend Leonard (21 page)

 

M
y second friend with the name Kevin lives in Los Angeles. He's an actor who lives in a Hollywood apartment and takes acting classes and goes to auditions and waits tables and struggles. We went to college together. He's twenty-six, but looks eighteen, he has dark wavy hair and blue eyes and big rosy cheeks. He likes to talk and he's funny most of the time and he's easy to be with most of the time and he wants to drive with me from Chicago to Los Angeles. It'll be good to have him.

He comes to Chicago and we pack up my truck and plan our route. We're going to cut straight across the Midwest, head south into New Mexico, cross Arizona, Nevada and California.

We leave early the next morning. As we pull out I stop at a random corner in a rundown neighborhood. I take my bottle of rose, the bottle I bought when I arrived, the bottle I've had during my entire time here, the bottle I've always kept as an option, and I leave it unopened on the corner. I hope somebody finds it, and I hope they enjoy it.

We drive straight west through hours and hours of farmland, hundreds of miles blend together in a sea of gently waving green and yellow, every red barn white farmhouse gray silo looks the same. We stop in Kansas City for the night, get up early, keep going. In Colorado we cut south, head into New Mexico. Kevin gets a message about an important audition, he needs to be back in LA sooner than planned. We decide to keep going straight to California, we'll stop for gas and food, we'll drive in shifts one sleeps while one drives. Kevin starts checking the fluids every time we stop for gas, he checks the oil, coolant, wiper. I tell him not to worry about it, that the car was just tuned-up and is in good shape. He tells me he's just being careful.

We cross the mountains of New Mexico, drop into Arizona, it's two in the morning, I pull into a truckstop. I go inside for coffee and cigarettes Kevin starts checking everything again. Ten minutes later we pull out.

It is the middle of the night. We're in the middle of the desert. Kevin isn't talking anymore we're both tired he tells me he's going to sleep. I turn on the radio. I listen to someone talking about stormtroopers who fly around in black helicopters and kidnap and brainwash people who speak out against the government. It's part of a conspiracy controlled by the Freemasons and the Jews. I start to hear a strange ticking coming from the engine. I start to smell burning plastic. I laugh, think maybe the Freemasons and the Jews are after me. The ticking becomes louder, the smell stronger. There is a large BOOM, the engine immediately loses power, smoke starts pouring from beneath the hood, the smell is overwhelming. Kevin wakes up and says what's happened, what's going on, I tell him something seems to be wrong with the engine and I think it has to do with Freemasons and Jews, and I guide the car to the shoulder of the highway. We get out of the car Kevin is still confused.

What happened?

I don't know.

We've got to get away. I think the car is going to explode.

I think we're okay.

What's wrong with it?

I look at the truck. It is smoking less, it still smells awful.

I have no idea. Something bad happened.

How?

Did you put all the caps and shit back on?

Of course I did, I'm not stupid.

Just checking.

We stand and stare at the truck. The smoke is almost gone. We stand and stare for a couple of minutes. It is the middle of the night. We're in the middle of the desert. I look at Kevin.

Looks like we're fucked.

Try to start it.

It's not gonna start.

Just try.

I get in the truck, try to start it. Loud clicking noises come from beneath the hood, it doesn't start. I get out.

Didn't start.

Maybe if we wait awhile.

We wait for ten minutes. Not a single car or truck passes us. I try to start the engine, same thing. Kevin speaks.

What do you want to do?

Sit here.

We sit there. A couple cars pass by, no one stops. Thirty minutes a state trooper pulls over. An officer gets out of the cruiser, for the first time in my life I'm thrilled to see a law enforcement officer walking toward me. He asks what we're doing we tell him the truck broke down. He asks where we're from and going and I tell him. He asks us if we know what's wrong with the truck I say no idea. He goes back to his cruiser, gets on the radio, speaks for a few minutes, comes back.

I called a mechanic I know who has a tow truck. He can come get you if you want, but it's not gonna be cheap. If you don't want to do that, you can wait till morning and the highway patrol will tow the car.

Can your guy get here faster?

It's the middle of the night and he's not close.

I don't want to wait till morning.

I'll call my guy. He can be here in an hour.

The trooper goes back to the cruiser gets on the radio, he comes back and tells us the mechanic is coming. He gets back in the cruiser and drives away.

We wait. I sit on the side of the road and smoke cigarettes. Kevin paces back and forth, he's worried we won't get back in time for his audition.

An hour passes, two hours it is starting to get light when we see a tow truck approaching us. It pulls over behind us, a tall skinny man his arms covered with tattoos, a cigarette dangling from his lips, gets out of the truck starts ambling toward us he speaks.

Looks like you're having some trouble here.

Yeah.

What happened?

Funny noises and smoke.

Pop that hood the fuck up.

I reach in, pop the hood. He opens it, looks at the engine. Kevin and I stand behind him, watch him as he looks around the engine, he turns around.

You're fucked, man, fucking fucked.

What happened?

Your engine blew up.

How?

Was somebody messing around with it?

I motion toward Kevin. The man speaks.

He forgot to put the radiator cap back on and all your coolant evaporated and the thing, boom, blew the fuck up.

Kevin speaks.

Impossible.

Nah, that's what happened. I'm looking at it.

I put the cap on.

It ain't there, and as far as I know, they can't take themselves off.

Kevin gets angry, defensive.

You're not funny.

Ain't trying to be funny, just trying to tell you what happened, and what happened is there ain't no radiator cap on here and the motherfucking engine blew.

That's not what happened.

I look at the mechanic, speak.

How long will it take to fix it?

He thinks for a moment, speaks.

Probably a week, ten days. Ain't quick, this kind of job.

Kevin speaks.

A week?

At least, man. The engine is fucked, that shit is fucking fried.

Kevin turns to me.

I have to be back, I have to be back soon.

I look at the mechanic.

Any way to do it faster.

Nope.

Is there a truck rental place nearby?

In Flagstaff.

How far is that?

110 miles or so or something like that.

Can you tow us there?

I'll tow you to Japan if you fucking pay me, man. I'll tow you anywhere.

How much will it cost?

Well, it's four thirty in the morning and I fucking hate Flagstaff and my wife don't like me right now and I need some money to make her happy, so it's gonna be pricey.

How much?

Seven hundred fifty bucks.

No way.

Five hundred bucks.

Three fifty.

My wife's really fucking mad, man, I need five large.

Fine let's go.

The mechanic goes back to his truck, pulls it in front of my truck, starts hitching my truck to the towing mechanism on the back of his truck. Kevin is still angry, still doesn't believe this is happening, absolutely doesn't believe he had anything to do with it. I get in next to the mechanic, Kevin is next to me, we start driving toward Flagstaff.

We watch the sun rise over desolate flats. The mechanic talks and smokes he talks about his wife he says she hates him, about his two brothers he says they hate him, about his girlfriend he says she hates him. He talks about his truck he calls it Wayne it is his prized possession. He talks about shooting guns in the desert he's hoping to find someone who will sell him a bazooka so he can do some, he says, real true-to-life destruction-style shit. I listen to the mechanic and laugh for most of the trip. Kevin stares out the window, clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

We pull into Flagstaff. It is still early morning. Almost everything is closed we find a gas station with coffee and cigarettes and beef jerky. The mechanic drops us, with my truck, in the parking lot of a truck rental company. I write him a check, he says thank you and advises me to leave Flagstaff as soon as possible. I ask him why he says strange things happen around here. I ask him what he shakes his head and says man, just trust me, there is fucking ugly, scary, wack-ass shit in the air here. He gets in his truck and leaves us.

Kevin and I sit and wait. We have two hours until the office opens Kevin spends most of it cursing the mechanic and his faulty diagnosis. When the office opens I rent a large truck and a trailer and I push my poor broken-down truck onto the trailer. We start driving west. I haven't slept in
twenty-four hours. The desert plays tricks with my mind with my eyes I see mirages, I see silver flashes, blue lights. I drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, turn the volume on the radio all the way up, hallucinate.

Once we enter Los Angeles County it takes four hours to go sixty miles. When we pull into West Hollywood I can't think straight, see straight, walk straight. I leave the trucks my truck on the trailer and the big truck on the side of a street they take up half a block.

 

I
call Leonard I told him I'd call as soon as I arrived. He wants to have lunch with me. He gives me the name of a restaurant, tells me he'll be there on Wednesday at one o'clock.

I get a ride to the restaurant. I arrive a few minutes early. I walk inside the Maitre d' is at a stand just inside the front door. I give him Leonard's name he tells me that Leonard has not arrived I should wait for him at the bar. I walk to the bar, which is a few feet behind him. I sit down on a stool, look around me. It's crowded, noisy, I am the youngest person in the restaurant, and the worst-dressed. Most of the customers are middle-aged men in suits, the suits are all gray, black or navy blue they look like expensive suits. Most of the men are immaculately groomed perfect hair, smooth tans, manicured hands, those that aren't look deliberately ruffled, as if they spent the morning in front of the mirror making sure their hair was just the right kind of messy. The walls are covered with cartoon drawings of famous people almost all men who are regular customers, some are movie stars, some athletes, some famous directors and producers. I order a nice cold tasty cola and I wait for Leonard.

He arrives five minutes later he's wearing a suit, he's with the Snapper who is also wearing a suit. He sees me I stand we hug each other.

Welcome to California, my son.

Thanks, Leonard.

We separate, I shake hands with Snapper.

Welcome, kid.

Thanks, Snap.

The Maitre d' leads us to a table. We sit in a booth along a wall Leonard and Snap sit on one side, I sit on the other side. Leonard speaks.

Here you are, in the land of sunshine and dreams. You will either love it or hate it, and you will either flourish or fail.

I'm looking forward to finding out.

Love it, my son, and flourish. FLOURISH.

What are you doing in town?

I was seeing a nutritionist.

Why?

Because I want to live forever.

I laugh.

Seriously?

Yes, seriously. A proper diet may be the key to immortality. I would like to be immortal.

I laugh again.

That's crazy, Leonard.

Snapper speaks.

That's what I told him.

Leonard speaks.

To each his own.

You really think a special diet will make you immortal?

No, I don't, but I do think it'll keep me here awhile longer.

Probably.

Definitely. So, now I'm going to see this nutritionist once a week, on Wednesdays, for the foreseeable future.

I look at Snapper.

Do you go?

Snapper speaks.

Fuck no. I like cheeseburgers, pizza, fried chicken, ice cream, all the good stuff. I don't care if it kills me, I'm eating it.

I'm with you.

I'll dance on your graves, spin and yelp and sing happy gravedancing songs.

I laugh, Snapper speaks.

If I die, it won't be cause my fucking diet.

We all laugh. A waiter comes to our table says hello to Leonard says nice to see you again, sir he gives us menus we order. I get a ribeye and creamed spinach, Snapper gets a porterhouse, French fries, onion rings, tomatoes and onions and a blue cheese salad, Leonard orders a chopped salad. As we wait for the food Leonard asks about Liza I tell him it's too early to tell. He asks where I'm living I tell him I'm living at Liza's. He asks about my
job prospects I tell him I may work shitty production jobs while I try to sell the script. He tells me he has friends in Hollywood that will help if I want them to, I tell him I want to do this on my own. The waiter brings Snapper and me steak knives, refills our drinks. As he walks away another man walks toward us, Snapper sees him alerts Leonard to his presence.

The man is probably in his fifties, but looks older. He has dark wavy hair it looks like it's been dyed, he's extremely thin and extremely tan his skin looks like leather. He's wearing a suit and a sparkling watch and a pinkie ring. Snapper looks at Leonard speaks.

He still owe you?

Leonard speaks.

Yeah he does.

How do you want to handle it?

I don't want to deal with him. This is not the time or the place.

The man arrives at our table looks nervous slightly shaky he's starting to sweat he speaks.

Hello, Leonard.

Leonard looks at him, speaks.

It isn't a good time.

I need to speak to you.

It isn't a good time.

I'm sorry about my payments, I really am, I won't miss . . .

Snapper interrupts.

We're having lunch. We would like you to leave.

The man continues. Leonard looks away.

I'm sorry, Leonard. If you could just give me . . .

Snapper interrupts again.

We would like you to leave.

People at tables near us turn, start watching, Leonard shakes his head, the man continues.

Please, Leonard, please . . .

I see Snapper reach for his steak knife the man doesn't see it he's looking at Leonard who's looking away. BOOM. Snapper slams the knife into the table and pulls his hand away. The knife is sticking straight into the table it's wobbling a bit the man looks shocked. Snapper stands, towers over him, stares at him, speaks.

It isn't a good time.

Everyone near us is silent, staring, the man's eyes are wide and filled with fear, he turns and walks out of the restaurant. Snapper sits back down, takes the knife out of the table, wipes it with his napkin. Leonard speaks.

That guy's a fuckhead.

Snapper speaks.

Just say the word.

Fuck him. Let's enjoy our lunch.

Snapper chuckles.

Someday you'll let me.

Our food comes we eat Leonard eyes my steak I offer him some he says no. After we finish eating we order dessert Snapper gets cheesecake I get a hot fudge sundae Leonard gets a fruit plate. After dessert Leonard says I'll see you next Wednesday?

I say I'll see you next Wednesday.