Red Meat Cures Cancer (26 page)

ANNETTE’S KITCHEN

“Let’s go on a trip.”

“Sky, that’s a
great
idea. We can go to Vermont for a weekend. Just get away from it all. Just you and me.”

“Actually, I was thinking of someplace a little more exotic.”

“How about Burlington? You never know what you’ll see there.”

“I don’t think you understand. I want to go to Tahiti.”

“Tahiti? For a weekend?”

“Annette, I’m not talking about a weekend. I want to go away for a while.”

“You mean a week?”

“Longer.”

“
Not
a month?”

“Longer.”

“But your health. You need to be here for treatment.”

“I’m feeling fine.”

“What about your trial? It’s starting in three weeks.”

“There isn’t going to be a trial.”

“There isn’t?”

“Well, I’m not sure, but I don’t think so.”

“Sky, what’s going on?”

“It’s hard to explain. See, I just came from the reading of the Link’s will and (Pause) well, it made me realize some things. (Pause) Annette, I owe you an apology.”

“Why? We’ve had a few ups and downs, but you don’t owe me an apology.”

“Yes, I do. I’ve been walking around this past year feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been blaming others and making excuses for why I wasn’t living the life I wanted.”

“We
all
do that sometimes.”

“Maybe, but I did something worse. I put myself in a position where I felt I had to lie to the people I care about in order to protect my own self-interests. (Pause) I can’t do that anymore. It’s not right. When you sacrifice the truth just to keep something, you don’t have anything worth keeping in the first place.”

“I want to understand, Sky. I really do. But I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

“What I’m saying is, I lied to you.”

“About what?”

“That’s not important.”

“I’d like to be the judge of that.”

“You’re missing the point. Don’t you see? Today I realized that every bad thing that’s happened to me lately, and during my life, was the result of a poor decision I made long before. I should’ve left Tailburger years ago, but I didn’t have the courage, and it’s cost me in so many ways.”

“But you were just trying to get a pension. That’s why you stayed. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, there is. I traded myself for the promise of those payments. The moment they were placed in jeopardy, I started saying and doing anything to protect them, but the promise was hollow. Whatever money I was supposed to receive couldn’t come close to covering the damage I did to my own spirit. Waiting wasn’t worth it. (Pause) I know all of this sounds confusing, but I’m seeing things clearly for the first time ever. I never had the guts to make tough choices, but I think I do now.”

“Sky, please slow down.”

“I can’t. I’ve wasted too much time already. I’m going to sell my house and car and take the Link’s boat to the South Pacific.”

“His boat?”

“He left it to me. (Pause) I want to make a fresh start with you. Go away with me to Tahiti.”

Annette looked touched and heartbroken at the same time.

“Sky, I can’t go away with you.”

“What do you mean? We can live in Papeete.”

“I’m the mayor, Sky. I’ve got responsibilities. I’ve got a campaign coming up.”

“Forget about those things. Don’t you get it? You’re living under a big sheet of cellophane. You can’t win.”

“Cellophane? What are you talking about?”

“There’s this big sheet of cellophane covering us and (Pause) look, forget about the cellophane. I’m just telling you we need to get away from here.”

Annette considered my words for a moment and then changed the topic.

“What did you lie to me about?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

“Fine. I’ll tell you. You want to know?”

“Yes, I want to know.”

“All right. Fine. I don’t have cancer. There. I’ve said it.”

“What?”

“I don’t have cancer anymore.”

“You’re cured?”

“Sort of. Technically, I never actually had it in the first place.”

“Technically? You sick son of a bitch! How could you manipulate me like that?”

“Annette, I’m sorry. I had to do it to get close to you again.”

“All those appointments I took you to at the hospital. I can’t believe it. They were all lies.”

“That’s not true. One doctor said there’s a mole on my forehead he thinks may be malignant.”

“Oh, c’mon. Why did you have to lie to me?”

“You wouldn’t have given me a chance otherwise.”

“That’s not true.”

“Now you’re the one lying.”

“Don’t try and turn this around, Sky. You can forget about me going anywhere with you. Get out of my house!”

“Wait. Let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. You’re a liar and I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Annette . . .”

“Get out!”

“But . . .”

“Get out!”

“I’m trying to be a better man.”

“Get out!”

After banging on the door for an hour, I left and drove to the Rochester Yacht Club, where the Link docked
Bastard Boy
for the season. My enthusiasm about inspecting my inheritance was now admittedly tempered by my confrontation with Annette. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t go with me to Tahiti. Truth be told, I hadn’t considered much at all. I was operating entirely on instinct now, like a dog being led by his strongest sense. I could smell what I wanted and needed, and I felt confident my nose would lead me to the right place. And although my sniffer had led me temporarily to an unpleasant place on the female front, there were no secrets between Annette and me for the first time. The fact that our relationship was beyond dead from her standpoint was something I viewed as a mere hiccup to be cured— just like my cancer.

I parked my car and entered RYC’s white clapboard clubhouse, walked past a picture of the current commodore and made my way upstairs. From the outdoor deck, I surveyed the slips until I saw my magnificent new boat, gleaming in the afternoon sun and looming large over the other crafts. Suddenly excited as a child on Christmas morning, I barreled back down to the club’s first floor, ran outside and rushed toward
Bastard Boy.
From what I could see, she was in pretty good shape. Big, luxurious and outfitted with every navigational device imaginable, she welcomed her new owner with a beer from below and a comfortable seat behind the wheel. Pretending to steer toward my destiny, I couldn’t wait any longer to find out if I’d be meeting it anytime soon. I took out my Motorola and called Plot.

“Thickens here.”

“Plot, it’s Sky.”

“Sky, you won’t believe what Wheeler wants.”

“What?”

“A goddamn casino license. I just got off the horn with him.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Turns out he’s not an Indian. He just looks like an Indian.”

“So what is he?”

“He’s Lebanese.”

“Well, how much of an Indian do you have to be to get a license?”

“One-sixteenth of your blood must be traceable to a recognized tribe.”

“Jesus Christ, isn’t he a little bit Indian?”

“His son goes to Florida State. He says he was made an honorary Seminole during parents’ weekend last fall.”

“Can you use that?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re a Florida tribe, for starters.”

“They’re still recognized, right?”

“Sure. But they’ve never set foot in western New York.”

“Then we say he was banished.”

“That’s not the point. He doesn’t have the blood. Plus, it’s politics. According to my guy in the state gaming division, we’ve got full-blooded Senecas still waiting for their licenses. To give one to a Lebanese guy named Humpy would create a huge uproar.”

“I don’t understand. If he’s not an Indian, why the hell does he go around dressed in tribal gear and carrying that wampum pouch?”

“He says he gets cheap gas and cigarettes on the local reservations.”

“Shit. Look Plot, I don’t care what you do, but we’ve got to get this guy his casino license. Don’t forget, your contest victory could become public in a big hurry.”

Here I was again, doing everything I despised. Lying. Threatening. Scheming. Covering my own ass. I said I wanted to be a better man. I said I valued truthfulness, benevolence and forbearance, but as soon as I considered the possibility of pulling the plug on my latest lapse of honor, I thought of Cal and used him as a worthy excuse to continue. This sordid matter went way beyond Sky Thorne. My best friend was counting on me to keep him out of jail and I couldn’t let him down. If he didn’t get probation, his marriage could be over. So the way I looked at it, I didn’t have a choice. Like a black flag, one more pack of lies would fly from the mast of
Bastard Boy.

“I’ll talk to gaming again.”

“Good.”

Night fell on Lake Ontario and I decided to sleep on board. The gentle rocking from the waves turned the main cabin into a cradle as I curled up under a blue cotton blanket. Alone in the dark, I found myself thinking only of my parents. Were they watching all this from above? I hoped not.

THREE DAYS LATER, 8:00 A.M.

I picked up Cal at Woodcliff Lodge, where he was still staying, thanks to his wife’s stubborn streak. Jenny’s insistence that he sell his business or stay away turned our scheduled 8:30 A.M. meeting with the Fanoflincoln brothers into Cal’s Super Bowl. With his family life down by six, late in the fourth quarter, he needed to score. Up to this point, he’d had no success finding a buyer for his porn empire, and Ned, Ted and Fred looked like his last chance.

“I’m nervous, Sky.”

“Don’t be. This is your day.”

If this was Cal’s Super Bowl, it was my Poulan Weedeater Bowl. I had a lot on the line, but somehow the stakes, mostly my pension and pride, seemed lower.

“You think they’ll buy?”

“They have to sell their stock. Where else will they park all that cash?”

I wanted Cal to believe the Fanoflincolns needed him more than he needed them, even if it wasn’t true. I didn’t know who the brothers’ financial adviser was, but I doubted he was pushing X-rated videos and flavored lubricants over long-term treasury notes. Still, the Link’s sons were greedy if nothing else, and this was an industry with unlimited potential, given America’s horny history and future.

“Hey, how about an Egg McMuffin?” I offered my friend his favorite option as we drove toward a row of fast-food establishments on Monroe Avenue.

“You know what I could really go for?”

“What?”

“Rump-Cut Croissant.”

“No way. You’re still willing to eat at Tailburger? I’ve sworn off the stuff.”

“Would you mind? I love the McMuffin, but ever since they added the extra pork, the Rump-Cut’s been my favorite.”

I cringed.

“All right. I guess driving through won’t kill me. (Pause) Can’t say the same about the food.”

Pulling up to the speaker, we received a simultaneously tinny and profane greeting from somebody’s grandmother.

“Order, asshole.”

“Okay,” Cal started. “Give me a Rump-Cut with cheese. And to drink, let’s see . . .”

“Get the Tailfrap—best beef-flavored shake on the market.”

“Isn’t it the only beef-flavored shake on the market?”

“Don’t sass me, sonny. I’m armed up here.”

Sure enough, when we arrived at the window, our elderly server had an automatic weapon slung over her shoulder. The Link’s legacy in the flesh.

“Have a good day.”

“Easy for her to say,” I thought as we drove off. Her fate wasn’t in the hands of a hunchbacked Lebanese Indian named Humpy and three dimwits armed with nine-irons.

“Have you heard back from Plot?” Cal asked, stuffing his Rump-Cut into his mouth.

“Not yet. I’ll know this afternoon if the casino license went through.”

“Got it.” Cal’s response was terse. No matter how well our morning meeting went, it amounted to only half the equation, and we both knew it.

No longer comfortable roaming Tailburger headquarters, the Fanoflincolns suggested Powder Mill Park, a glorified patch of grass with a few trees and a fish hatchery, for our gathering. A narrow winding road took us into the heart of the park, where the brothers were lounging on a picnic bench.

“How’s that boat?” Ned shouted in displeasure as we walked toward him.

Evidently I hadn’t been forgiven yet for his father’s floating gift. “I’m taking good care of her. (Pause) She’s beautiful.”

My remarks were ignored.

“Did you bring the valuation?”

Cal placed his briefcase on the table, opened it and handed over Ernst & Young’s busywork to Ned, who eagerly began perusing the figures.

“Are you still asking eight mil?” Fred inquired, too impatient to wait for his brother to finish.

“A little more, now that I’ve seen the estimate.”

“How much more?”

“Let me finish reading, Fred!” Ned barked angrily.

“Sky’s pension is still part of the deal,” Cal announced.

“No, it’s not,” Ted said defiantly. “It never was.”

“Cal, you don’t need to put that into the mix here,” I implored my friend.

“I want to. (Pause) I want you to get paid what you’re owed.”

Ned was done reading now and looked up at Cal and me with disdain. He knew instinctively that Cal was desperate to sell and he planned to take full advantage of his bargaining position just to humiliate me.

“We have our own deal with Sky, and he hasn’t met all of its terms yet. Where’s the video?”

“You don’t need the video anymore.”

“So?”

Ned was being a prick. He only wanted the video in the first place to try to stop Muffet Meaney and the SERMON suit. Now that the suit would be irrelevant to him as a soon-to-be ex-shareholder of Tailburger, he was just playing head games.

“You’re selling your shares.”

“So?”

“So the suit hasn’t affected the share price yet. And it won’t for a few more months. You’re going to get out unscathed.”

“That doesn’t matter. We had a deal.”

“Hold on a second,” I said, excusing myself and walking to the trunk of my car. Once there, I opened it and pull out a wrinkled lump of cloth I’d been carrying around on the off chance I ever performed my own oil change.

“Recognize this?” I asked, holding it aloft and letting it fall out to its full length.

“How could you keep that in your trunk?” Fred asked in disbelief.

“Because it doesn’t mean anything to me. But I know it means something to you. (Pause) All of you.”

The official Crooked Creek Golf Club blazer, a horrible gold garment, had caused every member, myself included, to be confused with a Century 21 agent at least once in his life. After that experience, anyone who wore it had my condolences and pity.

“I didn’t want it to come to this, but I swear I’ll blackball you.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Not if you buy Cal’s company.”

“And give Sky his pension,” Cal added.

“So that’s what it comes to, eh Sky? After all our father did for you, you’re blackmailing us.”

“Oh shut up, Ned. Stop being an asshole. Do you want to be a member out at Crooked Creek or not?”

Ned, Ted and Fred looked at each other, then back at me, and started nodding. A deal had been struck. Within a few hours, Cal came to terms with the brothers for his business and the two of us retreated to the Country Sweet to refuel. In our favorite establishment, we observed our own code of conduct, devouring each and every chicken wing in complete silence until the last bone had been plucked clean.

“God, that was good.”

“Always is.”

“Do the wings look bigger to you?”

“You say that every time we’re down here.”

“Well, they look bigger to me. What do you want me to say?”

My cell phone rang and our lighthearted conversation came to a sudden halt. This was the call we’d been waiting for: the one from Plot Thickens.

“Hello. (Pause) Hey, Plot. (Pause) He did? (Pause) He does? (Pause) I knew it would be close. (Pause) Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

I closed my Motorola while Cal, nearly prostrated himself trying to get my attention.

“What’d he say? What’d he say?” Cal asked in rapid succession.

I handed Cal the contraption in my hand.

“Call Jenny and tell her you’re coming home. (Pause) For good.”

I broke into a big grin and stood to meet Cal, where we embraced, sticky fingers and all, thrilled to have escaped the prison system.

“We got probation,” he said in a relieved tone. “We got probation,” Cal repeated, making sure it was real.

“Just probation,” I confirmed, relieved myself that the plea bargain had worked.

“I can’t believe it. (Pause) Sky, take me to Woodcliff. I want to get my stuff and go see the kids.”

Together we drove out 490 East from the city. A Springsteen tune, “No Surrender,” played in the background on CMF (courtesy of Brother Wease), sounding wholly appropriate given what we’d survived. The wind whipped through the car on a day that just didn’t seem right for air-conditioning. Out in the elements, I turned my thoughts to what was coming next in my life.

“Cal, I need to tell you something.”

“What?” he shouted over the roar of traffic.

“I’m leaving Rochester.”

“You’re what?”

“I’m leaving Rochester.”

Cal looked at me while reaching for the button to put his window up. I did the same to conduct our conversation in quieter surroundings.

“You can’t do that.”

“I’ve thought about this a lot.”

“Why would you do that?”

“It’s a change I need.”

“You don’t need a change. You need a break.”

“I know. And I can’t get it here.”

Cal thought about my reason for leaving for a moment before commenting further.

“What if I said I didn’t want you to go? Would that make a difference?”

I shook my head.

“Is anybody going with you?”

“I don’t know.”

“(Pause) Well,
if
you went somewhere, and notice I’m saying
if,
where would you go?”

“There’s no if. I’m leaving this week for Tahiti.”

“Tahiti? To live?”

I nodded.

“That’s crazy. You’ll hate it down there.”

“This seems out of the blue, I’m sure. But I really believe I’m going to find something there I can’t find here.”

“Oh, don’t get flaky on me and tell me you need to
find
yourself.”

“That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“So what
are
you looking for?”

I drove on in silence, letting Cal’s question hang in the air.

“Peace of mind. (Pause) That’s all I’m looking for.”

By now we’d reached Cal’s driveway and he was torn, anxious to run inside and share his good news, yet loyal to a fault as a friend.

“I want you to be happy, Sky. As your friend, I’ve never wished anything else for you.”

“I’m going to be happy. (Pause) That’s what this is about.”

“We’ll talk more later, all right?”

Cal and I shook hands and he climbed out of my car. I’d known him since the second grade and I loved him dearly, although I’d never told him, not even one time. He looked back at me briefly as he walked to the door and gave me a thumbs-up, which is the way I intended to picture him until the next time we met. Seconds later, he disappeared behind his front door and away I went. I missed him already.