The Amazing Harvey (29 page)

Should I call Carly? Did she really want to apologize? She did make a gesture. I mean, she didn't have to call.

Can I expect more than just an apology? I mean, maybe a Close Encounter of the Fourth Kind? I'd sure love to release some of the poisons in my system.

If I got that far, would I limp out again? All those thoughts about fertile eggs sure took the joy out of humping.

Can you put a second condom over the first one? Would I feel anything if I did?

What's the strongest condom made? Could I trust anything short of a threaded endcap for an iron pipe?

I threw the oversize deck of cards into my trunk, grabbed the phone, and dialed Carly's number before I had a chance to overthink it.

She answered right away.

I stood up, holding the phone. “Hi. It's Harvey. I got your message.”

“Yes. Thank you for calling.”

On my TV, the audience laughed.

Carly said, “I wanted to say I'm sorry for the way I acted.”

I started pacing. “Apology accepted. Do you—”

“Wait. I need to say something.”

I stopped pacing. “All right…”

I heard her breathing. She said, “I haven't been totally honest with you.”

On the television, I heard a woman tell a dog to sit.

She said, “I … well, the truth is, I was in a relationship with someone who'd been in New York for a few months, and he just got back, and, well, you know, we had that kind of awkward reunion after you've been apart and you feel like strangers but you don't want to feel that way. Anyway, I feel like I have to give it a chance with him.”

“I see.” Sounds like your relationship's got a really great chance, with you falling into bed with me on the first date.

She said, “I was attracted to you. I guess I got a little carried away. I never do that. Then I was embarrassed, so I shut you down without telling you the whole story. I had no right to play with your emotions like that. I'm sorry.”

The woman on TV told her dog to roll over.

I said, “Okay…”

“Can you forgive me?” Her voice sounded like she was bracing for a barrage. “I mean, it'd be nice to be friends.”

I sighed. “Carly. I'll tell it to you straight. I find you incredibly attractive. I'm lousy at being friends when I'm that attracted to someone. So let's leave it like this. If things don't work out with your New Yorker, give me a call.”

It sounded like her breath caught. “You hate me.”

I softened my voice. “No. Just the opposite. I don't want to make things difficult for you.”
Actually,
I wouldn't mind making it a little difficult.

“Harvey…”

“I appreciate your apologizing to me. Not everyone would do that. I hope your relationship works out.”
About as much as I'd like to walk over broken glass on my lips.

She said, “Maybe I'll see you again.”

“Maybe so. Bye, Carly.”

I hung up the phone and stared at it. Shook my head.

As I sat on the couch, I heard the crumple of Copperfield's contract in my back pocket.

I pulled out the papers, looked at them.

Can I really sign this thing?

What choice do I have?

Clenching the contract in my fist, I got up and dug through the crap on my floor, found a pen, then sat on the couch. I folded the paper creases backward so I could lay the contract flat on my coffee table.

I opened it to the signature page.

I looked around my apartment. How could I have left this mess for so long? How can I live like this?

Ah … what difference does it make anyway?

I picked up the pen.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

 

Next morning, I parked at Hannah's office, then walked over to a corner mailbox on Lankershim. I opened the metal door of the mailbox, reached into my pocket, and grabbed the sealed envelope with the signed Copperfield contract. The smell of exhaust from cars idling at the corner stung my lungs. Isn't there some kind of smog law that cuts down on those fumes?

I put the envelope on the metal door but didn't close it. The traffic light changed. The cars accelerated. Did those assholes ever hear of mufflers?

I looked at the envelope lying there on the bare metal. I started to release the door handle. The metal groaned. I tightened my grip on the handle.

A woman's voice behind me said, “Can you hurry it up?”

I grabbed the envelope, let the metal door clunk shut, and stepped aside. The woman glared at me. I clutched the envelope tight in my hand. She dropped in two envelopes, let the mailbox door slam, then walked away.

I tightened my lips, looked down the street. The gutters were strewn with crumpled papers. The sidewalk was smeared with dirt.

I sighed, opened the mailbox again, and laid down the envelope. I closed my eyes. I heard a motorcycle chutter past.

Keeping my eyes closed, I let go of the handle.

*   *   *

When I got to work, I went through the motions of filing. Throughout the morning, if Hannah spoke to me, she got one-word answers.

Just before lunch, she said, “What's eating you?”

“Nothing.”

She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, Gimme a break.

“I sold my magic trick.”

Her face looked pained. “I'm sorry. I know what that meant to you.”

“Yeah, well … what am I gonna do?”

“I hope it wasn't because of my fees. I said I'd work with you.”

“Unfortunately, you're not the only wolf snapping at the door.”

Hannah said, “Is it
sold
sold?”

I turned toward her. “What do you mean?”

“Have you signed the deal and gotten the money?”

“I signed and mailed it this morning.”

“Did they sign first?”

“No.”

She brightened. “You could call them and say you're revoking the offer. You're free to do that before it's accepted.”

I shook my head. “Much as I'd love to, I need the money. I've got overdue rent, I owe you and the lab, and I'm sure there'll be trial expenses. Not to mention the hundred grand my mother put up.”

Hannah took a couple of steps toward me. “Have you thought about a BK?”

“A what?”

“A bankruptcy.”

“Oh. I thought you meant Burger King. Doesn't a bankruptcy, like, totally screw up your credit?”

“I won't say it's good for your credit rating. But it's a legitimate protection for people who get overwhelmed by debts.”

I took a fifty-cent piece out of my pocket and ran it over my knuckles. “If I do that, won't my mother end up holding the bag for my bail?”

“Technically, yes. But you could use the bankruptcy to get rid of your other debts, then pay your mother voluntarily.”

I ran the coin over my hand a few more times. Her eyes followed it.

I said, “It'll take me years to pay Mom if I don't sell the trick. I mean, it'll take me years anyway, but at least I can get her a decent chunk right away.”

I put the coin back in my pocket.

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

 

At three
A.M.
, I was lying in bed on my back, staring at the ceiling. I pulled a pillow over my face. It was hard to breathe with the pillow on my nose. I pushed it harder against my face.

Can still breathe.

I threw off the pillow and turned on my side, pulled my knees up toward my chest.

Shit. I got up and turned on the television. Obscure cable channels are awesome at that hour of the morning, at least if your taste is as weird as mine. There're infomercials for shit I'd never consider during the day, but somehow I find those products riveting when I'm sleep-deprived.

First came some gizmo that vacuum-seals your food into plastic pouches. Hmm … I could really save some money.…

Next channel had people sitting on a beach in Hawaiian shirts, talking about how much money they made from this real estate course.

I clicked around the dial, yawning, until I settled on a black-and-white rerun of a 1950s show. It was called
Candid Camera
and they hid a camera to film practical jokes. Wow, people actually did that before the Internet.

This blond woman drove a 1954 Packard downhill into a gas station. She got out of the car and told the attendant that her car didn't work right. He opened the hood, did a double take, and said, “You ain't got no engine!”

I found myself laughing out loud. In the background, I heard Lisa kick up birdseed in her cage.

The station went to a commercial for dog food.

I leaned back, closed my eyes, then suddenly sat up straight.

Wait a minute.…

A hidden camera. Maybe …

I deflated. No way there was any kind of security camera at Sherry Allen's apartment. First, the owners were obviously too cheap, and second, the cops would've found it right away.

But … hang on.…

Maybe there's another place.…

*   *   *

I didn't get to sleep that night because I got hooked on
Casablanca
for the eighteenth time and couldn't stop watching until the two men walked off in their beautiful friendship.

Around seven in the morning, I took a shower, then drove over the hill to Wilshire Boulevard. I parked on the street, sat in the car, and scanned the stores while I waited for them to open. Dry cleaner's, restaurant, supermarket, fast food, and …

Morris's Jewelry Store.

That's the best bet.

Just before nine, I saw a short old man, hunched at the shoulders, walk up to the jewelry store and take out his keys. I waited until he was inside, so he wouldn't think I was trying to jump him, then walked in.

He looked up from behind the counter. “Good morning, young man. How may I help you?”

“Does your store have a surveillance camera?”

The old man stiffened. I saw his hand go under the counter. “Why would you ask such a thing?”

*   *   *

Later that morning, groggy but pumped with adrenaline, I walked into Hannah's office.

She was yelling before I was halfway through the door. “I told you I would not tolerate any more tardiness and I meant it. You're fired. I resign as your lawyer. Get out.” She stuck her arm out stiffly, pointing at the door like she was giving some low-level Nazi salute.

I held up my hand like a traffic cop. “Before you froth over, let me tell you where I've been.”

“I don't give a good goddam where you've been. You're ten times over your screwup limit. Out!” Her face was reddening, her stiffened arm trembling.

“Fine. Fire me. Then I won't bother telling you how I just saved your ass on the Desmond case.”

Her face screwed up in puzzlement. “Your cutesy little tricks won't work this time. Just get out.”

“So I should take this with me?” I held up a DVD.

“Yes. Go.”

She was actually kinda hot-looking when she got all red-faced and sweaty. I said, “I don't think you mean that.”

“You bet your ass I mean it. OUT!”

“You really ought to see this.”

Her eyes shot to the DVD. I could see she was curious despite herself. “What is that thing?”

“It's a DVD.”

“I can see that, smart-ass. I've got no time for games.”

“Sorry, it's the performer in me. You know, building up to the big moment.”

“Performers should know how to read their audience. Make your point in the next ten seconds or get out.”

I held up the DVD and turned it so it sparkled in the light. “This is a surveillance video from a supermarket on Wilshire Boulevard. Taken on March eighteenth, at one eighteen
A.M.
”

Her eyebrows lowered. “The time Oliver Desmond was stopped by the police?”

“Precisely.”

Hannah took a step closer, lowering her weapon arm. Her face was draining toward neutral. She said, “It's a video of the street?”

“Yes. And guess what? It's a full-on view of a cop stopping Desmond's car. A car whose headlights were turned on.”

Hannah's mouth fell open. She shook her head. “Really?”

“No, April Fool's.” I smirked, nodding my head. “Yes, for real. Watch it.”

She took the DVD and cradled it like it was some fragile flower. Hannah ran over to her computer, stuck it in the drive, and clicked
PLAY.

She watched the video intently, then looked up at me. “Harvey, you're … brilliant.”

I felt myself blush. “Actually, I'm more of a late-night TV fan, but I'll take ‘brilliant.'”

*   *   *

That afternoon, I felt someone shaking me. As I sat up with a start, I realized I'd been sleeping. Shit. I'd fallen asleep on Hannah's desk. She was still shaking me.

I blinked away the fog and I noticed I'd drooled a spit blot on her desk pad. I put my arm over the wet spot.

I looked up at Hannah, who was grinning. She said, “Guess what?”

I swallowed the foul taste in my mouth. “I give up.”

Hannah said, “I showed the district attorney your DVD and he's dropping the Desmond case. They don't want to embarrass the cops, and I suspect they're also hoping we don't sue the city for harassment.”

I stood up. “Congratulations!”

Hannah made a pumping motion with her hand. “Yes! I won the case that my father told me to plead out.”

“Excellent!”

She nodded rapidly. “On the way back from downtown, I phoned Desmond's parents. They were so grateful that they gave me a huge bonus!” Beaming, she bobbed her head from side to side.

“Awesome.”

Suddenly, I felt the burden of my case slam into me like some party-crashing thug. My case wasn't going away so easily. My shoulders sagged and I slumped into a nosedive depression.

She said, “Harvey.”

“Yeah?”