Wasted Beauty (20 page)

Outside, the sun dims through a red gold aerosol as it loosens its grip on this side of the planet. The tunnel traffic stands choked and growling. They awkwardly shake hands and turn in separate directions.

The same trash, dog shit and broken bottles of the morning lie in Rick’s path. The same but different. Rick thinks, my headache’s gone.

RENA SLIPS THROUGH THE LATE AFTERNOON SWELL OF
shoppers, workers, street people. This guy, this doctor, what’s up with him? Never really looking at me. Telling me all that stuff. How old? Over forty? Like Paul. But not like Paul. Paul’s fucked up. This guy is a nice guy. Helps out, doesn’t want anything back. Pretty straight. Shy. A brain. Afraid to look at me. Peeking at my tits like a little boy. What would he have done if I’d reached out and touched his cheek?

This guy is a good guy. He cares about people no matter what he says, I can see it. He has a heart. A real heart. He’s smart and he can get things done. He put that whole clinic together, he can do anything. He’ll do what has to be done. Don’t worry, Billy, lil’ sister is going get you out of there. One thing at a time. Get Billy settled down, then clean up off the dope. Steer clear of Barry. This could be a turning point. Get some money together. And then what?

This doctor, this guy, he must have such a nice life. A simple good life. Wife and kids. Plus he’s smart, always been smart. Jewish. Takes care of people. That’s what I want. Can’t be running around all the time. I never wanted this insanity. I only wanted to get away from Stupidville. Would’ve dried up like Maureen if I stayed there.

This doctor knows things. He could tell me things. Not for Billy. For myself. I could ask him: What’s the secret? How do I get to be happy the way you’re happy? Help me find the way. Fix me. I want to get clean. Really, really clean, like from inside out. Get me away from all these monsters and garbage. Too many monsters. There’s got to be a world without monsters. I know it’s out there.

STONED AGAIN. WASTED. CHUCKLING TO MYSELF LIKE
a loonie. Pot. I’m turning into a fucking pothead. Rick takes a big pull off the fat doobie he’s rolled, sitting like a backyard Buddha. Nothing wrong with having time to think.

That girl, the model, had the most amazing voice. Like raw silk. How old can she be? Twenty-two? But a woman. Did you see that neck? Long, muscular. Didn’t she say something about being from a farm? Probably milked cows since she was five. What would it be like to kiss that neck? To press my cheek against it? Just a kid. Still.

Beauty, that’s the deal. True beauty, like art. Eyes like bits of colored glass, skin like a baby’s. Said she was a fashion model. Wonder if I’ve ever seen her in anything? Probably. Yes. Must have seen her. That’s why she looks so familiar. Like I’ve always known her. Lips the faintest shade of pink, pearly. Is that right? Can lips be pearly?

What’s that sound? Crickets? Tree frogs. Like some kind of Tibetan monk chant. Katydids, that’s what that sound is. Droning. Humming. Scratching, that’s it, rubbing their legs together. Trying to get laid, right? And that background sound, like wind chimes, or a harmonica. Do Tibetan monks get laid? Probably. Not hung up like the West. Probably chant to attract the lady monks. Something about harmonic overtones, isn’t that what that sound is? There’s the fundamental that makes the pitch and then there’s the overtone, like a bell. Or like a chime, or a phone ringing, deep inside my head.

The phone ringing. Laura. She’s going to know I’m stoned. So what? I have a right to get stoned.

Rick enters the kitchen, picks up a piece of fruit and bites into it as he lifts the phone. “Hey,” he mumbles. The juice dribbling down his chin. God, that’s good, he thinks.

The voice on the other end says, “Hi.”

“Kinda late, isn’t it? You guys been out?” Nectarine all over Rick’s fingers. He snatches a leaf of paper towel and wipes his mouth.

“I’m always up this late.”

“Hello?! Who is this?”

“Guess.”

“Oh. Hi. How…”

“You gave me your numbers, remember? Is it too late?”

“No. No. I was just, uh, watching TV.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No. No. This is a good time.” Rick tosses the half-eaten fruit into the sink and misses. The pit skids across the counter, onto the floor, leaving a snail track of sweet slime. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Good. I was going to call you tomorrow. I, uh, spoke with someone on the ward. Seems that they think Billy’s not being very cooperative.” God I am so stoned.

“Yeah. I know.”

“I explored the idea of transferring him to a private institution. Could you afford that? It’s not a simple thing. Requires a huge amount of paperwork, hiring a lawyer to make an appeal.” I’m too stoned to be having this conversation. Tell her you’ll call her tomorrow.

“Thanks, it’s nice of you to do that.”

“No, it’s nothing. It would be your headache if you want to go through with it.”

“That’s wonderful, Doctor.”

“Doesn’t mean he’d be released. They see him as kind of a menace. Guess he beat those guys up pretty bad. And Billy doesn’t get along with other, uh, inmates. Especially those of color.”

“Of color?”

“You know. Black. Minorities.”

“Yeah, he was always prejudiced, but he was never, you know, violent.”

“Could be a lot of things.”

“Yeah.”

“So.” God. This is better than a 900 number.

“Well, thank you, Doctor.”

“Call me Rick, please. And listen, I’ll let you know what they tell me. I’ll look into places he can go. And I’ll find a lawyer who does this kind of thing.”

“That’s so…wow. I mean.” Pause. Rick hears a sob. “I’m sorry.”

“Hello?”

“No. I. I’ve been going through some stuff lately. And it’s nice to talk to someone who is, you know, a good guy. For a change.”

“I’m only pretending to be a good guy. It requires a great deal of effort on my part.” Why did I say that?

“What?!”

Is she wiping away tears? Fuck. “You sure you’re OK?” She doesn’t understand irony, asshole. Why don’t you make some more dead parents jokes?

“No.” Rena giggles. Relief all around.

“Oh, because I was a little worried.” More irony.

Rena laughs again. “Um. Rick? Would you ever have time to have another cup of coffee? Just to talk. All this has been pretty overwhelming and the stress of my job and everything. Do you have time for that? Oh, I know you don’t have time for that, you’ve got your kids and everything, the clinic, you’ve already done so much, I’m sorry, I’m being a pain in the ass.”

“No. You’re not. I’m pretty free until my family gets back.”

“How about the day after tomorrow? Same place as before?”

“Around six? I’ll see if I can get some more information. About alternatives.”

“Good.” Long exhalation. “I feel so much better that you’re helping me. Thank you.” Silence.

“Stop thanking me already.” This is surreal.

“Sorry.”

“Well, don’t start apologizing, that’s worse.”

“OK.”

“I’ll see you in a couple of days.” My god, I’m flirting with her. That’s nuts. Don’t flirt with her, Rick. Don’t be a jackass.

“OK.”

Rick hangs up the phone, half expecting Laura to walk in from the living room. Laura and the kids. Laura and the kids. Just keep saying it out loud to yourself. Like a mantra. Laura and the kids.

You’re stoned, you’re delusional. This is a young woman who wants help for her brother. But we’re having coffee again. OK. So what’s that about? She needs somebody to talk to. I’m playing uncle to her little girl. Those model types are “high maintenance.” Like a kitten that’s been weaned from its mother too soon. She needs me to focus on her. But Rick, Rick, Rick!!!! Hey asshole! Don’t get confused! This is a kid, a fucking model for god’s sake. She hangs out in L.A. with movie stars and all that. Wears a thong. Makes piles of money. She knows what she is and she knows what you are. She needs something so she turns on the charm. Right now she needs some hand-holding. That’s it. End of story.

What it is, see, is she needs someone to get her through. Nothing better than a nice doctor, minus balls and dick. Nice sweet sexless avuncular doctor who will listen to her problems. Normally you charge $175 for a twenty-minute consultation. She’s gonna get it for free.

After she’s gotten all the attention she needs, she can wander off and suck off some NBA superstar. Wait a minute. Stop. She’s a nice kid. Do you really think she’s that trashy? With those eyes? Those lips? Not possible. It would be a travesty against nature. On the other hand, maybe. Probably. She probably has tattoos. A belly button ring. Drinks Stoli and smokes Ecstasy. Who the fuck knows?

Besides, what’s the difference between sucking off a jock and sucking off a doctor? Because if you would just be honest with yourself, for two minutes, you’d admit if she snapped her fingers tomorrow, you’d follow. Right? Well, it’s not just the sex. She’s…she’s more than that. She’s sweet. Oh, Jesus. How did we get to this? This girl is taking up space in your head, my friend. You are actually
thinking
about her.

Rick relights the joint and wanders back out and contemplates the astral canopy. Not just stars up there but satellites and spaceships. The blinking red bits are jets filled with people crossing the night sky. Hundreds of people on their way to the next big moment in their lives. People full of expectations and desires and hopes and movement. Moving toward the big moment. Life is either the big moments or the filler. All the stuff in between the big moments you forget. In the end, what you call “your life” is the big moments, right? Speaking of which, when was the last time I had a big moment? Cape Cod. Sex with Laura. Watching the kids play on the sand. You know what? The big moments don’t feel so big anymore.

No lights next door. Do Ed and Jane know what I did on their cedar deck? Have they found my little present? Doubtful. There’s not enough cum in me to get noticed. Besides, they’re probably on vacation. As I should be. The suburbs are launch pads, way stations. You’re not actually supposed to spend this much time here. The point is to get away, it’s summer, go. Go to your loved ones. Ed and Jane are with each other. Just as I should be with Laura. But I’m not. I’m in my backyard smoking dope, dreaming about a teenager. I’m a fucking cliché.

The sad truth is that I’d love it if this girl snapped her fingers. Just once. Just snap those beautiful long fingers once. Just for the hell of it. Snap, snap. So I can come running. Like a little dog. Like a frisky little dog.

RICK AND RENA SIT IN A STARBUCKS, EYES LOCKED,
talking about everything and nothing. Their fourth meeting. They’ve been making the rounds, getting good at having coffee together. Oblivious to the hustle and bustle. Recounting life stories and traumas, the words themselves as insignificant as clouds over an empty sea. It’s supposed to be about Billy but they don’t talk about Billy.

Rena laughs. “Your life is so different from mine,” she says.

“This isn’t my life. This is a break from my life. I never do this. Take a breather.” Rick feels his own face. Stubble. Forgot to shave again.

“No?”

“My life is very structured. Always has been. There’s always another thing I have on my to-do list. My life is a list and when I’ve checked everything off there will be no reason to live. Except I forgot to shave this morning.”

“That’s unhealthy.”

“Not shaving or keeping an existential to-do list?”

“The list! Existential! Listen to you! It’s unhealthy because you’re not living inside your own life! And you have a good life, you should enjoy it! You love your wife. You love your kids. You have a nice job.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

“Maybe I am your therapist.”

“No. Definitely not.” Rick wants to say, I don’t want to schtup my therapist. Probably not a good idea to say that. Instead he says, “You also have a nice job. Make piles of money…”

“All I do is stand around and look pretty.”

“Your work is work. From what I’ve heard.” What do I know? I don’t know anything. I don’t know her. I don’t know me.

“But what you do has dignity. Taking care of people. Showing up at that ER once a week, that’s so great. We would never have met if you weren’t doing that.”

“I do it to mitigate my guilty conscience. I’m a quack, a pill pusher. A representative of pharmaceutical corporate America.”

“OK, we won’t talk about it.”

“I was just going to say.”

“What?” Rena laughs again.

Rick gets an anxious look on his face.

“What?”

“Stop saying ‘what’!”

“Why?”

They laugh in unison and Rick is in the stratosphere, soaring.

Rena says, “I don’t like my work. I don’t want to deal with those people anymore. I want to sit in coffee shops forever.”

Rick says, “You’d die of espresso poisoning, I think.”

Rena reaches into her bag. “I got you something. A thank you for helping Billy.”

“I haven’t done anything for Billy.” She’s buying me things. A rich girl is buying me things.

“But you will. You’re going to.” Just don’t go away. Stay with me. Talk to me. Help me.

Three long days have passed since they’d last done this. She can’t tell him that it’s because she’d been withdrawing from a mild case of heroin addiction. She thought she had the flu. Then she figured it out. Didn’t leave the bathroom for twenty-four hours. Nerves are on edge, but it’s been worth it. Because now I’m with Rick. Clean. Happy. I don’t think of using when we’re talking like this.

“This better be something my wife would understand. Like a book about gardening.” Rick unwraps the little package.

“Why wouldn’t Laura understand that you have a friend who happens to be a woman?”

“Oh, gee, I don’t know.” My wife’s name on this girl’s lips. Like an invasion of privacy. But she knows Laura’s name because I talk about Laura. About the kids. I talk about them because of fear. I’m afraid if I stop talking about them, I’ll forget they exist. But it only brings her closer to me. When I tell her about my life at home, she lights up, like I’m a genius spouting a new theory of quantum mechanics.

A small carved piece of wood drops out of the package. “What is it? A bird?”

“It’s a lion. Very old, from ancient China. See? Its tongue moves. Carved from some kind of rare wood. I think the samurai hung things like this on tassels off their swords. You could hang it off your sword.”

“I don’t have a sword.” Should I tell her that the samurai were Japanese? Nah.

“No?” Coy.

She’s fucking with me. She’s way ahead of me. Way, way ahead. “You know, Rena, you’re a big flirt.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. But I don’t mind. It’s harmless. I guess.” Make a big show of checking my watch. “Shit! I’ve already got appointments in the waiting room.”

“It’s a waiting room, right? Let them wait.”

“They’re sick people.” A few blocks away a car alarm wails.

“No, they’re not. You told me so. They’re just a bunch of whiners.”

“Whiners who pay me the big bucks to listen to them.”

“And feel them up.”

“Actually, I have three-way sex with them on the examination table.”

“Who’s the third person?”

“My assistant, Zoe. Very hot babe.”

“Really?”

“Listen.” Rick finishes his coffee. “It’s so boring, it’s beyond boring. Gotta go.”

“Why do you stay there if it’s so boring?”

“It’s my clinic.”

“But every day you go there, time is passing. Your life is passing.” Rena furrows her brow as if angry at the world for harming Rick.

“And how would I make a living?”

“You don’t have to make a living. I’ll take care of you. I have plenty of money. Just hang out with me.”

“I gotta go.”

Rena’s hand shoots out and grips Rick’s wrist. “No.” Her eyes are steely.

“I don’t want to. I have to. You know I love sitting here with you. Talking with you.”

“Do you? Do you love it?”

“Yes.” Get up and leave. Now. You’re on a slippery slope, pal.

“So if you love it…I mean, Rick, why isn’t this time, right now, the time we spend together as good as any other time? Do you have to be making money to have time count? Why can’t you just be with someone?” She releases his wrist. “Look, never mind. Go. But call me later. Please?”

“OK.” Rick feels the beat of his blood. High from her touch. From her need. “Are you going to be OK?”

“Sure.” But all of a sudden she doesn’t look OK. She looks like the little kid who’s gotten lost at the mall.

“I’ll call you.” Rick makes for the door. When he turns to wave, she smiles a brilliant smile, the blues dispersed into the late summer air. She mimes “Phone me.”

Walking back to the clinic, Rick grins to himself. Oh yeah. Here we go. Insanity. OK. This is what you do, Rick. You help her with her brother and then clear the fuck out, asshole. But I don’t want to clear out. I like it here. The funny thing is, I don’t think she realizes the power she has over me. Isn’t that strange? I spend my life in the clinic, with Laura, with the kids. All so predictable, so good in its way. It is good. But boring. And here’s this girl, that’s all she is, is a girl, who lives on another planet. Sending me signals, beaming me across space. And I would fly to her world in a heartbeat. What would that be like? To feel her breath on my ear? Not even all that. Forget the sex. Just to be with her. To sit with her like that, forever, like she says?

Look, she’s just lonely. She’s playing with my head. Probably goes home to her boyfriend and they make fun of her new best friend the pathetic old doctor. She probably does this all the time, collecting old farts who are thrilled just to sit and bask in her glow. She recharges her batteries with the attention. It’s just something she does.

Besides, she’s a ditz. A model. A kid. You don’t care about her. You just want to “do” her. And you better watch out, pal. What if you do manage to get her in bed and it doesn’t work out? What if she laughs at you? What then? Write yourself a scrip for Viagra and run back to Laura? OK. First of all, this isn’t really happening. You’re delusional. Second of all, she’s a bimbo and you’re pretending she’s something more. Third of all, don’t be a schmuck. Oh, and fourth of all, you are married with two kids. Fourth of all. Listen to me.

Suddenly missing Laura, Rick speed-dials the Cape. When he gets dropped into Laura’s voice mail, he hangs up, doesn’t leave a message. As he crosses the street toward the clinic, Zoe’s anxious expression radiates through the plate glass. The waiting room is packed. I don’t care. I don’t care if they’re in there puking blood. Turn around. Rena’s back in the coffee place, she’s still sitting at the table and she’s waiting for me to come back.

When Rick walks in, Zoe tries to pass the phone to him. A woman is on the phone and insists it’s very important that she speak with him. An emergency. Rick strides into his office and picks up the phone.

“Yes?”

“Listen, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I…uh…”

“Because I forgot to tell you, um, that someone at Details gave me tickets to the McCartney concert. Right up front.”

“Wow, that’s great but um, I…I’m driving up to the Cape.”

“Oh.”

“I only get a day or two to see the kids.”

“Uh-huh. No. That’s cool. I was just thinking, because I didn’t want to waste the tickets…”

You’re not driving anywhere. Go to the McCartney concert, even though you can’t stand his music. Rick wills himself to say the words: “No, listen, I appreciate it.”

“And um, anyway. Whatever.”

“What?” No laughter on either end.

“Yeah. So. OK. Listen. Could you call me when you get back? From being with your family?”

“Of course.”

“To talk about Billy.”

“Right.”

“OK. Well, um, have a nice time this weekend.”

“Thanks.”

“With Laura.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“OK. Bye.” Beat. “I’ll miss you.”

She hangs up. Rick is holding his breath.