Читать книгу The Grand March - Robert Turner - Страница 8

Carl Paulette awoke slowly, only gradually becoming aware that he was not where he’d been dreaming he was. That place was peaceful, full of light. Now he regained his senses in Mira’s apartment. Mira was about the worst housekeeper he’d ever known. Her apartment had an innate dinginess, here in an old building on Chicago’s North Side, and she sure hadn’t done anything to brighten it up. Dreary light oozed through yellowed shades, falling on walls of an indiscriminate color. Piles of stuff squatted in every room—piles of clothes, newspapers, books, magazines, mail. Every inch of the place was marked with the detritus of daily life. It was a rat-hole, compared to the house he shared with Ellie. But this rat-hole was his retreat. He kind of hated it mostly, but sometimes it was just what he needed.

He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock. The digital display read 7:28 a.m. That was one thing he was consistently good at—every time he set an alarm he’d get up exactly two minutes before it went off. Always. He’d set Mira’s alarm for seven-thirty, knowing that if he slept as long as he really needed, he’d wake up this afternoon. He couldn’t afford to sleep in today. He had to get back to Ellie as soon as he could. She had expected him home last night, and he hadn’t called. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Certainly not. In the past year it had happened too often. Big problem this time was that it had happened last only a couple of weeks ago. This was not a good trend.

The shrill beeping of the alarm sent his blood pressure soaring. He silenced it by giving it a good slap. The ruckus caused Mira to stir. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with her first thing in the morning. He had enough to deal with trying to concoct some sort of story for Ellie. God, he hated this. So why did it keep happening? This time it was Mira’s fault for sure. Usually they’d get together in the afternoon, whenever Carl could sneak out of work. They’d do their thing and hang out until Mira went to work at the bar. Last night she decided she’d call in sick, and although he tried to weasel out of it, he was stuck with her all night.

She stretched and yawned, then blinked her eyes. He practically ran to the bathroom. He faced himself in the mirror and shook his head in disapproval. What he needed was a good shower to wipe off any trace of Mira that Ellie might pick up. Once he had come home and Ellie had surreptitiously sniffed him all night. She didn’t say anything, but it was then that he decided he’d better not test the ability of her nose to detect another woman. His shower filled the small bathroom with steam. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out his razor. He wiped the mirror with a towel and looked at himself again. How could this have gotten to the point where he kept toiletries here? He slathered aftershave all over his body, then returned to the bedroom to dress. Mira sat up in bed.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He zipped his trousers and muttered, “I told you. My sister. I have to make sure she takes her medication.”

With a heavy sigh, she flopped back on her pillow. “Why doesn’t she live with your parents? Or at least have a nurse, or be in a home or something?”

Of course, this ‘sister’ didn’t exist. All this convoluted subterfuge was pure crap designed to explain why he always needed to be seventy miles away in Stillwater. The ‘crazy sister’ story served the purpose of dissuading Mira from calling him at home, or, if she did call, to conceal Ellie’s true identity should she answer. He had it sewn up pretty neatly, but the effort he had to make to keep his stories tight was exacting a toll on his nerves.

He shook his head as he buttoned his shirt. “What I haven’t told you,” he said, making it up as he went along, “is that she was married once, when she was twenty. Eloped. Didn’t last long, though.” He stalled by clearing his throat as he tucked in his shirt, not certain where this new lie was taking him. “She broke down right after that, and the folks sort of disowned her. That’s when she came to me. And I don’t have money for a nurse.”

That was good. Pam, his real sister, was a registered nurse. His career achievements ranged from janitor to bartender to salesman at a ball-bearing factory.

Mira sighed and sat up a little. “Well, I just don’t understand why you always have to be there, taking care of her.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

He didn’t have time for this nonsense. But he had to keep cool.

“Because she’s my sister,” he said, playing the sensitivity card, “and if she didn’t have me to keep her on her medication she’d slip away. I can’t let that happen.”

Where did this bullshit come from? He glanced around the stuffy little room, at the big, oppressive mess of it all. That sagging old bed had wrenched his back, and his hangover was in full swing. He had to get out of here. This all just had to stop. But he couldn’t put an end to it now. Now he just had to get out the door. He’d deal with everything else later.

Mira softened, smiled, and beckoned him over for a kiss. “OK,” she said.

For a moment he felt peaceful, light, almost like in his dream. But he had to go. He grabbed a small pipe from her coffee table and filled it with some of her pot, saying, “I’m taking this with me.”

“Just bring it back tonight. We’re supposed to be there at seven.”

He had no idea what she was talking about, or where she expected him to be tonight at seven. She wasn’t going to see him again for a while. Maybe not ever.

“Right,” he replied, tucking the pipe in a pocket. He hated the clothes he wore to work.

He turned to her to take his leave. God, she looked like hell this morning. Her hair was frizzed out, her eyes had that raccoon thing going on, her face was puffy from too much liquor. But he shifted a soulful look into his brown eyes, leaned forward and kissed her. She sighed. His head felt like it was about to explode.

“Got anything for a headache?” he asked, knowing Mira was always good for pills.

She nodded to her lumpy bag on a chair. “Some codeine in my purse.”

He took two tablets and put them in his shirt pocket.

“I have to cruise,” he said, heading for the door.

“OK. Come back as soon as you can. We have to catch the train by six-thirty to get there at seven.”

He left, still wondering what she was talking about. The street was empty. A sullen haze hung over the city. At eight o’clock in the morning it was already stifling hot. It was going to be one hell of a day. His head pounded. Those pills might knock him out on the way home, but damn it—he needed relief. He stopped and choked them down dry. In an hour or so he’d be home and feeling all right. He’d sweet talk Ellie and smooth things over. It was becoming routine.

Where the hell was the car? He couldn’t remember where he’d parked it, or much else of last night. He had sneaked out of work in the afternoon and gone over to Mira’s. They fucked, then got drunk; then she decided to call in sick. They went out, ate, drank way too much, came back and fucked some more. All in all a pretty good night, he guessed, but the details were sketchy. And the little detail of where he parked the goddamn car was pretty aggravating. This all just had to stop.

They had turned the corner last night at that building with the flower boxes. There was the park they walked past, and they’d gone under the train line, then up a couple blocks. He approached his old hatchback with trepidation. There was glass all over the sidewalk, and around his car. The rear window was smashed. His fancy tape deck and speakers were gone. Sure, they were hot when he bought them, but that didn’t mean it was OK for them to be stolen from him. He climbed in his car and sat there, picking up fragments of his window and tossing them in the gutter. Why couldn’t anything just go right and work out for him?

He meandered along gray streets. All the loose litter in his car was sucked out of the windowless hatchback as he brought the car up to speed on the freeway. The wind and noise were downright intolerable. Couldn’t use the air conditioning—not that it worked all that well anyway. It was going to be a long ride home. He felt sick, and the exhaust fumes circulating in the car weren’t helping. Maybe the carbon monoxide would kill him before he made it home. Or maybe he’d conk out from that codeine. He gripped the wheel and headed down the road.

What was he going to tell Ellie? What was he going to do about Mira? This had to stop. Mira was smart enough to know what was going on. Surely she was. So she was waiting for him to break it off with his ‘sister.’ But he couldn’t. He and Ellie had been together since high school, and he had moved in with her last year. Just last week they’d talked marriage. Of course, he’d talked marriage with Mira, too, but he didn’t mean it with her. At least, he didn’t mean it as much as he meant it with Ellie. Oh, he was a mess.

Ellie must know too. She must. So why did she stay with him? Maybe it was one of those things where she didn’t even know why, but one day she’d get fed up and split. Except she wouldn’t split—she’d kick his ass out is what she’d do. Maybe today. He couldn’t entertain that thought now. He needed her. She was good to him, and he wanted to do right by her. And he usually had, until Mira got him drunk that first night he’d stayed with “Tom,” a fictional co-worker, who either didn’t have a phone, or whose phone was never operational for one reason or another. How lame.

What was wrong with him? Ellie was stable, a real practical partner. Mira was a flake with no assets other than a quick wit, a hot body, and access to free booze. Ah, but he liked her for that. And how could he begrudge himself that fondness? He knew it wasn’t right at all, but it certainly wasn’t all wrong. All he knew was that it had to stop.

He fished in his pocket for his lighter, and pulled out that pipe. Lighting it was going to be tricky in this wind. Fortunately it was early Saturday morning, and the traffic was light. He crouched down around the pipe with his lighter, sort of generally guiding the wheel with his shoulders. He sparked the bowl, inhaled deeply, and quickly resumed a proper driving position. He then coughed his lungs out and spat onto the passenger seat. His madness had never been more apparent.

The stench of heavy industry blew through his violated vehicle. A few miles down the road his low-grade nausea became a gnawing hunger. Maybe he needed something on his stomach. He was coming on Lake Station, where there was a diner he’d eaten at a few times before. A big sign on the roof said, “Eat.” Just the ticket.

A patchwork of mismatched linoleum squares covered the floor. The walls were coated with vaporized oil and tobacco residue. He plopped himself on a tired old stool at the battered counter. A bunch of sad sacks accompanied him there, yawning, staring hypnotically at their coffee, devouring their food.

Sweet Jesus, who was this hot little brunette pouring him coffee? Those eyes, those lips—oh, he did have an appetite.

“Know what you want?” she asked, snapping her gum.

What a loaded question.

“What’s good?” he asked, openly checking her out.

“Everything’s good,” she said, impatiently looking around while straining to keep hold of the coffee pot. “Should I come back in a minute?”

“No, no,” he told her, waving a hand. “I’ll take some pancakes. And maybe some bacon.”

“You can get the special of pancakes, bacon, and eggs for less than pancakes with a side of bacon,” she advised him.

“OK, then. Scramble my eggs, all right?”

She nodded, turned, and slid the coffee pot onto a burner while simultaneously slapping his order onto a wheel at the window to the kitchen.

He sipped coffee and pondered his predicament. There was no way he could just dump Mira, just dispose of her. But he couldn’t keep pushing things with Ellie. Everyone knew that Ellie was the best thing that ever happened to him. She kept him in check, or mostly did. She balanced him. He really did like Mira, though. Hell, he even loved her, and he sure didn’t want to hurt her. But it was clear things couldn’t go on as they were. He and Mira could never make it together—they were too much alike. They stood on the same side of the scale, and they each needed someone else to even them out. He’d be doing both of them a favor by calling it off. No question about that. The question was how to do it. He was searching hard for an easy answer.

The car was another matter altogether. He’d have to file a police report and call his insurance company. Since he already left the city, he guessed he’d have to pretend it happened in Stillwater and file a report there. Unlikely thing to happen in Stillwater, though. Nothing much ever happened there. But he couldn’t very well file a report in Chicago—he would have spent the whole morning there if he had. Besides, he couldn’t remember where he told Ellie that this “Tom” lived. He had to make sure all his stories meshed, but his mind was in no state to sort through his tangled webs right now. Why couldn’t things just be easy? Just once he’d like something to work the way it should. Just once.

Well, at least his head was numb now. He’d been drinking way too much lately. If he wasn’t careful he’d turn into his old man, drunk all the time. Or not even drunk, really, just always loaded. Right now he had to load up on the coffee if he didn’t want to pass out. That sweet waitress came by empty-handed, but she could come any way she wanted as far as he was concerned.

“Can I get some coffee when you get a chance?” he asked her.

She hoisted a rack of coffee cups to her midsection, turned, looked at him without answering and marched to the kitchen. A minute later she returned and filled his cup.

“You from around here?” he asked in the cheeriest voice he could manage. She replaced the coffee on the burner and hesitated before she replied.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I come through here every now and then. Maybe you could show me around sometime.”

Brilliant move. Good thing to hit on her while trying to figure out how to drop his mistress because of a newfound fidelity to the woman he lived with. And he was high as a kite to boot, in order to mask one hell of a hangover. Yeah, he was doing all right.

“Look,” she said, leaning close to him. “I’m sure you’re real nice and everything, but my boyfriend’s the cook and I can tell you one thing—you don’t want him pissed at you.”

She walked away. Couldn’t blame a guy for trying. Except, of course, in his case you really could blame him. Could blame him quite a bit, as a matter of fact.

He ate eagerly, and just as eagerly sought to relieve himself afterwards. For a moment there, sitting on the can, he actually felt good. All that dope now freely coursing through his blood helped him gain a little altitude over his troubles. His chemically induced solace needed a little reinforcing, so he pulled out the pipe, intending to take a hit and stand on the toilet to exhale through a vent. He sucked the smoke in deeply, then froze as someone walked into the room. The guy moseyed over to the urinal and stood there for a seeming eternity. A cough burst out of Carl’s chest. His attempt to hold it back resulted in snorting and sputtering that fanned the cloud of smoke filling the stall. He sat still while the other occupant of the room finished, and took his time washing up. Before he left he coughed loudly, sending Carl into quite a state.

He was certain that as soon as he opened the door he’d be arrested. Should he just bolt, try to run out of the joint? No, it was always better to play it cool. He walked back to his seat, trying to keep it together. Was everyone looking at him, or was he just imagining it? It sure seemed like all eyes were on him. Someone coughed. His mouth dried up and his knees got wobbly. He slapped ten bucks next to his plate, then left in a hurry. After dropping his keys and scraping his knuckles to retrieve them, he peeled out and hightailed it to the freeway.

OK, that was about as uncool as anything he’d ever done, but it was over. And that’s how things would have to be with Mira: over. It was an uncool thing, but it was over now. He had to try extra hard to repair the damage with Ellie. Things could work out for everyone. He and Ellie could be stronger. Mira could find someone better for her. And he could grow up.

That codeine was kicking in now, slowing him down and taking the edge off his brief panic. He cruised on in his temporary elation until a sudden realization slapped him down. It was Ellie’s birthday today. No. No, it couldn’t be. When was her birthday anyway, the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of June? And today was Saturday the what? Goddamn. Oh, why couldn’t anything be easy? He didn’t need this. No, he most definitely did not.

He vaguely remembered buying something for her a while back, a silk scarf he found in a shop somewhere. But maybe he had already given that to her. It seemed like he’d seen her wearing it. But come to think of it, he had actually given that scarf to Mira. Oh, he was screwed all right. Why did he have to deal with this on top of everything else? He got off the freeway and stopped in Door Prairie, where he knew of an antique shop.

The first thing he saw was a fanciful fish made of orange glass. At twenty bucks, it was just about what he wanted to spend. He gave a perfunctory look around the place before coming back to it. What the hell. It was OK. He’d get it for her as a quirky objet d’art. She’d like it. Probably. Besides, he didn’t have the time or the inclination to hunt around. It would have to do.

Now if he could just get someone to take his money he could get out of here and be home in twenty minutes. His head felt thick, and his dry eyes burned. He hoped he could muster up some energy when he tried to make peace with Ellie. Right now he felt like he was going to faint. He rang a bell on the counter and a wiry, white-haired man walked over.

“Interesting piece,” he said, turning the fish end over end to find a price.

Carl didn’t register a word.

“So, is this a gift?” the man asked, writing a receipt.

“Huh?” Carl grunted, snapping to. “Yeah. For my girlfriend.”

The shopkeeper nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you then, if you want.”

Carl accepted the offer and stood unsteadily as the guy set about finding supplies.