To say the water was freezing wouldn’t come within an Arctic Circle of doing it justice. Jellwagger had never felt his brain freeze before, barring the occasional overzealousness while scarfing ice cream or, for that matter, sucking down a blueberry ice blended. But that wasn’t really a brain freeze; more of a pang between the eyes.
This, on the other hand, was the real thing: The plummet in temperature across his entire body, the inability to move his eyes while he bobbed up and down and his view alternated between underwater and above. He was too cold even to shiver. When he achieved a semblance of a doggy paddle, our Jellwagger still couldn’t breathe. How would you expect him to with a frozen diaphragm? He thought he heard voices above him, but his ears were too frozen to admit much sound.
Funny how just a little while ago, while he watched the kids frolic at the foot of the water, he was thinking how tame it all looked, how only those kids could appreciate the roughness of the otherwise calm-seeming ocean. Well, now you can lump this particular Jellwagger in the category of Never Underestimating the Power of a Placid Sea. First it seemed he’d be thrown into one of the pier’s outer pillars. Then the current pushed him further out from the pier altogether, which unfortunately meant the distance between Jellwagger and the state of California was quickly getting wider.
Jellwagger was getting some feeling back in his limbs as he kicked his legs and jabbed his arms in and out like Aaron on his car. It was enough to let him put some effort into turning around. The sun had just dipped below the water but was still close enough for its rays to shoot up into the sky. It was almost like they were reaching for Jellwagger. Seriously. Maybe the brain freeze was making him see things, but it really did seem that if Jellwagger just reached up, he could grab those pink-orange rays. Only he had the distinct feeling, which made him feel nauseous, that the rays would whip him up into the sky, never to return. The more Jellwagger contemplated them, the more he contemplated never being able to come back to earth, to see Jo… Jesus, look at him crying. Even the thought of never seeing Betsy and Grant again, listening to Bruce Willis narrate Civilization and Its Discontents, walking Chump E. Chips…
Oh no! Chump! He was all alone, most likely curled up on the recliner thinking Master Jellwagger would be returning home directly. Just as Jellwagger thought he would puke, the nausea ebbed commensurate with the river of hot tears that started bathing his cheeks. It was enough to get him to turn back around to face the shore. He didn’t give himself time to be terrified by how ungodly far away the shore looked. What was he, a mile out? Surely not two miles. No matter. He couldn’t think about it. It was time to swim like his life depended on it. Which, of course, it did. And while doing so, he’d be doing his mother proud. It was only because of her that he’d taken swimming lessons when he was seven.
Jellwagger kept his eyes shut tight while doing his best freestyle. Now and again he blinked just to make sure he was heading in the right direction. Otherwise it was just him, the blackness, and the salt water. He thought he was acclimating to the cold, but with the sun gone, the water only seemed to get colder with every thrust of his arm and kick of his leg.
Jellwagger pushed harder. What else was there to do? If he allowed fatigue to slow him down, he’d risk freezing to death and giving himself over to the mercy—or lack thereof—of the sea. His corpse would drift like a puny pink dot in the infinity of black. His last thought would probably be Jo. Where was she right now? Let’s see, it was three hours later there. Maybe she was catching a flick in Cherry Hill or something. Or if she was like him, which she sometimes could uncannily be, she’d’ve stayed put for the night to take in her usual Saturday night shows with a glass or two of wine. He’d always admired her for being able to pace her alcohol consumption. But he’d never told her that. Aw shit, here we go. Now Jellwagger’s brain was being flooded with shitloads of sentimental stuff he regretted not telling people, mostly Jo and, even worse, his father, to whom Jellwagger wouldn’t be able to say squat even if he lived through this. More importantly, though, was why. Why hadn’t Jellwagger said what he wanted to say? Even if you complimented someone once out of every two opportunities, by the end of your life you’ll have compiled a mountain of feelings you’d never gotten off your chest to the people you cared about.
The one and only good thing about dwelling on this was that it was making Jellwagger cry and howl like a baby starving in its crib, and that in turn pumped the blood through his limbs. His arms hacked at the ocean and his legs kicked just as furiously. He blinked again.
No way. Was he getting closer?
Just when he thought about what he’d do if Kit really had killed herself, he shoved the thought back out of his mind. It always came back, like a hungry dog refusing to be shut out of the kitchen, but Jellwagger always kicked it back out. Thinking about Kit right now simply wasn’t an option. One trauma at a time, thank you very little.
“Jellwagger!”
Jellwagger blinked a couple times. Holy shit, he really was getting closer to the shore. He would live to spat with Jo another day, to eat Betsy with his eyes, to walk Chump, to watch Bruce Willis movies, to toil away on Exit the Danish, to be glared at by Grant.
“Jellwagger!”
Speaking of whom, that voice… Could it be…?
Jellwagger freestyled his skinny ass off until the person yelling his name sounded practically on top of him. He opened his eyes and kept them open. A crowd of fifty or so people was waiting for him. They were all calling his name. What the hell?
Finally Jellwagger was close enough to stand on his numb feet. The water came up to his waste. His heart pumped like pumping was going out of style.
Everyone on the shore cheered and clapped and jumped up and down. That’s when he noticed the flashing blue and red lights of the Santa Monica Police SUV parked on the sand behind the crowd. The two officers, in white golf shirts and khaki shorts, ran out into the water along with two lifeguards, both in those red bathing suits we all know and love from Baywatch. No, Pamela Anderson wasn’t one of them, but the brunette was certainly cute enough. Jellwagger’s smile faded upon taking in the male lifeguard, a strapping six-foot-plus testament to gyms and hair gel. How could Jellwagger compete with that? That’s okay, though. One of the cops was a cutie with a blonde bob, and her male counterpart wasn’t much. Jellwagger probably wouldn’t land this gal either, but at least he’d have half a chance if he tried.
“Are you okay?” they asked him repeatedly.
Jellwagger nodded, unable to talk, barely able to breathe. He examined the crowd while the four held him steady during the final steps to dry land.
“All right, Jellwagger!”
“Ya da man, Jellwagger!”
He still couldn’t fathom how they knew him, but that didn’t stop the smile thawing his face. The humungous and impossibly soft towel that the hot lifeguard draped over his back only encouraged him more. Wow, and look at the woman cop hold our lucky man by the shoulders to ensure the towel was securely on him. Threeway, anyone?
Speaking of compromising sex acts, Jellwagger spotted the man who must’ve told everyone else who he was, the one whose voice he’d heard calling his name when he was still way out yonder flapping like a madman.
Grant Prossich emerged from the crowd and was the first to greet Jellwagger as soon as his feet sank blissfully into the dry and still-warm sand. He held out his hand the same way he did when Jellwagger first showed up at Powell and Powler four years ago. Jellwagger never would’ve smiled this much at Grant on a typical day in the firm. But of course this was no typical day. They weren’t coworkers anymore. They were something they’d never been to each other: People. And it would influence the course of the rest of this night.
Jellwagger was wrong about the handshake. Yes, it carried the same firmness, and Grant did extend his arm all the way out until it was stiff as a plank, but what made it different was the extra energy and the extra shakes. And then it got even weirder. He hugged Jellwagger, slapping him several times on the back.
Grant pushed back and held Jellwagger by the shoulders. Between him and the lifeguards and the cops, Jellwagger had a good five or so pairs of hands on him. Grant obviously wanted to say something, but he couldn’t for the laughter threatening to double him over. He laughed until he cried. The awkwardness of the scene culminated in Grant giving the shivering Jellwagger a full wraparound bear hug.
“That was fucking awesome!” he was barely able to say.
“You’re here,” was all Jellwagger could think of saying.
“Those two lifeguards kept looking like they were going to go in after you, but you were obviously kicking ass and taking names. Seriously, Jellwagger, watching you right now was fucking phenomenal. This will definitely be reported to Betsy.”
And that’s when it hit Jellwagger square in the temple. “Kit!”
“Come again?”
Jellwagger looked around. He wanted to move, but the ten hands were making it impossible. “Has anyone seen her? Kit!”
“Your girlfriend?”
“Huh?”
“Oh, you mean the mature but attractive African-American woman in the very becoming red bikini?”
“Kit!”
“Did you know this woman, Jellwagger?”
The lifeguards and cops were yelling at everyone to give Jellwagger some room.
“She’s gone, Jellwagger.”
“No!” Jellwagger said. “She isn’t gone. She’s here. She’s out there somewhere.”
“That’s what I meant.”
Jellwagger was about to argue again, but Grant’s words caught him short. He was oblivious to the lifeguards inquiring about his health and the cops requesting an interview. “What?”
“She’s out there somewhere, Jellwagger. As you yourself just stated so eloquently.”
“Grant, I don’t have time for this. Once more, but in English.”
Grant gave Jellwagger a smile that wasn’t much different from his caged-teeth Gaze. “I am speaking English,” he said in a deadpan voice. “What’s her name? Kit? She’s gone, Jellwagger.”
“She can’t be dead.”
“Let me put it this way. If she’s dead, then us living folk should be ashamed of ourselves for letting a dead woman run faster than us.”
“Okay, Grant.” Jellwagger took several deep breaths. Not only was he no longer shivering, but the towel was starting to feel a wee bit stifling. “So you saw her. The same woman who jumped off the pier.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! She…” Grant looked around and gestured in the general direction of Pacific Coast Highway.
“She what, Grant? What the fuck did she do? English!”
“The African-American woman in the red bikini was quite nubile, if I say so myself.”
“I didn’t ask that!”
“She’s alive, sir,” the female cop said.
Jellwagger turned to her with a start. For the first time since she helped put the towel around him, he noticed her green eyes, and that her blonde bob had a clip on it, and that the blonde hair had sheen even in the dusk. Was it bleached? Was the woman really a brunette? Not that he minded two brunettes. Beggars, am I right? “Where is she?” Jellwagger asked.
“She’s left the premises,” the male cop said.
Jellwagger kept his eyes on the woman. “Where’s Kit Figures?”
“Kit Figures, is that her name?” the male cop said.
“We need to check him out,” the male lifeguard said.
“Katherine Figures,” the woman cop said as she wrote it down on a tiny notepad. “And you are friends with her?”
Jelllwagger’s eyes finally settled on nothing in particular over the heads of the dispersing crowd. Like the rest of his body, his eyes were finally calming down. She was alive. Unbelievable. Kit had jumped into the ocean, then swam for shore. What the hell was she playing at? “I really wanted to be her friend.”
“Jellwagger speaks as if he lost her,” Grant said. “Katherine Figures is alive and well.” He patted Jellwagger on the back. “Don’t you worry, sir.”
“Where is she?”
“She fled the scene before we could catch up with her, sir,” the female cop said. “If it isn’t too much trouble, and you’re feeling up to it, could you please describe your relationship with this woman?”
“Is her name really Katherine Figures?” the male cop said.
“How are you feeling, Jellwagger?” the female lifeguard said.
“Is that really your name, dude?” the male lifeguard said.
“Fuck!” Jellwagger said, not because he was mad at anyone, but because he needed to vent a certain amount of steam before he could come back down to these people’s conversational level. “Fuck me, fuck it all.”
Grant smirked. “You shall have to forgive my associate here.”
“Who are you, sir?” the female cop said.
“Who are you, madam?” Grant gave the woman his Gaze. “My name is Prossich. Grant Prossich. I work with this gentleman at the law firm of Powell and Powler, LLP, in the Sanwa Bank building in downtown Los Angeles.”
“That one building that, like, glows green?” the male lifeguard said. “Yeah!” He smiled with teeth whiter than Casper. “That building’s awesome, yo. That’s why I want to live downtown. That building alone.”
“You’re kidding me,” Grant said.
Jellwagger couldn’t help laughing, which made Grant laugh too. It felt good sharing this inside joke with him. For a second Jellwagger didn’t feel so completely alone.
“Okay, if everyone could step aside please?” the female cop said. “We need to question this man about the woman who jumped off the pier.”
“Damn straight,” Jellwagger said. He looked at the cop’s nametag. “Sergeant Gregory and I have to talk about this woman who almost got me killed for apparently no reason whatsoever.” He looked at the male cop. “You have to go too.”
“Officer Quinones needs to stay,” Sergeant Gregory said.
“Jellwagger, I’ll be waiting over there, okay?” Grant indicated the volleyball area. “I request you come see me once the cops are done with you. If that is all right.”
Jellwagger led the two cops to the spot where he and Kit had been sitting. The pier was still action packed, but with the sun long gone and the breeze cooling things down, most of the beach was deserted. “So this woman,” Sergeant Gregory said. “You knew her?”
Jellwagger didn’t tell them the whole truth because that would have meant telling them about Pat Dinner, which would’ve meant telling them how he’d come to be working for Pat Dinner. Why open that can of night crawlers? So instead, this Kit Figures person was someone he met during Happy Hour at the BonaVista a couple nights ago. He actually came down to the beach by himself just to hang out. No, of course he didn’t come with Kit. Why would they take two separate cars if it was like that? Nah, he came on his own and ran into her, proving yet again what a tiny-ass world this little blue dot in space really was. She got up and fetched them a couple ice blended drinks. Everything was hunky dory, right? Then she said she was going to get another ice blended. Jellwagger had no reason to think the woman was lying. How would he know if she had a history of depression? He’d only known the woman a couple days. Come on now, Sergeant Gregory, think! So anyway, she said she was going for another one of those strawberry-banana beauties. And then just to show you that things happen for a reason, Jellwagger had to head up to the pier to drain it. He hopped into Coffee Bean, Kit wasn’t there, you know the rest.
“You know how incredibly dangerous it is to jump off the pier?” Officer Quinones said. “The impact with the water could’ve knocked you unconscious.”
“I have to be honest with you, kid,” Jellwagger said. “I wasn’t thinking about physics at all. Kit jumped in. I was scared shitless. I mean come on! It was Kit! And part of me was thinking she was already dead!”
“I have to ask something that’s going to sound really insensitive, okay, Jellwagger?” Sergeant Gregory said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… Man, the way you talk about her. Are you sure your relationship with Ms. Figures isn’t more significant than just someone you met at a bar Thursday night?”
As adorable as the sergeant was, her question threatened to shrivel the hard-on Jellwagger had been sporting for most of the interview and which he’d been concealing with ease under the huge fluffy towel. “You think I made that up about meeting her? Shit, man, ask Grant.”
“Was he there that night?” Officer Quinones said.
Jellwagger nodded and was about to say yes when he thought better of it. He couldn’t be sure that post-post-modernist sculptor would cover for him. “Uh…no. I guess not. No, I was there by myself now that I think of it.”
“You went to the BonaVista by yourself?” Officer Quinones said.
“Sort of takes the Happy out of Happy Hour, doesn’t it?” Sergeant Gregory said. “Do you go places by yourself often?”
“Okay I admit I do like to be alone sometimes.”
“So you came to the beach on a Saturday when it doesn’t take Nostradamus to predict a huge mob?”
“Ouch!” Jellwagger said. “Good one, sergeant. I don’t know. Yeah, I guess. I can’t stay cooped up in my gorgeous Van Nuys apartment forever.”
Sergeant Gregory held out her hand. “May I see your ID please?”
“Fuck you. Why?”
“So we can get in touch with you if we need to ask you any further questions.”
This kat sure did take her time writing the address. Now and again she’d pause and just look at it. Jellwagger alternated between looking at her and the pier and the water so that he wouldn’t betray his agitation. What the hell was she doing? Officer Quinones, meanwhile, slapped on latex gloves and collected Kit’s purse, towel, and paperback, the last of which he placed in a little baggie. Then he stood erect and held the items between his clasped hands while his partner took her dandy old time. Even with no sun, dude kept his shades on and stared at the water for the eternity it took Sergeant Gregory to copy the information.
Finally she handed back his license while continuing to write. “Wow,” she said. “That is something.” Sergeant Gregory wrote some more before flipping her pad shut and sliding it in her pocket.
“Is that it?”
“Let’s go, officer,” she said to her partner before shaking hands with Jellwagger.
“Thank you, Mr. Jellwag.”
“Is that his name?” Officer Quinones said.
“Michael Johnson Jellwag.” The sergeant gave Jellwagger her first smile since meeting him.
“Unless you’re trying to imitate my dead grandmother, stick with Jellwagger.”
“We’ll get back to you if we need you,” Officer Quinones said before they headed back to their SUV.
Jellwagger sat down on the sand and put his shoes on. The sergeant was laughing and clapping at something her partner had just said. Jellwagger gaped shamelessly at her adorable little ass, made all the more so by the khaki shorts. Fuckin’ A, man, who knew khaki shorts and a golf shirt could be so God damned hot? “Hey!” he shouted.
They stopped and turned.
Oh shit, what the hell was he doing? Why in Christ had he just yelled?
“Yes, Mr. Jellwag?” Officer Quinones said.
“What is it, Michael Johnson?” Sergeant Gregory said. Her partner smirked. She barely contained her laugh while slapping his arm.
“What’d you mean when you said that is something?” Jellwagger said.
They just looked at him.
“When you were copying down my address?”
“You live in Van Nuys,” the sergeant said. Officer Quinones smirked again.
“So what?” Jellwagger said. Then it dawned on him. “Fuck you.”
“Even if you could, you’d still have to go back to Van Nuys,” she said.
“Oh!” her partner said. “Oh no she did not!” He doubled over in laughter while she walked away. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s been a long day. You drive safely, sir.” They laughed their asses off all the way back to their SUV.
So it wasn’t enough for them to give him shit about his name, they had to give him shit about his address. From anyone else it wouldn’t have been so bad, but coming from cops somehow made it worse. And coming from a cop who was hot made it plain fucked up. His woody shriveled up faster than it ever could of in the freezing ocean. You’d’ve thought his towel had insulted him judging by the way he whipped it in the air to shake it loose of sand.
He was still in a huff by the time he walked over to the volleyball courts where Grant was going one on one with his boyfriend Zach.
“And there’s our man!” Zach said after spiking it on Grant. That big grizzly bear of a Latino ducked under the net and thumped across the sandy court, kicking up spray and causing the ground to tremble.
“Have the authorities completed their inquisition?” Grant said.
Zach wrapped up Jellwagger in those haunch of beef biceps and picked him up off the ground and shook him from side to side as if our main man was Zach’s long lost teddy bear. He stopped shaking him and tightened his hug even more. For a second there Jellwagger was sure his brain would squirt out both ears.
Zach didn’t let him down so much as slam him. Jellwagger staggered back a few steps and caught his breath while taking in Zach’s face-splitting smile, those crooked nicotine-stained teeth shining in the dusk like a beacon through his beard. Funny, just a few nights ago Jellwagger caught Grant getting fucked by Stu Dobkins the mail guy. Now here was Zach with his big Chewbacca innocence, and Jellwagger was supposed to pretend Grant hadn’t cheated on him.
“Man, how long has it been?” Zach asked. “It’s so good to see you, Jellwagger.”
“Last year’s Christmas party, I’ll be bound,” Grant said. “Yeah.” He caged his teeth and gave our man another Grant Gaze before continuing. “Yeah. So what did they want, Jellwagger?”
“Did you really know that woman?”
Jellwagger frowned at Zach. “I didn’t see you. When I got back to shore.”
“Your very concerned colleague over here told me…no, restrained me from coming out to greet you. He said it would be too much of a shock, if you can believe that.” Zach smiled at Grant with that sucking sound, a mannerism Jellwagger always forgot about. Zach had this thing whereby every few sentences or so, he’d say something that wasn’t necessarily funny or worth smiling about, but he’d smile anyway. And as he did so, he’d suck some spit.
“No, I mean let’s face it,” Grant said as he rolled the volleyball around in his hands. “You’re a large gentleman, Zachary. I didn’t want our Jellwagger here to be too overwhelmed.”
“But your being there to greet him was acceptable, Grant Prossich?” He smiled and sucked.
“He knows me, Zachary.”
“You can intimidate people, Grant Prossich.”
“Perhaps Jellwagger can tell you that it took months before he got used to me.”
“I slept with you for months before I got used to you.”
“That’s below the belt!”
“Literally.” Zach smiled and sucked.
The two of them went at it some more, but Jellwagger’s brain was already on its way over the Hill into the Valley.
At some point Grant turned to him and said, “Right, Jellwagger?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Do you concur with my last statement?”
“You guys…” He shook his head. “I’m beat. I just…” And now for some fucked up reason, he started to cry. Jesus, this was so not what he needed right now. None of this. Aw shit, and now look. Zach was hugging him again! Only this time it was gentle. It was beyond gentle. Jellwagger imagined this was what it felt like to be hugged by giant pillows. And of course, it only made him dissolve altogether. The real trick Zach pulled off so brilliantly was maintaining the pillow feel while holding firmly enough to keep Jellwagger on his feet. He’d’ve collapsed if not for Zach. And who knew if he’d ever want to get up again?
For his part, Grant walked up and patted Jellwagger on the back, rubbing his shoulder. “She’s not dead, Jellwagger.”
“We’ll find her, my friend,” Zach offered.
Jellwagger took a good five minutes or so to recover. He stepped back, wiped his eyes, and said, “Don’t take this the wrong way, you guys.” They were still patting his shoulder and rubbing his arm. “I’m not like that, okay?”
“Like what, if I may ask?” Grant said.
Zach smiled and sucked. “It has been a long time since I’ve seen you, Jellwagger. But not that long. If I recall correctly, at one of your law firm’s Christmas parties, I invited you to an after-party get-together at my house. And I believe your response was, ‘Lookit here, Chewy. I am hetero to the heart. Straight as an arrow that’ll split your heart in two if you lay your Wookie mittens on me.’” He smiled and sucked a couple times.
“Holy shit, I said that?”
Grant smirked. “I think perhaps the Guinness Irish Stout was speaking on your behalf.”
Jellwagger rubbed his forehead. “Fuck me.”
“Hey, my man, it’s all good,” Zach said. “In fact it’s so good, I’m inviting you back to my place. At the risk of getting shot by an arrow.”
“It’s possible for straight men to be friends with gay men, Jellwagger,” Grant said. “This is not beyond the realm of possibility. Yeah.”
“Just good food and good company,” Zach said, holding up his hands.
“Give him your scout’s honor, Zachary. It would mean a lot to him.”
“I was never in Boy Scouts, Grant Prossich.”
“’The fuck are you talking about, Grant?” Jellwagger said. “Neither was I. It wouldn’t mean dick to me. No pun intended.”
“Here’s the plan,” Zach said. “Grant will take your car. You can ride with me. We’ll go back to my place. You can take a shower, get cleaned up. And then we’ll have a nice dinner…somewhere. I’ll think about where.”
“Perhaps just ordering a pizza and purchasing a twelve-case of beer would be appropriate.”
“Smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say, Grant,” Jellwagger said.
“Uh, no, my friends,” Zach said. “Jellwagger, since I don’t see you but once or twice a year, I think we’ll do something a bit more memorable than pizza and beer. Come. It’s getting a bit chilly out here.”
“I’m fucking freezing my ass off,” Grant said. Suddenly he stopped rolling the volleyball and stared wide-eyed at the water. “But for some reason, I do not mind this sensation at all.”
Zach must’ve known Jellwagger would’ve felt awkward sitting in a car with Grant for the half-hour it took to head east on the 10 from Santa Monica to Los Feliz. Grant had his own apartment in Silverlake, but his relationship with Zach was significant enough that he was almost never there. Zach, meanwhile, had done quite well for himself as one of those daytraders who knew enough people to know which stocks to bet on. Jellwagger wasn’t sure when Zach last had a forty-hour-a-week job. Neither, for that matter, was Zach.
Zach didn’t say much on the drive home, and again, Jellwagger figured that was deliberate. After a few minutes, though, the silence didn’t seem strange or calculated at all. They were like close pals who didn’t feel the need to fill the space with hot air. The only time Zach said anything was when he asked Jellwagger if he could turn on NPR.
The shower was beyond blissful. Our man dipped his head under the steaming hot water and kept it there who knew how long before he finally grabbed the fluffy soft washcloth, deodorized by fabric softner, from the curtain pole and lathered it up with the fat green bar of Irish Spring Zach had opened just for him. He lathered up the washcloth, scrubbed himself silly, lathered up again, and repeated. The shampoo was a small bottle of white stuff Grant and Zach had taken from the Encore during a trip to Vegas a few months ago. Jellwagger used half the bottle. He spent a good ten minutes lathering the suds through his scalp before dipping his head yet again under the spigot. “Oh God yeah. Fuck yeah!”
“Uh, Jellwagger?” Grant called from the door.
“Grant, you made it!”
“Of course I made it, Jellwagger. Why wouldn’t I have made it?”
“Because when you’re talking about Shitty Shitty Bang Bang, all bets are off, my friend. Oh yeah this is so awesome!”
“I don’t mean to interrupt whatever activities you have going on in there. Nor am I quite sure what was meant by your previous comment. I’m just letting you know that I’ve put your clothes in the wash. In the interim, I’m placing articles of clothing from my wardrobe on the counter here.”
“Awesome. Thanks a lot, Grant.”
“In addition, and if it’s agreeable to you, Zach and I thought we might have dinner this evening at Taix.”
“Takes?”
Grant spelled it for him. “It bills itself as a country French restaurant. I call it the rich restaurant. Not rich as in pricey. Rich as in the food. I’ll warn you right now they’ll smear butter even on you if you’re not careful.”
“Awesome.”
“Zachary shall finance your portion of the meal.”
“Fuck that. Come on, Grant, I’ll feel awkward as hell!”
“I’m predicting that if you don’t feel awkward right now after having been interrupted in a compromising situation, then you’ll get over having a free meal at a fine French dining establishment.”
“Fuck you, man, I wasn’t spanking anything!”
Grant made a show of clearing his throat. “Let me know if you have any queries. When you are finished, an ice-cold bottle of French beer will be waiting for you in the parlor downstairs.”
“Kronenberg?”
“That is correct.”
“Yeah-heah! Grant, has anyone told you you rock?”
“I shall see you downstairs.” He closed the door.
Jellwagger had probably spent a good half-hour in the shower when it was all said and done. The towel, like the washcloth, was fluffy and clean and smelled fantastic. Why couldn’t he just dry himself forever? Not to worry. Grant’s navy sweatpants and navy sweatshirt with a big West Virginia Mountaineers helmet dominating the front had a similar plushness.
The shower had done more than just wipe off the grime. It recharged his brain so that he could actually take note of his surroundings. When he opened the bathroom door, he could hear Led Zeppelin playing downstairs with Grant and Zach’s voices in the background. Most of the rooms on the second floor were dark, save one on the way to the stairs. Jellwagger couldn’t help peaking in.
This was where Grant obviously did his sculpting. Standing dead center in the room was a cream filing cabinet. It looked real from the doorway, but when Jellwagger got closer, he saw it was some sort of paper or poster board material. Papier-mâché maybe? Our Jellwagger wasn’t the world’s biggest arts buff. He brushed his fingers against it. Oh no, this was far sturdier than paper. It wasn’t stone. He felt it again. What the hell was it? Over on a table stood what Jellwagger could only guess was a bird merged with a video camera, made out of the same material, only in shades of blue and black. The table stood near a window that overlooked the rather spacious backyard. Jellwagger peaked through the blinds to get a better look. Damn, it was about half the size of his dingbat’s courtyard, and then beyond it was a healthy patch of foliage separating this property from the house yonder.
From the ceiling hung a vertical metal wire, about the same thickness as a hanger. It had several shorter wires branching out like randomly placed limbs, each ending in a hook, in addition to the hook at the end of the wire proper. The whole thing extended a couple feet from the ceiling. Jellwagger reached up and grazed the end of it with his finger.
“Fuck!”
He jerked his hand back and saw a pinprick of blood. Frowning up at the wire again, it now seemed even more appropriate to refer to those branching wires as limbs. Jellwagger stepped back. Son of a bitch, it really did have the appearance of a stick figure, only somewhat deformed, like a stick person hit by a car. The hook on which the whole thing hung was what you’d normally use for a potted plant, only now it served as the stick figure’s head.
The room had two other sculptures. The one down in the corner looked like a DSL modem, and on the wall next to it was a mouse hole that looked like one of those perfectly arched mouse holes from the Tom and Jerry cartoons. The other, located behind the door, was a flatscreen computer monitor about the size of Jellwagger’s TV. This was no faux monitor, but the real thing. It was mounted flat against the wall with a square portion of the wallpaper cut out around it to reveal the dry wall beneath. The monitor wasn’t plugged in. The cord lay coiled neatly on the floor, and the cable that would normally plug into the back of the computer just dangled there. And yet it was on. Grant’s face was suspended against a single-color background that would change color at random intervals. The face itself would remain solid for a few seconds before dissolving in a checkerboard fashion and reappearing on a different part of the screen.
“I apologize for the flesh wound on your finger,” Grant said. The three of them were sitting in what Jellwagger would’ve called the living room but which Grant called the parlor. Before giving Jellwagger a band-aid, Grant insisted on washing the finger with soap and hot water. Now Jellwagger was parked in a large comfy chair with an ice-cold stein of Kronenberg while Grant and Zach were sitting on the sofa. Grant had one leg crossed over the other and held his arms so close to his body that he barely had to lift the Chardonnay to reach his mouth. Zach, meanwhile, had an arm around his man while letting his legs protrude across the Oriental carpet underneath the glass and cream coffee table. The hand holding his Pinot was resting on the couch arm. On the wall directly opposite the couch was a huge plasma TV.
Jellwagger took another sip of the beer. Damn, the stuff never tasted so good in his life. And he had to give props to Zach for keeping the beer glasses in the freezer.
“I used to tend bar,” Zach said between sips. “This was way back. Before you were born, Jellwagger.”
Jellwagger took another sip. Although he was barely halfway through it, the buzz was already coming on strong. He laughed and held up his finger with the band-aid. “So unnecessary, you guys.”
“Mr. Fix It was bad,” Grant said. “You don’t know where he’s been. I don’t know where’s been.”
“’The fuck are you talking about?” Jellwagger said.
“By which I mean we don’t know what sorts of particles and the like have settled on the metal of his body.”
“He’s just trying to tell you that the metal could’ve been dirty,” Zach said. “He didn’t want to risk you getting an infection and then suing his queer ass.” He smiled and sucked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Grant said.
“We have to admit we have an ulterior motive for going to Taix, Jellwagger,” Zach said.
“Oh boy,” Jellwagger said as he took another sip. “How many of these do you think it’ll take?”
Grant smirked and blushed as red as Zach’s wine.
“Grant and I have a friend who plays drums in a local band. They do the occasional live gig at Taix, and tonight’s one of those nights. But seriously! Wait, wait, wait! This really is a decent restaurant. And they have a bitchin’ Happy Hour.”
“How the fuck would you know that, Zachary, sir?” Jellwagger said before taking another swig.
“How would I know?”
“Si.” Jellwagger dove yet again into his stein. “You don’t work, man. You don’t hold down a day job.”
“I’ve paid my dues, amigo,” Zach said.
“First time anyone’s ever called me amigo.”
The phone rang.
Zach picked up the cordless, listened for about ten seconds or so, then hung up. For a split second he wore the grimmest expression on his bushel of a face before he turned to Grant and smiled. “I’m so hungry, sweetheart.”
“Was that them?”
“So hungry.”
“Was that the evil force, Zachary? Tell me now. I don’t want anything untoward happening to this house.”
Zach leaned toward Grant, removed his hand from his shoulder, and used it to cup his face in his palm. “Baby, things untoward will happen to you, me, this house, everything we hold dear until the day we die.”
Grant stared hard at Zach for a long moment. His lips were pursed. “Jellwagger, do you like onion soup?”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever—”
“Because if you try it, I promise you won’t regret it no matter who’s playing live.”
Grant and Zach must have been more famished than our boy here. They practically ordered Jellwagger to throw down the rest of the Kronenberg. He felt himself drift beyond buzzed and into the realm of the vaguely nauseous stomach.
Sure enough, Taix was a restaurant on Sunset near downtown that advertised French country cuisine since 1927. Happy Hour was 4-7pm on weekdays in the 321 Lounge only. And also sure enough, as soon as they were seated, Grant ordered onion soup ahead of the drink orders. They each continued drinking what they’d started on at Zach’s place. Jellwagger asked Zach if he ever came to the Happy Hours in the 321 Lounge.
“I don’t work normal hours, remember?” Zach said. “As you so promptly reminded me. But you’ll still get to see 321. That’s where Rufus is going to be.” He smiled and sucked.
“You mean we have to get up?” Grant said. He rested his head on his hand just inches from Zach and looked genuinely terrified. “To hear Rufus, we’re going to have to change seats? Our having gotten here early and having dinner early…”
“Let’s try to buy you some perspective,” Zach said.
“Whatever, guys,” Jellwagger said. “It’s all good.” The exhaustion was coming back with a vengeance. If Jellwagger wanted, he could’ve lay down right there under the table and conked out for a good twelve hours or so. Zach’s reassuring Grant that they had a good two hours before the concert didn’t help at all.
When the waitress arrived with the onion soup, Grant raised his voice at her that the next time they ordered something, she should hurry the hell up. He ordered more wine, as did Zach. Jellwagger was perfectly content making his way through Kronenberg.
“That phone call, Jellwagger,” Zach said. “That phone call, that phone call, that phone call.”
The Kronenberg was absolutely delicious. “So what the hell do you do, man?” Jellwagger said.
“Jellwagger!” Grant said. “That is not how you approach the significant other of a coworker.”
“Relax, amigos,” Zach said. “He has the right to ask me what I do for a living, Grant Prossich. As you know, Jellwagger, I used to play the stock market. I played well. Then I got out. Now I’m taking a rest.”
“A rest?” Jellwagger said. He polished off his Kronenberg and signaled the beleaguered waitress for another. “A rest from working at home?”
“Jellwagger, your tone borders on insolence sometimes,” Grant said.
“Awfully precious coming from the tight ass who just grilled the waitress because his soup wasn’t ready quick enough.”
“Amigos.” Zach smiled and sucked a couple times.
“Don’t piss me off, Grant,” Jellwagger said. “Not today of all motherfucking days, baby, and no mistake.”
Grant closed his eyes, pursed his lips, and nodded.
“You know what? I’d love some soup,” Zach said.
The waitress arrived with the Kronenberg. She looked to and from Grant and Zach with a tentative smile, as if expecting a reprimand, another order, or both in one. “Sweetie, the soup du jour is Three Bean?”
“Correct, sir.”
“I’ll take a cup.”
“Me too,” Jellwagger said.
“And a refill on this,” Zach said, holding up his almost empty wine glass.
“Yes, sir,” the waitress said, smiling and obviously more relaxed now that she could see Grant was being kept on a leash.
The soup and Zach’s refill arrived five minutes later. They sipped and slurped while looking around at the other diners. The crowd had been sparse when they got there, but now the joint was almost full. Grant made an occasional snide remark about someone’s wardrobe, usually a woman’s.
By the time their soups were polished off, Jellwagger’s appetite was sufficient enough to devour a cow. He didn’t care how it was cooked either. Just tip it against a radiator and poke it with a fork, and he’d be ready. Not Grant, though. Oh no, and Jellwagger should’ve foreseen this. They had work outings once in a blue moon: Jellwagger, Grant, Betsy, maybe a few others. It was never easy with Grant. Ever. Somehow he always managed to get into a rhythm that was against the grain of everyone else. Case in point: Right now he was admitting that he was famished and would order something big….but first he wanted a salad.
“Can I have the Salade de Poulet au Sésame please? Would that be possible?”
The waitress nodded, kept her hands behind her back, and turned to Zach and Jellwagger.
Apparently Zach had been waiting for her to answer Grant because he stared at her a moment before clearing his throat and frowning at the menu. “Yes. Um. Salade Niçoise.”
“Of course. And for you, sir?”
Jellwagger looked down at the menu and picked the salad below Zach’s: Salade Niçoise Façon Californie. “I’m not even going to try to say that. It’s this one.”
“Got it. I’ll be right back.” She maintained her smile and stepped away with a spring in her square-toed heels.
“You’re going to adore that salad, Jellwagger,” Zach said with an especially wide smile and loud suck. “It’s got tuna steak.”
“Steak?”
“Tuna steak. You’ll see.”
It may not have been Jellwagger’s idea to order salad, nor was he sure what to make of the sliced tuna steak, but neither of those things prevented him from devouring it. Zach picked at his and Grant complained that his chicken strips were overcooked.
Suddenly Grant clanked his fork down and said, “Okay, Jellwagger. I have to ask you about that IM.”
“Sure,” Jellwagger said with his mouth full.
“You know which one I’m talking about?”
“No, but is that going to stop you?”
“Yesterday. I could deduce from the tone that you were not happy with me.” “Is this the time for this, Grant Prossich?” Zach said.
“It’s been bothering me, Zachary. What did I say wrong to this man? Did I offend him in some way, shape, or context?”
“Grant, I haven’t a clue what you just asked, but if you’re asking me if I’m mad at you, the answer is no.”
“This is not what I deduced yesterday.”
“Grant, yesterday was fucked up, man. You don’t want to know.”
“So your terseness had nothing to do with me?” Grant said.
“No.”
Grant stared at Jellwagger munching on his lettuce, potatoes, and tuna. “Then would you like to apologize?”
“Grant? I have gone through far too much bullshit to give a flying fuck about your sensibilities. If you don’t like my so-called terseness or whatever, then go fuck yourself. I’m tired of tip-toeing on the eggshells of your fucking temperament, man. Running a marathon would be less exhausting.”
Zach looked like he could’ve laughed hard, but he muffled it just in time. “Okay, amigos. We’re not at work, okay?”
“This is so fucking good,” Jellwagger said. “God damn it, Zach. You were beyond right.”
“It’s no big deal,” Grant said. “I just thought it was kind of rude, that’s all.”
Zach put his elbows on the table and clamped his hands together. “Is it going to be another awkward evening, Grant Prossich?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“Jellwagger and I are trying to have a pleasant conversation to go with this restaurant’s pleasant décor.”
“If you don’t mind the homophobes,” Grant said.
“I resent that remark,” Jellwagger said. “You know me, Grant.”
“He doesn’t mean you,” Zach said, locking eyes with Grant. “And Grant Prossich, I have not seen them tonight.”
“They’re not the only fag haters in the world.”
“Grant?” Zach pulled his hands apart as if about to plead, then clamped them together again and shook his head. “Nothing has happened.”
Grant mumbled to himself and picked at his baby greens.
“Grant?” Zach tightened his hands together and pulled them to his chin. “Grant, my darling, what is troubling you? It can’t be fag haters because there aren’t any here right now. It can’t be Jellwagger’s IM because, fuck I don’t know, it was just an IM.”
“Zach, seriously, man,” Jellwagger said while scraping the last bits of lettuce and a couple olives off his plate. “Grant and I bump heads at the firm all the time. Right, Grant Prossich?” Jellwagger couldn’t help laughing. He held up his empty beer glass to the waitress. She nodded and headed for the bar. “That’s cool, you say that. Now whenever I get pissed at Grant, it’s going to be like, ‘Grant Prossich!’”
“Wonderful, Zach, you’ve created a monster.”
“Drink your wine,” Zach said.
Grant crunched his salad with extra slowness and deliberation. Then, maintaining that pace, or lack thereof, he slid his index toward the back of his mouth to loosen a bit of lettuce between his molars. After swallowing it and wiping his finger on the napkin, he stared at Zach a good five seconds or so before picking up his wine glass and finishing off the bit that was left.
The waitress came back with Jellwagger’s beer just as Grant was very carefully setting his empty glass back down. “Another, sir?”
“Absolutely,” Zach said while Grant’s eyes never wavered. “And for me too.” He polished off his glass.
“You got it. And are you ready to order your main course?”
Grant was about to say something when Zach cut him off. “We will be when you get back.”
Jellwagger looked around. The tables were filling up. And in the 321 Lounge he could see where the band would set up. As Zach picked up the menu, he shot Grant a look. “Relax, honey. Have a good time”
The waitress came back to refill their wine in less than a minute. She took their orders and zipped away, more hurried and harried now that she had more diners to look after.
Jellwagger was too buzzed to mind the tense silence. He even smiled and was happy to see Grant do the same. Jellwagger and Grant let their eyes wander around the place while Zach’s eyes never left Grant’s general vicinity.
When Grant was about halfway through his glass, Zach said, “Maybe I should tell you about that phone call.”
Grant’s smile wavered, but came back in time for him to say, “You don’t have to, Zachary.”
“It was them. At least I think it was. That one guy who called the second or third time. He was trying to disguise his voice. Did a terrible job at it.”
Grant looked around a bit more before going back to his wine. “Perfectly fine, dear. They’re just words, right? They don’t hurt us.”
“Exactly, it’s just air. Whatever they say is no more substantial than the oxygen used to form their words.”
“That’s pretty fucking poetic, Zach,” Jellwagger said after taking a long pull of his Kronenberg. “I said God damn, boy.”
“One becomes adept at poetry to achieve perspective, my young friend,” Zach said with a soft smile and suck. “Seriously, Jellwagger, you wouldn’t believe the nasty shit people say. People you would never suspect it of too. I tell you, if you’re someone whose very presence makes people uncomfortable, those people will show their true colors.”
“Our caller may be here,” Grant said. “Whatever you do, don’t look at your one o’clock.”
Zach took the most fleeting of glances. He made it look like his eyes were just passing by on their way around the room and finally back to his wine. “My God, man,” he said before taking a sip. He studied his nails. “He’s not even pretending.”
“If looks could kill,” Grant said.
Jellwagger didn’t even try to be discreet. He frowned at all the heads over Grant’s shoulder until he spotted the bony middle-aged guy with the glasses. Although it had been decades since he read “Sleepy Hollow,” the guy instantly reminded Jellwagger of Ichabod Crane, only older and in a much fouler mood, foul enough to give that Headless Horseman a run for his money. The woman with him, about the same age, gave Jellwagger a quick glance before playing it off and looking in the opposite direction while saying something under her breath. God damn, look at this guy, would ya? Jellwagger wasn’t sure he’d ever seen someone wear such sheer contempt so nakedly. In fact, thanks to all the beer he’d thrown down in the last hour or so, it didn’t seem outside the realm of reason to get up right now and beat the shit out of that douche.
“Cool it, amigo,” Zach said with a smile and a pat on Jellwagger’s hand. “It’s just a look. Not even as substantial as the air he’d use if he could speak his mind right now.”
“Gosh, I don’t know, Zach,” Jellwagger said. “When someone looks at me like they wouldn’t mind seeing me flayed alive and hung upside down by my nutsack on fishhooks, it gets to me. What can I say? Am I old fashioned?”
“You get used to it, Jellwagger, like anything else,” Grant said. “What’s always fun is to see what other people in your camp use as defense mechanisms. Some of them aren’t too different from you. Beat the bastards up. Unfortunately you’re just dousing the flames with more lighter fluid.”
“Listen to this, Jellwagger,” Zach said. “I’m being literal when I tell you that some people consider people like Grant and me to be less than human. So if we react with violence and aggression, it proves their point.”
“It also gives the violent and aggressive fag haters a reason to beat us silly. If they win the fight, well, then that’s that. Break out the ice pack and park it on my busted eye. If we win, though, they still win. You grasping the air coming out of my mouth, Jellwagger?”
Zach laughed. He and Grant clinked their glasses. “Good one, honey.”
Grant winked at him.
The main courses arrived. All talk stopped. Jellwagger, who only felt hungrier than he had before the Three Bean soup and the tuna steak salad, even forgot about the homophobic couple over yonder while he went to town on his fourteen-ounce New York steak with bordelaise. Grant had gotten a ham and cheese sandwich that looked far too fancy for such a mundane label. A pile of fries sat next to it. As for Zach, he was inspired by Jellwagger’s tuna steak salad to get something from the sea. In this case it was roasted salmon with champagne cream. After the waitress and the salt and pepper guy were finished, Jellwagger held up his empty beer glass and indicated Grant and Zach’s nearly empty wine glasses. The waitress nodded and headed to the bar.
About halfway through the meal a well-dressed guy with receding brown hair combed back showed up at their table with a tight smile on his lips and his hands clasped just as tightly behind his back. He made Jellwagger think of James Bond bad guys. “Grant. Zachary. Nice to see you both again. Welcome back. Here to see the band tonight, I assume? Very good.”
“How are things, Ketchel?” Zach said.
Grant shook his hand and then stood up to hug him.
“And you’ve brought a guest with you.” Ketchel shook Jellwagger’s hand. “Name’s Ketchel, nice to meet you.”
“Jellwagger.”
“First time at Taix, Jellwagger? I’m the maître d' here. Zach and Grant are two of my best customers. And they’re good friends. Any friend of theirs is a friend of mine. If you have any needs at all, let me know.”
“Will do, Ketchel,” Jellwagger said. “Congrats on the steak, man. It’s awesome.”
Grant hugged him again. “It’s great to see you, Ketchel. You’re a real sight for sore eyes, I must tell you.”
“Now you know that’s not good when someone like me is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes must be pretty sore.” He laughed, but it didn’t catch on. Grant and Zach just looked at him while Ketchel’s smile dissolved. “For the love of God, who is it now?”
“Your ten o’clock,” Grant said.
“Since I suppose one or more of you has given away that you noticed him, I’m not going to look. Jesus!”
“Forget it, Ketchel,” Grant said. “I should not have mentioned it. We’ll be done with the meal soon and then we’re heading over to the music. It’s a non-issue.”
Ketchel sighed and looked around in a show of surveying the dining room. “Oh my, you’re right. I’ve never seen anyone sneer while eating snails before. Well, that’s not entirely true.”
“Speaking of popped veins, who’s the young woman waiting on us tonight?” Grant said.
“C.C.?”
“Oh dear Lord, her name’s C.C.?”
Ketchel laughed. “The weirdest things stop you in your tracks.”
“I’ve never seen her before. Is she new?”
“C.C.? Not at all. Let me see.” He thought a moment while watching the poor thing bustle from table to table. “A couple years maybe? A grizzled veteran in restaurant years.”
“It’s just that…” Grant shook his head and squinted at nothing in particular. “I don’t know, Ketchel. I just don’t get a sense of her being on the ball.”
“Oh Jesus,” Jellwagger said before taking another sip of his beer. He was about to lash out at Grant but figured it was pointless. Besides, he was feeling too good. When he saw Grant’s deadpan look with the open mouth and caged teeth, he couldn’t help laughing.
“She’s fine, amigo,” Zach said to Ketchel. “I’ll be sure to give her a good tip. Anyone who tolerates my better half deserves a little something.” He smiled and sucked.
“In that case, I deserve fucking Fort Knox,” Jellwagger.
Everyone laughed, including Grant.
Ketchel excused himself to meet and greet the rest of the diners.
After the Three Bean soup, the tuna steak salad, the real steak, and umpteen beers, Jellwagger’s appetite was finally sated. Every time he thought about what he’d been through at the beach, it seemed a lifetime ago. The shock had worn off for the most part. He sat back, his eyes pleasantly heavy. Our drunk hero even smiled at the snarling Ichabod Crane over yonder. Fuck him. And look at Grant. Talk about a crab fest, but at least he was catching up with Jellwagger. Whereas at first he’d been nursing the wine in measured sips, now he was throwing it back with as much abandon as Jellwagger did the Kronenberg. Speaking of which, maybe he should have one more before they headed over to the lounge. He asked them if that would pass muster.
“I was actually thinking of something sweet to cap off what has been a superb meal,” Zach said. He smiled at Grant. “What do you think, sweetie?”
“No way,” Grant said, waving a hand while polishing off the wine. “I should cut all cords now. No more food. No more wine. Nothing but water until tomorrow.”
“Will you get mad at me if I order a Crème Brûlée?”
“Why would I get mad at you?” Grant said.
“I’ll take that as a maybe,” Zach said. “Amigo? Dessert?”
“Just the French beer for me, sir, but I thank you.”
“You sure?”
“About what, my dear Zachary? The meaning of life? Not at all.” The waitress was in the middle of taking an appetizer order at a nearby table when Jellwagger raised his hand. She nodded and held up her index before turning back to the double date that had just gotten there. They were all in their twenties. Early twenties. In college maybe? In love for the first time? “How adorable,” Jellwagger said.
When the waitress finished taking the order, she made a show of mock running to Jellwagger. She arrived next to his chair with a smile that made him shield his eyes, it was so blinding. “Sorry to make you wait, sir!”
“Close the mouth, sweetheart, I can’t see,” Jellwagger said. He waited a moment before lowering his hand and opening his eyes. The waitress was still smiling, but her lips were sealed. “Better. Now.” He leaned over to Zach and put his hand on his shoulder. “My dear friend Zachary here would love an order of your Crème Brûlée. And even though it’s technically for him, why don’t you bring two spoons?”
“I’ll bring three.”
Jellwagger pointed at her with mock seriousness. “You. Are good.”
“And another Kronenberg for you?”
“Fuckin’ A, give the woman a Nobel, stat!”
Grant smirked. “The water-only rule might apply to you as well, Jellwagger.”
“Bullshit. Water’s for plants.” He held up his empty glass and pouted at it. “And you know what? Order a round of drinks for the cute couples you were just waiting on. Charge it to Zach’s tab. That okay, Zach? Sure it is. I don’t know those people at all, by the way. But they’re young, they’re in love. I mean look at them. They’ve got their whole God damned precious lives ahead of them.”
C.C. asked Zach if that was okay.
“After the day my friend has had, I’ll do him that favor. Even though he probably won’t remember me doing him the favor tomorrow, but hey, it’s still doing a good deed.”
She laughed and said she’d be right back.
“You okay, big guy?” Zach said.
“Zachary, sir?” Jellwagger said. “Considering the heinousness I’ve endured over the past week, I am fan-fucking-tastic.”
“The past week? Not just today?” He smiled and sucked a good three times.
“Today was just another shit day for my expanding collection.”
“Oh yes?” Zach looked at Grant, who avoided eye contact.
Jellwagger noticed he was still leaning on Zach. He sat back in his chair with a start. “Holy shit! Sorry, man.”
Zach waved it off and sipped his wine.
“Grant?” Jellwagger said. “You pissed?”
Grant continued studying the table cloth.
The Crème Brûlée arrived. Sure enough, Zach only had to take two helpings before Grant uncrossed his arms and grabbed a spoon. Jellwagger nursed his refreshed Kronenberg. “You two are just adorable.”
“There’s plenty here for three, Jellwagger,” Zach said.
“You sure, man? ‘Cause it looks kind of small.”
“Yeah, but it’s thick,” Grant said. “It has quite a bit of heft to it. You’ve had Crème Brûlée before, right?”
Jellwagger thought hard. He actually wasn’t sure. How was that possible? “Sweet Jesus, I am drunk.” He grabbed the third spoon and took a small helping. Jellwagger’s taste buds had gotten so used to the ice-cold beer that the warm Brûlée was nothing short of a sweet shock to the system. “Oh my. Oh fucking my.” He dipped his spoon back in for an encore. In no time flat the Crème Brûlée was gone.
Someone walked up to their table, stood between Zach and Jellwagger, put his hands on their shoulders, and leaned over.
Jellwagger turned with a start. “Holy shit, it’s Ichabod!”
“I find what you three are doing is beyond repulsive,” he said barely above a whisper. He looked at Grant and Zach. “I have seen you two here before. But you…” And now Ichabod turned to Jellwagger with such deliberation and with such fire in his eyes he made Grant look like a piece of chicken shit in the rain. “What is your purpose here? To be the toy? To help them fulfill some sick fantasy? How much are they paying you, my friend? Because I will double it this instant if you get up and go home right now.”
Jellwagger tried to hold in the laugh but failed miserably. He lost control and felt his face burn red.
“Sir,” Zach said very softly. “My friends and I are here to have an enjoyable meal same as you and your lovely wife.”
“My wife?” Ichabod said. “Don’t you talk about my wife.”
“Ah, so you’re the one who voted for Prop 8,” Grant said. “Thank you. Now we know.”
Ichabod looked at Grant with such contempt but apparently couldn’t find the words to voice it.
Jellwagger, on the other hand, finally recovered enough to speak. “You must be out of your fucking mind, man.”
“Jellwagger, take the money,” Grant said. “We won’t be offended.”
“Go away,” Jellwagger said to Ichabod. “Hey C.C.! Ketchel!” He looked around and spotted C.C. bringing a round of drinks to the two couples. Jellwagger smacked Ichabod’s hand off him and stood up. Ketchel was over by the entrance chatting and laughing with the hostess and a family on their way out. “C.C.! Hey Ketchel! Ketchel!” Jellwagger waved and jumped up and down. Not only C.C. and Ketchel, but just about everyone else in the restaurant was looking at him. “Could you guys deal with Ichabod here? He’s being a real four-alarm douche bag, and I don’t appreciate it.” Ketchel hurried over. “Atta boy, Ketchel.” Jellwagger smiled at Ichabod. “Sayonara, fag hater! You’re outa here!”
“Come with me, sir,” Ketchel said, taking the guy by his elbow.
Ichabod jerked his arm away. “Take your hand off me,” he said through clenched teeth.
“We’ll help.”
They all turned to see the two guys from the double date table standing there. “Jesus, you guys are huge!” Jellwagger said. And that wasn’t the beer talking. Both were a good six feet or so tall and wide.
“You’re the one who bought us the booze, right, man?” one of them said to Jellwagger.
“Damn straight, young one.”
“You’re bothering our friends,” the other one said. They marched around the table and grabbed Ichabod by both arms while Ketchel led them toward the door. The wife got up and followed and said something too far away and hysterical for Jellwagger to make sense of. He, Grant, Zach, and most everyone else in the restaurant applauded while Ichabod and his wife were led outside.
Jellwagger didn’t say much for a good while after that. Despite his bravado, Ichabod’s naked resentment had left him shaken up. Granted, his nerves were already a bit fragile from today. He still had a hard time believing Kit had actually tried to kill herself. But she had, and there it was. Every time he tried to wrap his brain around that fact, he’d get tired. And now that it was evening, and he’d had a good many brewskies, trying to figure out Kit threatened to knock him out altogether.
Jellwagger asked the other two when the band was coming on. ‘Bout a half-hour, Zach said. Lounge 321 was already getting pretty crowded. Zach flagged down C.C. and was in the process of digging for his plastic when Ketchel showed up and said not to bother.
“The meal’s on the house, gentlemen.”
“Fuck yeah,” Jellwagger said.
“Nonsense,” Zach said, smiling and sucking.
“Pity isn’t necessary, Ketchel,” Grant said. Then he smirked. “But sometimes it is appreciated.”
“Gentlemen, you have had an experience far less than the ideal I strive to provide all patrons of Taix. You can flash your platinum card in my face all you want, Zachary. No go. If you want, leave a fat tip. That’s up to you. I won’t hear another peep of protest out of you. Now go watch the show. Enjoy the rest of your evening and weekend.”
Now Jellwagger really did keep his mouth shut. Partly it was because he felt sick to his stomach from all the beer, but mostly it was exhaustion. When the three of them were parked in their seats in 321, Grant and Zach suddenly became much more animated. They got mixed drinks and offered to get one for Jellwagger. “On me, obviously,” Zach said. He had to talk in Jellwagger’s ear. A band was playing, and it was impossible to have a conversation with anyone unless you were right next to them. When Jellwagger said all he needed was a club soda, Zach knew what was wrong. He patted Jellwagger on the shoulder and obliged.
Eventually the band left the stage to make way for the band that included Rufus, the drummer Zach and Grant had come to see. They got up to get closer to the band, as did a bunch of other people. Grant pumped his fist in time with the beat and edged his way through the crowd. Zach stayed at the back. By the end of the first song, Grant was standing up front. Between songs he bantered back and forth with Rufus.
Jellwagger couldn’t hear a word, of course, nor could he get much of a look at Rufus. If he was anything like the other band members, though, he’d be a pot-bellied guy around Grant’s age, maybe even older. The bassist’s hair was snow white.
This poor plastered Jellwagger lost all sense of time. He could barely keep his eyes open. All the sucker wanted to do was get back to his Van Nuys dingbat, say hey to Chump E. Chips, and collapse for another one of those fourteen-hour comas. The waitress in this part of the joint was just as attentive as C.C. By the time he was on his third club soda, the nausea had ebbed somewhat, but his exhaustion only weighed on him that much more. It got to the point where the music meant nothing to him. It was noise that numbed his ears. The people sitting around him, those people standing up yonder by the band, his eyes became numb to them. He became detached from it all. The only person who existed was the impeccably dressed, adorable waitress, who never failed to smile when serving him a club soda.
When the singer announced their last song, Grant made his way back to Zach. They hugged and kissed and spent most of the song talking in each other’s ears and smiling. Only toward the song’s end did they turn to the stage, their arms around each other, and shake their fists in time to the drumbeat, which Jellwagger had to admit was pretty bitchin’. If he wasn’t so delirious, he would’ve been up there gesticulating his support too. As it was, he felt the briefest, but hottest, flash of jealousy at the site of Zach and Grant.
At some point—who knew when?—it was time to go. Jellwagger was thinking it must’ve been pretty late, but obviously not, judging by the crowd in the wonderfully cool dining room. Jellwagger checked his Indiglo: Ten o’clock.
Zach and Grant were heading off to Zach’s SUV while Jellwagger stopped to relish that signature L.A. attribute of dropping from the seventies during the day to the fifties at night. He guessed it was around fifty-five or fifty-six right now, the perfect climate to guide someone down home stretch on their way to bed.
“More adventure awaits, Jellwagger,” Grant said. “Are you joining us?”
“To quote you, Grant Prossich,” Jellwagger said, imitating Grant’s deadpan delivery and caged teeth. “Yeah.”
Actually they weren’t going anywhere for the moment. They knew something was wrong as soon as they turned the corner and saw the white streaks on the windshield that stood out so well on the black SUV. Nor did they have to get very close before they saw what the streaks spelled out. And those streaks, by the way, weren’t really white so much as a pale yellowish sort of color, or whatever color you associate with butter. Someone had apparently used a stick of butter as a piece of chalk to write “DIE FAG!” across the glass. What was left of the butter stick lay on the hood with a steak knife sticking out of it.
To be continued...
