The money's gone. All I have left is maybe a hundred bucks in my pocket. Chump change. Not even enough for a decent dinner for two, and yet I feel something I've not felt since that day of madness. I feel some relief.
The phone rings, and I answer it. Kyle is back in Los Angeles, and we schedule a meeting. I hang up and notice Laura studying the big wall in the living room.
"Why haven't you ever hung something here?" she asks.
She doesn't know I'm broke, and I can't find the strength to tell her. "What do you think might look good there?” I say.
I gaze out past the balcony and watch the sailboats tack back and forth in the Santa Ana winds. The Pacific is a brilliant blue under the afternoon’s cloudless sky. I bought the house for this view, and I'm going to miss it.
Laura gives some thought to my question. "You remember that gallery in Santa Fe?"
"There are a lot of galleries in Santa Fe," I reply. I walk to the bar and refill my glass with gin. Laura joins me. She pours herself a Baileys and tops it with a dash of bourbon. "The gallery with those big acrylic paintings you liked," she says.
"The desert scenes? The abstract things?"
"Yeah. One of those would look good on that wall. Why don't we go back there this weekend and shop?" she suggests. Laura loves to shop for expensive things. She's not a cheap companion.
"Sure, we'll do it," I say. Then I decide it will be the last time I lie to her. I put my arm around her slender waist, and she leans into me, surrendering to my kiss. Her eyes are wide open, blue as the sea. I go in for a swim.
***
We once worked at Larry's Liquor Store, my buddy Kyle and me. Kyle worked days, and I worked nights. Shift change was at two in the afternoon, and for about an hour during the shift change the two of us would shoot the shit. We were doing that one day when an old guy, a regular customer, came in and asked me to run a handful of lottery tickets through the machine to see if he'd hit any numbers. I started to feed them into the machine, and the old guy walked to the back of the store to fetch his bottle of wine. The fourth ticket was a winner, the big winner.
"Kyle," I said quietly, "The old fuck hit the jackpot."
"The whole enchilada? No shit?"
"No shit."
Kyle got excited. I was just nervous. "Hide the ticket," he said. That was like him, impulsive, acting without thinking. We'd grown up together, and he always got the both of us into trouble on a whim. It was fun most of the time.
I stuck the ticket in my pocket, and fed the rest of the tickets through the machine, finishing just as the old guy returned to the counter with his bottle of Italian red. I handed him back the stack of tickets and told him they were all losers. He riffled through them.
"There were ten," he said. "I only got nine here."
"That's what you gave me, old man."
"You're full of shit. I gave you ten tickets. Where's Larry?"
Kyle moved so fast it took a moment for me to realize what was happening. He was behind the old guy and had a forearm locked around his scrawny neck. The old guy struggled like crazy. "Give me a hand here, buddy," Kyle insisted.
We were partners, a team, and Kyle was always the boss. I came from behind the counter with Larry's robbery-deterrent device, a baseball bat. The rest was surreal. It was ugly. No more than two minutes of madness. The old man's lottery ticket netted us six million dollars.
She sits up in the bed and wraps her arms around her knees. I run the back of my hand down her bare back. There isn't a flaw on it. With millions of dollars you can own the very best of everything.
"I have to tell you something," she says. "It's something I've wanted to say for quite a while."
"Certainly. Tell me something," I reply. I'm still wiped out from the sex. The smell of it surrounds us like an aura.
"I'm in love with you, Bobby."
This surprises me. Love isn't part of her job description. Our arrangement is simple: she pleasures me, and I give her the world. Now she wants to make it personal, make it something else altogether. Unfortunate timing.
I roll out of bed, slip into my shorts, and walk out onto the deck outside the bedroom. It's early evening now, and the Santa Anas have changed to a soft offshore breeze. Laura walks out and stands next to me. She hands me a lit cigarette. "You're mad at me," she says.
"Am I?"
"I said something I shouldn't have. I should have known better. I'm sorry."
"Say it again."
She lowers her head. "No. I'll never say it again. I promise."
"Say it again, Laura. Please."
She looks at me. "I love you.“ Her soul is in her eyes. She's telling me a truth. She thinks she loves me. I wish I remembered how to be happy.
"You love the good life, Baby. If I were broke, you wouldn't give me the time of day."
She shakes her head. "That was true two years ago, Bobby. But now the thought of losing you drives me crazy. Your money has nothing to do with it. Believe me. I can always find money."
Yes, she can, and I'm at a loss for words. The welcome feeling of relief I felt earlier has faded away. It's horrible, the hell I'm in. "You mean to tell me that if I had nothing, you'd go out and get money for me? You'd let me pimp you?"
"If that's what you wanted."
Christ. How can she be saying this? I can't imagine using her like that. Worse still, I can't imagine living like that. I decide to set her straight, but the phone rings. I think maybe it’s Kyle, wanting to change our appointment, but it's Laura’s sister. Before I hand her the phone I tell her I've got business to take care of, that I'll be back in a few hours. She tells me to have fun, and then kisses me.
In the car, I scream. I scream and I cry. I've done it before, but it doesn't really help. There is no help for me. My karma is cast in cement. It's forever.
Kyle is waiting for me when I get to the pier. I haven't seen him in two years, not since I took up with Laura. He looks like shit. I suppose I do, too. We shake hands and then he lights a joint. We pass it between us as we walk out to the end of the pier. There's no conversation until we sit down on a bench.
"What's the bad news? What's our money guy say?" he asks me.
"Like I told you on the phone. It's all gone. We're broke."
"Shit. Six mil in three years. Poof. Just like that."
I wonder if he's as relieved as I am. The onus of that money was almost unbearable. I'd hoped when it was gone I'd feel an easing of the guilt. It hasn't happened. I doubt that Kyle has ever felt remorse about anything, and I envy him. "How was Europe?“ I ask.
"A blast," he tells me. He doesn't sound like he means it. He spent most of his time there in the casinos. "What about your house?" he asks. "That's gotta be worth a mil or more."
"We got some obligations to take care of," I remind him. "Our money guy says the house might cover the tab."
Kyle spits between his feet. "You mean my obligations. Sorry about that, partner, never thought I'd love gambling so much."
"No problem."
"You still with that pretty gal, Laura?"
"Yep."
"Still crazy about her?"
"Yep. She's the only thing the money got me that has meant anything."
"Love's a bitch," he says.
I don't answer. He doesn't know the half of it. We sit quietly for a while and then I decide to ask the question. We have never talked about it. "You ever have feelings about what we did that day?"
"Offing that sorry old man? Nah. We did what we did. What about you?"
I want to tell him what my hell has been like, but what would be the point? Wouldn't change a thing. "We did what we did," I echo back.
He nods. "Oh, well. It'll be like old times again," he says. "Just you and me, partner. Two crazy street dogs. Party, party, party."
"Yeah. Street dogs. Those were the days," I say, not for a second wanting to relive them.
Kyle stands up and walks to the railing at the end of the pier. He lights a cigarette and stares out at the moonlit horizon. I wonder what's going through his mind. I wish he could, just for a minute, feel my funk. Not because I mean him any pain, but because we’ve always shared everything. I don't blame him for anything, I still love him.
"Come here a minute," he says, and I walk over to where stands.
"What's up?“ I ask.
"I lied," he says. "For three years that old man has been haunting my dreams. I don't sleep well. I've no goddamn strength left. We fucked up, Bobby."
I know exactly what he's talking about. "Yeah, partner, we fucked up."
We stand quietly for a while. The sound of the sea washing through the pilings below us is almost hypnotic. It's good to be with Kyle again, but it doesn't make me feel any better. I have no hope of ever feeling better.
"Let's go to Hawaii," he says.
I almost laugh. "You think our good looks will get us plane tickets?"
"We don't need no fucking tickets. We'll swim to Hawaii."
Another insane idea from Kyle, I think. It's good that he hasn't lost his sense of humor. But, suddenly, I get it. It's the answer to everything. Something like a warm tropical breeze washes over me, releasing me from all guilt. I feel joy. "Hell yes, partner. Let's swim to Hawaii."
We climb over the railing and dive.
