writing and he’d said, “Sure, always at the mill. Got a few proposals with my agent, a few irons in the fire. And I’m working up an idea for a big paperback suspense thing that might have a shot.” Face-saving lies. I had stopped by his furnished room before going to Mama Luz’s, had a quick look inside, and there’d been no sign of his typewriter. He must have hocked it to supplement his Social Security, buy more booze and cigarettes.
Russ Dancer, hunched on a bar stool. A little drunk, a little maudlin, a whole lot lonely, wanting me to stay and have a drink with him, begging for a few more minutes of companionship and compassion. And I’d walked out on him and never gone back. Why hadn’t I bothered to look him up again, try to find out how he was doing? Inertia, lack of any real motivation… lousy excuses. He considered me his friend, and for a friendless man like him, that meant something. It should’ve meant a little something to me in return.
Ten long years. And he’d been down there all that time, living on Social Security and dying by centimeters. And now he was finally about to get what he’d been after for Christ knew how long, that kept eluding him because of an iron constitution and a perverse nature and a hair shirt as thick as they come.
I felt lousy by the time I got to Redwood City. I felt, dammit, right or wrong, as though I’d betrayed a trust.
Kaiser Permanente Hospital.
Bed in a ward, surrounded by a curtain on an oblong frame.
Dancer, hooked up to machines.
Not the Dancer I’d known, not even that last time at Mama Luz’s. A shadow, a husk, a stick figure topped by a death’s head coated with gray fuzz and age spots. Lying there motionless, eyes shut, his breathing aided by oxygen tubes but still coming in wheezes and gasps. My mouth dried out, looking down at him. I had to work some spit through it before I could speak.
“Hello, Russ.”
He’d known I was there; a nurse had gone in first to tell him he had a visitor. The shrunken head turned slowly, the eyes flicked open and focused on me. A grimace that tried to be a smile moved the corners of his mouth. Words came in little bursts fragmented by wheezes, so low that I had to lean close to hear him.
“No tengo… for good this time… eh, paisano? Goddamnit.. to hell.”
It took a few seconds for that to signify. The old Spanish cowboy lament he’d been fond of quoting at one time as a metaphor for his life and career. “No tengo tabaco, no tengo papel, no tengo dinero — goddamnit to hell.”
There was a white metal chair at the foot of the bed. I pulled it up alongside, sat down. Better that than standing and looming over him. This was awkward and painful enough as it was.
All I could think of to say was, “I’m sorry.”
“What for? We all… gotta go… sometime.”
Some more easily than others. I nodded.
“You don’t mean it… anyway. Nobody… gives a shit… when a hack writer croaks.”
“I do, or I wouldn’t be here.”
“Pity,” he said. “Pity visit… no different than… pity fuck.”
Even on his deathbed, the Dancer tongue was as crude and acrid as ever.
“Your friend Trail cares,” I said.
“Buck? Hah, that’s a… that’s a laugh.”
“Why would he call me if he didn’t care?”
“Paid him, that’s why. Twenty… twenty bucks. Bet he’s… over at Mama Luz’s… drinking it up right now.”
“One of the doctors or nurses would’ve done it for free.”
“Wouldn’t trust… any of those bastards. Nurses… can’t even empty bedpan…” A cough shook him, made him wheeze harder. “Besides, what do I… care about money… now…” More coughs, a staccato series of them that led to a gasping struggle for breath.
“Russ? Should I call the nurse?”
“… No. Be okay… not time yet…”
The struggle went on for another fifteen or twenty seconds. That could be me, I thought. If I hadn’t quit smoking when I did, if I hadn’t started taking better care of myself. The thought put little ripples of cold on my neck.
“Why did you ask to see me, Russ?” I said when the wheezing and gasping finally eased. “Just to say good- bye?”
“Hell, no. No damn good… at good-byes. Want you… do something for me.”
“All right. If I can.”
“You can. Has to do with… Sweeteyes.”
“Cybil? You want me to bring her to see you?”
“Christ! That’s the… last thing… her see me like this.”
“Give her a message, then?”
“Sweeteyes,” Dancer said again. His pet name for her. “Bet she’s.. still as… beautiful as ever.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Health good?”
“Yes.”
“Still… sharp mentally, still… writing?”
“Yes.”
“Tell her… read her novel. Damn good. She… can still write rings… around most of us. Makes… everything I churned out… look like the shit it is.”
“I’ll tell her. Anything else?”
Faint smile. “Remember D-Day.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What was that, Russ?”
“Remember D-Day.”
“Just those words?”
“And… one more message. Tell her… amazing grace.”
“You mean like the hymn?”
“Just tell her. Remember D-Day… amazing grace.”
“All right.”
“Rest of what I… have to say to her… in the package.”
“Package?”
“Other thing I want you… do for me. Give Sweeteyes… package.”
“Where is it? Here?”
“No. Storage locker, trunk… my building. Keys… keys in drawer there… next to bed. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Big envelope, her name… on the front. Don’t open… for Sweeteyes only.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t give it… to her until after… you hear I’m gone.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Good. Knew I could… trust you. Only one… I can trust..”
The curtains slid open behind me, the sudden ratcheting of hooks on the frame making me jerk a little. A starchy nurse poked her head inside. “You’ll have to leave now,” she said to me. “It’s time for the patient’s medicine.”
“Fucking cow,” Dancer said when she was gone. “Time for… patient’s medicine. You like that? Not… Mr. Dancer, not even.. old bastard, just patient.” He made a laughing sound. “Dead meat, pretty soon.”
I’d had enough even before the nurse appeared. I stood up.
“Take keys,” he said.
I opened the nightstand drawer. Two keys on a ring; I put them in my pocket.
“No… good-byes. Hate good-byes.”
“So do I.” But I couldn’t just leave it at that. I felt even worse now; I had to put some of the guilt into words-for my sake, if not for his. “I really am sorry, Russ. I should’ve gotten in touch, I should’ve been a better friend.”
