64.
I went home early, to spend some time with Kelly.
Jules wasn’t the only kid who needed me.
Peter was there. His T-shirt said: ‘I may look funny, but I’d kick your ass at Jeopardy.’
Hey Dad, he said.
Peter liked to call me Dad. He thought it was funny. It probably wasn’t, really. It was all in the way he said it. Like an eager toddler when Daddy comes home from work. So I laughed. Like I always did.
Dad, he said loudly, and took me by the elbow. I’ve got something to show you.
He winked at Kelly as he steered me to the kitchen. She smiled.
It was nice to see she could.
I’m staying here, Peter said once we were out of earshot.
It wasn’t a request. It was a statement.
Okay, I said.
She needs distraction, he said. Entertainment. It goes against my nature, but I’ll do my best.
Sure, I said, missing the joke.
Til she gets over the worst of it, anyway, he said with a suddenly serious air.
Back in the living room, Peter asked Kelly for a pair of scissors.
Why? she asked.
My shoelaces are uneven, he said, pointing at his feet. They must be punished.
Kelly brought the scissors. She hadn’t laughed yet, but the smile was back.
Peter sat on the floor, fumbled about with his shoes for a moment.
Phew, he said. That’s better. Kelly, come tie my shoes.
What? said Kelly. Why should I?
You untied them.
I did not.
Okay, I lied. But haven’t I told you my theory about shoe-tying?
No.
It’s the most intimate thing a man and woman can do together.
Kelly laughed.
There was a poker game that night. I didn’t want to go. Peter talked me into it. We should try to be as normal as possible, he said. I couldn’t argue with that. And, I suspected, he was probably thinking that it would be better for Kelly if my gloomy face was out of the house for a while.
And he was probably right.
65.
The game was in a warehouse by the water. They never played the same place twice. It was a rule.
The space was huge, black, smelled of oil and axle grease. Someone had rigged three spotlights in the rafters far above, aimed them at the very center of the vast expanse, illuminating in three intersecting circles the green felt poker table, seven high-backed chairs and a rococo sideboard packed with bottles of tequila, rum and wine. An oasis of light that made the surrounding darkness palpable. Like a massive black beast crouched around the tableau. Ready to swallow the unwary.
Jesus, I said, who’s your set designer?
Friend of Jonesie’s, said Andrea. You like?
It’s a goddamn work of art.
The guy’s a genius, said Jonesie.
You won’t get an argument from me, I said.
As I took my seat I gazed around at the surrounding blackness. It was like we were sitting on a comet deep in space.
Drunk Jake wasn’t there. Straight Jake was there. Wearing a fedora and suspenders.
Dressed for success, I said.
He smiled.
Andrea had on a slinky flapper dress.
I wish you’d told me it was a costume party, I said, to nobody in particular.
It isn’t, said Andrea, without elaborating.
Where’s Drunk Jake? I asked. Coming later?
He called in sick, said Mike.
Drunk Jake’s absence seemed strange. I’d come to think of it as his game. But it wasn’t his game. It was Mike’s game. And Mike was there, in the dealer’s chair. Wearing a green eyeshade.
The first hand was dealt. Seven Two off-suit. The worst possible hand. You couldn’t even get lucky and make a straight with those two cards. I mucked them.
It was a harbinger. I kept getting rags. The cards were cold as the grave. Not a welcome image. But there it was.
I played with no enthusiasm. I had no focus. I didn’t really care. I’d just donate my cash to these nice folks.
I tried to keep my side of the banter up. I feared the uninvited question, should my bereavement show. I didn’t want to be the damper on the flame.
Andrea had a little yellow plastic duck.
Planning on taking a bath? I asked.
It’s my travel duck, she said, smiling.
Your travel duck?
Yup. It comes with me everywhere.
I’m going to have to get me one of those.
Everyone laughed. It hadn’t seemed that funny. Maybe they’d found out about Melissa, somehow. Were trying to humor me.
I tried to play a bit. With the cards coming cold, the only way to win was to get aggressive. Bluff a bit. Stay ultra-sharp and look for weakness, tells, indecision. But I didn’t have the energy.
I went back to donating my money.
I left early. I didn’t stay to try my luck with the penalty jar. Winning it would only have made me feel guilty.
As I left, I looked up into the endless blackness above.
I am but a worm, I thought.
A plaything for the Gods.
66.
When I got home Kelly was still up. Peter was asleep in the basement, she said. They’d played chess for hours. She’d won all the games. He was sleeping off the emasculation.
In my day, I laughed, sixteen-year-old girls were not supposed to know the word ‘emasculation.’ Still less use it in a sentence.
Bad luck for them, she said.
