Of course, I echoed.
So I checked it out.
Reconnoitered, I said.
Right, he said. And I found out you hung out at the Wolf’s Lair.
Right, I said slowly, puzzled at the change of subject.
He looked at me. He spoke directly to me.
I figured I could get to her through you, he said. Gradually.
I stared back at him. What the hell was he saying?
He saw my confusion.
Jesus, he said. You didn’t know?
Know what? I said.
My stomach turned over.
I thought you knew, he said. I thought that was the point of all this.
Knew what? I asked.
Though by then I knew.
Melissa, he said. Melissa was Randy.
Oh my God, said Dorita.
Oh Jesus, said Jake. I thought you knew.
91.
I was shaking. I had to get away. I told Jake I was sorry, I had to go. I had to think about this. He said he understood. His eyes said something else. He looked lost, afraid. I didn’t have the energy to deal with that.
I had a million questions. Had he contacted Melissa before the day he’d come over? Since? Did he know anything about her death? About who might have…
I couldn’t ask the questions. It was already too much.
We went to Trois Pistoles, Dorita and I. I ordered onion soup and a bottle of cheap Burgundy. I ignored the soup. I drank the wine. I chainsmoked cigarettes.
Well, I said gloomily, that explains the phone calls, doesn’t it?
It sure does.
They were talking. He probably came over. How would I know? I’m never in the goddamn house.
Dorita wisely said nothing.
I changed the subject. I talked about books, movies. I couldn’t bear the thought of silence.
We talked about meds. I gave her my list. She gave me hers. Zoloft for depression; lithium so the Zoloft didn’t make her manic; Inderal for the tremor induced by the lithium; Clonodine for the sweating and Nexium for the nausea brought on by the Zoloft; Klonopin for the panic attacks, which she occasionally confused with the Clonodine, with unfortunate effects; Provigil to stay awake because all that other stuff induced narcolepsy; Seroquel to get to sleep.
Wow, I said. You are one crazy babe.
That’s why you love me, honey.
Somewhere into the third bottle of Burgundy we started talking about her. She’d never opened up before. She didn’t then, either, really. But she said a few things. Enough for me to know that she hadn’t had it easy. That she had her monsters too.
Dorita pulled her chair around to my side of the table. Put her arm around my shoulder.
We’ll get through this, she said.
We?
You and me. Together. We’ll get you through it.
Damn, I said. I don’t feel sad enough.
What do you feel? Dorita asked softly.
I hung my head. I wasn’t going to say it.
You need some good old-fashioned comfort, she said.
We’re on the third bottle already.
Not that kind.
I looked at her. Oh dear. She’d read my mind.
Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say, I said.
Okay. I won’t say it. Let’s just do it.
Please. I really don’t think that’s a good idea.
Why not? she asked.
More reasons than I can count. You got a couple hours?
Sure.
I was afraid you’d say that.
Come on, Ricky. If you’ve been truthful with me…
You know I have.
…which I have no reason to doubt, you haven’t done it in years.
Not for lack of trying.
Sure. Not for lack of trying. Once in a while. But you can’t keep on like that. There’s a lot of life left on those old bones.
I was silent.
Well, isn’t there?
No comment.
Getting cagey, are we? Come on, Ricky, it’s written all over your face. You hate it. You want to get out of this thing. You want to live again.
I thought awhile. She was right, of course. I couldn’t cling to the martyr thing forever.
I can’t argue with that, I said.
Well, we agree on that much. So what’s wrong with your best friend taking care of you?
Precisely that. Because you’re my best friend. Because if we do it, God knows what will happen then. You’re not only my best friend. You’re really my only friend. And what if I lost that? Where would I be?
Darling. I’ll always be your friend. No matter what. You know that.
I looked into her eyes. They were sincere, I had to admit. They radiated sincerity. I felt a warmth creep up my body, from my toes, that I hadn’t felt since…well. I’m not sure I’d ever felt it before.
Okay, I said. I’ll think about it.
Think about it? These moments come but once, my neurotic friend. Whatever makes you think the offer will stay open while you think? There’s a lineup for these favors, darling, she said, turning to the crowd at the bar.
Next! she called out.
Heads turned.
Jesus, I whispered. Keep it down. This is bloody blackmail.
Yes it is. And if I were you I’d fork it over pronto. The consequences could be dire.
I couldn’t really argue with that, either.
All right, I said. I’ll try.
Try. I’m not at all sure that will be enough. But I guess I’ll take my chances.
Your chances? Maybe I’m missing something, but it seems to me that I’m the one taking all the chances here. Jesus, do you understand the enormity of what I’ve just learned?
Ricky, she said in a soft voice, what in God’s name makes you think that I’m not taking any chances?
Had I not known her better, I’d have thought that her eyes had tears in them. I felt a fool. Again.
Oh God, I said. I’m sorry.
It’s okay. I’m used to it.
Her smile was warm and giving.
