“It’s none of my business but I’d like to see you off of it.”
“It is your business, man!” Jesus suddenly said violently. He shook his head, trying to say something. “Okay, okay, I’ll try.”
“I know people who can probably get you a job,” Douglas started.
Jesus interrupted. “You were really great, man.” He suddenly squeezed Douglas’ arm and Douglas reached out absently and grabbed his hand. He stood for an instant, holding it, then gave it a firm handshake. There was a fleeting return squeeze and Jesus walked around the ambulance and started to climb in. He turned and yelled, “You take it easy’ fat man.”
And then Douglas had it. “I know a furrier,” he shouted. “He needs somebody to help out around the ‘shop.”
Jesus paused, half in and half out of the ambulance.
Douglas could see his withdrawal symptoms were returning, now that the excitement was over. Jesus managed a smile, his eyes bright.
“Hey, you mean it, man? I can tell fox from rabbit at a hundred feet!
I’ll see you tomorrow, no, I mean Monday! Next time I’ll even knock!”
“I’ll be expecting you!” Douglas shouted. Then the driver reached out and pulled Jesus inside. The ambulance roared away.
Douglas waved and watched it go. Not Monday, he thought. The kid would be looking for a fix again. Maybe in a week? In a month? He turned to leave, then glanced back at the receding ambulance. It wasn’t that easy; you didn’t Turn your back and just walk away. There were doctors he knew, welfare workers who could get Jesus into a methadone treatment center or a halfway house.
What Jesus really needed was somebody to give a damn.
He smiled to himself. Concern. That was the only real requirement for a self-elected foster father. Everything else was minor.
Then the excitement and the euphoria drained away and he suddenly realized he was all alone-alone with the twin disasters of a bankrupt business and the collapse of a relationship he wasn’t sure he could live without.
Which wasn’t quite true; he could live without it, but the question was whether life would be worth living. He walked away slowly back across the plaza, stepping over the tangle of hoses and unconsciously making a wide detour around the canvas-sheathed sculpture.
“Ian! Ian Douglas!” He turned. Larry was running toward’him, the smile on his face one of intense relief.
Then he was up to Douglas and hugging him. “My God, Ian, they told me all about it. They told me all about you!”
Douglas took a breath. “They didn’t tell you everything,” he said sadly. He explained what he had almost done and that the firm was bankrupt.
Larry looked puzzled. “Ian, there was no need for that.
In the first place, we would have gone into Chapter Eleven, not bankruptcy. The second thing is there was no need for it in the first place. We’re not bankrupt, we’re not anywhere near it. At least we won’t be.”
He had to have it out, Douglas’ thought. If it tore him apart in the middle of the plaza, he had to have it out.
“Look, Larry, I’m getting older. It’s a tough thing to admit; I don’t suppose it’s anything that anybody likes to admit. It’s natural that you should-well, become interested in somebody else.”
Larry looked puzzled. “ian, I don’t understand, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I saw you at lunch,” Douglas started. “Oh, it’s none of my business, but . .
“You mean Mitch,” Larry said finally. “The guy I had lunch with at Belcher’s one day. He’s an old friend …”
friend, Ian. He’s happily married and he’s got four kids.
He manages e motel chain and we were talking about the decorating contract for the Midwest.” He suddenly slapped Douglas on the back.
“And we got it, Ian! If we don’t do anything else for the next two years we’ll make a fortune!”
He paused and quieted a little. “ian, for as long as I can remember, you’ve been carrying the weight for both of us. I thought it was about time to do my share.”
“I wish you had told me,” Douglas said. He felt slightly miffed.
“Do you begrudge me a surprise, Ian?”.
Douglas smiled. “No, I guess I don’t.” He suddenly remembered something and reached into his pocket and pulled out the netsuke of the water buffalo. “I tried to save the ‘Minotaurmachie’ and I couldn’t.
But I managed to save this. I guess I’ve always liked it-and it’s one of a kind.” - Larry took it and turned it over in his hand for a moment, half caressing it. “One of a kind,” he repeated.
He suddenly looked up at Douglas. “Ian,” he said quietly, “why did you doubt me?”
“Jealous, I guess,” Douglas admitted. He looked away and his voice suddenly cracked “I guess I’m getting old.”
His friend’s arm was suddenly around his shoulder.
“Man, I’ve got news for you,” he said softly. “I don’t know anybody who’s getting younger. The car’s down this way.” Larry had parked just ahead of Jernigan’s distinctive Mustang with the broad blue racing stripe; Douglas would’ve known it anywhere.
Jernigan’s wife was behind the wheel. Douglas knew her only slightly but nodded to her as he passed. As they pulled out, he could see Jernigan walking toward his car, along with Garfunkel…
“It’s been a helluva night,” Garfunkel said. “There’s not too much more that we can do here; you get on home with your wife.”
Jernigan nodded. “Thanks a lot, Dan-sure you don’t need me here?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” He paused. “Something I want to ask you. You ever play pro ball any time?”
Jernigan looked surprised. “No, why do you ask?”
“I heard about the catches you made. I figured-you know-that you had pro experience or something.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, Dan. I may look it, but the only thing I ever caught in my life was a cold.”
They stood awkwardly by the car a moment, Jernigan waiting for Garfunkel to say something more. Garfunkel picked idly at a piece of dirt on the door, then said: “That woman who works with Mamie-she don’t really have to be a knockout or anything. I mean, you know, like she’s pleasant to be with? I’m getting a little old for the foxy ones.”
Jernigan grinned. “Mamie’s told her a lot about you.
I think you’D like each other a lot. Just don’t get upset at Leroy.
I figure we won’t eat until early evening so you’ll have time to catch a nap before you come over.”
He suddenly reached out and squeezed Garfunkel’s shoulder.
“Mamie’s a damn good cook, man, you’ve got no idea!”
Jernigan opened the door and slid into the right-hand seat. “You drive, Mamie, I’m bushed.”
“I figured. What were you and Garfunkel talking about?”
“I’m sorry, should’ve told you right off. You’ve got an extra mouth to feed tonight. Mr. Garfunkel’s giving us the pleasure of his company. And don’t get a big head about your cooking-I think he wants to meet your friend.”
Mamie sighed and started the car. “Make that three more mouths to feed.”
“Three?” He was suddenly wide awake. “What do you mean, three?”
“Jimmy and his wife were evicted. He showed up with all his baggage and said he was willing to ignore his intense natural dislike of you and honor us with his presence.”
“That’s all I need,” Jernigan said, tired. “Where the hell you going to put them?”
“I’ll find a place.”
“Just so long as they don’t wind up sleeping in our bed.”
Mamie chuckled quietly. “Not a Chance!”
“Then I really don’t give a damn,” Jernigan said. He yawned, nuzzled closer to his wife, and fell immediately asleep. She keyed the starter and moved slowly out into the street, beeping once at Garfunkel as he trudged slowly back to the building. He turned and waved and then disappeared down the steps into the lower lobby.
Garfunkel helped himself to coffee, ladled in the cream and a couple of spoonfuls ‘of sugar, and looked around
