“I’m going to wear underwear,” said Doug.
Kevin pulled out onto the road for the long drive back to Wilton, the snow starting to fall silently on the tree-lined roads, his two friends bickering in the seat beside him, and thought: This is so much better than a PTA meeting.
CHAPTER 7
DOUG WAS FLIPPING through the classifieds and found himself drawn to a particular ad promising wealth for the writing of children’s books. According to the ad, there was a virtually bottomless market for children’s books and no real skills were required to write one. Doug allowed himself a moment of reverie as he imagined being an admired children’s book author and realized it was a fantasy he had had before.
Two years earlier, while working at the restaurant, Doug had found himself staring at the lobsters in the tank and imagining writing the story of one that escaped. He had wanted the story to be happy and have the lobster make it home to Maine, where he would be reunited with his family. Standing over the hot grill, sweat dripping into his eyes, he had been suddenly thrilled at the idea of being a writer of children’s books and the next day he had sat down to write one.
At first, everything went well. The stage was set, the lobster escaped, and he went off on his happy way to Maine. Annalisa had said she loved it and waited eagerly for the next installment. But as the story developed, the lobster began to change perceptibly, from a happy escapee to a morose and violent drifter. At his best the lobster was aimless; at his worst he was hell-bent on revenge. Despite Annalisa’s admonishments to keep the story light, Doug continually had the lobster running into trouble. By the time the lobster had been arrested for selling nitrous hits at a Phish show and had stabbed a lizard at a truck stop following an argument about leftover fast food, Annalisa had finally persuaded him to give up the story for good.
“You’re weird,” she had said, but her voice had lacked the saucy delight that had been present when she had made the same observation at the beginning of their relationship. It had been the final weeks and now Doug wondered, as he sat and read the classifieds, if he hadn’t thought of the lobster story as a device to keep her attracted to him, an attraction he knew was waning. He stared blankly at the ads, not reading them, wondering what Annalisa was doing now. Right now at that very moment. Waiting tables at some other corporate restaurant, telling all her tables about moving to France, and getting an advanced degree in poetry writing probably. And maybe banging one of the cooks. She liked cooks. Banging other waiters was just so
On the kitchen table was his final paycheck, which had arrived in the mail that day. One hundred ninety-eight dollars. That was it. That was all he had going for him. He had just lost his job and his car and most likely his license, and he had slept with his friend’s wife, and all he had to show for his life was a check for $198. And a handful of little white pills that Mitch had given him. He took another one.
The phone rang. It was Linda, the call he had been dreading. He had so many things he wanted to say to her, serious things about right and wrong and betrayal and friendship, things that had been circling madly in his mind for the past few days. He wasn’t used to keeping secrets and he hated the feeling that he might make an errant comment to Mitch or Kevin. Skills of deceit were not in his DNA.
“How are you?” she asked. Her tone was cheerful, which he wasn’t expecting. He had imagined their next conversation would be a somber rehashing of events, full of admissions of shame and phrases like “never again.” Instead she sounded happy, energetic, and friendly, which made Doug nervous.
“I’m good,” he said, wondering how to play this. Maybe she just didn’t want to share her angst on the phone.
“I was just wondered how your day was going,” she said pleasantly, not sounding at all angst-ridden. “I miss you. We haven’t talked in a couple of days.”
Doug wanted to point out that prior to two weeks ago they had never talked at all. Accidentally having an affair with his friend’s wife was one thing, but having her call up and pretend it had never happened was not only insulting, it was confusing. What was this about? Should he join her in the pretense that they were just friends? Yeah. He should. Maybe that was the answer and Linda had figured it out. If they both pretended they had never had sex, maybe the whole thing would just go away.
“Yeah,” Doug said. He could hardly say he missed her too, because that was some weird schmaltzy shit you said to your girlfriend, not to your friend’s wife while your roommate was watching TV ten feet away, wondering who you were talking to on the phone. He tried to think of something mundane to say, some insignificant detail of his day which he might offhandedly mention to a friend but nothing occurred to him except, “I’ve been thinking of writing a children’s book.”
“Really?” Linda sounded genuinely enthusiastic and Doug realized how nice it was to make new friends, because they weren’t sick of you yet. To new friends, an announcement of your new life plans was a novelty. It wasn’t put into the context of a dozen previous announcements which might not have come to fruition. New friends accepted your announcements with the excitement that you had when you made them, and they understood that when you announced your life plans, you were deadly serious and totally committed, at least for the duration of the announcement. “What’s it gonna be about?”
For want of a new idea, Doug told her about the lobster, and while he was telling her he began to relive the enthusiasm that he had felt upon his first venture. Perhaps writing children’s books was his real calling after all. This was the second time he’d had this idea. Maybe that was it. You had to wait to get your calling twice. He told Linda the whole lobster story the way he had imagined it originally, with a joyful escape and a happy reunion. She was charmed.
“Write it!” she said and Doug was so happy to hear the support in her voice that he forgot he had just slept with her, and all the anxiety that went along with it. “I’ll read it to Ellie. We’ll make her your focus group.”
Doug was about to respond when Mitch, dressed in a camouflage jacket and his baggie pants, walked into the kitchen. “Dude,” he said, “let’s go. It’s Ferrari time.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a beer. “Who you talking to?”
“A dude from work,” Doug said and instinctively put his head in his hands. Mitch stared at him.
“Hey Kevin, man, you want a beer?” Mitch called out into the living room, alerting Doug to the fact that Kevin was in the apartment while he was talking to Linda on the phone.
“Nah, man, I’m driving.” Kevin came into the kitchen. “Wassup, Doug? Get your coat. We gotta get going. We got a Ferrari to steal.”
“Is that Kevin?” Doug heard Linda ask.
“Later, man,” Doug said into the phone and hung up, praying that the phone had been tightly pressed against his ear and that her voice had not echoed around the kitchen, giving clues to her identity, or even to her sex. To the phone lying inert in its cradle, he said, “Talk to you later, dude,” with an emphasis on the last word, clarifying once and for all that he had, in fact, been talking to a man.
Doug and Mitch went out into the snow, dressed warmly this time, and as they were waiting on the steps for Kevin to finish using the bathroom, Doug turned to Mitch and said, “Dude, do you ever think that no matter how much you try to make your life simple, it just keeps getting more complicated?”
Mitch lit a cigarette. “Yeah. I guess. Maybe. Why?”
“I don’t know, man. I just hate when shit is complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” Mitch looked at him. “Who was that on the phone?”
Doug was desperate for a change of direction in the conversation, even though he himself had just started it. “I’ve decided I’m going to write children’s books,” he announced.
“Didn’t you do that once before? About a lobster or some shit? And the lobster turned into, like, a hardened criminal or something.”
“He was just a petty criminal,” said Doug. “And this time it’ll be different.”
Kevin came outside and they got into the truck, which was warm and smelled of cocoa. “Linda thinks I’m walking dogs,” said Kevin, “and she made me some cocoa. I brought it along for you guys.”
Linda knows you’re not walking dogs, Doug thought. Another thing that was his fault.
“Cool,” said Mitch as they pulled out of the driveway. “Doug’s gonna write children’s books.”
“Didn’t you do that once before?” Kevin asked. “About a suicidal junkie lobster?”
“He wasn’t suicidal, man. He just had some problems. And he wasn’t a junkie. He just sold nitrous hits. And this time it’ll be different.” You couldn’t discuss anything with these guys because they were always bringing up the past. Shit, how would they like it if Doug kept bringing up the fact that Kevin got arrested and sent to prison or that Mitch had been fired from a shitty job?
Kevin shrugged. “Ready to go steal a Ferrari?”
“Ready,” said Mitch.
“You ready, dude?” Kevin asked, looking at Doug.
Doug stared moodily out the window, so Kevin asked him again. And again. Finally, Doug responded that he was ready and Kevin pulled a fat joint out of his pocket and said, in a long, slow drawl, “Awwwwwright.”
THE NEXT DAY, Kevin really was walking dogs, and he was thinking about the fact that there weren’t as many Ferraris on the road as there used to be. But he was also thinking about Linda. Linda had said something to him about Ferraris when he had gotten home late the previous night. It had been their fourth fruitless night of staking out the Eden Inn parking lot and as he headed toward the bathroom, Linda had mumbled something about Ferraris in her sleep.
“Wozzis about Ferraris?” she’d mumbled as he tiptoed through the darkened bedroom.
Kevin took it as a sign. Linda had said the magic word. Maybe she was some kind of good luck charm. He stopped in the bathroom doorway and looked at her, half asleep, or completely asleep, and dreaming about Ferraris.
“Ferraris,” Kevin said, wanting to hear more and to determine her state of consciousness.
“Yuhferrarizzz,” she mumbled and dozed off again. Damn! It was definitely a sign that next time they went there would be a Ferrari. A beautiful red Ferrari just
