The next day he awoke in the hospital, loaded up on Darvon. He had jammed his foot on the brake and been thrown forward, almost through the windshield, he was told. Luckily, car traffic along the highway had been light, so no other car had been involved. Aside from a moment of paralyzing fear as he saw the car sliding along the ice toward him in his rearview mirror, he remembered almost nothing of the accident.
He was shook up, that was all. The doctor and the chiropractor he found later legitimized the exaggerated backache and the jaw trouble. His lawyer settled for twenty-five thousand from the limo company, and with another twenty-five hundred thrown in by the casino for nuisance value, he had enough for bills and gambling money until February.
To add to his good fortune, there had been that moment when Juliette arrived at the hospital, her blonde hair shimmering down her shoulders like the falls near Emerald Bay, gorgeous and young. He basked in the envy of his fellow patients and for just a few moments there at the beginning when she thought he was really badly hurt, he basked in the glow of her concern.
“Your hands?” she had asked first thing and, for a second, he couldn't think why she would care. Then he remembered. He played the piano in the bar at the casino, didn't he? When he had a job, which she thought he did.
“The doctor says no permanent damage,” he told her.
She pulled his hands to her chest and left them there to feel the pulsing life underneath her sweater. Five years of her, and he would never get enough.
The windfall caused problems. Soon after he got home from the hospital the fights with Juliette resumed. She wanted the money, wanted to put him on an allowance, wanted his paychecks, wanted to save for a future, and yammer yammer yammer. He never could hold his own in an argument with her. Her words pounded on him like a club, so he hurt her back the only way he knew how, with the back of his hand and sometimes when she just would not shut up, with his fists. He always regretted it, always begged for her forgiveness, and she always came through after a day or two.
If she ever left him… but he would not allow her to leave. She knew that. He would hunt her down and bring her back. He had done it before, and she knew he would do it again. Marriage made two people one. He would no more let her go than he would let his left leg walk off without him.
Nothing meant more to him than Juliette. She was his biggest score, the one he would hold on to.
One day, a few months after the first accident, Neal went shopping at the jewelry store at the outlet center for a little present for her. He wanted something that would tell her exactly how bad he felt about a minor fracas of the night before. The saleslady pulled out a display of glamorous-looking gold necklaces. All the glitter in one place made him nervous-he turned his back briefly to count his money.
He had spent most of the insurance settlement, so he counted out his singles. When he was satisfied he could just swing the thinnest gold chain and was about to say so, the saleslady said, “Let me show you some other necklaces I think you'll love!” Sweeping the expensive chains back underneath the counter, she came up with another display that looked identical to him. Leaning in conspiratorially, she had said, “Vermeil. All precious metal, of course.”
“Gold?” he had asked.
“Sterling silver with a fine layer of gold on top. Better because it's just as beautiful and has the same intrinsic worth, but is more reasonably priced.”
“I'll take it,” he said, selecting a thick, flashy one he knew Juliette would love. He would tell her it was solid gold. She would never know the difference.
While the woman stooped under the counter finding paper to wrap it up, he happened to look out the store window. Out on the highway, a Caddie was hanging a left in front of a beat-up white Pontiac coming down the opposite side of the highway.
Only the Pontiac couldn't stop, not with the icy sleet coating the road. There was that same eerie moment of screeching brakes and watching a quarter-ton of metal sliding forward on pure inertia. Then crrrunch!
The Pontiac driver got out, rubbing his neck. Lucky break for him.
That moment, an idea that he had nursed like a seed since November sprouted into full foliage. Here was real money, ready for the taking. Risky, but a much better bet than the slots. A way to bring peace back home, enough to please Juliette, enough to get him out of hock, enough for a few more games, any one of them a potential big winner.
All he had to do was make sure whoever hit him next time was massively insured. And make sure he didn't get killed.
And he knew just the man to help him out.
The saleslady handed him a small package wrapped in metallic paper. “She's going to love it.”
“She will,” he said. “You are so right.”
That afternoon, after he gave Juliette the necklace and collected his thanks from her, he said casually, “Why not call Lenny and Carol? Invite them for dinner tonight. They haven't been by in quite a while.”
They were sitting together on the couch in the living room. A rare fire burned, and Juliette's cheeks glowed as orange as persimmons in the light. She had been studying for a test at the kitchen table. An older sophomore at Lake Tahoe Community College at twenty-three, she wanted to better herself, she always said. Still holding the chain, she turned to look at him. “But you hate Lenny.”
“Correction,” he said. “Your big brother hates me. Always getting on me about the way I treat you.” He had a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. His hand slipped along like it used to slide over the ivory keys a long time ago when music had seemed to have a direct line from his imagination to his fingers. He laughed, although he didn't feel funny. “He had you all lined up to marry some straight little civil engineer, some meat loaf who would agree with everything he said, yessir, that's right, Lenny, uh huh, you are so smart…”
He waited for her to say she was glad she'd married him but she was silent, looking into the fire.
“Old Lenny doesn't get it,” he went on, annoyed, but aware this was not a good time to pick a fight. “How close we are. How well we fit.”
“No, he's never understood it,” she agreed, and her hand tugged on the new necklace.
The words grated, and the feeling behind the words grated more. Was there the tiniest suggestion that she, too, didn't understand it? He made his voice calm. “But hey, he's family. We should see them more.”
She had turned back to him. He put a lot into the smile he gave her. She smiled back tentatively, then jumped up to make the call. She thought this was a peace offering like the necklace, another part of the “I'm sorry” game. Fine. Whatever it took.
He hoped she would cook something tasty, something to take his mind off those dark, glowering eyes of Lenny's, and Carol's jittery chat.
They arrived about seven, stomping the snow off their shoes in the entryway on a thick rug Juliette put there for that purpose.
“Sonofabitchin' cold night,” Neal said, holding the door, giving them a big smile.
As usual, the wrong thing to say. A thought-policeman, Lenny was already glaring at Neal. Lenny thought he was better than Neal, better educated, more intelligent, classier… just thinking about it made Neal angry, but he kept his smile locked in place.
Fortunately, Carol and Juliette smoothed things over, making those female sounds that reminded Neal of spicy smells, permeating the air with promise but ultimately just amounting to a lot of warm air breezing through the room. They made it through dinner with just one really bad moment, when Lenny mentioned that he had spent some time down at Harrah's one night with some out- of-town associates-only reason he'd ever go into one of those nasty places-and was so disappointed that Neal was not, as advertised within the family, playing in the piano bar. “Asked the bartender,” Lenny had said, shoveling in a mouthful of cacciatore. “Told me they hadn't seen you in months.”
That made Juliette send Neal a visual promise that said, Later, honey, you will make me believe he is mistaken or this lovely evening that started out so well will be spoiled. “That guy must be new, Lenny” was all she said. “Neal's been working steady, haven't you, Neal?”
“You betcha.” Below the table, he had her hand in his and had to repress a sudden desire to crush her knuckles until they cracked. She had married a musician, an artist, for Chrissake, not some poor slob with a routine job. She needed reminding. His fingers were strong. No doubt one hard squeeze would take care of anything further she might care to remark if he wanted to stop her.
But Carol interrupted his thoughts with a surprisingly welcome suggestion. “How about a movie? There's one at the Y I'd love to see.”
Juliette brightened, withdrew her hand from his, and ran for the newspaper to check for times. Lenny continued to separate items on his plate, prissy and offended-looking at the green spreading of the spinach. “I'll pass,” he said when Carol returned.
“Aw, Lenny,” Carol said. “Live a little.”
“Go without me. I have some paperwork.”
Lenny worked for an insurance company, strictly a nine-to-five job that involved no late nights and no overtime. He just said things like this to make himself sound like a mover and shaker to others, the phony ass.
“Nothing that won't wait,” Carol said to her husband.
See, now, this was exactly the kind of thing a man could not let pass. This was direct confrontation. Lenny was pussy whipped, the dry little shit, and he didn't even know it.
“You girls will have a better time without us,” Neal said. “Go salivate over Brad Pitt. I'll give Lenny a lift home. Then I'll put in some practice time.”
Token protests, but eventually the girls drove off in Lenny's car. Lenny finished his dessert and coffee, eating methodically, not saying a word, then got up. “Gotta go,” he said.
“Stay for a drink,” Neal said, pouring Lenny's favorite poison into two small glasses. “Cheers.”
“Yeah,” Lenny said, lifting his glass and draining it.
“Another?”
“You're driving,” he said.
“Oh, thanks for reminding me,” Neal said. “But don't let that stop you. Have a drink for both of us.”
Neal managed to get three more stiff ones down Lenny and got him talking about his work. And over the course of the next hour, by prodding and pushing, he extracted the names of several prominent Tahoe people who carried especially good policies, Lenny's best clients.
“See, here's the thing,” Neal told him then. Lenny's normal reticence had relaxed as he related exciting tales of his exploits in the insurance business. He was stretched out on the couch, glazed and receptive, just like Neal needed him to be. “Here's the thing, Lenny. I'm really glad you stayed tonight, because I've got some bad news and I didn't want to talk about it in front of the girls.”
“I knew it,” Lenny said. “You had to be up to something. Well, I don't have any money to lend you right now. You can forget it. I'm scraping by myself, if you want to know.”
“Oh, Lenny. Man, I don't want your money. No. It's-it's a medical thing.” Neal explained about the carpal tunnel syndrome the doctors had diagnosed in the hospital that would make it impossible for him to use his hands in the future, and watched Lenny's mediocre mind attempt to take it in. That's right, Lenny, put it together, he thought. Musician, hands, carpal tunnel. Ah!
“But this is terrible,” Lenny said, the light finally penetrating his thick skull. “You won't be able to support Juliette.”
Well, he didn't really anyway, hadn't for a long time, but Lenny didn't need to know about that. He didn't need to know how the music had left Neal one day, never to return. The music had gone. He couldn't even hold his own in a lobby at a Nordstrom's these days. His reputation in this little town was right down there with the dirtiest rat in a Dumpster.
Lenny didn't need to know that Juliette was clerking in a real estate office part-time mornings to pay their rent. Juliette wouldn't tell him.
Neal laid it on thick, so thick, he had his wife and him living out on the streets within the next month.
“Then you'll live with us,” Lenny said, horrified. “I'm not going to let my sister go down, Neal. Never. If you can't be a man and take care of her…”
“That's a very kind offer, Lenny,” Neal had said hurriedly, striving for a whipped puppy effect in his voice. “But you know how proud Juliette is.”
Lenny knew. How Juliette bragged about her husband the artist. She lorded it over her brother in this one regard, and it was the one thing that Neal felt kept her by his side and protected from
