by Don Zelma
Chapter Thirty-six
The screen door squeaked open and Joe stepped out onto his back landing. He walked down several steps and slowly sat on the deck. The fence line was softly lit by starlight and his bottle of beer felt cold and comforting in his hand. A month had passed since he had first slept at her house and he still he couldn’t stop smiling.
He tilted his head back, took a few gentle mouthfuls of beer and heard the brook-like bubbling in the silence. The night was cold like the air in a refrigerator. He glanced up and a shooting star flashed by, bright and thin.
It was a Friday night and he heard the voices of a few revellers out front of the house as they walked towards town. The dim glow of the city light beyond the neighbour’s roof resembled the shine of a distant cane fire. He heard a set of toenails slowly clicking up the drive and glanced down at the slats of the house. Pilchard’s head appeared around the corner. He stood still, sniffing, then his large lion-like paws began mounting the steps. He brushed by, his long tail flicking Joe’s face, and slowly sat down on the boards. Joe reached back, gently mussed his head, feeling his hair fluffy like a big feather duster. Pilchard liked being patted and his tail rose high like a scorpion’s then fell to the deck. It did so repeatedly, sometimes hitting the screen door and making a racket. His large tongue fell out over his jowls and it looked like a black sock in the dark. It went in and out as he breathed.
Joe heard a gentle rhythmic beat out front. He grabbed Pilchard’s tail to silence him and it squirmed like a python in his hand. ‘Shhh!’ he said. ‘Listen.’
Thump, thump, thump!
Pilchard stood alert and scrambled down the stairs. Joe straightened and could hear his companion galloping away down the drive. He descended, carrying his bottle, and looked down towards the road. He saw Pilchard stop below the front stairs in the dark. He headed down. ‘Who’s there?’ he said quietly at the steps.
A dark head appeared over the railing. ‘Hey, it’s Lola.’
He pulled up and smiled. ‘Hey,’ he said softly.
The porch light was off and she was standing in the dark. ‘I just thought I’d drop by,’ she said. Her quiet voice was clear in the night.
A fresh breeze blew in across the drive and Joe just stared at her, moved by a quiet song in his heart. ‘I’m happy you’re here,’ he said.
She leaned forward, her hair hanging down straight and black, and her face caught the streetlight. She was wearing a red lumberman-style jacket with a white fleece neck. It was not her usual style, but it was good to see new facets of Lola.
She glanced at the back of the house. ‘Where were you just now?’ she asked.
‘On the backstairs.’
Her figure turned and began descending. She was wearing joggers and he listened to her quiet footsteps on the boards. She stopped on the lowest step and he moved forward and gently took her hand.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered. The leaves gently rustled in the trees on the sidewalk. ‘Take a seat,’ he said, and gestured at the step. ‘It’s nice sitting out here.’
She sat, taking her time, and Joe took a seat beside her. He rested his bottle on the step and looked up at the night. The distant streetlights twinkled in the crystal clear air like the esplanade lights had done the night of the whales. He looked at her and the cold wind swept a lock of hair across her cheek. Pilchard brushed past his leg and gently nosed her knee.
‘And who’s this?’ she asked. She reached out.
‘This is Pilchard.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard about you, Pilchard.’ She patted his large head and his tail began to swoop. She folded her arms and looked up at the stars. ‘It’s a beautiful night,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I was just thinking that.’
Pilchard sat at Lola’s feet and exhaled loudly through his nostrils.
‘What else were you pondering back there?’ she asked.
‘Oh…’ He shrugged. ‘I was just thinking.’ He put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin in his palm.
‘What did you put on the ground?’ she said, looking near his feet.
‘It’s a beer.’
‘Can I have a sip?’
‘Sure,’ he said and reached down. ‘You drink beer?’
‘Sure, sometimes.’
He picked up the bottle and handed it to her. She gently sipped and he heard her kiss as she pulled them away from the bottle. Joe pulled his heels in and hugged his knees, like Lola had done the day he had moved boxes at her house.
‘Here,’ she said quietly. She handed the bottle back and he placed it down on the step. She smiled at Pilchard and his tail pulsed like a garden hose turned on, threatening to wag. She reached down, stroked his head and Pilchard’s tail began snaking across the ground. Another group of party goers crossed a distant intersection, walking towards the city. The couple watched them through the roadside trees and it prolonged the natural pause in the conversation. Joe remembered his old habits and chuckled. He felt sympathy for everyone going out because they had still not found what he had now discovered.
‘So, Mr. Judd,’ she said, looking at the revellers walking away, ‘you were once a bad boy?’
It caught him by surprise and he glanced up at her. She nodded towards the revellers. He waited, searching her eyes.
‘Me?’ he said and looked down. ‘Of course not.’ His reaction was obviously evasive. ‘Oh, who cares about that, now?’ He knew it wouldn’t pay talking about the things before Lola.
‘Come on,’ she said and prodded him with a finger.
‘What can I say?’ he thought. It was a fair question – he knew she was trying to determine more about who he was. It was uncomfortable stuff, but to be frank, he thought, not out of order. It seemed she really needed to know. Perhaps, too, it was just one of those conversations a couple had to have.
‘What crazy stuff did you get into?’ she asked. He balked, staring at her. He could tell she was fishing.
Chr—t, he thought, it must be important to her.
Lola was stupid – she must have known somewhere this was risky, messy stuff.
He stared a little longer and looked down at his boots. ‘Ah, nothing worth mentioning,’ he said dismissively. He looked up at the road. ‘It was all in the old days.’
The conversation went quiet and Pilchard started wagging. Joe glanced at her and she smiled. But it wasn’t a real smile – it was a little forced. ‘Chr—t almighty – what was happening here?’ It seemed she really wanted to talk.
‘The old days,’ she said. ‘I remember my wild days, when I used to have orgies.’
Pilchard stopped wagging. It was like she had fumbled a hand grenade and it now lay waiting ready to explode on the floor. She had tripped badly in whatever she had wanted to say, and now that she was down, she chose to get up and punch her way out. ‘My best friend and I went to this club once,’ she said. ‘We had smoked a lot of grass and then we met this DJ and he invited us home…’
Something icy cold swept across his face. It was enough – stop, stop, stop.
‘Baby,’ he said, his heart beating. ‘Not now, my friend.’
She glanced at him. ‘Oops,’ she said and giggled. ‘No need for that, I guess.’
‘Holy Mother of God,’ he thought. He waited, staring at her eyes. He blinked, feeling wide awake. After the euphoria of the back steps, it was now like walking out of a theatre after a good movie and plummeting back to the sad place he had been. He swallowed – Lola was his princess and he knew, instantly, he never wanted to know.
She gently kicked his foot. ‘Can I have another sip?’ she asked. He slowly reached out and gave her the bottle. He was in shock at his speed of the descent. He saw a sudden flash, like a photo had been taken in a dark room. A picture flickered in his mind, then came another, and a movie began playing. Seconds later, he felt pressure building in his eyes and he did not know why. After all, it had only been a snippet of information. And, above all, it had been the truth – just as t
hey had agreed.
Lola placed the bottle on the ground. ‘It’s a public holiday tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Shall we take Buddy to the beach? He loves playing on the sand.’
He felt a little better and glanced at her. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’d love to.’
She reached down and gently took his hand. But a spinnaker line had snapped and his sail was now flapping about in the wind.
‘Oh, he misses his playmate,’ she said. ‘He loves meeting you.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘You know I was thinking back to the time we went to see the whales. It was a beautiful evening on the water, Joe,’ she said. ‘No one has ever done something like that for me.’
He looked up and stared at her eyes. ‘Really?’
She spoke sincerely, ‘You are good to me.’
He waited and looked down. ‘It was a pleasure,’ he said.
There was silence. Lola sighed and looked at her watch. She seemed OK. She slapped her thigh and slowly stood. ‘Well, I guess I’ll be off,’ she said. ‘Buddy will be hungry. Shall I see you in the morning?’
He looked up. ‘Yes, great,’ he said. ‘I will pick you up.’
She smiled. ‘Great, Ducky,’ she said. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’ She hesitated then leaned forward and gently kissed his forehead, then turned and slowly walked away down the drive.
Joe watched as she passed under the last streetlight in the avenue and melted into the night. He remained on the step in the dark. The conversation had finished, but it wasn’t over. His imagination was adding scene after scene to the movie in his head. The pictures had sounds and sensations drawn from his own experience and he knew he was in big, big trouble.
‘Grow up, man,’ he said to himself, but berating himself didn’t shut down his imagination. It didn’t arrest his insecurities. He tried to breathe long regular breaths, but they quickened and he grew cold with dread. Finally, he stood and walked up the stairs. It was the start of a gigantic struggle and, of course, something he could never tell Lola about.
In the following weeks, Joe pondered on that moment – why she had said it then, and what it meant. Was it simply a lapse in sensitivity? Was she wanting a reason to fight? In all his years of experience, not for a millisecond had he considered such an issue as this.
Tough or not, after a month of psychological torment, he grew angry that she had broached it. His reaction was dead wrong and he knew it. But he couldn’t digest the information, simple as that, and that was impossible to tell Lola. After all, it wasn’t her fault, and telling her of his flaw wouldn’t change a god-damn thing.