Biloxi

by Mary Miller

  That seemed to be it: an iPad, a blender, a watch, and a wedding band. Good riddance to all but the blender. I hadn’t worn the watch in over a year and hadn’t missed it. The wedding band was worthless and I had only put it in the drawer because I didn’t know what else to do with it.

  Since she had taken off with my things, and because she couldn’t tell if I was home since I parked my car in the garage, it was unlikely she’d return. She had known which items were worth taking and how few of them there were. And she wouldn’t be back for the dog—she had had plenty of chances to rob me and take the dog, too. The dog was mine and I wished she’d challenge me on it. She’d regret it, I’d make sure of that. I was still going to change the locks and made a mental note to call the locksmith—I had used a guy before, what was his name?—and ask if he could come out as soon as possible.

  I put the dog in the car and drove to the restaurant, imagining Sasha crossing over into Louisiana. She would go west and stop in New Orleans, stay there for a night, and keep moving. What had she swiped from Harry Davidson’s house? I had an image of the two of us teaming up to go after her—guns in both of our britches, a whole thing.

  The restaurant was crowded. It was Thursday, I believed, though it didn’t feel like a Thursday. Since I’d stopped working, the days rarely felt like the right ones. There was always something a little off about them because there wasn’t any reason to feel more hopeful or depressed on one day as opposed to another.

  Diane was seated at the bar, which was almost exactly like the one next door but this one had a Jamaican vibe. She was drinking a Red Stripe, which she raised at me as I sat down.

  “You brought your dog,” she said. “That’s cute.” She didn’t look like she thought it was cute. I signaled the bartender and ordered a Red Stripe as well, though I didn’t know if I’d like it. He opened the beer and fixed me a big cup of iced water with a lemon wedge.

  “Thank you,” I said. “This is exactly what I need right now.”

  He nodded and told me it was no problem, which was a thing young people said today, and I thought about tipping him generously but I was nearly broke, so very close to broke, at least until the fourteen thousand dollars came through and I signed up for my Social Security benefits. I needed to do that ASAP, pronto. I heard the lawyer saying I should have already received the check, that it had been mailed last week. Or it had gone out last week, or had he said it was on its way? Keep an eye out. It was possible the check had already come and Sasha had signed for it. With registered mail, someone had to sign for it and they didn’t care who it was in my experience, so long as it was the correct address. If Sasha signed for the slim envelope, she would have opened it. And of course she must have found my checkbook in the dresser where I kept my watch and ring, though I hadn’t noticed it missing. I hadn’t noticed it there, either. I felt my blood pressure skyrocket as I pictured her writing checks up and down the Coast, in multiple states. I thought about Harry Davidson again, his situation.

  “Louis?” she said. “You there? Earth to Louis . . .”

  “Oh, yes! Sorry. The dog is kind of a long story,” I said, which was a phrase I’d used frequently as of late. I liked it—it made me sound like I had a lot going on. And I did, boy did I. “If I left her at home I was afraid she might be dog-nabbed.”

  “I think it’s napped,” she said, “like kidnapped.”

  “Oh, of course it is, that makes sense,” I said, though I wasn’t certain. Perhaps it was one of those words where either was acceptable. “You’ll have to excuse me today. My head’s not quite right.”

  “Oh, I have a terrible hangover, too!” she said, reaching down to pet Layla. “Well, isn’t this all very intriguing. Who’s trying to dognap you, girl?”

  “I ask her questions all the time but she doesn’t answer,” I said, and smiled my half smile and she smiled and we were off to a winning start. Layla took to Diane right away—she loved to be petted by strangers, black and white, rich and poor, fat and thin—all but Frank. I wondered where the hell Frank had been keeping himself. I ought to give him a call, I thought, surprising myself. He hadn’t returned for that “proper visit” he’d threatened, which was unlike him.

  “Soooo . . .” she said. “I’ve got nothing but time and I want all the details.”

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” I shook my head, hoping I appeared to have some swagger or charm or mystery about me.

  “I would, I most certainly would believe it. And after I get another beer, you’re going to tell me the whole story. Oh, and happy birthday! I wish I’d had the chance to bake you a cake.”

  “Someone once told me I look more like a pie man.”

  “What’s a pie man look like?” she asked, signaling the bartender for another round. I decided the question was rhetorical and shrugged, braced myself to look at her straight on in the noonday sun. Just as I was deciding how pleased I was with her, wondering why a nice, classy lady might be interested in me, I noticed a small patch of chin hairs, three or four in a cluster like mushrooms popped up overnight, one of which had grown quite long. When was it appropriate, if ever, to tell a woman she’d missed a chin hair? To reach over and yank it out?

  Before I could start in on the tale of Layla, she started telling me about her cat, aged nine, and how she had no feelings for this cat whatsoever and never had; she wanted to get rid of him but who wanted a nine-year-old cat? She’d only gotten him because she needed him to catch the mice in her apartment.

  “You have mice?”

  “No, I had mice. It’s not uncommon in the city.”

  “In Little Rock?”

  “Yes,” she said, “in Little Rock. And it’s a really nice building—one of the nicest in town.”

  “But if you got rid of him they could come back,” I said. This cat had done its job and done it so well that it was being held against him. It was just like people. “Your cat should go on a strike and then, once the mice return, you’ll be happy to have him again.”

  “Let’s don’t talk about mice anymore today,” she said, getting huffy.

  I drank my beer and thought terrible thoughts, imagining unwanted cats and mice, hot checks written all over town as I drank once more with a vacationing woman in the middle of the day. I stole a glance at the chin hairs and she caught me, touched herself like she might have food on her face. There was this thing I used to do in work meetings when I was bored—I’d sniff and run a finger under my nose or do a quick pick as I looked at someone across the table. I liked to see who took it as a signal and mimicked my gesture. That person would lose. But sometimes I’d be called out: Are you sick, Louis? Is everything okay with you, Louis?

  “This dog could be in the movies!” Diane said. “She’s got so much personality. And these ears—the way they flop and the one black eye. She’s got real star quality. She’s got that ‘it’ factor. She reminds me of the dog in the RadioShack commercial, or maybe it’s a different one, some dog food commercial.”

  “She’s quite special.”

  The excellent bartender brought the dog a bowl of water, and asked if it was okay if he gave her a Milk-Bone. I said she’d love a Milk-Bone. They were classic. All dogs liked them. They were like McDonald’s but for dogs and not full meals but snacks. I was saying these things aloud. I finished my beer and ordered a White Russian.

  “Hardly anyone orders these anymore,” he said.

  “I’ve just recently been turned on to them. They’re very good.”

  “Too sweet for me,” he said, and smiled, and I smiled, wondering if I should call my bank and cancel my account. I needed to go home and see if my checkbook was there, but even if it was, I had no idea what check I’d recently written, what number I was on. There was a time when I’d kept up with it meticulously, balanced my account every month. I asked Diane if she could watch Layla while I made a quick phone call and she seemed a little put out but said she would keep this dog forever. It was a bad day for a date, for a woman to want t
o date me, though any day might be a bad day for it.

  I checked my wallet: my debit card was missing. In the parking lot, I called the bank and told them to cancel everything because I’d been robbed. It was funny to allege such a thing, which made me think of an unknown assailant wielding a knife on a street corner instead of an attractive woman I had invited into my home. I didn’t have to go into all of that, though. They didn’t need to know the details. It was easy enough but I would have to go into the bank to sign a few papers for new accounts and fill out a report. A new card would be sent to me within five business days.

  “What am I supposed to do until then?” I asked. “I don’t have any money.”

  “You can go into any branch and withdraw cash,” she said, as if I were stupid. What a mess. And I was embarrassed that the woman knew how meager my funds were. Why even bother with such pitiful sums?

  I went back to Diane and she said Layla had been whining and looking around for me.

  “Really? What was she doing?”

  “Whimpering and turning her neck all about. It was really cute. This dog loves you a lot.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I hate to tell you this but I have bad news,” I said. “It’s related to the dognapping story but it’s another piece of it—my debit card was stolen and I had to cancel all my accounts.”

  “That’s too bad,” she said.

  “It is too bad,” I said. “I don’t have any cash on me and I need to get to the bank real quick to withdraw some money and fill out the paperwork.”

  She looked at me like she had known plenty of men like me in her time, bums, bums who didn’t want to work and just wanted to live off women, going from one to another if they had to. I wasn’t a bum and had never lived off a woman—a woman had never paid a bill for me in my life—and yet I knew how it looked. I had heard enough songs and seen enough movies to know how it looked.

  “There’s no reason to go right this minute,” she said. “I can buy you a couple of drinks.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I have vacation money,” she said. “It’s different from real money.” She touched my shoulder. I was very aware of my shoulder being touched.

  “Same as the day drinking,” I said. “I’ll pay you back, or take you out for a good dinner?”

  She smiled and said that would be fine, of course I would, and her tone rubbed me the wrong way but I would prove it to her, show her a grand time.

  “How long are you here again?” I asked.

  “Till Saturday. It’s been a long week, but I shouldn’t complain. I really shouldn’t. It’s nice that a single lady like me has a family at all.”

  “Family is good. I don’t have much family anymore, other than my daughter and granddaughter and I don’t see them too often. They came over the other day and it was a mess, as it usually is.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t know, but I keep trying.”

  “Do you?”

  I thought about it for a minute, since she seemed to want me to think about it. “Yes,” I said, “but perhaps not as hard as I think I do.” I told her she was very smart, a very smart lady.

  Layla was breathing heavily. The weather had turned warm again and seemed to be staying that way. Though I’d never liked the idea of the cold, digging oneself out of snow to go to work, the bulky coats and scarves, I would have liked to wear a light jacket at times and not sweat through my shirt in November. It was hard to believe it was November. Soon Thanksgiving and then Christmas, my first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Ellen or my father, though I had the dog now. When she laid on my chest I could feel her heart beating, how it skipped, and it was different from a human heart but it was a beating heart just the same. I would take care of her, fight for her if I had to. I needed to take her to the vet, say I’d found her on the mean streets, get her a proper name tag that said LAYLA in big letters with my phone number on the back.

  “You’re having a hard go of it lately,” Diane said.

  “There’ve been a few setbacks but I think they’re over now. I think I’ve got things covered.”

  “Sometimes these things are blessings in disguise,” she said.

  Instead of being pissed off, I decided to make a game of it. “When it rains it pours.”

  She took a sip of her drink and gave me a sly grin. “Good things come to those who wait.”

  “When one door opens, another closes.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I like that one. It’s just . . . so true.”

  Layla drank messily from the bowl, slopping water onto my leg. I finished my drink and told Diane I had to get to the bank, take care of some things. “Can I take you out tomorrow night?” I asked.

  “I’d like that.”

  “And don’t worry,” I said. “If I’ve forgotten my wallet or don’t have any money, I expect you to get up and walk out. Calling me a bum and some other choice words on your way.”

  “I will,” she said. “In fact, I’ll ask to see the cash up front.”

  “Okay then,” I said.

  “I’m kidding, of course.”

  “Well, it’s a date. Let me think about someplace nice and I’ll call you.” I knew where I wanted to take her, but I also knew the number of former business associates and acquaintances I’d run into at a place like Mary Mahoney’s. I wasn’t ready for all that. Or I could drive her over to Bay St. Louis or Pascagoula, somewhere we could be anonymous, though it was nearly as likely I’d run into folks there, too; the Coast was one long beach connecting people to each other despite the boundaries of towns or counties.

  “Do you text?” she asked.

  “I think so,” I said.

  “You think so?”

  “I’ve received texts before.”

  She grabbed my phone and gave me a tutorial, commenting again on how old and small it was. How featureless. It reminded me of the times Ellen had helped me attach documents to emails, sighing as she told me how easy it was.

  As we said our goodbyes, she touched my leg. My leg didn’t do that thing where it rebelled, but stayed in place, which made me proud of it, as if it were separate from the rest of my body.

  The bartender handed me the check and I passed it to Diane.

  “The lady is treating today,” I said, feeling as if I could never show my face there again, which was fine. It was simply one more place to add to the list.

  CHAPTER 15

  I DROVE TO THE bank and went inside, sat in a chair waiting to talk to someone about the new accounts. It was all handled quickly, efficiently, so I went over to the window to take out some cash. The lady—one I’d seen dozens of times who was still a complete stranger to me—looked at my driver’s license and told me it was my birthday. I agreed that it was.

  “I’ve got some good candy suckered away in here,” she said, grinning as she rooted around in her drawer. “None of those green lollipops for you today!” She seemed so pleased with herself as she passed me a bite-sized Kit Kat through the slot along with the slim envelope.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. I hope you have a wonderful day, Mr. McDonald.”

  “You know they have white chocolate ones now,” I said. It was time for the next customer; she was done with me. She was cool as a cucumber in her button-up sweater, just like a bank lady. You never saw them sweat. “You should try the white ones sometime. I prefer them, actually. You don’t have any white ones in your secret drawer, do you?”

  She looked at me like I’d slapped her. Somehow it had gone wrong, I’d said the wrong thing. I hadn’t meant to offend her, had only wanted to get a rapport going. Was I being racist, liking the white ones better, or simply ungrateful? My phone rang. I jumped, pulled it out of my pocket: Maxine. I punched some buttons, trying to make the ringing stop as the bank lady looked around like she might need to notify security. I chuckled to myself but nothing was funny, and then tried to determine why I’d said it, wh
at I’d been thinking prior to saying the thing that turned a pleasant interaction into an unpleasant one.

  I hit the button on my key chain to unlock the car and Layla moved her head all around looking for me. It was one of my favorite things. A few times I’d hidden behind other cars so she couldn’t see me to extend the game. She was panting heavily and I should have taken her home beforehand but hadn’t wanted to make the detour. “I’m sorry about that, girl,” I said. “I’m a real shit. A real bastard. I don’t know how you put up with me, how anyone does.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Papa,” I responded in my dog voice.

  I turned the a/c on full blast and rolled the windows down. The phone dinged: Maxine had left a voicemail. I drove to the locksmith’s. I couldn’t call the guy because I knew the location but not the name of the place. It was just one guy, a friendly black man who’d spent his life putting locks on things, getting people in and out of situations. It sounded like an easy job, and full of interesting stories. I liked stories; the problem was I didn’t like people. How it was possible to like stories that had happened to people but not the people themselves, I did not know.

  I apologized to Layla again—and let her forgive me and tell me how excellent I was, encourage me to believe in myself—as I parked at the strip mall. Everywhere it was strip malls. He was squeezed between a Little Caesars and a UPS store.

  The guy, Marvin was his name, said he could come out in the morning and I told him I’d have to sleep with one eye open, which was sort of a joke but also not a joke. In my mind, Sasha had become a menacing figure: one part prostitute serial killer like the woman Charlize Theron played in that movie where she’d gotten fat and one part homeless meth addict with a dash of Thelma & Louise thrown in. And yet she seemed like such a simple creature, I hated to give her so much credit. She was just a woman who liked to watch bad TV and sit on the couch with her blankets. I couldn’t even imagine her driving more than a couple of hours by herself because she seemed very much like the type of person who needed other people. But she didn’t. And that was the thing that made me afraid of her. She didn’t need any of us, not even the dog.