Simon Says

by William Poe

“What do you mean?” I smelled a ruse.

  “I wanted you to know that I love you. You and my mother are the only people I’m contacting. Goodbye, Simon. Don’t be mad at me.”

  “Thad, wait!”

  My plea was greeted by a dial tone.

  I slumped forward in the chair.

  “What’s the matter?” Charlotte asked.

  “I think Thad’s going to kill himself!”

  Charlotte laughed. “He’s just trying to upset you. Suicide threats are a game people play. Forget he called.”

  “I believe him, Charlotte. I think he’s going to go through with it.”

  “Okay, so what if you’re right? What then?”

  Her patronizing made me angry.

  “Do you know where he is? Is there anything you can do?” she pressed.

  “He’s probably with his marine in San Diego, although that was a while ago. He’s probably found someone new by now.”

  “Then there’s nothing you can do.”

  “Thad said something about calling his mother. I’ve got her phone number. Maybe she knows something.”

  Charlotte sighed. “If it will make you feel better, give her a call.”

  “I’ll bet Thad still wears the ring I gave him on his twenty-first birthday. He said he still loves me.”

  Charlotte said ring under her breath, shaking her head in disbelief.

  I went to my computer and found the information—an address and phone number in Priest River, Idaho.

  “Hello?” a woman answered.

  “Is this Thad’s mother?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has Thad called you today?”

  “Just a few moments ago. Are you Simon?”

  “Thad has mentioned me?”

  “I’ve heard all about you, dear. Thad called quite often when he was living with you. I suppose he told you he’s going to kill himself.”

  Her matter-of-fact tone surprised me. “Yes! That’s what he said.”

  “Don’t get too worried, Simon. That’s just his way. Been doing it since he was twelve. He even cut himself a few times, nothing beyond skin-deep, of course.”

  “You don’t sound worried.”

  “After a while, you learn,” the woman said. “Thad’s always had a flare for drama.”

  “He told me you sent him to boarding school.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, apologizing for her laughter, “but I’ve heard the same story from other people. Boarding school—not exactly what I’d call juvenile detention.”

  “Thad said he had a trust fund waiting for him when he turns thirty.”

  “Not an ounce of truth in any of it,” his mother said. “Too bad we couldn’t have talked before you took him in. I’m surprised he even gave you my number.”

  “He never imagined I’d use it.”

  “I’ll bet on that. We don’t have any money,” the woman said. “We’re just a poor family. Thad was adopted. He had some crazy notion that we had stolen him from his parents. My husband and I adopted both Thad and his sister. Their parents were part of those religious-type folks who live around here. The police were called out to their farm one night and found the father beating both children. The court took them away. Thad’s got a scar over his eye from before he was two. Maybe you’ve seen that?”

  “Thad said he didn’t remember how it happened.”

  “Well, that’s probably true, but he was told how he got it.”

  If Thad’s mother had been good enough to adopt abused kids, why was she so indifferent now? I wondered. It didn’t make sense. I was about to challenge her when she continued her tale.

  “My husband and I did our best. We gave Thad all the love we could. But when he got older, he’d say terrible things to us. He took money from my purse when he was as young as seven. He got caught stealing from the neighbors when he was nine. When he was a young teenager, the judge made us send him to reform school in Boise. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive us for that.”

  “It explains a lot,” I said.

  “Thad wouldn’t want me telling you the truth about him. He lives by his fantasies. Thad said he worked for you, is that right? He said you’d given him a place to stay. Well, I can imagine what it’s been like. Thad will say anything to make you care about him. Then he’ll hurt you. That’s his way.”

  I didn’t want to hear any more, but the woman kept going. “Thad won’t kill himself. He just wants to make you feel powerless.”

  “Well, thanks for the information,” I said. “If you hear from Thad, will you call me?”

  “All right,” the woman said. She took my number, and we hung up.

  I still worried that Thad would go through with his threat. I felt somehow responsible. My old beliefs told me that a person’s actions affected everyone around them. Sin made it possible for evil to take control. If only I had given up drugs, if only I had been a better influence on Thad, maybe he wouldn’t have thought about killing himself.

  The shock following Thad’s phone call got me to quit snorting coke, but I wasn’t going to give up alcohol. Charlotte and I again started going regularly to the Spotlight. Hustlers substituted for the oblivion I found through cocaine. Sometimes I took a trick to the Oban early in the evening and found a different one to take home after the bar closed. But the more sex I had with affectionless strangers, the more I longed for Thad.

  Scott had often accused me of falling in love with everyone I fucked. I was thinking about how wrong he had been as I sat at the bar one night, knocking back shots with Twiggy.

  “Simon,” Twiggy said, grabbing my hand. “I think I see a ghost.”

  The ghost took a seat at the far end of the bar. After ordering a drink, it waved as if acknowledging a casual acquaintance.

  “Pour him a drink,” I told Twiggy. “A ‘sloe comfortable screw against the wall,’ isn’t it?” I loudly addressed the whole crowd. “In fact, Twiggy,” I shouted, “since we are witnessing the resurrection of the dead, set up the whole bar.”

  Thad paid no attention to my sarcasm. He finished his syrupy drink and then stood behind my barstool, leaning forward to place his soft lips on my ear.

  I was lost.

  Charlotte, who had been in the back room, raced to my side. Twiggy had sent a friend to alert her of the developing drama.

  “Charlotte,” I said, “I’d like you to meet Thad.”

  Thad held out his hand. Charlotte refused it, saying, “You look well for a dead person.”

  “Who are you?” Thad asked.

  “This is my savior. If not for Charlotte, my business would have gone to hell a long time ago.”

  Thad wheeled me around on the barstool. “What’s been going on?”

  “I fell apart when you left. Like you didn’t know that’s what would happen?”

  “I wasn’t thinking about you, Simon. I never did.”

  “So why did you call me? Wasn’t it enough to break my heart once? Did you have to drive the stake all the way through?”

  Thad lowered his head. His silky hair fell forward and hid his face. “It’s not what you think, Simon.” When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “The guy I was living with found out he has AIDS. When I tested negative, he wouldn’t have sex with me. He said he’d never have sex again. I was so torn up that I swallowed every pill in his medicine cabinet. He found me about an hour after I called you and rushed me to the hospital. I had to go through a live-in program for thirty days. I was going to ask Twiggy about you. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Charlotte sipped her drink as she listened to Thad’s story. She rolled her eyes until I pierced her with a sharp look. Then she pressed her lips against my ear and said, “I don’t understand the rules of this game. I’m going to play pool.”

  Thad strained to catch her words.

  “Charlotte said you were cute,” I lied. “She lives at the house. I gave her the upstairs bedroom. I’m staying in the basement.”

  “Can I stay there, too?” Thad
asked.

  Every fiber of my being screamed, Don’t do it, but I said, “Of course you can. I wish you’d never gone away.”

  Twiggy brought over shots of schnapps to celebrate. The jukebox played “Cabaret.” I looked at Thad and said, “Just like old times.”

  “To better times,” Thad toasted.

  Twiggy clinked his glass against ours. “I’ll drink to that.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Thad and I picked up right where we left off, with me pawing him, horny as hell, and Thad scooting to the edge of the bed, ignoring my advances. A sensible person would not have taken him back. But I was in love with the Thad of my imagination, not the real person lying next to me. His mother’s warnings echoed in my ear as I lay awake looking at Thad’s face.

  After a month, Thad said he felt “recovered.” Neither of us had used drugs since he returned, and we had only gone with Charlotte to the Spotlight a couple of times. I hoped that Thad and I would finally start acting like lovers, but then a friend began dropping by the house to pick him up in the evenings. Thad told me it was someone he met during group therapy at the hospital. I convinced myself they were going to meetings, refusing to believe Thad was interested in the guy. The only way to endure the emotional turmoil was to throw myself into work. My associates, especially Wally, were overjoyed that I had resurfaced.

  One morning, Charlotte found me sipping coffee on the balcony. Thad was in bed. I had already checked telexes and responded to an urgent fax from my customs broker. A light breeze rose from the hazy valley. Charlotte went to the kitchen to pour a cup of coffee for herself. She clutched it tightly to warm up her hands as she sat next to me.

  “Why are you letting him stay?” Charlotte asked.

  “It’s simple. I love him. When I see Thad, there’s a longing that rises inside me. It’s hard to explain.”

  Charlotte shivered. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold out here.”

  We went to the loft and sat in swivel chairs around the office desk. Cicero raced back and forth between us as we teased him by throwing a tennis ball.

  “I admit it’s crazy,” I confessed. “But it’s no crazier than picking up a different trick every night.”

  “At least with a trick, you know what you’re getting. And you know the rules of the game.”

  “But there’s no love involved.”

  Charlotte sipped her coffee. “Love is highly overrated.”

  Scott called as we finished breakfast. He had just heard that Thad was living with me.

  “And you were so sure he killed himself,” Scott said.

  “I should have called you before now,” I admitted. Actually, I had not forgiven Scott for allowing Thad to stay at his place when he left me.

  “Let me take you guys out to celebrate your reunion.”

  I suspected there was more to his motive than a simple celebration, but since getting relatively free of drugs, I was beginning to miss my friends. Scott and I had been through worse. He knew I would ultimately forgive him, whatever the infraction.

  We arranged to rendezvous at a restaurant in Marina Del Rey. Charlotte was excited; she’d gotten an earful about Scott from Rudy. Scott had come to the Spotlight one night, horribly drunk, looking for me. Don didn’t want to let him in, but Rudy, realizing that Scott was my friend, vouched for him. Scott ended up throwing a beer bottle at someone, and the police showed up. Don held Rudy responsible. I ended up paying for the broken wall mirror.

  At the last minute, as we were walking out the door to head to Marina Del Rey, Cicero looked up with pleading eyes. “You don’t want to be here all alone, do you?” I said.

  Cicero twirled on his back legs. He raced outside and jumped against the passenger-side door.

  “You can sit in the back with me,” Charlotte said.

  Thad, who didn’t like Cicero, grimaced. “Don’t you think he’ll bite the valet when we park the car?”

  “Not my little Cicero,” I said. “He loves everyone.”

  Thad rolled down the window. “It smells like dog in here.”

  Charlotte thumped Thad on the head. “Be nice!”

  Cicero made fast friends with the valet, which seemed to upset Thad. He scowled at the boy as I handed him twenty dollars and told him to let Cicero out on his leash after an hour or so. The valet was happy for the tip and said he’d be glad to walk Cicero.

  Scott had gotten us a table. Thad smiled when he saw Jerry, who looked as though he’d just woken up. Charlotte and Scott hit it off right away. Seeing them together, talking and laughing, I thought about my final days in the church—I was letting loose for the first time in a decade and the “the three esses,” Sandra, Scott, and Simon, roared through Hollywood. That seemed like such a long time ago, though it had only been a few years.

  After dinner, Jerry and Thad left the table and went to the bar. They laughed the way people do when they’re flirting. Charlotte and Scott were so engrossed in conversation, comparing notes about their various conquests, that they forgot I was there. A couple of hours went by as I nursed a gin and tonic, followed by another, and then another. I staggered toward Thad. With all the drunken venom I could muster, I blurted out, “You don’t seem to have a problem getting it up when Jerry’s around!”

  Rage welled up in Thad’s eyes.

  “You fucking hustler,” I said, throwing my drink in his face.

  A gasp rose from the assorted diners as Thad escaped out the door.

  “Good fucking riddance!” I yelled.

  Charlotte and Scott burst out laughing.

  “You think it’s funny?” I challenged.

  “No, Simon. It’s not funny,” Charlotte said. “It’s about time!”

  Scott let out a whoop. “Go, Simon!”

  Jerry had disappeared into the men’s room to avoid the scene. Suddenly, everyone turned toward the door. Thad stood there holding Cicero in his arms. When I ran toward the door, Thad slipped out.

  I heard Cicero yelping in the distance and ran in the direction of the sound. It seemed as though dogs had started barking all over the neighborhood.

  “Simon, get in the car!” I heard. It was Charlotte. She’d been driving around with Scott and Jerry looking for me.

  “Where is Cicero?” I asked desperately.

  “Get in. Thad can’t have gone far.”

  A few people on the street said they had seen a young man carrying a dog, but none of the leads panned out.

  After an hour, Charlotte drove Scott and Jerry to their car.

  “Call us if Thad shows up at your place,” Charlotte told Scott as he got out. “I mean it.”

  Scott, stone sober by then, nodded. “Thad’s not welcome there anymore. Not after this.”

  I couldn’t sleep. Charlotte was even more frantic. We paced the floor, each casting furtive glances at the telephone every few minutes, hoping that Thad would come to his senses and call us.

  “We could drive back to that neighborhood,” I suggested.

  “What if Thad calls?” Charlotte said. “He doesn’t want Cicero. He just wants to hurt you.”

  “He’s the one who’s going to get hurt. He won’t have to worry about suicide. I’ll kill him myself!”

  Charlotte shook her head. “How could anyone just take a dog like that? I keep seeing those eyes—those Cicero eyes!” She burst into sobs.

  When the phone finally rang, Charlotte rushed to pick it up, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She held out the phone so we both could here.

  “I’ve got Cicero,” said Thad’s cold voice.

  “You monster!” I yelled.

  Charlotte shushed me.

  “Let me come home,” Thad said.

  “Home!” I yelled. “This may be Cicero’s home, but it’s never going to be yours again!”

  Charlotte cupped her hand over the receiver. “Calm down, Simon. Think of Cicero.”

  “Where are you?” I demanded.

  Thad hung up.

  Charlotte was furious, but when I too burst into
tears, she tried to console me. I broke away and locked myself in the basement. I had kicked out a crazy trick one night who’d left behind several bits of rock cocaine. I still had one of Axl’s crack pipes.

  I knew the procedure, having watched Axl a thousand times. I dropped a few crumbs on the pipe and flicked a cigarette lighter, slowly drawing the smoke into my lungs. There was no time to put out the lighter or set down the fragile pipe before the narcotic hit my brain. It was like an out-of-body experience. My head became an echo chamber; my heartbeat, a drum roll.

  When the room settled, ceasing to expand and contract with each breath, I glanced at the clock and saw that only twenty minutes had passed. It had seemed like hours.

  I smoked for a full day before running out of the hustler’s rock. By that time, I was crawling around the floor looking for crumbs I might have dropped.

  Charlotte knocked on the door.

  “Just a minute,” I said. My voice was so hoarse I could barely speak. I got dressed and combed my hair before venturing to the top of the stairs.

  Charlotte seemed startled at my gaunt appearance.

  “A friend of mine called from the Pub,” she told me. “He said a blond guy was there with a black-and-white dog.”

  The look on my face frightened her.

  “What are you going to do?”

  I had already gone to the kitchen and gotten a meat cleaver. I grabbed the car keys from the counter before Charlotte could intervene. She watched helplessly as I drove away.

  With the meat cleaver in one hand and the steering wheel in the other, I thrashed the air, chopping Thad to bits in my mind. So what if I went to prison for the rest of my life? It would be worth it.

  The Hollywood Freeway became a ribbon of blood. I ran the stoplight at Cahuenga and sped across Hollywood Boulevard. I made a right on Santa Monica and then drove on the wrong side of the street to get past traffic. When the Pub came into view, I double-parked and rushed inside.

  “Someone’s going to die!” I yelled, plowing through the saloon-style swinging doors.

  Everyone froze. A few people scrambled toward the back door. An old man and his trick locked themselves in the bathroom. The bartender reached under the counter for a baseball bat that he used for defense against rowdy drunks.