by William Poe
“Oh god, Simon. I don’t know where to begin. There’s a chance to make a deal with one of your Spanish clients. They want thirty films that were listed in the brochure you handed out at the American Film Market. You should contact them.”
“Which films?”
“They’re all part of Wally’s library. All the masters are at the lab. I don’t know how Wally is feeling about you these days. He hasn’t called in a long time.”
“Doesn’t matter. My representation agreement is in effect still. I don’t need his permission to make a sale.”
Sean wrapped his legs around my waist. A puff of crack smoke filtered through my hair as Sean exhaled on the back of my neck.
“Fax the Spanish clients for me,” I told Charlotte. “They’ll need to issue an irrevocable letter of credit. Then we can order a set of video masters from the lab. I did a deal with another Spanish company about a year ago. Use that contract as a guide. Can you do that?”
“Sure,” Charlotte said. “I know the contract you’re talking about. I looked at it the other day to see when their next payment was due.”
“Tell them the price is fifty thousand per title on a five year deal. Okay?”
“You realize that I’ll get over eighteen thousand dollars if it goes through?”
“You’ll have earned your five percent, Charlotte.”
“But Simon! How will I get ahold of you? You know they’ll want to negotiate. They’ll need to hear from you.”
“I’m in Amarillo.”
“Texas?”
“Longhorns and all. I’ll stay put until the deal is complete.”
The drugs were almost gone by the time Charlotte called back. “There’s good news,” she reported, “and not so good news. The Spanish clients agreed to the price and everything, but they want to check the quality of the video masters before they’ll release the money.”
I hardly understood what she was saying.
“Are you still there?” Charlotte asked after a long silence.
“Yeah, I’m here.” Slowly, an idea took shape. “Here’s what we’ll do. Tell the clients that I’ll deliver the tapes myself. We can screen them together at a lab of their choice. After they accept the quality and release the funds, I’ll give them possession.”
“Are you sure you can go to Spain?” Charlotte wondered. “I mean, in the shape you’re in?”
“What are you saying?”
“You’re a great negotiator, Simon, I’ve seen it. But is this a good time for you to leave the country? Perhaps you should come back to Los Angeles first. Sean can stay here with me while you’re away.”
“Fax the clients. That’s the first step. If they agree, then I’ll figure out the rest. Okay?”
“I’ll do it right now,” Charlotte said. “We’ll probably get an answer by tomorrow. Will you still be there in the same room?”
I set down the receiver without answering, picked up the crack pipe, and loaded a bowlful of rock.
Sean wrapped his arms around me. As soon as the drugs hit my brain, I broke free of his embrace, because I heard noises that made me think the police were outside. I would have flushed the rest of the drugs down the toilet if I could have found them, but Sean had anticipated my paranoia and hidden the stash.
I strained through the peephole to see down the hall. Not able to discern any movement, I fell to the floor and laid my head sideways so I could peer under that door.
Sean came over and pulled me to the bed.
CHAPTER 34
Sean was grumpy as a troll when I tried to wake him up.
“Come on Sean, get showered. Then let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”
I was energized by the news about my Spanish clients, and even though I didn’t like the conditions of the letter of credit, I was happy to have the chance to visit Spain.
Sean couldn’t understand my chipper mood. He was angry because I hadn’t asked Charlotte to send us drugs. He offered to hit the streets and find a dealer, but I said no, that we were driving to Arkansas.
I put our belongings in the trunk, and in case we should get pulled over, wrapped the pipes in a paper bag and stored them in the tire well.
Cicero, always eager to travel, perched on Sean’s knee and stationed himself at the window. When downtown Amarillo sank below the horizon, Cicero climbed into the backseat to curl up in a patch of sunlight.
The landscape had been monotonous and boring for hundreds of miles, but as we came to eastern Oklahoma, the flat prairie gave way to groves of mesquite and pine. The first of the Ozark foothills appeared around us, and I began to get sense of home.
When night came, I stopped on the roadside to gaze at the sky. I had forgotten the stunning glory of this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, so aptly described by Hamlet. We might be the only creatures capable of pondering the universe. If so, life has meaning due to that very possibility.
My reverie crashed on the shoals of hard reality when flashing lights appeared out of nowhere. I’d not seen a car for miles, but there it was—a police car rising over the low hill we had just crossed.
Sean was sleeping in the backseat. I started him awake with a shout.
“What the fuck?!” Sean complained.
“We are fucked! A cop is pulling up. Sean, what’s your real name? Your whole name.”
“Where the fuck are we?”
“What’s your full name, Sean? He’s liable to ask me. I don’t want it to seem like I just picked you up!”
“Sean Everett Lange, okay? Where are we?”
“Somewhere in Oklahoma. Just be cool. We don’t have any drugs. We should be okay.”
“Oklahoma,” Sean repeated. “Maybe we will be okay.”
Before I could ask what he meant, the cop was at the car asking for my registration and proof of insurance.
“Where are you headed?” the man asked. “You’re a long way from California.”
“Just passing through, Officer. On the way to visit family.”
“Y’all sure are in a hurry to get there.”
“Was I speeding? It’s so dark, and there weren’t any cars on the road. I didn’t realize.”
“Step away from the car,” the officer commanded.
“Why?” Always the wrong question to ask in such a situation.
“Face the car,” the officer insisted. “Hands on the roof. Spread your legs.”
The policeman at first told Sean to follow suit but then said, “Hold on to that dog, son.”
Cicero was barking ferociously, straining his neck out the window. Sean held him firmly by the collar.
The policeman, a Sergeant Stacey, took the car keys from the ignition before frisking me. Then he put on handcuffs and marched me to the patrol car where he told me to get into the backseat. Sean and Cicero remained beside the Topaz.
Sergeant Stacey read my information to a dispatcher and got back word that I had no outstanding warrants.
Having taken off his coat before he got in the driver’s seat, his short-sleeve shirt showed off his bulging biceps. Sergeant Stacey’s dark hair and olive skin indicated American Indian heritage.
“I need to search your car,” Sergeant Stacey said.
That seemed odd, given the report he had received, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice and ask why.
“There’s two ways we can go about this,” Sergeant Stacey began. “You can give me permission to open your trunk, or I can bring in the K-9 unit. If those dogs smell anything, we got cause to search.”
“I’d rather you not go through my things,” I said.
“The dogs can be here in an hour, but I’ll have to take you to the station while we wait.”
Cicero’s eyes gleamed pink in the bright headlights of the patrol car as he stared in our direction. I was afraid Sean would panic and try to run into the brambles. There was no telling what his information would turn up if Sergeant Stacey called it in.
“What are you expecting to find?” I asked
, with as much innocence in my voice as I could muster.
“You were weaving all over the freeway, but you don’t appear to be drunk. I figure you been doing drugs. I’m always suspicious of California boys passing through these parts.”
Sergeant Stacey’s words reminded me of Lenny’s description of California as the place where all the loose ends fell when you tipped America on its end.
“I just don’t like people touching my things,” I said. “That’s all.”
Sergeant Stacey radioed for the K-9 unit.
“Okay,” I said. “Have it your way.”
“I have your permission to search the car?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Sergeant Stacey left me in the patrol car and walked toward the Topaz. Sean had gotten out of the car, holding Cicero on the leash. He had unbuttoned his shirt, despite the chilly night air. He had also loosened the top button of his jeans.
I saw the light from the glove box as Sergeant Stacey rifled through the car. Then he shone a flashlight over the backseat. Not finding anything, he spoke to Sean.
“You and the dog get in,” the officer said, motioning Sean toward the backseat.
The officer walked me back to the car and removed the handcuffs. “Open the trunk,” he said, handing me the keys.
“See? Just a bag of clothes and a lot of junk.”
I hoped he would be satisfied, but it wasn’t enough. The sergeant unzipped each compartment of my travel bag. Only then did I remember my magazines. Sergeant Stacey studied one of the cover images. He laid my travel bag on the ground and leaned deeper into the trunk. I thought he was reaching for the tire well, but he was opening the magazine to the centerfold. A moment later, he took the stack of magazines to his patrol car.
When he returned, I watched in horror as he shined his flashlight over the spare tire.
“You said you didn’t have no drugs,” he said.
“I left Los Angeles because I’m trying to quit,” I made up on the spot. “That’s why I’m in such a hurry to get home to Arkansas. There’s no drugs in there, just my pipes. I know it was stupid to hang on to them, but”—I paused for effect—“they just won’t let go.”
“You really trying to give up drugs?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir,” I said, squeezing a tear from the corner of my eye.
The sergeant handed me one of the pipes.
“Break this on the gravel and ask the Lord’s forgiveness.”
I obeyed and crushed the pipe under my heel.
“The Lord will help you,” Sergeant Stacey said.
“Yes, sir. I’m sure of it.”
“Are you gay, son? Is that kid gay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That why you didn’t want me to go through your things, so I wouldn’t find out?”
“Yes, sir. You never know how someone’s going to react.”
“Sit here in your car,” Sergeant Stacey instructed. “I’ll talk to that boy and see if your stories match up.”
First, I saw Sergeant Stacey and Sean in the front seat, then I couldn’t see Sean. About twenty minutes later, Sean came walking toward the car.
“Here’s your keys,” he said.
“Should I ask?”
“Ask what?” Sean grinned.
The patrol car sped onto the freeway and shot off into the distance.
“The fucker kept my magazines,” I said.
“And you crushed our pipes, except these.” Sean dug into the seat cushion and retrieved a couple of stems.
“It could have been worse,” I said.
Sean scratched Cicero under his chin and sighed, “Yeah, the guy just wanted a blow job. Something about Oklahoma. Every cop I’ve met here goes for that.”
CHAPTER 35
My idea was for Sean and Cicero to stay with Dean while I was doing business in Barcelona. Dean and I had kept in touch since our meeting shortly after Lenny’s death. Twice he had come to Los Angeles to visit. He’d arrive before Christmas, spend a few days, and then we’d drive together back to Arkansas.
Dean enjoyed the Spotlight with its never-ending drama. It was a problem that he didn’t use drugs, even if he compensated for that by drinking lots of alcohol. The last time he came to Los Angeles, he never suspected that I was high on cocaine the entire time.
I had one reservation about leaving Sean at Dean’s house. I didn’t know if Dean would keep his hands to himself. For that matter, I had no reason to trust Sean. I didn’t mind the episode with Sergeant Stacey; it probably kept us out of worse trouble. But if he had sex with a friend, that would be different.
Dean still sold insurance, working at home making cold calls from the phonebook.
“Guess who?” I said when he finally answered
“I’d know that voice anywhere. Are you calling about Christmas? I’m still planning to come out there.”
“Plans have changed,” I said. “I’m on my way to Little Rock, and I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything.”
“Someone is with me. We’re, well, we’re sort of like lovers. I just found out that I need to travel to Europe on business, and I can’t let him stay with Vivian. What do you think? Could he stay there?”
Dean laughed, “Sort of like a lover? Let’s see, does that mean you met him at the Spotlight?”
“Try Santa Monica Boulevard.”
“Say no more. I get it.”
“It’s okay then?”
“Sure. There was someone living with me, but he flew the coop the other day.”
“Sorry about the person leaving, but I’m glad you can help. I’ll be there around noon. Okay?”
“Can’t wait to see you and this lover of yours.”
Cicero ambled to my side of the bed and nudged my hand to be petted. He sensed something was up. Sean finished his shower, and when he came naked from the bathroom, I tried to get affectionate and dry him off, but he would have none of it.
“Fuck off,” he growled, shaking out his long locks. “What the fuck’re we gonna do for drugs?”
I wanted to say something like, we don’t need drugs, we have each other, but I would not have sounded convincing.
“We have to talk,” I said. “We’re stopping in Little Rock.”
“What about New York?”
“I still plan to go, but I need to take care of some business first. It’s important, especially if we’re going to stay in the money.”
“What about me?” Sean said, softening his tone.
“I was hoping you would stay with a friend of mine until I get back.”
“What about drugs? What about money?” Sean’s mind raced through a list of anticipated hardships.
“I can leave some money with you. But my friend Dean is pretty straight when it comes to drugs.”
“Nah. I’m not going to be tied down. You give me some money. I’ll show up when you get back.” Sean tucked himself into his jeans as if preparing a weapon for battle. Then his tough hustler face wilted, and the neglected little boy surfaced. “You’ll come back for me, won’t you?”
I gave him a hug. Sean wrapped his arms around me and squeezed. He took me to the bed, shucked off his jeans, and then took off my clothes.
“You will come back, won’t you?” Sean asked again.
“And what about you?” I countered.
“You’re funny,” he said with a grin. “I’ll come back. We’re a team, aren’t we?”
“There’s a truck stop in Russellville,” Sean said as we crossed the border into Arkansas. “I’ve been there before.”
My heart sank. I hated the idea of him going back to hustling. At Van Buren, I exited the freeway and took out money from a teller machine. Sean crammed the cash into his pants pocket.
“Those jeans are filthy, Sean. Let me buy you a new pair. And don’t you want to take a toothbrush and a change of underwear?”
Sean laughed. “I’m not heading to summer camp.”
Already, a change had come over him. His
eyes were set purposefully.
“You’ll need this,” I said, wishing that Sean had asked for Dean’s number without my offering it.
He put the piece of paper in his wallet. At least he checked to make sure he could read the writing.
At the truck stop, Sean strutted away without even patting Cicero on the head.
Cicero had his nose pressed against the window. I comforted him. “It’s okay, Sean’s in survival mode. He’ll come back to us.”
Cicero pawed the window when a bearded trucker offered to light the cigarette Sean was holding. It took about thirty seconds to close the deal. Sean stepped on the side rail and swung into the cab. Cicero curled into a ball on the seat and looked up at me with a whimper.
“You really like Sean, don’t you, buddy?”
A confirming woof told me that Cicero understood.
When I crossed the Arkansas River into Little Rock, I decided to go straight to Sibley to see if Vivian would take care of Cicero. The weatherworn mansion, home to five generations of Powells, appeared like a ghostly fortress as I rounded the final curve. Across the street, the tombstones of my ancestors glowed white under recently installed streetlights.
Connie’s car was in the driveway. Vivian might refrain from asking questions, but not Connie. She’d wonder if I had AIDS, though I didn’t believe the family had cause to suspect I was gay. They’d met Masako, after all. The story they accepted was that, living outside the church, we just couldn’t make it as a couple.
The house disappeared in the rearview mirror as I headed to the blue-hole bauxite pit where Ernie and I so often stripped naked, rubbed red clay and bauxite chalk on each other’s bodies, and pretended to be Indians on the warpath. One of us always received a mortal injury in these make-believe games, requiring the application of a magic potion. All our games ended up being excuses to touch each other.
I laughed at the innocent simplicity of those boyhood days as I threw a rock into the aquamarine waters. There was nothing simple about my adult feelings for Thad or Sean. I believed my affections for Thad were real. Sean was a hustler. But did that make it all right for me to treat him as little more than a sex pacifier? Was Thad truly more than a hustler? He genuinely seemed to love me. Perhaps he was just too emotionally damaged to form a real relationship.