by Tom Hogan
“Outside of Josh?” Pete said, causing Lucky to roll his eyes. “Not really?”
“Clark?”
Clark looked up from pounding chicken breasts with a wooden mallet and nodded. “Who?” Lucky said. He reached for his pad, then looked back at Lucky and shrugged.
“Me, too,” Lucky said. “But it’s someone.”
“The Gimp said the same thing,” William said, looking up from his magazine. “And once he said it, it wouldn’t go away.”
Standing at the sink, next to where Clark was preparing the chicken, Donna was washing the evening’s salad fixings. “You okay with all this, Clark?” she said in lowered tones. He looked up, held her eye and shook his head.
“Me neither. I’m not sure the right word for it but I just feel…” She shook her head and reached for the colander. Clark wiped his flour-covered hands on a dishtowel and picked up his pad. He wrote quickly and passed it over to her.
“I didn’t want to say it, but you’re right. Betrayed. You and I both go way back with him, and we’ve learned to accept things from him that we wouldn’t from anyone else. But this…”
She sliced the tables with swift, angry strokes. “Somewhere along the line I got the impression that Josh was an orphan, that there was some unspeakable tragedy in his past that had shaped him, left him scarred. And what I’ve been thinking about all day is that, no matter where I got that impression, Josh knew I had it. And he let me keep it.” Her knife clicked harshly on the wood. “He didn’t need to do that.”
That night, with dinner long over, everyone was still up in the L. Harry was asleep on the couch, his head in Pete’s lap. The Gimp was there as well, having turned the bar over to Sheila for the night.
William and Lucky were in the kitchen on dishes duty. “How do you think Josh is dealing with all this?” When Lucky shrugged, William persisted. “Come on. I’ve been watching you read the room all evening. What’s your take?”
“Well, he’s more comfortable today than yesterday, that’s for sure.”
“I know. At first I thought he was so uneasy because he’d lied to all of us. Maybe ‘lied’ is a bit harsh, but…”
“No, it’s the right word.” Lucky looked over his shoulder at the table where the two brothers were sitting. “But you’re right. Yesterday Josh was all pins and needles every time Paul opened his mouth. Especially any time the topic was about Baltimore. You notice that?”
“I noticed how uneasy he was, but I wasn’t sure what about.”
“It’s Baltimore. Somethin happened there when they were kids.”
“Then why is Josh so much more comfortable today? Most of this evening he’s just sat there with a relaxed smile plastered on his face. Almost like he’s drunk. Why is that? What’s changed?”
“I’m not the only one readin the room. I watched Paul yesterday. Every time he told one of his stories, he was testin us, seein what we already knew and what Josh was comfortable with. My guess is that he then assured Josh that he knew what was in bounds and what wasn’t.”
As the evening wound down The Gimp broached the subject. “How long you visiting for? Or are you moving in?”
When Paul hesitated, Lucky spoke up. “You could have either Four or Seven. Clark, Pete and Josh—if they put their shoulders to it—could have either one ready in a week.”
“Thanks, but I’ll stay in the trailer for now.”
“You’re not stayin?”
“My work’s in LA.”
“Kind of work do ya do?”
Paul looked over at Josh, who smiled into his coffee. “Go on,” Josh said. “Show them what they pay you to do.”
Paul looked down at the table for a long moment, then pushed back his chair and stood up. “I’ll show you, but you’ll have to use your imagination. And you’ll have to bear in mind that I’m out of practice.” He rubbed his knuckles through his close-cropped hair. “Imagine the hair a couple of inches longer, styled, with a slight wave to it.” He flicked his fingers at his denim shirt. “This would be starched white, open at the collar. Straight-legged khakis. And loafers.”
“Socks?” Josh said, smiling into his cup.
“Yes, Josh. Socks.” He motioned to Donna to stand up. “And if you could stand over here, next to me. Yeah, right there.”
He looked around. “Clark? Are there any more beers in the kitchen?” Clark nodded. “Could you get me one, please? Bottle, not can.” While Clark was gone, Paul positioned Donna, placing her hand high on her hip, her head tilted back with a tinge of haughtiness.
Clark returned from the kitchen and tossed Paul the bottle. He caught it, twisted the cap and took a brief sip. He apprised himself. “I think I had another button open.” He looked over at Josh, who shrugged. Paul undid a button, then nodded.
“Okay, so we’re at a party and I just got up from playing the piano. And you’re admiring the hell out of me.” He rested his arm on her shoulder and dangled the bottle gently, letting it sway between her chin and the rise of her breasts.
Lucky was the one who got it first, hooting loudly. William looked over at Lucky, then back at Paul’s staged tableaux. Then he smiled.
“I told you he reminded me of someone,” Lucky said. When The Gimp frowned, Lucky said, “Think legendary commercials.” The Gimp looked back, then rapped his knuckles on the table. “Sonofabitch.”
Donna looked over at Pete, who shrugged back. “What are we missing here?”
“Jesus,” Lucky said. “You guys were outta it up there, weren’t you? This guy,” he nodded admiringly at Paul, “is the Michelob Man.”
Donna looked back at Paul, who simply raised his eyebrows, still dangling the bottle between them. “You were in commercials?”
“Not just any commercial,” William said. “It was an extensive campaign that ran for three years. It was written up as the beginning of a new type of man, a counter to The Marlboro Man.”
He looked over at Josh and his tone changed. “I even remember us discussing it one time. And all the time you don’t tell me the guy is your brother? Or that you even had a brother, for that matter?”
When Josh didn’t answer, William swung his gaze to Paul. “So. A celebrity in our midst.” The room grew quiet. Clark looked down at his pad. Lucky shifted his feet.
“Sorry, Paul,” William said. “That was meant for Josh, not you.” He shrugged his apology, Paul nodding back at him.
“The Michelob campaign has been off the air for a while,” The Gimp said. “What have you been up to since then?”
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
Paul hesitated, then looked over at Josh. “That’s a story for another night.”
CHAPTER 17
As it turned out, it was a story for that same night. Though it was past midnight, only Pete and Harry had gone to bed. The evening had gravitated from the dining room to the fireplace and its collection of couches and easy chairs. The Gimp had backed himself up to the fireplace, taking most of the heat, and filled Paul in on the mountain community and its activities. Lucky had chimed in with commentary about Moetown and its history.
Donna was the first to call it a night. She lifted herself from the couch, uncoiling and stretching like a cat. “I’m out of here.” She looked at Carol. “If he says anything funny, write it down and we’ll use it ourselves.”
She collected her shawl and started to leave. She ruffled Josh’s hair as she passed him and then leaned over and kissed Paul lightly on the forehead. “Nice to have you here. It’s good to have someone up here who can make Josh blush. William used to be able to, but he’s lost his touch.”
She stopped at the door, her hand on the knob. “How come it’s taken you so long to visit, anyway?”
Paul seemed at first not to hear the question. But as the eyes of the room stayed on him, he shifted slightly in his chair so that he was looking
at Josh. His eyebrows went up slightly, almost imperceptibly. Josh nodded back with equal understatement.
“Because I’ve been in prison the last three years.”
The inside of the L was as quiet as the night outside. No one said a word. Eyes went from Paul to Josh and back to Paul. “Okay,” Donna said finally, drawing the word out. She draped her shawl over the chair and sat down. “What for?”
“Sexual assault,” Paul said evenly, his eyes fixed on hers. He looked at the others in turn, his face empty. Finally, his eyes came to rest on Josh.
“Let’s get it over with,” Josh said. He stood up. “You want another beer?”
Paul nodded and watched Josh’s back as he headed to the kitchen. He sat straight up in his chair, his posture rigid, and waited until Josh returned. Taking the proferred beer, he drained half the bottle with a single swig and looked at the label for a long moment.
“This is where I’m supposed to say I didn’t do it, right?” He looked around the table. The faces staring back were blank, the eyes passive. Paul’s eyes settled on Carol. He motioned in a sweeping gesture that took in the rest of the table. “Ask these guys. They’ll tell you how many guys they did time with who ‘didn’t do it.’ So I’ll tell you the same thing: I didn’t do it.” His gaze turned to Donna. “The difference is, I’ve got a piece of paper from the State of Arizona that says the same thing.”
“A pardon?” The Gimp said.
Donna shook her head. “A pardon is a legal act of forgiveness, but it still says you did the crime.” She looked at Paul. “You have a Letter of Exoneration.”
He nodded. “From the Attorney General of Arizona.”
“What were the circumstances that…” Donna stopped herself. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business. It’s just that…”
“Just that, if I’m going to be up here, do you need to lock your doors at night.” When Donna started to talk, he waved her off. “You’ve got a right to ask, with your little boy and all.”
He sat back slightly. “It was a case of bad luck and bad timing.” He grimaced. “Scratch that. It was a case of bad judgment and stupidity on my part. I was on a ten-day catalogue shoot in the Phoenix area, some of it at a resort, some out in the desert. I got involved with one of the women from the resort. The standard thing: she was married but not happily. She just wanted to have a good time and feel appreciated.” He smiled bitterly. “My specialty.”
He breathed in and held it for a moment. He tipped the glistening bottle on its side and looked at the half-moons of sweat that it created on the chair’s arm.
“She didn’t want the people at the resort to know about us, so we went to her place. Her husband traveled a lot.” He half-smiled, half-grimaced. “Or so we thought. The last night, she wanted me to stay the night, but I had an early-morning flight and I hadn’t packed yet. So I left her place a little past midnight.”
He went back to rolling his beer. “Next morning, six-thirty. I’m just getting out of the shower and the door opens. No knock, no nothing, just a roomful of cops, two with their guns drawn. And suddenly I’m up against a wall, listening to my rights.”
No one said anything. Carol and Donna snuck glances at Josh during the pause, but his eyes never left his brother. “She said I raped her. And the evidence was all there—the sperm certainly was mine. And the bruises and cuts were fresh, so they must have been as well.”
“But why did she accuse you?” Carol said. “And who beat her up if it wasn’t you?”
He dug a knuckle into his eye, which came up red. “There’re two answers to that, one from then and one from now. Back then all I knew was that her husband came home from a trip and found her beaten up, bleeding and unconscious. He called 911, who called the police once they were on the scene.” He looked at Donna. “You know the drill. The husband is the first suspect in something like that. But the neighbors had seen him come home and he’d been the one who called it in.”
He took in a large breath and let it out grudgingly. “She’d taken her work home. Literally. Remember, she was in hospitality at the resort, so there was a prep file on the shoot, including photos of me. One of the neighbors—the nosy type—came over to help the cops out, saw the photo of me on her desk, and said I’d been the guy who’d been here the past few days, that I’d been there earlier that evening and had left. So the cops gather up my photo and head to the hospital. When she comes around she says yes, I was the one that did it to her. And they left the hospital and came for me.”
“But why did she accuse you in the first place?” When Paul didn’t answer, Donna persisted. “But when you went to trial, didn’t you…” She stopped herself. “It didn’t go to trial. You pled.” When Paul wouldn’t meet her eyes, she swung them to Josh. “Didn’t you?”
“We had to,” Josh said in a weak voice. “You know how it goes in cases like this. You’ve got twenty-four hours, forty-eight tops before everyone gets locked into their versions. We lost three days…” his voice trailed off, “because I’d gone camping. By the time I got the news and flew to Phoenix, it was too late. The woman was set in her story, the evidence was all there, and the cops weren’t looking anywhere except at Paul. The lawyer said to plead, so we did.”
He looked hard at Donna. “What would you have done if you were our lawyer?”
“I’d have pled him. You can argue evidence away in some cases, but if the cops aren’t looking anywhere else, you’re screwed. I’d have tried to take it down from rape to assault—to a lovers’ quarrel that had gotten out of hand.” She looked at Paul. “What did they offer you, seven to ten?”
Both men nodded simultaneously. “It was either that or run the risk of twenty-plus. I didn’t see her in person, but the photos they showed me were pretty gruesome. And, like I said, they had my sperm.”
Donna nodded. “So how did you get out, if they had you cold? Three years isn’t even half your sentence, no matter how good your behavior was.”
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “A week ago my attorney comes to visit. Tells me the woman’s been born again. And now, with Jesus in her heart…” his voice thickened, “she wants to make things right. It was her husband who’d beaten her up. There was no rape.”
He shifted in his chair. “The part about him coming home early from his trip was true. But he’d come home even earlier than that and seen me there. Then he saw us head for the bedroom. And a few hours later I left the house. He storms in while I’m driving away and lights into her. Cuffs her about for a while, then knocks her out.”
He paused. “While she was out he had some time to think. Either that, or he’d thought it out beforehand. Either way, he calls 911 and the cops. And while they’re on their way he slaps her awake, holds a razor to her face and starts nicking her—all the time telling her what she was going to say. That I’d raped her, that I’d been the one who did all that to her. Then, as he hears the sirens approach, he knocks her out again and then helps the cops get her into the ambulance.”
The fire, which had been untended for the past hour, came undone, the logs tumbling and shouting sparks. The Gimp jumped slightly in his chair and looked over his shoulder at the scattered blaze. Clark lifted Zeke’s head from his lap, grabbed a poker and restacked what was left of the fire.
“She was unconscious for most of that night. And when she woke up in the hospital, there’re no cops there. Just her devoted husband, who hasn’t left her side all night. And he goes over the testimony once more with her and explains exactly what’ll happen if she doesn’t go along with his story.”
“So what’s goin to happen to the prick, now that she’s recanted?” Lucky asked.
“Nothing. He’s dead. Car accident. I think that had more to do with her recanting than finding Jesus. Her attorney says she feels awful about it but that she was terrified of her husband. And now she wants to meet to apologize.” He took a sip of beer. �
�I think I’ll pass.”
“Jesus,” Carol said. “This is something out of Kafka. Seven years out of your life for something you didn’t do. How do you even begin to deal with something like that?”
William and Donna winced, but Paul didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll tell you what you don’t do. You don’t think about where you could be at that moment.” Almost simultaneously Clark, William and Lucky nodded slightly.
Paul’s eyes gathered water. “The first two or three months, I’d wake up and not know where I was. Then I’d see the bottom of the bunk above me. That’s what told me where I was. Not the bars, the bottom of the bunk. It was like each time you woke up you were sentenced all over again.” He looked around the room. “Truth is, if it hadn’t been for his plan and the schedule,” he nodded over at Josh, “I don’t know what I would have done.”
He looked down at the floor. “That made all the difference, doing six months at a time instead of seven years.”
“Whoa,” The Gimp said. “You just lost me.” He looked at Clark and Lucky, who nodded in agreement. Then at William, but William’s eyes were fixed on Josh.
“Lost you how?”
“The ‘six months’. You did over three years, didn’t you?”
Paul looked at Carol, his brow tightening. Then he swung his gaze to Josh and dug at him with his eyes. “You never told them?” Josh held his brother’s stare for a long moment, then looked away.
“Damn, Josh.” His voice was dark. “It must be great to be a friend of yours.” He looked around the room. “Where the hell did you all think he went every six months? And what about this great haircut?” He flicked his fingers at his brother’s hair. “You never asked him about that?”
Donna was the one who finally answered. “We wondered. And we did ask. But you know your brother…” Her voice trailed off.
“I know, I know. You don’t ask Josh anything to do with himself. I know.” He glared at Josh. “I’ll tell you, then. He switched places with me. Every six months. He did my time for a week. Every six months. It kept me sane. It kept me from killing myself.”