Can't Buy Me Love

by Chris Kenry

  “Denver Business Daily. How may I direct your call?”

  “Yes, uh, is Noah, er, could you put me through to Noah Bernstein?”

  “Do you have his extension number?”

  “Uh, no, I don’t.”

  There was silence while she looked him up and tried his number.

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Bernstein is away from his desk. Can I give you his voice mail?”

  “Do you expect him back soon?”

  “Sir, I have no idea. I’m not his personal secretary. I just route calls.”

  “I see. Well, yes, then give me his voice mail.”

  She transferred me, and I listened absently to his message until I heard the beep.

  “Uh, Noah, this is Jack Thompson with Harden Up. I’m terribly sorry about this morning. I hope Marv—er, Chet took good care of you. I understand he gave you a copy of the video, hee hee hee, but as you can probably tell, he gave you the wrong one, hee hee hee. Uh, if you could give me a call as soon as you get this message, I’d appreciate it....” I recited my cell phone number and hung up.

  “Oh, Jack,” Marvin said, spreading his hand over his chest remorsefully. “I am so sorry. But I really didn’t know. You didn’t tell me.”

  I shut my Day-Timer slowly and walked around the desk toward Marvin. He winced, and the other three retreated to the wall of cardboard boxes, but they needn’t have been afraid. My temper was under control. I picked up the map book, calmly straightened the pages, and then stacked it neatly beneath my Day-Timer.

  “All right,” I said, and stared directly at Marvin, my voice excessively calm. “You’re right. I didn’t tell you. Let’s not point the finger of blame; let’s just fix it, okay? Josh,” I said, turning to the shaking receptionist, “I want you to cancel all of today’s appointments for both Marvin and James.” He nodded and immediately took his seat behind the computer to pull up their schedules.

  “You two,” I said, pointing to the two grains of sand in the Vaseline. “Your mission is to pool your resources, as shallow as that pool may be, and do whatever you have to do—beg, steal, lie, cheat, whatever—to get that tape back.” They nodded somberly. I looked at Marvin.

  “Can you drive a stick?” He nodded. I took that as a good omen and tossed him my car keys, which he did manage to catch. I took that as a better omen.

  “Good. Then you two can take my car. When—and only when—you have the tape back in your hands, I want you to call me on my cell phone, or page me right away. Is that clear?” Again they nodded and I turned and exited the office, Ray trailing a safe distance behind me.

  It was nearly two-thirty when we finally pulled away. We had driven for at least half an hour, Ray navigating from the backseat, before it hit me.

  “Shit!” I cried, and smacked the steering wheel with my fist.

  “What?” Ray cried, wary of another tantrum. I eyed him in the rearview mirror.

  “How are we supposed to get back once we drop him off?” I asked. He smacked his forehead with his palm and fell back into the seat. I pulled over to the side of the road, our passenger bobbing and drooling next to me.

  “Okay,” Ray said, exhaling nervously. He’d been chain-smoking since we got in the van. “Okay, okay, okay, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll just backtrack a little, back to the office, and we’ll take my car.”

  “Good idea!” I said sarcastically. “That won’t draw any attention to us. You’ve never been to Harmony Ranch, have you, city boy? What we’re driving now is pretty much standard issue. We can’t drive a fucking red hearse in the suburbs!”

  “Your car,” he offered.

  “No dice. The idiot twins have it.”

  We thought for a minute in silence, and Ray took out his pouch and started rolling a joint.

  “What if we get pulled over?” I said, annoyed that he would choose that moment to get stoned.

  “We are pulled over,” he said, and ran his tongue along the edge of the paper. He lit it, and the acrid smell filled the van. We sat thinking, hazard lights flashing while the traffic whizzed past. I hated to drive all the way back downtown to borrow Hole’s or Andre’s car, but they were both options, and at that point I didn’t see any others. Ray could drive Hole’s car and I’d drive the van. I’d pull into the garage, get the body out, get him upstairs to bed, and then be out the door, and Ray could swing by and pick me up.

  No, that would never work, I thought, looking over at the body slumped in the seat next to me and remembering how difficult it had been to get him down the stairs. I’d never be able to get him up stairs. I was strong, but I was not that strong. No, Ray would have to park Hole’s car up the street, get in the van, help me unload him, and then we could just walk back up to the car once we’d finished.

  “What ... about . . . your parents,” Ray sputtered.

  “What about my parents!” I barked. “You want to bring them along?”

  “No,” he said, releasing the plume of smoke he’d been holding captive in his lungs. “What about their car—aren’t they out of town?”

  Yes, yes, yes! I reached back, pulled his head forward, and kissed him. I then slammed the car into drive and pulled back onto the road. They were indeed out of town, and we were minutes from their house. I was sure that my mother’s humongous Buick was just waiting in the garage. It might take some time to find the keys, but much less time than it would take to drive all the way downtown, and there would be no explaining to do. I made a U-turn at the next light, and five minutes later we pulled into the familiar driveway. I got out and punched in the code on the security box mounted to the trim of the garage door. It went up slowly and as the expansive chrome bumper of the Roadmaster came into view, I was nearly overcome by feelings of relief and gratitude. I got back in the van and pulled it in next to the Buick. I then shut off the engine, got out, and quickly closed the garage door.

  “I’ll have to find the keys,” I said, and went to the side door leading to the house. Ray followed slowly. The lights were on in the kitchen, which I found odd, but then remembered that Carey was taking care of the dogs and had undoubtedly left them on when she’d come by that morning.

  “Wow!” Ray said, as he made his way over to the mud-smeared sliding glass door. Outside there was a pack of very large, black-masked puppies, with Bobby and Ethel standing protectively in the background, their baritone barks shaking the glass.

  “Are they dogs or cattle?” Ray asked, sizing them up.

  “Don’t let them in!” I said, imagining the ensuing chaos. Then, remembering that he still had not found a baby Jesus for his diorama, I added, “They’re my mother’s. She’d be just devastated if anything happened to them, so don’t get any ideas.”

  I rummaged through the kitchen drawers and cabinets and, finding nothing even resembling keys, I decided to look upstairs.

  “This might take me a while,” I called as I headed down the hallway. “There’s probably soda or something in the fridge. Help yourself.”

  I went to my parents’ bedroom and stood on the threshold looking in, trying to think where they’d have put a spare key. I looked in dresser drawers and jewelry boxes, in the purses hanging in the closet, and even in the medicine cabinet. Finding nothing in this last place, I sat down dejectedly on the toilet seat to think. I was dismayed to see a copy of the Denver Business Daily in the magazine rack under the toilet-paper dispenser. I wondered if Noah had called. I felt my phone in my jacket pocket, removed it to make sure it was still turned on, and then I got up, went back into the hallway, and took the narrow staircase up to my father’s study on the third floor. The door was unlocked and stood partly open, so I went in and looked through all the desk drawers that weren’t locked. Envelopes, paper clips, a stapler, rubber bands, but the only keys I found were tiny luggage keys. Discouraged, I walked over to the window and looked out over the rooftops. I could see Dave’s house quite clearly on the next street over and wondered if he was filming that day. I looked down. Across the street a woman in a lar
ge straw hat was kneeling and digging at her petunias. A flock of pigeons soared by. A blue station wagon inched its way along the street as if looking for an address. The car stopped about half a block away and a large man in a baseball cap got out and stretched casually. He then reached back in the car and removed some sort of rectangular case with a shoulder strap. He walked a few steps forward, but then made a lateral move and disappeared into the thick evergreen hedge that divided two of the residences. I watched and waited, and felt my paranoia creeping back.

  My phone rang and startled me. I pulled it out of my pocket, turned away from the window, and answered as casually as I could.

  “Hello. This is Jack.”

  “Jack, it’s Marvin.”

  “Did you get the tape?” I asked, hoping that his assignment was going more smoothly than mine.

  “Well, not exactly. We’re downtown now, at the newspaper office, but what ... was the guy’s name again? The one we’re supposed to be looking for ... ? We asked for Noah Webster but they said no one by that name works here.”

  “Oh, Christ.” I rubbed my eyes again. “It’s Bernstein. Noah Bernstein!”

  “Ohhhh,” he said, and it was clear he was writing it down. “Bern ... stein. Bernstein. Now where did I come up with Webster?”

  I hung up and turned back to the window. The man and the car were gone now. Strange, I thought, but then I reflected that it was no stranger than a man making amateur pornography in his basement or me driving a dead body around. I shrugged my shoulders and left the office, taking the back staircase down to the kitchen, and by the time I emerged my mind was back on finding the key.

  Ray was not to be seen. I called out his name and thought that maybe he’d gone out, against my warning, to see the dogs, but they were still whining and staring in just as I’d left them. Then I heard the sound of an engine turning over. I ran to the door to the garage and whipped it open. The light was on and I saw Ray’s legs dangling out of the driver’s-side door of the Buick. The engine stopped and he sat up. I went over and knelt down.

  “It’s not the best system,” he said humbly, wiping his hands on his shirt. “But it should get us there and back.”

  I pushed him back down on the front seat and jumped on top of him.

  “You never cease to amaze me,” I said, nuzzling my face in his neck. “My little criminal.” He giggled and we kissed.

  “Maybe we should wait until dark to do this,” he said, turning his head to the side.

  “You’re probably right.” I sighed and pushed myself up and off of him. “It is a little morbid with a dead body in the car next to us.”

  “No, not that.” He laughed. “I mean maybe we should wait until dark to take the body.”

  “You think?” He nodded and twisted my wrist so he could see my watch.

  “It’s almost rush hour and everyone’ll be coming and going from work. I just think it would be safer at night.” I agreed, and we went back inside to wait.

  While Ray made us some sandwiches, I started out to feed the dogs.

  “I’d better call my sister,” I said, remembering as I filled the giant bowls with kibble that Carey was the designated dog-sitter, “and tell her not to come tonight.”

  I dialed the number for the hospital, but they said she wasn’t scheduled until tomorrow, so I tried her apartment. No luck. I then dialed her cell phone number and it rang. Then a half a second later I heard a muffled echo of the ring. Both Ray and I looked up, confused. It rang again. Another muffled echo, but this time we heard it more clearly and followed it over to the coat closet in the hallway. Some sort of struggle was going on inside, and we heard something drop to the floor with a thud. Ray grasped the knob and slowly opened the door. There was Carey, squashed in among the coats, digging furiously in her giant bag trying to get at her phone to shut it off. She looked up guiltily, her round glasses askew on her face. I grabbed her arm and yanked her out.

  “Ow!” she cried, and pushed me away with her free hand. “I was about to suffocate in there.”

  “What were you doing in there in the first place?” I asked sternly. She straightened her glasses and pushed her hair back from her sweaty face.

  “I could ask you the same thing. I’m supposed to be here.”

  “Where’s your car?” I asked.

  “It’s in the shop. I’m driving Mom’s. Why do you think I agreed to dog-sit?”

  “What are you doing hiding in the closet?” I asked, more insistently this time. She looked around searchingly, as if an answer might fall out of the air. Clearly she had been spying on me.

  “I ... I ... I, well, I was afraid,” she said, none too convincingly. “I saw this strange car pull into the garage and I got scared, so I hid.”

  We are twins. We both stutter when we lie. She should have known better.

  “Liar. I know you heard my voice.” She shook her head, all wide-eyed and innocent. Denial. Since childhood it had been her last resort when backed into a corner. She hadn’t changed.

  “I was scared,” she protested. “Whose minivan is that, and who’s this guy?” she said, pointing an accusing finger at Ray. “What’s going on, Jack?”

  “Look,” I said, leading her toward the garage door. “I’ll tell you about it later, but right now we need you to leave for just a little while.”

  She pulled away from me, crossing her arms indignantly, and shook her head. At that point I had had just about all the indignant arm-crossing I could take for one day.

  “Carey, now!” I yelled.

  “Unh-uh.” And she sat down on the floor—a tactic she’d undoubtedly learned during some university protest or other. Chanting slogans was sure to follow.

  “I’m not going anywhere till I get some answers!” she said. “Something’s up with you, Jack, I know it. I know you’re up to something or in some trouble. We all know it. Andre knows. Mom knows. We don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find out.”

  She hadn’t changed, I thought. She’s still the same as when we were kids and I wouldn’t let her be in my club or wouldn’t tell her the combination of my bike lock, or wouldn’t let her have the prize in the cereal box. She always found a way to get what she was after. Well, not this time! I pinched her earlobe tightly between my thumb and index finger and pulled her up.

  “Oooww!” she howled, and swung her purse. It hit me squarely in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I released her and doubled over, gasping for breath.

  “You’d better tell her,” Ray said, chuckling at the spectacle of us both. “She can’t leave. We need the car, remember?”

  I continued to gasp for breath, but more out of exasperation than from the purse blow. I felt myself starting to panic as I realized that telling her about the body would entail telling her about everything, and the thought of that almost made me hyperventilate. Then I remembered that if we didn’t get that stupid videotape back, or get this damn body stowed someplace soon, it was all going to come out anyway. All she’d done was to pull on the thread of the already rapidly unraveling sleeve.

  “Oh, Christ!” I yelled, pounding my head with my fists and lurching toward the living room. “Shit fuck goddamnit! God fucking damnit all to hell!” And I collapsed in a heap on the sofa, covering my head with a pillow. When I emerged, she was standing and looking down at me, as expectantly as the dogs now waiting for their dinner. Ray stood behind her, a slight smile on his face.

  “I’m going to need a drink for this.” I groaned, rubbing my temples.

  “I’ll get some ice,” Carey said, skipping off excitedly to the kitchen.

  Introductions were made while I indiscriminately grabbed bottles of random liquor and mixed us a pitcher of suicides.

  “Carey, this is Ray,” I said, facing neither of them, intent on my mixing. “We, uh, work together. Ray, meet my nosey, conniving brat of a sister, Carey.”

  “You’re the guy from the hospital,” she said, recognizing him at last. “I’m the one who called security, remember?�
��

  “Oh, yeah.” He laughed. “I remember.”

  “So are you two, like, dating?” she asked. “ ’Cause I could tell there was something going on that day by the way you pitched a fit. That was so cute.”

  I turned around in time to see Ray blush. I then turned back and strained the vile concoction into three highballs, and handed one to each of them, although it was clear that neither one really wanted it. I took a burning gulp of mine, winced, and shook out my jowls.

  “Sorry about the security thing,” Carey continued, lighting a cigarette, “but I didn’t know you two were boyfriends, or whatever. I was kind of worried about little Jack, too. I mean imagine them wheeling your brother into the emergency room like that.”

  She hadn’t been all that worried, I thought to myself, remembering my near-death experience.

  “Well,” I said, breaking into their tête-à-tête, oddly jealous of her talking to Ray. “Are you ready for the awful truth?”

  She nodded, dragging hard on her cigarette. I took another gulp, coughed, set down my glass, and gave her a whirlwind synopsis. The kind they give you at the beginning of the season on Melrose Place, where they show you clips of events from last season’s episodes and somehow, if you didn’t see them, you’re supposed to be able to piece them all together. I told her about my credit card troubles and about Burl and Dave and Hole, and then paused to appropriate Ray’s drink. I told her about the food stamps and the business class, about the hustling, and how that was the real business of Harden Up Inc., and the reason I turned away all of the business she sent my way. I told her about the advertisements, and the Web pages, and the movie, my tongue loosening as I rolled along. I then told her about Ray and how I felt about him. About how I loved him and wanted to start a new life with him, which was strange, because telling her was basically the first time I’d told him. The first time I told myself, really, and as I reached for Carey’s highball I hoped I’d remember it later. I told her about our new building, and our loan, and our plans for the gallery, and eventually I wove the thread of my story back to the events of that morning—the reporter, and the body in the minivan—and it was only then that her eyes widened in disbelief and she ran out to the garage to see for herself.