Yet… “I feel like I’m keeping you.”
“From what?” he asks. “This is it. You wanted to spend time with the great Mason Dixon? Well, here I am. Ta-da. I go out to eat by myself. Do you want to know a secret about me? My never have I ever? Well, put your listening ears on Chlo-stick, because here it comes. Never have I ever had a girlfriend. How’s that? So while you’re trying to push me off on someone else, there’s no one. Gram’s at bingo tonight.”
I stare at him astonished, then burst into laughter.
I smirk. “You like to eat.”
He nods, “This is true.”
“You’re a great listener.”
He nods, looking into my eyes. “And I’m very patient. Are you going to tell me what the cops did with you? Or do I have to look up the arrest record. Because I’ll do it.”
“Okay, okay.”
“‘What’s with all the pills, Chloe? Do you need help?’” That was Pete.
“Save the help speech for someone who can benefit from it.”
“‘Chloe, you’ve gotta give us something. Right now, as it stands, I’ve got a homeless girl, drunk or high out of her mind, taking a bath…’
“I actually gasped. Like ‘Haaa!’ I was a little offended about the homeless thing. I’d even blow-dried my hair that morning and everything. I thought I looked cute.”
Mason’s snorting again, but I just keep talking. When he first did that, I thought he had a cold, now I know that’s supposed to be chuckling.
“Besides, there were just too many errors in Officer Pete’s statement to even try to fix. ‘I was cooling off!’ Then I remembered that this confession was not helping me.
“Pen cop jerked his head, side-eyeing his partner. ‘She just said she did it. You ready to roll?’
“But Pete just held his hand up and kept doing the good-cop thing. ‘Okay, okay, cooling off. I’ll accept that. But what about the pills and marijuana? Is that for cooling off, too?’
“Cooling off. Sounded like something my dad would say.
“I rolled my eyes, but in private. Turned away, watching the last of my audience get in their Audis.
“‘I don’t know what they’re for. I just take them. A friend got them for me.’”
“‘Really? So you’re just in the habit of taking pills because your friend told you to do it? Would you jump off a bridge, too, if your friend told you to do it?’” That was the pen pusher, getting really pushy in general.
“I was pissed and wanted my phone call. ‘Yes, I would, Officer. If I thought, for even a moment, that it would cure cancer.’ I handed him my silver emergency bracelet, practically ripping if off my own arm and tossing it in the front. And then the tears started.
“I was supposed to marry a Mexican prince. But instead all I got was this bag of stupid pills. I’ve got cancer. Now I want my phone call.”
“Wait a minute. You used the cancer card?” Mason asks, like I cheated at poker.
I roll my whole head and stare him in the face. “Wouldn’t you?”
He thinks for a minute and nods with a smile. “Most definitely.”
“We just sat in the icebox, not moving. ‘Can I at the very least get a text?’
“Pete jumped, probably forgot I was in the back. He got out, opened my door, and dropped my phone on my lap. He made like he was clearing the perimeter again, but really at this point, if they were still there, they deserved to see the ending.”
I sit up so he knows I’m getting to it. Lola. What this whole story was leading up to.
But he’s not looking at me. He’s…texting? The minute I stop talking, he looks up, guilt in his eyes, like I caught him doing something he shouldn’t be.
“Oh. Am I keeping you? I’ll let you go.” I’m slightly miffed that he’s texting. After going on national TV and saying how rude it was to text and all.
He closes his phone. “Done. Sorry. It won’t happen again. I just needed to order some food.”
“Mason, are you kidding me? You just ate a mixing bowl full of cereal, your colossal sal-wich, I heard chips crunching at one point, and now, you are ordering food? I’m sharing my biggest secret with you…and you’re thinking about your stomach. Bitch, bye!” I yell and slam my poor laptop shut.
Jeez, the nerve of strangers. Not wanting to hear my life story. I pee in peace this time, listing every single one of the bouncing heart’s flaws. Horrible listener, closet piggy.
When I’m done, I jump in the shower. It’s the afternoon and I’m still wearing, ugh, I look down and see a huge chocolate stain on the front of my T-shirt. Or is that… I lift the soiled neck up. Sniff. Blood? I taste it. Nope, whew, it’s chocolate. Nice, Chloe, real nice.
As I’m drying my hair, the doorbell rings. Or what I think is the doorbell. The wires aren’t really connected anymore, so all I hear is a static-filled clanging noise. I stick my head in the hall. There it is again. Someone’s here.
“Don’t use the bell. You’ll get electrocuted,” I warn as I open the door.
A teen, a hormone with headphones, keeps pushing the bell. I wave my hand in front of his face, irritated. “Yes.”
He lays off the bell and pulls an earbud free.
“CancerChlo.” He grins like he’s been waiting to say this.
“Yes. My secret’s out. That’s me. Did you want an autograph or something?”
He chuckles like he’s been smoking something. “Good one. An autograph.” He shakes his head. “Nah, I got a delivery.”
He hands me a heavy bag. “Hold the bottom!” He yells, before jumping off my step, onto a waiting board and landing a perfect ollie. I follow him out. “Wait, how much do I owe you?”
He shakes his head. “All paid for by the F#ck It List!” He yells it like he’s announcing a WWE fighter, and then disappears around the corner.
Whatever it is, it smells delicious. I put the bag on the counter and open it, hoping there aren’t pieces of a male stripper inside. There’s a note tucked in the bag. “Drama much? I was ordering food…for you.” There’s a scribbled-in heart drawn on the outside. I open it, feeling like the world’s worst pen pal.
There’s real chicken noodle soup, hot baked bread, a sixer of ginger ale, and a pint of...sherbet. That, I put in the freezer, wrinkling my nose as I shove it into a chewing-gum sized spot, and head over to my computer, which I open with an apologetic smile.
He’s there, right where I left him, with a well? face.
“Thank you for lunch. It’s like our first date.” He nods and gets back to eating from his own container. “Do you have a hollow leg or something?” I dig into my soup. I close my eyes and moan. “I can taste this, Mason! It’s ambrosia.”
“No, it’s soup,” he says. “Now, get back to it. Did they throw the book at you, or not?”
“Or not. Dip some of the bread in, delicioso.”
He does. “Oh, it’s so good. Who was it? That you wanted to text?”
I think back. “Ohhh. Okay, listen, Mason. This is the fun fact.” I’m thrilled when I see him put down the food, for once, and straighten up, getting ready. “Hit me,” he says, baring his chest. There’s a noodle stuck to it.
“Get that noodle.” I point. He tweezes it off of his shirt. And eats it.
“The text was to the only person in the world that I trust with all of my deepest, darkest secrets. I can call her from an orgy and she’ll be there. No questions asked, just in and out, me tossed over a shoulder, her stepping over naked bodies. Understand?”
He nods.
I put my own container down on the counter. “You only get one of these—the fixer to all of your life’s problems. Some of us don’t even get that, so I was lucky to get Lola.”
“Lola, fixer.” He checks an imaginary list. “Okay, got it. Back to the story.”
But I’m not done. “Who knows? I might just leave her to you in my will.”
He nods and eats his food. No reply, no thanks. Nothing.
When I’m ready to bounce him one m
ore time, for not listening, I see he’s trying not to smile. He says “Sorry, I was just trying to figure out how I’d write her off…on my taxes? Get it.”
“Got it.”
“And it wasn’t a text. They let me call Lola. She didn’t even ask. Just answered with ‘shoot,’ because my phone call means crisis to her. My ringtone is the theme song for Titanic. When I call, a red buzzer goes off. Alert Alert. Don’t answer. It’s Chloe. And don’t think I’m being dramatic. That’s really how our friendship is. I spill, she cleans it up.
“I talk fast, don’t know how long I have. They could re-confiscate my phone at any time. Not one of my carefully planned shenanigans, but a real fuckaroo. I feel awful when she answers on the first ring and says she’ll be right there.
“‘Do I get to keep my pills?’” I asked as I waited for Lola.
“‘What do we look like, idiots?’
“I shrugged. ‘It was worth a shot.’ Lola pulls up in her mini—hers is black, mine’s red. No, we didn’t get a two-for-one deal, if that’s what you’re thinking. She screeched to a halt right behind the cop car, and I remember. ‘She doesn’t know… I’d like to keep it that way.’
Mason raises his hand. “What doesn’t she know?”
“Good question, glad to see that you’re paying attention. About the cancer. She doesn’t know. I’m telling her Friday. It’s time I start taking care of loose ends.”
He thinks about it. “Continue.”
“Well, Pete, who I feel has been on my side since the beginning, nodded before shoving everything, including my sandwich bags of pills, back in my bag, despite the protests of Pen Man. ‘Stay dry, Chlo-reen.’
“When pen cop got a good look at Lola, he asks, ‘You sure this isn’t a drug thing, Pete?’
“Which makes me defensive. What right does he have to judge Lola? ‘She’s going through a bad break-up,” I explained as I took in my savior.
“She was a real mess. It was after hours and she was smack dab in the middle of her mourning. I’d called and interrupted her during her personal Matt’s a Dick party. She got dumped. Don’t ask. I couldn’t have planned it any better.”
“What?” He was listening to that. Shit.
I give him my bottom lip. “Sue me. I didn’t want to think of my best friend crying alone.”
“You are one smart cookie, Chloe.”
I chomp the air. “Don’t give me too much credit, I was just going to get in the fountain and call her for a ride. I didn’t know the cops would be coming.”
“So I take a good look at Lola. She had mascara smeared under her eyes, her ponytail holder was hanging on by two hairs, her work shirt was wrinkled and buttoned all wrong. She was the most beautiful sight I’d seen all day. Even with the over-the-top eye slapping she was giving me through the window.
“Pete opened the door and let me out. He tipped his hat, but I always have to push it…and I hugged him like he was Santa Claus and whispered, ‘If it’s any consolation, I was bat-shit crazy before the cancer. Can I be released to my owner now?’
“He held my bracelet up by the links and I took it.”
Mason looks puzzled. “What bracelet are we talking about?”
“My life alert.” I read it off to him.
“DNR. I have terminal bone cancer. Please DO NOT RESUSCITATE ME. My doctor’s number is engraved under it, see?” I turn the bracelet so he can see it.
He takes a good long look, then rubs his eyes. He starts blinking rapidly and looks up at the ceiling.
I don’t miss much. “You need a break. Go get a snack of something.”
He sniffles. “It’s the chlorine. I’m a swimmer…”
“I know, I know. I don’t even swim and I get the same thing.”
He comes back with a bunch of bananas. Like a bunch. I can’t do anything but watch as he inhales one after the other.
“What? Continue.” I think that’s what he said, I was too busy watching the bananas go in. I think for a minute. “Here’s the important part.
“‘What the fuck?’ Lola whispered as we passed the cop car.
“‘Don’t ask. Just, thanks. Thanks for always coming.’ I knew I looked like I’d been through the ringer, and I was still jarred by the fact that I was just let out of police custody.”
Mason interrupts with a rather rude snort before giving me a haughty smirk.
“Well, I was, Mason. I was in the back seat. I couldn’t open the doors if I wanted to leave. I was detained, Mason.”
He laughs and holds up a hand. “More like almost fainted and the cops tried to help you out.”
“Oh really, Mason? Is that right?”
“Get on with it so I can order dinner,” he laughs and stretches.
“Lola took one look at me.” In my best Lola voice, I recount, “‘Chlo, are you purging without binging? You look like the after commercial for a concentration—or fat—camp. Jeez, eat a sandwich once in a while, will ya? Remember, pot has no calories.’”
Mason likes my Lola voice, grins the whole time I’m talking as he lays the fifth banana peel in a heap in front of the screen.
“Vaguely, I muttered something to the effect of, ‘I have been eating a lot less lately.’ I tried to duck down behind my art bag on my lap.
“But she doesn’t miss a thing. She’d made up her mind. ‘You need some protein, miss. Fatburgers it is.’
“Cause that’s Lola. When life throws you a curve, she’s the type to say, fuck it, eat a Fat burger.”
Mason gives me a standing ovation. “Bravo! Bravo!”
I stop talking, trying to figure out how to ask this, but he looks confused. Frowning, he says, “Wait, that’s not it. I thought you needed help with something.”
I nod. “Never have I ever…been able to say good bye to Lola. She’s one of a kind, and I’m afraid, without the ups and downs I add to her life, she’ll just fall in line, walking the straight and narrow like all the other drones, never veering off onto the back roads. All of life’s great adventures missed, refusing to take the chances on her own that I’ve made her take.” I sigh. “Here comes the big ask. Don’t let hers be the house no one wants to trick or treat at.”
I feel tears pricking the backs of my eyelids.
“Gotta pee,” I mumble and head to the bathroom to cry alone.
Mason
I know she’s crying. Shit, if I was in her shoes, I’d be crying nonstop. I feel like bawling now, but that’s not what she needs from me. I’m just some asshole that barely knows her. My tears are just a drop in the bucket. After fifteen minutes, I don’t know what to do with myself.
I check my emails. There’re two that need my attention. The accountants’ and my lawyers’. I’m sure it’s about the same thing. I decide to call the lawyers back. I might need legal advice to deal with the damn accountants.
My lawyers want to discuss tax exemption. Are they still trying for this? I told them to drop it. I call their office. My new Number 1 doesn’t answer. Now I get a partner. Shit, I don’t even know Number 1’s name to ask about him.
“Where’s, uh…” When he cuts in, I step to the side, hoping he’ll take over.
“Mark Liner?”
That’s the one. “Yeah, I thought I promoted him. Is he already taking time off?”
“Uh, Mason, he’s a junior partner. There’s no way he’s going to head up your multimillion-dollar account.” He adds a chuckle on the end, like I’m some kind of bumpkin.
“If you’d like to keep this multimillion-dollar account, he will.” I don’t say anymore. Just stare at Chloe’s empty futon.
“Hold, please.”
I don’t know why I’m fighting so hard to get Liner on the phone and back as head of my case. What’s so special about him? Up until two minutes ago, I didn’t even know his name, just called him Lawyer Number 1. That’s how pompous I am.
Even though he was sweating his balls off, he showed gumption. Fought the network and got me Mia. For the interview and for my personal enj
oyment. Then another thought occurs. Of course he was sweating bullets! He’s a fucking junior partner! Barely a lawyer. Hasn’t even got the training wheels off yet, and I had him in there, fighting the network execs. No wonder.
When he picks up the phone, I vow I’ll go easy on him.
“Mark here, Mr. Dixon.”
“Where the fuck where you, Liner? Jerking off in the ladies?” At least I’m grinning as I listen to him flounder.
“No. I use the men’s room for that. Fewer restraining orders to appeal.”
“Tou-ché. I just told your boss you’re my number one guy. Now act like it and find out why your firm felt the need to bother me on my vacation.”
“Sorry about that, Mason.”
I hear whispered instructions, papers being thumbed through, more whispers. “What’s going on over there?” I blow out an impatient breath, but then my guy steps up to the plate.
Annoyed, he says, “Hold on.” Louder, to the whisperers and low talkers, he yells. “Hey, guys, I’m trying to have a conversation here. Clear the room now.” A door opens and shuts.
Still no sign of Chloe when he comes back on.
“I don’t know if my promotion is gonna last longer than this phone call. Mason, we heard back from the IRS. Your tax exempt status…has been approved.” He lets out a long sigh.
“Fuuuuuck. This cannot be happening.”
“It is, unfortunately. You thought you had it tough before, wait until this gets out.”
“No. Go hit that massive law library you guys have over there and find a way to stop this.”
Now it’s his turn to sigh. Close too exasperated, “Mason, as your lawyer I have to advise against this.”
“I’m advised. Now find a way. I don’t know how, just do it. Even if you have to sue the government, find a way.”
“Mason, that’s millions of dollars you’d never have to pay taxes on! This is a rich guy’s fantasy. No taxes. It’s a big decision. Do you want to think about it…are you sure?”
Am I? I think back to the week before Mia’s interview. News vans on the yard, every bible owner in America ready to skin me alive, the press, the news…and I know that’s not a life I want to live.
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