Less Of Me

by Edward Goble

  Chapter 21

  Sunday afternoon gave way to the evening and Andy realized that he hadn’t eaten. He could feel a headache coming on. He saved his work and gobbled down a couple Excedrin from a bottle he kept in the second desk drawer before running cold water over his face and head in the bathroom. Toweling off, he began to feel a little better, but he needed to eat. He rummaged through the kitchen cabinets and refrigerator until he came up with a suitable cookie sheet concoction of nachos with cheese, jalapeno’s and olives which he stuck under the broiler for a few minutes to make a mouth watering brown and gooey treat. With an oven mitt, he extracted the feast from the broiler and carried it and two cans of Diet Coke over to his sofa where he placed the works on his makeshift coffee table and popped the top of a can.

  Alone with his thoughts he felt like the guy with the little “good angel” and little “bad angel” sitting on either shoulder, the one trying to encourage him to do good, the other encouraging him to indulge. The only difference was that in his life the angels didn’t just stay on his shoulders whispering in to his ears. They crawled in his brain and held shouting matches and sometimes accosted one another within the confines of his skull.

  “You are almost done with your book, good job!”

  “But what if they don’t like it?”

  “You are having dinner with Debbie Williams on Tuesday, fantastic!”

  “But what if you make a fool of yourself and she walks out?”

  “You’re a loser!”

  “But what if you change?” Andy considered buying a television just so the angels would have something else to do.

  “That might be very relaxing.”

  “But what if you never get any work done?”

  “Grrh.” He wanted to call Debbie, or maybe Mr. Martin. He needed to talk to someone. The only person he ever called was his mother but there were some things he couldn’t talk about with her. Not because she wouldn’t understand, just because he had a hard time revealing his humanness around her. He didn’t want to scare her, or disappoint her. Telling her how he felt much of the time might send her to an early grave, or to a convent. The closest he came to talking with her, or anyone, really, was his blog. He didn’t allow comments so he didn’t really know if anyone paid much attention. Will Heard said it was a great sales tool, but Andy just looked at it as therapy. He figured if people could read his blog and still wanted to buy his books, then they might be even more screwed up than he was. He decided to write an entry before signing off for the night.

  Andy’s Weblog - November 11th

  Surprise Endings

  I’m a sucker for surprise endings. I love them in books and movies, although my books don’t seem to be as surprising as I would like. But in real life, especially real life as an adult, there are rarely surprise endings. At least for me there aren’t. With a few exceptions, my life has been as predictable as rain is wet. If I aim at a target, I miss it the first three times. If I start a diet, I will gain three pounds in the first week. It is as predictable as Steinbrenner’s reaction to a twenty game losing streak - fire the manager.

  Today, though, I got a glimpse of some people, lots of them actually, for whom surprise endings are a way of life. I went to church today. I know, I know, I’ve been less than kind to the creatures who steal away in to the windowless buildings to hold their secret rituals every Sunday morning, but what can I tell you, I went. And it was surprising. It was nice. I kind of hate to admit that, being a card carrying resident of the left coast, but there it is. And what really caught me off guard was how much more normal these people seem, as compared to myself. Which is really disconcerting. I always thought they were the loonies and now that I’ve seen them up close I realize that the odd one may have been me all along. Well, part of that is no surprise, I guess.

  As you know, I’m not one to get my hopes up, I can hardly raise my hands for more than a few minutes, and so elevating hope is out of the question. But I think there might be something to this whole faith thing. I’m not counting on it, but my life could use a surprise ending.

  Mr. Predictable - Andy

  Andy worked late and didn’t notice the ‘p.m.’ change to ‘a.m.’ on his computer clock. Rance Broadback was beginning his end game and Andy was transcribing the story as fast as his fans would one day be burning through the printed pages. At this point in the story he didn’t feel like a writer, so much, as the first reader. And as such, he felt responsible to get it right so future readers, those who would have to trust his version of the events, would be able to see and feel and smell the action as it occurred. It was a responsibility that he didn’t think about in the first edit, at this point it was all he could do to keep up with the action.

  ----------

  Appalachian Malady - 10

  “Rafferty.”

  “Mr. Rafferty, Michael Pena,” Pena/Broadback said.

  “Hey, is this my new partner?” Rafferty said. The complication in Rose Park was not about to cool his lust for getting this deal done with the naive Spaniard. If he could get the kid to believe his containers were actually hauling crackers around the country instead of brightly colored snack boxes full of hydroponically grown, grade A marijuana, it would be the coup of the century. He’d cast the bait, now he was just waiting for the strike.

  “Well, we just got back. I wanted to give you a quick call.”

  “Yeah, we.” I understand Sophia went with you.”

  “What can I say? She could do better and I could do worse, right?”

  “You got that right. So, what do you think? We got a deal?”

  “I’m pretty close. I’ve got to admit that I expected something quite a bit larger in scale,” Michael/Rance said.

  “You leave production up to me, my young friend. We can make as much as you can haul, I guarantee that.”

  “Listen, we haven’t talked money yet,” Michael/Rance said.

  “Money is not a problem,” Rafferty said.

  “Not for you, but I may keep this off the books for a while. Do you have any creative arrangements with any of the other investors?”

  “I might be able to set something up. What are you thinking about?” Rafferty offered.

  “Ever made any deposits off shore? In the Cayman Islands, maybe?”

  “See,” Rafferty said, “I knew we spoke the same language, ha!”

  “What bank do you use, if I can ask.”

  “We use the Bank of Austria. Very discreet.”

  “I know the company. Perfect.” Michael/Rance lied. “Oh, and James, I have one more request.”

  “Name it,” Rafferty said, trying to contain his excitement.

  “I want to meet all the investors, on site, to ink the distribution deal. I want to know who I’m working with.”

  “You’ve already met most of them, at my place the other night.”

  “Even so, I want everyone there, in one room, when I sign on.”

  “I can probably put that together at my place in Versailles.”

  “No. At Alta Loma Distribution.”

  “That’s not going to happen, Michael.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too far out of the way. These people are busy making the world go round. They can’t just drop everything and drive out to Rose Park. For crissake! That’s why they’re called Investors, they’re silent partners, Jesus.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Then I’m not your man,” Pena/Broadback announced. If Rafferty was as hot for this deal as he thought he was, and Rance was pretty sure he saw the dollar signs in his eyes each time they talked, he would make this happen. If not, he would find another way.

  “My god, Michael. Be reasonable. These are private people.”

  “If this deal is as big as you and McCoy say it is, then the Investors stand to reap big-time profits from this, and they’re going to be paying me a handsome fee to handle the distribution. I need to see the whites of their eyes the same as they nee
d to see mine.”

  “Give me a day to work it out,” Rafferty said.

  “And James, my equipment can be on site 24 hours after the ink dries.

  “Now that sounds pretty good,” Rafferty said.

  “I’ve got to fly home to make some arrangements, but I’m coming right back. Call the cell if you come up with a time for the meet.”

  “Yeah, later Michael.” Rafferty disconnected the call. He was a few phone calls away from being the biggest distributor of Marijuana in the world, and it would be taking place right under the noses of the federal government, in fact, they were building him his own damn road to use for distribution. “Life is good,” he smiled, and then leaned forward to make some phone calls.

  “I don’t care who the hell he is, he’s an equal partner and I want him there.”

  “I’ll do what I can James, but things are pretty tense around here,” Senator Lecter said.

  “Dammit, Phyllis. This is what we’ve all been waiting for. If the skinny prick blows this for the rest of us I’ll ruin him, do you understand?”

  “He won’t like being threatened, James.”

  “Just remind him who helped him get that friggin’ position in the first place, not to mention that off shore account, and who’s been making deposit’s in to it for the past two years, huh?” Rafferty slammed the phone. “Politics!” he screamed, “grrah!”

  “Steven, thanks for meeting this morning,” Tami Beatty said. The Curious George coffee bar was about half full. Professors and their wives out for a walk and a coffee on a beautiful fall morning, students writing endless research papers and individuals holding meetings with the Washington Post, Times, or even actual people.

  “No, the pleasure is mine. How is your knee by the way?” Tan asked.

  “Better, thanks to you. I used to fall like that all the time, had calluses built up on my knees from skating as a little girl. But boy, a few years and a few pounds later and I tell you. Falling like that hurts,” she said. They ordered coffee drinks and sat in comfortable chairs by the window.

  Steven was amazed to be asked out by this gorgeous woman who was probably five or six years older than he was. “It’s only coffee,” he kept reminding himself.

  “So, you’ve been with the Senator for a long time,” Tami began.

  “Pretty much since I graduated, yeah. It’s been good, I mean, she takes care of me pretty well,” he said.

  “You going to follow her to the West Wing?”

  “You think she’s got a chance?” he said.

  “That’s what I’m hearing,” Tami said.

  “I don’t know, I might. But that’s a whole new game, you know. I mean, I don’t have much of a life as it is.” he smiled at the thought.

  Tami laughed, “Those people are totally 24/7, I know some of them.” Steven raised his eyebrows and looked out the window, sipping his coffee, wishing some friends could see him right now.

  “Can I ask you a hypothetical question, Steven?”

  “I don’t know, what?” his smile didn’t leave, but he was growing cautious.

  Tami leaned in and folded her hands, resting them around her coffee mug. “If you were to find out that your boss was involved in illegal activity, what would you do?”

  “What the hell?” he said, drawing back and looking quickly around the room.

  “Sorry, that came across a little harsh,” she frowned.

  “Who are you, anyway?”

  “I’m glad you asked, can’t be too careful, right?” Tami produced her Post I.D and her driver’s license. “I’m a reporter for the Post.”

  “Oh, God,” Steven said and looked at the ceiling.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. You are totally in the clear, we’re just talking, just having coffee, you know? It’s the Senator. She may be involved in some illegal activity.”

  Steven stood to his feet, “I don’t have any idea what you are talking about, but I assure you that neither I, or...” Tami cut him off by holding out both hands and pushing them toward the table in an effort to settle him down.

  “Steven,” she whispered, “being an accomplice to a federal offense is very serious, I’m sure you know that, as a pre-law grad.” He slowly sat back down, on the edge of his seat as if for a quick escape if needed.

  “What is she being accused of?” he asked calmly.

  “Nothing, yet. Maybe nothing ever, I just need you to help me with a little information,” Tami said.

  “I’m sure I have no idea what you need. And I assure you that I have done nothing and have no knowledge of illegal activity in our office.”

  “Of course. All I need right now is information I’m pretty sure you have. I’m looking for any appointment activity between the Senator and other government officials, specifically CIA, FBI or Homeland Security.”

  “That’s it?”

  She raised her eyebrows, “I told you it would be easy.” Tami’s smile melted his heart again.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Steven reached in to his pack and produced the Daytimer desk journal. He flipped through it quickly; he knew every entry by heart but wanted to confirm his thinking before saying anything.

  “She’s met with A.D. Williams several times in the past month,” as he said that his phone rang with a unique chirp. Steven’s life flashed briefly before his eyes as he felt like he was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “It’s the Senator,” he said, glancing at the number on the digital caller id, his eyes wide and his face as white as a sheet. “My God!” he whispered, looking around the restaurant.

  “Be calm, it’s just a coincidence, trust me” Tami said, trying to settle her young new friend. She was certain now that he was a good guy and whatever it was the Senator was up to, it was outside the scope of his knowledge.

  “Senator Lecter?” he said.

  “Steven. I’ve got to meet with A.D. Williams. Immediately. Today. Have him come to the office. And book me in to Lexington tomorrow. Actually, I may fly with A.D. Williams, so hold that for now. Stay close to the phone. Call me back with a time to expect him.” The phone clicked off and Steven was stunned speechless.

  “What did she say? Steven?” Tami saw absolute fear in the young man’s eyes. She reached across and held his hand. “Listen,” she whispered, “Whatever she’s up to, you’re not involved, okay? You can be the hero here. Just help me out.”

  “She wants me to set a meeting with the Assistant Director immediately. And she is flying, maybe with him, to Lexington tomorrow. That’s totally off schedule.”

  “Okay, listen,” Tami said. “Just do your job, okay? Just like any other day, right? We can talk later, but that may be all I need, and trust me, you are totally in the clear, okay?”

  “But, I thought, maybe...” he started, and she knew exactly where he was going. She cut him off short.

  “Steven, when this is all over we’ll go on a real date, okay? I’m serious. Right now we both have jobs to do.” Tami smiled and he returned his own.

  “Okay,” he closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “I understand.” She reached across the table and touched his hand, then stood and walked out onto the sidewalk and, before long, out of his view.

  ----------

  The unexpected light of a new day crept in to the office window without warning. Andy stretched and straightened his back in the chair and twisted the blinds open. It was morning. The deep blue glow of the city had become a pale grey. The disembodied brightness of the city lights was exposed to show the light posts and buildings where they were permanently affixed. Andy closed his eyes to gather his bearings. He didn’t work all night very often, he usually had to shut down his computer late in the evening to save the story from becoming a rambling blither of nonsense. But last night had been magical. The story had poured from the little room in his mind, through his muscles and nerves and out of his fingertips like an African river, flooding the dry plains and bringing life to the region. He didn’t know if it was any good, he just knew what he had see
n, and the experience of writing it down had been exhilarating.

  He saved his work and took a long shower. Donning only a pair of gym shorts, he pulled the cover down on his bed and lay down. Sleep came fast, deep and devoid of dreams. He awoke at noon with the appetite of one who had put in an honest days work, which, he suspected he had. Andy stepped in to the kitchen after getting dressed and realized he hadn’t cleaned up his nacho incident from the previous evening. This drove him from the kitchen and down the front steps to find solace at a place that did the dishes for you, Martin’s Deli. The Monday lunch crowd was in the restaurant and Mr. Martin and his niece were busy making sandwiches and scooping salad and soup into bowls for their hungry patrons. Andy got in line with the masses and was pleased that he might have helped the Martin’s avoid some kind of real problems with the loan sharks.

  The little deli might have been forced to close, the Martin’s may have had to move, someone may have gotten hurt, even worse than Mrs. Martin already had. Instead, he was standing in line on, what would appear to everyone else, to be a normal day at the little German/Italian neighborhood deli. “Strange how things work,” he thought to himself.

  “Andy, hey! How you doing?” Mr. Martin said. The old man pointed at him and said, “Italian Special, am I right?”

  “Okay, sure,” Andy smiled in reply. Mr. Martin sailed in to action like a sushi chef in a room full of fresh fish, cutting, chopping and blending ingredients in search of perfection. He brought the sandwich back to the counter and called Andy, who had taken a seat by the window. Andy came back up to the counter with a bag of Doritos and a bottle of Snapple. He laid a ten-dollar bill on the counter and Mr. Martin picked it up and gave it back.

  “You’re money is not needed here anymore,” he announced.

  “Hey, don’t do that. Look at me,” Andy laughed, “That would be a financial disaster for the deli.”

  “I’m not kidding, I talked it over with Maria. You eat free from now on.”

  “No, sorry, I can’t do that. If you won’t ring it in, I’ll leave it as a tip. But I’m paying. What we did was between friends, this is your business and I want to keep you in business for a long time,” Andy said firmly.

  Slowly the old man gave in, “Okay,” he said, “But if you ever need anything, you know, anything...” Mr. Martin flattened his lips under his bushy mustache and nodded, “I do it, okay?”

  Andy smiled and agreed. “Sounds like a plan.” He took his food back to his seat and enjoyed every bite. During a break in the flow, Mr. Martin came in to the dining room to bus a few tables and he sat down for a moment with Andy.

  “How is Maria? I’m sorry I haven’t been over to see her.”

  “She is good. She is coming home soon.”

  “Hey, that’s great news… She must be recovering fast, then.”

  “I say it is the good food I have been bringing in. Better than the food from the hospital, ja?”

  “I am certain of it,” Andy agreed.

  “I tell you, I don’t know how we’re going to get her upstairs. Very slowly, ja?” Mr. Martin laughed, “Maybe we make a bed in the store room.” Where they slept was the least of his worries, he wanted his wife home. Mr. Martin already looked physically better at the prospect of having her home soon.

  “So, are you going to throw a party for her, kind of like Oktoberfest?”

  “Hey, that’s a great idea! We’ll invite the friends and make food, bring out the good German beer, ja?” He slapped Andy on the shoulder, “You got to come, okay?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Andy finished the meal and headed back to his house. He opened his Internet browser and did a search for handicapped stair climbers. He found half a dozen vendors. He located one in the Marina district that had a product that had a metal rail, to which a chair was secured and, with the push of a button, it slowly went up or down the span of the stairwell. “Man, that is exactly what she is going to need,” Andy thought. He got the range of prices and availability and arranged for installation on the next day. He printed a brochure and walked it back over to the Deli. The lunch rush was over and Mr. Martin was sitting at a table opposite the saloon doors taking a break.

  “Hey, Andy, you hungry already?”

  “No, maybe in an hour or two,” he laughed. “No, I wanted to show you something.” He brought the flyer to the table and sat down by his friend. “What do you think about this? It hooks up to your stairs and Mrs. Martin just sits down and enjoys the ride. This way you wouldn’t have to toss her up on your shoulders and carry her up,” Andy said.

  “Hey, now this is nice. How much are these things?”

  “They’re not that much, really. So listen, I’m getting you one for the Welcome Home Party, okay?” Andy said.

  “No, you can’t do that. You have helped us out too much already.”

  “I want to, really. I’ve got some savings and I would really like to do this. I won’t be able to sleep wondering if you’ve made it up the stairs or not. And this is selfish, if Mrs. Martin can come downstairs, maybe she will make the Italian Special for me...”

  The old man shook his head and looked at the paper. “It is really nice,” he said quietly, “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Just let the guys in tomorrow morning when they come to install it.”

  Mr. Martin laughed, “My God, Andy. Tomorrow?” Mr. Martin stood and stretched out his arms, Andy stood as well and the old man nearly squeezed the life out of him with a bone crushing German bear hug. “We keep it as a surprise for Maria, ja?”

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Andy said and left the Deli for the second time in an hour. He smiled all the way home. As he crossed the street with the green light Simon and Garfunkel sang, “God bless you, please, Mrs. Robinson, heaven holds a place for those who pray. Hey, hey, hey...” It was the only line that came, but it repeated itself a dozen times till Andy was singing along, adding three more “hey’s” at the end along with a guitar part that only sounded like the original while still in his head, in public, it sounded like, “Duh-doonle-do-dune-doo.”