Wrong Flight Home (Wrong Flight Home, #1)

by Noel J. Hadley

  “Why do I get this feeling that the Baptists are going to have their own little walled-off dry country section of heaven while the rest of us, Orthodox, Catholics, Evangelicals and all drink merrily of wine and beer?”

  “You might be surprised, honey. The Baptists might be the only one’s in heaven.”

  “Don’t forget, grandmother’s an Episcopalian.”

  “I’m sure the Lord will make a few kind exceptions.”

  “Mm-hmm. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  18

  The Guide Dog was a one of a kind pub on Second Street, Long Beach, a short five minute walk from my house, that served local brewers on tap (with some regular varieties), various selections of California wine, and an intricate bar stylized menu that included everything from sliders and Buffalo wings to shepherd’s pie, fried green beans, steak bites and roasted beef with bistro sauce, but my favorite was Fish Taco Tuesday.

  Michael was its owner. He had inherited the pub several years prior after his father died of a heart attack. He was attending USC when it happened. The closing months of 2001 were a bad time for a lot of us. Despite the adjustment, Michael graduated with flying colors.

  “Does it ever bother you that you’re my best friend and my bartender?” I said to Michael on an early Wednesday afternoon, nursing my Stone Pale Ale from the bar.

  “All the time.” He stacked several pint-sized beer mugs on a shelf behind the bar.

  “I mean, you came over to my house the other night to stop me from drinking, and you’re a pub owner. Now that’s irony.”

  “It’s not irony,” Michael said. “It’s common sense. The more you don’t drink the more money I have in my pockets to pay the mortgage on this place.”

  “I’m confused. Can you explain that to me again using the analogy of a lemonade stand?”

  From several feet down the bar another server let out a long snorting laugh through his nose. His name was Lance. He was muscular, covered in tattoos, and his baldhead gleamed. He was one of those guys I’d never want to meet in a dark ally, but if I was ever watching Born Free and needed another guy to cry on my shoulder, he’d be the first I’d call.

  I finished off the last of my Stone Pale Ale.

  “Put it on my tab,” I said.

  “I’ve been putting it on your tab since you were twenty-one.”

  “Alright.” I pulled out my wallet. “Sock it to me. I’ll pay up. What’s the damage?”

  “Care to give me the keys to Ira’s apartment?” Michael held out the palm of his hand.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I probably could have paid this place off by now with how much you owe.”

  “Hey, is that your wife?” Lance suddenly said.

  I turned around to gaze out the window.

  “Yes, I certainly believe it is.” I caught sight of Elise across Second Street holding hands with someone at least ten years her elder. “And she’s with another man.” They entered a restaurant by the name of NOSTIMMOS.

  “No, she’s not.” Michael said with confidence. But I didn’t believe he was genuine about it. “It must be her twin sister.”

  “I’d know my wife’s own shadow apart from her sisters, and that’s certainly not Josephine’s shadow.”

  I stood up from the barstool.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Michael sighed. “Remember the Naked Atheist fiasco at Barnes & Noble.”

  I didn’t listen to him as I left the pub behind.

  “Remember the Alamo then.”

  I ignored that too as I stepped off the curb.

  “I’m just taking a closer peek.”

  “Can you take a peek from our side of the street?” Michael said as a BMW slammed on its breaks. A bumper tapped my leg. Its driver honked at me. I think there may have been a finger too. I waved without looking at the person inside. “OK, I guess we’re crossing the street.” Michael groaned. “Great, and now we’re going inside”

  That’s exactly what I did.

  “Hi Elise, what a surprise to bump into each other, and so soon.” I approached the table where my wife had just been seated.

  The guy whom she entered with was suspiciously absent. I scanned the restaurant for him without a Sasquatch sighting. To my surprise Ellie Alexander was seated at the same table with a date of her own. He was tall and skinny, moderately handsome, with a thick mustache under his nose, and he wore an Aloha shirt.

  “Joshua.” My wife looked up from her menu, startled. “What are you…I thought you were supposed to be on travel today. I looked on your Google calendar. You always…”

  “I’m not flying to Vegas. I’m driving. I leave first thing in the morning. So where’s the fourth wheel?”

  Elise gasped. The man she came in with exited the bathroom, as though on cue. He was professionally dressed in a slick-fitting button-up shirt and slacks, a thick head of hair parted on the side, well groomed, and genuinely handsome. I immediately took note that his hands were dry. He’d written phone numbers on the palms of them. One number had a 202 area code. Washington DC. I considered the dryness of them and how preserved the writing was and the mere fact that he’d just come out of the bathroom.

  “Is that him?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Hi Joshua,” Ellie said. “Fancy bumping into you again, and so soon. Here for a repeat performance?” I nodded at her. I think I may have mumbled her name. “This is my date, Jack.” I nodded at him too, and I think I mumbled his name. Heat sunk into my ears.

  “Is that him?” I repeated the question.

  “Yes.” Elise dropped her head after a time. “His name is Tom.”

  “Tom, as in Thomas? My elder brother’s name is Thomas. I wonder what Freud would have to say about that.”

  “Yes, I know.” Elise wasn’t thrilled at the comparison.

  “Joshua, this isn’t a good idea,” Michael said.

  “Hi Tom.” I extended my hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Elise has told me so much about you.”

  “Uh-huh, we’re really doing this.” Michael caught his breath.

  “And you are?” The man who had moved in on my marriage turned his head slightly sideways like a dog. He grudgingly extended five fingers. Yeah, I was pretty sure he didn’t wash them. We shook.

  “My apologies, Tom. I’m one of Elise’s old high school and college buddies.” Elise dropped her head in her hands. “She’s probably mentioned something about me in passing. Quick question. When you were in the bathroom did you go number one or number two?”

  “Excuse me?” Tom said.

  “You just came out of the bathroom, right? Did you go number one or number two?”

  “Joshua,” Elise said in her hands.

  “Um, I went number two.” Tom spoke with a coating of annoyance in his tone. It was a nice radio voice though. He’d probably already decided that I was a pathetic little worm. I knew he was.

  “Tom.” Elise pulled her head up from her hands and caught a breath. “This is my husband, Joshua.”

  The adulterer reeled back. He opened his mouth and closed it. Jack scooted his chair and promptly stood.

  “You said he was gone today.” Tom told her.

  “Maybe you should leave,” Jack said, and started around the table.

  Michael stepped in front of him.

  “Excuse me. Are you trying to block my path, kemosabe?” Jack said. “Because I don’t recall that you were ever invited into this conversation.”

  This time Ellie dropped her jaw.

  I glanced back to Tom. “You look familiar.” I waited for a response. He didn’t answer. “Tom. Tom. I feel like I’ve seen you on TV before.” I snapped my fingers trying to recall.

  “Hmmm, that’s interesting, because I never forget a face, and I’m absolutely certain that I’ve never seen you before. And from here on out I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Elise buried her head back into her hands and Ellie dropped her jaw all over again.

  “I
think it’s time you leave,” Jack said. “And take penis breath here with you.”

  Michael stared at him, never flinching, never blinking.

  “No harm,” I smiled at the table. “I was just hoping to make some conversation, say hello to my wife, and maybe even buy you all a round of beer.”

  “You heard what my friend said.” The adulterer sat down at Elise’s side. He patted a leg and threw an arm around her. It was a horrific picture. “I think it’s time for you to leave before I call the cops.”

  “You do realize,” I told Elise, “that your new love interest here didn’t wash his hands after using the bathroom. I feel like I just wiped my fingers all over the crack of his ass.” Elise buried her lips into her hand. “Oh, and Ellie,” I added. “Nice job picking the new boyfriend. Penis breath, I like the way he reached into the Scrabble bag and put two words together.” I was angry with her all over again. Apparently she was Uncle Screwtape conniving into Elise’s ear. “You have an exquisite taste in men.”

  I left. Michael followed after.

  “So that was your plan, huh?” Michael sighed as we crossed Second Street for The Guide Dog. Another BMW squeezed its breaks and honked.

  “I can’t believe it. I just met my mortal enemy.”

  “I think you’re being a little dramatic, buddy. Now Jerk-Off on the other hand…”

  “No, you don’t understand. That’s Tom Phillips. He’s a congressman in the House of Representatives. Come November he’s running for the Senate. And I voted for him.”

  “But isn’t Tom Phillips a democrat?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “You’re a republican.”

  “That’s what makes this so painful.”

  .

  PART 2

  Meat-Duck

  HONEYMOONERS

  1

  His name was Meat-Duck.

  Meat-Duck and I were roommates together at UCLA. But that was years ago, a lifetime even. His actual name was Alex. Alex Parker. But we rarely called each other by our Christian names in the closing hours of the twentieth century. His title for me was Prosexionist, which never made any sense. It still doesn’t. But that was the fun of being a teenager.

  Alex was about an inch shorter than me, supposedly of Polish or Ukrainian heritage on his mother’s side with a deeper hint of Jewish ancestry dominating his face, long curly hair that decorated his shoulders, and in the not-so glamorous days of baggy pants and boy bands (we met in August of 1999), he made tight jeans, vintage clothing and hand-me-downs a fashion statement. I modeled some of my own practices after him. Or maybe we were just in college and poor, because one day I woke up and discovered I could afford Banana Republic instead of Old Navy. I somehow promoted over the GAP altogether.

  Our courtship, though brief, was insanely memorable, with a run that included a seemingly endless barrage of college pranks, toilet papering of houses, stealing of mascots, and crashing parties where we clearly weren’t invited, not to mention the fake ID’s. Good times. My best friend Michael and my high school sweetheart Elise attended USC, a rival college, which made our times together particularly interesting. But that’s an entirely different story for another time.

  What is important to note is his sudden disappearance from my life. It was September of 2001, two years after our initial meeting. I had hastily taken a semester off from college to pursue a girl in New York. Leah Bishop. That was after my high school sweetheart broke it off with me at the insistence of her mother. September Eleventh swiftly came into play, and then Elise and I were back together again in the dawn of a new American age. Alex, however, was completely spirited away. I hadn’t heard from him since.

  But college was college. As of June 2008 I’d grown up, moved on. Michael had too. Elise, well, in light of recent choices, moved on, yes, grown up, maybe not so much. I guess I expected Meat-Duck, if we ever crossed paths again, to do the same. That didn’t stop me from memorializing the treasure troves of our past, the way things were. The pursuit of maturity never could strip that away from my inner need for nostalgia. Yet it never once occurred to me that some specialties, like Meat-Duck, was a dish best served cold… as a distant memory.

  2

  After my fling with the bottle Michael made it absolutely clear that he didn’t want me going off on my next photographic episode without him. He reminded me that Vegas was where Elise and I had eloped some six years before (not that I needed to be reminded of it) and there were booze and gambling and girls aplenty to take my frustrations out on if he wasn’t around to keep me accountable. He said Lance could run The Guide Dog in his absence. I put up a protest but he wouldn’t have any of it. The truth is I was happy for the company, particularly if it meant spending more one on one time with lifelong friend.

  We left on a Thursday in my Ford Country Squire. I had an engagement shoot on Friday morning (that same couple would be getting married two weeks later in Hawaii) and a wedding to photograph on the following day. The mission was straightforward, a get-in get-out sort of operation without succumbing to the misery of the bottle, which was fine. Photography itself was the distraction from purgatory. Being home alone in bed, that was hell.

  We listened to Robert Plant’s new collaborative album with Alison Krauss, Raising Sand, and debated our recent theatrical viewing of Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I loved the movie for what it was. My critical comrade wasn’t a fan. The term NUKE THE FRIDGE had already begun to make Internet rounds, and Michael freely dropped it in his negative review. I thought the film depicted the tone of nineteen-fifties drive-in cinema amazingly well, particularly in the way that Americans had expressed their fear of nuclear annihilation at the hands of the Soviets through alien invasion films, much as they had disdained Europe’s Nazi problem a decade before with monster movies.

  “I quiver at your cultural tastes sometimes,” Michael finally concluded.

  “I drink at your bar, don’t I?”

  “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

  We stopped only once for gas on the trip over in Baker, California, where it was a scorching hundred degrees and the fuel nearly as much per gallon. But that was the good news. Starting the car back up, the air conditioner was broken.

  “When you’re with me,” I grinned at Michael as we started back out on the road, already sweating profusely “it’s always an adventure.”

  “Going without air conditioning isn’t an adventure.” Michael groaned. “It’s hell.”

  “Ah, but hell,” I held up a single finger, “is the last great adventure.”

  “There’s that,” he said.

  A couple of hours later we checked into Circus, Circus on the north side of the strip. I hated clowns (especially after that summer) but wanted to save money as usual, and it was the best bargain on the Internet. Thanks again hotel booking website.

  We were only in our room long enough to drop our bags in a chair before turning around for the casino, just to blow off a little steam. Michael reminded me to keep it easy, fight the temptation to take a swim in the bottle (this coming from my bartender), and go light as a feather on the gambling. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill from my wallet, promising I wouldn’t spend a penny over. Not that I needed to. My hundred-dollar bill was quickly going to find a Mrs. Franklin, I assured him, and then have three consecutive Franklin children.

  “Not on slots, it wont,” he said. “You want to make a profit in Vegas, you play poker or blackjack.”

  I didn’t listen. “I think Mr. Franklin’s beautiful wife is right in there.” I found my lucky machine. “And how much you want to bet she’s got some triplets waiting for me?” Michael sighed and continued on for the blackjack table. Two hours later the Misses took all my money and delivered no children. I told my slot machine it was a funny joke, ha, ha, ha, but now the gig was up. I wanted my money back. I stared at it long and hard. It didn’t give me my money back.

  Michael rounded the row of slot machines counting ten Benjamin Franklins. “
You lost all your money on slots, didn’t you?”

  “She’s not a lady,” I told him. “She’s a whore.”

  Mm-hmm, he sighed. He slid a hundred dollar bill into my fingers. “You know, that extra hundred could have bought us a night at the Bellagio.”

  “Big shot.” I took it grudgingly.

  “Yes, I am.” He grinned. “Now let’s stuff ourselves at that new place, the Wynn. I hear they have the best buffet in town.” He pulled another hundred from his roll. “It’s on me.”

  We watched a block of Full House on Nick at Nite in our hotel room. In one episode, Stephanie drove Joey’s car into the kitchen and in another, a rich man made an offer to buy the iconic Tanner house. Once they were over Michael said he was going back down to the casino to win himself another thousand from this hundred right here. He pulled it from his roll of eight hundred. I said I’d stay behind and write a little poetry or something, maybe take a short walk. He patted me on the back.

  “In a couple of hours we can walk down the strip together. You know, hit up the town. I’ll even buy you a frozen margarita or two.”

  “Thanks, honey.” I winked at him.

  “Hey, anything for you, Cleopatra.”

  He closed the door.

  3

  Elise called me on the phone. I waited until it rang four times and went to the machine. She didn’t leave a message. I sat in silence staring at it. Deciding when I picked up the phone and how long I talked with her seemed to be the only sort of control I had over our relationship anymore. She called again. I answered on the first ring.

  “Wayne Manor.” I spoke in my best Michael Cain accent. “This is Alfred.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to meet him like that.”

  I dropped the accent. “Who, the representative from the state of California?”