“Lou,” Frank said with a triumphant smile, “you and your boys gave us one hell of a run for the money.”
Lou took a sip of his beer. “We did more than that. We found her.”
“That you did, and it was a damn fine accomplishment. Can’t take that away from you.”
“Actually, Frank, that’s exactly what you did.”
“Now, now, Lou.” Frank chuckled. “That’s what this challenge is all about. No one owns her. She doesn’t belong to any of us, no matter how much care and attention we lavish on her. She belongs to our school, to our shared academic tradition.”
Lou took a sip of his beer and said nothing.
Frank chuckled. “Think of her as the trophy wife from hell. Come to think of it, she’s about as big a cunt as my ex, and just as cold.” His expression became serious. “I know it seems a bitter pill to swallow, but in a few weeks you’re going to realize the full dimension of what Reggie and I pulled off.”
“Tell that to Ray. You bastards almost killed him.”
Frank held up his hands, grinning.
“Let’s be fair, Lou. We didn’t do anything to Ray. He pulled that stunt all on his own. That was not what you’d describe as a stellar display of good judgment on his part.”
Lou gazed at Frank as he took another sip of beer.
“I know you guys are pissed,” Frank said. “But just remember—there are no rules in this game. Never have been. That’s the whole point. Anything goes. Anything. Whatever happens happens.”
Lou gazed at Frank. After a moment, he said, “Whatever happens happens, eh?”
“Precisely. Like Tom Hanks said in that movie about girls playing ball. There’s no crying in baseball. Same with Sirena, Lou. Suck it up.”
Lou turned and strolled back to his children.
SCENE 65: FRONT-END, PART III {3rd Draft}:
CUT TO:
INT. DISHWASHER AREA - NIGHT
Lou is working front-end, Ray on back-end. They’re smooth and fast and efficient—every bit as good as Buzz and Charlie were.
RAY
(unloading a steaming tray of clean plates)
I can’t believe she dumped me.
LOU
Hey, you want to go over to Hampton tonight? Gordie told me there’s a mixer at Franklin Hall.
RAY
Fuck mixers, man. Fuck women.
Fuck all.
The Graycoat sticks his head through the pass-through window.
GRAYCOAT
Boiler’s down. No hot water. Don’t run anything through but trays until we get the boiler back up.
The Graycoat leaves.
RAY
What’s that asshole want now?
LOU
Boiler’s down. No hot water.
RAY
Jesus, what a night. Everything’s fucked up.
LOU
(smiling)
Hey, Ray.
RAY
What?
LOU
(turning to face him)
No hot water.
RAY
I heard.
LOU
Come on, man. Your dream.
RAY
(smiling and leaning back)
Oh, yeah.
INT. DISHWASHER AREA - A FEW MINUTES LATER
A mob of students has squeezed into the small area. Others crowd around the pass-through window, peering in.
LOU
Ready, Captain?
CLOSE ON RAY
He is seated on an empty rack facing the front-end of the dishwasher. His feet are resting on another rack in front of him, which is poised at the entrance. Ray nods.
Lou pushes Ray forward far enough so that both racks are engaged on the conveyor belt. The two racks inch forward. Ray’s feet slowly enter the front end of the dishwasher.
LOU
(to the crowd)
We have liftoff.
The crowd CHEERS as Ray’s legs disappear into the dishwasher. Lou grabs another rack and slides it in place behind the one Ray is sitting on.
Ray lies back on the rack. Lou hands him the dish towel. Ray places it over his face. The conveyor belt keeps moving. Ray is now up to his waist inside the machine.
LOU
(leaning in close)
You have any trouble, start banging. I’ll turn it off and pull you out.
Ray nods. He’s now in the machine up to his chest. He reaches blindly for Lou and pulls him down close.
RAY
Christ, water’s ice cold. My balls shrank.
Ray is in the machine up to his neck. With a final, blind wave, he disappears into the machine and the crowd ROARS. Lou moves to the back end.
CLOSE ON LOU
as he nervously watches the canvas flaps at the back end.
And finally—
VOICE IN CROWD
His feet!
ANGLE ON BACK END
Emerging through the flaps are Ray’s tennis shoes, soaking wet. LOU waits until Ray’s knees are visible and then, unable to hold off any longer, he reaches in and pulls the next rack out. Ray comes sliding out, still on his back on the racks.
CLOSE ON RAY
Motionless, face covered by the towel, arms crossed over his chest. Water pours off him.
VOICE IN CROWD
Is he okay?
Ray whips off the towel and sits up. The crowd CHEERS. Ray hops down, soaking wet. He’s the man of the hour, and loving every minute as people pound him on the back and slap high fives.
ANGLE ON LOU
who is off to the side, smiling at his pal’s glory.
Chapter Forty-six
Lou glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand.
3:25 a.m.
After the first hour he thought it might be the coffee. He’d asked for decaffeinated, but with all the people and commotion at the table the waitress could have gotten things confused on the refills. If so, it was a small price to pay for a wonderful evening. Ray and Brandi had been there, as had Billy and Dorothy and little Sandino. Gordie arrived with his date, Professor Sally Jacobs. They seemed to be getting along nicely. Best of all was his end of the table, with his kids and Donna Crawford and her two daughters. Several times during dinner their eyes met, and each time the tumult around them seemed to vanish. It had been instantly comfortable—the two of them surrounded by the four children—and thus instantly unsettling.
Don’t overwhelm her, he’d warned himself after dinner. And don’t overwhelm yourself.
“She’s really nice,” Katie told him afterward.
“I like her, Dad,” Kenny had said as Lou tucked him in bed. “She’s pretty.”
That’s when he’d mentioned the possibility of adding on a few days to the vacation to spend it with Donna and her daughters in the Berkshires. Both kids said that sounded fine.
Not too fast, he reminded himself.
He glanced again at the clock.
It couldn’t be the coffee. The caffeine would have worn off long before three-thirty in the morning.
No, this was about tomorrow. For the last two hours he’d been sorting through the details—so many steps, and so many of them critical ones that could go wrong in so many ways and ruin their plans.
It would be over in less than ten hours, he told himself. Whatever was going to be would be. In less than ten hours, they’d be victors or they’d be spectators.
He turned in bed again and fluffed his pillow.
Spectator.
He lay back on the pillow and stared at the dark ceiling.
He’d been a spectator for too long.
There was a restlessness inside him, a vague unease. It had been building ever since they pulled out of Chicago in the wee hours with Sirena in the back of the
van. From the moment he turned onto Lake Shore Drive, his journey east had been seeded with memories of Andi.
Even little things triggered memories—like that telephone booth at the airport.
Or the stirred coffee at the restaurant tonight. He’d been watching Donna stir sugar into her coffee when he suddenly remembered that Andi never took sugar with her coffee. Just milk.
Milk but no sugar—the sort of thing that you knew without realizing you knew it, a fact absorbed as part of the stream of life. Like how Andi used to spread strawberry jam on her toasted English muffin with a spoon. Or the tilt of her head when she put in an earring. All of that—all of those little moments—had come rushing back at the restaurant that night, amid all the voices and the laughter and the clanging of dishes, as he’d watched Donna stir her coffee.
He glanced at the clock.
3:37 a.m.
He sat up. Kenny was asleep next to him in the double bed. Katie was breathing deeply in the other bed.
He got out of bed and walked barefoot across the carpeted floor to the dresser. Slipping on his jeans, he felt around the dresser top until he located the room key.
Stepping into the night air, the first thing he heard was the sound of frogs. Peepers. Hundreds of them. He closed the door gently and stepped over to the metal railing along the second floor landing. Leaning against the railing, he tried to pinpoint the location. They were out there somewhere in the dark, probably ringing a pond, chanting prayers to their frog gods.
“Noisy little fuckers.”
Startled, Lou turned. Seated in his wheelchair three doors down was Ray.
Lou walked over. “Can’t sleep?”
“Don’t know why. All I do tomorrow is ride shotgun.”
“Not so.” He leaned back against the railing and smiled at Ray. “You’re still the captain of this crew.”
“Not anymore, Captain.”
Lou shook his head. “I’m just the stand-in.”
“You’re in charge here. You’ve always been, man. I’m just the shit disturber.”
“Just? I’d say that’s a title to be proud of.”
“Maybe.” Ray stared into the darkness. “I just hope that redneck pilot holds up her end of the bargain.”
“Gordie’s pledged—or I guess now we’ve all pledged—fifty thousand reasons for her to deliver.”
Ray shrugged. “We’ll see.”
After a moment, Lou said, “You’re a genius.”
Ray frowned. “What’s that mean?”
Lou bowed in an exaggerated show of respect. “No matter what happens tomorrow, whether we pull it off or not, this was a wonderful idea.”
“Just don’t fuck it up, Solomon.”
Another voice said, “Don’t fuck what up?”
They turned. Gordie was walking down the landing toward them. He was wearing boxer shorts and carrying a boombox.
“You, too?” Lou asked.
Gordie nodded. “Been rolling around for hours.”
“With Sally?” Ray asked.
“Very funny, Gimp. For your information, you nosy bastard, Professor Jacobs went home right after dinner.”
“Shows excellent judgment,” Ray said.
Gordie sat down on the landing, back to the railing, and pulled up the radio antenna.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Finally decided to come out here and listen to some tunes.” He turned on the radio and moved the dial until he came to Van Morrison singing “Moondance.”
Lou leaned back and closed his eyes. “Perfect song.”
“Well, well, well,” Ray said, “look who else is here.”
They turned to see Bronco Billy coming down the walkway. He had a red plaid robe over his pajamas. He grinned self-consciously. “Hi, guys.”
Lou was seated next to Gordie. He rested his back against the railing and looked up at Billy. “None of us could sleep.”
Billy smiled as he put his hands in the deep pockets of his robe. “We look like that scene in Henry V.”
“What scene?” Ray asked.
“You remember,” Billy said. “We read it in Professor Ryal’s class? The night before the battle? The scene in the English camp at Agincourt, everyone waiting for the morning.”
“Don’t get carried away with that literary crap,” Ray said. “All the world is definitely not a stage. Just keep your eye on the prize and don’t fuck up.”
“Hey, Major Kong,” Gordie said, “we’ve been doing okay since you took your three-and-a-half gainer off the high board into Sherwood Forest.”
Ray smiled. “Keep it that way tomorrow, Shorty.”
There was a slight breeze. The final notes of “Moondance” faded into the peeping of the frogs and the grinding of the crickets. A moment of radio silence, and then the familiar opening guitar chords to “Sweet Baby James.” In the darkness, James Taylor’s plaintive voice:
There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range,
His horse and his cattle are his only companions.
“Ah,” Gordie said. “Great song.”
Lou closed his eyes, caught off guard, snatched back in time to the little coffeehouse in Woodstock, Vermont, back to the table near the rear of the crowded room with its rattle of china and buzz of voices and occasional gurgle and hiss of the espresso machine. They were holding hands. This was the mini-vacation they’d promised themselves, the romantic weekend away from the kids.
Her pregnancy had expedited their plans. They both knew that within a month she wouldn’t feel like going up the stairs, much less halfway across the country. Her first two pregnancies had been rough ones, and high risk—so much so that her gynecologist warned against a third. He’d wanted to tie her tubes after the second delivery, but she wasn’t yet ready for that final step. Andi had wanted a big family. One of her fantasies, going all the way back to their penniless days in Cambridge, was to cruise around the neighborhood in a golf cart picking up her six children one by one by one to bring them home for dinner.
But the doctor kept pressuring her. Around the time of Kenny’s second birthday she finally relented. If she couldn’t have them herself, she told Lou, they’d adopt, and she’d still get that golf cart. They agreed that Lou would get a vasectomy. And he intended to go through with it, no question. But there always seemed to be a scheduling conflict—a deposition or a motion or a client meeting. Over a six-month period he’d rescheduled the appointment five times.
And then she got pregnant. It was unplanned, and entirely Lou’s fault, though she never said so. Abortion was out of the question for her.
“We’ll get through it,” she told him, “because we know what’s coming at the end.”
That night in the coffeehouse in Woodstock he’d gazed at his beautiful wife. Her cheeks were red from the Vermont winter air, her dark hair hanging in thick ringlets to her shoulders.
Andi had winced.
“What?” he’d asked, concerned.
She shook her head. “Another cramp. I started spotting again this morning.” She stood up and took a deep breath. “I’ll be back.”
It was at that very moment—as he watched her walk to the bathroom—that James Taylor’s “Sweet Baby James” came over the sound system:
There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range,
She’d turned at the bathroom door, remembering—remembering that song and that coffeehouse back at Wellesley. She found his eyes across the room and smiled at him before she went inside the bathroom.
Her last smile.
He’d listened to the song as he waited for her to return from the bathroom, and as he did his thoughts had drifted back to that night at the coffeehouse at Wellesley, the night they’d come back together.
Won’t you let me go down in my dreams?
The waitress had interrupted his reverie, asking whether they want
ed anything else. He’d ordered two more cups of hot cider, hoping Andi would return from the bathroom before the song ended.
The cider arrived. He realized the song had ended. He checked his watch. How long had it been? Twenty minutes? A tinge of panic.
He’d walked over to the women’s restroom and knocked on the door. Called her name. No answer. He found a waitress and asked her to check inside to see if his wife was okay. She went in and came out a moment later, frantic.
“I’ll call an ambulance,” she said.
Andi was on the tile floor inside—her eyes glassy, her mouth slack. He cradled her in his arms as they waited for the ambulance. He hugged her against his chest, rocking her against him, kissing her forehead, telling her that she’d be okay, telling her how much he loved her. Over and over again, hugging and kissing and rocking as he waited and waited and the blood continued to seep out, spreading in a red pool on the tiles. She was cold and her breathing was shallow when the paramedics arrived.
He rode in the ambulance with her, holding her hands under the blanket, rubbing them, trying to make her warm, telling her everything would be okay, telling her he loved her, telling her he was sorry, and praying all the while, praying, praying.
They took her from him at the hospital—rolled her down the hall and around the corner and out of his life. As he waited those long hours, pacing the halls, his mind kept returning to the night she got pregnant, to the Jacksons’ poolside party the prior August. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the St. Louis heat, or the way Andi had looked in that clingy white dress, or a combination of them all, but when she went inside to the bathroom Lou had followed her in.
“Louis,” she’d giggled in surprise when he slipped into the bathroom behind her.
He kissed her hard. “Come on,” he whispered, pulling up the back of her dress, grasping her marvelous tush.
“Here?” she whispered between kisses. “Now?”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t have my diaphragm.”
He unzipped his pants. “Don’t worry.”
She giggled again. “Oh, my goodness. Someone’s sure ready.”
It could have been even worse, a nurse told him near dawn.
He’d stared at her in disbelief.
Fortunately, the nurse continued, your wife went into shock so quickly that we knew it might be the blood. We were able to stop the other blood—the blood she was supposed to get—before it reached the other patient.
The Sirena Quest Page 22