Odd Jobs

by Ben Lieberman

  As Joel comes in, Rocky slips out. The transaction with Joel is a blur. I am trying to gauge Rocky’s reaction to my revelation, but I am trying to stay focused on Joel as well. It sounds strange, but I met Joel through his best friend Bartner – a policeman. Bartner lives in the building with his lobbyist girlfriend but occasionally stops by here and I turn him on for free. I figure it’s good for business to keep him happy. He’s a tall, powerful guy with a long chain-link tattoo on his neck that makes me think of the time I strangled Zog.

  Joel and I go through the typical dance, beginning with him taking a few sample bong hits to make sure the quality of the merchandise is to his liking. He occasionally gives an approving nod or comment like, “Awesome weed, it’s chronic.” We measure out his purchase and he says, “Dude, three elbows on the screws, here’s your cashish.” With that he hands me money and puts the six bags of marijuana in a large gym bag. Joel holds up a fist, I close my hand into a fist and gently bang his knuckles, and then he leaves.

  The money I pocket for the quick work seems pretty small compared to what I risked today. I’m not sure why Rocky was hanging with me before I leveled with her. Shit, if she’s not calling the travel agent to New Boyfriendland now, then somewhere cats are sleeping with dogs and it’s snowing in the rainforest.

  I feel better that I told her everything, but I suspect she’ll dump me. It’s crushing me, thinking that we are done. Maybe I shouldn’t have spilled my guts just yet. Maybe I should have waited to let her know me better.

  CHAPTER 16

  As it turns out, Rocky doesn’t bolt. The Balducci story doesn’t make her run, but I ain’t gonna say the jury has come in with a verdict, either. She is still with me and I am grateful. There is another level to reach in what is developing in, dare I say, our relationship. I want to be at that level, but I don’t know if she does. As good as things are with Rocky, anytime we begin to get physical, it feels wrong. We’re having a lot of laughs and I know she likes me. I feel she wants more and I know I do. But then, she pulls back. I can’t put my finger on what pushes her away...that is, until this night. I call her at 11:45 p.m. on Sunday when the weekend’s work is wrapped up to say goodnight.

  At first it’s our usual repartee, but things change when I ask, “How did you get the name Rocky? I can’t be the first person to ask you that.”

  She laughs and says, “No, you’re not. It doesn’t surprise me that you ask. What surprises me is how long it took you. It usually gets asked sooner.”

  “Oh, hey, I’m not looking to.... ”

  “No, it’s not a big deal. I was born Raquel Olivia Campbell. Get it? R.O.C. It sounds like ‘rock’.”

  “Aahhh, I get it, so the rock would become Rocky,” I say.

  “Well, there is a little more to the story,” she concedes. “My father was a huge boxing fan. He can talk that stuff for hours. He was also a wannabe actor. His biggest success was a tiny part as an extra in the first Rocky movie. It came out before VHS and DVD, and Dad saw the movie and himself 25 times in the theater. He laughed that he spent more on movie tickets than he was actually paid.”

  “How about the other Rocky movies? Did he see them a bunch too?” I ask.

  “That’s my point. Somewhere between Rocky and Rocky II, I was born. So it’s no accident that my initials are R.O.C. It was a great way for my father to introduce his new daughter and gloat about being in the movie, even though a million other Rocky movies were made without my father.”

  “Hmmm, would you rather not be called Rocky? Do you like Raquel better?”

  “No. I like Rocky. I think the name is interesting, but the story behind it isn’t as cool as my father intended.”

  “Are you and your father close?” As someone who hasn’t had a father since I was 10, I always get a kick out of father stories.

  Rocky hesitates and stammers. “We haven’t had a reason to talk.”

  “When was the last time you spoke?” I ask.

  “Seven or eight years now. I guess you think that’s weird.”

  “Hah! I’m not the guy to judge what’s weird.” The truth is I do think it’s weird, because from my vantage point, any day your father’s above ground should be a great day. “I guess relationships with parents can get tricky.” I try to be polite, but she can tell I don’t really get it.

  I notice how late it is and intend on wrapping up the conversation so I can get some sleep. But that’s not what happens. “Hey, Rocky, why aren’t you speaking with your father anymore?” Holy shit, did I just ask that? There’s something about fathers that makes me overwhelmingly curious. I can’t help myself.

  There’s a pause on the other side of the phone. How do I take this question back?

  “Kevin, if I tell you, it might change things. I don’t think you really want to talk about this, do you?”

  It’s a rhetorical question at this point. I mean, could you imagine if I said, “No, thanks anyway.” The truth is, I’m captivated. So I say, “Yeah, Rocky, I’m really interested in you. Hell, I got a screwed-up situation too. Maybe I can help.”

  “I don’t think so. I have it resolved.”

  “C’mon, you said you haven’t spoken to your father in eight years.” I might sound altruistic here, but to be honest, I have my selfish reasons as well. I’m no Sigmund fuckin’ Freud, but I suspect I’ve found the reason she is pulling back from me. I hypothesize that her father was a player and Rocky walked in on him with the town nun. Therefore, she can’t trust guys. “Rocky, we can let it drop here. I’m not trying to pry. I’ll tell you this, though. I’m glad I told you about the situation with Balducci and my father. It was risky, but I’m glad I told you.”

  I hear her sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay. Here goes. My father didn’t work much, so he was around a lot. Most of the money we had was from my mother, who’s a terrific dancer and owns a few dance studios. Dad and I hung out a lot and we always had a lot of fun. The weekends were busy for my mother, so my dad was the one taking me to carnivals and the playground.

  “Dad’s acting career wasn’t going anywhere, so, to help support me and my brother, he took a job with an uncle of his who runs a plumbing supply business out here in Albany.”

  “Wow, that’s a big change, from acting to plumbing. How did it work out?”

  “Not too well. Uncle Allen says that my father never put any effort into the job and wanted a piece of the business as his birthright. Dad says Uncle Allen got him to move out to Albany but was never going to make him a partner.”

  “So who was right?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. I’m sure the truth lies somewhere in between the two stories. We were fortunate because my mom developed her dance studios. Money-wise we were okay.” Her voice falters, she pauses for a moment, and when she continues, her voice is softer. “This is where it gets fucked up.” She pauses again and says, “You have to understand, my dad got by on his looks his whole life, but when he hit 50, his hair – what’s left of it – started losing the battle of salt vs. pepper and he gained a lot of weight as well. But the worst thing for him was that the young girls he used to love flirting with weren’t interested anymore. He looked average now and the rest of the world was running laps around him. He wanted to feel like a young stud again, and he turned to a young girl who couldn’t say ‘no.’ Me. My father molested me. Okay, he raped me.”

  “Holy shit!” is about all I can muster. I’m thinking to myself, what a dog! “I can’t believe you had to live through that.”

  “Living through it was awful, but living with him was unbearable. Anytime he had a few drinks, which was fairly often, he’d reach for me. I was only 13 then, and he had me believing that if I said anything, my mother would throw us both out.”

  “I can’t even imagine how tough that must have been on you.” I always thought there’s nothing worse in this world than not having a father, and now I’ve changed my mind. “How did you get him to stop?”

  “My mother suspected something goin
g on. She knew I never wanted to be in the house and would find any excuse to get out. But this one Sunday afternoon she wouldn’t let me out. She had a birthday party at the dance studio and took my brother to help. She put her foot down. I had to stay in and study. My father came into my room and started grabbing at me. I was pleading with him to stop. He was on top of me and getting angry that I was resisting. Out of nowhere my mother starts pounding him on the head with a log from our fireplace stack. So he was on the ground bleeding and my mother was dialing the police. She puts the police on hold and she says to Dad, ‘Here are the keys to the car, get the fuck out of here. If you ever try to contact us again, you’re going to jail’.”

  “Fuck, why didn’t she throw his ass in jail?”

  “Kevin, she knew I couldn’t go through a trial. The last thing I needed was to be stared at. The town was real small.” Rocky pauses. I can hear her weeping, but she fights through the sobs and says, “What if that perv is out there doing it to someone else, and I didn’t put him away? How do I live with that?”

  I jump in, saying, “C’mon Rocky, you’re being too tough on yourself. You can’t have the whole world on your shoulders; you had to take care of yourself. You did what you had to do. It’s not like this is marketing class where you lay out a strategy and follow a plan from a textbook. You went into crisis management and you weren’t wrong. You were a kid who got thrown into a tough situation.”

  “I know,” she says through a voice still broken by sobs.

  “So that was the last time you saw him?” I ask.

  “Never saw him or spoke to him again,” she says. “So, are you still with me, Kevin, or did I totally freak you out?”

  “Baby, I’m here. I’m here more than ever. My only regret is that we’re on the phone and I’m not there to hug you.” I never said anything truer. I didn’t expect anything like this from Rocky.

  We spoke about the gamut of emotions she has. She tries to date. Guys think she’s a tease or a prude because she always stops short of getting intimate. She moves on to other men before it gets to the crossroads. She’s had a lot of therapy and it’s working, but despite the progress, she hasn’t been able to stay in a relationship for an extended period. She would like this one to be different, though, if I’m willing.

  I’m so into her that I swear I don’t care if she ever gets intimate with me. I never thought I would feel that way about anyone, but man, Rocky is special.

  CHAPTER 17

  Shit, that was a great conversation. That should probably qualify for Loot.

  I’m remembering Loot laying it out for me. It was when I wandered into the living room, where Loot and Carey were getting high. We don’t usually pry into our own supply, but every now and then we need some relief, so we got stoned and Loot took over. We were watching a mind-numbing TV show where celebrities were getting pranked. Loot refused to put a ball game on. “You pretty into her?” Loot asked and I refused to answer.

  When the TV show broke for a commercial, Loot tried to pick up on the conversation about Rocky. “But you ain’t really hitting that yet?”

  Pretty blunt comment, even from Loot. “Watch the show, Loot.”

  Carey jumped in as best he can, but with all the pot smoked, he’s approaching outer space. “Leave the man alone Loot.”

  “I’m helping the man out,” Loot said defensively.

  “Loot,” I snapped. “Just shut the fuck up and watch the show.”

  “It’s a fuckin’ commercial!” Loot barked.

  “Then watch the fuckin’ commercial.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Loot screamed. “When you want to get some real bad and you ain’t hitting it, then you get ornery.”

  I said, “Maybe I’m ornery because you’re such a dick.”

  “Man, why you got to disrespect me so much? Shit, if we’re just playing around then you’re laughing and joking with me. You’ve gotten some with girls and not gotten some with girls, but you just deal. You haven’t been this jumpy since C. W. Wellington; and that bitch got you all sorts of ornery. Now you listen to the Oracle of Love ... ”

  “The Oracle of what?” I asked in amazement. I turned to Carey and I asked, “The Oracle of what?” Carey was laughing and shaking his head. You think you can never be surprised by one of Loot’s self-given nicknames.

  With righteous indignation, Loot stood and said, “I am the Oracle of Love and as soon as you come to terms with the greatness of my powers the better your life will be.”

  “Loot, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m handling... ”

  “Do not interrupt me!” Loot commanded as he put his fist in the air. “When the Oracle of Love receives his powers, there is no turning back. So whether you like it or not, you will hear from the Oracle of Love.”

  “Listen Loot.... ”

  “Oracle,” Loot corrected.

  “Okay, Oracle, please make it fast.” Like I had any chance to stop him.

  Loot looked at me for drama’s sake and in his deepest voice said, “This is the real thing and the key to opening the door will come from the reach of speech.”

  Carey and I looked at each other to see if either of us could make any of this out. “Man, you are so fuckin’ trippin’. Now you’re talking Chinese.”

  “Stop this disrespect!” He hollered. “This is not like other situations. This is not the waste of time like them other bimbo women that you been spending time with. This is not her high holiness C.W. Wellington, who is an aberration of reality.”

  “A what of reality?” Carey interrupted.

  “Silence! You might try to make a mockery of my greatness, but you need to heed my wisdom.” Loot brought his voice down from the hark of a preacher to the consternation of a teacher. “You are frustrated and feel incomplete because there are deeper feelings and physical attainment yet to be met with this woman. You cannot get there until you have the great conversations. The reach of speech will open the door. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, Loot,” I, answered sarcastically, “I hear you, conversations. It’s outstanding insight, but don’t you think over the last bunch of weeks we had conversations?”

  “There you go, you do not hear me. You might hear the volume but not the sound and thusly you’re missing my point.”

  “Thusly, what the fuck is thusly?” Carey laughed.

  “Listen,” Loot said, reverting to his preacher voice, “the great conversation; a conversation where nothing is held back and where trust is exchanged. That, my disciples, is what unlocks the door. I know you’ve had sex before, but we’re talking more than sex here, my brother. We are talking about unlocking the door, yours and hers. You thought you had that with C.W. Wellington, but you did not. You think you miss C.W. Wellington and you don’t want to let it go. But let me tell you this — what time erases, the heart replaces! And while you are ornery now, I am here to tell you, wait, be patient and embrace the great conversation. The Oracle of Love has spoken.”

  “Thank you Oracle. You want another bong hit?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes I do. Oracling is a lot of work.”

  As ridiculous as Oracle Loot is, he happens to be right. That last conversation where Rocky told me about her father was a great conversation. I never felt closer to anyone. Yet sometimes the closer I feel, the more frustrated I get and that’s not just because we are limiting ourselves on the physical front. It ain’t easy exchanging everything when you know everything can ruin it all. I can tell her more and frankly, she can too. I do figure out what’s gnawing at me. The question I need answered: Why me? After all she told me, I would think more than ever she would want to find some nice, normal lawyer, lobbyist or banker to settle down with instead of a small-time crook. I need to find it out and I need to talk to her more.

  As part of my plan of self-disclosure, I decide to take Rocky to my office, the Albany branch of Luke’s Action Sports, and a few minutes from the apartment in a remote yet very open office park. Luke Birdman is the g
reatest sports handicapper ever, according to him, “The Einstein of the Line.” Luke Birdman presented me with an opportunity to make real money and make it fast. Luke Birdman, whose real name is Barry Rothberg, unknowingly gave me the opportunity to fund a pretty damn impressive bookmaking and drug-dealing operation.

  Our building has just two floors and a lot of glass windows that are always blocked with curtains and blinds. It’s not that sports marketing is illegal; it’s certainly not exactly ethical, but when you’re running a boiler room operation, you don’t need views, you don’t need light and you don’t need distractions.

  In the short drive over to the HQ, I offer Rocky an explanation of what to expect. “Think of it like a stockbroker, except, instead of saying that IBM is going up 10 dollars, our guys are selling expert advice, telling investors that the Philadelphia Eagles will win by 10 points. For this technical advice, clients pay a chunky fee.”

  She thinks for a moment and then answers, “Sounds like you’re a bookie, but we already knew that.”

  I tell her that, at the time I started doing this, I was not a bookie. I started the sports handicapping with the intention of legally funding a drug business.

  “You do know how fucked-up that sounds, don’t you?” she asks.

  “Of course, but I’m hoping you don’t rat me out to my ethics prof.”

  She laughs and I continue. “I had drug customers lined up and I had suppliers lined up, so according to most business classes, I was on my way. The problem was that the pesky element of working capital was still missing. I didn’t think the bank was going to lend me money for this business venture, and I ruled out the reality of an initial public offering as well. My other jobs got me enough money to stay in school but not enough to finance school and this business. Luke’s Action Sports was my plan B.”