by John Luciew
I’ll bet, I thought. “Well, she’s in there.” I gestured toward the dining room. “You might as well come in.”
The driver followed me down the hall.
“Someone’s here for you,” I announced to Cassie, then sat down at my place at the table. I knew I should eat the Chinese before it got cold and the heavy grease and oils coagulated, but I didn’t have much of an appetite all of a sudden.
“Frederick?” Cassie said, genuinely surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“Mr. Walker requests the pleasure of your company,” the driver said. “He misses you very much.”
“So much that he can’t come here himself?”
“He’s very busy, I assure you.”
“He’s having a party tonight, isn’t he?”
“Yes, madam. He’d very much like you to attend. We can be in Manhattan by 9:30 if we depart expeditiously.”
“He wants me there as a conversation piece, I take it?”
“I believe he desires your companionship.”
“So how many supermodels are going to be at this party of his?”
“I’m sorry, madam. I’m not privy to the guest list. I’m just the driver. You understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Cassie said. “It’s Ridley who needs to understand. You tell him, if he wants to see me so bad, he should come here. Since I’ve been shot, I’ve gotten phone calls from him, flowers from him, candies, nightgowns, his driver -- everything but a goddamn visit. You go back to Manhattan and you tell him I’m staying right here.”
The driver dipped his head, never once altering his placid expression.
“You want some Chinese before you go?” I said to the driver. “There’s plenty.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Mr. Walker’s a man who insists upon hearing bad news right away. I must go.”
“You okay seeing yourself out?” I said.
“Quite so,” he said, then backed out of the room.
I was silent until I heard the door close and I was sure Cassie wasn’t about to suddenly change her mind.
“You passed up a Manhattan millionaire’s party for take-out Chinese?” I asked her.
“Not for the food,” she smiled. “For the company.”
Later, we were watching the television countdown to New Year’s. Cassie was sipping sparkling water, and I was nursing a can of Coca-Cola.
“Everyone makes New Year’s into this big deal,” Cassie commented, not taking her eyes off of the on-screen revelry. “People put so much pressure on it. They’re bound to be disappointed.”
“Are you disappointed?” I asked.
She cocked her head, considering this. “No.” She seemed somewhat surprised by her own answer.
“For the first time, I didn’t have any expectations,” she said. “It’s kinda nice just dropping out of the whole madness of the holiday. Just vegging out and letting it pass you right by. How ‘bout you, Telly? You’ve got to be crawling the walls. Here you are sipping a Coke. C’mon, man, have a real drink for God’s sake. I’m getting the shakes just looking at you.”
“What?” I protested “I can’t go a night without alcohol?” I tried to sound incredulous at Cassie’s assault on my willpower. “You think I’ll die without a drink or something?”
“No. I just know you enjoy it, is all. And there’s no reason you shouldn’t enjoy it, especially tonight. Certainly not on my account. It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Yeah, well, I been thinking about that. I been thinking how we’re the only species on the planet aware of our own deaths. We’re the only ones really conscious of things like guilt and happiness and the whole fucking universe. We have all this knowledge, all this understanding, the most sophisticated brains. Yet we have all these ways of escaping, making our minds go dark. I should know. I tried it for twenty years. I tried drinking away the Stanhope story. I turned to booze when my marriage started going south and my daughter went away. I erased a lot. But I never really escaped anything. Just lost a helluva lot. Lots of people, things and time.”
Cassie studied me. She looked interested, but also uncomfortable. The topic had gotten heavy all of a sudden.
“Wow, Telly. That’s deep,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. “See, this is what I mean about New Year’s. People start rewinding their lives, evaluating their choices. It’s really depressing. Just a lot of pointless navel-gazing, if you ask me. And for what? It’s just another day.”
“I know, I know.” I gave Cassie’s knee a couple of quick pats, just to let her know I was still the same old Telly.
“Don’t worry. I’m not sayin’ I’m kicking the bottle or anything. And I’m not going off to one of those touchy-feely places to dry out. It’s just that I can’t remember the last time I faced a New Year sober. I can’t remember the last time I really looked one in the eye, just to see what it had to offer. To see what was in store for me, all the possibilities. I just thought it’d be nice for once.”
“Okay, Telly,” Cassie nodded, eager to close the subject. “I guess I can live with that. In that case, you’re gonna need a fresh Coke. We got six minutes till the ball drops.”
-- 30 --
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
Thanks for downloading this e-book. If you enjoyed this story, please let others know by recommending KILL THE STORY in the Kindle community. And please look for my other titles, coming soon to the Kindle bookstore. They include, ZERO TOLERANCE, DEATH NOTICE and SECRETS OF THE DEAD.
All Best,
John Luciew
Harrisburg, Pa.
June 22, 2009.