Jackie's Week

by M. M. Wilshire

  "A double vodka, neat," Jackie said.

  "I thought the pharmacy lady said no alcohol," Donna said.

  "Oh, please."

  While waiting for their drinks, they began scooping chips into the pungent mixture of chopped chilies, onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro and other secret goodies. Manuel returned in record time with the drinks and poised himself for their meal request.

  "I’ll have a number 9," Donna said.

  "A number 13 for me," Jackie said, tossing down the vodka, "and another one of these."

  "Jackie, I’m not sure that’s wise."

  "Donna, please. Besides, this part of town makes me nervous. You know, I was thinking. Do you realize we’ve been eating here since high school? We feel safe here because we’re familiar with it. But it’s not really safe anymore. Not like it was."

  Manuel cruised by and dropped off Jackie’s second drink. She uncapped her vial of pills and looked inside. "Look. They’re shaped like a house." She extracted a couple of the pills, tossing them down with a gulp vodka.

  "Jackie, I thought the druggist said you had to crack that in half. You just took two."

  "Donna, this neighborhood makes me nervous. I need some relief here. The worst that can happen is I’ll get a little drowsy."

  "Whatever. If that’s what you need that’s what you need."

  The heavy platters of food arrived and the sisters began to eat.

  "Ooooh!" Jackie exclaimed.

  "What? Too much jalapeno?"

  "No, not that. I think I took too many pills."

  "Oh great, Jackie!"

  "Actually it is! This is the best I’ve felt in ages. I’m feeling an indescribably extreme pleasure from the disconnect of my fearing mind from my frontal lobe. Dr. Black has launched me on an emotional joyride into the awesome pleasures of sentient consciousness in a universe full of possibilities! And I don’t give a flip about doing any lineup!"

  "Jackie? You’re speech is coming out all slurry. What the hell? I think you overdosed."

  But Jackie wasn’t listening. With a tiny sigh, her forehead touched the table and she stayed that way, muttering to herself about nothing in particular. With no small effort Donna and Manuel managed to pull her to her feet.

  "Walk her around a bit," Manuel said.

  "Let me go," Jackie said. "Viktor Bout is going to kill me tomorrow. Everybody is trying to kill me, even me. Everybody."

  "I’m taking her home," Donna said.

  Chapter 9

  Driving south on Van Nuys Boulevard, they surveyed the majestic palm trees which lent an air of curious respectability to the sordid display of pawn shops, sidewalk bins of children’s clothing, bail bondsmen, legal offices and adult bookstores, the heavy purple air glowing in the mercury vapor lamps, the whole nighttime summer sidewalk scene resembling a South American open air market lit up by military flares. The effect shifted the minute the car dealerships appeared, as though a giant movie set had hastily been erected, leaving behind the squalor for impossible opulence.

  "Hey!" Jackie shouted. "Pull in to the Lexus dealership."

  "No way. We’re going home."

  "No. I’m all right now. Pull in!"

  Donna stood up on the brakes, skidding the MG into the bus zone in front of the showroom window. The resulting smoke from the tires drew wary stares from the bus stop people.

  "Nice stop," Jackie said.

  "They made this thing before antilocks."

  They got out and stood on the sidewalk.

  "Jackie, are you feeling better?"

  "Much," she replied. They were about to enter the showroom when a young man in slacks and loosened tie, coatless out of respect for the heavy warm evening, got up from his desk and sauntered slowly towards them.

  "Oh great, here comes the shark," Donna said.

  "I can do this," Jackie said.

  "Do what?"

  "This." She opened her arms and did a slow, stumbling twirl.

  "Oh no," Jackie. You are way stoned. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. C’mon. We’re leaving."

  "No! I have to do this. Donna, let go of my arm. Let go!"

  "Ladies?" the salesman asked.

  "Sir," Donna said, "will you please wait inside?"

  "Not a problem, lady."

  "And don’t give me that look. You don’t need to be offended. It’s not because you’re black or anything."

  "Of course not," he said. "It's all post-racial now since BHO."

  "Let me go," Jackie said. "I’m going inside and check out the red car."

  "No you’re not. We’re going home and watch Casablanca."

  "Wait a minute. I think I’m beginning to understand something. It’s like a yin-yang sort of thing going on with my animal brain and my spirit brain. The animal brain freaks out whenever it’s reminded of the attack, but because I’ve tranquilized my animal brain, my spirit brain feeds me the true information, and once the processing is complete, I can function."

  "That’s it. Get in the car, Jackie."

  "Wait. Don’t you get it? I have to look at the red car tonight. Don’t you see it’s my destiny? It’s all for a reason. I live in the city with the most cars, and I was attacked because some guy wanted my car, and I haven’t been able to drive since, so I have to assert my mastery over cars again if I ever want to feel safe! If I don’t find the courage to walk into this showroom right here, right now, and face up to a car, then they win!"

  "They?"

  "You know! Them!"

  Donna relaxed her grip. "Okay. I am going to humor you. We’ll walk into the showroom and look at their stupid little red car and then we’ll go home."

  "Donna, this may sound funny, but I have to walk in alone. I have to do this by myself. I want you to find something to do and pick me up in thirty minutes."

  "And leave you alone? Get real. I totally promised Dr. Black I would watch you. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll go watch their big screen in the coffee bar while you look at the car. That’ll give you a few minutes to test your courage. But don’t buy anything."

  "We call it Matador Red Mica," the salesman, who’s name was Mutab, explained about the color of the vehicle in question.

  "I’ve never seen a color like it," Jackie said. "It’s cool, yet hot."

  "I sometimes feel a little warm when I get too close," Mutab said.

  They stood aft of the car, a year 2010 ISF which occupied the center of the showroom universe.

  "This here vehicle," Mutab said, "represents the sum total of a highly complex and seamlessly integrated system of auto engineering which represents the last word in interglobal networking by anybody’s standard. The vehicle is designed to project dominance on the highway."

  "Does it have a good radio?"

  "What’d I just get through talking about? It has 14 speakers."

  Jackie got in and took the wheel. "I want something fast. How fast is it?"

  "Fastest thing around. It has 416 horses."

  "Oooh."

  "You married?" he said.

  Chapter 10

  After Jackie was through, she and Donna drove in silence, gliding up the hill past Studio City and rocketing down the slope into Hollywood, taking the Highland exit past the deserted Hollywood Bowl and hanging a left on Franklin to avoid being caught in the nightly Hollywood Boulevard freak show.

  "I can’t believe you signed a contract," Donna said. "And I can’t believe I let you. You were so wasted he wouldn’t even let you give it a road test."

  "Wrong. It was because I don’t have my license. Because Bout took it and now the cops have it in their evidence locker."

  "I am too weak," Donna said. "I should have dragged you screaming from the man’s desk. But something stopped me. And those Lexus sales bastards are smooth. I got to talking with one of their people in the TV room and nearly bought one myself. I would have, but I am just not into new things. I don't like computers, period, and I certainly don't like cars with computers. The old ways were best."
r />   "I did a mind control thing on you. That's why you couldn't stop me last night."

  "Yeh, right, Jackie."

  "No, I really did. I got in touch with this thing inside my head and I just knocked you right over."

  "It did kind of feel that way. I think you took me by surprise. I haven’t seen you do anything but vacuum and drink booze for the past six months and all of a sudden this! But we can fight the purchase. That didn’t even look like your signature on the check you wrote. Jackie, why did you buy it?"

  "Mutab invited me home."

  "You bought the car because he flattered you?"

  "It is a very effective sales technique."

  "When can you pick it up?"

  "Tomorrow," Jackie said.

  "I still can’t believe you bought it."

  "Why not? You know I needed a car. After Bout jacked my Malibu, I couldn’t face driving again. But now I am moving forward. I bought a new car. End of story. Besides, I’m going to need decent wheels."

  "And that’s because?"

  "Because I have figured it out. I am not going to do the lineup tomorrow, no matter what Johnson says. I am going to let Bout get out, so I can put the bastard in the ground, and I need a fast car to do it. How’s that grab you? Maybe I’m finally coming to know my true self. Jackie, the executioner."

  "Jackie. You’re not going to kill anybody. You’re the type who cries when her goldfish dies." Donna took a left at Canyon Drive, the ancient street narrow but impressive with its hundred-foot-high bluffs and magical old homes. She drove north into the softly misting Hollywood hills, respectfully reducing her speed in deference to a double set of speed bumps. "That’s the house where they filmed Nicholson slapping Dunaway silly in Chinatown," Donna said. "Where he finally came to know her true self."

  "He wasn’t acting," Jackie said. "According to the Enquirer, he likes to slap his women. Tell you what. Maybe this week I’ll go to a Laker game and bitch slap Nicholson in front of everybody. See how he likes it."

  "Hmmm," Donna said. "Maybe you could slay somebody." She took a right on Spring Oak Drive and into the driveway of the smart white multi-million dollar tri-level, set neatly into the mountain, wreathed in a breath of summer fog. "I’m worn out. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to watch our movie and have a good cry."

  She led Jackie down the hall to the back of the house, flipping on lights as she went, arriving at the kitchen—a tile, oak and marble affair, a little on the dark side, with pewter-accented fixtures to compliment the heavy, stainless steel facings of the massive refrigerator and double dishwashers. She tossed Jackie a sack of microwaveable popcorn, the kind with enough butter in the bag to meet the daily fat requirements of a team of Sumo wrestlers. "Nuke it. It's the last package since the State banned trans-fats. I don't know what we'll eat after it's gone. I’ll meet you in the den. I’m going to the basement to get the champagne."

  Jackie popped another Ativan along with a Trazodone while watching the bag expand through the window of the microwave. She dumped the popcorn into a bowl, grabbed a can of ground parmesan from the cupboard, and headed into the den where she kicked off her shoes and flopped down onto the massive leather overstuffed couch. Donna arrived with an open bottle of champagne and a can of Diet Coke.

  "The Coke is for you," Donna said.

  "Fine if you put some vodka in it."

  "That ain’t going to happen. Now eat the dang popcorn."

  "Nothing smells better than freshly nuked popcorn," Jackie said. "Donna, I want your house. I want this white house on the hill. I want your happiness."

  Donna filled a fluted glass with bubbly for herself and Coke for Jackie. "What happiness? If you were inside my head for five minutes, you'd throw yourself screaming into a wood chipper."

  "No," Jackie said. "You have true happiness. Maybe you are just so used to it you can't see it. But from where I sit, on the outside, I can see it."

  "Trust me. It’s not all that bloody happy." She fiddled with the remote control, igniting the 60-inch screen fed by the Blu-Ray before raising her flute as the movie began. "Here’s looking at you, kid."

  "You say it every time we watch this flick."

  "I can’t help myself. When Bogie says it, when he’s toasting Ingrid Bergman, it’s the ultimate love scene."

  "In your opinion," Jackie said.

  "You got a better one?"

  "For my money, the best love scene is when he says We’ll always have Paris."

  "To each her own, Jackie. Now quit "Bogarting" our popcorn and pass it here."

  At the point in the movie where Rick reminds Ilsa of their last meeting the day the Nazi’s marched into Paris, Donna said, "You know, no matter how many times we watch this film together, I always feel so secure in our little nest. Our ritual of honoring heroes and heroines greater than ourselves. And I feel so comforted in the bonds of our sisterly love."

  A soft snore escaped from Jackie’s lips. Donna reached for the Afghan and covered her sister’s sleeping form. "I love you Jackie. Here’s looking at you, kid."

  Chapter 11

  "Vzjat’ na abordaž," Viktor Bout whispered softly. The nightmare closed in. Jackie could not turn it off. She began to pray, Dear God, please kill me now in my sleep. Take my life. But God didn’t intervene, just as He hadn’t any other night since the attack. She was back in the parking lot with Bout sitting on her chest, pinning her arms, pointing the spray can. The pepper spray exploded in a fiery wave over her face, forcing her eyes shut. He released his grip on her throat and as always she opened her mouth to suck in some air, but when she did he sprayed inside her mouth and throat, crippling her breathing. The pain from the spray was like a violent, living force, as though someone had torched her head inside and out.

  Jackie opened her eyes and the dream dissolved. She gulped for air. Why was the dream so real? When would the nightmares stop? The morning light was streaming through the window of the den. Somewhere deep inside the house, she could hear the sound of water running through the pipes, and a news announcer’s voice droning.

  She got up and found her way to the kitchen, where Donna was pouring water into the coffee maker. The tiny flat screen on the counter poured out a steady stream of bad news, the chief item seeming to be the higher than expected unemployment figures-for all but government employees.

  "You look like hell," Donna said.

  "Feel like it too. I smell Jamaica Blue Mountain."

  Donna smiled. "Coffee’ll be ready in a minute. Jackie, you’re shaking. Are you cold?"

  "Nope. Just the usual. Had the dream again."

  "I’m sorry, Jackie," Donna said. "But it can’t go on forever. Things are changing."

  "I just want to go upstairs and hide."

  "Jackie, when you fall off the horse you have to get back on. I’ll tell you what, a makeover wouldn’t hurt right about now. I think you need a change. You need to make yourself more attractive."

  "More attractive for whom?" Jackie said.

  "For yourself," Donna replied.

  "I don’t want to be attractive. That’s what caused my problem in the first place."

  Donna sighed. "Listen, I understand where you are coming from. This is why you are going to continue to see Dr. Black. She is going to walk through your interior with you and help you reclaim what Bout took. For now, what we should do is throw something on and go down the hill to breakfast, and after, we can go pick up your new car, what do you think?"

  Jackie raised her head and stared at Donna.

  "What do you mean, my new car?"

  "Oh, Jackie. Funny."

  "No, Donna. I’m serious. You said something about my new car. What are you talking about?"

  "Jackie, it’s too early for this."

  "Donna, I had the bad dream as usual, like every night since I got attacked, but what’s different is this morning, I woke up here on your couch instead of in my own bed."

  "Jackie, are you saying what I think you’re saying? You were in a black out
?"

  "What I’m saying, dear sister, is this—the last thing I remember from yesterday is having a couple of shots with you at Taxco. But after that, everything’s a blank. Now what’s this about a new car?"

  "You better get a grip, Jackie. Because last night after drinks we went out and you wrote a check for a new car. A red one."

  Jackie ran to the den and pulled out her checkbook, examining it slowly before walking back to the kitchen. "I don’t believe this. Why didn’t you stop me?"

  "I tried to, but you got very ugly. The sales guy saw how out of it you were and like the shark he is, he hustled you into signing the contract. And he wouldn’t tear up the contract after you signed it."

  "What kind of car did I buy?"

  "A Lexus."

  "Which one?"

  "The fastest one they make."

  "And it’s red? I deserve death."

  "You better have a cup of coffee." Donna poured Jackie a generous mug of the steaming brew.

  "Awww. Donna. That check I wrote? It's bogus. The checkbook is from when I used to have a line of credit on my house, but the bank froze it when my house lost all its value. Which is another problem entirely, the fact I have almost run completely out of money and am basically unemployable. I certainly can’t go out and join Obama's youth core or whatever he calls them, or spend my days doing piecework at the solar panel factories. All those years I worked for the bank and now the freaking bank has gone out of business. I can’t even get welfare because the State is bankrupt. The bank is going to foreclose on my old house any minute. And nobody is buying houses in L.A. right now and if they are, they only give you a fraction of what it is really worth!"

  "So let them foreclose. You don't live there anyway."

  "Well someday I might want to again."

  Donna took a big sip of coffee. "Stop whining. You are not going to run out of money. If it comes down to it, I will support you. But right now we do have a problem with your new car. They won’t cancel the contract. Dealerships are vicious, especially now since most of them are broke. They will claim the car is used and sue you for the instant depreciation. I’ll go get Bienenfeld. Maybe he can send one of his thugs to the dealership to convince the finance manager to tear up the contract. While I’m doing that, I think you’d better try and relax. Remember, you’re not alone anymore. You’re seeing Dr. Black again today. I’m sure she’s going to want to hear all about your little escapade."