Corrupted Memory

by Ray Daniel

Swan Boats make one circuit of the barbell-shaped lagoon. The first turn is around a small green cupola sitting the middle of the water. Ducks rested on the cupola, staring at us as if to say, “We are off the clock.” Other ducks followed the Swan Boat, picking up pieces of popcorn tossed by children sitting behind us. The captain guided the boat in a circle around the cupola. Lucy sighed in my arms. Somewhere in the park, Jael watched over us. I told her that it wasn’t necessary for her to watch me, but she reminded me what happened the last time I went on a date with Lucy.

  I squeezed Lucy’s shoulder, said. “Arrgh. She’s a fine ship.”

  Lucy snuggled in. “What a beautiful day. You seem relaxed.”

  “I love the Swan Boats,” I said. “I rode them all the time.”

  “This is my first time. There’s so much I haven’t seen in Boston.”

  I didn’t answer. My comment about riding the Swan Boats had bumped my thoughts against the empty place in my mind recently occupied by my mother.

  Lucy looked up at me. “What’s the matter?”

  “Just thinking about my mother. She took me on the Swan Boats a couple of times a year.”

  “Oh. Tucker, I’m sorry.”

  I said, “Thanks. I suppose there’s not much to do about it. I can’t avoid everything that reminds me of her.”

  “It’s only been a week since the funeral. It’ll get better. I promise.”

  We snuggled as the boat approached the lagoon’s constricted center near the suspension bridge. A little girl in a pink summer dress sat in her father’s arms and waved at us. We waved back. Her father smiled. They slid from view as we passed under the bridge.

  Screens kept pigeons from nesting in the bridge’s nooks and crannies. I looked down at Lucy and kissed her as if we were in the tunnel of love. She returned the kiss, her lips softening, and her tongue touching the edge of my lip. She hummed a happy little sigh, then we were back into the sunlight, heading toward the island that filled the other end of the lagoon’s barbell shape.

  The island had originally been a peninsula, but it had attracted so many nineteenth-century lovers that the city forester decided to sever the connection to the land. Now a narrow channel cut between the island and the edge of the lagoon. Like the Straits of Magellan, this channel tested the Swan Boat captain’s mettle. Our captain navigated the strait easily.

  I closed my eyes, summoned my strength, then lied to Lucy. “The person who torched my mother’s house was an idiot. He didn’t burn the notebooks.”

  Lucy said, “What notebooks?”

  The lie stuck in my throat. I worked to get it out.

  “My dad had notebooks that he used as diaries. I think someone burned my mother’s house to hide them, but they were in a shed.”

  Lucy said, “What will you do with them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She settled back into the crook of my arm. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing.”

  We were silent as the boat headed down the final stretch. My mood had been broken. Guilt sloshed around in my gut. Lucy didn’t seem to notice. Instead she put her hand on my bare, suntanned knee, and ran her finger a few inches up from the kneecap. Then she circled the knee with her finger and rested her hand on my thigh.

  She said, “I think we should get some lunch and bring it back to your house.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  As we left the Public Garden, my Droid played “Extreme Ways.” Jael’s ringtone.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  Lucy didn’t know Jael was watching us. I said, “Hi, Jael. Lucy and I were just hanging out at the Public Garden. We’re going to grab a cab and get some lunch.”

  “I will not be able to watch you if you take a taxi,” said Jael.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’m good. We’re going to grab some lunch over at Whole Foods. You know. The one near my house?”

  “Understood.”

  She hung up. Knowing her, she’d be at the Whole Foods before us. Naturally, we wouldn’t see her. Once Jael goes into her stealthy protective mode, she’s almost impossible to find.

  Lucy asked, “Have you known Jael long?”

  I said, “Yup. She’s an old friend.”

  “How come you two never got together?”

  “It’s never been an option. We just don’t relate that way. You’ve met her. Could you see her on the Swan Boats?”

  Lucy tugged on my arm, lowering my head. She kissed me on the lips for a long time. “Let’s get lunch.”

  Normally I walk everywhere in Boston, especially on a beautiful fall day. Today, however, paranoia drove me to hail a cab. We took the cab over to Whole Foods Market behind Symphony Hall.

  The Whole Foods market on Westland Ave occupies the first floor of a circular parking garage. The building looks like a tire that had been left on its side, with the Whole Foods occupying the bottom tread. I got a basket and carried it as Lucy chose strawberries, apples, exotic cheeses, and crusty bread for lunch. As we walked, Lucy rested her fingers inside my elbow. When our hands touched, our eyes would lock. Sometimes we’d kiss.

  I led us back to my house, Lucy’s arm through mine, her breast pressed against my bicep. It’s a ten-minute walk from the Whole Foods to my place on Follen Street. It seemed to take an hour.

  We walked over the spot where JT had lain and climbed my front steps. I disengaged my arm and unlocked the door. Said, “Ladies first,” and ushered Lucy into the doorway. Before closing the door I looked out into the street. I couldn’t see Jael, but I figured she was out there. I gave her a thumbs-up sign and a bye-bye wave, letting her know that I’d be staying in. Then I closed the door.

  We climbed the narrow steps to the apartment. Lucy led the way, her black skirt sashayed before my eyes. When we reached the top of the stairs, Lucy stood to one side as I worked the lock. I opened the door and we stepped inside.

  I placed the groceries on the kitchen counter as Lucy closed the front door and grabbed me from behind. She wrapped her arms around my chest, pressed herself into my back, and slid her hands down my stomach. I turned and her mouth found mine. We kissed and stumbled our way to the bedroom. Once there, Lucy pulled me onto the bed, then she hiked up her black skirt and straddled me.

  I ran my hands up her thighs, sliding the skirt around her waist. She pulled off my T-shirt and I pulled off hers. Her bra went next. Lucy’s bare breasts brushed my chest as she leaned in to kiss me.

  Jael popped into my head. Isn’t this exactly what Lucy would do if she were a spy? The thought disappeared as Lucy unzipped my fly.

  Afterward, we spooned naked on the bed, Lucy’s butt curving against my stomach as she dozed. My arm lay over her hip, my hand resting between her breasts. My other arm had gotten caught under the pillow that cradled her head. It tingled with nervy pain. Lucy’s hair tickled my nose. I shifted my weight, tilted my head away from Lucy’s hair, couldn’t get comfortable. I disengaged myself, pulled on my underwear, and padded out to the bathroom, closing the bedroom door behind me.

  In Three Days of the Condor Robert Redford tells Faye Dunaway, “I just want to stop it for a few hours.” Then they have sex and he’s all happy and relaxed. Why wouldn’t that work for me? The guy in the mirror didn’t look relaxed. He looked harried, annoyed, and guilty about lying to his girlfriend.

  “You’re a retard,” I told him.

  Fifty-Two

  The fruit and cheese in the Whole Foods bag called to me. I washed my hands, emptied the bag, and began assembling a fruit plate. Perhaps lunch would drive Jael’s warnings from my mind and let me enjoy my afternoon with Lucy.

  My Droid said, “Droid.” Uncle Walt.

  “Hey, Tucker. I’m just calling to check up on you. How are you doing?”

  “Great, Uncle Walt. You know. Considering.”

  �
�Yeah, I know. Listen. I’d like to take you out to dinner tonight. I got something to show you.”

  I thought about Lucy in my bed: her long legs, firm butt, and the soft smile that crossed her face when she was pleasured. “Sorry. I’ve got plans with Lucy tonight.”

  “Lucy? The girl from the wake?”

  “Yeah, that Lucy.”

  “Bring her along. I’ll treat you both.”

  I floated at the edge of a whirlpool, feeling myself sucked toward an inevitable decision.

  “What’s this about?”

  “I can’t really do it justice over the phone.”

  “Lucy and I are about to eat now. We won’t be going out for dinner.”

  “Well, drinks, then. After-dinner drinks.”

  The whirlpool increased its sucking power.

  Walt said, “Just name the time and place. This is important, Tucker. I need your help.”

  “It’s got to be tonight?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Meet us at Stoddard’s near the Boston Common at eight tonight.”

  “What’s the address?”

  I heard the bedroom door open behind me and turned. Lucy stood in the doorway, unapologetically naked. My eyes widened. My breath shortened. I gaped at Lucy’s flat stomach, curving hips, and long legs. Her breasts rose from her chest, beckoning me to touch them.

  I said, “Google it, Uncle Walt. See you at eight.” Terminated the call.

  Lucy asked, “What’s up?”

  “My Uncle Walt called to invite us to dinner.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah. But screw that. I talked him down to having a drink at Stoddard’s.”

  Lucy stepped close to me and placed her palm on my chest and gave me a light kiss on the lips.

  “Does he always invite you out?”

  “No. This is the first time ever.”

  “That’s not good.” Lucy turned and headed for the bathroom.

  “What do you mean?”

  She paused at the door. “Random dinner invitations from relatives are never good news.” She disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door.

  I continued to assemble the fruit plate. There were blueberries, strawberries, an apple, assorted cheeses. I arranged the blueberries in the center in a pile, ringed them with strawberries, sliced the apple and cheese into wedges and interspersed the wedges between the strawberries.

  The result looked like the Wheel of Fortune. I didn’t like it, and was considering another arrangement when Lucy came out of the bathroom, still naked. She said, “Yum!” and picked up a strawberry.

  I watched the muscles of her back move under her satin skin as she chose some blueberries. I moved behind her and put my hands on her hips, kissing her on the neck. She stepped back, grinding her ass against me.

  I said, “Much as I hate to suggest it, would you like a T-shirt?”

  She turned, put her arms around me, kissed me on the lips. Blueberry.

  “No thanks,” Lucy said as she slipped her thumbs into my underwear, kissed my chest as she slid them to the floor. Rose and gave me another blueberry kiss. “There’s nothing more organic than nude lunch.”

  No arguing with that. We took the fruit plate to the couch in my living room. Lucy curled up, her red toenails contrasting nicely with the black couch. She leaned in to kiss me. Her hand brushed the scar on my upper arm, and she sat back.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, running her finger over the scar.

  “A guy shot at me once with a machine gun.”

  “Shot at you? It looks like he shot you.”

  I raised my arm and looked at the scar. “He mostly missed. He’s gone now.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Jael.”

  Lucy had been about to bite into a large strawberry. Paused. “Do you think she can protect you?”

  “Uh-huh. Why do you ask?”

  “Haven’t you noticed that the bullets keep getting closer to you? Your half brother was shot when we were at the ball game, his mother was shot just before you arrived at her house, and that Dave Patterson guy was shot right in front of you.”

  I had nothing to say to that. I slid closer to Lucy, pressing my naked hip against hers. Took the big strawberry from her hand and held it out to her. She took a bite. I kissed her strawberry-stained lips and ran my hand lightly over her breast. She moaned and lay back on the couch.

  The rest of the fruit plate remained untouched until that evening, when we finished it and headed out to Stoddard’s to hear Uncle Walt’s big secret.

  FIfty-Three

  Stoddard’s sits near Downtown Crossing in a building that survived the Great Boston Fire of 1872. A wooden bar, carved in Europe and echoing the building’s architecture, graces one wall. Wooden Corinthian columns frame mirrors and bottles of top-shelf liquor, while Doric columns sit above the bar’s trolley-track footrest. Framed corsets decorate the rest the of bar, a reminder of the building’s original tenant: Chandler’s Corset Store, the nineteenth-century’s idea of Victoria’s Secret.

  I love Stoddard’s for two reasons. First, it has old-fashioned lampposts installed in the middle of the floor, so you can lean against a lamppost, one knee bent, and rest your foot on the base while you drink your beer. Second, it has twenty silver beer taps that run the length of the bar and five ale casks tapped at the end of the bar. The twenty-five taps deliver a rotating assortment of outstanding microbrews.

  Lucy and I stood under a lamppost. She nursed a white wine, while I had already downed half a pint of Mayflower Pale Ale, brewed right near the Plymouth Rock boulder.

  Lucy looked around at the small crowd. “Should we get a table?”

  “No. I want to keep Uncle Walt standing. That’s the key to short meetings. If we sit, there’s no telling when we’ll get back home.”

  “Don’t you like Uncle Walt?”

  “I like Uncle Walt just fine. I just don’t like mysterious dinner invitations.”

  “You should have just said no.”

  A jolt of irritation rippled across my belly. Lucy was right, I should have just said no. I pursed my lips and drank my beer.

  “Maybe I should go,” said Lucy.

  “I’d hate to end our day like this,” I said. “I had fun.”

  “Me too. It’s just that—”

  Walt burst upon us. “Hey, kids! How are you doing? Let’s grab a seat!” Walt strode to the empty bar and sat at a seat with an empty chair on either side. He patted the chairs and tilted his head. Come on over.

  Lucy glanced at me. I shrugged. We climbed into the seats on either side of Uncle Walt. The unoccupied bartender greeted us.

  I said, “Uncle Walt, you remember Lucy.”

  Walt took Lucy’s hand and said, “How could I forget this gorgeous creature. Tucker, you are a lucky guy.”

  Lucy extricated her hand. “We’re both lucky.”

  I caught the bartender’s attention and changed the subject, “Pabst Blue Ribbon, Walt?”

  Walt said, “Screw that. We’re celebrating. I’ll have a Jack Daniels. Make it a double, neat. You guys want one?”

  I looked across Walt to Lucy, who placed her hand over her wine glass. I drained my beer and looked to the bartender. “Geary’s Pale Ale.”

  The bartender brought the drinks. I had just tilted my Geary’s when Walt shot back his double Jack Daniels. Lucy’s eyes widened.

  Walt said to the bartender, “Another.”

  I said, “Jesus, Uncle Walt. What’s your hurry?”

  “I’m celebrating. That’s why I called you.”

  “Okay. What are we celebrating?”

  Walt reached into his back pocket and pulled out a glossy brochure. The brochure featured a large DNA molecule, superimposed over a mountain. The name MinCare dominated the
top of the brochure. “We’re gonna make us some money. You too, Lucy.”

  “What’s that?” I asked and regretted it immediately.

  “That, Tucker, is a ground-floor opportunity for us. This MinCare stuff is the reason I’m so healthy. I never realized it until one of the guys at the gym let me try some. It’s all in the min—” Walt’s voiced faded into a dull drone of minerals, DNA, free radicals, cellular membranes, quick twitch muscle, the evolutionary history of man, and finally the health of barnyard animals.

  I broke into Walt’s spiel. “You mean these are vitamins.”

  “Not just vitamins. Supplements. These supplement the things that you’re not getting into your body because you’re not a caveman anymore.”

  The corner of my eye caught Lucy, the biology teacher, rolling her eyes and knocking back her wine.

  Curiosity destroyed my good sense. “What does this have to do with making money?”

  This gave Walt the opportunity to flip to the back of the brochure. It displayed a diagram that looked to me like a binary tree, the type I would use to store data in alphabetical order and retrieve it quickly. Apparently, binary trees could also be used to make money.

  Walt said, “This is the payment plan. Each person has two people direct to them, then …” And he was off again. There was a power leg and profit leg, and Walt was certain that Lucy would be his power leg and—no offense, Tucker—I would probably be the profit leg. Then the money from the power leg would meet the profit leg …

  A bartender noticed Lucy’s empty glass and refilled it. I had hardly touched my Geary’s as I sat in slack-jawed amazement at Walt’s ability to rattle off long strings of meaningless business gibberish.

  Finally I broke in. “But I don’t need any money.”

  Walt blinked. “What do you mean, you don’t need any money? Everyone needs money.”

  “I’ve got money.”

  Lucy watched the conversation.

  Walt said, “No. You earn money with your time. I’m talking about residual income, Tucker. The money just rolls in like you were living off your investments.”

  “I do live off my investments.”