by Cooper, Doug
“Well the offer is on the table if you change your mind. I might as well get something out of my money. Not sure radio advertising is the smartest investment anymore.” Max’s gaze floated from Penny as his mind drifted to the business issues awaiting him in the emails.
Penny said, “Where you headed now? Have you had lunch?”
The questions pulled Max back to the conversation. Shaking his head, he said, “No, I was going to pick something up on the way back downtown. But if you’re hungry, the Bagel Café is only one street over on Buffalo. Best corned beef and black and white cookies in Vegas. What do you say?”
Penny raised an eyebrow. “Black and white cookie, you say?”
“The absolute best.” Max stepped around her. “Come on. You can ride with me. I’ll drop you back here afterward.”
Penny followed him to his Tesla parked right outside the door in one of the reserved spots. Inside the car she stared at the ultramodern dashboard display. “I haven’t ridden in one of these yet. It’s like a spaceship. What made you go electric?”
“I don’t drive much. Put only like ten thousand miles on my Maserati in three years. Figured if I’m just banging around town, might as well be green.” Max pulled out onto Durango, accelerating, weaving in and out of traffic. “As you can see, you don’t sacrifice any of the power.” He sped up and turned left on Charleston as the light changed to red.
Minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot of the Bagel Café, a deli, bakery, and dining oasis for transplanted New Yorkers and all the workers who toiled in the surrounding cluster of medical offices. The smell of fresh baked marble rye greeted them as they approached the building. People filled the benches outside and lingered in the entrance way and around the hostess stand.
Penny said, “Looks like there’s a wait.”
Max waved Penny on, breezing by them all. “Follow me. I think they’ll be able to squeeze us in.” Max stopped next to the hostess stand and waited for the elderly lady with thick dark hair, who was also the owner, to return from seating a party of four. The bakery and deli cases were to the right. Signed photographs of famous diners adorned the wall to the left.
Penny pointed at his picture in the second row, third from the right. “I see you’ve been here before.”
Max buried his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders, attempting to look as humble as a guy who brought a girl to a restaurant with his picture on the wall could look.
In the middle of the floor on her way back to the hostess stand, the owner threw her hands in the air and excitedly approached Max. “Maxxie,” she squealed in a heavy Long Island accent. “Where you been hiding?” Bending down, she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed, almost lifting him off the ground.
Max reciprocated the affection. “You know how it is, they only let me out on good behavior once a while anymore.” He motions to Penny. “I brought a first-timer.”
“Welcome.” She grabbed two menus. “Come. I have a great booth for you in the back.”
Max turned and smiled at Penny, proud of the VIP treatment they were receiving. Penny looked at the ground, carefully avoiding the sneers of the people who had been waiting.
In the booth, Max slid his menu to the edge without even picking it up. Upon direction from the owner, a waitress came over immediately. Max ordered a full corned beef with Swiss on marble rye and a black and white cookie. Much to his disapproval, Penny went the Greek salad route but copied him on the cookie.
After the waitress left, Max folded both hands in front of him on the table and wiggled anxiously in his seat. “So I have to ask you, do you hang out a lot with the people from that night we met?”
“All the time,” Penny said. “Was just hanging out with them this past weekend. Really good people. Crystal, who you apparently know from her dancing, is also an amazing singer. Bill is an ex-cop who recently lost his wife. Just the sweetest guy you could ever meet. Les runs a homeless shelter in the Arts District. Why?”
Max said, “They just hate me, don’t they? That one time I saw a few of you there, they left the second I sat down.”
“Hate is a little strong, but you probably won’t be receiving a Christmas card from any of them.”
Max leaned forward, drinking his water through the straw, which was at the same level as his mouth. “In my defense, I was pretty drunk that first night.”
“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”
“More of an explanation.” The waitress dropped off their food and refilled their waters, retreating after both confirmed nothing else was needed. Max squirted brown mustard between the Swiss cheese and corned beef on his sandwich. “I just like to have fun when I’m gambling. People get so serious at the table. It’s just a game, and it’s only money.”
“But it’s their money, and a hundred or two for you is different to them.”
His mouth full of corned beef, in between chews, Max said, “I tried reimbursing them.”
“Not sure that made it better.” Penny lifted her napkin to her cheek, indicating for Max to clean the mustard from his face.
Max wiped the spot with his free hand, not even putting down his sandwich. “Well if you see them, please pass on my sincere apologies. I’d do it myself, but, like I said, whenever I see them, they always play at other tables.”
Penny studied him for a moment. She ate with precision, stabbing each item in the salad separately, careful to never combine two in the same bite, dipping each one in the dressing on its own. She said, “You really want to make it better?”
“I guess it depends on what that entails.” Max put the half-eaten sandwich down on the plate and leaned back in the booth to provide his full attention.
Penny said, “You should go and volunteer at Les’s shelter one day.”
Max picked back up the sandwich, corned beef falling from the sides to the plate. “I wish I could. Unfortunately, I just don’t have the time. How about I just make a hefty donation?”
“Normally, considering what happened the last time you tried giving them money, I’d say that’s probably not the best idea.” Penny leaned forward toward the middle of the table. “But, between you and me, I know Les is having some money issues at the Oasis. Not sure how much it will help with the others, but if they see you helping Les, it might gain favor with them. I don’t know the whole story but from what I understand, the neighborhood is changing and donations are down.”
“That whole area is the new hot spot,” Max said. “Property values are skyrocketing. The other owners are probably trying to force him out. Does he have a long term lease?”
Penny said, “I don’t know anything about that. I just know he puts his gambling profits right back into the place. Bill, the ex-cop probably knows. They’re pretty close. I can probably find out if you want.”
“Nah, I was just curious.” The waitress came with two black and white cookies. Max pushed his plate with almost half of the sandwich remaining to the center of the table. “I don’t know why I just don’t get a half. I never finish it all.” The waitress clears the plates. Max picks up his cookie and holds it so the black part is on the right and the white on the left. “I love the first bite when you get equal amounts of chocolate and vanilla.”
Penny takes her cookie with the white part toward her. “Ooh, I don’t like to mix them.” She takes a bite of the white half. “I eat one side then the other.”
Dow Jones Close: 16,491.31
Chapter Forty-Six
Date: Saturday, May 24, 2014
Dow Jones Open: Closed
Crystal rolled over on the couch. The news coverage, about a string of shootings in a Santa Barbara neighborhood, blared from the TV. She had tried to block out the noise and keep sleeping, but it just kept going on and on, repeating the same facts: seven people confirmed dead, including the lone gunman in a black BMW, and at least another seven wound
ed. Nothing new. Just the same information on an endless loop. She felt around blindly for the remote. No luck. She opened her eyes. Light filled the room. It was still daytime. She had hoped it would be dark by the time she woke up. Another shitty night of sleep. She had finally gone to bed, or rather passed out on the couch, only a few hours before, around two in the afternoon. With her alarm set for nine-thirty, she had had every intention of getting seven hours of sleep. But it was like the two nights before. Even though she needed more rest, she got less. Each time, her body woke her up, signaling it was time to feed her cravings.
She located the remote on the floor and switched off the TV. Her phone flashed on the coffee table. Messages were waiting. She rolled on her side, clamping the pillow over her head. The passing traffic outside on Charleston and voices, doors, and feet from neighboring apartments vibrated through. More sleep was not going to happen. The body had woken the mind, and there was no shutting that down.
Thinking back over the past week, Crystal wasn’t quite sure how things fell apart so quickly. After being with the others on Sunday at the Oasis and agreeing to the informal audition, she was genuinely excited about the opportunity. She even promised herself she wasn’t going to do drugs or drink the entire week to make sure she was in the best shape possible. But in the days that followed, her enthusiasm became stress followed by debilitating anxiety. She didn’t leave her apartment the whole day on Tuesday. Thinking maybe she quit too much too fast, that first night of partying on Wednesday was just to take the edge off. But things escalated quickly. She woke up the next afternoon feeling worse than the day before. She knew her choice was either to shut down and suffer for two to three days while she detoxed, or keep going, feeding her body what it needed to function and get through the day. Based on the beginning of the week, she knew how the detox would go. No way she could perform like that.
The problem with the self-medication route she was on was that there were no directions for the prescription she was following. As needed might as well have been As much as wanted, because that’s what she did. Once the hangover from the night before was gone and she was numb again, she kept going. Each day the drinking, the coke, and the pills started earlier and ended later. She promised herself, after the audition she would stop and get clean, this time for good.
Crystal got up off the couch and checked her phone. Three messages. All from Penny. One from last night and two from today. She walked over to the sink and fished a coffee cup out of the pile of dirty dishes, filled it with ice, and topped it off with bourbon. She needed a full drink for these messages.
Message one, 10:05 p.m. Friday: “Hey, it’s Penny. Haven’t seen you in a few days. Thought you might be at the El Cortez tonight before work. Wanted to confirm everything for tomorrow night. Give me a call when you have a chance. Hope everything is well. Call me. Bye.”
Message two, 11:13 a.m. Saturday: “Hey, it’s Penny again. Just was over at the Oasis with Bill and Les. Everyone is really excited for tonight. We were all going to grab breakfast. Wanted you to join. Call me when you get this. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Message three, 2:35 p.m. Saturday: “Hey, it’s your stalker Penny. Getting a little concerned since I haven’t heard from you. Want to make sure you’re OK and we’re set for tonight. You probably worked late and are still sleeping. Just call me when you get up. I’m meeting my agent at Cosmo at seven, and we’re going to STK for dinner. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but you should totally join if you want. If not, no worries. We’ll meet you at Dino’s. Going to try to be there by ten. Just let me know what you want to do, OK? Can’t wait for tonight. Call me. Bye.”
Crystal took a long pull from the coffee mug and tossed her phone on the bed. A song or two she could pull off. No way could she entertain for an entire dinner. Deciding to shower first, she’d call Penny back later. While the water warmed, Crystal picked up clothes from the floor and arranged outfits on the bed, figuring out what to wear. Her wardrobe had really deteriorated over the past few years. She had sleazy clothes she wore in the club, and super casual ones she wore to and from. Neither were appropriate for a first impression.
She walked over to a stack of boxes in the corner, stuff she had moved from her condo but hadn’t had any use for since. At the bottom, one was labeled, Fancy Schmancy. She pulled the box out, sending the others tumbling to the floor. Using her nail, she cut through the tape and opened the box. The floral, vanilla, and musky scent of the Narciso Rodriguez perfume she used to wear billowed out. It was just another one of the many things that had been part of her life that she had stuffed away. Her mom had always worn that perfume, so Crystal never used to leave the house without it on either. That way a part of her mom was always with her. She stopped soon after her mom passed, so she never had to think about her not being with her.
Crystal rummaged through the box. All the dresses that she no longer had the occasion or desire to wear were in there. She dumped them all out on the bed. Her high school graduation, the premieres and after-parties for the shows she had been in, the backup singing gigs she had done, some with her mom and some on her own, were lying tangled in a pile in front of her. Of course the dresses would all still fit. Except for her boobs being a little bigger, she was the exact same size as she had been in high school, making her the kind of girl other girls hated. She untangled the dresses on her bed. They should’ve been fond memories, things to cherish and to slip on and travel back in time. Instead they were reminders of what she had once had and now lost. She ran her hand along the black and bronze sequins of the Badgley Mischka she had worn to her first awards show. Not ready for a walk down memory’s runway, she pushed it away and took another gulp from her mug. She would decide on the dress after calling Penny back.
In the shower, Crystal shifted to thinking about which songs she might sing. She knew she wouldn’t be at her best, so she didn’t want to sing anything too slow. She would need the music to help her keep the time and stay on key. But she still wanted to do something powerful, maybe something Motown or disco, possibly some Aretha or Gloria Gaynor. She hummed the melody to “I Will Survive,” already feeling better. The steam cleared her stuffy sinuses, and the booze was kicking in. She just hoped it wasn’t the best she would feel all night.
Toweling off, she walked backed to the bed and located her phone. Penny answered on the first ring. “Well, hey there, stranger. I was starting to worry about you. Where you been hiding?”
“Just working and sleeping really,” Crystal lied. “You know how it is. Taking what they’re giving because I’m working for a living.” She sifted through the dresses, tossing the rejections back in the box. It was easier when she was on the phone. She didn’t think so much. She was half-focused on the call and half on the dresses. Nothing left to dig up old memories.
“I can only imagine,” Penny said. “Those hours have to be a killer.” She sounded distracted, too, like she was putting on makeup or something. She said, “How are you feeling? You sound like you have a bit of a cold.”
“No, I’m fine. Just waking up.” She walked back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror, pressing and pulling under her eyes to see how much work she had to do on herself. “So you’re meeting him at seven?”
“Yes, and I’m running soooo late. I should already be on my way. Are you going to join?”
Crystal hesitated like she was actually thinking about it. “I wanted to, but I wouldn’t be there for at least another hour. I don’t want to hold you guys up. I’ll just meet you at Dino’s.”
“Are you sure?” Penny didn’t push or seem too upset, which made Crystal think that it was no accident Penny had waited so long to invite her. “Well, I guess you’ll have plenty of time to talk at Dino’s.”
“OK then. I’ll let you go so you can finish getting ready.” Crystal picked up a simple BCBG black spaghetti-strap dress that she used to wear when she was a backup singer for the R&B ban
d Midnight Train in her early twenties. It would be perfect. Simple, not too fancy, and loose fitting. She definitely didn’t want anything tight. She was feeling way too bloated for that. Free-flowing was the only option in her mind. She walked over to the full-length mirror propped against the wall and dangled the dress in front of her. Still on the phone with Penny, she said, “I’ll see you there around eleven then. Enjoy your dinner.”
Crystal hung up the phone and tossed it back on the bed. She slipped the dress over her head and let it fall along her body, turning, stretching and bending to check how much she might be revealing. Just because she pranced around on one stage didn’t mean everyone was entitled to or wanted to see the show on another. Satisfied with the choice, she scooped up all the other dresses, stuffed them back in the box, and tossed the box back in the corner with the others.
She primped in front of the mirror. It felt good having a dress on again. The stretchy silk fabric blanketed and flowed with the contour of her body, caressing and comforting her skin. She looked closer at her face. The angle and lighting made the circles look worse. She moved into the bathroom for better light. Draining the rest of her drink, she set the mug on the back of the toilet. In front of the mirror, she pulled and stretched at the sides of her eyes again, watching the puffiness disappear and reappear with each movement. Most women would probably love to look as good as she did, even then at her worst, but all she saw were the imperfections. She layered on the under-eye concealer. It helped, but wasn’t enough. She watched her shaking hand in the mirror as it moved closer to her eye to apply the mascara. She lifted her opposite hand to steady it. Applying quick touches rather than the usual slow, even strokes, she noticed even her head was tremoring slightly. She wasn’t nervous; it was the excess.
Lowering her hands, she blinked her right eye, checking her work. It would have to do. She rested the wand on the edge of the sink and picked up the coffee mug, swirling the ice. She went to the kitchen to refill the mug and locate the tray with the Roxies she had crushed up to help her sleep. Scooping a nailful with her index finger, similar to applying the mascara, she guided her hand to her nose with her left, inhaling powerfully to get it through the congested passageway. She repeated the same for the other nostril and chased them both with a gulp of the bourbon. She hoped the booze and the Roxy would even her out for the moment, and a blast of coke before leaving would pick her back up. The rest of the night she planned to just drink and do bumps of coke to keep her going.