“I make micro-resolutions, small ones I can attain. For next year, I want to buy a couple of pieces of furniture for my apartment. Make it look better. I want to go to London at Christmastime. I think those are attainable goals.
“My wife didn’t enjoy London. We lived there for a year. She loved Paris. Paris is a city for women. London is more of a guy’s town. At least, that’s been my experience. In Paris, it’s all about beauty. The women are dressed to the nines. The guys dress rather frumpy. But in London, men in scarves with their ascots. That’s the norm. Most are dressed that way. The women are somewhat frumpy.
“I’ve always said it’s easy to love someone for their good qualities, but if you can find someone who loves you in spite of your faults, make it work. My wife used to get upset because I squeezed the toothpaste from the middle. ‘You’re wasting money,’ she said. I looked at her and said, ‘Honey, I’m the one buying the toothpaste. If I want to squeeze the tube from the middle, I’ll do it.’ We were in Venice one year. Venice, by the way—the highest hotel rates in the world. I had gone top-shelf, too. Put us in a four-star hotel. The finest of everything. I like to keep the water running when I shave. My wife ran into the bathroom and said, ‘You’re wasting water. You’re hurting the environment by keeping the water running.’ I told her, ‘I’m paying four hundred dollars a night for this hotel room. If I want to keep the water running all night long, I’ll do it.’
“But those were minor inconveniences. We could’ve been anywhere, it didn’t matter where, as long as we were together. I had made the goal of getting the house, and I got it. The goal of having nice cars, and I got them. In the end, it’s not the places. It’s the people you’re with.
“This New Years, I hope you take time to reflect on the past year—what went well and what you want to do better this year. If you’re going to make a resolution, don’t make it too broad or vague. I have people say, ‘I want to be happy,’ or ‘I want to be rich.’ Well, look into getting a second job. Or invest wisely. Of course, I always say the stock market is like Russian roulette. Worse than casinos. By the way, did you guys see where the Lotto is up to $330 million?
“Of course, the best part about playing the Lotto is the hour before the drawing. Everyone looks at his ticket and imagines what he’ll do if he wins. How he’ll spend the money. We’ve got a couple of minutes before Michael and James leave. What would you guys do if you won the lottery? Benton?”
“Invest in real estate.”
“So $330 million wouldn’t be enough? Well, in ten, fifteen years, land will start appreciating again. That’s a good idea.”
“Courtney, what about you?”
“I’d leave the state to get out of all this mess!”
“Maybe hire a chauffeur,” I added.
“Charles, what about you?”
“I’d do the same. Invest.”
“Oh, come on,” said Samantha. “You guys are so lame. Do something enjoyable”
“Okay, I’d take $2 million to throw away.”
“Javier?”
“Invest and give some to charity.”
“What would you do, Michael?”
“I’d give 10% to my church.” Samantha jabbed me in the shoulder. “You didn’t let me finish,” I said. “I’d have some fun, too.”
On New Year’s Eve, I went to Chris and Rebekah’s for dinner. I came home early and, at midnight, prayed on my knees for an hour, as did Jessie. I regretted not kissing her when the hour struck, but if I wasn’t going to be with her, I didn’t lament being home for the night. There was something poetic about it, two hearts reaching out to God at the turn of the calendar year. New hope, a fresh start. “Lord, give us hope,” I prayed. That weekend was a lot of praying. For her, her parents and their relationship. We talked for hours, every morning and every night.
Rankin gave a sermon once where he said he was getting a PhD in “Morgen-ology” (his wife). Cheesy, perhaps. But a striking notion, to know someone on such a deep, intimate level. I told Jessie, “If we’re going to be together, you’ll have to have to earn a degree in ‘Michael-ology.’” It was a frightening thought. We, as humans, spend years harboring secrets—joys, some regrets, thoughts we hide from the ears of friends and eyes of the world. But we all want to connect on that level with someone who knows us better than anyone else, our secret fears, dreams and wishes. It takes revealing oneself, unveiling hidden layers of one’s character. It’s the only way to rise above the morass of broken relationships around us. I don’t know why the Christian divorce rate is higher than the culture’s, but I won’t settle for a relationship that mirrors the failures around me; and I know it begins by revealing the ugly truths of my life, as well as those areas in which I take pride. We grew closer than ever that weekend, though it was spent apart.
The next Tuesday, Walter asked about everyone’s New Year’s. “What did you do? Did you stay in town? Did you go anywhere? Did you drink? If so, how much? And how did you get around? Some of you weren’t here last week. We talked about New Year’s resolutions. I asked if you had any and what they were. If you weren’t here last week and want to fill time, you can tell us any resolutions you might have made.
“Benton, you can go first.”
“I went to a friend’s. I got drunk.” There was a brief silence. “Hey, I’m just being honest.”
“Why did you get drunk?”
“It’s fun.”
“How did you get there?”
“A friend who wasn’t drinking took me.”
“Okay, good. Did you wake up with a hangover?”
“No, not really.”
“Courtney, what about you?”
“I was in Virginia.”
“What did you do?”
“I was at my sister’s with her kids. Didn’t drink too much. We were playing Rock Band.”
“Rock band?”
“It’s a video game with guitar, drums…”
“Never heard of it. Is it like Guitar Hero?”
We told him yes, just with the other instruments.
“How many drinks did you have?”
“I don’t know. New Year’s Eve, I went with a friend to a show his band was playing. He wasn’t really drinking.”
“How many did you have?”
“Maybe six.”
“Did you have a hangover the next morning?”
“Yes.”
“Charles, how about you?”
“I don’t think I got drunk. At least not a blackout. Maybe a brownout. I was with some of my friends.”
“What were you drinking?”
“Vodka.”
“Courtney, what about you? What were you drinking?”
“Wine.”
“Benton?”
“Beer.”
“See, guys. People have this assumption that the type of drink matters. It’s not true. All alcohol affects you the same. Javier, what about you?”
“Some friends of mine got together. We took a cab to a party and then came back to my place.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear no one was driving. What were you drinking?”
“Champagne.”
“Look at this. You guys are across the board. Michael?”
Mine was low key, as said. However, Damon and I went for a run on New Year’s Day and, after we finished, stopped by Angelica’s restaurant to eat. Angelica gave me a big hug (She gave Damon a hug too, though she didn’t know him) and asked about Walter and everyone else.
Walter was ecstatic when I told him. “Please tell her hello if you see her again.” He continued. “Samantha, how was your holiday?”
“On Christmas Eve, my boyfriend and I stayed home and cooked a standing pot roast.”
“Wow. At this time of year, it better have been good because that’s about twelve, thirteen dollars a pound.”
“It was $65. What we did was take half and eat it the next day. We got so much meat out of it. I drank champagne. My boyfriend doesn’t drink. He’s epileptic.”
<
br /> “That works out well. You need to keep him around.”
“Listen, guys,” said Walter. “It never hurts to find friends who don’t drink.”
“Then we went to Vegas. I didn’t drink there. Both my mom and stepdad are in the program so we don’t drink around them. I put together an audition tape for a Cher impersonator the next day.”
“What did you sing, ‘If I Could Turn Back Time?’”
“No, I figured everyone would sing that. I did (singing) ‘Do you believe in life after love?’”
“Wow, that was really good,” said Benton.
“Well, she was a Bobbie Dazzler.”
“That’s right! Don’t mess with the Dazzlers!”
“I didn’t realize how old she is,” said Samantha. “She’s like 65, 66.”
“Still looks great, though.”
“Of course, she’s had so much surgery her navel is pulled up to her chin.”
“Louisa, how about you?” Walter asked.
“It was good. I went to a party in Toluca Lake.”
“Did you drink?”
“A little. Not much, though. My husband drove.”
“Good,” said Walter. “I’m glad to hear that. That’s a long drive, too, from Toluca Lake. You know, I came this close (holding fingers together) to being in a relationship with Mary Tyler Moore once. I was at a party in Toluca Lake. Really fancy party. I was there with the woman I was seeing at the time. This was right at the end of the Mary Tyler Moore Show. It had just been cancelled. She walked in alone. She looked gorgeous, all put together. She was stunning, really. A friend introduced me and we talked for a long time. I couldn’t do anything, though. I was there with a date. I couldn’t get her number, although I suppose I could have found a subtle way to ask for it. But sometimes, you can just tell. You connect with someone and it’s so strong. That was a fun party. She was waiting for her friend to show up, who never did. You know who it was? Betty White.”
“Betty White? I’d date her. Right now, I would. She’s got spunk.”
Samantha grew animated. “I did a pilot for the new Pyramid with Betty White. She was extremely cool.”
“Pyramid? They’re bringing back that show?”
“You know how they recycle game shows.”
“Everything is cyclical,” said Walter. “There are no new ideas.”
Chapter Twenty
Who would have thought I would be reflective, perhaps a trace sad, to leave the 541 class? The first time I walked in, I expected to find drudgery and shame. What I found was a blessing.
Still, I was looking forward to getting my Tuesdays back.
Louisa was getting out of her car when I pulled up. I thought about the interlock device and my stomach tightened. I tried not to look at her car again. I chained up my bike and said hello.
“Is this your last night?
“It is.”
“Lucky.”
“I’ll come back and see you guys,” I said with a wry grin.
“Yeah, right, just like they all do.”
I pointed to the covered plate she was holding. “What is that?”
“I baked these for you and James last night.”
“Thank you,” I said, slightly taken back. “I can’t believe you did that.”
A new guy was sitting in the classroom when I entered. A big guy. I mean, a really big guy. Hardly fit into one seat.
“So this is it?” Walter said.
“This is it.”
“How does it feel?”
“I’m not going to lie to you—it feels great. I’m going to miss you guys, though.”
“Yeah, right.”
Louisa set the plate of desserts on Walter’s desk. I took one. “That’s ridiculously good. What is it, a pumpkin square?” I grabbed another and ate it in one bite.
“Everyone I’ve ever given the recipe to has loved it. Even my friends who don’t like pumpkin ask me to make them.”
“I have to get one more.”
“They’re for you. Take as many as you want.”
Samantha entered. “Oh, you lucky son of…!!! You can’t leave. It’s going to be boring without you.”
“Here, have a pumpkin square. Louisa made them.”
“Oh, my gosh. They look so good.”
“They’re jamming.”
“I really can’t. I have an audition Thursday for the Cher impersonator. They liked my audition tape and called me.”
She saw the new guy. “I’m Samantha.”
“I’m Dustin.”
“Hi, Dustin. I’m Louisa.”
“Michael.”
“I’m going shopping for a wig tomorrow. The director said he wanted me to be convincing. I don’t want to get a cheap Halloween wig. You can tell those are fake from a mile away. Obviously, I don’t look like Cher, so if they’re looking for someone who does, I don’t stand a chance.”
“Be proud you don’t look like her,” said Dustin. “Did you see her in ‘Burlesque?’ Oh, my God, I thought I was watching ‘Jurassic Park 4.’ She’s had so much work done she couldn’t move her lips.”
“She’s got more money than God. She can afford to look any way she wants.”
“She’s a fossil. What is she, like 102?”
Walter interrupted. “Hey! She’s my age. We’re six months apart.”
“But Walter, she’s had so much work done she looks artificial.”
Charles came in and said hello. “Oh, man. You are so lucky.”
Samantha turned to me. “Oh, my gosh. You missed it. After you left last week, we watched a video. Some cheesy one from the 70s about how cops spot drunk drivers.”
“I’ve seen that twice. Glad I missed it.”
“When it was over, Walter left the lights off and put in another tape. He didn’t tell us a word about it. All of a sudden, the title came up: ‘A film by Walter Page.’”
“It was his?”
“Yes! It was his trip to Africa. The first picture that came up was a hot air balloon with this cheesy music playing in the background, ‘Up, up and away!’”
Louisa joined in. “Are you talking about his movie? That’s right, you and James missed it.”
“When was it made?”
“Looked like the early 90s.”
“What did he edit it on?”
“Probably a clunky Mac and first-generation Pro Tools.”
That’s right, I remembered. It was his passion.
“He’s actually pretty talented. It was really well-edited.”
“Who was he with?”
“His wife.”
“She hadn’t passed away yet?”
“No. You could hear her voice throughout the film.”
“Did you see her?”
“No. Didn’t see Walter, either. They narrated it. All you saw were hot air balloons and animals running through the wild.”
“I have to see this video,” I said.
Benton entered, wearing a brown-striped suit. He saw me and realized it was my last night. In his eyes, I could see he was sad. From the first week, I thought I had him figured out. Maybe I did, but I was still going to miss him. Funny how things turn.
It was 6:05 by that point. Where was James?
“I don’t remember him saying he was going to be absent tonight. Do you guys?”
“No.”
“He’ll have to come back next week. Michael is our lone graduate tonight. We’ll hear from you shortly. If James doesn’t show, that is. I’ll give him a few extra seconds before shutting the door.”
James didn’t show, but another guy did, and I knew right away the dynamic of the group was about to change. Younger guy, couldn’t have been more than 22, 23, carrying a skateboard and overstuffed backpack. His hands were covered with ink, or grease—I couldn’t tell. Had one fingernail that had been smashed and eventually would fall off, and tattoos covering his neck. One said, “Bronze.” It began on the upper part of his neck and disappeared underneath his hooded sweatshirt. His knuckles wer
e inked with the card symbols for spades and diamonds, in alternating patterns. He sat in the chair nearest the door, keeping his head down, and put his board behind the seat.
“Edward?” Walter asked.
“That’s right.”
“And this is Dustin.”
I looked at the two of them. They couldn’t be more different. Dustin was a mammoth of a man. Doc Martens and white socks, sweater with an oxford underneath. An amazing voice. A radio voice.
Walter went over the rules. We had heard them so many times it was like listening to an airline attendant giving safety precautions—one is aware someone’s talking, but tunes him out and lets his mind wander. “I know it’s dinnertime so I let you bring food. Technically, I’m not allowed to, but I haven’t been fired yet. I’ll keep doing it until…
“All said, a first-time DUI will cost you between $8,000 to $10,000, once you take into account court fees, whether or not you hired a lawyer, if your car was impounded. Your insurance is going to go up for three years. Second offense, the fees are draconian. You’re looking at $20,000 and 18 months of this class. I have people pulling their teeth out after five months. I’ve seen people take six years to complete it.
“You must be on time. The girls at the desk may let you in if you’re a couple of minutes late, but no more than that. Just ask Samantha.”
“I thought it started at 7:00.”
“Depends on if there is a line. But if they won’t let you in, you’ll have to reschedule. Again, money out of your pocket. It’s not fair to the rest of the class, either. If you know it’s going to take an hour to get here, plan accordingly. Give yourself extra time.
“You’re not allowed to come to class under the influence. That means anything. Don’t go to the dentist that day if you have to get any work done. Nothing. If I suspect you are under the influence, I will get one of the other instructors and we will evaluate you. If we think you are under the influence, we’ll have you take a breathalyzer. If you pass, nothing happens. But if anything shows up, it’s grounds for termination.”
Edward spoke up. Loudly, semi-aggressive. Or perhaps defensive. “What if it’s prescription?”
“You still can’t take it before you come here.”
Arresting Grace Page 20