The House that Jack Built

by Malcolm James

  ***

  When I got to Mel’s he was sitting there with two bottles of MGD and an envelope. I nodded at him and sat. He smiled at me, but it was a different smile. Not the same Jack smile that used to drive me nuts. I don’t know. It was more subdued, I suppose. Perhaps it was the meds.

  “Hey, Mal,” He pushed an MGD at me. I nodded and grabbed the bottle. It was still frosty and I took a long haul from it. It was good and its subtle taste helped to calm me.

  “You look different,” He did, too. I don’t know what it was. He still had the same expensive clothes, the same coiffed hair and the same chiseled features. His blue eyes still glistened. He shrugged and winked

  “Maybe it’s the healthy living.” He looked down at the envelope that was in front of him, and then at me. He quickly pushed it across the table so that it sat in front of me. I looked at it and then him. He was smiling, but it was a soft, almost innocuous smile.

  “What’s this?” He shrugged and gestured toward the envelope.

  “Open it.” I put my beer on the table and tugged at the flap. When it flipped up, I saw the top of a check sitting in the envelope. I looked up at him suspiciously, but he just smiled and raised an eyebrow. Go on. Look at it.

  I pried the lip open until I could see it.

  It was a check for $100,000. Made out to me.

  I dropped it on the table.

  “What the Hell is this?”

  “It’s a check.”

  “I know it’s a fucking check! Why? Why are you giving me a check?” Jack raised his hands outward as if he was the innocent one and I was guilty for grilling him.

  “Consider it my way of saying ‘thank you.’”

  “For what?” He finished his beer and signaled for two more. Then he leaned toward me and placed a hand on my forearm. I thought about throwing it off. His voice lowered but his eyes continued to glow blue.

  “Dude, you did me a huge solid when you didn’t tell the cops what you know.”

  I clenched my jaw. I didn’t lie for you.

  “If you had, you’d be their star witness right now. This is my way of showing my appreciation.” I shoved the envelope back across the table.

  “Then say fucking thanks! Don’t give me a bribe!”

  “I’d rather give you a check. And it’s not a bribe. It’s a little late for bribes.”

  I’d rather give you a check. Yeah. He could sign a check for $100,000 but he couldn’t muster the humility to mouth the words ‘thank you.’

  “I don’t want it, Jack. Keep your tainted money.” He looked at me in stunned silence, as if he didn’t understand me at all. Which was most likely the case. Determined, he thrust the envelope back at me.

  “Take the money! Buy something for yourself!” He looked me up and down for a moment. “Buy some nice clothes.” I resented the implication. My Wal-Mart ensemble may not have been comparable to his Saks Fifth Avenue, but I thought that I dressed alright.

  “I’ll buy clothes with my own money, thank you.” I pushed the envelope back. He sighed and shook his head.

  “Mal! Why? C’mon, this is free money. Enjoy it! Have some fun.” I shook my head at him with fervent defiance.

  “No. It’s not free. It comes with a price, Jack. It’s blood money and I won’t accept it.”

  “Jesus! Get over yourself! Ever the crusader, aren’t you Mal? Always riding in on your white charger to preserve a virgin’s virtue!”

  He leaned in toward me with an accusatory look that suggested it was I who beat those girls. “Well, let me tell you something, my friend. The world don’t work that way. Like it or not, you’re a dinosaur. Stop being so Goddammed virtuous and get on the winning side! Take the money.” I looked at him with ire. I’m sure my pained eyes and flared nostrils must have said something to him. But I doubted that he got the message.

  “Jack, you beat those girls within an inch of their lives. You should be frying for that right now. Have you ever stopped to think about the pain you put them through?” He chuckled.

  “I don’t think they’re complaining, Mal. Ask them yourself.” I pouted while he expostulated.

  “Seriously, I’ll give you their numbers. They’re fine. They can afford to buy plenty of reconstructive surgery. So why don’t you just get with the program and take the money?” He gulped his beer and slammed the bottle on the table with a large ‘AHHHH.’

  “And by the way, you should be thanking me. I gave you a pass.” I stopped sipping my beer and shot him a confused look.

  “What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” His face grew grim, but I was sure that it was mock seriousness.

  “Mal, you betrayed me.” My face must have been covered with plaster, for I couldn’t close my eyes or mouth.

  “What…?” He held his palm toward me and shook his head. Don’t bother trying to explain yourself.

  “You hurt me, Mal. You and Elizabeth. No, don’t bother trying to explain. I’m over it. But it hurt. You kept it from me. You lied to me. The both of you. But I’m willing to be big about it.” He looked at me like he was telling me that I had cancer.

  “I’m just disappointed in you.”

  Disappointed in me? What bizarre psycho universe had I just slipped into?

  “Ah, what the Hell? It’s water under the bridge. Forgive and forget.” He signaled for another beer before his surgical eyes peered into the deepest crannies of my soul. “Now take the fucking check.”

  I could never forgive or forget what happened in Ninth Grade. But he had me. He fucking had me. Suddenly, I had another reason to feel guilt. And he served it up in heaping mounds on a silver platter. I was so thrown-off by his accusation that I forgot to ask him how he knew about me and Elizabeth.

  Christ, this isn’t happening.

  “I don’t know who you are.” I shook my head. Even on antipsychotics he was a prick. Just a more calculated prick.

  He smirked and picked up the envelope. As he extended his hand so that it was waving under my nose, I thought about the clothes that I could buy with that money.

  End Part I

  Part II

  A sinful soul possess'd of many gifts,

  A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,

  A glorious devil, large in heart and brain

  That did love beauty only - beauty seen

  In all varieties of mould and mind -

  And knowledge for its beauty; or if good,

  Good only for its beauty, seeing not

  That Beauty, Good and Knowledge, are three sisters.

  - Tennyson

  Chapter 21

  Neither of us returned to WSU. Jack’s family arranged for him to attend the University of Chicago. I suppose they surmised that the widely-known nature of Jack’s assault would make it difficult for him to live a normal life in Detroit. More likely, I’m sure that they did it to bury the shame. I also think that they believed I was a bad influence on Jack, which was a joke. Me, a bad influence on Jack? I still laugh when I think about it.

  My father enrolled me in the fall semester at McGill University in Montreal. He told me that I might have more success there, as my grades at WSU were mediocre. But like Jack’s family, he had an ulterior motive. He wanted to get me as far away from Jack as he could.

  At first, I hated the prospect of moving to Canada. Since Father was Canadian, I had dual citizenship and didn’t have to worry about a Student Visa. But the idea of living there held no appeal. Since I had no say in the matter and I had plenty of free time on my hands, I decided to do a little research. And I surprised myself. The more I read about Montreal, the more excited I became.

  Besides, Elizabeth lived and kicked inside me. The idea of going to a foreign country offered seductive hopes of distance and forgetfulness. So as September loomed, I couldn’t wait to go.

  The day I left was a solemn affair, for we both knew it was the last time we would see each other – probably for a long while. Jack fidgeted with the amulet and his head was constantly peering around,
as if somebody was following him.

  “You okay?” He nodded. An inaudible response found its way through his lips. Something was bothering him. I supposed that next to the drugs and therapy, I had been his other grounding force those past few months. Now that I was leaving, all he had left were the drugs. I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “Jack, you’re going to be alright.”

  He looked up at me. As his hollow somber eyes peered into me, a dead chill settled into the soles of my feet. It crept up my legs, found its way into my midsection and then landed squarely in my soul. His eyes, which once appeared so blue, were almost black. A vacant look greeted me, as if I was staring into a great black void. Bereft of thought, feeling, passion or even life.

  “Shit, I know that! I’ll be more than alright. There’s plenty to keep me busy.” An ever-so-small smile appeared on one corner of his mouth.

  “A few more girls to deflower before you leave for Chicago?” Jack chuckled softly.

  “Yeah. Girls to deflower. That’s it.” I didn’t know what was going on inside him, but I never did.

  “It may not be a bad idea for you to get back up on that saddle, Jack. It’s been months. It might take your mind off things.” He laughed at me, but it wasn’t a bellow. Rather, a soft, ironic laugh that finds its way through tissue surrounding the throat.

  “I’ve never been off of that saddle, Mal.”

  “But I thought…”

  “You thought that the charges and the therapy would stop me? C’mon. Give me more credit than that. I just got better at hiding it.” I furrowed my eyebrows. I just assumed that he wasn’t supposed to go near women for awhile. And in the past few months, we spent a great deal of time together.

  “When did you have time?” He laughed again, and this time it sounded more like Jack.

  “There’s always time for that. I make time.” I frowned and nodded.

  “Well, good for you. Anyone you want to tell me about?” He shook his head.

  “Not yet. But I will.” He winked.

  “I’ll make stories you won’t believe. Ones you won’t soon forget.”

  The final boarding call for my flight came over the airport PA and I hoisted my bags. I didn’t know what to say. But he beat me to breaking the tension as he punched me in the shoulder. I nodded at him and attempted a smile, then turned and walked away. Although I suspected it, I didn’t know that it was the last time I’d see him until after we graduated.

  As I passed through security, I looked back. He was standing in the same spot, hands shoved in pockets and eyes fixed on me from behind a vacant face. I nodded at him and turned my head. I didn’t understand most of what I was feeling, but as I walked to the gate, one seemingly irrational feeling stood out and permeated through my being.

  Fear. Cringing, terrible fear.

  ***

  Montreal is incredible. A beautiful, historic city situated on the Saint Lawrence River, it has an old-world charm infused with modern flair. The cuisine’s amazing. There are incredible restaurants and cafés. I often ate out because there was so much to sample. Cultural events kept me hopping, and the strip clubs are amazing!

  I thought I had seen it all in Windsor, but when I got to Montreal, my eyes were saucers for weeks. I got a ton of action from the strippers, who kept me in constant pleasure. The women were absolutely gorgeous, friendly as Hell and willing to do anything. They became my paymates. I was in heaven.

  Any trepidation that I had had about moving to Canada quickly disappeared. The only thing I missed was my Red Wings. I hate the Montreal Canadiens.

  Jack and I continued to correspond. For the first two years our conversations were almost weekly. He told me about his exploits while I talked about my studies. Occasionally, I’d talk about the strippers I had sex with, but I knew well enough not to brag around Jack. He always had stories, loosely packed in his back pocket, that made my dalliances look like Church Bingo.

  He seemed to be almost ‘normal.’ But the normal Jack was a scary creature. I’d ask him if he was still taking his meds, but he quickly changed the subject. I was sure that he wasn’t, but there was nothing I could do about it.

  When we weren’t speaking, I would often imagine Jack taking on Chicago, and it scared the living piss out of me. Chicago’s a good place to get into trouble. But he surprised everyone and managed to get passing grades. I suppose the threat of being disowned by his family was motivation enough to maintain a ‘C’ average.

  Elizabeth was still in my mind and heart. It goes without saying that we never corresponded, and we never ran into each other when I was home for holidays and summers. It was pure agony, for I knew that she was a phone call away. But she made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with me.

  Secretly, I dreamed of her and desperately hoped that we would run into each other in Detroit. But it never happened, and I kept my mind off of her by keeping on top of others. It helped. A little.

  I finished my BA with limited ease, but I knew that wasn’t going to be enough for Father. So I enrolled in the MBA program at McGill. Two more years were a small price to pay, considering the payout that awaited. Besides, Montreal had grown on me. I developed the most sublime penchant for Montreal smoked meat, endless nights of boozing, and stunning strippers, sultry hookers and innumerable blowjobs.

  Despite the lascivious Bohemianism, my grades were better than ever. It could have been because I was extremely focused. But more likely, it was because I had become incredibly accomplished at juggling my incessant whoring and drinking, with studying.

  When I graduated, my father suggested that I stay in Montreal and work at his office there. He got no arguments from me. Detroit had become a distant memory, punctuated only by mournful thoughts of Elizabeth and residual concerns over Jack. Montreal was my haven and I was the savage conqueror, the day that he told me I’d be staying.

  I was to work under the tutelage of his Senior Vice President. There I’d be the prodigy, learn the ropes of the business, and begin my short journey up the ladder, to become successor to his modest empire.

  But fate is a fickle whore. Just as everything in my life which mattered – money, my stomach and my penis – were the sumptuous feasts which kept me alive, everything changed.

  The ringing still resounds in my head like an iron bell that won’t stop reverberating. Most days and nights are punctuated by this regrettable turn of events, and I often fantasize how life would have been, had it not happened. When not pounded by the demons which own my ass like I’m their prison bitch, I remember that I once had dreams of happiness, comfort and hope. Maybe even love.

  I’ll tell you what makes the pain so unbearable, so wretchedly horrible. I had it all. It was within my grasp. I could have whored around for awhile, spread a little money and fed my carnal desires.

  Then I’d find a pretty and somewhat normal, if not intelligent, woman to bear my children. I’d get the house in the suburbs, the golf membership, 2.5 rug rats and a pretty face to screw every night. When that face began to sag, I’d pony up for nips and tucks, breast jobs and liposuction. And when plastic surgery was no longer an option, I’d get a pretty young mistress and shower her with gifts. And I’d begin fucking the face all over again. I had it all figured out.

  Elizabeth had found a remote place in my soul where she would live forever. But while she tainted and taunted me, she didn’t have the key to the door of my soul anymore. Jack was far away, and seemed to be finding his own way in life. His insanity wouldn’t permeate mine anymore. He wouldn’t be able to hurt me anymore.

  I still have nightmares about the call.

  On the second day of my new life, I sat in my comfortable leather chair and watched the sleepy skyline of Montreal as it flowed and ebbed. A multitude of flickering office buildings in the foreground were brushed onto a canvas of Mount Royal with its shimmering cross, and a pinkish-purple twilight sky enamored with twirling black clouds.

  I was getting ready to leave for the day, which h
ad been fraught with an ad-hoc board meeting and two phone calls. I was going to love this job. Sure, there were going to be pressures, but pressures from life at the top have no twin sibling in the world of the working class.

  I had made it, and while I lounged in my chair and drank from the goblet of the Montreal skyline, I wondered which forty-year old Scotch I’d get into when I went home. I also wondered which of my many willing paymates I’d be calling, before I decided on Holli. She was into everything, and I was in a particularly nasty mood.

  But as I turned off my computer and got up from my desk, the phone rang.

  I thought about not answering it. The voicemail would take it, and there was nothing that could keep me from the night that I was about to have. Or so I thought. But a strange residual memory from the past awoke things in me that I hadn’t known in a long time. The chill that coursed down my spine was the foreboding that, I suppose, I knew would come. But it had been buried so deep that it was almost unfamiliar to me.

  Each haunting ring was an echo of something…something distant and yet very much within my reach. On the fourth ring and just before the voicemail would have kicked in, I picked up. I just knew that I had to, but I dreaded what was to come next.

  “Dude! I thought you weren’t going to answer!” My heart skipped several beats. Jack and I still spoke occasionally, but after he finished his BA, he went to Europe. Spending most of his time in Italy, I’d get the odd static-ridden call, during which he would fill me in on his exploits with Italian women. He would even talk about the culture, the food, the art and the history, a good sign that Jack had matured.

  The calls were intermittent and we would frequently get cut off due to poor cell coverage or a bad overseas line. I’d shrug and hang up, and forget about him until the next call. But something about this call was different.

  “Hey, Jack. Sorry. I didn’t know it was you. I was just getting ready to leave.” He chuckled. That grin. I could see it.

  “Yeah? Snake slipping into the hole tonight? Good for you! Give ‘er a thrust or two for me. But I didn’t call to swap pussy stories. I have some news that I thought you’d find interesting, and it can’t wait.”