“I mean, if you are a thief,” Jim said.
“You can’t take money from the cash box like that. We reconcile it every night before we leave.”
“Well, technically, I think you could. Come to think of it. That’s something we better change. Shit, this is depressing.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, Ronnie? You can’t believe a word they say. Little pieces of shit.”
“Plus the temptation. She should never have left it sitting there.”
“It could have been anyone. We could polygraph them. The suspects. The ones who probably might have done it.”
“What about the Polack? There’s something sinister about that girl.”
“She’s not a thief,” Popper said quickly. “No, it’s not her.”
I saw Sheila Popper give her husband a quick, sour glance. Jim and Dennis wiped their faces blank. But I saw them trying not to look at each other.
“Why this now?” Popper said. “Why did she just leave it on her desk? This is all we need.” Mr. Popper hammered his desk with his brass Rolex paperweight. It was the signature Rolex crown but the size of a soup bowl. He was not angry. He was sad.
“We could call the cops. That might put a scare into someone.”
“We are not calling the fucking cops, you fuckhead.”
“Sheila! Control yourself!”
“If we polygraph anyone we have to polygraph everyone. Everyone who was here today, anyhow. That’s the new law.”
“I bet it was Roger.” Roger was the Watchman. “I don’t trust that guy. Plus he’s getting divorced.”
“How did they get the money out of the store?”
“It’s only a few steps from the bathroom.”
“Cindy couldn’t have been in the bathroom.”
“That’s another reason why it couldn’t be the Polack,” Jim said. He looked at Popper as he said it. “The Polack was in the bathroom. That’s what we said. We already established that.”
“I thought it was Cindy in the bathroom.”
“Do we know that?” Dennis said. “All we know is that somebody was in the front bathroom.”
“I still think it could be Roger. Rita says it’s a very messy divorce. Those are expensive. He isn’t making any real sales lately, either.”
Rita was an idea, I thought. The way she watched Lisa and me.
“Suppose for the sake of argument it was Cindy,” Mr. Popper said. “She would have stolen something else. Why take just ten K? She could have hit us for tens of thousands. Maybe hundreds of thousands.”
“Only a real dummy would take ten thousand dollars off the bookkeeper’s desk like that.” This was Jim. His tone was unpleasant for me to hear.
“We’re not all thieves, Sheila,” Dennis said.
“Dennis, just shut the fuck up,” Sheila said.
There was a quiet moment.
“I bet it was Rita,” I said. I said it very quietly, like I was speaking to the carpet and not the grown-ups in the room. I supposed nobody might even hear me.
Sheila said, “From the mouths of babes.”
“I wouldn’t want to think that. Golly, I hate to think that,” Ronnie said.
“She’s been disgruntled,” Jim said.
“Hell, disgruntled! That’s one word for it. Pissed off is another. Pissed off is what I’d call it,” Mr. Popper said. “Ever since last Christmas. Or maybe it was the Christmas before that.”
“She’s been demanding a raise for three years,” Sheila said. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
“I bet you’re right, Bobby,” Dennis said. He looked back at me with the cold face of a lizard. You know something, you bastard, I thought. You know it was me. “I bet it was Rita.”
“It’s always the one you don’t suspect, isn’t it?”
“Rita. Huh. Who would have guessed?” Jim said. He was always the store’s best closer.
It was late, the highway was black, and his cheeks and nose were green in the light from the speedometer and the other gauges. Jim and I were driving home.
“I am worn out,” he said. “I hope all this is worth it.”
The windshield wipers squeaked. I opened the window a crack. Outside, more sleet was falling. I thought about how our little black car must look on the black highway in the icy rain, from high above us, with the yellow beams of the headlights stretching out in front. The highway was already freezing over. Tomorrow the roads would be closed. But tonight, after Jim and Lily were asleep, I would drive to Lisa’s.
I found the money, Bobby. I can’t take this money.”
After we had made love I crept out of the bedroom, very late, with her asleep in the bed behind me, and left the five thousand dollars where she would find it in the morning. To beat Jim to the store I would be up and at work before she was even out of bed. I wanted to be waiting for him outside when he got there. So that he didn’t think I was hiding from him.
I understood that she would not take the cash if I tried to give it to her. This way she could pretend it was from Jim, or Santa Claus. But then she woke up in the early morning to get a glass of water or smoke a cigarette and found it. She woke me up with the light on and there she was, at the end of the bed, with the five thousand dollars out in front of her on the bed.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t steal it for you. I didn’t mean to steal it at all, really. It was totally innocent. I’m serious. It was practically an accident. What happened was I was taking a shortcut from the steamer room past the Rolex desk so I could ask the Watchman a price for a ladies’ all-stainless”—because we were so close to Christmas the price and availability on all-steel models changed daily, like bullion—“and I wanted to stop by the back bathroom on the way to do a bump. So the quick way was through Cindy’s office.”
“We are not supposed to walk that way.”
“I know. That’s what I am saying. It was just bad luck. So I’m hurrying through and I almost walked right past it. There were two stacks of bills, side by side, like bricks, you know, on the desk. I smiled toward where I expected Cindy to be sitting, to say, Gosh isn’t that nice, a big stack of cash like that, and her chair was empty. So, you know, they don’t have cameras in there,” I said.
“I bet they will now,” Lisa said.
I wanted to say, Look, I know you need the money, and maybe you could even tell me why. But I did not want to interfere with her love for me in any way at all. I tried to recover control of the conversation.
“One thing about me, Lisa, is I was raised by bankrupts. That teaches you not to take property very seriously. Plus, being Canadian. You know. Socialism.”
“Other people’s property, you mean.”
She had an odd look on her face that I couldn’t decipher.
“Right. That’s my problem. That’s exactly what I’m saying. I don’t treat other people’s property with the proper seriousness. It’s just a weakness I have. It’s not like I had malicious intentions. It’s my nature. My upbringing.”
“Well, now they are polygraphing the whole store, Bobby,” Lisa said. “The whole damn store. And you have brought me into it by giving me this money.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about,” I said.
“What if I do? Bobby. This only makes things worse. Bobby, you don’t know what they are going to ask about. Did you even think about why I need the money? That could come out too, Bobby. Anything could come out.”
She reached over and grabbed one of the pillows. She wrapped her arms around it like it was a stuffed animal.
“It’s not your fault. It’s like your brother said . . . well, I mean, it’s my own damn mess, not yours.”
I watched her carefully. I knew that if I spoke she would stop talking. I strove to look like I was only there to listen.
“The thing is, Bobby, well, you know I have other people, other friends outside the store. They are not guys like you and Jim. They are a different kind of people. Not nice people. I mean, they aren’t bad people exac
tly. But they are wild, you know?”
I could be wild, too, I thought. But I knew I couldn’t say it.
“Anyway, I’m not going into it. But there was this party, and—”
“When were you at a party?” How did she have time to go to a party? “What people are you talking about?” Don’t talk, Bobby, I told myself. She is trying to confess.
“Bobby, honey, listen to me. I am trying to tell you. You know, baby, this is really—well, it’s not that it’s none of your business, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just worrying about both of us, you know?”
She didn’t understand that I could help her, if she would let me. That I wasn’t concerned about anything except her.
“This is so ridiculous. I can’t believe how stupid we are. Now that I’m talking about it, it was just like you. I’m sitting here judging you and it was just like you and this fucking money.” She picked up the stack of bills and then put it back down again.
“I know you’re not judging me,” I said. “You can tell me anything, Lisa. I don’t care.” I wanted to say, I love you.
“You know, the funny thing is I wasn’t even going to go to the stupid party. I was driving home.”
“After work, you mean.”
Was this Saturday she was talking about? But when I saw them in the parking garage it was Friday—so then it must have been Thursday. But on Thursday hadn’t she stayed late and closed with Jim and me?
“You know how sometimes you just drive somewhere without even thinking, like knowing where you’re going but not ever deciding to go there? And they were all fucked up, some of them had been partying for days. I kept trying to leave. Then the next thing you know it’s me and this other guy and we are practically the only ones who aren’t passed out. And there’s a stash of drugs and money in this guy’s place and nobody knows where he keeps it, but my friend said he wanted to show me.”
“Your friend, you mean, the guy? Which guy?”
“Just listen for a minute, okay? I’m trying to tell you. Then, you know, whatever, and next thing he’s passed out, too. It was just that easy. So I grabbed this stuff and I left and that was that. Just like you did at the store. I walked out. I mean, it could have been anybody, right? But they know it was me. They already went to my dealer and fucked him up, just because. They held him down and burned him, Bobby. With the lit end of a cigar. Now I can’t even be here. I shouldn’t have even let you come over here. Oh, Bobby,” she said, and for a second I hoped she was going to start crying. But when I reached toward her she stiffened.
“And even this five grand, even if I could take it. It would get me out of town. Maybe I could like leave half of it in my mailbox for them or something. You know, like, to calm them down. That might help a little, if they don’t know where I am. But you stole this money, Bobby, and Popper’s rent-a-cops are going to catch you. Now you’ve brought the store into this . . . I don’t know, Bobby. And what about you? I can’t have you going to jail because you were trying to help me. Oh Christ, Bobby. This is a real mess, you know? This is a real fucking mess we made together.”
She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking across the room at nothing. Her neck was as lovely as a person’s wrist.
“Neither one of us can go back. That’s the thing, that’s the truth of it. This jewelry business is not the right thing for you anyway. It is just like how some people should not be married because they make each other worse. That’s jewelry for you, Bobby. It’s like Miracle-Gro on your failings. Mine, too. I’ve been wanting to tell you that anyway, and now—” She waved her hand at the money. “I’m staying up all night and packing and getting out of here.”
“Good, okay,” I said. “Let’s go. Good idea. I’ll come. I’ll come with you.” Then I laid my head down on her legs. I didn’t want to see her face when I said it.
“Oh, baby. Come on. I’m sorry, but that is not something we can do. But you have to leave, that’s for sure. Don’t go to work. Make up some lie. You need to get on a plane back to Canada, as quick as you can get a ticket. That’s what you should do. Go back to Wendy. Go home, Bobby. If you don’t they could put you in prison. You have got to start growing up, now. Both of us do, I guess.”
“I don’t want you to go,” I said into her folded legs. She scratched at my head very lightly with her fingertips. “I want to stay with you.”
In the morning, when I woke up in her bed, with her blue comforter twisted around me, she was gone. I looked at her alarm clock. It was almost nine-thirty. Now Jim would want to know why I was late.
The lie detector tests began two days later, on December 23, so I stayed home sick with a stomachache.
“I think I need to go to the hospital,” I said. “I think it’s my appendix.”
“You can’t really take today off, Bobby,” Jim said. “I mean, unless you’re dying. It’s the biggest day of the year. Christmas Eve is nothing like the day before Christmas Eve. This is it. This is the money day. Plus the polygraphs. That would look funny. They are doing them all day long. Don’t you have an appointment? Did you sign the sign-up sheet? Everybody has to sign the sign-up sheet.”
Dennis had given me the sign-up sheet with a look like he was passing a collection plate at church. I scribbled two mostly unrecognizable words that resembled the Watchman’s name, perhaps, a bit, and passed it on.
“I’m on there,” I said. “I’m interviewing tomorrow. You could sign up for today or tomorrow. I am really sick, here, Jim. I feel like my appendix is going to burst or something. I am nauseated and I have this sharp pain in my side.”
“Uh-huh. Okay,” he said. “I am not making any excuses for you. This is the one day. This is the big day and you’re blowing it. It’s your call.”
He looked at me with that look your mother gives you when she knows you are pretending to be sick.
“Better call an ambulance if it gets any worse,” he said, and plugged in the phone by my bed. “Go ahead. Pull a James Clark. Pull a Dad on me. Don’t blame me.”
I had to stay in bed because Lily was in and out of the house all day but I didn’t want to get out of bed anyway. I was trying not to think about Lisa. I smoked pot and reread Autobiography of a Yogi. I called Wendy but no one answered the phone. I counted my other, separate stash of hundreds and twenties in the closet, and looked over the Christmas gifts I had stolen for people I loved. I looked at the tourmaline-and-ivory ring I had put aside for Lisa. I couldn’t give her any of her gifts now. It would be okay for Wendy, I thought. But you couldn’t size it. And Wendy’s fingers were fatter than Lisa’s.
Jim was home after midnight. He was drunk and excited. He woke me up.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said. “The way you were acting I half thought it was you. I owe you an apology. How’s your stomach? Is it any better? Sorry I woke you up. I just thought you would want to know. You were right. It was Rita. I can’t believe it. They did a few polygraphs and Rita was up early on the list and they caught her. They postponed the rest of the polygraphs until after Christmas so we can focus this last twenty-four hours.”
He was sniffling a lot.
“Man, what a day I had. Fadeen called and bought that seventeen-carat. Six hundred grand. I already had it mounted and shipped. That’s a thirty-thousand-dollar commission. One day. Ronnie and I have been out drinking Dom. He gave me that nephrite hippopotamus lighter, too. Just as a bonus. We rented a limousine and hit some Dallas bars.” I hadn’t seen him drunk very often. Maybe never before. “The Polack went, too. I should have asked Lisa, I guess. But she didn’t show up for work. Two days in a row, now. Everybody was real suspicious about that until they caught Rita. I don’t know where the hell she is. I guess I better call her.”
I started to say something. I half sat up in the bed.
“Shhh,” he said, looking back over his shoulder into the dark bedroom and the open hallway beyond.
“Lily’s sleeping. We sure don’t want to wake that up. Okay, go on back to sleep, buddy. I love you.
Sorry again. Take the day off again tomorrow if you want. Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, it’s not such a big day. Today was the day. But you needed the rest. Hell, it’s Christmas, you’ve earned it. I love you, Bobby.”
We didn’t normally say that, because we were brothers. I knew he was only drunk but I didn’t care.
“No, wake me up,” I said. The relief of being innocent was hitting me like two lungfuls of crank. “I want to be there. I want to end the season with you and Mr. Popper and everybody. Don’t let me sleep in.”
All the highways were closed. There were semis and cars spilled around the city, on the edges of roads at odd angles, like someone had sprayed a deck of cards over I-30 and I-35. The big ice storm had broken very early that morning, Christmas Eve, but before we opened the doors the customers were stretched for more than half a mile down Houston Street.
Because of taking the back roads Jim and I were in late, at almost eight o’clock, and as we drove into the parking garage and witnessed it he said, “What the hell is going on, it’s like a hockey game,” before we understood that the line out front was for us, for the store. We made the news that day. But really as part of another, bigger headline, which I will now explain.
It was the biggest Christmas Eve the store had ever seen, and it was the biggest Christmas Eve I would ever see. The customers were packed in like kids at a concert. You could not walk through the showroom. If there had been a fire, hundreds of people would have died. The rent-a-cops didn’t like it but Mr. Popper was back there getting them drunk. He was getting everyone drunk, putting champagne, Baileys Irish Cream, and Sheila’s Texas Hill Country secret recipe of ninety-proof eggnog into the hands of anyone who would take a glass. “I don’t understand how it doesn’t curdle,” people would say after taking a sip. But they drank it down. There was a line of salespeople waiting to get into the diamond room with their best crows waiting on the other side. Jim said afterward that Mr. Popper took in two million in seven hours. It was possible. These people were like women on the seventy-percent-off blue-tag day at Neiman’s Last Call. But they were buying fine jewelry.
How to Sell: A Novel Page 14