by G L Rockey
She glanced at Peggy, stoned, slowed into the right lane and took the next exit off I-24.
CHAPTER 25
Jack’s Time
Heading back to the farm, Gillian pulled into a One Stop, said she had to check in with Angelo, tell him she was feeling better, would be in Monday night for sure. I should fill up the bike with gas. She went to the pay phones and I noticed, just like before, after she made the first phone call, she made a second.
* * *
We got back to the farm around low sun. She had bought one of those rotisserie chickens and a bucket of some greenhouse spinach salad, said I needed to eat more greens. Cactus tea Snapple accompanied dinner on the porch, full moon, coffee; we got to sleep around after midnight.
CHAPTER 26
Real Time
Monday, 7:01:00 A.M. CDT
Opening her eyes, Peggy placed a palm to her forehead, paused, then stood from bed slowly. She went downstairs to her bar, put two extra strength Excedrin in her mouth, poured a double shot of vodka in a small glass of cranberry juice, and swallowed.
After starting a pot of coffee, she took a dip in the pool, then a hot shower. Getting dressed, she called Stella, asked her what happened. After Stella explained that Peggy had kicked her out, Peggy said she was sorry and she would see her at the Knife & Fork, after the noon rush, for lunch.
CHAPTER 27
Jack’s Time
Awake, the rooster calling, sure it was Monday morning, I think, Gillian's leg over my stomach, I thought about waking her, proposing again, but things were perfect and don't fix perfect. She must have heard me because she opened her eyes and smiled.
* * *
Later, in the kitchen, Gillian said she would be going to her apartment this afternoon, then to work tonight.
I asked again where her apartment was.
“Later.”
“What's the big secret?”
She looked through me to Boston.
I figured she'd tell me when she got ready.
Then she reminded me, that this place, the farm, was our little secret.
“I don't get it.” I said.
“Later.”
* * *
Dragging myself away from her, I suggested she call me, later, at the office. With our work schedules, maybe we could meet for something, when she got off tonight. She said it would be late. I knew that, didn't care. She said she would call me.
Home to change clothes, I checked my phone, twenty messages, caller ID indicated Peggy, anonymous, Berry, Joe, and TV12. I turned the volume down, erased them all, then took a hot shower and dressed in my Monday-to-work uniform—khaki slacks, long sleeve oxford button down, mauve tie, black loafers, blue blazer.
The morning sunshine brilliant, Winston's top down, the wind buffeting my hair, I settled in the right lane of I-24 and, contemplating futures, still not believing it, I hadn't thought about futures for … I don't know. I glanced at my eyes in Winston’s rear view mirror. The iris green still tarnished, the whites were whiter. The Snapple.
Pulling into the TV12 parking lot, I was aware that, for the first time, in I couldn't remember when, I was driving into this lot minus a hangover. Hadn't had a drink since the pink champagne Saturday night. Honest. Sunday, just Snapple. Gillian didn't want to “blur things up”. Too good to be true. Believe it.
Parking beside Joe's Chrysler, Berry's Humvee in the next slot over, I glanced at the Blancpain time. 8:45. Running late.
I shut Winston down, stepped out, took a deep breath of Tennessee air, and inside, Marcie, at the receptionist desk, looked puzzled.
I said, “What's the matter?”
“You're smiling.”
Then she told me Berry was looking for me. What else is new. I wondered if he had any new ideas from his most recent trip to New York. I walked down the hall with eerie misgiving for Gillian, her gig at Felix The Cat, all those slimy things crawling around at that dump. I hoped Snakebite was at his Memphis Pink Poodle II play site, and Chuck dickhead was back in Texas.
I entered my outer office.
Joy wasn't at her desk but I couldn't miss the headline note she had taped to my door:
Jack,
Caution!!! FIRE IN THE HOLE!!! Front office looking for you, meeting. I'll be back in 10 minutes or next millennium. In the copy room. HELP!!!
Joy
The meaning was clear. Berry was starting fires again. I glanced at the Blancpain—8:50, entered my office, and checked my in-basket. Joy had put there the printout of Friday's A.C. Nielsen overnight ratings. I quickly surveyed our news' numbers. The trend continued: TV12 news down another rating point, Channel 3 up two. I went back to Joy's area, filled my mug with coffee, walked past the newsroom, observed around six levels of anxiety, and pushed Otis's up-button.
Waiting for Otis, I heard: “Hey, Jack.”
I looked. Sago leaned out the newsroom door. I said, “What's up?”
“We got a couple calls, from the weather department, looking for you.”
I knew he meant Peggy. “What'd you tell her?”
“Meeting.”
“Good.”
“Sally is looking for you too.”
“What else is new.”
“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
“Okay,”
“We need to talk S-Stuff.”
“Lunch.”
Otis opened. I stepped in, had a thought, stopped the door, looked back to where Sago had been, and called, “Sago.”
He looked out, “Jack.”
I said, “Could you call your pal, Nashville's finest, see if they have any thing on a Gillian Phoenix.”
“What's up?”
“Nothing, read something.”
“What?”
“Lunch.”
I released Otis's door and, as it closed, I felt a tinge of guilt about checking on Gillian. But something didn't jive and I needed to flush it out, as much for Gillian, I thought, as for myself. Maybe more for me.
Not feeling any upward motion, I realized I hadn't pushed the up button. I pushed it and began conjugating the immediate. Unfamiliar with the sober world, I rapidly tried to sort some meaning out of Joy's message and what Sago had said about Sally looking for me. I remembered a message on my phone machine, in particular, the one from Berry that said, “What the fuck happened on tonight's weather! Call me immediately!”
Otis yawned open to a view of the Parthenon and I headed down the hall.
* * *
Stopped at Berry's outer office, Judy's fingers raced over her keyboard like a bullet train. She looked exceptionally pretty today, pixie hair perfect, long sleeve white blouse, touch of peach color on her delicate lips.
She looked up at me, rolled her smoke-blues, glanced toward the office door, rolled her blues the other way, and kept typing.
I knew the message well.
I smiled. “Meeting start yet?”
Still typing. “Yes.”
“You're kidding, without me?”
Still typing, she shook her head then whispered, “Sal—” she caught herself, “Mr. Frazer stepped out,” she paused, “to look for you.” She stopped and searched my face, “Is Jay in trouble?”
I knew, but her eyes so innocent, I said, “Say, are you and Jay … you know….”
Her face an open book, she resumed typing.
“Judy, I didn't know that.”
She shook her head, nodded toward Berry's office, said with a little fear, “Please.”
“How long ago did Berry, ah, step out to look for me?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“Funny, I didn't see him, maybe he's on the roof checking for leaks.”
“Uh huh.”
I checked the time—little before 9:00. “Listen, when Berry gets back, tell him I've been looking for him since before the chickens got up, had to go down to City Hall, pick up a press release at the mayor's office, one of our reporters is out sick.” I winked.
“Are you crazy, I….”<
br />
“Lie a little, goes a long way, also fits the decor.”
She stopped typing and whispered, “Did you hear about Friday night's weather….”
I noticed her freeze and glance past me to Berry's office door.
I turned.
Joe Galbo, who had been inside Berry's office, blocked the entrance like a cloud on a sunny day. Red tie, white shirt, charcoal double breasted suit, boat-sized black wingtips, he burped like he had had a big breakfast of goose liver.
“Hi, Joe.” I said.
He sucked his front teeth. “You're late, hotshot.”
“We're all late, one way or another.” I walked past him into the office and looked around.
The office meat cooler cold, Berry's sweet Gucci cologne hung in the air, and sunlight struggled through the picture window.
Thinking: when sober it’s more difficult to breathe in the bleakness, I started to light a Salem, stopped, thought of Gillian, then went ahead. I'll quit next week. I lit up.
Joe settled into a stuffed chair, crossed his legs, and said, “Your Pretty Boy Floyd ass is in more trouble than Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard.”
“That's a lot of trouble.”
Joe seeming pleased about something. I had sensed, a while back, that Joe liked to see other people in trouble. Thrived on it. I think it’s an old Chinese theory, maybe English, or French, definitely Galbo.
I went behind the Berry’s bar to freshen my coffee and said to Joe, “So, how are you Joe, this fine Monday morning?”
Joe crossed his legs the other way. “What are you so happy about this morning … find another job?”
“I would never think of leaving you, big guy.”
“Bite me, Carr. Did you see Friday night's weather?”
“No. Why?”
“Moore laid a Henny Penny egg, big time.”
“What happened?”
“She walked off the set. Live! On the air!”
“You're kidding.”
“Would I kid a nice guy like you?” Joe burped.
I went to the sofa and settled into the soft cushions, “Is that what this meeting is about?”
Joe, smile spreading back to his molars, said, “Berry's after you in a biiiig mimosa way.”
“That all.”
I noticed heavy breathing and little cat footsteps and then, like a summer squall on Percy Priest Lake, Berry was in his office heading for his desk. I quickly inspected his dark gray pinstripe suit, argyle socks, and tiny cordovan loafers.
Behind his desk, standing, he stared at me. While he stared, I noted his pink shirt and stop-sign-red tie. He smashed his desk with a dainty right, and said “The goddamn office hours at this television station start at eight-thirty! Not goddamn nine o’clock. And nobody better forget it again or they're out of here on their ass! Is that goddamn plain enough for you, Carr?”
I felt myself grinning. “Plain enough.”
Berry sat and, as I studied the red splotches high on his cheeks, he daggered me: “Did you see the weather Friday night?”
“I saw Friday's overnight ratings.”
He smashed his desk with his fist. “Goddamn it, did you see the weather?”
I said, “Ah, no, but Joe said something….”
“Joe said something….” Berry wiped his lips. “Peggy walked off the set, live, just fucking walked off.”
“Joe said that, she walked off.” I had a hunch what might have caused her to do that but I wasn't going to bring that up. Then I thought, gotta say something, take a shot, left hook, half the truth. “Heard she quit Snakebite, dumped it all. Maybe that was it. Maybe Snakebite threatened her or something, you know, he's a nasty loser sometimes, I hear.”
Berry leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers, and looked at me in a Buddha cogitating way. After several moments of serious cogitating, he asked, placidly, “Where'd you hear that?”
“What?”
“Peggy quit Snakebite.”
“I heard it from Angelo, you know Angelo….”
“I goddamn know Angelo.”
“I'm surprised you didn't hear, Angelo said she quit couple days ago, oh that's right you been in New York. How was New York?”
Joe crossed his leg and I heard him whisper, “Jesus Christ.”
Berry slammed his desk with both hands. “What is goddamn going on around here?”
I asked Joe, “Any idea what's going on around here, second banana?”
Joe shot both his middle fingers at me. “Bite me, Carr.”
“Can it!” Berry looked at that spot, he liked to bead, between my eyes and said, “When Peggy gets in, you find out what happened and I want a report immediately if not sooner. Got it.”
I said, “What if she doesn't show up?”
He kicked his desk. “She goddamn has to show up!”
While I was thinking how uncomfortable it must be for Berry, he looked at Joe and said, “That's all, Joe.” He beaded me, “You, stick around for a minute.”
Joe said, “I'd like to hear this.”
“Go sell something,” said Berry, “and close the door on your way out.”
Joe stood, bit a piece of fingernail, spit it on the carpet, and left.
Berry walked to me.
I rested back in the sofa softness and looked up into his face.
Gazing down his nose like he had just tasted something nasty, rancid, and stale, he said, “What's this about Peggy quitting Snakebite?”
“All I know is what Angelo told me.”
He squeezed out a painful, “Wheeen?”
“I guess day after the premiere, Tuesday. You knew Peggy was Snakebite's lady friend, didn't you?”
He looked at me sideways like you do when you wonder how much the other person knows. “Where'd you hear that?”
I fudged a little. “Heard it from Angelo, bartender at Felix The Cat, you know Angelo….”
He kicked his coffee table. “Goddamn it, you know I fucking know Angelo!”
“Also, ah … Friday night I ran into Snakebite. He told me to tell you something about the bank closing, you'd know what he meant. We had a little disagreement.”
That look again. “Say again.”
“Snakebite said to tell you the bank was closing, you would know what he meant. I don't know, call him.”
“Don't worry, I will. What disagreement you have with him?”
“I accidentally stepped on his cowboy hat.”
“You WHAT?”
“I accidentally stepped on Snakebite's cowboy hat.”
“How the….” Berry wiped his chin like a dentist had just been in his mouth and the Novocain still numbed his cheek. “Are you serious?”
“I think.”
“You think. Jesus Christ. Let's call Snakebite, I'll find out what's going on.”
Berry went to his desk, turned on his speaker phone, and touched a set of numbers.
After two rings Snakebite's voice: “Walker.”
That paused me, the scumbag was in town, Gillian's gig tonight.
Berry said, “Snakebite, Berry, how ya doing?” Hearing nothing, he said, “Snakebite, you there?”
“Yeah, whaddaya want prick?”
“You don't sound so good.”
“Yeah, you're not gonna sound so good if I don't get some cash, bank is closed, prick.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Did ya get the message, I gave to that prick news guy of yours?”
I smiled at the thought of being so well known.
“You mean, Jack Carr, yes, he said something … but … what's going on?”
“Ask prick.”
“He's here.”
“Yeah, give him a message, prick is parts.”
I shouted from across the room, “Hi there Snakebite, how's the hat?”
A loud click.
Berry gushed, “What the fuck is going on?”
“You tell me, bank closing, Snakebite needs cash….”
He kicked his desk. “You
… I'll … you're….” I think he stopped short of firing me. I figured he maybe didn't want another problem just now. He looked at me for a good ten seconds, then said, “Get the fuck out of here.”
CHAPTER 28
Real Time
9:26:05 A.M. CDT
Sago Yu called police headquarters and talked to his detective friend, Jerry Little. “Hey Jer, need a favor.”
“What's that?”
“Need you to see if you got anything on a Gillian Phoenix?”
Pause, “What's up?”
“Somebody was asking about her, personal.”
“I'll check, let you know.”
CHAPTER 29
Jack’s Time
In my office, thinking Gillian simply has to split that Cat gig, I thought, call Gillian. Then I realized, where? I had no phone number. Dumb. The only number I had was Felix The Cat. I pressed the number.
“Cat.” The voice sounded female and young.
I said, “Hi, this is Uncle Ted from Spring City … Gillian Phoenix's Aunt Ida passed away and I wondered if you had a number for her….”
“Nope and no, we ain't allowed to give out Kitten numbers.” She hung up.
My private line rang. Berry. He invited me to an early lunch. It was more than an invite, kind of a recommendation. I speculated this might be my last day at TV12, but what can you do. Time and chance, a fork is a fork, and I had Gillian. I called Sago, lunch was out, had he found anything on Gillian? He told me his contact was going to check on it, let him know.
“Let me know.”
* * *
Berry drove and, seated in the Rebel Lounge, ordered a double Manhattan South; I had iced tea (believe it) and Stella Pastorini—long sleeve yellow blouse, ankle length green dress, three inch green spike heels, blonde wig—came over from her duties at the Knife & Fork and said hello to Berry. She ignored me and I noted that she looked like she had been through a rough weekend—puffy eyes looked like putty, blonde wig askew or something, awful lips like they had been gnawed on by a Rottweiler. I wondered what awful things might be going on in her mind.