Time and Chance

by G L Rockey

  After pleasantries with Berry, Stella left and Berry ask me flat out what I knew about Snakebite and him. I told him I knew nothing. He didn't believe me. Then he told me, soon as I had left his office, he had called Snakebite again and asked him what was going on. Snakebite asked him again if he got the 'bank closed' message from me. Berry told him he had but wondered why, what had happened. Snakebite told him he should talk to the 'Irish Prick', and hung up. Irish being wrong, but me nevertheless, Berry said he called Snakebite back. Snakebite confirmed what I had told Berry earlier. Peggy quit Snakebite, her Felix The Cat gig, she had fallen in love.

  Berry folded his arms and said, “Snakebite said it's you she's in love with.”

  I took a page from First Angelo, I di'nt know nothin', that it was me was a surprise to me. Shocked even, I couldn't believe that.

  Berry said that's what he thought. He said he told Snakebite it had to be a mistake, he would talk to me, see what was going on, they could work it out. He was sure it was just a misunderstanding. The way Berry explained it, I assumed he got an extension on the bank closing.

  Then, in baroque tones, Berry told me if I even thought of touching Peggy, I was canned. Seemed a little late but I didn't think it made any sense to get into all the boring details now.

  As we got ready to leave, he told me, quote, “Get it fixed, Carr, whatever the misunderstanding is, whatever it takes, you get it fixed, pronto, or else.”

  On the way out Berry had to see Bernard about something. As I waited for Berry in the lobby, Stella slipped me a The Berry Inn stationery envelope—canary yellow. Holding the envelope to my ear, I listened for a ticking.

  * * *

  Back at TV12, a little after lunch time, no message from Gillian, I sat at my desk and opened the envelope Stella had given me. The note, written in black ink on The Berry Inn yellow stationary, rambled. Scanning it quickly to see if there were any death threats, it seemed Stella had been with Peggy over the weekend. It had been a horrible experience. I read it more closely:

  Jackson, Congratulations on ruining Peggy's premiere party. I spend all day Saturday with Peggy and all Sunday to. It was a horrible thing what you did to her. I got up after midnight and she was almost drowned her head in the toilet. I had to clean up for her. she dint know where she was. The wee hours of Monday A.M. were fucked, she got her gun out. Finally passed out, when she woke up, thens when she pushed me out a bed. She would kill me if she knew I was telling you this, but I'm doing it for her own good.

  To put it plain, Peggy is pissed with what you did to her Friday night, standing her up like that. For that matter, so am I. I think it was something some male dog like you wood do. we talked long and hard and Peggy does not want to see you agin cepting on a professional level.

  So don't go calling her or talking to her at any time. Professional that she is, she probably be in to work today, but I'd warn you to stay clear of her.

  (OVER)

  P.S.

  Just so you know, I seen you and Gillian riding that motorcycle on Sunday. Just so you know to, when I went into work Saturday night Angelo told me about you fighting with Snakebite. Snakebite said he is going to cook you for what you done to Peggy and him. He also tole me about the call from Gillian Saturday afternoon her not coming into work. When I seen you and Gillian, Sunday, on her bike, I knew what is going on.

  Congratulations, Jackson. Lucky for you, Snakebite doesn't know about you and Jillsie YET! I just want you to know, I DO!

  PS #2: If you know what's good for you, don't ever go near Felix The CAT again. Snakebite is going to cook your liver and eat it.

  PS. number 3 Word to the wise, I didn't tell Peggy everything for your own health.

  PS number 4, LET Peggy alone!

  STELLA P.

  I looked around. I was standing up. Terrified for Gillian, zipping past Joy's desk, I told her I had to run out for an hour.

  Winston remembered the way to Gillian's house. Maybe she would still be there.

  CHAPTER 30

  Real Time

  1:25:03 P.M. CDT

  Peggy—hair sprayed stiff, cherry lipstick, pink eye shadow, white long sleeve shirt, pearly buttons, black leather vest, black leather mini shirt, black boots, slim black leather gloves, large red leather purse—arrived The Berry Inn and went immediately to the Knife & Fork. She had become well known there and basked in the added service. She said “hi” as she passed Stella and seated herself in her favorite table by a window overlooking the pool. As she peeled off her gloves, she glanced at the luncheon special printed on a white flier stuck in a silver paper clip: Corned Beef & Hash with EGG—$8.95.

  Stella—blonde wig, yellow satin blouse, ankle length green dress, green heels—lunch business winding down, walked to Peggy's booth and sat. “How ya feeling?”

  “Fucking wonderful.”

  “Sorry about the weekend.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Stella pushed off her shoes and wiggled her toes. “Berry and Jack were in earlier, for lunch, over the Rebel Lounge.”

  A cold stare from Peggy.

  “Left half hour ago.”

  The cold stare continued, Stella lit a Pall Mall, dragged, exhaled, said, “Glad Frazer didn't come in here, help gets goosey, start droppin’ dishes, cups, everything … but, what the hell, he owns the joint, what's left of it, rumors around here checks are bouncing like hail on my trailer's roof. Hah. No wonder Frazer had three Manhattan Souths, and get this, Jackson had iced tea.”

  Peggy closed her eyes slowly.

  A young male server came to the table with a coffee pot in hand and spoke to Peggy. “Hello, Ms. Moore. Cool weather show.”

  “Thanks.” Peggy forced a smile.

  “Can I get you something?” The server said.

  “Hash ain't bad.” Stella said.

  “Nothing. Just some coffee.” Peggy said.

  Stella said, “I'll have the hash. Tell 'em just a small portion and forget the egg.”

  “Thank you.” The server left.

  Stella inhaled and blew smoke through her nose, “I heard another guy talking about your weather. Said you was pretty good.”

  Peggy squeezed her coffee cup and a purple vein bulged on the back of her hand. “I've never been stood up in my whole mother fucking life! That son of a bitch.”

  “Don't work yourself up about it.” Stella avoided Peggy's eyes. “Maybe he just forgot.”

  “Oh, stuff it Stella. Maybe he just forgot.”

  The waiter brought the corned beef and hash for Stella and heated up Peggy's coffee, smiled, “Anything else, ladies?”

  Stella shook her head.

  He left and Stella began pushing her hash around with a fork.

  Peggy fought back a sob.

  Stella said, “Will you forget about that loser. You have to do your show in a couple hours, it'll just make it worse. Just go over there and pretend like nothin’ happened.”

  “Pretend like nothing happened.”

  “Want a Bloody Mary? I'll have one with you.”

  “No, I don't want a Bloody Mary!” Peggy bit her lower lip, “I been thinking, maybe something happened, accident or something, way he drinks….”

  “Didn't look like an accident to me.”

  Peggy narrowed her eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

  Stella sipped coffee, touched her hair, “I have to make an appointment to get my color touched up. Whaddaya think? Roots are showing. Maybe I should just get a new wig.”

  “Stella.” Peggy tapped her fingers on the table top.

  “I'm thinking something similar to your color.”

  “Stella.”

  “I want to get a facial too. And I haven't had a good pedicure in a….”

  “Damn it! What didn't look like an accident?”

  “He was out.” And it flowed out of Stella like a thin vinaigrette: “Sunday afternoon, we was driving round looking for Jackson, you was passed out, I saw Jackson and her riding on a motorcycle. I'd bet a dollar th
ey spent the weekend together.”

  Peggy, “Her who?”

  “That new one? Gillian Phoenix, one looks like she's got some blood.”

  Peggy's eyes becoming primordial dark and deep pools, “You knew this Sunday afternoon and didn’t tell me?”

  “I didn't….”

  “Shut up!” Peggy stared out the window. “You tell Snakebite?”

  “I'm afraid he might kill the messenger.”

  “Hah!”

  Stella: “Jackson is either brave as hell or crazy as a loon. Somebody is going to get cooked. I might quit working this dump too, just to keep the peace.” She exhaled with a satisfied smile, “I told you about that Jackson, you wouldn't listen.”

  Peggy dragged her cigarette and exhaled slowly, eyes narrow slits, said, “You're really enjoying this, ain’t ya?”

  “Don't look at me like that, I'm just the messenger.”

  Peggy inhaled like she was sending smoke to her toes. After ten seconds the smoke seeped from her nostrils: “Anything else you ain’t told me, Ms. Stella?”

  “I….”

  “Shut up.” Peggy thumped the table with her fingers. “I wonder if Mr. Carr is in his office.” She dragged a quarter inch off her Parliament.

  “Don't you go over there blabbing and get me in trouble with Snakebite and Berry….”

  “Shut up.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Jack’s Time

  No Gillian at the farm, doors locked, nothing; back in my office, I didn't follow Berry's instructions to call Peggy. You see, I knew, despite Stella's note, I would be seeing Ms. Moore face to face, sooner than later. I was more concerned about Gillian.

  * * *

  I hit my desk, “How could you not get Gillian's phone number?”

  Feeling low, I loosened my tie, unbuttoned my collar, leaned back and up popped a familiar friend.

  Don't get too attached. You get attached and bang, car runs a red light.

  “Get lost.”

  He left.

  I didn't want to think about red lights because it brought that awful black empty loss and with that a desire to have a short visit with Jack Daniels and I have of late never had a short visit with Mr. Daniels.

  Mulling things over, I checked Blancpain, 2:59 and, as a rustling at first, like autumn leaves whipped up by a brisk wind, I heard an approaching sound. Joy stopped typing. The rustling got louder and Peggy, all decked out in black leather, blew into my office, wide eyed and bristling.

  “HEY!” She threw a bulky red purse on my desk and began peeling off her gloves. “Just who in hell do you think you are, anyhow?”

  Not surprised, I had expected her sooner, but I was not prepared for the full frontal assault. Second thought, maybe I was.

  Joy closed the door.

  Peeling off gloves, Peggy said, “I'm waiting.”

  I looked at her fake eyelashes and blue eye shadow. Her thick makeup looked cooked on and her red lipstick appeared to be dry clay. I smiled, “Kinda hot for gloves, isn't it.”

  Staring at me, she finished peeling off her gloves and slapped them on my desk.

  Long red fingernails, sharp.

  “I ASK you a question,” she said.

  “What was that?”

  “Just who in hell do you think you are, anyhow?”

  I thought, better not saying anything. Nothing. I didn't.

  “Well, don't just sit there. Say something.”

  From the look in her eyes, I had a hunch, despite what Stella's note said, she had talked to Stella, knew everything.

  She put her hands on her hips. “I'm waiting.”

  I leaned back in my chair and put my hands on top of my head. “Is this what they call the direct approach?”

  “Up yours, buddy.” She tapped her foot like she was waiting for a bus. She looked around the office. “I'm waiting for an explanation!”

  “Why are you yelling?”

  Her nostrils flared, her eyes narrowed, she stabbed the top of my desk with her fingernails. “I'm not yelling.”

  I stretched my arms and yawned.

  “Tired?” She smirked.

  “No, just stretching.”

  She spread her fingers out and leaned forward, “Where were you Friday night?”

  I lit a Salem, looked at her clenched jaw, and thought I better say something. “I was sick.”

  “Bastard, bastard, bastard!” She knocked my in-basket to the floor. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She thumped my desk with clenched fists. “I hate you. I hate you!”

  I glanced at my mail scattered over the floor then looked back at her. Beginning to feel like I had enough of this, I said between her eyes, “That's enough.”

  She widened her eyes, meek, like she wanting to reconcile, sat in the chair facing my desk, and crossed her legs. Naked knees gleamed white above black boot.

  The silence like a Cezanne still life, I thought about my before life. Just a few days ago, not really giving a flying Mallard duck about anything, courting green snakes, cockroaches, and red toads, I would have told Peggy to take a long walk on a short plank. But now I wanted to think of tomorrow, and next week and living this thing out.

  She changed gears and simpered, “I just want to know something, Mr. Carr.”

  “I know. I know.” I held my hand up and glanced to the newsroom window. Much slow movement accompanying binocularly glances our way, I stood and, walking to the window said, “I didn't feel good,” closed the drapes, added, “Flu or something.”

  “Awww, poor thing.”

  I returned to my desk, began picking up in-basket stuff, said, “Really, I felt rotten.”

  “Reeaally.” She served up a more generous portion of leg. “Feeling better?”

  “Much.” In-basket back on my desk, some mail still on the floor, I sat.

  She lit a Parliament and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “Jack, I can handle a one night stand as long as you're….” she touched my desk top, “still mine.”

  What can you say?

  “Well?”

  “What?”

  She smacked the chair arm. “I want to know where you were all weekend!”

  I glanced at her eyes then looked away. She knows. “Look, let's meet later for a drink and talk it over.”

  “NO. I don't want no damn drink and I don't want to meet later.” She puffed her Parliament, crossed her legs the other way (more leg than boot), and exhaling said, “We're going to get some things straight, right now, buster.”

  I leaned back in my chair and smiled. “Okay, what are we going to get straight?”

  “It's a big laugh to you isn't it.”

  I decided to stick with my original story. “No, I told you, I was sick.”

  “Ha! Why didn't you answer your phone?” She pressed her lips together in a thin smile like a CIA movie guy who knows the answer. “Hmm, too sick.”

  “I took some medicine … knocked me out, didn't hear anything.”

  She dragged Parliament and held the smoke in for a good ten seconds then the smoke began to dribble out through, “All this is because of Snakebite, ‘haint it?”

  I took my earlier advice, say nothing, best to shut up.

  She sustained a very cold stare at me with no end in sight.

  Then again, maybe talk, “Heck no. I told you. I was sick. Flu or something I ate. I think it was something I ate. Bad shrimp. That's all … look, Peggy, be nice and let's talk about this some other time, out of the office.”

  She lowered her head, began a no-tear cry, blotted her nose with a tissue. “What do you think we were doing these past weeks?” She blew her nose.

  I thought of just telling her the truth. No, stay with the sick thing. No, tell her the truth—ours was a reciprocal use thing in another time. “Peggy look, I'm sorry if you thought … if I misled … I thought we understood … it was just a reciprocal use kind of thing.”

  Confused, “A what?”

  I was never good with this stuff. “What can I say, I got really p
lastered Friday night, didn't want to embarrass you at the party, and that's it.”

  She stood and, moving behind my desk, turned my chair so that she stood between my legs. “Don't you understand you dummy? I don't care what happened.” She kneeled between my legs and reached for my fly.

  I turned and pushed her away.

  She shot up, smacked my face with a pretty good right and, looking like a million miles of hot desert, she'd kill for a sip of water, said, “I knew you were a wimp from the beginning. That first night, walked away when I was doing ya. Whoever heard of a real man doing that.”

  “Bravo.”

  She went to the front of my desk, “It's not that simple, Mr. Carr. Not by a long, long shot. I am not accustomed to being treated like some little whore you pick up in a bar.” She began pulling her gloves on. “Drunk, huh. Sick, huh. Should have stuck with 'it was something I ate'. I heard about your little escapade. I should think you could do better than a bar maid.”

  I smiled.

  “A whore bar maid at that.” She flared her nostrils.

  “Beautiful. Just beautiful. Bravura.” I clapped my hands. “Wonderful.”

  “Whore.”

  “All depends on the point of view, doesn't it, Peggy?”

  “You're sick. Better go see a shrink.”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.”

  Peggy flipped her gloved right middle finger in my face. “Kiss off, fancy pants. You wanna play games, we'll play games, buddy boy, I might even call the E.E.O.C.”

  Heck’s fire, I thought, Snakebite, Berry, Big Joe, Stella … the E.E.O.C. sounded like the Sisters of Mercy. Knowing I shouldn't, I couldn't help it, I laughed.

  Peggy tight fitted her gloves to each finger. “Go ahead, laugh, Mr. Fancy Pants. Maybe from here on out I'll be the one doing the laughing.”