“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
“Let’s try this,” Edward said briskly. “How about we just put our talk on hold until Saturday?”
“Why Saturday?”
“I’m having an end of the semester party Saturday night.”
Claire tried to sound interested. “Who’s coming?”
Her question bothered Edward—what did it matter, as long as he was there? “It’s just a small party. Those two people you just met, Jimmy and Holly. They might bring a couple friends along. Professor Resartus, too.”
Claire nodded.
“Bring a friend over. At least come over and have a few beers. Let your hair down.” And your pants, he thought.
She considered the invitation. The professor was interesting, and Holly was cool. What was wrong with a little beer and casual talk?
“Thanks, Edward. I’ll be there.”
Beer in hand, Edward spent the evening cleaning his apartment. He even tried smoking: he knew that parties featured lots of enthusiastic smoking. The cigarette was terrible, but he kept the pack for his guests.
The odds seemed good: two women (maybe more if they brought a friend) in his apartment and lots of booze. Jimmy was no competition. No, Jimmy was merely a hired hand, a guy sneaky and small enough to attach a lock to Edward’s apartment in the middle of the night. Resartus—well, he was interesting, but probably not sexually attractive. Edward would be the evening’s star: the guests would enjoy his hospitality, his booze, his wit. Ed the Head, they would think, is a happening dude.
He imagined Holly sitting on the couch. She wore shorts and a sleeveless tee. She was flush with beer and mischief—a sheen of sweat on her upper lip—and she was eyeing him. He sat beside her.
Giggling, she slapped his hand from her neck. As the party got loud and loose, she jammed two bottles of beer in her shorts, took his hand, and led him to the bedroom.
Claire was in bed, the sheet drawn lazily over her midriff.
“Don’t you know a conspiracy when you see one?” Claire asked. “We got you drunk so you’d come to bed with us.”
Chapter Thirty One: A Conspiracy
Just before the party was to start, Edward judged he had used too much cologne, so he took a quick shower. The air was still florid with cologne, so he took another shower and opened all the windows. A minute after the second shower, he was perspiring.
To further guard against odor, he took another shower and splashed on more cologne.
He was thinking about another shower when someone knocked on the door. “Just a moment,” he called. He wiped off the excess cologne and checked the living room one more time: peanuts in bowls, two packs of Arctic Blast cigarettes near the ashtray.
Edward took the stairs in one giant step. He opened the door, welcoming his guests with a rigid grin.
Nobody was there.
His grin was wasted on a squirrel who searched the weedy yard for nuts. Edward threw a stone at the squirrel. It missed by three yards, and the squirrel did not move.
“So that’s what you’re servin’ us. Stewed squirrel.” Claire was standing by the corner of the house.
“Good to see you,” Edward blurted. He meant it: Christ, was she good to see. She wore her customary faded jeans and white blouse. Her wavy hair was in a bun atop her head; a pencil served as the hairpin.
Her elegance was natural. She would be lovely in a feed bag.
“While I was waitin’ for you to answer the door, another guest arrived.”
Holly appeared, twelve-pack in hand. “Just in case we run out,” she announced. Edward nodded and remembered not to stare. Holly wore a belly-and-bust-hugging white tee and baggy black shorts. Now she stood beside Claire, and the two looked related: they shared a mischievous smile, one corner of their mouths higher than the other.
“Come in, please.” Edward relieved Holly of the twelve-pack. As he followed them in, Edward allowed himself a small gesture of victory: he thrust his arms into the air like a winning boxer.
“When are the other folks comin’?” Claire asked.
“Any time now.” He fervidly hoped nobody else would show.
Claire and Holly sat on the couch while Edward made them drinks: a gin and tonic for Holly, a screwdriver for Claire. Edward strengthened each drink by adding two fingers of vodka.
He served the drinks on a tray, and Claire nodded approvingly. “How gentlemanly.”
“Wow,” Holly said. “This is a strong drink.” She squinted, then swallowed half in one gulp.
“Careful honey,” Claire cautioned. “Edward’s tryin’ to get us drunk.” She folded her legs beneath her, took a cigarette from the pack on the end table.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” Edward said.
“Only when I party. Goes down nicely with a drink.”
Holly shook her head. “I used to smoke in high school, but I quit when I started running. It really cuts your wind.”
Edward sipped his own drink: white wine. He wanted to be relaxed, not drunk. He figured that seduction was easier when only the seducee was drunk.
“So Kris couldn’t make it?” Edward asked Holly.
“She’s trying to catch up so she can turn in her stuff late. You’d think she’d learn after two years in a row of lowered grades. But she’s too busy partying to study during the semester.”
“When I was nineteen and twenty,” Claire said, “I was working at a K Mart in Atlanta to save money for college. I didn’t have the time or cash to party much.” She examined her nearly empty glass. “I didn’t even know how to party,” she chuckled. “When I finally was able to go to school—after a marriage, after movin’ to Peoria, after gettin’ a divorce—after all that, I get to college and I figure, ‘Great, I’ll be around people who like books, who like to study, who like to learn.’ You know, I’ll be around real students.”
“Yeah, all three of them,” Edward said. Holly stuck out her tongue at Edward.
“Finally,” Claire continued. “I’m learnin’ how to party.” She drained the rest of her glass and lit another cigarette. “I knew I’d like college.”
They laughed and Edward rose to get more drinks. Standing in the kitchen, he felt woozy. The wine did not cause the wooziness: the company of two attractive women caused it. He had never enjoyed such company. Maybe Resartus and Stubbs really won’t make it, he hoped, and then—who knows? Stretch the party out over the weekend.
“Come on in,” Holly yelled.
Jimmy Stubbs stumbled into the apartment. He had already been drinking; he stood unsteadily beside the couch, an unlit cigarette in his mouth.
“I met you yesterday, didn’t I?” he asked Claire. He tried to focus his eyes.
“You sure did.” Claire lit his cigarette. “My name’s Claire Sweet.”
“That’s right.”
“You didn’t bring along anybody?” Edward asked.
“Nah. The guys in the frat house are already gone for the summer. They couldn’t wait to get outa this town. Can’t blame ‘em. Not much to do in the summer, unless you’re taking classes. But that’s not exactly entertainment.”
Jimmy began to complain about his advisor, who had demanded Jimmy re-take two business classes this summer. “I’m sick of this place as it is. And to stick around during the summer.” He snorted, and the snort turned into a ripping cough.
“Have another smoke,” Claire joked.
“In a moment, thank you,” he gagged.
“I should have bought more than two packs,” Edward remarked.
“I brought some,” Jimmy said. “And I congratulate you on your good taste. We both like the same brand.” Jimmy tossed his pack of Arctic Blast menthols onto the end table.
“Whoops,” Claire said. “Someone else at the door.”
“Door’s open,” Edward said.
Alex Resartus entered. He stood politely inside the entrance, nodding hellos. He looked almost normal, dressed in a nearly-stylish charcoal jacket, white
shirt, and black cotton slacks. The only odd touch was the tennis shoes: one black, the other blue.
“Good to see you could make it,” Edward said. He extended his hand, then led Alex into the living room.
Alex pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “I thought I wouldn’t make it. My car has been running badly, and on the way over here it died on me. Had to push it for a bit.”
“Where is it?” Edward asked.
“In the parking lot for that apartment complex down the road. I think it’s called The Village.”
“How far did you have to push it?” Holly asked.
“About a half mile, I guess. A few people saw me, but nobody offered to help.”
“I think you need a drink,” Edward said. “How about a gin and tonic?”
“I’d love one.”
Jimmy frowned. He wondered if he could push a car a half mile. Then he remembered Alex’s stunt in class this afternoon. “Professor Resartus—”
“Please call me ‘Alex’.”
“Al, how did you pick that table up today? By the table’s, I mean with your teeth.”
“When I was a kid, my parents took me to the circus. I liked the stunts: high wire walking, trapeze, lion taming, juggling, all that. I liked to imitate them. I couldn’t walk a high wire, so I just started juggling things.”
“So you learned to juggle tables?”
“It’s easy, really. You just get it balanced. Once it’s balanced, it’s light.” He shrugged and sat down.
“What’s this all about?” Claire asked.
While Jimmy and Holly explained Alex’s stunt, Edward got more drinks.
Claire was skeptical about the story. “You tossed a desk back and forth?”
“Just like a softball,” Holly asserted.
“Prove it!” Claire cheerfully challenged.
“Maybe later,” Alex allowed.
After each guest had a fresh drink, Edward proposed a toast. “I’d like to make a toast to Professor Resartus, who has started writing a novel. May it sell a million copies.”
Everyone but Jimmy said “Cheers” and sipped their drink. Jimmy was wondering why anyone would want to even read a novel; actually writing one was beyond stupid.
“Why does anybody write stuff anyway?” Jimmy blurted.
“To be elsewhere,” Alex instantly answered.
“Far out,” Claire remarked.
“It just so happens,” Edward announced. “I asked Professor—”
“Call him ‘Alex’,” Jimmy reminded.
“—I asked Alex to bring along his manuscript. He’s going to read a bit from his first chapter for us.”
“How wonderful,” Claire said. She had been reading The Best Year of His Life. She thought it was sick, yet she did enjoy it. “Let’s hear some right now.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes.
“A little later?” Alex asked. “There’s nothing like reading and thinking to snuff out a party before it starts.”
“Yeah,” Jimmy agreed. “Wait until we’re good and ripped. Then it’ll be bearable.”
Edward winced. But when everyone laughed at Jimmy’s remark, Edward laughed too. He fetched more drinks for everyone—the guests had grown talkative and thirsty.
Two hours later, Jimmy was face down on the floor. “What did I say about good and ripped?” he asked the carpet.
Nobody answered.
Claire and Holly were sitting on the floor, backs against the wall. They were speaking low, but animatedly, eyes wide and hands gesturing.
Jimmy studied the women. Girl talk mystified him. He had seen women talk like that before: quiet but intent, graceful yet fervent. What the hell could they be talking about? The only time Jimmy talked to people so intently was when he hated them, or when they hated him.
“What did I say about good and ripped?” Jimmy repeated. He looked to Edward or Alex for a response.
No answer.
Edward was talking almost non-stop; he paused only to wipe spilled drink from the coffee table. Alex sat quietly, nodding, sipping his drink, smoking.
Jimmy coughed into the carpet. All the goddamned cigarette smoke. He retreated into the bathroom and forced open the dirty window. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, savoring the fresh air. After five minutes, he guessed that nobody had noticed he was missing. This party did not have a star, and it was time for a bit-player to take center stage.
Jimmy stomped into the living room, raised his arms, and yelled. “What did I say about getting good and ripped!”
The others blinked at him. Then Edward snapped his fingers. “Right! Alex was going to read from his new novel!”
Alex raised his hands in mild protest. “I don’t want to bore you all.”
“Yes you do!” Jimmy roared. He shook a bottle of beer, removed the cap. Foam erupted from the bottle and onto his hands and shoes. He finished the beer in four athletic swigs and dropped the bottle. “I will read the novel myself.”
Edward glanced at Claire and Holly. Claire was laughing, Holly was shaking her head. Alex handed Jimmy the manuscript.
“What chapter are we on here?” Jimmy asked.
“Three,” Alex said. “Let me set this up. My protagonist is a doctor, Dr. Dave. He died then came back to life, but he doesn’t know how or why. Now he’s going through the trials and tribulations that protagonists do—in this case, a dead protagonist who’s realizing he’ll never be accepted by the living.”
“Far out,” Claire remarked.
Jimmy squinted at the manuscript page until the words came into focus. He cleared his throat, belched, and began. As the story proceeded, Holly killed time by drinking and pretending to listen. Edward and Claire laughed several times.
At one point, Edward laughed as he was swallowing beer. The brew foamed out of his nose. Jimmy stopped reading and asked Edward what was so funny. “I’m not reading this right?” Jimmy demanded.
“It’s the story that’s funny, not you.”
Jimmy re-scanned the last few paragraphs. “I don’t see any jokes here.”
“They’re not jokes,” Claire broke in. “It’s the situation.” She turned to Alex. “When the kids get pissed at their Dad for being dead…” She nodded slightly, thinking. “They just want him to go away…like he’s supposed to…” The liquor let her forget her polite laugh: her real laugh was a throaty cackle.
“Perhaps the fate of most fathers with young teens,” Alex smiled.
Jimmy finished the chapter: Dr. Dave’s patience was fraying, and he escaped his family’s bewildered exasperation by lying at the bottom of the family pool for an hour. Only the family dog showed concern. She nervously paced the pool deck, and she was soon barking in alarm as Dr. Dave remained motionless on the pool’s bottom.
Jimmy bowed as he put down the manuscript.
The audience applauded.
“One thing,” Jimmy asked Alex. “How is it that Dr. Dave came back to life?”
“Well, he died and went to hell.”
“But he’s right back where he was before.”
Alex nodded enthusiastically “Precisely. Dr. Dave’s hell is his family, his friends, and his work.” Alex paused to blow smoke rings at Jimmy. “You see, he thinks he’s better than everyone else. He thinks he’s so much better that he despises other people. He’d worn out his welcome when he was alive, and most people were relieved when he died. Now that he’s back, no one wants him back.”
“Far out,” Claire whispered.
“Dave’s character is established in the first chapter,” Alex noted. “He lets his guard down for a moment and says to his brother, ‘I’d rather be dead than stuck in this boring town with these dull, demanding, whining people.’”
“I can identify with that,” Jimmy announced. “I’m stuck in an empty frat house all summer long in this dirty stinking town.” Jimmy’s situation angered him, and he crushed an empty beer can between his hands.
“All your frat brothers are gone already?” Alex asked.
�
��Everybody. It sucks doesn’t it?”
“You have a brother named Dave,” Edward said to Alex. His tone was nearly accusing. “And your protagonist’s name is Dave.”
“I don’t remember mentioning—”
“In your first novel. It’s dedicated to your family, and there’s a special note of thanks to your brother.”
“What a memory.” David had forced Alex to acknowledge him. “Without me,” David had exclaimed, “you’d still be the drooling kid in the closet!”
Alex stood. “I’ve very much enjoyed your company, but I do have to be going. Let me use your phone to call a cab?”
“I’ll give you a ride back,” Edward insisted.
“No, please. Stay with your guests. Besides, I’d rather have a sober driver, if I may say so.” He winked at Edward.
“You haven’t done your juggling act yet,” Claire protested after Alex phoned a cab.
“So I haven’t.” Alex faced Jimmy. “May I borrow you?”
“Borrow me?”
“Thank you.” Alex gripped both Jimmy’s wrists and, like an adult amusing a child, began spinning around. Jimmy ran to keep up, but soon his toes were merely scraping the floor.
During the first three rotations, Jimmy alternately laughed and cursed. The fourth rotation lifted Jimmy off his feet. Soon he was parallel to the floor.
“Spin him faster,” Edward urged.
“Fuck you,” Jimmy howled. His stomach was queasy, and he was dizzy. The living room became a cylindrical blur; everyone’s face was featureless, except for the open laughing mouths. The laughing mouths appeared momentarily, spun away, and appeared again. Soon the room evaporated, and Jimmy could see only Alex’s manic grin.
“Look Ma,” Alex called. “No hands.” He instantly moved his grip from Jimmy’s wrists to Jimmy’s head. Jimmy’s arms flailed uselessly.
“Spin him faster,” Holly laughed.
Instead of spinning Jimmy faster, Alex raised and lowered him. Jimmy closed his eyes each time the floor rushed toward him. He heard everybody roaring. Suddenly, Jimmy’s perspective had reversed: now it was the ceiling that advanced and retreated, advanced and retreated.
Jimmy heard someone say, “Cab’s here.” He found himself on his feet, but the room still spun. Claire put a steadying hand on his shoulder and gave him a cigarette.
A Self Made Monster Page 20