by Rudy Yuly
Joe never made a conscious decision, but after cruising around aimlessly until noon, kicking himself for wasting valuable time, counting stoplights, smoking, and holding his breath, the van seemed to drive itself to the Ravenna.
What exactly did I say to LaVonne last night? Joe couldn’t remember clearly. He had been so freaked out by his dream, not even fully awake when she left. He knew it was bad, though.
Joe remembered the bone-jarring sound of the front door slamming. He winced as it finally came to him. The whole thing had started with him accidentally hitting LaVonne right in her beautiful sweet face. How could he have forgotten? Somehow it hadn’t even registered in his brain until this moment. He’d hit LaVonne. He was mortified.
But he couldn’t leave. He needed to see her, with an aching physical pain in his chest that only grew stronger and more urgent now that he realized what he’d done. She’d changed his life last night, and that was how he repaid her? He’d gone to sleep happier than he’d ever been, probably in his entire life.
Why had the bad dreams come to fuck everything up? Can’t I ever get a break? LaVonne was, if Joe was honest about it, more than his first real lover. She was also, not counting Eddie, pretty much his only friend.
Joe sat in the Ravenna’s parking lot for an agonized hour, most of it with his head in his hands, rubbing his forehead and hair. He had never been in a situation like this before. What exactly did guys do when they were on the verge of losing the best thing that had ever happened to them? Surely it would be better to let it go, to drive away and forget about her. She deserves so much better than me.
But that thought stirred something up in him. He hated lies, and something about his self-pity struck him as dishonest. LaVonne had asked him out. If he questioned her judgment that he was worth a shot, wasn’t that putting her down in a way? He was entirely willing to think himself stupid, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it about her. He desperately wanted to believe that her hunch about him had been right, that he was worth caring about. At one time, a long time ago, he had believed it.
A thought came to him. Joe started his engine and backed quickly out of the parking lot. He was going in. He was going to talk to her. But he wouldn’t—couldn’t—go in empty-handed. He needed to apologize, but he couldn’t trust himself to express how much and how deeply he was feeling. Didn’t guys give flowers in situations like this? It wasn’t much, but it beat wasting time in the parking lot. Maybe they would help show how sorry he really felt.
The fact that he had a plan, however weak, shifted Joe’s anxiety into something resembling excitement. He drove, a little better than usual, to the huge Safeway where he and Eddie did their main shopping. He’d gone past the flower section, right next to the produce, hundreds of times but had never given it more than a passing glance.
Once Joe was in the store, his resolve began to melt into indecision. There were big, bright bouquets combining who knew what: carnations, tulips, birds of paradise, daisies, and roses. There were potted plants. There were dried flowers. As Joe picked up and examined several combinations, he felt worse and worse. All the flowers were wrapped in plastic. None of them looked very good to him.
The motherly Asian woman who worked in that section saw his indecision and came over.
“Can I help you find something?” she said kindly.
“I…I’m having a little trouble d-d-deciding,” Joe said, looking blankly at the loud tacky bouquet in his hand. He noticed the price tag, $12.99, and wondered how hard it would be to peel the sticker off.
“Can I ask what it’s for?”
“It’s…it’s for a girl.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Is it a special occasion?”
“I fucked up pretty bad,” Joe blurted, and was immediately hit by a breathtaking urge to bolt from the store.
The clerk was unfazed. “Well, in that case, you gotta get roses,” she said knowingly. “Nothing fixes a fuckup like a dozen roses…or maybe two dozen.”
“Sure, yeah,” he said, deeply relieved. He took a deep breath. “Give me t-t-two, I guess.”
“You have a special color in mind?”
Joe wanted to say red, but he shook his head.
“You wait right here,” the clerk said. “I’ll get you some real pretty ones.”
Joe stood and waited. Before long the clerk came back, nearly hidden behind a huge bunch of red, yellow, white, pink, and orange roses, overrun with white baby’s breath, the whole gargantuan mass almost odorless, tagged, and wrapped in crinkly plastic. Joe was shocked at how ugly they looked to him. Tacky. Not that he knew a damn thing about flowers.
“I arranged them special,” she said. “I think she’ll really like them.”
“Thanks.” He tried to hide his dismay. “They’re perfect.”
“Want some balloons to go with them? Women love balloons.”
“Umm…no, thanks,” Joe said. Yeah. Maybe I should get some clown make-up, too.
The flowers took up most of the front seat in the van, where Eddie usually sat. They stared up at Joe, blindingly cheerful, forced, and plainly wrong. He was more confused than ever but tried to keep his mind blank on the way back to the Ravenna by counting cars and reciting recent RBI stats for the entire Mariners lineup.
Once Joe pulled into the lot, he’d pretty much made up his mind that he wasn’t going to give the horrible roses to LaVonne. If her hunch was right, he might possibly be good enough for her. But these particular flowers definitely weren’t. On the other hand, he told himself, maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe the gesture was enough.
As soon as he stopped the van, Joe went back to rubbing his head, agonizing over what to do. What could he give LaVonne that would really express how he felt? Without actually coming to any conclusions, he opened the glove compartment and rummaged around inside. He found a small pad of paper and, after a couple of violent scribbles, a pen that worked.
He started to write. He ripped five sheets off the pad working on the first sentence, but after that the words started to flow as though he’d hit an artery. He wrote things he would never be able to say. He wrote about his feelings, about his frustrations, about his hopes. At least the hopes he used to have. He even wrote a little about his history. He wrote about things he’d never realized until they came out on the page, like about how long he had hidden his feelings for LaVonne—even from himself. He did his best to tell the truth. It felt better than anything he had done in a long time.
After nearly an hour, Joe stopped writing and lit a cigarette. Doubt started filling up the space he had just emptied out. He looked at the pad sitting next to him on the seat. He’d filled about thirty of the small pages with his hurried scrawl. If he actually gave them to LaVonne, he realized, she probably wouldn’t even be able to read them. He was too scared to read them himself.
So he sat there, stuck. He was too stuck to give LaVonne the flowers or the letter. He was too stuck to drive away.
Joe checked the time. It was nearly 3:00 P.M. If he didn’t make a move soon, it would be time to go pick up Eddie. That got him moving. He got out of the van, empty-handed, and headed into the bar.
“I can’t really talk right now, Vonelle,” LaVonne said into the phone. “We’re pretty busy.”
The voice at the other end of the line was insistent. “You haven’t said a word to me about that man, LaVonne. I know you and I know that’s not good. I’m telling you if he does one thing to my girl—if he takes one step out of line—I’m coming over there with a big-ass ugly stick to beat his thick head—”
“He’s fine, Vonelle. He’s just shy.”
“Shy? Shy? What’s that about? Any man’s shy with you must be gay. I’m telling you LaVonne Wilson, you get yourself in another mess with another bad man and—
“Gotta go,” LaVonne said. “He just walked in.”
Even though it was busy, Joe’s stool was free. He saw LaVonne and she saw him at the same instant. Thank God, he thought, she doesn’t have a black eye or somet
hing. LaVonne was on the phone, but she put it away immediately—and walked away down the bar to help someone at the opposite end.
Joe stood there, behind his regular bar stool, afraid to sit.
LaVonne was giving excellent service, but she was clearly in no hurry to come back to his end of the bar. Someone looked over at Joe standing there awkwardly, and he finally sat down. He sat there for ten seemingly endless minutes, as LaVonne checked in with everyone else in the place. In about two more seconds it was going to get humiliatingly obvious to the entire bar that she was shunning him. She kept walking by as if he were invisible.
A little guy with a big gut sitting two stools down from Joe had already looked at him funny a couple of times. Joe felt himself shrinking, getting smaller and smaller each time LaVonne came near. If he didn’t do something soon, he was going to end up walking out with his tail between his legs and never come back. He worked up his nerve, and waited until she was directly across from him with her back turned.
“Any chance I could get served?” he said.
LaVonne turned around and looked at him as if he were a five-penny tip. She came close and leaned forward. “You already did,” she said quietly, “so unless you came to apologize—and it damn well better be good—you’re eighty-sixed, mister. And I mean permanently.”
One thing Joe liked about LaVonne, even now: When he didn’t know what the hell to do, she tended to create a very clear path for him. Even empty-handed, she was giving him a small opening. He was smart enough to jump at it.
“I c-c-came to apologize. Absolutely. I…I…I…” He couldn’t break through his stutter. LaVonne let him suffer. He bit the inside of his lip, took a quick, deep gulp of air. “I’m s-s-s…I’m s-s-s…I’m s-ssorry,” he finally managed.
LaVonne didn’t move.
Joe tried again. His chest rose up and down as he forced himself to breathe. “I…am sorry,” he stumbled. “I wish I would have…handled myself better. I’m an idiot. Please.”
That was all he could manage. He wanted to say more, but his mind completely flamed out.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start. LaVonne knew Joe was wounded, damaged goods. She’d gotten involved with her eyes as wide open as she could manage. There were definite limits, though, and Joe was on the edge of the cliff. She wasn’t going to take one more ounce of abuse in her life. Not from anyone. One tiny push, and he’d be gone, as far as she was concerned. Might as well lay down some ground rules.
She looked around. The guy with the gut was looking at them.
“This is private, Bill,” she said. “Mind your own business and the next round’s on me.” The guy looked away. LaVonne lowered her voice. “Look, Joe, I know you have problems. I know you’ve had a rough time. I like you, I really do. But you’re not the only one who’s had it rough. My life’s pretty good right now, but it hasn’t always been like this. Most of my problems came from two places: hanging out with idiots, and acting like one myself.”
“I know—” Joe began.
“Don’t interrupt,” Lavonne said quietly. “You’re not an idiot, Joe. But you do know how to act like one. As far as your apology…I guess it’ll do, in spite of my better judgment. But the count’s two and nothing against you.”
Joe looked at her as though he was willing to take whatever she was about to pitch.
“Or maybe two and two,” she said.
Joe knitted his brows. “Why two and two?”
“Because you definitely have a couple of balls coming in here after what you pulled last night.”
Joe looked at her, dazed, as her face softened into an expression that was clearly still exasperated—but also kind and indulgent.
“Thank you,” he choked out. He looked down and rubbed his head. He was out of breath.
“You’re welcome,” LaVonne said. “I’m going to give you one more chance, Joe.”
Joe smiled broadly, like a kid, looking at his hands locked together on the bar. LaVonne was shocked. She’d never seen a smile like that on his face before. His sincerity was powerful stuff—on the rare occasions he let it loose.
“Joe,” LaVonne said, reaching out and resting her warm hand on top of his,. “you scared?”
“Shitless.”
“Me, too,” she said. “What can I get you?”
“Redhook. Please.”
After a while, LaVonne took a break, poured herself a diet Sparkle, and sat down next to Joe. They didn’t speak for five minutes. For a change, it was a comfortable feeling. Joe felt his heart slowing down, his breathing easing up.
“I was, I was wondering if you could tell me some more about your nephew’s baseball team thing,” he said.
LaVonne laughed. That was about the last thing she had expected to hear. Joe was just as nonplussed. Lately, with LaVonne, every time he opened his mouth he felt like a puppet manipulated by an invisible, cruel ventriloquist.
“What’s his name?” Joe asked.
“It’s Anton. And if you’re serious about this, Joe, I’ll definitely push you until it happens.”
“Well, I—”
“I’m serious,” LaVonne said, still smiling. “If you did anything to disappoint my little Anton, we’d be through.”
Joe’s cell phone rang.
“Go ahead and get your call.” LaVonne went back to work, smiling and shaking her head.
Joe answered the call.
“How’s that brother of yours?” It was Pinky Bjorgeson.
Joe wasn’t going to get into it with her. He bit down hard to keep from stuttering. “Fine. He’s at the Red Lotus now.”
“You’d better remember to thank Louis for rescheduling that job for you,” Bjorgeson said. “He’s been taking some ribbing for that.”
“Yeah,” Joe said. “From you. Tell Louis he can forget paying me the twenty bucks from our bet last Saturday.”
“You tell him. So where’d Eddie take off to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He came back,” Joe hesitated. “He’s fine. Went for a walk. .”
“Uh, right. So what is it that makes you think he’s not going to run off again?”
“I don’t know, but he’s fine today. Is that all you need? I’m kind of in the middle of something right now.”
“Sorry to bother you,” Pinky said dryly.
“No problem. So…is that it?” Joe had a pretty good idea what Pinky’s answer was going to be, and it made his heart sink.
“No, actually, that’s not it. There’s a job tomorrow if you’re available. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”
“Where?” Now Joe’s voice sounded tired.
“Knife fight at a men’s shelter. Pretty gross. These two old geezers had some kind of a disagreement and decided to figure it out with their pocketknives. I guess they both won, huh?” As usual, Bjorgeson couldn’t resist baiting Joe. Joe didn’t say anything. “Joe? You there?”
Joe didn’t bite. “Yeah, we need the work.”
Pinky was quiet at the other end. “You okay, Joe?” she said, finally.
Joe didn’t answer right away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He did his best to sound sincere. “Thanks.”
“No problem, Joe. You got the job. The priest will call you with the address. Bet that’s a first, huh? You guys play your cards right, maybe you can get time off in hell for good behavior.”
Chapter 34
Eddie made surprisingly good progress at the Red Lotus. His senses were heightened and melded into one, feeding a continuous stream of information into his brain. The evil was receding, he was still strong after nearly seven strenuous hours, and five of the blue wispy spirits had already freed themselves and floated away.
His worries hadn’t completely disappeared, but they were quieted and pushed far enough back in his consciousness that they didn’t interfere with the work. The overwhelming stimulation of the job was providing blessed relief, at least for now.
But now there was a problem
. Eddie was having trouble freeing the last spirit, and his internal clock told him it was getting alarmingly close to quitting time. Eddie had tried to communicate with the spirit, then moved away from it, using the machines to completely clean the rest of the room. But the spirit wouldn’t budge, stubbornly inhabiting what was becoming a smaller and smaller circle of blood on the floor, keeping Eddie from finishing the job.
Now he was going around and around it with the machine. As the circle got smaller and smaller, Eddie sensed a rushing sound, like an urgent whisper. Every time he tried to close up on the circle, the sound became unbearable, drowning out even the powerful whine of the industrial wet-dry vac. It was more than the sound, though. Something strong, something he’d never felt before, was holding him back.
Eddie turned off the machine, knelt down, and concentrated on the perfect circle of dried blood in front of him. He squinted, and could just make it out: a gauzy dome that had materialized over it, hovering protectively.
The circle was about six inches in diameter, right where the main linoleum floor rose up a half-inch or so to meet a wooden dance floor. A piece of molding joined the two sections. Half of the circle was on wood and half was on linoleum. The dome over it was a translucent swirling pattern of light, dark red, and pale blue pouring in and out of one another.
The more Eddie stared, the more curious he became. This shouldn’t be. But there it was, protecting this one spot, the buzzing, croaking whisper enticingly close to being understandable.
As he focused all his energy on the whisper, it began to grow more coherent. Eddie could hear distant but distinct echoes of gunshots, flat, toneless orders, pleas for mercy, and the thud of bodies hitting the floor. He usually heard stuff like that—if ever—only at the very beginning of a job, when he was sinking into his cleaning mode. It was never this clear, and it always faded quickly once he got going. Since it had never been of any help with his cleaning, Eddie tended to think of the phenomenon as merely a distraction.
Now it got louder and clearer. Eddie was stuck. He didn’t know what to do. He needed to finish and get dressed before Joe came back.