He knocked on the door and waited. A large Siamese cat pressed against his jeans and rubbed itself on his boots. “Go away!” He whispered down to the cat, which ignored him as cats are wont to do and continued to mark him properly whilst making strange, throaty noises that sounded almost like words. Chris frowned.
Perry opened the door. “Chris!” He said as if surprised to see him there. “Won’t you come in?”
Chris held out the key chain. “I brought your Mer... Mer... Mer... car. I couldn’t find anything wr... wr... wrong with it.”
“Really?” Perry frowned and took the keys. “How strange.”
“Yeah.” Chris turned and started down the steps. Perry craned his neck to look out into the street.
“Wait! Who’s picking you up?” He called after him and then started down the stairs behind him.
“I’m walking b... b... back. No problem,” Chris continued down the stairs.
Perry caught up to him before he reached the bottom and took hold of Chris’s elbow. As a result of the contact, Chris froze on the stairs.
“Come on back upstairs and I’ll give you a ride home,” Perry told him. Chris turned slowly turned to look at him and then followed him back up the steps nodding to himself.
Perry ushered him to the kitchen and pulled out a wicker barstool for him to sit on. There was no sign of Angelica, breakfast or lunch in the kitchen. Chris thought too late that he might have come too early.
“I’ll just go find Angelica. Be right back.”
Perry left him in the perfect yellow kitchen. Chris looked around. No dirty dishes. No smudges. No dust. Too clean for him. He and Joanne kept a clean house, but this was too much for him. The kitchen looked like the living room. Like something out of one of those fancy magazines they sold over at the Texaco. Maybe it was just because it was all new. He shivered in the cool air conditioning and wondered why he had allowed Mr. Aliger to talk him into coming inside.
Perry found Angelica standing in front of the closet, studying the clothes hanging from the rack. It seemed she was having trouble making a choice. It was the same every day. Sometimes it seemed to take her an inordinately long time to decide. Perry wondered how she could tolerate wasting so much of her precious time on such a small matter.
“Angelica,” he said hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt her concentration. “Chris Parker is here. He’s in the kitchen. There seems to be a problem,” he said solicitously.
“A problem?” She did not take her eyes off the clothes.
“His confidence seems to have slipped,” Perry told her almost apologetically.
“I see,” she said shortly and reached up to remove one of the hangers. “I’ll be out in a moment. Go and sit with him... engage Chris in some sort of meaningful conversation.”
“You mean talk to him? About what?” Perry asked her, unable to resist the urge to irritate her.
“Anything you deem appropriate.” She looked up at him frowning with annoyance.
Perry went back to the kitchen pleased to have irritated her. Chris sat where he had left him, petting the Siamese which had jumped onto the counter. The cat turned round and round presenting different parts of its back for attention, purring and generally enjoying itself.
“A b... b... beautiful animal,” Chris commented. “Clean.”
Perry raised one eyebrow. A clean cat?
“They generally are fairly clean,” he agreed. The cat spent most of its waking hours grooming itself. “You prefer animals to be... clean?”
“I g... g... guess so.” Chris smiled and the Siamese jumped into his lap for closer inspection. “I m... m... mean it would be silly to k... k... keep a p... p... pig in the house.”
“In the East, it is not uncommon to find pigs in the house.” Perry thought that perhaps Angelica would think the conversation a bit strange, but it seemed to find itself. “The Orientals are quite fastidious. They keep their pigs clean.”
“Really?” Chris blinked at him. “You d... d.... don’t say?”
“I do say,” Perry told him. “Does Cheryl have pets?”
“Naw.” Chris shook his head. “Just some fish.”
“Hard to pet a fish, no doubt.” Perry made a wry face thinking of it.
“Yeah,” Chris chuckled. “Cold and wet.”
“You had a nice time last night.” It was not a question.
“Yeah.” Chris squeezed the cat’s paw gently making its claws extend and contract.
“You would like to take her out again.”
“Yeah.”
“You told her.”
“Yeah.”
“What was the answer?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Sometime.”
“How much?”
“How much w...w... what?”
“Time.” Perry frowned at the young man who had not looked up. The conversation was very taxing.
Chris looked up at him blankly. The simple question seemed beyond his comprehension. Perry raised one eyebrow, perplexed.
Angelica arrived in time to save them further distress. She had finally settled on a bright yellow blouse and dark blue slacks.
Yellow was her color. Perry abandoned the bar to take a seat at the table in order to admire her work.
“Coffee?” She smiled at Chris. He nodded and she went off to make coffee in her yellow coffee pot. “You repaired the car?” She asked as she set out mugs and creamer and sugar.
“No, ma’am.” He shook his head and the cat jumped to the floor to make its marks on Perry’s legs under the table. Chris leaned his elbows on the bar. “N... n... nothing wrong with it.”
Angelica sat across the bar from him and looked at him intently.
“Chris.” She locked eyes with him as she reached across the bar to touch his arm and he flinched. “We appreciate your help all the same. It’s like that sometimes. You never know.”
“No problem,” he told her.
“We really enjoyed your company last night,” she continued and he sat looking into her eyes. “It turned out perfect. Made things more balanced. It is never healthy to put all our weights on one side of the scale. It makes life precarious. For example, you have such great talent for things mechanical and you have developed your skill accordingly. You have made a place for yourself and by doing so you have assured yourself of a successful future. You are in control of your finances at a relatively young age. That alone is no small accomplishment. You have set up a stable foundation to build on. But what will you build? Where will you go from here? You degrade yourself for no reason. Will you give in to the darkness and slide into the abyss?”
Chris made no move to respond to her questions.
“I went over to Martin Pembroke’s place,” Chris told her quietly.
“Why?” She asked him.
“He had a new film.” He looked down at the counter.
“Did you watch it?” She frowned.
“No, I didn’t have time,” he said.
Angelica lowered her voice to a whisper. “What does Martin do in his free time, Chris?”
Chris did not answer her.
“You allowed someone to hurt your feelings.” She sat back and then got up to get the coffee pot. She brought it to pour coffee for herself and Chris and then handed it to Perry as an afterthought. He had no cup, so he set it on the table. “You feel unworthy. You have the right to be happy. The choice is yours.”
“Billy didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.” Chris picked up his spoon and put sugar in his cup distractedly.
“Intentions are not always congruent with results,” she said resuming her seat. “And Martin Pembroke intends to hurt you in other ways. Do you understand that?”
“Yes.” Chris looked up. “I think I do.”
“The choice is yours,” she reiterated and glanced at Perry who sat perusing the coffee pot as if he were not paying attention.
“Tell me, Chris
,” she continued. “What is your concept of Heaven and hell?”
Chris began to talk while sipping his coffee. By the time he finished his discourse the coffee pot was empty. Angelica stood up.
“It has been very nice visiting with you again,” she told him.
Perry walked Chris down to the curb and drove him home. When he returned, Angelica was sitting in her chair in the alcove with her feet curled under her. He went to stand behind her.
“A difficult case,” she commented.
“Such a simplistic view of Heaven. Where do you think he learned it?” Perry asked.
“He made it up himself,” she said. “It is not the result of formal religious training.”
“I see.” Perry smiled to himself. “Do you have any idea what you are looking for?”
Angelica leaned her head back to look up at him. It was a charming picture of surprise.
“You know exactly what we are looking for,” she told him. He loved to annoy her. “The truth.”
Perry turned to leave her looking after him and went to the only bedroom in the apartment. He took a large yellow book from one of the dresser drawers and laid across the bed to open it up and began thumbing through the pages. Angelica followed him and leaned against the door jamb watching him. When he found what he was looking for, he began to read aloud.
“History is a combination of reality and lies. The reality of History becomes a lie. The unreality of the fable becomes the truth.” He turned to another page. “The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all worlds; and the pessimist fears it is true.”
He raised his eyes to her momentarily to gauge her expression. She watched him with her usual bland expression. Another page. “Truth exists; only lies are invented.” Still no reaction. “I maintain that Truth is a pathless land, and you cannot approach it by any path whatsoever, by any Religion, by any sect.”
“Who said that?” She asked raising one perfect eyebrow.
“Jiddu Krishnmurti, supposedly.”
“So there is a possibility that it is not even true that he said it?”
“It’s possible that he didn’t.” Perry raised both eyebrows. “This book says he did, but who wrote this book? How reliable is the author? How do we know it’s true? Do you see how elusive even the smallest truths can be?”
“You truly are a pessimist.” She frowned. He was surprised by her small pun.
“I would rather be pleasantly surprised than sadly disappointed.” He smiled.
“Who said that?” She appeared irritated again.
“I did,” he told her with some satisfaction.
“Good. You should learn to rely more on your own thoughts than the thoughts of others. It is something you will learn through your experiences.”
“I am looking forward to those experiences,” he told her. “Is this a lesson for me?”
“I will do my best to teach you what I know, if you are willing to learn.”
“I’m afraid you might find I am a difficult student.” He pushed himself up to return the book to the drawer.
“I have had difficult students before you,” she said and turned to leave him alone.
Tyler threaded another worm on his hook and flicked the line with its florescent orange float back into the brown water at the end of the rickety little dock. He tried to wipe the sticky worm stuff on his jeans before leaning back in his lawn chair. The chair creaked and groaned and popped as he laid it back and crossed his legs.
“Would you be still, Tyler?” Mike asked lazily from his supine position on a shiny new chrome and plastic chaise lounge. “You’re scarin’ the fish.”
“You ain’t baited your line in over an hour!” Tyler laughed at him. Mike’s face was covered by his lucky fishing cap. He held the pole in one hand and a beer in the other. “You’re fishin’ with a dry hook.”
“How can my hook be dry?” Mike hardly stirred. “It’s still in the water, ain’t it?”
Tyler looked at his friend’s bobber. A big green dragonfly had been perched on it for at least twenty minutes. Something tweaked his own float ever so slightly sending out ripples and promising something more. He hoped it wasn’t another perch. He hated perch. Too many bones.
The sound of a diesel engine gradually inserted itself into the serene picture and they realized that someone was making their way down the long muddy road from the highway. The birds hushed and the bugs stopped chirping as the truck drew nearer.
“Got to be Louis’ truck,” Mike sounded unenthusiastic. “Give ’im your beer. I ain’t got enough to share.”
“Stingy bastard!” Tyler frowned down at him.
“Me?” Mike pushed himself up to look back over his shoulder at the pickup pulling up next to the bank. “Louis is the stingy one. He never brings nothing but his thirst and his appetite.”
“Yep, it’s Louis’ truck.” Tyler looked back. “But wait! Look who’s drivin’!”
Mike turned around again.
“Louis himself!” Tyler laughed as Mike’s hat fell off.
“Dammit, Tyler, you ain’t funny.” Mike picked up his hat and jammed it back on his head. He pulled his line in to study the empty hook. “Why can’t he leave us alone for one blessed day?”
Louis climbed out of the truck and meandered down to the dock. He opened their ice chest and took out one of Mike's Buds before sitting down on the lid.
“Beautiful day for fishin’,” he commented as he popped the top.
“Fair,” Mike grumbled while digging around in the bait box for another night crawler.
“Whatcha up to, Louis?” Tyler asked him. “How’d you find us?”
“Carla,” He said shortly and turned up the beer. “Good God! I feel terrible.”
“You look terrible!” Mike told him as he tossed out his line and laid back again. “You didn’t wake her up, did you?”
“Naw, I just poked her in the ass and she sleep talked it to me,” Louis told him sarcastically.
“Eat shit,” Mike told him.
“Ya’ll catchin’ anything?” Louis asked Tyler.
“Nope.” Tyler shook his head. “Just perch.”
“And ain’t gonna catch nothin’ neither with all this yappin’,” Mike added.
“Look, Tyler,” Louis ignored Mike. “I’ll get right to the point. Somethin’s botherin’ me. Two things, in fact.”
“Yeah?” Tyler laid his pole on the dock and leaned his elbows on his knees. “What’s botherin’ you?”
“First off, what happened to Mr. Grayson and his wife?”
“Why? I didn’t know anything had happened to them.” Tyler frowned at him.
“I know. Me neither. But don’t you think it’s kind of strange for them to just up and disappear? I mean, that old place has been for sale for years. I never thought they’d move off. I didn’t think anybody would ever buy that place.”
“Disappeared?” Mike sat up suddenly and looked at Louis in alarm. His hat fell onto the dock again and he did not pick it up. His expression, whenever he was really upset, always reminded Louis of a mad Bantam rooster. It was hard to keep a straight face whenever he looked like that and it was not safe to laugh at him when he was upset.
“Don’t go gettin’ upset, Mike,” Louis told him. “What I mean to say is that I’ve been doin’ a little chicken, I mean checkin’ off the record and nobody knows nothin’.”
Tyler let a strangled laugh go at Louis’s misnomer faux pas and then cleared his throat in the most macho manner he could muster before commenting “Well, they didn’t have no people around here that I know of. It’s not like they weren’t grown people. I guess they can do just what the hell they want to.”
Just then something snagged Tyler’s line and he almost lost it, pole and all, in the water. The water rippled violently around the bobber.
“You got ’im, Ty!” Mike was up in an instant with the dipnet.
Tyler stood up and pulled the line up close to the pier while Mike leaned out to dip up the catc
h. A good-sized white perch flipped energetically in the net. “A three-pounder!” Louis chimed in with Mike’s oohs and ahhs.
“Ever bit of it!” Mike told him. Tyler relegated the fish to Mike as he had all three of his previous catches. He certainly didn’t want to take anything like that home to Paula Anne. She’d pitch a fit. Red Lobster was more to her liking.
Mike picked up the stringer and looked at the three fish already hanging off of it. He let them down in the water and unhooked Tyler’s latest addition. He held it up for a few seconds and then tossed it back in the lake.
“What’d you do that for?!” Louis asked in consternation.
“Carla would kill me if I brought all them fish home for her to clean,” Mike told him. “Three’s her limit. Freezer’s too small, ya’ know?”
Tyler sat down to re-bait his line.
“Well, hell!” Louis was nonplussed. “It was Tyler’s fish!”
“Tyler don’t eat perch.” Mike looked at Louis as if he were an idiot.
“Then what in God’s name are you two doin’ out here?” Louis used the excuse to help himself to another of Mike’s beers. “Beats all I’ve ever seen.”
“So what’s your other problem?” Tyler resumed their previous conversation.
“What other problem?” Louis looked at him.
“That other problem. You said you had two fuckin' problems,” Tyler told him as he tossed out his line. “Besides the Graysons.”
The Pandora Effect Page 10