Grant McCrea - Dead Money

Don’t hold your breath. One of us still has a real job.

You have my deepest sympathy.

Speaking of jobs, did you hear about Steiglitz?

No.

He’s selling his clinic. Going to Africa.

Gone safari on us?

No. For good. He’s joined Doctors Without Borders.

My, what a little guilt will do for a man.

I guess you’d know. So, what are you going to do? Dealer at the Taj? Live on tips?

Close, but way better. I’m opening my own room.

You’re opening up your bedroom for public viewing?

Hadn’t thought of that, actually. Maybe I’ll do that too. But no. A poker room. I found this amazing space in Williamsburg.

You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.

I am not.

Isn’t that illegal?

Depends, I said. On who’s watching.

The call from Laura came.

Rick, she said in her official tone.

Laura, I replied.

I was calm. I knew what was coming.

The final report’s coming out tomorrow, she said.

Okay.

I wanted to give you a heads-up.

I appreciate that.

It won’t come as a surprise to you.

Nothing would come as a surprise to me. I’m all surprised out.

She paused.

Okay, she said. The bottom line is, involuntary overdose. Self-inflicted.

Right.

I can give you the details.

No. No. I can read it tomorrow.

Okay. But if you change your mind.

No. I won’t. It’s okay.

All right, then.

All right.

I hung up. I sat back. I was suffused with a most confusing calm.

I paid a memorial visit to the Wolf’s Lair. I ordered soda water.

Double? asked Thom.

Sure, I said. Let’s go crazy.

Another double soda water later, Jake came through the door.

We shook hands.

We stood awkwardly. I wondered whether I should call him Jake or Brendan.

Have a seat, my man, I said at last.

We sat side by side at the bar. I felt no imperative to speak. I could have asked him all those questions about Melissa. Filled in some of the remaining blanks. But I didn’t.

Let her rest in peace, I thought. Leave her with her mysteries.

So, he said. Anything new going on?

I told him I’d quit drinking.

He was impressed. Said he might try that too.

I told him about the poker room.

He liked it.

Hey, he said, the World Series starts in two weeks.

Shit, I said. I’d forgotten all about that.

The World Series of Poker. Vegas. Lights. Cameras. Action. Millions in prizes. Side tables full of overstuffed rubes. Babes in bikinis.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

I’ll make the reservations, I said.

I woke up before Dorita. She was on her stomach, sleeping softly. I crept out of bed. I stood and gazed at her. I was not worthy. That such a creature would share my bed. Might share my life. Damn. I apologized to God for all my whining. I was a lucky man. Even if it ended here, I was a lucky man.

I rustled up some eggs and Emmental. I scoured the nether regions of the fridge for half an onion, the odd dried-out mushroom. I pled guilty to bad housekeeping. I turned the detritus into a passable omelet.

I brewed a pot of Jamaican Blue. I went upstairs. Kelly was still asleep. I let her snooze. She deserved it.

Dorita had awoken on her own. She was in the shower. I snuck in. She had her back to me. I kissed the nape of her neck. She leaned back into me. My shirt got wet. I didn’t mind.

Come downstairs, I said. I’ve thrown a little breakfast together.

Mmmm, she said. You sure you don’t want to join me for a while first?

Darn it, I said. Had I only known. But the omelet’s getting cold.

She turned around to face me. A full frontal excess of perfection. My knees went weak.

Have it your way, she said. I’ll keep this for myself.

You cruel, wanton witch, I said. You dare to make me choose between warm omelet and you?

I do. And you can brave the consequences of your choice.

I’m all for free will, I said. But sometimes you just can’t stand on principle.

I threw off my clothes. I eased into the shower stall. I slithered up.

Other stuff transpired. Suffice it to say that by the time we reached the kitchen the omelets had congealed. We popped them in the microwave. They were chewy but retained a hint of flavor. We left some for Kelly, still slumbering innocently in her room. Unaware of the Wagnerian events unfolding in her home.

I called Sheila.

Come over, she said. I’ll make some time.

When I got there I was momentarily mute. So much had happened. I didn’t know where to start.

Shall we talk about Melissa? Sheila suggested.

I don’t know, I said.

And I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to say.

I can’t get my mind around it, I said.

Yes, said Sheila, indulging me. I’m sorry.

I wish I were.

Rick. You don’t mean that.

I do. Sort of. I mean yes, I’m sorry. I feel bad. Of course I do. But somehow it doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to feel.

How is it ‘supposed to feel’?

I didn’t have an answer.

Do you feel guilty? she asked finally.

Guilty, sure. I’ll never stop feeling guilty. Guilty for what I did.

What did you do?

Nothing.

Oh, come on, Rick.

Not nothing. But not enough. If I’d done enough, she’d still be alive.

I hesitate to use the word, but isn’t that a little…arrogant?

Arrogant? How so?

You ascribe to yourself the power of life and death. Rather grandiose, don’t you think?

I thought about that.

Ah, I said. Yes. I see.

I told the Steiglitz story, the story of the AA crowd. All the secrets. How helpless I’d felt. Drowning in a tide of revelations.

Oh dear, she said.

Yes, I said. Oh dear.

Silence.

But there’s a silver lining, I said.

I’m so glad to hear that, she said, brightening.

I told her about Dorita.

She’s saved my life, I said. She’s perfect. Radiant. The answer to my prayers.

Sheila looked somber.

I was taken aback. I’d expected her to share my excitement.

Rick, she said.

It suddenly occurred to me that she’d used my name three times. A new record. Jesus, I thought, I must be really messed up.

That’s great, she said. It really is. And I hope it works out for you. But you need to be careful. Manage your expectations. There are no magic bullets in this life. We’ve talked about that.

I felt a pain in my lower back.

Sure, I said. But that was in the context of momentary pleasures. Ecstasies. Escapes.

Are you sure this is any different?

I paused. I shrugged. I thought. I struggled.

No, I said at last. I’m not sure. I can’t be sure. But it sure feels like it.

How did it feel those other times? Those other times that you felt close to bliss. Did it feel different?

No, I said slowly, carefully. Not different. But it went away. As soon as I left the room. It vanished. Or soon. Within a couple of hours. Days, anyway.

The glow faded.

It did.

Well, Rick, this might just be a bigger glow, mightn’t it? Just taking a little longer to fade?

I was silent. Damn, I thought, I’d been like a kid in a candy store.

Like Melissa? she suggested. Like the first few months with Melissa?

I pondered. I struggled. Well, I thought. There it was. Real life.

Candy melts, I said.

She knew exactly what I meant.

And if you eat too much of it? she asked.

You get sick.

Or sick of it.

On the way home I stopped at the Wolf’s Lair.

I needed a drink.

Hey Thom, I said.

Rick! said Thom. Good to see you.