Ryan Jahn - The Last Tomorrow

‘Good,’ he says, and steps aside.

6

The restaurant is dimly lit. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, lighting the center of the room, but Evelyn and Eugene are sitting at a small two-top in a back corner, in darkness but for the flickering light of a guttering candle. It makes it difficult for her to read his expression.

He takes a swallow of his beer.

‘Is that really so bad?’ she says.

He remains silent for a long time. Finally he shakes his head and says, ‘I just don’t know how anyone can not like Humphrey Bogart.’

‘I didn’t say I don’t like him.’

‘That’s what it sounded like to me.’

‘I like him fine when he plays scoundrels. He was perfect in The Treasure of the Sierra Madre . But his teeth are disgusting. Every time he kisses a woman onscreen all I can think about is what his breath must smell like. I see him with Lauren Bacall and I simply don’t believe it.’

‘But they’re married .’

She shrugs. ‘They say love is blind. Maybe it doesn’t have a good sense of smell, either.’

Eugene laughs.

She smiles and sips her wine.

7

Carl and Candice sit across from one another at the Brown Derby on Wilshire Boulevard. He watches her eat a bowl of chili and sips his coffee, good and bitter and hot. The place is busy and filled with the sounds of people talking, of forks and knives scraping against plates, of chairs being scooted in and out. He likes the sounds; they blend together, creating a cloud of noise that’s almost as peaceful as silence.

‘It was my wife,’ he says, ‘the end of last year. Cancer.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I moved out of our place the next day and haven’t been back since.’

‘Really?’

He nods. ‘Park on the street sometimes, look at the house, but I can’t bring myself to go inside. Too many memories there.’

Candice nods her understanding. ‘Things used to happen there, and now they don’t, and the place feels emptier because of it. Emptier and lonelier.’

‘And the worst thing is that the more full of memories it is,’ Carl says, ‘the more hollow it all seems now.’

‘It’s like that old riddle,’ Candice says, taking a bite of her chili. ‘What gets bigger the more you take away from it?’

‘A hole,’ Carl says.

8

Eugene and Evelyn walk along 8th Street beneath a bruised evening sky. Behind them, what remains of the sunset — a thin line of pink being crushed by dark night from above. In front of them, the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles. Automobiles roll by, headlights throwing out beams of light. Then one of the yellow streetcars heading east.

‘How far is your apartment?’

‘About five blocks.’

‘Let’s walk there, have a nightcap.’

‘Maybe your hotel room would be better.’

He doesn’t want Evelyn to see his apartment. He’s taken women there before after picking them up in bars. Drunk, they’re delighted by his milk truck. Next morning as he drives them home, however, they often seem vaguely embarrassed by the whole experience. Waking up in a small apartment furnished in yard-sale finds. Being driven home in a delivery vehicle. The fact they can’t quite remember his name. Often they ask him to drop them off at the end of the block and walk the rest of the way home.

He likes Evelyn, likes her a lot, and doesn’t want any embarrassed silences come morning. And maybe he feels she’s out of his league and his apartment will reveal that fact to her. He isn’t sure, exactly.

But Evelyn shakes her head at his suggestion.

‘No?’

‘I can’t let anybody see me take a strange man into my room. That wouldn’t look good. Besides, I want to see where you live.’

‘I’m not sure I have anything to drink at home.’

‘We’ll stop somewhere on the way, pick up a bottle.’

Eugene gives up, shrugs. ‘Okay.’

Evelyn smiles at him and puts her arm in his arm and leans her head on his shoulder as they walk. It feels strange and unnatural and new and fine.

‘Now I think of it, I probably do have a half bottle of whiskey in the cupboard.’

‘Perfect.’

After a few more minutes of silent strolling along the cracked sidewalk they make their way up the stairs toward Eugene’s front door, their feet thudding against the bare wood steps. The walls are lined with smudges, the banister black from grimy hands dragging up and down it over the years.

Once at the top of the stairs he glances to Evelyn and smiles.

‘Here we are,’ he says.

‘Here we are.’

He unlocks the front door and pushes it open. ‘Ladies first.’

‘What if there’s a burglar?’

‘That’s why I’m sending you in first. To protect me.’

‘Coward.’

She heads into the place, smiling, and Eugene follows. He closes the door behind him and turns on a lamp, illuminating the small living room.

‘Have a seat,’ he says. ‘I’ll get the drinks. Neat?’

‘Neat.’

He pours them each two fingers of bourbon, carries the glasses out to the living room, sits down. He hands Evelyn her drink.

‘Thank you,’ she says. She holds up the glass. ‘To a lovely evening.’

‘To a lovely evening,’ Eugene says, tapping his glass against hers before taking a swallow. She sips hers as well, her soft mouth smashing against the glass, her tongue teasing the lip of it. Then she pulls the glass away, and must feel him watching her, because she glances toward him, and suddenly they’re staring into each other’s eyes.

Eugene’s heart pounds in his chest. He leans in toward her, close enough that he can feel her breath on his skin, and hesitates. He feels like an adolescent boy, like he’s never done this before, his dozens of one-night stands forgotten. He feels unsure of himself and awkward and they stay that way for a long time, their faces mere inches apart, looking back at one another uncertainly.

‘Do it,’ she says.

He does.

9

Carl and Candice sit in his car in front of her house. They’re silent. Carl feels strange. He feels close to Candice and very far from her. He scratches his cheek and looks through the windshield at the dark, empty street. The asphalt is gray, houses lined up on either side of it, facing one another like formations of soldiers about to do battle. Most of the windows are closed for the evening, the curtains drawn, secret things taking place behind them. Awful things, as secret things so often are.

‘Thank you,’ Candice says finally.

He looks over at her. She looks back, smiles.

‘For what?’

‘Understanding.’

‘I wish I didn’t.’

‘I know. But it helped.’

‘I can’t imagine I said anything useful.’

‘Understanding was enough.’

She leans in and kisses him on the corner of his mouth. Then the car door’s opened and shut and she’s walking up the path to her house. The windows are black.

He watches her walk to the front door, unlock it. He watches the door open and shut like the blink of an eye. One minute she’s there, the next she’s not. In between those two states she glances back at him and smiles.

He touches the corner of his mouth where she kissed him. He blinks.

Her living-room window lights up. He can see her moving behind the glass.

He starts the car.

10

Eugene finds himself in a small room, with no idea how he got there. He walks to a window and looks out. Sees gray sky, lightning flashing in the distance. Thunder follows, shaking the glass. He puts his fingers to the glass and feels cold from outside. Below him, a dense layer of clouds he can’t see past; they block his view of the ground below, but the mere fact of the clouds lets him know he’s very high up in a very tall building. His reflection tells him he’s wearing a gray suit. He isn’t sure he owns a gray suit. He turns around to face the room. On the wall opposite, an oak desk with a telephone and a typewriter on it. He walks to the telephone, picks it up, puts it to his ear. Hears first a shallow silence, then a pounding sound coming from far away.