Mark Dunn - American Decameron

“Observation stipulated to,” said Marvin, his eyes now rheumy.

“You’re taking a cab,” said Dennis. And then to Kurt: “Make sure our friend Marvin gets a cab home. Oh, and we’re ready for our toast. Black Label, please. Only the best for Tracie.”

The bartender nodded and drew his bottle of twelve-year-old Johnnie Walker Black down from the back-bar shelf. The three men could hear the clink of the three ceremonial shot glasses as he plucked them up.

When he reached the booth, Kurt asked, “How long have you three ambulance chasers been doing this? All I know about is the last three years since I’m here.”

“This is our sixth gathering,” said Jock. “And you’re wrong about our friend Marvin here. He isn’t an ambulance chaser; he works for the people of the great state of Missouri.” Then to his companions: “Really sorry about rushing things, guys.”

“Perfectly understandable considering the circumstances,” said Dennis, taking up his shot glass.

“What a good wife she would buh-eeee,” sang Marvin. Then he corrected himself: “What a good wife she was.”

“That’s as good a toast as any,” said Dennis, raising his glass high. The other two men met his glass with their own over the middle of the table. “To Tracie, loving wife to us all. God bless and keep her in Heaven’s sweet embrace.”

“Thanks for not bringing Jesus into this,” said Jewish Marvin.

“You have anything to add to the toast, Jock?”

“Uh. Let me see. Nice that we can come together every year and raise a glass to my first wife. And your first wife, Dennis. And as luck would have it, yours as well, Counselor Remnick.”

“First, last, and only wife,” added Marvin by way of clarification.

“Arm’s tired. Let’s get to the summation,” suggested Dennis.

“To Tracie with love,” the three men said in unison. In the next moment they were each tossing back the drink that had been selected at the very first of their reunions to honor Tracie’s Scotch-Irish heritage.

“Funny,” said Dennis, licking some of the amber liquid from his lips. “To think that each of our three divorces ended so well. Was Tracie anything but a good friend to you afterwards, Jock?”

“To the day she died,” said Jock with a smile, his eyes moving about as he visited a couple of his best memories of the woman who had been wife, friend, and lover too, but never a mother due to her inability to have children and their mutual unwillingness to adopt. “Hell, Tracie even came to Jill’s and my wedding.”

“Did she bring her stenograph?” asked Marvin, remembering that during the two years he’d been married to Tracie, she would sometimes drag her court reporter’s primary accessory to events for which the services of a court reporter would never have been required.

“But of course,” laughed Jock. “To get a transcription of our vows for future reference.”

Jock stood. The men shook hands. “Until next year,” said Jock. “Or around the courthouse — whichever comes first. But this is better, yes? Here we could never be adversaries.”

Dennis smiled. “Despite the fact that ex-husbands are seldom on such good terms.”

Dennis spent the two minutes that followed Jock’s departure trying to convince Marvin to let his friend drive him home.

“Not quite ready to go yet, counselor,” said Marvin, looking up at Dennis through half-closed eyes.

“Well, when you are ready to go, call a cab, Marvin. I’m serious.”

“You sound like Tracie when you say that. She was always looking after me. Maybe that’s why she never wanted to adopt. She liked mothering the three of us too much.”

“Interesting point, Marvin. I’ll take it under advisement.”

“So what was it we were doing wrong that kept her from wanting to have any of us around?”

“What I think — and here’s something I have come pretty close to figuring out — is that our Tracie fell out of love very easily. She dug the romance, the sex, the custodial duties for a while. But when it all started to get a little old, there wasn’t enough of what else we were giving her to keep her from looking elsewhere.”

Marvin nodded. Then he asked, “Do you still miss her?”

“Every day, Marv. Each and every day.” The two men got quiet for a moment. “Say, it’s great to get together and share stories, isn’t it? You take care of yourself, okay?”

Marvin nodded.

“And you keep right on putting those Mound City thugs behind bars, Counselor Remnick — present company’s clients naturally excluded.”

Marvin answered with a wordless salute.

Marvin watched Dennis walk out of the bar. He shifted his focus to Kurt, whose hand was on the bar’s sound system, cutting Billy Joel off right in the middle of “She’s Always a Woman to Me.” Billy had just sung, “She is frequently kind and she’s suddenly cruel.”

Suddenly cruel. Yes, that was the marriage-jettisoning Tracie all right, thought Marvin.

Now Saturday Night Fever was back with “If I Can’t Have You,” performed for the movie by Yvonne Elliman.

“If I can’t have you, I don’t want no other, baby,” Marvin sang along softly. Then he raised his third glass of Lauder’s to the only woman he had ever loved. “You aren’t getting rid of me that easy, baby.”

Old Man Rivers raised his head from his bar towel pillow to make an unsuccessful (and clearly disingenuous) request for “one for the road.” Yvonne kept singing and Marvin kept drinking and remembering and aching.

NO. 23,471

THE STATE OF TEXAS

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JUSTICE COURT

v.

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PRECINCT NO. SIX

ROBERTINE WINDROW

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DALLAS CTY, TX

AFFIDAVIT FOR WARRANT OF ARREST AND DETENTION

The undersigned Affiant, who after being duly sworn by me, on oath, makes the following statement : I have good reason to believe, and do believe, that Robertine Windrow on or about the 29th of October, 1979, did commit the offense of Assault by Contact.

1.) I the affiant was dispatched to 2415 Ector Crossing, Dallas, Texas, in response to a family disturbance.

2.) I met with Gus Windrow W/M, Zena Windrow W/F, and Robertine Windrow W/F.

3.) G. Windrow stated that R. Windrow had threatened Z. Windrow with a coffee pot. G. Windrow said this is not the first time R. Windrow has waved the coffee pot in a circular motion above her head, and on a good many occasions she has ended up hurling it at someone. Z. Windrow stated that this particular evening R. Windrow threw the coffee pot at her twice. The first time it almost hit the dog, Cuddles. Z. Windrow said the second throw struck her in what she believed to be the nape of the neck, although she has never been completely sure which part of the neck constitutes the “nape.” I asked witness G. Windrow if he saw where the coffee pot struck Z. Windrow and he stated, “In the kitchen.”

4.) G. Windrow stated, further, that R. Windrow is prone to frequent tantrums and has thrown the coffee pot at G. Windrow and Z. Windrow in nearly every room of the house. The victim, Z. Windrow, alleged that on one occasion R. Windrow followed her and G. Windrow to the Spoke and Reins Supper Club and threw the coffee pot at her while G. and Z. Windrow were kicking up their heels dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe.

5.) Robertine Windrow is the daughter of Gus Windrow and Zena Windrow. Gus Windrow, however, is not her biological father. That would be Arliss Smuell, a W/M who lives in Fort Stockton and breeds ferrets.

6.) After questioning all present, I proceeded to arrest R. Windrow, who then began yelling “Police assault!” at the top of her lungs. When she realized that this was getting her nowhere, she began yelling “Attica!” and then “Fire!” and finally, with less steam, “Taxi!”