Jim Gavin - Middle Men - Stories

He kept drinking when he got home. In a jolly mood, he ordered a pizza and finished off another season of The X-Files . He called his old friend to see if he wanted to come over, but he didn’t hear back, so on his own he stumbled down to the video store to get the next season. The place was closed. He went home and passed out on the couch. However, the next morning, when his cell phone rang, he was no longer on the couch. Instead, he was facedown on the linoleum floor of his kitchenette. His phone read “Private,” so he let it go to voice mail. Gray light seeped through the alley-side window. He sat up and rested against the cabinets. That’s when he noticed the vomit, fanned across the floor and all over the front of his shirt. He had spent the night making vomit angels. The phone rang again and he answered.

“Why aren’t you picking up?” said Max.

Adam rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t recognize your number.”

“The other day you hung up on me,” said Max. “Did you think I had forgotten about that?”

“I waited for a long time. I figured—”

“I needed to talk, but you were gone.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lavoy.”

“I’m not saying you’re a bad person. But, at the same time, I know that if I kept my feelings to myself, I would regret it. And honestly, just talking about it right now, I feel much better. There’s probably no need for you to apologize, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s all in the past. Are we okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I need your help with something. I don’t want you to panic, but this is kind of an emergency. I’ve already talked to Melanie and she cleared you for overtime. She said that’s something you might be worried about.”

“Okay.”

“Leave now. And bring some towels.”

Adam put his mouth under the kitchen tap and drank as much water as he could. As he threw his soiled clothes in the trash, he was thankful for his hangover. It gave him a kind of clarity, or tunnel vision, at least, that would be useful today and throughout his career with the show.

A half hour later, he rang the bell and took off his shoes, an old pair of New Balances. Max opened the door. He was wearing khaki shorts, a golf shirt, and a generic green baseball cap.

“You look terrible,” Max said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not saying that to be rude. If I looked like that I’d want someone to tell me, so I could do something about it.”

“I was sick last night,” said Adam.

“Well, you’re here. That’s the important thing.”

Adam, seeing that his Chuck Taylors were no longer on the rack, decided to carry his shoes as he followed Max into the living room.

“Sit down and I’ll explain what’s going on. Do you want a soft drink?”

“I’d love one,” said Adam, taking a place on the couch.

Max crossed the room, but instead of going to the kitchen, he stopped at the giant window and peered into the canyon. “When I met my wife she was a beautiful and intelligent woman. This was a long time ago, when we were both at university. But then, over the years, she became a frump.” He sighed. “For reasons I’m not eager to go into, she had our marriage annulled ten years ago. It was a complete travesty, of course, and since then I’ve been at odds with the archdiocese. I donated generously for many years, and I was a generous supporter of the new cathedral downtown. In fact, I made arrangements to have my bones buried in the crypt after I died, but not anymore. Not anymore.” Max turned around, finally, and sat down on the edge of an ottoman. “Let’s face it. I don’t know you from Adam, so it’s strange telling you all this. And maybe it’s strange for you too. I hope you’re not nervous.”

“No, but I’m thirsty.”

“Good, because there’s nothing to be nervous about. This is the easiest thing in the world. My wife and I have joint custody of our dog. It sounds silly, but it’s true. I’m sure you’ve heard people laughing about it at the office. Anyway, I’m supposed to get Misty on weekends. But Joanne, that’s my wife, she’s decided, once again, to make things difficult. She wouldn’t let me see Misty this weekend. Don’t ask me why. It’s impossible to know what goes on inside her head. The point is I’m tired of dealing with that woman. Misty’s an old dog and I don’t want to lose any time with her.” He looked at his watch. “Joanne’s extremely lazy. She always goes to noon mass at St. Elisabeth’s. That’s in Van Nuys. Do you know Van Nuys?”

“Not really.”

“Van Nuys is a shit hole,” said Max, moving toward the front door. “There’s no other way to describe it. But that’s where she chooses to live. It pains me to see her living like that. Like a frump.”

Adam followed him into the foyer. Max opened a closet and pulled out a leash.

“Twenty-five years in Los Angeles and I never got a driver’s license,” he said. “That might be my greatest accomplishment in life.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Misty’s in the backyard. You’ll just walk back there and get her. Or climb the fence if the gate’s locked. I’d do it myself but obviously I don’t want to be seen.”

“What’s her address?”

“Misty’s?”

“Your wife’s.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m going with you.” Max put on a pair of sunglasses. “Misty’s bladder gets erratic in new situations. That’s why I asked you to bring towels. We’ll park around the block and I’ll wait for you in the car.”

They turned left on Laurel Canyon and coasted down into the valley. Max put the passenger seat into an almost upright position, gripped his knees firmly, and with the windows down and the wind in his hair, he said, “So the point I was trying to make, before you hung up on me, was that you can draw a direct line from Ravaillac to Oswald.”

“Where should I turn?”

Max pointed left. “The similarities are uncanny. Like Ravaillac, Oswald imagined that he was part of something bigger, but like everyone else he was just acting out his own psychotic crusade. And yet it’s amazing to me what a single person can be responsible for. Both men changed the course of history. That’s really the idea at the heart of my book, if I ever finish it. I’m not like Sonck. Everything came easy to him. He published a book every year, sometimes two, and most of them were brilliant. It’s demoralizing to think what other men have accomplished.”

“You’ve done well for yourself,” said Adam. “You’re way more famous than… Sonck.”

“A hollow victory.” Max snapped his fingers and pointed. Adam turned off Roscoe Boulevard and onto a residential street of stucco ranch houses.

“Vile,” said Max.

“I grew up in a neighborhood just like this,” said Adam.

“Misty might start barking. Just make sure you approach slowly. Give her a rub under the chin. She likes that.”

They passed the house, making sure Joanne’s car was gone, and then Adam parked at the end of the street.

“Don’t rush her on the way back,” said Max. “If she wants to stop and sniff something, that’s her right.”

On his way down the block, Adam walked over a fading hopscotch and passed an old woman who was sitting in a lawn chair in the shade of her open garage. The transistor radio in her lap was tuned to the Dodgers game. When he got to Joanne’s house, he stood for a moment at the edge of the patchy front lawn. It was a nice little house, light blue with white aluminum awnings over the front windows. He opened the side gate without any fuss and walked around the house to the backyard, which was completely paved over except for a few weeds sprouting in the cracks. Everywhere he looked he saw piles of dog shit swarming with flies. There was a gazebo in one corner, filled with junk, and sections of the brown cinder-block wall behind it had crumbled during some previous earthquake. Misty was nowhere to be found. Adam called her name a few times. When he didn’t hear anything, he walked to the back door, which had a doggy door. He kicked at the flap, to see if there was a locked panel behind it, but there wasn’t. Without any further ceremony, he got down on his hands and knees and stuck his head through the flap.