Bruce Wagner - Memorial

THE disgruntled lawyer was still opposed to settling out but Chess was adamant and Remar had no choice other than to concede. He said he’d get word to him soon.

The moment he hung up, Chess’s phone rang — someone from an offshore pharmacy. They’d taken to calling at all hours to see if he wanted to renew his Vs: Vicodin, Valium, and Viagra. (They sent emails too: “FEEL BETTER TODAY!!!”) Why had he given out his cell number? That was insane. And why the fuck did I ever order online. They got my credit card now too. Yesterday, the person from “Support Team 24” sounded like a righteous gangbanger. The cellphone flashed UNKNOWN CALLER and when he picked up, a Mexivoice said, “How ya doin, man?” The salesman/homeboy quickly corrected himself: “I mean, how are we doing today, sir?” There was a big turnover among the refill drones, and people were obviously being recruited from streets and malls. The most loyal Internet customers were the readily identifiable dope fiends; every 2 weeks Chess was alerted that it was discount week, and he was “good to go.” What a farce. As a goof, he’d taken to saying, “Mr Herlihy overdosed — he’s dead.” But they just kept calling. He was in the machine now. Scary.

Apiece of mail awaited, from New Horizon Credit Recovery. They were acting “on behalf of the US Department of Education” regarding a student loan Chess took out 25 years ago. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. The collection agency was demanding 83 dollar monthly payments in lieu of “garnishing wages.” They said it was in their power to seize tax refunds and even Social Security payments if he didn’t comply. Chess panicked — the loan came to almost $27,000, including 7 % interest. What if they found out about the FNF settlement? They were probably onto it already: that was their stock-in-trade. He got paranoid, and popped an Inderal/Vicodin/Xanax combo.

The timing of the letter was strange, to say the least. Maybe he was in a secret database of people who were about to get windfalls. He wondered if that was something he should consult Remar about but the lawyer wasn’t too happy with him right now, and might use it as another reason why Chester should hold out for a jury. A fleeting thought occurred that Remar was actually in cahoots with New Horizon, or even that the “recovery center” was a “dummy” entity the law firm resorted to using with hard-head clients. It didn’t really make sense — that would be totally illegal, and he doubted if Remar would so actively jeopardize his livelihood. But if New Horizon were real, maybe the lawyer had been in touch, promising them X amount on the dollar, and was soon to leverage the debt as a tool to force Chess to hang in and sue for everything FNF ’s parent company was worth.

He pushed the weird notion from his head.

He lay down and smoked a joint, drifting back to that 1st time he was alone with Maurie after the “incident.” It was at the desert hospital: Chess cried and told his friend he was sorry. At least, that’s what he thought had happened. He distinctly remembered something. Still, much of it was a blur. (Chess figured he probably had a little PTSS goin on.) He couldn’t perfectly recall if, in a seizure of guilt, he had actually said something to Maurie about having pill- Punk’d him. The more stoned he got, and the more he obsessed, both false and real memories became deeply plausible. Why did he have such a big mouth? If Levin did get better, and was finally able to write or speak — even if he was still wearing a diaper —it would definitely be the major thing on his mind to share with the world, i.e., hospital staff and police —every fiber of his being would be marshaled to ask Chess what the fuck he’d meant by his weepy bedside apologia, or even likelier, stealthily bypass the man who had paralyzed him and wheel his drippy ass right to the authorities, or Servano PT, or whoever was handy.

Chess was seized by vertigo. He gripped the mattress and waited a few minutes for it to pass. He washed down 3 Compazines with a can of Squirt then idly picked up the letter from New Horizon. At the very bottom was a paragraph that said the debt would be canceled if a physician signed a form stating the borrower was “totally and permanently disabled.” Yeah well there’s my “out” right there. Maybe I should just change my name to Maurie Levin. It was almost funny.

He left the bed, steadied himself, and sat in the den to do a bit of Googling. There were chatrooms devoted to articulate people victimized by “credit recovery scams” long after falling on hard times. The collection agencies supposedly added 20 % to whatever you owed. If the company going after you was legit — and your debt was remotely tied to some defunct government loan program — there was no way to dodge paying it back, not even through bankruptcy.

“These people are like the Sopranos,” wrote TheLoan-Deranger. “You’d have to enter a witness protection program to get away, and even then it wouldn’t help”:

the principal cellist of the Louisiana Philharmonic owed a hundred thousand dollars and the lawyers said he should cut back on expenses like Internet access and gym membership and his cat. They actually told him to get rid of his f-ing cat!!!!!!! This is a musician who teaches at Tulane but only makes 20K a year!!!!!!!! Because that is what AMERIKA pays its artists!!!!! So a judge threw the case out but it was overturned and a fed appellate court said he should go find a job as a music store clerk. He can’t even visit his sick mother anymore!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

He got depressed and went back to bed.

He was running low on cash. Remar said that once the settlement was agreed on, it would take “around 2 weeks to cut a check.” Before that happened, Chess would have to sign a release. Maybe he’d call the firm and ask the secretary if he could come in and take care of that early, to save time. She probably wouldn’t know anything about it and would put him through to Remar. He doubted if the guy’d even take his call, unless it was explicitly about reversing engines and going ahead full steam with the suit. He thought about asking for an advance but remembered the lawyer saying he would only do that if his client promised to go all the way. That was out of the question now. Still, Chess was convinced he was doing the right thing.

He decided to go visit his mom again.

AT home, Joan tried getting into the bathroom but it was locked.

“Estrella?”

“Si,” came the shyly muffled voice.

“Jesus,” said Joan audibly. She stripped off her clothes right then and there. “I really need to get in, Estrella.”

After a minute came a flush. The maid emerged with a tight smile. There was a stench.

“I’ve told you,” said Joan. “If you have to use the shitcan — which you always seem to— don’t do it in the master bath. Is that so difficult to comprehend? Is that asking too much? Because you can find another job. I can find you a job where all you do is clean huge office building lavatories, so that when nature calls — and nature seems to call a lot! — you can go do your business without disrupting your workday. OK, Estrella? Comprende? Comprende? Bueno.”

She was taken aback by her own fury.

She drove to her mother’s, on the phone with Barbet most of the way. He was tender and supportive, pissed at Freiberg for stringing them along. Her partner swore (not that she needed reassurance) the Calatrava thing wouldn’t happen because Lew was a mercurial Perelmanian headcase. Then he actually said she should “have the kid” (not that she needed his advice), but Joan didn’t want to get into any kind of a thing about it, not on that level, and not now. She didn’t want this sacred being tainted by his throwaway spite. She knew where Barbet was going next: she’d better have the lawyers put something on paper guaranteeing the child’s future, something exceedingly in her favor. Joan wasn’t worried — she would have the baby, and it never had anything to do with getting or not getting the Mem (Barbet informed her he was having a tattoo inked on his left shoulder, the traditional heart-pierced-by-arrow, only with MEM instead of MOM inside), it had to do with the fact she was almost 40 fucking years old and this was how God happened to have said Ha. Still, she let him rail on. She knew he was hurt and only masking his disappointment.