Bruce Wagner - Still Holding

“No.”

“Nothing about the hospital?” He shook his head. “What about when you visited with Burke a few weeks before? You came and looked at some things that belonged to your mom.” He shook his head again. “We went over to Grant, on your hog.”

“I don’t remember anything that happen. Happened. For about maybe a year or maybe three month— s before I hit my head.”

“Do you… do you remember Viv?”

“I do!” he said, stalwartly. “I do remember… Viv Wembley! But I am not assure… that Viv Wembley remembers me !”

Without warning, he groped her. He wetly kissed her mouth and squeezed a tit. She kissed him back, then said, “I don’t think this is such a great idea.”

“Dad won’t mind,” he said.

“That has nothing to do with it,” she said. She quickly decided it was absurd to be offended by his remark — everything was so ridiculous and heartbreaking.

“Could you at least… think about it?” he said.

She shook her head wryly and pulled out a joint. “I think,” she said, “I’m gonna become a Buddhist.”

A Tangled Web

“MOTHERFUCKER SNITCHED off my boy. Leaves Kit Lightfoot droolin in his soup, then goes and ruins a major QuestraWorld property! For sport! For fuckin sport!”

“He was up at the house, wasn’t he?” said Cassandra.

“That’s right — the look-alike wanna-be was swimmin in our motherfuckin pool. Man, how low can you go to be a look-alike wanna-be ? No offense, Becca. Cause you and Rusty the real thing.”

“He was here,” said Cassandra as she fiddled with a two-carat diamond created from the ashes of their beloved little girl. “Sniffin round Rusty like a puppy dog. Talkin shit about how he was big in Tokyo doin Kit Lightfoot look-alike gigs. I don’t even think Elaine Jordache would hire him.”

“She wouldn’t get fuckin near his raggedy un look-alike ass. And you got to be pretty low for Elaine not to try to squeeze some fuckin money out of you. That lady knows her shit.”

“He sure didn’t look like Kit Lightfoot.”

“He looked like Kit Lightfoot as much as I do.”

“Not unless he did his hair up a certain way.”

“He was a fuckin housepainter, Cass! Shit mother fucker. ” He stomped around in front of the picture window. “And he snitched off my boy! We was about to lock Rusty up, wasn’t we, Cass?” He turned to Becca, who was struggling to remember whether or not the Kit look-alike was at the Chateau table-read. “We was about to give your old man major dollars and stamp ‘Property of QuestraWorld’ on his hairy butt. Wasn’t we, Cass?”

He made the sizzling sound of a cattle brand while his wife took a hit of pot.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe we was.”

“That’s right, you better believe it. That was my call. Cause you might be CEO and COO but I’m the president and secretary-in-motherfucking-arms. So motherfuck that ‘maybe’ shit.” He mad-dogged Cassandra though both knew who’d win in a fight. Grady did a line, then handed the rolled bill to Becca. She shook her head but he wouldn’t have it. He watched like a scientist while she snorted up. “Man,” he said. “You gotta write something down about your killer boyfriend. ” He got a neon brainstorm. “I know! We’ll get Dr. J to do a script. Cause Rusty’s gonna be hotter than shit — Access Hollywood, Dateline, Sixty Minutes —ev’rybody gonna line up. Old Larry King too. Rusty gonna be hotter than the dude who killed Versace.”

“Andrew Carnegie,” said Cass.

“Whatever.” He looked like he just goosed himself. “Oh shit. Oh shit. What’s Spike Jonze gonna do? Shit, man, this is good! The plot gets fuckin thickerer! I’ll tell you what Spike’s gonna do, he gonna love it, that’s what—”

“There ain’t no such thing as bad publicity.”

“— especially with the motherfucker who whacked Kit Lightfoot on the head bein a Kit Lightfoot look-alike hisself! ”

“It’s tawdry, baby,” said Cassandra. “It’s real tawdry!”

Grady began to squeal. “Spike and his peeps gonna be happier than motherfuckers! All hot and bothered, cause now they got Russell and they got Rusty in the can —I don’t mean the penitentiary, neither. That’s somethin to Crowe about! Got the two of ‘em on film, man… it’s a motherfucking wrap!”

He sucked and squealed and clapped his hands together while doing a little dance. Then he fell to his knees before the table like a spent soul singer and sucked up two pencil-thick lines.

Cassandra held the diamond ring up to Becca’s eyes. “Ain’t it pretty? That’s my little girl. Didn’t they do her beautiful?”

“Got your boy on Murder One!” said Grady, gleefully. “Whacked some fucker in the horsey set, in Virginia. Ain’t that your hometown? Didn’t he never say nothin to you about that?”

“Why would he, Grady?” said Cassandra, drowsily. “He and some… fancy lady—” She nodded out, then came to. “Gettin it on at some ritzy equestrian center… now why would he want to—”

“Ritzy whuh? ” he said, furrowing his brow. “Some ritzy bar-mitzy whuh ?”

“—killed the husband? Or whatever? Now why would he mention that to our sweet little Becca ? Why would he want her to even know anything about that? Huh, Grady?”

“Shit,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “How the fuck would I know? Could be nightie-night talk. You and me used to nightie-night talk shit, didn’t we? Never know what goes on behind closed doors.”

Cassandra drunkenly warbled, “When you get behind closed doors, and you let your hair hang low…”

“Who knows what these two look-alikes here shared?” said Grady the horn-dog. “I’ll tell you who — the shadow do!”

“And you make me feel like ah’m a man! No one knows what goes on behind closed doors—“Cassandra shrieked, collapsing in rheumy laughter.

“Man,” said Grady, regarding her with disdain. “You like that fat crazy bitch on The Sopranos. You jus’ like Tony Soprano’s sister.” Jake cried from his crib. Grady cast a lecherous eye on Becca. “ Lotta shit goes on behind closed doors… if you know what I mean.”

He touched her thigh and she pulled away. She was sad and stoned and had no energy to leave. Outside the window, a ghostly pool man drew a long pole through the water.

“Tell you one thing,” said Grady, lighting up. “Tell you one thing, for sure —that boy gonna need to get lawyered up. Mr. Russell Crowe Junior ’s gonna need hisself some legal funds.”

“And we ain’t gonna give him shit.”

“Oh yes we are.”

“Oh no we ain’t.”

“Oh yes we are. And I’ll tell you why.”

“OK, baby. You tell me why.”

“I’ll tell you why and you’re gonna like it.”

“Right — I’m gonna love it. I’m gonna love it like I love your crusty ol’ butthole.”

“You gonna love that too when I’m through. Gonna love it when I’m prairie doggin. Gonna wanna pitch a tent in there. You gonna wanna up my salary too.”

“I’ll up it. Love to. Up it till it hurts.”

“We gonna buy that screenplay he wrote.”

“We ain’t gonna buy shit.”

“I got five words for you: To Kill a Unicorn. ”