I still don’t know how I managed to lose all my money so fast. It probably had something to do with being the worst poker player in the world and sitting down at a high-stakes table with blue balls on zero sleep. All I remember clearly is sitting across from two guys in cowboy hats, and next thing I knew I was sitting on a chair in the lobby with my head in my hands.
I only had about forty dollars left on me—enough to get a cab to the airport and to pay to pick up my car from the airport parking lot in New York. I thought about going back to one of my hotel rooms, but I knew there was no way I’d fall asleep so I decided to just head out to the terminal and wait for my flight tomorrow morning. I sat down near my gate, so tired I was dizzy. I noticed that people kept sitting down next to me then getting up and moving away. Then I remembered how the cab driver had opened all the windows and how people at the poker table had been giving me funny looks. I hadn’t showered since Monday morning —over two days ago—and I probably smelled as bad as Pete Logan.
I probably looked like shit too. I needed a shave and I was wearing the same outfit—jeans and a black sweatshirt with my black leather coat—that I’d left New York in. I had about five hours until my flight left but I couldn’t grab any shut-eye.
Finally, at around six in the morning my flight boarded. I was hoping to catch some Zs on the plane, but I couldn’t sleep. I was staring out the window, at some clouds, when I saw my father on the wing and my mother was next to him. They were both laughing, then my father pushed me and I was tumbling down a flight of stairs, screaming, trying to stop, but I was falling faster and faster.
“Excuse me, sir...sir?”
I looked up at the stewardess leaning over me.
“Sorry to wake you, but the pilot has put on the fasten seat belt sign.”
“Thanks,” I said, looking out the window, scratching the scar on the back of my head.
It was snowing in New York. It wasn’t coming down hard, but there were a few inches on the ground. I was so exhausted I thought I was going to pass out, but I somehow made it out to the parking lot. I brushed the snow off the windshield and the back windows with my hands, then I got into the car. Naturally, the piece of shit wouldn’t start. I asked the parking attendant for a boost and then I had to stand outside waiting for an hour, freezing my ass off. I was almost ready to just leave my car there, take the license off and ditch it. But then they got the car started and, going about thirty miles per hour the whole way, I made it into the city about an hour and a half later.
It was around three in the afternoon—an impossible time to find a parking space in Manhattan. After driving around for about twenty minutes, I gave up and left the car in front of a hydrant on my block. Let the cops tow the dung heap away—do me a favor.
Walking up the stairs in my building, I felt like I was climbing the Statue of Liberty. In my apartment, I went right to my couch, not even bothering to open the bed. Then I heard a funny squeaking sound. I thought it was the pipes or something so I tried to ignore it. But it was too damn annoying so I got up to find out where the noise was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen sink, maybe inside the pipes, then I looked down and saw the little mouse caught in a glue trap. I picked up the trap with the mouse stuck on it, opened the window, and flung it across the street like a frisbee.
Back on the couch, I started to dream. I was in the winner’s circle at Hollywood Park. My horse had just won a big race and Jack Nicholson and Robert Redford and Al Pacino were there, shaking my hand. Then an alarm went off and people started running and yelling, “Fire! Fire!” and I looked over and my horse was dead. I tried to run away, but I was stuck to a giant glue trap. I woke up, sweating, wondering why the noise wouldn’t stop. Then I realized what was going on. My fucking phone was ringing.
Thirteen
“Tommy? I didn’t wake you, did I?”
The voice sounded like somebody I knew, but I was so spaced it took a second or two before I matched it with a name—Debbie O’Reilley.
“No,” I said, wondering why the hell I didn’t just let my answering machine pick up. “What’s going on?”
“I should be asking you that question. I’ve been trying to hunt you down for two days now. Either you’ve been screening your calls or you went away without telling me. Either way I’m very upset with you.”
As usual, she sounded drunk.
“I was in Vegas,” I said.
“Vegas? Las Vegas?”
“You calling me for any reason, because I was about to go to sleep.”
“Sleep? Don’t you have to work tonight?”
Shit, I forgot all about work. There was no way in hell I was going in feeling like this.
“I’m calling in sick,” I said.
“Really? Well, that’s convenient—and timely too. Because I’m feeling kind of lonely and I was hoping I could come over to visit.”
“What’s that?”
“I said I want to come over to your place.”
“Here?”
“Why not? You’re not trying to avoid me, are you?”
I was starting to fall asleep again.
“Look, I really gotta hang up now.”
“I’m coming over—I just got your address from Information.”
“Don’t come here,” I said, waking up. “I’m serious.”
“Why? You’re too tired? It’s all right—I’ll take a nap with you.”
“Wait,” I said. I remembered that Frank had hired a detective.
“Don’t come here,” I said. “That’s a shitty idea.”
“Don’t you want to see me again?” she said, trying to sound sexy.
“It’s just not a good time right now,” I said. “Trust me, all right?”
“I really want to see you again, Tommy. I don’t know what I did to upset you so much, but I promise I won’t do it again.”
“Maybe some other time,” I said. “I’m really not feeling too good right now.”
“Poor thing,” she said. “Are you sick? Should I bring you over some chicken soup?”
“No, the thing is there’s a detective watching you,” I said. “Frank told me about it the other day—”
“Oh, that’s why you’re so worried. You don’t have to worry about that, darling. That slob was following me around all day yesterday and I had no problem losing him. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be right there.”
“Come on, Debbie, don’t—”
She hung up. I said “hello” a couple of times then I put the receiver down, still feeling dazed. I closed my eyes, trying to go back to Hollywood Park, but I must’ve fallen asleep without dreaming because it seemed like a second later the buzzer was ringing. I got up to answer it, forgetting where I was. Then I heard Debbie’s voice on the intercom. Now I was really getting pissed off. Why the hell couldn’t she take no for an answer?
I buzzed her up, hoping the detective didn’t follow her. No matter what, I was going to tell her to get the hell away from me and to stay away.
She was wearing a fur coat and black boots. Her fake blond hair was done up like Ivana Trump and she had a load of makeup on. She looked better than she did the other day at her apartment, but she still disgusted me.
I noticed she was holding a white plastic shopping bag.
“It was quite a climb to get up here,” she said. “I can’t believe people actually live in these buildings.”
She moved in to kiss me with her glossy lips and I was too tired to turn my head. I picked up the Scotch odor right away. Then she backed away, making a face like she just stepped into a big pile of dog shit.