“Drive carefully.” The faintest tremor entered Keeley’s voice. “You’ll call if you’re going to be late?”
Jack glared at Jule. “We won’t be late.”
“Of course not,” Jule said. He leaned to kiss Keeley’s forehead, and for a moment held her tenderly. Only Jack noticed that his hands were trembling. “I promise Jackie’ll be back tonight. It’s just a quick trip into the city, people do it all the time.”
“Do they?” Keeley murmured. “Well, be careful, boys.”
“Get back in there!” shouted Jack. “Before you catch cold.”
He had a glimpse of Keeley’s white face and waving hand; then the oaken door slammed shut.
“ Now,” said Jack, following his friend to the car. “Will you tell me what the fuck is going on? Where’s Emma?”
“I told you. She’s not feeling so good,” Jule said shortly, then fiddled with his door. “And, well, I got to take a little road trip, and I thought maybe you might want to come with me.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because you’re becoming a fucking agoraphobic, that’s why. I think so, and Emma thinks so—”
“Emma thinks I should get in a car with you?”
“Oh for Christ’s sake! You’ve been in a car with me a hundred thousand times—”
“Jule, you’re drunk.”
Jule looked hurt. “You used to drive with me when I was drunk.”
“Oh, forget it. Look, Jule, why don’t I try calling someone—”
“Fuck you.” Jule’s tone was even. He smiled affably, pulling the door open and easing his bulk into the seat. “Just get in the fucking car, Jackie. You know, Emma tried to have a, a what-you-call-it—an intervention. Because I’m an alcoholic. Ha! Like where the fuck they gonna lock me up? Her and some people we know at home, this guy from the hospital and Edgar Evans.” Edgar was senior partner at Jule’s old law firm. “You know what I did?”
He stopped and fixed Jack with a challenging gaze. Jack stared back, holding open the passenger door. “No. What did you do?”
“I belted him. Edgar. Laid him out right on the floor of the fucking kitchen. I would have hit someone else, too, but there were four of them, counting Emma, and only one of me.” He leaned across the seat and stared up at Jack. “I told them, and I’ll tell you, Jackie—
“I do this by choice. By choice. I may be an alcoholic but I have my reasons. You understand, Jackie?”
“I don’t think it’s that we don’t understand, Jule, everyone understands—”
“You do not. You do not have the slightest fucking intimation of an idea.” Jule’s voice was calm. “Something’s happened to me, Jackie, something very strange. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.”
He thumped the car seat and laughed. “Maybe even today. Maybe that’s why I came here to get you! Ever think of that?”
Jack took a step backward. “Look, I’d love to go with you, Jule, but—you know, I’m thinking about this now, and I really shouldn’t leave Grandmother alone, or—”
“Don’t sweat it.” Jule grabbed Jack’s arm and yanked him into the car, then pulled the door shut after him. “Here, look at this, Jackie—”
Jule patted at his pockets, grandly pulled out a small red oblong. “See this here? This is Emma’s. One of those beeper things, they plug into some relay somewhere so they work even when the power’s down, they give ’em to all the senior doctors at Northern Westchester. I’ll leave this with Grandmother. If there’s any problem, she can call Emma.”
“And what? Emma’s going to come down here with a scalpel? She’s forty miles away, Jule! Plus you said she’s sick—”
“I don’t know that she’s sick. She just—she doesn’t look so good, that’s all. Probably it’s nothing.” Jule shook his head. “Look, leave the beeper here, okay? Emma could at least call the police or something. Don’t sweat it, Jackie, please?”
“You just told me—”
But Jule had already bolted from the car and loped onto the porch to bang at the door. It cracked open and Jack could see Mrs. Iverson’s face, the beeper disappearing into her hand. Before he could do anything, the car shuddered as Jule jumped back into the seat beside him.
“C’mon, Jackie-boy,” he begged. “How often do I ask you to do anything? I just want some company, okay? I have a client up in Goldens Bridge, an actress, she’s on Till the End of the World, I’m representing her in a breach-of-contract thing. It’s the weekend, I got to deliver something to the studio, down at the Pyramid, and—something else, something I have to do. I thought maybe you’d like to come with me. We could talk, Jackie. It was nice, seeing you this summer. It’s been a long time since we talked like that.”
His tone grew wistful. Jack looked at his friend’s unshaven face, glanced down and saw the glint of glass on the floor at his feet. “Well, yeah,” Jack said. “But couldn’t you just stay overnight here? Then we could—”
Jule shook his head. “I have this errand. I mean, one reason I agreed to it is I thought we could do this—I could pick you up, drop you off on the way back—”
His voice trailed off. He stared mournfully at the ceiling. Jack sighed.
“All right. But we have to be back by tonight.”
“No prob.” Jule turned the ignition. “Great! You’re so great, Jackie!”
“I’m a fucking pushover, is what I am. Let’s get going. I don’t want to be in the city after dark.”
“You won’t.” With a groan the Range Rover started up the drive. “Isn’t this great, Jackie?”
Jack sat in silence, trying to breathe through his mouth, so as not to smell the odor of stale liquor, and stared outside. Jule navigated the burned-out corridor of Hudson Terrace, the garish shells of mansions spray-painted with tribal designs, their verandas braided with barbed wire and broken strings of Christmas lights. Now and then they saw delivery vans, or automobiles creeping cautiously around potholes. Jack recognized the battered Jeep that belonged to his doctor, lurching away from the hospital.
They headed south on the Saw Mill. The road was corrugated with frost heaves, the median and shoulder lined with abandoned vehicles gutted of everything; even their paint had been burned or rusted away. Some wrecks had been dragged back from the road to form hivelike clusters where people moved with everyday calm: tending fires, chasing children, making windbreaks out of plywood and dead trees. As the car barreled past, dogs ran up behind them, yelping.
“Fucking leeches.” Jule swerved the Rover toward a clutch of yellow mongrels. “Someone oughta torch ’em.”
Jack said nothing. The crimson sky gave the dead cars and crumbling overpasses an archaic look. He thought of the ruined Claudian aqueduct, where he and Leonard had fucked in the dusty grass with cicadas shrilling overhead. He sighed, gazing at the monoliths of Co-op City looming up from the smoke and rubble of a fellahin encampment.
“Thinking of Leonard?” Jule asked.
“How’d you know?”
“I can just tell.” Jule eased the car around a pile of burning refuse. “You have this—noise—you make, when you’re thinking of Leonard. That son of a bitch.” He scowled at a trio of boys throwing rocks at the passing traffic.
“Oh well,” Jack said, embarrassed. “You know how it is…”
“I don’t know how it is, but I know how it should b—Jesus Christ!”
A dangerously overcrowded bus cut them off, passengers hanging from the open doors as it veered past. Jule pounded his horn, which made no sound, then turned to Jack. “You’re worth ten of him, Jackie. I mean, I could understand it when you guys were kids. But carrying a torch for someone who dumped you and lives just to torment you…”