Chuck’s private messages became devastated. He wanted to know whether it was cancer.
no its none of the big ones you never heard of it
Donny realized that the only way to make the story stick was to leave Facebook altogether. He deleted his account and it was a great relief. He found that he didn’t miss Facebook at all.
The only thing that concerned him was his lie about dying. Donny couldn’t recall any specific examples, but he had a strong feeling that he had lied a couple of times before and the lie had always come true. Had he maybe lied about being poked in the eye with a stick? And then had something happened to his eye at the beach? Or was that somebody else?
3
It was Chuck’s first time in first class.
A woman behind him was talking loudly about a person who was a “dick.”
Across the aisle a man referred to the spare tire around his middle as “this fucking thing.”
They should call it First Crass, ha ha, thought Chuck.
But seriously, why were people so crass?
He didn’t care too much because of all the pills he had taken. He could stretch out his legs while the nice people brought him drinks.
He looked down at his loafers and remembered how his second wife had always made him wear shoes with laces. He said, “I was never any good at tying my shoes,” and she said, “I wouldn’t go around admitting that either.” And he said, “What do you mean either?” And she laughed and said, “I don’t know.”
Chuck laughed too. They laughed a lot. Veda didn’t want kids. Neither did Chuck. He already had one, and look how that turned out. It was a racket. But he brooded about what she said: “I wouldn’t go around admitting that either.” Freudian! What was the other thing? There was some other thing about Chuck that shamed Veda, something she never told him, something she nursed deep inside.
Then she got the terrible virus that improved their relationship but weakened and killed her. She left him a good bit of money and a big life insurance policy, about which he hadn’t known. He cashed her substantial retirement account and his too when he quit his job. He had not expected to live very long without her.
The money was running out, but he kept spending it however suited him. Most of the time he couldn’t think of anything, which was why it had lasted.
They gave him a good hot breakfast in first class, with a real fork and knife. They gave him his choice of cookies.
Chuck drank and took pills and lived all the time in a fog that wasn’t too bad. He had mostly crushed down his emotions. He hadn’t had a normal thought in two solid years. But these new pills the doctor had given him for the airplane didn’t work. The plane seemed to slow down at weird times in the middle of the air.
Chuck was scared.
________
4
Chuck’s knowledge of Hollywood geography was based on snippets of things he had heard on television. He ended up way out in Burbank, a fifty-dollar cab ride from Beverly Hills, where he had business.
But he liked the hotel. His stay was going to cost him a thousand, but what the hell. Seemed like everything about California cost a thousand. He had a thousand to spend on his official business, too.
Chuck liked that there was a drugstore across the street. There were lots of things across the street. It was a good location. You could go across the street and get anything, even a cat from the pet store. Chuck traveled light, and he liked the easy access to necessities. His terror of airplanes had kept him out of the air for a while. He knew about the latest measures — that he would have to take off his shoes and belt, for example. He practiced taking off his shoes and belt at home and got really good at it. But he didn’t want to be held up in security by some zealot who thought his bottle of shampoo was explosive or his phone might trigger a bomb. So he didn’t bring a phone. Why would he need one? People just thought they needed stuff. Chuck had seen a commercial where a guy bragged about his Kindle being like “a thousand books in your back pocket.” Only a moron or an unimaginably perverse monomaniac would need a thousand books in his back pocket. A thousand books in your back pocket was not a good thing. One book at a time in your back pocket was plenty. Zero was also good. Hotels supplied free shampoo, soap, shower gel. They would give you a toothbrush and toothpaste if you asked. Anything else he needed, Chuck could get at the drugstore.
Chuck was hungry for dinner at three thirty in the afternoon because of the time difference. He went to the “bistro” across the street. It was empty that time of day, but open. Chuck ordered roasted chicken and French fries. He sat at the bar, a black cloth napkin on his lap. A guy in a burgundy apron waited on him. A guy with a Russian accent popped up from the back and made genial, lewd comments about life. Chuck ordered some rosé and the Russian complimented him on his selection then loudly cursed the man in the apron, who had disappeared. The man in the apron came back. A third guy showed up. Everybody stood around doing nothing.
His first wife Shelly had worked in restaurants, and Chuck knew it was unusual for people who worked in a restaurant to stand around doing nothing. Wasn’t there silverware to roll? The Russian guy told the other two he would get dinner for them. He got on the phone and loudly, almost abrasively, ordered a pizza and two chicken parms from some Italian place. Chuck thought that was interesting, but who cared? His roasted chicken was good when it came out. It looked like a picture. When the third guy carried it over to him, he stopped on the way and showed it to the man in the apron, like it was something special. Was that a sincere move or showmanship? It was like neither of them had ever seen a chicken before. Had no one ever ordered the chicken before? They seemed so amazed. Chuck was in a blur from the airplane booze and airplane pills and regular booze and regular pills. He dug in, breaking through the gorgeous, shiny skin.
Back at the hotel, Chuck used his key card to get into the “Business Center.” It was some closet with a tiny wastebasket and a computer. Chuck guessed that business centers had atrophied since the last time he had been in one. Everybody was his or her own business center now.
Chuck signed into Twitter and announced to his followers that he was in L.A. He’d sure love someone to show him the ropes.
He was surprised to get a direct message right away with a phone number from Maria Garey, whom he didn’t remember following or being followed by.
He called her from his room. Probably nobody used in-room telephones anymore. The hotel was going to love Chuck so much. He felt happy to make them happy. He felt like maybe they would give him special treatment because he was such a big spender.
Chuck and Maria caught up a bit, exclaiming how great it was to hear each other’s voices, how they couldn’t believe each other remembered each other, how of course they remembered each other, are you kidding? Maria remembered that Chuck had married Shelly Riviera. Chuck had to tell her Shelly was dead. Maria was so sorry. Chuck said it was okay. It happened a long time ago, when they were young. It was sad that Shelly had died young, but they had been having difficulties. She died in a small plane crash, taking flying lessons from her clandestine lover. There had been a lot of anger mixed up with the grief. Chuck was too young to be a husband and he was a terrible father, but being so young and resilient and selfish at the time had helped him heal. Maria said that was great, all that stuff about the healing and everything.
“Their skeletons were mingled,” said Chuck.
“Oh no!” said Maria.
“So you live out here?” said Chuck.