She said,
“Oh, thank you, jack. I knew you’d get it.”
My name in lowercase there as that is how small I feel now.
“4-play they called themselves, as what they had in common was child molestation and golf. Oh, and an utter contempt for the human race.”
I need to see Emily’s mother and find out about the four in the picture. Two had been convicted of sexual offenses and, as is the case now with Irish justice, they were on holiday in Marbella, awaiting appeals. Emily’s father was dead and that left Park Wilson, the alleged Grammarian. I needed transport and knocked on my neighbor Doc’s door. He had been many times in my apartment but I had never set foot in his. He had a fairly new Austin and that would do my trip nicely.
The pup was on his lead and his tail wagging gently as I knocked. Took a few minutes and then the door opened a fraction, the way you do for TV license inspectors, giving not an inch. Doc’s head appeared. Looking startled, he gasped,
“What?”
Fuck, not a good sign, he had never been anything but warmly friendly. The pup tried to push in but Doc snapped,
“Not now.”
Sharp.
Jesus.
Maybe I could rent a bloody car.
I said,
“Really sorry to disturb you.”
He actually went,
“Whatever!”
Now if ever a comment deserved a slap in the mouth, it’s that. I tried,
“I was hoping to borrow your car, I’ll pay for the petrol and...”
He cut me off, muttered,
“Jesus.”
Went back inside and did I hear a whispered conversation?
Then he was back, handed me the keys, and shut the door. The pup stared at the door, crushed, his tail beneath his legs. I said,
“Ah, fuck him, come on, we’ll have a wild spin.”
Thing with dogs, they instantly forgive but they don’t forget.
Me neither.
The Grammarian would kill me for that sentence.
I put the pup in the shotgun seat and then went,
“Ah, for fuck’s sake.”
Not the pup, not a stick shift. Damn automatic. I could with some difficulty manage but said to the pup,
“Gonna be a bumpy ride.”
He seemed to trust me. I said to him,
“See, the old ways, they had some style. Did I ever tell you of the old Galway cures?”
He turned his head to the side so I figured, no. I began,
Baldness: Beef bone marrow rubbed on the bald pate.
Corns: Paraffin oil on cotton wool and rub in slowly like sarcasm.
I swear the pup found that amusing.
Chesty cough: Hot water in a mug with honey and a mass of carrageen moss.
Toothache: Drop of Jameson with salt added and rub gently on the gums. If that failed, drink more Jay.
The radio was playing and a news bulletin, P. D. James had died.
RIP.
She wasn’t exactly noted for her sense of humor but, at a book signing, in Australia, a long line of people and with each customer she tried to write the buyer’s name and have a word.
One woman handed over the book and when P. D. asked, she wasn’t sure she could spell the name correctly but gave it her best shot
... Emma Chessit.
As she handed back the book, she realized the woman was asking the price of the book.
I’d once given a copy of
An Unsuitable Job for a Woman
To Ridge.
In the days when we were still friends, before the death of our beloved friend, Stewart, Ridge had asked me to suggest some crime novels and she had loved James Lee Burke
Hilary Davidson
Patti Abbott
Sara Gran
So, emboldend, I’d given her the P. D. James and she stared at the title, snarled,
“What? You trying to tell me something, Taylor?”
Ah, just fuck off already.
A Swollen Red Sun
By Matthew McBride, which is among my ten favorites, I decided she would not now be getting. Let her go back to fucking chick lit.
Emily’s mother’s house was still bright, clean, and alive. So, still sober, then.
I left the radio on for the pup, a few treats, said,
“Back in a sec, buddy.”
He looked as if that seemed unlikely. I approached the door with a certain amount of trepidation. Rang the bell, and in a beat, there she was. She asked,
“Yes?”
“I am so sorry to bother you. I’m a friend of Em...”
Didn’t get to finish. She rasped,
“Taylor.”
Uh-oh.
Not good.
I tried,
“So sorry to disturb you.”
“No, you’re not, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
Fuck... Okay... deep breath.
Think I liked her better as a drunk.
She stared past me, asked,
“What kind of person leaves a pup locked in a car?”
Jesus.
She motioned for me to get him, and added,
“Wipe your feet.”
To, I suppose, accessorize her wiping the floor with me. I could have of course just said,
“Aw, fuck off.”
And fucked off me own self.
But I never
Her house was spotless, OCD in huge evidence or maybe just being sober. She got a biscuit and broke it in half for the pup. She asked,
“What is his name?”
In a futile attempt at humor, to lighten the mood, I used the line from my favorite western:
“Never name something you might have to eat.”
Whoops.
She glared at me, spat,
“That’s not even remotely amusing.”
Phew-oh.
I noticed a framed print with the words
KISS
The acronym KISS is applied from principles of business, advertising, computer systems. Einstein said, “Everything should be made as simple as possible but not too simple.”
Like most alkies I had a passing knowledge of AA slogans but this was new to me. She saw me looking at it, asked,
“You know who wrote that?”
“Einstein?”
She literally puckered her lips in dismissal, said,
“My dear friend Parker Wilson, the poor man they are accusing of horrendous things.”
Which is the whole reason for my visit and now I had an in. I asked,
“You knew him well?”
“Define well.”
Fuck me, I definitely liked her better as a meek drunk. This new abrasive bitch was beginning to piss me off. I went offensive.
“Not a difficult question and, might I say, you seem to have come on in leaps and bloody bounds.”
She sighed as in,
“God spare me imbeciles.”
Said,
“My therapist stressed I need to be assertive.”
I nearly laughed, said,
“Trust me, it’s working.”
She rubbed the pup’s ears. That eased me a bit, not a lot, but climbing down, she said,
“My late husband, Park, and two other men had a group based on golf, sex, and money, and they rather fetchingly called themselves 4-Play.”
Fetchingly!
I snarled,
“Was this before or after your husband molested your daughter?”
Bull’s-eye.
Her face crumbled, the force behind her eyes dimming, and she looked as though she might fall down.
I could give a good fuck.
She tried,
“I didn’t know, I couldn’t have known, I thought she was just...”
Um.
“... a quiet child.”
I let that hover before I shot,
“The wife never knows, eh? And now you do know and you have a saying by one of his...”
I had to search for the word:
“Mates
Displayed on your fucking wall.”
She said, very quietly,
“Please don’t curse.”