“What?” asked Bo. “I couldn’t understand what you said. Say it again?”
Frustrated, I repeated: “I says, I zon’t has azy muzzy ozzer in Swizzaziz!”
Sounding incredulous, Bo said, “What are you, stoned? I can’t understand a word you’re fucking saying!” Then, suddenly, in an urgent tone, he said, “Listen to me, Jordan—don’t get behind the wheel of your car! Tell me where you are and I’ll send Rocco for you! Where are you, buddy? Talk to me!”
All at once a warm feeling came rising up my brain stem, as a pleasant tingling sensation went ricocheting through every molecule of my body. The phone receiver was still at my ear and I wanted to tell Bo to have Rocco come pick me up at the Brookville Country Club, but I couldn’t get my lips to move. It was as if my brain was sending out signals but they were being intercepted—or scrambled. I felt paralyzed. And I felt wonderful. I stared at the shiny metal face of the pay phone and cocked my head to the side, trying to find my own reflection… How pretty the phone looked!…So shiny it was!…And then all at once the phone seemed to be growing more distant…What was happening?…Where was the phone going?… Oh, shit!…I was falling backward now, tipping over like a tree that had just been chopped down…. TIMBER!…and then… BOOM!I was lying flat on my back, in a state of semiconsciousness, staring up at the clubhouse ceiling. It was one of those white Styrofoam dropped ceilings, the sort you find in an office. Pretty chintzy for a country club! I thought. These fucking WASPs were cutting corners on their own ceiling!
I took a deep breath and checked for broken bones. Everything seemed to be in working order. The Real Reals had protected me from harm. It had taken almost ninety minutes for these little fuckers to kick in, but once they had… WOW!I had gone straight past the tingle phase and right into the drool phase. Actually, I had discovered a new phase, somewhere between the drool phase and a state of unconsciousness. It was the…what was it? I needed a name for this phase. It was the cerebral palsy phase! Yes! My brain would no longer send clear signals to my musculoskeletal system. What a wonderful new phase! My brain was sharp as a tack, but I had no control of my body. Too good! Too good!
With a great deal of effort, I craned my neck and saw the receiver still swinging back and forth on its shiny metallic cord. I thought I could hear Bo’s voice screaming, “Tell me where you are and I’ll send Rocco!” although it was probably my imagination playing tricks on me. Fuck it!I thought. What was the point of trying to get back on the phone, anyway? I had officially lost the power of speech.
After five minutes on the floor, it hit me that Danny must be in the same condition. Oh, Jesus! The Duchess must be flipping out right now—wondering where I’d gone! I needed to get home. It was only a couple hundred yards to the estate, literally a straight shot. I could make the drive, couldn’t I? Or perhaps I should walk home. But, no, it was too cold for that. I would probably die of frostbite.
I rolled onto all fours and tried standing up, but it was no use. Every time I lifted my hands off the carpet I tipped over to the side. I would have to crawlback to the car. But what was so bad about that? Chandler crawled, and she seemed to be fine with it.
When I reached the front door I propped myself onto my knees and grabbed the doorknob. I pulled open the door and crawled outside. There was my car…ten stairs down. Try as I might, my brain refused to let me crawl down the stairs, scared at the very possibility of what might happen. So I lay down flat on my stomach and tucked my hands beneath my chest and turned myself into a human barrel and began rolling down the stairs…slow at first…in complete control…and then…oh, shit!…There I go!…Faster…faster… b-boom…b-boom…b-boom…and I hit the asphalt parking lot with a mighty thud.
But, again, the Real Reals protected me from harm, and thirty seconds later I was sitting behind the steering wheel with the ignition on and the car in drive and my chin resting on the steering wheel. Hunched over the way I was, with my eyes barely peering over the dashboard, I looked like one of those blue-haired old ladies who drive in the left lane of the highway, doing twenty.
I pulled out of the parking lot, doing one mile an hour and saying a silent prayer to God. Apparently, He was a kind and loving God, just like the textbooks say, because a minute later I was parked in front of my house, home in one piece. Victory!I thanked the Lord for being the Lord, and after a great deal of effort, I crawled my way into the kitchen, at which point I found myself staring up at the beautiful face of the Duchess…. Uh-oh! I was in for it now!…How angry was she? It was impossible to say.
And then all at once I realized that she wasn’t angry. In fact, she was crying hysterically. Next thing I knew, she had crouched down, and she was giving me warm kisses all over my face and on the top of my head, as she tried speaking through her tears. “Oh, thank God you’re home safe, sweetie! I thought I lost you! I…I”—she couldn’t seem to get the words out—“I love you so much. I thought you crashed the car. Bo called here and said he was speaking to you on the phone and you passed out. And then I went downstairs and Danny was crawling around on his hands and knees, banging into the walls. Here, let me help you up, sweetie.” She picked me up, led me over to the kitchen table, and placed me on a chair. A second later my head hit the table.
“You have to stop doing this,” she begged. “You’re gonna kill yourself, baby. I…I can’t lose you. Please, look at your daughter; she loves you. You’re gonna die if you keep this up.”
I looked over at Chandler, and my daughter and I locked eyes, and she smiled. “Dada!” she said. “Hi, Dada!”
I smiled at my daughter and was about to slur back, I love you,when suddenly I felt two powerful sets of arms pulling me out of my seat and dragging me up the stairs.
Rocco Night said, “Mr. Belfort, you gotta get into bed and go to sleep right now. Everything’s gonna be all right.”
Rocco Day added, “Don’t worry, Mr. B. We’ll take care of everything.”
What in the hell were they talking about? I wanted to ask them but I couldn’t get the words out. A minute later I was alone in bed, still fully dressed but with the covers pulled over my head and the room lights out. I took a deep breath, trying to make sense of it all. It was ironic that the Duchess had been so nice to me, yet she had called the bodyguards to come take me upstairs, as if I were a naughty child. Well, fuck it! I thought. The royal bedchamber was very comfortable, and I would enjoy the rest of the cerebral palsy phase just like this, floating amid the Chinese silk.
Just then, the bedroom lights came on. A moment later someone pulled down my glorious white silk comforter and I found myself squinting into an extremely bright flashlight.
“Mr. Belfort,” said an unfamiliar voice, “are you awake, sir?”
Sir?… Who the fuck is calling me sir?…After a few seconds, my eyes adjusted to the light and I found out. It was a policeman—two of them, actually—from the Old Brookville Police Department. They were dressed in full regalia—guns, handcuffs, shiny badges, the whole nine yards. One of them was big and fat with a droopy mustache; the other was short and wiry, with the ruddy skin of a teenager.
All at once I felt a terrible dark cloud descending on me. Something was very wrong here. Agent Coleman had sure worked fast! I was already getting arrested, and the investigation had barely begun! What happened to the wheels of justice grinding slowly? And why would Agent Coleman use the Old Brookville police to arrest me? They were like toy cops, for Chrissake, and their police station was like Mayberry RFD. Was this the way people got arrested for money laundering?