By the pool were the delectable Duchess, the emaciated Ellen, and Sonny Wiener, Arthur’s wife. By one p.m. it was ninety degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. At this particular moment, Elliot was trying to respond to a question I’d just posed to him, over what Steve Madden’s goal should be with its business with Macy’s, which seemed receptive to rolling out in-store Steve Madden shops.
“Za key za grozzing Mazzen wickly iz zoo zemand all zorz wiz Mazeez,” said a smiling Elliot Lavigne, who was five Ludes deep and sipping on an ice-cold Heineken.
I said to Gary, “I think what he’s trying to say is that we need to approach Macy’s from a position of strength and tell them that we can’t roll out in-store shops one by one. We need to do it region by region, with a goal of being in all stores across the country.”
Arthur nodded. “Well said, Jordan; that was a fine translation.” He dipped a tiny spoon into a coke vial he was holding and took a blast up his left nostril.
Elliot looked at Deluca and nodded and raised his eyebrows, as if to say, “You see, I’m not that difficult to understand.”
Just then the Jewish skeleton walked over and said to her husband, “Elliot, give me a Lude; I’m out.” Elliot shook his head no and shot her the middle finger.
“You’re a real fucking bastard!” snapped the angry skeleton. “Just wait and see what happens next time you’re out. I’ll tell you to go fuck yourself too!”
I looked at Elliot, whose head was now bobbing and weaving. It was a clear sign that he was about to leave the slur phase and enter the drool phase. I said, “Hey, Eclass="underline" You want me to make you something to eat, so you can come down a bit?”
Elliot smiled broadly and replied, “Make me a zuld-claz cheezburzer!”
“No problem!” I said, and I rose from my chair and headed to the kitchen to make him a world-class cheeseburger. The Duchess intercepted me in the living room, wearing a sky-blue Brazilian bikini the size of kite string.
Through clenched teeth, she snapped, “I can’t take Ellen for one more second! She’s sick in the fucking head, and I don’t want her in my house anymore. She’s slurring and snorting coke, and the whole thing is fucking disgusting! You’re sober almost a month now and I don’t want you surrounded by this. It’s not good for you.”
I’d half-missed what the Duchess said. I mean—I’d heard every word, but I’d been too busy looking at her breasts, which she’d just had augmented to a small C-cup. They looked glorious. I said, “Calm down, sweetie; Ellen’s not so bad. Besides, Elliot’s one of my closest friends, so the matter’s not up for discussion,” and as the last few words escaped my lips, I knew I’d made a mistake. A split second later the Duchess took a swing at me. It was a full right cross with an open hand.
But having been sober for a month, I had catlike reflexes, and I easily dodged the blow. I said, “Cool your jets, Nadine. It’s not so easy to smack me around when I’m sober, huh?” I flashed her a devilish smile, to which she grinned broadly, and then she threw her arms around me and said, “I’m so proud of you. It’s like you’re a different person now. Even your back’s starting to feel better, right?”
“A little bit,” I replied. “It’s manageable now, but it’s still not perfect. Anyway, I think I’m really over the hump with the Quaaludes. And I love you more than ever.”
“I love you too,” she said, pouting. “I’m only mad because Elliot and Ellen are evil. He’s the worst influence on you, and if he stays here too long…well, you know what I’m talking about.” She gave me a wet kiss on the lips and then pushed the curve of her stomach against mine.
Suddenly, with three pints of blood rushing to my loins, I found the Duchess’s point of view making much more sense. I said, “I’ll tell you what: If you agree to be my sex slave for the rest of the weekend, I’ll put Elliot and Ellen up in a hotel—deal?”
The Duchess smiled broadly and rubbed me in just the right place. “You got it, sweetie. Your wish is my command; just get them outta here and I’m all yours.”
Fifteen minutes later Elliot was slobbering over his cheeseburger, while I was on the phone with Janet, asking her to book Elliot and Ellen a hotel room at a plush hotel about thirty minutes away.
Out of nowhere, with his mouth still filled with cheeseburger, Elliot popped out of his chair and dove into the pool. A few seconds later he came up for air and waved me in for an underwater race. It was something we always did—betting which of us could swim the most laps underwater. Elliot was a strong swimmer, having grown up by the ocean, so he had a slight edge on me. But given his current condition, I thought I could take him. Besides, I’d been a lifeguard back in my teens, so I was a pretty strong swimmer too.
We each swam four laps: a tie. The Duchess came over and said, “Don’t you think it’s time you two schmucks grew up? I don’t like when you play that game. It’s stupid. And one of you is gonna get hurt.” Then she added, “And where’s Elliot?”
I looked at the bottom of the pool. I squinted. What the fuck was he doing? He was lying on his side? Oh, shit!All at once the sheer gravity of things hit me like a sledgehammer, and without thinking I dove down to the bottom of the pool to get him. He wasn’t moving. I grabbed him by the hair—and with a mighty jerk of my right arm and the most powerful scissors kick I could muster, I yanked him off the bottom and headed for the surface. His body was almost weightless from the water’s buoyancy. Just as we broke through the surface, I jerked my arm over to the right and Elliot went flying out of the water and landed on the edge of the pool, on the concrete. And he was dead. Dead!
“OhmyGod!” screamed Nadine, and tears began streaming down her face. “Elliot’s dead! Save him!”
“Go call an ambulance!” I screamed. “Hurry up!”
I placed two fingertips over his carotid artery. No pulse. I grabbed his wrist and checked there. Nothing. My friend is dead,I thought.
Just then I heard a screeching sound; it was Ellen Lavigne. “Oh, God, no! Please don’t take my husband! Please! Save him, Jordan! Save him! You can’t let him die! I can’t lose my husband! I have two children! Oh, no! Not now! Please!” She began sobbing uncontrollably.
I became aware of a crowd of people around me—Gary Deluca, Arthur and Sonny, Gwynne and Rocco, even the baby nurse, who had grabbed Chandler from the kiddie pool and rushed over to see what the commotion was. I saw Nadine running toward me, on her way back from calling the ambulance, and the words kept ringing in my ears— Save him! Save him!I wanted to give Elliot CPR, just like I’d been taught all those years back.
I really wanted to, but why should I? I thought. Wouldn’t it be better if Elliot just died? He had the goods on me, and one of these days Agent Coleman would get around to subpoenaing his bank records, wouldn’t he? At that very moment, as Elliot lay dead before me, I couldn’t help but marvel at how convenient his death would be. Dead men tell no tales…Those five words began overtaking my mind, begging me not to resuscitate him, to let the secrets of our nefarious dealings die along with him.
And this man had been the scourge of my life—reintroducing me to Quaaludes after years of not taking them, getting me hooked on cocaine, and then going bad on me in the rathole game, which was tantamount to stealing my money. And all of it to fuel his gambling habit…and his drug addiction…and his IRS problems. Agent Coleman was no fool, and he would exploit those weaknesses, especially the IRS problems, where he would threaten Elliot with jail time. Then Elliot would cooperate against me and spill his guts. I should just let him die, for Chrissake, because… dead men tell no tales…
But in the background everyone was screaming: “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Suddenly it hit me: I was already trying to resuscitate him!As my conscious mind was debating things—something infinitely more powerful had already clicked inside me and was overriding my thoughts.