8 The Man Who Loved Women to Death Page 2

  Merilee came bustling in for her hairbrush, humming gaily to herself, her green eyes bright and animated, a healthy glow to her patrician features. They really are the stronger sex, you know. She had slipped into the black velvet Ralph Lauren for dinner, the one that makes her look willowy as a schoolgirl. This had to do with a certain pact we’d made. No nightshirts or jammies at the dinner table. No Jeopardy on the TV. None of those things that boring married couples do. We dress. We light candles. We use the good silver and the linen napkins. We are not a boring married couple. Repeat after me: We are not a boring married couple.

  She remained there in the doorway, brushing out her shimmering waist-length golden hair. That’s a sight I will never, ever grow tired of. “Demi turned down the new Brad Pitt. They’ve offered it to me.”

  “Congratulations, Merilee.”

  “Not so fast, darling. There’s a problem with it. Rather large one. There’s, well, this nude scene …”

  “You and Brad?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You and Brad in bed together?”

  “In an abandoned root cellar, actually.” She tossed her hair back, a gesture that has always quickened my pulse, and stood there with her hip thrown out. “I’ve never believed in them, you know.”

  “Abandoned root cellars?”

  “Nude scenes. I’ve always said no. But there’s no getting around this one. It’s pivotal to the story.”

  “Wait, what about that nude scene you did in Romeo and Juliet for Papp?”

  “That was different, darling.”

  “Why, because it was Art?”

  “No, because I was twenty-three when I played Juliet. Or, more specifically, my thighs were.”

  “Merilee, your thighs are lovely.”

  She took a sip of her martini, her forehead creasing fretfully. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Why don’t you just do what every other actress your age does?”

  “What, go in for tumescent liposculpture?”

  “No, silly. Use a body double. Some twenty-year-old who’s six-feet-three and works out on a Stairmaster fourteen hours a day. I’ll sit in on the casting sessions, if you like. That way we’ll be sure she’s got a butt just like—” Somehow, her hairbrush bounced off my left ear. “Ow, that hurt!”

  “It was supposed to, mister. A body double’s out of the question.”

  “I don’t see why. You used a stunt double when you jumped out of that helicopter in the Bruce Willis picture.”

  “Because I’m an actress, not a paratrooper. This is different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m forty, that’s why. I know it, the audience knows it and Mr. Gravity sure as sugar knows it. Let’s face it, darling, from the neck down I’m starting to resemble one of those cute baby elephants you see at the circus, the ones they dress up in little pink pinafores.”

  “I believe it’s the monkeys they do that with.”

  “I’ll know it’s not me. Everyone will know it’s not me. It’s cheating. It’s fake. It’s—”

  “It’s a movie, Merilee.”

  “Oh, beans, I’m sorry I even mentioned it. Forget it, I’m not doing it. Let Sharon do it. What am I saying? She’s probably turned it down already.” She sighed grandly, tragically. “Oh God, I hate this business.”

  “Merilee,” I said, reaching for her hand, “you’re still one of the most beautiful women in the world.” Which she is. Not that she’s conventionally pretty. Never has been. Her jaw is too strong. Her nose too long. Her forehead too high. But on her it all adds up to beautiful. She was beautiful at twenty-five. She was beautiful at forty. And she would be beautiful at sixty.

  “Bless you for that, darling. But you and I both know that I’m getting to be a card-carrying grown-up, and they don’t believe in those out there. Not if you happen to be a she.” She came over to freshen my martini from the pitcher. Two is my limit these days. After that I become incoherent, unless there is a language where the phrase “oot-groot” is considered intelligent conversation. “Did Vic get hold of you, by the way?”

  “Pam asked me that, too. What’s this all about?”

  “Heavens, I wouldn’t know. He phoned from the country this afternoon. I assumed it was to do with the furnace or the roof or something.”

  “Ah, a guy matter.”

  “Well, you are a guy, darling.” From the doorway, she gave me her up-from-under look. “At least you were the last time I looked.”

  “Looking isn’t all you did, Miss Nash.”

  That one drove her back out to the bedroom, where she started tearing at the mail I’d left on the bed. “My brother has invited us out to Aspen for Christmas,” she announced gravely. “Please tell me we can’t go.”

  I lay back in the tub with my martini, groaning comfortably. “Merilee …”

  “Yes, darling?” she said, voice breathless with anticipation.

  “We can’t go to Aspen.”

  “Oh, what a relief. I hate that place. Especially over the holidays, when it’s overrun by Sly and Barbra and all of those horrid sweaty men from CAA and their snarly, muscular little wives. Darling, let’s spend it at the farm with our own little tree and Grandmother’s decorations and a stuffed goose and Tracy and Lulu. We’ll stuff a goose. We’ll—”

  “I’d prefer a large one.”

  “A large one, darling?”

  “The tree. I want a large one.”

  “Oh, I see. And I suppose just because you want a large one we have to have a large one. Gosh, you’re a brute. I’m so glad I didn’t marry you.”

  “But you did marry me.”

  “I did? Oh, dear, I did. But then that means that Tracy is—”

  “Ours, Merilee. But don’t worry. She was conceived after our divorce.”

  “Whew, that’s a relief. For a second there I thought we were becoming one of those stable, normal American families that the politicians keep talking about. Hoagy, promise me we’ll never become stable and normal.”

  “I can’t imagine that will ever be a problem in our case.”

  “Promise me!” she insisted.

  “I so promise,” I said solemnly, raising my glass.

  She reappeared in the doorway. “What’s this?” she wondered, meaning the nine-by-twelve manila envelope.

  “First chapter of the next great American novel. Here, hand it over. We could be facing a historic moment in the annals of contemporary literature.”

  She did. I got comfortable. We have a pillow for that. I sipped my martini. I ate my olive. I ignored the prevailing aroma of fish in the air, or at least I tried.

  I read.

  1. the answer man hits town

  New York City, November 30

  Friend E: Well, old pal, I guess you’ve heard that the Big Apple has claimed me once more. Whoop-de-damn-do, as Derrick Coleman, basketball’s most overpaid dog, likes to say. Not that I ever thought I’d end up back here. Just seems like I’m not happy nowhere else. Found myself a semi-decent jack rack in the shadow of G.T. Not much view, but the hot plate’s brand new. So here I am.

  Mostly I’ve been riding the subway. Been riding it for hours at a time, fact is. Just watching the people. So many different kinds of people from so many different parts of the world living and working and scratching and clawing here. All of them crammed together, noses buried in their newspapers, ears buried in their sounds. All of them going somewhere. I’ve been watching them, Friend E. Watching them and wondering: How do they do it? How do they brush their teeth, eat their breakfast, go to work, stand there on that plaţform waiting for a train … knowing that none of it means shit? I mean, they’re all gonna die anyway, right? And they know this, right? So how do they do it? How do they not hurl themselves right in front of the oncoming downtown No. 1 local, making all stops to South Ferry?! Makes me wonder, Friend E. I truly wonder.

  I mean, what in the hell ARE they thinking about?

  Me, I think about what I always think about. A
nd that’s not money, as you damned well know for sure. Though if you could spare me fifty I would greatly appreciate it and will pay you back for sure just as soon as I find me some paying work. Tomorrow I’m gonna see about getting me my old job back at the restaurant, where the boss is pretty fair and don’t seem to mind I sometimes can’t deal with shit.

  Wait til you hear about this girl I got over on. A real honey. Blows me away just how many honeys there are here, E, all of them lonely, all of them desperate to take a chance on some guy, any guy. Not that I’m any guy, but you know me.

  THEY sure don’t. The doctors, I mean. Or they wouldn’t have let me out.

  I searched for her for three days, riding the subway uptown, downtown, all around the town, day and night. Finally caught sight of her half-past nine one morning, standing there on the platform, waiting, locked into her own little space capsule, Walkman over her ears, her eyes deep into some book.

  One look at her and right away I knew my day just got booked solid.

  She was a little thing, five-feet-four tops, and slender. Couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. Had nice blue eyes and real nice blond hair long and shiny. Good teeth, too, with just a slight overbite, which I’ve always had this thing for. Don’t know why, I just do. She looked to be maybe 28. Wore a leather jacket with a small backpack over it, baggy jeans and those big heavy motorcycle boots they’ve all taken to wearing. Which I don’t understand, since I think a woman’s slender ankle and foot are among the sexiest things they got working for them. She was looking real tough and together, the way the honeys do in New York when they are standing around somewhere in public.

  I knew better, of course.

  When the downtown local came I got on the same car with her. She took a seat and got into her book, some damn thing about a housecat who went to Paris, France. Whoop-de-damn-do. I stood there with my back to the door and my eyes on her. She looked up once, when we stopped at Columbus Circle, her eyes sweeping across the different faces in the car. They locked onto mine for a second, but kept right on going. The expression on her face told me nothing. My heart was pounding. But I was cool. I was so very cool.

  She got off at Times Square and started walking through the station toward the Grand Central shuttle. I did the same, eyeballing the clenching and unclenching of that terrific little butt inside those jeans. I stayed a safe twenty feet back, feeling loose and light on my feet, feeling good. She caught the shuttle, then came up in the Graybar Building on 41st Street and started walking downtown on Lex. I stayed right on her. Damned noisy in that part of town during the morning rush. People screaming, horns honking, ambulances with their sirens blaring. Somebody’s car alarm went off, sounded like they just won the jackpot on one of those TV game shows you and me used to watch together when we were good boys. She paid no attention to any of it. Just kept right on walking. Went into a Korean grocery on the corner of 32nd Street and bought a bunch of flowers. Then she started toward Third on 32nd. Halfway down the block she stopped at a pet food store and got buzzed in. I waited across the street five minutes. When she didn’t come out I figured this must be where she worked.

  I crossed the street. I got myself buzzed in.

  It was a small place, seemed to be about health food for dogs and cats. Stuff like organic kibble, if you can believe that, Friend E. There was some homey worked there, bringing big bags of stuff up from the basement. And there was her, standing behind the counter bossing him around. She ran the place. She smiled at me real nice. Didn’t recognize me from the subway. Or if she did she didn’t let on. She asked if she could help me. Her voice caught me by surprise. It was so unbelievably chirpy and high-pitched I almost lost it. Was damned glad I wasn’t on any of the major hallucinogens. Or anything else. Which, as you know, is not too typical for me.

  I said It must be nice. She frowned and said What must be nice? I said Being so sure of yourself—you seem like a person who never has any self-doubts, and I envy that.

  Well, this pretty much got her attention, Friend E. Which, in case you are taking notes at home, is that Much Desired First Step. I said I’m looking for kibble for my new puppy and I want it to be free of chemicals and preservatives. She said What kind of dog is it. I said A golden retriever, eight weeks old. And she said They are soooo adorable when they are that age. I admitted as how he’d stolen my heart, which was not so very hard since I’d just gone through a really messy breakup and was trying to start over fresh.

  This was me baiting the hook, E. Any honey who runs a pet food store and reads cat books is bound to melt for a human stray. Friend E, it’s vitally important that you become who they want you to become. Guys are all the time asking me what my secret is, and that is it, nothing more.

  Be who they want you to be.

  She told me she herself had two cats, Fred and Ethel. I told her I’d named my dog Victor. And she said Like Victor Potamkin, the old guy who used to sell Cadillacs on TV? And I said No, like the RCA Victor dog. And she said You mean Nipper, don’t you? And I said No, I mean the RCA Victor dog. And she said Right, the RCA Victor dog’s name is Nipper. And I said Well, my dog’s name is Victor. And we both laughed and that’s when she said I looked really familiar. Which, as you know, I hear a lot. I said I just have an ordinary face. She said Well, I guess you must. She was playing with me now. I shot a look at the clock, suddenly in a big rush to get to work. I asked her how late they’d be open. She said Six. I said I’d be back. She said Cool.

  Found a Greek coffeeshop around the corner and sat there drinking coffee with ten, twelve spoons of sugar in it. Only they wouldn’t let me smoke in there. Why won’t they let you smoke in coffeeshops anymore? I don’t get it. So I walked and smoked. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday so I went in a bar, where it turns out they WILL let you smoke, and had me a double order of french fries. I drank more coffee. I sat and stared at the clock. My chest felt so tight I almost couldn’t breathe. After five o’clock the place started filling up with these loud, obnoxious Young Urban Shitheads in fancy suits ordering brands of beer I’d never heard of. Weird thing about this city, Friend E. They won’t let you smoke a cigarette in a coffeeshop but it’s okay to be an asshole anywhere you want.

  She was waiting for me. I could tell by the way she looked up from the counter when I buzzed. And the way she smiled. She had a real nice smile, E. After some discussion I bought a 20 lb. bag of kibble that had brown rice and free-range-chicken bonemeal and a bunch of other ingredients in it you wouldn’t believe. You wouldn’t believe the price neither. I hung around while she was closing. Asked her if she had a long trip home. She said Not really. Told me where she lived, which turned out to be less than two blocks from where I was staying. I said Would you mind if I ride uptown with you? She said No, not at all. I didn’t try asking her out for a drink yet, sensing she’d go cautious on me if I did that.

  I told her my name while we walked to the subway. Hers was Diane. While we were riding home Diane asked me the usual, which was what I did for work. I told her I was employed by the City of New York as a social worker specializing in helping young inner-city fathers take responsibility for themselves both as providers and as parents. It is my personal belief, I told her, that the only way you can heal this city is one family at a time.

  Which is total bullshit, as you and I both know, E. But let me tell you, it was the perfect approach with Diane. Her big blue eyes got bigger and bluer. Her lips got softer and fuller. She wanted me, E. I could FEEL how she wanted me.

  I was in and I knew it. We both did:

  We were right near my place when we got off the train. I said Hey, Diane, want to come up and meet Victor? She said I’d like that. Just like I knew she would. She even let me hold her hand in the elevator. It was real small, but firm and dry. I warned her that my place wasn’t much. She told me it didn’t matter, she wasn’t into appearances. We walked in the door and I put down the bag of kibble, which was damned heavy, and turned on a light. I said See? I
told you it wasn’t much. She looked around and said Don’t be silly. It’s fine. Only, where’s Victor? Is he asleep? I ducked my head, really sheepish, and said Actually, I don’t own a dog. Now she was totally confused. I don’t get it, she said. Why did you buy the kibble? And I said Because I wanted to meet you. And she said Why? And I said Because I am the answer to your prayers, Diane. And she said What prayers?

  And then she didn’t say anything more because she KNEW. Only it was too late now. I had her. She was mine, all mine.

  This is the moment I live for, E. The moment when they KNOW. That’s when I love them the most. I guess because they’re so alone and miserable, so desperate to find someone. I AM that someone. They just don’t know it, the poor things. So I have to show them. And I have to move fast, before they give in to their fears. So I did move fast. Grabbed the nearest thing, a table lamp. My only one. Came with the room. I hit Diane on the side of the head with it. Hit her hard. That relaxed her. Then I wrapped the lamp cord around her throat and I did it. I did what I’d been wanting to do to her since I first spotted her on the subway platform that morning. I did it fast and I did it sure.

  I performed an act of kindness. A random act of kindness.

  What is it if not kindness? I had nothing but love in my heart for her. And she returned my love. It was good for her. I know this, I’m telling you this. I answered her prayers, E. I made her happy.

  When it was over I put my mark on her. You know what I’m talking about, E. You always know.