in sick. They went out, ate, drank way too much, came back and fucked some more. All in all a pretty good night, he guessed, but the details were sketchy. And the little detail of where he parked the goddamn car was pretty aggravating. This all just had to stop.
They had turned the corner last night at that building with the flower boxes. There was the park they walked past, and they’d gone under the train line, then up a couple blocks. He approached his old hatchback with trepidation. There was glass all over the sidewalk, and around his car. The rear window was smashed. His fancy tape deck and speakers were gone. Sure, they were hot when he bought them, but that didn’t mean it was OK for them to be stolen from him. He climbed in his car and sat there, picking up fragments of his window and tossing them in the gutter. Why couldn’t anything just go right and work out for him?
He meandered along gray streets. All the loose litter in his car was sucked out of the windowless hatchback as he brought the car up to speed on the freeway. The wind and noise were downright intolerable. Couldn’t use the air conditioning—not that it worked all that well anyway. It was going to be a long ride home. He felt sick, and the exhaust fumes circulating in the car weren’t helping. Maybe the carbon monoxide would kill him before he made it home. Or maybe he’d conk out from that codeine. He gripped the wheel and headed down the road.
What was he going to tell Ellie? What was he going to do about Mira? This had to stop. Mira was smart enough to know what was going on. Surely she was. So she was waiting for him to break it off with his ‘sister.’ But he couldn’t. He and Ellie had been together since high school, and he had moved in with her last year. Just last week they’d talked marriage. Of course, he’d talked marriage with Mira, too, but he didn’t mean it with her. At least, he didn’t mean it as much as he meant it with Ellie. Oh, he was a mess.
Ellie must know too. She must. So why did she stay with him? Maybe it was one of those things where she didn’t even know why, but one day she’d get fed up and split. Except she wouldn’t split—she’d kick his ass out is what she’d do. Maybe today. He couldn’t entertain that thought now. He needed her. She was good to him, and he wanted to do right by her. And he usually had, until Mira got him drunk that first night he’d stayed with “Tom,” a fictional co-worker, who either didn’t have a phone, or whose phone was never operational for one reason or another. How lame.
What was wrong with him? Ellie was stable, a real practical partner. Mira was a flake with no assets other than a quick wit, a hot body, and access to free booze. Ah, but he liked her for that. And how could he begrudge himself that fondness? He knew it wasn’t right at all, but it certainly wasn’t all wrong. All he knew was that it had to stop.
He fished in his pocket for his lighter, and pulled out that pipe. Lighting it was going to be tricky in this wind. Fortunately it was early Saturday morning, and the traffic was light. He crouched down around the pipe with his lighter, sort of generally guiding the wheel with his shoulders. He sparked the bowl, inhaled deeply, and quickly resumed a proper driving position. He then coughed his lungs out and spat onto the passenger seat. His madness had never been more apparent.
The stench of heavy industry blew through his violated vehicle. A few miles down the road his low-grade nausea became a gnawing hunger. Maybe he needed something on his stomach. He was coming on Lake Station, where there was a diner he’d eaten at a few times before. A big sign on the roof said, “Eat.” Just the ticket.
A patchwork of mismatched linoleum squares covered the floor. The walls were coated with vaporized oil and tobacco residue. He plopped himself on a tired old stool at the battered counter. A bunch of sad sacks accompanied him there, yawning, staring hypnotically at their coffee, devouring their food.
Sweet Jesus, who was this hot little brunette pouring him coffee? Those eyes, those lips—oh, he did have an appetite.
“Know what you want?” she asked, snapping her gum.
What a loaded question.
“What’s good?” he asked, openly checking her out.
“Everything’s good,” she said, impatiently looking around while straining to keep hold of the coffee pot. “Should I come back in a minute?”
“No, no,” he told her, waving a hand. “I’ll take some pancakes. And maybe some bacon.”
“You can get the special of pancakes, bacon, and eggs for less than pancakes with a side of bacon,” she advised him.
“OK, then. Scramble my eggs, all right?”
She nodded, turned, and slid the coffee pot onto a burner while simultaneously slapping his order onto a wheel at the window to the kitchen.
He sipped coffee and pondered his predicament. There was no way he could just dump Mira, just dispose of her. But he couldn’t keep pushing things with Ellie. Everyone knew that Ellie was the best thing that ever happened to him. She kept him in check, or mostly did. She balanced him. He really did like Mira, though. Hell, he even loved her, and he sure didn’t want to hurt her. But it was clear things couldn’t go on as they were. He and Mira could never make it together—they were too much alike. They stood on the same side of the scale, and they each needed someone else to even them out. He’d be doing both of them a favor by calling it off. No question about that. The question was how to do it. He was searching hard for an easy answer.
The car was another matter altogether. He’d have to file a police report and call his insurance company. Since he already left the city, he guessed he’d have to pretend it happened in Stillwater and file a report there. Unlikely thing to happen in Stillwater, though. Nothing much ever happened there. But he couldn’t very well file a report in Chicago—he would have spent the whole morning there if he had. Besides, he couldn’t remember where he told Ellie that this “Tom” lived. He had to make sure all his stories meshed, but his mind was in no state to sort through his tangled webs right now. Why couldn’t things just be easy? Just once he’d like something to work the way it should. Just once.
Well, at least his head was numb now. He’d been drinking way too much lately. If he wasn’t careful he’d turn into his old man, drunk all the time. Or not even drunk, really, just always loaded. Right now he had to load up on the coffee if he didn’t want to pass out. That sweet waitress came by empty-handed, but she could come any way she wanted as far as he was concerned.
“Can I get some coffee when you get a chance?” he asked her.
She hoisted a rack of coffee cups to her midsection, turned, looked at him without answering and marched to the kitchen. A minute later she returned and filled his cup.
“You from around here?” he asked in the cheeriest voice he could manage. She replaced the coffee on the burner and hesitated before she replied.
“Yeah.”
“Well, I come through here every now and then. Maybe you could show me around sometime.”
Brilliant move. Good thing to hit on her while trying to figure out how to drop his mistress because of a newfound fidelity to the woman he lived with. And he was high as a kite to boot, in order to mask one hell of a hangover. Yeah, he was doing all right.
“Look,” she said, leaning close to him. “I’m sure you’re real nice and everything, but my boyfriend’s the cook and I can tell you one thing—you don’t want him pissed at you.”
She walked away. Couldn’t blame a guy for trying. Except, of course, in his case you really could blame him. Could blame him quite a bit, as a matter of fact.
He
