“What? You don’t know how babies are made?” Manny replied, taking another drag.
Russell shot him a tired look. “Fertility problems. I’ve only ever cared about making sure I don’t get anyone pregnant. I’ve never had to worry about trying to make it happen.”
“Uh-huh,” Manny contemplatively intoned. “Well, she wants to see a doctor, and I’m not so sure I like that idea. I mean, if something’s wrong with her, she’s going to feel like shit. It’s become so important to her in the past couple years. She wants lots of them, too, like four or five. She’s got names all picked out, and she’s been making baby clothes and stuff.” He got up and snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray on a windowsill. “And then, if it’s me, how’s that going to change how she thinks about me? Maybe she’d start thinking she married a dud, you know—firing blanks. It would definitely change things between us.”
Russell came within a breath of offering to try to get Carmela pregnant. He held his tongue, with the thought flashing in his mind that a few years ago he would have gone ahead and made the joke. Of course, a few years ago there would have been no context in which to make it. He changed the topic and inquired about Victor Van Donkersloop, their old friend who surprised everyone in their little coterie a few years ago when he joined the Navy.
“I see his mom around sometimes, but haven’t heard from him since forever,” Manny said, shaking his head. “I think Carmela wrote to him once but never heard back. You know how he is, though—we probably won’t hear from him until he just shows up one day.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a low, distressed moan. They walked across the porch and saw a large cat on the grass. Two swallows flew around, twittering loudly and harassing it by buzzing overhead. It hunkered down, ears folded back, and kept groaning.
Manny cheered on the birds. “That’s it. Get her. Get her good.”
“Poor cat. Why doesn’t it run away?”
“Too fat and stupid. Get her. Pluck her whiskers out.”
Russell shot him a look.
“Oh, I hate that cat and it knows I do. I want a dog, but Carmela hates dogs. Never mind that I hate that cat, but Carmela gets her cat and I don’t get a dog.” He grinned out one side of his mouth and scowled out the other. “That’s married life, I guess.”
He turned his back on the little drama of nature in his yard and walked to the door, saying, “Hey, Russ, can you put those dishes in the sink? I gotta take a leak and get out of here.”
Russell was washing the dishes when Manny returned, carrying a pair of socks.
“Hey, that’s cool—I didn’t mean for you to wash them, but thanks.”
Manny sat at the table and began to unlace his boots.
“So, how much money you got for your little trip?” he asked, peeling off his socks and dropping them on the floor. Russell leaned against the sink and paused before answering.
“About seven hundred bucks.”
Manny snorted. “Really? How long do you think that’s going to last?”
“I don’t know. As long as it lasts.”
“Have you even thought this thing through?” Manny asked, spreading his toes and airing his feet. “You don’t know how long you’re staying in town, or where you’re going, how long your money’s going to hold out, or how you’re going to keep going when it’s gone.”
He looked at Russell, who shrugged and said, “I’m playing it by ear, making it up as I go along. I’ve been doing the same thing for, what, five years now? And I don’t feel like I’ve done anything, really. Nothing important anyway. Got to the point where I was in a real rut. I needed to shake things up. So here I am, shaking it.” He did a sort of jig while Manny put on his fresh pair of socks.
“Yeah, I can see that.” Manny laced up his boots. “But seven hundred bucks ain’t squat, and you’re going to get sick of camping out. You’re going to run out of cash and end up somewhere else besides Cincinnati doing the same thing and falling in the same rut, and all you’ve done is change the scenery.”
“Well,” Russell began, getting a little annoyed at his friend’s critical analysis, “that’s one way it can turn out.”
“I just call it like I see it, you know? I want to things work out for you. All I’m saying is, you should think about what’s going to happen and be ready for it. Of course, I suppose you can always find work at a restaurant, right?”
Russell slouched. “Yeah, if I have to, but I’m in no hurry to get stuck back in a kitchen again.”
Manny walked to the utility room and tossed his sodden socks in a basket on top of the washer. He offered further commentary upon his return.
“Could get seasonal work, keep from getting tied down that way. A lot of the pickers around here end up in Texas and Florida in the winter.”
Russell nodded to signal that he was listening, but he was in no mood to seriously consider any advice. He was content to deal with things as they came up, to tend to his survival on a daily basis and devote himself more to the present than the future. It was novelty he needed, not stability. But he didn’t feel like explaining himself, so he suffered Manny to continue.
“You know Felix, Carmela’s brother?”
Russell shrugged. “By name, yeah. I don’t think I ever met him. I only know Carmela, Isabel, and Nestor. There’s two older brothers, right? I think they were already out of the house by the time I started coming around.”
“Felix and Luis. Luis is set to take over the dry cleaners whenever the old man retires. But Felix is a manager out at the gravel quarry now—he’s always bitching about how hard it is to get good workers. Want to swing by there? No harm in seeing if he’s got anything open. It’s hard work, but it’ll keep you in shape, give you something for your resume. Come on, and then I’ll take you out to the Mega Cart. It’s really pretty cool.”
Russell couldn’t object. He had nothing else to do and didn’t think he could insist on staying behind. Besides, he didn’t want to discourage Manny’s concern for his welfare.
“Pull that door hard so it’ll lock,” Manny said, loping down the steps. Russell slammed it hard enough to rattle the windows, then checked to make sure it was locked. The door opened, so he slammed it harder. This time the lock caught and he walked down to the driveway. He smiled to see the car. It was the same one Manny had driven in high school: a cherry red ‘63 Impala that Carmela had named “The Imp.” It had been well cared for. The chrome was polished, and the waxed body glinted in the sun.
“Water lilies are ancient plants,” Russell observed as they drove along the shore of the lake. “Been around a couple hundred million years at least.”
Manny looked at him over the top of his sunglasses, his wrist resting on the steering wheel. “You notice the new paint job on The Imp? Original color, new paint. Took it to Earl Scheib—any car, any color, ninety-nine dollars. Dropped a new engine in her a few years ago.” He rubbed the upholstery on the seat. “Had this cleaned, the whole thing detailed. It’s like new. I want to keep this car forever.”
