Part 2 (2/2)
Nothing in the living room. Nothing in the kitchen. Bingo! Guess what's in the bedroom. A totally naked woman tied down on a bra.s.s bed. S&M time, right? Even better, down on the floor next to her is a guy in a Batman suit and he's not moving. Looks like he's maybe dead.
”The skinny is, it turns out these two lovebirds are married. The only thing that gets them hot is for him to tie her down, then get dressed in his Batman costume, climb up on the dresser next to the bed, and jump down on her, screaming 'BAAAATMAAAAN!' Only this time Mr. Romantic missed and cracked his skull on one of the bedposts. He's been lying on the floor more than an hour and wifey's scared he's dead, but embarra.s.sed about being where she is, so all she's been doing is calling, 'Help,'
but real quietly, hoping only the right kind of person will hear and come.”
”Was Batman dead?”
”Nope, only a concussion.”
”I like it, Mary, but it ain't for the strip. Listen, something else. Do you know a restaurant named Crowds and Power?”
”No.”
”Do you owe me a favor?”
”No, Max. You owe me two.”
”Oh. How about making it three?”
She sighed. ”I'll get a pen and paper.”
”No need. I only want you to find out about that restaurant.”
”Anyone in particular there?”
”Just a kind of general looksee.”
”How come?”
I considered lying to her but what was the point? ”I met someone who works there and I want to know”
”Very romantic, Max. You meet a woman and immediately want them investigated. What's her name?”
”LilyNo, look, you're right. It's terrible. Forget it. Forget I asked.”
”Hey, don't get me wrongit's not such a bad idea these days. Isn't love wonderful now? You meet someone and get excited, but you can't sleep together because they might have AIDS, and you can't marry them because every other marriage breaks up, and who's supposed to give who flowers now that we're all liberated?... Tell me if you do want me to look into it. I always like it when you owe me favors.”
”I will. How's Frank?”
”Frank's Frank. He's wrestling this weekend. You wanna go?”
Mary's husband was none other than Frank Cornish, better known as ”Tackhead,” onetime world wrestling champion. One of Mary's favorite pastimes was going to his matches, sitting ringside and booing him. I'd gone along a few times and spent most of the evenings pulling her back into her seat. One memorable night Tackhead leaned over the ropes, pointed a menacing finger at his wife, and growled,”Dance on my d.i.c.k, Rat Queen!” At home they watched Preston Sturges films, read science fiction novels, and she bossed him around. Not that he paid any attention. I never fathomed the dynamics of their marriage although we spent a good deal of time together. They fought constantly and openly, and even when they were at peace, it was like the loaded pause between lightning and its slow husband, thunder. Any second now...
I had an idea. ”Can I have two tickets?”
”Two? Ahhah, you want to bring Ms. Restaurant?”
”Why not? You can't get more romantic than heavyweight wrestling for a first date.”
”It's clever, Max. She'll either be impressed or run screaming. Let's hope she doesn't turn out to be another Norah.”
”Amen to that.”
My last girlfriend, Norah Silver, was a brilliant, nervous woman who worked as an ill.u.s.trator for medical textbooks. She loved to travel and we went many places I never would have gone without her.
She had surprising storiesshe'd gotten close to Mecca; an old boyfriend's pet python got loose in her car and hid somewhere in the dashboard for five days. She was funny and had kept the most endearing child's sense of wonder. Both of which helped her over a natural pessimism about things and the belief life was only a series of atoms and events b.u.mping randomly into each other. I got used to her dark moods and it appeared she got used to my unintended aloofness. For a time, for a few months, we felt the light of the world had fallen on us as a couple and we were readying ourselves for a life together. Or so I thought.
Then one night she admitted she'd started seeing a man who flew airplanes. That was how she described him the first time. ”He flies airplanes.” As if his profession was enough to justify her betrayal.
We were in bed, ten minutes beyond love in that drifting noman'sland where truth has a tendency to float up like mist off the sweat and pleasant emptiness of the act.
Why is s.e.x so often both the beginning and the end of a relations.h.i.+p? What is there about it that gives it such range and versatility? Whether Norah was afraid of getting further involved with me, or her Airplane Man had irresistible qualities I didn't, I honestly couldn't fathom her action, decision, choice...
whatever it was.
Mary Poe was sure she knew the cause. ”She f.u.c.ked the other guy to see how you'd react.
Simple as that. Max, I've known you most of my life and love you, but you act like getting married is the same as lining a plane up to land on an aircraft carrier. Not until everything's perfect can you start going in. But that boat's on water and it's rocking back and forth, man! You can't keep dillydallying, or adjusting your flaps and waiting for the perfect moment before you start down. You've got to do what you can, then go in hoping G.o.d and vision will do the rest.”
”I believe in sticking to something once you've begun.”
”Maybe Norah didn't think you'd begun yet.”
”Baloney! There's loyalty and there's trust. We all know what they mean.”
Mary put her hand on my head and slid it slowly down to my hot cheek. ”I agree, sweetie. It depresses the h.e.l.l out of me every day in my job. Seeing these greedy people sneaking around, grabbing for as much as they can, but when they get their hands caught in the cookie jar, they start screaming like sixyearolds, 'It wasn't me! I didn't do anything! Wawa!' That's what I like about Frankhe's dumb, but he's good and I can trust him. The only other women he sees throw tomatoes at him.”
My relations.h.i.+p with Norah spiraled down into two dogs barking at each other through a chainlink fence. It was hopeless. The last time we slept together was the best it had been in months. We talked about that, sadly, until her telephone rang. She grabbed the receiver before the answering machine took it. Listening, she said, ”I'll call you back,” then chuckled when she heard the other's answer. I got dressed and left. A month later I received a postcard from the Robin Hood Museum in Nottingham, England. On the back was a quote written in her flawless script: ”She would've been a good woman... if there had been somebody there to shoot her every minute of her life.”Before I had a chance to invite Lily Aaron to the wrestling matches, she invited me to a birthday party, Lincoln's tenth, to be held at his mother's restaurant. When I asked what sort of present he would like, she said, ”A monster. Buy Lincoln any kind of monster and he'll be a happy man.”
This was one man I most definitely wanted to be happy, so I set out to find the ne plus ultra monster in the city of Los Angeles. I began by going to toy stores and saw attempts that were dumb or only disgusting, but nothing that would bring any genuine delight or surprise to a tenyearold. A friend tipped me to a place downtown that sold only j.a.panese robots and monsters. I went and was momentarily tempted to buy a sixfoottall blowup G.o.dzilla, but that was taking a chancewhat if the birthday boy already had a sixfoottall blowup G.o.dzilla? I could imagine the scene at the restaurant: right in the middle of opening his presents he'd either have to pretend to be pleased or, more like a kid, tell me he already had one. Disaster! This was a strategic purchase, an important moment in the birth of my rapport with his mother. I needed to do it right.
In a pet store I looked hard and excitedly at a gigantic unmoving iguana, but there was already a gigantic Aaron dog to consider and what if the two didn't mix? Sighing, I left the monster and went searching for one with neither heartbeat nor appet.i.te. For an afternoon I tried sketching the world's greatest cartoon ogre, six feet high too and enchased with dripping, oozy gore. But children like to do their own drawings. Besides, what if my idea of horrible was only hohum to this boy? Another potential calamity.
It gave me a good excuse to call Lily. Exaggerating here and there to make my search sound both strenuous and goofy, I quickly had her laughing. Although her speaking voice was midrange, her laugh was high and tinkly.
”Don't be crazy! Just go get him a mask or one of those Beetlejuice figures and he'll be happy.”
”I don't want him happy. I want him overwhelmed.”
”I like a man with big plans. You were a hit at the restaurant the other day. I've brought people there who think it's a loony bin. But I think you liked it. Anyway, they liked you. Even Gus. I caught him looking at 'Paper Clip' the next day and he's not the kind of man who reads comic strips. Good luck with your monster. I don't know who'll be more excited to see it, Lincoln or me.”
Beware the Ide(a)s of Max. It came while I was drawing and struck me as being wonderful but also something that could backfire easily and cause trouble. So I chose to sacrifice surprise for sure success and called Lily again to sound her out. She liked it as much as I did and said if I could pull it off, her son would be thrilled.
Full speed ahead!
I called the pet store that sold the iguana and, after some explaining, was told to call an animal handler who specialized in training creatures for the movies. This handler heard me out, then quoted a price so outrageous that I could easily have bought a small circus for the same amount.
<script>