HOPE FOR CHANGE... But Settle for a Bailout (27 page)

“Okay, Larry,” I said. “Um, this...
doesn’t... really....”

“Oh,” said Larry, “it gets better,” as he
pulled out an inner tape from the machine that gave a faint carbon
of the original tape. “It keeps track. Cool, huh?”

“As business machines go,” I said, and
suddenly, my ankle hurt. She wasn’t even here and it felt like Lori
was kicking me. “As business machines go, Larry, this is
attractive, and it does have some useful – if limited —
functionality. If this helps you… sure, it’s fine.”

“So when I give these tapes to someone with
my signature, you just have to co-sign and then pay them, so I
don’t have to handle cash.”

I looked at the slip of register tape, with
one printed figure and Larry’s signature. I imagined tax
authorities asking about each one. The register left no date
imprint. There was no way to integrate the tape into any sort of
automated accounting software. There would be no way that I could
do anything except throw pieces of register tape into a
shoebox.

.

“Larry, this place is more disgusting than
it was before you won,” said Lori, walking through his living room.
“Nice old cash register.”

“That’s how I’ll pay for things,” said
Larry.

“Start by paying for a maid,” said Lori.
“Are you even going to keep staying here?”

“I paid two years rent when the money came
through,” said Larry. “Totally bummed out Doug.”

“The weird neighbor?”

“He’s been trying to get me tossed for
years.”

“But why do you want to keep living here? I
know it’s your place and all.”

“It’s not my place,” said Larry. “It’s never
been my place. It’s just where I lived.”

“You have no attachment to it at all?”

“W’ull, it’s safe, and... quiet, and...
Calvin’s never been here once, so no one’s ever yelled at me here,
so, that’s a good memory, I guess.” Larry absent-mindedly keyed
numbers into the register and pulled the handle, spitting out a
tape and popping open the empty cash drawer. “But I have way better
memories of sleeping on you and Lawrence’s couch, in Cal Heights.
Then, at least, it felt like I could maybe be happy, even if I
wasn’t really…. I could be.”

“We all could’a been,” said Lori. “Too bad,
huh?”

.

Six women – each short in stature, brown in
skin and dressed in pink – stood next to Larry’s buried table.

I watched as Lori, speaking in Spanish and
motioning with her arms, directed the women. Two of the six started
clearing the table, tossing newspapers in a wide, grey trash
barrel. One made her way to the kitchen. Two more down the short
flight of stairs to the bedroom and another stayed next to Lori,
who walked through the living room, like a sergeant keeping her
troops moving.

“I got this, Lawrence,” Lori said to me.
“You don’t have to stay. Just be here in four hours with the
thousand dollars.”

“I can’t believe Larry’s paying a thousand
bucks,” I said. “These women would easily do it for half that, or
less.”

Lori looked at me. “When I was in Iraq, the
State Department had lots of reconstruction money. Much of it was
straight hundred dollar bills. If you had local currency in your
pocket, coffee was three bucks. If all you had was U.S. dollars,
coffee was a hundred.”

.

“Oh, hey sweetie,” said December, laying
against Lori on the couch as Larry entered the now immaculate
living room.

“Wow,” said Larry. “Did anyone want any of
the books?”

“Two of the women took most of ‘em,” said
Lori. “Gonna donate them to their church.”

“So what’re you gonna do with this place?”
asked December.

“I don’t know,” said Larry.

“Maybe Soldier Girl and me can play house,”
cooed December.

Lori chuckled.

“What?” said December. “Don’t’cha think dat
would be fun? Wake up.… Go to sleep…. Make food…. Walk around all
naked together…. Wouldn’t dat be fun?”

Lori smiled, but said nothing.

“Well, I t’ink it’d be fun,” said December,
throwing her leg over Lori’s and climbing onto her lap, her hands
gripping the couch back on either side of Lori’s shoulders. Lori
placed her hands on December’s waist as the two drew in for a kiss.
“See-e-e-e-e?” said December, gently planting tiny kisses across
Lori’s lips, cheek, and chin before going back to her lips.
December slid in tight to Lori and the hands moved from her waist
to the middle of her back.

“Oh,” said Larry, “Uh, okay, I’ll be in my
room.” He walked down the small, wooden stairway, to the lower
bedroom. With newspapers and other debris gone, the room held only
a computer workstation and a single bed, small patio table and a
single chair. Larry logged on to his computer and played spider
solitaire.

.

“Do you guys wanna come with me to the
hospital?” Larry asked, as Ralphie stood in the doorway of the
apartment.

Lori and December, entwined on the couch,
shook their heads.

.

Larry sat holding Emma’s hand, watching
monitors, watching nurses come and go, watching his grandmother
breathe, watching time float past.

“Dude,” said Ed.

Larry stirred, heavy-headed, sitting upright
in the rocking chair next to Emma’s bed. Ed took the second
chair.

“Company?”

“Ed, you know, you don’t have to....”

“No worries,” said Ed, sitting, and wrapping
his hands under and above Emma’s unclaimed hand. “When are they
gonna bring her back around?”

Larry took out hits cell phone and looked at
the screen. “Tomorrow, they say... whoa, damn, 32 missed calls. Why
do I even have this thing.”

“You want me to take ‘em?” asked Ed.

Larry looked at his phone and then to Ed. He
handed the phone to Ed, who reached into his pocket and produced an
elegant ballpoint pen. Disengaging from hand-holding duty, Ed
stood, scanned the room, and then exited, returning a moment later
with a sheet of blank paper.

“Man, this thing is an antique,” said Ed,
scanning the list of missed calls for the number most missed.
“Hello, I am returning a call. You had called Mr. van der Bix....”
Larry watched as Ed wrote a few words. Thirty seconds later, Ed
called the next most-missed caller. “Is there a message you wish me
to convey to Mr. van der Bix?” Ed looked around, stood up and
carried the pen and paper with him to finish the call outside the
room. Half-an-hour later, Ed came back into the room and handed the
phone back to Larry. He looked down to a mysteriously-acquired
clipboard.

“So,” said Larry, “who called?”

“Sixteen begging for money, who’re now DNA 1
through 16 on your phone....”

“DNA?”

“Do Not Answer,” said Ed. “They’ll just milk
ya, so save time and just ignore future calls.”

“Anyone else?”

“Two wrong numbers, a few women who sound
like they wanna do ya, and a guy named Doug complaining about the
vacuum cleaner.”

“Weird neighbor,” said Larry. “And
women?”

“Dude, would you go on a date with someone
who calls all breathy and sweet, who you don’t know and calls cuz
you’re now a millionaire?”

“W’ull, um, you know, maybe they’re
nice.”

“Dude,” said Ed, firmly, “you may need a lot
of work, but you’re not giving it away just cuz someone goes all
breathy over the phone.”

“What? Money? I don’t care about money.”

“Giving away money is easy,” said Ed. “But
you give away control, and let the claws dig in, and it isn’t just
money tomorrow. It’s the steering wheel.”

“I don’t drive,” said Larry, “so how can I
give away….”

“Look,” said Ed, “let’s take some of liquid
gold and I’ll show ya’ how spreading capital works.”

Larry quickly put both hands on Emma’s, as
Ed also returned to hand-holding duty.

“It doesn’t have to be at this moment,” said
Ed, “but you need to learn.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Peppermint Elephant

“I will be outside, gentlemen,” said
Ralphie, as Ed handed $20 to an extremely tall, muscular man in a
black shirt with “
SECURITY
” printed in
white across his chest. A second security staff, equally enormous
and muscular, pulled a red, velvet rope aside and motioned for the
two to enter.

Inside the Peppermint Elephant, scantily
clad women plied tables, walkways and the bar; money moving hands,
bodies gyrating; the smell of beer and sweat rising like a dirty
fog. Three women danced on three different stages, each with a pole
and a cadres of fans and lurkers. Beyond, against the far wall,
were what appeared to be luxury boxes, where women led small groups
of men and then closed a door, allowing only glimpses of hair and
shoulder to be visible through the dark tinted windows.

“Bingo,” said Ed, guiding Larry to a table
near the luxury boxes.

A woman in her 30s, holding a tray,
approached, practicing a convincing smile. “Hey guys. What can I
get’cha?”

“Oh, I’m just gonna…,” said Larry.

“Two drink minimum.”

“Double vodka tonic,” said Ed, “and you got
any Danish beer? Tuborg or Carlsberg?”

“Don’t think so. I’ll check,” she said,
walking off.

“They won’t,” said Larry. “No one ever
does.”

A young, well-endowed blonde in a scanty
bikini and followed by a man dressed in a referee’s uniform
approached Ed and Larry. “Dance?”

“Sure, baby,” said Ed. “Do him first.” He
handed the referee a hundred. “How much each?”

“Twenty,” answered the man, holding the bill
up to the light as the blonde maneuvered herself to Larry and sat
on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Give him three,” said Ed “and I’ll take
one. The rest is tip.”

“Hi,” said the blonde, turning her head
towards Ed, smiling. “I’m Misty.”

“Hi, uh, Misty,” said Larry.

A new song came on and Misty rose and danced
song after song over Larry’s body, as he sat, transfixed until,
after the third number, she leaned forward and gave him a small
kiss on the cheek. The blonde then climbed off Larry and stood in
front of Ed. She smiled broadly, put her hands on his shoulders and
straddled his lap, sliding her arms around his neck. “Let’s wait
for a new song.”

“Works for me, Misty,” said Ed. A vodka
tonic was silently set on the table. Three minutes later, the
referee, the blonde and the hundred bucks were gone, along with ten
that Larry handed to Misty, who obediently handed it to the
referee.

The server returned with a green bottle and
a glass. “You’re in luck,” she said. “The buyer’s a frog, so we
have a selection of Euro brews.”

“Aren’t you insulting his French heritage?”
asked Ed, holding out a hundred, smiling. “Open a tab and tell me
when this is running low, beautiful.”

At the center stage, a group of men in
orange reflector vests yelled as Misty danced.

“Throwing money is an art,” said Ed. “It’s
no about the dough, but, of course you gotta know when to be
free-spending, when to be tight, when to reward and when to deny.
The babe serving is as hot as any of the youngsters here, but no
one will give her the attention Misty’s getting. Tonight, she’s
gonna party with us.”

The server returned, and Ed held up his
glass. He downed the remainder, handed it to her, and smiled.
“Another, beautiful. And another of those bottles for Danish man,
here.” The server smiled to Ed.

“It’s Carole, babe,” and turned, heading
directly to the bar.

A brunette in a schoolgirl uniform barely
covering herself approached Larry, who looked to Ed. “Can we go in
there?” asked Ed, pointing to the luxury boxes?” The brunette
smiled and she and a referee led Ed and Larry to a booth.

“Twenty-five a dance,” said the ref. “Four
dance minimum.”

Ed handed three hundreds to the ref, who
slid the bills into a black pouch bulging with cash. “Five dances
each and fifty as a tip.”

The dancer squealed.

The ref held each bill up to the window, as
the dancer sat on Ed’s lap and wrapped her arms around his
neck.

“Be sure to tell Carole we’re in here,” said
Ed.

“You know her?” asked the man in the striped
shirt.

“Friends,” said Ed. “That’s why we came
here.” Ed smiled at the dancer. “Go ahead and start with him. Just
give me the last dance.”

The dancer leaned forward and wetly kissed
Ed, whispering, “Whatever you want, handsome.”

Larry sat silently as a woman a little over
half his age mashed her body into his, bouncing softness against
his own flabbiness. He watched as she climbed over to Ed for the
final dance, pushing her chest into his face and pulling his head
tightly to her body.

The door to the luxury box opened and the
server stepped in, with another round.

“Wait, wait,” said Ed, as the brunette
released his hold on him. “Can we have this beautiful woman join
us?”

“Not allowed,” said the referee. “Beverage
Control rules.”

“That’s okay,” said the server, smiling,
“Yer tab’s still going strong.”

“Put twenty of it onto tip,” said Ed, his
face inches from the brunette’s chest.

The server stepped out, closing the door.
Several minutes later, so did Larry, Ed, the ref and dancer. Ed and
Larry returned to their table. The men in orange reflector vests
had taken the two closest tables and were working away on two
pitchers of beer.

The brunette from earlier walked past the
six men, waving to Ed and Larry. Ed smiled and Larry meekly waved
back. One of the men in the pack of workers caught the ref’s
attention, and as the next song began, the brunette dressed as a
schoolgirl gyrated over a dark-haired giant, as the other men
chanted, “Sit-KO, Sit-KO….”

The server returned. Larry abruptly lifted
his bottle and looked at the contents. Ed motioned with his hand
for Larry to put the bottle down. He smiled warmly. “Hope I didn’t
get you in trouble back there,” said Ed.