Continental Drift (43 page)

“Who’s there? Hello?”

“Marguerite, it’s me, Bob. I …”

She’s warm and quick, a kind, friendly, intelligent woman who takes the initiative in the conversation, as if she knows that to do otherwise would threaten Bob and make the conversation difficult. She asks him questions, where has he been living since he left the store, what kind of work has he been doing, how is his family, and she succeeds in conveying with the form and tone of her questions the clear impression that she now regards him as a dear, old friend.

Bob responds as he must, as a dear, old friend. “Well, I was in town … and I wanted to say hello. My brother … Eddie, he died.”

Marguerite is shocked, saddened, full of pity for everyone. “You must feel awful!” she exclaims. “Daddy’s going to be sad to hear this. He was right fond of your brother, you know. He hated leaving him when the store closed up,” she says, adding, “That’s how come you managed to catch me now. I come home at lunchtime to check on Daddy, ’cause he’s here alone now. He’s fine,” she says, as if Bob has asked after the old man.

“Good, that’s good. Give him my regards. Listen, Marguerite, I really wanted to talk to you … to apologize for … well, for the way I acted there, back in October, you know. I … I was under a lot of pressure, a hell of a lot of pressure, and, well, I guess I kinda lost it for a while, you know?”

She is sweet and forgiving. He needn’t apologize, she understands, though maybe she didn’t really understand it all as well then. But what with the new baby coming, and what with his troubles with Eddie and the store, after that robbery … which reminds her, she says, her voice brightening. “You remember that man, husband of my cousin, the one you chased over here?”

“Yeah, listen, that’s what I’m talking about, that’s what I want to apologize to you about, that more than anything else. I mean …”

“No, no, no! You were right about him! That one, he’s a bad man, all right. He got himself arrested by the police up in North Carolina about a month ago. My cousin told me all about it. Robbing a liquor store, just like he was robbing yours, and turned out he told the police up there everything.”

Bob is dumbfounded. “What? What do you mean?”

“Leon, that’s his name, Leon Stokes, he admitted robbing a whole bunch of liquor stores, including yours, most of them in Florida and Georgia. They found some drugs in his car, and I guess they made some kinda deal with him on who sold him the stuff or something, because he’s in jail now. But only for a couple years for robbing the liquor store in North Carolina, because he had to witness at a couple other big drug trials up there and in New York. So you were right.”

“I was right?”

“Sure were, honey. Right as rain. It’s me who ought to be apologizing.”

“I was right? That doesn’t make sense. I was
wrong.
”

“Nope. You had the man, all right. Leon Stokes. I had no idea, you understand. I was just giving him a lift over to Auburndale, where he said he had some friends who were putting him up a while. If I’d have known, well …”

“No, no, you don’t understand,” Bob says. “I was
wrong!
It doesn’t matter that I was right about the guy; I was acting crazy. I didn’t know what I was doing, you know? I mean, Jesus, Marguerite, I could’ve shot the guy, and I didn’t even know it was the guy.”

“Yeah, and you would’ve done a lot of people a favor, probably, if you had shot him.”

“No, listen, you don’t understand. Listen, I really do need to talk with you. Can we get together, can we meet someplace? After you get off from work?”

There is a long silence, and finally Marguerite says in a quiet, steady voice, “I don’t think we should meet, Bob.”

“What? Why?”

“Bob, it’s over now between us. Right?”

“Well, yeah, sure.”

“There’s no sense firing it all up again. It was nice and … and interesting for a while, and we’re friends now and all. But we shouldn’t see each other anymore. Besides, I got a man now, and he wouldn’t like it….”

“Aw, Christ!” Bob bawls. “Jesus H. Christ! You got a man now. I suppose a black man.”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact. But I don’t see what that’s got to do with anything.” Her voice has gone cold.

“Nothing, nothing, nothing at all. Look, I’m just … I’m disappointed, that’s all. I’m sorry. I wanted to talk with you, see, about stuff. Eddie and all, I guess, and oh, Jesus, what the hell does it matter? I’m really sorry for everything. You … you’re fine, you’re wonderful. Don’t worry, I won’t come around or call you anymore or anything. Don’t worry, I understand. Well, look,” he says, changing gears, “I got to go now, I gotta arrange Eddie’s funeral and all, and his wife is flying down from Connecticut….”

“I’m real sorry about your brother, Bob.”

“Yeah, well, I guess he was a lot worse off than anybody thought. Look, I got to go. It’s been good talking to you.”

“I’m real sorry, Bob.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Goodbye,” she says, and quickly hangs up. He holds the dead receiver in his hand for several minutes, then places it slowly back in its cradle. The blood on his hands has dried to a dark brown map.

He stands, studies the wreckage that surrounds him, and walks slowly through the living room to the front door, opens it and walks outside, leaving the door wide open behind him. It’s still raining, a dense, straight, windless rain from a low, overhanging sky. Bob wants to keep going, but he doesn’t know where to go. He wants to get into his car and back it slowly down the driveway to the road, turn and head out of here, light out of Florida altogether. But to where? He can’t go back to New Hampshire, and there are no new places anymore, none that he can imagine, and if he heads south again, back to Miami and the Keys, it’ll be as if he’s gone in a circle. He turns and returns to Eddie’s house and slowly, methodically, starts cleaning up the mess his brother has left behind.

Bob is seated aft in the
Angel Blue
in one of the fighting chairs, swiveling it idly from side to side. Ave emerges from the galley carrying two king-sized cans of Schlitz. “Here you go,” he says, handing one of the cans to Bob.

It’s dark, the boat is tied up in her slip in the marina next to the
Belinda Blue,
and there’s a three-quarter moon in the eastern sky, scraps of silver cloud drifting across its face. A pair of pelicans perched on a piling near the bow of the
Belinda Blue
seem to watch the two men. The boats rock gently in the still water, and along the pier here and there a man and a woman or sometimes several men and several women sit aboard their boats and talk and drink. Behind them, at the end of the pier, the jukebox in the Clam Shack is playing a Kenny Rogers song about a gambler.

“Sorry I couldn’t see you yesterday or sooner today,” Ave says as he eases into the other fighting chair. He’s barefoot, wearing shorts and a zippered nylon jacket. His long reddish hair fluffs out from his head like an aureole, and the pale hairs on his tanned legs and the backs of his hands shine in the moonlight like straw. He puts his feet out and rests them on the gunwale and lights a cigarette, offering the pack to Bob.

“No, thanks.” Bob is dressed, as usual, in chinos and white tee shirt, and tonight he’s got his captain’s hat on. He takes a sip of beer. “No, that’s okay. I had a lot to do anyhow the last couple of days, with the funeral and all. And then I had a party of six this morning to take out. This’s the first chance I’ve had to sit still for more’n ten minutes.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t get back till real late last night. And then I had some business to take care of today, so, yeah, me too,” Ave says. He studies the pelicans a second, as if aiming a weapon at their long, drooping heads. “You know how I feel about Eddie, Bob. I’m real sorry. Whew! Incredible, isn’t it? Who’d have figured it? You know?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, who’d have figured ol’ Fast Eddie would take the fucking pipe?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s … ah, there’s no way it was accidental or something, is there? I mean, he was epileptic, I remember, and funny things happen sometimes.”

Bob snorts. “No way. I found the body, his body. He was having them, seizures, quite a lot lately, but no, this was his own doing, his decision.”

“Jesus. I just can’t believe it. You know? There’s no way it coulda been fixed up? You know, arranged. He was playing with some pretty heavy dudes up there, and maybe …”

“No. They did an autopsy.”

“Incredible, man. Just fucking incredible. Ol’ Fast Eddie, always running around yakking and laughing his head off, a million theories. Good hockey player, though.”

“Yeah.”

“Incredible, though. I just can’t figure it.”

“Well, Eddie wasn’t what he seemed, that’s all. And it took something like this, I guess, to let us know that.”

“Yeah.” Ave takes another slug from his Schlitz. “A lot of people aren’t what they seem. You know?”

“Yeah.”

The men are silent for a moment, and then Ave says, “Honduras told me you fucked her the other night.”

Bob says nothing, looks down at the top of the can of Schlitz as if lowering his head to pray. “Honduras told you that?”

“Yeah. True?”

Bob is silent, and then he says, “Well, Ave, what if I said no? What if I said I drove over here the other night looking for you, and you weren’t here, so she gave me some grass and some coke and then came on to me, only I turned her down? What if I said that?”

“You saying that’s what happened?”

“Jesus H. Christ, Ave. If I
did
fuck her, why would she turn around and tell you? It only makes sense for her to claim I fucked her if instead what I did was turn her down. She’d hafta be pretty pissed at me, wouldn’t she?”

Ave scratches his pointed chin. “She’s a strange girl, lots of weirdness there. But she doesn’t fuck my friends. Not while she’s fucking me, anyhow. She knows that. And my friends, they don’t fuck her, either. They’re supposed to know that. Did you fuck her, Bob?”

Bob says, “I’m going to tell you the truth. And then I’m going to ask you a hard question that I expect you to answer with the truth. Fair?”

Ave looks over at his friend, who is staring upward, the fighting chair tilted back, at the night sky, a wash of stars overhead. “Yeah. Fair.”

“No. I didn’t fuck Honduras,” Bob says, still looking at the dark blue sky. “Did you fuck Elaine?”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Did you fuck Elaine?’ ”

“Jesus Christ, Bob! Why do you ask a thing like that?”

“She told me you fucked her. That’s why. Four years ago, back in Catamount. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s like it was last night, you know?”

“Women are crazy, man,” Ave says. He exhales noisily. “Crazy.”

Bob sips slowly from his beer and watches Ave over the top of the can. “Did you?”

Ave says, “Listen, I like Elaine a lot. A whole lot. But if she says I fucked her, she’s lying.”

“That so?”

“Yeah. We … okay, we talked about it once, you know, kind of flirting with the idea. I guess I’d had a few too many, and maybe she had too, I don’t know, it was a long time ago. I don’t know where you were.”

“Out on the boat. Fishing. I remember where I was. I was a couple miles off the Isles of Shoals outside Portsmouth. It was summer, late July, early August, the bluefish were running, and you had some kinda excuse for staying home.”

“Okay, okay, I don’t remember what it was. But anyhow, she didn’t exactly come on to me, but it was sort of clear that if I made a move … well, she’d respond in kind. But honest to God, Bob, I said no. Hey, she’s a good-looking woman, but no way I was going to fuck my buddy’s wife.”

“So why’d she tell me you did?”

“Beats the shit out of me! Women are crazy, man! Like Honduras. I mean, why’d she tell me you fucked her?”

“I didn’t,” Bob says quietly.

“I
know
you didn’t, man! But why’d she say you did?”

“She was pissed at me for turning her down, I guess.”

“Well,” Ave says, “there you go.”

“I guess so,” Bob says, and he sighs. “I guess so.”

For a while, the men say nothing. Fireflies dart past them and go out, and the pelicans shift their weight, turn and watch a boat on the opposite side of the pier. Bob says, “Ave, I have got to make more money than I’m making.”

“No shit. I’m glad you noticed.” Ave gets up from his chair. “ ’Nother beer?”

“Yeah.” He collapses the empty can and hands it to Ave, who heads forward to the galley. When he returns and passes Bob a fresh can, cold and solid as ice, Bob says, “I’m stuck in a fucking rut, Ave. My wheels are spinning. I can’t make enough from my share of the
Belinda Blue
to live on, let alone save up a few bucks every month so I can buy a larger share so I can make enough money to live on. It’s what you call a vicious circle. And it’s making me crazy, it’s making Elaine crazy—for Christ’s sake, she’s gone and taken a job working nights at the Rusty Scupper up in Islamorada. I just dropped her off there a while ago. Hafta pick her up at one.”

“Jesus. What about the kids?”

“Baby-sitter. Tonight. Woman across the way. Otherwise, me.”

“Jesus.”

“It’s worse. Ruthie, she’s got … she’s got some problems, emotional problems, and now the school says she’s got to get some kinda special treatments at the mental health clinic down in Marathon, and who the fuck can afford Blue Cross these days? I used to have a great health insurance plan when I was fixing oil burners, but working for yourself like this, you know, you just say forget it, I’ll take my chances.”

“Yeah. I don’t have any health insurance.”

“You don’t have any kids, either. That’s really what I’m talking about. I got to make more money.”

Ave says, “Well, Bob, there’s ways.”

“Yeah, I know. But I got kids and a wife, like I said. I can’t take the kinda chances you take. Anyhow, what I’ve been thinking is, there’s a way I can get a bigger share of the boat, which would let me keep a bigger share of the profits. But I need you to help me.”

Ave listens carefully, like a bank director, as Bob unfolds his plan: Ave will loan Bob forty-five thousand dollars, which Bob will then pay over to Ave for the rest of the boat, and then, with Bob’s increased share of the profits, he will pay Ave back, say, a minimum of five thousand a year, or whatever Ave thinks is right, with interest, which should also be whatever Ave thinks is right. Bob will pay for all repairs and maintenance, operating costs and so on, everything associated with the
Belinda Blue,
just as if she were his own boat.