Jackie's Week (5 page)

"Okay. I’ll park the bulldozer. But is it
okay to drink?" Jackie asked.

"No. It could cause a kind of hypnotic
effect. Ativan is actually something which helps people with
alcohol withdrawal. And you don’t want to mix a sleep medication
with alcohol."

Jackie and Donna exited the coolness of the
pharmacy and hit the blast furnace temperatures outside.

"Whew," Donna sighed. "Let’s make tracks to
Taxco before we burn to death out here."

They hurried across the parking lot and took
refuge in the cool dark foyer of the restaurant. The whole place
was a pleasant miasma of stucco, exposed brick, wrought iron and
tile, the walls adorned with huge velvet paintings of macho men in
Charro hats. The singularity of the decor brought forth in the two
women the strong emotions associated with a fresh arrival in a
distant land. The atmosphere was heavy with the smells of sizzling
lard and frying peppers. The booths and tables ahead and to their
left, softened by candlelight, contrasted with the garishly lit bar
to the right, stacked with bottles and a TV blaring the pre-game
show. The proprietor, Manuel, a slim, pleasantly handsome, middle
aged man with a trim mustache, eased himself down from his perch
near the TV and gave each of them a hug.

"Donna, do you want to sit here in the bar?"
he asked.

"Nah. In an hour the sports crowd will be
screaming. I think we’ll take a quiet booth."

Manuel escorted them to a booth on the far
wall and they slid in facing each other over the fat, globular,
red-glass candle. Under Manuel’s expert supervision, a young man
quickly set the table with ice water, bowls of hot, toasted
tortilla chips and fresh-ground salsa.

"Manuel, you can bring me a Gold Margarita,"
Donna said. "Blended. Make it grande."

"A double vodka, neat," Jackie said.

"I thought the pharmacy lady said no
alcohol," Donna said.

"Oh, please."

While waiting for their drinks, they began
scooping chips into the pungent mixture of chopped chilies, onions,
garlic, tomatoes, cilantro and other secret goodies. Manuel
returned in record time with the drinks and poised himself for
their meal request.

"I’ll have a number 9," Donna said.

"A number 13 for me," Jackie said, tossing
down the vodka, "and another one of these."

"Jackie, I’m not sure that’s wise."

"Donna, please. Besides, this part of town
makes me nervous. You know, I was thinking. Do you realize we’ve
been eating here since high school? We feel safe here because we’re
familiar with it. But it’s not really safe anymore. Not like it
was."

Manuel cruised by and dropped off Jackie’s
second drink. She uncapped her vial of pills and looked inside.
"Look. They’re shaped like a house." She extracted a couple of the
pills, tossing them down with a gulp vodka.

"Jackie, I thought the druggist said you had
to crack that in half. You just took two."

"Donna, this neighborhood makes me nervous. I
need some relief here. The worst that can happen is I’ll get a
little drowsy."

"Whatever. If that’s what you need that’s
what you need."

The heavy platters of food arrived and the
sisters began to eat.

"Ooooh!" Jackie exclaimed.

"What? Too much jalapeno?"

"No, not that. I think I took too many
pills."

"Oh great, Jackie!"

"Actually it is! This is the best I’ve felt
in ages. I’m feeling an indescribably extreme pleasure from the
disconnect of my fearing mind from my frontal lobe. Dr. Black has
launched me on an emotional joyride into the awesome pleasures of
sentient consciousness in a universe full of possibilities! And I
don’t give a flip about doing any lineup!"

"Jackie? You’re speech is coming out all
slurry. What the hell? I think you overdosed."

But Jackie wasn’t listening. With a tiny
sigh, her forehead touched the table and she stayed that way,
muttering to herself about nothing in particular. With no small
effort Donna and Manuel managed to pull her to her feet.

"Walk her around a bit," Manuel said.

"Let me go," Jackie said. "Viktor Bout is
going to kill me tomorrow. Everybody is trying to kill me, even me.
Everybody."

"I’m taking her home," Donna said.

Chapter 9

Driving south on Van Nuys Boulevard, they
surveyed the majestic palm trees which lent an air of curious
respectability to the sordid display of pawn shops, sidewalk bins
of children’s clothing, bail bondsmen, legal offices and adult
bookstores, the heavy purple air glowing in the mercury vapor
lamps, the whole nighttime summer sidewalk scene resembling a South
American open air market lit up by military flares. The effect
shifted the minute the car dealerships appeared, as though a giant
movie set had hastily been erected, leaving behind the squalor for
impossible opulence.

"Hey!" Jackie shouted. "Pull in to the Lexus
dealership."

"No way. We’re going home."

"No. I’m all right now. Pull in!"

Donna stood up on the brakes, skidding the MG
into the bus zone in front of the showroom window. The resulting
smoke from the tires drew wary stares from the bus stop people.

"Nice stop," Jackie said.

"They made this thing before antilocks."

They got out and stood on the sidewalk.

"Jackie, are you feeling better?"

"Much," she replied. They were about to enter
the showroom when a young man in slacks and loosened tie, coatless
out of respect for the heavy warm evening, got up from his desk and
sauntered slowly towards them.

"Oh great, here comes the shark," Donna
said.

"I can do this," Jackie said.

"Do what?"

"This." She opened her arms and did a slow,
stumbling twirl.

"Oh no," Jackie. You are way stoned. You
don’t know what the hell you’re doing. C’mon. We’re leaving."

"No! I have to do this. Donna, let go of my
arm. Let go!"

"Ladies?" the salesman asked.

"Sir," Donna said, "will you please wait
inside?"

"Not a problem, lady."

"And don’t give me that look. You don’t need
to be offended. It’s not because you’re black or anything."

"Of course not," he said. "It's all
post-racial now since BHO."

"Let me go," Jackie said. "I’m going inside
and check out the red car."

"No you’re not. We’re going home and watch
Casablanca."

"Wait a minute. I think I’m beginning to
understand something. It’s like a yin-yang sort of thing going on
with my animal brain and my spirit brain. The animal brain freaks
out whenever it’s reminded of the attack, but because I’ve
tranquilized my animal brain, my spirit brain feeds me the true
information, and once the processing is complete, I can
function."

"That’s it. Get in the car, Jackie."

"Wait. Don’t you get it? I have to look at
the red car tonight. Don’t you see it’s my destiny? It’s all for a
reason. I live in the city with the most cars, and I was attacked
because some guy wanted my car, and I haven’t been able to drive
since, so I have to assert my mastery over cars again if I ever
want to feel safe! If I don’t find the courage to walk into this
showroom right here, right now, and face up to a car, then they
win!"

"They?"

"You know! Them!"

Donna relaxed her grip. "Okay. I am going to
humor you. We’ll walk into the showroom and look at their stupid
little red car and then we’ll go home."

"Donna, this may sound funny, but I have to
walk in alone. I have to do this by myself. I want you to find
something to do and pick me up in thirty minutes."

"And leave you alone? Get real. I totally
promised Dr. Black I would watch you. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll
go watch their big screen in the coffee bar while you look at the
car. That’ll give you a few minutes to test your courage. But don’t
buy anything."

"We call it Matador Red Mica," the salesman,
who’s name was Mutab, explained about the color of the vehicle in
question.

"I’ve never seen a color like it," Jackie
said. "It’s cool, yet hot."

"I sometimes feel a little warm when I get
too close," Mutab said.

They stood aft of the car, a year 2010 ISF
which occupied the center of the showroom universe.

"This here vehicle," Mutab said, "represents
the sum total of a highly complex and seamlessly integrated system
of auto engineering which represents the last word in interglobal
networking by anybody’s standard. The vehicle is designed to
project dominance on the highway."

"Does it have a good radio?"

"What’d I just get through talking about? It
has 14 speakers."

Jackie got in and took the wheel. "I want
something fast. How fast is it?"

"Fastest thing around. It has 416
horses."

"Oooh."

"You married?" he said.

Chapter 10

After Jackie was through, she and Donna drove
in silence, gliding up the hill past Studio City and rocketing down
the slope into Hollywood, taking the Highland exit past the
deserted Hollywood Bowl and hanging a left on Franklin to avoid
being caught in the nightly Hollywood Boulevard freak show.

"I can’t believe you signed a contract,"
Donna said. "And I can’t believe I let you. You were so wasted he
wouldn’t even let you give it a road test."

"Wrong. It was because I don’t have my
license. Because Bout took it and now the cops have it in their
evidence locker."

"I am too weak," Donna said. "I should have
dragged you screaming from the man’s desk. But something stopped
me. And those Lexus sales bastards are smooth. I got to talking
with one of their people in the TV room and nearly bought one
myself. I would have, but I am just not into new things. I don't
like computers, period, and I certainly don't like cars with
computers. The old ways were best."

"I did a mind control thing on you. That's
why you couldn't stop me last night."

"Yeh, right, Jackie."

"No, I really did. I got in touch with this
thing inside my head and I just knocked you right over."

"It did kind of feel that way. I think you
took me by surprise. I haven’t seen you do anything but vacuum and
drink booze for the past six months and all of a sudden this! But
we can fight the purchase. That didn’t even look like your
signature on the check you wrote. Jackie, why did you buy it?"

"Mutab invited me home."

"You bought the car because he flattered
you?"

"It is a very effective sales technique."

"When can you pick it up?"

"Tomorrow," Jackie said.

"I still can’t believe you bought it."

"Why not? You know I needed a car. After Bout
jacked my Malibu, I couldn’t face driving again. But now I am
moving forward. I bought a new car. End of story. Besides, I’m
going to need decent wheels."

"And that’s because?"

"Because I have figured it out. I am not
going to do the lineup tomorrow, no matter what Johnson says. I am
going to let Bout get out, so I can put the bastard in the ground,
and I need a fast car to do it. How’s that grab you? Maybe I’m
finally coming to know my true self. Jackie, the executioner."

"Jackie. You’re not going to kill anybody.
You’re the type who cries when her goldfish dies." Donna took a
left at Canyon Drive, the ancient street narrow but impressive with
its hundred-foot-high bluffs and magical old homes. She drove north
into the softly misting Hollywood hills, respectfully reducing her
speed in deference to a double set of speed bumps. "That’s the
house where they filmed Nicholson slapping Dunaway silly in
Chinatown," Donna said. "Where he finally came to know her true
self."

"He wasn’t acting," Jackie said. "According
to the Enquirer, he likes to slap his women. Tell you what. Maybe
this week I’ll go to a Laker game and bitch slap Nicholson in front
of everybody. See how he likes it."

"Hmmm," Donna said. "Maybe you could slay
somebody." She took a right on Spring Oak Drive and into the
driveway of the smart white multi-million dollar tri-level, set
neatly into the mountain, wreathed in a breath of summer fog. "I’m
worn out. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to watch our movie
and have a good cry."

She led Jackie down the hall to the back of
the house, flipping on lights as she went, arriving at the
kitchen—a tile, oak and marble affair, a little on the dark side,
with pewter-accented fixtures to compliment the heavy, stainless
steel facings of the massive refrigerator and double dishwashers.
She tossed Jackie a sack of microwaveable popcorn, the kind with
enough butter in the bag to meet the daily fat requirements of a
team of Sumo wrestlers. "Nuke it. It's the last package since the
State banned trans-fats. I don't know what we'll eat after it's
gone. I’ll meet you in the den. I’m going to the basement to get
the champagne."

Jackie popped another Ativan along with a
Trazodone while watching the bag expand through the window of the
microwave. She dumped the popcorn into a bowl, grabbed a can of
ground parmesan from the cupboard, and headed into the den where
she kicked off her shoes and flopped down onto the massive leather
overstuffed couch. Donna arrived with an open bottle of champagne
and a can of Diet Coke.

"The Coke is for you," Donna said.

"Fine if you put some vodka in it."

"That ain’t going to happen. Now eat the dang
popcorn."

"Nothing smells better than freshly nuked
popcorn," Jackie said. "Donna, I want your house. I want this white
house on the hill. I want your happiness."

Donna filled a fluted glass with bubbly for
herself and Coke for Jackie. "What happiness? If you were inside my
head for five minutes, you'd throw yourself screaming into a wood
chipper."

"No," Jackie said. "You have true happiness.
Maybe you are just so used to it you can't see it. But from where I
sit, on the outside, I can see it."