There Must Be Some Mistake (11 page)

“I worked on that,” I said.

“It showed,” Chantal said. “So what was on Mr. Parker's busy little mind?”

I went over my meeting with Parker, repeating it something like verbatim, doing a dopey southern voice for the officious Parker.

“What is that voice you're doing? Is that…What is that?”

“Sorry,” I said, returning to my regular voice. “I was being interesting again.”

“What did he want?”

“Basically, he wanted me to rat you out,” I said. “But I stood tall and true.”

“Rat me out? What about, I mean, what were you supposed to tell him?”

“He seemed to think that I might have known, as a consequence of our recent companionship, about which he seemed to know practically everything, by the way, seemed to think you may have known your assailant prior to the incident. He wondered aloud whether the incident, as he called it, might have been an engagement gone awry.”

“Ah,” she said. “I hear that is rumored. Didn't I say something like that to you last week or sometime? That people thought that?”

“Don't remember,” I said. “You could have. I told him you didn't understand the cause, nature, or context of the attack, and that you were still nervous about it.”

“All true,” she said.

“He told me that Tinker, whom he did not know by name, but did know was your daughter, had been staying in your place up here recently.”

“She has,” Chantal said. “Have you seen her?”

“No, I haven't,” I said.

“She's at work on some art thing,” Chantal said. “Some video performance where she sits in front of a camera and reads something, I don't know what. Nude. She's nude when she reads the thing. It's terribly important that she be nude, apparently.”

“Art wants what art wants,” I said.

“Cute,” Chantal said. “She's preparing the piece for a New Artists Show at the Texas Gallery in Houston. You know that gallery?”

“Sure. Know the people, too. Knew 'em when. I dream about them to this day.”

“Tinker's never had much success with art.” Chantal dipped a corner of her napkin in her water glass and used the napkin to wipe away a small spot on the window that was apparently bothering her view. “So Parker thinks I knew the perp?”

“The very word he used,” I said. “Other than that I don't know what he thinks, but he was eager to get some ideas to report to the cops. They call him all the time, he says.”

“Roll my eyes,” she said, sighing. “So, what else is new?”

“Diane is moving back and wants to buy my house.” I stopped there, surprised to see Duncan Parker and Cal walk into the restaurant together. They stood at the bar. “Don't look now,” I said, “but Parker is here with Diane's latest lover, the one who delivered the news of her offer.”

“Small-town blues,” Chantal said. “You want to leave?”

“Do I want to? Or will I?”

“Either one,” she said. “We don't need the publicity.”

“I will if you want to. I don't really care.”

“We can stay,” she said. “Hang on here a minute.”

With that she got up and walked across the room toward the two at the bar. Her heels, I noted, were tall, shiny, and a nice lemon color, and they made a satisfying click on the hardwood floor as she strode across the restaurant. This reminded me of a student I had in a painting class once. Hello, good-bye.

By some miracle Cal and Parker didn't see Chantal coming. She tapped Parker's shoulder, and when he turned she crooked a finger and backed away from the bar. He followed, puppy-like. I watched as he leaned forward, hanging on her every word, and she said whatever she was saying in a pleasant but direct manner. After a minute it seemed she was asking if he understood what she had said and he was answering in the affirmative. She smiled then, extended a hand for him to shake, which he did. Daintily. Then she returned to our table, sat down, and motioned for the waiter.

Parker and Cal glanced our way a couple times while paying their check, left bottles sweating on the bar.

Diane called that night to still the waters, or so she said. “It was an idea,” she said on the phone. “You're always looking to move on, start over, something.”

“I am? News to me.”

“You talk about it,” she said. “Used to, anyway. And I thought if I'm throwing in the towel up here, I could take the house, you know, easy deal, market price, asking price, whatever, and free you up for whatever you're looking to do next.”

It was late when she called—three my time, four hers. I was in the office with all the lights off, the computer screen illuminating the place, waiting for the moon to slip into view. Maybe three was a little early, but I had time.

“Took me by surprise, I guess. And Cal delivering was a bit much.”

“Cal's a soldier,” she said.

“So you told me.”

“No, I mean he does as he's told. Well, you know what I mean—he's reliable. And I figured you knew him—I don't know. Probably a bad move. I apologize.”

“Not necessary,” I said. “I didn't know you were planning on coming back.”

“I tried to tell you in that other call? You know? But it didn't quite get out. I'm completely finished here. Can't stand it. It was all right when, you know, Dan was around, but it's a compendium of beasts now. Get me outta here, you know?”

“Got it,” I said. I felt a little pissed, really. It took balls to talk about buying my place when it used to be hers, too. And how it figured in the divorce. All that.

“So you want to forget about that? Would that be best?” she said.

“Well, for now, yeah,” I said. “I will think about it, though. If you want me to.”

“Sure,” she said. “But don't make it a thing. Don't worry about it.”

“Keep it in mind?” I said.

“Exactly,” she said. “A thought. Anyway, I'm coming down myself in a week or two. Hope we can have dinner or something?”

“Sure,” I said. “It'll be good to see you and catch up.”

“I think we're pretty well caught up,” she said. “Except I didn't tell you about my TENS machine.”

“Tens?”

“An acronym,” she said. “Transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation. This little thing you sort of shock yourself with and it's supposed to alleviate the pain.”

“What pain?” I said.

“Any,” she said. “There's a lot of history and such. Dan had a broken foot once and his doctor suggested it. You buy it over the counter. There are lots of theories about how it works. One is endorphins. One is called gate theory, which is about sending a stronger signal to the brain than the pain signal, thus sort of blocking the pain signal, know what I mean?”

“Uh, sure. Like distracting you.”

“Yes, sort of. ‘Masking' is the preferred way of describing it, I guess. It's a real thing, and I started using it after Dan died. It worked for him, not so much for me, really. Rattles me.”

“Sort of electroshock on the Triple-A level,” I said.

“Did you know they got electroshock from pig butchers? It made the pigs feel comfortable so they were easier to cut. Anyway, I'll be visiting you soon.”

“I look forward to it,” I said. “Bring the zapper. I want to give it a try.”

“I will, Wallace,” she said.

A WEEK
or more later I was taking it easy on the deck when somebody called up from down below. I got up and looked over the railing. It was Parker, back for more. I said hello.

“Hey, Wilson,” Parker said.

“It's Wallace,” I said. “Hey yourself.”

“It's Wallace?” he said. “Your name is Wallace?”

“Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“I need to talk. Can I come up?”

I waved at him and went down to the door. Then we were back on the deck, staring at huge storm clouds rolling in. From where we sat it looked like three-quarters of the sky was blotted out. “So the deal is,” Parker said. “You know the woman, dancing woman?”

I nodded. I don't know why, but I saw this coming.

“Well, I'm involved with her. Don't ask, but there it is.” Then, as if he'd embarrassed himself, he pointed to the clouds. “It's always raining here, what's with that?”

“Time of year,” I said. “Squalls. Besides, they're great looking.”

“Long as they don't turn into tornadoes,” he said. “So anyway, what I want to do is talk to you about my wife. I want to be rid of my wife, but I can't get it done. She's a giant of a woman, sprawling gray hair and more than six feet tall. There was a time when all the height excited me, but it's long gone now, now she's a memory getting in the way of good times. Like I remember good times. Doesn't matter, though. I'm sixty-one, maybe months into it with this new woman, and it's a mess. I'm telling her to go easy, let it, you know, happen, but nah, she's gotta pull the dancing thing. Ella went nuts. Ella's the wife. You met the wife?”

I shrugged. He drove straight ahead.

“So I'm looking forward to Social Security, know what I'm saying, and I run into this woman in the hardware store. She's buying a set of wrenches, good ones, too. So she asks me a couple questions, and I act like I know from wrenches, which I oughta, and maybe I even did at one time, back in the old days, but the thing is I'm thinking sixty-one is not much different from fifty-nine, even fifty-five, but it's night and day to fifty. Fifty you're still alive, still a functioning cog in the system. There are parts to play, deals to make, women to bed. You can still sell yourself to the ones that remind you what pretty women look like, what good skin is, and the rest. But it goes downhill after that. Some guys keep up the pretense, but I never could. I get stuck over there where we've been for a million years, seems like. The wife likes it, she says. It's cheap, I says. It's cheap and tacky and perfect for a couple of losers like us. Two bedrooms, two baths, a living room, and a furry kitchen. It's not really furry, but that's what it feels like, like the walls are covered with fur. They're sticky, grease from the stove, the range, she fries a lot of beef for me. Twenty years and we've got this crap furniture that came with the place, shitty bedspreads, bad towels, lamps from Walmart. I mean, for me Walmart lamps aren't that bad, I mean they work, but then you see some lamps on TV and you realize where you are in the lamp pecking order. So we're in at six-thirty every night, we're into our house wear, which is like sloppy seconds all over the place, T-shirts, shorts—it's not pretty. We try to keep our eyes on the screen, that's the only way to get around the mess.”

“I don't know about all that,” I said. “My first wife died of cancer, and the other, well, we reached an agreement before it got that bad.”

“You got a beer?” Parker said. I tell him I do and go get him one. When I get back he's pulled out a big cigar and he's mouthing that, and the butt end of it looks like he's chewing it. What I can't figure out is why we're best buddies suddenly, I mean, me being Wilson and all.

He starts up. “Look, I'm on a pension from the oil company where I worked after I left the United States Marines. Worked until my forties and was blessed with a plant explosion that took out an eye. Wasn't my best eye, but I miss it anyway. Still, you can see as much with one eye as you can with two, it just takes twice as long. And you're always swinging your head around, which gets uncomfortable. You get used to it, but it's still a pain, and lots of times it makes you feel like you're in two places at once, like the overall scene never comes into focus. So Ella and me, we have some money—the settlement, the pension, the money I get for being counted among the disfigured. She says it's the second-best thing that ever happened to us, losing the eye, but she's got no imagination, she's not interested in France, or beautiful young women with ocean-like hair, skin like custom paintwork.”

“I never knew you had a bad eye,” I said.

“We don't broadcast it,” he said. “This one.” He tapped his right cheekbone. I could hear the thump. He had the big fingers.

“Sorry to hear that,” I said. “That one there is, uh—”

“Glass,” he said. “We're old-fashioned. I can take it out if you want.”

I wagged a forefinger at him. “Not required.”

He rubbed his right eye, made the pupil bob around in some crazy ways to give me a taste of the thing.

“That's something,” I said.

“It's nothin',” he said. “It don't feel like nothin'.”

“You seem a lot younger than sixty-one,” I said. “I'm midfifties, and I always thought you were younger than me.”

“I try to keep it going,” Parker said. “I'd be a lot better off if I could get rid of Ella. I mean, sometimes we go to the bakery together and she buys trays of doughnuts, bear claws, the rest of those things. She can't stop herself and I don't try anymore.”

“I don't blame anybody for what they eat,” I said. “Me, I love that white icing on cinnamon buns, you know, the kind you get in the all-night gas station? I could eat that forever. And that yellow spongy bun. I may be getting some tonight.”

“You and Ella would get on great,” he said. “Why don't you take a look at her? Take a load off me?” It was like he was selling me his car.

“I got too much love on my plate already,” I said.

He didn't laugh. “Yeah, I hear that.”

“Now you got the dancing woman,” I said.

“Well, I had her, but with the showboating I had to put her on ice for a while. Gotta figure out this Ella thing.”

“What about a divorce?” I said. “Isn't that the usual way? Clean, civilized, the well-worn path.”

“Can't,” he said. “She's money. Her family is. That pension of mine? It's shit. It's something, but it's for shit. Ella is the ride and I'm the rider. Been that way for all these years. Sometimes she's OK, you can't trash her all the time, but at my age what's left?”

“Not much, I guess. Goes for both of us,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” he said. “You got the girl from Houston, this White woman, her daughter, and who else? I mean, you are loaded, good buddy. You are covered.”

“I've got some friends,” I said. “And that's something.”

“Damn straight,” Parker said.

I backed my chair away from the railing. The rain had started to fall in earnest. There was thunder and lightning. I was ready for Parker to make an exit. “So, what do you figure to do? I mean, what's the endgame?”

He drained his bottle and stood up. “I gotta run,” he said. “Ella's waiting on me. We're going to Costco. You like Costco? I love it. Buy shit and take it back six months later and they don't even blink. It's terrific.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Nothin's happening. I mean, I may try some shit, but in the end I'll die in Ella's arms. In her lap is more like it. She's good to me. I'm a crap husband, though, and we both know it. She and I both know it. But I think she loved me once and that's the whole story. She loved me and I loved her. What am I gonna do, start over? Never happen. I envy you, man,” Duncan Parker said. “You got all the aces.”