Chapter 4

“How do you know they can paint?” Mary is saying.

She had me filling cracks all over the house yesterday. I didn’t even have a chance to pick up the paint. I point out to Mary that Max and Ruby come equipped with drop cloths.

“I’d better not find you and Max slacking off,” she says. I promise her we’ll be on our best behavior. “Fine,” she says. “As long as this house gets done by the eighteenth. You’d better get the paint now.”

At the paint store, I get everything on Mary’s list, then push my cart to the cash register. Suddenly everything starts drifting in and out. I’m sweating like crazy and my heart’s going boom, boom, boom.

I go outside and lean against a wall. Years ago, this art director I worked with, Don Conroy, had a stroke. He said everything went numb for a while. He was in his late fifties. He survived, but his time had come. He had to retire. Frank made a big show of it by planning an elaborate retirement party. He rented the town hall, complete with Don’s favorite band, The Jazzbusters. Frank had shrimp the size of plantains. At the end of the evening, a limousine took Don up to his cottage where he planned on retiring. After a year of that, Don realized he couldn’t take it anymore. He ended up back downtown, looking for work. I brought him in on a few freelance assignments. Then I couldn’t even give him that. A few months later, he died in his sleep. We all went to the funeral and Frank stood there, chin out, all polished with aftershave. He said a few words at the gravesite later, calling Don a “likeable git.”

Don didn’t even make sixty, and here I am, two years away from that, hugging the wall, sweating like crazy. “Are you all right?” I hear someone say. I look up to see this old woman holding the door. “Why don’t you come in out of the sun?”

“Thanks,” I say. “I think it’s just low blood sugar.”

I go back inside with my heart going boom, boom, boom. Everyone’s waiting in line at the cash register. I wipe my face with my sleeve. The old woman’s there with her husband. I make my apologies.

As soon as I get to the car, I’m leaning against the hood, feeling like the asphalt is a trampoline. The old couple come out a few minutes later. The husband says, “Everything okay?”

“Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

I’m thinking about that scene from The Sopranos where Tony collapses at this swank country club. He ends up in hospital, sitting on a gurney. A nurse comes along and says, “I’ve got good news for you, Mr. Soprano. Your heart appears to be fine.”

“How the hell’s that good news?” he says. “If you found something wrong, you could cut it out. You’re telling me it’s nothing. Why the fuck did I collapse?” Next day in his psychiatrist’s office, he tells her it felt like a can of ginger ale going off in his head. “What the fuck happened?” he says, and she says, “Sounds like a panic attack.”

“I can’t have a panic attack,” Tony says. “A guy in my position?” So he goes home and starts watching these ducks in his pool. They fly off and he starts bawling. So back he goes to the psychiatrist’s office, saying, “What the fuck?” and the psychiatrist tells him it’s a fear of abandonment. “But they’re ducks,” he says. Again, he goes home, the ducks are still gone; he starts bawling again.

Christ, I hope I’m not having panic attacks. I don’t want to start bawling over ducks. Back at home, I put the paint in the kitchen and crawl into bed. Mary appears and says, “What’s wrong?” She feels my forehead. “Is this for real or are you pulling a sicky?”

“Not quite sure,” I say. “It might be the heat.”

“I hope that’s all it is.”

She fluffs up the pillow behind my head and goes back to the basement. I start feeling better after a few minutes. The phone rings and I answer. Max again. “Sam,” he says. “What did Mary have to say?”

“She’s okay.”

“You want us to come over now?”

“Come over in the morning.” I hear music playing in the background. “Isn’t that The Stylistics, Max?”

“Otis keeps playing it.”

“Is it working?”

“They’re circling each other like cats.”

“Haven’t heard that song in years, Max.”

“Wish I could say the same thing.”