The sun is going down as they approach the bay. All the houseboats next to the highway, one of them a mini Taj Mahal. Buoys and dinghies and other floating crap, everything jammed in close, too many people, and the hills the same, houses on top of each other. All the free land farther north.
The highway sweeping up into final hills before descending to the Golden Gate, veins of red and white lights. The feeling of emptiness at the edge as they cross over. Jim would like to jump. Much more dramatic and tragic, and not violent, maybe easier for his kids. And a better story. He could go head first, make sure, because sometimes people survive the jump and live on as vegetables.
That’s one thing he worries about, shooting himself in the head and then living. But it’s unlikely with a .44 magnum. It really should take off most of his head. He hasn’t decided mouth or temple. Or just tucked under his throat and pointing upward. No information about what method is best. He can’t ask anyone.
All the traffic on Lombard slow, and he feels impatient. He shouldn’t have to put up with traffic at the end. “Fucking traffic,” he says.
“Yeah, life turns to shit in cities.”
“Life turns to shit everywhere,” Jim says, but then he remembers he has to be positive. “But I’m feeling so much better now. It’s amazing. Like a weight gone.”
They pass through the Mission District again, mostly Mexican. His dad never able to say he was Cherokee. Jim had no idea what his father was thinking all those years. No idea at all. “Do you know Dad hates America?”
“What? He doesn’t hate America.”
“Yes he does. Deeply and completely, everything it is and everyone here. It explains a lot about his behavior over the years.”
“That’s not true.”
“He said it this morning.”
“No he didn’t.”
“Fine. Enjoy your denial. Why does anyone bother talking with you?” But then Jim remembers again he’s supposed to be fixed and nice now. “Sorry,” he says. “I realize it’s hard to believe, because he didn’t say anything before. But it’s true.”
“Wow. He said that?”
“Yes.”
“But why? Why hate America, and why say something now if not before?”
“Now because I’m on the edge, of course. Everyone going the extra mile for me. And he hates everyone because he could never say he was Cherokee. Had to be friendly and talk with everyone while knowing they’d look down on him or worse if they knew who he was. So nothing was real for his whole adult life in Lakeport, his whole career as a dentist, and even in his retirement when he has to keep saying hi to all his former patients.”
“It’s just hard to believe.”
“Then don’t believe it. I’m not sure it matters one way or the other. Nothing can be done. He’s already lived a shitty life and will keep living a shitty life.”
“No. It was a good life. We had good times, hunting and fishing and living on the lake.”
“Yeah, he liked it when we were on the ranch and hunting. That’s the only time he liked, I think.”
“We’re talking about him like he’s gone, but he’s still here, and he can make changes if he’s not happy.”
“He can’t and he won’t, and I understand why. Momentum, same as in my life. Doesn’t matter if you know what’s wrong or that there could be another way. You’re still stuck on the path, just because you’ve been on it for too long. Nothing changes that.”
“But you just changed today.”
“True. So yeah, you’re right, momentum doesn’t rule all.” Jim has to pay more attention. “So Dad could maybe loosen up.”
They’re shitted out the southern end of the city, the worst neighborhoods, all slum and industry, and drive along the water past the airport to an area with hotels. “Anything’s fine,” Jim says. “Any hotel.” So Gary picks and Jim checks in and then they’re standing at the elevator and Gary is having second thoughts.
“I’ll get my bag,” Gary says. “I need to stay with you. I need to be on that flight tomorrow.”
Jim sets his bag down and puts his hands on Gary’s shoulders, like some preacher taking one of the flock. “Gary. I’m okay now. Still not that fun to talk to, and still not that happy with how my life has gone, but I no longer need to kill myself, okay?”
Gary can’t look at him for long. Younger brother, swayed all his life by Jim. Now will be no different. Momentum. We can never break free.
“Okay,” Gary nods. “I’ll drive back home after dinner.”
“Thank you.” Jim hits the button for the elevator again. “I’ll be right down. Maybe ask about restaurants. Let’s celebrate with something good.”
The elevator is about as lonely a place as you can imagine, bare stainless box cutting off the world and erasing movement, but the room is even worse, old carpet and cheap plywood with a view out to a wall. Jim sets his valise on the desk, takes out the magnum. He sits in front of the crappy little mirror and puts the pistol to the side of his head. Loaded, so not much effort is required. Why bother to travel all the way to Alaska?
He looks old, his skin pale and slack. And the baggy clothing from Gary. This is the worst he’s looked in his entire life, which makes sense of course. No suicide is looking good in his final moment.
The problem is that everything is chronic, not acute. The pain in his head the same as on other days, his despair the same, the feeling of sinking and regret and guilt and self-pity and anger. But not enough to make that trigger pull. He could drift in this region forever, which is the most frightening thought, far scarier than death.
So he puts the pistol back in his valise and zips it and returns to Gary.
“Powdering your nose?” Gary asks.
“Something like that.”
“Sounds like an Italian restaurant is our best bet. Right near here.”
So they go there and it’s big. A bus pulled up outside. The kind of place senior proms and tours go. Satiny slips on the chairs, bows and ribbons everywhere, a pig dressed like a princess.
“Looks good,” Gary says, and Jim wonders if he really doesn’t see.
“Great,” he says, and he knows already they’ll be ordering the chicken parmesan, which will account for about sixty percent of the orders here. But there’s no point in getting grumpy about a restaurant. The Last Meal, or is it the Last Dinner? Suddenly he can’t remember. Last Supper. His brain is just not working.
They’re seated near a big family with kids climbing on the table to reach for each other, shouting. “Fucking eh,” Jim says.
“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Gary says, barely audible.
Jim shakes his head. He can’t shout. And maybe this is better, not having to talk in the end. It seems perfect, actually, to have everything blotted out by the dumbest noise. He looks at the menu and decides chicken cacciatore instead of parmesan.
“Wine?” Gary shouts.
Jim shakes his head again. He never liked alcohol. Never liked most of what everyone likes. Only sex.
Gary stands up. “We’re moving,” he says, indicating the door. He gives a look at the family, who don’t notice, of course, and then they’re outside where the bus is idling, bathed in diesel exhaust, and Gary is looking up and down the street. “Burger joint,” he says. “Perfect.”
They walk an unlit portion of sidewalk, just bare roadway along a construction site, the kind of place in a city where you could be mugged, and Jim wishes that would happen. But they make it safely to the diner, an old place smelling of deep-fry.
The menu is written on the wall behind the counter. The bacon burger finally. Jim feels a momentary joy. “Extra barbeque sauce,” he says. “Extra bacon.”
“I’ll get the same,” Gary says. “Sounds good. And a chocolate shake.”
“Chocolate banana malt,” Jim says.
“Yeah, change mine to that too.”
The guy behind the counter is mute. Only a head nod and the total showing on the register. Jim pays and is handed a number on a metal stand.
They sit at a table in the corner, mashed up close to others. Blue paint, very thick, and the concrete beneath them painted the same blue. As if someone just grabbed a can of paint and hurled it at this area. “You know where to take a girl,” Jim says.
Gary laughs. “Yeah, pretty nice. Worth it to come all the way to the big city for this.”
Jim grins.
“Hey I’m happy you’re back,” Gary says. “Nice to see a smile.”
Jim knows not to extend it too long. It’ll look fake then. He feels the terror of what to talk about next. How to fill the time between now and whenever Gary leaves. And after that he’s going to get fucked. He’s going to find a prostitute here.
“What are your plans for Fairbanks?”
Gary looks so hopeful, seems to believe Jim has turned a corner, and this is the perfect intro for a liar. Plans can balloon endlessly and never need proof. “I’m going to swim more again,” Jim says. “At the university pool. That always relaxes me. And take a diving class. I saw they have those. Learn the high dive properly.”
“That sounds great.”
“Yeah, and more cross-country skiing, on the university course. The nice thing about Fairbanks is how much sun we get in the winter. It’s cold but almost always sunny. So most days are beautiful for skiing.” He almost says Gary should see it, but realizes that’s a mistake. He can’t provide any reasons for Gary to come up.
“This all sounds positive,” Gary says. “Keeping yourself busy and enjoying what’s good about the place.”
“There’s one other thing I’m excited about. They have an opening in a barbershop quartet.”
“You would love that!”
“Yeah, it’s been so long, and I do love it. I played a bit of trumpet for the local theater, but that was a while ago, my last time onstage.”
“You can wear a straw hat and the red-and-white stripes.”
“Yep. One of the guys is a doctor I know.” Jim is reaching now. Somehow he’s managed to not make any friends up there, and Gary might remember this.
But Gary doesn’t notice, and their order comes quickly, the chocolate banana malts so good all either of them can do is moan. The burgers piled with bacon and barbecue sauce, the real thing, served with onion rings. Jim takes a huge bite and closes his eyes and thinks this could be the way through. Just go for simple pleasures. You don’t pull the trigger when your mouth is full of bacon. No one would do that. “Bacon,” he says. “Bacon.”
“Yeah.”
“What have been the best things in your life, the things you’ve enjoyed most?”
Gary opens his eyes, says “God this is good” with his mouth full.
Jim waits for him to finish chewing.
“Well,” Gary says. “Speed skiing. Even though it terrified me and I stopped right away, I did enjoy that.”
“How fast were the jet boats going?”
“Ninety.”
“Holy crap.”
“And basketball. I always loved basketball. Not sure why, but something about being on a team. The best experiences are in a group or on a team.”
“I haven’t done that enough.”
“You’ve missed something there.”
Jim wonders about this. An isolated life. How did he miss the group? He’s given zero importance to anything social.
“And commercial fishing with you,” Gary says. “That was something. Being out there, and also building the boat.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, that was great. I don’t know what else. Sex of course, but that’s number one on any man’s list. Food sometimes. The piles of abalone we’ve had. That’s going to get more and more rare.”
Jim can see he’s had a good life, rich. He’s had everything Gary’s had, except the sports and more social life, but he’s also had more money and opportunity. Somehow he didn’t make use of all of it, though, or didn’t find it to be enough, and it’s a mystery why.
The grainy malt in the chocolate shake, a pleasure that should by itself be enough reason. The ripe banana too. His brother who loves him, who’s happy and relieved that Jim is well. That trusting and easy.
They finish the burgers and shakes and just sit stunned for a while. Fresh burgers brought out to other patrons, and even when he’s stuffed they still look good.
“Well,” Jim finally says. “You should maybe hit the road, so you don’t get up there too late.”
“Yep,” Gary says. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“I’m fine now.”
“I’m happy to come up, even for just a couple days to be sure.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. But there’s no need now. I feel good. I just enjoyed a burger and shake with my brother, and I feel normal. I’m looking forward to things up in Fairbanks and I’m also thinking of what you said about basketball. That barbershop quartet is my chance for a new group of guys, and I’m going to enjoy that and see what’s possible.”
“You’re on the right track there. You’ll get a lot from that.”
“I think so.” Jim nods then and raps his knuckles on the table and they stand. Out of the blue world of the burger joint and along the crap construction site again. Jim has an eye out for prostitutes but doesn’t see any yet. He’ll have to ask the doorman or the bellboy.
In no time at all they’re standing in the hotel parking lot by Gary’s truck. Jim’s last moments with his brother. He feels this overwhelming sadness and loss but can’t show it, so he smiles and gives Gary a hug. “Thank you, brother,” he says. “Thank you for doing so much for me.”
“Hey, that’s all right,” Gary says. “Just happy you’re back.”
“Come up fishing this summer. Some new spots on the river I’ve heard about for kings.”
“God, I’d love to. But no money, and I think we’re doing that road trip to look for somewhere else to live.”
“I’ll pay for your flights. Just think about it. Catching a seventy-pound king in a river, like the fattest trout you’ve ever seen.”
Gary laughs. “That does sound good.”
Then Gary is in his truck and starts it, rolls down his window to wave goodbye, and is gone. Jim’s last lifeline, last moment with anyone who cares for him. Alone now. But no longer having to smile, no longer having to lie. He’s going to fuck his way into exhaustion and then pull the trigger and be done. To hell with this life.
The hotel doorman looks a bit afraid, or maybe Jim is only imagining it. But maybe Jim looks that grim. It’s possible. “I want a prostitute,” Jim says. “Small and young. I want beautiful. I don’t give a shit about disease, and I’m not using a condom.”
They’re standing outside the glass doors, no one around at the moment.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the doorman says. “But prostitution is illegal in California.”
“I’m not police,” Jim says. “And here’s fifty for you for finding me a couple good ones. I want one now and another a couple hours from now. Maybe a third later. I’m willing to pay for the best you know of.”
“I see,” the doorman says. “What room are you in, sir?”
So the arrangement is made, and Jim won’t have to wander the street like a jackass not knowing where anything is. He showers, looks at his dick a small limp thing, sad, and hopes it will go up when the time comes.
He dries off hard, wanting to get rid of old skin, then sits in bed naked under the covers and watches an old episode of Gilligan’s Island, wishes he could have Mary Ann, misses Rhoda so badly he could howl.
He’s into an episode of Hogan’s Heroes before there’s a knock.
When he opens the door, she walks right in. Small and thin with black leather pants and heels. Looking obviously like a prostitute, but apparently the people at reception don’t care, which is good.
“I’m not cheap,” she says. “Can you afford me?” She’s so cute and young. Pale skin and long dark hair.
“I’ll pay,” he says.
“Three hundred.”
“What does that include?”
“Thirty minutes of anything you want.”
Jim reaches into his pocket and pulls out six fifties. He walks up close and she takes them, tucks them into her purse. “No kissing, though,” she says.
“And no condom,” Jim says.
“I know. I was told.”
She walks over to the desk to dump her purse and jacket. Her shirt is red leather and covers only her chest, her midriff and shoulders exposed. Jim touches her lower back, the skin so soft. She’s certainly better than any woman he’s ever been with.
“Take a shower,” she says.
“Do it again.”
Jim wonders if she’ll steal. He grabs his wallet and valise with the pistol, closes the bathroom door and locks it. She could leave with his three hundred and he’d have no recourse. He’s not sure what holds any of this together.
He picks up the pistol and holds it in the mirror. Only man and pistol, Limp-dick Jim ready for his last stand. But he puts the pistol away, zips the bag closed, and takes his shower.
When he emerges she’s lying back against the pillows, her heels still on. Looking comfortable, though. All strangely normal, as if they’re really a couple sharing this room.
He walks close and drops the towel. “Sorry,” he says. “You look good, but it’s not going up.”
“Leave it to me,” she says. “Just lie down.”
She moves over and he lies back against the pillows. The room a bit cold but not too bad. He watches as she licks one of his nipples, which feels good but isn’t giving him a boner. He’s so worried now about whether he can get it up. His last hurrah, so it had better work. He’s not willing to go out on total failure.
She kisses his stomach and then his thighs and takes him in her mouth and still nothing. And she has this angelic face, so perfect, and big breasts in red leather. He doesn’t know what else she could possibly offer.
She pushes his legs apart, and he says no, but she goes slowly lower, soft kisses and gentle licks, and he goes up. She doesn’t stop. Strokes him lightly with her hand while she licks, and she’s watching him. He loves seeing her eyes while she does this.
She seems to know how easy it would be for him to lose it. She’s taking her shoes and pants off while she has him in her mouth, going all the way down, swallowing him, and she’s up in one quick movement so there’s no time to go soft, riding him and taking off her top. She has by far the nicest body he’s ever seen. He knows she cares nothing for him, but he’s grateful anyway that she’s so good at what she does. This is close enough to feeling loved. She even smiles and kisses his neck.
Afterward Jim takes another shower and rests but is afraid to sleep. He has to hear the next knock when it comes. He doesn’t know why he didn’t see more prostitutes earlier. Better dates than he would ever be able to get, and in return he gives money, which means nothing to him anyway.
He feels exhausted already, from the last couple days and lack of sleep and now from sex. He keeps thinking of Rhoda, so he calls her.
“How are you, Jim?” she asks, and it sounds embattled, like she’s getting ready for the long trudge. He doesn’t want her voice to sound like this. And he realizes she could call Gary so easily, so he can’t tell her the truth today.
“Much better,” he says. “A breakthrough with the therapist, and also when I visited John, so I feel okay now.”
Pointless conversation, and he ends it quickly. He’ll have to call her from Alaska, when it’s already too late and no one can stop him.
The knock comes earlier than he expected, business moving right along. She’s small and young also, with blonde feathered hair, wearing leather, a black jacket with golden zippers. But he feels only exhausted, not excited at all. “I can’t,” he says. “Here’s three hundred, and tell the doorman no more.” He hands over the bills, which she takes without saying anything.
He closes the door, lies down naked on his back on the floor, the cold tiles, and wants Rhoda, wants to go back to the time when she loved him, when all was innocent, before he cheated. In his office, after hours, when they’d darken one of the rooms and she’d hold his face and give him the most tender love.