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Tuesday September 9, 10:00 p.m.
I’d called Valentini and asked him to round up the troops and bring them to Tim Hortons. He’d made a fuss about the time of night and having to get up for work and all, but he said he’d make the effort. I’d said that I had an important announcement to make. He said that the only important announcement he’d ever heard in his life had been when the Edmonton Oilers announced they were trading Wayne Gretzky to the New York Rangers.
We found a table next to the one we’d sat at two days earlier.
I licked my lips and started right in. “I need your help, guys.”
“Yeah?” said Tony, folding his thick fingers on his stomach. He was dressed in his civies now, jeans and plain blue t-shirt. A big, sarcastic grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “What kind of help, Donny?”
I leaned forward and cradled my coffee cup. I heard Allison’s disapproval ringing in my ears: “You’re late, you’re always late, you’ll be late for your own funeral, why are you always late?”
“I can’t make Steven famous on my own,” I said, “I’m going to need everyone’s help.”
A chilly calm settled over me. I had chosen my path at the fork in the road, and all that was left now was to follow it.
“Help?” said Pappas. “After that article you wrote in today’s paper, you’ll need a lawyer’s help, buddy. Steven gave Ethan Coen his story idea, eh?” He chortled.
“I’d give him ten years hard time,” said Reingruber, laughing through a mouthful of sour cream donut. He had a healthy appetite, Norb did.
I’d give you a hundred years, you freaky bastard arsonist boy.
“Listen,” I said, forging ahead desperately, “forget what I wrote. Let’s do it for Steven. Whatever it takes, let’s make him famous. Dead or alive. He was the most talented guy we’ve ever met, or will meet again, and, trust me, I’ve met tons of showbiz people over the years (half-lie) and he puts most of them to shame.”
“I’m not going to make shit up about Steven and end up in jail,” Tony said. “Anyway, I still think this is really all about you, man.”
“Who said anything about going to jail?” I said, ignoring his last comment.
“Well, you’ll be going, that’s for sure,” he said, laughing, darkly. “Character defamation, slander, fraud, and I’m sure they’ll add impersonation, as well, once you start dressing and acting like Steven so you can become famous, you obsessive idiot.” He shook his head at me.
“Don’t worry about me.”
“Well, I don’t know if Steven wrote any screenplays, but I think he must have been a pretty good stand-up comic,” said Reinbruber. His high, reedy voice reminded me of The Godfather. “I myself witnessed Steven performing at Yuk Yuk’s back in the day.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?” said Pappas.
A sheepish grin spread across Reingruber’s face. “Sometimes I used to follow him around and take pictures of him.”
“What the fuck?” said Tony, staring in disbelief. “Norb, you really are a freakin’ weirdo!”
Reingruber nodded as if he’d just been complimented on his geeky taste in comic book T-shirts.
My stomach sank. Who are these freaks? And, for the thousandth time, what am I doing here?
Reingruber stroked his beard, grinning, staring down at the table. “Well, I was jealous of Steven then, you know, because he was so funny and talented, and I was pretty much a fat nobody, and I thought if I could follow him, I’d figure out how he did his thing and maybe I could get a piece of that.” He sighed heavily, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a handful of photographs. He dropped them on the table.
“Whoa,” Pappas said, laughing with the same mocking tone he’d used against Reingruber in high school. “You’re such a freak, Eggie. I can’t believe you stalked Steven.”
“Don’t call me Eggie,” Reingruber said, through gritted teeth, uncharacteristically angry. “I’ll fucking drive you the next time you say that.”
“Un-freaking-believable,” Tony said, stiffening in his chair.
I snatched up the photos, and spread them open like old hockey cards. “Jesus, there he is,” I whispered, reverently.
There were photos of Steven getting into his old red AMC Gremlin, backing out of his parents’ driveway, walking out of Mike’s Submarines carrying a sub and a chocolate milk, and one of him entering the front door of Yuk Yuk’s comedy club on downtown John Street. Another showed Steven up on the stage, the crowd in their seats buckled over with laughter.
That was the “portal to celebrity” that Steven had joked about, and there it was, on celluloid, Steven walking into the mouth of the portal, and succeeding. He wasn’t someone whose talents and potential I’d let my mind exaggerate over time. Steven had been that comic genius, and the proof was in that last picture! He had not missed his once-in-a-lifetime chance to go through that portal to greatness.
Shivers ran up and down my back, filtered into the backs of my thighs. I felt as if I’d just beheld the Holy Grail. I looked up and noticed that Pappas and Valentini were just as in awe as I was.
Reingruber looked sad.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I miss Steven.”
I thought he was going to cry.
We fell into a deep silence, dissolving into the past.
A blinding flash of light stunned me. Movement. A machine-gun fire of photographer’s flashes from some guy who’d been drinking coffee only a few tables away. He shot a few more of me, backing away as he did, then turned and fled.
“Who the fuck are you?” Valentini yelled, getting to his feet.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I said, simultaneously.
Valentini lunged, but the guy dodged his advance and flew past him out the far exit door, his coat flapping against the closing door.
“Well that was weird,” said Reingruber, calmly.
We were on our feet, staring at the guy, who was now crossing Flux Road and hopping into his car at the twenty-four-hour supermarket across the street. Even at that late hour, the parking lot was busy with cars and he disappeared behind the building.
Slowly, we took our seats again. The Tim Hortons ladies behind the counter were staring at us nervously.
A smirk grew on Pappas’ face. “Making Donny Famous. Ever considered naming your column that?”
“Very funny, Papsmear.”
Momentarily, I’d regressed back to high school.
“Oooh, good one, Donny, good one. Nice and juvenile.”
At first, Pappas had kept that part of himself hidden, and so had I, but underneath he was still the same sarcastic bastard he’d always been, and so was I. At that moment, I didn’t know whether to hug him or hate him.
“Why would someone be taking my picture?” I said, shifting my gaze around the room, suddenly remembering two men watching me the day before.
But I knew the answer as soon as I’d said it; it had something to do with my columns. Either someone I’d lied about had read it and was building a lawsuit against me, or some mysterious government agency had decided that my stories hit a little too close to home. Maybe I was to be eliminated! I shuddered, then shook myself back to reality. That stack of suspense thrillers on my bedside table had apparently infected my brain!
I sighed.
“How do you know that wasn’t Steven taking the pictures?” Valentini asked, half-jokingly. “He was like that, you know. He was always one step ahead of the punch line. I wouldn’t put it past him.”
“I hope it was him,” I said. “At least I could trust him with the pictures.”
“He did have excellent comedic timing,” Pappas said.
“Fucking right it’s him,” Reingruber said, chomping down on another donut. “It was as if he came back to take pictures of me to get back at me taking pictures of him.” The light in his eyes flickered, then died out. He saw us staring at him. “Whatever, man. It could happen.” And he went back to eating his donut.
Seeing Reingruber like that, I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or cry for him, but what I did know was that my life was changing in ways I never could have predicted.
