Then We'd Be Happy Page 5
implication is clear enough, though. Or maybe not.
“So,” he says, “what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I ran into Naomi today.”
“Naomi and this guy?”
“Yeah.”
“Jason?”
“Yeah.”
“Who is he?”
“No idea.”
“Who did she say he was?”
“That’s just it. She didn’t.”
“Are you trying to tell me something, Luke?”
“No, just... what I said.”
The House in Sunnyvale
SPENCER IS TELLING ME about this house in Sunnyvale,
partially furnished, that we could rent if we go in together.
“The old tenants just moved out,” he says. “I know the
landlord, so we’re first in line.”
“How much?”
“How much can you afford?”
“What kind of question is that? Same as you,” I say.
“Unless you want to pay more.”
“I want the master bedroom so, yeah, I’ll pay a little
more...”
That’s when Marty shows up. He wants to know if
there’s room in the house for him.
“It’s two bedrooms,” Spencer says, “and I’m not
sharing.”
Marty looks at me. I shake my head.
“Come on, man,” he says. “You know what rents are
like with all the ones and zeros out there.”
“Ones and zeros?”
AL RISKE
“Yeah, you know, the coders. The big-bucks brainiacs.
The Googlers and Twits.”
That’s when Spencer says, “The room actually has
bunk beds.”
I wonder when he was going to tell me that.
Marty and I work out a deal that I already know I’m
going to regret. We move in on the first of June.
72
Runaround
THE HOUSE IS SMALL—two bedrooms, one bath—and
poorly insulated. Built in the 1950s, it has a tar-and-gravel
roof, single-pane windows with aluminum frames, and two
gas-powered wall heaters you can turn on or off. There is
no thermostat. Still, it’s a house, not an apartment.
I find Spencer in the living room with Naomi when I
get home from work. (They both had the day off and the
place smells of weed and tuna fish.)
Spencer says, “Dude, I think you owe Naomi an
apology.”
“I do? Why?”
“For telling Spencer I was fooling around on him,” she
says, leaning back, crossing her legs, and staring at me
through slitted eyes.
“I never said that.”
“No? What did you say?”
“I said I saw you in town, with that guy... what’s his
name?”
AL RISKE
“Jason?”
“Yeah, Jason. I said I ran into you and Jason.”
“And?”
“And nothing. I saw you and I mentioned I saw you.”
“You weren’t trying to suggest...”
“No, I swear.”
I’m lying now and Spencer knows it, but he lets me off
the hook.
“Relax, Dude, we’re just messing with you.”
Now they can barely contain themselves.
Spencer says, “You should have seen the look on your
face, man.”
Naomi is smiling, but hasn’t finished teasing me.
“Who did you think Jason was?”
“No idea,” I say. “Who is he?”
“My brother.”
“You have a brother?”
“He lives in Boston,” she says. “He was out here on
business.”
“Oh,” I say.
They both bust up laughing.
74
Day in the Life
SPENCER AND I HAVE different days off, which is probably
a good thing. We see enough of each other at work and
home. Marty is on a different schedule altogether. I don’t
know what he does with his time. I hope he’s out there
hunting for a job.
I look forward to my days off, but then, sometimes, I
don’t know what to do with myself. Some days I head
over to the park to see if I can get into a pick-up game;
other days I just don’t have the energy. Some days I drive
to the beach; other days I can’t afford the gas.
I used to visit my mom and dad at least once a week,
but that’s a little trickier than it used to be. Mom has been
picking up temp jobs, so I’m never sure if she’s going to
be home. My dad continues to work in Facilities for one
of the valley’s high-tech giants—a lot of his time is spent
reconfiguring cubicles and moving computers and phones
from place to place as the company continually
AL RISKE
reorganizes itself—and he has tons of crazy stories to tell
about so-called corporate efficiency.
I know he’s always glad to see me, but I feel bad
because I have yet to start paying him back for the car
loan. Not that he’d ever say anything (Bank of Dad offers
exceptionally lenient terms) but I feel like such a deadbeat.
Today I sleep late, shower, masturbate, shave,
masturbate, eat a bowl of cereal, masturbate. Life is good,
but I need to figure out how to make it better before I go
blind.
76
A Dried White Substance
NAOMI SHARES A STORY about the chef de cuisine—the
guy in charge of the menu—where we work:
“Some snake face came into the restaurant one night
and Vince took her up to the office and screwed her on
the couch,” she says. “Next day the owner is sitting on the
couch and notices a dried white substance on the leather.”
We all make disgusted faces.
“He scrapes it off with his fingernail and says, ‘Who’s
been eating chowder up here?’”
Class Warfare
ON THE BEACH IN Santa Cruz, not far from the
Boardwalk, we all huddle around our little driftwood
bonfire. We drink Budweiser, the King of Beers, from
long-necked bottles and stare into the flames. The sun
went down hours ago.
“What the fuck is wrong with this country?” Spencer
wants to know.
“Everybody’s scared,” I say.
“Scared of what? Terrorists?”
“Forget terrorists. People are scared of losing what
they’ve got.”
“If they’ve got anything,” Nita adds.
“Yeah,” Naomi says, “they’re afraid we’re going to rise
up and take our share.”
Spencer pokes the fire with a stick, says: “We should,
too, you know.”
“Right on, brother. Class warfare. I’m in.”
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
That would be Marty. I ask if he’s going to occupy Wall
Street.
“Hell, no, I say we raid the place. Steal from the
stealers.”
“Right. We can abscond with all their mortgage-backed
securities.”
“No, Luke, those we stuff up their bungholes.”
“Mmm, good place for them.”
“Right back where they came from, my friend.”
“So what do we steal?”
“We steal their identities, man. No one will touch us if
we’re them.”
“Cayman Islan
ds, here we come.”
The wind is blowing now, bringing in clouds that block
out the moon. I’ve already eaten three hot dogs but start
to roast a fourth.
“Why not? You think those Wall Street bastards
deserve their bailouts and bonuses?”
Naomi finishes her beer and throws the bottle at our
bonfire. It doesn’t break, though. I think we’re all
disappointed.
“They don’t even do anything real,” she says.
“Got that right,” Marty says. “Wall Street is one big
casino, and the house always wins.”
“Where else can you get million dollar bonuses for
driving the whole country into the ground?” I ask.
79
AL RISKE
“It’s not just Wall Street,” Naomi says. “It takes us a
month—at least—to make what the average CEO makes
in one hour. One fucking hour. You think those jackasses
work four hundred times harder than we do? You think
they’re four hundred times smarter?”
Nita zips up her jacket.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” she says. “If they’re so smart,
why are they all such miserable pricks?”
80
Missing in Action
REMEMBER WHEN EVERY MALL had a bookstore? Now it’s
rare. Now whole towns don’t have one.
Bad news for book lovers. Bad news for me. My part-
time gig has vanished behind butcher-papered windows.
I’ll miss the extra income and the hefty discount on
Longmire mysteries.
Funny Man
THE HOUSE IS SMALL and there’s only one bathroom.
This is a problem.
Marty takes long showers with the door locked.
“Can’t a guy get a few minutes to himself?” he says.
But it’s not a few minutes. It’s half an hour or more.
“You getting clean in there?” Spencer asks through the
door. “Or getting dirty?”
“Funny man,” Marty says.
This goes on for weeks and it’s still funny.
The trick of course is to get in there before Marty does.
Secret Recipe
NAOMI COMES TO THE counter and calls Spencer over.
“I have a customer who wants to know the secret of
our spaghetti sauce,” she says. “What gives it its
sweetness?”
“Sugar.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, there’s a tiny bit of sugar in the recipe.”
“I’m not telling him that.”
Spencer shrugs.
“I’m telling him you refused to reveal the secret.”
Garden Party
SMOKE FROM THE BARBECUE swirls around the backyard
in a shifting breeze.
Nita breathes it in.
“Don’t you just love it?” she asks.
I nod.
“It’s one of my favorite smells,” she says.
“Mine too.”
“Right up there with fresh baked bread and wet pine
needles.”
“Hmm, to me, nothing beats the smell of freshly
ground coffee beans,” I say, “and bacon sizzling in a pan.”
“That your way of inviting me to stay for breakfast?”
“If you don’t mind sharing the top bunk with me.”
“Or you could share the bottom bunk with me.”
This generous offer comes from Marty, of course. Nita
swallows the last of her rum and Coke, holds up her
empty tumbler.
“Couple more of these and I may take you up on that.”
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
It’s not entirely clear which one of us she’s referring to.
Naomi says, “Spencer has a king-size bed. I think you’d
be more comfortable with us.”
“Plenty of room,” Spencer says.
He flips burgers on the Weber and grins. Nita smiles
back at him and Naomi. Such a tease. Almost as bad as
Naomi herself.
Marty and I look at each other and shake our heads.
They just say shit like that because they know what it does
to our perverted minds.
All the same, I take Nita’s glass and mix another drink
for her.
85
Ariel’s Appeal
A BIG PART OF Ariel’s appeal is she knows what she wants.
She knows and lets you know.
You don’t have to guess.
You don’t have to try to decipher subtle clues; the clues
are obvious.
She might open with something like: “You’re cute. I
could eat you up.”
If you look surprised by some risqué remark she makes,
she will lean in close and whisper in your ear: “Women
like sex, too, you know.”
Her hand will be on your thigh as she tells you this.
She may suggest you’re too drunk to drive and offer
you a lift.
In the car she’ll get you talking about yourself—she’s a
good listener—and the next thing you know you’re pulling
into the driveway of her house in Los Altos. This will
surprise her.
THEN WE’D BE HAPPY
“Sorry,” she’ll say. “I must have been on autopilot.
Well, as long as we’re here you might as well come in and
I’ll suck you off… I mean, fix you a drink.”
87
Into the Crowd
NAOMI SHARES A QUOTE someone shared with her:
“Just about everyone, at some time in their lives, feels
like walking into a crowd with a machine gun and just
opening fire at about waist level, and anyone who hasn’t
had that feeling deserves a place in that crowd.”
She can’t remember who said it or who shared it with
her, but she wants to know how she can get her hands on
a machine gun. All because Vince tells her she’ll have to
put in a full year before she can qualify for a raise.
Owner’s policy, he says. No exceptions. Nothing he
can do about it.
All Out
I HEAR MARTY BANGING around in our funky blue and
yellow kitchen, muttering and cursing. I’m stretched out
on the sofa, watching a steady stream of Family Guy reruns
on the ancient Trinitron that came with all the other
furnishings in the house. I don’t want to get up, so I just
yell:
“What’s the matter, big guy?”
“We’re out of beer.”
“No way.”
“Way.”
I get up, grudgingly, and go into the kitchen.
“I bought a six pack yesterday,” I tell him.
Marty shrugs. I look in the fridge.
“What the fuck, Marty?”
“Must have been that bastard Spencer.”
I fold my arms.
“Spencer? Really?”
AL RISKE
“I’m telling you, that dawg can really put away the
brewskis.”
All I can do is shake my head.
“I didn’t have a single bottle of my own beer.”
“Buy a case next time,” he says. “It’s cheaper that way.”
90
Sweetness
TURNS OUT NITA LIVES on the same street as us, just two
blocks south. Sometimes I see her on the front porch,
sitting in an old-fashioned swing with Kayla, so I’ll stop
and chat with them.
“Need anything from the store?” I’ll say, because I’m
always on my way to the corner grocery.
Kayla, no longer shy with me, wants candy. She knows
I’m a soft touch.
Nita usually says no, but sometimes I get candy anyway.
Something we can share. Almond Joy is perfect because it
comes in two sections.
I get two so Nita and her mom can share the other one.
Her mom rarely comes out on the porch, though. She has
yet to warm up to me.
“As of tomorrow I have only had one cigarette in two
weeks,” Nita tells me. “That one was only because I was
soooo mad at my ex.”
“Why? What did he do?”
AL RISKE
“Nothing. That’s the problem. He’s supposed to…”
She stops because she doesn’t want to dis Kayla’s
father in front of her. I nod. This is the first time she’s
talked about him, but I get it. He’s a jerk and she’s pissed.
“How long were you married?”
“Oh, God, a long, loooong time,” she says. “It must
have been two months or more.”
92
Good Thing Gone
I WAS WITH TANYA for two years. I thought we had a good
thing going. I even thought we might get married at some
point.
I see now that it was never going to work.
I was just some guy she was with while she waited for
someone better to come along. Someone serious.
Someone who could take her out to dinner and never look
at the right side of the menu.
I wonder if she’s happy now.
I miss her.
That Mischievous Smile
WE’RE AT A PARTY for Naomi’s roommate, who is
celebrating her twenty-fourth birthday. In the hallway
outside the bathroom, I notice a picture on the wall. It
shows a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, with a