Benchley, Peter - Novel 07 (23 page)

 
          
 
"Fine." She nodded, and her lips
tightened.

 
          
 
That's a smile she's trying to hold in there!
Preston was amazed, envious, filled with admiration. If I could ever be that
composed, I would rule the world.

 
          
 
"What it is," Lupone said, "I'm
not gonna play the game, see, 'cause I don't have the problem you guys got
here. The only problem I got is that I'm here, and the reason I'm here is that
if I don't come, my fuckin' cousin's gonna drown me, f crissakes. So I got
twenty-seven days to go, and I can do twenty-seven days standing on my head and
suckin' my thumb, you better believe it, I done a lot longer than that a couple
times, long as you keep off my back. Okay? We got a deal?"

 
          
 
Marcia paused. "We got a deal," she
said. She reached into a pocket and pulled out a quarter and flipped it at
Lupone. "The deal is, you go make a phone call."

 
          
 
“To who?"

 
          
 
“A taxi. You're outa here."

 
          
 
Lupone held the quarter and looked at it as if
it were a scorpion. He said, "Hey ..."

 
          
 
“S the matter, William?"

 
          
 
''I can't!”

 
          
 
"Sure you can." She smiled.
"It's easy. Reach out, reach out and touch someone."

 
          
 
Lupone just sat there.

 
          
 
"Is it the money you're worried about?
Don't. We're better than the car companies. Full money-back guarantee. Think of
the detox as a public service."

 
          
 
"Money." Lupone snorted.
"Besides, I'm on scholarship."

 
          
 
"Scholarship!" Marcia laughed.
"What're you, the prize junkie from the Sisters of Holy Charity?"

 
          
 
"Forget it." Lupone bit his lip and
shook his head, as if he had spoken out of turn.

 
          
 
"Who gave you a scholarship?"

 
          
 
Lupone paused. Then he turned to Marcia and
shouted, "You don't get it, do you, lady? Fuckin' guy's gonna drown
me!"

 
          
 
"This isn't the Red Cross, William. I'm
not a lifeguard. Go on. Beat it."

 
          
 
Lupone stared at the quarter. Then he sighed
and tossed it back to Marcia. "I'll talk."

 
          
 
"Good."

 
          
 
"What you wanna talk about?"

 
          
 
"Trust. You don't trust people, do
you?"

 
          
 
"Why should I?"

 
          
 
"Why shouldn't you?"

 
          
 
"Trust is for people who wanna end up in
a landfill.''

 
          
 
"Who says?"

 
          
 
"What they teach you, right outa the
gate."

 
          
 
"Who's 'they'?"

 
          
 
"They."

 
          
 
"In your line of work, you mean."

 
          
 
"Right."

 
          
 
"What line of work is that?"

 
          
 
"Market research." He didn't smile
or snigger. He just said it.

 
          
 
"Sounds like a tough line of work, market
research."

 
          
 
Watch out, Willy-boy. Preston's eyes were
bouncing back and forth between them as if this were a Ping-Pong game. She's
getting chatty. You're gonna die.

 
          
 
"You could say."

 
          
 
"Stand up, William."

 
          
 
"Huh?"

 
          
 
"Stand up."

 
          
 
Lupone hunched his shoulders—like a turtle
protecting its head—and squinted at Preston and Hector and Twist and Cheryl,
and then at Marcia.

 
          
 
He looked suspicious, wary, trying to decide
if this was a plot, to figure what would happen if he stood up. All the faces
were benignly blank.

 
          
 
He relaxed his shoulders and rolled off one
cheek and then off the other, and on the second roll his forward momentum
tipped the balance of his weight out over his feet.

 
          
 
Marcia stood, and she kicked her chair back
and broke the circle. Now the others knew what was up, so they stood and moved
their chairs back.

 
          
 
Hector and Twist shared an incredulous glance.
Cheryl took a step backward, trying to will herself to a different country.
Preston
cleared his throat and said to Marcia,
"You’re serious?"

 
          
 
"Shut up, Scott."

 
          
 
"Come on, he weighs—"

 
          
 
"I said shut up!"

 
          
 
Lupone said, "Hey ..."

 
          
 
"Now, William," Marcia said,
"this is about trust. I want you to stand with your hands at your sides,
and I want you to close your eyes."

 
          
 
"What's this got to do with—"

 
          
 
"Do it."

 
          
 
Lupone treated her to a viperous glare. Then,
pressing his lips together and making a guttural growling sound, he stood at
attention and closed his eyes.

 
          
 
"When you're ready, William, I want you
to let yourself go and fall backward."

 
          
 
"What?" Lupone kept his eyes closed.

 
          
 
"That's right. Just tip back on your heels
and go."

 
          
 
"You nuts? You want I should break
something? I could get a rupture."

 
          
 
"You'll never touch the ground, William.
Your friends'll catch you."

 
          
 
"I got no friends."

 
          
 
"Here you've got friends. That's what I'm
telling you."

 
          
 
"They'll let me fall."

 
          
 
"What makes you think so?"

 
          
 
"People always do. It's my curse."

 
          
 
"These people won't."

 
          
 
"You know what I weigh? Almost three
hundred."

 
          
 
"Then that'll be a real challenge for
them, William, won't it? They'll really have to want to catch you."

 
          
 
"Why should they? They don't give a fuck
about me."

 
          
 
“We'll see/'

 
          
 
"No. You'll see." Lupone opened his
eyes and held out his hand. "Gimme the quarter."

 
          
 
He's bluffing. Preston tried to read Lupone's
eyes, but he couldn't see them. They were hidden beneath curtains of fat. He
looked at Marcia. She doesn't know, either, not for sure.

 
          
 
Marcia said, "I don't think so."

 
          
 
Lupone shrugged. A tight little smile puckered
his lips. "Your candy store. But there's no way I'm gonna—"

 
          
 
"I'll make the call for you." She
took a step toward the door.

 
          
 
Lupone paused, then decided to take the game
forward. "Tell them to have my dough ready. It was about four thousand
bucks they took.''

 
          
 
"Oh, I'm not gonna call a cab." She
reached for the doorknob.

 
          
 
"So who you gonna call?"

 
          
 
"There's a Mr. Ciccio."

 
          
 
Lupone twitched as if he'd touched an electric
fence. The twitch sent ripples through the fat around his collar. "Hey . .
."

 
          
 
"Mr. Joseph Ciccio. Maybe you don't call
him that. Maybe you use the name they put in the papers."

 
          
 
"You don't got his number."

 
          
 
He's reaching. Preston saw Marcia smile. She's
got him.

 
          
 
"Gimme a break, William. You put a number
in case of emergency on the form when they admitted you. I call that number. I
tell them the problem. They get hold of Mr. Ciccio. Bet on it." She held
the quarter between her fingertips and wiggled it at Lupone. "What I don't
remember, though, is is his nickname Mamba or Mambo? I mean, does he have
rhythm or does he bite people? I don't want to call the man by the wrong name,
like, 'Hey there, Mr. Mambo,' if that's not his—"

 
          
 
"I'll take the fuckin' fall."

 
          
 
"I know you will, William." She
dropped the quarter into her pocket and returned to the spot in front of
Lupone. "See how easy it is to be reasonable?"

 
          
 
"I don't want to drown is all."

 
          
 
"That's reasonable." She leaned
forward and placed Lupone's hands at his sides and patted them, then raised a
palm to his eyes and touched his eyelids and brushed downward, the way you
close the eyes of a corpse. "Trust me."

 
          
 
"Sure." Lupone chuckled. "You
mean like they say in the movie business? In Hollywood, 'trust me' translates
'fuck you.' "

 
          
 
"Ssshhh." She raised a finger to
Hector and Twist and pantomimed that they should stand on either side of Lupone
and make a cradle with their arms down near the floor. Then she gestured for
Preston to get on his knees and raise his hands in front of his shoulders. She
pointed at Cheryl—frail, dark-eyed and frightened—and directed her to one of
Lupone's hands.

 
          
 
When everyone was in position, Marcia said,
"When you're ready, William."