Yes (3 page)

“Happy birthday, sunshine.”

“Thanks,” Ian said. “Although I don’t see what there is to be happy about.”

“You’re not going to be grumpy all weekend, are you? Haven’t you ever heard of aging gracefully?”

“I’m the birthday boy. If I want to be grumpy, that’s my prerogative.”

“Great. I can tell this is going to be a cheerful and upbeat two days.” Mark put the car into drive and headed back to the main road. “I want to point out, however, that I wasn’t grumpy on my fortieth birthday, last year.”

“You had a hundred people at your party. What did you have to be grumpy about?”

“Well, maybe if you had something in your life other than that damn coffee shop, you’d have more friends than just me.”

“I used to have lots of friends. It’s not my fault everyone ended up married or in rehab. Besides, I’m supposed to have dinner with someone next week.”

“A date?”

“Not exactly. The architect.”

“He asked you out? Oh my God, why didn’t you text me? That’s huge!”

“He didn’t ask me out. He said we should have dinner next week. As friends. We didn’t even exchange phone numbers. Besides, you know it would never work.”

“Why not? Friends is a good place to start.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. Forget about him, then. By this afternoon, we’re going to be so Rocky Mountain high that nothing else will matter.”

“You’re right. I’m as ready as Freddie Roscoe. I even loaded up my phone with John Denver last night, so bring on the legal weed.”

T
HEY
ARRIVED
at their hotel around noon and hit a gourmet burger joint for lunch. Although residents and tourists could now buy and possess a limited amount of marijuana in Colorado, they could not smoke it in public or even hotel rooms, making things difficult for tourists. Mark solved this problem by booking a room with a balcony, which still broke the law but greatly reduced the possibility of getting caught. After hitting a few shops and purchasing some samples, they went back to their room and spent the afternoon on what they dubbed, rather unimaginatively, Ian thought, the Mary Jane Terrace. As the sun set, they were joined by two young couples, one on each side of them, who had the same idea. They introduced themselves, but Ian forgot their names almost immediately. One of the women asked where they were from.

“Austin,” Mark said.

“Oh, we love Austin. Don’t we, Stephen?”

Her boyfriend or husband or whatever he was nodded. “Great music town.”

“We were there last month for South by Southwest. Terrible tragedy. What possesses a young man to drive into a crowd of people like that? We’re from Seattle, but our legal weed doesn’t start until this summer. Stephen works for Microsoft. What do you two do for a living?”

“I own a café near the UT campus.”

“And I’m a lawyer for the great state of Texas,” Mark said. “I work in the attorney general’s office. All the big cases.”

Ian grinned, because Mark didn’t work on any big cases for the attorney general’s office. He reviewed tax code legislation for the state Senate. But Ian could play this game, especially when they were stoned. “Did I mention that Sandy stopped in Friday for a latte?”

“No,” Mark said without missing a beat. “Is she filming
The Heat 2
?”

The woman sat forward in her chair. “Sandy?”

Mark turned to her. “Oh, sorry. Sandra Bullock. She lives in Austin, you know. Owns a restaurant and everything. She loves the chai lattes at Ian’s shop.”

“No shit?” Stephen said. “She was good in
Gravity
.”

Mark leaned in and lowered his voice. “She
loathed
the director, but if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny this conversation ever happened.”

“Are you boys a couple?” the woman on the other side of them asked. The man sitting next to her looked too baked to participate in the conversation.

“No,” Mark said. “Just friends. We know each other too well for anything more.”

“Did you grow up together?”

“Not quite,” Ian said. “We met in college, at UT. We lived in the same dorm.”

The second woman nodded. “I see.”

They were silent for several minutes. Then the first woman took a drag from her joint, blew out the smoke, and made a sweeping hand gesture toward the mountains. “Would you look at that fucking view?”

I
AN
AND
Mark took a short nap and then went out for a late dinner. Afterward, they strolled the streets of Lower Downtown until they chanced upon a narrow alley. At the end of the alley stood a small shop with a blue neon sign over the door.

Enchantmints

“Let’s check it out,” Ian said.

They walked the short distance and stepped into the shop. Bars, chocolates, licorice, taffies, gumdrops, and marshmallow treats were stacked in glass cases, waiting to be purchased and devoured. A prominent placard on the wall informed them that all the goods were infused with THC, the buzz-worthy chemical in pot.

“It’s like Willy Wonka for stoners,” Mark whispered.

“As if Willy Wonka wasn’t already for stoners.”

The concept of candy edibles represented an excellent workaround to the “no smoking in public” problem. There were a few tables for sitting, but instead of espresso on the menu, the chalkboard above the cash register listed a variety of candy-flavored sodas and hot chocolates. Since he didn’t see anyone, Ian yelled, “Hello?” A few moments later, a young man appeared from the rear of the store. He wore a black University of Colorado T-shirt and some puka shells around his neck. He had dirty-blond hair that fell into his eyes and an adorable, sheepish grin.

“Greetings, gentlemen. Welcome to Enchantmints. My name is Tad.”

“Do you own this place?” Ian asked.

“No, I just work here. I can answer any questions, though. I’m
highly
familiar with the merchandise.”

Mark stepped up to the counter. “What do you recommend?”

“Well, that depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. The gumdrops are much more energetic than your average high, and they come in fourteen different flavors. Very good for daytime activities like sightseeing. If you have altitude sickness, try the marshmallow crispies. They’re one of our best sellers. The peanut brittle is both delicious and powerful. Great for watching action movies but not romantic comedies or foreign flicks. Especially avoid anything French or starring Patrick Dempsey.”

“Even his early stuff?” Ian said, playing along with Tad’s shtick. “Like
Can’t Buy Me Love
, or maybe
Loverboy
?”

“Especially not his early stuff. You might be able to get away with
Transformers
, because it’s an action movie and has Shia LaBeouf as a bitter counterbalance, or possibly Dempsey’s obscure guest appearance as Matthew the sportscaster on
Will & Grace
. But tread lightly with
W&G
, dude—that shit’s like crack if you binge watch it. Now, if you’d rather kick it old school, you can’t go wrong with an excellent Alice B. Toklas brownie, even though the original recipe actually belonged to a young painter named Brion Gysin. I made these myself from a Nestlé recipe I found online. Full disclosure—they’re a heartbeat away from mushrooms. Perfect for camping in the mountains.”

Ian squatted down and peered into one of the cases. Under a tiny glass dome sat a single chocolate kiss wrapped in gold foil. A small sign sat next to the dome.

Made with Manick Butter!

$100

Ian stood up. “What’s Manick Butter?”

Tad got a sparkle in his eye. “That’s one of Mrs. Brown’s special editions.”

“Who’s Mrs. Brown?” Mark asked.

“No one really knows. She’s kind of shrouded in mystery. Lives up on Curtis Street. Some people say she’s a direct descendant of Molly Brown. But then I say, how do you explain the German accent? She bakes a lot of our specialty items and every once in a while does a limited run—four or five pieces with a totally unique high. Some have even called them magical. She gives each edition a distinctive name but never tells us what it means. For the big celebration this weekend, she only made one of these kisses. What is Manick Butter, you ask? The answer lies in the experience.”

“Boy, oh boy,” Mark said. “You’re good. It better be pretty spectacular for a hundred bucks, though.”

Tad nodded. “I agree it’s a risk, but I envy the lucky bastard who has the balls to go for it. Mrs. Brown has a real Zen approach to these one-of-a-kind chocolates. When she brought it in yesterday, I said, ‘Mrs. Brown, who’s gonna pay a hundred bucks for a single kiss?’ She looked me right in the eye and said, ‘Vatch, my leetle Tad. Zee keess vill find zee right coostomer.’ I’ve had a lot of tire kickers today, but no one’s taken the plunge.”

“I’ll take it,” Ian said.

“Are you crazy?” Mark exclaimed. “A hundred bucks for a single high? Don’t you know when you’re being Don Drapered? No offense, Tad.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“The place is called Enchantmints,” Ian said. “For one night, I want to have my delusion that something magical might happen to me, even if it’s just a really sweet buzz.”

Mark shook his head. “I’m not saying another word. Throw your money away if you want, but you’re an idiot.”

“I thought you weren’t going to say another word.” Ian turned back to Tad. “Could I have the kiss and two of the brownies, please?”

“You got it. Anything for you, sir?”

Mark nodded. “I’ll take two of the marshmallow crispies, six gumdrops—I don’t care what flavors, surprise me—and some of the peanut brittle.”

Tad rang up their order. Ian’s tab came to one hundred forty dollars and Mark’s to ninety. They left the shop and returned to their hotel, where they ate some of the peanut brittle, watched
Olympus Has Fallen
on pay-per-view, and fell asleep.

T
HE
NEXT
day they celebrated April 20 with gumdrops and the big rally at the Civic Center. The festivities continued into the evening with brownies and marshmallow crispies, all of which were excellent in both flavor and stonage. By the time they woke up on Monday morning, all the candy had been eaten, except for Ian’s chocolate kiss made with Manick Butter. He thought about it once or twice over the weekend, but the time never seemed right. In the taxi to the airport, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small candy box. He removed the top and revealed the foil-wrapped kiss. “Look what I forgot.”

“Your hundred-dollar high?” Mark said. “How could you forget that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you might as well eat it now. You can’t risk going through security with drugs.”

“Technically, it’s not pot.”

“Are you ready to explain that to a TSA agent when his dog barks the alarm?”

Ian unwrapped the kiss. It hadn’t melted in the slightest. “I don’t really want to do this right before I get on a plane, but I also don’t want to throw a hundred bucks away.”

“Just eat the goddamned thing.”

“You want half?”

Mark held up his hand. “No. I need to sober up. I haven’t had a weekend like that since I was twenty-one.”

Ian popped the kiss into his mouth and chewed. “Mmm, delicious. It’s made with a rich dark chocolate. What if it melts my skin or something?”

“You should have thought of that before you ate it.”

By the time they boarded the plane, Ian felt a little sleepy but not buzzed in the least. Mark inflated a neck pillow and covered his eyes with a mask. Once they reached cruising altitude, Ian put in his earbuds and listened to John Denver’s “Leaving on a Jet Plane.”

Then he too fell asleep.

I
AN
WOKE
up when a flight attendant brushed his arm with the beverage cart. The music in his ears had changed to one of the new Dime Box songs he purchased on Friday night. He looked at Mark, who was out cold, and then checked the time on his phone. They had been in the air for almost an hour, and he still didn’t feel stoned. He’d been bamboozled again.
What a waste of a hundred bucks
. Ian paused the music and stuffed the phone and earbuds into his pocket. He unbuckled his seat belt, stood up, and yanked at the waist of his jeans. He walked down the aisle to the rear of the plane, but the sign on the door of the bathroom read “Occupied.” As Ian waited, a beautiful and buxom young woman came down the aisle and joined him in line. He saw several men turn and follow her with their gaze as she passed.

She smiled at Ian. “You waiting for the bathroom?”

“I am.”

She tilted her head and said, “Me too.”

Was she flirting with him?

“You live in Austin?” she asked.

Ian nodded.

“Go to UT?”

He looked over her head and down the aisle toward Mark, to see if he had put her up to this, but he remained sound asleep. “Do you mean as a professor?”

Her bright smile faded. “No, as a student, silly. Unless you’re one of those supersmart freaks who graduated when he was twelve.”

An elderly man exited the toilet. Ian aborted his bizarre conversation with the young woman and stepped inside. He hunched over and closed the door, then threw the latch into the occupied position. A soft overhead light came on. Ian looked down at the steel bowl. He opened his pants and took a long piss, then zipped up and pulled his belt tight.

Ian looked down and saw two more notches than usual. That struck him as odd. He had dropped a pound or two in the last few weeks but not two notches worth. He flushed the toilet and turned toward the tiny basin. He soaped up his hands and checked his eyes in the mirror. They didn’t look bloodshot at—

Ian froze.

His eyes darted up and down his reflection. He immediately flashed back to the day, six years earlier, when he got hit by a car on his bike. He couldn’t feel his legs or feet for almost two days. The paralysis turned out to be temporary, but it gave Ian plenty of time to ponder his future. As the car hit him, he remembered thinking,
This could change everything
. After that, he slammed against the pavement and blacked out.