Original Love. J.J. Murray
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Название: Original Love
Автор: J.J. Murray
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
isbn: 9780758236111
isbn:
Peter had seen and heard the signs well before her departure. But because he was a child, he didn’t understand the sarcasm in his mother’s voice when she said, “We can’t possibly start the day without the Captain’s hot cup of damn Joe,” or “Everything is just hunky-fucking-dory, Petey.” He didn’t notice all the ingredients she bought at the pharmacy that she stirred into the Captain’s whiskey sours—“Just a little something extra special to help the Captain sleep.” He didn’t see the splotches on her face as bruises—just as gobs of makeup.
Christmas Eve 1975, another Christmas Eve service at the Methodist church. Dripping candles, wilting poinsettias, whining carols, never-ending prayers, Ian sticking his tongue out, the familiar reading from Matthew. Peter was twelve. During a guitar and flute performance of “What Child Is This?” his mother rose from the pew, kissed him on the forehead, said, “Be good, Petey,” and left the sanctuary.
“Woman always has to go to the head,” the Captain growled. He never lowered his voice, even in church, for he was always at sea, and this particular Christmas Eve he was swimming on a half-dozen whiskey sours. “She never could learn to hold her piss.”
And that’s the last time Peter ever saw his mother.
The next morning, after finding no Campbell’s Chicken and Stars cans in the pantry, Peter opened his gifts, and his father said nothing.
Nothing.
One day she was there, the next she was gone. Peter didn’t like God much for that, but he wasn’t going to tell Him. He had been praying for more freedom, for more excitement in his life, for something other than what he was experiencing every day. He wanted to tell God that He had missed, that His aim was off, that He was throwing too many breaking balls out of the strike zone. Though Peter was the one who prayed for the gift of freedom, his mother got to open that gift, and Peter became the Captain’s favorite Seaman Recruit to kick around from that day on.
Luckily, Peter knew where his mother had hidden the sleeping pills, the ones she used to crush to a fine powder and later slip into the Captain’s last whiskey sour of the day. Peter found that using a rolling pin was fairly effective and quieter than using the little hammer his mother had used, so he filled a plastic bag and emptied half of it into the Captain’s third whiskey sour the day after Christmas. The Captain was three sheets to the wind and out like the lights on the Christmas tree within twenty minutes.
Once Peter started powdering the Captain’s morning cup of Joe, he was finally free to roam the neighborhood…
Henry would want more back story here. He would say that I’m only scratching the surface, like the gulls outside my window swooping over the bay and dipping their wings into the foamy crests of waves. He would ask: “How did your mother’s leaving make Peter feel at the time? Won’t the reader find it hard to believe that it was ‘business as usual’ on Christmas morning without Peter’s mother there? And wouldn’t Peter’s father react in some other way than saying ‘nothing’?”
Maybe I’ve repressed a few things, but this is what I remember: the Captain sipping his coffee while I opened my gifts, eating limp bacon and watery eggs in the kitchen, going out on the Argo for our traditional Christmas Day cruise of Huntington Bay, and watching TV that night. Neither one of us spoke of Mom, and life continued pretty much as before the following day. Henry will have trouble accepting it, but Henry didn’t grow up with the Captain.
The phone rings. Speak of the devil.
“Hello, Henry.”
“How did you know it would be me?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“Okay, well, I got your message, Pete. Everything okay? How’s the novel coming?”
Which one? And I’m not “Pete” to anyone anymore. “Everything’s fine. I owe you some Earl Grey.” And your apartment is still far too white even with all the curtains open. I feel the need to spill something and leave a stain.
“Don’t worry about it. Will you have three chapters for me by Friday?”
“How about a preface and two chapters?”
“I’d rather have three chapters, Pete.”
Damn. There goes my afternoon. “Sure thing. You want me to e-mail them to you?”
“No, I’ll be coming down for the weekend. I’ll read them when I get there.”
But there’s only one bed, Henry. Oh, and the couch. “I’ll tidy up before you get here.”
“Having a wild party without me, Pete?”
My name is Peter. “Yeah.” Just me and some wild memories.
“Really? Who all is there?”
“I’ve only seen Carlton, Henry. I’m having a party of one.”
“Too bad. How’s the Poet looking?”
“I don’t know. Tan. Is he a Jets fan?”
Henry laughs. “Is he ever! Carlton hasn’t missed a home game since sixty-nine. I’ll bet he’s been wearing green.”
“Yeah.”
“He looks good in green. So how do you like the apartment?”
I still don’t have the advance money, so I lie. “You have the nicest place, Henry. It’s très chic.”
“Thank you. You don’t think the White Album is a bit much?”
“Oh, no. In fact, I think you should hang a picture of Barry White, too.”
“Funny. So I’ll see you this Friday?”
“I’ll still be here.”
“And if you want some scrumptious scallops and a place to forget your troubles for a few hours, go to Le Lethe. It’s just around the corner from you.”
“Henry, I can barely afford the rental car sitting across the bay.” The Nova is costing me fifty bucks a day just to get encrusted with salt.
“Tell the boys at Le Lethe that you’re a good friend of mine, and they’ll put it on my tab.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Take care, Pete.”
“I will.” Hen.
I hang up and check my e-mail. Nothing from Destiny. More Viagra mail. An offer to “Work at Home and Make $2000 a Week with Your COMPUTER!!!” An invitation to check out Mars Computer’s new laptop. I read the e-mail and chuckle over the company slogan: “Proving that High Price Doesn’t Mean Quality!” Another e-mail begs me to “UPGRADE YOUR LIFE for just $89.99!” Now that’s a bargain and a half. The last, from some dyslexic company playing on the fears and paranoia СКАЧАТЬ