Chapter 3

He woke up the next afternoon not remembering what had happened the night before. He stumbled to the telephone and quickly dialed his boss in a heated rush as he wouldn’t be showing up for work that day, and judging by the crumpled crème-colored card that he found in the palm of his hand, he also had an appointment with Artie Tedesco that he hoped to avoid, considering how nauseous he felt. He swore that he would never go to the bar to drink again, regardless if this Artie Tedesco brokered the peace accord between him and the barmaid who allowed him to remain at the bar sucking down beers until it closed.

“Where the hell are you, Charlie,” yelled his boss over the phone. “We’re busy as hell today.”

“I should have called sooner, I know,” he said as he lay in bed. “Damn right you should have called sooner. The phones are ringing off the hook, and I’ve had to fill out all of these new leases myself.”

“Sorry about that, but I had a little emergency.”

“Are you alright, kiddo? What’s going on?”

“I slipped and fell in the bathroom, and I kind of knocked myself out.”

His boss laughed at this.

“I’m okay, though. I’ve got some gauze pads and bandages here at home. I must have been out for several hours.”

“That’s the ol’ Zero blood in ya, kid. Your father slipped and fell a lot too, but mostly when he was totally drunk. I guess you got that from him.”

“I guess I did, yeah. But I’m sorry I can’t make it in today. My head is spinning.”

“Next time watch your step. If you were hunting game in the wild, you would have been shot for clumsiness by now. Watch your step next time.”

“I’ll be in tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried, no, but there’s a lot of paperwork waiting on your desk, so you may want to come in early and leave late. Too much work to be done, but I’m sure you’ll catch up.”

“I’ll be in first thing tomorrow. I’ll get all of it done.”

“I’ll get another tin of coffee for you, ‘cause you’re gonna need it. You just take care of yourself, Charlie. That’s what your father would have wanted me say. See you tomorrow.”

When Charlie hung up the phone, the room started to spin as though tripping over the edge of a bathtub actually happened. He didn’t like lying to his boss, but he couldn’t exactly tell him he got plowed the night before either. He stumbled into the kitchenette and shook out a couple of aspirin from the bottle. He wanted the stuff to work right away but knew it would take a couple of hours before the analgesic bore into his blood. He also swore never to drink again as flashes of being thrown out of the pub seeped into focus, and he knew they wouldn’t let him back in if he returned too soon. He didn’t remember much more than a few muscled guys yelling at him as the bar shut down, and suddenly he felt horribly guilty for causing all of the trouble that he did, although remaining at the bar ranting and raving about God-knows-what was indeed a type of freedom that no one really permitted any more. Neither did he want to test those cruel waters again. And yet Artie Tedesco’s phone number sat in his fist like a ball of wet putty.

He didn’t know if he should visit this man or not, because Charlie wasn’t in the right kind of shape to work out or to lift weights, considering his hangover. And Renee was the one who gave the final order to have him thrown out of the pub, so it wasn’t the case that she’d soon cozy up to him just because he suddenly paid a visit to Artie one afternoon. His nausea was so pronounced that he wondered if visiting him would serve any purpose. His thoughts were as disjointed and fragmented as a smashed mirror when he woke up, so he wouldn’t have been the best company or the best conversationalist in the world if he did go. Nevertheless, he called Artie and said that he would be over. Artie actually seemed fairly cheerful about it, as he remembered him from the night before. Apparently, Artie wasn’t the type to get drunk and forget whom he met. Artie must have been at the bar for other reasons than just getting drunk and passing out, which is what most patrons of the bar did. Nevertheless, he did say to come over when he called, which meant that the night before wasn’t just drunk talk.

He slipped on a pair of sneakers and donned a pair of sweats and was determined to visit him considering how impressive the man had been the night before. He remembered the silk of Artie’s tie, his diamond-encrusted ring, and the tightness of his face as though he had emerged from the pages of a magazine. Artie was the first person he had met at the pub in a while, and while he didn’t exactly know what business he dealt in, he did know that such a man could one day bail him out of jail if he happened to become his fast friend. So with his nausea on full throttle, he cautiously left his apartment hoping to avoid any confrontation with the big muscled guys who mauled him the night before, should he be so lucky as to find them out on the street corner somewhere. He even wore a cap and a pair of shades so that he could walk the streets without being noticed. Hopefully he could avoid exercising as well. Perhaps Artie would permit him to sleep on his couch for a few hours.

Aside from his hangover, however, the day promised to be another bout with a cold drizzling rain that had been more common than snowfall this time of year. Puddles of black water blocked his path and had gathered all along the sidewalks, especially in the dips of the pavement where there was poor drainage. Since he wore sneakers, the water bled right into his toes. He usually wore only one steady coat through all kinds of weather, and luckily it held up against the pellets of drizzling rain that came misting in from above. A cold and horrendous day. He moved quickly along the sidewalks and finally caught the local bus that took him to the outer edges of the town.

His town bordered on another suburb that was much more lush, replete, and stately than the one he left behind. Charlie had rarely traveled so far out of his district, as the town next door was more or less an exclusive retreat that housed the county’s wealthiest residents. Funny how their money never trickled down. The town sign that demarcated this very wealthy section against the working class industrial zone that he came from was a like a check point or a gate that might as well have been manned by armed guards or separated by coils of razor wire. The divide was strict, and as soon as the bus arrived at its last stop, Charlie knew his behavior had to be good, his gait straight and more refined in order to avoid the patrol cars that had a good reputation for arresting outsiders. Hardly anyone from town ever came out this far, but perhaps some of the college kids had traveled from their parents’ estates to the main campus in reverse, as they were able to pay for the county’s only college on the cheap. But the wealth he knew of here was more unassuming than ostentatious. There were rows of tall hedges that he now walked against that hid very princely homes that were some of the most desirable in the entire state. Every once in a while he would pass by a gap in the hedges and peek through the tangled spaces of branches to behold a vast lawn or even an emerald golf course slick with the drizzle that nourished its greens. He figured that it was an area that he wasn’t supposed to be in, and such a status made him so self-conscious and aware of his demeanor that he almost turned around and quitted the place entirely. Strangely enough, there was very little noise, very few cars, and almost no one walked along the wet roadways. He guessed that people from his side of the tracks knew better than to wander into a town that was too lush, too green, and too exclusively private. The road curved into a soft, rolling hillside, the shrubs at his sides standing eight or nine feet tall.

An oncoming car then passed by him. A white, starry couple sat in the front seats, their wipers slapping against the edges of their car windshield. The couple both had dark sunglasses on despite the soggy weather. They seemed like foreigners to him or at least a part of a group that the legal or civic bodies in the county couldn’t touch. He felt a warm nervousness at the center of him, as he knew he didn’t belong there and probably looked like the type of vagrant that the police would escort back to where he came from, but he continued on despite his nervousness. If he showed any sign of humanity just then, they would have arrested him for walking peacefully down an empty road with his hands in his pockets. Luckily no one else passed him, and after a good fifteen or twenty minutes of wandering along the roads and checking the numbers on each gate, he stumbled upon a cul-de-sac that led to one of the more sizable homes in the area.

A wall of tall shrubs lined the property, so he couldn’t see inside. He simply arrived at the gate wondering how to get in, as the gate itself was locked from the inside. There didn’t seem to be an intercom or a buzzer to alert Artie that he had arrived, but he double-checked the street number, and it surely was Artie Tedesco’s home.

He did notice a security camera attached to one of the telephone poles that lined the cul-de-sac. It swept its gazing eye from side to side, stopping only when it spotted him waiting down below it. Charlie looked into its blackened lens with all the trepidation of a pigeon readying itself for flight, as surely he was now marked as a sore thumb. Even though the dark sky cloaked him in shadow, he could still feel a nervous warmth pool into the well of his stomach. He thought his attempt to enter the place could either go really well or very badly. He stood below the camera for several minutes, waving at the lens every few moments.

To his relief, the gate then clicked open automatically and permitted his entrance onto the grounds. He breathed easier. He traveled along a gravel driveway surrounded by tall trees that fed into dense forest on either side of him. Where this driveway led he wasn’t sure. He dutifully followed it as the sky poured all over him. He hoped to arrive somewhere soon. Thankfully he was no longer so nervous but only a little mystified by how large the forest surrounding him was. He had little idea what kind of life the folks out this way lived, but it seemed that their lifestyles were both luxurious and a bit idyllic. He found it downright unfair that such an inequality existed, savagely unfair to say the least, and he had little idea what made Artie so special to have been granted such generous prosperity. Charlie might as well have been in a state park somewhere or on some natural preserve where eco-tourists and adventure freaks flocked for their regularly-scheduled pagan rituals. He even spotted a few white-tailed deer grazing on an empty patch of ground until the road finally ended. When it did, he confronted an average-sized castle of sorts made of heavy, smooth stone. Only a moat to protect the Renaissance setting and a lowered drawbridge to let him inside were missing from the dazzling work of architecture that stood before him. He confronted a heavy wooden door and banged on it several times using a heavy silver knocker that was shaped like a large ram’s horn. He swung the knocker several times, as no one answered him at first, but on his forth and final knock Artie Tedesco in a pair of spandex shorts and a white tank top stood at the entrance.

A white towel hung around his neck, and his face was drenched in sweat. A ring of perspiration had spread from the neck of his tank- top all the way down to his ribs. He seemed a little dazed and light- headed, but he certainly hadn’t forgotten about their meeting. In fact, Charlie was roughly fifteen minutes late for the appointment, and he bid a shy and tired hello to Artie.

“You always show up late?” asked Artie, wiping off the sweat from his forehead.

“Sorry, I—”

“Sorry nothing,” said Artie. “You should show some respect and show up on time.”

“Hey, I’m sorry. The buses were running a bit late, and it’s my first time traveling to this area.”

“What? You’ve never been around here before?”

“No, not really. I live a few blocks down from the pub where we met last night, and so it’s my first time being around here. I think I was at a house party in these parts way back in high school, and I had to walk all the way home. No taxis or buses running around here. So I never came out here again.”

Artie looked at him askance for a moment or two, wondering if he should believe him or not.

“I swear to God,” said Charlie with a grin on his face.

Artie still looked at him suspiciously while waiting in the doorway. After a few moments, he smiled and said, “Okay, why don’t you come on in. I forgive you this time, but the next time you do this to me, I’ll be really pissed off, okay?”

Artie waved him in, and Charlie followed him into the house through a long hallway that had cherry-wood paneling and creaky wooden floors. Large lounge rooms opened up on either sides of the hallway. Each of these lounge rooms had fieldstone fireplaces at the head of the room and also large Persian rugs that covered the floors. From what he could see, these rooms were immaculately kept— the sofas, chairs, and long tables meticulously arranged. The long hallway soon opened into a large kitchen and pantry area that looked like it had been custom made for the most discerning of chefs. The floor of this pantry was made of the same smooth stone that was the foundation of the house. These were rectangular floor-stones of beige and brown that fanned out for several hundred feet. The stove and the grill were stationed at an island in the middle of the pantry. Above this island of cooking equipment hung a large exhaust chimney made of brightly-polished copper that seemed to hang right out of the plaster ceiling. On the walls of the pantry were wooden shelves stocked with the most professional of appliances. They appeared to be brand new and hardly used.

“You must be quite a cook,” said Charlie excitedly.

“I dabble,” said Artie who led him through the pantry and then into a large workout room a bit deeper into the house.

The workout room could have been a part of any professional gymnasium where people had to fork over large sums of money for membership. The floors of blonde wood and tall mirrored walls could have easily been a part of a studio for professional dancers or musical- types who worked the Broadway stage. A black baby grand piano sat in the corner ready to be played, and practice bars where ballet dancers would have normally hoisted their legs were affixed waist- level along the walls.

“My two daughters practice in here. They’re both ballerinas.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had children.”

“I do. I have two daughters—one’s eight, and the other is three. They’re out on the Coast right now with my wife. I’m stuck here all alone this week.”

“Any sons?”

“Not yet, no, but we’re working on it.”

“This is quite a place to be stuck,” said Charlie craning his neck back to take in the expanse of the place.

Just beyond the dance studio, Artie led him to another room that hid behind the piano. There they found an array of stainless steel exercise equipment—everything from gleaming bench presses, weight machines, and chrome dumbbells, to stair masters, treadmills, and aerobic elliptical machines. Another set of mirrored walls made the weight room seem four or five times as large, and Charlie even ran into a couple of walls before realizing that the room had a boundary that was a bit smaller than what he could see.

“Watch yourself in here. You don’t want to bust a kneecap on this equipment.”

Charlie also noticed a whirlpool and a cedar sauna in the corner of the room—two items he wanted to take advantage of before Artie sent him back home.

“You’re a little late,” said Artie, “so maybe a workout isn’t in the cards today.”

Artie then jumped on the treadmill and resumed his steady run as Charlie watched him steadily gain speed from behind.

“I’ve got to hand it to you, Artie. You really have quite a place here.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” he huffed. “We tend to like it a lot. Since you’re not working out, why don’t you take a hot tub or a sauna or something.”

“I would love to, but I didn’t bring my swim trunks.”

“There are some in the changing room. Help yourself.”

As Artie ran on the treadmill, Charlie donned the swim trunks he found in a marble-covered shower room and settled slowly into the bubbling waters of the hot tub. The water softened the stiffness in his body. No longer did he feel so nauseous or sick from the night before. He watched from afar as Artie’s speed on the treadmill gradually quickened into a full sprint that he held for several minutes, sweat dripping from his body and his arms pumping like overdriven pistons. It amazed him how long Artie held his sprint on the machine, as it was something Charlie would never have the stamina to do himself. He tried ducking the idea of working out with him as the hot water loosened his muscles and relaxed his stiff bones. The heat on his body felt so good that he almost fell asleep. The steam hovering above the water also softened the tension in his facial muscles, and the bubbling jets of water worked their way beneath his skin and massaged whatever soreness had been stored in his calves and thighs. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sleepy.

Artie cooled down on the treadmill to a slow jog and then stopped altogether. He wiped down his body and also wiped down the machine when he was through.

He expected Artie to jump into the hot tub with him, but instead he paced from one end of the exercise room to the other, watching himself in the oversized mirrors like a caged lion. Charlie did think him to be in excellent shape for someone nearing forty, he presumed, and perhaps he’d live a long time because of his dedication to exercise. Charlie laughed to himself when he considered how he would keel over long before Artie ever would, as Charlie was really very out-of-shape compared to him. Charlie, however, was naturally well-built and had played second-string defensive end for his high school football team at one point. Too much work in offices and too much beer-drinking, however, went right to his gut, which was now a small paunch that he squeezed every so often just to make sure he didn’t reach obesity. His pants were already too tight, and his hair was thinning. Artie was the perfect specimen by contrast, and Charlie tried not to get too down about how far off the cliff he had tumbled. He was thankful he had met Artie, and that’s all that mattered—that and the warm water that carried him off into comfort. And then an electronic beeping sound interrupted his trance.

Artie ended his lionhearted pacing in front of the mirrors and answered the monitor which had a view of the front gate. Charlie couldn’t make out who was visiting, but when he made an attempt to get out of the tub, Artie insisted that he relax and stay put. Apparently Artie had visitors, which made Charlie a little nervous again, but he stayed in the tub and waited patiently.

When Artie returned, he was flanked by two young Asian women who couldn’t have been much older than twenty-five or so. They hung on Artie’s shoulders, smiled a lot, and conversed in what may have well been Korean, Chinese, or Japanese—Charlie couldn’t tell. What surprised him even more was how Artie talked with them in their native tongue, as he spoke their language fluently. All three of them exchanged ebullient laughs and giggles, Artie’s arms hugging their waists. The two Asian girls then removed their coats, each of them wearing black spandex workout clothes underneath that exposed a little more of their petite bodies. Charlie immediately thought that they too would join Artie in lifting weights or running a few miles on the treadmill, but he was wrong. The Asian women were there to work out, yes, but in a different way.

“You were late today,” said Artie, “and normally I wouldn’t do this for people I just met, but next time you’ll be on time. Next time you’ll be ready to work out.”

And just when he thought all three of them would walk away, Artie left with only one of the women, leaving the other remaining girl alone in the weight room with Charlie.

The Asian woman smiled as she walked up to the edge of the hot tub. She leaned over its marble sides and ran her fingers along the surface of the water.

“What’s your name?” she asked him coyly.

“Charlie.”

“Charlie. That’s a nice name. You want massagi, Charlie?”

“What?”

“Massagi? You want massagi?”

“Oh, a massage. Where?” as he looked for around for Artie in a near panic.

The girl then pointed to a back room.

“Sure, I’ll have a massage. Why not?”

She left for a few moments and then returned with a couple of towels. She asked him to get out of the tub, which Charlie did nervously since he only had his swim trunks on. She smiled to him as she peeled the wet trunks off his body. She then dried him off with the towels. She carefully dried every space of skin, and she did so with the comfort and gentleness of a mother drying a newborn after a warm bath. She knelt beneath him and dried off his legs and calves, his thighs and his abdomen. She ran her towel through places that no woman had touched since high school, and for this Charlie felt relieved and comforted by her presence. Although he was a bit shy at first, he realized that he didn’t have to hold back any part of his body from her, and so he let his body do and feel what came most naturally without interfering with what she practiced. She smiled to him from below, and when she finished drying him, she led him into a small alcove in the backroom and asked him to lie down on a cushioned massage table.

At first her massage was both strong and painful, but Charlie then asked her to do it more softly and gently. Her smooth hands worked along the coarseness of his body to the parts that needed a woman’s touch and needed healing from years of trapped pain, soreness, and neglect, and after a while of behaving nervously and anxiously towards this woman, he finally came to relax as her nimble fingers massaged warm oil into his pores and unknotted the muscles that he had long considered lost to atrophy, and by the time she asked him to roll over onto his back, Charlie couldn’t help but unleash whatever frustrations and arousals stirred within him. When he rolled over, her spandex clothing was completely off, and her slim perishable body stood above him as she worked her fingers into his chest and ribs. There was no place to hide anymore, as whatever nervousness and shyness he had brought into the small room had dissipated amidst the expert movements of her fingers and her hands. She poured more oil over him and then allowed him to watch as she poured oil over her bare chest and stomach. She climbed on top of him just then, her smile and nude body as obsequious as before, and together they stayed in the room for an extra ten minutes or so wielding ecstasy from actions that had already arrived at bliss. And when it was all over, she cleaned him off with a warm towel and rubbed moisturizer into his skin. She patted him on the rear to signify that their session had ended. He returned to the exercise room a half-hour later where Artie and the other masseuse sat on a love seat and exchanged pleasantries.

“Charlie—you made it!” said Artie upon seeing him.

Artie kissed both of the masseuses and led them to the front of the house where they both returned to whatever lives awaited them. And Charlie’s once relaxed demeanor returned to nervousness, because he wondered what he now owed Artie for the favor of the massage. He didn’t think of the consequences of accepting his gift beforehand. Not that he would have denied it either, but it was a gift that he couldn’t have refused even if he tried. Artie swung his strong arm around his shoulders, and they walked to one of the lounges at the front of the house.

“How about dinner?” asked Artie.

“Thanks a lot for the massage, Artie. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Friends always do things for each other, so I’m sure if I ever need something, you’ll see that I’m well taken care of.”

“Anything within reason,” said Charlie.

“Hey, I am a very reasonable man. I never ask anything of my friends that I know they can’t deliver, so believe me, I perfectly understand what you mean by being reasonable. So don’t worry so much, okay?”

“I just don’t know how I’d be able to repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it, okay? Say it with me—’I won’t worry about it.’”

“I won’t worry about it,” laughed Charlie.

“And in the meantime, let me get all dolled up, and we’ll go get a couple of steaks down at this place I know. Whaddaya say?”

“I guess so.”

“What did I say before?”

“I know. I won’t worry about it.”

“See, you’re getting the hang of it. But once dinner’s over, you’ve got to take the bus back. I may be doing well, but I’ve got my own life to live, y’know.”

Charlie was a bit relieved that the evening had an actual end-point, because he never really could see too far into the future and usually imagined the worst of new people who suddenly exploded into his life. At least he’d be back in his solitude after a few hours, even though solitude usually had the strange habit of compounding his miseries. He was still on the fence about whether he should continue on for the steak dinner. It would be incredibly poor taste, however, to have made it with the Asian masseuse on Artie’s dime and then bail out on him, as Charlie knew he should show gratitude towards his newfound friend by dining with him that night. Regardless of how nervous he was, Charlie did want Artie as a friend, because maybe they could do each other favors, as that was how adult relationships generally went.

It wasn’t so long ago that he thought friendship, or even love with another woman for that matter, was based strictly on compatible personalities or common interests. Not so anymore. He figured that mature relationships involved mutual back-scratching and mutual profit-making, the type of friendship not based on whether or not someone liked someone else as a person, but whether or not a friend was in a position to further his own survival, and vice-versa. Mutual use, in other words, was the modus operandi, as friendship was no longer as trivial as being a good, warm-hearted person or sharing the same beliefs or liking similar hobbies or interests or even having similar personalities. These things may have initiated a friendship, but it’s really the ability to enable each other’s survival in very practical terms that furthers friendships into the future where these bonds would have otherwise fractured. Because when it comes down to it— everyone’s a good person, and everyone’s a nice guy. Everyone has a stunningly interesting personality and shows off talents that inspire awe and respect. But can these same people help you pay the rent or get you from one place to the other? It’s the difference between having contacts who are acquaintances and having contacts who are good friends. And without a family of his own, Charlie had no choice but to rely on his friends, and he prided himself on choosing them carefully among the few people available to him. He knew better than to call Artie a friend so quickly. There was more he wanted to know about him first.

He waited at the front of the house. Artie soon pulled up in a jet- black Ferrari two-seater, which shocked him. Artie revved the engine along the mild gravel incline of the driveway before stopping to let him inside. He couldn’t believe the machine he beheld, the exterior polished enough for him to see his own crystal-clear reflection along the curves of its body, the chrome rims shining in the damp light that the end of the rains had brought. Artie swung open the door for him, and when he climbed in, he sat in front of a dashboard loaded with all kinds of flashing lights and digital amenities. A slow hip-hop tune played softly from a satellite radio channel, and a built-in navigation system and wireless phone made what was beyond the windshield look like some sort of advanced video game, such as a flight simulator or the cockpit of the space shuttle. How a man a little older than him made this kind of money he had no idea.

Artie revved the engine a few more times before peeling out of the driveway. He now wore a pair of twill pants and a beige camel-hair leisure jacket. His hair was meticulously slicked, and he smelled of strong cologne. Apparently this man never stepped out of his house without looking like Joe DiMaggio or some other variety of 1950s celebrity. Why Artie would get so dressed up for dinner with a man in torn sweatpants and a hood, he had no idea.

The experience driving along the wet country road at top speed kind of felt like floating in a luxury hovercraft, as he barely felt a single bump of road, only the muted hum of the engine pounded back by the thumping beat of a gangster rap tune that now filtered through the sound system, the entire experience exciting him enough to want to go on a drinking and dancing spree before returning to the dreariness of his apartment back in town. The car sped along the roads as quickly as the wind outside, his butt sliding along the soft leather of his seat and the trip like a ride in the fast lane towards the ever-lasting grail of excess and the wisdom gleaned from it. He might as well have been sitting next to a rock star or some A-list celebrity, as Artie sped the car up a notch and flew along the slick roads as though he were a pilot on a runway about to take off, the gangster rap funky in its beat and Charlie’s chest loose as though excitement had finally been released from the cages of his battered and wounded subterranean existence.