Play Dead
Page 61
“Ah, so this was not just a social invitation,” Laura said. “And I thought you loved my company.”
Earl chuckled. “It’s only the hundredth time I’ve asked you to dinner in the past couple of months.”
“And I’m not too happy about that,” Serita joked. “You trying to make me jealous?”
“I wish,” he replied. “Laura, Clip asked me to speak to you.”
“About what?”
Earl lowered his head and played with his food. “It’s kind of difficult to talk about.”
“Go on, Earl.”
Tears filled the giant man’s eyes. “The Celtics and the city want to pay tribute to David. Opening game at the Garden is in a week. We play the Washington Bullets. At halftime, they’re going to retire David’s number and hang it with the others on the rafters.” Earl stopped and turned away. Laura put her hand on his arm.
“It’s okay, Earl.”
Earl sniffled and faced her again. His eyes were red now. Laura glanced at Serita. She, too, was crying. “The mayor will declare it David Baskin Day. After the game, there’s going to be a small gathering at the Blades and Boards for the players, families, press—the usual stuff. Clip wanted to make sure you and your whole family—David’s brother, too—will be there.”
Laura remained stone-faced. “We’ll be there. All of us.”
“Good,” Earl managed, his eyes darting around the room. He stood, shaking. “I’ll be right back.” He nearly sprinted out of sight.
“Big chicken,” Serita managed between her own sobs. “He’s afraid to cry in front of you. He still does it almost every night, you know.”
“I know,” Laura said. But she did not cry along with her friends. Laura had learned that occasionally, when the pain became too great, her mental block came up automatically. Sure, she heard the sad words, saw the tears, but somewhere along the way to her heart, the pain veered away.
“I need to talk to you about something else, Serita. But you have to promise not to tell anyone—including Earl. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes with the corner of a napkin.
“I’m leaving for Australia tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
“I’ll be flying out of Logan around noon.”
“Whoa, Laura, let’s talk about this a second.”
“Nothing to talk about. You know what Corsel said. The threads are going to disappear if I don’t get over there and figure out what happened. I have to go. You know that.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, I want to go by myself.”
“But—”
“Let me put it another way. I don’t want you to go.”
“Fuck you, too.”
They hugged then, tightly, fiercely. Earl came back into the room. He walked over to them and threw his arms around both of them. For a long time, the three of them just held one another in comforting silence.
16
“QANTAS flight 182 departing for Honolulu and Cairns is now boarding at gate thirty-seven. Those passengers with children or who need special care may board now.”
Laura glanced at her watch and saw that her flight was going to take off on time. No small miracle. LAX airport in Los Angeles was packed with travelers today. Laura watched the stone-faced passengers pace through the long corridors, striding purposefully and consistently in that way that only people in airports do. There were no Hare Krishnas in airports anymore. Lyndon LaRouche was the new air terminal religion, the presidency being his holy grail. A man was selling bumper stickers—what one was supposed to do with a bumper sticker at the airport was beyond Laura—asking people to save the whales or harpoon Jane Fonda or some other nonsense. Another man sat behind a sign saying:Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
I’m a Schizophrenic,
And So am I.
Laura shook her head. Los Angeles. The last time she had been in LAX airport, she was on her way to David’s funeral; the time before that, she and David had stopped for one night as they headed toward their honeymoon. Funny how life worked that way. She remembered how excited they had been, how they had rushed out of Los Angeles’s immense airport and headed into the City of Angels to get their blood tests at a nearby hospital.
“I hate needles,” David had told her.
“Chicken.”
“Needles and insects,” he said. “When we’re married, do you promise to kill all the household insects?”
“I’ll put it in our vows.”
When the nurse handed Laura the results an hour later, David asked, “Did we pass?”
Laura smiled as she read the report. Both of them had been deemed healthy by the State of California. They could get married with the state’s blessing. “Passed.”
“Not even a touch of V.D.?”
“Nope. Do you want to see it?”
“Blood-test results? No way.”
“Whatever you say. We better get back to the airport. Our plane will be taking off soon.”
“Question.”
“What?”
“Do you know how long the flight is?” David asked.
“No.”
“I do,” he answered.
“Great. So why did you ask me?”
“More than thirteen hours,” he pronounced.
“So?”
“More than thirteen hours strapped into an airplane.”
“The point being?”
“Well, that’s a long time, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“So we have a little time before we have to head to the airport, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I think it would be good for both of us if we made a quick pit stop in a nearby hotel for rest and rejuvenation—strictly for health reasons, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Well?”
“No,” Laura said firmly.
“No?”
“Stop pouting. I said no.”
“But thirteen hours is such a long time. I know you, Laura. I’m not sure you can hold out that long without . . .”
“Without what?”
“You know what I mean, Laura. I’m only thinking of you.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“So?”
She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately. “Who needs a hotel room?” she murmured in his ear. “I always wanted to try it in one of those little bathrooms. . . .”
Earl chuckled. “It’s only the hundredth time I’ve asked you to dinner in the past couple of months.”
“And I’m not too happy about that,” Serita joked. “You trying to make me jealous?”
“I wish,” he replied. “Laura, Clip asked me to speak to you.”
“About what?”
Earl lowered his head and played with his food. “It’s kind of difficult to talk about.”
“Go on, Earl.”
Tears filled the giant man’s eyes. “The Celtics and the city want to pay tribute to David. Opening game at the Garden is in a week. We play the Washington Bullets. At halftime, they’re going to retire David’s number and hang it with the others on the rafters.” Earl stopped and turned away. Laura put her hand on his arm.
“It’s okay, Earl.”
Earl sniffled and faced her again. His eyes were red now. Laura glanced at Serita. She, too, was crying. “The mayor will declare it David Baskin Day. After the game, there’s going to be a small gathering at the Blades and Boards for the players, families, press—the usual stuff. Clip wanted to make sure you and your whole family—David’s brother, too—will be there.”
Laura remained stone-faced. “We’ll be there. All of us.”
“Good,” Earl managed, his eyes darting around the room. He stood, shaking. “I’ll be right back.” He nearly sprinted out of sight.
“Big chicken,” Serita managed between her own sobs. “He’s afraid to cry in front of you. He still does it almost every night, you know.”
“I know,” Laura said. But she did not cry along with her friends. Laura had learned that occasionally, when the pain became too great, her mental block came up automatically. Sure, she heard the sad words, saw the tears, but somewhere along the way to her heart, the pain veered away.
“I need to talk to you about something else, Serita. But you have to promise not to tell anyone—including Earl. Okay?”
“Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes with the corner of a napkin.
“I’m leaving for Australia tomorrow morning.”
“What?”
“I’ll be flying out of Logan around noon.”
“Whoa, Laura, let’s talk about this a second.”
“Nothing to talk about. You know what Corsel said. The threads are going to disappear if I don’t get over there and figure out what happened. I have to go. You know that.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, I want to go by myself.”
“But—”
“Let me put it another way. I don’t want you to go.”
“Fuck you, too.”
They hugged then, tightly, fiercely. Earl came back into the room. He walked over to them and threw his arms around both of them. For a long time, the three of them just held one another in comforting silence.
16
“QANTAS flight 182 departing for Honolulu and Cairns is now boarding at gate thirty-seven. Those passengers with children or who need special care may board now.”
Laura glanced at her watch and saw that her flight was going to take off on time. No small miracle. LAX airport in Los Angeles was packed with travelers today. Laura watched the stone-faced passengers pace through the long corridors, striding purposefully and consistently in that way that only people in airports do. There were no Hare Krishnas in airports anymore. Lyndon LaRouche was the new air terminal religion, the presidency being his holy grail. A man was selling bumper stickers—what one was supposed to do with a bumper sticker at the airport was beyond Laura—asking people to save the whales or harpoon Jane Fonda or some other nonsense. Another man sat behind a sign saying:Roses are Red,
Violets are Blue,
I’m a Schizophrenic,
And So am I.
Laura shook her head. Los Angeles. The last time she had been in LAX airport, she was on her way to David’s funeral; the time before that, she and David had stopped for one night as they headed toward their honeymoon. Funny how life worked that way. She remembered how excited they had been, how they had rushed out of Los Angeles’s immense airport and headed into the City of Angels to get their blood tests at a nearby hospital.
“I hate needles,” David had told her.
“Chicken.”
“Needles and insects,” he said. “When we’re married, do you promise to kill all the household insects?”
“I’ll put it in our vows.”
When the nurse handed Laura the results an hour later, David asked, “Did we pass?”
Laura smiled as she read the report. Both of them had been deemed healthy by the State of California. They could get married with the state’s blessing. “Passed.”
“Not even a touch of V.D.?”
“Nope. Do you want to see it?”
“Blood-test results? No way.”
“Whatever you say. We better get back to the airport. Our plane will be taking off soon.”
“Question.”
“What?”
“Do you know how long the flight is?” David asked.
“No.”
“I do,” he answered.
“Great. So why did you ask me?”
“More than thirteen hours,” he pronounced.
“So?”
“More than thirteen hours strapped into an airplane.”
“The point being?”
“Well, that’s a long time, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“So we have a little time before we have to head to the airport, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, I think it would be good for both of us if we made a quick pit stop in a nearby hotel for rest and rejuvenation—strictly for health reasons, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Well?”
“No,” Laura said firmly.
“No?”
“Stop pouting. I said no.”
“But thirteen hours is such a long time. I know you, Laura. I’m not sure you can hold out that long without . . .”
“Without what?”
“You know what I mean, Laura. I’m only thinking of you.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“So?”
She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. She kissed him passionately. “Who needs a hotel room?” she murmured in his ear. “I always wanted to try it in one of those little bathrooms. . . .”
