Authorized Personnel
Tom showered, ate leftovers from Max’s lunch and cleaned out his dead dad’s Cadillac, which he hadn’t done since driving it back from Indiana. Didn’t want it, at first, thought he smelled residual exhaust. But Cheryl, his second wife, now widow, assured him she had it professionally cleaned, got a guarantee and once out on the road, windows open, the smell went away; turned out to be the chemicals they used to clean. Smell went away just like his father had… gone with the wind… Mom opened the door and dad never looked back. Confused kids refusing to go to his house once… was all it took for him to quit, give up on them and move an hour away, have three children with wife number two and never be in touch again. Even when Teri invited them to her wedding and mom called and talked to Cheryl, at length—he still didn’t respond. Held onto the offense the rest of his life, Tom guessed, paid child support on time but not a dime extra and showed zero interest. Cheryl said he never spoke of them and asked Tom a lot of questions, when he visited, about what it was like as a kid, how things with his mom went? Looking for clues perhaps, as to why he killed himself… claimed not to know, even though he left a note. Offered to share it but Tom declined, wasn’t really interested.
On the way to pick up Cat, Tom stopped by Planet Coffee on MLK, ordered a double Americano and drank it, as he stared out a big picture window at the Cadillac Coupe de Ville and thought about his father. Was not surprised at his suicide… or was he? Severely injured at the time, Tom never gave it much thought, wasn’t about to launch a retrospective with a herniated disc. A strange moment though, he’d never forget… not something you hear everyday—your father killed himself… but Tom didn’t lose any sleep over it. Felt completely disconnected… knew he was out there but never missed him after he left or wished things were any different, just went on being a kid, loving basketball more than anything else. Dad gone and mom way more lenient, Tom came and went as he pleased, for the remainder of junior high and high school, so long as he stayed out of trouble and got good grades. Affirmed and empowered by the way things turned out, Tom felt like a huge obstacle was removed from his life, freed him to figure things out for himself, without worrying about retribution from dad. Teri, however, did not fare so well and, after several very difficult and borderline abusive relationships as a semi-adult, mother found her a therapist and Teri launched a new script, started saying things like, “It felt as if a piece of me got torn off and thrown away, when he left,” talking about it all the time, even blaming Tom for chasing him off.
Tom was not interested, would walk away if she brought him up as a kid, only wanted to forget the asshole and thought her being overly dramatic, always blaming somebody else. But… once he moved to Oregon and attended a therapy session with Teri and mom, he understood how hard it had been for her. Always Teri-fied, as he called it, she tried to glom on to Tom, but at age 13, he did not want his 10 year old drama queen sister tagging along. He realized how scared and insecure she must have been, lost in the shuffle, started wetting her bed, throwing fits and making scenes, she was way too big to be making. Mom worked two jobs and Tom always at the gym, Teri hated being home alone and glommed onto whoever would have her. Until, overwhelmed by her insatiable neediness, they’d withdraw, cut her off and she’d collapse, convinced she had no friends or hope that anything would ever last. A cycle which played out over and over and probably wrecked both her marriages. Tom felt bad he hadn’t done more to help when they were kids—mostly just tried to avoid her.
His parents separation and divorce, seemed to Tom at the time to be just the natural course of things. Overjoyed at his newfound freedom, he only realized much later—how brilliantly his mother had handled that Sunday morning, when he refused to join the church and his father threatened physical violence. He never asked her why she changed her mind, supported him and stood up to the old man? Always assumed she wanted to be free of him as much as Tom did. Heard her say one day, not too long after they split, to a friend, encouraging her to date again, “Last thing in the world I need, Doris, is another man to fuss over.” In the day’s, weeks and months following his father’s departure, she never wavered, even when he threatened to throw them out of his house and/or seek sole custody of his kids and never let her see them again. If she ever worried about the situation, Tom never saw it and could not think of one single time his mother had been anything but positive with he and Teri. She would get mad, of course, but her response was always productive, “Conflict is opportunity,” she would tell them, “to sort what works from what doesn’t. Don’t waste it.” Every mistake and/or conflict brought a flood of interaction, as she sought to illustrate why their actions wrought such and such a consequence. She’d look them in the eye and explain, however many times it took, until she knew they understood and hold them accountable the next time, for picking up where they left off and not making the same mistakes twice. It wasn’t pressure so much as an abiding sense that she was always there, pointing you on to the next step and quickly present if you missed it, wanting to know why?
His thoughts drifted to Dez and Catherine, what Seamus would do when he found out? Where Tom wanted to be or not, when shit hits the fan? Felt it both good timing and a loss of opportunity, not to be driving Seamus anymore, who’d begun to open up about his relationship with Cat and why he moved out. Swore he always stuck by and supported the kids. Admitted to being a strict disciplinarian but insisted they all thanked him in their valedictorian speeches and respected his opinions, until Cat undermined and turned them against him, when her values changed—thanks to the money he made and opportunities that provided. Able to pursue whatever she wanted, Cat never worked outside the home—raised the kids, planned weekends and vacations, studied yoga, joined law of attraction and manifestation circles, sold essential oils, therapeutic magnets, studied Reiki and Shiatsu and more… he rattled off to Tom one day—none of which ever made any money. While he drove himself to exhaustion and beyond, she obsessed over her and the kids’ health and education. They attended Waldorf schools and expensive colleges, went to every kind of camp you can imagine. Cat volunteered at the art museum, took up painting but still, everything was fine and he stayed on the treadmill cranking out cash, put the oldest through law school… until the youngest, his son Finn, started taking hormones, first year at Columbia and stopped talking to Seamus, who was upset (once he found out) about not being consulted in decisions made about his son’s body, not because he wanted to stop or control it (according to him) but because they’d had a close relationship and he felt misrepresented for the negative reaction he was assumed to have but didn’t. And yet and yet and yet… he’d lied for years about affairs and was an outlaw, more or less, livelihood ever under attack from the Building Department. That must not have felt very stable to Cat, with three kids, however much cash there was to go around with. And… he was not attractive. Tom still couldn’t understand what women saw in him—Must be good in the sack, he thought, on the way out to his dead dad’s Cadillac, remembered too how charming he’d been at Matilda’s and how she lit up in his presence. The beaming redhead in Washington Park too, so happy to see him, gushing all over him. They must know he’s married? Tom could not imagine how those conversations must go.
Cat was on the porch as Tom pulled up—52nd and Hawthorne, the house that Seamus built… or extensively remodeled, jacked up four feet, added a third floor, finished the basement and built a large addition off the back, with an indoor pool and spa. Watching for him, she hurried down the steps, in low cut high-heeled boots. Tom winced, for fear she might trip but careful and well practiced, she looked down at each step, held arms out for balance. A leather bag hung off one shoulder, which looked like a catchers mitt, folded, with padded lips around the opening clip, a lot of leather stitching. She wore a loose fit stretch knit cheetah print sleeveless jumpsuit, over a black oxford shirt and all black tie with gold clip. Tom got out and opened the passenger side, mesmerized, as with long flowing strides she approached him, a creature like nothing he’d seen before, sparkling in the twilight.
“Now I know what a knockout is…”
“You stop!” She beamed and touched his arm, “Thanks for coming to get me, Tom. You’re such a sweetheart.”
They hugged. She smelled of vetiver, something Isolt used to wear, “No problem. I feel a lot better not going alone.”
“Me too. Ah the performer’s widow!” She said, back of one hand to forehead, sliding in.
Tom closed the door and thought of Cheryl—his dad’s widow, as he walked around to the driver’s side, how she’d said he was a good father and happy man. What the fuck? Was he an actor? Could it have been the same man? Just figured out the second time around what he had to do to not fuck it up again? What a performance that must have been. Something to be said for it… or did he change in a fundamental way? Why then wouldn’t he get in touch, make amends? Kill himself in the end? These ruminations were displaced by Cat telling him, as they pulled away, how Seamus took her Rover and said it was, “because he paid for it—so it’s his. Said I can go buy myself a car, if I want to drive so bad,” and they talked about that a little. Then she said, “I really appreciate you staying with this… situation. I know it must be hard facing him… knowing what you know. Anyway… I just want you to know, I appreciate you.”
“Thanks for saying that,” Tom wanted to ask what was it attracted her to him but that seemed neither appropriate nor timely. Traffic light for a Saturday night, it was a short drive to the Wonder Ballroom. Catherine had Amanda’s parking pass for a spot in the alley out back. It took a minute to find the (last) spot and fit in the big Cadillac. Tom could barely get out but managed somehow and, already after 9, they hurried, holding hands, to the VIP door. A man there escorted them to a private table front and center. The room, already packed, most people sat at round tables, not a booth like them, clustered about a central dance floor. There were several bars on the periphery and a mezzanine level that seemed a free-for-all, more or less, people crowded and hanging over the rail, loud music played through speakers above the stage and it was impossible to have a conversation. Tom shouted a few things but could barely hear Cat’s response, so he just looked around, until the lights went down, room got quiet and Amanda came out. Catherine squealed before anyone else made a sound and Amanda, shading her eyes from the spotlight, looked in their general direction and said, “Whoa, Pony! We haven’t even left the stables yet,” in such a queer voice… the room exploded with laughter. She then introduced Dez through a voice box, made her sound like Darth Vader, “We have a special guest for you tonight, from deep in the Looziana swamps, black as that old black water, a deep diver, bring’n up the treasure, I give you the world premier of—OG Kahn! Give it up for the mighty Kahn!”
The place erupted, as smoke filled the stage and laser lights shot out all over the place. When it cleared, Dez stood, where Amanda had been—hair bleached and teased out, mirrored sunglasses on (he looked sort of like the fight promoter Don King, back in the day), dressed in camouflage coveralls, pattern composed of basketball player silhouettes, Magic Johnson and Larry Bird overlapped in multiple ways and shades. Had on a black canvas vest, attached to which was a radio, ammunition cartridges and, what Tom hoped was a fake gun and several hand grenades, wore giant Jordans, too big, even for him, dark aviators, a huge watch over the sleeve on his left wrist and several gold chains. Two musicians came on stage. One played synthesizer and drum machine, the other bass, as he sang, “I been an authorized personnel most a my life, I can go where the signs say, NO-O! Got a radio hang’n from my vest, shows y’all I deserve respect—OH! OH! Got a giant ego and it ain’t gonna slow me dow-own, OH! OH! Got a giant ego, six feet a-bove ground. All day long I bust my ass and nobody seem to ca-are, yo they wouldn’t have a house if it wasn’t for me. Hell, they wouldn’t even have lights to see—OH! OH! My giant ego, big as the earth is rou-ound. OH! OH! My giant ego, never come’n down… big as the earth is round… Know what? One a these days I might just pull the plug, sweep the bleed’n hearts back under the rug, re-establish the chains a command, show everyone what it’s like to be a MAN… OH! OH! With a giant ego, ain’t gonna slow him down, OH! OH! His giant ego, big as the earth is round! Never come’n down, till he six feet underground …”
The place erupted, people cheered and shouted, jumped up and down. Dez had to wait to go on and looked around like he didn’t know what to do next? There seemed to be sound difficulties and unfortunately, whether because he lost momentum and grew self conscious, or that opener was just by far the best material he had, the rest of his set fizzled and by the fourth song, people were calling for The Amanda Parsons Project. Dez seemed unfazed however and closed with a rousing introduction, “Portland, give it up for the Home Team! The Amanda Parsons Project!”
Smoke and lasers went off again and when it cleared, Amanda stood on stage with five bandmates—guitar, bass, keyboards, horns and drums and Dez was gone. Tom thought he would come out and sit with them but he never did. The Amanda Parsons Project was good and Tom impressed. Not so much with the latest stuff from I Sexbot, which was most of what they played, but Amanda was an incredible performer, had the crowd on a string. There was crackles and popping in the speakers but no one seemed to care and they obviously loved her. A lot of people danced the whole time. Tom and Cat danced too, worked up a sweat, as by the end, it was unbearably hot. Amanda put on a hell of a show, leapt about stage and belted out lyrics over an incredible range. After the second encore was over, a VIP waiter came and escorted them to the Green Room, where six long tables held more food and drink than the number of people there could possibly consume in a week. Amanda was off having a beef with the sound manager, apparently, and no one knew where Dez was. Cat and Tom circled the room, got a drink and picked at a few hors d’oeuvres. She knew some of the band and said hello but they all seemed preoccupied, talking heatedly amongst themselves. Waiters would walk through and rearrange things but no one else touched the food, only smoked and drank. The room stuffy and dead, Tom was about to suggest they go find Dez, when Amanda returned, obviously frazzled and everyone there arrayed about her like metal filings in a magnetic field.
“This place sucks! God! No more! We’re not playing this shithole again! Not until you get the wiring fixed! Cancel whatever’s on the books,” three people left the room in a great hurry and Amanda’s tone changed, “Great job, everybody! Despite the conditions! We got ‘em rock’n! Eat up! Come on! There’s all this food! Vegan fucking cream cheese!” She put an arm around Cat but did not look at Tom yet, hand on her chest, she seemed to be catching her breath. Everyone started eating and drinking and the tension eased. Amanda whispered something in Cat’s ear, glanced at Tom and feigned a kiss, before huddling with several of those who’d left, returned and now stood obediently by, waiting for her to finish with them. Their audience ended, Cat told Tom, “She said Dez is sulking in her dressing room. I’m going to find and cheer him up. You want to come with?” Tom glanced around the room, really wanted to but thought he should touch base with Amanda and give Cat and Dez some time alone.
“No… uh, go ahead. I’m a try and get an audience with the Queen.”
“Yeah… Good luck!” She winked and slipped out a short door in a wall covered with mirrors, even the door knob.
“Hey, Pony! Watcha do’n?” Amanda tugged at his sleeve.
Tom turned, their eyes met and he could see—she was on something, pupils dilated, gaze super intense, sort of jittery, “Oh, you know… just try’n a find some vegan cream cheese.”
“Hug?” She held out her arms and seemed suddenly childlike, fragile and delicate.
Tom took her in his. She was shaking, “What’s up, Pony? You want to go through the mirror door with me?” He whispered in her ear, she nodded and Tom moved to, turned the knob and they ducked through, into one end of a long hallway. Tom following her, backwards, saw before ducking through, everyone in the room watching, “Which door’s yours?” Tom asked, once in the hallway.
Amanda, already down the hall, pointed, “This one,” at one with a big gold star.
“Of course it is!” Tom signaled she should wait but she didn’t, opened the door, heard moaning and saw, across the room, Dez, spread eagle on the couch, pants half down and Catherine on her knees, between his legs… “Jesus Christ, you two! Lock the fucking door!” Amanda screamed at them.
Tom, close behind, picked her up, said, “Sorry!” stepped back into the hall and closed the door behind him, “Let’s give it a minute,” he said into her ear and set her down in the hall. She shook with anger, face dark, eyes wild, “Calm down, Amanda… do you need something? In there?”
“Don’t ever tell me to calm down! Yes… it’s in there,” she sounded like she was about to cry.
Tom shuffled knocked and the door opened on Dez’s back, returning to the couch, where Catherine sat, sipping a gin and tonic, slice of lime on the rim. Amanda pushed past Tom, grunted her disapproval at them, grabbed her bag from a chair, went to the bathroom and, with an audible, “click,” locked herself in. Tom closed the hall door and locked it, “I don’t know… is it alright? To lock it?” He approached them asking and, without waiting for an answer, said “Way to go Dez. That was impressive.”
“What? Da show? Aw… cut da shit, TB. That su-ucked, big time! I got off… but da fuck’n feedback… shit fucked me up, brah. I ain’t never even jammed with them! We worked it up on the fly, in rehearsal.”
“That’s too bad,” Catherine said and looked over at Tom, who sat down to the left of the couch in a brown leather armchair, “That break between his first and second song was because of the speakers… he couldn’t hear.”
“Yeah, ‘manda be pi-issed. Says she ain’t play’n here again ‘n I shouldn’t fuck with them.”
“Yeah, she is!” Amanda came out of the bathroom, a lot calmer than she went in, wiping her hands with a massive wad of paper towel, “Mob and tube… they keep saying. What the fuck is mob and tube? Construction boys?”
Tom wondered what she took that worked so quick? Or did she just need a moment? “Probably knob and tube, is what they said. It’s old wiring that runs the hot and neutral separately, in big loops, no ground.”
“Yeah, whatever! Like what’s that doing in a modern music venue? Fucking bullshit!” Catherine got up and, like a concerned mother, put an arm around and pulled Amanda close, “Same thing they told me last time—scheduled to be fixed next week. Same fucking shit! Next week? You believe that? It’s been a year! Fuck them! They said it was fixed!”
“Amanda… it was fine. The show went great! Everyone loved it… danced their asses off.”
“Yeah they did, aft’ a da Kahn bomb. Couldn’t wait a get me up outa there.”
“That was not your fault Dez!” Amanda snapped, “Don’t you get discouraged. Shouldn’t have to deal with that shit, first time out.”
“Word… ain’t m’ first time out… but… in P-town, yeah. Hey… let’s get up on outa here ’n go to… what’s a place?” He asked Cat.
“The Rabbit Hole,” they said in unison, arms flung around each other, swaying slightly side to side, cheek to cheek.
“Yeah, let’s!” Amanda smiled big and kissed Catherine on the cheek, said, “My… our buddy Totes is playing the late show. He’s awesome and the food’s to die for, not like the crap they put out here. You drove, right?” She sat down on the arm of Tom’s chair and ran her fingers through his thick hair.
“Yeah, dead dad’s car of old… Stop! Sorry, don’t know why I said that.”
“Yeah… why did you say that?” Amanda stood up, found and lit a cigarette.
“The ol’ man offed ‘imself in it,” Dez interjected and Catherine hit him, “Wha’? Ain’t no secret. TB told me. An’ if he be tell’n me, I know he know—Dez don’ keep no secrets.”
“Oooo… yuck!” Amanda exclaimed, went over to and looked out a large dilapidated window into the alley behind the building, “For real? Your father killed himself in… that car, there? The gold… what is that? A Cadillac?”
“Yeah, 2014 Coupe de Ville. Can we change the subject?” Tom stood up.
“Aw, Pony… come here,” Amanda crushed out the cigarette she’d just lit, on the window sill, walked over to, threw her arms around and gave Tom a full body hug. Again, he felt intense vibration, not shaking this time but a definite buzz. The way she kept pressing, like she wanted to climb inside him, even their legs touched but, just as suddenly, pushed off, grabbed her bag and walking backwards towards the door said with a big smile, “I for one am not getting in a suicide mobile, no offense. I’m a go get Cat’s Rover back.”
Cat shot off the couch and caught her at the door. “No! You are not! I told you… I don’t want you messing with him.”
“Oh, pooh! I know where it is… still have my key.”
“Amanda! Stop!” Catherine took her by the arm and they went to the bathroom, spoke a minute in heated tones and, Tom suspected, did some coke, “Because he’s a fucking asshole!” The only thing Tom could make out, Amanda said. Cat repeatedly telling her to shush!
“So… yeah… what’s next? You gonna tour?” He asked Dez and made himself a gin and tonic.
“Aw fuck, I dunno, TB… I be in the studio right now, be up to me. Cat’s got some’ to say. Don’t wanna live in Portland… round him, no more. Not sure what that means… move, I guess.”
The women returned, before Tom could respond, wiping their noses. Cat, arm around a now subdued Amanda, reported back, “We decided you two should go ahead in Tom’s Cadillac and I will drive Amanda’s Mercedes, which is here, even though it shouldn’t be,” she gave Amanda a squeeze, “We’ll be a little behind because the Queen needs to apologize, before we go,” Amanda grinned and winked at Tom, looked like a mischievous kid, held back by her mom.
“What?” Dez said and slumped, staggered back a few steps, arms out like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “They ain’t noth’n to apologize for!” Cat let go of Amanda, stepped over to and put a finger on his lips, shook her head no, took him aside and they had a few words until Dez stood by, silent and compliant, looking at his phone, as Amanda gathered up her stuff and then directed them, once out in the hall, how they could exit the building without going back through the Green Room, which she seemed eager for them not to do, even though Dez protested he wanted to thank her band and the guys that backed him. She said she would do it instead.
On the way to the alley, Dez complained, while looking at his phone, “Can’t believe she apologize’n! They fucked up my launch, brah! Same shit happen before, she said… Fuck! Fuck’n amateurs! They oughta be apologize’n to me. Give me a solo show… that a be a’ight.”
Once outside the confines of Wonder Ballroom, Tom’s own thoughts resumed and the first one was—Much ado about nothing! Holy cow! It was a great show, everyone got their money’s worth… all the bitching seemed so unnecessary. Dez, not very polished, shouldn’t have opened for The Amanda Parsons Project, which had a huge local following and tastes much different than his. A total unknown, Tom had a hard time believing Dez really thought some crackle in the sound system messed him up but, trying to be sympathetic, “I thought you did great, Dez,” he said, sliding into the car, still in a tight space, went on after he pulled out and Dez got in, “First time out… nobody expects you to take it to the house but you did and that Authorized Personnel bit… you write that?”
“Yeah…” Dez responded, as they cruised down Burnside, towards the river, “But they’s another verse I didn’t do, couldn’t fuck’n hear shit! And it ain’t my first time out, TB. Man… I’m a write a autobiogarphy. Been do’n this shit my whole life, brah. Perform’n in front a crowds bigger’n that… ball’n out on TV! Ellen… back’n up X Ambassadors, did a comedy thing… got over them fuck’n me and Rowdy—jerk’n their song aft’ a they said we could use it… take’n the high road… broken fuck’n record. I could a sued so many motha-fuckas. Don’t know why I even open my mouth, anymore. Nobody listen’n…”
Dez reclined the seat way back and sulked, looked at his phone, seemed deflated and Tom felt bad; was well aware that he never could quite get behind Dez’s stories, thought they were made up, wanted to believe them… but couldn’t. When Tom did comment, which was not often, he’d always focus on whatever seemed the biggest threat to Dez’s stability at the time. Usually, his use of drugs and tenuous grip on reality—like what Seamus will do when he finds out about him and Cat. Tom bit his tongue and changed the subject. They talked about the Blazers blowing a big lead and losing to the Nuggets. Dez said he started playing again and Tom should join him, “Pick-up heaven, Brah! OG’s… playa’s can hoop, move the rock and shit, set picks. Out to some ‘piscopalian school, suburbs, close… 15 minutes, Beaver town, I think. Dez still gots it, Man! I be drill’n threes like dentists, teeth.”
“How you get there?” Tom asked, as he parallel parked on MLK, one block from The Rabbit Hole, knew Dez didn’t drive. He had no license but never said why.
“Cat… says I need a exercise, if I ain’t gonna be slave’n for the old man. She don’t want no fat ass nigga up in her crib.”
“She picks you up and takes you out there? Sunday mornings? Must be true love.”
“Ain’t gots t’ pick me up, brah.”
“Whatcha mean?” Tom got a sudden sinking feeling he knew already.
“I’m up in they crib, now. You didn’t know that? The palace… moved in the basement, uh… ‘partment but…”
Tom led the way down a long set of exterior steps, visibly shaking his head, knew what that but… meant—he slept in Catherine’s bed. They descended from the sidewalk to the basement of a five story brick building at E. Ankeny and Grand, mother’s voice in his head, “It’s all about the choices you make…” stepped through a big plank door, into a tight vestibule, felt like the inside of a seven foot concrete cube, painted black, smelled of incense and patchouli, low ceiling, muffled bar sounds in the background. In one corner, stood the hostess, only light being the one on her podium, a four inch fluorescent, classic adjustable gooseneck, very dim. They could see her better, once the exterior door closed, “TB and the Mighty Kahn, I presume? Um… VIP table for four?”
“Yep, sounds right,” Tom answered and her face lit up, pale white and full of piercings, tiny rabbit tattooed on her left cheek, barely five feet tall. Tom realized the extra light came from Dez, looking at his phone.
“Right this way… and this is all of you for now?”
“Yes. The others’ll be a few minutes yet.”
“Okay, no worries, um… just thought maybe you both counted as two, watch your heads, tall men,” she delivered this in such a deadpan manner, neither of them got it, just ducked and followed as heavy black velvet drapes parted and she led them down a narrow hallway into a dimly lit, 20x20 foot space, ceiling that high at least. At one end, a band set up in an alcove, which, Tom thought, must extend out under the sidewalk, as in their descent, he reckoned, they had not gone more than twenty feet beyond the front of the building. Their escort stopped and directed them to a booth, somewhat shielded from the rest of the room where a dozen or so people sat, eating and drinking. A waiter came and they ordered drinks, said they’d wait for food.
Tom asked Dez how he came to live in Catherine’s house? “She aksed me…” was all he said. Then, “Aw TB,” he added, when pressed, “I got kicked out the place I’s in. She wants me there.”
“What? You got kicked out? Why?”
“Aw fuck, TB. Jus’… you know? Usual shit—be’n late with rent. Not get’n the fuck’n garbage out the right day. Fuck’n bullshit, brah. But I gets it, I gets it… Man’s gotta get his. Cat’s a lifesaver, brah. Like… first time in my life… some’ go’n right.”
As if on cue, the girls arrived. Amanda seemed to know everybody, stopped on the way in and chatted with quite a few people, patrons and staff, some of whom loudly declared they’d been to her show and loved the new stuff. Cat slid in next to Dez and sampled his drink, “Mmmm, yummy! What’s that? I want one of those,” she waved and got the attention of a waiter, pointed to Dez’s drink and nodded ‘yes’, when he mouthed, “Another one?” Over the growing din.
“That’s a nine point nine, two stroke.”
“For real? That’s a weird name… what’s in it?” Cat took Dez’s hand in hers and they kissed. She said, “I thought you were amazing tonight, my love.”
Dez smiled big and they kissed again, lingering on the lips, before Dez said “Don’ even know what’s in it. Had one aft’ a the Ellen show… always order it, if they know how. Murphy… some-some, Irish Cream? Naw… dat’s Baily’s. Kinda whiskey? Jus’ like how it tastes.”
“What are you having, Tom?”
“A Samuel Beckett—Jameson with nothing in it…” no one laughed. Neither of them knew who Samuel Beckett was. Amanda, perky as ever, slid in and pressed, right up against Tom, “You try’n a sit on my lap?” He asked and she eagerly nodded yes, “Okay but… let’s put a pin in it.”
“Aargh!” She slid away, as if pricked, “Yuck! I hate clichés… put a bird on it.”
“Put a pony on it,” Tom shot back and she looked at him like he meant more than he said.
The waiter brought several appetizers and set them down—an assortment of batter dipped, deep fried vegetables and mushrooms with a special sauce. Cat wouldn’t eat any because it had gluten, but Tom and Dez did. Amanda said she wasn’t hungry, finished Tom’s drink without asking and ordered a Bogart, said to Tom, “You have to try this.” They had a charcuterie plate next, with a variety of meats, cheeses, olives and pickled peppers, served on tiny loaves of bread, cut in half and toasted. Cat ate some olives and peppers but was vegan, mostly, and ordered a rice noodle salad which she picked at and Dez ultimately ate. Amanda complained that Cat never ate anything and Cat said, “Look who’s talking!” Tom and Dez finished it all no problem, right around when the band started to play. Tom looked at his phone… it was 1:30 a.m.
After two meandering, slow jazz numbers, Totes—the bandleader, introduced Amanda and invited her onstage, called her, “a leading innovator in the Portland music scene. She commands of so many styles, it’s dizzying. Dez seemed envious, Cat adoring. Amanda took the microphone from Totes, pointed at Catherine and said, “This is for you, my dear. It’s your year, Girl!” What she sang, blew Tom away. After a minute or so of instrumentals, the tune, vaguely familiar, hung just on the edge of recollection but he couldn’t quite place it until she started—Year of the Cat, by Al Stewart, sounding just like him, accent perfect… In a morning from a Bogart movie/in a country where they turn back time/you go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre contemplating a crime/she comes out of the sun in a silk dress running like a watercolor in the rain/Don’t bother asking for explanations/she’ll just tell you that she came/in the year of the Cat… Catherine cried, held both hands to her heart, tears streaming down her cheeks, staring at Amanda in adoration, who gave it all she had and then some… stayed on and did two more numbers with the band—sang scat over the first and played keyboards on the second, was featured in a two minute solo to take it out, very impressive. Once back in their booth, super wound up, the band did one more number and announced they were taking a break. Whence Amanda invited everyone backstage but did it in such a way it was clear she meant only Dez and walking away with him in tow said back top them, “It’s a musician thang.”
As they disappeared, stage right, Tom addressed Catherine, “I’m sorry, if this is off base but… Dez is stay’n at your house? What do you think Seamus’ll do when he finds that out?”
She turned away, stared at the empty stage a minute, crossed her arms, irritated by the question; turned back and said, “Don’t know, Tom. Do you?”
“No, but… he’s not gonna be happy,” Tom pressed.
“He’s never been happy. The only time he’s happy is when he’s screwing somebody, not me.”
“Uh…” Tom wasn’t sure how to respond to this, “I don’t… I’m sorry… I’m just worried. Dez doesn’t always make the best decisions… he can be super antagonistic… seems like a bad combination. Cat… I watched Seamus, the other day, open his knife and prepare to stab a man, who worked for him. Later, he said he would have done it, without hesitation, had the guy swung his hammer at him, which he was fix’n to do… until Max and Jonesy showed up.”
“And you think Seamus will… hurt us… if he finds out?”
“If?” Tom leaned forward, felt way out of his lane but went on anyway, “You know him better than I do but… yeah! Maybe not physically… look, I don’t wanna suggest anything or make out like I know what should happen here because I don’t but… he knows everybody! He took your Rover? What the fuck? Everywhere we go he’s talk’n with people and they tell him what’s go’n on with their families, the neighborhood. They ask him to come look at things, offer coffee, food, drinks. It’s not like you guys are hide’n out.”
“No and I’m not going to hide, Tom. I’ve hid enough and I’m done. The lawyers can sort it out. I’ll take my half and he can do whatever he wants. It’s over… a long time ago.”
Her half…? This hit like a brick and set off a cascade of thought he did not wish to have. Seamus worked for cash… boasted often he had no idea how much he made and never paid a cent of tax. How do you determine half a number there’s no record of? Tom had a sinking feeling and feared Cat didn’t understand. How could that be? Wouldn’t her lawyer know? Dez and Amanda came back then, obviously amped. Tom thought they probably snorted coke. Amanda laughing, hung on Dez’s arm and said, “Life a the fucking party, this one… wowed ‘em backstage. You should have done it, Dez… you should a said, yes. It would be so good! You still could.”
“What?” Catherine asked, looking from Amanda to Dez and back.
“They invited him up in the second set but he said no. They do a jazz version of Renegade and he was like telling this story… fucking hilarious! About Ellen… you know… Degenerates, whatever her name is? Unbelievable! What a cunt! He played sax with X Ambassador, on the Renegade tour.”
“Aft’ a what you done? Year a the Cat? No way! Fuck’n sick… pure genius. I be clown’n aft’ a dat. I ain’t gonna fuck wit’ these boys.”
“You got to get over it, Dez. Big opportunity in this town, if you stay up late and say, yes.”
“Naw… even Dez gots ‘is limits. I’m whack… long ass day,” Catherine started massaging his shoulders and neck as he rolled his head around and the band came back on stage. Amanda started fawning over Tom, got him a special drink, leaned in when she laughed, held his hand, thanked him for coming to her show and going out with them. The band played quiet enough, so he could hear (and feel) her low voice, raspy from singing, very erotic. Then… she lit a cigarette.
“Amanda! Don’t!” Cat snapped, looked very upset, “Why? Why do you do this?”
She sat back, ignored Cat, puffed away and watched the band. Soon, the manager came over, crouched down and said, “Amanda, come on… you can’t smoke in here. It’s the law.”
“It’s the law… it’s the law…” she mocked her, “So I gotta stand in your piss soaked stairwell, if I want to smoke? Or should I just go backstage? Is it legal to smoke there? Cuz… we just smoked with the band on break. Maybe you should have us all arrested,” she gestured at the band with her cigarette.
Still crouching, the manager pretended to beat her forehead against the table a few times, then stood upright, crossed her arms and said, “Okay… you have to leave, if you don’t stop now.” Amanda crushed it out on the wooden table, “Alright… sorry Cat but I have to ask you leave.”
“Fuck you! I’m outa here,” Amanda grabbed her bag, pushed past the manager and, walking backwards through the room, blew kisses to the band, who all nodded or waved and… was gone.
“Let me out. I need to follow her. It’s late… we should go. Here,” she handed Dez two hundred dollar bills, “settle up will you, Love? Meet us outside. Rabbit’s on the run!” Dez nodded and got up, like he weighed a ton but collapsed back down in the booth, once she left the room.
“Shouldn’t we go?” Tom asked, having gathered up his stuff.
“I’m so sick a her shit, right now, TB. She fuck’n Looney tunes, brah.”
“Amanda?”
“Yeah… ‘manda, ‘s like she be over all the time, since I moved in. Cat run’n round, do’n shit for her like she’s her kid, brah. She wanted a… aw, fuck. We gotta get up on outa here…” he slid out the booth, stood with great effort, saluted the band, pointed at Totes (who pointed back), turned and left. Tom stared at the two hundreds sitting on the table and thought—no way what they ate and drank cost two hundred dollars, tried to recall all they’d had and find a waiter for the check but no one was around. The room had thinned to a dozen or so people but no waiters. Tom peaked in the back, saw a couple, at the bar but no bartender, no cash register, no hostess, so he headed down the narrow hall, through the vestibule and out into the night… early morning. The stairwell did smell like piss… he hadn’t noticed, coming in. On the way up the stairs, Tom questioned his attraction to Amanda (again), who epitomized the term—loose cannon. Cresting the steps, he saw them, to his left, half a block away, smoking cigarettes and laughing at Dez, telling stories.
“TB!” Amanda yelled, threw down her cigarette, ran towards Tom and leapt into his arms, kissed him on the lips and said, “I love you, Tom Brown! You’re the best!”
He kissed her back and they made out a minute, her legs squeezed tight around his waist, arms around his neck. He liked how she kissed, very passionate.
“Okay, come on you two…” Cat said, “Get a room.”
Amanda arched her back and dropped her head, suddenly. Fearing she was falling, Tom adjusted his grip, “Don’t! Don’t! Let go!” She barked and, keeping her legs tight around his waist, ankles crossed, lowered to the sidewalk, released her legs from Tom’s waist into a handstand. He stepped back and she walked a few feet on her hands, with super arched back. Dropped down and, once upright again, they all clapped and she yelled, “Yoga party tricks! Tom’s turn!”
“Naw… I’m spent. It’s…”
she lunged and stopped him from pulling out his phone, “Nobody better tell me what time it is! Okay? Nobody! Don’t say it!”
“It’s…” Cat started.
She lunged from Tom to Catherine and put a hand over her mouth, “I mean it!”
Dez looked up from his phone, shook his head at her antics, “It’s three fuck’n thirty… can we go? I’m beat,” he looked at Cat, who raised her eyebrows like to say—I can’t talk with a hand over my mouth.
Amanda took her hand away, stepped close to Dez and screamed up at his face in frustration. Tom realized then—they are in competition for Cat’s attention. Dez gently swept her away, with the swipe of an arm and she freaked, lunged back and started swinging at his face (she could barely reach) until Tom pulled her off. Cat yelling, “Amanda! Stop it! Amanda!” Dez wandered down the sidewalk shaking his head, leaned against a utility pole and looked at his phone.
“Come on! We’re going to my house… now!” Amanda pushed Tom towards his car.
He went along and walking backwards yelled at Cat, “I left both bills on the table so… if you want change, you should go back and get it.”
“What do you want me to do with your car?” Cat shouted.
“I don’t care!” Amanda answered, without breaking stride or turning around, “Your house!” Then they were in his Cadillac driving towards her place, “You’re sleeping over,” she said, matter of fact, once they got going, “Not a question,” lit a cigarette but threw it out after a few puffs and turned towards him, sat cross-legged, back against the door, no seatbelt on, window open, short hair blowing in the wind, “Do you love me, Tom?” She asked, as they cruised down a deserted Grand Avenue, “Is this a thing? Or am I being an idiot?”
“Well… couldn’t it be both?”
“Ha ha! So funny. Nobody takes me serious. I mean it.”
“Amanda… I’m here. I like you… am intrigued… but love? I don’t even know what’s up with Mr. Parsons. Is he home?”
“Really… you should be a comedian Tom, you’re so funny,” she turned forward, dug into her bag, took out a prescription bottle, twisted off the lid and gulped down a couple of whatever they were, without any water.
“Are you mad? What was all that? Smoking in the Rabbit Hole? Screaming at Dez. Is that how you wanted this evening to end.”
“Fuck off! You sound like my dad,” She didn’t look at him.
Tom, upset, pulled over and said, “Get out! I’m done! Call a cab. I’ll wait till it comes.”
“Is that who you think I am?” She stared at him, wide eyed, incredulous, “Is that what love at first sight means to you?” Not waiting for an answer, she slid close, took his hand in hers and said, “Tom… I know, I’m a red hot mess… tonight. It gets this way sometimes. But when I set my heart on something, I’m true and I set my heart on you, Pony. So there… break it if you want… kick me to the curb… your loss. I’ll get out so you can go get some beauty rest,” she pushed back and picked up her bag as if getting ready to go.
“Jesus, Amanda. You don’t give a guy much room to maneuver.”
“To-om… what do you feel?” She dropped her bag slid back put a hand on his chest, just like she had the first time they met. It felt good, “Here… in your heart? What do you feel? Come on… give it a chance. Mr. Parsons, not his name, moved out, said I was too disruptive for his zombie life. Boo-hoo-hoo,” she pretended to cry and rubbed her eyes, “I don’t love him, never did.”
As difficult as Amanda could be, Tom felt energized and very alive. Awake at 4 a.m. and hanging out with one of the most famous people in Portland, who was drop dead gorgeous… was exhilarating and easy, for the most part. Tom was not a late night person but somehow she kept him up and interested twice now. Her antics didn’t bother him… but her drug use did and it felt excessive, “Okay, I’ll sleep over but you need a be patient with me. I’m not ready to launch into a red hot relationship. I just broke up with…”
“I don’t want to hear about that! Yea! Let’s go home,” she threw her arms around his neck, climbed onto his lap and they kissed a good while. Amanda pressing hard and grinding on him, once he had an erection. Tom tingled all over, liked kissing her and felt very aroused.
Amanda too seemed surprised at the intensity of this exchange, “Whoa, Pony… that was a nice ride,” she said and slid off next to him, licking her lips, “Let’s go home and hit the hay.”
I’ll drive you home but I’m not staying… Tom thought, and almost said, but held back, couldn’t take another scene, figured he’d cross that bridge when it came… if it did. She opened the garage before they got there via her phone somehow, insisted he park under the house but Tom parked on the street out front. She waited for him to open her door, got out and, once upright said, “Turn around… ready?” Jumped up on his back and pointed, “Go, Pony!”
Ready and willing, Tom trotted into the three car garage, empty but for a broken MR. B and two bicycles, one of them flipped upside down, tire flat and front wheel extremely bent, like someone (Tom imagined Amanda) hit a curb going real fast. From there she closed the doors with her phone and directed him through the huge house. At every step, Tom almost said he wasn’t going to stay the night but the passage, so captivating, kept him quiet and attentive. Easy to understand why she didn’t like sleeping alone. The house was spooky and full of dark recesses. Sculpture, custom railings and iron grates on the windows, all cast weird shadows from a streetlight out front—shadows which came alive and raced about the room, when cars passed by and their headlights shone through.
Up the central staircase, to the left and down a long hallway, they passed a half dozen rooms, Amanda pointed Tom to a large round bedroom and bed all the way at the end. The room twenty-some feet across, Tom guessed and the bed eight, at least. Very strange, he saw no indication of any round structures on the outside of the massive box. What did they do with the dead space? Doors all around, the room… closets? He turned and sat down on the bed, whence Amanda let go and laid back, flopped out her arms and said, “Yes! Finally!”
Tom stood, “You don’t seem a stranger to late nights.”
“I hate it! You’re too far away, come here!” She scooted further onto the bed and wriggled her fingers, beckoned him to lay with her. Tom removed his shoes, crawled to and reclined beside her. She rolled on top, started kissing and grinding on him and sucked hard on his tongue.
Tom reciprocated but stopped when she took off his shirt, which he let her do but said, when she started unbuttoning hers, “Wait! Wait! Wait!” Grabbed her waist with both hands and lifted her off, onto the bed, “I’ve got to pee, really bad. Which one is the bathroom?” She pouted, crossed her arms and nodded at a door across the room, curled up in a fetal position on the bed and grunted several times to express her displeasure at this interruption. After opening two wrong doors onto closets, he found the bathroom—huge and round as well. A round jet tub and what looked like a round steam shower, separated off by glass block, several round mirrors, hung on the walls. There was colorful tile on floors and walls and counters—all leaves and flowers. Tom peed, washed his hands and face, thought again about leaving but really wanted to ask what she thought about Dez’s prospects in the music business? Tom barely listened to music, had no idea what it took to make it in the music business but had a feeling Dez wouldn’t, and worried he was hurtling down a dead end about to have his spirit crushed. And, much as Tom fancied Amanda, he was not sure he was ready for her yet. Isolt popped into his mind again and Cindy…
When he came out of the bathroom, Amanda had his shirt on and sat, cross-legged, hunched over her phone, rapid-fire texting.
“What happened with Mr. Parsons? Did you guys share this bed? Is that his stuff in the bathroom?” Tom asked, as he lay down again.
She glanced at him like—Wait a minute, I can’t listen to you and do this too... finished up, plugged her phone into a charger, “Now… what? Why are you talking? Kiss me and get those clothes off.”
“Why are you texting? Who are you texting at four in the morning?”
“None of your business. Why you all up in mine, all the sudden?” She seemed irritated.
Tom jammed two pillows under his head and asked, “Do you think Dez can be successful in the music business?”
She took his left arm, put it under her neck and snuggled up against him, “No,” she laughed, “Are you kidding? He’s a total pretender. Not a chance!”
Tom, sick to his stomach but not surprised by this response, snapped back, “Then why you give him a show and try and get him onstage with Totes? What’s that all about?”
“Fuck you, Tom. Like you understand. He needs to either show out or bomb… thinks he’s hot shit but he’s not. Only way you find that out. He’ll get the message”
“You’re the one encouraged him… what? He did bomb! At Wonder Ballroom… you told him not to get discouraged and it wasn’t his fault.”
“Cat was there! What you want me to do? Humiliate him? In front of her? He’s no good.”
“I don’t know! What the fuck? It’s not… sorry, I’m just… I don’t know how to help him.”
“Looks like he’s helping himself pretty good, to me.”
“What does that mean?”
“Oh, Pony… do we have to talk now? I don’t wanna talk anymore… so tired,” she had one leg and one arm thrown over Tom, right side of her face against his bare chest, “Can’t we just fuck and go to sleep? You are really strong, Pony,” she fondled his pecs.
“Yeah, after you tell me what you meant.”
“Aargh!” She hit his chest with a fist, really hard, “About what?”
“Ow! About how is Dez helping himself?”
She lifted her head and looked at him out of one eye, incredulous, “Really? Are you that dense? Cat… he’s helping himself to Catherine Egan and all she has and I don’t like it—sorry… so boring!” She put her head back down and pretended to snore, loudly.
Tom thought about it awhile, wondered if bombing would help Dez but came to the conclusion, it wouldn’t, asked her, “What do you think Seamus’ll do… when he finds out?” But… asleep now, she only snored a little—nothing big, more wheezing really, lips distorted by her cheek pressed against him. Tom wondered what she’d taken in the car? Downers? Nudged her a couple times… no response. Slid in a pillow as he pulled his shoulder out from under, covered her with the comforter and decided to leave. Shirtless… he thought a moment about trying to get his back but decided not to risk it, did not want to explain what he was doing to a groggy Amanda Parsons, should she awaken to him undressing her. Tom looked around and wondered—how rich was she? Was he on security cameras carrying her in? Peeked in a couple of closets and saw expensive men’s clothes, a lot of them—suits, ties, shoes… was Mr. Parsons even gone? Sure didn’t look like it. Tom gazed upon her… one last time… so beautiful, sleeping… gathered his stuff and left, still shirtless, found his way back to and exited the garage, opened one of the doors and, once it was up all the way, pressed the button and ran for it. Bent over half, he jumped the laser detector so it wouldn’t trigger the door to reopen. Success! Once outside, Tom kept running, got in his car and drove off, quick as he could, feared Amanda would wake and call or chase him. It was starting to get light and, so tired… he brushed his teeth, undressed and went to bed, plugged in his phone and saw he had a message… from Isolt! Opened it and read: Tom… We’re pregnant. Call me soon as you can, please…