Moorpark Palms - 14. Chapter 14

Vic cracked first. “Gave notice this morning,” he told me. When I got home from work, he was sitting on our landing, I think waiting for me.
“Couldn’t you ignore them?” I asked.
“Don’t wanna.”
“It’s that bad?”
“It’s more than the noise. It’s Mack. He’s bad news.”
“What about the ‘Eviction Bonus?’” I joked. “I never thought you’d give that up.”
Obviously, this was important, because for a moment he considered. “It’s not worth it,” he finally said.
“Where will you go?”
He shrugged. “I’m not leaving tomorrow – I just gave notice.”
“Be careful they don’t rent your apartment,” I warned. “To friends of Joni and Mack.”
He didn’t laugh.
“Do me a favor?” he asked instead.
“Sure.”
“I busted my lock. I was changing it, so Mack couldn’t get in. Something snapped.”
“I don’t know much about locks,” I started. “But I’ll give you a lift to the hardware store.” I figured his bike must be trapped in his apartment.
“No,” he said. “I need to go out your window. The front. If I edge along the overhang, I can climb into my living room.”
“The overhang?”
“Yeah.”
“Will it hold?”
“It better.”
We went down to inspect. The overhang was maybe fifteen feet long, angled, and several feet wide. It was Spanish-Tudor looking, with open beams and cedar shingles. Spanning from Sally’s door at one end to Sheila’s on the other, it also covered the entry to the staircase Vic and I shared.
“Looks solid,” I said.
“It is. I’ve been on it.”
We went back upstairs. I shifted my desk and raised the blinds. After taking out the screen, I watched Vic squeeze through the narrow window.
“A bit tight,” I kidded.
He ignored me and edged around the open casement. Then he side-stepped to his apartment. His nearest window was unfortunately jammed, so he shuffled further.
“Got a screwdriver?” he soon hissed.
I found one and passed it out.
“If I get my fingers in, I can force the crank.”
“Don’t fall,” I cautioned.
He shuffled back to the window and yanked hard but couldn’t get it open.
“Shit!”
“You might have to call Mack,” I said.
“He can fuck me before that happens.”
I’d never seen Vic that angry, and it was a little scary. Fortunately, it was almost nine and dark out, and – so far – it seemed no one had seen us.
Still, Vic wasn’t getting anywhere, so I slipped onto the overhang to see if I could help. It felt springy and steeper than I would have thought. But it wasn’t going anywhere. At the nearest window, I patiently wiggled the screwdriver between the casement and the frame until it gave. Then Vic took over. Coaxing his fingers inside, he steadily widened the space enough to push in the screen. Once he wormed his hand to the crank, the window opened, and he practically dove onto his rug.
“Thanks,” he said, coming up grinning. “Meet you at the door.”
I worked my way back to my apartment, quickly replaced the screen and lowered the blinds so it seemed nothing had happened. When I rejoined Vic, he was dissecting his lock.
“One damn cog!” he said. He quickly reversed it and reinstalled his lock. Everything was fine.
“Nice work,” I said.
“Easy stuff. I used to build planes.”
“See you around.”
“I owe ya, buddy. Now I gotta pack.”
“You’re really leaving then?”
“I never change my mind.”
“You might reconsider...”
“Nah. Like I said, it’s not worth it.”
The next day, almost everything he owned was in boxes. Where it stayed for maybe eight months.
“I found a great place,” he told me within a week. “But my mother won’t let me move.”
I laughed. “You’re forty-years-old. What’s she have to do with it?”
He wouldn’t explain
“It’s his disability,” Sally later said. “I don’t understand it all, but it has to do with the monthly payments from his union and the government being too little, and his family helping him live. But only if he stays out of trouble.”
“Trouble? He seems harmless...”
“If you’re not a woman,” Claire reminded us.
Sally waved that away. “Irene Heldigger – the old owner – is a friend of his mother’s,” she went on. “That’s why Vic lives here.”
“But the Heldiggers sold the building.”
“His mother must want him to stay.”
Vic certainly didn’t go anywhere, despite his plans. Though every day, his feud with Mack grew a bit more intense. Mack would just stop what he was doing and glare at Vic whenever the two met. Vic soon avoided Mack as much as possible, hiding in our stairwell till he was sure the other man was gone, then speedily peddling away.
“Does he know he’s nuts?” Joni asked me about Vic. “They should lock him away from people.”
“He pretty much does that himself.”
“As you his friend?”
“Not really. We share the landing.”
“Well, you should be here during the day. He scares the kids! Calls them ‘little people!’ Like in: ‘Okay, little people, listen up! Big people live here! Big people who work hard to pay our rents! So shuuuut up!’”
“The kids can get noisy,” I allowed. “I’ve heard them myself.” I didn’t tell her that I thought what Vic said was pretty funny.
“They’re kids!,” she insisted. “Doin’ what they should!”
“That doesn’t mean we want to live with it.”
I was friendlier with Joni than with Mack and could normally tell her things that were wasted on her husband. But this time, I wasn’t getting through.
“If you want to move...” she began.
“I’m fine,” I said, smiling. “I mainly sleep here. How often do you see me around?”
She shrugged. Maybe she didn’t care.
“Kind of gutless,” Claire told me when I repeated the story.
“I don’t like causing problems.”
“You should move somewhere better. I’ll bet you can afford it.”
“And you?” I said, laughing it off.
“I told you, I’m lazy. And probably as busy as you are.”
“The stupid thing is,” I added, “I like the building. It’s home.”
She thought for a moment. “I know what you mean. I don’t want to leave, either.”
Donna – Elvis’ former bodyguard – had no trouble with the noise. “I love kids and always hate seeing them grow up.”
I didn’t see Donna a lot, but when I did, she always had news. “Kyle nearly got a movie!” she shouted one evening. “How about that!”
“What happened?”
“It’s one of those Karate Kid spin-offs. They tested him six times – with all different actors. They’d test one, then look at Kyle. Test another, then give Kyle another scene. For a weekend, he was definitely cast – Mack and Joni were planning a trip to Maui. Then the producers saw this blonde kid.”
“Joni wouldn’t bleach Kyle’s hair?”
Donna laughed. “She tried that once. It looked real fake.”
“When’s that stopped Hollywood?”
We both laughed.
“Kyle must be disappointed,” I went on. “Losing the job.”
“He’s strong,” she told me. “Spoiled, but really okay. I just wish Joni and Mack wouldn’t get him so excited.”
“Does Gini act, too?”
“No. They tried. She panics.”
“She’s still young.”
“It doesn’t matter. Poor Gini! Kyle brings in the dough, so he gets everything. She just gets dumped on.”
“I didn’t realized there was a favorite. Maybe she’ll be better for it.”
“Is that today’s crock-of-shit theory?” Donna asked, grinning.
Over the next few weeks, I tried to watch the kids more closely. It was true: Kyle always had new toys. Mack and Joni steadily took him places. Gini seemed to share whatever the twins had.
“See those?” Harv bragged one Sunday.
“What?” I’d slept out the night before and was mainly coming home for clean clothes.
“The twins’ new skates.”
I could hear grinding in the courtyard. “Are they old enough?”
“Oh, sure. With helmets. Knee-pads. Elbow pads. Wrist-braces, natch.”
“They’ll look like gladiators.”
“It’s their birthday!”
“Congratulations!”
“Four! Can you believe that? Can’t wait till they’re grown! Gonna be beauts.”
Kyle had new skates the next evening, though Gini still ran barefoot – the only peasant in a land of roller kings.
“Gotta do something about that,” Donna insisted.
“Do Mack and Joni mind?”
“Nah, they let me treat Gini. I’d do it more, but I got my own kids to spoil.”
“Kids? You’re joking! Where?”
“Vegas. In their twenties. A son and a daughter.”
“You’re not old enough!”
She grinned. “I’m seeing a guy in his twenties, too.”
“That I believe!”
“You’ll probably meet him soon.”
“I’d better!”
The following month – April – when I got home late one Friday night, music was jamming out Donna’s door.
“Party!” she hollered. “Come on in!”
I was beat and had an early meeting scheduled. Still, I figured for two minutes, I could be polite.
“Beer?” Donna offered. I took one. “This is Garth.”
We shook hands. “Now I have to find a doctor,” I joked, gently retrieving what was left of my fingers. “I use these for a living.”
“Sorry, bud.” Garth’s voice was deeper than my dad’s.
He was a cowboy – I could tell from the scars. And I could see most of them, Garth being somewhat underdressed. He wore cut-offs, frayed to the pockets, unbuttoned, and nearly unzipped. A small gold-and-diamond horseshoe bounced on his chest.
He drained a beer. “We’ve been partying since noon!”
“He’s been in the pool!”
“Cold! Really snarkles your privates!”
He and Donna laughed.
“Sit!” he ordered.
I cleared a chair.
“What do you do with them hands?” he asked.
I quickly explained.
“My boss’s a writer, too! We should get you together!”
I re-explained that I didn’t have quite that experience.
“Either does he! He owns a ranch! Writes rodeo flicks no one buys!”
Donna found this very funny.
“Another beer?” Garth asked.
I gestured with the nearly-full one I had.
“You got two paws!”
If he arrived at noon, assuming – probably falsely – he’d been sober, and allowing time for the inevitable hard-wrought sex – why else does a stereotype exist? – I gave him five minutes before he passed out.
Two hours later, we were still talking. An exhausting conversation: race tracks, stunt flying, car engines. My strong subjects. “I gotta go,” I finally said. “Got an early call.”
“We’re grilling steaks tomorrow night! Bring your girl!”
I nicely apologized that I’d have to work late.
“We’ll wait!”
Too numb to fake another excuse, I mumbled, “Phone you around five.”
“You didn’t promise?” the guy I was seeing said when I told him. He wanted to see a new Italian movie.
“Who remembers what I said? I’d had four beers.”
“That’s not much.”
“When’s the last time you saw me drink?”
He laughed. “Might be worth going. Just to see you compete.”
When I called Donna at five, there was no answer. And no machine.
“We’ve got to stop by,” I told my friend, and he only agreed because the Italian movie was playing nearby. This time, Garth was slightly better dressed – full jeans, though still flapping at the fly.
“You‘re early!” he shouted, even before I parked my car.
“I tried to call. It just kept ringing.”
He shook the cell phone lying by the pool. “Dammit!” He tossed it in the water.
“Garth!” Donna yelped.
“Buy you ‘nother one, Sweetie.”
“You just bought that.”
He stripped off and dove. “Wasn’t gonna do that again,” he said, grinning as he hit the surface.
Of course, now the phone definitely didn’t work, though Garth – still bare-assed – fiddled with it for a while before tossing it in the trash. As he casually pulled on jeans, he handed my friend a beer.
“Let’s skip the movie,” he decided.
Garth grilled steaks. “Cajun style!” though he was from Arizona. “Met Donna on the circuit there!”
“Arizona?” my friend asked.
“You know it?”
“I went to college there.”
“Where?”
“Flagstaff.”
“Great little town! ” Garth pronounced. “Great gals!”
“Yeah, it was fun.”
“No shit!”
Donna laughed. Garth was playfully all over her – of course, he was all over me, too: he was just a big, friendly guy. We all got drunk. Ate. Told stories. Garth eventually put on more clothes. When the temperature dropped, I went for a sweater.
“We could go inside,” Donna suggested.
“Nah!” resisted Garth. “Look at those stars.” He identified constellations I could barely see.
“Where’d you learn that?” I asked.
“Useful thing to pick up.”
“For cattle drives?”
He shook his head. “To impress les mademoiselles.”
My friend was hypnotized. “Damn cowboy-poets!” he whispered, when Garth was momentarily out of sight. “I’m always a sucker.”
“I could learn to ride.”
Like it would have mattered. Still, when we were all beyond coherence, my friend wanted to go home.
“We can’t drive now,” I warned him.
“You don’t understand,” he explained. “I can’t be around this kind of guy for long. You won’t like what I do.”
I realized there was a kind of compliment in there, so I called a cab and took him home.
“Thanks,” he told me the next morning, adding, “You were perfect last night.”
I had the good sense to keep quiet.
“Certain guys just get to me,” he confessed. “If you and Donna hadn’t been there, and Garth is as loose as I think, he and I might’ve fucked each other crazy.”
I knew that.
“So I owe you something.”
We settled on dinner. It was a good dinner.