Chapter 31
She arrived at his door wearing Black's iridescent Fuchsia jogging suit which she was certain glowed in the dark. She'd called Shank as soon as her meeting with the members of WE ended and agreed to meet him at his place, which she discovered, after negotiating a storm-shrouded Mulholland Drive and a security gated, winding roadway, to be a colossal two story miniature replica of the White House, occupying its own individual hillock in the money drenched foothills which comprised Bel Air. He ushered her past a double staircase and pointed her towards the living room.
"I can supply an amusing and informative tour," Shank said. "Or we can simply sit in the living room, watch the rain and I'll watch you drink cheap wine. By the way, I really like the outfit--you look like the most beautiful inner part of some exotic flower. Orchids come to mind."
"I had neither in mind," Rickie said, "but right now a glass of cheap wine does sound nice. But what's a self-confessed alcoholic doing with wine in his home?"
"Just because I don't drink doesn't my friends can't." He headed for the kitchen.
Rickie descended a short flight to a living room which enjoyed, beyond a wall of glass, a stunning view of the San Fernando Valley. The fireplace, a brick and oak trimmed cavity big enough to roast a bear in, was in use, and like everything else in and around Tinsel town was a realistic fake, a clever arrangement of monstrous ceramic logs cleverly aflame from a dozen gas jets hidden beneath a bed of sand.
There was just one thing wrong with the setup; the spacious room was completely empty except for a couch and coffee table. In its defense, the couch was a nice one, it being of a length suitable for full stretch napping, positioned as it was facing the wall of glass, its plump cushions covered in comfortable beige brocade and festooned with a nice grouping of small, soft, brightly colored pillows.
The couch and view notwithstanding, she felt the urge to flee. Where is the rest of this man's friggin' furniture?
A few minutes later, Shank swept in with a serving tray holding a wine glass, a bottle of white zinfandel in an ice bucket, and a carafe of hot coffee accompanied by a thick white mug and a pitcher of heavy cream. The tray he set on the table without comment, serving the wine for her and pouring himself a coffee before they each took up positions on the opposite sides of the couch.
"Okay," she said. "You know I have to ask. Where's the rest of your furniture?"
"Don't have any."
"C'mon Shank. Everybody else in your neighborhood has furniture."
"Everybody else has a life. I don't have a life; therefore, I don't need furniture."
"You've been here how long?"
"Eight years. I bought this place the day I was released from Soledad."
"Where did you get that kind of money?"
Shank frowned. "I confessed last night. Don't make me do it again."
"Eight years," Rickie said, deciding to do no more prying if Shank did not want to be pried. "And still no furniture."
Shank nodded.
Rickie rubbed her temples. "Shank, I don't know if I can do this."
"You think I'm crazy."
"What am I supposed to think?"
"Rickie, what if I were to tell you that you were the first person I've ever allowed inside this house?"
"Shank, you're scaring me. I don't understand you, and I'm not sure I have the strength to even try. You've got a dark past and you're obviously rich as sin. You were responsible for the death of a child, and you've served hard time. By your own admission, you've dabbled in Mob ventures. I'm struggling with a lot of feelings right now, many of them bad, but one of which is a feeling you have somehow awakened me for the first time in years--the feeling I might be on the threshold of falling in love. It's a darned uncomfortable feeling. Because now ... seeing your house, and the way you live in it, as though it's been abandoned ... it gives me the shivers."
"Did you like the poem I gave you?"
"About how happy we'd be if we got rid of my husband by shipping him to another planet? It was beautiful. Did you write it?"
"Nah. It's an old thing by Thomas Moore. I'm a sucker for his stuff."
"It was ... beautiful. Like a dream."
"Someday when we're old, I'll recite from memory all the great ones by Robert Herrick, the famous Cavalier poet. You should hear me do Corinna's going a' Maying. It's the one with the line that says, Then while time serves and we are but decaying, come, my Corinna, come, let us go a' Maying." He fluffed the line. His sensitive lips trembled badly halfway through and the rest of it came out a croaking, choked sob. "Sorry ... I'm starting to feel again," he said, wiping his eyes. A burst of mirth issued forth. "Rickie, you're killing me!"
Someday when we're old. Would such a day ever come? She badly desired that it did. "Yes," she said. "I'm killing you with love. I'm looking forward to the day when you recite your poems to me. When that day comes, I'll want to hear every syllable. You're avoiding my question about your house, and why it is empty."
"We're both at the age where we've done all the firsts," he said. "You know, first love, first childbirth, first drink. It's only that for me, my life wobbled out of orbit. I committed a first murder of a child. It's a moment I've never been able to make any sense of. The only thing it taught me is the future is a place which can hold indescribable horrors."
Rickie suddenly understood the mystery of Shank. "I finally get this. It's so simple; I'm surprised I didn't see it before."
"Perhaps you can enlighten me."
"Shank, you're problem is, you wish you were dead. Ever since the accident where the little girl was killed, you've wished it. Being unable to work up the nerve to kill yourself, you've imposed a living death on yourself. This lonely sterile place with no furniture ...why, it's nothing more than your mausoleum. That's what's drawn us together. God. Why didn't I see it before?"
"What? What's drawn us together?"
"Shank, we both share the same desire to be dead."
He looked at her, his eyes searching deeply into her own. "Rickie, will you hold me?" She took him in her arms and he began to shake as if to cry, but finally he pulled away, his tearless eyes turned towards the mist-filled Valley below. "I've never shed a tear over that little girl. At some very profound level, I believe that makes me a monster. There should have been tears."
"It's buried too deep."
"Rickie, God can never forgive me for what I did. I've lost my soul. It would be better all around if you left now."
Rickie laughed, a dry, hollow sound, which suggested the room was low on oxygen. "Shank, it's time you woke up to what's happening here. You and I belong together. It's clear to me we're going to be inseparable from now on."
"That's impossible."
"Shank, don't you get it? We're both fighting the same war. The other side has captured our souls and we're trying to get them back. I'm never leaving you. It's all clear to me now. We were made for each other. There’s one thing we have to accomplish before we tie the knot."
"Am I hearing you right, Rickie? I thought you said tie the knot."
Rickie pulled him close and put her lips to his ear. "Marry me." He stiffened, as though from an electric shock. "C'mon Shank, say something. Don't let the silence win."
He pulled back, clearing his throat. "My God, I want a drink."
"Drink me instead." At first, her lips were frail on his, but at some point in the process, the alarm bells ringing in their heads turned off and they began to float together towards the vast dark place where lost souls could be found. He found the wellsprings of her life and did indeed begin to drink heavily of her essence.
"Yes, Rickie...yes," Shank murmured. "I want you Rickie. You're the first thing I've wanted in eleven long years. The first thing."
"That's good, Shank. That's good. Now there's something I want, something I want very badly, and only you can give it to me."
He stood up, his face shining with a ho
ly light, not unlike that of a man released from the darkest hole on earth.
"Tell me what you want, darling."
Rickie walked to the window, staring into the day outside, gloomy as a solar eclipse. "Hershey sent two hit men to see me today. They're going to kill me after I've had a chance to feel terrified for a day or so. If they get me, I want Hershey to pay for his crime, and I want you to do it."
Shank's face took on some vivid color at this remark.
"Shank? Did you hear me?"
"You're a real find, Rickie, I'll give you that. A real find. You walk into my miserable life, make me want you, and then slap on the leash. I've changed my mind about doing your killing."
"You said earlier you'd help me."
"I'll admit I got caught up in the whole thing, but then I came to my senses. I'm not buying into your revenge thing with your husband. I almost did there for awhile, but something snapped me out of it. Maybe it was my Higher Power, or maybe it was plain luck. I'm staying out of this. I've got my own problems."
"Why, Shank? Why are you excommunicating me?"
"Because to do away with your husband ... to really light that sucker up ... I'd have to get drunk."
With that, he retrieved his jacket and walked to the kitchen intercom, ordering his driver to bring around his car.
"Shank? You're leaving?"
He nodded. "I'm going to a meeting. It's where I belong."
"That's it? I ask you to kill my husband and you go to an AA meeting? When things get tough, that's what you do?"
"It's what I do. I'm not into being tough. I'd have to get drunk to do what you are asking me to do, and I'm into being sober. I've been clean for eleven years, and I'm not stopping now. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like."
"Stay here in a house with nothing but a couch in it?"
"This is our dividing line, Rickie. You can stay here in my house with the couch and nothing else in it, or you can go back to whatever's left of your life out there. You know how I feel about you, but you have to know I'm an old leopard and I won't be changing my spots anytime soon."
"I think I get it. To you, our affair is like a paint by numbers kit. If we do it by the numbers, we'll make it work, but if we go outside the lines, the whole thing will fall into chaos. You're wrong. We've got to go way outside the numbers for this thing to work."
"God, you're beautiful," he said. "I hope you're here when I get back."
"If you were smart, Shank, you'd never let me out of your sight again."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, you should invite me to your meeting."
"You won't go. Not after I refused your request."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you. I had no right."
"Rickie, I'm never going to know what to expect from you, am I?"
"Never. My capacities cannot be fathomed by a mere man such as you."
"Okay, then. Rickie, you wanna go to the meeting?"
She stepped into his arms. "He who persists, gets."