Nightfall -- Episode XIX
I thought yesterday was Friday, which means I should be dancing for joy today. I am, sort of. But very tiredly.
Fire your guns.
-50-
The rented Toyota Landcruiser rounds the corner of the mountain and, for a moment, I think we will fly off the road, over the cliff and into the calm water of Lake Tahoe below us. It's such an utterly entrancing idea that part of me is already unsnapping the seat belt in preparation for the crash... and then the breath leaves my lungs as we turn along the asphalt and the sun comes out from behind the clouds. The dazzling lights refracts off the water, the winds stir the smooth glassy surface into small peaks of white frost, and I can do nothing but lean over Johnny’s lap to see the beauty under us as seagulls fly in a V pattern out across the lake, pine trees waving gently in the breeze and--
“Oh, wow,” I breathe, and am shocked at how weak my voice is. “Oh God, Johnny, it’s... it’s so beautiful. It’s so beautiful, I never realized it--“
Johnny turns to look at me, guiding the Landcruiser along the twisting road down toward the city. “It’s a beginning,” he finally says, and turns his attention back to the road. “You’ve seen enough of the dark side; now, maybe you’ll listen to the rest. I know it’s true that in many ways the world is a sick machine... but you know, if you look hard enough, it can be beautiful, too. Really beautiful.”
I lie back in the seat. My hand finds his atop the gearshift and through the open sunroof I can see the sun shining brightly in the sky. For some reason, it seems as though it is a different one from the one we saw when flying in on the plane. It will set soon, but if I close my eyes, I can still see it.
Even here, where I am tonight, I can still see it.
-51-
We check into the Caesar Hotel under the names Dee Dee and Johnny Ramone; I pay in cash and there are no questions asked or eyebrows raised about the bizarre monikers. Here on the Nevada-California border, money smoothes everything over. A junior version of Sin City.
As Johnny signs the guest registry I wander out to the lobby to see the cocktail waitresses in their togas. On a Wednesday evening, there are only a few gamblers here. Dice are rolled, cards dealt, wheels spin. The waitresses stand near the bar smoking cigarettes, talking to each other in bored voices about their boyfriends, their chances of doing well on their finals, what the strange noise might be under the hood might be, how close they are to bankruptcy after paying their rent. Normal people enjoying their
(murder death kill murder death)
normal lives. Normal lives. I envy them.
How would they feel if something out of the ordinary happened? How would they feel if I
(go on do it let it come)
went down the street to the store and bought a
(shotgun comes out people go down but it won't save them oh no because I'm death the reaper incarnate and I jump behind the bar and the cowering waitress's head comes apart like a watermelon and the rest are screaming screaming like burning cats and the second girl is scrambling to her feet but her knee explodes hey man nice shot and she goes down and there is the smell of copper everywhere oh everywhere yes it is here murder death kill murder death kill and now there's something you don't see every day a little out of the ordinary wouldn't you say and here you go miss waitress how about a nice murder death kill)
"Tesla, the room's ready," Johnny says from behind me and we go upstairs.
-52-
The most frightening thing about the daydream is not the vividness of it--although if I close my eyes, I can still see the spray of bone fragments from the blonde waitress's head being sheared away--but the frequency in which they come. This is the fourth time since my meeting with Doctor Mansfield where my mind has abruptly turned away from real life and begun to think... about...
To be honest, I've been thinking lately about how good it would feel to take some of these people down into the black with me.
And, God help me, I like the thought.
-53-
“Go ahead, go inside,” Johnny says.
I stand at the door, suitcase in hand. On his advice, I am not wearing my shoes and my bare feet feel every chill from the worn linoleum on the floor. The wonders of the Niagara Suite await me. It’s costing me four hundred and seventy five dollars a night, four nights total, as we are leaving on Friday. This is money well spent, I hope.
I inhale as we walk inside.
It’s beautiful. Gorgeous. I can’t believe it’s all for us.
I walk through thick gray carpeting which brushes through my toes deliciously, sending small shivers through my legs. The bed is an actual canopy bed with gauzy white curtains which are billowing in a slight breeze from the open window overlooking what will be the lake water below us... black and white marble walls, a circular fireplace with brass and copper screens in the middle of the room. There is a light blue ceiling some twelve feet above us, so faded as to be almost white, the slight dash of color thrown into it as though it were an afterthought. Two levels, the lower one holding a sumptuous living room with a full stereo, television, and VCR, all in gleaming black.
And a bone-white refrigerator standing next to the patio, which Johnny walks toward, tossing his own battered suitcase carelessly down next to the bed. He opens the door, the light streaming out across his face--which looks both drawn and anxious as he turns to me, an unopened can of Heineken beer in his hand.
“Well?” he asks. “Is this what you had in mind? Did I get it right?”
“I--“ I sit down on one of the large chairs, sinking into its depths. My back murmurs a small thank-you as I lean back, staring up at the ceiling. A crystal chandelier holds court there, silver shining softly. “Johnny, it’s--“
“Is it what you asked for?”
I remember it so clearly; Johnny had turned to me, hand over the phone while making the reservations, and asked what I wanted for a room. I had shrugged. He asked again, this time with a small edge to his voice that I had never heard before. More to shut him up than out of any real desire for a particular style of room--because there is no type for what I am about to request--I turn and snap at him A room I can die in. That’s what I want, a room that’s fit to die in.
“It’s better,” I whisper, and I smile. “I think it’s one I can live in.”
“Good. Then if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to have one of these eight dollar beers and finally relax,” he says, cracking the can. “And since you’re feeling better, what do you say we go out after this?”
“What the hell.” I begin to unpack the suitcase. “You only live once, right?”
He winks. “Not if you’re James Bond, my dear. And 007 is on the case, in her Majesty’s service.”
I have to laugh, and it feels good.
-54-
The casino is halfway full, which surprises me. And I have a good time, which is shocking. But since it’s with Johnny, I suppose that I really have no reason to be surprised. By mutual agreement, we have thrown the no-alcohol rule out the window. It’s not a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I have never seen Johnny drink before. What I see surprises me. Me, who thought the world had no more shocks for her.
He sips on his Jack Daniels and Coke, chain-smoking cigarettes and makes a soft bang under his breath as he drops a few quarters into random slot machines. Often, he does not even look to see if he has won before picking up his drink and moving on to the next. Strangely, he seems to do well; by my own internal tally, we are now roughly forty dollars ahead of our original twenty dollar investment. I follow behind him in a bemused half-daze, scraping his winnings out of the bins at the bottom into a white plastic Caesar’s bucket, smiling as I listen to him tell a story to cheer me up he’d heard from one of the defense attorneys.
“One day, this kid is sitting home in West Linn. He’s not really doing much, just sort of lazing around the house, waiting for the summer to be over. You know how it used to be? You’d wait all school year for the summer to come, and then it would be halfway over and all of a sudden you can’t wait for school to begin. I mean, you were just bored to death. Too much time on your hands and not enough channels on the television, I guess.”
He drops a quarter into something called the Royal Crown and pulls the lever. Poker hands are winners. Dogs are losers. Two kings, two fours, and a jack pop up and five dollars spews out. He snorts in approval, fishes into the bucket, comes out with another quarter and drops it. The cards spin into action again.
“I guess a really boring video came on MTV or something, because he gets really restless. What he does is, to kill some time, he goes into his dad’s bedroom and goes under his dad’s bed to this safe that’s under there. Except it’s really not all that safe, because the kid knows the combination and opens it up to reveal--“
A king, a seven, a three, a nine and a joker appear. No flush. No payment. He drops another quarter and sips his drink. I watch the counters spin.
“--what he takes out is his grandfather’s World War Two rifle, the one he used on the beach of Iwo Jima. Grandpappy must have taken pretty good care of it, because there’s no sand in the barrel and the slide action works well. It works so good, in fact, that he takes it out in the backyard to have himself a little fun.”
A four, an ace, and three sixes appear. He walks on as I clean out the latest winnings and sip my Cape Cod. My long-repressed Russian heritage strikes again. He stops before the Midnight Run machine and pops in a quarter.
“So the kid takes it out back, only there’s really nothing to shoot. You can’t plink a blue jay with something like that; I mean, what’s the point of firing something off like that if you can’t admire the end product? With a M-4 carbine rifle, there’s nothing left after the report but the echo. What he does, this genius boy that he is, was to take a wheelbarrow and prop it up against a mound of dirt in the corner of the backyard. He stands back about twenty paces and fires at it. Hits the son of a bitch dead-center, too.
“So, hey man, nice shot. He feels great about this. Who wouldn’t? Only his doorbell is ringing, and when he answers it, one of his buddies is standing there looking a little stressed.
“’Hey man,’ his buddy says, ‘did you just shoot off a gun back here?’
“’Yeah,’ the kid says, ‘you wanna plink one off?’
“The other kid shakes his head. It turns out one of the nosy neighborhood busybodies called the cops and now the street is crawling with sheriff’s deputies, all of them dying to figure out where that shot came from. Who knows, maybe there was an extra set of tickets to the Policeman’s Ball in it for the winning team. The upshot is that this shit has to be covered up, and pronto. So genius boy runs back into his father’s room, tosses the rifle under his dad’s bed, and doesn’t put it in the safe. I swear, what are they teaching the kids in these schools?”
“Pure human fuckery,” I suggest, taking a cigarette from his breast pocket.
He laughs delightedly. His cheeks are slightly flushed but that seems to be the extent of any symptoms of drunkenness. “I’d say that’s about it.” He peers down at the silver tray below him. Four quarters smile back at him.
Four tails.
I cock my head. Isn’t that--
He sweeps the quarters up into his hand and drops one right back in. Pulls the lever. “So knock, knock, knock goes the door and he opens it. Three deputies are standing there, smiling, hats in their hands. They ask if he knows anything about any shots being fired in the neighborhood, because gosh darn it all if everybody on the entire block isn’t saying the report came from this house. Specifically, the back yard. Would he mind if they took a look around, a little peek-a-boo to make sure everything’s jake? His heart rate goes up a few hundred notches but he says sure and in they go.
“They go out to the backyard and poke around for a few minutes. The head deputy says, ‘Well, we didn’t find any guns, and that’s a good thing. But darn, there sure is a big gash in that wheelbarrow over there--looks like a hole, doesn’t it, Tom? Yes, it certainly does--and we did find a rifle casing on the ground. No gun, though. If you hear anything, be sure you give us a holler, okay? All right, good. And, by the way, do you mind if we take a quick look under that big fifty-five gallon trash container that’s sitting upside down over in the corner of your yard? You mind?”
The fourth quarter goes in. Nothing yet. The counter come up with a bell, a bar, and a cherry. Nothing. We move on.
“The kid, since he’s scared shitless, says of course not, he doesn’t mind, go ahead. So they pick up the edge of the receptacle, lift it up, and discover a big-ass pot plant underneath.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“I’m shitting you negative. They say ‘Well, that’s pretty interesting. What do you know about that, Tom? Say, do you mind if we check this other one?’ So the kid says no, they pick the other one up and of course there’s another big-ass pot plant underneath. They ask him, ‘Son, do you happen to have any more of these around the house?’ And he says, ‘Well, I have a little one in a pot in my room. It’s not ready for planting yet, but--‘
“And they slap the cuffs on him.”
He lifts the cigarette to his lips, smiling faintly to himself and looks over at me with a smile. “Now, if that doesn’t beat all, I don’t know what does.”
I have to laugh. He’s standing here in the middle of a casino, surrounded by flashing lights and cocktail waitresses in togas, tourists desperately clenching their dwindling winnings in their sweaty palms and
(love him I really do I love Johnny)
He sips, smiles and says: “I know you do. And you know I love you, too. But best of all, you didn’t even have to read my mind to know it, now did you?”
The pail of coins drops to the floor.
Fire your guns.
-50-
The rented Toyota Landcruiser rounds the corner of the mountain and, for a moment, I think we will fly off the road, over the cliff and into the calm water of Lake Tahoe below us. It's such an utterly entrancing idea that part of me is already unsnapping the seat belt in preparation for the crash... and then the breath leaves my lungs as we turn along the asphalt and the sun comes out from behind the clouds. The dazzling lights refracts off the water, the winds stir the smooth glassy surface into small peaks of white frost, and I can do nothing but lean over Johnny’s lap to see the beauty under us as seagulls fly in a V pattern out across the lake, pine trees waving gently in the breeze and--
“Oh, wow,” I breathe, and am shocked at how weak my voice is. “Oh God, Johnny, it’s... it’s so beautiful. It’s so beautiful, I never realized it--“
Johnny turns to look at me, guiding the Landcruiser along the twisting road down toward the city. “It’s a beginning,” he finally says, and turns his attention back to the road. “You’ve seen enough of the dark side; now, maybe you’ll listen to the rest. I know it’s true that in many ways the world is a sick machine... but you know, if you look hard enough, it can be beautiful, too. Really beautiful.”
I lie back in the seat. My hand finds his atop the gearshift and through the open sunroof I can see the sun shining brightly in the sky. For some reason, it seems as though it is a different one from the one we saw when flying in on the plane. It will set soon, but if I close my eyes, I can still see it.
Even here, where I am tonight, I can still see it.
-51-
We check into the Caesar Hotel under the names Dee Dee and Johnny Ramone; I pay in cash and there are no questions asked or eyebrows raised about the bizarre monikers. Here on the Nevada-California border, money smoothes everything over. A junior version of Sin City.
As Johnny signs the guest registry I wander out to the lobby to see the cocktail waitresses in their togas. On a Wednesday evening, there are only a few gamblers here. Dice are rolled, cards dealt, wheels spin. The waitresses stand near the bar smoking cigarettes, talking to each other in bored voices about their boyfriends, their chances of doing well on their finals, what the strange noise might be under the hood might be, how close they are to bankruptcy after paying their rent. Normal people enjoying their
(murder death kill murder death)
normal lives. Normal lives. I envy them.
How would they feel if something out of the ordinary happened? How would they feel if I
(go on do it let it come)
went down the street to the store and bought a
(shotgun comes out people go down but it won't save them oh no because I'm death the reaper incarnate and I jump behind the bar and the cowering waitress's head comes apart like a watermelon and the rest are screaming screaming like burning cats and the second girl is scrambling to her feet but her knee explodes hey man nice shot and she goes down and there is the smell of copper everywhere oh everywhere yes it is here murder death kill murder death kill and now there's something you don't see every day a little out of the ordinary wouldn't you say and here you go miss waitress how about a nice murder death kill)
"Tesla, the room's ready," Johnny says from behind me and we go upstairs.
-52-
The most frightening thing about the daydream is not the vividness of it--although if I close my eyes, I can still see the spray of bone fragments from the blonde waitress's head being sheared away--but the frequency in which they come. This is the fourth time since my meeting with Doctor Mansfield where my mind has abruptly turned away from real life and begun to think... about...
To be honest, I've been thinking lately about how good it would feel to take some of these people down into the black with me.
And, God help me, I like the thought.
-53-
“Go ahead, go inside,” Johnny says.
I stand at the door, suitcase in hand. On his advice, I am not wearing my shoes and my bare feet feel every chill from the worn linoleum on the floor. The wonders of the Niagara Suite await me. It’s costing me four hundred and seventy five dollars a night, four nights total, as we are leaving on Friday. This is money well spent, I hope.
I inhale as we walk inside.
It’s beautiful. Gorgeous. I can’t believe it’s all for us.
I walk through thick gray carpeting which brushes through my toes deliciously, sending small shivers through my legs. The bed is an actual canopy bed with gauzy white curtains which are billowing in a slight breeze from the open window overlooking what will be the lake water below us... black and white marble walls, a circular fireplace with brass and copper screens in the middle of the room. There is a light blue ceiling some twelve feet above us, so faded as to be almost white, the slight dash of color thrown into it as though it were an afterthought. Two levels, the lower one holding a sumptuous living room with a full stereo, television, and VCR, all in gleaming black.
And a bone-white refrigerator standing next to the patio, which Johnny walks toward, tossing his own battered suitcase carelessly down next to the bed. He opens the door, the light streaming out across his face--which looks both drawn and anxious as he turns to me, an unopened can of Heineken beer in his hand.
“Well?” he asks. “Is this what you had in mind? Did I get it right?”
“I--“ I sit down on one of the large chairs, sinking into its depths. My back murmurs a small thank-you as I lean back, staring up at the ceiling. A crystal chandelier holds court there, silver shining softly. “Johnny, it’s--“
“Is it what you asked for?”
I remember it so clearly; Johnny had turned to me, hand over the phone while making the reservations, and asked what I wanted for a room. I had shrugged. He asked again, this time with a small edge to his voice that I had never heard before. More to shut him up than out of any real desire for a particular style of room--because there is no type for what I am about to request--I turn and snap at him A room I can die in. That’s what I want, a room that’s fit to die in.
“It’s better,” I whisper, and I smile. “I think it’s one I can live in.”
“Good. Then if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to have one of these eight dollar beers and finally relax,” he says, cracking the can. “And since you’re feeling better, what do you say we go out after this?”
“What the hell.” I begin to unpack the suitcase. “You only live once, right?”
He winks. “Not if you’re James Bond, my dear. And 007 is on the case, in her Majesty’s service.”
I have to laugh, and it feels good.
-54-
The casino is halfway full, which surprises me. And I have a good time, which is shocking. But since it’s with Johnny, I suppose that I really have no reason to be surprised. By mutual agreement, we have thrown the no-alcohol rule out the window. It’s not a surprise to anyone who knows me, but I have never seen Johnny drink before. What I see surprises me. Me, who thought the world had no more shocks for her.
He sips on his Jack Daniels and Coke, chain-smoking cigarettes and makes a soft bang under his breath as he drops a few quarters into random slot machines. Often, he does not even look to see if he has won before picking up his drink and moving on to the next. Strangely, he seems to do well; by my own internal tally, we are now roughly forty dollars ahead of our original twenty dollar investment. I follow behind him in a bemused half-daze, scraping his winnings out of the bins at the bottom into a white plastic Caesar’s bucket, smiling as I listen to him tell a story to cheer me up he’d heard from one of the defense attorneys.
“One day, this kid is sitting home in West Linn. He’s not really doing much, just sort of lazing around the house, waiting for the summer to be over. You know how it used to be? You’d wait all school year for the summer to come, and then it would be halfway over and all of a sudden you can’t wait for school to begin. I mean, you were just bored to death. Too much time on your hands and not enough channels on the television, I guess.”
He drops a quarter into something called the Royal Crown and pulls the lever. Poker hands are winners. Dogs are losers. Two kings, two fours, and a jack pop up and five dollars spews out. He snorts in approval, fishes into the bucket, comes out with another quarter and drops it. The cards spin into action again.
“I guess a really boring video came on MTV or something, because he gets really restless. What he does is, to kill some time, he goes into his dad’s bedroom and goes under his dad’s bed to this safe that’s under there. Except it’s really not all that safe, because the kid knows the combination and opens it up to reveal--“
A king, a seven, a three, a nine and a joker appear. No flush. No payment. He drops another quarter and sips his drink. I watch the counters spin.
“--what he takes out is his grandfather’s World War Two rifle, the one he used on the beach of Iwo Jima. Grandpappy must have taken pretty good care of it, because there’s no sand in the barrel and the slide action works well. It works so good, in fact, that he takes it out in the backyard to have himself a little fun.”
A four, an ace, and three sixes appear. He walks on as I clean out the latest winnings and sip my Cape Cod. My long-repressed Russian heritage strikes again. He stops before the Midnight Run machine and pops in a quarter.
“So the kid takes it out back, only there’s really nothing to shoot. You can’t plink a blue jay with something like that; I mean, what’s the point of firing something off like that if you can’t admire the end product? With a M-4 carbine rifle, there’s nothing left after the report but the echo. What he does, this genius boy that he is, was to take a wheelbarrow and prop it up against a mound of dirt in the corner of the backyard. He stands back about twenty paces and fires at it. Hits the son of a bitch dead-center, too.
“So, hey man, nice shot. He feels great about this. Who wouldn’t? Only his doorbell is ringing, and when he answers it, one of his buddies is standing there looking a little stressed.
“’Hey man,’ his buddy says, ‘did you just shoot off a gun back here?’
“’Yeah,’ the kid says, ‘you wanna plink one off?’
“The other kid shakes his head. It turns out one of the nosy neighborhood busybodies called the cops and now the street is crawling with sheriff’s deputies, all of them dying to figure out where that shot came from. Who knows, maybe there was an extra set of tickets to the Policeman’s Ball in it for the winning team. The upshot is that this shit has to be covered up, and pronto. So genius boy runs back into his father’s room, tosses the rifle under his dad’s bed, and doesn’t put it in the safe. I swear, what are they teaching the kids in these schools?”
“Pure human fuckery,” I suggest, taking a cigarette from his breast pocket.
He laughs delightedly. His cheeks are slightly flushed but that seems to be the extent of any symptoms of drunkenness. “I’d say that’s about it.” He peers down at the silver tray below him. Four quarters smile back at him.
Four tails.
I cock my head. Isn’t that--
He sweeps the quarters up into his hand and drops one right back in. Pulls the lever. “So knock, knock, knock goes the door and he opens it. Three deputies are standing there, smiling, hats in their hands. They ask if he knows anything about any shots being fired in the neighborhood, because gosh darn it all if everybody on the entire block isn’t saying the report came from this house. Specifically, the back yard. Would he mind if they took a look around, a little peek-a-boo to make sure everything’s jake? His heart rate goes up a few hundred notches but he says sure and in they go.
“They go out to the backyard and poke around for a few minutes. The head deputy says, ‘Well, we didn’t find any guns, and that’s a good thing. But darn, there sure is a big gash in that wheelbarrow over there--looks like a hole, doesn’t it, Tom? Yes, it certainly does--and we did find a rifle casing on the ground. No gun, though. If you hear anything, be sure you give us a holler, okay? All right, good. And, by the way, do you mind if we take a quick look under that big fifty-five gallon trash container that’s sitting upside down over in the corner of your yard? You mind?”
The fourth quarter goes in. Nothing yet. The counter come up with a bell, a bar, and a cherry. Nothing. We move on.
“The kid, since he’s scared shitless, says of course not, he doesn’t mind, go ahead. So they pick up the edge of the receptacle, lift it up, and discover a big-ass pot plant underneath.”
I laugh. “Really?”
“I’m shitting you negative. They say ‘Well, that’s pretty interesting. What do you know about that, Tom? Say, do you mind if we check this other one?’ So the kid says no, they pick the other one up and of course there’s another big-ass pot plant underneath. They ask him, ‘Son, do you happen to have any more of these around the house?’ And he says, ‘Well, I have a little one in a pot in my room. It’s not ready for planting yet, but--‘
“And they slap the cuffs on him.”
He lifts the cigarette to his lips, smiling faintly to himself and looks over at me with a smile. “Now, if that doesn’t beat all, I don’t know what does.”
I have to laugh. He’s standing here in the middle of a casino, surrounded by flashing lights and cocktail waitresses in togas, tourists desperately clenching their dwindling winnings in their sweaty palms and
(love him I really do I love Johnny)
He sips, smiles and says: “I know you do. And you know I love you, too. But best of all, you didn’t even have to read my mind to know it, now did you?”
The pail of coins drops to the floor.