Billy Summers

He opens the refrigerator and sees it’s stocked with staples: juice, milk, eggs, bacon, a few bags of deli meats and cheeses, a plastic carton of potato salad. There’s a rack of Poland Spring water, a rack of Coke, and a sixpack of Bud Light. He pulls out the freezer drawer and has to smile because what’s in there says so much about Ken Hoff. He’s single and until his divorce (Billy’s sure there was at least one), he has been fed and watered by women, starting with a mother who probably called him Kenny and made sure he got his hair cut every two weeks. The freezer is stuffed with Stouffer’s entrees and frozen pizza and two boxes of ice cream novelties, the kind that come on a stick. There are no vegetables, fresh or frozen.

‘Don’t like him,’ Billy says aloud. He’s not smiling anymore.

No. And he doesn’t like what Hoff is doing in this. Aside from Hoff being too out front after the deal goes down, there’s something Nick’s not telling him. Maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe it does. As Trump says at least once a day, Who knows?

3

There’s a hose in the basement, coiled up and dusty. That evening, as the heat of the day is starting to fade a little, Billy lugs it outside and hooks it up to the faucet bib on the side of the house. He’s standing on the front lawn, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, spraying the grass, when a man comes over from next door. He’s tall, his own tee blinding white against very black skin. He’s carrying two cans of beer.

‘Hi, neighbor,’ he says. ‘Brought you a cold one to welcome you to the neighborhood. Jamal Ackerman.’ He’s got both beers in one big hand and holds out the other.

Billy shakes. ‘David Lockridge. Dave. And thanks.’ He twists the hose shut. ‘Come on inside. Or we can sit out on the steps. I haven’t really got the place sorted out yet.’ No need of the dumb self here; in Midwood he can be a more regular self.

‘Porch steps’ll do fine,’ Jamal says.

They sit. They open the cans: fsst. Billy tips his to Jamal’s and says, ‘Thanks.’

They drink. They survey the lawn.

‘It’ll take more than water to bring that mess back,’ Jamal says. ‘I’ve got some Miracle-Gro, if you want to use some. They had a BOGO deal at the Wally World Garden Center last month and I have plenty.’

‘I might take you up on that. I’m planning a trip to Wally World myself. I might get a couple of chairs for the porch. But probably not until next week. You know how it is, new place and all.’

Jamal laughs. ‘Do I ever. This is the third house we’ve lived in since I got married in ’09. First one was her mom’s.’ He pretends to shiver. Billy smiles. ‘Got two kids, ten and eight. Boy and a girl. When they bug you, cause they will, holler them back home.’

‘If they don’t break the windows or light the place on fire, they won’t bug me.’

‘You buying or renting?’

‘Leasing. I’ll be here awhile, don’t know just how long. I’m … it’s a little embarrassing to come right out and say it, but I’m writing a book. Trying, anyway. Looks like there’s a chance I can get it published, might even be some real money in it, but I’ll have to buckle down. I’ve got an office in town. The Gerard Tower? At least I think I do. I’m going to look at it tomorrow.’

Jamal’s eyes have gotten very wide. ‘An author! Living right here on Evergreen Street! I’ll be goddamned!’

Billy laughs and shakes his head. ‘Easy, big fella. I’m just a wannabe for now.’

‘Still, man! Wow. Wait ’til I tell Corinne. We gotta have you over to dinner some night. We’ll be able to tell people we knew you when.’

He holds up a hand. Billy slaps him five. You get along with people without buddying up to them, Nick said. It’s true and it’s not a shuck. Billy likes people, and he likes to keep them at arm’s length. It sounds like a contradiction, but it’s not.

‘What’s it about, your book?’

‘Can’t tell you.’ This is where the editing begins. Giorgio may think he knows it all from reading a few writers’ magazines and online posts, but he doesn’t. ‘Not because it’s a big secret or something, but because I’ve got to keep it bottled up. If I start talking about it …’ He shrugs.

‘Yeah, man, got it.’ Jamal smiles.

And so, yeah. Just like that.

4

That night Billy browses Netflix on the big TV in the rumpus room. He knew it was a thing these days but has never bothered to investigate it when there are so many books to read. There’s so much to watch as well, it seems. The sheer volume of choices is intimidating and he decides to go to bed early instead of watching anything. Before undressing, he checks his phone and finds a text from his new agent.

GRusso: 9 AM at Gerard Tower. Don’t drive. Uber.

Billy doesn’t have a David Lockridge phone – neither Giorgio nor Frank Macintosh gave him one – and he doesn’t have a burner. He decides to use his personal since Giorgio already did. With the encrypted messaging app it should be all right. And Billy has something he really needs to say.