Lights Out

“College? It’s not so tough, Eddie. Like high school, except you get laid more.”

“I meant without a scholarship.”

Jack took a drag. The red tip brightened. “Waiting tables, loans, scrounging, the usual.”

Someone screamed, faint and far away, down in the park.

“Did Bobby tell you how to find me?” Jack said.

“I saw your letterhead at Vic’s. Your old letterhead.”

Jack refilled their glasses. Eddie’s didn’t need refilling, but Jack poured anyway. He swirled the liquid in his glass, staring into the tiny whirlpool he’d made.

“What happened to J. M. Nye and Associates?” Eddie said.

Jack made a sound, not a laugh, more like a snicker. “It was an eighties thing. The climate’s changed.”

“How?”

“Like the ice age.” He took another drink, a big one, as though to fend off the cold.

“So Windward Financial Services is something different?”

“Leaner. I don’t know about meaner. We were mean from the get-go.”

“You’re talking about the associates?”

“Right.”

“Who are they?”

Jack shrugged. “What you’d expect. It doesn’t matter. They’re gone.”

“You’re on your own?”

“Thank God.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because now I don’t have to worry about a bunch of fuck-ups fucking up. One of my beloved associates is still in the hoosegow.”

Hoosegow. One of those words that was supposed to be funny. Eddie didn’t find it funny at all. He said nothing.

Jack misinterpreted his silence. “He didn’t do anything sinful,” he said. “In this business the line between making a killing and breaking the law can be very fine.”

“So people can end up in the hoosegow just by accident.”

There was another silence, much longer than the last. Jack laid down his drink. He put his hands together, almost in the attitude of prayer; his fingernails glowed pink-orange in the light flowing through the window.

“I’m sorry, bro,” he said.

“For what?”

“For not … keeping in touch. It was inexcusable. But-” His voice broke. “-I couldn’t stand to see you like that. That goddamn visitor’s room. That was hell, Eddie. I won’t forget it till my dying day.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yes, you do. I took the easy way.”

“What do you mean?”

There was wetness on Jack’s face. “It was easier to forget,” he said. He picked up his glass and drained it. “To try to forget.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.”

“No, I’m not.” Jack took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

He drank more Armagnac. So did Eddie.

“Eddie?”

“Present.”

“How are you? Really.”

The phone rang. Jack answered it. “Send it up,” he said. Then he turned to Eddie. “I want you to stay here. I mean that. As long as you like. Don’t worry about anything, anything at all. Understand?”

“Sure.” He understood the concept of not worrying. He was free. What was there to worry about?

“Do you need any money?” Jack asked.

“Got some. I’ve been making it hand over fist.”

“Here.” Jack laid some bills on the table.

“No, thanks.”

“Just take it. Get yourself some clothes. See the sights. I’m not going to be around tomorrow.”

“No?”

“Business trip.”

“Where?”

“Nowhere interesting. We’ll come up with a plan when I get back.”

“What kind of plan?”

“To get you back on your feet.”

“I’m on my feet.”

“I know. I can’t tell you how impressed I am.” Jack poured more Armagnac. “But what do you want to do, Eddie? Or is it too soon to say?”

Eddie thought it over. “Go for a swim.”

Jack laughed. “Same old-” He cut himself off. His eyes were pink-orange in the light. Someone knocked on the door.

Jack went to it. A bellman held out a silver tray bearing an envelope. Jack took it and returned to the couch.

“You can swim anytime you like at my club,” he said. “Although that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Is it too late to get into junk bonds?” Eddie said.

Jack smiled his smile. “They’re making a comeback already.” He had one more shot of Armagnac, then rose, stretching. “You can sleep on the pullout,” he said.

“I’m fine here.”

“Pullout’s more comfortable.” Jack went into the bedroom.

Eddie finished what was in his glass, put it down. His eyes rested on the envelope the bellman had brought. It wasn’t sealed. He peeked inside, saw a plane ticket, slipped it out. Jack was taking a return flight to Grand Cayman, first class.

“All set,” Jack called.

Eddie went into the bedroom. Jack was spreading a quilt on the pullout. He gave the pillows a little pat and went into the bathroom.

A few minutes later they were in their beds. The pullout was comfortable, but Eddie couldn’t sleep. He lay in it, feeling the Armagnac tingling inside him. He’d had too much, on top of too much the night before, and nothing for so many nights before that. The room began to spin, just a little. He watched it spin for a while, listening to Jack’s breathing. He knew that sound.

He spoke. “What happened to Fearless?”

“Confiscated.” Jack replied immediately, wide-awake.

“How did Packer take that?”

Eddie heard a little laugh. “Brad? I don’t think he cared much by then. The bank owned the boat anyway.”

“It did?”

“Sure. Packer was just a nobody with a two-bit dream. The world’s full of Packers.”