This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter 7, This Monkey's Gone to Heaven

Chapter Seven






We finally made it back to Minnesota, Nicole and me, but it was a tough go. It took us nearly five days to get there. We hitchhiked. It was her idea. She really liked to travel that way. Not that we had any other options, really. In Grand Junction we found a sporting goods store so we could buy a small pup tent for the both of us to sleep in and a backpack for me, so I wouldn't have to lug my duffel around. This was the start of our troubles, and it was only the morning after her boyfriend had stolen my car. Plus, we were really hung-over. But we kept giggling as we walked towards the sporting goods store.
"God, would you look at us?" I said. "I feel like shit, but I've never been happier. And my car and script were stolen and everything."
"I know. Isn't it wonderful?"
But then I started to feel apprehensive. I started to worry. Happiness called for caution; I felt bamboozled by it or something. I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt overcome. She turned around smiling, then saw the look on my face. She walked up to me with a tortured look, all concerned for me.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah."
"You don't look it."
"I'm alright."
"’ere." She took me by the hand and led me to the shade of a tree on some stranger's lawn. "Come on, let's zit down."
"No, I'm alright. Really."
"Are you zick?"
"God, I don't know." Suddenly, I started crying. I couldn't believe it. I was completely overcome. Soon I was blubbering, totally out of control. I looked at her through the tears rushing down, shaking my head, trying to let her know I was confused. I didn't know why this was happening. I dropped to my knees. I started shaking. I cried so hard I thought my heart was going to explode. A man can't survive this, my heart can't take this. I will be dead in seconds. This is my last moment on earth. My heart will explode. No heart can take this. I couldn't breathe I was crying so hard. A car was approaching us on the street and I kept thinking, By the time that car passes us, I will be dead, no heart can survive this.
She knelt down beside me on the grass and held me as I cried my heart out. She kept whispering something in French. As I calmed down, the overwhelming feeling was one of dislocation. I felt like I didn't belong there, that I somehow missed a big step somewhere along the way. I thought of Angie, my first wife who died in a swimming pool accident a few years ago, and our dog Louie, who was dead now too. It seemed so long ago, another lifetime, and it was all so sad. And now losing Beth Ann and my children. When would I see them again? They were getting older every second and I was missing that moment, lost forever, never to be seen again, day after day, all taken for granted, never thinking, like a wave of the hand, it all goes away, fades away. I should've thought more along the way. I should've opened my eyes, but instead I kept them shut on this silly urge to write. What would become of me? I was so ashamed I couldn't have cared less. I was a rat's ass. Why did this French girl care about me? We hardly knew each other. It all seemed so make-believe.
"’ere," she held out her hand, showing a little white pill. "Take thiz. It'll make you feel better."
"What is it?"
"It'z a pain killer." She had a prescription, she’d tell me later, for back pain.
I took the pill and soon felt better. We walked to the sporting goods store. She held my hand.
In the sporting goods store, we found a cute little tent and a backpack, one with an internal frame. It was pretty fancy, the price two fifty something. We went up to the cashier bearing our goods like newlyweds, hanging onto each other like we were sewn at the seams. I wrote out a check and as the fat crater-faced man rang it up I left Nicole and went next store to the gas station and got us some beer with my last five dollar bill. When I came back, Nicole and the crater-faced cashier were both looking at me, her hopelessly and him tiredly. She looked like she was about to cry.
I called the bank. Someone had cleaned out my checking account again. I was broke, and a thousand miles from home. Plus, this time, I had Nicole to think about. And I knew then, sitting outside on the edge of the curb in the parking lot, that it wasn't Dorothy who had stolen the checks and forged my name, it was Brittany, that sick con-job whore. (Before leaving Minnesota on my road trip, I'd confronted Dorothy about my missing checks as she handed me my wallet with nervous apologies, my mom overseeing the exchange like a self-righteous judge, and Dorothy convinced me that even though she'd taken my wallet she'd swear on her daddy's grave that she did not steal those checks. "I ain't no forgerer," she said as my mother nodded for emphasis looking down her nose with supreme arrogance at the clumsy exchange.)
I just sat there on the edge of the curb, hanging my head, thinking about the trouble cough syrup had gotten me into. I had to quit that stuff. But I wasn't mad, I wasn't anything. Nicole and I drank a beer in silence. For a fleeting moment I considered the potential ease of traveling alone. If I'd been alone, I could hitch to the nearest airport and jumpseat my way back home since I had my wallet again with my ID in it. Life was more difficult with dependents. But I turned my head and looked at her. She was such a sweety. She looked at me and smiled warmly. I couldn't leave her. I took my arm and put it over her shoulder and pressed her towards me. I wanted to be her hero; I wanted to take care of her.
We got up and started walking back through town towards the interstate. There was a yard sale hosted by a lonely old fart named Bill. We started rummaging through the stuff just for the fun of it. We were in no hurry. This Bill guy, he really took a shine to Nicole. He followed her around, shuffling behind her as she roamed through the piles of junk. Yard sales were heartbreakers for me. I mean, what made someone buy that penny doodad in the first place? It all seemed so cheap and unnecessary.
"Look!" Nicole was holding something up. It looked like a piece of old stained something-or-other. It really looked disgusting. I was wondering why she seemed so excited. Maybe it reminded her of France or something. "It'z a pump tent!" she shouted with delight. All the poles and stakes were there and even though it stank of mildew we took it with us, exchanging the tent for a wool sweater from her backpack. I had offered a Leatherman tool and Bill was about to accept it until on second thought he turned his attention back to Nicole. Bill was very lonely, maybe a bit of a pervert I don't know. I had the feeling that he was hoping for a bra and panties instead of the wool sweater. We walked away feeling blessed to have found the stinky tent and when I looked over my shoulder I saw Bill turn his back, bringing Nicole’s sweater to his face. He held it there for a long time, taking her in, perhaps imagining things men can't help despite the sorry state of their flaccid member.
We walked and walked, carrying our belongings like gypsies along the interstate. The shoulder was wide and I felt safe and free as the tractor-trailers hurled past us. We laughed and shared stories during lulls in traffic. I felt so at peace with Nicole at my side. When I got sore from carrying my duffel, she would hold out her palm and in it would be another pain pill for me to take. She was such a sweety I can't even tell you. I felt lucky. But the first car that pulled over belonged to a state trooper.
"You guys can't be walking out on the interstate like this. Didn't you see the sign?" the trooper said.
I was about to say something, but Nicole started speaking for us in broken English exaggerating an accent so thick I could barely understand. She said we were both French and didn't know English that well and she apologized. The trooper was friendly enough and gave us a ride to the next exit ramp.
At the top of the exit ramp he pulled the car over to the side and stopped. "You can stand out here if you like. But if I were you, I'd just go buy a Greyhound ticket. You can get 'em there at that gas station over there. Lot of crazies out here on the road and I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression of America. It's a great country, but by God there are a lot of sickos out here. You gotta be careful, you know?"
We opened the door and got out of the trooper's car. He drove away waving and we waved back smiling like innocuous buffoons. We leaned against the guardrail, taking in the fresh mountain air. The sun was shining. It was beautiful. For a brief moment I saw us finding a cabin nearby to live in. We could both get jobs at the gas station and work the same shift or something.
It took two days just to get to Denver. We ate canned mandarin oranges and tuna from Nicole’s meager supplies. We were starving. My stomach roared at night as I tried to get some sleep in that stinky little tent, which smelled like a dank basement. Nicole never had a problem falling asleep and she would drape herself around me like a child clutching their parent. One night a storm raged, wicked lightning and thunder. I was scared shitless, but Nicole slept through the whole thing. Like Beth Ann she could sleep through anything. I didn't think the tent would hold together in that wind. I hugged her as tight as I could. I covered her body in a flare of wishful thinking to protect her in case a bolt of lightning should strike, which goes to show how little I know about the workings of nature. I took a couple pills and calmed down as the storm subsided. I fell asleep and believe I dreamed of rabbit the size of a turkey...with gravy and mashed potatoes. I needed to get money wired to me. At this rate we would be dead of starvation by the time we got to Minnesota. Well, Nicole would be. I'd probably be reduced to size normal, so maybe this was a good thing, but God I was in pain. My stomach, and the pills even seemed to aggravate the condition.
On the outskirts of Denver we were on an entrance ramp with our thumbs out. A car stopped and I opened the passenger-side door to see if the person looked sane or not. A familiar face greeted me, smiling from ear to ear.
"Thought that was you." It was Jimmy or Timmy. Tim, whatever the hell his name was. That first hitchhiker, the skinny guy, remember?
Reluctantly we got into backseat of his car.
Boy, was he glad to see me.
"So, how was Hollywood?" he smirked.
"Yeah, it was good."
Nicole kept staring at me, studying me.
"That your actress?" He was grinning ear to ear in the rearview mirror.
"No, she's my assistant."
"Oh, she's your assistant. I see."
God, I just wanted to smash his face in, the little shit. But, still, it was my own damn fault. I was the one who went tripping off at the mouth. I was the fool for lying. God, did I feel stupid. And right in front of Nicole, too. I turned and gave her a shit-eating grin. I had to think of something to gain the upper hand. I hated feeling inferior to anyone, especially to a scrawny eighteen-year-old.
"This your daddy's car?" I started.
"Nope. Bought it two days ago."
"You finally got a job, huh?"
"Nope. Got me some inheritance money. My granddaddy died and left me five thousand dollars," he said proudly.
"Wow. Five thousand dollars, not bad."
"Yep, after this car, I still got a thousand left. Won't have to find a job for another month or so."
"Who's highfalutin now?"
He grinned, then caught himself, and shot me a look in the rearview mirror.
"Shit, better off than you are. Least I got me a car. What happened to yours? That piece of shit finally break down on you?"
"Actually, it was stolen."
"Stolen? Who'd wanna steal that piece of shit?" he laughed.
"Guess the guy who stole it did."
He thought about it.
"Fuck, that sucks. Where? L.A.?"
"Yeah, actually I was having lunch with my agent. We saw it happen. Guy stole it right in front of us. And we thought it was just the valet. You believe that?"
"You're shitting me? That's fucked up." He shook his head imagining it. "No way. Really?"
"Yeah, totally screwy, huh?"
"Are you serious?"
"All in all it was a pretty good lunch, though, I have to admit. Check this out. Lost the car, but during the lunch we sold the script with first rights to direct it, too. Paramount. I'm in seventh heaven."
"Damn, you sold it? No way, really? How much you get?"
I paused for emphasis.
"One point two."
"One point two, what? Million? Come on, you're yanking my chain, right? Are you serious?"
"One point two for the script, two point four for directing it."
"Get out! You fucking scored, dude!"
"Tell me about it."
"Come on, really? For that weird-ass story, about the fat dude on top of his dead wife? That one?"
"Yep, they loved it."
He smiled, then caught himself.
"Shiiiit...Dude, if that really happened, you wouldn't be hitchhiking, man. You'd be flying around in your private jet. There's no way. You're fucking lying."
"Timmy..."
He shot me a look. "Let's not start..."
"Alright, Tim then. You ever promise yourself something, you know, something you wanna do before you die?"
He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah. I wanna be with two chicks at the same time." He looked at Nicole, shrugged his shoulders, and gave a silly grin.
"Right, well, I promised myself before I made the big bucks that I would hitchhike coast to coast without money. I promised myself I wouldn't carry a dime."
"What? That's fucked up. Why would you wanna do that? Hitchhiking sucks, dude. Take it from me."
"Well, it's for the experience. I promised myself and now I'm doing it. I left all the money with my agent."
He started shaking his head like I was crazy. I looked at Nicole and for some reason she was frowning. Suddenly, I felt ashamed. I looked out the side window. When I turned, I noticed that Tim was scowling.
"Wait...So, you're trying to tell me...You dropped me off at that gas station how many days ago? Jesus, it was just Wednesday. Today's Friday. You're telling me you drove all the way to L.A., had lunch with your agent, got your car stolen, and hitchhiked all the way back to here in what?" He started counting on his fingers. "Wednesday, Thursday, Friday,...In three days, two days you did all that? You're so full of shit, dude. Damn, why do you have to lie? It's so fucked up."
He grew so irritated after a while that he actually pulled over and made me get out of the car. I had to stand out on the shoulder of the busy interstate. We were right in the middle of Denver. It was crazy. I felt naked out there with all that traffic whipping by. I was standing there with the door open, waiting for Nicole to come on out, but she was hesitating. Tim looked at her and then said, "Yeah, I don't got a problem with her. I'll take her wherever she wants to go. It's you I got a problem with." He actually started to drive away with the door still open. The guy was nuts. Nicole shouted something and he stopped and finally she got out and slammed the door, swearing in French, and the guy drove off. God, it was noisy standing there at the side of road. That traffic was unbelievable. I felt so stupid standing out there. I knew Nicole was disappointed in me. It was a real low-point in our trip together.
I had to make it up to her. We walked for a mile, as far over on the shoulder as we could as the traffic hurled past us. We took the first exit ramp, plodding down the ramp like pathetic rejects. At the bottom of the ramp there was a truck stop and a hotel. I wanted to give her a nice dinner and a place to sleep on clean sheets. I needed money. I wanted to hole up for a day or two in a hotel room, watch TV and vege out, maybe get some wine and beer and try to relive that first night.
At the gas station I found a payphone and as Nicole waited outside I put in a call to Beth Ann. There was no answer anywhere. I called Tori. Tori said in strange, distant voice that Beth Ann, the kids, and Marco went to Mexico to scope out locations for the new restaurant. Great. Thanks for letting me know what my kids were up to, Beth Ann. Damn, I felt small. Well, whatever. (It did occur to me as Tori mentioned the restaurant that I'd better hurry and hit up my ex-in-laws to invest in the movie before they lost their ass on the stupid spic venture.)
I called my brother Stanley.
"You see what I mean?" he said. "You quit your job and now look what's happened? Not only are you not taking care of your family, you can't even take care of yourself...You think..."
I hung up on him. I shouldn't have called in the first place. My mistake. Suddenly, I remembered Howser, my best friend the photographer. He should've been back from Jamaica by now. He'd gone there to do a shoot for some fetish magazine. He went there every summer, usually for two full months to return sometime in mid-August. Today was August 25th. He probably got back just as I was leaving on my road trip. I called him. He was at home. It was great to hear his voice.
"Moooonk...Dang!" he said. "Where are you? What's this I hear about your mom and dad? That sucks. Well, where are you? You in Alaska?" The man talked a mile a minute.
He wired me five hundred dollars. It was such a relief. I told him about the movie, told him I wanted him to be the director of photography. Like a hotshot, I called it the D.P. He said he'd have to check his schedule. If he had nothing going on, he'd do it. It sounded cool he said.
"I want to read the script first, though. Dang, it's not a porno, is it?"
"Why does everybody think it's porn?"
"Well, is it?"
"No. Geez, have some faith."
"Well, there's nothing wrong with porn. What do you think I've been doing in Jamaica all these years? It's my bread and butter."
I changed the subject and told him about Nicole. I wanted to go on and on about her. Howser didn't even know about me and Beth Ann breaking up. He couldn't believe it.
"You, Beth Ann, and your parents? What is that?"
"Howser, you're gonna love her. Her name's Nicole. She's French! She is the greatest thing."
"Yeah, that's what you've said about all of 'em."
He had a point. I told him we'd be in Minnesota in a day or so. He said if we got stuck somewhere he'd drive out and get us. "I'm in the mood for a road trip anyway," he said. I was very moved. If I ever wrote a book, I told him, I'd dedicate it to him.
Nicole and I got a room at the Holiday Inn. She was acting all sleepy and lethargic. She didn't smile once as we floated up through the five floors in the elevator. With the money and the hotel room to look forward to, I was willing to let bygones be bygones, and I tried cracking some jokes. She just wasn’t in the mood. Like a fool sometimes I force things. I actually tried picking her up to carry her through the door of our room like newlyweds. What a mistake that was. It got so awkward for us that she just crawled into the other bed, pulled the covers over her head, and went to sleep.
I left the room and went down to the restaurant and got a table by the window. I sat there for one minute. Without even realizing what I was doing I got up from the table and went and found a payphone.
"Hello?" It was Tori.
"Tori, dang, I don't even know why I'm calling you..."
"This Emmett?"
"Yeah, why the hell did I call you?"
"I don't know, but I'm glad you did, cuz I was just thinking about you."
There was a long pause.
"Tori, you still there?"
Tori started crying. I couldn't believe it. All the years I'd known her, she never showed any sign of having a heart.
She said, "You gotta stop the wedding, Emmett. She can't do this. Think of your kids living their lives with a guy like that. You gotta do something, please. I'll do anything for you, just stop Beth Ann! I mean, Marco, he's a real nice guy and everything. But, come on! I don't know why you're so understanding. I know I wouldn't be if I were you."
I didn't understand. I kept asking her for more details, but she couldn't say the words. She said she thought I knew. She kept beating around the bush.
Finally, she said, "You got access to a computer, I'll e-mail photos. You gotta see it to believe it. I mean, Emmett, this whole time I just thought you knew."
I went to the front desk, said I had an emergency e-mail I had to read, called Tori back and gave her the address. The guy was very accommodating and kept calling me Sir. His nametag read Bob. I went around and Bob held the chair out for me, pushing me towards the computer screen as if we were at a posh restaurant. He stood over my shoulder like a waiter as I opened my e-mail. I opened the one Tori had sent. It was a slow connection, making it excruciating to wait as the photo emerged line by line. Beth Ann's face materialized first. She was facing the camera with a great big smile on her face. She really looked happy. For a while it looked like it was just going to be a picture of her alone, but by the time the picture started exposing her waist, the top portions of two heads emerged. One I could tell was the head of C, my five-year-old. The other was a dark-skinned stranger. I didn't see what was so strange about it. Obviously, the guy was on his knees. It was the recreation of Paco proposing to my wife. But, then line by line, I started to see the characteristics more closely. I started shaking my head, screwing up my face. There was no way and I kept telling myself that. There was no way she could do this to me. Bob said, "Oh, they're cute. Are those your kids?" But just as he finished saying it, it dawned on him, and he grew flustered. He stepped off to the side and started fussing with paperwork. Then he said he'd be right back, he had to go to the bathroom. I kept telling myself, as I studied the full picture, that this had to be some kind of joke. Tori was pulling my leg. The bitch never liked me in the first place. She photoshopped this thing. She found a picture of a dark-skinned dwarf and pasted it over the normal-sized fiancé. It had to be. Without hesitation I picked up the phone on the desk, dialed direct, and called Tori back.
"You're funny," I said. "That's real funny, Tori."
"Don't be an idiot. Here. Call her yourself if you don't believe me. You can ask her yourself." She gave me the number where Beth Ann could be reached in Mexico.
"Well, why didn't anybody tell me! It's insane!"
"We thought you knew!" she shouted.
I could tell by her voice that Tori was serious. I sat there, numb. I didn't know what to do. The fact was hard to swallow. I couldn't even say the word. Well, let's say it's true. She left me for a Mexican dwarf. There was just no ring to it. Jesus Christ, thinking about it for just one second, I knew what it was. It was Beth Ann. Her heart was just too damn big. All the damn strays she wanted to take into our life, the mutts, the alley cats, the orphaned children. Come to think of it, our dog Moonshine was one of those she saved. (The dog catcher had been out at the dump shooting the captured strays with his pistol, point-blank, and Beth Ann had come over the rise from a day of berry picking and stopped him before he could pull the trigger.) So, she felt sorry for the tiny guy. That's what it was. I mean, even look at me, Prince Portly, fatso that I am. Now looking back on it all her boyfriends were oddballs. There wasn't a normal one in the bunch. OK, it finally made sense. But, still. She left me for him? It didn't elevate the opinion I had for myself, that's for sure. Remember in the letter she wrote? She told me that Paco was the captain of some tour boat? I could picture her on the boat, watching the little guy from the stern, sitting on telephone books or pillows so he could see out over the bow. Maybe they hit a big wave and the little fella was tossed from his chair. I could see her rushing up to him, all concerned, with furrowed brow. Maybe he gashed his forehead and blood was seeping out. She held his head in her lap and called out for somebody to bring her a towel. It was just like her. She helped him and they fell in love. I wasn't going to get worked up about it. As for my kids, I actually believed it would be good for them. It'd make them tough, resilient. They'd have to learn at a very early age to protect their stepfather. I saw C and V, just five and two years old, holding their ground, their fists raised against a gang of street thugs, C shouting in a high-pitched voice over his shoulder, "Daddy Paco, we got you covered. Run for your life!"
The last thing I wanted to do was call Beth Ann. It'd be too awkward.
Black out.
I'm in a store buying a case of cough syrup.
Black out.
I'm in the hotel room, leaning against the backboard in bed, guzzling bottle after bottle of cough syrup, watching myself in the mirror. I'm laughing. I can't believe what I'm hearing. It's too unreal. It was Nicole. She was talking. She’s got her back turned towards me on the other bed, still under the covers. She’s talking to me, telling me things. I won't tell you now. It just isn’t the right time.
Black out.
In the morning I woke up puking.