Nothing Better To Do - a novel in stories - Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Harry decided that, rather than go straight home, he'd be better off detouring by way of the Blue Moon. It wouldn't look good if a woman drove him home from the jail, especially a young attractive one, who had gone to the trouble of raising a thousand dollars cash bail, while her own husband was still in the county lock-up. He'd get a lift home from someone at the bar.

Audrey drove him there in the same blue car he had spotted behind the Snake pit, the day he first met her. Frankie's car, of course, was back in the custody of Orel Paige. It was the car he had used to chase Harry down the night before.

Harry knew she didn't have a thousand dollars of her own money. He speculated out loud that the bail must have come from contributions by the denizens of the Blue Moon.

"Actually, the money came from Gar Findlay." She explained.

"You're kidding."

"No. You're arrest finally satisfied him that Orel Paige really is dirty. Mr. Findlay had discussed your letters to the editor with the Police Chief. The Chief had convinced Findlay not to publish them, because he thought they would make him look foolish. When the Chief felt that there might be a backlash against his internet patrol, he cut it back to one officer and put Paige back in a police cruiser. When Paige protested, he showed him copies of your letters. Findlay realized that if Paige was getting back at you with this arrest, then he probably framed Frankie and Snake, too."

"How do you know all this?"

"When you were unable to attend, Phil Rowley asked me to go to the meeting at the newspaper yesterday afternoon. He said I could represent Frankie's interests."

"Who else was there?"

"This character they call the House of Pain. He had tapes and pictures and some articles of girl's clothing. I guess you know all about that. This Paige guy is filthier than I ever imagined. Gar asked me to keep it under my hat until they break it in tomorrow morning's paper. He's already called the Public Defender and Frankie and Snake's case has been advanced on the calendar for tomorrow for a bail application. They told me that they will probably get out, pending trial.

When I asked about you, Gar reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills. I think he feels responsible for what happened to you. He said I should give you a message from him."

"What is it?"

"You're not a wacko, after all."

***

It was about ten o'clock when Morely Stevens pulled his truck into Harry's driveway to drop him off. The house was dark, but Harry noticed someone peeking through the curtains in the window of Billy's room. Harry hadn't called to tell them that he was out of jail, but he knew that Billy would be looking for him anyway. He could never sleep without Harry in the house. The light came on in the living room and the front door was opened before Harry was halfway up the front walk.

"Harry!" The boy wrapped himself around one of Harry's legs.

"Hi, guy. Miss me?"

"How come Mom didn't know you were coming home?"

"If she had bailed me out, she would have known. That's how it works, squirt."

"Who did bail you out?"

"Some of my friends took up a collection." Harry figured it was simpler to lie than go through a long explanation. "Want something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Okay, make me some oatmeal."

Harry knew the kid must have missed him a lot. Billy hated oatmeal. Whenever Harry made it for him, it was a struggle to get him to finish it. "How about Spam and eggs? We got any left over grits?"

The boy opened the refrigerator and started pulling out the eggs and the bowl with the grits. "If you were in charge, would you eat grits all the time?"

"Who says I'm not in charge?"

"Let's face it, Harry, Mom kicks your butt all the time."

"Is that right? Who was it that wanted to follow me down here when I left home?"

"It doesn't make any difference, she still kicks your butt all the time."

"Yeah, and she's really gonna kick your butt for getting drunk and getting arrested!" Amy wiped the sleep out of her eyes and came over to where Harry was seated at the kitchen table eating his eggs. She must have been awakened by the conversation in the kitchen. She hugged Harry around the neck, letting his stubble scratch against her cheek.

"Okay kids. Go to bed. It's time for Harry to face the music." He put the dishes in the sink and turned out the kitchen light.

The TV was on in the bedroom, but the lights were out. Jenny was snoring. She was curled up on his side of the bed with her head on his pillow. Harry knew she must have missed him. She always complained that his pillow smelled funny. "You smell like cheese," she would tell him. He knew he didn't. It was just another pressure tactic. She was always trying to get him to watch his diet, complaining that he ate too much cheese. As far as Harry was concerned, the Chinese just didn't understand cheese. The kids liked it, though. And that was another sore point.

Jenny stirred as Harry started to take off his pants. "Who bailed you out?"

"The boys." He figured he might as well be consistent.

"I figured they would. It took them this long to get up the money? Com'ere, I want to smell your breath."

Harry was safe. The food he had just consumed covered the smell of the beer he'd had earlier.

"You smell like Spam. Did the kids wake up when you came in?"

"Yeah."

"The little guy's been watching for you all day. They both missed you."

"Why didn't you bail me out?"

"You needed a lesson."

"You were going to let me stay a second night?"

"Maybe..."

Harry finished undressing and started to slip under the covers.

"Oh, no. You dirty thing..."

"Okay, I'll take a shower. I was just tired, is all..."

"You really are a dirty old man, Harry. I bet if I weren't around, you'd never shave and you'd probably bathe about once a week."

In fact, for the six weeks or so that Harry had lived alone in Serena, that had been pretty much the case. When she flew out to scope out the place for the first time, she made him shave off a pretty decent beard. It had come in gray, almost white. She hated the fact that it made him truly look the fourteen years older than her that he was.

Harry took a quick shower and climbed back into bed, just in time for the eleven o'clock news. There was the usual stuff, a shooting, a string of break-ins, a bad accident that backed up the interstate. Then there was footage of Harry, cuffed behind the back, being led by Orel Paige from the police station, to the courthouse across the street. "A Serena man who was arrested for D.U.I. yesterday will be representing himself in County Court," the woman newscaster announced. "For more on that, we take you to our Greene County Bureau." They cut to a shot of a young man with a microphone. The courthouse was in the background. He went on to explain that the man, one Harry Kresge, was actually a lawyer from New York who had recently moved to town.

"Another slow news day," Harry groaned.

"This is great. Now everyone at work will know..."

"What have you been telling them about me?"

"Nothing. They don't ask, I don't tell. I call you my fiancee. That's all."

"They don't know I used to be a lawyer?"

"No. And stop that 'used to be' stuff. You can still be a lawyer."

"I hated being a lawyer, that's why I quit. I'm a writer."

"I hate my job, too, but I go to work every day. Six months and you haven't made a penny. Are you just going to sit there and watch me struggle forever? You could open an office, do some wills or something..."

"Never! We had a deal. You said you'd give me two years."

"Two years? I said that?"

"Yeah, you said that!"

"Never mind... I know you're working hard at it."

"My novel's just about done. Now I've got to try to sell it. If that doesn't work out, there will be another and another, each better than the last. Maybe I can sell a story in between. They keep saying nice things about me over at Esquire."

"Send them something else! I have this feeling that you're just sending them the wrong kind of stories. I see the kind of books you read. Most people don't read that stuff. I think you're trying to be too fancy."

"You mean too intellectual?"

"Yeah, that."

"Ha! I've got to write something new. I'm running out of stuff. They get thousands of stories every month. It's like trying to make it in the N.B.A."

"What's the N.B.A.?"

"Never mind..."

"Turn off the TV, Harry!"

He searched the covers for the remote, then clicked it off. "I love you," he whispered in the dark.

"I love you, too. But I wonder how much you really love me, you old fart. If you really loved me, you wouldn't get arrested. What's going to happen to me and the kids, if you go to jail?"

Harry was already asleep.