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Dead or Alive

Alain Marciano

    I.
    It starts well for a Sunday. like it is NOT a Sunday AT ALL. 9 something am. big friendly grey clouds have invaded the sky. the air is cool. rain is coming. it smells spring and sun, bush fires and dry dirt. It is one of THOSE cool days. I haven’t slept for the last 2 days. I am truly and perfectly alone in my small apartment—no friend left and my wife had insisted to divorce me some time ago and she brought the kids away from me. I am out of job—two days before, I lost a deadly job in which I never had much interest. BUT I feel great. Free. I am slobbering drunk. but I feel REALLY GREAT. I am achieving something.
    I stand up. I sip the wine left in my glass. My body is tired. My legs are too tired form me. I stagger to the window. I open it and say “I AM THE KING OF THE WORLD.” Nothing happens. Outside, the parking lot and the street are dead like hell. I go back to the couch, lie and say again “I AM THE KING OF THE WORLD.” I am alive. The place is alive.
    I switch the tv on and put a dvd in the player. a movie always helps life running high and good. it is one of the movies I had picked up just before I was fired. my boss had told me that I was a good for nothing and that he’d rather do the job himself than let me harass other employees. “PLEASE”, I had said. I was dumb. I wanted to tell him how sorry I felt. He had raised his hands, “Don’t. No need to apologize”. You’re WRONG.” Exactly what my wife kept saying to our children. “HE is WRONG. Don’t TRUST him” She did not like me either. BUT: I am as right as any one of the others and it makes a hell of a difference when people don’t like you. They don’t even know what they want you to do. They just complain. and hate you. You can do your job. be a good husband. they don’t see it. they ignore it. they are soulless. BASTARDS.
    I press the on button on the remote of the dvd player and relax on the couch. Victoria Paris appears on the screen dressed like a roman goddess. She is not my favorite porn actresses. I’d rather see Scarlett Johansson in a transparent toga. Now, Scarlett Johansson, she is a hot number. classy. and those eyes. you really feel like she is looking at YOU. like she wants to fuck YOU. but Victoria Paris, that’s another story. LOOK AT HER, undulating like a snake and disguised as a goddess. Anyway, she’s more life than most people I know. And it’s still a good Sunday.
    And then, all at once, everything collapses. someone is ringing the bell and bangs on the door of my apartment.
    II.
    Now, this is the type of things I truly hate, someone banging on the door or knocking or ringing the bell when NO ONE is expected to do that. The REAL surprise. Fuck. How it upsets me. Of course, I have nothing to hide. Not even that I am toying with my dick in front of a rented and bad porn movie. but I feel like I am doing something wrong. It makes me feel bad.
    I reach the remote, kill Victoria Paris’ fake moans. the movie goes on in silence. Keep moving baby, I’ll be back VERY soon. I gather my bathrobe about my waist and walk to the door to quiet down whoever is making all that fucking noise. “SHIT, AREN’T YOU GOING TO STOP”, I say through the door, “I AIN’T BUYING NOTHING. LEAVE ME ALONE.” I hear a guy laugh and he rings the bell again and he bangs on the door. again. I am in no mood to kick him back to hell. Standing does not make me any good. I am drunk. almost sick. “Come on, open that door, Bobby, open that door.” I wonder if I REALLY recognize the voice. I think I do. It cannot be what I think it is. I open the door. Yes it is but I cannot help. I startle. I raise one hand. to check that it’s real. that it is happening. that he is not as cold as a dead fish.
    “Hey Dave”, I say. It’s Dave. Big Dave. We haven’t seen each other for what? 15? 20? years. I know the exact figure but I don’t want to remember. he was my best college high school university friend. We shared books. shared ideas. shared dreams. shared clothes. shared love. shared bottles of wine, pizzas and hamburgers, cigarettes and pot. We were together, always together, two sides of the same life. I trusted him. I loved him because he was always there for me. I imagined he was until until he vanished and left me behind. Then, I hated him. I was sure I had done something wrong. I felt sorry for ME. and I hated HIM. It was a long time ago.
    “Hey Dave” I say again. I am not sure what he expects me to say. I think I should have shave. take a shower. sleep more these past 48 hours. drink less. drink more.
    He steps back and looks me over.
    He says “You don’t want to close your robe.”
    It is an old and stained robe. There is no belt to close it.
    I say, “Yeah Sure.” I hold it against my waist.
    I say, “What’s the necktie for?” He doesn’t answer. Now, he is that kind of guy. the kind who wears ties on Sundays. ties and a $500 suit, a pink striped shirt and black leather perfectly shined shoes. And doesn’t understand when one asks what’s for. I am the kind of guy with an old stained bath robe.
    He flashes a all-white-full-of-teeth smile, like it is one of those great moment we had to be happy with. after all these years. DEAR GOD.
    He says “Ready for a coffee” as if he were thinking “who should not?”
    I say “Why not. Just let me put something on.”
    He says, “OK, I’ll be downstairs, in my car, the black SUV.”
    I say again, “Let me put something on.” I close the door and walk back inside. Has Dave seen Victoria Paris being banged on the screen of my TV set? I turn the volume up. Victoria is crying her pleasure out loud. she has her way of doing it. it’s cool and she’s good. she likes it. the guys with her enjoy it too, in a peaceful and quiet way. but I’ve lost interest in it. I no longer enjoy it. I take a shower. leaves the apartment. Vic Paris is still moaning. Outside it’s wet. it’s raining. Dave is in a black SUV, waiting for me.
    III.
    He says, “Where are we going.”
    I say, “We could go to Denny’s.” Denny’s is my favorite place miles around. It’s one of the rare places where I feel safe. At home. Alive. They use powdered eggs for their omelets and a special artificial mix for the pancakes and the syrup is artificial too. Who cares? Not me. I like that.
    Dan says, “I’ll drive.” I usually walk because I no longer have a car. But Dave has a car and he wants to use it. it’s funny. the world looks different. like we are in a space shuttle and we are going to Pluto. except that we are just going two blocks away from my apartment, two crossings, two traffic lights. not the hardest place to reach in the world.
    “Hey Johnny, how’r you doing today?”, she says. she is Juliet. she is one of the regular waitresses. my preferred one. she is a nice girl. kind inside. soft and honest. everything is simple with her.
    “Hey Cassie, fine. What about you? And the kids, are they okay?”, I say.
    It’s a joke between us. Juliet, bah. I don’t like that name. And she doesn’t like mine. She suggested once that she could call me Johnny, if I did not mind. I did not and I decided that Cassie is cool too. Cassie and Johnny. Dave looks puzzled. “Yeah”, I say, “I know.” There is not much I could say. It’s our joke.
    We take seats in the back of Denny’s main room. from here I can see the traffic in the street. the rain falling. I can see whoever enters the place. whoever leaves the place. I can also see the other customers. It’s Sunday. The place is crowded. full of noise and color. and it is quite something. Next to us, a couple is having breakfast. The guy is alright. he has nothing special. average. But the girl. I’ve always wondered how THOSE girls could be interested in THOSE men. she is largely above the average American woman. above the average American man too. maybe she is French or British or she comes from Mars. She is cute. sexy. a perfect haircut. a beautiful nose, a bit too long but exciting. her voice rings high and cool. she reminds me of Vic Paris and it makes me smile. I look at her. She looks back and smiles too. I like that. but I wonder what she expects from me.
    Dan orders coffee. I order a coffee too and a shot of whisky. Cassie says, “You should drink less Johnny.” She is right. But I drink. whisky or wine. anything. Not Dan. He is not the kind of guy who drinks whisky on Sunday mornings. I know it. I feel it. It is because of the tie and the suit and the shirt and the shoes. Or it is the reverse. When Cassie asks him if he needs anything else with his coffee. No, nothing thanks. I was right.
    Cassie’s gone. Dan says “Did you make her?”
    I say “Make her?”
    He says “Yes, make her.”
    I say “You’re nuts. she is the mother of my children.”
    He says “The mother of your children.”
    I say “I am kidding.”
    He says “You are kidding. Yes.” and also “So you didn’t do anything.”
    I say “Of course no. She has GOOD vibrations.”
    He says “Good vibrations.”
    I say “Yeah. she is positive. she is 100% life. pure life.”
    He says “You have changed, no?”
    I say “I bet I have. I am better now.”
    He says “You are better now.”
    I say “I’ve improved myself.”
    IV.
    Cassie brings us what we have ordered. a decaf with a shot of whisky in a small glass for me. a coffee for Dave.
    “So” he says.
    So, I think. But I don’t say anything. because I don’t feel like saying anything.
    Dave starts it off. the conversation. which is NOT a conversation. He does not feel like listening to me. He speaks about HIS life. Not all his life. Just bits of it. How recent, I don’t know. He does not give dates. The marriage with Lise-Ann and the divorce with Lise-Ann. the marriage with Sandra and then the divorce with Sandra and the marriage with Sylvia. no divorce yet. they are happy together. him working hard. him working VERY hard and making a lot of money, big money. they have three cars, a black LEXUS SUV and a dark-blue Bentley that he almost never used, that remained parked, waxed and polished, next to Sylvia’s own SUV. that is black too, shiny and classy. Which brand it is, he does not say. He does not say either what Sylvia does with her life. I might have asked but I don’t. It’s too late. I lose tracks. My concentration breaks. I see Dan’s lips moving. but his words get lost. I am completely out of it. My mouth smiles against my will. My mind is away. I remember that last night I had a dream that Scarlett Johansson wanted to have a baby with my father. it made my mother hysterical. I was sad. my brother was jealous. I don’t have a brother in the real life.
    I say, “Cassie, bring me another one.” Did I REALLY think that I owed him an apology or something? DEAR GOD. I wave the small empty glass like a WHITE flag. But Dave resumes his speech. He leans towards me — maybe he realizes that I am no longer following him. he puts his hands on my shoulders and holds me tight. “I am doomed”, he says. “Women and cars and money. I am doomed.” He says that he has always missed me. all we did together. the parties. the girls. the ideas. we were idealists but that was good. that was life. that was his fate and he has lost it. all that happened after me was nothing. artificial. the death row. I was life. now he was back in town. we were friends. friendship never dies. He shouts “FRIENDSHIP NEVER DIES”, like he is singing a Bon Jovi song. That’s RIDICULOUS. his voice is out of tone. his eyes red. And he starts CRYING. I can’t believe it. Gently at first like a man. then hard like a baby. then harder like a crazy baby loosing control. Oh shit. What I am expected to do, I don’t know.
    I stand up. I am sick. Sickness has replaced everything in me. I am just a mass of SICKNESS. I put my hands on the table. I stare at Dave and I walk out of there. I feel people are looking at ME. The cute blonde is looking at me. Cassie is looking at me. Probably Dave too is looking at me. I hear him saying “I’m sorry.” I’m NOT. I think, “MY DEAR GOD, WILL YOU BRING ME BACK TO REALITY.” I wish I was home. back to my life. back to Vic Paris. all beautiful flesh and hot blood as she is, she is not that BAD. maybe there will even be some wine left.

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