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My Next Life

A. Frank Bower

    Sunbathing on the motel’s private Lake George beach, I listened to MP3s with headphones. I heard my wife say, “Maybe in my next life.” It brought my attention to a boat in front of us. It looked like a yacht to me. “Fawn,” I said, “we wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
    She looked away from her paperback. “I could learn. Besides, if we could afford it, we wouldn’t be where we are now.”
    “Point taken. Why were you born beautiful and smart instead of rich?”
    Fawn leaned her head forward to eye me above her sunglasses. “Deen, this isn’t ‘I want, I want’. It’s just a thought. You know, alternative lives.”
    “I do know. The way you look at that boat is how I looked at you the first time.”
    Fawn pursed her lips. “What do you want?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Well, the syrup’s thick.”
    “Compliments,” I said, “matter when they’re sincere.”
    “I know,” she said. “And I love you for it.”
    She leaned sideways on her chaise, kissed my cheek and returned to her novel.
    While I listened to mellow music, I peered forward to the private ship in front of me. I watched it cruise the lake with God knows how many passengers. I guessed it was owned by the CEO of some middle-sized corporation. I thought of the light of my life next to me. ClichÉ: champagne taste, beer money. Hell, I was just glad to be able to be on the beach at Lake George. I didn’t want to own it. Maybe I would, in another life.
    In this life, I have no regrets. Fawn rescued me from a solitary existence. I wanted to care for someone, but lacked a place to put the energy, until we met. I like to make her morning coffee and deliver it to her. I enjoy when she says, ‘yes’ to my offer of a salsa omelet. I grew to know her tastes; I revel in shopping for jewelry for her.
    That afternoon on the beach I wondered where we’d be in five years. A month later, I’d say goodbye to my fifties. Fawn wasn’t far behind. Retirement kissed the horizon on the other side of that boat.
    Whatever I could do for Fawn was done in this life. My pension would be respectable. Add Social Security, we’d be okay. Okay. I wanted to do more. Fawn deserved it.
    The boat was out of sight. In more ways than one.
    I glanced at Fawn. She was involved in her book—no idea where my mind wandered. God, I love her. I was so careful to ensure her future—just in case: plan A. For the first time in my life I thought of a possible plan B.
    Bank robbery was out of the question in this high-tech age. Video cameras the size of my pinky nail were everywhere. My meager attempts at investments failed. What else could I do? I thought of Buffalo Bob, my pot source. The bearded, barrel-chested biker was loaded. When we first met and found out we shared the same birth date, we became fast friends. I thought his nickname came from old television; in reality it referred to where he grew up. I respected his history. He did the Haight-Ashbury thing when it mattered, burned his draft card, went to Canada when his number was drawn, and returned when amnesty was announced. Straight-laced me enlisted in the Navy to avoid the Army. Nevertheless, Buffalo and I saw eye-to-eye.
    I wondered if he would consider letting me into his business. One thing I most like about him is his hatred of drugs. Coke, crack, acid—now—pills; all are bad in his book and mine. Pot, of course, was innocuous and should have been legalized ages ago. Maybe, if it were, there would be fewer drunk-driving deaths. But, if it was legal, Buffalo Bob wouldn’t be wealthy now. I resolved to talk to him after vacation. Is sixty too old to become a dealer?
    I glanced at Fawn again. Relaxed in her reading, lotioned to prevent sunburn, she looked marvelous. Two kids—now in other states with families of their own—and you can’t tell. Aging gracefully; if she was any more graceful about it, she’d be a ballerina.
    Yeah, in my mind I owed her. Big time.
    “Yo, Bob.”
    “How they hangin’, Deen?”
    “No complaints.”
    “How was Gorgeous George?”
    “Gorgeous. But I ran out, of course.”
    Buffalo Bob chuckled. “Of course. I didn’t think this was just a social visit. Howmuch? A quarter?”
    “Yep.”
    Bob left his living room to fetch my order. I looked out his bay window at mountains. His house was private, isolated and big. Fawn and I didn’t need a large home, but trappings would be nice.
    When Bob returned, I paid him. “I have a delicate question for you.”
    “Really? Lay it on me.”
    I hesitated to go there, but ‘nothing ventured’. “Could you use help in distribution?”
    Bob furrowed his brow and glared at me. “What’s wrong, Deen?”
    “Nothing.”
    “Something must’ve happened. The only time you deal is at your monthly poker game. Fess up.”
    “No, really,” I said, “I just want to augment my income.”
    “No offense, but it’s just not you.”
    “It hasn’t been; past tense.”
    “Deen, think about what you’re asking. You have no experience. Mine is a very dangerous business. It’s all about caution. Besides, look at all you have to lose.”
    “I’m thinking of all I have to gain.”
    “Like fifteen to twenty?”
    “Bob, in six years I’ll be retired. I don’t want to have to sit home when I do. Travel costs money. I know a hell of a lot of people. I’m sure I can build a nest egg.”
    He didn’t answer; his wheels were rolling. I said, “You don’t want me?”
    “Deen, you have no idea how careful I’ve learned to be to get where I am. You can’t just pitch product to everyone you know, even if you know they smoke. All potheads have their own agendas. You have to know up front every one before you make a move.”
    “That makes sense. I assume I’ll have to start small.”
    Bob looked at me stone-faced. “Let me show you something.” He went to a bookcase at the far wall from where I sat, pulled out a large tome, opened it and took out a nine-millimeter automatic pistol. “I’ve never used it. Yet. Let me correct myself; I haven’t shot it. I have threatened people four times with it.”
    I got his message, but I was determined. “Bob, I don’t plan to get big.”
    “It doesn’t matter. I’ve always been careful, but I still fucked up four times. Itcould be your first customer—or your five hundredth. Deen; no offense, but you don’t come across tough.”
    “You don’t, either. You’re a mellow fellow.”
    “With you.’
    I let his logic sink in for a moment. “I get it; it’s about agendas.”
    “Exactly.”
    Again I paused and weighed my options. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll think about it and get back to you. Will you at least do the same?”
    “Fair enough. But don’t rush it.”

    We took a few tokes for the road.
    “Deen, the dog tore the screen again.”
    I said, “That’s the third time. Got to get rid of her.”
    Fawn glared at me. “You can’t get rid of....”
    She saw my grin and knew I wasn’t serious about letting our beagle go.
    “Asshole,” she said.
    “You know I love Lady as much as you do. I just don’t like repairs. I’ve still got screen in the basement; I’ll take care of it. What else do I have to do on a Saturday?”
    “That’s all I ask.”
    I went downstairs to get everything I needed to replace the screen Lady tore. Whilethere, I thought about honesty. Fawn and I were always honest with each other. It helped us stay mellow. If I tried to deal behind her back, the lie would require files in the mind. Not to mention the snowball effect. If I was to sell pot, she needed to know. I dreaded telling her I even considered it.
    I returned upstairs and put my tools on the kitchen table. Fawn was doing her counted cross-stitch in the living room. I wanted to start the conversation on a light note.
    “Why do they call it a ‘weekend’? Technically, it’s the end and beginning; Sunday starts the week.”
    Her gaze stayed on her work. “It refers to work week, jerk.”
    “I know.” God, this was hard. “Honey, how would you like more money coming in?”
    Fawn stopped her work. “Where are you going?”
    “I...have an idea to help our retirement years. You know, with the economy like it is, I don’t know if my pension and Social Security will cover our needs.”
    Her expression told me she was suspicious.
    “My bs meter’s clanging, Deen. You know damn right well you figured it out long ago. What’s really behind this?”
    I hesitated, felt our bond, wrestled with it and decided truth was the sole option.
    “Remember that boat at Lake George?”
    “Which one? Honey, there were a lot of them.”
    “The one you commented on.”
    Fawn lifted an eyebrow at me. “I don’t remember which one I commented on.”
    I reminded her. “It was the biggest one. You looked up from your book and said, ‘Maybe in my next life’.”
    “So?”
    “Well,” I sighed, “you know how much I love you. You deserve something like it. And more. So, I thought about making our next life now.”
    “I don’t like the sound of this. Are you thinking of doing something illegal?”
    The jig was up; Fawn is so perceptive.
    “It’s just an idea. I thought of dealing.”
    “Are you nuts? Sweetheart, I love the life you’ve given me. I don’t need wealth to be happy. You’ve worked hard too long to take chances.”
    I said, “I knew you’d feel that way. Just think of the possibilities, though. World travel. Permanent vacation. Anywhere, anything you want.”
    Fawn frowned. “Not to mention jail.”
    “Not if I’m careful. And I would be.”
    “Sweetie, it’s just not you. This is no time for you to change. We’ll be fine.”
    I persisted, “Will you at least think about it?”
    Fawn stared at me. She grabbed the telephone on the side table next to her and tapped numbers. After four seconds, she said, “Hi, Bob; it’s Fawn. Can you come over?” She nodded. “See you in a half-hour.” She put the telephone on its cradle.
    I was stunned. “What’s going on?” “Patience, grasshopper,” she said. “Go start the screen and wait for Bob to get here.”
    “But—” I started.
    “But me no buts. You’ll know in a half hour. Let me do my work. Go.”
    Curiosity killed the cat; satisfaction brought him back. “I want to know now.”
    Fawn smiled. “I can’t explain like Bob can. Be patient.”
    She did her needlework. I couldn’t make myself do the screen, so I sat on the sofa and thumbed through the newspaper. Of course, my mind was active. I began to get some idea of what must be happening. I wished Fawn would just tell me. I turned to her, but before I could say a word, she shushed me.
    Twenty minutes elapsed before the knock at the door. I jumped to answer it. Buffalo Bob laughed when I opened it. “Howdy, kids. I expected your call, Fawn. I knew he’d tell you.”
    She answered, “Oh, yeah; he’s so solid.”
    I couldn’t hold it in. “Now will somebody tell me what’s happening?”
    They both laughed.
    Fawn said, “Let’s sit down.” We did. She went on, “Deen, please forgive my deceit. I promise it’s been just this one thing. I’ve always believed in you, so I supported you in every way. And I respected and admired that you supported me. I felt you deserve more. So...” She looked at Bob, smiled and continued. “A long time ago, I came up with the same plan you did. I never wanted you to be involved, because of who you are, and to protect you. Bob taught me the ropes. I learned well.”
    Fawn stopped there, so I blurted out, “How long has this been going on?”
    She thought a moment, and answered, “Thirty-four years.”
    My jaw dropped; I had no words handy.
    Fawn said, “Bob, you’re on.”
    He started where she left off. “Deen, remember what I told you about agendas?”
    “Yeah,” I said, hesitant.
    “Think about it. I’m a man. Forty per cent of my business is women. Do you think I can figure out their agendas? Hell, no. So, when Fawn suggested a partnership I jumped on it. And, let me tell you, she’s good.”
    It took me a while to ingest the information. I said, “I guess so. Partners, huh? For thirty-four years?” I realized the obvious question and looked at Fawn. “What kind of bucks are we talking, here?”
    She beamed with pride. “A bit over seven-hundred.”
    That also sank in. “Thousand?” Neither of them answered. They didn’t have to. I could only say, “Holy shit.”
    We were wordless for a half-minute.
     I said, “Fawn, I thought I knew you.”
    “You do, honey. As I said, it’s just this one area. This one huge surprise I wanted to give you for all you’ve given me.”
    “I assume the business is on-going?” Fawn nodded. I said, “Would you consider stopping now?”
    Bob spoke for her. “Deen, Fawn and I agreed she’d be done the day you found out.”
    “Really,” I said. “Why’s that?”
    He said, “Duh. You’re her first slip. And her last. It’s just good business.”
    It seemed irrelevant, but I asked Bob, “Where does that leave you, business-wise?”
    “Fawn and I began to groom her replacement years ago. Don’t worry about me.”
    “Oh, I’m not.” I looked at Fawn through new eyes. “Now what?”
    She smiled at me, serene, and said softly, “Anything. Anything for you. And us.”
    After a brief moment, I said, “You are some homemaker.”
    Fawn said, “You make it all possible. Now we can plan our retirement.”
    I laughed. They both looked at me. I said, “Maybe in my next life. I guess it’s early.”
    I retired last year. Now we live near Lake George, with a modest boat docked there. We relax, listen to music and visit good friends. Like Buffalo Bob, who has a place a few miles away. I love our life at the lake and here in our ‘next life’ house.
    And when we’re overseas.

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