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Back from the cheesy waterfront
tourist traps, Pablo and David stop next to the Alaskan Viaduct. The sides of
the walkway are painted with the murals of schoolchildren, regional subjects
like Mt. Rainier and the Space Needle. Pablo points out a native riding an Orca
like a surfboard.
“That
is hilarious.” His voice is hoarse from three straight days of talking.
“So,” says David. “How do you feel
about taking out Pasco Fernandez?”
Pablo grins. “Kinda awesome,
actually. Is that weird?”
“With Billy in the ICU?”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, pal. If it weren’t for you,
Billy wouldn’t be in the ICU. I’d be
scattering his ashes off Point Brown.”
“Yeah.”
David puts a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you, that was the most freakishly courageous act I’ve
ever seen. And I hope to God you
never do something like that again.”
“I’m kinda thinkin’ I won’t.”
“And that slide. Brilliant! How’d you come up with that?”
“Not sure. I guess I figured it would
be safer down there.”
The wind whips up, sending bits of paper
against the chain link. David wraps his hand around the back of Pablo’s neck.
“So… that little Clint Eastwood
speech. That seemed a little rehearsed.”
Pablo smiles.
“Every night since that goddamn
holdup. I gotta admit, turning the tables like that, that was powerful. But don’t worry. I won’t turn
into a superhero or anything.”
“Not according to the local media.”
“I know. They really went on
about that. I mean, the initial rush was great, but now I’m walkin’ around
town, people are honking at me, waving at me, stopping to talk. I feel like I’m
running for office!”
“The world is hungry for heroes, pal.
But don’t worry, give it a month, things’ll calm down.”
Elena and Derek appear at the top of
the stairs. Derek and Pablo head on, toward the hills of Seattle. Elena stops
to catch her breath.
“Nice little neighborhood you’ve got
here. Who knew Pioneer Square had a hotel?”
“Yeah. It’s been a nice little
vacation, in a really weird sort of way.”
“Abbey handling your finals?”
“Yeah. It’s hard for her to leave
Billy, but she also figured it would be nice for me to have a day with you
guys.”
Elena takes a long, thoughtful blink.
“I hate to say it, but I’m beginning
to like that woman.”
David smiles. “That’s what I was
noticing – right before all hell broke loose. My two favorite women, laughing
together.”
Elena tweaks his nose, an old
gesture.
“Well, don’t think that we were
talking about you. Egomaniac. Come
on, let’s catch our children.”
“Vamanos!”
A day later, David and Abbey walk
downhill through the International District. In a courtyard between buildings,
they discover a manmade waterfall, rushing over a pile of boulders, and sit
down to watch.
“Oh God, David. All those tubes and
monitors – it’s not really Billy in there. I feel like he’s gone off on another
journey, and this time he might never come back. I know I’m supposed to be the
tough, tragic woman, but I don’t want
to lose another one.”
David massages her fingers, one by
one. They watch the falls in silence. There’s something immortal about this moment.
He knows that it will come back to him, years from now, in random flashes. He
straddles the bench and wraps her in his arms, the better to whisper his
intentions.
“Let’s give him an incentive.”
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Have you noticed that Billy can be
used as either a male or female name?”
“Billy Falter. Okay. You got it.”
David looks vaguely uphill. There you go, old man. The gauntlet has been
thrown.
Two days later, they stand outside
the glass wall of the ICU. Billy hasn’t improved; Billy hasn’t regressed. He’s
holding them all hostage.
“Poor Joyce,” says Abbey.
“How long has she been in there?”
“Two hours. She just holds his hand
and stares, like she can will him back to life.”
“Would you do that for me?”
“Yes. But don’t make me.”
“You got it.”
David wanders to a seat in the
corner. He sees a sports section, picks it up, and returns to Abbey.
“I’ve got an idea. Do you think you
can drag her away?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
They’re walking the Avenue toward the
brick broadsides of Safeco Field. On game days, the street morphs into a
market, the curbsides lined with vendors. David buys a Mariners cap and places
it on Joyce’s head. This brings a smile that is worth all the salmon in the
Sound.
“What’s this for?”
“Billy couldn’t make it today. He
designated me to be your date, and buy you stuff.”
“Won’t your girlfriend be jealous?”
Abbey laughs. “I’ll share – as long
as you’re a good girl.”
Joyce looks down, working what little
remains of her fingernails.
“I’m not a good girl. I wasn’t there.
There was a show on TV and I had to watch it. What are we doing here? Why
aren’t we with Billy?”
Abbey rubs a hand along her back.
“Okay, let the poet explain this. Do
you believe that you and Billy have a mental connection?”
She giggles. “Sometimes I think our
brain cells shuttle between us like little commuter planes.”
“Well, listen. We sort of feel the
same way. I’ve got the blood connection. David’s got the musical connection.
For whatever reason, Billy ended up a mile away from a major league stadium.
We’re going to watch a game, and have as much fun as we can. Maybe Billy will
pick up on that, and see just how much he has to live for.”
Joyce gives her a despairing look.
“Do you really believe that?”
“I believe it’s worth a shot.”
She looks up the street, at the crowd
of people massing toward the stadium.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
They latch on to a good game. The
Mariners rally in the eighth to take a 4-3 lead on the Angels, then their
closer loads the bases before striking out the last batter. They drink
overpriced beers; they eat hot dogs with sauerkraut. They crack peanuts and
leave the shells everywhere. They shoot up from their seats, give high-fives to
strangers and, for a few moments, they entirely forget about Billy.
They’re migrating toward the hotel,
just beginning to separate from the herd, when Abbey stops.
“What?” says David.
“I hear jazz.”
They find it at a kitschy Italian
restaurant, where a freckle-faced veritable infant sits at the piano, playing
New Orleans stride like Fats Waller. David waits until he finishes “Basin
Street Blues,” then drops a five into his tip jar.
“You are awfully good.”
“Thanks. I’m studying classical at
U-Dub. Please don’t tell my professors.”
“Your secret’s safe. Any chance you
could accompany my girlfriend on something?”
“Oh. I don’t know. I’ve had some bad
experiences.”
“You’ve heard of Billy Saddle?”
“Sure. That guy who got shot.”
“My girlfriend’s his niece.”
“Wow. Sorry ‘bout that. Okay. Bring
her up.”
The song is “What’ll I Do?” Abbey’s
delivery convinces him, more than ever, that she’s got Billy’s magical genes.
Given the situation, she has chosen the most devastating possible song, but she
manages to deliver the emotions without falling prey to them.
During the piano solo, she gives
David a meaningful nod. He takes Joyce to an open piece of floor and they begin
to waltz. Joyce closes her eyes, and he knows that she’s dancing with Billy.
The three of them stop at a railing
near the ferry docks. The sun is teetering atop the Olympic Mountains. David
slaps Abbey on the shoulder.
“You had a pretty decent shot at that
foul ball.”
Abbey gives a prim smile. “We Saddles
prefer to stay away from foul balls.”
Ella Fitzgerald begins to sing
“Summertime.” It’s Abbey’s phone. She walks away, sharing a rather intense
conversation. She returns with a face full of tears, gilded by the sunset.
David’s having a hard time finding his breath.
She smiles. “He’s out of the ICU.”
Joyce and David descend on her.
The good news filters back to Ocean
Shores, and Billy becomes Harborview’s most popular unconscious patient. The
visitors include Charley Nations, Gerry Kolder, the Blaines, Derek and Jenny,
Oscar, Isaiah, Parthenia – even Ralph the bartender, who shows them his new
teeth.
Billy is listed as stable, his vitals
rising like a bull market. His visiting hours become a sort of consciousness
lottery. His wife, niece and bass player harbor secret jealousies, reluctant to
cede the grand prize to a Johnny-come-lately.
Three nights along, David is seated
at bedside, reading the most brilliant final thesis he has ever seen, Voltaire’s Enlightenment and the Genesis of
American Democracy by Michael Butler. The words virtually sing from the
page, so David plays along, whistling the sax line from “Take Five.” Beyond his
reading glasses, he sees a faint motion, and realizes that Billy’s right index
finger is twitching in 5/4.
David turns to Billy’s ear and sings
the line on a series of da-da-das. When he reaches the bridge, the finger stops
and the old eyes open, revealing a faint echo of those mesmerizing blues.
“Hi, Billy.”
He manages a shadow of a smile.
“Hi Frankie. Did we win?”
“The softball game?”
“The pennant!”
Photo by MJV
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