House of Blues

to hear. "You
know what that bitch did to me?"
    "Dumped you. You already told me that."
    "Jesus, shit, what a slut."
    " Ah. I'm getting interested."
    "I got this job with Larry, see. You know who I
mean—Larry Carlini; the guy whose house I met you at."
    "Actually, Manny, we met over that little matter
of Pam Kansco. I wouldn't forget that if I were you."
    "Okay, okay, what's the difference?"
    But she noticed with pleasure that she'd made him
uncomfortable.
    " Anyway, I got this job with Larry—kind of,
you know, taking care of things, you know what I mean?"
    " Taking care of things."
    "Like, you know—doin' stuff that needs to be
done."
    "Like what stuff?"
    " Well, like deliverin' stuff. You know."
    "Picking stuff up."
    "Yeah."
    "Sure. Running errands."
    He turned his
Genghis-Khan-Nazi-Blood-and-Crip-hate-look on her. "A lot you
know about it."
    "Listen, Manny, I'm glad you like your work.
Congratulations on getting such a good job—that you didn't report
to your probation officer."
    "I was gonna tell him."
    " Oh, sure. You're not supposed to consort with
felons, right? Carlini's got at least one conviction I know of."
    "Are we gettin' off the point here, or what?"
    " So you got this good job."
    "Yeah. I'd been goin' with Evie about three
months at the time. Head over heels, I swear it. Swear to God; she
really had me goin'. You know I'm really a sentimental guy?"
    "So you'd known Evie about three months and then
you got this great job."
    "Well, I was supposed to take something to this
house, see, and Larry said, "Wait'll you see the joint. You
think this one's something—you're going to a mansion, baby.' Well,
I had a date with Evie and I thought she might like to see it, you
know what I mean? So I took her over there."
    "On the bike."
    He looked at her as if she was crazy. "Yeah, on
the bike."
    " The package must have been kind of small."
    "What package? You lost me."
    " The thing you were delivering."
    "Oh. Well. It was more of an envelope. A letter,
maybe."
    "Business size? Manila envelope? Eleven by
fourteen? What kind of letter?"
    " What do you care?"
    "Okay, let's leave that for now. So you had Evie
and the envelope on the bike. And you went to this mansion. Where?"
    " Out near Bayou St. John. You ever been out
there? Man, they got some places."
    "Uh-huh."
    "It was addressed to some woman, but this guy
answered the door. See, I left Evie outside—I thought it looked
more professional—and I just went to the door to take the thing,
and this guy said come in. I said, I can't, I got my girlfriend with
me, and he said fine, no problem, bring her on in and have a drink.
So I looked around, kind of automatically, you know how you do, and
Evie was standing by the bike holding her helmet. She always hated
the damn helmet—took it off every chance she got. She had on these
pants I got her—I got her black leather pants for the bike, can you
believe that? Turkey! Major turkey.
    "She had on these pants, see, and they kind of
fit like the skin of a tomato or something, and her blond hair was
hangin' down, all shiny in the sun, and she had on shades. She looked
like a movie star, I swear to God. Well, naturally, I wanted to
impress her by askin' her to have a drink in this amazing Hollywood
mansion. This guy was really slick, you know, with some
hundred-dollar tie and all that shit—"
    "What was his name?"
    "Well, now that is a question."
    "Why?"
    "I didn't pay attention to it." He slammed
his fist on his bed-side table. "Do you believe that shit? I
just didn't goddamn listen."
    He rubbed his lip. "Or maybe he never said. I
mean he said 'Maurice,' that much I know, but what else did he
fuckin' say? You know how many times I've asked myself that?"
    "Couldn't you just ask Larry?"
    He shook his head. "Not cool. Definitely not
cool."
    "Why does it matter so much anyway?"
    " 'Cause he took Evie, that's why. I never even
fuckin' saw her again."
    "What do you mean he took her?"
    "He fuckin' swept her off her feet, right there
in front of me. He talked to her and not me, you know how a person
can do that? Like make you feel like you don't exist? And she acted
like I didn't exist. She just fuckin' forgot about me. I'd try to say
somethin', like join in the conversation, you know, and they wouldn't
even answer. It was just the two of them alone in the world. After a
while he asked her if she'd like to look around the house, and she
said sure and they both just left me sittin' there. Can you imagine
what that felt like?