W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Guy’s got a big heart. Besides, he likes me.”

“He’d have to.”

“Anyway, what’d we do to him? Hey, so once in a while we mess up, but who don’t? . . . doesn’t,” she said. She slid a pained look in my direction and I imagined I was the only thing standing between her and another round of sleep. “You stop by for some reason in particular?” she asked.

“Just wondering where you were. Last night I went over to St. Terry’s to see Felix.”

“Bummer,” she said. “I been there for hours. Anyone tell you that?”

“I heard you were faithful as a hound.”

“You got that right. You don’t happen to have any Vicodin.”

I shook my head in the negative.

“Percocet?”

“Fresh out,” I said.

I heard the phone ringing at the desk behind me. Someone picked up and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a volunteer standing with her palm across the mouthpiece. “Pearl?”

She held up the handset by way of summons.

“What’d I tell you?” she said, struggling to her feet again.

“Guy owes me an apology big time. I don’t know if I’m accepting it or not. I don’t like abuse, especially when I didn’t do nothing to him.”

“Well, good luck,” I said. “Show the guy some mercy.”

Pearl said, “Ha.”

Meanwhile, Dandy had pulled himself upright. Maybe our conversation had reached him in the depths of his inebriated state. As much as he’d had to drink, he wouldn’t be sober for another two days. If Pearl’s condition was a harbinger, he’d be in a hurt locker the size of hers.

From the direction of the desk, I heard Pearl’s voice rise. “DO NOT SAY THAT. Don’t you say that to me, you son of a bitch!”

There was a silence and Pearl’s voice rose. “Shut your trap! That is not TRUE! You’re a lying sack of shit.”

Another silence while someone on the other end had a few more things to say.

Pearl’s response was to the point. “Hey! You say that again, I’ll come down there and punch you in the face!”

She listened briefly, and then slammed down the handset. “That’s bullshit. What kind of bullshit is that?”

She headed toward us at a lumbering pace, still in too much pain to move with any speed. She was sweating and her skin had turned blotchy in the wake of her rage. Dandy pushed himself to his feet. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I’ll tell you what’s up. You want to know what’s up? That asshole’s telling me Felix died.”

“I saw him last night,” I said.

“Yeah, well, he died an hour ago. How could he do that when I loved the guy? Hey. You know what? Hey . . .”

Her voice broke. Whatever she meant to add, a howl went up instead. The sound was sufficient to freeze everyone in place and then send half the residents scurrying to her aid as though her hand had been caught in the blades of a fan.

25

Here’s how hard-hearted I am: I was irritated by Pearl’s wailing. It seemed pumped up, artificial, overdone. My response was to disconnect, as though I were pulling a plug out of a wall socket. I couldn’t react to the news of Felix’s death because her excess had shut me down. It was as though she’d preempted any honest feelings generated by his passing. At the same time, I wondered if Pearl was the normal one and I was too psychologically stunted to experience sorrow. This didn’t seem like the proper moment to sort out questions of such complexity, but the idea had occurred to me on previous occasions—this sense that I was somehow out of step with the rest of humankind. Maybe I’d seen too much. Maybe I’d been exposed to matters so coarse and wrenching, I was no longer capable of feeling pain. I could almost picture myself in a therapist’s office, gingerly picking my way across this minefield. Was I nuts?

Nah, I was almost sure it was Pearl. If I were that screwed up, I wouldn’t be capable of reflecting on the point, would I?

So, there I stood while she collapsed on the couch in what looked like a parody of grief. Granted, it’s not my job to judge how others process emotions, but I gave her a 2.5 out of 10 on the basis of her phoniness. Dandy made no move to comfort her. I wasn’t sure if he felt equally alienated or he was simply helpless in the face of female histrionics. I didn’t doubt Pearl loved Felix. I just thought she was cranking up the theatrics so she could command center stage. I crossed my arms and kept my gaze on the floor, knowing my body language testified to my state of mind, which was cranky and withdrawn. I could have sworn Pearl was aware of my disconnect because she took to thrashing about like a kid in the throes of a temper tantrum, determined to get a rise out of Mom.