Four Blondes

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“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Clay. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Let’s get a drink,” James says.

“You’ve both been doing coke,” Winnie says.

“I haven’t been doing coke,” James says.

“Can you believe this, man?” Clay says to James. “I mean, how much more of this do we have to take?”

“You are such a loser, James,” Winnie says. “Let’s get in a cab and go home.”

“I’m not getting in a cab,” James says. “I’m getting a drink.”

“James!”

“No!” James says. “Tanner sits there snorting up a gram of coke and no one gets on his case.”

“Tanner is a famous movie star who makes fifteen million dollars a picture,” Winnie says.

“Tanner is an alcoholic, a drug addict, and a sex addict. He’s a complete sicko degenerate,” Veronica says.

“So it’s all about money,” Clay says.

“What are you talking about?” Veronica says.

“She,” Clay says, pointing at Winnie, “just said that Tanner makes fifteen million a year. So that makes it okay.”

“Picture. Fifteen million a picture. And no, it’s not okay.”

“I’ve had enough,” Clay says to James. “What about you?”

“I just want a drink,” James says.

Tanner’s limo pulls up to the corner. Tanner rolls down the window. “Anybody need a lift?”

“I’m with you, Tanner,” Clay says.

“Me too,” James says. He doesn’t look at Winnie.

“Don’t you get in that limo, Clay.”

“Hey sis, lighten up,” Tanner says. “Me and the boys are going to have a few pops.”

Clay and James get into the limo, climbing over Evie, who’s lying on the floor, laughing. “Hello, boys,” she says. As the limo pulls away, James sneaks a look back at Winnie. Her mouth is open, but for once, nothing is coming out.

JAMES FEELS ILL

Four A.M.

James doesn’t feel so good. He stole the chalk. He’s being punished. He thinks (but he’s not sure) he hears voices. “What have you done now, James?” his mother says. “At the rate you’re going, we’ll have to send you to reform school. Do you want to be a failure? Like your father?”

Was his father a failure? His suits were always rumpled. He owned three dry-cleaning stores. Was he having an affair with Betty, the woman who did his books? “Pull down your pants, James,” his father says, taking off his belt.

It was only a tiny piece of chalk. A sliver, really.

“Hey, let me in,” James says. His voice is a croak. It seems to be coming from somewhere to his left. (Somehow he’s at his building. Somehow he got into a cab and obviously gave the cab driver his address. But it seems like ages ago. Maybe yesterday.)