Exclusive Excerpt: "Fugue"
A New Novel by Paul A.Toth

Chapter 7 Continued: That's Right, Iranian

   "That's right. Iranian. Persian, I mean, like you always said. Los Angeles, too. The first was a woman in some shithole by San Francisco. Mercy's the name of the town. That, I remember. The names of women, I forget, but not the cities. I remember Bakersfield and Fresno. Then you've got the other ones, before the factory. Is that pretty much your love bio? So you're what, going backwards in time? Saving the first girl for last?"
     "Pretty much."
     "Why rule out your first couple of girls from Michigan? They could have moved to San Diego."
     "That was kid's stuff. They're married now. I don't count them and I doubt they count me. Far as I can tell, everybody else is single, still under their last names, on the Internet, at least."
     "So let's narrow it down. I think after me, you went back to L.A. and tried to work it out with Anal. That didn't happen, so you met this Rosie. That was that. You tired and succumbed. It's simple. Happens to everybody. But the way you used to talk about Anal tells me she's the one who sent the letter. You said she was crazy."
     "Yeah, but she aced me, remember?"
     "But then she probably heard you got married. An aphrodisiac for some."
     "Maybe."
     "So what's next?"
     "Keep working backwards."
     "You'll know soon as you find Anal. Or is this just an excuse to sleep around with old girlfriends?"
     "Nope. But if I find Azal, I'll send her your regards."
     I figured it was time to leave, but she touched my arm.
     "Don't go yet. You should think about this for a while. Besides, I've got errands to run. Would you mind guarding the place while I'm gone?"
     "'Guarding'?"
     "Minding the store, I mean."
     It was a chance to look around the apartment. I wasn't so sure I believed her yet. She seemed too interested. On the other hand, why let me stay if she had something to hide?
She stood and yawned. "I'm taking a shower. Don't worry, I won't be gone long." She made a point of closing the door behind her. But then the door opened a sliver as wide as my hope. "You're really tracking down old girlfriends on the Internet?"
     "What would you do?"
     "Tell myself somebody sent that letter by mistake."
     The door closed. Soon, she was under the spray. Unlike me, the water still knew her body. Water found its way to places I had forgotten. Did she have a boyfriend? I was sure she would have mentioned it by now, if only to get rid of me. And did I want to sleep with her? There was no getting rid of the instinct to find out whether I could.
     But sitting across from me in the director's chair was Rosie, arms crossed, smoke billowing from her nose. The chair could barely support her. She hummed a spiritual. The humming intensified. I saw a chariot with spiked wheels.
     I was a married man. For all its violence and racial conflict, that marriage meant something. Like me, Rosie had a strange intelligence, one which brought no worldly rewards, only unlucky charms. Neither of us would ever be an engineer, doctor or anything else that served a purpose. Our intelligence was useless by the world's standards, but it helped us reinvent ourselves.
     Sometimes we laughed at the thought we might kill one another. Our relationship absorbed that fact just as stepmothers absorb the existence of hyperactive stepchildren. But even after this short time away from Rosie, that mechanism had begun to fail. There was plenty wrong with our marriage. The grass is always greener on the other side because somebody else has to cut it. I was tired of mowing. But no matter how overgrown the grass at home, I bet any visitors would have something better to do than start the Lawnboy. Meanwhile, Mary seemed to have everything in order, each blade precisely cut. I felt wrong about it, but that didn't stop me from wanting to slip off my shoes and walk barefoot through her yard.
     The door opened and Mary hurried through the crack. The towel slipped. One glimpse of that seashell ass sent Rosie crashing to the floor, the chair collapsing in my imagination, making room for pornographic visions.
     Mary dressed out of sight at the end of the hallway. Then she opened the door to the little room in back. She came out with a big cardboard box that was obviously not heavy but still clumsy to carry. She set it on the floor, closed and locked the door. Who locked a bedroom door from the outside? There would be no peeking, either, as the box had been wrapped with electric tape.
     She blowdried her hair and put on her makeup. When she emerged from the bathroom, it no longer seemed true I had slept with her. She was somebody else.
     "I have to deliver some things. If anybody comes -- I don't know, bill collector or something -- just say I'm not home. Let me hear you say it."
     "Mary's not home."
     "Say you're my brother John."
     "Okay, I'm your brother Jonathan."
     "Just say John. It sounds tougher than you really are."
     "Am I supposed to scare somebody off?"
     "Don't be silly. I have debts. Sometimes the creditors come knocking. Starting up a business isn't cheap."
     "And what business is that?"
     Question ignored. She bent and felt the side of the box, as if making sure the temperature was right. Drugs came to mind, except what difference would temperature make? Then again, maybe her animal friends had been stuffed with baggies and now lived in a box.
     "What happened to your stuffed toys?"
     "I've got to go. I'm late already. There's food and beer in the fridge. There's whiskey in the cabinet. I don't have a TV, but you can play the stereo. And don't try looking through my computer because it's password protected."
     She started toward the door and shook her head when I motioned to help. She held the box against the wall as she turned the knob.
     "Why let me stay? You didn't seem so happy to see me."
     "I miss TV, and you're a TV show. Route 66, maybe."
     She slipped away. I felt bad even thinking about it, but I picked up the phone and called Rosie. I had a feeling Mary was warming to me, that I was in a choose-your-own adventure and little Johnny would get himself in deep no matter which chain of events he followed.
     "Don't talk, Rosie. Let me talk for once. Let me get a word in edgewise before you start."
     "So talk. I got one ear on the phone and the other next to paradise."
     "What's that supposed to mean? You got somebody there already?"
     "You figure it out. Caller ID says San Diego, and you're the one making accusations."
     Goddamn caller ID. It was impossible to be anonymous. How did anyone get away with anything?
     "You know why I'm here, Rosie, and it's not to sleep with anybody else."
     "You lie easy as a whore. Your mama's been calling. Says she's worried."
     "She can worry all she likes."
     "You need a psychiatrist."
     "I already know how I feel."
     "Really? I don't think so. You're looking for clues. That's what you're doing, ain't it? Solve anything yet? Like what John plus Mary equals? You fit the rectangle in the circle yet, or did you call because you miss me?"
     "Yes, that's exactly why I called."
     "Well, I don't care to be missed. I'm a Mrs. and there's no reason you should be missing me other than you're missing a piece of your mind chasing white-ass windmills 'cross the countryside. She keeping you cool, providing air conditioning? Lord, I'm late for breakfast. The goddamn grill's burning."
I hung up second and was about to couch myself when someone knocked. I opened the door and saw a toolbelt.
     "How's the life of leisure? I remember you now."
     "Nobody called maintenance, Dennis. Need something?"
     "We're supposed to keep an eye on the tenants. Management likes to get a jump on trouble. Maintenance men see a lot. We're insiders. You knock a woman around, we see the holes in the walls. You puff weed, we smell the smoke. You got something to hide, you probably stuff it in the air conditioner. Anyway, I like Mary. Tips me at Christmas."
     "I like Mary, too."
     "Seemed in a better frame of mind before you arrived. I saw the look on her face and figured you had something to do with it. For one thing, what's with the box? You can't lift a box for a woman? Let me guess: You've got a bad back. Boo-hoo. Mind if I take a look around?"
     "You got a warrant?"
     "Warrant? I can come in this apartment any time I like." He rattled the keys on his belt. "I've got about two hundred warrants right here."
     He gave me a look: Watch yourself. I tried to give one back. He laughed and closed the door.
     I looked around the apartment. I checked the bedroom door. It was flimsy as balsa wood, like everything else in the complex. The bathroom was a mess. She must have been doing plenty of coming and going and without much warning. Cover-all and nail polish speckled the sink, the mirror streaked with hair spray. A blowdryer lay on the floor. The shower curtain had three broken rings and sagged to the bathtub. There was another book about turtles next to the toilet.
     Someone knocked. Dennis was getting on my nerves. I opened the door ready to get punched. But it wasn't him standing there.
     "Thanks, I'll come inside," the Mexican said. "Who are you, Mary's boyfriend?"
     "Not really."
     He closed the door and said, "I'm Jesus." He had heroin skin, pockmarked, carved and stretched like an old leather belt. One thing I'd learned in the factory was that time and heroin could turn anybody American Indian, the aboriginal face of no-expenses-paid peace.
     "Well, Jesus, how can I help?"
     "Use the 'H', please. It's not funny. I've heard that joke a hundred thousand times."
     "My wife's pretty religious, that's all. I tend to see Jesus everywhere even though I'm not much of a believer myself."
     "That right? Is Mary your wife?"
     Jesus touched the computer. He bent toward the manila files and rifled through them. He picked up a few, ran his finger along the columns of numbers, then dropped them, papers fluttering to the floor. He went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. He pushed items aside, knocking over cartons of orange juice and milk.
     "Eggs," he said.
     "I'm not too hungry."
     He walked up to me and did not say, "Smoke 'em peace pipe?" He tugged my shirt and let go. Normally, as mentioned, I'm known as a chicken, but every once in a while I'm seized by a strange disregard for my physical health. It comes over me like another personality. Temporarily, I'm a real man. It never lasts long enough to get me into a fight, and now that I could smell his aggression, I began my usual retreat.
     He said, "Where...are...eggs?"
     "Listen, I don't know what you're talking about. I just got here last night. Mary's an old girlfriend. What she's doing, I have no idea. If you can find some eggs, cook 'em."
     "Mary's my accountant. And she provides storage. She is not to sell on her own." He sat on the couch and rubbed his chin. "This is troubling."
     "Well, let's be reasonable. She'll come back soon."
     "Friend," he said with a father's disappointment, "you seem as though you could be helpful. I wouldn't want you for a friend, though."
     "I'm not too brave. You're bigger than me."
     "What about honor?"
     "I've got no honor and I try not to judge."
     "Self-respect?"
     "You should hear my wife's version: 'R-E-S-P-E-C-T, best not fuck with me.' She wears the pants. Size 42."
     "Jesus Christ. Friend, I'm thinking about kicking in that door back there. Are you going to jump on my back when I do it?"
     "No, I'll sit right here. But I wouldn't bother kicking it; your foot might land in the next-door neighbor's living room."
     He went to the door and turned it. He squatted and looked at the knob. "This is one of those locks with the bendy keys." He took a chain of keys from his pocket and inserted one. The lock gave less fight than me. "An embarrassing business, I'm in."
     "And what business is that?"
     "Stinks in here," he said. "But there's nothing there."
     "Mind if I look?"
     "I'd rather you not."
     "Okay, Chief."
     "I'm no Indian."
     He approached, looming over me with an indecipherable expression, although I could decode enough to see it was not one of pleasure.
     "I 'd be better off selling crack."
     "What do you sell?"
     "Imported food products."
     "Well, it's a global economy, they say."
     "I suppose so. I like that. I'll take that with me."
     "You're coming back?"
     "Oh, yes."
     "I'll let Mary know."
     "Will you be here? Perhaps we could work out a deal. Mary could use a partner. She's obviously making unwise business decisions."
     "I'd think about it, but I'm not staying in the area. Some call me The Wanderer, Jesus."
     "You got any money?"
     "I'm not a connoisseur of imported foods. I live on pancakes, that kind of thing."
     "That's not what I mean. I mean for your girlfriend. She's behind on payments. It's easy to see that she's selling behind my back and playing the unwinnable game of catch-up. Just like gamblers. I'm not violent, though, in honor of my name. My mother is very devout. But I don't consider fire, vandalism and blackmail true violence. Understand?"
     "I understand. How much does she owe?"
     "One thousand dollars, roughly."
     I pulled out my wallet.
     "Here," I said. "Let's just say Mary's out of the business."
     "Yes, I think it's time I said goodbye to Mary. I'll return her stuffed animals tonight."
     "Pardon me if I say that you don't seem the kind of man who keeps stuffed animals around."
     "Ransom. Those goddamn things might as well be her children. Fucking Americans. So I kidnaped 'em. That's what I did because I'm a Christian criminal. Actually, 'criminal' is too impressive for what I do. I'm a waterboy in a desert, that's all." He counted the money. "Thanks to you, the animals live. I've done bad things but nothing felonious."
     "Will you bring back the animals tonight?"
     "I just remembered I have to make a drop at the border. Tomorrow, maybe. Will you be here?"
     "I'll be gone. Why don't you leave them with the maintenance man. Tell him I left them as a gift for Mary. Make sure you dump them on the floor and take the box with you."
     "I never liked that asshole, either."

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