Time Travel Omnibus, page 807
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“Your car or cab?” Lucy asked as she emptied some cash and a single credit card from her wallet, placing these potential essentials in her back pocket. She anxiously tugged the door knob. “On second thought, we’d better drive. I thought you were going to be ready in half an hour. It took you nearly an hour. And you didn’t really have anything to do to get ready.”
“Sorry, Lucy.” Larry’s cheeks stretched apart in an apology. “I didn’t mean to be late. My watch said that only half an hour had passed. I swear it was 7pm on the dot when you asked me, and now it’s only 7:30pm.” Larry pointed to his watch. “Engmaghrr,” Larry said as he lifted his shoulders and swayed them side to side. “What?”
Larry replied, “I said it’s only 7:30pm.”
“Larry, you grunted.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s 8pm anyway.” Lucy checked her watch, then, reflexively, her clothes in the mirror. “But that’s okay, I guess. The party’s not going to get rolling until after 9 o’clock. But maybe you should take that watch to a jeweler. Your birthday was only two months ago—it should be keeping perfect time.”
Larry looked at his watch and shrugged. He wiped the sweat on his forehead leaving fresh newsprint from his fingers. “I’ll drive,” Larry said. “Grungga,” he muttered to himself.
Did he just grunt again? Lucy thought. Is this going to be another habit we’re going to have to put up with?
“Fine, I think Jim’s taking the Metro over anyway. If you get lucky at the party, Jim and I can always take a taxi back.” She grinned at the idea. Lucy glanced at her shirt, tracing a path along the pants which hugged her waist. Yes, I look good—sexy—Lucy thought. Too bad I have to wait until I’m at the party for somebody to appreciate the work I’ve put into making myself a splash.
“Damn. I left my keys upstairs.”
“Hey Larry, tuck your shirt in!” she shouted. Buy a new shirt, she thought.
“Okay, thanks.”
The drive over was uneventful, which, Lucy acknowledged, is usually the best outcome for any automobile ride. Just a little lethargic, like a tour bus meandering by the nation’s monuments. Lucy usually didn’t mind driving with Larry, but wished that she didn’t always have to ask him to roll his window down. Larry seemed to enjoy not having air conditioning, but Lucy hated to arrive at a party all sweaty.
Lucy quickly surveyed the apartment before looking for Jim. She located him by the food table on the far side of somebody’s living room. His iridescent fish shirt was unbuttoned two buttons. Jim’s shoulders stood square, and his dark, black hair seemed to sway gently. Lucy could smell faint wisps of Kouros cologne as she approached. “Hi Jim. How’s the party?”
“Party’s not bad. Great stuff to eat and the drinks are plentiful. Here, try one of these,” he said, the sentence’s last few words captured by the cheese puff that Jim had stuffed into his mouth. “Here,” he said again, his fingers carrying a puff directly into Lucy’s mouth. “Ymmm. Here, Larry, try one.”
Larry did. “Good. Enghmm. Ugaraha.”
Lucy rubbed her ear, as if that would make what Larry said clearer. Lucy faced Jim. Larry stood a couple of feet to her right. “Jim, who are your friends, the ones giving this party?” Lucy wanted to know. She thought (imagined?) she might have seen Larry nod.
“Deirdre and Debbie. They share this apartment. Over there. I’ll introduce you.”
“Later. I don’t need to meet women at the moment. I’ll mingle for a bit and then scoot back and you can introduce me.” Lucy waved her brown hair from side to side and pushed her chest forward slightly. Perhaps unconsciously, but Jim noticed. So did two guys on the other side of the room. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not,” Jim said. “We inhabit the same house, but that doesn’t mean we have to move like a chain gang.” With that Lucy wiggled off in the direction of the prime party spot, the kitchen.
“Over here, Larry,” Jim said. “I’ll introduce you to Deirdre and Debbie.”
“Okay,” Larry said.
Jim looked at Larry and noticed no quirky eye movements, the kind he could never restrain when on his way to meet attractive opposites. Jim introduced Larry as his brilliant housemate, the star of the General Accounting Office’s science division, witty individual, and a nice guy in his own right. Besides D&D, there were two other women and two men in this bunch, so Jim felt fine leaving Larry on his own. Jim noticed that Larry seemed a little pale, almost translucent. Maybe Larry’s a little under the weather, and that’s why he’s not in the swing of things. No, Larry’s always kind of drowsy, but never this visibly washed out. Well, I’ve done all I can; at least he’ll have something to do.
He caught Lucy between flirts. “Having a good time?”
“Uh huh. And you?”
“So-so. I’m not in an overly prowling mood.”
“Sure you’re not.”
“Well at least Larry seems to be enjoying himself.” Pause. “I hope so.”
“Yeah. What a shame. All he needs to do is clean up his act and he’d be attractive to women. Trim his beard, cut his hair, lose ten pounds and voila! A new man!”
“And new clothes,” Jim added.
“And brush his teeth. Can you imagine—somebody who doesn’t brush his teeth every day. It’s like the toothbrush hasn’t been invented for him.”
“No. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t witness it with my own eyes. And nose. No wonder he has trouble getting dates. He pretends he’s maintenance free.”
“It would help if he were on time now and then. A girl doesn’t want to be kept waiting, you know,” Lucy said. “You think he’d get that watch fixed, if that’s really the problem.”
Jim added, “It was a nice gift, if I must say so for ourselves. Weird sales person, though. Kind of slow and very uninterested in the customer. He didn’t care whether we bought the watch or not. And I remember, he did stink. Kind of like Larry.”
Lucy thought for a second. She scooped her celery into the dip. “He could do it—he could shape himself up. Even being on time. It wouldn’t take a whole lot of effort or imagination.” The celery made a particularly loud crunch.
“Yeah, but will he? How’s the dip?”
“It’s good. I don’t know. But if he doesn’t change he’s going to evaporate. I mean, nobody notices him, so he might as well not be here at all.”
Jim looked in Larry’s direction. “Kind of looks a little peaked now, don’t you think? Maybe Larry’s coming down with something. But perhaps he’s enjoying himself, surrounded by those friendly women.”
“Do you really think so?”
“No.”
Jim looked into Lucy’s eyes. “We have to do something. Living with Larry is like living with a phantom. It’s as if he’s not 100 percent here and it is driving me crazy.”
“I know,” Lucy said. “Me, too. Like when he performs his morning ritual—that loud grunt. Kind of like a yawn, but it sounds almost animal-like. Yeah, sort of like what you might hear at the zoo.”
“Come on Lucy, that’s cruel.”
“Maybe. But you probably agree with me.”
Jim nodded.
Lucy continued. “And the newspapers. Why can’t he bring in The Post when he leaves. I know he doesn’t read the paper, but just to toss it inside, would that be too difficult? And I’ve never known any guy not to be interested in the sports page.” Jim thought for a moment. “I guess I shouldn’t complain. Otherwise, Larry’s a pretty good housemate. I mean we never have to worry about him keeping us up at night.” Jim checked his chin to see if there were any dip remnants remaining on it. He took a nacho chip and skated the dip. “This is good dip.”
“So we’re agreed,” Lucy continued.
“Agreed?”
“Yes. We do something about Larry before he turns our house into an insane asylum.”
Jim concurred. “But I have one question.”
“What?”
“That’s the question. What do we do? You know we can’t say to his face, ‘Larry, you’re a slob, your hygiene is abysmal, and you grunt. Do something or see a therapist.’ If he doesn’t take our words kindly, life will be miserable at 2280 Oakdon Street.” Jim pressed his hand against his leg and added, “More miserable than it is now.”
“Yes. I’ve thought about that. So what do we do?”
“We tell him anyway.” But she knew they never would.
Larry drove home. Lucy and Jim joked about his car being a turtle. Larry didn’t seem to mind.
Last Day
“Coffee?”
“Uh huh. Thanks. What time is it?”
“It’s ten thirty.”
“Oh,” Jim replied.
“I told you that you shouldn’t have had that scotch before going to sleep.”
“You should have told me louder.”
“Where’s Larry?”
Lucy opened the refrigerator door, examined the shelf and turned to Jim, “What kind of coffee do you want? He’s still sleeping.”
“Larry knows we’re heading off to Ikea to get furniture for the house. We’ll give him another half hour, then wake him,” Jim said. “That watch we gave him for his birthday isn’t doing Larry any good. It’s quartz, it’s kinetic—never needs a new battery—and yet he’s perpetually late.”
“Fine. Pass me the Style section if you’re not reading it, will you?” Lucy said.
■ ■ ■
Back home.
Larry parked himself on the living room couch. Jim noticed that the couch didn’t creak when Larry sat down in it. Maybe we don’t need to replace that couch after all, Jim thought.
“Nice ax,” Jim said, pointing to the stone-shaped tool next to Larry. “Did you get that at the Smithsonian store?”
“I don’t remember,” Larry replied. “I thought it was yours or Lucy’s. I guess I must have.”
“Well, don’t bonk anybody over the head with it. I’m heading upstairs for a nap—I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” Larry responded, his body limp across the couch.
Jim bolted up the stairs. He took a sharp left toward his room, hesitated and then knocked on Lucy’s door. She responded to the knock immediately.
“Yes? No. Don’t come in. Who’s there?”
“Jim.”
“Jim and who?”
“Just Jim.”
Lucy softened her voice. “Okay, come in.” Jim walked in. Lucy said, “Close the door.”
“What’s all the secre . . .” Jim eyed the canvas that sat on Lucy’s easel in her cramped bedroom/art studio. Good painting of our living room, Jim thought, though it looked misty. Some of the geometry struck Jim as wrong. Everything was in proper proportion, except Larry and the television set. Lucy had drawn the TV larger than the one they owned (ahh, Jim thought, if only it were true) and Larry smaller and somewhat paler than a human could be. The drawing was good—Lucy’s work always was—but it was unsettling. Only partly colored—the TV mostly, though Lucy touched almost everything else in her painting with hints of pastel: The couch, drapes, coffee table with its magazine collection, the carpet, Mickey Mouse clock, everything had at least a little color. Except Larry. Larry was light gray. This drawing was more surreal than most of Lucy’s art. As he looked more closely at it, what struck Jim as most paradoxical—realistic to his eye, but unrealistic to his brain—what he liked most in Lucy’s interpretation, was that the television set was drawn too precisely, too heavily, with details that Jim had never noticed in the two years he watched their tube. Thick and fine lines defined the TV, characters on the screen seemed clearer and more lifelike than they would be during regular viewing. But Larry was just basic shape: His stomach outlined by a tattered shirt that almost floated around him, his beard fuzzy—like the signals their TV received from distant Baltimore stations. (He was almost a ghost in Lucy’s drawing, present only by the light from the television that mostly, but not entirely, shined around him.) There were no details visible, such as curved lips or dangling ear lobes, that would make one say, “Hey, that’s Larry.” But Jim noticed that details weren’t necessary for him to recognize their housemate. Jim whistled. “Good.”
“Thanks.”
“I see why you didn’t shout ‘Come in!’ when I knocked.” Lucy nodded. “Do you like it?”
“Yes, it’s one of your best. I can’t believe that you just whipped it together. It’s eerie. Larry looks like he’s fading in and out. But you’d better finish it and get it out of this house.”
“Thanks, I was inspired. And I will keep it hidden. I will. Anyway, it’s almost finished. Want to know what I call this?” Jim did.
“I call it, ‘Disappearing Act.’ ”
From this more oblique angle, Jim’s conclusion was the same: Terrific drawing, depressed subject. “Lucy, we have to say something to Larry.” Lucy glanced toward Jim. Jim continued. “Not about your painting. I mean, he’s drifting through the doldrums. Larry becomes more withdrawn all the time. His ego is practically gone. You can’t get a single word out of him about what he’s doing, what he’s thinking—nothing about what interests or excites him. We have to unshell him, give him some confidence.”
“Yeah, we’ve been saying we have to talk with Larry for months and we’re just too chicken. You know he left the screen door open again—it’s a bug habitat, this house.” Perhaps it wasn’t forgetfulness, Lucy thought, but rather he just likes all those bugs. “Somebody has to tell him either to fix himself up or see a therapist.”
“Let’s do it. Maybe he’ll hate us, but just maybe he will seek professional help and his life and ours’ll be hundreds of times better.” She considered pausing for Jim’s answer, but decided to continue. “Chen’s sound good?”
“Chinese food is okay with me. I’ll ask Larry if he wants to go.” Jim opened the door a crack and stuck his head out, testing whether he could stretch his neck far enough to reach the stair case landing. He could not. He took three steps in that direction. “HEY, LARRY,” Jim shouted.
“WHAT?”
“WE’RE GOING TO CHEN’S FOR DINNER. WANT TO COME?”
“Okay.”
“LEAVE IN HALF AN HOUR. OKAY?”
“Okay,” Larry replied.
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“Come on, Larry,” Lucy yelled. “It’s nearly 6:30—your half hour expired fifteen minutes ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Larry said, in a breathless voice, having nearly tumbled down the last three steps. “My watch says 6:10. It isn’t my fault.”
“Tell you what. I’ll take the watch in to get it fixed for you.”
“Gee, thanks, Lucy.”
“Maybe over the weekend. Now let’s get moving.”
Jim balanced the screen door as Lucy walked and Larry barreled down the front steps. “Nice shirt,” Jim offered.
“Thanks, my mom gave it to me,” Larry said.
At least it fits and . . . it’s clean, his roommates thought, collectively. But such hairy arms Larry really should wear long sleeve shirts no matter what the weather.
During the fifteen minute journey to Chen’s, Jim and Lucy argued about the relative merits of various Pepperidge Farm cookies. Larry stayed silent, except for an occasional—and loud—grunt. Guess he doesn’t like cookies anymore, Lucy thought.
At the restaurant Jim decided first. “I’m up for kung pao chicken.”
“Sounds good,” Lucy said. “I’ll order spicy beef with broccoli.”
“Great,” Jim added. “How about some steamed dumplings to start?”
“That’s tasty to me,” Lucy chimed. She turned to Larry on her right. “What are you going to get? We’ve got chicken and beef, which leaves shrimp, pork, veggies . . . But I think whole fish with the eye staring up is out.”
Larry absorbed the menu for a few more seconds. He looked to the wall, perhaps expecting to find a suggestion there, and then back at the menu. With the back of his hand he rubbed his nose and then said, “Whatever.”
“How about Szechuan prawns,” Jim offered.
Larry said, “Well maybe. But now that you ask, the juicy beef surprise would be good. I feel in the mood for beef.”
“But we’ve already got a beef dish,” Lucy said. “Let’s go with Jim’s idea for prawns.”
“All right,” Larry said.
“So how’s work?” Jim asked.
“It’s okay,” Larry said.
“Any exciting new projects?” Jim wanted to know.
“Nope.”
Lucy joined the conversation. “What happened to that Norway trip you were expected to take?” She poured everyone some tea. “It fell through. About two months ago. Budget problems.” Lucy puffed her cheeks. “I’m sorry to hear that. You must have been dismayed.”
“No big deal, really. I had lots of work to do anyway,” Larry said.
Lucy thought changing the subject would help. “Whatever became of that blind date you had?”
Larry looked puzzled. “Date?” he said. “Yes. Uhgha. About a year ago. Last summer. We had fun I guess, but just never got together again.”
“You should have called back,” Lucy insisted.
Larry shrugged.
“Why not?” Lucy asked.
Larry shrugged again. “Dunno.” He brought the tea cup to his mouth.
“Larry, that’s still super hot,” Jim said, attempting to parry the cup away from Larry’s mouth. But Larry wasn’t bothered and drank the whole cup.
“Lucy,” Jim said abruptly, hiding behind his chopsticks. “You’re going to kill me. Andy called this afternoon. I forgot to tell you.” Jim cringed as Lucy’s eyes bulged toward him. “Oops. He called. There. Now I told you.”
“You’re right, I am going to kill you.” She hurled a shrimp toward Jim, hitting the middle of his shirt and bouncing into his water glass. “Gee, I feel better already. Maybe I won’t have to kill you after all.”
■ ■ ■
While Lucy sought to decipher the check, Jim looked at his watch and said, “The Marine Orchestra is playing on the Capitol steps, starting in twenty minutes. What do you say we grab a cab and see them.”
