“Yeah, but . . .” Colt let his voice trail off. The fact was, he hated vacations, which Francie knew very well. He preferred work to anything else, and when he did take time off, he always wanted to go to some tacky resort in the Caribbean, with beaches crammed to the treeline with the sunburned bodies of other rich Americans. It was occurring to Francie for the first time that they had wanted this house for very different reasons. Oh dear, she thought. It would appear I have miscalculated. This place is just another tro
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OWALSKI
phy for him, isn’t it? Just another thing to hang on the proverbial wall and admire. Like the Camaro. Or me.
“Come on,” she said. “Please? For me? It would make me so happy, Colt.”
The promise of domestic bliss was a trump card she rarely played. Never, in fact. So, after examining their schedules—Fran cie’s empty, while Colt grumbled about shoving around his vari ous meetings and planning sessions, et cetera, talking as if anyone actually
cared
, she thought—they planned to depart on the fol lowing Wednesday, the last one in a month that had already turned the earth as hard as iron, but had yet to produce any snow.
❚ ❚ ❚
That Tuesday evening, just as they were sitting down to dinner, there came an unexpected buzzing on the intercom.
Who the hell is that?” Colt asked, irritated.
“My psychic powers are failing me just now,” Francie said, get ting up.
“No, don’t answer it. Whoever it is, it’s not someone we’re ex pecting.”
Francie stopped and glared at him.
“That’s what makes life interesting,” she said. She pressed the intercom on the wall. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” said a voice in a burst of static. “Me who?”
“Me! Michael!”
“Mikey!” Francie screamed into the box. “Is that really you?” “Let me in, Sissie,” came Michael’s wan voice. “It’s freezing out
here!”
Francie buzzed him in and began a frenetic happy-dance around the apartment. Now it was Colt’s turn to glare at her.
“It’s Mikey!” she told Colt. “He’s visiting us!” “Joy,” he said, without feeling any.
The Good Neighbor 71
“Mikey” was Francie’s brother Michael. Once again, the wide- eyed wanderer had appeared out of nowhere, with no warning. These surprise visits were part of Michael’s self-described style; he knew how to make no other kind of visit, in fact, since he seemed largely incapable of following most social conventions. It was the fifth or sixth time since their marriage that he had simply shown up. “Again he does this?” Colt said, resting his forehead in his hand.
“It’s too much trouble for him to call?”
“That’s my brother for you,” said Francie, out of breath, exhila rated. “He’s a free spirit.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing. What if we weren’t in the mood for visitors?”
“He’s
family
,” Francie told her husband. “That’s not the same as visitors.”
“No. It’s worse.”
“If you had a brother, you’d be glad to see him, wouldn’t you?” “Yeah, but I don’t.”
The buzzer sounded and Francie yanked open the door, screech ing with delight, for there stood her baby-faced, slope-shouldered little brother, soft and pudgy in the stomach, ambitiously whiskery, his thin lips plastered tight against his teeth in a stoned approximation of a smile. Colt noted that Michael was still sport ing the same long, greasy hair, and the same old knit poncho— swept dramatically over one shoulder, as if it were a cape, and he minor nobility. Colt wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Michael hadn’t showered much since the last time they’d seen him; hygiene, or rather the lack of it, was as much a part of his style as itinerancy. This never seemed to bother Francie, who at tacked him now with kisses, practically bending him over back ward in the hallway, Gable-like, before he even had a chance to enter the apartment.
“Mikey!” she screamed. “How are you? Where have you been?” “Whoa,” said Michael, pleased at her assault but fending her
off. “Hi, Sissie. Hey, Colt.”
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OWALSKI
“Hi,” said Colt.
“Come in!” said Francie. “Are you hungry? Are you tired? Do you want a drink?”
“Shit, yeah,” said Michael. “D, all of the above. I started out in Ohio this morning, and my bus is on its last legs. Kind of a tense trip. Wassup, Colt?”
“Nothing, as you so quaintly inquire, is ‘up,’ ” said Colt. “You still driving that same old hunk of crap?”
“Yup,” Michael said. “Almost two hundred fifty thousand miles on her now. Big hole in the floor, too. Rusted right out. You can practically drop things through it, if you want.”
“Sit down, Mikey,” said Francie, closing the door and pushing him into a chair.
“Right on,” said Michael. “Sit down I will. Colt, my man. Nice to see you.”
“Right on,” said Colt. “You’re on vacation from work, I take it?
Got a couple of weeks off from the old grind?”
“No, dude,” said Michael. He gave a phlegmy smoker ’s laugh, like a motorcycle chugging underwater. “I’m not working at the moment.”
Colt put his hands to his face in a gesture of mock surprise. “What!” he said. “Mikey McDermott, without a job? Shocked, I am!”
“At the
moment
, I said,” said Michael. “I’m on tour, dude. Mak ing a cultural survey, you might say. Exploring this great land of ours. You know.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve never had the luxury,” said Colt.
“Finding out what makes America America, man,” said Michael. “I’ve seen the most amazing shit. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” said Francie. “Something tells me we won’t have to,” said Colt.
❚ ❚ ❚
The Good Neighbor 73
They resumed their interrupted dinner, with Francie floating now between table and counter, helping Michael to more meat loaf, more juice, more salad; she even opened a bottle of champagne, one of the expensive ones Colt had been saving for a special occa sion. From the look on Colt’s face as the cork popped, it was clear that this visit didn’t fall into that category, but Francie either failed to notice or didn’t care; if it was up to Colt to decide when and how they would celebrate the small blessings in life, she knew, every day would be like a funeral. Michael talked and ate; Francie cooed; Colt listened, trying and failing to hide the sneer of contempt that kept sliding across his face like an eclipse.
“Meat loaf and champagne,” he said. “I wonder if that’s on the menu at Le Cirque.”
“Tell us everything,” said Francie, ignoring her husband. “I haven’t talked to you in ages. The last time I spoke to Mom she said you were out West.”
“I was in Denver,” Michael said.
“Ooh, Denver! I’ve never been there. What’s it like?” “Mountainy. And cold.”
“‘Mountainy’?” Colt echoed.
“Yeah. With snowcaps. And mountain goats. Totally wild.” “How did you end up there?” Francie asked.
“I was hanging out in Phoenix, and I heard Phish was playing a concert up there, so I just went. And I met this girl out in the parking lot. Yolanda, her name was. She was cool, so I decided to stick around for a while.”
“Wow, a parking-lot romance,” said Colt. “Did she have hairy armpits?”
“I hope you were
careful
,” said Francie.
“Aw, c’mon,” said Michael, blushing. “They have parties in the parking lot,” he explained to Colt. “It’s not like she was just sit ting there on the curb or something. There’s dancing. And food. Sometimes there’s even other bands.”
“Oh, well, in that case,” said Colt.
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OWALSKI
“So what happened?” Francie asked. “You didn’t want to bring her along home with you?”
Michael shrugged and forked another slice of meat loaf onto his plate. “Y’know,” he said. “It ran its course, I guess. We hung out for a few weeks, and then it was time to move on.”
“Aw,” said Francie. “Did she hurt you, sweetie?” Colt snorted with laughter.
“No, it’s cool,” said Michael, shooting him an icy glare. “No at tachments, no regrets. Y’know. Things happen the way they’re supposed to happen. I wasn’t upset about it.”
“Good,” Francie said. Colt picked up a butter knife and made sawing motions on his wrist. Francie continued to ignore him. “Go on,” she said. “What else did you do?”
“Lessee. I went to this sweat ceremony with these Indians, where you’re like crammed into this tiny little underground room with about thirty other people, and there’s no air? We were in there for like six hours. And you have to like confront your own death and everything? And I fainted!”
“Oh, my God!” said Francie. “Were you all right?” “He’s here, isn’t he?” Colt said.
“Sure, I was okay. I got in touch with my totem animal. It was a snake.”
“This is spellbinding,” said Colt, toying with his mashed pota toes.
“Seriously, man. All kinds of crazy shit happened to me out West.”
“Was it ‘heavy-duty,’ man?” asked Colt. “Was it ‘far out’?”
“Is he making fun of me?” Michael asked Francie. “Sometimes I can’t even tell.”
“Just ignore him,” said Francie. “That’s what I do.”
“Yeah, that’s the Coltster for you. I ended up catching two con certs, too. And I hooked up with these really cool people who let me stay with them for a while. Yolanda’s friends. They had this great house. Really old.”
The Good Neighbor 75
“I bet it’s beautiful out there,” said Francie dreamily. “I’ve never been out West.”
“It’s awesome, Sissie. Everywhere you go looks like a movie set.”
“Except, of course, it’s real,” said Colt. “Right?”
“Yeah, man, that’s what I mean. Just that it
looks
fake, ’cause it’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, I got that. I just think it’s kind of pathetic that your only frame of reference for describing natural beauty is the work of a bunch of Hollywood set designers,” Colt said.
“Jeez, get a load of the Coltster,” said Michael. “What’s up your ass?”
“Nothing at all, as far as I know,” Colt said mildly. “Last time I checked, anyway.”
“Coltrane, shut up if you can’t be nice,” said Francie. “Mikey,
we
bought a house. A great big old house, out in the country. In Penn sylvania.”
“No shit?” said Michael. “When did this happen?”
“In the last couple of months. We just saw it and fell in love with it. And we’re moving some of our stuff out there. The an tiques, and the extra furniture.”
“Tomorrow, as a matter of fact,” said Colt.
“No fucking way!” said Michael. “That is so cool! Hey, what about this apartment? Are you gonna keep it?”
“Of course. But we’ll be going out to the country for a few days, to get things set up.”
“Hey, no shit,” said Michael. “In that case, can I crash here for a while? Just until I figure out where I’m going next?”
“Of course you—”
“No,” said Colt, interrupting his wife. “Absolutely not.” “Coltrane!” said Francie. “Why not?”
“No, listen, really,” said Colt. “I’ve got to put my foot down. If you’re going to show up unannounced and uninvited, the least you can do is make yourself useful. We’ve got a shitload of stuff to
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move tomorrow morning. All the crap your sister has bought over the last ten years that we didn’t have room for. And I’m not run ning a hotel here.” He gave Francie the Eye of Doom, but she de flected it with practiced ease, resting her chin on her hand and staring blankly at him as if waiting for him to get to the true point. “And most of
my
stuff is staying here, including my very ex pensive stereo system,” he added, “and I don’t want you messing around with it. Plus, I seem to recall a couple of CDs that you ‘borrowed’ the last time you were here. You didn’t happen to bring them with you this time, did you? My Steely Dan greatest hits, for example?”
“Oops,” said Michael. “Okay, man, chill. Of course I’ll help you move.”
“That would be most appreciated,” said Colt.
“The harshness in here is a little what you might call stifling,” said Michael to his sister, taking yet another slice of meat loaf. “Kind of like having a whole other dad, isn’t it?”
“He really does go away if you ignore him,” Francie said.
Michael snorted with laughter. “Good one, Sissie,” he said. “I’ll have to remember that.”
❚ ❚ ❚
“He’s got a learning disability,” Francie reminded Colt later, as they were lying in bed. “He’s dyslexic,
and
he’s got ADD. It’s re ally not his fault he’s so erratic. And I don’t appreciate you being so tough on him.”
“They’ve got a name for everything now, don’t they?” Colt said. “Nobody has to be responsible for anything anymore. Listen, the only real problem that kid has is that your father is still shelling out an allowance every month. He doesn’t even have to work. It’s pathetic. He doesn’t contribute anything to the world. He just . . .
coasts
.”
The Good Neighbor 77
“He
will
contribute something someday,” said Francie. “He just needs encouragement.”
“You know what would encourage him? Starvation.” “Colt! That’s terrible!”
“All I mean is, he needs a job.”
“Well, if you have any bright ideas, maybe you should share them with him. He needs some pointers, Colt. He needs guidance. It doesn’t help that you make fun of him all the time. You might not know this, but he actually looks up to you. You’d get a lot fur ther with him if you weren’t so hostile.”
“He does
not
look up to me,” said Colt. “He talks to me like I’m eighty years old. He
patronizes
me.”
Francie sighed. “You could show a little patience. Help him fig ure out what to do.”
“It doesn’t
matter
what he does,” Colt said in exasperation. “That’s the thing he doesn’t seem to understand! He acts like he’s waiting for his dream job to be handed to him on a silver platter. All that really matters is that he earn his keep, at least for starters.
Anything
would be better than doing nothing. He could pump gas, or work at a fast-food place. Once he got a taste of that, he’d be motivated pretty quick to find something better. Eventually he’d find something he liked.” He paused. “Or not. It’s not like it mat ters whether he even likes what he does. Life isn’t a fucking cock tail party, after all. We’re not here to have fun all the time. It’s . . . it’s just not like that.”