Odd Jobs (21 page)

“Holy shit!” is about all I can muster. I’m thinking to myself, what a dog! “I can’t believe you had to live through that.”

“Living through it was awful, but living with him was unbearable. Anytime he had a few drinks, which was fairly often, he’d reach for me. I was only 13 then, and he had me believing that if I said anything, my mother would throw us both out.”

“I can’t even imagine how tough that must have been on you.” I always thought there’s nothing worse in this world than not having a father, and now I’ve changed my mind. “How did you get him to stop?”

“My mother suspected something going on. She knew I never wanted to be in the house and would find any excuse to get out. But this one Sunday afternoon she wouldn’t let me out. She had a birthday party at the dance studio and took my brother to help. She put her foot down. I had to stay in and study. My father came into my room and started grabbing at me. I was pleading with him to stop. He was on top of me and getting angry that I was resisting. Out of nowhere my mother starts pounding him on the head with a log from our fireplace stack. So he was on the ground bleeding and my mother was dialing the police. She puts the police on hold and she says to Dad, ‘Here are the keys to the car, get the fuck out of here. If you ever try to contact us again, you’re going to jail’.”

“Fuck, why didn’t she throw his ass in jail?”

“Kevin, she knew I couldn’t go through a trial. The last thing I needed was to be stared at. The town was real small.” Rocky pauses. I can hear her weeping, but she fights through the sobs and says, “What if that perv is out there doing it to someone else, and I didn’t put him away? How do I live with that?”

I jump in, saying,
“C’mon
Rocky, you’re being too tough on yourself. You can’t have the whole world on your shoulders; you had to take care of yourself. You did what you had to do. It’s not like this is marketing class where you lay out a strategy and follow a plan from a textbook. You went into crisis management and you weren’t wrong. You were a kid who got thrown into a tough situation.”

“I know,” she says through a voice still broken by sobs.

“So that was the last time you saw him?” I ask.

“Never saw him or spoke to him again,” she says. “So, are you still with me, Kevin, or did I totally freak you out?”

“Baby, I’m here. I’m here more than ever. My only regret is that we’re on the phone and I’m not there to hug you.” I never said anything truer. I didn’t expect anything like this from Rocky.

We spoke about the gamut of emotions she has. She tries to date. Guys think she’s a tease or a prude because she always stops short of getting intimate. She moves on to other men before it gets to the crossroads. She’s had a lot of therapy and it’s working, but despite the progress, she hasn’t been able to stay in a relationship for an extended period. She would like this one to be different, though, if I’m willing.

I’m so into her that I swear I don’t care if she ever gets intimate with me. I never thought I would feel that way about anyone, but man, Rocky is special.

CHAPTER 17

Shit, that was a great conversation. That should probably qualify for Loot.

I’m remembering Loot laying it out for me. It was when I wandered into the living room, where Loot and Carey were getting high. We don’t usually pry into our own supply, but every now and then we need some relief, so we got stoned and Loot took over. We were watching a mind-numbing TV show where celebrities were getting pranked. Loot refused to put a ball game on. “You pretty into her?” Loot asked and I refused to answer.

When the TV show broke for a commercial, Loot tried to pick up on the conversation about Rocky. “But you ain’t really hitting that yet?”

Pretty blunt comment, even from Loot. “Watch the show, Loot.”

Carey jumped in as best he can, but with all the pot smoked, he’s approaching outer space. “Leave the man alone Loot.”

“I’m
helping the man out,” Loot said defensively.

“Loot,” I snapped. “Just shut the fuck up and watch the show.”

“It’s a fuckin’ commercial!” Loot barked.

“Then watch the fuckin’ commercial.”

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Loot screamed. “When you want to get some real bad and you ain’t hitting it, then you get ornery.”

I said, “Maybe I’m ornery because you’re such a dick.”

“Man, why you got to disrespect me so much? Shit, if we’re just playing around then you’re laughing and joking with me. You’ve gotten some with girls and not gotten some with girls, but you just deal. You haven’t been this jumpy since C. W. Wellington; and that bitch got you all sorts of ornery. Now you listen to the Oracle of Love ... ”

“The Oracle of what?” I asked in amazement. I turned to Carey and I asked, “The Oracle of what?” Carey was laughing and shaking his head. You think you can never be surprised by one of Loot’s self-given nicknames.

With righteous indignation, Loot stood and said, “I am the Oracle of Love and as soon as you come to terms with the greatness of my powers the better your life will be.”

“Loot, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I’m handling... ”

“Do not interrupt me!” Loot commanded as he put his fist in the air. “When the Oracle of Love receives his powers, there is no turning back. So whether you like it or not, you will hear from the Oracle of Love.”

“Listen Loot.... ”

“Oracle,” Loot corrected.

“Okay, Oracle, please make it fast.” Like I had any chance to stop him.

Loot looked at me for drama’s sake and in his deepest voice said, “This is the real thing and the key to opening the door will come from the reach of speech.”

Carey and I looked at each other to see if either of us could make any of this out. “Man, you are so fuckin’ trippin’. Now you’re talking Chinese.”

“Stop this disrespect!” He hollered. “This is not like other situations. This is not the waste of time like them other bimbo women that you been spending time with. This is not her high holiness C.W. Wellington, who is an aberration of reality.”

“A what of reality?” Carey interrupted.

“Silence!
You might try to make a mockery of my
greatness, but you need to heed my wisdom.” Loot brought his voice down from the hark of a preacher to the consternation of a teacher. “You are frustrated and feel incomplete because there are deeper feelings and physical attainment yet to be met with this woman. You cannot get there until you have the great conversations. The reach of speech will open the door. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah, Loot,” I, answered sarcastically, “I hear you, conversations. It’s outstanding insight, but don’t you think over the last bunch of weeks we had conversations?”

“There you go, you do not hear me. You might hear the volume but not the sound and thusly you’re missing my point.”

“Thusly, what the fuck is thusly?” Carey laughed.

“Listen,” Loot said, reverting to his preacher voice, “the great conversation; a conversation where nothing is held back and where trust is exchanged. That, my disciples, is what unlocks the door. I know you’ve had sex before, but we’re talking more than sex here, my brother. We are talking about unlocking the door, yours and hers. You thought you had that with C.W. Wellington, but you did not. You think you miss C.W. Wellington and you don’t want to let it go. But let me tell you this — what time erases, the heart replaces! And while you are ornery now, I am here to tell you, wait, be patient and embrace the great conversation. The Oracle of Love has spoken.”

“Thank you Oracle. You want another bong hit?” I asked.

“Yes, yes I do. Oracling is a lot of work.”

As ridiculous as Oracle Loot is, he happens to be right. That last conversation where Rocky told me about her father was a great conversation. I never felt closer to anyone. Yet sometimes the closer I feel, the more frustrated I get and that’s not just because we are limiting ourselves on the physical front. It ain’t easy exchanging everything when you know everything can ruin it all. I can tell her more and frankly, she can too. I do figure out what’s gnawing at me. The question I need answered: Why me? After all she told me, I would think more than ever she would want to find some nice, normal lawyer, lobbyist or banker to settle down with instead of a small-time crook. I need to find it out and I need to talk to her more.

As part of my plan of self-disclosure, I decide to take Rocky to my office, the Albany branch of Luke’s Action Sports, and a few minutes from the apartment in a remote yet very open office park. Luke Birdman is the greatest sports handicapper ever, according to him, “The Einstein of the Line.” Luke Birdman presented me with an opportunity to make real money and make it fast. Luke Birdman, whose real name is Barry Rothberg, unknowingly gave me the opportunity to fund a pretty damn impressive bookmaking and drug-dealing operation.

Our building has just two floors and a lot of glass windows that are always blocked with curtains and blinds. It’s not that sports marketing is illegal; it’s certainly not exactly ethical, but when you’re running a boiler room operation, you don’t need views, you don’t need light and you don’t need distractions.

In the short drive over to the HQ, I offer Rocky an explanation of what to expect. “Think of it like a stockbroker, except, instead of saying that IBM is going up 10 dollars, our guys are selling expert advice, telling investors that the Philadelphia Eagles will win by 10 points. For this technical advice, clients pay a chunky fee.”

She thinks for a moment and then answers, “Sounds like you’re a bookie, but we already knew that.”

I tell her that, at the time I started doing this, I was not a bookie. I started the sports handicapping with the intention of legally funding a drug business.

“You do know how fucked-up that sounds, don’t you?” she asks.

“Of course, but I’m hoping you don’t rat me out to my ethics prof.”

She laughs and I continue. “I had drug customers lined up and I had suppliers lined up, so according to most business classes, I was on my way. The problem was that the pesky element of working capital was still missing. I didn’t think the bank was going to lend me money for this business venture, and I ruled out the reality of an initial public offering as well. My other jobs got me enough money to stay in school but not enough to finance school and this business. Luke’s Action Sports was my plan B.”

“How much did you need?” Rocky asks.

“It might as well have been a million dollars. At that point my drug customers weren’t paying half up front; why would they? They barely knew me. I needed to lay out all the money to get started. For me to make an impact, I had to get a hold of $40,000, and in a hurry, too.”

“How’d you know you could make that kind of money at Luke’s?”

“I had no idea. I was trying everything I could get my hands on, but I still couldn’t get close to the kind of money I needed to put my plan for getting rid of Balducci into action. Then lo and behold, I spotted an ad in the paper.”

“Which paper, the New York Times?” Rocky says with a smile.

“Nope,” I answer, “the ad appeared in our very own student newspaper, the Gorilla Gazette. It was just a few words, but the right words: SPORTS, more money than you dreamed you can make. I call the number, and the guy says he needs a killer salesman.

“The truth was, I had sold over the phone and had made some decent money. The one thing I learned was that more than actually selling, you needed to be able to listen. First you listen; then you close. So this guy is barking at me, but he’s also telling me what he needs. So when he fires off some weird questions, I’m ready. I tell him I am hungrier than anyone he will meet. I tell him that if I’m stuck in the ocean with my mother and father and can only save one person, I save myself.