Winning is Everything (36 page)

Ron did not look up from the water as he said, “Oh, fine, thanks. I just found God!”

“God who?” asked Kip, sitting on the deck next to Ron.

“God!” Ron sat up. “The big kahuna, the honcho up there putting on this light show for us.”

“You look very happy,” said Kip.

“Tell you the truth,” said Ron. “I’ve never been so content in my entire life. Talbot was right. This stuff is astounding!”

“Good,” said Kip. “I’ll tell Talbot you’re okay. He was a little worried about you, staring into the water for so long.”

“Don’t worry about me,” said Ron, taking a sip of beer. “I don’t know when I’ve ever been better.”

The sun had almost set and Ron was still staring at the water. “Something tells me Ron got a cube that may have had a little more chemistry in it than ours,” Talbot observed. “He seems to be tripping so much more heavily than we.”

Kip was on his back watching the clouds melding into one another.

“Sure is beautiful,” observed Talbot, watching the sun go down several minutes later.

“Beautiful …” Kip agreed.

Ron wouldn’t budge from the front of the boat. The dazzling displays in the water, of color and form, of symmetry and motion, commanded his full attention. When he observed that the wind died down at the same moment the sun disappeared below the sea, he was convinced he had been witness to some ultimate truth.

“We’ve lost the wind!” the captain told Talbot. “Just suddenly died down.”

“What’s that mean?” Talbot asked as he watched fiery afterglow colors leaping above the horizon.

“Means we coast around for a while,” said the captain. “Try to pick it up again. Or … if we can’t, we got an auxiliary engine we can use to chug-chug back to port. No problem.”

“Whatever you say …” Talbot assured the captain. “Everything’s fine just the way it is.”

For a while they just drifted around with no wind.

Ron was suddenly unable to resist the urge to pull off his clothes and dive smack into the warm water. Naked, he swam around the boat several times and then climbed back on board.

“The drug should be peaking about now,” Talbot told Kip. “We’re as high as we’re going to get.”

Back on board, Ron surveyed the deck, plopped down on a towel, and looked up at the sky to watch as the baby-pink colors of the afterglow made their elegant transition to tones of baby-blue; as the still darker blues of early evening circled in from the outside; as the first twinkling of a faraway star gave proof, indeed, that night would soon arrive.

Ron lay sprawled out across the towel, letting his body be dried by the balmy air. He looked up at the mysterious sky and gave in to its inviting magic.

The ship’s skipper walked over to Talbot. “If you like, we can float around out here for a while, see if another wind picks up. It’s very peaceful, no?”

“It’s paradise,” said Talbot, swimming along within his own private hallucinations. “Sure,” he told the captain. “Let’s take our time … let’s just float …”

“It’s still thirty dollars an hour,” the captain reminded his client.

Talbot waved a hand of who-cares noncommitment through the air. “Let’s … just … float….”

And so they just rolled along. Like ole man Caribbean.

The afterglow seemed to last forever. Kip sat staring at the spot where the sun had gone down, hypnotized. Talbot sat back in a deck chair, sipping a beer. The captain signaled to his two boys to also sit down; this was going to be a quiet, reflective time.

Soon the only sound to be heard in their entire universe was the occasional slapping of water against the keel of the boat. And it was at this tranquil moment of sublime serenity that Ron began to scream.

And didn’t stop. Would not stop. Could not stop.

Kip and Talbot rushed down the length of the boat.

“Stop it!” Kip screamed at Ron. “Stop! It’s okay! Everything’s all right! What is it? What the hell’s the matter?”

But Ron was totally incapable of communicating to Kip what was wrong. He just screamed and screamed, even as Kip wrestled him to the deck of the ship and pinned him to the floor, hoping to calm his frenetic movements.

“What is it? Ron! Speak to me!” Kip yelled. “Tell me what it is! There’s nothing wrong. Honest. I’m here. It’s okay. You’re fine. You’ve got to calm down!”

Ron continued to scream.

Talbot hurried over to the captain. “We’ve got a severe problem here,” said the playwright, his own head suddenly swimming in negative visions of snakes and toothsome eels and alligator mouths and bugs, bats, rats and …
No!
The playwright quickly shook these monstrous images from his mind, refusing to allow one hysterical experience to invade and infect the delicate balance of his own sanity. “We’ve got to get this man to shore … fast as possible.”

The captain already knew that. “I’ve asked the boys to go downstairs, start the engines. We’ll motor back to Tortola.”

“Fine,” said Talbot. “How long before we …?”

“Half-hour, forty-five minutes,” said the captain. “We’ll drop the sails and be under way in a moment or so. Hope he’s all right.”

“You and me both,” said Talbot, desperately trying to switch his mind away from upsetting visions of severed limbs and blood all over the ship’s deck, back to one of flower petals and waterfalls.

Ron spent the entire ride back to the island screaming and crying and kicking, his eyes wide and wild, like a horse trapped in a fire. Talbot talked the skipper into sailing into the cay closest to his house. That way they could avoid curious natives in port. Talbot’s beach was fifteen minutes closer than town, anyway, so the captain was more than delighted to get rid of this strange cargo.

The ship motored in to within twelve feet of the water’s edge. Kip picked Ron up, jumped with him into the water, and using one of the standard procedures he’d learned in senior lifesaving, swam with Ron under his arm, talking to him comfortingly all the way to shore.

Kip swam while Ron hallucinated.

“I’m in my mommy’s tummy!” cried Ron.

“It’s all right,” said Kip between strokes. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” cried Ron. “I’m swimming in her womb and I only weigh eight pounds, three ounces!”

“Wrong!” said Kip. “You’re swimming in the Caribbean and you weigh a fucking ton!”

“I’m going to drown!” screamed Ron.

“You’re not going to drown!” Kip insisted.

Kip placed Ron down on the wet sand at the water’s edge and stayed with him, while Talbot ran up to the house and returned with a bottle filled with downers and tranquilizers and a glass of water.

“Here.” He handed some pills to Kip. “Give him these. They’ll quiet him down.”

“What are they?” Kip asked.

“The blue ones are Valiums, the big white ones are Miltowns. I forget what the others are.”

“How many?” asked Kip, opening the bottle.

“How should I know?” asked a fairly frantic Talbot. “Give him three of the blue and two of the white.”

Kip lifted Ron’s shaking head and forced the pills down his throat.

When Ron finally fell asleep, Kip lifted his friend in a fireman’s carry and staggered back to Talbot’s guest room.

Kip sat with Ron as he slept and snored, making sure there were no more outbursts.

To his relief, there weren’t.

“I’m exhausted,” said Kip, walking back into the living room.

“I’m not surprised,” said Talbot.

Kip walked to the edge of the room and stood at the entrance to the terrace. “Look at all those fucking stars …” he said quietly.

“Are you okay?” Talbot asked.

Kip turned to Talbot. “You know what’s strange? Once Ron started going ape shit on the boat, I completely forgot about the drug. It wasn’t until he fell asleep and I was sitting in there watching him that I remembered we were all still pretty buzzed. I started seeing crazy patterns on the wall …”

“Let me get you a beer,” said Talbot, on his way into the kitchen. “I’m really sorry ‘bout all this. You think Ron will forgive me?”

“Yes,” said Kip reassuringly. “I think he’ll forgive you.”

“I do hope so.”

“Relax. Ron’s far too possessive about his guilt,” said Kip, looking up at the starry night. “I doubt he’ll care to share it with you.”

73 

Ron spent the next two days by himself. He passed the hours sitting by the water’s edge with a huge straw hat on his head to protect him from the sun. Kip tried on numerous occasions to get him to join him and Talbot on the beach or at the dinner table.

Ron insisted all he wanted was to be left alone, to work things out.

Holy mother of God, he promised himself—no,
vowed
—he would not miss his next opportunity. He was now prepared to do
anything
to get ahead.

Opportunity knocked sooner than he expected.

“Hey, kids … guess what?” Talbot said as he got off the phone and walked out to the beach.

Ron was still at the water’s edge and Kip was nearby, lying on a beach chair and keeping a watchful eye on his roommate.

“You know who that was on the phone?” Talbot smiled. “Dale Kirkland!”

Ron’s ears perked up. For the first time in two days he actually focused on the conversation. “The movie producer?” he asked.

“One and the same,” said Talbot. “’La Gorda’ himself just called to say he arrived on the island last night, will be vacationing here for a week, wants us to come for cocktails this evening.”

“That’s great!” said Ron, suddenly articulate and alert. “Where’s he staying?”

“You can see it from here,” said Talbot, pointing toward the end of the beach. “That house up on the cliff, the great big pink one.”

“What time does he want us?” asked Ron with interest.

“Oh, five-thirty, six,” said Talbot. “Sunset.”

“Please!” Ron held up an open hand. “Don’t mention the word ‘sunset’ ever again!”

“Right,” said Talbot. “I’ll call back and tell Kirkland we’d be delighted to see him. When he hears I’ve got two young beauties such as yourselves staying with me, the old queen will die of excitement.”

“Excuse me a minute,” said Kip. “I’m glad we’re all going someplace for cocktails. I’m thrilled to see Ron alive and talking again. But I have one question. Just who is this Kirkland fellow?”

“La Gorda? Don’t you ever read the trades?” Talbot asked Kip. “Dale Kirkland just happens to be the enormously overweight, notoriously gay rock-group manager now turned movie producer. He’s so fat they call him La Gorda—the fat one. He came from New Zealand and has more money than Midas and about as much taste as Minnie Pearl!”

“I’d better get ready,” said Ron with renewed vigor. “I haven’t shaved or showered for two days. I’ve got to pull myself back to reality.” He stood and walked directly back toward the house.

“How do you know this guy Kirkland?” asked Kip.

“He was interested in turning my play into a movie for a-while last year,” said Talbot. “While it was hot. But like most Hollywood success stories, it was a project doomed to failure. He couldn’t get a deal off the ground. So we parted company, not exactly on the best of terms. Kirkland obviously heard that I was here and must be as desperate for company as we, else you can be sure I never would have been asked for cocktails.”

Dale Kirkland greeted his guests in an enormous hand-stitched beaded caftan and more chains of jewelry hanging around his neck than were ever owned by Nefertiti.

“Company! Felicitations! Party! Rum drinks! Drugs!” Kirkland sang as he stood in his doorway fingering his flaming red hair. “Hello! Hello! Don’t just stand there, Warren, you’ll catch your death of warmth! Come in! We’ll drink, we’ll eat, we’ll swim, we’ll party, we’ll negotiate. Hello! Hello! Hello!”

It was apparent La Gorda was always “on.”

He took drink orders and went off to his bar to make a barrelful of rum punches.

While he was gone, Kip took the opportunity to tell Ron, “I gotta get back to New York. I can’t take off any more time from Joe Allen’s.”

“You mean we have to leave paradise?” Ron asked sarcastically.

“I’m afraid so,” said Kip. “I’ve just been waiting to make sure you were better. Made plane reservations for us on the two-o’clock flight tomorrow afternoon. Okay?”

“Fine with me,” said Ron. “The sooner I leave Tortola and all its nightmare memories behind, the happier I’ll be.”

Kirkland arrived with four rum punches. “Where’s Warren?” he wanted to know.

“Taking a walk down there along the beach,” said Kip, pointing a hundred yards or so down the steep cliff to where Talbot was moseying along the shoreline, taking in the sunset.

Kirkland had no reason not to believe that both Ron and Kip were homosexuals, so he spoke to them as though they were members of the club. “How long you girls staying on the island?” he asked.

Ron looked at Kip. “Leaving tomorrow,” said Kip. “Afternoon flight.”

“But I just got here!” said Kirkland. “Believe me, the orgy has just begun!” He put an arm around Kip. “And as you may, of course
sans doute
have heard, Dale Kirkland, La Gorda herself, throws the best parties
anywhere/”

Kip slinked his way out from under Kirkland’s large affectionate grasp and walked over to the edge of the pool. “Nice pool,” he said, hoping to get away from the big man’s clutches. “Can I go for a swim?”

“Please!” said Kirkland gleefully. “Strip off all your clothes and dive right in. Do something obscene like a few laps. Stay for dinner. I’m so glad Talbee brought you boys with him. You’ve made my jet lag suddenly disappear.”

“Have you got a bathing suit I could wear?” asked Kip.

“Bathing suit?” Kirkland hissed in disgust. “Jump in without one.”

“Naw,” said Kip. “In the first place, it’s bad for your balls; and second … what’s the sense of skinny-dipping if there aren’t any girls around?”

Kirkland switched such a puzzled look on his face, Ron felt obliged to clarify the situation. “He’s straight,” said Ron, pointing to Kip. “We both are.”

Looking like the kid who just found out Bambi’s mother died, Kirk-land drooped his shoulders. “But you boys and bitch Talbot …?”

“Nothing to the rumor.” Ron grinned. “We’re just good friends.”

“You’re both of you straight?”

“Yep,” said Ron, suddenly full of calculation. “But I’m a lot more tolerant. Kip’s a jock. What does he know? Get him a bathing suit. I promise … you won’t be disappointed!”

Talbot returned from his sunset stroll along the beach just as Kip came back onto the terrace in the skimpy speedo swimsuit Kirkland had provided.

“Going for a swim?” asked Talbot, eyes wide open.

“Watch me!” said Kip, doing a perfect jackknife dive into the water. Extremely disinterested in his surroundings, Kip was finally fed up with Talbot, exhausted from waiting on and worrying about Ron, and certainly not in any mood to cater to any peculiar fancy the likes of Dale Kirkland might come up with. So he spent the evening swimming in the pool.

Ron, on the other hand, took the occasion to test his newly thought-out philosophy. He turned on the charm, doing his damnedest to be entertaining, and it didn’t take long for Kirkland to forget about Kip and refocus his attentions on Ron.

Talbot watched Ron and recognized that switched-on charm from the time when Ron had first made it his duty to charm the playwright. Uninvolved this time, Talbot observed how truly effective Ron could be.

Kirkland asked if they could possibly stay for dinner, and Kip floated on his back, saying no, that would be impossible, they had dinner waiting back at Talbot’s, and Talbot said he, too, had to get back to his typewriter. Kirkland then asked if the boys could possibly return for dinner the following evening. Kip said they couldn’t, as he and Ron were flying to New York.

Ron spoke up and said, “Hold on a minute … I’d be more than happy to postpone my plans. I have nothing to return to New York for. Sure! I’ll be glad to come for dinner tomorrow night!”

Kip looked at Ron like he was crazy, and Talbot looked at Ron filled with the knowledge that his houseguest was back on the warpath.

Kip’s taxi was waiting outside Talbot’s cottage the following afternoon to take him to the airport.

“You sure you won’t change your mind?” he asked Ron. “Why are you staying on? I’m worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about,” said Ron. “I know what I’m doing. Honest.”

“But why Kirkland? He’s only after your body, can’t you see that?”

“Now, now …” said Ron. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. He knows perfectly well I’m not available. I believe I made that more than clear.”

“Listen, I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m concerned. I’m not sure you’re over the trauma of the other night yet.”

“Believe me, Kip. I’m so in charge of things right now, I could take over General Motors if I wished. Success is happiness. If I can just start to get there, I’ll be okay. So don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

“I sure hope so.”

“Just remember another of life’s golden rules, Kip: Immorality in the face of failure is no vice!”

Kip shrugged helplessly and stepped into the taxi.