Fake I.D.

Five

When I arrived at O’Reilley’s at five-thirty, Gil, the regular day bartender, was behind the bar, reading a paperback. I asked him if Frank was around and he shook his head.

“But he’s coming in today, right?”

“Yeah, he called before. He’ll be in soon.”

Gil went back to reading his book—Resurrection by Leo Tolstoy. Gil was about twenty-five and he had black curly hair and wore wire-rimmed glasses. Whenever he wasn’t serving customers, he always seemed to be reading a book or writing in a pad. He said he wrote short stories and poems, but nobody in the bar had ever read anything he wrote. I used to think that the guy was doing the right thing—working at a bar to support his dream—but now I realized what a loser he was.

At six o’clock, Gil’s shift was over and Gary wasn’t in yet so I took over at the bar. Usually, Thursdays were good nights for happy hour, but maybe the cold was keeping people away because it was seven o’clock and there were only five people in the whole place—a couple of girls at the bar drinking screwdrivers, and a few guys in suits drinking beer, standing behind the girls, trying to get up the balls to go over and talk to them.

I put a CD—“The All-Time Best Party Songs”—into the stereo, then I leaned against the bar, flipping pages of the Daily News as Meat Loaf sang “Paradise By The Dashboard Light.”

This was basically the way things were when Debbie O’Reilley came into the bar.

As usual, she was smashed. She could barely stand on her high heels and she had a big drunk smile. Her makeup was caked on and she was wearing long white shiny boots, a red miniskirt, and a short fur coat. Her fake D- or E-cup boobs were sticking straight out, pressing against her tight blouse. She looked like one of those cheap hookers on the West Side Highway, a hooker ten years past her prime.

I never really understood why Frank had married Debbie, but I figured it was because she was young and sexy—well, young as far as Frank was concerned—and I guess she was kind of sexy. She was an ex-table dancer, in one of those clubs the Mayor closed down on Seventh Avenue, and for a woman who must have been pushing fifty, she definitely had a nice shape. But a good body wasn’t a reason to marry a woman and there wasn’t much else to like about her. She was always nasty to Frank, especially when she was drunk, talking to his face about the other guys she was fucking, and Frank was rich as hell. He owned a bar and a big three-bedroom apartment on East Seventy-second Street. A lot of good-looking women would probably be clawing to meet a rich, successful guy like him, but instead he’d married a sleazy alcoholic who obviously didn’t love him and who always treated him like dirt. The only explanation I could come up with was that Frank was lonely. Frank’s first wife had died a long time ago and maybe he just wanted somebody to come home to at night. Or, maybe he just liked the excitement of having a crazy alcoholic like Debbie in his life.

Debbie stopped in the middle of the room and looked around, staring at people the way drunks do. Her skin was dark brown and leathery. Finally, still wobbling, she said, “Where the hell is my husband?”

Normally, I tried not to talk too much to Debbie, especially when she was loaded. I knew she was just looking to start trouble and that if I just ignored her she’d go bother somebody else. But nobody else in the bar answered her so I said, “He’s not here.”

“Really?” She smiled, like I’d meant it as a joke. “Well where is he then?”

“Gil said he’d be in soon,” I said.

“I guess my brilliant stepson isn’t here either.”

“Nah,” I said.

“What was that?”

“He’s not here,” I said louder. I was still looking down at the newspaper.

“I’m sure he’s out job-hunting,” she said. She waited a second then said, “That was a joke—you can laugh, you know. Give me some hint that you’re alive.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You’re in a peachy mood tonight, aren’t you?” she said. I was hoping she’d leave or go bother somebody else. Instead, she came up to the bar and sat down across from me. It smelled like she’d put on a whole bottle of perfume. She put her hand on top of mine and said, “Gimme something stiff.”

Debbie was always coming on to me, just like she came on to practically any other guy with a pulse when she was drunk.

But, for some reason, I didn’t move my hand away.

I said, “You really think you should be drinking any more?”

“What are you talking about?” she said. “I haven’t had a drink all day.”

“Yeah right. If you weren’t wearing all that perfume I bet I’d be able to smell the booze on your breath.”

“You know,” she said in a quieter, sexier voice, “if you want to get a closer whiff you can.”

Now I moved my hand.

“If you want something make it yourself,” I said. I took my newspaper and walked to the other end of the bar.

“That’s no way to treat your boss’s wife,” she said. “You realize your job could be on the line for this kind of behavior.”

I asked the two girls if they were okay with their screwdrivers. One of them asked for a refill. I made the drink, got her change, thanked her for the buck tip, then went back to reading the newspaper. Debbie stood there for a while, staring at me, then she sat down on the stool next to the blonde. The Meat Loaf song ended and now The Romantics were singing, “What I Like About You.”

“I’m still waiting for my drink,” Debbie said.

“The bar’s all yours,” I said. “Want a drink, make one.”

“All right,” Debbie said. “I think I will.”

She came behind the bar and made herself a drink. I wasn’t watching, but I knew she was making her usual Scotch and soda. I started talking to the two girls. Then Debbie came and brushed up against me. She interlocked her arm around mine and said to the two girls, “Sorry, he’s coming home with me tonight.”

“Don’t pay any attention to her,” I said.

“What?” Debbie said. “You forgot about our date tonight? Shame on you.”

Usually, I didn’t care what Debbie said to me, figuring she was just a drunk who didn’t know any better, but with the girls there I felt like I had to say something.

“Why don’t you just get the hell out of here?”

“I will,” she said, “if you come with me.” She pinched my ass.

“I’m serious,” I said, wanting to hit her. “Just get the hell out of here.”

“I love angry men.”

She tried to pinch me again. This time I grabbed her wrist before she could squeeze.

“Let go of me.”

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“Let go!”

“You gonna leave me alone?”

“Just let go!”

Her face was turning red. I let go.

Rubbing her arm, she said, “If I tell Frank about this you know what’ll happen, don’t you? You’ll get fired. You’ll be out on the street.”

I tried not to look at her. The whole thing was so stupid—she was out-of-her-mind drunk and even if she did tell Frank on me I knew he wouldn’t care. He’d probably done the same thing to her hundreds of times, or at least he’d thought about doing it.

Debbie stood facing me for a few seconds, shifting her eyes with the dark blue eye shadow all around them, back and forth, then she stormed away, taking her drink with her, of course. She sat down in her original seat at the other end of the bar. I apologized to the two girls for the “disturbance,” but they seemed freaked out about the whole thing.

The girls stood up and put on their coats. As they were leaving, Frank walked in. Wearing a long beige trench coat and carrying two shopping bags, he looked like a tired old man. He was old, I guess, but not very old. He’d celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday last year, but he looked more like seventy. He was short, stocky, and he combed long gray hairs from the back and sides of his head to cover a big bald spot in the middle.

“There he is,” Debbie said, “my handsome, hardworking, sexy, irresistible, loser of a husband.”

Debbie continued to insult Frank and then she asked him for money—a hundred dollars. Frank said, “I’m not giving you any more money to get drunk with,” and then Debbie started yelling at him—cursing and calling him all kinds of names. As usual, Frank just took the abuse like a wimp. With everybody else, Frank was a take-charge guy, but he could never stand up to his wife. It was like Debbie had some weird power over him—he was Superman and she was made out of kryptonite. Whenever she was clawing over some guy or making a drunken fool out of herself he’d just ignore it, like it didn’t mean anything to him. Whenever I tried to talk to him about it—figuring the guy always helped me out, the least I could do was try and help him—he’d always just say “Forget about it” or “Who cares?” I never pushed him, figuring there are some things guys just need to keep to themselves.

“You’re a fucking asshole!” Debbie yelled. “You’re pathetic! Look at those clothes you’re wearing, like it’s 1972! When was the last time you went shopping? Face it, you’re an antique, a dinosaur, a pathetic time capsule of a man. I’m ashamed to be your wife!”

A few more customers—a group of guys in hockey jerseys, probably here to watch the Devil game later on—came into the bar. I asked them what they wanted, but when they saw Debbie yelling at Frank like a lunatic they put their coats back on and left.

Debbie had cost Frank a ton of business over the past few years.

Finally, Debbie put her own coat on, getting ready to leave.

“Maybe you’d like to know the name of the guy I’m fucking tonight,” she yelled at Frank’s back as he walked away toward the kitchen. “His name’s Jean-Claude. He’s French or Canadian or French-Canadian—whatever. Anyway, from what I understand he has a very big cock. Much bigger than yours anyway, although a five-year-old boy has a bigger cock than you!”

A couple of guys standing near Debbie started to laugh. I wanted to laugh too, because it was kind of funny, but out of respect for Frank I held back. Frank just shook his head, continuing to the back of the bar.

Debbie came over to me and said, “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to grab you like that.”

“Forget about it,” I said.

“I was watching you,” she said, slurring her words, “talking to those two girls. You know my offer still stands.”

I knew what her “offer” was. She was always inviting me to “stop by” at her apartment some afternoon when Frank wasn’t around for “a good time.” She was smiling, running her tongue across her upper lip. I noticed the way some of her lipstick had come off on her shiny capped teeth. I could also see some of her fake cleavage popping out of her black-and-gold blouse. I had to admit, for an old lady there was definitely something sexy about her. If she wasn’t Frank’s wife, I might’ve even thought about taking her up on her offer.

“You better get going,” I said. “You don’t wanna keep your French boy waiting.”

At seven-thirty, Gary finally showed up and took over for me at the bar. I ate a burger and some fries in the kitchen, then I knocked on the door to Frank’s office.

“Come in,” he said.

He was sitting at his desk, looking up at me over his reading glasses.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I thought it might be my delightful wife.”

“You got a second?”

“Sure. Sit down.”

I sat in a chair across from him. The office was a mess with file folders, newspapers and magazines piled up everywhere. Frank put down the papers he’d been reading and said, “What am I gonna do with her, Tommy?”

“That’s up to you,” I said. “You already know what I think.”

“It’s never been as bad as it is now,” he said. “Every night she’s like this. I try to reason with her—get her to go to A. A. or see a shrink—but she just doesn’t think she has a problem.”

“That’s because she is the problem.”

“You’re right—I know you’re right—believe me. You know she’s placing ads in newspapers now? I heard her on the phone calling one of the neighborhood papers, I think it was Our Town. She was reading the ad to them over the phone: ‘Lonely married woman looking for a good time and more.’ Then, last week, I come home early from work and she has a guy over at the apartment—our apartment. I can hear them going at it from the living room, so I go bang on the bedroom door, thinking I’m gonna kill whoever she’s in there with. Then the bedroom door opens and this big black guy—seven feet tall, like a basketball player—comes out.”

“Maybe it was a basketball player,” I said. “I hear those guys get around.”

Frank shot a look at me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I was just trying—”

“I know,” Frank said. “If I were you I’d think I was a pathetic joke too.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I know it’s hard for you to believe,” he said, “because you didn’t know her until a couple years ago, but she used to be so much different. She was a warm, friendly, outgoing, generous woman. Then she started hitting the bottle and—well, you’ve seen her. I keep telling myself that it can’t possibly get any worse, she’s definitely hit rock-bottom this time, then she’s putting ads in the paper and sleeping with men right under my nose.”

“You must like it,” I said

“What do you mean? I hate it!”

“That’s what you say—but if you really hated it you would’ve kicked her out the first time she cheated on you, like any normal guy would’ve. But since you’re staying with her, hoping that she’ll change, you obviously like the abuse.”

“Never mind.”

“See—that’s what you always say when you know I’m right, ‘Never mind.’ Well, if you really knew I was right you wouldn’t just sit there. You’d do something about it.”

“What about you?” Frank said, trying to change the subject.

“What about me?”

“How’s everything in your life going?”

“Not bad,” I said.

“Yeah? How’s the acting coming along?”

“Pretty good.”

“Really? I haven’t heard you talking about it for a long time. I hope you’re still taking it seriously.”

“I am.”

“Good. I’m glad. You know how much confidence I have in you, Tommy. I’m still waiting for you to come in here one day and tell me that you’re quitting your job—that you’re going out to Hollywood. Remember—all I want is a front-row seat at the premiere of your first movie.”

“You never know,” I said, remembering how I was thrown out of the audition this afternoon.

“So did you come in here to talk about anything else?” Frank asked. “I have to finish looking over these books and then I have to go out and take care of a few things.”

“Actually, I was having a little problem and I thought you could help me out.”

“Help you out with what?” Frank said, like he knew what was coming.

“I know I’m a few weeks ahead on my salary already, but I was hoping you could, you know—shoot me a little advance.”

Frank was glaring at me.

“Are you gambling again?”

I was ready to say no—make up some story—but I couldn’t bullshit Frank. The guy had been like a father to me—the father I’d always wished I’d had.

“A little bit,” I said.

“How much is a little bit?”

“I just need a few hundred bucks,” I said, “for rent and bills and—”

“What are you trying to do,” Frank said, “screw up your life? Why are you wasting your time gambling? You’re how old now, thirty-two, thirty-three? This is the time you should be going all-out, trying to make it with your acting.”

“Look, I don’t need the speech, all right—”

“Then what will it take to get through to you? You always tell me you’re through gambling, you’re gonna give it up—”

“I have it under control.”

“Under control? Meanwhile, you keep blowing your money at the track, coming to me for advances, and you think you have it under control? How much money are you into me for? A thousand, two thousand? You’re a compulsive gambler, Tommy. You have a sickness—like drinking, like anything else.”

I stood up and said, “Look, if you don’t want to give me the money you don’t have to.”

“You have to learn your lesson eventually. Maybe this’ll be your wake-up call. Maybe you’ll start going to G.A. like you should’ve months ago. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to bail you out this time.”

“Fine,” I said.

“I’m doing this for your own good Tommy. You know how much I care about you. Maybe now you won’t throw your life away.”

I left Frank’s office and went to the bar. I poured myself a pint of Sam Adams. I was pissed off at Frank for being so tough on me when he was so soft on his wife, but I knew he was right about one thing—gambling wasn’t the answer. Whenever I was at the track or the OTB, around all those degenerates, I always felt like the world’s biggest loser.

But the only way to make money fast was to win it and I knew I could win ten grand. I just needed a stake to bet with and then I had to get on a little hot streak. My only problem was getting the stake.

It was a slow night at the door which gave me a lot of time to think.

At midnight, Janene showed up. Until I saw her walk into the bar I’d completely forgotten about our date tonight.

“You look great,” I said, and it was true. She was wearing tight jeans and a tight purple velvet top.

“Thanks,” she said. “So do you.”

We hung out by the door, talking. She asked me how my audition went and I said, “Okay.” She said she hoped I got the part and I said, “I wouldn’t bet on it.” I got off work early, around one-thirty, and Janene and I left the bar together.

“So do you want to go to a diner or something?” I asked.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really, but I can always eat.”

“If you want we can just go back to my place—you know, to hang out and talk.”

Janene had had a couple of drinks at the bar and she seemed a little drunk.

“You sure you want to do that?” I said. “I mean I remember what you said last night about taking it too fast.”

“I was just being insecure,” she said, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. “Don’t pay any attention to me.”

We walked toward her apartment, holding hands, stopping every once in a while to make out.

Her apartment was on the sixth floor at the end of a long hallway. It was a big one-bedroom, at least twice the size of my dump. There was even a living room with a white couch, a coffee table, a rug, and some other expensive-looking furniture.

As soon we got inside and Janene turned on the light, I came up behind her, putting my hands around her waist, and started kissing the back of her neck and under her jaw. She stood there for a while, letting me go on, then she moved away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just...don’t you want to come inside for a tour first?”

“I figured you could give me the tour in the morning.”

I tried to put my arms around her again but she pushed me back and said, “I’m serious.”

She walked away into the living room.

“What’s the matter?” I said. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” she said. “It’s just...I don’t know...Forget it.”

“Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable with me here it’s no problem. I’d be happy to—”

“No, that’s not it,” she said. “Of course I want you to be here. It’s just, I was hoping we could sit down for a while, and talk and...I really have to go to the bathroom.”

“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

“No. Please. I’m sorry.”

I waited on the couch while she went into the bathroom. She was taking a long time. I wondered what I could have said or done to piss her off. There was a copy of House Beautiful on the coffee table and I started looking through it. Finally, she came out and said, “You want some tea?”

“I don’t drink tea,” I said.

“You want something else to drink? Coke, 7UP, water...?”

“I’m all right,” I said.

She turned on the stove, putting up water for tea, then she came back into the living room and sat next to me on the couch.

“I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting,” she said. “Really, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s just...”

“What? Come on, you can tell me.”

My hand was on her thigh.

“Well, it’s this, what you’re doing now—holding my hand. Touching me. Why weren’t you like this before at the bar?”

“What do you mean?”

“I tried to hold your hand a couple of times, but you kept pulling away. I was just wondering—are you embarrassed about me or something?”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“That’s a good one,” I said. “Embarrassed to be with a beautiful woman like you.”

“Well, that’s how it seemed.”

“I was proud to be with you,” I said. “I wanted to be all over you at the bar, but I didn’t know if you wanted me to. I mean I remembered what you’d said last night about how we might be going too fast and—”

“Are you being honest with me?”

“Of course I am. What are you talking about?”

“Never mind,” she said. “I told you I was the one with the problem, not you.”

We started making out. She had her hand on my leg when she said, “So you got a new wallet, huh?”

At first I had no idea what she was talking about. Luckily, I caught on fast.

“No, that’s the old one. I found it in my apartment. It turned out I didn’t lose it after all.”

“Well, that must’ve been a relief.”

“Shit,” I said. “I didn’t have a chance to hit the bank before work to take your money out. But I could go out right now if you want me to?”

“No, it’s okay,” she said.

“You sure?” I said, knowing there was no way she’d send me out into the cold. “There’s an ATM a few blocks away, right?”

“Don’t be crazy, it’s freezing out,” she said. “Give it to me the next time we see each other or whenever. It’s no big deal.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said.

We started to make out again, then she was lying on the couch on her back and I was on top of her. I pulled back and smiled, looking into her eyes. Then, suddenly, something was different about her and I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

For a few more seconds I stared at her, then it hit me.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“My eyes?” she said, like she had no idea what I was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“They used to be blue.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you about that?” she said. “I wear color contacts. They were itching me so I took them out.”

“You mean your eyes aren’t blue?”

“What’s the matter? You don’t like my eyes?”

“No, I like your eyes a lot,” I said. “I just thought they were blue, that’s all.”

The tea kettle started to whistle. Janene went to the kitchen and came back with a mug of tea. She took a sip then put the mug down on the coffee table.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, Tommy.”

“Shoot,” I said.

“Well, remember last night, when I told you I had something important I wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I decided I want to tell you...tonight...right now.”

“So go ahead and tell me.”

“First you have to promise you won’t be mad at me. I mean it’s not a big deal, but you might be mad that I didn’t tell you.”

“There’s no way I could ever be mad at you.”

“Okay, well...” She was looking down. “See, there’s something about me you don’t know. It’s just...you see—God, I don’t know why this is so hard. I guess I might as well just say it—I’m married. Not really married—separated. I’ve been separated for over a year but, technically, I’m still married. I wanted to tell you the night we met, and then the first time we went out, but I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s pretty heavy.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away,” she said. “I would’ve told you but—”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I mean it’s not your fault.”

“You’re probably really mad at me now.”

“Why would I be mad at you? So you’re married. It’s no big deal. So who’s the lucky guy?”

“His name’s Joe. I went to college with him at Stony Brook. We were only married two years and we were never really right for each other.”

“That’s cool,” I said.

Her face brightened.

“You mean it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean it’s not like you’re living with him anymore or anything. And it’s over, right?”

“Of course it’s over. The divorce should come through in the next month or two—we’ve both been seeing other people. You’re really not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“You can’t believe what a relief this is. I was obsessing about it all day. I was afraid you’d freak out, that you’d ...I don’t know...want to make a big deal out of it.”

“I’m just happy to be with you tonight, that’s all,” I said.

We stayed on the couch for a while, making out, and then we went into the bedroom.

She moved closer to me. Her head was wedged between my arm and my chest. We were naked and sweaty.

“It feels so nice to be with you,” she said.

A few minutes later she was fast asleep.

I noticed the jewelry box on the dresser. I got out of bed and dressed quietly. The light on the night table was still on. In the dim yellow light I saw Janene still facing the other way. A necklace and a bracelet were out next to the jewelry box, but she’d probably notice if they were missing. Instead, I reached inside the box and took out a gold necklace, some diamond earrings, and a gold bracelet. I put the jewelry in my pocket. In the mirror above the dresser I saw that Janene was still fast asleep. I tiptoed out of the room and left the apartment.