Fools die

Chapter 42

Osano came to LA for a movie deal and called me to have dinner. I brought Janelle along because she was dying to meet him. When dinner was over and we were having our coffee, Janelle tried to thaw me out about my wife. I shrugged her off.

“You never talk about that, do you?” she said.

I didn’t answer. She kept on. She was a little flushed with wine and a little uncomfortable that I had brought Osano with me. She became angry. “You never talk about your wife because you think that’s dishonorable.”

I still didn’t say anything.

“You still have a good opinion of yourself, don’t you?” Janelle said. She was now very coldly furious.

Osano was smiling a little, and just to smooth things over he played the famous brilliant writer role, caricaturing it ever so slightly. He said, “He never talks about being an orphan too. All adults are orphans really. We all lose our parents when we grow into adulthood.”

Janelle was instantly interested. She had told me she admired Osano’s mind and his books. She said, “I think that’s brilliant. And it’s true.”

“It’s full of shit,” I said. “If you’re both going to use language to communicate, use words for their meaning. An orphan is a child who grows up without parents and many times without any blood relationships in the world. An adult is not an orphan. He’s a fucking prick who’s got no use for his mother and father because they are a pain in the ass and he doesn’t need them anymore.”

There was an awkward silence, and then Osano said, “You’re right, but also you don’t want to share your special status with everybody.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said. Then I turned to Janelle. “You and your girlfriends call each other ‘sister.’ Sisters mean female children born of the same parents who have usually shared the same traumatic experiences of childhood, who have imprints of their same experiences in their memory banks. That’s what a sister is, good, bad or indifferent. When you call a girlfriend ‘sister,’ you’re both full of shit.”

Osano said, “I’m getting divorced again. More alimony. One thing, I’ll never marry again. I’ve run out of alimony money.”

I laughed with him. “Don’t say that. You’re the institution of marriage’s last hope.”

Janelle lifted her head and said, “No, Merlyn. You are.”

We all laughed at that, and then I said I didn’t want to go to a movie. I was too tired.

“Oh, hell,” Janelle said. “Let’s go for a drink at Pips and play some backgammon. We can teach Osano.”

“Why don’t you two go?” I said coolly. “I’ll go back to the hotel and get some sleep.”

Osano was watching me with a sad smile on his face. He didn’t say anything. Janelle was staring at me as if daring me to say it again. I made my voice as cold and loveless as possible. And yet understanding. Very deliberately I said, “Look, really I don’t mind. No kidding. You two are my best friends, but I really feel like just going to sleep. Osano, be a gentleman and take my place.” I said this very straight-faced.

Osano guessed right away I was jealous of him. “Whatever you say, Merlyn,” he said. And he didn’t give a shit about what I felt. He thought I was acting like a jerk. And I knew he would take Janelle to Pips and take her home and screw her and not give me another thought. As far as he was concerned, it was none of my business.

But Janelle shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’ll go home in my car and you two can do what you want.”

I could see what she was thinking. Two male chauvinistic pigs trying to divvy her up. But she also knew that if she went with Osano, it would give me the excuse never to see her again. And I guess I knew what I was doing. I was looking for a reason really to hate her, and if she went with Osano, I could do it and be rid of her.

Finally Janelle went back to the hotel with me. But I could feel her coldness, though our bodies were warm against each other. A little later she moved away, and as I fell asleep, I could hear the rustle of the springs as she left our bed. I murmured drowsily, “Janelle, Janelle.”