It Was a Very Bad Year

EIGHTEEN

After Kennedy was pronounced dead we graduated from coffee to bourbon. Jack and I had our own private wake for a while, and then his phone began to ring.

‘Not now,’ he said into the phone half a dozen times before he finally covered the mouthpiece and said, ‘I better take this one.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, getting up, ‘I’ve got things to do.’ I staggered a moment before righting myself.

‘You OK?’

‘Yeah, Jack, I’m OK.’

‘You wanna go home or work?’ he asked, and then didn’t wait for me to respond. ‘It’s up to you.’

He waved and went back to his call. I returned the wave and left his office.

When I got back to the lobby little had changed, except the pace. There were still people there, crying, slack-faced, but they were moving much slower. Some of them even seemed to be sleepwalking.

The casino floor was much the same. Even where people were gambling they were doing it — both the gamblers and the dealers — with little interest. I wasn’t needed there. As I was trying to make up my mind what to do I saw Jerry’s cousin, Billy, shooting craps. He towered over the table, throwing the dice with enthusiasm. He either hadn’t heard about the assassination, or he didn’t care.

My face felt tight, my eyes gritty, and suddenly I had to get off the casino floor. I went to a house phone and called Jerry’s room.

‘What’re you doin’?’ I asked.

‘Just hangin’ around,’ he said. ‘Watchin’ the reports on TV. You wanna come up?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘I’ll be right there.’

Jerry had left the door ajar, so I knocked and walked in. He was sitting on the large sofa, in front of the color TV.

‘I thought you didn’t have a suite?’ I asked, looking around.

‘So did I,’ he said. ‘Billy was all excited, said a bellhop came up, told him we had to move, so he followed the guy here. I thought you arranged it.’

‘Not me,’ I said. ‘It must’ve been Jack.’

‘Well, I didn’t have the heart to drag Billy outta here,’ Jerry said. ‘He thought I pulled some strings, and was real impressed.’

I walked over, stood next to the sofa and looked at the TV.

‘Anything new?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘the Governor of Texas was in the car. He got shot, but he’s alive.’

‘Is he going to stay that way?’

‘Don’t know, yet.’

I looked over at the bar.

‘You want a drink?’ I asked.

‘I’ll take a beer.’

‘Any in the frig?’

‘I ain’t looked.’

I checked, got him a can of Piels. I briefly considered some more bourbon, but in the end took a can of beer for myself, too.

I joined him on the leather sofa and handed him a can.

‘Some shit, huh?’ he asked, indicating the TV.

‘Yeah.’

‘He was a good man,’ Jerry said. ‘A good president.’

I didn’t respond. I knew more about Kennedy the ladies’ man than I did about Kennedy the politician. But I didn’t think he handled the Bay of Pigs or the Cuban Missile Crisis the way an American president should have. The former turned out to be a fiasco, and he gave up too much in the latter. But of course we didn’t learn all the details until years later.

‘You don’t think so?’ Jerry asked.

‘I’ve met him a time or two,’ I said. ‘He seemed like a good guy.’

‘Mr S. thinks he’s a fucking great president.’

‘Yeah, I know he does.’

I could feel Jerry looking at me, but I kept my eyes on the TV. I didn’t want to start talking politics with him. It wasn’t something we had ever done before. And I wouldn’t have been able to explain why I wasn’t feeling much of what everyone else seemed to be feeling. Maybe I was in shock.

We ended up sitting there, staring at the TV, drinking beer, and before long we got around to business.