Street Dreams

29

Juice Fedekwas Joseph Nicholas Fedek: twenty-one years of age, a young man with a seasoned record-two breaking-and-entering charges, one assault, two misdemeanor drug possessions, two DUIs with a suspended license for a year. Eight months in county, bumped into early parole due to overcrowding. Then he was picked up on a DUI, served an additional four months, another early release, same reason. Where he parked himself was anyone’s guess and Germando claimed he hadn’t seen him since his last tour in the cellar.

Pepe Renaldes was gainfully employed by Do-Rite Construction-bonded and licensed. The company’s claim to fame was custom-built homes in Brentwood, a liberal, ritzy white area in the West Side of Los Angeles, a neighborhood I knew intimately because my mother and stepfather lived there. They had their book clubs, their wine-and-cheese parties, and their endless discussions on the state of the world. I loved my mother dearly. As my father admitted, she had not been given a fair shake in her first marriage. She was happy now, and that was good. But I could take the intellectualizing only in small doses. Their lifestyle had all the pitfalls of backbiting academia without the college credits.

Since both lads were lacking outstanding warrants, I had no choice but to wait until a game plan was formulated between El Paso’s lawyer and the DA. I had wanted to show their mugs to Sarah Sanders, see if she could pick them out of a six-pack, but I was told to hold off. With my hands figuratively bound, I went on my shift and worked a solid eight hours, getting home around twelve, exhausted and depleted.

Lots of phone messages, but none from Koby. No e-mails from him, either.

Why wasn’t I surprised?

Saturday was devoted to finding David Tyler. That meant phone calls to homeless shelters, halfway houses, and other community centers for the developmentally disabled. Then there was my “sacrosanct” lunch with Mom. As I traveled around Brentwood, I looked for houses going up and Do-Rite Construction signs, but was out of luck.

There were still no messages from Koby when I got home. That would die unless I got things going again. So on Sunday, I swallowed my pride. I went shopping and bought him an orange shirt-on sale and nonreturnable. Afterward, I wondered why in the hell I did it, because who was this guy to me.

I should have dusted him, except I was lonely. Over the past year, I couldn’t find the energy to attend parties or barhop, so where was I going to meet guys except at work and that wasO-U-T-out. There had been chemistry between us and I was loath to give that up. Still, I waged an internal debate.

In the meantime, I hopped in my car and went over the canyon to visit Dad, wanting to fill him in on my search for David Tyler-or so I told myself. What I really wanted was some old-fashioned pats on the back for a job well done with Germando El Paso. As I approached my father’s house, Koby’s gift in hand, I wondered why I was carrying it.

Yeah, right.

I knocked on the door. Rina answered. “Hi, honey. Your dad isn’t home. He took Hannah out for one of those painting things. You know, you paint a plate and they charge you fifty bucks for something you’re going to put in a drawer and never use.”

I smiled. I knew what she was talking about.

“Come in. I’ll find the address for you.”

“Nah, never mind. Just tell him I stopped by.”

Rina studied my face. By the look on hers, I must not have appeared neutral, let alone happy. “Cindy, you drove out all this way. Why don’t you wait for him? He’ll be back in an hour.”

“No thanks. Just tell him I’ve gone through about a quarter of the possibilities and I’m still looking for David. He’ll know what I mean. He can call me later on. Just to discuss a few things.”

Rina pulled me inside. “How about some coffee?”

I smiled and shrugged. She hooked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen. I followed obediently. I swept my hand across the kitchen counter.

Rina said, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing.” What a stupid response. “I’ll get through it, Rina. Thanks.”

She didn’t push it. “What’s in the bag?”

“Oh.” I took out my purchase. “It’s for Koby.”

The shirt was bright orange, more vivid than I had remembered. Rina stared at it.

I said, “I got it on sale. Nonreturnable.”

“I can… understand that.”

I smiled. “Koby likes color.”

“Well, then, he’ll certainly like that.”

“He ruined one of his shirts at the accident, using it to stop some bleeding. I thought I’d replace it.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“It will be if I give it to him.”

Rina waited for more. I didn’t offer up anything. She poured two cups. “It’s fresh. You take yours with cream, right?”

“Cream and an Equal. Girly coffee.”

“Me too.”

I drank the coffee. It was good and had cinnamon in it, and that only made me feel worse.

She said, “This, too, shall pass.”

“I guess everything passes eventually. You die.”

Rina smiled. “Now you’re sounding like your father.”

“God forbid.”

“No, that’s a good thing. I love your father.”

“That makes two of us.” I put the cup down. “I don’t know, Rina. This was going to be a peace offering. Now I have doubts if it’s even worth it. Maybe I should cut my losses.”

“You know best.”

“I like him. But men are so damn difficult.”

“Get me in the right mood, I’ll agree with you,” Rina said. “This weekend, your father has been a doll.”

“Maybe it’s me.”

“Want my advice for what it’s worth?”

“Sure.”

“The shirt’s not returnable. It’s for a rather specific taste. Give it to Koby. Otherwise it’ll go to waste.”

The day was spectacular, even if I wasn’t. His car was in the driveway, and for a moment, I just wished it would all go away-all the bad feelings that got in the way of life-so we could hop inside and cruise on an endless highway. I rang the bell, and when he didn’t answer, I went by the side and peered over the gate. This time, the back door wasn’t open, but I could see motion in the garden. I tried the latch, but it was padlocked. He wasn’t expecting visitors, but I didn’t care. I hopped the fence.

“Hello?” I called out.

“In back.”

The orange trees were still heavy with blossoms and perfume. I stopped at the entrance to his backyard. He was right. A week later and the garden had turned all color and aroma. He was trimming the rosebushes, wearing faded jeans, a green tank top, and sneakers without socks. He gave me the courtesy of a glance, then clipped off a stem containing a ruby red bud.

“Wow!” I brushed my black slacks off, dirty from my excursion over the fence. “It’s beautiful back here.”

“Thank you.” He glanced at me, then began to peel thorns off the branch. “But I think I have the better view.”

I thanked him. “How’s the back-room floor coming?”

He spoke to me, though he was focused on the flower. “It’s not coming. I don’t use power tools when I’m upset.”

He held out the stem to me.

I took it and sniffed it. “Très élégant!And as long as we’re in a giving mood…” I lifted the bag. “A little more pedestrian, but like someone said, it’s the thought that counts.”

He regarded my present, wrapped in tissue paper and placed in a shiny gift bag with rope handles. “For me?”

“Unless there’s someone behind you, yes.”

His eyes, although no longer bloodshot, still lacked sparkle. They went from the gift to my face. “I’m utterly stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

“ ‘Thank you’ is always in fashion.”

“Thank you.”

“Take it and open it.”

He did and pulled out the shirt. His smile was a brilliant crescent of white. “It’s perfect!”

“If you wear it with black on Halloween, people will think you’re a jack-o’-lantern.”

“Especially with my big teeth.” He looked at the label. “Right size.” He held it up to his chest. “What do you think?”

“It says you.”

“Then I think it is in serious trouble.” His smile dimmed, and he put the shirt back in the bag. “I would like to wear it tonight for you. Is that a possibility?”

“Maybe.”

“How much on a scale from one to ten?”

I couldn’t bring myself to smile. “I’m sorry I came down on you. I don’t like when other people do my job better than I do.”

“I don’t do your job.”

“I wouldn’t have caught him if you hadn’t been there.”

“I was a competitive runner. No doubt I could outrun anyone in your department.”

“But it wasn’tanyone.It wasme.And the guy was my responsibility. Koby, what if he had taken out a gun?”

“Then I would have perfect backup.”

“C’mon! I’m trying to make a point.”

He grew glum. “I hear you.”

“I’m… I don’t know. Sorry, all right?”

“It was more than just my speed,” he spoke softly. “You were already mad at me.”

I didn’t confirm or deny it. Again silence came between us. I said, “I saw the look on your face when I took that guy down. I’m sure I conformed to your image of the heavy-handed LAPD cop.”

“I flinched,” he admitted. “But I know there are two sides.”

I nodded.

“What did he do?”

“Technically, I arrested him because he has an outstanding warrant for unpaid traffic violations. But I wanted him in connection with a gang rape of a retarded woman.”

Koby screwed up his face in horror. I thought what my father must have thought dozens of times. Why did I tell him?

He said, “Did arresting him help you out?”

Eventually. After I fielded about a thousand questions.“Yes, it helped quite a bit.”

“I’m glad.” He tucked the clippers inside his pants pocket and looked at his watch. “How about if I make coffee? You relax here while I shower and get dressed. Then maybe we take a ride to the beach and watch the sunset. Then we have dinner.”

It sounded not only wonderful, but like instant therapy. But I was still tense. “Koby, why didn’t you call me? I was freaked out after the accident. I know you were busy with life-and-death issues, but a kind word or two on my message machine would have gone a long way. It wouldn’t have taken more than… two minutes.”

He looked away. “I should have.”

“So why didn’t you?”

He regarded a rosebush and took out the clippers. Again he spoke without looking at me. “I have these moods, Cynthia.” He snipped off a dead head. “I was hoping that maybe they wouldn’t surface until we were farther along… so you could see the good side of me.”

I was puzzled. “What do you mean ‘moods’?”

“Moods.”

“Koby, everyone has moods.”

“Mine are very dark.”

“Like depression?”

He faced me. “An angry depression, I think. I am not nice to be around. I have found the best way to deal with it is to throw myself into work. So I work until I cannot work… until I am in a state of exhaustion. Then I sleep-one day, two days. And then… it passes. And it always does pass. Because the world is a good place.”

“Have you ever gotten help for it?”

“From a therapist?”

“Yeah, from a therapist. I see a therapist. It helps.”

“Why should I bother? It passes.”

“You should bother so you know what triggers it.”

“I already do know. This time, it was the accident. The little girl loses a leg but she lives. The baby died, Cindy, massive head injuries. That was it.”

“Koby, you work with dying babies all the time.”

“Yes, but those babies are sick. With those babies, one shoe has already dropped. There is expectation. So you are prepared. When it is a healthy baby… andallthe mother had to do was put her in a car seat… it makes me… It was the suddenness! One moment, I am elated with you… such a wonderful evening. Then…boom!” He punched one fist into another, the smack so loud it made me jump. “It’s like inZahal… doingshomrah-watch. One moment, you sit around smoking and talking about women with yourchevrah.Then abruptly, your friend is dead from a sniper’s bullet. Or when you’re a child and you walk out of yourtukul-your hut-and the women are weeping. But that is nothing new because death is all around. Until someone tells you that your mother has just died. It’s the unexpected death. It’s not like the hospital. In the hospital, the defenses are up. Am I making myself understandable?”

I exhaled. “You’ve had lots of trauma in your life.”

“I told you we all have baggage.”

“But some baggage is heavier than others.”

He nodded somberly. “Indeed. I don’t blame you for walking.”

“Did I say I wanted to walk?”

We were silent.

“That man Oliver…,” Koby said. “Do you still like him?”

I let out a small laugh. “That, my friend, is soover.”

“Not to him.”

“Isthatwhat it was all about?Oliver?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps a small part.”

“Small part, huh?”

“Very small.”

“Teeny,teeny,tiny.” I nodded. “Okay.”

“Cindy, under normal circumstances, it is nothing. In combination with everything that happened, I just wonder, that’s all.”

I waited until I caught his eye. “You know, I never said anything about your friend Marnie. You shouldn’t have brought up Oliver.”

His gaze shifted, falling somewhere over my shoulder. He was silent.

I said, “I see you’re pleading the Fifth. So as long as you opened the door, let me say this. Relationships with people you work with are big mistakes. One that I never intend to repeat.”

“We’re in agreement.”

“So how about this:Idon’t ask… andyoudon’t ask.” I gave him a knowing look. “Besides, I have a feeling the score isn’t evenclose.”He actually blushed. I said, “Koby, there isno oneelse in my life at the moment. Put that baby to bed, all right?”

“I’m a fool.” He snipped another dead head. “Forgive me.”

I took the clippers away from him. “You’re not a fool, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s yesterday’s news. But in the future, you’ve got to let me know you’re interested.”

“Believe me, that is not a problem.”

“So if you’re having a black mood, just say I can’t talk, I’m having a black mood. That way, I’ll know it isn’t me. I come from a divorced home. Trauma is not foreign to me, either. I like order, same as you.”

“I can do that.”

I gave him back his clippers. “And maybe you want to consider talking to someone.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I’m not a therapist.”

“No, but your hourly rates are very reasonable.” He took in my face, then ran a finger slowly across my cheek. “God gives me a chance at Heaven and I throw it away. I must be psychotic.”

I let out a small laugh. “I think you’re overstating the case.”

“You aresogorgeous, Cynthia. It is a thrill just to look at you.”

“And a cheap thrill at that.”

“Now who’s making nervous jokes?”

I didn’t answer.

“You are pure heat… Everything about you is fire.” His focus was penetrating. “There is this place in Malibu Canyon… next to a creek. All around are beautiful mountains and open sky. Lots of vegetarian dishes. The food is very good and the atmosphere is intimate.”

I knew the place. It was beautiful and very romantic.

“Shall I shower and put on the shirt?”

His eyes were already in sexual fantasy. But I had things on my mind. “This is the deal, Yaakov Kutiel. You told me your baggage. So now you’ve got to hear mine.”

“I’d be honored.”

So I told him. I talked, and talked, and talked, and talked.

We never got to the mountains. He didn’t even have a chance to wear the shirt. We never made it out of bed.