Part III Chapter 3 (21). The Bottom

I passed out that night at my desk, after sitting up until 3 am, pounding out my heart on the trusty Remington Noiseless.

It Was Check-out Time at the Mad Hotel!

The streets were buzzing with traffic and no one was afoot.

A haze diffused the Sun’s light into a cruel mockery of itself.

Heat radiated from the sidewalk.

The air above it boiled.

There was no shade.

Resurrections are like this. Crosses aren’t built for comfort

and to die to yourself ain’t no parlor game.

Jesus had a view from up there that tourists can’t get.

The Via Dolorosa has to be taken solitary by foot…

too narrow for the tour buses.

A taxi can drop you off but you have to carry the cross

on your own.

That is just how it is.

A flat earth would foster our fantasies otherwise.

There is no grace to fall from at this point.

Take one look into those deep dark eyes at this juncture

and try to find a soul.

In there I can tell you more about them being the window to her…

Just dark…

Just deep brown to black

And gone.

No more.

The room is already rented out to a new guest.

I haven’t even been missed.

Empty rooms get attention around these parts.

You want eternal love?

Only the room gets that.

A change of sheets and fresh towels

For Veronica’s veil.

It goes like that in every hotel on the Via Delarosa.

Mad about the madness

I jumped in there and swam with it.

God, how I loved it!

A great dervish dance of insanity:

Words flying from mouths free of fettered concerns

By a witches brew of toxins aflame

From hormonal howls and gyrations…

And then it stopped.

One day she sat on my couch to tell me, “No more.”

“No more,” she said.

It all stopped right there.

It was over.

I stood in line for a whole lifetime for one ride with her…

Not getting in another line.

No more.

Hearts bruised like mine Don’t break.

Burned hearts like mine simply crumble away.

A pile of soot and a few embers is all…

Far too charred to do anything like breaking.

Check-out time is at noon.

After that the maid comes in and sweeps up the dust of last

Night’s labor lost… the Do Not Disturb sign is hung back

Inside the door where it warns no one to Not Disturb the

Occupants of the world outside of that place where

No one cries after check-out time.

I crushed, wadded it up, and circular-filed it. Wasn’t cathartic enough. I could have titled it, Oh Boo-Hoo. I finished off what was left of a fifth of Jack and went to Willy’s at 6 am for a refill.

“You okay?” Willy politely asked out of an authentic concern.

“Yeh, I just been driving almost non-stop from Northern Idaho.” I answered, twisting off the top of the new fifth and swallowing hard.

“Hey, c’mon Max, you know you can’t drink it in here.”

“I’m sorry Willy, I forgot.” I wrapped the brown paper bag around the bottle and headed back to my place.

The idea struck me as I passed Manuel’s that Manuel’s was Rod’s digs and was usually at his stool at opening time. Manuel’s was Rodney’s office, as Pal’s had been mine. I drove up there and parked across the street. Rod was sitting at the bar when I walked in the door. The bar was empty except for Rod and old stinky Lucky. Lucky grinned as I took a seat at a table behind Rod. I didn’t order a drink. Manuel had been cleaning the bottles behind the bar and hadn’t noticed me yet. It all had that slow motion feeling like a movie… a saloon… a set in an old Western movie. Rod turned and nodded recognition. I nodded and tried to stare a hole in Rodney’s back before I got up and approached the bar. I plopped down on the stool next to him.

“Hullo.” Rod spoke under his breath.

“Hello, Rodney, how are you today?”

“Uh… Fine?”

“Oh, you bet. You are a fine piece of work.” I watched Rod turn his face to his drink. He must’ve wished I’d disappear. I asked, “Did you pay your rent with heroin today?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, you’re doin’ just great living off Adrienne’s dime,”

“What Adrienne and I are doing is none of your business. You have to talk to her if you have a problem with that.” He turned, eyes pleading towards Manuel, probably hoping Manuel had heard enough to get his attention.

“You’re right… but I’m making it my business,” I said and my fist rose in autopilot blindsiding Rod with a right-hook… knocking the weasel off his stool backwards but still standing.

Manuel looked over to see what the commotion was, “What are you doing Max? You’d better go home now. I’m calling the police.” He added some more in Spanish.

I loved old man Manuel and knew I’d just pissed in my own mess kit.

Rod stood stunned, held his jaw, spit out blood that ran down from his nose and whined, “I think he broke it… he broke my fuckin’ jaw!”

I stood by the door a few minutes but thought better of it when Manuel began punching the buttons on the phone.

“I apologize, Manuel.” I watched long enough for the adrenaline to tremble its way from my knees and to see whether Rod would follow me out the door. When he didn’t, I let Manuel know, “I’m out of here… sorry, again, Manuel.”

I got over to the Sportsman for a drink, gulped it down, and ordered another. The bartender there cut me off, “Go home, Max, get some rest.”

I figured I’d have a friendly shoulder to cry on with Claire at Pal’s but I didn’t even get the first few words out before she too told me I ought to go home and get some rest.

I gave up and went home where I called Jimbo, hoping he could give me an ear. I barely got into the story before Jimbo excused himself, saying; “Max, Helen just made lunch. I gotta go. Call me tomorrow… you okay?”

“I’ll be alright, I guess.”

“Sober up a bit and call me tomorrow…”

I called my sister in Idaho. I started out telling her I made it home safe but she could tell how drunk I was and brought up a story of her own, “Do you remember our talk on Labor Day at the lake?”

“Yeh, sure, I remember. Why?”

“Max, do you remember walking around with a joint in your mouth, saying, ‘My name is Max and I am an alcoholic… does anyone have a match?’”

“Vaguely, Sis, I thought I was being cute.”

Then she let me have it with, “Max, there were children there, the children of your nephews and nieces… and kids of friends. They were all watching their Uncle Max act a fool.”

“That bad, eh?”

“Yes, that bad. You have to do something about drinking.”

“Aw, shit, Sis. It was my vacation.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again, you just might have to vacation somewhere else next year if everyone is as pissed at you as I am.” She hung up.

I paid no attention to what she said and passed out at my desk again. I came to around 8 pm. I thought I might as well go to Pal’s and see if Claire had forgiven me by then.

“Max, what are you doing here?” it wasn’t Claire. I’d lost track of time. Mike had the evening shift, “Hey buddy, the cops were looking for you today.”

“I’ll have a shot of Jack and a Bud.” I didn’t want to hear about whatever went down before.

“Did you hear me? The police were here today. They were looking for you.” He wasn’t pouring a shot nor was he pulling a bottle of beer out of the cooler. He had that look of pity on his face I hated but all I feared was that Mike was cutting me off.

“Are you going to serve me or not?”

“I don’t think so, Max,” he came over to face me directly.

“What did they want?” I didn’t really want to know but maybe Mike might give me a drink if I acted concerned enough.

“Something about punching out Rod at Manuel’s, I think. The cops didn’t say, but someone that heard about it told me you broke Rod’s jaw.” Mike served a drink to someone else down at the other end of the bar and came back.

“C’mon, Mike, don’t make me beg. I’ll just have one and leave.”

Mike didn’t say a word but poured a shot of Jack into a glass of Coke. He knew I thought it was a crime to mix Jack with anything; least of all Coke. Mike stood there with his back to me before he finally spoke, “Drink it up and don’t come back on my shift tonight.”

I had one sip out of the glass… stared at it… shoved it away… stepped off my barstool and walked home with an aching longing in my chest. I had been eighty-sixed from my bailiwick … my home away from home: eighty-sixed from three bars in one day.

Homer didn’t want anything to do with me either when I first got home. I undressed and crawled into bed but Homer positioned himself warily over on the desk. I stayed awake a couple of hours, tossing, turning, and reviewing the day, I thought, “My God, I’d made a mess of things.”

But I wasn’t done yet. I got out of bed and picked up the phone.

The Fu answered, “Max, what do you want?”

My rage frothed at her indignant tone, “You fuckin’ bitch. You know what I want. I want to see Rod staked out on the ground with ants eating his eyes out. I want your skanky ass and I will do anything to have it!”

“Max, don’t call me again. Nick is here and he’s recording your calls.”

“What? What happened to your dear Gold Brick?”

“He is here too. I know all about what you did. Don’t call me. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

The window shattered as I threw the phone through it with all the polite pretense of civilized behavior. I thought I saw old stinky, Lucky, out there where the phone landed under the orange tree. Lucky was cheering me on, “Right on, Max! Break ‘em all out!”

I got a thrilling sense of cathartic relief out of the sound of glass breaking. I picked up an empty bottle and tossed it at the other window. Lucky cheered again, “Bravo!”

I didn’t care about the window, the phone, or my land lord. I went around the apartment breaking out the remaining windows in the kitchen and bathroom. It was my last stand, a fucking beautiful rage.