Total Life Page 4

  I accept the call and put my hand on my face, stretching my legs out on the empty bed. Laura must already be preparing for work, today is the day when she will finally do what calms her nerves.

  “Good morning, Jimmy,” Steve says. “Did you dream about angels?”

  “It looked more like the devil.”

  “Always so polite ...” He pauses dramatically. “I hope you've had enough time to recover from your first task. You know, I'm really looking forward to the next move. I didn’t know that controlling someone could be so cool, especially when it doesn’t affect your life at all. Cowardice is a blessing, isn’t it?”

  “Why don’t you fuck off and say what you want?”

  “Look at that, ladies and gentlemen, it seems that little Jimmy finally understood his condition of total devotion to me. Congratulations, buddy!”

  A new message with prints from a site I visited.

  “Look at this, how lovely,” Steve says. “Nothing strange Mr. Gibson spent nearly three hours on October 20, 2027, searching about aborted fetuses. What’s this in the picture? Oh, it's a print of a site where men discuss abortion. Nice group for that, don’t you think? Well, that becomes reasonable when we understand that it’s not a site that supports women's right to abortion, but the right of women to abort when a man wishes it to be done. Hey, look at this, it looks like they're men commenting about having aborted women who ended up getting pregnant. And ... holly shit, it cannot be! Jimmy Gibson himself commented that two years ago he hit a woman with a broom handle until she had a miscarriage. I can’t believe, Jimmy, you really are a monster.”

  The cell phone slips from my hand.

  It was an anonymous site, shit, how could I ever imagine that something like that would ever come out? And, for God, I didn’t hit the woman that way as Steve says. I was drunk, tired of everything ... Damn, it was a night when I lost my mind and I went crazy. I may have actually hit her, but that doesn’t mean ... damn, that doesn’t mean that I intended to cause a miscarriage. I just commented this on an anonymous site because I felt like I had to tell someone, relieve myself ... I swear to God that was the only time I ever hit a woman (Abby, a voice in my head says). I swear to God this was the only and the last time (Abby, the voice keeps saying).

  “Jimmy, are you still there? Listen, if this shit become public, you'll be in serious trouble, boy. I really didn’t want to be you.”

  I pick my phone.

  “I ... I didn’t mean to do that to her.”

  “And you think the police will care about your fucking intentions? You did it and that's what matters.”

  June, that was her name. A nanny who had just finished high school and took care of a child in the apartment next door to mine. We chatted from time to time in the hallway until I finally called her out. I took her to dinner and we had sex the same night. June had small but firm breasts. And those crooked teeth couldn’t be more perfect on her triangular, reddish face. I used to call her Strawberry when we started dating.

  It was a short relationship, so I don’t usually call her “ex-girlfriend.” The fights were constant even in the first week. I used to drink to drown my sorrows (I still hadn’t forgotten my son and my wife) and June was taking heroin to forget about family problems. The nights we met were basically three things: arguing, having sex, and getting stoned before sleeping.

  It was then that June showed up pregnant, but at least with the decency of crying to give me the news — which Laura didn’t even do, by the way. I was on a day of constant concern, because my son had ignored all my calls, so the news served as a trigger for me to go out and get all drunk. When I got back, there was June, sitting on my couch. I don’t remember very well what happened next, just the broom handle in my hand and June's blood on the floor.

  May God forgive me for this.

  “Come on, old friend, everything's gonna be all right, you know that. All this will remain a secret as long as you obey me.”

  Steve says, “So, are you ready?”

  *

  Laura is finishing packing things in her briefcase when I go down to the kitchen. Her citrus scent covers the entire room and her glitzy makeup highlights the features of her face. The well-folded sleeves of the suit show the gold watch she got from her ex-husband.

  “Are you still using this thing?” I ask, sitting on the counter and picking up an apple.

  She looks at the watch and then at me.

  “The day you give me a decent gift, I stop using it.”

  “I thought love was a good gift.”

  “Fuck off, Jimmy, I don't have time for your shit. My head is already full with the problems I'll find in the office. Fifteen days away from that place must have been more than enough to be all fucked up. And there are still a hundred cases that I postpone and I need to analyze now. Do you think the life of a lawyer is as easy as the life of a dumbass man who only calls? No fucking way, baby.”

  I bite my apple.

  “You're the best wife in the world, you know that?”

  She bangs her briefcase on the counter.

  “What do you want from me?”

  I shrug.

  A car stops in front of our house and Laura rushes to the door.

  “Hey, Laura,” I say, as we head out into the garden. “Since you're going with Robert, I think I'm gonna have to borrow your car later.”

  “You ain’t gonna work with my car again, Jimmy.”

  “I'm not gonna work with it, I'm just going out.”

  She opens the door of Robert's Corvette, who looks at us wearing sunglasses and smiling with pursed lips.

  “All right, Jimmy, get the car. Just, please, don’t bring it back in that same state the last time you used it. It was covered with earth. Where have you been, Africa?”

  Robert waves to me.

  “Hey Jimmy, how's it going?”

  “I’m fine, I guess,” I say, straighting my robe. “What about you?”

  “As always, too busy with office stuff and family at home. It’s a good thing Laura's back, you know, to help get everything in order. Your wife is an exceptional woman.”

  “I bet so.”

  An awkward silence takes over. Robert looks at Laura and then at me, putting his sunglasses up his nose.

  “Well, I guess that's it. See ya later, Jimmy.”

  “See ya.”

  The Corvette accelerates down the asphalt, the red body shimmering in the sun. Robert is the kind of man who gives me cancer. Conservative, wealthy and a good example of family father. Corvette in the garage, good job in a good office ... A fine example of the American dream. Sometimes I wonder if Roberts are real people or just NPC's put to fill space. Sometimes I wonder if all of us aren’t NPC's just put to fill space.

  My phone rings again.

  “Do not leave, Jimmy, the order is coming.”

  Shortly afterwards, a van parks near me. A boy in his early twenties gets off the wheel and walks to the sidewalk, leaving two other guys in the vehicle. He straightens his glasses, rolls a clipboard in his hand, and looks up.

  “Mr. Gibson?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We have an order from Mr. Pitman for you. Can you sign here?”

  I sign and ask to unload in the garage, right in the trunk of the car. Four black boxes of different sizes that the boys have difficulty carrying. As I watch them suffer together to carry the larger box, the boy with glasses asks me, “I’m sorry for the question, but what the hell are you doing with all this?”

  I would like to know too.

  VII

  You sweat in the suit while installing explosives inside the mansion. Steve tells you which wires you must connect and in which places you must be careful not to blow yourself up and pollute the world with your liquefied organs. You do your best to keep your fingers from trembling and pray to God that no one appears — other than, of course, the butler and the driver you tied in the basement so they couldn’t escape.

  “Don’t worry,” Steve say
s in the earphones, “all the others employees are out today. They’re all home, hoping never to return to this asylum, while Rev. Polasky makes his last and most important sermon.”

  You leave the explosive well coupled in the fireplace, get up and dry the sweat from your forehead, looking at the picture on the wall. It must be more than one meter high, the figure of Polasky dressed in a purple suit painted with oil. A disgusting little smile creeps into his face.

  “He looks like a son of a bitch.”

  “He doesn’t look like a son of a bitch,” Steve says, “he is a son of a bitch. And a big one, if you wanna know. He likes to play the moralist and say that the world needs God. But beware, buddy, it's all a facade. Several women attending his services claimed sexual harassment, although they didn’t go into too much detail. I had to monitor him for the last two days to get something that fit my plans.”

  “What is it?”

  “You'll find out. Now continue with the explosives. Rev. Polasky is giving the sermon in front of the main square, probably the largest audience in recent years. Soon he and his wife will get off the makeshift stage to leave, which means you need to be waiting for him in the limosine.”

  You continue your work, a little more relaxed knowing that Reverend Polasky is not like Abby. Not that you are a punisher, but some people deserve a lesson. Maybe even you deserved lesson for what you did to June and poor Abby. Maybe the hell you're living in Steve's hands is the punishment. Maybe Steve is God weighing his hand over you.

  You go down in the basement, where you connect two explosives while the butler tries to scream with the cloth tied in his mouth. The driver is unconscious, with blood running down his forehead where you hit him with the butt of the gun. The butler swings tied in the chair until he falls on his back and hits his head. Then silence dominates the place and now you can work in peace.

  “How are you feeling?” you ask the butler, poking him with the toe of your shoe.

  He blinks with his red eyes, but remains silent.

  You slap the butler's face and he screams as you climb the stairs. Your steps squeak on the wood, making echoes that resonate until you close the door.

  You walk through the house and see if everything is all right. You go to the bathroom and take a piss. You flush, even though no one else will use the place. Soon it will be just a bunch of rubbish that will yield good photos and reports. Steve will keep the police away from you. Everyone will review the harassment stories behind Reverend Polasky and then conclude that some woman or husband did this in search of revenge. And when the case comes to light, few people will miss the reverend, except, perhaps, for a group of religious fanatics. These are strange people; no matter how filthy the spiritual guide is, the faithful will never believe in accusations against him. Instead, they prefer to believe that God's servants are persecuted and this whole thing.

  You whistle through the garden and walk to the limo. The air conditioning is a boon on your sweaty body. The road will be difficult, you will have to drive very carefully trying not to scratch the paint and someone suspects that an amateur driver is driving the car. The last thing you need right now is attention.

  “Calm down, Jimmy, I'll be here giving you the instructions. So pay attention to the streets and you’ll get there on time.”

  The traffic is reasonably light, since much of the city has gone to hear the reverend's sermon. You go through the streets exactly as Steve tells you, staring into your own nervous eyes in the rearview mirror. Your heart is not racing like it did with Abby, but that doesn’t mean the situation has become easy either. Your eyes denounce this.

  You step on the brake when the signal turns red. A car with teenagers stops by your side and one of them comes out at the window, holding a cigarette. He says something you don’t hear and then laughs, taking a drag on the cigarette and releasing the smoke in the air. The signal turns green, you accelerate and turn to the next corner.

  Laura must be at work now, signing papers and talking to clients. If you know your wife well, she must be smiling in front of clients, saying that she cares about them and that everything will be all right. As soon as they leave, however, she rolls her eyes and tells herself how pathetic they are. It must be the same thing Laura did to you in the beginning, before she started saying that kind of thing to your face.

  One more red sign. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel and watch the billboards scattered over the shops. Male models without a shirt, showing part of the underwear and the muscles in the abdomen. This is how you should look.

  Peter must be thinking that his father is at work while he has fun with his new friends and maybe kisses Mandy, running his hand through her curves. Getting your child to meet friends was probably the only good thing you did during forty years in this business. It would be a shame if he discovered that his father abused and killed a teenager, or that he hit a girl with a broom handle until she had an abortion.

  What a shame.

  “Take it easy, Jimmy, you're getting there.”

  In fact, there are many cars parked on the next streets. You must keep a slow pace for Polasky to finish the sermon and not find the limo right away. Then the cops who are nearby won’t even bother checking the limo since the reverend is hurrying toward the vehicle as the crowd applauds his asshole and walks after him.

  You think of Peter.

  You think about how happy he must be, talking to Mandy and making her smile.

  At least God will have a good thing to weigh in the balance before sending you to hell.

  And there's Reverend Polasky, walking hastily to the limo and leaving the makeshift stage behind. His red, round face appears to be very sunburned, and beads of sweat run down from the root of his short blonde hair to the potato-shaped nose. The woman, a tall blonde with thin legs and generous breasts exposed at the neckline, holds on to his arm and does her best to walk with the high heels. Police officers quickly open the roadblocks and escort the two into the vehicle, too hasty to worry about the driver.

  “Why did you take so long, idiot?” These are the first words of Polasky when he enters the limousine after the wife, closing the door with a beat. “The crowd almost ate us alive while we waited for you. If there were no guards protecting the bars, what do you think would happen?”

  “God would provide.”

  “Don’t mock me, asshole. Junior may be a good man, but I won’t feel sorry for any driver he sends me. So you better shut up and drive.”

  “As your wish, sir.”

  The window that separates you from the two is closed and you accelerate down the street. The cops make way for you to pass by, whistling to each other and gesturing with their hands. It’s impossible to say what the reverend is doing, but you think it’s better not to know it.

  In the rearview mirror, you see that the crowd got through the security guards and now there are dozens of people running desperately behind the limo, screaming, falling and stepping on each other. Even the cops are taken to the ground. You accelerate and turn the corner, just watching when tear gas canisters are thrown at the crowd.

  “All right, Jimmy, I'm surprised,” Steve says.

  You're back on quiet streets, heading for the mined mansion. The radio sings and the sun shines against the black body ot the limo, the light striking the rearview mirror. Your hands are not trembling any more and you can hold firmly in the steering wheel.

  So you find yourself thinking about June again and how things could have been different. Maybe if you'd settled your life earlier and supported June more often then there wouldn’t be so many arguments. Maybe you had never picked up that broom handle and done what you did, staining the floor with the blood of your future little baby. What would the child be like if she were alive today? She would probably be running into your arms every day, kissing you on the cheek and showing the drawings she made — images that to others are nothing more than scribbles, but which are true pieces of art to the parents of young children.

  And Laur
a? You would never have met Laura. With the support June received from you, she would be able to drop the heroine and you would get married. You would marry and have the child. And you would do your best to be a better person and have a good job in order to support that child. And June would still be young and beautiful and you would have sex every night, exciting sex and completely different from what you have with Laura. And everything would be different. And everything would be better.

  But you're nothing like that. You’re not the fantasies of your mind. You are not the wonderful person who lives in your head and you're not as loved as in your dreams and you'll never be any of that. You will never be any of this because fantasies are just fantasies. Things created by your mind to deny the inalienable fact that you are a complete failure as a human being. You are not your fantasies and neither your avatar in Total Life.

  You are nothing. A disgusting bunch of nothing.

  You sigh and try to calm down. You'll still have time to change things when it's all over, maybe you can even talk to June and say how sorry you are. You heard she moved to Denver and maybe you even travel there just to apologize. And Steve will be left behind somehow. And Rev. Polasky will be in hell paying for his sins.

  Steve call you, “Jimmy, it's time to take action. As soon as the glass goes down, tell the reverend everything I say. And, for God's sake, keep accelerating this car, it doesn’t matter whether the signal is open or not. We can’t give the son of a bitch a chance to escape.”

  The glass slowly goes down, colored lights being thrown out. An electronic music plays while Rev. Polasky sucks his wife's toes. She has her dress down to her navel, her breasts exposed, her big brownish nipples stiff. She moans and tells him to continue. She rolls her eyes, bites her lips and only then realizes that the glass has been lowered.

  And she screams.

  “Who gave you permission to open that shit?” the reverend asks.

  Steve speaks in your ear and you repeat each word as you step on the acaccelerator, “I have a special show for you and your wife, dear reverend. To the glory of God and the justice of men, I hope you enjoy the spectacle of today.”