Sunland: A Novel

8

• • 64 • • The gentleman at the bar swiveled on his stool as I followed Danni toward a bank of gleaming elevators. Sunlight filtered through a cleft in the hotel drapes, strafing my eyes. I awoke with severe discomfort in my thigh. I tugged the sheets back, and there, in my quad, was a sewing needle. It was embedded a quarter of an inch. I blinked. It didn’t register. I touched the end and pain rippled down my leg. I couldn’t believe it. Black thread was still attached to the end. I carefully extracted the needle, quietly rose from bed, and deposited the needle in the trash. Danni was still asleep, the sheets coiled like snakes around her arms. During the night she had shot for all the bases, but now she looked content, spent, without worry. The do not disturb sign swayed from room 512’s door handle as I eased the door shut. I had errands. First on my list was the pawnshop to unload Ms. Wetherbee ’s watch. I was in the car when my phone rang. My ex-girlfriend called at the strangest times. “People keep phoning this number,” Juliet said. Impatience registered in her voice. There was static on the line, clicks, a vibrant whine, and then she was back, saying, “I know you’re behind this.” I threw the phone to my other ear. “I’m shifting from first to second,” I told her calmly. “The light just turned green. I’m trying not to speed.” “You’re also writing my phone number on bathroom walls,” Juliet said. “Is that it? Above urinals? When are you going to grow up?” “I’m doing no such thing.” “Then why do people keep calling me from Arizona?” she asked. “I’m moving on. I’m taking the necessary steps to distance myself from our relationship.” “What’s that mean?” “I just had a date,” I told her. I heard silence. Then I heard deep breathing and I imagined a crack quietly working through a crystal wineglass. I imagined Juliet’s mind turning like a slide show carousel as she tried to conjure up Danni’s face. A woman, blond? A woman, nice smile? A woman, not her! “With a very nice woman,” I told Juliet. “You met someone?” Her voice sounded sentimental and dangerous. “This may be the one,” I said, not believing it. “I like her a lot. I may have finally found the one.” 8 • • 65 • • The line spat dead air, a vacuum. I pushed the end button, for emphasis. I wanted to wound her, as she’d wounded me. A scenario projected itself across the windshield, the same as before, the same as always. I extracted discomfort and the tiniest bit of sick pleasure from the scene. It was night. Juliet and her man-affair were in his apartment. The lights were dim. A fire crackled. A bottle of beer sweated in Juliet’s hand. She was in a warm, playful mood. She perused his bookcase. She pulled out a book. They’d both read it and began a heated discussion. They disagreed. She took one side. He took the opposing. They argued, mildly. Juliet grazed his chest with her bottle. He reached for it. She hurried away, tripped on his rug, bending in mock desperation. He drove the argument home. I often wondered how it was even possible to dislike someone I missed so much. I wrote Juliet’s number on dollar bills so that she would call me, so that contact wouldn’t be lost forever. I dialed her back, and naturally she refused to answer. Her voice mail beeped. “Remember that dawn when we woke up and drove to the lake? Remember how calm it was, and how quiet?” standing at the pawnshop’s counter was a teenage girl who tapped a key against the glass. Guitars were strung like meat slabs behind her. The store had radios, amps, and old saddles for sale, each affixed with red discount tags, and it smelled of mothballs. Each old castoff looked sad and forgotten. I never enjoyed visiting Lucky Lou’s. I set my postal bag on the counter. Along with Ms. Wetherbee’s antique watch, I also fished out a plastic sandwich baggie with three gold molars. Ms. Haybroke’s pension check was late, so as payment she handed me three gold teeth. I didn’t know why I put up with it. “Lou around?” I asked the girl. “When Lou...