I can’t take it anymore. Roe’s delicious smelling shirt drops to the floor as I go Under. It’s too soon. My head throbs like I smacked it into a wall. I slowly creep out of the room. Zebulund sits on the small couch facing right at me. But as he doesn’t look up, I’m sure he can’t see me. Roe sits at a barstool off the kitchenette and his back is to me. I hate being in Zebulund’s direct eyeline, regardless of my visibility, or lack thereof. I softly creep across the plush carpet.
“I think it was a great night,” Roe says. “The guys are cool, but I’m pretty sure I’m out a few grand.”
His eyes flick to me only for a second. I wince. Oops.
“What about toward the end?” Zebulund doesn’t give anything away. “With Viktor?”
I widen my eyes at him and shrug. Zebulund’s right in front of me now Roe can see me without really trying.
“I think the night… Look, I think Viktor’s a stand-up guy. Like I said, we’ve worked together before. He was trying to unwind and maybe drank a little too much.”
Zebulund nods along as Roe talks. He’s sprawled out, legs spread and arms propped on the back of the couch. Amazing how one man can take up an entire piece of furniture.
“True. True.”
To his credit, Roe’s cool as ever as he sips his coffee.
“But what about the other stuff?” Zebulund watches Roe so closely I want to squirm.
“Not sure what you mean?”
My pulse rockets. It’s too soon for me to be Under like this and the stress of this situation causes the room to spin.
“Cut the shit, Roe,” Zebulund says. His tone is casual but the accusation lodges in the palpable tension like a half-swallowed sunflower seed.
We’re definitely fucked. I pace back and forth now. I can’t keep still. My neck is itchy. My skin is too tight. Roe shoots me a quick glance. I shake my head.
“No idea,” I mouth.
“That. That right there.” Zebulund stands up and moves away from where I stand. He points a trembling finger right at me. Well, sort of at me—the general area. “What are you looking at?”
“Nothing. What?” His hands raise, palms up.
Zebulund’s pale. Giant circles of sweat stain his underarms. He’s fucking terrified. He isn’t here to grill Roe at all. He’s here for answers. My arms flail to get Roe’s attention but he’s pointedly not looking at me.
“I’ll give you one more chance. I don’t like being dicked around.”
Roe scratches his five o’clock shadow with both hands. Stalling. I roll my hands like I’m trying to show “go with it.” I point to my eyes and make an exaggerated spooky face. His eyes flick back and forth between me and Zebulund.
Zebulund cracks the knuckles of one fist into his other palm. He’s about to speak when Roe finally says, “Fine. I can tell you but you’ll never believe me.”
I wince. The Boy Scout is going to call me out.
11
Roe
This plan is bad.It’s really bad. Maggie gesticulates like a constipated ape and Zebulund’s pallor is gray. I have to trust my gut with this. I spent the morning sleeping more than I’ve slept in months, maybe years. My body reached that point of exhaustion where it shuts down. The moment my head hit the pillow until I woke up wrapped around Maggie I was gone. For just a minute it was like another life. A life where I don’t have to work in an industry I hate to keep my family safe from starving. A life where I have a wife and a home and a stable job that lets me sleep.
But then Zebulund shows up, clean and pressed like last night never happened. He’s still dressed in the 40s theme, except he’s more like a mob boss than a classic actor. The air is heavy with cologne and his gangster fedora casts a shadow over his eyes. Only his eagerness to talk gives away that something more might be going on. The way he’s scrutinizing me now tells me that I don’t have a lot of time. I swallow and get ready to do the best performance of my career.
“Sometimes, and you have to promise that what I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room…”
Maggie stills. She wraps her arms around her body and her face twist with anxious confusion. Zebulund’s silence is assent. I don’t doubt for a second that he would take whatever I say next and use it to his advantage.
“Okay. I don’t tell anybody this. Maybe I’m still a little drunk. But there’s no point in hiding this any longer.”
“Get on with it.” Zebulund pops his knuckles.
