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This time it's on page 23. Just the symbol. And in The Bell Jar, it's page 39. I have the addresses, and I have exhaustion.
The digging's over.
I sleep.
It's Tuesday evening and we're playing cards at my place. Ritchie's complaining of a sore collarbone from the Sledge Game, Audrey's enjoying herself, and Marv's winning. He's unbearable, as usual.
I've been to Glory Road, and I've seen number 114. It's a Polynesian family with a husband bigger than the guy from Edgar Street. He works in construction and treats his wife like a queen and his kids like gods. When he gets home from work he picks them up and throws them in the air. They laugh and carry on and look forward to him arriving.
Glory Road is long and isolated. The houses are all pretty old. All fibro.
I don't know what to do there yet, but I'm pretty confident by now. It'll come to me.
"Looks like I win again," gloats Marv. He's in good form, with a cigar jammed into the side of his mouth.
"I hate you, Marv," says Ritchie. He's only summing up what we're all thinking at times like this.
Marv's quick to organize a Christmas game.
"Who's turn is it this year?" he asks, though we all know it's his and he'll try to get out of it. Marv could never cook a Christmas dinner. Not because he's hopeless. He's just too tight. He wouldn't pay for a turkey to save his life. Breakfast on the day of the Sledge Game was a oncer.
"You." Ritchie points straight at Marv. "It's your turn, Marv."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes." Ritchie's emphatic. "I am."
"But you know, my folks'll be there, and my sister, and--"
"Stiff shit, Marv, we love your parents." Ritchie's in fine touch. We all know he couldn't care less where the party's on. He's just loving getting stuck into Marv. "And we love your sister, too. She's hot as summer sand, boy. She's raging."
"Summer sand?" Audrey asks. "Raging?"
Ritchie slams his fist on the table. "Damn right, girl."
The three of us laugh as Marv fidgets.
"It isn't like you don't have the money," I say. "Thirty grand, isn't it?"
"Just hit forty," he replies. This triggers a discussion of what Marv intends to do with that kind of money. He tells us it's his business alone and we don't give it a lot more thought. I guess we don't give many things a lot of thought.
After a few more minutes, I relent.
"We'll just have it here," I say. I look over at Marv. "But you'll have to put up with the Doorman, mate."
Marv isn't happy, but he agrees.
I go for more.
"All right, Marv," I say. "I tell you what--I'll have the Christmas game right here under one condition."
"What?"
"You have to bring the Doorman a present." I can't help rubbing it in a little. With Marv, you have to get mileage, and I must say, this is turning out better than I'd hoped. I'm delighted with myself. "You can bring him a nice juicy steak, and"--this is where it gets even better--"you have to give him a big Christmas kiss."
Ritchie clicks his fingers. "Brilliant idea, Ed. Perfect."
Marv's stunned.
