My Friend Leonard Read online

  Then get some sleep, come down for lunch.

  What time?

  One?

  Okay.

  Leonard turns to Snapper.

  You finished?

  Yeah. Let’s go. He needs some sleep.

  Okay.

  Leonard turns to me.

  See you at one.

  Snapper speaks.

  See ya, Kid.

  I speak.

  Thanks for the food.

  Leonard speaks.

  Eat some of it. Right now. Get fat.

  Snapper speaks.

  Yeah, get fat.

  I laugh. Bye.

  They walk out. I lie down, sleep, wake-up, take a shower. I am confident now I take the El train downtown, walk to the hotel from the train. I ride up the elevator, walk through the lobby, Leonard is waiting for me in the restaurant, I sit down with him.

  Where’s Snapper?

  He’s out working. You sleep well?

  I never sleep well.

  You will.

  I guess.

  You hungry?

  Yeah.

  Leonard motions for the waitress, orders steaks and French fries for each of us, turns back to me.

  Now tell me, how the fuck you end up working at a bar?

  I laugh.

  Tell me how you know I work at a bar and I’ll tell you how I ended up there.

  I had someone looking out for you. They told me.

  Who?

  Doesn’t matter.

  You got some flunky following me around?

  I’m just looking out for you.

  I can look out for myself.

  Why you working at a bar?

  It was the only job I could get.

  Come on, you’re a smart kid. You can do better than that.

  I applied for a few different jobs, nobody wanted to hire me. I don’t exactly have a sparkling resume.

  It’s unacceptable.

  It’s fine, Leonard.

  You’re an alcoholic and you’re a drug addict. You’ve only been clean a couple months. You can’t work at a bar. It’s crazy and stupid and dangerous.

  I actually work in front of the bar. I stand there and pick my ass for hours on end. It might be stupid and it might be boring, but it’s not crazy or dangerous.

  Until you feel like you want a drink and you go inside.

  I feel like I want a drink all the fucking time. And if I decide I want one, it won’t be hard to get one, regardless of where I am.

  It’s unacceptable, my son.

  You got a better idea?

  I do.

  What’s that?

  Come work for me.

  I laugh.

  Yeah, that’s a great idea.

  Why not?

  Because I’ve got a record, because I’m trying to stay out of trouble, because an arrest of any kind means I go away for three to five.

  I got good lawyers, you won’t go anywhere.

  I laugh.

  That makes me feel better.

  It should. You’ll have the power of an entire organization behind you.

  I laugh again.

  That’s what I’m afraid of, Leonard.

  I won’t let you work at a bar.

  It’s not a matter of what you will or will not let me do.

  I’ll say it differently—I can offer you a much better opportunity than you have at the bar.

  Gonna make me an offer I can’t refuse?

  Leonard laughs.

  I can offer you a much better opportunity.

  What would I do?

  Pick things up and take them places.

  I laugh again.

  Pick things up and take them places?

  Yes, indeed.

  I wouldn’t want to know what I might be picking up.

  That would probably be best.

  Our steaks come, we start eating. We do not talk about my new opportunity. We talk about basketball, we talk about the upcoming baseball season, we talk about the cold, he hates it. We talk about our steaks, they’re good, we talk about our fries, they’re hot and crispy. When we’re finished, we order coffee and ice cream sundaes, he gets hot fudge, I get caramel. I finish my sundae, light a cigarette, speak.

  Will I do anything legal?

  Depends on your definition of legal.

  How about according to your definition?

  There are very few things illegal according to my definitions.

  If I get caught, I’ll be in big fucking trouble.

  You won’t get caught. And if you do, I’ll take care of you.

  I think, take a drag, take another.

  My son.

  I look up.

  If you don’t say yes, I’ll buy the bar and fire you.

  I laugh.

  I’m nervous, Leonard. I’m trying to live a better life, trying to be a better person. I do not want to get locked up again.

  I understand, and think that working for me will only help. You won’t have any financial pressure, you won’t have a boss screaming at you, you’ll have as much time as you need to figure out your shit.

  How long are you in town?

  As long as it takes to get you to say yes.

  What are you gonna do tonight?

  I thought we’d take you to a firing range, make sure you’re handy with a weapon.

  You better be fucking kidding.

  He laughs.

  We’re going out. Going to a basketball game, then having dinner. I’m gonna introduce you to some people that you should know.

  Sounds cool.

  What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?

  I don’t know. Go walk around.

  You should give notice at the bar.

  I’ll think about it.

  No thinking, my son. Just do.

  What are you gonna do for the rest of the day?

  Snapper’s picking me up. We have to run some errands.

  Errands?

  He chuckles, nods.

  Yes, errands.

  What time should I meet you?

  Seven.

  Cool.

  I stand.

  Thanks for lunch.

  Get fat.

  I laugh.

  See you at seven.

  I leave. Down the elevator and outside. It’s cold and gray, always cold and gray. I start walking. Think about where I want to go I have no idea. The temperature is below zero, I’m going to need to make stops every ten minutes or so, it’s too cold too cold. I stop in a clothing store, they sell suits for thousands of dollars, a man in a security uniform follows me up and down the aisles. I stop in a coffee shop, I don’t order anything just sit at a table in the corner and breathe. I walk into the lobby of a famous building built by a chewing gum company. The floor is marble, the walls are marble, the ceiling is marble. The walls and ceiling have been carved, covered with flowers, intricate patterns, saints, gods, little snarling gargoyles, big snarling gargoyles. I walk into a fast food restaurant, a comic book store, a jeweler I get followed by another guard. I keep walking, walk into an office building quickly walk out, walk into an art museum take off my coat. The museum is offering free admission, as it does one day a week, I start wandering through the galleries. I stand beneath angels and saints, beneath the son of god, beneath his mother, beneath beheaded martyrs, sobbing virgins, angry popes, beneath marching armies, generals astride their mounts, looted burning ravaged cities. I stare at dead game, fruits and vegetables in a market, Dutch fishing boats, Merrymakers in an inn, Rinaldo being enchanted by Armida. I stare at Cupid firing arrows, the Crystal Palace, at the Seine, at Bennecourt. I watch a woman at a piano she does not move just stares at the keys making music I can’t hear. I meet Henri de Gas and his niece Lucie de Gas, I walk through Paris, rainy day, wait for the arrival of the Normandy train at the Gare Saint-Lazare. I confront the Portrait of Man. He stares at me. I stare back, waiting for answers. I get none.

  I spend hours slowly moving from room to room. I try to get as close to the paint
ings as possible. I close one eye and look at the individual strokes made by the painters. I close both eyes and try to smell the oil. I stand as far away as I can, walk forward the image coming gradually closer. I want to rub my hands along the surface, but don’t want to set off an alarm or get arrested. Sometimes I talk to the paintings, to the figures in the paintings. I ask a farmer how’s the weather, I ask a singer what’s the song, I ask a baby what’s your name, I ask a young woman why are you crying? I stand in front of Vincent’s self-portrait. Vincent who knew pain and failure, who knew self-doubt and insanity, who cut off his ear, who shot himself. I know Vincent well. I have nothing to say to him.

  I leave the museum at closing time. I walk back to the hotel, stopping along the way to get warm. When I arrive I wait in the lobby. Five minutes later, Leonard and the Snapper step out of an elevator, start walking toward me. I stand meet them halfway. Leonard speaks.

  My son.

  What’s up?

  Snapper speaks.

  How ya doing, kid?

  Good.

  Leonard speaks.

  Ready for some basketball?

  Yeah.

  Good.

  We leave, go downstairs, pick up the car, drive to the stadium. The stadium is old and decrepit. It was built in the 1920s and is scheduled to be destroyed this summer, replaced by a newer version being built across the street. When we arrive we pull through rusted gates to an area of guarded parking, the parking lot where the players and team owners park. We get out of the car, walk into the stadium through a guarded door. We enter a series of tunnels beneath the main seating area of the stadium. We walk past locker rooms, training areas, administrative offices. We walk past men and women in uniforms rushing around I have no idea what they do. We walk out of a tunnel and onto the court. It’s near game-time and the stadium is almost full. The game, as all Chicago basketball games are, is sold out. Leonard pulls three tickets from the inside pocket of his jacket, hands one to me, one to Snapper. He walks along the edge of the court, we follow him. He stops at three seats near the center, motions for us to sit. Five minutes later the lights go out, loud music starts blaring through speakers hanging from the ceiling, the Chicago team is introduced and runs to their bench. The opposing team, which is from New York, enters without fanfare. Everyone stands while the national anthem is played, the game starts with the tipoff. Chicago’s team is the reigning champion and their star player is considered the best basketball player in the world. New York can’t keep up and they get obliterated. At half-time, Chicago leads by eighteen, they win the game by thirty. Leonard acts like a little kid throughout, cheering, laughing, jumping up and down, eating popcorn, hot dogs and ice cream bars, drinking large cola after large cola after large cola. I skip the popcorn and hot dogs, I eat eight ice cream bars and drink seven large colas. Snapper doesn’t eat anything, says he’s watching his figure and waiting for dinner.

  After the game we go to a restaurant. It’s a simple Italian restaurant on the west side of the city, not far from the stadium. We walk in and Leonard and Snapper greet the owner, who leads us into a room behind the main dining room. The room has a long, simple table covered with a white tablecloth, there are ten chairs around it. We sit and the owner asks what we would like to drink, colas for Leonard and me, a glass of red wine for Snapper. Leonard looks at me, speaks.

  You give notice today?

  I shake my head.

  Nope.

  Why not?

  Spent the day in a museum.

  Snapper speaks.

  What’d you see?

  All kinds of stuff.

  Leonard speaks.

  Get more specific, my son.

  Do you know anything about art?

  Leonard looks at Snapper.

  Do we know anything about art?

  Quite a bit, actually.

  Leonard turns to me.

  We know quite a bit.

  I laugh.

  How?

  How? We read. We go to museums and galleries. We pay attention.

  I would have never thought . . .

  Snapper speaks.

  Tell him how we got into it.

  Leonard speaks.

  I have a house on the beach outside of LA. Every summer the town puts on this thing called the Pageant of the Masters.

  Snapper speaks.

  I love the Pageant of the Masters.

  Leonard nods.

  What they do is make stage sets that look actually like famous paintings.

  So let’s say they were doing The Last Supper by Leonardo da Vinci.

  They’d get a bunch of men, dress them up so they look exactly like the Apostles in the painting. They’d get another fella and make him look like the Jesus in the painting. They’d put everyone at a table that looked like the table in the painting in a room that looked exactly like the room in the painting. Then they pose in painting poses and they sit there.

  Snapper speaks.

  It’s beautiful.

  Leonard speaks.

  And tons of people come see the paintings, which have now been brought to life.

  Snapper speaks.

  They look so real it’s crazy.

  Leonard speaks.

  We’ve been going every summer for years.

  Snapper speaks.

  And every summer it gets better and better.

  Leonard speaks.

  We’re knowledgeable about everything from Pre-Renaissance work to the Post-Impressionists.

  Snapper speaks.

  They don’t do modern art very well. Too hard to break a real person down into some form of cubism, pure abstraction or minimalism.

  Leonard speaks.

  They do Matisse and Modigliani. Don’t forget about them.

  Snapper speaks.

  I shouldn’t have forgotten Matisse, but Modigliani is boring.

  Leonard speaks.

  His work is not as dynamic as some.

  Snapper speaks.

  It’s boring. Fucking boring.

  Leonard turns to me.

  What do you think, my son?

  About Modigliani or this conversation?

  Both.

  I like Modigliani. I think those women are weird and gorgeous. I’m sort of shocked by the conversation.

  Everybody thinks we’re barbarians, but we’ve got soft, sensitive, sophisticated sides to us.

  Snapper speaks.

  I’m very soft, sensitive and sophisticated.

  I laugh. The door opens, waiters start bringing in food, Platters of antipasti, mozzarella and tomato, fried calamari, fried zucchini, zuppa di clams, Caesar salad, crostini with chopped liver. There is more food than the three of us could eat, I ask Leonard if he’s expecting anyone else. He tells me that there may be a few people stopping by to say hello.

  We start eating. The smell of the food on the table and the smells drifting into the room from the nearby kitchen, garlic oregano olive oil peppers Parmesan pesto, roasting chicken beef and veal, sautéed spinach and scampi, strong espresso and chocolate, ignite my hunger I start eating. I eat slowly, one thing at a time, though the addict in me and the alcoholic in me say go go go more more more. As we eat, we talk, talk about the game we just saw, Leonard and Snapper debate the merits of this restaurant against Italian restaurants in Manhattan and the Bronx. As we finish the first course, the door opens and two men step into the room. Both are large, thick, menacing men, with short hair, simple dark suits. Leonard and Snapper rise, greet them, introduce them to me. Both slip me cards when we shake hands, which I slip into my pocket. I’m curious to know what the cards are, what they say, who these men are, but I know I should wait, look at them later, if they wanted me to look at them now, they would have handed them to me, not slipped them to me.

  As more food arrives, large platters of food, spaghetti with meatballs, linguini with clam sauce, penne rigatoni pappardelle, chicken scarpariello, chicken contadino, chicken cacciatore, veal cutlets chops, veal saltimbocca, osso bucco, lobster ore
ganato, scampi fra diavolo, more people arrive. The table is filled, there are people standing around the table, in every corner of the room. I meet men some obviously Italian some not all wearing dark suits and wedding rings, I get slipped card after card. I meet women all beautiful some with the men, none wear wedding rings, I get slipped a couple of phone numbers. There are handshakes, kisses on cheeks, back-slaps, laughter laughter laughter. There are cigars, cigarettes, red wine, white wine, beer, cocktails, colas for me I love an ice-cold cola. Leonard and Snapper are having a great time, laughing and happy, when I’m not talking to someone I’m watching them. Leonard commands the room everyone is aware of his presence when he talks to them, they listen, as he moves from person to person, group to group, the attention is always focused on him.

  Hours pass quickly pass. It’s late, the room is still crowded. I’m full, tired, wired on caffeine and nicotine. My clothes smell like deep, strong cigars.

  My shirt has stains on it grease and tomato sauce. My pocket is full of cards. I tell Leonard I’m going home I feel like I can sleep, he walks me outside. I speak.

  You have a lot of friends, Leonard.

  Most of those people were there to meet you.

  Why?

  You ask them what they do for a living?

  No.

  You look at those cards they gave you?

  No.

  Look at them when you get home.

  Why?

  Every card you got tonight is more or less a get out of jail free card. You come work for me and nothing is going to happen to you. Every person in there will guarantee it.

  I laugh.

  You’re not gonna stop are you.

  Not until you stop working at the bar.

  I’ll give notice tomorrow.

  Leonard smiles.

  Ha-ha! That’s great news.

  I laugh.

  We don’t use contracts, but I’m gonna give you a signing bonus.

  I laugh again. He reaches into a pocket, pulls out a wad of rolled cash held together by a rubber band. He hands it to me.

  I can’t take this, Leonard.

  Sure you can, and you’re gonna.

  No way. This is a ton of dough, I haven’t done shit to earn it.

  So what. Take it. It’s your starting-up money.

  No.

  I hold the cash toward him. He shakes his head.

  We’ve been through this before, my son.

  What?

  When someone wants to do something nice for you, don’t argue, don’t resist, don’t say no, don’t try to change their mind. Just smile and say thank you and think about how fortunate you are to have generous people in your life.