Buddies

Buddies

Joey opened the front door of the neatly landscaped suburban house and motioned for Ron to enter. Ron hesitated. He had heard the sound of shattered glass when Joey went to the back of the house.

"It's okay," Joey said. "She'll just put it on my bill."

"We shouldn't be here." Ron looked behind him as if expecting a police car to pull up. 

"Yeah, yeah. Come in. It'll just take a minute."

Ron hesitated before entering, regretting it immediately as he watched Joey drop himself onto the white living room sofa like a bag of dirty laundry.

"What are you doing, Joey? Get what you need, and let's get out of here." Ron began to pace. "Jeannie could come home any minute."

"You've always been such a wuss, man." Joey put his shoes on the couch. "She won't be back till at least seven. Believe me, Jeannie lives by the clock. "We should have a drink first."  

"I don't want a drink. I want to get out of here. You said you just needed to get a couple of things." Ron knew he was whining and hated the sound of his own voice. "Why are you doing this?"

Joey stood at the cherrywood liquor cabinet, a bottle of Dewar's in his hand. "Because my mama taught me to share with my buddies." He laughed through his nose, an annoying habit Ron remembered from childhood. "Besides, she doesn't like scotch. This must be her new friend's drink of choice."

"I should never have come here with you. You know this is crazy, don't you?"

"Sure, it's crazy. Breaking into your own house and drinking your wife's lover's booze is crazy."

"Ex-wife. It's not your house anymore."

"Yeah, ex-wife. But with the money she sucked from me, this should still be my house." He held up the bottle. "And my booze." He surveyed the living room like an auditor calculating a company's assets. "This furniture is new. That lamp. And that picture of whatever the hell it is, it looks expensive."

"It probably is. Jeannie's doing well for herself."

Joey shrugged. Ron knew the shrug well. It meant Joey was going to do whatever the hell he pleased.  

He had followed Joey around since elementary school. Ron was the skinny Jewish kid with glasses who got picked on. To make matters worse, back in Junior High he had stuttered so badly his face would contort and his glasses would slip down his nose. Joey, the biggest kid in their class, befriended him, just for kicks, telling the other kids he was his brother.  

"I'm hungry," Joey shouted, moving so suddenly Ron looked to the front door. "Let's go see what she keeps in her refrigerator."  

"No, Joey. Enough is enough. Let's go."  

Ron knew Joey wasn't listening. He also knew he should leave, but they had come in Joey's car.  

"I'm calling Rachel," Ron said. "I'm telling her to pick me up." He turned towards the phone, but didn't move. Instead, he imagined the conversation he'd have with his wife.

--What are you doing at Jeannie's house? she'd ask.

--Joey needed to pick up a few things."

--What kind of things? They've been divorced almost two years.

--Yeah, well, that's what he told me.

--And you believed him?

--No. yes.  He needed company. He needed a friend. I don't know. I thought Jeannie would be home.

--You mean she isn't home? How'd Joey get in? He'd have to tell her that Joey broke in.

--And you followed?" Rachel would be screaming now. You're twenty-five years old. You're married and your wife is pregnant.  What's wrong with you? You and Joey aren't even friends anymore. 

No way he could explain how guilty he had felt since he and Rachel had been spending time with Jeannie and her fiancé, Austin. For almost a year, he had kept in touch with Joey secretly because Rachel disliked Joey with a passion. They'd meet for drinks after work--and laugh about the old days and about Jeannie.  But Ron never mentioned he kept in touch with Jeannie and Austin.  

Instead of calling Rachel, Ron turned to see what his friend was doing. He was piling meat--it looked like the remains of last night's turkey--onto a hoagie roll. Joey ran around the kitchen like a madman pulling out mayonnaise and mustard, lettuce and tomatoes, olives and pickles from the refrigerator and cupboards. "Where's the damn olive oil?" he muttered, looking like he did when he was twelve.  

Ron knew Joey was more than a little insane, but there was something so exciting about Joey's impulsiveness. He wished he could loosen up. At least sometimes.

"Joey, make me one of those sandwiches. But leave off the mayo. Oh, what the hell? I'm having whatever you're having."

"I knew you were cool." Joey laughed. "Here. Finish this bottle, buddy. Let's see what else she's got here." He ran back to the living room, leaving mayonnaise and turkey fat fingerprints on the cabinet. He rattled around until he found another bottle. This time it was bourbon. Returning to the kitchen, he made the sandwiches, and they passed the bottle back and forth. 

"You ever see Jeannie?" Joey asked. "I hear she 's going with someone, a stockbroker."

"Oh yeah?" Ron acted surprised. "Rachel calls Jeannie every once in a while. We've had dinner with her once or twice." He looked away. "I never heard anything about a stockbroker."

"I miss her," Joey said, wiping his nose, which had turned red. He took a long swig from the bottle. "But she screwed me royally."

Ron nodded, trying to be sympathetic and non-committal at the same time.

"Hey, speaking of royal screwing." Joey's voice grew loud. "You remember Louise Turner? I ran into her last week. Fat as a fucking house. I hardly recognized her."

"Louise Turner." Ron smiled. "How could I forget her? She was my first. What was it, our sophomore year in high school? You hooked us up. I'll always be grateful to you for that." Ron saluted Joey with the bottle and took a drink.

"Cured your damn stuttering," Joey said. "She fucked it right out of you."  

The two friends laughed like adolescents drinking under the bleachers during a high school dance.  

Even in their drunken stupor, they heard a key turn at the front door. Joey stood up and walked to the door. Ron tried, but the room tilted and he sat back down. Standing in the doorway was Austin.  

"Oh shit," Ron muttered.

"Who the hell are you?" Austin shouted at Joey. He wore a gray suit and a florescent green tie.  

"That is one ugly tie, man" Joey said, laughing through his nose. "Jeannie pick it out for you?"   

Ron tried again to stand, but the sandwiches and alcohol got the best of him. He vomited instead.

Austin looked past Joey. "What the hell is going on? Ron, what are you doing here?"

Joey turned to his buddy and stared for a moment before turning back to Austin.  

"You must be Mr. Snot Broker. I see ya got y'own key."

"And who are you?"

Austin walked to within inches of Joey. He was taller, but Joey stood his ground. Ron could see the veins in Joey's neck bulge.

"Let's get out of here," Ron said, rising, and pulling at Joey. Joey pushed him away. Ron lost his balance, grabbing Austin's leg as he fell.  Austin tried shaking Ron off like a naughty puppy, but slipped and fell to his knees. Ron laughed, but then he saw Joey's two hands, locked together, come down hard on the back of Austin's neck, causing his head to hit the floor with a thud.  

He groaned a few seconds, and then went silent. And still.

"Oh, man," Joey said, looking down at Austin and then at Ron.

"What the hell did you do that for, Joey? Why'd you hit him like that?"  

Ron saw the bloodshot slits that had become Joey's eyes. He fully expected his friend to punch him in the face. "I thought you said you didn't know him."

Ron looked away. He wanted to apologize, but then he remembered what Joey had just done.

Blood dripped from a gash on Austin's forehead, creating a small red puddle on the white tiled kitchen floor.  

"Joey, I'm calling an ambulance."

"Wait." Joey bent over Austin. He took his hand, trying to find a pulse. "Where the hell's the pulse, man?"

"I don't know. Is he breathing?"

"Oh shit, man. He's dead!" Joey was shaking. He made short, loud gasps. "We killed him."

"What do you mean we? You…"

Joey grabbed Ron by the shirt color.  "Let's think…We gotta think."

"About what? I'm calling the--"

"NO!" Joey pushed Ron away and he fell onto Austin. He broke his fall by putting his hand in the puddle of blood. He threw up again.

"He's your friend." Tears streamed down Joey's red face. "He's your goddamn friend. I'm getting the hell out of here."

"You can't, Joey. We can't just leave him. We'll say it was an accident. He tripped. I won't say anything about you hitting him, I promise. But we gotta see if he's okay." He bent over Austin, trying to see if he was still breathing. 

With that, Joey dashed for the door, not looking back.  

Ron stood up, wobbling for a few seconds, wiping blood and vomit from his hands onto his pants. His first impulse was to run after Joey the way he always did. Instead, he went to the phone and called 911. His hands shook.

He gave the operator the address, saying only that a man was hurt and needed an ambulance.

Austin began to stir, slowly rising to a sitting position. 

"Take it easy," Ron told him. "Stay where you are." He steadied him by putting his hand on his shoulder.

Ron wet a dishtowel and placed it on Austin's forehead. The bleeding had already stopped.

"What happened?" Austin asked. "What am I doing on the floor? All this blood and…did you throw up or did I?"

"An ambulance is on the way," Ron said. He told Austin the full story, including the details of the break-in, but leaving out the part about Joey hitting him in the back of his neck.  "You slipped on my vomit and hit your head."  Ron got another wet towel and handed it to him to clean off his suit. "Joey took off."

Austin stared at Ron, dazed. After a while, he said, "Thanks for not leaving me here." He held out his hand and the two men shook. "I've heard a lot about Joey. A real loser, Jeannie tells me. You might want to take off before the police get here."

"No," Ron said. "I'll wait with you."