Time: 13:10. Location: Yellow Daffodil Avenue, Johansen house.
Consolatio No.3 by Franz Liszt, enlivens the new complex. The masonry and construction crews clean up and pick up their work tools. As they climb into the black vans and drive away, it seems as if the heated pool has always had a place in those suburbs.
Room-temperature water flows from a rectangular fountain made of white ceramic. Framed by the tall, narrow-pointed windows, the other dwellings are lost in the hustle and bustle, oblivious to Johansen's present world. Through the glass one also catches the blurry silhouette of a child, the neighbor's chubby, mischievous son, sneaking out with a mischievous grin and a basketball in the hands. He plants himself in front of the newly installed glass, readies the ball, and throws it with all his might.
A large, hairy hand stops the ball in flight. The hand belongs to a stocky man dressed in a black leather trench coat. The face with thick red sideburns, usually kindly, at that moment looked annoyed as hell. The Polack waves a finger in front of the boy's face, reproving his attitude, then puts the ball between his calloused palms and squeezes. The ball explodes, and The Polack hands the dangling scrap to the boy, who retreats shrieking toward home.
The Polack shakes off his hands, takes one last look out the window to make sure everything is all right, and heads for the curb where a black Uaz Kazak awaits him with no pilot or occupants.
Back at the complex, the manager, clad only in a tight red thong, climbs down the stairs and into the pool, enjoying the sensation of the vital liquid climbing up his scrawny legs. Chicken Nugget, his Chihuahua, jumps right in and starts splashing and swimming with his little paws... Johansen gives the dog a tender look he would never show any human being.
The little man stands in the middle of the pool, the water is above his waist. He stretches out his arms, lets himself fall in, and allows the liquid to cradle him like a kind mother. He closes his eyes, Chicken Nugget barks with happiness, everything is perfect.
But Chicken Nugget's constant barking starts to get annoying. Johansen doesn't understand what's going on; Chicken Nugget is usually a pretty calm dog. He opens his eyes, and lets out a little yelp when he notices the figure standing at the edge of the pool. Johansen panics and kicks away, thinking at first that it is a thief, but on closer inspection he discovers that it is a teenage girl.
The mountain cap, white medical face mask, thick navy blue anorak, powdered pants, and construction site boots make her look like someone who dressed in a hurry and in the first thing she found in a dusty attic. With better clothes she would certainly look like a very pretty young girl.
"Who are you? How did you get in...?"
"I came in when the workmen got careless. Although it was strange, more than bricklayers they looked like thugs... But I prefer not to judge, I understand that sometimes appearances can be deceiving"
The dialogue was so sudden, so casual, as if it was natural for her to be there, that Johansen blinks in bewilderment and needs to shake his head to refocus and regain the indignation.
"Wait a minute! I know you, you're the girl who was with James the other day"
"I'm his daughter"
Johansen blinks again in astonishment, looks Veronica up and down, and his attention remains fixed on the girl's gray eyes.
"I guess you inherited everything from your mother. What do you want?"
"An apology"
"An apology?" Johansen arches an eyebrow.
"On the phone, or in writing, I don't care which way"
Johansen is silent for a few seconds and then bursts out laughing.
"Did I say something funny?" Veronica asks.
"Girl, you're the queen of comedy!"
"I recommend that you take my offer seriously and reconsider my request" Veronica's tone is slightly friendly, but her countenance is as stony as the gargoyles in the cemeteries.
Johansen continues to laugh.
"Me apologizing to the butter ball? Please, start valuing your time and mine" he stops laughing and slowly his countenance regains its sternness, though without a hint of humor. "You're lucky I don't call the police to kick you out for trespassing, and I only do that because knowing the family you have, I feel sorry for you"
"What does it cost you to apologize to my father?"
"Nothing. But that's more than he deserves"
"He's a good person"
"He's an alcoholic, a disgrace, and a loser. Run away as soon as you can, avoid ending up a person like him. It's advice from a man who did make it in life" He stretches his arms out as if to embrace the pool and exemplify the most recent of his accomplishments.
Such harsh and hurtful words seem to slip into Veronica's stoic countenance, or maybe they do, but the changes in her turbulent interior do not so easily transmit to the surface. Veronica turns and heads for the exit.
"If you steal anything from camina outside I'll find out and you'll pay dearly!" Johansen shouts behind her back.
Veronica ignores the little man's shout and, for an instant before leaving, feels the urge to kick over the expensive-looking vase by the door, but in the end dismisses the idea as unbecoming. She goes out and closes it.
...
Time: 16:06. Location: Bar 55 Fires.
The concert stage is empty and the spotlights are off, contributing to the overall comfortable low-light opacity of the atmosphere. Instead of a band, it is a long jukebox that fills the room with smooth jazz. The TV behind the bar is turned off, and the barman, a tall, bald man with a thick golden mustache that ends in a spike and two braids, is more focused on polishing the crystal glasses than on his few customers. James and Peter are used to Boris' equidistance by now, and it's not as if taking Boris away from his duties would transform him into a source of conversation, either, since he barely speaks English.
Peter takes the overflowing glass of German beer in his small hands and steeps. He is a dwarf, little people, but he drinks as if his body is bottomless. In a different mood perhaps James would have matched or surpassed him, but for the moment Veronica's father settles for a glass of ice water. Peter wipes the foam from his groomed goatee with the forearm and looks at his friend.
"You look long-faced, James. What's the matter now?"
"It's Sunday and I still can't find a place to earn my bread, that's what's the matter"
"But you've got all your bills up to date, haven't you?"
"Fortunately, but what if I don't get a job by the time that changes?"
"Avoid panicking. You'll work it out sooner or later"
"I'm not so convinced, and I don't think my family is either. Yesterday I found Veronica rummaging around in the attic... I asked her what was going on and she said it might be good for our finances to have a garage sale, selling everything we don't need"
"Veronica is a very conscientious daughter, you are lucky to have her. I'm still looking to do one myself, but the single life has too many irresistible freedoms"
Boris looks up from his glasses when he hears a topic that seems to interest him, but he only has coarse words for it.
"Family being important" With his fist he beats his strong chest a couple of times. "To be old and alone, with nobody... Sad and bad for the soul"
"Do you have a family, Boris?" Peter asks, but Boris is already lost again in the world of polishing glasses and arranging bottles on shelves. Peter turns his attention back to his friend, "Why don't you accept my job offer? I know I won't make you a millionaire, but in a comic book store no one will beat you up, believe me. The customers sometimes smell bad, but they're generally harmless"
James picks up the glass of water and starts swirling, his eyes following the movements of the ice cubes.
-I'm a burden to too many people. I don't want to be a burden to you, Peter"
"Bullshit! Remember how you protected me from bullies in high school?"
"If by protecting you mean getting beaten up too..."
"Blows for you were less blows for me. Thanks to that I'm still handsome and gallant today" he says, pushing back his lustrous brown hair with his hand. "Come on, join the club. Don't make me beg"
James smiles, encouraged by his friend's chatter.
"All right, I'll work with you"
"Great! You start tomorrow"
Peter pats James on the arm, and was about to entertain himself with the details of the routine at the Klaatu barada, but the opaque glass door opens with its usual creak and in walks a new face to the bar. The blonde woman in a tight pink dress glances inside, before striding past in heels so high that if she trips she could break the neck. Boris approaches where the woman waits to be served.
Peter whistles to himself.
"This bar has just moved up several notches in class. Since when have you seen Boris so chatty?"
Once again, James recognizes her.
"She's the woman I told you about, the lawyer's secretary"
"You lacked imagination in describing her. Her face rings a bell, too, like I've seen her somewhere else, but damn, my memory sucks" Peter turns the face to his friend and elbows him in the belly. "Go get her, tiger"
"What?"
"Buy her a drink"
James looks down and his tongue trips over the own words.
"Are you crazy? Did you see her level? I don't have enough"
"You're a good father, a good friend, a good person... You've got plenty, mate. Remember that if you want to win, you have to participate. Go on, or else I'll go ahead and take the cake"
James looks at the secretary in the distance, then looks at Peter, then looks at the glass of water, he swigs it up and finishes. He stands up and moves forward, nervous and perspiring and anxious to pretend he was actually heading for the exit, but forces himself to stand in front of Mandy. The secretary is deep in thought, cross-legged on a stool, staring at her long fingernails until she notices James' presence.
"Mr. Mayers, right?" Before James responds or recovers from the woman's dazzled expression, she takes his hand in hers, shaking it gently. "I'm so sorry about what happened... I really thought Justice would help you. It seemed strange to me, he doesn't usually flinch at anything"
"Oh, don't worry, I've already... I've moved on, I'm in another stage of life now"
"Sounds refreshed"
The secretary releases him. James closes and opens the hand she held a moment ago, lowers it, takes a deep breath and fills with courage, although he is mentally prepared to receive a refusal.
"Mandy... I can call you Mandy?"
"Can I call you James?"
"S-Sure"
"Then you can call me Mandy"
"Hey... Would you mind... Would you mind if I bought you a drink?"
Mandy smiles revealing her white teeth and replies:
"Of course"
James almost loses his breath.