The Homeless Millionaire

"You want to come into town with me today?" asked Harry.

I looked at him through the blue haze that hung in the kitchen. We'd pigged out on eggs and bacon and drank a quart of coffee each and now were giving our hearts some extra workout by chain-smoking cigarettes. You gotta show your heart who is the boss. I said:

"You serious?"

"What's the matter with you, man? You're asking me if I'm serious like every five minutes. Is it something on my face? I'd better go wash my face."

"Your face is fine, Harry," I said. "I just didn't expect you to leave that quickly. I mean, you only arrived yesterday."

"I'm not leaving. I'm coming back. There are a couple of things I need to fix in my room and I just found out I don't have all the necessary stuff, so I've got to hit Canadian Tire or some other hardware store... Say, you wouldn't have a box of Polyfilla in your bag?"

"No."

"Didn't think so. I've got to get some screws too. And the level I've got is f.u.c.k.e.d up."

He seemed to be talking in some kind of a strange code. I smoked my cigarette and tried to work it out. Harry said:

"Listen, man. Maybe you should lay off the pot for a while. I mean you're asking me if I'm serious every fifteen seconds and now you're looking like you don't understand English. Screws, man. Those pointy metal things you screw into wood. You've never seen a spirit level? One of those things with a little glass window in the middle and a bubble that shows when the level is horizontal? Earth to space cadet Mike, are you receiving?"

"I thought that screws meant you had to visit your girlfriend. And that maybe 'level' was some kind of code for your d.i.c.k."

Harry sighed.

"Man, you'd better try going straight for a while," he said. "It's dangerous, staying alone out here and staying stoned all the time. I've done it only too often myself, so I should know."

"So maybe now you're here we should smoke a joint. What do you say?"

Harry laughed weakly, and looked at the kitchen clock. He said:

"Well, I guess I can waste an hour getting wasted. But then I've really got to go. You coming?"

"Sure," I said. "I miss the big city, and all of its attractions."

"You know something? Maybe you could take a couple of drawings or paintings along. We could drop in on Space."

"What?"

"The art gallery I was telling you about. It's called The Space. It's owned by this guy called Space, you dig?"

"You're friends with Space?"

"No, his junior partner. Very junior, but very influential. Space knows nothing about art. He's a guy with too much money that he's spending to pretend he's got refined tastes. He can't really tell a turd from a flower, but he owns an art gallery, right? It's my pal that does all of the actual buying and selling. Yeah, it's a good idea. Grab some of your stuff and we'll go see him."

"Excellent," I said, and I meant it.

We smoked that joint and talked for a while of this and that, and then Harry went off to make a detailed shopping list while I selected stuff to take to The Space. It quickly became apparent I shouldn't have smoked any pot. I couldn't make up my mind what to take. Harry was all done and ready to leave while I still smoked and stared at the pictures scattered on the coffee table and changed my mind every ten seconds.

In the end Harry was the one that did the selecting. I stood by the window with my back turned smoking yet another cigarette. It was quite nice outside, but it looked gusty. The trees trembled and swayed. It looked as if they were shivering with cold, although it was a sunny day. Life was full of funny little paradoxes like that.

It was eleven by the time we cast off and headed out for Lion's Bay. Like I'd suspected, it was gusty out on the water, the wind suddenly whooshing in and dying out and whooshing in again. I felt cold and had to accept the sad truth that I'd have to invest some money in warmer clothing. It would make a real dent in my wallet, and I became glum.

Harry misinterpreted my mood. When we'd moored the boat and were walking to his car, he said:

"Don't worry, man, things will work out fine. I've known Chaz for years, and I know what he likes. He'll take your stuff."

"Chaz?"

"The art gallery guy."

"What about this other guy, the owner. Doesn't he have a say?"

"He does, but he's wise enough to stay out of it. Knows his limitations. And anyway what he's really interested in is boasting to people how he'd made a killing on this picture and another on that one and generally work on his image as a major prophet discovering new talent."

"Prophets are funny people," I said.

Harry's Volkswagen was parked behind the marina shop, in a space marked for employees only.

"You work here, Harry?" I asked when he was unlocking the door.

"No, man. But I'm a highly privileged customer, if you know what I mean. The staff here value good smoke."

"I see," I said.

We were at the Canadian Tire store Harry had chosen just before noon, and Harry got his stuff while I found and tried on a male outdoor jacket with synthetic fleece lining and a hood that folded into the thick collar. It was on clearance sale and I paid just twelve bucks for it. It was dark green and had plenty of roomy pockets and generally was a great buy. The only thing I disliked about it was the stupid machine-stitched anchor on the left b.r.e.a.s.t. There was no way to remove it without damage to the jacket, from what I could see.

It was past one by the time we got to the Space art gallery: we had to drive halfway across town. Harry's pal Chaz wasn't there, he'd gone to have lunch. Harry talked to a while to the girl who was manning, or maybe womanning, the reception while I stood by the entrance outside smoking and wishing I'd put on my new jacket right away.

The wind really was piercing at times, but I didn't want to go into the gallery. I didn't want to look at the pictures in there and find out that they were really good and that my stuff was shit by comparison.

"Let's go see Chaz," Harry said, upon emerging. "He's having lunch at a place nearby. Maybe we can grab a shot of something to warm us up, hey?"

"Why not," I said.

Chaz turned out to be holed up at a small restaurant called Loretta's. It was one of those places with a row of booths down one wall and a bar counter down the other. Chaz was ensconced in the booth right at the back, next to the kitchen doors. You really couldn't sit down any farther from the entrance.

This was a wise strategic move on Chaz's part, because he looked like shit. His face was grey in spite of being tanned and his eyes were a tangle of red lines. He hadn't shaved and hadn't combed his hair. But he was wearing a sharp charcoal-grey sport jacket with a slightly soiled white shirt and a knitted black tie that was askew. He had parked one of his hands next to a tumbler of what looked like a gin and tonic. The cigarette smoldering between the fingers trembled slightly.

Generally speaking, Chaz looked as if he might fall apart at any moment and he didn't inspire me with any confidence.

"Hey there, man," said Harry, sliding into the seat across the table.

Chaz looked at him blearily for a while. He seemed about to say something, then he changed his mind. He took a hit from his cigarette and it was a wonder it ever found its way to his mouth, his hand shook so badly. I hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to Harry.

"Had a real party, eh?" Harry said. That elicited a response from Chaz. He said:

"F.u.c.k." He had a nice voice, a deep baritone. He probably made a lot of sales with that voice.

He looked at his drink and he lifted his glass off the table and chugged down the contents in one go, as if he was drinking water. Maybe it was water, who knew. Water on the rocks, garnished with a slice of lime.

"F.u.c.k," Chaz said again, and a waitress appeared as if he'd just summoned her. She was a pretty young thing with an intelligent face, most likely a student working part time. She said to Chaz:

"More?"

He nodded, and Harry said:

"And two more of the same."

"Three triple gin and tonics," the girl said, making sure.

"Uh, make two of them doubles. Maybe you should make all three doubles. What do you think, Chaz?"

Chaz nodded again. That seemed to be all he was capable of, at the present moment. The waitress went off, and Harry said:

"Your girl back at the gallery told us you were having lunch. Is this your lunch?"

"No," said Chaz. "It's breakfast."

"But you'll eat something, won't you? It will do you good."

"I've tried that already," said Chaz. "Spent a while kneeling over the toilet bowl. No, man. It's a liquid diet for me. My stomach just can't handle any solid stuff. Though now you bring it up, I guess it could use some roughage. Maybe I'll nibble on some ice."

"That must have been some party," Harry said.

"You bet. You'd party a little too, if you'd just made twenty grand on single sale."

"Wow. You made twenty grand yesterday?"

"Yes."

"Wow."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. I'm giving work a miss today."

"Your Space guy won't be upset with you taking off?"

"I'm officially at work. Melanie will cover for me. Haven't got any appointments today. She can handle people who drift in."

I took out my cigarettes and my Zippo lighter and offered the pack to both Harry and Chaz. Chaz shook his head and took a crumpled pack of Marlboros from the side pocket of his jacket and we all lit up. Harry said:

"Chaz, are you ready to discover a new genius?"

I flinched when I heard that, but Chaz didn't seem to mind. He said:

"Sure. I'm always ready to discover a new genius. That's why I'm one hell of an art dealer. What have you?"

"I have him," Harry said, pointing me out with a jerk of his head.

Chaz examined me critically. His face suggested he didn't quite like what he saw. He said:

"Show me."

"We left the pictures in the car," Harry said, before I had a chance to open my mouth. "It's parked by the gallery. Want us to get them?"

Chaz contemplated this for a little while. Then he said:

"No, man. Let me have another drink and freshen up a little and then we can go to your car. I've got to drop by the gallery, too. Just to check everything's running all right."

"Great," Harry said.

We all had a buzz going by the time we left Loretta's Restaurant. Chaz spent five minutes in the can prior to leaving, and emerged looking like a sharp young businessman, maybe just slightly worse for wear and tear. He'd even shaved: it turned out he kept a disposable razor in his pocket, as well as a toothbrush. I began to feel that Chaz was a capable guy.

We got to the car and I just f.u.c.k.i.n.g froze, couldn't bring myself to take the pictures out and show them to Chaz. I mumbled an excuse about having left something in the restaurant and trotted off, leaving Harry to show my stuff for me.

I actually walked all the way back to the restaurant and smoked a cigarette by the entrance before walking back. I still had the notebook page with Roch's phone number in the b.r.e.a.s.t pocket of my jeans jacket, and intended to use it as proof, if need arose. I was going to say it dropped out of my pocket when I was pulling out my cigarettes back in there.

As it turned out, no one asked me about it. Harry and Chaz were leaning against the car and smoking, and from the way they went all alert when they heard my footsteps I guessed they were smoking a joint.

I was right. I arrived just in time to get a single hit from what remained. Harry ground out the roach on the ground with the tip of his boot and a short silence followed. It was a very tense silence for me.

Then Chaz said:

"You've got a bright future in front of you, lad. Let's go inside and have a little talk."

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