The Homeless Millionaire

Harry's girlfriend lived on a quiet, leafy residential street pretty close to the restaurant; I had the feeling that was why Harry had chosen it for our lunch. We left the car in the restaurant lot and walked over to Gina's place and parked ourselves in front of her house around half past five. We didn't ring the bell or knock: Harry was sure she hadn't come home from work yet.

"What if she went somewhere after work?" I asked, a couple of minutes into our vigil.

Harry shook his head.

"No way," he said. "Gina has her sacred routines, man. Even when there's a party happening right after work, she's gotta go home, shower, change, that kind of stuff. I told you she's an accountant, man. She likes order."

"Okay," I said, wondering how a girl like Gina could have ever hooked up with someone like Harry.

"In a bar," Harry said dreamily, "Or rather outside a bar. Me and a couple of people were having a toke, and she asked if she could join us."

I was really spooked by Harry's psychic powers. I gave him a startled glance, and he grinned and shrugged.

"People always wonder how the hell we got together," he said.

When Gina showed up, I saw why.

She drove a red 1970 Camaro, which I guess hinted at her personality. But when she'd parked it and got out, I saw a woman whose appearance screamed accountant from long off.

She wore dark blue skirt suit with a faint pinstripe - I remembered he'd told me his dentist girlfriend used to dress like that, and briefly wondered whether he had a thing for pinstriped-suit women, or maybe if pinstriped-suit women had a thing for him. She had big accountant's glasses in a black frame on her nose. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and she carried a serious-looking brown leather briefcase.

She locked the car and walked up to the house without looking at us once, as if ignoring our presence. When she was a couple of steps away, Harry said:

"Hi, Gina."

She slowed down a little and finally deigned to look at us and her lips twitched in a brief smile. She had nice lips and a nice chin and a nice nose but I had the impression there was something odd about her eyes.

"Half an hour," she said, and walked on and into the house, closing the door without glancing back.

"Let's go back to that place and grab another beer," Harry said. "Man, I knew it. I f.u.c.k.i.n.g knew it! That last beer put me in the groove for more."

We went back to the restaurant where we'd had our lunch. The waitress that had served us the first time around gave us a startled look when we walked in. Maybe she thought we came to take back the tip we'd left her.

"Gina's got a squint, man,"Harry told me, once we'd sat down and lit up and had a couple of swigs. "It's a tiny squint, and in my personal opinion it just gives her extra charm, but she's very self-conscious about it. Don't stare at it if you can help it."

"I won't," I said.

"It's her left eye that's affected. When you talk with her, stand to her right. She'll be more relaxed if you do."

"I'll remember that," I said.

I did. But when we went back after exactly thirty minutes ('She's very precise, man. We gotta be punctual'), she was standing on the right side of the path leading to the front steps of her house and standing to the right of her would mean standing on the lawn. So I just hung back behind Harry, who walked up to her and said:

"Gina. You going somewhere? Is it a bad time?"

"It's fine," she said. "I'm taking tomorrow off, so it's actually perfect. But I found out I'm about to run out of coffee and some other stuff. I'll be back in twenty."

She put keys in Harry's hand. She'd changed into a long brown leather coat and a thick sweater and jeans and boots.

"This is Mike. I told you about him," Harry said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"Nice to meet you, Mike," she said, passing me and throwing me a quick look without turning her head, with her good right eye. She walked up to her red Camaro and I heard her drive away just as we were entering the house.

It was a two-floor family house split into two flats. We mounted the staircase and Harry unlocked the door and we went inside Gina's home.

It didn't have a hallway, we walked right into the living room. There was a small sofa upholstered in dark green leather parked in front of a TV set with four spindly aluminum legs. A dining table had been pushed into a corner by an open doorway that showed kitchen counters and a refrigerator. There were a couple of dark wooden chairs by the table and another next to a big bookshelf overstuffed with books.

The sofa was flanked by a tall lamp with a bowl-shaped embroidered cloth lampshade with short tassels, and a small round side table with a couple of fashion magazines and a large brass ashtray. The walls and ceiling were painted pale lemon, and the closed, dark wood door at the other end from the kitchen probably led to Gina's bedroom.

It was a very nice room. The sofa was nice-looking too, even though the leather had cracked here and there. But it was way too small for me to sleep on.

Harry went to the kitchen and returned with two cold bottles of Kokanee True Ale, what else. He gave me one and said:

"Make yourself at home."

Then he parked his a.s.s on the sofa next to the side table and picked up one of the magazines and got working on a joint.

I lit a cigarette and had a swig of good old True Ale and walked up to the window looking out onto the street. The first thing that caught my eye was the number of the house directly across the street. It was spelled out by big shiny metal numerals fixed to the wall by the front door, and it was 431.

I went over to tap the ash off into the brass ashtray and said:

"Harry, I've got to back home. I mean, to the island."

He looked up at me, raising his eyebrows.

"You serious?"

I laughed at that, and after a moment so did he.

"Care to tell me why?" he asked.

I shrugged and said:

"It's just a feeling I have."

"Is it a strong feeling?"

"Yes."

Harry sighed.

"I can't drive you to Lion's Bay, man," he said. "I'm bombed, and intend to get bombed even more."

"That's okay," I said. "I'll take a cab."

"It's gonna cost you."

"I know."

"Wait. I put a padlock on the front door. Got a little freaked out by that story of yours about the guys in the damaged sailboat. We've got to exchange keys."

I gave him the set I'd been issued with and he gave me his, with the extra key for the padlock.

"When are you coming back?" I asked.

Harry shrugged.

"Tomorrow's Friday," he said. "Might as well go on and spend the weekend with Mom. I'm not sure. We'll see."

He seemed hurt I was leaving just like that. So I said:

"I've just got to look at my stuff right away. You know, select some for Chaz. And see whether I can do a couple that will blow him away."

"Irresistible creative urge, eh?" The way he smiled when he said that told me he'd bought my lie.

"Yes," I lied again. "I'm seeing him Tuesday. Will you be back before Tuesday?"

"Oh right, right. Let's see. Okay. I'll be back Sunday afternoon at the latest. I won't get a ride to the island otherwise. Then we can go down to see Chaz together Tuesday. I'll make sure he doesn't f.u.c.k you too hard."

"That's really nice of you, Harry."

"Gotta support the arts," he said, and refocused on putting his joint together.

I quickly finished the beer and my cigarette, and left.

There was a cab rank near the restaurant where we ate our lunch and I was walking there when Gina's red Camaro passed me, going the other way. It made me quicken my step. Then I remembered that I'd left the bag with my new jacket in Harry's car.

I stopped and hesitated for a little while and then told myself that I'd managed without it so far, and would survive the next couple days. I'd just stay indoors if it got cold.

I had just over forty bucks left in my wallet by the time I finally got home, after dark. By then, I knew the right course to take, but the falling night made me steer straight for the island instead of to its east. I remembered about those f.u.c.k.i.n.g rocks just in time and passed them by no more than fifty feet.

I kept cursing myself for getting so spooked by the number on that house but it really was just too f.u.c.k.i.n.g much. It had been a momentous day during which I'd gone from hell to heaven and back a few times. I'd even contemplated suicide when I was standing by the entrance to Loretta's and smoking a cigarette while Chaz was looking at my pictures. I'd imagined him shaking his head sadly while he looked at them, and later telling me to switch to house painting for a living.

Momentous days are often exhausting days, and I felt so tired once I was safely bolted inside Harry's house that I lay down and went to sleep right away.

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