A Bettor’s Bond

From the R.M. Dolin novel, “AN UNSUSTAINABLE LIFE – The Book of Darwin”

Chapter 6: A Bettor’s Bond

“You tell me this now!” Vincent shouts in hushed anger as he hands Darwin his drink. “The day of the freaking christening!”

“Look,” Darwin attempts to further clarify, “don’t make this into something it’s not.”

“I’ll decide what this is and what it’s not,” Vincent fires back. “Now tell me again, from the beginning, so I can gauge just how freaking crazy you really are.”

“Like I said, it’s last month when I’m hanging at Murphy’s after you leave, you remember, the day I won the Pappy Winkle on our Harry Carey bet.”

“That bet got nullified.”

“Yeah, but I still won. Anyway, that’s not the point. I’m sitting at the bar watching the Cubs piss away another game when Lenny plops down on your vacated stool, that’s how I know I won our bet, he actually counts how many words Harry mashes in his song. So, we’re sitting there bullshitting about old school days and eventually get around to our Sammy Sosa bet. I don’t tell him what we wagered, only that we did and that I’m more than certain I’ll win, cause you know, I usually structure bets so I do, which is why after all these years I don’t understand why you insist on betting me, it’s like you suffer from Charlie Brown football syndrome. Well, it turns out Lenny’s as hopelessly removed from reality as you cause next thing I know, he’s insisting I let him in for a piece of the action.”

“What action,” Ilene interrupts making her sudden and unexpected appearance. Vincent and Darwin wheel around in horror to find her holding a baby in one arm and a bag of curlers in the other. The horror’s not for the stern unforgiving way she looks but for what she might have heard and what was about to be revealed that would cause a matrimonial catastrophe. The boys work double overtime, coming up with a proper response. They can’t lie; Ilene has an uncanny ability to see through obfuscation. There’s probably some psychological theory out there about how when someone’s under pressure they revert to trained response, a theory validated by both Vincent and Darwin as they simultaneously fall back on their Saint Stanislas School for Wayward Boys’ mantra that, a sin of omission is a sin against truth and in this instance, omission’s a sin they’re willing to let their souls absorb.

Just as this train seems ready to wreak, they’re saved by bad wardrobe decisions. “I hope that’s not what your wearing,” Ilene lectures Darwin unaware of the escalating tension she’s ignited, “you are after all, Issac’s Godfather. She starts to hand Issac to Vincent when a knock on the door diverts her. Rushing to answer, Ilene flings the door open without checking to see who it might be. “Gwen!” she shouts. “Just in time.” She shoves the bag of curlers into Gwen’s stomach, grabs her free hand, and ushers her past the boys into the bathroom so fast Gwen doesn’t have a chance to say hello to Darwin even though she tries.

“That was weird,” Darwin surmises in the aftermath of their whirlwind moment.

“What matters is that what could have ended really bad actually ends about as good as it could have, and did you see the way Gwen wanted to say hello? Ilene whisks her away so fast you don’t even have time to make your move.”

“I’m not making any moves.”

“So says the player.” Vincent sarcastically states while sampling his cocktail. “She’s a beautiful woman actively looking for a good man and while you’re a man-” He pauses for effect because in the business of brotherly banter, this is a softball moment. “Let’s just let it go at that.”

“I don’t have time for such foolishness,” Darwin scoffs.

“Damn straight you don’t because you got a helluva lot of explaining to do. Since we were kids, you could always be counted on to do dumb-ass shit, but this crazy nonsense is outside even your box.” Vincent glares at his brother with detrimental judgment reiterating his frustration. “You got a shitload of explaining to do and a short window to do it.”

Darwin’s about to respond when Ilene re-enters, only this time without the baby or curlers. She looks Darwin over. “I don’t think we got to closure on our wardrobe discussion.” Ilene carefully assesses both men. “And just to be clear, my critics are directed at both of you.”

“I don’t have many options,” Darwin defends, “on account of living out of a suitcase but yes ma’am, I plan to change.”

Ilene smiles approvingly, “Gwen likes the green shirt you wore at the hospital, says it makes you look distinguished. Not sure I see it,” she teases, “but I’m not the one you need to impress.” She shifts focus to her husband with grave disappointment, “Your first-born son’s being baptized, and this is what you wear?” Vincent’s about to respond but gets cut off, “Don’t even try one of your lame excuses, just assume you’re in serious need of a complete redo.” She walks over and fondly runs her hand through Vincent’s hair while kissing him on the cheek. “I like the suit you wore at the Maui conference, makes you look debonair, and just so you know, I’m the only one you need to impress.” Before Vincent has time to mount any sort of rebuttal, Ilene bounces back to the bathroom to do whatever it is women do when they get ready for big events.

With his wife safely tucked of earshot range Vincent regains the confidence to freely speak his mind and like any devoted husband, to make sure he has the last word, “Yes dear,” he mocks. “I need to change, Darwin needs to change, baby Issac definitely needs to change, I can smell the waste stream of his shit factory all the way out here.” He looks at Darwin. “We best we be about changing us before we’re tasked with changing him; I’m pretty damn sure whatever the hell he’s got coming out ain’t even human.”

Vincent assumes his comments are indiscernible to the bathroom occupants, that is until Ilene pokes her head around the bathroom door, “FYI tough guy, I heard that.” One side of Ilene’s head is rolled up in bright pink curls while the other’s an untamed tangle of mane making it hard to look anything but ridiculous even though she trying to hold a hard prison guard glare, “you should see the shit-show in here,” she says laughing, “I mean really, a literal shit-show. Gwen’s attempting a diaper change but Issac’s blasting bolder than her uninitiated noise can handle. You boys drink your bourbon with charm and sophistication but know this, you’re both on diaper duty once we’re dressed and trust me,” she adds smiling coyly, “even after your rotation in pediatrics, you ain’t ready for what’s coming.” Ilene sizes both men up satisfied she’s made her point and that the new-mom duty she’s putting in now will be rewarded in the comical relief that awaits when the boys take over Issac’s care. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll thank you to keep your derogatory comments to yourself.” With that, she closes the bathroom door to continue whatever it is women do behind bathroom doors.

Even with the door closed, the boys can hear Ilene and Gwen loudly laughing and giggling, with an occasional expression of surprise tossed in as Issac does whatever it is babies do when life is good.

“If I didn’t love her,” Vincent says with admiration, “I do believe I’d fall in love.” He sips his cocktail before continuing. “It’s important ya know, finding a woman who makes her point with kind sarcasm rather than ugly anger; it falsely allows one to retain a modicum of manhood while being utterly emasculated.” Setting his drink down, Vincent returns to his more pressing matter, “okay Obi-wan, back to you telling me what the hell’s happening.”

Darwin considers what elements of his life are open to cross examination and what should remain on a need-to-know basis. Since the whole point of coming to Chicago was for Vincent to help ground him and get his head screwed back on, he goes with being open book. Borrowing a page from Ilene’s play book, Darwin decides to go with a ‘big game hunter,’ persona. “Well,” he begins, “there I was, down to Murphy’s watching the Cubs get swept by the Mets diminishing their playoff possibilities, Sammy comes to the plate at the top of the ninth representing the tying run. Lenny’s all jazzed up about how it’s not over till it’s over, that Sosa’s gonna come through on his way to winning the home run title. Now you know me well enough to know that one thing’s gonna lead to another and before long, me and Lenny are making a wager. Same one you and I made, the one that got the family its newest engineer.

“It’s interesting how two people, blinded by perspective, can be watching the same something and come away with polar opposite conclusions; a fascinating element of humanity I suppose. Well anyway, there I am, watching Lenny watch Sammy battle off pitch after pitch convinced Sammy’s just toying with the pitcher as he waits for the perfect throw to drive one out of the park. Keep in mind Sosa’s gone to the warning track on two previous bats so in theory, one could argue, he’s due, which is pretty much the theory everyone in the bar’s operating under. Me on the other hand, I’m watching Sammy battle off pitches thinking he’s got nothing today, that he’s barely able to make contact with what seem like very hittable balls. As Lenny’s confidence in a positive Cubs outcome escalates, mine heads south as a lifetime of being a pragmatic Cub’s fan mandates.

“Now I haven’t spent any time with Lenny since high school, so I’m not completely sure who I’m dealing with, but he starts trash talking about how we need to up the stakes. I’m trying to slow his roll but the way he’s cajoling me is starting to piss me off. I finally tell him I won’t raise the stakes cause there ain’t a snowballs chance in hell Sosa gets a hit. That should have ended things, right? Only it doesn’t, now we’re arguing about the likelihood Sosa overtakes McGwire for the home run title. Next thing I know we’re shaking on our new wager. I want the stakes to be a round of beers but he’s in full escalation mode and you know how you die-hard Cubby fans can get. He starts calling me a pussy for making a woman’s wager and if my time in St. Stan’s brickyard taught me anything, it’s that you don’t let shit like that go unchallenged. So, one thing leads to another and before long, we’re wagering five grand, which is nothing for me, right, but probably everything Lenny owns, which is insane.

“Next thing I know, I’m all up in his face saying I bet when I win, he’ll come up with some shitty excuse to welsh. Well to Lenny, those are fighting words so now, Murphy’s across the bar breaking us up and the whole bar’s turning on me like a pack of hyenas because I insulted one of them-and-theirs. As Murphy sets us down, he declares we each gotta put something up as a show of good faith, calls it an escrow payment. I’m okay with that and agree to bring five grand by tomorrow for Murphy to hold. Now though, Lenny’s getting all squiggly, says he doesn’t have that kind of cash. So, then everyone at bar gets all worked up vowing to cover him, only Lenny’s not having it, he tells Murphy that he’ll drop by with the pink slip to his beloved 68 Shovelhead Harley, which causes the faithful to groan and mutter all kinds of insults at me.

“Now I got pot odds, right, my five grand against his classic Harley easily worth five times as much. And since he who was once named Joseph the future writer, is now Issac the future engineer, you know better than anyone how this story ends.”

“You bastard!” Vincent abruptly interjects, “you know Lenny ain’t got shit and you take the only thing he cares about.”

“In my defense,” Darwin fires back, “I tell Lenny the same thing I told you, that he doesn’t have to pay up, that it was just a friendly wager that got out of control and there’s no need to honor the debt. Well, Lenny’s the same stubborn-ass stupid as you and goes all in on how a deal’s a deal and a man shouldn’t make a bet he can’t cover. Fair enough I say, but reasonableness, especially between brothers if not friends, has to intervene. I mean you still have like an hour to change Issac back to Joseph, and I won’t care if you do, but once he’s baptized, that that.

“It was the same with Lenny, I tell him I don’t want his precious Shovelhead but that just seems to piss him off more, he starts going off about me being a highfalutin dot comm’er talking down to him. Says I can take my arrogance and shove it up my ass.”

“So, you take his Harley.” Vincent indignity determines.

“I take his Harley.”

“You don’t even know how to ride motorcycles.”

“That’s the ironic part, not only does it break his heart to part with his beloved Harley, he has to teach me how to ride it, sorta like having to teach your best buddy how to make out with your girlfriend. I didn’t enjoy riding away on his Harley, but I did it just the same.”

“You cold heartless bastard!”

“Well, wait, the story’s not finished. Next day I ride down to Lenny’s shop on Cicero and as I roll up on my new shovelhead, there’s a bunch of biker dudes from his club hanging around and I’m thinking, oh boy, this isn’t gonna end well. But I came as a trader bearing gifts and figure it best I do what I came to do otherwise me and Lenny are always gonna have this thing between us, just like I keep telling you to change Issac back to Joseph so there’s nothing hanging between us, only I’m hoping Lenny’s more reasonable than you.

“Anyway, there I am, surrounded by these rough looking biker dudes and I know I gotta be cautious and careful cause I’m on their turf now and one wrong move is curtains for me. When I first get off the bike, I’m not entirely certain they’re gonna let me have my say, but they do, so, I start in on how I need a bike dependable enough to get me to New Mexico without breaking down and as much as I like the shovelhead, it seems like a mechanical nightmare. I ask Lenny if he’ll trade me for something more dependable, like a BMW, but that goes over like asking for a Budweiser at Murphy’s. One of the biker dudes who seems to be the leader suggests that what I want is the kind of road-worthy Harley he just happens to be in possession of.

“The leader dude shows me this bike that he says Lenny’s about to chop and if I’m not the kind to ask too many questions, is the kind of ride capable of getting me to New Mexico. I’m not certain what chopping means, but I remembered Lenny telling me he does autopsies on Harley’s and figure it means they’re going to gut the bike for parts. When I agree to the trade, the whole mood in the bike shop changes, it’s like I’m now one of them. The leader even comes up to me afterwards with beers and starts talking about how much that shovelhead means to Lenny and how it was a damn nice thing I did for him.

So now I’m an affiliate member of a biker gang all because Sosa struck out but at least my new brothers are sharing all kinds of advice on how one does a ride all the way to New Mexico, you know strategies for riding, gear ya need, what to do if this and that happens. They even invite me to do a few rides with them, you know, to get my sea legs. So, I no longer own Lenny’s shovelhead, but I do have a Harley that I’m riding to New Mexico after little Issac gets baptized.

“You bet five grand on the Cubs!” Vincent screams in a whisper so as not to once again reach Ilene’s radar.

“Not on the Cubs, against the Cubs, if history’s any kind of teacher, it teaches that the Cubbies will give you hope right up until they don’t. Besides, it’s a nice Harley and there’s no way I was gonna lose and even if I do, five grand means nothing to me. Even you have to admit, you die hard Cub fans are easy pick-ens.”

“Wow.” Vincent sits down on the couch to let it all sink in. “You’re a freaking traitor, Dad would be so disappointed, he’d say he raised you better than that. So, you sold your soul to win a Harley, tell me sport, really, how’s it make you feel? I mean now you own a Harley, good for you, freaking good for freaking you, but what the hell does that have to do with you riding a motorcycle to New Mexico in October, that’s insane. If I didn’t think you were crazy for being a traitor, this sort of behavior should get you committed for even more egregious insanity. If, and this is a big if, if you don’t freeze to death on the ride, you’ll probably crash on icy roads. It’s insane.”

“I’m going south dude;” Darwin dismissively asserts. “It’s not like I’m riding to Milwaukee. As long as I leave on a nice day, I’ll be fine. Besides, there’s this mountain property north of Taos that just came on the market and my realtor says I have to act quick.”

“Oh, so now, in addition to all your other crazy shit, you’re buying a plot of land in the desert.”

“It’s slightly more than a plot of land and it’s not in the desert; it’s in the wilderness mountains just south of Colorado.”

“How much more than a plot?”

“According to my realtor,” Darwin embarrassedly answers, “an entire mountain.”

“Let me get this straight so I know what insane asylum to commit you to, you quit an incredibly lucrative gig in silicon valley, walk out on the woman you profess to love profusely, abandon the life you made for yourself in California, con one of your best friends out of their beloved Harley on a disgusting bet, and to celebrate all this crazy chaos, you’re buying a mountain you’ve never seen in a place you’ve never been and you’re getting there by motorcycle in October?”

Darwin nods in tacit agreement.

“I’m starting to rethink this whole letting you be Issac’s Godfather deal. I mean the poor kid’s gonna have a sometimes-psycho Godmother and full-time crazy-ass Godfather, God forbid anything should happen to me and Ilene, the kid wouldn’t have a chance at coming out normal.”

“So, you’re keeping the name even though I released you from your obligation?”

“A bet’s a bet brother; some bonds must be honored. Besides, I think that ship’s pretty much sailed at this point and being an engineer probably leads to a better life than being a writer, although it doesn’t seem to be going all that well for you.”

While Darwin knows he needs to let Vincent vent, it’s starting to piss him off. “Look,” he says, “I was leaving California way before I sold my company, that was just the tar that paved the way. Becky’s bad luck, not so much for me, but for her with me. She’s convinced she could have saved me and the thing is, you can’t save someone who won’t admit they need saving; even when they know they do. In the end, she deserves better and the thing is, someone always has to be the someone who knows things are over, someone’s always moving on while the other someone’s drowning in uncertainty. I did the right thing by Lenny after he messes up. I mean when someone gets all up in your face being stupid, ya can’t be responsible for how it ends but can at least try to fix it. Even you have to give me that one; I mean what kind of fool bets on the Cubs; if they ain’t up fifteen games with fourteen to go, you take the Lenny bet every time.

“I’ll give you buying a New Mexico mountain is a candidate for crazy town. I don’t know how to explain it, it just feels like fate wants me there. Every time I reach a juncture in my journey toward whatever the hell I’m supposed to do with my life, fate puts me on the road to New Mexico. I tell my realtor I’m looking for something secluded, she asks how secluded, and I say very. I’m thinking five, maybe ten acres in the Wisconsin headwaters or Michigan’s upper peninsula but the next thing I know, she’s telling me about an entire damn mountain in some remote wilderness. I mean on the one hand, why did fate give me all this money if not for that? I’ll admit I don’t know what it is I’m looking for but on the off chance this is it, I gotta check it out. Besides, what the hell else am I gonna to do, sit around here waiting for spring training while giving Gwen false hope.”

“So, you’re saying that right now, sitting in the parking garage downstairs, is a gassed up, fully outfitted Harley you intend to ride to New Mexico?”

“I won that bet for a reason, that’s all I’m saying, and ya gotta honor the better’s bond or fate might forget about you in the future.”