Higher Powers

by David P. Hillgrove

copyright©1997 All Rights Reserved

Chapter Four

It was Friday, and for most folks, this was a working day.

It was for Joe Sullivan, as well, at least officially. But, being in outside sales, he set his own hours. In this case, the hours were gonna set Joe, because the morning was going to start late. He’d used too many vacation and/or sick days for hangover days this year, and thus he’d have to finesse today’s day of recreation. There was no way his boss would understand how important it was that he entertain his mates.
Joe was not completely convinced he understood it himself.

And the green, green golf course awaited his mammoth drives and conversation between Frank and him.

One way or another, he’d get to talking about last night. They’d been friends for too long not to be able to discuss it.

The Posse had its roots in the very early 70’s, when at least two of the men were in seventh grade in one of Ashby Heights two middle schools. All four of them were athletes, and soon or later than were all on several middle and high school teams together. Their families knew each other and sometimes picnicked together.

As they got older, the boys’ social lives began to center more and more on night life and less on sports teams. None of them played organized sports following high school.

They had remained friends, if not friendly, throughout the 80’s and the 90’s, through a variety of personal crises.

Today, Brian was passed out on Joe’s bedroom floor. Doug was asleep in the second bedroom; Frank had either gotten up early to run, or had not returned to Joe’s last night. Joe didn’t feel the need to wait up. Frank was a big boy, even if he does act like a little twit sometimes.

While he didn’t drink altogether too much last night, Joe had put a lot of alcohol in his body over a six-hour period and this explained his congestion and stuffy nose. He didn’t have the shakes or the queasy stomach. It was obvious that he’d been out drinking the night before, however, and that alone demanded a "battle plan" that included slower early morning movements.

His shower was over and his underwear donned when the front door to his apartment opened and in walked Frank. Joe had not been at all surprised that Frank had asked to stay behind at Marie’s Inn. He had been chatting up a woman all evening long; picking up women had never been foreign territory for Frank, but staying out all night in his hometown was, and Joe didn’t think it too bright.

"Did you get lost?", asked Joe rather directly, from the other room.
"No, I found my way quite nicely, thank you."

Joe emerged from the bedroom, tying his tie.

"I’ll bet you did. That’s a well worn path for you, old paint," said Joe, without hiding his disgust. Frank picked up on this without comment.

"Have you got time for a chat in a bit, Joe?" asked Frank. "I mean, before you go off to work?"

"I suppose so. Were you talking about chatting here, or going out? I'm trying to finaggle NOT going into work, before golf."

"Either is fine with me. I just want to call home beforehand," responded Frank. He left the room without waiting for the response.

Joe was left with his anger, as yet undefined. The talk awaited.

Recessed deep within this mornings thoughts was the humbling perspective that he was in the company of thirty-three year old men who partied last night to the point that they all spent the weeknight together at Joe’s apartment. The jury was out as to whether or not they were too old to be getting so wasted that they couldn’t get home. And then, of course, one had TomCat Frank spending the night elsewhere.

Things had changed little there, over fifteen years. Some would see this as a great testimony to their long time friendship: they still know how to party!

Others would see this as a testimony to a lack of emotional maturity: will they ever grow up?

But for all the adolescent behavior of the night before, Joe felt very much like the thirty-ish, overweight man that he was. Divorced, unhappy about that.
Living alone in an apartment, unhappy about that. Reliving a stagnant and worn-out scenario the night before did little to make him feel younger.

And to hear Frank confront him with truths he didn’t want to process put Joe in a funk he’d have to confront. And no better person to play the devil’s advocate role that his eternal love-hate pal, Frank.

Within 20 minutes, a pound of bacon had been fried and Frank emerged looking a little apprehensive. They were still the only two awake in the apartment.

"You seemed rather pissed last night, man. Anything wrong?"
"I was pissed at you. But I got over it."
"Pissed at me? For what?"
"For what? Do you want them by priority or alphabetically?"

"What are talking about Joe? You said you got over it, but it doesn’t seem so."
"Frank, do you just talk without thinking, as if you’re hearing the words for the first time? Or are you completely confident that everyone will forgive you if you say something which makes you sound like a jerk?"
"Where’s all this coming from, man? I come down to visit you and you act all hurt and shit. What’s happened to you?"

Joe took a deep breath and put a bit of dousing water on his fast burning fuse. He realizes this may be the one time he has to say this to his friend of 20-plus years. He wants the message to get through.

"Sit down, Frank. If we’re gonna talk, let’s get it all out, like friends."
"Good."
"First of all, I was pissed and I was pissed at you. You said some shit last night that I hated to hear. I was in the mood to shoot the messenger; or at least beat the hell out of him."

"Me … you mean?"
"Yeah. You. Do you remember what you said last night? It was thoughtless, and perhaps heartless. But it’s got Frank written all over it."
"What do you think I said?"

"Frank, don’t give me that. I know what you said. I heard you. I was there."
"You mean about you and Doug? Is that what this is about?"
"This is about 20 years of you living with your head up your ass. It’s about your insensitivity and about your self-centeredness. You have no idea."
"Self-centeredness? Why would this be about that?"
"Because if you had any concern for me or Doug, you’d try screening some of the things you say. You just blurt them out without thinking, and your rationale is that ‘we have to deal with it’."
"Yeah … but …"
"But if everyone in your life treated you like that—and if you had a heart—you’d have it broken by everyone else’s similar blunt and direct manner."
"People DO speak bluntly to me. What? Are you kidding me? Go right ahead and knock yourself out! Speak as directly to me as you like."

Frank's flushed face reflected his anxiety-ridden body language.

"Yeah, right."
"No, go right ahead. Give it to me, both barrels."
"Alright. Okay. You’re a whore, Frank Lawrence. A bona-fide, heart-breaking, hole-chasing whore. You’ll sleep with anything that moves."
"And …?"
"And what? What do you mean … And? You want more?"
"I want to know what that has to do with you? What that has to do with us? How does that affect 25 years of friendship and your being pissed last night?"
"It has to do with you spending time with your wife one week, and sleeping with someone else the next weekend. It has to do with consistency and telling and living what you say you’re gonna do. It has to do with you having a woman who loves you and you can’t keep your zipper up, Frank!"

Now it was Joe's turn to blush.

"Hey, look here Joe. Just because I enjoy chasing the ladies shouldn’t affect us, you and me. What’s going on with you? You’ve changed, man."
"I know I’ve changed, Frank. And you were none too subtle about how you pointed that out last night. And perhaps I should thank you for that. Because besides the fact that it has hammered home that you’re so damned selfish, it’s pushed me to spend some time thinking."

Frank paused before responding. Joe continued his point.

"But Frank, the real problem is not that I’ve changed. It’s that you haven’t. You haven’t grown up at all since we were running around high school hallways."
"What? Whatdoya mean I haven’t changed? I’m damned successful, Joe. I have over 12 people who answer to me."
"That’s great Frank. You know I’m happy for you there. But you still take care of YOU first. Your word is no better now than it was then. You still are out to pleasure YOU first and foremost."

"And this has you pissed? Who else should I be out to please?"

The pause made its own point.

"That speaks volumes about you Frank."
"And what the hell do you mean my word is no good? That’s bullshit! My word is every bit as good as yours or anyone else!"
"Oh is it? How’s this for starters? What about ‘honor and cherish you, till death do us part.’?"

"What kind of crack is that, Joe? Have you become a woman on us?"

"Watch that mouth Frank. I don’t want to break your nose today."

That one stopped Frank. With Joe out-sizing him by over 60 pounds and a good three inches, Frank knew he was out of his league in that category. Still, he had a point to make.

"Well, what kind of crap are you pulling now, of all days. I come down here to see you guys and this is the way I get thanked?"
"You came down here to pleasure YOU, Frank. You came down here to see Good Humour, and to smoke pot and drink your face off. You came down here to relive old memories and to get laid. The fact that we are byproducts of your enjoyment is just a convenience. You get no points for that."
"I don’t want any points, Joe. For Chrissakes! What is this all about?"
"It’s about you, and your acid tongue and your comfort level with saying anything you want to and to hell with the consequences. It’s about you, and how you’ll cheat on your wives at the drop of a hat, but you expect us to believe that you are a true and loyal friend. And I question that, Frank. I really do."

"You’re busting my chops, Joe. You’re really surprising me. I thought …"
"You thought we would be here for you no matter what you ever said or did. And maybe we are or maybe we will be. But you’ve spent ten years popping up and partying with us and when you’re not around you don’t do anything to extend our friendship. You never drop a line, or call or even send a card to my kids on their birthday. It’s like you don’t give a damn."
"And then, of course, I speak bluntly and directly." Frank was trying to regain momentum somehow, with any method.

"You’re damn right. You’re so quick to point out what our situations are right now, but where were you when we were going through this shit, Frank? You cannot imagine the kind of pain I went through, and you don’t seem to care about what Doug went through. Yet, you make that smart-ass comment last night. Who are you to be saying that kind of shit to me, your friend of friends?"
"What kind of shit? That you and Doug are in the same boat? That Doug is as pitiful as he is worthless? I thought that’s what friends do. It helps to get a friend’s perspective, man. I thought it was okay to tell you how things are."
"According to the Gospel of Frank. But your writers are pretty damn vulnerable when it comes to applying your standards to your own life, aren’t they? You don’t seem so damn clairvoyant when someone points out your inadequacies, do you?"
"I’m sorry. I thought you could handle it. Like I say, I thought that’s what friends do for each other."
"Friends also know when to hold their tongue, Frank. You bust Doug’s chops, but do you have any idea what he was like right afterwards? Do you know what kind of pain he was in? We had a suicide watch for him, for God's sake!"

"No, I don’t", Frank said as he turned and paced near the kitchen.

"That’s because you didn’t call."
"We didn’t call each other, Joe. You remember? I don’t remember you picking up the phone too often either!"
"Touche’. You’re right, Frank. But … that doesn’t mean you’ve got to be so frigging callous. He was hurting, man, and he’s supposed to be your friend. I didn’t hear much of a friend in you last night."
"You also didn’t like to hear me say that you and he were in the same boat, did you? You didn’t want to be lumped in the same misery category as ole Doug, huh?"
"No, I didn’t. I didn’t like it a damn bit."

"And you said it made you think. So it has had some positive come out of it, right?"

"Yes it has, Frank; but that was not your intention. You just got lucky. This all came about because sometimes you don’t give a damn about me or anybody else, unless we happen to fall under your safety pleasure net. And it pisses me off that after all these years, you haven’t changed."

That was the second time that Joe had made that point. He wasn’t even sure what point he was trying to fully make, but he knew he didn’t want to simply beat Frank up emotionally. He was angry about what was said last night, but he was also frustrated about the situation that "The Comment" called to consciousness.

Frank, digging in deep in an effort to defend his position, saw no reason to try to respond to all the allegations. The two long time friends had never had a fight like this one and Frank was not quite sure how it could be resolved.

Their hesitancy to wind down was brought to abrupt closure. In walked Doug in his boxer shorts, hair disheveled, yet somewhat awake.

Both Frank and Joe looked at him, each one wondering how much Doug had heard. If he had heard the disparaging remarks about him, he wasn’t saying.

"Did you make it home last night, Frank?" inquired Doug, scratching himself.
"Yes, yes I did."
"Then why is it you’re in the same clothes as last night?"

Joe knew he didn’t have to say anything and he could still enjoy this moment. Frank was going to be stuck here either way.

"Well, I said I did come home. I just didn’t say what time."

A sleepy wave of the hand and a yawn and Doug shuffled off to the bathroom, presumably to take a shower.
Joe and Frank were now again alone in the room and alone within the conversation.

"Look, Joe. I am sorry I hurt you with my comments, and you’re right … I do have my head up my ass many times with what I say. I didn’t mean anything by it."

Joe drank in the moment for a minute. He said nothing, but stared deeply into Frank’s eyes, who would not or could not meet his. Joe wanted to respond in several ways.

He wanted to hug him. He wanted to punch him in the arm and give him a noogie on the top of his head. He also wanted to take the easy way out and say nothing, or act as if it meant little or nothing to him, really. He wanted to say something philosophical. He wanted to put into words something that they’d both remember for a long time.

But he didn’t know what that would sound like.

He considered using the tried and true method of Guy Humor to make things sound not-quite-so-bad, but he knew that’d sound cheap.
He tried something.

"It just seems like our adult lives are a lot more chaotic than when we were kids. In those days, our decisions had shorter consequences. We did things for NOW, we did things for fun. We don’t have that much fun anymore, Frankie.

"And when you come back here, everything is supposed to fit back inside our neat little packages. We’re supposed to have those good OLE days resurrected and we’re supposed to bust each other’s stones and we’re supposed to laugh our asses off."

Frank muttered a weak "Yeah".

"But the fact is, things aren’t that much fun anymore. We put on a big front for you, and all that, but we aren’t making it too damn good here. Seeing you again is supposed to make us happy, just like doing all the same old things is too.

"But when you’re gone, we’re still here. Like it or not.
"Karen leaving me hurt, man. Seeing Doug go through his demise has been tough, Frank. Hell, even watching Brian care little or nothing about anything real is depressing. My job sucks. My future doesn’t look any better than today. And I have no real positive changes up ahead.

"So where ever I was coming from last night, or this morning, it’s … more about … coming from a position of confusion and frustration, Frank."

Frank, sensing his exoneration on the horizon, simply nodded without comment. He looked into Joe’s unfocused gaze.

"Things were supposed to be different than this. We were supposed to make something out of our lives by now, man. We were supposed to be successful and we were supposed to be damned happy", said Joe, missing the irony of his words.

"Aw hell. I don’t know." Joe’s soliloquy had ended without conclusion or summary.

And before Frank could add one, in walked Brian.

"Anyone wanna get high?
"Wake and Bake for you, my dear Frankie?"