The Homeless Millionaire

I arrived back home at fourteen minutes past three in the morning.

By the time I'd stealthily crept up the stairs and inside my room, I worked out this was another four-three-one combination: three fourteen, with the four moved from first place to last. The exact same order in which I'd rearranged the Mr. Chance triptych.

The Cambodian weed was still doing its thing, and I got properly paranoid. The house was asleep and everything was very still and quiet. No light showed outside except for the street lamps.

That 4-3-1 business, that whole Schmidt shit—I was going to end up in a loony bin if I didn't get a handle on all that. I sat and smoked and drank consecutive mugs of godawful tea, trying to get a handle on all that. The Noyces were beginning to stir when I finally crawled into bed.

I woke up after two in the afternoon. The Noyces had mercifully gone off somewhere to do family Sunday things. I was still feeling a buzz from Harry’s magic powder. I spent half an hour smoking and drinking coffee and looking at the almost-empty Johnnie Walker. Then I did my bathroom routine, and spent another half an hour drinking coffee and smoking and alternately staring at Johnnie Walker and James, with my mind freewheeling.

I gradually became hungry and decided I’d hit the pub early. I would eat something and make a couple of phone calls. I had to call Fiona and apologize for disappearing from the face of Earth, as she'd put it to Chaz. I’d tell her I went into one of those artistic trances, and forgot about everything else.

I also wanted to call my parents. I actually wanted to call them! Well, they were due a call so that I could thank them for sending me all that stuff along with my easel. But what surprised me was that I actually wanted to talk to them. Separation indeed did make the heart grow fonder.

It was already beginning to get dark when I left the house; halfway to the pub, the street lights came on. I felt a little like a vampire emerging for its nightly prowl. I promised myself I’d start getting up early in the morning. I’d go for a walk each day, rain or shine. I was going to limit my liquor store purchases to a maximum of two bottles per visit. I'd cut down on smoking, clip my toenails as often as I clipped my fingernails, and generally do everything in my power to grow a pair of wings.

I was so engrossed in thinking about my new self-improvement program that I thought mobile lip Jane might be at the pub only after I’d went inside. Fortunately, she wasn’t there. I got a pint and ordered a burger with fries and got another pint when it was ready.

Fed and refreshed, I got a third pint to stake my claim to the table, and went to make my phone calls. I tried the old family home first, and got no answer. It was a Sunday; most likely, my parents were out—a game of bridge? I lit a fresh cigarette and took an extra deep hit and dialled Fiona’s number.

No one answered the phone there, either. This wasn't the right day to call people. No one wanted to talk to me. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was three minutes to six. The time I'd fixed with Harry was any time between six and seven. There was nothing to do but wait.

Unfortunately, waiting for someone in a pub involved drinking. My new self-improvement program was shot to pieces. I really tried to drink slowly, but I was on my fifth pint and close to sulking when Harry finally breezed in at ten to seven.

He turned out to be in a great hurry. He didn't even have a drink. He had been up for thirty-six hours or thereabouts without a wink of sleep.

"And I've run out of the magic powder, man," he told me. "I have to be lying in my bed no later than an hour from now. Otherwise, complications could ensue. So drink up and let's go to my car and I'll give you a lift back to your place. We can do business on the way."

I still had over half a pint in my glass, but I bravely chugged it down and followed Harry out.

"It's skunk," Harry said after we'd gotten inside his car. "Strong, but stinks like hell."

"I've still got half a pack of very dry Daily Mail knocking around," I said.

"That's a good idea. Cut it with that. But smoke it by an open window, anyway."

"I'll do that."

"It's in the side pocket on the door."

I reached inside and pulled out a large dark turd wrapped in plastic. It felt like a very generous half ounce.

"How much do I owe you?" I asked, slipping the pot into the roomy side pocket of my infamous jacket.

"Forty."

"Cool," I said, shifting in my seat to get my wallet.

"Put the money in the glovebox."

By the time I did, we were coming to a stop in front of the house. The ground floor was brightly lit: the dreaded Noyces were back.

"Hey," Harry said, giving me a glance. "You never washed those glasses you promised to wash at the party. And why did you split so soon? Without a goodbye?"

"I got stoned out of my mind and I was having weird thoughts," I said. "I definitely wasn't in a party mood. Why didn't you warn me that joint contained Cambodian poison?"

Harry laughed, and I knew I was forgiven.

"Couldn't you taste it?" he asked.

"No," I said, quite truthfully.

He shrugged.

"Sorry, then," he said. "You're moving on the first, right?"

"Right."

"Need a hand?"

"No, I'll be fine. I can fit everything inside a cab."

"The man who travels light, travels fast," Harry said. We exchanged goodbyes and I got out of the car and embarked on a successful, undetected run to my room upstairs. I actually waited before opening the front door because I heard someone cross the hallway. I only moved when it became clear they all were doing the family TV thing.

Up in my room, I examined my new purchase in proper light and saw that Harry had wrapped the weed in something like ten layers of food wrap—that was why it had felt so large. By the time I got it down to two layers, I knew why he'd done that. That weed stank to high hell.

I put a couple of layers back on and stuffed the package into a long sock and pushed it deep inside my travelling bag. I still had stuff left in my current bag. Feeling very saintly, I promised myself I wouldn't touch the new weed until after I'd moved into my new place.

Subsequently, I had a long session in the bathroom, safe in the knowledge that the Noyces were watching a movie downstairs. I even knew what movie they were watching: it was The Duel. I'd seen it over a year earlier in a movie theatre. It was about a very standard guy driving a very standard car who was being persecuted by this huge, ancient juggernaut. He was no hero and his car couldn't outrun the truck.

It was a cheap little movie with a handful of actors and two handfuls of scenes that actually required acting, but it was brilliantly made. The photography and the editing were first class, and I took note of the director's name. He was someone new to the biz and he sounded Jewish, which wasn't surprising—no one could beat the Jews at spewing out a stream of talented people. His name was Steven Spielberg. He was at the top of his game, that was for sure.

I knew that the Noyces would stay riveted to the TV screen for the duration of the movie, and I treated myself to a successful pedicure—just two of my toes were bleeding when I was done. Upon returning to my room, I reviewed my entertainment options and found none. So I smoked a couple of cigarettes pretending to think, and it made me so sleepy I was in bed by half past nine.

Predictably, I woke up very early the next morning: it was still dark. I spent a silent hour lying in bed and failing to fall asleep again. When the night started to lift, I lifted myself too and drank coffee and smoked and planned my day.

I had to hit the bank, that was for sure. After I'd paid Harry, I had just three banknotes left in my wallet: a twenty, a ten, and a one. I also had to get groceries, and maybe pay a visit to the liquor store.

That last item on the agenda made me feel guilty. I decided I'd consult James.

I walked up to the cupboard and looked James in the eye and said:

"It's all up to you, James. Tell me."

It was clear his lips would stay sealed until I wound him up and let him bounce around and screech and generally enjoy himself for a little while. But it was a little early for that. It could freak out the little witches below, waking up to James doing his thing. Numerous complications could ensue.

"Okay, man," I said to James. "We'll do it later."

I put out my cigarette and lay down on the bed and before I knew it, I was asleep.