Chapter Thirty-Four
Give thanks for a little and you will find a lot.
(Nigerian proverb)
To Arnie Garth’s delight, the Olde Englyshe Shoppe in Santa Monica has one remaining bar of Kendal Mint Cake, which in fact comprises the entire stock and which the relieved proprietor is only too pleased to offload.
Arnie is far less delighted when he samples a tiny corner of the famed Cumbrian confection.
As he spits it out over a passing tourist, he starts to realise how seriously depressed he is and how even the taste of this incredibly sweet English delicacy can seem so bitter on his tongue. Such is his deepening gloom.
He begins to wander up the celebrated Third Street Promenade, all bright lights and sparkling shopfronts, and feels even more miserable.
Passing the seemingly endless parade of smart stores, cinemas and restaurants, all he can see are people enjoying themselves, couples young and old kissing and cuddling, apparently without a care in the world.
Even the homeless appear more content than he is.
As he reaches Venice Beach, wisely resisting the temptation to nibble off more minty corners, he notices amongst the even more happy and generally better constructed couples, of all ethnicities and orientations, two dogs contentedly copulating behind a car.
Finding himself supremely envious at this point marks a new low in his fall from what he has until now considered a reasonably fulfilling life.
Yet he begins to wonder, just at the time that this same life is going to be snatched cruelly and unjustly away, through absolutely no fault of his own, whether, in truth, happiness or even basic contentment have eluded him at every stage on his journey, and if a life solely devoted to petty crime, serial adultery, loveless sex and hard-core pornography was truly that enriching.
It is more than Arnie Garth can bear.
The sun is sinking spectacularly, mockingly, back into the sea when Arnie, for some reason, retraces his steps to Santa Monica and its celebrated beach. Yet instead of looking for a cab, he finds himself standing on the bridge over the busy Pacific Coast Highway.
Leaning over and looking down onto the swiftly moving traffic.
Deep in thought.
***
Noreen is just starting to become worried.
It is quite late, and she has never had this trouble in the past sourcing her regular supply of Kendal Mint Cake. Perhaps, she thinks, it isn’t quite the minty staple of an American diet she might have supposed.
She senses Arnie’s very pleasant and rather pretty sister staring at her in some concern.
“He’s been gone for hours!” worries Noreen, looking over towards the window. “Oh, Cleopatra, do you think he’s had an accident?”
“Arnie? He doesn’t have accidents, hon; he causes them.” Cleo softens her tone as a new and very different thought strikes her. “Hey, you’re missing him, aren’t you?”
“Missing him? Me? No!” She looks thoughtful, playing nervously with the worn wooden toggle on her uppermost cardigan. “Well, maybe… a bit. Daft, eh?”
Cleo smiles. “Daft. Arnie does sort of grow on you. Like… like thrush.”
Noreen suddenly leaps up and dashes over to where she had dumped her bulging bag.
“Ooh, I know!” she enthuses. “Let’s knit something for him.”
As if on cue, Stanley’s head pops up out of her bag, holding a bundle of wool in his sharp little teeth.
“Jesus!” says Cleo Cleaves, not unimpressed.
***
Arnie is still on that bridge.
This time he is gripping the edge. He looks down over the highway and practises hefting himself up and over, like a golfer before he finally tees off.
Behind him, an elderly, white-haired gentleman in faded jogging gear and an old straw hat is approaching very slowly. When he sees Arnie, he stops, although to an observer it might be tricky to distinguish this from his jogging.
“Hey,” says the kind old guy softly, not wishing to unduly frighten the man on the bridge. “You doin’ what I think you’re doin’?”
Arnie doesn’t even turn round. “It’s not like I got options, Pops. My life sucks. I’m going straight to hell – why wait?”
The elderly man moves round so that he can see Arnie and look him straight in the morose, hangdog eye.
“Are you kidding, pal?” He grins. “The world’s a wonderful place. And hey, just think what it would be like if you’d never been a part of it.”
Arnie pauses in his hefting, closes his eyes and thinks about what this stooped but wise old fellow has just said to him.
He hears a parade in progress. In his mind, he pictures a vast cohort of gleaming, red-uniformed, baton-twirling people.
On closer inspection, he can see that the parade is being led by some familiar figures – people he knows well or has encountered sometime throughout his life.
There’s his wife Melisande, in a stunningly provocative and joyous outfit.
And here are a beaming Dorita and Ron, from his domestic sound booth, accompanied by his erstwhile stars, Brent and Cleo.
Close behind are Big Louie and Lyle, happily arm in arm with me; a delighted Noreen; Rosie in her Annie costume; the hairy landlord from the Wordsworth Arms; and a petite, smiling, grey-haired lady, wearing a sweatshirt that says MOM on the front.
Behind them, joining hands with a glittering array of America’s foremost, grade-X erotic talent of all sexes are panhandlers, the homeless, the halt and the lame.
What unites them all in this massive gathering is the look of total ecstasy on their faces and the fact that they have all come together to mark the occasion of Arnie Garth’s non-existence by singing ‘Oh Happy Day’ in resoundingly euphoric unison.
Arnie opens his eyes and turns to the gently smiling old gentleman. “Thanks for nothing, wrinkledick,” he says.
***
While Arnie is hovering between a not-so-wonderful life and a pretty messy demise, a flight from Las Vegas is about to begin its descent.
The door to the toilet at the rear of the plane opens and Melisande emerges, looking slightly flushed. A few moments later, Big Louie follows her out.
Melisande notices an elderly lady in a nearby aisle seat staring up at her in some shock.
“Oh, what?” says the legendary star, curtly. “Like you’ve never made it in an airplane john with a well-hung, homicidal dwarf!”
The elderly lady simply shrugs contritely.