Putz Of The Century

By Jon Tucker

Irving Rosen's plan is simple: Remarry his ex-wife so he can divorce her again for a better settlement. But along the way, he starts to figure a funny thing out: why he's such an asshole.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jon Tucker
• Release date: Feb 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987925428

Jon Tucker

Jon Tucker was NOT the greatest athlete of his generation the way he says he was. He says so many, many things. He lives in Montreal, and can be heard occasionally on "Wiretap with Jonathan Goldstein" on CBC Radio One. Putz Of The Century is his first novel.

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Chapter 1

Irving was adjusting his rear-view mirror when it came off in his hand. Am I that tense, he wondered, chucking it onto the passenger seat. Or is this car getting really old? He pulled the sun visor down to check his teeth in that mirror, having forgotten to brush in the morning, and mulled over the implications of his increased strength. He didn’t see the taxi cab pull in front of him until the very last moment, prompting him to hit the brakes. The three cars behind him were forced to do the same and Irving’s first impulse was to speed up to ram the cab with his Chrysler, directing it into a parked car perhaps. Under normal circumstances he might have done just that, chasing the cab for miles if need be, ripping the driver from the taxi and boxing his face in. That’d be nice, he thought. That’d be a nice break from the tension.

In his thirty-plus years of driving, Irving had enjoyed all kinds of road incidents, including countless car chases - divided equally between hunter and prey - and exactly four car-related fist fights, albeit one of those fist fights was with a passenger from his own car. Two of those fights had been with cab drivers, both of which, technically, he had lost because he was the first to fall down. The fourth fight, his first, was over a parking space on Ste. Catherine Street. Surprisingly, he had knocked the guy out with the first punch, an early success that gave Irving the bravado to later challenge so many other drivers. He had clipped the guy’s chin, finding his sleep button, and the poor guy’s knees had just buckled. Irving had watched with fascination as he slumped to the ground. With the man unconscious, however, he was unable to move his car and Irving had to drive around for fifteen more minutes to look for another spot.

There was no time today to get into it with this cab driver so Irving laid on his horn for eight seconds and left it at that. Reesa was waiting for him, and god help him, he couldn’t make her wait today. It’s too bad, he laughed to himself. Now’s the one time, of all times, I got zilch to lose. I should’ve rammed the bastard. How much more trouble would it get me? Irving thought about that freedom for a moment. Maybe he’d save the opportunity for his drive home. Always a silver lining, he thought.

Irving was feeling like he had it all together as he turned onto Westminster and pulled into the friendly, little strip mall, parking in front of the barber shop. He nodded hello to old man Gaetano who was in the window, cutting hair. The barber looked past Irving as if he were invisible.

Irving walked two doors down into the small, neighbourhood deli, scanning the place for Reesa, expecting her to be sitting quietly in a booth. He looked at his watch - he was five minutes early. That left him disoriented for a moment. Am I at the right place? he wondered. Maybe I said Van Horne. He second-guessed himself a dozen times before realizing that he was indeed where he should be.

He sat himself at a table away from the deli counter, ignoring Sonny, the meat cutter. One of them was bound to say something that would begin an argument and Irving wanted to keep his focus.

Irving hated the new design of the place. It attracted the wrong crowd. It used to be decorated with ashtrays and jars of pimentos. Now there was a fake family-friendly quality to it - the kind that appeals only to three year old girls. Outdoor lanterns with dim bulbs attached to every booth, mirrors on the walls to make the deli seem twice as large and bright. Irving didn’t like it. The place used to have action, now they were closed before midnight.

Reesa walked in, right on time, and joined Irving, all smiles and warmth. Irving stood up to greet her, putting a kiss on her cheek, asking her how she is. Her long, light brown hair smelled of a fresh shower, her skin radiating youth. Her jean jacket, decorated with yellow and pink rock ‘n roll pins, reeked of cigarettes. She was wearing a rock band t-shirt underneath, black naturally, a small hole forming under one of the arms, which is why she kept her jacket on.

My god, look at this face, said Irving. The kid looks so much like her mom, he thought. Seventeen years old and already a stunner. How many hearts will she fucking break? He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken Reesa to lunch.

They ate in relative silence. Irving asked if she liked her summer job and let the kid talk a bit about that. He wolfed down his smoked meat sandwich and side of fries, knowing damn well that this would be the last time for a while that he’d be served what he considered his perfect meal. A sandwich with fries, double mustard, tons of ketchup. He wished he could eat it all the time but he knew, like the rest of the world, that too much fatty goodness will ruin you. But now and then, on the right occasion, when he ordered a large sandwich with fries, he felt like himself. And that felt good. He let the kid talk while he enjoyed his meal because, in some ways, he figured, this would be the last chance to be himself. Unless. Maybe.

Reesa tried not to watch him eat, catching little glimpses of it here and there, his manners deplorable. His mouth lunged at the fork as if the fries were trying to jump off. There was mustard on both of his ears. Before she could eat the first quarter of her club sandwich, Irving’s plate was clean.

I’ll be in the bathroom, Irving said, getting up. B’right back.

Standing in front of the urinal, thinking about the future, Irving had a minor anxiety attack. He took ten minutes to calm himself down, avoiding his face in the mirror. He half-expected Reesa to have left but when he got back, there she was still in the booth, waiting, picking at the crusting remains of her club.

She looked up at him and smiled self-consciously as he shuffled back to the booth. He looked sharp, wearing that suit. Big, blue. It fit good. His court suit.

Irving made a thumbing motion to the bathroom and said, The mothballs in that urinal are so strong, I almost passed out.

The kid laughed with her mouth closed as Irving plunked himself down in the booth. Take my pickle cuz I’m not gonna eat it, he said, pointing at the thing.

I’m alright, Reesa replied, wiping her fingertips on a soiled napkin. She put her hands under the table so Irving wouldn’t see her drag her fingers along her jeans. She was gonna wash them later that afternoon, so why not.

Why do we eat sour pickles again? she asked him.

So the rest of life won’t seem so sour.

Oh yeah.

Irving looked up at her. Their eyes made contact. Terribly odd for both of them. Staring at each other. Giving each other attention. Locked. They held their gaze a moment, both determined to stay connected, if only for a few seconds. Reesa was the first to turn away, looking at her glass of water with a faux sense of importance. She took a sip, her eyes darting back to show Irving that yes, she was still listening.

Do you drink coffee? he asked her. Reesa nodded so Irving waved the waitress over to take their order.

Two coffees. With milk. And the uh... He pantomimed a signature in the air. The waitress deposited the bill then went to fetch the coffee. Reesa watched her father study the bill, adding it up in his head. That routine look of suspicion that crossed his face when he double-checked the numbers cracked her up. She’d seen it so many times. It still embarrassed her. She tried to imagine the look on his face when he received that lawyer’s bill. She pictured him pointing to typing charges and asking, What’s this? the way he might ask a waitress about an illegible charge for a cole slaw substitution.

Irving dropped the bill to the table and reached for his wallet, hiking out to his right to retrieve it from his back pocket.

Do you realize that for the first time in thirty years, every dollar I’m spending is not being replaced, he said. I don’t understand the market anymore. I haven’t placed a bet on anything in two weeks. I’ve gained seven pounds.

It shows a little on your face.

I think I’m having a heart attack, he moaned. That’s what I’ll do - I’ll fake a heart attack! Postpone the whole thing!

Irving seemed to be in a good mood so Reesa laughed. Fuck, he’s still funny, she thought. When they were younger, when he still lived at home, Irving’s favourite thing in the world to do was to fake heart attacks. He’d walk into a room and drop suddenly to his knees, clutching his chest before falling face-first to the ground, dead of a heart attack. That was his big comedy show for her. He must’ve died twenty times for the kid.

You’re my daughter, Reesa, he said. So I love you. You’re smarter than me, god knows. I’m gonna miss you. Congratulations, kid, you got it easy! Not soft, but easy. I made sure of that. He tapped his chest with two fingers, then reached into his shirt pocket to pull out a blue and gold pen.

See this pen? I bought it in the States - $86. American. That was when things were going good. He handed her the pen to inspect. I’m busted flat now with all the lawyer fees, but fuck it, look at the college funds you got - forty grand. Hey, that’s what’s important. That’s what you work your whole life for. When you have money, you have room to manoeuvre, period. More opportunities open up. And if you don’t take advantage of that, screw you, you’re dumb. Took me eighteen years to sock that dough away for you. Eighteen years. He thought about that commitment, and the unbelievable sacrifice involved, as he took a sip of his soda. He considered that college fund the greatest endeavour of his life. Travelled all over the world, he continued, grabbed a few people. Told a few lies. You can’t raise a family on looks alone, right? I’m not perfect.

Me neither, said Reesa, returning the pen. He told her to hold onto it.

Just cuz I’m not a millionaire doesn’t mean I’m stupid though. I don’t got the pretty ego you need to be a millionaire.

Don’t worry, Irving, I never expected to inherit any empires. I’m fine.

Who said anything about building empires? If only it were that romantic. I had money, he said, sounding wistful. You have money. And next month! My one and only is going to university.

I can’t wait to get out of this city. Toronto’s Toronto but at least it’s not Montreal.

I wanted to be a surgeon but I had a bad back; they didn’t have good shoes back then. I was gonna take out appendixes and tonsils. Can you imagine it? Me! Hey, I did what I could. Y’know what, kid, after all is said and done, I don’t know one surgeon who’s happy. Irving didn’t know why she laughed at that. He got quiet for a second. My family would hate me, I thought, when I got caught. You would hate me, Rees. It bothered me. It frightened me. But you came almost everyday to the trial. That means a lot.

Thanks.

Three years is a long time. It’s funny - you go to university for three years, I go to prison for three years. Again.

I know.

Worst eight months of my life. You were very young at the time.

I remember.

Even on the best days, those were still the worst days of my life. My lawyer has a few friends. He accidentally took a long sip of coffee. He says things could be arranged to make it easier for me this time.

Good.

For a price, of course. Nothing’s ever free. Why should it be?

Reesa shrugged. Hooboy, this is hard, laughed Irving. As crazy as it seemed, he had no one else to turn to but Reesa. "I can’t do it. Rees, I- My lawyer says for forty grand those years’ll fly by. I’m not talking about champagne and lobster, he says, but you need a little dough in there. This ain’t no hospitable place. ‘Where am I gonna get forty grand!?!’ I tell him. In two fucking weeks!?! I’m busted. That’s why this tears me up... I’m not asking, cuz I know you’ve been looking forward to university, but three years, c’mon... I’ll die in there. I almost died in there