Live Wire

We are often told during times of bereavement that time heals all wounds. That's crap. In truth, you are devastated, you mourn, you cry to the point where you think you'll never stop - and then you reach a stage where the survival instinct takes over. You stop. You simply won't or can't let yourself "go there" anymore because the pain was too great. You block. You deny. But you don't really heal.

With everyone else, you put up this facade so you can hide the crud and make them like you. But with real friends, you show them the crud-and that makes them care. When we get rid of the facade, we connect more.

Myron remembered something his father once told him: People have an amazing capacity to mess up their own lives.

What we so admire and call "single minded dedication" was really "obsessive self-involvement". What in that exactly is admirable?

We don’t pray in foxholes because we are ready to meet our Maker. We pray because we don’t want to.

He leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you know why the fans turned on those two guys so horribly?” Just to keep him talking, Myron shook his head. “Because those pretty boys pointed out the truth: We are all shallow. Milli Vanilli music was pure crap—and they won a Grammy! People listened to it simply because Rob and Fab were handsome and hip. That scandal did more than rip away the façade. It held a mirror up to the fan’s face and let him see a total fool. There are many things we can forgive. But we can’t forgive those who point out our true foolishness. We don’t like to think of ourselves as shallow. But we are. Gabriel Wire looked brooding and deep but he was anything but. People thought that Gabriel didn’t do interviews because he felt he was too important—but he didn’t give them because he was too dumb. I know I was mocked over the years. Part of me was hurt—who wouldn’t be?—but most of me understood that this was the only way. Once I started, once I created Gabriel Wire, I couldn’t destroy him without destroying me.” Myron tried to let this information settle. “That’s what you meant with all that talk earlier about Suzze falling for you or falling for the music. About being Cyrano.” “Yes.

You’d just turned pro. Adolescent boys hung your poster in their bedrooms. You were supposed to beat legends right away. Your parents redefined pushy. It’s a miracle you stayed upright.

The women were, in this smoky light, largely on the attractive side, albeit young, and dressed more like they were playing adults than actually being ones. The majority of the women had their cell phones out, skinny fingers tapping off texts; they danced with a languorousness that bordered on comatose. Esperanza

Half an hour later, Win came home. He was accompanied by his latest girlfriend, a tall modelesque Asian named Mee. There was a third person too, another attractive Asian woman Myron had never seen before. Myron looked over at Win. Win wiggled his eyebrows. Mee said, “Hi, Myron.” “Hi, Mee.” “This is my friend, Yu.” Myron held back the sigh and said hello. Yu nodded. When the two women left the room, Win grinned at Myron. Myron just shook his head. “Yu?” “Yep.” When Win had first started up with Mee, he loved to share jokes using her name. “Mee so horny . . . It’s Mee time . . . Sometimes I just want to make love to Mee.” “Yu and Mee?” Myron said. Win nodded. “Wonderful, don’t you think?” “No.

Esperanza had a small smile on her face. “What?” Myron said. She gestured to the right side of the dance floor. “Check out the ass on that chick in the red.” Myron looked at the crimson-clad dancing buttocks and remembered an Alejandro Escovedo lyric: “I like her better when she walks away.” It had been a long time since Myron had heard Esperanza talk like this. “Nice,” Myron said. “Nice?” “Awesome?” Esperanza nodded, still smiling. “There are things I could do with an ass like that.” Looking

No. Where have you been all night?” Win leaned in conspiratorially. “Between Yu and Mee . . .” “Yes?” Win just smiled. “Oh.” Myron sighed. “I get it. Good one.” “Be happy. It used to be all about Mee. But then I realized something. It’s about Yu too.” “Or, uh, in this case, Yu and Mee together.” “Now you’re in the spirit,” Win said. “How was your sojourn to Adiona Island?” “You want to hear this now?” “Yu and Mee can wait.” “By that, you mean the girls, not us, right?” “It does get confusing, doesn’t it?” “Not to mention perverse.” “Don’t worry. When I’m not around, Yu can keep Mee occupied.” Win sat, steepled his fingers. “Tell me what you learned.” Myron did. When he finished, Win said, “Methinks Lex doth protest too much.” “You got that too?” “When a man does that much philosophizing, he’s covering.” “Plus that last line about her going back to Chile or Peru in the morning?” “Throwing you off the track. He wants you to stay away from Kitty.” “Do

Esperanza gestured with her chin at a man with slicked-back hair oiling his way toward them. When he filled out his job application, Myron had little doubt that it read, Last Name: Trash. First Name: Euro. Myron checked the man’s wake for slime tracks. Euro smiled with ferret teeth. “Poca, mi amor.” “Anton,

He spoke with a funny maybe-Hungarian, maybe-Arabic accent, like something he made up for a comedy sketch. Anton was unshaven, the stubble on his face glistening in a not-pleasant way. He wore sunglasses even though it was cave-dark in here. “This

You are still such a magnificent creature, Poca.” He spoke with a funny maybe-Hungarian, maybe-Arabic accent, like something he made up for a comedy sketch. Anton was unshaven, the stubble on his face glistening in a not-pleasant way. He wore sunglasses even though it was cave-dark in here. “This is Anton,” Esperanza said. “He says Lex is in bottle service.” “Oh,” Myron said, having no idea what bottle service was. “This way,” Anton said. They

He was a rock star and an absolute major yummy, but he had a certain predilection.” “That being?” “He liked underage girls.” “He was a pedophile?” “No, I don’t believe so. His targets were fully developed. But they were young. Sixteen, seventeen.” Alista

As they continued to wind through the crowd, a few women met Myron’s gaze and held it, though not as many as one, two, five years ago. He felt like an aging pitcher who needed this particular radar gun to tell him that his fastball was losing velocity. Or maybe there was something else at work here.

So what do we do?” “What we always do. At least in the morning. Tonight I have plans.” “And those would again be between Yu and Mee?” “I would say bingo again, but I so hate repeating myself.” “You

Win waited. Myron stared at the can of Yoo-hoo. “Forget it.” “And now,” Win said, “you think my behavior, for a man of my years, is somewhat closer to pathetic.” “I didn’t mean it that way.” “You think I should settle down a bit.” “I just want you to be happy, Win.” Win spread his hands. “So do I.” Myron gave him the flat eyes. “You’re referring to the Yu in the other room again, aren’t you?” The rakish grin. “Love me for all my faults.” “Again, by me, do you mean, uh, Mee?” Win stood. “Don’t worry, old friend. I am happy.” Win started moving toward the bedroom door. He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes, looked troubled. “But you may have a point.” “That

There’s this song I love,” Lex said. “The lyric says, ‘Your heart is like a parachute.’ Do you know why?” “I think the line is about a mind being like a parachute—it only functions when it’s open.” “No, I know that line. This one is a better, ‘Your heart is like a parachute—it only opens when you fall.’ ” He smiled. “Good, right?” “I guess.” “We

Esperanza sat back and looked at him for several beats. “Do you remember when Suzze won the US Open?” “Of course. What does that have to do with anything?” “She’d cleaned up her act. She focused solely on her tennis, and bam, right away, Suzze wins a major. I never saw someone want something so badly. I can still see that final cross-court forehand to win, the look of pure undiluted joy on her face, the way she threw her racket up in the air and turned and pointed at you.” “At

Win stood. “Don’t worry, old friend. I am happy.” Win started moving toward the bedroom door. He stopped suddenly, closed his eyes, looked troubled. “But you may have a point.” “That being?” “Maybe I’m not happy,” he said, a wistful distant look on his face. “Maybe you’re not either.” Myron waited, almost sighed. “Go ahead. Say it.” “So perhaps it’s time to make Yu and Mee happy.” He

Yes. In the meantime, arm yourself.” “I’ll pick up a gun when I get back,” Myron said. “No need to wait. There is a thirty-eight under your seat.” Terrific. Myron reached under his seat, felt the bump. “Anything else I need to know?” “I birdied the last hole. Shot two under par for the round.” “Talk about burying the lead.” “I was trying to be modest.” “I

Fights normally last mere seconds—and those seconds are chockfull of three things: confusion, chaos, and panic. So when people see a fist heading toward them, they naturally overreact. They try to duck all the way down or fall all the way back. That was a mistake. If you lose your balance or lose sight of your adversary, you end up, of course, in more danger. Good fighters will often throw blows for just this reason—not necessarily to connect but to make the opponent put himself in a more vulnerable position. So Myron’s move to avoid the blow was a slight one—only a few inches. His right hand was already up. You don’t have to knock the fist away hard with some big karate move. You just need to divert its course a little. That was what Myron did. Myron’s

He traveled back again, to when she was that adorable teenager dominating center court, and his favorite Yiddish expression came back to him in a rush: Man plans, God laughs. This was not a kind laugh. “Kitty?

As Myron started to rise, he felt something hard and metallic push against the bottom of his rib cage. He had a tenth of a second, maybe two, to wonder what it was. Then Myron’s heart exploded. At least, that was what it felt like. It felt like something in his chest had just gone boom, like someone had placed live wires on every nerve ending, sending his parasympathetic system into total spasm. His legs turned to water. His arms dropped away, unable to offer up the least bit of resistance. A stun gun. Myron

There were two laminated class chairs in front of most of the doors. The chairs looked sturdy and practical and about as comfortable as a tweed thong.

There are two people in a tennis match. One ends up winning, one ends up losing. And I think the pleasure comes not from winning. I think the pleasure comes from beating someone.” She scrunched up her face like a very puzzled child. “Why is that something we admire? We call them winners, but when you think about it, they really get off on making someone else lose. Why is that something we admire so much?” “That’s

Win opened a leather-bound first-edition false front bookcase to reveal a refrigerator. He grabbed a Yoo-hoo chocolate drink and tossed it to Myron. Myron caught it, and reading the directions—“Shake It!”—did just that. Win opened the decanter and poured himself an exclusive cognac called, interestingly enough, The Last Drop. “I

During the car ride Myron asked for details. Kitty sat up front next to him. In the back, Mickey ignored them. He stared out the window, white iPod earbuds in place—playing the part of a petulant teenager, which, Myron surmised, he was. By

They pushed Crisp into a seat. Win wrapped him in restraints. Crisp was still blinking through the tranquilizer. Win had used a diluted form of Etorphine, a sedative normally used for elephants and potentially fatal to humans. In the movies, sedatives work instantaneously. In reality, it’s hardly a guarantee. In