single possession charge on your record — it doesn’t make existence any easier.”
Rank was a little dumbstruck by the word scummy. He had never heard a man describe himself as scummy before.
“You’re not scummy, man,” said Rank, after a moment of singing along with “Heartache Tonight.”
“It doesn’t matter how I see myself,” explained Ivor, scanning the crowd. “The point is, the most powerful people in the world think I’m expendable. They have me in their crosshairs, is the point. I have to live with that. Every day.”
“Jesus,” said Rank.
“Yes, it’s very stressful,” said Ivor.
Things were different with the guys from the Temple. They were still friends, of course. Rank still went there all the time, often after his weekend shift, to wind down with a beer. And they came sometimes to visit him at Goldfinger’s. But it was different. When they left, usually around eleven at night, which was practically like Sunday morning at Goldfinger’s in terms of the comparative drunken mayhem to come, Rank had to stay and see the mayhem through. Rank was stuck there, and the novelty of Goldfinger’s — which for him had never been that novel in the first place — had worn off entirely. Even Richard in his back office no longer seemed like much of a mystery. He’d spoken to Rank a couple of times since Rank’s hiring (if you could call getting a few twenties shoved at you at the end of every shift being “hired”) and both times hadn’t met his eye. It occurred to Rank that Richard simply didn’t have a lot of social skills — that Richard hung out in his office night and day, cracking the door only to grunt at Ivor or snap his fingers at Lorna, because he was, in fact, shy.
And Rank had seen inside the office. It held filing cabinets mostly, had fluorescent overhead lighting. In its glare, Rank had noticed Richard’s acne scars.
He had apologized to Kyle immediately and unreservedly. Rank spent the whole day following their dust-up sleeping off the rye, groaning his way through dreams of satyrs in hockey skates, and by the time he got up it was suppertime. Supper was out of the question, needless to say. He headed to the Temple. There, he found Kyle practising guitar tabs with Wade, and didn’t beat around the bush. Kyle stood, grave and respectful as the apology unfurled. He allowed Rank to stand there for only a single sadistic moment of silence before responding with predictable Jarvis magnanimity, even going so far as to insist that they hug.
Rank (stepping back): That’s okay, man — as long as we’re good.
Kyle (stepping forward): Let me love you, my brother. Then we’ll be good.
So they hugged, Rank rolling eyes, Kyle closing his in reverence of their ongoing brotherhood, Wade clapping and grinning like a chimp in the corner.
It was a slap, thought Rank.
Where was Adam that day? Rank didn’t see Adam for a while after that, not for about a week, not until the evening at Goldfinger’s when Ivor pronounced Rank a “big fuckin guy” and a job offer was on the table. Rank had been disappointed not to find Adam at the Temple when he arrived to apologize to Kyle. Adam had witnessed the altercation, it seemed right that he should witness the reconciliation too. The result was that it didn’t feel complete to Rank.
Strange to say that even though he knew he was right with Kyle after that, things never quite felt right again with Adam.
It makes Rank feel panicky to remember what he’d confessed in those seasick morning hours. He trudges the campus wondering what Adam must think of him. It makes him resentful. He imagines a slow crust of loathing hardening over Adam’s perceptions now that he knows what he knows about Rank. Adam had barely said anything that night. He couldn’t find the words, he’d been so revolted. He’d put his hand on Rank’s forehead, but what did that mean? At the time, Rank didn’t care. He took it kindly. He took it kindly because he needed kindness. But, in retrospect, a hand on the head at such a moment could mean anything. It could mean: Jesus, stop. It could mean: Ew.
Or maybe he had genuinely meant it kindly at the time. But even if he did, he’s had time to think about it since. He’s had time to turn it over in his mind and draw conclusions, adjust his view.
They didn’t talk about it afterwards, though — not