Chinatown.
It was during their first year of marriage, while the newlyweds were still negotiating their roles and discovering ways to work together, that I began working at Dink Inc. Tulip had recently cut back her hours, which was a source of tension between them. Dink had been a boss since he was twenty-two years old. Transactions were involved in every single relationship he had in his life and he had a difficult time understanding that Tulip was his wife and that she was not on the payroll. Tulip’s lifestyle—the clothes, the jewelry, the cars—made her an expensive proposition. He didn’t mind paying for her Pilates and daily rounds of golf, but it angered him when she spent money out of boredom. A job kept her out of the malls and also “helped with her mental sharpness.” Dink didn’tthink she did enough thinking in her life; she didn’t challenge herself. Right, Tulip thought. As if having a husband who gambled for a living wasn’t challenging enough.
One afternoon Tulip came into the office, just wanting to say hi. Playing on the four televisions were two hockey games and two baseball games. Dink was down fifty grand for the day and it wasn’t even two p.m. The moment Tulip turned the brass knob of the office door, two teams he needed to lose simultaneously scored a goal and hit a home run.
“No!” Dink screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and beat the palm of his hand against his forehead, making his curls jump. He shot his hands to heaven, invoking the Almighty, as if He should be helping. “Tulip!” he shouted. “You’re a jinx!”
“I am not,” she said, injured. “I was going to cut your toenails but never mind.”
Thick, crooked, and purple, Dink’s toenails looked as if they had escaped from a petri dish. Only someone who truly loved Dink would stoop to such a chore. Tulip dropped the pink nail clippers into her purse.
“Either you’re a jinx, or God hates me. Which one do you think it could possibly be?”
Robbie J stayed staring at the televisions. He was accustomed to the dynamic between Dink and Tulip. I wasn’t, and it made me nervous when Dink raised his voice during their fights.
Dink stopped yelling and threw one of his battery-operated singing hamsters at the television set. It landed near my keyboard. I picked it up and pressed its tummy, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, but I regretted it the moment the thing started singing.
Take. Me out to the ball game. Take. Me out with the crowd
.
“Oh my God, shut that fuckin’ thing up. Thing gets on my fuckin’ nerves already,” Robbie J said.
I knew there was no off button; still, I looked for one.
Tulip remained standing with her purse over her shoulder. “God doesn’t hate you, honey,” she said, mildly. “Admit you’re powerless over baseball and that your life has become unmanageable. It’s the first step.”
“You think it’s funny. I’m gonna lose this winter and we’re going to have to sell the house.”
“You say that every winter.”
“But this winter I know. Trust me. We’re going to go broke. It’s going to sneak up on us, quietly. Quietly broke.”
It hadn’t always been like this. The year Dink was in the halfway house, he had such good luck that Tulip never saw any of his temper tantrums. It wasn’t until they moved to Vegas that she witnessed what happened when Dink lost. One afternoon she arrived home from a matinee. The moment she stepped out of the car, she heard yelling. Fearing that her husband had gone into cardiac arrest, she ran into the house. There was Dink, stripped to the waist, writhing around on the floor and pulling his hair with both hands.
“What is going on!” Tulip screamed.
“Cocksucker, motherfucker!” Dink cried. “WHY did he BUNT? Why, why, WHY?”
Tulip ran upstairs and into the bedroom. She turned on her stereo, but even
Rubber Soul
on high volume couldn’t drown out her husband’s yelling. So she packed an overnight bag and drove to the office. She
It was during their first year of marriage, while the newlyweds were still negotiating their roles and discovering ways to work together, that I began working at Dink Inc. Tulip had recently cut back her hours, which was a source of tension between them. Dink had been a boss since he was twenty-two years old. Transactions were involved in every single relationship he had in his life and he had a difficult time understanding that Tulip was his wife and that she was not on the payroll. Tulip’s lifestyle—the clothes, the jewelry, the cars—made her an expensive proposition. He didn’t mind paying for her Pilates and daily rounds of golf, but it angered him when she spent money out of boredom. A job kept her out of the malls and also “helped with her mental sharpness.” Dink didn’tthink she did enough thinking in her life; she didn’t challenge herself. Right, Tulip thought. As if having a husband who gambled for a living wasn’t challenging enough.
One afternoon Tulip came into the office, just wanting to say hi. Playing on the four televisions were two hockey games and two baseball games. Dink was down fifty grand for the day and it wasn’t even two p.m. The moment Tulip turned the brass knob of the office door, two teams he needed to lose simultaneously scored a goal and hit a home run.
“No!” Dink screamed. He squeezed his eyes shut and beat the palm of his hand against his forehead, making his curls jump. He shot his hands to heaven, invoking the Almighty, as if He should be helping. “Tulip!” he shouted. “You’re a jinx!”
“I am not,” she said, injured. “I was going to cut your toenails but never mind.”
Thick, crooked, and purple, Dink’s toenails looked as if they had escaped from a petri dish. Only someone who truly loved Dink would stoop to such a chore. Tulip dropped the pink nail clippers into her purse.
“Either you’re a jinx, or God hates me. Which one do you think it could possibly be?”
Robbie J stayed staring at the televisions. He was accustomed to the dynamic between Dink and Tulip. I wasn’t, and it made me nervous when Dink raised his voice during their fights.
Dink stopped yelling and threw one of his battery-operated singing hamsters at the television set. It landed near my keyboard. I picked it up and pressed its tummy, trying to diffuse the awkwardness, but I regretted it the moment the thing started singing.
Take. Me out to the ball game. Take. Me out with the crowd
.
“Oh my God, shut that fuckin’ thing up. Thing gets on my fuckin’ nerves already,” Robbie J said.
I knew there was no off button; still, I looked for one.
Tulip remained standing with her purse over her shoulder. “God doesn’t hate you, honey,” she said, mildly. “Admit you’re powerless over baseball and that your life has become unmanageable. It’s the first step.”
“You think it’s funny. I’m gonna lose this winter and we’re going to have to sell the house.”
“You say that every winter.”
“But this winter I know. Trust me. We’re going to go broke. It’s going to sneak up on us, quietly. Quietly broke.”
It hadn’t always been like this. The year Dink was in the halfway house, he had such good luck that Tulip never saw any of his temper tantrums. It wasn’t until they moved to Vegas that she witnessed what happened when Dink lost. One afternoon she arrived home from a matinee. The moment she stepped out of the car, she heard yelling. Fearing that her husband had gone into cardiac arrest, she ran into the house. There was Dink, stripped to the waist, writhing around on the floor and pulling his hair with both hands.
“What is going on!” Tulip screamed.
“Cocksucker, motherfucker!” Dink cried. “WHY did he BUNT? Why, why, WHY?”
Tulip ran upstairs and into the bedroom. She turned on her stereo, but even
Rubber Soul
on high volume couldn’t drown out her husband’s yelling. So she packed an overnight bag and drove to the office. She
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