Chump Change by Dan Fante Read Free Book Online Page A

script/director package together fifteen years before. It would have been Asner’s first movie after a successful TV career. The deal hadgotten funding but dissolved when the studio opted to do another project first. However, a close friendship had developed over time between the two men. Then, several years later, Dante sent his pal a manuscript of an unpublished novel he’d written that he thought had good film potential. Asner had been busy working and made the miscalculation of not getting back to my father quickly enough. Six weeks later, when Dante did get him on the phone, Phil said he thought the idea needed development, that he didn’t see it as a film. Dante’s reply had ended the relationship. He told Asner that the reason he’d never “made it” in movies was because the sitcom format was the only way he could ever recognize clever writing. Phil’s personal contribution to TV history, Dante had gone on, ranked on the list below the imbecile who had invented the laugh track. The two men never spoke again.
    The last voice on the machine was my mother’s. Dante was still holding death off on sheer self-will, without the aid of machine or drug. Why the old body wouldn’t give up could not be explained by his doctors. My father, somehow, was reserving the extinguishing of life’s last embers to his personal time table. Dictating terms again. His pride was remarkable.
    I decided to leave a message on the old man’s behalf. I knew that my mother would pay more attention to a request from me if I were one of the voices on the answering machine. She’d have to. It would be a recorded message requiring a response. She’d take my name down and deal with me like she dealt with everything else on her “to-do” list.
    I pressed the “memo” button and started talking. “Hi Mom,” my message began. “Bruno Dante here with somethingto say; when Pop’s gone, I hope somebody will be taking care of Rocco. I know you’ve got a lot to deal with now, but I’m worried about the dog. He’s bewildered and gaunt and fucked up. He’s abandoned and half-dead. I know that Dad would want him looked after. Okay? Tommy (Fabrizio) is too occupied with his corporate financial mental shit and Maggie keeps herself hysterical running around kissing Benny Roth’s ass but I think the dog should be a priority somewhere. That’s my opinion. Thanks, Mom.”
    Then I hit the stop button on the machine and took the last swig of my coffee.
    Recovery had given me some coping skills. Hot showers sometimes induced sleep in me, so I decided to take one. I was smart enough to know that if I didn’t rest soon, I’d get drunker, maybe find some wine, then black out and stick a butcher knife into my stomach.
    I undressed in the bathroom and stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as I could take. I lathered up and washed my hair and even tried jerking off with the soap suds, but lost interest when my dick wouldn’t stay hard.
    Then I let the water run on me for a long time, while I leaned against the wall of the shower to steady myself. When I could feel my body loosening and my mind quiet, I got out. At ease. Feeling ready for sleep.
    Because of the hot shower, my mind was gratefully omitting its persistent reruns of me coming out of blackouts with my cock going in and out of other men’s assholes, and memories of me waking up in my bed, choking on the stench of my own diarrhea, infested by a bestial depression until Idrank again. Being alive to face the terrors and pictures of those moments was what made my death more and more necessary. But for now, I was safe with my secrets. I could rest. I lay down on the bed in the empty room and let blackness swallow me.

7
    I T WAS STILL DARK WHEN I OPENED MY EYES AGAIN. L OOKING at the lighted digital clock on the nightstand, I could see that over three hours had passed. Down the hall, I heard the water in the shower running and I knew Fabrizio was awake too.
    I dressed in the