The Alchemy of Noise

by Lorraine Devon Wilke

  But she kept those thoughts to herself. She didn’t want to further inflame what was already raw. She would find a moment with Sandra . . . and soon. For now she wanted only to comfort Chris.

  “Is there anything I can do, anything I can offer?”

  He shook his head. “I just need to calm down. My adrenaline is doing a number on me. Do you think you could make me a piece of dry toast?”

  “Of course.” Sidonie went to the kitchen, pulled out the bread, and plugged in the toaster.

  “I’m grateful for Alice,” Chris said from across the room. “Glad we’d already met, that she was there. I hope you’ll tell her that for me.”

  “Definitely.”

  “The cops weren’t too thrilled about her recording everything, but she is one fierce chick. Kept insisting she was filming for everyone’s protection, very adamant about spelling out that she knew you, knew who I was. She even suggested they escort me to the door and make me unlock it, which they finally did. I guess when they realized I actually had a key, they had nothing to stand on. Anyway, I want to do something nice for her as a thank-you—maybe take her and her husband to dinner or something.”

  That struck Sidonie. After unwarranted and violent police mishandling, his first thought was a thank-you dinner. “Yes, we’ll do that. I’ll certainly let her know how much I appreciated her intervention. I can’t imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t been here.”

  “You’d be bailing me out of jail right now instead of making me toast.” He looked over to the kitchen. “In fact, Sidonie, forget the toast. I can’t eat right now. I think I’ll just take a shower and lie down. We can talk more tomorrow. Will you be around?”

  “I’m supposed to meet my sister for lunch, we moved it to Thursday, but I can—”

  “No, no, go ahead, I’ve got stuff to do anyway. We’ll just plan on talking when we both get home, okay?” He got up, aching and dizzy.

  She went to him and put her arms around him again. “Would you like some company? Maybe a light massage would make you feel better.”

  He smiled, but his eyes were somber. “A nice offer . . . but I’ll have to take a rain check.” He turned and made his painful way up the stairs.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  WHILE CHRIS FITFULLY SLEPT, AND TOO EARLY FOR HER own repose, Sidonie made two critical nighttime visits.

  Her first was next door. To the good neighbors. She found Alice and husband, Mark, watching a movie in their living room, “trying to distract ourselves from the craziness of the day,” as Alice put it. There were hugs, tears, expressed gratitude, and a cringeworthy viewing of the video (a copy of which was forwarded to Sidonie’s phone). Loose plans were made to get together for dinner, more hugs and tears, then Sidonie left them to their evening.

  Her next stop was equally emotional but significantly less friendly. The bad neighbor. Sandra.

  It was late enough that Sidonie expected no response to her sharp and repeated rapping, but the light finally popped on, the peephole was engaged, and the door cautiously cracked. Sandra, either feeling or feigning terror, didn’t open it wide enough to suggest entrance, nor did Sidonie attempt to make one.

  “Look, Sidonie, I don’t know what you think happened today, but—”

  “Sandra, stop.”

  “Seriously, I had no idea who that was and I thought—”

  “Stop! I mean it. Just stop. Don’t even try to bullshit me.”

  “Listen, I was only trying to—”

  “No, you listen! I have tried to keep things pleasant between us. When you were cold and unfriendly, I didn’t take it personally. When you were rude and obnoxious to my ex-husband, I let it go. When you were mean-spirited during the dog situation with Alice and Mark, I kept my distance. But when you do something so hateful and ugly to a man who could have been arrested or even fucking killed, I will not keep my opinions to myself.”

  “I didn’t know who he was! I honestly thought—”

  “Don’t you dare use the word honestly with me! There’s not a thing about this that was honest. But let me ask, are you just a stupid busybody or an actual, bona fide racist?”

  “Now, wait just a minute. I will not allow you—”

  “Because I know you’d seen Chris here before. You knew he and I were spending time together. I’ve seen you standing at your window looking at us when we were coming up the stairs together. I saw you look at him in the parking area when we were talking to Alice a couple of weeks ago. You were in your front yard when he picked me up the other night—I saw you look at him. So don’t even try to pretend you didn’t know he was a friend of mine, because that’s a boldfaced lie. You’re lying to me right now, just like you lied to the police, which must be some kind of crime. I don’t know why you did it, but I suspect when you saw the chance to fuck with a black man and get away with it, you went for it.”

  “That is not true! I’m telling you, I never fully saw his face when he was coming down with the TV, so I thought—”

  “He wasn’t coming down, Sandra, he was going up. Because he’s moving in with me. That was his gift to me, to the house, a new TV . . . which is now smashed to pieces because of you. Your small-minded, presumptuous, ugly racist self caused an incredibly kind and honorable man to be treated like a criminal in his own backyard. So how about this—”

  Sandra recoiled as if physically fearful of Sidonie’s next move.

  “Don’t you dare shut that door, Sandra. We are going to resolve this right here and now.”

  “What does that mean?” She was actually trembling.

  “Very simple. You are going to reimburse the cost of the TV and any potential medical expenses Chris may incur from being slammed to the ground by the police. I will get you an invoice for the TV, and should there be doctor bills, I will get you those as well. You will pay immediately and in cash. If you do not agree to pay for those items, I will hire my sister—who is a kickass lawyer—to sue you for harassment, assault, false police report, and anything else I can get you on. Additionally, don’t ever come near me or my family and friends again. If you do, I will take out a restraining order against you. But pay those bills, stay in your area and as far away from mine as possible, and we should have no problem peacefully co-existing. You got that?”

  Sandra pulled her cardigan tight, jaw set, eyes livid. “Are you done?”

  Sidonie just glared and walked away as Sandra’s door slammed behind her.

  THIRTY-SIX

  Shaky video focuses on Chris standing halfway up the outdoor staircase leading to the second-floor deck of the townhouse. He is holding a large Sony TV box. Sidonie’s neighbor, Sandra, in a sagging cardigan and sweatpants, stands at the second-floor deck of the adjacent townhouse to the left, phone in hand; very agitated as events unfold. The mood is tense, volatile.

  Off-camera male voice, abrupt: “Just put the TV down, sir, and move slowly to the patio.”

  “Okay,” Chris responds, “but I’m afraid it’ll fall—”.

  “Drop the TV,” second off-camera male voice shouts, “and put your hands up!”

  “Oh my God,” Alice mumbles off-camera.

  Bam, bam, bam . . .

  The TV box tumbles down the stairs and crashes to the patio. The sound of glass shattering.

  Alice’s voice gasps.

  Chris, face clenched, taking visibly deep breaths, raises his hands and edges slowly down the stairs, stepping carefully around the box splayed across the bottom step. The camera follows his descent, capturing a cadre of six police officers positioned around the patio, guns drawn and pointed at Chris.

  Officer shouts: “Get down on the ground!”

  Chris moves to comply; second officer holsters his gun, grabs Chris by the shoulders, and slams him to the ground. The side of Chris’s head hits the pavement, hard.

  “Fuck,” Alice’s voice, quietly.

  SIDONIE YANKED THE headphones from her ears. Seated at her desk in the darkened bedroom, the air cool and still in the late hour
, she felt her outrage surge in waves that were impossible to quell. Just as a sob attempted to make its way from her throat, his voice murmured from the other side of the room. “Do you really want to deal with all this?”

  Startled, she got up and walked to the bed. The clock read three thirty. “Why are you awake?” she whispered.

  “I slept for a while. Why are you awake?”

  “I was watching Alice’s video.” She climbed in and rolled to face him. “They could have killed you.” The catch in her voice threatened to release a torrent. “In our own backyard. They looked like they could’ve killed you.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled her close. “Which is why I asked if you really want to deal with all this.”

  “No. I don’t. I want all this to stop. I want all this to have never happened. I want all this to never happen again.” She stroked the clenched lines between his eyebrows. “Can you promise me that?”

  “I wish I could.”

  “I wish you could too. So I’ll have to deal with all this, because you’re my guy and whatever comes with you is mine to deal with as well. At least it won’t happen here again.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I paid Sandra a visit.”

  He laughed out loud. “You sound so gangsta! I can just picture you walking over there with a baseball bat.”

  “If I had one, I might’ve.”

  “How did you handle Sandra?”

  “Very firmly. Set some ground rules, some boundaries—”

  “Bet she loved that.”

  “Thrilled. I told her she was going to pay for a new TV and any doctor’s bills you may have—”

  “I won’t need a doctor.”

  “Hopefully not, but we’ll see. I made it very clear that she needs to take care of that and then stay as far away from us as possible. She got it. And since she’s the only one around here who’s ever caused any trouble, we should be good.”

  He couldn’t decide if she was gullible or optimistic. “One small step for mankind, I guess.”

  “We take ’em where we can get ’em.”

  He shifted to caress her face, looking into her eyes with concern. “What I don’t want is racial fatigue to set in. I’ve seen it happen and it’s a bitch. I think that’s what my sister and her husband are going through, and they’re both black. I don’t want all these issues—your mom’s boyfriend, or my sister, or the cops, or whatever—to suck the energy out of this relationship. We’re all about love and happiness. Is that still possible?”

  “Of course it is. I’ll meet Vanessa and your mom, you’ll meet my family—well, most of them—and after that, we’ll focus on good things —like new chairs and new paint and loads of love and happiness.”

  “You may be naïve—”

  “I’m not naïve—”

  “But I like the way you think.” He relaxed in her arms.

  “In fact, why don’t you stop by the farmers’ market later . . . I’ll be there with Karen around noon. You don’t have to stay long, just grab a cup of coffee or something. I know she’d love to meet you.”

  Pain suddenly shot through his head and he was hit by weariness. “I can’t think about that just yet . . . but maybe. Let me see how I feel and where my schedule goes. Leave the address and I’ll text you when I know what I’m doing.”

  “Okay.” She ran her fingers gently over his lips. “Do you want to make love? It might relax you.”

  “Ah, Sid.” He kissed her forehead. “I do, but my head is killing me.”

  “Okay. But let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

  “Just love me . . . just keep loving me.”

  “That’s easy.”

  She curled around him and within minutes he was asleep.

  She, however, could find no such solace. She lay thinking about his question: if she wanted to deal with all this—“the complications” her father had so presciently posited years ago. She wondered if what he’d been concerned about was in any way resemblant to what she was actually facing in the here and now.

  It was strange to think of her father in the context of current life, a life so detached from the one in which he had any involvement. He was irrelevant to her now. Sad, since he’d been so dutiful early on, when he was enamored of his perky wife and two little girls, convinced the American dream could be found in beige, suburban contentment and the role he played as “father.” It was when he became disabused of that notion, mollifying his angst with meaningless affairs, that he dropped the façade. Sidonie was old enough to be devastated by his paternal abdication; later she saw him as nothing more than a distant, inconsequential figure.

  Which made the memory of him now all the more off-putting. As she lay in bed next to the battered man she loved, the erstwhile question her father asked and she now had to answer echoed with cruel reverberation.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  SIDONIE ARRIVED AT THE FARMERS’ MARKET HER USUAL thirty minutes early to enjoy her first latte of the day. She gazed over the burgeoning crowd, feeling oddly upbeat; perplexing, given yesterday’s events. Maybe it was that Chris woke up acceptably fit, scrapes and bruises notwithstanding. Maybe it was the browbeating she’d given Sandra the night before, an empowering exercise, she hoped, in thwarting further ill will. Whatever it was, Sidonie welcomed the emotional boost, reveling in the warmth of a perfectly bright and balmy day.

  A text pinged. Expecting Chris, she was surprised to see it was from her mother, to both her and Karen.

  Have some amazing news! Know you two are getting together for lunch, so I’ll call in a few minutes! Xo Mom

  Intriguing.

  Sidonie and her mother had had little conversation since the packing debacle of weeks earlier. Excuses were made—the scramble of selling her place, issues related to their Florida housing options, the ever-fluid date of departure—distracting from any honest attempt to gather or even talk about it further. Sidonie hoped the imminent call might offer progress on that front; she was convinced she needed at least one parent invested in her life.

  Karen approached with a large burrito and Diet Snapple. “I can’t believe that new Mexican place! Yum-my! Did you get Mom’s text?” She plopped to the table and dove in without pause.

  “Yeah. What do you think her big news is?”

  “I have no idea. She texted this morning about some paperwork, and when I mentioned we were getting together, she said she wanted to talk to us both.”

  “Maybe she and Steve eloped.”

  “Please. She’ll make a brouhaha out of that in every way possible. I’m worried she’s backing out, and can’t fathom what that would mean. The condo is in escrow, there’s no room at either of our places—”

  “Unimaginable to even consider—”

  “Seriously! So her not leaving at this point would come with a whole shebang of bullshit. Let’s hope she just wants to talk about what size cabana they should get or if gluten really does cause dementia.”

  “By the way, there’s the slightest chance Chris might stop by.”

  “Where? Here?”

  “Yeah. He’s doing some running around today, but since he doesn’t have a gig tonight, I invited him join us—thought you guys could finally meet.”

  “Oh, wonderful, I’d love that!”

  “I haven’t heard from him yet, but—”

  Karen’s phone rang. “It’s Mom.” She took a slug of Snapple and picked up the phone. “Hey, Mom, you’ve got us both here. Sid’s right across from me. I’ll put you on speaker.” She placed the phone in the center of the table and hit the speaker button.

  “—and it was too hard to figure out anyway.”

  “Mom, we didn’t get any of that. Start over.”

  “Can you both hear me?”

  “Yes, Mom,” Sidonie chimed in. “What’s your news?”

  “Are you sitting down?”

  Karen rolled her eyes. “We’re at a table eating lunch, so, yes, we’re sitting down. Fire away.”

  “I’
m in Florida!”

  The two girls looked at each other, flummoxed.

  “You’re actually in Florida? Like you’ve moved to Florida?” Karen queried, mystified.

  “Yes. Isn’t that something?”

  “‘Something’ is one way to put it. When did that happen, Mom? I thought you were waiting for Steve to decide on a place.”

  “He wanted my input, said we’d both be sittin’ on the front porch so Lord knows I’d have to like what he picked. It seemed silly to wait and I was raring to go, so off I went. I’m a Florida gal now!” She was positively giddy; her daughters less so.

  “Where’s all your stuff?” Sidonie asked.

  “Steve had it shipped down. His stuff too. We’re staying in a really nice residential hotel and everything’s in storage until we close on the place we chose—”

  “Wait, so you’ve actually picked a place?” Karen shook her head, floored.

  “Yes, and it’s just darling. You girls are going to love it when you get here. It’s got a small backyard, but it’s part of a bigger complex with a pond and a swimming pool—”

  “When were you going to tell us you’d left the state?” The edge in Karen’s voice was unvarnished. “You do remember you have a granddaughter who might’ve liked saying goodbye, right?”

  “Sweetie, it’s not like I moved to Mars! I’ll be back up at some point in the next couple of months, and we’ll get you all down here once we’re settled in. There’s a big guest room where we’ll have two double beds. We’re even going to put bunks in the basement level. Steve’s got a whole passel of—”

  “I’m real happy for you, Mom, but leaving without saying goodbye to your family, your granddaughter, is just bad form.” Karen crumpled her burrito in its foil wrap, appetite gone. “I appreciate that you wanted to get started on your new adventure, but considering our last conversation, your stealth exit is a little suspect.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Karen, this isn’t something I planned weeks in advance and didn’t tell you! Steve just came up with the idea and I decided to go with it. There were no intentions, or whatever it is you’re trying to imply. I’ll call Sarah tonight and I’m sure we’ll have a great time talking about Disney World and when she can visit. As for the two of you, I’d love for you to come down as soon as you can.”