by Lee Conell
Hm! Yikes!
What had gotten into him? Some off-kilter vibrations in the building today? Maybe Lily’s ghost was haunting Martin’s gastrointestinal tract? Not good. But it was kind of fun to watch Neilson struggling to keep up his deep breathing, pretending to be so in the moment, like the smell was nothing more than the texture of a present of which he, Neilson, was infinitely accepting. Still, the nose . . . Yep, there it was. A crinkle. A little unconscious crinkling. In the nose and in the eyelids, too. Martin snorted back laughter. Neilson’s eyes opened.
“What is it, Martin?”
“Nothing.” A surprise to hear himself actually giggling. He tried again: “You know when you’re just so profoundly present that you start to laugh?”
Neilson nodded. “Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, absolutely. I’m glad you got there, to that open, childlike place, my brother.” He stood up and, without another word, opened a window.
A cool draft and the voices of the crew at work in the courtyard today, just starting to wrap up. They called to each other in Spanish. Martin and Neilson listened and did not understand much. The men out there seemed even to be laughing in another language.
“Jesus,” Neilson said. “They’re so loud. Do they not know people here work from home?”
“We’re not working right now.”
“But I will be, Martin. Once you leave, I’ll have to get back to work and instead of listening to the changes in the currency marketplace, I’ll have to listen to all that hollering out there.”
“They’re just goofing a little. The workday’s almost done.”
“Not my workday. I telecommute. My job has no boundaries.”
“Okay,” Martin said. “I understand.”
“Could you talk to them later on? Tell them to keep it down when you’re back in the basement?”
Martin said nothing. His silence caused Neilson to turn from the window and raise an eyebrow. His face resembled a white garbage bag barely cinched closed, near to bursting. He wanted so badly to say something, Neilson did.
“What?” Martin said.
“I’m not sure how to put this.” Neilson folded his arms over his chest. “But were you purposefully farting into the meditation cushion?”
“Yeah, my man.” Martin stood up. “I purposefully farted into your meditation cushion. I was feeling very Zen.”
Dream #1: Neilson would say, That makes sense to me.
Dream #2: Neilson would say, Fuck, I was being an asshole, and I should just let the guys outside laugh if they want to laugh.
Dream #3: Neilson himself would start to laugh. And Martin would join in. They would laugh so hard, they’d fart in sync. Which would mean they’d laugh more and then Neilson would give Martin a big early Christmas tip, even though it was March and he hadn’t given him much last time around anyway.
None of that happened. What happened was: The cinched look on Neilson’s face got tighter. If Martin stayed here much longer, the garbage in Neilson—whatever trash in him had the sharpest edge—would rupture the bag of his face and everything would erupt at Martin. The worst words. A few threats. Guaranteed.
“I’m just joking with you,” Martin said quickly. “It was an accident. Too much gluten.”
“Uh-huh,” Neilson said.
“I really like bread. That’s my problem.”
“Right,” Neilson said.
“Yeah. So. I should get back to work myself before it gets too late.” He hoisted up his toolbox and, under Neilson’s stare, left 3C. Behind a door, he could hear 3D’s Yorkies howling.
* * *
—
The dozens of garbage bags in the courtyard had made their slow migration to the curb in front of the building as the afternoon wound down. Martin saw them when he went to hose the sidewalk. A crew had come, had pulled the bags through the courtyard, through the trash alley, up the stairs, to the street, where the bags would stay until a truck arrived to haul them off. When Martin squinted, they resembled dozens of slouching people, puffy-coated, who seemed to be waiting for something. The insides of 5A, scrunched within black polyethylene, had reshaped into something skeletal. The slabs of Lily’s drywall had turned into deformed spines, the bulge of Lily’s insulation into hunched shoulders.
He turned the hose on and let the water unfurl into the air. If he arched the hose right, it was like he was hanging a beaded rodless curtain over the sidewalk. The water droplets caught the sun and cast a shimmering rainbow. A shimmering rainbow! Way better than the garbage visions.
Sodden trash and storm-softened coils of dog shit and wet leaves were all over the sidewalk. Feeling more coolheaded now, Martin used the hose to force a candy bar wrapper over the curb and into the street. He was in the middle of hosing away some of the dog shit when a skinny guy around Ruby’s age approached.
“Excuse me,” said the guy. He wore an unbuttoned wool coat and a cardigan that looked deliberately threadbare. But the collar under his cardigan was messed up in a way that didn’t seem deliberate, one side up, one side down, cockeyed, and for a second Martin crossed his own eyes in a surprising twinge of sympathy. For the guy or for the shirt? He couldn’t tell.
“Excuse me,” the guy repeated, his voice high.
“Yeah?” Martin was suddenly aware of the dust in his beard and on his hat. Grease smudges on his chin. His late-middle-aged-urchin look, Debra called it.
“Are you the super at this building?”
“Yeah. How can I help you?”
The guy seemed unsure. He looked at the gum wrapper being forced by the water to skip along the sidewalk. “Are there any apartments available in your building?”
“I’m not the one you talk to about that.” Martin turned off the hose. “You need the property management guys.”
“Oh.”
“You want the number?”
“That’s okay. Do you mind if I take a picture of the façade?”
“Sure,” Martin said. “Free country.” He returned to hosing down the sidewalk while the guy photographed the building. Soon 8C walked by, saw Martin, seized his arm. “Do you know if a package arrived for me? It is supposed to have arrived, Martin.” 4B walked by with her child in tow, saw Martin, asked, “Do you think you could give the babysitter spare keys when I’m gone this weekend, I just can’t find my spare—Martin?”
Martin answered all their questions and nodded politely at their requests. When they were gone, he looked down the street. The guy who had asked about apartments was standing there, holding his phone high above his head, where it glowed like a torch.
* * *
—
He returned to the basement. No Ruby still. The striker he’d stolen was a shadow under his meditation bench. The red light of the answering machine blinked at him. Frank at Sycamore Property Management. “Martin, you there? Look, we have to talk.” A long pause in the message. Martin waited for Frank to say the name Caroline, but that didn’t happen. Instead Frank said “Neilson.” Neilson had called and ranted about how he had reported a clogged drain and waited days for a response. Was this true, Frank wanted to know, and didn’t Martin appreciate Neilson was on the board? Was Martin actively trying to put his job in jeopardy? This was not a one-strike situation, Frank said, but it wasn’t exactly a three-strike situation either. A two-strike situation, maybe. Two strikes and you’re out, Martin. Okay?
Frank had a joking tone in the message, but he wasn’t really joking. Frank could get a newer, younger Martin, pay him less. As far as reasons for firing went, a delayed response to a drain clog was a pretty ridiculous one, but Frank could find some way to spin things if he wanted, in just the way Neilson had spun things. Neilson hadn’t been upset about the drain. He’d been upset that Martin had intentionally farted on his golden-threaded pillows. But “farting with intent” would be a weird thing to complain to the Sycamore people about, so he had g
one with the drain delay.
Which meant Martin needed to work extra hard to avoid pissing anyone else off for a while. He needed to hope that Caroline kept the moment with the dropped stone to herself.
10 EDWARD HOPPER MEETS GODZILLA
It was dimmer out when Ruby awoke. She sat straight up. She was on an unfamiliar couch warmed by her own body, in an apartment that smelled like a fake forest of pines. Across from her, a fish tank glowed cyan. She was in 2D. The fish were still alive, drifting back and forth. Beyond the fish tank’s glug, the apartment was soothingly silent, the way a museum might be at night.
But the silence in 2D did not really belong to her. Her skirt was still damp, still mustard-streaked. And she could still feel Andy’s hand, inching beneath it. It would be impossible to hide out much longer, pretending the earlier events of the day had never occurred. She rubbed sleep from her eyes. She turned on a lamp. She must stop avoiding her phone.
She reached for it now, digging around in her bag, and turned it back on. Some texts from Andy. She would not look at those now. Other messages, too, from her father, her mother, Jaida from high school, Ellen from Mellow Macchiato, and Caroline from this building, Caroline from childhood, Caroline, patron of unpaid internships. She read through the messages from Caroline before anyone else’s.
ruby where are you are you in the building?
Andy called me said you STOLE family heirloom from him under his nose???? Also gave him a nosebleed? He sent a picture . . .
Please call back.
We can fix this . . .
Did interview go ok at least?
Look Ruby, Andy is blowing up my phone . . .
RuUuuuBeee. Rube Rube Rube. Rupeeeee.
Andy wants to know where heirloom is
Ruby I know you are there and ignoring me
Where is heirloom he is freaking out
look are you okay
She felt a little faint. Her grip loosened, and her phone fell from her hand. It skidded under the Lucite coffee table. She flopped down on the floor to retrieve it, but once she reached her arm under the table, something compelled her to crawl under the Lucite surface entirely, to lay her whole body beneath it as if it were a shield protecting her from invisible fiery arrows. The rain-damp of her professional skirt pressed against her butt and thighs. The ceiling, seen through the underside of the table’s clear surface, turned shimmery.
For a second, she felt like a knocked-out helpless Snow White in a Lucite coffin, but after a few moments, it was the apartment that looked defenseless and comatose, and Ruby who felt more awake and witchlike, potent with secret poisoned apples. Apartment 2D turned into an artifact behind a display glass. She propped herself up on her elbows and pressed her nose against this new lens.
At last she scooted out from under the table and stretched her arms above her head, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She was most definitely not Snow White in a coma. She had taken the rhino head. She had effected change. It was important not to avoid Caroline like some scared little kid. Ruby felt oddly empowered, until she glanced back down at the table. She squinted. The table was now streaked with long foggy marks, like cirrus clouds. Her breath had smudged its spotless shine.
She went into the kitchen and opened up the small cabinet under the sink, retrieving Windex and a roll of paper towels. She would take care of this. She maneuvered her arm beneath the table and sprayed the underside with Windex. For good measure, she sprayed Windex on the tabletop, too, rubbing it in with the paper towel—maybe 2D would be so impressed when she noticed Ruby had been cleaning that she would decide to give her actual cash instead of gift cards.
The smudges remained.
She sprayed some more Windex. Possibly the magic of the solvent could only work without a human being watching? She sat on the couch again, trained her eyes on the fish. It no longer seemed like they were aimlessly drifting back and forth. They looked like they were running from something.
She glanced, finally, at the table again. And dug her fingernails into the taupe cushions. Not only did the smudges remain, but the table had also become pitted where the little shots of Windex had hit, as if some special ants had decided to build their anthill inside the Lucite.
Ruby could already hear the throaty sadness in 2D’s voice as she read aloud the shipping costs and the manufacturer’s bill. Ruby would say, I am so, so, so sorry, Ms. Brody, and 2D would say, Please, call me Christine. A payment plan would be decided on. Ruby would owe 2D so much money. On top of her debts. On top of her joblessness.
And what would Ruby tell her father?
Another text from Caroline. WHERE ARE YOU.
Am fish-sitting in 2D, she texted Caroline. you in PH? you can come downstairs, visit if you want?
Caroline responded almost immediately. be right there.
Ruby ran her hands over the pits in the table as if the pits were some kind of braille her fingertips might read. It was fine, it was fine, it would all be fine. The fish would calm her. She would speak quietly and politely with Caroline. A knock on the door. “It’s open,” she called out. Her own voice sounded strange to her. Another knock. She tried to stand, but her legs felt weak. “It’s open,” she screamed.
Caroline burst into 2D, her dark eyes comically wide, a circus act of concern. She had a different dress on, this one featuring a geometric print. “Ruby,” she said, “what’s going on?”
“I’m fish-sitting,” Ruby said.
“Andy called me essentially in tears.”
“He’s a sensitive boy.”
“Ruby. Be up front with me. I can’t take any more drama, especially not today, which has already been weird and hectic.”
“What’s so weird and so hectic about your day?”
“The party. Getting ready for the party has been a lot.” But Caroline said these words in a way that suggested whatever was really going on was entirely outside Ruby’s comprehension of the weird and the hectic. She looked at Ruby’s rumpled and stained professional skirt. “How was the interview?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting for you to text me about it. Did you rock it?”
Did Ruby rock it. Like Caroline was an aerobics instructor. Did! You! Rock! It!
Ruby said, “You told me it was a job.”
“It is a job.”
“It’s an unpaid internship.”
“An internship is still a job.”
“It’s not the kind of job I can take.”
“I don’t get what the big deal is.” Caroline flopped down on the couch next to Ruby. “What’s wrong with an internship? You’re not even paying rent right now. You take a pay cut for a few weeks, you go to Starbucks less—”
“I don’t go to Starbucks.” She glanced toward 2D’s gift cards. “Why do people think that I go to Starbucks?”
“My point is, you’ll be setting yourself up for something sweet down the line.”
“I don’t have down-the-line time.” Ruby found the strength in her legs. She stood up and closed the door to 2D, which Caroline had left gaping open. She turned on the overhead light and walked to the couch but did not sit down. She needed Caroline looking up at her in order to say what she needed to say. “I have a lot of debt, Caroline.”
“You never really told me that, Ruby.” Caroline looked at 2D’s two fish. “I mean, I guess I knew you had some.”
“I should have been more clear.”
“But that’s all the more reason to take the internship. I had a professor at school who said the ultimate problem with student loans is that they discourage people from taking on risky but valuable opportunities.” The full force of her positive thinking twisted Caroline’s mouth into a smile. “The kinds of opportunities that could change your life.”
Ruby took a deep breath.
“And you have friends. You have to remember that. You have family. You have people who love you.
You have a place to stay. It’s not that bad.”
“I can’t live with my parents much longer. My dad looks at me like I’m some sort of skin disease.”
“Yeah, well, your dad has been having his own issues.” Caroline laced her fingers together, like holding them that way was the only thing preventing her from going into full-on flail mode. “He came upstairs to fix the terrace door and freaked out at me.”
Ruby went very still.
It felt like an elevator chute had formed from her brain through her rib cage. It felt like some thought at the top of her skull was waiting to descend toward the center of her heart.
“He just sort of lost it.” Caroline cocked her head. “Is there a crisis or something going on? A death in the family? Because who does that, who drops a stone in someone’s cup of coffee out of nowhere?”
Ruby still could not speak.
“Thank god it just spilled on my dress and not my laptop,” Caroline said. “He tried to play it off like it was an accident.”
Ruby began to cry. Something hot and alive had cracked open inside her. She remembered the way she’d held the broom this morning, and swung it, and how hard she’d hit that nest, and how her father had tried not to look her way after the eggs cracked open with an amniotic slosh.
A stone plopped into coffee. Somehow, now, she felt responsible—the way she should have felt, probably, when she had buzzed Lily’s cousin in.