The Exit Coach

by Megan Staffel

  She said it without hesitation so he cautioned gently, “You know, often, not always, but often a first love doesn’t last very long.”

  “We’ll last, I really think so.”

  “Well, I’m glad it’s that good for you. That’s nice to hear.”

  “How do you see yourself in….”

  She was going to say ten years, but he saw that she realized he wouldn’t have ten years.

  “In the future.” The smile, acknowledging it. She wasn’t afraid to look at him.

  “Dead.” He said it with finality. And he could see her fill up with all of the arrogance of the young and healthy, ready to protest.

  “No, no, none of that. Dead is what I want. It’s the next step. And it’s not such a terrible thing. Alice and I, in the later years, when Ruben and Jennifer were gone, we had a little project. We called it Sunset Park. But that’s for another day. I’m feeling very tired all of the sudden. So I’ll just wheel into my room and you could take some leftovers out for my dinner. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She leaned down and placed a kiss on his temple. He reached for her hand. He held it, pressing his thumb into her palm, sealing what had just happened. It was a moment. Then she went into the kitchen and he wheeled down the hall.

  13.

  As soon as they were settled in the restaurant she said, “I’m sorry about the review.”

  “That’s okay. He liked you though, didn’t he?”

  She was prepared for that. So she said, “The only reason I looked good was because of you. It’s true, you know.”

  He shrugged. “I’m really hungry. Let’s order.”

  He wasn’t very talkative, but he ate an enormous amount, everything that he ordered plus everything that she had ordered too, none of which she felt like eating. They split the bill, and she left the tip because he said he didn’t have any ones.

  Out on the sidewalk, she could feel the pressure of all the things he was not saying. It made her want to escape, but she counseled herself to be patient. She would not be like her mother. There would be no “multiples” in her life; she would have one boyfriend. “Why don’t we go over there under the trees, sit on that bench?”

  “If you want to.”

  When they sat down she asked, “Are you mad at me for that review? Because you know it’s not my fault.”

  “I’m not mad. And I’m not jealous, so don’t be thinking that. But the whole thing sucks. Because I know how this guy operates. He’s just trying to get into your pants.”

  “Who?”

  “Erik what’s his name, the critic.”

  “But he doesn’t know me. I’ve never even met him.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” Ernie said, turning his pale, pimply face towards her and laying his big, sweaty palm over hers. “You don’t know how it works. You ever hear of Maisie Heller? She was this girl a little older than you and she was in this other show I was in and the same thing happened. He gave her this great praise, the show was extended, and she was like this star. And then he arranged to interview her and they became lovers and she dumped him after awhile because he’s a real prick. But he took his revenge. He made certain no one would hire her. In the dance world he like calls the shots. Believe me, this guy owns it. He knows everybody and has all this power and he hates me.”

  “But why? You’re so great. Your leads are why I can do all this stuff.”

  “Because Maisie left him for me. See? I was hosing her. That’s how it goes.”

  “No. Really? This is how he’s getting back? Wow, I guess that makes sense. I mean, I didn’t think I was that good. Like, how could he mention me and not mention Brekka?”

  “Exactly. See, that’s how it works.” He stopped talking to watch a dog pull his owner from tree to tree. “Look! Who’s taking who for that walk?”

  “But Ernie, how can you believe in anything then?”

  “That’s exactly my point. You can’t. It’s all bullshit. Who’s sleeping with who, that’s all that’s going on, that’s only what those reviews are about. You could do like a scientific study and trace it and you’d have all the proof you’d need.”

  “It just explains everything. It really does.”

  “Know what I’m thinking? Makes me so pissed I’m really thinking about this and my uncle up in Rochester? He’s been after me for the longest time. I’m really thinking I’m through with this dance stuff. Finished. For once and for all. I’m going into business. Up in Rochester. Candles.”

  “What do you mean? What are you telling me?” She grabbed his arm, hearing his words again and letting their meaning sink in. “Ernie, what are you saying?”

  “What I’m telling you, Ava, is that I’m done. Not with you. With dance, with this city. After the last show I’m moving up to Rochester to work for my uncle. Aurora Candles, that’s what it’s called.”

  “But what about me?”

  “You won’t have any problems, believe me. You’ll be with Shithead. I’m sure he’ll contact you.”

  “But that’s not what I want. I want to be with you. I want you. Don’t you know that?”

  He smiled. “I guess you’ll have to come to Rochester. What’s a matter? You’d like upstate.” He leaned in and kissed her, and against her cheek, continued talking. “It’s really pretty. These great big houses. Loads of shopping centers. How does that sound?”

  “Of course,” she said, not even knowing where Rochester was. “It’s not far, is it? I’ll come back to see my mom. What is it, a couple of hours?”

  “Hardly anything at all. And it’s this small, friendly city. We’d get there just in time for the lilac festival. Hey, maybe my uncle could give you a job too!”

  The show was extended, but it didn’t move to a larger venue. Most days, before going to the theater, they met for a meal and made plans. Ernie talked to his uncle and there was the possibility of a job with a cousin who needed someone to organize staging for her real estate company. It was a communications job and the only skill necessary was dependability and a reliable car.

  “I can’t drive,” Ava said when he told her.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s no biggy. We’ll work it out. I’ll take you wherever you have to go. Or my other cousin. It’s all good. And eventually you’ll learn to drive. It’s easy.”

  “Okay,” she said doubtfully. “but how much does a car cost?”

  “No worries, cars are cheap, dirt cheap.”

  “But my mother doesn’t even own a car and she knows how to drive, she drives a bus. It’s expensive to own a car.”

  “Only in New York. It’s dirt cheap everywhere else. Cars are how it’s done everywhere but here. Trust me.” He turned her head towards him and kissed her lips. “It’ll all work out and we’ll be together. We’ll be in a new place and we’ll have each other and it will be exciting. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to get out of this shithole city.”

  Meanwhile, the sex continued and what she hadn’t counted on was the ongoing demands of it. There was something in him that never got satisfied. In a restaurant, on a walk, riding the subway, he’d whisper in her ear, “Let’s find a place cause I really want to ball you.” Or fuck you, or hose you, or drill the living daylights outta you. The words were different, but the tone was always the same: secret, private, and an assumed privilege.

  Was it supposed to make her feel desired? All it gave her was a catalog of hidden locations. She learned the other side of the city, the dark stairways and shadowed corners. Each time, barely concealed by a wall or a tree or trash cans in an alley, they had just enough time to consummate his urge. The danger of it, the possibility of being discovered seemed to add to his pleasure, while it only frightened her. She prayed the back door would not open, or the cyclist would not have to come down the stairs to store his bicycle. She held on, in whatever position she had to maintain for whatever tight little space they’d found, waiting for it to be over.

  He kicked the condom into bushes or grass or a gutter,
but every time he folded the wrapper, slipped it into his pocket.

  So finally: “What is that, a souvenir?”

  “I’ll tell you something. What you need to do is get on the pill. Then we wouldn’t have to do this.”

  “Rochester,” she promised. “I’ll go to a clinic.”

  14.

  The bare activities of life, dressing, making breakfast, wheeling to the door to get the paper, filled up the early morning hours until she got there.

  “Hello, old man,” she called.

  “Hello, Nobody,” he called back.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  He could hear her hanging up her jacket, stowing her bag, walking across the foyer. And there she was. She kissed his temple. “Your hands are cold,” he said.

  “It’s chilly, though maybe it’ll get warmer later on and we could go for a walk.”

  “That would be grand.”

  She brought in the teapot, the two cups, the plate of toast, the dish of marmalade, her glorious self. But she didn’t pour. “We’ll let it steep.”

  “Whatever you say,” he offered because he was her acolyte.

  “I have to tell you something and it’s going to be hard.”

  “Just say it,” he recommended, heart thumping.

  “I’m moving to Rochester. As soon as the show’s over. In two weeks. I’ll get there just in time for the lilac festival, which is a really big thing up there. There’s this park with the biggest collection of lilac trees and the most varieties of anywhere in the whole world.”

  “I believe they’re considered to be a bush. Interesting. Rochester, New York, whatever for?” He smelled sex.

  “Ernie’s going to quit dance and get a job with the Aurora Candle company.”

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’m getting this job as a real estate photographer.”

  He must have looked surprised because she said, “You don’t really have to know how to take pictures. They give you a camera and teach you the whole deal in less than an hour.”

  “Marvelous.”

  “I thought you would be upset.”

  “I am. I’m being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.” A pause, but then with enthusiasm, “Is the tea ready, do you think?” She poured some into his cup, and it was dark enough. “I mean, the agency will send someone else. I’ve already told them and I said, send him someone young and female.”

  “Thank you, but I won’t be needing anyone. I’ll be fine on my own. I was fine before, remember?”

  “I know you can do everything, but you need to have some company during the day. You’re by yourself too much.”

  “Well, that’s the nature of it. I’ve always been a lonely person and so of course that’s what I am now. It’s my natural state. I would feel it even if I had a roommate.”

  “Okay.” But her eyes were restive. They drifted about the room and then came back and she said, “Wow, you’re taking this better than I thought you would. I was just dreading it.”

  “Listen, Ava, don’t diminish your importance in my life. I have a tight hold on my feelings so I’m not going to whine or complain or cry or get angry. At least not while you’re here.” He pushed into the table and took a piece of toast and slathered it with marmalade. But when he lifted it to his mouth, he found he couldn’t take a bite. He would simply die. That’s what he was going to do. As soon as she left for good he would go into the bedroom and lie down and not wake up. (You pathetic old fool! Eat the fucking toast. She has her whole life and all of her loves and happinesses and you are not to make her feel guilty.) He cleared his throat, dabbed his mouth in case there was spittle. Then he dabbed his eyes because lately, they kept tearing for no reason. “Don’t forget, I’m living in Sunset Park.”

  She looked at him blankly. Of course. She was so wrapped up in her own plans she was careless with the things he imparted. And of course she was, it was appropriate.

  So he explained again how, when the kids were grown up, he and Alice had a project called Sunset Park. “Life happens in Sunset Park, you see.”

  “It’s somewhere in Brooklyn, isn’t it? Near that big cemetery. I went there once.”

  “Greenwood Cemetery, yes. But I’m not talking about the actual place. It’s a metaphor. You know metaphors?”

  “Yes, I took honors English and I did pretty okay.”

  “It was our way of talking about old age and death. And since she’s been gone, I’ve expanded the concept.”

  “Harvey, sorry, but I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back. I’m really interested.”

  While she was gone he came to his senses. Do not talk about it, he instructed. It’s private, and it’s totally irrelevent for someone her age. And then, all of the sudden, he was so exhausted, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. And suddenly he was in motion. Had he died already? Was it an angel wheeling him to paradise? “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to bed. For a nap.”

  “No! I’m awake. And I want to be in the living room to read the paper. Also, we have to cook something. Take me back.”

  “Your eyes were closed and you were snoring really loud.”

  “Oh God, that’s embarrassing. So, what are we going to make?”

  “You have to eat your toast. And then you have to tell me about Sunset Park.”

  “Well, Sunset Park was the title of Alice’s last album which was all blues. She was a great blues singer. A white girl from a little coal mining town in Pennsylvania. Her real name was Wisniewski, but she could sing the blues, as you heard.”

  “Yes, and I want to hear more.”

  “Don’t humor me.”

  “I’m not, old man.”

  “All right, little Miss Nobody. “Slow Dancing in Sunset Park,” that’s what it was called.”

  “So what is it?”

  “You haven’t guessed?

  “No, I haven’t,” she whispered happily, stroking the back of his head.

  That brought him to his senses. “Well of course you haven’t, you’re too young. And I have no business telling you about it.”

  “That’s not fair. You’re teasing me.”

  “No, I’m not, I’m just not going to dump my shit onto your shoulders. And that’s why I am going to shut up about it.”

  She carried the breakfast things into the kitchen and when she came back she fired off a prepared speech. Her whole body was taut with resolve. “What if I want to hear about it? What if I want to have you tell me? Huh, old man? What if I respect you, Harvey, and learn things from you? Okay? So please, if it’s not too personal, tell me about Sunset Park.”

  “Hey, you’re good! You’re really good. All right. I’ll do as you say. It was our philosophy and it’s very simple. Each human, as soon as they get squeezed out of the womb, is living in Sunset Park. Death begins the day after we’re born and everything we do determines the kind of death we will have. Do you have honest relationships? Do you say the hard things? Do you take the trouble to make sure that what you’re telling someone is the truth? Are you courageous enough to do the things in your life you feel passionate about? Even though they might terrify you and cause hardship?

  “When the project began, we were living in Scarsdale. Two cars, a lot of driving, a lot of commuting into the city. Once the kids left home, it didn’t make sense. We wanted to simplify our lives as we got older. Well, we knew we couldn’t live close to Jennifer, she was in Illinois, but Ruben was in the city and we could be close to him. So we put the Scarsdale place on the market and we looked for an apartment that would be a short walk to the park and shopping and subways. We wanted to be high up, have beautiful views. I dropped all of my clients except Alice and we put our energies into two more recordings. But sadly, as it turned out, it was only one. It was a wonderful time. Our lives were focused on each other. We listened to music, she sang, we read out loud and at night we drew a high bath before we went to bed and lowered our decrepit old bodies in it and soaked together. We
drank good wine at good meals that I cooked. There wasn’t much sex, though there was some, and we were in love. Sunset Park was the last recording she ever made and I think she knew it would be the last. She knew she would go early. Her timetable was different than mine and this whole Sunset Park project had been her idea. She wanted to be ready. But more than that, she wanted to create a life that she could enjoy as long as possible. And she did. She was here and there and out and about until her last week. She was suddenly very tired, very weak, but there was nothing to indicate she needed to go to the hospital. And one night she was gone.

  “You, Ava, are in Sunset Park as much as I am. What you decide to do in your life, the decisions you make now, will determine the kind of aging you will have. Will you have said the things you wanted to say? Loved the people you wanted to love? Done the hard things, the things that were important to you, the things you were scared of? It starts now.”

  15.

  Ruben had exciting news. Lincoln Center was offering him a commission to stage three Grimm’s fairy tales. He’ d run the whole show, choosing the tales, the dancers, the music, and the music would be performed by the Count Basie Orchestra.

  All of this was announced by the door, while he was still standing in the hallway. Harvey, who was about to sit down to a dinner of Ava’s leftovers, was pleased to have company. “Well, come on in, boy. That’s fabulous. Tell me everything. Have you told Jack?”

  “I wanted to tell you first. In person. And I brought champagne.”

  “Very good!” Harvey said and headed for the music room.

  “I’ll get the glasses!” Ruben called, running in his socks to the cupboard in the living room that was home to the diminishing troubadours and four hand-blown champagne flutes.

  “Bring a third! We’ll get Alice in on it, too.” Before Harvey put the record on the turntable, he flipped the cover to the backside where there was an old, grainy photo. She was blowing kisses to an audience, holding a bouquet of flowers. Newport maybe; he didn’t remember. “Our boy,” he whispered.