Ben lifted the tweezers from the first aid kit. “Alice, lighter.” I reached into my pocket and handed him my Zippo. “Make sure the front door is locked tight, will you? There may be screaming.” He ran the flame over the length of the tweezers to sterilize them. He meticulously positioned the tweezers over the bullet entry in Rabbit’s foot, looking for a precision spot to begin the excavation.
Rabbit’s eyes squeezed shut. His limbs quaked in anticipation as his lips pulsed over one another in a chattering overbite. I stood above Ben, looking down and watching his eyelids pace. He plunged the tweezers onto the skin over Rabbit’s wound, the veins in his hands plumping with blood as he squeezed the prongs of the tweezers around the embedded bullet. Rabbit’s whole body convulsed. Ben shouted, “Steady him!”
Vivienne and I both grabbed an arm and held Rabbit down each time he bucked. Rabbit growled through his clenched teeth as Ben dug the tweezers deeper into the skin. I saw a spout of blood plunge up from the bullet hole. It sprayed the floor red. Rabbit’s growling sustained until it was broken by the sound of a hard, tiny object pinging into the glass bowl.
“Bullets out,” Ben announced.
Rabbit’s eyes flew open and we all glanced down at the bowl, containing a single bullet resembling a metal pebble. Rabbit let out a burst of air from his mouth and his eyes released a pipe-burst of tears, which streaked down his face, falling into his mouth.
“You did it, Ben!” I exclaimed. Ben leaned against the countertop. His face seemed instantly longer and drawn. “Ben, you did it, you can relax.”
“I know I did it, but it was stupid of me. I should have brought your friend to the hospital. What kind of medical professional behaves like this? Kitchen table surgery. My medical license should be revoked.”
“Ben.” My hand wrapped his arm. “You helped my friend, you did the right thing.”
He swatted my hand away. “No, Alice, I did the thing you wanted me to do.” I crossed my arms, tucking my hands into my sides and looked away.
“Uh, Ben?” Rabbit interrupted. “Can I get up and walk on it?”
“No. Not yet. Let me bandage it up for you and then you will have to go easy on it for a couple weeks, at least.” He kneeled down beside Rabbit and pulled bandages and peroxide from the first aid kit. I picked up the bottle of whiskey, shook it around, and then helped myself to a sip.
“Can I just say, Ben, thank you so much for everything you’ve done,” Rabbit delivered the accolades as he fought back a wince from the pressure of the bandage being applied to his foot. The sweaty film around his face gave his cheeks the appearance of plastic.
“Don’t mention it,” replied Ben. He crumpled the bandage wrappers into his fist and tossed them into the trash bin. “You’re all set. Just go easy when it comes to putting any weight on your foot for a few weeks.”
Rabbit looked at me. The same look from earlier in the cab was back in his eyes. He loathed me for what I had done. “See you around, Alice,” he said.
“I’m going to keep my promise, Rabbit, I am going to get that bag back.”
“Sure, Alice, whatever.”
Vivienne tenderly helped Rabbit ease off the stool and hobble towards the door. “Thanks for your help, doctor,” Vivienne said, undoing the door locks. Her eyes shifted to me. “Goodbye, Alice.” The lingering look in her eyes let me know that she didn’t plan on seeing me again. She had no use for the cursed kind of friendship I offered.
After the door shut behind them, it left Ben and I standing on opposite sides of the breakfast table. The apartment was uncomfortably silent. I looked down at the red bull’s-eye splatter of Rabbit’s blood on the kitchen floor.
It was Ben who spoke first. “I should probably get this place cleaned up.”
“Let me help,” I said, doing a concise visual survey of the bloody paper towels scattered around the stool Rabbit had sat on and the bowl containing a single bloody bullet. “Since the mess is my fault.”
“I will take care of it, just get yourself tidied up.” A hint of a smile dawned on his lips. “You still smell like a cabaret house.”
I smiled, relieved that he wasn’t so angry with me that he couldn’t still crack a joke. “Okay,” I agreed. I padded to the bathroom and dabbed a towel over my skin and hair. Then I went to the bedroom and slipped inside more of Ben’s cozy clothes. When I came back out, the blood splatters were gone and the kitchen looked as it did when I first arrived there.
“So, you already know what an eventful day I had, but how was your shift today at the hospital?” I was bee-lining for the fridge, feeling confident to make myself at home.
“It was okay.” He switched the stove’s burner back on and stabbed the rubbery chicken cutlets with a fork to see if they could be rescued. “I thought I left all my patients behind for the night, but apparently that didn’t include house calls.”
“A house call is when you go to the patient. I brought the patient to you.” I was sending him a demure smile that begged forgiveness for the disruptions I had caused.
“Oh, right, special home delivery,” he teased. The pan on the stove was getting hotter, bringing out the aroma of the lemony chicken and rosemary Ben had prepared.
“It smells to die for,” I commented.
Ben wiped his hands on a dish towel and cocked his head to look at me. “You know, it’s been a while since you disappeared for days like usual, barring the occasional bar fight and gunshot victim. Slow time for flying?”
“Actually, I quit my job, so no more flights.”
“Quit? What made you decide to quit? I thought you loved flying.”
“I did. But since I started dating you, I started looking forward to landing, more and more. I want to be around for you. Plus, my boss was a real turd. I thought I’d try putting more effort in being a girlfriend.” I shut the fridge door. “If that’s okay with you?”
He peeked under the lid to spy on the chicken and turned the knob down to simmer. “Alice, that is more than okay with me. You’re a lively girl, I’m sure you’ll find something in Paris that you love doing for a living. I get the feeling you have a lot of hidden talents you don’t tell me about.”
“I appreciate the encouragement.”
“How will you keep up the rent on that fancy apartment of yours without a job?”
I did a hard swallow just thinking about my apartment. Moonboots McCafferty and Xerxes O’Brien had probably already ransacked it under Motley’s command. Not that I had anything of value besides my clothing and the fake passport I had purchased in London under the name Patricia C Leor. Although, I had a feeling both of those things might come in handy in the near future and I wished I had salvaged them from the apartment somehow. “I was actually thinking of just letting the lease run up on it. I mean it’s just about up anyways, so maybe I can find someone to sublet it.”
“Alice, I want you to know that until you find a new job, you are welcome to stay here.”
“Wow, Ben. So generous of you.”
“I would hate for some pesky matter like a rent payment stop you from being able to pursue what you really want to do in life.”
Ben put plates on the table and carried the chicken over. He reached for two wine glasses and a dark bottle of wine. “To new beginnings,” he said. He filled both glasses and handed one to me.
“To new beginnings,” I repeated.
Chapter Thirty-seven: Return to Pigalle
THE NEXT MORNING, after Ben left for his shift at the hospital, I rolled off the couch and padded to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face.
I screwed up my face into a yawn and walked into the kitchen.
Something caught my eye.
There was a key dangling from the hanging light over the breakfast table. Ben had scribbled a note on a sheet from his prescription pad that read: Here is a key to my apartment, so that you may come and go as you please.
I unhooked the key and pressed it to my heart.
I used the key to lock up the apartm
ent on my way out and then I hoofed it to Pigalle and went to the spot where I knew I would find Wally. He was standing under the shadow of the fins on the famous red windmill.
He spotted me coming down the block and gave me a grin like he saw trouble coming. “Alice? Girl, what are you doing out here? Brave. That’s what you are. Dumb, blind, and brave.”
“Can’t be too blind if I can still see right through your game,” I tossed back. “How are you doing, Wally? Business is good, I presume?”
“Business is always good,” he replied.
“I need to buy a new name. You got anything good in your folder? Nothing flashy. Something plain as overalls. Jane or Judy, something boring that wouldn’t call attention.”
“Alice, if you came here looking to buy yourself a new stage name, you can just quit it, girl, because you’re too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“Motley already came to the neighborhood tossing big threats around. If anyone sells to you, the only name they’re gonna be dealing is the one on their own tombstone. You see what I’m saying?”
“Crap. I should have figured.”
“Crap, indeed. Now you should probably skedaddle on out of here before somebody’s eyes spy me talking to you.”
“Wally, are you sure you can’t help me?” I was grimacing as I fidgeted inside my pockets for a cigarette.
“Hey, Alice!” Someone was shouting down from above our heads.
My shoulders jumped, causing my cigarette to dismount from my hands onto the sidewalk. Wally and I looked up and saw Sara Cinnamon craning her neck out one of the windows of the building next door to the Moulin Rouge.
“Hey Sara!” I was glad it was friend and not foe.
Sara ambled down the fire escape, showcasing a view that went straight up the inside of her skirt. When she got down to the sidewalk she bent over to pick up the cigarette I had dropped and she popped it between her lips. “You still living it up in your classy new place, Alice?” she asked, as her hand was exploring the inside her bra for a lighter. I could tell she had slept in her stage makeup overnight based on the smudgy mascara gunk in the creases on her face.
I pitched my Zippo to her and answered, “Nah, I moved places again. Long story short, I’m staying with my boyfriend.”
“So, you get a boyfriend and you stop calling everyone? What about that whole pep talk you gave me about being an independent woman? When I was still dating that loser who used to knock me around, you told me a girl would be a fool to pin her hopes and dreams on a man. Now you get a boyfriend and it’s all this codependent junk?”
Wally’s lips cut a grin. “Sara,” he said, “if you are jealous of Alice having a boyfriend, you can go ahead and make me your boyfriend. What do you say, girl?”
Sara didn’t answer, she just sucked her cigarette, and when she rolled her eyes at Wally, one of her false eyelashes fell down her cheek like a spider.
“It’s not like that, Sara,” I defended. “My life has been, well, to put it simply, it’s been complicated. That’s sort of the reason I’m here talking to Wally. I’m in trouble with my boss and I need help.”
Sara grimaced. “I know about trouble, Alice, so whatever it is I hope you work it out.”
I turned back to Wally. “Are you sure you can’t help me. I’m desperate.” I fanned my face, as the dirty mix of Sara’s cheap perfume and the cigarette smoke was starting to make me feel lightheaded.
“I know you’re desperate, girl. The way Motley came out here looking for you, threatening anyone who fixed you up with some fake credentials, whew, I know you’re desperate. But if I help you out and Motley hears about this, I’m gonna be desperate right along with you. If I’m dead, then who’s gonna look after Sara Spice over here?”
Sara cut in, “It’s Sara Cinnamon. Sara Spice sounds cheap, stop saying it.”
Wally shifted his eyes up and down the alley. “Seriously though, Alice, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from my corner. I don’t want no trouble if Motley comes around, or if one of my competitors goes and does the snitch thing.”
“Okay, okay, I’m gone,” I said. My shoulders slumped as I turned to walk away, experiencing the sad realization that I was a pariah even in Pigalle. If Wally couldn’t help me, the chances of anyone else helping me were nil. Motley was powerful, and sellers weren’t going to risk pissing him off.
“Hey, Alice,” Sara called out, just as I had walked past the doors of the Moulin Rouge. “Is all this trouble to do with that cute guy who I told you came looking for you back on that day you moved out of your apartment? The one I thought was named Elvis?”
“Yeah, he is pretty much the root of all this.”
“Oh, because you were right, his name wasn’t Elvis. I’m such an idiot sometimes, Alice. I had written it down after he came around, and then just yesterday I found the piece of paper in a pair of my striped knickers during laundry. Turns out I only just thought his name was Elvis ‘cause he had that big thick black hair like Elvis.”
“Sara, Pressley’s hair is dark, but it’s cut very short. Maybe you’re just remembering it wrong.”
“No, this guy’s name wasn’t Elvis, or Pressley, or anything like that, it was a simple name.” She snapped her fingers together as if to summon the name. “His name was Ben.”
I stopped and twisted backwards on my heels. I looked at Sara, hand on hip, cigarette dangling from her juicy red lips, and a bouffant tied with a scrunchie at the side of her head. “Did you say Ben?” I asked her.
“Yeah, like I told you, he was real cute. It got me all taken off guard and mixed up with remembering his name. We don’t usually get the handsome types around here in Pigalle.”
Wally’s eyes were roving the length of the alley. “I don’t care if the guy’s name was Elvis or Elmer Fudd, I want you out of here, Alice. Before someone sees us together.”
“I’m gone,” I said, dazed and preoccupied with the question of why Ben had been looking for me in Pigalle the morning after our first encounter in the emergency room.
Chapter Thirty-eight: The Night We Met
WHEN I GOT BACK to the apartment, Ben was sitting at the breakfast counter. He was opening and sorting mail while having a cup of coffee. “Hello, Alice,” he greeted, as I walked through the door.
“Ben, hey,” I greeted back, doing all I could to hide my fluster. “I was just out in the city doing a little job hunting.”
“That’s the spirit, Alice! Good for you.”
I wiggled onto the stool next to Ben and pulled over his cup of coffee and took a sip. “Ben, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, Alice. You can ask me anything.” His nose brushed mine. He reached for his cup back, and seeing that it was empty now, he got up to refill it from the carafe on the counter. His back was turned to me.
“It’s about the night we first met.”
“You mean when you tumbled into the emergency room and stole my heart? That was a crazy night, wasn’t it? It’s amazing that such a meaningful relationship sprang up from such a chaotic and seemingly random meeting. That two polar opposites could fall in love after such a tumultuous introduction, well, it boggles my mind still.”
“It was pretty crazy,” I agreed.
“You know,” Ben said, grabbing a handful of pink and chocolate macaroons from the cupboard and bringing them back over to me along with the replenished coffee cup, “when my parents asked me how I met the new girlfriend I’ve been telling them about, I lied and told them you were a patient who came into the emergency room with food poisoning. I just didn’t think they would be thrilled about the whole tale of your ex-boyfriend and a gun.”
“I can see how that story might not sit well with parental units.” I positioned my mouth over a macaroon, but froze. “Wait a minute, you’ve told your parents about me?”
“Of course I did, Alice. I had too. They were quickly suspicious about why I was always in such a good mood all the time.”
“They noticed t
hat you were happier?”
“Almost immediately. The morning after I met you, my mother called to tell me about my cousin having a baby, and not a minute into the conversation she noticed a change in my voice. I guess love really can change a man.”
“She noticed the day after you met me? You mean even before we were dating?”
“Alice, I hope you won’t think this makes me sound desperate, but from the moment you stepped into the ER that night, I could think about nothing but you.”
My front teeth snapped off a nibble from the macaroon. “Even just the next day?”
“I woke up thinking about you.”
“Ben, that is so sweet.”
“What about you, Alice? Did you think about me the next day?”
I shoved the rest of the macaroon into my mouth, and gave a sheepish smile. “Sort of.”
“Oh, Alice, I should have guessed, you didn’t really find anything riveting about me, did you?”
“I was just very preoccupied that night. Plus, I was sure I would never see you again, and I really didn’t think I was, you know, you’re type. The unorthodox hair color usually turns off stable men. Plus, when I met you I was wearing smudged makeup and a burnt cigarette butt in my hair, not exactly a lovely first impression. So I didn’t bother entertaining any romantic notions about you.”
“You were wearing a very curious note inside your stocking too,” he added.
“Hey, I thought we decided that was off topic.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” he said. “It was a pretty awesome coincidence that I saw you that next day on the street. And to think, we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a cup of coffee shared after a second chance encounter.”
I took a breath to muster some confidence for the question I was about to ask. “But was it a coincidence, Ben?”
He looked up, his startled eyes shiny like jewelry. “What do you mean, Alice? Of course it was. You were there. You remember.”
“Or had you been looking for me already?”
“Looking for you?”
“Looking for me in Pigalle. Did you go to the address I had written on the forms at the hospital when I signed in with the receptionist?”
Generation of Liars Page 29