Outsiders

by Lynn Ames

  “Yeah, I do,” Taj agreed. “But I bet I sell fewer than you do. A lot fewer.”

  “So…tell me about Emerging Womanhood: Girls Becoming Women in Afghanistan.”

  “I can tell you about the photos. I didn’t write the text.” She pointed at a name above the photo of an achingly beautiful young woman. “She’s a writer from Afghanistan. I just trailed her for a couple of months, taking pictures.”

  “You make that sound like a routine job. Taking pictures in a war-torn country can’t be easy.”

  Taj shrugged. “It wasn’t bad. I’ve been in worse places.”

  Laurie’s agent shuffled back towards them, panic etched on her sharp features. “There’s no cell service! None!”

  “That’s common during a blackout,” Taj said, her voice calm and reassuring.

  But the reassurance didn’t work on the agent. “I’ve got to get to my office. I’ve got to be able to use a phone!” And with that she was off, heading for midtown.

  “I wonder how she thinks she’s going to get anywhere.” Taj said.

  Libby approached, looking concerned. “We’re screwed. Traffic lights are out. Every building on the block is out. People are getting freaked.”

  “Freaked?” Taj asked. “Because of a power outage…? Oh, right. I forget how accessible electricity is here.”

  “No, they’re saying they think it’s terrorism.”

  “Fuck!” Laurie kicked the table, sending books scattering across the surface. “If those fuckers fuck with us again…I’ll…fucking wring their fucking necks!”

  Taj and Libby stared at her, mouths slightly agape.

  “Sorry,” she said, hurriedly piling the books back into a poor semblance of their former order. “I just don’t know of a lower form of life than terrorists. Such fucking chicken shits,” she mumbled, just loud enough to be heard.

  “Knocking New York off the grid would be a feat,” Taj said thoughtfully. “But I think it’d be awfully hard to accomplish. My guess is that this is just a blackout from demand. I’d bet money on it.”

  “Shit.” Laurie took off, heading towards the front of the store. “I’m not going to let those people stand out there in the blazing sun for another minute.”

  ***

  A few minutes later she was busily signing books while the store manager and a couple of clerks hand-wrote charge slips for people who didn’t have cash. Taj had gone out in search of credible information and had found the closest fire station. She’d learned that the city didn’t think terrorism was involved, but they were on tactical alert just the same. She withheld that last bit of information and shared only the first when she returned to the store.

  She, Libby, and the publisher’s rep worked the line, reassuring people that they would get a book and that Laurie would stay until every one had been signed. It took until almost six o’clock, and they were all hot and thirsty by the time the last customer left.

  “I’m going to head home,” Libby said. “Is that cool?”

  Laurie said, “Sure. No problem. How far is your apartment?”

  “Maybe fifteen blocks. How about you?”

  “Mine’s a lot farther than fifteen blocks. But I’ll get there. Thanks for all your help, Libby.”

  Libby said her goodbyes, then the rep declared he was going for a drink. Taj deferred as did Laurie, who now stood in the nearly empty, stuffy store, both seemingly at a loss for words. “Where do you live?” Laurie finally asked.

  “I don’t have a permanent address right now. I’m staying with an aunt and uncle up in Riverdale. How about you?”

  “Park Slope…Brooklyn,” she explained, when Taj looked puzzled.

  “Oh, right. I know where that is. I don’t get to New York very often, but I know of a couple of women who’ve moved there. Is there a pretty big lesbian community there?”

  Laurie shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, there are lesbians everywhere in New York.” She saw Taj giving her a questioning look and continued, “There’s another lesbian in my building. Besides me,” she tacked on, inelegantly.

  “So…maybe we should find a different bar to have a drink in. I’m not opposed to having a drink. I just didn’t want to spend the evening with that guy.”

  “Ditto. I’d love to have a drink.” She stopped short. “But no place will be open.”

  “Of course they will. You don’t need electricity to sell liquor. Just ice. And that’s actually optional.” Taj grinned, showing those remarkably white teeth again, and Laurie found herself following the lovely woman through the darkened aisles of the store and into the blinding sunlight of the New York August afternoon.

  ***

  The heat was stunning in its intensity; it was as though the concrete had become an oven, sending the heat right through their shoes. The sidewalk was clogged with people, some heading uptown and some down, with traffic at a complete standstill on Sixth Avenue. Horns blared, drivers yelled, and pedestrians and bicycles threaded their way through the stalled cars. The side street was just as bad. Some of the drivers had simply turned off their cars and were sitting on the hoods.

  “This is strangely…exciting,” Laurie said, her pale eyes showing generous hints of glee.

  “I guess it would be, if it didn’t happen to you very often. I got used to having electricity for just a couple of hours a day in Afghanistan. It loses its allure,” she said, smiling.

  “But it never happens here. Are you sure it wasn’t terrorism?” Laurie’s self-assurance seemed to vanish in a heartbeat. She looked at Taj as though she were desperately seeking solace.

  “Positive,” Taj replied, even though she was merely guessing. “Why would you think a power outage was terrorism? I’ve been in thousands of situations like this and it’s never occurred to me that it was anything other than demand overcoming supply.”

  Laurie’s eyes narrowed and she shivered, despite the intense heat. “You weren’t here on Nine Eleven, were you.” It wasn’t a question. More of a statement of fact.

  Taj winced. “Right. Right.” She looked down for a second, then seemed to compose her response carefully. “I wasn’t here. Nine Eleven seems like it was a very long time ago to me.”

  “Not to me,” Laurie said, her voice tight as she tried to control it. “It seems like it could happen again at any time. It’s just been over a year, you know.” She sounded a little defensive, and Taj didn’t mention that it was almost two years.

  “Were you in the city?”

  “Yeah.” She blinked, her eyelids fluttering for a moment. “I had to walk home in air so thick with dust and dirt and incinerated…everything…that I developed a cough that lingered for months.”

  “I’m sorry.” Taj gently squeezed her shoulder. “It must have been horrible.”

  “It was. And this puts me right back there.”

  “I’m really sorry. It must be hard to get past it.”

  “Damn right it is. The police are still on tactical alert, they still randomly search us at the subway, and you’ll see fifty police cars screaming down the street for no reason at all. It makes you nuts.”

  “The city does seem different to me. Changed, somehow. This is just the second time I’ve been back since it happened and, even though I can’t put my finger on it, things are different.”

  “They are. Mostly we’re edgy.” She laughed. “Like we weren’t before? But now there’s an edge to our edge. Mild-mannered women like me start cursing like a lunatic in a bookstore.”

  “Don’t give that another thought. My uncle says fuck is conversational vocabulary in New York.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t terrorism? Really sure?” She looked at Taj with a childlike need for reassurance.

  “Positive. This is just urban living.”

  Laurie smiled at her, relieved at having gotten some of her feelings out. “I wonder if the outage is only in this neighborhood or the whole city?”

  “Well,” Taj said thoughtfully. “There won’t be television, and cell phones aren
’t working, but land lines should. My agent is in Soho. We could go down there and use his phone.”

  “Mmm, okay. What subway?”

  “Subways won’t work.”

  “Sure they will.” She paused. “Won’t they?”

  “Ever heard of the third rail? It’s electric.”

  “Eww. I guess this isn’t that much fun. So we have to walk to Soho?”

  “No, we don’t have to. When I’m in a situation like this, I usually find the coolest bar with the coldest drinks and listen to gossip until I have a handle on the situation.”

  “I like the way you think. Let’s find one.”

  ***

  It took a while to find a place where they could sit outdoors, but they finally spotted a small bar deep in the West Village. The garage-style doors were wide open, and there was a table tantalizingly close to the sidewalk. They nearly ran for it, each grabbing a chair and flopping into it with finality. It was considerably cooler now that they weren’t in the sun, and the noise was greatly reduced away from the lamentations of the cabbies. “I’d kill for a vodka and tonic,” Laurie declared.

  “Do you have cash? They might not take charge cards.” Taj pulled her wallet from the breast pocket of her cocoa-colored linen shirt. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing skin just one shade lighter than the fabric. “I’ve got…forty dollars.”

  Laurie took her wallet from the gym bag and counted. “Forty-eight. That’s not gonna go far.”

  “How much do you think drinks are?”

  “At least ten. Maybe twelve.” She laughed. “Maybe fifty. We’re not known for our civic mindedness.”

  “Oh, sure you are. I think people have been behaving extraordinarily well.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. We’re still in good Nine Eleven mode in some ways.”

  A harried waitress approached. “What’ll you have?”

  “Two vodka and tonics,” Taj said. “I’ll get the first round,” she added to Laurie.

  When their drinks were delivered, Taj managed to convince the server to let them run a tab, promising to show her how to handwrite a charge slip if the power didn’t return before they’d finished. “Smooth,” Laurie said admiringly. “You’re very good at that.”

  “I’ve had to talk my way out of a lot of situations. I guess I’m getting better at it.”

  Laurie took her glass and clicked it against Taj’s. “So, tell me about you. How do you get by without a permanent address?”

  “Oh, I use my aunt and uncle’s house as my mailing address. You can’t get anything in this country without a mailing address. A post office box won’t do.”

  “You’ve obviously tried.”

  “No, but my parents have. We’re all semi-homeless, but in a positive way.”

  Laurie’s mouth dropped open. “Are your parents Richard and Sonya Medina?”

  Grinning, Taj nodded. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “Oh, yeah! I’m a huge fan of travel writing. Literary travel writing, that is. They’re the best!”

  “I think they’re awfully good, but I’m prejudiced.”

  “So, you do the photography for their books?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing most of the photos since I was about fifteen. That lets my parents write and not have to worry about lugging cameras around.”

  “This is so cool! I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed their books. But the book you showed me didn’t have their names on it.”

  “They only do a book every three or four years. I can’t live on as little as they do, so I do as many independent projects as I can.”

  “Fascinating.” Laurie took a long drink and smiled. “This is the best drink I’ve ever had.”

  “Deprivation does make you appreciate the little things. I have been known to worship porcelain.”

  “Porcelain?" She nodded slowly when the answer dawned on her. "Bathrooms."

  “I won’t give you the details, but I’ve had to go in places that just the thought of can make me retch.” She took a drink and shivered. “There are a lot of times that I wish I had an apartment with a bathroom.”

  “How long have you been semi-homeless?”

  Taj considered the question for a moment. “We had fairly permanent places until I was about five.” She smiled at Laurie. “So I guess it’s been about thirty years.”

  Stunned, Laurie said, “You honestly haven’t had a home since you were five?”

  “We really didn’t have one up to that point. But we stayed in the same country for a couple of years, which is as close as we’ve gotten to having a home.”

  “Where were you born?”

  “In India. We stayed there until I was two. Then we lived in Thailand until I was five. Since then…it’s been one place or another.”

  “That’s remarkable. Truly remarkable.”

  “It seems pretty normal to me, but I guess that’s because many of our friends are wanderers too. Photographers are a peripatetic lot, and a lot of American writers that you meet in Asia also have wanderlust.”

  “But how do you…have a normal life? How do you form relationships? Things like that?”

  “That’s not so easy.” For the first time, Taj’s dark eyes were tinged with sadness. “It would be easier if I were straight, but I’m not.”

  “It can be hard to meet women in New York. It must be a lot tougher when you’re moving around a lot.”

  “Especially when you can be put to death for being gay.” She smiled again, but the sadness remained. “Execution is surprisingly effective at squelching gay pride.”

  “You’re not always in places like that, are you?”

  “No, not always. I’ve spent a lot of time in Afghanistan in the last few years, though. To be honest, I’d rather be sitting in an apartment overlooking the Champs Élysées, but that’s not where the action is.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous?”

  “Very,” Taj said solemnly. “I’ve never met a member of the Taliban that I’d turn my back on. But somebody has to record their destruction of the ancient world. Nobody cared until Nine Eleven, but at least we’ll have pictures.” She sounded bitter but oddly resigned.

  “You’re risking your life for this.”

  “I’ve been within a day’s drive of Kabul for the last couple of years and things are better with the army there. Before that…” She let out a low whistle. “It was hell.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  Her smile was back, and this time it had an impish quality to it. “Anyone with a generous expense account and lax bookkeeping.”

  Laurie observed the lovely, somewhat laconic woman for a few moments. She was having a hard time figuring her out, but she was intrigued. “Are you a huge thrill seeker?”

  “Not so much. I had fun when I was in my twenties and feeling invulnerable, but I’m feeling more vulnerable with every year. I’d prefer to just work with my parents since I’m afraid they only have a couple more books left in them and they work faster when I’m pushing them. But they can live on the equivalent of ten thousand dollars a year. I can’t.”

  “You have more expensive tastes?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. And I’m also more realistic than they are.”

  “Realistic…how?”

  Taj took a drink and leaned back in her chair. The chair was a standard wooden bar seat, but the way she draped herself upon it made it seem like a chaise longue. “Maybe the word is practical. There won’t be anyone to help me out if I break a hip when I’m sixty. I’ve got to have some money put aside if I’m disabled and, given my line of work, that’s not out of the realm of possibilities.”

  “Can you put enough away to provide for yourself?”

  “Probably not. And I don’t save as much as I should.”

  Laurie looked at her well-made linen shirt and snuck a glance at her big backpack. “How do you blow your money? I’m always interested in people’s spending patterns.”

  “I don’t blow much, to be honest. But I’d like to c
ome to New York more often and spend some time in my home country. My parents lived here until they were in their thirties, but it’s new to me.”

  “That must be odd. To not really have a home country.”

  “Not very,” Taj said, shrugging it off. “I like not having a ferocious attachment to any one place. The world might be more peaceful if we all felt like earthlings.”

  Laurie narrowed her eyes, considering whether to proclaim her love of America and all that it stood for. She decided to keep her feelings to herself for the moment and find out more about Taj. “How else do you spend your money?”

  “Well, I like to be able to stay in hotels and buy my own meals.”

  “Versus sleeping on the street and stealing?”

  Taj’s smile was warm and made her even more beautiful. “It’s not that bad, but my parents are more than willing, hell, they’re eager to bunk with strangers and share whatever the people can spare. But I’ve had it with that. I want some privacy and some”—she frowned and paused a moment before she finished—“dignity. I don’t like to take from people who have so little.”

  “I can understand that. Is that a bone of contention between you and your parents?”

  “Not too much. They’re not the types to argue with me or try to change me. They’ve simply decided I’m a spendthrift because I like to go to Singapore every year or so to buy some clothes and have a few great meals.”

  “Ooo…a great meal. I could really use a great meal.”

  Taj looked at her watch. “It’s almost eight. Let’s take a walk. I can take some photographs now that the light is really good and we can look for a place to eat.”

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  ***

  Their path was a meandering one, with Taj dashing off several times, looking for a good image. Laurie kept walking down Seventh Avenue, keeping her pace slow so Taj could catch up after her forays. The evening light had faded by the time they reached Soho, and it was now dark. As dark as Laurie had ever seen New York. Taj carefully put her camera into various protective appliances inside her backpack. “I wish I’d brought my tripod so I could keep shooting, but I think I got some good shots. As soon as my cell phone works I’m going to call my agent and see if he can find a buyer.”