Unhooking the Moon
Page 13
‘Do you know Jerome DeBillier?’ asked the Rat.
‘Yes, but he doesn’t live here.’
The Rat’s eyes widened. ‘Where does he live?’
‘I’m not telling you. And do you know why I’m not telling you?’
‘No,’ said the Rat.
‘Because you woke me up!’
The Rat kicked the wall and walked away. ‘What a beep! I bet he did know our uncle! And I bet he knows where he lives!’ She ran back and pressed his buzzer.
‘Hello.’
‘We’re sorry for waking you, now can you please tell us where our—’
‘I’m not telling you a goddamn thing! Now stop ringing my buzzer!’
‘Ah beep you! And I’m glad I woke you up! And get a beeping job!’ shouted the Rat.
She spoke French for the next few blocks and then, as if by fate, we found the French Embassy. But they wouldn’t even let us inside. The French could be quite snotty at times, and they were especially snotty at the embassy.
We continued all the way up to the Guggenheim Museum. My enthusiasm faded a little as we passed it. But it went completely when we came to the end of the park. We were back in Harlem by the time we entered our last apartment block.
‘Sorry, son. No one listed under that name,’ said an old black security guard.
We walked outside where once again it started to rain. ‘Doesn’t it ever stop raining in this city!’
‘I know,’ said the Rat. ‘Let’s go to the Metropolitan Museum until it stops. We can look at the paintings and get cultured. They might have some Vincents.’
And so that’s what we did. We walked all the way back down Fifth Avenue and, giving the girl a dollar donation, we climbed the marble-looking staircase.
The Rat liked paintings. At home she had books with famous paintings in them and she’d sit and look at them for hours. Vincent Van Gogh was her favourite. No surprise there, the man cut off his ear and shot himself in the chest. Why wouldn’t he be the Rat’s favourite?
She started off by staring up at paintings of baby angels. ‘There should be fat angels and old angels and angels that aren’t very good-looking. Otherwise people will think you have to be beautiful to be an angel, and you don’t. You only have to be good.’
I followed her around while she stood in front of every single painting in the museum. I liked a lot of the paintings, especially the seascapes by Monet. I like seascapes. But after an hour or so, my mind couldn’t take in any more images. In the end it was just as nice to look at a bare wall.
It was still raining when we stepped outside. And so we sheltered at the top of the steps. Suddenly, the Rat stepped forward.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
‘It’s Ice!’ She ran down the steps and hid behind a group of people. She peered around the side of them. Then she ran to another group and did the same. She was watching a black man walk up Fifth Avenue. He wore a black suit and there was gold around his neck. I couldn’t see his face at first because it was blocked by his umbrella. But when he looked towards the museum, I recognized him. It was the Iceman, the Rat’s favourite rapper.
She followed him away from the museum using lampposts and cars for cover. I hate to say it, but the Rat had turned into a stalker. I ran down the steps and ran after her. I had to try and stop her from whatever it was she was going to do. I grabbed her by the arm.
‘Let’s introduce ourselves!’ she said.
‘He won’t want to meet us.’
‘Why won’t he? I bought his CD.’
I wanted to meet him. I’d never met a celebrity before, not unless you count the Mayor of Winnipeg.
The Rat’s eyes widened. ‘We’ll invite him for coffee!’
‘I don’t think he’ll want—’
‘Just think how impressed Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez will be when she finds out you had coffee with the Iceman!’
The Rat was trying to manipulate me. ‘OK, then.’
She sprinted away and stopped in front of him. ‘Hi Ice! I’m Marie Claire DeBillier and that’s my brother Bob behind you. We just thought – ’
But the Iceman walked past the Rat as though she didn’t exist. The Rat looked puzzled and then she ran ahead of him. ‘We don’t want to bother you, Ice. We just wanted to say that we’re your biggest fans in Canada and we really like you and—’
But again he walked past her.
‘Come on, he doesn’t want to talk to us,’ I said.
But she wouldn’t listen. ‘Ice, Iceman! Ice baby! Ice tea! Ice cube! Ice and lemon! Just plain ice with nothing in it!’
Ice stopped. ‘Little girl! Don’t you know it’s rude to shout at people in the street? Especially when you don’t know them!’
‘But I do know you, Ice!’
‘No, you don’t!’
‘But I do!’ said the Rat excitedly. ‘You’re twenty-seven years old! A Virgo! An ex-boxer and a Bears fan! You like women with big butts, fast cars, and a fast lifestyle. But you’re deeper than that, and I quote “You enjoy doing things for underprivileged children from deprived backgrounds and you stand wholeheartedly behind community programmes that keep kids away from drugs,” unquote. I’ve read everything about you Ice! And I bought your CD! And I never pirated it, even though I could!’
Ice looked angry. ‘So you bought my CD and you read about me in the newspapers! That does not mean you have the right to accost me in the street! Now, why don’t you run along home?’
The Rat turned around and looked at the park. ‘I am home in a way. You see we live in the park.’
‘You live in the park!’
‘Yes, it’s not so bad, and it’s only until we find our uncle. You might know him, Ice! His name’s—’
‘I don’t know what sort of dumb parents you have! But they should teach you some manners! And they should teach you not to tell lies!’
I stepped forward. ‘Dumb! Our parents are dead and they were good people! You better not say another goddamn word about them!’
The Iceman took a step toward me. He was a big guy with a solid bald head. But I wasn’t backing down, not after what he’d said! He looked at me for more than a few seconds and then, turning slowly, he walked away.
The Rat’s hands went straight to her hips. ‘Yeah, you better walk away before my brother kicks your beeping butt! Calling our dad dumb! You never even finished high school! And don’t try bullying us! We have friends downtown!’
I looked at my fists. They were clenched.
‘And you’ve never done anything for the underprivileged!’ shouted the Rat. ‘We’re underprivileged and look at the way you treated us!’
Then the fear caught up with me. My legs began to quiver and my stomach turned over. I had to sit down on the nearest bench. ‘Leave it now,’ I said.
‘Ah beep him! He doesn’t scare me!’
‘Well, leave it anyway.’
The Rat glared at him until he was out of sight and then she turned her attention to me. ‘You were so brave, Bob!’
‘Forget about it now.’
‘No, you were really brave! I’m proud of you! And Dad would have been proud of you too! Well done, Bob! And wait until Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez finds out how mean he was, and how you stood up to him. She’ll be so impressed.’
‘She won’t find out.’
The Rat pulled her cellphone from her pocket. ‘Oh yes she will. Because I’m sending Harold a text message telling him what happened. I’m also telling him to go to her house and tell her. And you know he’ll do it.’
All of a sudden I had energy.
‘And to think I used to think Ice was an angel,’ said the Rat, her little fingers twiddling away. ‘Just goes to show you how wrong you can be. You want a coffee, Bob? I’ll buy.’
‘Sure.’
‘And then we can do some more touristy stuff. We can even take a ferry ride if you want. What do you say, Bob?’
I never said anything. But I felt as high as a skyscraper at the thought of that s
tory running around Winnipeg and landing at the feet of Miss Gabriela Felipe Mendez. I really did.
I felt nervous as I walked toward the steps of the Plaza. It would be no big deal if they never let us in. But it would be embarrassing having to walk away.
‘Just act like we own the place, Bob.’
‘Good afternoon,’ said the doorman, and standing to one side he let us pass.
It felt nice inside the plush lobby. I followed the Rat alongside the lengthy reception desk where the glamourmodel receptionist smiled at us and we smiled back. Then we followed the smell of coffee until we came to a large room filled with comfy chairs, and people, and a guy playing a piano. And there we took a seat. At least I took a seat. The Rat bounced up and down to demonstrate how springy they were.
‘Will you stop that?’
She sat up like a gopher and looked around. ‘It’s so sophisticated in here, Bob. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Spielberg sitting at the next table.’
A waitress in a black waistcoat spotted us. ‘Can I get you kids something?’ she asked while looking at our clothes and our, no doubt, dirty faces. There was no need for the look she was giving us.
‘Yes, you can,’ said the Rat in her most superior British accent. ‘Mother and Father have left us to our own devices for lunch. And one must be careful where one eats. But as we’re slumming it for the day we decided to eat here. I shall have a large mocha and a chocolate cake. Bartholomew, my brother, shall have the same. ’
The waitress wrote down our order and walked away. But the Rat called her back. ‘Oh, miss.’ The waitress returned and stood in front of her. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said the Rat. The waitress tried to smile but she looked angry as she walked away.
‘Another beeping actress!’
It was funny. And it was a buzz ordering stuff in the Plaza without paying to stay there. And if it was expensive I didn’t care. The Rat was paying.
She sat with her legs crossed, acting cool, until the waitress put our order on the table. Then she waited until she was gone. ‘This is beeping brilliant, Bob! Coffee in the Plaza and putting Ice in his place!’
Then she lay back in her seat. ‘Me tell yeah, Bob,’ she said speaking Jamaican. ‘Dis is da life for I and I, you know! None adat sleepin in dee park. Dat’s for dee birds.’
When the coffee and cake had gone we hung around the lobby hoping to see celebrities. But we never saw any and so we stepped outside and back into reality.
‘Well, I suppose we better carry on looking.’
The Rat looked at the shoppers pouring down Fifth Avenue like she was desperate to go down there. ‘Shall we see some more stuff, Bob? What do you think? After all, it’s stopped raining.’
I didn’t mind and so we walked down by the Rockefeller Center. Its buildings were constructed by John D. Rockefeller who I’d read about a school. He was pretty self-righteous, and ruthless when it came to money. He even put his own brother out of business. That would be like me putting the Rat out of business, if she had one.
I bought a disposable camera, because the Rat wanted some shots to send home and she ran in front of a large statue of Atlas holding up the world. I bet John D. Rockefeller looked at himself as Atlas at one time. I bet Louis Riel did too. That’s what happens when you get to become powerful. You look at yourself as someone who can move the world. ‘Take my picture, Bob.’ The Rat raised her hands in the air as though she was holding up the world. It was such a nice photograph.
I’d been on a high since the Ice incident, but then the sadness hit me. The Old Man wasn’t here. Him and the Rat would have had a ball in New York. Suddenly I felt a lump in my throat.
‘What was it like, Bob?’
‘Good.’ I tried to smile. ‘What do you say to that ferry ride?’
‘Great. Just follow me.’
So we got on our bikes and rode west with the Rat singing ‘I like to be in America’ from West Side Story. She never stopped until we reached the river and the red and green ferries. I went to the ticket window on the pier while the Rat locked up the bikes.
The tickets were expensive and we didn’t have a lot of money. If we didn’t find Uncle Jerome soon we’d be hustling in Times Square for real.
Then I saw the Rat lying on a bench. ‘You are so lazy,’ I said. But she wasn’t being lazy she was having a fit. I ran towards her and lifted her head off the bench. I held her close. ‘It’s OK. I’m here!’ I could tell by the tremors that it wasn’t too bad. ‘It’s only a mild one. You’ll be out of it soon.’ I pushed her hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed tight and she was sucking air through her clenched teeth. ‘Just hang in there!’ After a minute or so she stopped shaking. And then the pain left her face. ‘It’s over now. You’re OK.’
Slowly her eyes opened. Her face was a little white, but she didn’t look too bad. ‘There are lights,’ she whispered, ‘flashing lights and photographers and lots of people looking at us … and then I’m in a hospital and everything is white. I’m so lonely there.’ Half dazed, she sat up and tried to focus on me. ‘If I went … If I went really crazy would you still want to be my brother?’
‘You are really crazy and I am your brother,’ I said, but she stayed serious. ‘Look, there’s no such thing as a crazy kid. You have to wait until you’re older before you can go crazy.’
‘But would you?’
‘If they put you in a padded cell, in a straitjacket, and locked you up in the maddest part of an asylum, I’d still want to be your brother.’
‘Thanks, Bob. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’ She rested her head against my shoulder and before long she was asleep.
I felt sad then, but not in a bad way. I felt sad with the feeling you get when you think about things. If someone had told me last week that I would be in New York City holding my sister by the Hudson River, I would have laughed. But here I am. And then I realized it didn’t matter. Because I would sooner be here with the Rat than anywhere else by myself.
I got comfortable and, putting my arm around her, I watched the river go by. The clouds created shadows and light, turning the water from a Van Gogh green to a Monet blue. It was so nice to see. But when our boat sailed away without us I got a bad feeling. ‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ I said. ‘Not really.’
The sun was halfway below the sea when she woke. Her fit must have been worse than I thought. She seemed better as we rode back to the den. But I knew she was better when she went back to singing.
‘It doesn’t matter about being crazy, anyway,’ she said. ‘Because I’m happy. And I’d sooner be happy and crazy than not crazy and miserable.’
‘Why don’t you just try being happy and normal?’
‘That’s being greedy, Bob.’
We rode alongside Central Park until we came to the gap in the park wall. We were just about to ride in when the Rat’s cell beeped.
‘It’s a message from Joey. He said to say hello to Sexy Sandra and he said he’s staying an extra night, as long as we’re OK.’
‘Damn, I was hoping he’d come back tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you like the den?’ asked the Rat.
‘Sure, I love living in the bushes.’
It was then that we noticed a few photographers hovering outside an apartment block. Two black women came out of the lobby like they were walking on a catwalk and just behind them came Ice. I couldn’t believe it. He stood there posing for the photographers with the girls hanging around his neck.
‘Look at him. He’s so full of poo. Boo! Boo!’ shouted the Rat.
Ice looked over.
‘We’re not scared of you, you big bully!’ Then she turned to me. ‘You think he lives in those apartments? Because if he does we’re practically neighbours, except he pays rent and we don’t.’
He posed for a few more photographs and then slipped into a waiting limousine. But as he did he paused and looked me right in the eyes. It wasn’t a bad look; it was just a look. I don’t know why but I felt bad when he had gone.
‘Forget about him.’
We rode into that dismal park, until we came to the den, and then we dragged our bikes through those damn bushes. Pushing them to one side I switched on the flashlight. The Rat undid her sleeping bag and slid inside.
‘We could give him a second chance. But he has to apologize! You’d have to get him to apologize, Bob!’
‘Haven’t I just said to forget about him!’
The Rat slid down in her sleeping bag and pulled it over her head. I’d snapped at her again and now I felt worse. ‘So how are you feeling? Are you OK?’
‘Sure, Bob. Why wouldn’t I be?’ she said from inside her sleeping bag.
‘I was just making sure. Is there anything you’d like to do tomorrow?’
‘I’d like to get washed.’
I laughed when I realized we hadn’t washed in days. ‘You dirty Rat.’
The Rat chuckled. ‘Like I haven’t heard that one before.’ Then she popped her head out. ‘What are we going to do about Uncle Jerome, Bob?’
‘I’ll think of something tomorrow. Go to sleep now.’
I didn’t know what we were going to do about Uncle Jerome. I was at a loss. And I dreaded to think what would happen if her fits got worse. And I was kind of sorry about Ice, even if Gabriela did hear I stood up to him. It would have been great if he was as cool as they made him out to be, but he wasn’t. He was just a CD cover, an image dreamt up by some marketing people no doubt. I suppose it’s better to be real people like me and the Rat living in the park than it is to be a phoney living in a Fifth Avenue apartment. But what did I know? I wasn’t even a teenager yet.
Chapter Fourteen
‘I’ve already found the swimming pool on my map. It’s somewhere around the top of the park,’ said the Rat, pushing her way through the bushes. ‘And remember, no looking,’