“Well,” she said hopefully, “if you get off on probation, I can get you a job.”
“What kind of job?”
“It pays well,” she said without telling me. For a glinting instant I expected her to say stripping or at least phone sex. “It’s designing websites.”
“Wow,” I replied, “but I don’t know anything about it.”
“I can teach you. It’s not that hard if you have half a head, and you can work your own hours.”
“Well, I don’t want to get my hopes up, because I still might be going to jail.”
“If you do go to jail,” she said, “I’ll hold your place until you get back.” She giggled at this, and so did I. Then she added, “You know, I’m probably not the easiest person to get along with.”
“That’s okay, I am,” I responded jokingly.
“What time do you get up in the morning?” she asked.
“Nine if I’m working, eleven if I’m not.”
“I don’t get up until noon,” she replied. “We won’t have any problems.” She agreed to come over tomorrow and give the place a look. I spent the evening trying to battle anxiety by watching television, but it was so dumb that I had to turn the volume off. I was amused by how many shows made brief use of New York exteriors only to have their real action filmed on Los Angeles soundstages. My tired eyes couldn’t endure the radiation emanating from the screen, so I began turning down the brightness. Only cop shows actually made an effort to shoot entire scenes on the streets of New York. But this made me feel like a hypocrite because I hated being detoured due to film shoots. I wanted them to shoot in New York City, but without bothering me.
By one in the morning, I turned the TV almost black. The cumulative depression of the entire day manifested itself into a free fall. As though my phone understood me, it rang. For the first time in eons, I picked it up without screening.
“Mary, are you okay?” It was Howard.
“This hasn’t been my very best day.”
“You remember what I said?”
“Remind me,” I responded, not disguising my impatience.
“I wish I were with you,” he submitted and backed into silence.
“Well, why aren’t you here, then?” I asked. Ten minutes later he was. We didn’t really do anything but hug and kiss, yet he was good at it. Eventually we fell asleep.
Howard and I went for breakfast, and then he started his long walk uptown to fetch a fresh batch of manuscripts that needed copyediting.
“Gardening books,” he shivered.
A half hour later, Sue Wott came over with her little boy and inspected the empty room.
“This is twice the size of the place we have now,” she said cheerfully to the child as though it was their choice to move.
“This place stinks,” he said candidly, as kids tend to, then he followed the dog into my room.
Turning to me, Sue said, “Now I just got to get people to help me move.”
I didn’t volunteer anymore, but she wasn’t afraid to ask, “You couldn’t help me, could you? I’m packing up all day, so I should be ready around five.”
“I don’t move well,” I hinted politely. “Can’t you ask Norma?”
“Oh, Norma will be there, but Marilyn is out of town.” She lowered her voice so the kid couldn’t hear her. “And they’re going to put my stuff out on the sidewalk tomorrow morning.” A pause elapsed. The child returned with the dog.
“Sure,” I said, but I had to ask a final question that was lodged in my head like an arrow. When her kid chased Numb back into my room, I asked, “After Primo left you with a kid, you said you didn’t blame him. Why not?”
“Because that was all my idea. Hell, he said up front he didn’t want one, couldn’t support or handle one. Actually, he did do me one big favor. He had me sell his paintings under my name because he knew an art collector who would pay more for them, and he gave me half the money.”
“Just half.’”
“Primo never gave all of anything. But he gave enough. The cash paid for the birthing expenses.” She looked up and smiled. “All that was years after we broke up. Hell, we even made the kid after we broke up.”
“You mean, you got pregnant by him after he cheated on you with all those people?”
“There are two reasons for that, which are really the same. He’s the only guy I ever loved, and he’s the only guy I ever slept with.”
I stared at her in disbelief. What could I say? She thanked me for my help and told me she would see me at her place that evening. To make my job easier, I called Zoë at work. I figured I could convert some of her guilt into backbreaking labor. She agreed to meet us at Sue’s place, Howard was unreachable, but the call-waiting beeped as the phone rang. It was Helga.
“I saw what happened in the news. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around.” She had come and gone before the planned Primo-scattering.
“You couldn’t help me, could you?” I asked.
“Need an alibi?”
“No, actually, a van.”
“A van?”
“Yeah, at five o’clock tonight.”
“What in the world for?”
“Sue Wott,” I said. “She’s being evicted.”
“Good, I hope the bitch suffers.”
“She has, but you shouldn’t blame her for Primo being an asshole. She was cheated on just like you and me and everyone else, and she’s got a kid who doesn’t deserve it.”
“Look, there are two types of people, those who can forgive and those who can’t. I wish I could forgive, but it’s just not in me,” she said.
“How can you forgive Primo and not her?”
“Because Primo was just being Primo.”
“And she was just being herself.”
Unable to argue further, Helga wished me a good life.
It turned out that the girl named Pearl with the van was moving Sue tonight.
Soon Ma called to say that we had a two-o’clock meeting with a good, yet economical trial attorney—in the past year his record had been six and two. I tried to keep busy to fend off the anxiety, but it didn’t do much good.
By one, I had started getting ready to leave when I got a phone call from the detective handling my case. In a tightly wound statement he said, “Thank you for your help in the recent investigation. We’re sorry if we caused you any discomfort. No charges will be filed against you in this case.”
“Why not?” I asked, slightly suspicious, before breaking into utter relief.
“Do you prefer if they were?” he asked, perhaps joking.
“No, fine. Thanks. Bye.” I hung up.
I called Ma and gave her the good news.
“You’re kidding,” she said. She had just finished dressing and was about to drive to the LIRR station.
“I just got the call,” I responded.
“But I called all those lawyers and made arrangements for a loan and everything.” She went quiet, and then I heard a sound that I don’t remember ever hearing; I heard my mother crying.
“Mom, it’s okay,” I said softly.
“I know” she replied. “I just … the whole thing. I was so worried about you. I mean, I would’ve given anything to get you out of this, and …”
“I know.”
“And your father was such a fucker, and for him to return to our lives like this—” Tears started coming to my eyes, and the more I tried to restrain myself, the more they fell.
“Thanks for all the help,” I sputtered. “You know how I feel about you, Ma.”
“It damned well better be love,” she blasted.
“Or you’ll come right over and beat the crap out of me.”
We both laughed, and I promised I’d come home over that weekend to get into one of our good old-fashioned fights.
It was a warm and sunny afternoon, and I felt this immense sense of gratitude just being able to sit in the park with the dog and a cup of coffee. Even though thirty was on the horizon, the idea of not havi
ng to spend time in jail made me feel like I could relive my twenties all over again.
By the time I finally brought Numb back home, there was a message on my machine. It was from the man formerly known as Joey: “Mary, they asked me to sign a complaint against you. Of course I couldn’t. I told them I attacked you and you defended yourself. I knew they wouldn’t press charges against me ’cause I’m the one that just came out of the hospital with bandages around my skull. Look, the reason I didn’t tell you who I was is ’cause I didn’t think things would turn out the way they did. I didn’t even expect you to respond to my e-mail, let alone turn out to be you. Then, after meeting you, the reason I kept calling you was because I fell for you. I loved knowing you…. I love you. But I guess if love means anything, it means respecting the wishes of the other person, even if that means leaving them alone. I grew up in a world where a guy got to keep anything he could get away with. It takes some of us longer to grow a conscience than others. Anyway, this is to let you know that losing you, losing a family, is the biggest fuck-up in my life, and if you ever need anything, money or support or advice—you got it. You have a father who doesn’t just love you, but is tremendously proud of you. See, I never thought I could make something better than me—but you’re it.”
I couldn’t have typical parents like everyone else.
By the time I recomposed myself, I knew that eventually, after a few weeks tops, I’d have to call the son of a bitch. I’d have to curse him out and then reconcile, because that’s all life is, a series of battles and treaties.
It was a quarter after five by the time I arrived at Sue Wott’s.
“I guess I can’t yell at you,” she said, as I huffed and puffed up to her apartment, “but in the future, if you come this late for practice, you’re not going to be as lucky.” That was her nasty way of inviting me back in the band.
Zoë, Norma, Sue, and myself all carried her crap down the stairs and packed it into the back of the van. As we took turns going up and down the stairs, carrying bigger items together, I thought to myself that all together, we could’ve made one hell of a Jerry Springer episode. Primo was a stage in our lives that we had all passed through, specifically when we were feeling our worst or just too young to know better.
Sue’s roommate sat on her sofa, sipping from a bottle of chardonnay and quietly watched as we moved Sue out. Even though she was being evicted tomorrow, the inebriated cohabitant didn’t pack a stitch, as though intent on sinking with her repossessed ship. She was ripe for a Primo type.
The four of us worked well together, bringing everything down into the van, then shuttling it over and carrying it up into my apartment—all done in under three hours. Afterward we went out for sushi nearby. That evening, Sue was a genuine pleasure to be with. Each of us, for different reasons, felt a general sense of relief. Zoë was witty, and Norma was wide awake. We had a great time and spent hours sitting, chatting, drinking, and laughing.
Amazingly, Primo’s name never even came up.
East Village cats and dogs (like Numb) are up for adoption at:
Social Tees
125 East 4th Street
New York, New York
212-614-9653
(ask for Robert)
Don’t even pretend you won’t read more.
It all began with a small boy and a large hole. Where will the whole thing end?
The Whole JOHN REED
A brutal feel-up session with today’s sex-crazed teens.
Generation S.L.U.T. MARTY BECKERMAN
What happens when your favorite writers write stories inspired by your favorite songs? You’re about to find out … includes riffs by: Tom Perrotta, Jonathan Lethem, Aimee Bender, Neal Pollack, Amanda Davis, JT LeRoy, Lisa Tucker, and many more!
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She controls who does and doesn’t get in. But when’s she going to get in herself?
Door to Door TOBI TOBIN
Words become powerful weapons as two MCs fight to be #1.
A Hip-Hop Story HERU PTAH
Standing on the fringes offers a unique perspective on life. But sometimes you’ve got to see what it looks like from the dance floor.
The Perks of Being a Wallflower STEPHEN CHBOSKY
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Declare your independence…. After her mother dies and her boyfriend cheats on her, Betsy picks up the pieces of her devastated life and finds remarkable strength and unexpected passion.
The Pursuit of Happiness Tara Altebrando
The name of the game is survival … and good girls finish last. Welcome to Camp Archstone, a bootcamp for troubled teen girls. But the girls’ true troubles begin once they arrive… .
Bad Girls Alex McAulay
Plan A didn’t know about him…. When her movie-star half brother—a total teen heartthrob—comes to town, one very practical girl’s plans for graduation and beyond are blown out of the water.
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arthur nersesian is the author of The Fuck-up and Manhattan Loverboy. The former managing editor of the literary magazine The Portable Lower East Side, he taught English for ten years at Eugenio Maria de Hostos Community College in the South Bronx.
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