She pursed her lips, “it may be a French restaurant but we’re not in France.”
A large black and white photograph of Rainer Werner Fassbinder wearing aviator sunglasses and brandishing a pistol had been taped to the gallery window.
He nodded, “I guess we should—” As she interjected, “—Are you still…”
Copies of the October issue of the Brooklyn Rail were stacked on the floor by the door and the Kim Jones drawing on the cover caught Janet’s eye.
“I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”
He paid their admission and then they found a pair of chairs in the center of the gallery.
“No, you go ahead.”
The lights faded to black and in the darkness the actors got up, crossed to the sliding door leading to the gallery office and disappeared behind it.
I stood up when the house lights came on and walked toward the door. When Cindy turned around, alarmed that I had left so quickly, she noticed Janet sitting two rows behind her. The audience looked engaged and I realized that the actors had gotten the scene across. Cindy quickly turned around as Janet smiled in surprise. A live version of Roxy Music’s “If There is Something” followed me onto the sidewalk. Cindy faced the two empty metal chairs as a rush of contradicting emotions threatened to overwhelm her; in just a few weeks she had hollowed out what human elements Janet possessed and her superficial façade had been honed into an angular caricature that was tormented by an insatiable loneliness as she suffered the disastrous results of her impulsive judgments. I lit a cigarette while walking to the bodega on the corner. Cindy didn’t know how to respond to what she hoped would be a compliment, but how could the scene possibly be interpreted as a passionate testament to the enduring power of their relationship? The sidewalk beneath the streetlight glistened in a broad pool of pale light and my silhouette was cast upon the windows of the parked cars. Or would the pain and anger over Janet’s betrayal steep this bizarre coincidence in cynicism? The radio behind the counter at the bodega was tuned to the World Series and Boston was up by two in the bottom of the third. The sound of Janet’s voice filled her head as a familiar hand rested on her shoulder, “I had no idea that you were so talented,” she was standing above Cindy with a bright smile on her painted face, “And how have you been?” A large black and white cat ran down the bodega aisle as I walked toward the refrigerator. Cindy stood up, “I can’t believe that you’re here,” and when Janet kissed her on the cheek she managed to whisper, “what a surprise,” as they embraced. I slid open the glass door and removed a tall cold can of Ballantine. Cindy opened her eyes and noticed the young man standing beside Janet in a thrift store suit, “Hello, I’m James,” as he extended his right hand. The man behind the counter placed the beer in a brown paper bag and I slid it into the front left pocket of my black corduroy jacket.
Third Saturday in August
Stephanie sat on the edge of the bathtub with the phone in her left hand and waited for a wave of nausea to subside. The empty blue and white box was on the edge of the tub, the unfolded illustrated instructions lay on the tiles by her bare feet and water from the bathroom faucet was dripping on the narrow plastic stick in the bottom of the sink. The dark blue cross that appeared almost immediately in the tiny indicator box signified her positive results and relieved almost as many fears as it created. Her ears were ringing as she bounced her knees up and down while drawing deep breaths through her nose. The smell of the new shower curtain mingled with the lavender scent of hair conditioner. She hadn’t been this aware of her body since breaking her collarbone when she was seventeen. Her then boyfriend’s Honda Civic had been sideswiped by a pickup and in slow motion the car careened off the road and rolled twice before plowing into the trunk of an oak. After they had been pried away from the shattered windshield and haze of smoking engine fluids, one of the EMS attendants informed her that their seatbelts had saved their lives. The shock of the crash and the throbbing pain in her chest was tempered by the wonderment of being alive.
A toilet flushed upstairs and that was followed by the sound of someone taking a shower. Her nausea gradually subsided as she stared at her unpainted toenails on the beige floor tiles.
Alan had given her a check for three thousand dollars the same night the condom broke. He had been too drunk to realize that it had shredded around his erection; their orgasms had been nearly simultaneous. As she rinsed herself out in the tub, he stood in the bathroom doorway and assured her that it had taken his wife at least six months to get pregnant. After drying herself with a blue bath towel they returned to her candle-lit bedroom. Alan gradually dispelled her anxiety by assuring her that he would never leave her.
The realization that his wife’s difficulty to conceive had nothing to do with him accompanied another wave of nausea.
Last night Stephanie had considered calling her mother to tell her that she was probably pregnant. While lecturing Stephanie about the importance of always practicing safe sex her mother never failed to mention having to get an abortion when she was in high school. The idea of telling her mother that she had to get an abortion was crushed by the depressing realization that she was becoming just like her; the long string of failed relationships and her emotional dependence on deeply self-destructive and emotionally detached men, dropping out of college after her sophomore year, her excessive drinking— especially over this summer and her inability to hold down a steady job all mirrored her mother.
Thinking of the cold cans of ginger ale in the refrigerator and the half-eaten roll of Tums on the dresser calmed her stomach.
She took a deep breath and exhaled while dialing Karen’s number. She imagined Karen grappling with the ringing phone just before she answered. “It’s positive,” Stephanie cleared her throat, “I’m sorry did you have a late night?” She pressed her knees together while listening to Karen’s groggy response. The resolve in Stephanie’s tone, “I am going to call Planned Parenthood after I get off the phone with you,” underscored her terse conviction.
Weeks ago Stephanie and Alan had spent an idyllic Saturday at the beach and that night he launched into her without the slightest provocation. Alan had drunkenly picked her apart with an entire catalogue of her meticulously collected faults. She finally called him on his abusive behavior on Sunday morning while they were having brunch at The Laundry. Alan simply claimed that she was needy and hypersensitive. She went for a long walk along the shore afterwards, as the bay turned the same shade of gray as the sky, and concluded that their relationship was finished.
“Yeah but I’m not his victim,” Stephanie tugged at her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger, “this just happened, you know.”
She returned from her walk just in time to overhear him placating his wife over the phone. Alan berated Stephanie for wandering off alone and claimed that she couldn’t possibly appreciate all of the things he had done for her. The three-hour drive back to the city in the pouring rain was spent in sullen silence—broken only by his furious outburst at other drivers. He left her in front of her building and drove off without a word.
“Besides, he already thinks that I’m incompetent. What would he say now if he knew that I was pregnant?” Stephanie swallowed the sour taste in her mouth, “And if it isn’t over already it will be as soon as I tell him… I’m really sorry… so please don’t be mad at me for doing this,” she stood up, “it’s not just because I don’t have anyone else to talk to,” and walked out of the bathroom with the phone tucked beneath her left ear. “No,” she crossed to the bedroom, “no I don’t need any money,” took the Tums off the dresser, “it works on a sliding scale there,” and peeled three from the roll. She put two of them in her mouth, “I think it’s about eight-thirty,” and began chewing on the chalky tablets, “you know, if this was a weekday I would already be at work,” while rolling the third one between her fingers. “It’s like forty thousand a year before taxes,” she glanced at the travel alarm clock on the night stand, “yeah, it’s a real job and I’m
really happy there which is pretty strange when you think about how I got it,” it was ten past eight. She sat on the edge of the unmade bed with her back to the open window, “no the results were almost immediate. I mean I peed onto the stick and by the time I washed my hands there was the blue cross.” A plane flew above her building. “Do you want to call me before you leave?” She smiled at the thought of Karen’s company. “I mean I’ll be around all day.” Sunlight reflecting off the windows of the apartment building across the street, “okay, okay… maybe some chicken soup,” cast a bright triangle of silver light onto her bedroom wall. “Okay,” Stephanie said, “so I’ll see you around noon,” before pressing the end button on the phone.
Four More Years
I woke up on the carpet as the radio repeated the election results that I had attempted to erase with a bottle of wine and a six-pack. At five a.m. the Republican pundits on the radio, Giuliani in particular, were demanding that Kerry concede. I swallowed a few aspirin with a glass of water, turned out the lights and crawled beneath the covers. The streetlight in front of my bedroom window went out just before I fell asleep.
My cell phone was vibrating on the floor beside the bed as it rang. I picked it up and pressed talk before Cindy said, “Hey Donald, how’s it going?” I squinted at the sun that was suspended in the tall bedroom window, “not good at all.” She was standing in front of a shuttered storefront church, “Did I wake you up?” “What time is it?” I rasped. A young black woman pushing a stroller walked past her, “almost noon.” Bands of windswept clouds expanded in the pale sky. “My head is killing me.” A plane bound for Laguardia flew overhead. “Are you doing anything today?” I rested my head on the pillows and closed my eyes, “I’m not even going to try.” “So you’re at home,” She sounded so happy, “at the new place on Spencer Court?” The co-pilot instructed the passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the plane descended through the patchy clouds. “Yeah why?” The oak tree down the block, “I’m on the corner of DeKalb and Bedford,” swayed in the wind, “and I really need to see you,” while shedding its brown leaves. The view from the cockpit revealed a low lying grid-work of houses, factory chimneys, and incinerators that were spewing pale smoke, slow moving traffic filled the bridges spanning the East River and the broad expressways. “You’re there right now?” The plane flew above elevated subway lines as trains moved between the stations. “I’ve got to talk to you.” A runway bordered by blinking red lights approached in the rapidly diminishing distance. “You’re on the corner right now?” “Yeah that’s what I just said.” I opened my eyes, “What’s the matter?” She began walking toward my building, “I’ll tell you in a minute,” and crushed a few acorns beneath her thick heels, “It’s number ten right?” A half-dozen tall cans of Ballantine were on the carpet where I had passed out. “Give me a minute though.” “Why,” she stopped walking, “what’s the matter?” A heavy bass rhythm was vibrating the car pulling up to the corner. “Can you pick me up a cup of coffee,” I noticed the stains on my T-shirt, “milk no sugar, please,” and that I wasn’t wearing any pants. The tinted window on the driver’s side opened as animated rap was punctuated with loud gunshots. “Yeah sure,” Cindy added, “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” before hanging up.
They got high while sitting together on Janet’s couch, “Remember that woman,” with Esther nestled on Cindy’s lap and purring quietly beneath her caresses, “that I was telling you about?” “The one who was at the play on Friday?” Janet’s small brass bowl was in Cindy’s left hand, “yes that one,” and smoking from both ends. “The one who left before the second act?” Janet tactfully apologized for hurting Cindy before wondering out-loud if what she had recently endured had been a suitable lesson in humility, but thankfully because of this happy coincidence, and then Janet’s voice trailed off because words weren’t really necessary to complete the sentence they were now sharing on her couch. “The woman that the character was based on.” The cup of hot coffee warmed my left hand, “What about her?” Cindy dutifully accepted Janet’s apology and even shared some of the blame for what had happened last April. “I spent the night at her place,” Janet kissed Cindy on the mouth and then they embraced, “and I told Andrew last night,” her eyes were shining in the sunlight flooding the windows behind my head, “that we were hanging out with a few people from the paper,” as she sat in my armchair with her legs crossed, “and watching the election results at Galapagos,” slowly kicking her right leg back and forth, “and that I was going to sleep on your couch,” with a blissful smile on her face. I frowned, “But I don’t own a couch.” She began rummaging through her purse, “I wanted to give you this,” and pulled out a manuscript, “the guy she was with on Friday night wanted me to give you this story.” I took a careful sip of coffee before asking, “He was with you last night as well?” “Yuck,” she looked at me with disgust, “I’ve been carrying it around since then, and I was going to throw it away, but I think you should read it.” My headache was coming back, “I’m not looking at any unsolicited work right now.” “I don’t want you to publish it…” She was adamant, “just read it.” I stood up, “okay,” slowly crossed the room, “okay,” and took it out of her hand, “Jesus Christ.” “I guess you’re responsible in some way for what happened last night.” I dropped the story on the pile of unsolicited fiction behind a row of bird guides, “How so?” Oscar entered the room and walked toward her shoes. “If you hadn’t asked me to direct the play this would have never have happened.” He smelled her outstretched hand before allowing her to caress him. “I really wish you wouldn’t say that Cindy.” She looked up from the cat, “Why not?” Steam rose from the Styrofoam cup. “Because you are very good at what you do,” I sat down, “And what about the guy she was with on Friday night?” She shook her head, “That can’t be serious.” “Oh, but it is with you…” I clutched my forehead, “And why do you want to spend your time with someone that vapid?” Oscar jumped onto her lap. “Because she isn’t really like the way we depicted her onstage… she isn’t just one of your characters.” Another plane flew above the windows. I closed my eyes, “she locked you out of her house Cindy,” as the pale lights began to throb behind them, “and she lied to you.” The co-pilot instructed the passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the plane descended through the patchy clouds. “I don’t want to dwell on the past.” The view from the cockpit revealed a low lying grid-work of houses, factory chimneys and incinerators that were spewing pale smoke. “Are you in love with her?” Slow moving traffic filled bridges spanning the East River and the broad expressways. “Maybe I am.” The plane flew above the elevated subway lines as trains moved between the stations. “Well,” I opened my eyes, “ I really hope that she doesn’t hurt you again.” A runway bordered by blinking red lights approached rapidly in the diminishing distance.
First Friday in September
Stephanie was wearing a knee-length black dress and black pumps. A pink cashmere cardigan was neatly folded in the oversized black canvas purse by her feet. Alan saw her standing by the railing and facing the harbor. She was silhouetted by the silver glare of the sun reflecting off the water. He made his way through a group of tourists milling around the war memorial. Alan had called her at work on Tuesday morning, was told that she had taken a personal day, and left a message on her voicemail. She returned his call on Wednesday, after her boss had left for the day. She was unresponsive when he asked her out, yet he persisted, and she finally agreed to meet him after work on Friday in Bowling Green Park. Stephanie turned around when Alan said her name. She gave him her right hand, “How are you?” His reflection was cast in her circular sunglasses. He noted her thin smile, “I’m fine,” and when he kissed her, “you’re being so formal,” she offered him her cheek. Stephanie turned toward the harbor, “I like coming here after work.” A police helicopter flew past them. “Why is that?” She waited for the noise to fade, “it makes me feel grounded after being in the office all day.” He regretted leaving his sungla
sses in the glove compartment, “How is that working out?” Gulls hung on the breeze and wheeled overhead. “It’s fine,” she nodded, “I can’t thank you enough for doing that for me.” Sirens were caught up in the distant noise of traffic. “Well let’s celebrate,” he sank his hands into the front pockets of his khakis, “I’ve made dinner reservations for us at—” “—I haven’t had much of an appetite lately,” She pursed her lips. “What’s wrong?” Alan thought of the call he made on Tuesday, “Are you trying to lose weight?” A ship’s wake washed against the wall beneath them. “I can see your building from my office.” “What floor are you on?” She turned around, “the ninety-second floor,” and leaned against the railing, “I didn’t realize that I was so afraid of heights until I started working there.” The twin towers dominated the lower Manhattan skyline. “Isn’t the view from up there a lot better than the panorama at the Queens Museum?” “Yeah I guess so,” Stephanie nodded, “but my desk doesn’t face the windows anymore,” then quietly added, “and I haven’t been out to the museum since we were there in June.” A group of elderly women strolled past conversing in Polish. He shifted his feet, “that seems like a long time ago.” Their shadows stretched across the shimmering asphalt. She brushed a lock of hair away from her mouth, “I guess it was,” and tucked it behind her ear. “Not really,” Alan clenched his jaw, “it was only three months.” A group of teenage boys on roller blades wove between the groups of tourists. “You weren’t afraid of heights when we had dinner at Windows on the World.” A few pigeons were pecking apart a hot dog bun. “That was a different time,” she shook her head dismissively, “But why are you saying this?” He turned to her, “because I really miss you.” Raising her eyebrows, “now I’m confused.” Alan removed his hands from his pockets, “we had a lot of fun together,” and placed them on his waist. “You haven’t even…” Stephanie removed her sunglasses, “when we last saw each other you made it clear that it was over,” and fingered the tortoise shell frames, “and now we’re going out to dinner to celebrate?” “Sure,” he shrugged, “why not?” “What could we possibly be celebrating Alan,” her heart was pounding in her throat “you were only interested in me when I was a convenient distraction,” as she looked at him, “So what are we celebrating… Did you just buy a new car to drive me around in?” “Elaine and Olivia are out of town,” he glanced at his watch, “and our dinner reservations are for seven-thirty.” She thought of all the time she’d spent by the phone waiting for him to call, “So what?” It was six forty-five. “And I really miss having sex with you.” She had wasted the summer on him, “you’re a pig.” He looked closely at her eyes and smiled, “That shouldn’t be news to you.” “You know that,” she folded her arms across her stomach, “did you know that I had an abortion on Tuesday… That’s why I wasn’t at work when you called.” He didn’t blink, “Was it mine?” Shaking her head in disbelief, “what a stupid fucking question.” He took a step back before asking, “Why did you agree to see me then?” “You know why Alan,” she reached down and grabbed her purse, “because I really don’t care about you anymore,” then slung it over her shoulder, “and I really wanted you to know that.”
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