Widow, Virgin, Whore - A Novel

by Deanna Lynn Sletten

  ***

  "Martin Hoff? Darla actually dated someone named Martin?" Denise stared at the envelope Katherine had handed her after explaining what Darla had asked her to do.

  "I didn't recognize the name either," Katherine said with a sigh. "He must have been one we never met."

  Denise shook her head in disbelief. She had always wondered who Chelsea's father was, and this was quite a surprise. The name meant nothing to her. "So, are you really going to do it? All the way to New York?"

  "I told her I would. I'm going to try to book a flight for tomorrow. I want to leave as early as possible so I can get back the same night."

  "Wow, that's a lot to expect of you." Denise was amazed Katherine had agreed to such a huge request.

  "That's Darla for you," Katherine replied, shrugging. "I give up arguing. It's easier to just do it."

  ***

  Katherine flew out of Seattle at five o'clock the next morning, arriving without incident at LaGuardia Airport close to one o'clock in the afternoon, New York time. Since she had no luggage, only her shoulder bag with a few necessities, she immediately acquired a taxi cab and handed him the envelope to read the address where she wanted to go.

  The cab driver looked over his shoulder at her with curious eyes. "This is all the way to the Bronx," he stated in a burly voice. "It's gonna cost a bundle."

  Katherine nodded, too tired from the long flight to care. There was no way she wanted to tackle the subways. "I understand. Can you take me there and back please? I'll be happy to pay whatever it costs."

  The driver studied the address some more before turning back to Katherine. He was a stocky black man with a wide face and round eyes. His voice echoed off the cab's interior when he spoke, but his expression looked concerned. "Lady, are you sure you want to go there? I wouldn't exactly call it your kind of place."

  Katherine wondered what he meant and stared down at herself for a moment before answering. She wasn't overdressed by any means, wearing jeans, a cream turtleneck, and a tan blazer. She didn't bother to ask, she just wanted to complete her mission and go home. "Yes, I'm sure I want to go there," she reassured him.

  The driver shrugged his thick shoulders, handed back the envelope, and sped off. The traffic at the airport was heavy and they crawled at a snail's pace for some time before heading out North on 678 toward the Bronx. The driver explained that the airport was busy like this all the time, no matter what time of day, but Katherine wasn't really listening. She settled back into her seat and watched the surrounding area out the window with little interest.

  The day was cloudy and everything looked colorless and gray. She'd been in New York City once before with her parents when she was a teenager, but then they'd stayed in Manhattan for the shopping and shows and hadn't ventured out into the surrounding suburbs. She remembered New York City as bright lights, towering buildings with shining plate-glass windows, and excitement everywhere. But the closer they got to their destination, the drearier the town and buildings looked, a much different side of New York than she'd seen before. Katherine began to wonder what Darla had gotten her into.

  After a time, the driver turned down a dirty, quiet street. Katherine stared with wide eyes at the place where he finally stopped. In front of her stood an ancient, five story brownstone hotel, scribbled with graffiti. The front door was boarded up and the entire block looked deserted. Flanked on both sides were similar buildings that looked just as derelict.

  "This is it," the driver announced, giving the building a once over with his sharp eyes.

  Katherine could not believe this was where Chelsea's father actually lived. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I am. And I'll tell you something else I'm sure of. I'm a big guy and I've lived in New York City all my life but I wouldn't set foot outside of this cab on this street." He shook his head as he spoke, reaffirming his dislike for this dirty, dingy hotel.

  Katherine sat for one long moment, unsure of what she should do. The building didn't look safe, let alone the neighborhood. She'd be crazy to go in there. Yet, she'd promised. Damn that Darla. Damn, damn, damn!

  "Well, lady, what'll it be? Want me to take you back to the airport?"

  Katherine slowly shook her head. "Do you think anyone actually lives here?" she asked. The building hardly seemed fit for human occupancy.

  "I don't doubt people do, but no one I'd want to visit," the driver told her.

  Katherine took a deep breath and slid over to the door. "Will you wait for me? I won't be long, I promise."

  The driver looked unsure. "I don't want to stay parked here, that's for sure. No telling what's running around here. I'll drive around the block a few times while I wait."

  That didn't seem like much assurance to Katherine but since she hadn't paid him yet, she figured he wouldn't desert her. Opening the door and stepping out of the cab, Katherine stared up at the boarded door, wondering how she would get in.

  The driver saw her gaze and offered, "There's probably a back door. You'll have to go between the buildings there to get to it."

  Katherine stared from the dark path between the buildings back to the driver. "Thanks," she said, making a face. The last thing she wanted to do in a place like this was walk into a dark alley.

  Clutching her blazer close around her to ward off the chill in the air as much as the one running up her spine, Katherine slowly made her way toward the gaping darkness. Two buildings down, a haggard face peeked out from a doorway and stared at her. From above, she saw a torn curtain move in a window. Down the street, two shabbily dressed men sat on the curb, smoking, but neither looked in her direction. Katherine shuddered involuntarily.

  With all the courage she could muster, Katherine stepped between the buildings into the shadows. She walked at a brisk pace, wanting to get out of the darkness as quickly as possible. Her heart pounded with every step. Just as she reached daylight at the end of the alley, a towering man stepped out in front of her, blocking the way. Katherine let out a startled cry, ready to turn on her heel and run. But the man only stood there a moment, staring at her, as if assessing her. He was extremely tall and thin, his skin dark and smooth, his hair cropped short under a felt hat. He wore a long, black coat over a worn black suit and white shirt with a collar that had seen better days. The edges of the coat were tattered, his shoes scuffed, his dark hat faded. Yet nothing about him looked forbidding. He had kind eyes.

  "Can I help you?" the man offered, his deep voice serious.

  Katherine stared at him in the gray light but saw nothing sinister in his dark eyes. Her heart still pounding in her chest, she spoke. "I'm looking for someone who might live here. Martin Hoff. Do you know him?"

  For several moments there was no answer as he continued studying her. Finally he nodded, turned, and waved for her to follow him. Hesitantly, she did, all the while questioning her judgment, or lack of it. He led her out of the dark alley and to the back stoop of the hotel. There was a door here, but it was guarded by a wrought-iron gate. Quietly, the man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

  "We had trouble with people breaking in from the front," he explained in an even tone as he unlocked first the gate, then the door. "That's why it's boarded up now. All the residents have a key to lock this up when they come and go."

  He entered, waving Katherine in, then locked both doors behind them. The sound of the lock clicking shut gave Katherine a chill, but the stench that greeted her inside instantly took her mind from the locked door. It was an overpowering odor, like a mixture of human waste and rotting garbage. The building reeked with decay.

  "Comes from broken plumbing and broken souls," the man told her, noticing her reaction to the smell. "Come, this way." He led her past an ancient elevator to a smudged door marked 'Stairs'. "Elevator's been broken for years," he explained, continuing on as she followed.

  The stairwell was dimly lit, the walls, once white, were now a dull gray decorated with red and black graffiti. They made
their way up the narrow flight to the third floor landing where they were forced to stop because of two women blocking their way, sleeping in front of the door. The man with Katherine nudged them gently. They awoke with unconcerned eyes.

  "You two know you can't be out here. Either go into your friend's apartment or leave," he told them in a voice leaving no room for argument. The women grunted, got up unsteadily on their spiked heels, and stepped through the door on legs so thin Katherine didn't know how they held them up. Their short dresses were wrinkled, their dyed hair mussed, but they seemed unaware of their appearance as they moved clumsily ahead. Katherine and her guide followed behind them into the third floor hallway and watched them enter an apartment, slamming the door behind them. The man sighed and shook his head, but continued to lead Katherine down the hallway where they finally stopped at a door marked simply with the number thirty-nine.

  Once again the man took out a set of keys and unlocked the door. "He keeps the door locked for safety," he said quietly. "I've got a key, too." Slowly, he opened the door, announcing their arrival in a gentle voice. "Marty, you decent in there? Got a lady out here wants to see ya." The man entered the room without hesitation, stepping up to the dusty blinds and turning them open to let the gray daylight fill the room. From the doorway, Katherine immediately saw a man lying on a striped mattress on the floor of the one room apartment. He squinted his eyes and smiled once he recognized the tall man in front of him.

  "Hey, Preach. How're ya doing? Guess I was sleeping in, huh?"

  The man he called Preach chuckled warmly. "Hey, Marty. How ya feeling today?" He stooped over the man on the mattress and gently helped him sit up against the pillows.

  "Tired, really tired," Marty said. "And thirsty. Could you get me some water, Preach?"

  "Sure thing, man." With fluid steps he strode over to the stained sink and turned on the tap, letting it run a long while. "There's a lady here wants to see ya, Marty." He pointed to the door, and Marty slowly turned his head in Katherine's direction.

  "A lady? Why I haven't seen any ladies in a long time," he teased, squinting at her.

  Katherine stepped into the tiny room, dodging the empty pizza boxes on the floor. The room was strewn with litter, empty pop bottles, juice containers, and fast food boxes. She noticed a slop bucket by the bed and wondered if he even had a sanitary bathroom. The odor in the room was as bad as in the hallway, and she consciously tried not to make a face as she picked her way toward the mattress. Preach filled a paper cup with water and handed it to Marty, then slowly began picking up some of the debris off the floor.

  "Guess I'm not a great housekeeper," Marty said to Katherine as way of an apology. "I hardly ever get out of this bed."

  As Katherine drew closer to him, she could see why he was bedridden. There was barely anything left on his long frame, his skin taut over bones with nothing more, no muscle, no fat, nothing. He was so pale that if he'd had a white sheet on the mattress, he'd have been lost on it. His unkempt hair was very black in contrast to his skin, making his face appear even more ghostly. But in that face Katherine saw the only proof she needed that this man was Chelsea's father. He had the same round eyes and the same regal brow. She offered a smile to him then, happy that the connection had been made.

  His face looked puzzled. "Do I know you?" he asked, each word an effort, making him breathe heavier.

  "No, we've never met," Katherine answered softly. "My name is Katherine Samuals. I'm a friend of Darla Richards."

  Marty scrunched his brow a moment, then his face opened up in a brilliant smile. "Darla," he said so softly Katherine could barely hear him. His blue eyes lit up as he looked at her. "How is she?"

  Katherine hesitated. She wasn't sure if he knew Darla had AIDS and considering his own circumstances, she didn't know if she should tell him. But he understood her silence.

  "The last time I spoke with her, she told me she had AIDS," he offered. "I hope she's doing better than I am."

  His words hit Katherine like a brick. He had AIDS, too. Why hadn't she realized it the moment she walked in? And why hadn't Darla told her? As these thoughts swirled around in her head, she heard Preach speak up from behind her.

  "I'll take this garbage down to the bin and give you folks some time to talk. Don't leave until I come back. I'll walk you to your cab." He slipped quietly out the door, locking it behind him.

  Katherine watched him leave and turned back to Marty. "I didn't know you had AIDS," she said. "Darla didn't tell me."

  Marty shook his head, a sly smile on his lips. "That's Darla for you, always full of secrets. So, how's she doing?"

  Katherine stepped closer. "She's very sick. We're not sure how much longer she'll hold on." Pulling the envelope out of her bag, she handed it to Marty. "She wanted me to bring you this."

  Marty looked from the envelope back to Katherine. "Would you open it for me?"

  Katherine nodded and gingerly lowered herself to sit on the bed beside him. She opened the envelope and pulled out three photos and a folded sheet of paper, handing him the photos first. With hands that moved as slow as a man twice his age, Marty lifted the first photo close to his face. His pale eyes softened as he stared at the young girl in the picture.

  "That's Chelsea," Katherine offered as she watched him study the picture. "That was taken last year on the beach by our house. She's thirteen now."

  Marty smiled up at Katherine. "She's beautiful."

  "She has your eyes," Katherine told him, seeing the joy in his face as he stared at his daughter.

  "She looks a lot like my mother," he said. "And so much like Darla, too." Slowly, he placed the photo on his lap and looked at the next. It was of Chelsea with her violin, taken right before the spring concert. "She plays violin?" he asked, surprised.

  "Yes, she does. She started last year and she's doing an excellent job of it. Her teacher says she has a natural talent." Katherine spoke proudly, as if Chelsea was her own daughter.

  "My grandfather played the violin," Marty said. "Well, actually he enjoyed fiddling more, but he could play beautifully when he wanted to."

  Katherine's heart swelled. He held a family history Chelsea knew nothing about. It saddened her that Chelsea might never learn these things about her other family. "She must have inherited her talent from him," Katherine offered gently. He smiled at her appreciatively.

  The third picture was one Carl had taken of Darla and Chelsea at the Elton John dance. Marty chuckled at their lively costumes. "That Darla really knows how to party, doesn't she?"

  Katherine smiled back. "That's for sure."

  Marty piled the pictures together and held them to his chest. "Will you read the letter to me, please?"

  Katherine hesitated. "Are you sure? It might be personal."

  "My eyesight blurs out on me sometimes. Please?"

  She nodded and carefully unfolded the letter. There were only a few lines on the page in Darla's unsteady handwriting. Katherine took a small breath and began,

  "Dear Marty,

  Thought you might enjoy these pictures of Chelsea. She's growing up so fast, you wouldn't believe it. And luckily, she's nothing like her mother. She's a great kid, you'd be proud.

  "I know you're fighting this thing just as hard as I am. It's a bitch having AIDS, isn't it? But we'll make it through, you and I, we're made of tough shit.

  "Don't worry about Chelsea, she'll be taken care of. She has two straight-laced aunts who will keep her in line. I know she'll be someone special someday.

  "You and I had some great times together and Chelsea is proof of that. I'll always remember those days.

  "Take care, Darla."

  Katherine folded the letter and returned it to the envelope as Marty lay staring at the ceiling. She placed it on the small table next to his bed, beside the bottles of prescription medicine stacked there.

  In a small voice, Marty broke the silence in the room. "Darla and I only went out together for a few weeks," he said, still staring at the ceiling. "An
d boy, what a time we had. We had stopped seeing each other by the time she told me she was pregnant." He sighed. "I wanted her to get rid of it but she insisted on keeping the baby. What a jerk I was to want to get rid of someone this special." He lifted the pictures again and studied Chelsea's face as tears welled in his eyes. "I've made a lot of mistakes," he said sadly, shaking his head.

  Katherine's heart ached for him. "We all make mistakes," she said, trying to ease his pain. But he looked at her skeptically, as if unable to believe she was capable of doing any wrong.

  "Well, I've paid for mine over and over again," he said without a trace of bitterness in his voice, only sadness.

  "How long have you been here?" Katherine asked, suddenly wanting to know as much about this man as possible. Someday, Chelsea would have questions and she wanted to be able to provide answers.

  "About a year, I suppose," Marty replied, still breathing heavily from the effort of talking. "Before that, I lived on the streets or in shelters. New York promises shelter to everyone, and if you're lucky enough to have AIDS, you get a room to yourself. Guess that makes having AIDS a benefit," he said, chuckling.

  Katherine didn't find any of it humorous, only sad.

  Marty stared at her a moment, his hand still lying protectively over the photos of Chelsea on his chest. "Are you one of the straight-laced aunts Darla mentioned?"

  Katherine smiled and nodded. "I'm her sister's friend and we all live together in my house in Seattle. I've known Chelsea all her life. I love her like a daughter."

  He nodded his approval. "She's lucky. You know, it's strange that Darla and I both ended up with AIDS. Well, maybe not that weird, huh? After all, we both lived pretty wild lives. At least I know I wasn't the one who gave it to Darla. When I knew her, I was clean."

  "How were you infected?" Katherine wanted to know.

  "Drugs. I did drugs a little when I knew Darla, which was the reason we didn't stay together. Darla liked to party but she wasn't into the drug scene at all. Then, when I moved here, I got really messed up on drugs. I used to hold down a great job on Fifth Avenue as an Accounts Executive for an advertising agency. Can you believe that? Me, in pinstripe suits, Gucci shoes, the works. But drugs are just as easy to find in those posh places as they are on the streets. Before I knew it, I was hooked on anything and everything. Acid, cocaine, crack. Anything I could get. That's how I lost everything, too. I got AIDS from sharing needles at some uppity party where you'd think you'd be safe. Found out later that one of the people sharing knew he had AIDS. Guess he wanted to spread the cheer, huh?"