A Half Dozen Fools

by Susana Falcon

  "Cheers," she said with a goofy grin.

  "One thing is certain," Joel said. "You are a helluva makeup artist and a lovely person to work with. Let's do it again, sometime."

  Elyse lifted her glass. "Here, here to that, sir!"

  After she sipped, Joel discreetly led her off to one side. Urging her back against the wall, he brought his lips down to her ear.

  "As a matter of fact," he said in a low voice, "why don't we do dinner one night, this week? Wednesday, if you're free."

  Elyse gave him an intentionally bland look. "Joel? I met your wife tonight, remember?"

  Joel rubbed two fingers across his forehead and shot her a guilty little smile. "She'll be out of town, by then. She was supposed to leave yesterday, back to Europe with her sisters, for a while. But then they decided to wait 'til the end of the week."

  "Hello?" Elyse said sarcastically. "As if that makes a difference? You're still married, Joel!"

  Again, he spoke quietly. "I know, but not happily."

  "But, legally, nonetheless," she stated flatly. Her head shook with incredulity until she forced it to be still. She waited a beat and looked straight in Joel's eyes.

  "Joel--I'm sorry. I just can't date a married man." Her expression switched from anger to despair. "And, I really liked you, too."

  "Well, I really like you, too, Elyse, or I wouldn't be taking this chance. Dominique would kill me if she knew I was asking you out."

  Elyse rolled her eyes. "Duh!"

  She happened to catch the reclined guy staring at her and Joel. She felt embarrassed, but was confused about what was proper protocol when dealing with such rudeness from the host at his own party. She felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, considering how Joel had prevailed over filming with god-like status, and now she was a guest in his home. She certainly wanted to remain on good terms so he'd hire her, again, or at least recommend her to others in the industry. In addition to these things, she had to squelch her lingering attraction toward him, which had bloomed from believing he was single. She was saved from further consternation when somebody called him away for a minute.

  She glanced over at the man on the bed again. He was watching her. Elyse went over to him.

  "Mind if I sit down, here?"

  "Not at all, please do." He slid his butt and crossed ankles toward the center to free up some room.

  "I'm Elyse," she said as she parked her derriere in the small space he'd created. "And you are?"

  "Mickey O'Donovan. Nice to meet ya, Elyse."

  "Have I met you before? I feel like I have."

  "Maybe you saw my act."

  "What act is that? Are there seven virgins and a mule?"

  "Funny girl. Maybe you should help me write some new material."

  Then it dawned on her.

  "Oh, you're a stand-up. Right. I met you one day on the shoot. Sorry, but I've never seen your act."

  "Well, maybe you should, funny girl. Come over to Gotham's Comedy Club sometime. I'll even get you in for free."

  "Sure, why not? Love to."

  He handed her his business card.

  "Wednesday through Sunday night, early and late shows. The late show's usually better."

  She tucked the card inside her wallet. "Thanks."

  "Just give me a call ahead of time," he added.

  Elyse felt a tap on her shoulder and looked up to see Joel towering above. He nudged his head to indicate she ought to come over, so she joined him by the desk where a paunchy bald guy sat. When the paunchy guy cracked an inside joke, he and Joel both burst out laughing.

  Elyse waited a beat before she interrupted. "Yes, Herr Director?"

  "Ah, there she is," he said. He turned to the paunchy guy. "Meet a beautiful, talented lady, Craig. Miss Elyse Wazinski. She worked as a makeup artist on the shoot."

  Craig turned a lascivious smile toward Elyse. She hated him at once.

  "Ah, yes," he said. "Very beautiful. Nice to meet you, Elyse."

  "Nice to meet you, too," she lied. She turned to Joel. "I just hope my career goes forward, after this."

  "Ah, not to worry, my dear," Joel waxed. "Some girls got it all, and you are one of them. Like I said, before--the world is your oyster."

  Elyse was about to make a wisecrack about Shakespeare shucking shellfish, when Joel handed her a short, plastic straw with an angled edge.

  "Here," he said, "let me hold your champagne glass while you partake."

  "In what?" But one look at the desk top and she knew.

  Thin lines of crystalline, white powder were laid out neatly along a mirror. She glanced at Craig running his forefinger along the edge of the credit card rimmed with residual powder from chopping it up. He then stuck his forefinger inside his mouth and rubbed it against his gums. She winced in disgust at the sublime expression on his face, his finger lodged between rubbery lips massaging his gum line. Such obvious sensual pleasure on his flaccid, pasty face made her want to puke. She looked at Joel.

  "Honestly, Joel, I haven't done this, like, in eons. I'm not sure I even can anymore."

  "It's like riding a bike, my dear," Joel said seductively. "Look... Plug one side of your nose like this, put the other side over one end of the straw, and run the other over the powder, like that. Then suck up, up and away!"

  Elyse swallowed hard to stave off panic. Drugs had never been her thing, not after an acid trip back in high school. That had turned into one crazy-ass night, where she learned just how overactive an imagination she truly possessed. Hallucinating for hours and hours, she'd prayed hard to stave off insanity. And she always swore a Higher Power had, indeed, helped her stay sane, that night. She'd vowed never to do drugs, again.

  Somewhere along the line, she'd broken that vow when she tried cocaine to please some boyfriend. Nothing serious had happened then, but again, she'd found messing with pharmaceuticals was simply not her cup of tea.

  At this moment in time, however, she was considering how a refusal might affect her standing with Joel. Wearing a big grin on his face, he was clearly game. Maybe it really wouldn't be so bad to do it, just this once. After all, it had been years since she'd tried it. She feared insulting Joel by refusing his offer, which might also render her un-cool and threaten work on future projects. Then again, her own health and welfare were more important than pleasing the boss--weren't they?

  Just as she decided to politely decline, Craig intervened.

  "Here, Elyse, look."

  Like a magician about to do a trick, he reached inside his jacket pocket and plucked out a twenty-dollar bill which he rolled into a tight little straw. Next, he put it on the desk at the edge of a powdery line and lowered his head. Then, he placed one nostril at the open end of the bill and plugged the other nostril with a chubby finger. As he pushed the bill along the line of coke, he inhaled deeply and drew it up his nose until it was all gone. Without further ado, he repeated the action with his other nostril and sucked up the next line of coke. Then he sat up fast, threw his head back and sniffed loudly.

  "Whew! Good stuff, man!"

  Elyse looked at him in disgust. She nevertheless felt as if a gauntlet had been thrown and took up the unspoken challenge. With the plastic straw in hand, she braced herself and daintily pressed a finger against her left nostril. Bending down, she sniffed up a line of the powder in lady-like fashion.

  She stood fast and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

  "Nicely done," Joel cooed.

  "A regular Hoover!" Craig blurted.

  "Do the rest of this line here, Elyse," Joel urged. "And this one, too."

  She got it over with quickly and handed the straw back to Joel.

  "Awesome," she fibbed. "May I have my champagne back now, please?"

  When she stepped back to let others come and take their turn, she bumped into Mickey standing right behind her.

  "Good stuff, Elyse?"

  "No," she snapped quietly, "it burns!"

  "Oh," he asked slyly, "running down t
he back of your throat?"

  She leaned against the armoire and groaned. "Yes, as a matter of fact. Can't say I'm a fan."

  Mickey narrowed his eyes in thought. A moment later, he went over to Craig. "You score this stuff tonight, guy?"

  "Yeah, buddy, sure did."

  "Didn't you say your regular guy was out of town?"

  Craig glared at him before switching to a smile. "Yeah, but I went direct to his provider. Don't worry, my friend, it's pree-mo, grade-A goods."

  Elyse decided Craig was a smug bastard she wouldn't trust as far as she could throw him. Joel ended all thoughts about Craig, however, when he sidled up and put his nose against the top of her head.

  "God, your hair smells good," he whispered. "I'd like to run my hands through it--and my lips all over your neck."

  Elyse mouth dropped in surprise, and she blushed.

  Joel growled softly. "You have the softest, thickest hair I've ever seen, I swear!"

  He tugged at the end of her long, brunette mane hung loosely down her back. Elyse turned and faced him. He brought his mouth close enough for a kiss. She drew herself away.

  "I'd love to take you up on that, sir, but I can't. Like I said--I don't date married men."

  "It's over, though, Elyse--me and Dominique. It's been over for quite some time, now. D'you know, we haven't had sex in over a year?"

  "No," she said, "I didn't know. I didn't even know you were married 'til tonight."

  "Sorry about that. I know I should wait until we get divorced, but I can't help it. I adore you."

  He pressed so close Elyse could smell the hot, clean skin on his neck. The aura of confidence that comes with money and power swirled all around him, too, which turned her on even more, in spite of her reservations. She would have loved to ravish him with kisses, but forced herself to pull farther away.

  "I could adore you, too, Joel. Maybe I will, after your divorce."

  He tickled her ribs, and she couldn't help but giggle. He kept it up and she squealed for mercy. Her giggles caught in her throat, however, when she glanced up to see Dominique slip inside the room. Even more unfortunate, they happened to look directly in each others' eyes.

  Dominique's face hardened. Elyse blanched and stepped away from Joel, who finally noticed his wife had come in.

  "You weren't coming to find me?" Dominique asked her husband in an accusatory tone.

  "Of course I was," Joel answered coolly. "Just needed to get some of the bodies out of here first, and make some room. Here," he cooed, "I saved the best for you..."

  As he led her over to Craig, Elyse made her way toward Mickey, who was leaning against the wall by the door. He'd observed all and was smirking. Elyse wrinkled her nose like a bunny.

  "Now's probably a good time for me to go."

  "Mm, understandable. So, you'll come and see my show?"

  "Yes, of course. Thank you so much for inviting me. Have a good night."

  In the dark hallway outside, Elyse squinted to get her bearings. As she forced herself to focus, her stomach roiled. She suddenly felt woozy and wondered if the thought of Joel tickling her in front of his wife was making her ill.

  She drew a deep breath. Enough of this bullshit! Get me out of here now.

  She headed for the living room in a mad search for Dylan.

  * * * *

  It was after four A.M. when Elyse sat upright in a cold sweat. Rudely awakened by a sharp pain in her gut, her skin had grown clammy and she was shaking from the chills. Since she rarely succumbed to illness, she felt confused and disoriented by what was happening to her body. Then, pain struck, again.

  She at least possessed the wherewithal to get out of bed and head for the bathroom. She reached the commode just in time to heave numerous times before rolling down against the floor. The cool tile was a relief against her hot skin, so she rested there until another wave of nausea brought her back up to the porcelain god. She cursed silently between her retching, wondering what in the world was causing it. After the throes of physical chaos had ebbed and finally ceased their hold on her, she slid back down to the ground again, damp hair stuck on her sweaty brow.

  Lying naked on her bathroom floor, a barrage of thoughts ran through her head.

  Did I drink too much? Was it the champagne after vodka? Wait--did I eat enough, to begin with? Too much? Maybe it's a virus, or the flu.

  But, no--somehow, she knew those reasons were not the cause of her projectile heaving. As her body resumed normalcy, the cold floor against her face also clarified her memory, and an image from Joel's party rose in her mind.

  She pushed the limp strands of hair off her face and forced herself to focus.

  That stupid blow up my nose--that's what it is!

  Then another more distant memory flooded her mind.

  She remembered an artist she'd met in Paris during her junior year abroad. He'd told her how a person vomits after inhaling heroine, a sure sign the person has "gotten off." Elyse had never doubted his information was spot-on, since he, himself, was addicted to the "junk." While she wondered whatever had become of him, she also recalled a moment at the private gathering in Joel's bedroom.

  After Mickey had asked Craig where he'd gotten the coke, something in Craig's smarmy way of answering had bothered Elyse, although she'd been unable to put her finger on exactly what it was. Now, after puking her guts out, she remembered Craig saying his usual "dealer" was out of town. Who knew what his replacement had cut his purchase with? It could easily have been tainted by a bit of bad Brown Sugar, or some other stupid designer drug.

  She rolled her eyes and thought how dumb she was not to have listened to herself by refusing to partake, in spite of Joel urging her on.

  After a while, the floor grew cold and hard against her skin. Shaking from the break in feverishness, she knew her purge was over. With her body no longer on fire, she pulled herself up to the sink and washed her face. After brushing her teeth, she dragged her weary body back to bed, cursing her own weakness in character.

  She pulled the fat comforter up past her chin and snuggled into a soft cocoon. Drifting off to sleep, she vowed never to bend to peer pressure again, and never to take another recreational drug for as long as she lived.

  Chapter 2

  The little green man switched to blinking red the second Elyse stepped inside the crosswalk. A devilish smile lit her face and she decided to risk it anyway. She sped her pace and kept right on trucking--a blatant dare to voracious drivers revving their engines in wait. Between her move against the walk-light and the crisp October air, Elyse shivered with aliveness. With head held high, she strutted across Broadway, her long, dark hair billowing in the wind like a flag of victory.

  Exhilarated by her risqué move so early in the day, Elyse glanced back at sleepy businessmen still on the corner behind her and laughed out loud. On the other side of the avenue, she congratulated herself for not panicking or breaking into a run and strutted giddily toward the subway station. At the Eighty-Sixth Street entrance, she skipped down one long staircase after another, deep into the bowels of the transport system. When she finally reached the lair of mechanical beasts, she waited for the downtown Number One to take her to work.

  Twenty minutes later, Elyse emerged from the subway stop at Columbus Circle and hurried toward her favorite coffee shop.

  The sky had darkened and the winds had kicked up by the time she turned off Seventh Avenue. As she turned the corner by the old copy shop, she glanced across the street at the Make-Up Place, halfway down the block. When she saw her boss in the window fiddling with the display, Elyse pulled her coat collar up around her chin and kept her gaze ahead.

  Damn, Judy's at the helm, today!

  When Elyse entered the coffee shop, she was breathless from her walk in the cold air. Her spirits brightened at the sight of the young cook by the open grill behind the cash register. Dressed in a clean, white uniform, the effervescent Eduardo smiled and waved.

  "¡Hola, amor!" he said gaily. "¿Como est�
�s?"

  Elyse loved practicing Spanish with the cheerful Eduardo. With a grin, she waved back. "Bien. ¿Y tú?"

  "Fantástico, baby, fantastic. You wan' your usual?"

  "Si, por favor."

  She watched him expertly crack two eggs onto the hot griddle.

  "Why you in such a good mood today?" she asked playfully.

  "Whass not to be happy about? I got my health, my beautiful family, a good job. What more I need? I live in America, baby, where life is good!"

  Elyse nodded, envious of Eduardo's simple, joyful philosophy. Conversely, she felt an unnamed lack in her own life, from something she couldn't quite define. How she dreamed of sharing an attitude as positive as Eduardo's! Not once had she seen him unhappy at work. His cheerfulness was infectious, and she always left the coffee shop feeling better--at least, for a while.

  Elyse paid the cashier and took a seat by the window. Savoring her melted egg-and-cheese on a bagel, she watched a Winnebago pull down Fifty-Fifth Street and park at the southeast corner. By the time she'd finished eating, two more trailers had pulled in and parked along either side of the street, followed by vans and trucks. Police cars stationed at either end of the block rerouted traffic, while a team of workmen set up wooden ponies to keep it out.

  Grabbing her cup of coffee to-go, Elyse hurried to find out what show was shooting in the neighborhood today.

  * * * *

  While Judy Hoffenzimmer droned on about petty family issues, Elyse cleaned the retail counters in the front area of the Make-Up Place. As she sprayed and wiped, she stared out the window, far more interested in the hustle and bustle going on outside than in listening to her boss complain. She craned her neck to better see the full scope of people with a purpose coming and going from vehicles and trailers parked along the street.

  An older man with glasses was talking to a young woman jotting notes on a clipboard held against her waist. A group of technicians ...ed over equipment packed inside an open van. Another group of techies hoisted lights onto dollies and rolled them toward the building next door. A lady with a pencil behind one ear carried a pile of clothes into the trailer directly across the street.