“That’s fine.” She gestures for him to move past the door.
“With the door close.”
“No. You know the policy.”
Javier turns and closes Ariel’s office door. “I am leaving.”
Ariel can’t help but stare at her closed door. Torn between standing to open it and waiting to hear what it is he has to say, she falls somewhere in between, caught in a weird crouch behind her desk. Certainly the position can’t be a flattering one. “What?” It’s a question she has posed too often today. It’s not one that she should be posing to Javier.
“Henny, she want to leave town,” he says. “Ivan. She say it, we go.”
Ariel likes to think of Javier’s girlfriend as a chicken but knows the young woman is far from it. Ariel saw the photo on the kitchen employee bulletin board. The J for the H sound. Whatever. Really, Ariel just dislikes the woman for the fact that she has Javier. Henny gets to live with Ariel’s full-blown crush. “What?” Ariel asks yet again.
“She wants for us to go,” he repeats.
“All essential employees are required to stay right now.” Ariel stops herself from speaking too slowly, as if to a deaf person. Javier follows just fine, she knows. Ariel stands straight, smoothing the front of her skirt. “Please open my office door.”
“Ariel,” Javier almost whispers, “tell me what you need tell me.”
What she needs tell him? When? She makes a move toward her door.
“I am going,” he says.
“Why?” Ariel is caught between her desk and the door, between so much. She considers grabbing Javier’s face and kissing him. Or she could swivel away and open her always open office door. Ariel can hear the rest of the staff milling about outside, piles of them, the hordes, dozens and dozens of employees watching her every move, listening to her closed door with glasses pressed to their ears.
In the imaginary kiss, her paranoia is half subsumed. Nearly usurped.
And Javier has stepped forward.
Ariel pushes him away when all her body says is to pull. Suck. “I’m opening the door,” she tells him.
“No.”
What? “Yes, I am.”
“Let me be with you,” he says.
“Stay, then.”
Javier steps even closer. “Tell me again. My boss say I stay, I stay. I must, then.”
“You need to stay with the hotel,” Ariel directs and twists away from him. Her eyes see a desk less than tidy in her swivel, a desk stacked with work that means less than a great many other things. Less than her family, for one, she realizes with a start.
“I’m directing you,” she says, knee-dipping in her heels just a little to get in and under his periphery. “You.” She straightens her legs, holds Javier in his place with her gaze. “Are.” She smells his smell of cheap Old Spice and his sauces of sin. “To.” She crosses her arms. “Stay.”
Will it work? She thinks it’s what he wanted her to tell him. Order him.
“Henny,” he says. “She … will call. You must tell her.”
The possibilities of days with Javier loose in the hotel, the last bits of staff lost in some sort of dark and free place, a few guests here and there needing her attention—Miles, Ella, Ella, Miles. Her children should be at the forefront of her mind. She’d been calling home when Javier appeared.
Ed is a very good father, a very good househusband. That’s an easy one. Henny, Henny, she can’t please Javier as well as Ariel could. Age accounts often enough for skill. Ariel has skills. Great big whopping skills. And a killer mouth.
“Follow me,” Javier says. Or maybe something else. She doesn’t hear right.
Ariel takes her eyes off the lobe of his ear. “Excuse me?”
Javier only grins. He shrugs his shoulders as though he’s said something innocuous.
It’s the game they play, the advanced version of Power Struggle. It’s addicting, really. When Javier asserts himself, she knows that he knows what he’s doing. Ariel could fire him in an instant if she wanted to. “I’ll tell her,” Ariel says. “I’ll tell Henny. You have to stay.”
Javier takes Ariel’s hand and stares at her hard. Ariel adores his clear want. He feels like all want, just body, heat, somebody she doesn’t know and doesn’t need to know. If they moved forward, stayed there for another ten minutes in her office, she would forget the city, the hotel, get lost. Javier fingers her wedding ring, and Ariel knows the forgetting is why everyone must do things with other people, the things that are wrong and hidden and taste like saffron and caviar and everything most people can never have much of, like liquid money.
Javier and she will continue the game another time. Ariel needs to get her door open. “Stop,” she tells him, and he smiles. He doesn’t stop. Javier’s gotten braver lately. She should worry. Ariel pulls her hand away. “Let me know before, if you can, when Henny will be calling.” She opens her door without giving Javier time to check himself, deflate some. It’s a dangerous move on her part, but perfect strategically.
The hall is empty. Javier stands and frowns. “Miss Ariel,” he says and leaves.
Jesus. Her whole body pulses.
Fearius get to Pigeontown by walking the levee. He see the big washed out part of sand, the river beach under the power lines. When the river not overflowing, it be where Fearius and his bros target practice. Well, when they young. Not so much no more. Once they shot at a dog skull, other times dead river rats. Rats all over. Garbage, beer cans on the beach. Logs and trees. Another time Muzzle tagged some big floating thing out in the water Fearius swore done be a dead body. They shot a junk .32, rusty, jamming, but they was happy it real. Cousin Limey stole ammo from their uncle.
Muzzle still be the best shot out of all them, Fearius gotta admit. Today, Fearius just gots a boxcutter in his pocket, but nobody gone bother him with Alphonse protection draped all over him. It feel like a magic cloak.
The dead body Muzzle shot done bob around in the garbage water and yellow foam between logs, out by the fence guardin the city water intake. A full-grown man might could stand up in that intake pipe it be so big, pushing out into the Mississippi and sucking it up. People say it be worse drinking the city water than booze. Fearius think they both bad, but they aint no thang. He drink em both, what the hell. All the bagged ice, cold drinks, hot sauce, sno-balls and what come from the same poison water, so they all be the same bad. The toilet of the world, or something like it, what they say. A photograph taken from halfway to the moon in a school book Fearius remember from third grade show the river lookin like a line of brown shit spilling out into the bluey-green Gulf water. New Orleans get they water from the American butthole.
Way he remember it, Fearius werent no more’n eleven when they shot at the body. Muzzle toll Fearius later that he crazy, aint no dead body, and he not gone tell Moms or Pops about no dead body neither. That day they done be hanging with Limey their cousin and his girl String. Fearius never know why they call String String, but she giving Limey head when he thirteen. Limey be all Mr. Knowin and say it aint no dead body too, but String, she look scared. Fearius could tell String knew it a body same as he knew. It look just like a fat white man in ripped up underwear. The face covered with leaves and hair and fucking goo, maybe chewed on. Muzzle tagged what Fearius think be the foot with the. 32, but it hard to say.
Fearius dreamed about the dead body a long time. In real life, Moms and Pops done protect him and Muzzle and their sisters enough from dead bodies that it be the first real one he ever seen not in a coffin. Ones in coffins be hard as cold pie dough waiting in the refrigerator, but the floating one puffed up like a blowfish, and it done be a hot day.
Fearius dreamed about String too. She wear a big bra at thirteen. Maybe her name come from the string panties she wear showing out her blue jeans.
Now Fearius walk the levee and remember the body and think it funny how scared he done get. The body already dead, and he dint have nothing to do with it being dead, so it couldnt be no reason to worry. Yeah, they had the gun,
and Muzzle gone to juvey for the first time after, but they still dint need to worry. A dead body a dead body, no ifs ands or buts, and a dead body dont care what the fuck all you do to it, ya heard.
Now Fearius walk the levee and look at the long neck white birds poking their long orange beaks in the dirt and little pools from the river. Lots of times he wished he could fly, but he think it gotta be hard to find a way to eat and rest much. It feel to him in his bones that birds have a hard time sleeping much more than three, four hours tops. They happy in the mornings, sad when the sun go down, dead in like, what, three years. Birds live fast, faster than a bro selling Avon.
Alphonse say he bringing Fearius a pager round noon, good for the loneliness. Not that Fearius really get lonely, but it just like a saying or whatever. The ward be way safe, aint no heat drivin round. Aint no heat care about Pigeontown never, no ways. A pager show Alphonse think Fearius can be trusted true now.
So Fearius hoof it over to the game, make his name, keep his bro up proper in the hospital, give Moms and Pops tight Christmas gifts and what all, surprise presents and shit soon. Today with the Ivan coming, Alphonse triple up the supply. It gone arrive six times during Fearius shift. Fearius pretend he never see when it get stuck into the hole over the back door, or if he see it coming, he walk away. It possible they might could be more careful with the Avon selling, but they never keep much cash money in pocket and just three cars worth a supplies on they bodies at a time. Alphonse, him and his people aint no idiots. Only add up to a short sentence max. And nobody forget Fearius a minor. Alphonse especially.
Fearius walk down his street, lift his chin at the lookout named Ali Abubu or whatever, Boo for short. He not so smart, maybe even slow. Eighteen, Boo never gone be but a lookout. He come up Muslim, so Fearius think it way weird he play the game.
Boo make a big sign, like it the best thing he get to do all day. Maybe it so, Fearius think, maybe it so.
The pink and peeling brown house seem funny today, and then Fearius realize the windows shutters be closed, the front door done up with a padlock. Aint no new For Rent sign, but Fearius guess that be coming next. He need to find a way to page Alphonse, right? Or maybe it a test. Maybe Alphonse already know about the house getting closed again.
Fearius think it a test, kind of, and he gone find a way to get in. Between the cat pee and chicken bones, he hope they leave his hole over the back door alone. He think it gone be the case.
He step around the side. He got his boxcutter, waitin until Alphonse give him something better. The walk over aint no different than any other day, but he know from his Moms and sisters the hurricane be a big deal today, lots of people thinkin on leaving. But nobody in Pigeontown seem any different, all the cars still sittin cold on the street, nobody much moving around their houses. It pretty much a junkie block Fearius work. Everybody sleep in. None of them leaving for no hurricane.
Fearius be stuck down between the houses in the narrow when he hear voices inside the chocolate and pink. Sound like straight up people, white or whiteified niggas. Fearius feel for the boxcutter then back out. He gone hafta wait outside till they leave, fuck up his game big time. Here come Ivan, and the only house on the block have anybody in it doing anything hafta be his work house. Motherfuckers. Maybe he wait. If they aint gone in ten minutes, he go in with the boxcutter and scare em out. He capable doing it, fo sho. He be Fearius, and his name mean something.
Fearius dont wanna rap with slow boy Boo, but it aint a good idea if he perch hisself on some neighbor stoop who actually be in there and take offense. A few folks still dont understand the economics right, get uptight about the Avon and what all. But Fearius know he best get a look at the niggas leaving. He decide they just whiteified niggas doing the owners work long distance, doing the whites work like they always done, always gone do.
Selling Avon, though, he be his own man, working for Alphonse, not answering to no Burger King faggot manager, not answering to no Yessir Nosir lawncare faggot. Fearius, yeah, that right, he be his own man.
Yes, yes he be. Know what? he think. Fuck those niggas in my house. Fearius got work to do. Fearius got sale records to break. Today gone be his day. What else he can use? There any crowbars or shit layin around? He see a rake and a metal garbage can lid. Make him laugh. He go in like a knight whacking it out on PlayStation, like a knight with a shield and a sword.
Aw, fuck them niggas messing with his work. It time they leave.
Fearius take the boxcutter and stick out the razor and walk back down the narrow. He gone show Alphonse what he made of. He gone rise up fast as lightning.
Everybody better watch, cause here come Fearius.
7
Ella starts up the chant on the walk home from school: “A beastie is coming for us. A beastie is coming for us.” Ed doesn’t know if he should join in with his kids or judiciously suppress it. Ella and Miles’ mood is contagious, though. Walking in the middle, holding hands, Ed becomes one of the herd. He adds melody, as close to “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” as he can, and changes it up a bit. The kids get it in a couple of rounds, and they all skip down the sidewalk faster and faster. “A beastie is coming for us, a beastie is coming for us, la la la la la la la la, a beastie is coming for us!”
They skip around the corner and onto Orchid Street. Ed sees a Harris daughter, Angelique, leaning into the window of a Toyota. From the side, her stuck-out butt looks like a melon. He can’t help the association and feels automatically guilty, but the young woman’s hind end really is orb round. There’s something otherworldly about it, Ed thinks, as his mouth continues its singing and his legs continue their skipping and his children stop before he does.
Angelique draws her body out of the car window and laughs at Ed. Not with Ed. Two dark boys sitting in the front seat of the Toyota laugh at Ed too. They even point.
Miles pulls his hand out of Ed’s. Ed resists the urge to glance at Miles’ face. No doubt the boy has turned the color of a berry smoothie, something that horrifies his fair-skinned son. Miles walks off the sidewalk and directly into the street. It’s what they do, all the longtime locals. Walking in the street is where you walk. To use a sidewalk is somehow inappropriate, although Ed hasn’t yet figured out why.
Ella, to Ed’s small comfort, still hangs on to his hand. He can feel her dependence and utter unflinching faith through her sweaty little fingers. Her father is the man who saved the old couple across the street, after all. But who’s now getting laughed at. Pointed at.
Ed watches his son put his hands into his pockets and shove his pants down. His son, oh, Miles, attempts a swagger on the asphalt. Ed can’t believe it. Miles’ hitch-leg limp is something Ed wouldn’t be able to stop laughing at if Miles were putting on a post-dinner show in their living room. God, make him stop.
But Angelique calls out instead, “You go, lil’ homey,” and the car’s two guys and she chuckle, but in a nice way.
Ed and Ella pass by on the sidewalk. “Hello, Angelique,” Ed says as neighborly as he can. “Guys.” One of the boys sucks noisily on his teeth in response. Neither says anything.
Ed feels for his neighbor and her melon bottom. All the Harris girls have one. He often hears where they’ve gotten Angelique’s sisters, hears the babies in their house at all hours. Hears the raised voices. Hears the frustration. He wishes he could figure out a way to give parenting classes without offending anyone.
“Mister Ed,” Angelique says, smiling, shaking her head.
“Mister Ed,” the boys copy and then laugh again. How old can they be? They don’t look old enough to drive.
Only at his front door does Ed realize why they laughed again. How would kids their age even know about the talking horse? Wouldn’t the old television show be outside of their usual parameters of cultural reference?
On their porch, Miles fumes, his arms crossed across his thin chest. He taps his foot. His khaki uniform pants perch perilously low around his narrow hips.
No way can Ed say a thing. “W
hat would you two like for dinner?” It’s out of his mouth. He’s the father. They need his guidance.
Miles stares at the siding by the front door as if it contains the answers of a universe.
“Pasta,” Ella says.
Ed inserts the key into the lock. “You two need to double-check what I packed for the evacuation. I might have missed something.”
“Yay!” Ella screeches. “Exacation!”
“What-ever,” Miles says, but Ed can see he still has his son. An adventure looms on the horizon. Miles might get his subway ride yet.
Philomenia steps into her husband’s room. Joe lies awake. He stares at the ceiling. “Joe,” she says.
“Yes?”
“Joe—” He seems in need of something. “Would you like the television on?”
“What do you make of this ceiling?” he asks.
“What?”
“There’s a certain inherent peace there.”
“There is a piece of it where?”
“Philomenia. Stupidity doesn’t become you. You heard me.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a ceiling,” he says. “It does what it’s supposed to do.”
The nurse person has informed Philomenia that their care services will be suspended starting tomorrow due to Hurricane Ivan. This thing, her husband, then, constitutes what she must now tend. My, does Prancie need relief. “Baking!” she enthuses. “Baking is what Tokyo Rose needs.” She must lay the groundwork now.
“Huh?”
“Eggs and what all,” she tells him and adds a physical gesture with both hands to indicate what she means. To Philomenia’s great relief, she sees that Joe understands she must bake off the perishables before the loss of power.
He returns to staring at the ceiling. “Imagine staring at a ceiling your whole life.”
“Sorry?”
“Would you be able to see the ceiling change over the years?”
Philomenia supposes dying allows a person certain eccentricities.
But she has baking to do. Joe will have to be the sole ceiling gazer for the moment. “The freezer is full of peaches. Some are thawing now.”
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