by Kim Cayer
“And you are…?” he asked.
Good question. Who WAS I again? “Uuhhh…Room 1209,” I brilliantly said. The clerk pulled out my card.
“Trish Halapeno?” he reminded me.
“That’s it,” I said.
Cash again. That’s OK. I still had plenty. I went back to my Saw 4 movie. You call that a horror flick? I was living a horror flick.
Three days later, feeling bloated and pimply, I simply donned a scarf and went back down to the lobby. I figured my hair was the biggest giveaway. Before talking to the reception clerk, I walked over to the newspapers. Good, good…nothing in the Times. Nothing in the Herald. Oh, shit, the Post had a picture of me! My 8 x 10 glossy audition photo. Paul probably sent it as revenge. Looking at it, I really didn’t think I resembled that photo. I paid big bucks for a make-up artist the day of the photo shoot and she almost made me look pretty. My lips were so obviously liplined and filled with a crimson color. Every last blemish had artfully been made invisible, and my nose had been so heavily shadowed as to make it almost look normal-sized. My hair wasn’t so attractive though. I’d gotten one of those beauty-school students to cut it for $8, and I don’t think she passed the course. She’d cut my locks off to my chinline, giving me 1 foot by 1 foot hair. It looked like I was wearing a brown helmet.
Still, that story was on Page 47. I was becoming old news, but I was still news. I paid for two more days.
I went back up to my stagnant room. My body craved sunshine and food with vitamins in it. I crawled back onto my mussed bed and by rote, picked up the remote. Flip. Flip. Nothing on TV. Man, holing up was so boring. I decided to watch the news for a change.
The news! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I could have been keeping a better update on my situation if I’d watched the news. But, judging by the few shows I watched that day, I was too late. No one discussed me.
Judgment day came. I was broke. Should I venture out to a bank machine? Should I try and stay another day? Or should I go home? I decided to let the newspapers tell me. The TV news said, “Go on home, Alice, it’s safe.” Yup, the newspapers told me the same thing. With a big smile, ripping off my headscarf, I skipped up to my room.
I tore the yellowing ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign off my doorknob and the maids were there in an instant. Letting them get a good look at my face, I said, “I’m checking out. You can clean it in half an hour.”
They looked at my room in disgust. One turned to the other and said, “I’ll clean this room if you do the eighth floor.”
The other considered a moment then said, “Sounds fair.”
I packed in a jiffy since I didn’t bring much. I couldn’t wait to get into clean underwear. I walked up to the clerk and told him I wanted to check out.
“Your room number?” he asked.
“1209.”
He pulled my file up on the computer. “You owe $21.50 in phone charges,” he told me.
Ooops. I was lucky if I had 10 bucks for cab fare. Oh, but I had my credit cards! They came by the truckload when I got my new job. I knew I’d only get in trouble with so many, so I threw most of them out and kept only a couple. Since this wasn’t Bloomingdale’s, I gave him my Gold Card. There was no limit to the amount I could charge to that card.
He took the plastic and went to run it through the machine. Something caught his attention. Giving me a good glare, he opened a drawer, pulled out a pair of scissors and cut my Gold Card in half. Shit! He knows who I am!
“I didn’t kill her!” was all I could think of to say.
He gave me a funny look. “You’re registered as Trish Halapeno but the card you gave me had a different name. Either it’s stolen or there’s something fishy going on. Holiday Time Hotel doesn’t need business from con artists like you. If you don’t leave, I’m calling the police.” He was wielding those scissors quite threateningly so I left without explanation.
Good-bye, my private Sing Sing! Even though I only had enough money to get halfway home, and the sunlight hurt my eyes, I wasn’t recognized by anyone. I was a nobody again and for once, it was a pleasant feeling.
* * *
The first thing I did was replenish my wallet. I was in the mood for some ACTION. I put on a sweater that had a neckline down to my clavicle bone, allowing some cleavage to show. I put on my jeans with the zippers on the ankles, unzipped so my ankles could breathe. I put lots of make-up on my zits and went to see my pals.
The first stop was Piles O’ Pies. The cafe was empty. Raunda was engrossed in a novel. I stepped up to the counter and said, “Give me a pile of pie, please.” Oh, I felt witty tonight!
“Alice!” Raunda cooed in her low voice. “I was almost starting to worry about you.” She was being funny too! My friend Raunda. “What are you up to tonight?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. I might see Silvio.” I was dressed to please him anyways. “Depends.” Cool dude talk.
“Check back with me,” Raunda suggested. “So, where ya bin?”
“Didn’t you hear? About the Krymkyw lady dying and me being charged…”
“I read the papers,” Raunda said. “But that was all last week. We’ve had a plane crash, an earthquake, and an assassination attempt since you last made front page.”
“Well, I couldn’t take the press, man.” I used that word, ‘man’, a lot around Raunda. “They were like vultures!”
“So…what? You went into hiding?” Raunda asked.
“At the Holiday Time Hotel. Don’t stay there. Shitty place.” I thought I’d start a little crusade against Holiday Time. “By the way, I’m on a health kick now. Give me a slice of pie with fruit in it.”
“We have a great apple strudel,” Raunda suggested.
“OK. That and a blueberry pie.”
I ate my dessert and talked to Raunda. Conversation was smooth and easy between us. I truly felt I had one excellent comrade. I left her my usual tip – $10 – and said, “Catch you later.”
I was going to slip into Mascots but saw the gang at Little Shop of Donuts. I checked to make sure my burgundy lipstick was in place and crossed the street.
“Hiya, guys!” I greeted them as I opened the door. Muriel was behind the counter. Andre and Petie were at their conference table. There was a stranger sitting with them and all three heads were bent low in conversation.
“Alice!” Muriel whispered. She jerked at me to sit down.
“Whaaa..?” I said but Muriel gestured to shut up.
She poured me a quick coffee, keeping an eagle eye on the boys. She was tensed up because she spilled some liquid when she set the cup down.
“They’re up to no good,” Muriel said through clenched lips. “See that guy?”
I dropped a napkin and took another look, although I’d seen him when I came in. “Yeah?” I replied.
“He’s the biggest crook on the street,” Muriel said. Ooohh, drama in the donut shop!
“What’s Andre and Petie doing with him?” I asked.
“I haven’t been able to find out yet, but I’m telling’ ya, it ain’t legal,” Muriel said. “Andre’s been acting real hyper these days. It must be big.”
The stranger got up. I couldn’t help but stare as he walked out. Andre and Petie grabbed their cups and brought them to the counter. Muriel was about to refill them but Andre covered the top of his cup. “No more,” he said. “We got a meeting.”
“You just HAD a meeting,” Muriel said.
“And so maybe I got another,” Andre shot back. “C’mon, Petie, let’s get outta here.”
“Hi, guys,” I said.
“Andre, what were you talking about to that guy?” Muriel just had to know.
“Can’t a guy talk?” Andre retorted. He wasn’t being very nice to his gal Muriel tonight. “Don’t start with the questions, Muriel.”
“Hi, Petie,” I said.
“You better not be runnin’ no deals outta my shop!” Muriel yelled.
“Shut up!” Andre yelled back. “And it ain’t your shop
! It belongs to that drunk Ramon.”
“Are you coming by later?” Muriel asked.
“I don’t know! I got things on my mind!” Andre snarled. “Petie, let’s go!” Petie had been gawking at the little scrap between the lovers. I had a feeling he wanted to fight for Muriel’s honor.
“OK,” Petie said. “See you, Muriel. Oh, hi, Alice.” Andre was already out the door so Petie ran to catch up.
Muriel launched into another commentary – her observations on Andre. I snuck a look at my coffee cup and saw it was barely touched. Aaww, I’d have to finish it and listen to Muriel. I liked the lady, except when she had problems. “It used to be just watches and sports jackets, but then it got to TVs and computers. Now what? I bet it’s a bank job. It has the smell of a bank job. My last husband went to jail for bank robbing. I thought Andre was classier than that…” On and on. I finished my coffee and waited for an opportunity to jump in.
Finally a customer walked in. Muriel stopped talking when she had to figure out his change. “I’ve gotta go, Muriel,” I said. “I’ll probably see you later.” Although I doubted it.
“Alice, was that you in the paper last week?” Muriel asked out of the blue.
“Yeah.”
“Andre was looking for you,” Muriel recalled. “He thought you were going to jail and he wanted to borrow some money before you went away.”
“How considerate,” I sarcastically responded.
“He’s been like that all week,” Muriel began. “One day…”
“I gotta go, Muriel,” I repeated. I hated to interrupt but I could see she wasn’t interested in my crime saga. “See ya soon.”
Mascots looked the same as it always did. Half-filled with men, a stripper going through her routine, a few working table dancers. No matter what time of day or night, the scene never changed. I could see why Silvio got bored with his job.
I walked up the steps and opened the door to the deejay booth. Silvio was standing there, watching the stripper, halfheartedly masturbating. At first he was startled to see me but then a sly grin spread over his face.
“Alice! I haven’t seen you in a few days,” he said.
“A whole week, actually,” I said. He looked kind of good standing there, his pecker hard in his hand. “So what are you doing after work?” I asked suggestively.
He got the hint. “Wanna get fucked?”
“Yes, please, if it’s possible,” I said. When I laid in my Holiday Time Hotel bed every night, I fantasized that Silvio got it up every time we had sex.
“I got this idea. It’s already turning me on.”
“What?” I nervously asked.
“Wait ‘til the dancer finishes. Meanwhile, get undressed.”
“Here?” I giggled nervously. Silvio nodded. OK, now we’re into sex in weird places. A new kick for me. The weirdest spot for me so far had been the couch. I guessed I could try this.
The dancer finished her number and Silvio fiddled with the electronic system. He winked at me and said, “House music.” With a flick of a switch, music with a rhythmic beat blared out. Funk or whatever you call it. “Watch what I do,” Silvio advised me. He turned a microphone on and just said, “Yeah, baby. Oh, baby.” It sounded pretty good with the music. “Try it,” he said to me.
I walked up to the mike and said, “Yeah, baby, oh, baby.” Neat! I was a singer! I turned to smile at Silvio when I felt him slide his member into me. I gave a little amplified gasp.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Silvio whispered in my ear. “I’m gonna give it to you good and I wanna hear you sing it over the mike.”
I had never felt Silvio so big and it hurt standing up. I hadn’t exactly been ready for him either. “Yow! Ouch! Agh!” went out over the music. I heard it loud and clear, so shut up.
“Come on, come on,” Silvio urged me on.
I felt he wanted me to perform so I emitted a few “Oh, yes!” and “Feels so good!”. With perfect timing, the song ended just as Silvio came with a bloodcurdling whoop. In a second, he was out of me and changing the tune. I scrambled to get dressed.
“So what are you doing tonight, Silvio?” I asked. I still wanted to spend a little quality time with him.
“See that blonde?” Silvio grinned, pointing. “The one table dancing in the corner?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“She’s hot, huh? I watched her while we were fucking. I got a date with her tonight.”
“Lucky you,” I said, perhaps a touch hurt.
“Alice, you better get out of here. The boss doesn’t like it if you spend too much time in here.”
“I’m going. Well, have fun tonight, Silvio. I hope you can get it up!” I said maliciously, before storming off. I was getting pretty tired of Silvio being my boyfriend. He was lacking in the social graces.
Raunda won the draw. She’d be the one to enjoy my friendship. In anticipation of the evening, I bought a milkshake on the way over to Piles o’ Pies. Oh well, I hadn’t killed any brain cells in a while. This day had already been exciting enough for me and I was ready to just kick back with Raunda and get stupid.
* * *
My euphoric feeling returned when I saw Raunda. She was just getting off work. For once I beat her to the punch. “Feel like gettin’ high?”
Raunda looked dumbfounded, as if I’d read her mind. Then she laughed. “Whaddaya think?”
“Where do we have to go?” I asked. Raunda had about nine places where we could look. I never met her contacts; usually I waited on a bench or in a coffee shop.
“St. Ignatius Hotel,” Raunda thought would be the ideal place. Although I’d never witnessed it, I knew the deal here. Raunda knew a dealer who lived in a room on the main floor. Raunda would give the secret knock, the window’d slide open, Raunda would give them my money, and she’d get the equivalent in weed. It was usually a quick transaction so I sat on a nearby bus-stop bench.
Two buses had already passed and no sign of Raunda. She wouldn’t have taken off with my money, would she? Nah, she was my friend. Even though it was only 7 p.m., it was dark out already. A scary thought wormed into my mind…maybe something happened to Raunda! In a dark alley, alone, carrying over a hundred bucks…Go save her, Alice! Or at least go find out what’s keeping her.
I snuck a peek into the alley. Yup, pretty dark. I could dimly make out a figure. Raunda? I edged in a bit and still couldn’t make out who it was. Inch by inch I stealthily went ahead. Finally I knew it was a black person and my confidence increased. I walked forward just as I saw something handed through the window to the person standing there. Oh, yes, it was Raunda.
“Hi,” I calmly said. The window slammed shut and Raunda jumped a foot high.
“Alice!” Raunda gasped. “Don’t ever do that!”
“You were taking so long, I got worried,” I said.
“Shit. I didn’t even see you come up!” Raunda was still on the first topic.
“Yeah, it’s pretty dark in here,” I had to admit. “What took you so long?”
“He just got a delivery and he had to cut it up,” Raunda replied. “I didn’t think it’d take that long. Let’s get on the street.”
“So did you get it?” I asked.
“Yeah, here it is,” Raunda said, flashing the bag of pot at me. We started to walk forward and almost bumped into the two men in dark blue walking toward us.
One officer quickly turned his flashlight on us. The other drew his gun. Both Raunda’s and my arms involuntarily went up. Raunda’s hat still gripped the bot of pot. The flashlight shot its beam upwards and Raunda dropped it.
“The black girl has the pot!” one officer confirmed.
“Right!” the other said. “Now don’t you girls move a muscle. We seen with our eyes that there’s a drug deal going on here. We have every right to search you.” He put his gun back into its holster. “Keep ’em covered, Rob.”
The policeman, who was about 50 years old and looked like a secret drinker, approached Raunda. She never carried a purs
e. He gave her a frisk and didn’t find anything. “Well, I know you were the one with the pot, so that’s a possession charge right there,” the cop said. “Where’s your ID?”
“I don’t carry any,” Raunda said, then outright lied, “I’m Grace Jackson, 3435 Finchley Avenue.”
“We’ll see,” the cop said. “I think we’ll be hauling you down to the station.” Then he turned to look at me.
“Alice Kumplunkem,” I immediately said. I could have said Trish Halapeno but I was carrying ID to prove otherwise.
I started to dig in my purse to prove my identity when the cop yelled, “Keep your hands in sight!” The other cop drew his gun. Both my hands flew upwards and my purse spilled open onto the pavement. The cop ran to pick it up and search it. Satisfied I wasn‘t carrying a weapon, he gave me a quick ticklish frisk. Then he picked my wallet up off the ground.
“Alice Kumplunkem,” he read. Then he noticed that my billfold was overflowing with dollars. “Whoa, whoa, what’s this?” He made a quick count. “Over five hundred dollars here, Rob. I think we found ourselves a drug pusher here.”
“ME?!?” I shot back incredulously. I noticed a window curtain part imperceptibly and an indistinct face peek out. I wanted to say, “I think that’s the pusher there!” and point at the window. Was it a bad idea? Was he a good friend of Raunda’s? Would I be considered a snitch? “I’m not a drug dealer,” I said. “I’m an executive consultant.”
“To the drug kingpin?” the other cop asked. What a dummy. No wonder all he was good for was holding a flashlight on us.
“I think you’ll both be coming with us,” the first cop decided. He slapped a pair of handcuffs on me. I felt piles of pie coming up.
“This isn’t necessary,” I pleaded.
“Rob, cuff the black girl,” the cop said, as if there were hundreds of white girls standing around. Bigot.
Officer Rob looked pretty eager to please. He cuffed Raunda then asked, “What about the marijuana, Charlie?”
What a dope. I could have told him the exact thing Officer Charlie told him. “We’ll be taking it in for evidence.”