The Harlem Charade

by Natasha Tarpley

  José glanced at Elvin skeptically. “How old is he?”

  Alex didn’t blink. “Sixteen, but he’s really short for his age.”

  “Are you sure about this? Maybe I should call your dad.”

  Alex shrugged. “You can, but he’s in one of his moods. He just threatened to fire the entire front desk staff at another building for not watering the lobby plants. I hate to think what would happen if he finds out that you kicked America’s next Justin Bieber out onto the cold, cruel streets of New York City.”

  José’s face turned red as he handed her a keycard.

  “Thanks, José.” Alex grinned sweetly, and gestured for Elvin to follow her.

  “Sixteen?” Elvin fumed once they were in the elevator. “Sixteen? Look at me! I can barely pass for nine. How are we going to get away with this?”

  “Hello, we just did.” Alex waved the keycard at him. “People will pretty much believe anything if you tell them a good enough story and it’s in their best interest to go along with it,” she said as the elevator doors slid open.

  Alex led the way to 6H. She unlocked the door and flicked on a light to reveal a medium-sized studio apartment. The first thing Elvin noticed was the wall of windows at the front of the apartment, and the expanse of sky and buildings, which seemed so close, it felt like they were part of the living room. Then he saw the rest of the apartment, which was bursting with furniture.

  “Be careful, it’s kind of cluttered in here,” Alex warned. Elvin counted three sofas, two overstuffed armchairs, four coffee tables, along with several rolled-up carpets, paintings, sculptures, and coatracks scattered around the room.

  “This unit is where all the furniture from the model apartments comes to die once the apartment gets rented,” Alex explained. Elvin cringed. He wished she hadn’t used that word, die. With his mom, and now his grandfather in the hospital, death was creeping a little too close for comfort. But Alex didn’t notice his uneasiness. She was already scaling sofas and chairs.

  “I think one of these sofas pulls out into a bed. Found it!” She pounced on a green couch that was nearly buried under piles of cushions and started flinging the extra pillows across the room. Elvin climbed over furniture mountains to help.

  “So is your family rich, or what?” Elvin asked as they worked.

  “First of all, that’s a rude question. And why would you think my family was rich?”

  Elvin gestured around the room. “This building? All this expensive furniture?”

  “I told you, my dad works for the owners of the building, so we get a few perks. Now, I have a question for you. What do you think of New York so far?”

  “It’s cold. And very dirty.”

  Alex laughed. “That’s true. Most people only see the trash on the streets and the dirt on the buildings. But beneath the grimy surfaces, everything has a story. You just have to take the time to look for the truth.”

  For a second, Elvin didn’t know if she was talking about the city or herself. Either way, he felt like both were hiding something from him. Even though he’d just met her, he already felt like Alex was keeping her own story a well-guarded secret beneath that ripped-up jacket of hers. And New York? As far as he could tell, the city was one big stinking pile of confusion, loneliness, and danger … and he’d just stepped right in the middle of it. The sooner he got out of here, the better.

  “Kitchen is over here. Phone and computer are over there. You can use the Wi-Fi, but try not to make too many phone calls—we don’t want to attract any attention. Towels and stuff are by the bathroom.” Alex pointed around the room. “Oh, and you need some clothes.” Alex whipped out her phone and dialed a number. “What size are you, small?”

  Elvin nodded, embarrassed, while Alex instructed whoever was on the other end of the phone to deliver a few pairs of shoes, pants, shirts, and a jacket to the apartment. She rattled off a credit card number from memory and hung up. “I’ll tell José to leave the package outside of the apartment door when the clothes arrive; that way you won’t even have to go downstairs to pick it up.”

  “Um, thanks for the clothes and all, but are you sure it’s okay if I stay here?” Elvin asked. “What if someone comes up here?”

  “No one will come. José won’t say anything to my dad, and I’ll tell him that the apartment is off-limits to the staff. So just keep a low profile.”

  “If you say so.” Elvin was not a hundred percent convinced, but it was either stay here or spend another night in the subway station.

  “Here’s my number. Jin and I will be back tomorrow.” Alex handed him a slip of paper and was gone.

  As soon as the door closed behind her, Elvin made his way to the computer to look up the number for his mom’s hospital in California. She was the one person in the world that he needed to talk to right now. He plopped down on the nearest couch and dialed, holding his breath while the nurse looked up his mom’s name and bracing himself for bad news. Thankfully, the nurse just transferred him, and after two rings, his mom answered.

  “Mom!” he said, happy to hear her voice.

  “Elvin? Thank goodness! I was starting to worry.” Her voice sounded faint and far away. “Honey, how are you?” she asked. “I hadn’t heard from you, and nobody answered when I called your grandfather’s apartment. Have you two been busy?”

  “Yes, real busy.” Elvin pinched himself to keep from crying. “I’ve been seeing a lot of the city.” He tried to sound cheerful. “How are you?”

  “Oh, so-so. I got approved for a new experimental treatment that the doctors are really excited about.”

  “That’s great, Mom!”

  “It’ll probably mean me staying in here and you staying in New York a while longer.”

  Elvin’s heart buckled. “That’s okay. I just want you to get better,” he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “I know this is not what either of us wants, but let’s shift the perspective and look at this situation another way,” his mom said.

  A small smile crept across Elvin’s face. Whenever he had a problem, his mom always encouraged him to try and see it from different angles in order to find the best solution.

  “Think about it,” his mom continued. “I get the opportunity to try out a promising new treatment, and you have the chance to experience one of the world’s greatest cities and get to know your grandfather. That’s not such a bad deal, right?”

  Elvin nodded. “Right,” he said, even though he would’ve taken going back to California over that deal any day.

  “So tell me, how are you getting along with your grandfather? Has he been dragging you out on those nightly walks of his?”

  Elvin gulped. “Uh, not exactly.” He wished he could tell her what was really going on, but he knew that was impossible. If he even hinted that there was a problem, his mom would drag herself out of her hospital bed and be on the first plane to New York. He didn’t want that. He wanted her to get well, so they could both go home. So he decided to distract her from asking too many questions with one of his own. “What’s the deal with those walks?” he ventured. “Last week, I asked Grandpa where he went, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. Why does he do it? Is he just trying to get some exercise? He acts like he’s on some kind of mission.”

  “It’s a long story, sweetie. One which I promise to tell you someday soon.” His mom paused to catch her breath. “For now, just know that your grandfather is a complicated man. He was born and raised in Harlem and has devoted much of his life to protecting the neighborhood. His nightly walks are his way of making sure the community is safe for the people who live there. I think he honestly believes that he can prevent bad things from happening. Does that make sense?”

  No, it didn’t make sense! Nothing did. Elvin wanted to yell, and throw the phone across the room. For once, he wished that someone would just be straight with him. I can handle it. Please tell me what’s going on. He wished he could say the words out loud, but his mother already had enough to
worry about without him adding yet another thing to the list.

  “Honey, the nurse is here to give me my meds. I’m going to have to hang up now. Tell your grandfather hello for me. We’ll talk again soon, okay?”

  “All right.” The call disconnected with a soft click before he could say good night. Elvin reached for a nearby cushion and screamed as loud as he could into it. The conversation had left him feeling even more lost and confused than he was before. He tried to sort out the knot of questions tangled in his brain. What did it mean that his grandfather saw himself as a guardian of Harlem, when, clearly, he had been unable to protect himself? And from what, or whom, did the neighborhood need protecting? Elvin suddenly got a flash of that night in the garden. What if whoever had attacked his grandfather had also seen him?

  Elvin stared out into the dark night sky, purple as a bruise. The lights from the buildings across the street looked like hundreds of eyes winking at him. A tremor shivered up his spine. What if they come for me next?

  Elvin flung open the door when Jin and Alex arrived at the apartment the next morning. “My life is in danger,” he said solemnly, peering around the girls to scan the empty hallway. “Quick, get inside. They might be watching.”

  “Who might be watching?” Alex stomped into the apartment with her loud, heavy boots. “Is it José from the front desk? I explicitly told him that no one was supposed to come up here.” She grabbed for her phone to call downstairs.

  “No, not José. Them! Out there!” Elvin gestured wildly toward the wall of windows in the living room.

  “Your neighbors?” Jin asked, puzzled.

  Elvin let out an exasperated sigh. “No, not my neighbors. The people who attacked my grandfather. I started thinking that they could’ve seen me that night at the garden, and if they did, maybe they’re planning to attack me next.” Elvin wrung his hands and started to pace.

  Suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing echoed through the apartment.

  “It’s them!” Elvin flung himself to the floor.

  Alex burst out laughing. Even Jin couldn’t help giggling as she reached for her phone. “It’s not them,” she said. “It’s Rose.”

  “Not funny, guys.” Elvin scrambled to his feet.

  “It kinda was,” Alex quipped.

  Jin held up a finger to silence them. “Rose has some information about the note card. Go ahead, Rose,” she said, and put the call on speaker.

  “Hi, all!” Rose said cheerfully. “I did find out some things. But before I get to that, have you gotten any bites on a new owner for Noodles, Jin?”

  “It’s only been a day since we put the flyer up, but I’m sure we’ll find someone really good.”

  “I hope so. Noodles can’t go to just anyone. He’s a very sensitive dog.”

  “Enough with the dog talk. Can we move on?” Alex huffed.

  Jin narrowed her eyes at Alex. “Play nice.”

  Rose ignored Alex. “Anyway, thank you for your help, Jin. Noodles and I appreciate it. Now, about the note card. I think that ‘SMH’ stands for the Studio Museum in Harlem, whose curator emeritus and board chairwoman happens to be a Dr. Verta Mae Sneed, or, ‘VMS.’ I sent you a link where you can learn more about the museum.”

  “This is awesome! Thanks, Rose,” Jin said.

  “You’re welcome, Jin,” Rose said pointedly, and clicked off.

  “We should look up the link … ” Jin started.

  “Got it!” Alex held up her phone. She read aloud. “Located on historic 125th Street, the Studio Museum in Harlem was founded in 1968 by a group of African American artists and community members to exhibit and promote the work of artists of African descent from Harlem and beyond. In addition to collecting and exhibiting the work of renowned historical masters such as Romare Bearden, Jacob Lawrence, and Elizabeth Catlett, the museum is also committed to nurturing and promoting the careers of emerging artists through its artist-in-residence program.” Alex looked up. “The museum is only a few blocks away, and it’s open today.” She made a beeline toward the door. “Field trip, anyone?”

  Even on a Sunday, the streets of Harlem were practically vibrating with the noises, smells, and energy of hundreds of bodies jostling for precious space. On either edge of the sidewalk, vendors hawked their wares, their flimsy tables sagging beneath the weight of books, incense, jewelry, and clothing. Churchgoers wove their way around late-night partiers straggling home, and everyone stepped over and generally ignored the sick and the homeless people slumped in doorways, or, in one case, stretched out in the middle of the sidewalk. People’s lives were happening all around. They intersected, sometimes even crashed into one another, but still somehow managed to remain separate.

  It’s easy to be invisible here, Elvin thought as the sweet and bitter smell of burnt sugar mingled with the salty, greasy scent of charred meat flooded his nostrils. They were passing by a row of carts selling roasted nuts and kebabs.

  Alex nudged him. “We call that street meat,” she said, and pointed to a cart. “Nobody really knows what it is. You’ll probably want to avoid it.” She winked.

  “Thanks for the tip,” Elvin said, even though, to him, the street meat smelled pretty good.

  On the corner at the end of the block, a small crowd clustered around a man with a microphone, sweat pouring down his face as he preached. “Greed is a sickness, my friends. It is a hunger that can never be satisfied! It will claim our homes and our livelihoods and turn our community into a tourist attraction. We must treat this evil vice like a monster in our midst!” The man screeched and pointed as the three kids passed. For a split second, Elvin thought that he was pointing at him, but just as quickly, the man shifted his gaze and his finger to someone else. Elvin walked faster to catch up with the girls.

  In the middle of the next block, Alex stopped abruptly. “Here we are,” she said. Housed in a five-story white building, the Studio Museum in Harlem was easy to miss, even with aqua-green glass around the base of the building and a large metal awning that jutted out over the sidewalk. For Elvin, the most notable thing about the museum’s exterior was the American flag waving over the entrance. Instead of the usual red, white, and blue, the stars and stripes were red, black, and green. These colors, Elvin’s mom had taught him, symbolized the pride, liberation, and unity of African Americans and African people around the world.

  “Let’s go in already.” Alex pushed through the glass entryway doors, Jin and Elvin right behind her. Inside, the museum was crowded with families and groups of tourists. “Where to now?” Elvin asked.

  “Over there,” Jin pointed to a large portrait hanging on the wall across from where they were standing. They pushed through the throng of people for a closer look.

  “That’s Verta Mae Sneed!” she gasped, reading a small placard next to the painting.

  From her perch on the wall, Verta Mae peered intently over a pair of impossibly small wire-frame spectacles, balanced near the tip of her long thin nose. Her eyes, cold and dark as onyx, surveyed the room, seeming to capture and follow even the slightest movements of those unfortunate enough to be caught in her stony gaze.

  “I don’t think she’s gonna want to talk to us,” Elvin whispered, taking a step back from the portrait.

  “Maybe she’s not as mean as she looks.” Jin cocked her head from one side to the other as she studied the painting. “There could be a really nice person somewhere in there.”

  “Yes, and maybe I’ll be the next Queen of England … ” Alex chimed.

  “Ahem.” A woman with a short pageboy haircut and glasses that looked like they came from the same store as Verta Mae’s stood grimacing behind them. She wore a headset and held a clipboard in one hand, a walkie-talkie in the other. “May I help you?”

  “No thank you. We’re just enjoying the lovely art,” Alex said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Jin cleared her throat. “What she means is, we’re doing a school assignment on museum curators, and we’d like to interview Ms. Sneed.”<
br />
  The woman laughed without moving a single muscle in her face.

  “I’ve never seen anyone do that before,” Elvin whispered. Alex elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked.

  “Not exactly, but … ” Jin sputtered.

  “Then it’s impossible, I’m afraid. Dr. Sneed does not give interviews to members of the public. Especially those without an appointment. And besides, Dr. Sneed does not work on Sundays.” The woman flipped through a few pages on her clipboard, then frowned in their direction. “However, we do offer free admission to the museum for students,” she sneered. “Dr. Sneed believes that art has the power to speak directly to people. You might learn something about her simply by viewing the work she’s collected here.” With that, she spun on her heels, turning her attention to a family of tourists with several small children on the other side of the lobby. “Excuse me, that sculpture is not for climbing!” she barked as she marched toward them.

  “I think that woman is a robot,” Alex joked.

  “This isn’t a time for jokes, Alex. What’s our plan?” Jin asked as they meandered into the main gallery.

  “We find Dr. Sneed.” Alex shrugged cheerfully.

  “But how? You heard Miss Lobby Police. Verta Mae Sneed doesn’t give interviews, and besides, she doesn’t exactly look like she’d be thrilled to have three random kids come barging into her office, that is, if she’s even here.” Jin’s voice sounded frantic, even to her own ears. How was it possible that she was the only one who was at all worried about this?

  “I’ll think of something, just give me a minute. In the meantime, take a deep breath and look at the art.” Alex grinned.

  “Whatever,” Jin huffed.

  “We should look for a staff directory, or something,” Elvin suggested, but neither girl heard him as they wandered off to separate sides of the gallery. His eyes swept the space, carefully scanning each wall of the room’s perimeter. And then he saw it, a barely visible line, like a small seam in one of the walls. He walked over to get a closer look and found that the seam was actually an opening for a door. A small placard posted next to it read MUSEUM STAFF ONLY. Elvin glanced over his shoulder before pressing a white button on the door where a knob should have been. There was a soft click as the lock released. Elvin opened the door just wide enough for him to quickly slide through, silent as a whisper.