by Alan Osi
“Well, people tend to believe what they’re taught to believe.”
He paused for a second. “Does it feel right to you, Hailey not being here?”
“Now that you mention it, no. We’ve always done this together. Like a ritual.”
“Like a ritual?” he asked, amused. “Don’t you know anything about ritual?”
“All that I know I learned from you,” I said.
We stayed quiet for a second. It was a full silence, and shortlived. Mark broke into it, asking, “You know this is the finale, right? I mean, what’s coming? Monday? Everything’s going to change—one way or another.”
I didn’t answer immediately, looking out over the skyline. “Certainly feels that way. Like this is the end of an age.”
“Agreed. Does it really seem okay to you that Hailey’s not here?”
“Less talk, more action,” I said, quoting a favorite phrase of Mark’s back to him.
He smiled, took out his cell phone, and gave our best girl a call.
90. WALLY
Me and my friend Steve chilled down at Mist, throwing back some choice brews and shooting the shit, when Percival called me. Again. The fool couldn’t get enough of me. That was the price of being awesome.
If he wanted to hang, I could do that; he was a pretty good DJ after all. Except I was done with weird spy jobs or whatever to prove myself worthy of moondust. That crazy thing where I had to go stand on some rooftop and wait for a guy to wave sucked. I didn’t even get anything out of it, but to keep doing stuff I already did. Kind of a no-win scenario.
“Are you going to get that, man?” Steve said, ‘cause I let the phone ring, trying to figure out whether to hear P out or make the sucker talk to my voicemail.
“Whatever. They say you shouldn’t shit on the hand that feeds you, right?”
“I dunno, I guess,” Steve said and took a sip of his beer.
Finally I answered it. I couldn’t get moondust anywhere else. “Yellow,” I said.
“Um, yeah, this is Percival. Hailey and Mark are with me, we’re on my roof. We have a proposal for you.”
“I’m done waving at weirdos on cue, dude.”
“What? Oh, that. No, man, this is something else,” he said. “In fact, we want to teach you how to make moondust. After that, you can sell it yourself. Or not. Whichever you like.”
Now this sounded promising. “Okay,” I said, “But wait—why now? I’ve been asking that for ages. You don’t want to know my spinning secrets, do you?”
Another pause. “No, I don’t want to know your secrets. There’s something you’ll have to do for us in return, and I promise you won’t mind doing it at all. We’ll talk about that. But, we need you to come to my rooftop right now. This is the only night this month we can make the stuff. If you want to learn, it’s got to be now.”
“Check,” I said, holding up my hand to get the bartender’s attention. I wasn’t even thinking about Percival. But, he answered, so it must have made sense to him, too.
“Good. Get here ASAP. As in, when you think of the subway, think of snails and sloths and pokey things. See ya.”
Steve acted all huffy that I had to leave right away. But, I was sick of the kid anyway. He only ever talked about his projects, and he wouldn’t talk about my stuff at all, like how I was pretty close to getting a regular gig down at The Stuck Pig. Or this chick I banged named Vonnie, a bearcat in the sack.
I took a cab. Percival lived just over the bridge, and since I’d been hanging out in SoHo, the trip went pretty fast. Good ride, too, with excellent sightseeing ‘cause lots of ladies were out who couldn’t have looked finer. Beautiful women was one of the best things about New York. You could open your window and spit, and you’d hit three models or actresses.
So, I paid the cabbie and went up to the roof. But, when I climbed the stairs up and tried to open the big metal door, it was locked. So I called Percival. “Hey dude, the door to the roof is locked,” I said.
“One second,” he said, and then hung up. A minute later, the door opened, moonlight flooded the stairway. You could see everything up there, and when I stepped out, I had this weird feeling like the moonlight was water, and we were at the bottom of the sea.
It was really strange, so I stopped for a second to just kind of take it in.
“Wally, are you getting introspective on us?” said a female voice, kind of like laughing. I turned and recognized Hailey, this girl I’d banged who ran with Percival. She and this gay guy Mark sat not too far away, smoking cigarettes with a couple of brews on hand. Mark gave me a little wave. Hailey wore an old T-shirt and sooty jeans. But, she looked kind of hot anyway. She always looked hot, though. That’s why I’d banged her.
“Naw,” I said. “Just thinking about some stuff is all. What’s up with you, Hailey? How you been?”
She smiled and said, “Oh, you know, the usual.”
“So are you guys going to show me how to make moondust?” I said, to all three.
91. HAILEY
I’d gone down to my apartment while the ash cooled to get some rue tea, necessary to erase the aftertaste Maxwell the reporter left in my brain. I had a jug of it in my refrigerator, and I poured myself a big glass, when I got a call from Mark.
He told me, he and Percival requested the honor of my presence.
I had nearly finished so I agreed with him, we should all be together, because everything after this would change, and because I loved those crazy bastards. I didn’t believe in “best friends,” But, they were among the best people I knew, no question.
Plus, Percival, Mark and I did need to talk, so I poured the ash into a hot-cold bag, put it in aduffel, and called a car. Pouring the ash had been tricky, because I didn’t want hot ash all over my nice creamy skin or nails—a serious possibility in this high wind. But, I managed and got to Percival’s without any major incidents.
They’d locked the door to the roof from the outside, a practice we started there, because Perce’s rooftop was popular and because we couldn’t be bothered when in production. When I got up there, I used our knock, a rhythm by which we naturally learned to recognize each other. Mark came to open the door and gave me an affectionate half-hug. And then, as the ash finished cooling, the three of us had our talk.
Now, Wally was here, practically filling the air with stupid rays. Of course, stupid rays hadn’t been discovered, yet. But, hanging out with Wally made one sure they existed. Which was why I stopped seeing him. He had his moments. But, prolonged exposure was too much to take.
“So, you guys going to show me how to make moondust?” he said. He dressed all indie-kid today, skinny jeans, scarf, thrift store sweater, and designer shoes, with gauges in his ear and the subtlest hint of eye shadow. He spent half an hour mussing his hair by the look of it. He was handsome, so in some sense I appreciated the attention to detail. But, it did scream poseur of the first degree. Which I guess he was, and ultimately the reason we brought him here tonight.
“First, we talk,” said Mark, taking control. It was for the best: Wally and I had history, and Percival couldn’t look at him without rolling his eyes. “What are you doing Monday night?”
Wally stared at Mark as if Mark had goosed him. “I don’t know, dude. But, whatever it is it’ll involve the ladies, know what I mean?”
“Oh, my God,” was all Mark could say to that, which amused me so—I laughed out loud.
I said, “I don’t think you get it, Wally. We want you to host a party for us. We need someone—talented—to be the front-man. You’re our first choice.”
He thought it over for a second, you could hear the gears struggling to grind. “Sounds cool. But, why doesn’t Percival do it? Why give it to me?”
Perce spoke now, reciting lines he came up with himself, in spite of Mark’s objection. In fact, the two had a bet over whether it would be believed. “It’s a long story,” he said, barely containing his excitement. “But basically, I have this non-compete clause.” Seeing no sign of bein
g understood, he explained, “That’s something that people in the business make you sign when you’re doing a project, not to do any other projects for a while.”
“Oh yeah?” said Wally, getting interested. “What’s the project?”
“They’re doing a He-Man movie. Can’t say who’s involved in making it. But, they’ve asked me to design the soundtrack. And just between us, James Carville is definitely playing Skelator.”
“Wow, that’s so cool. I love James Carville. He was awesome in The Godfather.” How we managed not to laugh out loud when Wally said that, I don’t know. “Do you think, um, you guys might need some help?”
“Nah,” I said, “We got it handled. But, we do need help with this party, and you’re a lucky, lucky boy because it’s gonna be legendary.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Mark said, interjecting. “As far as moondust is concerned, we’re coming out of the closet, so to speak.”
Wally made a face.
“Oh, get over yourself,” Mark snapped. I tried. But, this time I couldn’t keep the laugh down. I snorted. “You’re not my type, I promise you,” Mark continued. “Hailey, you want to tell us what’s so funny?”
“Oh, er…” I tried to think, desperately, and then started laughing again. “Must be the drugs,” I said, breathlessly. Percival started laughing too. Mark looked pretty annoyed, and Wally, of course, seemed confused.
I could have sworn Mark mumbled, “Jesus, I’m surrounded by morons.” But, he’d never say such things about Percival and me.
When I managed to compose myself, I said, “Okay. Sorry. Wally, what we’re saying is, you know how we’ve been really secretive, I mean, private, about moondust? Not wanting a lot of people to know? Well, we’re going public on Sunday. We want the whole world to know so we’re throwing a party, and there’s going to be lots of moondust. But, we can’t host or DJ it, because like Perce said, we have the, um, He-Man movie, and we have non-compete clauses so we can’t host stuff.”
Recognition, and excitement, bloomed on Wally’s face. “Oh, is that why you want me to learn how to make moondust?”
“Yeah.”
“But why? You guys have to be making a killing, yo.”
“Well,” said Percival, “It’s like this. I promised my dear old mother on her death bed that I would be a sublime citizen of humanity and always think of others before myself. So we’re doing this for the people, man. It was hard convincing Hailey and Mark here that everyone needs to know how this is done. But, I made a promise that I just can’t break.”
Wally turned to me. “So, why did you agree, Hailey?”
“Um,” I said, trying to think. It was hard to concentrate on coming up with a lie, the situation was so ridiculous. Worse, Percival seemed to be turning the trick-Wally-thing into some kind of twisted improv game. “I’m an anarchist? You know, no Gods, no masters. Once Perce convinced me that the people needed to know, it was my duty to spread the wealth. Otherwise, we become part of the, um, hierarchy.” Halfway through that last sentence, I realized Wally probably didn’t know the word hierarchy. Oh, well.
“Oh,” Wally said. “Well, I didn’t know you guys were political. But, it’s cool that you want me to know. Real cool.”
“Yeah,” said Mark. “And we’re really hoping that at the party you spread the wealth. Tell as many people as you can about how to make moondust, that’s all we ask. You have to promise. But, if you do it, you get a lot in return. You get to spin at the hottest party, like, ever.”
“I can handle it, no problem.”
“Good,” Percival said. “Then let’s get down to business.”
92. MARK
Everything went smoothly once we started teaching Wally how to make moondust. Thankfully, he didn’t have any more bouts of random homophobia, and as none of us overestimated his intelligence—meaning, assumed he had any at all—we hit no snafus, just a smooth and simple lesson. It was a basic process, after all. Enjoying yourself was the most important part.
Hailey covered that she brought with her a healthy portion of her rue tea, sorely needed by yours truly. Rue tea came from a seed, steeped in water for a few days—brilliant stuff, providing, officially, a “feeling of mild euphoria,” without side effects. Totally legal, in fact, alternative-medicine endorsed.
It certainly helped my annoyance melt away. After a few swallows, I recovered my Zen nicely. Which was important, because who knew how the moondust would take if I felt pissy during the process? Not well at all, probably. In all our moonlight experiences, we managed to have something of a party, just the three of us. Howling at the moon, imbibing substances, being decedent yet sophisticatedly understated. We always enjoyed each other’s company, and so every time it worked fine. Adding new elements, like Wally or Hailey’s experience with the reporter, felt risky. For this reason we only called Wally after the lion’s share of the batch had finished, that which Percival and I started together. With Wally, we worked on completing Hailey’s batch. Even if it didn’t take, we wouldn’t be too put out.
“So is that, like, it?” said Wally when we finished explaining, had dropped the moondust in the ash and stirred it, and bathed it in the light from Mother Luna.
“That’s it,” I said. “It has to be left in the moonlight, and you may as well leave it out all night. You have to be in good spirits, excited or happy, whatever. It’s almost magical, really, what happens is, the same way moondust makes you into someone else, it turns the ash into more moondust. Whatever special property the stuff has is absorbed into the ash, you know? But, it can only happen when the moon is full. We don’t really understand why. But, that’s the way it is.”
“Trippy,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“So, have you guys thought of what this stuff really is? Like, what is it?”
None of us answered. In truth, we didn’t really know.
“Let’s not get existential, Wally,” Percival finally said. “It’s beyond your reach.”
“Hey,” said Wally, injured, “I’m very existential. I’m the existentialist.”
“Of course you are,” Hailey said smoothly. “All set for Monday, superstar?”
“Yeah, I think I got it.” His chest puffed out. “I’m going to spin the best set of my life, yo. Count on it.”
“We are,” I said. “Definitely.”
He nodded and smiled. God help us all.
Later, after Wally left, the three of us stood on the roof by a bin of ash becoming moondust, passing around the last of the rue tea, and puffing on cigarettes. I felt fine, looking out over the water and Manhattan, and out at the future, which rushed at us aggressively as the ground during freefall, with the same promise of impact, if not the certainty of tragedy. A future so close and vast, it muted us, and we pondered it in silence; a deep and contemplative quiet, until it was broken.
“So, what about it?” said Percival.
“What are we doing, you mean?” Hailey responded. “What’s going to happen? Hard to say.”
“You can’t keep a lid on some things,” I said. “Suppression doesn’t work, when a thing wants to bubble to the surface, no force on earth can hold the bubble back. It’s physics and energy.”
They took a second contemplating that. Then Hailey said, “After translating that into human, I basically agree. Moondust is going to get out somehow. But, maybe we could have chosen a more subtle method?”
“This was given to us,” said Percival. “To us. I know I didn’t always believe in a universe that had the capacity to pay attention before all this happened. But, I don’t know. I’ve been toying with the idea lately. There’s so much evidence for it, when you look, and you know where to look. With all the people we’ve been. We all know that more people have lived in a universe that cared, that was really and truly alive, than have lived only in a sea of unthinking, uncaring atoms. But, either way, this is ours. When something like this falls in your lap, when it becomes your charge… you go all out, you do it as bi
g as you can. How could we do any different?”
Quiet rooted for a moment again, because Percival said a mouthful. Unusually, because he was never one for grand speeches.
“So we have to do this,” said Hailey.
“In a weird way, yeah. I think we do.”
“Because the bubble wants to get to the surface?”
I said, “And we are the water between wherever it came from and New York. We’re just filling a role.”
“So this is, what, karma?”
“Actually, it would be dharma. Technically.”
Percival said, “Even with a few short Hindu experiences, I’ve never really understood the difference.”
“I’d explain. But, it’d take too long for your tragically linear minds to get,” I said.
“Dick.”
“Yes, it’s impeccable. Like to see?”
“Dude,” he said, doing an impression of a panicky Wally, “I’m, like, totally down for show’n’tell. But, like, with the ladies. Know what I mean?”
We all cracked up. I was happy: I was with my friends. No matter what came for us all, in this moment, life was very good.
Friday, October 6, 2006
93. MAXWELL
Precinct 37 in Midtown Manhattan was a bustle of noise and motion even at ten o’clock. In a city that famously didn’t sleep, ten o’clock was an off-hour for the criminal element, and by proxy those chosen to battle it. Yet the phones rang constantly, and civilians came and went: Some looking broken, while others appearing normal, business-like, as if this somewhat surreal environment was an every-day experience. The police themselves were the fluid, living centerpiece of the office, ebbing and flowing like tides, taking calls, perpetually tossing back cups of coffee, pushing through the red tape that was a foundation of their job. In their state of relentless, concerted activity, they were reminiscent of hive animals: human-sized blue bumble-bees.
I worked on this description while waiting for Detective Greene. After editing it down, I spoke it into my recorder, sure I could use it for the magazine piece I planned, the more upscale of the two moondust pieces. They would launch the Maxwell brand; everyone was a brand, after all. Some understood their nature as a scarce non-commodity, and the rest whined about how unfair life was. Hawks and pigeons.