“Damn, you are horny.”
“Not that way. She just doesn’t bug me the way she did. Maybe I got used to her.”
“Olive sheep syndrome,” Isaiah said.
A test of wills ensued. I knew he was dying for me to ask what that was. He knew I was trying not to. As usual, I caved and said, “Is that some kind of Italian slur? I’m not Italian.”
“No. Nothing wrong with being a black sheep. Black is beautiful. But you ever noticed all our clients hate olive? The olive sheep must feel unwanted. You’re the olive Dunhill. You think Morgan is an olive sheep, too, because Bailey’s the good twin.”
“You and your theories,” I said.
“You’re the one who says Bailey and Morgan are related,” he pointed out.
“They have to be,” I insisted. “They’re too weirdly alike. To answer your question, I don’t know. About the sex thing, I mean. Maybe I’m just getting more offers lately.”
Too much sex would never make my list of things to complain about. I felt like some inner switch had been flipped. Everywhere I looked, there was another man who saw and came toward the light.
“Do you still see that doctor? And the construction worker?”
“He’s an ironworker, and I talk too much,” I said. “No wonder I have friends who put my business on the Internet.”
“Quick. Write that down.”
“What?”
“First almost-humorous thing you’ve said about Fred in the last month. You talked to him yet?”
“Nope,” I said.
Fred had left a single message on my cell to tell me that he was willing to discuss things whenever I was. I still didn’t want to. I missed him. A lot. But I was afraid if we talked too soon, it wouldn’t go well for either of us. Every time I thought about his blog, I got pissed off again.
“Where to next?” I asked.
“Rug delivery to a high-rise in Chelsea,” Isaiah said. “Maybe we can find you a rich boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend is the last thing I’m looking for,” I said.
When Isaiah pulled into the building’s loading zone, I stared upward with an attack of nerves. “This delivery isn’t to a penthouse apartment, is it?”
Isaiah consulted the clipboard and said, “Fourth floor.”
“Ah. Not a problem.”
“You need to get over being afraid of heights.”
“I’m not worried about the height,” I said. “I’m more worried about a man with a gun and a grudge.”
Isaiah was practically wetting his pants by the time I finished the story of Parker D. Brooks and the loss of my I Dream of Cleanie job.
“White people are so fucked up,” he said. “Carefully place the Armani sunglasses on the dresser, then raise your hands slowly. Ah ha ha ha haaaaaaa.”
“Shut up.”
We delivered and placed the rug without incident. After a few more stops, Isaiah drove me as far as Marcus Garvey Park. I walked the rest of the way home, pausing only long enough to pick up a bottle of water. It was a beautiful fall afternoon. I was pretty sure I had an unread paperback. Everybody else should be at work, so I could lie on the futon with the window open and read. Or jerk off. Whatever my mood called for.
The apartment had an eerie silence when I stepped inside. The hair on my arms and the back of my neck stood up. I wondered if we’d had a break-in. Maybe the burglar was still there. No, that was crazy. He’d have heard me come in and gone out the window. Or rushed me in the hall. Unless he was waiting to jump me.
I stood frozen for what seemed like hours. Condensation ran down my bottle of water and onto my hand. I needed to pee.
“Hello?”
Nice going, I thought. You think the burglar will call hello back? Maybe you can have a conversation about the weather.
I couldn’t stand there forever. The cramped hall was dark, as always, and I reached for the light switch. Nothing happened. Which was when I finally understood why everything seemed spooky. The refrigerator wasn’t rattling. Morgan’s air purifier wasn’t on. And the heat lamp over the snakes’ aquarium, which sometimes made a buzzing noise, was silent. Everything was quiet the way it had been during the blackout in August.
“Fuck me,” I said. “We’ve got no power.”
I stepped back outside and listened. I could hear TVs, music playing, a high-pitched whine that might have been a hair dryer. So it wasn’t a blackout. It was just us. It must be a fuse or something. Unlike the rest of the Dunhills, I didn’t know about that stuff, but I knew we’d paid our power bill.
I went back inside and thought about the heat lamp. If the bedroom windows were open, would the cool air be bad for the snakes? The last thing we needed was dead reptiles. Morgan would turn into something out of a Greek tragedy. Empires would topple. Civilization as we knew it would cease. My sex drive might even vanish.
I walked into the bedroom and ducked under the taut rope that separated the sloppy side—Kendra’s—from Morgan’s immaculate part of the room. Then my heart lurched because there were no snakes in the aquarium.
I jumped, searching the floor around my feet. Then I rushed out of the room and slammed the door, my heart pounding. But Lucifer and Hugsie could be anywhere.
No way was I staying there alone with snakes on the loose. It was every viper for himself, and I was out on the street in seconds.
Then guilt set in. The longer they were free…And if there were windows open…Or they got into someone else’s apartment…
“Why me?” I moaned.
“Why not?” a dreadlocked guy said and stepped around me.
I admired his ass as he walked away, then remembered my dilemma. I flipped open my phone and found Morgan’s cell number.
“This better be important.”
“Is that how you always answer your phone?”
“Only when it’s one of my loser roommates,” she said.
“For some reason, our power’s off. I guess we blew a fuse. Lucifer and Hugsie are missing.”
“How do you know? Were you in my room?”
“I was checking on the snakes,” I said. “God. I’m doing you a favor—”
“We didn’t blow a fuse,” she interrupted. “Our power’s been cut off because the bill wasn’t paid.”
“No way. Wait. You knew about this?”
“It went off while I was home. I called ConEd. We’re behind two months. And we ignored a shut-off notice.”
“Did you tell them it’s a mistake? We paid the bill,” I argued.
“We thought we paid the bill,” Morgan said cryptically. “The snakes are with me. The electricity is not my problem. I gave you my part, so it’s on you. Deal with it, Nick.”
“But—”
I shut up when I heard dead air. She’d hung up on me. I flipped my phone shut. Then I opened it again and called Drayden’s. When Roberto answered his page, I repeated my conversation with Morgan.
“Let’s think about this,” he said. “What’d she give you, cash or a check?”
“She always gives me cash for everything but rent. Same as you.”
“Did you pay it in person, or—”
“I usually pay it at the check cashing place. Maybe I forgot? But I wouldn’t forget two months in a row. And I’d have all that cash, and—wait. Now I remember. Kendra needed cash before she went out one night. I gave her the money I’d gotten from you and Morgan for the power bill. She said she’d swing by ConEd the next day and write a check for the full amount. She was going to pay my part, too, because she owed me money. When was that?”
“Wish I could tell you,” Roberto said.
“Sorry,” I said. “You’re busy. You know what? I’ll figure it out.”
I stayed on the sidewalk and tried to remember. It must have been August when I’d given Kendra all that cash. After a few more minutes of mind-torture, I had a hazy memory of writing a check for the September bill. I left it on the kitchen counter with Morgan’s cash. I also left a note telling Roberto and Kendra to
add their part. Then it was all gone, and I assumed one of them had taken care of it.
I went back upstairs and called ConEd, only to get a repeat of what Morgan had told me. We were two months delinquent.
I wrote down how much we owed and where I could pay the bill to get everything turned back on. Unfortunately, that couldn’t happen before the next day. At least the weather was good. But that wouldn’t help me face Morgan and Roberto.
“The hell with that,” I said. “I’m not the one who screwed up.” I flipped open my phone again.
“How can I work if you call me incessantly?” Morgan complained.
“We won’t have power until tomorrow,” I said. “You and the kids might want to stay somewhere else tonight.”
“I’d already planned to. Stop calling me. Unless it’s to tell me we have electricity. And you’ll have to replace anything I have in the freezer and refrigerator that spoils.”
At least Roberto was nicer when he suggested that I stay in the Bronx with him.
“Nope,” I said. “I didn’t say anything to Morgan, but Kendra’s the one who took our money. I’m ambushing her tonight.”
Roberto laughed and said, “Sure you are.” He adopted a falsetto and said, “Oh, Nick, I’m sorry. But I got fired when I wouldn’t put out for my boss. Then I had to pay rent, and I got syphilis after that night I spent in the harbor on the yacht with you-know-who.”
“Who?” I asked.
“I was being Kendra,” he said in his Roberto voice. “We’ll never know.”
There wasn’t much daylight left, so I tore through Kendra’s side of the bedroom as quickly as I could. I found my check and the two unpaid bills under a pile of dirty clothes. Once the evidence was in hand, I lit candles, poured myself a glass of Morgan’s wine, and sat in the living room to wait.
Kendra finally came home smelling of grease and looking like she’d detoured through Iraq. She was holding two carry-out boxes. She gave the candles a puzzled glance. “Am I in the right apartment?” she asked, wearily kicking off her shoes.
“You are,” I said. “I know you’re tired and dirty, but the power’s out. If you want to shower, there’s hot water. But you’ll have to do it by candlelight.”
“Ew,” she said. “What’s if there’s a roach in the bathroom? You know they come out when it’s dark.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“I’ll just wash my hands,” she said. She dropped the food on the overturned crate that served as a coffee table, though it was mainly used for rolling joints. “Maybe by the time we finish eating, the electricity will be back on.”
I let her complain about her shitty day while we ate. Then I poured her another glass of wine.
“Is this Morgan’s wine?” she asked, peering at the label in the candlelight. “Wait a minute. Where is Morgan? We need to hide this bottle.”
“Yeah, we could hide it under your dirty clothes. Along with the unpaid bills.”
“Huh?”
“It won’t work, Kendra.” I recounted what I remembered about the last two months’ power bills and finished with, “I found the unpaid bills in your room under your stuff.”
“I might have forgotten—”
“You didn’t forget. You basically stole from us. Don’t lie about it, too.” I paused. “The worst part is that suddenly I sound like a parent, but you’re four years older than I am.”
“Five,” she said. When I stared at her, trying to get back my train of thought, she said, “I had a birthday last month. No one mentioned it. But now I’m five years older than you are.”
“Don’t play the birthday pity card. You didn’t tell anyone it was your birthday. Or we’d have stolen Morgan’s wine then, too.” That made her give me a tentative smile, like she hoped the worst was over. I pushed a slip of paper toward her. “If you go there and pay that amount tomorrow morning, they’ll have the power back on before close of business.”
“I don’t have that much money!” she yelped.
“Not my problem. By the end of this week, you’ll also need to pay back all the money I’ve loaned you.”
Her mouth fell open. She finally sputtered, “That’s like—it must be—like—nearly a thousand dollars.”
“Eleven hundred,” I said.
“I didn’t know you were running a tab.”
“I wasn’t running a tab. I really never gave a shit if you paid me back. Until I found out you were using me and lying to me.”
“You know why you’re being so hateful? You’re making me pay for what everyone else has done to you. You’re being mean to me because you’re mad at Fred and your uncle.”
“I’m not being mean to you. And I’m not mad at my uncle.”
“You’re starting to act like Adalla and Morgan. They’ve never liked me.”
“I liked you, Kendra. I still like you. I just don’t like being used by you.”
“Fine,” she said. She grabbed her purse and stomped out of the apartment. It would have been a lot more impressive if she hadn’t had to come back inside for her shoes after she slammed the door.
The electricity was back the next day, but Kendra wasn’t. I still hadn’t seen her by the end of the week, but when I got home from work on Friday, I found a sealed envelope on the futon. I opened it and counted eleven hundred dollars. I felt guilty, wondering what she had to do to get it.
I stuffed the bills in my cargo pants and took a cab to the bank. There was no reason to invite disaster.
I felt like I’d gotten a bonus. After I made my deposit, I stood outside the bank and tried to figure out a way to treat myself. I remembered those Helmut Lang jeans I hadn’t bought, but that moment had passed. A woman walked by me doing something with her iPod. I thought of all the technology that was beyond me now that I didn’t own a computer. I could get a laptop. Or buy art supplies. Or use the money for a trip to the dentist.
I hated being practical.
I was looking down the block as I crossed a street on my way home when I noticed the dingy sign for Doug, Ink. I picked up my pace, wondering how late the tattoo studio stayed open.
“Hey,” Doug said, looking up from a customer when I walked in. “Did you finally decide on a tattoo?”
“No,” I said. “I was wondering if you’d seen Kendra lately.”
Doug gestured with his head to indicate that I should sit on the other side of the barber-style chair where his client was reclining. I watched for a few seconds as he applied the last bit of blue-green color to a shark silhouette above her anklebone.
“Why a shark?” I asked the girl. She looked like she might weigh ninety pounds soaking wet. She was more like a minnow.
“I’m taking back my power,” she said. “This will remind me to stop being such a doormat.”
I met Doug’s eyes, but his expression was serious. Doug never made light of anyone’s reasons for getting a tattoo or what they chose. I liked that about him, so I didn’t make a joke about how I’d just gotten my power back, too, thanks to Kendra and ConEd.
I waited while he gave the girl instructions on how to take care of her new tattoo. Then he walked her to the dramatically over-pierced woman at the cash register. I stared at her for a minute and ran my fingers over my ears. But I already had four piercings in one ear and three in the other. Maybe my eyebrow. Or a nose pin…
“You sure you don’t want a tattoo?” Doug asked as he came back. “I’m the best.”
“I know you are,” I said. “If I could think of anything I wanted to look at the rest of my life, I would. But nothing’s come to me.”
“Kendra stopped by a couple of days ago,” Doug said. “She told me about the power bill crisis. Poor Kendra. She’s a disaster.”
“Did she borrow money from you?”
“When I saw her, she said she’d already taken care of everything. Why? Is your power still off?”
“No. She paid the bill.”
“I wonder where she got the money,” Doug said.
He shifted
his attention to a guy who asked him about a Celtic knot tattoo. Then he wanted to see Doug’s back, which was amazing. He had a feather tattoo that began right above his butt crack, then went up his back, just to the right of his spine, with the very tips of the feather brushing his bones.
“I had it done in L.A.,” Doug told his customer. “This ancient Japanese guy did it with little needles instead of the machine. It took forever. But the inks have never faded.”
“What does a feather symbolize?” the man asked.
“Purity and strength,” Doug said. “For the Celtic knot, you want to book an appointment with Pamela. It’s her specialty.” He nodded at a woman who came in and said, “I’ll be set up for you in a second.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re busy.”
“It’s fine,” Doug said. “Give me a minute to get things set up. Then we can talk. It relaxes people to listen to conversations while they’re getting inked.”
He moved efficiently as he cleaned the chair and brought all new, sealed supplies to prepare for his next tattoo. I’d been impressed by how sanitary things were whenever I’d come in with Kendra. The grimy exterior of the shop was misleading.
I walked around and looked at photos of tattoos I liked: dragon, phoenix, lion, gargoyle, rooster. But none of them had any meaning for me, any more than Betty Boop, the Nike Swoosh, or the Tasmanian Devil.
“C’mere,” one of Doug’s employees said. She was wearing a necklace that said CYNDI, but I was afraid to call her that, in case it was her girlfriend’s name. “Check this out,” she said.
She was working on a woman lying facedown on a massage table, getting a gypsy tattoo on her lower back.
“The colors look great,” I said.
“See?” Cyndi or Cyndi’s girlfriend said. “I told you I could do it from the photo.”
“You’re gonna love it,” I promised.
“My mother calls it my tramp stamp,” the woman said.
“That’s a good enough reason to do it,” I said, and both women laughed.
By the time I went back to Doug’s chair, he’d started on his client. I looked at the pattern he was working from: a heart with vines around it and the name Josh in the middle. I wondered if she would eventually come to regret that.
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