She stared at him in silence.
“Just remember, you go to school, you cut him out of your mind. He’s an idiot.”
“He was willing to marry me. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”
“You think I wanted you to marry the kind of man who would marry a woman he already knew was a whore?” Nino said. His words roused him to look for something else to knock over and he waved his cane.
“Don’t do that!” Gina cried, catching the end of the cane and holding it fast.
Nino looked at her, startled.
“You made your point. You got what you said you wanted. Isn’t that enough for one night? Do you have to stage a terrorist raid, too?”
The quiet, even fury in her voice chilled him.
“You’ve humiliated me, pushed me around, destroyed something that meant a lot to me. Isn’t that enough?”
“Someday you’ll thank me for destroying it,” Nino said quietly.
Gina let go of his cane. “Don’t bet on it.”
Nino leaned toward her. “Someday he’ll thank me for destroying it. You have no heart. You’re all ice and steel.” “My heart be—longs to Dad—dy, Da—da—da, Da—da—dad—dy,” Gina sang with a malicious smile.
“That’ll be the day,” Nino said, his face darkening with sorrow. He turned to leave the room, pausing to knock the stacked papers from the top of her bookcase. “Just remember, this is the end of it.” He slammed the door behind him.
She felt trapped in the shambles he had made of her room. The walls seemed to move in; even the alley outside the narrow window seemed part of a prison. Always the sense of suffocation that felt like an emptying out of life, a loss of will as well as air. It was too narcotizing to be painful; too terrible, too dreary, too familiar to tolerate anymore. Why not simply leave? It wasn’t only for Alex. There were lots of times when even he got on her nerves, when his humor seemed only deceptive or just too precious for her. What drew her to him, in a way, was Nino.
Nino made everything so rough, so bleak, so guarded, that the craving for color, for softness, was overpowering. She would give anything to be out of here, and—why not?—in Alex’s whitewashed room, feeling his touch and the light hair on his back, the sun gleaming on his body. . . . Should she live with him? Just move in? That would be one way. And even that would be better than staying here. This was the place of old humiliations and failures. How many nightmares had there been of planes crashing, of sleek, fast-moving trains suddenly derailing, falling into space and flames. Here she would always have nightmares that narrowed everything to death or mutilation or worse: the fear, coming again and again in dreams, of being paralyzed from the neck down, unable either to die or live. It was these that frightened her more than anything, more than Nino. They say you make your own nightmares; you can have them turn out any way at all. But these fearful dreams flourished only here. They grew in Nino’s house like living plaster, sealing everything into grim stability.
Yet something was giving way. Even the heat seemed to be breaking. She could hear thunder cracking high overhead; lightning flashed sharply on the wall outside. The rain would come, finishing off the heat that had lingered into September. She scooped papers from the floor, crumpled them into a ball, and threw it against the wall. She had to find a place where she could breathe.
Four
The Bristol Residence Hotel wasn’t exactly a place to live. What people did there was mill around. Some drifted in and out, renting by the week. Some stayed until they could find apartments or roommates. Only the edgy winos and muttering recluses were hard-core regulars. She knew Kevin, Alex’s best friend, lived there with his pretty blonde girlfriend, Molly, who was just her age. Gina had met them the week before when Kevin had come into the West End bar with a dead roach perched on each shoulder, like epaulets. He was so wound up he scarcely knew where he was; his intense blue eyes, moving restlessly while he talked, seemed to take no notice of Molly. He had been a flier in Japan. He had studied Zen with Suzuki. Stories poured out of him like hot beer.
“I still don’t get it,” he had told Suzuki. “Explain it again.” Suzuki had grabbed his shoulders, shaken him, and banged his head against a wall. “That,” Suzuki said, “is the point.” He got it, that time. Truth had come to Kevin as a black and blue bump. “Few of us have such certainty,” Molly had said dryly, flicking a roach from his left shoulder. Kevin told Zen stories rapid-fire. Gina’s favorite was the one where a man comes to Master Joshu crying, “Master, I have nothing!” “You have nothing?” Joshu repeated. “Throw it away!”
The way in, Gina thought, walking into the Bristol, is the way out. The place didn’t have what you could call a service desk. It had a massive switchboard run by a Belgian named Gerard, who had been a graduate student at Columbia for sixteen years. The board flashed lights and buzzed. Some calls Gerard connected; others he didn’t. How, she wondered, did he decide which?
“Is there anyone around who can tell me if any rooms are available?” she asked.
“I’m it,” Gerard said, “I’m the staff. There are a few.” He picked up a gray cardboard, the kind laundries wrap shirts around. On it were scribbled room numbers, crossed-out dates, and little notes. “One big corner room with a smaller one behind it for twenty-five a week. Then there’s a large single room for twenty. Community kitchen and bathroom,” he added, squinting at the cardboard.
The thought of sharing a bathtub with the unknown made her flinch. “Are there any rooms with baths?” she asked.
“Just one left. It’s very small. Just a maid’s room for twelve twenty-five a week. It’s really small,” he repeated, ignoring the buzzes and lights on the board.
“I’d like to see it anyway,” she said. “Can I leave my suitcase here?”
He nodded, took off the headphones dangling around his neck, and walked toward the back to lock up her bag. When he saw her looking at the board, he shrugged. “If it’s really important, they’ll call back. Maybe when they do, I’ll be here. If I’m here, maybe I’ll plug in the call.”
They took the smelly elevator to the twelfth floor. He was right. The room was small, about five feet wide, except for an alcove just big enough for a single bed. By stretching her arms, she could touch both sides of the room. It was painted battleship gray and had a big window overlooking the roofs of the lower buildings on 113th Street. A closet, narrow table, a beat-up wooden chair, and a small, scarred chest of drawers crowded the tiny room. The bathroom, on the other hand, was enormous. A huge old tub with lion’s foot legs, a stained oval sink, and a toilet, all set into cracked white tile. Between the cracks, amazingly, little weeds grew.
“I’ll take it,” she said.
“OK,” Gerard said. “You have to pay in advance and fill out a card.” Gina went back down to the switchboard, filled out her name, but not her previous address, and paid for the week. He began to plug in some calls. She picked up the key he pushed toward her and went back up to the room alone. She sat down on the bed.
She would have liked to pace the room, but there wasn’t any room to pace. She went to the window and sat on the sill. The roofs are lovely, she thought, looking at the irregular line of vents, the skylights of the old brownstones in the middle of the block, the soft gray cement facings on the backs of the buildings.
She saw something move on the roof below. She looked down more carefully and made out a cat slinking stealthily against the base of a skylight. A few feet from him was a small, bright orange bird. The bird was wobbling on its feet. The cat paused, its eyes fixed on the bird. Sensing something wrong, the bird began hopping frantically and trying to fly. Its wings must be damaged, Gina thought. The cat drew back, lunged, and pounced. A few feathers flying loose from his claws were all that was left of the bird. The cat licked his paws and stretched in the sun.
Another power struggle, Gina thought, but more sickening and raw than mine. It was impossible to love the cat, but no one would want to be the bird. She had gotten out before Nino could pounc
e. Today she had won. But there had to be something better, some life somewhere that wasn’t full of power plays, struggles for control. Still, that was the world she lived in. If she lost her balance Nino would be there, seizing the opportunity to strike. She had to keep steady. She could do it. Hunter was cheap. She had worked after school and summers since her second year in high school and had already saved enough tuition money to finish the two years she had to go. She loved studying anthropology. She had two job prospects—word-processing for a midtown law firm or a marketing research company. Both paid more than the job she had now. One or the other would come through. Small assets, but big enough to help her survive and graduate without loans or debts or Nino. So much for the good side. There were weaknesses too, she realized, unable to take her eyes off the cat. One of them was Alex. He was bad for game plans. Her longing for him sometimes frightened her. It was extravagant, out of control. That’s what’s wonderful about it, she thought. She was sick of being wary, careful.
She moved away from the window. “I’m not the cat and I’m not the bird. I will not be the bird. Here I am, whatever I am,” Gina murmured. She ran her fingers along the wall, trying to take it all in. Tension seemed to flow away from her. “I’m home,” she announced to herself.
She unpacked her bag, and when everything was in order, left, locking the door behind her. At the end of the corridor was a pay telephone. Next to it was a sign: “Answer the phone and yell who it’s for!” So this is the tenants’ answer to Gerard, she thought, dropping in a coin. She waited excitedly while it rang, eager to tell Alex what she had done. But he wasn’t there. She took the stinking elevator down, too excited to stay in her room.
She walked down Broadway, browsing in stores, looking at the people on the street moving purposefully along or just hanging out. At Ninety-sixth Street, she realized there was no real reason for her to be anywhere. No one expected her anywhere. By now Nino and Laura would have gotten her note. They would know she wasn’t coming back. She was free. She sat down on a bench in the late sunlight, ignoring the bag lady at the end of the bench, scarcely noticing the traffic bellowing fumes. A vendor stood, waiting to cross the rest of the street. He was selling buttons. She read them: Kiss me, I’m Polish! A Woman’s Place Is in the House and Senate. Near the bottom was a blue and white one that said Stamp Out Reality.
“I’ll take that one,” she said, pointing to it. Stamp Out Reality. There’s a cause, she thought, handing him a quarter. A man sat down and began to speak to her in a low voice in Spanish. She looked at him and turned away. After a while he left and she went back to dreaming. Why shouldn’t it be all over? Why can’t you stamp it out? She could still hear Nino saying, When you leave the old ways you know what you will lose, but not what you will find. Stamp them all out anyway, she decided. So long as I lose them, I don’t care what I find. Anyway, I don’t want to know in advance. If I could imagine what would happen—it hit her—it wouldn’t be what I wanted. I want something I don’t know how to imagine now.
She started walking. By the time she reached Seventy-eighth Street she thought she’d try Alex again. “I’m living at the Bristol,” she said cheerfully. “I have this fantastic room with a bath.”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
“Aren’t you glad?” she said. “I knew it was the right thing to do.”
“If it’s what you want,” he said cautiously. “Isn’t your father going to come after you? Does he know you’re there? This time he might bring your cousin with the gun.”
Gina stared at the phone. It wasn’t like Alex to panic. Or was it?
“Maybe he will; maybe he won’t. I don’t know. I can’t not tell them where I am.” She intended to mail them her address the next day. She was too curious to see what Alex would do to let him know that now.
There was another silence, and finally Alex said, “I’ll call you later.”
“Why don’t you come over?” she asked.
“Maybe later. I have to think about it.”
“OK.” Gina tried not to sound disappointed. Somehow she thought they would celebrate. It wasn’t so much fun alone. By the time she walked back to the Bristol, she felt hungry. She decided to check out the community kitchen, a dingy, windowless room near the end of the hall. Its turquoise walls peeled back here and there to expose a whitish flaking paper. A sign on the old Philco refrigerator read, EATING SOMEONE ELSE’S FOOD IS STEALING. An old man in an undershirt sat drinking beer at a battered metal table in the corner. There was a vacant chair opposite him. He waved his hand toward it, inviting her to sit down.
“Not just yet,” she said, backing toward the door. She would have to get a hot plate for her room. But for tonight, she thought, ringing the elevator, a sandwich and ginger ale would do. She ate on a stone bench, watching the light fade. Somehow, it was dawning on her, it was hard to stay in that room. It meant freedom, and that thought alone kept pushing her out. And it was, maybe, just too gray. On her way back, she bought a plant, a pot of mums the color of cinnamon, rich, rust-orange blossoms, bobbing in all directions. She watched them as she brushed her teeth, changed their position as she brushed her hair, and looked at the stems as she got in bed. She pressed her face to the pillow. No more Nino alarm clocks, she thought. It’s all over. And she fell into a deep sleep.
It was Alex who woke her, nuzzling into her cheek. “Princess Persephone,” he murmured, climbing on top of her, “you did this for me.”
“How did you get in here?” she asked, half irritated. All this so no one could just wake her up, and here he was!
“Gerard let me in. I told him all about everything. I’ve known him for years. I told Kevin, too. If you need anything, you can count on Kevin.”
“I don’t need Kevin. What time is it?” she asked.
“I’m not staying,” he said, getting up. “What if they come and hurt you and I’m not here,” he said.
“So, be here,” she said. “You came all the way here, why not stay?”
“No,” he said quickly, “this is between you and them.”
“If you think I did this for you, isn’t it between all of us?”
“I won’t be here,” Alex repeated, “but I’ll call. Have you any money for food?”
She nodded. “Do you want to go out for a drink together? I don’t know what time it is,” she said, realizing she would have to get an alarm clock.
“No, it wouldn’t be a good idea.” Alex kissed her cheek and her hand. “Kevin will look out for you. You can rely on him. But stay away from Molly,” he added. “She’s a troublemaker.”
“How can Molly get me into any more trouble than you did?” she asked, smiling at him.
“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he said. “I’ll call you later.” He hesitated and then walked out quickly, locking the door with a key he had somehow managed to get.
She didn’t think Nino would come here. He wouldn’t want to face it. He would either send the police, or more likely, think she would fold in a day or so and come home. He might even write me off, she thought hopefully. That would be just like him. The trouble was, what he would or wouldn’t do didn’t seem to matter to her anymore. It was as if in leaving she had broken the spell. He wasn’t very real to her now. Just in the last few hours, she seemed to have begun to see everything from a very great distance. Here is Alex, coming in the middle of the night just to tell her he wasn’t going to stay, just to say he was palming her off on Kevin. If he cared, she thought, he would stay himself. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. It was just that he couldn’t do it. He was too weak to go the distance. In some ways, she thought, Nino is right about him. That was the trouble with Nino. He wasn’t a fool. So you had to take him seriously.
Chi gioca solo non perde mai—the man who plays alone never loses. When she wasn’t around Nino his proverbs seemed bigger signposts than before. She didn’t want to think about him; she didn’t want to think about Alex. Maybe, she thought, I’ll change the lock. But it
’s too late to do anything now. She tried to go back to sleep, but somehow she couldn’t. There was someone nearby with a horrible, explosive cough. Every cough sounded like retching. Firetrucks screeched up Broadway. She lay listening to the noises, then decided to take a bath. She was about to get into the steaming tub when someone knocked quietly on the door. “It’s Molly,” a voice said softly. Gina put on her bathrobe and answered the door. “I just came to say hello. Alex called Kevin and we were wondering how you were. This is my friend Vicki.” Molly pointed to a tall, willowy girl. “Vicki is the one with everything,” she went on plaintively. “I’ve known her since I was three. She cut her teeth first, she got her period first, she grew boobs and I didn’t.”
Vicki, who was tall and lovely, grinned. “You left out the best parts. How do you like it here?” she asked Gina, sitting on the table.
“The room service stinks,” Molly answered. “The maid refused to clean my room because she said it was too dirty.”
“I asked her, Molly,” Vicki said.
“It’s OK. I’ve only been here a few hours. Do you live here too?”
“No,” Vicki said, “I live in the dorms.”
“Yeah. The clincher is, Vicki has money. Her father owns a diaphragm factory.
“A diaphragm factory?” Gina repeated, smiling.
“Need a free sample?” Molly asked jokingly. “You and . . . ,” she waved her hand.
“It’s time for a change,” Gina said, trying to sound sophisticated. “Do you know a doctor?” she asked Vicki. She dreaded clinics and questions.
“Go to mine. He’s wonderful. A real dream. Don’t tell him I sent you for the diaphragm. I went to someone else for mine because he’s a friend of my father. Tell him Eddie Lanik—he’s my dad—sent you.” She took a pen out of her handbag and wrote a name and telephone number on an old envelope. “I wish I could have gone to him.”
The Right Thing to Do Page 11