by Harvey Click
In fact Jason did want to talk, so he talked. At first he intended to leave out names, but pretty soon the names Drew and Rue and Hempy and Holly and Kyra and Mingo AKA Jerry Mingler were rolling off his tongue. He also intended to leave out certain embarrassing personal details, but they kept slipping out though he downplayed them as well as he could. He talked through two cheeseburgers with fries and four cups of coffee and was still talking long after the waitress had brought their check.
By then it was time his clothes should be done, so Hatter offered to drive him to the cleaners, and Jason talked some more on the way. Spilling out the whole story helped a little, but he still couldn’t make much sense out of the mess or decide what he should do about Holly.
He asked Hatter for advice, but Hatter said, “I just listen, kid, I don’t give advice. My advice is never worth a damn. I don’t even pay attention to it myself.”
By then it was past 5:00, so Hatter offered to drive him to The Way. “Maybe I’ll step in for a minute myself,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind having a look at the joint since I’ve never been there.”
Jason changed into his suit in the Hudson while Hatter drove. He crossed the river on what Jason thought was the same bridge Mingo’s driver had used, and then followed what seemed to be the same route to the same parking lot in back, and Jason wondered how Hatter knew the way to The Way, since he had supposedly never been there before.
***
Jason followed Hatter into The Way and sat with him at the bar for a few minutes. “Is that Kyra?” Hatter asked when she stepped out of the kitchen.
“Yep.”
“Hmm, she looks nothing at all like what you described. I’d call her mildly attractive but just barely. Too much make-up, and her cheekbones are too wide for the rest of her face. By the way, she’s at least thirty, maybe thirty-five, way too old for you.”
“I always like ‘em a tad on the older side,” Jason said. “When you’ve had all the women I have, after a while the young ones get to be a bore.”
“I’d like to hear how all this turns out,” Hatter said. He took a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and wrote on it. “Here’s my hotel number. If I’m not in, leave a message. I’ll be seeing you around, kid.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s make it more definite. If you call me I’ll buy you another free lunch.”
Kyra put the paper bag with Jason’s jeans and flannel shirt and tennis shoes behind the bar and took him up to Mingo’s office to fill out some paperwork. She was very businesslike, no sweet smiles or pretty words for him tonight. She wanted his social security number, and Jason decided he’d better use the one on the fake license. Hempy had told him it was a legit number, its only minor flaw being that it rightfully belonged to a dead man.
“You’ll get your first paycheck next Friday,” she said. “Not this Friday but next.”
“Can I get just a little tiny bit tonight? I mean, like, I really need some money.”
“Sorry.”
When she took him downstairs to show him what to do, Hatter was gone. Soon it was 7:00, and for the next seven hours he sat at a little table beside the entrance checking IDs and collecting a cover charge for the band.
At first he felt very important sitting there in his fancy suit and ruffled shirt, checking the IDs of folks considerably older than himself, but before long the hard chair seemed to get harder. There was a different band tonight, much louder than the other one, blaring some kind of fast cha-cha-sounding racket through brass horns just a few feet behind his head.
Kyra was greeting customers, showing them to their tables and handing them menus. Whenever she was near the entrance he’d smile at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. He told himself he was seeing her business-self, and as soon as her work was done he’d see her nice friendly self again. He tried to imagine how much he would respect and admire her professional and efficient business-self after they were a couple, but still he kept hoping she’d at least smile at him once in a while.
The waiters were all handsome young men, looking very snotty while they dodged their way through the crowd carrying big trays of food and drinks magically balanced on one hand, and Jason wondered if he’d ever be able to master that feat. He practiced looking snotty while he checked IDs, but nobody seemed to notice.
After three or four hours he desperately needed to pee, but with so many people coming in he didn’t dare leave his station at the door. He tried to get Kyra’s attention, but her attention was always on the customers, and he didn’t think he’d better yell over the music that he needed to go take a leak. He tried waving at the waiters, but they made a point of ignoring him with their very snottiest expressions, and he wondered if word had gotten around about his unfortunate incident last night.
By ten o’clock he was terribly hungry, and he remembered Mingo had said something about a discount on meals, but he couldn’t find a way to ask about that either. By midnight the band was even louder and the customers were drunker, and a fat man on the dance floor behind him kept bumping into Jason’s chair and eventually poured a glass of beer on his head, seemingly on purpose.
When the big clock on the wall said 2:00, Kyra set the lock on the entrance so people could leave but couldn’t come in. “Count the cover money, write it down on this sheet, and give it to the bartender,” she said brusquely. “Then start bussing tables and wiping them clean. You’ll find rags and a bus tub in the kitchen.”
After he counted the money and gave it to the bartender, who took it without saying a word to him or sparing a smile, he raced to the restroom and relieved his raging bladder. Someone was sitting in the closed toilet stall making a terrible stench, and he wondered if it was a customer or one of the waiters or maybe the chef.
He filled several bus tubs with half-empty glasses and dishes still containing food, and got chocolate sauce all over the front of his jacket. At 2:15 the bartender started yelling, “Last call!” and a few minutes later Kyra told Jason, “It’s time to start picking up drinks.”
There weren’t many customers left, but they were the hardcore drinkers who weren’t eager to give up their drinks.
“My Rolex says 2:20, and I drink till 2:30,” one of them said, flashing his expensive watch in Jason’s face like a badge.
“You touch my beer, punk, and I’ll cut you a new asshole all the way up your back,” another said, apparently not aware that this was a class joint.
“Don’t you have those drinks up yet, Jason?” Kyra said. “I want them off the table now!”
He had to wrestle the beer glass away from the guy who wanted to cut him a new asshole, and most of the beer ended up on Jason’s ruffled shirtfront.
When the last customer was out, Kyra said, “Clean the rest of the tables, then put the chairs upside-down on them so you can sweep the floor. After you sweep, mop it. You’ll find a broom and mop in the storeroom behind the kitchen.
The bartender and waiters enjoyed some drinks at the bar while he cleaned up the place, and whenever he glanced at them they seemed to be sneering at him and chuckling. He was glad when eventually they all left.
It was nearly 3:30 when he was done with his sweeping and mopping. Kyra appeared from somewhere while he was dumping the heavy mop bucket into a utility sink in the back room.
“Well, I guess you’re all done,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs.”
His heart started pounding hard and he tried to smile, but his mouth twitched into a stupid shape just like the night before. His hair was wet with beer and so was his shirt, but obviously she was too smart and pure of heart to judge him by such trivial matters. Holly could learn some important lessons from Kyra.
He got the paper bag with his clothes from behind the bar, thinking he’d have a hot shower as soon as they got to her apartment and then splash plenty of love potion all over his body. His heart pounded even harder as he followed her up to the second floor and down the hallway past the door to Mingo’s office. They came to a door mar
ked seven, and she tapped on it and then unlocked it.
When she switched on the light, he saw a tiny room with a narrow cot, a beat-up sofa, and a metal folding chair missing most of its paint. The floor was littered with beer bottles, cigarette butts, filthy clothes, an army rucksack and other junk, and the air stank of stale beer, cigarette smoke, puke and piss.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but there aren’t any unoccupied single rooms available right now, so you’ll have to share a room for a few days. Here’s the key. There’s a bathroom down the hall.”
“Um, did Mingo maybe say something about meals?” he asked.
“You get a thirty-percent discount off one meal per day, but of course you need to eat it before your shift starts,” she said.
And then she was gone. Jason shut the door and locked it and looked around, but there wasn’t anything good to look at. The cot had stained sheets and a wadded-up blanket, so obviously the other tenant was using it.
He took off his suit and threw it on the floor in a corner because he couldn’t find any hangers. It was soiled with chocolate sauce and beer and would need to be cleaned again anyway. He put on his jeans and flannel shirt, partly because the room was cold and there wasn’t another blanket, and partly because he didn’t want to be in his underwear if the other tenant came home.
He switched off the light and lay down on the beat-up sofa. He was too tense and hungry to sleep and the sofa stank of sweat and old farts, but he was finally beginning to drift into a pleasanter world when the door burst open and the light came on.
“Wha’ duh fuck?” someone yelled. It was a huge bearded guy wearing a filthy sleeveless denim jacket with a big skull and crossbones patch stitched on front.
Jason jumped up and said, “I’m your roommate. Mingo gimme a key.”
“Fuck your mom,” the biker said. “You been messing in my shit, punk. I’m gonna bust you in two and stick a beer bottle up your ugly ass.”
He aimed a huge hairy fist at Jason’s face, but Jason ducked and the heavy fist carried the man around in a dizzy circle. He fell face first onto his cot and immediately began snoring. A big patch on the back of his jacket said “THE MUTILATORS” above a knife dripping blood.
Jason shut off the light but left the door open in case he needed to make a quick getaway. He sat on the sofa and wondered where he could sleep. He certainly didn’t want to freeze on another bench, but he was deathly tired and had to sleep somewhere. Maybe if he knocked on Kyra’s door she’d take pity on him and let him in. But no, she’d been snotty all night and then she’d stuck him in this horrible room, and right now he wanted nothing to do with her.
The dust and stench were making his nose run. He reached in his hip pocket for his bandanna, but found Rue’s panties instead. He sniffed them and immediately saw her with perfect clarity standing in the dark room. She was wearing nothing at all, and her thin red smile seemed to be saying, “Come home to me.” His groin began to stir.
She’s got me witched for sure, he thought. She’s got me in her clutches something awful.
But Drew had said he’d known her for seven years and swore there wasn’t a word of truth in Mingo’s tall tales. He’d said her only witchery was the healing kind, and it was true she’d healed the cut on his hand right quick, even though she was the one who caused it in the first place with Drew’s flier.
Certainly she had been nicer to him than Holly, who treated him like a dumb hill-jack until Cosmo dumped her. And nicer too than Kyra had been tonight, shoving him into this filthy little room with a drunken bunghole. Now that he thought about it, it seemed Rue was the only nice person he knew in this mean and terrible city. Even Drew always wanted money for any little thing he did and was usually crabbing about one thing or another.
Yes, Rue was all right.
The snoring got louder, punctuated with a lot of gasping, wheezing, grunting, spluttering, hacking, gargling, snuffling, and snorting, and it sounded is if the biker might be choking or maybe having a heart attack. Jason got up and felt around in the dark for his belongings. He shoved his work clothes into the paper bag, put on his tennis shoes, and left.
It was cold outside with a nasty damp breeze. After a block or two he put on the raspberry jacket over his flannel shirt and pulled up the collar, but it didn’t help much. Now he wished he’d bought the red plaid jacket for five dollars or even the junk lady’s old blanket—for just twenty-five cents he could be nice and warm right now. She had warned him he couldn’t be sure he’d have a warm place to sleep tonight, and he should have listened to her.
The breeze felt colder and damper as he crossed the bridge over the river. He didn’t think about where he was going—his feet seemed to know the way all on their own—and after an hour or so he saw her house. The windows were dark, and he didn’t want to tap on the door and wake her up, but he saw a thick comforter folded on the glider, as if she’d put it there just for him.
He rolled up his suit trousers to use as a pillow, lay down, and covered himself with the comforter. It felt warm and snuggly and the pad on the iron glider felt as soft as a caress. Almost immediately he began to drift, and his last thought before he fell fast asleep was: I’m home again.
He barely woke up when Rue came home and helped him up the stairs to his room. She undressed him and brought him something warm to drink, and it tasted strange but comforting.
Later in the night he opened his eyes and saw she was crouched over him like a panther, softly chanting words he couldn’t understand while her slim, naked body gently rocked up and down, pulling his penis deep inside her.
He lethargically watched to see if her teeth were sharp and pointed when she smiled, the way Mingo had said they were, but she didn’t smile.
Part Five
What Is Home?
Chapter Thirteen
Morning sun was seeping past the edges of the window blind when Jason awoke. He tiptoed down the hall to Rue’s room and listened, but couldn’t tell if she was inside. He showered, shaved, and combed his hair. His face looked different in the mirror, older and leaner, stripped of the baby fat that he’d always hated. His eyes seemed to have a strange hungry look—but he was famished, so why shouldn’t they?
Downstairs he found a note taped to the door that said, “I’m taking your suit to cleaners, will be home about 3:00. Help yourself to soup in fridge.”
The grandfather clock said 9:35 when he left. The morning air was still cold and damp, and he was happy to have his leather jacket and chewing tobacco again. The rest of his gear he had left at the house.
The only plan he had in mind was to reach the golden arches as soon as possible. That meant crossing the Oval, and he was less than a third of the way across when he heard a familiar voice booming out: “Outlaw thy neighbor before he outlaws you, that’s their motto! Don’t just envy your neighbor, write up some new laws to stop his fun! And while you’re at it, write up a few more laws to pay for the new laws you’re writing!”
Jason quickly changed direction. He didn’t want to be seen by Hempy or, worse yet, by Holly—though presumably Holly was waiting for him back at that crappy little apartment. Well, let her wait. A man couldn’t be expected to make important decisions about marriage and suchlike overnight. And after all the grief she’d put him through, it might be a good idea to let her sit and stew for another day or two.
Let’s go apartment hunting, my dear, he thought. Be here bright and early, my dear. Let’s get married, my dear, now that Cosmo has dumped me. Let’s get married, my dear, even though a couple days ago I said you were too damn stupid to be my husband. Let’s raise our child, my dear—and he wondered why he was supposed to believe it was really his child. Because she said it was, but what Holly said changed like the wind.
Her highness Holly Hempy can go to hell, he thought. Let her squirm a spell like I been squirming. Maybe that’ll learn her to gimme some respect.
He wanted three Big Macs, but when he saw how little money was left in his wallet h
e settled for two. As he ate them he realized it was probably no later than 10:30, which suggested Hempy probably preached out there every day around 10:00, which suggested Drew had probably seen him out there at least a few times before Jason had shown up at his door, which suggested Drew hadn’t needed any sort of magic to lead him to Hempy.
Maybe this magic business was just a bunch of hooey.
On the other hand, Drew’s spell certainly seemed to have worked on Holly, unless of course the only reason she wanted him back was because Cosmo had dumped her. He wondered if Drew’s spell could have caused Cosmo to dump her, but that seemed farfetched. Probably she had pulled her schoolteacher act on him once too often and the scrawny little twerp had had his fill.
But if Drew’s spell had nothing to do with her change of heart, then maybe his love potion was worthless as well, though it certainly appeared to have had a powerful effect on Rue. In fact right now she was out getting his clothes cleaned for him, the way a good woman should do for her man.
On the other hand, maybe Rue would have wanted him just as badly without any potion. After all, she had told him he was pretty the moment she met him, and Drew’s hocus-pocus had nothing to do with that.
At least some women don’t think I’m too damn dumb to look at, he thought.
Thinking of Rue caused his groin to stir, and even though he was sitting in a crowded restaurant he was sorely tempted to pull her panties out of his pocket. Maybe she wasn’t quite as pretty as Kyra, but she was pretty enough. Sure it would be nice to wake up every morning with Kyra, but there probably wasn’t much chance of that unless he could talk Drew into casting another spell—and even then there was the possibility Drew’s magic was a bunch of hokum.
All this deep thinking was making his head whirl. Everything was so damn complicated, and he felt too tired and weak to think clearly. Maybe it was the chill he’d caught two nights in a row, maybe he was coming down with something, because he felt as if everything had been drained out of him and there was nothing left but a dull headache.