by JD Glass
The table was right by the door, and all of us roomies put our shoes under it when we came in, to avoid tracking crap across the floor, literally or figuratively, so I sat for a moment at that 1950s off-white Formica and glitter-topped table, focusing very clearly on tying those knots just right. I do “bunny ears.” I know, it’s supposed to be “rabbit in the hole,” but hey, my laces never come loose. It’s my thing.
Sneakers on, I grabbed my keys, tucked them into a shorts pocket, and was out the door. The sun was brilliant and still climbing; it was going to be a warm day. I stretched again, then started running—down the block to Bay Street, past the park, up the hill (yes, we have hills in Staten Island), and back down Broad Street, the street I lived on, past the projects and the firehouse, past my apartment, and did the circuit again.
I’d gotten into a nice rhythm by the second go-round, and in the third set, I was deep in the flow. Cars, trees, cement, burnt lots, and lost auto pieces, all part of the whole—step, breathe, step, breathe, the air was a continuous flow in and through my body, the sun shining and warming my skin. Bits of glass winked up at me from the asphalt as I glided past.
I didn’t know what exactly I was going to do when I got back to the apartment, besides shower and dress, but I was certain on one score: I needed to find something new, maybe completely different.
My feet kept hitting the ground, flying past the scenery. I had enough money for the rent for at least another month tucked away, and if I watched my expenses, I could pick up that guitar today. I had my eye on a beautiful double-cut Ibanez Artist, and it had a sound so sweet, I couldn’t wait until it was mine, all mine, to have and to hold, to play until my fingers bled.
I was about two, maybe three blocks away from the apartment, and coming up to the firehouse, when it hit me—not only had I worked the night before, I’d supposedly gotten paid double-time for it. I hadn’t even counted the money Rich had put into my hand, but I calculated that working from about midnight, which would be a little after Darrel had left, to four a.m., I should have a little over two hundred dollars.
Since I owed only another hundred on the guitar, I’d be able to pay it off, put half away, and maybe have a little fun with the other half. Hey, cool, I smiled to myself, in happy anticipation. I’d go get my guitar today and let the rest work itself out somewhere in the back of my mind. I frowned a little bit at that strategy. Hope it came up with something soon, though. As clueless as I could be sometimes, I had the nagging feeling that I might have been in more trouble than I knew.
∗ ∗ ∗ ∗
As I approached the firehouse, I managed a last burst of speed for my end sprint, and I was cooking by the time I flew past the steps that led up to the three-story brownstone I lived in. Someone was sitting on the top of the steps, and as I finished my sprint, I recognized my brother, Nicky, waiting for me. No, Nico, I mentally corrected. Everyone called him Nico now, I reminded myself with an inward grin.
I stopped before I crossed the street and took a few deep breaths, then jogged back to my door, waving to Nico.
With a genuine smile, he jumped down the steps as I approached.
“Hey, Nina!” he greeted, and opened his arms for a hug.
With the same smile on my own face, because I love him so much and I was, then and now, always happy to see him, I moved into his arms with a hug of my own. “Nico!” I called, drawing out the “oh” sound in a way I knew he enjoyed hearing.
We gave each other a kiss on the cheek, but I didn’t hug him as tightly as I normally would.
“Hey, I want a real hug,” he protested, squeezing me.
“I don’t want to get you wet,” I explained, a little breathless still from the run.
“Wet, shmet, I don’t care,” Nico replied, increasing the pressure, and I hugged him tighter, resting my head on his shoulder. “It’s just a little water and salt.” He leaned back, picking my feet up off the floor, bouncing me a little.
Though he was my younger brother, he had finally beat me in the height department. Oh, we were still shorter than most people our ages; we had (and have) that slower metabolism thing going (which our baby sister, Nanny, didn’t—she was bigger than both of us), so we’d both still grow over the next ABC few years, but he had an inch or so on me. Since I’d been bigger for so many years, say approximately our whole lives up until then, he loved to tease me about my height. By picking me up and bouncing me.
I held on to him as if I’d fall off the planet if I didn’t, and not just because of the bouncing. Despite the natural endorphin goodness of the run, I’d been feeling pretty darn alone, and now, I wasn’t. I had Nico, and I’d be fine or, at least, better.
A few more moments of Nico’s testing the strength of my rib cage, then he put me down, but I continued to hold on.
“Nina, are you crying?” he asked, and I could hear and feel his concern.
I guess, maybe, a little, I realized, raising my head and noting the little wet spot I’d left on his shoulder. “Naw, Nico.” I grinned at him lightly, because I just didn’t want to go there yet. “It’s just a little water and salt.”
His eyes, the same shade of blue-gray as mine, except that his had a thin butter gold ring in the center that you could only see when he was really mellow, searched my face.
“You’ll tell me later?” he asked, brow furrowed and not put off or fooled by my joke.
I glanced up at the door to the building, then back at him. “Yeah,” I promised quietly, “I’ll tell you later.” I meant it. I would talk with him, but for now, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, well, somewhere anyway, and it was a beautiful summer day.
“Come on up,” I invited him with a bright smile, and started up the stairs. “Hang out while I shower, then let’s blow this pop stand.” I pulled my keys out and opened the door. “You eat breakfast yet?” I asked him, staring pointedly at his stomach. One thing for sure, neither of us ate often, but when we did, watch out, especially if we were together. Whole gallons of milk, entire loaves of bread, and full cartons of eggs were known to be transformed into French toast and disappear around us.
“Yeah, I grabbed something, but,” he grinned at me, “I’m not fully fueled yet.”
I was pretty hungry too. Usually, I made myself something, and if Nico and I were together, we’d cook together, splitting up prep work and cleanup, a tradition we’d started years ago when our parents would work overtime on Saturdays and we were home alone with Nanny, but I wasn’t sure what was in the refrigerator upstairs, and I really didn’t want to hang out in the apartment longer than I had to. For some reason, the thought made me queasy.
“I worked last night and got paid,” I told him as we rounded the first landing. “You want to go to Jerry’s? My treat.” Jerry’s Pancake House, on Bay Street, looks like a dive from the outside. Oh, hell, the whole neighborhood was divey, but Jerry—there really was a Jerry—made the best pancakes around, with all sorts of variations of ABC fruit, chocolate, ice cream, whatever; and he served huge portions, enough to make even me and Nico happy, for a very reasonable price.
“Oh, cool, yeah,” Nico enthused as we reached the top landing, “I’m getting strawberries and bananas, then.” I smiled to myself. Nico ate so many bananas, he was living proof that humans are related to apes, and in fact, our dad used to call us monkeys (in a nice way) when we were small and being silly. Of course, we were monsters if we were bad, but that’s another thing altogether.
Once inside, Nico dropped casually into a chair by the table, and I walked back to the sofa, to gather my real clothes for the day.
Cap’s door popped open and he stood in the doorway, yawning and stretching.
“Hey, Nina,” he greeted me through a yawn, scratching his chest, his eyes still half closed with sleep. I should probably mention he was stark naked.
“Morning.” I nodded in Nico’s direction. “Nico’s here.”
Cap’s eyes popped open. “Oh, geez. Hey, Nico,” and he took a step back into
his room, shutting the door. It opened again a moment later, and he stepped out, wearing a pair of boxer shorts.
“Hey, man, sorry about that.” He grinned at Nico and clapped him on the shoulder.
“No problem, man,” Nico answered noncommittally. But I noticed the tips of his ears were a little pink as he bent over to fiddle with his shoelaces. Cap grabbed another seat at the table.
What is it with some guys? They don’t care if you see them naked, but another guy, oh, then they’re all modesty, unless it’s a locker room. Then they’re all smacking each other with towels and stuff. Or maybe it’s just me. I mean, I’m not much interested in the package so it doesn’t matter whether I see it or not, and not just because of the male-female thing. If it was a girl, I wouldn’t have had a problem being completely neutral either. Well, that could have been from too many years in locker rooms myself. Okay, maybe there had been one exception, a long time ago, but let’s not go there. That hurt so much to think about I couldn’t breathe. Maybe it depended on the context, I mused to myself as I walked over to the kitchen sink to get a glass of water.
Cap yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “You hanging for the day?” he asked Nico midyawn. “You guys want to watch stuff with me?” He brought his arms down and looked from Nico to me. “I got a few new videos,” he wheedled in his most tempting tone.“Lots of babes in action.”
Nico and I looked at each other a moment. We knew what Cap meant, and it wasn’t movies—at least not big-screen ones with ratings for the general public and leading ladies rescuing people, no dialogue, but enough explosions to keep the keenest pyro happy. No, it was more like things that could only be filmed in certain places (I hear tell a few spots in California “specialize,” ABC but that ain’t necessarily true) so the cops wouldn’t arrest the crew, half of which would be naked, and all the explosions would be of a more, um, limited, biological sort.
Not that Nico or I were particularly averse to pornography. I mean, we’d seen every video our dad had ever hidden in his workshop, and discovered that they were really funny if you played them in fast forward or reverse (and the faster you play them, the funnier they get). Besides, they were, in their own way, a valuable educational tool. I mean, when a person gets to that part of their learning, no one ever talks about technique, just anatomy and ducts. And, really, once you understood the mechanics of fertility, pregnancy, venereal disease, and AIDS, no one ever taught anything else—like how to enjoy it. I mean, really. Everyone wants to tell you how your genitals work and all the things you should be paranoid about for them (and for good reason, too), but not how to use them, so we’d gotten a lot out of those flicks.
Still, sitting and watching one with Cap didn’t appeal. I was sure it wouldn’t be a popcorn-throwing, smartass-commenting, technique-dissecting session. In fact, from the look in Nico’s eye, the suggestion made him just as uncomfortable as it made me.
I finished my water. “Thanks, but we got stuff to do today,” I answered, not missing the grateful grin Nico flicked my way. “We’re going to pick up my guitar.”
Both guys looked to me, eyes wide.
“Oh, wow, you’re gonna get it today?” Nico asked, smiling. “That, Nina, is so cool.”
“Hey, nice, very nice, congratulations.” Cap nodded, looking impressed. “How’d you manage to pull that one off so soon?”
“I worked last night, so I got paid a bit extra.” I smiled with real joy. “And now, I’m going to shower, so we can run out there.”
“Well, hey, don’t let me keep you,” Cap said, “but if you get bored, you know where I’ll be.”
“Yeah, I do,” I answered as I made my way to the bathroom. And I did know. He’d be on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen, with one hand on the remote, watching blow-job scenes and “money shots” over and over. The other hand, well, you know where it would be—and not motionless, either. Not that I cared. I mean, masturbating is a healthy thing; it was just, well, no thanks. Didn’t want to see that.
I took a shower and did my hair in record time. Dressing was just as quick. Required undergarments, a black Love and Rockets T-shirt with Hopey (my favorite character) playing with her band on it, button-fly black jeans, and a pair of engineer’s boots. Black, of course. Did I mention that I wore a lot of black?
One last check in the mirror, and I was good to go. Let’s see. My hair was up, my clothes were on, and I was ready to rock and roll.
I stepped out of the bathroom and headed for the door, stopping only to grab an old army bag that held my wallet (complete with last night’s pay), sunglasses, cigarettes, lighter—you know, stuff, all the stuff that you need during the day.
“Hey, Nina,” a female voice creaked out at me as Nico stood to join me, and I looked for its source.
Jackie stood in an extra-long sleep shirt by the sofa back, a cup of tea cradled in her hands. Her hair was disheveled and her face still swollen with sleep. Add in her knee socks, and she looked all of twelve or thirteen years old, except her eyes. They were slitted and glaring at me over her mug as she sipped.
“Morning, Jackie,” I returned with cheerful wariness. I couldn’t tell if the glare was her usual morning grumpiness—because Jackie could be an absolute horror show before she finished her morning caffeine ritual—or something else. I was erring on the side of caution, either way.
She drank deeply, then lowered her mug to her chin, watching me over its rim. “We need to talk when you get back,” she said finally. “I have a few questions for you.”
Oh, great, just great. I inwardly rolled my eyes.
Over by the sink, Cap’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. “Someone’s in trouble,” he singsonged to me with a smile.
I gave him my own sickly approximation of a smile, then gave Jackie my full attention.
“I’d prefer”—she sipped again—“to talk now, though.” She finished her tea and stared longingly into her cup when she realized it was empty before she was ready for me. “Hello, Nicholas,” she greeted my brother, without a smile, without so much as a glance. Her eyes were fixed on me, and her face was grave as Nico muttered a low greeting in response behind me.
“Well, I think I’ll just scoot along,” Cap interrupted, a mug and a bowl in his hands—coffee and Cheerios drowning in milk, from the looks of it. “If you’ll excuse me.” He bowed slightly toward me and Nico.
He faced Jackie, square on. “I hate to get in the way of these sensitive chats,” he told the room in general, his voice as flat as his expression. Cap gave me a shrug. Well, he was right. What could you do?
“You didn’t do anything, kid,” he muttered to me from the corner of his mouth. “Bear with it, then ignore it. Later!” He grinned brightly and briefly to me and Nico, and with that, he walked the few steps to his room, opening the door with his foot. It closed behind him with a sharp slam, and Nico and I stood there for a moment as the air settled from the sound.
Apparently more than one conversation had gone on while I’d slept, I quickly concluded.
“I, um, I’ll go bring the van around,” Nico said into the awkwardness that had descended into the room, then nimbly slipped out the door.
Jackie stalked over to the sink and washed her mug in measured silence before she turned on me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she launched at me. “What the hell did you do to Trace?” Her eyes blazed, and her voice ripped at me with anger. She folded her arms across her chest, waiting for an answer.
I stood there staring, mute, attempting to comprehend Jackie’s anger. How was I supposed to answer that tirade? What did I do, anyway? Okay, maybe there was a reasonable way to respond. Jackie was, generally speaking, rational, and she’d been a good friend for a while. If I explained, she’d be able to help me find the middle road between responsibility and blame, and if there was blame to be laid upon me, bring it on. I wasn’t, then and now, afraid to face myself or my faults.
But first things first.
“Where’s Tr
ace?” I asked. I don’t know why I cared, but I did. If we were going to work something out and still be friends, I wanted to know if she was okay. Despite my bruises, the memory of her curled up on her side sleeping, the gentle vulnerability she revealed when we were alone, touched me, softened me. I couldn’t really be too angry—I loved her.
Of course, a little voice in the back of my head warned me, too. If Jackie and Trace ganged up on me, I was done for. I was trying to ignore that voice, but it was insistent, and it told me that I’d been calumniated, if not, at the very least, misrepresented. Shut up, voice, I thought; suspicion isn’t very honorable. I’d hear this out before I came to any conclusions.
“She left before you came back,” Jackie said softly, anger diminished for the moment. “She said she couldn’t bear to talk with you yet.” Jackie shifted and leaned back against the sink. “So, I’m asking you again, what did you do? I’ve already heard about your,” her mouth tightened for a moment, “escapades. Did you drink too much? I can understand that,” she told me quietly, “and I can understand that things may be coming to some sort of head between you two.” Jackie paused and glanced down, studying the floor as she considered her next words.
Finally she looked up, the lines of her face hard and set. Well, she certainly didn’t look sleepy anymore. “What I can’t understand, though, is how, is why,” she shook her head and held her hands up as if they’d help her ask and understand, “why you,” and her eyes now held both anger and tears, “you of all people, would want to fuck with someone’s head like that? Haven’t we all been your friends? Didn’t I take you in when you had no place to go?” Jackie’s voice rose. “You’re here because of me!” she yelled.
“She pays more rent and more often than you do,” Cap called out from his room. I glanced at the door, then back at Jackie. Thank you, I thought silently. At least I’m not completely alone in this.
Jackie gathered herself again, folding her arms and still leaning back ABC on the sink. She took a deep breath, visibly forcing herself to be calm. “Be that as it may,” she stated, “you share my home, my bed, for Christ’s sake. How could you do that? How could you go and fucking treat a friend, my friend,” she emphasized, “like that?”