Malachi, Ruse Master

by Pamela Schloesser Canepa

  Chapter 7

  No Time for a Personal Life

  So, now I had cash in hand and nothing to do with it. The next day, I was at home with nothing to do but recover, so I decided to call my pretend friend-for-hire. My reasoning was two-pronged: 1. It gave me someone to talk to and a cover in case I ran into any ‘old’ college buddies, 2. I was actually considering calling Macie again. Did I dare to think I could be Macie’s friend? Did I dare to think she would be ‘cool’ about seeing me again? Yes, yes I did. It would also make things less awkward if I planned on going to a poetry reading. Being only twenty, I was used to finding creative things to do, so I didn’t even think about going into bars unless my new job was going to force me to do so with my new fake ID.

  G.D. would be available the next night. Good. That way I wouldn’t make Macie think she was a last minute thought, and I might not look so black and blue. After all, one night’s notice, in my mind, had to be better than just calling the night of and expecting him to be available.

  “Hey, Macie. Yeah, it’s me, Mike. Well, I go by Malachi now.”

  “Huh? What’s with the fake name?”

  “It’s not fake. This was actually my birth name. My nickname was Mike.” I spoke as if it was the truth. White lies, I reasoned to myself.

  “Wow. You didn’t even give me your real name.” She sighed over the phone. This wasn’t going well.

  “It’s just, I want an acting career, so you know, a stage name could be helpful. Anyway, a friend and I will be at the poetry readings tomorrow, and I thought it would be nice to run into each other, maybe hang out for a while. I’ve been wondering how you’re doing.”

  “Well, Mike, um, Malachi, I met a guy, and we’re dating now. Maybe you’ll see us there.”

  “Oh. I mean, no, that’s good.” I stumbled for words. “Good for you. I know I’m in a really weird place right now, but I’m working on breaking into film.”

  “That’s great, Malachi. We might see you tomorrow. I’m not sure, okay?” She feigned disinterest.

  I found myself wondering why it was so important to see her, and the answer was, it wasn’t. This was just me establishing an identity, friends, a pretend social life. She was an okay girl, too, and not bad-looking. Still, if she showed up with some muscular brute, or even if not, I would play the proverbial gentleman.

  “I understand, Macie. I know it’s been a while since I called. I’m sorry. My life is just really weird right now. But like I said, I’ll be there tomorrow night. It would be nice to see you. Well, that was all I wanted to say, Macie.”

  “Yeah, got it Mike,” she said impatiently.

  “Malachi.”

  She sighed again, and I swear I could hear her rolling her eyes.

  “I’m attempting to make it in show business. I know it takes a long time, but I needed a better name, anything to help me stand out.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, thanks for thinking of me. We might see you. Later.”

  “Bye,” I said to an empty line. Was I wrong for doing this? I wasn’t leading her on. She certainly was seeing me for the unattached, emotionally unavailable young man with all his possibilities up in the air. I had thought it would even make her feel better that things hadn’t worked out from before. Considering I may still have bruising on my face, I rehearsed a story about trying out boxing and failing. She’d probably get a laugh out of that.

  ***

  The next night, I met G.D. at a burger joint before we headed out to the coffee shop for the poetry reading. He was wearing a Springsteen t-shirt as he had said he would to help me recognize him. Being that I felt like I was rolling in money, I paid for his meager dinner and ordered extra fries to share. He turned down the offer of a milkshake.

  “You look like rotting meat, Malachi.” G.D.’s blue eyes kind of bulged out a little when he made an enthusiastic comment like that. It didn’t make me want to laugh or anything, but he sure looked like a character. He picked up his burger.

  I smiled. “That would be a good title for our first movie. I gave boxing a shot the other day. It was a riot. My nose hurts like a mother, as you can imagine.” I rubbed it for good measure.

  “Looks like you weren’t ready for his aim.”

  “Indeed. Needless to say, I’m not going back. So,” I said between bites of my cheeseburger, “who’s the film guy?”

  G.D. winked. “He’s related to Martin Scorcese. Second cousin, twice removed, or something like that. They meet up at family reunions. So, you know, he’s connected. He could really get us an in.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin.

  “Good story.” I leaned closer. “Why do you do this? I mean, yeah, there’s the money, but don’t you have your own social life? A girlfriend?”

  He leaned back and raised his voice. “Girlfriend?” He held out his hands to his side dramatically. “Who’s got time for a girlfriend? I tell you. Girls, I can’t figure ‘em out. I got important things to do, and they just get in the way. Always worried about why you didn’t call or why you can’t show up on time. We’re gonna be film-makers, you and me. Girls can wait. As soon as we make it to the top, we’ll be in great demand. Forget the girls. We’ll have WOMEN lining up to accompany us to the red carpet. Just wait.”

  “Sounds good to me.” I smiled back. Either I had hit a nerve, or he didn’t like me leaning in and being secretive. Either way, I could play my part. No problem. He could prove very useful.

  “Yeah, well ‘Rotting Meat Malachi’ sounds good to me! I’m gonna write that down. I seriously have to remember that one!” He chuckled.

  At the coffee shop, G.D. ordered a double espresso. No wonder he was so amped. This must’ve been a way of life for him. Not for me. Plain coffee would serve me just fine.

  A long-haired guy was reciting a poem about giraffes, and G.D. kept cracking jokes about him. The barista brought over his espresso, and he winked at her.

  “I thought you didn’t have time for girls,” I noted.

  “Hey, it’s not like I just asked her out or gave her my number. I can’t help it; I like the ladies, and I am getting a little jazzed up.”

  “Are you always like that?”

  “Except when I’m liquored up.”

  “Good to know.”

  “What, are you up for hitting a pub later?”

  “I suppose I could,” I replied, unenthusiastically. I was not really a drinker. It was either because I felt no need for it or because I didn’t like not being in control. Having witnessed my dad’s downward spiral into the bottle didn’t help. Still, I’d go and hang out at the pub when I was in college, usually nursing the same beer bottle all night when my friend Phil got one for me. I’d talk somebody’s ear off, and they’d never notice that I wasn’t drinking much. Phil would be off talking to the girls.

  In came Macie, with some really posh looking dude. He was way overdressed for this place, wearing a white collared shirt with a bolo tie. She looked good, though. Her hair was smoothed and shiny. She must have just had it done. I waved to her from our table.

  “Hey, guys,” she said, her arm around the other guy’s arm. “This is Trevor.”

  “Trevor,” I responded, extending a hand. He even sounded like a person who came from money. “Nice to meet you.”

  He kept his hands in his pockets. “You too.” He nodded.

  “Well, Trevor, I’m Malachi, and this is G.D.”

  “What’s that stand for?” Macie asked.

  “George Devon,” he responded. “You can see why I prefer just the initials.”

  “You should stick with your name,” she said, turning away as if looking at something more interesting than our conversation. She leaned down to whisper in my ear. “I thought you might bring a girl in an attempt to make me jealous. Instead, you bring this guy. But you don’t look so great. What’s up with that? And what’s with him?” She pointed to my new ‘friend.’

  “G.D?” I rose my voice so all in our party could hear. “He’s gonna help me break into the movie business.
Right?” I clapped my hand against his back.

  “That’s right,” he responded. “My second cousin, twice removed, knows Scorcese. So, we’re gonna plan and make our own indie film, hopefully acquire a cult following, and send it in. Or Van might get us a gig as extras. There are lots of possibilities. But yeah, we’re working on ideas for our own indie film.”

  I could feel Macie looking down her nose at us. “Well, maybe this will be your big break,” she said through a judgmental smile.

  “Have a seat, Macie. Trevor, have a seat. I’ll get your first cup, both of you.”

  “Alright!” Trevor exclaimed, motioning for the barista to come over and take our order. He then patted my back with a smile while he started his order. It was apparent Macie’s new boyfriend approved of me.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Macie said, surprised.

  “You never know when you’ll need a friend,” I replied. “Take it as an olive branch.”

  “Seriously. What’s with the bruises?” she asked, leaning in close.

  “I learned the hard way that I shouldn’t do my own fight scenes. I thought it would be a good experience. I lost, as you can see. What can I say? I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  She actually smiled at me, then looked at Trevor, who was totally unaware while he made his convoluted order. Soy milk, full-froth, cappuccino machiatto espresso or whatever it was he was ordering.

  Since it was open-mic night, there were poets and singers as well. One young woman sang without any accompanying instruments. Her voice was haunting.

  Not long after, Macie announced that she and Trevor were moving on to a party. No invitation was extended.

  “Sorry, but we’ve gotta cut it short.” She stood up with her purse on her shoulder, and Trevor slowly followed suit.

  “It was good seeing you, Macie. Really. Don’t be a stranger.” I grasped her hand, and she limply accepted before she walked off.

  “She likes you, bruises and all,” a female voice said from the other side of me.

  It was the young woman who had sung in a haunting voice moments ago. Her speaking voice was actually quite pleasant. “How long have you been there?” I asked.

  “I just now sat down. Don’t worry; she didn’t leave because of me.” She smiled mysteriously.

  “Who’s your friend?” G.D. asked, returning with another cup of coffee in his hand.

  “I’m Ellie,” she answered, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a sip.

  “I heard you sing; it was fantastic. By the way, you can have that,” G.D. added. “We’re trying to break into the movies. Have you ever thought of show business?”

  “I have no time for that.”

  “What, are you a super-hero crime-fighter or undercover cop?” He chuckled.

  “I could be,” she answered, looking directly at me with a face that bore the coolness of the moon. It was more like she was looking right through me.

  “Are you in college, or do you teach there?” I asked. It was hard to gauge her age, she looked very refined, yet youngish. She had a wise look about her and some killer cheekbones. Definitely not a teenager and could even be older than I.

  “Yes and no. I am in the school of life, you could say. And don’t ask how old I am; yes, I know I look young. Don’t worry about me. I don’t have any parents searching for me or wondering why I’m not home. I only have one living parent now and—” She stopped, possibly realizing she was getting too personal when she had intended to be very elusive in her answer.

  She was like a female version of me. It was amazing how she could evade our questions and give such expert non-answers. I had a feeling Ellie could be just as good a liar as I was. I decidedly admired her in the most cautious way.

  “So, you don’t teach college then, and you are not in college; would that be correct?”

  She just nodded. “A student of life and, oh, let’s say human behavior.” She stood. “I can’t stay. I just couldn’t help but notice what was going on with your lady friend there. Believe me, I am quite the observer.”

  “I’m sure. Why don’t you stay, grab another cup? We could talk a while.” I smiled in what I hoped was an inviting and not a creepy manner.

  “Yeah. Seriously. We’re making a movie, and we could use a woman on our team,” G.D. added.

  “Oh, could you?” She gave a derisive smile. “It has been interesting.”

  “Well, I’m Malachi, and this is G.D. Our movies aren’t derogatory toward women or anything.” I immediately felt stupid for saying so. “We’re usually here on open-mic night,” I called as she turned to leave.

  “Yeah, maybe I’ll see you around, sooner or later. By the way, don’t get into any more fights.” She turned, and her long brunette hair hung over her shoulder as she swung the door open and left.

  G.D. raised his eyebrow at me. “Are you sure you don’t know that girl?”

  “Positive,” I answered.

  “I’m pretty sure she knows you. I hope you don’t have any incriminating secrets.”

  A shiver went up my spine. “No, not me.” I forced a laugh. “Not at all. I may have some stuff I’m ashamed of, but secrets? No.”

  “So what’s your story?” G.D. looked at me intently.

  “You know my story.”

  “Okay. Well, I think I’ll go now.” He did not press the issue any further. “Twenty-five bucks by the way.”

  I suddenly remembered that I had to pay for this guy to show up in public with me. Good thing my next payday was not far away. I put the money down on the table and regretted being so generous earlier.

  “Thanks, man. Call me if you ever need me.”

  When he left, I was stuck at the table with just a drop of coffee in my cup. I suddenly felt very alone.

  Chapter 8

  Be My Partner in Crime

  A few months later, I was sitting alone in the basement again, waiting for Jack’s next call and money-making opportunity. I didn’t like the waiting. With my landlord out of town and the washer leaking, I found myself in a laundromat. Sure, I could have called a repairman and had Hank pay me back, but I knew he liked to be in charge of those things. So I just left it. I didn’t want to stir up his ire when he got back. After leaving a message on his cell, I decided not to wait around and left the house with my over-flowing laundry basket.

  It was good to be out of the house, but the surroundings were not too stimulating. A disheveled girl, probably my age, was passed out taking up two of the chairs in the waiting area. Only one washer was going. I loaded mine and noticed that it was 11 a.m. Luckily, I had a paperback with me. An old guy with a fuzzy, graying beard came in to check his wash, then left again. I saw him heading to the bar across the street. Interesting. I actually considered doing the same. Then, the sleeping girl fell off of the chairs. They were rounded chairs, so I suppose they were comfortable enough, but she was close to the edge.

  “What the—!” Her eyes opened wide, then went half-shut again. She shook her head tenderly. Her long, dirty-blond hair hung about her face and in her eyes.

  I gathered that the girl hadn’t actually gone there to do any wash. The only running washer other than mine was being used by the bearded guy. For a moment, I thought she was homeless.

  She started shaking and spit up a small patch of vomit. Laughing, she looked up at me. “What a night!”

  I went into the restroom and took out a few paper towels, handing them to her.

  “Hey, do you, um, have any place to go other than this?” I asked.

  She looked around again in a disconcerted haze. “Oh crap! What time is it?”

  I helped her up. “It’s about 11:15. Why are you sleeping here?”

  “I didn’t come here to sleep; I was doing laundry!” She was shaking again.

  “Let’s walk to the store and get you some crackers and water, juice, whatever you feel like. I’ve had nights like these, too.” It sounded like the thing to say.

  Heading over to one of the washers, she took o
ut a wet shirt. She sighed and looked over at me. “Can you help me get these into a dryer?”

  Willingly, I complied, and we got her load into the dryer. “Did you fall asleep before they were done?”

  “Yeah.” She chuckled. “It was the middle of the night. I must’ve had an energy spurt. I certainly wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “So, where do you live?”

  “A few blocks away, on Third…no, I mean, 8th Street. Car’s right out there.” She pointed to a rusty vehicle.

  “I’m not sure you should drive. Walk with me to the store.”

  “Ah, sure. I gotta let my clothes dry anyway.”

  As we entered the daylight, she shielded her eyes like a vampire seeing their first glimpse of sunshine. “What time did you say it is again?”

  “It’s 11:25,” I said, glancing at my watch.

  “Ah, damn it!”

  “What can I do?” I asked.

  She just shook her head and moaned.

  We got to the store where she picked out crackers and got a hot coffee. I instinctively threw in two bottles of water and paid for it all.

  She whispered, “I’m late, late for work again. I need your help.” She leaned in as if to whisper. “Can you call my work, please?” She clapped her hands and held them together, looking at me and batting her eyelashes.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” To be honest, I couldn’t believe she had a job. I was still shocked to learn she wasn’t homeless. I had to stop judging. She was just a young woman with a penchant for partying; that was obvious.

  “You need to act like my brother, or a boyfriend. My roommate won’t do this for me anymore, and you can’t be a stranger.”

  “Where do you work?” I asked.