City of Margins

by William Boyle

  “Take care of the old dump,” Ava says to Nick now. “I’ll write when I get there.” And then she and Donnie walk away down the block.

  Nick’s alone in the house. This is maybe the most alone he’s ever felt. He hopes Alice comes back after her lunch with Phil, just to say, “See how easy it is for me to walk away? Wake up, chump.” If she doesn’t, he’s not sure what he’ll do. Ava going to Italy on the fly with Donnie Parascandolo? How on earth did they ever get to this moment?

  DONNIE PARASCANDOLO

  They walk to Donnie’s house. Ava’s flush with excitement. So is he, to tell the truth. It’s the kind of excitement you don’t feel much once you’re beyond eighteen. The older you get, the more it starts to feel like you could never just drop everything and leave. They’re making a vow together, Donnie and Ava, to feel free like kids.

  “I have cousins,” Ava says, as they turn onto his block. “I don’t know how we’ll find them, but we will.”

  “I have cousins over there, too,” Donnie says. “They’re all gonna be in for a surprise.”

  “Some of mine, I haven’t seen since the wedding. They don’t even know Anthony died.”

  “I can play Anthony, you want. I’m already wearing his clothes.”

  “Don’t kid like that.”

  When they get to his house, Donnie—to his relief—opens up to silence. He’s sure Sottile made the drop for Big Time Tommy at Flash Auto. Pags, he’s another story. He’s sorry he pissed him off, but the cut was fair. Anyhow, the money’s gone, so he choked the deal down.

  “Well,” Ava says, taking in the place for the first time. “You definitely live like a bachelor.”

  Donnie shrugs. “I’ll clean up my act for you, I swear.”

  Ava leans over and touches a flap on one of the diaper boxes. “You incontinent?” she asks, and laughs.

  “I was just unpacking some junk,” he says.

  “Should we call about flights?”

  “I say we just go. There’s gotta be something taking off tonight.”

  She sits down and shakes her head. “I just thought of something. We’re so stupid.”

  “What?”

  “Passports. I don’t have a passport. Do you have a passport?”

  Don laughs. “What’d I ever need a passport for? Too many obstacles in this goddamn life. You want to go to Italy, you should just be able to go to Italy. The Italian blood I got, that should be my passport.”

  “I agree, but I don’t think they’ll let us on the plane.”

  “So, let’s go to California. We take a red-eye to San Francisco. Go see the Giants play. They got their own Little Italy. North Beach, it’s called. I heard about it on this show I watched.”

  “Why not?” Ava says. “I’d go about anywhere with you right now. I just want to get away for a couple of weeks.”

  “Right,” Donnie says. “Who cares? We can throw a dart at the departures board when we get to the airport. I just want to hole up in a nice hotel with you and go out to eat and not think about New York.”

  Ava comes over and kisses him on the cheek. “We make a good pair, I think, me and you.”

  “Do me a favor. Go in the kitchen and call the car service. Tell them we need a lift to JFK. I got the number for a place on Twenty-First Avenue taped to the side of the phone. They’ll be here in no time. I’m gonna go upstairs, get changed—no offense—and pack a suitcase.”

  He’s thinking about the money under the floorboards. He’s wondering if he should take it all. Maybe he should just take half, leave the rest if they’re only going to be gone a couple of weeks. Why risk losing it? On the other hand, why not live it up? They could rent a fucking penthouse, get room service delivered, go out to high-end steakhouses.

  Ava disappears into the kitchen to make the call.

  Donnie grabs his cigarette case, which is sitting out in the living room. He goes upstairs to his room. He looks at his face in the mirror. Ava cleaned him up real nice. His nose looks a little fucked, and it’s throbbing pretty good, but it’s nothing he can’t fight through. He finds a bottle of ibuprofen on top of his dresser and pops three in his mouth, washing them down with spit. He undresses, leaving Ava’s dead husband’s clothes balled on the floor.

  He changes into fresh boxers, cargo shorts, and a Hawaiian-print shirt. As he buttons the shirt, he looks at himself in the mirror again. He’s a man going on vacation. He’s going to be comfortable on the plane. He’s going to drink scotch and relax.

  He packs a duffel bag. More boxers, some T-shirts and dress shirts, two pairs of jeans that are probably a size too small, mismatched socks. He tosses the cigarette case in there so he doesn’t forget it. He pushes the throw rug aside and lifts up the floorboard and stuffs most of the money in the bag. What the hell? You only live once. They’re going to live the goddamn high life, him and Ava. Maybe he’ll talk her into Vegas after San Francisco, or maybe they’ll go to New Orleans and eat like kings. He’s not sure what he’ll tell her about the money, but he’ll come up with something good. The bag’s coming on the plane with him, never leaving his sight. They find a fancy hotel first thing wherever they wind up, he’ll put it right in the safe. He doesn’t know much, but he knows fancy hotel rooms have safes.

  He leaves a few grand in the hole so it’s there if he needs it when he gets back. He guesses Big Time Tommy will catch up with him eventually, and he’s going to have to figure a way out of that. Or maybe he’ll just stay away longer. He puts the floorboard back and drops the rug in its place.

  Anyhow, this wasn’t Big Time Tommy’s money, per se. The other dough he skimmed along the way—loose change, essentially—wasn’t really either, and he’s sure Tommy will just want him to pay off the insult through work. He won’t dangle him from a roof or anything. He does, what the fuck? Donnie’s not scared of Big Time Tommy and his numbnuts crew. Like that walking bag of dick scrapings, Dice.

  Leaving the bag unzipped, he walks out of the room. He’s thinking about what else he might need to do to shut the house down if he won’t be back for a stretch. It’s summer, so he doesn’t have to worry about the heat. He should go around checking windows, maybe take out the trash, that’s about it.

  As he passes Gabe’s room, he hears something.

  Footsteps.

  He pauses and sets down the bag on the floor, trying to be as quiet as possible. He can’t have heard what he thought he heard. It was probably just Ava down in the kitchen, pacing as she talked to the car service guy. He’s not used to the company, and it somehow sounded like she was up here.

  But then he hears it again. Definite footsteps, coming from Gabe’s room.

  He presses his head against the door. He’d had that thought about the coldness being a sign of the presence of Gabe’s ghost, and now he’s convinced. This, of course, is the time he would choose to show himself, just as Donnie’s ready to leave with Ava for the airport on this new adventure. What does Gabe want from him? He must be trying to tell him something with these footsteps.

  “Gabe?” Donnie says. “That you? It’s Daddy, Gabe.”

  He listens closer. No more footsteps, just silence now. Look at yourself, he thinks. Standing here, talking to the ghost of your dead son. You’re losing it. You lost it, motherfucker. What you heard was nothing. Go to Ava with your bag of money and ride off into the sunset.

  He’s watched enough shows about hauntings to know that the best thing to do is ask a ghost what it wants. “Gabe, buddy, what do you want from me?”

  More silence.

  What could a dead boy want from his father? He and Gabe had their problems. Gabe was different from him, way different, way more Donna, and Donnie hadn’t liked that. He hadn’t done a lot of the things a father needs to do. He wasn’t warm with the kid. He didn’t make him feel loved. All that led to him calling it quits. If Donnie had been even just okay as a dad, maybe Gabe would’ve wanted to live.

  It occurs to him he’s doing what Ava wanted him to do. Facing down the loss of Gab
e honestly for the first time. She wanted him to talk to a goddamn priest, but it took a ghost.

  “Gabe, I’m sorry,” he says, figuring an apology is the best place to start. “As an old man, I wasn’t much, I know that.”

  A noise on the other side of the door. It sounds like a hand on the knob. Maybe that’s all Gabe wanted, that I’m sorry, and now he’ll open up and the room will be warm and that will let Donnie know that his son’s at peace.

  But when the door is flung open, it’s Mikey Baldini standing there. He’s wearing a corduroy coat Donnie recognizes as Giuseppe’s and holding a long blade, batting gloves on his hands. Before Donnie can say anything, the blade comes at him. It’s like the kid doesn’t know how to handle it, so he just sort of lurches forward and thrusts it at Donnie. It goes straight into his gut, deep. He makes a noise, Donnie does, like the air’s being let out of him.

  Donnie’s hands go around the blade, trying to yank it out with no luck, and he collapses onto his side, his head on the floor in Gabe’s room, the rest of his body out in the hallway, the blade like something terrible that’s sprouted from the center of him.

  Ava calls up from downstairs: “Don, you okay?”

  Donnie manages to look up at Mikey, who’s stepping over him.

  “That’s for my old man,” Mikey says.

  The way he’s curled on the floor now, the blade sticking out of his gut, Donnie watches as Mikey notices the duffel bag, money visible. As he picks up the bag, Mikey changes into Gabe. It’s Gabe touching the money, reaching inside to see how much is there, looking shocked. It’s Gabe walking calmly away, down the hallway, down the stairs. He’s glad Gabe’s got the money. No, it’s Mikey Baldini. Donnie hears the front door open and close. Front doors sound a certain way.

  Ava calls up to him again: “Don, what was that? The car service place has me on hold this whole time. I might try another one. You have the number for that place on Benson?”

  Donnie’s hands travel the length of the blade to the handle. He can feel the blood under him. The pain in his gut is like nothing he’s ever known. It’s like a meteor crashed there. He shouldn’t pull the blade out, he knows, but he’ll never be able to move with such a long blade stuck in him. He gets it out, he’ll have to wrap himself with something. He’s seen movies. Get down to the kitchen, wrap cellophane around his gut, while Ava—no doubt—panics and calls an ambulance. He can’t speak.

  He manages to get to his knees, right there in the doorway of his son’s room. He can feel that the room is still cold. He sees his blood spreading out on the floor. He tries to pull the blade out, but he can’t. The strength’s just not there. He falls on his side again, but it feels like he’s fallen into a deep pit, and everything goes black.

  ANTONINA DIVINO

  On the train into the city, Antonina tells Lizzie about the Madonna show that Ralph’s getting them tickets to. They’re sitting next to each other on the orange bucket seats. The car is otherwise empty.

  Lizzie laughs. “That’ll be weird,” she says.

  Lizzie’s so pretty. Her mother’s Chinese and her father’s Italian. She’s got this perfect black hair. She’s putting on some heavy-duty makeup as they talk. Her mother wouldn’t let her leave the house the way she looks now, with all that eyeliner and black lipstick. She’s wearing a boy’s flannel shirt, ripped jeans, and a pair of Doc Martens that she’s covered in gold glitter.

  They decide to skip the movie they’d talked about seeing at the Angelika and just go straight to the Keyhole Cocktail Lounge on St. Mark’s, where the old Ukrainian bartender will serve them drinks to their heart’s content, only charging them about half the time. They’ll play songs on the jukebox and dance.

  Lizzie dates a guy from the city named Chip. He’s older and his band, Kill Chariot, plays at Coney Island High and Mercury Lounge all the time. Antonina’s been to see them a few times. Lizzie says now, “Chip’s friend’s band is playing at Coney Island High later. Blessed Mother of Fuck is their name. I’m not sure if they’re punk or metal, but they’ll be loud. Chip says we can stay at his place overnight. You think you can get away with that? I told my mother I was staying with you.”

  “Of course,” Antonina says.

  Antonina watches out the scratched-up window as the train crosses the Manhattan Bridge. She looks at the light on the East River, the swarm of cars down on the FDR Drive. She imagines herself in the immediate future, putting back strong drinks at the Keyhole, wasted at Coney Island High in a jumble of leather and denim, getting lost in some music, any music.

  If she and Lizzie go home with Chip, she wonders who else will be coming with them. They’ll probably be up all night, partying. Last time she was at Chip’s, she sat in awe as he shot up on a folding chair. That’s all he has in his loft for furniture, folding chairs.

  Antonina’s going to spend every last cent of the money she brought with her. She hasn’t even told Lizzie about it. Maybe she’ll buy some drugs for them. Pills or weed. Or maybe they’ll just shoot up with Chip. Lizzie did it once and said it was heaven.

  She thinks again of the phone ringing in her room later, Ralph calling and her not being there to answer. She wonders how mad he’ll be. She wonders if he’ll go to the Bronx by himself and sulk. She wonders what lie she’ll tell him eventually. The money he gave her deserves a good lie at least. She just wants to be a dumb kid with Lizzie right now, that’s all.

  “We’re gonna get fucked up tonight,” Lizzie says, dropping her voice dramatically on the last three words and sort of singing them. She finishes her makeup and turns, staring at herself in the glass as best she can. “I look okay?”

  “You look great,” Antonina says, smiling, seeing herself reflected in the glass over Lizzie’s shoulder. Beyond that, over her own shoulder in the reflection, she sees the door between cars open and a hulking body squeeze through. She turns. It’s Ralph. She knows this can’t be a coincidence. Lizzie knows about Ralph, of course, but Antonina never anticipated that they’d meet.

  Ralph smiles, holds up his hand, giving a little salute. He sits across from her and Lizzie. He’s got dark pit stains under his arms, his forehead beaded with drops of sweat.

  “You followed me?” Antonina asks.

  “‘Followed’ is a strong word,” he says.

  Lizzie turns now and takes him in. She must know. She doesn’t say anything, not yet.

  “This is the famous Lizzie?” Ralph says.

  “What the fuck, Ant?” Lizzie says, under her breath.

  “Why’d you follow me?” Antonina asks Ralph again.

  “I didn’t,” Ralph says. “Well, I did, but I didn’t really. I wasn’t setting out with those intentions. I saw you on Bay Parkway and I thought, ‘Let me catch up to her.’ That’s it. You girls going into the city?”

  “Dude, that’s so creepy,” Lizzie says.

  “Antonina tell you about the Madonna tickets?” Ralph says to Lizzie. And then to Antonina: “‘The Girlie Show,’ you said it was called, right?”

  “Please don’t talk to Lizzie,” Antonina says. “What do you want from me? It’s not a good time.”

  “You girls are going where? Movie, concert, what?”

  “How old are you?” Lizzie says to Ralph. “Are you trying to fuck her or what?”

  “Lizzie, stop,” Antonina says, feeling suddenly pissed at both of them, caught between them, these worlds colliding, unsure of what to do with Ralph or if Lizzie will now look at her and see a different girl. She imagines Lizzie’s thinking, You sneak out of your house to go to a diner in the Bronx with this sweaty piece of shit?

  “I don’t know what I was thinking,” Ralph says, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and drying his forehead. “Maybe I can take you girls out for a nice meal? You got a favorite place? We can go there. How about Indian? That’s something you can’t get back in the neighborhood. Little India over there on East Sixth, you know it? A lot of good joints.”

  “You’re a sad man, huh?” Lizzie says.
<
br />   Ralph ignores her. “Can I talk to you alone for a sec?” he asks Antonina. “I earned that much, didn’t I?”

  Antonina nods. She puts her hand on Lizzie’s knee. “Just give me a couple of minutes with him.”

  “We’re getting off in two minutes at Broadway-Lafayette,” Lizzie says.

  “I know.”

  Lizzie gets up and moves about ten feet away, standing in front of a subway map like a straphanger, checking herself again in whatever reflection she can get on the glass over the multicolored lines veining the boroughs.

  “What is this?” Antonina says to Ralph, realizing that he’s crossed a line she long expected him to cross and then gave up on him ever crossing. This is not the way, or the time, that she expected it to happen. She’s embarrassed in front of Lizzie. Put out. She can’t help but think what it must look like, that this is the guy—worse-looking and older and more rundown than any father they know—that she’d been rendezvousing with. She can tell Lizzie’s grossed out.

  “I don’t know what,” Ralph says. “The money was nice, right? The money helps?”

  Antonina’s thinking, Is this what the money bought you? But what she says is, “I’ve gotta get off the train soon.”

  Ralph nods.

  When the train pulls out of the Grand Street station, Antonina stands up. She starts to wander toward Lizzie, trailing a hand behind her, as if willing Ralph to sit and stay, to go to midtown or wherever else, to just let them be as they are. But he gets up too, and she knows he’ll get off at Broadway-Lafayette with them and follow them up the steps. And then what? Will Lizzie ditch her? Will she be left alone with Ralph?

  At Broadway-Lafayette, the doors ding open, and Antonina and Lizzie burst out onto the platform. Ralph lumbers out behind them.

  “This is fucking creepy,” Lizzie says, looking quickly over her shoulder at Ralph as they climb the stairs to the mezzanine.