Clean Sweep

by E. B. Lee

  Grant shifted in his chair. For the most part, Carli kept her eyes glued to Mercy. She knew the two other pairs of eyes would feel threatening enough for Grant. For many more moments, the room remained silent, except for the occasional sound sauntering in through the space under the closed door to the drop-in center. Finally, Grant said, “I’ll think about it. I need some time. I don’t think I’m as bad as you’re all making me out to be, but thanks for your concern. Thanks, Rocky. I appreciate it.”

  Carli looked over and felt awful for having arranged the meeting. She had never seen him so thoroughly wounded. Rocky stood. “Anytime, man. Anytime. Got to get me some dinner somewhere before I check in for work.”

  Twenty-Four

  “Come on in. Come see the babies.” Thelma held open her front door, and Lila and Terrance ran to Carli’s feet.

  “Lila! Terrance! Look at you!” said Carli. “But first, a hug for you, my friend.” Carli reached toward Thelma.

  “So glad you made the drive,” said Thelma. “I was hoping to see you again, and sooner rather than later.”

  “I have news to share. And I want to show you my paintings. It’s a whole other side of me I want you to finally see,” said Carli.

  “First, follow me. You know where the kitchen is. We can get a little something to give us energy. Lila and Terrance will be asking for something as well.”

  Carli felt like a feather floating effortlessly on an invisible current of air, soft and warm. Seeing Thelma smiling, instead of fighting to retrieve a friend or planning a memorial service, and seeing Lila and Terrance enjoying the privileges of having won over another heart, were all she needed for a fabulous day.

  “So, what’s this news you wish to share?” asked Thelma.

  “It’s about my brother,” said Carli. “I found him.”

  “You what? Oh, Carli, this is wonderful. How? And where?”

  “The tricky part is I found him, but he doesn’t want others to know. I only tell you because I don’t want you to spend the rest of Time worrying about me, on account of having lost him. As far as everyone is concerned, my brother is presumed dead, or still missing.”

  “Oh,” said Thelma.

  “The fact is, he’s very different than he once was. He’s convinced the cult he joined in college will come for him, or for me, if they know he’s alive.”

  “So, he is alive?” asked Thelma.

  “Yes. He changed his name. And that’s about all I can say. This makes it sound more mysterious than it is.”

  “Are you in any danger?”

  “As far as I can tell, not at all,” said Carli. She refused to acknowledge her own, lingering fear.

  “It seems to me, if they wanted to find you, they could have long ago. It’s not very difficult to look people up these days. If I can do it, I figure anyone can,” said Thelma.

  “I agree,” said Carli. “There’s something else.”

  “I hope it’s as good as this first bit of news, which, by the way, I will consider to have never heard,” said Thelma.

  “I knew you would understand,” said Carli. “It’s part of our special bond.”

  “Indeed. And thank you for taking me into your confidence. You’re right to think I would have worried about you forever,” said Thelma.

  “The other news is this. I’ve been living a bit of a double life. You know me as Carli Morris. A lot of people know me by that name now. The truth is, I lived most of my life as Tessie Whitmore. I built my business on that name. My reputation too. A college friend was named Carli, although her last name wasn’t Morris. The fact is, I chose to call myself ‘Carli’ out of fear. I am ashamed to say it arose out of fear of people like Lucy, when she was on the street. I see, now, how ignorant and wrong that was. A bad reflection of who I was. But this has been a good lesson for me. I am fine owning up to it,” she said.

  “Well, I understand. It is sad, of course, but not difficult to understand at all,” said Thelma. “We are often threatened by things we do not understand. And, unfortunately, sometimes there is a threat of danger from people who suffer with mental health challenges. Seems to me, your visiting a number of them is ample reason to feel good about yourself, not beat yourself up over a name change. On top of that, name changes aren’t all that unusual,” said Thelma. “A friend of mine writes novels. Doesn’t want a single person to know her real identity. Those musicians with their stage names – more examples of name changes, though I guess for them it’s a branding thing. But when you think of it ... why would you label a girdle as female shapewear? Another name change, right?” Thelma was sweet. A dear, sweet friend, who truly did understand.

  “I’m sorry you lost her,” said Carli. “I wish she could have walked back into your life, as my brother did.”

  “Oh, dear Carli, we do not control these things. I am simply grateful she now rests in town, alongside her William. Every day, I picture them smiling at one another, probably even holding hands.”

  After a refill of their coffee cups, Carli retrieved two paintings from her car. A smile erupted across Thelma’s face as she looked at the finished waterscapes. It justified the many hours Carli had struggled to regain her artistic expression and skills. Carli looked at Thelma, as the woman continued to view the paintings. She hoped to have a fraction of her grace and wisdom as she moved forward in years.

  “When did you say the show is?” asked Thelma. “We surely must get a contingent down to see it.”

  “It is supposed to be in five months—November—but I don’t know if I’ll be ready. So much else is taking up my time. I’m worried I’ll have wet paint dripping from the exhibit,” said Carli.

  “Let it drip!” said Thelma. “With paintings like these, a little excess liquid will look plenty authentic. Who knows, might even be written up in the newspapers as an innovative trend. Maybe dog portraits will have fur flying off of them.”

  Thelma had done it again. All Carli said was, “You are a gift!”

  It was a hot afternoon, nearing July, when Carli and Grant sat in Gloria’s and he said, in a calm, unemotional voice, “I’m trying it.”

  Carli checked the menu. “Trying what?”

  “The tests ... Dr. Greenberg.” He pulled the fifteen-page evaluation booklet out of his pocket and slapped the crumpled pages on the table.

  Carli latched onto his eyes. He had made it sound as though he were doing it on a lark. Grant’s resigned look told her he was all in. At least, for the moment.

  While Grant faced Dr. Greenberg, Carli took on her own visits and made extra stops with Cedric and Wilson. All the while, she hoped Grant was actually placing his trust in the doctor’s hands.

  Cedric emerged from the shelter with an ear-to-ear smile, after another resident stepped past the bunks to give a knock on his door. Carli hated having to meet outside. She wanted to finally see Cedric seated on a legitimate sofa or chair. She was, however, more than happy to accept a set of stone steps in lieu of a bag full of cans.

  “You look good, Cedric,” she said. “Real good, Kid.”

  “Back at you, Kid. But you always looked good.” Cedric’s wry smile forced a smile of its own onto Carli’s face.

  “How’re things?” she asked.

  “Pretty good. I’d say I am acing my tests, and Deena – you know, the lady here – is helping me with a bunch of things. I think I might get a kitchen of my own, after all. It’s not like I don’t know how to cook. I do. But I don’t feel like seeing if some roommate knows how to cook.”

  “I’m a lousy cook,” said Carli. “I usually burn things. Eggs, hamburgers, bread ... doesn’t matter.”

  “Not me,” said Cedric. “I keep an eye on it. That’s the trick. Can’t let it go off on its own.”

  “I should try that,” said Carli. “Honestly, anything could help.” She looked at Cedric and realized her bad cooking didn’t matter a bit. “Who gave you the haircut?” she asked.

  “Grant took me out.”

  “He’s been by?”

/>   “We did a BOGO down in the Alphabet City neighborhood when we visited a Parks Department person. This new place was trying to drum up business. Real nice place. Lots of seats. Clean. Nice barber, too. Grant and I even split the cost. He refused to let me pay. And, of course, I refused to let him do it.”

  “Like I said before, Kid, you’re looking good,” said Carli. “I’m glad Grant’s keeping in touch. You know he’d miss you if he didn’t.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. No need to get all mushy on me.”

  “So, I’ll be back soon. It’s always good to see you, Cedric. Always good,” said Carli.

  “Okay, Kid. Like I said before, back at you.”

  Carli watched Cedric return to his building, practically skipping up the stairway and through the front door. Hallelujah. It had really happened. Carli looked to the sky and smiled.

  Vera was not at her standpipe. Carli waited half an hour at the deli, but Vera didn’t appear. Carli moved on, in search of Wilson. Two blocks from the pocket park, she reached in her bag and pulled out another of her older perfume bottles. After a spritz on each wrist, she walked the final blocks. She couldn’t tell if Wilson was awake or asleep until she was well within the park. Wilson lifted his head, as she had seen him do before. Knew she was coming.

  “Who’s there?” he asked.

  “Carli’s here,” she said. “How are you today, Wilson?”

  Wilson stretched his arms over his head, then rubbed his eyes. “Is it afternoon?” he asked.

  “About 1 p.m.,” she said. “I had a free moment and I wanted to see you.”

  Wilson looked straight across the table. He closed his eyes another moment, opened them briefly, and then closed them again. He looked like he might fall asleep sitting upright. Maybe she should come another time. “I can leave you be, unless you want to walk with me to Four Bridges.”

  “Too nice to be inside,” said Wilson. “Just give me a minute here. I’m ... I’m getting there.” Wilson opened his eyes again and took in a deep breath. He could easily have been on his sixth shot at the bar.

  “What’s that you got on?” he asked.

  “Aha. You tell me. You know it?”

  “Yeah ... maybe. Got some vanilla or something in it. Or maybe it’s ... no, definitely vanilla. And citrus.”

  “Here,” she said. Take a look.” Carli pulled a frosted glass bottle from her bag and slid it onto the table. Man-weeks of branding, marketing, and advertising had undoubtedly gone into the product and its packaging. It was sensuously shaped and topped by a pewter-colored cap with an intricate design. The odd partnership of bottle and bench would likely turn the advertising team over in their graves, or put them there. Wilson lowered his head to assess it. The fog didn’t seem to be lifting very fast, except suddenly Wilson said, “I’ve got it. Yes. Seen this one. Must have been ten years ago. Came out for Christmas sales. One of the big ones.”

  “Vicissitudes. From 2009,” said Carli. “How do you know this?”

  “I told you. I was a chemist or something. Did all this stuff with fragrances and perfumes and stuff.”

  “When?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Wilson. “Must have been a long time ago, right? I mean, I’ve been here a long time, right?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “What exactly did you do?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “I don’t know. I just did all kinds of stuff. You know, chemistry stuff. With perfumes. I don’t know what I did. I think I just did it. Know what I mean?”

  “Well, sort of, but not really,” said Carli. “Maybe you can tell me more about it another day.”

  “Sure,” said Wilson. “Not much to tell. I just did it, I think ... I don’t know.” Wilson was smiling. Carli didn’t know if Wilson even realized he was doing it. She was about to ask what he was thinking, when he said, “Lily of the valley lady.” Carli did a double take of Wilson. Then she looked to the sidewalk. She couldn’t believe it.

  “Wilson, you’re amazing. And here’s what I’m going to do,” she said. “Next time, I’m bringing a couple of bottles. Of perfume, that is. I want to hear what you have to say about them. Maybe you’ll have a lot to say, or maybe nothing at all. Doesn’t matter. I’m just curious.”

  “My opinion?” asked Wilson. “You want to know my opinion? Sure. I can tell you. What do you want to know?”

  “I want to know if you’re doing okay,” she said.

  “Yeah. I’m okay. Already told you that. Didn’t I?”

  Carli collected her perfume and swung her legs over the picnic bench, ready to leave. “Just wanted to make sure. Glad to hear it,” she said. “Remember about Four Bridges if you need anything. Mercy’s in there the rest of the day.”

  Wilson lifted a hand slightly off the table. It fell down quickly and made a noticeable thud upon landing. Carli wondered how his body stood up to the pounding of alcohol. His condition was worrisome. She also wondered how long ago he concocted perfumes. Now all he was mixing were different brands of wine. Oddly, it made sense he chose wine for his habit. There were, after all, infinite varieties, and each carried a unique fragrance. A perfect opus major for a chimiste des parfums she thought, dredging up her high school French lessons and giving Wilson a proper-sounding profession, likely worthy of his past.

  Twenty-Five

  Carli caught up with Harry sliding out of St. Mary’s. She walked with him into the shadows of the highway. “I heard you used to be with your daughter,” she said.

  Harry shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” He walked another two minutes before adding, “We kind of had a blowup. Didn’t like the way I acted around the little one; Jessica’s her name.” He grunted. “Must be near five by now. Who knows, maybe older.” Stopping momentarily to reposition his bags, he said, “Probably as cute as can be. Guess I deserved it.” It was clear, from his posture, he missed them.

  “Where are they now?” she asked.

  “Probably where they always were. Don’t care a damn about me. Probably think I’m dead. Figure I’ll never see them again, and it won’t bother them at all. Doesn’t matter.”

  “People change.”

  “Look, let’s drop it,” said Harry.

  “Sure,” she said. Despite what Grant had told her, and how many times he had dismissed it, the past did matter. It had to. Sooner or later, Carli would bring up Harry’s family again.

  She left Harry, before reaching his barrel, to head Uptown. Sarah sat with bags stacked up on a bench, as usual, but something was noticeably absent.

  “Where’s your cart?” asked Carli.

  “Gone.”

  “Why?”

  “Stole.”

  “Someone stole your cart?” asked Carli.

  Sarah nodded once, casting her eyes to the ground as she did.

  Seven bags and a woman left intact, but the cart – rusted and squeaky – was stolen.

  “How did you get these here?” asked Carli, motioning to the pile of bags.

  Sarah waved her arms to show she had carried them. Then she looked away, wary of prolonged eye contact.

  Carli considered the process. It must have been difficult, physically and emotionally. “Who?” she finally asked.

  Sarah folded her arms and shut like a clam. Carli repeated the question. Twice. Her pigeon woman finally answered.

  “Same one. Hit Len … ny.”

  Carli froze. Sarah had seen it – Lenny’s attack. Of course. She slept in or near the park every night. How could she not have seen it?

  “Lenny?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Who?”

  Sarah stared, puzzled. “I told … him.”

  “Told who?” asked Carli.

  “Told … Grant.”

  “Who?” Carli asked again. “Who did it?”

  “Har … ry. Told … Grant.”

  Carli stiffened and felt the blood of her pulse throbbing in her neck. It was Harry. Grant knew all along, but hadn’t said a word. Had out-and-out lied. Face to face
with a police officer. With two, in fact. Or, perhaps, he didn’t know at the time. If only she could remember that first day more clearly.

  Sarah’s scant words explained a lot, like the reason Grant was after Harry; he had his number and wanted Harry to know it. Carli sighed. Harry, the man who looked like her elderly uncle, the man who was missing his granddaughter, and the man she had just seen, was a part-time thug. Carli looked at Sarah without her cart and boiled. Harry and Grant had some explaining to do. But not just yet. After months of Grant’s knowing, a few more days wouldn’t make a bean’s worth of difference. What she didn’t know was enough about Harry and how to confront him.

  “I’ll look for a new one,” she said.

  Sarah shrugged as though it didn’t matter, but Carli knew it mattered a lot. Seven bulging bags were seven bulging bags, and Sarah was no bodybuilder.

  Leaving Sarah, Carli couldn’t help wondering if it was Harry who had paid a visit to Cedric’s place. Time was when she believed they looked out for one another, but, obviously, there were bad eggs.

  At half past six o’clock the next morning, Carli arrived at Sarah’s to watch her come to grips with her new predicament, and help lug the plastic to the park. It is what Grant would have done, or so she thought. Now she wasn’t sure, since Grant had dined with a criminal and turned his back on the crime.

  Carli spotted Sarah huffing toward the park, lugging two bags alongside her, while keeping watch over her shoulder for the five left behind across a busy street. In fact, Sarah stopped smack on the street’s centerline, with cars passing and honking both ways. She peeked at the left-behinds and readjusted her grip on the two she hauled. Then, she shuffled through streaming traffic, placed the bags on the curb, and started back for the rest.

  Carli dashed to Sarah’s side, offering to help in silence. She picked up two bags and nodded. Together, they stepped off the curb like mother cats transporting kittens. When the operation was complete, and Sarah was settled on her bench, Carli said, “I’ll be by later to help.”