on the computer? This is what I have. This is how I can get by. It’s totally fucked, but it’s what I have. And I didn’t do anything. I didn’t do anything to deserve this shit. You did. You killed people. That’s why your life is fucked. I didn’t do anything.
She yanks her bag open, pulls out a pill bottle, tries to open it, but can’t stop shaking. I know how frustrating that is. Wanting what’s inside the bottle, but not being able to get to it. Hell, I want what’s in that bottle as much as she does.
I take the bottle from her hand, open it, take out one of the caps of Librium and hand it to her. She pokes it to the back of her tongue, tilts her face skyward, and swallows. I look at the bottle in my hand. I look at the pills inside. I put the cap back on, twist it into place and hand it to her. She takes it and drops it in her bag.
– Oh, and by the way, you forgot to ask about T.
I lick my lips.
– How’s T?
– He’s dead. His leg got infected and he wouldn’t let me take him to a doctor and he had a fever of like a hundred and fifteen and I was freaking out and didn’t know what to do and he died and I put his body in the car and drove it to a lake and filled his pockets with rocks and shoved him in so no one would find him ’cause that’s what he told me to do ’cause he didn’t want anyone to find him he just wanted to be dead like everyone he loved, like
– Sandy.
– Go away, Henry. And don’t try to follow me. I called the police when I was in the bathroom and told them a creep with a scar was hassling me and they said they’d send a car to the club. So now I got to get back ’cause I’m gonna have to give the fucking cops free lap dances.
I put a hand on her cheek.
– Sandy.
– Go away! You’re going to die. Go do it away from me.
She slaps my hand from her face, turns and walks back to the club.
I lean against the wall of the Yankees Store and watch the pedestrians flicker past. My arms are at my sides, my fists balled tight. In one of them is the piece of paper with my parents’ phone number. I guess I should call them. Sandy was so happy to hear from me, why wouldn’t they be, too?
I WALK AROUND a little bit, looking for someplace quiet to sit down and make the call. I should find a flop is what I should do. I should find a cheapass motel that will let me pay cash at an hourly rate. I remember some places on Forty-eighth or Forty-ninth and head in that direction.
A cop car stops at a light as I’m waiting on the corner. One of the officers is checking me out. Sandy said she told the cops she was being hassled by a guy with a scar on his face. I should get off the street now. There are two choices on the block, a bar and grill or the inevitable Starbucks. I take the bar.
It’s an old dive. Above the door is the neon sign that lights up one letter at a time: S-M-I-T-H’-S. The long bar is lined with old-timers watching the last couple innings of a Mets game. I take a seat at one of the teetery tables. A waitress as old as my mom comes by. I order a deluxe burger medium and a seltzer. She walks away. I take out my phone and smooth the piece of paper with the number on it. I look at the number, breathe in and out a few times, and dial.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings some more.
Then it picks up. And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s an answering machine, or that it’s one of those robot voices. I’ll have to talk into the machine. If they screen all their calls I’ll never get them to pick up unless I say something first. But what if it’s not them? Worse, what if they’re not home? What if they come home and just hear my voice out of the blue on their machine and they have no idea if it’s really me or just someone fucking with them? Shit. The machine beeps.
– Uh. Hi. Hello. Is. Is anyone home? Um. This is.
Shit.
– This. Is this the Thompsons’? Because.
Because what, asshole?
– Because, if it is. If it is, I have something. I-
My phone beeps loudly in my ear. I look at it. The lone remaining power-bar is flashing. Fucking. Fucking- fucking-fucking.
– Um. I’m. My phone is gonna die here and. I’m looking for the Thompsons’. So. If.
– Hello. Hello?
Oh.
– Hello. Is? Are you there?
Oh no.
– Hello. We’re. Is that? We’re here. Is that?
Oh. It’s.
– Please. If this is a joke. Please hang up. Is that? You sound.
Oh, Mom.
– You sound like.
Oh, Mom. You sound.
– Is that you?
You sound so old.
– Mom.
– Henry?
My phone beeps again, and dies.
THE FIRST CABBIE asks me where I want to go before I get in. When I tell him Brighton Beach, he screeches away. There is no second cab because it’s around 10:30 on a Saturday night in Midtown and the shows are all getting out and traffic is stacked up and all the tourists and the couples from New Jersey are fighting over every cab in sight. I walk back into Smith’s. The waitress is standing by my table with my food in her hand. She gives me a nasty what-the-hell-do-you-think-you’re-doing look, and I point at the food and point at my table and point at myself and point at the pay phone in the back.
I get change and a phone book from one of the bartenders and start making calls. The first three car services tell me it will be at least forty-five minutes before they can get me anything. I offer to pay double, triple, whatever, and they tell me it’s the busiest couple hours of the week and they just don’t have a car.
I have to get to Brighton Beach.
I have to get there now.
I have to get to Brighton Beach so I can tell David I’m sorry. So I can beg him to leave my parents. So I can beg him to kill me and just leave them alone. And protect them from Adam and Martin. Hearing my mom’s voice. I can’t. I have to stop this. It has to end. Now.
I start to dial another car service. I stop. I flip a couple pages. I dial.
– Mario’s personal car service.
– Yeah, do you have any cars free right now?
– There’s about a forty-five minute wait. You want to reserve?
– Uh. Is Mario there?
– Who’s calling?
– I’m an old friend and I’m in town and I’m trying to get in touch.
– You got a number he can call?
– No.
– He’s busy.
– This is really important. Tell him it’s Henry. Tim’s friend Henry. He’ll know who I am. He’ll want to talk to me. Just put me on hold and tell him and if he says he doesn’t want to talk you don’t even have to tell me, just disconnect and I’ll fuck off.
