“Maybe I can teach.” He lingered over a posting for a phys ed teacher at HS 35 in the Morrisania district, convincing himself.
“That’s in the DV.”
“No, it’s not. Jumping jacks, wind sprints. I’ve seen enough out-of-shape men and women to know…”
“It’s 158th Street.” Zelda was fixed on the geography. Sometimes he needed a very sturdy crane to move her along.
“Which is going east, putting it beyond that Village.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Zelda searched among the baseball books stacked neatly on his desk. “Don’t you have a guide?”
“Somewhere,” he said gloomily.
“You have to keep street guides, Puppy. It’s the law. ‘Know where you are in your heart and your body.’ Twelfth Insight.”
He stared. “Are you going to quote Madame’s thoughts for a long time?”
“No and don’t call her Madame. That’s disrespectful.”
He rolled his eyes. “I think I know the Bronx pretty good. Especially where the DVs begin and end. And the River Avenue DV ends just west of Third Avenue at 160rd.”
“I think you’re wrong.”
“You usually do.”
“But it doesn’t matter anyway since it would drive you insane to actually teach sports.”
“As opposed to writing jingles for Hank’s Hams? Bake ‘em, broil ‘em, flip ‘em on the grill. Anyway you do it, you’ll get a thrill.”
Zelda’s dark eyes widened. “That’s really good.”
“Thank you. It’s one of their adverts.” Puppy sighed. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”
She plopped back onto the long pillows on the floor. “Me neither.”
He paused on another posting. “Here we go. ‘Everyone Needs Shoes.’ Smart. Who goes barefoot anymore? Or ever? ‘Walton Avenue’s largest shoe store, These Boots Are Made for Walking, needs an eager, aggressive individual to make sure every sidewalk in the Bronx looks at our soles.’”
Zelda sneered. “It’d remind you of Annette and her store and your marriage.”
Puppy wandered into the kitchen, returning with a couple of beers. Zelda stared dimly at the screen, mechanically opening the bottle.
“I have to do this, too,” she said softly.
He took her hand. “Oh shit, what happened?”
“Nothing.” Zelda shrugged. “Only teaching brats isn’t for me.”
“That’s very surprising given your love of children.”
She snarled mockingly. “I can’t just sit in a classroom and make them draw pretty little flowers with cute little birds.”
“Didn’t you have birds in that showcase you did on Jerome Avenue?” Puppy grinned.
“Real birds. Flying around.”
“Wih you squawking and chasing them.”
“Flight. Adventure.”
“Especially when the birds got into the audience.”
“That’s art, Puppy.” She shook her head in dismay. “I should’ve stuck with it.”
“They wouldn’t have let you. The practicality would’ve worn you down. Chasing birds isn’t exactly the route to success in Grandma’s House.”
“What is?”
“We ain’t found it,” he stated the obvious.
“Maybe you can get something in the Sport Commission.”
“Can you see me setting up the football Augmented Realties? Hut, hut, here I am in the huddle with all these really big guys. Or the NBA. How is the weather up there, Mr. Giant?”
“Fifteen years counts for something, honey.” She touched his forehead.
“Commissioner Kenuda hates baseball. Trust me.” Puppy aimlessly scrolled along. “Something weird happened this morning.”
“I knew it.”
“What?”
“Your mood. It’s more than just facing a dismal job prospect you will hate and seeing your lifelong dreams die.”
Puppy had to chuckle, even if he didn’t feel it. He told Zelda about the old guy. She listened intently, interrupting for detail after detail, exhausting him.
“I checked the door three times to make sure it was locked after we left.” She assured him. “I even had Pablo rattle the knob. Twice. So how’d he get in?”
“Maybe I sleepwalk and open my own doors.”
She didn’t like that answer. “Be serious.”
“I am. I said it was weird.”
Zelda hesitated. “How’d you act with him?”
“The way anyone would act when someone breaks into their house.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh. I told you, I brought him to the community center.” Zelda kept staring. “You obviously have some deep and startling insight to bring to this discussion.”
“Could’ve let him stay an extra day or two. You know what The Facility is like.”
“I do.” His throat closed, making him angry. At her, no, himself. “And that’s why, Miss Psychiatrist, I sent him off. Because they’re set up to take care of crazy old drunks.”
“If that’s what you want to think.”
“That like any other normal human being I wouldn’t want some smelly stranger in my house who could steal my things doesn’t cross your mind.”
“Steal what?” Zelda gestured around the living room, the sagging brown couch, battered chairs and wobbly coffee table courtesy of a discount store on Fordham Road after he and Annette split. He asked for the worst looking furniture they had. The salesman took pity and only charged for the delivery. If he knew Annette, the salesman probably would’ve thrown in a dining room set.
Puppy pursed his lips and returned to the postings. Zelda poked him.
“Ow.”
“Answer me.”
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“Why didn’t you let him stay?”
“Because I have to look for a job, otherwise the Employment Center will just assign me one which I won’t like, because I can find something so perfect on my own. Here.” He nodded at the screen. “Copywriter. All backgrounds welcome. Basil Hayden Funeral Homes. ‘Let Us Do the Dying.’ Now let’s find yours. Tweet, tweet.”
• • • •
A SHAGGY-HEADED MAN with a scrungy beard leaned into a small puddle of beer on the counter.
“It’s wet.” Zelda pointed at his dripping sleeve.
“You’re worth it.”
Zelda rolled her eyes. The burly, tight-lipped bartender Jimmy paused in case she needed help. Zelda double-blinked a ‘no’ and Jimmy went back to drying glasses, keeping an eye on her anyway.
“Well, you don’t know me.” Zelda took a long swallow on her beer. She was still annoyed with Puppy and, like the mature adults they were, had bickered for half an hour about his poorly suppressed childhood traumas and her unfulfilled artistic aspirations, sending her stomping out of the apartment and down the block into Monroe’s.
Shadows danced slowly to Willie Nelson. The silenced vidnews ran in a loop behind the bar; new farms were opening in
