There was nothing at all masculine about Smitty’s one-room flat. If he had told me that it was an old lady’s apartment, I would have believed it. It was very spare, neat, and orderly, but dusty and stuffy as well. The windows, which were filthy, looked like they hadn’t been opened in decades. The rugs and furniture were old and worn and there was nothing personal anywhere. No books, no photos, no diploma. No posters, paintings, or religious objects. It was slightly more homey than a hotel room, mostly thanks to a colorful knit-wool blanket folded in half on top of the bed.
“Make yourselves at home.”
Smitty went into the alcove that was his kitchen. There was a big, green, stuffed armchair next to a dark wooden coffee table but there were no other chairs in the room. Veronica sat on the edge of the bed right on top of the wool blanket. I sat next to her and it felt like there was a stiff board underneath the bedcovers. I shifted around and glanced at Veronica but she didn’t seem bothered by whatever the hardness was.
“Gin and OJ okay, Matt?”
“Yes, thanks.”
“What about the little lady?”
I looked at Veronica and she shook her head. I told Smitty no. A shift had occurred. Veronica not speaking for herself was a new development. I was speaking on her behalf and had never held that position before. It made me feel manly and important and mature. My love for her multiplied.
Smitty approached with my drink, his drink, and a bottle of pills. He told us they were quaaludes and recommended taking only one if we weren’t too familiar with the effects. Veronica reached for one and swallowed it, washing it down with my drink. I did the same.
Veronica squeezed my hand. “Do you have any weed, Smitty?” They would be the only words she said the whole time we were there.
“Affirmative,” he said with a smirk. Then he went into a kitchen drawer and took out a bag of the dirtiest weed I’d ever seen. He tossed it on Veronica’s lap. “It’s Hawaiian.”
He was full of shit. Veronica pulled a small pack of Bambú papers out of the bag and started to roll a joint.
“Thought we could check out a few movies if you guys are into it.” Neither Veronica nor I responded. “It’ll take me awhile to set up the projector. I wanted to do it this morning but I was afraid my car would get towed.”
Still no response from us but Smitty wasn’t waiting for any cues. He started to set up a movie projector on a small table that he moved to the foot of the bed. It looked like a relic from the birth of cinema. Its electrical cord was covered in an antiquated, probably heatproof fabric that was fraying along its whole length. It felt like there was a good chance he would set the apartment ablaze once that cord was plugged into the wall.
Smitty seemed distracted by something. He abandoned the projector and left it sitting on the bed in several pieces. He went to a small cabinet between the kitchen and sleeping areas and searched through a stack of records. I couldn’t make out most of them from where I sat but I did see the Doctor Zhivago soundtrack and Revolver by the Beatles. He chose something recent by Electric Light Orchestra. I didn’t care for them very much and would have preferred the Beatles. But Smitty wasn’t asking for anyone’s musical opinions. He shuffled over to a shitty record player that was in a small plastic blue-and-white-striped suitcase. It looked like something a little kid would own.
I turned my head to face Veronica and took her in, trying to see her apart from the context of the setting. She looked dynamite that day. Put together perfectly, like a French film star. A gray skirt that was sexy but not too short, with simple gray stockings underneath. A black sweater over a white button-down shirt. She had already taken off the purple scarf, her black beret, and the big black sunglasses she wore “because it feels like too much exposure to have people staring into my eyes all day.” I wouldn’t blame anyone from staring into her eyes. They were intelligent eyes full of mystery and intensity. But real and honest, nothing fake. No deception.
Seeing her so composed and beautiful made me proud. And it made me want to get the fuck out of this place and take her somewhere special. The Conservatory Garden in Central Park, or the benches we liked that overlooked the East River. I wanted to stand up and tell her, Let’s go, I want to take you somewhere nice. But I just sat there.
Veronica lit the joint. ELO started spinning on the turntable; the record scratched and skipped and then settled into a song I didn’t like. Smitty went back to work on the projector. His hands were shaky and sweaty and it took him a long time to assemble the ancient machine. He had to keep wiping his hands on his pants and then he’d pause and take a few deep, wheezy breaths. There was a little bubble of white foam in one corner of his mouth. If he didn’t disgust me so much, I might have felt sorry for him.
twenty-five
I didn’t have the heart to disappoint Lou. I went to the diner and got the keys. I was hoping Ciro would be suspicious and catch on to what was happening but he didn’t question me at all. I had the keys in my hand and walked to the parking lot. I kept telling myself that if I just went slow it would all be okay. I mean, even little old ladies drove cars,
