"I can't imagine what Pandora's Box he might've opened, or what new 'evil' he unleashed, based on what we saw. It's all the old robe, and people are paying the same price and getting the same product they expected.
"First we've got to redefine some of these things and then make them new. After that we can think about what Pinsleepe wants from us."
My apartment smelled stale and familiar. The furniture and few doodads were old friends who silently said hello. The mail said I owed people money, that I didn't want to miss some terrific opportunities, that sad-faced children needed my help. A Cullen and Mae James postcard from Rockefeller Center said it was time we all went ice skating together again.
Cullen! That's where I'd begin. I called and luckily she answered. In a few short sentences I told her a little of what had happened in California and said I needed to see her as soon as possible. We made a date to meet later that afternoon at a bar near their apartment.
After we finished speaking, I spent ten infuriating minutes looking for my address book, which for some reason turned up under the kitchen table. I called two people and got two answering machines. I told both beeps something interesting was up and please call me back soon. That was all I could do for the time being (the third person didn't have a phone), so I got ready to go for a quick sandwich and beer.
Walking to the door, I passed the window that looked over onto the nudist girl's apartment. She wasn't there, but for the first time since I'd seen his tape, I thought of what Phil had said about the time he was me when I got out of the cab and bumped into her. The phone rang.
"Weber? Hi, it's James Adrian. I just got your message. You're back! What's cooking?"
"Hi, James. Want to go to California and be in a movie?"
"Are you kidding? Sure! What movie? Are you going to direct?"
"Yes. The latest Midnight."
"You mean like in Bloodstone Midnight?"
"That's the one. We want you and Sean and Houston to be in this –"
"Houston died, Weber. While you were away."
"No! Oh, God. What happened?" I knew what his answer would be – I'd heard it five times already – but I never got used to it.
"He just felt sick and weak and went to the hospital. What else is new? Tell me about this film."
I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "Finky Linky and I are doing it, and we agreed you – would be great. But Houston's dead. I can't believe it." James gave a small snort on the other end. Of course I believed it. "Anyway, you know, Philip Strayhorn was our friend and he'd almost finished this film before he died –"
"I read he committed suicide."
"Yeah, well. Anyway, we were asked by his production company to wrap it up for them and we agreed."
"You and Finky are going to do a Midnight film? Man, that's the most astounding thing I've heard in a month. You bet your ass I want to be in it. What are we going to do?"
"Can you come to my place tonight around nine? I'd like to explain it only once."
"Sure. Sean and I were going to the movies anyway, so I'll tell her when we meet.
"Weber, this is really fantastic. Thank you so much for asking me. It'll be the first time I've ever done any professional acting."
"It may not be the best place for you to start, because we don't know exactly what we're doing yet. But I think it'll be interesting. Look, I'll talk to you later. I've got to call Wyatt and tell him about Houston."
"Weber, I just want to say one more thing. Houston told me one time what you did for him was the only good thing that ever happened in his life. He knew he wasn't a great actor, but he said you were the only one who ever gave him a little pride in himself. I think he had it the worst of all of us – his life, I mean – but you know all of us, the whole group, are indebted to you for what you've done. We don't tell you that enough, and I'm not just saying it now because of what you're doing for me. You've saved our lives in a lot of ways. Even if we don't have that much longer to go with them."
I called Wyatt and told him about Houston Taff. We talked for a while and agreed on someone else. Either because he was in the same relative situation as Houston, or just because he took things more calmly than I do, Wyatt seemed unfazed by the sad news. "He died looking forward to something. Lucky him. He had a main role in the play. You gave him that, Weber. You gave him his last future."
I was early for my date with Cullen, so I stood outside the bar, enjoying the New York cold on my face. Looking the other way, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder and say, "Nice jacket. Where'd you get it?"
It was Cullen, wearing the same jacket as I. I'd given it to her as a surprise in the beginning of our relationship as a spur-of-the-moment I'm-crazy-about-you present. She looked a lot better in it than I did.
"I've been in the house all day with Mae, Weber. Would you mind if we just walk down to the river and get some fresh air? Maybe after, we can come back and drink some rum or something?"
We walked down to the park along the Hudson and kept going because the cold was breezy and insistent.
Cullen likes to talk and often interrupts without thinking. It can be exasperating, so I told her to hear me out completely before asking questions or making any comments. It was a long story and would be hard enough to tell anyway. "It's a little bit like Rondua, Cullen."
She put her arm in mine and pulled tight. "Give me a kiss before you start. A good one." She put her hand behind my head and pulled that to her too. Her kiss was strong and loving.
"That's the first time you've ever kissed me like that."
She shrugged and gestured with her head to keep walking. "I can't help it, you look so sad and tired. Are you going to tell me now or keep making ground rules?"
"Now. Remember the day Phil died and I came over to your place?"
We walked for two hours and I talked straight through. Although she'd promised not to interrupt, she did. We got cold and went into a diner for coffee. Stomachs warm, we went back outside and walked down Broadway. I saw a dog that reminded me of the dog in the ocean. I saw a girl who looked vaguely like Pinsleepe. We passed a used bookstore that had – copies of Bones of the Moon in the window. Next door was a place that sold the same chocolate-chip cookies Dominic Scanlan was eating the day we met Blow Dry. It was a walk where everything reminded me of something else and thus helped make my description to Cullen sharper and more intricate.
Nevertheless, it's impossible to tell someone about extraordinary or scarifying experiences in your life after they're over. It's like describing a smell. I once went to a lecture by a writer who was famous for having written about exotic places. After the lecture, someone asked why he always went to these places before writing about them. Couldn't he just use his imagination? "No, because if you don't go, you won't catch the invisible smell of the place, and that's its most important feature." The same is true about the high or low moments of your life; invisible smells permeate these important times, and if other people are not there to smell them too they can never really know or understand.
It was frustrating and enervating to try and explain, but I wanted to hear what Cullen, more than anyone else, had to say about my last days. She was my best friend now that Phil was dead. Because we would never be lovers, I could listen to the angular, interesting logic of a woman while generally disregarding the sexy sword of Damocles that usually hangs over such conversations.
When I was finished we were once again having coffee at a Chock Full O' Nuts somewhere in the fifties. Cullen was eating a donut and had powdered sugar all over her upper lip. When she started to speak, a white fall of it dusted her jacket. I reached over and rubbed it into the leather.