I couldn't sleep that night. I missed her. I hadn't expected her to walk away. For a long time I'd lived alone, reclusive, turned inward, in a kind of somnambulant state. Then she came into my life and I woke up again. Now, alone in my bed, I felt frightened of slipping back.
I got up at 3:00 A.M., dressed, packed my tripod and Deardorff, and went out to prowl the streets. The air was dense, still and humid. Within minutes my clothes were soaked.
I never got around to setting up my equipment, just roamed and felt the city's emptiness. Around 4:00, I wandered over to Desbrosses to find that stretch of wall where she and I had met. The phone booth on the corner was empty as a coffin, Lil's was closed, and there was no one around. The figure in the shadow painting looked as if he'd just been executed. I stared at him, felt wretched about myself. Then, without taking a single photograph, I shuffled my way back home.
I phoned her early in the morning.
"Who's this?" Her voice was groggy. Unlike me, she had slept very well.
"Look, Kim-I'm sorry. You were right. I promise I'm going to lighten up."
"Oh, Geoffrey-it's you. What time is it anyway?"
"Of course it's me. Who else did you expect?"
"I thought we were taking a break."
"Come on, Kim-forgive." There was a pause. I held my breath.
"Sure. I'm crazy about you. Didn't you know?"
She was busy. Saturday was her day for errands, and she and Shadow had a modeling appointment in the evening. She thought she'd be too exhausted to come by afterwards, so she proposed we meet the following day for a reconciliation brunch.
When I put down the phone I was happy once again, though I wondered how I'd make it through another night alone.
As it turned out I didn't have to. She woke me up at 2:00 A.M.
"It's me. On the corner. Can I come up?" There was an edge to her voice. She sounded out of breath.
"What's the matter?" 'Damnit, Geoffrey! Can I come?"
"Of course. I'm sorry…"
A minute later she rang and I buzzed her in. As soon as I saw her I knew something was wrong. Her eyes were wild, her expression frantic.
She rushed into my arms.
"Geoffrey…"
"Hey I stroked her hair.
"Hey, calm yourself. Calm. "
"I'm scared, Geoffrey. Really, really scared."
"Why?"
"Some men are after me."
"What men?" She stared at me.
"I don't know."
For a moment I thought she was stoned.
"Are you on something?"
"No!" I believed her; she wasn't spacey, just terrified.
"Pull yourself together. You're not making sense."
"There's this powerful man. It's people who work for him, I think. But I don't know for sure. I only know he's had people killed."
"Hey, now… slowly. Who're you talking about?"
"I don't want to talk about it. Do you have Valium?"
"What?"
" Valium.
"Yeah. I think so. Sure."
"Get it for me." I hesitated.
"Please. I'm so scared, Geoffrey. All screwed up inside and scared… ."
When I brought her the Valium, she grabbed the bottle, and before I could stop her she gulped down thirty milligrams. After that I couldn't get her to tell me anything. She hugged me, buried her head in my chest, murmured again about how scared she was, and dropped off to sleep.
I cradled her for a while, worrying about her, trying to make sense out of what she'd said. I think I felt some omen then that what we had was vulnerable and could be shattered. But the thought of that was too upsetting; I needed her too much. After a while I blanked out too, to protect myself, I think, from the pain of such a loss.
In the morning when I awoke she was still sleeping, breathing heavily in my arms. I got out of bed carefully, so as not to wake her, and went into the kitchenette.
I was out of coffee-bread and juice as well. I wrote up a shopping list, dressed and went out to shop. A few years ago they closed Nassau Street to traffic, turning it into a pedestrian mall. On weekdays it's a river of people moving between Wall Street, City Hall, the courthouses and various subway stops along the way. But early on a Sunday morning it's as lonely as an empty canyon in the desert.
When I came out that morning the only other human in sight was a homeless old wino asleep on the corner by the Edgar Allan Poe plaque.
All the shops were closed, and the grill of the Isaac Mendoza Book Store was padlocked shut. Though it was not yet 8:00 A.M., the street thermometer read out 80 degrees.
The nearest delicatessen, at Battery Park City, was a fifteen-minute walk away. I paused, pondering whether to leave Kim alone. I wasn't as concerned about her alleged pursuers as I was about her waking up, thinking herself abandoned and going into another panic.
I decided to chance it, make the trek, figuring she'd taken enough Valium to keep her calm even if she did wake up. I reached the deti, bought the groceries, and, when I returned, found her curled up on my couch, wearing one of my old shirts.
"Hi, loverboy." She certainly didn't look desperate; rather she spoke with her usual sultry confidence.
"Feeling better?"
"What happened last night?"
"You don't remember?" I carried my newly bought provisions to the kitchen. She followed, stood behind me @i,, I started to make our breakfast.
"I remember coming here."
"That's nice. Do you remember you were scared?" She smiled mischievously.
"Scared?"
"Come off it!"
"Of course I remember. I was putting you on."
"Don't give me that." was."
"You wouldn't."
"Shouldn't," she corrected me. I switched on the coffee maker.
"You were panicked."
"Just an act." She clung to my back.
"Honest, Geoffrey -an act, that's all it was."
I turned to her.
"You're saying last night was all pretend?" She nodded. I was outraged.
"How could you do that? How could you be so cruel?"
"Had to. No, really, Geoffrey. Please hear me out."
"I'm listening."
"Mr. Lorenzo, my acting coach-he gave us all an assignment. Call a friend or lover late Saturday night, say you're afraid for your life.
Convince the person you're in real trouble." She stood back from me.
"Honest! That was it."
"I don't believe you!"
"It's true!"
"Disgusting!"
"Maybe. But wasn't I good?"
"Yeah, you were good, all right." I looked straight at her. I wanted to believe her. I think she sensed I did, because she stared straight back to assure me she was telling me the truth.
"I'd like to have a little talk with your Mr. Lorenzo," I said, "about a funny little thing called ethics, and a quaint old saying, 'Don't cry wolf'!"
She flung herself into my arms.
"Oh, Geoffrey, I really can act. You forgive me, don't you? Please, Geoffreyplease forgive." She planted kisses on my chest.
I forgave.
After breakfast she cleaned up the dishes while I went out to buy the Times. When I returned, she was dressed, in her slinky disco outfit of the night before. I found her facing the bathroom mirror, putting the final touches on her makeup.
"Don't you want to stay and read the paper?" She shook her head.
"We still have a date for brunch?"
"Two o'clock. Windows on the World." Sounds great." She came close, whispered in my ear "make you happy afterwards."
"How about now?"
"I'd love to, Geoffrey. You know me. But there're things I've got to do." She came close to me, played her fingers on my chest. "Sorry about last night. I know I was a bitch."
She kissed me, then broke away. At the door she turned. She stood there a moment, as if posing for a photograph. I thought I caught a glimpse of sadness in her face, and sensed, in her hesitation, a desire to tell me something and then a change of mind.