I walked around the neighborhood, finally checking out the street vendors on Second Avenue. On the display blanket of one vendor I noticed an old Hamilton wristwatch in fair condition.
“How much?”
“Five bucks,” the seller said. He was a poorly dressed black man in his sixties.
“How about three bucks?” I held out the dollars in front of him.
“Look, them extra two bucks means I eat.”
“Hey, I’m no different than you,” I replied. “It means the same thing for me.”
“Well, I don’t see you selling your shit to stay fed.”
“You want the money or no?”
“Four bucks,” he finally replied. It wasn’t poverty that compelled me to haggle. I just liked the sport of it. Actually, I had this week’s pay on me, two hundred and fifteen bucks. I gave him the three and an extra dollar in change and put the old watch with the elastic band around my wrist. I then proceeded up First Avenue. If Ternevsky was back for good he was probably going to ask me to move. The party was over; he was probably screwing Janus right now.
“Hey,” someone yelled as I was crossing Ninth Street. It was Angel, an usher I had worked with at the Saint Mark’s Cinema. We talked a bit, and he asked me whether I had heard a rumor that the Saint Mark’s Cinema was going out of business.
“No way,” I replied.
“I heard it was going to turn it into some kind of yuppie mall.”
“I wish I was a yuppie,” I said.
“Why?”
“They’re young and they have money, the winning combination.”
“Well, you’re still young—halfway there. You’re not looking for any coke, are you?”
“I’m just out for a walk,” I replied.
“I can give you a good deal on some coke. Have a taste.” And he unfolded a small packet of aluminum foil, dabbed a little on the end of his long-grown pinky nail, and held it up to my nose. I snorted and felt the tingle rise and spread.
“Wait one second,” I said and went to the pay phone where I called Janus. I told her that 1 would be home soon with a parting gift.
“How much is it?” 1 asked the ex-usher.
“I’m freezing out here,” he replied and gave me a great deal; two grams for two hundred bucks. I went home quickly and showed it to a grim Janus.
“Tonight,” I said, “let’s go out in style.”
We went out to a nearby restaurant for dinner and then came home and watched some TV. Initially we were able to forget the impending return, but when we remembered it was additionally painful. We tried to be intimate but it wasn’t working; we couldn’t ignore the sword dangling over our heads. Finally she declared, “This is bullshit.”
“Let’s pack up and just leave,” I suggested. But then there was a new silence.
She eventually broke it with her explanation, “I can’t work forty hours a week just to live in a ten-floor walk up on Avenue C. I’ve lived with rats and roaches and I don’t want to, ever again.”
“I’ve lived like that too, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Right now I’m involved in something and if all goes well, I’ll co-own a movie theater in Jersey. It’ll only bring in a modest salary at first, but there are still some nice places in Hoboken and Jersey City, and you can move in with me.”
“Well, if that happens, great. But let’s only count on what we got: Where’s the coke?” I took out the envelope and she took down a small glass frame from the wall. It was the New York Film Series Award citing Ternevsky for Best Cinematic Effort of 1973. She placed the coke on it. Taking a letter opener from his desk, she plowed through the pile, creating fine lines of white powder. I watched with a silent smile as she quickly got a small piece of aquarium tubing from Ternevsky’s top desk drawer and handed me one. She was an expert, there was no fumbling or improvising.
She smiled, kissed me and started up her nose siphoning.
Quickly a small fireworks ignited in the sinuses soared into the brain. Her eyes became glassy and we both started giggling. The celebration had begun. Half past a gram, the phone rang. Whoever it was, I wasn’t worried. It was night and Ternevsky, the daytime vampire, couldn’t catch us until tomorrow’s afternoon light.
Answering the phone, I found someone in desperate need of Henry, a wrong number. An anonymous male voice had misdialed. From my drugged perspective, this was absolutely hilarious. But a moment after the phone was back on the receiver, it rang again.
“I need to talk to Henry,” the voice pleaded, and once again I couldn’t stop laughing until I hung up. Again the phone rang. This time I instructed Janus, “When the Igor asks for Henry, hand me the phone.” She did so, and when the older male voice asked me if I was Henry, I made an affirmative mumble.
“Henry,” he started sobbing, “Dad is dead.” Janus was restraining laughs. This guy was sobbing and, coke notwithstanding, I was suddenly pushed face to face with an old familiar mood.
I hung up, unplugged the phone and chucked it across the room. Grabbing the aquarium tubing, I started snorting away from the caller and all the pathetic associations, snort exalting up into that cocaine cosmos.
Janus began undoing my clothes and I started stripping her. She brought me over to the big round bed. And everything was done, nothing was shameful, nor vulgar, nor squeamish, nor could be, everything was mustful. Energy launched and abounded; muscles bulged, bunched and loosened again. Nothing retained. Everything was a blastoff-moonwalk-splashdown, shameless sin before the expulsion. Each single sensation was on its own, soaking up itself, every second was lifefull and there was no nothingness, until my liquid concentrate diluted and then sinking forever deep, deep, deep….
THIRTEEN
Awaking to the sensation of a clench, I blinked through the gushing sunlight of those bay windows. 1 could make out Ternevsky standing over me with Marty entering behind him, hauling in luggage. I jumped to my weak feet.
“Doesn’t anyone answer the phone?” asked the still-ignorant Marty, who was just stepping out of the elevator. Realizing my nudity, he dropped his bag and asked, “What the fuck is going on?”
“Your little faggot’s dick!” Ternevsky screamed. “It was in my little girl—that’s what!”
Ternevsky grabbed a vase of roses and poured it on the bed, splashing over Janus and myself. I shoved into my pants and shirt and she bolted up.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she asked, immediately grabbing the situation.
“I’ve always suspected this, you little bitch. Now I want you and your things out of my house.” Ternevsky, poor actor that he was, lost his exotic accent in his fit of anger.
“Sergei, I can explain.”
“Don’t explain,” I yelled, as I zipped up my pants. “Come with me.”
She looked at me angrily, making no attempts to conceal her nudity. She jumped to her feet before him and dropped to her knees, looking up at her master. She started crying into the loose legs of his trousers. After a moment of this, she pointed to me and started with the accusations, “It was that monster! He did it to me!”
Ternevsky looked at me with wild and widened eyes and since he was nearer to the kitchen than any other part of the house, he seized an electric can opener shaped like the Starship Enterprise and swung it dramatically in the air.