Miss Misery (36 page)

“I DON'T GET IT,” she said. “So he's you now?”

“No, Cath,” I said. “He's always been me. And I've always been him. That's the problem.”

There were plenty of seats on the Manhattan-bound F train, but we were standing. I had too much anxious energy in me to sit: Tiny insects of nervousness were crawling up and down my legs, leaving an itching, tingling sensation that I desperately wanted to scratch. I needed to move, to sprint. But instead we were stuck between stations, held by the dispatcher. I clenched the overhead bar until my knuckles turned white. I had so little time. I had wasted so much.

“But he's
acting
like you now.”

“Yeah.”

Cath rubbed her forehead. “This metaphysical stuff is giving me a headache.”

“Look,” I said. “It's crazy, but it's not complicated. He showed up because I couldn't keep him down anymore. That's why he did all the things I wanted to do.”

“Like me.”

I nodded. “Not to be crude, but yeah. When you told him about us hooking up, though, he…well, he swapped roles with me.”

“So he's the boring one now.”

“Thanks.”

“Sorry—keep going.”

“If I wanted you, then he had to want what I had given up. He had to want Amy. It was all a matter of choice.”

Cath still looked confused. “Doesn't he know what you really want?”

“Why should he? Until today I didn't know what I really wanted either.”

Cath sighed. “So it's all some weird Freudian yin/yang thing.”

“Yep.” I smiled wanly. “Or Jekyll and Hyde.”

“Laurel and Hardy?”

“Starsky and Hutch.”

She smiled. “Mary-Kate and Ashley.”

“Oh, God,” I said. “That's enough of that.”

Finally the train lurched back into service. I copped a piece of sugarless gum from Cath and chewed it ferociously, chewed until my jawbone ached. We were still five stops away.

“You know that stuff you wrote before we left?” Cath had read over my shoulder while I was typing but had kept quiet. When I had finished, I had hit
POST
and then we had sprinted out of there without even bothering to pick up the shards of broken glass on the floor or close any of the windows.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“That was pretty fucking emo. You know that, right?”

I closed my eyes and laughed. “Yeah, I know. That's the lingua franca of the Internet, right?”

“The what, now?”

“Never mind. I've just been hanging out with some very emo people lately and it must have rubbed off.”

Cath looked thoughtful. She had one arm hanging on the bar above her and I could see white streaks of deodorant underneath her pale arms. “Nah. Anything honest on the Internet comes off as over-the-top. I learned that the hard way.”

“I guess we all did.”

“Yeah.” Cath spit her gum out into its wrapper. “I can't stand it when the flavor wears off.”

“You lack patience, my child.”

“Hey, you're the one who's freaking out! I'm totally zen over here. Where are we going, anyway?”

“I thought we'd head to the Lower East Side. That's his stomping ground, right? If he's leaving town, I figured he might stop by the Madrox to pick up a paycheck or something.” We had tried calling the doppelgänger before boarding the subway, but his phone had been disconnected. Not a good sign.

Cath tried her best to be encouraging. “That's a good plan. Plus, there's that bartender there he was sleeping with. Don't look so surprised!”

“What, the one with the Farrah Fawcett hairdo and the bad heavy-metal T-shirts? Miss Ironic Hipster of the year?”

“Jodie. Yeah. Her.”

“God. I certainly got around, didn't I?”

“You can be surprisingly charming when you feel like it.”

“Thanks, kid. You're not so bad yourself.”

Cath shot me a wink, then linked her arm through mine. The train passed under the East River.

 

Manhattan was vibrant and glowing in the afternoon summer sun. We stepped out of the train on the south side of Houston Street and immediately had to dodge a gang of cheerful Rollerbladers and a swooping battalion of furious pigeons. On the corner of Orchard Street a gangly dreadlocked man had set up a rickety boom box and was popping and locking on a piece of flattened cardboard that had once held bottles of Clorox bleach. It took every ounce of resolve I had to keep pushing forward and not just grab Cath's hand, steer her to a park bench, and proceed to waste away the day. But I thought of Amy and all that I had done, and I kept walking.

The outside of the Madrox looked filthy and silly in the daytime, its all-black paint job standing out like a winter coat at the beach. The door was closed and locked—it wouldn't open for another four hours at least—but inside the lights were on. I knocked on the door and peered through the submarinelike peephole in the middle of it. When no one answered, I pounded harder and reopened the scabs on my knuckles in the process. I was licking a trickle of blood from the back of my hand when the door opened and the bartender I had seen the other night was on the other side of it. Jodie.

“You again! I thought you left.” She had her hand cocked suggestively on her hip and was wearing a
STRYPER
'88 tour T-shirt that barely made it to the top of her pierced belly button.

I smiled. “I came back.”

Cath, who had been kicking her heels on the sidewalk, rushed over and took her place by my side, causing the bartender's face to darken. “What's
she
doing here?”

“Hadn't you heard? We're together.” Cath smiled sweetly and batted her eyes.

The bartender snarled, “That's not what he said ten minutes ago.”

I wanted to say, “Girls, girls you're both pretty!” But instead I pulled my arm back from Cath and said, “Can we come in for a second?”

Jodie sighed. “Fine. But make it fast.” She held the door open wider and we slipped in.

Empty and air-conditioned, with its bright work lights on, the Madrox seemed oddly tiny and hollow. I could hear the sound of a vacuum cleaner in the next room, and behind the bar a serious-looking older man was busily removing plastic wrap from the mouths of liquor bottles. “Look, Jodie,” I said, leaning slightly against the banquette nearest to the door, “this is going to sound weird, but just go with me on it, OK?”

“Sure,” she said, lighting a cigarette with a bright pink Bic. “Lay it on me.”

“By the way, I
looove
your T-shirt,” said Cath. “It's like,
so
ironic, right?”

Jodie shot Cath a withering look. “Fuck off, bitch. Shouldn't you be in, like, nursery school right now?”

“Hey!” I shouted. “Quit it. I just have one question and we'll be out of here.”

Cath muttered, “I'll school
you.
”

I turned to her. “You. Wait outside. Now.”

She stuck her tongue out at me and left.

Jodie blew smoke rings. “Way to ditch the pip-squeak.”

I ignored her. “Jodie, was I here earlier today?”

She crinkled up her nose. “Did you get hit by a truck? Of course you were here.”

“OK.” I took a deep breath. “Look, you probably won't believe me, but that wasn't me. It was…someone else who is trying to take over my life. I need to find him.”

“Mmm-hm.” Jodie took a long pull on her cigarette. “Drug abuse can make you paranoid, you know.”

My frustration was quickly morphing into exasperation. “OK, fine—I honestly don't care if you believe me. Just tell me what happened when I was here.”

“You are a fucking fruitcake, Gould. Marcos warned me about getting involved with the entertainment.”

The guy behind the bar nodded his head. “What I tell you, Jodie?”

She didn't turn around. “Shut up, Marcos.”

He nodded again. “OK! I shut up now!”

“Jodie,” I said. “Please.”

She exhaled loudly and dropped her cigarette to the floor, stubbing out the ashes with the heel of her boot. “Yes, you were here. Yes, I gave you the money that we owed you for DJing. Yes, I tried to get you to fuck me in the bathroom, and yes, you rejected me like the fucking asshole crazy person you apparently are!”

I took a step back. She continued. “Does this get you off? Hearing me tell you about things that just happened? Jesus.”

“Jodie, where was I going?”

“To hell for all I care.”

“Jodie. Tell me and I'll leave.”

She clicked her tongue against her teeth noisily and glared. “You said you were going to that lame speakeasy bar the Satellite Heart. And that you'd be leaving town for a while and would miss your next gig.” She took another step toward me. “And
I
said that if that was the case, you could feel free to miss all your gigs, as I had had just enough of skinny, self-obsessed rock-critic lameos to last a lifetime!”

Her face was inches from mine, and I could see the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes; she was clearly much older than I had first thought. Her breath smelled like Marlboros and Jim Beam and I inched my way back to the door. “OK,” I said, grasping for the knob, “that's all I needed. I'm sorry for what he—” She took a menacing step toward me. “For what I did to you.” I had the door open now. “You've been very, ah…helpful.” Sunlight streamed into the bar and I stepped lightly across the doorway.

“Get. Out.” She growled.

“Right,” I said. “Good-bye, Jodie.” She slammed the door in my face and I heard her lock it in triplicate.

I turned to Cath, who was leaning against a parking meter. “Nice girl,” I said.

She raised an eyebrow. “You sure know how to pick 'em.”

“Give me a break, will you? Come on. He's at the Satellite Heart.”

“Oh, good,” said Cath. “All of this excitement has made me awfully thirsty.”

“Let's go,” I said, pushing Cath lightly on the back. “Let your liver lead the way.”

Walking into the Satellite Heart was like a surprise party in reverse: Everyone in the bar looked shocked to see
me.
The couches in the back were full of early happy-hour types finishing their first pints of whatever and talking too loudly about their plans for the evening. Ryan, the red-haired DJ who had fallen through the floor, was again behind the turntables, manfully trying to mix a Jadakiss song with one arm in a heavy plaster cast. Debra Silverstein and Ben There were huddled around the bar and I knew from their confused faces that we had caught up with the doppelgänger.

Debra spoke first. “Is there, like, a back door?”

“Hey,” I said. “What?”

Ben There fought to regain his trademark disinterest. “There must be, Debra. He also must keep a change of clothes in the alley.”

Cath came up behind me. “What are you talking about?”

Ben There arched his eyebrows. “Your boyfriend here just went into the bathroom.”

“I did?”

“But how could he be here
and
there?” Debra looked as if her head was going to explode.

“We found him,” I said, feeling a flutter of anticipation in my chest.

“Uh-oh,” said Cath. “I guess I'm not going to get that drink.”

“What's going on here?” Ben There smiled slyly. “Is this another one of your little games?”

“It's no game, dorkface.” Cath crossed her arms. “There's two of him.”

Ben There looked delighted. “Really! How kinky.”

“Like, a good one and a bad one?” Debra seemed thrilled. “Like that cartoon in
Mad
magazine? With the birds in hats that always try and kill each other?”