Requiem for a Dream (18 page)

It wasnt yet three oclock and Sara was taking her orange evening
pill and following it with a cup of coffee. She had watched the
mailman walk up the street and he just nodded his head and went into
the building. Sara followed, watched him put the mail in the boxes,
stared at the emptiness of hers for many seconds before he left, then
went into her apartment. She automatically made a pot of coffee then
took her dinner time pill and sat at the kitchen table watching the
new television her son Harry gave her. From time to time she looked
at the clock. A little before three she was thinking it was almost
dinner time. She took the orange pill and drank some more coffee. She
made another pot. She sat. She thought. About the television. The
show. About how she felt. Something was wrong. Her jaw hurt. Her
mouth felt funny. She couldnt figure. It tasted like old socks. Dry.
Sickening. Her stomach. O, her stomach. Such a mess. Like theres
something moving. Like theres a voice in there saying look out, LOOK
OUT!!!! Theyll get you. She looked over her shoulder again. Nobody.
Nothing. LOOK OUT! Who's getting? Whats to get? The voice kept
rumbling in her stomach. Before when it started she took more coffee
or another pill and it went away, now its just there. All the time.
And that nasty coating in her mouth, like old paste, it used to go
away, or something. It didnt bother her. Now, ech. And all the time
the trembles in the arms and legs. Everywhere. Little things under
the skin. If she knew what show it would go away. Thats all she
needed. To know. She finished her coffee and waited, trying to think
those good feelings back into her body, her head . . . but nothing.
Paste and old socks in the mouth. Squirming under the skin. The voice
in the stomach. LOOK OUT! She stared at the television, enjoying the
show, and all of a sudden, LOOK OUT! Another cup of coffee and she
felt worse. Her teeth felt like theyre going to snap. She called the
McDick Corp., asking for Lyle Russel. Who? Lyle Russel. Im sorry, but
I dont have his name listed on my directory. What was it in reference
to? The television. What television? I dont know. I want to find out.
Just a moment please. The operator took another call and Sara
listened carefully to the silence. What show did you say that was? I
dont know dolly.

He called me and said I was going on a show and— Just a minute.
I'll connect you with the programs department. Sara waited as the
phone somewhere rang and rang, until a voice asked her if she could
help her. I want Lyle Russel. Lyle Russel? I dont think we have
anyone here by that name. Are you sure you have the right number? The
operator connected me. Well, what was this in reference to? Hes
putting me on a show. A show? What show?—LOOK OUT!—Sara could
feel sweat sliding down somewhere. I dont know. Hes supposed to tell
me. Im afraid I dont understand, the impatience in her voice was
obvious, If you cant tell me— He called me and said Im going to be
a contestant and he sent me papers. I sent them back a month already
and I still dont know— O, I understand. Just a moment, I'll
transfer you to the proper department. She clicked the phone, and
clicked and clicked, O, come on, and clicked some more as Sara clung
to the phone and wiped the sweat from her face, Can I help you?
Transfer this call to contestant clearing please. One moment please.
Again Sara listened to a phone ringing, her eyes rolling around in
her head the sweating and squirming getting worse, her mouth almost
stuck together with that old paste, Can I help you? Sara couldnt
talk. Hello? The sweat burned her eyes and eventually she pried her
lips apart and a shock of terror trembled through her body as she
anticipated the response when she asked for Lyle Russel. Who? Sara
started to sink into her chair. She thought she would come out
through the bottom. She thought she was dying and—LOOK OUT!—she
twisted around and looked from one end of the room to the other as
she repeated the name. Are you sure you have the right department?
Theyre sending me here. The agony was unbearable. If only she had
another cup of coffee. With intense will she unglued her mouth and
told her story again to the voice on the other end, somewhere, of the
phone. O, yes. Finally! Finally! Recognition. Sara almost melted away
with relief. He must have been one of our phone solicitors. We have
so many you know. Can I help you? I want to know what show and maybe
when Im— Can I have your name and address please? Sara slowly and
carefully spelled her name and address, the shiksa on the other end
not understanding English too well. Finally her name and address were
written. I'll check this Mrs. Goldfarb and we'll be in touch with
you. Thank you for calling. Click. Sara was still talking into the
phone many seconds after the click had drifted away and mingled with
the voices from her television set. She looked at the phone, the
sweat almost feeling like tears. Theyll get in touch, she shook her
head, theyll get—LOOK OUT!!!! Tyrone laughed, Ahm glad ah dont have
no one laying any a that kind of heavy motha shit on my jim. You
honkys is too much with that guilt shit. Krist, you aint kiddin man.
I dont know what it is, but I try to do the right thing with the old
lady, but . . . and Harry shrugged . . . but she always comes on with
that Jewish mother shit. Sheeit, it aint just you jews jim, its all
you honkys. You guys dont get that shit, eh? Sheeit. Moms liable to
get upside your haid, but she aint about to beat her breast, uh uh.
She beat your ass instead. You know, I sometimes think we'd be better
off without mothers. Maybe Freud was right. Ah dont know man. Mah
moms died when ah was about eight, but ah remember she was one groovy
woman. She have seven kids jim an she was like one of those movie
mammys, all big like an all the time singin and smilin. She have a
big chest like this and she used to cuddle me jim an ah remember how
good it felt in there an how sweet she smell. Seven kids man an she
never hit nobody. She just love us all up and down ... an everybody
love her. An she be a singing fool. Ah mean all day an night she be
singing those gospel songs so it make you believe heaven jus aroun
the corner. You know, she sing an it make you feel good all ovuh, jus
like dope. Harry laughed then chuckled, A regular Mahalia Jackson,
eh? O she be somethin else jim. Yeah, I guess it was pretty cool in
my house when I was a kid. I mean the moms was still alive and it
seemed like everything was groovy. You know, like going places an
doin things and sort of having fun in the house. Then the moms died
an ... Tyrone shrugged . . . Whatever happened to your old man?
Sheeit, he done split a long time before the moms die. He probly
still out there doin his own thang. When moms die we all sent to
different peoples. Ah went to mah auntie in Harlem an we live there
for a while. She your mothers sister? Yeah, but she be a lot
different jim. But nice. She dont do no singin an she like to lay a
stick on your ass, but she always see we get a sugar tit when we got
home from school. Sugar tit? What the fucks that? What that? You mean
you doan know what a sugar tit? I know what some sweet pussy is man,
but a sugar tit beats the shit outta me. They were laughing and
Tyrone shook his head, A sugar tit is some butter and sugar stuck in
some cheese cloth and you suck on it like a tit. O, is that what they
call that? Damn, you sure is one ignorant son of a bitch. . . . She a
nice lady ol auntie . . . but ol moms was somethin else, she really
somethin else. Harrys eyes were closed and he was leanin back
remembering how his mother always protected him from the cold wind in
the winter when he was a kid, and how warm she felt when he got in
the house and she hugged the cold out of his ears and cheeks and
always had a bowl of hot soup waiting. . . . Yeah, I guess the old
lady was pretty groovy too. I guess its a bitch being alone like
that. Harry Goldfarb and Tyrone C. Love sat loosely in their chairs,
their eyes half closed, feeling the warmth of fond memories and
heroin flowing through them as they got ready for another nights
work.

One thing Tyrone loved was fine silk shirts. Damn! he sure did
love the way they feel so smooth an fine, just like his old ladys
ass, and she be an out of sight fox jim, ah mean somethin kinda fine.
He had a couple dozen or so shirts hanging in his closet, various
styles and various colors, all kinds of colors. He liked to stroke
his shirts just like he liked to stroke Alice, an sometimes he just
stood in front of the closet and dug all them fine shirts jim. Damn!
he even liked that closet. It had two big sliding doors and the whole
front was a mirror, one big ass mirror jim. Sometimes he would just
slide the doors back and forth getting his rocks off. What you doin
honey? Why dontcha come back to baid? Sheeit, plenty time for that
baby, I got me a big ass toy that ahm groovin behin. Ah remember
seein a movie once when I was a kid an this dude have him a big ass
closet like this with sliding doors and the whole thang was filled
with suits an behind them was a secret passage. It was a gasser. What
he need a secret passage for? Ah doan remember, ah just remember the
closet. Tyrone closed the doors and looked in the mirror, seeing his
fox behind him, and he smiled at her. When Tyrone first came to look
at the apartment he fell in love with the closets in the bedroom and
they made up his mind for him. It was one of the first things the
super showed him. Them doors is ten feet wide and all mirror. The
closets about twelve feet I think. Both ofem. One on each side a the
room. Ya put a bed in between and you got yaself a good show, and he
laughed and winked and poked Tyrone in the arm, harharhar. Tyrone was
naked and stood by the side of the bed rubbing his stomach, Yes sir,
mah names Tyrone C. Love and thas what ah am, and Alice started to
giggle when he jumped, kapoing, in the bed. Doan do that Tyrone, you
scare me to deth. O little momma, ah wouldnt wan to scare you,
rubbing her neck and shoulder, gently, so soothingly, ah doan wan to
scare nobody, especially the finest fox that ever did live, and Alice
started to squirm slightly as he kissed her on the neck and then she
held him close to her as he kissed her throat and then her breasts as
he caressed her things with his hand and she grabbed his head and
kissed him and kissed him and kissed him and hugged and squeezed and
squirmed and sighed and moaned as Tyrone C. Love made her feel so
good and so special with his lovemaking and when he finished and was
lying on his back she just sort of vibrated all over for a second and
squealed, Oooooooooooooo, then quickly rolled over on her side and
hugged and kissed until they both lay quietly and peacefully, arms
around each other, Tyrone on his back, Alice, his lady, on her side,
her face nuzzled so warmly in his shoulder, feeling a peace and
contentment and excitement neither had ever known before, with or
without heroin. From time to time Tyrone would open his eyes,
slightly, to reassure himself that this was real and that he was
lying on this bed, in this room, with this woman, and then he would
sigh deeply within himself and feel her smoothness and warmth next to
him and the peace and contentment within him. He allowed his head to
roll slowly to the side and he kissed his Alice on the forehead and
stroked her head, You is really here, and she squeezed him and
nuzzled harder against his shoulder and he could feel her breath on
his arm and he somehow felt and sensed that life in her that was now
a part of him, and that he wanted to be a part of, and take care of.
He wanted to keep her in his arms all nice and safe an they would
just sort of be cool and laugh and have a ball an there would be no
hassles.

The honeymoon was over. The dynamite was gone. Brody told Tyrone
he didnt know exactly what happen, but it probly got somethin to do
with those dudes they foun in the garbage cans. You mean those dudes
with their throats cut and the signs, Keep our city clean? Yeah,
Brody was nodding his head and they both chuckled. Sheeit baby, if
they fuck up that dynamite scag it aint nothin to laugh at. Brody
continued to nod his head for a moment, Right on, brother, but the
way I heard it they fuck with the wrong people. They ripped off a
couple a keys from the Jefferson brothers and wanted to make it quick
so they put out that dynamite. But the Jeffersons burned their asses?
Brody chuckled, Who else do that? Aint nobody fuck with the Jefferson
brothers baby ... an git away with it. Tyrone rubbed his head, back
and forth and around. How this stuff? Just like it used to be? You
caint do no moe than cut it in haf if you wants to put anything in
the bag. Tyrone just shrugged and took the stuff back to his old pad
where Harry was waiting for him. Before they did anything else they
dumped some in the cooker as usual, and got off. They looked at each
other as they booted a few times, waiting for that flash. It never
quite happened. There was a hint of a flash, but it didnt rush them
like they were used to. Sheeit, that mutha fucka werent kiddin when
he say this aint no dynamite. You aint kiddin man. We'd better cook
up some more. That taste was a drag. They dumped more in the cooker
and got off again and this time it was a little better, at least good
enough for them to feel it in their gut and on their eyelids. They
looked at each other and shrugged. Lookit all the money we save on
milk sugar, Harry laughed and Tyrone giggled. We' s doin alright
anyways. We still be makin some bucks.

By the time they used what they wanted there was a lot less left
to be sold now, and they didnt make a hell of a lot more than
expenses, but that was no big deal, they had some bread stashed and
pretty soon they should be able to score for weight, and score some
dynamite again, and soon theyd be able to get their shit together and
get that pound of pure.

Sara got easily into the red dress now, but still she didnt know
what show she would be on. She. called two times every week, but she
always got the same answer, that they were processing her application
and she would be notified. Now when she called and left a message the
girl simply nodded her head at the phone while looking at the others
around her and smiled. Its her again, eh? The girl nodded and had to
make a strong effort not to laugh. Sara always stared at the phone
for many minutes after she hung up, then went into the kitchen and
made another pot of coffee. She was saving money on food, she was
eating so little, but she was spending it on coffee. And the price of
coffee today, ahhhh. She tried, from time to time, to go back to tea,
but somehow it left her with a vague yearning in her stomach, a vague
dissatisfaction, that only coffee satisfied. But the coffee no longer
satisfied the real need the way it had, but it left less of a
yearning than the tea. She felt constantly uneasy, which was bad
enough, but what made it even worse was the fact that she didnt know
why. Something was wrong but she didnt know what. All the time she
felt like something terrible was about to happen. And sometimes she
felt like crying. And not like before when she felt sad when she
thought about Seymour or Harry, her boobala, and felt so lonely. Now
she'd be sitting and watching the television and start to cry—LOOK
OUT!—her heart rolled over and caught in her throat—and she
didn't know why. When she called about her show she almost wanted to
cry. She wanted to tell the girl how important it was, but her head
was all confused. If she could tell her already the names of the
shows they got people for she could have something, but the girl told
her that that was confidential information and held her hand over the
mouthpiece of the phone as she giggled and winked at the girl at the
next desk. Sara spun the dial on her TV set and tried to watch as
much as possible of all the quiz shows, but somehow she couldnt sit
still long enough to really watch them and find out what they were
like and watch her image walk across the stage. A couple of times she
managed to get herself started across the stage from the far corner,
but it seemed like all her energy went into keeping the dress red and
the shoes gold so that the entire image faded almost immediately and
she ended up just sitting in her viewing chair looking at something
but she wasnt there. She wasnt in the show. She tried to sit for a
whole show, but couldnt. She got up and poured another cup of coffee,
or stood over the stove while she made a fresh pot, vague thoughts
going through her head that some more pills would make it better. She
started taking the purple, red and orange pills all at once in the
morning, and that made it better for a while and she got her house
cleaned in no time at all and was ready to go out and get some sun,
but by noon her body was crawling and knotting and—LOOK OUT!—and
she kept waiting for a car to come up on the sidewalk, crashing
through all the parked cars, and hit her; or maybe something is
falling off the roof, or. ... She didnt know, she didnt know, but
something bad. She couldnt sit. She got up and the ladies laughed and
kidded her, Antsy pants Sara, and she walked around thinking thin and
zophtic, and even when Ada touched up her hair every couple of weeks
she could hardly sit still and kept bouncing up, not knowing ahead of
time that she was going to, and Ada pushed her down, If you want red
hair you got to sit still already. She was losing, she was losing.
The dress fit nice. No stuffing. No huffing. She was losing. She
should be happy. The red dress fits, her hair is like Rita Hayworth,
her gold shoes sparkle and she was going to be on the television, a
dream, a dream, and she should be happy, she should be happy!!!!