The Fuck Up (20 page)

“I empathize completely,” I replied, not trying to make her feel at all threatened by me. The magnet was slow but powerful. I could only get closer, not further away. When she squeezed a dab of Aloe Vera Sunscreen into her palm, my unblinking eyes helped her hands rub it in. I was so excited that I couldn’t even get a hard-on. I tried to remind myself that I was being tested, a Job to her “Jehovess.” Closing my eyes, I concentrated: move away from the kryptonite, Superman.

With eyes still fastened shut, I pointed to the bathroom and declared, “My bath is ready.” I sat in the deep tub. With the hose attachment I ran icy cold water over my head and felt myself shrink. Then, opening my eyes, I saw her through a series of remarkably angled mirrors. She stood before the hall mirror, apparently unaware that she was in my line of vision. I started growing again. She was doing some kind of aerobic stretch. I ran the water over my head again.

My hands were trembling as I watched her under that freezing rain water.

Temptation was a spreading malignancy; schemes and deceptions were blistering out from the inventive half of my brain. Pulling the plug out of the drain hole, I arose and dressed. I pulled my pants and stretched my shirt over wet skin. Towelling myself off required too much patience. Socklessly I yanked on my shoes and marched past her without a word and right out the door.

Even though it was a clear and sunny day, it was chilly outside. I still had seven hours to kill before work. I walked up to the Loeb Student Center on Fourth and there I rested on one of those long sofas in the student lounge. I squeezed my jacket into a pillow and felt warm and secure and watched the lowlife huddling together outside in Washington Square Park. No sooner did I shut my eyes than did I hear, “Hey buddy boy.”

I opened my eyes to a large guard’s uniform with a visor for a face. “Break out the ID,” the security guard bullied.

“It’s at the dorm.”

“Then sleep at the dorm, son.”

“Come on, I pay your salary. I don’t tell on you guys when you sleep on the job.”

“Out,” he pointed with his club. I went out and crossed the street to the big NYU library that looks like a prison block. There, I fixed the collar of my filthy shirt and pinched my cheeks for some color; I tried to acquire that guarded NYU look. Slapping some student newspaper under my arm, I filed in closely behind a bunch of coeds.

“Can I help you?” a guard individualized me.

“No,” I replied, trying to continue, but he blocked my way through the little turnstile with his damned club.

I left and with nowhere else to go I joined the lowlife across the street, at Washington Square Park. Taking an empty bench, I curled up like a cat
against the cold and tried to sleep, but the chill was too much. When I got to my feet, fifteen minutes later, my body was numb. Walking down Fourth, I made a left up Lafayette and turned on Astor Place. Looking about as I crossed that empty parking lot, I saw that the peddlers were out with their shit trying to get what they could for it. A bunch of assholes from Jersey were trying to spin the black rotating cube, a revolving sculpture located in the middle of Astor Square. I quickly checked out the vendors. While inspecting some antique lighters spread out on a blanket, the vendor suddenly rolled the whole operation before my eyes. A police car had pulled up and cops were impounding the merchandise. I walked over to Cooper Union and tried to enter, but they were even more thorough than NYU. So I went back to Astor Place. It was only a couple minutes later, but apparently the cops had left because just like pigeons after a loud noise, all the vendors had returned and were selling.

Soon I tagged along Saint Mark’s Place. By the time I finally found shelter at the Saint Mark’s Bookstore, I was freezing. After a while of just lounging, I asked a bearded old guy named Dudley, who looked like an old oak, whether this month’s
Harrington Review
was on sale yet. Not missing a puff of his deeply bellied pipe, he frowned and shook his head. The interval had warmed me, so I returned to the street.

Passing the Saint Mark’s Theater, I spotted Eunice. She didn’t spot me. I watched her for a moment. She was talking with one of the ushers, an NYU kid. Pepe appeared and ordered the guy back into the theater, but before he vanished I saw Eunice give him a kiss. When the guy was out of sight, I watched as Pepe gave her a kiss. What exactly had the Mormons taught her? Sparing myself further torment, I resumed my trek up to my new theater.

The evening there was regular, everything ran smoothly. At the end of the night after carefully skimming the proper amount, I was about to leave the
theater for the night deposit drop when Ox arrived. When he pounded on the door, I bolted up.

“Who is it?”

“Open the fucking door.” I knew it was him. In a panic, I shoved the loot down the front of my pants and located the night deposit slip to the private fund. I started shredding and stuffing it into the garbage. Before I was entirely done, I heard keys in the lock. I shoved the remainder into the garbage just as he opened the door.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why you no open the door?”

“I…I was about to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I was dressing.”

“Huh?”

“I was hot so I took my clothes off.”

“Naked?” He looked at me and didn’t say a thing. When I was aware of him looking in my lap for a lengthy period, I glimpsed a look. The load of cash was shoved up in my pants like an erection. He seemed to sniff things. His eyes fixed for a moment on a soiled tissue I had blown my nose with earlier. After a long pause, he spoke again, “You’re the new guy, huh?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“What?!”

“Yes, I am he—the new guy.”

“So you the new guy,” he said, and just stood there awhile glaring. I felt compelled to reply, “The night ran by quickly.”

“Who ran by?”

“The night.”

“What the fuck does this mean?” he growled.

“It’s, you know…a pleasantry.” I was jittery.

“In the future don’t tell me things like that, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How’d we do tonight?”

“Oh, it was real peachy.” I froze, something had gone screwy with my pitch of words tonight.

“What the hell does that mean? In the future, if I ask you how we did, you tell me how much money we made and that’s all!”

“Okay.”

Picking up the day-to-day calendar he looked at the final amounts, and then he gave me a hard stare. I hardened up like a board, and he let the silence concentrate. Suddenly, like a spring releasing the both of us, the phone rang, and I sprang to answer it, but he was quicker on the draw. He had it to his ear first, “Yeah.” He listened a minute and then silently handed it to me. Putting the phone to my ear all I could hear was sobbing.

“Hello Glenn,” I whispered.

“Please…right away…get over here….” It was the phrases-through-anguish method of communication.

“So who the fuck worked last night?” Ox asked, impervious to the fact that I was on the phone. He stared at last night’s tally sheet.

“Miguel,” I replied to him, covering the mouthpiece, and then murmured to her, “Look honey, I wanted to tell you last night, but I really think we ought to break up.”

“Hang up the phone,” Ox directed.

“Just get right over. We can talk about it,” Glenn pleaded.

“We’ve got to end this,” I said, pulling away the keystone that released an avalanche of sobs.

“Anything! I’ll give you anything you want but not that! I love you, I need you….” She was freaking out now, so I was about to concede and tell her that I was on my way, when Ox grabbed the phone from my hand and hung it up.

“What the fuck you think you’re pulling, huh? When I say hang up the phone, I mean hang up.” Instantly the phone started ringing.

“Let it ring,” Ox said, and then holding up yesterday’s tally sheet he asked, “Why is this?”

“What?”

“Why isn’t this signed?”

“I don’t know. I guess Miguel forgot to sign it.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you people? You take your clothes off like you’re at home. You speak to your friends all night! All you got to do is sign the fucking sheet and you can’t even do that right!”

“I’ll sign it,” I replied, hoping to end the grousing. He put the tally sheet on the desk in front of me, and I signed in the vacant space.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you fucking people,” he said as I signed.

“Sorry,” I said meaninglessly.

“Hey, what the fuck’s the matter with you? Don’t you ever say sorry to me.”

“Sorry,” I replied thoughtlessly.

“Hey,” he growled. Grabbing the tally sheet, he stormed out the door. During the entire duration, the phone had been ringing. Soon as he walked out, I picked it up. “Sorry, Glenn.”

“I know things were uncomfortable the other night,” she quickly jumped in, anticipating whatever my complaints might be.

“I just think we’re not really right for each other,” I quickly replied.

“You can’t leave me now! You can’t just abandon me!” She pushed things into extremes.

“I’m not abandoning anyone, just calm down. All I’m saying is that I think it would be better for both of us this way.”

“No, it would only be better for you. Just be here with me tonight. We don’t have to have sex or even talk. I just need someone here tonight.”

“Glenn, I just don’t think it’d end there. I think it’ll lead to an unhealthy dependency.”

“No, it won’t! I swear!”

“You’ve got to learn how to deal with depression.”

“No!”

“I’ll call you first thing in the morning.”

“No, no, wait a second. I can handle depression! I just can’t handle him.” Now I understood. She was referring to the surprise son who had materialized from behind the front door.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I need help. Usually Adolphe controls him.”

“I can’t control anything.”

“Just listen to me,” she started hyperventilating and again only phrases could escape, “a lot of savings…”

“Calm down.”

“Alimony…child support…a stock portfolio…”

“What are you talking about?”

“MONEY! You could use the money!”

“For what?”

“Controlling him.”

“What do you want me to do—adopt him?”

“No,” she sobbed, “I just want him to see that I’m not alone, that there’s a male presence.”

“If I come by tonight I’m not spending the night, just coming by. I’ll
pound my chest a little, pee standing up, and then out the door. No more of this.”

“I swear it,” she started simmering down.

“You really should have told me you had a kid.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I swear.”

“Okay. I’ll be there soon as the theater closes.”

After the last film had ended and Ox had left, I made a new deposit slip for the purloined proceeds and dropped off the ziplocked bag. Afterwards, I went to a corner bar for a double bourbon. At twenty-three I never before had to play a surrogate father figure. In the course of the subway ride, the bourbon nullified all worries. But when I reached her corner all that changed. From there I could hear the thumping woofers of rock and roll; it was spilling out from the upper floor of the house. Other than that, it was all routine by now; up the stately steps, knock on the large oak door, and out comes the lady with the crocodile tears. Politely, she took my coat before submitting her complaints.

“I don’t blame you for hating me,” she said instead of hello, “but I’m in a real crisis.”

“Relax,” I replied and closed the door behind me.

“I must be a burden.”

“You seem to think I’m the norm and you’re ill. My life is no picnic. You know nothing about me.”

“You seem like a nice guy, but you are too young. Maybe we can try to work something out, some kind of relationship.”

“I think all our relationship does is cure symptoms, not problems.”

“What’s wrong with curing symptoms?”

“In just the short period of time that we’ve been together a dangerous routine has started,” I replied.

“What kind of routine?”

“Don’t you see it? First you feel lonely because your boyfriend dumped you. Then you call me. Then we make love. Then you begin to realize that you’re an attractive young career lady with prestige and wealth and I’m a kid ten years younger living from pillar to post. And you feel embarrassed and ashamed so you need to be alone until it all starts again.”

“So?” she replied. “Is it my fault that we live in a lonely, pathetic world? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

As I reached for my jacket, which she had seized from me, all I could think of saying was, “I’m sorry.”

“Just one final request,” she asked with a curious sobriety.

“What is it?”

“My son.”

“Yeah, he really has that stereo too loud. I could hear it all the way down the block.”

“I know. His father sent him here for the week, and I can’t deal with him.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Believe me I tried, I tried to interest him, but when I asked him what was new, he said, ‘your boyfriend.’”

“He’s probably just a little jealous. I’m sure it’ll pass.”

“I can’t even speak to him. When I asked him to lower that damned thing he slammed the door in my face. And the entire upper floor reeks of marijuana.”

“Well, there is a limit. Perhaps you should consider some stern disciplining.”

She looked at me fearfully for a moment and then out of the silence she asked, “Would you do it?”

“Without a second thought.”

“He’s up there now.”

“You go right up there and show him who’s boss,” I pepped.

“You just said you would.”

“Pardon?”

“You said you would do it for me.”

“Me! Are you kidding?”

“You just said you would.”

“I meant I would discipline my child if it came to it.”

She looked at me maternally for a minute, “I’ll give you fifty dollars.”

“Surely you jest,” I replied sincerely.

“It has got to be done; you said so.”

“You’re the mother,” I replied. “If you do it he’ll respect you. If anybody else does it, he’ll hate you for a lifetime.”