by William Poe
Finally, I put in a call to Charlotte. The telephone rang until voice mail picked up, but I kept redialing. When Charlotte eventually answered, the hoarseness in her voice told me that she was just waking up. It was three in the afternoon.
“Where in the hell are you?” Charlotte rasped after clearing her throat.
“The Sunset Hilton. Can you come over?”
“Why don’t you come home? Kevin’s not here anymore.”
“I don’t know. I just need to be away for a while.”
“You need to sign checks. And the lab needs your signature on some papers from the customs broker.”
“Get your trick to drive you over here,” I said. I was sure she had someone in bed with her.
“If I can wake him up. He’s pretty far gone. We were up most of the night.”
“I’m sure you were.”
Charlotte sighed. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m in a penthouse, suite 701.”
“You do know how to party, don’t you. I’ll be there soon.”
Sean and I sat on the balcony, basking in the afternoon sun. Sean took off his shirt and leaned his chair against the wall as he propped his bare feet on the railing and rocked himself. He was so much sexier than Kevin had been in a similar pose.
“Where are you from?” I asked. There was something about Sean that made me want to know his story. I could imagine us staying together for a while.
Sean opened one eye and squinted. He recited a truncated biography that, I got the impression, was well-rehearsed. “I’m twenty-one. I was born in San Diego. I went into foster care when I was eight.” The mechanical recitation mellowed. “If the foster fathers didn’t beat me, the mothers took baths with me. A judge gave me an emancipation letter when I was sixteen. I’ve been on my own ever since.”
“Didn’t you finish high school?”
“Naw,” Sean said, pinching his left nipple so hard it became red. After a long silence, he took a black-and-white photograph from his wallet—an image of a chubby boy sitting on a woman’s lap. “That’s me and Mom.”
“She has a kind face,” I said. “She’s looking at you with a lot of tenderness.”
Sean snatched the photo away and tucked it back into his wallet. He turned his chair to be more in line with the sunlight.
By the time Charlotte arrived, I had collapsed on the bed. I stumbled on my way to the door, bruising my knee on the edge of the coffee table. Sean was still on the balcony.
Charlotte energetically pranced into the room wearing a billowy white blouse and squeaky-tight jeans. Her fiery red hair fell from the edges of a green scarf. She went straight for the bathroom mirror to check her face. Satisfied that everything was holding together, she gave me a juicy kiss on the forehead.
“Just what I need,” I said, “lipstick imprints.”
Charlotte led me into the light. “Darling, you look terrible. That lipstick’s the only color you have.”
I managed a faint smile as Charlotte got down to business, spreading out bills on the coffee table. Each one had a check clipped to it, ready for my signature.
“And here are checks postdated for the next three months’ rent,” she said. “Just in case I can’t find you.”
“That’s a pretty sad statement,” I said, but I knew she was being realistic.
“Now for the home front,” Charlotte said. “I had to call the police to get Kevin out of the house. I don’t know what went on between the two of you, but he was convinced that you told him he could stay. I’d never seen him act like that before.”
“How’s Cicero?”
“He wakes up in the mornings and searches every room looking for you. We both miss you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I hardly understood what she was talking about.
“I’ve got to get going,” Charlotte said. “My boyfriend is out front on his Harley.”
As I looked into Charlotte’s sympathetic eyes, the word help formed in my thoughts but never made it out of my mouth.
“Take care of yourself, Simon. Cicero and I need you.” At the door, Charlotte called toward Sean on the balcony, “Maybe I can meet you next time.”
The door had barely closed before Sean was at my side. “Let’s get high,” he said, taking me by the hand into the bedroom. He squirmed out of his jeans and beckoned me to join him.
We leaned against the headboard, rubbing our legs together like two naked crickets, and loaded our pipes. Sean’s hand shook so hard that an ember fell on the bed and burned a small hole in the sheet. He cupped his hands over his ears to fend off the voices of imagined tormentors.
On my first drag from the pipe, I thought an earthquake had struck, and the shaking bed seemed to confirm it. I jumped up and braced myself in the doorframe at the bathroom door. Sean stayed on the bed, unaware of the danger. I tried to tell him to lie down in the bathtub, but the roaring was so loud that I could barely hear my own voice.
Then everything settled. Whatever quaking there had been was in my own brain.
Sean tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t form. He fell back and stared at the ceiling, finally managing to say, “Let’s do that again.”
CHAPTER 30
Sean was removing the rag he always wrapped around his head to cover his eyes as he slept, when I said, “I’m going to be an artist.”
The pronouncement was greeted by a blank stare.
I added to the fantasy by proclaiming, “We’re going to New York.”
“Aw, nuts,” Sean replied. “You won’t know where to score drugs in New York.”
“A boy with his priorities in order,” I said, but Sean was busy gobbling down a pile of scrambled eggs he had ordered from room service and paid no attention.
Watching Sean eat, I realized how famished I was. Room service brought up a plate of cheese and fruit, and though questioning the wisdom of ordering wine, I asked for a bottle of Bordeaux to go with it.
“We’ll drive by my house in Silverlake and pick up some things,” I said, functioning under delusions that made packing a bag and driving to New York to become a famous artist seem perfectly sensible.
“You’re kidding, right?” Sean said, hardly believing it when I called the front desk to request the final bill.
Cicero leaped against the front door at the sound of my key in the lock and pressed through the second it was opened. He jumped against my leg until I picked him up. When he spotted Sean, Cicero stretched his stump of a neck over my shoulder and insisted that I hand him over.
“Hi, little fellow,” Sean said, scratching Cicero behind the ears.
“If Cicero approves, then you’re definitely okay,” I said.
Sean held Cicero out from his body. “Hey man, your dog’s into water sports!”
Cicero had peed on Sean’s shirt.
“He does that when he gets excited.”
I grabbed Cicero’s leash from its hook and walked him down the block. Upon returning, I saw that Sean had taken off his shirt and draped it across a bush to hose it down. He stood in the doorway smoking a cigarette.
“I should have told you to make yourself at home,” I said.
Inside, Sean walked onto the balcony, stripping the leaves from a branch of the ficus tree as he passed it. It was a clear day. The letters of the Hollywood sign glowed white in the distance.
“Quite a place,” Sean said, letting the ficus leaves drift into the breeze. He looked over his shoulder into the house. “Isn’t Charlotte supposed to be here?”
“If she hasn’t come down by now, she’s probably in bed with someone.”
I went upstairs and tapped on her door, with Sean following close behind.
“Wazzup?” a gruff voice responded.
“Hey buddy!” I shouted, banging on the door. “That’s my wife you’ve got in there!”
The voice let out a desperate, “Oh shit!”
Through the door came the sound of someone scrambling for their clothes.
“Ain’t funny!” the gruff voice shouted. A thrown shoe thudded against the door.
“I’m with Sean,” I said. “You don’t need to come out.”
“Good,” Charlotte said, adding, “Oh, Cicero needs a walk.”
“Already done.”
“Get lost,” the gruff voice said.
Sean and I descended into the musty basement. It was dark as pitch with the bedspread I had hung over the sliding door blocking out the daylight. The king-size futon on the floor and the entertainment center at its foot filled up most of the room. I stumbled around to find the overhead light and then went to the bureau. I opened a drawer to display my pipe collection—a veritable chemist’s shop of Pyrex bulbs, test tubes, and glass stems. There were Cub torches of all sorts and canisters of butane refill. The torches were much better than using cigarette lighters on the crack pipes because they left no carbon residue.
Sean’s face was like a child’s on Christmas morning. He pressed against my back and reached under my shirt.
“Wouldn’t it be great to try one of those right now?” he said. “Why don’t you call Val?”
“Not this time,” I said.
“Why not?”
“If I’m going to New York, I just can’t.”
“Then let me get high! Going to New York wasn’t my idea.”
“Okay”—I relented—“but we have to leave tonight.”
“Whatever,” Sean said. “Just get the dope.”
Val wanted me to meet him near the bar, because he didn’t have time to drive to Silverlake. He said to call again when I was in Hollywood. Sean stayed behind, watching television in the basement.
First, I went by the bank and got cash, not only for the drugs but also for the long drive across the country. Despite my dereliction toward the business I had worked so hard to establish, I had enough money to get to New York and settle into a loft. I knew just where I wanted to live—in SoHo. Every nook and cranny of New York was familiar to me from my days selling flowers on the streets, fundraising for the church.
I tried to imagine what my future as an artist would be like, seeing myself in a bright loft, stretching canvases and applying tubes of paint, swirling the colors together on the surface with brushes and palette knives. With those weapons, I could fend off the worst of the Furies that plagued me.
The best place to meet Val was at the Oban. It would give me a chance to say good-bye to Rudy. On hearing the news, he wrapped me in a bear hug and began to cry. Yet he snapped out of the sentiment when I told him I needed to call Val. He raced into his bedroom and came back with a wad of cash.
“I’ve got such a trick in there, you just would not believe,” Rudy said, “but he won’t put out unless I get drugs. You could not have come at a better time.” He had completely forgotten what I said about leaving or perhaps hadn’t believed it. Druggies often proclaim big plans but rarely act on them after the high wears off.
Val had just made a run to San Pedro, he told me when I called to arrange the meeting. He added, “I have something very special, if you want it.”
When I pressed for details, he told me he’d like it to be a surprise. I was dozing off on Rudy’s couch when Val showed up, but I jolted awake when he knocked loudly on the glass window. Val had untied his ponytail, allowing long dark hair to flow over his shoulders. He wore quarter-inch false nails, painted red, which gave his hands a claw-like appearance.
“What I’ve got in the car will cost extra,” Val said, “but it’s top quality.” He took my hand, led me outside, and opened the back door of the limousine. Inside was a boy no older than twelve. He was naked except for loose fitting, cutoff jeans. The boy flashed an eager grin as he looked up at me. His dark complexion and raven hair told me that he was a freshly smuggled refugee. I’d heard about such slave boys but never met one before.
Val went to the other side of the car and got in. The boy scooted over to sit between us as the driver rushed toward the Hollywood Freeway. I was terrified but couldn’t help looking at the child. He caught my glance and lifted his pants leg to reveal a hard-on. I thought about the sex games Ernie and I played when we were this boy’s age. The memories gathered into a terrifying desire. I considered leaping from the car and taking my chances on the pavement rather than give into such a terrible temptation.
Val opened a briefcase and took out a Baggie of white powder. The young boy’s eyes grew wide with anticipation. He stroked himself leisurely, no doubt imitating what he’d seen his adult tricks do to themselves. Val put some powder on his palm and handed the boy a bronze straw. The child snorted the drugs like an expert then stretched his torn pants leg down as far as it would go. An expression shadowed his face that can only be described as terror mixed with sadness and remorse. Beads of sweat poured from his hairline.
“Please, Señor Valentino,” the boy said. “I go to home now, if please you.”
“Take the kid home,” I said. “This isn’t something I want.”
Val tapped the boy on the knee and spoke to him in Spanish. I understood most of it: This is a good client, and you obey, or I will not help your mama.
The drugs quickly wore off, and with the admonition, the boy again found his bearings. He rested a small hand on my thigh. Happily, right at that moment, the driver made his way onto Yucca off of Cahuenga.
“Here’s the cash for the drugs,” I said.
Val was disappointed that I didn’t take him up on his special offer.
“You sure you don’t want this?” Val asked, brushing back the boy’s hair.
“I no get you trouble,” the boy said, then plaintively added, “I make feel oh so good.”
“There is someone waiting for me,” I said, not able to flatly reject the come-on.
“I make him feel good, too,” the boy said.
The driver kept the motor idling while I hesitated, but he kept gunning it as he was nervous about sitting in an area with so many police cars roaming around.
“I can’t, Val,” I said, looking into the boy’s disappointed eyes.
As the limousine sped away, I stood on the sidewalk watching until it rounded the corner. That I had considered Val’s offer, even for a second, made me wonder where I would end up if I didn’t leave Hollywood. Even if driving to New York to be an artist was a pipe dream, it might save me from utter damnation. I was sure that Val would try again. He saw that I was tempted, and he no doubt calculated that such opportunities frightened men when first presented to them.
I had to get out of Hollywood, and fast.
CHAPTER 31
As good as her word and Twiggy’s prediction, Patricia had managed to get back to Hollywood from Peru. I wanted to say good-bye to her and to Twiggy and used Rudy’s phone before going home to Silverlake, but Patricia’s answering machine picked up, and Twiggy was nowhere to be found.
Gripped by an increasing sense of nostalgia, I tried to contact Scott. Perhaps I thought Thad would be there. I felt a sense of relief when no one answered. What if he had picked up the phone? I couldn’t help loving Thad, still. He’d been crazy drunk and jealous when he took Cicero, and I had been equally out of control when I pursued him. But there didn’t seem to be a way back to each other after that night.
I arrived home to find Charlotte heating up meals in the microwave. An old Steppenwolf song, “The Pusher,” blared from the living-room stereo. Cicero came to greet me, but with less enthusiasm than usual.
“Welcome home,” Charlotte said, shouting down the stairs loudly enough to be heard over the stereo. “Sean must be in the basement. Haven’t seen him since just after we got up.”
I went to turn down the stereo and found Charlotte’s trick sprawled on the couch. He opened a droopy eye when I touched the control. Not my type, but definitely a sexy guy, especially since he was wearing nothing but terrycloth gym shorts. A dark patch of hair covered his stomach, so thick it kept the shorts
’ waistband from touching his skin. He held out an apelike arm and grasped my hand.
“Name’s Dan,” the fellow said. It was the gruff voice I had heard through the door.
“Been in some fights, have you?” I said, brushing my index finger over a wide scar on his forehead.
“Had m’share,” Dan said with a touch of pride.
“Simon! Get in here,” Charlotte called.
Dan eyes locked with mine.
Charlotte motioned for me to come around the counter into the kitchen. “Hands off,” she whispered sternly, wagging a finger in my face.
I smiled devilishly. “Are those big feet any indication?”
“You’ll never know,” she said. “Hands off.”
“Okay, Charlotte. I’ll be good.”
“Yeah, right. Anyway, go check on your Sean. That guy looks like trouble. I hope your VCRs didn’t walk out the back door.”
I went into the small bathroom near the front door to divide the drugs before allowing Sean to see how much I had scored. While separating the ounce into smaller bags, crumbs fell on the counter. By reflex, I took out a credit card and made a line, then rolled up a dollar bill.
Val had come up with some incredibly potent cocaine. My eyes turned into a roadmap of red veins as the rush worked its way through my system. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to fend off a bout of paranoia. There were voices, but I refused to listen. I stashed the drugs down my pants and opened the door a crack.
“Get a grip,” I said aloud, springing from the bathroom to make a beeline into the basement. Cicero tried to follow, but I closed the door too fast.
Sean was lying on the futon watching a bisexual video. My eyes fixed on the blanket stretched across the sliding door as a curtain. Shadows playing against it made me think that someone was outside. In a moment of panic, I stashed several Baggies in a box under the stairs. Sean had been patiently waiting for the mania to subside. He watched eagerly as I set a bag on a tray beside the mattress. I laid out several lines and handed Sean a straw. When the drugs barely gave him a buzz, he said, “Come on, man—rock it up. I didn’t even think you liked to snort.”
