Sketchtasy

by Mattilda Bernstein Sycamore

  I go inside, sit down on my favorite turquoise armchair, and Allen says you’re in a good mood. And he’s right, I am in a good mood. But then the meeting starts, and Joanna isn’t there. And she didn’t give me her number.

  Bud is presenting tonight and he looks really nervous. What I want to talk about isn’t pretty, he says, but I know I have to dig deep into the hardest places, otherwise why am I here? So let me begin by saying that I’ve been sober for twelve years, but now I have to start over. Let me check the time, six fifteen, that means it’s been approximately sixteen hours since I stumbled into bed drunk as a skunk after twelve years, twelve years of sobriety and I’m so grateful I knew I had to come in tonight because otherwise I’m not sure what would have happened.

  Listen, this isn’t a pity party—I’ve got it all going for me—great job, just renovated my house in the South End. I bought a new car six months ago, a Beamer convertible, and look at this, I just got myself a Rolex. I’m not telling you any of this to brag, I just want you to know that I fucked up, I really fucked up this time. You see, I got tired, I got tired of working the steps, thought I had it all, thought I had it all figured out. I got tired of the same old, same old. Listen, I might be highly successful in financial matters, but I’m fat and old and ugly and even a whole fleet of Beamers isn’t going to cover that up.

  One night I was driving by one of my old haunts, the 1270, I’m sure most of us know it, what’s it called now? Quest. What a name. So I was scoping it out from outside, no harm in that, remembering the good old, bad old days, some kind of nostalgia sinking into my pits but I kept driving. Sometimes I drive around like this, looking at the bars from outside so I found myself at Chaps—I like to pull over by the entrance just to see what the young guys are wearing these days, and I don’t know what possessed me this time but I decided to go in. I know what you’re thinking—how many times have I gone through the steps? But the program can’t do everything for you. It was that same old godforsaken loneliness.

  This one pretty young thing at Chaps, he wasn’t the most attractive but he was blond, strong bone structure, nice chest and he couldn’t have been much older than twenty-one—he saw the old guy looking so he came over and asked me to buy him a drink. Of course I knew I shouldn’t be enabling anyone, but that smile, those crooked teeth just crying out for braces. I bought him a drink, a Long Island iced tea. And then another. And a third one, and he’s telling me about his time in the service, you know, how hard it was to live without pussy, and I’m trying to figure out where he’s going with that, since we all know there’s no pussy at Chaps. Excuse my language.

  Anyone with a few hundred brain cells can tell he’s working me for drinks—I’m old now but I was young once too. I’ll probably always remember those eyes, gray like a puddle in the street after a big storm. Tells me he wants to go home with me so of course I thought he might rob me. I thought about calling my sponsor—I’ve got plenty of numbers but I sure as hell knew what everyone would say. So we get to my place, and he asks me what I have to drink. I tell him I’m sober, and he starts grinning like that’s the best joke he’s ever heard. I tell him he can leave if he wants to.

  But I guess he didn’t want to leave because we ended up in the bedroom every night for practically two weeks—I felt like I was sixteen again. Except when I was sixteen I didn’t have the courage. Of course I kept going to work, kept up appearances, but all I could think about was Jimmy, who was staying in my apartment—he said he needed a vacation. I said take your time, I’ve got time. All the time in the world. He was one of those butch guys who likes to clean, I would get home and everything would be neat and tidy. I called and canceled my maid service, said I was going away on a business trip, not sure how long, I’d call again when I got back.

  I started to fantasize that this would go on forever, just me and my military buddy, fucking like rabbits. Then one day I was alone again. But I was still sober. That was the important thing. Except there was something else. I was taking care of my sobriety, but I wasn’t taking care, I wasn’t. I wasn’t. I don’t know if I can say it. You know, this straight guy, this straight guy and he was so young, I just thought I didn’t have anything to worry about.

  Bud doesn’t look like he’s fifty-six anymore, he looks like a little boy. A little boy who can’t say the rest. There’s an awkward pause, and then people are clapping—is that what’s happening, people are clapping? Someone’s saying he really appreciated Bud’s share, he really appreciated his willingness to look so deeply at himself, and Bud, pay attention to the studies, there are new drugs now, the new drugs are working.

  I really want to stand up and yell at that guy, but instead I go to the bathroom. If I start pounding on the walls, everyone will hear me so instead I press my face into my hands, and open my mouth like I’m screaming. I look in the mirror: my eyes are red, but I’m not crying, why can’t I cry, I want to cry. That fucking asshole—the new drugs are not working, how could anyone believe the new drugs are working? I feel like I’m trapped, like I can’t go back out there. But then I open the bathroom door anyway, walk right past Bud and everyone else, and I notice Allen is looking at me so I try to smile. Then I open the front door and I’m outside.

  I kind of want someone to come after me, so I wait a minute, but no one does so I start walking. There’s the Fens and it’s not that cold tonight but I don’t want to go to the Fens so I take the road through the middle. I’m thinking about how no one talks about it until they’re dying. And that asshole, who was that asshole? Telling us the new drugs are working. I’m thinking about when Avery showed me those new sheets, all those new sheets and we barely had a chance to use them.

  I start walking. I start walking toward Avery’s.

  I get to the door, and I can’t decide what to do. I ring the buzzer and he answers: Peter Pan’s house of homos.

  I hang up.

  Breathe, Alexa, breathe. I pick up the receiver again and dial the apartment.

  Hello, Avery says. Are you going to say something?

  It’s Alexa.

  Alexa?

  She buzzes me in. I like the sound of her voice. She opens the door and I smell that cologne, or maybe it’s a different one.

  I’m trying to figure out if she’s angry or pretending to be angry. Her hair is curled with some kind of cream, almost a Jazz Age look. The apartment is all designy now, sleek European leather sofas and chrome lamps.

  What do you need, Avery says.

  I don’t know if I need anything.

  Oh, Alexa, I know you’re not here to smell my snatch. How about this? I’ll give you a special, twenty for a gram, the purest shit you’ll ever do. You caught me at the right moment, I haven’t even gotten around to cutting it yet. A special, just for you. I’m not even making a profit.

  She holds out her hand. I reach in my pocket for a twenty, and she hands me the vial.

  Always a pleasure to see you, she says. I lean over to kiss her, and she turns her cheek.

  I step outside with the vial in my pocket. I need to throw this in the river, I need to throw this in the river right away—where am I? Oh, I’m right here, right here outside Joey’s apartment. Joey’s apartment. Shit. That’s when I start crying. They’ve got new drugs, the new drugs are working. Working the steps. Working the steps with the new drugs.

  I get home and I put the vial in the center of the table like it’s a tiny sculpture. The river, I was supposed to throw it in the river. Instead I open it, and look inside. Nate isn’t coming home tonight, another business trip, Singapore. Maybe I’ll do a little, just a little.

  Oh my God it’s not what I expected. The pain. My nose. That burn.

  Oh, I love that burn.

  I need to go out. I need to dance.

  Avalon. Tonight’s Avalon. But what will I wear?

  Oh, that dress I was making out of torn-up prom dresses from Dollar-A-Pound, yes, that dress. All the wedding gowns Polly and I used to collect, pinned together over that tight go
ld Contempo Casuals Lycra number, all the wedding gowns forming one big train—I never wore that dress.

  A shower. I need to take a shower first.

  Oh, this was such a good idea. I love this bathroom. I fucking love this bathroom.

  And now for the dress of dresses—shiny magenta shoulder pad top covered in rhinestones, glistening green sequins over the chest, something blue and silky down to the waist in tatters over the gold underneath and then yellow, red, more magenta, all the biggest bows torn off and pinned back together and then at the bottom are all those anorexic weddings, passing out and dragging below. Should I pin it up further, or let it drag on the ground and get ruined?

  Ruined, of course. Ruined.

  But I need something around my neck. Everything, I need everything. My bag of pearl necklaces, all of them—and then the silver balls, the big plastic clear beads, the purple square beads, the lime-green oval ones—oh, here’s my hotel chandelier crystal collection.

  Quick—let’s make these into earrings. Minimalism is so overrated.

  Lipstick, yes, lipstick. All over my face. More lipstick. Shape my hair into perfect green-and-orange swirls, spray to keep it in place, no one’s seen the green and orange yet. Smear the purple eyeshadow from eyes down to cheeks and over to ears, and then add the gold glitter, the silver glitter, the big chunky white glitter. Oh, honey, now these sunglasses are perfect—this is what I should have been wearing the whole time.

  Combat boots, definitely combat boots. Jellybean tights. Of course the pipe-clamp bracelets to keep me grounded. Wrap all these lace garter belts up my arms, oh that looks amazing. I can’t believe this came together so fast.

  I need another line. Just a little. Downstairs at the dining room table—this is what chandeliers were made for.

  I step outside and there’s a cab waiting for me, just up the block. All the windows are open and I think of asking the driver to close them a little so my hair doesn’t get messed up, but then I just lean back and we’re already there.

  I can’t believe how early I am—it’s not even midnight. Jason’s at the door—she waves me in, girl it’s been a while.

  I step inside and yes, runway through the spinning lights and past the stupid strippers and everyone staring and all the way to the back bar at Axis for a vodka sour with grenadine, tonight I need grenadine, yes the disease called alcoholism, oh it tastes so good.

  Some drunk tells me my lipstick is smeared. Oh, really? I should have brought a mirror.

  Sage and Juniper save me—Alexa, we thought you were dead.

  Undead.

  Well, you certainly look better than ever. That dress is fierce. You should go into fashion. Do you need anything?

  I need everything. Fashion. This music. Another vodka sour with grenadine, please, and the magic pill, so tart.

  Oh, that drumroll—it’s “Camera’s ready, prepare to flash” and honey I am flashing on the dance floor, twirling around in my tangle of dresses, bending over the beat into jump rope, skip and kick, leap into the fall down rip skip and kick turn skip and kick turn.

  Yes, I’m throwing down all my tricks and Juniper and Sage are on the sidelines delivering high kicks in their platforms and, yes, this jump, twirl, kick and swirl, shriek and unfurl, girl, sure, I can feel the dress ripping again—I’ll just pull this part up and pin it closer to my waist, turn, and people are backing up to give me space yes space give me space I’ll take all the space I can get.

  There’s Lady Dionne, waving her fan like she’s been here the whole time, she owns the place and she couldn’t give a damn, couldn’t give a damn about anything, I’ve always loved Lady Dionne.

  Work, mama, work is the sound of everyone yelling because we’re feeling our drugs, and we’re feeling the music, and we’re feeling Lady Dionne, yes, I’m yelling too. And she shakes her finger in my direction, and then points right at me I can hardly believe it I’m shrieking so loud and everyone’s yelling work and I’m literally rolling on the floor, jump up into more and more and more and more until I realize I lost my sunglasses, where are my sunglasses, dammit.

  Oh, who cares—now I’m in a world of softness and light.

  Time to check in on my eyes—oh, yes, my eyes, I’ve been waiting so long.

  Welcome, Alexa. Welcome.

  Welcome back.

  We’re here in the bathroom with a stack of paper towels to absorb the sweat, listening to the music through the walls—the music of everyone doing bumps, toilet flush, do I need a bump, save that for later, I’m prepared, always prepared, another bump, another flush, runny nose, I’ll take that rose, but should I leave the bathroom?

  Oh, but the mirror—it’s kind of comfortable watching the show from this angle. Someone wearing head-to-toe designer garbage comes in and stops in the doorway like she’s seen an accident, hand to her chest, and she says girl! And I say girl! And she says girl! And now we’re best friends.

  I’m studying the colors of my hair, the way the glitter changes with my eyes yes my eyes and lipstick and those crystals in my ears, all the necklaces piled around my neck, what a collar. People flowing in and out as I say welcome, welcome, you’re welcome, thank you, glorious, fantastic, fabulous, phenomenal, philosophical, fierce.

  Yes, fierce and flaunting it in your fabulous phlebotomy.

  Flawless. Fantabulous. Tantalizing. Mesmerizing. Marvelous. Magnificent. Magna Carta. Carte blanche. Blanche Dubois. W.E.B. DuBois. Boise, Idaho. Don’t call me ho I prefer hooker.

  Where did I get this? Oh, Louis Boston—I get everything there, so reasonable. This is just a little resort wear for a dip in the Charles—yes, my makeup, thank you. I managed to slip in for a consultation at Neiman Marcus just before last call.

  Of course—oh, yes, never leave home without Chanel. Never leave home, sweet home—oh, darling, not a wig at all. Sorry, my hair just grows like this. I know, it’s soft.

  Welcome, you’re welcome—yes, I live here. All the time.

  Just need to decorate—oh, a bump? No, but thank you—maybe later.

  X? You mean X-trava. X-traterrestrial. X-tra sensational. Extra Sensenbrenner. Extra Saltines. Extra sass. Extra pass the sugar. Extra pour some sugar on me.

  Yes, I know you mean Excalibur—just look for the girls in platforms, tell them Alexa sent you. Alexa Arrivederci. My pleasure.

  Oh, maybe I should go out there too—this is Miss Alexa Avalanche, reporting from Axis on Sunday.

  Louder Than I Thought, on News 11. At eleven.

  No, News 9. At eleven.

  News News, at News.

  Upstairs: the Photo Booth. A totally different crowd. Tell us, Miss Avalanche, tell us about the crowd.

  The crowd looks scandalized.

  Behold Miss Avalanche as she falls against the bar, flings herself gently on the surface and then slides to the floor while Phil Collins croons one of his soulful tunes.

  Prunes. Because we care about your digestion.

  Should I get another cocktail? Just to look at that grenadine—grenade, Granada, champagne, tostada.

  So much prettier than diamonds, who needs diamonds when you can have garnet, ruby, carnelian—nothing does Queen Grenadine justice. Drumroll, please.

  And then somehow I’m alone in the secret bathroom and there’s no more music, but that’s okay—we’ve got lights, a mirror, toilet paper and hot water, what more could we need?

  Yes, Alexa, yes, that’s the perfect temperature—now, give us another pose, up against the wall, yes, arms in the air, just like that. Welcome.

  Now, lean in and kiss the mirror. Yes, just like that. Lick it, honey, lick it.

  Wait, there’s someone banging on the door. This is the only bathroom that locks—I thought maybe I could stay here forever, talking to that girl in the mirror. Yes?

  Oh, it’s security. I could do without security, but I open the door anyway. The security guard looks shocked, but it’s not like I haven’t been here the whole time. I let him escort me down the stairs—royalty, for sure. />
  The lights are on and the place looks desolate. He takes me through the back door and then I’m outside and oh, it’s the best weather in the history of the world, soft, chilly air on my face and the streets are deserted—Boston is fucking gorgeous when everything’s deserted. Should I go to the Fens?

  Of course, darling, what this dress needs is that subtle hint of mud for spring ’96. Sneak. Preview.

  It’s so easy to walk through the grass because the wind is pulling me toward the stars yes the stars and I’m floating between gardens to the reeds oh look at the way the reeds are dancing with Miss Prudential, there she is, we’re dancing with Miss Prudential. I’m twirling in the grass like that scene in The Sound of Music or maybe it’s Wonder Woman because I take the shortcut through the lights in the sky and then I’m already on Commonwealth, I mean what happened to Mass. Ave. but wait, is it starting to get light out? I need to control the lights.

  Oh no, am I crashing?

  Don’t worry, honey, we have plenty of powder at the palace.

  Nate’s not home, but we still don’t want to drag mud through the house so let’s just rip the wedding dresses off the bottom of the gown and leave them in the street for the cars to run over. It’s time for daywear anyway.

  Oh, the palace, here I am. I just need a refresher.

  I sit down and pour the coke onto the table, all of it, should I do all of it at once?

  Alexa, don’t get ahead of yourself, maybe just half.

  The curtain is rising, honey—get ready for the biggest line of your life.

  Oh my fucking God my nose oh my nose it’s burning down the house I’m a mouse, gobbling up the poison where’s my heart.

  Alexa, don’t be ridiculous. Stop leaning your head over the sink, it’s time. It’s time to take over the world.