by Joshua Cohen
I couldn’t let her go back to him. But then I couldn’t take her with me or even explain why. We weren’t happening as a couple. One of us was going to fail us.
The ultimate page of the passport was unreadable with handwriting. Childish fistwriting, the Arabic script of a tongue thrust in concentration through the knuckles. It must’ve been the transliteration of an address, which only partially explained the slow deliberate heavy strokes. I got the numbers at least, the numerals, though they were Arabic too.
Iz dropped the walleted jeans and my vilest madras shirt atop me, pointed a nail at the page and said, “Unfrerch a Viend. Monfrerch a Viend.”
That, combined with the only words in this alphabet, ÖSTERREICH/AUSTRIA, confirmed it: she was telling me she had a brother (un frère) who lived in Vienna (à Vienne). This was how to contact him.
Stupey of me not to jot anything down.
I got dressed so as not to be fat in her presence, got up out of bed and noticed that my wheeliebag had already been packed—everything folded, suit at the creases, shoes stinking up the nethercompartment. I mussed around for my undies and socks, displacing the twin Korans and even the porn she must’ve riffled from the endtable.
I went into the bathroom to cool shower myself and piss and not take my plane trepidation shit, not with her present.
I came back redressed just as she was raveling my Tetbook in its wire—I jumped at her—“No, non.”
She huddled again until I was whispering, “OK, it’s OK,” and as I packed my tote myself I said, “You go à Vienne? Not me. You. Pas moi. Vous. I pay—comprendre?”
She said, “Oui.”
I said, “L’aéroport we go together—ensemble?”
She said, “Oui. Mon passeport?”
I pinched into my jeans and returned it and then she went for the waistband of her sweatsuit for two other passports—Americans—mine and Principal’s, warmed by her belly. We traded.
She said, “Avanty l’aéroport, lemall?”
“Le what?” I said.
“Boutiques.”
But this wasn’t romantic, or nostalgia for the site of our meeting—this backtracking of ours to the Khaleej mall, Iz in Tetgear and heels and me wheeling both my bag and her aluminum rocket case just as the boutiques were raising their grates.
We were in such a hurry and it was all so unplanned that I’m not going to describe it fairly. If I say (write) that it was Iz who led us into every outlet and down every aisle choosing the wardrobe I’d be buying for her, I’d be making her out to be greedy, acquisitive. If I say (write) that because I was doing the buying I did the leading and choosing too, I’d be deprivileging her, depriving her of agency. Either way, I’d be a monster.
Anyway, in terms of appearances it didn’t matter what I thought—it mattered what everyone else thought, though this early the only other people on the concourse were maintenance Filipinos riding EV tilescrubbers. I told myself Iz was Egyptian, or Jordanian, one of the liberals, and I wasn’t her west but her center. We would convey our Christianity by paying retail. I posed between fittingrooms and tried to look like I wasn’t looking. And tried not to hear as the poised blithe clerks—Caucasians but like from the Caucusus, the Khanates, who’d been addressing Iz in an uppity Arabic—cackled amongst themselves in Q train Russian about my “zhena,” my “wife,” my “doch,” my “daughter,” whom I’d struck raw and now owed for the damages.
A budget is a soiled outfit that has to be squeezed into. I was suggesting drawstrung leisurewear of her own, for her plane comfort, from Aéropostale (Fit & Flare Bottoms, €38, Sequined Fullzip Hoodie Top, €38).
But Iz wasn’t interested, and she wasn’t even trying to communicate why—whether her legs were feeling smothered, or she intuited that a transition as drastic as hers required glamour. Iz pointed to a dress in the window. Regardless of any outfits she found in the interior Iz seemed to prefer what was in the window. The clerks must’ve said there weren’t any left or in her size, though—Chechens still lag in the customer service department—so Iz just teetered up to the display and nudged the dress down herself.
I splurged (Hugo Boss Metallic Two Tone Sheath, €790).
Skirts were next and priced equally though half the length to her dimpled kneelessness. And tighter than her own skin. Her walk runnethed over down the runway of aisle. She was showing off for me, but also not only for me, and I was doing the same just by letting her try the stuff on. And by buying it. We were showing off for the fellow shoppers so mortified they were pretending to be clerks and the clerks so mortified they were pretending to be fellow shoppers. Iz, it appeared, had that tacky rhiney sequiney taste that I’d always assumed, from Aaron’s experience with the girls of NY’s postcommunist boroughs, was Slavic, but was evidently common to new arrivals of every ambition. Blouses in endangered antelope prints that Iz must’ve considered sexy, but that I thought could only be worn ironically and Rach would’ve thought could only be worn cynically. Immigrant fashion. Social mores as brands. It’s about finally having some money to flaunt. Money, which buys them the body they already own, or at least something of the body they’ve sold. Iz held the lovehandles of herself between mirrors. Don’t go dressing for the passport you have, but for the passport you deserve.
Chanel Lambskin Leather Hamptons Bag (purse), €2,188. La Senza Microfiber Low Rise Lace Trim Thong, Medium, three for €20, La Senza Pushup Plunge Bra With All Over Geo Lace, 80D EU/36D USA, three for €28.
To the next man who’ll be with her—you’re welcome.
And though I tried telling her how cold it’d be in Vienna, she wouldn’t even try the jacket, would only let them wrap it. A €340 Belted Puffer Jacket from Armani Exchange, but nonreturnable.
Makeup was by Dermalogica and Missha (€82.66 total), purchased at one emporium and slathered on in the fittingroom of another—and every time I attempted to sneak inside with her, other women, Rachlike, Lanalike, clashing embodiments of the Western femininities, materialized behind me, and they judged, as Iz emerged with turquoise lipstick on her teeth. To accentuate bone drama, or because it’s never been the fashion for even an Arab woman to flaunt her abuse, she’d been zealous with the blush—laying the rouge across her buccal bruising, powder crumbing the corners of her pout.
A cab was taken to the grand mosque sheikh something or other, which perhaps wasn’t necessary as an evasive maneuver—I just wanted to get a sense of the thing before leaving. No trip to Abu Dhabi is complete without a visit to the grand mosque sheikh something or other.
Then the airport, Abu Dhabi International—forgot what I paid the cabbie, forgot to tip the cabbie.
Went straight to the EgyptAir counter, and purchased a single oneway ticket to Vienna via Cairo (2,260 dirhams?). For her.
I kept explaining she’d have to change flights in Cairo, as if nobody in Egypt spoke any Arabic or would help her. Or would out of chaste motives help her.
Bread sandwich at Starbucks, Terminal 1 (22 dihrams?).
I didn’t have enough clock to bring her to her gate and wait for her plane, so I just put her in line with her carryons and her carryon self and let her roll away until she was checked in. She turned around for the last, though not to me, I realized, after my limp wave wasn’t repaid, but to what must’ve been a cantilevered screen scrolling Departures. I was so nervous about my own flight that we never did what even secular friendly uninvolved adults did and kissed or hugged or said adieux. I had to say that to myself, then—I do.
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From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Wed, Sept 14, 2011, 10:08 AM
RigdeWood
I’m writing this email at Rach’s request. She does not wish to make this yet a matter for the lawyers.
Rach and I have been intermediately receiving notices that expenses have not been paid on your Metropolitan Ave office for a period now of two months now (July, August). September’s bill is two weeks overdue. October’s bill just a
rrived. Rach informed you of this in emails of 8/16, 8/22, 9/1, 9/6 (below), to which she received no response. After receiving the second of two late notices (July August) we dully turned them over to Martin & Simon Eisen & Associates PC who according to them had no choice but to turn them over to your agent Aaron Szlai on 8/24 (copied below). We can only guess that Mr. Szlai’s been in contact. What we can’t guess is why you haven’t been or paid? Rach is extremely insensed!!!! September’s bill came 8/16 and was due 9/1 and October’s came today 9/14 and is due 10/1 again. Against Eisen’s recommendation Rach has as of today paid for July and August in full ($680 rent and maintenance × 2 plus $40 × 2 in late fees for a total of $1,440, below), only because the property’s still in her name, plus an outstanding utilities bill of $216.64 cumulative (below). Rach does not wish to deprive you of a workspace that means your support. However she wishes to have the lease taken over and switched to your name ASAP and has informed Vanderende Mngmnt. accordingly (below). Please get in touch or have Aaron or representation of your choice get in touch with Vanderende ASAP, who told us you have not been on the premises. (Onders has been trying to contact with you also and we gave him Mr. Szlai”s phone.) If you do not assume the lease by 9/26, assuming you wish to and we do not wish to threaten, Rach will notify Vanderende of intention to terminate effective 10/31 (Bob Onders the manager stipulates two months’ notice req. but is willing “to forgive September for October conversion”), and forward all damages/fees + moving expenses to you, or whoever. We’re willing to write off our losses but no further.
Sincerely,
Adam Shale
P.S. I’d scrapbooked my entire career especially the stage to which I will be returning this fall and winter, PLaybills, critcial notices (the raves!!), cast photos and scripts, then the film and TV material to 1986, all of which I lost in a fire (Grove St., 1986), and yet I still miss this material touchingly. It was my whole life and the history of many others who miss it. I predict the temptation might be to forget the past but trust me if I say this is a sense you repent. Rach tells me you have many books at the office and papers, p.p.s. also I don’t know if you know but I grew up a bit in that neighbor hood
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Fri, Sept 23, 2011, 9:52 AM
Re: RigdeWood
I still haven’t received a response from you to my email of a week ago but received a response from Eisen, to which I ccopied or bccopied my email of a week ago. Eisen wrote that he’d not received a response from Aaron Szlay and then did or a secretary called Eliza said no one has been able to reach you since August. I’m not prepared to repeat type what he said. What Eisen said about the stalling that it was disingenius. But I’m sure you have a firmer opinion.
We’re taking the opportunity to communicate to you that Rach and I have decided to revise our position on the office for termination instead effective 9/30. Vanderende has been very acomodating and is willing to cut a deal to forgive the dvanced notice if the office is vacated by the end of the month, and so that is what we’ll shift to. You’ll have to arange vacation yourself and if you don’t we’ll arange it for you at significant cost and not to mention loss to you.
Since I’ve been in rehearsals for “The Pryers”(Lincoln Center, previews Nov, opening Dec) I have not had the time to make an appropriate survey of the contents and for Rach it is understandably difficult. Also I have a lot of voice work on the schedule this fall/winter and another deodorant commercial too and Onders who HAS entered the unit (legally, within his rights as Vanderende management) also reports it is a mess and very daunting. It wi;; be understandably difficult if it’s up to us do the clearance alone and though it might appear that I am in the best of shape even for me it would be expensive. After what you did to Rach! After how you treated her!
(to still leave her shoveling up your slop, even after)
Other issues: we would like to know your best delivery address for mail mail (Rach opened some of the envelopes thinking they might be joint concerns, not me). Some books Rach says are review copies and two cordial invitations she said you always got but at least they entertained me, for Dr. Joshua Cohen to address the astrophysics symposia in South Africa, and Dr. Joshua Cohen to participate in a “plenary” on “deliberative democracy” (I had to search that up), at the University of North Texas–Denton (when you search your name you get so many people no you but when for my name all you get is me for the first dozen more two dozen ro so resultant pages). But if you prefer I can just send them to your mother. If preferred.
Which brings me to a phonecall we received from a friend of Rach’s at R ø t how do you change the font 9(used to be I&B), head of global marketing who told Rach she remembered you from a xmas party two years ago but now recognized you in June at the San Francisco airport in June. Possible? You don’t strike me as “a west coast guy.” I am definitely not, though w’ere going out to LA for a weekend in October to record the voiceover of “The Fireplace” for a Pixar project I can’t tell anyone anything about. But anything is possible. Judith Geller (Judy, her name is in San Francisco, black hair, dyed black, short, hair short and she is too, dresses funky)? Also Aaron Szlaw never returned my call about this either.
So you can mpathize that this fall what with the play and the dubbing and the spot for Refresh (deodorant but not na antipersprint) I UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES can let your affairs encompass our life beyond what they’ve already encompassed.
Rachava was so kind and generous to you who were not kind and not generous and selfish. You begrudged her and kept your begrudges all locked up for us to dispose of.
Case close.d
Also today going through a winter clothes container—second closet by bathroom—I noticed you left some nice condition sweaters. Assuming you’re still around the city, it’s only getting colder. Some nice bottom drawer sweaters and a few extra shirts including a very good insulated plaid. So, EMail me your best mail delivery address and I’ll throw in a few pants that don’t fitme anymore (too large), including a beautiful pair of corduroy I’ve never even wear.
Sincerely,
Adam Shale
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10/2
—describe apartment/“flat” I’m in? describe Berlin?
—who’s it owned by? Balk?
—after I left “Iz” I hit two different euro ATMs in two different terminals of AD Int’l for €4,000 on my Bank of America Visa credit/debit, with which I purchased two different tickets to two different destinations on two different airlines leaving from two different terminals under two different passports, wheeliebagged in and out, initially as Principal, again as myself, passport controls, security checks
—took a shuttle to Al Bateen Executive Airport
—was flown to a midforest fascist boulevard airstrip that I still maintain was on the wrong side of the Oder, meaning it was Poland
—was met by Balk’s presumptive agent, Anders Maleksen, a mesomorphic Scando Nordo guy with a buzzcut and barcodey scars at his neck who drove me into Berlin in a beatup grayscale Mercedes, AND WHO STILL HASN’T COME BACK, OR BEEN IN TOUCH, AND HASN’T REIMBURSED ME
—so either Bank of America froze my account for suspicious activity
—or Interpol had them do it
—because of my double absence from the flights
—whose tickets I purchased in cash
— have €166 left
—and just coins in my stomach rattling around, THOUGH IN THIS COUNTRY COINS COUNT
—but then whenever I slot my card in a machine to check my balance and try to withdraw, do they know where I am?
—who are they?
Various things I’d like to tetrate: Whenever I slot my card in a machine to check my balance and try to withdraw, do they know where I am? Who are they? BoA? Kor? CIA/DIA/NSA? Obama? Cheapest closest grocery location? Hours? German phrases to explain I need to borrow a phone? German phrases to explain why I need to b
orrow it? The correct plural and caloric and fat contents of doners? How to insert umlauts in Tetsuite—Ö döners? The outcome of that football/soccer game the Copt pilots put on in the cockpit from AD and invited me to join them for and I did and there it was opening up in front of me, the sky? Russia vs. either Brazil or Portugal? Anders Maleksen, whether what he said was true about having never been told anything about reimbursing me or if that was all just subterfuge like his refusal to confirm even his relationship with Balk? Whether that treed airstrip he’d picked me up at was across the Oder in Poland like I’d guessed? Who that battered grayscale Merc with D plates BEI2628 was registered to if not to him or Balk? Whether Maleksen was from Australia or New Zealand, or just his accent in English? Why he wouldn’t even stop for a bathroom break but just pissed into a 2L of Fanta Grape while driving? What or who was he afraid of or was it that he was scared I might run off on him? What was indicated by the recordingesque nictitating diode on the keyring he handed me? What if any repercussions will I have to negotiate for succumbing to my impulse to detach the ring from the keys and toss it to the trashcan on my corner?
QWERTY, n, adj: pertaining to the standard English-language keyboard layout, named after the first six consecutive keys of the weakhanded northern row. The computer keyboard is merely a copy of the typewriter’s, whose keys triggered the arms that struck the letters to the page. But if the keys of the earliest models were depressed too fast, the arms would jam. Later models would integrate a lag, a drag. Letters commonly coupled together, like t and h, and q and u, were relegated to different rows or spaced apart, so that no matter how fast the question, the arms wouldn’t tanglge, the letters wouldn’t jumblbe, the page wouldn’t blot. Users became so inured to the resulting keyboard that even as typewriters gave way to computers, it remained: a fossil, and any attempt to backengineer and develop a new layout, placing Who, What, When, Where, and Why in a greater proximity would be wildly inconvenient.
