by Alan Osi
Why on earth would she want to try it? When the guy who broke ‘heroin use high among Vietnam vets’ told his girlfriend about it, did she run out to score out of curiosity?
I figured I needed to go after Justine, so I flagged down the waitress while devouring the last of my chicken, handed her cash, said keep the change, and left.
Outside, I tried Justine, but her phone went to voicemail. “I’m sorry,” I said after the beep. “I said the wrong thing. Call me anyway, okay? We need to talk this through… you can’t take that stuff. You just can’t. Call me back, alright?”
I walked to the subway, holding the phone, hoping and expecting she would call me back before I got to the entrance. When she didn’t, I called again. But, I went straight to voicemail, just like before.
Well if she was going to be like that, I needed to do what I should be doing: chasing the story. I boarded the train, heading south, toward Chelsea.
20. JUSTINE
I took a cab home. Max called me twice during my ride, and I ignored both calls. I had absolutely no desire to speak to him. I’d never seen that pompous, narrow-minded side of him before, although I suppose I should have noticed the signs. It was far from attractive, and his belittling of my parents’ faith was completely unacceptable. If I wanted to do something risky, perhaps he had the right to raise concerns. But, he did not have the right to call me or my desires stupid.
When I got home, I didn’t even change out of my clothes. I left my shoes and purse by the door, and sat down on the couch, staring off at nothing. Soon I cried a few stray tears, but not because of Max. I thought of my father, who comforted me as a child.
His gigantic, kite-sized hands on my back.
It was true, moondust tempted me. I missed the quiet assurance of God. Religion gives you comfort, a grid over the world, a way of explaining everyone and everything. Questions had answers. When my father lived, there was a quieter version of me, young and innocent, believing the world was just, safe, reasonable and fair; because my father believed so, and our religion told us the love of God would protect us from the darkness. I do not know if it protected my father on the way toward whatever greeted him in infinity. I know it did not protect me from the pain of being left behind.
And now Maxwell’s tests proved moondust was something outside of the secular. As unbelievable as the whole situation was, there was a chance I held the answers in my hands. I could be reconciled.
Was I brave enough to take it? I’d only tried marijuana once in college, an unpleasant experiment resulting in disdain for all those who claimed they enjoyed such activities. And yet, here I was. If moondust were a miracle, and if it fell into my lap, then didn’t I, once a child in His flock, need to experience it?
I still wasn’t sure. These weren’t questions I ever pondered before. And the memories of church, of the songs and holy water, had mostly faded, buried beneath a million other, more pertinent ones. Photographs in the bottom of a shoebox, under the bed.
Desire made my mind for me in the end, not logic. The ache I hadn’t known I felt. With shaking hands, I put the powder up to my eye.
21. MAXWELL
In terms of next steps, my plan was simple. A new designer drug like moondust had to be all over the fast and fleeting elite club scene, and so that was where I was headed. I called my co-worker Alexis, who owed me a favor, to get me in the hottest place she could. She gave me an address in Williamsburg. If I told them that I was her friend and that I worked for the paper, then I could get in.
I couldn’t stop thinking about it—what Justine planned to do was inexplicable and dangerous. I hoped she hadn’t, she could be hurt.
I went home, and changed into an appropriate outfit for the task at hand. Then I called a cab, because I wanted to make an entrance. The driver arrived in one of those shiny black cars and drove me over the bridge. My destination was an unremarkable steel door with a bouncer standing in front of it, from which poured the subsonic tremble of bass. I paid the cabbie. I gave the bouncer Alexis’ name, paid an exorbitant amount, and entered.
The club was so damn hip it broke my heart. Its design was, of course, stylish: Asian influenced, minimal, based on a foundation of industrial chic, but more fleshed out. The vibe recalled a colder, much cooler version of someone’s living room. The bar was rosewood, shaped in an undulating curve, with candles in built-in niches giving warmth.
Beautiful people were everywhere, so I was sure Alexis steered me to the right place. I smiled and thought about whom to ask for moondust.
My eyes fell onto the DJ and stayed. I simply knew he’d have come across this stuff. Those guys were always smacked out of their heads: How else could anyone stand being a DJ? He was my target. But, he was in the middle of a set, so I decided to go Hunter S. on the whole situation and get drunk. I felt like it and also figured it would help my credibility.
I went with the work-horse of drinks, the gin and tonic. I finished the first, then ordered a double. I talked to some girls, full of confidence, having nothing to gain or lose.
I was pretty drunk by the time the DJ took a break. He came out onto the floor for a moment, and chatted with the bartender. I chugged the liquor left in my glass, burning inside, and walked up to them.
“Barkeep,” I said, “Tonic me.”
I smiled and dropped some money on the bar. Then I turned to the DJ.
“So, what do you call that?” I asked.
“Uh, what?” He said.
“DJs always have such specific titles about their genre, and when I tell all my friends how fantastic you are, I want to get it right.”
He laughed. “Well, if that isn’t the best bunch of bullshit I ever heard.”
“What? I can’t be a fan of your ludicrous genius?”
“Okay,” he said, “What do you want?”
I decided this was my moment. “Moondust. Ever heard of it?”
His faced changed so dramatically, I had what I needed before he even said a word. “Moondust? … No. Who are you?”
“You have heard of it. I know that look. My name is Max. This guy calling himself the messenger gave me some, and I need more. How ‘bout it?”
He said nothing, only stared.
“Look, man,” I said, faking what I thought withdrawal might look like, “I need it.”
“You look,” he said. “I’ve never heard of it. But, if I had, talking to you about it could get me cut off, so go away.”
“I’ll level with you, friend. I know you’re lying and I’m not going away. Even if you never speak to me, I’ll be following you, so I’ll eventually learn where you get it. Because you will be going for more, right? Why not save us both the trouble?”
He glared at me. Then he took out his cell phone, and made a call.
“Hey. Yeah. No. No, that’s not it—there’s this dude here, and he says he’s after some imaginary drug called moondust, and I told him I’d never heard of such thing. But, he won’t listen, and he says he’s going to follow me. I’ll be coming by soon to pick up my… stuff, so I figured you should know that. If there’s some guy behind me, looking suspicious, he’s not a cop so I recommend you shoot him. See ya.”
He hung up the phone.
He turned back to me as if to tell me off. But, the phone rang before he spoke. He looked at the number, then picked up. “Yeah? Okay. Uh, what? Seriously? Alright, alright. Fine. I will. I will. Will you relax?” He hung up the phone. “Jesus Christ!”
He stared at me, dully, and said, “I’m to ‘kick your motherfucking sorry ass until it hemorrhages,’ and while I do so I’m to tell you it’s not okay to follow people or show up at their buildings and chase them, and we do not forget shit so don’t fuck with us.”
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“I don’t know, if you don’t, dude,” he said, and sighed. “I’m going over there.” And he left.
I faked resignation, knowing I’d won. Anyone who told this kid to kick some ass must be a lightweight, not some
one to fear. Since the DJ accidentally confirmed he would pick up more drugs soon, trailing him was my next move, and the risk was low.
Faking glumness, I finished my gin and tonic, and went on my way. I even walked around the block, for effect, until I reached the alley leading to the club’s back entrance. A van parked by the back door was probably the DJ’s, so I found a good vantage point and waited.
22. YVONETTE
It’d been only days since
My friend William
Took me to this guy’s apartment,
And they gave me
This drug and
I saw
I didn’t want it to be.
I spent the first two days trying to convince myself it’d just
Been another hallucination.
I’d had plenty of those, and that was nothing new.
I could have used
More hallucinations. But, I did not need
Whatever moondust had been.
The problem with
Lying to myself
Was that I always knew the truth.
I was working at a place called Venice. It was
Italian food,
Obviously,
And I’d worked Italian fine dining before.
It was nothing new,
And without the ridiculous strict difficulty of the French system.
Which was too much of a bitch.
Really.
It was fine, but
Everyone was always staring at my butt,
And none of those bastards in the kitchen or even management
Were above an ass-grab,
If I were the kind
Not to report
That sort of behavior.
Fuck them.
They were gross,
Worst examples of a mediocre kind.
Un-sublime.
I needed a tryst.
Something to get my mind off
Everything I didn’t want to think about
None of these pigs would do, of course.
Meaning my coworkers.
Even if I believed in workplace romance,
They were irrelevant, boys masquerading
Playing
Not paying attention.
Well, when I got off, I went out looking.
I went home first, so I’d be
Smoking,
Hotter than Hoboken.
Had to find me a
token man to fill some hours.
Just a fling.
Because I know
Life is life. I am me, alone, with no judge.
And perhaps he’d be the type to stay…
It could happen.
Into the shower. I scrubbed
And I rubbed.
Out of the shower.
Out with the hair-care supplies, perfectly applied. On
With the makeup.
This would be a night.
And when I was primped, pressed,
Dressed,
I left.
I, neon in a purple dress.
Called a car, which
Took me to a guarded door
The club.
Wally Beaver was the DJ,
I’d seen him at Kush,
And Whale Belly.
He was good, he would do
Provided music to shake, to grind
If the moment happens that way.
And my earrings were flashing, and the golden brooch
Hanging into the dip of flesh
That begins my chest.
Passing the bouncer, not paying. Had it like that.
Going up to the bar to get a Jack,
Mixed with Diet Coke to aid ingestion.
Sitting back. Checking out the bar,
Lay of the land. It had nice
Décor, all metal and glass,
Red and marine accents so the room stayed warm.
And the boys were handsome, sophisticated, hot.
Talked to one, a reporter, working for a newspaper. He was all smiles and disrobing eyes.
Not my type,
But speaking to him worked, it passed the time.
Let the boys see me being seen.
Talked to another, ‘in the market’ or something, and then the DJ.
Wally Beaver, I never noticed his eyes.
Oh, the drama, a DJ for me, me standing there almost outclassed,
For the place was full of fantastic specimens. Professional hotties.
But when I saw those eyes, I knew. So I screwed up my courage,
To wait for the moment,
And to stand near his space,
Glance-into-his-pupils-and-say-nothing,
And offer.
(Wanna?
Wally Beaver, let’s dance the dance.
Drink some drinks
Let nighttime enfold us.)
23. WALLY
Oh man, it was a cool scene, but such a drag, like spam out of a can. My new suede shoes and skinny jeans, aviators, and posh sweater made me feel too cool, because everyone else manufactured their cool, unlike my original awesomeness.
Moondust showed me I was the coolest boy in history.
My guy Percival, a pretty good DJ, slid this drug my way. He said he got it from a hallucination or something, and when I took it, it let me embrace my awesome. The first time I went to like Heaven, and after that, I got to view people’s lives, all through history and stuff.
I could tell you that my life was the coolest life in the history of lives. I always knew it, but now I had proof. The music I played could only be described as sublime.
Tonight, I played this place down in Manhattan. I preferred Brooklyn, which felt more indie. But, Manhattan gigs paid better money, and this place had a great rep.
I was still cooler than it, though.
I slid on this track by Grim Avenger to end my set, then I wanted a break so I went over to the bar for a drink. I wanted to take it outside, whiskey and cigarettes went together awesome.
But this drunk dude slid up to me, and he went, “You’re like the coolest, bestest DJ in history.”
True. But, what the fuck? I laughed at him and said “What? Geek.”
“I can’t appreciate your genius?”
I laughed again because he could if he wanted to. “What do you want?” I said.
His eyes got all hungry, and he said, “Moondust. Ever heard of it?”
I figured him for an autograph hound or something ridiculous like that. But, this was different.
“No,” I said. “Who are you?”
“Please,” he said, withdrawal—that I didn’t know you could have!—bleeding from his eyes. “I need it.”
I had to be intimating, I’d been taking these acting classes so I put on my Crime and Punishment audition face, viciously.
“Look, I’ve never heard of it. But, let’s say I had, dude. Anything as far out as moondust would be kept under severe wraps and talking to you about it would get me cut off, so go away.”
“What, you think I can’t just follow you?”
This was out of control. I figured after all this time Percival must have bought himself some protection, he always hinted about it. A gun, I mean. So I called him.
“Sup, Wal?”
“Hey.”
“So what,” he said, “you coming by?”
“No. See, there’s this loser here after some imaginary drug, and I told him I never heard of it. He won’t listen, and he says he’s going to follow me. But, I’ll be coming soon to pick up my… stuff, so if there’s a guy behind me, looking shady, shoot him. Alright? See ya.” I hung up the phone, sure my performance had been convincing. I stared at the dude, waiting for him to vanish. But, Percival called me back.
“Yeah?” I said.
“You fucking idiot, some dude shows up asking about drugs, and you call me? Kick his fucking ass! You do not come to see me unless you are alone because his legs are broken, understand me? So kick his sorry ass until it hemorrhages!”
>
“Um, like, seriously?”
“Kick his motherfucking ass! It is not okay to follow people,”
“Alright, alright,” I interjected, but he kept going, way jazzed up.
“And it is not okay to show up at their buildings and chase them,”
“Fine! I’ll tell him!”
“And we do not forget shit like that so kick his fucking ass!”
“Will you relax already? Jesus Christ!” I hung up on him.
This sort of thing did not happen to the coolest boy in history. So I just looked at the dude, bored with the whole situation. “I’m to kick your motherfucking ass until it hemorrhages, yadda yadda, blah blah, do not fuck with us. We will bury you or whatever. Seriously, dude, drop it. For your own sake. I’m going to go over there now.”
Convinced I handled the situation as well as could be expected, I went back to my booth for set 2 and did what I did with excellence. The whole night looked like it would be a drag, then I saw this girl sitting by the bar in a purple dress. She was lava. Just the thing for tonight. Pick it up a little.
So I went back to the spinning table jam, and I noticed that jerk finally got up and left, so I relaxed a bit, perfectly focused.
I would probably sleep with her later. But, for now I had a vibe to attend to.
24. MAXWELL
I waited behind that dumpster forever, with my phone primed to call a car service, which always arrived within five minutes. I figured I had at least that long between when the DJ first started loading his truck to when he left.
Relaxing behind a dumpster proved difficult, with theoretical cockroaches all around. I kept canvassing the environment for another spot, anyplace, where I could hide and not be seen, without luck. This was it.
I crouched for hours, trying to avoid being crawled on, keeping sentry against a rat invasion. At some point I texted Justine, a long message asking her to respond, to say anything. She didn’t answer.
By the time the DJ came out, I’d been fighting leg cramping and a serious loss of circulation. It’d become a losing battle, and when he came out, I was half-standing in order to get my right leg to wake up. When the door opened, I ducked back and saw the DJ carrying a load of cables, opening the van, and getting in to put the cables somewhere. I took out my phone and pulled up the car service’s number; when he went back into the club, I moved. I walked as quickly as my one-and-a-half legs could carry me, and while I did so, called a car to come to the corner.
