Surviving Amelia

by Rand, Naomi;

  “You look exactly like our typical customer.”

  As if to prove his point, the bell rang and an elderly man wearing a stained cardigan and threadbare corduroy pants entered.

  “Did you get the Benjamin?” he demanded.

  Michael shook his head. The old man spit out an “ach” of disappointment then turned on his heel and slammed the door in his wake.

  “Point taken,” Sam said.

  “Do you go to NYU?”

  “Barnard.”

  “So you’ve come down to the village to see how the other half lives?”

  “You’re busting our chops because?” Sam countered.

  “Because I can?”

  Lucy was combing through the pile of art books. “These are gorgeous,” she exclaimed.

  “The Garden of Love,” Michael said.

  “It’s at the Met,” Sam said to Lucy. “We should go see it.”’

  “I take it you’re from the city and she’s not.”

  Sam nodded.

  “Where did you go to school?” Michael asked.

  “St. Ann’s.”

  “One of those certified geniuses? I must bow down and scrape the floor for you.”

  Sam burst out laughing. It was the crazy principal’s selling point to the parents. According to him, only children who scored in the genius range on the Stanford Binet were admitted. It had certainly made the clientele happy to shell out the dough. Who didn’t want to believe how special their precious little darling was? The good thing about that same principal was his generosity. She’d gotten a full ride when Brooke was disinherited. “Don’t think about it,” was what he told Brooke. And she never had to.

  “How about you?” Sam asked.

  “Dalton.”

  “And you’re making fun of St. Ann’s? Please. I assume you graduated from college?”

  “I’m on sabbatical. This is the first day of the rest of my life.”

  “Where did you go?”

  He seemed embarrassed to admit, “Harvard.”

  “You left Harvard to work in a bookstore?”

  “Actually, to work in the basement of a bookstore. That’s what happens when you shirk your undergraduate responsibilities; your loving parents decide it’s high time you supported yourself.”

  “Mikhail!” a voice thundered from above.

  “You don’t have to buy anything, but you do have to leave,” Michael said. “I’m off at five.”

  When they were outside, Lucy beamed. “He’s perfect for you.”

  She’d pursued him to make him into a gift? If so, Sam wasn’t about to argue.

  TWO HOURS LATER they waited for Michael to lock the metal gates. “Chinese?”

  “Sure.”

  The three headed southeast.

  “You’re an Elvis fan,” Sam said, eyeing the t-shirt.

  “He’s amazing, though I have to admit I’m getting sick of the bad boy routine. You can’t go after Ray Charles and James Brown. That’s unacceptable behavior.”

  “Elvis Presley?” Lucy asked.

  “Have I taught you nothing?” Sam said.

  Lucy shrugged.

  “Costello. He got drunk and went into this rant, acted like a total asshole.”

  “What did he say?”

  Sam couldn’t bring herself to explain that part. What he’d said had been heinous. He’d used the N word. It was easier to skirt the truth. If I were black, Sam thought, I’d never forgive him.

  “If I were black, I’d never forgive him for going on like that. In fact, I’d probably want to kill him,” Michael said, echoing her thoughts. “The trouble is, there’s the music, and then the artist’s personality. Elvis is just too damn good, especially live.”

  “He’s amazing,” Sam agreed. “Who else do you like?”

  “The Clash, of course, and X. I got to see everyone. My brother worked at Max’s. He’d always sneak me inside.”

  “That’s too cool.”

  It turned out Michael had seen Blondie eleven times, and Springsteen playing “Rosalita,”plus Lou Reed, Nico, and the B-52’s. His taste was eclectic. He loved Aretha, but also Sonny Rollins and Brahms. He even admitted to liking opera.

  “Were you a music major?” Sam asked.

  “No. I guess I don’t want to ruin it for myself.”

  Sam laughed. It was true. Too much analysis could suck the life out of something.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What are your hopes and dreams?”

  “To be a medical professional,” Sam said.

  “You’re pre-med? That’s too funny. My girlfriend Dani is, too.”

  “Oh.” As in, oh shit. Sam’s heart sank. She valiantly tried to repair her crestfallen expression, forcing the corners of her lips back up. It felt painful, more of a grimace than a smile.

  “Sam plays me all sorts of music,” Lucy said, into the sudden silence. “You wouldn’t believe how uneducated I was when I got here. Such a hick.”

  “Sam is turning you into a snob just like the rest of us native New Yorkers?”

  “You guys aren’t snobs.”

  “Oh yes, we are,” Michael said. “Everyone everywhere else in this country hates the city, so we believe it’s our duty to prove them right by acting superior.”

  “I don’t know about anyone else, but I love it here,” Lucy avowed.

  They went to the Phoenix Garden, a Chinese restaurant in an underground shopping mall. The noise was overwhelming; dishes clattered, metal pots slammed, and all around diners conversed in high-pitched Mandarin. Mike beckoned to the waiter then said, “我 们 能 得 到 三 瓶 啤 酒?”

  The reply came and off he went.

  “I asked him for some beers, I hope that’s okay. I come here a lot.”

  “You speak Chinese?” Sam asked.

  “I took it at Harvard. They give you a different menu this way. Better food.”

  Sam decided it was best to get the bad news over with. “How long have you been with Dani?”

  Lucy kicked her under the table. Sam didn’t flinch.

  “We started dating in our senior year of high school. So are there any particular things you like? Maybe I should put it another way, what don’t the two of you eat?” Michael asked, changing the subject on his own.

  “I draw the line at entrails,” Sam said.

  He laughed. “Me, too.”

  “Why don’t you order for us,” Lucy said coyly.

  “Really?”’

  Under better circumstances Sam would have protested. She liked to pick and choose for herself. But in this case, she was dealing with how attractive this guy was to her and the unfortunate existence of a Boston based competitor.

  “I’ll do my best,” Michael agreed.

  Thankfully, the alcohol arrived. Lifting her beer, Sam wished upon whatever star was twinkling over New York City, the home of totally ambient light. Her wish was for Dani to vanish. She really liked this boy. Who would have thought it possible? She and Miss Capezio evidently had this in common, if nothing else.

  The food came posthaste. The waiter served salt and pepper shrimp, pea pod shoots in garlic sauce, and a whole sea bass with its deadeye staring up at them. Sam winked at it. The poor fish couldn’t exactly wink back.

  “How come you left school?” Lucy asked.

  “I told my parents I didn’t want to go into the law, and they told me that, in that case, I’d have to pay my useless liberal arts education on my own. I’m saving up to go back.”

  “How’s it working out?” Sam asked.

  “It might take a little longer than I anticipated.”

  “They’ll change their mind,” Sam said.

  “Aren’t you the cockeyed optimist?”

  “Not usually,” she admitted.

  AFTER DINNER HE invited them over. You had to walk up Bowery to get there as it was the only well-lit street. They made the left onto Delancey and something skittered past their feet.

  “What was that?” Lucy asked, recoiling.


  “A rat,” Sam said, nonchalantly. It had paused as if to prove her right, staring up at them quizzically.

  “That’s not a rat,” Lucy said, flinching. “It’s huge.”

  “They grow them as big as cats up here,” Michael said, as a passing car sprayed water. The rodent shivered and slid down the nearest gutter drain.

  “Then there are our gators,” Sam said.

  “Giants. Sometimes they come up out of the toilet,” Michael chimed in.

  “Come on, you guys,” Lucy said.

  “Kids get them as presents,” Sam insisted. “They’re cute when they’re little, but then when they grow, they have to be flushed. They live down there, roaming the sewers.”

  “You two are pulling my leg!” Lucy exclaimed.

  “No, we aren’t,” Sam said. “This is New York, the greatest city in the world.”

  They took Eldridge. Half the streetlights on the block were broken. It was too dark. Sam felt that uncomfortable prickling in the back of her neck. She kept twisting round to make sure no thugs were following them.

  “How far away is your building?” she asked him.

  “Another block and a half.”

  Michael and Sam exchanged that knowing, slightly paranoid look all native New Yorkers wore as armor. He picked up the pace. Reaching the corner, Sam exhaled her relief. Just a half a block to go and they would be safe and warm. As she stepped into the street, a man slid in front of her. There was a gun in his right hand pointed at her chest. He twitched as if someone were pulling his limbs with marionette strings.

  “Empty your pockets!” he ordered.

  Sam did as commanded, throwing the contents into the street. Michael added his own bills and coins.

  “Your turn,” he told Lucy.

  She glared and didn’t make a move to comply. Sam’s heart was pounding. She wanted to say something, but was afraid that it would set him off. She nudged Lucy’s arm. Then the mugger reached for Lucy himself, using the gun. He was going to shoot her!

  “No, don’t,” Sam begged. He gave an odd smile and used the barrel as an extension of his own hand to brush Lucy’s hair out of her eyes. Lucy smacked at him and at the gun. It dropped into the street and slid away.

  There was a second when the four of them stood there, frozen. A horrified tableau.

  “Run!” Lucy commanded.

  They did. They ran because their lives depended on it. They ran as if the hounds of hell were nipping at their heels in the shape of one pissed off junkie scrambling after his weapon, screaming, “You fucking shitheads, when I get you I’m gonna tear you apart!”

  Michael stuck his key in the lock. It jammed. “Shit!” he hissed. Then the key turned and the metal security door flew open. They were through the portal, through the second security door and inside. Both clanged shut. Michael led the way up to the fourth floor and down the hall to E. He unlocked the police lock. In they tumbled, panting.

  “Is he still out there?” Lucy asked, running to the window. “We should call the police.”

  Sam stared down at the now empty street.

  “And say what?” Michael asked.

  “That someone just tried to rob us. To kill us.”

  “Relax, I’ll take care of it,” Michael said. “Just be cool.”

  “Relax? How?”

  “Let him make the call,” Sam told her.

  He lifted the phone and punched in 911. “There’s a man who just tried to mug us. No. No! Look he’s armed and in his late twenties. He has pockmarks on his face, dark hair. Yes, I’d say dark brown or black. He’s wearing a blue jacket and tan pants. He’s got a scar right above his left eyebrow. He’s just been on Eldridge Street between Grand and Hester. No. No!” Then he hung up.

  “You didn’t give them your name,” Lucy said.

  “You never give your name,” Sam explained.

  “But they need to interview us.”

  “That’s the last thing we want them to do,” Michael said.

  “What do you mean?” Lucy asked, clearly shocked.

  “Because if we give them the option, they’ll come here instead of looking for him. They’ll take us down to the precinct, have us look through some mug shots, and that’s on a good day. Or they’ll just write down the notes, asking us a ton of questions. They prefer to do that. It’s safer than combing the streets and possibly happening upon someone with a gun who might shoot before they do. It’s not like in the movies. This is real life. They want to live to go home to their kids. They want to do what’s easier. Coming here first is easier. And safer.”

  “That’s can’t be true.”

  “It is,” Sam insisted. She still saw the junkie’s pockmarked face, his glittering brown eyes, and his shock of dark hair. She felt the desperation that had oozed from his every pore. Sam shuddered.

  Michael got up and went into the bedroom. He returned with a zip-lock bag. After crumbling pieces of hash into a pipe, he lit it, sucked in the balm, and passed the pipe to Sam. They smoked in silence. It was ironic that they’d almost been killed for a fix and now they were up here getting high. Outside there was a crash of thunder, then a bolt of lightning.

  “My mother had these friends,” Sam said. “They used to live on Avenue B. One day a man with a gun shoved his way into their apartment. He tied up Tod and then raped his wife, Emma, in front of him. He tied her up too, ransacked the place, and left. When they managed to get free, they called 911. Emma went to the hospital. There were rape kits. Statements. Mug shots. An endless hit parade of felons. Was he black? Was he Hispanic? Was he tall? Did he have any facial hair? They spent all this time trying to figure out who he was, but there was no mug shot of him, so Tod and Emma went home. The next day there was a note was in their mailbox. It was a death threat. They called the police who said they were sorry and would do everything in their power. The day after that, they came home to find their cat lying gutted on the kitchen floor. He could get in and out of their apartment. The police couldn’t help them with that either, other than to suggest changing the locks. That weekend, Tod and Emma packed up and moved to upstate New York. They got an unlisted number. True story.”

  “Jesus,” Lucy said.

  “That’s life in the big city,” Sam told her.

  The best thing was to take another toke. Then swig from the jug of wine Michael had opened. Outside it was raining cats, dogs, and kitchen implements.

  Michael put on Coltrane’s Giant Steps. It was frenetic and upbeat, a perfect counter to a near death experience.

  “If you became a lawyer would you be defending that guy or prosecuting him?” Sam asked Michael.

  He smiled. “It’s hard to say. There’s the sympathy route. Poor guy never had a chance, an unhappy childhood, messed up by the system, fell into addiction. My mother works as a public defender, so I’ve heard all the stories. Or there’s the flip side. My dad says ‘you make your own bed, then lie in it.’ He’s a corporate lawyer and feels no guilt. My brother is black sheep number one in that his MBA is going to help him work in the music business. He went to Princeton, now he’s at Columbia. As for me, I think that some people don’t have as much choice as others, that some of us are lucky, and that my parents are probably right. I should put away childish things. Instead I choose working at a shitty job, and I can choose to not do it, too. I can have a better life. That guy out there likely wasn’t born with my same options. But I still despise him. He just stuck a gun in our faces and scared the shit out of us. And we all know it could have been a hell of a lot worse.”

  “That’s why you have to do what you care about doing most,” Sam said.

  “So you can die happy?” Michael asked.

  “Don’t say that.” She shuddered.

  “But it’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

  “She’s right,” Lucy agreed. “You can’t sell yourself short.”

  “You know, what you did was crazy,” Michael told her.

  “I guess,” Lucy said. “I didn’t know I was going to do
it, believe me.”

  “But the beauty of it is, it worked.”

  Exactly, Sam thought. They had done the smart thing, she and Michael. She was of two minds, angry that Lucy had put them in mortal danger, but aware that she might also have saved their lives. If that junkie had decided to shoot them, what chance would they have really had? He could have taken them out cleanly and coldly, then sauntered off? Who was to say that wasn’t the story he’d worked out in advance, his perfect ending to a perfect crime?

  “There’s no way to be safe,” Lucy said. “No fucking way in the world.”

  She knew whereof she spoke, Sam thought, setting her hand Lucy’s knee. They sat together on the couch, bonded by this knowledge, united by just how close they’d come.

  The record ended. Michael put on Keith Jarrett. He specialized in lyrical piano riffs. Lovely. This cramped apartment was their ivory tower. Michael sucked in on the pipe and exhaled the residue. Crop circles of hash smoke floated to the ceiling.

  Outside, thunder crashed and lightning seared the sky, burning away all things wicked.

  “Strange weather,” Michael said. “Who’d we piss off, you think?”

  “God,” Lucy said.

  “God knows,” Sam added.

  “I wish she’d let us in on the secret then.” Michael giggled. They dissolved into laughter, and from that lapsed into hysterics. The tears were a relief. What a gift to be up here warm and dry, tucked away like Winnie the Pooh in that bedtime story!

  Michael retrieved a pint of chocolate Haagen Daz from his freezer. He brought three spoons. Sam dug through the permafrost crust to get to the gooey heart of the matter. Outside the rain beat down.

  “When I was thirteen, I was mugged four times,” Michael said. “It was always the same stupid deal. A bunch of boys would come up to me. One had the knife. They would threaten to beat me up if I didn’t give them my money. I told my parents I wanted to learn judo, so they sent me to a dojo. I never ended up having to use it. After that, every time I got mugged the asshole had a gun. You can’t go all Bruce Lee when the other guy has a gun, unless you’re in a Bruce Lee movie.”

  “It always feels like you can prevent it from happening, like somehow it’s your fault when it does,” Sam said.

  “This wasn’t our fault,” Lucy said.