by Liz K. Lorde
I brush back some of my hair, “It’s nice to meet you, Slim.” He smiles. Guess he approves of me using his nickname, and I ask him, “do you come down here a lot?” I wish I could ask if he had a place for me to stay, but I didn’t want to be a burden to him… especially when I’m already such a burden on myself.
The man takes in a breath and looks upwards in consideration, humming lightly to himself. “Probably twice a week,” he finally says, “sometimes I’ll hit up Rykers, an’ I’m always moving around the city. Least on the eas’ side, of course.” I wondered then what he did for a living, and for a brief moment I considered asking, but a part of me was fearful of what the answer might be.
He continues, “You ever need me to show you around, it ain’t no thing f’you want me to. Boys’ll be hollering when they see you, too.” Slim smirks at me and his copper eyes just glow with warmth.
Heat kisses at my cheeks. Is he flirting with me right now? “I’d love to do that, uhm, I was actually just showing myself around,” I look over my shoulder, seeing the many people hanging out in groups of two, three and five. I bring my head back.
“Yeah?” Slim says.
I nod my head and smile at him, “If you’ve got the time…”
Slim Charles bobs his head slowly and twice over.
THE NEXT FEW HOURS go by quickly and I feel so much safer having actual company. He’d shown me around the other skating park that he frequents, Rykers, which was quite a bit nicer than the one I’d just been at. I never bothered to ask him the name of it, so I just came to know it as the skate park on 23rd street. One of the first things that I asked the man was if he’d heard of my Mom, Lisa Blackwoode.
The blow did not hurt so much once he told me that he hadn’t; guess it’s a good thing to have your hopes low when you have nothing. We talked about life in general, and most of the time I just let him go on and on about what was what and who was who around the city. We’re walking down the dilapidated sidewalk of Ashens Court right now, apparently this is where he lives – deep in the underfunded and overcrowded projects.
Three massive brown behemoths jut from the ground, and they look down at me with a hundred and more menacing glass eyes. Some of the faded window panes are busted, and personal air conditioners hang like vines might on a lattice, peppering the building with continuously running units. Much like the park from earlier, graffiti tags all along the base of the building with names and crude images and symbols.
Various people trudge through the overgrown grass of the surrounding area and pass into the streets. Most of them black, some of them white, and a scarce few Hispanic. Some women, but most of them young men closer to my and Slim’s age. The girls that Slim and I do pass give me nasty, cattish looks, like I’d somehow done something wrong simply by existing near them.
Was I like that?
The smallest pang of something runs through my blood, but I can’t quite place the feeling.
There’s this one guy, this one older man in like his 40’s or something. I point to him because he’s so busy talking with a great deal of animation at anyone who passes near him; looks like he’s selling ridiculous hat from a stuffed black trash bag. “Whose that?” I ask Slim.
Slim slows his walking pace and looks in the direction that I’m pointing. After a second he snorts with what I imagine is derision. “Him? He ain’t nobody. You stay away from him, you hear?”
Somehow that only made me want to go over and talk to the man more. He didn’t look particularly harmful. Just weird, what with the fact that he was out and about as the sun sets, trying to put hats on people’s heads. “But who is he?” I ask, narrowing my eyes to try and look at him better – my curiosity piqued.
He doesn’t have much muscle to him. No, he has lots of bone but little fat to go with it. The crown of his head is bald and scraggy with a few copper hairs, while the rest of his wiry, copper colored hair comes out long and down past his shoulders. He has a thick, unkempt beard of matching color and his nose appears to be red, or sore maybe, around the nostrils.
Slim just repeats himself, this time with more emphasis on the words. “He nobody. Okay? Nobody. You stay away from him.”
So stay away from the crazy looking hat peddler I did, and I listened to Charles, and when my feet refused to carry me another step that night, yes, I did break down a little and ask him if he wouldn’t mind letting me stay and sleep at his place for the night.
Even hard wood floor somehow beats the killing loneliness of my backseat bed.
CHAPTER 4
VIVIAN
THE SECOND AND THIRD MONTH go by quickly for me. Before heading off to work, I’d managed to save up a little bit of money, so I’d decided to treat myself to a nice refreshing chai tea. While I’m waiting in line to order, there’s a good three people in front of me, and it must be a popular spot to go as there’s lots of tables being used. Through the chatter and the general din of the coffee shop, there’s someone that catches my eye. This mysterious man that I keep seeing around this part of town, and it’s like I can feel his eyes raking over me even now. I do a quick, nonchalant turn and glance over at him.
He’s sitting there by the window reading a newspaper in a navy blue business suit, and he looks my way. When his small green eyes meet with mine, I feel heat rake across me. He’s wearing a golden ring on his pinky, and he smiles and shows me some of his pearly white teeth.
I return a smile and turn away, thinking about how absurd it is that a guy that hot could be looking at a girl like me. My Dad had once told me that you could tell a lot about someone with the way they look at you. Still, finding the nerve to actually go and talk to him escapes me.
IT’S NIGHT AND I CAN HEAR THE CRICKETS chirping outside while I listen to the radio; today was a hard working day for me on the cooking line at Fry Guys, and sleep was already threatening to take me. I can feel the sweet relief in my bones when I lay down in the back of my car. I still haven’t managed to get any babysitting gigs, but I guess being homeless wasn’t the best way to attract paying parents.
It’d been three weeks since Dad last tried to reach me.
I didn’t pick up of course. Still felt like I had nothing to say. But… a part of me really did miss him.
There was no word on Mom, and Slim had graciously taken to heart my cause, putting up flyer’s with his friends once a week wherever he could. We have it set up where I’ll tag along the wooden posts of the east end of the city, while he and his tag around the west. The man on the radio starts talking about that guy once again. Seems like they never shut up about him: Leonardo Ligotti. They keep calling him the Prince of Crime. Something about how his father passed, and that he pulled off a brazen heist on Goldman & Goldman bank with known thug and dangerous criminal Connifer Morgenstern.
I close my eyes and feel my breathing come to a slow, heavy rhythm. The chatter of the radio helps me drift away, and my last thought is about how I’ve finally scrounged up enough money to get a small place with someone, whom I’ll be meeting when the morning finally rolls around.
BEEP, BEEP, BEEP goes my phone’s alarm and I shuffle around in the back of my truck like I’ve just clawed my way out of a six-foot grave. I half crawl, half pull myself over into the front seat of the vehicle and stick my hand in my pocket, getting caught for a moment before pulling the keys out and stuffing them inside of the ignition.
DRIVING THROUGH THE HECTIC morning traffic is something else. Even after having been here for a while now, it was like a symphony of horn honking and jaywalking, lane changing and yelling contests wherever you tried to go. The sidewalks are packed with bustling people trying to get from point A to point B; modern buildings of glass and steel and gray concrete rise up from both ends, while older, more historic buildings make their stand as wider and more regal – with white marbled lions that proudly guard their entrance, they let me know just where the money really flows in this town. Pawn shops litter the city, with big, bold white letters explaining how they’ll give you C
ASH and CASH NOW.
I didn’t even have the money for gas most of the time, but the man that I’m supposed to be meeting with today, Ray Palmer, is like an hour away if I walk, and my feet are effing killing me from all of this walking!
My shoes are the first things that are starting to go, and it feels like each and every night I feel the bite of them more and more still. Just idling at the red lights is enough to make me break a sweat, and I wipe at my forehead with the sleeve of the plain white tee I’d managed to snag before leaving that day.
Feels so long ago, now.
Stupid girl, I think to myself. Stupid, stupid. This city doesn’t want you either. Your mother doesn’t want you. Nobody wants you, and nobody is going to love a girl without a home.
Nobody.
I have to bite on my lip just to distract myself from my own thoughts. Reaching my hand over to the radio, I turn it on and listen to the static as I switch over to 93.3 The Bone. Rock music starts playing, and I make my way over to Ray’s place, parking on the side of the street.
Peeking my head out of my window, I check to make sure it’s safe to step out of my vehicle. Once I’m satisfied, I step outside of the truck, slam the door shut, and hustle over to the two-story brownstone’s front step. The building itself nearly steals my breath away with it’s raw beauty. Comparatively, sure, it’s not as stunning as the brownstone’s flanking either side of it, which are all three stories in height. It’s short row of front steps are gun grey, and the railings on either side of it’s front entrance are slender and black and a little rusted from many nights of rain. There’s an air conditioner that juts out from the front, and I can hear it running along smoothly; making me envious of my potential new roommate’s safety from the outside heat.
Four pane, crimson frame windows rest on both the first and second floor – the glass itself is well maintained, surprisingly, given how old and worn the brownstone looks. Placing my hands on both black railings, I make my way up the steps and my shoes audibly kiss against the raised stones. The front door itself is eight feet tall and makes me feel like I’m only four. It’s black wooden face mutely considers me, with it’s raised panel features and it’s leaf-like decorative embellishments. Turning my head to the stony side wall, I find and press a button on the intercom labeled ‘RAY’ and wait for a moment.
Seconds pass by without anything happening, and then I hear a click through the intercom and I guess the sound of Ray shuffling around. “Yeah?” He says with a slight slur to his voice, and immediately my first thought is the look that my father gave me right when I peeled out of the street.
I push the white intercom button and say, “Hey, is this… Ray Palmer?”
“Uhm, I don’t know sweetheart what d’you think?” His voice is so sassy it cuts me to the bone. “Heck yeah it is, this Vivian?”
“Yeah,” I respond, “think you could, I don’t know, let me in, maybe?”
“Oh sure, sure,” he says in that high pitched voice, “hang on a second, hun.” I wait for several seconds, and eventually the front door opens to reveal a tall man dressed in a white and pink bathrobe with a short, iced alcoholic beverage in his hands. This is Ray, huh?
Ray gives me this contemptuous, one sided smirk, and he almost trips over himself when he steps forward a bit further, cursing beneath his breath. I can smell the familiar scent of rum and coke on his wet lips. There are a couple of stains on that white and pink bathrobe, probably from the drinking.
The both of us go for a handshake, and his grip is as dainty as I anticipated it might be. “Sorry about the early morning fashion statement,” he explains, “I just didn’t feel like getting spiffy today.”
“It’s okay,” I say with a forced smile, not happy about getting a private show of his hairy chest. He’s not a muscular man, but he does have a nice crop of blonde hair parted to the right with what looks like hair gel. His eyes are a nice shade of blue, too. A little dog scurries over to the front door and right beside Ray. It starts immediately barking at me, and growling, and just generally wanting me to be nowhere near it’s daddy.
Ray shushes the dog and sips from his drink, the ice clinking against the rim of the glass. “Oh, hush now Cotton.” He tells it, and then looks to me, “I’m soooo sorry, Cotton’s just a little poop machine that doesn’t know…” he looks down at the dog, and starts talking to it like it were his baby or something, “that she’s gonna help daddy get over this nasty breakup. Oh yes she is!”
Nasty breakup? Wonder if it was Ray or the other man… or, I guess it could be a woman. No, no probably not. Either way I’m not butting my big head into it. Ray apologies one more time and lifts his light blonde eyebrows, “You wanna come in? Get yourself some coffee girl, we’ll pow-wow and see if this is a right fit for us.”
I brush back some of my black hair, “Uhm, yeah,” I say, not sure what else to say, “sure.”
Ray smiles and sips from his rum and coke one more time before the three of us enter the brownstone. The antecedent room is comprised of a lush wooden flooring, and on my right there’s a black mat where shoes are strewn haphazardly. Just in front of me a narrow stairway with red carpeting awaits to take me upwards; an open frame flanks me on both sides, one leading into a dining room and kitchen, the other into a spacious and cozy living room. Following Ray, I make my way to the large blue couch and sit down on the far end of it. Meanwhile, Cotton scampers on over to my feet and starts sniffing at my sneakers.
“How you like your coffee, hon?” Ray asks before turning around and moving towards the kitchen.
I let my eyes rake over the copy table that’s plagued with a veritable sea of legal seeming paperwork. “Sugar and cream.”
He scrunches up his face, “I’m sorry but do I look like your waiter? Nah ah girl, you sprinkle on some please for that order,” he waves a finger and a stab of heat goes to my gut.
“Please,” I say it like the word leaving my lips pulled some teeth out along the way.
Ray moves his head as he talks, “Thank you,” he says with equal parts of contempt and continues towards the kitchen. He calls out, “didn’t your daddy ever touch you no manners?”
Cotton sniffs at my shoes once more, and I push him away with the end of my sneakers, causing him to sharply bark a couple of times at me. I try and make myself comfortable on the couch and reply, “No I just don’t care for them.”
“Uh-huh,” he says from the kitchen that I can’t see. “Well how long you been in Chaos? Funny name, ain’t it? Only thing chaotic around here’s my love life – course you can probably tell that—“ he interrupts himself, and his voice begins to choke, “just by looking at me!” He says all weepy.
Geez this guy must have had it really bad. I’m so happy that I never had the chance to get into a serious relationship, all it does is make you miserable.
But something pricks at the back of my mind, and I know that I’m only fooling myself.
Hurt rakes across my chest, and I push a breath from my nose.
I’d never been in love before. Nobody’s even given me the chance. But I’m good, aren’t I? Thinking back on Belle and how I spoke to dad, thinking on how Mom never came back for me… I start to seriously consider my actions. Maybe I’m not that good of a person after all. I clench my fingers against my hand, and it starts to hurt – but I just keep clenching.
“I’m sorry!” Ray calls out in a happier tone, “just being extra today. Extra, extra, extra. That’s what got SIMON to go and leave,” Ray huffs loudly and a couple of moments later, he rounds the corner with a white mug of coffee for me, and a now refreshed glass of rum in his hand. He apologizes for what feels like the millionth time and hands me the pipping hot mug of coffee; he then sits down on the far end of the couch opposite me and crosses one hairless leg over the other.
“Thanks,” I tell him, sipping at the scalding hot bean water. Mmm, hot bean water. “For the coffee,” I add.
He gives me that one sided smile again, “No problem. So you told
me that you work at a fast food joint?”
I drink some more coffee a little too loudly, before placing it down on the glass coffee table, which stands proudly on top of a rather big, blood red rug. “I do,” I nod quickly, “it’s uhm, it’s a Fry Guys down on 42nd.”
“Oh,” he says like I’d just drowned his dog. Did I say something wrong? “That place is terrible, girl!” He says with great enthusiasm, “how do you stand it?”
I smile at him, a finger of happiness pressing at my chest, “It’s not that bad.”
“You’re totally being modest,” he snaps back, and then brings the rim of his glass to his lips, the ice making a sound as he drinks. “My bleached asshole of an EX used to work there,” so that’s why he’s so bitter. Ok. “Can you believe that?” He asks me, as if I could possibly ever believe a word out of this stranger’s mouth, “I actually thought that jerk was cute.” He scrunches his hooked nose, “I mean, he sounded cute when I went up to order.”
“You met him ordering food at a drive-through?”
“Uh, yeah!” Ray says, “how else am I gonna meet cute guys? What you think grindr is just loaded with these hot, single guys?” He raises his voice and his brows. It seems that every time his eyebrows go up, so too does his energy. “Yeah no,” he continues, “they’re all taken, sweetie. I get what I can,” he snaps his fingers, “where I can. When I can.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“What you think something’s funny?” He coils back on the couch and his little dog grumbles on it’s orange doggy cushion. “Look I’m going through a real hard time right now.”
Yeah, I can relate. “Me too,” I interject.
“So we don’t like, need to be all kum-by-ya, hugging and kissing each other and wishing each other that we’re safe before work,” I didn’t even know what that was all supposed to mean, nor did I even know just what he did for a living, quite yet. “But so long as you got money, and I got money, and we’re not each other’s throats, we could maybe make this work. You’re not like, uh,” he clicks his tongue and swipes back some of his sandy blonde hair with two fingers.
