by Jason Starr
I washed my face in the bathroom, resolving to just go out there and do it, damn it—tell her she had two days to move out.
I left the bathroom, noticing that the rest of the apartment was dark. I made my way to the dining alcove, where Rebecca was seated at the table set for two, a single candle burning in the center. She was holding a glass of wine and there was another glassful across from her.
“You didn’t change,” she said. Then she must’ve noticed my tense expression, because she said, “Come on, have some wine. The guy at the liquor store recommended it.”
I didn’t move.
“Are you, like, pissed at me for something?” she asked. “Because I just want you to know, I have, like, no idea what happened last night. I remember going out with Ray and everything else is foggy. I know we met people at Chaos and I was dancing with this guy Ramon or Raul who had these really cool dreads? Last thing I remember—me, Ray, and these two old guys started drinking. I mixed champagne and vodka. Stupid, right? Then I took a pill and somebody bought me more drinks and I have no idea what happened after that.”
“So you really don’t remember anything about last night?” I said.
“No, why?” she said. “I didn’t do something bad, did I?” She tried to look worried.
“Not really,” I said. “Unless you consider throwing a vase at my head bad.”
“Shut up! I threw a vase at your head?”
“Only a couple of times.”
“Oh God—I’m so sorry.”
“You also broke everything from the fireplace mantel.”
“I was wondering where everything went.”
“I cleaned up the mess this morning.”
“I can’t believe I did that. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s too late for sorries. Just pack up and move out tonight.”
I tried to walk away but she grabbed my arm, pleading.
“Come on,” she said. “I said I’m sorry. I’ll pay for everything I broke.”
“Pay for it with what?” I said. “You know how much you owe me so far? You have no intention of paying me back and you know it. Can you let go of my arm, please?”
Still holding on to me, she said, “Look, I know I’m not perfect, all right? I party too much and I go crazy with money and sometimes I, like, lose control. I admit all that, okay? But I swear I’m gonna change. I’ll get a job, you can cut up my credit cards. I’ll chill out on the clubbing and the partying and I’ll stop buying new clothes. I’ll go to thrift shops, and no more Sephora—I’ll buy my makeup at Duane Reade. I won’t take cabs anymore, I’ll—”
I freed myself and continued past her, saying, “Nothing you say is going to change my mind.”
Following me, she said, “Is this because of last night? Because whatever happened, whatever I said or did, I swear to God it’ll never happen again.”
“It’s over,” I said. “Just pack your things and move out.”
“What do you mean, over?” she said, as if she were hearing me for the first time.
“You have to leave,” I said. “I’m sure you can stay with Ray or one of your other friends for a few nights, until you find someplace permanent.”
She grabbed my arm—harder this time.
“Come on, let’s just chill and talk,” she said.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said, wriggling my arm free. “I told you from the beginning this wasn’t serious, and you agreed. Remember? You said we were just having fun.”
“We were having fun,” she said. “Then I fell in love with you.”
I laughed, hoping she’d laugh too, but she didn’t.
“Come on, you know that’s ridiculous,” I said. “You love my apartment and my money. You don’t love me.”
“You really mean that?” she said. “You really think that’s, like, what kind of person I am?”
“I heard you talking to your friend Monique.”
“Monique? When was I talking to Monique?”
“I don’t know, couple of months ago, whenever. I heard what you said, how I’m your puppy dog, how you just want me for my apartment and money.”
“I never said that.”
“I know what I heard.”
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, starting to cry.
“Look,” I said, “I admit I was at fault here too. I know I invited you to move in with me and I started lending you money, but that’s because I was in a very vulnerable position, because my sister had just died and . . . Look, none of that is important right now. What’s important is that we both have to move on.”
Rebecca was staring at me as if in disbelief, a few fake tears dripping down her cheeks.
“I can’t believe that’s what you really think of me,” she said. “I mean, why would I, like, gold-dig off you? I mean, you’re just like some reporter, making forty-two a year. If I wanted to gold-dig, I would’ve gone after a doctor or a lawyer or an investment banker—somebody with real money.”
“So maybe you should think about doing that,” I said.
I turned around and headed back into the dining area.
“Okay, stop it!” she screamed. “Just fucking stop it!”
I looked back and saw her glaring at me with her hands over her ears, as if to block out the sound of her own screeching voice. I’d seen Rebecca lose it plenty of times, but I’d never seen her act quite like this. She seemed like she was having some kind of breakdown.
“Look,” I said. “I really think we should both—”
“Stop saying ‘look,’” she said. “I hate it when you say ‘look.’ ”
“Okay, I think I know what this is all about now,” I said. “It’s about your past, isn’t it?”
“What about my past?”
“The issues you have. Your father leaving and men abandoning you and all that. I know it’s not easy for you to let go, but if we both work through this together—”
“You don’t know me! You have no idea who I am!”
“I’m not saying I know you,” I said. “I’m just saying I know what’s going on inside your head. I mean, I have trouble letting go myself sometimes; that’s why I think if you just move out, without making a big deal—”
“There’re things about me you don’t know,” Rebecca said. “If you knew them you wouldn’t do this. You’d understand why you can’t do this.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. I was afraid she was going to have another fit, start throwing things at me again.
“Okay, let’s just relax now,” I said, “take deep breaths—”
“You think I’m this, like, nice, innocent person,” she went on, “but I’m not. I’m not like that at all.”
“Look—”
“Stop saying ‘look’!” she screamed.
Great, I thought. Now she’d attack me again and Carmen would come to the door, complaining, and we’d have a replay of last night.
“Let’s just cool it, all right?” I said. “I’m not trying to get into some he-said, she-said blaming match with you. What I mean is . . . I mean, it’s not me, it’s you. . . . I mean, it’s me, not you. . . . It’s my fault.”
“I was married once,” she said.
“You were married,” I said as a statement.
“Yes, I was married. See, you don’t know anything about me. You just think you do.”
Rebecca still looked unstable, and I didn’t want to say anything to upset her any more.
“His name was David,” she added.
“David, huh?”
“Yes, David,” she said. “When I met you, I thought it was, like, an omen. I thought that God had brought another David into my life to give me a chance to do things right, to, like, prove I could have a normal relationship? See, things with David and me got fucked-up. Like, really fucked-up.”
“Did this ‘other David’ live in New York?” I asked, convinced she was making this whole story up.
“No, this was when I was living in L.A.
,” she said. “He owned this bar I used to hang out at in Venice. You know my snake tattoo?” She stuck out her shoulder to show me the tattoo of the coiled python. “David had the same one on the back of his leg—he didn’t have any more room on his arms. Anyway, he was a lot older than me—I was twenty-two; he was forty-two? I guess I was, like, looking for a father figure or something?”
I was staring at her, trying to look like I was believing her.
“Anyway,” she said, “after we were going out for, like, a month he was, like, ‘Let’s get married.’ The wedding was nothing fancy—we got in his car and drove to Vegas. We were both drunk during the ceremony—it was a blast—but when we drove back to L.A. the party was over. I remember the first time he hit me. I couldn’t believe it—I just stood there, staring at him, my nose gushing blood. After that things started getting bad—like, really bad.” She was crying. “Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I mean all that abuse every day. I knew I had to end it somehow, so one day I just . . .” Her voice faded, overtaken by sobbing. She couldn’t answer for several seconds, and then she said, “I ended it. One day I just ended it.”
I knew she was making the whole story up. It was just a lame, desperate, last-ditch attempt to get sympathy from me, and it wasn’t going to work.
“Look, I’m very sorry your marriage didn’t work out, but—”
“Stop saying ‘look,’” she said, clenching her fists.
“All right, look,” I said. “I mean, not look. I mean, I think you’re a really great person. I’m sure you’ll land on your feet, and some guy’s gonna be lucky to—”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she said. “I don’t want ‘some guy’—I want you. Before I met you I didn’t think I’d ever have a normal relationship with a guy again. I mean, I thought I was, like, cursed or something. Then I met you and fell in love. I know you don’t think I care about you, that I’m just into partying and all that? But it’s not true. I care about you a lot— more than anything in the world. I just have a hard time showing it sometimes, that’s all.”
She started crying again. She suddenly seemed harmless and innocent, and I had to remind myself that she was insane.
“I’m really sorry about this,” I said, “but it’s over, so you can just forget about trying to—”
She started kissing me. I was trying not to kiss her back, but it was hard to stop myself. Then the phone started ringing.
Holding on to my shoulders, she said, “Let it ring.”
“I’ll be right back,” I said, wriggling free.
I went into the kitchen and picked up.
“David, is that you?”
Shit. I was hoping I’d never hear that annoying, mousy voice again.
“Yes,” I said, trying to act natural because Rebecca could overhear us.
“I couldn’t do it,” Sue said. “The body’s still up in my apartment.”
Rebecca was looking over, trying to eavesdrop. She was about ten feet away, though, and I hoped she couldn’t hear the voice on the other end.
“Oh, hi, Steve,” I said, deciding I’d pretend to have a conversation with Steve Pinkus, who worked in Copyediting.
“Steve?” Sue said. “Who the fuck’s Steve?”
“No way,” I said, smiling.
“Stop dicking around, you stupid asshole,” Sue said. “We’re in big trouble now, really big trouble, and I wanna know what the hell you’re gonna do about it.”
“What exactly is the problem?” I asked, looking at Rebecca, who was still watching me.
“I told you the problem, you fuckin’ jerk-off—I didn’t call the cops, so you better get your ass over here right now and do something.”
I pictured Ricky, or whatever his real name was, sitting next to Sue, maybe with an ice pack on his head. They must’ve thought they’d found a real sucker.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said, glancing at Rebecca again, who was still listening in.
“Sorry about what?” Sue said. “What’re you talking about?”
“Can I send you a new file in the morning?”
“What?”
“That sounds great.”
“I’m gonna call the cops right now—I’m not playing around, dickhead.”
“Okeydokey. Bye-bye.”
I hung up the phone and returned to the dining area.
“Something wrong?” Rebecca asked.
“No, that was just Steve Pinkus in Copyediting. Look, it’s nothing personal. I’ve had some great times with you and I think you’re a great person and all that, but I really think we should—”
The phone started ringing again.
“Let the machine pick up,” Rebecca said in a raspy, sexy voice that usually turned me on.
The phone was still ringing.
“I’ll take it in the bedroom,” I said.
When I picked up, the answering machine had already answered—Ja Rule rapping in the background with Rebecca’s voice saying, “We’re out having fun right now, but if you leave us a message—”
“Hello,” I said.
“Hang up on me again and I’m gonna—”
“Look, I know what you two are doing,” I said in a hushed tone, “and it’s not gonna work. So you better go out and find yourself a new sucker, because—”
“What’re you talking about?” she said. “Ricky’s dead, and you better get your stupid ass over here and do something about it.”
Sue sounded truly panicked. Maybe it was all a scam— Ricky was sitting right next to her, coaching her on what to say—and this was all part of the setup.
Or maybe it wasn’t.
I took a deep breath, shaking my head, then said, “Gimme half an hour,” and hung up.
I remained in the bedroom for a few minutes, trying to pull myself together. Finally I changed into jeans, a sweatshirt, and sneakers, and then I returned to the dining alcove, where Rebecca was still seated, waiting for me.
“Gotta go,” I said.
“What do you mean?” she said, frowning.
“Problem with the file for my story,” I said. “Gotta go to the office and resend it.”
“Can’t you do that from here?”
“I didn’t back it up on disk.”
“Come on.”
“Sorry.”
“When are you coming back?”
“Hour or so.”
“Why so long?”
“I might have to stick around while they copyedit it.”
“What about dinner?” She bit down gently on her lip and looked me up and down. “I had a really great dessert planned too.”
“Let me know how it was,” I said.
I hailed a cab on Columbus and had to say, “Avenue B and Sixth Street,” five times, the fifth time practically screaming, before the Russian driver understood what I was saying. As we pulled away, I noticed that the cab reeked of cigarettes. I cranked open the window, letting in bus exhaust and street noise. We passed Spazzia, where Barbara and I used to go for brunch sometimes on Sundays.
“Me and Jay are breaking up,” Barbara said to me at a table near the window. She was drinking her second Bloody Mary, her hair cut short to shoulder length.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I can’t say I’m not happy about it.”
I reached across the table and touched her wrist; then she yanked her arm away as if I had cooties.
Glaring at me, she said, “You fucked up my whole life,” loud enough that a couple at a nearby table looked over. She took a big gulp of her Bloody Mary, almost finishing it, and I wondered if she was drunk.
“Me?” I said. “What did I do?”
“Dr. Kellerman says you’re the reason I can’t have a functional relationship with a guy.”
“I don’t know why you pay some guy one-fifty an hour to insult you.”
“He said we spend too much time together.”
“You’re basically the only family I have in the world, so, what, we can’t hang out together? Is that some k
ind of crime?”
“I hate you so much right now.”
The cab was stuck in traffic near Seventy-second Street, cars and buses all around us honking their horns. I realized the cabdriver was talking to me.
“What?” I said.
“You want me to take East Side?” he said with his Russian accent.
“Yeah, fine, whatever,” I said, staring out the window.
When the cab turned onto Avenue A, I was so certain that Ricky wouldn’t be in the apartment I almost considered telling the driver to turn around and head back uptown. Then I remembered how believably desperate Sue had sounded on the phone, and I decided that since I’d come all the way down here I might as well make sure.
I got out at the corner of Sixth and A and headed down the block toward Sue’s building. I remembered how relieved I’d felt this afternoon when I’d left there, and it was hard for me to believe that I was going back.
I went into the vestibule and rang apartment fourteen. She buzzed me in, and I headed up the stairs. Near the third floor, a thin, light-skinned black guy in an army jacket passed me on the stairs, pushing me hard with his shoulder.
“Hey,” I said, but the guy kept going.
I hated New Yorkers; I hated people. I wanted to move to the country, deep into Vermont or New Hampshire or—better yet—Canada. Saskatchewan. I’d live in a cabin with no TV, never see a human face again.
When I reached Sue’s floor I caught my breath, then rang the bell to her apartment. I heard footsteps going back and forth. It sounded like one person was in there, but I wondered if Ricky was there too, maybe scrambling to hide.
I rang the bell several times in succession, upset that so much of my time was being wasted, and then Sue opened the door. I noticed that she was shivering as she moved to the side to let me into the apartment.
I entered the foyer and, as I expected, the body wasn’t there.
“Look,” I said, pointing my index finger, as if scolding a delinquent child, “I’ve had it with this bullshit. Stay the hell away from me or I’m calling the cops, and I mean it. I don’t care what story you have, either—the second I hear your voice I’m gonna—”
I noticed that Sue wasn’t looking at me—her gaze was focused to my right and down slightly. I looked over my right shoulder and saw Ricky on his back—the lower part of his body inside the bathroom, the upper part in the main part of the apartment a few feet away from me. His eyes were half-open, but perfectly still and glazed over, and his light brown skin had turned a shade of blue.
