The 25th Hour

by David Benioff

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ says Naturelle. ‘I had nothing to do with this.’

  ‘Get me a drink,’ says Slattery. He sits down on one of the chairs and closes his eyes. He has been awake since five-thirty in the morning. This night will never end.

  ‘So how do you know Jake?’ Mary asks, following Monty up the stairs. Jakob is in the rear. He is still not sure what is happening.

  ‘We went to school together,’ says Monty.

  ‘Really? Campbell-Sawyer? You went to Campbell-Sawyer? You don’t seem the type.’

  ‘They didn’t think so either.’

  ‘I hate that place. Elin – Jake’s okay, but mostly it’s—;’

  Monty stops and turns around. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-one,’ says Mary, no hesitation. ‘I was held back for a while.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  Monty smiles. ‘Mr Elinsky here, he’s your teacher?’

  ‘Yep.’ Mary turns and pats Jakob’s arm. ‘I’m his best student.’

  ‘Look,’ says Jakob, ‘she’s seventeen. We can’t take her in here.’

  ‘Why not?’ asks Monty. ‘We’re already in.’

  ‘What’s the problem? I’ve got ID.’

  ‘You’re going to get people in trouble,’ says Jakob. ‘You could get the club closed down.’

  Monty snorts and begins climbing the stairs again. ‘Fuck the club. What did you say your name was? Mary D’Agostino?’

  ‘D’Annunzio.’

  ‘What do you think of Mr Elinsky?’

  ‘He’s all right.’ She turns and grins at Jakob. ‘He acts like a little old man sometimes.’

  ‘That’s true, he does. I think tonight should be a big night for Mr Elinsky. I think we should make sure Mr Elinsky has fun for once.’

  ‘Okay,’ says Mary. ‘So when you went to C-S it was all boys, huh?’

  Monty opens the fire door and leads them out onto the balcony. ‘All boys,’ he says, but the noise devours his words.

  ‘Oh, listen to that! Listen! Dusk is so truth! We have to dance!’

  ‘Not yet,’ says Monty. ‘We’ve got a party to go to.’ They can’t hear him over the music but they follow him down to the VIP room, where Monty shakes hands with Oscar.

  ‘I’ll let people know you’re here!’ shouts Oscar.

  ‘Give me an hour! I’m not ready for the whole deal yet!’

  Inside Naturelle is seated at the red velvet bar, talking to the bartender in the green dress. They both turn to look at Monty when he enters. He raises his fists like a boxing champion, then slaps Slattery on the side of the head.

  ‘Wake up, boy! What are you doing?’

  Slattery opens his eyes. ‘I’m up. This room, I feel like I’ve been swallowed by a whale. What’s happening?’

  ‘What’s happening? My farewell party is about to begin. Daphne! Champagne! Come over here and join us. D’Annunzio, this is Slattery.’

  ‘Hey,’ says Mary. She sits on the edge of the nearest sofa and looks around. ‘I’ve seen photographs of this room,’ she says. ‘The Smashing Pumpkins were in here.’ She stares at Monty. ‘Who are you? Are you somebody famous?’

  Monty nods. ‘Do us a favor, D’Annunzio. Don’t talk too much.’

  Daphne, the bartender in the green dress, walks over with two bottles of champagne in an ice bucket, followed by Naturelle, who carries a tray of flute glasses. Monty kisses Daphne on the cheek, draws one of the dripping bottles from the bucket, and begins opening it.

  ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ asks Slattery, rising from his chair. The bathroom door is pointed out to him and he heads in that direction. ‘If the toilet seat is covered in red velvet, I’m hurting someone.’

  Daphne rests the ice bucket on a black steel table and returns to the bar. Monty pops the cork, spilling some champagne on the red carpet. He presses the bottle against his forehead, feels a vein pulsing against the cold glass. When he realizes that everyone’s watching him, he grins and pours the champagne, hands out the glasses, and sits on the sofa. He motions for Jakob to join him.

  ‘I need to dance,’ says Mary, shrugging out of her raccoon coat. She wears a white tank top with Tweety Bird emblazoned on the front. Tattooed roses garland her left wrist. She seizes Jakob’s Yankees cap, her hands too fast for his dulled reflexes, and pulls it on backward. ‘Anyone want to dance?’

  ‘I’ll dance,’ says Naturelle. ‘You want to dance with us?’ she asks Monty.

  ‘A little later. Me and Jake need to talk.’

  ‘I’m Naturelle,’ she says, walking with Mary out of the room.

  ‘I’m Mary D’Annunzio. I’m Jake’s lover.’

  Jakob lies on his back next to Monty and covers his eyes with his forearm. ‘What are you doing to me?’

  Monty grins. ‘She’s cute, buddy. She talks too much but she’s cute.’

  ‘You’re going to get me fired. Do you realize that? She’ll tell her friends, and they’ll tell their friends, and pretty soon everyone in the school will know that Mary D’Annunzio and Mr Elinsky went to a dance club together.’

  ‘So what, you went to a dance club. Tell them it was your friend’s birthday and you got her in. You haven’t done anything wrong, have you? Not yet.’

  Jakob sits up. ‘Yet? What does that mean?’

  ‘You want this girl, don’t you?’

  ‘Shit, Monty, she’s seventeen! She’s my student. I can’t touch her.’

  ‘I would,’ says Monty. ‘She’s got that look. I like little girls with tattoos.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘I don’t see you much anymore. We’ve kind of gone our separate ways.’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘It’s too bad. You’re smarter than the people I know these days. Here,’ says Monty, raising his glass of champagne. ‘Make me a toast.’

  Jakob raises his glass. ‘You want me to make a toast?’

  ‘Yeah. Come on, I won’t be seeing you for a while. Say something nice.’

  Jakob stares at the tiny bubbles thing. ‘God, my mind’s not working well.’

  ‘All right,’ says Monty. ‘Here’s to Doyle.’

  ‘To Doyle? All right, to Doyle.’ They touch glasses and drink.

  ‘He’s your dog now,’ says Monty.

  ‘What?’

  Monty lets the champagne burn on his tongue for a moment before swallowing. ‘He needs a home. And he likes you.’

  ‘Yeah, but . . . I don’t know. You’ve seen the size of my apartment.’

  ‘Poor Doyle, he’ll be living in a small apartment. Hey, he’s a tough dog. He’ll get used to it.’

  ‘Why can’t Nat take him?’

  ‘She’s moving in with her mom. Woman hates him. And Doyle doesn’t like Frank. And my dad’s allergic.’

  ‘What about Kostya?’

  Monty runs his fingers across his scalp, silver rings plowing through his black hair. ‘Kostya won’t be around. So that’s it. There’s no one else I can ask.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Jakob.

  Monty refills his glass. ‘They went all out for me, huh? Cristal. I’m a lucky guy to work with such caring people.’

  ‘One more glass of this and I’m officially drunk.’

  ‘Listen,’ says Monty. ‘This is important to me. Doyle is important to me. He’s not a pet for me; he’s a friend. I know what that sounds like. I know, it sounds weird. But listen, when I found him he wouldn’t trust anyone. Anyone tried to pet him he’d bite their hand off. I found him and he was mostly dead, a couple hours more and the rats would have eaten him. The guys that used to own him, they put their cigarettes out on him, they beat him with chains or something. And he got his ear bit off in a dog fight.’

  ‘Yeah, you told me.’

  ‘Doyle is the toughest guy I know. He was lying there off the highway when I found him, and he was waiting to die. He knew he was going to die. And he didn’t make a sound. He just sat there and said Fuck you to the pain, he
said Fuck you to dying, he said Fuck you to me when I came and tried to help him. But I did, I helped him. You know that? You know that Doyle is the best thing I’ve done in my life? Think about it. It’s the truth. The best thing I ever did, my whole life, was rescue that black little son-of-a-bitch. Every day he’s had since then is because of me. Every time he runs through the park, that’s me. Every squirrel he chases, every bitch he humps, every bone he chews – because of me. I saved him. And it’s different than what you’d expect, right? Because it’s not Doyle that’s grateful. Nah, Doyle loves me but he doesn’t remember any of that. What’s weird is I’m the one that’s grateful. Because I see him running around, I hear him barking, and there he is, the best thing I ever did, in the flesh. And I’m not going to let the pound have him. Doyle’s the ugliest fucking dog in the five boroughs. Who’s going to adopt him? Can you imagine, some mom and pop go in and pick him out and bring him back to their little daughter: Look, sweetie, a puppy for you! Can you imagine that, the kid screaming? Jesus, Doyle looks like he grew up in hell. And I’m telling you now, I will not let some vet stick a needle in him and end him. I saved his life, right? I’m responsible for him. I didn’t go through all that just so some vet can put him to sleep. If it comes to that, I’ll do it myself. I’ll put a bullet in his ear tonight. So I’m asking you, Jake – for me, as a favor for me, and it’s a big favor, but I’m asking you – will you take him? Will you take him home with you?’

  Jakob is quiet, rubbing his palms over the red velvet sofa cushions. ‘You know what?’ he says at last. ‘It would be an honor.’

  Monty smiles and there are tears in his eyes. ‘I was hoping you’d say that. I really was.’

  ‘Well, after that speech, Jesus Christ, how could I refuse?’

  ‘Good,’ says Monty, beaming. ‘Now all we got to do is get you together with this D’Annunzio girl and your whole life will change.’

  ‘Hey, not funny. This is my student, Monty. It would be a very bad thing.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Monty, resting his head against the back of the sofa and closing his eyes. ‘But so what?’

  Slattery emerges from the bathroom and joins them on the sofa. ‘No more Chinese food,’ he says, rubbing his stomach. ‘Ever.’

  ‘Hey, okay,’ says Jakob, tapping Monty’s shoulder. ‘I’ve got a question for you.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Do you think—;’

  ‘If you ask him if you look like a ferret,’ says Slattery, ‘I’m going to kill you.’

  Jakob pauses and then shakes his head. ‘I wasn’t asking that.’

  ‘Who thinks you look like a ferret?’ asks Monty.

  ‘The kids at Campbell-Sawyer,’ says Slattery.

  ‘No, they don’t,’ says Jakob. ‘It’s nothing. I wasn’t asking that, anyway.’

  ‘Jake’s been in a bad mood all night,’ says Slattery. ‘The boy needs some ass.’

  ‘The ass is out there on the dance floor,’ says Monty, eyes still closed, tapping the sofa cushions in time to D. J. Dusk’s rhythms. Strange, ominous music, the accelerating drumbeat countered by synthesized organs. At times the theme seems ready to melt into dissonance, as if Dusk were threatening his audience with the possibility of chaos – but then he mutes the drums for a moment and the organ’s lonely hum makes everyone in the club prick up their ears.

  ‘What do you think, Frank?’ asks Monty, opening his eyes. ‘She looks pretty good, right?’

  ‘Who, the little one? Who is that girl?’

  ‘She’s my student,’ says Jakob. ‘Understand? My student.’

  ‘Is she the one that called you a ferret?’ asks Slattery.

  The lights go off and Monty half rises from the sofa, reaching for the gun holstered at the small of his back.

  The lights come on again. Kostya is standing by the velvet curtains, his hand on the light switch. ‘The party begins without me?’

  Monty releases the grip of his pistol and stands up. ‘I should have shot you, you fat Russian fuck.’

  Kostya ambles over, wagging his finger. ‘Ukrainian. Fat Ukrainian fuck.’ He bear-hugs Monty and kisses his cheeks. Monty stands stiffly in the big man’s embrace. After he is released he wipes his face with the sleeve of his black sweater.

  ‘Montgomery. My friend. You have been here long? And you open champagne without me? Frank! Hello, Frank!’

  ‘Hi, Konstantine.’

  ‘Kostya. Please, Kostya. I am good, yes. Well’ – he rests his meaty palm on Monty’s shoulder – ‘I will be better when my friend comes back to us. Yes, hello. It is Jason, yes?’

  ‘Jakob,’ says Jakob. They’ve met at least five times before. Jakob doesn’t like Kostya. The Ukrainian is too big, too loud. Jakob doesn’t like his silk shirts, his gold rings, his tobacco-stained smile. Kostya’s front teeth are gone; he wears a bridge that he removes whenever he’s drunk in order to leer at women and spit peanuts across the room.

  ‘I have everything set up for you,’ Kostya tells Monty. He winks. ‘A very nice girl for you.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  ‘Ah, when you see her, you will be in the mood. I pick her out special for you.’

  ‘The last girl you picked out special had three teeth.’

  Kostya laughs loudly. ‘Funny you should say that.’ Everyone waits for the rest.

  Finally Monty asks, ‘Why is it funny I should say that?’

  Kostya shrugs. ‘It was funny, what you said.’

  Silence. ‘Wait,’ says Monty. ‘When you say, “Funny you should say that,” it’s like saying, “That reminds me of this other funny story.”’

  ‘No, no, I am saying what you say was funny. “Funny you should say that.” You see? It was funny that you say that.’

  Nobody speaks for a moment.

  ‘Come,’ says Kostya, at last. ‘You want to meet her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Naturelle’s dancing downstairs.’

  ‘So we go quick, we go right now. Yes? You must see this girl, Monty. I pick her out special for you. The champagne is good?’

  ‘How many girls you get? You have someone nice for my friends?’

  ‘Not for me,’ says Slattery. ‘Thanks.’

  Monty reaches for Slattery’s hand. ‘Come down there with me. I need to talk to you.’

  ‘That’s not my style, Monty. I really—;’

  ‘No, that’s cool. I just want to ask you something.’

  Slattery grips Monty’s hand and pulls himself to his feet. ‘All right. Lead on.’

  Jakob shifts uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Do you want me to stay here?’

  ‘You’ve got to stay here. Who’s going to look after Mary D’Agostino when she gets back?’

  ‘Should I tell Nat you’re downstairs having sex with a prostitute?’

  ‘No,’ says Kostya, horrified. ‘Don’t tell her that.’

  Monty smiles. ‘Tell her whatever you want. But don’t take off – we’ll go back to my place and get Doyle after the party.’

  Jakob watches the three men leave the room. Three men, he thinks. All of them have physical power, a presence; you walk into a room with these men and you feel secure, protected. Jakob always expected to grow up. His father is tall; his older brother rowed for Syracuse. Even his kid sister is an inch taller. What kind of man is shorter than his kid sister?

  What does D’Annunzio look like when she dances? Jakob wonders. Is she dancing with a boy or with Naturelle? Mary D’Annunzio and Naturelle Rosario dancing together. That’s an image to keep you warm on a winter’s night. Jesus Christ, they’re an orgy of vowels.

  What must a man never ask in a Victoria’s Secret shop? And who the hell is LoBianco to be moralizing? And where is LoBianco now? Did he make it home safely, or is he curled up and snoring in the corner of some Christopher Street old men’s bar? Old and queer and out of work. Happy New Year.

  The three men stand at the railing and look down at the dancers below. D. J. Dusk mans his turntables from a platform raised
above the dance floor. He stands in the eye of an amber spotlight, flanked by sound monitors and generators that blow clouds of white smoke; he deftly flips a needle onto a spinning record’s groove, and a burst of Keith Jarrett piano rises over an industrial backbeat.

  ‘Look at her!’ Kostya yells to Monty, pointing. ‘In black tank top! Swedish, you think? I never fucked woman with blond bush! Have you? Ah, look who I ask!’ He elbows Slattery and winks. ‘Mr Puerto Rico over here!’

  ‘Why don’t you shut your mouth,’ says Monty.

  Kostya can’t hear him, but he sees the expression on Monty’s face. ‘I offend you? I apologize, my friend! Do not be angry with me!’

  ‘Where’s this girl you’re taking me to meet?’

  ‘Down in the Blue Room! You ready? I go make sure she’s there. You like this girl! This girl is very nice!’

  ‘All right, I’ll be down in a minute.’

  ‘You go down here, you fuck her, you come back up and drink with your friends! That is party!’

  ‘In a minute.’

  Kostya pats him on the back and walks away. Monty looks at Slattery, follows his friend’s gaze down to a corner of the dance floor, and spots Naturelle and Mary in a cluster of sweating dancers.

  ‘She looks good in silver,’ says Monty, just loud enough for his friend to hear. ‘Don’t you think?’

  Slattery stands straight as if poked from behind. ‘Who, Nat?’

  ‘She’s beautiful. She’s the only woman – I’ve told you this, right? – Naturelle is the only woman I fantasize about after sleeping with her. I still do. Sometimes I’m riding in the subway and all I can think about is getting home and getting her naked. That’s pretty normal, I guess.’

  ‘I guess,’ says Slattery. ‘Pretty good kind of normal.’

  Monty watches her. She has great confidence on the dance floor. She moves well, and she knows she moves well; the music skips beats and changes rhythms but Naturelle is never thrown.

  ‘How’s work going?’

  Slattery shakes his head and points at his ear. Monty repeats the question, louder.

  Slattery nods. ‘Work is good. This morning was big, very big.’ He waits to see if Monty will ask but Monty does not ask, so Slattery says, ‘I brought in two million dollars in about nine minutes. That’s pretty close to a record. Not too many twenty-seven-year-olds are playing with that kind of money.’