Roman and Jewel

by Dana L. Davis

  “Today is the day his mom did the same thing. Seven years ago she...killed herself. And today I couldn’t get ahold of him. And the Bay Ridge police said his apartment is empty. Like, he moved out? What if he moved out and jumped off a bridge or something? Judas...” I look into my brother’s eyes. “What if he’s done something to hurt himself? Or what if he’s planning to? I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least try to find a way to help him.”

  “Hold up,” Judas says. “You had a welfare check done on your boy? Yo, that’s intense. When?”

  “Today. I used your phone to call the police.” I sniff. “And they said the place was empty. Vacant. How can that be? I was just there.”

  Judas’s phone chimes. He checks the screen. “Damn, Jerzie. Ride share’s almost here. Please come. Don’t sit here crying all by yourself. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “But...” I stand, pacing in front of Judas. “Wh-what if he’s not?” I cry. “Judas, I can’t go anywhere. I’m too upset.” I’m crying so hard now that my throat is aching, my vision blurry. “Go without me. Have fun. Don’t miss out on an opportunity like this. I’ll be all right.”

  “You really care about this dude, huh?”

  I nod, tears spilling down my cheeks.

  Judas stands. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer, just darts out of the room. I imagine he’s checking to see if the ride share is outside, but a few seconds later he returns, out of breath, at the doorway.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I rebooted the Wi-Fi.”

  My brow furrows. “Why?”

  “It takes about twenty minutes to reboot. Which means as of right now, the security cameras are deactivated.”

  I stare at Judas. “I don’t get it.”

  “I don’t want Aunt Karla to see me leave by myself. And then see you leave a few minutes later.” He crosses to me. Hands me his phone. “Call yourself a ride share. After you check on your boy, come to Slate. With my phone, damnit. That’s an order. You will not spend your birthday alone. A’ight?”

  “Omigosh.” I lurch forward and hug Judas. “Thank you so much. You are the best brother in the universe.”

  “Man. I been tryin’ to tell you that!” He rests his head on my shoulder. “And I hope your boy is okay. I really do.”

  I hope so, too. “Judas?” I pull away and look into his eyes. “You stiiiink. Why did you mix all those cologne samples together?”

  “What? You trippin’, girl. I smell good.”

  I stand and fan away the pure stench of him.

  “The girls will be like moths to a flame on me tonight. I swear they will.”

  “A moth flying into a fire is not a good thing.”

  We both laugh. It feels good to laugh. I hate to admit Dad was right, but he was right. Being alone this summer would’ve been a terrible idea. I’m with my big brother.

  So thankful.

  * * *

  Aunt Karla’s street is dark and eerily still when I rush toward the Chevy Impala that is my ride share, pull open the door, and slide into the car as swiftly and quietly as I can.

  “Hey, how’s it going?” the driver, a girl in her twenties, asks. I like her energy. She’s playing Jay-Z’s “The Story of O.J.” I relax a bit and buckle in.

  “It’s going.”

  “What’s in Bay Ridge?”

  “Just...the love of my life.”

  “Aww. Man, I wish I had one of those,” she says. “Anyway. Not so much traffic. We should be there in half an hour.”

  I type Zeppelin’s address into the map app on Judas’s phone so that I can follow the route and lean my head back. This is me throwing caution to the freaking wind. This time I don’t need a substance to be unfiltered the way I was at Washington Square Park.

  This is all me.

  * * *

  When the ride share pulls up to the curb of Zeppelin’s brick apartment building, I tip the driver on the app, thank her profusely, and climb out of the car. As she’s driving off into the dead of night, I peek through the gate of the parking area.

  Zeppelin’s motorcycle is parked in his spot! But wait, maybe that’s a bad sign. How could his motorcycle be parked in his spot and his apartment be empty?

  Because the police officers are wrong, that’s why. They must’ve gotten the apartments mixed up somehow. I rush to the front door. Of course it’s locked. But I see a lady inside, checking her mail at the boxes. I knock on the glass. She turns, eyes me suspiciously.

  “Hi!” I wave. “I forgot my key card. Can you let me in?”

  She moves toward me, pushes the door open. I step inside.

  “Thank you. Sorry. I forgot my key card. I just moved in with my boyfriend. Twelfth floor. I think he’s asleep, cuz he’s not returning my texts.”

  “The elevator won’t work without the card,” she responds kindly. I must look trustworthy in spite of the blatant lies, cuz she adds, “Let me help you.”

  I follow her to the elevator. When the doors slide open, she steps in, waves her key card over the sensor and hits 12 for me.

  “Thank you so much.”

  “I hate these new key cards. Makes everything so difficult. But no worries. What was your name?”

  “Patti. Patti LuPone. Thanks again.”

  The doors slide shut, and the elevator lurches into movement. I have no real plan. The police said the apartment was empty. Maybe somehow they got it wrong. I’ll find him. He’ll be okay. If he’s in a bad place, I’ll talk him off the ledge. Help him see that living is not an exercise in futility. Then I’ll take another ride share back to the party. All will be well. So now I have a plan. It’s a good one.

  I think.

  The elevator slows to a stop, and the doors slide open on the twelfth floor. I step into the hallway and move cautiously toward apartment 1202. I pause when I make it to the door, take the deepest of breaths, and knock softly. No answer. I knock again. Nothing. I’m banging now. Still no answer. I’m banging and banging and banging and banging. No one is answering!

  Finally, the door across the hallway is pulled open. An older guy peeks his head into the hallway.

  “Hey, kid, you trying to wake the dead?”

  I spin around. Am I? “God, I hope not.”

  “You lookin’ for Zeppelin?”

  “Yes.” My heart is racing. “Do you know where he is? Have you seen him?” I step toward the man’s apartment, hopeful he’s the missing link that can lead me to Zepp.

  “I haven’t seen Zeppelin for a couple of days.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders slump. “Oh. Okay.”

  “Not since he moved downstairs. Bastard got one of the apartments with a balcony.”

  I look up. “What?”

  “Yeah, yeah. If you ask me, it’s cuz the manager’s got a sick and unhealthy crush on that kid. She’s a cougar. Fifty-two and married. Zeppelin could be her son! Besides, it was my turn. I put in a request for a balcony unit, too.”

  “What’s the unit number?” I almost scream. “Do you know?!”

  “L-1101. It’s the biggest studio in the building. Lucky bastard.”

  “Sir.” I fold my hands in prayer. “Can you please let me in the elevator so I can go down to see him? It won’t work without a card.”

  “Use the stairs.” He shakes his head. “Today’s youth. Pretty—but lacking in the intelligence department. Once you’re on one of the floors, the stair doors are open. It’s the law, you know. You can’t lock stair doors. Fire hazard.”

  He slams his door shut and I look down the hallway. I spot the sign for the stairs and literally run toward it, my heels click clacking on the laminate flooring. I pull open the door and race down to the next floor. When I find apartment 1101, I stop to try to catch my breath before I pound on the door with all my mig
ht.

  No answer. I knock again. Nothing. I’m banging. Still no answer. He’s not home. But he’s okay. I mean, he took the time to move, so surely that’s a good sign. Right? But my eyes are still welling with tears. I came all this way. I only want to know if he’s really all right.

  I slide down onto the floor in front of the door. I can sit and wait. For a little bit at least. But what if his neighbor got the numbers wrong? What if this isn’t his apartment, after all?

  I lean my head back just as the door is yanked open. I yelp as my head slams onto the wood floor of the apartment. I wince in pain and stare up into the face of...Zeppelin.

  And yep. He’s alive.

  “I Will Lie with Thee Tonight”

  “Jerzie?” I’d say Zeppelin looks a little dumbstruck. But more important, he looks alive.

  I jump up. Rub the back of my head. “You’re okay!”

  “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

  “I know it’s the anniversary of your mom’s death,” I blurt. “I was doing a welfare check on you.”

  He doesn’t move. His hand rests on his doorknob, and he’s staring at me as if he’s trying to figure out what to make of this. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

  “No. But...” I hold up Judas’s phone “...I tried calling you, and you didn’t answer. And then I called the police.”

  “You did what?”

  “I called the police to come check on you, and they said your apartment was empty, and so I freaked. I was so worried. Your neighbor gave me your new apartment number. Did you get my messages? And the one I sent to you on Instagram? I know you’re not on Instagram. But. I was thinking maybe you might be. Like a random occurrence.”

  I survey the apartment. There are only a couple of stacked boxes to even indicate a move took place. It’s in perfect order. Like he’s been living here for months and months. “Why didn’t you call me back, Zeppelin?” I cry.

  “I didn’t know you called. I accidentally stepped on my cell a couple days ago. Haven’t had time to get a new one yet.”

  “But you texted Cinny today.”

  He frowns. “Impossible.”

  What? “Zeppelin. She showed me your text. It said something like, please, talk to me. I read it. Stop lying to me! Be up front with me, okay? You owe me that!”

  He finally lets his hand slide off the door handle, and the door slams shut, making me jump a little as he skirts around the remaining boxes and moves to his bed. He grabs his phone—his very shattered phone—and crosses back to where I stand near the door. “Here.” He places it in my hands. “Turn it on and let’s see if I sent a message to Cinny today.”

  I press the side button to power the phone on. It lights up, but after a minute, only a bunch of weird lines are displayed on the cracked screen. There’s nothing really to see beyond that.

  “See? My phone is completely inoperable. Texted Cinny? How?”

  “But I saw a text from you.”

  “Trickery. She’s fucking with you.” He takes Judas’s phone out of my hands. “Let me show you something. Unlock this for me.”

  I do and watch as he types Cinny’s name and the date into the search engine.

  “If you want the most recent pic of a celebrity, Google their name and the date,” he explains. Pictures of Cinny load onto the screen. Zeppelin scrolls through them.

  “That was today!” I stare at the pic of Judas and me entering Gush with Cinny among the bunch.

  “I see she got the pics of her new BFF out into the wild. The girl works fast.” Zeppelin points. “There.”

  It’s a photo of Cinny sitting in some sort of club, lovingly embracing the spiky-haired white rapper known as Shivers.

  “This picture was taken a few weeks ago. With her boyfriend. Shivers. Before you came around, he would come to rehearsals from time to time. See the date? This picture was taken when she and I were supposed to be secretly dating. My guess? The text you saw? She saved her actual boyfriend under my name to make it seem like I was texting her. I’ve had no contact with her. Not since I got fired from the show.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “This is not what I’m talking about, Zepp. I don’t need to see this to know you weren’t dating Cinny. That much I’ve already figured out on my own.”

  “You have?”

  “Of course I have. But the video uploads. The complicated story? Tell me now, Zeppelin.”

  He sighs.

  “Zeppelin,” I say softly. “You asked me to trust you. And here I am. Trusting you. You have to trust me, too. With the truth.”

  He pushes his hair off his face, and I note the dark circles under his eyes. It hasn’t been that long since I last saw him, but he looks thinner than I remember. Paler, too. His eyes look swollen, his expression, pained.

  “I didn’t upload the video of you.” He leans against the wall and stares up at the ceiling. “Or the video of Cinny. It’s complicated, because it wasn’t me.”

  “What?”

  He looks at me now. “It wasn’t me, Jerzie. I didn’t do it.”

  “But... Zeppelin!”

  “Please understand.”

  “Understand what?” I take a deep breath, struggling to be calm. “Zeppelin,” I repeat, quieter this time. “You lost your job...your career, and you didn’t even do it? You’re not the one who uploaded the video?”

  “I didn’t lose my career. I can bounce back from this. I’ve bounced back from worse.”

  “So then who did it?”

  “Three people were at my apartment the day those videos were uploaded. Damon. Angel. And Lorin.”

  Lorin. It had to be Lorin. She hates Cinny! “You have to tell Robbie.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Zeppelin, this is your life.”

  “I know, Jerzie. It’s my life. But it’s theirs, too.” He heaves a sigh. “I guess I’m okay to take the fall for one of them. I’d do the same for you. You know I would.”

  “But, Zeppelin...” I want to beg and plead with him. He has to be rational. With a word, he’d be back in the show. He’d be Roman again. It’s what everybody wants. Shouldn’t it be what he wants, too? How can I make him see that getting his job back should be his top priority? The show needs him. I need him.

  I stare down at my hands, doing that dumb thing where I’m trying to twist my fingers off. Somehow my gaze shifts to the door of his closet. From where I’m standing, I have a perfect view inside. It’s practically empty except for a few items hanging and a tiny pile folded on one of the shelves. Now my gaze moves to the two remaining boxes stacked beside his bed. There is no way all of his clothes are in those two tiny boxes.

  “I’m sorry. Where are your clothes?”

  “I donated them.”

  “You gave away all your clothes?”

  “I did keep the stuff I didn’t steal.”

  I can only stand there, speechless, staring into the nearly empty closet.

  “Most people can’t afford to dress the way I do, and I came to realize I’m one of them.”

  I have no idea why imagining all of Zeppelin’s clothes at some sort of Goodwill makes me feel like throwing up. “Did you do that because of me?”

  “Yeah.”

  And now I’m crying. Damn my eyes and their never-ending tears. “Do you hate me now?”

  “If by hate you mean love, then yes.” He manages a weak smile. “I hate you. A lot. With all my heart.”

  I wipe my eyes. “Can I hug you, please?”

  “God, I wish you would.”

  I rush into his arms.

  “Zeppelin.” I wrap my arms around his neck. He lifts me effortlessly off the floor, and my legs wrap around his waist. “I’ve missed you so much.” And here, in his arms, I could stay forever. I really could.

  He stumbles deeper into his apartment, hold
ing me tightly. He slowly lowers me onto his bed. He stares down at me, one hand holding his hair off his face, the other holding up his body weight as he leans over me. “Do you hate me, too, Jerzie?”

  “If by hate you mean love? Then yes.” I laugh and wipe tears off my face. “So much so, I question my sanity.”

  “Crazy in love. Right there with you.” He crawls into his bed beside me, and we turn to face one another. Only tiny slivers of light peek through his closed blinds, but it’s enough to see his eyes so clearly, his lips, his face. The sadness in his eyes. I trace my finger along his jaw.

  “How are you here right now, Jerzie?” he whispers. “Is your family downstairs armed and ready to kill me?”

  “My mom and dad are home in New Brunswick. My aunt is working. My brother is at a party at the new Slate near Times Square. With Cinny. He’s waiting for me there and swears not to tell anyone where I’ve been. He knew I was worried about you. I thought you were dead.”

  “Impossible.” Zeppelin wipes my tears. “If I were dead, you would know it, because my ghost would be driving you insane.”

  “Zeppelin.” I shake my head. “Don’t you want your job back?”

  “I do. Yeah.” He takes my hand into his. “After my final audition, when they told me I’d gotten the job, I was walking down Ninth Street in the East Village. Headed to Thomas’s place to tell him the good news. And there was a street performer. She was standing there playing ‘Casta Diva’ on her violin. Do you know that song?”

  I shake my head. It’s not one I know.

  “It’s an aria. From Bellini’s Norma. Norma was the production my mom was in before she had her accident. ‘Casta Diva’ was her favorite song. Tell me that was a coincidence. I wouldn’t believe you.”

  Now it’s me who reaches out to wipe away tears as they slide down his cheeks.

  “It was surreal. That’s not even a street where street performers usually are. It probably sounds weird, but it felt like my mom had come to congratulate me. To tell me she was with me and always will be. I stood there and listened to the whole song, crying on the freaking street corner.”