by E. B. Lee
Carli kept nearly a block between them. As conspicuous as she felt, she also felt safely hidden as pedestrians raced for buses, subways, trains, and more. His gait looked different, lethargic. After he disappeared into a corner store, Carli glided next to a woman in a red blazer and peeked in the window as she passed. Then she followed the woman in red into a bank to wait. As soon as Grant walked into view, she moved toward the door to follow.
He now carried a single brown bag, tucked securely under his arm. His hands were stuffed inside his pockets. His pace was faster. In tandem, they crossed through Hell’s Kitchen, from a well-maintained neighborhood to a low-rent district, with no more doormen or brass door handles, and, finally, past several broken windows and a boarded-up building. Midway through a block, Grant dug through his pocket, presumably for keys, and disappeared from the street. She gave him a minute to settle in before walking the last block to check out his home.
“Really?” she whispered. She said it again. In front of her was the entrance to Cooper’s Modern Self-Storage. It must have been where he stashed Cedric’s cans, and maybe goods for others or himself. A guard sat visibly at Cooper’s front desk. She turned for home, assuming Grant would do the same in due time. She vowed to never follow him again. What did it matter what he was doing, anyway?
Buffy emerged from Carli’s canvas in magnificent color, ready for flight to its keeper in the park. Carli found Sarah watching people and pigeons with equal interest, but she only cooed to the birds.
“Sarah, I have it,” said Carli. Sarah jerked up her head. Maybe it was because she had been called by name. “Buffy – your bird,” said Carli. Sarah looked around, searching. She took serious notice when Carli sat on her bench.
“Buff ... y?” said Sarah.
Carli unveiled the portrait—a multitude of glimmering feathers and salmon-colored feet—on a one-foot-square acrylic board. Sarah stared, then slowly reached forward. She poked the feathers with a single finger, then gently placed another two fingers on the bird. Sarah continued to stare. For a brief moment – a mere flicker – her face seemed to light up. As Sarah’s fingers slid up to the painted hand offering popcorn, the light went out. Her fingers rested, motionless.
Carli dared put her own hand on Sarah’s worn coat sleeve. Sarah’s eyes turned immediately to look, but Sarah remained still. That was progress. Carli safely balanced Buffy’s portrait on Sarah’s lap and left.
With Grant’s questionable condition fresh in mind, and with word from both Sister Anna and Mercy that he hadn’t shown for nearly a week, Carli added extra visits to her schedule. She wasn’t about to let them down. She wondered if Grant had actually planned his absence, and was thankful to still have Cedric’s pills.
Cedric, she found, had garnished his food wages for a purchase of his own. He was not the least bit timid to show Carli his new calendar. Carli flipped to May, ready to make necessary notations. Then she flipped to June, then all the way through. The calendar was a ribbon of color with stars throughout … and naked women.
“Like yours,” he said proudly.
Carli pulled a silver marker from her bag—a color unlike any of Cedric’s—marked the days for medication, and handed the calendar back. Cedric seemed pleased. A visit to Wilson was next. Barely able to open his eyes, Wilson remained helplessly mum on why he knew anything about fragrances. Gaining more insight was going to wait, but one way or another, Carli was going to gently pry it out. Afterward, to her surprise, Carli found Grant rising from a table in the lunchroom of St. Mary’s. His shirt was wrinkled, his shoelaces clicked on the linoleum floor as he walked, and his face was long-unshaven. The only good news was he didn’t smell of alcohol or mints. Carli was certain Sister Anna, the servers, and patrons noticed. Surely, no one missed how carelessly he slid the contents of his tray into the garbage, nearly untouched. Carli caught up to him going out the door.
“Grant, what is wrong? You look … well, … you look bad.”
“Beats me. Maybe it’s the flu. I’d better go home,” he said.
Carli considered Cedric’s TB, but instinct told her it was something else. Carli gave him a slight head start, and then, against former vows, followed. He took the same route, and performed the same routine, including the purchase at the corner store. She followed, as before, expecting to leave before he made his final turn. This time, he didn’t turn. Instead, he continued walking. Maybe he knew she was with him. Carli had a decision to make, and, for once, opted to leave before he went in somewhere. Surely, home was near. In the meantime, Carli took a taxi to Four Bridges.
Mercy invited Carli into her office and sent the door slamming shut with a single swift push. “What’s going on?” Mercy asked, keen to Carli’s distress.
“Grant again,” said Carli. “I am sure he needs help.”
“Haven’t seen him much lately,” said Mercy. She took in a deep breath. Clearly, she knew something. “What’re you getting at there, Carli?”
“He’s acting mighty strange. A couple of weeks ago, I couldn’t keep up with him. More recently, I either couldn’t get him going or he just didn’t show. The last time I saw him, he looked … awful. I’ve been covering some of his visits.”
Carli detailed her latest encounters. While it wasn’t her business, she had blindly waded into the middle of it. Carli felt uncomfortably like a snitch. And in her old neighborhood, snitches were unpopular.
“What do you think’s going on?” asked Mercy.
“That’s just it,” said Carli. “I don’t know. A few weeks ago, he smelled of alcohol and was popping mints like a candy dispenser. But not lately, and I don’t think that explains his behavior. I figure you know him as well as any.”
“He might have been using. Maybe one of those rave pills, although he’s always had a lot of energy. Or we might be talking some sort of chemical imbalance, what with the different swings and all. Maybe some sort of bipolar.” Several of these possibilities had crossed Carli’s mind. She kept shunning them. How could Grant have problems? He was supposed to be helping others. Mercy’s words made Carli’s heart race.
Mercy left Grant a phone message while Carli listened in. “He’s always been his own operator,” said Mercy. “But when he comes in, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You won’t say anything, will you?” asked Carli.
“Confidential is my middle name. Has to be.” Mercy winked.
Carli set off to the safety and familiarity of her studio. She had assured Mercy she would continue to help Cedric with his pills. It wouldn’t take much more time and Cedric was now counting on her, even if he didn’t necessarily know it. A new canvas stared back. Lila and Terrance settled into their new beds on the floor. Carli mixed a combination of deep, dark, nighttime colors. This waterscape was going to be dangerous and dark. The surrounding air was going to be dark as well. A nighttime sea, hurtling waves into a strong chop, was about to rise from a dark ocean of water, miles deep. It would be an ocean that gave chills, with but the slightest glimpse. It would have danger written all across it. Carli prepared to add a two-person dingy, severely undersized to handle the swells of this dark ocean. Anyone manning this craft was in for a tough go.
Cedric sat ready and waiting with his calendar each time Carli visited with his pills. They had the routine down and made increasing time for casual conversation. It was the last thing Carli would have expected; that she would be sharing tales with a can-collecting street-man. True, Cedric was still outside, but Carli was just getting started.
Countering that success was Sarah’s disappearance. Guilt grew as Carli wondered if Sarah had disappeared on account of Buffy. Carli would have given anything for Grant to appear and offer assurances that he had seen her safe and alive during one of his nighttime prowls. But Grant remained invisible. A bit of good news crossed into Carli’s world early one afternoon after she said, “See you, Kid,” to Cedric, and headed off to visit Wilson. She had intentionally worn a different perfume; one she had kept in her bathroom
vanity for over fifteen years. At one time, it was special to her. A gift from a man she had hoped to marry. Long after the man had gone out of Carli’s life, the perfume, a special musky creation, continued to keep Carli’s spare bottles of shampoo company, and made sporadic appearances. She was surprised, and thankful, it retained its alluring fragrance. She removed its cap and inhaled gently. The familiar, mellow aroma made her grateful for the time she had had with him, and grateful she no longer felt heartbroken by the parting of ways.
Wilson was stationed in his park in an unusually upright position. From the sidewalk, Carli saw him turn his head even before she waved.
“You smell different,” he said, when Carli sat across from him at the picnic table.
“Yes,” said Carli. “It’s one of my old-time favorites.”
“I know that one,” he said. “But I can’t quite figure it out. I like it.”
Then he said some magical words.
“I think ... I think I did it.”
“Did it?” she asked.
“Yeah. Pretty sure.” Wilson seemed deep in thought, scouring a memory bank long tinted by C2H6O—ethanol. It made the mental search challenging, but, finally, he said, “Might have been.” Then he was silent.
“Might have been? Might have been what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe one of mine.”
Carli connected the fuzzy dots. “It was one of LaRusso’s,” she said. “LaRusso Parfumerie.”
Wilson abruptly shifted his eyes toward Carli. “I know LaRusso.”
Carli was certain he knew a lot about LaRusso. And not just because it had been one of the largest, most prolific perfumeries in the world, based in New York City. What she didn’t know was why. She hated being so clueless.
Despite a few more questions from Carli, Wilson offered no more insight into his world of fragrances. Carli left Wilson to dig a bit deeper. It was like Grant had said over and over: they all had plenty of time.
At week’s end, Carli settled into the quiet of a pew at her comforting St. Ignatius Church, hoping to find an inner calm equal to the calm of her most serene waterscape. Sitting alone, she closed her eyes and let her tangle of thoughts quietly wash away. In a brief time, she released her thoughts, released control, and was ready to accept whatever came next, in good faith. After another few minutes, however, she found herself pulled back into her present surroundings and wishing she might suddenly hear Grant clearing his throat and sounding like his old self. She silently cursed him for having let the street clan down, even beyond letting her down. Cursed him, right in the chapel, and then felt guilty for doing it. He needed support, not condemnation.
Her eyes were drawn to the cross on the wall, where Jesus hung with eyes cast downward. A thought silently crept in, and Carli tensed throughout. In the next moment, she ran from the chapel, heading straight to Cooper’s Storage, with her heart pounding. The guard sat watch near the door. Carli considered her options while a man walked in off the street. The man signed in at the desk and disappeared toward the elevators. The stranger made it look easy.
Carli worked up her nerve. “I’m with Mr. Konklin,” she said, after a quick glance at the sign-in sheet. She signed another alias on the line below and passed the guard without another word. With Mr. Konklin heading to room 302, Carli darted to the stairwell to make her way to the top floor, far from anyone’s sight.
Cooper’s was shaped like a letter H except for a more intricate grid pattern in the center. The floors were unfinished concrete; the rooms corrugated metal with pulldown metal doors. Windows at the end of the corridors offered natural light but did nothing to remove the stale concrete air. A few doors were clamped shut by heavy locks, but most remained unlatched. Clearly, the lower floors were more popular. The metal door to a room at the end squealed as Carli slid it open. She ran her hands along its thin corrugated wall until she came across a switch, which clicked loudly as she flipped on the light. Two low voltage bulbs, with wire mesh safety covers, glowed a measly yellow above. Electrical wires, stapled to ceiling crossbeams, shared space with a single fire sprinkler. The room was surprisingly spacious. Carli flipped the light switch again and moved slowly through the hall.
All was quiet until she came to a corner, where she made out sounds from a radio. Carli braced herself against the cinderblock wall and swayed her head around the corner to peer down the new hallway. She heard more clearly the radio commentary of a baseball game and saw a dim ray of light coming from a single storage room. Carli retreated around the corner, closed her eyes, and continued listening to the last inning and a half of the game. Then, someone switched off the radio, rustled in the bin, and began walking across the concrete. Carli prepared to run, but the steps grew quieter as they moved away. Carli peered around the corner once again. In the second it took to pull back into her corner, her chest had become so tight she was nearly unable to breathe. Grant was still wearing his coat. A second glance revealed toothbrush and toothpaste in hand. Carli heard his slow steps, followed by the swinging open of a door, the loud click of a light switch, and a door swinging shut.
Carli wanted to flee but would never have forgiven herself if she left without confirmation. She removed her shoes. Then she peeked up the empty hallway one more second before racing, as quietly as she could, on the balls of her feet, toward the light. Grant’s room was jammed with books, paintings, and boxes. Shelves scaled upward on two of the four walls – straight ahead and to the left. They were stuffed full. A bike, stacks of shoeboxes, a lineup of black sneakers, and empty pizza boxes spilled over from another corner. A tapestry swung down across the right-hand wall, and underneath lay a mattress, with blankets and sheets flung open. The radio sat on the floor beside the pillow. Carli fled for the stairs and felt the pain in her heart spread through her chest. All that she had known of Grant had come even more unraveled. What had she gotten herself into? For all she knew, Grant was the one who had bashed Lenny. Clearly, Grant needed help.
Carli called Kristin, barely out Cooper’s front door.
“Who the heck lives in a storage room? Is that even legal?” asked Kristin.
“What do you think? Of course not.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. He surely needs help. No one in his right mind lives like that.”
“I say you ditch Outreach and stick to painting,” said Kristin.
“I can’t. Grant does so much for everyone on the streets. If he goes, they go. I can’t just ignore this. Besides, I still wonder if he could be my brother.”
“You’re still thinking about that?”
“No, not really. But I keep getting signs that he might be. What matters more is that Grant has helped more than thirty-five people move off the sidewalks, according to Mercy. That’s mighty worthwhile. Somehow, I have to help him ... with whatever he has going on.”
“Are you qualified?” asked Kristin.
“No. Not at all. But it takes more than doctors and specialists. It takes support. Lots of it. And many kinds of support. That’s why I wanted you to meet Vera. She needs to start thinking about friends. Maybe one of them can help. I’m trying everything I can think of.”
“You go, Sister,” said Kristin. “You go. I get it. Really do.”
Early the next day, Carli took a car out of the city with Lila and Terrance riding in the back. As Carli stood on the sandy beach, looking across the water, the two companions chased waves and seagulls alike. Soon, Carli would hand them over to Thelma, and they would rejoin their Lucy. She wished she hadn’t made the offer.
Carli was surprised when Grant joined her mid-week as she left Four Bridges. He was clean-shaven and alert. Grant shook Carli’s hand vigorously and said, “Sorry I had to skip out a while. Anything happen?”
“Nothing,” said Carli. She looked at him from head to toe and wondered if he detected her lie.
“Let’s go then,” he said.
“Wait. You talked with Mercy, right?” she asked.
�
�What do you mean?”
“I mean, you were a mess. And we are concerned about you.”
“Saw her yesterday. Sometimes I need a break from all this. Out here, I mean.” He started walking. At a normal pace. Carli watched his every move. They found Cedric waiting and ready for his medications. Grant’s absence seemed not to have mattered to him.
“Good thinking. The calendar, I mean,” said Grant as they moved on.
“The one I got him had cats. This one’s all his doing.”
Grant laughed. “Sounds right.” Then he asked, “Has Wilson been around?”
“Yes. No change ... except ... he knows perfume inside and out, like you said. Surely, it’s a hint to his life before the street, but Wilson hasn’t told me enough yet.”
Grant sighed. “Yet. That’s the key.”
“Vera said The Sweepers are still out,” said Carli. “And I know why she won’t leave her real estate.”
“I think The Sweep is pretty quiet,” he said. “No need to check Vera, unless you want to. Saw her last night.”
“You were out?”
Grant nodded. “Say, want some lunch?”
“No. I need to check for Sarah.” What she most needed was space to think.
“What’s new with her?” he asked.
“Beats me. I gave her the painting and she disappeared.”
“Oh, Sarah’s all right,” said Grant. “I saw her last night too. In an odd place, actually. A clear six blocks away from her usual nighttime home, and at midnight.”
“Did she seem okay?”
“As far as I could tell,” said Grant. “Same as ever. You know she doesn’t talk much. And not at all to me. And I said I saw her; didn’t speak with her.” As Carli turned to leave, Grant said, “Thanks.”
