My boyfriend of one year, Roland, enjoyed teasing me about certain aspects of my personality, my particular brand of daffiness. He had a wry sense of humor and made fun of everybody, though not necessarily for spite. Just about everyone came under his side-swiping disapprobation but as I said, it was never meant to inflict harm. He was a New Yorker who liked a wicked jab, a well-turned anecdote or a snappy retort.
I never minded his teasing but often thought his portrayals were not always as accurately rendered as he thought they were. There were occasions when he didn’t quite nail it, where he was a tad superficial, off-base by a stitch. I only occasionally said anything that would contradict him, ruin the good time or make him look foolish or myself like a stickler. I enjoyed the ribbing: my last boyfriend lacked any sort of humorous attention directed my way and that seemed untoward. He thought I was a serious type because of my profession as a writer even though at the time I wrote record and concert reviews - not in the least serious - more accurately described as “breezy with a touch a satiric glee by my editor.”
Roland’s best friend, Ray, a born-bachelor was even more snarky. Co-workers, family members, waitresses and even the unknowns who just happened to frequent the same diner or coffeehouse were subject to mockery and the wicked riposte. Certain women were to be avoided - “cross the street if you see them coming.”
For guys, they really loved gossip and rumor. I mention this because it is said women have a larger propensity for this but these two reminded me of old women in the weekly sewing circle. Yakking away, judging all in accordance with their own principles. All in good fun, naturally. I listened, somewhat fascinated but unable to rise to the required derision. I sometimes found myself meekly defending the poor unfortunate caught in their crossfire.
No one received their disdain more than other musicians. Ray was a guitarist and Roland a drummer and they were both purists. At their favorite diner over numerous cups of coffee they analyzed and riffed on all the musicians of their acquaintance and then went on to famous musicians or those with a local following. No one after the year 1960 was respected. All had sold out or did not have anything to sell in the first place. Jazz, blues and soul after that year - and I don’t know how that year was established but I could figure the equation if I thought about it long enough - was a corrupted version. Rock and roll had no reason to be, according to Ray, after Elvis Presley and Chuck Berry. Everyone who followed was an amateur, a poseur, a noisemaker. The only thing that should be performed were precise renditions of the standards or if of your own pen, a fixed homage to the standards, which they both adhered to in their own musical offerings. Nothing, absolutely nothing that was not blues-based existed for them.
They also had words of vilification for bugs like music critics and had a special contempt reserved for record store clerks who dared to proffer an opinion on music. People who were not musicians, they said, should not pretend to know anything, they couldn’t possibly. They especially disliked, if upon entering a record store, a “big hit” happened to be “now playing.” They said nothing, but they took notice of who was at the counter and were able to judge that clerk from then on. That I happened to have been both a critic and a record store clerk only occasionally passed through their mind while making snide comments in my presence. Roland would say to me, We don’t mean you, doll. We know you are hip to what’s cool even if you like a lot of other shit, I mean... I knew many musicians and those of a certain age all have a penchant to challenge newer recording artists. Younger musicians seem to be more generous and well-rounded but I’m making generalizations that would not stand up to much scrutiny. Forgive me.
The fact is, none of this has anything to do with the story I wish to tell. Should I delete it all then? Possibly. But no, it is my way of giving background information on two of the characters in my little tale. It is “little,” have no fear, you will not be reading on and on about the three of us but will soon be introduced to another character that may be more compelling if musicians and their trifling inclinations aren’t that interesting to you.
One morning while I was having breakfast with the two musicians, Roland started teasing me about my propensity of late to stay inside all day, sometimes not even getting dressed. I’d been unemployed for a few months with a newspaper shakedown; everyone who could be laid off was laid off and that went double for those in the arts and entertainment section.
Roland had a job in a bakery that started at 5:30 a.m., allowing him to leave work early enough for band rehearsals at 4:30 p.m. He was busy and I was not. I was enjoying my time at home, writing my first novel in the morning after he left. By 9 a.m. I had written seven to ten pages and my day’s work was finished. Within the three months of unemployment, I had it written and was ready to begin hounding publishers and agents. With the novel finished, I started writing poetry but kept it hidden. Later in the year I would go to open readings and even acquire a following but that too, is another story.
One tempestuous April dawn Roland kissed me goodbye as he was leaving for work. I, as usual, was sitting in my old rocking chair ready to get out my notebook and pencil. He patted me on the head saying, “I know you’ll be here in this exact spot when I come home, probably still in your bathrobe, ha, ha.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” I taunted.
“Oh, I know you like a book,” he laughed. “After rehearsal, I’ll come home and find you still sitting in your chair just like I left you.”
“Maybe, but you never know about me. I can be unpredictable.”
“I know all about you. I’ll see you tonight, about 5 or 5:30. Have a relaxing day.” He grinned and walked out the door at 5:25 a.m., running late. This was an example of his teasing and was not at all meant to be facetious. He was happy to have an interesting girlfriend, any girlfriend, really, and was all kindness and good-humor.
I got out my notebook and pencil and spent a couple of hours writing until the phone rang at around 7:45 a.m. I knew who was calling; a date had been made several days previous.
“Bon jour,” I said into the phone.
“Bon jour, Madame. It’s good to hear your voice this morning.”
“Are you at the hotel already?”
“Yes. Just arrived.”
“Shall I come over now?”
“Yes, of course. I’m anxious to see you.”
“Well in that case, I won’t make you anxious -I’ll be there within the hour.”
My French lover, the term possibly a cliché though he would not appreciate that designation, had been in Washington D.C. for the past week and would now have one day in New York before flying out tonight. Whenever he came to the states we met. This arrangement had been going for more than seven years; we were lovers, friends and I would serve as his secretary/translator if needed. Though I now had a live-in boyfriend, I saw no reason to alter the routine that had its precedent established well before I met Roland and would continue long after Roland, having no formal commitment to my knowledge.
I threw on my one good dress, slapped on some makeup, pinned up my hair and arrived at Claude’s hotel by 8:40 a.m. We went straight to bed. I thought he might like to loll around for the morning but no, he wanted to visit the Frick Collection on 70th and Fifth so we set out from his mid-town hotel, stopping for breakfast in an obscure diner on 55th. He always looked forward to the hearty American breakfast that he said he never ate anywhere else; eggs-over-easy, bacon, potatoes, toast, orange juice and coffee. He said I gave him an appetite but I knew he ordered it from room service whenever he was in this country. I liked it too and he always commented on the fact that no French woman would dream of eating like this in the morning but that he found it appealing.
We made our way through Frick’s exquisitely elegant collection, a collection any discerning Frenchman of taste and refinement could not help but appreciate. He was so pleased with the high-end aesthetic experience after too many mundane D.C. meetings, he wanted to continue our art expedition so we debated whether to head north to the Metropolitan Museum of Art or try something different and have a look at the biennial exhibit at The Whitney Museum of American Art. We chose the Whitney because it was closer and would not require the mental heft of the Met. Our time was not unlimited. We headed up to 75th and Madison.
It was 1:55 p.m. when we left the museum and time for lunch. We stopped at a French bistro that had ventured to place a few tables outside where the sun intermittently shone between sprinkles verging on hail stones. Though chilly, we enjoyed lobster bisque, grilled ham and brie sandwiches and shared a slice of tarte tatin. He drank a Calvados with an espresso and I had a cappuccino.
It was now 2:50 p.m. and we headed south, then cut over to Lexington because he wanted to do some shopping at Bloomingdale's. He bought his wife a scarf and a certain moisturizer she hadn’t been able to find in Paris. He bought his son a small intricate board game. He bought his secretary a scarf of lesser value than the one he bought for his wife but in some ways, prettier. He bought me a small bottle of a French perfume he said smelled like cinnamon and honey, adding, “like you, sweet and spicy.” A romantic.
At 3:15 p.m. we stopped in an Old-World tobacco shop where he purchased a special pipe tobacco for his boss and a sampling of small cigars for himself. We decided to drop in the bar across the street for a quick drink before heading back to the hotel because he’d read something about it. As it happened, author Kurt Vonnegut was seated next to us at the bar. He was voluble and started a discussion with Claude on, of all things, eating snails in France versus America. I don’t remember how this topic came up or the outcome. We reluctantly left the bar and the author at 3:45 p.m.
Claude said he wanted to find a bookstore and buy a copy of one of his books to read on the plane. He wanted me to choose what I thought was his best work. He would read it and be better able to discuss this author with his colleagues in Paris who may or may not know who he was but if I said he was important, that was enough for him - he wanted to read him immediately. In another coincidence, (we have experienced many together) while we were making our way over to Rizzoli’s, in somewhat of a rush, I noted a street person hawking his rummage-sale goods on a battered blanket. On that blanket were copies, in reasonable condition, of not only Slaughterhouse-Five, but Cat’s Cradle. What are the chances of that happening? Claude negotiated the two books for three dollars and felt satisfied enough to give the guy an extra two dollars at my urging. It's wise to give thanks to the universe when you receive extra time, money or love.
In the taxi, I filled Claude in on the sixties, counterculture ideals and radical politics in America, none of which he knew about in any depth being a scientist but eager to learn everything about the character we had just met, having heard his discourse on snails as well as his views on the current president’s “bought-and-sold policies.” Claude had just the day before attended a symposium and was photographed with the president but did not say this to the author, not wanting to play a petty game of one-ups-manship with a slightly drunk famous author in his own country. Both men were leftists, though we did not have time to get into all that. We later learned Vonnegut’s brother was a scientist and he and Claude had both been in attendance at a conference in Brussels on air space. This he learned later from a colleague. Claude eventually read all of the author’s titles, albeit in his own language. "An American treasure," he said.
It was 4:02 p.m. when we arrived back at the hotel and went straight to bed for a half hour and then had a glass of wine in the hotel bar not wanting the day to end. Claude had to make some calls and attend a cocktail party to tie up loose ends before heading to the airport.
At 4:55 he put me in a taxi saying he would call me as soon as he arrived back at his office. “I had a wonderful day,” he said. “I will never forget the Frick Collection. Or you, Madame. I will never forget you, my cherie Sally. And I will have another story to tell, of meeting Kurt Vonnegut in the bar. The last time I was here we met Bill Murray, do you remember? I knew who he was: Ghostbusters. I tell my wife I hang out with movie stars whenever I’m in New York and now my son wants to come with me on the next trip. I have too much fun with you so I will have to disappoint him.”
Alone in the taxi I thought of how surprised Roland would be to find me out.
I landed home at 5:16 p.m., a minor miracle given the traffic at that hour. Roland was not yet home so I slid out of my dress, washed off the makeup, brushed my teeth, put on my pajamas and returned to my old rocking chair with my magazines and notebooks in the side pocket. There I sat, dreamily, recounting the day’s events when Roland, with Ray in tow, arrived at 5:37 p.m.
“Ha, ha, ha, didn’t I tell you, Ray? Didn’t I say she would be in the exact spot I left her in this morning, still in her pajamas?”
He kissed me on the cheek and said, “I know you like a book. I’m going to make us all dinner. You’ve had an exhausting day, stay right where you are.” He cackled and headed toward our small kitchenette. “Isn’t she something Ray? Have you ever known anyone who can just sit in a chair all day, rocking and thinking? Didn’t I say this morning, Sal, I would find you in the same spot?”
“Yes, my dear, you certainly have my number,” I said. “I can’t fool you that’s for sure.”
He tugged at my ruffled tresses, “She doesn’t even comb her hair these days. I think she’s becoming a hermit or something.”
Ray grinned and said, “Or a reclooose, like Greta Garbo.”
“I’m just busy rocking and thinking,” I said.
“My gal, Sal. Always dreaming of people and places. Who wants spaghetti tonight?”
Monday, May 30, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
#80 BUMMER SISTERS
This is a take on Edith Wharton’s “Bunner Sisters.”
In that same year, two sisters, not expecting to get rich, content with their lot, owned a second-hand bookstore on the Lower East Side, hoping to preserve in their little corner of the city, a place where literature ruled and nothing disturbed the customers who frequented A To Z Books, a name regretted but stuck with once the sign had been painted. I am Evie, the eldest sister and I want to tell our story before time diminishes its impact.
My sister and I were nothing alike in taste, temperament or style but what happened to us, our relationship in our late thirties disrupted a lifelong, close bond. All I know in writing this story, our story, my sister Anna’s and mine, is that I’m attempting to get a feel for what went wrong and why.
Anna was five years younger than me; the quiet sister, the more reasonable, less tempestuous sibling who was a good listener, kind, helpful although often remote. I attributed her with the above even though she became easily unnerved if things went wrong, complained heavily at times and was a hypochondriac, adamant that her sicknesses were real and who was to say? Introverted, she rarely went out. She trained to be a librarian. Pretty, petite, with ash blond hair and glossy blue eyes, she attracted men to her without effort. She was distant for the most part but did have a droll sense of humor.
I was the more extroverted sister. I socialized, was into music, the arts, vintage fashion and politics. I took classes to enrich myself, went to concerts with a music appreciation group and belonged to a book club, usually hosted in our store. I also liked men. Anna liked men but required security and a consistent servitude from them. She had one serious relationship, ended for reasons unknown after eight years with him. Now married to another woman, Gerald would drop in on us now and again, mostly to visit the German Sheppard named Howl he left with Anna, their most caustic disagreement at the time of their breakup, everything else between them confidential. Howl protected us when he wasn't asleep in the backroom.
I dated, enjoyed various and wicked personalities, was independent and preferred living alone although Anna moved in with me after her breakup. We had a small apartment above the store connected by a spiral staircase. The apartment had only one bedroom, a small living room, a kitchenette and a bathroom with an old-fashioned claw-foot tub, our most cherished accoutrement, both partial to long soaks in hot water and minty bath beads. I handled the book buying and sales, Anna the displays and shelf arranging. We both wielded a mean feather duster. We were talking for some time about putting a list of our inventory online or at least in a database but Anna resisted modernization because she was not computer literate and would have had to take a class at the library to do this job. I knew that eventually it would be me who would take the class and start the site. I was on the lookout for a guy who might be interested in Anna - a technical genius as an aside. I dearly wanted to have the apartment to myself again because quite frankly, I needed privacy. When I hinted at this to Anna, she sniffed, her nose in the air, and told me that she was saving me from disaster and I should be grateful.
We started the bookshop in 1994. Our block wasn’t as developed then as it is now but we were fortunate to have a rent-controlled space. At the time, there was a trendy café next door that held weekly poetry readings and brought in customers. There was also a record store two doors down that specialized in punk rock and did a good business until they lost their lease. It is no longer possible to make money in books and we were barely surviving as a bricks and mortar business depending on street traffic. The owner of the record shop said he sold on the Internet now and a store isn’t absolutely necessary. After the record store left, a comic book store moved in and now it is a head shop. This brought many new people to the block but they were not necessarily looking for literary acumen. Anna detested the customers from the head shop, she was fearful and didn’t like the way they sized her up. She also believed they were illiterate for the most part and I couldn’t disagree although I sometimes found them amusing and encouraged their hanging out amongst the Beats. They then would steal any copies of Charles Bukowski we had on hand. This, Anna could not forgive and henceforth, kept the irascible poet on a shelf behind the counter. She said his works disgusted her but that didn’t mean they were free. For years we did not see much of this author; it was said by other booksellers I met at book fairs that no one sold Bukowski or when they did, the books were so badly stained and mauled they gave used books a bad name. I don’t know why I’m including this, it has nothing to do with my story. Perhaps I’m stalling, reluctant to put it down on paper. Yes, I’m writing longhand on yellow legal pads so I can burn them when and if I choose to. Deleting on a computer just doesn’t have the same portent significance.
When Frank entered our lives, a new paradigm was introduced. He was an obvious choice for me; an alienated, brooding, unstable, poetic cocktail I’d readily drink. When I met him I had not the slightest doubt that we would annex our respective magnetic fields. It was a given. We eyed-balled each other waiting for the moment we would officially congeal. When the party broke up we exchanged phone numbers and he gallantly kissed my hand. He called the next day. I was glad he didn’t make me wait. He would pick me up at closing time, the plans unspecified. They didn’t matter. It was inconsequential, only the physical promise of togetherness mattered though I have to say, there was a spiritual component to our attraction.
Fortunately for me, Anna had taken the day off and was visiting her old school friend in Brooklyn. She would be spending the night for which I praised God. We would sleep together, most certainly - I just wasn’t sure where and I did not want to leave it to chance - I did not know where he lived. I knew nothing of him at all except that he played lead guitar in a band whose name I won’t give or attempt to disguise. He was said to be legendary in his field, hyperbole perhaps. It was implied he had been on hiatus and was making a comeback. That he was being courted by one of the top record executives. There was a distinct buzz about him but that was not my concern. I was interested in something more personal, you might even call it illumination which sounds preposterous today as I write this.
Frank showed up late, naturally, but not so late as to disturb my equilibrium. I knew the type; one with a complete misapprehension of time. As I opened our old wooden door that had to be lifted over a broken plank in the floor and jerked back in place, he entered with his easy walk that wasn’t quite a swagger but had something provocative in its gait. I said, “If you have nothing planned we can go upstairs, drink some wine and listen to music.” He moved with a glazed wandering diffidence in his battered motorcycle jacket, tight jeans and cowboy boots. This was not unusual attire in the neighborhood but I mention it anyway since I am reminiscing. I enjoyed his look that first night as he walked around the shop only mildly interested. Somehow I knew he did not spend his time reading and to his credit, he never faked a knowledge of books or authors. He knew a great deal about music, more than most people. He revered James Brown and John Coltrane. He said he started out as a drummer because he loved Buddy Rich but switched to the guitar because of Jimi Hendrix. His story was not in the least original - I’d heard it from the mouths of many a guitar player over the years.
I will skip over the fine points of that first night. We stayed up all night drinking wine, smoking pot, playing records - I still had my vinyl collection which impressed him. We went to bed as the light was filtering through the cracks in our old Venetian blinds. We slept for several hours and then woke up and made love. Then we slept, then we made love. I prefer to say “ made love” even though it may sound affected. But it’s a legitimate depiction because I try to add depth to the ephemeral. I did not go in for fleeting affairs.
At ten I had to open the store and he languorously made coffee and served it while I was counting the money for the cash register. He left at around eleven, I could tell he wasn’t used to being up and out that early. His eyes balked at the sunshine as he scrambled for his shades in his jacket pocket. I still did not know where he lived but I knew his taste and his spiritual beliefs. I knew his touch. It was all I needed, oh,foolish woman.
When Anna returned later that day, I said nothing but she sensed someone had been in the apartment and began questioning me. I told her as little as possible but did not lie outright. She said she could guess what went on in her absence and did not care to know the details anyway. With the AIDS epidemic, she lived in fear of me contacting this deadly curse. Anna believed wholeheartedly in disease. If it’s out there, one of us will get it. I never think of sickness or disease and told her that is why I’m never sick. She scoffed as all hypochondriacs do at those who profess sound health. I had no idea where things stood with Frank but hoped he would call or come by soon. I believed he would and was prepared to wait for him. In the meantime, his name was not uttered.
A week passed with no word from Frank. I must say I was getting anxious. I relived every moment we’d spent together and listened to the records he played over and over. Anna just sighed and ignored my swooning as if I were sick, waiting for deliverance from whatever evil bug had bitten me. And that is what it began to feel like. When I called the number he gave me I was told he did not live there but had moved in with a friend. That curt voice did not have a phone number for him so I waited and watched…
A month after our first night, I was out of the store for the afternoon visiting a couple who had an entire apartment filled with books and records. They were selling and moving to Cape Cod. They needed someone to relieve them of close to three thousand titles just in books. It was implied that many of them could be valuable. I was anxious to see this collection and was hoping to purchase it outright without haggling over individual titles. I went to their Village townhouse prepared to hard-bargain but found I had no competitors. Bookstores around the city were closing up shop and those still in business had no money or inclination to buy. Spacious chain stores and Amazon had done us all in. They were somewhat surprised at my enthusiasm and it turned out I did not have to do anything but name a price and hire a delivery service. No one wanted them as a collection.
With this additional inventory it would be necessary to start selling online and I wanted to hire someone to set it up. Anna would say we couldn’t afford it and she would be right. But I had to get her to push ahead with the business or we would be finished ourselves. It happened to be a chilly rainy day which was always problematical because it was so much better if we could leave our door open to customers instead of having them battle their way in through an antiquated doorway with a misaligned door frame. I knew today the door would be closed and customers few. So it was a shock when I shoved open the door with the strength I knew it would require only to have it open freely and loosely. Anna sat at the desk beaming. “Notice anything different?” she said.
“How on earth did you get the landlord to fix the door?” I said while parking my wet umbrella in the stand.
“The landlord didn’t fix it, someone else did.”
“And who might that be? Do we know someone with carpentry skills perchance?”
“Well, he did ask for you specifically. When I said you were out he paced around a bit and when a customer nearly broke the glass panes trying to get in the door, he asked me if I ever considered getting it fixed. I told him about our ongoing conversation with the landlord and he offered to fix it for us. I said it would be way too much trouble but he asked me if we had any tools and when I said we only had the basic items; hammer, screwdriver - two varieties, he left and said he would be back. I didn’t expect him to return and it took him an hour or more but he came back with a toolbox and actually ripped apart that warped wood that the door catches on and before I knew it, he had it swinging freely on newly oiled hinges. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Nor can I. Who was it? The guy from next door?”
“No. No one I’ve ever seen. He looked as if he’d be useless but he seemed to know what he was doing. He was waiting for you; I could tell he wasn’t interested in books so he hung around the head shop for awhile and then said to tell you he came by. Except, I didn’t catch his name. He was good-looking in that doped-out sort of way. I bet he’s the guy who was here while I was in Brooklyn. The one you’ve been so impatient to see again.”
“And you didn’t get his name? Come on, Anna. Think. What did he say?”
“Just what I told you. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I just thought he was some loser from next door who was probably going to steal Naked Lunch.
“Was he wearing a motorcycle jacket?”
“Of course. What else does anyone wear around here?”
“What did he look like?”
“I told you, like a junkie or a criminal. Or maybe an actor.”
“You’re hopeless, Anna.”
“Thank you. At least I got the door fixed.”
“You got it fixed?”
“Sure. He wanted to help me because I looked so frail trying to get the door opened for that old guy who buys all the military history books. You know that creaky old thing we suspect is a Nazi sympathizer?”
“So you gave this guy your most feeble, damsel-in-distress look and he miraculously came up with the tools to fix the door frame?”
“I have my ways you know. Just because I don’t chase them doesn’t mean I have no sway with men. I can get them to do what I want if I care to use my feminine wiles. I usually can’t be bothered.”
“Except when they fix things?”
“I adore men who fix things. It’s almost a dying breed in this city. They all want to be famous. No one wants to be useful.”
“Well, whatever it was, you did good, Sister. And so did I with the book collection. Let’s have some coffee because I’ve got some things to go over with you. I’m calling a meeting of the CEOs. We’re going to be inundated with new books.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to organize them?”
“More than that. I want to find someone to help us start a website. And soon.”
“I got the door fixed, you get the website built.” Anna had shown little curiosity when it came to the Internet. She said computers gave her a headache.
“I’ll put on the kettle. I bought something to celebrate - your favorite raspberry cream cake.”
I fled to the backroom; I wanted a minute to think. Was there any possible way it could have been Frank who fixed our door? I tried to think of who else it might have been in the neighborhood but could come up with no one else. My heart was racing as I took the cake out of the box and put it on a silver serving plate that had been our grandmother’s. My hands were shaking with excitement. What a bummer that I missed him. Why oh why? At least he hadn’t forgotten me. He would most certainly return. But when? Best not to say much to Anna. At least he made a good impression with his Mr. Fix-it routine. As I said, Anna preferred guys who served. She did not go for those who lived for their image or their ego and I’m afraid Frank was exactly that type. Well, he got off on the right foot which would make things easier for me. I hoped to see a lot of him and did not want an attitude from my sister who shunned guys like Frank everyday. Oh please Frank, call me, I said to the heavens as I scooped the coffee into the filter. Please come again.
Was I sounding needy? Not really. But I fell hard for Frank and I was disappointed with myself: that I hadn’t made the effort to find out more about him such as where he lived and how he could be reached. That’s my style: always looking at the panoramic view, paying no attention to the details. Anna is the more detail-oriented of the two of us. Except she did not get the one important detail I needed: the handyman’s name.
I rarely left the store the next week afraid I’d miss him again. I sent Anna to do errands I usually did as I pretended to be waiting delivery of the expected books which I knew were not even packed up yet. I tried to think of who might know him from the party but when I asked my friend Daphne who invited me, she said he was a loner, that he’d once been in a famous band and had a reputation. She also thought he was seeing a semi-famous singer but it might be just a rumor to keep his image pumped up for public consumption. She said he sat in at CBGBs last weekend. She warned me to be careful. “He’s a heart breaker, I can tell. Don’t get too involved with him. What he’s looking for is all about him.” This, I did not want to hear. I vowed to silently wait; never speak his name to another soul, including my sister who asked about him several times. I would keep cool if it killed me.
And it nearly did. For three weeks I was on high alert. I was beside myself with despair for not asking the questions that would have been second-nature to any other woman. I tended toward the sublime - the mystical union that would elude me until such time as the universe decreed. I called myself a flake. Anna would have known exactly who he was, where he lived, his history, his jean size, his hometown and his education before the second glass of wine was poured. All I knew was that he believed in a God who was merciful but not necessarily in man’s image, owned a rare Gibson guitar and preferred red wine to white but usually drank beer. He wore no underwear and slept curled in a ball. Way to go, Evie, I kept muttering to myself. Anna looked on with exasperation and said that he is not worth pining for. I denied the charge wholly and entirely.
I wept in the bathroom one afternoon when a guy in a motorcycle jacket came in the store but when I rushed up to him, alas, it was not Frank but just another guy looking for Rimbaud’s Season in Hell. He tried to charm me by reciting the introduction by heart but my heart was cold. It was one of my favorite poems and I would normally praise his effort by offering a cup of coffee for his effervescence. Instead I was rude and caustic. Anna watched this inexcusable customer service with a frown; she was not without sympathy but gave me a good dressing down that night. I bore it calmly; I couldn’t tell her I was beating myself up over my slack information gathering.
Meanwhile, Anna tried to help out more than usual and did not whine as much about her tired legs, aching head and dizziness. She asked around about a web designer and even interviewed one or two without knowing what she was looking for. In the end she called NYU’s computer science department where she knew someone and a young guy was sent over, flabbergasted when he learned we did not even yet own a computer. He then assembled one from leftover parts he’d collected on campus and began building. After a week he tried to show us how to enter the book titles and information, none of which I paid attention to while Anna seemed to take to it immediately. She began working with a new purpose and I could only envy her spunk; I was in dejection mode. I would have to get over it and get on with it. The books were delivered just after the computer was installed and there was a ton of stuff to do.
One Friday afternoon Anna was at the computer and I behind the cash register. The store had a few customers and our resident computer scientist, Charlie, was making himself useful to Anna. He had a crush on her and she enrolled in a computer class he taught at the Learning Annex. He took to walking Howl, eager to please. I remained apathetic listening to Coltrane, which Anna found depressing. “What good is this mournful music? Come on Evie, snap out of it.” Then she apologized and went out shopping to escape me and the sonic dissonance.
No sooner did I resolve to push on and started unpacking boxes, pricing, culling the gems for our better customers who would get first dibs, than Frank rambled in. He was hesitant, but otherwise exactly as he had been when last seen. He hugged me as if he dropped in every afternoon and asked how I was. Before I could answer and collect myself, I saw Anna look up and brighten when he nodded to her. “Well, well, well,” she said. “The carpenter returns. We’ve been waiting for you to show yourself, my sister wants to thank you for fixing the door. Business has greatly increased since.”
“Can’t sell books if people can’t get to them. That door was a real liability in more ways than one,” he said.
I was ringing up a sale and could not immediately join the conversation, impatient with the customer’s questions on DeLillo. He was looking for first editions and chatting, unnecessarily, I thought. I was tremulous seeing Frank pacing around the shop. When I was finally free, I invited him to come into the backroom and offered him a cup of coffee. I was flustered getting the water ready. “Would you care for some cookies with your coffee?” I asked. He looked at me without comprehension as if I’d asked the question in a foreign language. “No, no cookies I think,” he said laughing. “I came to see you.” Then he put his arms around me and just held me in silence for a few minutes until the kettle began to whistle. I made coffee, poured him a cup and we sat at the old wooden desk that served as a table.
“What brings you to the neighborhood?” I asked.
“You.”
“In that case, what took you so long?”
“I had things to take care of. I’m recording. Then there is a tour I’m supposed to go on…you know, things. Music things.”
I heard you played with The Bops a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to sit in with all the hip bands…get my name out there again.”
“Are you seeing the lead singer, Kendra?” He neither admitted or denied it and I let it go.
“So what are you doing later? he said. Do you want to go out or something. I’m on my own tonight. Feel like hanging out, have a few drinks?”
“Yes, fine. My sister will be in the apartment tonight so we will have to go out.”
“That’s okay. I’m on the guest list at a place that just opened. We’ll check it out. Make the scene.”
“Yeah, groovy,” I laughed, trying to imitate his mood. Come back between nine and ten. I have to close the store tonight.”
“See you then.” He hugged me again and floated toward the door. He waved to Anna and said something about not letting computer rays rot her brain. He hadn’t touched the coffee.
That date was not the tranquil romantic interlude our first night was. We were in a smoky, noisy, grubby bar in a neighborhood yet to have an assigned designation and Frank seemed to be the center of attention. Women would hang on him in an overly familiar way, men would shake his hand and want to talk music, everyone bought him drinks and the bar owner took us to the storeroom where we were offered cocaine. They were somewhat surprised that I declined this white powder that would normally induce shrieks of gratitude from women who made a point of being where it was being disbursed. Frank patted me on the back and whispered “You don’t have to, I know it’s probably not your thing.” Then he joked, “I’ll take her share, ha, ha, ha.”
It was not a comfortable night for me. The wrong scene for a bookworm. The people I usually hung out with were more sober, though certainly not teetotalers and drug-use consisted of a joint passed amongst several. The women were more understated and if they threw themselves at a man, it was with a some subtlety. The music listened to was also subdued; jazz, classical or maybe rock music that has withstood the test of time. If I sound old or perhaps not quite hip enough, well, I was in my late thirties, old enough to have spent my rambunctious youthful exuberance but not old enough to have given up on the unexpected, the experimental. I admit I’m not a big drinker nor have I ever been overly enamored with drugs. I had a business to tend and a sister who was not always well. She suffered from asthma, headaches, leg pains, anxiety and panic attacks. She regularly visited neurologists, allergy specialists and a psychiatrist. She consulted an herbalist and an acupuncturist. Fortunately, our parents paid for our health insurance but we covered what it did not and that got expensive. She spent a fortune on both prescriptions, home remedies and vitamins. She also had custody of a dog that required a vet.
I could not bring Frank back to the apartment that night and when we finally left the bar, after he sat in with the band, was invited into the storeroom again, had a close encounter outside with the female singer from another band and then was invited to an after-hours party in Chelsea which he jumped at, I found a taxi and said goodbye. He hugged me tightly, kissed me furtively and promised to come by the next day but I expected I would not see him again for some time. I had not been able to pin down exactly where he lived nor was I given a current phone number. I had to face facts: Frank was not the man for me, he was going places I could not go, with people I did not wish to be with. Alone in the taxi, I made myself admit and accept I had been mesmerized by an enigma. A strange brew. I had to let it go. It hurt but not as much as it would if I pursued this misalliance. Cutting my losses, autonomy intact, I let myself into the apartment at four a.m.
In the next month, my sister seemed to display more energy than usual. Her computer classes brought her out of her shell and she seemed to enjoy the time spent learning with Charlie. I too, began the arduous process of listing our stock in the newly formed database and looked forward to the day when with the click of a mouse, I would be of more service to our customers. The Gold collection, named after the couple it was purchased from, continued to astound us with titles that were worth more than previously thought. For this knowledge, I had Charlie to thank; he who showed me how to access the Internet and the wealth of book information stored online. I was so happy with this new toy I forgot about Frank, no longer seeing his face, expecting him to enter our doorway. Once I thought I saw him going into the bong shop but could not be sure. Another time when I was out, Anna said he came by, looked confused, asked when I would return and seemed to be nervous, more so than on the day he fixed our door. She said he looked unwashed and agitated. “I offered him a cup of tea, something calming, but he wasn’t interested. He asked me if I had a joint, he needed to relax, he said, but then laughed and said, ‘probably not, huh?’ Then he asked it I had any Valium or Demerol. He was shaky.”
“How long did he stay?”
“About fifteen minutes. I told him you wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. I guess he decided he couldn’t wait. He said he’ll catch you another time.”
“If he comes again, Anna, give him the brush-off will you? He could be trouble.”
“You were so enthralled with him not so long ago. What happened?”
“Nothing. He’s just not our type. You were right about him.”
“Right? How was I right?”
“You said he looked like a drug-user.”
“Oh that. He seemed together the day he fixed the door. I’m sorry I judged him. He’s sweet in a way.”
“Yes, he is. But you were right. Your intuition is always spot-on. I should listen to you more.”
“Well, thank you, Sister. But you were right about the computer. How did we ever get on without it?”
“Yeah, well, that was not hard to figure. All retail stores are using them. I’m trying desperately to find ways to make money in this business.”
“I wish you could make us tons of money. I want to get my own place. I’d like to replenish my wardrobe, yours too. Our style needs updating.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that. You are so oblivious to fashion..”
“Yeah, but things change. I can change. I’m taking a different perspective these days.”
“Charlie has certainly brought you out of your cloud.”
“Maybe...”
We dropped the subject of Frank and in the coming weeks saw an increase in business but unfortunately, an equal increase in expenses. Instead of improving our lot, we seemed to be sinking. I didn’t want to alarm Anna and said nothing at first. I let her go about her daily routine with more zest than usual which I attributed to spring. We’d had a hard winter and everyone was in a better mood with the warmer weather. I bought us each a new dress but she was disappointed that they came from the “thrift shop” down the block. “Vintage shop,” I corrected her. She started going out in the evenings and signed up for another computer course; I assumed Charlie was making some headway with her. He was younger than she was but since she was so, I can only say, under-developed for her age, it wasn’t apparent..
Spring turned to summer, our finances did not improve much. I had to ask Anna to cut down on our living expenses which depressed her. We had a few words over unnecessary spending on food, taxis, and health remedies. “You’re a big bummer. You’re trying to bring me down,” she accused. I wasn’t. Quite the opposite. I wanted to protect her. I did not know what would become of us if the business closed especially since it was connected to our home. In late June she started talking about getting her own place which I thought a little obtuse. I wasn’t getting through to her at all.
“We have to ride out a few months until the cash outlay from the Gold collection begins to show a profit,” I said. We shared a bedroom, a bed in fact, she had to be aware that I was having trouble sleeping. And yet, she seemed more cheerful than she ever had. Had she started taking anti-depressants? I knew she had a prescription for one of them but she said they weren’t for her. Now I wondered. When I mentioned it, she only smiled an enigmatic smile and said, “I’m high on other things.” Anna was not one for ambiguity. Something was different.
I left on a Thursday, expecting to be back Sunday afternoon. I was invited to a barbecue on Saturday given by a girlfriend from college and her husband. There, sitting poolside, I met man who was heading back to the city later that afternoon. He offered me a ride, a godsend. I knew what the train would be like on a holiday weekend. We had a nice, though longish drive back to the city talking politics. He was an Israeli and had a first-hand perspective, different than those I'd read in the newspapers. He was intriguing and I agreed to see him again. I wondered if Anna would like him.
Arriving home earlier than expected I noticed that the store, which normally would be open, was not. I did mention to Anna that if there was no business on Saturday she should lock up early so I was not unduly surprised. Making my way upstairs, I was met with the smell of pot. I was surprised by this but then thought Charlie had always seemed a little loopy in spite of his computer literacy. I understood the two things often went together.
On seeing no one in the living room, I went to the bedroom to unpack my overnight bag. The room was filled with smoke and there I found my sister lying naked on the bed, with someone rubbing massage oil over her body, while she moaned and giggled. Though his back was to me, I had no trouble making out Frank’s personage; only too familiar with it from weeks of seeing it in my own mind. He had on a t-shirt but nothing else. My sister I could only describe as in a state of bliss. I, on the other hand, was in a state of shock that consisted of a variety of emotions, none of which I could deal with at that moment. The couple was so absorbed in each other, they did not hear me enter the bedroom and it was at least thirty seconds before they became aware of my lurking, intrusive presence. Anna jumped up and screeched my name piercingly, wrapping the sheet around herself. Frank ran to the bathroom. “What are you doing home tonight?” she shrieked.
“I got a ride,” I feebly answered. “Anna, what is going on here? What are you doing…why is Frank…how…?”
“Don’t freak out, Eve. You weren’t expected until tomorrow.”
“Freak out! My God, Anna, how long have you been…?”
“Just let me get dressed. You just have to spoil things, don’t you?”
“No Anna, I don’t, but…” I left the bedroom, passing Frank in the little hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom. He looked at me sheepishly and made for his clothes, lying in the living room on the sofa.
Anna came into the living room and begged Frank not to leave but he was astute enough to recognize an awkward situation when he was a part of it. “I’ll just be off,” he said throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We can still go to Coney Island if you want to.” With that he galloped out the door and since the exit was through the store, I had to follow him to let him out.
“Don’t be mad Evie. It’s not what you think.”
“What is it exactly then, Frank?”
“Talk to Anna. I gotta go.”
Back in the living room Anna was pacing and wringing her hands. “You wrecked my day, thanks. You just can’t let things be.”
“I didn’t do anything, Anna. I came home. I live here. I’m sorry. How on earth did you connect with Frank? How long have you been getting his massages? I know all about his deft hands, his soft strokes, his…God, I hate this! Why did I have to come home and find this?”
“Exactly. Why?”
“Because I was offered a ride. I was bored away from the store…any number of reasons. Why Anna, didn’t you tell me you’d been seeing Frank?”
“I just started…with…him. That last time he came by to see you…you said you weren’t interested anymore, you told me he wasn’t our type. That’s what you said. One day I saw him outside of the bong shop and he walked me to the bank with the deposits. That day you were busy with Mr. First Edition. You sent me to the bank to get the deposits in before three and there was Frank on the sidewalk and as I said, he walked with me to the bank and then he started coming around in the afternoons thinking I always walked to the bank. He said I needed a body guard holding my stash of cash. I told him it wasn’t all that much but Howl would protect me. He invited me to have coffee and I liked him. So I went out with him. He asked a lot of questions about the bookstore and you. I thought he was still interested in you but I noticed he never came in if you were there so I figured he might be interested in me. You said you were over him so I thought, why not? I find him attractive.”
“I thought you’d been going out with Charlie. And all this time it was Frank. You could have said something.”
“I wanted to keep it a secret for awhile. To be sure. I didn’t know if he cared about me and I didn’t want to be embarrassed, waiting around for him to show up, bummed out like you were.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, you had your chance with him. Why shouldn’t I go out with him if we get along? The sex is fantastic. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I can see why you were so hung up on him.” She laughed and walked to the kitchenette to get something to drink. “I mean, you did say it was over, didn’t you?”
“Anna, what about your previous disdain for drug users? He is that, you know. I saw it myself. And what about Kendra Keen? He’s supposed to be going with her.”
“Just for publicity. And he doesn’t use drugs in my presence except for the pot this afternoon so I can’t comment on that. He’s cute. He’s sexy. He fixes things. He’s a man. He’s not just a rock musician you know. He’s got depth. I don’t think you gave him a chance.”
“Oh God. Anna, you are so screwed.”
“I like being screwed.” At this crudity she chortled, the soft drink went up her nose and she choked and laughed some more. When that episode of uncharacteristic jesting was finished she looked at me and said in the most deliberately serious tone, “I want to marry Frank. I want to go on the tour with him. He hasn’t asked me yet but I think he might. In that case, Evie, you will have to get someone to help out in the store. I think Charlie would be the obvious candidate. Think about it. I may not be here for awhile. Maybe never again. Frank is thinking of moving to L.A. I will move with him if he asks.”
The following week will go down in my memory as one of the most turbulent week in our history. For four days, there was no sign of Frank. He did not call the next day; the trip to Coney Island never materialized. Anna, in a frame of mind that went from despondency to wrath, and back to detachment, asked to make the deposit each day, and each day she came home in a darker mood and did all she could to avoid me. Except when she wanted to ensnare me in an argument. She lobbed sharp denunciations at me that hurt my feelings. She accused me of being jealous of her; that she could attract Frank as I couldn’t, that I was getting too old to attract anyone as hot as Frank. If she wanted to wound me, it wasn’t that difficult. I had these thoughts myself.
Coupled with Anna’s short temper and my own dull misgivings, it came to light that my parents had been swindled out of a sum of money that could not be ignored. They had to sue the accounting firm, a hallmark business in their community leaving raw feelings and publicity surrounding them. My mother was distraught, hysterical on the phone and my father had holed up in his study, refusing to talk. My brother meanwhile, was ranting. I listened to all this with a sense of unease, unwilling to talk about, and conversely, forget about the situation at A to Z Books.
Many long days went by before Anna was able to see Frank and sort things out if that is what it could be called. He was shifty and noncommittal - no news to me but it did not give me any pleasure to see my sister suffering. She tried to put on an act of indifference while simultaneously railing against my presence. In her mind, I was the sole barrier to Frank’s coming around. “He is afraid of you now,” she spat out. When I suggested that she might call him, she admitted that the number he’d given her was not working. Then she bawled hysterically. I was unable to comfort her, indeed, did not know how I could. After the initial shock and yes, I admit, jealousy, I clammed up, waiting to see what the two of them would do.
I wanted to find Frank and make him see her, to say something to her that would ease her mind. I was ready to go in search of him and had, in fact, called a few friends asking if they would let me know if and when they saw him, that I needed to speak to him about Anna. I thought if I used Anna’s name, he might be swayed. I could not help but feel that he may have genuine feelings for her. She brought out the chivalrous in men and perhaps even the suave Frank Flood was not immune. I was prepared to take steps for her I would never have for myself.
Eventually he turned up, waiting outside the store late one scorching afternoon, smoking a cigarette, pacing and hoping for I knew not what. Anna was at a doctor’s appointment so I bid Frank to come in. Though we did not have air conditioning, it was cooler in the dark store with several fans running. He was uncertain how to approach me and I asked him to sit down and wait until I was finished with a customer. He obeyed but was fidgety and not at his best; sweating and uncomfortable, his hair long and unkempt, his fingernails were ominously blackened and too long. He had a tattoo that I never noticed before on his upper arm. How could I have missed that on our one night together? Maybe it was new. Or just another detail I overlooked, one of many.
“I want to talk to you about Anna,” I said.
“I want to talk to you about her myself,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, what is it you wanted to say?”
“I wanted to ask you if you have any serious intentions regarding my sister.”
“Regarding my sister…you talk like a school teacher.”
“Maybe so. But you get my meaning, don’t you, Frank?”
“Maybe so. If you mean do I love your sister, do I want a relationship with her…are those the type of things you want to talk about? Or is it about you? Do you want to give me hell for making it with her after you and I had been…well, together?”
“Hardly. What I want to know is if you will see Anna tonight and give her some idea of where your feelings are. Be honest. If you were just having a fling with her, tell her. She’ll cause a row, but own up so we can move on, be done with it. Since you are here loitering about this afternoon, maybe you want to see her, be with her again. Please just tell her where she stands. She’s high-strung, overwrought. One way or the other, let us be done with the waiting…let her know what your intentions are. I know you may not think in those terms, I suspect you don’t but Anna does. Please let her know…gently, if you can.”
“So you’re protecting baby sister? What do you get out of this?”
“My sister is fragile. Surely you noticed? I don’t want her suffering over someone with no character.”
“What do you know about me or my lack of character?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Will you wait for Anna? You can wait upstairs although it’s really hot up there. Wait in the storeroom. It’s cooler. Have some ice tea. You can wait, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can wait. But I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want you to be kind to Anna.”
“I will try to do what you ask. But I have needs too.”
“We’ll get to your needs after you tend to my sister.”
“You underestimate her. She’s been stalking me for a week. She’s called every club I play at. She’s called anyone who might know me. She’s tried to track down my parents. She’s not the little girl you think she is. She goes after what she wants. Unlike you. I think of you as the weaker sister, if you must know, Evelyn.”
No one ever calls me by my full name. It went straight to my heart and then died in my consciousness.
While I thought Anna was meekly waiting, she was taking matters into her own hands. I had to give her credit. I couldn’t have done what she did. I skulk away and nurse hurt feelings. I didn’t know what to think at that point but adjustments would be required. Maybe Anna didn’t need a big sister for a protector. Had I ever considered that? No. We play our roles as we see fit. As it happens, I was overplaying mine.
Frank waited for her in the poetry section, tried reading a book by Patti Smith and then exchanged it for the complete works of William Blake, captivated by the wild illustrations. But he was impatient, I could tell. He kept watching the door. After forty-five minutes Anna walked through it. He jumped up, making his way to her with alacrity. Maybe he was glad to see her, maybe he was glad the waiting was over. He hugged her, took her hand in his and kissed her on both cheeks in that pretentious Euro-style not usually practiced on the Lower East Side. She was a little flummoxed, unsure where he had suddenly sprung from. She asked him to come upstairs with her and he obliged. They were up there for just over an hour and came down reunited - lovebirds, his arm around her. Anna was wearing different clothes and looked disheveled. Frank looked self-consciously humble but with the nervous twitch he’d come in with. He said goodbye to me, promised Anna he would see her the next day and left, giving me a sharp look that said, I did what you asked, what are you going to do for me? Perhaps I was over reacting but he was playing some kind of game with us. I didn’t know what the rules were but was prepared to find out - for my sister’s happiness.
Frank and Anna had a touching courtship that was conducted, on his part, seeking me as audience, on her part, in secret. She wanted to take her lover into her own domain, unseen by the critical eyes of her sister but that wasn't possible. She tried to get him away from the store and lamented that he had no real address they could retreat to. She read poetry to him, he played his guitar for her, making up touching songs that would melt the heart of the most hardened woman. I knew this because I let them have our apartment for their private love nest while I slept downstairs on a cot in the back office we rarely used. I managed to turn it into a bedroom of sorts. We had a customer bathroom and I was forced to make do with that. I bathed when Frank left. Anna kept him with her as much as she could, fearful that he would disappear again, doing everything she could to make that difficult for him.
She went to nightclubs with him, staying out late, coming down to work rattled and inefficient; I, more often than not, sending her back upstairs. She became more provocative in dress, sometimes wearing no bra leaving little to the imagination. She seemed to revel in an erotic daydream, oblivious to onlookers. One day she walked through the store in her bathrobe and more than a few male customers jumped at the chance to ask to see some arcane book that had been behind the counter forever. The robe fell open several times and I thought it was not entirely accidental. She seemed to have turned into a different person from the withdrawn woman not inclined to cater to male fantasies dreamt up on her behalf. The buttoned-up librarian had turned into a harlot.
“Frank has opened my sensibilities,” she said. “I’m not the same person. I’m on fire, I have orgasms just standing next to him. Have you ever had an orgasm standing up, Evie? She was smirking and I wanted to slap her but refrained. Instead I took Howl for a walk, anxious to escape her new-found sensibilities.
One morning when she walked Frank to the door she was wearing only a t-shirt and I scolded her. “Anna, you have start dressing yourself before you come down, this is a business you know? She implied that I was just jealous because she and Frank had spent the night in a wild sexual escapade that lasted all night, that I probably spent all night listening to them and envying her. It was hard to argue with her. It was true I had heard them romping around, she with a shrill laugh and he playing the role of strong lover, able to quiet her with his sultry lips. I heard her beg for more and I could only imagine what the more was. It was painful to listen to. I vowed to get ear plugs the next day but my main concern was her growing animosity toward me. Why?
It was in August that Frank came down the stairs looking for all his ardor bewildered and a little frantic. “Evelyn, could we talk sometime?”
“Sure Frank. We can talk now. The store doesn’t open for half an hour.”
“Well, when Anna isn’t around would be better.”
“She’s going to her therapist later this morning. Come back then?”
“Ha. She just told me she dropped her therapist. She’s too happy to be brought down by the past.”
“Probably because you’ve made her so darn happy, congratulations,” I said a little facetiously without meaning to.
“Yeah. So fucking happy.”
“Don’t complain, Frank. It’s not easy to feel your pain.”
“I can’t talk now. She’s going shopping for a dress to wear to my show tomorrow night. She wants me to go with her but I’m going to tell her I want her to surprise me with something sexy. She’ll buy that. It’s all she thinks about. I’ll come back later.”
When Anna announced she was going shopping and then had to cook Frank’s dinner so wouldn’t be working that day, I ignored the shirking of duty and the expense and acquiesced. The days were getting long working the store myself and our database had been put on hold. Charlie was not as available without the promise of Anna’s company. I planned to hire him if he could be talked into it but held off. I saw how pained Frank’s presence made him feel. He said to me, “That guy is trouble. Why would Anna go for him? He’s got user written all over him.”
“He seems to make her happy,” I said. Not to make him feel bad, but there was no use thinking of Anna in her present state. He hadn’t the slightest chance with her now. Frank came back that afternoon and his trembling was more apparent than ever.
“So Evelyn, where do we go from here?”
“I think Frank, where we go, is where you and my sister go. I’m not going anywhere. I’m tied to this store thanks to Anna’s frequent ...”
“That’s what I mean. I did what you wanted. I give your sister what she wants. It’s not easy, you know. She’s pretty demanding. If I even hint at my own way she sulks and sheds tears. How can someone cry so easily? She gets hysterical if I think of going anywhere without her. She’s getting crazy, I don’t mind saying.”
“So what do you want from me, Frank? What should I do? Make Anna behave, love you less? I have no truck with Anna these days. She won’t listen to me on any topic much less on the subject of you.”
“She is insisting we get married.”
“That’s only natural. She’s thirty-five. Women do start thinking that way.”
“She wants to get married and go on the tour with me.”
“Did she tell you that or did you ask her?”
“Hell no, I didn’t ask her on the tour. That’s not a place for her. It’s hard work and a bunch of guys.”
“What about marriage?”
“I told her I’d think about it. But we would have to have some money for a place. I’ll make money on this tour but she doesn’t want to wait until I come back. She thinks I’ll change my mind by then. She wants to do it before the tour and says you will buy her out - the store, she meant. She said that will give her enough to put a down payment on a condo or something.”
That was so absurd it momentarily took my breath away. Not only could I not buy her out, the business itself was hardly worth anything. A liability. I was in shock and he sensed my fear, my hesitation. “So you’re waiting around for the cash, is that it?” I was unable to hide my anger.
“Well she brought it up. Said she might get a hundred grand or maybe more.”
I almost choked on my tea but didn’t want to set off any alarms with Frank.
“I mean, you will have to buy her out if we get married. She’s not going to want to hang around this place all day as my wife.”
“Maybe so,” I said. I was losing energy; it had been sucked out of the air by Frank’s air of avariciousness. But I now had a better understanding of what game he was playing. And what my sister had in mind, incredulous as it all was.
You can believe Anna and I had quite a few words on the subject of the store. When I told her it had no real value, that it was barely operating, she did not believe me. “You are just telling me that because you are trying to rip me off. You are afraid of Frank having the money. You’re still jealous.” Many variations on this same theme coursed through our days and nights, some in Frank’s presence, some between us. She eventually called our parents to complain and threaten, and when they offered no help, she got Ray and his wife, Carol, involved. Everyone wanted to know what the business was worth and no matter how I conveyed the information, nothing sunk in. No one seemed to know that small bookstores were becoming extinct. It had been coming on for a few years. The so-called big-box stores shut down the small bookstores, ate them right up. Then Amazon ate the big-box stores or was chomping on the first course. It was in all the papers; didn’t anyone read?
“Don’t lie to me, Evie, I know what we take in every day,” she would repeat whenever she ran out of logic. “We have money in the bank and I want my share.”
Well, even if we did have money in the bank and I could give her a share, that would put me out of business and on the streets. Anna tried to talk our brother into buying her out but he said he’d have to see the “financials” before he would invest. He called me requesting some official information and then backed off. I finally got so sick of the whole mess, I decided to put the business up for sale. It was a joke, really. I asked Anna what she thought it was worth; she named an exorbitant amount, a child’s fantasy, but I listed it that way just to show her how ludicrous it was. Of course no one remotely considered it. Then I lowered the price as I watched Anna revive the headaches and the roiling anxiety. Even the bank accounts failed to impress on her a sense of reality but I think I finally got through to Frank.
In all of this, he tried to stay out of the fray; seemingly indifferent but closely calculating the risk involved, the reward he might see. To his credit, he married her without a hope of gaining anything financially. At the wedding I gave them a check for five thousand dollars and told them I would try to sell the store.
“Thanks, but I’ll need more than this,” Anna said. Otherwise she barely spoke to me and I wondered how we would all live in the small apartment. For the time being, they were going on tour, Frank could not dissuade her of this and gave up trying. They were to be gone for five months, with periodic stops home. Frank said for me to take back the apartment; they would have money for their own place after the tour. “We might even be rich,” he said.
Howl and I were left alone with the shop and our eccentric customers, my book group and a growing sense of futility. Life was looking dreary for the more exuberant sister. It was time to take stock. I had to start thinking of what to do with myself post-A To Z Books; it was inevitable that I would lose it one way or another. I started looking at career options and once Anna was out of the way, Charlie came back and was helpful in numerous way - I don’t know what I would have done without him. He set up the website, promoted it and between the two of us, we started selling off the inventory, much of it online. We teamed up with other booksellers and traded customers. I began to see the possibility of staying in business but not if I had to buy my sister out: the chances of selling it were almost nil. I had no offers no matter how low the price.
After a month into Frank’s tour, I still had not even a post card from Anna. I thought she was carrying a grudge too far but learned my parents had also not heard from her. I would occasionally see Frank’s picture in a music magazine or The Village Voice; he was impressing audiences across the country. Ray was trying to track the tour to reach Anna at a hotel after he heard of a drug bust in Atlanta. After three months and still no word, my brother was getting pissed off and started calling the record company and Frank’s manager. I then received an e-mail, discovered by Charlie, from Anna saying, Call off the dogs. That she was fine and could we please stop hounding her. Ray and I agreed to this but my parents were offended. I emailed her back saying to please call Mother if nothing else. No response.
Near the Christmas holidays I knew they were scheduled to return to New York and got the apartment ready in case they needed to stay in it. Foolish of me. They were now used to more luxurious accommodations in hotels and I received a email that was brevity itself: Are you kidding? We will be at the Plaza. I would never have known they were in town at all except I heard that Frank was playing a show at a club in the neighborhood. I planned to be there, to confront my sister, if only to reassure our mother she was all right. Ray said he might show up.
If you had known my sister when this story began, with her headaches, her little-girl whisper, her schoolmarm formality, the innocent blue eyes, you would have been as shocked as I was when I saw her. Her hair was dyed a greasy black with eyebrows to match. She was as sickly white as paste, as thin as a tubercular patient. While our neighborhood had its share of Goth girls, it was painful to see my little sister so depraved looking - a character out of a vampire movie. Except it wasn’t a disguise and not even remotely amusing. When she finally noticed me standing before her at a table, she stared with a glazed-over severity that hurt me. Then she laughed hysterically. “Ah, big sister, still checking up on me, I see. Well you needn’t have bothered. I’m not in your world anymore. I’m not your little sister, in fact, I’m not your sister at all.”
“Please Anna. I want to know that you are all right. Don’t you care that Mother is worrying so about you?”
“Why should I care. I’m a grown woman, a married woman. Why can’t you all leave me the fuck alone?”
“Because we care about you.”
“Well stop it. I’ve forgotten you all.”
She then put her arms around another woman with a similar look and spat at me, “This is my sister. She’s my real sister. Her name is Sputnik. Isn’t that a riot? Say hello to Evie, Sputnik, tell her for me this isn’t her scene and she should go back to her precious bookstore and her lost literary aspirations. She wanted to be a writer once, you know. Now she’s an old maid, as they once referred to a woman without a man. Alone with her books and her teacups. Don’t you feel sorry for her?” With this she snorted and started coughing. Her throat sounded dry and brittle and when she lit a cigarette I understood why. This was a new habit and I wondered what other habits she’d picked up.
I looked around for Frank but there was no sign of him. “Where is Frank, Anna?”
“He’s in the back fucking another groupie, how do I know?”
“Anna, why don’t you come home with me? You need some rest. Frank will know where to find you tomorrow.” What she needed was to clean up. She was a mess. “You know how much you loved our old tub. It’s waiting for you.” When she laughed, I could see she had a missing tooth. To see my sister this way, the beauty of her class, was heartbreaking.
“Bugger off. I told you, leave me alone.” She slurred the last words and put her head down on the grimy tabletop. Sputnik patted her hair and told her to order another drink for them. It would be hours before the guys were on. I headed for the stage area, determined to get backstage and have a word with Frank. A bully guard stopped me and with that, I screamed Frank’s name. “Fraaaaank Flood, come out and face me!”
Was I unhinged? Yes. I was as mad as I’d ever been in my life. Even madder than the day we got robbed and I fought off the thief myself with the help of Howl and an over-sized world atlas. There was no Frank sighting that night. Not then nor later. He did not appear onstage. The band went on without him and according to the paper the next day, he never showed. I left after my freak-out or rather, was asked to leave. When I called Ray the next day, he was livid but said Anna was an adult and we had to stop taking care of her. “We always did because she was so sickly, so wimpy," he said. I said she was sick now, but could not be accurately described as wimpy.
“I’m tired of thinking about her, Eve, Carol is tired of hearing about her.”
I decided not to tell our parents what I’d witnessed. They would never understand. The world of rock music was not a world they could ever traverse, older parents, conservative. I called my mother and told her I’d seen Anna and that she was fine.
“How was Frank?” she asked.
“He’s fine too,” I lied.
“I wonder why he didn’t appear onstage then?” she added.
“He probably got the flu or something.” Horrible dissembling on my part, I forgot she read the newspaper front to back.
We heard no more from Anna after that. The tour ended, I expected she was back in New York and would show up when she needed money. The winter went by, a mild winter and I was still holding on to my business. I was banking as much money as I could, putting Anna’s salary aside for her; I hoped she would claim her share in person. I missed her. We had been so close starting the store on a shoestring; I remember how excited she was the day we opened. She thought she would be stuck on Long Island in a high school library job and coming to the city and sharing this project with me had elevated her spirit. She added a professional demeanor to the store in a neighborhood that was anything but, in her business suits and pumps. She was a little doll sitting behind the counter, sharing her love of literature with the eccentric, the unruly and just plain wacko. They loved her in the neighborhood. How I wished she would show up, back to her old self.
Yes, I did know I was dreaming. I also knew she was in trouble and that she wasn’t that skinny and sunken from too much travel. I did not know what she might be on, but I had no doubt it was something diabolical. I cursed Frank mightily but I did understand that she could be obstinate; he was possibly in over his head. I cried when I looked at the picture Charlie had posted on our site of the two of us; we were both glowing in front of the store, especially Anna. She didn’t know how many customers asked for her, asked how she’s doing, how many emails she gets on our new website. She doesn’t know what she is missing, I thought. I would email once a week keeping her up to date but she never responded. Charlie only sighed and said “Maybe she’ll come back when she’s had enough. I bet she’ll come back in the spring. Howl thinks so too.”
Spring arrived but still no word. I tried to put her out of my mind and I was getting better at it. Ray was right; we could only do so much. She was an adult. In April, I had a surprise visit from of all people, Frank. He came as I was closing up on a slow night and I invited him in. He looked like he’d been put through the fires. His teeth were chipped, he’d lost weight, his hair could only be called near-death. His eyes, complexion and voice were all varying shades of gray. Lines were etched in his face.
“Hello Evelyn. I suppose you didn’t expect to see me tonight?”
“Is Anna here? Is she outside?”
“No.”
“Is she okay?”
“Not exactly…well she’s not dead…” he laughed, a cynical sputter that caused my heart to nearly stop.
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“Well, she’s pretty far gone.”
“Far gone how, where?”
“She’s pretty fucked up Eve…”
“What does that mean? Frank, tell me exactly what that means,” I shrieked.
“It means she’s fucked up on junk. Really bad.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s with friends in Brooklyn.”
“What kind of friends?”
“Sick friends. The only kind we can associate with.”
“Can you get her to come here?”
“I tried. She won’t. Says you’ll lord it over her.”
“I wouldn’t. Ever. Why does she hate me? I have always loved her so, took care of her…”
“She’s got some idea that you wanted to take me from her. I told her that’s stupid, you’re way too sharp for me but that only made it worse. Then she accused me of wanting you instead of her. She’s so damn jealous of you.”
“That’s crazy. She’s always been prettier, always had more appeal.”
“She’s insecure. And now she’s crazy. You’re right about that.”
“You’ve got to get her here, or take me to where she is.”
“She’ll freak out if I do.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“I hate to say this, Eve, but we need money bad.”
“So that’s it. How much?”
“A few thousand if you can spare it. What she needs ain’t cheap.”
“And you Frank? Are you hooked too?”
“Not as bad as her. I know how to pace it. She can’t.”
“So I’m to give you money for your habit, is that it? The bookstore is to help subsidize a drug dealer? Did she send you to get it?”
“Well, she can’t come. Besides she doesn’t want you to see her. She feels bad how she treated you when you came to the club. I didn’t know you were there or I would have come out. I wouldn’t have ignored you, Evelyn. I think too much of you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You may not believe it, but I was a little in love with you. That day I came here, I wanted to see you. You pushed me off on your sister.”
“Shut up.”
“I haven’t forgotten that night we spent together. You were the nicest woman I’ve ever been with. I had to play up the Kendra thing. I had my head up my ass. Besides, you intimidate me. You're so strong.”
“I can give you a grand. But that’s all. Either get Anna to come to me or get her into a drug rehabilitation program. I mean it. If she dies, I’ll blame you forever. Ray will hunt you down. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Eve. But Anna is not one to take orders. I can’t do anything with her and have to live with her, our…sickness. I’m in my own hell here. Don’t think this has been a picnic. She seemed so innocent when I met her. So soft. Boy did I call it wrong. She’s as hard as they come. And you, trying to protect her. It’s a laugh, that’s what.”
“Laugh away, but get her some help. Tie her up and take her to a clinic. I’ll find one. I’ll give you the money for it when she’s admitted. Don’t fuck with me here, Frank.”
“I never heard you use profanity before, Evelyn. You always spoke so elegantly. So proper. I admired you. I still do. I’m sorry. Junk messes with you. You can never recover, never turn back into the person you were before.”
“Whatever. Do you have a phone number?”
“No. I have nothing. No money, no band, no gigs, not even my old Gibson. I had to pawn it. Ain’t that a bitch?”
“Yeah, a real bitch.”
“You’re cynical Evelyn, you shouldn’t be. You are so good. So trusting. Don’t change.”
“Take care of her, Frank. That’s all I ask.” He lingered uncertainly at the door for a minute and then left; looking as if he was departing for Hades.
Anna called a month later, a garbled squeal into the phone, demanding money. I told her to come to the store; I’d have cash for her but she never showed. She called back a few nights later wailing, telling me how sorry she was, how she fucked up, how she knows it. “Please forgive me, Evie. I lost it and now I can never get it back.”
“Yes you can, dear. You can. Come home. We’ll fix things like we always have. We’re strong. Please come home. Where are you? I‘ll pick you up.” Hearing my crying, my pleading, she changed tactics and said, “Forget it, I’m not coming home ever. I’m with Frank.” Her voice was inextricably sad and yet still defiant.
Two weeks later I got a call from Frank saying she’d overdosed and was dead before he could get her to the hospital. Blunt. Just like that. I’ll spare you the details of my wailing, Charlie’s strength, the funeral on Long Island, Frank’s appearance looking like a piece of crumpled paper blowing in the wind, my brother’s violent fit of anger and our parents' silent stoicism masking their utter confusion. None of it matters: Anna’s gone. We announced it on the website, received many condolences and then took our picture down. Charlie carries it around in his wallet. I got my privacy back: I wish she were with me to share the jokes. We had so many wigged-out customers, all harmless, gentle bookworms like us. She is missed.
Frank was arrested and charged with possession of narcotics shortly after. His manager got him in a treatment program. He sends me an occasional email. He said he was learning to use a computer finally with time on his hands.
I was called for an interview, questioned by a young woman about my knowledge of books and given a test. She chatted amicably and we had a good time talking about our love for Jane Austen. She said it was important to know about all the different categories and she could tell I certainly knew plenty about books. She shook my hand and I left feeling positive about the interview, friendlier. A week later I received an email saying they had hired someone else, thanking me for my time. When I went by later that week, I saw a new recruit being trained in. She was all of eighteen, or so she looked. I asked her if she could direct me to the Jane Austen titles. She replied: “I think you’ll find her in the cookbook section on the second floor.” I walked out the door, never to return.
PART IIn the year 1999, on the eve of the millennium, the World Trade Center was standing and Wall Street was humming along at a feverish pitch devising new ways to create wealth from nothing. I believe New York still retained some innocence but just barely. The city was making an attempt to clean up its act so tourists would be safe from some of the more seedy elements that had heretofore ruled the streets. The art world was in a huff because the government decided it did not care to finance schlock and vermin, the mayor appointing a Decency Commission, opening a white hot debate on what exactly constituted art, and more shrilly, censorship. The petulance and posturing in this art capital were in overdrive.
In that same year, two sisters, not expecting to get rich, content with their lot, owned a second-hand bookstore on the Lower East Side, hoping to preserve in their little corner of the city, a place where literature ruled and nothing disturbed the customers who frequented A To Z Books, a name regretted but stuck with once the sign had been painted. I am Evie, the eldest sister and I want to tell our story before time diminishes its impact.
My sister and I were nothing alike in taste, temperament or style but what happened to us, our relationship in our late thirties disrupted a lifelong, close bond. All I know in writing this story, our story, my sister Anna’s and mine, is that I’m attempting to get a feel for what went wrong and why.
Anna was five years younger than me; the quiet sister, the more reasonable, less tempestuous sibling who was a good listener, kind, helpful although often remote. I attributed her with the above even though she became easily unnerved if things went wrong, complained heavily at times and was a hypochondriac, adamant that her sicknesses were real and who was to say? Introverted, she rarely went out. She trained to be a librarian. Pretty, petite, with ash blond hair and glossy blue eyes, she attracted men to her without effort. She was distant for the most part but did have a droll sense of humor.
I was the more extroverted sister. I socialized, was into music, the arts, vintage fashion and politics. I took classes to enrich myself, went to concerts with a music appreciation group and belonged to a book club, usually hosted in our store. I also liked men. Anna liked men but required security and a consistent servitude from them. She had one serious relationship, ended for reasons unknown after eight years with him. Now married to another woman, Gerald would drop in on us now and again, mostly to visit the German Sheppard named Howl he left with Anna, their most caustic disagreement at the time of their breakup, everything else between them confidential. Howl protected us when he wasn't asleep in the backroom.
I dated, enjoyed various and wicked personalities, was independent and preferred living alone although Anna moved in with me after her breakup. We had a small apartment above the store connected by a spiral staircase. The apartment had only one bedroom, a small living room, a kitchenette and a bathroom with an old-fashioned claw-foot tub, our most cherished accoutrement, both partial to long soaks in hot water and minty bath beads. I handled the book buying and sales, Anna the displays and shelf arranging. We both wielded a mean feather duster. We were talking for some time about putting a list of our inventory online or at least in a database but Anna resisted modernization because she was not computer literate and would have had to take a class at the library to do this job. I knew that eventually it would be me who would take the class and start the site. I was on the lookout for a guy who might be interested in Anna - a technical genius as an aside. I dearly wanted to have the apartment to myself again because quite frankly, I needed privacy. When I hinted at this to Anna, she sniffed, her nose in the air, and told me that she was saving me from disaster and I should be grateful.
We started the bookshop in 1994. Our block wasn’t as developed then as it is now but we were fortunate to have a rent-controlled space. At the time, there was a trendy café next door that held weekly poetry readings and brought in customers. There was also a record store two doors down that specialized in punk rock and did a good business until they lost their lease. It is no longer possible to make money in books and we were barely surviving as a bricks and mortar business depending on street traffic. The owner of the record shop said he sold on the Internet now and a store isn’t absolutely necessary. After the record store left, a comic book store moved in and now it is a head shop. This brought many new people to the block but they were not necessarily looking for literary acumen. Anna detested the customers from the head shop, she was fearful and didn’t like the way they sized her up. She also believed they were illiterate for the most part and I couldn’t disagree although I sometimes found them amusing and encouraged their hanging out amongst the Beats. They then would steal any copies of Charles Bukowski we had on hand. This, Anna could not forgive and henceforth, kept the irascible poet on a shelf behind the counter. She said his works disgusted her but that didn’t mean they were free. For years we did not see much of this author; it was said by other booksellers I met at book fairs that no one sold Bukowski or when they did, the books were so badly stained and mauled they gave used books a bad name. I don’t know why I’m including this, it has nothing to do with my story. Perhaps I’m stalling, reluctant to put it down on paper. Yes, I’m writing longhand on yellow legal pads so I can burn them when and if I choose to. Deleting on a computer just doesn’t have the same portent significance.
When Frank entered our lives, a new paradigm was introduced. He was an obvious choice for me; an alienated, brooding, unstable, poetic cocktail I’d readily drink. When I met him I had not the slightest doubt that we would annex our respective magnetic fields. It was a given. We eyed-balled each other waiting for the moment we would officially congeal. When the party broke up we exchanged phone numbers and he gallantly kissed my hand. He called the next day. I was glad he didn’t make me wait. He would pick me up at closing time, the plans unspecified. They didn’t matter. It was inconsequential, only the physical promise of togetherness mattered though I have to say, there was a spiritual component to our attraction.
Fortunately for me, Anna had taken the day off and was visiting her old school friend in Brooklyn. She would be spending the night for which I praised God. We would sleep together, most certainly - I just wasn’t sure where and I did not want to leave it to chance - I did not know where he lived. I knew nothing of him at all except that he played lead guitar in a band whose name I won’t give or attempt to disguise. He was said to be legendary in his field, hyperbole perhaps. It was implied he had been on hiatus and was making a comeback. That he was being courted by one of the top record executives. There was a distinct buzz about him but that was not my concern. I was interested in something more personal, you might even call it illumination which sounds preposterous today as I write this.
Frank showed up late, naturally, but not so late as to disturb my equilibrium. I knew the type; one with a complete misapprehension of time. As I opened our old wooden door that had to be lifted over a broken plank in the floor and jerked back in place, he entered with his easy walk that wasn’t quite a swagger but had something provocative in its gait. I said, “If you have nothing planned we can go upstairs, drink some wine and listen to music.” He moved with a glazed wandering diffidence in his battered motorcycle jacket, tight jeans and cowboy boots. This was not unusual attire in the neighborhood but I mention it anyway since I am reminiscing. I enjoyed his look that first night as he walked around the shop only mildly interested. Somehow I knew he did not spend his time reading and to his credit, he never faked a knowledge of books or authors. He knew a great deal about music, more than most people. He revered James Brown and John Coltrane. He said he started out as a drummer because he loved Buddy Rich but switched to the guitar because of Jimi Hendrix. His story was not in the least original - I’d heard it from the mouths of many a guitar player over the years.
I will skip over the fine points of that first night. We stayed up all night drinking wine, smoking pot, playing records - I still had my vinyl collection which impressed him. We went to bed as the light was filtering through the cracks in our old Venetian blinds. We slept for several hours and then woke up and made love. Then we slept, then we made love. I prefer to say “ made love” even though it may sound affected. But it’s a legitimate depiction because I try to add depth to the ephemeral. I did not go in for fleeting affairs.
At ten I had to open the store and he languorously made coffee and served it while I was counting the money for the cash register. He left at around eleven, I could tell he wasn’t used to being up and out that early. His eyes balked at the sunshine as he scrambled for his shades in his jacket pocket. I still did not know where he lived but I knew his taste and his spiritual beliefs. I knew his touch. It was all I needed, oh,foolish woman.
When Anna returned later that day, I said nothing but she sensed someone had been in the apartment and began questioning me. I told her as little as possible but did not lie outright. She said she could guess what went on in her absence and did not care to know the details anyway. With the AIDS epidemic, she lived in fear of me contacting this deadly curse. Anna believed wholeheartedly in disease. If it’s out there, one of us will get it. I never think of sickness or disease and told her that is why I’m never sick. She scoffed as all hypochondriacs do at those who profess sound health. I had no idea where things stood with Frank but hoped he would call or come by soon. I believed he would and was prepared to wait for him. In the meantime, his name was not uttered.
A week passed with no word from Frank. I must say I was getting anxious. I relived every moment we’d spent together and listened to the records he played over and over. Anna just sighed and ignored my swooning as if I were sick, waiting for deliverance from whatever evil bug had bitten me. And that is what it began to feel like. When I called the number he gave me I was told he did not live there but had moved in with a friend. That curt voice did not have a phone number for him so I waited and watched…
A month after our first night, I was out of the store for the afternoon visiting a couple who had an entire apartment filled with books and records. They were selling and moving to Cape Cod. They needed someone to relieve them of close to three thousand titles just in books. It was implied that many of them could be valuable. I was anxious to see this collection and was hoping to purchase it outright without haggling over individual titles. I went to their Village townhouse prepared to hard-bargain but found I had no competitors. Bookstores around the city were closing up shop and those still in business had no money or inclination to buy. Spacious chain stores and Amazon had done us all in. They were somewhat surprised at my enthusiasm and it turned out I did not have to do anything but name a price and hire a delivery service. No one wanted them as a collection.
With this additional inventory it would be necessary to start selling online and I wanted to hire someone to set it up. Anna would say we couldn’t afford it and she would be right. But I had to get her to push ahead with the business or we would be finished ourselves. It happened to be a chilly rainy day which was always problematical because it was so much better if we could leave our door open to customers instead of having them battle their way in through an antiquated doorway with a misaligned door frame. I knew today the door would be closed and customers few. So it was a shock when I shoved open the door with the strength I knew it would require only to have it open freely and loosely. Anna sat at the desk beaming. “Notice anything different?” she said.
“How on earth did you get the landlord to fix the door?” I said while parking my wet umbrella in the stand.
“The landlord didn’t fix it, someone else did.”
“And who might that be? Do we know someone with carpentry skills perchance?”
“Well, he did ask for you specifically. When I said you were out he paced around a bit and when a customer nearly broke the glass panes trying to get in the door, he asked me if I ever considered getting it fixed. I told him about our ongoing conversation with the landlord and he offered to fix it for us. I said it would be way too much trouble but he asked me if we had any tools and when I said we only had the basic items; hammer, screwdriver - two varieties, he left and said he would be back. I didn’t expect him to return and it took him an hour or more but he came back with a toolbox and actually ripped apart that warped wood that the door catches on and before I knew it, he had it swinging freely on newly oiled hinges. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Nor can I. Who was it? The guy from next door?”
“No. No one I’ve ever seen. He looked as if he’d be useless but he seemed to know what he was doing. He was waiting for you; I could tell he wasn’t interested in books so he hung around the head shop for awhile and then said to tell you he came by. Except, I didn’t catch his name. He was good-looking in that doped-out sort of way. I bet he’s the guy who was here while I was in Brooklyn. The one you’ve been so impatient to see again.”
“And you didn’t get his name? Come on, Anna. Think. What did he say?”
“Just what I told you. I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention. I just thought he was some loser from next door who was probably going to steal Naked Lunch.
“Was he wearing a motorcycle jacket?”
“Of course. What else does anyone wear around here?”
“What did he look like?”
“I told you, like a junkie or a criminal. Or maybe an actor.”
“You’re hopeless, Anna.”
“Thank you. At least I got the door fixed.”
“You got it fixed?”
“Sure. He wanted to help me because I looked so frail trying to get the door opened for that old guy who buys all the military history books. You know that creaky old thing we suspect is a Nazi sympathizer?”
“So you gave this guy your most feeble, damsel-in-distress look and he miraculously came up with the tools to fix the door frame?”
“I have my ways you know. Just because I don’t chase them doesn’t mean I have no sway with men. I can get them to do what I want if I care to use my feminine wiles. I usually can’t be bothered.”
“Except when they fix things?”
“I adore men who fix things. It’s almost a dying breed in this city. They all want to be famous. No one wants to be useful.”
“Well, whatever it was, you did good, Sister. And so did I with the book collection. Let’s have some coffee because I’ve got some things to go over with you. I’m calling a meeting of the CEOs. We’re going to be inundated with new books.”
“I suppose you’ll want me to organize them?”
“More than that. I want to find someone to help us start a website. And soon.”
“I got the door fixed, you get the website built.” Anna had shown little curiosity when it came to the Internet. She said computers gave her a headache.
“I’ll put on the kettle. I bought something to celebrate - your favorite raspberry cream cake.”
I fled to the backroom; I wanted a minute to think. Was there any possible way it could have been Frank who fixed our door? I tried to think of who else it might have been in the neighborhood but could come up with no one else. My heart was racing as I took the cake out of the box and put it on a silver serving plate that had been our grandmother’s. My hands were shaking with excitement. What a bummer that I missed him. Why oh why? At least he hadn’t forgotten me. He would most certainly return. But when? Best not to say much to Anna. At least he made a good impression with his Mr. Fix-it routine. As I said, Anna preferred guys who served. She did not go for those who lived for their image or their ego and I’m afraid Frank was exactly that type. Well, he got off on the right foot which would make things easier for me. I hoped to see a lot of him and did not want an attitude from my sister who shunned guys like Frank everyday. Oh please Frank, call me, I said to the heavens as I scooped the coffee into the filter. Please come again.
Was I sounding needy? Not really. But I fell hard for Frank and I was disappointed with myself: that I hadn’t made the effort to find out more about him such as where he lived and how he could be reached. That’s my style: always looking at the panoramic view, paying no attention to the details. Anna is the more detail-oriented of the two of us. Except she did not get the one important detail I needed: the handyman’s name.
I rarely left the store the next week afraid I’d miss him again. I sent Anna to do errands I usually did as I pretended to be waiting delivery of the expected books which I knew were not even packed up yet. I tried to think of who might know him from the party but when I asked my friend Daphne who invited me, she said he was a loner, that he’d once been in a famous band and had a reputation. She also thought he was seeing a semi-famous singer but it might be just a rumor to keep his image pumped up for public consumption. She said he sat in at CBGBs last weekend. She warned me to be careful. “He’s a heart breaker, I can tell. Don’t get too involved with him. What he’s looking for is all about him.” This, I did not want to hear. I vowed to silently wait; never speak his name to another soul, including my sister who asked about him several times. I would keep cool if it killed me.
And it nearly did. For three weeks I was on high alert. I was beside myself with despair for not asking the questions that would have been second-nature to any other woman. I tended toward the sublime - the mystical union that would elude me until such time as the universe decreed. I called myself a flake. Anna would have known exactly who he was, where he lived, his history, his jean size, his hometown and his education before the second glass of wine was poured. All I knew was that he believed in a God who was merciful but not necessarily in man’s image, owned a rare Gibson guitar and preferred red wine to white but usually drank beer. He wore no underwear and slept curled in a ball. Way to go, Evie, I kept muttering to myself. Anna looked on with exasperation and said that he is not worth pining for. I denied the charge wholly and entirely.
I wept in the bathroom one afternoon when a guy in a motorcycle jacket came in the store but when I rushed up to him, alas, it was not Frank but just another guy looking for Rimbaud’s Season in Hell. He tried to charm me by reciting the introduction by heart but my heart was cold. It was one of my favorite poems and I would normally praise his effort by offering a cup of coffee for his effervescence. Instead I was rude and caustic. Anna watched this inexcusable customer service with a frown; she was not without sympathy but gave me a good dressing down that night. I bore it calmly; I couldn’t tell her I was beating myself up over my slack information gathering.
Meanwhile, Anna tried to help out more than usual and did not whine as much about her tired legs, aching head and dizziness. She asked around about a web designer and even interviewed one or two without knowing what she was looking for. In the end she called NYU’s computer science department where she knew someone and a young guy was sent over, flabbergasted when he learned we did not even yet own a computer. He then assembled one from leftover parts he’d collected on campus and began building. After a week he tried to show us how to enter the book titles and information, none of which I paid attention to while Anna seemed to take to it immediately. She began working with a new purpose and I could only envy her spunk; I was in dejection mode. I would have to get over it and get on with it. The books were delivered just after the computer was installed and there was a ton of stuff to do.
One Friday afternoon Anna was at the computer and I behind the cash register. The store had a few customers and our resident computer scientist, Charlie, was making himself useful to Anna. He had a crush on her and she enrolled in a computer class he taught at the Learning Annex. He took to walking Howl, eager to please. I remained apathetic listening to Coltrane, which Anna found depressing. “What good is this mournful music? Come on Evie, snap out of it.” Then she apologized and went out shopping to escape me and the sonic dissonance.
No sooner did I resolve to push on and started unpacking boxes, pricing, culling the gems for our better customers who would get first dibs, than Frank rambled in. He was hesitant, but otherwise exactly as he had been when last seen. He hugged me as if he dropped in every afternoon and asked how I was. Before I could answer and collect myself, I saw Anna look up and brighten when he nodded to her. “Well, well, well,” she said. “The carpenter returns. We’ve been waiting for you to show yourself, my sister wants to thank you for fixing the door. Business has greatly increased since.”
“Can’t sell books if people can’t get to them. That door was a real liability in more ways than one,” he said.
I was ringing up a sale and could not immediately join the conversation, impatient with the customer’s questions on DeLillo. He was looking for first editions and chatting, unnecessarily, I thought. I was tremulous seeing Frank pacing around the shop. When I was finally free, I invited him to come into the backroom and offered him a cup of coffee. I was flustered getting the water ready. “Would you care for some cookies with your coffee?” I asked. He looked at me without comprehension as if I’d asked the question in a foreign language. “No, no cookies I think,” he said laughing. “I came to see you.” Then he put his arms around me and just held me in silence for a few minutes until the kettle began to whistle. I made coffee, poured him a cup and we sat at the old wooden desk that served as a table.
“What brings you to the neighborhood?” I asked.
“You.”
“In that case, what took you so long?”
“I had things to take care of. I’m recording. Then there is a tour I’m supposed to go on…you know, things. Music things.”
I heard you played with The Bops a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to sit in with all the hip bands…get my name out there again.”
“Are you seeing the lead singer, Kendra?” He neither admitted or denied it and I let it go.
“So what are you doing later? he said. Do you want to go out or something. I’m on my own tonight. Feel like hanging out, have a few drinks?”
“Yes, fine. My sister will be in the apartment tonight so we will have to go out.”
“That’s okay. I’m on the guest list at a place that just opened. We’ll check it out. Make the scene.”
“Yeah, groovy,” I laughed, trying to imitate his mood. Come back between nine and ten. I have to close the store tonight.”
“See you then.” He hugged me again and floated toward the door. He waved to Anna and said something about not letting computer rays rot her brain. He hadn’t touched the coffee.
That date was not the tranquil romantic interlude our first night was. We were in a smoky, noisy, grubby bar in a neighborhood yet to have an assigned designation and Frank seemed to be the center of attention. Women would hang on him in an overly familiar way, men would shake his hand and want to talk music, everyone bought him drinks and the bar owner took us to the storeroom where we were offered cocaine. They were somewhat surprised that I declined this white powder that would normally induce shrieks of gratitude from women who made a point of being where it was being disbursed. Frank patted me on the back and whispered “You don’t have to, I know it’s probably not your thing.” Then he joked, “I’ll take her share, ha, ha, ha.”
It was not a comfortable night for me. The wrong scene for a bookworm. The people I usually hung out with were more sober, though certainly not teetotalers and drug-use consisted of a joint passed amongst several. The women were more understated and if they threw themselves at a man, it was with a some subtlety. The music listened to was also subdued; jazz, classical or maybe rock music that has withstood the test of time. If I sound old or perhaps not quite hip enough, well, I was in my late thirties, old enough to have spent my rambunctious youthful exuberance but not old enough to have given up on the unexpected, the experimental. I admit I’m not a big drinker nor have I ever been overly enamored with drugs. I had a business to tend and a sister who was not always well. She suffered from asthma, headaches, leg pains, anxiety and panic attacks. She regularly visited neurologists, allergy specialists and a psychiatrist. She consulted an herbalist and an acupuncturist. Fortunately, our parents paid for our health insurance but we covered what it did not and that got expensive. She spent a fortune on both prescriptions, home remedies and vitamins. She also had custody of a dog that required a vet.
I could not bring Frank back to the apartment that night and when we finally left the bar, after he sat in with the band, was invited into the storeroom again, had a close encounter outside with the female singer from another band and then was invited to an after-hours party in Chelsea which he jumped at, I found a taxi and said goodbye. He hugged me tightly, kissed me furtively and promised to come by the next day but I expected I would not see him again for some time. I had not been able to pin down exactly where he lived nor was I given a current phone number. I had to face facts: Frank was not the man for me, he was going places I could not go, with people I did not wish to be with. Alone in the taxi, I made myself admit and accept I had been mesmerized by an enigma. A strange brew. I had to let it go. It hurt but not as much as it would if I pursued this misalliance. Cutting my losses, autonomy intact, I let myself into the apartment at four a.m.
In the next month, my sister seemed to display more energy than usual. Her computer classes brought her out of her shell and she seemed to enjoy the time spent learning with Charlie. I too, began the arduous process of listing our stock in the newly formed database and looked forward to the day when with the click of a mouse, I would be of more service to our customers. The Gold collection, named after the couple it was purchased from, continued to astound us with titles that were worth more than previously thought. For this knowledge, I had Charlie to thank; he who showed me how to access the Internet and the wealth of book information stored online. I was so happy with this new toy I forgot about Frank, no longer seeing his face, expecting him to enter our doorway. Once I thought I saw him going into the bong shop but could not be sure. Another time when I was out, Anna said he came by, looked confused, asked when I would return and seemed to be nervous, more so than on the day he fixed our door. She said he looked unwashed and agitated. “I offered him a cup of tea, something calming, but he wasn’t interested. He asked me if I had a joint, he needed to relax, he said, but then laughed and said, ‘probably not, huh?’ Then he asked it I had any Valium or Demerol. He was shaky.”
“How long did he stay?”
“About fifteen minutes. I told him you wouldn’t be back for at least an hour. I guess he decided he couldn’t wait. He said he’ll catch you another time.”
“If he comes again, Anna, give him the brush-off will you? He could be trouble.”
“You were so enthralled with him not so long ago. What happened?”
“Nothing. He’s just not our type. You were right about him.”
“Right? How was I right?”
“You said he looked like a drug-user.”
“Oh that. He seemed together the day he fixed the door. I’m sorry I judged him. He’s sweet in a way.”
“Yes, he is. But you were right. Your intuition is always spot-on. I should listen to you more.”
“Well, thank you, Sister. But you were right about the computer. How did we ever get on without it?”
“Yeah, well, that was not hard to figure. All retail stores are using them. I’m trying desperately to find ways to make money in this business.”
“I wish you could make us tons of money. I want to get my own place. I’d like to replenish my wardrobe, yours too. Our style needs updating.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that. You are so oblivious to fashion..”
“Yeah, but things change. I can change. I’m taking a different perspective these days.”
“Charlie has certainly brought you out of your cloud.”
“Maybe...”
We dropped the subject of Frank and in the coming weeks saw an increase in business but unfortunately, an equal increase in expenses. Instead of improving our lot, we seemed to be sinking. I didn’t want to alarm Anna and said nothing at first. I let her go about her daily routine with more zest than usual which I attributed to spring. We’d had a hard winter and everyone was in a better mood with the warmer weather. I bought us each a new dress but she was disappointed that they came from the “thrift shop” down the block. “Vintage shop,” I corrected her. She started going out in the evenings and signed up for another computer course; I assumed Charlie was making some headway with her. He was younger than she was but since she was so, I can only say, under-developed for her age, it wasn’t apparent..
Spring turned to summer, our finances did not improve much. I had to ask Anna to cut down on our living expenses which depressed her. We had a few words over unnecessary spending on food, taxis, and health remedies. “You’re a big bummer. You’re trying to bring me down,” she accused. I wasn’t. Quite the opposite. I wanted to protect her. I did not know what would become of us if the business closed especially since it was connected to our home. In late June she started talking about getting her own place which I thought a little obtuse. I wasn’t getting through to her at all.
“We have to ride out a few months until the cash outlay from the Gold collection begins to show a profit,” I said. We shared a bedroom, a bed in fact, she had to be aware that I was having trouble sleeping. And yet, she seemed more cheerful than she ever had. Had she started taking anti-depressants? I knew she had a prescription for one of them but she said they weren’t for her. Now I wondered. When I mentioned it, she only smiled an enigmatic smile and said, “I’m high on other things.” Anna was not one for ambiguity. Something was different.
PART IIWhat happened next marked somewhat the beginning of the end. I had to visit our parents on Long Island, leaving Anna with the store for a weekend. They were worried about a financial matter and wanted me to take a look at some papers. My brother, Ray, had always been the one to take care of these things but he was inconveniently out of the country on business. I agreed to go to them over the fourth of July weekend because the store would be pretty much dead. I felt Anna could handle it though I’d never left her for more than a day in the past. She accused me of treating her like a baby, not trusting her with a business that was partly hers. I had no justification for my lack of trust and admitted to myself that yes, I did baby her and maybe I shouldn’t. It’s just that she spent so much time in bed with one ailment after another that I’d come to treat her as a partial invalid. She said, “I’m much better these days, Evie, I think you should loosen your grip on the store. Haven’t I proved myself with the database?”
I left on a Thursday, expecting to be back Sunday afternoon. I was invited to a barbecue on Saturday given by a girlfriend from college and her husband. There, sitting poolside, I met man who was heading back to the city later that afternoon. He offered me a ride, a godsend. I knew what the train would be like on a holiday weekend. We had a nice, though longish drive back to the city talking politics. He was an Israeli and had a first-hand perspective, different than those I'd read in the newspapers. He was intriguing and I agreed to see him again. I wondered if Anna would like him.
Arriving home earlier than expected I noticed that the store, which normally would be open, was not. I did mention to Anna that if there was no business on Saturday she should lock up early so I was not unduly surprised. Making my way upstairs, I was met with the smell of pot. I was surprised by this but then thought Charlie had always seemed a little loopy in spite of his computer literacy. I understood the two things often went together.
On seeing no one in the living room, I went to the bedroom to unpack my overnight bag. The room was filled with smoke and there I found my sister lying naked on the bed, with someone rubbing massage oil over her body, while she moaned and giggled. Though his back was to me, I had no trouble making out Frank’s personage; only too familiar with it from weeks of seeing it in my own mind. He had on a t-shirt but nothing else. My sister I could only describe as in a state of bliss. I, on the other hand, was in a state of shock that consisted of a variety of emotions, none of which I could deal with at that moment. The couple was so absorbed in each other, they did not hear me enter the bedroom and it was at least thirty seconds before they became aware of my lurking, intrusive presence. Anna jumped up and screeched my name piercingly, wrapping the sheet around herself. Frank ran to the bathroom. “What are you doing home tonight?” she shrieked.
“I got a ride,” I feebly answered. “Anna, what is going on here? What are you doing…why is Frank…how…?”
“Don’t freak out, Eve. You weren’t expected until tomorrow.”
“Freak out! My God, Anna, how long have you been…?”
“Just let me get dressed. You just have to spoil things, don’t you?”
“No Anna, I don’t, but…” I left the bedroom, passing Frank in the little hallway between the bedroom and the bathroom. He looked at me sheepishly and made for his clothes, lying in the living room on the sofa.
Anna came into the living room and begged Frank not to leave but he was astute enough to recognize an awkward situation when he was a part of it. “I’ll just be off,” he said throwing his hands in the air. “I’ll call you tomorrow. We can still go to Coney Island if you want to.” With that he galloped out the door and since the exit was through the store, I had to follow him to let him out.
“Don’t be mad Evie. It’s not what you think.”
“What is it exactly then, Frank?”
“Talk to Anna. I gotta go.”
Back in the living room Anna was pacing and wringing her hands. “You wrecked my day, thanks. You just can’t let things be.”
“I didn’t do anything, Anna. I came home. I live here. I’m sorry. How on earth did you connect with Frank? How long have you been getting his massages? I know all about his deft hands, his soft strokes, his…God, I hate this! Why did I have to come home and find this?”
“Exactly. Why?”
“Because I was offered a ride. I was bored away from the store…any number of reasons. Why Anna, didn’t you tell me you’d been seeing Frank?”
“I just started…with…him. That last time he came by to see you…you said you weren’t interested anymore, you told me he wasn’t our type. That’s what you said. One day I saw him outside of the bong shop and he walked me to the bank with the deposits. That day you were busy with Mr. First Edition. You sent me to the bank to get the deposits in before three and there was Frank on the sidewalk and as I said, he walked with me to the bank and then he started coming around in the afternoons thinking I always walked to the bank. He said I needed a body guard holding my stash of cash. I told him it wasn’t all that much but Howl would protect me. He invited me to have coffee and I liked him. So I went out with him. He asked a lot of questions about the bookstore and you. I thought he was still interested in you but I noticed he never came in if you were there so I figured he might be interested in me. You said you were over him so I thought, why not? I find him attractive.”
“I thought you’d been going out with Charlie. And all this time it was Frank. You could have said something.”
“I wanted to keep it a secret for awhile. To be sure. I didn’t know if he cared about me and I didn’t want to be embarrassed, waiting around for him to show up, bummed out like you were.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, you had your chance with him. Why shouldn’t I go out with him if we get along? The sex is fantastic. I’ve never experienced anything like it. I can see why you were so hung up on him.” She laughed and walked to the kitchenette to get something to drink. “I mean, you did say it was over, didn’t you?”
“Anna, what about your previous disdain for drug users? He is that, you know. I saw it myself. And what about Kendra Keen? He’s supposed to be going with her.”
“Just for publicity. And he doesn’t use drugs in my presence except for the pot this afternoon so I can’t comment on that. He’s cute. He’s sexy. He fixes things. He’s a man. He’s not just a rock musician you know. He’s got depth. I don’t think you gave him a chance.”
“Oh God. Anna, you are so screwed.”
“I like being screwed.” At this crudity she chortled, the soft drink went up her nose and she choked and laughed some more. When that episode of uncharacteristic jesting was finished she looked at me and said in the most deliberately serious tone, “I want to marry Frank. I want to go on the tour with him. He hasn’t asked me yet but I think he might. In that case, Evie, you will have to get someone to help out in the store. I think Charlie would be the obvious candidate. Think about it. I may not be here for awhile. Maybe never again. Frank is thinking of moving to L.A. I will move with him if he asks.”
The following week will go down in my memory as one of the most turbulent week in our history. For four days, there was no sign of Frank. He did not call the next day; the trip to Coney Island never materialized. Anna, in a frame of mind that went from despondency to wrath, and back to detachment, asked to make the deposit each day, and each day she came home in a darker mood and did all she could to avoid me. Except when she wanted to ensnare me in an argument. She lobbed sharp denunciations at me that hurt my feelings. She accused me of being jealous of her; that she could attract Frank as I couldn’t, that I was getting too old to attract anyone as hot as Frank. If she wanted to wound me, it wasn’t that difficult. I had these thoughts myself.
Coupled with Anna’s short temper and my own dull misgivings, it came to light that my parents had been swindled out of a sum of money that could not be ignored. They had to sue the accounting firm, a hallmark business in their community leaving raw feelings and publicity surrounding them. My mother was distraught, hysterical on the phone and my father had holed up in his study, refusing to talk. My brother meanwhile, was ranting. I listened to all this with a sense of unease, unwilling to talk about, and conversely, forget about the situation at A to Z Books.
Many long days went by before Anna was able to see Frank and sort things out if that is what it could be called. He was shifty and noncommittal - no news to me but it did not give me any pleasure to see my sister suffering. She tried to put on an act of indifference while simultaneously railing against my presence. In her mind, I was the sole barrier to Frank’s coming around. “He is afraid of you now,” she spat out. When I suggested that she might call him, she admitted that the number he’d given her was not working. Then she bawled hysterically. I was unable to comfort her, indeed, did not know how I could. After the initial shock and yes, I admit, jealousy, I clammed up, waiting to see what the two of them would do.
I wanted to find Frank and make him see her, to say something to her that would ease her mind. I was ready to go in search of him and had, in fact, called a few friends asking if they would let me know if and when they saw him, that I needed to speak to him about Anna. I thought if I used Anna’s name, he might be swayed. I could not help but feel that he may have genuine feelings for her. She brought out the chivalrous in men and perhaps even the suave Frank Flood was not immune. I was prepared to take steps for her I would never have for myself.
Eventually he turned up, waiting outside the store late one scorching afternoon, smoking a cigarette, pacing and hoping for I knew not what. Anna was at a doctor’s appointment so I bid Frank to come in. Though we did not have air conditioning, it was cooler in the dark store with several fans running. He was uncertain how to approach me and I asked him to sit down and wait until I was finished with a customer. He obeyed but was fidgety and not at his best; sweating and uncomfortable, his hair long and unkempt, his fingernails were ominously blackened and too long. He had a tattoo that I never noticed before on his upper arm. How could I have missed that on our one night together? Maybe it was new. Or just another detail I overlooked, one of many.
“I want to talk to you about Anna,” I said.
“I want to talk to you about her myself,” he said.
“Go ahead.”
“Well, what is it you wanted to say?”
“I wanted to ask you if you have any serious intentions regarding my sister.”
“Regarding my sister…you talk like a school teacher.”
“Maybe so. But you get my meaning, don’t you, Frank?”
“Maybe so. If you mean do I love your sister, do I want a relationship with her…are those the type of things you want to talk about? Or is it about you? Do you want to give me hell for making it with her after you and I had been…well, together?”
“Hardly. What I want to know is if you will see Anna tonight and give her some idea of where your feelings are. Be honest. If you were just having a fling with her, tell her. She’ll cause a row, but own up so we can move on, be done with it. Since you are here loitering about this afternoon, maybe you want to see her, be with her again. Please just tell her where she stands. She’s high-strung, overwrought. One way or the other, let us be done with the waiting…let her know what your intentions are. I know you may not think in those terms, I suspect you don’t but Anna does. Please let her know…gently, if you can.”
“So you’re protecting baby sister? What do you get out of this?”
“My sister is fragile. Surely you noticed? I don’t want her suffering over someone with no character.”
“What do you know about me or my lack of character?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Will you wait for Anna? You can wait upstairs although it’s really hot up there. Wait in the storeroom. It’s cooler. Have some ice tea. You can wait, can’t you?”
“Yes, I can wait. But I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I want you to be kind to Anna.”
“I will try to do what you ask. But I have needs too.”
“We’ll get to your needs after you tend to my sister.”
“You underestimate her. She’s been stalking me for a week. She’s called every club I play at. She’s called anyone who might know me. She’s tried to track down my parents. She’s not the little girl you think she is. She goes after what she wants. Unlike you. I think of you as the weaker sister, if you must know, Evelyn.”
No one ever calls me by my full name. It went straight to my heart and then died in my consciousness.
While I thought Anna was meekly waiting, she was taking matters into her own hands. I had to give her credit. I couldn’t have done what she did. I skulk away and nurse hurt feelings. I didn’t know what to think at that point but adjustments would be required. Maybe Anna didn’t need a big sister for a protector. Had I ever considered that? No. We play our roles as we see fit. As it happens, I was overplaying mine.
Frank waited for her in the poetry section, tried reading a book by Patti Smith and then exchanged it for the complete works of William Blake, captivated by the wild illustrations. But he was impatient, I could tell. He kept watching the door. After forty-five minutes Anna walked through it. He jumped up, making his way to her with alacrity. Maybe he was glad to see her, maybe he was glad the waiting was over. He hugged her, took her hand in his and kissed her on both cheeks in that pretentious Euro-style not usually practiced on the Lower East Side. She was a little flummoxed, unsure where he had suddenly sprung from. She asked him to come upstairs with her and he obliged. They were up there for just over an hour and came down reunited - lovebirds, his arm around her. Anna was wearing different clothes and looked disheveled. Frank looked self-consciously humble but with the nervous twitch he’d come in with. He said goodbye to me, promised Anna he would see her the next day and left, giving me a sharp look that said, I did what you asked, what are you going to do for me? Perhaps I was over reacting but he was playing some kind of game with us. I didn’t know what the rules were but was prepared to find out - for my sister’s happiness.
Frank and Anna had a touching courtship that was conducted, on his part, seeking me as audience, on her part, in secret. She wanted to take her lover into her own domain, unseen by the critical eyes of her sister but that wasn't possible. She tried to get him away from the store and lamented that he had no real address they could retreat to. She read poetry to him, he played his guitar for her, making up touching songs that would melt the heart of the most hardened woman. I knew this because I let them have our apartment for their private love nest while I slept downstairs on a cot in the back office we rarely used. I managed to turn it into a bedroom of sorts. We had a customer bathroom and I was forced to make do with that. I bathed when Frank left. Anna kept him with her as much as she could, fearful that he would disappear again, doing everything she could to make that difficult for him.
She went to nightclubs with him, staying out late, coming down to work rattled and inefficient; I, more often than not, sending her back upstairs. She became more provocative in dress, sometimes wearing no bra leaving little to the imagination. She seemed to revel in an erotic daydream, oblivious to onlookers. One day she walked through the store in her bathrobe and more than a few male customers jumped at the chance to ask to see some arcane book that had been behind the counter forever. The robe fell open several times and I thought it was not entirely accidental. She seemed to have turned into a different person from the withdrawn woman not inclined to cater to male fantasies dreamt up on her behalf. The buttoned-up librarian had turned into a harlot.
“Frank has opened my sensibilities,” she said. “I’m not the same person. I’m on fire, I have orgasms just standing next to him. Have you ever had an orgasm standing up, Evie? She was smirking and I wanted to slap her but refrained. Instead I took Howl for a walk, anxious to escape her new-found sensibilities.
One morning when she walked Frank to the door she was wearing only a t-shirt and I scolded her. “Anna, you have start dressing yourself before you come down, this is a business you know? She implied that I was just jealous because she and Frank had spent the night in a wild sexual escapade that lasted all night, that I probably spent all night listening to them and envying her. It was hard to argue with her. It was true I had heard them romping around, she with a shrill laugh and he playing the role of strong lover, able to quiet her with his sultry lips. I heard her beg for more and I could only imagine what the more was. It was painful to listen to. I vowed to get ear plugs the next day but my main concern was her growing animosity toward me. Why?
It was in August that Frank came down the stairs looking for all his ardor bewildered and a little frantic. “Evelyn, could we talk sometime?”
“Sure Frank. We can talk now. The store doesn’t open for half an hour.”
“Well, when Anna isn’t around would be better.”
“She’s going to her therapist later this morning. Come back then?”
“Ha. She just told me she dropped her therapist. She’s too happy to be brought down by the past.”
“Probably because you’ve made her so darn happy, congratulations,” I said a little facetiously without meaning to.
“Yeah. So fucking happy.”
“Don’t complain, Frank. It’s not easy to feel your pain.”
“I can’t talk now. She’s going shopping for a dress to wear to my show tomorrow night. She wants me to go with her but I’m going to tell her I want her to surprise me with something sexy. She’ll buy that. It’s all she thinks about. I’ll come back later.”
When Anna announced she was going shopping and then had to cook Frank’s dinner so wouldn’t be working that day, I ignored the shirking of duty and the expense and acquiesced. The days were getting long working the store myself and our database had been put on hold. Charlie was not as available without the promise of Anna’s company. I planned to hire him if he could be talked into it but held off. I saw how pained Frank’s presence made him feel. He said to me, “That guy is trouble. Why would Anna go for him? He’s got user written all over him.”
“He seems to make her happy,” I said. Not to make him feel bad, but there was no use thinking of Anna in her present state. He hadn’t the slightest chance with her now. Frank came back that afternoon and his trembling was more apparent than ever.
“So Evelyn, where do we go from here?”
“I think Frank, where we go, is where you and my sister go. I’m not going anywhere. I’m tied to this store thanks to Anna’s frequent ...”
“That’s what I mean. I did what you wanted. I give your sister what she wants. It’s not easy, you know. She’s pretty demanding. If I even hint at my own way she sulks and sheds tears. How can someone cry so easily? She gets hysterical if I think of going anywhere without her. She’s getting crazy, I don’t mind saying.”
“So what do you want from me, Frank? What should I do? Make Anna behave, love you less? I have no truck with Anna these days. She won’t listen to me on any topic much less on the subject of you.”
“She is insisting we get married.”
“That’s only natural. She’s thirty-five. Women do start thinking that way.”
“She wants to get married and go on the tour with me.”
“Did she tell you that or did you ask her?”
“Hell no, I didn’t ask her on the tour. That’s not a place for her. It’s hard work and a bunch of guys.”
“What about marriage?”
“I told her I’d think about it. But we would have to have some money for a place. I’ll make money on this tour but she doesn’t want to wait until I come back. She thinks I’ll change my mind by then. She wants to do it before the tour and says you will buy her out - the store, she meant. She said that will give her enough to put a down payment on a condo or something.”
That was so absurd it momentarily took my breath away. Not only could I not buy her out, the business itself was hardly worth anything. A liability. I was in shock and he sensed my fear, my hesitation. “So you’re waiting around for the cash, is that it?” I was unable to hide my anger.
“Well she brought it up. Said she might get a hundred grand or maybe more.”
I almost choked on my tea but didn’t want to set off any alarms with Frank.
“I mean, you will have to buy her out if we get married. She’s not going to want to hang around this place all day as my wife.”
“Maybe so,” I said. I was losing energy; it had been sucked out of the air by Frank’s air of avariciousness. But I now had a better understanding of what game he was playing. And what my sister had in mind, incredulous as it all was.
PART IIIAnna and Frank were married in September at city hall. There was a reception on Long Island for family and friends of which Frank’s consisted of two guys in a band he was going on tour with. He said his parents were old and couldn’t make the trip. He told Anna they would stop by to see them while in Michigan. He said it was “no big deal.”
You can believe Anna and I had quite a few words on the subject of the store. When I told her it had no real value, that it was barely operating, she did not believe me. “You are just telling me that because you are trying to rip me off. You are afraid of Frank having the money. You’re still jealous.” Many variations on this same theme coursed through our days and nights, some in Frank’s presence, some between us. She eventually called our parents to complain and threaten, and when they offered no help, she got Ray and his wife, Carol, involved. Everyone wanted to know what the business was worth and no matter how I conveyed the information, nothing sunk in. No one seemed to know that small bookstores were becoming extinct. It had been coming on for a few years. The so-called big-box stores shut down the small bookstores, ate them right up. Then Amazon ate the big-box stores or was chomping on the first course. It was in all the papers; didn’t anyone read?
“Don’t lie to me, Evie, I know what we take in every day,” she would repeat whenever she ran out of logic. “We have money in the bank and I want my share.”
Well, even if we did have money in the bank and I could give her a share, that would put me out of business and on the streets. Anna tried to talk our brother into buying her out but he said he’d have to see the “financials” before he would invest. He called me requesting some official information and then backed off. I finally got so sick of the whole mess, I decided to put the business up for sale. It was a joke, really. I asked Anna what she thought it was worth; she named an exorbitant amount, a child’s fantasy, but I listed it that way just to show her how ludicrous it was. Of course no one remotely considered it. Then I lowered the price as I watched Anna revive the headaches and the roiling anxiety. Even the bank accounts failed to impress on her a sense of reality but I think I finally got through to Frank.
In all of this, he tried to stay out of the fray; seemingly indifferent but closely calculating the risk involved, the reward he might see. To his credit, he married her without a hope of gaining anything financially. At the wedding I gave them a check for five thousand dollars and told them I would try to sell the store.
“Thanks, but I’ll need more than this,” Anna said. Otherwise she barely spoke to me and I wondered how we would all live in the small apartment. For the time being, they were going on tour, Frank could not dissuade her of this and gave up trying. They were to be gone for five months, with periodic stops home. Frank said for me to take back the apartment; they would have money for their own place after the tour. “We might even be rich,” he said.
Howl and I were left alone with the shop and our eccentric customers, my book group and a growing sense of futility. Life was looking dreary for the more exuberant sister. It was time to take stock. I had to start thinking of what to do with myself post-A To Z Books; it was inevitable that I would lose it one way or another. I started looking at career options and once Anna was out of the way, Charlie came back and was helpful in numerous way - I don’t know what I would have done without him. He set up the website, promoted it and between the two of us, we started selling off the inventory, much of it online. We teamed up with other booksellers and traded customers. I began to see the possibility of staying in business but not if I had to buy my sister out: the chances of selling it were almost nil. I had no offers no matter how low the price.
After a month into Frank’s tour, I still had not even a post card from Anna. I thought she was carrying a grudge too far but learned my parents had also not heard from her. I would occasionally see Frank’s picture in a music magazine or The Village Voice; he was impressing audiences across the country. Ray was trying to track the tour to reach Anna at a hotel after he heard of a drug bust in Atlanta. After three months and still no word, my brother was getting pissed off and started calling the record company and Frank’s manager. I then received an e-mail, discovered by Charlie, from Anna saying, Call off the dogs. That she was fine and could we please stop hounding her. Ray and I agreed to this but my parents were offended. I emailed her back saying to please call Mother if nothing else. No response.
Near the Christmas holidays I knew they were scheduled to return to New York and got the apartment ready in case they needed to stay in it. Foolish of me. They were now used to more luxurious accommodations in hotels and I received a email that was brevity itself: Are you kidding? We will be at the Plaza. I would never have known they were in town at all except I heard that Frank was playing a show at a club in the neighborhood. I planned to be there, to confront my sister, if only to reassure our mother she was all right. Ray said he might show up.
If you had known my sister when this story began, with her headaches, her little-girl whisper, her schoolmarm formality, the innocent blue eyes, you would have been as shocked as I was when I saw her. Her hair was dyed a greasy black with eyebrows to match. She was as sickly white as paste, as thin as a tubercular patient. While our neighborhood had its share of Goth girls, it was painful to see my little sister so depraved looking - a character out of a vampire movie. Except it wasn’t a disguise and not even remotely amusing. When she finally noticed me standing before her at a table, she stared with a glazed-over severity that hurt me. Then she laughed hysterically. “Ah, big sister, still checking up on me, I see. Well you needn’t have bothered. I’m not in your world anymore. I’m not your little sister, in fact, I’m not your sister at all.”
“Please Anna. I want to know that you are all right. Don’t you care that Mother is worrying so about you?”
“Why should I care. I’m a grown woman, a married woman. Why can’t you all leave me the fuck alone?”
“Because we care about you.”
“Well stop it. I’ve forgotten you all.”
She then put her arms around another woman with a similar look and spat at me, “This is my sister. She’s my real sister. Her name is Sputnik. Isn’t that a riot? Say hello to Evie, Sputnik, tell her for me this isn’t her scene and she should go back to her precious bookstore and her lost literary aspirations. She wanted to be a writer once, you know. Now she’s an old maid, as they once referred to a woman without a man. Alone with her books and her teacups. Don’t you feel sorry for her?” With this she snorted and started coughing. Her throat sounded dry and brittle and when she lit a cigarette I understood why. This was a new habit and I wondered what other habits she’d picked up.
I looked around for Frank but there was no sign of him. “Where is Frank, Anna?”
“He’s in the back fucking another groupie, how do I know?”
“Anna, why don’t you come home with me? You need some rest. Frank will know where to find you tomorrow.” What she needed was to clean up. She was a mess. “You know how much you loved our old tub. It’s waiting for you.” When she laughed, I could see she had a missing tooth. To see my sister this way, the beauty of her class, was heartbreaking.
“Bugger off. I told you, leave me alone.” She slurred the last words and put her head down on the grimy tabletop. Sputnik patted her hair and told her to order another drink for them. It would be hours before the guys were on. I headed for the stage area, determined to get backstage and have a word with Frank. A bully guard stopped me and with that, I screamed Frank’s name. “Fraaaaank Flood, come out and face me!”
Was I unhinged? Yes. I was as mad as I’d ever been in my life. Even madder than the day we got robbed and I fought off the thief myself with the help of Howl and an over-sized world atlas. There was no Frank sighting that night. Not then nor later. He did not appear onstage. The band went on without him and according to the paper the next day, he never showed. I left after my freak-out or rather, was asked to leave. When I called Ray the next day, he was livid but said Anna was an adult and we had to stop taking care of her. “We always did because she was so sickly, so wimpy," he said. I said she was sick now, but could not be accurately described as wimpy.
“I’m tired of thinking about her, Eve, Carol is tired of hearing about her.”
I decided not to tell our parents what I’d witnessed. They would never understand. The world of rock music was not a world they could ever traverse, older parents, conservative. I called my mother and told her I’d seen Anna and that she was fine.
“How was Frank?” she asked.
“He’s fine too,” I lied.
“I wonder why he didn’t appear onstage then?” she added.
“He probably got the flu or something.” Horrible dissembling on my part, I forgot she read the newspaper front to back.
We heard no more from Anna after that. The tour ended, I expected she was back in New York and would show up when she needed money. The winter went by, a mild winter and I was still holding on to my business. I was banking as much money as I could, putting Anna’s salary aside for her; I hoped she would claim her share in person. I missed her. We had been so close starting the store on a shoestring; I remember how excited she was the day we opened. She thought she would be stuck on Long Island in a high school library job and coming to the city and sharing this project with me had elevated her spirit. She added a professional demeanor to the store in a neighborhood that was anything but, in her business suits and pumps. She was a little doll sitting behind the counter, sharing her love of literature with the eccentric, the unruly and just plain wacko. They loved her in the neighborhood. How I wished she would show up, back to her old self.
Yes, I did know I was dreaming. I also knew she was in trouble and that she wasn’t that skinny and sunken from too much travel. I did not know what she might be on, but I had no doubt it was something diabolical. I cursed Frank mightily but I did understand that she could be obstinate; he was possibly in over his head. I cried when I looked at the picture Charlie had posted on our site of the two of us; we were both glowing in front of the store, especially Anna. She didn’t know how many customers asked for her, asked how she’s doing, how many emails she gets on our new website. She doesn’t know what she is missing, I thought. I would email once a week keeping her up to date but she never responded. Charlie only sighed and said “Maybe she’ll come back when she’s had enough. I bet she’ll come back in the spring. Howl thinks so too.”
Spring arrived but still no word. I tried to put her out of my mind and I was getting better at it. Ray was right; we could only do so much. She was an adult. In April, I had a surprise visit from of all people, Frank. He came as I was closing up on a slow night and I invited him in. He looked like he’d been put through the fires. His teeth were chipped, he’d lost weight, his hair could only be called near-death. His eyes, complexion and voice were all varying shades of gray. Lines were etched in his face.
“Hello Evelyn. I suppose you didn’t expect to see me tonight?”
“Is Anna here? Is she outside?”
“No.”
“Is she okay?”
“Not exactly…well she’s not dead…” he laughed, a cynical sputter that caused my heart to nearly stop.
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“Well, she’s pretty far gone.”
“Far gone how, where?”
“She’s pretty fucked up Eve…”
“What does that mean? Frank, tell me exactly what that means,” I shrieked.
“It means she’s fucked up on junk. Really bad.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s with friends in Brooklyn.”
“What kind of friends?”
“Sick friends. The only kind we can associate with.”
“Can you get her to come here?”
“I tried. She won’t. Says you’ll lord it over her.”
“I wouldn’t. Ever. Why does she hate me? I have always loved her so, took care of her…”
“She’s got some idea that you wanted to take me from her. I told her that’s stupid, you’re way too sharp for me but that only made it worse. Then she accused me of wanting you instead of her. She’s so damn jealous of you.”
“That’s crazy. She’s always been prettier, always had more appeal.”
“She’s insecure. And now she’s crazy. You’re right about that.”
“You’ve got to get her here, or take me to where she is.”
“She’ll freak out if I do.”
“Then why have you come here?”
“I hate to say this, Eve, but we need money bad.”
“So that’s it. How much?”
“A few thousand if you can spare it. What she needs ain’t cheap.”
“And you Frank? Are you hooked too?”
“Not as bad as her. I know how to pace it. She can’t.”
“So I’m to give you money for your habit, is that it? The bookstore is to help subsidize a drug dealer? Did she send you to get it?”
“Well, she can’t come. Besides she doesn’t want you to see her. She feels bad how she treated you when you came to the club. I didn’t know you were there or I would have come out. I wouldn’t have ignored you, Evelyn. I think too much of you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“You may not believe it, but I was a little in love with you. That day I came here, I wanted to see you. You pushed me off on your sister.”
“Shut up.”
“I haven’t forgotten that night we spent together. You were the nicest woman I’ve ever been with. I had to play up the Kendra thing. I had my head up my ass. Besides, you intimidate me. You're so strong.”
“I can give you a grand. But that’s all. Either get Anna to come to me or get her into a drug rehabilitation program. I mean it. If she dies, I’ll blame you forever. Ray will hunt you down. Do you understand me?”
“Yes Eve. But Anna is not one to take orders. I can’t do anything with her and have to live with her, our…sickness. I’m in my own hell here. Don’t think this has been a picnic. She seemed so innocent when I met her. So soft. Boy did I call it wrong. She’s as hard as they come. And you, trying to protect her. It’s a laugh, that’s what.”
“Laugh away, but get her some help. Tie her up and take her to a clinic. I’ll find one. I’ll give you the money for it when she’s admitted. Don’t fuck with me here, Frank.”
“I never heard you use profanity before, Evelyn. You always spoke so elegantly. So proper. I admired you. I still do. I’m sorry. Junk messes with you. You can never recover, never turn back into the person you were before.”
“Whatever. Do you have a phone number?”
“No. I have nothing. No money, no band, no gigs, not even my old Gibson. I had to pawn it. Ain’t that a bitch?”
“Yeah, a real bitch.”
“You’re cynical Evelyn, you shouldn’t be. You are so good. So trusting. Don’t change.”
“Take care of her, Frank. That’s all I ask.” He lingered uncertainly at the door for a minute and then left; looking as if he was departing for Hades.
Anna called a month later, a garbled squeal into the phone, demanding money. I told her to come to the store; I’d have cash for her but she never showed. She called back a few nights later wailing, telling me how sorry she was, how she fucked up, how she knows it. “Please forgive me, Evie. I lost it and now I can never get it back.”
“Yes you can, dear. You can. Come home. We’ll fix things like we always have. We’re strong. Please come home. Where are you? I‘ll pick you up.” Hearing my crying, my pleading, she changed tactics and said, “Forget it, I’m not coming home ever. I’m with Frank.” Her voice was inextricably sad and yet still defiant.
Two weeks later I got a call from Frank saying she’d overdosed and was dead before he could get her to the hospital. Blunt. Just like that. I’ll spare you the details of my wailing, Charlie’s strength, the funeral on Long Island, Frank’s appearance looking like a piece of crumpled paper blowing in the wind, my brother’s violent fit of anger and our parents' silent stoicism masking their utter confusion. None of it matters: Anna’s gone. We announced it on the website, received many condolences and then took our picture down. Charlie carries it around in his wallet. I got my privacy back: I wish she were with me to share the jokes. We had so many wigged-out customers, all harmless, gentle bookworms like us. She is missed.
Frank was arrested and charged with possession of narcotics shortly after. His manager got him in a treatment program. He sends me an occasional email. He said he was learning to use a computer finally with time on his hands.
I tried to get her help, he wrote. She wouldn’t. I begged her to let me call you but she said she couldn’t see you. I don’t know what went wrong, Evelyn. I tried with her, I really did. She just got so damn jealous, the tour was a nightmare. She would walk around naked in front of a bunch of roadies to spite me. She drove me and everyone insane. My manager told me to send her home. When she started doing H, I was relieved she was calm and not causing trouble. I thought after the tour we would settle down and be a real couple. She got pregnant but lost it in Kentucky. Spent three days in the hospital and I had to go on without her. She never forgave me but it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want her on the tour. She should have been helping you in the store, safe at home. She went crazy on tour. It’s enough to make me never want to play music again, the memories of it are sickening. I hope you can forgive me, I never meant for any of this to happen. I’m sorry, Evelyn. Sorry for everything. I wish you the best with the store. I won’t ask for any of what was due to Anna. Your brother-in-law Frank.The store was worthless to anyone else and I decided to close it. I could have carried on for a few more months, half a year but why? Although filled with remorse, I was ready to let it go. The business expenses, taxes, rent, insurance all kept getting higher and books were still only books; worth everything in the the world but not much in dollars. I closed up in August of 2000 and moved into a studio apartment in the Village. I felt as if I’d aged a decade in that one year and it was apparent - I turned forty and my hair was almost gray. I looked worn out. This would normally not bother me so much except that I had to start looking for a job. One day I saw a sign in a mega bookstore window for a bookseller. Were they responsible for A To Z’s demise? Probably not but I did not feel friendly toward them. Nevertheless, I swallowed my pride and asked for an application.
I was called for an interview, questioned by a young woman about my knowledge of books and given a test. She chatted amicably and we had a good time talking about our love for Jane Austen. She said it was important to know about all the different categories and she could tell I certainly knew plenty about books. She shook my hand and I left feeling positive about the interview, friendlier. A week later I received an email saying they had hired someone else, thanking me for my time. When I went by later that week, I saw a new recruit being trained in. She was all of eighteen, or so she looked. I asked her if she could direct me to the Jane Austen titles. She replied: “I think you’ll find her in the cookbook section on the second floor.” I walked out the door, never to return.
Monday, May 9, 2011
#79 HIS DISAPPEARING ACT
My husband, Gabe, said he wanted to meet me for drinks to discuss the “issues.” Why would I have to arrange to meet my own husband for drinks? Because he walked out on me last month and we haven’t spoken since. I would have liked to get in a few words but he miraculously disappeared from the planet, or so it seemed.
His best friend had “no idea where he went.” His secretary thought “he might be at his mother’s in Westchester.” His mother said, “he must be with his father fishing in Nantucket.” His father said, “he’s hiding out with his old school chum from Indiana; those two are always up to something of which no good could come.” His old school chum thought “he was taking some time alone” but secretly suspected he was with a woman in Barbados. His therapist said, “he canceled his appointments for the next three weeks; not good. Tell him to call me.” His racquetball partner said, “he’s probably holed up in a hotel getting stinking drunk.” His employer said, “he’d better get his ass in here by Monday or he’ll be written up again.”
Back to his best friend who said, “I saw him on the west side hailing a taxi last week but he didn’t see me.” His lawyer said, “he missed an appointment and I’m charging him for it. No one wastes my time including your dip-shit husband who still owes me from the last jerk he tried to sue.” Back to his mother who said, “I hope he’s okay, poor thing.” Back to his father who said, “he’s in some kind of trouble, mark my goddamn words.”
Naturally I was curious as to where he actually had been although I’d given up speculating after ten days. It was almost a month and now I get this call requesting a meeting. He probably wants to talk about the breakdown of our marriage and how it was all my fault. I’ll get weepy and sentimental. Then he’ll use that for more leverage and tell me he’s taking the house from me. I suspect he’s already unloaded our joint account and the special account in his name only that he thinks I don’t know about. After that he’ll accuse me of turning everyone against him and then ask me if I’m all right, I look sickly. Next he’ll bluff his way back into the house to try to steal as many of our worldly possessions as he can pilfer in one go. He’ll insist our dog, George, only loves him, will only go to him even though George hardly knows him at all because he is so often somewhere other than our home and never available for walking a dog, much less taking care of him on a daily basis. He’ll say I never wanted children and deprived him of his god-given right to fatherhood. He’ll say I’m probably barren anyway but it’s not too late for him to plant the seed elsewhere. He’ll remind me he’s a MAN and...then he'll forget his point and complain about my lousy housekeeping.
All this will take place tonight and I have to be prepared. I plan on wearing my low-cut black sheath. Red heels. I’ll be immersed in the enticing perfume he gave me last Valentine’s Day. He’ll be distracted by these machinations for awhile and try to work his rusty charm but will then forget himself and call me by his girlfriend's name and ruin things. He’ll order another drink, so will I. We’ll both get drunk and go back to the house. He’ll be unable to perform again and rail on me for my coldness, my lack of sex appeal. He’ll remind me I’m getting fat. He may accuse me of having someone else. He’ll demand to know his name. I’ll laugh and make up something. Then he’ll tell me I’m lying, no one would go for me with my sagging jowls. He'll say, “You’ve aged badly, T. Sorry, it’s the truth. And you’re not very nice. You used to be, a long time ago but you’re bitter. An old bitter woman with only a dumb dog for comfort.” Then he’ll snort and call me a lesbian.
Eventually he’ll shut up or pass out and I’ll not have learned where he actually was for the past month; I’ll have to get it out of his mother, his father, his best friend, his secretary, his old school chum or his racquetball partner. It’s always something with him and his father is right: no good can come of any of it. Meanwhile, I’ll walk George the dog and hope Gabe finds himself wherever he is holed up. All this is beginning to exhaust me but I’m sure it’s just a phase. My husband cannot be such an asshole, can he? I have such good taste in everything else.
His best friend had “no idea where he went.” His secretary thought “he might be at his mother’s in Westchester.” His mother said, “he must be with his father fishing in Nantucket.” His father said, “he’s hiding out with his old school chum from Indiana; those two are always up to something of which no good could come.” His old school chum thought “he was taking some time alone” but secretly suspected he was with a woman in Barbados. His therapist said, “he canceled his appointments for the next three weeks; not good. Tell him to call me.” His racquetball partner said, “he’s probably holed up in a hotel getting stinking drunk.” His employer said, “he’d better get his ass in here by Monday or he’ll be written up again.”
Back to his best friend who said, “I saw him on the west side hailing a taxi last week but he didn’t see me.” His lawyer said, “he missed an appointment and I’m charging him for it. No one wastes my time including your dip-shit husband who still owes me from the last jerk he tried to sue.” Back to his mother who said, “I hope he’s okay, poor thing.” Back to his father who said, “he’s in some kind of trouble, mark my goddamn words.”
Naturally I was curious as to where he actually had been although I’d given up speculating after ten days. It was almost a month and now I get this call requesting a meeting. He probably wants to talk about the breakdown of our marriage and how it was all my fault. I’ll get weepy and sentimental. Then he’ll use that for more leverage and tell me he’s taking the house from me. I suspect he’s already unloaded our joint account and the special account in his name only that he thinks I don’t know about. After that he’ll accuse me of turning everyone against him and then ask me if I’m all right, I look sickly. Next he’ll bluff his way back into the house to try to steal as many of our worldly possessions as he can pilfer in one go. He’ll insist our dog, George, only loves him, will only go to him even though George hardly knows him at all because he is so often somewhere other than our home and never available for walking a dog, much less taking care of him on a daily basis. He’ll say I never wanted children and deprived him of his god-given right to fatherhood. He’ll say I’m probably barren anyway but it’s not too late for him to plant the seed elsewhere. He’ll remind me he’s a MAN and...then he'll forget his point and complain about my lousy housekeeping.
All this will take place tonight and I have to be prepared. I plan on wearing my low-cut black sheath. Red heels. I’ll be immersed in the enticing perfume he gave me last Valentine’s Day. He’ll be distracted by these machinations for awhile and try to work his rusty charm but will then forget himself and call me by his girlfriend's name and ruin things. He’ll order another drink, so will I. We’ll both get drunk and go back to the house. He’ll be unable to perform again and rail on me for my coldness, my lack of sex appeal. He’ll remind me I’m getting fat. He may accuse me of having someone else. He’ll demand to know his name. I’ll laugh and make up something. Then he’ll tell me I’m lying, no one would go for me with my sagging jowls. He'll say, “You’ve aged badly, T. Sorry, it’s the truth. And you’re not very nice. You used to be, a long time ago but you’re bitter. An old bitter woman with only a dumb dog for comfort.” Then he’ll snort and call me a lesbian.
Eventually he’ll shut up or pass out and I’ll not have learned where he actually was for the past month; I’ll have to get it out of his mother, his father, his best friend, his secretary, his old school chum or his racquetball partner. It’s always something with him and his father is right: no good can come of any of it. Meanwhile, I’ll walk George the dog and hope Gabe finds himself wherever he is holed up. All this is beginning to exhaust me but I’m sure it’s just a phase. My husband cannot be such an asshole, can he? I have such good taste in everything else.
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