Mold crawled up the taupe exterior of the Victorian apartment building. Chunks of stone and paint were missing from the gray stone steps. Shingles on the face of the house had been patched up by spiders. A health inspector would have deemed the building uninhabitable. But the woman Danny had noticed at Gary's, Marnie Ducello, lived on the fifth floor.
The owner of a neighboring complex gave him background on the building. People paid the rent with no complaints about the unsanitary conditions. This was New York, and a place close to the subway and downtown at an affordable rate was hard to find. They went to work and prayed the landlord never sold the building. This was the last‐chance lifestyle. Hanging on the edge of suicide, divorce, and jail time, the inhabitants all had one goal in mind—to try to find some way to get through life respectably, in hopes of regaining their dignity before they died. It was not a home for the hopeless, but a place for the hopeful.
For Danny though, the building looked like a rat trap, waiting to be demolished. He rang apartment numbers until someone pushed the buzzer to let him through the front door. The security buzzer was the only amenity the building offered. There were no elevators; instead Danny was greeted by a long spiral staircase. The wooden steps groaned a warning with each footfall.
Despite the steep incline, he avoided grasping the metal bannister. Random dark spots, possibly blood mixed with rust, lined the railing. Where's Robert's disinfectant spray when I need it? Finally, at 5D, Danny stood outside her door. Loud thuds interrupted the vacant calm. With no plan in sight, he decided to play it by ear and see what developed. He grabbed the brass knocker and rapped on the door.
“What?!” answered an incensed soprano voice.
Unperturbed, Danny knocked again. He didn't know “what”. He just needed to talk to her. The look in her eyes as the idiot had tasered her, reminded him of Emily. She'd had the same look of surprise mixed with pain on her face when she'd pushed her last shot of coke into her arm.
But even more puzzling was this feeling that he knew her. When he'd touched her, it was instinctual, as if he couldn't resist whatever had pulled him toward her. Then there was that weird heat that had traveled up his arm. It wasn't unwelcome. It was full of life and promise. Promise of what? That he had yet to determine.
The door opened, and a shocking shade of violet eyes greeted him.
“What do you want?” she asked in a breathless tone.
Suddenly Danny knew the “what” he had come for. He leaned on the doorframe and sized her up as she dried her hands on a filthy white towel. Her reddish brown hair was strewn across her face. Her chest heaved up and down in rapid succession. A thick sheen of sweat trailed from her neck and nestled in a hollow impression.
“Did Benny send you?” she said.
Still he said nothing. It was kind of a relief she had forgotten about him. He didn't relish the idea of having to apologize for getting her arrested. From the looks of it, she needed far more than his apology.
He looked past her into the apartment, and saw what the thudding sounds had been. She'd torn her drawers out of her nightstand. Papers were strewn all over the studio. A bare white bulb hung on a chain from the ceiling, the only light to brighten the dimly lit grayish room. Her bed was stuffed in the corner with the sheets torn off, the corners still tucked under the bottom.
A plan quickly formed in his mind. She was exactly what he needed.
“Look,” she said, pounding her hand on the door. “I burn water, and the last time I gave fellatio, the guy ended up in the hospital.”
Her voice was strained and full of panic, but he couldn't help himself, he slapped his knee and started laughing. She narrowed her eyes, muttering under her breath, “I don't have time for this shit,” before she proceeded to close the door in his face.
“Wait, wait, wait. Can I come in for a second? Just a second,” he said.
She opened the door again. He could have all the seconds he wants, but he won't enjoy any of them. Marnie surveyed the man who walked past her into her studio apartment. She recognized the Calvin Klein jeans and short cashmere black jacket he wore. Another entitled wild child, she thought. With a tight butt and abs for days, the man's physique made up for his five‐foot‐ten‐inch stature. He wore his black hair shaved on the sides, but left just enough on the top to slick back into a wavy comb‐over. Her heart fluttered as he passed her. His scent intrigued her. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't put a name to his face. With all the men she dealt with on a daily basis, it was a feeling she was used to.
“Hi, I'm Danny.”
“Marnie,” she said, shaking his hand.
“Spring cleaning?” he deadpanned.
She stared at him, at a loss for words. This guy was getting on her last nerve. Who did he think he was, barging into her place like this? Benny was going to have to give her a five minute warning next time. As soon as I'm done with this guy, I'm going to give Benny a piece of my mind. An empty, hollow threat though. Marnie owed Benny so much money she was ready to lick his boots if he asked her. Truthfully, she was happy he'd sent work her way. She didn't like owing anyone. But did he have to send this guy? Something about him screamed skeevy.
“I saw you at the diner a few days ago. You didn't eat your breakfast,” Danny said.
“What are you? A Gary's taste specialist? I'll let you in on a secret. I don't eat there for the gourmet food.”
“You're funny,” Danny said.
“Yeah, that's what they all say,” she said.
“Especially that bit about that guy in the hospital.”
“You all think it's funny until you realize I'm serious.” She slid her hand beneath his jacket and began unbuttoning the collar of his dress shirt. His heart beat strong and steady under her hand. Fire snaked down her fingers as she placed them over his heart. The heat was so strong, she snatched her hand away. She was terrible at small talk. It was time to get this over with. Her nimble fingers moved quickly down the buttons on his chest.
His hand grasped hers, putting a stop to her progression.
“If I believe what you just said, am I supposed to run away in horror?” Danny asked.
He tilted her chin until her eyes met his. A glimmer of amusement danced across his face.
Taken aback by his comment, she stumbled backward. Something was seriously wrong. A bolt of fear leaped into her heart. There was no way Benny had sent this man.
“How could I not believe you, when you just described my life in one fell swoop? My life, that is, as it was two years ago. Are you sleeping around for drugs?” Danny said.
“Money? Drugs? I was until they realized I was too ugly for trade, and they'd rather die than touch me with a ten foot pole,” Marnie said.
“Yeah, that happens when you hit rock bottom. You go so low, even the homeless people won't fuck you. “
“Who are you?” she said.
Is he a religious psychopath? She'd never met one, but she knew girls who lived with the scars to tell her the story.
“I saw you in the diner yesterday, and I couldn't stop looking at you. I realized that's because you remind me of myself three years ago. You're jonesing. You're trying hard to quit. You know, go back to your regular life. They tell you to start with breakfast in rehab.”
His thin lips pulled into a tight smile. “At first I thought the toast and juice was all you could afford, but then I realized it's not about the money. That toast was all you thought you could choke down. But you couldn't eat it, because your body doesn't want food, it wants drugs. Your stomach is churning, you're sweating, and your apartment's a wreck, because you've given up. You can't take it anymore. You're looking for the number to call your dealer, but you hid it from yourself the last time you made the pledge to go sober. How am I doing so far?” Danny asked her.
Her lips failed to form a response. Everything he said was true. Gary's was the last straw. She felt like an idiot for even going in there. The whole day was a wash. From the moment she opened her eyes, illness loomed. Her body ached all over, and screamed at her when she lifted the covers and got out of bed.
Her last recovery meeting had been a complete joke. Without Sybil, she was an outcast at the meeting. Everyone had laughed at her revelation, and talked behind her back. She was tired of hearing them say she wasn't digging deep enough. The women in the group often called her a spoiled baby, and told her she didn't know what real pain was. She didn't need to hear their stories to be able to understand pain. Those women didn't know shit about her life, and it was apparent they didn't want to know.
They'd stereotyped Marnie from the minute she walked into the place. She couldn't help it if she hadn't come from a broken home, with parents who weren't there or didn't care. Everyone had their own journey and their own hardships, and their own reasons for how they had come to this point in their lives.
These were the things Sybil taught her. Unlike everyone else in the group, Sybil hadn't judged her or forced her to prove she belonged. Without saying a word, she'd believed Sybil understood her. Now that Sybil was gone from the group, Marnie would have to find another narcotic recovery meeting spot. It was a shame, since this one was only five blocks from her apartment. Finding another place was the perfect excuse to give up and return to using.
“I've been there, and I want to be your sponsor,” Danny said.
“You don't even know me,” she said.
Was this what the song Amazing Grace meant? It couldn't be a coincidence that on the very day she lost a sponsor, another fell out of the sky. She didn't practice any religion, but she kept an open mind, because anything was possible. Life had tossed her around way too much for her to have a rigid mindset.
“I know you're thinking, ‘What's in it for him?'” Danny said. “I've been sober for twelve months, but I'm hanging by a thread. I know I'll never go back to getting high, but I can't take it anymore. Every day I want to fucking die,” Danny said. “For five years I did some really crappy shit. You ever been to rehab?”
“Once,” she said.
“I did rehab, went through the Habit Relief system, spent time in the mountains on spiritual treks with other coke addicts, and it's hard as hell. They make you relive all that terrible shit you did getting high, and then they kick you out into the world and tell you to pray on it.
I hate my life, and I realized that's probably because I've never done anything good to make me want to live. Maybe doing something good, like being your sponsor, could help me. What do you say? You could come and stay with me, and I'll try to help you stay sober,” Danny said.
“Stay with you?” she asked, incredulous about the proposal. Men weren't supposed to sponsor women. Rehabs and recovery groups had taught her co‐ed sponsorships spelled nothing but trouble. “Oh, I get it, you want a flunky.”
This guy must be looking for a live‐in call girl, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Except he wasn't Richard Gere, so she wasn't going anywhere with this freak. She wasn't born yesterday. He's offering all this stuff, but what if all he really wants is to tie me up and torture me? She didn't trust a thing. If it moved and breathed, she kept one eye open for it. Everyone was a liar, right down to the nun.
“No, no. It's not like that at all. If you're worried about what people might think, you could be my personal assistant. That's it,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I'll hire you as my personal assistant. I need one,” Danny said.
Something about the way he said it made her believe it was a spur of the moment idea he was making up. But a real job? A place to work where her nickname wasn't, “hey bitch”? The opportunity to live amongst people who didn't treat her like she had the bubonic plague because she used to get high? A chance to start over?
She raked a hand through her hair. “I don't know anything about being a personal assistant.”
The idea was completely ridiculous. If he was only sober for a year, how could he possibly help her? Whatever his issue was, it was not her priority to get involved. If he hated life, then he only needed to join the club. There was a long line out the door, and admission was free. This was getting irritating. All the more reason to call her friend and see if she could score two grams of china. She didn't have the tolerance to stay sober when she was dealing with guys like this. It was much easier when she was high. In fact, she hated having sex sober.
“I'll teach you. Come on. We could leave right now. There's nothing here for you anyway. It's not a good environment for you to be sober. All this place does is remind you that you used to get high, and you should do it again,” Danny said.
Marnie eyed him, chewing on his idea. A lock of his dark hair fell into his eyes. Oddly, his come hither looks reminded her this was only a fantasy. He wasn't the first man to barge in promising to sweep her off her feet and kiss her troubles away. Most of her customers did that on a daily basis. It helped them feel better about sleeping with her.
“Look, here's my private number.” He wrote his cell number on the back of a business card. “Call me. It doesn't matter what time, day or night. You'll find that number and decide after getting high it wasn't what you were looking for. After that very first time it never is. Once you sober up, if you still want a second chance, give me a call.”
Marnie took the card and stuffed it in her back pocket. He didn't mean a drop of what he just said. Calling him would be a waste of breath.
She doubled over, laughter making her body shake. There had been crazy offers in the past, but this one took the cake. The phone rang, pulling her from her fit. Wait until Sybil hears this. She wouldn't believe her.
“Hello,” Marnie said after grabbing the phone.
“Hi, it's Rory. Um, I hope you don't mind I called you. Sybil had your number in her contacts.”
“Have you heard from her?”
“She's in lockup.”
Shit. Sybil had told her she was a three striker. If she was in trouble she was going to do some serious time. No way she'd be that stupid.
“Marnie. Are you there?”
“I'm sorry. I'm here. What'd you say?”
“She called me today.”
Marnie giggled. “Tell Sybil she's a little late for April fools.”
“I'm serious, sweetie.”
“How'd they get her?”
“She tried to rob someone and ended up shooting him.” Rory sniffed.
“Is he dead?” Marnie held her breathe, afraid of the answer.
“He's in critical condition,” Rory said. “I wish she had come to me.”
“You never would have given her the money. You would've tried to talk her out of it.”
“Yeah. You're right.”
Marnie's hands were sweating. She wiped them on her jeans before heading to the kitchen. She plucked a pen out of the mug on the countertop and grabbed a paper towel. “Where are they holding her?”
“She doesn't want to see you.” Rory's voice cracked. “I'm sorry. I've got to go.”
“Bullshit, Rory,” Marnie said.
The line went dead.
Marnie threw the phone, knocking over a can of instant coffee. It rolled toward her. On the bottom was a yellow post-it note with her dealer's number.
“Fuck it.” She sighed and bent down to pull the note off the can.