I woke up on the carpet as the radio repeated the election results that I had attempted to erase with a bottle of wine and a six-pack. At five a.m. the Republican pundits on the radio, Giuliani in particular, were demanding that Kerry concede. I swallowed a few aspirin with a glass of water, turned out the lights and crawled beneath the covers. The streetlight in front of my bedroom window went out just before I fell asleep.
My cell phone was vibrating on the floor beside the bed as it rang. I picked it up and pressed talk before Cindy said, “Hey Donald, how’s it going?” I squinted at the sun that was suspended in the tall bedroom window, “not good at all.” She was standing in front of a shuttered storefront church, “Did I wake you up?” “What time is it?” I rasped. A young black woman pushing a stroller walked past her, “almost noon.” Bands of windswept clouds expanded in the pale sky. “My head is killing me.” A plane bound for Laguardia flew overhead. “Are you doing anything today?” I rested my head on the pillows and closed my eyes, “I’m not even going to try.” “So you’re at home,” She sounded so happy, “at the new place on Spencer Court?” The co-pilot instructed the passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the plane descended through the patchy clouds. “Yeah why?” The oak tree down the block, “I’m on the corner of DeKalb and Bedford,” swayed in the wind, “and I really need to see you,” while shedding its brown leaves. The view from the cockpit revealed a low lying grid-work of houses, factory chimneys, and incinerators that were spewing pale smoke, slow moving traffic filled the bridges spanning the East River and the broad expressways. “You’re there right now?” The plane flew above elevated subway lines as trains moved between the stations. “I’ve got to talk to you.” A runway bordered by blinking red lights approached in the rapidly diminishing distance. “You’re on the corner right now?” “Yeah that’s what I just said.” I opened my eyes, “What’s the matter?” She began walking toward my building, “I’ll tell you in a minute,” and crushed a few acorns beneath her thick heels, “It’s number ten right?” A half-dozen tall cans of Ballantine were on the carpet where I had passed out. “Give me a minute though.” “Why,” she stopped walking, “what’s the matter?” A heavy bass rhythm was vibrating the car pulling up to the corner. “Can you pick me up a cup of coffee,” I noticed the stains on my T-shirt, “milk no sugar, please,” and that I wasn’t wearing any pants. The tinted window on the driver’s side opened as animated rap was punctuated with loud gunshots. “Yeah sure,” Cindy added, “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” before hanging up.
They got high while sitting together on Janet’s couch, “Remember that woman,” with Esther nestled on Cindy’s lap and purring quietly beneath her caresses, “that I was telling you about?” “The one who was at the play on Friday?” Janet’s small brass bowl was in Cindy’s left hand, “yes that one,” and smoking from both ends. “The one who left before the second act?” Janet tactfully apologized for hurting Cindy before wondering out-loud if what she had recently endured had been a suitable lesson in humility, but thankfully because of this happy coincidence, and then Janet’s voice trailed off because words weren’t really necessary to complete the sentence they were now sharing on her couch. “The woman that the character was based on.” The cup of hot coffee warmed my left hand, “What about her?” Cindy dutifully accepted Janet’s apology and even shared some of the blame for what had happened last April. “I spent the night at her place,” Janet kissed Cindy on the mouth and then they embraced, “and I told Andrew last night,” her eyes were shining in the sunlight flooding the windows behind my head, “that we were hanging out with a few people from the paper,” as she sat in my armchair with her legs crossed, “and watching the election results at Galapagos,” slowly kicking her right leg back and forth, “and that I was going to sleep on your couch,” with a blissful smile on her face. I frowned, “But I don’t own a couch.” She began rummaging through her purse, “I wanted to give you this,” and pulled out a manuscript, “the guy she was with on Friday night wanted me to give you this story.” I took a careful sip of coffee before asking, “He was with you last night as well?” “Yuck,” she looked at me with disgust, “I’ve been carrying it around since then, and I was going to throw it away, but I think you should read it.” My headache was coming back, “I’m not looking at any unsolicited work right now.” “I don’t want you to publish it…” She was adamant, “just read it.” I stood up, “okay,” slowly crossed the room, “okay,” and took it out of her hand, “Jesus Christ.” “I guess you’re responsible in some way for what happened last night.” I dropped the story on the pile of unsolicited fiction behind a row of bird guides, “How so?” Oscar entered the room and walked toward her shoes. “If you hadn’t asked me to direct the play this would have never have happened.” He smelled her outstretched hand before allowing her to caress him. “I really wish you wouldn’t say that Cindy.” She looked up from the cat, “Why not?” Steam rose from the Styrofoam cup. “Because you are very good at what you do,” I sat down, “And what about the guy she was with on Friday night?” She shook her head, “That can’t be serious.” “Oh, but it is with you…” I clutched my forehead, “And why do you want to spend your time with someone that vapid?” Oscar jumped onto her lap. “Because she isn’t really like the way we depicted her onstage… she isn’t just one of your characters.” Another plane flew above the windows. I closed my eyes, “she locked you out of her house Cindy,” as the pale lights began to throb behind them, “and she lied to you.” The co-pilot instructed the passengers to fasten their seatbelts as the plane descended through the patchy clouds. “I don’t want to dwell on the past.” The view from the cockpit revealed a low lying grid-work of houses, factory chimneys and incinerators that were spewing pale smoke. “Are you in love with her?” Slow moving traffic filled bridges spanning the East River and the broad expressways. “Maybe I am.” The plane flew above the elevated subway lines as trains moved between the stations. “Well,” I opened my eyes, “ I really hope that she doesn’t hurt you again.” A runway bordered by blinking red lights approached rapidly in the diminishing distance.