I was pushed deeper into the bed as my panic hit. Eyes closed, I twisted away from the hands, remembered the gun strapped on my body, and lunged. Before I got to it something clubbed my chest and knocked me back onto the mattress. I opened my eyes and stared into two liquid red pools, my nose filled with the smell of whiskey. It took another second before I realized it was Julius’s arm that felt like a fallen redwood. As I regained my breath, he relaxed his grip. I saw Lou fill the doorway to my bedroom, a look of horror on his face.

I nodded to indicate I knew where I was. Julius lifted his arm and took a step back. He turned toward Lou, rumbling in his basso profundo, “Can you get him some coffee?” Lou nodded and backed out.

I felt my heart dislodge from my throat and descend to its normal place and beat as I sat up on the edge of the bed.

“You been screaming in your sleep, Matt.”

“I’m sorry, man.” My voice was thin and slurred. I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. “Wait for the jo,” Julius ordered.

I sank back down accidentally knocking the gun box to the floor. The crash and rattle squeezed the back of my head. Lou walked in with a steaming mug, looking anxiously to Julius.

“It’s all right Lou. He be fine. It was just the box that fell.” Julie paused, then said, “Something smells good out there. Maybe it needs tending—don’t want to scorch nothing?”

Lou looked relieved and, with a sideways glance, said quietly, “Call if you need anything.” I sipped the hot black coffee after Lou left.

Julius grunted.

“You expect an invasion, Slumlord? Only thing missing was a blade between your teeth. Got us some serious nocturnal artillery here.”

I tried to grin but my face wasn’t ready. I buried my nose in the cup. But the smell that filled my nostrils was grease and gasoline. I felt a hot murderous flash race through my body, and I put the cup down on the table.

“I thought I was going to buy it last night.” The rage lent body to my voice. “What drug you overdose?” He sounded fatigued.

I shook my head. “No drugs. Hit-and-run.”

Julius’ eyes flickered as he pulled over a chair from the corner, dumped a pile of clothes, and sat. His action reminded me of Blackhead’s clothes-strewn mohair chair; I swore silently to clean my room.

“Your case?” “I think so.” “That close?”

“Closer.” He sat quietly while I gathered my thoughts. I reached for the coffee, and felt the belt of the holster chafe my chest, and removed it.

“Tear on your arm don’t look like last night.”

I sipped at the coffee. “That was a few days ago.” “You been keeping funny company.”

“The cut’s nothing. Punks from The End playing Whack-a-Stranger. Last night was hardball—this truck ran my ass ragged.”

Another bolt of fury shot through me. “Like that joke about the farmer who sold someone a horse that needed medicine. The new owner couldn’t get the horse to take the fucking pills, and brought it back to the farmer. The farmer grabbed a 2×4 and walloped the horse upside the head saying, ‘First you got to get its attention.’ Well, man, somebody sure got mine.”

“What part in that story be yours?”

“The fucking horse. I was finished with the damn case, finished poking around the neighborhood. Now someone tries to drive me away.”

“Literally, it appears.”

“I don’t think so. He could have, and didn’t. Just a little game to run me off. Not over.”

“You ain’t making sense. Why would someone bother to run you off if you were leaving anyway?”

“Whoever it was hadn’t got the news.” I drank more coffee and steamed along with it. Julie sat on the chair, waiting. After a while I said, “My ex-client is one possibility.” Whoever Blackhead had cut his deal with was another.

“I told you to avoid that place,” Julius interjected.

I heard something clatter in the kitchen and lowered my voice. “Lou says I take everything personal, but I never really took the case that way. But this rundown changes things.”

Julie placed his hands on the knees of his baggy pants and leaned forward. “Not going to be any stopping you now?”

“Don’t try.”

Julie showed palms. “No use trying to talk you out of anything. You usually do that for yourself.” He twisted in the chair and looked out the doorway. “You scared the shit out of your father-in-law.”

I drained the last of the black and stood. My legs felt willing to carry the load. “I know. What time is it, anyway?”

“Noon.”

“Shit. People are supposed to be here at three.” I looked around the sloppy room; the first serious taste of stranger-anxiety crept into my system. The best of times made Thanksgiving difficult; now, it felt impossible.

Julie kicked the pile of clothes in my direction. “You looking for these?”

I made a face. “Not those. I puke whenever I have a near-death experience.” I rummaged through the dresser, looking for something presentable. “You’re invited to this thing, you know.”

“I know. The Bwana made a point of it.” “You coming?”

“Smells better than Church’s Fried.”

I looked up into the mirror. “You’re a little early.”

He showed a flash of his gold-toothed smile. “I’d say right on time.” He pulled a pack of Pall Malls from his pocket, lit two, and poked me in the back. “Why don’t you stop looking for threads, man. You need a shower.”

I turned, took the cigarette, and sat back down on the bed. “Since when do you smoke these?” “Since a recent brokerage job.”

Julie made markets on both sides of the law. Between both sides too. I inhaled and made a face. “Bad job.”

He looked sleepy so I repeated my question. “What are you doing here? It’s about two hours before your alarm clock starts working.” There was some nasty in my tone.

Julie shook his head. “Came to see how ugly you were going to be. You’ve not been particularly social lately.”

I jammed the cigarette into the ashtray, and ripped through the night table drawer for a leftover roach. “Fuck social.”

“My concern does not appear unwarranted.”

I couldn’t believe it. Rod Serling must be hiding in the closet. I snort the Great Beyond, then walk into something worse: my dope dealer giving me shit about etiquette. “I didn’t ask to have the party. If I could, I’d be out of here.”

He showed more gold as he rose. “I can tell. I see you haven’t resolved your relations.”

Julius saw a puzzled look on my face because he cocked and nodded his head toward the kitchen. He meant Lou.

I raised my eyebrows and grimaced, then reached for my cigarettes and lit one.

Julius gently tapped the bedroom door shut. “Chill out, Slumlord. By and large we all been treated decently, and that includes you.”

I couldn’t keep a sardonic grin off my face. “Don’t sweat it, my man. I won’t let anything happen to the rent arrangement.”

“I do like you, boy, but you have real difficulty separating friends from enemies when you’re worked up.”

Everywhere I turned, someone was in my face. I closed my eyes and exhaled through the constriction in my chest. “Well, you do have a ‘worked up’ slumlord here.”

I opened my eyes. “And, frankly, I don’t see it getting any better until I get my fucking hands on the owner of that 4×4.”

Julius looked a little sore, but then his face settled into its normal repose. “Somebody almost stepped on deserves some allowances.” He peered at me, his face set and serious. “Best let yourself settle down before you Rambo The End. Can’t dance like a butterfly, sting like a bee when you’re out of control.”

He formed his hand into the shape of a gun, shot, and left.

I took his seat, tried to take his advice; but I felt pretty frustrated in the face of my own rage and suffocation. Twice Lou looked in to see if I needed anything or wanted to talk. Twice I felt trespassed upon, violated.

The smells from the kitchen just added to my distance. I was still a guest in my own home.

I took another hit off the roach. I finally had someplace to go, something to do, but I was stuck in a fucking goldfish bowl. I looked at my reflection in the dresser mirror, startled by its familiarity. This kind of living was supposed to change you.

I grabbed a towel and headed for the john. Lou looked out over the kitchen half-wall, so I forced, “Sorry about the wake-up hysteria. Bad dreams.”

He shook his head. “You always sleep with a gun, Matty?”

“Only when I expect nightmares,” I grunted. “You don’t want to hear about it.” “You mean you don’t want to talk about it. Now, what do you want to eat?” “Just more coffee. I’ll pick at what’s cooking.”

“Chana used to do that. Drove Martha nuts.”

This was the first time he’d mentioned Martha since he’d gotten here. Any faint hope that Thanksgiving might be free of death calls from loved ones wilted. I stiffened, waiting for more, but he had his jaw clenched and teeth working.

“That’s who I picked it up from,” I finally said.

He nodded and turned back toward the stove. I lifted the towel and retreated to the bathroom. It was going to be another very long day.

 

The world’s daily dose of pleasant surprises wasn’t finished until I opened the door to find Mrs. Sullivan tucked under the protective arm of Gloria James. Gloria and I hadn’t become complete strangers. We had become whatever you became when your ex-shrink had been your first client. One thing you definitely become is speechless when she shows up unexpectedly. I really hadn’t imagined her accepting the invitation.

“Now don’t you say anything with that smart tongue of yours!” Mrs. Sullivan commanded. “Glory and I were talking and…”

I gritted my teeth and bowed. “Mrs. Sullivan. It’s a pleasure to have two lovely ladies grace my apartment at the same time.”

Mrs. S beamed. Gloria rolled her eyes. I took Gloria’s coat and placed it on my freshly made bed. I dug for the hash, stuck it in a pipe, and quickly inhaled. It was the only way I knew to flatten my anger. I started to put the pipe away, then snuck another little hit.

By the time I returned, everyone coming was already there. Since they were all from the building and didn’t wear coats, there was no easy excuse for more excursions into the bedroom.

The crowd gathered around the kitchen doorway and half-wall. Richard had his tweed look working, Charles looking like a cross between Cyndi Lauper and Black Sabbath. I pictured Lou greeting him at the door, and wondered when I’d hear the first remark about Charles’ black eyeliner. People were chatting and drinking and I motioned to Julius for a beer. The hash was working, melting my rage into a soggy dreariness. For a dope-engendered instant I wished for Boots. But Boots was with Hal, and I was against the wall, looking like I belonged but feeling the truth.

Gloria, holding a glass of wine, walked over to me. “You seem out of it.” “Nah, I’m always a little awkward at parties.”

“These are your friends, Matthew,” she reminded.

Just what I needed, another head shot. “I’d be worse with strangers,” I lied. “What are you doing among the alienated? I have you down for a family.”

She looked at me and inclined her head. “You often ‘have me down’ wrong.” She sounded wistful.

I suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

It was her turn to look awkward. “Not really. Some other time we can talk about me.” “Not today, huh?”

Gloria looked at me. “Do you object to my being here?” “Of course not. I object to talking about it.”

Gloria’s demeanor switched to impatient resignation. “That’s not a surprise, is it? Sometimes I wonder how we worked together, given your reluctance to talk.”

I laughed. “You’re wondering about it now? For me it was a much more pressing question on Thursday mornings.”

A mischievous look darted across her face. “The Thursdays you made it or the ones you didn’t?” It was plain she had decided to steer clear of complicated conversations.

Before I answered, Gloria leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks for having me over. I’m glad you don’t mind.”

I watched as she turned to rejoin the crowd. She was wearing a short black skirt with a red satin blouse. The stylish hairdo, added since we’d last met, became her, and I felt a wave of lightheaded attraction. A feeling I could more easily stomp than savor.

Eventually the bird was hauled from the oven. I kept sucking beers and hunting for air. The party felt like a wholesale interruption of my real life; I was hungry, but not for food or talk. I wanted to go back to The End and grab people by the throat until I shook loose some answers.

The dinner droned on and on…Julius and Richard debating the merits of postmodern architecture, Gloria and Charles chuckling close together, Lou pitching woo to Mrs. S. All the room needed was Charles on a chair singing torch songs. In between forkfuls, I drank and snuck back to the bedroom.

They were an odd crew, but at least they left me alone. Occasionally, I’d look up and catch Gloria’s eyes on my face. Once she threw me a quick smile, but I couldn’t tell whether she was embarrassed for or about me.

The hash, food, drink, and conversations made me sleepy. I mentally tried to list excuses to get to the bedroom and must have dozed off in the chair. The next thing I knew, a hand was pushing my bad arm. I pulled it away and opened my eyes.

Everyone was staring, and Lou was breathing heavily. He struggled to keep his face pleasant as he stood, leaned down, and picked up his wine glass. “First, I want to thank everyone for coming today. I especially want to thank my host.”

I knew it was a dig and felt my face flush.

Lou continued, “It was a relief when Matty invited me out for the holidays. He’d been so fuzzy over the phone about the buildings, I wondered whether they were still standing.”

There were small chuckles from around the table but I didn’t see the humor.

Lou turned toward me and raised his glass. “Not only are they standing, they’re beautiful”—he turned back to the rest of the people—“why break up a winning combination?!”

I couldn’t believe my ears as he launched into a variation of the other morning’s land-grab fantasy. This time, though, he managed to include most of the people at the table. I thought everyone would laugh, but, instead, the table quieted as they bought Lou’s program. Except for me. After listening to him prattle on about “sound investment strategy,” I finally had enough: I’d be left holding the bag, the one explaining that Lou had gotten carried away by the occasion.

So I started to tune out, concentrating instead on The End and my hunt. Let them talk. All of them. Just as long as they left me alone. I was the stranger here.

But they wouldn’t leave me alone. Somehow their discussion had turned into gratitude for my stewardship of the buildings, and they wanted my blessing on Lou’s new ideas.

Charles raised his wineglass and chanted, “Host, host, host.”

Everyone picked up on the beat, even Julius. I wondered what drugs he’d taken. Gloria and Richard were smiling, while Mrs. S drunkenly clapped her hands. I sat frozen, looking at their faces through a Fellini camera angle.

Eventually I shook my head, trying desperately to keep my hostility in control. “I don’t want to talk now, if that’s okay?” I managed.

“I don’t understand you sometimes,” Lou broke in, before anyone else could comment. “I’m trying to talk about getting more involved, getting something off the ground. And you don’t want to say anything.”

He wagged his head as the words tumbled out. “You won’t talk when we’re alone. You won’t talk with your friends. I thought for sure this would make it possible to communicate. Boychick, you have a stake in all this.”

I felt assaulted and naked, surrounded by prurient, prying eyes. “Not steak, Lou, turkey. Good food and drink make me quiet.”

“Bullshit, Matt! You just don’t give a damn. That’s what has bothered me all along. You don’t care about anything but yourself!”

His words landed smack in the center of my rage. First punks, then trucks, now this. I had used up my quota of public humiliation. “You are absolutely right, Lou,” I said, getting to my feet. “I don’t give a shit about this.” I glared down at him while the rest of them kept their eyes averted.

Lou’s mouth opened but no words emerged. When Richard tried to intervene, I shook him off. “Don’t say anything, Rich. The dinner was fine but this ‘one-for-all’ crap isn’t for me. I’m out of here.”

I had my back to the table when I heard Gloria ask, “Where can you go? It’s Thanksgiving.” I spun around and snapped, “I’m done with my thanks. You all worry about your own.”