CHAPTER 34
Friends
Gladys raised her glass of wine. “To Six–thirteen. May its people find serenity.”
The sound of clinking glasses at the end of the toast penetrated the stillness of the house.
It had been a quiet party: without music and, except for a little marijuana Julian managed to acquire, without hard drugs. Cigarette smoke hung thickly above the candlelit atmosphere.
“I'm beginning to feel like we're camping out in this place,” Gladys said. “No lights, no hot water, no sounds to listen to…Christ. I'd be happy with a transistor radio.”
“Stop complaining,” Nat said. “We could be stuck out there in the rain, sitting in my car.”
“We can always go to my place,” Kerry suggested.
“You're looking to get us into trouble and you evicted from there if you keep it up. I don't think they were bluffing when they chased us out of your room yesterday.”
“Well, if you all wouldn't be so damn rowdy.”
“Hey, we are what we are,” Nat said. “Besides, they'll stop you the minute they see the six of us approach the lobby.”
“You're my friends, and it's my place,” Kerry said.
“I'm on your side, man. You don't have to preach to the choir. All I can say is look at us: we're not the leading citizens of Tallahassee. And if you keep it up, it's not going to be your place any longer.”
“Then it's ‘welcome to Atlanta' for you, too,” Julian said.
The girls laughed nervously.
“I'm not so sure that's a bad idea. That is,” Kerry added, “if you'd have me.”
“Of course we would,” Nat said. “You're one of us, no matter how cramped the car gets and no matter what kind of hardship it causes.”
“That's right,” Julian said. “No hardship is too great to face for a friend. It's share and share alike.”
“You guys. I couldn't do that to you. You're my friends.”
Santo felt sorry for Kerry and almost interfered. But he didn't have either the inclination or the strength. He caught Melisa studying him. He wondered what she saw. Then he shifted his attention back to Kerry, who was reaching into his pocket. Kerry was filled with gratitude.
“I can't go with my friends because I know I shouldn't. I haven't got much going in this town, but at least I have a part–time job as a female impersonator at the Apalachee A–Go–Go. Who knows, maybe I'll get a break into show business.”
“And don't forget us when you do,” Nat said sanctimoniously, as he watched Kerry pull out his share of the money that Santo had divided among them.
“Here. I want you all to have this, Nat.”
“What are you doing?”
“I really don't need this money.”
Nat's face twisted into a hypocritical expression that bordered on overacting. “No. I won't hear of it.”
Julian snatched the money out of Kerry's hand. “Thank you, Kerry, baby…from the bottom of all our hearts. Right, Nathew?”
The animation in Nat's expression flattened because of Julian's decisive act. He hooked the fish but Julian got the prize.
“Yeah…sure…thanks, Kerry.”
Santo was glad Kerry wasn't going to Atlanta with them; he'd gotten off cheap. But he couldn't bear to witness any more of this. He felt an anxious hand grip his forearm after he rose from his chair.
“We need to be alone,” Melisa said openly.
There were no secrets here. The others knew what was at stake between them. If they decided to stay together, Julian would be without a woman, Gladys would Jose a dependable comrade, and Nat would have to deal with two malcontents. They would also be seventy–five dollars poorer.
“Alright,” Santo said. But before he followed her into their bedroom, he addressed the others. “If I don't see you all in the morning, take care of yourselves. I guess…well…we'll probably never see each other again.”
None of them refuted his statement with sentimentality. But when he left the kitchen, he heard Kerry announce, “I'm going to give Richard a complimentary ticket to my very next show.”
As soon as he shut the bedroom door, Melisa hovered close to him with a suffocating solicitude. He gently broke away from her and withheld his emotions.
“What's the matter?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”
“Stop playing games, Melisa.”
She pursed her lips defiantly. “I'm not playing.”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I know. I'm sorry.”
A nervous smile erased her defiant expression. “Gladys is my only friend.”
“She's a fine lady.”
She approached him from behind and gave him a hug. “Our candle is about to go out.”
“There's another one by the bed, over there.”
“Is that all there is? Is that all we have left?”
“I think so,” he whispered delicately. “Yes,” he said with finality.
She released him, found the fresh candle, and picked it up. And by the light of the sputtering flame, she twisted it into the opening of an empty wine bottle. She studied the object.
“I guess some people don't even get this much…the length of a candle.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.” She lit the new candle and blew out the old one. “Done.” She kissed him once, twice, three times, then until she got a response. Their feelings overflowed: they made love for the last time.
Afterwards, they were physically and emotionally spent. A long silence preceded Melisa's final appeal.
“I don't want to go with Gladys to Atlanta. I require very little. You see that, don't you?”
He caressed her without answering the question.
He didn't love her. And whether she knew it or not, she didn't love him. A single tear grudgingly trickled down the left side of her face. He was moved by its sincerity.
“I can't help you, Melisa. I can't even help myself, yet.”
She snuggled closely to him and remained tender. He reciprocated, in a detached manner, and together they listened to the muted activity taking place in the house.
“The war has cut the heart out of me. And with it, my ability to love in the way you want me to love. I think…that makes me a casualty. Shit, that sounds stupid, I know.”
“No…no, it doesn't.”
“You're a fine person. But…I can't…I don't know…I'm not ready.”
She broke away from him and lit a cigarette, which they shared. Its orange point, along with the flickering candle, was the only thing that gave meaning and life to the bedroom's darkness.