City Light Page 9

  “Julie, I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? You don’t even talk to me anymore.”

  “I thought that was all settled.”

  “What? What was settled? Nothing was settled.”

  “Damn it, George.…”

  I listened hopefully to her sighs of impatience as if they were signs of renewed love. “Let’s meet, Julie, let’s take a walk. We’ll talk and—”

  “We don’t have that much to talk about.”

  “Yes, we do,” I said insistently. “I want to talk to you. Meet me on Cliff Boulevard right now.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then she said quietly, “All right, Cliff Boulevard in an hour. Our regular place by the post office.”

  I loved the way she said that. Our regular place. I took a cold shower, put on a pair of clean chinos, combed my hair, and ran downstairs. My mother was waiting for me.

  “What time did you come in last night, George?”

  “Not late.”

  “Does that mean it was early in the morning?”

  “Not that late!”

  “What time?”

  “I didn’t look, Ma.”

  “How convenient for you, sweetheart. What were you doing?”

  “Oh … nothing much. Out with Troy and Chris.… Pizza … you know.…” Questioned closely, I was vague. Facts are meat for parents. They’re like lions at the kill. The more facts they have, the more ferociously they growl.

  “You were drinking.”

  “Well … I was having fun, Mom.”

  “George, what sensible person would poison themselves for the fun of it? It’s like jumping off a ten-story building to look brave.”

  “I know, Mom. I’m off it, believe me.”

  “If you could see yourself now.… You look like you just climbed out of the popcorn machine. Sit down, I’m going to give you some breakfast.”

  I wasn’t hungry, but I downed the orange juice, made a sandwich of the bread, took an apple, and ran all the way to Cliff Boulevard. It helped clear my head.

  Julie was waiting for me. She had her hands in her jacket pockets, a white knit cap on her head. “Apple.” I presented it to her. We walked along for a while, not saying much. She ate the apple and once gave me a tiny, rueful smile. “So much urgency to see me, George. What was it all about?”

  “Just … urgency to see you, Julie.… Who was that guy you were with last night?”

  “Martin? My cousin? What do you mean, who was he?”

  “He didn’t act like a cousin.”

  “How’s a cousin supposed to act?”

  “Not so interested.”

  “What do you mean, interested?”

  “I saw the looks he was giving you, the way he got his hand on your leg—”

  “You’re crazy!”

  “He probably has a knee fetish,” I said gloomily. “Any excuse and he was pawing your knees.”

  “What’s the matter with you, George? I like Martin. He’s my cousin. He’s led an interesting life. You know what he did the summer he was sixteen? He biked from Boston to Spokane.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “You’re jealous of my cousin. That’s unbelievable.”

  “What’s more unbelievable is that he is, in fact and actually, your cousin,” I said. I spoke carefully, pronouncing every word fully.

  There was a spark in her eyes, a flash. “Do you think I’m lying to you?”

  “Lying? Did I say it, Julie? No, I wouldn’t say that. But just tell me this. All the years I knew you and I never heard about him before. How can that be?”

  “How can that be?” she mimicked angrily. “Do you ever hear anything except what concerns George Farina?”

  I wanted to say something sharp and dry and bright. Something to show her that she was wrong about me.

  “I’ve talked about Martin before,” she said. “Believe me, George, I’ve talked about him. He’s not a deep, dark secret in our family.”

  “Why’d you write me that letter?” I said.

  “George, that was weeks ago.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way to me.”

  “So that’s what this is all about. You still haven’t accepted what I said—”

  “Julie, how perceptive!”

  “I don’t know why I even agreed to meet you,” she said.

  “Why did you?” the fool asked. Hoping she’d say, Because I love you, George.

  “Because you’re so impossibly persistent! And because you are George, and I do love you, and we were together so long, and it’s just hard on me to keep saying no to you! Why do I have to keep turning you down? George, listen to me. Try to hear this. I’m opening a door for us. For me. For you. A door to walk out of. This is a chance for both of us to find things out. We were in one small room too long.” She stopped and took me by the arm. “George, can you hear me? The door is open.”

  “Julie, can you hear me? I don’t give a damn about your eff-ing door. Slam it! Shut it! Come on back into that room with me.”

  “No.” She stepped away, put her hand to her throat. “Just talking about it chokes me.”

  “Was that what it was like for you all the time we were going together? You felt strangled?”

  “I loved you,” she said. “You know that. And I still love you, but—”

  I tuned out. I knew what she was going to say. I didn’t want to hear it again. I dug into my pockets, looking for a cigarette, a toothpick, a stick of gum—anything to chew on. I turned my pockets inside out, emptied out the lint, a few pennies, keys, and a dollar bill. Dumped it all out on the sidewalk. “It’s cleaning day,” I said.

  Julie stared. “Well, I think I ought to go now.”

  “Right. Me, too.” I picked up my keys, left everything else. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do.”

  “George—” She held out her hand, as if to say, “peace.”

  I slapped it, flat-fived it hard. “See you around, man.” I walked away.

  Chapter 14

  “I’M SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD. I LEFT HOME LAST YEAR AND WENT TO LIVE WITH MY FATHER. I’M NOT A RUNAWAY, MORE A THROWAWAY.”

  Throwaway? A little dramatic, wouldn’t you say, George?

  “I THOUGHT YOU WERE OLDER. I’M SEVENTEEN, TOO.”

  “THAT’S AMAZING. TWO GIRLS WHO DON’T KNOW EACH OTHER, AND WE TURN OUT TO BE SO COMPATIBLE AND THE SAME AGE. DON’T TELL ME YOU LEFT HOME, TOO?”

  “NO. I’VE GOT TWO PARENTS AND A SISTER.”

  “I WOULD NEVER HAVE LEFT HOME, EITHER, BUT I COULDN’T GET ALONG WITH MY STEPFATHER, AND MY MOTHER DIDN’T STAND UP FOR ME. SHE KNEW HOW I LOVED DANCING. SHE WAS A DANCER IN NEW YORK ONCE. THAT’S WHERE SHE MET MY FATHER. MY GRANDMOTHER WAS A MARATHON DANCER.”

  “MY PARENTS NEVER DID ANYTHING INTERESTING LIKE THAT.”

  “I USED TO CLIMB OUT THE WINDOW AT NIGHT WHEN I WAS FIFTEEN AND RIDE OUT TO A CLUB OUTSIDE OF TOWN. IT WAS REALLY A BAR, BUT IT HAD A LITTLE STAGE WITH A SPOTLIGHT. I WASN’T DOING ANYTHING BAD. I WAS DANCING. I HAD A SPECIAL COSTUME I WORE. IT WAS SKIMPY, BUT NO WORSE THAN A LOT OF BIKINIS.

  “BUT WHEN MY STEPFATHER FOUND OUT, HE WENT NUTS. HE DRAGGED ME OUT OF THERE AND AFTER THAT I WAS FORBIDDEN TO GO OUT, FORBIDDEN TO LOCK MY DOOR. I COULDN’T EVEN HAVE A PHONE CALL IN PRIVATE.”

  What do you think, George? Is she telling us a story? Fifteen and dancing in a bar?

  “WHERE DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL?” That’s good, George, dig for the facts.

  “IN NEW YORK THERE’S ONLY ONE PLACE, THE SCHOOL FOR THE PERFORMING ARTS. BUT I DIDN’T MAKE IT. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THE SCHOOL I’M IN. IT’S NOTHING. IT’S A PLACE TO GO. I’M JUST GOING TO FINISH AND GET OUT. EVER SINCE SIXTH GRADE, I’VE BEEN ASKING MYSELF WHY I HAVE TO SIT IN CLASSES AND LEARN THINGS LIKE ALGEBRA AND HISTORY THAT WILL NEVER MEAN ANYTHING TO ME. I’M A DANCER. I DANCE. I HAVE TO DANCE. I LOVE ALL KINDS OF DANCING. I EVEN DO BELLY DANCING WITH A JEWEL IN MY BELLY BUTTON.”

  I sat there, getting warm, imagining Top Hat, who entered wet T-shirt contes
ts, this tall, gorgeous dancer, weaving her arms around, flashing a big diamond in her navel.

  What about that, Julie. We never talked about belly buttons.

  “BEAUTY PARLOR, DOES YOUR BELLY BUTTON POP IN OR OUT? MINE GOES IN. IF IT WENT OUT, I’D BE OUT OF LUCK. NO JEWELS. HOW ABOUT YOU?”

  “WAIT A MINUTE,” I said. “I HAVE TO LOOK.… IN.”

  “WELL, THAT’S A RELIEF, ISN’T IT? YOU COULD BELLY DANCE, TOO.”

  “I’M NOT THE ARTISTIC TYPE.”

  “I BET YOU’RE NOT ORDINARY, THOUGH.”

  That was a nice thing to say. “I MIGHT START WORKING WITH WOOD. REFINISHING OLD PIECES OF FURNITURE. I’M WAITING TO HEAR ABOUT A JOB.”

  “I BUILT A SET OF BOOKCASES FOR MY FATHER.”

  I thought, Is there anything she hasn’t done?

  I kept looking for mistakes in Top Hat’s stories, for contradictions, for the places where she said one thing one time and another the next time. I asked her a lot of questions. I admit I was a little suspicious. She told me so many things about herself, things she didn’t have to tell me, things a careful person wouldn’t say. We called ourselves friends, and in one way we were very close, but in another way we hardly knew each other. It was the effect of the computer. We didn’t even know each other’s names. And she had the most basic thing about me wrong, my gender.

  Every time I talked to her, I was tempted to tell her the truth. It was in my mind. Top Hat, I’ve been putting you on, playing a trick on you. I’m not Beauty Parlor. I’m not a girl. I’m just plain male—boy—me.

  Sometimes, I felt like a spy in a foreign country. The Top Hat Nation. The Nation of Girls. Undercover agent, U.S. Male, with nobody to send a postcard to. Having a wonderful time. Learning new things every day. Wish you were here. On second thought, wish I was there … with her.

  “WHAT DOES YOUR FATHER SAY ABOUT YOUR DANCING?”

  “MY FATHER LOVES MY DANCING. HE’S A JOURNALIST, BUT HE HAS THE RUSSIAN SOUL. EVEN WHEN SHE DIVORCED HIM, MY MOTHER SAID HE WAS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL MAN SHE EVER KNEW.”

  “THEN WHY DID SHE DIVORCE HIM?”

  “BECAUSE HE WAS NEVER AROUND. HE’D THINK OF SOMETHING AND HE’D GO, DISAPPEAR, FORGET HER, FORGET US, FORGET EVERYTHING. IT UNNERVED HER; SHE WANTED A MAN WHO KNEW HE HAD A FAMILY. IT WASN’T THAT HE DIDN’T LOVE US. IT WAS JUST THAT WHEN HE GETS AN IDEA FOR AN ARTICLE, HE GETS EXCITED AND FORGETS EVERYTHING ELSE. NOW MY MOTHER HAS MY STEPFATHER, WHO DOESN’T LET HER TAKE A STEP WITHOUT ASKING HIM FIRST. I’M LIKE MY FATHER. THAT’S WHY I COULDN’T LIVE IN CHAMPION.”

  “DOES HE HAVE TO DO A LOT OF RESEARCH?”

  “SOMETIMES HE CAN DO IT RIGHT HERE, BUT A LOT OF TIMES HE HAS TO TRAVEL. HE WAS IN SACRAMENTO LAST MONTH DOING RESEARCH ON GOLD MINING. AND THEN HE DID SOME WORK ON THE PRIMATE RESEARCH THEY’RE DOING AT THE SAN DIEGO ZOO. HE MAY WORK THAT INTO A BOOK HE WANTS TO DO.”

  “HOW LONG WAS HE GONE?”

  “OH, I DON’T KNOW, TWO WEEKS, THAT’S ABOUT THE LONGEST HE EVER STAYS AWAY.”

  I tried to think of the times my parents had left me. A day or two. Maybe once or twice they went away on a vacation. But when I thought about it, I realized I’d never been alone. There was always somebody there, my sister, the baby-sitter, one of my grandparents.

  “DO YOU MIND BEING ALONE?”

  “I’M USED TO BEING ALONE. I DON’T LOVE IT, BUT MY FATHER CALLS A LOT.… DID I TELL YOU I DANCED ON SATURDAY? IT WAS A FANTASTIC DAY. I PERFORMED AT THE EDGE OF CENTRAL PARK, NEAR THE PLAZA HOTEL. DO YOU KNOW THAT PLACE NEAR THE TOY STORE?”

  “SORT OF.” I tried to imagine her dancing and people walking by, some of them stopping to watch.

  “I WORE MY TUXEDO AND TOP HAT, AND I DANCED ALONG THE LIP OF THE FOUNTAIN. MY DANCING WAS GOOD. SOME DAYS THE SPIRIT PASSES ME BY. SOME DAYS IT COMES TO REST WITH ME.”

  “WELL, I’M GLAD THE SPIRIT DROPPED IN.”

  “PEOPLE ALWAYS LAUGH WHEN I SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT. DOES THE SPIRIT EVER VISIT YOU?”

  “I’M NOT THE SPIRITUAL TYPE.”

  “I THINK YOU’RE MORE SPIRITUAL THAN YOU GIVE YOURSELF CREDIT FOR. I CAN TELL YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL SOUL.”

  “George. George, I’m talking to you. George!” My sister’s voice yanked me back into reality. “George, if you wouldn’t mind, that’s my computer and I’d like to log a little time on it.”

  “TOP HAT, MY JAILER IS HERE. GOTTA GO.”

  “TALK TO YOU TOMORROW, BEAUTY PARLOR.”

  One day Top Hat asked me if I was alone.

  And I asked back if she meant alone like the way she was alone when her father took off on an assignment.

  “NO, I MEANT ALONE, REGARDING FRIENDS.”

  “I HAVE FRIENDS.”

  “WE ARE FRIENDS, AREN’T WE?”

  “SURE.” I thought so. I still thought it was a little strange being friends with a computer, but it was growing on me. 1. Top Hat was a distraction. (When I talked to her, I didn’t think about Julie.) 2. She was a puzzle with lots of unanswered questions. (Unlike Julie, who was a puzzle with lots of questionable answers.) 3. She made me laugh. (While Julie could only make me cry.)

  “BEAUTY PARLOR, WHAT’S YOUR REAL NAME?”

  “WHY DO YOU WANT TO KNOW?”

  “WE KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT EACH OTHER, WHY NOT?”

  “WHY CHANGE THINGS?”

  “THESE NAMES ARE SILLY, TOP HAT. BEAUTY PARLOR, I WANT TO KNOW YOUR REAL NAME.”

  “MY REAL NAME? MY REAL NAME IS—MY NAME IS GEORGE.”

  “GEORGE. I LIKE THAT. I KNEW A GIRL IN CHAMPION WHOSE NAME WAS MICHAEL. EVERYBODY CALLED HER MICKEY. AND ANOTHER GIRL WHOSE NAME WAS BERNIE. YOU’RE MY FIRST GEORGE. IS IT SHORT FOR GEORGIA?”

  “JUST GEORGE … GEORGE ANDREW FARINA.”

  “GEORGE ANDREW!!!!!!!!!!!!”

  “THAT’S THE NAME MY FATHER WANTED FOR ME. WHAT ABOUT YOU? WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

  “ROSEMARY.”

  “ROSEMARY. A LOT NICER THAN ICEBOX.”

  Chapter 15

  During the week, one of the tenants on the top floor in the apartment house called to complain that there was a leak in the roof. My father asked me to take care of it. “There’s tar stored by the door to the roof, George.”

  I went over after school and gunked up a bunch of cracks. On the way down from the roof, I walked slowly by the Walshes’ door, smelled potatoes and onions. My stomach started to growl. Was it hunger or love? I stood there for a moment. “Julie?”

  Her father came up the stairs. He was coming from work, his boots white with dust.

  “Hello, Mr. Walsh,” I said.

  “George.” He nodded his head. He looked grim, prepared to subdue the overheated lover. “Looking for Julie?”

  “No, I was just fixing the roof.”

  “Good. I heard they had some problems upstairs. Well, come on in. Julie’s probably here.” He put his hand on my shoulder and held it there as he walked me inside. “I wanted to talk to you.…”

  Had he and his daughter worked this out together? Had they finally had enough of George and his damned, persistent phone calls? Was he going to grab me by the seat of my pants and pitch me out the window and over the cliff? Good-bye, George, this is the last time you disturb our house with your pleading, whining, silly, begging telephone calls!

  We stood looking out in silence at the New York skyline. The sun was down and New York had begun to light up. Mr. Walsh opened the window and the sounds of the river and the highway rose up to us. “I like to stand here at night and look at the river and the lights,” he said. “A quiet time, George. I need that at the end of the day.”

  Now he was getting to it. He needed quiet after working hard all day, and who was disturbing his peace and quiet? He had his arm around the problem. Any moment now, he was going to be rid of the problem once and for all.

  “George, sometimes I stand here and feel how lucky I am to be on this side of the river and have this apartment and this view.”

  I heard sounds from the other rooms. Julie? In her room, avoi
ding me?

  “I’d hate to lose this place,” Mr. Walsh said.

  “My father would never sell it,” I said.

  “That’s what I want to hear. This is our home. We’ve lived here since we’ve been married. Now those damned developers are all over the cliffs.” He pointed to the dark shape of the apartment towers that loomed up to the north and the south. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

  “Mr. Walsh? Did you say Julie was here?”

  “Julie?” He knocked on her door. “Julie, you in there? There’s someone to see you.”

  Julie came out of her bedroom and Mr. Walsh went down the hall. She had her hand up, shielding her eyes. I couldn’t make out her expression. “It’s me,” I said.

  “Oh.… Hi.”

  “How’s everything?”

  “Mmm. Fine.”

  “Well, your father invited me in.”

  “Did he?”

  “We were just enjoying the view.”

  “Were you?”

  The less she said, the more I said. “I was thinking of asking you something.”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought we might go to a movie sometime this weekend. You like Michael J. Fox, we could go see that one.”

  “You don’t really mean that.”

  “You’re right, I don’t.” Why did I keep doing this to myself? “How about something wholesome then, like a chainsaw movie?” I heard someone cough in the other room. I looked over her shoulder. I saw legs crossed, half-laced boots. “Who’s he?”

  “A friend.” Julie pulled the door shut. “What is it, George? What do you want?”

  I stared at her. “Me? What do I want? Nothing, Julie,” I said. “Nothing at all.” And I walked out.

  Chapter 16

  “Hello. May I speak to George Farina?”

  “Speaking.”

  “George, this is Lydia Joy, the village woodworker. It’s taken me a while to get back to you. Are you still interested in working?”

  “Well, sure.”

  “You sound a little hesitant?”

  “No, I—”

  “You certainly weren’t hesitant the morning you asked me for a job.”

  She didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. “I’m interested.”

  “I want something definite. I don’t have the time to waste on someone who’s going to change his mind half an hour after he takes the job.”