RAINBOWS
This was New York.
A woman. At the bar. Managing a glass of Cabernet.
My pickup line somehow involved the moose head on the wall. She laughed some. Her chest was flat and she looked older than me. To me, she was the city. I assumed she was off limits.
A man next to her said, “So I said to him, ‘nice doggy,’ while my partner went in search of the company machine gun.”
I didn’t stand a chance.
But she took my number. She called. She wanted to do things. She wanted to walk slowly down the street and make comments. Coffee, sake. A blowjob in the afternoon.
She was in the beauty business and she had a man’s name: Charley. Her job was Closet Aesthetician. She knew a lot. She told me little. I didn’t ask.
I’d just landed a job running food at a vegetarian restaurant on the Upper East Side. The manager was a large Asian man named Danny. He was a superstar at managing restaurants.
I sat down with five aspiring actors as Danny walked us through the code of conduct. Four hours of information. I forgot it all except for one thing: Keep your fingernails neat and trimmed.
Afterwards, one of the actors, a petite man with a pretty chin, offered me a cigarette. I wasn’t a smoker, but I accepted.
“My mother, father, and sister died in a plane crash six months ago,” said Rica.
“Is that why you’re here?” I asked.
“There was no life insurance, if that’s what you mean.”
“You must be devastated.”
“I would have been devastated either way. This is a devastating world. We’re all devastated.”
I looked at his fingernails. My cigarette was minty.
“What kind of performer are you?”
“Improv.”
I didn’t tell Charley about Rica.
My mother was going crazy. She sat in the living room all day, silent. Then she would speak, suddenly, abruptly, as if she were a medium. The wisest and most frightening proverbs any of us had ever heard. It pulled me out to the island nearly every other weekend.
A cycle of us came through that little apartment. My sister, someone calling himself Uncle Charles, my father. It was always one of us with my mother and her aid, Celia, a little brown woman who was the object of devotion of a man much smarter than me, I was sure.
I couldn’t tell if my mother understood that I had quit my teaching job and moved to Brooklyn. I wanted something new. This she could understand.
I followed Charley’s slim legs into a museum.
The first room had a drawing of a giant cockroach wedged into a Japanese woman’s vagina. Charley’s eyes locked on it. My mother once said, “All men and all women, when you get down to it, are all exactly the same, in every way.”
I caught Charley leaning against the black museum wall, glancing down at her own crotch. I could have clutched her.
A lesbian couple was near us. One of them had a Chihuahua poking out from her bag. Charley flinched when she noticed it.
We viewed the first recorded come shot. Charley took my hand. Three teenage girls shuffled past us. One of them, as the freckly girl in the video blinked semen from her eyelash, said, “I will never, ever do that.”
“Give her a few years,” Charley said.
In another video, a man wearing a housedress demonstrated how to sit and stand like a man.
We saw this machine that had clamps for attachment to erogenous zones. But it was display only. I considered buying a t-shirt in the gift shop that said, “I come first.” It was made for women. I didn’t buy it.
Charley flagged down a cab. She rested a hand lightly on the back of my neck. She was elegant and uncomplicated about these things.
Danny gave me a tour of the vegetables. I correctly identified broccoli. Rica had been working all week. He streaked to tables four plates at a time. My job was bread. I took long cigarette breaks. None of the customers ever knew what they wanted.
“Would you like bread?”
“No. Yes.”
Danny told me to bring food to thirteen. I had no idea what that meant. I wandered into the seating area with Danny two feet behind me. There was already a plate on the table. I froze. Danny picked it up. They asked me to do it again, on my own.
I turned in my apron and walked out the back. I envied the person walking down the street thinking, “This seems like a nice place.”
I lingered outside a while. Rica tracked me down. We had a drink and he told me a long story involving an adolescent soccer trip and an overbearing father, and then he told me he was gay.
“When did it happen to you?” he asked.
“I’m straight.”
“When did it happen?”
Celia wasn’t around. I think my mother sensed it. She said, “Find me a vase for the flowers procured by my lover.”
I rinsed out a plastic bottle of Coke and presented it to her. She cradled it beneath her breasts.
I thought I might run into my father during one of these visits. But I’ll tell you right now, I never did.
My mother was not an elderly woman. If you had glanced at her unaware of her condition, you may have interpreted her glare as one of intense focus. For all any of us knew, that’s what it was.
I didn’t pick up Charlie’s calls or call her whenever I was out on the island. I called Jay. He rolled his own cigarettes and threw parties. He didn’t own a cell phone. If you wanted to get in touch with him, you had to call the house and ask his father if he was available.
We were in his basement. He had a cigarette in one hand and the cordless phone in the other.
“People in the city,” I said, “would pay a cover charge to sit down here.”
Wires hung down from the low ceiling. The cement floor was exposed. There was a bad smell that was pleasant.
Jay covered the receiver and said, “Shut up.”
He was a walking White Pages. He had the same line for everyone he called, “Basement party. Top of the house is on fire. Come in through the window.”
I thought he was kind of famous in a small way. His shoulders were broad. He slouched when he smoked and talked.
When he ran out of people to call, I told him about Charley.
“Be careful with her,” he said. “I know a guy who banged her. She let it slip one time at a party that she has an STD. This guy banged her raw and was worried.”
“That’s not Charley. I met her in Brooklyn. She lives in Manhattan.”
“She’s from around here. Don’t you two talk?”
“We talk.”
Jay had been sticking labels on boxes full time. He had fistfuls of cash. But he couldn’t have known Charley.
People started showing up. I started drinking. They came in through the window. First they’d bend down and show their face. Then a pair of legs would stick through. At first, Jay and I helped people in. But the more we drank, the less we helped. We laughed at or ignored the people risking injury. Sometimes I couldn’t tell if the legs and butts belonged to men or women. Some of the people I knew, some I didn’t. This was my home town.
Jay invented a game where you take a drink whenever the TV mentions a body part. Soon it became a drink whenever anyone in the room mentions a body part.
I sat next to a girl in a tiara. I had noticed her on her way in. She had big breasts and had trouble squeezing through the small window. I didn’t help her. She told me she was drowning her sorrows.
“He cheated on me with an Asian girl who looks like she’s twelve,” she said.
“That man should be locked up.”
Soon we were in the next room together. A mattress with tousled sheets was on the floor.
I didn’t want to make a show of it. I wanted it to be fast. I didn’t want anyone to walk in.
We were in my apartment in Brooklyn. Charley looked into my closet.
“You have a man’s closet,” she said.
I thought we were going to have sex.
“I have my period,” she said.
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
A mouse scurried by. I jumped when I saw it. It was black and blurry because it sprinted by so fast.
“Have you been eating in your bedroom?” asked Charley.
“Not that I know of.”
We went out for drinks. It was Sunday night. Charley worked evenings. She liked Sunday nights. She ordered a beer. She drank it fast and ordered another one.
“I could marry you,” I said.
“Why?”
“Why not,” I said.
“I’m already married.”
It was the closest she came to being funny.
I got a call from Jay. I let it go to voicemail, “Basement party. Top of the house is on fire. Come in through the window.”
I envisioned his basement. The girl in the tiara squeezing in through the window. We didn’t exchange numbers. I remembered calling her names like Beautiful and Sunshine. I looked at Charley’s chest.
“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said.
“It’s three in the morning.”
“What’s your excuse?”
My excuse was I wanted to take the subway into Manhattan at daybreak and find a new life. But that wouldn’t have held up.
My phone rang again. The little screen said, “Mom.” The voicemail said, “Hi kiddo, it’s mom. Just calling to say hello.”
Three in the morning. I wondered what time it was wherever my mother thought she was.
We were the only people at the next bar, but the jukebox was going. I liked that kind of atmosphere. But sometimes Charley and I sat and didn’t talk about a goddamn thing and only let the alcohol course through our veins. I got tired of it. I didn’t want to talk about closets, and I couldn’t think of any more general comments, so I asked, “Where did you go to college?”
“A few places. I never finished.”
That was enough. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I thought about Jay’s basement.
“I took a year off one time,” she said. “You know, in between. I had surgery.”
I looked up at the bar wall. There was a moose head up there.
“On my ovaries,” she said. “I had to have surgery on my ovaries.”
On the way back to my apartment, she tripped over her feet and landed awkwardly on her wrist. There was a pretty sizeable scrape. She kept saying, “I’m so embarrassed.”
I was surprised at how generous she was when we got back. I’d never had such a long, drawn-out blowjob before. If I’d had a window in my bedroom, I’m sure the sun would have come up before I finished. My legs felt light when it was over.
I went to the bathroom and looked at my cock. It was tinted with a light coating of blood. I was perplexed. “Did we have sex?” I asked the mirror. Then I realized it was from Charley’s scrape. I thought about the taste of blood. It made me feel close to her, and I rinsed off and rushed back to bed.
“Have any auditions?” I asked.
“No,” said Rica.
“How’s the restaurant?”
“You are the most cruel and humiliating man on earth.”
“I think I want to be an actor.”
“Is this how you seduce all your women?”
The people at this bar were mostly young lesbians and old gay men. It was just like any other bar. There was a jukebox. Someone had put on Queen. The bartender’s name was Manny. Drinks were expensive.
“Do you live alone?” I asked.
“I live with myself.”
“Where are you from?”
“I already told you. I exist here. In my present form. Without connection.”
I pretended to listen. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to make him leave his present form. I wanted to punch him in the gut and come up behind him.
“It was during the time of my mother’s deterioration that I reconciled with my estranged father; it was that time of strife that brought us together as a family; we were tested and now we’re better for it.”
I’ll never say any of those things.
Celia gave me a note, from my sister.
“Did you read it?” I asked.
“I know what it says.”
The note said my sister would be on the west coast for the next few months. Then she wrote and crossed out, “I want to be on the phone if and when it happens.” It was crossed out haphazardly, so it could still be clearly read.
Celia made tomato soup.
“I have no time for this,” said my mother.
Jay was throwing a basement party. When I got over there, he was furious that I hadn’t responded to his previous voicemail.
Only one other person showed up. A guy on a motorcycle named Dave. It was loud in the street. He rang the doorbell and eventually walked in and came downstairs after no one answered. He was a small guy with scruffy blonde hair and he talked nonstop. He was an expert on all topics. His vocabulary was noticeable. He told a story about confronting an officer who had the nerve to put a parking ticket on his motorcycle. “Officer,” he said. “I’m quite nonplussed about this.” The officer was perplexed and ripped up the ticket.
“What a pig,” said Jay. He liked him. Anyone in Jay’s basement was alright by him.
We sat down. I drank six beers and talked about teaching and quitting.
“Good move,” said Dave. “What do you do now?”
“Nothing.”
“Good move,” he said. “There you are, in the crux of the universe. Something is bound to catch.”
I didn’t want to like him. But he was small and charming, in a way. His helmet rested on the couch cushion beside him.
“Tell Dave about Charley,” said Jay.
“What are you, my mother?” I asked. I hated the sound of it. I drank another beer. I didn’t feel drunk, just focused and uncoordinated.
“Charley? Female Charley?” Dave patted his helmet. “What a panic she put into me. Waited three harrowing weeks for the test results. Would have been worth it either way. What a charitable woman.”
Charley’s period was going on its second week.
She unzipped my jeans. I looked at the top of her head.
“Aren’t you tired?” I asked.
“No,” she hummed.
The vibrations were nice. But I didn’t have anything else to ask her. I put my hands on the sides of her head and stopped her movement. I kept them there. We were still enough to pose for an artist. When she finally looked up at me, there was a tear streaming down her cheek.
I burst out laughing. Something about it.
She started to tell me things. “Most of the time I’m under control,” she said.
My phone rang. I fished it out of the pocket of my jeans that were on the floor. The way I remember this is the way it must have sounded to Charley:
“Are you going to keep it? Why not? But that kid is one-half mine. Listen, Sunshine, this could be what we’ve been waiting for.” I couldn’t quite get through that last part. My laughter came back.
Rica’s apartment wasn’t far from the park. Here is what I wanted on the elevator ride up: to drop to my knees and show him my pupils. To be confident about it. I was going to be good. I was going to make his world anew.
When we got up to his floor, there was a man sitting on the living room couch reading a magazine. Behind him was a view of Lexington Avenue.
“If there’s one thing to pray for,” said Rica, “it’s rent control.”
He introduced me to his partner. His name was Stanley. He was taller than Rica. Broader than me. He kissed Rica on the cheek and shook my hand. He exuded a kind of warmth. He ordered us to sit while he got us all drinks.
He commented on the couch we were sitting on. The coffee table. The fridge. All the objects had been pondered over. It was my turn to talk.
“Let’s see if the bathroom is as nice as everything else,” I said.
I wanted to find a closet. I wanted to see if it was a man’s closet. But the way the walls were, I couldn’t find any doorknobs. I had to ask twice about the bathroom.
“Here it is,” said Stanley. “We keep it hidden.”
“Intruders,” said Rica.
Soon the three of us were on the couch together. Stanley was talking about Rica’s career.
“Don’t ask him about it,” said Stanley. “He’ll bite your tongue off. He’s actually doing quite well.”
“Lies,” said Rica, softly. “All lies.”
I’d never seen Rica this relaxed. He rested his head on my shoulder.
It was just like anything else. We waited for a pause in the conversation. Then there was a hand on my chest, and another. The lips that touched my neck weren’t unlike other lips that touched my neck. I thought about how lucky I was. I thought about their big steel fridge filled with organic food. Music in the background. A glass of wine. Hands and lips all over me.
“Stop,” I said. “I have herpes.”
“I never would have gone to Europe,” said my mother, who had never been to Europe, who had never left the living room. “I wouldn’t have gone if I knew it would come between us.”
Then she shut her eyes.
Celia searched for a pulse. I began to laugh. Celia’s look grew grim. I stopped laughing out loud, but I could feel it rumbling around inside.
“They told me this is how it would happen,” said Celia.
I felt tickled in all the places I was ticklish.
“She’s dead,” said Celia.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It started and there was no stopping it.
“Your mother is dead,” said Celia.
I was out of breath. I sneezed. I had to grab onto my knee for balance.
“God bless you,” said Celia. She took out her cell phone and hit some buttons.
New York Times. Village Voice. Craigslist. Everywhere people begged me to work for them, but I couldn’t get out of bed.
Charley called and told me she’d bring me soup from a good deli by her place.
I pictured her sitting in a cab or the subway with a little brown bag in her lap. When she got to my place, she set it up for me so I didn’t have to get out bed. There was a piece of bread in the bag. My head was clogged. I had already consumed a handful of over-the-counter pills and liquids. Charley pulled the bread apart into little pieces and dropped them into my soup. It was just a common cold. My insides felt like my outsides had been punched and kicked. The bread sopped up the broth.
When I finished, she cleared everything away and snuck into bed with me. I had to cough. I tried to direct it away from her. My skin was hypersensitive. It was almost painful when her lithe body slid up against mine. She looked young and innocent and willing. I wasn’t sure if she was under control. My fever made everything unstable. My bedroom was cut off from the rest of the earth. This is what I was going to find. Charley. From my home town. We were ten years old and I was slipping a hand under her dress for the first time.
