Right Away Monday, page 14
But I said it with a grin, a bit of fun, just to break the tension. He didnt take it that way though, he didnt want to. He swung the guitar across the table and pushed it into me arms. He knows I dont play.
—Let’s see what young Clayton’s got then. The great hope for the Reid clan.
He winked at Isadora. I wanted so fuckin bad to be able to play at that moment, just let fly with some song, even one of Val’s old songs, do it better than he ever did it. Or something absolutely mind-blowing and profound that I’d tucked away in me head somewhere. Just for that one moment in time. I mean, I coulda sang anything atall, just when there’s a guitar there, I’m useless. And for all Iz knew, I was well able to play. So she just sat there waitin, expecting some sorta battle-of-the-family-songsters shit. I picked at some stupid little riff I’ve known since I was in high school and then just had to put the guitar down. Val picked it up again and shoved it back in me hands.
—I cant…
—Sure you can. What’s to it? A monkey could do it.
—I dont know nothing.
—Thought you had a band?
—Not no more.
—Well play the one about how you fucked Monica at the General’s Inn that time.
Fuck, I figured he knew. I knew what Monica was tryna tell me that night in the women’s toilet at the Ship. I just didnt think he’d give a fuck. How could he let it get to him? Sure he didnt even know her then, and she’s gone from him now anyhow. What difference does it make?
—What difference does that make?
—None whatsoever, only it goes to show what a little devious prick you are.
He took a big slug straight out of the bottle of red wine then. Izzy just sittin there, pullin at her nose, wondering what the fuck was goin on. I never warned her about this side of Val. I always forgets. Wine dribbled down his chin while he scraped a big line of coke towards himself with his SOCAN membership card.
—Come on now Randy.
He didnt like that. He jumped up from the table, hauled off and belted me across the jaw. I wasnt expecting it, so of course me chair went out from under me and I went down in a heap in the corner, struck me head off the radiator. Gave the whole scene that much more drama, made the punch seem way more effective than it actually was. Then he was standin over me and Izzy was tryna hold his arms behind his back. I could tell he was lettin her hold him back though.
—I’m not your fucking father! Get that through your thick skull!
I coulda jumped up and had a go at him. His punch was so feeble, no real threat behind it atall. I coulda pounded the shit out of him, knocked him all around the kitchen. But I didnt want to. That’s always the way with me for some odd reason. Always with the rackets when I’m fucked right up and never when I’m sober. When I’m sober I’d be delighted to have a dust-up with anyone atall, especially the famous Valentine Reid. Something always stops me when I’m drunk though. And that barely makes sense, I know, cause it’s s’pose to be the other way around.
I kicked the chair away and stood up. I wish I coulda laughed at him, laughed it off and made him feel like the puny old fart that he is. But of course me eyes were full by the time I had me jacket on.
—Oh he’s gonna cry now is he? For fuck sakes.
I grabbed Iz by the arm and pulled her out to the head of the stairs. She had a last glance back at the mound of coke on the table. Val was already back in his seat choppin up another monstrous line. I shoulda dove at it, stuck me whole face down into it like Pacino in Scarface and sucked and inhaled till me heart exploded. Fine way to end the evening. I grabbed me grandfather’s blanket then, it was hangin on the rail of the stairs. Val digs it out for his worst hangovers, so technically it’s always lyin around somewhere. He’d have me head if he knew I had it now.
That was last night, hey? Jesus.
Of course Izzy had to go turn on me then. That’s the way with this town, it’s like a domino effect, they all turns on you the one time, pounce when you’re down, go straight for the weak spot. Next thing you finds yourself a lump of frozen snot dangling over a ledge in a snowbank behind the Ship.
I tries to pull meself up but the rear end of me pants is froze into the snow. I rocks meself back and forth with a sound that reminds me of Isadora, my Kelly, peelin the wax strips off her legs. One final tug and I busts free of it, but then of course me foot slips over the rim of the wall and the rest of me starts to slip along with it. I digs me fingers into the snow to stop meself from goin any further. I wonder how I got out here. How I never rolled over in me sleep. Funny how you can muster up the survival skills, know exactly where to set your feet down, even when you’re technically unconscious. But why in the fuck would I come out here? I leans out as far as I can, to see down to the concrete beneath me. Ten, twelve feet down. A slight slant to the wall, barely there, maybe even accidental, an oversight in the design. But it looks to me that if I gets meself positioned proper, I could slide down it, instead of dealing with a straight drop. There’s a snowdrift, three or four feet deep, tight to the wall at the bottom. If I lands in that? Maybe. Gotta be careful of me bad foot though. Meaning I needs to be twice as mindful of the good one. I tosses me grandfather’s blanket down onto a bare patch of pavement in the parking lot. It lands with a dead flump, right on the mark. I moves both me legs over the edge so that I’m in a sitting position, digs me hands into the snow to give meself some good shovin power, leverage. Wouldnt wanna drag me spine along the edge of the concrete. All bad enough.
On three. One, two…three. Down. Fuck, not quite so much of a slant to the wall as I figured, but me heels stays flush to it on the way down. Me belt hooks in some concrete nipple pokin outta the wall before I hits the snowbank. I’d been tryna keep me bad foot tucked in a bit, so that the good one might hit the ground first. But when me belt catches, even though it dont slow me down none, I loses me concentration and lands in the snowbank with all me weight on the bad foot. An intense jolt, like an electrical shock, from me heel to me hipbone. Me hands automatically clasp onto the bad leg and I falls forward, face first into the soft, loose snow. I’d forced all the air outta me lungs on the way down and now sucks in a half lungful of snow. Choke and smother, the pain in me foot, a burnin in me hip like it’s been asleep and now wants desperately to come back to the wakin world. Someone’s gigglin. I wipes the smouldering mess of snow outta my eyes and tries to see where the giggles are comin from. There, just outside the rail of the parking lot, Crazy Clara, well bundled up and shovin an empty shopping cart along the sidewalk, the wheels rendered inoperable, welded useless by the toxic roadside muck. She’s not even lookin at me, but seems to be tryin hard not to laugh at some private thought. Poor old girl. Fucked up on medication I’d say. I wish I was. I pulls meself to me feet and bats the snow off me arms and legs, shakes it outta me hair. There’s a bit of pain in me foot, but no worse than it’s ever been. I picks up Grandfather’s blanket and wraps it around meself like a cloak, walks off towards the Hatchet with me head held high.
Hope I wasnt in the Hatchet last night though. God knows what I got up to.
Dont look to be anyone around. There’s a snowdrift up against the door. No idea what time it is. I ducks into the smaller alley near the shoe shop. The fire escape I had to climb to get away from Donna that time. I wont be climbing it this day though. She was waitin for me here, the day she found out about me and Izzy, that we were serious. I was just after leavin the Ship where Iz was doin a day shift. I was cracked. Donna’d been in all afternoon tormenting Iz with her lies about me, tellin her I was dysfunctional in the sack, that I was fucked up, that I’d only leave her when someone better came along. I dont know but Izzy liked all the scandal, for a bit. She said she just smiled and nodded at Donna and kept pourin up the drinks. But then, after Donna saw she wasnt makin no headway, and Iz told her to go fuck herself in that gentle, innocent little-girl’s way she likes to make use of, Donna flew in over the bar and got hold of Izzy’s collar and ripped it a bit. Iz hadda get some fellas to toss Donna out then. Donna hovered outside the front door, kickin and moanin and threatening to kill Iz soon as she set foot outside. Broad daylight. Izzy called me then.
—Get down here and control your retarded bitch ex!
—Who?
—Donna.
I hadnt left Isadora’s bed for a week. Not that I was sick or nothing, mind. We’d just tucked ourselves away, hid from the world, closed the curtains and rented movies and drank beer in bed and fucked and talked and got to know each other, decided there was definitely something there worth lookin into. It’s a wicked feeling, when you knows something real is in the works, when you starts to crave the taste of each other.
Big buzz at the Ship when I got there. Donna was after stirrin the place up. Everybody had a gawk at me. Robert Dawe was there, with his ponytail. He was back-on to me when I approached the bar, talkin to Iz, of course. She smiled at me over his shoulder and I distinctly heard him say:
—He’s a little prick.
I slid up next to him.
—Who’s a prick?
He turned away with his drink and took it down to a table, never even glanced in my direction. I’ll have that old bastard one of these days. Isadora saw me starin at him and dismissed the situation with a wave of her hand. She leaned over the bar and let me kiss her. She didnt seem so upset as she was on the phone. She had a beer. I looked around for Donna.
—Where’s she to?
—She left about ten minutes ago. She was outside pacing for a while.
—I’ll take care of it.
—Yes. Please.
I knew Donna’d be down to the Hatchet. So long as Monica wasnt workin. I was passin by the alley near the shoe shop when I felt a hand clasp around the sleeve of me jacket. I hauled back with me left, thinkin it was some fucked-up rummy. It was her though. Her eyes all puffed up and red. No makeup on, her hair all greasy. Like as soon as she felt rejected she let herself go altogether. Funny that is, how they plays it right up, the poor me side of it. You’d think it’d be the other way around, that she’d get herself a new haircut and cake on the face paint and some new perfume or something. But no, because she cant take the real truth, that I just dont want her anymore, she gawks into the mirror and convinces herself that she’s been rejected for cosmetic, ornamental reasons. So she can set me up, in her mind, to appear more shallow than I really am. What a load of shit.
—Clayton why? Why?
—Donna you cant bring this kinda shit into my life.
—What about my life? I’m entitled to an explanation. Is this about the dinner? I didnt leave it out on purpose, I was just—
—How many times have I told you Donna? How many? We were never a couple. We were never together.
—How can you say that?
—Look…
—Just tell me something, anything…
She dropped her head and sobbed, tried to fall into me arms. I caught her by the shoulders and pushed her upright, leant her against the wall of the alley. I couldnt feel. Couldnt.
—Donna, it’s simple as this and nothing more: I wears silver and you wears gold.
—What?
—You heard me.
—But what does that mean?
—I dont really know. It means we’re from different worlds.
That grim vacancy in her eyes, desolate, and above all desperate to make me feel anything atall, anger or paranoia, she didnt care. Did it faze old Clayton? No.
—I’ve heard a thing or two about this Isadora one you know. Dont get your fucking hopes up. She gets around.
—You knows nothing about her. Dont even go up there no more, drivin her cracked while she’s tryna work. And dont show your face at Val’s either. That’s still my home. I knows you’ve been up there all week bawlin your eyes out.
—Clayton please…Do you love her?
—Donna fuck off and leave me alone.
—I cant go anywhere now!
I left her then. Shriekin her lungs out in the alley. I knows I was harsh but what was I supposed to do? She’ll hafta find some way through it on her own. Cant very well turn to the one who’s turned you away in the hopes they’ll get you through the pain. It dont work like that. It’s a strange position to be in though, knowin that I could sweep all her misery away with the most minuscule display of tenderness. All she wanted was the one seed of hope. All I had to do was say maybe or we’ll see what happens or let on that I was feelin confused. But that’d only prolong her torture. I’ve been there. When I was seventeen I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around Krista Bradley’s legs and howled and begged until she said yes, that maybe we’d work it out. That was worse on me in the long run, of course. I got a letter from her about a week later, tellin me not to come around her apartment no more, wishin me all the best. I thumbed back out to Town and pounded on her door only to be greeted by some big dumb ape she was after hookin up with in the university. What a fuckin row that was, her there screechin in the porch while he dangled me out over the doorstep looking to her for permission to toss me onto the street. And all I really wanted was to have her back long enough so’s I could be the one to reject her. Sick bunch aint we? Humans.
I pulls Grandfather’s blanket tighter around meself and trudges through the slop towards the other end of Water Street. It’s bitter cold and the snow’s pickin up. I wish I was the type to wear a goddamn warm hat. Too cool I am. The paddy wagon slows to a crawl as it passes me. They’re watchin how I’m walkin, thinkin it’s a drunken stagger instead of a limp. Fuckers. No witnesses this hour in the morning. They’re dyin for a bit of action. I drops me head down and soldiers on. There’s a drink out there somewhere, but more important is where the fuck I’m gonna drink it to. Gotta get warm. Fagan’s Pub might be open. That’s s’pose to be an early house. I’ve never been there so I dont know if they’ll let me in. Passing by the Rose and Thistle I peeks in through the window. An old fella moppin up the floor. I taps on the glass. Please. He looks up and shakes his head, points at the clock in the corner. Jesus Christ it’s only half past eight. If Fagan’s dont let me in I’m fucked. Two more hours before the Hatchet opens sure. A fuckin seven-minute walk and I could be curled up with Isadora, cozy warm underneath her big down-filled sleeper. Fuck. Dont think I have the energy to talk me way in over her doorstep though. That’s the worst thing I could do anyhow, show up weak and cold. She’d eat me alive. She’s a hard ticket. This aint the first time she’s after heavin me out, and fuck sure it’s only been five or six weeks. First time was over a handful of change I swiped from her bedside table. She went lookin for it and I stupidly said I never saw it. I dont know why, just that she seemed to need it so badly all of a sudden. Five or six dollars. I used it towards a pack of smokes. Finally I says Yes girl, I used it.
—Oh God, Clayton you’re not a thief are you?
—No.
—Well the lie turns the act into a theft.
She asked me to leave.
—What the fuck are ya on about girl?
—I just dont know if this is going to work out.
—What? It’s only a bit of change.
—No it’s not. It’s more than that. I think…maybe your survival tactics are just too different from mine.
Whatever the fuck she meant by that. Prob’ly just another dig at me for not havin steady work. The high horse she gets on just cause she does a few shifts at the Ship and the scattered theatre thing. I took off then and waited a day or so till she called for me up to Val’s and asked me back down. That’s all you gotta do is wait ’em out. They’ll eventually come around, they always do.
I walked out on her a couple of times too. We were just after havin a romp and after she caught her breath she has the gall to go say, in that distant little-girl’s way she got, like we’re just youngsters playin house, I think maybe you’re…two parts boy and…one part man. We were after havin a conversation earlier about Robert Dawe and I was foolish enough to let her know that I felt a bit threatened by the fact that he’s got money and his own thing on the go and that he’s fifty years old and shit like that. Givin her the opportunity to reassure me, make me feel more at ease with her. And she just nodded and heard me out, never gave me fuck-all slack like she was s’pose to. Then we goes and has sex and I makes sure she gets off, like always, cause there’s no fuckin way I’m stoppin till she does, and she rolls over and says that shit to me. I think maybe you’re two parts boy. Like she’d been thinkin all along about the conversation and decided to withhold her response till we had a bit of sex. How the fuck was I s’pose to take it? That I had a youngster’s cock? That I didnt know how to take her like a real man? Jesus Christ. I wasnt long jumpin into me jeans and headin off downtown. She hunted me down a couple of hours later. She was drunk and so was I and we had a big shoutin match out in the street in front of the Gropevine of all places, so’s all her friends and the rest of town could watch. She flagged down a cab and we both jumped in, stopped off at Needs and picked up a case of beer. Neither rhyme nor fuckin reason to us atall.
And then last night, last fuckin night, after we got back from Val’s and she’s boilin the kettle for hot brandy, she asks me what I’m gonna do. And I says:
—Fuck it, we’ll be alright girl…
—Well I know I’ll be alright, but what about you?
—What the fuck is that s’pose to mean?
—Well you cant live here.
—I never asked to.
—Well where will you go?
—I got places.
—Where?
—Do I hafta go right now?
—I think so.
—Where’s this comin from girl?
—Just, I dont know. I dont want to be used. I’d rather if you had your own place or something. You dont even have a job…
And I took off again. She tried to hold me back but I pushed her away, the two of us chock full of coke and red wine.
And then…and then rootin through a purse at the Ship. I thinks on this just as Fagan’s Pub is comin into sight. I’d forgotten all about money. I digs me hands into me jeans and finds a crumple of tens and fives and twenties. Seventy-five bucks, all told. Holy fuck. That’ll come back on me, I knows full well. Some missus is pretty pissed off this morning. Somebody’s mother. Somebody’s wife. I mighta stuffed her purse into the back of the toilet at the Ship. I aint sure. It’s all so muddy. I searches the rest of me for any sign of who the woman mighta been, maybe a credit card. I knows I’d be stunned enough to pocket a credit card. But no, there’s nothing else. Just this little chunk of cash. Jesus, I s’pose I could get a hotel room somewhere outta this. Twenty-four hours lazing around in a clean bed watchin TV and wackin off, takin baths, not a soul to bother me. Maybe go out into the city and pick up some young one and bring her back to the room. Or give Miss Isadora a call and get her over to the hotel for the night. Fuck ’er till she’s on the brink and then give ’er the boot, the old heave-ho. That’ll fuckin show ’er. No. No mean stuff. Besides, unless I wanders into a hotel in the next five seconds I knows I’ll never hang on to the price of a room. Seventy-five bucks wont last me the morning. I’m gonna hafta eat at some point too.
