Double Take (12 page)

1975

Emily and I were in Bert's.

“What have you been up to?” I asked.

“Not much,” she said, taking a sip of her gin and tonic and gargling with it, to be funny. “Working mostly.”

“How's the job?”

“Horrible.” She made a face. “Maybe I should do what you're doing.”

“Which is what?”

“You know what I mean.” Emily looked around. “God, I hate this fucking place. I don't know how you always get me to come here.”

“Should we go somewhere else?”

“That won't help. It's this whole damn city. I've got to get out of here.”

“You sound like all those guys on 57th Street revving up their Harleys.”

“They never had Harleys. They only pretended they were Harleys.”

“I never noticed you complaining.”

“What a memory.” She looked at me with disapproval. She was still wearing her clothes from work: a plaid pleated skirt, a gold wool sweater, and nylons. Her hair was in a short afro, and it looked strange to me. I was used to it being longer, and there had been a period when she straightened it.

“I'll tell you one thing, though. No way I'm staying here working this shitass job for the rest of my life. If I'm not out of here in six months, I want you to take me out and shoot me.”

“Oh, come on, Em, it's not that bad.”

“Yes it is. It is that bad. I'm so sick of everything. I'm standing around in the grocery store with my mother and it's like I'm in kindergarten again. I keep feeling like I should be begging her for candy. And the same guy is still working the cash register, and he says, ‘Oh, it's little Emily, isn't it?' and I say, ‘Yes, I'm little Emily.' And my mom says, ‘She just graduated from college,' and he says—”

“I know,” I said.

“I fucking hate it. It's like everywhere I go, I can remember some funky thing happening there. Like I'm walking down the street and I remember the time some drunk guy pulled me into the alley and lifted up my dress. I walk through the shopping center and I remember the time the security guard sprayed us with mace. I go into Woolworths and remember the time we got caught stealing.”

“That woman with the heavy eye-makeup busted us. She told us it would be on our records forever and we would
never
be able to work at Woolworths. At the time we thought that was funny, but these days it worries me.”

“You want another drink?”

“Sure.”

She went up to the bar and returned with another gin and tonic and an Old Style. “Those fucking bartenders. What do they have to be so goddamn grumpy about?”

“They work here.”

“Yeah, but here isn't here for them. They didn't grow up here.”

“They're from another planet where smiling is unknown.” I took a sip of my Old Style, which was slightly warmer than I would have liked. “I remember some good times. Like I was walking down Blackstone the other day and I remembered the time some guy I didn't know leaned out of the first floor window and handed me a hash pipe.”

“Yeah, that's so great. What a wonderful world it was.”

“Why did we come back here?”

“I don't know. I totally do not know. I guess I came because my parents wanted me to, and I could live in my old room for free while I figured out what I wanted to do.”

“Do you still have that bunk bed?”

“Of course. Really. So it was like I knew this was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. It appealed to my weak and lazy side. My incompetence.”

“That's exactly it. And it's like this sick compulsion, like when you're standing on the edge of a cliff and part of you wants to jump off.”

“You're not going to get all metaphysical now, are you? I don't think I could deal with it.”

“You know me. Ever the realist.” I changed the subject. “You seeing anyone interesting?”

“Not exactly interesting. A guy from work. He's a lawyer.”

“Bummer.”

“You?”

“Nobody really. I had sort of a brief fling a few weeks ago.”

“Brief? A short hitter?”

“Please.”

“Was I indelicate? Sorry.” She fluttered her eyelashes, a sarcastic gesture I remembered from seventh grade.

“Brief in the sense that I don't actually want to see him again.”

“That bad?”

“No, it wasn't bad. It wasn't good. It just was.” As I said that, in the doorway beyond us, like a vision, I could see Lawrence with his two cronies. At first I didn't recognize them because they were wearing those fake noses and glasses with moustaches attached. I could tell it was Lawrence from the flannel shirt underneath his winter coat. The last time I had seen it, it was on the floor at the foot of his bed.

When he saw me, he smiled and strolled over to our table, suavely removing the nose and glasses.

“How are you?” I looked up at him. He looked cute and hopeful. I gazed down at the cratered red surface of the table and felt a million years old.

“Great. We're on our way to a party. Want to come?”

“No thanks, I'm having a little talk with my friend here.”

“Sheila,” Emily said, extending her hand.

“Lawrence,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “Great to meet you, Sheila. Have you known Rachel long?”

“For an eternity.”

“So you two are just sort of hanging out?”

“Yeah, we're just sort of hanging out.”

“Well.” There was a moment of awkward silence, then to both of us he said, “Well, enjoy yourselves.” To me he said, “See you soon.”

“Hope so.”

“You were such a bitch,” Emily said when he had gone.

“Was I? I didn't mean to be.”

“He's cute. Is he the one you—”

“Yep.”

“Well, honey, if you're through with him—”

“Help yourself.”

“I guess this means you and your friend in California are really over?”

“I don't know what it means.”

“We're a bit brusque this evening.”

“Sorry. Rough day.”

“I thought you had the day off?”

“I did. They're the worst. You want another drink?”

“One more.” Emily handed me her glass. I took it up to the bar and gave it to the bartender, who put more gin and tonic in it and passed me an Old Style. The gin and tonic cost seventy cents, and I figured I could afford to buy a few more if I had to, to keep her from leaving me alone.

“I notice you're drinking again these days,” Emily said when we had nearly finished our drinks. “And directly from the bottle, too.”

“I figure I'm better off without the middleman.”

“You know,” she said, squinting at me, “you don't look good. Are you getting enough sleep?”

“I was asleep all day.”

“That's a sign of clinical depression.”

“What are you, Sigmund Freud?”

“Excuse the hell out of me.” She looked at her watch and yawned. “Well, it's getting late and I have to get up early.”

“No, please don't go yet. I'll be good, I promise.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Cookie . . . Rachel.”

I had made her start calling me Rachel when I started college.

“It's past midnight and I have to get up at six fucking thirty to catch a bus into the Loop.”

“Take the train. It's faster.”

“Too expensive.” She stood up and put on her coat. “You coming?”

“I think I'll sit here for a while.”

“What's up with you?”

“Nothing. I just don't feel like going home yet.”

“Don't stay too long. You'll turn into one of those creepy people at the bar.”

“I'll pick up some groovy guys.”

“There are no groovy guys here. I'll call you,” she said, and left.

I looked at her drink, of which half remained. I picked it up and began drinking it, staring idly out the window. It had started to snow. I could see my mother's car halfway down the street already covered with a layer of white.

“Nice evening,” said a voice behind me. “I ran into your friend Emily on her way out. She doesn't like me.”

“I always feel like she doesn't like me either,” I said to Joey without turning around.

“Tough luck.”

“Seriously.”

“You want another Old Style?”

“Please.”

He brought me a beer and stared at me. I stared back at him.

“I don't want to do this any more,” I said.

“Do what?”

“You know what. You're driving me crazy with that shit. I mean, it's over.”

“In a way, it's over. But in a way, it's not over.”

“I want it to be over.”

“It's over. We don't have to talk about it.”

“Good.”

We sat there with nothing to say. Then it started again.

1970

It was gloomy and cold outside, and the windows of Casa Sanchez were opaque with condensation. Cookie was at the employees' table playing chess with Pam, who was not supposed to be an employee. Cookie did not know at the time that she worked for Sam. Pam was winning, which came as a complete surprise to Cookie, who had assumed her brain cells were totally fried by drugs.

There was a sudden noise outside. Cookie raced to the front door, her heart pounding. Ever since Clay had been shot, loud sounds scared her. She peered down the street toward the corner and saw Rat and Brunette facing each other and shouting. Because of the wind she couldn't make out what they were saying. People began to gather around them, watching the show. Brunette lunged at Rat but someone held him back.

She went back inside and sat next to Pam.

“Your move,” Pam said.

Cookie moved her queen, taking one of Pam's pawns.

The front door shot open and Rat burst into the room. He stomped to the back of the restaurant, reached into a gray plastic silverware tray, pulled out a knife, and headed for the front door.

“What are you gonna do, Joey, butter him?” Pam called after him.

Rat turned around to glare, but then catching her eye he grinned, then stormed out the door.

From out of nowhere, a bishop captured Cookie's queen.

“Checkmate,” Pam said.

1975

“Territorial dispute,” Joey said. “Brunette found out Clay and Levar were doing a little business on the side. All the smoke they brought out of Mexico, they were actually landing in the desert and taking half of it off the plane, shipping it to California. I never cared. It was cool with me because they weren't cutting me out, they were cutting out Sam, when you came right down to it. It was like a franchise, or pyramid sales, you know. Sam had to have his cut.”

“Like owning a McDonald's. Sam was McDonald. Or whoever.”

“Exactly.”

“What I can't get over is that all that time, you were the narc.” I whispered this. “You were the last person I would have suspected. I always figured it was Victor. I was upset when he disappeared, but in one way I wasn't too surprised. I figured he had to leave town when things got too hot. But it blows my mind that it was you.”

“Victor.” He looked away, then met my eyes again. “Who was I tricking on? Money men, a bunch of hard dudes. Guys who would just as soon tear out your throat as look at you.”

“Like Sam?”

“Yeah, like Sam.”

“I thought Sam was your pal.”

“He was a shark. He lived by the laws of the jungle.”

“Aren't you mixing your metaphors? There aren't any sharks in the jungle.”

“Girl, how many beers have you had?”

1969

Cookie was at the employees' table with Jupiter, Rat, and Sam. Jupiter was digging through his dense halo of hair with his fingers.

“I haven't seen Victor lately,” Cookie said.

“I think he went back to Canada,” Rat said, looking past Cookie as he spoke.

“Without telling me?”

“Life's full of surprises,” Rat said.

“Here it is,” Jupiter said. Two white tablets fell onto the table.

“What's that?” Cookie asked.

“L.S.D., hee hee hee,” Jupiter said.

Cookie got up to get Sam some more coffee. She noticed that as she turned around, he and Rat exchanged glances.

1975

“What's the point?” I said, more to myself than to Joey.

“How's that?”

“It's like the end of
Hamlet
. I feel like I'm digging up a grave. I can't sleep, I can't eat, I keep having these weird dreams, and it's all your fault.”

“Are we talking about fault again? Baby, you should have been a preacher.”

“I'm going home,” I said, getting unsteadily to my feet. “I can't keep doing this. I can't keep having these conversations with you. In fact, I don't want to talk to you at all.” I walked over to the doorway. “This is it, I am absolutely not going to do this any more. From now on, I'm going to focus on what is. I'm going to live in the present. I'm going to be here now.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I'm fine. Never better. Goodnight, sweet prince.” I turned around and walked away.

Behind me, I thought I heard him say, “The rest is silence,” though he probably hadn't.

On my way home, I ran a red light. There were no other cars around, and the light had been yellow when I got to the intersection, so I floored the accelerator. I was about halfway down the block when I noticed something blue and white flickering behind me.

“Shit,” I said. I grabbed my purse, dug out my breath spray, and blasted some into my mouth. I had practically lived on the stuff all through high school. Now I couldn't remember when I had started buying it again.

I pulled over to the side of the street, rolled down my window, and waited until a dark blue shadow was hovering over me, holding a ticket book.

“Didn't you see that light back there?”

“You mean the yellow one?” I formed my words very carefully.

He peered into the window. “Don't I know you from somewheres?”

“Diana's Grotto.” I didn't exactly recognize him. All those cops looked the same to me.

“That's right.” He sounded happy to see me, like we were long-lost friends. “What's your name again?”

“Cookie.”

“That's right. You have a nice night, Cookie.” He closed the ticket book and walked away.