Just North of Whoville (24 page)

“
Nice? She’s a bitch from hell. Sometimes, when I’m asleep, she’ll get up in the middle of the night and I’m terrified she’s going to come back and cut my dick off.”

“
And yet---you’re sleeping with her?”

“
I know. But the sex is amazing.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“
Shit, it’s Tanya,” Alex said as he began scrambling around for a place to hide. What he was hiding from, I had no idea. Whatever it was, I’d had enough and opened the door.

It was Nate.

“
Dorrie?” he said as he looked at my pajamas.

“
Hey, Nate,” Alex waved as he stood there in his Hef-wear.

“
I uh…” Nate seemed confused. “I just wanted to stop by to let you know that they’ll be doing some major work on the roof the next few days. Might get a little messy in here. I’m sorry,” he apologized.

“
It’s not what it looks like,” I tried to explain.

“
I just…I don’t understand why you keep going back to… But you know, not my business. I hope you’ll be very happy, Dorrie.”

On the way to work that morning, I saw the harbinger of doom.

Shoeless Joe.

“
Merry Christmas everyone. Can anybody help? God bless you everyone.”

Who did he think he was? Tiny Tim?

But at the office, another Tiny Tim was waiting in Jamie’s office.

“
We need you to close the deal,” Jamie explained. Deb picked up from there

“
The Character Model Class is three thousand dollars. He wants to do it, but wanted to talk to you first. Apparently you’re his agent now,” Deb said with a bit of a huff.

“
When did we get a character model class?” I asked.

“
We’ll throw something together for January. A five-week class, give them a few digital photos and everyone is happy.”

“
Who’s teaching it?”

“
I am,” Deb stepped up. “After all, I used to be a Plus-Size model.”

While I didn’t doubt she was indeed plus-sized, I still hadn’t seen that portfolio.

“
But where is he getting the money?”

“
Dorrie, he’s got the money. And I’ll give you a five hundred commission. He trusts you,” she put her arm around me and opened her office door.

“
Hi, Dorrie!” Timmy sat there in his elf suit. “Deb was telling me about the Character Model Class. It sounds perfect. What do you think?”

I could really use five hundred dollars, but as I looked into his big, hopeful eyes, I knew what I had to do.

“
Timmy, if you’re really serious about modeling, this is the direction you need to take. But you don’t need a three thousand-dollar class. It’s a waste of your money. Don’t do it!” I yelled out quickly as Jamie pulled me out of the room.

“
I’m sorry, Dorrie. I don’t think we’ll be needing your services anymore.”

I walked to my reception desk to retrieve my things. Didn’t take long. I kept most of my personal effects in a Go Bag under my desk. I knew the shit would hit the fan at some point---I just always thought the authorities would shut the place down before I got fired from a crappy, minimum wage job.

But I didn’t have much time to brood over my unemployed state. It was Opening Night.

Luckily, Steve was blessed with an enormous amount of friends who actually showed up for his performances. Particularly on Opening Night. Not necessarily to see theatre; mostly just knowing that with Steve involved, there would be a great after-bar somewhere down the street.

I had sent emails out to everyone I knew in New York. With five minutes to curtain, I peeked out from backstage, scanning the audience for a familiar face. Any familiar face. But not one.

“
Where’s Nate?” Steve asked before the curtain went up.

“
I don’t know. Did he call you?”

“
Not a peep. That’s weird.”

With all the calamities surrounding my life, I was actually shocked that the play went off without a hitch. Steve and Marc had totally connected during the rehearsals, and were able to pull-off Nate’s powerful, yet idiosyncratic script. I lost myself in the audience’s reactions to Nate’s clever twists and turns on the well-known tale. He’d managed to take them on such a wild ride, that the familiar happy ending was actually a tender relief.

“
Dorrie, sweetie!” Celia suddenly appeared with a bouquet of flowers. She was her usual, glowing self. Her black designer pants and Irish hand-knit sweater made her look like she just stepped off the slopes at Aspen. “That was so wonderful! Just what I needed this Christmas.”

“
I’ve been trying to call you…” I began.

“
I know. I’m sorry. I just needed a little space. And I’m sorry you got saddled with a roommate. Did he tell you?” she said as she displayed her engagement ring. “I sent it back in the boxes. He said he saw it and realized that we were really over and… I don’t know. Maybe the timing was right, but he called me and I actually picked up the phone. We had coffee…” she trailed off and then ended with. “It’s all good now.”

“
Don’t feel like you have to rush. I mean…it’s none of my business.”

“
Look, I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve invested four years of my life in this relationship. It’s hard to just throw those years away. I think it’s hard for him, too. I don’t know,” she kept repeating.

“
If you don’t know, then maybe he’s not the right one.”

“
Life is not a fairy tale, Dorrie. There’s no Prince riding in on a horse. I’m a grown-up and I know that,” she repeated a mantra to herself.

“
But growing up doesn’t mean giving up. Are you sure you’re not settling?”

“
He’s not a bad person. I’m sure he hasn’t been a peach of a roommate. Trust me, I know his bad points. But we all have bad points. Deep down, he’s a pretty great guy. I wish you could see that. My god, if it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have a place to live,” she reminded me, in a way that seemed to be ending the discussion.

“
Yeah, I know,” I admitted. Who was I to say? I’d already taken him back three times to save my apartment. “I’m just saying to really think about it. I’m just looking out for you,” I added as my final word on the subject.

Oddly, she seemed upset that someone was looking out for her.

“
Maybe you should try looking out for yourself for a change,” she said and simply walked out of the theatre.

That night, as I tried to console myself with a cup of tea, I heard something hitting my window. It looked like little candies.

On the sidewalk below, Timmy was dressed in his elf suit, tossing peppermints at my window. As soon as I appeared in the window, Timmy jumped up and down in excitement.

“
Dorrie, I adore you!”
he began to sing his made-up song
. “I’m pining for you! My adored!”

I quickly opened the window and tried to whisper down five flights, “Shhhh! Stop singing!”

But he had a few more bars left in him…

“
So, Dorrie, won’t you look towards me! Loving you only! Dorrie!”

“
Timmy. Stop. Please,” I begged. Not only was this completely embarrassing, it was definitely drawing attention to my residency.

“
What do you want me to do?” he pleaded in desperation.

“
Nothing. Do nothing.”

“
But I love you,” he seemed utterly perplexed.

“
No. You don’t.”

“
I do! I so so so so do!!!”

“
Timmy,” I called out as softly as I could, “it’s not going to work. Ever.”

But why not? Why not?”

I couldn’t take it any more. I hated to do it. But someone had to.

“
Because you’re gay!”

“
What?” he seemed completely taken aback as lights began to switch on in the building across the street and neighbors rushed to their windows.

“
You’re gay. I’m sorry.”

Timmy stood there for a moment in shock. Then suddenly, he took off running down the street. He jingled all the way.

17

The next morning, at six a.m. on the dot, the roofers showed up. I’d barely slept the night before, but the loud banging and pounding upstairs didn’t bother me. Why did I need sleep, anyway? It’s not like I had a job. Don’t even need to do laundry if you don’t have a job. I just stayed in bed; watching bits of plaster hit the floor. My only other occupation consisted of mentally beating myself up. I felt horrible about what I’d said to Timmy. I could still see him running down the street in his pointy-toed shoes. I felt terrible. Actually sick. There was a tickle in my throat. I crawled out of bed and took my temperature. I had a fever. Great. I was coming down with a cold.

Christmas had made me physically ill.

A few hours later, I finally got out of bed, and filled the cat food dish. More than anything, I just wanted someone to talk to. I’d gotten used to submitting my problems to Dr. Prince. Maybe she didn’t always have all the answers, but at least she listened. It’s more than the Salvation Army Santa did.

Midway thru the afternoon, I finally got in the shower. I was jobless and almost homeless---why should I even shower? But I did. Because I like to be clean. God knows how many hot showers I’d be able to take when I was homeless. Better enjoy them now.

Two hours later, just as the sun was going down, I finally left my apartment. Not that there was anywhere to go. I didn’t have a job so I couldn’t spend any money. Couldn’t see any Christmas shows. Couldn’t afford anything festive at all. The play was up and running, so I wasn’t needed there. There was nothing I wanted to do, anyway. No pleasure in anything. I just walked. All over Manhattan. Christmas Island. But none of it was for me. I didn’t even deserve to have a Christmas. I spent the rest of the day applying for the meager positions listed online, nursing my Holiday cold, stressing myself out till the wee hours of the morning, and sleeping most of the day. I think this is what they call clinically depressed.

The next morning, as a last resort, I dug out the business card Dr. Prince had given me.

“
Good afternoon, Dr. Rankin’s office,” the receptionist answered.

“
Hi. I’m a patient of Dr. Prince. She gave me this number to call.”

“
What’s your insurance, dear?”

She put me on hold. A few minutes later, she came back. “I’m sorry, but we don’t take that insurance. Do you have a secondary plan?”

“
No. But she told me I could call this number,” I said as I blew my nose.

“
We take most of the insurance policies she handles, but not that one. I’m sorry. I could give you number for the New York City Crisis Hotline.”

“
No. No, thank you. It’s not a crisis.”

“
Well, that’s good now, isn’t it?” she said, as if I were slightly retarded and had almost managed to color in the lines. “Merry Christmas!” she made sure to add before she hung up.

I was now a problem for the city. A burden on the system. On second thought, maybe it was a good idea to get in the system now. After all, I’d probably be needing public assistance sooner or later. Did they still give out food stamps? Could I use them for cat food? Can you even bring pets into the shelters? Oh no. I’d wind up in the Bronx. Do they even get
The New York Times
there? This was awful. I’d have to move back home. Be one of those people who just couldn’t make it in New York. Sure, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere---but what if you can’t make it here? What then? Sinatra didn’t sing about that. I was at the lowest of the low. I needed to talk to someone. But who?

I changed out of my pajamas and went to the coffee shop.

The music wasn’t as cheery as usual. Elvis was crooning about having a “Blue Christmas” as I looked behind the counter for a little ray of Sunshine.

“
Oh---hi,” she said as she looked up. Oh my god. She was crying. Who would do this to Little Miss Sunshine? “I’m sorry,” she said as she wiped the tears out of her eyes. “How are you today?” she made an attempt at her usual chipper self.

“
What’s wrong?”