One Foot Off the Gutter (13 page)

“It's the right address,” I confirmed.

“Well, that settles it. The city will confiscate the place and condemn the building if nobody claims it. When the city gets hold of it, they'll tear it down. If that's the case, good riddance. I don't like this sort of thing. You know why?”

“What's that?”

“Because an empty building is a breeding ground for crime.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Alice could have her house now. I could forget about riding the bus to and from Novato. I was going to get what I deserved. I plunked the riot helmet back on my head and thought with glee, wait until Bellamy hears about this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

t
he Yellow Co-op taxi cab skidded to a halt in front of the abandoned building. Patsy stood by her living room window with her children fingering the curtains and watching the vehicle buckle up to the curb. Wisps of fog were clinging to the houses along Twenty-first Street. Samoan women were talking by the Whirl-o-mat, which had opened up for the morning's business.

“Malcolm. Celeste. Your grandparents are here. I want you to be on your best behavior,” Patsy instructed the kids.

“He's not my granddaddy,” Malcolm offered.

“What did you say?” Patsy snapped. “I told you not to talk that way anymore. What did I tell you? Your attitude is bad. Now go on and play.”

The kids ran into the bathroom and shut the door. Patsy heard the toilet flushing, then a loud laugh.

“Hey, you guys! Come out of the bathroom. Your grandparents will need to use the john after their trip.”

The kids didn't answer her. Patsy didn't know whether to go downstairs and greet her mom and dad, or stay upstairs and wait for them. She felt dim and not quite sure of what she looked like to herself. She felt dislocated. The parts of her body had been separated and frozen and were floating apart. The only way she knew the pieces belonged together was through the invisible lines that told her where the numb parts were. And her mother hadn't even stepped into the house yet.

“I told you to come out of the bathroom, didn't I? What's taking you so long? I hope you're not doing anything you shouldn't be doing, like going through your daddy's shaving stuff.”

“We'll be out in a second,” Celeste shouted.

The childrens' voices were muffled behind the closed door. Patsy looked out the window again. Her mother was shouting at the cab driver. Her mother was so loud. That was one thing money could never hide. No matter how much cash you had; if you'd been loud and poor somewhere in the past, you remained loud until the day you died.

Patsy remembered a breathing technique she'd learned from an exercise program on television. Bad thoughts out, exhale. Good thoughts in; breath deep and hold. Repeat and start all over again. She did that several times. The kids opened the bathroom door and scooted down the hallway to their bedroom with Celeste yelling at the top of her lungs.

“Grandma's here! Grandpa's here!”

Once she got the folks inside the house, Patsy welcomed her father to San Francisco by serving him a drink on the deck overlooking the backyard. It was ten o'clock in the morning and time for Daf's first high ball of the day. She served him a tall, frosted children's water glass filled to the rim with ice dunked in liquor.

“Thanks, doll. I do need something to take the edge off my nerves,” Daf said. “It's been a rough morning.”

“Here you go, Daf,” Patsy said.

He peered at the glass with flinty, suspicious eyes.

“Did you put enough gin in there?”

“What makes you think I'd short change you on a drink? Have I ever done that to you? Can you remember when? Not once, and you know it,” Patsy said.

“You know me,” he crowed. “What you see is what you get. That's my motto.”

The stewardess on the shuttle flight had refused to serve Daf anything, saying it was too early. She said it was in his own best interest to abstain during the short flight. Daf was a World War Two veteran who'd served his country in the European Theater. He'd come home with a bunch of medals on his chest and a jag of shrapnel in his leg. He didn't need anyone's advice about his personal habits. Daf told the flight attendant to drop dead with a smile of his own.

In between making money and putting it in the bank and sleeping with other women during the first twenty years of his marriage to her mother, he accused everyone of cheating him on a drink. He was a poor boy who had made big money on the West Coast selling insurance to the
wealthy Anglo gerontocracy. He'd pulled more than a few scams in his time.

Daf was tough and craggy, but Patsy was seeing a fragility in him that she'd never noticed before. He swallowed his drink with uncertainty. His hands shook with an almost feverish trembling, the blood pinging through the large, purple veins on his forearms. His skin was parchment paper; the color in his gray eyes turned to amber. He looked up at his daughter with a fey grin twisting his lips. She could see a change was overcoming him. Daf was getting old.

“You all right, dad? You're looking sort of peaked.”

Daf took a hearty gulp from the water glass, smacked his lips and belched, “I never felt better.”

“Honey? Can you come in here? I want to show you some pictures I took from our vacation in Hawaii. I think you'll like them. I'm wearing a new bathing suit that I know you'll be jealous of.”

“Mom's calling me, Daf,” Patsy tittered.

“I'm not surprised,” he said. “She's always wanting your attention.”

He cackled with a false, reflexive laugh that showed the better part of his dentures. At moments like that, Daf displayed a heroic vulnerability.

“You go inside and take care of your mother. I'll sit here and sip on my drink and stay out of trouble.”

If it was only that easy, Patsy said to herself. She walked back into the kitchen, letting her eyes adjust to the shift in light. Her mother was sitting at the table with a large pile of photographs. The sun was shining directly
into the old woman's eyes, illuminating her blue rinsed hair.

“Looks like you've gained a little weight, Patsy,” she said. “You haven't been getting enough exercise lately, have you?”

“If you mean my tits are bigger, mom, it's because I'm premenstrual. I feel bloated.”

Her mother was the queen of the artful innuendo. She could make a sentence feel like a dagger or a bunch of flowers, depending on her mood. A Gordian knot of emotions was looping across her leathery face. Patsy sat down on the other side of the table and smiled at her.

“Look at this photograph, honey.”

Patsy scanned the picture her mother handed to her.

“Well, ma, that's some bathing suit. Where did you get it?”

Her mother was sitting next to a swimming pool with her feet dangling in the water. She was smiling for the camera man, which had to be Daf. Her eyes were conveniently hidden by a pair of oversized tinted glasses. Patsy had never seen a more cynical mouth on a human being. Her mother was wearing a red bikini that did little to hide her cellulite. She was exhibiting her defects with a vengeance, challenging the camera.

“Do you like my suit, baby?”

“I don't know, ma. To be honest, I don't think scarlet is your best color.”

Patsy's tone was as tart as a lemon. Her mother steered her attention away from the photograph to another topic, cutting from one subject to the next with surgical directness.

“How's life with the doctor, cupcake?”

“Me and the doctor are getting along just fine, ma. What makes you ask a question like that?”

“You know me,” her mother said. “I want my baby girl to be as happy as I was when I was your age. Your father and I, we've had some good times together. I always hope that you and your husband are having fun while you're still young. Life doesn't get any better when you get older. You know that, don't you, darling?”

At last, an oracle had come to Twenty-first Street.

 

 

 

 

 

 

d
oreen was holding Bellamy's hand while the wind flew off the top of Mount Davidson. The wind played with his hair transplant. Doreen didn't know anything about the transplant. For the time being until he got to know her better, he wasn't going to tell her. Bellamy gathered her in his arms. She nestled against his chest. They hadn't said a word to each other in the last five minutes. It was some kind of record for him.

Some women would let you do that. They could tell a man exactly what they wanted from him without having to explain anything. That suited him fine. Bellamy wasn't particularly skilled at talking. The way he saw it, a command of the language had never been one of his strong points. He was a non-verbal type of guy. He preferred to live with the spaces that were in between words. He hopscotched from space to space, making sure he didn't get tangled up in promises that he couldn't take back later if he had to.

Looking back, he'd been recalcitrant to call her up after their first date. That wouldn't have been an effective course of action. The pursuit of a woman by a man was not a desirable prospect for anyone these days. In deference to the other gender, Bellamy didn't want to promote himself too strongly. But the world played with your head: their liaison had taken on new contours.

“What are you thinking?”

Her voice was no louder than a child's. He felt the swell of her breasts against his bulletproof vest. He'd taken a shower the day before and he knew he was smelling finer than usual. Since he'd started hanging out with Doreen, he was bathing more often. It wasn't a bad idea. But he still didn't have any clean socks and he was hungry, almost ravenous. Vultures were pecking at his entrails. It made him realize that he'd been eating meals off a hot plate his entire adult life.

“Ah, nothing much,” he replied. “Just how cool it is to stand here with you. You know, shit like that.”

“It feels good to hold you, too, Bells,” she said.

She fit perfectly against him. Her head came right under the bottom of his chin. Bells. How did she know to call him that? It was another space in his life that Doreen had discovered. The way she was treating him, kissing and hugging him all of the time, it was hard to say what space she hadn't made her own. He even got along with her girls. They were the best kids. Doreen had doted on him with extra appreciation when she saw that her kids took a shine to him. She let him spend the night with her more often after that.

“Do you ever want to get married?” she asked.

“Wait a minute,” Bellamy cautioned. “What are you talking that nonsense for?”

“It's not nonsense. It's what people do when they care about each other.”

“I don't know about that. I've seen some good relationships fall apart because of marriage.”

“You might be the exception.”

“Hey, Doreen, you don't know me that well.”

He didn't want her to know that he liked to play around. He didn't want her to know that he was a player. She'd peg him as a minor league operator, a sucker who just wanted to get into her pants. It would hurt her feelings. He had to show her respect. That was an entirely different region, respect was. It didn't always come with the territory. Respect had to be earned. Doreen deserved respect. She deserved to be treated like a monarch. Bellamy was an old whore and he thought he should be treated like one, too.

Doreen saw he was thinking hard. The lines on Bellamy's forehead were cutting deep into his blotched, sun-starved skin.

“I guess I never found the right woman. It's not like there aren't a lot of chicks to choose from. But whatever. Maybe I haven't been the best choice a woman could make in wanting to settle down with a guy, either. You hear where I'm coming from?”

“Don't get so anxious. I won't harm you,” she said.

Bellamy was saying more than he intended to, Jesus help him. What he really needed was a drink and a bite to
eat. Maybe a hamburger with fries. He licked his chapped lips and looked down at Doreen's upturned face. She was radiating the beginnings of a love. He could see the feeling in her eyes. She was grinning at him, showing him her yellow, corn kernel-sized teeth.

“After all of these years being a cop on the beat, and knowing that I'm too much of a fuck up to get promoted, what woman would marry me? I live out of the back seat of the squad car. My spare uniform is in the trunk. I don't need to live anywhere else, even if I could afford to, which I can't.”

There: he was out with it. Let her judge his testimony. He was a homeless cop. He wasn't sure if marriage would allow him enough room.

“You should see my partner, Coddy. The man is making himself sick in the head about getting a new house. When we drive around the city, I listen to Coddy talk to himself. He never completes a sentence when he's like that. It's this game he's playing with himself. Something has come over him lately, and let me tell you, it ain't pleasant,” Bellamy guffawed.

Doreen stirred in his arms. It was the longest speech Bellamy had ever made in her presence.

“Do you want to come in?” she asked.

“Where are the kids?”

“They're at my sister's.”

“How come?”

“I thought...I thought I could get you to come over.”

She didn't say anything else. There wasn't any need to. The unsaid words nearly shouted themselves into the air.
Bellamy could hear them ringing in his ears. He was going to have a rupture from fear, and from another emotion he'd never encountered before. He didn't know what to call it. Love was too strong of a word. It felt more like pneumonia than anything else.