Part 10 (1/2)
Sara sat straight up in bed. Someone was pounding on her door. She padded silently across the apartment. On the other side of the peephole was a skinny little man with a blond crew cut wearing a striped tie and a white short-sleeved s.h.i.+rt.
”Who is it?” she asked.
”Tim Smart. I'm the building manager. Can you open up, please?”
”What do you want?” She rubbed her eyes and blinked.
”You're way overdue on rent. If I don't have your payment within three days, with a fifty dollar late fee, you're going to be evicted.”
Shakily Sara unlocked the door and opened it. Tim Smart stared at her. ”Wait,” she said. She blinked her eyes several times, trying to make them stay open. The lids dragged like her eyeb.a.l.l.s were made of scratchy, splintery wood. ”I'll get my checkbook.”
Her checkbook was not in her purse. She dropped the purse and rolled her neck, trying to work some of the Valium out of her system.
The checkbook was not on her desk.
Tim Smart was still standing in the doorway with his mouth open like a little Neanderthal.
The checkbook was on the kitchen counter, next to a calculator. She wrote the check with her entire left arm draped over the counter and her head supported on the elbow. Still holding the calculator, she returned to the door and shoved the check at him.
She shook her head again, uncertain as to whether she'd stay conscious long enough to finish the conversation. ”There,” she said. ”It's two months' worth, plus your fifty bucks. Happy now?”
Silently, he nodded slowly up and down without taking his eyes off her. She closed the door in his face and locked it, s.n.a.t.c.hing her purse off of the floor and digging through it. The last 8-ball she'd bought from Alexander was still there.
Her legs stopped working. She crumpled to the floor. The itchy wool of her mother's old Oriental rug against her skin was just enough stimulation for one more thought before she pa.s.sed out: She was completely naked.
Her father's voice came from far away, as if he were somewhere at the end of a long cave or pipe.
”... I know your mother has made you hate me with whatever the h.e.l.l she's been saying. And that's too bad, because I don't think it's fair of you to just turn against your family like you're doing. It really isn't fair to any of us.
”You should have stopped in to see me when you picked up the car, Sara. The girls at the reception desk said they never saw you so I know you didn't even come upstairs. This is the thanks I get for giving you a car like that?”
He paused and sighed into the phone. His breath blowing against the receiver made a mechanical crackling sound over the answering machine speaker.
”And now everybody's Thanksgiving plans have been made, and n.o.body's heard from you. Obviously you're not planning on seeing any of us for the holiday. You didn't even care enough to call your grandparents. They didn't do anything to you, Sara, and you really hurt their feelings. None of us deserve this from you.”
There was another pause. Sara's eyes wouldn't open.
”So since you obviously don't care about me or anyone on my side of the family, I went and talked to my lawyer today. It turns out that under the divorce agreement I'm required to pay your college tuition for four years, but that's it. So that's all I'm doing, Sara. You can arrange to have your university bills sent to me and I'll pay the tuition part, but I'm not sending you any more checks. Since you've decided that you're only going to see your mother anymore, you can just look to her when you want money.”
Sara's eyes opened. She was still on the floor. She had no idea how long she had been there.
”Can you smell it?” Sara asked. ”I love how strong my senses are these days. There's turkey, and potatoes ... I can even smell cranberry sauce, I think. Someone in this s.h.i.+tty building's having a real Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving.”
Alexander didn't reply. He just kept staring out the window at the parking lot. Hippy Joe shrugged. ”Well, it is Thanksgiving, I guess.”
Sara smiled, gesturing to the little paper plates of cocaine and the three gla.s.ses of champagne on the coffee table. ”Still, I think it's funny I can smell all that without getting hungry at all. I'd rather have our feast, anyway. Thanks for nabbing the champagne and the gla.s.ses.”
Joe raised his eyebrows, making them almost disappear into his strawberry-blonde hair. ”Good deal for me,” he said. ”I swipe some booze from work, you guys give me some blow. We've all got something to be thankful for.”
Sara did another line. Of her own c.o.ke.
Since he's decided to use me and make me pay for the privilege. But it's fine. They're all the same. At least I can get c.o.ke from him.
”So anyway, my dad says he's not paying for s.h.i.+t now, right?” she said. Joe nodded but Alexander didn't respond. ”I'm totally on my own. No notice, nothing. Just f.u.c.king cuts me off. Son of a b.i.t.c.h!” She raised her gla.s.s in what she thought might be the direction of her grandparents' house in Connecticut.
”You, uh,” Alexander said, clearing his throat. His voice was raspy and scratchy these days, and he talked slower than before. ”You want me to, you know ... f.u.c.k him up the a.s.s for you?”
Sara laughed. ”Could you? That'd be great.”
Alexander turned back to the window.
”Hey, man,” Joe said over his shoulder to Alexander, ”you all right? You been going to that window a whole lot today, you know? We're watchin' Bedtime for Bonzo over here. Our president is teachin' a monkey some manners. It's really Ronald Reagan with a monkey, man! C'mon over.”
Alexander made some kind of grunting sound, adjusting his position to look at a different part of the parking lot. Somehow Joe's sungla.s.ses stayed perched on the end of his nose as he shook his head, lowering his voice as he peered at Sara over the wire frames. ”Weird guy, huh?”
Sara nodded, raising her empty gla.s.s. ”I'll get more.”
”I think that's it for the champagne,” Joe said, standing. He reached into his room, holding up a bottle of Bacardi, the bat on the label facing Sara. ”But I got some demon rum we can crack open. Hey! I think I might have some brandy around. If there's juice we could mix up some zombies.”
”Juice? In this place?” Sara said. ”Not a chance.
Joe shrugged, filling his gla.s.s and handing her the bottle. She filled her own gla.s.s and then Alexander's, but he just kept staring out the window.
Sara sat at the kitchen table, rereading her copy of Salem's Lot. She had a bad case of ”senior-itis” and couldn't make herself do her homework for the next day. It was hard to care about high school anymore.
There was a fancy little box containing two pastries on the counter, obviously for something special Mummy was planning.
A pair of raised voices drifted down the stairs, the words at first indecipherable. Footsteps pounded down the upstairs hall.
”I've had it!” a man's voice said. Sara couldn't place it. Did she know him? ”Psycho b.i.t.c.h!” he yelled.
The words hung in Sara's mind. Psycho b.i.t.c.h. She felt as if she was sampling the phrase, tasting it with her brain.
”How dare you talk to me that way when you come to my house to treat me like this!” her mother screamed. ”And with my daughter in the house, you G.o.dd.a.m.ned s.h.i.+thead.”
”Your daughter oughta know what you are!”
”You sonofab.i.t.c.h p.r.i.c.k! You can't just use me and walk out on me like this. I'm not your G.o.dd.a.m.ned toy.”
Sara recognized the closed-mouthed noise her mother made when she was about to attack. It was like a growl but higher in pitch. The front door opened- probably him trying to get out. He made some surprised yelp as the slaps started- the kind where she swung down with the heels of her palms that always made Sara feel like her head would cave in.