Missing Reels (9 page)

“I like kasha. If it makes you happy I’ll get some kielbasa with it.”

“Strikes you as a fair trade, does it.” She had her hand in her purse. “Here’s my idea. You don’t smoke during dinner, and that will cover all foodstuffs.”

She snapped the purse shut. “All right, deal.”

He ordered pastrami, which impressed Ceinwen because it was very New York, and he hadn’t been here that long. Then he wanted to know what she was doing on Avenue C. She told him about Jim and Talmadge.

“You live with two men?”

“Yeah. Safer, don’t you think?”

“I, ah, guess that depends.”

“If you mean are they gay, yes.”

“A couple?”

“Nope. Old friends. They knew each other for ages before they met me. They bicker, but we all basically get along. Big improvement over my last place.”

It was impressive how he could bite into such a huge sandwich and not have a single piece of pastrami fall out. She realized he was trying to phrase something.

“Tell me. If you don’t mind. How does a woman from Mississippi wind up …”

“Wind up what, in New York?”

“No, I meant the living arrangements. Aren’t people in your part of the country, well …”

“This,” she told him, as she pushed the kielbasa to one side of the plate, “is my part of the country now.”

He seemed to have more on his mind, but all he said was, “Fair enough.”

She explained to him about Sandra, the painter who’d been her roommate on Avenue A, and the studio they’d shared: “Never share a studio.” She told him about the loft bed in the apartment that Sandra got an ex-boyfriend to build for her, and the curtains they’d hung under it to surround Ceinwen’s bed. She’d thought it would be like a Victorian novel, having a bed surrounded by curtains, but Sandra seemed to think the fabric was soundproof, and she kept bringing home different men.

“And that was when you said, time to move in with the gay non-couple?”

“Look, I’m not a prude. She thought I was, but I’m not. I just wanted to walk around my apartment without stumbling over a bunch of guys.”

“No, you’re not a prude. We’ve established that. What made you give up?”

“She invited a guy who lived in a squat up to the place, and he took her rent money off the dresser.”

“Hasn’t she heard of banks?”

“Who uses banks? They cost too much and take forever to clear your checks. She was like me, we just cashed the paychecks and got money orders when we had to.” She’d felt sorry for Sandra, and didn’t want to leave her stranded, but Jim and Talmadge were looking for a third roommate and they took her out to dinner and proposed. Talmadge went down on one knee. She left the following month.

She did generally feel better on a full stomach; the problem was having the time and the money to fill it. As the waitress slipped the check on the table she said, with new energy, “How about a drink?”

He grinned. “What if you’re rumbled?”

“Rumbled?”

“May I see some ID, miss?”

“That’s fine,” she assured him. “I turned twenty-one all the way back in June.” She started going through her purse, but the cigarettes seemed to be hiding from her. “Talmadge and Jim and Roxanne from the store took me to Marie’s Crisis. It’s this gay piano bar over in the West Village where they play show tunes and everybody sings along. And I don’t like to brag, but the guys there were real impressed that I knew all the lyrics to ‘Let Yourself Go.’” She finally found the cigarettes and the lighter, too. “Dinner is over, right?” She looked up, cigarette in hand. “Come on, there aren’t even any plates on the table.”

“You’re twenty-one?”

“That’s what I said. Why, how old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.” She’d upset him again, but this time it wasn’t her fault.

“You were asking if I’d get carded.”

“I was joking.”

“How old did you think I was?”

“I’m not sure.” Same expression.

“How old do I look?” She was losing patience. Was it her fault he had trouble back-dating women?

“Right now? With your lipstick rubbed off and a spot of gravy on your chin? About twelve.”

“So this is good news,” she pointed out. She was suggesting a drink, that’s all, nothing that could get them arrested, even in Mississippi. She’d been on her own for more than two years, and she could get a drink if she wanted. But not if he was going to keep looking at her like she was a room he’d trashed the night before. He had the check in his hand. If she didn’t do something fast she was going to get put in another cab.

“There’s a bar right across the street from Theatre 80. We could go there.” She’d show him. If one look at the Holiday didn’t prove she was a grownup, she might as well go see what Jim and Talmadge were up to. “No singing, but it’s an interesting crowd.” He had his wallet out, but he seemed to have forgotten what for; he was staring at a twenty like he’d never seen American money before. “Drinks are on me,” she offered.

“Are they now?” He looked up and handed her a napkin. She’d forgotten the gravy.

“Sure.” Adding, as she wiped her chin, “It’s cheap.”

At last he was smiling again. “So you’re taking me to a dive.”

She beamed back at him in relief. “Me and my roommates, we only go to dives. It’s a matter of pride.” She excused herself to the bathroom so she could reapply her lipstick. It made more difference than she’d realized.

When they arrived at the Holiday the crowd was just as she’d hoped, the punks and the rockers back at the jukebox, the old serious drinkers up front around the bar. The dinginess was mitigated only by skimpy Christmas lights that stayed up year-round, the cigarette smoke was always visible near the ceiling, the floor was always sticky, and everybody gave you a mean look as soon as you walked in. Ceinwen had never liked it, exactly, but she figured taking someone there made you look tough. Like taking someone to the saloon in
Destry Rides Again
.

“Congratulations,” said Matthew, under his breath. “This really is a dive.”

“You didn’t believe me?”

“I thought you might not have much to compare it with.”

They found seats at the bar. She thought about Marlene Dietrich and tried to slide onto the barstool in a way that would show off her legs. It was a decent effort, she thought, but once she was seated she remembered that the footrest was at a bad level. She crossed her legs, felt her skirt ride up, and tried to solve this problem with a discreet tug, while Matthew was busy ordering a scotch. She got a glass of wine. She hadn’t minded the Holiday wine before, but now that she’d had Harry’s, she realized it was terrible. She was determined to drink it anyway, and steeled herself not to make a face, because he was sure to notice.

She decided it was finally time to ask about England. He was from Putney, which he said was sort of like a suburb of London, and he’d had an alarmingly normal upbringing. His parents were still married, even. His father was a barrister, and his biggest problem growing up was that he didn’t want to be one, too. He hadn’t known what he wanted to do after he finished their version of high school and had taken something he called a gap year, where you traveled and tried to make up your mind. He’d gone to the Middle East and the South Pacific, and by the time he decided he wanted to see Japan his gap year had stretched into two. Now he was behind. In math, you weren’t supposed to take time off. Since he’d stopped then, he couldn’t stop now, or he’d never get tenure.

Guess I’m having some gap years myself, she thought. “You went to Cambridge straight through?”

He nodded. “This is my first outside post.”

She’d have to ask sooner or later, Talmadge be damned. “Did you meet Anna there?”

“Yes. She spent a year there. My third.” Ceinwen did the math in her head. Six years. Something like that.

“Would Anna be upset that we’re out tonight?” Jim
had
pointed out that the girlfriend was a fact whether she brought her up or not.

“No. Anna and I have an understanding.” She hoped it was the concept as much as the cliché that was embarrassing him. Anna didn’t understand why you might want to say please and thank you to a salesgirl. Ceinwen didn’t buy the notion that Anna would understand that same salesgirl going out with her boyfriend for drinks and a movie. Plus two dinners and half a roast beef sandwich. She waited for the follow-up, and when it didn’t happen, she said, “What does Anna understand?”

“When she went back to Italy, we talked about how to handle it. We knew we’d have only summers and holidays and there’d be long stretches in between.” He was, for some reason, talking to the beer tap. “And we decided we wouldn’t worry about what happened when we were apart, as long as things were the same when we got back together.”

“So it’s all right to cheat.” Talmadge was going to be some kinda pissed off.

“It isn’t cheating.” He peeled the cocktail napkin off the bottom of his glass and took a swallow. “It’s cheating when you lie. This is just …”

Nope, she was not going to supply him with a phrase, no matter how long he let that hang. And she wouldn’t let him leave it blank, either. “Just what?”

“Fun.” He downed the rest of his drink and set it on the bar. “That’s the idea, anyway.”

Fun. Last year she’d tried to have fun with that guitar player who went to Columbia. She’d met him soon after she got to New York, when she was still forcing herself to go to parties. Flattered by first-time male interest, she wore miniskirts, hid her Duran Duran and Doris Day records, and acted like she loved the Replacements. She talked to his friends about politics she didn’t follow and writers she’d never read. His band went on a short tour. She didn’t realize how short until she found out he had been back for a month, and never called.

Still, she wouldn’t have to stand around dark, airless clubs, her ears pounded by music she secretly didn’t like that much. Matthew wouldn’t have her out in the street trying to flag down one of the few Checker cabs left in the city because those were the only ones big enough to hold a Marshall amp. NYU was a much easier commute from Avenue C than Columbia.

Besides, she liked him very much.

“After two,” she said. “Probably time to think about heading out.” She’d already paid for the drinks.

“Probably.” He stood up and held out her coat. “I’ll walk you to Avenue C. You can introduce me to all your favorite derelicts.”

“You could come up for a minute if you want.” She slipped her arms in the sleeves and turned around to face him because she didn’t know what to do with his hands on her shoulders. “It’s getting a little chilly out. I could make you some tea.”

“Won’t we disturb your roommates?” He put on his own coat.

“Not if we’re quiet. Tea isn’t noisy.” She didn’t blush on her face like normal people, she never had. She reddened on her chest and right along the base of her throat. She put up a hand to cover it, but he wasn’t looking at her neck.

“Quiet tea, then.” He pushed in the barstool. “After you.”

The streets got less busy as they headed further east. There were long stretches with no people, except a couple of guys who looked like they were the “hey Blondie” type, though not when there was a man around. She kept one hand on her purse, the other in her pocket, and her eyes anywhere but him, and told him what she’d read about
The Crowd
in Harry’s books. Eleanor Boardman was married to King Vidor, but wasn’t it great that he hadn’t tried to make her glamorous? The actors looked like ordinary people. James Murray though, he drank too much, and one day after his career had gone south, he was scrounging change off passersby and one of them turned out to be Vidor. By the way, the top part of this building is nice.

“The cornice,” he said. He didn’t seem upset or nervous or anything else.

They arrived and she pushed on the door. “No lock?” he asked.

“Not for the past month. No doorman either.” She started up the stairs. “And no elevator.”

When they reached the fourth floor Matthew held up his hand and stopped, leaning back on the railing. “How much farther?”

“Two more flights.”

“When you invite someone for tea, you might think to mention you live on top of K2.”

“How do you think I stay skinny?”

“You’re skinny,” he said, looking up the stairwell, “because you smoke instead of eating.”

“That’s what everybody says.”

“Dare I suggest this should tell you something.” She started up the next flight. He didn’t move. “This better be good tea.”

“It’s chamomile.”

“You said tea. That’s not tea.”

She tapped her foot. “Are you coming, or just complaining?” He gave himself a push off the rails and followed.

As she opened the door Ceinwen put her finger to her lips and pointed to Talmadge’s screened-off room. They slipped off their coats and shoes and padded to the living room. She switched on the lamp and he walked to the couch, then bent almost double to check out the cinder blocks.

“It’s pretty comfortable,” she whispered, feeling defensive.

“I’m sure it is. Clever solution, that.” He dropped onto the couch and it shifted slightly on the blocks. “Maybe you should consider glue.”

“I’ll get the tea. Sorry, I mean the chamomile.”

He was pushing back on his feet, checking the couch’s movement. “I’ll be here.”

She had to heat the water in a pan, and the weak burners meant that this always took a while. Usually they used tap water, which came out boiling hot, but an Englishman was sure to notice a shortcut like that. She lit a cigarette off the burner. She could go talk to him while she waited on the water. But then she’d have to sit with him on the couch. She could sit on the floor cushions, though that was kind of obvious. Ugh, but so was the couch. If they both had tea, that gave them an activity. And then they could watch a movie. A quiet movie. What did she have with subtitles?

When she emerged, wondering if he was a leave-in-the-bag or take-it-out kind of person, he was sprawled full length on the couch with one arm over his eyes. She set the mugs on the table and stood over him.

“Matthew?” He’d had only one scotch, but he’d seemed awfully tired. Must be all that math. She put a hand on the back of the couch and bent toward his ear. “Matthew? Are you asleep?”