Women and Men (191 page)

Jimmy you are the light of my life, said Santee, meeting head of Independent Messenger Unit wheeling bike out on morning message-sandwich job combining own work with T&W fast-slowed messages. Jimmy, could you take this to the same young woman at the foundation? said Spence, though "Santee" was name in upper left of large envelope, which without complaint was put in large twin-shoulder bag out of sight along with log notebook now carried everywhere with proprietor of IMU.

But the young woman named Amy sent material to, and rec’d it from, young woman Jean, who received at least two enclosures from Sarah Mayn, one jointly sent Jean by Sarah and very small woman named Lincoln that heard of Turnstein through Miss Kimball, who no longer uses Tumstein but uses IMU, so business improves.

Georgie did not make mother believe in the bike; she does not believe her son could ride one with his retard and his limp; she does not feel the flow.

Asked Santee what sign meant outside warehouse next door. Didn’t answer, then said he would ask; said, Probably just business, you know.

Was rushing to Turnstein’s near noon and after locking bike by Korean fruit and vegetable boxes was accused by Senora Wing of monkey business and taking much too long. Turnstein’s twins could be trained to carry messages, she said.

k. Would tape-record, but don’t rely on speaking. Gustave reported Georgie said Kimball-related bike was
stolen
and he had been roughed up by Georgie outside foundation but held on to large manila envelope taken to opera singer Luisa’s who was crying and took material from envelope and replaced it and sent it on to consulate of South American nation on Second near Forty-fifth Street—but first sat back down at piano and played song for Gustave, good fast-slow beat, about words being made of breath and breath of life the coinage of your brain, for love of Grace my pulse keeps time with yours—a long song and Gustave sat down in his coat on a rickety little chair, and the lady Luisa had a loud voice that could be very soft and she cried again while she was singing but she was smiling.

Gustave brave, but freaked by Georgie, who does not know where IMU and bike are located (though he know that what he telling Gustave is boolshit, like that Fuji bikes have self-destruct "nitrate" controlled at company headquarters; bike is a Raleigh anyhow), but now IMU have to ask where did Miss Kimball get it? Georgie tell Gustave he’ll speak to J.B.’s mother, and who is this guy Spence who’s running show, you fuckin’ retard.

Gustave said he almost looked in envelope later going uptown. This would violate policy. These people do not matter; the work matter. The messages and graphics work and other stuff in envelopes, in packages. The client confidence. The cartoon plates. You don’t know what you carry from client to client. You get there in you lanes, you look ahead to obstacles in the lanes, you look ahead to which door is chosen to not open today on this car. You get there, and that’s business. Mother called, got Spence/Santee: he said Jim Banks out on a job, J.B.’s a good man. Mother said, He’s a boy, and Santee/ Spence said, He’s the light of my life.

Who are you? she asked.

Son of Turnstein, replied purchaser-provider of answering machine. Well, I’m worried about his digestion, said mother.

Luisa told Gustave she singing for her father. She sad but all wired up.

1. What was missing? Hopefully the next thing not the last. But bike flow made up for a lot, and gave more than motion, more than power, more than pride: it was giving new thoughts, but no time for them. Find time, then. Messengers all over, but not in organization. Limping, big-necked, lolling-headed, splay-ankled, bobbing real seriously through City that is only partly seen, frowning, splay-eyed, two-handing their big manila envelopes, the delivery package, knowing exact address of destination and shortest distance to it but maybe looking like they don’t know nothing else but mother feeding them their meat and their chocolate milk, their banana pie and spinach and carrots; looking like they got to struggle to hold in their head what bus or subway to take to get there—and first and last employed, employed so long as they’re employed.

Spence asked if log of day’s work was kept—just asking, he said, but he must have noticed that log is now not available in office, but he don’t know it is in J.B. twin-shoulder back-pack as founder of IMU. Why concerned?, said Gustave alone in office at end of day after final base-touching run to Turnstein-Wing’s with receipt from other job and Wing did not say anything, not "How come you so slow?" not "What’s going on?" but nothing, not a look. Nothing going on. Turnstein’s twins reading comic books in bunk. Why concerned? said Gustave back at office. Wanted to feel safe. O.K., O.K., said Gustave; but what was safe? knowing for sure which of two subway doors will open so as not to stand in front of wrong one? I was surprised, realizing that I had not been thinking about dual-door problem. Now thinking of surface problems: like when cab in bike lane will suddenly stop to pick up or drop passengers stalling lane, and heavy traffic coming on right. Flow is where it’s at; and flow underground with limp and large jaw became flow by bike which eliminated limp and streamlined the jaw: but security needed—job security now that Maureen went to Florida and mother and social worker do not always use new phone number but call Turnstein-Wing.

m. Cab came close (if you can ride, why walk?) and ran beside bike like they are locked in for good. And it was Santee/Spence—with a man with a mustache and a hat and a sport jacket and muffler; it’s O.K. if you inside, but if you outside in you lane you need you sweatshirt hood up above you coat (why you want to hang on to that old sweatshirt? mother says every morning—next thing she’ll be changing her mind and say, Better try to go to high school after all).

It didn’t matter how Spence/Santee got there beside IMU founder in parallel lane; he just
was.

It didn’t matter why Lady Luisa cried; she played piano and sang, and it did not matter what she said about her father, or what she did with envelope she put music and word pages into and held and then handed over, then took back out of Gustave’s hands, then handed over, then wasn’t sure again, then said, "Go." Because what matters is getting the envelope to destination, not why the sender is sending it or how she feels.

Business (again) = building on what is known. Business is a management trip, Miss Kimball said. Manage messages.

Message waiting on answering machine for Santee very slow: "Please . . . call . . . Mr. . . . Mr. . . .
Mason
. . . at"—and a phone number, suddenly known but not quite placed.

Checked in at T&W’s where Santee is out on sidewalk while I’m locking bike down block by garbage cans beside fruit and vegetable place where part-full cigarette carton thrown from third-floor window targets IMU founder’s shoulder turning from bike. Sehora Wing out on sidewalk, may have caught J.B. leaving bike, therefore in possession of (a) bike, but ignored J.B. approach; was she dealing with Santee/Spence?
He’s
dealing with old man and weird, nice old lady, and gave sign to J.B. like "Let’s talk later, not now."

Old man said, "Gave her a brand-new vibrator in a box." Santee said, "But you told Grace—" "She did all the talking," said the old man.

"But you—"

"Get the hell in here," said Wing to secret founder of IMU, yet seemed to know Santee (what showed it?), so J.B. just managed to hear old lady say, "She knows the Navajo Prince too," and "No; she said something else," the old man said, but Santee said, "She said
‘Navachoor,’
but she thinks she
is
the Prince partly."

Inside, Turnstein said, "Your mother called. She said I had a new number, but then she said, No she was wrong. Look, if you don’t get a move on, I gotta fire you, Jimmy. What are you doing, pocketing the subway fare and walking?"

Wing looked up, weird. "You take a job from the foundation to another party?—woman name Barbara-Jean Kennedy?" but then Wing didn’t go on with it, while J.B. stammering for first time today wanted to get outa there; and she said, "If you can sit, why stand," and turned the page of her Spanish magazine that had a picture of a tower sticking up out of the ocean on the cover.

n. Upon arrival at his subway stop, Gustave was told by wildman on platform, "Come on outa there." Gustave reported subway motorman told him one of two doors won’t open because when it’s getting too slow, on account of the connection-terminals are faulty, they switch it off.

Santee looked at can of silver paint set down in corner near file cabinet but asked if there was more to machine message from man Mason. Only phone number, IMU founder answered and cootn’t help smiling. Santee said, "You sure?" Yes, J.B. policy. Santee said, "If I thought that . . . listen, you didn’t open ..."

And then I knew Mason’s phone number; it was on the envelope Gustave carried from Lady Luisa to Chilean consulate and logged on sheet to be added to main IMU log.

Mother said at suppertime, "That Turnstein’s bad news." That was all. She was not asking questions like she used to. Made me take extra Vitamin C for nerves and said I should take a day off, I’m working too hard. She asked was there anything I’m not telling her.
"What?"
I asked. "How do
I
know?" she laughed.

Time flies, as mother said, but I didn’t know where it went except into each full day. Felt light coming from behind riding bike down Fifth Avenue. Asked Santee how much answering machine cost—wanted to buy it. He laughed like a friendly fox and said, "Sorry, J.B., it’s priceless. I mean I couldn’t afford to let you have it." He answered phone—our phone, IMU phone—and while he’s talking on phone looked at me and said, "Oh they know something we don’t."

Senora Wing was fighting with Turnstein when I checked in. "Nobody’s gon’ find out about your kids as long as you’re smart," she said, and she stopped speaking, her golden and ruby bracelets clanking though her hands were on her hips and she wasn’t moving her arms; she knew I was behind her. I was thinking of quitting T&W, taking a chance with social worker and mother. "We need you, Jimmy," Senora said without turning around; "just don’t bring us no bad news."

Gustave reported a message came on the machine for Santee, and Gustave ran it back to where Santee could play it like for the first time himself, told me it said, "This is T.W., in from the West—don’t know about any portable mountain like the one described but I’m ready for Jersey assignment," so the weird words looked back into Gustave and me and we had the same thought that we better find a new office for Independent Messenger Unit—maybe take on another man—otherwise we would have to change a policy of ours in self-defense. Wasn’t "T.W." Turnstein-Wing? But I suddenly saw,
Why
does it have to be?

o. Turnstein’s twins carried on in the window. The old lady watched and laughed. The old man shivered. Turnstein got a call. Build on what you know. The twins were looking like a pair of girls today, and they fell out of the window into the office. They were tired of sparring. Senora Wing said, "We got to keep the old couple coming here every day," like Turnstein wasn’t on the phone. Turnstein sent me on the job, and Wing said suddenly, "So do you know the guy who goes out with that girl Jean?" but I couldn’t get the words out and it was only one word but it seemed like a lot. "Only good news, Jimmy," she said; "don’t carry bad, because bad news ain’t so good."

Turnstein’s twins were boys sometimes, sometimes girls. They had stole from message envelopes once and got early retirement but he couldn’t have them at home and Senora Wing said they should be locked up.

Every time I made my circuit and touched base at T&W, it felt like I came back to a little different place. My bike might get ripped off, or they might have some bushes, holding them back for me to come through like when we went to New Jersey for July Fourth—and everybody said we’re climbing this mountain but it didn’t seem like one until we got into a ravine and a man who looked like my father held the bush back like a rubber band so I could get through and afterward Georgie outside the supermarket said,
"Ain’t
no mountains in Jersey, man." But when I would come back to T&W something would be waiting for me except maybe the bushes wouldn’t hold till I was through and I never had nothing but the receipt, and as far as I knew, no bad news, but how did I know what Senora Wing meant by bad news?

p. Gustave was knocked down outside the warehouse next door but held true to his envelope and I came by a minute later and he said he didn’t see who did it and they disappeared so fast he didn’t even hear their feet running away. He wished he was in Bonita Springs with Maureen. He was coming from Miss Kimball’s building where he dropped off a package with logo plate and other material from lecture-booking agency and picked up a giant green envelope from unexpected client (music-composer friend of singer Ford North, friendly, insulting, 4’Think I can use you in my opera!," cracked himself up, laughed and laughed rolling on floor, while Gustave didn’t know what to do until later after I picked him up off sidewalk and assessed situation with sanitation workers and Orientals passing us along Twenty-fourth Street either side, Gustave said glump-glump garoom-garoom the way he speak, that little shit music-composer maybe wasn’t insulting him after all but meant it and got off on it, etcetera), business directed our way by Miss Kimball who ran into little sonofabitch music-composer boyfriend of North in laundry room where he had cornered a rare brown-and-blue-speckled rat he was capturing with a mop for a pet—so Gustave got a quick job from Kimball-North apartment building to warehouse-theater building because composer-ratcatcher who said words in foreign language not Spanish didn’t want to walk the distance himself with what was in the green envelope—and neither Gustave nor I knew how Gustave had held on to the green envelope later against attackers who had disappeared so fast they seemed to have gone into the nearest entrance which was actual destination of assignment, i.e., warehouse-theater.