Leo Rache.
Pablo D’Stair
Copyright © 2011 by Pablo D’Stair
(KUBOA)/SmashWords Edition
www.kuboapress.wordpress.com
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Cat’s in the well, horse is going bumpety bump
Back alley Sally is doing the American jump
Bob Dylan
i.
Leo Rache shoplifted a notebook to write poetry for Lea Kincaid in. The theft wasn’t the least bit clever, the book into his pocket he strode to the shop door. To celebrate, he bought cigarettes and smoked them in the open cold by the city canal.
It'd been months since he'd seen Lea. A chance encounter with her younger sister, in town for a visit, had brought her to mind. He had other things he should think about, but now he couldn't.
He walked around for awhile and then stole a pen.
***
When he showed the first poem he'd written to his friend Blake Darby, the reaction was mild.
-I didn't know you wrote poetry.
-I've just started.
Blake nodded, reading, rereading, then for some reason reading the piece aloud, taking an emphatic pause at the end.
-That's alright, man. I write poetry, you know?
-Sure, that's why I showed it to you.
-Do you read Wallace Stevens?
Leo shrugged, admitted he didn't read anybody.
Blake left the room and came back with a volume of Stevens.
-Can't I read some of your stuff?
-Read Stevens first.
***
The coffee he'd been carrying a few hours had gone stale, but he'd already sat, didn't so much care. The bench he chose was away from any of the lampposts, but it was still generally bright enough to read, though past midnight.
It was his fifth time through the same four poems by Stevens and all he was was irritable and confused.
Shutting the book up, he spread notebook over knee but couldn't think of anything not trapped in what Stevens sounded like in his head. So, he sighed, took the Stevens and lobbed it into the canal.
It was thoughtless and he really shouldn't have done it. If Blake asked for it back, he'd have to say something.
***
He purchased an expensive edition of Stevens’ Complete Poems when he couldn’t find an identical edition to the one he’d ruined. He would tell Blake it’d been stolen or that he’d left it behind at a shop and when he went looking it’d been gone. Either way, a book found in the canal wasn’t something that’d be widely reported.
He sat in the café, barely thinking, wrote out a line or two he didn’t really like.
When he left, he walked back by the canal, smoking, sighing, gave an apologetic bow. He whispered something to himself he wished he’d written down once he was home and found that he’d forgotten it.
ii.
About done for the day, he'd been staring at the tabletop for fifteen minutes. He'd crossed out a few lines, having intended this to be the end, the deletion to complete the piece, but felt guilty somehow. It needed to be replaced, but he was bored and couldn't think with what.
The girl he thought had met his eyes a few times did so again and this time he ventured a mild look of exasperation. She reacted, pointed to ask if she could come sit where he was. He rubbed his eyes first, then nodded and leaned back.
-I've seen you here all the time, she said, scooting the chair in taps.
-Have you? He considered. I suppose I'm here a lot, then yeah?
***
Leo had explained he was working on a volume of poetry and the girl, introduced as Vera, had asked to read some. He left her with the notebook, offhand indicating where the ones he considered done were, but said she could take her time with it.
His idea was not to return to the same café, be rid of the drafts, he had fair copies of the completed poems, either way.
He lay on the sofa that night watching paid advertisements, just a bit drunk on wine. He went for a walk, a chain of six cigarettes, another glass of wine when he got home.
The next day he woke up.
***
He was jittery with coffee, drafting off what he felt was an excellent piece, quite pleased with himself. It was the first one he’d written the word Lea above, but for some reason was hesitant to add the word For. Not liking the sight after a moment, he changed Lea to Leaf and then Leaf to Leaflet then scribbled it all out.
-Vera sat down across from him. Am I bothering you?
-No.
-You always look so anxious while you write.
He didn’t respond except to finish the thin of coffee at the base of his cup.
***
When Vera asked him what he’d been writing, he
shrugged that it was just another love poem. She made a frown, but an obvious one.
-Are those all love poems?
-Sure.
-For who?
-What do you mean?
Vera took up the new one without asking, Leo yawning, looking out the window. He wondered why Vera hadn’t given his notebook back. She didn’t even have a purse with her. After it’d been a long enough time, he looked back to Vera who seemed to still be reading.
Without looking up from the page, she asked, eyes closed, if he wanted to go for a walk. He didn’t really, but said Sure and asked for the paper back.
iii.
When Leo felt he had a solid set of poems finished, he went to steal a nicer notebook to write them in. He was caught, didn't even try to explain himself. It was, in his opinion, an exaggerated ordeal. The police arrived, took his name and his address, the shop owner took a few photos of him. The eventual consequence was that he had to pay for the notebook.
A few hours later, still feeling foreign walking around, he found another shop to steal another notebook from. He was caught again, but was able, blathering in panic, to convince the store to leave the police out of it if he agreed to pay double for the thing.
***
Vera caught up to him when he was leaving the café that night. She told him he looked pretty miserable and he told her an abbreviated narrative of the day. She offered to steal a notebook for him or at least to help him.
-No, it was just bad luck. My mind is elsewhere.
-Where?
-He blew an ugly breath, Nowhere, riffled through his pockets for his cigarettes.
Vera just kept pace with him a few blocks then asked if he wanted to come with her to meet some of her friends.
-I'm just gonna call it a night, actually.
She walked with him all the way to his building and he awkwardly accepted her invitation to a get together the next day.
***
There were twenty people in the middle sized apartment, a half-dozen more on the alleyway balcony.
Vera, already intoxicated when he arrived, was always in this or that group.
Leo included himself here and there, but it was somewhat tense for him. The majority of people were writers, poets, the ones who weren't were painters or guys working on dissertations. Everyone would recommend something he should read and he’d repeatedly, more and more guardedly, explain he didn't really read, just wrote.
-How do you know what's out there, then? a certain guy asked, bewildered.
-I don't really care about what's out there he sighed in response.
He caught himself holding gaze with a girl for the fiftieth time, decided he needed to knock it off.
***
Someone recognized him as one of Blake's friends. He finished his wine, found Vera, thanked her for inviting him, said he'd be heading out. She seemed surprised, but her drunkenness could’ve explained that. He gave her his number, said she could call him later and she gave him a hug after reciting the number aloud.
Blake was asleep with the television on when he got home. Leo had another glass of wine, then went to bed.
It was three in the morning when Vera called. He answered, pretending he'd been asleep. After she said Hi he playacted being confused about the time.
-I thought it was morning. Is everything alright?
-Where did you go? she whined. Then, a giggle, she asked could she come over.
iiii.
He punched out from work, left sluggishly. It’d been an accident, his leaving the completed, enveloped, addressed book of poems at home, but since he had he was able to indulge in one more set of hesitations, misgivings. And equally as much, he could consider for another little while the idea of being bolder. As it stood, he was not including a proper return address.
He could. Or, he could send the book but not the explanatory letter. Or the book, the explanatory letter, but leave his name off. He’d not asked any friend for advice on the matter, wondered if that made him deviant somehow, the whole thing deviant.
***
It was freezing cold and he walked around until three in the morning. He was quite exhausted, mind fitful, the cigarettes he’d light kept burning out, being lit, burning out.
In a sudden rise of energy, he approached a mailbox, tossed the package in. Then, he crossed the street, sat on a bench there and stared at the squat postal box.
Not even drugstores were open the whole walk back to the apartment.
He fell asleep in front of the television, at one point blinking awake a few seconds. Darla, the girl Blake was seeing, in t-shirt and panties skittishly ducked to the fridge to grab a bottled water.
***
Vera left four messages over the course of two days, but then in the three days following those left none.
He found it odd to not have her telephone number, but realized he’d not ever asked for it. She hadn’t left it in any of the messages he played back.
When he got to the café that night she was seated, reading from some book. He loitered in the aisles, touching the spines of books. Then he waited outside, up the block smoking.
When she exited, he made it seem he was just arriving, said he was sorry he’d missed her and was sorry to not’ve called her back.
***
He mentioned to her, while they sat, about how he’d thrown Blake’s copy of Stevens’ poetry into the canal.
-Don’t you like Stevens?
-I don’t think I do. I don’t know. It got on my nerves.
Because it was he who’d brought up the subject of poets, he did his best not to get testy as she went on about some of her favorites, awhile. But it got annoying, because she obviously was increasingly disbelieving him that he didn’t know about any of them.
-What about T.S. Eliot? she said, a brattish little flirt to the question.
He sighed more than he needed to and they both sat quietly for another twenty minutes.
v.
He was fired for it being discovered he’d been grifting from the register and taking merchandise, beside. The scene was terrible. He’d had to feign earnest regret, apology. They’d only discovered a fraction of what he’d made off with and he didn’t want them thinking there was more.
He sat in a movie theatre, annoyed he hadn’t gloated.
He bought a ticket for a second movie, but didn’t stay to watch it.
Honestly, he’d liked the job, never should’ve started stealing from it.
It hadn’t even crossed his mind about Blake being home, so right away he had to explain about everything. Blake was kind enough to take a shot with him, but the interaction hardly had any energy.
***
As he lacked the luxury of being able to go without a job even a short time, Leo spent the morning and afternoon collecting applications, littering his resume here and there. He went to the café to fill out what needed to be filled out, anxious every time he needed to leave off his most recent job and any references from it. Certainly he’d be able to talk his way through that in an interview, but it was a nuisance.
When Vera asked why the job wasn’t listed, he said They wouldn’t have kind things to say about me. But an hour later, tired, less concerned, he made a show of bravado, told her how much he’d actually robbed them of.
***
He’d disliked the movie he’d seen the previous day, but when Vera asked if he wanted to see it he just said he’d heard it was terrible. Vera turned out to like it quite a bit. He was in a better mood, so made a game of saying he liked it, too.
They stopped for cigarettes. They stopped for bottled water. Vera asked if he wanted to get some wine and walk around.
-Celebrate your new job? she said, using her knee to jostle his leg.
-Maybe later, he said.
While he lit her a cigarette from his, she asked which job he wanted.
-Maybe later, he said, blowing smoke.
It seemed to make Vera very happy he’d said it.
***
At the canal, she took a folded paper from her pocket.
-I want to hear your voice say this.
He didn’t recognize the poem, at first, it’d been recopied, wasn’t part of anything he’d finished.
-I don’t really read my stuff, Vera.
She stood, said if he read it she’d tell him what panties she was wearing.
-Alright.
He stood. She sat. He read the poem.
-She said Again?
He read it again.
She moved from the lighted path, began unbuttoning her pants.
-He frowned, lit a cigarette. I thought you said you’d tell me.
She chuckled, said she couldn’t remember, turned a moment.
-They’re my Halloween panties. Faded orange, little skulls on them.
She sat next to him, hand out for a cigarette.
vi.
Leaving for class, Blake told Leo his birthday present was he didn’t have to worry about his half of the rent that month.
-I’ll pay it as soon as I can.
-If you can’t pay next month, it’ll be trouble. But really don’t worry for now.
Leo had three more interviews later that day, none he felt were promising. He ironed his suit, bought cigarettes, rode around on the train to kill time.
In between the first and second interview, he started a new poem for Lea on a napkin.
He didn’t go to the last interview, eyed some notebooks, couldn’t get up the nerve to steal one.
***
Vera called. Blake and his girlfriend had left, probably wouldn’t be back, so Leo asked if she wanted to come over. She was just on a break at work, she said, but asked if later was alright.
-Call when you’re off, it’ll probably be alright.
He was very bored, antsy, four poems all unfinished on scraps he’d dug out of his suit pockets each day when he got in.
Vera showed up with a typewriter and said Happy Birthday.
-Ink ribbons are kind of hard to track down, so I got a few.
The thing seemed a burden where they arranged it on his desk. He humored her by answering interview questions, letting her type his responses down.
***
-I write poetry, too, Vera said, coming back from the bathroom. I guessed you were a poet even before you started bringing your notebook all the time.
He nodded and thought about saying he needed a new notebook, then hesitated, then said it.
-It’s not that I don’t like the typewriter.
She seemed genuinely surprised by the remark.
-I wouldn’t think that. Don’t think that.
-I don’t. He sighed, drained his wine. I don’t.
-Do you want to go get a notebook, now?
She stood on her toes when she asked, stretched. Then when he said Yes and went for his coat, she did so again, breathing out, saying Okay. Her eyes didn’t seem focused.
***
Just as he was finally getting himself out of bed, his telephone rang. He was asked to come in for a second interview, a group interview. It was short notice, but somehow his application had been set to one side. He showered in a rush, dressed, got the train. Outside of the building, he realized he’d forgotten which job it was. He shut his eyes, remembering, stamped his foot and lit a cigarette. It’d been some scam company needing reps, work on commission. Three hours after he should’ve interviewed, his phone rang and the company left another message. They’d missed him, earlier, but had another group session slated for later in the day.
vii
Having no idea who Lea Kincaid was, Blake had left the letter from her on the kitchen counter with the other mail. Leo was spreading peanut butter onto a cracker when he focused on it. He poured himself some wine, downed it, already giddy though the letter sat untouched.
He walked around with it in his pocket. He sat by the canal blowing smoke down his nose, touching the thing until it felt like it was his.
Leo, of course I remember you. I thought you'd stolen twenty dollars from me for months before I realized it was Julia.
He didn't read any further than that for awhile. Not because of anything, he just liked the letter in his pocket while he smoked.
***
He didn't want to go home that night, didn't want to be anywhere. He kept trying to convince himself it wouldn't be idiotic to rent a hotel room, but knew it would be. He felt away, didn't want to be reminded that he wasn't actually anyplace.
The letter had been forwarded to Lea, who’d been moving around lately. Lea wrote this’d actually been good because otherwise her boyfriend might’ve found it odd.
Her letter wasn't long. It read differently each time.
It was polite. He tried to gauge a tone from it.
He stole a notebook, a pen, eventually got home, fell asleep wet from a long drowsy shower.
***
After two lousy interviews, he sat in the cafe. When he left, he realized he'd been waiting for Vera. He called her up, didn't leave a message when she didn't answer.
She called back, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk, anymore.
He didn't sleep, worked on a poem, was a little drunk when Blake woke up in the morning. He stayed in his room until he heard Blake leave.
He blind called listings from the phonebook and a hotel said he could fill out an application. He hadn't verified they had an available position, but rode the train out half an hour, regardless.
He thought of something for a poem, forgot it by the time he got off the train.
***
Despite Blake insisting it didn't matter, Leo wrote a check out for rent.
-You'll be broke, man. It's not like I think you're scamming me.
-It’s alright. You might have to float me next month, you know? Don't get comfy.
Blake left a fresh pack of cigarettes on the counter, a note on it that said You don't owe me for these and you’d better smoke them. He smoked one right away.
Then to the movies, to the café, to the movies.
Having difficulty getting to sleep, he worked on a poem. When it was done, he read it a few times. He sort of wondered what some of it meant. Odd distraction built in him until he slept.
He took it as a good sign that the hotel had hired him despite his open admission of the reason he'd been terminated from his last job. The position didn't start for two weeks, but he felt comfortable, already had the uniform hanging in his closet and a nametag. He bought new shoes and got a haircut.
In the throes of his good mood, he agreed to attend a poetry reading of a friend of Vera's. She went on and on how it was exciting because it was just her friend reading for an entire forty minutes and she explained what a coup the venue was.
viii.
Vera was dressed up, so he was glad he’d at least worn a sweater. They got to the place early, a claustrophobic bookstore cafe. Leo was introduced to people, some of who corrected him that they’d met before when he spoke as though it was a first encounter.
Before he noticed that at least wine was being served, a squat young man told him I’ve liked your stuff that I've read. Leo smiled, not wanting to consider this.
Vera pulled him over, introduced him to Vince, the poet who would be reading. Vince gave Vera's neck a kiss before getting caught up in another conversation.
Vera looked apologetically at Leo, who raised his glass, grinning in a way he knew must've seemed peculiar.
***
Vince and several others, quoting all sorts of things, had a long debate about the necessity of working with an editor. Because he'd been reading and some other famous people had also read in the cafe, Vince had some authority, his points deferred to.
Leo was drunk, keeping quiet. He had to use the bathroom for the third time in an hour, disguised it as going outside for a smoke. A minute into his cigarette, two guys and a girl came out, lighting theirs, asking him if he thought Vince was just a Yeats wannabe.
-That or just an asshole, Leo said, excusing himself to go back inside.
***
Leo promised Blake he’d pay him back everything as he left for his first shift. He took the train out early, lingered across the street from the hotel.
Vera called him for the twentieth time in a week and he finally answered, just to put on that he couldn’t talk because he was at work.
-You got a job?
-Yeah, I'm a hotel man now. I start in like five minutes.
She wanted to know when he got off and could she stop by. He used the fact it was his first day to say No.
He was just walking in the door when the person who was to train him stepped out for a smoke.
-Most important part of the job. You smoke right?
viiii.
The lengths of his poems seemed to bloat over the course of his first week at work. He was in love with them, but the sudden fluency of thought to page was odd. He wrote a short one on the train home one night after a late shift, but then he didn't sleep and by morning it was eight pages, almost two hundred lines.
He wasn’t at all certain he should send another book to Lea. She'd mentioned a boyfriend. He'd not even replied to her letter with a letter. She'd not followed up on him. He'd included address, included telephone number, not able to stop himself.
***
Training at the hotel moved along. Mostly, he was on his own, told there was a binder if something came up and if the binder failed, supervisors numbers were on a list.
The job was simple. He leaned over the desk most of his shift, writing or thinking about it.
There were about two dozen long-term guests. One woman called Anna couldn't get her total bill one week so he said he'd fudge around with the system. All he actually did was pay the difference out of his pocket.
Some days, Anna would be visited by her two kids. He'd find his attention would wander, he'd stare at the elevator, hoping she'd come out.
***
His favorite part of the job was the inspection after housekeeping finished for the day. He’d walk the corridor at a saunter. It was intoxicating to stand in empty rooms, he hardly bothered to see if the proper soap had been left, the right amount of forks in the drawers, any of it.
He could spend most of an evening shift smoking cigarettes and became acquainted with two of the employees at the gas station just next door. He bought marijuana from them and made it his habit to smoke down half a joint in the trash enclosure before leaving for the day, a whole joint when he left at night.
***
Over the course of a week, he recopied out all the poems he considered his new collection into a stolen notebook. He wrapped it up, addressed it to Lea and hesitated about using his address or a phony one, this time. Lea would likely guess from the size and feel of the package what it was. Even if her boyfriend saw the book, Leo hadn’t put his name in it, she could say whatever she wanted. He thought about including a fake note, as though it was from some old female friend of Lea’s, but then thought this might put Lea off, make her think he was after something strange.
x.
There was a cat on the kitchen counter when Leo left his room for a drink. It was four in the morning, so he couldn't ask about it. When he reached to touch its head, it swiped at him, jumped down, vanished.
In the morning, some girl he assumed was Blake's new lover was dressed in jogging clothes sitting on the sofa, the cat splayed across her lap.
Leo introduced himself and before the girl could reciprocate Blake came in with the mail, also dressed for jogging.
-This is Leo, I told you about him. Leo, this is Lana.
Leo nodded and Lana, scrunching fingers on its belly, letting it dig all its claws to her arm, introduced the cat as Orville.
***
He leaned to the wall by the dumpster, taking the last drags off his joint. The night auditor was well aware of Leo's habit, kept quiet provided Leo shared. The two of them were chatting when Vera walked in.
Ten minutes into their walk, she apologized for just showing up. He shrugged it off, asking did she smoke.
-Smoke? she asked, tilted voice, grin obvious.
They ducked in between a Laundromat and a restaurant, Leo sure to let her take two hits for his one.
-Vince doesn’t smoke she said, still holding in a drag.
-Vince sounds like a real queer.
She laughed abruptly, coughing on the exhalation.
Leo patted her vaguely on the back, hushing sounds, fingers to his lips between pats.
***
-Do you have any pornography? Vera asked him.
-He was just returning from having a piss against a wall. No.
-Anything? Magazine or movie?
-No, I really don't.
He didn't ask her why, but she explained that when she was high she found the sight of people having sex beautiful.
-It doesn't turn me on, it's just incredibly beautiful to look at.
He smoked another full joint when he got home and put on one of the three porn films he'd owned for years, volume nearly mute. It was hypnotic, like nothing else. It was as if he'd never viewed the film, was seeing something foreign and immediately knowing it. Shoulders and hands pressing arms tight while the lovers kissed amazed him.
***
He'd been asleep an hour when his phone rang. He waited to hear if a message was left. When it started ringing again, he answered.
-I know I woke you up, is that alright?
-Sure, he rolled onto his back, turned the television on for light. The porn was still playing and he squinted at it, trying to acclimate his vision.
He realized he didn't understand what Vera was saying, but that she'd been talking for several minutes.
Before he could interrupt, she stopped. The line stayed silent, a moment. He shut off the film.
-I just wrote that, Vera finally said.
He couldn't see the ceiling above him, but tried to.
-Read it again, he said.
Like she'd been waiting for that, she began.
xi.
The day off, no interest in anything, he wandered around the city. Leaning against the wall outside of a shop, he smoked. Lea's younger sister happened by. He stiffened, certain he'd been seen. But she got to the crosswalk, to the other side of the street, into a restaurant.
When she left, exiting with three people she must've met inside, he arranged it to appear that he was on his way someplace, greeted her pleasantly with a hug. The friends were introduced, they all had cigarettes, Lea's sister telling him about a trip she'd taken abroad.
-You've been to Italy, right?
He shook his head, shrugged when she said she'd really thought he had.
Not even a mention of Lea's name.
***
Though a few weeks had passed since he'd told Anna he'd fudged her room rate, he still got tense on the day the room would be charged, again. If she told another clerk he'd said that, felt it was some leverage she could use, he'd likely get written up. Even if he just came out with the truth, it’d be just as bad, worse.
Around ten at night, Anna came off the elevator holding laundry.
-Do you only work at night, now?
-Nights and days.
-I never see you.
-Oh, I'm around.
She'd set down her hamper to talk, took it back up.
He hoped she'd glance back to see if he was watching her, hoped she thought he was.
***
He braced himself to tell her not to mention about the payment thing. Trying to get at it delicately, he said I need to ask you something.
-Are you asking me to dinner?
-He paused, an honest stammer. I wasn't, no. Not that I wouldn't ask, but no.
-She laughed in a kind of obtuse way. Well, that's probably best. I'm old enough to be your mom.
He animated himself, said it was true, though she was pretty enough to be his sister.
He didn't feel awkward until she’d gone, wondered how it’d come across, tried several equally dubious phrases out. Young enough to be my sister. Pretty enough to be your daughter.
He’d walked five blocks past the train without realizing it.
***
Blake had left out a bottle of wine with a Thank you card attached. Leo had paid the entire months rent without telling Blake, forgot he’d left the receipt around.
Orville had somehow gotten into his room, was asleep on his desk chair. He stood in something wet, cringed, but it was just coffee from a cup the cat must’ve overturned.
He slept.
He slept in.
Laying in bed, he heard Blake come home, knock on his door cautiously. He at first thought it was to get the cat, but Blake didn’t try the door. A few minutes later, he listened to a violently angry telephone conversation, heard Blake sitting on the sofa sobbing for ten minutes after.
xii.
There was an envelope with a thick poetry journal called Pocketful Of Scoundrel on top of it left on the counter.
Leo started some microwave sandwiches, forgot about them, had a shower. Dressed to head to a movie before work, he remembered the food, eating it cold, drinking cold coffee, leafing through the journal.
Blake’s name was in the table of contents, three pieces featured. He took a sip of coffee, nodding a little congratulations.
Then he saw his name.
Two pieces listed.
He ignored the journal for twenty minutes, looping the apartment, then looked. It was infuriating. He pounded on Blake’s door, just to be certain he wasn’t home. Then he pounded on it and kicked it, hurt his foot.
***
Pocketful of Scoundrel was right where he’d left it on the floor when he got home.
-Hey Blake? he calmly asked, tapping on the door.
The poems credited to him were his work, but they weren’t. They were just scribbles, he didn’t even know why anyone thought they were poems. Titled with just the first lines, ugly, idiotic.
Blake wasn’t in all night. At three in the morning or so, he heard Orville scratching at the inside of Blake’s door, let the cat out, checked to make sure it had water and food.
He hesitated between getting high or drunk on wine, decided the wine would be better, drank half a bottle and went out for a walk.
***
It wasn’t until he was home from work the following night he was able to confront Blake. It was a blurt, unsettling even himself. Blake was furious at him for being angry.
-Take it up with your weirdo girlfriend, alright?
-What do you mean?
-Vera’s idea, man, I just passed the stuff along.
-Vera’s a moron. Vera is an idiot, Blake.
Blake really started screaming, so much that Leo shut himself in his room, Blake continuing his rant at the door.
When Leo left, bundled in his coat, Blake was sitting quietly on the sofa, hand to face, said quietly Nobody cares about your poetry, Leo. Get over yourself.
He’d forgotten his wallet, didn’t want to back up for it.
***
He left a short, vicious message on Vera’s phone. He’d rehearsed it, whittled it down to the perfect, abstract stab. That calmed him down.
Immediately, he regretted it. He couldn’t conceive of her ever wanting to see him again after hearing it.
But then again, he was still mad at her, and through that filter imagined her as a little leech who’d certainly come sucking up to him. He wished he’d added into his message that he wasn’t her housecat and that he thought she was a big pretender.
Soon he was completely out of steam and it was far enough into the morning that people were around and he felt very out of place.
xiii.
Anna asked if he got a lunch break.
-Sure.
She said she was going to the store, did he want her to make him a steak.
-Since we didn’t do dinner, I thought I could make you lunch.
Leo was slightly confused by the dinner remark, but didn’t care.
When his break came, he was antsy, had to be very round about in going to her room, figured he shouldn’t be seen. She opened the door for him, but was on the telephone, pointed to the sofa with true crime paperbacks piled on it.
He glanced at the microwave clock, but the display only showed that something had been taken out with twelve seconds left to cook.
***
She cooked the steak almost raw, talking about her phone call. He was glad she spoke about some situation going on in her life rather than making small talk or leaving him to.
He insisted on cleaning up, she leaning to the little counter while he did. She rubbed a tightness in her shoulder and he asked if she wanted him to massage her neck. Like referencing something off topic, she said she didn’t have any massage oil.
-Wouldn’t olive oil work? he asked half joking, no idea if the question was ludicrous or not.
Her phone rang. She said I have an idea before answering it, handing him the olive oil bottle.
She talked on the phone in the bathroom ten minutes.
***
-No matter how much you want to, you can’t kiss me she said from the bathroom door.
She moved to the bed, wearing only panties, soft white, slight pattern of green, nothing meant to allure, arm covering her breasts.
Leo smoothed oil into her, lost in the realization that this was the first time he’d been in the presence of an unclothed woman, not a girl. Her stature, even her posture prone was striking, a captivation he couldn’t describe. He wanted to say You’re beautiful, but was uncertain.
She reacted no differently to his hands cupped over her inner thighs than over her shoulder blades.
She fell asleep quickly and he continued the massage, didn’t wake her when he had to return to his shift.
***
That entire night, into the following afternoon he fixated on Anna, contented to talk to himself about her, listen to himself as though someone else. He couldn’t describe her. His language was designated for girls. Anna wasn’t as skinny as Vera, for example, but wasn’t fatter, wasn’t older looking than Lea, nothing that had a name. She was another animal, a reference to itself.
By the canal, shivering with cigarette, he said to himself she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and Thing seemed the correct word. She shouldn’t have anything to do with him. He didn’t understand what she did.
He saw her that night, stepping off the elevator to get her kids. She smiled, widened her eyes. He nodded, closed his.
xiiii.
Blake moved from the kitchen, slinging his arm over Leo’s shoulder the moment he was through the door.
-I broke into your room and am smoking your pot, so let’s be pals again, right?
Leo took up the smoldering joint from the counter and took a drag.
-Also, said Blake, your gal brought this and said to give it to you.
Leo took the envelope Blake handed across, knew just from the size and weight it was his notebook.
-She seemed rather upset, actually, leading me to think you did the right thing and put it to her straight.
They watched a movie, Blake mentioning they needed to talk later, something important that they were in no shape to address.
***
Vera had circled and underlined all manner of things in the notebook. He couldn’t tell why, assumed there wasn’t one overarching reason. The bits she’d had Blake get published were copied out on inside pages, as were several others. He couldn’t see why she’d have thought these were finished, why she spent so much time with them.
Blake again delayed the serious conversation, having to get to class. Leo asked for the general topic, but was told they’d just talk that night. Leo mention he’d be at work until late, had every intention of returning having smoked up.
-That’s alright. You can be high, we just shouldn’t both be.
***
Leo was finalizing paperwork when Anna came off the elevator, dressed in an oversized t-shirt, thin lounging pants, feet bare. She lit up, leaned to the desk. She was glad she'd caught him, said her bill was due and could he maybe adjust the rate, again.
-They’re actually cracking down on that, he said, asked what the situation was.
-It's just something with my kids came up. I’m waiting on a check.
Shrugging, she said she’d ask the manager to let it go a week, considering she'd been there so long.
His stomach knotted.
-I don't think he'll do that, Anna. How much are you short?
She said she could get the bill, but wouldn’t have anything to get around, see about some jobs.
***
He took four hundred out from the cash machine at the gas station, used the extra key he’d programmed to get in the hotel by the side door. Anna answered, followed his lead of speaking in a whisper, nodded that he should come in.
He kept his voice down, counted the money, one hundred more than he'd said he'd get. She hugged his arm, stayed there, said she’d pay him back.
-You don’t need to pay me back, just take care of whatever, alright?
He walked for a few hours, several times stopping to smoke down cigarettes and a joint. He was jittery, felt Anna at his arm. Anyone, he knew, would call him an idiot.
xv.
Leo took the announcement that Blake was moving out well. Really, he didn't know why Blake thought he would've had issue. They mathed out what was left of the lease, Blake insisting on taking care of a larger amount, as the change in plans was his.
-Where are you going to be living?
-I'm staying with my brother a bit, then probably I'm gonna live at home.
There seemed more to it than that, something to do with taking courses at a different school, but Leo sensed a discomfort, didn't feel like plumbing.
He bought a newspaper, sat in a restaurant looking at Room-to-Let listings. The idea excited him, had a banal romance he liked. He’d circled twenty options in an hour.
***
He called his supervisor about setting his schedule to accommodate his seeing rooms. It was worthless, in the end, as some places preferred to show during the day, others during the evening.
He went out, noticed that his stroll was going to take him right past the cafe. He made it a point to not look in the window.
Three blocks later, Vera called him. She said she was at home, so Leo said maybe he could meet her at the café.
-Is that where you are? I haven't seen you there in weeks.
-I'm out on a walk, going there later.
She said she’d meet him. He didn’t bother doubling back to catch her out in her little game.
***
He was smoking a joint on his bed, undressed from his shower, working out a poem when Vera called, again.
-Are you at the café, now? he asked, could tell she was.
-I broke up with Vince, she said without prompt.
Leo didn’t quite know how he wanted to respond. He kept a soothing, agreeable tone because Vera was clearly upset, but he felt put upon. Vince had been unfaithful with a number of girls, according to Vera.
Leo advised her to go out and get laid, as soon as possible.
-I probably should’ve cheated on him with you when I had the chance, right?
He sighed, agreed to meet her for drinks, but had no intention of showing up.
***
Leo watched some lousy movie Blake had recommended, notebook on the sofa arm, idly jotting
down curious lines that occurred to him brought on by the wine he'd started into.
Vera hadn't called by two in the morning. He became preoccupied with this, walked around the apartment, finished the wine, started a joint.
Blake showed up, told a very long story about finding fifty dollars on the ground.
He woke late in the afternoon, forced himself to shower and dress. Vera had left a message explaining she knew she shouldn't have called the previous night, knew he didn't care so she'd stop bothering him.
He ate lunch at his desk, fiddling with the things he’d written during the night.
xvi.
With the noise of the train, he hadn't heard his phone.
He didn't recognize the number, imagined it was one of the rooms he'd looked at, didn’t bother with the message.
The dayshift workers told him how they'd needed to call the police to kick some heroin addicts out of a room.
-Did that guy ever come down when you were here? Oozing track marks and everything?
Leo shook his head, asked if things had gotten rough.
-I hear guns were drawn, but I was down here.
On his second cigarette break, he remembered the message. It was from Lea, very brief, apologetic for not having time to write him.
He wondered if he should call back, but it didn't seem like it.
***
His next day off he woke early, was agitated with coffee inside of an hour. He looked through the poems he'd worked on since the last notebook he'd sent Lea, piled the ones he liked. He gave another look to what he'd written high and drunk, couldn't make it mean anything to him, nothing to do with sending to Lea.
By one in the afternoon, he’d stolen a notebook. At two, he was caught stealing a pen from a boutique.
The people where he'd stolen the notebook had suspected him, called around to put the warning out.
Police were called, the boutique owner not interested in his money. Someone from the other shop came over, identified the notebook. The police secured Leo in handcuffs.
***
He went to work fresh from being let out of jail, the next morning. In his opinion, the matter was
ridiculous, but the boutique owner had continued her vendetta and other shops he'd stolen from had confirmed him as a habitual thief, so the charges against him mounted.
The shift went by without incident.
He waited until he was home to smoke. Blake got the story out of him, recommending highly he do nothing to fight the charges. Still hoping the matter would be forgotten by all involved, Leo promised he had no fight in him. Blake helped him decipher the papers outlining the charges, possible consequences, and procedures for what would happen next.
He'd left his poetry at work, took a late train back.
***
Sheepishly, knowing nothing could happen, he went on a little tour of shops he'd robbed of notebooks and pens, standing outside their windows, looking at the interiors silent and dark. He wondered if, of his own volition, he should apologize to the owners, or at least write letters of apology.
He bought an ordinary school notebook and a ball point pen from a convenience store, a small bottle of wine on impulse when he happened by an all night shop, sat by the canal. He drafted a sarcastic, bitter apology to the boutique woman, scribbled on it, threw the notebook into the water.
Defeated, he drank the wine, thought of some line or two, wrote them on his forearm.
xvii.
He vaguely hoped either the landlord or another tenant in any of the houses he looked at would be attractive, meet his eyes, some spark even if it was never acted on.
The first three places he visited that morning were the same. Small houses. Shared bathrooms. Designated fridge space.
-The living room can be used by anyone, the landlords all said without fail, but the living rooms always looked unlived in for years.
It threw him for a loop that one of the requirements always seemed to be doing various cleaning beyond whatever incidental mess he might make.
He skipped two appointments, watched a movie instead.
The place he saw that evening was promising, but six stations further away by train than he'd thought.
***
He'd sat in a random coffee shop, was contemplating having a cigarette. As he looked up, a man stopped outside the window, eyed him a moment, smiled suddenly and waved. The man was already sitting down before it dawned on him it was Vince.
-How are you, fella?
The greeting was enthusiastic, peculiar. Leo shook hands, made an Eh sound.
-I haven't seen you since the reading, right? Or were you at Devon's thing?
He said he'd been at Devon's thing for a little while, Vince nodding he remembered they'd talked for a minute.
He was cornered into smoking cigarettes and chatting. Vince gave him a card when he left that read Vince Grange. Poet. Bernard Maw University. Winner of the Rilke Prize.
***
Blake was dressing in his good suit one morning, Leo groggily pouring cold coffee and using the stove coils to get a cigarette going.
-Aren't you in prison, yet? Blake asked, unknotting his tie for another attempt.
-You eager for that conjugal?
He was amused by the quickness of his wit, but Blake didn't remark, just asked if he was any good with ties.
-No. Why are you so done up?
-Many reasons, many reasons.
Leo stayed in until it was time for work, then at the last minute called out. There was no trouble, the day shift worker said she could use the hours and to call her first if he still wasn't feeling well the next day.
***
Tipsy, he called about the room that was further away than the others, apologizing for the late hour. There were two other interested parties and an application was mentioned. He said his heart was set on it, couldn't they make an arrangement? It was agreed he'd pay the first month in advance, moving in immediately, even if he didn't occupy. He brought payment the next day before work, was given a key to the room’s separate entrance.
-I don't give tenants the front door key, you go through your room to the rest of the house.
He slept on the floor that night, could hear the tenant down the hall having sex. He wondered if the boy or the girl was the one renting.
xviii.
He dreamt about finding a third arm, affixing it to himself. Waking, it took hours to shake the feeling of disfigurement.
Blake asked how his apartment hunt was going, but Leo didn’t say. He honestly wasn’t sure about things, might not move in, let the landlord just keep the money.
He bought more marijuana from the gas station workers, downed a large coffee and began his shift.
Anna called down, asking in a casual way was he busy.
-Not so much.
-Doing anything for lunch? I'm going to the store.
He said she didn’t need to cook for him, but was glad when she said he could keep her company, then.
***
Door ajar, she said she knew no one should see him coming in. She pointed to some groceries, said she hadn't made anything yet, then said she’d gotten a place and a job.
-That's fantastic.
She brushed against him, kissed his mouth, then leaned on the counter.
-What's the matter?
-He stammered, blushing. I thought I wasn't supposed to kiss you.
-What do you mean? Why wouldn't I be allowed to kiss you?
She kissed him, again, pulling back while he was still kissing her, sat on the bed, posture not especially provocative.
-Aren't I allowed to kiss people?
-He shrugged. You don’t have to do this, Anna he said shyly.
She kissed his pant front, looked up at him, sideways.
***
He said he wanted to memorize her, shoulders, hands on her breasts, neck, went on and on.
-I'm going to tell your girlfriend, she laughed. You can’t say nice things to other women.
She pulled her panties on, went to the sink, drank water from cupped hands.
-I don't have a girlfriend.
She didn’t respond, just said now that she had someplace she wanted to get rabbits.
-We should pick out rabbits, then. You look lovely.
-I look tired.
-Then I like you tired.
-I'll bet you do.
He wondered should he go up after his shift, but an hour before that she got off the elevator, gave him a smile, biting her lower lip, left, ten minutes later coming back with her kids.
***
He changed details when he told Blake, after a joint unable to keep it back. He described Anna as a girl, younger than him. Blake gave mild congratulations, adrift in his own thoughts. Leo was glad about that, actually, felt lousy for the way he'd altered things. They talked about Science Fiction movies the rest of the night.
Leo fell asleep on the sofa, woke on the floor. He had a long scratch down his forehead he couldn’t account for. Blake said he'd done it to himself with the tab of a soda can.
-I think it was an accident though, Blake added, then said he was going to dye his hair later if Leo wouldn’t mind helping.
xviiii.
His finances were in bad shape, he definitely couldn’t afford the coat he'd seen in the thrift shop window.
He did look at the coat, again, making excuses about why it wasn’t worth troubling with.
He worked out a timetable for getting to and from work, considering the distance he'd have to cover if he moved into the room he was renting.
His mind wandered, leaned over scrap paper on the desk. He verified Anna was still a guest, hadn’t yet settled on a check-out date.
No poems were really catching, he just thought about Lea, a lot. He'd jotted her number on a receipt he kept in his wallet. He tried it from a payphone, hung up right away.
***
The proceedings concerning his arrest were less intense than he'd been fearing. An informal meeting with the person who'd been assigned his file, no judge, no witnesses, he just listened to formal statements, verified them, wrote out statements of guilt to each. He was fined four thousand dollars, went to another area of the courthouse to arrange a payment schedule. It was
tempting to ask could he just serve a week in jail, but at the same time wasn't.
At work, he wrote out budgets, would feel satisfied about one, then realize a mistake in it or get convinced he could work it out better, start again.
He smoked up before his shift was over, wished he still had a job he could grift from.
***
While he was dressing, there was a knock at the door he ignored. Twenty minutes later, swallowing headache tablets with lukewarm coffee, there was another knock.
Vera stood a few steps from the door when he opened it, little girl posture, like she'd actually been holding her breath.
-Hi.
-Hi, he said, leaving the door only partway open.
She let out a huff through her nose and without looking up said Could I have that notebook back?
It was almost a full minute before it dawned on him what she meant.
-No.
-She winced. I won't bother you anymore. Could I please just have that?
-No, Vera. I'm closing the door.
She said something else he ignored.
***
He took some things to the pawn shop. The typewriter Vera had brought him fetched twenty dollars on its own, as much as everything else combined. He considered using the money to buy a carton of cigarettes, but not only wasn't it enough, he couldn't bring himself to be one of those people.
He daydreamed during work about Anna's back, about visiting Lea, about how her back might look. In his daydreams about Lea, he wrote poetry on her back, imagined being nervous about asking her to turn over.
He checked train schedules, bus schedules, put the money from the pawn shop in his desk drawer in a box of extra checks.
xx.
Blake helped him move the things he'd decided not to get rid of.
-I can’t get over that you just live in a room, Blake laughed, getting the box spring onto the frame.
-It's no different than an apartment.
-You share a toilet.
-I shared a toilet with you.
Blake admitted it might be alright, provided Leo promise not to start serial killing people.
After exploring the house, Blake reported it gave him the creeps that there was an exercise room.
Leo stayed awake most of the night, smoking on the outside steps up to his door. The view of the house next door was such that he could see the top of someone’s head while they used their bathroom sink.
***
The metro was crowded the times he needed to use it, the fare also a dollar twenty more. He could combat both things by leaving his room early, finding things to do in the city when working evenings, but this defeated having someplace to live.
He started getting wary that Anna might put him in a position where he'd need to use money, again. He knocked on her door, almost used the master key when she didn’t answer.
For two shifts, she didn’t seem to be in her room.
When she didn't pay for another week, he was more brought down than relieved. He wanted to stand in her empty room before it was cleaned, but his schedule didn’t allow it.
***
He got off the last train of the night at the wrong stop.
It wasn’t like the old metro line, just a question of walking a bit, he was absolutely no place. He figured it’d take two hours to walk, even if he knew the way.
He finished the joint he'd smoked half of. It wasn’t a bad area, at least. He didn’t work until the next evening, decided to just deal with it, the night a slow blur of talking to himself, nodding off on benches.
The train got him home before the sun was up. Two people were using the kitchen, one saying Hello the other not looking up.
-Can I use the shower before you? the one said, mouthful of English muffin.
***
He got home from work, discovered his coffee pot wasn’t in his room. He found it in the kitchen, his name now written on it. He'd been told not to have appliances in his room, but was upset nonetheless. He wanted to have a word with the owner, but couldn’t work up the nerve.
Blake called, said he wasn’t going to be able to make it into the city, as planned. Leo tried not to let on he was bothered.
He found a restaurant nearby that was open twenty four hours a day, felt a little better about everything.
Someone called his phone from a number he didn’t recognize. He let the call go to message. Silence for twenty seconds before it cut off.
xxi.
Leo had agreed to be the one present for the walk through at the old apartment. Additionally, he was to wait around for Blake's ex, Darla, to show up for two boxes of her belongings.
The empty space seemed vast, especially with the freedom to drift in and out of Blake's room. Some odds and ends had been left in cabinets, which he imagined is why the trash bags had been left on the counter.
He smoked a cigarette out the window.
The woman who inspected the room took a long time, but said the full deposit would be returned. He asked if he could wait around since Darla hadn’t yet shown up. He couldn't, so he took her boxes with him.
***
He only vaguely recalled where Darla lived, not enough to find it. She called that evening, stumbled over herself with apology, asking where he was.
-I'm just having something to eat. I have your things.
She sounded thrilled and he agreed to bring them over. She gave her address, which was nowhere near where he'd been thinking, said she could come get him, if it was easier.
-No it's alright. You'll be around?
The boxes were irritating to carry, but he certainly wasn’t going to take a taxi. He eyed a shopping cart left randomly against a lamppost, went as far as smoking a cigarette next to it before moving on.
***
Darla tossed him a pack of cigarettes, saying she got them free from her boyfriend's work.
-Blake was always kind of a baby, she said out of nowhere.
He nodded, looked at the things on the wall, some he’d picked out with Blake.
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