New York in the summer of 1981 was everything it hadn’t been in the winter. The 90+ temperature boiled the asphalt. New Wave had replaced punk and somehow the city had escaped bankruptcy. Money flowed on the streets and even the East Village exhibited signs of regeneration, since abandoned tenements can only be burned so many times before their ashes won’t catch fire.
People had work. Mine was menial construction on an after-hours club along the Hudson River. After paying rent I had enough money for Chinese take-out and beers at CBGBs. I lost weight and thought about robbing a bank. Whenever I entered one, guards placed their hands on the guns like they were armed with ESP.
I was no Jesse James.
Daytime employment was the logical solution to my desperate situation. I had a college degree. My permanent record was clean. I had worked nine-to-fives before and real jobs didn’t kill you, however Arthur, the nightclub owner, had promised the construction crew various jobs once the International opened its doors.
At our previous gig I had coined $500-700 a night. We hoped to open before Labor Day. On August 13th the club was $20,000 short of our goal and construction lurched to a halt, however the International was saved by a cash infusion from a criminal refugee from Odessa. His money was rumored to come from smuggling Tsarist icons. The source was unimportant. The club was a dead issue without his help.
Arthur said that Vadim had a beautiful blonde girlfriend.
“Almost cover girl pretty, but too short to succeed on the runways.”
“Sounds like your old girlfriend.” Danny Gordon, the DJ, had heard that the gangster’s girl came from Buffalo.
“No, that would be too much of a coincidence.”
Last November Lily had left for a modeling job in Milan. I hadn’t heard from her since.
No calls.
No letters.
When I spotted her in a French lingerie magazine, I almost flew to Paris, except she could have been in London, Milan, or Munich, so I remained in New York to be haunted by her imagined footsteps on cobble-stoned European streets.
“Coincidence is destiny crossing paths.”
“No chance of that. Lily’s gone for good.”
“No one leaves the City forever.” Native New Yorkers like Danny considered anywhere other than Manhattan to be purgatory. “She’ll be back.”
“I’ve been dreaming of that day,” I said, but in truth I had been forgetting her piece by piece. The smell of her skin after sex.
Her mocking laugh after I told a bad joke.
Buying leather jackets together. Hers white, mine black, yet some memories had lives of their own.
No matter how many drinks.
No matter how many days.
“Still it would be funny if it was her.” Danny wasn’t letting go either. He had a thing for her. Any man would if she looked his way.
“Funny, but not ha-ha funny.”
“Not for you, but me. I can’t wait to see your face when she walks through the doors.”
I chucked a hammer at his head. It missed by a foot and put a dent in an op-art sculpture from the 60s.
Arthur noticed the damage a week later.
We denied any knowledge of how it got there.
The Russian’s money accelerated the final stages of the construction. The walls were painted lilac purple and the sound system was wired through the club. A Labor Day opening appeared realistic and on the hottest day of summer Danny and I were tearing down a last section of the ceiling. It was a dirty job and rat dust caked my sweating flesh.
The door opened for three shadows.
We lowered our tools.
“Guys, I want you to meet Vadim.” Arthur shouted from the entrance.
A muscular man in his late-20s entered the club wearing a pastel linen suit. We muttered hellos. Mine was silenced by the sight of a slender blonde in snug Versace. Lily’s b-grade beauty was as haughty as a dethroned princess checking into a Holiday Inn.
“So much for the lack of coincidences.” Danny nudged my ribs.
“It’s a small world.” My throat tightened to a knot. “And a long life.”
“Think she recognizes you?” Danny wiped a layer of grime from his face.
“Not unless she looks my way.” My body was black with soot
Her head turned to our perch.
She recognized me and the dice roll of jade green eyes indicated my lack of social progress had not disappointed her low expectations for a punk poet.
“No, she hasn’t forgotten.” Danny laughed at my pained expression, as Vadim, Lily and Arthur disappeared into the office.
Right before our lunch break, Lily and Vadim exited from the office.
She covered her mouth with a scarf.
Vadim shielded his a thick hand and they left the site without a glance in our direction.
By 4pm the ceiling had been replaced and Arthur called it a day.
As the rest of the crew filed from the club, Arthur pulled me aside.
“This isn’t going to be a problem?”
“What?” I played dumb.
“You and Vadim’s girlfriend.” He was serious.
“Lily?”
Over the past year her name had floated in my mind a million times.
This was the first time I had said it.
“Is it a problem?” Émigré Russians from Odessa were notoriously violent.
“No, she’s nothing to me.”
“Good, then stay away from her.” He lifted a finger. “Vadim is a piece of work.”
Obeying his advice wasn’t hard.
On every visit Lily ignored me and I couldn’t blame her. To contunue reading IN THE ABSENCE OF AMNESIA please purchase this novella for $3.99 on Kindle, please going to the following URL http://www.amazon.com/ABSENCE-AMNESIA-Peter-Nolan-Smith-ebook/dp/B00JQSIZZ4
No comments:
Post a Comment