3
I remembered to bring my jacket. I was at the jazz cafe at 8:30, which was the earliest I was willing to go when considering I could be waiting for a man who never arrived.
The door was unlocked and the piano was empty. The barista wasn’t here. I walked up to the old stage. Its floorboards were covered with a thorough layer of dust. I looked through the hole where the wood had caved. There was a five foot drop into the area beneath, and I didn’t see what had caused it. There was a stepladder big enough to get in and out. Whatever had fallen had either been removed by the owner or stolen.
I figured it was as good a hiding spot as any and climbed in.
I waited a half hour. Not a sound occupied the place. Even the rats had decided this joint wasn’t worth their time. I was alone and I found myself thinking about my roast beef sandwich.
Then I heard the side door open and a set of footsteps. They walked behind the countertop instead of the piano.
Fuck.
Now it was either reveal myself or wait till the kid left. I really did consider it. But in the end it was dusty and I figured eventually I’d sneeze anyway. I climbed the rickety stepladder back onto the stage.
The kid looked at me, but only for a moment. He had glasses to polish.
“You thought you’d get the jump on him?” the kid asked.
“I suppose.”
“And instead you’re a man hiding beneath a broken stage in a dusty theater.”
“I thought this was a jazz cafe.”
The barista didn’t reply. Then, it was as though something occurred to him.
“Would you like a coffee? You don’t have your mug today.”
I looked around behind the counter. There were coffee beans, grinders, carafes. Nothing that could brew a cup of coffee.
“Alright.”
The barista nodded, then got to work. He removed what looked to be a portable induction stove from beneath the bartop and set a pitcher of water atop it. Within a minute it was bubbling. Meanwhile, He removed what looked like a small glass vial of coffee beans, poured them into the grinder, and tipped the grinder’s contents atop a filter. He poured the coffee into one of the glasses he’d polished. He made slow circles starting from the middle of the mound and rotating slowly outward to the edges.
“Isn’t glass supposed to crack with hot liquids?”
“Not this glass.”
“I normally like my coffee with cream and sugar.”
“We don’t have that here. We have coffee.”
“Alright.”
I tried it. It was good. Really good. I was never one for black coffee, and even now I wished I had cream and sugar. But I understand why they didn’t carry that stuff. It would demean the coffee.
“So what do I owe you?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think the pianist will be back tomorrow?”
“Not sure.”
I left. Zola was calling my name, anyway.
I’d reached around the middle of the book. A miner’s strike was getting worse by the day. I was beginning to understand the tragedy to come. The pieces were all in place. Human nature dictated that in these people’s situation, death would be the only resolution.
A knock on my door.
I rolled my eyes and got up and opened it.
“Hello!” the man on the other side said. He was middle aged and smiled with red cheeks. I recognized him, somehow. I wasn’t sure from what.
“I’m one of your neighbors. Mind if I introduce myself?”
I didn’t respond. I was trying to remember where I knew him from. Then it clicked. He was the man yelling on the phone the first time I’d walked to the cafe. It had just taken me a minute to recognize him with the stark change in attitude.
“My name’s Tom, it’s nice to meet you,” he said as he extended his hand.
I shook it. “Ok.”
When he spoke, I heard something in his voice. An excitement, an energy.
“Well, in addition to being your neighbor, I’m also running for office in this building. I’m one of two campaigning for Community Manager.”
“I see.”
“I was just hoping to chat with you for a few minutes regarding your vote.”
“Hey Tom?”
“Yes?”
“Do most buildings have this sort of thing?”
“That’s a great question. To my knowledge, our building is the only one.”
“How did it start?”
“Another great question! Actually, this is the first annual election. I-”
“Who started it, Tom?”
“Well, myself and my opponent just thought it would be best if-”
“Did management approve this, Tom?”
He froze for a moment, his mouth hanging open yet still resembling his perpetual smile.
“Management has a rather… laissez faire attitude with its involvement. I’m certain they won’t mind.”
“Ok.”
“Sir, my campaign is centered around one thing: making sure that this building is a place where you can sleep comfortably and soundly in your own home. That’s reasonable, right? Is that really too much to ask? I mean even a couple nights ago, you could hear one of my opponent’s supporters all night long. And did I ask for that kind of a disturbance? No, I didn’t. I’m sure it must have gotten under your skin too, right?”
I considered his question. “I didn’t really think about it. There was a cat, and-”
I stopped talking. Tom looked out of sorts. I’d only known him a short time, but now he’d stopped smiling, which went against everything I’d known him to be in the two minutes I’d been speaking with him (with the exception of that phone call).
“Are you saying you enjoy listening to that shit? That… primal sort of intercourse?” he asked me. He wasn’t angry. Just disappointed.
“No. I’m saying there was a cat on my balcony and it was looking at me and I got tired and went to bed.”
He shook his head. He wasn’t sure what to make of me. No, it was worse. The guy thought I was judging him. I just knew it. And he was right. How could I not? He really did believe in something. He was immature.
When he left I felt hungry. I walked to the sandwich shop.
“You’re back again so soon?”
“You may be seeing a lot of me. That might have been the best sandwich I’ve ever had.”
I thought I saw the edges of the man’s lips turn slightly upwards in the genesis of a smile, but I couldn’t be sure.
“So what can I get for you?”
“Same thing as yesterday.”
“Sure.”
I took a seat and waited. Not long after, the factory workers came in. Once again their conversation was raucous and difficult for me to parse. They ordered and pushed a few tables together and took a seat.
The owner brought out my sandwich. Pastrami.
“It’s different.”
“Yes.”
“Why? I asked for the same thing.”
“It is the same thing.”
“Yesterday I had the roast beef.”
“Yesterday you asked me for the best thing on the menu. This can change, no?”
I studied the pastrami sandwich. It did look good.
“Ok, I’ll take your word for it.”
Soon after, the factory workers had been served as well. Once they started eating they talked slower and I found their conversation much easier to follow.
“It’s trauma!”
“Trauma?”
“What we go through in that fucking place. And we take shit pay with shit benefits.”
“But what’s a strike gonna do? Fuck us harder? There’s no point to any of it.”
“Plus they already give us plenty of overtime opportunities, and Mr. Jacob isn’t that bad.”
“Mr. Jacob can eat my cock. That’s what he can do.”
“Look. I read about it, ok?”
“You can read?”
This drew a laugh from the group.
“I read about it, and these sorts of things usually don’t last longer than a week or two. Especially if we’re all together on this. Think about it. Mr. Jacob’s got contracts, right? Contracts he’s gotta fill. And he ain’t gonna fill em’ if we’re dicking around with signs outside. Eventually he’ll have to give us what we want.”
“And what is it that we want?”
“Capitalism’s dick out of my ass would be a start.”
“I don’t know much about capitalism. But will we get a raise out of this?”
“I think we will.”
Murmurs of agreement.
“Hey buddy, what are you looking at?”
Oh. That was addressed to me. I looked up from my half eaten pastrami sandwich.
“Nothing.”
“Well your eyes are open, aren’t they? So what the fuck are you looking at?”
The man who addressed me was tall and bald and wiry beneath his faded navy blue work uniform.
“Well, since you’ve been talking to me I’ve been looking at you. Before that I was looking at my sandwich.”
“You think you’re funny?”
“Not really.”
“Were you eavesdropping on us?”
“No. I was eating my sandwich.”
“But you heard us, didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t help it. I’m sitting right here.”
He studied me for a moment. “You a spy? For Mr. Jacob?”
“I’ve never heard of a Mr. Jacob in my life.”
He looked to the man on his left, then the man on his right.
“What do we think, boys?”
“Come on, he’s just eating his sandwich.”
The rest of the group nodded.
“Alright,” the bald man said, “you’re just eating your sandwich.”
And that’s the last that was said of the matter.
When I got home all the posters had been taken down. Some of the tape still remained and a few of the pieces held small scraps of paper at their end. They’d been torn violently by someone. As I unlocked my door I heard the door at the end of the hall open and I turned to see a woman walk out of it. She was dressed fashionably in a white blouse and relaxed light blue jeans and I thought she was quite pretty. She had jet black hair down to her collarbone and wore a magenta lipstick that was so vibrant it was almost violent.
She saw me and gave me a slight smile with her magenta lips and walked over to shake my hand.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hello.”
“I’m Linda, I live just down there,” she said as she pointed to her door.
“It’s nice to meet you Linda.”
“When did you move in?”
“About a week ago.”
“I see.”
“I like your lipstick. It’s a nice color.”
“Thank you, I think so too.”
She smiled at me and we were silent for a moment.
“So are you a Sexist or a Librarian?” I asked.
She laughed. “A Sexist, I think. But if I’m being honest with you, I think I just wanted to take a side because I thought it would be fun. And because I don’t trust Tom.”
“I see.”
“Hey,” she said, “I’ve got an appointment I’ve got to make, but we should chat more. We’re neighbors, anyway. What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing.”
“Want to get a drink or something? It’s not often I meet a normal person in this building.”
“Sure. I’m new here though, do you have a place in mind?”
“I do. I’ll come fetch you later.”
Then she smiled again with her magenta lips and left.
We went to a different bar than I’d gone to the night before. This one was more quiet and played bossa nova instead of rock. The bartender wore a white button up shirt and black slacks and seemed like he knew what he was doing. Linda had added a leather jacket and her lips were still magenta.
“So what do you do for work?” she asked.
“Advertising.”
“What do you advertise?”
“Anything someone will pay to have advertised, I guess.”
“Did you move here for the job?”
“No.”
“Something else?”
“Something else,” I said, nodding. “What do you do?”
“I’m in real estate.” she said.
“What do you sell?”
“Shithole apartments, mostly. The kinda stuff I wouldn’t sell to my friends. But the places are cheap. And people always want cheap.”
“Do the shithole apartment buildings hold fake elections?” I asked coyly.
“You know?” she said as she ran a finger around the rim of her martini glass, “I don’t think they do.”
“I see.”
“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.
“Alright.”
“You seem like you’re running from something. With the vagueness, I mean. I don’t mean to press you or anything, but I find myself curious.”
I thought about it. I think I told her because she was new and knew nothing of me and wouldn’t be able to judge whether I was better or worse off than I was before.
“I was engaged. It didn’t work out. I packed up and came here without telling anybody anything.”
“So are there people searching for you?” she said, smiling. “Are you like a fugitive?”
“No. It was a small town. I think people know what happened.”
“Which means that someone who knows the details wouldn’t question your decision to leave. Rough.”
“Yup.”
Then we talked about an open house she had tomorrow and how the potential tenants had a drug addiction but it would probably be alright because the neighbor had three dogs and dogs weren’t allowed in the building either. She said she often thought of those sorts of things.
When we got back to the building Richard was asleep at the front desk. I wondered why. He’d probably been off the clock hours ago.
When we reached my apartment door we lingered there a moment. She looked at me and smiled and we didn’t move. We were tipsy.
Then she extended a hand. “It was nice to meet you.”
“It was nice to meet you too, Linda.”
She walked back to her room and said “Let’s do this again sometime!” and unlocked her door. She went inside and that was it.
Odds and Ends 