Dope (22 page)

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Oh Jim. I'm so sorry.”

“What? If you're gonna talk, Joe, you gotta speak up. I can't hear you. It's like that thing they say, speak now or forever hold your mouth, or whatever it is. 'Cause this is it for you, Joe.

“This is it for you, Joe,” she said softly.

She poked at me with the gun, and for a second I thought I saw something on her face—something like regret. But maybe it was my imagination.

I was bleeding a lot. I had thought she was going to shoot me again but now I saw that it didn't matter.

I was bleeding a lot. She didn't need to shoot me again.

I heard a man say, “Hey, baby. Everything okay in here?”

My eyes were closed. I forced them open and looked up. It was a man in a pin-striped suit and a gray fedora. I knew him. He was waiting outside Paul's when I went in. I'd seen him in Katz's. In Bryant Park. In the restaurant where I ran into Shelley. He'd stopped by her table.

Shelley stood up. “Yeah,” she said. “I'm just waiting for the other one to come back from the powder room.”

“Hey,” I said. “I bet you drive a black Chevrolet.”

He looked at Shelley. He was a good-looking fellow, but he didn't look nice. His face had deep lines in it and his eyes were set like stone. I wished Shelley could have picked a nicer guy.

“Did she say something?”

“I don't know.” Shelley shrugged and started looking around my room. She opened the closet and looked at my dresses. “Look at this trash,” she said. “You've always been a dope, Joe, you know that? You've always been a goddamned dope.”

I was going to say something, but I forgot what it was.

The record kept playing. My eyes closed. It seemed now like it couldn't have happened any other way. Like this was the way it was supposed to be. This was how it had to end. All the disappointments added up to this.

I heard Nadine coming back down the hall.
Don't do that,
I said.
Stop.

“Why?” It was Monte. He was sniffing a line of dope off the coffee table in our first apartment.

I loved that table. I loved our apartment and everything in it. It was ours. I was finally out of my mother's place and on my own. I was going to have Shelley come and live with us, like a real family, just as soon as we got settled. Monte said everything would be different now. He'd take care of me, me and Shelley, and I'd never have to worry about making money again. I'd never have to let anyone touch me again. He was going to get a job at this factory in Brooklyn where his cousin worked, and he was going to take over paying for Shelley's acting classes, he was going to give her money every week like I'd been doing. It had always been just me and Shelley. We couldn't count on our mother. I worried about her so much that sometimes it hurt. Sometimes I couldn't sleep at night. I loved Monte, but that was the real reason I'd married him. To take care of Shelley.

“It's no good for you,” I said. I was seventeen. I knew you could get hooked. But I wasn't exactly sure how.

He leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He looked so happy. “No, it ain't so bad,” he murmured.

“Well, then I'm gonna try some.” Monte was three years older. He had said that as long as you didn't do it every day, you'd be fine. Nothing bad could happen to you.

I leaned down and took a sniff. It tasted horrible. I felt like I might be sick. I leaned back and curled up against Monte.

“It didn't do anything,” I said. I didn't see how anyone could get hooked on the stuff. It tasted awful and it didn't do anything. Except I was starting to feel a little sleepy. And I thought I might get sick. Monte put his arm around me and pulled me close. His hand felt so good on my shoulder.

“Wait,” he said. “Just wait. It'll do something.”

Acknowledgments

A million thank-yous to Dan Conaway and Simon Lipskar; to Clara Farmer and everyone at Atlantic Books; and to Jody Hotchkiss and Danae DiNicola.