Intaglio: The Snake and the Coins (35 page)

Cole’s fingers
wrapped around her wrist, pulling her toward the front door.  Kip Chambers
was trailing four steps behind them, his face concerned.

“I know what I
saw, Ava!” Cole snarled.

With a rough
yank, Ava pulled her arm out of his grasp, turning the other direction. 
There was a fire exit at the back of the building, and she was leaving. 

“You saw WRONG!”
she bellowed, fury burning over common sense.  “I can talk to whoever the
fuck I want to, so PISS OFF, asshole!”

Somehow Cole got
in front of her.

“No, fucking
way,” he growled, his body a solid wall.  “We are
not
done
talking!”

They were her
own words, thrown back at her, and she was
not amused.
Ava smiled
angrily, rage sharpening her words into daggers.

“Well, I WAS
talking to Kip but you interrupted us.” She shoved hard against his
chest.  “Now FUCK OFF and LET ME GO!”

Cole grabbed her
elbow again, trying to drag her back, when Chambers stepped in.

“You let go of
her,” he snarled, his face darker than Ava’d ever seen. 

He didn’t look
like a surfer or skateboarder now.  He looked like the kind of thin-limbed
hustler who you’d see in an alley seconds before he shivved you.

“Shit!” Ava
hissed.  “Mind your own business, Kip.”

“That’s right,
Kip,
”
Cole taunted.  “Mind your own fucking business – ‘cause this ISN’T it!”

Ava spun around.

“You know what?”
she shouted, hands on hips.  “You guys do whatever the hell you
want.  I’m outta here!” 

With that, Ava
banged into the door behind her, storming out into the cold, leaving Kip and
Cole scrambling after her.  She jogged unsteadily down the alley,
listening as the two men snapped and yelled, curses and swearing escalating
into taunts and threats, but she refused to stop.  As she rounded the
corner, she heard the thud of flesh on flesh.  She turned back to see Cole
and Kip circling each other, fists up.  Kip’s lip was bleeding; Cole’s
back was turned to her.

She stumbled as
another memory – like the night at the gallery – superimposed onto the scene.

Bright daylight,
two men standing on green grass. Ava standing a short ways away, sobbing.

“Choose your
weapon, you fool.”

“No weapons,
Jon.  Just my fists…”

“Your fists?”
he’d scoffed.

“I’m going to
beat you within an inch of your life, you arrogant bastard… and I intend to
enjoy every moment of it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t
be so certain…”

Ava heaved, her
mouth burning with alcohol and bile.  In the alley behind her, sounds of
fighting continued, grunts and hisses punctuated by the thud of fists
continued. 

“Stop it,
please!  Both of you just STOP!”

Wiping a trail
of saliva away, Ava staggered upward, staring into the darkness.

The alley in
front of her was an alley once more.

“Fuck!” she muttered,
turning the corner and leaving both men behind.  She was so angry right
now. The only thing she wanted to do was go start a fight herself... or paint a
train... or... or…

Ava lurched to a
stop at the front door of The Crown and Sceptre, pushing her way inside and
weaving her way to the booth.   Suzanne sat atop Chim’s lap, giggling
loudly as his fingers worked their way up inside her shirt.

“Need my stuff,”
Ava mumbled, grabbing her jacket and bag.  Chim glanced up, concerned.

“Hey, where’s
Cole?  He was looking for you.”

She shook her
head in disgust, gesturing outside.

“Well he found
me!” she sneered.  “Cole and Chambers are in the alley, beatin’ the shit
outta each other.”

“Fuck!” 
Chim cursed, shoving Suzanne roughly onto the bench before scrambling out into
the crowd. 

“Wait for
me!”  he yelled, but Ava was already halfway to the door, heading into the
night. 

It was January 1
^st
,
and it was snowing, the world transformed by the sudden reappearance of winter.

Cole’s temper
had been exorcised through pain given and received.  Hours later,
half-dazed, he wandered the empty streets, looking for Ava.  The inky
black of night in the city had given way to sombre pre-dawn gloom.  Cole
had no idea where she’d gone, and Chim – furious after breaking up the fight –
wouldn’t talk to him at all.  Cole headed back to the dorms, knuckles
swollen, lip bleeding, his body aching and exhausted.

‘Really fucked
it up this time, Thomas…’

Cole spat a line
of blood and saliva, breathing through his mouth rather than his blocked nose.
He was three blocks from home.  It had taken him almost an hour to walk
from downtown in the slowly falling snow.  The image of the city reborn in
white would have been beautiful if he’d had the image to share with someone,
but as it was, he could only focus on the cold.  His swollen hands were
numb in his pockets. 

Ava’s apartment
appeared, the rectangular structure looming.  Cole paused, wavering with
indecision before walking up to the front door.  He’d called Ava’s cell
phone at least ten times since the fight.  She wasn’t answering. 
Either she didn’t have her phone with her, or she didn’t want to talk. 
Cole was sick and horrified with himself and his reaction to what he’d
seen.  His anger with Ava had winked out as the first punch reached Kip’s
face. 

His teeth
clenched.  Cole rubbed his jaw, wincing at white-hot pain.  He wasn’t
sure why Kip Chambers threw gasoline onto the flames of his temper, but he
did.  (He had to give the guy this much, though – Chambers might look like
a punk – but the guy knew how to throw a fist.)   
Unfortunately, there was going to be repercussions to this
... There already
were
.  With this thought in mind, he finally rang the buzzer to Ava’s
apartment, waiting until he heard the crackle of connection.

“H’lo?” 

‘Shit!’
Cole’s mind
screamed.  In the stunned aftermath of the fistfight, he’d forgotten that
Oliver Brooks was at home.  Cole turned, ready to jog away, but the
intercom snapped again.

“Ava... that
you, Kiddo?”

Cole turned back
around, heart pounding.  He closed his eyes, pushing the button once more.

“Sorry,
sir.  It’s just Cole... I, uh... I thought maybe Ava’d come home. 
She must be with Chim, though.”

Cole let go of
the button and had just stepped back when the crackle came again.

“Cole, WAIT!”
Oliver ordered.  “I’m coming downstairs.” 

Cole cursed
aloud. He sank down onto the single step, putting his head into his
hands.  He'd been certain this situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.

It just had.

The door opened
and Oliver appeared, his grey suit jacket tossed on atop sweatpants and a faded
black Grateful Dead t-shirt.  Cole struggled to his feet, standing
sheepishly before Ava’s father.

“What the hell
happened?”  Oliver gasped.   “Is Ava alright?!”  he asked,
not waiting for an answer.  His voice was sharp and loud, his face
anguished.  He had his cell phone in one hand, the fingers of his other
hand gesturing at the evidence of a fight on Cole’s face.

“Ava’s fine... I
think...” Cole answered. “We got in an argument... and I uh... I got in a fight
with a friend of hers... a guy...  she took off.”  He grimaced. 
“I fucked up.”

“Where is she
now?” Oliver interrupted.  “I thought she was staying with you tonight.”

Cole was
horrified that Ava’s father not only
knew this
but was okay with it, but
he answered anyhow.

“I thought she
was with Chim and Suzanne, but she wasn’t with them when I left... I dunno
where she went.  That’s why I came here.”  Cole stared at the
ground.  He turned around, intending to head back down the street.

“You just sit
down a minute,” Oliver snapped.  “We’re not finished talking.”

Cole muttered a
curse and sat back down, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.  ,
Oliver lifted his phone and dialled a number.  After a moment, he sighed,
as if something inside him had just released.

“Yeah, Ava –
it’s me, Dad.”  Cole glanced up in surprise, catching Oliver’s relieved
expression.  “No... no reason.  Just woke up and felt like calling
you, so I did,” he said, then dropped his voice.  “You okay there,
Kiddo?  You sound a little upset.”

There was a
pause as Ava answered.  Cole could hear her voice on the other end, and
though he couldn’t make out the words he caught the tone. 
Livid
. 
Her father muttered small words of agreement, glancing at Cole now and then.

“Well, yeah...”
Oliver mumbled, “I could see how you would.”  There was another bout of
sharp words and Cole shifted uncomfortably where he sat.  “Uh-huh,” Oliver
said again, “so you’re staying there tonight then?  I could come get you
if you want.”

Cole glanced up,
frowning. 
‘Where is she?’
 

“Okay then,” her
father said with a heavy sigh.  “Sounds like a plan then... you do what
you need to do.”  Cole watched as Oliver smiled sadly, turning away. 
His voice dropped lower, barely audible.  “Well, if you’re not sleeping,
how ‘bout I come by tomorrow morning... pick you up for breakfast then. 
Hmmm?”  Another pause.  “Love you too, Kiddo… yup… I know… right.
Tomorrow morning then…”

There were a few
more words and then goodbyes.  Cole stood up and winced, his muscles
starting to ache, the crack on his lip reopened.  He took no more than ten
steps away when Oliver called out to him; cell phone closed and back in his
pocket.

“C’mon back,
Cole,” he said with a half-smile.  “No one gets off that easy when they
wake me up at four-thirty in the morning.”

Cole’s feet
stopped.  He could feel something balanced between them.  Any other
day and he would’ve walked away, but things had changed.  Ava wasn’t here
and he really wished she was. 

“C’mon,” Oliver
said with a weary laugh.  “You owe me one.”

With a defeated
groan, Cole followed Ava’s father back into the building.

They were
sitting on the fire escape as the sun hit the horizon, the warm yellow light
contrasting against the bright blue shadows of newly fallen snow.  The two
men were  talking, as they’d been doing for hours.  Cole had a mug of
overly-strong coffee in his hands, an old wool coat smelling of tobacco thrown
over his jacket, Oliver chain smoking next to him.  Their words wove
around the two of them... swirling like snow in the wind. 

Some time ago,
Cole had stopped thinking about
how to answer
Ava’s father, and just
started responding.  It was just too difficult to keep up otherwise. 
Ollie’s mind worked in ways Cole couldn’t understand.  He would quote from
the Enlightenment: 
“Voltaire once said ‘It was no more surprising to
be
born twice
than once; everything in nature is resurrection’...”
followed
by epithets of Aboriginal wisdom...
“while our culture thought of death as
the end, there are many – like the Hopi people who say ‘In death I am born’.”
 
It left Cole admiring the man’s ability to balance so many ideas. Not once had
Oliver overtly disagreed with him, but time and again, he’d circled the
conversation around to make
Cole
question
himself.

Cole wasn’t sure
he liked what he was discovering.

In the last hazy
hour as the sun crept into day, they’d gotten onto the topic of choices. 
Oliver was talking circles around him.  Cole took another sip of coffee
and tried, ineffectively, to keep up.   Every one of his
alcohol-fogged arguments felt less sound than the last, as if his thoughts were
in a tiny boat, the water beneath his logic moving incessantly.  The fight,
of course, had been an absolutely stupid decision... though Cole had known that
within seconds after it had started. 

It was
everything
else
that being dredged up now that worried him.

“People’s
lives,” Oliver said, lighting a cigarette off the ember of another, “are
different based on what they choose...  people go around thinking that
they have to be what their parents think they are, or some teacher told them,
or this idea they had of manhood, womanhood... what have you.  But it’s
wrong, Cole.  That’s all bullshit!”

Cole laughed
sadly, watching Oliver as he talked, the ashes of the cigarette swirling like
smoke around a magician as he gestured in the air. 

“Make your
choice,” Oliver said.  “
Everyone has one. 
Doesn’t matter who
you are or where you come from.  You can
change
the things you
hate.   Because
nothing
is ever predestined.  I truly
believe that.”