Kill Kill Faster Faster (8 page)

J
oey don’t know why he react so bad.

Joey don’t know why you can’t take him nowhere.

Tell the truth, it never cross his mind why, not at first, then he just flip.

After the reading there was a reception with caviar and hors d’oeuvres.

Joey stood there amidst the black-tie and evening-dress, champagne-sipping literati, drinking beer out of a bottle, refuse a glass, and he say nothing. Fleur had his arm and she gripping it tight with both her hands, sort of hugging him to her, and he say nothing, nothing to no one, but she was all chattery chattery, standing there hugging his arm, being charming, laughing at this joke from this writer asshole, laughing at that innocent little sexual innuendo from that writer douche bag.

It never dawn on nobody Joey could be with a woman like Fleur. No one think Joey could be with her. Not in their wildest imaginings. Joey low class. Joey low rent. No way Joey could have hold on her, no right, not a girl like that. Not a woman like that. Joey evening window dressing for a woman like that, nothing more, to their eyes.

See Fleur. They all knew her. See her, see that, snick snick teeth, little French tart. See her? See her slum. See her slumming. She slumming again. A girl like that, she make a career out of slumming. She brought that ex-con, for whatever reason think he a writer. Ha. See Fleur. She leave her husband home. See her. She brought her own personal evening entertainment, her own personal pet, keep her busy, keep her amuse, give her something to do. But he ain’t nothing, not that one, he not amusing. What he doing here with us? Among our kind. Why she bring him? What is he? He don’t belong. He ain’t nothing. Not that one. Not that boy. Not that Joey One-Way. He not good enough. No way.

That’s how Joey feel.

Joey couldn’t stand it. Joey ready to explode.

Joey left Fleur, he pulled his arm away, and he pulled on the beer as he walked, drain the beer, stalk out of the reception room, leave them all behind.

He standing by himself in the lobby, looking at a fish tank. In the fish tank are these goldfish. The goldfish fancy, have red bodies and black faces, like a mask. They looking out. They look like a gang ready to commit a heist. Looking at Joey from the water, waiting for Joey give the signal. Let’s do it, boys. The fish, they got these long red feathery fins with black tips. The fins flutter in the water when the fish swim. The tank is large and the backdrop is like some classic Roman ruins with grottos and columns and some such itty-bitty steps, like a staircase. There is a treasure chest with jewels and a pearl necklace spilling out and a few broken old columns on the bottom of the tank and they are green with algae, but it is not because the tank is dirty, only because it is effect. Joey is looking at the tank, air stone bubbling, treasure chest bubbling, looking at the black and gold fishes that look like crooks, and someone come up and stand behind him, Joey can feel the presence, but he don’t turn, but he catch a glimpse, a reflection, in the glass, he know who it is, not by name, or maybe by name, he hate to admit he know who it is, man big reputation, thick man, one of the hot-shit writers, maybe the hottest-shit writer of them all, you hear what I’m saying?, the machismo man macho writer, the writer with the biggest rep, the biggest rep of them all, the writer all them other hot-shit writers consider is more hot shit than them, leader of the pack. All them hot-shit writers think they better than Joey, this writer the writer maybe who Fleur said had a huge crush on her, touched her breast, touched her pussy, tried to kiss her, ask her for an affair, a charity fuck, anything, five minutes alone with her, and the writer stand there for a second or two, maybe a minute, at his full height, chest puffed out, gut sucked in, and he study Joey and he study the fish tank and he say to Joey, You an aquarian?, something like that, and maybe the writer mean one thing, maybe he mean another, maybe he was innocent after all, didn’t mean a thing, but Joey turn real cold and he say, No, I’m a Pisces, and the man laugh like Joey some kind of moron or some kind of nut and he look at Joey like Joey really something small and pathetic and he say, No, no, chuckling, he say, I mean, are you into aquariums, are you into fish?, and Joey hit him with the beer bottle, lay him right out with the beer bottle, smash him upside the head, man sink to his knees. Joey kick him in the stomach, smug bastard, the man go down on the floor gulping for air, his lips drinking for air like the fancy fishes in the tank.

After that Fleur come running, look at the guy on the floor, the side of his face bashed in and bleeding, look at Joey, take him by the arm, get him out of there.

On the sidewalk she say, You all right, baby, you okay?, and when he say he is, she shake her head, and finally she say, You want to get something to eat, baby?, and the doorman get them a cab, Fleur slip him a couple of bucks, and there quite a racket still going on behind them, people trying to help their fallen hero, people gawking, and she say to the driver, River Cafe.

J
oey wear a hat. Did I say that? Joey wear a hat all the time. What you call a stingy brim. Hat once belong to his father.

The maitre d’ ask Joey take off the hat before he come in the dining room and Joey almost get in another fistfight, Fleur step in try to tell the maitre d’ he always wear the hat, the maitre d’ say he don’t care, look at Joey, direct challenge, everybody testing Joey tonight, say rule of the house, no hat, take off the hat.

Joey say no.

Just like that.

Joey look the man in the eye, keep his expression under control, real neutral. Joey go to the bar. Fleur follow him, say, Baby, it’s not worth it. Joey say, I be damned if I take off my hat, take off my hat for that man.

Fleur say, Joey, let it go.

Joey turn to the bartender, waiting for his drink order, Joey say, I drink what she drinking.

Bartender waits for her to say what she wants.

She drinking a martini with a olive.

The martinis in front of them. First thing Joey fish down, capture the green olive, eat the olive. He catch the bartender eye, ask, Could you give me some more olives?

The maître d’ come back now, over now to the bar, say, Your table’s ready, sir, but I’m serious, you’ve got to take off the hat. Without a word Joey take it off. Put the porkpie on his lap, squeeze the mustard-colored felt. He run his fingers through his hair. The maitre d’ say, You want me to take it, put it in the coatroom? He reach for it, Joey snatch it away, ready to punch him the man don’t go away from him, Fleur say, No thanks, he keep it with him, he prefer it that way.

Damn straight.

Damn straight.

Joey One-Way.

The food is the kind of food, you know, drizzle on the plate. The restaurant is full. The best tables are on the river, overlooking the city. They sit in the third row from the water. The Brooklyn Bridge span the river just north of the dining room. Joey looking out. A little red-and-black tugboat cross the panorama, heading south to the harbor. Joey eat his food, terrine of confit or something, mallard or something, French shit, Fleur order, You’ll like this, she says. Joey don’t care, Joey so hot, Joey no company.

Fleur drain her martini, order a bottle of red wine, she don’t consult Joey and the wine steward don’t offer Joey no drink. He pop the cork, offer Fleur a taste, she sip it, nod, and the steward fill Joey’s glass, then her’s, Joey say, What beer you got in bottles?

Fleur sock him.

No way, she say, she going to let him drink beer. She make him drink wine. She make him eat the terrine or the confit or the whatever. She say, Ain’t this good?, and Joey say, Yeah, it is, not grudgingly, because it is, but because he ornery, he
contraire
, like Mary Mary, you know, quite contrary, like that, just for the sake of it, but Fleur don’t let him get away with it, and he like that, he guess, in the end, because in the end, some of that anger drain out of him, and he feeling better, and he got to admit the food is good.

He don’t remember anything having a price on the menu, but that don’t matter because he ain’t paying anyway, she got Mec’s credit card and it go on that, corporate account, bill the network, you a writer, ain’t you, Joey, you work on the series, right?

Yeah, Joey a writer. Joey work on the series, if you can call it that, work, what he do. He sit in a room, he listen, he make a suggestion or two at the dialogue, spice that shit up, that-away, Joey. Juice it, baby. Juice it.

Now he suppose to be working on original teleplay, adaptation, “Shark cut into the night.”

He don’t know why. “Shark cut into the night.”

Fleur waiting, waiting for him to say something, anything, him saying nothing, glaring out at the river, she finally saying, Joey? Joey, why are you so difficult?

Joey stay blank. Joey don’t answer. Joey just glaring and glaring at the river, like the river is his enemy. Finally, Joey say, Baby. Joey finally say, Baby, look at me, man, Flowers, look at me. I am all fucked up. I can’t go on like this anymore. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. It’s driving me crazy. You and Mec. I love you, baby. I love you. I can’t go on. I got to end it. I got to walk away.

T
he cops made Joey afraid. It was irrational, but that’s the way it played.

It Halloween and Joey afraid and there is a gauntlet of people in costume and they all so weird and young to Joey, so young and fucked-up looking and bizarre and staring.

They coming at him and they a coming and they don’t stop. The streets is full of them and he is on the west side in the Village, walking down from the docks, walking first south, then east, first along Eighth Avenue, then cutting over on Horatio, angling east, east, east where the halfway is. Joey love to walk, Joey walk the streets of the city, because the city is his, is Joey’s, and Joey is free now. He is free.

People talking at him. People he don’t know. On the street they is talking and saying shit, and he ain’t answering.

Happy Halloween!

Shit like that.

And there is people in his style.

Groups of them.

Castanet queens, gays in drag, going, Help, Officer. Help! Help!, going clickety-clack, and pink warnings posted, GAY BASHING BEWARE, and masked people balaclavaed, holding white balloons and kids even, infants, in strollers, howling, howling at the night, baying at the moon.

And it is a sad night. And it is quiet, despite all the noise and hoopla and hullabaloo.

And they is kids sleeping in doorways and on the street. Their faces painted white, white as death.

And they is looking up at him, asking, Got a quarter?, guys standing he knows, he swears, guys he’s seen in the lockup, believe it or not, guys muttering, Smoke and dope, smoke and dope, their heads bent, their eyes averted, then fleeting, into Joey’s eyes, Joey? Joey One-Way, don’t I know you?

It is Halloween and Joey thought about a costume for a moment, for an instant, Joey thought about a costume, dressing up, when Fleur remind him, could be fun, and he think about it, he really do, think about a costume and what to wear, for the briefest moment, the briefest instant, could be fun, him thinking, Let it go. Let it go.

He think and think and he come up with nothing and that is why there are the people in his style, because it is Halloween and Joey have no style because he have no costume and his costume is himself and his disguise is no disguise, his hat pulled down over his eyes, hide his hair, still and all, he is exposed and all of them see him for who he is, the gauntlet, and this makes him scared and nervous and at Washington Square the cops is out and about and all around and there is barricades and fences and, You walk this way, this way, or you don’t walk at all, Keep it moving, you hear what I say, what’s a matter with you, man, walk, keep it moving. You hear what I say? What’s up wit you?

All right. I’m moving.

You better.

Earlier, back in the office, Flowers touch his face, say, Hey, Joey, want to come with Mec and me tonight, party hardy?, and Joey say no, he can’t handle it, being with Markie and her.

After he back off, after he say he can’t see her anymore, and he know he can’t not see her anymore, he suck her off right there on his desk, and Fleur, and no one suppose to know, the office kitty come up and he come to Joey’s desk and he sit on the desk and he look at Joey and he smell him around the mouth like he smell the sex and he purr and he put his ass in Joey’s face, real butch, and he flaunt his pussy ass, the cat’s asshole and haunches in his face, and the pussy meow like Joey’s suppose to do something to that ass, put his finger up the cat’s rear end and get the thing off, Joey don’t know what, the thing don’t have no balls, he been cut, poor puss.

Markie come into Joey’s office, the cat’s ass in Joey’s face, and Markie, Joey his pet project, and he sit himself down like he always do and he look at him, like he always look like he trying to look deep inside him, see what is to be seen, and he talk to him what it means to be a writer, all serious, and Clinique, on the phone from upstate, tell Joey about what’s going down upstate, Joey knowing all too well he been there, done that, listen, listen good, Clinique saying, Learn your lesson well, blood, don’t be coming back, because I ain’t getting out, Clinique always wanting to do the same as Markie, talk to Joey about writing like it was God’s gift, like it was something real, like it was a real gift, but writing ain’t shit, writing a curse, Joey have no entitlement, no sir, writing the privilege of the privileged class, trying to go deep inside somewhere that is nowhere, where there is pain and confusion and nothing, nothing palpable or you can put your finger on, and Joey worry he never wrote, never could write, even
White Man Black Hole
, for Joey wrote in prison, whole bunch of prisoners pitching in, saying, No, man, Joey, that’s not how you say it, man, it’s said like this, everybody putting in their two cents, a good way of working for Joey, a safe way of working for Joey, free him up, free him right up, cause Joey don’t know and it forced Joey up, Joey, who don’t do good under pressure and it is Halloween and Joey’s mind going every which way, can’t nail down a thought, his only thinking them cops out in force ready to jump his bones and Joey can’t go back to the halfway, and if he don’t go back there, what if, and Joey walking the streets looking for something, waiting for something, searching out a face he want to see, an acknowledgment, his girls, that’s who he’s looking for, his daughters, trying to muster the courage like they would come out of the woodwork, or somehow Fleur, without Mec, coming up the avenue from the opposite direction and she see him and smile, light up his night, deliver him, someone please deliver him, from the evil that is parading every which way, the white faces, sharp fangs, vampire teeth, smeared black eyes, the ghouls, blood-red blood carefully dripping down pancake-white chins from blood-red rots.