Less Than Nothing (30 page)

Me:
Hope so. I miss U.

Melody:
Me 2.

This goes on for a few minutes, and then I call Jeremy. When he answers, he sounds perky and chatty.

“Hey, girlfriend. What’s the haps?” he asks in a singsong trill.

“Just at Sal’s.”

“Saw you tonight. Brill, as always,
ma cherie
.”

“Thanks. How’s your roommate situation?”

“I know more men than a proctologist, but they all have situations, you know? So I’m going to be forced to lower myself to putting an ad in the paper. With my luck, I’ll wind up with someone who’s got a head in a jar.”

“Ew. Pickled head.”

“I won’t even go there, tempting as it is.” He pauses. “What’s wrong? You sound kinda down.”

“I’m probably just tired.”

“Mm mmm. Not good enough. Give.”

I tell him about Mike.

Jeremy gasps dramatically, and I can practically hear him batting his eyes. “Oh, my. I think I’m having a hot flash. Did you say he’s in the army? What does he look like? I’m a pushover for a man in uniform. Just ask the UPS guy.”

“He looks a little like Derek, but more, I don’t know, meaty.”

“Lumberjack meaty or fireman meaty?”

“Drill sergeant meaty.”

“If I faint, call 911.” He gets serious. “So what’s your plan? You going to sit through that? Sounds like they have a lot of catching up to do.”

“I know. I’m trying to figure out how to get out of it.”

“Use me! Tell them I broke a nail or have a bad hair emergency. I’ll play along.”

That never occurred to me, but now he’s planted the seed… “Are you getting ready for bed?”

“Sage, I think you’re really sweet, and you sing okay, and maybe we can trade clothes once you get some decent threads, but I’m not interested in you that way.”

“Very funny. You want to get together for a cup of coffee?”

“I know a fab little bistro that makes chocolate martinis that are to die for. I think they also know how to make coffee.”

“Where is it?”

He gives me the address. About a ten-minute walk, tops.

“How long will it take you to get there?” I ask.

“If I don’t take forever freshening my freshness, maybe…fifteen?”

“I need something better than a broken nail. Think.”

“Ooh, how about…I’m having a nervous breakdown?”

“Nothing better?”

“I got food poisoning, and I need you to help me to the emergency room.”

Bingo. “See you in fifteen.”

“Ciao, baby.”

I return to the table, and the carafe’s empty. Derek and Mike both look relieved when I beg off. Derek puts up a token resistance, but it’s half-hearted. “See you at home later?” he asks.

“Sure. Sorry, guys. Mike, it was nice meeting you. I’m sure I’ll see more of you. When do you leave?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Great. Then maybe we can do lunch or something.”

The place Jeremy suggested is dark and all male. Billie Holiday is singing in the background. He arrives two minutes after I do, and of course, knows everyone. I order coffee and he a martini, and I share the latest drama with him – the kiss, my annoyance, the pall that’s fallen over our interactions. His advice is almost word for word the same as Melody’s, which is no help at all. Why won’t anyone tell me what I want to hear?

I get out of there after an hour and ride the train back to the Bronx, gritting my teeth the entire stretch. It’s way too late for a single female to be riding the subway through that area, but I luck out – there’s a transit cop who gets on at 125th Street and who stays until I’m off.

The walk home from the station’s nerve-racking, but my senses are finely tuned from months on the street, and I make it back in one piece. I debate waiting up for Derek, but after an hour goes by, I’m just getting angrier and angrier – there’s no question they’re out boozing, which infuriates me.

I finally drift off to sleep around 2:30, and the sun’s coming up when the sound of the door wakes me.

I look over at the entry and do a double take. Derek’s there, smelling like a brewery. I’m about to lay into him when I see his left hand.

In a cast.

Mike’s voice calls from behind him. “Nice place you got here, bro.” He sounds drunk.

Derek gives me a sheepish smirk and staggers to the sofa, where he collapses. Mike follows him in. He looks around, and his eyes settle on me. “Whoa. This is it? This is smaller than my hotel!”

I do my level best to control the rage in my voice. “Mike, what happened?”

“You should see the other guys,” he says, and a red haze clouds my vision.

“Derek. DEREK!” I scream.

He cracks one eye open and grins again. His lip’s split, and he’s got a flesh-toned bandage on his cheek.

“Don’ worry, baby, it’s all good,” he says, and then his head falls back against the couch and he’s out for the count.

Which saves me the trouble of knocking him out myself.

I can’t believe he did this. With everything in the balance, he gets wasted and breaks his hand? That screws our act. Completely. It’s a disaster. A complete nightmare. I’ve gone from the top of the world back to the gutter in no time.

All the waiting for three weeks, all the sacrifice, and I’m stuck in New York, totally screwed. And it’s all his fault.

I leap up, not caring if Mike sees me in my gym shorts and T-shirt, and hurriedly stuff my clothes into my bag. Mike watches me and leans against the wall. I glance at him disgustedly as I move into the bathroom, carrying my jeans. “You can have the bed. I won’t be back.”

When I come out dressed and move to my Chucks, Mike’s sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. He looks up, his eyes red. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

My tone’s beyond arctic. “You mean being at the semifinals of a show that can change our lives, and your stupid asshole brother decides to get drunk and ruin everything? Yes, Mike. It’s bad.” I sputter to a stop, so furious I can’t inhale. I’ve never been so angry in my life. Not when Ralph hit me the final time, not ever. I finally find my breath and shake my head. “I’m so out of here.”

“Where you going?” he manages, and I realize how drunk they are. He must have gotten Derek to a hospital, but it’s literally the blind leading the blind. My rage ratchets up another notch and is now in super-nuclear mega-turbo overdrive.

“Anywhere he isn’t. Tell him to find another partner. I’m through. Maybe he can find one he actually wants to fu–”

Mike interrupts me. “Don’ go. It’ll be ’kay. Really.”

I’m done arguing with drunks. I’ve had a lifetime of doing it with my mom. It’s a complete waste of time. “Tell Derek I’m not going to get dragged down with him. He may have decided being a piece of shit’s more important than making it, but I haven’t. I’m going to see if I can finish the show by myself. He can do whatever he wants. Maybe they’ll let him, maybe not. But I. Don’t. Care. Buh-bye, Mike. Enjoy your hangover.”

I storm out, Yam in one hand, backpack in the other, and remember that Derek has most of our money – I’ve only got a hundred bucks. I try to calm down, but that’s like putting an air freshener in a sewer – the problem’s a little too big to solve that way. I turn, put Yam down, and go back. I feel through Derek’s pockets, and there’s only thirty bucks.

I turn to Mike.

“Where’s my frigging money?” I hiss.

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Uh, hospital cost a bunch.”

The last straw.

I’m pretty sure you can hear the door slam clear to Chicago.

It’s not until I’m on the train headed into the city that I finally start to cry.

Jeremy greets me at the front door in a red silk shortie kimono and fuzzy bunny slippers, with a box of chocolate donuts and a cup of coffee. I’ve stopped crying, but when I see them, I start bawling like a newborn. He leads me inside his apartment and sits me on his couch, where there’s a box of tissues. He sets the coffee and doughnuts down on the table and moves Yam and my bag out of the way and plops down next to me.

I need the tissues. Jeremy holds the box out for me as I cry some more. After about three minutes, he sets the tissues next to me and hands me the coffee.

“Get some deep-fat-fried sugar bombs and some java into you, sweetheart. You’ll feel better.”

I snuffle and shake my head. “No, I won’t. I never will again.”

He sighs. “Well, maybe not, but it’s worth a try. Come on. Do it for me. Works every time I have a breakup.”

“It’s…it’s not even a breakup! There’s no
us
to break up!” I howl and sob some more. He nods as though I’ve made complete sense and explained everything, and then rises and gets himself a cup of tea. When he returns, he fixes me with a steady gaze.

“Men are swine, sweetie. Believe you me, I know all too well.”

“They are,” I agree. “Except you.” I’m getting my crying under control.

“Well, I am too, just not to you.”

I try a laugh. It sounds like a croak. “Why do they suck so bad?”

“Because they’re big children. Men don’t even become human beings until they hit thirty, and a lot never do at all. But we carry stuff and build roads and buildings and 747s, so women and dogs put up with us.”

I laugh again. Whatever he’s doing is working. I try a doughnut. It melts in my mouth.

“That’s freaking incredible,” I say.

He nods. “Yes, Virginia, it is. Call me Santa.” He watches me eat and reaches over to tear a small hunk out of one of the doughnuts. “So tell me all. I could barely understand you on the phone.”

I give him the rundown. When I’m done, I’m more angry than sad. He can see that.

“There you go. That’s more like it. Turn that around and use it for yourself. Don’t let yourself become a victim, girl. You can move mountains with those pipes of yours, and much as I like staring at your boy toy, you’re the one I’d put my money on. You’ve got a quality, Sage, what they call star quality. I know it when I see it. Sometimes, on my very best, luckiest day, I have it too. But you? You radiate it. It’s as natural to you as breathing.”

I blush. He knows exactly what to say. “You should be a therapist. You’d make a fortune.”

“And listen to people’s problems all day? I’d be all like, ‘Cry me a river, now go get bopped and move on.’ I wouldn’t last long. I hate other people’s problems. Except yours. Yours are always interesting.”

My face falls. “And he spent all the money. So I’m broke again.”

Jeremy smiles. “No, honey, you’re only broke for now. You’ve been there before, and you did just fine. This is a temporary setback.”

I look around. I’ve never been to his apartment before. “Roommate all gone, huh?”

“Yup. Just me and me.” His eyes light up. “Say, where are you going to stay?”

I haven’t even thought about it. “I…I don’t know.”

“Look no further. You can bunk here until you get back on your feet. I can promise you no AC, noisy neighbors, terrible plumbing…all for more money than you want to know.”

I smile and wipe my face. “Sounds perfect. But as I told you, I’m broke.”

He purses his lips. “You’re credit’s good with me, Sage. Well then. It’s settled!” He slaps his hands on his legs and then gets a troubled look on his face. “Now we have to strategize how to talk Mr. Sourpuss into letting you continue sans Dereeek.”

“Sans?”

“You’re ratings gold, babycakes, so all you have to do is say the right words. He loves you. You can see it in his beady reptilian eyes. More importantly, you’re one of his top draws for his first season. He’ll find a reason to do it if you frame it the right way.”

“I hope so. But I have another problem.” I tell him about the notarization issue.

“Ooh, that might be thornier. Let me put my thinking cap on. I know all the wrong people, so I should be able to come up with something.”

I hug him. He’s worth his weight in gold. “Promise you won’t forget me when you’re a huge star,” I say.

“I’ll let you carry my bag. Never fear, my dear, you’ll always have scraps from my larder.”

“Your what?”

“Not now. I’m thinking.”

Two hours later we’re sitting in the run-down offices of Norman Powell, Esquire, attorney at law. He’s about as unimpressive as any lawyer I’ve seen, and not at all what I’d pictured when Jeremy told me about him – he’s skinny, no more than thirty, with black curly hair receding over a long nose and wearing a short-sleeved plaid button-up shirt. I was expecting one of those lawyers on TV that look like Kevin Spacey in a three-piece suit.

“I can file a motion today to have you declared an emancipated minor,” he says. “We’ll make the case that you’ve been living on your own, that you’ve exercised prudence and sound judgment, and that you should be legally in charge of your destiny, no longer requiring the protection of a parent or guardian.”

“Really? How long will that take?”

“Depends on the court, but I have a little bit of pull there, so maybe…we’ll see if we can get it heard in a week. I’ll draft the doc right now. It’s not involved.” He hesitates. “I have to warn you, though, there are no guarantees. It’s up to the judge, and that’s the luck of the draw. But it’s your best shot unless you can get your mother to sign it.”