The Cosmopolitans (29 page)

As all the anxiety of the past months slowly settled and evaporated into the sky, Bette opened the front
door of her apartment and waved a path for Joseph. Without a pause, he pulled out the dolly he'd stored behind her kitchen door, lifted his prize onto its wheels, and rolled his reward out over the threshold and down the hall: his brand new television set that he pushed on the sidewalk, all the way home.

Beat the world at its own game
.

Chapter 30

E
arl took two days to realize that Hortense wasn't coming back. He put all her belongings into a bag and left them out, first in the hall in front of his door, then in the lobby where they disappeared. A week later he saw one of the queens from the Hotel Albert wearing her light blue frock despite its too-small size.
So be it
. When the apartment was emptied of her influence, he stretched out on the bed, took up all the space, and sighed. There were pluses and minuses to everything. And immediately he longed for a man, and dreamed that night about Anthony, and tried to call Leon's number but it was disconnected. It was all still there, all his feelings, his heart. Only the buffer was removed. Not much had changed. He was still full of holes.

From time to time Earl thought about calling Bette. She had been very quiet ever since that confrontation. She just went to work, came home, went on with her tiny, little life. What a strange creature she was, after all. He did notice that one night sometime back, she
had what appeared to be a party. This truly surprised him, as he didn't think she had any friends. And it would be hard to imagine that she had accrued any. At least not enough for a party. Then he decided that she must have loaned her home to someone else for
their
party. And that explained why such a burst of energy was surrounded by the absence of any other traffic in and out of her apartment, as far as he could tell. Just the same old isolation, the same old, lonely Bette. Reading in her chair with her cup of tea. Here, he had been through so much, he had tried so hard to have a better life, but she never changed a thing. Just sat with her book.

Earl went to Alphonso's office and asked for his job back. Alphonso, too embarrassed to discuss it, just said yeah, with his eyes glued to the floor. As Earl suspected, Leon had never been heard from again. And that, sadly, was going to have to be that. He did pass, occasionally, by the Caffe Cino. As predicted, the cops were giving Joe a terrible time, but they had managed to get a show up on its feet, and Earl sat in the back, marveling at all the camping and innuendo happening onstage. It was the kind of thing normally only drag queens would do. But here were men playing the same game. Telling inside jokes about “trade” and “studs” and referring to details of life that only other queers would know. Earl enjoyed himself, he had to admit. It was strange to see it all out in public that way. He wasn't sure there would ever be a real audience for that sort of thing, but it was harmless. Harmless fun.

One night he was going out of his skull and suddenly remembered
No Heaven Like Earth
and got his
ass over to 111 East Houston Street, just in time for curtain. Yep, Frank Carter was playing Joe, and
sho 'nuf
, Frankie shuffled that Joe across the floor of Bobby's grocery store. It was exactly the performance those ofays wanted—a Joe who thought nothing, wanted nothing, had never been anywhere, and had no place he had to be. Frank gave them what they wanted and he'd gotten the job.

Coming out of the theater, Earl spotted Lynette, with her new man, a nice-looking Negro guy, nice suit, some kind of professional. They'd been at the play, too, and were waiting for Frankie to get out of his costume. Earl didn't want any trouble, but he caught Lynette's eye, and she waved. She wasn't angry. Her life had gone the way she needed it to go, so why not forgive, right? Why not?

Chapter 31

T
he following month was a busy one. But finally everything came to an end.

Valerie, Hector, and Bette sat in the empty office, finishing off the last bit of packing. Bette sealed up all the files in boxes, taped them shut. Valerie, meanwhile, put shipping tags on the new office furniture she had only recently ordered.

“I cannot believe that Tibbs Advertising has come to an end,” said a dust-covered Hector, glum and somewhat confusedly ashamed. “My father would have been disappointed in me.”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” Valerie crooned, ever cheerful. “I think your father would have been delighted by all the money we've made.”

Hector smiled at her, adoringly. She was still his hero. “Valerie, I will never fully understand how you got J. Walter Thompson to buy us out.”

“Friendly fire,” she smoked. “Very friendly.”

Hector felt sad again, remembering that most of his
share of the profits was going toward alimony. He had retained enough to start his life over here in the city. But that was it. Still, he was amazed by how cheaply he could rent a six-floor walk-up with no closets. He'd already enrolled in a sculpture class. He'd purchased a chess set and some bongos and a hi-fi with some Ella Fitzgerald records. Big gallon jugs of Chianti went for nothing. And he could get a strong coffee anytime of day or night. Food was cheap down here. There was bread at the bread store and cheese at the cheese store and pickles at the pickle store. Everything had its cozy, little, eccentric place. He bought a typewriter and thought about writing a novel called “Connecticut” about a young advertising executive who gives it all up to move to the Village and find meaning in his life. He'd started reading a novel to see how they were made and was halfway through
The Cosmopolitans
, taking careful notes. It was an interesting story about a night clerk at a hotel, a normal young man surrounded by freaks. Clearly there was a market for exactly the kind of story that Hector wanted to tell. So that should make it easier. And it had love, of course. The night clerk still loved the neighborhood girl he'd left behind in a small town in Massachusetts. In Hector's story, the hero would find love with the brilliant, saucy girl from the office. In fact, that morning Hector had begun growing a goatee as a way to make himself a bit more dangerous. Everything was in place for him to finally be a man and let Valerie know the truth of how he felt. How much he cared for her. Hector gulped, scratched his itchy chin, and gathered his courage.

As for Bette. She had raked in quite a significant
sum of money, but there were no plans to be idle. She had promised Earl, to his face, that someday she would find the cash to protect them both. And now she had made her promise come true. She had nothing to do but wait for the opportunity to complete the gift.

Of course, Valerie, too, had plans. She was about to start producing a new television series. A western. It was called
Tumbleweed
. Joseph would be playing the role of the sweet, young priest. She knew he was a thug and could not be trusted,
but we all have our weaknesses
. In a strange moment of decency, she had called up Earl and offered him a part. He could play the lazy, shiftless stable boy. But surprisingly, he said no. Some people just can't spot an opportunity when it slaps them in the face.

“Valerie?” Hector squeaked nervously. “Would you like to go to a poetry reading with me?”

“I'm sorry, Hector,” she sweethearted, as if singing
I love you a bushel and a peck
. “I have to wash my hair.”

“Oh.”

He looked so dejected, she didn't have the heart to end things that way. “Why don't you ask out an exchange student who is just learning English? Or, someone very, very young?”

“Okay,” he said, brightening up at the thought of an Anita Ekberg type speaking broken Swedish. He could show her around the Village and be the big man. “Great idea!” Then he left for the men's room to check in on the progress of his goatee.

After all this, Valerie still impressed Bette in the way that no one ever had before. She was a kind of combination role model, teacher, guru, movie star. Her
example was filled with warnings, of course, but her impressive set of skills seemed to be without end. And she was adorable. There was no way around that.

“Valerie,” Bette said with an open heart. “You know how to refuse people without upsetting them. How do you do that?”

“It's marketing,” Valerie smiled, then freshened up her lipstick. “Always make a blow off sound inviting. It gives them something to look forward to. If, for some disappointing reason, you ever need them later, the promise is always there. And you can deliver in person.”

“I thought that was it!” Bette's own instincts were much sharper now. “Is there anything that you would
never
compromise?”

Valerie thought for a minute. “No.”

“Do you like being that way?”

“I love it.”

“I can't imagine it,” Bette said.

Valerie put away her lipstick and straightened her collar in preparation for one final act of peppy generosity. She came to Bette and stood before her, offering her this gift.

“Bette, you are so smart. You have many strengths. And yet, you can't make your life work. After some serious study and consideration, I finally have figured out why.”

“Why? Tell me!”

Valerie smiled, of course. And selected the kindest, most seductive tone of voice.

“You want truth from people. You want them to be accountable. But they will never, ever take responsibility
for what they really feel and do. So . . . so . . . Bette, listen to me! Bette?
Bette?
Are you listening?”

“Yes.”

“Bette. Stop caring! IT'S NOT THAT KIND OF WORLD!”

Bette staggered back. This would take a lot of thought.

“Take Hector, for example,” Valerie went on. “You think I care about him? He's a dolt, he destroyed his marriage and ruined his family fortune.”

Hector walked back into the room.

“Hector!” Valerie gave him the hug of the angels. “It's been wonderful working with you. You did everything right, and everything worked out for the best.”

“Thank you,” he gleamed. “I feel the same way.” He turned to Bette.

She felt awkward and looked to Valerie who silently prompted her to try this new approach.

“Goodbye, Bette,” Hector said, waiting to be petted.

“You were a great boss, Hector,” she sleazed off her tongue. “And . . .”

“Yes?”

“Youdideverythingright.” It wasn't impossible if she said it all in one breath.

“Thank you,” he grinned. “I feel the same way.” And he left the office a happy, stupid man.

“You see.” Valerie pulled on her coat and gloves. “Most people don't want to know the truth. And I'm one of them. So, I know what I am talking about.”

“Goodbye, Valerie,” Bette said, feeling the tears. “You did everything right.”

“You know,” Valerie said, kissing Bette surprisingly on the lips. “I feel the same way.” And she was gone.

Chapter 32

I
t took a great deal of strength to let the days and nights pass those next few months, waiting for the reversal of fortune to complete. It was one torturously hot night. In fact, it was the night of July 28, 1958. That was the night of the day that I, the author of this novel, was born in that very building on Tenth Street, down the hall from Bette and Earl. It was horribly hot, I was screaming my head off. Bette couldn't sleep, and so she paced back and forth, folding a pillow over her ears, trying to drown out my wails. She was horrified to think of all the noise I would be making for the next twenty years until my mother married me off. Finally, desperate, she turned on the radio hoping for some kind of distraction as a second choice to peace. Scanning the dial, she noticed more rock and roll than ever, and then found a late night station with a talkative emcee.

It's hot, hot, hot, another scorcher. But that won't keep President Eisenhower from the golf links
.

She turned it off. The last thing she wanted to think about was President Eisenhower. Couldn't they find someone better than that? Someone younger, who didn't love being a soldier? Then, I stopped screaming. Bette plopped down in the chair, exhausted. It was the kind of relief that only absence can bring. Quiet. She let the pillow drop to the floor. Then, I started again. Life was new, and I had a lot to say to the world.

Bette leapt up, swung open the apartment's front door and stuck her head out into the hallway. At that very moment, Earl's door also opened abruptly. He couldn't take it either and jumped out of his cell.

“SCHULMAN! Can't you shut that kid up?”

Shocked. They stared at each other. I stopped crying.

“It's a girl,” Bette said.

“Why would anyone want to bring a child into this world?” Earl said.

“Why?”

“Happy Birthday,” Earl said.

“Thank you so much.” Her heart.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

And he went back into his room.

She too returned to her apartment, but left the door open and sat silently in the dark. The walls were sweating. Everything was still in the whole big town. Yes, she too had been born on this date. July 28. But in 1907.

She heard it, the creak, as Earl slowly opened his door again. She heard him step toward her apartment, linger in the hallway, and then lean, an apparition, in her doorway, as he had so long been in her heart.

“Just listen,” he said.

“Okay,” she said, thrilled in her chair.

“Don't say a word. Not even okay.”

She mouthed the word
okay
, but he was looking away and missed it.

“All right,” he said. “All right. I tried to find an easy out from myself. Okay . . . Okay. There isn't one. And I know my mistake. The person who I picked to cross was
you
. And
you
had nowhere else to go. That's why you couldn't play along, even though I asked you to. It would be giving up too much and getting nothing to replace it.”

He panted, regained his breath.

“If there is one thing I have learned it's this: When you leave someone, you have to leave them with a place to go. If they have no place to go, they can't leave.”

He coughed.

“So, I tried to make you do something that I made it impossible for you to do: not be yourself. You're a smart person, but you like simplicity. You like things to be known and safe. You don't want to be asked to try anything new. It's not you. And I sprung all that on you with no preparation.”

He coughed again.

There was a long silence then. Bette was trembling. Even if everything he said no longer applied, it didn't matter. He had at least thought about it. No one had ever tried to know the truth about her before. She had never before been seen, even if it was mistaken. Her skin sizzled. She waited. He could do it.

“The world . . .,” he said.

He started and stopped. Another long silence.

“The world . . . made me desperate. And you were the only one I could affect. So, I made you desperate.”

Finally, Bette, at the age of fifty-one, was getting what she deserved. All these years, these long, sad years, she had waited for justice. And here it was. The truth. At last.

“I expected you,” he said, “to give up everything. And no person would just say, ‘Okay, take everything.' I wasn't experienced at being superior. Like
they
are. I didn't know how to pull it off.”

Then Earl whimpered a little. Then he was fine. Words can't kill anyone. They just require decency, and then they create decency.

“Happy Birthday.”

She had seen him. He had spoken to her. The shunning was over.

He had told the truth. He acknowledged her birthday. That's all she wanted. That was her goal from the beginning, basic humanity. It was what she deserved.

“Okay,” Bette said. He was the man she had always believed him to be. And he saw the woman she always was. “Okay.”

END