The Royal Family (61 page)

I’d like to spend about a hundred bucks on one of these, he said.

Links style or rope style?

Well, should she hang herself or just be locked up? he said. It’s up to you.

The woman pulled out the first gold chain that came to hand and said: This is probably a little more than a hundred dollars.

And how about that one?

It’s all by weight.

Well, ma’am, then would you mind weighing it for me and telling me how much it is?

The woman sighed heavily, slammed his choice down on the scale, and said: Eighty-three twenty-four.

I hope to see you again before then.

I beg your pardon?

It’s perfect.

The other one’s a hundred twelve.

Oh, I’m a cheapskate. I guess I’ll take the one that caught my eye.

Eighty-nine twenty.

Guess I’d better pay before the price goes up again.

That’s the
tax
, sir.

It certainly is.

What is your name? I need it for our receipt.

I prefer privacy, thanks, said Tyler.

Sir, you’ll have to give me a name.

Adolf Hitler, said Tyler.

The woman snatched up the gold chain and stalked off to the manager. The manager looked up from the telephone and shot Tyler a sly glance. Tyler gazed back at him serenely.

Returning, the woman wrote C A S H on the receipt.

Why, how did you know my name? said Tyler. I’m Johnny Cash’s third cousin once removed.

I’ll get you a box, said the woman.

She spread the gold chain out on the cotton and tried to stab it down with golden colored pins, which didn’t take. Tyler watched with friendly interest.

What are the pins made of? he inquired.

You can take it from me they’re not real gold, said the woman, giving up her attempt to skewer the chain. She would have been a poor lepidopterist.

Tyler slid his finger under the chain, enjoying the smoothness and cool weight of it, and then he thanked the woman, took the box, and went out.

He awoke with the taste of Irene’s cunt in his mouth.

And now it was Saturday evening near the Tenderloin, and the red lights chirred green and he rolled past the Opera House, accompanied by sparse lights. The greenish dome of City Hall reminded him of Dan Smooth’s head. Straight up through the timed lights on Gough Street was the way to salvation, toward the Bay and the Marin headlands, but he meant to go the other way, down to the grimy darkness where the Queen was. His heart
exuded self-praise. Who was he tricking? He didn’t love her; he loved Irene. But he wanted to pay his respects. He wanted to be thanked. He wanted the Queen to know that he continually thought of her. For once, the eyes were not narrowed in his grey face. His confidence, his hope, needed only a couple of finishing touches. It never dawned on him that hanging about the Queen’s court might be as improper a thing for a man to do as joining Apache women at their card games. He’d sent word by way of the parking garage that he was coming, and Beatrice, who was wide, sunny and busy like Mission Street itself with all its palm trees and families, said that the tall man would be meeting him on Larkin and Golden Gate at nine-thirty sharp. He had the gold chain in his coat pocket. It was that which gave him his confidence. Like Celia, who at that very moment sat in an Afghan carpet shop on Polk Street purchasing a magnificent bundle of threads which she could not realistically afford, he believed that offerings of money, being more easily made, were more craftily practical than the other kind. It is written that when the Greeks made sacrifices to Zeus, they threw only entrails into the sacred fire, keeping the meat for themselves. Little wonder that Zeus did not always reciprocate with ready-wrapped treasures.

At the corner, a pert black girl with a hairdo like a giant paintbrush started stretching her arms and shoulders. —You call me, you come to me, she said.

I wish I could, said Tyler. But I have a date with the Queen.

The Queen! she cried in amazement. It won’t work. The
conspiracy—

But just then the light changed. He waved and drove on, feeling very loyal. He hadn’t checked his answering machine all day.

The tall man was late. Tyler stood waiting in front of the Mitchell Brothers as if for the strip show, taking his time, until the man behind the window said: Do you want to go in or don’t you? and Tyler said: Well, give me a minute to make up my mind and he leaned there for another ten minutes until the man said: You can’t just stay here. You’ll have to go elsewhere to make your decision . . . and Tyler said: Now, you say that if I go in now it costs fifteen dollars but half an hour from now it’ll cost twenty-five? and the man said that’s right and Tyler leaned there for another ten minutes and then said: I’m trying to make up my mind whether I’d rather pay fifteen dollars or twenty-five dollars. Can I just wait here for half an hour? —It’s the same show, the man said. —Yes, said Tyler, but somehow I have the feeling that for twenty-five dollars I’ll get more.

So he wasted the man’s time until he saw Justin coming from the direction of the parking garage.

He raised his hat.

Hello, Henry, said the tall man.

Good evening, Justin, said Tyler. How are you and how’s the Queen?

Oh, shitty as always, said the tall man. More goddamned cops and vigs nosing around. Let’s get out of here.

You can’t just stay here, said the man behind the ticket window.

Okay, sir, said Tyler. We’ll be back for the hundred-dollar show.

The tall man led him down Leavenworth Street past a late-night soup restaurant through whose window Tyler glimpsed a slender Vietnamese girl with a rainbow ribbon in her hair; with a rag and window cleaner the girl was wiping each plexiglass-covered table to mirror-ness.

Hey, Justin.

What?

Where are you from, anyway?

I’m concrete. I’m a sidewalk. I come from all over.

When I’m with a woman I come all over, so that makes two of us.

You know what, Henry? You try to be funny, but you ain’t funny. You’re just a sad-assed honky sonofabitch.

Guess my ass would be pretty happy if you stuck your finger up it in the back seat of my faggoty car.

You’re too fuckin’ much. We turn left.

The voice in the first cell—a tremulous old male voice—was saying: When you want to touch her hair you put her hand on your head so she knows you’re not insulting her sacred place, and she smiles, oh, Jesus, that’s how you do it; and then when you eat her out she is, well, she is caressing your hair so, so softly.

Does he have an Oriental gal interrogating him? said the Queen. He’s talking about Oriental gals. He sounds like a nice guy.

Yeah, I think that one no problem, said a smiling Thai girl, sticking her head out from between the red curtains. He just like the girl too much! Very funny, very nice man! Him so good!

All right, let him out, said the Queen.

She kisses you of her own accord but with
closed
lips, the dreamy old voice went on.

Wait a minute, the Queen said. I don’t like the sound of that. You interrogate him some more.

Her wet, tight, thoroughly delicious cunt . . . the voice mumbled. I’m so sleepy, but . . . shaven up to the top, then a nice overhang of hair. Tell her I want to be her friend.

All right, called the Queen. Nothing wrong with any of that. He sounds a little confused, but his heart’s in the right place. Who reported him?

Smooth, said Justin.

Dan Smooth reported him? What’d he say?

Said he hurt a child.

Smooth doesn’t lie about stuff like that. Get to the bottom of it. Tell this guy he’s gotta come clean or I’m gonna cut his balls off and cook ’em and make him eat ’em.

Awright, Maj, the tall man said. Want me to kick him around?

Just talk to him. You can do that well.

That Henry Tyler’s waitin’ on you.

Oh, he is? I heard he left that girl I got him.

That’s right, Maj.

All rightie. I’ll see him.

Where is she, Henry?

I don’t know. I stopped seeing her after she told me her real name.

Ah. So you stuck it out that long. Well well well. C’mere.

He came to her.

Kneel down.

He knelt.

Touch me, Henry, said the Queen. Just touch my shoulder or touch my hand. It don’t matter. Oh, you’re my sweet little baby boy. That’s right. Now close your eyes. You’re going to see that Irene you love. Close ’em tight. Now tell me what you see. You can tell me. Don’t be ashamed.

The Queen was squeezing his hand.

He saw the true Irene as a slender girl of nine, silently carrying her baby brother up and down the stairs.

You’re right, he whispered. I saw her.

She was a little girl, wasn’t she?

Yes.

You know what that means?

What, am I like Dan Smooth?

No no
no.
Inside, you’re little, same as her. You wanna be her friend. You wanna play with her. But you can’t, ’cause she’s dead. Ain’t that right, Henry?

Yes, he said dully.

You need to cry? You can cry in front of me if you want. Don’t mind about me.

He squeezed her hand. He said: I’m not sure I can, uh, . . .

All right. Now close your eyes again. Here goes.

He saw perfect fish-ribs and kale amist codfish and red sauteed onions. Irene was eating with chopsticks, somewhere in the wide streets and malls of Koreatown. It was a dish called
cho-rim.
Now she was smiling and saying something, but it was all silent. She couldn’t see him. Her old uncles, all dead like her, smiled wearily and picked their teeth.

She’s having fish for dinner, right? said the Queen with a knowing smile.

Uh huh, said Tyler, nodding his head with an effort.

That means she’s been saved. She’s in heaven now, Henry. You don’t have to worry about her. If you see a dead person that you love, and they’re eating fish, that means they’re eating the body of Jesus. They’re gonna be okay. But you know that Irene’s not your kind, Henry. She’s a Christian girl. When she died, she left you. She never could have been with you. You know that, Henry honey? You got to know that.

Tyler’s stubbly face twitched, and a long tear began to ease out of his left eye, slowly, slowly descending his cheek. He felt no relief.

Don’t think about her too much. If you do, she gonna ache.

I—

Baby, I’m gonna ask you a question, whispered the Queen. And you don’t have to answer, ’cause I already know the answer.

Tyler began to shake and shiver.

Did you have sex with Irene, Henry? It’s okay. You can answer.

Another tear came out of him, this one burning hot.

Henry? Sweetheart, you okay? Sweetheart, did you and Irene make love?

He wept.

Listen to me, Henry, said the Queen, taking his head between her hands. Not to answer
me
is to deny
her.
You remember how Peter denied Jesus?
I don’t know him,
he said. Did you know Irene? Did you have carnal knowledge of Irene?

Tyler groaned. He tried to speak, but could not.

He knelt down and threw his arms around her, burying his face in her waist. Then slowly he sank down to the concrete floor, and clasping her ankles, placed his forehead on the floor. He lifted her foot and placed it on his neck with the shoeheel pressing down. She remained still. She neither withdrew her foot from him nor did she lean her weight on it. Together they listened to the squeaking of stolen shopping carts, and Justin yelling:
Shut up!
Strawberry screamed again and again. Kitty was silent. He gripped the Queen’s foot encouragingly, and she pressed down on his neck ever so slightly. The two of them stayed like that for a very long time and then he said to her: I am yours.

What do you want to do? she said.

I want you to . . .

You can tell me, she said very gently.

I want you to be my . . .

He was clinging to her tightly and his body was trembling.

Look at me, the Queen said so gently.

He looked her in the face.

Are you serious? she said.

I was dreaming about your breath, he said. I wanted to drink it in.

When he gave her the gold chain, she began to cry.