Steve Hamilton - The Lock Artist

He paused and took another sip of champagne.

“We play it all the way through. Right in his face, all the way out the door.”

The ladies came back to the table. Ramona grabbed Julian like she had no plans to let go that night. Lucy bent over and wrapped her arms around my neck. I was overwhelmed by her hair, by her scent, by the feel of her skin against my cheek.

She was just playing her part, I knew. But still.

“Have some more champagne,” she said to me. “It’ll numb the pain.”

I wasn’t sure what pain she was talking about. The pain in my body from everything I’d done that night? The pain in my heart? Or something else entirely.

Either way, I drank some more champagne. In this nightclub in this city on this night, with these lights flashing and this music pounding away on the dance floor below me… I couldn’t help wondering what would happen next. With these strange, beautiful people… it seemed like it could be anything .

Wesley came back. His face was red and his ponytail was undone. Julian gave me a quick wink as he stood up. Then I watched the two of them go at it. Wesley waving his arms around, Julian sticking his finger right in Wesley’s face. The upstairs bouncer had to step between them, and all hell broke loose for the next minute until we were all stumbling down the back steps and out into the night air.

Julian hailed a cab and we all squeezed into the backseat. Ramona gave the driver an address and we were off, rolling down Sunset Boulevard. Between the champagne and the company and the night itself, I was starting to feel disoriented.

Then we were going east on an expressway. The lights whizzing by us.

Then we were crawling slowly down a narrow street where people were dancing. They had to move to let us pass, one by one, inch by inch.

Then we were out of the cab and going into another club. This one was called El Pulpo. It was crowded and it smelled like spicy food and everyone was speaking Spanish.

Then I was dancing. Me. Actually dancing on a dance floor. I stopped dancing and drank a bottle of Mexican beer. Then I was dancing again.

I was dancing and feeling warm and almost good. Almost wonderful. As close to wonderful as it was possible for me to ever get, in my whole life.

All these strangers around me, speaking a language I didn’t know. Yet I felt like I belonged there. There was nowhere else to be that night except this sweaty little crowded nightclub in East L.A.

Lucy was in front of me now. Her arms in the air, a distant smile on her face. She was dancing, and it felt good to be close to her. I reached out and touched her. One hand on each hip.

Another man put his hand on her shoulder, turned her toward him, and said something into her ear. She took his hand and with one smooth motion twisted it all the way around until he was down on his knees. She kicked him once in the stomach and let him go. He crawled away, and she turned back to me like nothing had happened.

The music got louder. People were shouting.

More dancing. The way I felt connected to Lucy now. In a way I hadn’t felt since Amelia. Not just her but Julian, too. And Ramona. Even to Gunnar, still wiping the sweat from his face now, back at the house. Counting all that money.

More shouting. Louder and louder.

A thought came to me. If I ever talk… it’ll be on a night like this. I’ll just open my mouth and-

Lucy was saying something to me. I leaned in closer to hear it.

“You’re one of us now,” she said, her lips touching my ear. “You belong to us.”

Michigan

July 1999

Even now, when I think back on that day… the day Amelia gave me that last page… that hope I felt, for the first time in my life. That’s the part I want to remember most. That hope that was so real it was like something I could touch. Like it was right there in front of me. Those few hours I spent with nothing more than that one piece of paper in my hands. Waiting for the night to come. Being scared and unsure of myself, and having absolutely no idea about what would happen. But having hope that it would be as good as I could possibly imagine.

The sun went down. I waited for midnight to come. Then one o’clock. I made myself wait, told myself that I couldn’t afford to go any earlier than normal. Who knew how late anyone stayed up in that house? Two o’clock had been safe before, so that’s the time I would go.

I left at one thirty-five. I drove over to the house. I had my tools with me, of course. I kept telling myself, relax, calm down, or you’ll never be able to open the back door. But when I finally got there, the door was unlocked. Another new thing, this little message to me. I listened for a few minutes. Then I opened the door and went in.

Through the kitchen, to the stairs. Quietly up each step, into the hallway, to her room. I tried her doorknob. It, too, was unlocked. I turned the knob, but I did not press the door open. I stopped dead.

It was my last moment of doubt. Because this whole idea… it was obviously too good to be true. It was all a setup. A hoax. There’d be a movie camera on the other side of this door. The lights would snap on. Maybe all four of the art mafia would be there waiting for me.

Do I open the door or do I turn and run away? This was the moment.

I opened the door.

It was dark in her room. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I stood there for a long time, waiting. I had the envelope with me, my new page added to the rest. I put the envelope down on the dresser in its usual spot.

“It’s about time.” A voice in the darkness.

I didn’t move.

“Did you lock the door behind you?”

I reached around and locked it.

“Come closer.”

I took a step toward the voice. I couldn’t see her yet. My eyes still hadn’t adjusted to the dark.

“Over here.”

There was a soft click. Then a thin beam of light hit the ceiling. I saw her sitting on the bed, holding the flashlight.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come tonight. I fell asleep.”

I stood there, six feet away from her. I didn’t move.

“Are you going to sit down, or what?”

I sat on the edge of the bed. She was wearing shorts and an old T-shirt. Same as ever.

“I won’t bite.”

I slid down a little closer to her.

“I guess I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen,” she said. “Ever since the first time I saw you. But now that you’re here…”

She repositioned herself, sitting Indian style now. Her bare knees just a few inches from me.

“I guess this is a little weird, huh?”

I put one hand on my chest, then gestured to the door.

“No. You don’t have to leave. I mean, I haven’t seen your new page yet.”

I stood up, took the envelope from the dresser, then gave it to her. I watched her open it. She held the flashlight with one hand as she paged through the comics with the other. When she got to my new page, she picked it up and looked at it carefully.

“This is… me.”

She moved the flashlight back and forth across the page. On this drawing that had come from somewhere inside me.

A mermaid, with Amelia’s face. Underwater, her hair free and floating with the current. One arm crossed over her chest, for modesty’s sake. Her tail curving into a long U shape.

I closed my eyes. Somehow I had done the impossible, with a drawing that was both childish and salacious at the same time. The most ridiculous thing ever put on paper.

“I don’t even know what to say.”

That you hate it? That I should leave immediately?

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “It’s amazing. How did you know?”