Helen Cox - Sunrise in New York

Snowflakes swirled around us, catching in Jimmy’s hair and no doubt mine. ‘Look, I’m real sorry about your face,’ I said, peering up into the sky. ‘But I really gotta get inside. It’s freezing out here.’

Jimmy stared at me for a moment and I leaned my head in the direction of the subway entrance. The gesture was to make it clear we were parting ways here but, it seemed, Jimmy had other ideas.

‘Right. I’ll walk you down.’

‘But… oh.’

Before I had time to argue, he’d picked up my guitar case and suitcase and hurried down into the relative warmth of the subway station. Looking around, still conscious that someone might be on my tail, I sighed and followed after him, the scent of stale nicotine growing stronger with every step downward.

‘So where’s this swish hotel of yours?’ Jimmy asked when I reached the bottom of the stairs.

God damn it.

What with the fright I’d had and punching a complete stranger in the face, I’d forgotten about that. This is why I didn’t tell lies. The effort required to keep a lie going was incredible. Nothing’s worth that much effort. Nothing.

‘Uh, I need to check the subway map actually,’ I said, walking over to the wall to take a look at one that was framed behind some glass. Jimmy followed, placed my luggage on the floor and looked on, massaging his cheek now and then to take the sting out of the blow I’d dealt him.

Staring at the multi-coloured lines leading to Brooklyn, Queens and the Bronx, I felt that blush creeping up my neck again just as it had back in the diner. With my hair cut just below my jaw, it was more visible than it used to be, and boy did I ever feel it right then. The vulnerability of my bare neck on display. Turning crimson with the knowledge that this was all pretend. After a minute of false calculations and running my finger along various sections of the map, Jimmy put his hand flat against the glass in front of my eyes. I looked at it and then along the sleeve of his brown, sheepskin coat until I reached his face, or more specifically his eyes, which searched mine for answers I didn’t want to give.

‘There is no hotel, is there?’ he said. His voice gentle. His expression level. I looked to the ground and scratched just above my right eyebrow, debating which lie I should tell next. But something, I still don’t know what, stopped me. I looked at him, swallowed hard and shook my head.

‘How’d you know?’ Though concealed beneath my blue hair, the heat from my blush burned around my ears.

‘As a reporter you get to read people pretty well. But in your case, you’re just a lousy liar.’ He shook his head at me. ‘You got anywhere to stay? Anywhere at all?’

‘I was just gonna ride the subway till daybreak.’ I shrugged. Pretending it was no big deal. Like I wasn’t terrified of being mugged and beaten by a stranger – or worse, by someone who knew exactly who I was. By someone who was looking for me.

‘Blue…’ He half laughed. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘My name’s Bonnie, alright? Didn’t anybody ever warn you not to name a stray? Once you name a stray, you want to keep it.’ I said. A lame attempt to get off the subject but the cold seemed to have spread to my brain so it was the best I could do.

‘Yeah well, you stay out in the cold all night and Blue’s gonna be a more appropriate nickname for you than you’d like. News just this mornin’ was about some guy who died of hypothermia. Froze to death on his own driveway, shovelling snow.’

‘For real?’ I looked at Jimmy sidelong. ‘Wait, how old was this guy?’

‘Well, you know, not young – but the point is it’s cold out. Too cold to be riding around on the subway all night. I mean what are you? Twenty-five? Young girl, out on her own all night. That ain’t right,’ he said.

Actually, I was twenty-seven, but Mama always told me not to correct men when they thought you were younger than you were.

Jimmy sighed and scratched the side of his jaw. ‘You got no money at all?’

‘Sorta spent the last of it on the Greyhound to New York. I thought Esther’d be here. Thought I’d stay with her.’

‘Maybe you shoulda called first.’ Jimmy’s mean leer reared its head again.

‘You’re right. That was dumb,’ I said, leaning one shoulder against the framed subway map.

Except I couldn’t call first. I couldn’t risk Esther suggesting I go back home to my folks or finding some other friend to bail me out. You could put the phone down on a person real easy but turning them away face to face was a lot more difficult. At least, that’s what I’d been counting on when I came to New York to find Esther.

‘No family in the area? No second cousin living out in Williamsburg?’

‘No. No family. I’m kind of a loner,’ I said, and at this Jimmy’s leer dissolved.

It was quite a journey back to Grosse Point and I wagered I was pretty much the last person my old man wanted to see right then. His biggest disappointment. That’s what he’d called me last New Year’s Eve. The last time we spoke to one another.

That fight had been a long time coming. I’d got sick of the sly digs over the dinner table and my Dad handing me the employment section of the local newspaper, before he even said hello to me, whenever I came to visit. Not once did anyone in that family ask about my job or how it was going. Probably because they were still sore about the fact I was making a decent living at it. That I didn’t come crawling back home with my tail between my legs after a couple of weeks of trying to make it in the music business. Explaining that their Princeton-educated daughter played at a scuzzy Atlantic City casino every night was more embarrassment than the folks could handle during holiday get-togethers with the neighbours. So why go ruining the 1990 Brooks family Christmas when they didn’t give a damn about me anyway? Though I’ll admit to listening to ‘So Doggone Lonesome’ on my Johnny Cash cassette more in the last year than I ever had before, I was better off without them. They didn’t understand me or my dream. Never had.

Jimmy rubbed his chin with the flat of his left hand, thinking.

‘Look, I can’t just go home tonight, knowing you have nowhere to go. There’s a sofa at mine that’s perfectly comfortable. You should just stay there tonight.’ He said that last part quick, perhaps in the hope I wouldn’t notice how bold a suggestion it was.

‘I can’t do that. I can’t.’ I looked up into his eyes. It was my own stupid fault I couldn’t accept what was unto itself a kind invitation. If I hadn’t teased him back at the diner about the outfit I used to wear in the Sexties, I probably could’ve just said yes to him and not had to worry. But no. I had to have my fun, and now this guy was probably expecting me to do more than just sing for my supper if I followed him home. I’d sunk pretty low already but prostitution was not on my agenda. No sir.

‘Well, I know it’s a little weird but these are desperate times here,’ said Jimmy.

‘I can’t.’

‘Alright. I’ve known you about two minutes and even I can see you want to accept but something’s buggin’ you about it. Why? Why can’t you just accept the offer?’