Paullina Simons - The Girl in Times Square

She went to her closet that was piled high with clothes on the floor, winter clothes that she no longer wore because they were in Hawaii. They weren’t needed the same way she wasn’t needed. She could be lying in a heap in the closet. Her hand deep down inside the sweaters, she rummaged for something, down below, layers hidden, to the right and at the bottom. It wasn’t hard to find. She struggled a bit and then pulled out a gallon, half-empty, of Gordon’s gin. Before Allison pulled it out, she felt around the bottom to make sure she still had another full gallon left. She did.

She brought it to the countertop where her cranberry juice waited for her. She stared at the highball for a moment, and at the bottle in her hands. She decided the hole inside her was too big today to fill with such a little glass. Tomorrow she would get herself in control. Tomorrow she could sleep past five, and maybe go for a walk with George … though what for? Really, what for? Why should she get herself in control even tomorrow? Like she had somewhere to go.

She unscrewed the top of the gallon of gin and with shaking hands lifted it to her mouth. The hands could barely hold such a heavy bottle. She opened her throat and poured the gin in, barely even needing to swallow. The bottle was much lighter, that was good. And her heart was much lighter. That was good too. So good.

She had to put the bottle away before she lost—

To get out of the heat of her broiling apartment, Lily was sitting in air-conditioned Odessa at eight on a Sunday evening having dinner when Spencer walked in. The diner was nearly empty, but she was hidden in a booth a few tables away from the front door and he didn’t see her. He went to the cash register, where Jeanette helped him. He was in jeans, and was wearing an incongruous denim jacket. Lily was nearly naked, she was so hot. Looking at his jacket only made her hotter. She didn’t want him to see her, so she slid down in the seat and surreptitiously watched his exchange with Jeanette.

He ordered a turkey club.

“Will that be to go or to stay, Detective O’Malley?”

Jeanette was twenty-nine and a waitress for eleven years.

He said it would be to go.

“Why don’t you stay for once? I’ll be glad to take care of you.”

And she giggled!

He said no thank you, just a turkey club, no mayo, a large coffee, a large Coke, and a cup of coffee while he waited.

Jeanette, all breasts and batty eyes, said she would be right back and went to the kitchen. Spencer turned away from the counter to look at the patrons in the diner. Lily slid down further in her seat.

He saw her.

She sort of smiled and waved, and closed her sketchbook as he walked over. She had been sketching the empty countertop of the diner on a Sunday night with herself not Jeanette standing behind it.

“Hello, Miss Quinn,” he said.

Lily said hello.

“Jeanette, I’ll have that coffee now, while I wait,” he said to the waitress, who brought him a cup, eyeing Lily with extreme displeasure as Spencer sat down in the booth across from her.

Lily asked if he was on duty today.

“No, I try not to work weekends,” he said.

He should have looked better for not working weekends. He looked wiped out, like he hadn’t slept in days. He was unsmiling until he surveyed the food in front of Lily—a BLT, a Greek salad, a slice of cheesecake, Jell-O, and bread pudding.

“Hungry today?” He smiled slightly.

A little sheepishly she told him she never knew what she was going to feel like until it was right in front of her.

Jeanette brought Spencer his brown paper bag, placed it in front of him and said, "Here’s your stuff, Detective O’Malley. Would you like me to ring you up now?”

Spencer said, “On second thought, I will stay and have it here. Could you bring me some mustard, please?”

They ate their food quietly. She was a bit more chatty than he. She asked him why the jacket in the heat and Spencer pulling it open and revealing the holster with a weapon in it, said, "I prefer not to brandish the Glock when I’m off duty. Makes people nervous."

She asked why he carried a piece if he was off duty.

He said, “The gun may be smaller, but I’m required to carry it at all times. Off duty is just for pretend. To deceive us into believing we’re fairly compensated for our trouble. We’re never off duty. New York City would go broke if they had to pay us for 24/7 of service.”

She asked if he lived around here, if this was his local diner. He seemed to be so well-known by Jeanette—though Lily didn’t say that.

“No, I live on 11th and Broadway.”

Oh, she said, that’s so close to Veniero’s! that sublime bakery.

“I wouldn’t know. Never been there. Don’t care much for sweets.” He eyed her dessert buffet. She shrugged, and said that she did care a little bit for sweets.

They finished eating and paid their separate checks. Jeanette seemed pleased by the separateness. Spencer opened the door for Lily, and Lily was pleased by that.

“You spell your name oddly,” Spencer said, as if making a statement of extreme importance and fascinating fact.

“Oddly, why?”

They were walking back from Odessa. It was dark now and warm; they were full. Spencer slowed down a bit, Lily slowed down a bit, they were sauntering. From a bar they passed on Avenue A, loud music blared. Bruce Springsteen was out in the street/walking the way he wanted to walk. Spencer hummed part of the song before he answered. “I don’t know. Lily-Anne. I’ve heard of Lilian with one ‘el’ and Lillian with two. But Lili-ANNE?”

Lily couldn’t tell if he was teasing her, she didn’t know whether to tease back or proceed with solemn caution. In the end she opted for caution. “I was born sixteen years after my brother was born, and my mother, having forgotten that she already named my oldest sister Anne, wanted to name me Anya, or Anita, or something like that. My father said they already had an Anne, but my mother didn’t see his point. They didn’t have an Anita. My father asked if they were Hispanic. That’s when my mother came up with Anya. No Anya, my father said. No Anastasia, no Anika! They had an Anne. No more Anne. So my mother’s valiant compromise , as she calls it to this day, was to name me Lili anne . So she could still get that Anne in there. I don’t know how my dad agreed.”

Spencer smiled and when he looked at her, he looked at her differently, with more familiarity. “I know how he agreed. The way my father agreed. When I was born my mother put on my birth certificate Patrick O’Malley, and never told my father. She called me Baby for the first three months of my life, so my father never even knew the truth, and never asked, God bless him, until I started to smile.”

“You didn’t smile for three months?”

“Would you smile if you were called Baby for three months?”

“Good point. What was wrong with Patrick?”

“They already had a Patrick.”

Now it was Lily’s turn to look at Spencer differently. “They named you Patrick and there already was a Patrick?”

“Yes.”

“How many of you were there? Please tell me more than two.”

“Eleven.”

Lily’s eyes widened. “You might want to forgive your mother,” she said. “Eleven kids.”

“Who said I didn’t forgive my mother?”

“So did she nickname you Spencer for Spencer Tracy?”

“Correct.” Again looking at her with friendly approval.

“Spencer is a nice Irish name.” She stared at the pavement.

“Quinn is a nice Irish name. Why does your friend Paul call you Harlequin?”