Jay Fox - THE WALLS

“Though it's hardly tactful to toast oneself,” Aberdeen finally began after the arrival of the coffee, “I will beg your forgiveness on this one occasion. I would have opted for champagne, but I was quite certain that it would have been more than a bit messy to introduce alcohol after the events of last night.” Tomas lifted his right middle finger before resting his head on the meat of his left forearm. “Come on, Tomas, this is good news.”

“Fuck you.”

“This is important. Will you please just—”

“What? What happened? Did you finally fuck Lindsay last night?”

“No. She ended up at the boyfriend's pace,” he added spitefully. His smile returned quickly. “Anyway—”

“How come you don't have a name for him?”

“What?”

“You guys have a nickname for everyone. What's his?”

“We've been kicking a few things around the office, but nothing seems to stick.”

“I see.”

“—Anyway, I'm here to tell you both some very good news,” he resumed as he picked up his coffee cup. I followed suit. Tomas picked up his head. He blew on his coffee while staring vapidly to Aberdeen. “Will you just pick up the fucking coffee, man. I mean, for Christ's sake…”

“Fine.” He clumsily picked up the mug. A few drops fell onto his hand, which he did not bother to wipe off; he merely winced and muttered a few profanities. His other hand was used to convey impatience with Aberdeen's silence.

“I'm obviously in high spirits today, and there is a very good reason for this.” Pause for suspense. “My piece in the Graham Gallery was purchased last night.”

“Holy shit, man,” I said. “Congratulations. That's great.”

“Well, shit. If it were any other morning, I'd say break out the fucking Moët.”

“Yes, well, here's where it gets better: The buyer is commissioning two more pieces. He or she is going to advance me all of the money, too.” He laughed. “This is rent for the year. In a fucking day!”

“Come here, you. C'mon,” Tomas said as he stood. The two embraced. I continued to sit. “So much for your unlucky streak,” he added.

“What do you mean by that?”

“James here hadn't sold a piece in six months. It's weird, man. He fucking cleaned up last year.”

“And spent much of it prematurely,” Aberdeen added.

“This is great, man. Who's giving you the commission?”

“I don't know yet. I should be finding that out later today — around four or so.”

“I bet it's Forrester. Forrester's been buying a lot of shit lately, man. He apparently sold a Miro and a Mondrain a few months ago. He wants to update,” as he rolled his eyes, “his collection.”

“I really have no idea who it is. David refused to mention who it is.”

Tomas' spirit picked up as we ate. Aberdeen remained on a cloud, though he did begrudgingly agree when Tomas complained that the coffee was not up to snuff. Had he been in a less jovial mood, he would have probably brought it up first. The rest of the meal was neither terrific nor terrible; it lacked all forms of ostentation, as the menu refused to offer anything more exotic than what most American children find upon their breakfast tables any given Saturday morning — pancakes, eggs, potatoes, bacon, etc. Aberdeen left the waitress a large tip and flattered her in broken Spanish; she, in turn, blushed and smiled in a not non-seductive manner.

We stepped out into a faint drizzle and fog that cloaked the view of Manhattan in an opaque gray, a barren panoramic more commonly associated with seasons of melancholy and lament. “It's a shame the sky isn't blue today,” Aberdeen said as he lit a cigarette. Tomas shook his head disparagingly.

We were stopped on the corner of Eagle by a couple claiming to be Moxy and Früvous. They were dressed in loud colors and sharing one of those British umbrellas that can shelter an entire family, including distant relatives. The two of them were a lot older than I had assumed. Moxy was easily forty. She looked a bit like Eleanor Roosevelt, buckteeth and all. Früvous appeared to be around thirty-five. He was swarthy and bearded, and had placid eyes that were more serene than dull or unresponsive.

After we introduced the two to Aberdeen, they immediately started in on the A-R-E festival we had attended the night before last. They assumed we were friends of Daphne, as I had spent such a long time talking with her. When I informed them that Patrick had brought the two of us in order to get information about Willis Faxo, who was supposed to lead us Mordecai Adelstein, with whom Faxo had lived, they became a bit uneasy.

“What do you want with Mordy?”

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think he's Coprolalia.”

Früvous laughed. “You think Mordy's Coprolalia?”

“Yeah. But you know him?” The two nodded. “How?”

“Through the A-R-E, of course. He was particularly close with Dick.” Früvous paused to scratch at his beard. “Didn't someone tell us,” as he turned to Früvous, “that he was in Bellevue. Not Mordy, of course, but…”

“Andy Bates.”

“Andy Bates. That's right.”

“So Andy Bates isn't Coprolalia?”

“No.”

“Wait a second,” Tomas ordered. “Who's Dick?”

“Keens, of course. You three must know him, right?”

“I never met him, but I've certainly heard quite a bit about him over the course of the past few days. I didn't realize he and Mordecai were close.”

“Well, actually Dick was close with Mr. Adelstein.”

“How did they meet?”

“They were both chess players. I'm guessing they met because Mr. Adelstein owned a little deli not too far away from Dick's place.”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yeah, where was the deli?”

“On Eighth Avenue. Do you remember where, honey?” Früvous asked.

“For the life of me, I can't recall. We haven't spent much time down there since we moved into the neighborhood. Do you three live here?”

“Yeah, we live down on Green Street.”

“Don't you just love the neighborhood? We're renting a loft up on Box Street, and we couldn't be happier.”

“How's the rent?”

“Look, I don't want to be a dick here, but it would be a really big help if you told me the general vicinity of the store.”

Früvous was unmoved by my petulance. “I know it's south of Ninth Street, north of Greenwood.” He fondled his beard for a moment. “Yeah, it's just a regular deli. You know, a convenient store. There's really nothing distinguishing about it.”

“Would it be in Park Slope or Windsor Terrace?”

“I never could distinguish the two. Do you know, honey?”

“No,” she said with a shake of the head. She then smiled. “I'm still just shocked about all of this. Our little Mordy is Coprolalia. Who could have known? He was always so polite and quiet. Such a genuinely nice person.” She turned to Früvous. “And to think he never mentioned any of this to us. It's so unbelievable.”

“I guess he was always a bit secretive.”

“Well, secretive is such a negative way to put it.”

“I didn't mean for it to be negative. He was just always more of a listener. You never could tell what he was thinking.”

“Why would Dick Keens go that far south?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Didn't he live on Garfield…or at least close by Garfield?”

The two looked to one another. “It's not a particularly long walk,” Moxy finally responded. “Dick made it a point to know everyone in the neighborhood.”

“Do you know if Mordecai still works at the store?”

Shrug. “I have no idea. As I said, we haven't been down there in quite some time. I would be very surprised if he didn't any longer, though. He really enjoyed it.”