Stephen Dixon - Fall and Rise

“Wait — back up a bit. Also a sweater? What else?”

“My raincoat in the fight. And an umbrella in the wind in Washington Square Park, right after I left Diana’s. The umbrella couldn’t keep out the cold now, but it would have the rain before which, dry on me now, for a couple of hours kept me chilled.”

“I forgot about the raincoat. Shows how tired I am. But go on. You’re cold, so I shouldn’t interrupt further.”

“I left it on Diana’s hallway rack, the sweater, when I left the park drunk. The party, but I also left the park drunk. But maybe all the alcohol I drank at the party is now keeping me warmer than I’d normally be without it, though without it I wouldn’t have forgotten my sweater or gone into the park and lost the umbrella. Or even gone up to you at the party — no, I hadn’t had much to drink at that time nor when I yelled to you from the unmentionable. It was only after, though I certainly wouldn’t have called your answering service without the alcohol, because by then I was loaded. But the alcohol had nothing to do with my losing the raincoat and its contents. By that time I was sober.”

“About the alcohol, by the way, I heard differently.”

“About me?”

“Alcohol and the cold. That when you think it’s warming you, it’s really doing the opposite, but let’s not waste any more time. If you come to my building — the vestibule, which you don’t need a key to get into — I’ll have the money in a special spot above the bellboard, plus some change and the name of a locksmith I’ve managed to find who will be expecting your call. Forty dollars should be enough. If I can’t find a locksmith, use the money for a hotel. I’ll add another ten for a cab ride here, and at this hour a cab’s all you should take. That’s about all the cash I have on me, which you can pay back when—”

“Listen, I’m not making this up and I appreciate to the utter utmost everything you’ve offered, but a locksmith you’re not going to find. And the way I look — they’re just scratches on my face and head, bumps you can’t see under the hair, some dried blood, torn-to-expunged for clothing — no semi-decent hotel would let me in. And anything less than semi-decent I don’t feel I can take going to tonight, nor waiting till morning with a bunch of madmen and bums in the waiting room at Penn Station or Grand Central. The train cops don’t even let you do that anymore from midnight to seven. Incidentally, you mark which number you got me at? I already forgot it.”

“I know which one. And I called you, so we can’t be cut off.”

“You’re right. My head. Suddenly thought before was now. Not that. After? But — and I’m not talking like this or pretending to be confused for the sake—”

“Enough. Just come here. Money will be in a letter envelope in a metal well in the wall behind the bellboard. Reach up and finger around and you’ll find it. Do what you want with the money and I don’t care when you pay it back, but sometime would be nice.”

“Please, all I want’s a floor. I’m safe. I’m good-natured. I’m very clean other than what came out of me or got stuck on me from tonight’s knockdown. I’ll only ask to wash up, maybe have something warm to drink — hot water, even, with a lemon slice in it if you got — and several aspirins and dabs of iodine. Nothing if you don’t want or have and no washup if that’s what you want also, and a blanket or coat over me on the floor and a towel or coat underneath me if it’s just wood there with no carpet or rug, and that’ll be it. Or just the bare floor and no body cover or anything under, and I promise, my word against anything, you’ll never meet anyone more peaceful and quiet when I get there. Sure, maybe by now Diana’s home or someone else from before, though we’ve been talking so long that it’s probably really too late or too early to call anyone now. Even if it weren’t, I don’t have the energy and maybe not the memory nor another dime to make another call.”

“Okay. How would you get here if you came and stayed on the couch or floor?”

“No couch. The floor.”

“How would you? Cab?”

“I can’t walk it. But I don’t want you going downstairs alone or in any way to put you through anything more. I’ll try to borrow the subway fare or jump over the turnstile.”

“Don’t jump over anything. You’ll get caught and then you’ll be calling me to come to the police station to bail you out. Are you sufficiently presentable where a cab would — oh, this is silly.”

“No it’s not. I’ll do what you say. A cab. I’ll spruce myself up enough so one will take me. Could you leave ten dollars in that envelope behind the bells? Or maybe, so you don’t have to come downstairs alone, wait till I ring your bell.”

“I’ll leave it behind the bellboard now. Ten dollars — one five and five singles — I know I have those — so you won’t have to call me from downstairs for change or for more. But remember, I don’t know you, but we’ve mutual friends and you’re cultured and a scholar—”

“Scholar? Not me.”

“I have your Japanese story anthology, or one of them, and it lists—”

“How’d you get that prize? You weren’t one of the approved three hundred something people and libraries who were licensed to buy it? — that would be too much.”

“However I got it, I’m doing you a favor beyond the call of mutual friendship and professional fellowship and at an hour way beyond my deliberative decision-making and common sense time, so you will be on your best behavior?”

“The absolute best, bar none, of that I double-swear.”

“You have the address?”

“From the phonebook.”

“Then at this hour, despite how you might look, cabbies will have to see something of the noncombatant on your face and they go hurting for fares, so I should expect to see you in about thirty minutes — try not to make it later. I’m dead to the world.”

“Thanks. Thanks. Thanks.”

“Please get on with it then. Apartment 9B. Just ring it and I’ll buzz you in,” and I hang up.

He hangs up, smiles, slides the door open and goes outside, slaps his fist into his palm and thinks I can’t believe it, says “She’s done dood it, damn woman’s come across. Not ‘damn,’ but I’m seeing her, maybe in minutes, hot dog.” Looks around, nobody around, no good gabbing out loud to yourself on the street at any hour, not that in this city you could be put away for it. Put away? Hey, where’d that one come from? Not his but was his father’s expression, along with — well whatever along with, but “Talk back to your mother or me like that and you could be put away.” Oh dad, just look at me now. Holds out his arms, looks up at the sky and smiles. No, don’t want to act odd either. Looks around, nobody around, sounds of someone whistling sweetly from somewhere — an Irish air — rather, Stephen Foster: Ginny, Jeanie , shiny orange-red hair (what did I decide on?) — but can’t see him and now drowned-out by traffic. Traffic goes, no music. Though he first thought worst possible don’t-even-think-of-it thing to do was call her, but had a hunch she would. “Best behavior”; you bet. Now and forever, or to whenever, till hell freezes over and life ever after and I can’t exaggerate any further; for sure. Ah! “If I’ve one thing in life to teach you it’s don’t work for anyone: be your own boss.” Okay — eyes to the sky and arms out again — so I’m my own boss: now you proud of me? But he meant becoming a dentist, doctor, opening up my own law office. But now to get there. How to get there? In his head: “Tweee! — Taxi!” and first one to come stops. New roomy Checker. Slips in, flips the jump seat down but keeps its backrest folded, legs up on it but feet hanging over the seat so not to sully it. “Where to sir?.…Turn the heater up for you some more, sir?…Switch the radio station to something more to your liking like choral music, sir?…Wait for you in front while you get the fare from behind the what, sir? Bellboard? Of course, but sure you don’t mean the apartments’ intercom?” He steps into the street. Watch. Two-to-one none comes and if one does, five-to-one it won’t stop. From now on on damp cold nights, snowy or otherwise and maybe daytimes too, going to carry in my back pants pocket an extra pair of socks.