Angels by Denis Johnson Page B

absolutely, absolutely red. “Who you seeking? Your boyfriend.”
    â€œBill Houston!” Miranda said.
    â€œBill Houston? I know him.”
    â€œLike I know the Pope,” Jamie said. “You know my mother too?”
    â€œKind of a big guy, right? Maybe not exactly big, I mean, not huge. Got a tattoo on this arm? Or maybe this arm, I don’t remember.”
    Regarding him now with a riveted awareness, Jamie saw that he wore his blond hair all the same length, brandished in all possible directions from his scalp like an electric flame. His suit was the little Elvis Costello kind. He was just trying to be on-the-minute. He was not an unfamiliar specimen.
    â€œPretty weird that I know him, huh? I told you, I know everyone.” He wandered, with an aura of the victor, over to the row of nickel vending machines against the wall of tiny yellowed tiles. Casually he perused the offerings there: oversized balls of chewing gum, toy finger jewelry and idiot spiders in their individual clear plastic capsules.
    â€œGet me a gum, okay?” Miranda said, trailing after him. “Can I have a piece of gum? It’s only one nickel.”
    â€œHey,” Jamie said, walking over after some hesitation. “You’re just power-tripping me here, and I don’t like it.”
    â€œWhat do you mean? I said I could help you and you said I couldn’t. But I really can. That must tell you something. Right?”
    Holding the baby in her left arm, Jamie put the fingers of her right hand to her eyes and pushed firmly, obliterating the bus station momentarily and filling her head with exploding geometrical shapes. “Okay, listen,” she said. “Tell me about the Bill Houston you know. Sounds kind of like the one I know. I’d appreciate it. Okay?”
    â€œI just told you about him,” the man said, turning the dial on a machine and grabbing the gum that dropped into its metal trough. “I see him uptown all the time. He’s not a good character for you to be hanging around with. He charms the women, but when he drinks, he goes into a whole different personality.” He handed the gum to Miranda and fed the machine another coin. “That the one?”
    â€œThat’s him! Shit, I don’t believe this. Hey,” she said to Baby Ellen, who was unconscious, “he knows your Uncle Bill.”
    â€œI couldn’t tell you where he is, though.”
    â€œWell, where would you guess?”
    â€œMight be in Rheba’s. Might be anywhere uptown. Might be over into like the hippy area. He wanders all over. That’s the kind of guy he is.”
    â€œYeah. Okay, well, how can I find him? Listen, I just came a long ways. I got some things to say to him.”
    â€œDo you have any change? I could call a few places maybe. They know me around here, I’m telling you. If I just ask, they’ll tell me. They know I’m not out to hassle anybody. Hey—wait a minute,” he said suddenly. “What if he doesn’t want you to find him?”
    â€œI’ll find him anyway,” Jamie said.
    â€œOh.” He looked at Jamie, at Miranda, at the baby. “Well, I just hope this isn’t a whole situation. I don’t want to get anyone pissed off or anything. Right this moment all I have is friends.”
    â€œWell, that’s all I am to Bill Houston, is a friend.”
    â€œYou sure? You positive?”
    â€œAll I can do is tell you,” Jamie said. “Either you believe it or you don’t.”
    â€œYeah.” Now the man seemed in agony, biting his lower lip and glancing about as if besieged. “Okay,” he said. “Do you have some change for me? What the hell. I mean, you know him, right?”
    â€œTake a chance,” Jamie said.
    â€œYeah. Yeah, take a chance—I’m doing a good deed, right?”
    Jamie gave him a couple of dollars in coins and sat in a pay-TV chair for half an hour looking at