there?”
“Probably.”
I feel myself begin to sink as though I’m falling into the pavement. As though the cement is quicksand and the sidewalk is swallowing me up.
“You’re really not letting me in, are you, Rick?”
He finally looks at me and his eyes are pleading. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
I take a sharp breath and ask firmly, “Why not?”
He shakes his head, looking up the street. “Come on.”
“Who?” I ask sharply. “Who told you to keep me out?”
“He just doesn’t wanna lose you.” Rick whispers, turning back to me.
My blood is lava.
“Tommy.” I say with venom.
Rick nods. “Yeah. Tommy.”
“He doesn’t want me to meet him.” I say through clenched teeth.
“He doesn’t want to lose you to him. To New York. He knows you’re talented enough.” Rick says quietly, imploringly. “He loves you, Adrian.”
“No!” I scream. Heads turn toward Rick and I. I try to rein it in. My hands are shaking with rage, my face burning with blood risen in fury to the surface. “That man doesn’t love anyone or anything. He’s probably in there right now with a goddamn whore on his lap and he does this cause he loves me?!”
“Let me go get him. If you ju st talk to—“
“ Don’t cause I’ll kill him. I’ll do it here and now on the street in front of God and everyone and the fucking Irish can throw me a fucking ticker tape parade for finally getting’ it done!”
I nearly run home. When I burst through the door to my dark, empty apartment I immediately strip off every article of clothing and jewelry on me. All of it gets tossed carelessly into a corner of the bedroom and I don’t care if it wrinkles, stains or burns. I don’t care about anything. Not about the club, New York, Tommy – none of it. I head for the kitchen, stark naked and thundering around in the dark, and reach for the cupboard that holds Rosaline’s Christmas gift. The bottle of damn whiskey. I start to pull out a glass but think better of it. Or maybe worse. Either way, I uncap the bottle and pour the vile liquid straight down my throat. I’d cut open my arms and drop it into my veins if I thought it’d bring about oblivion fast enough. After one long pull from the bottle I know I can’t handle anymore. Crazy angry or no, I hate the stuff too much so I cap it and toss it back in the cupboard.
I hear it knock against something making a crinkle sound and suddenly I remember the candies. The sweet and the sour. And the postcard. It’s in the living room tacked against the wall, writing side out. I take my candies and go to it now, pulling it gently down and running my fingers over the slightly raised writing. I trace them as though I’m writing them and I imagine watching him making these words. His long, sure fingers holding the pen and making the marks with a decisiveness most can only imagine. He’d have no doubts. There are no hesitations in the markings, no stops and goes. Nothing but fluid honesty.
I flick on the radio, leaving the volume low. Music is playing from somewhere but the where doesn’t really matter to me. Where is irrelevant now because I’m here and he’s somewhere else but we’re not that far apart. He’s whiskey on my lips, candy on my tongue and he’s always on my mind. And this card tells me I’m on his. So sweet and so sour. So close but so far.
I’m still standing there naked in the dark when midnight rolls in. When the year turns over and the clock resets. When we can start again, fresh and new, leaving the past behind us and saying goodnight to all the errors we made. To the fools we’ve been.
Chapter Nine
When I come back to work, Tommy is gone. He’s off somewhere dealing with a delivery or drop off or pick up, I don’t care. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s safer there than he is anywhere near me. I could talk to Ralph about what he did but Ralph has no interest in seeing me leave any more than Tommy does and just because his
“Probably.”
I feel myself begin to sink as though I’m falling into the pavement. As though the cement is quicksand and the sidewalk is swallowing me up.
“You’re really not letting me in, are you, Rick?”
He finally looks at me and his eyes are pleading. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
I take a sharp breath and ask firmly, “Why not?”
He shakes his head, looking up the street. “Come on.”
“Who?” I ask sharply. “Who told you to keep me out?”
“He just doesn’t wanna lose you.” Rick whispers, turning back to me.
My blood is lava.
“Tommy.” I say with venom.
Rick nods. “Yeah. Tommy.”
“He doesn’t want me to meet him.” I say through clenched teeth.
“He doesn’t want to lose you to him. To New York. He knows you’re talented enough.” Rick says quietly, imploringly. “He loves you, Adrian.”
“No!” I scream. Heads turn toward Rick and I. I try to rein it in. My hands are shaking with rage, my face burning with blood risen in fury to the surface. “That man doesn’t love anyone or anything. He’s probably in there right now with a goddamn whore on his lap and he does this cause he loves me?!”
“Let me go get him. If you ju st talk to—“
“ Don’t cause I’ll kill him. I’ll do it here and now on the street in front of God and everyone and the fucking Irish can throw me a fucking ticker tape parade for finally getting’ it done!”
I nearly run home. When I burst through the door to my dark, empty apartment I immediately strip off every article of clothing and jewelry on me. All of it gets tossed carelessly into a corner of the bedroom and I don’t care if it wrinkles, stains or burns. I don’t care about anything. Not about the club, New York, Tommy – none of it. I head for the kitchen, stark naked and thundering around in the dark, and reach for the cupboard that holds Rosaline’s Christmas gift. The bottle of damn whiskey. I start to pull out a glass but think better of it. Or maybe worse. Either way, I uncap the bottle and pour the vile liquid straight down my throat. I’d cut open my arms and drop it into my veins if I thought it’d bring about oblivion fast enough. After one long pull from the bottle I know I can’t handle anymore. Crazy angry or no, I hate the stuff too much so I cap it and toss it back in the cupboard.
I hear it knock against something making a crinkle sound and suddenly I remember the candies. The sweet and the sour. And the postcard. It’s in the living room tacked against the wall, writing side out. I take my candies and go to it now, pulling it gently down and running my fingers over the slightly raised writing. I trace them as though I’m writing them and I imagine watching him making these words. His long, sure fingers holding the pen and making the marks with a decisiveness most can only imagine. He’d have no doubts. There are no hesitations in the markings, no stops and goes. Nothing but fluid honesty.
I flick on the radio, leaving the volume low. Music is playing from somewhere but the where doesn’t really matter to me. Where is irrelevant now because I’m here and he’s somewhere else but we’re not that far apart. He’s whiskey on my lips, candy on my tongue and he’s always on my mind. And this card tells me I’m on his. So sweet and so sour. So close but so far.
I’m still standing there naked in the dark when midnight rolls in. When the year turns over and the clock resets. When we can start again, fresh and new, leaving the past behind us and saying goodnight to all the errors we made. To the fools we’ve been.
Chapter Nine
When I come back to work, Tommy is gone. He’s off somewhere dealing with a delivery or drop off or pick up, I don’t care. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, he’s safer there than he is anywhere near me. I could talk to Ralph about what he did but Ralph has no interest in seeing me leave any more than Tommy does and just because his
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