she’d made when we had sex. I asked, ‘Are you OK?’
‘Osteoporosis.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Brittle bone disease, ain’t it a bitch. Usually connected to the menopause but I had to get it early. I’ll be literally cracking up – they’ll hear me coming, and going.’
I didn’t know what to make of this. More lies? So I asked, ‘Can I get you something?’
‘Say what?’
‘Tea – a drink.’
‘Coffee’d be good. I had a little girl, back when I lived in New York City. Her name was Ariana. I loved her more than I thought I could bear. She filled me with joy and wonder and pain and oh God, with yearning. I had to leave her alone for a few hours one evening – it’s a long story why – when I got back, she was gone. I’ve never seen her since – that’s partly why I’m such a goddamn mess.’
I agreed about her being a bloody mess but felt maybe it wasn’t the time to mention it. Coffee, yeah, I was glad of the diversion. Made it hot and ball-bustin’ strong. Elephant blend, as a mate said. At first I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Reckoned the Yeltsin had finally kicked in but no – she was singing! In a low clear voice of nigh absolute purity. I dunno about beauty, fuck knows, where would I have learnt, I was raised with pigeons. But, I’d bet this was close. I didn’t know then but it was a song by Tricia Yearwood called ‘O Mexico’. It had a ring of loneliness, of longing that hit like a gut-shot. I felt as close to weeping as a hard-ass like me’s ever gonna come.
Then she stopped and the silence scalded my heart, muttered, ‘Get a friggin’ grip.’
I was wrung as tight as tension, not worth tuppence. If the filth had come callin’, I’d have put up my hand, shouted – ‘fair cop guv’. Carried out the coffee, no bizzies, Noble had scoffed the lot. She’d been crying, I wish I didn’t know that and she said, ‘Are you familiar with Thomas Merton?’
‘Not unless he’s a bookie.’
She quoted:
‘We must be true inside
true to ourselves
before we can know
a truth
that is outside us.’
I poured the coffee, asked, ‘How d’ya take it.’
‘Cream and sugar –
“But we make
ourselves true by
manifesting the truth
as we see it.”’
I handed her a mug, wondering if she’d finished. She had.
I took a sip, real good – fuck, I make great coffee.
‘So Cassie, where’s my gun … eh?’
‘I tossed it.’
‘You wot.’
‘I was scared – scared I’d eat the metal so, I walked over Waterloo Bridge and sank the sucker. Is that the one Ray Davies wrote about – I saw the Kinks once.’
‘And my money, I suppose you, dumped that too.’
‘Don’t be a horse’s ass, I spent it, you’ve mucho dinero.’
‘But not so mucho patience lady and your meter’s running high. Lemme see if I can get this across. You stole from me, broke in to my gaff, took a shot at me and generally ran fuckin’ liberties. Am I getting through to you Cassie. Our firm has been moving rag-ass trying to find you.’
‘I’ve been naughty!’
‘Naughty?’
‘I need spanking.’
‘Whoa – hold the phones lady.’
She was up, took my hand and put it on her breast, said, ‘Hold this.’
I pushed her away and her voice dropped to a whisper.
‘You don’t want me?’
‘Look Cassie, you’re a hot lady but this isn’t a real good time – OK.’
‘It’s because I lost my little girl, isn’t it. You’re punishing me.’
I stood up, ‘For heaven’s sake, I’m real sorry about that. I’m trying to be fair, I’m not going to hassle you about all the other crazy shit. Just leave now and we’ll let it be.’
‘I think I see her, you know, on the street and I chase after her – or on a bus – or …’
‘Jesus.’
‘But I have a good report that she’s in Agadir.’
‘Where?’
‘Morocco. Her father was from Kif.’
‘I thought that was Keith Richards’ nickname.’
‘It’s a village in the Blue Atlas Mountains, they specialize in hash. I
‘Osteoporosis.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Brittle bone disease, ain’t it a bitch. Usually connected to the menopause but I had to get it early. I’ll be literally cracking up – they’ll hear me coming, and going.’
I didn’t know what to make of this. More lies? So I asked, ‘Can I get you something?’
‘Say what?’
‘Tea – a drink.’
‘Coffee’d be good. I had a little girl, back when I lived in New York City. Her name was Ariana. I loved her more than I thought I could bear. She filled me with joy and wonder and pain and oh God, with yearning. I had to leave her alone for a few hours one evening – it’s a long story why – when I got back, she was gone. I’ve never seen her since – that’s partly why I’m such a goddamn mess.’
I agreed about her being a bloody mess but felt maybe it wasn’t the time to mention it. Coffee, yeah, I was glad of the diversion. Made it hot and ball-bustin’ strong. Elephant blend, as a mate said. At first I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Reckoned the Yeltsin had finally kicked in but no – she was singing! In a low clear voice of nigh absolute purity. I dunno about beauty, fuck knows, where would I have learnt, I was raised with pigeons. But, I’d bet this was close. I didn’t know then but it was a song by Tricia Yearwood called ‘O Mexico’. It had a ring of loneliness, of longing that hit like a gut-shot. I felt as close to weeping as a hard-ass like me’s ever gonna come.
Then she stopped and the silence scalded my heart, muttered, ‘Get a friggin’ grip.’
I was wrung as tight as tension, not worth tuppence. If the filth had come callin’, I’d have put up my hand, shouted – ‘fair cop guv’. Carried out the coffee, no bizzies, Noble had scoffed the lot. She’d been crying, I wish I didn’t know that and she said, ‘Are you familiar with Thomas Merton?’
‘Not unless he’s a bookie.’
She quoted:
‘We must be true inside
true to ourselves
before we can know
a truth
that is outside us.’
I poured the coffee, asked, ‘How d’ya take it.’
‘Cream and sugar –
“But we make
ourselves true by
manifesting the truth
as we see it.”’
I handed her a mug, wondering if she’d finished. She had.
I took a sip, real good – fuck, I make great coffee.
‘So Cassie, where’s my gun … eh?’
‘I tossed it.’
‘You wot.’
‘I was scared – scared I’d eat the metal so, I walked over Waterloo Bridge and sank the sucker. Is that the one Ray Davies wrote about – I saw the Kinks once.’
‘And my money, I suppose you, dumped that too.’
‘Don’t be a horse’s ass, I spent it, you’ve mucho dinero.’
‘But not so mucho patience lady and your meter’s running high. Lemme see if I can get this across. You stole from me, broke in to my gaff, took a shot at me and generally ran fuckin’ liberties. Am I getting through to you Cassie. Our firm has been moving rag-ass trying to find you.’
‘I’ve been naughty!’
‘Naughty?’
‘I need spanking.’
‘Whoa – hold the phones lady.’
She was up, took my hand and put it on her breast, said, ‘Hold this.’
I pushed her away and her voice dropped to a whisper.
‘You don’t want me?’
‘Look Cassie, you’re a hot lady but this isn’t a real good time – OK.’
‘It’s because I lost my little girl, isn’t it. You’re punishing me.’
I stood up, ‘For heaven’s sake, I’m real sorry about that. I’m trying to be fair, I’m not going to hassle you about all the other crazy shit. Just leave now and we’ll let it be.’
‘I think I see her, you know, on the street and I chase after her – or on a bus – or …’
‘Jesus.’
‘But I have a good report that she’s in Agadir.’
‘Where?’
‘Morocco. Her father was from Kif.’
‘I thought that was Keith Richards’ nickname.’
‘It’s a village in the Blue Atlas Mountains, they specialize in hash. I
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