Anadel Abandoned: Chapter 2. Some Tea & Sympathy

The door to a chapter of my life had also slammed shut. My feet took me to the beach along the bike path. A bicyclist barked at me in righteous indignation, “This path is for bikes!”

“Screw your spandexed asshole!” I shouted to his back as he sped on.

I turned up State Street at Stearns Wharf towards Haley and the Virginia Hotel.

Lucas was reading the sports page when I got back and didn’t look up from it while I went for the stairs. The time had come to pack up everything I owned into a backpack and leave the Virginia. I locked the door to my room for the last time and took the rattling old elevator instead of sneaking down the stairs. I stopped at the counter and passed the diamond shaped plastic key-ring to Lucas.

“Don’t be a stranger, Crash.” He set his paper to the side, “We’ll have a room for you when you pay up.”

“Thanks, Lucas,” I was grateful for the old spider’s concern.

*****

It was a sad walk... a funeral dirge... Louis Armstrong’s horn was mourning in the background between my ears. The sidewalk was littered with Fiesta refuse from the night before. Plastic beer cups and confetti mixed with the visual splatterings of vomit across the pavement in a manner that Jackson Pollack might have been proud of. I stopped at the signal, though it was still early and there was little traffic to be concerned about. My other Office was a block away. Most people didn’t notice the spelling on the neon was one ‘f’ short of the word. Ofice was a Greek word for Snake Pit or something. It was a snake pit too; for parolees, bikers, tranny’s, construction workers between jobs, and road dogs of every description. We found refuge there under the watchful eye of its proprietor, the Greek, who always sat at the corner booth facing the door. So many of us picked up our mail at that address it was commonly called the Office.

The humor of its name was that you could call in to your wife or significant other, if you had one, and you would only be half-lying, “I’ll be late tonight, dear. I’m hung up at the Office.”

I could see a female figure in a hoodie and sweats leaning against the bricks next to the door in front of the Office smoking. It wasn’t ‘til I got closer that I recognized it was my friend, Anna. I hadn’t seen her in months.

She called out before I could say anything, “You want company, Crash? You look like you’re goin’ somewhere.”

“Company, sure,” I inhaled the pungent smoke she blew in my face, “but I can’t pay.”

“Well, sailor, your credit’s good with me.”

“With you and no one else,” I set my pack on the sidewalk.

Passing the roach on a clip she hefted my pack onto her shoulder and teased, “Awe, poor baby, you look like you need a little tea and sympathy. What’s goin’ on?”

We entered the bar locked arm-in-arm with that roach still burning in Anna’s clip. I liked the way that, when Anna was with me, she acted as though we were a couple. I think it was her way of telegraphing to all concerned that she was off-duty. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see the place was empty except for the Greek who sat at his booth reading the racing forms. The Office wasn’t a fern bar. The only light in the place was over the pool table and the juke box where shadowy characters came and went. I liked the shady anonymity about the place.

Before we took a seat, a tatted and shaved head cue-ball came out of the men’s room and approached Anna as though I wasn’t there. He asked, “Is this guy your father?”

She snuggled closer to me, “No, he’s my pimp.”

He checked me out. A general rule of mine says that, when in the jungle, never make eye contact with a predator unless you’re ready to take him on. We made eye contact.

Smelling pot, the Greek looked up from his form, set it on the table and ordered, “Hey, not in here, Crash!”

However, Anna was capable of handling situations like these easily enough. She casually blew smoke between us. “Oh, it’s Teeny Weenie,” In that Nano-second his eyes left mine for hers. Before I could’ve laid a sucker punch on his jaw, she passed the roach to him and said, “Here, take this and scoot.”

Returning eye to eye the guy took the roach and backed away. I wasn’t sure if he was intimidated, embarrassed, or was he was just that easy to buy off?

I admired how Anna handled him as he left, “You know him?”

The Greek went back to the racing form.

“Not that well. He tried for a date once at The Roasting Company. I thought he was a cop, ya’ know.”

No, I didn’t know, but I knew the guy was probably a John as much as I was sure she was lying. It didn’t matter. After all, an essential part of her profession required discretion. What did I care? I wasn’t her man.

Nancy, the bartender, nodded towards the Greek and poured a beer from the tap, “Good thing you got rid of that roach, Anna.”

“Which roach you talkin’ ‘bout?” Anna jived.

“Either one,” Nancy nodded towards the door adding, “A beer for Mr. Glum, right?”

Which roach indeed? I could see myself in the mirror behind the bar… scruffy three day’s growth… lines and bags under my eyes… needed a haircut… My only assets were that I kept my body in pretty good shape and still had most of my teeth.

Searching Anna’s face for sympathy, I confessed, “Doc’s not going to hire me back. I’m out of a job and homeless.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. You need a couch? I can put you up a few weeks.” Anna offered.

“Isn’t it bad enough that you’re buying my drinks today?” I didn’t like owing anyone a piece of me but a drink was another thing.

“Give him a Bloody Mary, Nancy.” She patted my back saying, “C’mon, Crash. Cheer up. It ain’t that bad. You’re the one that told me,” (in air quotes), “pride ain’t an asset.” She was young… so young she missed high school and all that normal kid stuff. I forgave her the air quotes.

“Can’t I have a drink?” She flipped a passport to Nancy, “See, I’m old enough now.”

“You can get by with eighteen but, if you’re twenty-one, I’m Methuselah’s mamma,” Nancy laughed and spritzed Anna a soda in a glass. “Where’d you steal this I.D.? Hmmm. Okay, Anna, date of birth and name?”

“Methusa… who?” Anna evaded the question but was puzzled by the reference. That didn’t stop her from schmoozing, “You hold your age well. I mean it, Nancy.”

“C’mon, birthday?”

“May something, I don’t know.”

“And name?”

“Teresa…. What? Soko? Suck yo-mama.”

“Best get to know this one better, um… Teresa Sokolovski?” Nancy handed it back and busied herself mixing my drink. Nancy was in her early fifties and could still sport a short-skirt whenever she wanted to. I first met her a decade ago when she worked at George’s Pour House. George’s was a failed upscale dive on Milpas where the barmaids all wore bikinis.

Nancy turned to ring up my Bloody Mary while I snuck the pint over the lip of Anna’s glass dumping more than a taste of it into her soda.

“I saw that, Crash.” Nancy returned to the bar, poured herself a shot of schnapps, and downed it. “But time, sweetheart, will have us joining the ranks of old broads soon enough. Lay off the crack and booze or you’ll get old too soon. Or worse, you’ll lose your marbles and go Postal like Crash did here last night.”

Nancy’s reference to aging spoke to Anna’s vanity, “I haven’t done coke or meth for three months now.”

Postal? I hadn’t paid attention to their conversation until she said postal. I knew I’d gotten in trouble from the report Doc read but I’d blacked out most of it… there had been a fight and I ended up in jail. It was like the television news to me because it was as though I was hearing about someone else for the most part.

Anna nearly whispered, “You flipped last night... completely flipped.”

Nancy stepped in, “You were here all day after your shift. I cut you off when you started on about your daughter... you know... the courts and all.  You got in a fight and I sent you home before you got hurt. No kidding.”

“Oh yeah, I remember now,” I still tried to fake like I knew but did wonder exactly how I’d ended up in jail. I hadn’t seen Anna in months. Was she there last night? I had a fuzzy recollection of the bar fight… of it going out onto the street afterwards and squad cars… handcuffs… two bindles of coke in my shirt pocket.

Nancy murmured, “Another Vet gone bug-shit,” and went back to wiping glasses.

Anna cozied up, “Look, Crash, I have a new place with lots of room. My door’s always open. Get the point. You helped me when I was a kid.”

“You’re still a kid,” mulling over what Nancy said, I snapped back at her. She was still a kid as far as I was concerned. She looked hurt that I was so cranky with her, of all people, so I tried to change the mood by leering, “Say, cutie, are you bidding for my affection?”

“Your affection but not your intentions, old man,” Anna feigned indignation but was used to leering men of any age… old or young. Then she got serious... almost in tears… words slurred just a little, “Crash... if it weren’t for himm... You know, I used ta ride in hizz cab with everything I owned in a My Little Pony backpack.”

“Where did you find her today, Crash?”

“Out front, why?”

Nancy scowled. “She’s blitzed and she’s repeating stories like an old drunk.”

“Hey, I’m here. I’m here!” Anna waved. “Old drunk? I know… I know... I’m buzzed. Sorry, but don’t talk ‘bout me like I’m not here.” Anna reverted to an annoying childlike stripper’s voice returning to the subject, “You kin stay with me, Crash.”

Nancy warned, “Girl, careful what you say when you’re high. Don’t let him fool you. That’s what he wanted all along. Ain’t I right, Crash?”