Adelaide Literary Magazine No. 36, May 2020

Revista Literária Adelaide

About the Author

The poetry and prose of Robert L. Penick have appeared in over 100 different literary
journals, including The Hudson Review, North American Review, and Hawaii-Pacific Review.
His latest book is Exit, Stage Left, from Slipstream Press. More of his work can be found at
theartofmercy.net

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THE BRIT

by Alan Swyer

At first Adam Lerner didn’t know whether world of Klieg lights, valet parkers, private
to be stunned, dazzled, or simply jealous screenings, high-powered bridge games,
about Colin Nichols’ rapid rise in Hollywood and celebrity-laden soirees.
society.
In a town where England was synony-
Both having arrived on the West Coast mous with culture and sophistication, to
thanks to a producer assembling a stable of the point where a Mercedes dealer used a
young writers at his building in the beach British voice for its radio commercials, Col-
town of Venice, the two seemed initially to in’s patrician accent was a perfect social
be on equal footing – newcomers with small door opener, while his Ox/Bridge (Lerner
development deals. never knew which one it was) education
provided reinforcement, and his often-ref-
But whereas Lerner began cobbling to- erenced body of work at an unreadable
gether a social life commensurate with film journal (which Lerner came to consider
his fledgling status – screenings at revival putative, since he never saw any of the arti-
houses, get-togethers at funky coffee houses, cles) was the piece de resistance.
lunches at all-you-can-eat Indian buffets,
plus Saturday morning basketball games at Though Lerner’s access to the rarefied
a local park – Nichols swiftly soared into the circles in which his on-again-off-again friend
realm of the great and near-great. did most of his hobnobbing was non-exis-
tent, he was at times offered entree to a
In record time, foreign auteurs coming in second-tier Colin group: graying eccentrics
for meetings took to including him in their he came to think of as The Waxworks. Com-
social gatherings, as did aging stars, the prised of a New Zealander – Cameron Har-
wives of high-powered agents and execs, well – who wrote seamy bios of headliners
plus comedy writers with big credits and from once-upon-a-time, an odoriferous
even bigger coke habits. Frenchman publicist – Yves Ronet – who
claimed to have been a driving force in the
While Lerner’s life was comfortably con- Nouvelle Vague, and above all an epicene
ducted on the fringes, amidst aspiring film- director of cult horror films – Percy Car-
makers whose dreams still exceeded their rington – they, and their circle, were ob-
credits, plus hustlers, scammers, and those sessed with the sort of film trivia and gossip
living with no visible means of support, that held zero fascination for Lerner. To him
Colin spent non-working hours (and many
what-should-have-been-working hours) in a

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a starlet of yore’s putative relations with a Never mentioning the discrepancy in
farm animal, or an over-the-hill hunk’s sup- their relative social standings, Lerner, for
posed affection for stunt men and Marines, reasons he never fully understand, almost
had little meaning or importance. invariably allowed himself to be a soft touch.
Yet, since the amount rose each and every
Clinging to the hope that hard work and time, he couldn’t help but wonder if he –
talent counted for more than social ties, and others like Harwell, Ronet, and above
Lerner’s career advanced incrementally. all Carrington – were being set up for a burn
Though it never made it to production, the if and when Colin’s stint in Tinseltown hap-
largely autobiographical script set in indus- pened to go belly-up.
trial New Jersey that he wrote during his
stint in Venice led to another assignment, While laboring dutifully on a re-write
then yet another. The ascent was slow, but he’d been coaxed into accepting – an ad-
it allowed Lerner to pay his bills while in- venture yarn set in Africa that confirmed his
dulging his fondness for third-world food. belief that he should only write about what
More importantly, it also enabled him to he knew, rather than toiling on projects that
think of himself not as a novice screenwriter, were either contrived or simply derived
but as a pro – especially after being courted from other movies – Lerner had his sense
by an agent far superior to the sleazebag of justice and fair play shaken by a Thursday
who first deigned to represent him. afternoon phone call.

Because his own life consisted of more Thanks to an intervention by an un-
grind than glitz, Lerner still got an occa- named well-placed friend, Colin had landed
sional pang when, over one of their less what he termed a high-priced studio deal
and less frequent lunches, his English friend – complete with on-the-lot office space, a
dropped names like Beatty, Bertolucci, or research assistant, and a secretary, plus a
Bruce (as in Willis, of course), or casually generous sum of money – based on a story
referred to Mick, Jack, or Shaq. Still harder he had concocted, then pitched.
to take were allusions to projects allegedly
discussed with Stephen Frears, Dickie At- “Congratulations,” Lerner forced himself
tenborough, or Ken Branagh, even though to say to the gloating Brit, taking the high
none of them ever made it to the screen. road by not yet requesting a return on his
But one constant that never failed to be last loan.
introduced into the conversation was the
top-secret indie Colin claimed to be prep- Only when the conversation was over
ping with Percy Carrington – which, in ad- did Lerner allow himself first a measure of
dition to scripting, Colin would, as he put it, doubt, then a twinge of churlishness. The
Of course produce. doubt was more vexing, since it necessi-
tated a questioning of his own approach,
While he still found Colin amusing in a even though he had neither the accent
peculiar kind of way, Lerner, over a period nor the access to those with whom Colin
of time, came to acknowledge a troubling mingled socially. But the churlishness also
pattern. Every four to six weeks would come engendered a funny thought. Now, he
a We should get together. Followed by a found himself thinking, every doorman,
lunch. Then, two or three days later, a re- head waiter, and maitre d’ will be asking
quest to borrow money. Colin about a project that, in his rendering,

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

will take on a higher profile than anything “The bitch had the audacity to tell me
being developed by Spielberg, Scorcese, or I was Only the writer, merely the writer,
Lucas. nothing but the writer. Astonishing?”

As Lerner feared, the studio deal hit “Not really.”
Colin harder than a cocktail of steroids and
crack. Instantly he became the movie biz’s “But what do you think she was really
great pontificator, passing down all sorts saying?”
of judgments and pronouncements. Arro-
gantly, he presented himself as a self-styled “Truthfully? That if you’re not cool –”
oracle of insider knowledge, with the sole
and supreme right to dictate what was, “Yes?”
or wasn’t, good. Worse, he made it seem
that he and he alone, far more than mere “You’ll soon be No longer the writer.”
mortals such as producers or studio heads,
should determine which films should, or The glacial silence from Colin that en-
shouldn’t, get made. sued increased from weeks to months while
Lerner was immersed in the drama gener-
Uncomfortable with swelled heads, es- ated by the basketball project first on the
pecially on those still lacking any screen page, then in the realm of finance. Not for
credits, Lerner did his best to avoid his erst- the first time, what started as a studio pro-
while crony, which proved to be not partic- duction became, after a certain point, an
ularly difficult once high-flying Colin was indie – albeit one that was warranted to be
blessed with an increased cash flow. fully financed. But that, too, changed when
the money source did a Houdini-like magic
It was thus by chance, certainly not trick and disappeared. So it was only when
by design, that their paths crossed on a the producers, at Lerner’s urging, deigned
drizzly Tuesday afternoon. Having been ap- to approach a cable network that the film
proached about a project that seemed too found a real home.
good to be true – a proposed bio-pic about
a Harlem playground basketball legend Le- Among the consequences when the
rner had seen play while growing up – he deal was announced was a congratulatory
was walking from the studio parking lot call from Colin, who sounded surprisingly
toward an office building when he heard a humbled. That led to a lunch, during which
familiar, well-bred voice. Colin acknowledged that Lerner’s words
had been prescient. Less than a week later,
“You will not believe this!” a clearly in- having complained once too often, he had
dignant Colin Nichols exclaimed. “You know indeed become no longer the writer. Only
Claire Stone, I assume,” he continued, refer- partially chastened, he then jumped impet-
ring to a high-ranking exec Lerner knew only uously onto a project slated to be directed
by reputation. “I went to see her because by the girlfriend of an Italian auteur. But
one of the producers on my project – my that proved to be even more of a false step,
project, which I initiated, created, and sold resulting in a film that aside from being
– wasn’t treating me or my work with suffi- miscast, was then incompetently directed,
cient appreciation or deference.” which resulted in it being laughed off the
screen at two different European festivals.
“And?”
But the good news, per Colin, was
that the long-gestating oeuvre with Percy

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Revista Literária Adelaide

Carrington was at last on the verge of being also on his own personal views about both
funded. So, if Lerner could “perhaps lend a Hollywood and life itself.
small sum of money to hold me over until
then...” Where Colin waxed most eloquently
was on the subject of Percy’s desire, as ex-
Having been named an Adjunct Professor pressed in his will, to endow a scholarship
of Screenwriting at the American Film Insti- fund for aspiring filmmakers. That, he stated
tute, which meant teaching a three-hour in interview after interview, was something
seminar one morning a week, Lerner found that he, himself, would personally oversee
himself stressing certain principles in class so as to make the wish come true.
that were drawn less from books than from
his own experiences. First and foremost Yet despite the media coverage that
was what he called the difference between came thanks to the combination of Car-
plot and story. Plot, he explained at length, rington’s magnanimity and Colin’s accent,
owed to events designed and orchestrated the funding that was promised never quite
by the writer, whose characters – often of materialized.
the two-dimensional variety – were ma-
nipulated by contrivance, resulting in films Questions were ultimately raised, fol-
that were basically theme-park rides. Story, lowed by inquiries that gave way to a full-
in contrast, was seemingly propelled by the fledged investigation.
characters themselves: their choices and
decisions. Since those choices and deci- Instead of responding, Colin ducked the
sions were based on their wants and needs, authorities by slipping, with a first-class
rather than on the arbitrary whims of the ticket, onto a London-bound plane.
writer, the drama that resulted had the po-
tential to be both moving and exciting. Stunned, yet by no means entirely sur-
prised, Lerner went so far as to check out
The easiest and most discernible means the extradition laws as they related to such
of distinguishing between plot and story, matters.
Lerner would add, was what the Greeks
called deus ex machina – a term he defined Though it turned out that Colin could not
as “an inept and out-of-the-blue device that be forced to give up the scholarship money
has no internal logic and destroys any pre- he had filched, it was clear his cherished
vious suspension of disbelief.” dreams of moguldom were over. For the re-
ality was that despite his friendships to the
Yet it was exactly that kind of deux ex great and near great, with a warrant out for
machina – or bad drama – that described his arrest, he could never again return to
Colin Nichols’s life from the moment Percy Hollywood.
Carrington unexpectedly died due to a heart
attack. Even as Lerner moved up the Hollywood
food chain, serving as what’s known as a
Having been named trustee of Car- showrunner on a surprisingly successful TV
rington’s surprisingly large holdings, Colin series, then directing a thriller, music videos,
greeted the press like an Oxford don, rel- and documentaries, he thought periodically
ishing every opportunity to expound not about Colin.
merely on his departed friend’s career, but
But it was not their on-again-off-again
friendship that came to mind. It was that
Colin was the centerpiece in a cautionary tale.

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About the Author

Alan Swyer is an award-winning filmmaker whose recent documentaries have dealt with
Eastern spirituality in the Western world, the criminal justice system, diabetes, boxing, and
singer Billy Vera. In the realm of music, among his productions is an album of Ray Charles
love songs. His novel ‘The Beard’ was recently published by Harvard Square Editions.

54

OBSCURA

by Ian Swalwell

It was too early for the cacophony, too ear- since it serves as a nice reminder of how
ly for the anxiety, too early for the shame, much I don’t need it. With a lip full of nico-
but it was there anyway. It wasn’t late tine lozenges and a determination not to go
enough to grab someone by the shirt and home wishing I had done better at work, I
throw them, either, so I was in limbo as I made my way out to the front door at 9:00.
walked down the dark splashing streets. It’s always slow until 11:00, but really gets
The wrought iron and the glimmer of pale going at about 2:00, which is when the “go
yellow lights reminded me that I was some- get laid” and the “pay for a dance” crowds
place unique, or at least appearing as such. begin to intertwine.

I had known on the walk to work that Freddy is on shift with me tonight, which
this was going to be a more frustrating night helps. He knows how to talk, though he
than normal. It seems to have little to do struggles with how to stop. Pros outweigh
with the environment and more to do with the cons, especially surrounded by the types
how you approach it, when it comes to this of things you hear at this place. The guy next
one. In almost a year – might as well be door, wearing a white suit and a no-non-
a decade in this business – this had been sense expression, yells it’s titty o’clock at
the best of the opportunities available. But packs of college boys as they walk past gig-
the clientele are not ideal, mainly because gling. For people who actually look like they
of the neighboring institution – which had belong, he just nods, curtly and apologeti-
the audacity to call itself a men’s club. The cally. Every time he says titty o’clock, Freddy
words UTOPIC burn such a bright purple leans towards me and, doing a foghorn leg-
that our humble “Bar” sign seems ridicu- horn, mutters, “I say, I say, it was the best of
lous. Besides the men that walked in and times, it-it-it was the worst of times…”
out, there was also quite a bit of Xanax that
threatened to spill into my pseudo-classy “You don’t look crippled by yesterday to-
establishment. night,” I say.

I got to work early, went back to the “Nothing but La Croix and a more genuine
room behind the kitchen and put on my attempt at sex than normal for me, my good
accoutrements. A few breathing exercises man,” he says. “Wish I felt as good as I look.”
help get the cobwebs out of my mind. I
don’t care about smelling alcohol anymore, He does look good. Tall and broad, with
strength but without the boulder-like ap-
pearance I seem unable to shake. He is dark

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

and handsome and clean, and he adopts “Goddammit, McNulty,” Freddy says
different voices to make drunks happy or when I get back. “You’ve really done it this
uncomfortable, depending on how they time. We lost the wire!”
treat staff, who inform him via headset. For
example: “Freddy, we got a cokehead in a When the chaos starts it’s almost two,
purple button-down calling servers cunts. though I suppose it’s not chaos if you know
I’ll give you a heads up when he’s on his way it’s coming. Anxious, but controlled, I re-
out – do you copy?” And Freddy, looking se- double my efforts to keep an eye on hands,
rious, would nod to nobody and touch the pockets, and the rims of eyes. I listen. It’s a
little button on the wire by his shirt collar. normal Thursday night. Nothing much. Next
“This is double-oh seven, roger that. I’ll have door, the worst crowd comes leaking out of
this little bastard back at Ole Miss by the UTOPIC like juice down a chin – Freddy gives
time your coffee’s done in the morning.” me a nod and goes around the back to check
for keys, pockets, etc. They’re not big guys.
I get called to the back exit nobody is al- Their callous grins barely hide the tears that
lowed to use. There’s apparently something would stream if they had to face account-
shady happening out there. I tell Freddy he ability for anything, and I write them off as
can stay and I walk with purpose towards the serious threats of any kind. But still. Focused.
back, through the low lighting, heavy wooden
furniture, and small groups sitting around ta- The lights from UTOPIC mingle with the
bles listening to the band. The night wind is swinging strands of bulbs to create an effect
cool and unobtrusive, napkins are fluttering on the wet ground – it sparkles. Or glistens,
but not flying, and people seem to be okay. I suppose, depending on one’s mood. The
pack of wolves approaches, and I gird my-
Curtis, a manager, gives me the low- self. I can never tell, when I get enraged at
down. Young-looking guys out back, prob- men like this, how much of it is as a result of
ably nothing too bad. But maybe. Would my own baggage. The ringleader, an admit-
I like backup? Backup? No. I’m Brando. No tedly handsome man with a light beard and
need for backup. I walk through the back sharp features, approaches me first.
door, through the little decrepit patio with
its unused bathroom, unused grill, unused “What kinda place you got here?”
chairs, and the distinct possibility of dysto-
pian-looking rats. Down the stairs and to the “Bar.”
left, in a gravelly-grass alley, are two groups
of men. Five young guys talking to three older He grins at me like we’ve been friends
ones. An agreement is being met. Goods for years.
have been or are about to be exchanged.
“Bar, huh? Are we, uh…are we present-
“Get the fuck out of here, motherfuckers,” able for this bar?”
I yell, uncreatively.
Technically, yes. More than presentable.
The young guys are gone before I can Button downs, blazers, a few khakis, dark
even see them well, running off to the jeans, hair product, big jaws, white teeth,
street, their shoes crunching the gravel wide shoulders…good money, probably.
awkwardly. The older guys just sigh at me
and walk away at a calm speed, back further “Yes indeed,” I say, and I feel Freddy’s glare
into the alley. They know. through my right arm. “Just behave your-
selves, we got live music here and people
come to hear it.”

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“Oh, fuck, dude,” one of them says. “Nah, “Hey, he’s just taking pictures man. Cool
too early to throw in the towel, man, come it.”
on man, you heard the guy next door…it’s
not too late to make it count.” “Cool it? Listen, you fucking monkey, I’m
crossing the goddamned street.”
The young men begin fighting with each
other. The ringleader loses control, the army “Monkey?” I hear Freddy mutter. “Monkey?”
is made up entirely of infantrymen. They at
least have the decency to move, like a rat- I put my arm against his upper chest and
king, several paces to the side to make way throat and, in a very unprofessional move,
for some other customers coming in. The tell him to go jump in a river. I’m bigger
whole bar wall is basically a window, which than him and Freddy looks ready to put his
is open, so their noise turns some heads knee in someone’s skinny back, so the situ-
from inside. As I decide whether to inter- ation deflates pretty quickly. Once someone
vene and risk alienating these guys, I see makes a real threat, they often do this. As
someone standing across the street, mouth they leave, Freddy pushes his button on his
agape. ear piece.

He’s silently laughing at the group. He “Bastards are away, blue leader. Repeat…
stands alone, with a bulky, awkward mes- bastards are away.”
senger bag type thing dangling off one
shoulder. He’s wearing tight jeans and a Cheers from the piece of plastic in my
long, loose white t-shirt. He’s shaking with ear. As I breathe deeply, wondering why
laughter, looking directly at the group. I that asshole, of all the assholes, was the
can’t tell if he’s American, since his hair and one to make me lose it, I look back over
complexion are so dark and his face is so my shoulder. The man with the camera is
hilariously perplexed. waving and laughing. He gives me a thumbs
up and then yells, “Hey, stand still!”
He reaches into his bulky bag and pulls
out a camera, an old-looking one that ap- Freddy moves to stand beside me and
pears heavy and mechanical. He adjusts the man shakes his head amicably.
some of the knobs before even putting it up
to his eye and then he aims for the young “No no my man, just your Polack friend
men arguing. He keeps rotating the machine there.”
from sideways to right side up like he’s trying
a key in a door. He’s still shaking with mirth Freddy shrugs.
when one of the guys notices him.
“Guess he likes you, Ron.”
“Yo, what the fuck?”
I turn to face the man with the camera
The rest turn, shoulders back and jaws and before I can process it, he’s taken my
out. The man with the camera waves, picture, backlit by the BAR sign, and prob-
laughing, and the ringleader, spotting his op- ably the glow of UTOPIC in the rain of the
portunity to reassert himself, starts walking street. He laughs more as he walks off.
towards the street. Before I even know what
I’ve done, I’m in front of him with my arm After my shift is over, I have a few tonics
across his chest. while Freddy slams sours and regails a few
other employees of my exploits. After a few
retellings, it has nothing to do with what
happened. He refers to camera man as my

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“gentleman caller,” much to the joy of the seems slippery and I can’t help but walk
group. I smile through it, since Freddy is the tentatively. I’m alone at a small table and
best storyteller I know, except maybe me there’s only a few other groups here, under
when nobody is around. the green canopy. I made sure not to bring
headphones, so I could pay attention and
I walk home around four in the morning, I’m totally lost in my own thoughts, which
up Toulouse street. Normally I avoid the are preoccupied with this city and what I
more dystopian elements of NOLA, but I felt am doing in it. I’m thirty, it’s not too late.
like looking. All of a sudden. I wanted to see But I feel no pressure, and I don’t think it’s
piss hitting walls, I wanted to see midwestern denial. I just feel like I’ll be fine for a while.
boys buying baking soda in little bundles I’ve come to really like the term “service
from hustlers pretending to be homeless. industry.” And speaking of service industry,
The one thing I really can’t get over is the here come some of the girls. Three women,
effect of the light on the street. Maybe I looking between twenty and forty years
haven’t been paying enough attention. It’s old, come walking up to the three counters.
lovely. But this only lasts about two minutes. They look pleasantly exhausted, but that
The glow, imagined or real, fades. Then it’s might be a result of practice. As they order,
just far away sirens and the shuffled sounds one of them very loudly and jovially, I turn
of my own feet as I walk up to my apartment. back away from them and look out towards
Jefferson park. The statue looks like some-
Second floor, small house, lots of square thing out of a movie at this hour, stripped
footage but no walls except for the bath- of cultural significance, just eerie and huge.
room, of course. Clean. It’s very clean. I
pop on Streetcar Named Desire and stuff “Well, I’m glad to run into you.”
my gums with nicotine lozenges, really let-
ting the significance of the story hit me. The I turn, assuming the voice wasn’t di-
windows are open and the volume is loud rected at me, but it was. Camera man is
and I’m not nervous. I wonder if that guy’s grinning, standing above me with his awk-
camera was black and white. ward bag dangling. Before I can respond, he
extends his hand.
Early in the week there aren’t as many
touristy types at du Monde, especially not “Name’s Reggie. You remember me?”
at three in the morning. I actually got out
of bed and put clothes on around 2:00, just “Yeah, of course. Hi.”
accepting that I was going to be up, alert,
and anxious for some time. Might as well I shake his hand, and it feels cold and
caffeinate that. Two days after the incident sick. But he sits down before I can put a
at work and I’m clueless as to what to do normal face on.
with myself. I’ve been all turned around. I
can’t settle on a worldview with regards to “I’m gonna get you a coffee, what kind
anything at all – this is an unpleasant and of coffee you drink? How do you have it? I
exhausting way to live. Though not un- bet you’re just straight black, huh? Aren’t
common. It’s hard to sleep. you? Oh, nevermind – cute little cups – you
an espresso man? Can you handle another
It hasn’t rained in the past couple days one?”
but it still feels rainy out. Everything still
“Um, yeah. Sure…wait, no you don’t have
to…”

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But he’s gone, leaving his bag with me awkward bag and pours a few dollops into
but taking his camera. Feeling like an ass- his coffee. “Why wouldn’t I?”
hole, I wait. As he gets coffees, he strikes
up a conversation with the women – who “It just seems…average. There’s…there’s
seem to like him, no real surprise there. better things to keep a record of.”
He says something to them and two of the
three stand and pose for a photo, the other “Yeah, you said that.”
standing aside, but not looking too pissed.
He keeps swirling around, looking for a “I meant it.”
good background. He nods thanks to them
and they laugh and he comes over and sits “So…what should I shoot?”
down, smiling. He sets down our coffees
and sighs, rubbing his face. It’s upsetting. “Ripples in water…or statues. Buildings.
Architecture. You know. Maybe it would…I
“You know,” I say, slowly, “you shouldn’t think New Orleans would look good in black
be taking photos here…now…of them.” and white.”

“Wait, why?” “Yeah, it does. Sure thing it does. But the
people are more interesting, you’re more
He looks concerned, eyebrows up and likely to find something weird and per-
wiggling. manent that way. I mean, you work with
people, right?”
“There’s such better things to keep a re-
cord of.” “With is a stretch.”

He relaxes and smiles at me like he just He smiles knowingly again. I don’t know
figured me out, which is even more upset- why I’m talking this way. Sleep deprivation
ting. I double down. maybe. He’s refilling his cup with booze
again, which isn’t bothering me, which
“If you come back at sundown, the freaks me out a bit once I become aware of
statues and the water look amazing, I would it. I remember…I remember sitting on the
imagine that shows up on camera too.” couch staring at movies, black and white,
I remember refilling cup after cup, pissing
“You never take pictures?” and puking and staring at the television in
black and white. Bogart. Bacall. Matches
“On my phone sometimes. I delete them, and long cigarettes.
though.”
“I actually have a question for you…I didn’t
“Why?” have it until just now, but your bar and those
women and those idiots last night…”
“Always felt silly.”
Embarrassingly, I get a little excited at
“Ah, don’t do that! And yeah, I took some being in a position to help. I wait expec-
of those more stylish ones when I got here… tantly.
been looking for the other stuff for a few
days though. That photo of you ought to “I was, uh…do you think that titty bar next
turn out great.” door to you would let me take pictures?
I would assume not, but I dunno, I kinda
“So you really took it?” want to…not of the women, per se, but you
know…there’s something about that place.”
“Yeah, of course,” he says, like I’m dumb.
He takes a pint of bourbon out of his

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“What could there be about that place? photo anyway. I don’t know why I hold the
What…possibly…could be interesting about pose.
that place?”
It’s not much of a night when Reggie re-
“None of the clientele think they’re going turns. But he’s too early. I made the mistake
to get their pictures taken,” he says, grin- of telling Freddy, who immediately repeated
ning and then taking a painful-looking gulp the info through his microphone. Now I’ve
of booze coffee. had a night of getting shit talked through an
earpiece too small to notice. Reggie makes a
“How does that help?” subtle entrance, except for the messenger bag.
But nobody gives him trouble for that. He sits
“No posing.” and orders double whiskey Cokes and drinks
them quickly but with a certain dignity. The
“Ugh.” band is good, even though their playlist is lazy.
Summer of 69, etc. Makes me cringe. A new
“Come on. I’m not trying to get, like, in- group will take over around 2:00. The crowd
side. I just want to, like, interview the girls is decent. A few problems, none of them vio-
and take their photos. Or the door guys. I’ll lent. I feel very nervous. He’s going to try to go
stay away from the clients, I think.” around back to poke around UTOPIC.

“Good call.” I focus on my duties. Freddy is in a
charming mood. Around 1:00 the crowd gets
“Why?” rowdier, it being the weekend and all. The
lights bounce off of the street and chatter
“Who wants a stranger with a camera mixes naturally with music from several
showing up in the middle of a meltdown?” establishments; the exception, of course,
is the chest-rattling pounding of speakers
He laughs, and I’m disheartened by how from next door. I’m occupied at the front
much it means to me. It hits me suddenly: for a few minutes while someone drunkenly
I don’t talk to people much at all, and that tried to pass off his weed pen for a tobacco
can’t be good. vape, and I’m mean to him just out of anxiety.
He wanders off, feet slapping the ground,
“Alright…here’s the deal. I’ll stop by your swaying and unafraid of being alone. When
place on your next shift, I’ll spend too much I turn around Reggie is gone, just a few twen-
money, I’ll ask some questions…then I’ll ties thrown on the bar. I realize I don’t know
give it a try? It’s close to Bourbon, I could how he has the budget for this shit.
always call an audible and go there.”
I find Curtis towards the end of the bar
“That street’s gotta be out of good photos and ask him if he’s seen Reggie.
by now.”
“Oh, your boyfriend?”
“Alright…so?”
“Where this fuck is he?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“He went out back. And I’m gonna pre-
“Like…tonight? It’s three thirty in the tend you didn’t just talk to me that way.”
morning.”
I don’t care, there’s nothing at stake there,
“No, like tomorrow night. Like 24 hours. right now. I run out the back, nearly tripping
Like maybe get some sleep.”

“Deal.”

He stands up and lifts the camera, but I
give him the finger. He laughs, then takes a

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on the deep wet wood. I look left and right, dark face looks asleep. His camera is broken
seeing nothing. Disheartened, I wait anxiously. and his facial wounds seem like they hap-
To my left, back down the alley, I see a sudden pened before the car. His hands are scraped
white light illuminating everything and then with defensive wounds, too. Maybe a knife. I
disappearing. Then I see it again. Camera. look behind me and don’t see the strippers
or the men who were smoking cigarettes out
I head that way, trying to be quiet on the back. Everyone is just leaving.
gravel grass, hearing voices. They sound irri-
tated. I keep going through the dark, crunching A month later I still haven’t visited him.
and crouching. And then, I hear yelling, and I know where he is, too. Took a few days
decide to go for it; picturing Reggie alone is off, maybe a week. I think it’s morning but
upsetting in a way I didn’t anticipate. it might be late afternoon. I refill my large
water glass, the transcuscent ones you get
It took me a few seconds to get through at restaurants. Another pint of vodka and a
the flora and garbage, so when I arrive little Sprite ought to do it. There are bottles
there’s two dancers and another guy in a trash bag I need to take out, the bottles
standing there lighting cigarettes. separated with socks I never wore anyway.
No need for clanging. I’m on the couch, too
“Where’d he go?” exhausted to move, staring at the televi-
sion. Vivien Leigh is running from the light.
“Who?” Black and white. I’m smoking again, but it’s
not fun. She’s crouching in the dark, on the
“Camera.” television – I’m in the television. My chest
swells as I watch her. She looks up, eyes glis-
One of the strippers gestures behind tening, and moans “I want magic.”
her, past some trash and towards the back
of UTOPIC, which is unsurprisingly gross About the Author
looking. The light from the building points
only at the street, so the little alley has a Ian Swalwell is a writer from Kansas City.
purple blue glow as I run through it. I hear He completed an MFA at the University
a commotion. My earpiece becomes caco- of Missouri-Kansas City and teaches high
phonic with voices and then goes static. I school English.
hear honking and then a screech.

He’s laying in the street, his awkward bag a
few paces away. People stand around talking
to each other but looking at him over their
shoulders. A car is ten yards away, turned off,
with a terrified-looking young man behind
the wheel and his friends trying to drift into
the crowd, away from the car they were all in.
The front right headlight is out and the wind-
shield is cracked, bouncing lights all over the
place off its reflection. The red and blues are
on their way, adding their sirens and lights to
the mess. I don’t remember moving towards
him, but now I’m kneeling next to him and
softly touching his forehead. His beautiful

61

BEAUTIFUL IN THE
WATER

by Brad Shurmantine

Packed with the fat and arrogance that What Julius wanted to do was teach Gov-
would kill him three years later, Julius ernment, and coach water polo. Not in that
Schott lumbered back to his portable class- order. Today was the Big Game and his girls
room after the secret lunch meeting he had would once again crush their cross-town rivals,
organized with the union rep to plot out though it would not be so easy this time. Their
the teachers’ next steps against Greg, their coach John had been bringing that team along;
current principal. They were on their sec- the last two games had been tight. Julius
ond educational reformer now; it had been would win, but his girls had to play their best.
seven years since Harold. Harold was per- The days of ridiculous blow-outs were over.
fect; he used to circulate every morning be-
fore first period and just pop in to say, How Julius liked being out in the portables
are you doing? Have a good day! Then you even though it was a hike to get there. It
never saw him again. Perfect. was November, getting chilly, but Julius
wore the gym shorts and t-shirt he wore
It looked like Greg had a right to require year-round. His big body was an oven and
them to give up one prep period a month for he always felt overheated. He loved his por-
staff development, but the teachers could table because it sat right next to the pool
push back hard on the “learning walks” and and administrators hardly ever wandered
the 9th Grade Houses and the career paths out there. Plus, it had its own HVAC system.
and every other stupid idea the administra- He could set the room temperature to any-
tion came up with. The teachers had all the thing he wanted, and he wanted it cold. He
cards, really. Not one damn thing Greg could had the air conditioner going even in Jan-
do if you said no. And no one said no. Why uary. His students complained at first but
would you draw attention to yourself that they had given up. He told them to wear a
way? Just pretend to listen. Smile and nod coat and bring a blanket, and there was in
and go back to your classroom and do what fact a messy pile of blankets on a table in
you always did, what you wanted to do. What the corner that the students lugged in and
you became a teacher to do. But Julius felt left behind. Julius was the teacher; he had
hot and angry that he had to play that game. a right to be comfortable in his own room.

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Today that annoying little shrimp Gary readings. These were Advanced Placement
Daniels, one of the administrators, was students after all; he had to challenge them.
waiting outside when he showed up. Daniels asked for a copy of the quiz and Ju-
lius gave him one. He watched Daniels study
“Hi Julius. I’m going to observe your 5th the quiz and launch into some big analysis.
pd. class if you don’t mind.” Julius could guess what he was writing; he
and Daniels had once crossed swords about
He did mind. He minded a lot. “Sure. multiple-choice tests at a Social Studies de-
We’re not doing much. Having a quiz and partment meeting. Daniels maintained that
going over the readings. But come on in.” essay exams were a better kind of assess-
Julius was intensely annoyed that Daniels ment. That went over like a lead balloon.
had come to observe him on the day of Who had time to read a bunch of essays?
the Big Game. He was bitter that the ad- Julius had stomped his ass.
ministration did little to promote this game,
because it was water polo, and girls’ water After they finished, the students cor-
polo at that. His team never got enough rec- rected each other’s quizzes while Julius
ognition, compared to the football and bas- gave them the answers and went over the
ketball teams--yet they won league every readings. A simple, effective lesson. Daniels
goddamn year! This injustice enraged Julius. would say it was not “engaging,” but it was
the way Julius liked to teach and the way
He had other things on his mind today students liked to learn. Julius was actually
than teaching, but at least he had a lesson bored by the content he taught; the stu-
plan. Most days he just winged it, brought dents could read all that in the textbook;
in the morning newspaper and interpreted they didn’t need him to explain how gov-
it for the students. Julius had strong polit- ernment worked. What Julius really taught
ical beliefs that usually sparked discussion, was an attitude toward government and
especially in his AP class. Those kids were politics. What Julius taught was Julius. And
so thin-skinned, so easy to goad. Just make the kids loved it.
fun of Barbara Boxer and they were off to
the races. However, with Daniels in the classroom
he couldn’t go there. He had been on fire
“Jeez, it’s cold in here,” Daniels remarked that morning, with no fucking administrator
when he came in the room. “Can I turn up in the room. The Big Game always brought
the heat?” out the best in him, because Sports was Life.
He had so much to give these kids, so many
“The students like it cold. It keeps them lessons he had learned the hard way, about
awake after lunch. But turn it up if you want.” what it takes to win, and not just win. Win
big. All the pansies in the world, like Daniels
Daniels, who prided himself on being and the Democrats, and big friendly John
student-centered, thought this sounded at Napa, were chasing butterflies. They had
vaguely reasonable and took a seat. If the no clue. A winner was locked and loaded
students liked it, OK. He opened his laptop and took no shit. Attack, attack, attack. Just
as the students trickled in. you and your band of brothers. Or sisters,
as the case may be. Julius understood this,
Julius watched Daniels type like a and had a way of communicating it with
madman while the kids grabbed blankets
and took their quiz. It was a ten-ques-
tion multiple-choice quiz on 12o pages of

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that lovable sarcasm kids ate up. He loved “OK. Thank you, Mr. Schott. I understand
the way they looked at him and hung on now. I’ll reread that decision.”
every word. Teaching was the greatest job
on earth, if they would just leave him alone. Maybe she will get the A. “It’s OK, Tara. It
was a lot to read, I understand that. But this
He hadn’t previewed the readings him- is what you’re going to be facing when you
self--he put that quiz together five years take that exam next May. It’s like I’m always
ago, and stole the questions from the Col- telling you. Life isn’t fair. You have to put
lege Board--but he knew this stuff like the the hours in, you have to work, and some-
back of his hand, and was confident that times stuff just happens, and things don’t
Daniels was taking note of his mastery of go as planned, but if you work hard and put
course content. These students were slow the time in you will be ready for that test. I
and they were already behind schedule; guarantee it.” That was satisfying; that was
he had dumped 120 pages of reading on what he wanted to teach these kids. Daniels
them so they could catch up and move on couldn’t take that away from him.
to Unit 2. Now some of them were getting
all pissy about it. Maybe they thought they For the last fifteen minutes he had stu-
had some leverage with an administrator in dents quietly read. Daniels packed up and left.
the room.
He had his 6th period class read Chapter
“Mr. Schott?” That was Tara, the smartest 4 and answer the questions. It was the last
kid in the class. The only one that would class of the day and he knew he’d be too ag-
wring an A out of him. itated to teach, thinking about the game. He
sat at his desk while they read and studied
“Mr. Schott, do you really think Question Napa’s roster; they were thin. They only had
6 is fair? State taxation isn’t talked about one girl he was worried about. He’d drape
in Federalist No. 51, and neither Supreme Melissa all over her. The problem was, John
Court case we’ve studied deals with it. I had really turned them into a team. They
think it’s only briefly mentioned in one para- worked the ball well. His girls couldn’t hang
graph in the textbook. Is it really fair for that back and watch them pass.
to be one of the questions on this quiz?”
Julius had the swimmers. If you had
That little bitch. Julius could feel Daniels the swimmers, you won; if you didn’t, you
watching, and it made him feel hot. Maybe didn’t. John didn’t have many swimmers;
she wouldn’t get the A after all. his girls couldn’t afford to join the valley
swim team, much less play club. John never
“Is it fair? What does fairness have to do knew which girls would show up in August.
with it? I’m trying to prepare you for the AP Coach, I’d like to play water polo this year.
exam, Tara. These are the kinds of questions It will look good on my transcript. How do
you will encounter on that exam. Get used you play? Julius had heard that stuff too,
to them. And reread United States v. Lopez, and he wasn’t allowed to cut those girls so
because it’s definitely in there.” they stayed on the team and got a minute
or two, but mostly his girls were groomed.
“I don’t think so.” He had seen them play club; he knew just
how he’d play them. He felt pity for John
“Tara, reread that decision. It’s in there, and his F Troop, but that was life. A lesson
it’s implied.” Julius wasn’t sure it was, but for his students.
this would get her off his back.

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After class he hurried over to the pool for Julius. Frank worked with him and must like
a quick dip before the girls showed up. He him; why else would he come to the game?
needed to cool himself down. He was self-con- “Julius is a hell of a coach.”
scious about his body and didn’t like to swim
when anyone was around. He didn’t know how “He really is. Those girls love him.”
he had gotten so heavy, but he forgot all that
when he was in the water. He felt free there. “Winning will do that. You know, it’s
Graceful. For ten minutes he lulled in the pool, always hard for me to think of Julius as a
rolling around like a dolphin. Then the girls water polo coach. He looks more like a line-
started arriving and he pulled himself out and backer than a swimmer. Like he should be
started making preparations for the game. coaching the defensive line or something.”

Gary Daniels had athletic supervision “Yeah. True. But you should see him in
that afternoon, and he showed up at the the water. That guy can swim. We had a de-
pool while making his rounds. There was partment party out here last June and Julius
a volleyball game in the gym, and a tennis was in the pool the whole time. He was in
match out on the courts. He found water his element. We all talked about how beau-
polo boring so he planned to make a brief tiful he looked, in the water.”
appearance and keep rotating. Besides, it
was painful to watch his friend John get beat. “Beautiful?”
Gary was loyal to his school, but John was his
friend. It was John’s turn to win. It wouldn’t “Yeah. Funny. But that’s what everyone
kill our girls to lose a game, he thought. said.”

He saw Frank, another Social Studies Gary studied Julius. The period had
teacher, sitting in the bleachers, and joined ended and the girls had swum to the side
him. of the pool and were lined up, listening to
him. He was crouched down and seemed to
“How are we doing?” be barking at them. Gary tried to imagine
Julius beautiful in the water, but all he could
“We’re winning but it’s close.” picture was a fat, clumsy walrus.

They watched in silence. Then Gary felt He concentrated. They’re only clumsy on
compelled to say something nice about land. They’re beautiful in the water.

About the Author

Brad Shurmantine lives in Napa, Ca. He spends time writing,
reading, tending three gardens (sand, water, vegetable),
keeping bees, taking care of chickens and cats, and working
on that husband thing. His fiction and personal essays have
been published in Pettigru Review, Potato Soup Journal, and
Every Day Fiction; his poetry has been published in Oddball
Magazine, Jam and Sand, Ariel Chart, and Mom Egg. He
backpacks in the Sierras and travels when he can, and has a
serious passion for George Eliot.

65

THINK LIKE A THIEF

by Jim Zinaman

Through the glass walls of his office on the “So,” Fuchsberg said, “thirty-four years
Equities Institutional Sales and Trading old and you’re making a hundred fifty thou-
floor, Brass Brothers Partner Lloyd Fuchs- sand.”
berg glanced at his soldiers battling on his
newly expanded realm in 1986. With jack- Paul suppressed a grin. Between his two
ets draped over chair backs, row upon row years at Harvard Business School, Paul had
of men and a few women in business suits earned just ten thousand as a summer an-
eyed display screens and spoke quickly into alyst slaving away in Brass Brothers’ invest-
headsets. Some stood to shout securities ment banking division over eighty hours
bids and offers over phone consoles. Com- a week. For that privilege he eventually
puter screens flickered with green and red amassed forty thousand in graduate school
numerals of market prices in flux. debt. He became known among the analysts
as the one with chutzpah besides a head
Fuchsberg’s rugged face glowed with a for numbers. Fuchsberg hired him the next
tan from the past weekend on Saint Martin summer as a potential protégé in his core
beneath his silvering dark hair. Still massive kingdom of Retail Sales. Now, three years
and firm-bodied like the Harvard heavy- later, he was already at a seventy-five thou-
weight wrestling champion he had been, he sand dollar salary doubled by a bonus based
sported a crisp white dress shirt and red- on the commissions and asset management
and-blue-striped tie. He was leaning over fees he generated last year. Not bad for a
Paul Silven seated in a Queen Anne ma- guy who had spent most of his twenties
hogany armchair. Fuchsberg’s winged-tip hitchhiking around the United States.
shoe occupied one armrest, the toe inches
from Paul’s ribs. The Partner was conducting “And you’re happy with that,” Fuchsberg
Paul’s year-end review. It consisted of said.
twenty seconds of cursory comments about
how The Firm had performed the previous “Of course not,” Paul said. He knew what
year and how it translated to the only thing response was expected of him by a Partner.
Paul had waited to hear: “his number,” his
year-end bonus. Fuchsberg had just stated “Then how come you haven’t shown me?”
the number. His smile was urbane; his pale-
fire eyes bearing down on Paul were those Paul’s brow furrowed. He looked up at his
of a tiger. superior. “You commended the way I brought
in my parents’ friends at The Milton Club.”

“Your first year, yes. But since then?”

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“The growth in the department gave rise “You want me to be on the lookout for
to IT and training issues that I took care of her joining the training class.”
for you. I’ve helped make your new asso-
ciates the most informed rookies on the “She’s hard to miss.”
Street regarding financial products and ne-
gotiating techniques.” “That good looking?”

“True. And you’ve settled quite well in Fuchsberg’s face tightened, almost if as
the role.” if he were wincing as he looked away. He
moved behind his desk, sat in his throne of
Paul smiled despite himself. a swivel chair, and swung into position be-
fore the blotter laden with a thin stack of
“That’s not a compliment,” Fuchsberg documents to one side. Then he fixed Paul
said. with a glance. “I prize her more than any-
thing. You understand?”
The Partner moved behind his ma-
hogany desk. He lifted the rightmost of a Paul nodded.
gleaming set of Newton’s Cradle suspended
steel balls. He released the ball, which “Make sure she feels at home. I’ll intro-
swung with a clack into the row of touching duce you.” He looked down at his paper-
spheres, sending the leftmost ball swinging work and gave Paul a backward flap of his
away from the pack, before swinging back hand, as if shooing away a fly.
into its neighbor to set off the next round of
impacts. Clack. Clack. Clack. *

“Each impact,” said Fuchsberg, “is an- Through The Tide Inn’s plate glass window
other day of your career here. What op- one could observe the Metro North train
portunities will you seize and exploit--or let station on the other side of Donne Avenue.
pass you by?” The Manhattan-fleeing 8:32 had just glided
to a stop abreast the concrete platform. The
“Or,” Paul said, “in whose lives will I make grimy steel passenger cars gave off a dull
a difference?” gleam from the fluorescent lights hanging
below the platform roof. Their doors slid
Fuchsberg snorted. “Those clients from open to disgorge executives hunched in
the Milton Club? You were just gathering thick wool overcoats and scarves wrapped
people who were predisposed to listen to around their necks. Bars of red rear car
you because of their relationship with your lights stamped the darkness between the
parents. To build fruitful relationship on tall cones of illumination descending from
your own, you have to be a hunter who can the parking lot lamps as vehicles backed
think like a thief.” out of parking spaces.

Fuchsberg then flashed his signature Paul and his father, Sy, sipped from their
grin, one whose apparent warmth was not mugs of beer in a booth by the window.
in his eyes. “I have another departmental The whiskey-tinted glow from a shaded
project for you--while you find more clients. bulb on the pine-paneled wall rested in Sy’s
My daughter will be joining The Firm soon. salt-and-pepper hair, which was now more
She graduated from MIT Sloan over a year salt than pepper. The beat of the Bee Gees’
ago. She’s been on some self-designed self- “Stayin’ Alive” pumped from ceiling corner
study about computers and people.”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

speakers. It would always be the 1970’s at Sy nodded slowly. “Sounds good. But if it
The Tide. doesn’t work out, you know I could always
use you at the store. You could take it over
Paul had ended his travels around the some day.”
country five years ago when his mother,
who for forty years had catalyzed his fa- “Of course it’ll work out. I’m moving into
ther’s appetite for life, died of pancreatic the City soon.”
cancer. He returned to the house where he
had grown up and helped his father in Silven Sy pursed his lips. “I see.” He took another
Hardware a few stores down from the train sip of his beer. “Anything else new at work?”
station until he figured out what he wanted
to do with his life. When he finished busi- “Fuchsberg’s daughter is coming to the
ness school, he moved back in with his fa- firm. She’ll be in the class I teach.”
ther to avoid the rent he would have paid in
Manhattan and to pay down his grad school “Ah,” said Sy with a smile.
loan, which he had just extinguished.
“What?”
“Good day today?” said Sy.
“Attend to her, and you’ll know where
“Yeah. Got the bonus I expected.” you stand with Fuchsberg.”

“Good for you, son.” “You mean use her to get what I want?
Not my thing, Dad.”
Compensation specifics had always been
an implicitly forbidden topic of conversa- “It’s not about a ‘thing.’” Sy raised his
tion between them. Not only was it a mark beer mug for Paul to join him in a toast. “It’s
of poor breeding to discuss one’s earnings, about doing what you have to do.”
it was just something a father never told
his son. And Paul didn’t want him to know *
that he was already making more than he
believed his father had ever made in a year. Young men and women closed their Sales
Associate Training Program binders and
“Things still fine with Fuchsberg?” Sy said. rose from their mahogany armchairs
around the conference table. 9:00 PM and
“Can’t claim to know where I stand with the red or navy-blue silk neckties of these
him at any given moment.” MBA graduates eight months into the pro-
gram were all still perfectly knotted.
“That’s why he is where he is. I don’t
really know that world you’re in, but my After the last Associate filed out the
understanding is that if you don’t want to doorway, Paul pushed the off switch on the
become Partner, you don’t belong there.” overhead projector and slipped the sheaf
of transparencies with options payoff di-
“That’s a core motivation at the firm, no agrams into his attaché case. He stepped
doubt. Sales can be a definite pathway to to the doorway to flick off the room’s light
the prize. But more than that, I see the switch, but noticed a woman with curtains
growing demand at the firm for technology of black hair to her shoulders still seated at
expertise in every business. There’s an end- the far end of the table. She stared down
less need for people like me, people who at her binder with an elbow on the ma-
can design and manage a project and help hogany table, her cheek upon a fist. The top
others share information.” two buttons of her white silk blouse were

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undone. Her free hand hung with fingers pencil skirt caressed her hips and the thighs
curled upon the placket by her collar bone. scissoring swiftly beneath it.
The widened blouse opening revealed her
cleavage. A black V-neck cashmere sweater “What did you mean by ‘creating your-
concealed the ample swell of her breasts. self?’” Paul said.

“What are you looking at?” Paul said. She stopped by the doorway and turned
to him. “To keep meeting people and finding
Without raising her head she said, “This more of yourself in them. We are who we
C = S + P.” meet, after all.”

“The payoff of a call equals—” “You remind me of a few I met years ago
when I was wandering around the country.
“But why? Why do people devote so They thought it was so great that I was
much time to figuring out how to hedge trying to ‘find myself.’”
their risk?”
“But you didn’t think so.”
“You expect them just to invest and pray
that it all works out?” “I did. I loved the adventure. But I was
always anxious about not finding it.”
“But all that energy could be devoted to
creating themselves,” she said, looking up “What if there were no ‘it’ to find?”
with a slight turn of her free cheek away
from him, but not before he saw why she “What do you mean?”
would do that. The corner of her mouth
flared open with the lips frozen in a gro- “What if it’s just a matter of creating it
tesque deformity. with the person you’re with at the moment?”

So as not to stare at it, he trained his Suddenly everything grew still for Paul. It
eyes on hers, which was easy since her eyes was the stillness he found with those same
were a riveting hazel. people he had met along the Interstates,
the ones who like he refused to stop won-
She said, “Didn’t anyone ever teach you dering why they were doing what they were
it’s rude to stare? I have a congenital defect. doing.
Get over it.”
Paul moved toward her. “I never caught
“I didn’t mean—” your name,” he said, extending his hand.

“Get your fill.” She held up the flared She shook it. Her grip was firm and warm.
corner of her mouth toward him.
“Jessica,” she said. “Jessica Fuchsberg.”
“Please. Don’t.”
*
She lowered her face and held his gaze.
“Can’t take it?” The Retail Sales floor accommodated twen-
ty high-net-worth-client sales reps. They
“I wasn’t staring at your face.” sat at spacious mahogany desks in a grid
of low cubicle walls carpeted in burgundy,
“Then what were you looking at?” holding hushed and unhurried phone con-
versations with customers. Market prices
“Just you.” and news feeds for stocks and fixed income
instruments glowed on green Quotron
She picked up notebook and stormed
along the side wall toward the door. A black

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

screens. Computer terminal screens were typical hour in the cafeteria. Retrieving a
white with word-processed documents. fat wad of napkins and a styrofoam cup
of the water in the kitchenette, he moved
Every day Paul would note Jessica’s swiftly but casually to Rod’s desk. Making
movements at the opposite corner of the sure the one admin remaining in the room
room. When she went to and from the was busy with a phone call, he placed a row
department’s kitchenette for a drink or a of overlapping napkin wads beneath Rod’s
snack. When she left to see her father or keyboard and poured water on it. He swept
traders upstairs about a particular stock. the sodden wads into plastic-bag-lined
Out of the corner of his eye as he dialed a wastepaper basket with his hand, wiped
client, he sometimes caught her returning the desktop dry with the remaining napkins,
his glance with a brief, but unwavering gaze. crumpled some yellow lined sheets of paper
from a legal-sized pad, and placed them
One day around lunchtime he observed over the wet refuse. Then he walked to the
two salesmen, Rod Darling and Don Rocke- doorway in the most unhurried manner he
feller, standing in the corner by the large could manage and exited. His whole body
network printer as it ejected page upon tingled, nearly quivering from the accom-
page of a document. Ten-year veterans at plished mischief.
The Firm, they were the top revenue gen-
erators in Retail Sales. Their long-standing He encountered Jessica by the eleva-
clients were their fathers and their fathers’ tors, where fifteenth-century diptych donor
friends, who were either hedge fund man- panels of Dutch bankers in pious prayer
agers or tech start-up founders. hung between the sets of doors.

Jessica rose from her desk and walked She looked at him as he approached, her
toward the doorway. Instead of leaving head cocked to one side. “What happened?”
the floor for the cafeteria, she continued
along the perimeter of the room, turned “What do you mean?”
the corner, and headed for Paul’s desk. She
stopped by his cubicle wall. “You have this like glow to you.”

“Care to join me for lunch?” He smiled. “Just happy to have your com-
pany.”
Paul had made a point of not going to
lunch with her the first week so as not to The elevator doors parted, and they
provoke any office gossip. descended in a packed car to the spotless
bustling basement dining venue. They
“Sure,” he said. drifted their way together along the food
line and sat at a table. Amid the clamor of
“Meet you in the hallway in five minutes.” diners, they floated upon their own lumi-
nous cloud, sharing idea after idea. They
She headed toward the corner with the discussed why The Wizard of Oz was her
network printer. As she passed Rod and Don, favorite movie from childhood and why It’s
their eyes peeled to the skirt hugging her a Wonderful Life was his. They talked about
butt, Rod suddenly turned to his companion the crazy extent to which people will chase
and flared the corner of his mouth in imita- an experience of feeling uniquely alive in a
tion of her. Don snickered. time of nuclear power plant meltdowns and
mushrooming computerization. And about
Paul glared at them. He waited until the
duo left the room a minute later for their

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how from the nature of their work, from Paul held him in a level gaze. “Sounds
how what seemed so definitively right one like you need a new keyboard.”
day could seem just a misguided waste of
effort the next, playwrights and software “So get me one.”
engineers understood what Shakespeare
knew so well: we are indeed such stuff as “Get it yourself.”
dreams are made on.
Rod exchanged glances with Don Rocke-
They stepped off the elevator car and feller and then leered at Paul. “You want
headed down the hallway toward the office. me to tell Lloyd that his boy is keeping his
highest earner from doing business?”
Paul said, “So why are you at Brass
Brothers?” Paul walked over to him and did not
lower his voice. “Tell Lloyd whatever the
“My father suggested I try working in the fuck you want. The network affects ev-
markets. It seemed more fun than writing eryone, and that’s what I have to check out
code or doing university research.” first.”

Paul snorted. “Must be nice.” He moved swiftly back to his desk to
sit at his computer and verify what he as-
She looked at him sharply. “You think sumed was the source of the problem.
I’m daddy’s little dilettante. Well I’ve always
paid my own way, Paul. With scholarships “Hey,” said a soft voice.
and grants.”
He looked up to find Jessica smiling
“Sorry if I presumed.’ down at him by his cubicle wall with her
forearms upon the railing.
“Everyone here presumes.” She studied
him. “Has this place been what you expected?” She jutted her chin toward Rod’s cubicle
on the other side of the office. “Rather im-
“There are good days and bad.” polite of you back there.”

“You don’t like working for my father, do “He mocked your mouth to his sidekick
you.” when you passed him this morning. I washed
out his keyboard with a cup of water.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She fixed him the gaze of those hazel
“Not in words.” eyes. “So how does it feel?”

“He’s my boss, Jessica.” “What--destroying his keyboard?”

“Always the salesman. So painfully polite.” “No. Being up-front. In his face.”

They now stood before cubicles loaded Paul smiled. “Kind of nice.”
with their office colleagues.
She laughed. “You should do it more often.”
“Paul,” someone said. “My document’s
frozen.” Paul turned his attention the computer
screen. The cursor did not move when
“I can’t even get into word processing,” he clicked the mouse. He could open his
said another salesperson. spreadsheets and any of the other files he
had copied onto the CPU under his desk for
Paul sighed. “I’ll check it out.” disruptions like this. However he could not

“You better,” Rod Darling said. “None of
my keys work.”

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access documents and market news stories As they chanted their way together
available only through the network. He rose through the procession of numbers, they
from his seat. “I have to take care of this.” stood within inches of each other, bathed
by the heat from all those electrons racing
Jessica followed him to a seven-foot-high through cables and circuit boards. Their
thinly lined rectangle cut into the wall of shoulders kissed as they reached the end
gold fabric beside the kitchenette entrance. of the incantation. He inhaled the piquant
Paul pulled a bronze retractable handle scent of her perspiration.
sunk into the wall rectangle and opened a
door to a dark space. He reached around Paul swallowed. “And now,” he said,
the door jamb, and suddenly glaring light taking her hand and guiding it toward the
revealed a deep closet with a tall column of protruding side of the toggle switch marked
blinking amber dots. by a white dash, “be my guest.” He released
her hand.
“Welcome to the Local Area Network,”
Paul said. Her eyes flashed with a mirthful glint.
She reached down—below the designated
They entered a narrow unfinished room switch to the one on the next server box.
and wormed their way back between
metal racks bearing long flat metal boxes “No!” Paul cried, grabbing her wrist. “You
from floor to ceiling. Attached to the backs can’t do that.”
of them were red, yellow, and blue cables
hanging in braids bound by zip ties. Across She laughed, her head tilted back, her
those backs tiny round amber bulbs of light throat so white and bare.
pulsed in stuttering blinks.
“’You can’t do that,’” she said in the high-
Paul pointed at a red toggle switch on pitched nasal voice like that of the Wicked
one of the stacked servers. At the back of Witch. Her glance sliced him like a razor.
the box one amber light was not blinking. “Why not?”

“There it is,” he said. “The Retail Sales “You’d turn off the network to some-
gateway to the network. where else. Maybe part of the trading floor.”

“You don’t need the MIS department to “God forbid I do that, and big bad Lloyd
fix it?” Fuchsberg finds out.” She looked at him
askance. “You really thought I’d actually
“Nagh. I could trouble-shoot, but some- touch the wrong switch?”
times an age-old non-technical solution
works its charm: the off-on trick.” She turned to leave, but he was still
holding her wrist.
Paul depressed the red toggle power
switch marked by an “O” printed in white. She smiled. “Always the gentleman, he
The amber light shrank to a lifeless dark bulb. just stands there.”

He turned to her. “And now let us count She drew him to her and kissed him, her
to thirty, Brass Brothers style, to allow time tongue issuing from the flared corner of
for the curse to drain from the circuits. One her mouth, meeting the curled caress of his
one-million, two one-million, three one-mil- waiting tongue.
lion...”
He drew back. “Not here.”

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She pressed against him. “I’m staying at “Stuffy, if you ask me.”
my parents’ place for now. Meet me at sev-
en-forty-five. They’ll have surely gone out “Then let’s change that,” he said, getting
to dinner by then.” to his feet.

* “Where are you going?”

The front door to the Fuchsberg’s apart- “To a greater space.” He took her hand.
ment at 969 Park Avenue was unlocked. “Let’s find one.”
The doorman in the lobby had delivered
Paul the message from Jessica that he She rose beside him, and they returned
should just come in. to the rotunda. There were three other
doorways. He gestured at the one guarded
Mint-green walls painted with faux side by a closed mahogany door to their imme-
tables and festoonery defined a rotunda diate left.
foyer with a circular Persian rug covering
the center of the parquet oak floor. In one “My parents’ bedroom,” she said.
quick shrug, like on the commuter train,
Paul removed his overcoat with the suit He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want to
jacket inside it. even think about what goes on in there.” He
indicated the next doorway.
“In here,” Jessica called from a spacious
room immediately to his left. “A hallway,” Jessica said, “to the kitchen,
a pantry that used to be the live-in house-
Paul entered a living room where a keeper’s room, the dinette, and my bed-
fire blazed in a black marble hearth. The room. All of them far more cramped than
flickering firelight licked the cream-white the living room.”
dentil moldings of a wall bearing seven-
teenth-century Dutch group portraits of That left another closed mahogany door.
militia men wearing broad-brimmed hats
and fluted ruffs. A rosy glow rested upon “There we definitely can’t go,” she said.
the mahogany frames of two richly uphol-
stered wing chairs before the hearth. Jes- He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
sica sat with her head nestled in the corner “Because...?”
of one of them.
“It’s my father’s study.”
“Join me?” she said, beckoning with her
hand. He grinned. “Wouldn’t want to upset big
bad Lloyd Fuchsberg now ...”
He sat in the other wing chair.
Paul led her across the rotunda and
“I meant beside me,” she said, patting her opened the door.
seat cushion.
A massive oak desk and leather couch
He moved to her chair, squeezing in be- dominated the room. Shelves built into the
side her and slipping his arm around her walls floor to ceiling were lined with books.
shoulders. The wings and back of the chair A shelf at eye-level included a set of red
hugged them like a plush cocoon. hardbound volumes, each with its gilt-let-
tered Roman numeral and the title, THE
“Cozy,” he said. DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE.

He drew her to the couch, where he lay
down and pulled her on top of him.

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“When will they be back?” he said. “She called and said she’d be out with a
friend.”
“Not before his client is done on my fa-
ther’s tab. A lo-o-ong time.” Jessica bit her lips to suppress a giggle.
“What kind of friend?” Lloyd said.
They undid the pants and skirt. He rolled “Lloyd,” his wife said. “Be happy she has
on top of her right onto the rug with a thud, any.”
which made them laugh until their eyes “I just don’t want her to get hurt.”
were wet. She rolled on top, pinning him “It’s her life to live, love. Come. Hill Street
like a lioness. She bit his shoulder. Their Blues is on soon.”
tongues found each other once again, his Footsteps receded to other side of rotunda.
hands running to whatever her body had “Lloyd!” Paul bellowed.
to offer. He rolled atop her once more. His Jessica’s eyes flashed with frightful sur-
knees split her thighs. prise that, upon seeing the look in Paul’s eyes
as they sat up and quickly buttoned their
Suddenly there was the sound of hard clothes, settled into a shared thievish glee.
heavy shoes upon the rotunda parquet Paul strode out of the room into the ro-
floor. A rattle of wooden coat hangers in the tunda with his suit-jacket-lined overcoat
rotunda closet. pinned under his arm as he tucked in his shirt.
Lloyd stood staring at him from his bed-
“Hurry,” Jessica whispered fiercely. She room doorway, his mouth agape.
tried to slip from under Paul. He held her Slipping his arms into the suit jacket
in place, her wrists pinned into the rug, his sleeves on his way to the front door, Paul
knees planted in the crooks of her legs. stopped and smiled as he placed a hand on
Lloyd’s shoulder. “No need to introduce me
Her eyes bulged. “Are you crazy?” to Jessica. I took your advice to heart.”

“Maybe.” About the Author

“He’ll fire you.” Jim Zinaman is a former executive recruiter
and Goldman Sachs VP. Hitchhiking around
He leered. “Not if you won’t let him.” the United States, he worked as a carpenter
and a cook and joined and helped deprogram
Her pupils flared bright as she smiled. “I members from a cult. His Best Short Story
dare you.” of 2017 in Adelaide Literary Journal was
nominated for the Pushcart Prize.
From the rotunda Lloyd said to his wife,
“Nice work, saying Jessica needed us.”

“God were they boring. If it had gone
beyond drinks, I would have taken a steak
knife and slit my throat. It’s not going to
cost you the account, is it?”

There was the grunt of Lloyd’s tight laugh.
“I got him an allocation on the Microsoft IPO
he never expected. He’s mine forever.”

There was the squeak of a kiss on a
cheek bone. “My hero,” his wife said in a
husky mock voice.

“So where is Jessica tonight?” Lloyd said.

74

THE BROKEN
CONCERT

by Mark Massaro

Felix digs through his cramped, dank stor- grounding phase a humble comfort that
age unit, pushing aside shoeboxes of pho- reinforces that every choice he made was
tographs and rolled up concert posters, correct.
trying to find his cooler and camping chairs.
Florida humidity soaks the air, changing the Abigail caresses her small belly, watching
simplest task into a sweaty quest. His tax Felix fumble around, finding his balance.
return had coincided with the ticket release
for the final tour of the Matthew Davis Band “Is Chuck’s house nice?” she asks.
and, after he got permission from his wife,
he bought two tickets, knowing that he’d “I don’t know.”
end up going with his oldest friend, Chuck.
Chuck recently moved closer to the concert “Haven’t you two talked about it?”
venue in Tampa, and with Felix’s wife being
three months pregnant, fate was nudging “No,” Felix says, “He just said he bought a
Felix and Chuck to see the band for, proba- house and I said, “Cool”.”
bly, the final time, together.
Abigail rolls her eyes, not being sur-
“We need to throw some of this shit out,” prised about the men’s lack of detail with
Abigail says to Felix. each other as Felix pulls out the two chairs
he is searching for, saying, “Ah ha! I knew
“I know,” he replies, stepping over an- we kept them.”
other box, grunting. After turning thir-
ty-six, events that generations before him “Promise you will behave,” she asks, “You
had warned him about had actually began guys aren’t twenty-one anymore.”
to come true: back pain, terrible hang-
overs, and getting up to pee repeatedly “I know. I know,” he replies, “I don’t want
throughout the night. It is burdensome, but to party anyway, honey.” Felix hands her the
Felix finds it reassuring. He figured he’d be chairs and heaves the cooler on his back
dead by twenty-seven, so he considers this while he maneuvers his way out of their
clustered unit. Loading up his SUV, Felix
dances a bit once the band comes out of
the speakers. Funk mixed with rock and jazz.

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He grins towards his wife and she rolls her open a beer while a cigarette bobbed off
green eyes at him, yet again. He continues of his lip. Felix has been getting up daily at
gyrating with the steering wheel, knowing 6:00am to teach Composition at the local
that he is very lucky to have a woman to be University, and has settled in a routine that
frustrated with him in the first place. he was quite sure Chuck despised. Casual
Friday’s have become a reward for wearing
The morning of the concert comes, a suit during the week. Abigail and Felix
and Felix unearths his vintage Matthews would take advantage of the two-for-one
Davis t-shirt from their 1996 tour, which entrée and happy hour at the diner across
he and Chuck also attended together. He from the CVS. They kept each Bed, Bath,
goes down his laminated concert checklist: and Beyond coupon that arrived in their
tickets, cooler, printed directions, Meta- mailbox. Felix was sure that Chuck didn’t do
mucil, boxers, more band t-shirts, Senso- those things. The last time he visited, Chuck
dyne toothpaste, etc. An excited grip over- had studio apartment, with a stained mat-
takes his chest when he knows the checklist tress under a bare-bulb. A broken mirror
is complete. He holds Abigail’s face in his leaned against the wall, covered in rema-
hands, kissing her long and with purpose. nence of white powder.
She runs her fingers through his curly brown
hair with hints of salt and pepper on the He hopes that students wouldn’t rec-
sides, knowing that he grew it longer just ognize him in civilian clothes, carefree and
for the concert. To feel younger. He runs his dancing at a concert. Chuck spends his
hands down her back and holds onto her days mixing cement, building foundations,
bum. They sway a bit, and he says, “Thank additions, roofs, and drinking heavily. Last
you for being so good to me,” and she says, he heard, Chuck did an expensive bath-
“You deserve it. Have fun.” He digs his face room job that left him with piles of leftover
into her neck, shutting his eyes momen- marble tile, which he made coasters of and
tarily, attempting to bring the warm and sold on eBay. But Felix decided that he
safe feeling with him. shouldn’t judge Chuck. After all, he hasn’t
seen him in years, but a few texts set up this
Felix heads towards the 75 North exit, entire adventure and Felix thought that he
stopping quickly to fill up his gas tank and owed their thirty years of friendship some
pack his cooler with beer. He texts Chuck, faith and respect.
“I’m getting the beer. You still drink Bud
heavies?” The Skyway Bridge south of Tampa ap-
pears menacingly in the distance. Felix
Chuck replies, “Yup. It’s all good. Thanks, turns down the music and grips the steering
bro. I got the green.” wheel. Cruise ships are able to pass under
the bridge because it is built so high. Sui-
Felix breaks the bags of ice on the side- cides happen here almost weekly. Felix
walk, pouring the contents over the bottles travelled over this bridge many times in his
and cans of beer. Anxiety creeps quickly into youth, usually after a house party or bar
his chest though. Felix hasn’t seen Chuck in crawl, but he didn’t realize how high up it
years, not since his wedding to Abigail, and actually is until now. He remains in the left
Felix didn’t know how to explain that he’s lane, focusing on the road directly in front
changed. Chuck’s truck fishtailed into the of him and ignoring anything happening
church parking lot and he fell out, cracking

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behind. Passing over the top curve, his acknowledged his eyes, some passing by
tightened chest releases and he texts his at the mall, and a few times in traffic jams,
wife, “Made it over Skyway. Love you. Al- while Felix stood idly by, assuming nothing
most to Chucks.” She responds with, “Stop about him was charismatic.
texting while driving. I love you.” Felix
writes, “Okay.” “My brother,” Felix says. They hug, pat,
and smack each other wildly. Both reverting
Felix follows the directions that he to their teenage selves, complete with cave-
printed out earlier and he pulls up to a one- man-like grunts, hiding hedonistic intentions.
story house. The mailbox is a giant dolphin
with a metal spear through its side, no “We’re getting laid tonight,” Chuck says.
doubt from one of Chuck’s drunken nights.
The lawn is burnt under the Florida sun “Dude,” Felix replies, holding up his wed-
and the house is shaded within a canopy ding ring.
of palm trees. Felix knocks on the screen
door and receives no answer. He pulls “Oh. Still doing that marriage thing?”
out a camping chair and a cold beer from
the cooler and sits in front of the garage. “Come on,” he replies, shrugging his shoul-
Looking around, he realizes that this house ders.
is his old friend’s everyday reality. They are
the only old friends from their high school They enter Chuck’s house. Pizza boxes
that still talk with each other. They have and beer cans litter the floor. A mildew smell
been best friends for many years, often lingers, and patterns of smoke are visible in
getting drunk and meeting women at the the streams of sunlight pouring in through
beach, outrunning the cops, or getting in the blinds. An entire wall is one massive
bar fights. Thinking about all of it makes bookshelf, complete with hardcovers, soft
Felix feel tired now. covers, photographs, and framed excerpts
of poetry. His coffee table, two kegs with
An old, black truck barrels down the a glass top, is littered with bags of weed, a
road and takes the sharp turn into the digital scale, and ripped up scratch tickets.
driveway. The Allman Brother’s blast from
the inside cab and Chuck smiles his dev- “Yeah,” he says, nodding to the table, “I’m
ilish grin at the sight of Felix. “Everybody into some good shit now. I met a cabbie a
happy, brother!” Chuck says, hopping out while back when I was leaving a bar. I sell to
of the truck. A cigarette is tucked behind him and dude comes over every night after
his right ear and his teeth are stained with his shift to buy more. It’s like a, uh, mobile
years of tobacco abuse. His hairy stomach capitalism.”
hangs over his shorts, which are covered in
cigarette burns and white paint. His blonde “Man,” Felix says, “that is dangerous.
hair is short, buzzed to the grain, and small Cabbie could rob you or murder you.”
patches decorate the back. Chuck has been
cutting his own hair since childhood. De- “Naw, he’s a good shit. We need each other.”
spite his overall weariness, his blue eyes
still glow, something Felix has had to hear “Alright. Well…your place is nice, dude.
about since they were kids. Girls constantly Good for you.”

“Thanks. I had a cat, but it’s gone. I brought
it home and within the first second the thing
walks out that window and took off,” he says,
pointing to a tapestry covered window.

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Chuck takes Felix on a tour of the house. off. He stands and paces the room, feeling
“The backyard,” he says, “is pure potential.” the second hand smoke smothering him,
He describes the lake he’s going to build, and swings his arms around.
the patio that will lead up the lake, and the
fire pit he’s drawing up blueprints for. “It’s “I haven’t done this in so long.”
my personal Playboy Mansion,” he says. The
good part about knowing a few carpenters “Relax,” Chuck says, “Yeah, this good
is that they can do anything, and Felix knew dude, Steve, showed me how to build on
it was a matter of finding the free time to of these things. He, ah, died a few weeks
do it. ago. Fuckin’ heart attack, man. We worked
together, for a few years now.” Chuck swal-
Felix pisses in his bathroom and notices lows and looks around, shaking off serious
the disturbing number of ashtrays displayed thoughts.
throughout. Even the soap dish on the sink
has four cigarette butts in it. He flushes the “I’m sorry, man,” Felix says, witnessing
toilet, returning to the living room and no- the unease.
tices Chuck chopping up lines of cocaine on
the glass surface. “Yeah. Worst part is his cigs and empties
are still laying around the job site. We see
“I’ve been holding onto this for a whole that shit daily.” Chuck taps out another line
week, just for today,” he says. and sniffs it up, rubbing a bit on his gums.

In that moment, Felix thinks about his “Want to take off?” Felix asks, patting
wife, his unborn child, the youth leadership Chuck’s shoulder, “Start tailgating?”
awards he’s won, and his pristine resume
that took him a decade to construct. He “Hell yeah,” Chuck replies, “We gotta hit
thinks about these things, and then sees a bank-in-the-box on the way. I need cash. A
the same friend that used to wait for him by stripper overcharged me last night.”
the apple tree every morning to walk to ele-
mentary school with. The same friend who “An ATM? Sure.”
took ownership of the bags of pot that was
actually Felix’s all along, and who took re- “Whatever. We’re still rock stars, bro.”
sponsibility because Felix just got accepted
into an MFA program in the Keys. Chuck The Tampa Fairgrounds linger above the
and Felix have never discussed it because it highway in the distance. The traffic is all
happened and there was nothing to discuss. heading straight into it. Cars with the band’s
They are brothers and are loyal, if anything, bumper stickers and windows covered with
to each other. Felix thought about all of this, colored writing litter the road. Music vi-
and then bends down to snort a line. brates out of each car as the line breaks off
towards the stadium parking lot. Workers
“Check this out,” Chuck says, “I built a in bright orange vests wave the traffic into
can crusher.” He places a can in a vice-like parking spots with red wands. Already,
machine and pulls a level, crushing the can around the tailgate, are rows of tents and
which falls out into a large trash bag. All people grilling, playing cornhole, dancing
Felix can say is, “That’s great.” Felix notices in muddy drum circles, or standing in lines
his heart beating faster and tries to pass it for the port-o-potties. This area pulsates
with life. Everyone is connected by one
purpose and that is to let music overwhelm
their individual thoughts. It’s a surrender

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to the groove of the moment, for Felix, and “Where’d you get that ticket?” Felix asks.
the only time in which some people forget
about the repetitiveness of their everyday “I party with some guys from a radio
existence. station. They gave me this ticket so I could
make some cash.” Felix bought Chuck’s
They are directed to park under a tree, ticket, so it’s a free show for him, but now
a coveted spot for most concert-goers as it he’s apparently even getting paid too. He
provides shade. Chuck hops out first and im- was always getting by with opportunities
mediately begins setting up the tent, table, falling in his lap.
and chairs. Once completed, the two boys
collapse into their camping chairs, placing Women pass by in bikinis. Frat guys
their feet up on the fold-out table, and clink lift each other for keg stands right next to
their beers. “Cheers, brother,” Felix says. Felix and Chuck. A pair of young girls walk
past and Chuck whistles toward them. Felix
“Salute.” smacks the back of his head, but the girls
begin walking over. “Only you can get away
Chuck chugs down that first beer and with being creepy and harassing girls,” he
cracks open a second. “You remember says, to which Chuck shakes his head in
Pear? That Frenchie from high school?” agreement.
Felix nods in agreement. “I’m working on
that bitch’s kitchen, installing state of the “Can we have a beer?” the purple-haired
art shit. Sucks though ‘cause we were in all one asks.
those advanced classes together, and now
he’s paying me to do labor. Fuckin’ sucks.” “Sure thing,” Felix says, opening the cooler.
Chuck picks at his fire ant bites on his feet,
squeezing some till they pop. “Thank you so much. Our brother only
bought us a six-pack and we already drank
A homeless looking man wanders it.”
through the crowd. A long, grey beard and
faded clothes drip off of him. He staggers “How old are you?” Felix asks.
over, counting cash in his hand and asks,
“You boys got a ticket for sale?” “I’m sixteen and she’s seventeen.” The
girls are wearing half-shirts of the band, and
“Yup,” Chuck says, pulling an envelope no bras. Small bruises decorate their thighs.
out of his cargo shorts. “One hundred. Pe- Chuck smirks and his eyes squint into a
riod.” predatory manner that disturbs Felix. Faces
of his students’ flash through his mind. It’s
“What’s the seat?” been so long since Felix has worried about
being around underage drinkers that he
“Section one. Seat four.” forgot that it even happens. Until now. He
hasn’t felt this paranoid in years. He hasn’t
“Fifty. It’s for my daughter, man. I’m just had to.
trying to get her in.”
“Good God,” he says. “I teach kids around
“One hundred.” your age.”

“Hold on,” he says, looking around the “Cool. We’re partyin’ with a teacher,” the
crowd, “’I’ll be back.” purple-haired one says, adding, “I’m Katie
and this is Emily.”
He leaves, waving his arms in the air.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

“I’m Chuck and this is Felix.” of that in his life when he hears the word
‘creation’.
“What do you teach?” the blonde asks,
while Chuck opens her beer with his flip- The blonde one holds her cold beer up to
flop bottle opener. her forehead, rolling it back and forth, and
fans herself. She asks, “And you’re married?”
“Composition,” Felix says, realizing that Chuck shakes his head at Felix for even
he’s already forgotten the girl’s names. bringing up him being taken.

“That’s awesome,” purple-haired one “Eight years,” he says, “and we’re also
says, “Writing is the only class I like going to.” pregnant.”

“Yeah, I like it,” he says. Chuck chugs the rest of his beer and
reaches inside the cooler for another. The
She continues, “Do you guys think they’ll girls hold hands over their hearts and tilt
play “Happy Dog” tonight?” Felix rolls his their heads to the sides. “Is that why she
eyes, fully aware that “Happy Dog” is the isn’t here?”
most overplayed and generic song that at-
tracts all newbies to this band. “Yes.”

“That’s my wife’s favorite song. I saw San- “I forgot you’re having a baby,” he says,
tana play it once with them in, like, 1998, I tapping the ash off of his cigarette, “Shit.
think.” Well, Becky, I’m on my Rumspringa, that’s
Amish holiday where I get to live in the real
“You were there! That’s amazing. That’s world for a bit. This is my first time drinkin’.”
such a good version,” the blonde one says. Felix shakes his head back at Chuck, seeing
The purple-haired one adds, “That’s the right through his bullshit, and vaguely being
year I was born.” disappointed that his intentions are so
transparent.
“Christ,” Felix says. “Well I want to hear
“Whitman White.” The drum solo is crazy “I’m not Becky. I’m Katie. And you’re lying,
good.” The girls shrug, not knowing the song. and, wow, you have the craziest bluest eyes,”
Purple-Hair says to Chuck, to which he says,
Chuck leans back, finishing off another “Thanks.”
beer, and then says, “That songs about the
legendary beef between Walt Whitman and Felix drinks his beer, rolling his eyes.
Henry David Thoreau, you know.”
The homeless man approaches the
“I didn’t even know that,” Felix says, group, now with another homeless man
questioning his entire education. in tow, and says, “We got the cash. Eighty
dollars?”
“Are you a teacher too?”
“No. One hundred.”
“No. I create homes. I build dreams.”
Felix was envious of Chuck’s perspective “Ninety.”
and daily moments of pride. Chucks can
turn around and see his accomplishments: “One hundred,” Chuck replies, adding, “Is
a new porch, a new roof, a new den. White that the daughter you need the ticket for?”
walls would raise upward because of inspi-
ration and strength. Families would move The two men laugh, patting their bellies,
in, smiling and safe. Felix realizes the lack nodding in agreement. They’ll probably

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make an extra twenty dollars off of it by cars. Food is tossed in its direction from all
selling it in front of the venue. angles. The tailgaters begin cheering for
the duck. Chuck says, “That’s a smart damn
“Just to be clear,” Chuck says, “I’m selling duck.”
you this beer for one hundred dollars. The
ticket is free.” They pack up the car and begin walking
with the herd. Felix gives Chuck a baggie
“Make it two beers for a hundo,” the for his cell phone, driver’s license, and cash.
second man says.” With that, both men “Always thinking,” Chuck says. Chuck does
leave with two cold beers and a ticket to his best to remain with the girls, but Felix
make extra cash on, for dinner or drugs. tells him, “Dude, stop. They’re underage
“Have a good luck,” Chuck yells to them, un- and there’s no point. What are you going to
aware of how slurry his speech is becoming. do? Just spend the night being sexually frus-
trated. Fuck ‘em. Let’s go.” Chuck accepts
Crowds of concert-goers begin closing Felix’s assertion, knowing that he is morally
up their tents, locking their cars, and correct but is also angry that he has such
loading their pockets full of beers. Glowing a judgmental stance about the situation.
grey storm clouds being swirling overhead They wave goodbye to the girls as other
as it does most days around dusk in the Sun- men begin swarming around, as the girls
shine State. Pot smoke creeps amongst the dance together with their arms over their
herd like a protective layer. Cops dance to heads, spinning their bodies.
music emanating from numerous cars. Felix
waits in a port-o-potty line with the blonde Chuck and Felix find their seats, third
one, looking back and seeing Chuck and the row from the stage, and Chuck boasts, “I’ve
purple-haired girl getting into Felix’s car. never been so close at any show.” Felix
watches how happy Chuck seems, looking
Felix allows the blonde to go in the first around with a wonder that only happens
available port-o-potty, and when the one during childhood Christmas mornings or
next to hers opens, he holds his breathe and the moment of sitting back as a bonfire
darts inside the plastic humid room, peeing begins, surrounded by friends. Felix is glad
out all that is possible, and then quickly that he was able to set this event up for
leaps out. They return to the car, just as Chuck. With this, he also feels guilty that
Chuck and his protégé, both sniffing their he is slowly knowing that a shared history
running noses wildly, emerge. Felix shakes is the only commonality that exists between
his head at Chuck, who looks weaker and the both of them. If Felix met Chuck today,
crazier. he’d look down upon him, straightening his
stride as he passed by him on the street.
“Did you just give cocaine to that child?” But Felix knew Chuck’s capabilities. He was,
after all, the high school valedictorian, and
“What? No,” he says, shaking off the also got voted “Best Looking” by the grad-
accusation, “and it’s not like we weren’t uating class. Everything was in front of him,
when we were their age.” He rubs his nose and Chuck just focused on what the mo-
again. A kid with dreadlocks and a tie-dye ment could do for him, and not tomorrow.
shirt handing out jello shots walks by and
offers some to the boys. Chuck takes two In a way, Felix always admired that about
for himself. A white and brown duck, with a him.
red face, waddles down the line of parked

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Many moments from a concert are around, his eyes struggling to remain open,
transcendent, but one that always gives and doing everything possible to remain
Felix goosebumps is when the stadium standing. Felix takes a hold of him and
lights go down, and the small glow from places him in the assigned seat. His head
the stage begins creeping slowly awake. It bobs downward, his eyes shut, and he’s out.
happens, and the boys scream. The audi- Felix shakes it off, knowing that the band
ence screams. The band strolls onto stage, won’t be touring again, and focuses on the
waving their arms and blowing kisses, as origin of the pulsing sound.
beach balls and bodies bounce around in
the sea of people. Chuck yells “I’m a slave After a few more songs, Felix can feel the
to the groove, baby!” Heat lightening in the concert reaching its high mark. The only re-
distance reveals silhouettes of palm trees maining songs will come from the encore
surrounding the venue. Being underneath and he knows that it would be a good time
the outdoor venues roof, a welcomed light to get to the car to beat the traffic. He gazes
mist drifts throughout. The ticketholders towards the energetic stage, and whispers,
in the lawn are soaked and begin cheering, “Thank you,” to the band. He smacks Chuck
dancing in the thick mud. in the face, saying, “Come on, brother,” and
picks him up, putting his arm around his
The stage blasts awake, as Matthew torso, and carries him out of the crowd, out
Davis jumps in the air with his acoustic of the vendor area, and out of the venue en-
guitar, jamming the opening chords to tirely. The gusts of cold rain are welcomed,
“Whitman White.” For a while, Felix forgets and Felix begins to sober up. Cops in the
about his bank account, his responsibili- parking lot stare as Felix drags Chuck’s body
ties, and his commitments. He’s just a fan forward with conviction.
in a crowd, and that simplicity heals most
troubles. Chuck temporarily forgets about “Have a good night, officers,” Felix says.
his student debts for a degree he never Chuck’s attempts to appear sober make
finished, his anger about his last girlfriend, him look ten times drunker. “Stop,” Felix
and the lump that has been stressing him says. The opening chords to “Happy Dog,”
out for over a year. Joints begin their treks begin echoing and Chuck giggles under his
amongst the crowd, sharing parts of some- breathe. Their flip-flops fling mud onto their
thing larger. backsides with each step. They reach the
car, Felix seatbelts him in, and they begin
Chuck goes to get more beers, Felix the drive back to Chuck’s house.
saying, “Yuengling, please” but he returns
with two Budweiser. Felix says, “What the Chuck’s head hangs down, remaining at
fuck? I said Yuengling.” Chuck’s face appears the mercy of each turn and sudden stop. His
confused, the drugs and alcohol taking head leans to the left, forward, and back.
over, and answers, “Getting two Bud’s was Sunglasses fall off of his head, hitting the
easier,” while rubbing his nose and sucking floor mats and disappear. The clock reads
in quickly. “10:44 p.m.” Considering Chuck’s present
condition, Felix suddenly decides to make
“That doesn’t make any sense.” the two-hour drive home, despite the spare
bedroom already being prepared for him.
The music goes on, and Felix notices,
in the corner of his eye, Chuck staggering They pull up to the house and Chuck
wakes up with a surge of energy. He runs

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across his lawn and stops at the front door, home, she says, “Okay, baby. Drive safe,
patting his pockets frantically. “Locked out,” please.” Felix continues on, without music
he says. Felix knows that he can’t leave him or company. Silence, a light rain, and the
locked out of his own house, so he shrugs road before him place Felix in a temporary
and asks, “So, what now?” Chuck walks to reprieve from the chaotic day.
his mailbox and pulls out the metal spear
from the plastic dolphin, breaking it apart. He pulls into his driveway, stretching
He turns, walking to his front door, and after getting out of his muddy car. He leaves
blasts the spear between the door and the cooler and chairs in the back for to-
the frame. He pulls it back, like a crowbar, morrow. The neighborhood is quiet, except
and the door bursts open after a swift kick. for the croaks of frogs. Entering their quiet
They enter, Chuck throwing the spear, while bedroom, Felix pulls his damp t-shirt off,
heading to his refrigerator for another beer. drops his muddy shorts, and crawls into bed.
Abigail wraps her arms around him, and he
“I’m going to go,” Felix says, “I got a stack buries his face in her neck. Everything in
of papers to grade and I’m wide awake.” the dark room stops within the solace of
his wife’s arms.
“No, dude. Stay. I made the room up and
everything. I got more coo-coo.” “Did you have fun?” she asks.

“You’ve been sleeping for hours. Go to “Yes. But I’m happy to be home,” he says,
bed. We can do this again sometime soon.” kissing her warm cheek.

“But I got the spare room set up for you?” “You smell,” she whispers, then asks,
“You behave?”
“I know, but I’m totally sober now and I
just want to get home. Go to bed, brother. “Yes,” he says, “Thank you for marrying
No worries.” Felix knows Chuck’s disap- me.”
pointed, but his actions have given Felix a
need to return to his own safe life. “It’s al- “You’re welcome.” She yawns and asks,
ways good to see you. Love you.” “How much did you spend on shirts?”

Chuck steps over the spear and wraps “None, not even a poster.” After a beat,
his arms around Felix. “Alright, bro. Love he says, “I’m exhausted, and seeing Chuck…
you too. Drive safe.” Felix steps through the broke my heart.”
broken doorway, pretending that it’s just a
scratch but knowing it will take a few hours “Why? How wasted was he?”
to repair, leaving Chuck in his open home,
free to all animals to enter. He drives off, “He’s my best friend. Don’t talk about
worried about his friend, feeling powerless. him like that.”

He focuses on the road in front of him, Felix lays awake, grappling with the no-
stopping once to fill up his gas and to pee tion that his hero has fallen. He wants better
again. He calls Abigail and informs her on for his best friend and he worries that ac-
all she needs to know, that he’s coming tions define an individual. He hopes they
home because Chuck is passed out already don’t. He followed Chuck faithfully since el-
and that he’s still wide awake. In her sleepy ementary school, but now Felix has grown
voice, which, now, Felix realizes is his truest accustom to not fear cops or worry about
dealers that he still owed money to. He left
all of that behind and it just never dawned

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on him that Chuck was still back there. Half
of Felix’s closet is now button-down shirts
and Dockers. He didn’t know when it hap-
pened, but it did. He finally nods off just as
the sun begins to rise on the new day.

Chuck wakes up, assesses the damage,
and blows his sore nose in a McDonald’s
napkin.

Just then, a yellow cab pulls up to the
house, slowly parking in front of the de-
stroyed dolphin mailbox. The loud engine
shuts off and the music stops.

About the Author

Mark Massaro received a master’s degree in English Literature from Florida Gulf Coast
University with a focus on 20th Century American Literature. He is a Professor of English
at FSW, teaching Composition and Literature, and he also continues to adjunct at FGCU,
teaching Creative Writing. When not reading or writing, he can be found jamming at concerts,
going on family walks, or in his black Chucks, at a bonfire with friends, in his home state of
Massachusetts. His works have been published in Adelaide Literary Magazine, The Pegasus
Review, Jane Austen Magazine, The Mangrove Review, and others. His happiness is being
with his wife, their son in his arms, and their golden retriever curled up nearby.

84

WINSOME GOES TO
TEACHER’S COLLEGE

from The Guarded Virgin
by Yvonne Blackwood

I’m standing on the verandah looking across early morning air; it’s cold and crisp. I shiver,
the meadow, off into the coming dawn. although I’m wearing a sweater. I pull the
The night sounds remain audible—crickets collar up about my throat. Too anxious and
bleating, frogs croaking, a dog barking in nervous about today’s adventure, I’d awoke
the distance. Peeny-wallies flitter around before the first cockcrow, but now our
the house, their tiny lights blinking on and rooster is crowing more often, announcing
off. I used to think that they flash their lights that a new day is almost here. I’d disturbed
to allow people to see where they are go- Vera when I slipped out of bed, but instead
ing. When we were children, Clarence and of showing anger, she followed my lead and
I used to catch peeny-wallies and put them had gotten up and dressed too. She comes
in glass jars. We would put small pieces of and stands beside me. Tugging at one of the
grass in the jars for food, which they nev- sleeves of my worn, washed-out sweater,
er ate. They smelled like musty old clothes. she laughs.
The strange thing about them is, they never
flashed their lights while they were in the “You won’t need this ratty old thing
jar during daylight. Looking back now, I see where you’re going. St. Elizabeth is a hot
how silly and ignorant we were. Those days parish.”
seem like a hundred years ago. Now, I’m
equipped with more knowledge and ready I pull the collar up even further. “That
to face the world beyond Fairhaven District. may be so, but right now it is so cold, my
nipples are standing at attention.”
A soft light seeps through the side
window of the hall, giving just enough illu- We both laugh at that one.
mination for me to see Vera and the chairs
on the verandah. It is January, one of the “My goodness! My little sister is coming
coldest months of the year. I inhale the out of her shell, and with a sense of humour
to boot. You’re all grown up, and I didn’t
even notice it.”

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“Well, we all have to grow up sometime.” Although she has never talked to me about
the dead-end position she is in, I figured it
“Truer words have never been spoken,” out some time ago.
Vera says as she glances at the hall window
for movements. While we wait patiently for Mother and
Ronald, I continue to look into the distance,
She is right, of course. I have grown tre- seeing only silhouettes. The branches of the
mendously, casting off the shell of a teen- trumpet tree at our gate sway from side to
ager while I worked as a student-teacher side like a ghost performing a slow dance.
the past year. I’ve moved from to the stage
of a chrysalis to become a butterfly. Al- “I am going to miss this place―the dogs,
though Teacher Chambers, my mentor, may the smell of the citrus blossoms, playing
not know it, she has been instrumental in Gabriel at church, and even looking across
my education in more ways than one. De- at the meadow and the cows grazing there,”
termined not to allow her to undermine my I say as sadness descends on me. “I now
self-esteem or to change my mind about be- believe in Kitty Kallan’s song, ‘Little Things
coming a teacher, as she was trying to do, I’d Mean a Lot’; they surely do. Do you realize
stood my ground with her. I confronted her that this is the first time since I was a baby
and told her that I was aware of her motive that I’m not going to sleep in the same bed
for constantly picking on me. I told her that with you?”
whatever she did to me, it was not going to
work. I told her that if needs be, I would dis- Vera nods. Our eyes meet. “I’m going to
cuss the matter with Headmaster Davis. She miss you too, kiddo. Drop me a line now and
must have sensed my determination and re- again to let me know how you’re doing.”
alized my words were no idle threat, that
I would not allow her to push me around I move closer to her. We hug each other.
without a fight. She not only became more “I will,” I say, and mean it. Letter writing is
accommodating and friendly, she learned to my specialty; at least it used to be. I recall
respect me. She gave me a glowing report the long detailed ones I used to write to
when my training was over. I never involved Novelette. I wonder where she is right now.
Headmaster Davis in the matter. Her baby would be more than a year old.
Did she have a little girl? I hope she and the
Turning to my sister, I say, “I feel mature, baby are all right.
I feel like I ‘m ready to face college, I feel
like I’m ready for the world, and all the chal- Mother steps onto the verandah bun-
lenges it will bring.” dled up in a jacket she made. Ronald is right
behind her, carrying a flashlight already
Vera pats my shoulder. “It’s a big old turned on.
world out there. I’m so glad that unlike me,
you’re getting the opportunity to explore it.” “Ready, child?” Mother asks.

I sense bitterness in my sister’s words. “Yes, Ma’am, I’m ready.”
She sounds melancholy, and regret lurks be-
hind every syllable, however, looking on her “Did you say goodbye to your brothers?”
face in the early light of the dawn, you could She glares at me.
never guess. A wave of sympathy washes
over me. I wish I could do something for her. “Yes, Ma’am, we said our goodbyes last
night.” Before bedtime last night, I’d gone to
each of my brothers and said goodbye. I’d said

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goodbye to the dogs, rabbits, chickens, goats, Mother steps up to the open front door
and pigs, but I will keep that to myself. I do before I can board the bus.
not want a lecture this early in the morning.
“Good morning, Mister Driver and Miss
“All right, let’s go before the bus arrives.” Conductress,” she says, “Kindly deliver this
one safely for me.”
Ronald is the tallest of my brothers and
very muscular. He lifts my suitcase as if it’s a The conductress smiles but does not re-
cardboard box stuffed with chicken feathers spond.
and places it on his shoulder. Vera picks up
the old canvas bag that has some of my The driver looks intently at Ma and
books and things that Mother packed. cracks a grin. “No problem, Ma’am.”

“My goodness! Winnie, this bag is as Mother turns around to face me standing
heavy as two concrete blocks. What’s in it?” behind her. “Study hard and do your best,
child.” She hugs me.
“Books. You know books are heavy; a few
are in there. Headmaster Davis gave me a The tears I have held back for days since
couple.” the realization that I was truly going away
sunk in, streams down my face. I cannot
I carry my handbag in one hand and control them, no matter how hard I try.
Mother’s old train case, which looks like
something that has been in the war, in “I will,Mother, I will,” I assure her through
the other. The four of us trudge down the my tears.
driveway, then along No Man’s Lane with
Ronald pointing the flashlight to guide us. I ascend three small steps into the bus,
We arrive at the main road and stand at a and Ronald follows. The conductress col-
light post at the corner to wait for the En- lects our fares from Ronald, and we take
terprise bus. our seats. The bus pulls away. Sitting at the
window, using the dull light from the inte-
The Enterprise bus is probably the only rior of the bus, I watch Mother and Vera and
thing that is always on time in Fairhaven. wave to them, although they cannot see me.
You can set your clock by it. Every morning I wave until they are out of sight. The bus
at twenty-five past five, the driver gives a winds its way up hills and down through val-
loud blast on the horn as it leaves Fairhaven leys, and as the driver approaches blind cor-
Town, and at twenty-five to six, it pulls up at ners he blows the horn to warn oncoming
the light post where we are standing. This traffic of our approach. When he negotiates
morning is no different. As the bus comes some of the shallow corners, I close my eyes,
to a rolling stop, the sideman jumps off and fearing he will miscalculate and the bus will
grabs my suitcase. He places it on the rack slip over the edge landing in the deep, dark
on top of the bus with several other bags precipice below for there are no guardrails.
and boxes. He takes the canvas bag from
Vera and places it on a seat near the front Four miles into the journey, the bus ne-
of the bus. There are several empty seats at gotiates a hairpin corner. I hold my breath
this time, but they will be occupied when and pray that it does not flip over into the
the bus picks up passengers along the way gully below. The bus eventually straightens
as it heads for Kingston. up, and I exhale. It seems that exhaling
clears my head, for it suddenly dawns on
me that this is indeed a new day. This cold

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crisp morning is a watershed moment in my me spontaneously, the place where every
life. Beginning today, my life will change for- move I make is watched—a prison, really. I
ever. I will never again smell the earthy scent have wanted to break out for many years.
of the wet earth of the coffee-walk after a Today, my wish has come true, my prayers
downpour, nor watch earthworms wiggle answered, I’m escaping! And what do I feel?
out of the soil. I will never again enjoy the Fear, trepidation, uncertainty. And what do I
beauty of the thousands of tiny white blos- do? I am crying my eyes out. How does one
soms that transform first into small green account for this? Another thing that baffles
fruits, then into clusters of bright red ber- me, is that Mother did not even give me
ries on the coffee trees. I will never again a lecture. “Study hard and do your best,”
inhale the aromatic fragrance of the citrus were her only words. I do not know what
grove when the Ortanique trees are cov- to make of it.
ered in blossoms or admire the grove of
trees laden with bright yellow-orange fruits. As the bus descends Cedar’s Valley Hill,
I will never again hear the whirr of Mother’s one of the steepest hills in the parish, I pull
Singer machine in the day-time. After col- out my little dainty handkerchief, dab my
lege, I will find a job teaching somewhere eyes and blow my nose.
other than Fairhaven District. I will become
a working woman and probably board with I must be strong. I must focus on my ed-
a family. I will be on my own. It overwhelms ucation—my ticket to freedom and a new,
me, thinking about all this. better life.

But I still cannot control my tears. I cry Ronald accompanies me all the way.
in silence while Ronald tries to ignore me. In Mandeville, we disembark the Enter-
I know it’s his way of not letting me feel prise bus and catch The Treasure Girl bus
worse. Life is so paradoxical. I’ve longed for, bound for St. Elizabeth. By this time, the
and yearned for, and prayed for this glo- sun is pouring down on the island. We talk,
rious day. The day when I leave the old run- laugh and eat snacks until we arrive on
down house, the place where I have shared the campus of Nazareth Teacher’s College.
a bedroom with my mother and sister all my Once Ronald is satisfied that I am safely de-
life, the place where friends could not visit livered, he leaves me and returns home to
Fairhaven.

About the Author

Yvonne Blackwood is the author of three adult books
and three children’s picture books in The Nosey Charlie
Adventure Series. She is an award-winning short story
writer, columnist, and retired banker. In addition, Yvonne
has contributed to several anthologies including Human
Kindness, Canadian Voices, and WordScape. She has
published articles in More Our Canada and InTouch
magazines and has written numerous articles for several
newspapers including the Toronto Star.

88

CEDAR

by Mike Dillon

His eyes moved from the old, white wood- Everything had been arranged so he could
en ceiling to the young hospice nurse with die in his charming old home above a salt
her back to him. water bay. Ten days before, his two grand-
children, in their late twenties, had come to
“How long does it take to die?” say goodbye without saying it.

She stopped what she was doing, hesi- Since he’d taken to the hospital bed a
tated a moment, and turned around. “You week ago, he’d surrendered the last scraps of
have days, not hours.” She said it softly resistance. The days of rising to step around
but plainly, from one adult to another. Her the house with his cane for the sake or rising
speech carried only a trace of accent. were over. Now it was a matter of the hos-
pice nurse’s deft, tender ministrations, bed-
“Are you afraid?” pans, ice chips to suck, and the feeling of
sinking deeper down into dark water.
“No.”
“I was good at the dead man’s float. Dead
He looked at the nurse with the detach- men don’t float, though,” he thought, and
ment of someone studying a stranger who smiled to himself. The nurse’s back was
was unaware she’d inherited a million dol- turned to him again as she fiddled with his
lars. A little past thirty, maybe. Long, black medicine on the table beside the door.
hair knotted in a pony tail. Almond eyes,
forest-green. A round face from an Italian “I love May,” he announced. “It’s also
Renaissance painting he couldn’t name. my birth month.” He heard the dry whisper
beginning to infiltrate his voice. The nurse
She was raised in this country after her looked out the window. Somewhere a robin
family fled Guatemala. Her quiet words caroled high in a tree.
were always freighted with an honesty that
had been in short supply lately, especially “It is also Mother Mary’s month,” she said
among his family. quietly, her profile to him; an indirect gaze
that left him room take or leave what she said.
“I don’t have to lift a finger, do I? I just have
to be here.” He let go a quick, sardonic smile. Days before he’d stopped reading the
short stories of Chekhov. He’d lost the
She smiled back. “Is there still no pain?” strength to even half-concentrate. Now,
left to his own devices, his attention kept
“Not much.”

That was yesterday, the day his son and
two daughters arrived for the duration.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

drifting to the bedroom window where his silenced the foghorns, a gauzy, red-inflected
eyes rested on the old, western redcedar light tinted the dining room, where a white
twenty yards away. bowl of blue hydrangeas was usually cen-
tered on the oak table.
The lower two-thirds of the tree were
visible to him. Its branches, fringed as an Now an immaculate wash of May sun-
Irish setter, were evolving into a deep, rich light flooded the foot of his bed. No doubt
green from winter’s green-yellow and the sun had always slipped into the bed-
bronze. Some sixty years before, when he room like this each mid-May afternoon, but
approached the first and last house he and he’d never really noticed. Here he was with
his wife bought, the cedar caught his eye: plenty of time, and so little time, to notice.
the dignified, pyramidal proportions, the up-
ward-sweep of its J-shaped, candelabra-like “Your family is coming,” the nurse said
branches, the vertical strips of bark. quietly, standing over his bed.

The Indians in the region called the red- From the living room, familiar voices
cedar “The Tree of Life” — wood for ca- moved his way. The door cracked open. His
noes, bark for baskets, shade for spawning eyes flicked back to the cedar. The nurse
salmon, where a man could stand with his waited until they were all in before she
back against the trunk and draw strength slipped out.
from its power. He respected the Indian
world too much to try. His wife spoke: “Jim, the kids and I are here.”

The old cedar, he now realized, was He wasn’t quite ready to turn to look at
a sundial to the house, as much a part of them, to return to his death. Not yet. His
its life as a beloved lap cat. In the days wife and children took up stations around
around winter solstice, the low southern the bed. His wife held his right hand and
sun reached through the branches, crossed began to stroke it, delicately, rhythmically,
the living room and touched the back of the way the small, inquisitive waves washed
the stone fireplace. On spring afternoons, into the bay below.
when soft rain fell, the cedar greened the
rain light. And in August, after the risen sun His eyes still rested in the green depths
of the cedar. He felt he could sleep for a
hundred years.

About the Author

Mike Dillon lives in Indianola, Washington, a small town
on Puget Sound northwest of Seattle. He is the author of
four books of poetry and three books of haiku. Several
of his haiku were included in “Haiku in English: The First
Hundred Years,” from W.W. Norton (2013). His most recent
book, “Departures: Poetry and Prose on the Removal of
Bainbridge Island’s Japanese Americans after Pearl Harbor”
was published by Unsolicited Press in April 2019.

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PAID HOLIDAY

by Tina Zenou

The green hills come rolling up towards us. “We’ve got another couple of hours to
Neat hedges of brambles divide them. In go”, he says and sighs.10“Okay”, I say.
the distance the glitter of the ocean.
“She’s a bit strange my aunt”, he says.
I look at all the beauty and I want to
wind down the car window and scream and “How do you mean?”
sing along at the top of my voice to ‘Tainted
Love’ by Soft Cell. But I don’t because I am “You’ll see when we get there.”
19 and my boyfriend is seven years older
and I am trying to keep my sense of gen- 1 Tina Zenou
eral mature coolness. Boyfriend is being
unnaturally quiet for him which makes me He has his eyes on the road and doesn’t
wonder if, three hours out of London, he’s look at me. He has grown a beard and wears
already over me. round, horn rimmed glasses. His hair is dark
and slightly curly and he has 5000 records
I have my feet up on the dash board and in his vinyl collection that he keeps in alpha-
although it’s too hot I am wearing black betical order, divided by genre.
boots with pointy metallic toes and my hair
is cropped very short and dyed a patchy We turn off the main road that runs
black and orange colour. through the small village and drive down a
dirt road. His Aunt stands at the gate when
This is my first paid holiday. I dropped we roll up. The wild roses are in flower, I
out of some media degree and landed a see her tall elegant figure by the wooden
job in publishing and now I get both sick garden gate. Later I will come to think of her
days and paid holidays. The roads become as stately. We park the car and get out. She
more narrow and Boyfriend’s driving is jerky smiles.
through the curves. I hold onto my seat and
concentrate not to be sick. From the top of “Hello you two.” She has shoulder length
a hill the road looks like a snake slithering dark blond hair and is wearing a soft brown
though the landscape until we roll down a dress of some silky material that clings to
hill and loose sight of it. I wonder if we have her body and is tied around her straight
nothing in common other than the fact that waist with a thin belt. Boyfriend is visibly
he’s quite keen on having sex and I am quite uncomfortable when he says “Hello Aunty
keen on the idea of having an older boyfriend. Judy” and when she leans in to kiss him on
his cheek he keeps a good few inches of air
between the rest of their bodies.

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Aunty Judy was once a man. It’s just one I sit at the table. The fat fridge sounds
of those things I can still tell from her nose like a bumble bee in flight. When I spill milk
and hands and who knows what else. I give on the table and wipe it off with my sleeve
her a big hug to compensate for Boyfriend’s she catches me and says: “Don’t do that.”
awkwardness and her breasts are soft
against mine. She smells of lavender which “Don’t ruin your clothes!” She breaks
is just what I expect from a Welsh aunty. into a laugh. “It’s a plastic table cloth. You
can spill pints of milk on it and just wipe it
She carries my bag inside and Boyfriend off. Great don’t you think? That’s the beauty
is dragging his feet and his bag behind. of not being precious, takes away the fear of
ruining something perfect.”
“I’m sure he’s told you all about me and my
little life here” Judy says with her back to me. Once Boyfriend is up, three of us go for a
walk into the village to buy groceries. I smell
“No, nothing really.” the dry earth, the cow dung, the ferns, the
clematis. I hear the birds, the flies, the kids
She looks beyond me at him. A flicker of on their bikes, the farmer on a machine that
a frown shadows her face and I can see the I don’t know what it is.
family resemblance. But it could also just be
the light and the shadow playing their game Two boys of about twelve years old
through the canopy of the chestnut tree. swerve around us on their bikes. They have
hair shaved short to their skulls and their
Judy puts the kettle on while I go into ears are red from the sun. When they come
the bedroom to unpack. It is big enough very close one of them calls out “Freak!”
to fit just a double bed and a wardrobe. Before he has time to race on, Judy flips
Boyfriend is lying on the bed with his eyes her arm out at him and catches him on the
closed and his book on his chest. shoulder. “Piss off!” she shouts and he wob-
bles on his bike but doesn’t fall. We keep
“I told you there was something unusual walking.
about Aunty Judy”, he whispers. I whisper
back: When we return home Boyfriend goes
for a run. He’s training for some sponsored
“You could have told me. She seems nice.” half marathon. While he’s out running I’m
propped up on a plastic chair in Judy’s back
“He’s a bit eccentric. Always was. Used to garden drinking cheap white wine that I’m
be John, my father’s brother”, he whispers. mixing with Sprite. Judy says “It’s early in the
I have never met my boyfriend’s father. He day we’d better mix it up”. I say “okay” but
died three years ago of cancer, before we where I work in publishing, we have boozy
met. Boyfriend takes my hand. He strokes it lunches at least once a week, usually on a
for a second then puts it on the front of his Friday unless Friday is the day we go to print.
jeans and presses down. He has an erection. Sometimes they stretch on into the evening.
I can feel it through the denim. It has happened that a very attractive re-
porter from the local newspaper turns up,
“Not now. She’s made tea and she can because it’s their local pub too, and I have
probably hear us” I say and pull my hand on several occasions gone to bed with him
away and get up to have tea. and it has always been after a boozy lunch

“I don’t want any tea, I’m staying here
and reading my book”, Boyfriend says and
I walk into the kitchen.

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turn into dinner. I don’t tell Aunty Judy York and marrying, making a life for herself
about this for obvious reasons, Boyfriend there as a photographer only for it all to
being the principal one. The encounters al- collapse.
ways end with me getting dressed quietly in
his hallway at dawn and walking all the way “I returned to London. The longing to
home. Because Boyfriend and I don’t live be a woman dominated everything else. It
in the same country and mostly see each started to become possible to get opera-
other in the holidays, we’ve never said out tions, so I did. I was one of the first in Britain.”
loud that we are not to see other people. I
don’t know if he does. And the casual sex “But you left London”, I say and fill our
with the local reporter, does it count? I glasses with the last of the wine.
could ask Aunty Judy what she thinks but
I don’t. Instead I say “This is good” and it “Yes, here I am the local freak. Every vil-
could mean anything: lage has one since the beginning of time.
But I know them, those brats and their par-
The sun tickling my skin, the deeper co- ents. So they stop at calling me a freak. I can
lours of the world behind my sunglasses, live with that. At least there is no violence.”
the grace of the weeping willow at the end
of the garden. I want to reach out and touch her hand
but I hold back. Judy is quiet. Violence, I
“Look, do you want to see this?” she think.
asks. She has brought out a stack of photo
albums. The days pass. We drive around, we go
for walks, we have quiet sex in the small
“Yes I say. What are they?” bedroom as Aunty Judy takes a nap on the
couch in the living room. When she wakes
“They’re photos of me and my photos, as she shows me some of her many art books.
a photographer. I haven’t showed them to With Judy I feel no need to smooth things
Boyfriend, I’m not sure he’s open to it yet. over or cheer things up. I just sit and listen.
But you seem open, to all sorts of things”, It happens that I edge closer to her on the
Judy says. I’m not sure what she means. couch. She exudes warmth and I want to
linger in it. When I have nothing to do I flip
“Who’s this?” I ask, pointing to one of through the pages of her extensive art book
the photos of a young man in a singlet collection. There is a particular book of Sal-
with cropped fair hair and a muscular arm vador Dali I can’t leave alone. It is square
draped over the shoulders of a woman in a and heavy and has gold foil edges that make
short red dress. it look like a box of chocolates.

“That’s me”, says Judy and points to the One evening Judy runs a bath. She calls
man. When I was John. I had lived in New to me and I come to her.
York for perhaps a year. That’s Margaret. I
was so in love with her, we’d only just met “Come in, keep me company”, she says.
in that photo.” She tells me of growing up The bathroom is hot, the steam slowly rising
in West London with Boyfriend’s father, from the bath creating roses of humidity on
of always wanting to escape and how she the pale pink tiles.
couldn’t wait to leave as soon as she turned
18. Of working as a sailor, coming to New “Sit down”, she says as I come in and I do,
on the toilet lid opposite the tub. It’s one of
those baths half sunken into the floor which

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

means I look down on her floating in the “She. She’s a she. And so what? I was sit-
water from where I sit on the toilet lid. Judy ting on the loo talking. It’s just a body. I’ve
is floating in the bath. The water is clear. seen naked people before.”
When I look at her I see my own body, my
mother’s body, my grandmother’s. Pale, al- “No it isn’t, in Judy’s case it’s an exhibi-
most hairless, barely breaking through the tion piece, a political statement,” he says.
surface of the water. The breasts flopping
out to the sides, the waist, a straight trunk “Why are you so angry?” I ask and turn
of a woman, her core, her strength. Her va- on my side towards him and he turns his
gina just a slit, that too is almost hairless. face towards me and starts talking.

A body can be just a body. And it can be “Some years back I hadn’t seen Uncle
an explosive statement of existence. That is John in ages. Dad was already sick and mum
what she’s telling me now. kept trying to reach him. Suddenly he wants
to meet up with me, not with Mum or Dad.
Our conversation is fleeting from one He wants to take me for a treat and make up
topic to the next, floating on little clouds for things. At least that’s how mum sells it
of steam and afterwards I won’t remember to me. I waited for him in the middle of Pic-
any of it, I will just remember her pale and cadilly Circus and someone called my name.
powerful body. When I turned around it was him. Dressed
as a woman. I was so fucking angry.”
Finally, she gets out of the bath and I
reach a towel across. “Why?”

“Thank you for coming” she says and I “There were so many ways he could
smile at her wrapped in the towel, water have told me, but he wanted the surprise,
still dripping from her hair. For a moment he wanted my reaction in front of other
she looks lost. people.” I stroke Boyfriend’s arm and inter-
lace my fingers with his.
I slip back into our bedroom. We ha-
ven’t drawn the curtain yet, the evening “Later I figured out that I felt used. I felt
light plunges in and coats everything in helpless, trapped. That’s what my anger was.”
gold. Boyfriend is lying on top of the covers,
reading. I get into bed. I don’t know what to tell him. I want to
make him feel better but I’m also thinking
“Did you go into the bathroom with her?” about me. Did Judy just use me? Should I
he asks me although he must know. His feel ashamed for being used? No. I decide
eyes don’t leave the page but I think he has to let it be my small gift to Judy. I can sit in a
stopped reading. bathroom for a while and quietly salute the
perseverance and the right to be yourself
“She asked me, I didn’t feel I could say while having a conversation and trying not
no.” to stare too much at her manmade vagina.
There is triumph in that naked body. A sense
“For fuck’s sake.” of freedom.

“What?” I look at the ceiling, there’s a “Did you go home and tell your parents?”
crack running from the left corner towards
the middle. “Yes, it took a while for dad to get over it,
but he did.”
“That’s exactly what he wants.”

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Revista Literária Adelaide

“So in a way you were a bridge between at me. We are quiet. The night is quiet. We
them. Judy counted on you doing the work forget about the book. We remember our
for her”, I say. bodies. They pull together. I lean in and kiss
her. She drops the book on the floor and
“Yes”, he says and falls silent. Outside the her hands touch my neck and face. And her
day is closed, the wind surges through the body pressed against mine, and her mouth,
trees. they are enough.

The last night before leaving, Aunty Judy Her hair smells of smoke and hairspray
wants to take us to the only fancy restau- and her mouth tastes of wine and longing.
rant in the village. We take the footpath up Her body is strong and tender.
the hill to where it sits. We have gin and
tonics in the bar and plates of seafood in As easily as we have fallen into each
the dining room. Not for a second do we other, we fall away. She reaches her hand
care if the locals and the visitors are staring. out to touch me one last time, as if to say
Boyfriend sits close to Judy on the velvet goodbye, before she ventures off to her
couch in the booth and lets her pat his bedroom. I stand in the dark kitchen for a
arm without moving it away. I sit opposite moment longer listening to the low murmur
them and Judy tells stories of her childhood of the bumble bee fridge.
with Boyfriend’s dad. I have heard some of
it before so I lean back and look around We are leaving. Boyfriend whistles as he
the room. Under the table my naked leg carries our bags to the car. Judy has her hair
is resting against Judy’s and it feels like a tied back in a pony tail. Stately. She smiles
promise. as she serves me hot eggs. I don’t know
how the confinement of the car is going to
When the restaurant closes at 11 I be bearable. Or Boyfriend’s talking. As we
tumble into the night and look across the are about to say goodbye, Judy once more
hills. I can’t see them clearly but I know they goes to fetch something.
are there. The stars are out, I lean back and
they twinkle their message to me: hold She comes back with the big heavy
nothing back, just breathe and be grateful. volume of Dali’s work. She holds it out to
I feel dizzy and straighten up. Judy comes me and says:
up behind me and her hand brushes along
my back and I catch it for a passing moment. “Please have it. I am trying to get rid of
We ramble down the hill, each on our own things. Let it be a memory.” The book is
path that intertwines with the others. Seen so heavy I have to hold it with both hands.
from above we are making an elaborate When I kiss Judy goodbye it becomes a
pattern, embroidery stitches of a grand de- shield between us, yet she very briefly puts
sign. Back at the house we leave the lights her hand to my neck.
off. Boyfriend says: “Time for bed. You
coming?” And I say “yes in a minute”, Judy We drive away. I don’t know if she waits
wants to show me something. I wait. She by the gate until we are out of sight, I don’t
returns with a book in one hand and looks look back. I just sit very still with the cold
heaviness of the book on my knees. My fin-
gers touching the gold foil. It feels like skin.

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

About the Author

Tina Zenou is a Swedish journalist currently living in Melbourne. When she is not working in
communications she writes fiction and makes baskets.

96

FROSTBITTEN
PIEROGI

by Jennifer Ostromecki

Inside our house I shiver while my breath neighborhood and rescues Ken with his free
fogs the window; I draw a cake with sev- hand, but puts him in the wrong house.
en candles then wipe the pane before
Mama notices. Babcia bangs and clangs He ruffles my hair, messing up my po-
pans in the kitchen behind me. She and nytail, but I don’t mind. Tata disappears
Mama spent all Sunday cooking for my into the kitchen. I hear him shuffle down
party, which would’ve been today. But the the three steps into the family room while
ice happened. Now, all of Rochester is in a Mama and Babcia chatter in Polish and I or-
state of emergency: roads slick like skating ganize the toys into storage totes. The ga-
rinks; branches bow and break, layered in rage door thumps closed.
ice; powerlines snake on the ground.
“Eva Magdalena,” Mama calls from the
Babcia’s stayed with us for four days. I kitchen. She means business.
camp on the floor, like a sleepover, while
Babcia sleeps in my big girl bed. Tata sleeps Blue flames lick the bottom of a heavy
in the guest room now because Mama says metal pan. Onions sizzle. Then, pop pop pop!
he snores too loud. Steam rises from a large pot. Flour dusts the
counters white, like everything outside under
“Babcia is waiting to make pierogi with the ice. Babcia stands with her back to me.
you, Eva,” Mama shouts from the top of She wears a skirt with stockings and a bright
the stairs, her Polish accent thick because red cardigan—her sleeves rolled up past her
she’s annoyed. She stomps down the stairs, elbows. She always dresses up, even when
knocking Ken from his apartment with there’s nowhere to go, and only speaks Polish
Barbie. He tumbles and lands with a thunk. (even though she understands English).
“The stairs aren’t toys! Clean this mess.”
Mama’s gone. She avoids being in the
As I move the Barbies from their homes, same room as Babcia if she wants “to have
Tata tiptoes down sipping coffee from peace in the house.”
the World’s-Best-Dad mug I got him for
Christmas. He’s careful not to mess up the One sleeve slides toward Babcia’s dough-
caked hands. I pull it up for her. “Dziękuje.
Are you helping me make pierogi?”

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Adelaide Literary Magazine

I answer in Polish. “I have to help. Mama the bowl of sauerkraut like nothing hap-
says ‘stop taking people for granted’ like Tata. pened. While I press circle cut-outs with
But I don’t take Tata for granted.” I shrug. the glass, Babcia stirs the mixture with Ta-
ta’s spatula, which has a big sun on it—his
She raises an eyebrow. “Have to? If you Polish nickname for me, słoneczko, because
want to eat, then yes, you have to.” he says my smile is like summer sunshine.
Every Saturday he flips pancakes with it.
I sigh. I want to eat. But aren’t grownups
supposed to make all the food? Mama al- Using a glass for a cookie-cutter isn’t
ways cooks dinner, but sometimes, when great; the dough sticks inside so I peel it off.
she’s not home, Tata will buy me McDonald’s, I think of my snowman cookie-cutter and
as long as it’s our secret. He says it’s okay giggle imagining snowman-shaped pierogi.
to have some secrets because some truths
hurts people’s feelings. I like our secrets. I “Good job, Eva.” Babcia places the large
don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings either, bowl behind my hard work and wedges
so I never tell him I wish he would play board a spoon into it. “Now we add the filling.
games or color with me instead of watching Careful—it’s hot.”
TV. But because he likes it, I watch TV with
him and always let him pick the shows. We I dig out a heaping pile of sauerkraut.
both love Saturday morning cartoons. Steam rises from it. A mushroom plops back
into the bowl. “Like this?”
I drag a chair to the counter; Babcia
winces at the noise. I expect Mama to rush At first Babcia murmurs in agreement,
in to scold me, but the house stays quiet. but when she checks over her shoulder her
I smile then climb onto the chair, kneeling. expression changes. I prepare to be scolded,
The dough is rolled out like when we make like Mama would, but she shakes her head
cookies or pie crust. “Babcia, that dough is and laughs, curls bobbing. Her calm makes
too big for pierogi.” me more nervous.

She laughs. “You think this is my first “Eva, what’s wrong? Just put less on the
time making pierogi? You’re seven now; it’s spoon. No reason to cry,” she says, her voice
time you learn. In Poland, when I was seven, soothing like sipping velvety hot chocolate.
I would milk the cows, scrub the floors by
hand, and bring in eggs after cleaning the I sniffle and hide my watery eyes in my
coop.” elbow. I don’t want her to think I’m a baby.

“You lived on a farm, Babcia. We don’t “No one gets it right the first time. Not
have a coop, or cows.” She hands me a glass. even your mama.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
I don’t believe her. Mama doesn’t allow
“It’s not for you. It’s for pierogi.” She guides mistakes.
my hand to flip the glass upside-down. “Now,
use the glass like when we make cookies.” Babcia lifts the perfectly round dough
from the flour-dusted counter. It looks like
When the garage door slams, I flinch, a Play-Doh pie folding over her fingertips.
but pretend to cough. Babcia never misses She cups her hand, cradling the dough, then
a beat, her movements steady like a baking plops the filling into the center.
timer. She adds the sautéed mushrooms to
“Now, press the dough together so that it
doesn’t fall apart when boiled.”

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