CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

Richard couldn’t believe he had never come to the New York Public Library before. It was the coolest building he had found that didn’t have air conditioning. The library had high windows that were shaded from the sun and still allowed in a breeze. An arching stone, vaulted ceiling and marble floors kept the interior relatively cool. He and Tyrone sat at a long wooden table with a heap of books between them. His ass still felt sore, even though it had been two days since the night at the Leather Library photo studio. Richard tried to ignore the pain and focus on his research.

Richard had never been much of a reader. When he did read, it was either paperback thrillers or the newspaper. He’d read plenty of Greek mythology back in high school, but that had only been because he wanted to look at the pictures of the naked statues of men and satyrs, and he figured he had to cover his tracks by actually knowing what was in the books.

Now what he was reading had gotten him in way over his head.

It was all occult works on demonology, many of them translations of works in Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and Chaldean. Richard had never even heard of the Chaldeans before, let alone read one of their books.

Tyrone was having the same trouble. He was ploughing through a thick tome on the sacred geography of the mid-Atlantic states written in 1780.

“Damn, Country, none of this shit makes any sense.”

“The problem is, we don’t know what’s true and what’s bullshit. The Knowledge Demon said there were a heap of lies mixed in with the truth.”

“I’ll buy that. Hell, before that crazy scene in Untermyer Park, I thought all this shit was bullshit.”

“You and me both.”

“You finding anything?” Tyrone asked.

“A bunch of ritual mumbo jumbo. I was able to stop them with just a force of will, though. I think it’s up to me to get more disciplined and that will be enough. Anton, the Knowledge Demon, that other demon, they said I have a natural power. Maybe I don’t need more than that.”

“Then keep working on your discipline.”

Richard sighed, remembering the scene at Mitch’s place. Yeah, he kept on fucking up. That had been two days ago and he hadn’t had any drugs, not even a beer, since then. He felt more clearheaded than he had since he had arrived in New York. He could even deal with the heat a bit better. He looked healthier too. That open call for Blueboy was tonight, and he wanted to look his best. He had decided not to take anything tonight, even if he got the gig. There would be no celebration party. He’d stay clear until he got a handle on his life.

The bag of coke in his bedside table was calling to him, though. And the Hooded One had appeared in his dreams the past two nights. The dreams had been vague, not nearly as strong as when he went to sleep drunk or stoned, but the demon hadn’t left his mind entirely. It still stalked him.

“Have you found anything?” Richard asked. They’d asked each other that countless times over the past two days, and the answer had always been “no.”

Tyrone shrugged and looked at the book.

“Not sure, but I think I might have one place of power nailed down. It’s about time too, I gotta say. That demon told you that Untermyer Park was an old Indian sacred site, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I found a bit in here saying that this one spot in Manhattan was used for sacred rituals by the Indians before the Dutch bought the island back in 1626. The early settlers avoided it, thinking it was unholy, and let their slaves live there. It later became Seneca Village.”

“Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s because it’s gone. The white government destroyed it back in 1857. You’ve heard of it, though. It’s called Central Park.”

“The city destroyed a black neighborhood to build a park?”

“Country, they pulled that shit all over the U.S. of A. Chicago, St. Louis, Boston, you name it. They do it to the Latinos too. Just a few years ago they bulldozed the oldest barrio in Tucson. Mexicans been living there for like 300 years. They put the new municipal buildings there and moved everybody to public housing. Even had the balls to call it the Dr. Martin Luther King Apartments.”

“Damn.”

Tyrone grinned. “They didn’t teach you about that in school, did they?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t feel bad. They didn’t teach it to us in P.S. 223 neither. Malcolm X said ‘Only a fool would let his enemy educate his children.’ But we got no choice. You gotta stay in the white man’s school until you’re 16. That’s why the black and brown presses are so important.”

An older white man sitting at the other end of the table frowned at him. “Could you keep it down, please?”

Tyrone frowned back. “You didn’t complain when we were talking about demons and rituals and shit, and you complain when I talk about real history?”

The man gathered his books and left, muttering to himself.

“Asshole,” Richard said, shaking his head. “So where in Central Park did the rituals take place? According to these books, places of power are pretty specific. You have to be on the actual spot. If we wander around at night trying to find Anton and his crew, we’re liable to get mugged. Besides, it would be best if we knew where they were beforehand so we can lay a trap for them.”

“It’s not clear. There’s this map, but it’s not very good.”

Tyrone turned the book so Richard could see. There was an old sketch map of New York City, showing an open area in the center of Manhattan. Part of it was labeled “pasture,” while another part showed a cluster of buildings and the label “Seneca Village.”

Two other details caught their eye. One area a little to the northeast of the village was labeled “old Indian burial ground.” There was also a pair of concentric circles right in the middle of Seneca Village that piqued their curiosity. There was no label explaining what it was, but it was the only such mark on the entire map.

“Do you think they might have set up the ritual on the burial ground?” Tyrone asked.

“I’m not sure. It’s weird, but the books on demonology don’t really talk about graves and corpses and stuff like that very much. Some of the more popular ones do, but the serious ones, the rare books, don’t talk about that kind of thing at all. It jives with what I’ve seen of the demon world. It’s not all about death and curses and the sort of stuff you see in movies. The demons want to connect with the living human world. They have no interest in the dead and people’s souls don’t go to the demon world.”

“So most of this occult bullshit is just our own fears, huh? That’s kinda what I figured all along. That’s why I never got into this shit.”

Richard grinned. “If the straight world knew what the demons were really after, they’d all shit their pants.”

The man who had spoken to Tyrone came back with a librarian. “That’s him,” he said, pointing at Tyrone.

The librarian looked nervous. In a quiet voice he said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”

“What? Why?”

“This is a place for quiet study, sir, and we’ve had complaints about too much noise.”

“From who, this cracker?” Tyrone said, pointing at the man who had been sharing their table. “He’s been sitting next to us for an hour and didn’t say a word, then when I start saying what’s what about history, he gets all offended? That’s bullshit.”

The man sneered at Tyrone. The librarian seemed to curl in on himself but repeated. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”

Tyrone glared at him, rage flaring in his eyes, and then he visibly struggled to get control of himself. In a conciliatory tone he said, “Well, I’m sorry, it’s all just a misunderstanding. How about we move to a different part of the library where we won’t bother nobody?”

“Anybody,” the man who had complained said.

Tyrone looked at him. “What?”

“Anybody. ‘Where we won’t bother anybody.’ Why don’t you people learn to talk correctly?”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tyrone snapped.

“OK, you need to go,” the librarian said, waving his hand in the direction of the exit. Richard noticed other readers were watching now.

“Hey, wait,” Richard said. “Why are you only making him go? I was talking too.”

The librarian flushed. “Sir, please don’t interfere.”

“No, answer my question. We were both making noise, so why does he have to leave and I get to stay?”

“Why do you think?” Tyrone grumbled. “I’m outta here.”

The librarian escorted Tyrone out. Richard followed, repeating the question to the librarian over and over.

“Why him and not me? A white man can make noise but a black man can’t? Is that it?”

The librarian wouldn’t look at him and wouldn’t reply.

Once they got outside, Tyrone turned to him. “Go back and keep hitting those books, Country.”

“What? I’m never setting foot in that place again.”

Tyrone raised his hands. “Look, it’s nice that you we’re trying to help and shit, but you were showboating.”

“Showboating?”

“Showing off. As soon as that white dude complained about me, my ass was leaving that library no matter what anybody said. You complaining was just showing off that you were better than him.”

“Showing off? Oh, come on. I was trying to help!”

Tyrone put a hand on his shoulder. “You can help by reading more of those books. That’s more important than calling out some racist bitch in a library.”

Richard sighed. “All right.”

He went back inside, confused and hurt by Tyrone’s words. How could he be offended by Richard defending him? How did that count as showing off?

He returned to the table to find their books still there and the older white guy back in his place. Richard glared at him as he sat down. The man gave him a smug smile in return.

“Proud of yourself?” Richard asked him.

“Are you proud of yourself?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You kids nowadays always like to be seen with one of them. Thinks it makes you look cool or liberal or whatever. Get under your parents’ collar. They’re just a fashion statement to you.”

“He’s my friend!”

“Shhh!”

That came from another table. Richard glanced in that direction, turned back to the man at his table, and continued in a whisper, “He’s my best friend. Why do you have a problem with that?”

The man gave him a superior look. “You’ll grow out of it, kid.”

Richard shook his head in disgust and went back to his books. He was too angry to concentrate, though. Finally, he left in frustration, deciding to come back the next day.

That evening he met Peter outside the studio of Blueboy magazine. A whole crowd of guys had assembled for the open call and they had to wait in line. At least the sun had set and the muggy air had cooled somewhat.

Richard and Peter got to chatting as they waited and were soon getting along. Peter told him all about his childhood growing up in the suburbs of Rochester in upstate New York and how stifling it had been. Richard found himself nodding all the way through the story, relating to every word. Richard shared his own past and then it was Peter’s turn to nod. The line moved slowly, the men being called in by twos, and Richard and Peter had plenty of time to get to know each other. Richard found Peter open and friendly but a bit naïve, even more naïve than he himself had been during his first few weeks in the city. The young man didn’t seem to realize that his budding career could lead him into a downward spiral, and Richard began to feel a bit protective of him.

By the time, they made it to the front of the line, they had become good friends. They entered the studio where Richard had tried out before and found Aaron Guillard standing behind his photo equipment. The studio was made up to look like the inside of two rooms of an apartment. The living room was complete with a sofa, a TV, and pictures hanging on the wall, and next to it through a partition and door was a bedroom with a four-poster bed. Two young men clad only in their underwear were just getting up from the bed. Aaron shook their hands.

“I’ll get back to you in the next week or so,” he told them. “OK, who’s next?”

He turned to Richard and Peter. A flicker of annoyance passed over his features when he saw Richard. He didn’t say anything, though, and merely gestured towards the living room scene.

“How about you guys sit down on that sofa? You, the blond, you lean your head against his shoulder like you’re having a quiet, relaxing day at home with the man you love.”

They took the pose, Peter falling into it easily. Richard was a bit stiff at first because Aaron was giving him a sour look from behind his camera. Richard imagined Tyrone leaning against him and that helped him relax a bit.

Aaron put them through a series of poses, and had them take their shirts off to do some more erotic stuff. After a few minutes he stopped.

“Thank you, boys. That will be all.”

“Aren’t we going to do a bedroom scene?” Peter asked with a sly grin. “I’m good at those.”

“No, what you’ve done will be fine,” the photographer said, changing his film.

Peter and Richard put their shirts back on.

“So did we get the part?” Peter asked hopefully.

“Maybe next time. Now if you could step off the stage, I need to get the next two guys into position.”

Peter’s face fell. Richard was less disappointed because as soon as he had seen Aaron’s expression when he walked into the studio he had figured how this would end. Nevertheless, he felt anger growing inside of him. He was trying to make a decent life for himself and this was how he got treated?

“So why didn’t we get it?” Richard asked.

Aaron gave him an annoyed look. “Our publication is very choosy.”

“So are the publications we’ve been in,” Richard shot back. Peter nodded in agreement.

Aaron gave them a condescending smile. “I’m sure they are.”

“Look, for our first session you called me, remember? We met at that disco and you liked my look. Yeah, I screwed up, I admit that. I came to you after an all-nighter. Now I’m fresh and looking good, and you still aren’t interested.”

Aaron put down his camera and looked him full in the face for the first time that day.

“Listen, kid. I’ve been in this business a long time, and I know what sells and what doesn’t. I know what the public wants. You two are cute, but you just don’t have it. We’re going for a cleaner look this year. The boy next door.”

“A cleaner look? So we’re not clean enough for you?” Richard asked, his anger rising. “And we are the boys next door! I was a fresh-faced new guy just a few months ago, and Peter is even newer than that.”

“You’re not so new anymore,” Aaron said. “Now get going before I have to call security.”

Dejected, Peter and Richard left. Peter looked close to tears. “Well, at least there’s Leather Library,” he said.

“You shouldn’t go back there. I sure as hell won’t,” Richard said, wondering if that was the truth. He had money now, but he had learned all too well that when his money ran low, so did his standards.

“Well, where else am I going to find work?” Peter asked, his voice filled with despair.

“There are other magazines. Keep trying.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied. He did not sound convinced.

The two young men parted ways, promising to get together soon and to call if either heard of a publication looking for models. Richard made it clear that he only wanted normal modeling, and tried to convince Peter not to go in for the hard stuff. Peter agreed, but Richard sensed the guy was just trying to placate him. They said their goodbyes at the subway station, and Richard watched him go, concern growing in him over how that innocent teen, fresh from the suburbs, would fare in this brutal city.

As disappointed as he was about the photoshoot, Richard didn’t go to a bar or a sauna to relax. He had some more work to do tonight.

Unfortunately, that involved going to Central Park after dark.