Beckett
Nov 30th
We came out of the Clinton-Washington Avenue station to find the rain had stopped. It was a short walk down Washington to my place and we were quiet for most of it. My eyes did plenty of talking, though, straining sideways to look at Zelda Rossi.
She only came up to my shoulder, and was hunched in her coat but I could tell that was from the cold, not from fear or nerves. A small smile played over her lips and the same relief I felt was mirrored in her brilliant green eyes when the streetlights hit them.
I led her up the two flights to my floor, and stopped at 2C.
“You sure you don’t want to save this for tomorrow’s lunch?” I asked, holding up the bag with the container of soup from Giovanni’s she’d said she regretted ordering.
She eyed the bag then looked away. “No, I think I need to lay off the Italian food for a while.”
A shadow crossed her eyes. I’d seen the same flicker of sadness last night, when she told me she had no family nearby.
Mrs. Santino must’ve heard us talking because my knuckles hardly grazed the door of 2C when it opened.
“Hey, Mrs. Santino,” I said. “You in the mood for some soup tonight?”
She ignored me, and her squinty eyes narrowed in on Zelda. “Hmmph,” she snorted, snatched the plastic bag out of my hand and shut the door.
I glanced down at Zelda. “Deep down, I know she’s grateful.”
She laughed a little. “Is that where last night’s leftovers went too?” she asked as I rolled my bike down to 2E.
“I try to bring her food whenever I can,” I said, fishing out my keys. “I don’t know when or why that started, but I’ve never seen her leave her place. Never see anyone go in or out. Granted, I work ten hours most days but…” I shrugged. “She’s always up at all hours, and she always takes it when I offer, so I figure she must need it.”
“That’s mighty nice of you, Copeland.”
I glanced down as I unlocked the door. The shadow was gone from Zelda’s eyes. A softness replaced it. An almost dreamy expression that made me bang my knee on my bike as I wheeled it over the threshold.
“So this is it?” she said, following.
“This is it,” I said. No going back now. Letting Zelda move in was either going to save my ass from rent hell, or it was a colossal mistake.
Or it might be really good.
I tossed that thought into the hallway and closed the door. I meant what I wrote to Mrs. J the night before. I didn’t go beyond casual sex with women. Zelda wasn’t going to be anything but a roommate. A few weeks here, and then she was gone.
She was looking around the place, not saying anything.
It’s all I got, I thought. Take it or leave it. I crossed my arms, prepared for a sarcastic remark, or even a flat-out, This isn’t going to work.
“Well, we’re going to be cozy, aren’t we?” she said, a small laugh bursting of out of her.
“Something funny?” I asked, trying not to sound like a defensive asshole.
“No, not funny,” she said, “I’m relieved. I’m so relieved you have no idea. Yeah, this place is small but it’s clean. It’s tidy.” She poked her head into the bathroom just to the right of the front door. “Oh my God, it’s a fucking miracle.”
She reemerged from the bathroom, her smile brighter than ever. “The guy I shared a bathroom with in Vegas? Flushing the toilet was against his religion.”
“So that’s…disgusting,” I said, a chuckle breaking past my cold front.
“Tell me about it. Another gal straight-up admitted she didn’t do dishes. Oh, she cooked and she ate and she used dishes, but she didn’t do dishes.” Zelda was in the kitchen now, her fingers trailing over the crappy, but clean formica countertop. “This is heaven…”
“I don’t like clutter,” I said with a shrug.
“Me neither. I’m kind of a neat freak, actually,” Zelda said. She gave me two thumbs up. “This bodes well, Copeland.”
“So far so good,” I admitted. “Except I don’t know where you’re going to sleep tonight. It’s too late to get an air mattress.”
She took the six steps to the couch. “I’m small. I can squish up on this for one night.”
“You sure?” I rubbed the back of my neck. It ached just thinking about sleeping on that ratty old couch.
“I’m a good adapter,” Zelda said, her glance landing and lingering on the table under the window.
“Yeah, you can work there,” I said, moving to gather up some loose papers and my ancient-on-the-verge-of-dying laptop. “I hardly ever use it.”
Zelda’s eyes filled with a strange sort of happiness, and she went to the small table and set her portfolio on its scratched surface. “Perfect.” She looked at me. “This is really perfect.”
“I’m glad,” I said.
It was the truth. After I’d served two years of a five-year sentence, the judge let me out for good behavior. He told me I’d paid my debt to society, but I disagreed. I still had a lot to make up for.
The silence between us thickened and Zelda’s eyes fell to my album collection stacked vertically against the wall between the table and TV. She knelt in front of them. “Can I?”
“Sure.”
“This stuff is older than anything I usually listen to,” she said as she pored through my collection. “I’m basically musically illiterate. If it’s not currently playing on an alternative station, chances are I don’t know it.”
She stopped and drew an album from the stacks resting against the wall. “Hold the phone… This one, I know.” She flipped the album around. Parallel Lines by Blondie. “‘One Way or Another’ is the unofficial theme song to my graphic novel.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s set in the future so this is classical music to my heroine. ‘One Way or Another’ is the song she uses to psych herself up.”
“For what?”
“To go back in time to waste the bad guys.”
“Of course.”
She flipped the album back around to read the liner notes. “‘I’m gonna getcha, getcha, getcha,” she sang, softly and horribly off-key, and then laughed lightly at herself. “Anyway.”
She gave the album one last fond look before returning it to the exact place she found it and sat back on her heels. “Yep, this is pretty perfect, Copeland. Probably more for me than for you.”
“It’s a good arrangement for both of us,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I still think I’m getting the better deal. And I’m stealing your privacy.”
“I shared a six-by-eight foot cell with another guy for two years. I can handle this situation for a month or two.”
Smooth, I thought. Ease her mind by reminding her you’re a felon.
She hugged herself in her thick coat. “Okay, well. I guess I should call my old roommate. Let him know the deal.”
“I should call Roy. My PO. He’ll need to meet you.”
She smiled faintly. “Okay.”
Happy, asshole? You scared her. Or at least I’d stolen whatever small amount of equilibrium she’d felt upon first arrival. But maybe that was okay. I didn’t want her to live in fear but maybe it was better if she never forgot what I was.
Or moreover, it’s better you never forget what you are.
Zelda sat on the couch to call her people and I called Roy from the kitchen. I got his voicemail and left a quick message, speaking in a low voice.
“Hey, Roy, it’s Beckett. Turns out you were right about rent being rough this month so I took in a roommate. Just for a few weeks at most. I know you need to meet her so call me whenever. Thanks.”
I started to hang-up but a strange feeling—a warmth—swept through me.
“It’s Zelda,” I added to the end of my message and then hung up.
I stared at my phone then turned to see Zelda had finished her call too. Our eyes met and I offered her a smile. She smiled back.
“I told my Vegas roommate to send me some stuff,” she said. “Don’t worry, I don’t have much. Just the rest of my clothes, and my tattoo machine and inks, though I don’t know if I want to tattoo anymore.”
“I could ask the boss about getting you a job at Giovanni’s,” I said.
“It’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t want to serve Italian food either. I’ll start looking for something tomorrow.”
“Sounds good.”
The air between us had downgraded from tense to merely awkward. Two strangers figuring out their situation. I wanted to do more to set her at ease but what could I say? I promise I won’t hurt you while you sleep?
“I’m beat,” Zelda said. “You mind if I wash up and call it a night?” Her expression turned uncertain. “Or are you a night owl? Did you want to stay up and watch some TV?”
“Nah, no TV. Just accordion practice.”
She arched a brow.
“Didn’t I mention it?” I said. “I play the accordion between midnight and four a.m.” I cocked my head in mock concern. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”
“Gee, I can’t imagine how,” she said.
“I hope you like polkas.”
“Who doesn’t?”
Zelda laughed and slipped out of her pea coat. I took both as good signs. The tension loosened. She was settling in. Laughing at my dumb jokes.
She hung her coat on the hook by the door and took her trash bag to the bathroom. I kept an ear on the sound of running water as I stripped out of my work clothes as fast as I could. The bathroom door was the only partition in this joint. The potential to be caught half-naked had gone from non-existent to probable. I pulled on sleep pants and a sweatshirt. The water kept running. Good. Then I realized the couch wasn’t sleep-ready.
“Shit.”
I rummaged in the tiny closet next to my bed, I pulled down an old blue comforter that smelled musty but clean, and a small throw pillow I’d had since-God-knew-when. I laid them over the couch just as Zelda came out of the bathroom wearing leggings, socks, and a slouchy sweatshirt. Her hair was piled up on her head and square, black-framed glasses were perched on her small nose.
Great, I thought sarcastically. So glad she’s not totally fucking cute or anything.
“I stashed my stuff in the cabinet under the sink,” she said. “Hope that was okay.”
“More than okay. You live here now.”
The words hung in the air between us.
“Yeah, I guess I do,” she said after a moment. “I haven’t paid you yet…”
“Tomorrow is the first,” I said. “You can pay me then.” I indicated the blanket. “The couch really isn’t great for sleeping. I hope the blanket’s enough.”
“It’s perfect,” Zelda said. She set her glasses and phone on the coffee table, then laid down and burrowed under the blanket.
I went to the light switch by the door. “You good?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
I flipped the switch and crossed in the darkness to my bed and climbed in. Across the short distance between us, I saw Zelda’s faint smile, her chin just above the covers, her eyes already starting to close.
“I’m so tired,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize until just now how tiring it all was.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, thinking of the stress that had wrapped around my guts for so long, squeezing and tying me into knots. Come tomorrow, I’d no longer short of rent. In fact, with Zelda’s $400, I’d have more breathing room than I’d had in a long time. I could hold on to my albums—not to mention my blood. No longer struggling to keep my chin above water. I could relax. For a little while, at least.
Already the air moved easier in and out of my lungs. And I wanted to thank her. I wanted to say something—anything—to let her know she could relax, too. That she could catch her breath and think, without worrying about getting robbed or rejected.
“Goodnight, Copeland,” Zelda said, her voice heavy. “Thanks for agreeing to this crazy arrangement.”
“It’s good for both of us.”
“Yeah.”
“And Zelda?”
“Hm?”
She was already slipping toward sleep. Unafraid. She was brave, this girl. And tough. I smiled to myself.
“Nothing. Goodnight,” I said, and fell under too, listening to someone else’s breathing besides my own.