DEECE ONLINE

It was a Saturday night, the first night I ever saw the man, he stood under a street light down below, not far from my building. It was a brothel that sat on an old street corner with a flashing pink sign that said “Sunday School!”.

I remember so vividly my first time seeing this man because there was a dirtbag who kept bothering the girls. He was thrown out and kept trying to get back in. This man was not the dirt bag. In fact I’d never seen him before in my entire life. He was a tall man, meek for his size and he dressed in a heavy parka despite the city being in the prime of an Indian summer. He stood there, leaned up against the lamp post in his yellow spotlight, and moved on after about half an hour. He didn’t return that night.

The next time I saw him was the following week, Saturday night, about the same time. He walked on from across the intersection, crossed onto his corner across the street from the brothel, and waited underneath the street light. At first I thought nothing of it. The memory of him didn’t sit in my mind but one of the girl’s noticed me looking out of my window. When she joined me she asked who he was.

‘I’m not sure.’ I said.

‘Wasn’t he here last week?’

‘Yes, I believe he was.’

‘Should we be worried about him?’

‘I don’t think so.’ I said.

She wandered off.

This little trend continued into the third week, and then the forth. I couldn’t rightly say how often I paid attention to him, I’m lucky to remember when I noticed him, although I couldn’t rightfully say whether he had been doing this before undetected.

It must have been a few months after I first noticed him that I began to take a true interest in him. I watched from my window as usual, smoking a cigarette with the window open. It was a cold and bitter month and harsh winds blew, numbing my face. There he stood, blurry through the bitter haze, under his little spot of yellow, and with nothing else I could make out on the street corner that night I watched him intently like he was the most intriguing show to hit Broadway. His routine hadn’t changed. He stood in his spot for a short while longer, and wandered off across the street a few moments later.

I became curious of the man from this point forward, taking on something of an obsession with him. He was a small dedication to my life, a thirty minute cigarette break each Saturday night. From this point forward I watched the man’s habits intensely, always the same result, always the same conclusion.

It was the middle of January when I decided to put an inch further into my interest in this man. I watched him for a short time. Twenty minutes in I began to get myself ready for the cold weather. Putting my coat on, I made my way down stairs, saying goodbye to the girls, and I followed my mystery man down the street when he left. He paid very little mind to me, he didn’t peer over his shoulder once, or make his way anywhere strange. He carried on back across the street down his usual way, through the nightlife and the bars. He stopped off at three, having one drink at each. Spirits, different ones each time. When he was done with his three, he kept walking down the same street, away from the business, away from the nightlife, down towards the brownstones. He came to one as typical as a brownstone could look, tall and opposing. He went inside, and that was the last I saw of him for the night.

The next week I stayed inside, thinking of following him again. Whilst lost in thought Helen came up behind me.

‘Hey, Palmy, I’m about done for the night, still wanna poke?’

‘Not tonight, darling,’ I said, ‘Let me ask you, do you know who this guy is?’ I asked, pointing out the window with my cigarette.

She looked, squinting down into the darkness. The girl needed glasses, I was sure of it.

‘Who, the guy under the light?’

‘That’s the one.’ I said.

‘Hmmm, nah, don’t look familiar… Actually… Hmm, I don’t know him. Who is he?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Is he causing trouble?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘So why you got a hard on for this guy, Palmy?’

‘He’s been coming here every Saturday night for months now.’

‘Months… Huh. Some character. Let him. Maybe it’s how he gets his rocks off.’

‘Maybe.’

Helen left me alone with my cigarette and I snuffed it out at the same time our friend did and I went down stairs and out of the place, choosing to follow him after all. I wish he’d done something a bit more adventurous, mysterious, maybe something dangerous, but all in all, keeping the same distance, the same pace, he went about his night in much the same fashion. Three bars, different bars this time, three different drinks, and then a walk home in the late hours of the night. The more I came to find out about the guy, the more underwhelmed I was. My imagination hoped he was some Ted Bundy type, some sick and twisted motherfucker who killed and chopped up women. Of course, being where I am and who I live with that wouldn’t be so grand. But who doesn’t want to save the day and be a cowboy?

Of course, with our man’s routine, progress came in weekly increments, if that. He never showed his face any other day. I never even noticed him around the neighborhood before, during, or after. But nonetheless, it was the week after my chat with Helen that she came back in, the sight of me at my window, and the man in his spotlight down below excited her, reminded her.

‘I might know who he is.’ She said.

My attention turned to her immediately. 

‘Now, I don’t know if it’s true. But you remember Genevieve?’

‘She was the pretty blonde with the nose that left not long after I moved in.’

‘What about her nose?’

‘Nothing, it was a bit funny looking.’

‘I think our noses were pretty similar-’

‘Don’t take it that way, it was cute. Now what  about Gennevieve?’

‘Well I don’t know if it’s the case or not but he reminds me of the good looking boy she ran off with.’

‘That’s why she went, huh?’

‘That’s why. I heard they split up though.’

‘So why hasn’t she come back here then?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. A girl doesn’t like to come crawling back, you know.’

‘You think It’s him? ’

‘Oh I don’t think so. I mean, maybe not. It’s a slim chance. I don’t even think he knew she was a working girl.’

‘Hold on darling. He’s about to walk-’ I said, snubbing out my cigarette and grabbing my jacket.

‘Christ, I’m coming too. May as well get a closer look at him.’ She said, running off to get her own jacket. We met on the street and took off after our man, who was now across the street off in the distance, arm in arm.

We saw the bar he went into, an Irish pub. He didn’t seem to have a preference really. I’d seen him go into punk clubs, funk clubs, dive bars, and gin mills. He wasn’t picky, but they seemed to have the prerequisite of set liquor.

Following him in, we both went up to the front and I ordered drinks for us as I subtly began scanning the place. Helen was a lot less covert and spotted him quicker than I. I was lucky she didn’t point at him but he was in the front corner or the bar, in a booth looking out of the front window. He was drinking a cocktail slowly and this time he had a book.

‘I think you were right. It’s him.’ I said.

‘It looks like him,’ Helen said, ‘How do you know?’

‘He’s reading Dostoevsky.’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Only one sad sack of shit reads Dostoevsky.’

‘Ha Ha. Either way, I’m sure it’s him. Looks just like how I remember him.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘No, Palmy, I ain’t.’

‘How long were they together?’

‘Who? Oh, right. I’m not sure. I don’t even think 6 months.’

‘And she quit tricking for him?’

‘I dunno. Maybe she just wanted out.’

‘Have you heard from her since?’

‘Not much. We ran into each other after they’d broken up. That’s how I found out but I don’t remember how long ago that was. At least a year by now.’

‘Do you think he’s looking for her?’

‘Well I don’t even think he knew she tricked in the first place.’

‘But he’s here now.’

‘And so are we. Can we have a drink?’

The night ran on and we enjoyed ourselves in that pub. I got too distracted with Helen and our man slipped away from me. I didn’t care much. I’m sure he visited another place or two and went home. I knew where he’d be next week, and the week after that.

Then it was the 14th of February. Valentine’s Day. It started out all the same. The usual. I was busy that day, a whorehouse and everyone in it always is. But I took my brief moment for a breather. I sat at my window, set the ashtray down on the sill, and lit up a Camel, setting the lighter down, I opened the window and breathed out into the cool foggy air. Not five minutes later, our man of the half hour arrived. Only, he didn’t stay the half hour this time. He leaned on his lamp post, got out a cigarette, and fiddled with it between his fingers. As he put it to his lips, I thought I saw his hands shaking. He lit up, had a few puffs and settled in for a while. Right as I was getting comfortable, not all that long in, he threw his shoulders back like he was frustrated. He threw down his cigarette, stamped on it, and breathed out the last puff he held in his lungs. Then, he crossed the street, coming towards me to our brothel, and he went inside.

I sat there a moment, a little shocked. I set the burning cigarette down in the ashtray and went downstairs.

He was talking with Maud. Tyler, Maud’s boytoy and the closest looking thing to a pimp that isn’t Maud, looked on at the guy as he came in, and the girls that were available, only a few of them at that moment, sauntered about, making themselves look cute and available. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, keeping myself hidden in its nook as I watched on. The man, meek but tall as I described, looked a sight more detailed up close as one would expect. And yet, despite him, at least in my eyes, being a rather unique looking guy, all the features I could describe him with wouldn’t be able to convey that. Hell, maybe if some cop pig sketch artist walked me through it, it would come out looking exact, or a little close at least. But in the words I write here, he was a tall, skinny looking white guy, brownish hair, a touch of dark blonde someone might get if looking at him in the right light. He had a long, rickety looking face, but again, all that is nonsense to me, and he wore his parka just as he always did, finally the right weather for it. It made him look bigger than he was, but you could tell it was the parka that made his size, not his frame. He just had that look.

He walked up to Cinny, mumbled something. Helen came up behind me and the man she was with came stamping down the stairs, quick and ready to be out of the place. I let him through and Helen leaned on the other wall, both of us side by side in the nook of the stairs.

‘He’s come to say hello.’ She said.

I didn’t reply.

As the man who was with Helen walked out through the front, the mysterious man seemed to shrink into his coat like a turtle. When the man was gone he seemed to turn his attention back onto Cinny, his girl of choice, but he still seemed no less anxious.

After some more mumbling to her, she smiled at him, took him by the hand, and the two of them were coming our way. We parted and she guided him up the stairs. When they were gone from sight everyone went back to business as usual.

‘He likes his ditsy blonde girls.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Cinny’s the closest thing around here to what Gennevieve used to be. Of course, they’re not even remotely similar once you get to know them, but still.’

‘Suppose he knew she tricked?’

‘Suppose he found out more like it.’

‘Well, he’s made his pick one way or another. He must know Gennevieve isn’t here any longer.’

We went about the rest of our night’s and similarly I missed the man’s exit. Some time later I visited Cinny. She was done for the night and watching TV in her room, the door was open.

‘The kid in the parka, earlier. You know him?’

‘Huh? Oh him. No, why?’

‘He’s been hanging outside the place every Saturday night for months now. It was quite the occasion seeing him come in.’

‘Really? That is interesting.’ She said, turning over onto her stomach to speak to me more actively.

‘Helen seems to think he was Gennevieve’s man. Or ex man. Not sure.’

‘Gennevieve? What happened to her. She left right? I think I remember him and I don’t think so.’

‘Well Helen seems sure of it. Says’ It’s why he picked you.’

‘Helen’s only managed a few visitors tonight. She’s just jealous.’

‘If you say so…’

The following week came by, Saturday night, middle of the evening, the same eight o’clock as it had been for the months previous. I sat at my window, this time I had a nice big cigar I got from a friend of mine. I lit it up, took a few puffs and blew out slowly, taking it in. Cigar’s didn’t have the same break quality as cigarettes but they felt grander, and I was feeling grander because of it. I looked out below and he hadn’t arrived yet so I got up and went to grab the bottle of 12 year scotch I keep beside my bed. Pouring myself a glass of it, I sat back down by my window and looked out. The spotlight was still empty. A strange feeling began to rise in me but I waited nonetheless. Now and then a stranger would pass by and I’d mistake them for him. I felt like a kid being stood up for a date. A feeling so strange and dull rocked me to my core at the lack of this man that I felt genuinely saddened for the night. Once I was finished with my cigar and scotch I went off to see Helen, not mentioning his disappearance to her, if you could even call it that. I left after we’d finished up and she’d fallen asleep for the night and I went to sleep in my own room.

The next week I returned to my cigarette and ashtray. An irrational part of me told me it was my change in routine that subconsciously drove the man away. Hoping it wasn’t too late, I was back to the cigarettes, although that was also because I didn’t have any more cigars and scotch, although I did now have a bottle of 5 year rum beside my bed now. I stayed away from it out of superstition.

Still, he never arrived.

It went like this week after week. On the point marking one whole month, I told Helen. She damn near forgot about him. It didn’t seem to bother her and I couldn’t blame her. I don’t know why it mattered to me, but it did. I worried for the guy. There was something a little somber about him, like he carried a melancholy you only get from one end of a rope. I pictured him hanging in the brownstone apartment he disappeared into and thought about going over there, if I could remember the exact one it was, and checking in on the guy. Of course it was all just mindless thinking. Spinning my wheels for the sake of it.

One way or another, I thought that was the end of it. It remained another two months, now in the late days of spring. The snow was gone and the weather slowly getting warmer and warmer until the blare of summer. My cigarettes were always habit and nothing changed except the state of my health and I watched out my window as per usual on a Saturday night, lost in thought. I didn’t watch out for him, I didn’t think of him. In fact, I was thinking of ditching the place myself. Living in a brothel was one of the nicer places I’ve lived. I had my favorite girls and they gave me the time of day when I wanted them. I helped keep the order in the place, called the doctors, played security, although Tyler was always better at that, I mainly cooked for the girls. But I was never one to settle down. New York was bringing me down and the police were well aware of the place and were giving it more and more trouble each day. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to the girls so I stuck around up to that point. But I was at my wick’s end.

I nearly called it done for the night. I snubbed out my cigarette and I saw him. He was still smoking his. Christ.

He’d moved spots, I realized. He stood across the intersection at the brink of the bars and nightlife. It was funny. If he was done with the brothel then he still went out of his way to be near it. I grabbed my coat and went down stairs. Standing outside in the wisps of a rainy night just to get a better look at this guy. It was the same old routine and I’d caught him at the end of it. He was across the street this time, on the other side of the intersection and now under a different light. He dropped the cigarette beneath his boot, snubbed it out, and turned right around to go to his bars no doubt.

I’m not sure how long he’d been going to his new spot, just like how I wasn’t sure about when he appeared outside the brothel in the first place, but I do know he disappeared for a while. Now he was back. I was glad. I wish I had more to say, but all I know is that on that night, I went back inside and slept a little easier for the rest of the week. When I saw him again I realized nothing had changed in his schedule, just his spot. And I saw there was something a little colder in his demeanor despite the warmer weather.

Eventually I moved out. It must have been a month later. I left on a Friday night. There was very little ceremony. You don’t exactly tell a pimp that you’re leaving, even if they’re not making money off of selling your pussy. Looking back now I wish I stayed for one more night. One more cigarette.

Maybe in some ideal world I would have walked right up to him and shared the glow of the street light with him. We wouldn’t speak any words to each other, but the presence would be enough. Maybe he’d run off, or maybe, we’d smoke our cigarettes, and as we finished them off, we’d stamp them out, and part ways on our own having shared our spots under the street light.