Tuesday, July 15, 2008

Chimney Stacks

A man stands in front of the window of a darkened restaurant. Sage is on Park Avenue South, between twenty fourth and fifth streets, and it has been closed for a period of years. The man leans forward and looks inside. The tables are set with table cloths and salt and pepper shakers. The bar is still stocked, and there is a large bouquet of dead flowers on the sill of the window, beneath the painted name. The restaurant has remained unchanged since the man first noticed it a year ago, and he makes a point to pass by at least once a week and peer in. Can it be that the salts and peppers occasionally switch sides? Or does the man negate the colors in his mind? He looks at his reflection in the window. The face is obscured but the line of his hair is as it should be, and the drape of his suit is perfect, as ever. He carries no wallet, nor cell phone, nor identification; his suit bears no maker's mark. There are ten one hundred dollar bills in his left trouser pocket and out of the right he pulls a rectangular piece of malachite. Green and smooth in his hand, he caresses it with his thumb. This empty restaurant is the one constant for him in the city. His name is not Avery Green.

Green steps into the King Cole Bar at the St. Regis. It's not very busy yet and he orders a negroni. Later, a woman stands next to him at the bar, waiting for the bartender's attention. Blond with a Jean Seberg haircut and glassy blue doll's eyes. She glances at Green.
"Are you drinking a Cosmo?" She smiles, playfully insulting.
"A negroni. What are you having? Let me get it for you."
She waves him away. "I have an account. Do you want another one of those?"
"Thank you."
"Didn't you go to Francis Xavier?"
"School was forever ago, wasn't it? You were friends with Charles Brennan, I think."
Charles Brennan doesn't exist. She looks doubtfully at him.
"I think so! For like a semester or something. Sorry, Natalie Edgewater."
"Wonderful to see you again."

Now Green is with them. A large group of what may be considered bright young things. Their money is too old for them to appear in the tabloids, but the generic face is to be seen all over New York. They aren't too polite to say they don't know him, they simply don't care. He's someone new to talk to, and possibly attended school with some of them. They drink at the King Cole until nearly two. Natalie closes the tab to her account. They descend on the street.

Natalie's townhouse is on ninety first street between Park and Madison Avenues. Five stories of lighted windows and music. Everyone from the bar and more arrive before them. Green is affable and charming. He drifts through clots of people in living rooms, libraries, and various kitchens. He has no discernible accent except to say, if anyone thinks about it, which they don't, that he's definitely American. Natalie keeps him in sight for the most part, disappearing occasionally into rooms with friends, closing doors behind her. She emerges bright eyed and pale faced.

Natalie and Green are in her father's study.
"He's never here anymore," Natalie says. "The family wants to sell the place. They spend most of the time in Connecticut these days."
"It's very pretty up there."
"It's so boring!" Natalie looks at Green, behind the desk. She comes around the desk and pulls at his tie. "Don't you want to loosen that up? It's been a long day."
Her pulling the tie tightens the knot. It's uncomfortable and makes the knot look bad. It's irritating. Green turns and subtly adjusts it. He cocks his head at a photograph, there is a platinum Dunhill lighter next to it with the engraved initials A.E.
"Is that your father?"
"Yeah, that's him. That's when he was running for Congress. He was one of the Democratic candidates in our district. Gore Vidal was the other."
"I remember he ran."
"Yeah, well. Vidal beat him. So he became friends with Mailer and published a book of his poems."
"Oh, I don't think I've run across that one."
"You wouldn't. Dad had a little vanity press."

Green asks where the nearest bathroom is. Hers, she says. Just two doors down the hall. To the right after you enter the bedroom. Green stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom. There is a pink toothbrush with some wear in a cup next to the sink. He brushes his teeth with it, dries it on a towel and puts it back exactly where it was. He wipes out the sink and suddenly smiles at himself in the mirror.

Natalie is waiting for him in the bedroom. They're at an impasse. With nothing else to say, she looks at his shoes.
"Those are nice. Sturdy."
"They're brogues."
"Allen Edmonds."
"What?"
"Banker's shoes."
"These are very nice shoes."
She's been crossing the room to him. She smooths his lapel. It doesn't need smoothening. He lets his hand rest on her throat. He can feel her pulse and her breathing. The music is quieter now, the people are beginning to leave.
"It's morning," he says.
"You can stay here if you want."
"Thanks. I'll just sleep on a couch."
She laughs, embarrassed, taken aback. "Or here." He's very close, leaning into her. "Where are you from?" she asks.
"I'm from here." He kisses her.

Later, Green has found a room with a suit caddy. Green presses his pants and showers with the suit jacket on a hanger in the bathroom to steam. After the shower he brushes out any wrinkles in the elbows and the seat and dresses.

The large house is silent as Green makes his way down the hall toward the study. His walk is businesslike, the floorboards creak. At the picture of Natalie's father, he pulls the rectangular piece of malachite out of his right pocket. It's a little dull and smudged and Green polishes it on his shirt. He picks up the platinum Dunhill lighter and replaces it exactly with the malachite before the picture. The lighter goes into his right trouser pocket and he leaves.

* *

Avery Green stands outside the Pegu Club on Houston Street. A young woman comes out of the bar, a cigarette in her hand. She looks around her and catches Green's eye. He pulls out his lighter and flicks the side striking bar. She notices the initials.
"Nice lighter."
"Thanks."
"What are the initials for?"
"My name."
There is a long pause.
"Well, what is it, stupid?" she asks and laughs.
"Allen Edmonds," says Green, laughing as well. "Like the shoemaker."

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