A Fairy Tale of New York (7 page)

The glass swan smashing down in the middle of the table. A book, vase and salt cellar bouncing off to the floor. Could be my life time wages. As she stands there wide eyed with joy.

''Well what do you know, it's strong. Try again.''

"I think I should be going, Mrs Sourpuss.''

''You 're not going to leave me.''

"I think I better start going home.''

''Don't leave me. Don't do that. Please.''

"I have to be at work and with the snow I'll have to get up early."

"I don't have anybody. Nobody. I'm just so god damn unhappy. I just never got what I wanted. Before I got too old. O jesus I'm crying. Am I crying. I guess I'm emotional. I didn't want it to get like this. Only up till a month ago I thought I was dying. And every god damn friend I had hoped like hell I was. I swear when I knew that, I swore I wouldn't god damn well die to please them. O jesus I'm crying. Don't leave me. I beg of you, Cornelius don't leave me. I'll do anything if you don't leave me."

"I won't leave."

"Just come here. Come on. The second you walked up to me in the funeral parlor I wanted you. Jesus you said is there anything I can do. I could have anybody. Anybody I want. Are you glad I want you."

''Well yes. I 'm glad you feel that way, Mrs Sourpuss.''

"Don't you do that don't you do it. Stop. Don't you ever call me Mrs Sourpuss again. I'm Fanny Jackson. Queen of the fucking may. Don't ever ever ever call me Mrs Sourpuss again. Ever."

"All right."

''Kiss me. Kiss me for christ 's sake.''

Mrs Sourpuss standing up on her sandalled toes. Ingrown with a nail, pained with a corn. Putting arms up around the neck of Christian. Widow and widower. Entwined. Squeaking and buzz from the record player. Her lips a parting soft big peach. Go deep down. Sinking. Little fissures. All the people wait. In the silence of the snow. Till it melts. Then they'll gather up their little pieces of paper and their envelopes. And come out again. Spend their late mornings and afternoons wandering from crapper to water cooler. Across the thousands and thousands of floors. Built up from the ground where I was born. In this city where I walked my frozen way to school. Stood mild and big eyed thinking you could reach out and touch the world and they wouldn't mind. And kids shoved me out of their games. And once. Just once. A man was kind to me. When I walked on small legs with a troubled fearful soul. Dressed the first time in beauty. With my hair combed, face washed wearing a little sailor suit. Standing on a broken piece of sidewalk. This tall man towering came up to me, smiled down and patted me gently and kindly on the head. And a whole new world began. Where I've looked for that smile ever since. Mrs Sourpuss I know what you mean. The heart spills out its diamonds. They lay awhile. Till other greeds come. To take them away. When the years make you hard. And you must pull them back. Tears dry. The precious moments keep. Safe stepping stones through soul poisoned faces. All my forty nine dollars wouldn't buy me a ride on a flea making a landing on your million dollar arse. But dead it could go to Vine. He'd get a feel without charge. Bargains galore. Here. Come this way. Where arses are dead.

"O god Cornelius I like your mouth. You're a baby. My poor baby. I've never had one and you're the kind I've always wanted. You really are. Talk. Goon. Talk. Say Fanny."

''I don't know what to say."

"Fanny, Fanny, god damn it call me Fanny, just once please."

"Fanny."

"Now did that hurt."

"No."

"Sorry about my tears, they dripped all the way down to my chin. Weren't the real tears of death. But of being horny as hell. Christ almighty I need a screw. Your boss Vine lays on everything a mourner needs. That's why you can't go. Because I'll put in a complaint. If you don't take your cock out. Right now.''

Fanny hanging herself like a cloth on Christian's chest, her mouth open, teeth glowing and arms languishing. Stepped out of her sandals. A bell clanging. A fire engine down below in the street. She must have been a package guys paid ransoms to unwrap. Cover by cover. Filling her vault with gold.

"Come on you big strong mortician, undertake me.''

By

The

Living

Cheeks

8

The morning bright blue with sky. Cold strong wind. Blowing and whistling outside the windows. Fanny's head back on a pillow, her hand stretched out upwards towards the ceiling. Her mouth open wide, snores sucked back in her throat and up her nose. Faintest darkness at the roots of her blond hair.

Fear and chill. A slit of window blows a breeze over a radiator clanking and tingling with heat. Nose and mouth dry. Clarance will be standing on the canary carpet. Like an admiral on the bridge of his ship. "Where I swab the decks. Court martialled for being late on watch. Sneak out of here while she's still asleep. Her foot sticking out of the covers. We tore loose last night. Get to work before I 'm out of a job.

Christian in a marble pink bathroom pulling on trousers over dangling shirt tails. Flushed my underwear drawers down Mrs Sourpuss's lavatory. They got stuck and the whole bowl filled up. Flooding all over the floor. Which is still wet. Beached in up to my shoulder to push the god damn rag down. Woke up through the night. In this room of mirrors. Once in a cold sweat. Heard the busy tone beeping on her phone under the bed. She said I'd like to keep you around lover boy. Make it worth your while. You've got such a marvelous twitching cock. Which was still in her while I fell asleep. And woke. As she lay there in my dream as a cold cadaver. A Vine assistant handing me a lubricant from the big shelf of chemicals. Said use this Mr Christian, we find it helps. And her teeth were dry and tongue was dead. Hanging out the side of her mouth. A pair of cold arms clanking round my neck. Till more noise of fire engines passed. Then she turned into Helen. And I lay clutching myself.

Close each door quietly. Tip toe along this hall. Hear someone down at the other end. In there the orange living room. She battered around. Nip out into this lobby. Table mirror and vase of plastic flowers. Little white pearl button to push. Hear the elevator coming. "What makes one want to run away so fast. From the horror of life. Back to the business of death. Which I may catch from cold on the way.

"Good morning to you now Mr Peabody. The city has never had the likes of such a snow storm. Did you see the fire last night. Just around the corner. Two alarms raging it was. Two people trapped seven firemen injured. You're not going out in the likes of that."

"Yes."

"You won't get two blocks. Without boots and an overcoat."

"I like the fresh air."

"You must be then an enthusiast.''

Christian leaping from track to track made along the snowy sidewalks. Eunning outright along the cleared stretches. And leaping the drifts at street corners. Heading downtown in a hurry. Past all the peeing dogs held by doormen out of rich Park Avenue entrances. Forty five minutes late. Both shoelaces undone. Hands too stiff and cold to tie them. Let Vine do the talking. Get him on the subject of his life which he loves to hear. My shoes will be sopping wet. My prick and balls frosted. And miserable countenance frozen.

Vine standing legs astride dead center of the lobby. His favourite spot. Arms folded behind his back. One eye squinting. His lips twisting his mouth back and forth. As I come at speed through the swing front double doors, pushing both open at once.

"Where the hell have you been. Look at the time.''

"Mr Vine. I guess it's the blizzard. I'm just not used to them."

"That's no reason to be running around like that. Get into my office. Before anyone sees you.''

Vine's hair standing up straighter than usual. Miss Musk looking out her office door. Tried to give her a little wave. To get a little friendship back. But my arm is paralysed with cold. Paper cup and carton of hot coffee on Vine's desk. The rolls of architects ' drawings on the floor.

''Ok you weren't on the ball yesterday and you're not on the god damn ball today. What the hell do you think this is here, some kind of rodeo. Why didn't you get back yesterday."

"The bereaved, Mr Vine, was in terror. She was frightened of her life."

"She was fine when she left here. She was even reading a god damn magazine.''

"Well things got worse at the cemetery.''

"Charlie said everything went according to plan and you went off with Mrs Sourpuss.''

"She asked me to. She was distressed.''

"Christian when the corpse is interred and you leave the gate of the cemetery your duty to the bereaved is over. And what the hell do you mean coming in here with your shoelaces undone, no overcoat, and god damn it, now two buttons missing. I take umbrage."

"All right Mr Vine, I don't blame you, take some umbrage."

"You don't blame me. Take umbrage. You bet I'll take umbrage. The way you've come crashing in here this morning in that state. Could lose me a generation of customers. Why didn't you get back here last night. I told you in a blizzard the suicides get high, didn 't you know that.''

"Yes."

''Well what the hell were you doing then.''

"Please don't shout Mr Vine. I know I'm late. I know I'm a little dishevelled. I know you've got a lot of suicides on your hands. But I'm just a victim too."

"Now cut that out. What do you take me for. Get on the ball. What do you want to do, end up pushing a hot dog stand. Plenty of room right at the end of this block if you want to be down and out in the gutter. But it breaks my heart to see someone like you go to waste. I gave you a chance here. Put you out front with a bit of responsibility. And what the hell do you do.''

"Mr Vine, please, don't relieve me of my duties."

"Give me one reason why not.''

''I saved the life of the bereaved. Prom an attacker.''

''Charlie never said a thing about an attacker.''

"It happened after.''

"What do you mean after.''

"After the cemetery. There was a confrontation."

''How. You were in her car.''

"Well there just was, I mean I guess he could have attacked out in the snow. But he attacked inside.''

"The car."

"No."

"Where."

"A building."

"Now cut out the bilge Christian, I want the facts and I want them now. Or I dispense with your services.''

"O christ Mr Vine, I was in some kind of a roadhouse I guess."

"A roadhouse."

"Mr Vine, please, your saying the word like that makes me nervous. Well maybe it wasn't a roadhouse. The architecture was very late Georgian.''

"In two seconds Christian I'm going to call up Mrs Sourpuss."

"Please, that's not necessary. I'll give you every fact. When the husband jumped us.''

"The husband, Christian, if you remember at all, was in his casket."

''It was her second husband, the one before this dead one.''

"You mean the deceased.''

"Yes, well Mrs Sourpuss was getting in a terrible state over the death."

"Hogwash."

"I mean it Mr Vine it really hit her in the haggis. She begged me to get her a bottle of whiskey. She had a few drinks. I assisted her going up the steps. I preserved her dignity. You can ask Charlie. There was no tripping or anything like that. But she said whatever you do don't leave me alone. Mr Vine as you know I'm new at this. I wanted to do my best. I thought I was to use my own judgement.''

"Not to end up in a roadhouse you weren't. Mr Sourpuss was a multimillionaire. Newspaper reporters might have been there. Could ruin me. A member of my staff in a roadhouse with the next of kin of the deceased. God damn ruin me.'' next of kin of the deceased. God damn '' Don't get upset Mr. Vine."

"Upset. Standing out there waiting for you. Sending a car last night to where you live and your landlady spitting in the driver's face. At the mention of your name. Don't get upset.''

"Ok, all right. Fire me. I'll pay for Helen's funeral somehow. I'll shovel snow. But I'll tell you one thing, Mr Vine, you'll get every single penny I owe you. I ran all the way here. Coatless through the freezing cold just to get to work as soon as I could."

"Sit down Christian, sit down. Now listen to me. I've got to rely on people. I'll lean over backwards to give you a break. Because you're one of the most quality people I've ever met. But look at the way you're dressed this morning. You've let me down. Twice."

Somber glistening eyes of Vine. See the world out beyond. His kingdom. Stands in his vestibule waiting. One by one they become his citizens. Into his hands commit their flesh. Each anointed by his sadness. Each by green and candle light laid softly in satin. His loneliness invites you. Come. Take your rest.

"Cornelius I go home at night. Sit at my kitchen table. It's cracked and chipped, made of porcelain. A container of milk sits there. And a piece of crumb cake. Sometimes my daughter comes in from doing her homework. I think over the day's happenings. She might stand next to my shoulder. Feel her hair on my cheek. Just like her mother's used to be. When she cooked, and I came up to kiss her, a smudge of flour on her nose. That woman was all of my life. The tears of her death run dripping inside me every day. She made pie crusts on that table. And just to have my hand there touching where I knew hers had been. I loved that woman I loved her.''

Vine's eyes brimming with tears. He turns his bent head away. Leans over the edge of his desk. His fingers spread. Each gleaming nail with its moon tip of white. Soft cloth of his suit stretched across his back. Whine and whirr of a snow plow passing in the street. A strain of music.

"I'm sorry Christian. It just gets me that's all. I don't know what to do with you. If I ask you any more questions I know the answers are going to get worse. I'd like us to be friends. Not only because we've both lost our dearest one and we have a bond in that but because I see a vision of greatness in you. This business I've got to run. It's my life. Up at six every morning. I drive by each premises. Just to see if there's been a fire or something. I'm not finished till late at night. And then see that bag, my lunch is in that. Sandwiches I make before I go to bed. I earned my first pennies when I buried a friend's pet bird. Charged him seven cents. Even offered him a choice of cigar or shoe box. He picked the cheaper shoe box. I painted it black and dyed cotton wool with some of my mother's bluing. It's the only thing I ever wanted to do."

"Mr Vine could I trouble you for a little coffee.''

''Sure you can. There's plenty. And we'll send out if you need more."

"Thank you. Thank you very much.''

"You 're welcome Christian.''

Vine picking up the ringing phone. Cushioning it to his ear with his shoulder. Holding a pad on his desk with one hand and writing with the other. The little quiet murmurs of his voice. And Miss Musk at the door. Same brown dress, her hair swept up on the back of her head. Giving me a weak sour smile. Nobody likes me much this morning. Lose this job and ask Mrs Sourpuss for a loan. She stuck her tongue nearly down my throat. Friendlier than a bank would be.

Vine replacing phone. Writes another few words on his pad. Miss Musk leaning forward, her hand caught around the door jamb. Her ears are small. The muscles flex in her calves. She stands in her patent leather high heels and walks pigeon toed. As a kid I thought it was the very latest way to run. Till I fell on my face.

"Mr Vine sorry to interrupt you and Mr Christian but the west side branch is sold out.''

''You mean fully reserved Miss Musk.''

"Yes I guess I do mean that. They want to know if we can take two more, with no facial problems, starting seven this evening."

''Christian are you free tonight.''

"Yes sir, I am. Absolutely.''

"Ok take them Miss Musk. The Mario funeral will leave at two thirty. It could be bad out in South Queens. I'll have to get over to the west side myself.''

"Very good Mr Vine. I'll catch a bite to eat around five or if Mr Christian would prefer I could bring something in for both of us."

"That ok with you Christian. There won't be time for lunch."

"Yes sir."

"Miss Musk take Cornelius, see what you can do about his shoes. Those pants could be pressed too.''

''Certainly Mr Vine. Would you come this way, Mr Christian.''

"And Cornelius. Stay on the ball."

"Yes sir, Mr Vine."

Christian following Miss Musk as she beckons him out. Downing the coffee. Following her past her office. And the chapel. Woman stands in the entrance handkerchief to her face. Byes and nose red. Black veil over her black hair. Man behind her with his hand on her shoulder. Gang of children in the chapel seats. Three nuns kneeling in the last pew. Two more mourning faces pass by, eyes fearful and staring. We go this way. That door again to the cadavers. And the fire fighting equipment. How do I say to Miss Musk don't take me back in there. But we go to a different door.

''This way Mr Christian, you 've been here before.''

"No."

"Are you all right."

"Yes. I'm fine."

"This is the store room where supplies are kept. The laying out room is attached to the embalming room through a corridor there. Mr Vine likes to keep this door locked at all times. Mourners walk out with anything that isn't chained down. They unscrewed all the imported antique crystal door knobs we had. Do you have any preference in the fabric of your socks."

"Wool if possible."

"We have silk too if that might be your preference.''

"No, wool's swell."

Miss Musk's dress rising on the backs of her muscular legs as she bends over a large drawer. Pulled out from under a shelf with compartments across the wall. Two open caskets stand on trestles, one lined in purple the other in crimson. Shoes, shirts, suits. Whole place like a naval store room. If there's silk around ask Miss Musk for a pair of undershorts. What a time to get another hard on. Unrestrained by an undergarment. She's bound to see it.

"These should fit. What size shoe are you.''

''O nine. But I 'm a double A in width.''

Miss Musk holding a dark pair of shoes. Bather pointed in the toes. With a sprinkling of those natty little holes. The kind guys wear on the executive ladder to step on the fingers below. Just bend over slightly. Must never point. An organ. Or she might take it like an insult. When I only mean it as a joy.