When You Don't See Me (31 page)

“Yeah, that's chill,” Roberto said.

“You and I also have something to do today.”

“It's my day off. It's cold. I'm going nowhere,” he said.

“All those Saturday mornings you've dragged my ass out of here to run errands with you? Payback time.”

“Kendra!” he yelled. “Phone!”

It took about a minute before she emerged and stood in the doorway squinting at us. She was wearing thermal underwear, a sweatshirt, and several pairs of socks. She clumsily pushed her bangs out of her eyes and looked around. “Whose…which…what phone?”

“Oh yeah,” Roberto said. “We don't have a phone, do we? Hey, could you turn on that heater?”

“Okay.” She turned on the heater and headed for the bathroom.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Roberto said.

“Shooting fish in a barrel.”

“What a stupid phrase. Who shoots fish? And what if you shot a hole in the barrel? It just sounds like a bad idea all around. Much like leaving the apartment with you. Where are we going?”

“I'm not sure,” I said. “All I have is an address from Gwendy. She wanted us to meet her around one. That's the extent of my information.”

“She probably wants something heavy lifted,” Roberto said.

“That's so sexist.”

“I know. Just because I'm a guy—”

“I mean that you'd imply Gwendy couldn't lift shit for herself.”

“Stop dodging the subject,” Roberto said. “Jisella offered you a job. But your uncle said you can work for him, and you know he'd pay you better than Wamsley & Wilkes, and probably better than Jisella. It'll be a while before she's making good money. Not to mention that a huge percentage of new businesses fail. Why aren't you jumping at Blaine's offer?”

“What makes you think Uncle Blaine's new business won't fail?” The look he gave me made me say, “Right. He's like his ugly cat, Dexter. He'll always land on his feet. I don't know if I want to leave Wamsley & Wilkes. I like my job. I've learned a lot from the designers and the craftsmen. Craftspeople,” I corrected myself. “What would I do for Blaine? I'm not qualified for more than what I'm doing with Isaiah. Blaine'll expect me to go back to school, get a degree in something. But I'm happiest when I'm working with Jisella. Making stuff. Maybe it's not art the way you or Blythe or Melanie create art. I guess it's closer to what Dennis Fagan does. A trade.”

“Then take the job with Jisella.”

“But maybe I
should
go back to school. Maybe there's stuff I need to learn that Jisella can't teach me. I don't know. I don't feel like figuring it out right now.”

Roberto stared at me, like he was trying to decide if I was holding something back. I'd been asking myself the same question. I should be excited about all these opportunities coming at me. I wasn't sure why I wasn't. Maybe it was a simple case of not wanting to let Blaine down, but also not wanting to work for him. I wondered if my father or Uncle Wayne disliked working for my grandfather. I couldn't work for Grandpa Dunhill; he was a bastard. Blaine was nothing like that, but if I ever worked with him, I'd want to be on equal footing. Which meant my options were a degree in advertising or business. Either possibility made me want to run screaming in the other direction.

“You're right. There's no reason you have to decide now,” Roberto conceded. “You've got a job you enjoy, working with people you like. That's basically where I am.”

I'd have believed him except for the Gretchen mural. I wondered if he believed himself.

Roberto yawned, swung himself over me, and said, “Sweet Jesus, it's cold. I hope Kendra remembered to turn on the bathroom heater.”

 

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Roberto asked.

The two of us stared at some kind of institutional building a couple stories tall. Weeds were growing through cracks in the sidewalks around the building. There was razor wire on top of the chain-link fence that went around the property. Nonetheless, vandals had found their way in. The yellow brick was tagged with gang graffiti. Most of the building's windows were broken.

I looked at the slip of paper I was carrying and said, “This is the address she gave me.”

There were apartment buildings in the area that looked occupied, but other than a few delis and some pawnshops, there weren't many open businesses. I wasn't sure if they were closed permanently or because of the weekend. It should have been a busy day for Christmas shopping. I tried to convince myself it was just cold weather keeping the sidewalks empty.

“Maybe I should call her,” I said. “She could have written it down wrong.”

As I reached for my cell phone, Roberto said, “Too late. I don't know who you pissed off, but Tony Soprano's here.”

I whipped around to see a black Cadillac Escalade with darkly tinted windows stopped at the curb. Gwendy jumped out of the back, saying, “I know. I'm late. I'm sorry.”

But I was already moving past her toward the man who climbed out after her. He grabbed me in a big hug and said the same thing he always said. “Are you taller? You seem taller.”

I held on like a drowning man until I heard Adam say, “Do you two want to use the backseat?”

Jeremy and I pulled apart. I hugged Adam, then glanced past him to Blythe as she lit a cigarette and said, “Nice digs, Gwendy.”

“Yeah, what do you guys think of my new place?” Gwendy asked, looking from the building to me and then to Roberto.

“You gave up legal aid to become a crack whore?” Roberto asked. “Is this your pimp's car?”

“It's my uncle Mario's car,” Jeremy said.

Blythe took a long drag off her cigarette and rattled the gate. “Do you have a key for this?”

Gwendy tossed her a key chain. As Blythe began working at the padlock, Gwendy said, “This was originally an elementary school. It was built in 1935, when people knew how to construct buildings that lasted.”

“Too bad,” I said, giving the building a critical look.

“Over the years,” Gwendy went on in a cheery tone, “it was also repainted with lead-based paint. There's asbestos in some of the plaster, too.”

“Bought yourself a Superfund site, huh?” Adam asked with his killer smile. Roberto smiled, too, as he looked at Adam.

“How come even straight guys fall all over him?” I muttered.

“Bitterness doesn't go with your hair color,” Jeremy said. “Men, women, children, dogs, and Mary Tyler Moore. I've seen him melt them all.”

Blythe finally won her battle with the lock. The others seemed to know where they were going, so Roberto and I followed them after exchanging a clueless glance. Adam took the keys from Blythe and opened a lock on the front door of the building.

“Don't expect much,” Gwendy said, as if she needed to let us down gently. “Except for vagrants, the building hasn't been used for fifteen years.”

The sun, muted by filthy windows, provided the only light. But it was enough to see the grime and debris of years of neglect. Some rooms were empty. Others were piled high with broken or scarred children's desks.

While Adam and Gwendy talked, using phrases like “adaptive reuse” and “smart growth,” I listened in mystified silence. Blythe wandered in and out of sight as she looked around, sometimes nodding or talking to herself.

“Fortunately, it's not really a Superfund or Brownfield site,” Gwendy commented as she began leading us down a hallway. “It took me over a year to negotiate a price and establish a timeline that included tax deferrals. Now we're finally ready to start. Beginning with the removal of the asbestos and lead paint. Some of the rooms will have to be gutted down to—”

“You're restoring the building?” Roberto asked.

“Restoring, reclaiming,” Gwendy said with a nod.

“What are you going to do with it?” I asked.

Gwendy stopped and turned back to us. “Do you remember a school project you two did with Melanie? You had to design a Manhattan-themed mural for a fictitious hotel lobby.” Roberto and I nodded. “You were working on it at Blaine's one night when Gretchen was there with Emily. When she came home, she told me she'd figured something out while she was watching you.”

“What was that?” Jeremy asked. The sadness in his dark eyes reminded me that like Daniel and Martin, he'd been friends with Gretchen long before the rest of us met her.

“She said there are always organizations to try to meet the physical needs of kids. Immunization and school lunch programs. New mentoring groups are developed all the time to fill in educational gaps. Churches take care of kids' spiritual needs. But that night made her think there was something she called a
soul hunger
that went neglected. A child's need for a creative outlet. Whether it was painting, acting, dancing, writing, culinary arts—which was Gretchen's hobby—she thought directing kids' energy that way would keep more of them from falling through the cracks.”

“I'm proof of that,” Roberto said.

“It's the basis for my work,” Jeremy said.

Gwendy looked at him and said, “I think what you do for gay and lesbian teens is great. A huge percentage of the homeless kids and runaways I've helped through legal aid are kicked out by their families because of their sexual orientation. Unfortunately, they're not the only marginalized children. Even little kids are victims of poverty, language barriers, or racism.”

“And disease,” I said. “I remember when I used to go with Gretchen to rock babies who had AIDS.”

“She had a genius for making money, but children were her passion,” Gwendy said. She waved her arms. “This is the future Gretchen Schmidt Center. It's going to feed that soul hunger she saw in children. Much like your high school, it's going to be a place where creativity is encouraged and developed. At low or no cost, because it will be fully funded by the Gretchen Schmidt Foundation.”

“How long can that last?” Roberto asked. He seemed to think his question sounded bad and hastily added, “Your intentions are good, but it sounds like something that will take a lot of money.”

“I understand why you'd ask,” Gwendy said. “I'm not depending on only Gretchen's money for this. I've got donations and sponsorships from individuals and corporations. I've been working on this for two years.”

“A center like this wouldn't just serve children,” Adam mused. “It could help revitalize the neighborhood.”

“That's what I'm hoping,” Gwendy said. She looked at me. “It was great hearing you talk about how much you like living in East Harlem. I stopped thinking I could save the world a long time ago. But I look at you and your friends, and it makes me believe that you've got what it takes to make things better.”

“I think anyone who knew Gretchen will want to help with this,” Blythe said. “I know I do. I'll be glad to paint or teach. Anything.”

I saw Adam and Jeremy exchange a glance, and Adam said, “I wonder if it's safe to check out the second floor.”

When he nudged Blythe toward a set of stairs, Gwendy motioned for Roberto and me to stay back with her. After the others were out of earshot, she said, “I had a reason for wanting you two here today. I have a good legal mind and a great team of experts advising me. But I don't have an artistic bone in my body. I need the two of you. It can be as long as two years before the building is toxic-free and ready. Nick, I know you have contacts through Wamsley & Wilkes who could manage this project correctly. But I want to start connecting with the surrounding community, too. I want the highest possible number of neighborhood people helping get this off the ground. That's where you come in,” she said to Roberto.

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Can I be completely honest?” Gwendy asked.

She made me nervous. I wondered if she was going to say something about the Gretchen mural we'd found. I felt like I should have talked to Roberto about it first.

When he nodded, she said, “I don't want people in the neighborhood to think this is just a bunch of guilty white liberals coming in and trying to dictate things. This is primarily a Latino community. I want a hands-on liaison. From the time the construction fence goes up around the site, I want someone to engage kids, teens, old people, or anyone else in painting it. Considering your talent, your love for street art—”

“My rap sheet,” Roberto said.

Gwendy laughed and said, “When the building's ready for cosmetic work, I want every hall, every wall painted in murals. Somebody will need to plan and manage that. To provide creative input. To figure out ways to make it reflect and involve the community. I think you're that person.”

“I have a job,” Roberto said. He gave Gwendy an intense stare and said, “With benefits. I can't give up benefits like my health insurance.”

The expression that crossed her face—a mixture of comprehension and sadness—disappeared so fast that I wondered if I'd imagined it.