Her letter wasn't long. It read differently each time.
It was polite. He tried to gauge a tone from it.
He stole a notebook, a pen, eventually got home, fell asleep wet from a long drowsy shower.
***
After two lousy interviews, he sat in the cafe. When he left, he realized he'd been waiting for Vera. He called her up, didn't leave a message when she didn't answer.
She called back, but he wasn’t in the mood to talk, anymore.
He didn't sleep, worked on a poem, was a little drunk when Blake woke up in the morning. He stayed in his room until he heard Blake leave.
He blind called listings from the phonebook and a hotel said he could fill out an application. He hadn't verified they had an available position, but rode the train out half an hour, regardless.
He thought of something for a poem, forgot it by the time he got off the train.
***
Despite Blake insisting it didn't matter, Leo wrote a check out for rent.
-You'll be broke, man. It's not like I think you're scamming me.
-It’s alright. You might have to float me next month, you know? Don't get comfy.
Blake left a fresh pack of cigarettes on the counter, a note on it that said You don't owe me for these and you’d better smoke them. He smoked one right away.
Then to the movies, to the café, to the movies.
Having difficulty getting to sleep, he worked on a poem. When it was done, he read it a few times. He sort of wondered what some of it meant. Odd distraction built in him until he slept.
He took it as a good sign that the hotel had hired him despite his open admission of the reason he'd been terminated from his last job. The position didn't start for two weeks, but he felt comfortable, already had the uniform hanging in his closet and a nametag. He bought new shoes and got a haircut.
In the throes of his good mood, he agreed to attend a poetry reading of a friend of Vera's. She went on and on how it was exciting because it was just her friend reading for an entire forty minutes and she explained what a coup the venue was.
viii.
Vera was dressed up, so he was glad he’d at least worn a sweater. They got to the place early, a claustrophobic bookstore cafe. Leo was introduced to people, some of who corrected him that they’d met before when he spoke as though it was a first encounter.
Before he noticed that at least wine was being served, a squat young man told him I’ve liked your stuff that I've read. Leo smiled, not wanting to consider this.
Vera pulled him over, introduced him to Vince, the poet who would be reading. Vince gave Vera's neck a kiss before getting caught up in another conversation.
Vera looked apologetically at Leo, who raised his glass, grinning in a way he knew must've seemed peculiar.
***
Vince and several others, quoting all sorts of things, had a long debate about the necessity of working with an editor. Because he'd been reading and some other famous people had also read in the cafe, Vince had some authority, his points deferred to.
Leo was drunk, keeping quiet. He had to use the bathroom for the third time in an hour, disguised it as going outside for a smoke. A minute into his cigarette, two guys and a girl came out, lighting theirs, asking him if he thought Vince was just a Yeats wannabe.
-That or just an asshole, Leo said, excusing himself to go back inside.
***
Leo promised Blake he’d pay him back everything as he left for his first shift. He took the train out early, lingered across the street from the hotel.
Vera called him for the twentieth time in a week and he finally answered, just to put on that he couldn’t talk because he was at work.
-You got a job?
-Yeah, I'm a hotel man now. I start in like five minutes.
She wanted to know when he got off and could she stop by. He used the fact it was his first day to say No.
He was just walking in the door when the person who was to train him stepped out for a smoke.
-Most important part of the job. You smoke right?
viiii.
The lengths of his poems seemed to bloat over the course of his first week at work. He was in love with them, but the sudden fluency of thought to page was odd. He wrote a short one on the train home one night after a late shift, but then he didn't sleep and by morning it was eight pages, almost two hundred lines.
He wasn’t at all certain he should send another book to Lea. She'd mentioned a boyfriend. He'd not even replied to her letter with a letter. She'd not followed up on him. He'd included address, included telephone number, not able to stop himself.
***
Training at the hotel moved along. Mostly, he was on his own, told there was a binder if something came up and if the binder failed, supervisors numbers were on a list.
The job was simple. He leaned over the desk most of his shift, writing or thinking about it.
There were about two dozen long-term guests. One woman called Anna couldn't get her total bill one week so he said he'd fudge around with the system. All he actually did was pay the difference out of his pocket.
Some days, Anna would be visited by her two kids. He'd find his attention would wander, he'd stare at the elevator, hoping she'd come out.
***
His favorite part of the job was the inspection after housekeeping finished for the day. He’d walk the corridor at a saunter. It was intoxicating to stand in empty rooms, he hardly bothered to see if the proper soap had been left, the right amount of forks in the drawers, any of it.
He could spend most of an evening shift smoking cigarettes and became acquainted with two of the employees at the gas station just next door. He bought marijuana from them and made it his habit to smoke down half a joint in the trash enclosure before leaving for the day, a whole joint when he left at night.
***
Over the course of a week, he recopied out all the poems he considered his new collection into a stolen notebook. He wrapped it up, addressed it to Lea and hesitated about using his address or a phony one, this time. Lea would likely guess from the size and feel of the package what it was. Even if her boyfriend saw the book, Leo hadn’t put his name in it, she could say whatever she wanted. He thought about including a fake note, as though it was from some old female friend of Lea’s, but then thought this might put Lea off, make her think he was after something strange.
x.
There was a cat on the kitchen counter when Leo left his room for a drink. It was four in the morning, so he couldn't ask about it. When he reached to touch its head, it swiped at him, jumped down, vanished.
In the morning, some girl he assumed was Blake's new lover was dressed in jogging clothes sitting on the sofa, the cat splayed across her lap.
Leo introduced himself and before the girl could reciprocate Blake came in with the mail, also dressed for jogging.
-This is Leo, I told you about him. Leo, this is Lana.
Leo nodded and Lana, scrunching fingers on its belly, letting it dig all its claws to her arm, introduced the cat as Orville.
***
He leaned to the wall by the dumpster, taking the last drags off his joint. The night auditor was well aware of Leo's habit, kept quiet provided Leo shared. The two of them were chatting when Vera walked in.
Ten minutes into their walk, she apologized for just showing up. He shrugged it off, asking did she smoke.
-Smoke? she asked, tilted voice, grin obvious.
They ducked in between a Laundromat and a restaurant, Leo sure to let her take two hits for his one.
-Vince doesn’t smoke she said, still holding in a drag.
-Vince sounds like a real queer.
She laughed abruptly, coughing on the exhalation.
Leo patted her vaguely on the back, hushing sounds, fingers to his lips between pats.
***
-Do you have any pornography? Vera asked him.
-He was just returning from having a piss against a w
all. No.
-Anything? Magazine or movie?
-No, I really don't.
He didn't ask her why, but she explained that when she was high she found the sight of people having sex beautiful.
-It doesn't turn me on, it's just incredibly beautiful to look at.
He smoked another full joint when he got home and put on one of the three porn films he'd owned for years, volume nearly mute. It was hypnotic, like nothing else. It was as if he'd never viewed the film, was seeing something foreign and immediately knowing it. Shoulders and hands pressing arms tight while the lovers kissed amazed him.
***
He'd been asleep an hour when his phone rang. He waited to hear if a message was left. When it started ringing again, he answered.
-I know I woke you up, is that alright?
-Sure, he rolled onto his back, turned the television on for light. The porn was still playing and he squinted at it, trying to acclimate his vision.
He realized he didn't understand what Vera was saying, but that she'd been talking for several minutes.
Before he could interrupt, she stopped. The line stayed silent, a moment. He shut off the film.
-I just wrote that, Vera finally said.
He couldn't see the ceiling above him, but tried to.
-Read it again, he said.
Like she'd been waiting for that, she began.
xi.
The day off, no interest in anything, he wandered around the city. Leaning against the wall outside of a shop, he smoked. Lea's younger sister happened by. He stiffened, certain he'd been seen. But she got to the crosswalk, to the other side of the street, into a restaurant.
When she left, exiting with three people she must've met inside, he arranged it to appear that he was on his way someplace, greeted her pleasantly with a hug. The friends were introduced, they all had cigarettes, Lea's sister telling him about a trip she'd taken abroad.
-You've been to Italy, right?
He shook his head, shrugged when she said she'd really thought he had.
Not even a mention of Lea's name.
***
Though a few weeks had passed since he'd told Anna he'd fudged her room rate, he still got tense on the day the room would be charged, again. If she told another clerk he'd said that, felt it was some leverage she could use, he'd likely get written up. Even if he just came out with the truth, it’d be just as bad, worse.
Around ten at night, Anna came off the elevator holding laundry.
-Do you only work at night, now?
-Nights and days.
-I never see you.
-Oh, I'm around.
She'd set down her hamper to talk, took it back up.
He hoped she'd glance back to see if he was watching her, hoped she thought he was.
***
He braced himself to tell her not to mention about the payment thing. Trying to get at it delicately, he said I need to ask you something.
-Are you asking me to dinner?
-He paused, an honest stammer. I wasn't, no. Not that I wouldn't ask, but no.
-She laughed in a kind of obtuse way. Well, that's probably best. I'm old enough to be your mom.
He animated himself, said it was true, though she was pretty enough to be his sister.
He didn't feel awkward until she’d gone, wondered how it’d come across, tried several equally dubious phrases out. Young enough to be my sister. Pretty enough to be your daughter.
He’d walked five blocks past the train without realizing it.
***
Blake had left out a bottle of wine with a Thank you card attached. Leo had paid the entire months rent without telling Blake, forgot he’d left the receipt around.
Orville had somehow gotten into his room, was asleep on his desk chair. He stood in something wet, cringed, but it was just coffee from a cup the cat must’ve overturned.
He slept.
He slept in.
Laying in bed, he heard Blake come home, knock on his door cautiously. He at first thought it was to get the cat, but Blake didn’t try the door. A few minutes later, he listened to a violently angry telephone conversation, heard Blake sitting on the sofa sobbing for ten minutes after.
xii.
There was an envelope with a thick poetry journal called Pocketful Of Scoundrel on top of it left on the counter.
Leo started some microwave sandwiches, forgot about them, had a shower. Dressed to head to a movie before work, he remembered the food, eating it cold, drinking cold coffee, leafing through the journal.
Blake’s name was in the table of contents, three pieces featured. He took a sip of coffee, nodding a little congratulations.
Then he saw his name.
Two pieces listed.
He ignored the journal for twenty minutes, looping the apartment, then looked. It was infuriating. He pounded on Blake’s door, just to be certain he wasn’t home. Then he pounded on it and kicked it, hurt his foot.
***
Pocketful of Scoundrel was right where he’d left it on the floor when he got home.
-Hey Blake? he calmly asked, tapping on the door.
The poems credited to him were his work, but they weren’t. They were just scribbles, he didn’t even know why anyone thought they were poems. Titled with just the first lines, ugly, idiotic.
Blake wasn’t in all night. At three in the morning or so, he heard Orville scratching at the inside of Blake’s door, let the cat out, checked to make sure it had water and food.
He hesitated between getting high or drunk on wine, decided the wine would be better, drank half a bottle and went out for a walk.
***
It wasn’t until he was home from work the following night he was able to confront Blake. It was a blurt, unsettling even himself. Blake was furious at him for being angry.
-Take it up with your weirdo girlfriend, alright?
-What do you mean?
-Vera’s idea, man, I just passed the stuff along.
-Vera’s a moron. Vera is an idiot, Blake.
Blake really started screaming, so much that Leo shut himself in his room, Blake continuing his rant at the door.
When Leo left, bundled in his coat, Blake was sitting quietly on the sofa, hand to face, said quietly Nobody cares about your poetry, Leo. Get over yourself.
He’d forgotten his wallet, didn’t want to back up for it.
***
He left a short, vicious message on Vera’s phone. He’d rehearsed it, whittled it down to the perfect, abstract stab. That calmed him down.
Immediately, he regretted it. He couldn’t conceive of her ever wanting to see him again after hearing it.
But then again, he was still mad at her, and through that filter imagined her as a little leech who’d certainly come sucking up to him. He wished he’d added into his message that he wasn’t her housecat and that he thought she was a big pretender.
Soon he was completely out of steam and it was far enough into the morning that people were around and he felt very out of place.
xiii.
Anna asked if he got a lunch break.
-Sure.
She said she was going to the store, did he want her to make him a steak.
-Since we didn’t do dinner, I thought I could make you lunch.
Leo was slightly confused by the dinner remark, but didn’t care.
When his break came, he was antsy, had to be very round about in going to her room, figured he shouldn’t be seen. She opened the door for him, but was on the telephone, pointed to the sofa with true crime paperbacks piled on it.
He glanced at the microwave clock, but the display only showed that something had been taken out with twelve seconds left to cook.
***
She cooked the steak almost raw, talking about her phone call. He was glad she spoke about some situation going on in her life rather than making small talk or leaving him to.
He insisted on cleaning up, she leaning to the little counter while he di
d. She rubbed a tightness in her shoulder and he asked if she wanted him to massage her neck. Like referencing something off topic, she said she didn’t have any massage oil.
-Wouldn’t olive oil work? he asked half joking, no idea if the question was ludicrous or not.
Her phone rang. She said I have an idea before answering it, handing him the olive oil bottle.
She talked on the phone in the bathroom ten minutes.
***
-No matter how much you want to, you can’t kiss me she said from the bathroom door.
She moved to the bed, wearing only panties, soft white, slight pattern of green, nothing meant to allure, arm covering her breasts.
Leo smoothed oil into her, lost in the realization that this was the first time he’d been in the presence of an unclothed woman, not a girl. Her stature, even her posture prone was striking, a captivation he couldn’t describe. He wanted to say You’re beautiful, but was uncertain.
She reacted no differently to his hands cupped over her inner thighs than over her shoulder blades.
She fell asleep quickly and he continued the massage, didn’t wake her when he had to return to his shift.
***
That entire night, into the following afternoon he fixated on Anna, contented to talk to himself about her, listen to himself as though someone else. He couldn’t describe her. His language was designated for girls. Anna wasn’t as skinny as Vera, for example, but wasn’t fatter, wasn’t older looking than Lea, nothing that had a name. She was another animal, a reference to itself.
By the canal, shivering with cigarette, he said to himself she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen and Thing seemed the correct word. She shouldn’t have anything to do with him. He didn’t understand what she did.
He saw her that night, stepping off the elevator to get her kids. She smiled, widened her eyes. He nodded, closed his.