Read Online And Sometimes I Wonder About You by Walter Mosley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter Mosley
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wasn’t lost on me that I’d sat behind a desk all day long only to come home and pull up a chair at another table. Maybe I could invite Mardi and her sister to live with me.
When I was pouring the third drink I decided to call Marella. Somewhere in the afternoon I had picked up the phone and stared at her number. I realized that talking to her would just call for more passion—and I didn’t think I had any more to give. But saying good-bye to Mardi, thinking I should invite her to live with me, made Marella a necessity, not an option.
When I informed the hotel operator of my name she put the call through.
“Hello, Leonid.”
“Hey.”
“Are you downstairs again?”
“No. I’m home.”
“Do you want some company?”
“Who is Alexander Lett?”
“Who?”
“Alexander Lett. That’s the name of the guy I slammed into the wall yesterday.”
“I didn’t know his name. I couldn’t prove that he was sent by my ex. But he did follow me from DC.”
“And this all over an engagement ring?”
“Yes.”
“Why does it seem like more than that?”
“It’s a very, very expensive ring.”
“You called me this morning,” I said.
“As soon as I woke up.”
“What did you want?”
“You.”
“For protection?”
“I never had a man put me on his shoulders backward before.”
“That was my first time too.” I was feeling that beast thing again. I liked the heavy beat it brought to my heart.
“You want me to come over?” she asked. “Maybe I could ride you on my back this time.”
I once knew a man named Robin. He was a handsome man with beautiful eyes. For a while in the ’ 90s Robin was a source of information I used quite a lot. He always denied that he was what he was, a heroin addict.
I asked him one day after watching him shoot up, “How can you say you aren’t addicted when you shoot that shit in your arm every damn day?”
“Not every day,” he murmured, his eyes like twin planets bathed in the radiance of the sun. “Every once in a while when the hunger gets too strong I make myself wait for two days before takin’ it. As long as I can do that I keep my options open.”
“How about dinner tomorrow night?” I suggested to Marella, thinking of how Robin died of an overdose before the new millennium. “There’s a French place not far from your hotel. It’s called the Chambre du Roi.”
“Why not now?”
“I have to talk to a man I know,” I said. “His name is Robin and he always has good information for me.”
“Well, I guess if I have to…I’ll wait.”
There was a short spate of silence then, the kind of quiet that occurs when two strangers feel a passion in full bloom—what else is there to say? They have no history, only a future.
Marella was the wrong woman at the wrong time, but how long could I hope to survive anyway?
The buzzer from downstairs interrupted our communion.
“Somebody’s at the door,” I said.
“That Robin guy?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s the name of that restaurant again?”
“Chambre du Roi. I’ll make the reservation for eight.”
“Don’t stand me up,” she said.
“Not even if I could.”
We ended the call and I just sat there a little stunned by the teenaged hormones flooding my good sense.
The buzzer sounded again.
I walked down the hall to the foyer and pressed the onyx button on the brass-plated intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s your father, Trot.”
13
I pressed the button to release the lock eleven floors below, then opened the front door and went out into the hall. Standing there, I watched the digital number plate that the landlord had installed over the elevator doors on every floor. I preferred it when there was a pewter arrow that swung in an arc, pointing to copper numbers beaten into a black iron half-circle that had flames coming from it like it was a sun and the elevator car was some kind of spaceship.
The display was counting backward,
8, 7, 6, 5…
Trot.
That’s what he called me when I was a
When I was pouring the third drink I decided to call Marella. Somewhere in the afternoon I had picked up the phone and stared at her number. I realized that talking to her would just call for more passion—and I didn’t think I had any more to give. But saying good-bye to Mardi, thinking I should invite her to live with me, made Marella a necessity, not an option.
When I informed the hotel operator of my name she put the call through.
“Hello, Leonid.”
“Hey.”
“Are you downstairs again?”
“No. I’m home.”
“Do you want some company?”
“Who is Alexander Lett?”
“Who?”
“Alexander Lett. That’s the name of the guy I slammed into the wall yesterday.”
“I didn’t know his name. I couldn’t prove that he was sent by my ex. But he did follow me from DC.”
“And this all over an engagement ring?”
“Yes.”
“Why does it seem like more than that?”
“It’s a very, very expensive ring.”
“You called me this morning,” I said.
“As soon as I woke up.”
“What did you want?”
“You.”
“For protection?”
“I never had a man put me on his shoulders backward before.”
“That was my first time too.” I was feeling that beast thing again. I liked the heavy beat it brought to my heart.
“You want me to come over?” she asked. “Maybe I could ride you on my back this time.”
I once knew a man named Robin. He was a handsome man with beautiful eyes. For a while in the ’ 90s Robin was a source of information I used quite a lot. He always denied that he was what he was, a heroin addict.
I asked him one day after watching him shoot up, “How can you say you aren’t addicted when you shoot that shit in your arm every damn day?”
“Not every day,” he murmured, his eyes like twin planets bathed in the radiance of the sun. “Every once in a while when the hunger gets too strong I make myself wait for two days before takin’ it. As long as I can do that I keep my options open.”
“How about dinner tomorrow night?” I suggested to Marella, thinking of how Robin died of an overdose before the new millennium. “There’s a French place not far from your hotel. It’s called the Chambre du Roi.”
“Why not now?”
“I have to talk to a man I know,” I said. “His name is Robin and he always has good information for me.”
“Well, I guess if I have to…I’ll wait.”
There was a short spate of silence then, the kind of quiet that occurs when two strangers feel a passion in full bloom—what else is there to say? They have no history, only a future.
Marella was the wrong woman at the wrong time, but how long could I hope to survive anyway?
The buzzer from downstairs interrupted our communion.
“Somebody’s at the door,” I said.
“That Robin guy?”
“Maybe.”
“What’s the name of that restaurant again?”
“Chambre du Roi. I’ll make the reservation for eight.”
“Don’t stand me up,” she said.
“Not even if I could.”
We ended the call and I just sat there a little stunned by the teenaged hormones flooding my good sense.
The buzzer sounded again.
I walked down the hall to the foyer and pressed the onyx button on the brass-plated intercom.
“Yes?”
“It’s your father, Trot.”
13
I pressed the button to release the lock eleven floors below, then opened the front door and went out into the hall. Standing there, I watched the digital number plate that the landlord had installed over the elevator doors on every floor. I preferred it when there was a pewter arrow that swung in an arc, pointing to copper numbers beaten into a black iron half-circle that had flames coming from it like it was a sun and the elevator car was some kind of spaceship.
The display was counting backward,
8, 7, 6, 5…
Trot.
That’s what he called me when I was a
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