“Hey,” I asked Jamie, “do you want to get drunk?” The truth was, I didn’t want to play pinball. But it suddenly occurred to me, there in the middle of the Port Authority Bus Terminal, surrounded by all the alcoholics and junkies, prostitutes and petty thieves, that I would much, much rather get smashed, completely and totally blotto, than play pinball or bowl or anything else. It had been, after all, the original idea. I was picturing Beth, her cute shoulders in the flickering movie-light. I kept seeing her hand resting there in the dark of her lap, that creamy skin. That fucking bitch.
Jamie started, “I don’t really—”
“Oh, come on, Jamie,” I cut her off, “a couple of belts won’t hurt you.”
She hesitated, then she said, all resignedly, “All right.”
I gave her a smile. Nervously, she smiled back, her teeth pointy and green. “This way,” I said. I led her over to the Port Authority Bowling Center Snack Bar and ordered a couple of beers. When they came, I toasted Jamie, downed my whole cup, and asked the derelict behind the counter for another round. He served them in big waxy-paper cups, and it was cold, straight from the tap, deliciously numbing. “A couple more of these,” I said, “and then I know a fabulous place on Tenth.”
Jamie belched. And throughout the evening, amazingly, she kept up beer for beer. After a while, it became shot for shot. It was pretty funny seeing her drink that way. Big, fat girl there knocking them back with me — little skinny guy at some terrible bar in New York’s most depraved part of town. There was something about the drinking and that, you know, that it was Jamie, my assistant, that made me relax, let me rest it a bit. I did forget Beth. And not just in the usual way I forget a girl, like I said, not just that I made myself not care anymore. I honestly and truly wasn’t thinking about Beth at all. I was looking at Jamie and I was seeing into her squinty eyes and her puffy cheeks, and it came to me in the midst of this drunken stupor that nothing mattered anymore, she knew, I could tell her anything, that I could offer my body to her, eyes closed, palms out, I could explain. I told her about Nicole. We slid into the wooden bench of a booth in the back of that seedy place, and I relayed the story of how I sat in the pool watching the light and how my grandmother pulled Nicole out of the water, her body limp and blue. It came out of me like a wound gushing. Jamie opened up too, telling me her life story, that there was this guy in her high school, she was so incredibly in love with him, but he was gay, blah blah blah. And it’s like, it’s like something amazing happened. It’s like I was watching. I mean, I was doing it, I was there, with Jamie, in the bar, on the hard wooden bench with all the names scratched onto it, but I was also very far away. My true self was up around the ceiling, far up, just watching. And I could see myself sitting there. And I could see huge Jamie, and she was just a tiny, little, infinitesimal speck.
(click)
This is a picture I took of a pile of garbage. I use it to illustrate what Jamie’s apartment was like. Hell, it was practically a closet. It was decorated like a teenage girl’s bedroom, too, with pop music and movie posters lining the walls, audiotapes and compact discs piled so high they practically reached the ceiling. As far as furniture goes, this place had just enough room for one double mattress. I watched as we fumbled together onto it. It smelled sour. These huge sweatshirts and skirts she wore were heaped all over. She pushed a pile off her bed so we could sit on it, and she turned off the light. As if from that far-off vantage point, I saw the two of us kissing sloppily. I looked through the darkness and held witness as we rolled around on her unwashed bedclothes. I soared away to an even greater distance when I saw myself unbuttoning my shirt. And when I saw her peel off her clothes, unbundling that sweatshirt, twisting off that skirt, I retreated even farther in the recesses of the ceiling. I saw her folds of flesh from two places, from my eyes which were stupid and drunken, and from somewhere else, up above, far off, sickened. “I love you, Kevin,” Jamie was saying. “I’ve always loved you.” She was sort of crying.
“Yes,” I heard myself say, my hands caressing her immense breasts, “Yes, I know. It’s okay. I know everything.”
Then she started calling me “Kev-ee.”
(click)
This is Jean. Forgotten after a long, hot bath.
(click)
This is Fiona. I forgot her by going to a nightclub.
(click)
I forgot Brenda at the Museum of Modern Art.
(click) (click) (click)
I forgot, I forgot, I forgot.
(click)
It’s like there were two parts of me, the one doing it, and the other one watching. I slipped out of the bed, with Jamie snoring there, her mouth open, her teeth pointing ceilingward. I had the plan. This was something I had to forget. I had made a mistake. I knew I had the drop cloth. I like to keep the studio freshly painted, so I always have plenty of supplies. I left her apartment surreptitiously. Did anyone see me? No. I’m sure of it. I came back here and got everything ready. I unrolled these huge plastic sheets of drop cloth onto the floor, right by the door. I pulled this stool over to that wall, and then I waited. I just sat there. I knew she’d be in at nine. She was always punctual. I kept the lights off, and I listened to her footfalls all the way up the stairs, and when she got to the door she did something strange — she knocked. She never knocked. But today, maybe because of last night, because she thought I might still be sleeping it off, who knows why, today she knocked. “Come in,” I said, and my voice cracked. I watched the knob turn, and as soon as she was inside I was behind her with the hammer. I’d thought one hit would do it, but I was wrong. She turned around to look at me. Here’s an example of how wrong I was: it wasn’t even Jamie.
It was Beth.
(click)
This is New York. People scream all the time.
People are also made of stronger stuff than you’d think. Girls are especially. It took several whacks. You know that sound? Like from the movies? Big, squishy thuds? Beth went down and started twitching, trying to get away, I guess on sheer instinct. She couldn’t have known what the fuck I was doing this for. She turned around and faced me as she fell, and she put her hands up in the air. She saw me too. I caught that look of recognition, that spark of understanding. And now, it’s like I’m still the one watching, but I’m even further away. I’m watching myself through a telescope turned the wrong way around. Or maybe I’m the one watching through this videocam. Maybe I’m you.
Hello there.
Come on, I had to forget all this somehow.
(click)
I just wish I could remember more about Nicole. I mean, what the hell was she doing in the water? She wasn’t allowed. She was too little to swim. I barely knew how to swim myself. I was only, what, eight or nine or something.
(click)
I guess Beth was coming to yell at me. Or maybe she wanted the film. Whatever. I didn’t mean to... you know. It was Jamie I wanted. And it was Jamie who showed up, like, five minutes later. Talk about a surprise. There I was, covered with blood, pieces of Beth’s head everywhere. But Jamie got it, I have to say. She sussed out the situation right off.