another Pop-Tart, stuffed the portable phone under my arm and went back to the fire escape. I ate the Pop-Tart and washed it down with beer and all the while I watched the black Cherokee. When I finished the second bottle of beer I called Ranger.
“Talk,” Ranger said.
“I have a problem.”
“So what's your point?”
I explained the situation to Ranger, including the tire and the park episode. There was a silence where I sensed he was smiling, and finally he said, “Sit tight, and I'll see what I can do.”
Half an hour later, Ranger's $98,000 BMW rolled to a stop in my parking lot. Ranger got out of the car and stood for a moment staring at me on my fire escape. He was wearing an olive-drab Tshirt that looked like it had been painted on him, GI Joe camouflage pants and shades. Just a normal Jersey guy.
I gave him a thumbs-up.
Ranger smiled and turned and walked across the lot and across the street to the black Cherokee. He walked to the passenger-side door, opened the door and got in the car. Just like that. If it had been me in the car, the door would have been locked, and no one looking like Ranger would get in. But this is me, and that was Joyce.
Five minutes later, Ranger exited the car and returned to my lot. I dove through my window, rushed out the door, down the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of Ranger.
“Well?”
“How bad do you want to get rid of her? You want me to shoot her? Break a bone?”
“No!”
Ranger shrugged. “Then she's gonna stick.”
There was the sound of a car engine catching and headlights flashed on across the street. We both turned to watch Joyce pull away and disappear around the corner.
“She'll be back,” Ranger said. “But not tonight.”
“How'd you get her to leave?”
“Told her I was gonna spend the next twelve hours ruining you for all other men, and so she might as well go home.”
I could feel the heat rush to my face.
Ranger gave me the wolf smile. “I lied about it being tonight,” he said.
* * * * *
AT LEAST Joyce was gone for a while, and I didn't have to worry about her following me to the 7-Eleven. I trudged upstairs to my apartment, made myself a peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwich on worthless white bread and channel surfed until it was time to go see Helen Badijian.
Most of the time I enjoyed my aloneness, relishing the selfish luxury of unshared space and ritual. Only my hand held the television remote, and there was no compromise on toilet paper brand or climate control. And even more, there was a tentative, hopeful feeling that I might be an adult. And that the worst of childhood was safely behind me. You see, I said to the world, I have my own apartment. That's good, right?
Tonight my satisfaction with the solitary life was tempered by a bizarre message still scrawled on my door. Tonight my aloneness felt lonely, and maybe even a little frightening. Tonight I made sure my windows were closed and locked when I left my apartment.
En route to Olden I did a two-block detour, checking my mirror for headlights. There'd been no sign of Joyce, but better to be safe than sorry. I had a feeling this was a good lead, and I didn't want to pass it on to the enemy.
I reached the 7-Eleven a few minutes before ten. I sat in my car a while to see if Joyce would miraculously appear. At 10:05 there was no Joyce, but from what I could see through the store's plate glass windows there was also no Helen Badijian. A young guy was behind the register, talking to an older man. The older man was waving his arms, looking royally pissed off. The young guy was shaking his head, yes, yes, yes.
I entered the store and caught the end of the conversation.
“Irresponsible,” the older man was saying. “No excuse for it.”
I wandered to the back and looked around. Sure enough. Helen wasn't here.
“Excuse me,” I said to the clerk. “I thought Helen Badijian would be working tonight.”
The clerk nervously looked from
“Talk,” Ranger said.
“I have a problem.”
“So what's your point?”
I explained the situation to Ranger, including the tire and the park episode. There was a silence where I sensed he was smiling, and finally he said, “Sit tight, and I'll see what I can do.”
Half an hour later, Ranger's $98,000 BMW rolled to a stop in my parking lot. Ranger got out of the car and stood for a moment staring at me on my fire escape. He was wearing an olive-drab Tshirt that looked like it had been painted on him, GI Joe camouflage pants and shades. Just a normal Jersey guy.
I gave him a thumbs-up.
Ranger smiled and turned and walked across the lot and across the street to the black Cherokee. He walked to the passenger-side door, opened the door and got in the car. Just like that. If it had been me in the car, the door would have been locked, and no one looking like Ranger would get in. But this is me, and that was Joyce.
Five minutes later, Ranger exited the car and returned to my lot. I dove through my window, rushed out the door, down the stairs and skidded to a stop in front of Ranger.
“Well?”
“How bad do you want to get rid of her? You want me to shoot her? Break a bone?”
“No!”
Ranger shrugged. “Then she's gonna stick.”
There was the sound of a car engine catching and headlights flashed on across the street. We both turned to watch Joyce pull away and disappear around the corner.
“She'll be back,” Ranger said. “But not tonight.”
“How'd you get her to leave?”
“Told her I was gonna spend the next twelve hours ruining you for all other men, and so she might as well go home.”
I could feel the heat rush to my face.
Ranger gave me the wolf smile. “I lied about it being tonight,” he said.
* * * * *
AT LEAST Joyce was gone for a while, and I didn't have to worry about her following me to the 7-Eleven. I trudged upstairs to my apartment, made myself a peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff sandwich on worthless white bread and channel surfed until it was time to go see Helen Badijian.
Most of the time I enjoyed my aloneness, relishing the selfish luxury of unshared space and ritual. Only my hand held the television remote, and there was no compromise on toilet paper brand or climate control. And even more, there was a tentative, hopeful feeling that I might be an adult. And that the worst of childhood was safely behind me. You see, I said to the world, I have my own apartment. That's good, right?
Tonight my satisfaction with the solitary life was tempered by a bizarre message still scrawled on my door. Tonight my aloneness felt lonely, and maybe even a little frightening. Tonight I made sure my windows were closed and locked when I left my apartment.
En route to Olden I did a two-block detour, checking my mirror for headlights. There'd been no sign of Joyce, but better to be safe than sorry. I had a feeling this was a good lead, and I didn't want to pass it on to the enemy.
I reached the 7-Eleven a few minutes before ten. I sat in my car a while to see if Joyce would miraculously appear. At 10:05 there was no Joyce, but from what I could see through the store's plate glass windows there was also no Helen Badijian. A young guy was behind the register, talking to an older man. The older man was waving his arms, looking royally pissed off. The young guy was shaking his head, yes, yes, yes.
I entered the store and caught the end of the conversation.
“Irresponsible,” the older man was saying. “No excuse for it.”
I wandered to the back and looked around. Sure enough. Helen wasn't here.
“Excuse me,” I said to the clerk. “I thought Helen Badijian would be working tonight.”
The clerk nervously looked from
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