grass fancy with wind, the wind lips at your ear, the wind in the leaves of the cottonwoodsâ sigh and scratch.
Dodge Hall is just on your left as you go through the gates from Broadway. Second story, turn right at the end of the hallway: the Columbia Writing Program. Young men and women, all collegiate-looking New England types, like they just got off the Mayflower , all of them, each one looking like they knew what they were doing, savoir faire.
The secretaryâs name was Janet and she had short dark-red hair, freckles on her skin. She wore a purple-blue dress. I sat down in a big wood chair, smiled big, and told her the name.
Charlie? Janet said. I remember Charlie. He dropped out of the program after Sebastian Cooke went on sabbatical. Last winter, Janet said.
Can you tell me where Charlie lives? I said.
Janet had that business smile thatâs polite when youâve gone too far.
Iâm sorry, Janet said, I canât do that.
Behind Janet were big windows, the old kind of big windows like in Saint Josephâs School that were dark wood and you need a long stickwith a hook on the end to open the top part. The top part of the windows were open. It was already a hot day.
My face was still smiling.
Iâve come a long way, I said, To find Charlie 2Moons, I said, Itâs very very important, I said. I must give him a message.
Janet just kept smiling like you do when you donât know what else to do.
On my way out, when I was at the door, Janet said, I do hope heâs all right!
Was he sick? I said.
No, Janet said, quick, Itâs just that I worry about him.
The gay cancer? I said.
Janet quick pulled a tissue from a tissue box and swiveled her chair around to face the big wood windows.
The sun was shining on the green leaves of the trees. No wind. Just bright sun on leaves.
Janet blew her nose, and when Janet turned around again, she looked like she knew what she was doing. She thought. I could see the tears.
Charlie 2Moons is a very gifted young man, Janet said. And a dream-boat, Janet said. A real charmer.
Janetâs smile wasnât a business smile anymore, just a smile.
I think the whole place was in love with him, Janet said. When he left the program, Charlie was living in Columbia housing, but now that he has left, I donât know where heâs moved and he left no forwarding address.
Janet reached for another tissue, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose.
What about this Sebastian Cooke? I said. Can you tell me how to get in touch with him?
Sebastian Cooke is in Paris, Janet said. Have you read his book on Andy Warhol?
Charlieâs? I said.
Sebastianâs, Janet said.
No, I said.
Itâs fantastic, Janet said.
Where in Paris? I said.
Janetâs breath in, her breath out. Janet leaned her head onto her hand. I went to touch her arm, but didnât.
Why are you crying? I said. Whatâs the matter with Charlie?
Janet looked up at me, tears down her cheeks. Her nose was red. She made a gesture with her hand, the tissue in her hand, waving, not at me, but waving things to the side, out of the way.
Give me your phone number, Janet said, And Iâll be in touch with you.
On a piece of scrap paper, I wrote down my name and phone number.
Hereâs my card, Janet said. Weâll be in touch.
In my wallet, next to the Romeo Movers card, I put Janetâs business card.
In all the world, my cowboy boots walking down the marble steps of Dodge Hall, with each step my lips moved with the syllables of his name.
Char-
lie
2
Moons.
Se-
bas-
tian
Cooke.
Char-
lie
2
Moons.
CHAPTER
FOUR
C afé Bistro on 46th Street was where I finally got a job.
My first day at work, as soon as I walked in the front door, Daniel, the bossâs brother, lifted his wrist up, shirtsleeve rolled to the elbow, hairy arm, Rolex.
Thought your horse mighta threw ya, Daniel said. Or were you planting your potato over at Show World?
Show World?
Donât ever
Dodge Hall is just on your left as you go through the gates from Broadway. Second story, turn right at the end of the hallway: the Columbia Writing Program. Young men and women, all collegiate-looking New England types, like they just got off the Mayflower , all of them, each one looking like they knew what they were doing, savoir faire.
The secretaryâs name was Janet and she had short dark-red hair, freckles on her skin. She wore a purple-blue dress. I sat down in a big wood chair, smiled big, and told her the name.
Charlie? Janet said. I remember Charlie. He dropped out of the program after Sebastian Cooke went on sabbatical. Last winter, Janet said.
Can you tell me where Charlie lives? I said.
Janet had that business smile thatâs polite when youâve gone too far.
Iâm sorry, Janet said, I canât do that.
Behind Janet were big windows, the old kind of big windows like in Saint Josephâs School that were dark wood and you need a long stickwith a hook on the end to open the top part. The top part of the windows were open. It was already a hot day.
My face was still smiling.
Iâve come a long way, I said, To find Charlie 2Moons, I said, Itâs very very important, I said. I must give him a message.
Janet just kept smiling like you do when you donât know what else to do.
On my way out, when I was at the door, Janet said, I do hope heâs all right!
Was he sick? I said.
No, Janet said, quick, Itâs just that I worry about him.
The gay cancer? I said.
Janet quick pulled a tissue from a tissue box and swiveled her chair around to face the big wood windows.
The sun was shining on the green leaves of the trees. No wind. Just bright sun on leaves.
Janet blew her nose, and when Janet turned around again, she looked like she knew what she was doing. She thought. I could see the tears.
Charlie 2Moons is a very gifted young man, Janet said. And a dream-boat, Janet said. A real charmer.
Janetâs smile wasnât a business smile anymore, just a smile.
I think the whole place was in love with him, Janet said. When he left the program, Charlie was living in Columbia housing, but now that he has left, I donât know where heâs moved and he left no forwarding address.
Janet reached for another tissue, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose.
What about this Sebastian Cooke? I said. Can you tell me how to get in touch with him?
Sebastian Cooke is in Paris, Janet said. Have you read his book on Andy Warhol?
Charlieâs? I said.
Sebastianâs, Janet said.
No, I said.
Itâs fantastic, Janet said.
Where in Paris? I said.
Janetâs breath in, her breath out. Janet leaned her head onto her hand. I went to touch her arm, but didnât.
Why are you crying? I said. Whatâs the matter with Charlie?
Janet looked up at me, tears down her cheeks. Her nose was red. She made a gesture with her hand, the tissue in her hand, waving, not at me, but waving things to the side, out of the way.
Give me your phone number, Janet said, And Iâll be in touch with you.
On a piece of scrap paper, I wrote down my name and phone number.
Hereâs my card, Janet said. Weâll be in touch.
In my wallet, next to the Romeo Movers card, I put Janetâs business card.
In all the world, my cowboy boots walking down the marble steps of Dodge Hall, with each step my lips moved with the syllables of his name.
Char-
lie
2
Moons.
Se-
bas-
tian
Cooke.
Char-
lie
2
Moons.
CHAPTER
FOUR
C afé Bistro on 46th Street was where I finally got a job.
My first day at work, as soon as I walked in the front door, Daniel, the bossâs brother, lifted his wrist up, shirtsleeve rolled to the elbow, hairy arm, Rolex.
Thought your horse mighta threw ya, Daniel said. Or were you planting your potato over at Show World?
Show World?
Donât ever
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