The Cocaine Chronicles Part 21

I allowed myself to hope, a threadbare hope I kept in a sock drawer in the hidden closet in the backroom of my confidence, a sad little hope that I could resurrect my career, that I wouldn't f.u.c.k up, that I wouldn't make my life a slow suicide. I'd finally shake that fear that I was out to do myself in, that I couldn't trust myself.

I couldn't afford to tell anybody to f.u.c.k off, except for maybe myself.

"I told you everything, except for when I got drunk as an undergraduate and wore this coed's panties on my head home. I guess that could be considered a crime."

Mr. Security gave me a look, a look of disdain, of mild disgust. Then, like the sun breaking through the clouds, he smiled.

"I don't think I'll need to make note of that."

That seemed to lighten the ultra-serious moment.

"Good," I said, and stood to leave.

"One more thing," he said.

He handed me a paper bag. I looked inside and saw a plastic cup with a lid.

"We need a urine sample. If you're offered the job, you'll be subject to a random weekly drug test."

My pride sloughed off like a skin I didn't need. I dutifully took the paper bag and went into the restroom.

I was in luck. Someone had pinned the sports page above the urinal, the Giants were on a winning streak. Quite a few of the workers at the Lair Lairmust have to submit to this weekly ritual. Sheepishly, I came out of the restroom holding the brown bag at arm's length. With a solemn nod, Security took it from me, then he ushered me to another door that led to another room. Inside, Bridget sat behind a very large desk, phone to ear, listening with strained concentration.

"Yes, he just came in. Do you want me to put him on?"

She gestured for me to sit down, her eyes flaring as though she'd toss a book at my head if I delayed for a second.

"Use the speakerphone."

I nodded, confused as to whom I was talking and why.

"h.e.l.lo?"

I heard raspy breathing. I grinned at how silly this felt.

"This is Monster."

His voice didn't have that ethereal quality I'd heard on those interviews on VH1. He sounded grounded, even a little hard.

"It's an honor to talk with you," I said.

"What's your name again?"

"William Gibson."

"Right, you're the cat who owned the restaurant in New York. You lost it because of drugs."

"Yeah, that's about it."

"It would be cool if we could hire you."

"I would like that very much," I said, wondering what would stop him if he wanted to hire me. Did he need to check with his mother?

"But I need to ask you a question and you need to answer me honestly. Can you do that?"

"Yes, I can do that."

"Good."

I waited for him to ask the question, but he went back to that raspy breathing, as though he had a problem with his sinuses.

"Don'ta.s.sumeyoucanplayme."

He blurted it out so fast, at first I couldn't make out what he said.

"Could you repeat that?"

"Do you think you can play me?"

"What?"

"You know what I'm saying."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

Monster paused as though he were ready to drop the bomb on me.

"You gonna play me? That's what I want to know."

"I pride myself on my professionalism. I don't take it lightly."

"I'm not talking about that."

I wanted to ask what was he talking about, but I a.s.sumed that wouldn't get me hired.

"I'm a very loyal employee. That's how I've always been. It's second nature to me."

"It's more than loyalty."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Then that means you're not down. I only hire down cats."

I was beyond confused.

"I'll ask you once more. Are you gonna play me?"

"I don't intend to play you."

Another pause and more raspy breathing.

"I'm supposed to believe you? I think you're lying. Tell me this, are you experienced?"

"What?"

"Are you experienced? Don't bulls.h.i.t, answer me!"

"Do you mean like in a Jimi Hendrix way?"

"Yeah, exactly. That's exactly what I'm saying. You've got to be down for me."

My stomach sank. If he thought I was going to be getting loaded with him after dinner, that wasn't where my head was at.

"I think I understand," I replied.

"Understand what?"

"What you said about being down."

"Being down? What did I say about that?"

Now my mybreathing was raspy. Was he high? He had to be high. Only people who were f.u.c.ked up out of their minds, but who thought they were under control, talked like that.

"Long as you down for me, it's all true. You know what I'm saying?" he said, excitedly.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, even though I knew he couldn't see me, unless he had a hidden camera. That, I wouldn't put past him.

"Are you gonna poison me?" he blurted, surprising the h.e.l.l out of me. Of all the crazy-a.s.sed things I've been asked in my life, this surprised me into stupid silence.

"I've never poisoned anyone," I said, with conviction.

More raspy breathing.

"You're not gonna put anything sick into my food?"

"Sick?"

"Yeah."

"I can't say you'll love everything I'll cook, but I can guarantee I'll never poison you or put anything sick into your food."

"Hah, you funny. I'll get back to you."

The speakerphone went silent.

Bridget looked at me with suspicion.

"Did you have any idea what you were saying?"

I nodded without conviction.

"Monster likes people to be straight with him."

"I was being straight. What, I didn't sound straight?"

Bridget snorted. "I don't think you knew what you were saying. You were willing to say anything to get him to hire you."

If it wasn't for Asha I'm sure Bridget would have crossed me off her list. I don't have a problem with that, except for the fact that I did need this job, though it had became obvious that it must be h.e.l.l to fill if I had gotten to the interview stage.

"I don't see what the problem is. We seemed to have hit it off."

"First of all, that wasn't Monster."

"Huh? Who was it?"

"Monster's a.s.sistant."

"a.s.sistant? He sounds like a thug high on something."

"Well, he is isThug. He calls himself Thug. That's his name as far as you're concerned."

I felt tricked. It wasn't right and Bridget needed to know how I felt.

"Bridget, you know I need this job, but obviously you don't feel good about me applying for it. Am I wasting my time?"

Bridget looked surprised, like I had just come out of left field with that. She couldn't look me in the eye.

"Is it Asha? You promised her something and now you don't want to deliver?"

Bridget ran her hands through her hair, still avoiding my eyes.

"You might want this job, I know you need it, but once you get out there, it's different. I'm always looking for employees. It's a f.u.c.king strain. The lawyers, G.o.d, I talk to so many lawyers."

"That's big of you, trying to spare me some grief."

Finally, our eyes met. She looked like a woman who'd had enough.

"I've got my share of problems. I'll admit that. You're right. Asha really wants this for you."

"You don't think I'm capable?"

She shook her head. "It's not that at all. I don't want to have to answer to Asha when it's over."

"What do you mean, when it's over, and what do you have to answer to Asha about?"

"I might be a little jealous about how much she likes you, but it's not all jealousy. I just don't want her blaming me when everything goes to h.e.l.l."

I stood up to leave. I was through with this s.h.i.t.