Chapter 28 - The Shit Hits the Fan

The Shit Hits the Fan
Chapter 28


It’s Tuesday, mid-August. I’m home alone. I’m following my usual morning routine. I have no cigarettes so I’m not in a good place. Cleaning and grooming give me no peace today. I’m on autopilot. Finally, it’s about 11 am. I hear a knock at the door, then silence. If it was someone I knew they would be yelling, “Zoe, Zoe.” No yells. I shrug and continue with the casserole I’m making for dinner, tuna noodle, I know, yuck. It’s cheap and it stretches. What can I say?

The knock comes again, louder this time. I head up the stairs to the front door. When I peer out I see a sort of nerdy guy who comes here once in a while to see Lena. He has someone else with him, a very beautiful young woman. Now this is an unlikely pair. I don’t want to open the door, but I do. Nerd guy says don’t I remember him; his name is Tom. I do remember him, but have never spoken to him, however, I say, “I know who you are.”

“This is my cousin,” he tells me, “she’s moving here from Chicago.”
“Poor baby,” I say.
I introduce myself. She tells me her name is Rose.
“What can I do for you?” I say.
“We’re here to see Lena,” Tom says.
“Lena’s somewhere babysitting,” I say (of all things – but it’s true. Lena’s practicing. She wants to have a baby she has decided. Her ex will be the father.)
“Do you mind if we wait for her awhile,” he says.
“It could be a long wait.” I say.
“We’ll wait,” he says.

Now I have two virtual strangers on my hands. I can’t exactly show them into the drawing room and leave them. There is no drawing room. Tom takes the beanbag chair and Rose sits on the couch-bed.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” I say, always the hostess.
“Coffee,” they say together.

I go down to the kitchen, make three cups of coffee and carry them back up. My brain is buzzing from lack of nicotine. Now I’m going to add caffeine to the mix. I need to run around the block. But I can’t, there are two people in my living room.

“How could you stand to leave Chicago?” I say.
“I came to help out my aunt,” she says. “But I do need to find a job.”
“What do you do?” I ask.
“I’m a dancer,” she tells me.
Oh my god, a dancer, in my living room. I love dance – ballet, tap, jazz. I don’t care. I wish I was a dancer, I think.
“What kind of dance?” I ask her.
“Go-go,” she replies. “I’m not an exotic dancer,” she warns, “strictly cage dancing.”
“I don’t think we have any go-go clubs here,” I say.

I spy the morning paper. I pull out the classifieds and hand them to her. I find a pen.

“Look in here,” I say.

I know there are no go-go jobs in our newspaper. After all, I’ve been to just about every club in the city with Annie. I just don’t feel right about these two. It’s making me nervous. I’m already on edge from coffee and no cigarettes. When I’m with strangers and on edge, I talk a blue streak to cover my nerves and any uncomfortable silences. This is not a good thing.

“Maybe you could sell a local club on the idea?” I babble. “There must be other dancers here who would love a job like that.”

I describe several clubs to her that I think would be appropriate. She dutifully writes them down on some notepaper I give her. Hey, we have time I think.

“Let me look up the numbers for you,” I say, grabbing the phone book. I’m a job counselor.

“That’s not necessary,” she says, but she writes down the numbers.

I’m so antsy by now there are free radicals or bouncy ions or something flying all over the room. I want them out of here. I clear the cups away to the kitchen just to have a breather. When I come back Rose says that they think they will go. They’ll see Lena some other time. Tom stays behind after he sends Rose out onto the porch.

“Give me a minute,” he says.

“Now what,” I think.

Turns out he’s having an acid emergency. He wants to buy five tabs of acid. This has nothing to do with me. I don’t own any acid. The stuff belongs to Lena and Linda. But he won’t go away. Rose keeps sticking her head in the door saying, “Is everything OK, and Tom keeps waving her off.
Finally, I reason that if I sell him one tab of acid then maybe they’ll go away and maybe I can buy a pack of cigarettes. I tell him to go wait on the porch with Rose. I call Lena and tell her who’s here and what he wants. She says to go ahead and give it to him. He’s a regular customer. I ask if I can use a little of the money to buy cigarettes.

She says, “abso-fuckin-lutely.”

“Thanks, Lena,” I say, “See you later.”

How gullible am I, how naïve, how stupid? To any normal person this would smell like a set-up. But these are my friends. My instincts are trying to tell me no, don’t touch this. But my cigarette addiction and my too-many-fiction-heroes brain are canceling out the no. I put my head out the door and beckon Tom over.

“I can only sell you one,” I say.
“How much?” he asks.
“Two dollars,” I say.

I don’t know what Lena charges but this seems like a fair price to me. And it will cover a pack of cigarettes with some left over for Lena.

“Wait out on the porch,” I tell him.

I go into the basement. I retrieve one tab of acid from the baggie over the furnace. I go back upstairs and beckon Tom back into the house. I take the two dollars and hand over the tab of sunshine. They finally leave.
I feel weird about the whole encounter but once I am alone, and once I have my cigarettes, I try to put it out of my mind. I have known for a while that not all “hippie freaks” are about peace, love and changing the world. Some just want to get high. Some are just there to rip off people who are high. But I think my friends are loyal to our small “family” group. I don’t even stop to think that some of my behavior with Luke may not have struck a positive chord with his sister. I’ve never asked Luke, but I don’t think I’ve actually wounded him. I could be wrong though.