Spitting Off Tall Buildings Part 3

'...Noises. I was changing...getting ready for bed after my bath...there were sounds...from outside the window, or in the hall. You'd better come up...you know, check it out.'

'Someone using the hall washroom?'

'...What?'

'Somebody taking a p.i.s.s.'

She shot me an evil look - it too came on time delay. 'Hey, G.o.ddammit, listen! That's not what I said! I said...there's somebody...spying...watching me. Like a perv. A weirdo.'

Getting rid of her was my only priority. 'Ya know,' I said, measuring my words carefully, 'I did my rounds just before nine o'clock. I walked the halls, checked all the doors. You're in no danger.'

'Swell...so...I'm hallucinating?'

I began edging back toward my apartment door. 'Look,' I said, 'there's nothing I can do.'

Her crazy laugh was loud. It filled the lobby. 'That's the G.o.ddam truth...'

'I'll report your "incident." When s.h.i.+ comes in tomorrow he'll see my note.'

'...Now hear this...pay attention here, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!...I want you - you, the clerk behind the desk - to come up to the third floor now...immediately, and have a look. Do your job!'

'The hotel desk is closed. I'm off at nine except for emergencies.'

'...What am I, a TV commercial!'

'You're loaded on your a.s.s, lady. And a noise isn't an emergency. To me, at this time of night, noise hearing is a non-relevant, unimportant, chickens.h.i.+t, irritating, non-emergency!'

'...Let me speak to a real decision maker. Get s.h.i.+ on the telephone. Or whaziz name, Mistofsky...No! Forget that! Call 911.'

'Call anybody you want! Call the weather, call Dial-A-Duck for all I care. Just do it away from me.'

'Do you want to keep your job at this hotel?'

'Is this blackmail?'

'...Hand me the telephone...'

'Go f.u.c.k yourself you crazy c.u.n.t!'

The next morning when I woke up sober and remembered the confrontation, I felt pretty sure I'd be fired.

But it was my day off so I spent the next few hours reading and drinking beer, listening to Jimmy Reed on my portable tape deck and waiting for s.h.i.+ or Jeffrey Mistofsky to knock on my apartment door and tell me that I was b.u.mped, to pack my gear and move out.

Noon came and it hadn't happened so I decided to do my laundry in the laundry room downstairs, then go to the movies, a Claude Rains festival at the Thalia.

It was mid-afternoon when I pa.s.sed the front desk on my way out. s.h.i.+ was cordial, whispering as usual, trying to make small conversation. I didn't ask if he'd seen Tonya Von Hachten and he didn't bring her up.

By the next afternoon at a few minutes to four I still hadn't heard anything. Before coming on duty, I did my rounds as usual, emptied the wastebaskets in the bathrooms on each floor and inspected to make sure that the hallways were clean. s.h.i.+ wasn't at the desk so I unlocked the cage, looking for signs that I'd been fired; an envelope, a notice posted in the log book. I didn't see anything so I began my usual 'check-on' routine.

The hotel answering machine registered one message. I played it back. It was from s.h.i.+. A rushed memo letting me know that he was doing errands for Mistofsky and would be back at six o'clock to continue my training. I still had a job.

Just after sunset I was filling in the daily linen charts when I looked up and saw Ms. Von Hachten come up the hotel steps with two shopping bags hooked to her arm and Bobo on his leash.

I watched.

She stopped at the landing, setting her bags down to unlock the door. For a moment our eyes met through the gla.s.s. If she expected me to do what s.h.i.+ always did, deport myself like some limpd.i.c.k sycophant and leave the desk to rush around and open the exterior entrance, she was mistaken. Not me. Screw her. I wasn't her chump.

Holding onto Bobo Ms. Von Hachten groped in her purse for her keys. After locating them she unlocked the heavy gla.s.s front door, swung it open, then dragged her dog and her bags inside.

Instead of ignoring my presence, which is what I thought she would do, I was surprised when she walked directly up to the front desk.

She looked past my shoulder to the mail slots located on the wall behind me. 'Bruno,' she said, in an even, pleasant, un-f.u.c.k-you voice, 'I see something in my slot. Would you hand me my mail, please?'

The situation was awkward. I didn't say anything. I turned, located the slot labeled #316, then pa.s.sed her the envelopes and bulk junk mail.

'Thank you,' she said.

'Sure,' I said.

But she didn't leave. She stood looking down, sorting through the envelopes and papers while I pretended to go back to counting what rooms were on the list to have their towels and sheets changed. Finally, she spoke again. 'Bruno,' another voice announced, a more business-like voice, 'I have something I need to say to you.'

I looked up.

'I owe you an apology.'

I didn't talk. I wasn't sure what to say.

There was more silence. When I realized she'd been waiting for me to speak, I said, 'Okay,' which was all I could think of to say.

Finally she went on; 'This is hard for me...I'm sorry...I was rude...The other night I got some bad news. A family problem. I'd taken some medication and then I heard those noises outside my apartment...I was a b.i.t.c.h. I let my frustration out at you.'

'Did you talk to s.h.i.+?'

'Oh yes! What a sweetie! He came up and re-keyed the lock on my door and put some kind of security latch on my windows to keep them from being unlocked from the outside or forced open. Everything's resolved.'

'That's not what I meant. Did you tell him about our argument?'

She was smiling. Perfect straight white teeth. Green eyes the color of a warm Florida ocean. 'No, I didn't.' She extended her hand. 'Friends?'

'Sure,' I said. 'No problem.'

In her heels Tonya was at least three inches taller than me. As our hands shook the top of her dress containing her fat white freckled t.i.ts pressed up against the front desk counter.

We stood there.

'Look,' I said, 'I've got to get back to work. You'll have to excuse me.'

She smiled again. 'Have a nice evening, Bruno.'

'Okay. You too.'

s.h.i.+ continued to spend his time licking Tonya Von Hachten's a.s.s and running her errands and drooling every time she crossed the lobby with her two-pound mutt. But I had an instinct about her. We were on speaking terms again and her smile made my d.i.c.k hard but I was still leery.

And I was right too. A few nights later a similar deal to the first deal that happened with Ms. Von Hachten happened again. This time it was later at night, past two in the morning. I'd been in bed reading, sipping from a pint of Ten High instead of beer, hoping to induce my brain to give me a break and slow down. The front desk buzzer sounded several times. p.i.s.sed off at the intrusion, I took my time slipping my feet into my shoes and putting my pants on.

The buzzing got more persistent. Someone was holding the f.u.c.ker down with their thumb.

I climbed the stairs and opened my door.

It was her in her green robe and nightgown. 'h.e.l.lo, Miss Von Hachten,' I said, 'here we are again.'

She was stoned again but not as stoned as before. And upset. 'There's somebody there, Bruno,' she blurted. 'G.o.d d.a.m.n it! Some perv's after me!'

'What happened?'

Now she was yelling; 'I'm moving out! It isn't bad enough that I have to share my apartment with ten thousand f.u.c.king c.o.c.kroach roommates, now there's a G.o.ddam night stalker tip-toeing up and down the halls, probably rubbing his w.a.n.g, licking my doork.n.o.b!'

She was way too loud for my hotel lobby. 'Okay,' I said, a finger to my lips. 'Keep it down, okay.'

'I hate this dump! I hate the cheap pink cretin wallpaper in the laundry room and the floral carpet!'

'Hey!'

'Okay, okay,' she said, lowering her volume. 'I heard someone, something. Either the sounds came from the fire escape or the hall bathroom next to my apartment. Just like last time - like somebody breathing hard, you know, humping the wall or something.'

'Okay.'

'Okay...what?

'I'll put you in another room for tonight.'

'What about this: you go sleep up there! Tomorrow morning at trash collection time let the detectives sift through the dumpsters on Lexington Avenue and gather up your body parts.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'Call 911!...Right now. Immediately!'

'No cops, Ms. Von Hachten. They won't come anyway.'

'Then go investigate!'

'Okay,' I said, knowing I was hooked. 'I'll go look.'

I went back down to my apartment. In the closet I located the long house flashlight that s.h.i.+ had told me to keep handy for emergencies; floods in the bas.e.m.e.nt, boiler room malfunctions. Then I put on my jacket, tucking my pint of Ten High into the pocket.

On Ms. Von Hachten's floor I looked in the stairwell at the opposite end of the hall. Nothing. Then, with her behind me, I climbed the next two flights to the top floor to make sure that the heavy door leading to the sundeck was closed and locked. She insisted that I go out on the roof and check, so I did. It was cold, maybe twenty degrees. I shone my light around, then came back in. Nothing.

Downstairs outside her apartment, I checked the hall bathroom. I pulled the shower curtain back and looked inside. It was okay. I checked the bathroom window. It was okay too. Secure. n.o.body'd gotten in.

Inside Ms. Von Hachten's living room her dog Bobo was fast asleep on the couch. I checked her closets. Nothing. Then I inspected the windows, wiggling the latches, undoing the security gadgets s.h.i.+ had installed, then retightening them.

Ms. Von Hachten was on the couch next to Bobo, watching me, petting the dog. Her robe's belt had come loose. Inside, I could make out the nipple of her chunky left breast as it pressed against her nightgown.

In front of her on the coffee table were half a dozen brown prescription vials. She picked one up, popped the plastic top, then let two blue triangle-shaped tablets slide down into her palm.

I was still cold from being outside on the roof. Shaking.

'Hey, you're chilled,' she slurred. 'Want a drink of something?'

'Okay,' I said. 'Whatever you've got, I'll take it straight up. No ice, no mix.' I was looking at the bulging nipple of her big left t.i.t. 'You cold too?'

Ms. Von Hachten folded her robe closed then tied the belt. Her expression was odd. There was an attempt at a smile but not a real smile.

Dropping her pills on the table, she got up, wobbled, then headed toward the kitchen. At the doorway she stopped, spun back around like a breakdancer, then marched back to the couch, grunting as she flopped down. 'I forgot,' she said.

'Forgot what?'

'There was some...gin...I think...but I drank it.'

The robe was open again. The green silk nightgown was more than half way up her thighs.

I was smiling. Leering. 'You're coming apart there,' I said. 'Again.' I pointed.

This time she made no effort to close the gown or cover her legs. Instead she locked eyes with me. 'So...have you checked everything?'

I didn't answer. I walked to the kitchen.

Next to the sink in the trash I spotted the empty fifth of vodka. I opened cupboard doors until I found the whiskey gla.s.ses, then I filled two with three fingers each from the pint in my jacket and returned to the livingroom.

I set her drink and my bottle down on the coffee table. 'Anything else, Ms. Von Hachten? Laundry? Vacuuming? Your oven need cleaning?'

She was holding her gla.s.s, staring down at the bourbon, speaking quietly. 'My mother has cancer. She's back in Intensive Care. Aunt Liz says that this time she won't be coming home. Mom's fifty-eight. Not very old, is it?...to die.'

I couldn't think what to say so I finished my drink. 'Sorry,' I finally said because that was all I could think of.

'You bet, mister sensitive f.u.c.king Night Manager,' she garbled. 'Me too.'

It was enough.

I scooped up my jug and headed for the door. As it closed behind me she was yelling in a crazy, half-laugh; 'Jeez, shorty, don't go away mad...Let's have another drink.'

Half an hour later, in bed, naked, I was smoking. There'd be no sleeping so I was trying to read. I had a new, open pint of whiskey next to my head on the night stand and I was almost drunk. My thoughts were fuzzy. I began playing with my d.i.c.k. It got hard right away. I had a decision to make but I couldn't seem to make it.

Finally, I got up, pulled my pants over the hard-on, stuck my feet in my shoes, flipped my s.h.i.+rt on over my head, and took a long slam at my bottle. On the way out I grabbed my keys.

'Yes. What?' a stoned voice demanded through the door after I'd knocked half a dozen times.

'Miss Von Hachten? It's Bruno, the Night Manager.'