A New York Resolution
The phone dropped to the floor. Elizabeth crossed her arms as she began to pace the room. Her options were limited - now more than ever, but the facts remained.
'There's Mal,' she thought, 'the psychotic Private Investigator who stalked me across the country — because he couldn't take no for an answer. And my car—’
She paused.
‘Out of the picture, tainted by a tracking device. … there's no way out,’
She sighed.
‘And no way back.'
Elizabeth reached for her coat and headed out the door. She couldn't sleep. Not now. She needed to face him ... somehow, but she needed back up.
Without a second to loose, she pulled out her cell phone.
“Hello?” Mal answered.
“Meet me at Oscar’s in fifteen.”
“Liz, is that—”
“Order the New York Strip.”
Elizabeth ended the call as she crossed Bucher Drive. She noticed the police station, but notice it was all. Besides they weren’t at the top of the food chain. Mr. Machelli owned this town, which was the exact fact Elizabeth was counting on.
“Elizabeth,” Oscar smiled. “What can I get you tonight? A little filet mignon for the lady?”
“Tonight, I need a New York Strip.”
Oscar’s eyebrows lowered.
She slid him the fifty bucks as he led her to the back.
“Where’s Mr. Machelli?” she asked.
Oscar was kind enough to lead her to him. “Mr. Machelli, this is Elizabeth Farraday. She—”
“Do you need me to take care of someone, Ms. Farraday?” Mr. Machelli asked, continuing to watch the night’s activities. “I’ve seen a stranger hang around your car for too many hours in my parking lot. Malcolm’s his name, isn’t it?”
“Yes,”
“Is that him now?” He asked, noticing the newbie walking into the ring.
Malcolm was the same as he had ever been. He wore a tweed suit and a black collar shirt, a brown fedora in his hand.
“Yep,” she said softly. “That’s him.”
“Do you want him—?”
“No, just far out of town. Leave me a tab for the gas."
He nodded.
Elizabeth tried to leave the ring without causing a scene, but it was no use. As she slipped past Malcolm, he smiled. “Elizabeth,”
“Malcolm,” she said, quickening her pace.
“Elizabeth!” he called, turning.
Silence fell around them, as they were beginning to appear more entertaining than the bids.
‘It’s now or never,’ Elizabeth thought.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Home,” she said, turning to him.
“Back to Cali? Great,” he smiled. “We should have lunch sometime.”
Elizabeth scowled at him.
“What are you going to do, Liz?” he laughed. “Hit me?”
Elizabeth sighed, turning away as if she was going to leave.
“Oh, right.” He continued. “You’re the girl who couldn’t hurt a fly.”
The crowd ooed and hissed as they watched the encounter.
Without a moment’s pause, Elizabeth turned around and punched him square in the jaw.
He dropped like a dummy.
'Luckily you're nothing more than scum,' she thought.
Elizabeth squatted beside him as he blinked into consciousness seconds later.
“Liz?”
“Soggiorno I’inferno via da me.” She said slowly and clearly, before turning to leave.
The crowd parted to let her through.
“Liz?” Malcolm called as he slowly began to rise. “Liz — what did you say?”
“Stay the hell away from her, that’s what!” Mr. Machelli laughed as his associates circled around Malcolm.
The cool night air was refreshing as Elizabeth walked out onto the street. She could sleep. It was resolved. She could write again. Upon entering her apartment, she glanced at her laptop.
“Tomorrow,” she said, making her way to the kitchen sink.
As the hot water ran over her hands, she felt as if she was washing away more than the dirt and blood of the evening. She was clearing away a chapter of her life — a resolution.
‘But everyone knows,’ Elizabeth recalled. ‘It’s our past that comes back to haunt us.’
6 comments:
George Jefferson - The Battle
Jefferson stood on the rooftop of Washington Heights. It was raining heavily. Lightening flashed in the distance. Jefferson had been watching Oscar's for about a week now-it hadn't stopped raining since then. It had paid off though. It seemed like every criminal in the city hung out there, to join in on the illegal gambling that took place in the back. Tonight, Jefferson thought, he would strike at the heart of this criminal enterprise. Tonight he would announce officially to the criminal underworld that he was here. He surveyed the area. Clio Ford was closing up her flower shop and walking across the street, obviously quite irritated by the rain. Jefferson waited until she had entered the building. He climbed down the fire escape. More lightening in the distance; it was getting closer.
Jefferson pulled his mask over his head and shivered - the rain was very cold. He looked across the street. It was deserted. He darted out into the open and ran behind Oscar's shop. He could barely hear the sound of the activity inside over the pounding rain. Jefferson climbed on top of a dilapidated dumpster, then pulled himself up on the roof of the building. There was a little skylight in the middle of the roof - a nice touch, thought Jefferson. A little too nice for a butcher's shop. He peered down into the illegal casino. It was full of people. He recognized a few. There was Machelli, of course, surrounded by his goons. Jefferson would have to take him out first; fortunately he was just below the skylight. There was Marcus Manuel, the small time drug dealer; there was Grandma Pearl; Elizabeth Farraday was there, yelling at some guy; Lola Fontaine, dressed like a stripper; Oscar himself, of course; and others from around the neighborhood. Jefferson had unsheathed his sword and was prepared to strike, when he felt something cold and sharp on his neck.
Jefferson turned around abruptly and held up his sword. Lightening flashed, and the figure of Holger Vollsunger appeared. "I know you," Jefferson said. "You're the guy who owns that gas station down the street."
"I know you as well," Holger said. "I know that fighting you is the only way I can gain the honor of my ancestors and clean up this dirthole of a town."
"We both want the same thing," Jefferson said. "We should be working together. We shouldn't be fighting!"
"No," said Holger, ominously. "this is the only way. Defend yourself, George Jefferson, and defend your honor!"
Holger slashed at Jefferson with his huge, serrated sword. Jefferson knew if that thing hit him it would hurt, a lot. Jefferson blocked with his own sword; the two swords collided with a loud clang as lightening flashed and thunder rumbled across the city. Maybe my sword is real after all, thought Jefferson. The two sparred and parried across Oscar's roof. Jefferson had been practicing in his spare time, but Holger was still more skilled and larger. Jefferson was on the defensive as Holger swung wildly. The pounding rain only made his job more difficult. Jefferson was blocking every one of Holger's massive blows, but he was being pushed to the edge of the roof. It's time to change the game, thought Jefferson. He ducked Holger's blade and tackled him to the ground. The two warriors rolled across the roof. Holger got up a split-second faster than Jefferson, and Jefferson only had enough time to just barely block his blow; neither of them had noticed that Oscar's skylight was just behind them. They both lost their balance and fell through.
They landed on a roulette table, breaking it in two and sending chips everywhere. Lola Fontaine screamed. Jefferson stood up with a groan, and picked up his sword. Suddenly, Holger came out of nowhere and swung at Jefferson, narrowly missing him and cleaving another table in two. People began running and screaming. Jefferson was dodging Holger's massive blade. It missed him again and almost became stuck in one unlucky soul, who Jefferson only knew as "Lowride." "What is it with these freaks with swords? Kill them!" yelled Machelli. Gunshots filled the air as Jefferson leaped behind an overturned table. I've got to get out of here, he thought. He picked up a roullette ball on the floor and threw it at a light switch. The lights went out and more people screamed and ran out of the building. Jefferson kicked down the back door and fled into the night.
He ran across the street, breathing heavily. The police had just arrived, thankfully. Maybe some good would come from this after all. Still, Jefferson thought, he would once again have to be more careful. Basic criminals he could deal with, but he hadn't expected anything like Holger. Fortunately, Holger at least had a sense of honor, sort of; Jefferson wouldn't have to worry about him killing him in his sleep, or anything like that. Of course, he would probably have to face him again. Next time, though, Jefferson would be more prepared. He sheathed his sword and climbed up the fire escape.
The rain continued to fall.
Several mornings had passed since the revolution. So many, in fact, that a layer of dust had begun to accumulate over Elizabeth's laptop. She hadn't touched the keys to success quite yet. She needed something — something that made it worthwhile to return to the story in which she despised her every move.
'It's like reading Jane Eyre the second time through,' she thought. 'As I watched her celebrate the life she had, I only wanted to rip my hair out for the despair I knew she was about to encounter, provoked by her companions.'
"But it makes the ending that much better," she said, reaching for her coat.
Elizabeth hadn't taken five steps from her apartment when she seemed to run into a wall — a tall and narrow wall apparently exiting from apartment 707.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Elizabeth smiled. She looked up at the man's gaunt face. He looked to be in the later half of middle age, or older. She couldn't tell. "Have we met before?" she inquired.
The man was silent.
"I'm Elizabeth Farraday," she said, extending her hand despite the chills running down her back. "It's nice to meet you."
"No," the towering man said, sternly and very matter of fact. "I'm sorry."
Elizabeth kept her smile long enough to escape the gentleman's presence, and hurried down the stairs.
Soon enough she was in the diner, and on her way to relieving a growling stomach. She'd skipped breakfast for pacing, and the night before, dinner was traded for a walk around the town. She was starving.
Sitting down, her leg began to fidget like it was dancing to Ain't That Just Like a Woman. She looked at the menu.
The waiter approached and asked if she'd seen the diner's specials. As she looked to the white board, it wasn't the specials that caught her eye — it was the quotation beneath it.
"Could you give me a minute?" Elizabeth inquired, extracting a pen from her pocket.
The waiter left.
"The man who writes about himself and his own time is the only man who writes about all people and all time," she read, copying the words onto a napkin. "George Bernard Shaw."
"Oh, you want the Shaw special?" The waiter asked, returning with a glass of water.
"No — a short stack of pancakes and a side of sausage would be great."
"Anything else to drink?"
"Tea."
The waiter began to walk away.
"Oh," Elizabeth began.
"Yes?" He returned.
"And I'd like to get a Shaw special to go."
"I'll have it ready with the check." He said, before departing.
Elizabeth had heard about Alex's encounter with some homeless guy. She knew it was bad, but she was sympathetic towards the hobo. There'd been a rumor going around that he lived in the train station. After breakfast, Elizabeth strolled over to the SMARTA station with the bag of hot breakfast in her hand and occasional raindrops falling on her head. As she viewed the station it looked to be empty ... almost.
"Hello," she called.
A man exited a train car in smoke and shadow. He appeared alone, as did the car - seemingly shoved off to the side.
"Did you have Mongolian Beef yesterday?" Elizabeth asked.
The man nodded and smiled.
"Then here," she said, handing over the Shaw special.
The man took the bag of food — astonished. He looked from Elizabeth to the bag, and then back to Elizabeth.
"Everyone deserves to eat." Elizabeth smiled, before she returned to the stairs.
As she looked down the street to her next destination, she groaned. She needed english muffins. That was it. She didn't need butter or bacon, soup or salad ingredients, or even coffee beans! No. Just english muffins - her staple breakfast food. To reach the grocery she would have to walk past Victoria Lampshade's stand - the most perturbing business with the most revolting products she had ever encountered. Elizabeth would be the first to admit she was the kind of Girl Scout who nursed wounded birds back to health. She was proud of it, too. Though the similarities between the animals she had helped and the ones ending up on Ms. Lampshade's stand were a tad too apparent. Just the thought of it made her shiver. Accordingly, Elizabeth sprinted down the sidewalk after crossing Baker Street.
She sighed as she entered the grocery store, and almost ran into a shiny show girl aiming to leave.
'Why,' Elizabeth objected in silence, as she viewed the woman's colorful attire. She paused. 'There's not even a show in Washington Heights!'
She turned away from the door.
'Today I'm writing,' she thought, 'while eating a pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream, drinking mugs upon mugs of hot tea, and maybe even watching Casablanca on the couch.' The weather made it so, not to mention her desperate need for rest.
"Mom! This is so beatiful! I LOVE it!"
"Well sweetie you deserve nothing less. Goodness, I can't believe you are sixteen! It was just yesterday when you were running around the house naked, singing barney songs." She began to tear up. "Before I know it you'll be walking down the aisle, getting married."
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Mandi rolled over in her twin bed, eyes closed, gliding her hand accross the bedside table to put the beeping off for another 10 minutes. She tried so hard to return to her dream, but couldn't.
Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! This time Mandi slowly sat up and quited the beeping for good. She fumbled in the dark to find her red button-up diner shirt and black pants. The lack of lighting in the appartment was really getting old for Mandi. "Ugh," she exlaimed as she tilted over, one leg stuck in those stiff pants. Mandi then walked over to the mirror leaning against the wall, sqautted down, and checked her face for bruises; making sure there wasn't any need to pile on extra make up to hide her dad's marks. But today the mark was barely present, nothing big enough for her to worry about. She glanced back at her alarm clock as she left her room. 8:09. Just enough time to run to the grocery store before work. Today was a late work day, she didn't hav to be there until nine.
Mandi pulled her hood up over her head as the exited Washington Heights. It was only drizzling, but she preffered not to spend the rest of her work day soggy. She walked quickly down Baker Street.
"Hey Maggy," she said as she walked past the little food stand.
"Hey there darlin'," she winked back.
Mandi continued on to Manny's and hurried in to grab enough food for two more days; a box of cereal, a half gallon of milk, 2 frozen fish falet dinners (for her dad), a loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter.
"Alrighty, that'll be nineteen-oh-seven." The cashier said.
Mandi handid him nineteen ones from her tip money, "Hold on I have seven pennies," she told him.
After Mandi put the nineteen dollars worth of groceries up, she poured herself a bowl of cereal to eat before she headed off for work. Crunch. Crunch. She stood over the counter, shovelling the cheerios into her mouth with a glance at her watch. 8:47. The uneven footsteps from the other room startled her. Thump. Thump thump. She threw her dished in the sink, grabbed her bag and headed out the door. Every time she could avoid her dad it was worth it.
31 hamburgers, 56 wet customers, 9 screaming children, 1 wrong order, and fourteen hours later, Mandi walked the 30 second stretch back down Bucher Drive to Washington Heights. As she turned the corner she collided with a lady and dropped her grilled ham and cheese sandwhich to-go box.
"Oh, sorry Elizabeth! My bad. How are you?" Mandi said as she knelt down to pick up her box.
"Oh... um... no worries." Elizabeth responded abnormally as continued walking quickly, looking around as if she was being chased.
'Hm... that was odd,' Mandi thought as she continued up to her appartment.
She opened the door to room 704. Nothing new. Her dad was lounged out on the recliner, a spilt beer on the floor, TV flickering. As she walked by she grabbed the remote from the side of the recliner to turn off the TV, and as she did so, notice three yellow feathers hanging on his black shirt. Mandi tucked herself in for the night, hoping to return to sweet dreams of her and her mother.
FIl woke early. Water dripped down from a crack in his foliage roof. He got up and patched it with some dirt and leaves.The rain would cake the leaves together. People wanted their news. He rifled through his pile of rags and pulled out a patched up raincoat. It was too big. He had 'borrowed' it from the local store, and he was small for his age. His morning routine. He clambered down the branches and jogged to the edge of the town by the highway. Everyday, he found the newspapers. He didn't know who left them there, but he took advatage of it to make some nickels. He had to walk back under the weight of all the words he carried. He put the news down, stuck the sign back on the bus stop, placed the cup by his feet, and waited. It would be a long day. The constant drizzle was no bother to him. He just sat back and watched another sorry day unfold.
The first sign of life was the swindler, picking up his S.S. money. He had a stain on his shirt. Fil swore the man did it on purpose. Alan was high yet though. Maybe this day would turn around for him. No. there he goes to get his supply of syringes. When he was safely back in the building, the crazy woman came out of the store. She looked both ways and hurried back to her appartment building, oblivious to the rain. Fil felt sorry for her. The showgirl came out. She was wearing a smile, as always. Fil could not see why. When the world helped him out, he would smile, maybe say something, but not 'til then.
Another slow day. No one really bought newspapers, especially soggy on-ow, he thought. Someone had just run into him. People never noticed him. He liked it that way. This woman didn't notice either. Her face was blocked by boxes of flowers, stacked in her arms.
He waited. Now dusk, it was still raining. A woman on her phone crossed the street to Oscar's. She looked tense. The man that had been following her since she came to this town went after her. She came out quickly. She had blood on her hand. FIl was worried. The man didn't come out. Resigned, Fil started packing up for the night. Things were getting strange. Stranger than normal. He wanted to get out, but this was the only place he could remain anonymous, but he felt that was about to change. The town was stirring from its stupor. He didn't like it one bit.
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