Page 104 of Still Me
“Sort of.”
Nathan rested his elbows on his knees, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.”
“I know.”
“Someone’s got to say something. You know he was thinking about calling the cops?”
My jaw might have dropped.
“Yeah. She persuaded him not to, but Michael said he was mad enough to do it. Something about an ATM?”
“I didn’t do it, Nathan.”
“I know that, Clark. You’d make a crap criminal. Worst poker face I ever saw.” He took a swig of his beer. “Dammit. You know, I love my job. I like working for these families. I like Old Man Gopnik. But every now and then it’s like they remind you, you know? You’re basically just expendable. Doesn’t matter how much they say you’re their mate and how great you are, how much they depend on you, yada-yada-yada, the moment they don’t need you anymore or you’ve done something they don’t like,bang. You’re out the door. Fairness doesn’t even come into it.”
It was the longest thing I’d heard Nathan say since I got to New York.
“I hate this, Lou. Even knowing so little it’s clear to me you’re being shafted. And it stinks.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated?” He gazed at me steadily, shook his head again, and took a long swig of his beer. “Mate, you’re a better person than I am.”
—
We were going to order takeout, but just as Nathan was climbing into his jacket to head off to the Chinese restaurant there was a knock at the door. We looked at each other in horror and he motioned me into the bathroom. I skidded in and closed the door silently behind me. But as I stood wedged up against his towel rack I heard a familiar voice.
“Clark, it’s okay. It’s Ilaria,” said Nathan, a moment later.
She was in her apron, holding a pot with a lid on it. “For you. I hear you talking.” She held the pot toward me. “I made it for you. You need to eat. It’s the chicken you like, with the pepper sauce.”
“Aw, mate.” Nathan clapped Ilaria on the back. She stumbled forward, recovered, and placed the pot carefully on Nathan’s desk.
“You made this for me?”
Ilaria was prodding Nathan in the chest. “I know she does not do this thing they say. I know plenty. Plenty that goes on this apartment.” She tapped her nose. “Oh, yes.”
I briefly lifted the lid—delicious smells seeped out. I suddenly remembered I had barely eaten all day. “Thanks, Ilaria. I don’t know what to say.”
“Where you go now?”
“I haven’t got a clue.”
“Well. You’re not staying in a hostel in bloody Bensonhurst,” Nathan said. “You can stay here for a night or two to sort yourself out. I’ll lock my door. You won’t say anything, will you, Ilaria?”
She pulled an incredulous face, like it was stupid of him even to ask.
“She’s been cursing your woman out all afternoon like you wouldn’t believe. Says she sold you down the river. She made them a fish thing for dinner that she knows they both hate. I tell you, mate, I’ve learned a whole new bunch of swear words today.”
Ilaria muttered something under her breath. I could only make out the wordputa.
—
The easy chair was too small for Nathan to sleep in and he was too old-fashioned to countenance me sleeping in it so we agreed to share his double bed with an arrangement of cushions down the middle to protect us from accidentally touching each other in the night. I’m not sure who was more ill at ease. Nathan made a great show of shepherding me into the bathroom first, making sure I’d locked the door, and waiting for me to get into bed before he emerged from his ablutions. He was in a T-shirt and striped cotton pajama bottoms, and even then I didn’t know where to look.
“Bit weird, eh?” he said, climbing in.
“Um, yes.” I don’t know if it was shock or exhaustion or just the surreal turn of events but I started to giggle. And then the giggle turned into tears. And before I knew it I was sobbing, hunched over in a strange bed, my head in my hands.
