“Die, do you hear me?” The editor shook her shoulders. Such overzealousness always left Sarah Lee limp and distrustful, but it was affection, it was attention, and she needed it, so she let herself believe her a little bit.
But during week two, random women started showing up at odd times of the day and night, which is to say, at all times. One after the other: the stunning Asian woman in high-heeled leather boots who said she had left her book in Carter’s apartment three weeks before, it was in the living room, it would just take a second, and yes, there it was, the collection of spanking stories that had made Sarah Lee blush when she flipped through it, but she was nice, so Sarah Lee had made her coffee and they had had a nice chat—her name was Mary, she hadn’t known Carter was leaving town, no, no, it was nothing serious—until Marcus’s growls drove her away; his studio assistant, Nina Sprout, in pigtails and a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, who stopped by to get her paycheck and was surprised to learn Carter had left town, who started to cry and freak out because how was she going to pay her goddamn rent, he hadn’t said word one to her about this, it was just like a male artist, they think they own the fucking world because they have testicles, and then she suddenly stopped ranting when she opened her envelope and looked at her check, three months covered, “Have a nice vacation” written on the memo line, and Nina jumped up in the air and yelled, “I love testicles!”; and the blond German woman who hadn’t needed to knock because she had keys and had crawled into bed next to Sarah Lee, and said, “Guess who’s in town, darling?” and had wrapped her arm around her. Sarah Lee let her hold her for a second because it felt nice, and then she turned on the light and the woman screamed, just like they do in the movies, only it was real, it really fucking happened like that, it really did. The woman cursed her and Sarah yelled, “Wait, I’m just house-sitting,” but it was too late, the woman was gone. And there were more bits and blips; Carter was constantly interrupting her life with his women even though he was thousands of miles away. Just think how it would be if he were here in town.
So Sarah knew she wouldn’t be able to stay. But she wasn’t ready to go back west, either. This editor seemed promising. And so when Carter returned from Australia, it was on to the next sublet.
5.
TODAY SHE’S taking the bus into the city to get some money together, money she desperately needs. She’s been on rice and beans for weeks, and had barely scraped enough together to pay her phone bill and rent, just two bills and she couldn’t even cover that. She shakes her head: thirty-two years old. Am I going to live this way forever?
But she was holding on, thinking that maybe this was the year she’d break through. Maybe today would be the day. You never know. At least she’ll put a little money in her pocket—she’ll pick up a few checks here and there, drop off some work, maybe get a coffee over near Tompkins Square Park, sit outside, not smoke any cigarettes, but just be around them for a little bit. Pretend like she’s still there with the smokers, still part of the scene.
She stops first at Morris Juno’s studio, a silk-scarf designer she sometimes assists with office work. He had called her a few days before and asked her to visit when she had time. She was hoping he was going to give her some sort of bonus check, that his holiday spirit spread straight through to January.
It seemed like she mostly got paid to be there and not talk; he was always telling her how much he liked her because she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Sarah Lee is used to being silent, a state she had cultivated initially because of her stutter, but had maintained even as she had progressed in life because she had so many things in her head to deal with first before she could speak. She has learned the lesson too many times that when she speaks too quickly it gets her into trouble.
“I don’t know how you turned out this way, but god bless you,” he had told her.