Frank’s apartment
They arrived at a seedy apartment complex. It was raining out. After they got out of the cab, they ran toward the building. The building had long, rafter-like porches going around it. Louie wobbled ahead of Lethe until stopping at a brown door under a huddle of overgrown branches. Lethe looked down the length of the porch to where a seventeen year old girl had her knees in her t-shirt and was sitting on the planks smoking a cigarette. Lethe smiled at her. He couldn’t tell if she was crying or if the rain had made splashes across her cheeks.
A hunched woman in a bathrobe answered the door. She seemed to recognize Louie only faintly. She had the cold expression of a person who is surprised by nothing. Her eyes were dead.
Lethe followed Louie into the apartment. The short woman turned and went into the kitchen. There she began scrubbing potatoes in the sink. A rather large man sat with his legs spread apart on a torn-up couch. He was wearing sweat pants and a football jersey. Lethe avoided looking at him directly and leaned back against the wall.
“Well, come on in you freaks,” the man said. He had a husky voice and a savage way about him. His eyes were full of hatred or bitterness.
Louie didn’t move from the front door. Lethe went around the couch and sat in front of the television on the orange carpet. Now the coarse-looking man had a devilish grin on his face, like he was enjoying himself a great deal. Next to him sat a woman about thirty years younger. She had chalk-white skin and huge breasts.
Lethe glanced at the television. They seemed to be watching soft porn on Cinnemax. The woman in the kitchen continued to peel potatoes. There was a golden retriever sleeping at her feet.
“So are you going to introduce your friend?” The man on the couch said.
Louie snickered nervously. “This is Lethe.”
“Not much of an introduction, is it?” He turned to his new guest. “I’m this jagoff’s brother. You can call me Frank . . . this is Mona.”
The big-breasted woman smiled sheepishly and dropped her chalk-white hands into a plastic bag filled with crack rocks.
Louie continued to stand by the door. He was tapping his leg.
“You know you owe me money.”
“I don’t have any money on me tonight.”
“Of course you don’t you faggot.”
Frank turned to Lethe, “He thinks he can sponge off me. Bloodsucking parasite. Fuckin’ faggot.”
Louie pretended to smile. “I’ll have it next week . . .”
“He thinks just because we’re brothers he can dick me around. I won’t put up with it Louie. I’m telling you—this is the last time.”
Mona filled the pipe again and held it to Frank’s lips. While he was inhaling he kept his eyes leveled on the television screen. Lethe couldn’t believe how much smoke the man could hold in his lungs. The whole front of the room filled up with smoke.
Then Mona took the pipe and poked greedily into the bag of crack rocks. She had long, acrylic fingernails with little purple and yellow flowers on the tips. After taking her hit, she offered some to Lethe. At first he turned it down.
There was a huge amount of crack on the table. It was in a large freezer bag, and Mona kept going into the bag and filling up the glass pipe for Frank. Frank hardly moved.
Lethe looked around the apartment circumspectly, like he was trying to remember things for his Novel of Life. He knew that this scene would come up in the Novel because it was part of the unfoldment. Every moment, every experience, was a new chapter, a new story.
Frank saw Lethe looking at the framed photograph on top of his television.
“You know I used to be in good shape back in the old days. I was like you, except stronger. If we had time I could show you some of my old football tapes. I was the quarterback for Fairbanks High. You don’t know where that is but Louie does. Louie remembers what I used to look like. I was in damn good shape! I almost got a free ride to play ball.”
“What happened?”
“Fuck’s sake, don’t ask. By that time I was slinging hookers and dealing dope. My football days didn’t last long.”
Frank tipped his head back. Mona put the pipe to his lips. Another enormous inhale. The man could barely breathe. In a fit of wheezing, Frank’s large frame shook violently. Clouds of crack smoke traveled across the room.
The cocaine that Lethe wanted was on the bottom of that bag of crack. Frank told Mona to spoon some of it out for him. Lethe put his forty dollars on the coffee table. In the short amount of time he was in the apartment, the youth felt like he had forged a bond with Louie’s older brother.
The hunched woman in kitchen kept her back to them the entire time. She was still at the sink, peeling potatoes. The golden retriever was still sleeping. Lethe wondered about the woman.
“Who is that over there?” He asked.
“Her?” Frank pointed to the short woman in the bathrobe. “That’s my wife.”
Lethe nodded his head. “Ohhhh . . .”
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“No, I just thought that maybe she was . . . the housekeeper or something.”
“She’s my housekeeper. She’s my wife. And this is Mona. She’s my girlfriend. You see I pay the bills around here so I can do what I want. If she wants to leave, she can be my guest. I never needed her that much anyways. But as long as she lives in my house, it’s whatever I say.” He raised his voice, and was almost yelling.
Louie edged toward the doorway.
“Here take you’re stupid coke, you little brat.” Frank threw the bag at Lethe.
“I’m sorry.” Lethe said. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Relax kid. I’m just joking around. You want another hit?”
“I think we should get going,” Louie said impishly.
The woman in the bathrobe turned from the sink.
