Chapter One
"Never Again, Again"
"I guess my position as building manager has been compromised." With fresh vodka and
Mountain Dew in my I Love My Dog coffee mug, I looked to Coty as he ascended the stairs as
he did every Friday evening at 7:30. I knew he'd been drinking with my father and his protege,
as this was a weekly tradition. What I didn't know was whether he'd take the time to stop and
have a drink with his favorite mistake before his early bedtime.
"What are you talking about?" he asked, only half interested due to the loud music and
obvious party going on in the courtyard. "You not able to do something about that noise?"
Coty couldn't help it; he was an enigma. Acidulous one minute, and loveable gentleman
a moment later. I wondered if living with me and dealing with my antics for nearly four years had
possibly added to his disdain for all things fun. Who was I kidding? Of course it was. For a long
stretch, our apartment was party central, and all of the tenants, regarding me as nothing short of
the greatest landlord on the planet, would gather together, and we would relish in our young
stupidity, and drown the reality of our situation with cheap booze and stale cigarettes.
I could see where adults running amok as if unsupervised children would become
irritating after a while. This is probably why, during most of my auspicious evenings, Coty was
usually hiding in the back bedroom, watching programs about history and playing video games
alone. I guess one would see that as a cry for attention, but I was far too drunk to notice if he
was hurting. This is why, since our break-up, I've been, for the most part, practically cotton
candy around him. Even when he gave me that look of annoyance he should have had
copywritten.
"Oh, I can do something about the noise," I reassured him, with my in control mask
tightly concealing my true identity. "I can call the cops. Those fuckers down there sure aren't
listening to me."
Punching in the code that unlocked his apartment, which was conveniently or
incoveniently depending on how you look at it, right down stairs from mine, Coty let the door
swing open with zero enthusiasm. We shared a common area outside of our doors, whereas we
once shared our lives together. It was a little depressing, but I was happy he was still in my life,
even if it was just for a drink or a blowjob every now and again. "Call them," he said quietly,
looking quite exhausted. Indeed, we were comfortable strangers, he and I, and I reflected on
that as I heard the familiar thuds of Steven clambering up the stairs to join in the conversation.
"You can use my phone," he said, as if he'd been eavesdropping from the open door of
his downstairs studio apartment. "Or I'll call them? You want me to?" Steven's eagerness was
staggering, but he was a sucker for a good episode of Cops, so I didn't make to much of a fuss
over his boner-inducing love of flashing lights and sirens.
"I'll call them. Liz is on her way over anyway."
"You guys drinking tonight?"
"No, Steven. We're going out to the club with Britney and Mariah. They have a drink
special if you show up with two whorish pop stars."
Steven laughed, as if conditioned to do so. And if I hadn't done the conditioning myself,
I might have minded. Truth was, even though he was far from limited, he didn't seem to get a lot
of my analogies, making him sort of the Rose Nylund to our group. He believed the literal
meaning of every phrase unless it was a fart joke or something he'd come up with himself.
"That means yes. When is he not drinking?" Coty, who'd entered his apartment only to
toss his work shirt onto the kitchen table, returned with a beer himself. "He's can't have any
blood getting into his alcohol system."
Coty loved his corny jokes so much, he repeated them often. A trait he shared with my
father, who just happened to be one of his best friends. Despite their thirty three year age
difference, they were quite the pair, and yes, I was furiously jealous at first. Over time, it had
gotten easier to deal with, and eventually I came to laud their friendship, partly because it could
be attributed to me. If Coty hadn't moved here from western New York to live with me, those
two would have never met. Seems selfish to say, but that's how I rationalized and dealt with
their relationship. It was all about me. And as pathetic as that sounds, oh, reader, it truly was.
Steven handed me his phone, and I hesitated. "What's wrong?" he asked, chewing on a
hang nail, his red, unwashed John Cena shirt barely masking his swollen and hairy belly.
"Do you think I'd be a hypocrite for calling?"
"How's that?"
Coty was quick to interject. "Because he just had the cops called on him last week.
Remember? They had to cart his drunk ass back to his apartment after passing out in the
courtyard."
"Hey, I didn't get arrested. That counts for something, right?"
Steven nodded, and Coty took a swig of his beer and rolled his eyes. I never wanted
him more than when he made it obvious he didn't want me. I guess that's a conundrum most
people who are involved in long term relationships encounter. When the sparks die down, and
the fire is out, we look for new ways to become aroused and engaged in the pleasures of the
bedroom. Not that sex with me was strictly designated for the bedrooom in my eyes. Trust me,
no bathroom, U-Haul truck, or schoolhouse roof was safe from my imagination. I had a lust for
the dangerous, and it was pretty obvious. My reputation oftentimes preceded my actions, and I
was pigeon-holed as being somewhat of a slutty self-righteous twat. But hey, whatever. That
was just fine by me.
"You probably blew one of the officers." Coty and his little quips. How I did often enjoy
them. He'd never let me live down the fact that I'd been unfaithful to him on numerouos
occasions, but he had to realize there were somethings I had in common with my father after all.
I had his eyes....those beautiful blue wandering eyes.
"Eh, shut up before I come over there and kiss you."
"No." His features were twisted and stern, but his features were lying. I knew better
than anyone he'd throw me down and fuck the hell out of me the very first chance he had. And
he had chances...and had taken them. He wasn't quite putty in my hand, but I could still get
whatever I wanted from him. I'd like to say I never used this to my advantage, but shit, a bitch
has to get cigarettes and liquor somehow.
He wasn't numb to that detail; he was an intelligent guy who, despite his tall, thin, waifish
exterior, was quite strong physically, as has been proven over the years of our oftentimes violent
love story. I think that's where the forced sternness came from. He wanted to fuck me. I knew
he loved me, but at the same time, I was certain he hated me just as much.
"You know you want it," I teased, pretending to gingerly massage my ass.
"Like a fucking heart attack. You don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Nope. The battery just won't die. Guess you'll just have to deal."
Steven, who'd been around for most of my relationship with Coty always said we'd end
up back together some day. He was always pulling for us, and usually in our corner, but right
now, he was a little preoccupied to segue into the Coty and Frankie Story. "Are we going to
call the cops on the assholes downstairs or not?"
"Forget it," was my official decree, as I noticed the party seemed to be breaking up.
"They're leaving, which is good, 'cos you know we have to live around these people. Bad blood
lasts a while."
Coty was sitting on the stoop outside his door tossing back the Bud Light like he
needed it to withstand his present company, and I seated myself beside him, much to his
chagrin. "How was work?" I asked him, hoping to ease a little of the tension and cut through the
old school Motown songs blaring from Lionel's apartment. "You look like you had a rough
day."
"Wasn't rough, just busy." Another long gulge from the bud light savior followed. For
him it was medicinal. For me, it was habitual.
We sat there in silence for a few moments before a disappointed Steven noted that, "Liz
is here," and my dog, Milo, a white Maltese poodle mix, who was too smart for his own good,
awarded her arrival with a clarion call of warning barks. "Hi, Mom!" Liz beamed as she met us
on the second floor, bags of liquor and soda chasers in hand. "What am you doing?"
Liz and I had a funny way of communicating. We were both very good writers and
boasted quite extensive vocabularities, though we purposely spoke to each other with improper
grammar. We found it hilarious, though others who weren't priviledged enough to know us, may
have found us to be a bit daft. We didn't care. It was our thing. That's just the way it had always
been. As far as why she called me mom, that's an inside joke to be revealed at a later time.
"Just decided not to call the cops on the loud ass tenants," I revealed. "You know, just
another Friday at Ragamuffin Manor."
"You ready to do some partying?"
"Did we just meet?"
"You're right," she giggled, clutching her bargain vodka. "Stupid question."
I knew I wouldn't last long that night, for truth be told, I was prescribed valium for my
panic attacks, which I took every day. Pharmacists discourage mixing the medicine with alcohol,
and considering I'd just taken a pill at five thirty, I knew I'd end up blackout drunk, accosting
people on Facebook for naked photos. It was just a little something I did.
I tried to wean myself off the valium, which oddly enough is prescribed to help alcholics with
their withdraws, but my own were far too great. I just couldn't hack it. So, I did what anyone in
my situation would do. Not a damn thing. I was so far gone, I didn't care, or didn't chose to
care, rather, that I'd become a full-fledged addict.
The four of us, after Liz, Steven, and I begged Coty to join us, all settled into my
bedroom, which reeked of cat piss. I had five of those little bastards, and of course, being the
shit machines they are, and me being the Helen Keller of housekeeping, the apartment was in a
bit of disarray. I decided that we should hook up the Nintendo Wii and play a friendly game of
bowling, despite the failing efforts of Steven's Hawaiian Breeze air freshener.
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