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Fifty Dollars to Comfort

Chris Allen

    “My head is humming and it is upon something hard – like a rock. No, not a rock; cement or asphalt, that is more likely. I can’t be sure, my eyes won’t open, but I know I am outside due to the chill in the wind.
    “Christ! My feet are naked! They must be, I can feel the numbness approaching. The effort to move my toes – I don’t even think I can move them. There’s a funny feeling going on. I don’t think I can hold out long. Rolling over on my side, I let loose and vomit. My body is weak and I can’t support myself. I fall into the vomit. I can feel it absorbing into my clothing near my lower abdomen.
    “I can open my eyes now, though my sight is a little blurry. I’m in some alleyway and I can see a street up ahead where cars are stopped.
    “I tried to stand but still couldn’t find the strength. My muscles were stiff, as if a poison had been injected into me that caused them to contract.
    “That must be what happened!
    “Some of the night before was rushing out of the depths of my mind. I had been depressed; donated all of my money to a charity in hopes to cure it, but that didn’t work. I went out drinking and was fixated in finding death in the night. But now I’m forced to be alive and sick. On top of that, I am still battling this depression. No matter. I know my lawyer friend could help me out.
    “I managed to make it out of the alleyway, but the trouble was that my legs were still stiff and I could barely support myself. I leaned up against one of those walk/don’t walk posts, but couldn’t hold out long and I ended up slamming into the hood of a cab.
    “As I lay in pain upon the ground I hear the cabby’s car door slam. My head was humming again and I wiped my brow. As I tried to get up he came around and began yelling at me. He was fat Hispanic man and I couldn’t understand most of what he said.
    “By the time I was balancing myself on my feet, the guy grabs my coat color and shakes me a bit.
    ““All right! All right!” I screamed.
    “He threw me off and I’m on the ground again. Luckily it’s on the curb.
    ““Asshole junkie!” the cabby screams as he gets into his cab. Then he was off and driving up one of San Francisco’s steep hills.
    “These hills! How the hell am I going to walk up these hills? There was no money for a cab and no money for water, which I so desperately needed.
    “Despite my dehydration and nausea, I walked to the end of the street to see where I was. The sign said Turk Street. I was twenty or more blocks from my apartment on Hyde Street, and only five or more blocks from my friend Harold Burlington, who lived on Geary Boulevard.
    “As I walked to Harold’s, I found myself collapsing against a building or some form of post. The traffic made my head vibrate and my vision undulate. A couple of times I threw up and caused people to cringe and move away from me.
    “Harold lived in a typical San Francisco apartment: it sat on a hill, was leveled yet not leveled, and it was of a light blue color. The other connecting apartments were pink, light green, and other Spring like colors.
    “I beat on his door with both fists. I heard nothing. I rapped upon the door again, each time with more force. So much force that Harold would probably figure me for some dishonest cop trying to book him on affiliations with a prostitute or one of his clients and their illegal activities.
    “The door swung open and there stood Harold. He was wearing a robe made out of buffalo skin. It was open and I could see his red and white striped underwear. The man looked awful, like he had been stuck in for a week. His hair was matted and his facial hair had grown.
    ““Tim!” Harold bellowed. “What the hell are you doing? You’re messed up. Come inside, man, you need a drink of my Caduceus red wine. It will bring you up!”
    ““It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it?” I said.
    ““Hell no!”
    “And with that, he swept me inside and slammed the door.
    “Harold walked a pace in front of me and was in his living room between his couch and TV, then he spun around and looked up at the ceiling, scratched his head, and returned his gaze to me. His eyes were sharp and they studied me from toe to head.
    ““What the hell happened to you last night?” he said. “You don’t have no fuckin’ shoes, and you’ve puked all over yourself.”
    ““I’m depressed.” I said, “I emptied out all the money in my account, tore up my apartment, and went out last night. After that, I don’t remember much.”
    “Harold motioned to the couch. “Take a seat,” he said. I sat down and he walked into his kitchen. I watched him in his kitchen, moving at a fast pace, looking for whatever he needed. He opened drawers, cabinets, and the refrigerator. From the refrigerator he removed a wine bottle and went back to a cabinet he had just been in and pulled out a corkscrew.
    ““You’re going to need something besides this,” he shouted at me, still working on the cork. “Hell, you really need some coffee.”
    ““A glass of water,” I shouted back.
    “The cork popped out and Harold filled two glasses with red wine and brought them into his living room and handed me one.
    ““Water?” I asked.
    ““Oh! Yeah, yeah,” he said and went back into his kitchen and filled me a glass of water.
    “When he handed the glass to me, I drank it down as if I had been some loner stranded in the Outback.
    ““What’s got you so down, man?” said my companion as he sprawled out beside me.
    “I sipped my wine and said: “It’s my last case. My client I was defending overdosed. He had been getting help, at least I believe he was, and then... gone. I get a call when the cause of death was found out.”
    ““Jesus. That is a terrible mess. But why should that get you on some suicidal trip?”
    ““I don’t know. It just struck me and I went to the bar and had one too many beers. When I got home I was losing my buzz and I wanted to peak, I took a few downers; that really dropped me to the cellar. I was in that dark, deep, cold place within myself. I started watching National Geographic – something about homeless kids and poverty. That caused me to donate all my money to what I thought would be a better cause. I took more pills and drank a fourth of Johnny Walker. It didn’t kill me and in my anger I broke up almost everything I owned. After that, I can only grasp brief images; even those don’t come in clear.”
    ““Did you get into any heroin?”
    “I checked my arms, and Harold kept talking. “Yeah, I don’t hold much against it,” he said. “I dabble in that mess every now and then, but I use clean needles. If you were on the street, chances are you caught a rusty, HIV ridden barb.”
    ““I didn’t use any,” I said.
    “Harold drained his glass of wine and jumped to his feet. “I forgot to brew the coffee,” Harold said with bewilderment, and darted off into the kitchen.
    “As he clanked around in there I stretched and noticed my bare feet. “Hey, Harold, you have fifty bucks I could borrow for some shoes? Don’t cheat me out with any money; I don’t buy those cheap shoes made by child slaves!”
    “Harold walked into the living room and looked at me. He had a crooked smile on his face. “Hell, man, I’ll hook up with some hundred and fifty dollar shoes!” With that, Harold ran behind me and I could hear him running up the stairs.
    “He returned sometime later holding a pair of orange and black Nike shoes, and a pair of socks. He tossed them to me.
    ““If that ain’t enough,” he said as I was putting on my socks and shoes, “I’ve got a three hundred dollar suit you can wear too.” He began pacing back and forth, and I could tell he was cooking up a scheme. “And to really fix it up! We can say you had a girl over who tore up your place and spent all of your money. Shit yeah. I know a Pilipino stripper who is bi-curious who would do exactly that. Going to an all female correctional center would probably put her in good graces; she’d be eating rug all night!”
    “The smell of coffee was filling the room and a mad man was hovering above me, glowing with lunacy and brilliance. I couldn’t believe that Harold could be serious about all that he was saying, but I knew that he really was.
    “He sped into the kitchen once more and began to pull coffee mugs out of his cabinet and fill them with the fresh brew.
    ““How do you take this?” he called from the kitchen.
    ““Cream and sugar,” I retorted.
    “Harold returned to the living room and handed me my coffee.
    ““We good on that plan?” he asked.
    “I sipped my coffee, and with amusement, shook my head and looked up at him, smiling. “Why not?”
    ““That’s what I like to hear,” said Harold. “Of course, we’ll have to piss test you, see what kind of drugs you ingested and say that Lilly drugged you.”
    ““You really think she’ll do this?” I asked.
    ““Brother, I’m one hundred percent certain!”
    “He sat down beside me, spilling some of his coffee as he did so, and put his arm around me, and said: “She’s a bi-curious broad who is tired of men and girly girls. She also wants inspiration for a novel she is working on about a girl who murders her lesbian sister, and is forced to go through homosexual abuse.”
    ““Christ, man, that’s pretty intense.”
    ““Exactly!” once more Harold sprang to his feet. “I’m going to call her right now.” With that he ran behind the couch and to a small room with a bunch of fish tanks that angled the living room and was parallel with the kitchen. I saw him punching numbers on his wall phone and him with it resting on his shoulder and ear; a few rings and he began talking. Barely able to make out what he was saying, I turned on the television and began flipping through the channels. I stopped on a comedy with Whoopi Goldberg and Bill Cosby – I needed some comic relief – the name of the move was called, I believe, The Death of the Last Liberal.
    “Forty-five minutes later, Harold comes back into the room and blocks my view of the television. The lunatic is glowing again. I can only wait to hear what he planned.
    ““Go upstairs to the bathroom,” Harold says. “In my medicine cabinet you should find one of those medical cups for pissing. Let your stream fly and then come back down here. I’ll explain everything then.”
    “I do what he says to do and then return to the living room. The TV is now playing cartoons and Harold is asleep on the couch.
    ““Wake up, you bastard!” I scream at him as I shake him by the shoulders. He spins around and shouts things I cannot understand and then he falls to the floor.
    “Harold looked at me with anger in his eyes before he relaxed and sat on the floor, Indian style. “All right, man,” he says, “here’s the plan.”
    “About an hour after Harold’s finished telling me his plan, we’re both getting into his car. I’ve changed into a nice suit: black coat, black pants, with a blue shirt and a white tie. We were headed to Lilly’s place.
    “Harold’s plan was to throw a big party at my place tonight with a bunch of people. It wouldn’t matter if it was already destroyed, because we were going to be loud and have witnesses that could testify that Lilly became violent, drugged me, donated all my money to a charity that was housing her family, and had destroyed most of my things.
    “We arrived to a lesser than respectable part of Japan Town where Lilly lived. We parked in front of a small apartment building with a restaurant in the basement. The entire first floor smelled of fried food and the sounds of the cooks could be heard shouting and banging their utensils. Lilly met us in the lobby and took us up to her apartment on the second floor.
    “Her apartment was small, but it was clean – more so than I expected. Her kitchen and living room were conjoined and there was a couch that had been folded out into a bed. She didn’t have a coffee table or any more furniture. There were big pillows on the ground and a twenty-five inch television in the corner. The fold out couch appeared to serve nothing more than Lilly’s bed.
    “She motioned for us to sit on the pillows, but grabbed me before I had a chance to sit down.
    ““You’re the man?” she asked.
    “I nodded my head.
    “She felt me up, running her hands across my legs, crouch, abdomen, and face.
    “She smiled at me and said, “Yeah, I could have seen me with you before.”
    ““So,” I said, “you are okay with all of this?”
    “She nodded and went behind her couch and brought up a typewriter, replaced it, and brought up a stack of paper.
    ““You do know that you’re going to be in prison for a long time if you go through with this?” I said.
    “She nodded and walked back over to me. “I can still write in prison and doing so will make me a big name writer.” She looked down at Harold and back at me. “Let’s get this over with,” she said.

    “It’s nine o’clock at night and I am back in my apartment. There are about thirty guests here; some are friends of Harold and me. Others are friends of friends, people I have no connection to. Those people should make better witnesses and be more trustworthy in court.
    “I have not had a single drink of alcohol, yet Lilly has swigged down more than half a bottle of Captain Morgan and Coke. She has been romantic with me for the most part, but now she has become violent and agitated when she is around me. Some of the guests are nervous around her, others find her funny.
    “The guests weren’t allowed far at first, until Lilly hurled a few things around and made it look as if she had just broken my LED big screen and broke a bigger hole in one of my windows. Now they are all over the place.
    “Some guy from Vermont has been following Lilly for awhile and now he is all over me. “Wicked sweet party!” he shouts at me. “You’re cool, man, you’re cool. Hey, I know that babe over there is yours, but you mind if I get a quicky from her? I just did some blow off of her tits, I can understand if... you know?”
    ““Right,” it’s all I say to him, and I move past him.
    “Lilly is barking laughter in my kitchen and a group of people are around her. I part two out of the way and shake my fist at her and scream: “Why goddammit?! You’re a waste of my time!”
    “She does something unexpected: she kicks me in my genitals. The people gasp and most of them back away. Lilly is screaming above me, but I’m barely able to hear anything. There is a ringing in my ears, I feel as if I am running a fever, and I am on the verge of throwing up.
    ““You son of a bitch!” Lilly shouts. Now she is straddling me and her thin hand is over my mouth, and I can feel pills being jammed in. I swallow some of them, but roll over and manage to spit as much as I can out.
    “She isn’t in the kitchen anymore but few people have gathered around me and Harold is helping me up. I hear shouts and more objects being broken in my bedroom.
    ““I’ve called the cops,” Harold says to me. “That girl’s crazy! What the hell were you doing with her?”
    ““I don’t know,” I say to him. “She seemed to be doing all right when I met her a few months ago.”
    “When the cops arrive, Lilly throws a lamp at one of them and three wrestle her to the ground and cuff her.
    “Seeing this, the man from Vermont swings at one and knocks him off. Before he knows what hits him, a big cop who probably can bench press 250 or more, slams him into the wall and cuffs him.
    ““I hate you, Timmy!” Lilly screams as she is being hauled out of my apartment, followed by the guy from Vermont who can barely stand.

    “Three years later I am doing pretty good and have gotten my life back on track. The court hearings went well and I was able to slip the guillotine. Harold defended me in court and came across convincingly. Now and then I come back to that low point in my life and find myself laughing about it. As for Lilly’s writing... there isn’t much I can say. However, I am quite curious about her novel.

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