Chapter 11

The phone ringing was a welcome distraction from my self-analysing. Jazz called to catch up, as it was a while since we'd seen each other. I arranged to meet him for a couple of beers the next afternoon, realising I actually had a friend.

Later, I went out to get some groceries and stock up on cigarettes. I walked all the way to the market and was on my way back when I spotted Arthur on the other side of the street, dancing around outside a store in his clown outfit and makeup. I didn't want to disturb him while he was working, but I stopped to watch for a minute. Looking at him, you would never know he had so many problems. He moved gracefully, in perfect rhythm with the music issuing from the store. I imagined dancing with him some day in my apartment. I should probably get a record player.

My smile turned into a gasp of horror, as a bunch of young teenagers shoved their way past Arthur, knocked him off balance, and snatched the sign from his hands, before running off down the street. Shouting after them, he gave chase. They darted across the street to my side, dodging around honking cars. Arthur followed, not even noticing me as he narrowly missed being hit by a yellow cab, and continued racing after the young thugs.

I gripped my grocery bag tightly and began to run after them. The kids had disappeared into an alley, and Arthur skidded, almost falling as he turned to follow. I hurried to catch up as he entered the alley and disappeared from view. When I reached the corner, my heart leapt into my mouth. He was on the ground, surrounded by the group of teenagers, at least three of whom were kicking him where he lay in the dirt.

"Hey! Leave him alone, you little bastards!" I charged down the alley and the kids scattered, fleeing to the other end and out into the street. I stopped beside Arthur, who was trembling and whimpering in pain, one hand pressed between his legs to protect his privates from the kicks. I crouched and placed my bag on the ground. "Arthur." Gently, I touched his shoulder.

"Travis?" His lips trembled within the innocuous red smile painted on his face. He sat up slowly, wincing.

"Where are you hurt?"

"I don't know. Everywhere, but I think it's just bruises."

"This happen a lot?" My jaw twitched in anger. A memory flashed into my mind of me with a gun in my hand, blowing the thugs to pieces—leaving blood all over the alley like I had in a filthy brothel in New York.

"It's not the first time. My sign!" Arthur reached for the broken pieces of the sign the kids had smashed and groaned. "Hoyt will kill me."

"Who's Hoyt?"

"My boss. He'll say it's my fault. I'll have to pay for the sign."

"Then he's just as much a dick as those little arseholes," I gritted out. "Can you get up?" I took his hand and carefully helped him to his feet.

"You look so angry." Arthur stared anxiously into my eyes.

"I hate that they hurt you and I was too far behind to stop it. This city is just like New York in some ways. Full of filthy scum that don't deserve to live."

Arthur flinched. "What would you have done if you caught them?"

"You don't want to know. Don't worry about that now. Let's get you home." I squeezed his hand. "Can you walk okay? We can get a cab at the end of the alley."

"I'm all right. I can walk to the station."

"Don't be silly." I grabbed my bag of groceries and walked slowly with him back to the main street. An independent taxi was passing as we emerged, and I flagged it down. It wasn't Jazz, but I had seen the driver around. I held the door open for Arthur, and slid in after him, then gave the driver the address of the apartments.

"I know you from somewhere," the driver said as he eased the car back into the traffic.

"I'm a taxi driver, too," I said.

"That must be it." He glanced in his rear-view mirror. "Wait a minute. You know Jazz?"

"Yeah, we're friends."

"Ah, you must be Travis. He mentioned going to get you a car. I'm Martin."

"Good to meet you," I said.

Martin nodded and concentrated on his driving. He didn't seem at all curious about the fact that I was travelling with a clown. When he stopped ten minutes later to let us out, he waved away my offer of a fare and said he'd see me around.

When we got out of the lift on our floor, I followed Arthur to his door. I intended to stay with him, but he stood in the doorway when he had opened it.

"I'm okay now. Thank you for helping me," he said stiffly.

"You don't want me to stay with you?"

He shook his head. "I need to get this shit off my face. I'm gonna take a hot bath. It'll make me feel better."

"All right. You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. I'll see you. Maybe tomorrow." He slipped through the doorway and closed the door.

Surprised, I went back to my own apartment. We spent the last night together; woke in each other's arms. Now he didn't want me around. I didn't get it. It reminded me how clueless I was about other people. In my imagination, because we'd got close and shared a bed, suddenly we'd be with each other every minute and things would rush into something more. It seemed I was completely wrong. Perhaps Arthur didn't even like me that much. He had been upset before. Maybe he'd just clung onto the one person who showed any interest and it didn't matter who that was.

I opened a beer, lit a cigarette, and started writing in my journal. My mood plummeted until the words appearing on the page probably didn't make a lot of sense. As I often did, I convinced myself I was of no use to anyone; a waste of time that the "system" had for some reason seen fit to save when I didn't deserve it. There was no helping some people. I would have done anything to help Arthur. I'd spilled out all that shit in the other journal, so I could open up to Dr Kane. I would have talked about it, too. She'd said—all the shrinks had said—that talking would help make things better. If I was better, I'd be able to help Arthur, but no, he didn't want that. He didn't want anything to do with me anymore.

I picked up the other journal, flicked through the pages until I found the beginning of what I wrote the last time, and tore the pages from the book. When I'd finished ripping them into little pieces and piling them in my ashtray, I dropped the end of my cigarette on top of them and watched them burn. Fuck Dr Kane anyway. My personal life and what happened with Gerry was none of her business, and I'd been stupid to think telling her that would do any good.

Tempted as I was to open another beer, I remembered I had to go to work. Instead, I drank some juice, made a sandwich, and swallowed a couple of pills. Then I went out early. I worked from four thirty that afternoon until seven the next morning, exhausted by the end of it, but knowing I wouldn't have been able to sleep, so I may as well be making money.

When I finished, I stopped at a diner and ordered pancakes and coffee. As I stirred sugar into the cup, I remembered Arthur and I had been planning to go out for pie and coffee the previous afternoon. It took me a moment to remember why we hadn't—those little shits had beaten him up, and then I'd sunk into a dark mood because he wanted to be on his own. Of course he did. He was hurt. He wanted to bathe and take care of himself. He wouldn't have agreed to go for pie and coffee if he didn't want me around at all.

"You fucking moron," I muttered. "What's wrong with you?"

I ate my pancakes, gulped two cups of coffee, and went home. It was eight o'clock. Arthur would probably be up by now and I doubted he went to work this early. I hovered outside his door, wiping sweaty palms on my pants legs and wondering if I should knock. Would he want to see me? Maybe I should leave him alone until he came to me. He was more anxious than I was, so he probably wouldn't come to me, but if I knocked on his door, he'd be cornered and possibly defensive.

I scrubbed my hands over my face, my heart racing. "Get a hold of yourself, Travis," I whispered. "Knock on the damn door." I took a breath and knocked.

I counted off the seconds, and a full minute passed before the lock clicked. The door opened a few inches, the chain still on, and Arthur peered through the gap.

"Travis! Sorry, hold on." He closed the door, took the chain off, and opened it again. "Hey."

"Hey." I looked him up and down. He had on dark trousers and a red sweater with the sleeves pushed up. A cigarette dangled from his fingertips. "How are you?" I asked.

"I'm okay. It's just bruises. It happens."

"It shouldn't have to." I sighed. "I'm sorry you got hurt. I'm sorry if I was a jerk, too."

"You weren't. You helped me." Arthur frowned. "Why do you think you were a jerk?"

I shrugged. "No reason. You're really okay?"

"Yes." Finally, he smiled a little. "Have you been working all night?"

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep. I should probably try to get some." I stifled a yawn. I couldn't think of anything to say. I wanted to ask him out again, but I was too worried he might say no.

He nodded. "We, um, we were going to—" He coloured up. "We were going to go to that diner. Do you, um, do you still want to?"

"Yes!" I grinned and told myself to calm down. "Um, yeah. I'm supposed to be catching up with a buddy later—another taxi driver. How about after that? Five o'clock?"

"Okay. I'll be back from work by then. Shall I meet you there?"

"That'd be good. I'll see you later, Arthur." Beaming from ear to ear like a fool, I left him and went back to my own place to try to catch up on some sleep.