There was a coffee shop in the side of one of the old warehosues. A man with elaborate glasses peered into his laptop screen. The man’s legs were crossed and he leaned far forward. The glasses, the peering, the posture, it all looked very uncomfortable. Fred ordered two hot teas. As he walked back to Darci, he realized he had ignored everything she had said during their conversation.
“So what is it that you don’t want to see?” Fred said handing the paper cup to Darci. She stopped painting and cupped her hands around the vessel. As the morning drew on, it failed to get much warmer.
“I guess I don’t want to see anything. I look at people, and no one is looking at anything. You can catch their glance if you are thinking about sex or pot. If you look around, theres nothing going on. There’s the weather and the trees and shit, but looking at them is the loneliest thing there is to do,” Darci glanced up at Fred. Fred cleared his mind of sex and pot.
“I guess since I have no desire to paint, I don’t see things. But I do have a conversation with myself... on going. And it’s ridiculous.” Fred said. Fred leaned against the trunk of the car and Darci painted.
“Do you ever paint people?” Fred asked. Darci had set her first painting of the parking lot to the side to dry. She was looking up now and drawing with charcol. The freeway loomed above.
“Yes,” Darci said.
“Do you think people who shape and guide their lives through their their work, families and relationships are artists?” Fred asked.
“I don’t know.”
“I only ask because I envy them.” Fred paused. He opened his tea cup, steam billowed out. He took out the tea bag and dropped it on the pavement. “It seems like some people can talk about nothing. But talking about something is as empty as talking about nothing, so no mater what...” Fred stopped speaking as he knew he was speaking for no reason.
Darci painted, Fred stood akwardly shuffling. He noticed the back seat of Darci’s car had stacks of drawings, paintings and books under the layer of empty coffee cups and food wrappers. He opened th eback door to her car and made room for himself and picked up a drawing on tip. It was another large gray square. He picked up a rolled canvas. It was a red rectangle with black lines scrawled diagonaly like scratches.
Up till then, and probably forever after, fine art’s only alure to Fred was to stare at nude people. A sence of pride in that knowledge welled up in Fred, as if doing so was a n intelecual pursute. These pictures inspired a bland frustration. The back seat of her car smelled like spilled coffee, cheap wine and tabacoo. The pictures seemed like they’d be comfortable to lat on though. Opening one of the cups he realized if was a full of wine. He opened another coffee cup, it too had been full of wine. This put Darci in perspective. One one hand, the life of traveling and painting seemed romantic, but on the other hand the world realy had become a band and terrifying place. So learning to look really was a burdon. Fred looked out the car window at the giant concrete supports of the freeway above. Alone in the back seat of the car seemed like a terrifying place to live alone. It suddenly made Fred very sad.
Fred leaned against he car and lit a smoke. He stared at Darci with what he supposed was a painter’s eye. She wore layers of cotton clothes, all stained with paint. She bit her lip as she painted. Her hair was a dirty blonde color. Her eyes were a deep worried blue. Her hands were filthy and they shook lightly. Occasionly she sniffled. The cup of tea he had bought her was all ready covered in paint. She was very skiny, she seemed ill. In the quietness of looking, Fred found a new peace.
“Are you religious?” Darci asked. They were driving again. There was a mist accumulating on the windshield. The sound of the wipers was irritating. “I mean i nthe broadest sence.”
“Not really, no. Sometimes when things really suck, I pead with an unknown, you know. If I don’t get caught for this I will never be bad again, sort of thing.”
“Either am I. Something I used to believe, about art... I talk about art a lot because it’s al lI do... I used to believe in this quote, ‘To us art is an adventure into an unknown world, which can be explored willing by those willing to take the risks.” Those risks, I used to think, were political... you know like offending people. But people don’t stay offended. They are outraged in a moment, but the second they leave the context that angers them, they are back to normal again. So the painting, the work, was irrelevant. So I don’t believe in risk taking in art.”
“Your lifestyle seems risky.”
“But any homeless freak can and does this everyday. Is it taking a risk to live the only way you know how?”
“Would you like a Vicodin?” Fred offered his bottle.
They were now on the levy between the Columbia river and the airport. Fred wondered if this were the levy the old black man had been talking about the other day. The sky was large and white. Darci had begun to visably shake. Fred stared at her as she set up another roll of fabric to paint on. The shakes she was having were the sort he had seen Nate do some years ago. They were full body. It was repulsive. Fred lay back on th etruck of the car and watched.
Sometime later they were in the parking lot of a Fred Meyers. Fred had sleepily suggested they go there for lunch. His cough syrup had caught up with his pills and he was feeling very warm. Darci had grown very quiet over the last few hours, Fred had grown more introspective. Through the haze in his mind he senced a growing anxiety in her.
“Let me buy you some stuff you’ll need,” Fred said.
“I don’t need much. I think I am going back to Montana soon.”
“Everybody needs things. Look at al lthe things in the world. If no body needed things, there wouldn’t be so many things.”
Darci went towards the bathroom, Fred got a cart. Wandering the isles he came across a pyramid display of boxed wines. With out realizing it, he rubbed the wounds on his head and face. The boxes held five liters and were only six bucks a piece. He put two in the cart. He thought better of it and put four more in. He did the mathi n his head, he had bought 35 liters of wine for less than fourty bucks. The cart was roughly the size of a short bath tub, so on a whim he decided to fil lthe cart with the boxes of wine. When the cart was full, it was very heavy. Fred felt proud of his weird imulse.
He put a small package of cheese on top of his bounty and found an empty check out lane. The checker said nothing of his multitudes of Merlot, somewhat disapointing Fred. Noticing Darci walking up and Isle, Fred hurried his card outside. He filled the back seat and the truck with big boxes of wine, then sat waiting for Darci with an idiotic grin on his face.
Soon she emerged from the front of the building. She got in the car and put a bag in Fred’s lap. It was a large bottle of wine. She became aware of the wine and grinned.
“Ok,” she said.
“Do you want to go back to my place? I can cook you a meal, you can take a shower?” Fred said, some how knowign Irene wouldn’t be there.
“Sure,” Darci said with a hint of sadness. It was rush hour, the streets were noisy and full. They made their way, stoplight by stoplight back to Fred’s house.
Fred was cautious opening the front door. Nate had left some time during the day, first he had gone to the store and bought some chicken and a fourty ounce bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and left the empty wrappers and bottle on the living room table like an offering. It occured to Fred that Nate’s mess was the first sign of human habitation he had seen in the apartment for a long time.
“The bathroom is in there, use what ever you want,” Fred said to Darci.
Fred then confronted the answering machine. He took a swig of cough syrup, then pressed play.
“Baby, I’m staying at my parents for a few days to help with my brother. Please feed the cat.” Fred noded his head. He then put the chicken wrappers and bones on the floor. The cat came running.
Fred watched the TV for some time. The news ticker making it’s way to the left benieth the candidate looked like passing ground and the talking head was advancing to the right. The ticker read home foreclosures were reaching record levels. The candidate talked about global warming. A gril Fred had loved some years back had left him for a man with a job. The last he had heard of her she had two kids. Sometimes he thought of her in her sundresses attending to two healthy kids in a yard. It made him sad to think of a yard in jeapordy, a looming foreclosure. Thank God she had married the other man, because Fred knew he’d fold under the presure of such an event. Maybe his indegence wasn’t something to be ashamed of. The candidate paused for an explosion of cheers.
Darci emerged from the bathroom in several towels. One around her mid section, one around her waist and one wrapped around her hair. “I washed my clothes,” she said and sat on the lazy boy. A slow wave of Irene’s soap smells hit Fred.
A long silence settle dbetween them. The candidate proposed Ethonol as a cure for growing fuel prices, and lower fuel costs would help the hungry. Corn liquor for everyone. “How about a drink,” Fred said. Darci nodded.
Darci filled a pint glass with wine. Fred felt like an idiot with a wine glass. Darci changed the chanel to the Food Network. Close-ups of mighty slices of meatloaf filled the screen. The cat coughed up chicken bones in the kitchen. Fred could hear the wet splat as the vomit hit the floor. The sun was setting and the cheap wine odor mixed with the humidity of the shower was filling his nose. Fred had never seen such pale skin. Next to the deep dyed collor of the red wine, in the pale light, Darci looked nearly dead. Fred gulped a glass of wine and walked into the bathroom.
Darci’s wet clothes were drapped over the towel rack. Fred closed the door and began to masterbate. He wanted to get it out of the way so he wouldn’t feel compelled to do anything stupid. He quickly finished and flushed the result. Back in the living room Darci didn’t look up when he returned. It occured to him there was a happy meloncholy domesticity forming between them.
“You can stay here for a while,” Fred said. “You don’t have to stay in your car.”
“There’s no room in it anymore. I think I am leaving soon. I’m tired.”
“Back to Montana?” Fred asked.
“Yeah. I’m done.”
“We can drink some room. Drink it away so there’s space.”
Darci smiled. “I quit drinking... between sips... so I can breath.”
“I quit drinking for over a year. I quit that too. Now I’m a ship builder... of sorts.”
“A ship builder? Another one?” Darci said
“I am working on my first one now. My friend Nate, Brian and I. We are going to build a boat.”
“Can I smoke in here?” Darci asked.
“No, on the portch. That’s where I live, on the portch. The Portch is where I smoke.”
Darci took Fred’s Cigartettes and went out to the portch. Fred went outside to Darci’s car and got four boxes of wine. He brought them back to the apartment and set them down by the front door like suitcases set down by a porter in an old fashioned honeymoon. He fixed himself another dainty glass of wine, then joined Darci on the Portch.”
They stood on the portch for a long time. The hedges blocked their view of anything. Fred looked into his glass. Darci held her pint of wine to her chest when she wasn’t drinking. Whe nshe was, she brought the glass to her face with both hands like a toddler. They smoked several cigaretes. The wine was mixing with Fred’s pills in his empty stomach and making him very numb. Darci went back iin the house after a while, politely grimacing at Fred before she left him.
An idea came to Fred. He decided to act on it while he had the nerve, He took the boxes of wine and pertched them on the edge of the tub. He then opened each one. Four slow trickes streacked down the porcelin of the tub and collected in the bottom. Under the hard florecant light the wine looked almost black like clotted blood. The tub was filling slowly so he went back out to the car and collected four more boxes of wine. Darci noticed him going into the bathroom with the second load of wine and followed him in. Fred began stacking the boxes, making the wine a tiered fountain. Slowly the tub began to fill. They both stared into it. Daci put her pint glass under the stream of one of th eboxes. She then looked at fred and smiled. Her teeth were stained red. Fred kissed her. She smelled of thick sweet cheap wine. She took a drink of wine and before she could swallow, Fred kissed her again. Wine spilled out of her mouth down his chin.
Darci hesitated as Fred unwrapped her, but once she was nude, she met Fred’s gaze as if to aknowledge how frigtenly thin she was. Most of her skelatol structure was visable. Her ribs cast heavy shadows on her white skin. Realizing her pain, her intentional slow suicide, Fred became very sad. He pulled her in and hugged her. She began to laugh. Fred ran his fingers through her thin hair then down her back.
“I am terrified,” he said with watery eyes. This made her laugh more. She stepped into the tub.
“It’s cold,” she said. Fred turned on the heat lamp. She slowly sat in the wine. She winced when the liquid touched her pubic hair. She hovered over the wine for a moment, then plopped down. Fred crossed his arms and stared in aproval. The first four boxes’ flow had slowed. Darci took one of them and tore the wine bag out of the box and squeezed the wine on her chest and face and into her mouth, then settled back.
After four more boxes, the tub was half full. Darci lounged in the liquid and Fred sat on the tiolet.
“Do you think this is potentialy leathal?” Darci fought the slurring in her voice.
“Every monent you hang out with me you take your life in your hands. You should know that by now,” Fred said.
“I think I’m going to nap. If I drown, let me be,” Darci said.
Darci’s breath grew slow. Fred went into the living room and masterbated. The thought of drinking wine from Darci’s vagina brought him to climax. When he was finished, he went back into the bathroom and sat on the floor with his back to the tub and listened to her breathe.
Fred had begun to doze off when he felt Darci’s hand in his hair. At first it seemed like a soft affectionate pet, but the hand became a fist of hair and she used his head as leverage to stand. She was shaking violently. Fred held her hand and guided her down o nthe tiolet. She flopped back and forth dripping wine everywhere. When she finished urinating she looked up at Fred and said, “Well, this is it.”
“This is what?” Fred asked as Darci put her arms around him and pulled herself up.
“This is it,” she said and crawled akwardly back in the tub.
Fred was briefly scared by the ifnality in her tone. But then again, being apart of ‘it,’ made him feel special too. He drank some wine and sat back down.
Some hours passed as Fred passed the time posing, peeing and looking at himself in the mirror. Darci slept in her blood red bath. The level of wine wasnt high enough to drown her even when her hed was relaxed. Fred realized he was as drunk as he ever remembered being and he wondered if the wine bath might kill Darci. He stood up and tried to think it through. He remembered something about alcohol lowering your body temperature. But the bathroom seemed un-bareably hot. Looking down on her tiny white body in the wine, he smiled at the ridiculousness of it. He wished he could paint or record the visual spectacle of it. He knelt by the tub with his arm resting on the edge. He rested his head on his arms and dosed off.
Darci looked terrifying, her eyes were dark, he skin was stained. She crouched shivering violently. Tears cleared paths down her face through th ewine. It took a few seconds for Fred to understand where he was. He grabbed a towel and threw it over her and helped her out of the tub and onto the floor. She hugged her knees and whined for a while. Fred found more towls in a closet and covered her. Then he tore open a wine box and made a pillow of the nearly empty bag within. Darcis sobs softened as she seemed to drift off again. Wine snaked away from her body like rivers on a map. As she breathed her body shook as if i nodding agreement.
Proud of the bed he had made her, Fred looked down on Darci with maternal affection. He poured a new mug of wine and began to undress. He had to keep a firm hand on the towl rack to keep from falling over as he manouvered his clothes off his body. Once nude he marvled in the mirror at what a pale ugly beast he was. He shrugged and stepped into the tub. The wine was cold at first and made him giggle. He leaned back and was invigorated by the cold as the wine washed up over his chest. He then rolled over on his front and submerged his face. The wine was cold and wonderful on his face. Wine filled his ears and a serene quiet engulfed him. All he could hear was his heart rolling live fast motion waves breaking on the beach.
Fred awoke to darci bathing him with a sponge shaked like turtle. She squeezed the wine out onto his chest, then rubbed it in slow circles. Fred fought to keep his eyes open. She kissed him causing his body to slip down into the tub a few inches. Staring up at the ceiling, he could feel the wine level was just below his eyes, covering his ears. He felt a jolt as her mouth covered his flacid penis. The warmth of her mouth made him realize how cold the rest of his body was. Somewhere deep in his psyci told him he needed to somehow fold into her mouth and body to survive.
Fred could see Darci climbingint othe tub ontop of him. The level of the wine roze and spilled into his eyes. She slipped his penis into her and gently rocked back and forth. The ripples of wine barely reached his nostrils. As darci kissed his face, she sucked wine into her mouth and spilled it into his. She loomed over him, blocking the light.
After a few moments coughing and letting tears clear his eyes Fred propped his body up on his elbow. He was facing the wall and Darci was wedged in behind him in the tub, sleping with her head resting on her own folded arm. Fred settled back into the wine. Although her was cold and akwardly folded, he felt safe in what felt like the revolving bathroom. He slurped up more wine and closed his eyes.
“Get up!” Darci said. She stared at the bathroom door.
“What is it?”
“There’s some one out there,” she said with a look of childish terror.
“Where the hell are we,” Fred said while blinking at the bare stained walls.
“We’re in the hotel, stupid.”
“Why are they in there? What did we do?” Fred asked.
“I don’t know,” Darci said.
Fred reached a soaked hand towards the door and tried to lock it. After some time of what looked like intentionaly shaking the handle, he managed to get the lock turned.
“Shh!” Darci said.
Fred heard an answering machine play messages. He knew they wern’t in a hotel, but he stil lcouldn’t remeber where they were. They both listened, trying not to breathe. Then came the disticnt sound of a door closing and locking.
“Are they gone?” Fred asked.
“I don’t know.” Darci whispered. “It’s probably no big deal.”
Darci sat leaning against the wall breathing deeply. With her eyes closed her hands felt arounf her for a bag of wine. The first one they came across proved empty. She threw it, then groped out for another. This one had wine. She poured it in her mouth, much oh it rolling down her stained white flesh. It rolled down her face, paused at the deep lines of her neck, then wandered down her ribs and torso to the floor. Her mouth slumped open as she fell unconcious again.
Fred decided to find food. It had to be done eventualy. He had never felt so holow. Standing was very dificult and it made him laugh. He openned the bathroom door to reveal the apartment. It was dark and cold. He imediatly felt nude.
“Hello?” He said into the black rooms. “I’m comming in. I’m naked. Beware the nakedness.”
He propelled his way forward by leaning against the walls.
“Hello? Everyone? I have a hostage. An I’m not afraid to shot you with it.”
He made his way into the dark living room.
“I am naked in th eliving room. Beware. Beware. Danger. Horrible...”
The kitchen floor was cold. THe clock on th emicrwave read 4:00. He blinked at it. It ment nothing to him. Opening the frige brought a rush of cold air and bright light. Fred thought it best he sit down to look inside. All the foods ment nothign to him. To beter see them, he took each item out, looked at it then put it on the floor. He had two piles. One wwas things he did not understand, one was things he was going to take back to the bathroom with him. He found a bag of organic radishes. He put a carton of eggs and a containter of syrup into the bag with the radishes.
Attempting to stand, Fred fell face first on the floor on top of the discarded packages of food. The cut on his head from Irene’s attack opened up. He lay in the food and vlood for a moment until he got uncomfortably cold, then he crawled away.
Fred aranged the food items at Darci’s feet. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of Fred struggling to lock the door. They both stared at the food for a while. It was a riddle. Darci cracked it. She found her pint glass behind the toilet. She held it up to the light, then brought it back to the food pile. She then took an egg and smashed it on th eside of the glass. Her shaking kept her from being able to direct the goo into the glass. Un daughnted she took another egg. This one crushed in her hands. She breathed a heavy disapointed sigh. Fred reached over and held the glass fimly against her knee. She was then able to use both hands on one egg. She was sucessful. They crcked three more eggs this way into her glass. She then topped the glass off with wine. They took turns feeding eachother the concoction. It was very good.
Darci dry heaved a few times, stood and got back in the bath.
Fred stared at the raddishes. She sniffed them a few times. He chewed on one. It turned and broke up in his mouth, but it never seemed like something he’d physicaly be able to swallow.
“I am tired,” Darci said.
“I’m sorry,” Said Fred.
“I have to go home, but it’s so far away,” She pointed off itno the distance.
“What is your room like?” Fred asked.
“Oh, it’s ok. It’s some sleeping bags on foam strips from Wal-Mart. It’s in a old car garage. Some painters live there. The bed is comfy. I like it. My dog died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He used to sleep with me but he bit another dog,” Darci took a deep breath, “...and the cops took him away. I miss him. He growled at al lthe noises in the night. He was warm.”
“I like your room,” Said Fred imagining it.
“It’s ok.”
“I don’t have a room. I sleep here, but I don’t live here. None of this stuff is mine. I don’t like it,” Fred said looking at his feet. They were stained pink.
“It’s nice. It has stuff everywhere on shelves and things like forks and napkins on tables,” Darci looked at Fred as she said this.
“I don’t live here, I work here. I think I need to go,” Fred said.
“Where would you go?” Darci seemed distressed.
“I think somewhere wet,” Fred was thirsty.
“Well, if you go somewhere, remember. Everywhere is lonely. Everywhere. The only way to not feel the loneliest, is to feel lonely with someone else.”
Fred said that sentance back to himself. “That’s a good one.”
“Thank you,” Darci said. “Do you know what’s a big crock of bullshit?”
“What?”
“Everything ever.”
“It’s all about the brain juices,” Fred said.
“How so.”
“Depression and desolation and grief... it’s all about... and guilt. Guilt is a big one. I hate guilt. It’s all about the chemicals in the brain.”
“Nope,” Darci shook her head. “It’s all the truth. I’m not saying boo hoo. I’m saying fuck it. There’s a diference. The diference is chemical. Maybe.”
“I feel at home here.”
“It’s ok. I’m scared and tired though,” Darci said.
“Is it ok that we had sex?” Fred asked. The boldness of the question gave him a shock through the intoxication.
“I forgot your name,” Darci said.
“Fred.”
“It’s ok.” They sat in silence for a while. Fred felt a wave of heart break. “Fred,” she finaly finished the sentance.
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