I hadn’t thought you could be a drug addict without using needles. Nervously, I asked another question.
‘How did you manage for money?’ I hoped he’d say he’d dealt drugs or been a pimp.
‘I had a job.’ He seemed surprised.
‘But…’ I was confused. ‘You don’t sound like a drug addict to me.’
He opened his mouth and reeled off ‘I spent nearly every night on my own, off my head. Most days in work I was unable to perform. I was forever preoccupied with where the next smoke was coming from. I never wanted to do anything like go to the pictures or go for a meal because it might take time away from being stoned.’
He paused and said lightly ‘Is that bad enough for you?’
‘No.’ I was still confused.
‘OK,’ he took a deep breath, ‘I owed money to everyone, I was a friend to no one. And it wasn’t just that I lived my life badly. What went on in my head wasn’t good either. I always felt on the edge of things, not good enough, you know?’
I nodded cautiously.
‘I got into the wrong kind of relationships with the wrong kind of people. I didn’t care about anyone except myself. And I didn’t care much about me either.’
Anxiously, I wondered what kind of relationships he was alluding to. ‘I’ve used drugs to deal with every unpleasant thing that life has ever thrown at me. When I came in here they told me that I had the emotions of a twelve-year-old.’
‘How do they know?’ What kind of measuring process did they use?
‘Because that’s when I began using drugs. You only grow up by living through the shit that life throws at you. But, whenever life threw problems at me, I just got out of it. So my emotions stayed stopped at twelve.’
‘I can’t see what’s wrong with being twelve, actually.’ I gave a little laugh to let him know I was having a joke.
He wasn’t amused.
‘It means I’ve never had a sense of responsibility. I’ve let people down, I’ve stood people up…’
I was beginning to dislike him, he was far too uptight and humourless.
‘I’ve told millions and millions of lies to protect my own skin, so that people wouldn’t be annoyed with me.’
That really put me off him. How weak!
‘What age did you start using drugs at?’ he surprised me by asking.
Me?
‘I was about fifteen,’ I said stumbling over my words. ‘But I was only ever a social user. I certainly never did any of those things that you described, taking drugs on my own, owing money, being irresponsible…’
‘Didn’t you?’ he asked, with a face-splitting grin.
‘What’s so funny?’ I was annoyed.
‘Nothing.’
I decided to change the subject. ‘What will you do when you get out of here?’ I asked.
‘Who knows? Get a job, behave myself. You never know.’ He gave me a wink. ‘I might even go to New York. And while I’m there, see this Luke bloke and sort him out.’
Stars filled my eyes and I disappeared on a wild fantasy. A vision of me arriving back to New York with Chris on my arm, going into the Cute Hoor with him, both of us hysterically in love, Chris no longer with the emotions of a twelve-year-old, the pair of us mad keen to party. A handsome, well-matched couple.
Naturally we would lie about where we had met.
More visions flitted past. Luke puking with grief. Luke begging me to take him back. Luke going bonkers with jealousy and trying to hit Chris… it usually came back to Luke trying to hit Chris. One of my favourites.
42
The night Luke stormed out of my kitchen – oh yes, even though he’d done it with cold control, he’d stormed nevertheless – the course of our true love stopped running at all and actually came to a complete standstill. It spent over two weeks doing nothing but loitering on a street corner, waiting for dole day, half-heartedly whistling at local girls coming home from their shifts at the factory.
And of course Daryl was no compensation.
When he’d arrived so unexpectedly on my doorstep and scared Luke off, he hadn’t even come to see me. He was only there because his dealer had been busted. He was doing the rounds of everyone he knew on the island of Manhattan as he looked for an alternative source of drugs. Once upon a time, people used to recommend hairdressers to each other. Or plumbers. Or even personal trainers. Now it’s dealers. In different circumstances I might have thought this was charming.
Good-neighbours-New-York-close-of-Millennium style. Instead of dropping by to borrow a cup of sugar, they come to borrow a couple of grams of coke. But in the wake of Luke’s departure I thought little was charming.
And of course I didn’t have hide nor hair of a drug to give to Daryl.
But I knew a man who did.
As it happened, due to the feelings of wretchedness engendered by Luke’s leaving, I was keen to see Wayne myself. So, I cynically used Daryl’s desperation to my own advantage. Daryl had money for drugs, but didn’t know where to get them; I knew where to get them, but didn’t have the wherewithal to do so.
We needed each other.
I placed a phonecall to Wayne, then Daryl and I sat back and waited. I even managed to cheer up slightly. OK, so Luke hated me again, but Daryl was wearing really nice clothes. A pair of ultra-groovy purple velvet flairs that were at the cutting edge of attractive menswear.
It wasn’t his fault they made him sweat so much.
But he did have a very glamorous job.
‘Apart from Jay McInerney, do you know any other authors?’ I asked, leaning forward and hoping he was a tit-man, it was the best I could offer him.
‘Um yeah,’ he sniffed, his eyes sliding away from mine. ‘I know lots.’
‘How does it work?’ I asked, ducking and diving my head, trying to follow his escaping glance. ‘Do you have authors specifically assigned to you?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, with a furtive little look, that gave me a crick in my neck as I tried to meet it. ‘That’s what happens.’
‘So who are yours?’ I asked, despairing of making proper eye contact with him. What was his problem ? ‘What have your most successful books been?’
‘Let’s see,’ he said thoughtfully. At his words I suddenly felt a rush of pleasurable anticipation. It was great to be talking to someone who knew famous people.