‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then what—’

  ‘I didn’t go to school.’

  ‘Stop with all this bullshit, a’ight,’ the skinny guy said, ‘and get me my money.’

  ‘I know I know him,’ Ryan said, although he was feeling more like he didn’t.

  ‘You know bullshit,’ the skinny guy said. ‘You better get yo’ ass to that ATM real quick, or tomorrow mornin’ yo’ mama’s gonna be plannin’ yo’ funeral.’

  Ryan knew the skinny guy meant it. The skinny guy would kill him tonight whether he gave him the money or not. There was no way out - he was officially fucked.

  Then it hit him.

  ‘Basketball,’ Ryan said to the big guy. ‘Yeah, that’s it -basketball. We played ball a few times together - Canarsie Park. Right?’

  ‘I didn’t play no ball with you, man,’ the big guy said.

  ‘Yeah, you did. Seven, eight years ago, the summer after my junior year of high school. You played point; I was shooting.’ It was all coming back now. ‘Your name’s Sa . . . So . . . Sen . . . Saiquan. Saiquan. That’s it, right?’

  The skinny guy looked at the big guy. The big guy was looking at Ryan, squinting, trying to remember. Then it clicked for him too.

  ‘Oh, shit. Yo’ name’s Ryan, right?’

  ‘See, I knew it, man!’ Ryan was truly excited, feeling like he’d just saved his life.

  ‘Shit was a long time ago,’ Saiquan said.

  ‘You had a great crossover, man,’ Ryan said. ‘You were quick too.’

  ‘Yeah, and you knew how to shoot, yo. Used to hit that J from the top of the key every time.’

  ‘I was all right.’

  ‘Hold up. You a baseball player, right?’

  ‘Was. I paint houses now.’

  ‘But you was suppose to go to the major leagues, man.’

  ‘Shit didn’t work out. So what’re you up to?’

  ‘Not much. I just been—’

  ‘Yo, yo, how ‘bout both y’all shut the fuck up with the gettin’-to-know-each-other-again bullshit,’ the skinny guy said. Then he turned to Saiquan. ‘The fuck you doin’, man?’

  ‘I know this dude,’ Saiquan said.

  ‘I don’t give a shit he yo’ long-lost motherfiickin’ cousin. White boy’s gonna take us to the ATM.’

  ‘Gimme a break, man,’ Ryan said. ‘I’m a fuckin’ house painter, all right? I make ten bucks an hour.’ He took off his jacket and rolled up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt, showing the guys the scar on his elbow. ‘Had Tommy John surgery and it didn’t do shit. I had to quit baseball, man. I live with my fuckin’ parents.’

  Ryan hoped this would convince the guys he was broke. Even if it didn’t, they couldn’t be dumb enough to try to mug someone who knew one of their names.

  Saiquan said to the skinny guy, ‘C’mon, Marcus - he don’t got no money, man.’

  Make that both of their names.

  Marcus glared at Ryan. Ryan thought he was off the hook; then Marcus said, ‘Naw, naw, man - I think he’s bullshittin’ us. Check out ‘em sneakers - shits cost hundred forty bucks at Foot Locker. Nigga was playin’ baseball - he prolly got money in the bank.’

  ‘I’m telling you the truth,’ Ryan said. ‘I’m poor as shit.’ He stood up and pulled the insides out of his pockets. Then he sat back down on the bar stool, nearly falling off it. After he regained his balance, he said, ‘See? I don’t have no money, man.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Marcus said, grabbing Ryan’s arm. ‘Let’s see you punch ‘em digits in, then we see ‘bout that.’

  ‘Come on, gimme a break, man,’ Ryan said. ‘I had a shitty fuckin’ day, all right? Jake Thomas stole my girl away from me today. That’s right - he fuckin’ stole her. He doesn’t give a shit about her - he doesn’t give a shit about anything.’

  Marcus caught a whiff of Ryan’s breath and said, ‘Yo, how much you drunk tonight? Damn.’

  ‘He could get any girl on the planet,’ Ryan went on, ‘but he went after my girl, my girl, and you know why? Because he’s the biggest asshole in the world, that’s why. He was always an asshole and he’ll always be an asshole, and I don’t give a shit what Jay Leno or anybody else in the world thinks. I almost killed him, you know. It’s true. Today I had my hands around that asshole’s throat. I almost fuckin’ killed him. Jay Leno laughing like that. I know the real Jake Thomas. Me, I’m the only one who knows it.’

  ‘Let’s just get the fuck outta here,’ Saiquan said.

  ‘Hold up,’ Marcus said to Ryan. ‘You ain’t bullshittin’, man? You really know that rich Oreo motherfucka Jake Thomas?’

  ‘Yeah, I know him,’ Ryan said. ‘We used to play baseball together in high school. We were the Dynamic fuckin’ Duo -Ryan and Jake. Sorry, Jake and Ryan. That asshole’s name always had to go first. Alphabetical order, he always said. That’s what he always said - alphabetical order. Yeah, that was us - Jake and Ryan. Buddies.’ Ryan laughed bitterly. ‘We were supposed to go to the big leagues together.’

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Saiquan said to Marcus. ‘I remember all that shit.’

  ‘You bet your ass he’s rich,’ Ryan said. ‘He wears diamonds, gold, fuckin’ Rolex watches. You know how much the guy made last year with his fuckin’ commercials and shit? The asshole’s got all the money and he got my girl.’

  ‘So where’s J.T. at right now?’ Marcus asked.

  ‘He’s staying with his parents three houses down from me on Eighty-first Street off Flatlands. You can’t miss the house. It’s got this big banner hanging out right in front of it.’ Ryan held out his arms, as if measuring a fish he caught. ‘ “Welcome Home Jake, Our Hero.” That’s what that fuckin’ banner says. I have to drive right under it every fuckin’ day. Fuckin’ makes me sick.’

  ‘But nigga’s prolly got bodyguards, right?’

  ‘Not this weekend. He’s just got my fuckin’ girlfriend.’

  ‘C’mon,’ Saiquan said to Marcus. ‘He ain’t got no money, man. Let’s just be on our way.’

  Marcus glared at Ryan for several seconds, then said, ‘Man, I hope you know what a lucky little motherfucka you is,’ and headed toward the door. Saiquan started following him, and then he turned back to Ryan and said, ‘Yo, man, if you wanna play some ball sometime—’ Marcus grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the bar.

  Ryan stared at the door for a few seconds, amazed that he’d actually gotten rid of the guys and not really sure how he’d done it. He knew he should leave too, get the hell out while he had the chance, but he also wanted another drink badly.

  Ryan waved the bartender over and said, ‘Refill.’ Expressionless, the bartender took all the money off the bar -six bucks, even though the last drink had cost five - and then brought Ryan his new rum and Coke.

  Ryan started guzzling it when he realized someone was sitting next to him. He turned his head slowly and his eyes focused on Aretha Franklin.

  With her hand sliding down over his ass, she said, ‘Hey, baby, how you doin’?’

  ‘Not bad,’ Ryan said.

  ‘Yeah? Them boys was givin’ you a hard time, huh?’

  ‘Who, those guys? Nah, not at all. I used to know one of ‘em. Yeah, used to shoot hoops with him.’

  ‘That’s cool, baby,’ the woman said, moving closer to Ryan, rubbing up against him. ‘I was worried ‘bout you for a while there, suga’. I thought them boys was tryin’a give my new boyfriend some trouble.’

  Ryan took a closer look at the woman and decided she wasn’t so bad.

  ‘I can’t afford to buy you a drink,’ Ryan said.

  ‘That’s all right, baby. I ain’t thirsty no more - I’m just hungry now.’ She moved even closer to him, looking into his eyes. She smelled weird, like Pampers or baby powder, but he liked it. ‘Look how cute you is.’

  The woman leaned in and started nibbling on Ryan’s earlobe.

  ‘I got an idea, baby,’ the woman said, close enough that Ryan could smell her hot whiskey breath and feel it against his face. ‘How about you gimme a walk home? It’s scary out there at night, and I need somebody big and strong to protect me.’

  A few minutes later Ryan had his arm halfway around Aretha Franklin’s waist, trying to keep his balance, as he steered her toward the door.

  Thirteen

  Christina stuck the periodontal probe into Mrs Jacobson’s lower lip, and the old woman groaned.

  ‘Sorry,’ Christina said. ‘Go ahead - rinse.’

  Mrs Jacobson rinsed and spit a few times, then said, ‘What’s wrong with you? That’s the second time you stuck me with that thing.’

  ‘You have to sit still,’ Christina said, covering for herself. She knew she’d been careless with a few patients since that whole scene with Ryan earlier today.

  ‘Sure, sit still.’ Mrs Jacobson spit out more bloody water. ‘What happened to the other girl who works here? Sharon or Karen -you know, the nice blond one. She never used to hurt me the way you do.’

  ‘I’m almost finished.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t. I’m not letting you touch me with that thing again. It’s like a torture chamber in here.’

  ‘I just have to clean one more quadrant—’

  ‘Get away from me. There’s no way I’m letting you touch my mouth again!’

  Dr Hoffman heard Mrs Jacobson’s loud, piercing voice and came into the room.

  ‘Something wrong in here?’

  ‘Your girl’s stabbing me to death, that’s what’s wrong in here.’

  ‘I nicked her lips,’ Christina explained.

  ‘She’s stabbed me twice with that thing.’

  ‘Christina, can I have a word with you?’

  As Christina followed Dr Hoffman to his office, she heard Mrs Jacobson shout, ‘I should sue!’

  In his office, with the door closed, Dr Hoffman said, ‘What happened in there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Christina said. ‘I just pricked her a little. You know how she gets. She complains about something every time she’s here.’

  ‘Look, I think you have a lot of personal things on your mind today, Christina. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’

  Now Christina couldn’t hold back. She started crying, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  ‘Hey, come on.’ Dr Hoffman handed her a couple of tissues. ‘Everything’s gonna be okay.’

  Christina didn’t take the tissues. She was looking away, embarrassed to be crying in front of her boss.

  ‘It’s okay. I’m all right.’

  ‘Look, I really think you should take the rest of the day—’

  ‘No, I can—’

  ‘I insist. I’ll see you Monday morning.’

  Christina didn’t bother arguing. She couldn’t focus at all today, and she knew she was better off going home.

  She left the office and went down the steep stairs. In the vestibule she sobbed for a while, then composed herself. She went out to McDonald Avenue. Afternoon shoppers crowded the sidewalk, and a sliver of bright sunshine shone through the subway el. It felt good to be outside, and she was glad Dr Hoffman had sent her home.

  Then panic set in.

  She remembered the way Ryan had acted earlier, how enraged he’d been. She’d never seen him act that way before. It was terrifying, as if he were possessed. There was a moment when he was looking at her with venom in his eyes, and she felt like he wanted to kill her. She’d seen him looking toward the bottom of the stairwell, and she wondered if he was thinking about pushing her. Later, after he left, she’d tried to rationalize it, telling herself that it was all her imagination, that he would never really do anything to hurt her.

  But now she wasn’t so sure.

  Although Ryan had never gotten violent toward her - he’d always been the perfect gentlemen; a truly sweet, considerate guy - she’d never dumped him before either. Rejection brought out the worst in people. Besides, Ryan had all that pent-up anger about his failed baseball career, and that jealousy toward Jake that he never really expressed, and then, of course, there was his obsession with gangsta rap. Somebody who was so into all that violent, misogynistic music had to have a lot of hidden rage -especially toward women.

  Christina walked quickly along the sidewalk, looking back every few seconds. When she bumped into someone accidentally, she almost screamed.

  She had to calm down. Ryan wasn’t here. She was just making up stories to scare herself. Ryan didn’t want to hurt her. Nobody wanted to hurt her.

  She stopped looking back, but noticed that her hands were shaking.

  The bus was crowded, mainly with loud, laughing Catholic-school kids. Christina had to stand near the back door, holding on to the pole with one of her sweaty hands.

  She’d called Jake earlier from the office and left a message, but he hadn’t gotten back to her. She called again and this time he picked up.

  ‘Hey, baby, I was just thinking about you.’

  ‘Didn’t you get my message?’

  ‘Yeah, just got it. I was just about to call you back.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you at least tell me first?’

  Jake didn’t answer, so Christina said, ‘Are you there?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m here, I’m here.’

  ‘So?’

  T m sorry, baby. I promise I’ll never let anything like that happen again.’

  He sounded distracted and Christina wondered if he was even paying attention.

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ she said. ‘How could you do this to me?’

  ‘Holy shit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you even paying attention to me?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m paying attention, I’m paying attention. Look, I don’t know what you want me to say. Besides, I don’t know what the big deal is anyway. So it’s in the papers - so what? This is gonna be a high-profile wedding, baby. And you better get used to it, because this is what the rest of your life is gonna be like. You’ll always have the press on your back, following you around. You’re not gonna be Christina Mer . . . Mer . . . Mer . . .—’

  Christina couldn’t believe it - he couldn’t even remember her last name. He really didn’t care about her at all. Everything he’d ever said to her was total bullshit.

  ‘Mercado,’ he finally said. ‘You’re not gonna be Christina Mercado anymore; you’re gonna be Mrs Jake fucking Thomas. The spotlight’s gonna be on you twenty-four, seven.’

  Christina had started crying. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘Just this one time I wanted it to be something / announced, not that people had to read about in the papers.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, baby.’

  ‘Yes, it does matter. You have no idea how much it matters.’ Jake deep-breathed, then said, ‘There’s nothing I can do about it now, baby.’ Christina heard a loud noise; it sounded like Jake had banged the phone against something. ‘Whoops, there’s the call waiting.’

  ‘Don’t hang up on me.’

  ‘I have to take it - it must be my agent calling me back.’

  ‘When did you call the papers anyway? I was with you all night.’

  ‘I gotta take this.’

  ‘Don’t go—’

  ‘It’s an important call—’

  ‘Jake- ‘

  ‘I’ll pick you up at seven, baby.’

  ‘Jake? . . . Jake? .. . Jake?’

  He’d hung up.

  Christina continued crying, realizing that staying with Jake was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done. Yeah, Ryan had seemed like he wanted to kill her before, but at least he had passion; at least he cared about her.

  An old woman sitting next to Christina said, ‘Here you go, sweetie,’ and handed her a few Burger King napkins.

  ‘Thanks,’ Christina said, taking the napkins and wiping her tears with one of them.

  ‘Whoever he is, trust me, he’s not worth it,’ the woman said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Christina said. ‘You’re probably right.’

  A couple of stops later the woman told Christina that everything would be okay and got off the bus. Staring out the window, still dabbing tears, Christina decided that she needed to be alone for a while, without any guy in her life. She hadn’t been single since junior high school, and she needed some space to try to figure out what she really wanted.

  Then, at the Brooklyn College stop, he got on. Christina didn’t know his name, but she’d seen him dozens of times on the B6 bus over the last couple of years. He was a light-skinned black guy, skinny but muscular, with an adorable bald head. He looked like Taye Diggs or Tyson with a little Will Smith mixed in. He had great teeth and wore trendy rectangular rimless glasses, like the ones she’d seen in the latest circular from Lenscrafters. She knew he was a student because she’d seen him highlighting biology textbooks. She had never said a word to him, but sometimes, when the bus was crowded, they stood cramped next to each other, holding the same pole. Other times they’d sat across from each other and made brief eye contact. A few times Christina had wanted to say hi to him, but she was too shy, and she could tell he was shy too.

  Today when he got on he didn’t see her, and sat in a seat near the front, with his back to her. She was about to get up to sit next to him when a woman got on at Flatbush Avenue and took the seat.

  When the bus approached the Kings Highway stop, the guy got up. He had his back to Christina, still not seeing her. Then the bus pulled to the curb and the door opened and he got out. As he headed along the sidewalk, past Christina, he looked over at her and smiled. Christina was smiling back at him as the bus pulled away.

  Christina was about to turn up the walkway leading to her house when two men - one fat with a mustache, holding a notepad, the other bald and thin, with a camera - got out of a parked car. The fat man said, ‘Christina?’

  Caught off guard, Christina said, ‘Yeah.’

  The bald man snapped a photo of her as the fat man said, ‘Tom Pavano, Newsday. Mind if I ask you a few questions?’

  ‘Yes, I mind, and get that freakin’ camera away from me.’ The bald man snapped another photo.

  ‘Bastards,’ Christina muttered.

  She went up the stoop and opened the front door, ignoring the reporter’s questions.