Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 77.3: 1968, Georgina

God, what right did I have...

He swooped around, a perfect plate in his hand, a wooden serving spoon. He began plating the spaghetti, hot plumes coming up as he mixed it around, pockets of heat being uncovered. 

"What do you want to drink?" he asked happily. "Oh wait, do you like chocolate milk? I have some syrup, I have milk. You want some? I could go for some, too. That would be great."

Chocolate milk. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, taking it in. Just six months ago his immediate reaction, my immediate reaction, would have been to take out a couple of beers without having to ask. But I'd been in his fridge a few hours ago. There was not a bottle to be found. Not that I was looking. And that amazed me, too. Floored me. How I didn't want a beer even though I was feeling so-

He turned his back to me, leaned over in his fridge. I stared at his clothes. His purple shirt looked so neat, clean. His jeans were perfect, not a rip or anything. He was doing so well. My hands gripped my skirt again. God, what could I do? I couldn't bring any of this stuff up to him right now. 

Not when he was doing so well. 

The fridge swung shut and he gave me a little smile as he went to open a drawer, taking out a long metal spoon. With this, he finally sat down across from me. And this brought me back to another memory, so distant now.

A memory of a time just like this, the same positions at this table, when he'd been breaking down in front of me. Christmastime. The day after we'd been at that club, saw Miracle. What he'd said to me then, about not being sure if he was going to get to go to heaven, about his guilt and everything. 

Then another memory, streaming to me. Where I'd remembered this thing, but in full on memory. 

He'd been crying then, telling me what was on the edge of my lips now. How he'd been Miracle's drug dealer. The image of him cutting brown powder from a block on the bar. His words in the bedroom with Cha Cha. How he'd been a drug dealer to all of them in that club. How he couldn't stop.

I was frozen. I couldn't grasp the gravity of this.

"Here you go, hot and fresh. I know its not the same as going out with us, but maybe when you feel better we can all go out? Celebrate? We didn't get to celebrate my birthday either, you and I. But we'll celebrate later. Oh hey, your birthday is coming up, too! When is that, May 12?" He pushed the plate of spaghetti towards me gently, placed the cup of cold chocolate milk next to it. He'd been stirring it as I'd been thinking, engrossed in making it perfect for me.

He loved me so much.

I swallowed. What was I supposed to do? 

"Um, yeah. My birthday is coming up. I forgot," I said instead of what I really wanted to say. These things. They were poisoning me already. Staring at him, Miracle's face was right next to his in my brain. How long... How long had he been her drug dealer? When did they come to know each other? Who introduced them, how had they known each other- 

"You're too young to forget your birthday! You start forgetting at thirty, I swear. But you're going to be twenty-five. That's still young, trust me!" He looked fake appalled, breaking into a grin and incredibly he was laughing. Just laughing, the most beautiful sound.

But I felt disgusted in my heart. The poison seeping through. 

Because before me was the man who had been dealing Miracle heroin. For how long? For how goddamn long? Did he have anything to do with her...being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doing those things that night. But I realized, thinking these things, that I didn't actually know any details. 

I didn't know anything. I didn't actually know anything about her death. 

Giving him a now fake smile to his laugh, staring at his happy face, I didn't know what to do. I was helpless. Helpless to help her, helpless in this chair. And it killed me.

But before I could think much more, the phone rang. The light from the windows was barely reaching the kitchen, and the phone was ringing. Who would call this early? He beamed at me, and got up from the table.

"Eat. That's probably Sasha. He's coming in the afternoon. I have to go midtown today. I got a job painting, can you believe it? Like my old job? Resumes work for something, I guess!" His voice was so full of merriment. I didn't blame him. My heart was curling in my chest, loving his smile but what he did... Could you still love a person but hate what they did? Love them, even though...

"Hello?" He said on the phone, catching it and putting it to his ear. I watched him, not eating as he'd asked me, too. Suddenly I was very interested about who was on the other end. Suspicious, but unsure as to if I had any right- "What?" His voice went low. My eyes narrowed as his went wide. "Valencia? What are you doing calling me- Shh, uno momento...What? Don't say my Spanish sucks, how are you gonna- Wait, okay? Wait." He sounded surprised. I'd never heard him speak Spanish before. Didn't even know he knew any. What in the world?

Somehow there was a doom in my heart. Who was on the phone with him? He gave me a small smile again and began wrapping the long cord around into the living room. The cord stretched and stretched, and before long he was in the bathroom. The squeaky hinges scraped on my ears as the door closed with a slam, making me jump. 

Just what was going on? In front of me, the spaghetti had stopped steaming. It was going to get cold. But thinking of Paulie now, hearing his muffled words through the walls, I suddenly had no appetite. Knowing what he'd done to Miracle. I couldn't eat. 

It was only when my thoughts came around to Sasha, knowing he'd want me fed, did I pick up my plastic fork.