The Lonely Hearts Hotel(60)

“Sweetheart,” he whispered.

She took his hand in hers. The silver key to the hotel room fell out of her pocket like a scale falling off the Little Mermaid the moment she was transformed into a human.





30


    STUDY FOR BROKEN FINGERS



When he came to, Pierrot had both his hands in casts, as if he were wearing white mittens. He had trouble sitting up because his ribs were broken. Pierrot looked at the tips of his fingers peeping out from the cast. Each one was black.

The police officer at the side of the bed looked at Pierrot. He held up a piece of paper on which was drawn a sketch of his own likeness.

“Oh, how lovely,” said Pierrot. “You’ve made a sketch of me.”

“This is a drawing that a sketch artist made based on a description from a four-year-old boy. We believe this is the face of a thief who’s been robbing houses all through Westmount.”

Pierrot had a distinct flashback of the little boy with a top, smiling at him all those nights ago.

“On second thought, that face looks like nobody I’ve ever seen before.”

“Mmmhmm. We tossed your place. And there’s nothing. But you sell everything for the cheapest price so you can get high. We are onto you, Pierrot. You little schmuck. You keep your crime to your own neighborhood. If you so much as step into Westmount, I will come after you.”

Although he couldn’t tell the police officer, Pierrot had already determined he was done with that life. But what else could he do now that his hands were smashed? Could he still play the piano?

He asked the doctor who came in to see him next.

“I know it might be silly to tell you that you’re lucky when you’re lying there with all your bones broken. But it’s really amazing that you are still alive. You might go down in the record books for this fall—if there were such record books.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Pierrot said. “There are books about all sorts of things.”

“It’s not the time to worry about playing the piano. Take it easy.”

And Pierrot smiled as the drugs ran through his veins—they seemed to course with honey rather than blood. Poppy had left him. He felt rather relieved about this. Perhaps he didn’t have a right to feel this way. He chose to believe that perhaps Poppy had found someone else to live with and love. This new gentleman would surely do better for her. He did have a rather alarming appearance, but who was Pierrot to judge a book by its cover?

By espousing this train of thought, Pierrot was willfully choosing to be ignorant. He found himself at a sort of psychic crossroads. He could choose the truthful path, with all its regrets and guilt and responsibilities. Or the other, which is what Pierrot did. Because deep down he knew that all the vicious-looking man could do was enable Poppy’s descent into stranger and stranger realms of prostitution.

? ? ?

WHEN THE CASTS CAME OFF, Pierrot went back to work at the movie theater, anxious to test out his fingers. He wanted to see if a miracle had occurred. The owner was angry at Pierrot for missing work but told him to give it a try at the break in the film. After the cowboys had been making threats for an hour, the screen lit up with the word Intermission. Pierrot made himself comfortable at the piano, flexing his shoulders, stretching his arms, rolling his head from side to side and wiggling his fingers in the air above the keys.

He had become quite fond of this piano. It had a lot of character. The keys were so light, he felt he really didn’t even have to touch them. He would just put his fingers on the keys and imagine the tune and it would begin to play as if by itself. There was a love affair between the piano and Pierrot’s imagination.

It kept him company. Some pianos had nothing to say. But this piano wanted to converse. This piano wanted to complain to Pierrot as much as Pierrot wanted to complain to the piano. The piano was his support group. It was his advocate. It was the only one that had tried to talk him out of being a drug addict over the past years.

His fingers ached when he placed them on the keys. He pushed the keys tentatively, so that his fingers were like the legs of a girl playing hopscotch. His whole body was in pain, racked with guilt and sorrow and loneliness. And then he let himself begin to play quickly, wildly, expertly. He played for having lost Rose. He played the tune he thought of as hers, but in a more grievous and sorrowful way. The tune now wove the frivolity of youth with the gravitas of maturity.

When he was finished, there was absolute quiet and Pierrot was confused. Where had everyone in the audience disappeared to, and shouldn’t they be done with the washroom by now? He looked toward the seats. The cinema was completely full. No one had left their seats during intermission. They were weeping silently.

And so it was that Pierrot played better now that his fingers had been broken. It made the notes sadder. There were people who came to the theater to hear Pierrot rather than to see the movie. The owner gave him a two-penny raise. He stayed at a men’s hotel and slept in a room with twenty-five other men. He spent his pay on getting high enough to prevent his body from going through withdrawal in the evenings.





31


    PORTRAIT OF LADY AS ALLEY CAT



Rose had filled her pockets with the jewelry McMahon had bought for her. The necklace had a pearl that looked like a seed you were supposed to plant, which would grow into a real moon. The diamond earrings were like tiny stars far, far, far away in other galaxies. There was a ring with a giant red stone that was like Mars, all poisonous and angry in the black sky.