The Chelsea Girls(34)

“What does that mean?” Maxine asked.

He grimaced, as if he had some kind of tic, but didn’t respond. Something was off.

“We seem to have stumped him,” said Maxine.

To Hazel’s surprise, the man slowly listed to one side before sliding to the ground, a clump of boxwood breaking his fall.

Not what Hazel had expected. “What on earth? Did he just faint?”

They bent low over him, unsure of what to do next.

“He passed out,” said Hazel.

“No. He’s having a fit.”

Maxine was right. The man had gone rigid, his mouth parted, eyes open and looking off to the side. His body shook as if he were in a washing machine, and his lips began to turn blue.

Hazel turned to Maxine. “Go down and call for someone. Have them send for help.”

“I’ll be right back.” Maxine rushed off.

Hazel had no idea what to do. She tried to hold his head, to keep him from hitting it on the base of the planter. He was unreachable, his eyes rolled back and a horrible grimace on his mouth. She knelt down, the gravel of the roof digging into her knees, her mouth dry, and pulled his head and shoulders onto her lap. As the man’s vibrations coursed through her, she murmured calm words, as soothing as possible, to try to draw him out of his trance.





CHAPTER NINE


    Hazel


June 1950

The man lying in Hazel’s lap seemed only to get worse. A trail of drool dripped down the side of his chin, and the sound of his teeth grinding set her own on edge. She looked around, desperate for help, even though she knew she was all alone on the sprawling rooftop. For a while he fought against her, as if trying to get to his feet, so in a low voice she told him to quiet down, that everything was fine.

With a great gasp, he sat upright, almost knocking Hazel in the head as he did so. He wasn’t fully conscious, but his breathing began to return to normal, and the color slowly came back to his face.

“Where am I?” When he finally spoke, his voice was low, weary. Like that of a much older man.

“On the roof of the Chelsea Hotel. You had some kind of a fit.”

He blinked a couple of times and looked about. “God, no.”

She kept her hand on his back, unsure of what to do next. “You fell pretty hard. Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” He rolled his shoulders a few times.

“Someone’s gone for help. What happened to you just now?”

He looked defeated, worn. “Epilepsy.”

“Is it because we chased you up the stairs?” Hazel couldn’t believe she was actually feeling bad for the guy.

“It just happens.”

“Does it happen often?”

He put one hand on the back of his neck and rubbed it. “Not in years, since I was in high school. It’s what kept me from the draft.”

She guided him onto a nearby bench and sat beside him, like a couple of strangers waiting for a bus. Uncertain, she said the first thing that came to mind. “You were following Lavinia Smarts, right?”

He nodded, barely.

“Why are you spying on people? There’s no one evil or dangerous here. Just a bunch of artists and writers and actors.”

“I’m not spying. I was just inquiring. We’re trying to keep America safe.” His face fell. “Apparently, I haven’t done a very good job of it.”

“That was pretty terrifying.”

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

She knew she should let him recover, but in her nervousness, and her relief that he was okay, she couldn’t seem to stop talking. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“You seem younger.”

He took out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “I guess it doesn’t help when I’m drooling like a baby.”

“You only drooled a little.” She patted his knee, then immediately regretted it. “I hardly noticed.”

The corners of his mouth rose slightly. “I appreciate that.”

The door to the stairway banged open and Maxine and Mr. Bard appeared.

“What’s your name?” asked Hazel.

“Charlie. Look, I really don’t want to cause a scene, I’ll lose my job. Again, I’m sorry about this. I’ll just go.”

By the time Maxine and Mr. Bard reached them, Charlie was back on his feet. He tucked the handkerchief into his pocket and addressed Hazel. “Thank you for helping me. I appreciate it, but I must go now.”

His strides lengthened as he crossed the rooftop, then disappeared into the black hole of the stairway.

“What should we do?” asked Maxine.

Mr. Bard shrugged. “What can we do? We’re the little people, they’re the ones in power. We do what they say.”

Hazel spoke up. “He’s not a threat, believe me. He’s mortified by what happened. My guess is we won’t see him around here again.”

“If you say so,” answered Maxine.

“In the meantime, should we go and tell Lavinia what’s going on? She’ll want to know.”

Downstairs, Lavinia was nestled in an apricot-colored armchair in her living room, a script spread open on her lap and a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose. Winnifred and Wanda sat at a table near the window, playing a game of checkers.