Jimmy’s Place

My friend Charlie from Acting School crashes on my couch exhausted. He smells like tortilla chips, cigarettes, sweat, and tequila. 

He sleeps over when he works at one of his restaurant jobs late in the evening, usually on weekends.

I sleep in the back of my railroad apartment in my bed and Charlie sleeps on “the couch” which is really a cot in the front room, but I like to call it a couch.

My cats – Mr. Buddy and Mr. Piggy love him. Usually, I find Mr. Piggy curled up on his chest in the morning.

How Mr. P. Can tolerate the guy’s snoring is beyond me? 

I tell him he snores and he gets indignant. “Old men snore Jimmy – I ain’t old yet, ” he snarls as he sucks down Cafe Bustelo out of a chipped mug I brewed for us upon awakening.

I pull out a book on Acting and proceed to read to him.  His blue eyes glare at me as he nonstop continues to bail black coffee and suck on Marlboro cigarettes.

Charlie is definitely not a morning person.

I love teaching and since Charlie is a fellow acting student at the Playhouse – I take every opportunity to share something I have read about acting and theater with him.

After about 20 minutes or so of me reading from Uta Hagen’s “An Actor Prepares” – Charlie stubs out his 3rd cigarette and says “Very nice Jimmy but I gotta hit the can and get something to eat. Are you coming with me?”

“Okay, I said But I got to feed the cats before we go.”

***

My body aches and I ask my Pal Jimmy if I can use his shower. I know after waitering all night at “Chiquitas!” Restaurant I probably smell like a walking bowl of day-old chips and guacamole. 

Also, I’m cold. The days in Manhattan are getting darker and colder meaning all these old apartment buildings are starting to feel like iceboxes.

I climb into the antique shower and brush a few cockroaches down the drain before turning the freezing water on. 

The dirty bastards are out in force this morning. I practically scream when one of them runs across my leg while sitting on the toilet waiting for the water to heat.

I’m keyed up as it is and the errant cockroach doesn’t help matters. I am already sour from the shit I got from Tommy last night at “Chiquitas!”. 

Last night he put me in the shittiest station in the restaurant and barely seated anyone in my section.  Hell, I couldn’t blame the patrons – who wants to eat Mexican food by a Men’s Restroom? But, Tommy was just being a dick. My total tips for the evening  – $63 bucks – a disaster. 

I push aside the gnawing anxiety that I  may end up having to look for another job.

I climb into the shower pushing aside the cheap plastic curtain and the scalding water feels like a much-needed balm against the chill in the apartment.

When done I get dressed as quickly as possible hoping to beat the cold air that threatens my body temperature 

Pulling on jeans, a shower of change pours out of my pocket making a spattering metal sound as the coins hit the wooden floor.

“Aww No Goddammit!” I know the change is lost to me forever. The floorboards are so warped with age, coins will roll into corners or fall through the gaps between them. When you walk in my friend’s apartment, it feels like you are walking uphill or downhill at times.

Jimmy is already dressed and ready to go. The cats are fed. And he is turning off the apartment lights by the time I don my navy pea coat.

We exit his apartment and walk down the three flights of stairs debating whether to get bagels or hit the diner on First Avenue.

As we walk out of Jimmy’s building, a Junkie lays sprawled out in a doorway. He’s nodded off with a needle still stuck in his arm. The man’s face is covered with flies.

Sometimes I hate living in the City and as much as I like Jimmy – his apartment and neighborhood depresses the shit out of me.

***

The diner is packed almost wall to wall with customers. The air is a greasy melange of hamburgers, pancakes, bacon and stale coffee. You can barely hear yourself ordering your food.

I want to talk about Acting and scenes we’re going to perform in class this week while we are eating.

Charlie waves his hand like a bored Pontiff. “Not now Jimmy. I am off duty when it comes to this shit. I got other stuff on my mind.”

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“Nothing. Forget it. Just some bullshit at work I gotta figure out.”

“Ok, ” I said grabbing the check. I scrutinize the bill adding up his share. “You owe me…seven dollars and sixty five cents….and you leave the tip.”

“Leave the tip my ass…James you cheap Bastard! You leave the tip! Here…pay the fuckin’ bill. He chuckles handing me twenty bucks for the check.

***

I don’t see Charlie for a couple of days and when I do he is pacing in front of the school.  His face looks like a white-knuckled fist. 

He angrily pulls on a cigarette like it’s joint. 

“Charlie,  what’s up? You look pissed!”

“That fucking asshole Tommy got me fired from my job at “Chiquitas!” Saturday night!”

“Oh no! What happened?” I ask?

“Tommy said I spilled some Sangria on Christy Brinkley and she complained. Said I was a sloppy waiter and he fired me. The Bastard!”

“What!…Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Spill Sangria on CHRISTY BRINKLEY!”

Charlie scowled. “Fuck no, Jimmy. Christy Brinkley wouldn’t set foot in a dump like “Chiquitas!.” It was probably some Bitch who looked like her. All it was  – was just an excuse to can my ass.”

“Do you need anything?” I asked secretly hoping he wasn’t going to ask me if he could borrow some money.

“No, thanks, Jimbo.”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

“Do what I have to do Jimmy. Look for another waitering job, ” he said pulling out a bunch of typed resumes out of his coat pocket.

“Look Jimmy, tell Mr. Gushee – I am going to miss class for a couple of days. I got to start making the rounds and get a job at another restaurant.  Can you do that for me?”

“Sure. And Charlie, you can stay at my apartment if you need to.”

“Thanks for the offer Pal. But I’ll need to stay close to my apartment…just in case someone calls. But I appreciate the offer.”

‘Good luck Charlie…break a leg “

“Ha! Life ain’t the Theatre Jimmy.” Blue eyes twinkle sadly. “Later.”

Charlie gives me a hug, tosses his cigarette into the gutter and walks up Fifty-Fourth Street towards Second Avenue.

The wind gives a cold gust and I see my friend pull his coat closer to his body. Trash and leaves frame his disappearing form like an aura of despair.

His image begins to blur and I wipe the moisture from my eyes.