Exit Party #3
N: Then I left with a packed suitcase. I started asking people on the street where I could go, and they kept pointing me toward a Red Cross processing centre down on Sunset Boulevard.
It felt like an unsettled time. I didn’t know what had happened, but it seemed like there’d recently been a war, or some kind of social unrest. I remember signs everywhere that said RESPECT THE CURFEW, but they looked old.
It felt like maybe the curfew was over. Finally late in the day, I found my way to the Red Cross, and got in line for food.
I told a worker I didn’t remember where I was from, and that got me a bed in a tent for people with mental health issues.
I just stayed quiet and tried to understand where I was.
I woke the next morning, and I was still in the wrong world.
A: . . .
N: No, the thing I couldn’t stop thinking about was my children.
A: . . .
N: Well, you know the next part. I met a man at a DP camp, and went with him to Ohio, because, why not?
I wanted to find a way to stay alive, in case I could find a way to get home somehow.
I tried not to hope the door would reopen.
Then I met you, there in Ohio, when you were staking me out in the parking lot.
A: . . .
N: I decided to leave my husband after that, but it took me a while to save enough money to leave him and come to Paris. I came to Paris because you told me Gloria was here.
A: . . .
N: People leave their lives scattered all over the internet. I found her within days.
A: . . .
N: How do you think she reacted? How would you react, if you met your doppelg?nger?
She was stunned. I’d called her and I fudged it a little, what I told her was that I’d been at that party in LA and that I knew where Kareem was, because I’m pretty sure that’s true, I’m pretty sure I actually do know where Kareem went.
She agreed to meet. I told her that she might find my appearance shocking.
I didn’t know how to warn her. So we met in a café, and I thought she was going to faint.
She sank into the chair across from me and stared at me.
I had to order for her, even though she was the one who spoke French, not me.
It took her a long time to say anything.
A: . . .
N: What’s it like talking to your double? You compare notes, and you find that you have the same memories, until you don’t. The same parents, except not. It’s like a dream version of yourself.
A: . . .
N: Then I went over to her apartment, the following night.
That was when I started to understand that there was something really wrong with her.
There was some kind of massive demonstration in Paris the night I was supposed to come over, and I was very late.
Our train stopped between stations, because protesters were on the tracks.
Finally I got out and had to walk to Vincennes, because there were no taxis.
Anyway, it was almost midnight when I arrived.
She let me in, and there was her son. Just a little kid, watching TV alone in the dark.
I found out later that he had no bedtime.
A: . . .
N: Trash. He was watching trash. Old American reality TV programming, hour after hour.
He was watching Dance Moms. Gloria didn’t seem to care about him very much.
It took me a while to realize how messed up she was.
She has two jobs, both entirely remote, and she works the way alcoholics drink.
Or maybe another way of putting it, let’s say work is the place where she hides. I’ve never seen anything like it.
A: . . .
N: Yes, every waking hour. All she wanted to do was work, all the time.
It made me realize how extraordinary it was that she agreed to meet me in a café.
She must have been incredibly lonely. But at the same time, she didn’t seem to want to talk much with her son.
She would make deals with him: I’ll take you to the park if you leave me alone and don’t ask me for anything for the next two weeks.
Or sometimes it was worse, sometimes it was for things he actually needed, as in, I’ll buy you a winter coat that fits if you promise to leave me alone and let me work for a month.
He was starved for any kind of interaction with her, so he always agreed to the deals.
A: . . .
N: No, it’s not a money thing. A lot of people with much less money than Gloria take better care of their kids.
The thing is, he looked—he reminds me so much of my children.
Marlowe and Samir. It’s not just that he’s Arab and Chinese, it’s the way he moves, little mannerisms. It’s uncanny.
It still startles me sometimes when I’m with him.
I asked Gloria’s permission to spend time with him, to look after him after school and such.
She said yes right away, and just retreated back into work.
A: . . .
N: Yes, he has been like a son to me. I’m certainly a much better parent to him than his mother ever was.
A: . . .
N: I don’t know what’s wrong with Gloria. I think something happened to her, and now she’s unavailable.
CONVERSATION 3
A: I’m getting out of the hospital tomorrow, did I tell you that?
N: . . .
A: I’ll go back to the apartment where I lived with my husband. Pilar said she’d keep her job and help me. I can’t walk very well.
N: . . .
A: No, of course I don’t trust you. Don’t be offended, I don’t trust anyone.
N: . . .
A: Well, look, I’m sorry that that was the wrong answer, but I’m trying to be honest here. You absolutely cannot depend on other people. I’ve known that since I was a kid.
N: . . .
A: Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nico. What are you, twelve? Especially not the people who care about you.
N: . . .
A: Stop recording me and I’ll tell you.