The bathroom was hard. But this was just a motel bathroom, and motels have maids. No one will care. Even if they do they won�t actually say anything about the urine all over the floor. The girls, who might care, will be the furthest from it anyway, because of their heels. And why would a guy care about piss on the floor. They should be used to it, mostly. So Anthony buttoned up his pants and forgot about it. He went back out into the motel room and rejoined the little group.
The tiny jam box was playing some tape by a local band. The music was supposed to be metal. But was really just rock, and not even really that. There were two girls and three guys sitting around the table that the jam box sat on. All of them coked-out up to their prickling scalps. Suddenly one of the girls stood up and said, �Thank God you�re done. I have to shit.� No one was shocked. Her dress alone proved she was classless. �Anthony!� She called from the bathroom. �You missed by a fuckin� mile!�
�The h is silent.� Was his reply.
One of the guys at the table said, �Why is it spelled with one then?�
�Same reason yours has a silent p.�
The guys laughed and then the other girl said, �Oh I get it,� Looked at him and said, �Prick.�
She smiled, proud of her accomplishment.
�Let�s get back to the bar.� Anthony said. He was ready for more to be going on around him than just this: A crappy motel room with five idiots, one of them shitting, and a radio. She came out of the bathroom without washing her hands and asked for one more line first. So they all did two more.
�But.� Said the girl who hadn�t just shit. �I can�t get back in. I�m only sixteen.�
Everyone looked at her. Anthony said, �But we picked you up there.�
�I know.� She looked at the vial. �I got there before the doorman did. But he won�t let me back in. He knows who I am. He calls me Little Girl.�
The shitter laughed. �You got off good. He calls me Skank.�
Anthony grabbed the vial. �Well, then you can go somewhere else, or stay here. We�ll be back in two hours.� Anthony spilled coke onto the table and capped the vial. �But I�m bored.�
�I�ll stay too.� Rick suddenly announced like he was reading an amazing headline. �I wanna listen to the rest of this tape.�
Everyone looked at each other. Anthony looked comically at the jam box and scoffed. The music was by a particularly awful local band. �Sure Rick. Whatever. Just don�t tell any cops. See you in a bit.� He put the vial in his pocket, where it floated among a few dozen tiny ziplock bags.

The bar was the same as when they had left, crowded and smoky. Anthony cruised around and talked to his many friends. He didn�t know if any of them really liked him. But he didn�t care about that anyway. He was working. Prostitutes sell in bars, he sells in bars, everyone sells in bars. The employees and security knew it. They were customers, and usually glad to see him. Especially around closing time. He had been in the office of the bar many times; doing key bumps and lines with the manager, talking about all kinds of stupid things. Tonight the manager was buying plenty.
�I could use four if you have it on you.� Said the manager as he sat down at his desk. Anthony sat across from him and reached into his coat pocket. He looked to his right as he did so and was facing a large mirror. His complexion was marked with an unusual number of blemishes, a few scars, but mostly acne. His eyes looked unhappy. He started to lower his gaze but stopped and suddenly looked elsewhere in the mirror. His eyes locked briefly with the managers� before Anthony could hide his distaste for the spectacle of himself.
�For you,� Said Anthony, amputating the awkwardness, �Five for the cost of four.� The manager raised his eyebrows and said, �That�s my man Anthony. What a deal.�
�The h��
�I know it. It�s silent. I don�t know why I can never remember that simple fact. Do you want to come over tonight for an after-hours party? We�re going to watch the original King Kong and take a drink every time Fay Wray screams or Kong makes a noise.�
Anthony thought for a second and said, �No thanks. I�m not really up to it. But you know what was always my favorite thing about King Kong?�
�What�s that?� The manager took out his keys, dug one of them into an open bag, and put it to his nostril, sucking in.
I was always fascinated by those huge snakes. They used them in Tarzan movies too. All those people were so scared of Kong, but never even mentioned to anyone any other danger.
�And King Kong almost lost to a snake,� The manager said while rubbing his nose. �If one of those boa constrictors got a hold of someone it just wouldn�t let go. It would die squeezing if it came down to it.� Anthony reached into his pocket and pulled out a notepad. He shuffled through it briefly and then picked a pen up from the desk and began scribbling.
�Whatcha writing?� The manager asked and breathed in deeply, opening his nostrils wide.
Anthony put the pen in his notepad. He glanced back at the large mirror and spoke to it, �Just a note to watch King Kong again someday. He remained transfixed, staring at the mirror, but only for a second. �I�m stealing your pen.� He replaced the notepad in his pocket and looked back into the mirror. He looked defeated somehow.
�You could do that tonight. Sure you don�t want to come over? You look like you could use a party.�
Anthony stared at himself in the mirror again. �Actually, I look like I could use some sleep. Some of that good sleep. The kind without drugs waking you up after a few hours. I�ve been up for three days.�
�Jesus! Yeah. That might be a good idea.�

He�d sold enough tonight. They loaded back into the car, full of more alcohol and in need of more lines. When they got back to the motel Anthony told them he wanted to be alone. So they could come in for a few lines and then he just wanted to read and watch TV. No one ever argued with Anthony. Especially when the drugs were free. And they always offered to buy some when leaving. Sometimes he let them.
But when they got inside, Rick was gone, and Little Girl was just sitting on the bed chewing her nails.
�Where�s Rick?� Anthony asked.
�I thought he was with you. He went back to the bar after y�all did. I didn�t want to sleep with him.�
Skank laughed. �Cocaine makes him horny but limp as hair.�
�We must have missed him.� Said Anthony. �He�ll probably show up after I�ve gone to bed.� He moved a chair out of the way and bellied up to the table. Everyone tried not to stare at the coke he was lining up. They passed the straw around and took turns bending over, keeping their hair out of the way, and breathing in deeply. God forbid one of them sneeze. They tried to buy some and Anthony let them. But a small problem arose when Little Girl told them she had nowhere to go.
�Don�t you have a home?� Skank asked.
�Yes. But I got in a fight with my boyfriend about drugs and can�t go there tonight. By now he�s drunk and mad.�
�Well. You can stay here if you have to. But just tonight.� Anthony said. She looked relieved until he added, �You can help me bathe tomorrow.�
She kind of laughed. It was so nervous that no one was comfortable until Anthony said, �All you have to do is answer the phone while I�m in there.�
The others said goodbye and left Anthony and Little Girl alone.
�I really appreciate you letting me hang out here tonight, Anthony. You didn�t have to.�
�The h is silent.�
�Sorry.�
Anthony took his coat off, dropped it to the floor, and positioned himself next to the bed and sort of pounced onto it. �Damn.� He said.
Little Girl didn�t know what he was swearing about, so she said, �What is it?�
�Will you bring me a little book from the pocket of my coat?�
She saw the coat on the floor, went to it and kneeled down next to the bed. She reached into the pocket and pulled out a condom. She just stayed, on her knees, staring at it.
�I use that for signatures only. What I want is the notepad. Try the other pocket.� She removed a small notepad and held it up.
�This one?�
�Yes.� Anthony was very human all of the sudden. He commanded authority most of the time, but was now unable to get that notepad without exerting himself. She brought it to him and he opened it. A pen fell out. He picked it up and scribbled something down. Then he closed the book and placed it and the pen next to the pillow, where he now laid his head.
�What did you write down?� She asked.
�Good complexion.�
That sounded bizarre to her. �You wrote down �good complexion?��
She was still kneeling, which made it awkward for him to talk to her. �You can lay down. The bed is large enough. I have plenty of reasons to be in jail. I�m not going to add another.�
She was still flying from the coke, and didn�t feel like lying down, but did as he said anyway. This situation was a first for her, not being in bed with a man, but this one�
�I like to write down stuff I want. I saw my reflection earlier and had too many zits. Tomorrow, I�ll start washing my face extra, and not just when I bathe.�
Although she was sure it would sound dumb, it was all she could think of to say: �That�s nice.�
�That�s how I got my favorite chair. I wrote it down almost everyday for three months. Finally, I got it.�
Anthony�s face changed expressions, from matter-of-fact to contemplative. She was laying on her side and saw this. He said, �Do you think love is just a series of intricate deceptions?�
She would have been surprised by the question, but the cocaine kept her mind going a mile a minute, and it seemed normal. �You mean lies? One after another?�
�I guess.� He said. �But not really just lying. More like things you do, that you normally wouldn�t do.�
�I don�t know. My boyfriend lies to me all the time. He says he didn�t fuck someone but I know he did.�
�But you take him back?�
�Yes.�
�That�s what I mean. Normally you wouldn�t do that, take him back. But since you love him, or think you do, you take him back. And the deception starts all over again. He fools around, lies about it, you take him back and lie about it being ok.�
�I don�t say it�s ok.�
�Of course not. But when you take him back you send him the deceptive message that he can get away with it. Then one day you�ll get tired of it and all those times you deceived him by making him think he can get away with it, it will blow up in his face. If you ended it right now, that whole intricate series of deception ends.�
She looked at the wall, �And so does the love.�
He looked at her. �Without the lying, there is no love. If you face the truth, the love is lost.�
She was silent. Seemed lost in thought. Then she said quite bluntly, �Have you ever been in love?�
�No. It would be impossible for me to deceive anyone. All they have to do is look at me and they know exactly what I am.�
�But you can love, Anthony.� He winced at the pronunciation of the h, but let it go, which was something he normally would not do.
�Maybe, I�ll never know.� He looked at her and she looked, enrapt, at him. �That�s exactly what I mean. I would have to deceive myself into thinking someone could love this.� And he gestured to his body.
She said, �But just now, like this, I�m starting to like you.� And she couldn�t believe she was saying it.
�It isn�t real. It isn�t something you would normally do. Tomorrow will be different.� She knew he was right. But right now, She felt it. All she could think of to say was, �I�m sorry.�
�That,� Anthony said, �I believe.�
Anthony was no longer the harsh man he was in public. His coarseness around the edges had softened. He wasn�t leading his entourage around some bar or club anymore, acting in charge and selling cocaine to his devoted followers and lackeys. He was just someone going to sleep. He didn�t stop muttering until he had flittered off to sleep completely.
She wondered how he slept. He had done as much coke as everyone else had. His book was still there next to the pillow, between them. She picked it up. On the first page he had written THINGS I WANT! That sounded more like the Anthony she was accustomed to. He had not lied. On many pages there were just the words, �That chair.� Sometimes it said, �That fuckin� chair,� or just, �Chair.� She looked at him and felt guilty for snooping, but turned the pages anyway. She did not see anywhere in the little notebook the word, �Legs,� Or �Right arm,� But on the same page as, �Good complexion,� was written in small script, �To wake up with a woman�s arms wrapped around me like a boa constrictor.�
She dropped the book, half accidentally, half hastily. The realization of how deep she had just intruded into this man�s private desire was too sudden. Little Girl picked it back up and put it next to the pillow, exactly as it had been. She looked at his sad form sleeping there. Legless and with only one arm. This anomaly of a man � a physical half-man. But what he lacked in body and structure he fiercely accounted for in false confidence by strutting around in a wheelchair, his drug-hungry companions surrounding him.
The cocaine had put her into an odd detached state. Everything sounded like it was filtered through an aluminum can. Nothing seemed real. But she was keenly aware that she felt sad. The cocaine prevented any actual tears from building. Her only current thoughts right then were two words. �Oh,� And, �Antony.� But she could do no more for him than remember the silence of the h in his name. And that made her think the two words again. There she remained, forced alert by the cocaine, her arms resting uselessly by her sides, unable to wrap them around the half of his body that could actually feel, that even existed, holding on until death, and ease one god-damn iota of this man�s overwhelming pain.

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