The Coin, page 8
We hadn’t had any breakfast, and, like most people in the city, Trench-coat and I ate just one meal a day. We went for lunch at The Mark, where Trench-coat made friends with the waiter, his name was Dominic. I looked hard at Dominic and tried to read him. What kind of apartment did he go home to? Was it in the Bronx? In Astoria? Far away in Westchester County? Did he have a girlfriend or boyfriend, a mother, who relies on his paycheck? Or was he a spoiled kid, a wannabe actor or model, wishing to make it big in the city by rubbing against the rich and famous? Well, it didn’t come up. In that servant uniform, with only a first name, Dominic was illegible to me.
Trench-coat and I shared an arugula salad, chilled artichokes, pizza, pasta, and pinot noir by the glass. The price was high, but I didn’t care. The value of money was not fixed, it fluctuated with my mood, with the weather, with the location. When the bill came, I took out all the cash and coins from my wallet, there was a lot of it, and it spilled out onto the tablecloth. Here, Trench-coat said, then gently collected all of the money. Is it too heavy for you? I can take care of it, he said, then put all of my money into his pocket, turned away from me, signaled that we were ready, and when Dominic came, he took out the cash and paid without trouble.
When we left the restaurant of the hotel, Trench-coat stopped by reception and told me to wait for him by the sofas. Guests were checking in and out, they all seemed to be in a hurry. I recognized their impatience, I belonged to that same demographic, except that it was a weekend, and now that I was with Trench-coat, with a man, that is, I didn’t have to worry about things getting done. Tables would be set, taxis would be called. With the right kind of man, I could be relieved of some burdens. I sat down, I thought maybe he wanted to get us a room, because we had had a wonderful day, and maybe it was time for us to have sex.
Trench-coat approached the receptionist and I watched him from afar, his hands moving, not in unison but independently of each other, like he was conducting the conversation. He put a hand on his head, briefly, then again, then covered his ears. From the response of the receptionist, how she listened to him, I gathered that he wasn’t reserving a room.
Yes, I was disappointed. Because I’m sure Trench-coat and I could have had a lot of fun together. But many women would argue that a husband without the sex is an even better deal.
Dominic then appeared in the lobby and joined Trench-coat and the receptionist. For a moment, Trench-coat looked back in my direction but not at me. I noted that he possessed none of the traditional markers of male beauty, he was not tall, not broad, he did not have a strong jawline. What he had was a tension in his body, his chest open, his poise from another era, like he had never sat at a computer, never looked down at a phone or slouched on a couch. For me, Trench-coat was a vision, a gentleman prince.
I stood up to join them, I wanted to know what they were talking about. Dominic said hello, Trench-coat asked me if his hat was in my handbag, and of course it wasn’t, because Trench-coat had not been wearing a hat. Dominic asked the receptionist if anyone had seen a hat by any chance, that Trench-coat had left it at the restaurant, or perhaps in the bar. The woman disappeared into a back room, then came back with a wooden box of lost and found items. Before she could even put it down on the counter, Trench-coat said, There it is, reached his hand inside, and picked out a gray cashmere beanie. The concierge smiled in satisfaction, Dominic gave Trench-coat a pat on the back. We exited the hotel and turned the corner. Trench-coat looked at the label, said it was Barena, and put the hat on. It was the Trench-coat way.
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hat evening, the TV was on in Sofia’s apartment but I couldn’t see her. I had a very primal craving for television, I reacted immediately to its hypnotism, like an animal instinct. Trench-coat was out, and I lay there in bed, under the covers, and watched the images on the screen through the window. I would have liked to have had a radio as well, playing in the background, or the call to prayer. Not music, though, I couldn’t listen to it anymore, I felt that it entered me immediately, dictated my emotions. Maybe that was why Sofia had such a strong effect on me. She was hypnotizing me with her clarinet, she was playing me, playing the coin, you could say.
At some point, I got a phone call from Curls. I was afraid that she was angry with me or, worse, that she missed me, but she only wanted to invite me to an event that she was organizing. A fundraising gala in February, in honor of our country. Those were her words, not mine, whatever they meant, because we didn’t have a country. She said it was an opportunity for me to meet some comrades in New York. Her words again. It’s not that I didn’t care, I cared very much. But I was my own person, original. I had chosen to stand on my own two feet and walk out of that crooked land. I told her, I bet all the girls will be wearing traditional embroidered dresses, those don’t look good on me, they’re too boxy, my body gets lost in the shape. And Curls, I laughed, what about Arab men looking for wives with that Madonna-whore complex of theirs? She laughed, said she was dating a Jew, a cis man, her words again, I would never say such a ridiculous thing. Thinking of Sasha, I asked her if I could bring my own pet male. Sure, if he’s rich, she laughed. As we talked, I continued watching the brunette correspondent on Sofia’s TV, behind her the White House. I liked doing several things at once, it calmed me.
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he day before winter break, I brought Trench-coat to my classroom. Sasha had been begging me to meet the students but I didn’t want them to be inspired by his self-effacing humility, so I brought Trench-coat instead. They were young boys, they wanted to talk to girls and be alphas, so I needed to build their confidence.
I had prepared the students in advance, I told them that Trench-coat was a fashion sensei and taught children in Monaco. You know, I said to them, a six can easily become an eight with the right manners and clothing, it’s not the same for women, you’re lucky to be men. They didn’t understand what I was talking about, their faces were blank. There will be no writing assignment, I said, it’s a free class, do what you want with it.
It sounds like I was running a circus at Franklin, but most of my teaching was very sober and serious. Children spend a lot of time at school, I had them for hours and hours each week, and there was only so much entertainment that I could come up with. I’m telling you about the fun times, but trust me that in between there was plenty of reading and writing.
It wasn’t easy getting Trench-coat into Franklin. Americans are very protective of their children, maybe because it’s the only country in the world with the cultural practice of school shootings. So I had to tell Lauren, the receptionist, to register Trench-coat as a guest lecturer from Syria, a member of the New York Refugee Action Committee, which was something I invented, although I’m sure it exists in real life as well.
That morning, Trench-coat woke up early, he bathed for a long time and ironed his uniform twice. He insisted that we take a taxi to Franklin, because it was raining melted glaciers, a type of rain that flooded subway stations in New York, and he was afraid we’d be late.
We got there early, Trench-coat stood at the doorway of my classroom and shook hands with each of the eighth graders as they walked in, introducing himself politely, bowing, as if he were hosting the World Economic Forum. The students all formed a line outside the classroom, waiting for their turn to shake his hand. At first they awkwardly blurted out their names, but then some made eye contact, shook hands more firmly, introducing themselves by their full names. They all sat at their desks, calmly, there was not one student fidgeting in his seat.
Trench-coat stood at the front of the room, took off his trench coat, hung it on the back of my desk chair, smoothed his hair back with both hands then unbuttoned his suit jacket. His voice was low, it didn’t project, and the boys had to stay quiet to hear him.
Mr. Jenkins, he gestured at Jay, who was sitting in the front row. He asked him to stand up, then he pointed at his jacket, and asked him to please button it. Jay stood upright like a soldier and buttoned his jacket, but Trench-coat just calmly said to him, No, that’s wrong, please unbutton it and sit back down. There was a silence, the students looked at one another, and then at me, I was sitting in the back row. Jay turned around and looked at me with a mixture of hurt and anger, as if I were his mom who had humiliated him in front of his friends. I cleared my throat, before he could say anything, and softly asked him to come sit next to me. Then I gave Trench-coat a look, letting him know that he had gone too far. Okay, he said to the boys, I will give you the answer. You never button the lower button, only the top one, understand? There was a silence in the room, then Ahmed gasped, and the boys all looked down at their bellies, to see if they had been buttoning their jackets the wrong way.
Trench-coat explained to them the rules of men’s fashion, and he picked Sal as his assistant. They demonstrated how a jacket should fit, the correct length for a pair of trousers, how to pick a collar, how to shine your shoes, and how to wash a white shirt so that it doesn’t oxidize. Sal was tall, built, he loved himself and it showed in his clothing.
Then Trench-coat called on Carl. I worried that Carl was too nervous for this exercise, and too poorly dressed, because he always wore clothes the wrong size, either too large or too small. Carl sluggishly got up from his chair and made his way to the front of the classroom. Alora, Trench-coat said, Mr. Yu. He hit Carl on the back, Stand straight. Carl straightened up, then looked up at Trench-coat like a puppy. Your pants are okay at the waist, but they are too long. Trench-coat then got on the floor, knees and hands on the blue carpet, and explained to them the pant break. He folded Carl’s hem, which was wet and grimy from the morning rain, then stood up and told Carl that his jacket was too small, Have you been eating too much rice? he asked. Carl turned red. I wanted to put an end to it but Trench-coat then pointed at Leonard and asked if he could borrow his jacket, just for the presentation. Leonard obliged, and Trench-coat dressed Carl in Leonard’s jacket, borrowed Sal’s oxfords and bowtie, then gave Carl his own handkerchief, watch, and cuff links, which he told the boys come with enormous responsibility, because they’re very easy to lose, and it’s important to develop the habit of always keeping them in their case, never lying around on the dresser. He gave Carl a final adjustment, told him to lift his chin, close his mouth. Voilà, he announced, presenting Carl to the classroom. The students all clapped for Carl, a show of sympathy that I had never seen before, they were always excessively cruel to him, but perhaps he really did look that good. There was a long mirror in the cupboard behind my desk, and I stood up and opened it so Carl could see himself. He looked at his figure, smiled, then looked himself in the eyes, and I could tell that he liked what he saw.
Class is almost over, I told them. Do you have any final questions? Sal asked if suits could be worn with sneakers, and Trench-coat answered that it was not possible, under any circumstances. Jay then asked Trench-coat if he was a homosexual. I suppose it was my fault, because the previous week I had told them that James Baldwin was a homosexual, and that there was nothing shameful about that, it was just a fact of life, and one that often comes with a desirable set of traits, like strong friendships and refined taste. You might be surprised, but Jay asked the question with a straight face, and none of the students giggled or jumped in their seats when he said it.
But this time it was Trench-coat who turned red. He looked down at the ground, searching for his words, then up at me. I slammed the cupboard door shut and answered for him. Come on, boys. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.
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t the end of the day, the bell rang, the kids all started jumping up and down, they were off for winter break. It was not yet four in the afternoon and it was already dark outside. Aisha hugged each of them goodbye, telling them not to run because the sidewalks had frozen. I saw Trench-coat waiting for me across the street and I quickly walked over to him, my CVS basket flailing behind me on the busted asphalt. Aisha saw me with Trench-coat, I saw her checking him out, top to bottom. I started walking toward the station but Trench-coat pointed at a yellow taxi.
We have to prepare before going to Paris, he said, putting my basket in the trunk and getting in the passenger seat. I read the driver’s name on the placard, it was Gini Ladlock. Where are we going? I asked. Trench-coat said we were going shopping, and when I asked him where, he said we were going to the ugliest designer in the world. Do you know who it is? he asked, looking back at me through the plastic partition, like a parent posing a question to his child. Vetements, I said. No, he said, firmly, like I had insulted his riddle. Versace? I asked, knowing it to be the wrong answer, because Trench-coat adored Versace. Gini drove like a maniac up Madison, in a few minutes we were already in midtown. I looked out the window, the Christmas lights and shops rushing by. I was feeling comfortable in my body again, Trench-coat had given me a painkiller outside school, maybe that’s why Aisha had been looking at us. I observed Trench-coat in the side mirror, his missing molar distended by the view’s distortion. I’ll give you a clue, he said. Which designer is worn by the richest people in the world, and the poorest people in the world, and it is only the person wearing them who makes the difference? All of them, I laughed. Gucci, LV, Chanel, Prada, Balenciaga, Hermès, Dior. Yes, he said, and Gini braked abruptly. You said it. Now which is the ugliest? The sky was clear but pitchblack, the temperature below freezing. Only a few tourists were out and the shops were brightly lit and empty. We were stopped outside Hermès.
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very year, regardless of poverty, war, or famine, the price of the Birkin bag increases. Its value is more solid than gold or the S&P 500, and the luxury house of Hermès has achieved this by only selling to a very small and particular group of people.
Of course, this is not the explanation Trench-coat gave me. His was more like, Hermès hates Americans and Asians and they won’t sell them any bags, so we, the gorgeous and cultured, would buy the bags and sell them at a premium to the trashy and unworthy. When I inquired further, I realized that it was a scheme, that we would buy the bags and sell them to Ivan, who would meet us every evening at the Mandarin in Paris, and Ivan would sell them to someone else, and so forth, until they ended up in the manicured hands of whichever person had plenty of money but no class.
In Paris there are more bags, Trench-coat told me as we got out of the taxi, our chances there will be higher, this is just reconnaissance. Surprisingly, there was no doorman, and I had to pull the heavy door myself. We were the only people in the store, there was no music, it smelled good but forced, like the Terre perfume with undertones of mold. We walked around the jewelry, I became aware of the sound my boots made on the marble, I slowed my steps. I thought that we were just browsing, as we had often done, declining champagne. But then Trench-coat asked the saleswoman to show me some earrings and she took me to a case at the center of the room. She was blond, middle-aged, a non-player, much like Dominic, the waiter at The Mark. Do you like these? she asked me in no accent whatsoever, observing my Birkin from up close, to see if it was real. These earrings are from the Finesse collection. She took the earrings out of the case, the design was very simple, like something I could buy for fifteen dollars at Accessorize. They’re simple and clean, Trench-coat said, I want to buy you earrings. I whispered to him that I didn’t have holes in my ears but he ignored me. He picked a pair of rose gold earrings studded with diamonds. I thought I would have to pay with my Mastercard, because I didn’t have enough cash, but Trench-coat pulled out an American Express I had never seen before, with no name on it. Days later, in Paris, I understood that he was building a purchasing history, so that when Hermès looked up his name in their database, they would see that he was a high-spending customer, that he belonged to that very small and particular group of people.
Gini then took us to Select, we sat in the room in the back, and I had four glasses of cognac while Trench-coat finally lit his dry cigar. We were not pretending anymore. We laughed, very loudly, we spoke to the tables next to us, I reapplied my red lipstick and did not care that it had smeared over my teeth. My speech was wet from the alcohol, maybe I was drooling red. Trench-coat did not know how to smoke, he burned himself with the cigar and squealed with pleasure.
I can’t remember how, but we made it home and I threw myself or was thrown onto the armchair. Trench-coat took off my shoes, my socks, gave me a glass of water. Are you ready? he asked. For what? He disappeared for a minute, I almost fell asleep but I thought we were finally going to have sex so I forced my eyes open. He came back shirtless, carrying my sewing kit. He then opened the box of earrings, said, Mamma mia, and started blazing two needles with the matches from Select. I held on to his bicep, he held my ear. I trusted him with all my heart that the holes would be symmetrical, the job clean. He pierced the first ear and I wailed, exaggerating the pain, then he quickly moved to the second. He started giggling, but his biceps stayed flexed, controlled, and I moaned while juicy tears slid down my neck. He put the diamonds in me and carried me to bed. The next morning, in the mirror, I looked like more of a woman.
