Free Red Hook by Reggie Nadelson Page A

voices, I heard someone else yell: “Jack, get the fuck down.”
    Outside, a group of people had gathered and they were staring up at Jack who was perched on the narrow stone wall that ran the whole length of the terrace. It was a six-story drop to the street. You fell, you’d break your bones and probably your neck. But Jack was up there, grinning, strolling along the wall that wasn’t more than a foot wide, a bottle of champagne in one hand, a glass in the other. He waved at the crowd. He was showing off, letting everyone see how cool he was. He didn’t look down.
    â€œGet the fuck off there,” someone said again, and I didn’t say anything, just stood and watched him suck up the attention like a magnet.
    The girl on the terrace was six feet tall, maybe more, as tall as me, and stunning.
    â€œI’m Valentina,” she said and kissed me on the cheek.
    I’d only met Tolya’s daughter a few times when she was much younger and living near Miami with her twinsister and her mother who was Tolya’s ex. She was nineteen now and incredibly lovely. She wore a plain short black dress, and backless heels that snapped when she walked.
    â€œI’m really happy to meet you again, Artie,” she said. “I’m happy for your getting married,” she added, running her hand through her platinum crew cut.
    One of Val’s fingers was missing. It had happened when she was a little girl still in Moscow. She had been kidnapped and held for ransom. Tolya had wanted her to have it fixed. He had offered her plastic surgery. She refused and told him it was a badge for her. You looked at her, and your eyes went to the missing finger, but it was the imperfection that made the rest of her more dazzling.
    Val’s face, the cheekbones, the blue eyes, the wide mouth, was Russian; her accent was purest American, bland, featureless, suburban. She had lived in Florida since her early teens. I stood on the terrace, halfway between Val and Jack Santiago and I realized now that he was performing for her.
    Glancing up at him, she was apparently unconcerned that he was still walking along the wall, drinking alternately out of the bottle and his glass. She ignored him and took my hand, and kissed my cheeks again.
    â€œI know we sort of met when I was a kid, Artie, but now I’m living here in New York, and I love it,” Val said. “I mean all the bars and stuff over here in the Meat District and meeting you,” she added in a rush of teenage enthusiasm. “I mean my pop talks about you all the time, of course, and so I just wanted to get to know you, youknow? I’ve like had a crush on you from a distance.” She smiled, and I fell for her, of course, because who wouldn’t, and then realized she could be my kid. She was Tolya’s kid. I felt old.
    â€œI’m glad you’re here, Val, I really am,” I said when the crowd on the terrace suddenly went silent. I looked up.
    On the wall, Jack stumbled. Everyone gasped except for Val who didn’t flinch. Then, grinning, Jack jumped down and made a beeline for us; for her.
    â€œYou’re an idiot,” she said.
    It wasn’t an accident that they were both here; she had invited him, or he had known she was coming. She towered over Jack and he was twenty years older, but it was electric. I had never seen that kind of electricity between two people. He took her hand and you expected to see visible sparks, and they went inside to dance, wrapped around each other.
    â€œYou know this asshole Santiago?” Tolya’s voice was full of booze and anger.
    â€œHe’s OK. He’s a journalist. He’s good.”
    â€œWhat at? This prick is good at what exactly?”
    â€œHe’s a good writer,” I said.
    â€œYou invited him?”
    I shook my head. “Maybe he came with someone,” I said. “Maybe with Val. Valentina’s been going out with him?”
    â€œShe