Dope by Sara Gran Read Free Book Online Page A

was no aspect of junk that could go unexamined for more than twenty-four hours. I couldn’t stand it anymore. A few minutes ago I had craved a shot like I was dying for one. And now more than anything else I hoped I would never have to speak to another junkie again. I liked Cora. I really did. I just wished there was something else she could talk about.
    We had said goodbye and I was about to go when Cora pulled me close and whispered in my ear, “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Joe?” she said. “Because I swear, if you’re using again, after all you went through to get clean—”
    â€œYeah,” I said. “I’d lie to you. But not about that.”
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    When I left Cora and Hank I walked through the Lower East Side and went to Katz’s on Ludlow Street for lunch. Jim would have approved. I got my ticket and went up to the counter, where old Abe was cutting up a pastrami with a two-foot-long knife that would have scared the hell out of me if anyone else had been holding it.
    â€œJoey,” Abe said, smiling under his white hat. “Joey, you look good.” I knew what he meant. What everyone meant when they said that. Not that my outfit was pretty or that my hair looked nice. They meant that I looked like I was off junk. It’d been two years now and I got a little tired of hearing it, but I guess I couldn’t blame people for being surprised.
    â€œThanks, Abe. I feel good. How’re the kids?”
    â€œReal good,” Abe said, slicing away with his knife. “The oldest, he’s in college now. He’s gonna be a doctor.”
    Right. He’d been saying the kid was going to be a doctor since the kid was knee high. He put my sandwich up on the counter and we talked some more. He told me the youngest was going to be a lawyer and the girl in the middle was going to marry a nice Jewish banker she’d met at temple. The fellow was all right but Abe was a little disappointed because he’d only gone to City College.
    â€œYou know how it is,” he said. “He’s a nice guy. But everyone wants the best for their kids, right? So I don’t know why she couldn’t find a fellow from Harvard.” He shook his head. “At least NYU.”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œHey,” Abe said, suddenly serious. “Did I tell you about Saul? Old Saul from Ludlow Street?”
    I shook my head. I was sure I knew a Saul from somewhere, but . . .
    â€œSure,” Abe said. “You know Saul. Old Saul on Ludlow Street. See, Saul, he was in the schmata business. Lived right here on Ludlow Street. Then he retires and he goes down to Florida. And every day he sits on the beach and he reads the anti-Semitic newspapers. You know the type. All about how the Jews are taking over the world.”
    â€œSure,” I said. I started to laugh already. It was a joke. “One pastrami shop at a time.” I took another taste of corned beef.
    But Abe kept it completely deadpan. “So Saul’s reading the papers every day,” he said. “Finally his wife, Sadie, she says, ‘Saul. Saul,’ she says. ‘What are you reading this crap for?’ And Saul smiles and he says, ‘’Cause I like to see how good we’re doing. See, Sadie, right here, it says Jews control the banks, we own all the diamonds, we’re running the government. . . . What more could we ask for?’”
    I laughed so hard I almost spit out my corned beef.
    â€œSorry,” Abe said to the man behind me. We’d been talking too long. “What can I get for you?”
    I turned around and I got a start. I knew him, the man on line behind me. I couldn’t place the face, but I
    was sure I’d seen him before. I got a strange feeling, like when Abe had first mentioned old Saul from Ludlow Street—I was supposed to know who it was, but . . .
    Then I realized: it was the man who had been waiting across the street