2

Last Choice

The skies have split open, releasing a downpour, and it would be near impossible to count the passage of time if it weren’t for the radio announcements. Several days have passed since it started raining again. Atticus hasn’t gone out much, but he’s got plenty of food and water in the apartment anyways. Besides, he had decided that it’s nice to be able to focus on writing new material.
It’s mid-morning and Atticus is lying on the floor, bored. Lenny speaks through the radio, “It’s still raining, everyone! Apologies for saying it was going to stop on Saturday, but now it’s Tuesday, and the canals are more full than they have been for months and I don’t see an end in sight. Stay strong, citizens of Seatac.” He rhythmically emphasizes the consonants in that final statement. Lenny must live further uptown to sound so casual about the flooding.
A mediocre pop song “from the archives,” according to Lenny, comes on. Atticus listens long enough to decide that it’s too annoying to continue and goes to shut it off, he’s heard it a few too many times anyway. He pauses, however, when it fades into static. Static isn’t uncommon, especially in this rain, but one can generally still hear the broken transmission of the radio show. Atticus recognizes this as different when it cuts off the broadcast completely. The same female voice from the other day clearly interrupts. She’s mocking the lyrics like the last time this happened, “-stand under my umbrella, ella, ella… Now that’s a classic, I haven’t heard that in a while. Anyways, sorry to leave you hangin’ the past few days, Atti, but I need you to trust me and head up towards Century City to check in with the Water Hole. It’ll be worth facing the rain, I promise. Tah tah!” The radio plays static for a moment as she fades away and the music starts playing again.
Atticus is propped up on his elbow, the other hand hovering over the radio’s power button and his mouth agape as he listens, allowing the song to finish. Lenny comes back on, “What a hip old tune, am I right? We might be listening to a lot of the old archives until the rain lets up, unless Steven can get the Water Hole afloat again, so plan on another night of no live entertainment unless you’re up in Century City.” Atticus closes his mouth and his eyes widen as he registers everything he just heard. He swiftly throws his nicest, driest clothes and notebook into his pack and then wraps the pack in a garbage bag he keeps around for this reason. Grabbing an umbrella, he heads out the door and onto the fire escape, he can figure everything out as he walks to the venue.
The rain comes down in buckets, the umbrella practically useless, but at least the height of the surrounding buildings block the worst of the wind. Atticus makes his way down the rusted metal stairs and onto the docks. The wooden boards are saturated with rain and slick, the water of the canals lapping the edges of the dock with every ripple and wave. Lenny was right about the water levels not being this high in months and traversing the city would not be easy. No wonder the other entertainers weren’t going out, but if Atticus could get on the air? Everyone would be listening.
Atticus has been to the Water Hole a handful of times, not to perform himself, but to see others perform. It wasn’t even close to the most high-end venue that one could land a gig at, but it was the best place outside of Century City, where the mob boss and his gangs lived and paid top dollar for entertainers. The commute to Ol’ Steve-O’s Water Hole, as Lenny calls it, could take a few hours, what with the rain and the venue being several miles inland and up a dozen flights of stairs. For the time being, Atticus focuses on not slipping into the canal and making it to the Water Hole as fast as safely possible.
During his trek through the city, the docks are practically empty with the exception of the occasional drug addict lying close to the walls and essential workers making sure the infrastructure doesn’t collapse. One man is pounding a galvanized steel bar into the rotting scaffolding of a staircase while trying to stay close enough to the building for shelter. At least two dozen people will show up dead or missing by the end of this storm. Atticus avoids eye contact with those who are out to prevent the guilt of knowing that his life could be a lot more difficult. His thoughts bounce back and forth between the strange woman’s voice that has been encouraging him and trying to plan how the hell he would score this gig and if so, how he would navigate a comedy show that would be broken audio only.
Atticus has thought back to the woman more times than he can count in the recent days since she first spoke over the radio and he was finally starting to move on before she spoke again this morning. She knew his name, liked his shows, and could break up the radio transmission for just him? He’d never heard her voice nor could he come up with anyone he knew capable of tampering with the radios. Logically, she doesn’t make sense, and yet Atticus is still drenched in water and risking his own life for hours in a monsoon on the off chance that she’s right about this opportunity.
Atticus has probably slipped a dozen times by the time he starts moving up in elevation enough for the water level to begin dropping. It’s no longer reaching the height of the docks and there are very few waves, just ripples from the continuing downpour. Atticus can’t help but also worry about how Sunny’s family is faring, so close to the coastline. If the water is so bad here and at his place, how is it even closer to the ocean? He allows the deafening sound of endless rain on water to drown out the thoughts, he needs to focus on this gig.
He finally makes it to the base of the high rise that the Water Hole is located in at what he can assume is early afternoon, but the hours of the day may as well not exist under the darkness of the storm. Atticus prays the elevator is working this week, despite the rain, as he begrudgingly climbs the first flight of stairs and enters the building from the third floor.
The door opens into a room that was likely once an office space but now contains several musty couches and chairs to create a sort of lounge room. These entertainment buildings and other public buildings often have rooms like this as their entrances. An old window is often widened and replaced by a doorway to emulate a front entrance to the upper floors and the room is converted into a space for visitors to dry off, find the building directory, or meet up with others before moving on to their destination. During his previous visits, this room had been bustling with people, but Atticus now stands alone, the pattering of rain filtering in through the walls like the sound of static. He takes a moment to breathe the humid air, closes and drops his umbrella into a nearby bucket, and starts digging through his pack for the extra clothing he had packed. The plastic bag he’d wrapped his pack in hadn’t done a perfect job of keeping it watertight, but it was enough that his clothes were only damp instead of saturated with water. He proceeds to peel off the soaked t-shirt he’d made the trek in and replaces it with a fresh one and then does the same with a fresh pair of pants. He wraps the wet clothing in the plastic and shoves them into his pack as he moves towards the interior door at the opposite end of the room.
Turning down a hallway, Atticus finds the elevator and smashes the “up” arrow several times for good measure. He taps his foot and looks around him impatiently when there’s finally a “ding” and the doors slide open. Atticus jumps a little when it happens but is pleasantly surprised that it’s still running despite the weather. The elevator rattles as he steps inside and presses a handful of faded buttons going up; the numbers have probably been gone for decades. He slides to the floor and sighs in relief as the elevator makes a handful of concerning noises and jerks upward. He wasn’t sure if it would be better to stop at the Water Hole or Lenny’s station, several floors higher, and he can’t exactly remember which floors either of those are on, so he decides to just take his time and let the elevator do the work. If the elevator fails and kills him after the harsh journey to get here, it wasn’t meant to be anyway.
A minute later, the doors shudder open on the lowest floor he’d chosen and then slide closed as he fails to get up. He repeats this process for several minutes, the elevator would be moving painfully slowly if he weren’t so grateful for the rest. Atticus is almost drifting off when the doors open and he finally recognizes the familiar stench and strange color choices of Steve’s Water Hole. He grunts a little as he pushes himself off the floor, tries and fails to flatten the wrinkles in his clothing, and enters the hallway. Lining the hallway are cracked leather lounge chairs, placed on top of scorched and stained checkered cobalt blue and stone gray floor tiles. This floor had been converted into an entertainment center long before Atticus had been born, when there was easier access to high-quality interior design elements. The Water Hole hadn’t always been Steve’s and is one of the original venues in Seatac. For the first time, Atticus sees the hallway with only one other person present, a sturdy black man seated nearest the stage room doors, smoking a cigarette. Atticus recognizes Steve as he startles and turns to look at him. He’s got well-maintained curls, cropped fairly close to his scalp, but it’s clear they’ve been graying and along with his forming wrinkles, one could guess he’s in his mid-fifties. He doesn’t bother getting up for the one arrival.
“What the fuck are you doing here? In case you didn’t notice, a hurricane or some shit is goin’ on outside so no shows tonight. And we don’t offer shelter if you’re a druggie, so get outta here.” He’s got some sort of accent that Atticus can’t place, but Steve returns to smoking, staring into the distance.
Atticus heads down the hallway towards Steve and clears his throat before speaking, “Uh, no Steve, sir, I’m actually here because you have no shows tonight.” He remembers mid-sentence that Steve probably doesn’t know who he is, despite Atticus knowing who Steve is, and that, while known for being charismatic, he is also known to demand respect. Steve huffs out a puff of smoke and slowly turns to glare at Atticus. “I know it’s a reach, but I was hoping I could possibly be the entertainment tonight?”
Steve snorts out a single laugh, “Son, I don’t know who you are or what you do, let alone if you’re any good. And besides, what fuckin’ crowd would you be performing for?”
Atticus reaches Steve and puts his hand out to shake, “I’m Atticus, I’m a comedian, and I know everyone is sick of listening to Lenny’s archives on loop every day, so I want to be on his show for the evening.”
Steve raises an eyebrow and then squints at Atticus as he drops his cigarette on the floor, “You got balls, kid. Where’d you even come from today?” he firmly grasps Atticus’ hand and continues, “If you live nearby, you’re a nobody, ‘cause I don’t recognize the name.”
“I walked here from the ocean piers, northwest Seatac. And I’d be hurt if I didn’t already know that you’d not recognize me, but I’m still realistic. Regardless, I’m making a name for myself right now, and I know you already have a name for yourself as a pretty good guy, so I’m counting on reputation here.” Atticus holds Steve’s gaze as he speaks.
“I’ll be damned if that wasn’t a shitty decision on your part, I’m surprised you’re even alive, but you know what? I’ll give you a benefit of a doubt and introduce you to Lenny, but no promises on his decision.” Steve claps Atticus on the back, persuading him further down the hall, towards the stairs, “But I am not taking that scary ass lift.”
Atticus grins as they make their way up the stairs several flights, a bounce returning to his step. Steve’s steps, however, are heavy as they slowly climb the interior stairway.
After climbing three flights of stairs, Steve takes a moment to catch his breath. Atticus concludes that Steve probably often takes the elevator on mellower days or otherwise doesn’t need to travel many floors throughout the building, likely living on another floor. Once he’s caught his breath, Steve speaks up, “Alright, Atticus? -”
“Atti is fine too, if you have a hard time-”
“Alright,” he gives Atticus an unappreciative look, “Atticus. Lenny will come off much more approachable than me, but don’t be fooled, he can be more difficult to persuade. We’ve all got our reputations to uphold, as you said.” He proceeds to lead the way down the new hallway, cleaner and emptier than the previous, and softly opens one of the doors. He holds a finger over his lips as they enter and whispers, “In case he’s on air.”
Inside the room is an impressive display of records, CDs, and old electronic devices; most likely containing music downloads. Atticus has seen each, but never in this quantity and usually too broken to be functional. There are stacks along two walls, directing attention to the desk in the center of the room, where Lenny sits, surrounded by radio equipment and with a heavy square microphone sitting in front of him. He seems to be in the middle of saying something when he looks up and notices the two men stepping inside, his eyes lighting up“ –Hey! Steve-O! I was just talkin’ about ya!” he leans back into the mic to speak more casually, “we’ll be right back, folks, enjoy another track from the archives in the meantime.” Lenny flips a button on the side of the mic stand and inserts a CD into one of the miscellaneous radios set up next to him. He slides a headset away from his ears and looks back up at Steve with a grin, “What’s good, Stevie, what brings you up to my floor?”
“Well, Leonard,” Steve makes space in the doorway and pulls Atticus in with a heavy arm around his shoulder –a good half-head taller than Atticus, “I’ve got this ballsy kid here wanting to… entertain the masses on air for us tonight.”
Lenny isn’t a large guy, which fits the nasally voice that Atticus knows so well. He quickly recognizes Lenny, however, as a man he’s seen at most every show that Atticus has attended at the Water Hole, he had just never known that it was the well-loved radio show host that he was seeing. Lenny is pale and gangly, wearing what someone could consider pajamas; loose fit flannel pants, a large t-shirt, and slippers. He’s got curly dirty blond hair that sticks out in every direction around his head and shoulders with a thin pair of circular glasses framing his eyes but doesn’t look much older than thirty. He scans Atticus with a goofy grin, “Is that so? Well let’s hear it, superstar, sell yourself.”
Atticus shrugs, “Nah, I didn’t get into comedy so I could be stuck giving elevator pitches my whole life. I’d rather die telling shitty jokes to get out of an awkward situation. I will say, I’m surprised by how often we hear all the same music from your station if you have such a large collection. And yet we both know you need something fresh tonight, because it’s not just the air that’s stagnant this week.”
Lenny chuckles and looks at Steve, “You did bring in a brave one today, Steve-o.” he flicks his eyes back over to Atticus and speaks to him directly, “Bold of you to insult the guy you’re trying to get something from. I’ll have you know that most of these records have become too warped or scratched to provide any worthwhile audio experiences, that’s why I’ve had the same albums on repeat. But you’re not wrong, people have been annoyed. However, it could be just as bad, if not worse, for me to replace something reliable with something that could very well be the worst comedy I’ve ever heard. Why should I put my reputation on the line for you, tonight? The audio quality already sucks in this storm, I’d rather not make it worse.”
“Well I’ve already made you laugh once, and the evening is just starting. In times like this, the people are desperate for anything to break up the monotony and drown out the rain, and they don’t have room to complain because beggars can’t be choosers.”
“You don’t get it, it’s not the lowlives that I care about impressing, it’s the bastards up in Century City who will cut my pay if I don’t entertain them properly. It’s nothing against you, it’s just that you might suck,” he shrugs as he finishes.
Steve cuts in before Atticus can respond, “c’mon Lenny, Atticus here came a long way, least we can do is give him ten minutes live and a place to recuperate for the night.”
Atticus holds his composure as he looks between the two men in anticipation. Ten minutes is a start, he can always negotiate more as the night goes on.
Lenny rhythmically taps the empty CD case on his desk, Atticus can make out a picture through Lenny’s fingers of a strange island sticking up over the ocean, the sky yellow and dark. Lenny finally sighs and responds, “Alright, you can hang out here since it’s pissing out there and come on the show if I can decide there’s a good time to transition you in.” he points to a couple of folding camp chairs behind him at the back of the room, “feel free to sit while this album finishes, but for fucks sake watch the cords.”
Atticus grins and promptly thanks Lenny and Steve as he tiptoes over the cords crisscrossing the floor around Lenny’s desk and returns to the front of the room to set up the chairs. Lenny shakes his head in amusement as he replaces the headphones he’d had on when they entered the room and tosses extra pairs to Atticus and Steve. It takes a moment for the two men to untangle the cords and the foam padding that sits in the interior is mostly gone, but once on, Atticus can hear the music being broadcast to the rest of the city. As the song ends, Atticus watches as Lenny turns his mic back on and moves his mouth to speak, but it’s not Lenny’s voice that comes through the headphones.
“I told you you could trust me, Atti, glad you could make it here tonight. Now you’ve just gotta not fuck up-”
Atticus’ heart skips a beat and he gulps, a lump forming in his throat, but he tries not to show distress in front of the other men. He lifts one speaker off of his ear, keeping his eyes on Lenny, who’s still speaking. This time the voice matches as Lenny announces to the audience, “-One of my favorite albums, over a hundred years old! I’m lucky to have kept the disc in such good condition. I’ll let the rest of the album play through and for those of y’all interested, we’ve got someone in the studio this evening-”
Atticus replaces the speaker, “Don’t tune me out, Atti, I’ll tell you so you don’t have to listen to him; good ol’ Lenny is gonna let you do a set at the end of this album, so you’ve got 11 more songs to figure out how to make the most out of your time, I’ll take care of the rest.” Lenny’s voice suddenly comes through the speaker instead as he introduces the next song, which starts off sounding like an advertisement for breakfast food.
He makes eye contact with Lenny, who squints at him like he’s trying to recognize something about his face. Atticus promptly digs out his notebook, which is damp, and carefully starts flipping through pages, reading through the notes and bits he’s already written. Many of the pages are nearly unreadable, but Atticus also recognizes that most of his sets are reliant on crowd work and a live audience that can see his expressions; this will be a mostly improvised set. He pauses what he’s doing and turns to Steve, “Any chance you’ve got any more of those cigarettes you were smoking earlier?”
Steve had managed to lift one headphone off his ear in time to hear and nods once, slowly. Without saying a word, he replaces the headphones and digs out a small container of loosely rolled cigs, lighting one and taking the first hit before handing it over.
Atticus takes the cigarette and nods back in thanks. He returns to flipping through the notebook while passing the cig back and forth with Steve. They finish it over the span of a couple of songs, Steve replacing the burnt bud back into his cigarette box. Atticus’ leg is incessantly shaking as he counts down the number of songs playing. He can tell nearly half an hour has passed when the final song starts.
At some point, Steve has gotten up and left the room, but he re-enters and plops into the chair next to Atticus, handing him a bottle of water as he settles. The song comes to an end as Lenny unmutes his microphone, “Alrighty everyone, it was a longer album but I hope you enjoyed it. That was a band known for being made up of fake characters, kinda like those old Japanese vocaloid stars I’ve played on here. Speaking of interesting characters though, I’m gonna switch things up on ya now with this up-and-coming comedian in the studio with me. I’ll let him introduce himself.” With that, Lenny gets up and nods for Atticus to come take his place at the desk, to which Atticus takes the cue.
Atticus slides into the chair, checks to make sure the mic is unmuted, and doesn’t hesitate to begin speaking, “Gooood evening Seatac, Century City, and everyone else except for the person who keeps dumping their shit upstream of the clean water reserves, fuck you in particular. My name is Atticus Frank, but most people call me an assho– Atti, friends call me Atti.” He pauses, “This rain sucks and I know we’re all stir crazy, but I’ve gotta say, I am excited for the water levels to be prime rock skipping height after all of this. I’m pretty serious about rock skipping, actually, as I’m sure you can all imagine how busy a person I am as a low-end entertainer. Unfortunately, though, good skipping rocks really aren’t a thing on the docks, so I’m always on the search for and collecting anything I can use as a substitute. That said, I’m going to use my chance on air to formally apologize to everyone who’s been a victim of my petty theft in order to support my hobby. I’m not really going to apologize to the owner of the glass eye I got my record of 15 skips out of, but definitely some big apologies to the gondolier who probably needs a glass eye after I launched a piece of glass down the canal.
“Speaking of gondos, despite that, I would’ve loved to be one in another life. Just paddling up and down the city, dumping people into the water when I don’t like them. I’m truly surprised I haven’t been thrown overboard by now, gondos have so much power in their hands and none of them are choosing to use it. I did, however, once see a man dive out of the boat and not come back up… I ended up getting on that boat since the gondolier no longer had a passenger, and when I asked her about it, she mentioned the man having muttered something about mermaids singing to him? Now I don’t know about y’all, but I’m not even on the hard drugs, and I could swear I’ve heard a woman’s voice talking to me too, so there must be something in the water…”
Atticus looks up to see Lenny and Steve each snort out a small laugh. Lenny meets his eyes and puts up his hand to show all five fingers, the time Atticus has left to wrap up. He doesn’t rush as he continues to tell several more jokes before concluding.
“To those of you who didn’t turn off your radios during my time, you get a free sloppy after coming to one of my next shows. Just kidding, but after a tip maybe we can talk. Anyway, I’ll leave the rest of your evening entertainment to Lenny.” Atticus hits the button on the mic stand, once again trades places with Lenny, and lets out a deep breath as he sits in his original chair.
Lenny starts speaking quickly to avoid any radio silence, “Well I hope we didn’t ruin your weeks any further with that, let me know after the storm what you all thought about our new friend, Atti. Now for the time being let’s listen to some recent recordings of our newest local band, Glass Oceans.” He scrolls through recordings on one of the screened devices buried in wires in front of him and chooses a playlist. Once the music is playing, all three men remove their headphones and Lenny turns to Atticus, “Well that was something. I feel like you could do better.”
Atticus grimaces a bit, “I’ve been doing PG shows for months now, I feel like all I know are child-appropriate jokes.”
Steve laughs at this, “Clearly! But I mean, it wasn’t terrible, you got a couple chuckles outta me.”
“Granted the funniest joke wasn’t until the end.” Lenny cuts in. “But no worries kid, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been and you didn’t say anything that could ruin my career, so I’m not upset. Take it easy.”
Atticus sinks into his chair further, eyelids drooping a bit as the adrenaline of the day finally wears off.
Steve stands up, “You two hungry? I’ve got plenty of food still kicking around my place, I’ll go get something together.” He ducks out of the room, leaving Atticus alone with Lenny.
“Do I get that free sloppy since I sat through that all and we may as well be tipping you with food and shelter?” Lenny is grinning at Atticus, it’s the same unique smile as when they first met.
Atticus looks up through his brows, “I may be grateful to you guys, but maybe not that much. Ask me in a week when I decide if that was worth it.”
Lenny laughs and the two sit in silence until Steve returns with half a loaf of lightly molded bread, a block of goat cheese, and a jar of boiled eggs. “Feel free to finish that bread, it’s only gonna get moldier,” he tears a chunk off for himself and sets it all atop the mess of wires on Lenny’s desk. The three dig into the food, Steve and Lenny conversing a bit. Atticus keeps the headphones on one ear, placing them lopsided on his head to do so, to listen to both the station and the men in the room with him. He wants to make sure he doesn’t miss anything important from the radio broadcast, but it’s nothing but the sound of Glass Oceans’ grungy music.
As they all finish eating, Steve stands up, clapping a hand onto Atticus’ shoulder and speaking through the last bite of food he’d taken, “Alright, kid, let’s leave Lenny to wrap up the show for the night, you can sleep in the Water Hole to wait out–”
Atticus’ focus gets split, however, as another cheery voice comes into his covered ear, “Sorry for the delay, Atti, I was taking care of something. That was alright! I know you can do better, though.” Her voice sounds almost pouty with the secondary statement but she continues, “It was a good start, regardless, and we can make it work. I’ll tell you what, this storm will end very soon and I want you to wait for me outside when it does. I’d be thrilled to give you a ride home. Until then!”
“—you comin’, Atticus?” Steve is staring down at him.
Atticus blinks hard, shifting his attention back to Steve. He smiles awkwardly and responds, “oh uh, yeah, I appreciate it a lot.” He replaces the headphones on Lenny’s desk, gathers his things, and stands. “Lead the way, Steve-O.”
Several floors down, Steve leads Atticus into the primary venue hall, decorated with blues and grays and scattered with various furniture facing a dark, empty stage. “There’s nothing worth stealing in here, so I’m not worried about leaving you, make yourself comfortable.” Steve turns to leave the room, “I’ll be at my place, on the floor below this one.”
Atticus collects several loose cushions from the chairs and arranges them on the stage. Laying flat, he stares at the ceiling, reflecting on everything from the day and week. He’s seen what the mobs are capable of and, assuming that’s what she’s a part of, worries about what the strange woman truly desires from him. Despite his exhaustion, he stays awake into the night, listening to the rain continue to pummel the windows lining one wall. The storm is persisting, but noticeably lighter than several hours ago.