Manhattan Is My Beat

okay? Suddenly no more
Commando
. All he wants are things like
The Seventh Seal
and Fellini and a lot of the recent Woody Allen—you know, not
Bananas
but the relationship stuff. And things you’d see on PBS, right? That lasts for a month, then Miss Culture goes bye-bye and it’s back to
Death Wish 8
for a couple months. Then he comes in with some other girl all in leather and studs. I know what you’re thinking but guess what she likes? Old musicals. Dorothy Lamour, Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Fred and Ginger. That’s all he rents for
two
months. Guy’s going to develop a complex. I mean, you’ve gotta be yourself, right?”
    Stephanie was brushing her hair.
    Rune continued. “Like, speaking of adult films … Oh, don’t call them dirty movies. Tony doesn’t like that, and besides, it’s a mega-business. We make forty percent of our gross on them even though they’re only twelve percent of inventory…. Well, what I was saying was that now women rent almost as many as men. And they don’t rent all that much straight … mostly it’s gay male flicks.”
    “Yeah?” Stephanie’s sullen eyes flashed with a splinter of interest then the lids lowered again. The brush went back into her purse. Rune decided Stephanie would be a Washington Square Video employee for thirty days max. She could get just as boring work in restaurants and the pay would be three times as good. “Why would women rent gay films?”
    “Way I figure it,” Rune said, “it’s that the guys in gay films look a lot better than guys in straight films, you know, they’re really hunks, cut. Work out, take care of themselves. Straight films, you see a lot of flab … I’ve heard.”
    Stephanie, glancing with boredom at the adult section, said, “Lesbians are out of luck, sounds like.”
    “Naw, naw, that’s another good market. We’ve got, let’s see,
Girls on Girls, Lesbos Lovers, Sappho Express
… But it’s mostly men rent those. There’re more girlfriends over in the West Village. Not so many here.”
    Rune walked back to the counter, fluffed her hair out with her fingers. Stephanie looked at it, said, “That’s an interesting effect, with the colors. How did you do it?”
    “I don’t know. It just kind of happened.” Trying to figure if her comment was a compliment. Rune didn’t think so.
Interesting
. That’s a bitch of a word.
Interesting
.
    “You have any freaks come in?”
    Rune said, “Depends on what you mean. There’s a guy knows every line—even the TV and radio broadcasts—in
Night of the Living Dead
. Then this lawyer told me he and his wife rent
Casablanca
after they have sex. And I can look up in the computer and tell you that they must be having problems. There’s this one guy, Mad Max, he’s real creepy and always rents slasher films. Those stupid things like
Halloween
and
Friday the 13th, Part 85
, you know.”
    “Sexist bastards,” Stephanie said, “that’s who makes those films.”
    “But turns out he’s a social worker for a big hospital uptown and volunteers for Meals on Wheels, things like that.”
    “Seriously?”
    “I keep telling you … a video store is a great education.”
    Stephanie said, “You have a boyfriend?”
    “I’m not sure,” Rune said. She decided this was a pretty accurate statement.
    “Is Rune your real name?”
    “For now it is.”
    A queue formed—and Rune walked Stephanie through the check-out procedure.
    “I can’t believe this is your first day. You’re a born clerk,” Rune told her.
    “Thanks loads,” Stephanie drawled. “Don’t tell Tony, but what I’m hoping is I’ll meet some producers or casting agents here. I want to be an actress. Just a dry spell right now. I haven’t auditioned for a month.”
    “What about all those casting calls in L.A.?”
    “A casting call doesn’t mean you get the part. L.A. is yucky. New York’s the only place to be.”
    “I
knew
I liked you,” Rune said, and rented
The Seven Samurai, Sleeping Beauty
, and
Lust Orgy
to a pleasant, balding businessman.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    The rivers are moats, the buildings are parapets
…
    Wait, is that right? What exactly is a parapet?
    Anyway …
    The buildings are parapets. The stone, pitted and stained with age and cloudy water. Dripping. Slick stalactites and stalagmites. Dark windows with bars on the dungeons. We’re riding down, down, down … The hooves of our horses muted by the cold brick. Down into the secret entrance that leads under the moat, out of the