Lazarus Rising

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Dempsey Coates first met Johnny Donegan the night the Haviland Piano Factory burned, all six floors of it. There had been no Haviland pianos made in the building for over fifty years, but the light industry that took over the loft spaces lacked sufficient individuality to offer an identity that might replace the superseded pianos. Even after the gutted shell was rebuilt and occupied by artists, sculptors, lawyers, and psychiatrists, it would be known as the Piano Factory.

Dempsey did not live in the Piano Factory. She lived down the block on the other side of the street, the uptown side, in a building with no name, with no particular history.

Coming home from a gallery opening, she’d had to retrace her steps back to Varick Street, go around the block, and come to her building from the other direction, from the west. Her own street was blocked by what was called the “apparatus”: fire engines, ladders, chiefs’ cars, an ambulance, and enough crisscrossing hose to map the entire Northeast.

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