“When will you let me have a look at him, this Jimmy who's hustling my baby sister?”
“Pretty soon,” I promise. “But wait until we're going together.”
“Gotcha,” she winks. “I've been there. But watch your step. Every guy's after one thing.”
“Not Jimmy,” I say.
“Every guy. But take your time, I'll cover for you. I'm a master at tricking my mother.”
Outside on the back fire escape, the snow drifts down in fat flakes that stick to my eyelashes, melt on my tongue. The night is bright with streetlights and fresh snow. When Jimmy enters the alley, he strolls slowly through the falling snow, his leather jacket wide open, his cigarette cupped in his hand.
“So how's it going?” I call down. I'm trying to keep my voice calm and even, to hide the hammering in my chest.
“Faina,” he says, looking up abruptly as if I've startled him out of some deep dream. “What's happening?”
“Nothing. How was your Christmas?”
“I survived. What about you?”
“Me, too.” I hang over the metal railing so my new cashmere scarf can wave in the wind. I love the fuzzy yarn against my skin, how sharp the scarf looks with Cammy's pea coat. “You coming up for a smoke?”
“I guess,” he shrugs. “Why not?”
As soon as Jimmy reaches the top, I can tell things are different between us. Instead of slouching in his usual spot against my building, he sits down on the staircase, stares out at the alley and the snowy rooftops peaking against the dark sky.
“So, I got new boots,” I say, sitting down next to him.
He reaches over and squeezes my calf. “Pretty cool. They real leather?” He says this as if he's already forgotten the old boots, the day at Dakota Park, his fight with Tom Payne.
“I'm not sure. I got them at Daley's over vacation. I went downtown to see the Christmas display.”
Jimmy nods his head. “Yeah. That. My old lady took me once when I was a kid. Aren't you past that yet?”
“My mom wanted me to see it.”
“I think I went when I was nine or ten. All that Christmas crap is for little kids.” He lets go of my boot, stuffs his hands into his pockets.
“I love the choker,” I say quickly. I want us to go back to Christmas Eve, pick up where we left off. “I've worn it every day. Did your parents like the plant hanger you made?”
“As much as they like anything. It's hard to believe I'm going back there.”
“Back where?”
“Back home. You know, I'm down to my last hundred. I kept thinking about that when I was there, what it'd be like living again in my old room, sharing a bed with my brother John. Listening to my old lady bitch constantly. But at least it ain't no halfway house.”
“When do you go?”
“My free date's the end of April.” He brushes the snow off his jeans, stamps his boots against the metal stairs. “If I can stay clean. I've tried to set my mind on turning my life around, but it's hard labor staying straight. I'm not sure it's for me.”
“You can do it, Jimmy.” I nudge my elbow against his. “You don't want to be locked up for the rest of your life. Remember you said you wanted to live in San Diego. You've got to be free to do that.”
“Keep dreaming,” Jimmy sighs. “I'll be living in this shit hole forever.”
“You can save your money. You'll still have your job at Kenny's.”
“Not a chance. We live over Northeast. I'll have to find work around my folks' house. Besides, New Directions will send Kenny another inmate to replace me.”
“Then I'll never see you?” I'm staring at Jimmy's face, the faint mustache over his upper lip, his long bangs falling over his dark eyes. The face I'll never forget.
“You'll see me,” he sniffs. He wipes his hand under his nose. I reach up and sweep off the snow that has settled on his hair like a veil.
“It'll be too strange without you.”
“It's too strange with me,” he laughs. “A girl your age shouldn't be hanging with a guy like me. Anyway, I'll stop by. But I'll tell you one thing, it won't be to sit outside and smoke in the middle of goddamn January. I got to go now, it's freezing.”
“Wait,” I say. “We haven't even had our cigarette.”
“It's too late,” he says, leaping down the stairs. “Besides, I've corrupted you enough.”
Inside the apartment, I stick my head into Lenore's shadowy room. Cammy has forgotten to shut off the TV and an old Bonanza episode flickers on the gray screen. I can tell by the steady snoring Lenore's fallen asleep. If it were last summer, I'd crawl into bed with her, read her a chapter of Little Women to get my mind off Jimmy. Jimmy leaving. Jimmy not kissing me. Jimmy hardly noticing my new boots.
“Faina, is that you?” Cammy calls from the bathroom. “Come on in.” Inside the bathroom, the air is thick with steam and the flowery perfume of Calgon crystals. Yellow light glows from the two votive candles Cammy has set at the edge of the tub. “How'd it go?” she asks, sinking down into the water. “Did he dig the boots?”
I'm embarrassed to look at her, the bubbles glistening on her shoulders, her hair in a rare ponytail, her cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. If I was Cammy, Jimmy would give me a second kiss. “Wash my back for me.” She passes me the slippery bar of Yardley.
“Do you have a washcloth?”
“No,” she says. “Use your hands.” She turns and faces the wall, leaving me the pale curved surface of her wet back. “I want to hear about Jimmy. How far did he get?”
I slide the bar over her upper back, careful to stay away from her arms, her waist, the area hidden beneath the water. “How's that?”
“Use your hands,” she orders. “I won't hurt you.”
I push up the sleeves of my pea coat, tuck the scarf behind me. Kneeling on the pink fur bath mat, I circle my hands over her wing bones, her ribs, the small moles that freckle her spine.
“So? How far did he get?” she asks, lifting her arms to fasten a loose bobby pin.
“It isn't like that,” I say.
“Then you play it too safe,” she says, turning toward me suddenly.
When I jerk my hand back to avoid touching her breast, the Yardley slips down below the bubbles. “Help me find it,” she says, fishing down into the hot water. “There's plenty of room for two. Strip down and climb in, little sister. I've taken baths with guys twice your size. Tell me what happened with Jimmy.”
“Nothing happened. Nothing. I got to get ready for bed, I have school in the morning.”
“School? You got to be kidding.” She rises out of the suds, the water splashing over the sides of the tub, the bubbles gliding down her white skin. “I haven't gone to school for years. And look at me.”
Cammy - Family
Weekdays, my mother kept me in because of the cops. She was sure they were searching for me, sure Hank or Frances would blow the whistle. She had it in her head that the whole block knew our business. I humored her, because it was thirty below zero, so cold your spit froze in your mouth.
Faina was our break. At 3:30 my mother would sit up in bed, order me to wait by the window and watch. “The princess is coming,” I'd call out, when I saw her little goblin body struggle down the alley. She was always hunched over against the cold, her eyes on the ground, her hands deep in her pockets. “I guess no one kidnapped her today. If you're so worried about her, why do you send her away?”
“It's the law,” she said, her voice so dull she couldn't even convince herself.
On weekends we trained; I tried to teach Faina the things she might need. She was book smart in a worthless way, knew something about Greeks, but asked what I meant by balling. And I hated the way my mother encouraged her stupidity, urging her on like she was some kind of child prodigy put on the earth for better things.
“Faina's got my gift for language. She knows words you've never heard of. Tell some to Cammy.”
Whenever she did that, Faina slumped into the chair embarrassed, l
et her hair fall in front of her face like a curtain. “I can't think of any.”
“Well I can,” I told my mother, laughing. “I know words that aren't even in the dictionary.”
“Cammy, please. You inherited my looks, Faina my brains. You have no need for envy. An even split. Fifty-fifty. You're a beauty, but Faina will go to college.”
My mother always talked about Faina like that, like she wasn't in the room.
“What brains?” I asked. I couldn't take my mother seriously. Couldn't look at her yellow face, the ratty orange hair, the stained teeth, and think brains or beauty. I couldn't imagine her as anything other than the drunk she'd been my whole life. “You live in a dream.”
“Oh, Cammy! You know how good I used to be at crossword puzzles. And how quick I am at Jeopardy. I read voraciously as a child, before my eyes went bad. Voracious. Faina, tell her what that means. Papa Roy was so proud of me, he always said he never met a girl with a sharper mind. If it hadn't been for Bobby, and you girls slowing me down, I would probably be a doctor. Then, too, I lost so many years taking care of Papa Roy. But I had a gift for science. Chemistry, biology. Poetry too. I think I've told you how Papa Roy used to wake me in the night to recite poems to his company. Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand. Christina Rosetti.”
“I've heard it.”
“Remember Papa Roy loved those sad poems so much? And I had the poem “Song” printed on his memorial card? When I am dead, my dearest; Sing no sad songs for me. I can never make it past the first two lines now. But I wish he was here to see Faina, to see how fast she learned to recite Wordsworth. Faina, go get Papa Roy's Great Poems of the English Language. The one we read last summer.”
“Not now,” Faina said, blushing. She sat there, in my mother's red velvet chair, her legs folded up to her chest, her face half hidden by her skinny knees.
“Mother,” I said. “Give it up.”
I had to defend Faina like that, to save her from the enemy, though she didn't have a clue who it was.
Faina was useful. I saw that immediately. She had an innocent look, from her age I guess, and that scrawny body. My favorite costume was her gray plaid jumper, the white knee-highs, the clean braid down the middle of her back.
I made her wear it on Saturdays when we did downtown: Daley's, Carlson's, Wentworth's—you name it. Never the same stores two weeks in a row. She worked the clerks, kept them busy with her schoolgirl manners and California accent while I lifted treasures. She didn't consider herself a thief. In the store, on the sidewalk outside, even in the crowded elevators, she refused to acknowledge me. We came and left through separate doors, breaking only for lunch at the LaSalle Deli. Salami sandwiches and hot bitter coffee. I taught her to like the taste.
Faina's job was begging. She was a master liar, a natural con. She could get us ten bucks by the end of the day. A dime for a phone call home, a quarter for the bus, a nickel for a newspaper. Old folks adored her, businessmen set down their briefcases and dug deep into their pockets. Some even passed her a buck. They loved to ruffle her hair, nip the tip of her nose, warn her to take care.
Back at home I surveyed my stash: silver rings, chokers, white eye shadow, the hottest 45s, even the little Virgin Mary night-light she'd admired in the Alleluia Shop. On good days I'd fill two shopping bags. Some of the items stayed with us, others I took back for cash. She never asked what I'd stolen. That's what I mean about her odd stupidity. She didn't like my games, but she played.
“We're going out rambling,” I told her one night. I was dressing her in a new costume, one better suited for the role. A black ribbed turtleneck tight enough to show off her freshly stuffed chest. “You look great with tits,” I said. “Too bad you're a late bloomer. If I were you, I'd stuff every day until I had my own. You can't get a guy without them.” I pinched hoop earrings onto her lobes, painted her eyes with liner and shadow. I even ratted out her mouse hair to give it a lift. “Now that's better. You'll have to fight off the guys,” I whispered into her ear.
“I don't want to,” she said, suddenly crumbling. “I don't want to fight off anybody. I feel ridiculous dressed like this.” She tried to flatten out the mounds of Kleenex, reached under her shirt to pull out my hard work.
“Don't,” I said. “They look great. It's the best I've ever seen you. We're going to have a blast.”
At Lord Leo's, a coat of ice draped the window. “Come on back,” I said, leading her into the alley. We joined the huddle of regulars passing a quick joint between games. When they handed the roach to me, I pinched it carefully between my frozen fingers, sucked it into my lungs for a long drag. “Take a hit,” I said, holding it to Faina's lips, but she shook her head no and looked away.
“What you got here?” one of the guys asked, nodding in her direction.
“My baby sister.” I looped my arm around her proudly, pulling her shivering body in next to me.
“Adopted I guess,” another guy laughed.
“It's a long story.” I slipped my hand into her jacket pocket, wrapped it around her thick mittened fingers. In the back of my mind was an old secret, something my mother had said when I was young. She isn't his. She isn't Bobby's. I wondered if Faina knew the truth, or when a good time would come to tell her.
“Come on,” she whined. “Let's go. I'm freezing.”
“Wait,” I said, tugging her in closer to me and wrapping my arms around her from behind. “I just want to stay for a good buzz.”
“Well, look who's back,” Leo said, when we walked into the pool hall. He slapped me hard on the ass. “Staying clean, babe?”
“Always,” I winked. Leo and I went back a long way. I'd been hanging here since I was a kid, chalking sticks while I learned the game. I had dreams of making it big, but mostly I helped the regulars hustle. I played the distraction while they played the game, pretending to be their girl between shots, so it looked like they weren't concentrating. It was easy work, I earned a name and a small cut of the take. But that was before Tony.
“She's too young,” he said, pressing his palm against Faina's chest. “They'll shut me down.”
“She can pass for sixteen.”
“In whose dream?” I looked at her. The new breasts hidden by my huge peacoat, fresh mascara smeared under her eyes. Leo was right; she looked like she was ten.
“Let's go,” she whined again.
“Leo, she's my baby sister. I'm showing her the ropes.”
“She doesn't have your promise, Cammy,” Leo said. He was sizing her up, from her new little boots to her cashmere beret.
“She's the one with the brains,” I said, lifting my eyebrows at Leo so he'd give her a break. I could see the way she was shrinking down in her coat, burying her chin deeper into her scarf. “She can recite poetry.”
“There was an old man named Drew . . .” Leo said. “Want me to continue?”
“Leo, give me a break.” I wanted her to love it here, to love Lord Leo's the way I did, the cloudy haze of smoke, the jukebox, the smack of the ball as it spun into a pocket. “You let me in here when I was her age.”
“You were never her age,” Leo said. “You were twelve going on twenty.”
“Come on, Leo, don't you owe me a little something?” I stood on my toes to tickle the tips of my fingers down the back of his neck. I knew what he liked.
“Take a back booth,” he said, leaning over to lick my ear. “Near the fire exit. I'll be by for a visit.”
“Send us over some Cokes and pretzels. I'll keep her away from the window.” I pressed a ten-dollar bill into his palm, but he waved it away.
“A girl with your face doesn't pay. I thought you were showing her the ropes.”
Inside the booth, I put her against the wall. “If you see a cop, drop under,” I said, pointing to the floor. I was going down with her. I was sure they still had me in their files down at Hennepin County.
“Cammy, we shouldn't stay. Lenore will be
waiting.” Whenever she was nervous, she used my mother for an excuse. The two of them were always spooked. A match made in heaven.
“Faina, for Christ's sake, we just got here. Come on, have fun with me, please. I can't take you places if you always freak.” I pulled her mittens off her hands, tugged her coat off her shoulders. “Live a little.”
Leo served me my Coke just the way I liked it, with that secret splash of rum. He'd managed to serve booze for years under the counter; that's one of the reasons he kept his customers. “You remembered,” I said, licking my lips.
“More than you know.” He leaned over and kissed me on the nose. “Let me know what else you need.”
Faina didn't mention anything about her drink tasting funny; Leo was the type to keep a kid's clean. I was tempted to switch, to loosen her up a little, but nobody needed a buzz more than me.
“You ever get high?” I asked.
“Not really.”
“You should give it a try. Here, take a sip of my drink.”
“No thanks,” she said, shoving it away. “I've got one already.”
“Mine's special,” I whispered into her ear. “Come on. For me.” She raised the glass to her mouth slowly, sipped a tiny bit, then wrinkled her nose up at me. “Yuck.”
“Try again,” I said. “You'll get used to it. I was drinking shots by the time I was your age.” I lifted the glass to her lips. “Come on, take a big gulp this time.” I tilted it, letting the first few drops dribble down her chin until she opened wide and swallowed for me.
“It's awful,” she coughed. She wiped the Coke off her face.
“But you'll like what it does to your head,” I said. “It makes you feel happy.”
“I am happy.” She smiled at me with that dark elf look, the stupid scarf still wrapped around her neck.
“Happier,” I said. “It can make you really, really happy. You got to let it take over your heart, your mind, your body.”
I tried to imagine her older, with breasts of her own, and a face that belonged to a teenager.
Where No Gods Came Page 11