Yet this was not what she really feared; it wasnt being slapped by her brother that brought back the fear that almost caused her to faint; that made her think (only briefly) of praying; that pushed from her mind the smell of gangrene. It was knowing that she would have to stay in the house for a few days, maybe even a week. The doctor would tell her to stay off the leg until it healed properly and her Mother and brother would enforce the doctors order; and she knew they wouldnt allow any of her girl friends to visit her and she had nothing except the benzedrine which would probably be found and thrown away. There was nothing hidden in the house; no way she could get it. In the house a week or more with nothing. I/d crack. I cant stay down that long. Theyll bug me. Bug me. O jesus jesus jesus. . . .
A cab stopped in front of the Greeks and Vinnie got out and he and Harry helped (forced) Georgette into the rear of the cab. She continued to plead, to beg; she told them she had a john who was a Wallstreet Broker and she was going to see him this weekend and he was good for 20, maybe more. I/ll give it to you. I/ll give you more. I know where you can get hundreds without any trouble at all. I know a few fairies who own an Arts & Crafts Shoppee in the Village. You can stick them up. They always have a lot of money around; it wont be any trouble—Vinnie slapped her face and told her ta shut the hell up, trying to see if the cab driver was paying any attention to what she was saying and telling him something, almost incoherendy, about his friend just having a accident and was still kindda shook.
It took less than 3 minutes to drive the few blocks to Georgettes house. When the cab stopped in front of her house Vinnie took the change from her pocket and the 3 singles from her wallet. Is that all ya-got? I/ll give you more in a few days if you take me to the hospital. Look, if ya dont walk in, we/ll carryya in and tell ya brother ya tried ta pick up a couplea sailors and they dumpedya. Will you come over to the house tomorrow and see me, alone? Yeah, sure. I/ll seeya tomorrow, winking at Harry. Georgette tried to believe him and for a moment forgot her previous fears and the old dream flashed briefly across her mind and she could see her room, the bed, Vin-nie. . . .
She limped toward the door and stopped in the vestibule, put a handful of bennie in her mouth, chewed then swallowed them. Before knocking on her door she turned and yelled to Vinnie not to forget about tomorrow. Vinnie laughed at her.
Vinnie and Harry waited in the cab until they saw the door open and Georgette go inside, her Mother closing the door behind her, before they paid the driver. They left the cab, walked down the street to the avenue, turned the corner and walked back to the Greeks.
* * *
The door closed. A hundred times. Closed. Even as it swung open she heard it bang shut. Closed. Closed. Dozens of doors like many pictures jerkily animated by a thumb, tumbling mistily like shadows. . . . and the click, click, the goddamn click click click of the latch and it banged shut. SHUT. Again and again and again it BANGED SHUT. A thousand miserable times. BANG BANG. BANG. Always banging shut. Never a knock. Think it. Force it. A knock. A knock. Please, please. O Jesus a knock. Make it a knock. Make it someone knocking. To come in. Why cant it be a knock. Goldie with bennie. Anything. Anybody. Closed. Closed. Bang. BANG. BANG! SHUT!!! O Jesus SHUT! And I cant get out. Only roll in bed. This dirty freak of a bed (VINNIE!!!) and that rotten fairy of a doctor wouldnt give me anything. Not even a little codeine. And it throbs. It does. It does. It throbs and pains. I can feel it squeezing up my leg and it hurts. It hurts dreadfully. It does. It really does. I need something for the pain. O Jesus I cant stay down. And I cant get out. Not even Soakie. She might have something. Let her in. I cant get out. Out. Up—(the door banged and her Mother looked up and noticed first the strange look on her sons face, the staring eyes; then the blood on his slacks and as she ran to him she collapsed on Mothers shoulder, crying, wanting to cry on Mothers shoulder and have her listen and stroke her hair (I love him Mother. I love him and want him. ) ; and knowing that she must scare her Mother so she would be protected by her sympathy, and perhaps Mother would get her to bed (she wanted to run to the bed, but she knew she had to hobble to impress her), get her to bed before her brother came in the room. She might be able to hide the bennie. She had to try! Her Mother staggered and they hobbled toward the bed (mustnt run), wanting her Mother near, wanting the comfort; and feeling calmer, safer, as her Mothers face paled and her hands shook; yet calculating just how far she could go with the scene so Mother would be properly concerned yet still capable of protecting her from Arthur . . . and she may yet be able to hide the bennie) ...
Why couldnt he be out. Why did he have to be home. If only he were dead. You sonofabitch die. DIE (Whats the matter with mom-mys little girl. Did ooo stub oo little toesywoesy Georgieworgit? Dont touch me you fairy. Dont touch me. Look whos calling someone a fairy. Aint that a laugh. Ha! You freak. Freak FREAK FREAK FREAK! Why you rotten punk-Georgette leaned more heavily upon Mother and swung the injured leg from side to side, groaning. Please Arthur. Please. Leave your brother alone. Hes hurt. Hes passing out from loss of blood. Brother? Thats a goodone. Please— Georgette groaned louder and started sliding from Mothers neck (if only she could get to the bed and hide the bennie. Hide the bennie. Hide the bennie); please, not again. Not now. Just call the doctor. For me. Please. ) If he had stayed out. Or had just gone to the kitchen . . . Georgie porgie puddin n pie . . . Why do they do this to me? Why wont they leave me alone??? (Arthur looked at his brother and grunted with disgust then went to the phone and Georgette tried frantically to get the bennie out of her pocket but her slacks were so tight she couldnt get her hand in and she was afraid to move away from her Mother so she could get her hand in her pocket. She fell on the bed and rolled on her side and tried to get them out and under the mattress or even the pillow (yes, the pillow) but her Mother thought she was rolling with pain and held her hands trying to comfort and soothe her son, telling him to try to relax, the doctor will be here soon and you will be alright. Dont worry darling. Youll see. Everything will be alright . . . and then her brother came back, looked at his Motiier then the ripped slacks and blood and said they had better take the pants off and put a little mercurochrome on the leg and Georgette tried to yank her hands free, but her Mother gripped tighter, trying to absorb her sons pain, and Georgette fought furiously, trying to hold her slacks and keep her brother from pulling them off. She screamed and kicked, but when she did the pain really throbbed through her leg, and she tried biting her Mothers hands but her brother pushed her head down (the G string! The bennie!!!). Stop. Stop! Go away. Dont let him. Please dont let him. It will be alright son. The doctor will be here soon. Nobody wants to hurt you. You rotten fairy, stop. Stop! You queer sonofabitch. STOP, but brother loosened the belt and grabbed her pants by the cuffs and Georgette screeched and her Mothers tears fell on her face, begging Arthur to be careful; and Arthur pulled them slowly yet still tore loose the clot from the wound and blood started oozing, then flowing down the leg and Georgette fell back crying and screaming, and Arthur let the pants fall to the floor and stared at his brother . . . watching the blood roll to the sheet, the leg jerk . . . listening to his brother crying and wanting to laugh with satisfaction, and even happy to see the misery on his Mothers face as she looked at Georgette and lifted his head in her arms and stroked his head, humming, shaking tears from her face . . . Arthur wanting to lean over and punch his face, that goddamn face covered with makeup, wanting to tear at the leg and listen to his fairy brother wail . . . He straightened up and stood silently at the foot of the bed for a moment halfhearing the sobs and his thoughts, then stepped around to the side and started yanking at the Red Spangled G String. You disgusting degenerate. In front of my Mother you have the nerve to lay here with this thing on. He yanked, and slapped Georgette across the face, Mother pleading, crying, soothing, and Georgette rolled and clawed as the tight G String scraped along her leg, and Mother begged Arthur to leave his brother alone—BROTHER?— but he tugged and yanked, yelling above them until it was off and he flung it from him into another r
oom. How can you hold him like that. Hes nothing but a filthy homosexual. You should throw him out in the street. Hes your brother son. You should help him. Hes my son (hes my baby. My baby) and I love him and you should love him. She rocked with Georgettes head cradled in her arms and Arthur stormed out of the house and Georgette rolled over on her back trying to reach the slacks and the bennie, but her Mother held her, continuing to tell her son that it would be alright. Everything will be alright. )
O please, please, please, please .. . why are you torturing me? The bitches. The dirty bitches. O let me out. Let someone come in. I dont want to be alone. Please let them come. Anything. Im down. Let them come. For christs sake. Im down. DOWN! I cant stay in this room. This dirty room. Let Vinnie in. Let him take me away. Vinnie. O Vinnie, my darling. Take me away. Its ugly in here. Ugly. And I loved the carousel. Puddin n pie. Vinnie—(the doctor looked at her eyes, said nothing, then examined her leg. He washed the wound, probed gently, and Georgette groaned, hoping hed write a prescription, and rolled on the bed trying to hang over the side and reach the slacks and the doctor mumbled; her Mother watched, shaking, and Georgette looked pleadingly at her, wanting her caresses and protection, but she couldnt reach the slacks. Jesus, why cant I reach them? She stopped rolling and cried. Her Mother stroked her forehead and the doctor bandaged the leg and told her to stay off it for a few days and come in to see him when she felt better. He closed his bag (shut. Shut. It banged Shut!), smiled and told Mrs. Hanson it would be better if George didnt have any visitors for a few days. She nodded (Georgette leaned slowly to the edge of the bed—when they go to the door) and thanked him. Dont bother to walk me to the door. I can find my way out) )— not even a little codeine. Nothing. If that fucking Harry wasnt there. That freak. And those rotten bitches. Two cent cunt. Not even a nebbie. He could have given me one at least. Not much of a cut. Just stay in bed a few days. Days. Days. Days . . . DAYS. DAYS!!! The walls will faU. Theyll crush me. Mother? O Mother. Mother? Give me something. Please. Anything. Try to relax son. Your leg will be better soon. My leg?—(Stop. Arthur, for the love of God stop. Stop? You see these? You see them? More of those goddamn dopepills. Thats what they are. Dopepills. Well, you will never see these again dear sweet brother! Give them to me. Give me them. Mother, make him give them to me. Shut up or I/ll kill you. Do you hear me? I swear I will kill you. Always crying. Mommy this and Mommy that. Every time you get a little scratch—Arthur. Stop! He stood shaking, clutching the end of the bed watching brother crawl and squirm on the bed, hiding behind his Mommy, wanting Mommys love and kisses . . . then shoved the pills in his pocket, spun around and dragged out the boxes in the back of the closet and dumped them on the floor—Mommy this and Mommy that—ripping and tearing Georgettes drag clothes, her lovely dresses and silks, stamping on her shoes . . . You see these Mother? You see them? Look. Look at these disgusting pictures. O Arthur—Look at them. Just LOOK! Men making love to each other. It isnt pretty is it? Arthur, please. Well? is it? Are they? ARE THEY??? Filth. Thats what they are. FILTH!!! Why dont you die Georgie! Why dont you go away and die. Stop. STOP! For the love of god Arthur, stop. I cant stand it anymore. Well, neither can I. You saw those pictures. Now you should know what he really is. A degenerate. A filthy degenerate! Arthur, please, for my sake. I know. I know. Leave your brother alone. Please. Brother???)—O god, theyll bug me. They know I cant stay down. They know it. Nothing to see. To look at. Why me? Why wont somebody help me. I dont want to be alone. I cant stand it. Please help me. At least Goldie has bennie. I cant stay down. Always alone. O jesus, jesus jesus . . . why me??? Mommy? Mommy? O god I need something. Those sick johns. Always? I dont want to be straight. I just need something. I/ll go crazy. Theyre keeping me down. Down. Why do they want to kill me? and the near shadowless room continued shrinking and she looked for dark corners, but there were none, just a penumbra as the closet door partially blocked the light from the living room. Georgette called . . . looked around the room. At the bed. Sat up and called again . . . then slowly swung her legs over the side and tentatively touched the floor . . . stood . . . hobbled to the door and looked at Mother sleeping in a chair. She dressed, took money from Mothers pocketbook and left. When she stood on the stoop she realized she didnt know the day or time. But the sun had set. Leaning against parked cars she limped to the corner and hailed a cab, praying that Goldie was home. She gave the driver the address and thought of Goldies and bennie.
When she got to Goldies one of the girls helped her upstairs and to a chair. She asked for someone to light her a cigarette and leaned back in the chair, closed her eyes, allowing her hand and body to shake, extending her leg stiffly in front of her and groaning. The girls stood around, asking, wondering, thrilling to the scene and exulting over the sudden breaking of the monotony; the monotony of the last few days that dragged them even with bennie and pot and forced them to sit, just sit, and bitch about the heat like tired johns, and remember beatings by punks, and stares of squares; but Georgette twisted her face with pain, not too much though, and they wondered and thrilled. Goldie handed her half a dozen bennie and she swallowed them, gulped hot coffee and sat silent . . . trying to think the bennie into her mind (and her room and the past few days out); not wanting to wait for it to dissolve and be absorbed by the blood and pumped through her body; wanting her heart to pound now; wanting the chills now; wanting the lie now; Now!!! The others jabbered and squealed as she opened her eyes, shaking her head tragically, her arms hanging limply . . . speaking in whispers and shaking away questions, nodding and slowly raising her cigarette to her lips and taking shallow asthmatic puffs. They gave her more coffee and then the tingle, the pounding of the heart and she Ht another cigarette and straightened slightly in the chair. Goldie asked her if she was feeling better and she said yes. A little thanks. Would you like some pot? O, do you have any? Of course honey. Goldie gave her a stick and Georgette sucked the smoke refusing, absolutely refusing, to cough; and they watched and waited until Georgette had chewed the roach & put her makeup on before bubbling forth with their questions. Well, I must say you look much better now. You looked simply frightful when you came in. I have been down for days. Days? What happened. Yes, dishus honey. Do you have another stick Goldie. Of course. Well for gods sake, you just going to sit there all night or are you going to tell us what happened. O really Miss Lee. Cant you see the poor girl is overwrought. You dont have to yell Miss Thing. Im simply dying to know what happened, thats all. Thats alright honey—O thank you Goldie—I understand. Just let me get myself together and I/ll tell you the whole story. She smoked the second stick and told them how she was stabbed; how the freak Harry started the whole thing; how the doctor wouldnt give her anything, not even one little nebbie; and how they kept her locked in her room not allowing her to have one visitor, and I heard Vinnie at the door a couple of times and they wouldnt let him in; and how she defied her brother, the freak, and how she laid him out and walked right out of the house. And I mean right past him honey, right past him, and you should have seen his face! he was agog, simply agog. O I laid him out but good. O how wonderful. How simply wonderful. O how I wish I had been there. I would have adored seeing you lay that big freak out. I/ll never forget that atrocious scene he pulled on us. Never. All those straight creeps are like that. They clapped their hands, twittered and aaad and decided to have a party in honor of Georgette and the laying out of Arthur.
Goldie sent Rosie, a demented female who acted as sortofa housemaid, for gin, cigarettes and another gross of bennie. They made a small pot of bouillon and danced around it dropping tablets in and chanting bennie in the bouillon, bennie in the bouillon, whirling away the fear and boredom, giggling, popping bennie, drinking gin, toasting Georgette: Long Live THE QUEEN, and the laying out of Arthur. He should be laid out, but I mean really, the freak, each in her mind and turn laying out every rough or straight sonofabitch that ever hit them or pointed and laughed; dancing through the apartment until they fell into chairs trying to catch their breath, fanning themse
lves; and Rosie brought bouillon, ice and gin and they spoke more quietly, still laughing, asking Georgette again and again to tell them how she laid her brother out . . . then gradually they quieted, too spent to shout, stretching in their seats, getting higher and higher as they sat quietly and becoming conscious of the absence of men, their high spirits and overflowing joy making the absence of love known. So her subjects petitioned the Queen to summon forth her dashing husband and his rough trade friends, for tonight they were daring and even Camille, a frail queen from a small town in Jersey, longed for rough arms, there being no room, but absolutely no room, for johns. So Georgette, flying in her world of junk, called the Greeks and flushed (O, my libido is twitching) when she heard Vinnies voice and fluttered her lids when he said hello sweetchips, whereya been? O, Ive been balling it loverman, smiling at her friends and too high to be bothered by, Ive got ya loverman shit. Itll still costya. She asked him to come over with some of the boys, giggling yes when he asked if she was high, telling him they had loads of gin and not to worry about gold for gas to get back, and Vinnie said maybe they would (for kicks) and Georgette continued to talk after Vinnie hungup, rolling her hips as she sighed, O Vinnie baby, and sighing as she slowly lowered the phone. They asked her if they were coming, how many, when—and Georgette played it cool and to the hilt; regally walking back to her throne, telling the girls to be quiet. Really! One would think it was years since you had a real man. They may be here in an hour or so, if they dont pull a job, so just keep your legs crossed, flaunting her arms, smiling graciously and secretly. They drank more bouillon, popped more bennie and dished the dirt. Camille was nervous, never having met an excon before. You just never meet that sort back home. As a matter of fact Goldie was the first hip queen she had ever met. All the fairies in her town were closet queens or pinkteas, so she was all a dither, jumping up, jerking around the room, asking question after question, Georgette telling her stories about broken noses, cut throats and Camille ooood and squealed, loving the tightness in her stomach and the apprehension in her bowels. She said she felt faint and that she simply must take a bath. The others laughed and chided, Georgette waving off the how could you/s as Camille filled one of the tubs in the kitchen and laid out her brushes: One for her back, one for her stomach, one for her chest, one for her arms, one for her legs, one for her feet, one for her toenails, one for her hands, one for her fingernails, and a special jar of cream for her face. She lined them up, handles facing her, and started from the left with the back brush. They told her to hurry or she would be attacked while bathing and O she was frightened, they should know better than to talk of such things. She was so upset she almost broke wind.
Last Exit to Brooklyn Page 3