“Where’s Mom?” Tom asked her, tactfully changing the subject.
“She and Sam went down to the meeting,” Elly told him. “She sent me back for you to go there soon as you woke.”
“All right,” said Tom. “Guess we better go.” He took his coat and they went out the door together.
We all knew that I could not go with them, and so I wasn’t asked. About an hour passed. I read the paper and smoked and began to get drowsy when the door opened and Elly came in.
She came over to the table and sat down. “You still up?”
“Yes.”
“They’re goin’ to be at the meetin’ for another couple hours. I got tired so I come home early.”
I didn’t say anything. I sat by the window and looked into the courtyard. They used to leave the window open just a little bit because one of their neighbors had a radio and they would sit there and listen to the music. But that night the radio wasn’t playing.
“Well, good night,” Elly said.
“Good night,” I answered.
She went into the other room and I could hear her moving about.
She called through the open door: “Ain’t you tired? Why don’t you go to sleep?”
“No,” I said, “I’m not tired. I think I’ll wait till Tom gets back before I turn in.”
“They won’t be back till late. You know how those meetin’s are,” she said.
“That’s all right,” I said. “I’m not tired.”
For about fifteen minutes we didn’t say anything. Then with her coat thrown around her nightgown, she came through the kitchen to go into the hall to the toilet. A few minutes later she came back and went into the bedroom. When she walked through the room she looked at me but I looked away. For another few minutes there wasn’t any sound. Then she called: “Frankie, would you bring me a glass of water, please?”
“All right,” I answered. I went over to the sink and took a tumbler and filled it with water and took it into the bedroom and gave it to her. She took it from my hand and drank, sitting up in bed holding the blanket around her. When she reached back to give me the glass the blanket fell and the top of her nightdress was down. I could see her shoulders and her breasts against the grayish white sheet. She looked at me.
I started to turn and she put her hand on my arm. She said: “What’s the matter with you, boy? Are you afraid?”
“No,” I said. Then, “Maybe I am.”
“Nobody will know,” she said.
“That’s not it,” I said. I started to walk out of the room thinking about Tom and her mother and how it would be a pretty low trick to pull on them after what they did for me.
She jumped out of bed and caught me by the shoulder, throwing herself against me. She was stark naked. I tried to shake her off but she wouldn’t let go. Somehow I think the fight did something to me. The struggle to get away was not a struggle to escape her, but an attempt to fight off going to her. Finally I batted her across the face.
She stepped back. She snarled, her body rigidly tense: “If you don’t I’ll scream and I’ll holler. The whole house will come down and I’ll tell them that you tried to.”
I stood there for a minute and then turned and started to walk towards the door. She opened her mouth and started to scream something. I turned back to her and, putting my hand across her mouth, told her to shut up or I’d kill her. She bit my hand. I picked her up and threw her down on the bed, and once again I started to go out.
She said: “I’ll scream.”
I walked back to her. “All right,” I said. “All right.”
It was about twelve thirty when they came back from the meeting. Elly was asleep in the next room, and I was sitting at the kitchen table trying to read the Amsterdam News in the dim light.
Sam and Tom came over to me, and Sam said: “It’s goin’ to be cold tonight. It’s blowin’ up.”
For a moment I didn’t answer them, and then I said: “I guess it is. It’s going to be a cold night.”
Sam called to his mother: “Do you want something hot to drink?”
“No,” she said. “Maybe Tom and Frankie would like some coffee. There’s some made that you could have.”
We didn’t take any but went right to sleep.
Early the next morning I went out looking for a job, and I don’t think there was any to be had. I spent thirty-five cents and didn’t have any luck. Even the nine- and ten-dollar-a-week jobs were not to be had. I went to the agencies on Sixth Avenue, and there, like many others, could find nothing. About seven o’clock I got back to Tom’s house and told them what I did.
“You’ll get something,” Mrs. Harris said. “Don’t worry, boy, the Lord will provide.”
I smiled at her. I said: “Thanks, Ma, but the Lord can’t provide barely enough for you folks, and I guess one extra might be a little too much for you.”
“Don’t talk like that, boy,” she said. “We got enough to go around.”
39
We ate grits three days. Grits is a good food but a damned tiring one. At the end of a week I still had no job. I had about three dollars left.
Saturday night Tom asked: “Would you like to go to a party?”
“I sure would,” I told him, “but maybe—”
He interrupted me. “You come.”
“For a quarter you go to this ’ere rent party and there’s music, eats, and drinks.” He took my arm. “And man,” he added, “they is some gals.”
I smiled. “Yeah,” I said, “but—”
“But nothing,” he interrupted again. “That’s an ofay junction. They’ll probably think you some playboy coming up to Harlem.”
About an hour later we put on our coats and went out. Sam was sitting at the table reading.
“That’s a smart boy, my brother,” said Tom. “He’s at the head of his class now. He goes to Haaren High School downtown.”
I said: “Yeah, he always seems to be studying.”
Did you ever drink gin and beer? A tumblerful of beer with two shots of gin thrown in—that was what they were drinking at the party. I think I was drunk after the first drink and could barely tell what went on. There were about thirty people in the apartment on St. Nicholas Avenue. A man was strumming a guitar, and several white men and girls were there. The white men and women seemed to avoid each other and talked only to the colored. When I spoke to one of the white girls, she turned her back on me and went to speak to a good-looking nigger.
About three o’clock it finally broke up. Tom was so loaded he could hardly move. I put his arms around my shoulder and helped him down the steps and home. The cold air cleared my head a bit and by the time we got home I was sober.
Tom was singing and gurgling happily as we staggered up the steps and went into the house. As we started up the stairway he passed out. I tried to lift him but I couldn’t. The light in the hall was out. I struck a match, and just over the banister near the steps I heard a movement. I looked.
Elly was there and a white man of about forty. They both looked up at me. The white man’s face looked strained and frightened. His coat and jacket were open and Elly was standing there looking at me. The man started to walk out of the hall.
Elly grabbed him by the shoulder. “Give me the other quarter!” she said.
He reached in his pocket and gave her a coin and hurried out of the door.
Then she calmly walked up the steps toward me and looked down at Tom.
“Did he pass out?” she said.
“Yeah. Give me a hand and get him up,” I told her. “I can’t lift him.”
She took one shoulder and I took the other, and together we hauled him up into the apartment and dumped him into bed. It was about three thirty. Sam was sleeping, and from the other room we could hear her mother snoring. I went back into the kitchen.
Elly came back behind me. I looked at her. “You won’t tell?” she asked me.
“No,” I said, “I won’t tell.”
“We got to get some mone
y some way,” she said desperately. “Sam only gets $1.50 a week at the store and tips, and the food voucher is only $13.50 every two weeks, and it ain’t enough. We got to get some more money.”
I looked at her. “How do you explain it to them?”
“I tell them I work three nights a week at a ribbon factory on 132nd Street. But I got laid off a few weeks ago.”
“How long is this going on?” I asked.
“Why don’t you mind your business?” she snapped.
“All right,” I said, “I will.” I looked out of the window and felt a little sick.
She came over to me and stood by my side. “Have you any money?” she asked.
“No,” I said, lying for a reason I didn’t understand.
She held out a quarter to me. “Maybe you’ll need it tomorrow. It’s Sunday—when you go to church.”
I said: “No, thanks.” I looked at her. “No!”
There were tears in her eyes. We looked at each other for a few minutes. And the tears began to roll down her cheeks. Her eyes got puffy, like niggers’ eyes do when they weep, and red and bloodshot. I touched her on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry,” I said, “it will be all right.”
She went into the other room and went to sleep. When I went in to sleep, I saw the bed that she had occupied in our room was empty. I looked into the next room and saw her sleeping next to her mother. I went back into our room and went to sleep in her bed.
It was Sunday and I awoke early. For a while I lay in bed listening to the snores of Sam and Tom. Finally I got out of bed and went into the kitchen. It was six o’clock. I splashed some water over my face and started to rub some soap into my skin. It was still dark outside, so I turned on the dim kitchen light. I began to shave. While I was shaving Sam came into the room and sat down on a chair watching me.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked him.
“I got to go down to the store to deliver the breakfast orders,” he answered.
We were silent a minute. “How old are you, Frankie?” he asked.
“Twenty.”
“You’re not much older than me,” he said. “I’m almost eighteen. I thought you were older.”
“Yeah,” I said turning to look at him. He was really a good-looking kid—fine black skin, tight kinky hair, thin features, large expressive eyes.
“Frankie, what do you think of us? I mean, really—Tom and Mom and Elly. Don’t you feel different?” His large, brown eyes were earnest.
“You people are really swell. You couldn’t be better if you were…”
He interrupted me: “If we were white, you mean?”
“No,” I told him. “Even if you were my kin, I couldn’t ask for any more kindness or sympathy.”
He stood up. “I gotta be goin’. I’ll see you later. I’ll be home at ten when we close. We’ll go to church.”
“See you then,” I said. I finished shaving, got dressed, and went out. It was cold outside. I lit a cigarette and walked over to 125th Street. I passed the store where Sam worked and it was full of people. On impulse I stepped in. I saw Sam: he was busy packing orders into cardboard cartons. The store was full of women, mostly Irish, who had just come from the church on the corner, their brogue mixed with the hebe accent of the three clerks in the store. Sam nodded to me. I nodded back.
When it was my turn I bought a dozen of cheap eggs and a pound of bacon and a dozen rolls and a package of cheap cigarettes. I paid the bill—it was seventy-two cents—and put the package under my arm and went home.
Mrs. Harris and Elly were in the kitchen, but Tom was still asleep. I put the package on the table.
“I bought breakfast.”
“You shouldn’t,” Mrs. Harris said.
We didn’t eat until Sam came back. Tom was up. He had a big head.
“Man, we sho’ had fun”!”
“Swell party!” I said. We ate.
“Goin’ to church?” Mrs. Harris asked me.
“Unh-hunh.”
We all went out together. The church was in a little store down the block. It was heated by a big stove in its center. I felt queer going to church in a store. To me a church always meant a big building with impressive ceremonies. Mrs. Harris looked at me. I think she read my mind. “God is everywhere, son,” she smiled gently, “even with the poor folks.” I felt a little ashamed of myself.
The people looked at me but, seeing who I was with, paid no further attention to me. The Harrises knew everybody there and after the services I was introduced around. I met the preacher. He had a very warm smile. I felt a little better when Mrs. Harris told him I was their friend.
We went home and sat around the house. Sam took out his schoolbooks and began to study.
Tuesday, Tom and I got some work delivering coal from a truck. We made three dollars each. But we didn’t get any more work that week.
Thursday night was meeting night and I was left alone.
Elly came home early but we sat around not talking. There were too many things to think about but not enough things to talk about. When the folks came home we turned in.
The days flew by. Soon it was March and the weather became a bit milder. I saw that things became a bit more stringent at home, and began to think of leaving.
One afternoon when Elly and I were alone in the house, I said: “I guess I’ll have to be going soon.”
She looked up at me, kind of surprised.
“I can’t stay here forever, you know,” I said.
She came over and took my hand. I put my arms around her. The thought of that night and the nearness of her did things to me. She was instantly aware of it and led me into the other room. Somehow in her giving of herself, the fierce jumping of her thin body, I could sense her not wanting me to go. It was not love, not even passion; it was a warmth and kindliness and understanding.
We arose from the bed breathless, her hands clinging to my hips. I still held her breast, her hard nipple in my palm. I suddenly threw her back on the bed, falling on her.
“I’ve got to go, understand, I’ve got to go! I can’t stay here taking everything, giving nothing.” I was rough.
She moaned as I hurt her. She could hardly speak, her breath coming in long shuddering gasps. “You’ve… got… to… go…”
That night at supper I told them I was leaving. They asked me not to. “I’ll have to get a job somewhere,” I said, “and there’s none here. I’ll leave tomorrow.”
The next morning I shook hands with Tom and Sam and kissed Mrs. Harris and Elly good-bye. I thanked them.
Mrs. Harris said: “Be a good boy, Frankie. Don’t forget us if you need help.”
“I wont,” I said, and went to the door. I looked back at them and smiled. “So long.”
I shut the door behind me quickly and walked down the stairs and into the street. It was a bright, sunny, almost warm day, and somehow I felt sure that things would brighten up for them.
I looked around, not knowing which way to walk. My few extra shirts were in a paper bag under my arm. I decided to walk east. I began to walk toward Eighth Avenue.
Mrs. Harris’s gentle voice rang in my ear: “Don’t forget us if you need help.” I smiled to myself. They needed so much themselves. Yet they had so much to give me. I stopped on the street a moment; there was a lump in my throat. “You’re getting soft,” I told myself accusingly. Then I laughed and walked on.
40
I walked down Eighth Avenue. I stopped in every store on the way down asking if they needed help. Some people were nice about turning me down. Some weren’t. It all depended on how they felt. At Seventy-second Street and Columbus Avenue, I got some work in a cafeteria, washing dishes for the afternoon. I was paid off after four hours with a dollar bill and supper. I put the dollar in my pocket. When I had finished eating, I went over to the manager and asked him if he needed anyone for tomorrow afternoon.
He looked at me quietly for a moment before he spoke. He was a short, fat little man with fri
endly eyes and smile. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it was only for the afternoon. I didn’t really need you but I wanted to…”
I smiled back at him. “I know,” I interrupted. “Thanks a lot anyway.” I went out.
It was getting dark. I had better find myself a place to flop or I’d be out in the street all night. I went down to a Mills Hotel and got a small private room for fifty cents. In the lobby they had a few papers. I sat around reading them for a while, and then turned in. I was wondering what I should do about looking up my aunt and uncle. I didn’t want them to find me broke and shabby the way I was. I was half afraid that I would bump into someone that knew me and I would have to explain my circumstances.
I was up early and on Sixth Avenue at seven-thirty in the morning. The agencies were crowded as usual and nothing seemed to turn up. I was sent on several jobs but when I got there, they were either taken or the boss had someone else in mind. I ate in a cheap restaurant on Sixth Avenue near Forty-sixth Street and had large franks and beans and coffee for thirty-five cents. I went back to the hotel and took a bed in the semiprivate room. This room I shared with about ten other men. They were mostly a different type from the men down at the Bowery flops. These were men who as yet had not hit the extreme bottom. A few of them were playing cards. I watched them awhile and went to sleep.
The next day I tried the wholesale market section. I was lucky. I went into the warehouse of a small retail grocery chain store and was hired almost immediately. The delivery boy had just quit in a store on Columbus Avenue and Sixty-ninth Street.
The supervisor looked up at me from the desk. “What do you want?” he challenged rather than asked.
“A job,” I replied simply.
“I haven’t any,” he said shortly. Just then the telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up and barked into it. “Rayzeus talking.” A voice hummed excitedly through the earphone. I stood there waiting.
A few seconds ticked by. The supervisor didn’t speak, just listened to the voice crackling electrically through the phone. I don’t know how I knew that this meant a job. Whether he glanced at me, or told me to beat it, or the way he listened—I don’t know. But suddenly my hands were sweating, my heart began to hammer excitedly. I just knew there was a job and I wanted it.
Harold Robbins Organized Crime Double Page 21