In order to sleep Saturday night, he made a solemn promise to himself that under no circumstance would he engage in a cheap seduction of a girl who was the ward of a kindly old man who had done him no harm. And besides, he grinned wryly, if Mr. Rosales found out, there would be no more free meals for the Hollenbeck policemen. Free meals were harder to come by than women—even if she were truly the Virgin of Guadalajara.
He picked her up at the restaurant because that Sunday she had to work two hours from ten until noon when the afternoon girl came on. Mr. Rosales seemed very glad to see him and she had a shopping bag full of food which she called her “chopping sack.” Mr. Rosales waved to them as they drove away from the restaurant and Serge checked his tank because he intended to drive all the way to Lake Arrowhead. If she wanted a lake, he’d give her the best, he thought, complete with lakeside homes that should open those gleaming black eyes as wide as silver pesos.
“I didn’t know if joo would come,” she smiled.
“Why do you say that?”
“Joo are always joking with señor Rosales and with the other girl and me. I thought maybe it was a joke.”
“You were ready, weren’t you?”
“I still thought it was maybe a joke. But I went to a berry early Mass and prepared the food.”
“What kind of food? Mexican?”
“Claro. I am Mexicana? No?”
“You are,” he laughed. “You are muy Mexicana.”
“And joo are completely an American. I cannot believe that joo could have a name like Sergio Duran.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe it either, little dove.”
“I like that name,” she smiled, and Serge thought she’s not a wilting flower, this one. She carries her face uplifted and looks right in your eye, even when she’s blushing because you’ve made her terribly self-conscious.
“And I like your red dress. And I like your hair down, long like that.”
“A waitress cannot wear her hair like this. Sometimes I think I chould cut the hair like American girls.”
“Never do that!” he said. “You’re not an American girl. Do you want to be one?”
“Only sometimes,” she said, looking at him seriously, and then they were silent for a while but it was not an uncomfortable silence. Occasionally she would ask him about a town they passed or an unusual building. She amazed him by noticing and knowing the names of several species of flowers that were used to decorate portions of the San Bernardino Freeway. And she knew them in English.
She surprised him again when she said, “I love the flowers and plants so much, señor Rosales was telling me I chould perhaps study botany instead of language.”
“Study?” he said in amazement. “Where?”
“I am starting college in Se’tember,” she smiled. “My teacher at my English class says that my reading of English is good and that I will speak also berry good after I begin to study in college.”
“College!” he said. “But little girls from Mexico don’t come here and go to college. It’s wonderful! I’m very glad.”
“Thank joo,” she smiled. “I am happy that joo are pleased with me. My teacher says that I may do well even though I have no’ too much ed-joocation because I read and write so good in Spanish. My mother was also a berry good reader and had a good ed-joocation before she married my poor father who had none.”
“Is your mother alive?”
“No, not for three years.”
“Your father is?”
“Oh jes, he is a big strong man. Always berry alive. But not so much as before Mamá died. I have ten junger sisters. I will earn money and I will send for them one by one unless they marry before I earn money.”
“You’re an ambitious girl.”
“What means this?”
“You have great strength and desire to succeed.”
“It is nothing.”
“So you’ll study botany, eh?”
“I will study English and Spanish,” she said. “I can be a teacher in perhaps four jeers or a translator in less time working for the courthouse if I work hard. Botany is just a foolish thought. Could joo see me as an ed-joocated woman?”
“I can’t see you as a woman at all,” he said, even as he studied her ripe young body. “You’re just a little dove to me.”
“Ah, Sergio,” she laughed, “joo get such things from the books. I used to watch joo, before we became friends, when I would serve the food to joo and jour compañero, the other policeman. Joo would carry books in the coat pocket and read while eating. There is not a place in the real life for little doves. Joo must be strong and work berry hard. Still, I like to hear joo say that I am a dove.”
“You’re only nineteen years old,” he said.
“A Mexican girl is a woman long before. I am a woman, Sergio.”
They drove again in silence and Serge deeply enjoyed her enjoyment of the passing miles, and vineyards, and towns, which he scarcely noticed.
Mariana was as impressed with the lake as he knew she would be. He rented a motorboat, and for an hour showed her the lakeside Arrowhead homes. He knew she was speechless at such wealth.
“But there are so many!” she exclaimed. “There must be so many rich ones.”
“They’re many,” he said. “And I’ll never be one of them.”
“But that is not important,” she said, leaning an inch closer to him as he steered the boat out into open water. The bright sunlight reflecting off the water hurt his eyes and he put his sunglasses on. She looked a deeper bronze, and the wind caught her deep brown hair and swept it back at least twelve inches from the nape of her exposed neck. It was four o’clock and the sun was still hot when they finished the lunch on a rocky hill on the far side of the lake which Serge had discovered another time with another girl who liked picnics and making love in open places.
“I thought you were bringing Mexican food,” said Serge, finishing his fifth piece of tender chicken and washing it down with strawberry soda which was kept chilled by a plastic bucket of ice in the bottom of the shopping bag.
“I heard that Americans take pollo frito on a pic-nic,” she laughed. “I was told that all Americans expected it.”
“It’s delicious,” he sighed, thinking he hadn’t had strawberry soda lately. He wondered again why strawberry is by far the favorite flavor of Mexicans, and any Good Humor man in East Los Angeles carries an extra box of strawberry sundaes and Popsicles.
“Señora Rosales wanted me to bring chicharrones and beer for joo, but I didn’t, because I thought joo would like the other better.”
“I loved your lunch, Mariana,” he smiled, wondering how long it had been since he tasted the rich crispy pork rinds. Then he realized he had never tasted chicharrones with beer because when his mother made them he was too young to drink beer. He found himself suddenly yearning for some chicharrones and a cold glass of beer. You always want what you don’t have at the moment, he thought.
He watched Mariana as she cleaned up the picnic things, putting the paper plates in an extra shopping bag she brought. In a few minutes he would not have known anyone had eaten there. She was a totally efficient girl, he thought, and she looked dazzling in the red dress and black sandals. She had lovely toes and feet, brown and smooth like the rest of her. He got a sharp pain in the lower part of his chest as he thought about the rest of her and remembered the vow of abstinence he had made to the person he was growing to respect the least in all the world.
When she finished she sat next to him and drew her knees up and put her hands on her knees and her chin on her hands.
“Joo want to know something?” she asked gazing at the water.
“What?”
“I never have seen a lake. Not here. Not in Mexico. Only in movies. This is my first real lake to see.”
“Do you like it?” he asked, feeling his palms become a little moist. The pain returned to his chest as his mouth turned dry.
“Joo have given me a fine day, Sergio,” she said look
ing at him with heaviness in her voice.
“So you’ve enjoyed it?”
“Jas.”
“Not jas,” he laughed. “Yes.”
“Jes,” she smiled.
“Like this. Y-y-yes. Here, put your chin forward just a little bit.” He held her chin in his fingers and tugged lightly. But her whole face came forward to him.
“Yes,” he said, and his fingers trembled. “I told you I’d teach you to say yes.”
“Yes,” she said.
“You said it.”
“Yes, Sergio, oh, yes, yes,” she breathed.
“Fly away, little dove,” he said not knowing the strange hollow voice. “Please fly away,” he said, and yet he held her shoulders fearing she would.
“Yes, Sergio, yes.”
“You’re making a mistake, little dove,” he whispered, but her lip touched his cheek.
“I say yes, Sergio. For you, yes. Para tí, yes, yes.”
17
KIDDY COPS
LUCY WAS MERELY ATTRACTIVE, but her eyes were alert and missed nothing and devoured you when you were talking to her. Yet you were never uncomfortable because of it. Instead, you succumbed to being devoured and you liked it. Yes, you liked it. Gus took his gaze from the road and examined her long legs, crossed at the ankle, hose sheer, pale and subtle. She sat relaxed much like a male partner and smoked and watched the street as Gus cruised, much like a male partner would, but it was nothing like working with a male partner. With some of the other policewomen there was no difference, except you had to be more careful and not get involved in things where there was the slightest element of danger. Not if you could help it, because a policewoman was still a woman, nothing more, and you were responsible for her safety, being the male half of the team. With some policewoman partners it was almost like being with a man, but not with Lucy. Gus wondered why he liked being devoured by those brown eyes which crinkled at the corners. He was normally shriveled by eyes which looked too hard.
“Think you’re going to stay with police work, Lucy?” asked Gus, turning on Main Street thinking she would probably enjoy touring the skid row streets. Most new policewomen did.
“I love it, Gus,” she said. “It’s a fascinating job. Especially here in Juvenile Division. I don’t think working the women’s jail would’ve been nearly as good.”
“I don’t think so either. I can’t picture you in there pushing those bull daggers around.”
“I can’t either,” she grimaced, “but I guess sooner or later I’ll get assigned there.”
“Maybe not,” said Gus. “You’re a good juvenile officer, you know. For just being a few weeks out of the academy I’d say you’re exceptional. They may keep you in Juvenile.”
“Oh sure, I’m indispensable,” she laughed.
“You’re smart and quick and you’re the first policewoman I ever enjoyed working with. Most policemen don’t like working with women.” He pretended to watch the road very closely as he said it because he felt the brown eyes. He hadn’t meant to say this. It was only 7:00 P.M., not dark yet, and he didn’t want to blush and let her see it. But then, she would probably even see it in the dark with those eyes.
“That’s a fine compliment, Gus,” said Lucy. “You’ve been a patient teacher.”
“Oh, I don’t know it all myself yet,” said Gus, working hard at not blushing by thinking of other things as he talked, like where they would eat, and that they should walk through the Main Street bus depot and look for runaway juveniles because Sunday night was a slow night, or maybe they should cruise through Elysian Park and look for the kids who would surely be there on a Sunday drinking beer on the grass. Lieutenant Dilford loved them to make arrests for minors’ possession of alcohol and Dilford treated it like patrol watch commanders treated good felony arrests.
“You’ve been working Juvenile about six months, haven’t you?” asked Lucy.
“About five months now. I’ve still got lots to learn.”
“Where did you work before that, Central Vice?”
“Wilshire Vice.”
“I can’t picture you as a vice officer,” she laughed. “When I worked Lincoln Heights Jail on weekend assignments, the vice officers would be in and out all night. I can’t picture you as a vice officer.”
“I know. I don’t look man enough to be a vice officer, do I?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean that, Gus,” she said, uncrossing her ankles and drilling him with her brown eyes. When they were working they darkened her face which was smooth and milky. “I didn’t mean that at all. In fact, I didn’t like them because they were loud and talked to policewomen like they talked to their whores. I didn’t think all that bravado made them more manly. I think that being quiet and gentle and having some humility is very manly, but I didn’t see many vice officers like that.”
“Well, they have to construct some kind of defense against all the sordid things they see,” said Gus, elated because she as much as admitted that she was fond of him and saw things in him. Then he became disgusted and thought viciously, you simpering little bastard. He thought of Vickie who was recovering from an appendectomy and he hoped she would sleep tonight, and he swore that he would stop this childish flirtation before it went any further because Lucy would soon see it even though she was not a self-conscious person and did not notice such things. But when she did, finally, she would probably say, that’s not what I meant, that’s not what I meant at all. Simpering little bastard, he thought again, and peeked in the rearview mirror at his sandy receding hair which was hardly noticeable. In a few years he would be completely bald and he wondered if he would still be dreaming of a bright, pale, brown-eyed girl who would smile in pity or perhaps revulsion if she knew the thoughts he had about her.
“What time should we check out the unfit home?” asked Lucy, and Gus was glad she had changed the subject. He couldn’t help smiling at the man walking up Hill Street who turned his head to look at Lucy as they passed. He remembered how men used to turn like that to look at Vickie when they were first married, before she got so heavy. He thought of how he and Lucy must look, two young people, he in a suit and tie and white shirt and her in a modest green dress which fit so well. They might be going to dinner, or to the Bowl for a concert, or to the Sports Arena. Of course, all the street people recognized the plain four-door Plymouth as a police car, and knew the man and woman were juvenile officers, but to anyone else they might just be lovers.
“What time, Gus?”
“It’s twenty after seven.”
“No,” she laughed. “What time do we check out the unfit home the lieutenant mentioned?”
“Oh, let’s do it now. Sorry, I was dreaming.”
“How’s your wife recovering from her appendectomy?” asked Lucy. Gus hated to talk about Vickie to her, but she always asked things about his family as partners did, often in the early morning hours when things were quiet and partners talked.
“She’s getting along all right.”
“How’s your little one? He’s talking, isn’t he?”
“Chattering,” Gus smiled, and he never hesitated to talk about his children to her because she wanted to hear, he was sure of it.
“They look so beautiful in the pictures. I’d love to see them some time.”
“I’d like you to,” said Gus.
“I hope it’s quiet tonight.”
“Why? The night passes slow when it’s quiet.”
“Yes, but I can get you talking then,” she laughed. “I learn more about being a cop in the late hours when I get you talking.”
“You mean when I tell you all the things Kilvinsky taught me?” he smiled.
“Yes, but I bet you’re a better teacher than your friend Kilvinsky was.”
“Oh, no. Kilvinsky was the best,” said Gus, his face burning again. “That reminds me, I’ve got to write him. He hasn’t been answering my letters lately and I’m worried. Ever since he took the trip East to see his ex-wife and children.”
�
�Are you sure he came back?”
“Yes. I got one letter right after he came back, but it didn’t say anything.”
“Isn’t it strange that he never visited his own children before that?”
“He must’ve had a reason,” said Gus.
“I don’t think you could abandon your children like that.”
“He didn’t abandon them,” said Gus quickly. “Kilvinsky wouldn’t do that. He’s just a mysterious man, that’s all. He must’ve had good reasons.”
“If your wife ever left you, you wouldn’t abandon your children, Gus, not you. Not for any reason.”
“Well, I can’t judge him,” said Gus, glad darkness was settling on downtown as he stopped for a light.
“He’s not the father you are, I bet,” said Lucy and she was watching him again.
“Oh, you’re wrong,” said Gus. “Kilvinsky would be a good father. He’d be as good a father as anyone could want. He could tell you things, and when he talked you knew he was right. Things seemed all in place when he explained them.”
“It’s getting dark.”
“Let’s go handle the unfit home,” said Gus, growing uneasy at the deprecating talk about Kilvinsky.
“Okay, it was on West Temple, wasn’t it?”
“It might be a phony call.”
“Anonymous?”
“Yeah, a woman called the watch commander and said a neighbor in apartment twenty-three had a cruddy pad and left a little kid alone all the time.”
“I haven’t been in a real unfit home yet,” said Lucy. “They’ve all turned out to be false alarms.”
“Remember how to tell a real unfit?” smiled Gus.
“Sure. If you stomp your foot and the roaches are so tame they don’t run, then you know it’s a real unfit.”
“Right,” Gus grinned. “And if we could bottle the smell we’d win every case in court.”
Gus drove through the Second Street tunnel and over the Harbor Freeway and turned north, then west on Temple, the setting sun glowing dirty pink on the horizon. It had been a smoggy day.
The New Centurions Page 30