Night Town

by Cathi Bond

  “So you’re a friend of Maddy’s?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mary.”

  “When I was a boy we had a horse called Mary.”

  Oh God.

  “Ted!”

  “Can I get you a glass of milk?” he asked.

  “We should get going, if that’s alright,” Mary replied.

  Isabel nodded, and the moment the door closed, Mary and I laughed, running across the front lawn. It didn’t matter what movie we saw, as long as we shared a giant box of popcorn and sat near the back where it was the darkest. We reached the sidewalk and Mary hooked her arm in mine, pulling me down the street, but when we turned the corner, Tim’s convertible was idling by the curb. And he wasn’t alone. Ian was sitting in the jump seat waving.

  “I thought it would be fun if we doubled,” Mary said as the Spitfire raced down Yonge Street.

  What could I say? I might be a lez be friends and I want to be alone with you more than anything? The overhead sky flew by, black like Mary’s hair, as Ian’s arm crept towards me. My knees jammed into my chin. There was no escape in the jump seat.

  “Are you coming to the game next weekend?” Ian asked.

  “I hate football,” I replied, twisting the knife.

  Ian’s mouth fell. “Everybody loves football!”

  “I detest it.”

  Mary turned and smiled, ruffling Tim’s hair while I looked the other way. I’d never been this far south. Isabel said that it was where the ‘undesirables’ lived. Lights strobed, people clogged the sidewalks and a neon sign covered in green lights flashed the outlines of busty women into the night.

  Tim pointed at a place called Le Coq d’Or. “They’ve got niggers in there.”

  I’d never seen any Negroes, other than in Sunday school books where we learned that Jesus loved all the little the children of the world. A huddle of black men in wide-legged pants and afros emerged from the side door of the club. The tallest one had a long diamond-encrusted cigarette holder. Another one pulled a pick out of his hair. Only it wasn’t a pick. It was a knife.

  “A little different than your village, huh?” Tim asked, honking his horn. A car up ahead responded in kind. Soon all the cars were honking like geese.

  I loved it downtown. Men with knives hidden in their hair. Women dancing on signs. I loved the squalor, the noise, the pulsating lights and the way the music rang out of cars and bars. You could get lost down here. Anything could happen. When Tim pulled into a parking lot I felt like I’d arrived.

  The front of the building was covered in twinkling white lights. A lush maroon carpet rolled down the front steps past a couple of big urns with ferns. Two drunken men staggered out as Ian and I struggled out of the jump seat, following Tim and Mary across the lot. When Ian tried to take my hand I pulled it away. Climbing the stairs, my heart began to pound, mixing with the drumbeat that punched through the brick wall. A tall man in a frilly white tuxedo shirt, black pants and a red cummerbund held the glass door. He asked the people in front for ID. I didn’t have any.

  Tim stuffed some bills into the man’s hand and the four of us were whisked through the entrance into a long hall filled with mirrors and silver railings. Thick red curtains hung at the end, hiding our ultimate destination. When we reached the curtains Mary stepped forward and, like a circus ringmaster, with a grand flourish, she pulled them back. A nearly naked girl stood on a smoky stage, all alone in the centre of a rowdy crowd of drunken men shouting, “Take it off!”

  Mary turned to me. I couldn’t hear what she said, but her lips mouthed, “Surprise!”

  The stripper shook her shoulder-length black hair, playing with her black bra, garters and stockings. Men tossed money up on the stage, trying to get her to stick her breasts in their faces. Ian and Tim hooted for the waitress to serve our table, as Mary leaned into my ear.

  “How do you like it?”

  Her breath gave me goose pimples.

  “It’s cool,” I replied.

  I couldn’t bear to look at the girl, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her either. A part of her reminded me of the winning cattle Granddad showed at the Royal Winter Fair. The judges clapped enthusiastically for the finest in carcass class. Flashbulbs popped as red ribbons were awarded to slaughtered animals hanging from hooks. The girl dropped to her haunches, and then I felt the other part of me, the bad part of me that shouldn’t be affected by things like this, get hot and excited. Ian ordered a round of something called Tom Collins. It tasted like orange juice and perfume. I flushed it down. The perfume burned but settled the banging in my chest. Ian ordered another round and howled. I chugged the next drink and tried not to look at the stage but it was impossible. The stripper held every eye in the house. With a slow dip, and a sexy spin off came the black silk.

  Tim howled again. “Gimme some!”

  The stripper shimmied a black boa up and over her breasts until her nipples stood like straws. So did mine. I blushed, freaking out that people could tell what I was thinking. Mary looked at me and then giggled something to Tim. Were they laughing at me? The stripper shook her boobs as one bead of sweat chased another down her slick wet chest.

  I leaned towards Mary. “I’m going to go pee.” Then I got up and tried not to run.

  I was slapping my face with cold water as the bathroom door opened and Mary walked in. Coming up close behind me, I could see the top of her breasts in the mirror –the place where her skin met the white satin brassiere. The sight made me swallow. More slaps of cold water.

  “Do you think I could be one?” she asked.

  “What?”

  She turned me around and dropped into a slow grind. “A stripper.”

  “I guess so.” I fumbled, trying to tear paper towels out of the metal holder.

  “I think it would be fun. The power to turn guys on like that.”

  Mary didn’t need to strip to turn guys on. She placed her hands on my shoulders and pulled my face down, so close to hers. “Does it turn you on?”

  Mary’s tongue rolled slowly over her lower lip, as her hand touched my chest. Fingers splayed so wide they lightly brushed my nipples.

  “I think it does,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper.

  Even though I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew it was bad, knew it was trouble, but I couldn’t stop myself. I had to do it. So I did. I kissed Mary Sharp right on the mouth. Then the door opened and a stripper walked in. Mary jumped back, shoving me so hard my tailbone struck the counter, like the sound of a bat hitting a baseball on its way to a home run.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mary asked, walking across the room, pushing open the door harder than she had to.

  The stripper pulled a tube of lipstick out of her pocket and gave me a funny smile. Sweat dripped through her pink kimono.

  “I’d watch out for that one,” she said.

  Tim’s car was parked in front of my house. Mary hadn’t said anything but I was so scared I could barely breathe. She and Tim were necking in the front and Mary kept wriggling her body into his and looking back at me, black hair slightly tousled with her lipstick all over the edges of his mouth. Ian made a move to kiss me, but I dodged him and jumped out of the car, walking up the drive. The car door closed and Mary’s voice came up from behind me.

  “Wait up.”

  I turned. Mary’s silhouette stood against the round headlights. Was she going to tell Dad and Isabel?

  “Do you want to go shopping?” she asked.

  She knew what I wanted to do.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied.

  “I think you better.”

  There wasn’t a choice. If Mary told anybody at school I’d be as good as dead.

  A gust of wind blasted through the tunnel, signaling the arrival of the train. Brilliant light flashed up ahead as we roared into the station platform, brakes tossing up sparks, as the train squealed to a stop. Mary and I climbed the stairs at Bloor and St. George, r
ising from the darkness into the sharp light of day.

  The street was busy with cars and students. We were in the university area. A sign directed people to Varsity Stadium. The students were mostly hippies. Boys with long hair and girls wearing beads shuffled along the sidewalks in wide-legged jeans frayed down at the ends, feet clad in sandals and clogs. A guy with a beard sat cross-legged on the ground, playing “Season of the Witch” on his guitar. Mary bought pretzels from a street vendor, and then we sat in a pair of rusted swings in a park across from a tall concrete apartment building called Rochdale. I asked her what it was.

  “It was supposed to be co-ed student housing, but it turned into a free love commune.” She took a bite out of her pretzel, swinging back and forth. “Do you believe in free love, Maddy? I don’t think I do.”

  Mary wouldn’t believe in free love because people would sell their soul for her. Now she had mine and no matter what the price, I had to pay. Somebody shouted. A girl was climbing out a second-storey window in Rochdale and out onto the ledge. She was totally naked, big breasts swinging in the air. A pair of hands tried to pull her in, but the girl just jumped. Mary gasped. I laughed and dropped my pretzel. It wasn’t a swan dive, more like a cannonball.

  The girl bounced off the roof of a little green car, screaming, “What a gas man!” and streaked back into the building.

  There wasn’t a mark on her. She could have died but she didn’t. I kept laughing, swinging back and forth.

  Mary was confused. “What’s so funny?

  “That was so cool.”

  Mary still didn’t understand but I did. I belonged in this place where girls jumped out of buildings.

  “Who did you say lives there?” I asked, taking the swing higher.

  “Hippies,” Mary replied. “And they sell drugs.”

  “How do you get in?”

  “You walk.”

  “Where do you go once you get in?”

  Mary just shrugged her beautiful shoulders and smiled.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, setting her hand on my arm, stopping my swing. Her fingernail slowly, gently traced my skin.

  “But I want you to find out.”

  The swing chains creaked.

  “Are you going to come with me?”

  Mary shook her head, pressing twenty dollars into my palm.

  “No. You’re going to buy me some acid.”

  Stuffing the money into my pocket, I walked over to the entrance. It was a normal apartment foyer except for a couple of dorky guys sitting behind a wooden table playing chess. There was a phone and a ledger on the table beside them. The elevators stood to the right. I pulled up the collar on my corduroy jacket, dropped my head and pushed the glass doors open. I’d figure out what to do next once I got inside.

  One of the dorks asked where I was going. I kept moving towards the elevator.

  “You!” he yelled this time.

  I hammered my thumb into the call button, praying that the dork would vanish, but he didn’t. He grabbed me by the arm, marching me over to the desk.

  “Do you live here?”

  “I’m going to see a friend.”

  “What friend?”

  “Just a guy I know.”

  “What apartment?”

  “I think it’s on the fifth floor.”

  “No name. No apartment. No entry. Those are the rules.”

  A guy with long curly hair came out of the elevator. He had big round blue plastic glasses and stopped to listen while I tried to reason with the dorks.

  “I just want to see my friend. Can’t you give me a break? Please?”

  I tried flirting. It didn’t work.

  “Get out.”

  “Come on, man.”

  “Get out before we call the cops.”

  There’s nothing worse than a dork on a power trip.

  I sat down in front of the building, occasionally glancing at Mary. She was still waiting on the swing and didn’t look happy. What would she do if I didn’t get her acid? I lit a cigarette. The guy with the curly hair and the blue plastic glasses walked over.

  “Tough break,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  “You really know somebody in there?”

  “No.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Mary was still watching.

  “I want to buy some acid.”

  “That’s what they’re here for,” the guy replied, motioning toward the dorks. “They’re the Greenies. They’re supposed to call the cops if anyone comes in looking for dope.”

  I was about to run when the guy said, “My name’s Steve. Maybe I can help you out.”

  Steve signed me in as the Greenies sneered. I smiled back and then turned, following Steve to the elevators. There was nothing the Greenies could do. I had a name and I had an apartment number. Then the elevator doors opened to reveal a naked guy and a dog. The guy shouldn’t have been naked because he had an unbelievably ugly body, greasy hair and a series of volcanic chin zits. Steve and I got in. The elevator walls were covered in graffiti that said things like “Nobody’s faster than Jimmy,” “pot on four” and “beer on eight.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  The naked guy scratched his penis while the dog squatted and took a poo. “You want a drink, go to eight. Pot’s four and acid, mesc and MDA are on six.” Steve lived on the acid floor, in 602. The elevator shuddered to a stop.

  The hallway smelled better than the elevator and looked better too. There were all sorts of posters on the walls: Cream, Creedence Clearwater Revival and Led Zeppelin. Somebody had gone nuts with a can of yellow dayglo paint on one of the doors, spraying a giant peace sign. Different strains of music slid beneath the doors as we made our way down the hall to Steve’s place. At first I’d been scared, but now I was excited.

  Steve’s room was painted deep purple, a beaded curtain covered the window and two car seats acted as chairs. He opened the bottom drawer of a desk covered in candles and incense and removed some funny looking sheets of thick white paper covered in green frogs, each one the size of a postage stamp.

  “What do you want?” Steve asked.

  “What have you got?”

  “Froggy blotter.”

  What was that? I nodded like I knew.

  “How many do you want?”

  “How much?”

  “Two bucks a hit, but if you buy more than ten you get them for a buck each.”

  An idea formed.

  “Give me twenty.”

  I could give Mary ten and keep ten for myself. She’d never know the difference and for once I’d have something on Mary. Steve began cutting frogs out of the heavy paper. There were about a hundred of them with big glassy eyes and toothy grins.

  “The blotter comes from Frisco. This shit is nearly pure. Straight liquid from the lab and then chemists take a dropper and squirt it on the frog. Cute, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I replied as Steve carefully manipulated the scissors.

  While he cut out the blotters, Steve told me all about how they made the dope. Its clinical name was lysergic acid diethylamide and had its roots in native plants and mushrooms. Scientists had decided to try it on the brain to cure minor personality disorders and enhance artistic creativity. I couldn’t wait to try it on mine.

  Mary sat beside me in the subway car, scrunched up against me nice and tight. Her chest heaved up and down. I’d never seen her so excited. “Let’s see.”

  “Not here.”

  I’d read about narcs, narcotics officers, in one of Dad’s magazines. There was a whole new department devoted to catching people peddling drugs, and they dressed like hippies to blend in.

  “How many did you get?” she whispered.

  My heart thumped. “Ten.” Mary’s eyes flashed. Her tongue rolled over her red lips. The wet made them glisten. I scanned the subway car for narcs. “You want to try one?”

  She squeezed my hand. “The park tonight at seven. Just you and me.”

&
nbsp; Isabel and I stood at the kitchen sink finishing the dinner dishes. I tossed the damp towel onto the counter. “Can I go out?”

  “Where?”

  “Mary’s house. We’re going to study.” Sure we were, we were going to study what happened when you swallowed paper frogs.

  Frank and Tedder were out on the driveway playing hockey with some of the neighbourhood boys. A little white vase painted in blue flowers rested on the windowsill. The flowers reminded me of Ginnie’s eyes. Isabel touched my shoulder. Her hands were bright red from the hot water. Mom always wore gloves.

  “Mary’s a nice girl.”

  I think that’s what the English teacher called an irony.

  “I’m glad you’re making friends,” Isabel said. “Just make sure you’re home by nine.”

  “Come on.”

  “Nine thirty.”

  “Ten?”

  “Nine thirty and that’s firm.”

  “Okay. And Isabel…”

  She turned.

  “You should wear dish gloves. They’ll protect your skin.” It was a beautiful evening. Mary was sitting on the bench. “You’re late.”

  I didn’t apologize. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “What do we do?”

  “Open your mouth and say ahhhhh.”

  Her mouth opened, and like a minister giving the Host, I rested a blotter on her pretty pink tongue. The frog faded away the moment it got wet, dissolving in Mary’s mouth. I handed her another blotter and put the rest in my jacket pocket.

  “Now you give me mine.” I opened my mouth and Mary set the paper on my tongue. Chemicals tasted so good.

  We were walking down by the river when I started to feel funny. A tingling at the bottom of my spine started to walk, then dance, up the back of my neck. A deep friendly tickle made my whole body rev like a race car at the starting gate. Drops of delicious salty saliva dripped down the back of my throat, making me swallow like mad. Then the river began to hum and sing. I was made of air and Mary’s hair glowed. Her irises were gone, eclipsed by big black bowling ball pupils. She laughed so hard, spinning like a top with her arms out at her sides. Light grew and pulsed and my voice sounded far away when I talked, like sound flying down a long concrete tunnel, bouncing and binging and turning into something else when it tumbled out the other end. I started to laugh and couldn’t stop. Everything was so incredibly funny. Mary took my arm and we walked towards the river. The sky was still blue.