the Bar Studs)

by Levinson, Len

  During the visiting hours doctors came and went, nurses came and went, and orderlies came and went. Teddy lay like a caterpillar in his bandage cocoon and knew when it was removed no beautiful butterfly would emerge. There’d be no more teenage boys for him.

  Toward his left something black and glittering caught his eye. He pulled his eyeballs over as far as he could and saw in the doorway a tall lean man dressed in black leather pants, white T-shirt with RAMROD emblazoned across the front, black leather motorcycle jacket, and black leather officer-style cap with a chromium chain across the top. A chromium chain hung from his left epaulet, and for a belt he used another chromium chain. He had a lantern jaw marked with a bat like goatee and he raised and lowered himself on his toes as he looked around the room at each patient. When his eyes came to rest on Teddy a second time he began walking toward him, the spurs on his black leather boots jangling as his feet hit the white tiles of the floor.

  “Teddy Holmes?” he asked as he approached Teddy’s bed.

  “Yes.”

  The man smiled and showed long tobacco-stained teeth. He took off his black leather hat and tucked it under his arm. “I’m Roger Barstow,” he said. “I’ve seen you at the Corral numerous times, but I don’t know if you know me.”

  Many of the Corral’s patrons looked like Roger Barstow. “I don’t think we’ve met,” Teddy said.

  Roger Barstow bent over Teddy and spoke in a low voice. “I’m field marshal of the local chapter of the Homosexual Liberation Front and I’ve been assigned to investigate your case. How’re you feeling?”

  “I’m on a lot of medication and I’m not feeling very much.”

  Field Marshal Barstow brought his lips to Teddy’s ear. “We want to find the guy who put you here, and when we get him we’ll put a spike right through his head. I know you’ve already spoken to the police, but they won’t find him and if through some miracle they do, the courts will probably let him off anyway. We’ll have to take care of him ourselves, so please tell me everything you remember about him.”

  Teddy recounted the complete story of his encounter with Mark, and was surprised by how little emotion he now felt about it. He’d become resigned to what had happened and was apprehensive only about his future in a world where ugliness was intolerable.

  Field Marshal Barstow took notes on a small blue pad, asked several questions, murmured expressions of sympathy, and put his pad and pen into his hip pocket. From a jacket pocket he took a gray card and laid it on the table beside Teddy’s bed.

  “Here’s my card,” Field Marshal Barstow said. “If you need some help when you get out of here—look me up.” He smiled, said goodbye, and marched out of the ward.

  Shortly afterwards the other visitors left and the nurses came with evening medication. Teddy was given an injection and three pills. Then the lights were turned off and he fell asleep.

  After breakfast the next morning a squat nurse with a duck walk pushed toward his bed a cart on which were a basin, scissors, and several pieces of medical cutlery.

  “Mr. Holmes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m going to remove some of your bandages today.”

  Teddy’s bones became ice. He’d dreaded this from the time he first opened his eyes in the hospital and realized he’d been disfigured. The nurse turned the crank at the end of the bed and Teddy was raised to a sitting position.

  “Ready?” she asked with a smile.

  “I guess so.” He wished this could be postponed forever.

  She picked up a pair of scissors from the tray and advanced toward him. Placing one hand on the top of his head, she began snipping. The closing of the scissors sounded like cracks of doom to him, and as she unwound the bandages he felt his skin becoming exposed to the air. Opposite him the teenage athlete sat propped up on pillows and watched with interest. Teddy’s breath came in gasps and he felt nauseated. He was dying and being reincarnated as Frankenstein.

  “Are you all right?” the nurse asked as she peeled off gauze.

  “I’m a little woozy.”

  “It’ll just be another minute.”

  Teddy’s face burned and across the room the athlete grimaced as the last swatches of bandage were removed. Teddy felt naked and vulnerable as the nurse looked professionally at his face.

  “The doctor’ll probably want to put your nose in a cast again,” she said. “I doubt if it’s set yet, and you won’t be able to use your jaw normally for a while either.” From the table she picked up a large square mirror and positioned it before him.

  He flinched when he saw the hideous face looking back at him. The monster moved when he moved and blinked when he blinked. It was him.

  The monster’s face was covered with stitched scars and its nose was smashed in the middle and twisted to the left. Its left cheek had no cheekbone and made its face appear lopsided, its lips were split and stitched in five places, and wires were sticking out of its jaws. No teeth showed, only a black hole. Its chin was dented badly.

  “You’re healing very well,” the nurse said cheerily. “You must be very healthy.”

  “I wish I was dead,” the monster said with Teddy’s voice.

  “They do miracles with plastic surgery these days—don’t worry about it.”

  But Teddy was very worried. After the nurse left he lay back and wondered how he’d pay for the plastic surgery, and how successfully it would restore his face. That evening during visiting hours Teddy noticed how his face repelled everyone, particularly the young people who visited the athlete. For the first time in his life he felt what it was like to be ugly.

  * * *

  When Leo Anussewitz returned home after the movie, Dorrie and Harry were in the kitchen drinking coffee. They had just gotten up and Leo wondered how much more fucking they’d done.

  “Morning Leo,” Dorrie said brightly.

  “Hi.”

  Harry made a sleepy satisfied smile. “Hiya, champ. I stayed here last night—hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why should I mind?” Leo had slept a while in the movie but was still irritable.

  “Would you like a cup of coffee?” Dorrie asked.

  “Okay.” He sat down at the end of the table. “You work tonight, Harry?”

  “Naw, I got the night off. You?”

  “I’ve got to go in.”

  “Good luck.”

  “I’m flying to Dallas tomorrow,” Dorrie said as she poured coffee into a white cup for Leo and placed the cup before him. “I’ll be back Thursday.” She returned to her chair, trailing her free hand over Harry’s shoulder as she passed him. “What’s it like outside?” she asked Leo as she sat down.

  “It’s a nice day.”

  “Where’d you go?” Her cheery voice tried to overcome his grouchiness.

  “To a movie.”

  “So early? What did you see?”

  “I don’t remember. I slept through it.”

  She laughed. “Was it that bad?”

  Resentment and pain were seething inside Leo and he couldn’t hold himself back. “No—I was tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  She shot Harry a worried glance. “I hope we didn’t disturb you when we came in.”

  Leo blew on his coffee. “As a matter of fact you did. I’m a light sleeper.” He raised the cup and took a sip.

  Dome’s happy mask sagged away. “Gee, I’m sorry.”

  Leo felt his veins and arteries vibrating as he looked at Harry. “I can’t understand why you didn’t take her to your place.”

  Harry looked up from his cup as if an outrageous proposition had just been made. “My place?”

  “Sure—why not?”

  “Uh, well—since she was staying here I thought I’d bring her home.”

  “This isn’t her home. You could just as easily have taken her to your home.”

  Harry sat erect, chewed some skin inside his cheek, and was perturbed. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “I can’t understand why,”<
br />
  “I think Leo’s angry,” Dorrie said to the refrigerator.

  They sipped coffee in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

  “Are you really angry?” Dome asked Leo.

  “I’m sleepy because you were inconsiderate last night.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said weakly.

  He still hadn’t had enough. “People like you do whatever they want and think if they say I’m sorry’ afterwards everything will be all right.”

  “Well, what do you want me to do?” There was a harsh challenge in her voice. She didn’t like to be criticized.

  “Since you’ve got a boyfriend now with his own apartment—why don’t you move in with him?”

  “Harry’s not my boyfriend.”

  “Oh. Since you screwed him last night I thought he was.”

  Harry turned down the corners of his mouth. “Don’t get carried away, Leo.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “What the hell’s the matter with you? I never saw you like this.”

  A smile slowly appeared on Dome’s face. “I think I know what’s the matter with him,” she said. “I think he’s jealous.” She laughed sarcastically.

  Leo became uneasy. “Jealous of what?”

  She thrust her chin forward. “Do you think I don’t know you invited me here because you thought I might let you make it with me? I know why guys do things for me—don’t think I don’t.”

  Leo winced inwardly. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “No? I was awake the first night I was here when you came in the room and gawked at me. What were you looking for?” Her expression mocked him.

  “I was just making sure you were all right.” Leo was embarrassed that she knew.

  “Sure you did.” She laughed and looked at Harry.

  Harry chuckled. “I think you’re pulling your pud too much, Leo old boy. You shouldn’t go sneaking up on girls when they’re asleep. You’re really a big fucking creep, you know that?”

  Leo couldn’t give up now. “I guess I shouldn’t have been so worried about Dorrie,” he said. “Like you told me in the bar the other night, if she had as many cocks sticking out of her as were stuck into her, she’d look like a porcupine. I guess she can take care of herself.”

  Dorrie looked like she’d been punched in the stomach.

  “I never said that,” Harry retorted menacingly. “You’re a fucking liar.”

  “I am? Then I guess Dorrie’ll be moving in with you today.” With a sneer he arose from the table, walked to the living room, and sat on the sofa.

  “Creep,” Harry said.

  Leo picked up the Sunday Times and hid his face behind it. Remorse set in fast—he’d just made a bad situation worse—but he’d been tired and cranky and couldn’t stop himself once the argument got started. He hadn’t meant to hurt Dorrie; it wasn’t her fault if she couldn’t love him. The only thing really wrong was his jealousy, just like she said. He focused on the page before him and saw an ad for vacation homes in the Pocono Mountains.

  From the kitchen he heard Dorrie ask Harry: “Well, can I stay with you?”

  “I guess so,” he said unenthusiastically.

  There was silence for a few moments. “That’s okay—forget it.”

  “No—you can stay with me if you want to.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  His voice became more vigorous. “Well, if that’s the way you feel…”

  “That’s the way I feel.”

  “I think maybe I’d better go.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  A chair scraped over the floor. “You don’t have to get nasty about it,” Harry said.

  “I don’t like the way you talk about me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What you said to Leo about me.”

  “Leo’s lying!”

  “You said the same thing about a girl at the party yesterday. That’s the way you talk about girls, and I don’t doubt that you said it about me.”

  After several seconds of silence Harry emerged from the kitchen and marched down the corridor to the bedroom where he’d stayed with Dorrie. He returned with his blue topcoat and punched his right arm into a sleeve.

  “See you later, creep,” he said to Leo as he walked toward the door.

  Leo didn’t reply, and he knew Harry would tell all the other bartenders about what had happened. Harry opened the door, stepped into the corridor, and slammed the door hard behind him.

  Suddenly it was very quiet. Leo looked at the pages of the magazine but nothing he saw registered on his mind. She shouldn’t have brought Harry home but neither should he have invited her here with ulterior motives. He was as guilty as she and maybe more so because he should have known better. He could hear her sobbing faintly. Taking a deep breath, he stood up and walked to her.

  She sat at the table with her head in her hands and didn’t look up when he entered the kitchen. He sat opposite her and hated himself for causing her to be unhappy.

  “I’m sorry about all this,” he told her. “I admit I was jealous just like you said and I guess that’s why I freaked out. You can stay here if you want to until you find a place of your own. If you don’t bring anybody home with you I won’t get crazy and we won’t have any more trouble.”

  She raised her sopping eyes to him. “As soon as I come back from Dallas I’ll move away. I’ll have something worked out by then.”

  “Okay.” He stood up. “I’ve got to get ready for work.”

  He walked to the bathroom, washed his face and hands in the shadow of her dripping pantyhose, and then lumbered into the bedroom, where he changed clothes. He put on his tuxedo pants, white shirt, and black shoes, and dropped into his shirt pocket one of his black bowties. Then he put on his thick sheepskin coat and looked at himself in the dresser mirror. He looked tired, pale, and worried. Everyone would treat him with contempt after Harry spread the story around. If it became too much he’d have to quit and find another job, and he knew good jobs were scarce. He cursed himself for opening his big mouth and starting all the trouble. Before he’d been only tired and cranky; now he had real problems.

  He left the bedroom and walked to the front door. Dorrie left the kitchen and stood before him in the corridor. He stopped and looked down at her.

  “I want to apologize, Leo,” she said.

  “You don’t have to. It’s mostly my fault anyway.”

  She shook her head and looked weary as he. “No it’s not. I knew when I invited Harry here I was doing something wrong. I knew how you felt about me and I just took advantage. I’ll be gone on Friday and I’ll never bother you again.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Nobody’s perfect.”

  She looked at him sadly. “I’m really sorry.”

  They faced each other only inches apart and a deep communication of mutual understanding and consolation passed silently between them.

  “I’ll see you around,” he said.

  He turned away from her and walked toward the door.

  * * *

  Days passed and Jake Griffin didn’t see Melinda again. When he drove to and from the Reno he searched the sidewalks of the Bowery for her, and whenever a skinny floozie staggered into the Reno he thought at first it might be her. He wondered what had become of her and hoped she was all right.

  Meanwhile the kitten recovered completely and began to grow. Jake let it live in the bar and watch disapprovingly as it played with the bums but ignored him. He was annoyed that it took him, the expensive cat food, and the shelter of the bar, for granted. Ungrateful little bastard.

  Early one December morning when the bar was almost empty Jake went back to the kitchen for some of Louie’s beef stew, and when he returned with his bowl saw a frail hunched figure sitting at the bar near the door. He caught the profile in the streetlight that shone through the big front window and recognized Melinda. Cautious but glad to see her, he approached and saw that she looked even worse than on the night he
met her.

  “Hello, Melinda,” he said, placing the bowl of stew on the bar.

  She squinted at him, swallowed, and groaned. “I should’ve looked before I came in here.” Her voice sounded like it was coming from underneath the building.

  He pushed the bowl toward her. “Have somethin’ to eat. It’s on the house.”

  “I’d rather have something to drink.”

  “That ain’t on the house.”

  “I got money.” She reached into the pocket of her filthy parka and spilled some coins on the bar. “Gimme some red wine.”

  He left the stew in front of her, poured cheap wine into the cleanest glass he could find on the tray, and served it to her. “Thirty-five cents.”

  She brushed her grimy fingers over the coins. “Take it.”

  Jake counted out thirty-five cents, rang it up, and returned. “How’ve you been doin’?” he asked.

  “Pretty good.” She raised the glass to her lips and started swallowing.

  “You look like shit.”

  She lowered her glass, a drop of wine leaked over her lower lip, and she looked him straight in the eye. “So do you.”

  “Why don’t you straighten yourself out?”

  “Why don’t you mind your own business.”

  Jake studied her sad dirty face and felt a hollow space open up in his heart. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Why don’t you go someplace and worry about yourself?” She lifted the glass again and drank greedily.

  Jake picked up the bowl of stew and walked to the other end of the bar, where he put down the bowl next to his Daily News and began to eat. He turned to the sports pages first and read about the new goalie the Rangers had bought from Montreal. Then he read about an anticipated strike by professional football players, but before he could finish the article and his stew he was called away by bums who wanted more booze. He glanced out the corner of his eye at Melinda and saw her writing on the bar with her shaky, long finger. When he returned to his stew it was cold.