26 – Dizzy Circles
By the time he picked up Richie at the hotel, Steve had calmed down. He knew he was acting like a spoiled kid, but he couldn’t help it. What would he do if Uncle Max let him go? Who would hire a two-time loser? He had only a year’s experience in New York, and five months in Florida. With the recession going on, particularly in real estate, it might be months before he found a new job.
“What’s the matter?” Richie asked. “You look bad.”
As they drove down the broad highway toward the western swamps, Steve told him about the meeting with Uncle Max, and then his visit to his parents. “No sweat,” Richie said. “Something else’ll come up. You’ll see. It always does for me.”
“Yeah, but I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on,” Steve said. “All I’ve got is my parents and my job. And neither of them is looking very good right now.”
“I’ve got the solution to your problems right here.” Richie pulled a thick joint out of his pocket, and pushed in the cigarette lighter. “Make all your troubles melt away.”
“What if a cop pulled us over? We’d get arrested.”
Richie laughed. The cigarette lighter popped and he lit the joint. He inhaled deeply and then sighed. He smiled. “Hey, we’ve got a lawyer in the family now, man,” he said. “Piece of cake.” He handed the joint to Steve.
Steve had not smoked marijuana since college, but he didn’t have much against it. He imagined Morty defending him and Richie on drug charges and laughed. He took the joint and inhaled.
They each had a beer when they got home, and Steve made microwave popcorn. They sat on the couch and laughed and told stories. He told Richie about his date with Dolores.
“You gotta call her, man,” Richie said. “You can’t just take a brush-off like that, not if you really dig the chick.”
He picked up the receiver and handed it to Steve. “Here. Call her up.”
Steve giggled. “Not like this. I’m fucked up.”
“Hey, best time in the world,” Richie said. “Lets you say what you really mean. Go on.”
Steve took the receiver and dialed Dolores’ number. She picked up after two rings. “Hello?”
Steve sat up quickly. “Hi, Dolores, it’s Steve. Steve Berman.”
“Hi.”
“Listen, Dolores, you can’t just blow me off because I have a goofy family. You said yours is no better. Let’s forget about Sheryl and Morty, OK? I really want to see you again.”
Silence. “All right,” Dolores said. “Saturday night?”
“Yes!” Steve said strongly, making a fist. “I mean, yes,” he said, more calmly. “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”
After he hung up, Steve gave Richie the high five. “All right,” he said. “Thanks.”
“Hey, man, it’s nothing.” Richie yawned. “I’m on my way to sleepyland. Tell Dolores I said hola, como esta,” and his head slumped to his shoulders.
The next morning the Florida Club picketers were at the site again. Harold was on the afternoon shift, and was there when Steve returned from lunch. Steve drove past him without waving.
He spent most of the day talking to contractors and tenants about the protest. Almost everyone sided with Uncle Max, but a lot of people were worried about the effect on construction and deliveries. Late in the afternoon when he returned to the Welcome Center, he found three messages from his mother and one from his father. He did not call them, though, but looked through the mail and reviewed drawings until six thirty.
The picketers had already gone and the site was quiet. It was hot and muggy, though the sun was low on the horizon, and there was a little breeze. He stood in front of the Welcome Center and looked at the project.
He remembered how scared he had been in October. But as the project had come to represent his sweat, his long hours, the caring he felt deep inside, it made everything he’d done before seem small and unimportant.
He was angry that he could lose what he’d worked for, over something as silly as a nearly-extinct lizard. It was more than just the job and the salary -- he wanted that feeling of accomplishment, of seeing the mall open and running, knowing that he had a part in it. This job had given him a chance to be the success his parents expected, to earn their respect. He had to prove he could take the raw materials of a construction site and mold them through his energy and dedication.
When he got back to Mangrove Manor, he spotted his parents’ car in the guest parking area. New people were moving into the apartment below him, and the moving van stood in front of the walkway. Steve dodged men carrying furniture and cartons that appeared to contain computer equipment. For a moment he remembered living in New York, when he didn’t know his neighbors or what kind of furniture they owned, and his parents were too far away to cause trouble.
Steve found Richie, Harold and Rita sitting in the living room drinking diet soda. “Don’t let me interrupt you,” he said. “I’ll just be in my room.”
“Steven, come sit down here,” Rita said.
“Please,” Harold added.
Steve sat in an overstuffed chair that had belonged to his grandmother. “I think it’s time we talked about what’s happening out at the Galleria,” Harold said.
“I don’t think there’s anything to discuss,” Steve said. “You want to stand around in the sun all day with a sign, go right ahead. Why don’t you write ‘I’m Steve Berman’s father’ on it? Just in case someone doesn’t recognize you.”
“You want to know why not?” Harold asked. “I’ll tell you why not. I’m not out there because I’m your father. This is something I believe in. I know, you’re going to say I just joined this club two months ago, how can I believe in this so strongly. But don’t you remember all those times I took you to the nature center at the park? And all those trips to the aquarium and the zoo? I didn’t just take you there so you should learn. I wanted to learn too.”
Harold took a breath and sat back on the sofa. “You want to keep working, fine. Maybe you can help solve all this from the inside. We never stopped you from doing anything because we disagreed with you, Steven. So don’t stop us.”
“You don’t mind that I keep working there?”
“Of course not. You have a good job. Your mother and I are very proud of you. Now, if you’d only marry a nice Jewish girl and give us grandchildren, we’d be even prouder.”
“That’s a topic for another day,” Rita said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry. Why don’t we take you boys out to dinner? That is, if we can find a decent restaurant out here in the boondocks.”
They ate at a steak house with an Australian theme, and kept the conversation to neutral topics like billabongs and wallabies. Harold explained that young kangaroos grew up in their fathers’ pouches, which he had learned from nature programs on TV. Richie described an Australian girl he had met back in New Jersey, who had been making a tour of American beaches. He mimicked her accent so well that even the waitress commented.
“Can you come over on Saturday, Steve?” Rita asked as they pulled up at Caloosahatchee Court. Steve and Richie were just about to get out of the car. “I think I might want to do some redecorating in the apartment. I’d like your advice. You could stay for dinner.”
“I’ve got plans for dinner. But I could come over in the afternoon.”
“Oh,” Rita said. “The girl you had the date with?”
Richie snickered. “I told you it wasn’t a date, Mother,” Steve said. “No, it’s not with her. Richie and I are going out with some people from the office.”
Richie clearly looked like this was news to him, but he said nothing. “That’s nice,” Rita said. “OK, come in the afternoon.”
The next couple of days passed in a blur of meetings and trips out to the site, as Uncle Max decided what to do about the Florida Club. He was thinking about a temporary shutdown, keeping the staff on half-salary for a few weeks until the dispute was resolved. It would be like a little vacation, a chance to rest up for the
big push to the opening. He carefully avoided mentioning total layoff and abandonment of the project.
On Saturday afternoon Steve drove to his parents’ condo. Rita had already rearranged the furniture in the living room and the den, but she wasn’t satisfied. “I’m thinking of something more dramatic,” she said. She stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, surveying. “New carpeting, a paint job. Maybe some new cabinets here, a built-in for the TV and the stereo. What do you think?”
“It’s a lot of upset.” Steve dropped into a kitchen chair and swiveled around. “Having workmen in the house, ripping up the carpet. Remember what a pain it was the last time you had the place painted? We had to move all the furniture into the middle of the room and Daddy kept tripping over drop cloths.”
“I remember.” Rita walked into the living room and Steve followed. “I’m not repeating my past mistakes. This time, your father and I are moving out until the work is finished.”
“You don’t want to come to my apartment, do you?” Steve asked. “Remember, I have Richie staying with me.”
Rita laughed. She adjusted the position of a porcelain statue in the curio cabinet. “Thank you, darling, but I think we’re going to stay at the Neuschwanstein Palace for a little while. I can spend some time with Mimi, and your father will be close to the Florida Club office.”
“When are you thinking of doing all this?”
“I’ve got painters coming on Monday for estimates, and I’ve already started making some sketches for cabinets. Maybe next week or the week after.”
“Can you guys afford all this?” Steve waved his hand vaguely around the living room. “Daddy’s always complaining about living on a fixed income.”
“This is all money I earned at the Galleria. Your father would prefer me to put it in a T-bill, but I want to fix the apartment up.”
Rita had Steve push some furniture around, change pictures from wall to wall, reposition the table lamps. It was after five when he returned to his apartment. As soon as he walked in, he smelled smoke. He ran for the kitchen, where another of Richie’s melted cheese sandwiches was blackening in the toaster oven. He popped the lid and thick gray smoke poured out. Coughing, he got a potholder, lifted the tray out and dropped it in the sink. “Richie!” he bellowed.
He found Richie in the living room, asleep on the sofa. “Wake up, you asshole. You almost burned the house down.”
Richie struggled awake, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Shit,” he said. “I was making a sandwich.”
“You mean you were making a mess,” Steve said. “Listen, Richie, you can’t stay here if you’re not going to be careful. The last thing I need is to come home and find my apartment burned down.”
“Hey, I’m sorry, man.” Richie held out his palms. “Whip me, beat me, make me write bad checks. I won’t do it again.”
“You do and you’re back with your grandmother.” Steve looked at his watch. “Shit, I’m late. I’ve gotta get ready.”
“Hey, that’s right,” Richie said. “You and me are going out tonight.”
Steve looked at him. “Huh?”
“Isn’t that what you told your mother? You and me are going out with some friends of yours from work.” Richie put his hand to his head and patted his hair. “Do I look OK?”
Steve swatted the air over his cousin’s head. “Get a life, Richie,” he said. “You know I’ve got a date with Dolores. And you sure as hell know you’re not invited.” He started to whistle as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. Richie sunk back into the sofa.
Steve and Dolores had dinner at an Italian restaurant on Washington Avenue, and then went dancing at a club a few blocks farther west, in a neighborhood of run-down apartment houses, and stores. The chic women and men with ponytails on the curb looked out of place.
“I hate this kind of place,” Steve said. “Where they have to like the way you look to let you in. It’s so bogus.”
“I never wait in line,” Dolores said. “Follow me.”
She walked up to the bouncer and kissed his cheek. “Hey, Bruno.”
“Hey, Dolores, que pasa?” Bruno said. “Looking good tonight, baby.”
Dolores twined her arm into Steve’s as Bruno opened the door for them and they walked in. “You just have to know the right people,” Dolores said, smiling. “I cut Bruno’s hair. I cut hair for everybody who works here.”
Steve felt great. Dolores was beautiful, and sexy, and smart and funny, and he was enjoying himself hugely. So what if the Everglades Galleria went bust and he was laid off? Who cared if his father became a picketer and his mother gave up her job? Sheryl’s pregnancy and wedding were nothing to him. Neither was Sheldon’s upcoming trial. The world was perfect.
Then they rounded a corner and walked into the bar, bumping into Sheryl and Morty. “Oh,” Dolores said.
But it was too late. They’d seen each other, and there was no turning back. They all said hello and smiled. “I’m so glad we ran into you,” Sheryl said. “I want to ask you about my hair, Dolores. Come on, let’s go to the ladies’ room where there’s some light. I want to talk to you about dyeing my hair again.”
Sheryl took Dolores’ arm and they walked off. “Funny coincidence,” Steve said. “Running into you guys here.”
“I used to come here a lot with Dolores when we were going out,” Morty said. “She really likes to dance.”
“Sheryl’s not a great dancer,” Steve said. “Take it from me. I’ve danced with her at every wedding and bar mitzvah since we were kids.”
“She has other qualities,” Morty said.
Steve thought, yeah, like money. He was momentarily jealous of Morty for knowing Dolores before he did, but then he realized Morty didn’t even know Dolores’ real last name. That made him smile.
When Sheryl and Dolores came back from the ladies room, they had a round of drinks and then went out to the dance floor. “I haven’t been dancing in years,” Steve said to Dolores. “I may be a little rusty.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I can loosen you up.”
Steve didn’t recognize any of the music. It was some kind of disco mix, rap and songs with a fast beat and lyrics he couldn’t follow. The floor was not crowded. Dolores took his hands and started to teach him a step that required a lot of balance and swiveling back and forth from hip to hip. It was hard to follow and he kept stumbling, but she was determined to teach him.
Then the band took a break and the recorded music came on, songs he’d heard on the radio. Suddenly the dance floor was full of people, and he could follow the music. It was a lot better. He mastered the art of swiveling and started to have a good time.
After an hour, Steve and Dolores took a break and watched the other dancers. Sheryl gyrated her hips like a belly dancer at a bad Middle Eastern restaurant, while Morty moved smoothly, trying to match his rhythms to Sheryl’s.
“Do you think he really loves her?” Steve asked.
“He’s very ambitious,” Dolores said. “He wants money and power and all sorts of things. But he also wants to change someone. Maybe Sheryl is the someone he can change.”
“You didn’t answer the question.”
Dolores smiled. “The only one who can answer that is Morty, and he’s busy right now.”
By then Morty had given up on Sheryl and was dancing by himself. Sheryl danced like a cow giving birth, her lips pursed and her hands on her hips, thrusting forward, seemingly in great pain.
But Steve didn’t mind. On Monday morning, he might be out of work, a casualty in the lizard war, but that was the farthest thing from his thoughts. He let himself fall into the music, into the rhythm of the lights, into the heady mixture of sweat and perfume that filled the air. He smiled, took Dolores’s hand, and swung her around in a dizzying circle.
27 – Coded Messages
Dolores opened the apartment door and pulled Steve in behind her. She didn’t turn the light on, but the milky glow from a street lamp lit the room enough to see by. She p
ut her hands on the sides of Steve’s face and drew his mouth to hers.
Steve’s pulse quickened as they kissed. He put his arms around her, letting his fingertips graze her shoulder blades. She grabbed on tight to his waist and thrust her hips into his, and he felt his erection rise. “I want you,” Dolores whispered into his ear. He shivered.
She led him to the bed and began unbuttoning his shirt as he kissed her cheek, her chin, and the curve of her neck. His whole body quivered as she opened his pants, unzipped them, and let them drop to the floor.
Her dress fell away in a moment. She turned her back to Steve so that he could unhook her bra, and then faced him again, pressing into him. They kissed again and she pulled him back onto the bed.
Steve couldn’t think. Blindly, he followed Dolores’ lead. She pulled him to her, and their bodies moved together. Steve felt a quickening passion that rose in him and would not stop. His breathing grew faster and faster. Dolores whispered “Cara mia, cara mia,” and her body shivered with small sighs. All he wanted to do was please her, and so please himself.
He wasn’t so dumb or blinded with lust that he forgot the condom, though. There weren’t going to be any babies in his immediate future. Once he was suited up, he resumed his rhythm, following Dolores’s lead. With Cindy, he’d often pulled back in his mind, watching his performance, trying to please her.
But with Dolores he felt fully in the moment, his conscious brain taken up with with thoughts of her, of her hair blowing in the wind, running with her on the beach, her face by streetlight. He leaned down and kissed her breasts as he moved inside her, then kissed her lips again, then tilted his head back as he thrust one last time and felt his body wracked with orgasm. He felt her shiver beneath him as she rose up to meet him, her body melding with his and her breath coming in short gasps.
Even as he slumped down next to her, his passion exhausted, he thought that it had never been so good before. Not with Cindy, or with any of the other girls of his limited experience. Dolores snuggled into the crook of his arm and drifted quickly off to sleep. Steve stayed awake, listening to the cars on Collins Avenue, the occasional blast of a passing radio, and the conversation of a couple of waiters who had just gotten off work and were on their way to a club. He dozed for a while, and then Dolores woke and they made love again, slower this time, but just as passionately.
Invasion of the Blatnicks Page 24