“I certainly won’t be of much help with microbiology. But I do know you can get a ticket for transporting swill and offal in open containers through the streets of Providence.”
Roxy screwed up her face. “What? Stop, I need to concentrate. You’re done; you come home and kick back. I still have two more years to grind through.”
“You will do fine. You’re very smart. And I don’t just come home and kick back. I’m taking extra assignments when they offer them.”
“Better than you just hanging around,” she said, her voice rising.
“Maybe I can find a coaching position this spring,” he said. “It would be nice to be back on the field, back on campus.” He knew he wasn’t explaining it well. “I’m also trying to be sociable with the guys on the force—especially my class.”
“You mean you get drunk with them.”
“Sometimes we may have a few too many. I’m trying to fit in. You don’t understand how they look at me. The comments when they think I can’t hear them—and even when they know I can.”
Roxy looked at him, her eyes narrowed and her lips drawn tightly. “Sometimes, when you come home, you don’t talk to me. You just sit in front of the tube. You leave when I go to bed, I leave when you go to bed and . . .” She started to speak, and the words stumbled. “And you make our friends, when you show up in uniform or they see the gun,” she hesitated, “nervous.”
“What the fuck? College kids . . .” He turned away, pissed that she thought it was his fault. But he knew he was lying to himself. He couldn’t tell her everything because she would be angry with him for not standing up to the system. “I’m still me. If they don’t like it . . .”
“They aren’t going to tell you to your face. They see a uniform, not you. Now you’re one of them. And the gun . . . people we know don’t have guns. It weirds them out.”
“I haven’t changed,” he replied with less conviction, knowing that he had been hardened by the street. He had thought he was concealing it well. “I’m not trying to freak anyone out.”
“Some people won’t come here anymore,” she pressed. “I think you freak Cal out the most. It’s almost like he’s afraid of you.”
“Cal. Cal? Talk about a little strange at times? He did too much acid when he was my freshman roommate. And I think the pot now makes him paranoid. But he knows I’ve got his back. I took him off the ledge more than once.” He walked around the room in a circle, not liking the accusations but knowing he was guilty. “Taking that extra year to get the dual major in Chemistry and Mathematics before med school—he’s manic crazy.”
He stood for a moment at the wooden square desk covered with books. He looked down over the street, the trees still bare in the New England winter. What could he tell her? How could he explain it to her?
“I don’t tell you everything. Not that I’m hiding anything.” He turned and moved to the bed, where she was adjusting the triangle pillow: her nightly study spot. Her right hand was turned upright, and she cocked her head toward him. How much he loved her—it was consuming, even now, after all this time. He sat at the foot of the bed on the Indian quilt. “I don’t want you to worry. You have enough on your mind.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly, and she shook her head, throwing her hair away from her eyes. “Should I be worried?”
“No. Hey, this is only Providence.” He forced a laugh to break the tension. What was he trying to tell her? He wasn’t afraid of the street. Things could happen there, but he was ready for it. It was constantly being aware—that was it—and that was hard.
“Yeah, but you tell your stories . . .” She closed her chemistry book and called him with her finger. He crawled up the bed and sat next to her.
“I’m different from the guys on the force, almost like an alien to them. They don’t understand why I’m there. But I’m not that much different. If I hadn’t gone to college, I’d be one of them.” He let his thoughts drift back to Long Island. His high school produced cops, firemen, LIRR conductors, and schoolteachers. Did he escape?
“You are different.” She held his hand and slowly stroked it, like he was a purring cat. “You decided to make a difference. It’s not that easy.”
“Not easy—that’s for sure. It’s just that I have to be cautious with some of the cops . . .” He didn’t know quite how to explain it. “Some of these guys are animals; you have to be on guard.”
“How did they become cops?”
He smiled at her. “Some animal is good . . .” He poked her in the side as she wriggled away from him. “You know what I mean. You remember seeing the Chicago cops at the Democratic convention. There is a fine line between control and . . . uncontrolled.” He wasn’t saying it well.
“Are you making a difference?”
He held her hand more tightly. Was he? Not really. He was just a beat cop on the wrong side of the brass. Maybe one incident at a time. He was writing the reports more accurately, but that was small change.
“Not really. It’s seven hours of boredom and ten minutes of police work.” Some nights, maybe.
“Why don’t you quit?” Her green eyes held him in that calm, steady gaze. It was so simple to her: just move on. But it wasn’t that easy.
“I can’t,” he said. He knew she expected that answer. He wasn’t going to give in because it was getting tough. He always kept his legs moving, always was the one running the hardest at the end of practice. He would tough it out. But he didn’t really tell her what he wanted to, about being scared—no, concerned—and on edge. And it was wearing on him and their relationship. He didn’t tell her . . . maybe tomorrow.
He reached across her body, cupping her shoulder in his hand. He ran his hand down her arm and across her stomach. She leaned into him, bringing her hand behind his neck and up into his hair. Their faces danced close to each other, the warmth of their breath pushing away the thoughts in their minds. Their faces came closer together, slowly closing the distance of the conversation.
A little animal is good.
The next morning, Steve dressed in his uniform silently, adjusting his badge and taking his holster from the closet and putting it on. He straightened his hat and adjusted the Sam Browne belt to secure his handcuffs and flashlight. The ritual allowed him to change into a cop, like putting on a costume. Walking over to Roxy, he looked at her partially revealed breasts and started to run his hands over her shoulder toward them.
“And if I want you to stay, to have my man sleep with me tonight, would you call in sick and stay? No, you’re too dedicated to do that. I feel it’s coming apart. I don’t know what else to say. We have to figure something else out.”
Steve was a little shaken. “Sure. Whatever you need. We can figure something out.”
Roxy’s face softened, and she smiled. “Be careful.” She got up and kissed him.
Steve drove his Volkswagen down past the rows of colonial-era houses on Benefit Street before turning downtown on Angel Street by the Rhode Island School of Design. College Hill was so different from the rest of the city. Most kids never get off the hill—he never did. On the simple AM radio in the car, the Doors sang about how people are strange if you’re a stranger.
He parked his car behind the police station, among the sea of American-made cars. Entering headquarters, he passed a group of people on the bench, waiting to find out what had happened to a loved one. He nodded to the desk sergeant, who looked at him blankly. Inside the squad room, Lieutenant Krieger was coming out of Captain Lynch’s office.
“Logan,” he called.
Steve was surprised to see the Chief’s aide-de-camp up so late. He thought Krieger was strictly a nine-to-five guy who always seemed to be in dress uniform, ready for the next media event. He stopped as Krieger walked smartly across the room.
“Come with me.” He motioned Steve to follow him upstairs to a very small office next to Colonel McGuire’s office.
“Have you heard about all the problems at Central High School?”
“I read the paper
,” Steve replied suspiciously.
“You can’t believe everything you read. There have been a number of fights over the last month. Sometimes, they have weapons. We have had to respond on numerous occasions. No one killed yet, but ugly. ”
“Too much work for the day shift?”
Krieger let the comment pass, but he raised his chin, letting Steve know he’d hit the mark.
“Some people are calling for us to put some cops in the school. But the mayor and Colonel McGuire don’t want it to look like we’re sending an occupying army into the ghetto. A lot of these fights are between Blacks and Whites, so it would look like the cops would be there for certain reasons . . .” Krieger sized Steve up.
“And those reasons would be correct?”
“Well, yes. There are certain constituencies that are putting pressure on the mayor to do something.”
“And, what are you . . . I mean the mayor and Chief planning to do?”
“You have a college degree?”
“Yeah. It’s a secret; don’t tell anyone.”
Krieger’s practiced smile turned upward around the corners of his mouth at the remark. “I’m trying to do you a favor. I want to see the force get better—to make it more professional. I’m on your side.” He put his sincere face back on and leaned a little closer to Steve.
“So there is an idea that we could put a presence into Central without the uniform—making it low key but taking some pressure off the mayor without putting the colonel into an uncomfortable position.” He nodded at Steve.
“Undercover cops in the high school? I thought narcotics did that.”
“No, not like that. I checked with the school board, and because of your education, you could get a temporary teaching license. It would allow you to be a substitute teacher.”
“Me? A teacher at the high school? What are you smoking?”
“Look, Logan. This has already been discussed with the mayor, Chief, and Captain Lynch. Instead of you getting some mindless construction site traffic duty on your day off, you would be assigned to Central. It would be above board because you have your college degree and the teaching credentials. The principal is fine with it. He would let other teachers know. The news of a cop teacher will filter to the students soon enough. And since the kids will never know when you will be there, they will always be looking over their shoulders. That way, we can be there but not be visible to any news cameras.” He finished and sat back in his chair, pleased with how the details fit together.
“Seems you have worked out all the details. I guess I don’t have a choice?” Steve was intrigued by the idea. He watched Krieger gloat with the cleverness of his plan.
“I’m on your side. I’m trying to help you. To help the department, to make it better, and to help those kids have a safe place for an education.”
Krieger was a smart, ambitious guy, probably smarter than any other officer. From the scuttlebutt, he knew Krieger was married to Senator Pell’s chief of staff’s daughter. So he knew his way around the upper class of Rhode Island politicians. He was solving a problem for both the mayor and the chief—and getting the college kid obligated to him. Steve wasn’t quite certain about where his unease with the plan originated, because it seemed straightforward. But he knew nothing in Providence didn’t have a price attached to it.
“So when does this plan start?”
“Next month, when the kids return from Columbus Day break.”
“And what do I have to do?”
“Ask for a new tie for Christmas.”
There were so many areas of Providence that Steve didn’t know existed. Having grown up in a tidy, grid subdivision on Long Island, he wasn’t prepared for apartments in back alleys or on dark, hidden streets. He walked up an alley to a set of small wooden stairs to a second-floor apartment numbered 123½. He knocked on the door, and it was opened by a woman in her thirties. She was wrapped in a blanket, and her disheveled hair stuck out the top. Steve could see she had once been pretty, but the worn lines and blotched skin made her resemble the hag from a children’s book. A torn rattan chair and single aluminum table covered with cereal boxes and empty food cans were like refugees in the kitchen. The only heat source seemed to be two open flames on the gas stove. The woman had tracks on her arm, and her heroin stupor had drained any emotion from her face. The woman barely acknowledged him as she wriggled in her blanket like a caterpillar trying to escape its cocoon.
Hearing the sound of children crying from the next room, Steve pushed the door open and saw two young kids, dirty and barely dressed, on a bare mattress on the floor. He could smell excrement. Cans of open cat food were near the children, but there was no sign of a cat. There were cockroaches running all over the apartment and over the baby on the floor. His revulsion was immediate, and his stomach pounded for release. How could this woman do this to these children? It was a new side of life for Steve—one he had never thought about. How could you not care? Become so fucked up so as not to notice? He was angry with the woman in the chair, who had barely moved since he and Rizzo had arrived. She wasn’t fit to have children.
Steve turned to Rizzo, who spat in the sink. “I’ll call it in. You wait here for social services.”
Steve stooped to the kids, brushing away the insects. He wished he had a candy bar to share with them. How did it happen? The feeling of helplessness rose through his chest, and he felt shame as he looked at the two children in front of him. Stroking the cheek of the littlest one, he said, “It’s going to be alright.” He didn’t believe his own words. What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t social service, yet it was his call. This wasn’t crime fighting, but it was still a crime. Fixing this would be better than hauling in drunks. As he sat in the car writing the details in his incident book, he shook his head. How much needed to change. It couldn’t happen all at once, but it needed to change.
“Are you sure you love me?” Propped up with four pillows behind her on the bed, Roxy was looking at her organic chemistry textbook, which was open on her lap. Her red flannel nightshirt was open at the neck, where she wore the small silver locket Steve had given her for Christmas. “I’m such a bitch sometimes.”
Steve put Mr. Sammler’s Planet down on the desk and smiled at her. He should be asking that question. He had fallen in love with her so fast and completely—it wasn’t anything he had been looking for or expecting when she first walked into the apartment. Now, every day, he couldn’t wait to come home and be with her. He crossed the room so he could lie across their double bed and prop himself on his elbow, watching her blow stray hairs from her eyes.
“I don’t think so.”
“Yes, I am. It’s my own, silly, immature emotions.” She looked up at him. “I’m afraid that you don’t love me, but I know that’s a projection of me mistrusting my own emotions.”
“Well maybe a little, sometimes.”
She landed a kick to his side before he could react. “That’s not the right answer. You have to tell me you love me, totally and completely.”
“I’m madly, totally in love with you,” he said, knowing that his words were not really strong enough to express what he was feeling.
“I’m afraid, I guess, because I wasn’t sure what I’m feeling is really love in the fullest sense.” She closed the book and fell on the bed next to him, her hair splayed in a fan on the blue blanket. “But it is. I know in my heart it is.”
He leaned over her, bringing his face so close that he could feel her breath as she spoke. “Even when I point out our imperfections or express my disappointment . . .” He gently stroked her forehead and her hair, inhaling and feeling his blood rising. He was afraid of how deeply he was committed to her, but the fear was one of uncertainty, of being lost in the dense forest of love, not knowing which direction was right but moving forward, more deeply every day.
“I have never felt this way about anyone and won’t ever feel this way again. Is that what love is about?” He straightened his arms as he straddled her hips, wa
iting, anticipating, participating.
“Oh, Steve, I know I’m insecure, but I know I won’t feel that way tomorrow because those emotions interfere with my love for you, and that love will overwhelm those fears.” She stopped and looked at him, bringing his hands to her lips. “I’ve never had such confidence in my emotions as I do in my love for you. Our love is different. It will go on for a long, long time.” She reached up, opening her lips into a deep French kiss. Pulling him down, she coiled herself around him, entangling his body.
“Come to bed,” she whispered.
He was here with her. They should get married. He was making enough to support them both. They could get an apartment together. Her warm touch pulled him back to her. Yes, they should. He would talk to her about it tomorrow. It would be great.
The fraternity house of Lambda Chi Alpha was inside the quad, immediately to the left of the arch. Fraternities were more of a housing choice rather than a way of life since the university could eliminate them with the stroke of a pen. The brick buildings on the quad were solid, traditional, and unexciting. They were indistinguishable from each other except for the Greek letters above the door that the administration was quick to remind the brothers could disappear with the ease of a screwdriver.
Bill and other players were drinking Narragansett beer on the raised porch at the entrance. A local band was playing the Rolling Stones’ “Honky Tonk Women” in the background. The aluminum garbage can was full of purple passion—some vodka and other liquor mixed with fruit juice and Kool-Aid.
Steve was feeling out of place in the quad, where he had spent so much time over the last five years. A brother nodded to him, trying to remember who he was. Steve’s short hair and clean-shaven face announced him as an alien.
Roxy was a little lit, happy to be away from the books. She was wearing a short denim skirt and a loose print top. Her hair was held back with a beaded leather band. “Let’s dance. You can figure the details of our future tomorrow.”
The band was a local one from Attleboro. The lead singer was doing a pretty good Jagger, but he didn’t have the moves and no one cared. They played “Brown Sugar,” “Wild Horses,” and “Jumping Jack Flash,” and the room full of college kids worked up a sweat. Couches and tables were stacked against the wall to create the dance floor. As Steve danced, he watched Roxy swing her hips, arms, and shoulders to the music, uninhibited and relaxed. She was free, beautiful, and he was all hers. He missed the freedom of college and freedom from anxiety. Every day before he worked, he tensed not because of the street but because it was working on his mind. He had to do something, maybe just admit he wasn’t making a difference and move on. Law school was still on the table. As he moved his body closer to hers, bringing his hips to hers, touching her body as they twirled, he felt himself unwind. Just be with her, he told himself.
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