A Matter of Love in da Bronx

by Paul Argentini

  --Weezy, don't be late tonight. I don't like to stand alone at night. You know...?

  --Always plenty of people around Eden Farms...You'll be okay.

  --That's not the point, and you know it. A woman, waiting, alone. It looks bad. No, I really didn't want the hamburger. That Goldberg upsets me so much...I wish I could quit...

  --Forget him. He's a pig. Take my portfolio for me so I don't have to drag it around? Doesn't really add much to a date. If you've got a couple drawings to spare stick them on top with my name on them so I can show them to my old lady as work I did in class tonight. Really a brainstorm of you to say I enrolled in the Fashion Institute with you. Perfect excuse three nights a week. They don't know, my folks, old country clods what I'm really doing. They think it's America's dream come true for me.

  --Did you hear what I said? Don't be late! Damn! Already smoked all my cigarettes for the day.

  --Here. Take mine. Really. What you got for cigarettes I got for something else. Besides, I'll make my date buy me a pack. And I ate your burger. I promise, ten o'clock, Cinderella, right on the dot, usual place. You going to walk down to school? The rain's let up?

  --I'll just finish my coffee... You go on.

  --Later! Going.

  --Weezy? Take care! To the wind. Gone, she was. Tossing her head like that, does it mean she'll trust to luck? Take her chances? Who cares? No, she won't walk to school tonight. Sick of the place after all these years. Teacher's pet. Help with the new students, with the same new problems, teaching the same old stuff on the same old merry-go-around and around. Sought as a relief for life's tedium all too soon it, too, melded into life's tedium. Like the cup's dregs of coffee. Outside, in an open doorway, a fine mist sheeting phantasmagorian smorgasbord of people, afoot, acar, abus, ataxi, atruck, abike, amuck. One of Weezy's cigarettes. When there are no others, this is the passion of life. Portfolios on the tile, leaning against the clammy wall, a match brings life to the subalternate phallicism. Tick insuck. To prime for the allimportant big firstdrag. Then, go. Incoming. Deep. Full glow to the tip. Rasping scratch down the throat. Satisfying, tasteful lungfill. Outgo. Thick, foggy exudation factitiously effecting a bombburst. Incognito? No. Better. Unseen. Mary denied herself the extravagance of consuming the whole and entire cigarette in one drag. She would love to live as she smoked. Some slight twirling of the senses that became rescued by her safeplace, the shore. This was where her soul was born, in a softshell clam a rod's length from high tide where life's improbabilities crashed and thundered harmlessly about. Where, she knew, her spirit would forever sail on rising currents as timeless as shrieks of soaring, skyfilled seagulls in harmony with the waving saw-grass on the evermoving sandunes in springtime. Which, indubitably meant that between that and her present postulation something had gone awry. Maybe. Maybe that is as was to be! Moot point. Who wants to be right from the grave? Per dictum she should be moving down toward Seventh and Twenty-seventh. But, per Mary, that would be diametric. Uptown. Near home. Eden Farms. Skip classes. Again. Meet her Friend-who-loves-fucking Louisa. But! Be ready for Lily Dolorosso's ponderous inquisition: --So what did you learn new tonight? Forget the grammatical reduplication, if you know what I mean. Sure, Ma. I learned tonight you don't try to take a big-broad's ass without an extra-long dick. Oh! Yes! The teacher was quite pleased with my answer, better still with the demonstration that followed and we put it all down in charcoal and pastels on newsprint in less than twenty-seconds per. Didn't I go well, Ma? Now you want to brush my hair and tell me all about woman's burden riding the cotton burro to be careful yet of sitting on a boy's lap without putting at least a NYTimes in between us so his rising phenomenon won't injab the babymakingstickystuff up my cunt. Good! Mamma! You did well! Now, forget all that and tell me where I can get laid? You see, Mamma, it's one thing to be lustful, another to be listlessly lustful. Not going after the satisfaction of the desire for one reason or another. The validity immaterial. When did I see my first wondrous penis? What grade was it? No matter, naughty little boy beside me pulling his teenie pecker out to show it to me and raising his eyebrows applauding himself. Little runt. My brother, Joe, doesn't count; he was moved out of my bedroom into the living room pretty quick. What became traumatic were the years in between the time I found out what was involved in the sex act. When girltalk came to sex, I heard hard-on, erection, boner, and such; but it was a long time before I understood really the mechanics involving the transformation of a limp penis into a penetrating tool. In fact, I was dying to see one do its thing. I wanted to feel one, I still do. Torn between excessive curiosity, and abnormal shyness, my self-education took strange turns. First, the fig-leaf on all those gorgeous statues of fantastic men-bodies told me the mystery was worth uncovering. Where museums and art books failed, so did marriage and medical books. The few flashers I saw gave down-grading performances. I knew I was on the trail when I almost saw an erect penis in Bronx Park, but the guy was too far away, plus the fact that I knew immediately exactly what he was doing. The zoo gave me plenty to look at until my brother dragged me away from the monkey cage where it must've been the season because quite a few of them were there joyfully whacking away at their bright red pencil-thick penees. Then, Hurrah! As a junior in high school a chance visit to a friend's house. She wasn't too bright, not anyone I'd want to spend two seconds with, really, a boring drag. But, she shows me her father's supposedly hidden fuck books. Dozens of them! A library! Pictures. Descriptions. She and I are suddenly inseparable; I had to have my fill on every aspect of sex I could get. Her parents were ecstatic she had me as a friend, the same as they would be with anyone who didn't mouthbreathe and drool. They didn't know it, but all summer long I was drooling, and dribbling, but not from my mouth. When the family moved away, I discovered porno films, department of continuing adult education. Wow! What an exciting activity to watch. All of this book larnin' didn't really fill the whole bill, so by the time I was graduating high school I was still asking the Purple Passioned Ladies what "it" was like. I almost seriously considered their advice: Words won't do it, Honey, but if you gotta know, and you need an excuse, go to the prom, pretend you're drunk and get yourself laid. It just so happened I wasn't that popular, and wasn't asked to the prom. I kept the excuse handy, but--never found anyone I thought I'd like to use it with. Love? Is that what you asked me? Love? That's some emotional thing; good, like puppy love, and teacher love, and boy-jock love, and move star Robert Redford love; Oh! Yes! That can capture my full concentration. And so, too, does the feeling that fills my groin as I watch a four-foot long erect penis slip into a four-foot high hairy, pinky vagina in an Art Film movie house in Eden Farms in the Bronx. My attempt to not seem to be a woman is to wear a cloche pulled down hard, my raincoat collar up. I don't dare look yet, but I can feel the eyes of someone sitting in the exact same row at the far end. See him? Cap. Raincoat. Hunkering down deep in his seat. Almost trying to be invisible. Like me.

  CHAPTER 3

  SAM PUSHED OUT INTO the night from the deserted lobby to find his enpummeled senses startled smartly by warm puffs smelling of raindrying cement sidewalk; subnormal silence of semi-deserted street; thin tremulous sails of mist diffusing the assault to his eyes from the myriad of colored lights and their reflection from black, patent leather mirrors of wet across the expanse of Eden Farms. Ah! Waft of springtime. Friendly evening. He searched out the long-anticipated cigar, moving to one side of the entrance to strip away the clear wrapper, then, resting his shoulder against the bricks of the theatre to make a shield, charred the end of it with a wooden kitchen match.

  Weary. More than somewhat weary, for some reason. Just the melt of the day. And getting older. Damn porno films make me so depressed. I don't know really why I let myself in for that shit. Stayed in longer than I really wanted to, guess there's a headache trying to work its way through my brain. Alleged brain, that is. How ugly those people make it seem. How without shame they display those intimate parts of their body, and expose them to a prevaricating u
se doubly ungratifying to doer and viewer. I could never do that. Not for a million bucks. Me? On camera have some chick stick her finger up my asshole? Fudgepacker. Worse than barnyard doings. No wonder there wasn't a tweak of a hard-on in my pants. Shit! Was thinking I'd like a beer, to celebrate. Just doesn't make it with me tonight. Can't celebrate and think of Sol. If I'd known. Yeah? What? Mountain of Man, he is. No. No beer. No bar. Maybe Ma's waiting for me. Give her a chance to make up for not remembering this morning. I'll make it an easy walk home--enjoy the smoke. Nice, this night, with the rain gone; calm, peaceful things afloat. Decided.

  In Mary's mind, fulgurous thoughts crackled. Curse of a damn cheap wristwatch. Can't trust it at all, ever. Is it right? Is it wrong? Time to go? Be too early? Whatever, I can't sit any longer in this putrid place, worse than being taken for a whore. Used up air gives me a headache. What if I'm recognized? I need a cigarette, didn't really know until this second how badly I want one. Oh! Guy at the other end of the row is gone. Don't blame him. Do I have everything? Portfolios, purse, umbrella? Wonder if it's raining out? Or what? Quick walk across Eden Farms, and you'd better be on time, Weezy! Jesus! How I hate to stand alone out there at night. Not that going home is any big thrill. Tomorrow's Thursday, another workday. If I dared take the time off I'd go look for another job, but Pa would kill me if I lost any pay no matter what. Cigarette, cigarette, cigarette. Head turned down. Out the door. Fast. Hope no one sees me; knows it's me. What if Ma knew I went to see movies like this? Wouldn't it be funny if I met her in here one time! Strange feelings. Kidguilt. Kidshame. Kidjuke. Unlit cigarette. Stop down the street a bit to light it. Fish for the matches...

  As Sam struck another match concentrating on cupping it from the draft and putting it to the end of the cigar, he started off from his station by the wall. Big first drag puff of smoke simultaneous with a WHAM! Collision. Jolting. He felt his body dig in hard, a flush body check. Soft flesh gave way, then carom off. Stocksurprised! What the hell...? He looked up, electrified by a squall of large paper sheets that made him ignore for a few seconds the hot cigar ash branding his palm. The fuck happened? Smacked right into a woman! Look at those drawings flying all over the place!

  --Didn't see...!

  --Klutz!

  I coulda killed her! I coulda sent her flying out in the street! Jesus I didn't expect that! Didn't look! Now take a look at those papers! Yeow! My hand! Burn!

  --Are you okay? God! I didn't see him! The drawings! Did he ever slam into me! I don't think on purpose. He didn't see me, either. Two ships crashing together in the night. I think he was trying to light a cigar. Christ! Tonight of all nights when I've got two portfolios! How the heck do I get them dry and cleaned? I think he broke my arm.

  --I'm sorry! There you go, Mr. Klutz. How's this for a different day? Look at all those drawings. Fancy gowns and dresses. She must be an artist of some kind. Hope they're not ruined. Here! Let me get them for you...

  --Go away! Sorry's a sorority! Don't attract attention. What the hell. Just because I'm in front of a porno house it doesn't mean I came out of it! I could be walking by and got tackled! Lucky. Street's near undeserted. Almost. What excuse would I have for being here? Rotten luck!

  Sam and Mary grabbed the same drawing from the sidewalk at the same time. Instantaneously and simultaneously their eyes travelled from their own hand, across the moist charcoal lines, to the other's hand, up the sleeve, past the chin. Eyes into eyes. They each saw the unseen. And unmitigated comprehensible emotional conjunction.

  Between them.

  Passed in the mite of a moment.

  But, in that tick, frozen immutable. And fearsome. Too splendiferous. Too unexpected. Too desired for too long. Heartfelt fever. And unidentified for the moment by the mask of disbelief. Each dwelling on the speculation later that that was it! Never saw something that made me feel so different! That dug down and rooted around in the marrow of my bones. A look. That's all it was. Just a look! But what I saw! A disturbance. A churning. An upheaval unbeknownst to me before in my world! And marvels of marvels! It was reciprocal! A bounce-back! A mirror image. A ramet. A feeling of what I was feeling. A knowing. An understanding. Me! Looking into a hidden part of me! I love you! I love you, Stranger! I might never know another thing in my whole life, but I know that. Indubitably. And, yet, in the madness of the moment this glorious discovery shunted aside to be left for insomniacal near-pathological battue.

  Mary tugged at the drawing.

  Sam tugged back.

  She tugged the harder.

  He held on. Not just to the paper. In desperation.

  --Look! Go away, will you! Her eyes focused on the paper between them, defensively. Frightening, it was, to consider the ramifications of staring into those eyes again. Especially after all those years of searching. The drawing came apart in their hands, each holding a portion.

  --Oh! Jesus!

  --Must you! Get your hands off my work! Snatch! From his to hers. Why so hot? You can do thousands of those! Glad to be rid of it! Something else is getting to you.

  --Let me help. Give me another chance.

  --What have you got in mind? A compound fracture? More drawings rescued, filling her hands. No! No! Get out of here! Funny little hat. So he was in the theatre! At the end of my row! You can bet he's acting out of the end of his erection! Is that what's sending to me these strange sensations?

  --I can take care of it! I can take care of all the wet drawings! Only four or five really wet ones out near the curb. What we do is go right down there to the laundromat and put them in the dryer. Ten minutes and they'll be as good as new! I know it's open. I work right down the street in Sol's upholstery shop. Everybody knows Sol. Funny hat she has on. Makes her look like a pushcart vendor.

  --Laundromat! With my drawings? I'd call a cop if I wanted to attract attention! Look! Would you just go away! I can take care of my own things!

  --I just want to help. I caused it. It's my accident. You can't take that away from me.

  --Look, Sol, you want credit for the accident? You got it. Your accident. Right? Now, if that's what you're into tonight, go for it, but leave me alone!

  Pea’s porridge hot, pea’s porridge cold. Allapodrida. Pastiche. Pasta e faggioli. Something’s wrong! All mixed up. She's going to disappear, Poofffff! Then what do you do? Get her name! Get her name! Or she's going to walk out of your life forever and you'll die! Die! An inch at a time each time you remember you forgot to get her name. Jesus! You know she's going to turn you down! You know it! Look at her picking up those drawings, trying to hold them all.

  --I'd like to pay you...Don't I recognize her? I know her from someplace! I do! Don't for Christ's sakes say it! What a lousy fucking line even if it's true!

  --No! Sounds like he's been around. Like it's time to own up for services rendered. But, they take the money first, don't they? Wonder if I should pretend I'm a hooker? Would I get a response? Dumby! Aren't you frightened enough? Look, Sol, forget it. I just use these as props.

  --...send you a check?

  --No! Scared! He might take me up on it! Who would ever pass up a chance to get laid? Worse than that, what if he turns me down! Come on, Sol, the drawings don't matter; I've been carrying them around for thirty years at least...

  --What's your name? I know you, really, I do.

  --No, no you don't know me! You can't know me. You'd blackmail me, and make me do all sorts of things if you did. You know I'd do anything to make sure my father doesn't know I come to see these movies... Sol, this isn't my regular work, leave it alone.

  So? Should I proposition her? Bullshit! You're a pussy, too frightened to think of it, really. Do you think if you did she'll reach over and grab my cock, and tell me she lives right around the corner, and we'll go there and have a glass of wine and we'll get undressed and lay on the bed and kiss and feel and suck and touch and fuck? And don't forget to pay her. Classy chick like this has got to take a hundred bucks, at least. Wow! You sure know how to pick them, Sam. He ran
for a drawing near the building, then ran back to her to stack it on the portfolios she held in both hands. Look, can we just chat a bit, maybe take a walk. Just. Just that. Nothing more? Maybe we can get to know each other just a little bit. Who knows? This is something new for me. Is it new for you? How is it for you? It's good for me. Just a word! One word!