“Hand me the money” I said, “Or forget it.” Junior stood behind me trying to look menacing. The hippie was either fucking with us or just very stoned. One of his friends grabbed the money and handed it up to me. “Ignore him, man. He’s out of it. How’s your shit?”
Junior being friendly for the moment answered him. “It’s one-third better than anything in the park, trust me.” The hippie smiled and nodded, scratching at himself. “Cool. I like that, one-third, hey”
We spent the next hour moving from group to group and sold everything except for the pot we were saving for after the prom. We made two hundred dollars and told anyone that asked that we were from Mott Street and would be back in a couple of days with more stuff. Mott Street was in Little Italy. After mentioning it enough, we even thought about driving down there for some pizza but decided it was too dangerous.
Some pretty rough kids hung out down there and they’d know just by looking at us that we didn’t belong there. That fact alone was enough to cause trouble. Instead we drove through the side streets of the village and parked up on Sixth Avenue. We got some pizza there and afterwards, sat with some Italian ice and watched the black kids play basketball in the park on West 4th Street. While we were sitting there, some tourists stopped and asked us where Avenue of the Americas was. We just giggled stupidly, shrugging our shoulders like idiots. Junior’s lips were blue from the ice and he pursed them and made a kissy-face. The tourists hurried away from what must be the oldest of New York jokes. Avenue of the Americas…
“Can’t you ever be nice?” I asked.
Back in the car, we divided the money up, putting aside forty dollars to buy another ounce of pot. We stopped in Brooklyn and bought a cheap cooler and filled it with ice and beer and some wine for the girls. Then we went to Junior’s uncle’s flower shop to get two corsages. Mr. Bianci, Junior’s uncle wouldn’t take our money and asked Junior what happened to his face, which, by this time, was mostly healed.
“I feel off my bike, or something,” he said, not really invested in the lie.
“My ass, you fell off your bike.” his uncle replied, followed by something in Italian that I didn’t understand. When he looked at me, I just looked at the floor. “You two better watch your step. These people are no good.”
“What people? What are you talking about? I fell of my bike. Jesus, Joe. Listen, we got to go. The prom is tonight.”
“You boys, have some fun then.” With that, he grabbed his balls and said something in Italian and laughed. Junior just shook his head.
When we were outside Junior said, “Fucking guy has no brains left. All those years with the flowers, or something.”
“I always liked him. When my grandmother died, he brought over a big thing of flowers to the funeral home. Didn’t charge us either.”
“Don’t you see, that’s just for the business, he’s always working an angle. Always thinking about the next dollar he’s getting. It’s all a waste of time if you ask me. Standing there all day, talking to the old ladies about the old country. How this was better and that was better. Jesus, they all might as well go back there. Me, I’m staying here forever. Right here in Brooklyn. What about you? What are you going to do?”
“All I know is I’m going to the prom tonight. And afterwards, and probably before, I’ll be smoking pot and drinking beer. And then, it’s off to the motel in Sheepshead Bay with the girls.”
“Can Erica stay out all night tonight or do you have to bring her home?” Junior asked.
“No, she lied to her parents, as usual. Told them she’s staying at Nancy’s house. Nancy told her parents that she’s staying at Erica’s. They trust the girls and never check.”
Erica was my girlfriend, at least most of the time. Often she was mad at me and pretended she wasn’t. She hated Junior and the rest of my friends, said they were lowlifes. I’d argue their case as best I could and she’d sit there, arms folded across her chest, and shake her head. “They’ll end up getting you in trouble. You watch. You’ll end up in jail. And then we’re finished. My parents hate you as it is.”
‘They hate me because I’m Italian. That’s why they hate me. Nothing else.”
Erica sort of smiled. She knew I was right. Her being Jewish meant that her parents expected her to go out with a Jewish kid.
“Well maybe that’s true.” Erica conceded, “But my mother knows Mrs. Nussbaum, the assistant principal at school. She knows you’re not doing well and causing trouble.”
“Trouble? What are you talking about? So, I cut a few classes to go to the bar.”
“She knows you guys run the school, you and your friends. She knows about the fights, the drugs you guys sell. Stuff like that. They’re not stupid.”
“Drugs?” I’d say. “Its just pot. Everyone smokes, even you. And if they know why don’t the security guards arrest us, or something? And besides, Mrs. Nussbaum might be giving me a break, we’ll see.”
Actually, we had a pretty good racket going at school. And the security guards would never arrest us because we kicked money and pot back up to them. They were blind when it came to what we were doing. Never mind that they were usually stoned and spent the day ogling the girls and sitting out in the courtyard smoking cigarettes.
Anyway, that’s the kind of stuff that we’d fight about. I suppose she was right but I was right too. I mean, what other friends did I have? What could I do? Tell Junior I couldn’t hang out with him anymore because he was heading for trouble. “Fuck yeah.” he’d say. ”And the more the better.”
I though I could walk on both sides of the street, play each side against the other. I knew I was different than Junior but I wasn’t exactly like Erica either. Basically, I did my best to ignore the situation. But what Erica said made me more careful and I tried to avoid the crazier stuff that sometimes went on in the neighborhood, most of the time, anyway.
Junior dropped me off outside of my building and told me he’d be back in an hour. The hallway smelled like piss but once I was inside the smell changed. It was dinnertime and the building stunk like a restaurant kitchen. It always made me dizzy, onions, garlic and meat, baking, broiling and sizzling; everything wafting in the air together. It always turned my stomach. Every apartment building in Brooklyn was the same. There was no escaping it, especially at dinnertime. On the way up the stairs, I passed Mrs. Numbers. I didn’t know her real name but that’s what everyone called her because of the numbers tattooed on her hand. She never smiled or nothing and never said much at all but I always liked her anyway.
She was heading up to the third floor and was pulling a shopping cart behind her. I took it from her and carried it up to the landing. She nodded, or at least I imagined she did and I nodded back before continued up to the fifth floor.
The door to my apartment was painted black. In fact, I bet it was painted black a hundred straight times, over and over again. Every few years, they’d come and repaint all the doors. The peepholes were almost level with the paint, like they were floating in some black ocean. Inside, Rainie had my suit on a hanger and was holding it up against herself.
“What do you think?” She asked pleased with herself. Two ties were placed across each shoulder of the suit jacket.
“Red or black. Personally, I think the red will go better with the blue shirt.
My mother just sat and watched television, ignoring us. She has pretty much been that way since they locked up my father. It was like she wasn’t there. Not that she didn’t care, or something. It was just that she was quiet, real quiet.
“What do you think, Ma?” I said. “The prom is tonight. I’m going with Erica. We’re all going to the city, Tavern on the Green, Central Park, Junior is driving us.” I guess I was running on but I was excited. I knew when to stop too. My mother smiled but it was more of a grimace. The lines in her face all converged around her eyes like they had an appointment to meet there at a certain time. “Well eat something before you go out, then.”
“I made baked ziti.” Rain
ie offered. “Like you like it.”
I knew that if I could just get into my room, my mother wouldn’t be able to suck me down deep to wherever she was and it was true. Even five steps away from her things were better. I tossed Rainie a fat envelope filled with pot and a twenty-dollar bill.
“Thanks for doing my clothes tonight. I’m not coming home until the morning. Tell Ma I’m over at Junior’s or something. Not that she’ll miss me or anything.” Rainie made a noise and wiggled her hips. “Oh, Mr. Romance with a big date tonight, huh.” I thought about saying something crude but remembered she was my sister. “Hey, I like that. Mr. Romance. Mr. Romance.” She was dancing around.
The shower was filled with Rainie’s things, shampoo and conditioner, all kinds of soaps and scrubby things. I pushed them all aside and turned the water on. I waited until it was hot before I got in. Afterwards, I stood in front of the mirror and all things being equal, I liked what I saw. Not that I was as handsome as an actor, or nothing. But it would do in a pinch. I wrapped a towel around my waist and went to my room.
I thought about smoking a joint out the window but decided to wait. Instead I put some music on and got dressed. Being dressed up felt both good and bad. I liked not being aware of my clothes, you know, like you didn’t feel them or anything. The suit was different -- you felt it. I played a lot of football and knew that even with all that equipment on you got used to it. At first, you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to move, forget running. Anyway, I buttoned up by shirt and threaded the tie under my collar and went to Rainie so that she could tie it for me. I never figured out the knot you needed. Was it over and under or under and up? Forget it.
“Rainie, Tie my tie, would you?”
“Come here, Mr. Romance. I’ll do it.” While she was fixing the tie she asked me how we were getting to the city. “Tavern on the Green, fancy, huh.”
“Junior’s driving. We’ll pick up the girls first. He has his cousin’s car, or something.”
“Cousin’s car my ass.” She smiled. “He’s got more cousins lending him cars than those Kennedy’s got kids.”
“So, what am I supposed to do, look at the registration or something? Make sure it’s really his cousin’s.” She gave me a dirty look and pulled the tie tight around my neck.
“Have fun but be careful. You know how the city is, O.k.”
“I will. Don’t worry. We’re going to come back to Brooklyn to party, anyway. Maybe, stop at Max’s for a drink. We’ll see.”
“Why don’t you go to a nice bar? That place is such a dump. Take the girls somewhere nice for a change. You know, it’s the prom.”
“Jimmy O’Leary’s brother is playing there tonight, you know with that guy who dresses like a woman sometimes. Wayne County.”
“You mean Jane County?”
“Yeah, both. O’Leary’s brother plays guitar in his band.”
“O’Leary’s brother looks like a girl, too. With that hair.”
“You sound like Ma. Stop being so critical of everything. What? Everyone is supposed to look the same? Dress like everyone else? Who cares, Rainie. You shouldn’t.”
“Guys should have short hair. It looks neater. Even yours is too long. I like short hair, is all. Is that a crime?”
“I’m just saying.”
Rainie smoothed the shoulders of my jacket and I waited for her to get the last word in, like she always does. “I’m just saying, too.”
“You’re always saying…”
On the way out I reached down and kissed my Mother on the head. Her hair was matted and smelled like smoke. “I love you, Ma. I’m going to the city for the prom. I’ll be back late, so don’t wait up.” She stared up at me with this strange look on her face and didn’t say anything. Just outside the door, I wiped my lips off with my hand.
Downstairs, Junior was sitting on the hood of the car drinking a beer. “Why didn’t you ring the bell?
“I’m having a drink waiting for you.” He was wearing a tux with a sash across the top of his pants and his shoes were two-toned patent leather. “So?”
“So?”
“So, how do I look? Not bad, huh?”
I had to laugh. “You look like a fucking waiter.” What’s that place in Bay Ridge? You know, the one down by the bridge where all the old guys look like undertakers. You know, and none of them can speak English.”
“Hey, it took me two hours to get ready and you’re already giving me shit.” Junior gunned the rest of the beer down and popped the can into the sewer by the curb. I noticed that he had been smoking again. His eyes were red and beady looking. “You get high?”
“Fuck, yeah. Why not? This is the biggest night of our high school careers, isn’t it? You want a beer?” He asked while getting in the car.”
“No, I’ll wait until after we pick up Erica. I don’t want her parents smelling beer on my breath. High school careers! What are you talking about?”
“Well, its not like I’m graduating, or nothing, right? So, this is the big night. I’m not even sure I’ll go back in the fall. What’s the point, I’m already so far behind. And never mind the other stuff. Mr. Classic says I’ve already got one foot in jail as it is.”
Mr. Classic was our high school’s principal. We called him Mr. Classic because he was a classic asshole. “Well, you could try, right? I don’t want to go if you’re not going.” It was one of those things that you say and you think you mean but even while I was saying it I knew it wasn’t true. I liked school. Or liked it enough. Maybe, I didn’t like it for the right reasons but I liked the attention. I mean, with my mother, and all… I wasn’t getting much encouragement, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Junior kept talking.
“Besides, with my connections, I’ll be a made guy before I’m thirty, I’m cut out for it, you know what I mean? I’ll get in a crew and work my way up. I already know the main guys and I’ve already done some things for them. Big Mike likes me, I can tell and that’s half the battle. I’m from the neighborhood, so something like that might work.” He was serious and his face showed it. Even though he was high, I could see his brain moving through the fog.
“There’s other things, Junior. Even if you quit school, you could still get a job. Get something, make a little money, I mean, a lot of those guys end up in the trucks of cars with a bullet in their head.”
“A little money is right. What like my uncle, a flower shop, or something? That’s bullshit. Trust me. I’m not spending the rest of my life standing around talking to old ladies. I’ll take a bullet instead.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.” What it had to be like, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know myself. “Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t know. What do I look like anyway? But something, maybe, something in the city.” I wasn’t being helpful, and I knew it. I spent so much time thinking about what I would do that other people’s problems seemed too chaotic to think about, even Junior’s.
“Let’s just forget it for now. It’s the prom, right? In a few hours, we’ll be naked with the girls. What am I worried about anyway? Stupid.” A car beeped at us and Junior stuck his middle finger out the window followed by his head and a loud curse. The car beeped again and Junior slammed on the brakes and pushed open the door on his side. I looked in the mirror but couldn’t see who was in the car behind us, so I got out too, just in case. Junior was laughing. Turns out it was some kids we knew from school and they were heading to the prom too.
“It was fucking Castallano.” Junior said. “What an asshole.”
“Why was he beeping at us?”
“Fuck knows.”
Anyway, that changed the subject and I was relieved because thinking about Junior’s fate was exactly like thinking of mine, not much difference, really. And by now, we were just a few blocks from Erica’s house and I knew that this was a conversation that she broke my balls about all the time. “I wished the radio worked. It would be nice to have some music while we drove.”
Brooklyn 1975 Page 2