“Hey”, Junior leaned over the seat. “Your money is no good today, anyway. Everything is on me. You want a steak, anything.”
My father didn’t say anything. I mean he started to say something but than sort of just clammed up. I spotted a parking space and eased the little car into it. My father had to climb out on the driver’s side of the car because lots of trash was piled up on the passenger side. “This can’t be healthy.” He said. “Prison is cleaner.”
“Blame Abe Beame, that little douche bag.” Junior said. “That fucking midget. Tried to screw the garbage men, and this is what we get.”
“City has no money.” My father said. “That isn’t his fault.”
“Don’t get me started.” Junior said, already starting. “This fucking city is turning into a shit hole, I’m telling you. They’re laying-off cops, fireman, everyone. Pretty soon we’ll all be burning our own trash in the yard, you know, living like animals. You can’t ride the trains, as it is, you’ll get stabbed, or worse. They’re even closing the libraries.”
I laughed. “When’s the last time you’ve been to a library?”
“I’m just saying. Everything is fucked up. And this fucking midget is walking around complaining that Washington is the problem. Like, they aren’t giving us the money we need. Guy can’t even get the trash picked up.”
We were up on Twenty-First St., up by Ninth Ave. “There’s a Blarney Stone.” I said. “A cold one?”
It was dark in the bar and it was crowded even though it was still early. Guys in there took one look at us and make room at the bar without making eye contact. I look at Junior and I see why; without helping it they look like trouble. Like I said, I’m wearing shorts, so I must look like trouble on vacation. Junior points to the big beer glasses on the counter behind the bar and says “Three cold ones.”
The bartender wipes the bar in front of us and says. “Certainly, gentlemen.” Only it sounds like “Fuck off.” Guy like this, in a place like this, and he’s acting like he’s pulling drinks at the Waldorf, or something. Maybe I was just being sensitive because Junior and my father didn’t seem to notice anything.
Junior put a twenty on the bar. “Keep your money in your pockets, like I said, this is on me.”
“Would you look at this, just get out of prison and already I’m being wined and dined. And by a couple of kids.”
“No disrespect, but we’re not kids anymore. I mean we’re out there earning.” Junior says.
My father doesn’t answer him but takes the beer glass in font of him by the handle and downs it in one gulp. Then, he lights a cigarette.
“I didn’t know you smoked.” I said, “Pick that up inside?”
My father shook his head. “Nah, I smoked before that. What, you don’t remember?”
“Nope.” I said, and lit one of my own.
“Oh, you smoke now?” My father said.
“Yeah, he’s Smokey the Bear.” Junior said.
“What am I going to say?” My father said, dragging on his cigarette.
“Nothing.” I said. My father stared at me, started to say something but thought better of it. I could tell he was just listening, trying to discover the lay of the land, sort of see where he stood, and where we stood. You know, what we were up to.
“You two throw around a lot of money, what’s that about? You still have paper routes?” He said.
“We got a couple of things going on. You know how it is. We’re not collecting welfare like a lot of lazy cock-suckers, that’s for sure.” Some guy turned and looked at Junior but Junior looked right through him and he disappeared back behind his newspaper.
“Well, I hope you’re keeping your noses clean, that place isn’t any picnic, I’m telling you. They’ll sort your shit out pretty quickly up there.”
“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” Junior said.
I laughed. “Don’t listen to him, he’s whacked in the head. We’re doing all right, don’t worry about us.”
“You still playing football?” He asked.
“Yeah, last I checked. Senior year is coming up. We should make another run at the City Championship.” I said.
“Yeah, I read all that in the fall. Your pretty good.” He said. “A chip off the old block, huh.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I said.
Junior was waving his arms. “He’s the best white running back in the city, bare none.” He said. “Trust me on that one. I go to all the games.” I never thought of it like that but Junior was right. When the Daily News put my picture in the paper, I was the only white kid.
“You like the game?” My father asked.
I shrugged my shoulders. “Yeah, I guess. I like playing but with practice and everything else, sometimes it’s a pain.”
“My coach used to say you played like you practiced. If you were shitty during the week, you’d be shitty on Saturday.”
“Yeah, they still say the same shit. They must have like one book of sayings that are passed down from coach to coach. You played? You never told me that.”
“Yeah, I was All- City too. On the line, though.”
“Like father, like son.” Junior said. “How cute.” Then he ordered another round of beers. “After these we’ll get some food.”
“What about you Junior, you play sports?” My father asked.
That was the funniest thing I ever heard. Sport is recreation and since Junior only did what he wanted to do, recreation had no point for him. It was like asking a cat to sleep some more, get some extra rest. He didn’t see the point of running around playing a game when you could be running from the cops or some shopkeeper after stealing something.
“Nah, I’m not much for games.” Junior said. “All that running around, getting sweaty. I don’t see the point.” He pointed at me, “Plus, he’s the star, you know what I’m saying. That’s enough for the both of us. I’m better at other things.”
“Like what?” My father asked, after taking a big swallow of beer.
“You know, this and that.” Junior said.
“He eats a lot.” I said. “And the girls like him, mostly because they feel sorry for him.”
Junior swiveled toward us on the barstool and adjusted his lapels before smoothing his suit jacket. “Sorry for this, what are you crazy? I’m the original Italian Stallion. Look at me, will you. You think the girls feel sorry for this? I’m thinking of wearing a wedding ring just so they don’t bother me so much, I’m serious.”
My father looked at me before laughing. I was surprised he could laugh after being in jail so long. He sat there rubbing his eyes and his scar moved up and down over his cheekbone.
“What? What’s so funny?” Junior said.
When my father stopped laughing, I asked him about the scar. I pointed at his face. “What happened?” I asked.
“Some beef inside. That’s all.” He said.
“Yeah, you should have seen the other guy, right?” Junior added. “I bet you fucked him up.”
My father nodded but didn’t say anything. Just a minute ago he looked as happy as you can be but now he looked sad. There was something missing from his eyes, like some kind of light, but maybe it was just dark in the bar.
“Let’s get some pizza. I haven’t had any in a long time.” He said, I think, trying to get as far from jail as possible.
“Nothing in this neighborhood.” Junior said. “We’ll have to go downtown someplace.”
“Well, let’s go then, I’m starved.” My father said.
Outside it was getting hot and the garbage was really starting to stink. I mean it was like an air conditioner blowing the stink in your face. It was nasty. Some black guy came up to us and tried to sell us something. I didn’t understand what he said and before I could say anything Junior had thrown him into a pile of trash.
“What did you do that for?” I asked.
“He was trying to sell us some beat drugs, you know, baking powder, or some shit.” Junior said. “Fuck him.”
&
nbsp; I looked back at the guy and he was getting up and brushing himself off. Junior was right, by the looks of him, he was a scam-artist, so I watched him walk away in the other direction making sure that he wasn’t coming up on us with a blade or something. My father walked along like a guy who had seen everything and couldn’t be bothered to turn around.
Back at the car we sat there deciding if we should roll down the windows or not. Me, I’d rather roast than inhale the stink. “Turn the air conditioner on, will you.” Junior said. “Otherwise we’re going to suffocate in here.”
“We got to get going first, or the car will overheat.” I said.
After a few blocks, the air conditioner kicked in and we were insulated from the smell on the streets. “Where do you want to go?” I asked my father. “You know, to get something to eat.”
“Junior said. “I know this place.”
“You just get out of jail?” I said. “Or what?”
“You guys chose. I’ve been out of circulation for so long I don’t know what’s good anymore.”
“See, I’m just trying to be helpful here.” Junior said. “Don’t get pissy with me.”
“I’ll get however I want. What are you going to do, throw me a pile of trash?”
“You never know.” He said. “But usually I’m polite to old ladies.”
“Fuck you.” I said.
“Fuck you, too. And the horse you rode in on.” Junior said.
“Why don’t the two of you both shut the fuck up for a minute, you’re giving me a headache.” My father said. “A real fucking headache.”
I’ll admit I was starting to feel good. Things were looking up and with all the fucks flying around the car I felt at home. I didn’t really know how to feel about my father being home but so far it seemed pretty normal. Maybe I’d get through it after all. Maybe, I grow up and grow out of it. You know, maybe something decent would happen to me and I’d slip through Brooklyn’s big greasy paws. Not that I had any real ambitions for my life. It wasn’t anything like that. It was something else, like alarm bells ringing that I wanted to escape.
I mean if I had to say it in a nutshell, I just wanted some peace and quiet, which if you didn’t know already, I wasn’t getting riding around with Junior sitting in the back seat.
“Not for nothing, but like, what’s it like in there?” Junior asked my father.
“Not for nothing, that’s exactly what it’s like.” My father answered him. “You mind your business, everything is all right. You mouth off or are a wise guy, then it’s a hard time.”
“Me, if I have to, I’ll do my bid standing on my head.” Junior said.
My father laughed. “Yeah, on your head with some guy’s cock in your ass.”
“What? I can handle myself.” Junior said. “Plus, I’m, you know, connected.”
“Connected to what?” My father asked. “Connected to your mother by her apron strings?”
“Very funny.” Junior said.
“Or what about the connection that runs directly from your ass to your brain?” I said. “That’s a perfect connection, nothing wrong with that.”
“Keep it up and I’ll walk home on you two.” Junior said.
I looked at my father and we laughed. “Yeah, you can say that again.” I said, turning around to poke at Junior.
“But before you leave us, where’s this pizza place? I’m starving.” My father said.
Chapter Twenty
We got back home late in the afternoon. I don’t know what time it was. We dropped Junior off and when I stopped in front of my house to let my father out my mother was standing in front of the building waiting there. She might as well have been Queen Elizabeth, or whoever that is, and I would have been shocked less. I mean for starters, I haven’t seen my mother on the street for years and never mind dressed up like she was going to church or something.
I double-parked and got out of the car and stared at her.
“What are you looking at?” She said, obliviously pleased with herself.
“Nothing.” I said. “I mean…”
My father stood there on the sidewalk and motioned to her. “Come here, you.”
She hesitated for a moment before running to him. She was blowing my mind. He picked her up in a bear hug and twirled her round and round. I could have sworn she was laughing like some kid. “I’m going to park the car.” I said, but they weren’t paying any attention to me so I just drove off looking for a spot.
When I came back they were gone. They must have gone upstairs. I thought about disappearing or taking the car back to Angela but I was curious to see what was going on up there. I raced up the stairs and burst into the apartment to find Rainie and my mother hugging. Both of them were crying and my father was standing there with his hands in his pockets.
“I’m home.” I yelled. “Anyone glad to see me?”
My mother looked up from Rainie’s shoulder. Her eyes were wet and she extended her arm out toward me. “Come here.” She said. “We’re a family again.”
“Oh, really? What were we yesterday?” I said. “Fucking nomads, or something?”
My father pushed me from behind. “Go hug your mother.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The day they shot Junior I woke up feeling like shit. There was a lump in my throat that felt like a hot golf ball that I couldn’t swallow. Beside that, my head hurt and my nose was almost completely stuffed up. So much for my own problems, huh.
Turns out, and I find this all out later, that Junior sold out for Vito and was helping him set up Dom the Clip. I mean, set up Dom the Clip so that Vito could whack him and take over the Motor Service operation. Here I was thinking that Junior was just running some shit. You know, like bringing the wise guys coffee and bagels, stuff like that. Instead, the fuck head is up to his neck in grease ball politics. Looking back on things, you could see that he was being used, being set up himself. Too bad that never occurred to him.
Anyway, like I said, I wake up and I feel like shit and I’m just lying there in a deep fog when my father comes in. “You want to ride into the city with me?” He says. “I’m checking out a few job leads.”
“Oh, I’m sick.” I say. “Feel my head, do I have a fever, or something?”
He reaches down and puts his big hand across my forehead. “I never can tell.” He says. “Let me go get your mother.”
Both of them come back a second later. My mother takes one look at me and announces that I’m sick. She puts a hand on my head, removes it, touches her own forehead, and says. “He’s not burning up or anything but he’s sick.”
And did I mention that this is like the new version of my mother, the dressed up, chatty version, the breaking my balls about getting a real job version. The, and this is the best part, the now I’m cooking all-the-time version. Oh, and I shouldn’t forget the “do I need to talk to your father about you?” version either.
Hey, I’m not complaining, I kind of liked all the attention I was getting. I was beginning to feel a little cared about, if that makes sense. I mean, sometimes it was a pain but I have to admit that since my father had been home things had changed for the better around here. First, my mother has done this complete three-sixty, or one-eighty, or what ever you call it. I mean, she wears clothes now, not just a bathrobe and slippers. I’m not saying that she’s up-to-date fashion wise but she’s dressed every morning. That to me, is something, let me tell you. It’s like waking up to some mom you see on television, wrapped in an apron and cooking breakfast. Now, I get up in the morning just to watch. It’s like a Mets game taking place in my kitchen.
Brooklyn 1975 Page 24