by Luke Loaghan
“Aren’t you concerned about Sam or Juan?” she finally asked. “I did see them staring us down in the cafeteria today. What is Sam’s problem?”
“Sam is kind of obsessed with you.”
“In a really creepy way, so I’ve noticed. Juan and I used to be good friends. I turned him down a few times. He really isn’t my type at all. But he is very possessive, and has told everyone that he’s going to the prom with me this year.”
“Well, I’m not concerned with either of them,” I said.
I would rather forget about Juan and Sam completely. But I wasn’t afraid of them or anyone else. If their jealousy ever led to a fight, if they ever wanted to get violent, I was prepared. But I didn’t think that would happen. Juan was the class president, and a natural born politician, with big aspirations, and likely bound for the Ivy League. But he was a fake, always smiling and shaking hands, and you never really knew what he thought. He was the kind of kid that had a thousand people that he called friend and but no one in particular.
As for Sam, one minute he was my friend and the next he was spreading rumors about me. If we ever got into it, so be it, but I planned on staying out of their way if they stayed out of mine. I wasn’t some kind of great fighter or anything, but I wasn’t the kind to back down either. Juan had an entourage with him at all times. I could see trouble coming from his friends, but not from him directly.
“What if Juan and his friends start something?” Delancey asked.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” I said.
Chapter 11
At the café that weekend, I was no longer fascinated with the details of Christine’s gangster life and stories. Christine’s stories really didn’t seem that interesting.
Christine explained that Eddie was expelled from Stanton. She was angry about his punishment and did not see any harm in Eddie firing a shot in the air.
“I didn’t know you and Eddie were so close,” I said.
“You’re the one that was his roommate on your little senior ski trip. Maybe you are closer to him than you think.”
She appeared different. I could see bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep. It was hard to believe she was just a teenager; she looked much older today.
Mike the manager awoke, and did his routine, drank coffee, ate a muffin, splashed cold water on his face. He walked around, trying to manage the employees who actually did the work, and then realized it was nearly one o’clock. He had overslept at work.
Mike asked about school, and I told him about the events of the ski trip, without mentioning Eddie by name.
“You don’t drink?” Mike asked.
“I did have a taste, one drink, but didn’t like it. It wasn’t tempting because it tasted awful. My father’s side of the family are alcoholics, so I’ve been around drunks my whole life. Sometimes I have a drink with my uncles, and my close group of friends. I am just not accustomed to drinking with everyone from school.”
“Were you tempted to smoke pot?” Mike asked.
“I was not really tempted. I have a cousin that sells pot all over the city and I can’t stand him, and there are people on my block that smoke pot on the corner all hours of the night. I’m really not into smoking anything. Besides the ski trip was not the time or the place,” I said.
“Most kids your age are eager to do things to seem cool, but you seem to have been desensitized to these vices. That’s probably a good thing,” Mike said. “When I was your age, I just wanted to drink and try whatever I could. I didn’t grow up where it was always around me. It was a cool thing to do with my friends. But you have a negative association with drinking and pot, so it’s the uncool thing for you.”
Mike asked if I was tempted to get into the fight. I shook my head no. The truth was I was tired of fighting. Every week of my life there was a fight, from bullies and muggers, kids from school, my father, my brother, etc. I really did not want to fight any more. “The people that like to fight don’t really know anything about fighting,” I said. “It’s a way of survival for me, fighting to defend myself, or fighting not to get robbed. Fighting to get home in once piece. But other people just fight to fight, and that’s not me.”
During my lunch break, I went outside and walked onto the brick-paved esplanade. I leaned over the metal railing with the Hudson River underneath it. I had a sandwich with me, and a cup of coffee. I could see the Jersey City skyline, along with a sign for the Colgate factory. A ferry was bringing people across the river from New Jersey. A building called The Winter Garden was in the back drop, and the lack of sunlight made its glass and steel beam construction seem dim.
In the offices above, people were hard at work making millions, just for the sake of making millions. I wondered if I’d ever be one of these people. Some of them were very wealthy, and had high paying jobs. I was a poor high school student from a poor family. My grandparents had been poor, and so were my great grandparents. We were probably poor before that as well. Adults do not have to deal with the uncertainty about the future that I had at seventeen. Adults may have their own set of problems, but they didn’t have school, college applications, and the prom.
A large sail boat pulled into the North Cove Yacht Harbor, just a few yards from where I was standing. The winds picked up, and I shivered. On board was a family, dressed for winter boating, with designer nautical jackets and shoes. They were blonde, blue eyed, and had perfect skin. There wasn’t a trace of wrinkles on the wife’s face, or bags under her eyes. She stood on the bow, and I watched as the wind whipped around, lashing her hair. They lowered their anchor and tied their boat. They had a daughter, a beautiful teenaged girl, with the most extraordinary blue eyes I had ever seen. The women disembarked, and were heading inside to the shops. They walked right past me, but the daughter looked up and smiled. People in Manhattan don’t usually walk by complete strangers smiling. I guess they were not from the city. She was gorgeous, and she reminded me of Delancey. She didn’t look anything like Delancey, but there was an energy about her that was similar. The daughter was my age, and looked it, unlike Christine.
The father then disembarked, and left the son, a teenager, to tie the boat and lower the sails. The father wore brown leather boat shoes, blue jeans, and a thick white wool turtleneck, like a fisherman’s sweater. The father walked by, the wind blowing through his long salt and pepper colored hair. He was a distinguished looking man, with a jaw line made of steel. The father nodded his head to me and smiled as well. Now I was certain they were not from Manhattan. The son was still on the boat. He finished up anchoring, docking, and tying the boat a few minutes later and walked off the dock to join his family.
“That’s a beautiful boat. How long is it?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if he would answer the question. If he was from Manhattan, he would probably ignore me and keep walking.
“Thanks. It is quite beautiful. It’s my Dad’s new toy, a 42-foot Pearson,” he said. He stopped right in front of me, as if he wanted to have a conversation. This was odd, because people from the city usually keep walking away even when they are talking to you. He had decent manners.
“Is it new?”
“My dad bought it a couple of years ago. Usually we sail around Long Island or up to the Cape, but he wanted to see the World Financial Center this weekend.”
The Cape of what? Maybe he meant Cape Cod. The boy had a strange accent. He pronounced every letter, and spoke softly, and with proper grammar. He sounded confident and smart.
“I can’t believe he let you do everything yourself. You’re just a kid.”
“I’ve been sailing since I was 8 years old. I already have a captain’s license.”
I paused and thought about what to ask next. “How many people can sleep in there?”
“It’s got a master cabin and 2 others, so probably 6 people comfortably.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you that you are a captain?” He said he was going to be eighteen soon. We talked for a few minutes. He w
as from Cold Spring Harbor, and was attending Boston College in the fall. The boy said he was going to major in history, and probably go to law school. Then he left, shaking my hand. I told him I would keep an eye on the boat, and he laughed.
“It doesn’t have a car alarm, so that’s probably a good thing.”
I liked this rich kid. He had good manners, and I could probably learn more from him than I could from my own friends. I had once thought about majoring in history, and up until now figured that people that majored in history became history professors. It didn’t occur to me that you could also become a lawyer. There’s so much that I didn’t know, but I did not have anyone to answer these questions. My father did not know much about college, or careers.
I went back to work, feeling a little refreshed.
Mike said to me that he had an answer.
“What’s the question?” I asked.
“The question you asked me a few weeks ago. What was the difference between me and my roommate – why I got messed up and partied so much, and my roommate didn’t.”
“So what’s the answer?” I asked.
“It wasn’t in his plan,” Mike responded.
“Was it in your plan to party your way out of school?” I asked.
Mike looked at me in silence, appearing to have a revelation unfolding. “You know what, I think that the partying was definitely in the plan, but I didn’t have a plan for anything else. When you don’t have a plan, you go along with the situation and other people’s plans. Circumstances become your plan. My roommate had a plan for success. He was committed to graduating and doing well in school. He had goals for his grades and his college career. He had a plan that he would only party on Fridays and Saturdays. He had a plan to get good internships. He planned for studying, and he planned for success. He also planned to only have a few drinks and never drink too much. And he stuck to his plan. I never went in with a plan. I drank what came my way. I tried pot because it came my way. I tried other drugs, because they came my way. People offered it, and I said yes, because I wasn’t planning on anything else.”
Mike paused, took a gulp of black coffee, and said, “If you don’t have a plan for your life, then someone else will.”
Christine asked if I wanted to go to Eddie’s store. She said Eddie was getting new merchandise. I said, “Sure, I’ll take a look.”
As I was leaving the café, Christine mentioned that Eddie Lo was picking her up and that I could ride with them. Eddie pulled up on Vesey Street. He and Christine got into a full blown argument in Cantonese. I didn’t have to speak Cantonese to know that they were arguing over my presence in the car. I felt uncomfortable.
Christine paused, smiled, and sarcastically said, “Eddie’s really glad you can join us.” Eddie was about to explode in rage.
I suggested that I could come to his store some other day. Eddie said tomorrow would be fine. We parted ways and I headed to lower Broadway by foot. They drove away in his Oldsmobile Cutlass.
I walked several blocks to the South Street Seaport, in an effort to find Delancey a gift.
It was a fifteen minute walk to the Seaport. The Seaport was converted to a shopping mall, with restaurants, and bars, and sometimes I hung out there with the guys from school. It was hard to imagine that this was once the gateway to America from New York by ship. Dutch and English colonists had used this Pier for trade and for shipping. Now it was a tourist attraction and a mall replacing history.
Shadows covered the streets as the sun was sinking fast. One thing I did not like about the Seaport was how the frigid winds picked up as I got closer, ripping through my hair and stinging my ears.
In the main entrance, I heard alarms going off. Security guards were running around like crazed chickens. My first reaction was that there might be a fire. The security guards were running out the west corridor. I followed them and saw a car outside that I recognized instantly. It was Eddie Lo’s car, and Christine was in the driver’s seat. Eddie Lo jumped into the car after dumping an entire rack of clothing in the backseat. I stood peering from a distance, behind a stone column. The car drove off; I wasn’t sure if Christine or Eddie saw me.
The police soon arrived and the security guards described a robbery by Chinese gangsters. I was a little stunned. I knew Eddie Lo was a gangster, but I didn’t realize he and Christine were common thieves. The coolest guy I knew in school was a common criminal. I had a sick feeling in my stomach. A cop told the manager of the store that the goods were likely to end up in Chinatown stores. I had heard enough, and left the South Street Seaport.
The subway ride home was long and lonely. I did not know what direction to take with Christine or Eddie. I certainly wasn’t going to turn them in but I was in danger of placing loyalty in the wrong place. I thought about the Christmas presents I had bought from Eddie’s store.
The next day I did not go to Eddie Lo’s store. I wasn’t sure if Christine or Eddie had seen me. At the café, I rolled my eyes when Mike said Christine had called out sick with the flu.
On Monday, I heard more of Sam’s sexual escapades with his neighbor’s daughter. At this point, he was just gloating about having a sex life.
Sam received a letter from Harvard acknowledging that his application was under review and indicating there would be an interview. We were all sure Sam would be admitted. He had very high grades, a strong family background in medicine, and the rest he was going to exaggerate, elaborate, and fudge.
I wondered if Harvard could uncover Sam’s true personality in a 20 minute interview. The college application process did not require an emotional or psychological evaluation. There was no section for ethical and moral behavior. Colleges only cared about what was on paper. This worked to Sam’s advantage. I wondered if Harvard had any idea about Sam’s short temper, immaturity, or his ability to fabricate letters of recommendation. Did Harvard even care?
In my mind, and perhaps in my imagination, Harvard was a college for the best of the best, the extra special, and the most elite. It was disappointing that someone like Sam was being considered. I expected better from the best college in the nation.
“How’s it going with Delancey?” asked Sam.
“Fine.”
“Are you going to walk her home today?” he asked.
“No. I’ve got work to do on the school paper.” This wasn’t a topic I wanted to discuss with Sam.
“Listen, David, everyone knows that you two are dating. Word has spread like wildfire. Juan is furious. He is keeping a close eye on you.” Sam tried his best to look genuinely concerned, but his insincerity was obvious.
“I’m not worried about Juan or about you.”
Carlos decided to chime in. “Juan is not someone to joke around with. Everyone says he’s a got a temper and even worse. There are rumors that he orders his enemies to get jumped. You don’t even have a posse.”
“Carlos, I don’t need a posse,” I laughed at the notion.
“Neither does Juan, but you ever see him alone? There are always two or three guys around him. How are you going to fight that many guys?” Carlos looked at me as though he was confused.
“I’m not going to fight anyone.”
In the newspaper office, I asked Doreen if she heard back from any colleges. She said she had been accepted to a few schools, but had not heard from Harvard. I asked if she had received a confirmation letter from Harvard. She had not. This was a little odd. She was going to check with her guidance counselor.
“So I heard a rumor that you and Delancey are going out,” she said. I was astonished that the rumor had reached Doreen. “Just be careful…its no secret that Juan is obsessed with Delancey.”
“Thanks for the heads up,” I said smirking
“I’m serious. I know that Delancey is a great girl, and that she’s really pretty and all. But have you ever wondered why she isn’t at some private school in the city? With her family money and she lives much closer to prep schools… but she goes to school in Brooklyn? Juan has put it
out there that only someone looking for death would go out with her.” Doreen crossed her arms, and tilted her head.
“I’m not dating Juan Perez. I am dating Delancey. And what are you trying to say? Maybe she would prefer to go to Stanton.” I kept working, and Doreen came back a few minutes later.
“David, how much do you know about Delancey?” Doreen asked.
“Why? Is there something that you know?” I asked.
“Delancey tends to rebel against her father, just to cope. That’s why she was drunk and high at the ski trip. That’s why she was asked to leave two private schools. Don’t get caught in the middle of their crossfire.”
She had no reason to lie. Doreen went back to working on the paper, and I sat there distracted for the next hour.
When I left school at 5 o’clock, Eddie Lo was outside smiling as he walked up to me. This was the strangest sight, only because Eddie Lo, and Chinese gangsters in general, never smile. He was wearing new clothes, undoubtedly stolen over the weekend.
“Sorry about Saturday, I didn’t know you were coming and had to pick something up,” he said.
“Not a problem. I didn’t want to be a burden. Are you back at Stanton?” I tried to decipher any signals he may give indicating he knew that I witnessed his crime.
“No…still expelled.” There was a moment of awkward silence.
“So are you and Christine…together?” I asked.
“We dated a long time ago, nothing serious…and now we’re just friends. Everyone needs friends, David.” Eddie was wearing sun glasses but was staring at me, trying to read my expression. He needed to find out how much I saw, and how much I knew. It was important that I didn’t give anything away.
“Yeah, things got a little crazy at the ski trip. I appreciate you trying to stop me, but that’s not who I am – I never back down. I’m burnt out from high school, and college was not going to work out for me anyway. I’ve got too many obligations, if you know what I mean. Why don’t you come over to the store today, and I’ll show you the new stuff we just got in over the weekend,” he said with a huge grin. At the park across the street, and the usual Chinese gangsters were watching Eddie and I talk. Gangsters don’t talk to a non-gang member in public. It just wasn’t done. I could feel the weight of his eyes through the sunglasses. He knew I had seen him at the Seaport commit his robbery.