Car Trouble

by Robert Rorke

  She told me the phone company was about to shut off our service. “I heard Mommy telling Daddy that they got the warning notice. First they shut off the outgoing calls. Then they give you a week to pay the bill or they shut off the incoming calls, and then you have to pay a huge security deposit for them to turn it back on.”

  “Great,” I said. “Maybe Daddy wants it that way. Then he can’t bellyache about how much we hog the phone. And Grandpa won’t be able to check up on him on Sunday mornings.”

  It would be just us against him in the house, no outside interference; a grim prospect. “I don’t even know where the nearest pay phone is.”

  “It’s in the gas station on Snyder Avenue,” she said.

  Who was she calling from down there? We were at the school, and I took the front steps two at a time. “Once we go inside, we don’t talk about home.”

  Rehearsal was already under way when we entered the gym. I showed Maureen to a seat in the back and pointed to Gina on the stage, gamely singing the show’s first song, “An English Teacher.”

  “It’ll only take me five minutes to change,” I said, heading into the locker room. My locker was in the back. To get there, I had to pass Larry prancing around in a V-neck T-shirt and boxer shorts decorated with little red diamonds. His pale, fleshy legs were exposed, his dainty feet sheathed in black Ban-Lon socks.

  “What’s up, there?” Larry said. “Look out, he’s got the big costume.”

  “Prepare to eat your heart out.” I undid the combination lock and hung the garment bag inside. The jumpsuit felt great against my naked chest, the fabric shimmering yellow-gold from my shoulders to my ankles. I laughed; Maureen and I had really pulled it off. I couldn’t wait to walk out on stage. Now I would really look like Birdie. I had cut my hair last week, short on the sides, with plenty of stuff to play with on top; Brian said he would probably add gel or hair spray at the end. I tied my black shoes and locked up. When I walked out, I saw Larry had gotten dressed. He was talking to Vinnie Sorrentino and Al Doyle, who were in the chorus, playing Hugo’s friends.

  “Wow,” Larry said, touching the sleeve. He was wearing baggy gray pants with red suspenders over a white shirt, and a blue-and-beige plaid jacket. “Your sister made this? Spiffy.”

  “Let me ask Nicky a question,” Vinnie said. “Who would you rather do, Gina or Mary? I know which one I’d like to fuck, but what about you?”

  He was compact and muscled with nosy, bulbous eyes. He was wearing crisp chinos and a V-necked white cable-knit sweater with navy and maroon trim around the cuffs. He looked like a Sicilian Doublemint twin. When I didn’t answer, he turned to Al. “I bet he doesn’t want either one.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be an asshole, okay? And lower your voice. My sister’s waiting right outside.”

  I kept walking and Larry caught up with me.

  “Hey, Sorrentino, go beat your meat with the chorus,” he said over his shoulder.

  I walked over to where Maureen was sitting. “How does it look?”

  She stood back and then forward, adjusting my collar. “I should take down the hem on the legs.”

  “You’ll have to do it tonight. Our first show is tomorrow afternoon.”

  The scenery had changed for Kim MacAfee’s bedroom. Brian was talking to Testagrose, all turned out in a snug tuxedo. He really looked like a penguin now. I called Brian over.

  “You didn’t tell me he was gorgeous,” Maureen whispered.

  “This is my sister,” I said to Brian. “And this is the costume she made.”

  “Holy moly,” Brian said. He wore a fisherman sweater and jeans. And he looked like he’d had a haircut, the brown locks brushing the collar of his sweater.

  He broke into a broad grin. “You did a fantastic job. I never expected anything like this. This costume will really let your brother strut his stuff, which he has no trouble doing,” he said, walking to the stage. “You guys can hang out backstage if you want. I have to get back to work.”

  Maureen grabbed my arm as Larry and I walked up the short staircase to the backstage area. Immaculata was already there, signature coat draped on her lap.

  “My nerves! Look at this,” she whispered, standing up and touching my sleeve. She wore a baggy print dress with a sprung seat and a waistline that hovered in the vicinity of her backside. “Your sister made this? She’s so talented. Where did you get the fabric?”

  I slung the bass guitar over my shoulder. “Orchard Street. They call it liquid gold.”

  “Liquid gold,” she repeated emphatically, with a demented smile. “I’m standing here in my grandmother’s orthopedic shoes next to a man wearing liquid gold.” She nodded at my hips and squawked. “Well, baby, you can pour it all over me.”

  It was my turn to blush. Then Larry pinched my ass. I turned on him.

  He shrugged. “Sorry there, sport. I guess I forgot you were a boy for a minute.”

  I pushed him away. “Hands off the merchandise.”

  Immaculata reached out for Maureen. “Hello, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Immaculata Rainone. I was born on the feast of the Immaculate Conception. My mother was very literal.”

  Maureen cracked up and asked her who she was playing.

  “I’m the Maureen Stapleton of the piece. I know what you’re thinking: a little young for the part. Pull up a chair and I’ll give you the dish.”

  Maureen smiled and sat in an empty folding chair. She was pretty, I could see that, even though she was my sister, with a long, lithe figure and hair spilling over her shoulders onto a purple turtleneck. She was laughing at everything Immaculata said. I should have brought her here a long time ago.

  I could hear Mary sing “How Lovely to Be a Woman” through the heavy beige curtain. Her voice was clear and bell-like; she should be in a high school like Performing Arts rather than St. Brendan’s. After she hit the high note at the end of the song, the crew would be changing sets for “The Telephone Hour,” my second favorite number, and I parted the curtain. There were only six guys, but they got the job done, carrying out this odd rectangular version of a jungle gym, connecting wooden boxes painted black that were big enough for people to move around in as they sang. Red, black, and white Princess and wall telephones were nailed to the inside of the boxes. From the other side of the stage, the actors—all chorus members—came out and installed themselves inside the set.

  The band gave a cue and the first girl jumped out of her box, red telephone receiver in her hand. I waved Maureen over and held the curtain open so she could see the whole thing.

  “Hi, Margie. Hi, Alice. . . . What’s the word? Hummingbird? Have you heard about Hugo and Kim?”

  The number came off without a hitch. Brian jumped up on stage, to give notes to the chorus.

  “So what do you think?” I asked Maureen.

  “It’s not Al Green, but I can live with it,” she said.

  “Don’t be a snob. Remember: you made the costume.”

  Gina came backstage after her scenes with Vincent LoPresti, the kid who was playing Albert, Rosie’s fiancé. Gina’s mother’s red Chanel suit fit her like a dream. We hadn’t seen much of her since rehearsals started; she was always hanging around with this drummer from the band. Lenny Plonski. He was a senior.

  “Nice circle pin,” Maureen said. “Was that your mother’s too?”

  Gina nodded. She pointed to her hair. “Tell me the truth.”

  Her hair was set in a chestnut-brown bouffant. So long, Judy Collins; hello, Rosary Society.

  “I look like Sadie Scotto at her daughter’s First Communion,” she said, distressed. That was Gina’s mother’s best friend.

  “It’s okay,” Maureen said. “It’s only for a few more weeks. You’ll survive.”

  Gina had some downtime so she sat with us while Larry did his scene with the MacAfee family, with Kim monopolizing the telephone as she talked about Conrad Birdie with her girlfriends. The girl playing Kim’s mother went blank on one of her lines and Larry saved h
er, ad-libbing, “As your mother says” and helping everything move along. He always knew what to do on stage, where to stand, how to make the set where the MacAfees lived feel like it was his own. I loved watching him from the wings.

  Brian called for a fifteen-minute break. He huddled with Testagrose and the band. The guys and girls in the chorus cleared the stage, dispersing throughout the auditorium in a few minutes. Vinnie came backstage looking for Gina, practically pleading with her to make a McDonald’s run. When Larry overheard that, he wanted a milk shake too. Immaculata was staying put.

  “If I drink any more milk shakes, I won’t need padding for my costume,” she said.

  “Don’t you want to take a walk at least?” I asked. “I need some fresh air.”

  Immaculata shook her head. “No. This neighborhood has nothing to recommend it.”

  Sometimes Immaculata said things I swear she heard in an old movie. But she wasn’t wrong about the neighborhood. Maureen decided to stay with her and I ducked out the back door onto East Fifty-Eighth Street. Guard dogs yowled behind the fence at Collisionville and the tarpaper roof of the Wyckoff House looked a little more sunken than the last time I passed it. The cold air was biting, but I didn’t mind it after the stale smell of the gym.

  McDonald’s was jammed with the Tilden football team. Big guys, mostly black, in parkas, some still in uniform, white jerseys with their names and numbers in red lettering, had taken all the booths and many more were still in line. We would look like fools standing behind them. Vinnie was ahead of us in line with Gina. Her hand kept going to the circumference of her chestnut sphere, as if she was checking for dents.

  I tugged on the sleeve of Larry’s sports jacket. “The line looks kind of long for a fifteen-minute break.”

  “I see your point. What do you think the chances are that we could get Sorrentino to order for us?” Larry whispered.

  Between me and Vinnie, there were three football players holding their helmets, shoulder pads rising from their bodies like rocks. “Slim.”

  The odor of fryer grease grew stronger as we moved closer to the counter. I could feel my forehead turning slick, as if five lurking pimples had received permission to sprout. Larry never needed to put Clearasil on his face. I once asked him why. He said, “All of my pimples are on my backside.”

  Some of the guys in the line on my left were laughing. Then I heard one of them say, “Looks like James Brown’s gonna order a Big Mac.”

  I blushed and looked straight ahead. James Brown was a big step up from being compared to Liberace, so I guessed I was safe. Even so, something—maybe the risen hairs on my neck—told me we were attracting too much attention. I turned to Larry. “Hey, this line is dragging. What if I meet you back at school? I’m not that hungry anyway.”

  “Oh, come on,” Larry said. “It’s only a few more people.”

  Vinnie and Gina inched back toward us, carrying soda cups and two yellow-and-white bags. There wasn’t a head that didn’t turn to take in the full effect of Gina in her bouffant and Chanel suit. Vinnie saw them all and leaned over until his chin brushed Larry’s shoulder. “Fucking mulignan taking over the joint.”

  I didn’t know what that word meant, but Larry did and he raised his eyebrows. “Hey, dickhead, you’re not on Eighteenth Avenue. Cool it.”

  Vinnie shrugged. He lived in Bensonhurst or Bath Beach, one of those all-white outposts I had never been to. The football player in front of me, six-two with shoulders as broad as the Shasta Dam, apparently didn’t hear him. He just cocked his head and smiled at Gina. “What’s goin’ on?”

  Gina looked straight ahead, her bouffant a compass. “Nothin’s goin’ on, that’s what,” Vinnie said, all snotty-faced.

  “Vinnie!” Gina rolled her eyes. Whatever traction Vinnie thought he was getting with Gina was slipping. “We’re doing a play over at St. Mike’s,” she said. “It’s dress rehearsal. That’s why we all look so ridiculous.”

  The football player laughed. He must have been around our age but he looked like he was in college, handsome with soft lips and deep-set eyes that squinted when he smiled. “My name’s Lamont,” he said. “Maybe I’ll check you later.”

  Gina blinked and blushed at the same time, unprepared for such admiration, and Vinnie watched the football player saunter over to his buddies. “Maybe in your dreams,” he said under his breath. He took Gina’s elbow. “Don’t talk to him. C’mon.” He nodded to a corner booth. “Let’s sit for five minutes.”

  Gina was looking toward the door. “Shouldn’t we go back?”

  “Why would you have to go? You’re not in the next number.”

  “But you are.”

  Vinnie’s brown eyes were begging. “Just sit with me while I have my milk shake. I drink fast.”

  He was determined to grab any time with her. But I thought she should have left. Then he would have followed her and consumed his milk shake on the walk back to the school. Instead, Gina trailed after him to a booth that had emptied out when four football players took their gear and left.

  Larry and I were next at the counter. I only had money for snacks for me and Maureen. I ordered two cherry pies, one 7-Up, and one coffee. The girl waiting on us had long pink fingernails and a name tag pinned to her uniform: Rolonda. I counted out the change on the black Formica counter. Rolonda took one look at my getup and asked, “You goin’ to a costume party?”

  “Yeah,” Larry said, stepping up. “It’s a costume party called Bye Bye Birdie. We’re doing it at the school across the street. Tomorrow afternoon and next weekend. Maybe you’d like to come. We’ll sing and dance for you.”

  She flashed a neon smile and took Larry’s usual gargantuan order. “Well, maybe next weekend.”

  “Yes. But it’s at night. You can come after work.”

  Rolonda lowered her head as she handed Larry his change. “I’ll keep it in mind. Your fries will be ready in a minute.” She called the next customer and Larry had to step aside.

  I opened the cherry pie box. The pie looked more like a turnover—a small turnover—and smelled achingly sweet. “You make friends wherever you go.”

  “I’ve never seen her here and I’m a preferred customer. Killer smile.”

  I half-listened to what Larry said, watching the horde of kids scarfing down cheeseburgers and milk shakes, helmets on the floor. I shut the box and put the pie back in the bag. It was really time to get back to rehearsal. “A Lot of Livin’ to Do” was about ten minutes long, with three singers and lots of dancing with the chorus. It was a workout, and Testagrose and Brian were not yet satisfied with the way the parts fit together.

  Rolonda put Larry’s large fries in the bag and gave him one last smile. The line behind us now stretched to the door. As we headed out, I glanced between the waiting people and saw Vinnie standing over the football player who had chatted up Gina. They were arguing. I heard Vinnie say the one word he shouldn’t have said. He was going to get his ass kicked and I hustled Larry to the exit.

  “You don’t want to be talking like that to me,” Lamont said. “Go back and sit down with your pretty friend.”

  “Why don’t you go back to the fucking jungle?”

  “You’re already in the jungle,” said a guy in Lamont’s booth. He was dipping French fries in ketchup and laughing. “Or ain’t you noticed?”

  I could hear my heartbeat knocking in my ears. Something terrible was about to happen and I wanted us all to get out of here. “C’mon, Larry, let’s go,” I said, stepping in front of him. Gina stood up, smoothing her skirt. “Vinnie, let’s go back. We’re late already.”

  Larry went over and tapped Vinnie on the shoulder, but he didn’t even turn around.

  Lamont stood. The face that had looked so stoked to get Gina’s attention was contorted with rage. He picked Vinnie up by the armpit and waistband and tossed him down the row of booths. Like a bowling ball. He didn’t quite hit the back wall.

  “One honky down,” someone said.

  Gina screamed
and covered her ears. She glared at Lamont. “What’d you do that for?”

  He didn’t answer her. Vinnie scrambled to his feet; he was coming back for more. Larry tried to block him, but it was useless. The mismatch in their sizes was extreme and pathetic. Vinnie threw a punch. Lamont swatted him away with one cuff to the jaw. Vinnie started bleeding from the right corner of his mouth. The other jocks rose to their feet, egging on Lamont.

  “Stop it!” Gina shouted. “Stop it!”

  I slipped out the front door. I ran back to school, clutching the McDonald’s bags. The one with the soda and coffee fell to the sidewalk, brown liquid staining the white paper. I left them there and kept going. The door to the gym was locked, and I banged on it frantically. Finally, Immaculata opened it, sticking her head out into the cloudy late-afternoon light.

  “You’re late,” she whispered hoarsely. She saw my face. “What’s wrong?”

  I rushed past her and out onto the stage where Mary Zaleski was waiting in a purple ruffled blouse, almost the same color as the one Ann-Margret wore in the movie, with her arms crossed, ticked off. I shielded my eyes from the footlights and saw Brian and Testagrose, down on the floor. They looked pissed.

  “Nicky, we’re waiting on you. Where have you been?” Brian said.

  It took me a minute to catch my breath. “A fight broke out at McDonald’s.”

  By the time Brian ran over to McDonald’s, me and Maureen trotting behind him, a blue squad car was parked in front, red roof light ominously circling on top. There was a broken window near the booth where Lamont’s crew was sitting. Vinnie and Lamont were handcuffed. Two officers took down their information.

  I didn’t see Larry. I didn’t see Gina. I stared and stared at the chaos behind the windows.

  “What happened?” Maureen asked.

  “This punk from my English class started a fight with this black guy from Tilden. He called him a nigger.”

  Maureen looked in at the scene of arrested mayhem. “Asshole. Where is your coat?”

  We stood back on the sidewalk, near the corner, out of reach of the garish yellow light of the McDonald’s sign. I heard a siren wailing in the distance. “In my locker. I just want to see if my friends are okay.”