by Roger Elwood
It had been a few weeks since we had been introduced to Bingo. Chachi had the honor first. Uncle Rico had arranged the meeting. First there was Rico's daughter, Annette. Then his son, Mario. Both were going to be involved in our group. And last of all—was that a coincidence?—came Bingo.
"And here's Bingo," Rico had said, a pained expression on his face.
"Hi," Chachi remarked, reaching out his hand. "I'm Chachi Arcola."
Bingo smiled broadly. "Yeah, I know."
"You do?" Chachi replied, astonished.
"Sure, don't you remember? We've met before."
"Huh?" was the most intelligent thing Chachi could say through his amazement.
"That's right. We've met before . . . in another life."
Chachi's mouth dropped open.
"And here's the five dollars I borrowed from you back then."
Chachi held the five-dollar bill in his hand, not knowing what to say.
"I really needed it. Lindbergh had just returned from Paris. I was anxious to hop on to New York City to see him. You know, that ticker-tape parade they threw for the guy."
He smiled serenely and mounted the small stage to sit behind the drums.
Chachi put the money in his pocket. Annette looked at Bingo with the expression of a punch-drunk fighter—and Mario, wow, he didn't even look that alert!
Oh, brother, Chachi said to himself.
Chachi had to go on without me the first night at Al's. I was late because of a huge traffic jam I got caught in. So I didn't mind the fact that he was the star without me. What was bad, bad, bad was the reaction of some girls at one table—and Chachi's reaction to them. A little too much lip, as far as I was concerned—theirs and his, together—get the picture?
I got revenge. The next night I dressed in a snazzy outfit and had some guys flirting with me. Chachi became really upset, of course, not remembering that turnabout is fair play. AnYway, we made up afterward.
We were a success together, Chachi, me, the others. But only one of us didn't realize it.
That's right . . . Bingo.
After the first couple of numbers we took a break. Bingo was looking more dazed than usual: Chachi noticed too.
"What's wrong, Bingo?" Chachi asked.
Bingo looked at him and said, "Gosh, it got quiet all of a sudden."
"The number's over. We're on a break."
"We are? Wow, I missed it again!"
I had to keep from laughing at the same time I started to feel really sorry for Bingo. He moved so slowly, his mind always a little off center. When he talked, it was almost as though he had a speech impediment. No one could blame me or Chachi for feeling sorry for him.
And then one night all that changed.
Bingo lived in the basement apartment of an old building only a few blocks from the restaurant. He didn't drive. Thank heaven for that! So he walked to Al's each night. The first few times he got lost, but then he was able to find his way.
The apartment was on a street that Chachi and I often took on our way back to my place. That particular night we decided to go that same way again, kind of bumming around the neighborhood with nothing special in mind.
The sky was clear. The weather was turning warm, which also meant humid. One of the problems with Chicago is that it's ice-cold in the winter and suffocatingly hot in the summer—no middle ground, from bad to worse and then some!
Chachi was dressed in a white T-shirt and blue dungarees. I wore a T-shirt, too, and a pair of jeans. Every so often we would stop, and he would give me a hug.
She wandered out of my life. . . .
The words drifted out to the street.
I heard the singing first, then Chachi caught it.
We both stood still, the sound working a spell that caught us immediately.
"So beautiful," I whispered.
"Yeah. . . ." Chachi replied, unable to say anything else.
After a minute or two, we realized where it was coming from.
Just when I needed her the most. . . .
Bingo's apartment.
Chachi and I glanced at each other, so surprised that we couldn't do anything but open our mouths and close them without saying another word.
Later when I found her . . . dead. . . .
We walked down the few steps to the front door. It was ajar. We stuck our heads in. Bingo was sitting on the floor with his guitar, his back to us.
We looked around the apartment.
So neat. It was spick-and-span. Several photos hung in frames on one wall. A two-tiered bookshelf held books by Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, Sigmund Freud, and others. I even spotted a leather-covered Bible. On the floor there was only one rug, oval-shaped and braided.
We stepped inside, finding a place on the floor where we sat without making any noise. I looked at those photos again: an older man and woman—probably his parents—some early shots of Bingo himself, and three of a beautiful girl, two of the pictures with Bingo also in them.
How much I miss you, my love. . . .
The song was almost over.
Neither of us could do anything yet but listen.
Good-bye . . . but not forever.
Bingo put down the guitar, and as he was getting up and turning around, he said, "Hi, what did you think?"
"Wonderful," I told him. "But how did you know we were here?"
He played with his ears for a second.
"They're a good pair," he said jokingly. "The ones I had before weren't so hot."
He stood before the photos of the girl.
"A friend?" Chachi asked.
"Once," Bingo replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
He turned suddenly, his face lighting up.
"I heard a dynamite joke. Want to hear it?"
We nodded.
He started to tell the joke, something about two guys in a used-car lot, then stopped in mid-sentence. Tears came to his eyes and started to trickle down his cheeks.
"I—I—," he stuttered. ". . . alone . . . just now. Need to be alone. OK?"
I went up to him and kissed him on the cheek. He looked at me for an instant, reaching out with his left hand to push back a stray strand of hair that had fallen down over my forehead.
Then he turned away, his back to us again, his shoulders slumped.
"Need to be alone just now. . . ."
We left.
No words came to either of us as we walked away from the apartment. I reached up to my cheek and was not surprised to find it wet.
It was different from that night on. Bingo was the same, but Chachi and I weren't.
4
"Hi, sugar cookie!"
What a way to wake up in the morning, hearing Chachi's voice on the phone!
He had a habit of doing that, calling whenever the mood hit, whatever the hour.
"What's wrong, sweet dreams?" he asked that morning. "You sound low. Are you feeling bad?"
I was only half-awake. "Not really. What're you doing up this early?"
"We gotta rehearse soon. Remember?"
I was suddenly very alert.
"Oh no!" I said, suddenly remembering. . . . "Chachi, I can't. I just can't."
Silence, then, "Why?"
"My nephew's birthday party. I promised Mom and Dad I would spend the day with them."
"Well, you can't."
"What?"
"I said you can't. I won't let you. The group needs you, Joanie."
"But I made a promise, Chachi."
"Break it."
"Chachi, I—."
"What about your promise to me?"
"I'm really sorry but it's impossi—."
Click.
He had hung up on me!
I was furious, and I dialed him back.
Busy.
He knew I would be calling so he had probably taken the phone off the hook.
I sat there in bed, Indian-legged, fuming. The group seemed to take up more and more of his time, his thoughts, just about everything. I was beginning
to get the feeling that it meant more to Chachi than I did.
And that hurt.
But then a lot of things hurt. I remembered something that Chachi had said recently, "It's so much easier being in love when you're a teen-ager and all you have to decide is whether to go to the movies or bowling."
I didn't think much of that at the time, but now it came back to me clearly.
I was still trembling from having Chachi hang up on me.
. . . it's so much easier. . . .
Was he hinting that maybe, just maybe, when it wasn't so easy, well, he was not nearly as interested?
I spent a lot of time thinking about my relationship with Chachi. When we were in Milwaukee, everything had been so good. Of course we had had arguments then but they usually passed quickly. Chachi wasn't obsessed then by his music or anything else except me.
That first picnic together—I remember every minute of it. Beside a lake. The air warm. The water cool. A gentle breeze sighing through the trees all around us.
I wore a two-piece pink swimsuit. Chachi was in his swim trunks. He was a little on the scrawny side. Cute, but scrawny. He seemed to sense this and, man, did he work hard to build himself up over the next couple of months. And did he get to look really fantastic as a result! I thought he was the hottest-looking guy around.
But that first time, that sweet wonderful picnic, it really didn't matter if his arms were a little thin. When they held me, I got goose bumps just the same.
When we kissed, we accidentally bumped noses.
And I started sneezing!
We ended up laughing so hard we got dizzy.
"So much for the right mood," Chachi said jokingly.
The rest of the day went incredibly well. We talked a lot and had a wonderful time. Time really flew.
Night came. More stars than usual, it seemed, were out. We walked around the edge of the lake. Pine trees scented the air. An owl called out in the night. Every so often we could hear scampering animal feet in the underbrush. It was like an Eden created for just the two of us. . . .
But that was two years ago in Milwaukee. And here in Chicago everything was different. I spent the next couple of days going about my miserable way. I didn't call Chachi back. He didn't call me—and without Chachi, I was miserable but hated admitting that to myself. I even wrote a song and showed it to Uncle Rico.
We were sitting near the stage in Al's restaurant. Nobody was there except us. Louisa and Al were upstairs. Chachi? I tried to pretend that I just didn't care where he was—tried, yes, but wasn't very successful.
Uncle Rico looked at the song, then started frowning.
"What in the world is this?" he said. "A song to inspire the world! I mean, what a zinger of a title: "Life Stinks." And that's the upbeat part! Maybe people'Il think it's about a guy who raises skunks. Skunks are in this year, you know. That should send it to the top of the charts, Joanie."
I was laughing in spite of myself.
Uncle Rico bent forward and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Now that's better. That's the Joanie I've come to know and love."
"But why didn't you want me to join the group at first?" I asked, the low mood coming back instantly.
Uncle Rico blushed.
"You really are depressed, aren't you?"
I nodded.
"Tell Rico why. Maybe I can help."
"I think Chachi's getting tired of me."
He seemed genuinely surprised.
For a moment or two we were silent. Uncle Rico liked to give the impression that he had an answer for everything. To see him puzzling over what to say was pretty unusual.
"I don't know if I'm saying the right thing. I'm not too good at this sort of thing—but I think you should go home for a few days. Spend time with your parents."
"But what would Chachi think?"
"Don't you want to find out?"
Uncle Rico, the wheeler-dealer out to milk the world! Behind that high-pressure facjade of his was someone I hadn't even known existed.
"C'mon," he said, "I'll walk you back to the apartment."
He stood up then and snapped his fingers.
"Hey, gotta make just one call. Can you wait?"
I nodded.
As I sat back down and waited for Uncle Rico, something strange happened. The lights in the
restaurant went completely out.
I gasped.
A power failure?
And then a single spotlight went on, aimed at a single figure onstage.
"And now, everybody, this song is dedicated to someone I love very, very much." And there was Chachi, speaking to his "audience."
It was a new number. I hadn't heard it before. It was called "Only With Your Love."
By the time Chachi had finished, I was crying. He put aside the microphone and jumped off the stage.
In a second he was sitting at the table. "Hi," he said.
I said nothing.
He reached out and put two of his fingers under my chin, raising my head so that I would have to look at him.
"Forgive me," he whispered, managing to be even sweeter than usual. What a time for goose bumps—when you're trying very hard to be mad at someone!
I attempted to act aloof—not interested in anything he had to say. But making the attempt and
being successful at it can be two different things.
"I've been a fool," he went on. "The past couple of days were awful. Mom and Al were worried. I hardly ate. I slept lousy. I couldn't even practice with the group, so I didn't schedule any rehearsals."
"None?" I finally asked, amazed.
"I was lost without you, Joanie. Maybe that's a terrible thing for a guy to have to admit. I mean, all those years I dreamed of being independent and on my own. But it's different without you."
He took my hands in his. My heart was hammering. The goose bumps were getting bigger. What a candidate for staying mad at Chachi!
"Can we forget it ever happened, sugar cookie?"
What I wanted to do was to clobber Chachi.
But can you guess what I ended up doing?
5
Chachi had never gone on to college. That's partly because money problems were always present, and college never was cheap.
Chachi seemed convinced that he could make it in the real world using only whatever ability he had been born with. He might change his mind someday, but for the present I doubted it. Especially now that the group was beginning to get it all together.
If Chachi were honest, he would have to admit that he was also concerned that my own college days would drive a wedge between us, and that this fear was affecting his judgment.
I found out, for instance, about a scene that had taken place between Chachi and Al.
Al was working out in the apartment. Chachi came in and told his stepfather that he needed to talk to him. Al, as always, was happy to listen.
"Sure, sure, son, but why don't you massage my back and neck while we're talking? OK?"
Chachi agreed. Al climbed up on a long table and proceeded to groan with appreciation as Chachi's experienced fingers did their work.
"What's so great about college, Al?" he asked, digging his fingers into the man's ample flesh. "That's all Joanie ever talks about now. They went to a lecture, they did this, they did that. . . ."
"Who's they?" Al wanted to know.
"Biff and Bop and Beep and Boom . . . ."
"Sounds like a Disney movie."
As he spoke, Chachi got a little carried away and he dug into Al too hard.
"Chachi! Chachi! Leave the skin in one piece, please."
"Oh . . . ," Chachi responded absentmindedly. "Sorry, Al."
"Why are you so concerned? Who cares about Biff and Beepie and Boppie and Boomie? She loves you. She's true blue, Chachi."
"I don't know, Al. I mean, she's got a strange expression in her eyes every time she talks about them."
He dug in even harder, and Al let out a yelp.
"Watch i
t! This isn't Custer's last stand. I want to live to see another night at the restaurant."
Al stood up and faced Chachi.
"C'mon, son, what's really bothering you?"
Chachi looked past Al, at nothing special.
"It's not so much the guys," he said. "I can handle that. It's Joanie. She'll . . . learn a lot of things because of college. We used to be the same. Now we'll be different . . . and she probably won't think as much of me any more."
Al put his hands on Chachi's shoulders.
"It's OK, son. Joanie's just trying to grow. You can't stop that. You shouldn't want to."
"I just wish everything could stay the same."
"No, you don't, Chachi. If everything stayed the same, I wouldn't have met and married your mother. I wouldn't have a fine son. But sometimes it takes a lot of courage to face change."
"Yeah, you're right. Trouble is, I have to find some of that courage before it's too late."
Al smiled confidently as he said, "You will. I know you will."
I thought Chachi would explode when I dropped my bombshell. We were sitting on the sofa in his apartment. He had his arm around
me. It seemed like a good moment to tell him.
"I got the group a singing date, Chachi."
"Oh, yeah! Where?"
"At the Pi Nu fraternity house."
He hesitated just a second, then said, "Swell. How much does it pay?"
"A hundred dollars."
"Beautiful, Joanie. That's just great."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
I put my arms around Chachi and hugged him so tight I stopped just short of breaking some ribs!
Unfortunately, our singing date started out badly and went downhill from there. We were introduced to a bunch of the guys and their dates. The only obnoxious one was named Doug "Squelch" Welch, but he was trouble enough!
"Hi," he remarked. "I'm the frat greeter and social director. They always put the best-looking guy in that position, if you know what I mean."
He winked at me.
"Who are you?" he asked as he turned and saw Chachi.
"Chachi Arcola."
"Wow! I never thought I'd meet a new soda pop in person! I mean, Arcola, wow!"
Squelch laughed hysterically.
Getting himself back together he said to Chachi, "We were just having a discussion about Lumumba. Would you care to join us?"