Archives for July 1, 2013

Chapter 8

 

Back at Ron’s apartment she took her clothes off and then took his clothes off smiling and squirming as he caressed her. Then she ran the first bath that Ron had ever seen in his tub and filled it with bathing salts that smelled of vanilla. She knelt on a towel that was folded on the tile floor next to the tub in which he lay back and closed his eyes.  Her egg-shell blue eyes followed the progress of her hands as she stroked his shoulders and his ribs and his thighs that she knew would become hard, unyielding and forceful. She wanted them that way. She dabbed exploding bubbles onto his nipples and admired the taunt hard kernel that stood out for her. She slid her strong forearm muscles in ascending and descending waves of soapy pleasure along the length of him. Her nipples were hard and her clit was swollen as she worked her thumbs higher and higher on his thighs and then saw his cock swell so that the head poked through the top of the water.

His eyes were deep green when he opened them and stared at her from a dreamy haze. They startled her as she worked over his wet body. He sat up and turned the hot water on full blast. He stood up and lifted her with a cooperative ease, his body dripping.  He lowered her into brim filled, warm, sudsy tub.

Starting with her toes he silently rubbed the bubbles from the sponge into her flesh with the help of his trailing hand. One hand was holding the loaded sponge and slowly squeezing it. The other was rubbing slow, soft, smooth circles into her thighs, into her breasts, along her belly. When she thrust her pelvis up he emptied the sponge onto her sex and then massaged it with those concentric maddening circles and she moaned, fitfully.

Ron carried her dripping body to the bed and stretched her legs up over her head and entered her with the thrust of a suitor. She bucked for him; pelvis unable to stop and he pounded into her and then shot seed  inside of her and she hoped that he had impregnated her, and wrapped her arms around him holding him  until she was asleep.

In late September, the coolness of the evening comes late to Elizabeth. Ron was reading papers when she opened her eyes. His body was long and relaxed but his eyes were intent on the words. When he saw that she was awake, he turned the stack of papers over and said, “I loved watching you sleep.”

She said, “Can we go for a ride?”

He said, “We’ll have to get dressed”

She frowned. He said, “I have to get dressed but I can wrap you in something.” She brought a pad and they drove into the hills, curled in a plaid comforter, sketching with a pencil, as the fading light softened the full rich greens into shades of dark.

Ron wondered what his students were doing right now; the voices of the essays were whispering in his mind. Zoe repressed her feelings of hunger with the need not to vomit again.

 

Chapter 7

On Saturday morning, Zoe told Ron that she wanted to run. “I know a place,” said Ron. They got into his car and drove up the parkway towards his parents’ house. The high school field in back of the house had a quarter mile track that wrapped around a football field and a baseball diamond and a softball field.  Ron said, “I haven’t run in a long time. He was wearing a bathing suit and a sweat shirt over a t-shirt. He wore an old pair of sneakers.  He couldn’t remember the last time that he had them on. Zoe looked resplendent. Her thick blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, her legs were thin and muscular. She had borrowed one of his t-shirts and tied it at her waist. “Let me watch you run around just once,” she said.

Ron started off tentatively. The track did not hold good memories for him. Embarrassments of having dry heaves, of having his knee buckle while he was jogging with the team rushed over him. Now she would be there to watch. She would see it all. She wouldn’t want him. She would look at him like he was a pathetic mess.

He started off anyway, looking down at the way that his feet struck the cinders of the track He wasn’t gonna let it beat him again. If he ran until his heart exploded, he wasn’t gonna let it beat him. To his amazement, his body moved with a light footed grace and he circumnavigated the track almost before he was out of breath. She was sitting in the wooden bleachers watching and her smile was as broad as a sunrise coming up over a hill on a summer morning. “You’re an athlete,” she said coming over to him. “I can see it in your stride. It’s strong and solid.” Ron blushed. He had not thought of himself as an athlete for a very long time. Then she said, “You run clockwise and I’ll run counterclockwise. That way nobody will be trying to keep up with anyone else.”

Ron laughed. “I’m not silly enough to think that I can keep up with you. You finished the Boston Marathon and I just ran my first quarter mile since Nixon was President.”

She laughed and bounded off. He watched the cute little jiggle of her cheeks and that erotic sway of her hair as it brushed back and forth and bounced on her back. Then he ran too, in the other direction. He felt his breath started to give out and was breathing hard when they passed each other for the first time. She smiled and held her hand out as she neared him. They slapped palms and Ron kept running. He pushed and then the most amazing thing happened. He felt his breath slow and his heart settle in his chest. He saw the track and felt the cool air speed past him. He heard birds and smelled the fresh cut of the grass and then they were passing each other again. Ron sped up. He felt himself start to lose his breath and slowed just a little. His breathing returned to the comfort zone and he felt like his feet weren’t touching the ground anymore although he could hear the soft slap of his old sneakers on the track.

He didn’t know how far he ran but he stopped because his legs started to get wobbly, not because his breathing was giving out and then he walked. The first wave of retching, body shaking coughs hit him about 30 seconds later. They doubled him over. Leaning against the wooden bleachers, palms flat on the wooden slabs, Ron coughed and coughed until he was dizzy. The he straightened up and breathed in deeply. Another burst of body shaking heaves coughed their way out of him. He staggered. Then he breathed in again and it was clear and he felt a wave of euphoria warm his body with a sensation that he’d never in his life felt. She was flying around the track now, her hair no longer touching her shoulders but spread out in back of her in golden plumes. Smiling like he’d just smoked opium, he sat in the bleachers breathing easily, feeling each intake and exhale of air like it was the sweetest food he’d ever taken.

After what seemed like an hour she finally stopped and simply walked over to him. She wasn’t breathing hard. She was hardly sweating, but she was smiling broadly.

“How far did you run,” said Ron.

She grinned. “I don’t know. Till I got bored.”

Ron stared at her in complete amazement. What was she doing with him? Why did she want him? How could he ever keep up with her?

“How far did I run?” said Ron.

“I think a mile and a half, which is great for a first run.”

“Then you must have run ten miles,” said Ron worshipfully.

They got back into his car. Ron did not want to stop in and see his mother. He wasn’t ready to explain Zoe to anyone. It wasn’t going to last. He wasn’t going to be able to keep up with her. He didn’t want to answer any questions after she left him. He thought about Robin for just an instant and then he shoved the image away from his brain with a screaming “No!” that he kept deep inside of him.

They drove up Bloomfield Avenue towards Welmont Lanes. Ron was showing her the neighborhoods. They passed the new high rise apartment building that skirted the border of Glen Ridge, into one of the black sections of the city where second hand stores and soul food eateries and the Jehovah’s witnesses all had storefronts. The apartments were dilapidated, the side streets were worse. Zoe felt a look of appall spread across her face and tighten her mouth and darken her eyes. Ron talked about walking these streets like it was a badge of honor. She just felt endangered. As they approached the center of Montclair from the south, it all changed with a four-cornered plaza of banks and fine shops that were designed for upscale patrons. The shift was abrupt and obvious. She felt herself settle back against the headrest with a certain amount of reinstated ease. Ron was talking about movie theaters and music shops and she was looking at the people who seemed so much more like her. How could they live so close to such an obvious lack of safety?

The neighborhood was slowly shifting again when he turned onto the street next to Welmont. Some things were clean but others were run down. The mixture gave her a tolerable sense of danger that she found more exciting than threatening.

Quimpy maneuvered his Caddy with the glow of a man who had just had a good night and was expecting things to continue in the same vein. He’d tacked his 3 game score sheet up on the refrigerator. He was interested in a match but he wasn’t hungry for one. It was a good place to be. He felt that he could sit back and let things come to him and sort them through and take the best bet without needing to prove anything else this weekend. He could have even skipped today, but he wanted to bask in last night. A perfect game was one thing, but a 700 series was an accomplishment that was not so much based on luck as it was a credit to sustained excellence.

Ron reached down and squeezed Zoe’s bottom as they walked through the dark, cool, enclosed parking lot. She instantly turned to him and pressed her glowing body against his and whispered. “You can take me out of here whenever you want and just bring me someplace and do whatever you want to me. You don’t even have to say anything. Just snap your fingers of give me a look, and I’ll be right in back of you.”

Ron smiled, felt his chest puff and said. “Let’s get something to eat here. I have to see this guy that called last night. Then we are out of here.”

She reached her hand out and squeezed his ass and repeated, “You can do whatever you want to do to me.”

When they walked in the back door the usual collection of heads turned. There was a crowd on 15 and 16, a match was going on. Ron smiled remembering when it would have been the most important thing happening in the day, but now he walked passed not even bothering to see who was bowling.  His arm was around Zoe’s waist as they walked to the luncheonette.

Butchie nudged TJ after they walked by. “Ronnie’s finally got a hole that he can crawl into. It’s a skinny hole, but any hole is better than none.”

TJ puffed on his cigar and laughed but did not answer.

Sal was watching too and turned to the deskman. “Well at least she‘s white. I half expected that jerk-off to walk in with some niggar broad one day.”

The deskman laughed. “He might yet. Didn’t Quimpy bring some dark meat in here one day?”

“Who knows if Quimpy humps anything but his bowling ball.” said Sal.

Quimpy was having coffee with Buster at the counter. He turned to smile when he saw Ron and Zoe. “Well, glad to see you finally got around to coming back.” he said, ignoring Zoe.

Ron laughed and held up Zoe’s hand wrapped in his own. “This is Quimpy, Zoe. He’s one of my oldest friends.”

Quimpy nodded and looked up at Zoe smiling and said, “You know he’s a crazy fucked up lunatic right?”

Zoe laughed and blushed but did not answer. They three of them slid into a booth and Buster went up to see what was happening on 15 and 16.  They ordered cheeseburgers and coffee. He hadn’t let go of Zoe’s hand and she was holding on to him as if some strong wind might blow through the luncheonette any minute and carry her who knows where. Quimpy said, “708.” And then allowed the number to settle in.

“Last night?” said Ron

Quimpy nodded smiling and then Ron smiled and turned to Zoe. “708 is a huge number.”

Zoe let go of Ron’s hand and interlaced her fingers on the countertop between them. “It’s nice to meet you Quimpy. “

Quimpy bobbed his head without saying anything at first and then smiled. “I can see why Ron wouldn’t want to be wasting his time around here.”

Ron slid his hand below the counter and grasped her thigh, fingers close to the top of it, squeezing her leg, feeling the muscles and the heat that was radiating from between her legs. “So what’s this about a job?” he said to Quimpy.

Quimpy answered, “Eighteen an hour, takes a couple weeks to see cash, but the job is nothing. You pick up some books and go and sit with these kids for a couple of hours. You talk to them. Teach them if you want. Then you leave and turn in your time sheet. Kids give you any shit, you just walk out. They need you. It’s an easy bit.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Show up at my office sometime through the week and I’ll show you. You gonna stick around here?”

“Not at all,” said Ron. “You heard from Hank?”

“Somebody told me that he got a job as an assistant golf pro. He ain’t around anymore.”

Ron took two fast bites of his burger, saw that Zoe had already demolished hers and said, “Me neither”

“That’s cool,” said Quimpy. “This place was never anything good for you.”

“It ain’t good for nobody,” said Ron, sliding into the vernacular.

Zoe asked where the bathroom was and both he and Quimpy watched her walk away. “That’s a very pretty tail that she’s got.”

“No shit,” said Ron and finished his burger in large bites.

When they got back into the car, he thought he smelled a feint staleness on her breath and noticed that’s he did not kiss him as they drove back to his apartment.

He thought about Welmont. It must have been at least four years since he’d been there last, and they acted as if he’d been there every Saturday. He wondered if that was their way of ignoring him or if they hadn’t really missed him. The place just didn’t change. It was frozen in time like a village in a glass bowl that you could shake and cause snow to fall. He wondered if Quimpy changed or if he was just the same as everyone else at Welmont. He wasn’t. He’d called Ron and asked if he could help him up with some extra money. Nobody at Welmont would ever do such a thing. The only money they would let go of was a lure that was supposed to suck a fish into deeper water. Ron wondered if Quimpy’s job offer was a lure and into what deep water Quimpy might be trying to suck him. He looked over at Zoe; she was staring out the window with her hand up over her mouth.

“What did you think of Welmont?” he asked.

“It was an ugly place,” she said without taking her hand away. “They are ugly people.”

“Do you think I’m like them?”

“I think that they are jealous that you aren’t like them and would like nothing better to make everyone and everything just as ugly as they are.”

A Bob Dylan line surged through Ron’s brain. “… drag you down into the hole that he’s in.”  It repeated like it was on an unending loop as he parked the car and they walked towards his apartment.

She took his hand and held it as they walked. “You’re nothing like them. You are a beautiful man.” He stretched over to kiss her but she danced away and said, “Wait until we are inside.”

Chapter 6

Elton John was singing “Don’t Go Breakin’ My Heart” with some English girl as Ron’s car snaked its way up the hills into New Providence. He knew the ride to Zoe’s house now, and as soon as he pulled up she was out the door and running towards him with a large duffle bag thrown over her shoulder. She was wearing tan shorts, a white cotton shirt, no socks and runner’s shoes. Her hair gave her the look of a halo as she pulled his door open, threw her bag into the back seat and kissed him. “I was waiting for you all day,” she said smiling. Ron laced his fingers between hers as he drove and they listened to Paul Simon say that there were “50 Ways to Leave Your Lover.”

“What do you want to do?” said Ron.

Zoe smiled and brought his hand between her legs. She pressed the backs of his knuckles to the swollen lips inside of the light fabric. She moved his hand up and down and closed her eyes, and then she smiled over at him coyly. Ron had already lain in the fastest route back to his house. She was already taking off her clothes as he put the key into the door. He heard the telephone ringing. She wore no bra, no panties. She pulled off the runner’s shoes and dove into his bed as he picked up the phone.

“Hey man,” said Quimpy. “Where the hell have you been?”

“I ain’t been around much Quimp. What’s happening?”

“You need some extra cash?” said Quimpy. He was sitting in his apartment at the kitchen table. There was a bottle of wine open and a half finished pizza box on the table. He was smoking a joint and stroking his black beard with a smile as he spoke.

“Sure,” said Ron. “What’s the deal?’

“Tutoring kids who are fucked up. I figured you’d be a natural.”

Ron laughed. “Of course, I’d love it but I got this gig teaching in Catholic school.”

“This would be after school,” said Quimpy. “Can you meet me down at the alley tonight?”

Ron shook his head. “Not tonight, man.” It was the first time that Quimpy could ever remember Ron not being willing to come and meet him.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” said Ron. “I’m not sure.”

Ron was being too evasive and Quimpy said, “You shacked up or something?

“Yup,” said Ron.

Quimpy laughed. “Alright well that explains it. Look gimme a call over the weekend or stop up. I’ll be around on Sunday for the games.”

“I will,” said Ron. He felt Zoe tugging at his clothes and laughed. “I gotta go, man.”

Quimpy laughed too. “See you on Sunday.” He put down the phone and picked up the ever present nail file that was always in a mug on his table. He began to work the cuticles of his right hand. They were always an obsession. He wanted them long. He didn’t care about dirt under his nails, but he wanted the curve to be just right so that when he lifted the ball, the nails gave his fingertips just the right amount of support to follow through. It made the ball finish strong. He put down the nail file, picked up his keys, finished his last swallow of wine and headed out the door. Friday night was a scratch 375 pairs league at Welmont. He felt ready.

 

When Ron got off the phone, Zoe pulled him onto the bed and then lay on her belly. “I’ve been so naughty all day that you should spank me,’ she said. Ron stared as she lifted her bottom and then pressed it down onto the mattress.

“I should?” said Ron. He’d never spanked anyone, but the idea seemed erotic and she was lifting her bottom up in the air and then pressing her pelvis down onto the mattress in a way that that was making his cock twitch in his pants. He crawled up across the bed to her. He moved his palm over her cheeks gently. She made them go up and down faster. Then he slapped her ass.

The flesh against flesh feel gave a sting to his hand but she moaned the way that she did when he put his cock in her and gyrated her hips in a circle on his bed. He raised his hands again and slapped down harder than he did the first time. He was surprised at the way that the sound bounced off of the walls. His stared at her cheeks. There was a slight glow where his hand had slapped her and he felt his cock get unbelievably hard in his pants. It was sticking against his zipper. He opened the button of his jeans and pulled down his zipper. She saw what he was doing and squirmed over to him, pressing her lips to exhale warm breath against his stretched tight jockey shorts. He slapped her ass again and she wriggled, pressed her nose in between her thighs where his balls were full tight and murmured, “That felt so good. Do it again.”

Ron’s hand was a blur as he raised and lowered it against her cheeks. She kissed his thighs and let her hair spread out against them and over his belly; she exhaled warm breath against the fabric and dragged her hair back and forth, squirming and moaning.

Quimpy got into his 1963 Pink Convertible Cadillac. The long sleek fins sliced into the night as he drove with the top down and his black hair trailing behind him. The car was smooth and Quimpy stroked his beard appreciative of the silence of the ride as he thought about tonight’s games. He was throwing the ball good. If Buster just didn’t get crazy, they could win the league. The idea of Buster and not crazy was an oxymoron that amused Quimpy. Buster was always a fucking nut, playing lines that made his ball work harder than it had to, and just killing the pocket all night long from the wrong angle. Stubborn Polish fuck that he was. Quimpy pulled into a parking space in the lot, far away from anyone else’s car. He didn’t want to give anybody any excuses.

Ron’s hand slapped down hard on Zoe’s ass again and this time she writhed for him and said, “Please, please do it to me now.”

 

Quimpy’s ball drove into the pocket with purpose. Pins splattered like shacks against the surge of a tsunami.

“Nine in a row,” said Butchie. “You got three more in those lucky cakes of yours?”

“We’ll see,” said Quimpy, stroking his beard. “But we both know your bet, even with the ridiculous spot, is history.”

“I know, Cakes,” said Butchie. “But you still got to be feelin tight in the collar.”

Quimpy smiled at Butchie “I ain’t tight. You already paid for my night.

 

Ron’s had slapped down hard on her raised ass. His left hand had grabbed hold of her hair like it was reins. His cock was driving in and out of her and his right hand was slapping her raised red cheeks with the tempo of his thrusts. He was riding her and she was moaning and panting, lubrication leaking out her.

Quimpy mounted the approach and felt himself drifting slightly to the right as he moved toward the foul line. He adjusted by giving his arm just a slightly harder lift, fingers coming out after his thumb slipped free, the ball sliding and then catching its line, churning fast and hooking, catching the head pin and sending it careening off the side wall and then bouncing back to take out the 5 pin, the deck a dancing gyrating collision of wood that cleared and left everything spinning and down on the deck.

A cheer rose up in back of him. The house had stopped and gathered to watch. Everyone wanted to be there for perfection or the anguish of coming this close to perfection. A perfect game in a league earned you a diamond ring. Sal was watching from the next pair. He hated Quimpy but looked down at the perfect 300 that he wore instead of his wedding band, twirled it once and hoped silently for failure. The more exclusive the club was, the more he liked being a member.

 

Ron’s hips were quivering like he was a feral thing. The electricity between them was sending jolts through their bodies. With each slap and thrust and backward coiling and tug on her hair and moans that came from deep inside of them where their organs were joined and desperately in need of each other and of yet another release. He felt like he was a heated piece of wood inside of her. Every inch of him was tense. She was bouncing her hot, red cheeks back against him when he felt the release shoot out of him like the hose of a pump that was just under too much pressure. Hot seed blasted into her, he bucked harder and the second blast sent him lurching on top of her. She was crying now and wanting him to not stop to not ever stop.

The ball was dead in the pocket. The expectant cheer that went up from the crowd was silenced by the stiff straight unmoving defiance of a 10 pin that looked like it must be a mirage because of the way everything else had blown off the deck and into the pit. Sal smiled and got up to throw his ball. Excitement over! Quimpy screamed down the lane, “Motherfucker!” He kicked the ball rack as the collection of appreciative faces dissolved into business as usual on Friday night.

 

Chapter 5

 

He left the school but instead of driving west to pick up the parkway and head home, he drove north towards an older home. He stopped at the four corners that marked the first school that he’d ever attended, Elliott Street School. It was a three story brick and concrete place that was it was filled with spray painted graffiti now, and there was trash in front of the doors. It looked deserted. It was an old building whose last real renovation had been completed in 1905. Ron got out of his car and walked to one of the entrances that he remembered. This was where they were dismissed from when he had shop. It was right here that he’d fought Paul Peterson and had pushed his face into the dirt and made him lick the sidewalk with his tongue while kids stood around and laughed. A guard approached Ron as he stood in the vestibule looking at the metal cages that surrounded the staircase.

“What you lookin’ for?” said the short man with a broad chest and a cigar stub stuck in the side of his mouth.

“I used to go to school here,” said Ron.

“Not, no more,” said the janitor/security person.

“Can I see the gym? said Ron.

“What you want there?”

“I want to see the balcony and the indoor track that wrapped around it.”

“We don’t run no sight seein’ tours, you know man.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” said Ron. “I’m teaching down the street. I loved this place.”

“Ain’t too many people lovin it now, Mister Teaching Down the Street”

“Yeah, I know. It’s Friday. I just cashed my first paycheck ever for teaching anyone anything and I was right here.”

The security officer looked him up and down. He did look like a teacher. He was harmless and the man thought that with the broom in his hand and the knife in his pocket he wasn’t frightened. If he didn’t show the guy around, he would be sweeping the floor and suppose this guy knew somebody. “Come on then,” he said. “Ain’t no one been up in that balcony for 10 years. It’s all condemned. But I’ll take you up there.”

Upon entering, Ron could immediately hear Mr. Kloss’s voice intoning the names of the relay teams. “Army, Navy, Notre Dame, and Cal.” Ron could fly and he could kick and hit and throw and when he didn’t miss school cause of his asthma, he could make Mr. Kloss smile with his agility and strength. “Why are you absent so much, Tuck?”

“I get sick.”

“Getting sick is a weakness, boy. You can’t afford to get sick in a foxhole.”

“I’m gonna suspend you from safety patrol for two weeks, Ron. You’re sick too much.”

“Yes Sir, Mr. Kloss. I won’t get sick anymore. Can I have my belt back after that? It was a single shoulder around the waist strap that Ron had bleached so that it was bone white.

“We’ll see what happens,” said Mr. Kloss.

Ron liked the hot chocolate that the safety patrol got on cold mornings and that the girls in the home economics class that’s served them. There was Elaine Tadeo and the way she smiled and put a second marshmallow in his cup. Later that year, Ron had thrown rocks at her to prove to his friends that he didn’t really like her, but when the black kids from Broadway Junior had come up there looking for the pretty Italian girls, Ron went home at lunch and came back with a butcher knife, ready to keep anyone who came near to Elaine far away. He’d gotten caught right outside the iron mesh grated window. His mother had called the school frantic that a knife was missing. The cops had told Ron that he would be in trouble at Broadway Junior and they sent him down the street. Ron looked at the window where he’s hit the softball further than anyone except Paul Peterson, who he’d made lick the sidewalk. He flushed and went down the stairs and back to his car.

 

Halleck Street was a shambles. He and Rich had played stickball here everyday . This was where he’d first played football. This was where he’d told the rest of the team to line and throw him the ball and try to stop him. He ran hard and they had shied away. He knew what it was like to crash into a body or to have one crash into you and he longed for it. Now it was broken rubble, like the ruins he read about in Rome and Greece.

He was up on Rich’s door and knocking at it before he realized that he was there. There were bars on the windows and the small Italian woman was hunched over in back of the bolted door.

“It’s Ron Tuck,” he said.

She opened the door with a huge smile. “Ronald, how wonderful to see you. Come in, come in!”

“Mrs. D’Orio, I really didn’t think that you were still here.”

“We don’t give up easily, Ronald. How is your mother?”

Ron put his head down respectfully. This woman had fed him on more nights that he could remember and when she came out into the back yard and had asked if Ron wanted to stay for dinner, he had always shouted a triumphant ‘Yes.”

Now her place looked worn and torn up and used passed the point where it should have been left alone. Wallpaper hung in puffed peels in the hallway. The kitchen looked like something was crawling in it. The smells were old and not fresh and clean the way that Ron remembered them. The rooms were dark and small and Ron had remembered almost feeling like he was in the country when he’d been at the D’Orio house. She was now old and scared and Ron wondered how Richie could have ever let this happen. She seemed to have a lump on her back that was stretched over an old sweater and a plaid housedress with a raveled hem. Her lips were shaking.

“My mother is good. I was just in the neighborhood, Mrs. D’Orio.”

“Can you stay and have dinner, Ron”

“No, Ma’am, I got to be getting back now”

“Have you seen my Richie? You’re always welcome here Ronald.”

“No, Ma’am, but please give him my best.”

Ron turned and walked away from the place.

“Come back anytime, Ronald.”

He didn’t answer. He drove down to where Halleck Street met Broadway and then north towards Belleville.

Ron looked for his building. The gas station across the street was gone and the diner had been demolished. His basement apartment stood in back of an 8 foot high chain link fence with razor wire that ran along the top of it. It was a battle zone and no place for his memories.

Chapter 4

 

Across the street from the high school was a corner coffee shop. The girls piled in there at the end of the day, unbuttoning their tops and hiking up their skirts even more for the collection of males that waited for them. The place had the heavy Latino aroma of beans and rice, fried plantains, and Cuban sandwiches. Lots of things happened in the candy store. Gambling, street drugs, contacts who knew where to get guns, people who dreamed of the death of Fidel and their return to their long lost home, talk of baseball and soccer. The nuns never entered the place. The lay teachers were afraid of it, but Ron needed a place to get his coffee and he had already decided that the faculty room wasn’t for him. So, twice a day, once in the morning before school, and once at lunch he entered the place to the suspicious stares of the collection of men who weren’t sure why he was there. But the girls were always thrilled to see him.

That Friday morning he made his first entrance. The girls had told him that it was the only place around where he could get a good container of coffee.

“Mr. Tuck, I want you to meet my brother, Edwardo and this is Jimmy my brother’s friend” said Elena, placing Jimmy’s arm around her waist.

“It’s good to meet you, Edwardo,” said Ron, sticking out his hand.

 

Edwardo shook his hand politely. “Like Elena said, I’m her brother and this is Jimmy, her boyfriend.”

Ron smiled and extended his hand to Jimmy. Elena seemed about ten years older in the store than she had appeared to be in his class. In the store, she was a hot woman who knew the needs of men.

“Elena is a talented student. I’m sure that you’re proud of her.”

“Thank you,” said Edwardo. “We are very proud of her and of all the girls in the neighborhood, Mr. Tuck. You just here to get coffee?”

“Yeah, “said Ron smiling and taking his container and trying to pay for it.

But the man behind the counter said, “You teach my daughter, Connie. It wouldn’t be right to take money from you.”

Ron smiled and kept his dollar bill extended. “I need you to take it so that I can feel free to come back.”

Everyone was watching. The counterman took Ron’s bill and made change. “Connie will study her vocabulary at night with the rest of us,” said the man. “She says that you care about what she learns.” The man emptied the change into Ron’s hand adding, “I care about what she learns too, Mr. Tuck.”

Ron wasn’t sure if it was a warning or a compliment but he took his container to his fire escape and ripped a V into the lid, lit a cigarette and rested his head against the metal. He could hear the music coming out of the store. Then he heard the buzzer that said his lunch was over.

Edwardo grabbed Elena’s arm as she started out the door. “Don’t let that American man fill your head up,” he said.

“No,” said Elena lightly. “I’ll keep my head just the way you like it, all empty and pretty.”

When she left Edwardo said to Jimmy, “Why my fourteen year old smart-assed sister is somebody you want is a mystery to me.”

“Elena knows who she is,” said Jimmy. “Don’t worry about her.”

Edwardo took a step back and raised his hands palms up. “I’m not worried but maybe you should be.” His accent had the singsong of bravado and gentle mockery.

All day long, Ron tested them. They were to use dictionaries to help them write. They could use Spanish to English dictionaries if they needed to. Ron was hungry for their essays. He wanted their thoughts. He wanted them to get used to writing for him. He’d devised a question for each class. He hadn’t planned the questions. He’d planned the test. But when it came time to put the question on the board he seemed to know what it was and wrote it out almost automatically.

The girls left his classes that day complaining that their hands and heads hurt. Ron laughed at them and they pouted for him. He loved the way that they pouted because it always ended with a turn of their heads and a dark eyed smile that wished him a good weekend.

Now he was sitting in back of his desk arranging the piles of papers and Sister Irene appeared in his doorway. “How was your first week, Mr. Tuck? Are you planning to stay with us?”

Ron felt a flush of fear wash through his body and he froze at the sound of her words, “Yes, Sister.”

“Then I suppose you’d better have this,” she said and handed him his check. Father Smith liked to give the teachers a week’s pay at the end of the first week of school, even though the pay period was every two weeks. It had been a long summer and the check was the boost that some of them needed. Ron was amazed when he stared at the check. They’d given him money for teaching