Archives for November 9, 2013

Chapter 6

A few months later Marjorie borrowed money from her Aunt Dottie and bought a car. She learned that Rocky had sold the ’56 Chevy that they had bought together in favor of a newer model and she tracked down the person that bought the car and overpaid to get it back. She was back to work now, waitressing across the street from their apartment. Her customers remembered her and welcomed her back with $.50 tips and sometimes an entire dollar. Life was developing a new pattern and Ron began to feel settled in.

One summer night when he got home from stickball under the parking lot lights of the Davis Pharmaceutical Company, Marjorie said, “Come on, we’re going for a ride.” They put the top down on the convertible and drove down up to Newark City Stadium and then across Roseville Avenue. Ron stiffened in the seat next to her when he realized where they were heading.

“Why are we going to the Catanzaro house?” he asked.

“Don’t you miss seeing Sally and Honey and Anthony?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “Why haven’t they called us?”

“They are in a tough spot. Rocky is their family.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “They used to say that about us too.”

“When they see you, that’s exactly how they will feel,” said Marjorie.

She didn’t tell him that she had been speaking to Honey Chapel and that she promised to be there when she and Ron arrived. There was a bond between Honey and Marjorie, and though she loved her Uncle Rocky with an undying loyalty and worship, it had been Marjorie who had gone to bat for her when she had gotten pregnant and her father Anthony wanted to ship her off somewhere, so that the problem could be taken care of. Then he would visit Vincent Chapel with his brothers and teach the young prick some manners.

Marjorie had stood up to Anthony in his own house. Honey’s mother wasn’t able to do anything but cry and say that her husband knew best. Marjorie had gone there night after night and reasoned and begged and had the audacity to say that it didn’t matter that Vincent was only half Italian, and that she knew that they were in love and that he would make her a good husband. Marjorie had even outflanked him by bringing Rocky’s mother into it by telling her that her grand-daughter wanted to get married, and that someone needed to talk sense into Anthony. What was done was done and there was no reason to make a mistake into a tragedy.

Rocky had quietly endured being told that he should tell his girlfriend to shut her big mouth and stop meddling in things that she didn’t understand. But Marjorie had prevailed and Honey was now married and her husband was back from the Marines and had a good job as an electrician. Honey promised that she never would forget what Marjorie had done for her. She’d just turned seventeen when it all happened and that was five years ago and something that had been rewritten in Catanzaro family history by everyone except Honey.

Sally Catanzaro’s face registered shock when she saw Marjorie and Ron at her back door. The back door was for family and no one ever rang that bell. They just knocked as they walked in. Sally forced a smile at them. She had been Ron’s favorite, and he felt the rush of good feeling when he saw her smooth face and wanted to feel her warm hands hugging him the way that they always had. He advanced towards her for his hug, but she took a step back and put out her hand to ward him off. Ron stood there with his arms open and wondered if she had a cold that she was afraid to pass along to him. It was awkward. Marjorie and Sally’s eyes met and then Sally looked over her shoulder almost fearfully and then at Ron. Confusion was spreading across his face like the stain of a drink that had been spilled on a dinner’s tablecloth. Finally, she hugged him stiffly and Ron felt the stiffness and pulled back. She did not meet his eyes either.

“Marjorie, we didn’t expect you.”

Honey came into the room and hugged Marjorie warmly. Sally retreated further back against her stove. Marjorie and Honey laughed and Marjorie said that Honey looked so good when she was pregnant.

“Vincent feels that way too,” laughed Honey.

Ron saw Sally flush with embarrassment and he understood that something was very wrong here. He wanted to leave but they hadn’t even really gotten into the house.

Anthony’s heavy footsteps plodded into the kitchen. He was still wearing his uniform shirt and pants from Mechanic’s Overall, where he was a route rider, and now had his brother-in-law Rocky for a supervisor. His eyes met Marjorie and he stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do. He was on his way for a beer but the outsiders were standing in front of the refrigerator. Without greeting them, he said to his daughter. “Get me a Miller” and turned to go back to the TV.

Marjorie stood there stunned. Ron said, “Hello Anthony, don’t you see me?”

“I see you kid. You look ok,” he said, over his shoulder.

Ron was ill at ease and very confused. He saw Cookie by her dog bed and went to her. The dog wagged her tail and licked Ron’s face. He got down on the floor and nuzzled her. They women stood there watching him.

“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Marjorie.

Sally said, “Don’t feel that way. You know how Anthony is. He doesn’t like surprises. You should call first and maybe it would be better if you came during the day when he was at work. You know, just until he gets used to the idea.”

Ron wanted to ask if Connie, their younger daughter on whom he had a crush was in her favorite spot in the basement, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea either.

 

Chapter 7

Celeste, Ron and Angel rode in the squeak mobile. They were on the way to the park so Angel could feed the ducks. In the last days, the three of them had been together every night, and though she had not yet said Ron’s name, she loved to hold his hand and ride on his shoulders. Before Ron, she had been afraid of the ducks because they were almost as big as she was and their beaks and their feet and the noises that they made frightened her. But from the safety of his shoulders, with his arms wrapped around her knees, she was taller than everyone.

Her tiny fingers stroked the sides of his face and rested on top of his head and outlined the curve of his ears. She weighed almost nothing. He held her by her ankles. Euphoria swept over them both. Ducks quacked and scuttled at his feet. Celeste watched, feeling her heart carried along with them. Sometimes a pang of how hard it would be on her if this came to an abrupt end made her shiver, but there were lots of people in Angel’s life. Ron was a newcomer. She didn’t even really talk to him yet. They just did things together and Celeste knew that Angel thought of him as a big, flexible toy. At least, she did so far.

Celeste was quickly considering him something else. After that first night there had been the second night and then, right away, a third night. That was when they slept together.  He was gentle with her,Her cusHHHhh

 until the passion drove them both into a worked up froth. Then the gentleness returned and the ache between her legs felt warm and good and she wanted him back there again, thrusting himself in and out of her until he was poking at her cervix and the sweet hurt caused eruption after eruption inside of her.

            Back in the red Ford they went for ice cream and Ron asked Angel what she wanted.

            She grinned and her huge brown eyes lit up his face when she said, “Strawberry.”

            “Everything is strawberry right now,” said Celeste, who had taken Angel to meet Strawberry Shortcake at a breakfast the week before she and Ron had met.

            Ron smiled, “Strawberry is the best,” he said.

            Back in the car, face sticky, hands wiped clean but also almost like Velcro with everything that she touched Angel said, “Ron, the water tower,” and pointed.

            Ron pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to face the two of them. Angel was pointing out the window to the water tower that announced the name “Fairlawn” in faded block letters.

            His face was ecstatic and his reached back and lightly stroked her chubby calf. “That’s our water tower,” he said.

            Celeste saw the pure joy on his face and knew that it was because she had finally said his name. When he dropped them off at their house, Celeste unstrapped Angel from the car seat and handed her to Ron so that she could take the chair out and bring it back inside. Angel threw her arms around Ron’s neck and hugged him as tightly as she could.

            “I’ll call you when I get home,” said Ron.

            Celeste carried Angel into her house and Ron squeaked around the corner and disappeared. They both watched him go and then the porch light came on and Barbara was coming out the door.

            Barbara was Celeste’s cousin. She had been Celeste’s dance teacher and she loved Angel with the pure devotion of a spinster who saw her role as giving all that she had to this newest member of the family. “Where were you, young lady?”

            Angel smiled and tilted her head to the side in a dreamy gaze. “With Ron. We had ice cream.”

            Barb took the baby from Celeste’s arms and laughing in pure delight, repeated, “With Ron? And you had ice cream?”

            “We fed the ducks,” Angel giggled.

            “You are a sticky girl who needs a bath is what I think.”

            And she carried her back inside with Celeste trailing behind. Celeste’s mother and Barb’s mother, Vivian were at the table drinking coffee. Celeste’s father was stretched out on the floor watching a blaring TV. All three shouted “There’s the princess,” not quite in unison.

            “We’re very sticky,” said Barb and we’ll be right back after we have a bath. No one really said hello to Celeste but she didn’t mind. They were such a help to her. They had saved her life and she knew what the priorities were.

            Celeste put down the ever present baby bag that she had learned to carry with here everywhere. “Do you want to undress her while I run the water?” she asked Barb.

            After her bath, after they had passed her naked body around the table and took turns kissing her baby soft bottom, after Barb had gotten her dressed for bed and she had gone to lie on her Papa’s stomach and watch TV, Celeste’s mother said, “I suppose it’s time we met this Ron, before this little girl gets her heart broken.” Her mother was neither smiling nor happy.

            Before Celeste answered, the phone rang and she felt herself jumping at it. “Hi,” she cooed into the receiver. “Give me as second to get downstairs.”

            Vivian and her sister shook their heads as she disappeared into the basement and then called up, “Please hang up the phone.”

            Barb went to the wall phone and clicked it off.

 

Chapter 8

            Walking back towards the school after lunch, Ron felt the thick hard blade of the butcher knife that against his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was gonna need it, but he was sure that if it came down to anything, he wanted to have the biggest knife. His nervousness caused sweat to trickle down his back with an unamusing tickle. His friend were waiting in a loose circle at the corner.

            “You got anything?” said Kenny Bonet.

            “Yeah,” said Ron.

He slid the blade out from under his jacket and showed it to the other guys. There were the Zarro brothers, Jimmy Lucas, Kenny Bonet and him. They stared hard down Grafton Avenue, and waited for the kids from Broadway Junior High who had been there before lunch making dirty comments to some of the girls that Ron and his friends went to school with. There had been words and a stare down, but when they saw Mr. Boyden coming into the playground, the Broadway guys said, “After lunch, jerkoffs. We’ll see you then and make you eat shit.” They’d see about who was gonna be eating shit now. The Zarro’s each had a pocket knife. Kenny Bonet had an actual switch blade that he could snap open in one quick motion. Ron felt important.

            Broadway showed just like they said. They were black. They walked with a hop in their steps. They fanned out as they approached. Ron stood in the center next to Kenny. “You mother-fuckers got some sweet little pussy in this school. Too good for your little dicks. They told us they want to see what it’s like when they meet somebody who can make them want to get on their backs and spread their legs.”

            “Yeah nigger,” said Kenny. “Show us what you got and we’ll cut it right off, and then you’ll learn that you should be leaving white girls alone. Stay with you own frizzy headed, dirty pigs.”

Fists clenched, eyes darkened Ron opened his jacket and pulled out the butcher knife. The eyes of the boy glaring a few yards away from him got saucer big. Ron held it down low, blade pointed out. He prepared to rush in swinging it and slashing at anybody that came close to him. But in a moment one of the Black kids pointed over Ron’s shoulder, and the rest of the Broadway group froze and then turned and ran. Ron was too focused and he surely wasn’t gonna fall for the ‘look who’s in back of you’ trick. Then he heard Kenny say, “Cops.”

The boys scattered and ran through the playground as the two cars raced down the street and pulled up in front of the gate. Ron ran through the playground and out the other side. There was a chain link fence that was lined with high bushes just on the other side of it. He stopped, stooped down and slid the knife through an opening in the fence until he couldn’t see it anymore. The kids had scattered. He couldn’t see any of his friends now. He was panting and sweating. He heard the bell ring. He could go right in through this side door. No one had seen him. He was safe.

The afternoon in Mrs. Kennedy’s 6A class got off to a slow start. Ron looked around. Jimmy Lucas was in his seat but he had his head down and didn’t turn around to look at Ron, who only glanced at the back of Jimmy’s head and then looked away. The Zarro brothers were in another class but he didn’t see Kenny anywhere. His empty seat glared like an accusation. Ron was worried but he knew that Kenny was a tough kid who played hooky a lot. It wouldn’t be unusual if Kenny just took off and didn’t come back to school that day. It was probably the smart thing to do. It was what Ron should have done. He looked over at Valerie Scaretti and she smiled at him. Ron smiled back. Valerie knew what was going on. She had been one of the insulted girls. She was one of the girls that Ron was defending. The least she could do was smile for him.

There was a knock at Mrs. Kennedy’s door. She turned, looked down the aisle, nodded her head and made eye contact with Ron as she nodded her head. Ron felt his body go tighter. He had an urge to clasp his hand, against the edge of his desk like he was taught to do when he was being punished. He fought the urge. Nothing had happened. He hadn’t done anything. He tried to look innocent. Then he saw Mrs. Kennedy point to him and crook her index finger. Motioning him to come to the front of the room. He got up slowly.

“Ronald, you’re wanted in the main office,” said Mrs. Kennedy. There was a worried look on her face. She was Ron’s favorite teacher since 3^rd grade. She wanted to skip him a half year because of his reading ability and his vocabulary. She had helped to get the “Y” on his library card that allowed him to borrow books from the adult library, as long as certain books were off limits. She told him that she couldn’t skip him because his asthma caused him to miss too many days. She didn’t know that some of the asthma days were times when his mother kept him home to help her go downtown and look for better jobs than waitressing.

Ron walked down the two flights of stairs to the main office. He would just play dumb. He didn’t know anything about anything. He had gone home for lunch and the come back to school like always. He was pretty sure that he could get away with it.

“Ronald,” said the principal’s secretary, “there’s a call for you from home. It’s a little unusual but I’m going to let you take it but I have to listen in on this line.”

“Sure,” said Ron. He picked up the phone.

Marjorie Tuck said, “Ronald, did you take a knife from the kitchen drawer at lunchtime?”

Ron closed his eyes. Busted by his own mother. How could she possibly have figured that out so fast? “Yes, Mom, I did.”

Marjorie’s voice was choked. “Why?” she managed to say.

“For protection,” said Ron, almost defiantly.

Then the door to the principal’s office opened and Ron saw the two policemen sitting there. They were listening too. Kenny Bonet was in the corner of the principal’s office. He looked like he was crying. The secretary took the phone away from Ron’s ear. Ralph Lattimere’s deep voice said “Come in here, Ronald.”

Ron felt himself moving towards the door at the same time that he wanted to turn and run. He could get passed the secretary. He could be unstoppable. The cops were smiling.

“Where’s the knife now Ron?” said principal Lattimere.

“I hid it,” said Ron.

One of the detectives stood up. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “Show me where it is.”

Kenny was looking at the wall. Ron thought that he looked like a little boy who wasn’t so tough after all.

Ron took the cop to the spot in the chain link fence and pointed. “In there,” he said.

“Get it for me,” said the cop.

Ron crouched down and worked it out from between the links of the fence, thinking that they never would have found it. They never would have known to look there. Why did his mother have to call?

He handed the knife over and the detective whistled as he saw it. “You know that you’re in big trouble, right?”

“I didn’t do anything,” protested Ron.

“Let me show you something kid. “The law says that anything with a blade more than four fingers long is illegal to carry.” He laid four fingers at the base of the blade. It extended out at least six more fingers beyond the detectives hand. Ron stared at it. “Still think that you didn’t do anything wrong?”

Ron shook his head.

“Do you know where Jamesburg is, kid?”

Ron shook his head again.

“Who else was with you?”

Ron didn’t answer.

“Did anyone have brass knuckles?”

Ron thought that he knew what brass knuckles were but he wasn’t sure. He shook his head.

“You really think that your mother needs this aggravation from you?” said the detective in a gruff, harsh whisper.

It was then that Ron began to cry.

 

Back at their apartment, Marjorie said little to Ron. She was terrified. The cops had been non-committal about whether or not there was a way that he could avoid charges. One thing was for certain; something had to be done. He couldn’t just walk away from this. Denny Galveston was a cop that Marjorie knew. He was a good guy. When he got free coffee, he left her a tip. “Some of your son’s friends are on a bad path, Margi. We’re gonna slam them before this gets any worse. Your boy hasn’t been in trouble before, but Jesus, he had a butcher knife.”

Marjorie winced and then she cried. “Isn’t there something that we can do? I need him Denny. He’s all that I have.”

“Maybe it would be better to straighten him out now. Six months in Jamesburg, and he would think twice about ever doing something like this again.”

Marjorie looked into his eyes with her own large hazel eyes. “Six months in there and he might never be the same. He’s a good boy. Can’t we do something?”

“No promises but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll stop by the diner tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I know something.”

Marjorie made two phone calls. The first was to Ron’s father. The second was to Mechanics Overall. She was convinced that what Ron needed was a man to talk to him. It was about time that she brought her ex-husband into this, and Rocky was someone that she always went to when she didn’t know what to do.

“I can stop over after work,” said Rocky, “but do you really think that Ron will listen to anything that I say?”

“I’ll try anything, “said Marjorie. “Rocky, they are talking about sending him away. I can’t bear the thought of him being in a place like that. It will kill me.”

She had difficulty contacting Harry. He was on the road and his boss said that he would get a message to him to call as soon as he called in. Marjorie explained that it was about Ron and that it wasn’t good news.

Ron was sitting at the kitchenette table in the living room looking down at the pattern on the table top when Rocky arrived. He didn’t look up.

“Ron, it looks like you gotten yourself in a bit of a scrape.” Ron didn’t answer. Rocky and Marjorie exchanged a look.

“You know enough to answer when someone is talking to you Ronald,” said Marjorie. “Rocky is here to try to help you.”

“I thought he promised never to see us again,” said Ron, looking only at his mother.

“Ron, sometimes adults say things because they have to say them. It doesn’t mean that they believe them,” said Rocky.

“So basically you’re just a liar, right?” said Ron.

There was a silence and then Marjorie said, “I’m going across the street to talk with John Pappas, maybe he can do something.” John Pappas was her boss and he liked Ron. He sometimes paid him a dollar to kill flies in the back section of the diner. Ron watched her leave and then he watched Rocky move over to the table and sit down. He sat in the chair that he usually sat in when they all had dinner together and Ron felt the hatred rise in him and blot of his fear.

“What were you thinking?” said Rocky.

Silence.

“Do you know what you were thinking?”

“Yeah, I was thinking that the Negro kid looked a little Italian and that if I couldn’t stab you, maybe I could stab him.” He watched Rocky’s face turn red with anger. He noted with satisfaction that it took Rocky a minute to compose himself.

“So you’re just going to make smart assed comments to me and make yourself feel better that way. Is that your plan? What about your mother?”

Ron felt the tears immediate rise to his eyes and threaten to fall. He bit off his words hard. “You got no right to talk to me about hurting her. You didn’t care what happened to her or what happened to me. Don’t be here now trying to make up for it, because I hate you. You want to know what my plan is?  My plan is to hate you until you die. My plan is to hate your daughter, to hate your sisters, and to hate your whole lying family.” Ron stared at him. The tears were running out of his eyes now and he wiped them with his sleeve.

“I can’t talk to you,” said Rocky.

“That’s right, you can’t,” spit Ron.

Quietly, Rocky left and Ron looked up to the windows that were at ground level and watched him walk across the street.

Ron’s dad wanted to speak with him alone. Harry was careful not to show any sense of pride about what Ron had done, but the fact that he was standing up to the niggers was pleasing to him.  He loaded Ron into his car and they went for a ride. It was where they had their best talks because Harry had an excuse for not making eye contact. Ron never seemed to notice, and the passing scenery seemed to allow Harry to open up more easily.

“Ronald, it was stupid of you to get caught. If you are gonna get caught doing these things, you’re better off not to do them, and since you seem to get caught as often as you get away with anything, maybe you are better off not doing them.”

“Dad, I didn’t get caught. I stashed the knife. They never would have found it. Mom came home and saw that it was missing from the kitchen drawer and called the school.”

Harry shook his head back and forth. “And you believe that’s what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you believe that you mother came home and for some strange reason immediately checked the kitchen drawer and saw that the knife was missing?”

Ron stared straight out the window. He felt stupid because what his father had just said sounded stupid, and he felt more stupid because he didn’t know what the real answer was.

“Your friend Kenny ratted you out,” said Harry. “He gave your name to the police and they called your mother and she pretended to call the school.” Harry glanced at Ron and saw that his son was sitting there with his mouth hanging open. Harry knew that this whole thing was a tough lesson, and that it might even get tougher still but he believed that his son would learn. “Any time that you trust somebody, Ron, you leave yourself open. You need to learn to leave yourself open less often.”

“How do I do that, dad?”

“You keep your mouth shut and keep things to yourself. You don’t ever brag about anything. Bragging leaves you open. You let the other guy brag and you listen and size up where he is weak from his bragging.”

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“I know that you don’t,” said Harry. “That’s why I’m telling you that you aren’t cut out to do the kind of things that you’re doing. Even now, you don’t know what to do, do you?”

“No,” said Ron quietly.

Harry debated telling his son that the next thing to do was to kick the shit out of Kenny and decided that it wasn’t a good idea. “When we get back to your apartment, tell your mother that I told you that you were too smart to be wasting your time with knives and gangs and that you have a better future than that.”

“Ok,” said Ron.

“Don’t tell her about the rest of what we talked about. It will only upset her.”

“Ok.”

“Ron, it isn’t a lie. You are too smart to be doing these things.”

“I don’t feel very smart at all, dad.”

When they got back home, Marjorie was smiling. “They’re not pressing any charges,” she said. “Ronald, you are going to Catholic school.”

 

Chapter 9

Angel sat waiting by the bay window to the side of the front door. Her mother was in the bathroom combing her hair and her grandmother was on the telephone in the kitchen. When she smelled her mom’s perfume, she decided that Ron must be on his way over, and she listened and watched for his car. It had been two weeks since they had met. Angel didn’t know that it was that long, but she did know that he liked to play with her and she liked to make him smile. In her play room, she had her tea party set all assembled. She heard his car come around the corner just as her mom went down into the basement to change her clothes.

She took Ron by the hand and used it to steady her walking as she brought him into the playroom. She was very quiet and Ron hadn’t said anything. She had been worried about how she would open the door but when he saw her on the other side of the screen door, standing there, smiling, he had opened it for her. When they got back into the playroom, she used her weight and both hands to shut the door. Now she had him all to herself.

Ron sat cross-legged on the floor and drank imaginary tea from a plastic cup. Then she served imaginary cakes. Her dark eyes were very serious, and Ron watched with a glowing warmth that spread through him like he was high. Angel was just over three feet tall and would be two years old next week.

“Would you like more tea?” she said in a perfectly enunciated sentence.

“Yes, please,” said Ron. He hadn’t really been around that many children in his life. He didn’t realize how extraordinary it was that she had gone from saying single words to speaking in complete sentences before her second birthday, but when she looked into his eyes with her huge brown windows, he felt himself absorbed.

After about fifteen minutes, the door opened. Angel frowned and Celeste came into the room smiling. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I was kidnapped,” said Ron shrugging his shoulders.

Angel got to her feet turned to her mother and pressed both hands on her thighs and tried to push her back out of the room. “No,” she said.

 

At dinner, Celeste’s mother Anna, a stout woman with short mixed red and grey hair, said, “Angel has become very attached to you in a very short period of time.” She sat hunched over her plate when she said it and raised her eyes up and turned her head only slightly to make eye contact with Ron.

“She’s just wonderful,” said Ron.

“I know that she is,” said Anna. “Do you really think that it is a good idea that you spend so much time together?”

Ron looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure that it’s good for Angel to become so attached to you,” said Anna.

“Can we talk about this later?” said Celeste.

Celeste’s father Mario said nothing as he ate. He had always opened his home for his daughters’ friends and tried to make them feel comfortable, but he could see that his wife was on a mission and decided to stay out of it.

Ron’s eyes moved from Celeste to Angel and then back to Anna. He was no stranger to dinner time confrontations, but he believed that if he could hold his own with Marjorie, he could hold his own with anyone.

“I think that we should talk about it now before Trudy and Angela come over.”

Ron met Celeste’s eyes and there was an imperceptible nod between them. He said, “I want Angel to become attached to me because I want to marry your daughter.”

Both Mario and Anna stopped eating. They turned to look at their elder daughter in unison. Celeste felt like she was going to swallow her tongue.

Anna’s voice was low and menacing. “And just when did the two of you decide that?”

“We’ve known it since the first night that we were together,” said Ron happily.

Anna felt like she was going to vomit. Mario looked at his wife. Images of the last two weddings and the last two divorces flooded his brain. Of course his daughter was still young, but she was a mother and he wanted his grand-daughter with him. He didn’t want upheaval. He didn’t like this guy with his light brown hair and green eyes and his squeaky wreck of a car. What kind of life was this going to be for Angel? She was happy here. Things were settled. There was no reason for this. He glared at Ron but Ron seemed oblivious. He was smiling at Anna, but Anna wasn’t smiling back.

Anna turned to her daughter. “And this is how you are going to take responsibility for your life and the life of your child now? You plan to rip her away from the only home that she has ever known. A home where she is happy and well cared for and run off with this.” At that she raised her fork from which hung a stray strand of dangling spaghetti, and pointed it at Ron.

Ron found himself staring at the saucy fork. “I think it’s going to be great for everyone, especially Angel,” he said.

He waited but no one answered him. Finally, Celeste said, “We’re going over to the park to feed the ducks. We’ll be back later.”

She dreaded what later was going to be, but she was going to have to address it eventually.

 

Chapter 10

“Mom, I met a girl and I think that I’m going to marry her.”

Marjorie Bombasco looked up from her coffee with a dazed expression. “Ronald, I just woke up.”

Ron continued, “I’m in love with her and I love her daughter too.”

“Her daughter? She has a daughter?”

“Yes, she was married before.”

“Why do you want a girl who was married before? You were never married before?” Marjorie could feel her stomach beginning to churn. She could tell that this wasn’t going to make her happy and the way that he was just springing it on her meant that there must be more.

“Technically, no, I wasn’t,” said Ron. Then he continued with his reasoning, “But I lived with Robin, I lived with Zoe.”

“Are you telling me that you would have wanted to marry the mouse?”

“I really wish that you’d stop calling her that. She wasn’t a mouse.”

“She squinted like a mouse.”

“OK, mom, there’s not need to argue about Zoe. That isn’t the question.”

“And how long have you been seeing this new love of your life and why is this the first time that you are telling me about it?”

“I’ve seen her almost every day for the last two weeks.”

“Two entire weeks,” said Marjorie. “Well then I’m sure that you know what you are doing.”

“You’re right mom, I do know exactly what I’m doing. And I’d like you to meet her.”

“Before you marry her? That’s very thoughtful of you, Ronald.”

“Is this how you’re going to be, sarcastic and unsupportive?”

“Just what is it that you would like me to support Ronald? You’ve met a girl. That’s wonderful. Of course it’s not a girl that I introduced you to or a girl that I even know, but that would be asking too much wouldn’t it?”

Ron said nothing. He stared into her eyes with resolve. She knew the look. He got it from his father. It meant that his mind was made up and Marjorie felt the room begin to spin. She put her hands flat on the table. “And just where did you meet this girl?”

“She used to be Quimpy’s girlfriend,” said Ron.

“So, you couldn’t even find a girl of your own. You had to steal your friend’s girlfriend that he didn’t want anymore. After she had gone off and gotten married and had a child. How old is this girl?”

“We’re the same age,” said Ron. He felt himself bristling from the Quimpy remark.

“And how old is her kid?”

“Angel is going to be two next week.”

Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of a name is Angel?”

“They’re Italian,” said Ron. His eyes met his mother’s eyes. Their gazes held each other for a long time.

Marjorie felt her chin begin to quiver. “I thought you said that you didn’t want anything to do with an Italian girl? You’ve never even really dated an Italian girl.”

“I know, it’s funny isn’t it.”

A tear ran out of her left eye. “No Ronald, I would not say that it’s funny.”

 

Chapter 1

Ron was riding shotgun in the pink Cadillac. It was dark and he was trying to see in back of him. Quimpy was driving. It was the beginning of July. Quimpy was calculating how long it would take to empty his apartment and wipe down every piece so that he was sure there were no cockroaches. In the back seat, Angel was almost asleep, and Celeste was sitting still and hoping that meant that Angel would sleep through the night.

Ron cast a sidelong glance at Quimpy, who was on cruise control and heading for the end of the night. Ron wanted to look into Celeste’s eyes. He wanted to see her baby’s eyes again. He was confused. Maybe he should have just gone home at the end of the day. He was helping Quimpy to move one antique piece of furniture at a time from one end of Paterson to the other in a pink Cadillac convertible. It occurred to Ron that if he ever had to live out of a car, a Cadillac would be an excellent choice. He wanted to see her face. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted the baby to open her eyes and gaze into his soul again.

             The Caddy rolled to a stop in front of Celeste’s home. She gathered Angel into her arms. Ron wanted her to turn around. He told himself that if she was interested, she would look back at him. He watched the roll of her hips disappear as she walked up the stairs and into the small, brick Cape Cod. The baby was asleep and Celeste did not look back.

Quimpy said, “Too bad about her, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron.

“That big guinea family, married twice, already popped out a kid. It’s over,” said Quimpy.

Ron was silent. He wondered if that was why she hadn’t turned around.

The next day Ron was back at Quimpy’s place. The move was in its second week. They took two or three wooden pieces at a time. They made at least three trips a day. There was a lot more to go. Quimpy was a collector and he liked spindly-legged oak.  Ron’s summer checks were coming in. He was working out on the track. Quimpy was an old friend and Ron didn’t mind doing him a favor. Besides, Quimpy was giving him excellent pot.

            Celeste startled them both when she appeared. Ron stood but seemed paralyzed. She kissed Quimpy on the cheek and moved towards Ron.

            “You were talking about going on vacation last night,” she said.

            Ron was confused. “I was?”

            “I think that you should consider Arcosanti. It’s a great place to think about.” She extended her right hand and presented a stapled collection of copied library research pages to him.

            Ron looked over at Quimpy and then into her eyes. “I’m not sure that I know what you mean.”

            Celeste said, “If you have any questions about this or anything else, I put my phone number right here.” She pointed to the hand written number at the top of one of the photocopied pages. Ron looked down at it. He was pretty sure that his mouth had dropped open, but then she was turning and leaving.

            She had been wearing jeans and a white cotton top. Ron was stunned. Quimpy wasn’t saying anything. She didn’t make eye contact with Quimpy on the way out. Quimpy felt strangely dismissed.

            “Do you think she just gave me her phone number?”

            “Looks that way,” said Quimpy.

            Ron said, “I don’t know what to do about that.”

`           “Give her a call,” said Quimpy.

Remembering Celeste, Ron agonized. They had spent a day together in Quimpy’s old converted garage. Then she was living in the City and drove a red Italian sports car.  Ron felt lucky that he had transportation. She was tan and beautiful and the way the she laughed made him feel warm and excited at the same time. But she was talking about clubbing in New York and making that scene or a different scene.  Ron knew that he did not have anything that interested her but his smile. He smiled for her as much as he could and the next thing he heard, she was gone and married.

            A few weeks ago, Quimpy had brought her up again. She was now twice divorced and living back home with a baby. “Imagine your life just being over and settled that way,” said Quimpy.

            Ron had felt a pang of sadness when Quimpy had said that. “So are you gonna start seeing her again?” he’d asked.

            “Too many guineas and with that kid they will be all over her. But if she wants to drop over and get laid it will be ok.”

            Ron replayed that conversation in his head. He wondered if that was why she had come to see Quimpy. He tried to read the stuff she had given him about Arcosanti, but he couldn’t understand why she thought he would have been at all interested in it.

            As they packed Quimpy’s huge collection of clothing into the back of the Caddy, Ron wondered if they should check those things for roaches too. Maybe roaches didn’t like clothing. “So you’re sure that it’s ok if I call her?” he said to Quimpy.

            “Sure,” said Quimpy smiling. “Why would you want to call her?”

            “She gave me her phone number,” said Ron.

            “You know she’s a crazy bitch, right?”

            “I don’t know. I remember liking her a lot when I spent that day with her in your garage.”

            Quimpy was scratching his beard. He wasn’t really paying attention to Ron. He didn’t know why Celeste had done the stupid thing with the phone number, but he was pretty sure that he didn’t care.

            Quimpy’s old place was going into foreclosure. The landlord was in jail and his wife had not been able to afford to heat it last winter. He wasn’t spending another winter with his balls clinking together like ice cubes. When he had bought her a tank of oil, she had turned the heat way up and used it all as fast as she could. Quimpy didn’t like moving. It was a project that required help and took time and threw him out of his routines. Ron was alright, but Quimpy didn’t like seeing anyone every day. His new place was an ethnic mixture of Blacks, Arabs, and Hispanics. It was actually closer to his school. It was an easier shot to the bowling alley. The move was going to be a good thing. Then he saw Ron’s lips moving and realized that Ron had been talking to him. He tuned back in.

            “You’re sure you don’t mind if I call her?” Ron was asking again.

            “I’m sure,” said Quimpy, telegraphing his exasperation. “I just mind that you keep asking me about it.”

            That Sunday morning Ron stayed in bed and read the newspaper. Then he drove over to the track and ran. He started calling Celeste about three o’clock in the afternoon. There was no answer. He played his guitar. He called again. Still no answer. He went for a walk. He called again. He considered ditching the whole idea. He smoked a joint and played his guitar again. He listened to some music. He took a shower. He watched the Yankees lose to the Angels and go into the All Star break two games under .500. He went out and brought home some Chinese food. By ten o’clock, he was sure that this was just a stupid idea, but he had called so many times that day and he couldn’t let it go.

            When she picked up the phone and said “hello” he began to sweat. He looked down to see that he his body had jerked in the bed at the sound of her voice and brown sauce from his order of hot spiced shredded beef was leaking onto his sheets. He pulled back the corner of the sheet and covered it so that he didn’t have to look at it or get distracted.

            “Hi, it’s Ron Tuck.”

            “Oh, hi,” she said brightly.

            Ron felt himself smiling. She was happy to hear from him. “I was just calling to tell you that I finished that article about Arcosanti.”

            “Yes,” she said. “What did you think of it?”

            “I think I need to talk to you about it some.”

            “Why don’t you come over now,” she said.

 

 

Chapter 2

            Ron tugged the splattered sheet from the bed …balled it and through it into the corner of his closet. Then he slipped on a pair of fresh jeans and a dark blue, button down shirt. He combed his hair looking in the mirror. He brushed his teeth. Then he was out the door and into his car.

The summer night was warm and the breeze from the open windows of the moving car cooled him down. He felt his hands sweating and rubbed them on his jeans. Jesus, he was acting like a school boy. The drive was smooth. On Sunday nights most of the world was home, or headed there, and thinking about Monday morning work. Ron smiled and thought about how much he loved having the summers off. The parkway lights glowed yellowish, soft, and hazy. Ron glanced down at his hastily written directions. He couldn’t see them. He paid the toll and pulled the car off to the side of the road. He tried to read his scribble and cursed his handwriting. He couldn’t make it out. She’d never understand if he didn’t get there. He thought this was the right exit. He’d pulled off the parkway and looked for a phone booth.  It was then that he realized that he hadn’t taken her number with him. Ron said, “I’m too stupid to live.”

He did have the address and so he decided that he would let his instincts take over. He drove towards his school. She did say that it was close to there in Fair Lawn, the next town over. He stopped at a light on Paramus Road and made a left. It felt right. The streets were dark. The road was wide and silent and winding

The he came to another light. Instinct told him to turn left. And there was something that he recognized. He knew where he was! Ron looked up at the twinkle of stars and smiled to them. They seemed to be giggling. He felt himself concentrating. He turned the Ford to the right, the springs squeaked. He hated that the springs squeaked so much. It felt like people could tell that he was coming and would refer to him as Squeaky. Ron saw the circle and knew it was her house. He felt his body begin to relax. At least he had gotten here. When he got out, he looked up and thanked the giggling stars.

Celeste came out of the door just as he moved towards her house. She looked gorgeous. She was wearing a long, flowing ankle length skirt and a white cotton top. He brown hair was below her shoulders and bounced as she walked. She took his hand quickly and turned him around. “Let’s go for a drink,” she said. “It will be easier to talk.”

They got into Ron’s car and he winced each time the springs squeaked. She didn’t seem to notice. He had the sense that he could feel her smiling next to him as they drove to the bar.

When the waitress came over to their booth, Ron really didn’t know what to order. Other than having naked women gyrating in front of him, his time in bars had been negligible. He always blamed it on the dives that his dad had taken him to when he was a kid, when his dad was fixing juke boxes and pinball machines and pool tables in Newark. A thought that the business for which his dad worked must have been connected to organized crime struck him, and for a second he fixated on it and then he pushed it away and grinned his best dimpled grin for her. She returned the smile.

“I don’t think that I’m much of an Arcosanti type,” said Ron.

“I really didn’t think that you were either,” said Celeste with a mischievous grin.

“Really, the reason that I was calling was that I wanted to see you and talk with you and the Arcosanti thing gave me an excuse.”

“Let’s forget about Arcosanti,” she said. “It was a pretty thin reason for giving you my phone number but it was all that I had.”

Ron felt his heart begin to pound. “You wanted to see me too?”

“Yes,” said Celeste. “I don’t know why but it feels like I know you.”

“We did meet a long time ago,” said Ron. “I mean, really a long time ago.”

Celeste said, “Quimpy told me that we had, but I must have had you mixed up with someone else. I thought you had thick glasses and blondish, curly hair.”

Ron was confused. She didn’t remember him. She was describing his friend Hank. Would she have been happier if it had been Hank who showed up?

“That was an old friend of mine. His name is Hank. I’m not sure what he’s doing these days, but I think Quimpy told me that he is a golf pro.”

Two glasses of wine appeared at their table and Ron reached into his pants and pulled out a wad of bills. He never had his money neatly arranged. He felt his cheeks redden as he fished for something other than a single. He wondered if all the singles would let on to her that he went to go-go bars and wondered if she would be disgusted by that and just want him to take her home. Then he sighed visibly with relief and saw a ten dollar ball and slipped it onto the waitress’s tray.

“But we did spend an afternoon talking at Quimpy’s garage,” he said.

She turned her eyes towards him and shifted her body so that it was angled to face him. He felt her foot touch his leg and then move away. “What did we do?” she asked lightly. She was still smiling. She had a great smile that spread from her mouth up to her eyes. They were large and brown and searching his face in the most delightfully teasing way.

Ron swallowed. “Um, we got high. We talked about politics. You told me that you were working on the Underground Railroad and helping guys to get to Canada. You told me that you were also writing to guys who were in Viet Nam because you didn’t think that it was their fault that they were there, and that you hoped that it helped that they had someone to write to.”

Celeste felt a jolt race through her body. He wasn’t fooling. He did remember her and he remembered details. That was such a long time ago. How could he possibly remember that?

“That must have been me,” she said.

Ron grinned to himself. He loved his memory. He could just picture things and bring back those pictures and his mind would move like a camera through the recollections and he could see himself and he could hear what people were saying to him. It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened often enough. He had decided a while back that he remembered the things that were important to him, even if he didn’t know why they had been important. It was like his memory was his guardian angel.

“You drove a red sports car,” Ron continued. “And you were working at this food company.”

“Nabisco,” she said. She wondered if she should feel uneasy, but she didn’t. She felt complimented. “How do you remember all that?”

Ron grinned again and put his head down. “I don’t know. Sometimes things just stick in my head.”

She smiled. “And I stuck in your head?”

“I guess so,” said Ron. He paused thoughtfully. “Well you did and then you didn’t. I’ve been thinking about you since we saw each other last and I guess that’s when I remembered those things.”

Celeste sipped at her wine. “Maybe Quimpy helped you fill in the details.”

Ron laughed. “Not exactly. He just got tired of me asking if it was ok for me to call you.”

Her eyebrows gathered. “Why did you ask?”

Ron was silent. He wasn’t sure how he should say this. How did he explain that in the code she still belonged to Quimpy? “I just felt like I should,” he said.

“Quimpy knows that I’m not going to go out with him under any circumstances. I made that clear from the start,” said Celeste.

“Your daughter is beautiful,” said Ron. “She looks at you and you know that she understands everything that is happening around her.”

Celeste offered another of those smiles that made him want to gaze into her eyes and bask in their light. “Of course I think she’s very special but I’m prejudiced.”

“Does she see her father much?”

“He’s allowed to visit in our living room. He stays a while and then he loses interest and wants to talk with me or my family, but no one is really interested in talking to him.”

“Was he abusive to you?”

“Not physically, but emotionally he was. He called me every day and asked me to have an abortion and then he had his father call and ask me to have an abortion and I wasn’t doing that again.” Celeste stared into Ron’s green eyes and wondered if she had said too much. She was more of a private person than this, but the way that he made her feel just put her at ease and caused her to want to open herself and answer honestly. She wanted him to know what he was getting into. Celeste was sure that this was going to be a summer fling, but from the time that he walked into her parents’ house with Quimpy, she had known that she wanted to sleep with him. It was really the first time she’d felt a strong sexual urge in a long time, and she knew that she didn’t deserve this but she wanted it. She knew that was not part of the deal that she made with her parents when she left Peter and came back home then found out that she was pregnant. They had been very clear. It was time for her to stop running around and start thinking of this child before herself. She had her fun, now it was time to settle into becoming a good mother.  They would accept the humiliation of her dissolving another marriage but this was it. This was the end.

Ron let her words sink in. He waited for the alarm to go off in his head. It didn’t ring. He waited to feel the urge to get away. It didn’t come. He said, “We all say things that we don’t mean. I’m sure that he’s happy now. Is there any chance of reconciliation?”

Celeste’s face hardened. “No, not even a slight chance.” 

Her mind flashed on her wedding day. Her cousin Janine was saying, “We can just walk out the back door and get into the car. You don’t have to go through with this.” If there had been a time when she should have rebelled that was it. Of all the times to pick to be the good girl and do what was expected of her, she picked that one.

She tried to see what was going on in back of his eyes. When she looked into them, it was as if she could see his mind working.

“Well, she’s a beautiful girl and you should be very proud of her.”

“I am. We all are. My whole family is. She is our princess.”

Ron smiled but he was sure that he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“So tell me about you,” she said.

“Not much to tell,” said Ron. He folded his hands on the table in front of his wine glass. “I live alone in a small apartment in Bloomfield. I’m off this summer. This school that I teach at now gives us 26 pay checks year round and so I’m not really looking for work. Quimpy was agonizing about how he was ever going to get this move done, so I offered to help him. He’s done a lot in the past to help me. This fall, I start my second year as a football coach. I’m not very political any more. There just doesn’t seem to be anything to be political about. I’m pretty certain that there isn’t anything that I can do to change anything anymore. But I can work with kids and try to help them to see the value of literature and being about to write and speak their minds in an articulate way. I’m thirty-two but it feels like I should be younger.”

As she listened, she thought that he sounded very free of entanglements. It frightened her that they would have this glass of wine and that he would promise to call and that she would never hear from him again. She knew that she could not bring herself to really chase after him.

“Do you enjoy your teaching?” she asked.

“More than I ever thought that I would. I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I left college. I wanted to be a poet.” He looked at her with a reflection of that grin in his eyes. “It didn’t take long to find out that there isn’t much work for poets.”

They both laughed. They both sipped from their wine. She slid a little closer to him and he found that he had reached for her hand and now they were holding hands. He hadn’t thought about doing it. How did that happen?

She said, “I’m not sure that I get poetry. I think it sounds beautiful but I’m never sure what it’s supposed to mean.”

Ron blushed. “I used to try to tell people what my poems meant. I even corrected them if the poem meant something different to them. How stupid was that?”

Celeste smiled. He felt himself melting. “It probably didn’t go over really well with them and they probably didn’t want to talk with you about your poetry after that.”

Ron grinned broadly. “You are a mind reader.”

They finished the wine and were back in his car. Ron didn’t wince at the squeaks. They didn’t say anything. The night seemed soft. Ron thought about John Keats calling the night “tender” and he felt that he knew what the poet meant.

They pulled up in front of her house. Ron said, “I’m really not ready for this conversation to be over but I understand if you’re tired.”

Celeste said, “Would you like to see my basement.”

 

The ceiling was low, the walls were paneled. The floor was carpeted. They embraced as soon as they entered the room. The kiss was a marathon of lips and tongues. Their sense of time disappeared. The tactile exchange became their language and they communicated longing and passion and although their minds could not quite fathom it, their bodies were in love.

They did not have sex or undress. They did not touch each other’s genitals. They hardly breathed. It was a slow, undulating dance and they felt revealed to each other. After endless kisses, they went outside and sat on her porch, so that they could talk again. The visibility to the community allowed them to keep their hands off of each other. It was about 4am when Ron said, “Do you think that we should get married?”

Celeste felt her head began to spin. The tightness in her belly threatened to double her over. She could see his eyes though the darkness and they were like searchlights that had found her in the night and would not release her. She was too frightened to speak. Then she said, “Don’t say that.”

“I think we should,” said Ron. He knew it with certainty that allowed for no doubts.

Celeste hoped that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3

 

Ron was walking back from Branch Brook Park. It was cold. The sky was dark. Along Broadway, a steady line of car lights headed in both directions. The streetlights illuminated the side walk. He was trying to keep his jacket closed, but he was sweating underneath and the urge to pull it open was strong. His cheeks were flushed red. There was a friendly ache in his shoulders. It had been a great game, probably the last one of the season. They had worn the grass away and the ground was hard dirt. He could still see the play in back of his eyes.

Joey Pena had the ball curled into the crook of his left arm and when Ron put his shoulder into him, Joey left his feet and the ball bounced with the crazy agitation that only a football had. Ron rolled and was up and he had it in his hands and he was running. All around him the shadows of kids were changing direction and running after him. He smiled now, reliving the way that they had bounced off of him as he charged towards the goal line. He had been unstoppable. He pulled open his jacket and breathed deeply. The cold air dried the sweat on his body but he felt too good to shiver.

He turned into his alley way and smelled the aromas of cooking meat that filtered through the open kitchen windows. They always kept the apartments very warm. He burst into their basement apartment and Marjorie was sitting at the kitchenette table that was part of their living room, bedroom combination. When she saw him, she said, “You’d better not get sick.”

“I feel fine, Mom. I’m just going to go and clean up.”

While he was in the bathroom washing his face and trying to clean the cut on his elbow, he heard voices in the other room. He recognized Rocky’s voice but there were two others. He turned off the water and held some toilet tissue to his elbow. He watched it begin to turn crimson as he listened to what the voices were saying. It was then that he heard his mother begin to sob.

“Rocky, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”

“Marjorie, there is no more us and I’m doing this so that you know it and have no doubts or think that there is any chance that I will come back to you.”

His mother cried harder. “But I love you. You have your clothes here. We made plans. We have the bank that we were using to save for vacation.”

Donna said, “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want you anymore?”

Donna’s mother Clara said to Rocky, “This little run down hole in the ground is where you spent the last ten years? You’d better not think that my daughter will be willing to live like this.”

Marjorie looked up and said, “Did you know that he was here last weekend, and that we went away and that we made love.”

Rocky said, “Margi, don’t lie like that. No one is going to believe you.”

Ron bit into his finger. But his mother was telling the truth. They had all been together last weekend.  He heard his mother cry harder.

“Well, “said Donna, “there really isn’t much more to say is there?”

“There is one more thing,” said Clara. “Tell her that you don’t love her and that you don’t want her to call you anymore and that you don’t want to ever see her. Tell her that you will have someone pick up your things.”

Ron heard Rocky say the unthinkable. “I don’t love you Margi. I haven’t loved you for a long time. I have my divorce now and I’m going to marry Donna.”

His mother’s voice was small and pathetic. “I know that you still love me,” she said. “And I want you to know that I love you and that I always will love you.”

Ron’s eyes were filled with tears. They had lived with Rocky since he was two years old. Next to his father, Rocky was the man that he admired most in his life. Rocky’s family had told him that he was one of them and that they loved him. They told him that he was family.

“I’m not staying to hear anymore of this nonsense,” said Clara.

Donna added, “Tell her that you don’t want to see her anymore.”

Rocky said, “We had some good times Marjorie, but I don’t want to see you anymore and I don’t want to hear from you.”

Marjorie cried very hard. She sounded like a wounded animal. Rocky turned to Donna, “Are you satisfied now?”

Donna smirked, “Yes.”

Rocky turned to Clara, “Are you satisfied?”

“For now I am,” said Clara.

Ron burst out of the bathroom and into the room. His eyes were streaming tears.

“Ronald,” wailed his mother. “I forgot that you were back there.”

Ron glared at Rocky, hot hatred mixing with confused love. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”

Rocky’s mouth dropped open at the sight of him. “Go on!” screamed Ron. “Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”

            “This is no place for children,” said Clara.

            Ron wheeled on her. “Shut up lady, or I will smack you. Shut up!” he screamed. His voice was deafening and shook the room.

            Rocky took Donna by the arm and turned to leave. Ron ran up in back of him and pushed him as hard as he could. Rocky stumbled against the wall and whirled in surprise. Ron snarled, “She may love you, but not me. I’ll hate you forever. I want you to die.”

            Then we went to his mother and stood there holding her as she sat bent over in the chair. “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out. Your clothes will be in the garbage, pick them out of the cans.”

            “Ronald, you don’t understand this,” said Rocky.

            Ron started to cry at the sound of Rocky speaking his name. “You’re nothing. Get out!”

            As they went through the door, he yelled, “I was there last weekend too, wasn’t I, Rocky?”

            No one said anything else and he held his mother as she cried for a very long time.

 

Chapter 4

            When school was out, Ron walked along Summer Avenue to Grafton and then down Grafton to Broadway. He avoided friends and took streets where he knew no one he knew would be. The American Legion Hospital was at the corner of Grafton and Broadway. Her room was in the front, and if she was sitting up, she would wave to him. They said that she needed rest. He wasn’t allowed to visit her there. He stood at the chain link fence and smiled and waved. Sometimes he called out, but they didn’t like him doing that, and a nurse had come to the window and put her finger to her lips to quiet him. Ron saw the street sign that read, “Quiet, Hospital Zone” and put his head down. He stood with his fingers curled into the chain link fence that surrounded the very small hospital. He always waited a few minutes if she wasn’t at the window. Then he walked to his aunt’s house where he was staying until she got home.

            Rocky’s friend Ray owned the Esso station that he passed, but Ray never seemed to be looking at the street when Ron walked passed, but he slammed his heels down on the pavement and balled his fists as he went by anyway.

            Sometimes he went to their apartment and let himself in. It seemed lonely and happy to see him. It was as if the place knew something was wrong. Ron felt badly that his home had been called a hole in the ground. He would sit at the table for a few minutes and be very quiet. He didn’t want anyone knowing that he was there. He didn’t know how to answer questions from the neighbors about what he was doing there. Giving his aunt’s phone number to the school had been bad enough.

            When he got to Aunt Dottie’s building, he always felt better. She always greeted him with a smile and a plate of cookies and some milk from one the tin cups that he liked because they kept the milk so cold.

            “When do you think she’s coming home?” said Ron.

            “Maybe next week, Ronald,” said his Aunt.  Some women wore Rhinestones in the upper part of the frames of their glasses. His Aunt had real diamond chips embedded in hers and they sparkled in the light in a real and classy way.

            “Do you think that she’s going to be ok?”

            “Of course she is. She gets nervous and we both know that she’s a big baby, Ronald.”

            “I hate him. I want to find him and do something really bad to him, Aunt Dot.”

            “I know that you do. People will tell you that it’s wrong to feel that way. That it’s better to let go of bad feelings. I say don’t let go of them. Use them to make sure that you don’t ever get suckered again.”

Ron met her eyes. “You’re right.”

            “That’s between us, Ronald. Don’t tell anyone that I told you that. They’ll just think that I’m being a bitter old woman, but the way this world is, whenever you let your guard down, you are one step closer to being a fool. Keep your private thoughts to yourself. Sometimes that’s the best way to be.”

            When Marjorie came home, things were rough. She cried all the time and went to a bar every night. She played sad songs on the hi-fi and never laughed or smiled. They had no money and she was not able to work. There was only the $20 that came from his father each week.

            Ron rang the doorbell to the landlady’s apartment. Mrs. Cody was a short, squat woman who wore her glasses on a chain around her neck. “Hello, Ronald.”

            “Mrs. Cody, I’m here with the rent.”

            “All of it, this time?”

            “No Ma’am. We only have $50, but I’ll be back with the other $15 on Sunday, after I see my father.”

            She reached for the envelope. “Alright, Ronnie. Please tell your mother that I hope that she’s feeling better.”

            “Mrs. Cody, is there anything that I could do around here to earn some of that money?”

            “I’m afraid that we aren’t allowed to do that with tenants, Ronnie, but if you get here very early when it snows, I’m sure that Mr. Cody could pay you to help shovel and…”  The woman thought for a moment and then called over her shoulder, back into the apartment, “Could you use any help tying up newspapers and getting the garbage cans out, Dennis?”

            “Who wants to know?” called a gruff voice that coughed after it spoke.

            “Ronnie Tuck, Marjorie’s kid.”

            “They ain’t got the rent again, huh?”

            “Could you use the help?”

            “Not really.”

            Mrs. Cody turned back to Ronald. “Come and see me when it snows,” she said and shut the door.

            Ron trailed his fingers along the rough plaster wall as he went back to their apartment, but instead of turning right to go in, he turned left and went to the washing machine room. He knew a trick, and sometimes it was worth thirty-five cents.

 

Chapter 5

            As the pink Cadillac made its way across Paterson carrying a load of books, magazines and vinyl records, Ron told Quimpy that he was in love. Quimpy laughed at the impulsivity of his fucked-up friend. “Are you paying attention to yourself at all?” he asked.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean that you know how stupid you sound, right?”

            “Why?”

            Quimpy’s sardonic grin stayed on his face as he formed his phrasing. “Let’s see, you know nothing about her. She has a kid. You’re barely able to take care of yourself. You’re a pothead. You’re thinking with your cock and you really don’t know how she feels. That’s just for starters.”

            “It’s how I feel,” said Ron. “I’m not thinking with my cock. I’m thinking with my heart.”

            “That might even be worse than thinking with your cock!” Quimpy laughed.

            Inwardly, Ron smiled as Quimpy’s ridicule slid off of him like water on glass. Was this what it felt like when someone was jealous of you? Maybe Quimpy wasn’t jealous. He’d had his chance with Celeste. Ron had asked him enough times if it was ok if he called her. Maybe Quimpy thought he was looking out for him and that he was being a good friend. Ron didn’t care. What Quimpy thought about this was no longer a concern.

            “When are you going to see her again?” said Quimpy.

            “As soon as we’re done for the day.”

            “I’m not saying that she isn’t ok, but I’m saying that you better think about the baggage that comes along with her.”

            “Quimpy, we all have baggage.”

            “Not her kind,” said Quimpy definitively.

Celeste was conflicted. She wanted to tell someone about Ron but she wasn’t sure who she could trust to keep her secret. It was definitely too soon to say anything at home. Last night had been magical but like many magic things, maybe it was an illusion. There was risk involved. Her sister was out of the question. Number one, she wouldn’t approve. Sure she paid lip service to wanting to see Celeste happy, but Celeste really believed that she gloried in the status quo where she was the good daughter, the one who had a husband who was a truck driver and worked at the same plant as her father. She had a son and she didn’t need any help raising him. Secondly, it would take her about ten minutes to find some excuse to put their mother on to Celeste’s latest folly. She definitely wasn’t ready for that war.

She did have friends that she could talk to. There was Barbara from across the street and Jane from around the other side of the circle, but they weren’t family. When it all came down to it, she had been raised to be closest to her family. They were the ones who accepted you. They were the ones who you should be able to tell anything, except of course her mother and her sister. Really there were two choices: Cynthia and Janine.

Cynthia had been divorced and had gone through the added humiliation of everyone finding out that her husband liked to wear women’s clothes and probably was gay. Janine, had kept her marriage a secret for months. It was true that she was older and had two great kids, both of whom loved Angel, but she was also enough of a screwball so that Celeste felt comfortable talking with her. It was Janine that suggested that she slip out the back door a few minutes before she married her second husband. She dialed the phone.

“Hello,” said a low hard edged voice that paradoxically also sounded warm

Celeste responded in her Jersey Twang, “Janine.”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s gorgeous.”

“He called?”

“Last night. We went for a drink after the baby was asleep and then we talked till five this morning.”

“You’re shittin’ me.”

“No, it might one of the best conversations that I ever had with a guy and when we kissed it was, you know, Janine it was great.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“I wanted to.”

“In your mother’s basement?”

They both laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Celeste, feeling better and thinking that she’d made the right choice by calling Janine.

“Janine, I don’t know. I don’t think he wants a fling.”

“What’s wrong with him?” said Janine.

“I don’t know, but what we talked about was serious.”

“Serious how?” Janine was starting to sound frightened.

“Scary serious.”

There was a silence on the other end. Celeste could hear Janine lighting a cigarette. As she exhaled she said, “You know that you’re out of your fucking mind right?”

“There’s a way that I feel around him. I haven’t felt that way since Matt.”

Janine blew out smoke hard into the receiver. “Look you got a right to get laid and god knows you need to get laid, but please don’t go off the deep end.”

“I know what you mean, but suppose it’s the right guy. The one that I was sure was never gonna come along?”

“Do you want to come over and I’ll read your cards? Bring the baby. Stay for dinner.”

“I can’t, said Celeste. “I’m waiting for him to call.”

“Holy shit,” said Janine.