Brooklyn 1975 Page 3

  “Next time I steal a car, I’ll try to remember that. Any other requests, color of the seats, maybe?

  “Ah, shut up.” I said. Junior laughed. The words were like medicine and I felt better. “Now, behave yourself when we get over there. Her parent’s don’t like me as it is. No reason to add to it.” Junior burped really loud. “I could use another beer.”

  We pulled up in front of Erica’s house and got out of the car. We probably were both wearing smirks that fathers hate but we didn’t notice it at the time. Junior waited by the car and I ran up the steps and rang the bell.

  I had the corsage with me and dumbly held it out when Erica’s mother answered the door. She looked at me and then out at Junior, who waved and smiled, before saying “give it to her yourself.”

  Inside, Erica’s father was sitting in a chair surrounded by newspapers. He didn’t get up or nothing and I was left standing there awkwardly. “Is she ready?” I asked. It was the only thing I could think of to say. Her mother walked to the foot of the stairs and yelled up. “Your date is here.” Maybe she forgot my name or something. Rather than just stand there, I concentrated on the top of the stairs. I could feel my face sort of heating up. I knew I should say something but the more I tried to summon something, anything, the more I struggled. These people were strangling me with their eyes. Finally, I turned to them. “How’s everything?” I asked.

  Erica’s mother just shook her head and left the room. Her father, smiling through clenched teeth, finally broke the ice. “Was that you I saw going out Erica’s window and running along the roof when I came home the other day?”

  Great, I thought.

  “Ah, no.” I stammered. “It wasn’t me.” I had forgotten that we were almost caught when he had come home early from work because he wasn’t feeling good, or something. Nope, it wasn’t me clutching my underpants in a ball, and carrying my sneakers knotted around my neck, almost pulling down the gutters as I hung from them before dropping into the yard, which, luckily was grass. But, whatever…

  “No, was someone on the roof? You probably scared off some burglar, or something.”

  “Sure looked like you. But Erica said you weren’t here, so.”

  “Oh, I know the rules about being alone in the house with her.” I said, knowing I was full of shit. I knew the rules, O.K. and was there every chance I got, regardless of who was home. Funny thing, Erica had them eating out of her hand. They trusted her as much as they hated me. Well, at least they weren’t phonies like some people. They made their feelings clear and I could accept that. Besides, I knew the rules.

  Basically, everyone clung to their tribes like Indians used to. In a reverse situation, say, where an Italian guy brought home a Jewish girl, it would be the same. Maybe worse.

  Anyway, Erica saved me from more of a grilling. She announced herself with the clicking of her heels on the staircase. I’d never seen her really dressed up and I was amazed. Her hair was twisted up in a braid and she was wearing a blue dress that was both tailored and tight, but not slutty or anything. I must have been standing there with my mouth hanging open. Her father got up and joined me by the stairs. I could see the pleasure in his eyes. It made me jealous. Not like he was another guy jealous but because I could see the pride and love he felt for her. It was right there on his face. I thought about my mother, just sitting there like a zombie. Sitting there in a haze of cigarette smoke with the television blaring some nonsense. “EYEWITNESS NEWS”, or some shit like that.

  I said hi to Erica and she looked embarrassed by all the attention. Her father called out to her mother. “Come in here and look at your daughter, will you.” I couldn’t wait to get out of there. It was like “Look how beautiful she is. Look at our daughter. And look at him! This is who is taking her to the prom. This fucking Italian numbskull.” At least they didn’t say it or anything. Not that they had to.

  I was still fumbling with the corsage and her mother took it from me and put it on Erica’s wrist. I thought it was supposed to be pinned to her dress and when I said as much, her mother just gave that death-stare of hers. “What are you stupid?” She said.

  “Leave him alone, would you.” Her father said.

  “Yeah, leave him alone. And he’s not stupid, either.” Erica said.

  I could see that her mother was on the verge of crying so I didn’t say anything. I just stood there biting my tongue. What could I say anyway?

  “Lets go outside and take some pictures before you go” Her father went off to get the camera somewhere. I looked around quickly; making sure no one was looking and kissed Erica. Her lips tasted like candy but more importantly, they kissed back.

  “Come on, outside you two. I’m going to take some pictures.”

  So we get outside and the first thing I hear is this loud whistle. It was a catcall worthy of the biggest of construction workers. It was Junior, of course. “Hey, Erica,” he yelled from the street, “very nice.”

  “That your driver for the evening?” Her father asked.

  “Yup, that’s Junior. He’s my friend.”

  “Does he need to yell like that?”

  “Stop Dad, he was just trying to be friendly.”

  I stood next to Erica, arms at my sides, not knowing what to do. “Put your arm around her, will you. You’re taking her to the prom, right? So, at least act like it.”

  “Smile.”

  The camera clicked and clicked. Junior came over to watch and actually asked an intelligent question about the camera that Erica’s father was using. I mean, I didn’t know anything about cameras but it sounded like Junior did.

  Finally, we were in the car. I couldn’t tell if all the air came out of me or if I had inhaled and filled up my lungs. Anyway, I was relieved. Erica and I both sat in the back and when I put my hand on her neck her skin was still wet.

  “I just took a shower.”

  Junior looked back at us in the rearview mirror. “Finally, you decided to take a shower.”

  “Fuck you, Junior.” Erica said. But she was laughing too while she said it.

  “About time, Erica. I mean, not for nothing but I was meaning to talk to you about…” He lifted his arm and sniffed at his armpit. “You were getting pretty ripe there.”

  “Anything I can do for you Junior, just ask.” Junior had that look on his face.

  “Don’t say it.”

  “What? What are you talking about? Innocence wasn’t his forte.

  Erica reached across the front seat and smacked the back of his head. “Hey, watch the hair, will you.” He said as he pulled away.

  “Don’t be a pig, Junior. Not tonight, anyway.”

  The weather was beautiful and we drove with the windows down. As we passed Prospect Park, we watched as people ambled along. Couples were out strolling with little kids riding bicycles. Old people sat out on theirs stoops or benches and gangs of kids congregated on corners, sitting on cars or flitted around like lightning bugs. “Where does Marty live?” Erica asked Junior.

  “South Brooklyn. Down by the water somewhere. Blackie’s family runs things, you know, in that neighborhood. I hope we don’t get lost. Usually, if I’m coming down to see her, I take the train.”

  “Who’s Blackie?” Erica asked.

  I sighed. “Just forget that stuff, can we? Fucking Blackie. Tommy Clams. Fat Eddie. Let’s just forget that shit for tonight.” I said. Junior was like a Mob tour guide.

  “So, who is he, Junior?” Erica asked again, ignoring me as usual.

  “Just some guy, some guy that’s connected.”

  “Oh, I see.” Erica said. She lifted her arms a bit, like a monkey’s and shifted back and forth while she grunted. “I don’t know what the both of you see in these guys. You’re like giggly little girls around them. Like when Big Mike comes around, you two look like you almost have a crush on him.”

  Not fully getting what she was saying Junior chimed in. “He’s a handsome guy, so what?”

  “See. See what I’m saying. You are too funn
y.”

  Junior jammed on the brakes. ”Watch it, a hydrant is open up there.” He pointed up the street. “They’re going to squirt us. Roll up the windows, it’s car wash time.” And Junior was right. As we approached, a group of kids, standing around the hydrant pretended to ignore us and just as we were about to pass, a kid straddled the hydrant and sent a hard stream of water at our car from between his legs. Had we not been going to the prom and all dressed up we might of let them soak us with that pure one hundred percent Brooklyn water, the best water in the whole world. At least that’s what everyone said. A black kid standing in the street and wearing soaking wet shorts gave us the finger as we drove off. Junior leaned on the horn and gunned it up the street.

  A few blocks away, we pulled up in front of a tall brownstone and its long steps were cover with Puerto Rican kids drinking beer. Most of them had their shirts off and none of them seemed to weigh over a hundred pounds. I wasn’t fooled by their skinniness, though, having been on the wrong end of their skinny fists before. Once, I was in a fight with some Puerto Rican kid, and trust me, I can handle myself, and this kid peppered my face while I was trying to get in close to him. The punches were like wet towel snaps against my skin. Afterwards, I was cut, bruised, and one of my teeth was chipped. Not to generalize though but some things are just true. Trust me, Puerto Rican fists will cut you up, never mind their knives.

  Anyway, as we pulled up in front of Marty’s house, we had their full attention.

  Before Junior opened the door, he turned to us and told us to stay in the car. He said he’d only be a minute. I watched him approach the kids on the stoop and one of them stood up. He was sullen looking and had a quart of beer in one hand and a stickball bat in the other. A long, crimson scar ran across his chest. When he turned, I could see two letters tattooed on his arm. The “I” was for Immortal and the “H” stood for Homicides.

  The kid, he was about our age, I guess, came down off the stoop and standing in front of Junior swung the bat above his head like a baton before stopping it just inches away from Junior’s face. Junior crouched in a boxer’s stance with his hands up by his cheeks and fired a punch at the kid’s head, which stopped just short of the mark. Both of them laughed. As it turned out, the kid was Marty’s brother and knew Junior. All the rest of the kids laughed too and someone turned on a big radio. I got out of the car with a beer and shook hands with some of the kids while some song in Spanish pulsed out into the night. Marty came out, accompanied by a little fat woman in a black dress, probably her mother, or something. The kids on the stoop gave way as Marty came down the steps. A couple of them said something in Spanish but stopped when her brother looked at them. Erica got out of the car and she and Marty hugged like girl’s do, knowing how to touch each other without getting their clothes wrinkled up. Junior went to the car and returned with Marty’s corsage. He put it on her wrist in front of everyone gathered there and then raised her hand in the air like she had just won a race, or something. Everyone cheered. Fucking Junior just cracked me up. He also bent down and kissed Marty’s mother on the cheek before opening the door of the car for Marty. I tossed him a beer and he opened it before banging it against Marty’s brothers’ beer bottle. “Later” He said, as we drove off and the Spanish song disappeared behind us.

  “How’d you know the corsage goes on the wrist?” I asked. “I thought it went on the dress.” The girls turned and smiled at each other.

  “I’m a man of the world. What can I say, right, Marty?”

  Marty turned to us and made a face. “Right, Junior, anything you say. You’re a man of the world. A small world, but still a world.” Junior pulled Marty close to him and from the back seat it looked like some two-headed monster was driving. I mean, not a monster because I’d never seen a monster that looked like Marty. Forget about it. She had long black hair and cheekbones that curved like hips. She was wearing bright red lipstick and her mouth looked like a big island on her face. She had dark skin but it was yellowish and chalky rather than tan. I liked her voice, too. Her full accent clung to everything she said without twisting things up. We’d stopped and poured the girls some wine into big paper cups and Junior and I were drinking beer as we drove. Erica was leaning up against me and letting the wind blow in through the open window on her face. Her hair was moving across my neck, tickling me. “Where is this place, Junior?” Marty asked. I think Erica and I were daydreaming and Marty’s voice startled us.

  “Central Park. Come on, where you been?” Junior said.

  By now, we were driving through the city heading uptown. “I know it’s in Central Park, but where?” Marty asked again.

  “It’s up on the West Side, like in the 60’s. Up there.” Erica said, pointing not up but out in front of us. “My mother says it’s really fancy. I’ve never been there though I think I’ve walked by it a couple of times.” Junior yelled something, like a war cry, or something, and before it was finished leaving his mouth, we had all joined in. People in the street were looking at us but we just ignored them.

  “Let’s party in the park before we go in. We can find a bench or something. Some place to sit.” Junior said. The girls both nodded. They were game. “We should have brought a blanket, so we could sit in the grass.” Erica said. “I should have thought of that.”

  “That would have been cool.” Marty agreed.

  “Too many bugs. Creepy-crawly things. They gross me out. I hate bugs.” Junior said. I pressed my lips together and buzzed, flicking at his ear.

  “Cut that shit out. I’ll spill my beer. I’m driving, remember?” We all laughed, even Junior.

  We found a parking space and piled out of the car. We filled a paper bag with some beer and what was left of the wine fore the girls. Erica, always the practical one, asked if we should lock up the car.

  “Nah.” Junior said. “Don’t worry about it.” Before you knew it, Junior was up on the stone- wall that ran along the outside of the park. His arms were spread out like a tightrope walker and he was grinning from ear to ear. “Careful, Junior. You’re going to slip in those shoes you’re wearing.” Marty said.

  I ignored him and let him do what he wanted. Erica and I walked with our arms around each other while Marty tried to coax Junior down from the wall. Erica was one of the prettiest girls in our school but for some reason I couldn’t help but keep staring at Marty. Some girls are prettier versions of pretty girls, if that makes sense. That night, Marty seemed like the prettiest version of the prettiest girl ever. Luckily, Erica didn’t notice. Not that I was really staring at Marty, or anything. I wasn’t stupid and didn’t want this night to be anything but perfect.

  Once we were in the park, we found a bench that was kind of hidden away. Junior lit a joint and shot-gunned the girls. A shotgun was when you put the lit end of the joint in your mouth and exhaled, pushing the smoke into someone else’s mouth. Marty choked a bit and coughed. Erica held it in while her cheeks seemed about to burst. I smoked a cigarette and watched. Finally, Erica couldn’t hold it anymore and let the smoke out. “We can shotgun some beers, too.” Junior said.

  “Too messy.” I said.

  “Yeah, you’re right. And I don’t want to do anything to ruin this…” He gestured with his arms along the length of his body. “No way.”

  What time should we walk over there?” Marty asked.

  Erica had my hand and was trying to spin me in a dance move but my feet weren’t sliding. “Turn, would you.”

  “We’ve got plenty of time. Don’t worry about it.” Junior said.

  “Yeah, Marty. Let’s stay here for a bit.” I liked it when Erica was high. It really relaxed her and all those millions of things that were always on her mind seemed to disappear. Not that I didn’t like all those things that she was always thinking about, I did. But sometimes it just got on my nerves. Now watching her spin herself dizzy doing every dance move she could think of and smiling from ear to ear, I just wanted to hold her as tight as I could. Instead, I just watched her dance. “Come
on, Marty. Dance with me.”