Brooklyn 1975 Read online

  “So what?”

  “So, did you have fun?” He said.

  “Yeah, I mean, I did. And we still have the rest of the night ahead of us.”

  “I’m going to have Betty walk us to the car in case those black kids are still hanging around.” Junior said. “Not that we couldn’t handle it or nothing. But if our clothes got ripped or something…”

  “Yeah, Betty can handle it, no problem. No sense going all the way home to change. You want to go to Max’s next?” I asked.

  “Max’s it is. It will probably be filled with freaks, as usual. But that’s the way we like it, right? Wouldn’t have it any other way, right?’

  We collected the girls and went outside. A bunch of teachers were standing around talking when we passed. “Hey, good job, Marty.” One of them called out. “You too, Junior.”

  Junior waved at them. “I was only along for the ride. Marty did it, not me. But hey, king for a night.”

  “Be careful getting home. It’s getting late.” Another teacher, Mrs. Rascowitz called to us.

  “We will, don’t worry.” Junior said, flicking his finger back at Betty, who was walking behind us. “He’ll protect us. Right, Betty?” Betty mumbled something that we couldn’t hear. “What?”

  “I said, Mrs. Rascowitz made me dance with her.”

  Marty cooed. “ Oh, she’s the nicest teacher at school, bar none. She straightened me out when I was a freshman, changed my attitude about school.”

  “She can dance for an old lady, I’ll say that” Betty was shaking his head in wonder.

  “She’s not an old lady. She’s like, in her forties.” Erica leaned into Betty and tried to push him but he was so big that he barely noticed her. “The thing I like about her is that she does everything one-hundred percent, no matter what it is.”

  “I’ll say. She danced rings around me.”

  “You have slow feet, Betty. That’s what the coach says. I was one of the few people that could tease him. At football practice once, some kid said something he didn’t like and Betty threw the kid into the bleachers. I mean, picked him up and threw him. Knocked the kid out. After practice that day we were voting for captains and Betty was elected, along with me, as captain of the team. The kid he threw into the bleachers said afterward that even he voted for him. I shouldn’t get started, though. Football was my escape. I even liked practice. I liked hitting people and even liked getting hit myself. Funny thing, usually, the harder you were hit, the less it hurt. And sometimes it didn’t hurt at all. Sometimes, it even felt good. If I daydreamed, it was usually about football. And not about the things that you would think, not the crowds, or cheering, or stuff like that. I liked the game itself, the simplicity of it. Imposing your will on other people, the coach called it. That appealed to me. That, and the controlled violence, I guess. It was a way of expressing yourself, kind of like writing but with your body describing what happens. Kind of like sex too, if you think about it.

  Anyway, Betty walked us to the car and after hugging the girls in a single embrace he disappeared into the park. It was getting late but the traffic was still swirling heavily behind headlights and horns. Like they say, it was the city that never sleeps. “Next stop, Max’s.” Junior said, as the engine turned over.

  We drove downtown drinking beer and talking. The girls were talking about what other girls had worn and how their dresses looked, that kind of thing. I settled back and just let the city wash over me. Everything was cleaner looking at night and the city seemed to pulse and blink every few seconds. We drove through Times Square and Junior turned up Forty-Second Street. “Show time.” He yelled back at us. “Freak show.”

  The sidewalks were lined with prostitutes and instead of everyone walking quickly, everyone kind of meandered, sort of milled around, like they were lost or something. Theatres showing X-rated films and live sex shows had touts outside trying to hustle customers. Black kids sat on cars selling beat drugs to tourists and bums were folded into every doorway. Some were just collapsed in the street, sleeping. It even smelled funny. It was a mixture of the subway air coming out of the grates and sweat.

  “Jesus Christ.” Marty said. “This is insane. I’ve never been up here at night.”

  “Why would you?” Junior said. “It’s all just perverts and hookers.”

  It looked to me like a scene from a movie, like it was planned or something. Like someone put out a casting call. It seemed too perfectly awful. Too contrived. But there it was, right in front of us.

  A woman flashed her breasts at us as we drove by. She was standing between two parked cars. Erica squealed and Junior yelled at her, “Put that shit away, would you.” The woman turned away. “Let’s go, Junior. This is freaking me out.” Marty said. Junior leaned on the horn and pushed through traffic. At the light, a bum weaved out to us and tried to wash our windshield. Junior honked and stuck his head out the window. “Don’t make me get out of the car, motherfucker.” The bum moved off.

  “Don’t be rude.” Marty said. “He was just a bum”

  “Just a bum?” Junior said.

  “Yeah, just a bum. Like, you know, he can’t help it, can he?” She shook her head and her earrings kept moving after she spoke, dangling back and forth.

  “I don’t know about that. Can’t he stop drinking if he wants? You know, like take a bath. Maybe get a job.”

  “It’s a disease, Junior. It’s not that easy.”

  “No lectures tonight, Marty, please.”

  “She’s right.” Erica chimed in. “It is a disease.”

  “Yeah, right.” Junior said. “Like cancer. But instead, it makes your hand pour drinks in your mouth until you can’t stand up anymore. Give me a break. Better yet, give me another beer. I have a disease too.”

  “Being stupid isn’t a disease.” Erica said. I had to laugh and Junior turned around and tried to poke me. “What are you laughing at?”

  “Drive the car, watch where you going, will you. We’ll end up going over the curb and hitting someone.” Sometimes, I ended up sounding like his mother.

  “You sound like my Mother, back there.” I knew it. I knew he was going say that. He always did.

  When we got down to Max’s, there was a line stretching around the corner. Two big limousines sat in the street in front of the bar. “Shit.” Junior said, “What’s all this?” He pulled the car up behind one of the limousines and jumped out. “I know the guy that works the door. Let me see what’s going on.” As he walked, he smoothed his hair and pressed his hands over the front of his jacket like a real gangster. I looked at the people on line. They were mostly city people and college kids. None of them were dressed up and mostly they wore jeans and tee shirts. Some of the guys had long hair. Down the street, several bikers were standing around drinking beer. Their motorcycles were parked up on the sidewalk and I watched as people carefully walked around them without uttering a complaint. I could see from the colors on their leather vests that they were Hell’s Angel’s, so people were right to avoid them. “Look, Angels are here.” I said to the girls.

  Hell’s Angel’s?” Erica asked. “I thought they were in California.”

  “No, they have a clubhouse downtown.” I said, with a worldly nodding of my head.

  Marty pressed her lips together. “They look like animals.”

  “Trust me, they are. Big Mike told me that about five years ago they had a beef with a bunch of them on the Bowery and an Angel went after them with a chain saw. Some guy Mike was with had to shoot him or they all would have been cut up. Mike said that when the guy let go of the saw after he was shot, the saw cut into the side of a car and stayed there. It cut right through the hood of a car.”

  The girls looked at each other unimpressed. “So what? Like that means anything? Men are so stupid. So Stoooopid…” Marty said, her lips pursed like big red balloons. “Yeah, I agree.” Erica said, “And for what?” She shook her head.

  “Look, I just saying. You asked.” I guess I had misjudged my audience.
But I hadn’t misjudged the Angels. When Junior came back to the car, he plopped down behind the wheel. “Not even Fifty bucks is getting us in the tonight. Private party. Some artist or something.”

  “Well let’s just back to Brooklyn and party. We have beer and pot.” Erica said. “Let’s just go to the motel before it gets too late.” Junior looked at me. “What do you think?”

  “Fine with me. What about you, Marty?” I asked.

  She smiled shyly at Junior. “O.K.”

  While we were talking, we didn’t notice one of the Angels coming toward the car. He was as large as a bear and looking out the window at him I could only see his thighs, which were covered by oil-stained jeans.

  “Hey, waiter. Where’s my dinner? I’ve been sitting here waiting for it.” The Angel looked into the car and leered at the girls. He was missing several teeth and had “Captain Crunch” embroidered on the front of his leather vest. “And now I’m tired of waiting.”

  “I’m not a waiter.” Junior said. “This is a tux, I was just at the prom.”

  “You look like some wop waiter to me. Like some grease ball from downtown.” While they were talking, I was edging Erica closer to the passenger door in case anything happened.

  “Look, we don’t want any trouble tonight. We’re out with our girlfriends, you know.”

  “Oh.” The Angel said. “I didn’t know you were the one that decided things when we’re talking.” With that, he poked Junior in the chest. I could see the anger rising on Junior’s face; that pure, magical, and, uncontrollable, rage that he summoned to defend himself on occasions like this. I was surprised that Junior hadn’t gone out the window after being poked like that. Instead, he stayed calm.

  “Listen, like I said, we don’t want any trouble tonight. I’ve got a couple of dime bags under the seat here.” He gestured between his legs. “I’ll give them to you and we’ll just get out of here and head back to Jersey City.” He talking and I’m thinking “Jersey City?” The biker was smiling. “Yeah, a couple of bags of weed will do the trick. My friends would probably want the girls, especially that one.” He said, pointing to Marty. “But I’ll settle for the weed.”

  “Good.” Junior was smiling too and looking relieved. “I’ll give them to you.” He reached down under the seat and fished around for a minute. When he straightened up, he had a gun in his hand and it was pointing right at the bent over Hell’s Angel’s head. “What were you saying about me being a waiter?”

  The girls screamed. “Hey, I was just fucking around with you. Nothing serious.”

  “If the girls weren’t here, I’d fucking shoot you, you understand?”

  “Yeah, look, I’m sorry.”

  “Walk back to your friends, while you still can.” Junior said.

  The biker did as he was told. Junior turned the car on and swerved out into the middle of the street. I could see exactly what he was going to do. There wasn’t any car parked in front of the motorcycles that were up on the sidewalk and Junior aimed the car right at them. As we approached Captain Crunch, I opened the door on my side and flattened him with it as we passed. Junior gunned it and the car hopped over the curb and crashed into the motorcycles, knocking them down. He then backed up and gunned it again. I could hear metal cracking under the car. He threw it in reverse and pulled out into the street. Captain Crunch was in the middle of the street struggling to his knees. I could see blood running out of his greasy hair. As we passed him again, I opened the door and with a thud, sent him flying.

  The girls were so scared they weren’t saying anything. Junior spun the car down one of the darkened side streets and headed for the river, and home. Home that is, not Jersey City.

  As we drove, Erica was sitting there with her arms folded across her chest not saying anything.

  Junior sensed the silence and tried to lighten the mood. “What?” He looked around the car. “What?”

  Marty started in on him first. “Why did you need to bring a gun to the prom. Why do you have a gun period, what’s your problem, Junior? I should just go home now before something else happens. This is the prom and we’re going to get killed, or worse.”

  “The city is fucked up. What am I supposed to do? Just let every mutt that comes along do what they want? Hey, if we weren’t who we are, we’d have been ripped off twice tonight. What are you going to do, just stand there, or something? We didn’t start anything, we’re just minding our own business. I have the gun because of something else not related to this. Something in Brooklyn.”

  “Stop, Junior. I don’t even want to hear about it.” Erica said. Her voice was cold and withdrawn.

  “Leave him alone.” I said. “He’s right. We’ll throw the gun out when we get to Brooklyn. I’ll throw it in the water at Sheepshead Bay. But none of this is our fault. We didn’t do a thing. You can’t blame us, that’s for sure.”

  “Hey, I paid sixty-five bucks for that gun.” Junior said. “I’m not throwing it in the water.”

  “I will. Otherwise, this night is going to be ruined. You know what I’m saying…”

  “Otherwise! What do you mean otherwise. Except for the prom, I feel like I’ve been running the… “ Marty paused, searching for the word she was looking for. “What’s that thing the Indians made you do when they captured you?”

  Junior looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “The gauntlet” I said. “The gauntlet.”

  “Yeah. I feel like I’ve been running the gauntlet here, Central Park, outside of Max’s City. This is fucked up.”

  “Max’s Kansas City.” I said, to at least set the record straight. Marty looked back at me. “Watch yourself.” I looked at Erica for support or something. She looked away. “What? What did I do? That’s the name of the place.” Erica just sat there, biting her nails.

  We sailed over the Brooklyn Bridge heading back home. I noticed how lumpy Brooklyn looked compared to the city. Flatter, maybe. There were no real big buildings to speak of and the lights were fenced in by highways and squat warehouses that sat by the water. By the time we rolled off the bridge, I could see that the girls had relaxed a bit. Erica was sipping a beer and passing a cigarette back and forth with Marty. The smoke wafted through the car before racing out the open windows like it was being chased. I lit a cigarette off the one the girls were sharing and lay back against the door with my foot across Erica’s knee. If she were angry, she’d have pushed it away. She didn’t, instead she rubbed my leg and continued to talk with Marty.

  Somehow, Junior and I both knew not to say anything. The girls were using the conversation to put themselves at ease again. I mean, they were just talking about random things but you could tell that it was working. Soon, they were laughing and paying attention to us again.

  “Let’s go to Spumoni Garden and get some pizza and ice.” Marty said.

  “Come on, its all the way over by Coney Island.” Junior said, “And besides, I’m not hungry.”

  I leaned over and smacked Junior in the head. It was harder than I meant to and he brought his hand up to rub his ear. “The girls want pizza, let’s get pizza. They’re cheap dates.”

  “That hurt. What are you doing sitting back there hitting me, you fuck?”

  “I’ll hit you again if you don’t shut up.”

  We drove down Ocean Parkway, which was one of the nicest streets in Brooklyn. Big houses lined the street and there were benches and lots of trees. “This reminds me of Paris.” Erica said. “Like a boulevard, or something.”

  “Except it goes right to the beach, and I’m not sure Paris has any beaches.” Marty interrupted me to ask Erica if she had ever been to Paris. “No way, but it looks like how I imagine Paris. This is like a romantic street.”

  “This.” Junior said, pointing out the window, “This is a romantic city. Think of the history of this place, all the stories and famous people that have lived here. Everyone in the world knows about Brooklyn. It’s more famous than Paris. And we don’t have to eat frog legs. And t
hink of the food. Everything you want is here. I bet they don’t have pizza in Paris.”