Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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CHAPTER 8
After a good night’s sleep, Mark and Allison woke up on blankets piled on the floor, him leaning against her with his right arm around her waist. They stayed like that for fifteen minutes enjoying the warmth provided by the other. Their outfits were in piles on the floor, as they both silently chose that the role they most wanted to play today was their true selves.
She said; “You know I love you, don’t you?”
He replied; “I know I love you, but I’m not so sure about you.”
She playfully rolled back toward him and half-heartedly tried to smack his face with the back of her hand. They laughed and wrestled for a few minutes in the strong sun rays, beaming through the window, like a big laser. Mark broke from the match, got up and said; “You’re getting me tired already. I’m going to get us some breakfast. I’m famished.”
“So am I.” While Mark bumped his way around the kitchen, Allison looked at the clear sky and had a melancholy thought;
“Why weren’t things like this before?” She thought of many possible answers, all probably wrong or half-truths at best and decided that it didn’t matter anyway. What they had was “now,”
and all they could do was make the best of that.
This morning her “breakfast on the floor” consisted of coffee, with milk and sugar and piles of French toast. He joined her face to face on the cushioned ground and they slowly fed each other.
When they finished Mark said; “I really should go to work tonight.”
“Why? Let’s pretend that it’s Sunday.”
He paused, not wanting to offend her, but desirous of spending some time at work. He said; “Let’s pretend that it is Sunday, but while you doze I’ll go out about two hours. I’ve been paid well for the first time lately and I’d really like to keep the clients somewhat happy.”
She didn’t want to sound the least big argumentative and also recalled that one of the problems she had with Mark in the past was his lack of a regular income. Often her job paid the rent, both at the apartment and his office. Though he kept saying that things would change if he kept working hard, she found it wearing to continually see the fruit of her labors used to complement the barrenness of his and unbearable when she thought that he might be with someone else. She said; “I’ll miss you, but that’s a good responsible boy,” and she kissed his cheek. They played and consumed half the contents of the refrigerator, telling each other stories that usually began with; “Do you remember when you.....”
At dusk, Allison tried to make herself doze and prevailed at making Mark think so. She listened as he put on blue jeans and a simple deep green button up long sleeved shirt and left.
As she watched him, she became wistful, as she knew he had to do his job, but he had such a knack for getting into trouble. She wished everything else would go away and that they could just stay there together.
Mark took the Corvair to Liberty Lane, but didn’t have time to park as he spotted Candy walking alone in a form fitting red blouse and tight white knee length skirt, toward the Boulevard.
Still having the benefit of some natural light and without any other cars driving on the street, she looked his way and remembered the nuisance, turning around to watch the car continue down the street.
Mark saw the glance, but his desire to finish the job and get back to Allison clouded his better judgment and he circled the block seeing Candy again look his way, as she let herself in the black Cadillac, before it drove away. Mark pursued from a distance, feeling comfortable that he knew the two possible destinations.
Inside the Cadillac, Candy turned to look out the back window and said; “It’s that creep again.”
Callie said; “What creep?” looking into the rearview mirror, seeing many cars on the busy road.
“This guy has been following me around. A few days ago I called the cops and they chased him.”
Callie’s first thought was that she had managed to attract an unwanted admirer and was probably making more of an issue of it that it deserved.
She looked back again and said; “That’s him in that old red car.”
He smiled and said; “Okay, let’s see if we can lose him.”
He pushed down on the gas pedal and got the car up to sixty, weaving between others doing the thirty speed limit. When he lost sight of the red car, he made a right onto Monticello Road and pulled into a parking space 200 feet from the corner. He said; “Let’s just sit here a while. If he comes anywhere near I’ll take care of it,” flexing the veiny biceps of his right arm, intending a non-humorous display of his capabilities, at the same time not really expecting to be required to do anything more.
Candy kept watch to the rear and felt both frightened and anxious to be alone with Callie. After a silent minute, she felt somewhat better and turned her eyes back to him to see that the patriotic geezer had hoisted the flag. Her eyes went to the waving welcome and she put her left hand over it, saying; “For Christ sake, we’re right in front of houses.”
“So?”
“So, people could be looking out their windows.” She tried to push it back and clumsily toyed with the zipper. Fearing a painful disaster, Callie took over the operation himself. When completed he put his hand on her and said; “Candy, I’ve been waiting days for this. Come on.”
“Me, too, but not here. We’re liable to get arrested.”
Callie looked softly in her eyes and said; “Little girl, this is 1972. You can do whatever you want now.”
“I’ve been getting that idea for years from my mother and I think that’s great, but I’m not into being watched by creeps.”
Mark had lost sight of his prey and made an easy decision.
Since he didn’t want to go back to Hook Harbor Road, he drove to another famous local rendezvous spot; the notorious Thunderbird Motel. Since he was in the vicinity, anyway, he thought it wouldn’t take much effort and that he might get lucky at the scene of a few of his former “surveillance” jobs. When he got there he didn’t see any new Cadillac’s in the lot, but rather cars more like his own. He decided to drive around the block a few times, to see if anything would turn up. The motel was an unusual structure for Jersey City, looking like it would be more at home in the low rent district of some shore town, far enough away from the Boardwalk that it would be necessary to drive and park to get there and with a view of some construction site or an improvised weedy garbage dump. The Jersey City Thunderbird
had a flat fifteen foot sign; a purple plastic replica of its shore predecessor revolving on a thirty foot pole at the entrance with circling lights saying “THUNDERBIRD”, with a plain sign below that showed three black spaces and the word
“VACANCY”. If the situation ever arose, the currently empty spaces could be filled by flipping the blank card to the side that said “NO”. It was a one story, flat roofed structure, approximately fifteen rooms, with the fronts dominated by brown metal doors and “picture” windows, the lit ones with the blinds drawn. The neon orange “OFFICE” sign hung above the first room of the “L” shaped structure which was comprised of 90% glass on both visible sides sitting on a small white stuccoes base. The attendant was currently occupied with a muscular black man a white armless T-shirt who seemed to be somewhat involved and angered with a mini-skirted white girl with long messy blond hair, her arms folded against her chest, one foot in front of the other, her tired eyes looking out at the street.
After his third excursion around the block, making note of the abundance of girls sitting on stoops or standing, bearing some resemblance to the blond in the office and cars full of guys honking and calling out things, he saw a 1972 black Cadillac parked in front of the Thunderbird office. Callie got out alone and took care of business with the young black male clerk and then drove the car to number 111. They both got out,
the lights went on and the blinds got pulled. Mark parked in the second row of cars facing away from the rooms, across from 111 and watched nothing in the rearview mirror.
Inside the room, as Callie embraced her from behind, Candy peered through a blind slat she pushed up with one finger. Even in the dimly lit lot she was sure and said; “It’s that fucking creep again.”
Callie took a look and saw the red Corvair with a curly haired man in the driver’s seat and got annoyed, this time not at Candy. He took a pad left on the room’s mirrored night table and the two inch dull pencil alongside and wrote down the license plate number. Pocketing the slip of paper, he moved toward Candy and put an arm around her waist. She recoiled, took a few steps back and said; “You’ve got to be kidding. All I can think about is that some pervert is out there watching me.”
Callie again went in her direction, this time putting two arms around her waist and said; “He can’t see us in here.”
She again moved away and said; “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”
Callie tried to joke, saying; “All right then, let’s really give him something worth watching.”
She was incredulous at the “joke” and just looked at him with strongly questioning eyes.
He sensed that he had stepped over a line, sat down on the bed and said; “I was just kidding,” though he was really excited at the idea of being watched with a young chick.
Candy turned on the television set and sat in a chair, seemingly entranced by the screen, but her mind still visualized the unwanted tail. Callie watched the tube, assuming that she was doing the same and looked for another entrée, but was greeted with the silly intensity of “The Monkees.” He got up and said; “Do you mind if I change the channel?”
She put her hand nervously to her brow and said; “No.”
He flipped through the channels, able to find the blustering optimism of “The Jeffersons,” a “Mama” segment on
“The Carol Burnette Show,” an author discussing his recent release involving left wing politics, the happy family fantasy of “The Brady Bunch,” a news show he quickly dismissed as a downer and a channel playing the Marx Brothers in “A Day at the Races.” He went back to “The Monkees.” He looked at Candy, who was fidgeting in her chair, looking at the door, the ceiling, the television and the harbor scene lithograph on the wall. He quickly concluded that things weren’t likely to get anywhere tonight. To cut his losses, the best thing he could do was bring Candy back home and get his entertainment on Hook Harbor Road. He said; “No sense sitting here nervous. Let me get you back home.”
She quickly nodded “Yes” twice and he put her in the passenger’s seat and then walked over to the red Corvair.
Mark was watching the door and when he saw them exit, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Callie, frustrated as hell, slapped Mark’s face through the open window, pointed a finger at him and calmly said; “You’re going to be one sorry motherfucker,” and walked away as Mark mumbled; “What? What did I do?”
Callie turned back to him, pointed the same finger and said; “Mark my words,” then got in his Caddy and drove away. He and Candy did not speak, each currently uncomfortable with the other and cognizant of the mutuality. He dropped her at the corner of Liberty Lane and the Boulevard and sped to Hook Harbor Road, hoping not to have missed much of the show. She quickly walked the dark street home, looking over her shoulder, hoping not to see any creeps following and thinking about Callie’s behavior, for the first time not seeing him as Sir Galahad.
Mark didn’t dare follow the Caddy, still thinking he’d have a chance of playing stupid and instead decided to try to find Sonny. There were a number of things he’d like to talk to him about and the night was still young. He waited five minutes to let the Caddy get very cleared out and drove away. The side street was ablaze with activity as the girls, in mini-skirts and high heels, were arranging in groups of three to five and guys
were now carousing the streets, looking at the merchandise, also in groups. The girls watched Mark’s car and called out; “Wanna date?” sometimes doing something provocative. Mark just smiled at them and kept slowly moving, first thinking how sad the whole situation was and then catching himself for playing judge, recalling that the scene was far from anything new. He overheard some of the “romantic” interchanges. A group of three young white guys focused on one older “girl” who looked as though she was on the game for decades, one saying;
“I’ll give you a buck,” his companions hysterical at the wit.
She said; “I need ten, baby.”
He said; “There’s only three of us.”
She laughed, though she probably shouldn’t have and answered; “$25 for all three.”
“What are you going to do?”
She slowly licked her smeared red lipstick and said; “I can do anything you want.”
“Ten bucks for all three of us.”
“Twenty.”
“Ten, you’ve got a lot of young competition.”
“Fifteen, I’ve got a lot of practice and I truly lo-oove my job.”
“Ten and that’s only if you’re very good.”
She put one hand on him and extended the other, palm up and said; “Gimme.”
He smiled wickedly and put a ten dollar bill to her face, which she took in her mouth, beckoned with one finger and led him down a few stairs to a basement apartment of a three story building, his two friends following behind.
Mark continued his drive past the projects and onto Washington Street, Sonny’s home turf. It was much like the other area’s streets, with three story houses, now apartments and no evidence of any recent maintenance or repair. Black people were sitting on parked cars, or the ground animatedly telling funny stories and some just standing, sullenly staring, casually smoking cigarettes.
He came across the old school yard, where he used to play ball as a kid. The school was now boarded up, but the basketball courts were still in place, though some of the rims were bent. Kids were out there showing off their “unstoppable”
one on one moves and dribbling between their legs and behind their backs. Others were sitting and standing on the steps of the fire escape doing other less obvious things, like sniffing glue out of a small brown bag.
Mark circled the block a few times, not seeing Sonny and was beginning to draw attention, so he parked the car across the street from five guys, who didn’t seem to be doing anything
except “shooting shit.” Ten eyes looked warily at him as he crossed the street. When he got close, he said; “Do any of you guys know where I can find Sonny?”
A short guy with closely cropped hair, a goatee and a Walt Frazier basketball jersey top derisively said; “Sonny who?”
There’s a lot of Sonny’s around here.” The others snickered.
“Sonny Middleton.”
A tall skinny guy with half closed eyes said; “You a cop?”
“No, he’s an old friend of mine.”
The group looked at each other with raised eyebrows and small grimaces. The tall skinny guy again spoke; “You looking for some black girls?”
“No.” Mark then thought that he might have said something offensive and was compelled to nervously add; “Not that I got anything against black girls. But not tonight. I just want to talk to Sonny.”
A medium sized guy with a huge Afro and a snarl said; “You ever had any black girls, white boy?” as the others started at Mark’s face, with feint smiles, anxious to hear what he’d say.
Mark got the feeling that there was no good answer to the question and he didn’t feel like discussing his sexual preferences anyway, so he turned back toward his car and said;
“Thanks for nothing,” at which point the tall skinny guy grabbed him by the arm and said; “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. My old
lady’s been bitchin’ me and times are kinda tough, you know what I mean. Can you lend me ten bucks?”
Mark was at a loss for words. He knew the game, but when he was previously caught in it, he could always say, “I don’t have it,” but tonight he had a few hundred in his wallet. So, he tried to keep moving, but the guy who wanted a “loan” put his arm around Mark’s shoulder and said; “You know, you can’t just come down here and act like that, motherfucker.” Mark remained silent and tried to move as the grip got tighter and tall skinny continued, after a few second lapse; “Sheeit, you’re an out and out unfriendly cocksucker.” The other four laughed, enjoying the show, even though this was probably the fifteenth re-run.
Now with some assistance tall skinny slammed Mark up against the building wall and said; “Now, for being so nasty, I’m not only going to take your fuckin’ money, but my man Manny, over here is gonna break your motherfuckin’ nose.”
Mark eyed Manny and saw a grinning, light skinned heavy guy with greased relatively straight black hair, rubbing his clenched left fist with is right hand. Tall skinny laughed and put his face six inches from Mark’s saying; “Manny got the last five in one shot.” He paused, laughed again and added; “See what happens when you don’t act neighborly.”
A new black Cadillac came to a stop in the street and Mark thought; “Oh Christ, now Callie found me too.” Activity stopped
as the five looked toward the car. The windows rolled down and from the back seat Dorette called out; “Hey, what chew trying to do to my favorite white boy?”
Sonny got out of the driver’s seat and said; “Hey, hold it.
That’s my friend. Ain’t you niggers got no manners?”
The group of five looked at Mark and slowly released their grips, tall skinny mumbling; “You one lucky motherfucka.” At that moment Mark felt the same way.
Dorette opened her door and draped one big beautiful black leg to the ground, the other remaining in the car, her short skirt riding up and revealing that this was another night too hot for lots of clothes and a hairy, glistening center of attention she rubbed with one hand, knowing Mark’s specialty and said; “Come here, baby. I got a better use for that nose of yours.”
Now unrestrained, mark couldn’t think of a better way to get out of his situation, walked to Dorette, bent down low and gave his benefactress a true tongue kiss. Tall skinny said;
“Got damn,” and shook his head from side to side, as he and his four companions watched in amusement and disbelief.
Sonny said; “Come on. Get in. We’ll go someplace where there ain’t no riff raff.” Mark got in the back seat from the other side and Sonny pointed at tall skinny and said; “Chink, if anything happens to my man’s car, it’s your ass.” He got back
in and drove slowly away. Dorette leaned her back against the door and put her bare legs up on the seat, her feet in Mark’s lap. Corinne turned slightly and watched from the front seat, rubbed Mark’s head and said; “This time I’m getting me some of that.” Mark peered up at her, without breaking the delicious contact and mumbled; “All you can stand.”
The group again wound up parked by themselves near the bay in Van Coppermate Park. Dorette and Corinne switched seats a few times and delirious time flew by with only peaceful sounds of wet kisses and groans. When Corinne got her second turn with Mark, she carefully watched his closed eyed methodology for a while and then sternly said; “Slave. Whose tastes better?”
Mark didn’t know what to say, not wanting to offend anyone, as he loved both, though the tastes were a little different, so he just kept on his merry activity.
Corinne got insistent; “I asked you a question, slave.”
Mark looked up at her demanding eyes and said; “I love both.”
Corinne slid a little further forward and said; “Okay, munch on the other one,” and laughed. Mark got a new flavor treat as the full moon made its presence known. Dorette peered back at him and said; “You’re going to try mine, too,” as she watched him. Corrine said; “Sonny, I’ve got to go. Is it okay if I do it right here?”
Sonny said; “Ain’t my car. I don’t give a shit.”
Corrine opened a bottle containing lemonade and Mark swallowed all he could, the rest running down his chest and on the seat. Corrine got extremely interested watching the activity and roughly started rubbing her dripping Afro all over his face, as he aimed at a moving target. She made a ten second groan and then switched places with Dorette.
First Mark ate all of the chocolate candy he could reach and then buried his face and nose in the center. Dorette said;
“I got something for you to wash it down with. Drink up, slave boy.” She grinned at him devilishly as he enjoyed his second bottle of lemonade.
He kissed the fountain and whispered; “Thank you. I’m thirsty all the time.”
Dorette said; “You’re lucky tonight. Six different flavors.” Mark groaned agreement and put his head back in his favorite place.
Sonny finally said; “We better get going. I got some business tonight and I know Mark came to talk with me about something.”
Dorette said; “Hold your horses. Five minutes ain’t gonna make any difference,” and she switched positions with Mark. She said; “You sweet.”
Mark said; “I think there’s more where that came from,” and Dorette tried to again bring out the best in him as Sonny drove back to Washington Street.”
He dropped off the girls at their house and Mark switched to the front seat, slowly coming back to earth and said; “When you drove up in this car, I was scared shitless, because there’s a guy with the identical car who says he’s going to kill me, or something like it.”
“Man, you can’t keep out of trouble, can you? What did you get into this time?”
“I got seen watching some old guy with a fifteen year old girl.” They both laughed. Mark continued; “Seriously, though, I’m making good money for the first time in my life and my freaked out mama client wants me to get ‘penetration’ pictures of the two. I don't know how. They go to the Thunderbird Motel and shut the blinds. Other times they go down Hook Harbor Road.
Both you and the Feds told me to stay the hell out of there.”
Sonny answered; “You know, you could just string her out, keep collecting money and not get her anything.”
“Yeah, I thought of that, too, but that’ll only last a short time. I’d rather take a shot at keeping her happy and hope for repeat business. I didn’t tell you, but the husband is also paying me to get ‘penetration’ photos of the wife with
other guys. It turns him on, I guess. Real freaks, maybe I can get a long term gig as a family photographer.”
“Real freaks, huh. Look who’s talking.”
“Hey, this is 1972. Anything goes, right?”
“Why does she want the photos?”
“She says that her daughter keeps denying the thing and that with the pictures there’ll be no argument possible.”
“You say the mother’s a freak herself.”
“She is. I don't know. Maybe she thinks that it’s okay after she’s eighteen, or maybe she doesn’t like the guy.” He paused and laughed; “Or, maybe she wants the guy herself.”
Sonny laughed; “I don't know what to say about pictures of the wife, but one of my boys, Russ, clerks at the Thunderbird.
Maybe he can help you out. Tell him I sent you.”
“Great, I’ll give it a shot. This one ain’t prejudiced against white people, I hope.”
“Probably is, but he’ll be cool after you use my name. He knows Connie and Dorette very well; too, you know what I’m saying. You dig the heavy sisters, don’t you?” He looked at Mark and made a big smile.
“Yeah, obviously. I could get addicted to that shit easy.
Are they married, or anything?”
“No, they got their own jobs and just like to play.”
They drove silently for a few minutes and then Sonny said;
“Look, man, I’ve got to go see somebody about some bullshit.
I’ll drop you back at your car. I want to ditch this thing anyway. Take good care of yourself.”
Mark wasn’t sure if he had been dissed, but didn’t care, especially coming from a friend. When they got back to the red Corvair Mark got out and said; “Thanks, man.”
Sonny just nodded, his hands still on the steering wheel and then said; “Oh, yeah, Mark. Remember, you are what you eat.” They both smiled and Mark nodded.
Big skinny and the crew were still across the street and were looking in Mark’s direction. Mark circled the car, looking it over and as he opened the door, he called out to big skinny;
“Thanks, man, you did an excellent job.” He nodded “Okay” to waiting Sonny and they both drove off.