Family Practice by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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CHAPTER 4
At 3PM he left the office, stretching out his legs, as he negotiated the steps of grandeur, got into his 1968 black Mercury and drove back to Liberty Lane, his open, now regular space patiently waiting. As he watched the mini-maneuverings people made on the street, he hoped that Hennesy was not anywhere near and that the people had more to do than watch him.
The glove compartment contained an old copy of “Playboy Magazine,” and he skimmed it, unimpressed with the air-brushed photos supposedly showing someone’s idea of perfection, which he found as interesting as a blow up doll. He toyed with the idea of writing and submitting an article, but could get no further than the title of; “The Pimples on her Well Used Ass.” Some artistic notions lend themselves better to photography or painting. He thought that the era would put an end to or force a radical change upon the publication, as it was currently produced by someone unaware that God spits out the tepid.
He put it back for historical reference and substituted it with his camera. Not seeing any pimply asses he held it in his lap and dozed.
At 5PM, as the street started to fill with the usual day end activities, he saw Candy exit 694, walking quickly, paying no attention to anything other than what must have been in her
mind. Her bouncing “PEACE NOW” pink T-shirt presided over her skin tight light blue jeans and sandals. This time, as last night, her path was toward the Boulevard, so Mark drove quickly around the block hoping to relocate her there. The dismal light of the morning still persisted, providing some camouflage and to further make himself less noticeable he removed his purple kerchief. As he approached the corner of Liberty Lane and the Boulevard, he saw her get into a waiting Cadillac. The gas gauge showed that he had enough left to make it to Hook Harbor Road again and he boldly got right behind them. When they stopped at a light Candy and the 40 year old blonde crew cut guy looked lovingly at each other, each with one hand somewhere in the other’s lap, the final destinations hidden by the backs of the bucket seats. He snapped off two shots through the windshield, knowing that they would be far from top quality, but probably good enough for Connie to use as “evidence.”
When the Caddy didn’t turn onto Stuyvesant Avenue, Mark said; “Oh, shit,” and again examined his derelict gas situation.
Making a hasty decision, he continued behind them in anticipation of getting a good shot or two when they exited the car.
No such luck. After another three miles his car started to sputter and he pulled into a Boulevard parking space at Amsterdam Avenue, watching as the couple faded from sight.
Nighttime darkness was quickly approaching and he didn’t hesitate to make the only decision open to him. He took the camera, locked the car and legged it, thinking about the good possibility of satisfying Connie with the two adequate photos.
He re-installed his purple kerchief as he walked the garbage strewn path, once host to substantial private dwellings, now displaying “For Sale - Commercially Zoned” signs. Low income projects had been built down the side streets, back in the day of heady optimism, which were now standing as defiant, crumbling, graffiti decorated, square, brick ten story tombs, where the residents huddled in least cost apartments protected only by triple locked and bolted doors, the front yards and basketball courts a magnet for criminals, derelicts and crazies, who the Hennesy’s of the Police Department, could never seem to find or do anything about.
Mark mentally kicked himself for having a gun that resided in his desk drawer and added a few miles per hour to his casual nonchalant gait. In a minute, he heard a car honk three times, causing a bit of a chill, but when he turned to the source he saw Sonny waving at him with his right hand, his left holding the wheel of a slowed down 1972 black Chrysler. He called out;
“Hey, man, don’t you know it’s dangerous to be walking around here?” to the mild amusement of the two girls in the car.
Mark said; “Fuckin’ car ran out of gas.” He paused a second, then added; “Excuse my French, ladies.”
The girl in the front seat said; “Don’t worry. We’ve heard that word once or twice before.”
Sonny said; “C’mon, get in the back with Dorette, before you get yourself into some serious trouble.” Mark took his advice, saying a shy “Hi” to his 25 year old, 250 pound ebony seatmate. She slid over to give him some more room, adjusting her short loose light brown dress, put a silver flask to her lips and then offered it to him saying; “Here, have a swig.” He was glad to do what he was told, put it to his lips and tasted straight whiskey.
Dorette said; “Don’t you wipe it off first?”
Mark was starting to feel relaxed and much better than a few minutes ago, smiled at her, then glanced at her legs and said; “No, your juice tastes just fine to me.”
Sonny said; “See, I told you,” and everyone had a laugh.
He continued; “Mark, this is Corinne up here with me. She’s Dorette’s older sister.” Mark could see the resemblance, though Corinne was probably about fifty pounds lighter and had a closely cropped Afro as opposed to Dorette’s long wild one.
Corrine said; “Hey, don’t hog that flask.”
Mark handed it to her and she massaged its opening with the palm of her hand saying; “No telling where that mouth has been,”
took a quick swig and handed it to Sonny, who unhesitatingly poured a good amount down his throat and said; “Aaah.”
People smirked and Corinne said; “I don’t get it. You guys just love to taste those lips. God bless ya!”
Mark said; “Sonny, is this a new car?”
Sonny replied, “It’s hot,” and everyone understood the meaning.
Sometime later when the flask needed a refill, Sonny said;
“What have you been doing with yourself?”
Mark said; “Tailing a little girl.”
The three laughed and Mark then laughed himself and added,
“No, no, not that way. Her mother is paying me to. I trailed her and some guy down the Hook Road last night. There’s something weird going on there.”
Sonny caught Mark’s eyes in the rearview mirror and took on a serious tone, saying; “That’s some evil shit. You don’t want to be anywhere near it.”
Mark said, “What?”
Sonny said; “I don’t know, but the word is that there are some very bad heavy dudes there with lots of fire power.”
Dorette laughed and said; “I think my friend Mark here,”
and she put her finger on his lips, “is more interested in some very bad heavy chicks with lots of fire power.” No laughter was
appropriate for the completely true statement, just knowing head bobs.
It was a hot humid night all over Jersey City and at 694
Liberty Lane Warren was passionately kissing Connie at 7PM as she put on her party clothes. “Please remember the photos this time, please,” he said. She shook her head “yes” at him, while she smeared her makeup and lipstick, trying to attain the sluttiest look possible and considered whether she was wearing enough clothes for the evening. She looked in the mirror and saw eyes that were ready for anything and Warren with eyes aflame, not wanting to say goodbye and decided that she was very appropriately attired for her drive to Benito’s.
At 7:15PM she drove the new light blue Camaro out of the garage on her way to Englewood Cliffs. Benito and his Spanish wife Carmela lived at the end of a dead end road, in a 4,000 sq.
ft., red Mediterranean, by way of American mass production styled house with a tile roof. Connie had never seen much of the house and wasn’t interested in so doing, as she felt quite at home in its basement playroom. There were seven or eight cars already in the driveway when she arrived and she thought,
“The more the merrier.” She had to park near the curb and it enhanced her excitement having to walk the hundred feet to the basement colonial styled, blue metal door. She walked slowly,
as she pictured herself on display to whoever was at a neighboring window.
She gently knocked and was greeted by the disdaining motionless face of Carmela, dressed in clear stockings held in place by black garter belts, high heeled black leather boots and a push up brassiere. Her olive skin was topped by short black curly hair, which Connie eyed as she heard, “Kiss me.”
After allowing three smackers Carmela said; “I only gave you permission for one kiss. You’re going to learn to be a more obedient slave.” As Connie stopped, looking up at Carmela’s hard amused eyes, Carmela put her best foot forward and cameras snapped away.
When Carmela was through with her, Connie saw that the room contained ten grinning men. She shook her body at them and said; “Don’t the boys want anything?” her lipstick and makeup now completely smeared over her face.
Benito rose from his chair, exhibiting his now customary lunch meat and said; “I see that you’re not carrying any photos, unless you’ve hidden them.” He frisked her and, finding nothing, he said; “Connie, you are the baddest little pig and you’ll have to work very hard tonight to atone. He led her across the room as eighteen mesmerized eyes stared. Benito instructed; “Say hello to the club members,” and she silently made five second opening gambits to each piece of lunchmeat the
group saved for the guest of honor. After gorging herself, Connie said; “Hate to eat and run,” and left. She drove back twenty miles over the speed limit, wanting to get to Warren’s membership club quickly.
Sonny’s Chrysler backed out of the space it had been occupying in otherwise empty Van Coppermate Park for the last two hours, the black night pierced by its headlights. Sonny said; “I hope everyone’s ready. I got to get you all home and then ditch this somewhere.”
He heard a general groan and Mark whispered; “I could sleep right here,” as he picked his head up from Dorette’s lap, gave her one last kiss and said; “You’ve got a great pillow.” She made a lazy smile and rubbed his curly black hair saying;
“Someday we’ll find our own spot.”
Sonny watched the pair in the rear view mirror, as Corinne adjusted her frock and slipped on the safety belt. The other three followed suit with a small contented smile. Corinne said;
“Nothing wrong with being safe.”
Sonny reached back, touching Dorette’s leg and asked; “What do you think of my pale faced buddy.”
Dorette smirked; and said; “He’ll do.”
Corinne turned to her sister and said; “Let’s swap next time. I haven’t had the white experience in some time.”
Sonny said; “Hey, hey. You got something against brothers?
Damn.”
Corinne touched Sonny, smiled at him and said as if it should have gone without saying; “Oh baby, don’t get silly. You know I love you. Can’t you tell?”
Sonny grinned and said; “Just playing, girl. Hey, Mark.
Where should I drop you?”
“990 Headwaters Road; it’s right behind Journal Square.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Sonny replied; “Where all the foreigners moved in.”
They drove there silently; three watching for stars in the still clouded sky, getting a few glimpses while one watched the road. When they got there, Mark leaned over, kissed Dorette and said; “Beautiful, baby.” He then leaned his head over the front seat and said; “Next time.” As he attempted to kiss Corinne’s neck, she pulled away, but playfully laughed, as they all did.
Connie was on fire, jerking the car to a stop in the garage and bolting inside. Warren was waiting for his late snack and insisted that he get it as it was her duty to feed him. She smiled and obliged, but then sheepishly said; “Wrong position, baby.”
She led him out of the kitchen to their third floor bedroom, animatedly recounting the adventures of the earlier
evening. He wanted the photos more than ever before and was angry at their lack, so he kept slapping her butt watching the globes shake, which made her hotter.
Candy was in her bedroom alone dreaming about Callie and California, when she heard them come upstairs. She softly opened a crack in her door to watch them enter and heard the door lock behind them. She went to their door and got a view through the keyhole.
Connie climbed into the bed and Warren entered behind her.
She pretended to be overwhelmed and in a short of breath manner related more of the evening’s festivities, drawing fine distinctions between the varying samples. Candy’s eyes were riveted and her mind flip-flopped between fascination and disgust, sometimes picturing herself in the same position as her mother, only with Callie, sometimes thinking that the whole thing turned her off and sometimes picturing herself in Warren’s position with anyone other than her mother. When round one was finished and she moaned with her smeared face buried in the bedding, Warren wondered if she was coming, feeling good, or acting. He decided that it was of no concern to him and finished, watching her ripe body ripple. He got up and sat on a chair, thinking; “This is the greatest woman I have ever known.”
Shari entered the house quietly after having spent the evening with two local boys at one of their houses, his parents on a trip to the shore for a few days. She liked that there was no pretense of love, but didn’t like being treated as a one-time experience to tell their friends about. They had smoked some pot, started sloppily dancing to Led Zeppelin’s first album and she pretended to slip to the floor laughing. It took quite some time to finish the album, as the trio kept repeating songs that they had a special affinity for.
She climbed the carpeted stairs and saw her sister kneeling at the keyhole. She cooed and said; “Still just a watcher?
That’s some kind of perversion.”
Candy, embarrassed, jumped up and said; “I’m not watching.
I wanted to talk to Mom.”
Shari laughed; “Through the keyhole?”
Candy wanted no more of this conversation, went to her room and locked the door. She laid face down, cuddling her pillow, pretending it was Callie and that they were in California, with the windows open, listening to the waves break on shore.
Shari took a look through the keyhole and thought; “All right, mom!” and went to her room.