Last Exit to Brooklyn

by Hubert Selby Jr.

  When the food came Ginger accepted Harrys gracious offer and sat in his chair and well mannerdly ate a chicken, a few helpings of potato salad and cole slaw and cake, then, tired of drinking unladylike beer, told Harry he should get a few bottles of gin, some tonic water and a few limes which Harry did, adding the bills to the pile in the drawer, and the party continued. Harry was getting very drunk and Ginger, who was in an even more bitchy mood than usual, thought it would be fun to toy with him. She got up from the chair and told Harry to sit then sat on his lap, put her finger in his ear and played with his hair. Harry leered, his eyes rolling slightly. He was drunk but still able to feel the tingling in his thighs yet unaware of the spasmodic jerking of his fingers, the moisture in his mouth. Ginger leaned her face closer to Harrys, tenderly caressing his neck and she watched Harrys lips quiver, felt the trembling in his legs and saw his eyes unfocusing and rolling back. Ginger roared hysterically inside herself and leaned closer to Harry, smiling, until she could feel his slimy breath on her cheek, then jumped up and tapped him playfully on the nose. Of you naughty man, getting a nice young girl like me all excited, posing provocatively in front of him. She took a few short dainty steps backward, smiling at him coquettishly, and wriggled in time to the music from the radio, glancing over her shoulder at Harry occasionally, leaning her head to one side and winking. Harry continued to lean forward until he fell from the chair, spilling his drink, and kneeling on the floor behind his desk. He dropped the glass and pulled himself up, tiny droplets of saliva hanging from his lips and chin. He pulled himself up and leaned forward. Comeon, lets dansh. Ginger put her hands on her hips and watched him lumber toward her, feeling the power she had over him and despising him. She put her arms around him and started dragging him around the floor, stamping heavily on his toes and lifting her knee up into his groin from time to time, Harry wincing but still trying to smile and drunkenly trying to get closer to her. Ginger pinched his neck fiercely with her fingernails and laughed as Harrys eyes closed, then patted him on the cheek and rubbed his head. Thats a good dog. Do you know how to beg for a bone, lifting her knee into his crotch, Harrys face twisting. Its a shame we/re not in Marys now. You could buy me drinks and we would have a wonderful time, pinching him again. Harrys eyes closed again. Watch Marys? O, a lovely club I know on 72nd street thats just filled with freaks like you. Youd love it, stepping on his foot and grinding her heel into it. Harrys eyes watered. Letsgo, sliding his hand down Gingers arm, Ginger flexing her hard muscle, bending her arm and squeezing Harrys hand in the crotch of her elbow until he stopped dancing and tugged to loosen it, Ginger squeezing harder, her face set in a smile, putting all her strength, hatred and loathing into the squeezing of Harrys hand, wallowing in the joy of holding Harry immobile with the bending of her arm, feeling like David, not killing Goliath with one stone from his sling, but slowly twisting him down and down and down with the simple twisting of one massive finger with her small dainty ladylike hand. Ginger applied as much pressure as she could, the pressure now hurting her too, but she continued to squeeze Harrys hand as he tugged to loosen it, his face becoming whiter, his eyes bulging, too startled and in too much pain to yell, his mouth hanging open, saliva dripping, spreading his legs for balance and leverage, pushing her arm with his other hand, looking at her in complete bewilderment, not understanding what was happening, too drunk to comprehend the incongruity of the situation: the little faggot conquering the giant with the crotch of her arm; his eyes asking why but no question formed in his mind, just instinctively trying to free himself of the pain. Ginger stared directly into his face, smiling still, wanting to crush him, to force him to his knees. He bent his arm to one side, still not using his other hand against Harry, his face stiffening as Harrys body started to lean with the pressure, Ginger wanting to yell IM MORE OF A MAN THAN YOU, then suddenly she opened her arm, spun around and left Harry standing there, looking after her as she mixed herself another drink, holding his hand and rubbing it.

  Ginger strolled around the room, gulping at her drink, talking with the guys and looking at Harry occasionally and smiling. Harry made his way back to his chair, filled his glass and sat, rubbing his hand, wondering just what had happened, slowly becoming conscious of the noise from the guys and the radio. Somebody slapped him on the back, whattayasay Harry, laughed and staggered away, Harry looking at him dumbly and nodding. Ginger came up behind him and twirled his hair with her fingers and slowly moved around in front of him and leaned against the desk. I like your party. I hope the strike lasts for a while, we can have a ball. Harry nodded his head as he weaved back and forth in his chair, almost falling off again. Ginger patted his cheek, Youre cute. I like you, smiling and giggling inside as Harrys eyes once more showed his bewilderment. Its too bad we cant be alone, we would have such fun. Harry put his hand on her leg and Ginger lifted it gently. Fresh. My, but you get a girl all aquiver, crossing her arms against her breast. Harry leaned toward her, licking his lips, mumbling something, and Ginger patted his cheek, then turned away, tired of her little game, turned the radio off and announced that they should go back uptown. I find staying in Brooklyn too long very oppressive. Yeah, letsgo. Maybe therell be some action ta-night. Harry tried to grab Gingers arm as she picked up the gin bottle, but she twirled away from him and strutted out of the office. Harry leaned forward in his chair holding onto the edge of the desk and watched her leave, not noticing the guys as they picked up the other gin bottles and food and left.

  Harry leaned against the desk staring at the door in a semicatatonic state, his head slowly drooping to one side until his head finally bumped against the desk. He jerked it up, blinked his eyes then stared again at the door, slowly sliding from his chair until he was on the floor. Harry curled up under the desk and slept.

  Harry slept, curled cozily under his desk, until late morning. The sun was bright and shone through the office window, lighting the entire office except for Harrys snug little cove. Harry sat in the darkness under his desk with his knees under his chin fighting to squint his eyes open, peering up at his chair, and its barred shadow on the wall, conscious only of the pain in his eyes. He attempted nothing, not even closing his eyes against the brightness of the sun shining on the wall, a brightness that reflected only on his eyes and not into the darkness of his cubicle. He sat there for hours not thinking of challenging his lethargy until the demand to urinate became so intense he was forced to crawl from his niche. After he urinated he leaned over the sink and let cold water pour on his head for many minutes then found his way back to his chair and sat smoking and staring until the pain in his head prodded him from his chair and he locked the office and went next door to the bar. He sat alone and silent at the end of the bar drinking, not thinking or glowing over the fact that he could spend as much as he wanted then get it back from the union as he had been doing since the strike started; not even aware that his head stopped aching after an hour or so. For a short time, after drinking for a few hours, he started thinking of the previous day and he felt an excitement in his body but he could not fight through the haze that obscured the night and soon he was just drunk. It was still early evening when he left the bar and stumbled home and into bed, still fully clothed, and curled up in a corner and slept.

  * * *

  Monday morning the men had regained some of their former enthusiasm with the possibility of another truck trying to cross the picket line, a truck that they would be prepared to stop. The incident of the trucks took on added importance to the men during the weekend. They had talked about it continually on Friday and by the time they drank their last beer Sunday night they were convinced that the fact that the company had to break the line with trucks meant that they were hardup to fill orders and that soon they couldnt afford to keep the shop closed. Some even thought, briefly, of going down to the office Sunday night or early Monday morning to see if the company would try to sneak trucks in before the men started picketing, but soon convinced themselves that it wasnt necessary. So, Monday they were s
lightly elated as they knew the strike would soon be over and they could stop haggling with the wife about money. They were convinced too that the company would try again to break the line before giving in to the strikers and so everyone, even those who stayed in the office drinking, were ready to run down 2nd avenue when the word was given that more trucks were coming and when they did and were stopped, then the company would have to accept the unions demands. And so they waited and hoped.

  Everytime Harry stamped a book during the morning he asked the men if they saw the picture in the paper of the trucks burning, and intimated in every way that he was completely responsible for burning the trucks. By late morning even Harry was a little tired of hearing the same thing for hours so he stopped talking about the trucks and soon, after a pitcher of beer or so, a few memories and images of Saturday night returned and he remembered the guys coming in the office, he remembered the music, the gin and Ginger dancing. He had felt good Saturday night, that he definitely remembered, and too he remembered how the guys seemed to respect him because of his position in the union and because he could order any thing he wanted and have the union pay for it; and he remembered how Ginger admired him for his strength and how she liked to talk with him and feel the muscles in his arms and legs. There were still a few things he could not remember, but they must have been unimportant and soon the thought that they existed was absorbed and they had never happened.

  The men rejuvenated their hope through the day but, as the picketing day approached an end, the effect of all the hopeful efforts was almost negligible. The trucks that were to prelude the ending of the strike never arrived and though they tried at first to think that they would not come until later and that it was natural that the company should wait a day or so before trying again, the men could not accept these explanations no matter how hard they tried. They had started the day expecting a deus ex machina and with its appearance their troubles and the strike would be over; and though they tried to convince themselves, and each other, with many arguments, that the company would have to give in soon they found it impossible to maintain any optimism and when the day came to an end they put their signs away quietly, nodded to each other and left. The day had been long and hot. It had been many hours since anyone had looked up at the clear blue sky. It was still summertime and there were many more hot days to come.

  * * *

  The union and management met regularly to arbitrate their dispute. Each side was more arrogant and noisy than usual the first meeting after the incident of the trucks, but the resuit of the meeting was the same as all the previous ones. The union could not allow anyone to administer the welfare plan but, even if their books had been in order it was far too late now for them to concede to the companys demands. After being on strike this long they could not settle for the same contract that had been offered before they started the strike. There was still ample money in the strike fund, enough to continue to give the men their 10 dollars bag of food each week, to last a year if necessary; and other unions throughout the country had pledged assistance any time it was needed. The union officials were indignant about the companys attitude in being so rigid and in sending trucks through the line and left Mondays meeting declaring they would not meet with them for a few weeks, not until the company reconsidered its arbitrary stand and realized that the men were willing to stay on strike for a year if necessary in order to get a decent contract. The recording secretary remained in the city and the other officials went to Canada for a rest. They needed a rest from the pressures of the strike and the oppressive heat.

  Mr. Harrington told the other company representatives that they had to remain firm. Except for the oversight that necessitated their hiring a freight forwarding firm to cross the picket line and deliver the much needed parts to the upstate plant, everything had been running smoothly. Their other plants, and subcontractors, throughout the country had been geared in ample time to handle all existing orders and any that might come in during the immediate future. All their government contracts were being fulfilled and no new ones would be forthcoming before February of the following year. At least none of any quantity. And too, the manner in which the contracts had been distributed to other plants, and the manner in which the transfers had been noted on the books, meant a substantial tax saving would be effected. Of course a few of the younger executives had a burdensome amount of work to do because of the strike, but a substantial bonus at Christmas and a pat on the back would not only satisfy them but would encourage them to work even harder in the future. And the cost of the bonuses would only amount to a minute percentage of the money saved in unpaid wages. Perhaps they would be prevented from taking a vacation now, but Mr. Harrington did not care if no one went on vacation for years, he was determined to try and get rid of Harry Black. After all, what did he have to lose.

  Harry did not notice the change in the men as they carefully leaned their signs against the wall and left. A few minutes after five he was the only one in the office so he just hung around for a while, drinking beer, his mind wandering over what had happened lately, and he remembered Ginger mentioning Marys on 72nd street. He thought about it for a while then decided to go. He got a cab and when they got to 72nd street he told the driver to go down the street and when he saw Marys he told the driver to stop at the next corner and he walked back.

  It wasnt until he approached the door that he started to feel uneasy, that he became conscious of being in a strange neighborhood, outside a strange bar. He went in and moved immediately to the side and tried to melt in with the others standing at the bar. There were so many people in Marys and so much noise—the jukebox in the rear clashing with the one at the bar—that Harry was able to lose himself in the chaos and his selfconscious-ness faded before he finished his first drink. Eventually he was able to work his way into a spot at the bar where he could see the rest of the bar and most of the back room. At first he was surprised at the way in which the women acted, but after listening to them talk and watching them move he eventually realized that most of them were men dressed as women. He stared at everyone as they moved and talked, never certain of their sex, but enjoying watching them and enjoying too the thrill and excitement he felt at being in such a weird place. The people in the back room fascinated him more than the others as he imagined what they were doing with their hands under the table, and was particularly amazed when he saw a big, muscled, truckdriver looking guy lean over and kiss the guy sitting next to him. The kiss seemed to last for many minutes and Harry could almost feel their tongues touching. He stared. He noticed the tattoos on the big guys arms. He looked quickly at his own dirty fingernails then back at the lovers in the booth. Their mouths slowly separated and they looked at each other for a moment then reached for their drinks, the big guys arms still around his lovers shoulder. Harry continued to stare until his uneasiness forced him to lower his eyes and he picked up his drink and gulped it down. He ordered another, sipped at it, lit a cigarette and continued to lookaround.

  Occasionally someone smiled at Harry, brushed against him or spoke to him and a few times he smiled his smile but it ended the scene rather than continued it, so Harry stayed alone drinking and looking until he noticed Ginger come in. She walked quickly to the back and was out of sight before Harry could move. He stared after her for a moment wanting to go after her, but he knew if he did that the guys from the Greeks would find out so he finally decided to finish his drink and leave before she saw him.

  The next morning Mary wanted to know where Harry went last night and where he was last Saturday night and if he was going to be home tonight and if he thought this was a flophouse and he could come home any fuckin time he felt like it and ever since the strike started he was goin around like he thought who he was and she wasnt gonna stand for any shit like this . . .