by Lee Taylor
I don’t answer him.
Flukey starts to flirt with the girl getting her hair braided and Ivory sits back down in his chair. I take the seat next to him and slide all the way back, trying to relax.
Desire yells over to me, “You ever go to one of them girly parties, hon?”
Apparently, she can tell from the look on my face that I don’t know what she’s talking about.
“You know. One of them pleasure parties where they sell all those Kama Sutra love potions and eatable panties and vibrators the size of your arm? Not that I need one of them. I got me Ivory, but that other stuff sure is nice. Look,” she pulls a small bottle out of her pocket. “Look what I bought.”
Desire walks over as she opens a tiny grey bottle. “Give me your arm. I have to show you this stuff. I keep it around so that I can get me a little pleasure whenever I want it.” I hold out my arm, palm up. She pours out a couple drops of red oil and rubs them into my wrist. “Now blow on it.” I follow her directions. My skin heats up. “Ain’t that something? Tastes good, too.” She rubs some on her cleavage. Ivory gets up and gently blows between her breasts. Then he licks off the red heat while she moans. “Ivory’s got the best tongue in the world, a woman’s dream come true. Show her your tongue, Ivory.”
Ivory is still facing Desire but he sticks out his tongue and touches the bottom of his chin, and then wiggles it around. I get the full side view. It is by far the longest, skinniest, pinkest tongue I have ever seen in my entire life. It looks like a pink snake trying to find a place to hide. I’m dumbstruck, but I know I have say something cool. “Desire must be a very happy woman.”
“You got that right, hon.” Desire moans.
Ivory gives Desire one last long lick then moves out from between her breasts and smiles at me. He turns to Flukey, nodding back toward me. “She’s cool. Smooth. Alright.” To me he says, “Let’s you and me and my woman step into the back for a minute.”
I get up from my chair but slip on some recently cut hair lying on the floor. Desire grabs my arm from behind. “Gotta be careful where you step. You never know what you might be getting yourself into,” she says and walks alongside of me while we follow Ivory down a hallway and into a back room. I turn to see if Flukey is following us. He’s not. Braid-girl has claimed all of his attention.
When we get into the back room, filled with various hair products, Desire is the one who initiates the conversation.
“You’re one of them movie people Flukey’s been talking about.”
“Yes, I’m in extras casting, working on a movie right now.”
“Flukey loves the movies. Always did. I used to take him to see all the Pink Panther and James Bond flicks when he was a little boy. I think I screwed up his head with all of that. What do you think?”
“Well, the man seems to really like pink.”
“Yeah, he sure does. That’s Flukey. Can always see him comin’. I like them old Doris Day flicks, myself. Must’ve seen Pillow Talk a hundred times. I still watch that movie whenever it’s on TV. Can’t get enough. You like Doris Day?”
“Sure.”
“Which movie?”
My mind swirls with old movies. Movies I’d forgotten in the last few years. Movies that Mike likes to rent. “The one with Cary Grant where he takes her away for the weekend and she breaks out in spots, then, after they get married, he breaks out in spots. Can’t think of the name.”
“And you’re in the business? That Touch of Mink. I liked the coat Cary bought her. The one with the mink on the inside. That’s my kind of coat. Can’t wear mink now. Them animal rights folks’ll throw paint on you. It’s a shame a woman can’t enjoy a good mink coat anymore.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad,” I tell her, wondering when we’re going to get to the gun part of this conversation.
“Flukey’s a good kid. I knew his daddy. His daddy and me used to—but that ain’t what you’re here for. What kind of weapon you looking for, hon?” She sits down behind a beat-up wooden desk while Ivory leans on the wall next to the closed door behind us. The room suddenly feels hot. Tight. A small dusty window fan moves stale air around the room. The sound only adds to the heat.
I turn to ask Ivory, “What kind of weapon can you get me?”
“Ivory won’t be getting you a weapon. I will,” Desire says. I turn back to her. She gives me a sarcastic little smile and says, “‘We’ve come a long way, baby.’ Whatever kind you want. Got a nice .9 millimeter Baretta that just came in today. Or I have a Ruger P85 that handles like a charm, then there’s always a .357, but it all depends on what you want to do with this weapon. You looking to scare somebody or take ‘em out?”
I’m still struggling with the fact that it’s Desire doing the business and not Ivory. Shows you what the movies can do to distort a person’s view of things. “I have to be able to get it into a highly visible place.”
Ivory speaks up from behind, “You talkin’ ‘bout doin’ five to ten easy just for packin’.”
“I know the risk,” I tell him with some sarcasm, turning to see his face. I’m feeling edgy, testy, trapped with these strangers. Wishing Flukey were back here.
“That’s good. You in control,” he says, smiling at me.
Desire continues, “How about something smaller, like a Derringer? Got one that I’ve been holding onto for myself. Takes a .38, has a pearl handle with a stainless finish. She’s made for a lady just like you, and this one’s ready to go, if you know what I mean.” She turns in her chair, leans over, digs inside her large green handbag sitting on the floor and comes up with what looks like the perfect weapon.
“How soon you need it?”
“I was hoping to get it today.”
“That urgent, huh?”
“Well, I—”
“Tell you what, hon, here’s the thing. I can let it go for an even hundred, and a walk-on for me and Ivory here. Flukey’s always talking about how easy it is to be in the movies. Well, Ivory and me want to be in a movie too. You have one that we can be in?”
“Sure, I think I can work that out.”
“There can’t be no thinking about it. It’s like this weapon, either I sell it to you or I don’t. Either Ivory and me are in your movie or we aren’t.”
“You’re right. We’ve got an airport scene coming up for our next movie. The two of you would be perfect. No problem,” I tell her as I pull the cash out of my fanny pack and drop it on the desk. She takes the money, rolls it up and sticks it deep between her breasts. The cash disappears in a mound of soft flesh, like some sort of mouth, devouring food. Gives me an idea. “I’ll let you know the details in a few weeks.”
“Then,” Desire says with a big grin on her face, “it’s been a pleasure doing business with you, hon,” and slides the gun to me across her desk.
Thirty-three
July 13, 1966
We couldn’t sleep that night, the night of the letter, so we snuck out of my house around ten-thirty to walk around—around the park mostly, Luella Park. It was only about two blocks away from my new house.
We sat on the swings talking about our future, now even more dedicated to our dreams of marrying the Beatles. After all, we had finally made real, honest-to-goodness contact. Who could argue with that?
“Maybe we shouldn’t be out here. If your dad finds out, he’ll have a fit,” Lisa said right after we read the letter one more time.
Both Sharon and I agreed. Besides, we didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize us going to the concert in thirty days, seventeen hours and…I didn’t know the exact amount of minutes. I wasn’t wearing a watch.
“Look,” Lisa said. “Isn’t that Wolf?”
We couldn’t make the man out right away. He was wearing black clothes, had his hands in his pockets and was looking down at the sidewalk. He stopped at the corner, under a lamppost and lit a cigarette, cupping his hand around the match. His face lit up.
“That’s him,” Sharon yelled. “I could see his face.”
&nb
sp; We were in the park and he was walking down 100th Street coming from the direction of the bridge. We only saw him for a few moments while he lit a cigarette then crossed the street.
Lisa said, “We need to tell him about your letter. He’ll know if it’s real or not. I bet he knows Ringo’s handwriting. He’ll be able to tell us once and for all.”
“There’s a shortcut through that alley behind those townhouses over there,” I said, pointing. “We can catch up with him on the other side of the street.”
A row of six two-story townhouses stood in our way, just on the other side of the park. I knew some of the student nurses lived there who worked at South Chicago Community Hospital. I didn’t know who they were exactly, because I hadn’t been in the neighborhood long enough to meet any of them. But I’d seen them a few times going back and forth from the hospital dressed in their white uniforms and white caps. They always looked so happy, which I could never understand having to work around sick people all day. My mother thought nurses were angels of mercy, and now that I’d met Suzie and Mary Ann, I thought they were fab.
The only light in the alley came from the park. Lisa didn’t like the gloom so we ran even faster, our feet crunching through the cinders, the smell of garbage wafting up from the open cans. It wasn’t a very inviting place to be. At one point I tripped. Lisa and Sharon laughed as I went down on my side, warding off any knee scrapes by catching myself with my hands. I barely avoided a small cement landing on the first townhouse. I fell almost in front of their back door. The house was tan brick with one of those metal screen doors just above the landing and a modern sliding window, with a screen, right next it.
By the time I got back up and dusted myself off and we ran around to 100th Street, Wolf was gone.
“Where did he go?” Sharon asked as we rounded the corner and expected to run right into him.
“I don’t know,” Lisa said.
“Maybe he turned around and went the other way, down my street,” I said and ran down the block to the corner of 100th and Crandon, looking both ways when I got there. “He’s not here.”
“It’s like he just disappeared,” Sharon taunted when she caught up to me. She looked around and hummed the tune from The Twilight Zone.
“Some shortcut,” Lisa mocked.
“Well, I thought if we—”
Sharon said, “It doesn’t matter. Wolf must know somebody around here or in one of these townhouses. All we can do now is wait.”
“How can he know anybody? He’s a sailor. If he knew somebody, he wouldn’t have stayed at Pauline’s,” Lisa reasoned.
“Well, he went in somewhere. He’s gotta know somebody,” I said, trying to agree with Sharon, but something about the situation haunted me.
“I think we should wait till he comes back out. It’s the only way,” Sharon argued. “Wherever he went he can’t stay long. It’s too late to be visiting people.”
With that, we all agreed to wait and watch.
We walked around the neighborhood, looking for Wolf, imagining where he could have gone in and narrowed it down to the townhouses. Lisa said it was the only possibility.
While we sat across the street in front of the elementary school, facing the row of townhouses, I thought about the previous night. The way he had tried to break into Pauline’s and how he seemingly disappeared just like he did tonight. And what about all that change in our tent. Was it Wolf’s change? A shiver passed through me as I thought of him at Pauline’s basement windows. Just where was he now and how did he get in?
Not long after we sat down, a car stopped in front of one of the townhouses. There was a couple inside who were making out.
“Boy, I wish that was Paul and me,” Sharon said.
“Yeah,” Lisa sighed.
Their radio played You’ll Never Walk Alone. We all started singing along with the song. I thought maybe they could hear us, appreciate our serenade, but they never even looked up. They just kept kissing, and we kept singing. When the song was over, they kissed one more time and then the girl got out of the car, hesitating for a minute while the car door was still open and the light was on from inside the car, illuminating her face. She had such a pretty face, all full of smiles and warmth. I thought she looked like a really nice person. Someone I’d like to know.
“I love that purple outfit she’s wearing,” Lisa said. “Purple’s my favorite color. I think I’ll get a purple dress for the Beatles concert.”
“That would be so boss,” I said. “Maybe you could get shoes to match. Wouldn’t that be sharp?”
We all agreed that purple was a fab color as we watched the girl wave goodnight to her boyfriend who sat and waited for her to get safely inside before he drove away. I thought how much he must love her to wait like that. My dad would think it was the right thing to do. Courteous, but the guy certainly didn’t have to do that in this neighborhood. That’s why the student nurses lived here, because it was so safe.
Thirty-four
September, 1987
I leave Flukey in front of his apartment building while one of his girls, a Puerto Rican with a hot temper, tries to tell him about her latest screw. She looks ragged, smokes weed and talks the part. Her dyed red hair sits in a lump on the top of her head, black leather and silver chains adorn her overexposed body, and heavy makeup attempts to cover the lines that choke her face with early aging. Her name is Marta and her john had just urinated on her hair. She wants to use Flukey’s apartment to clean up. He’s hesitant and I bow out just as they get into an argument over whether or not she charged enough for the urination privilege. I guess it’s a problem for Flukey to keep his girls informed on the pay scale for the latest decadent trends. I didn’t want to stick around to hear what else these New-Wave johns are into so I quietly disappear.
I need some clothes. There’s a store around Oak Street, just off Michigan Avenue. A little boutique that specializes in the kind of styles I need, feminine-frill.
Parking’s always a bitch in the Loop and I don’t have time to fight it, so I leave the car at some high-priced lot that charges by the second or something close. I take the Derringer with me, hidden in my fanny pack. My dad taught me never to leave a loaded gun unattended. There’s no telling who might be looking for one.
I find the store all right and take an armful of try-ons into one of the tiny dressing rooms. White blouses, mostly. The kind with big ruffles down the front, and vests, vests with pockets. I try on several of each, can’t make up my mind so I buy the entire pile for less than it cost me to park—well, almost.
Later, I pull up to my motel room, park, grab my bags and get out. The pool’s empty. I guess it’s finally getting too cold. For some reason, I miss the noise of the kids.
Once inside my room I have a need to hurry. Have to dress quickly. No time to think about any alternatives. Don’t want to let the girl in the mirror try to talk me out of anything. As if she could. Not now. Not today. But there’s no telling what she might say. What tricks she might pull on me. Probably try something using Mike and how good it felt to lie next to him, to wrap myself in his love. As if love has anything to do with it, anything to do with my life. Makes for a good fantasy, that’s about all. Love’s not for me. Don’t deserve it. Not his kind of love. Too bad. We could have had some laughs.
I wiggle out of my gun-buying outfit and throw on the basic prison attire; black slacks, crew socks, and Reeboks. Makeup gets removed with lotion and cotton pads. No time to care about who sees bruised lips or cheeks. What does it matter now?
The ruffled blouse goes on last. For some reason I want to slow down for this event. Make it last. Think about its purpose. My aegis, my cache. Hoping that this piece of fashioned cotton will serve me well.
My arms slip into the blouse, fingers guiding the way against smooth cloth. Slowly, I adjust myself inside the fabric, pulling the front ruffles over my breasts and gently guiding each button through each hole, practicing my awareness, preparing myself for what needs to happen, pretendin
g that the very action of fastening my blouse somehow relates to my plan. Carefully, I tuck the cloth into my pants, making sure that it lies perfectly flat against my skin. The vest goes on over it, accentuating each ruffle.
I remove the weapon from my fanny pack. So tiny, so sweet yet so dependably deadly. I pick up the Lady, with her delicate pearl handle, check the loaded over-and-under barrels and tuck her safely between my breasts. Desire’s hiding place.
Smiling into the mirror, I think of Doris Day. Doris with an edge. The girl in the mirror seems to be going along with all of this. Actually likes the way I look. Plain, yet feminine.
The Stainless Derringer feels smooth and cool against my skin—sensual comfort. It rests perfectly out of sight, between my breasts. The first part of my plan is seated and secure, but my insides start shaking. My stomach tightens.
“The shooting’s going to be easy,” I tell the girl in the mirror. “Relax. Take a deep breath.” She does. “There, much better.”
Don’t want her to know the hard part will be getting past Henrietta. But I’ve got that all figured out with the sheet music. After that, it’s a cinch. All I have to do is walk up to Speck, pull out my gun, enjoy the fear of God on his rotten, scarred-up face, tell him what I think of his sorry-ass and shoot the motherfucker straight in the head. Then turn the gun on myself and get this miserable life of mine over with. Two bullets. One for each of us. A cinch. No more nightmares.
I mean, why bother to go on after that? I couldn’t stand prison. No sky. Trapped like all those other fools. What’s the point? I deserve to die. Too chicken to call the police that night in the rain, too scared to tell my dad about meeting Wolf and his ‘born to raise hell’ tattoo. Lisa was right. She was always right about me. Chicken. I should have died along with those nurses. Didn’t have the courage back then. Too young to think straight. Not any more. Not today. Got it all figured out. I know what needs to be done and I finally have the courage to do it.
As for poor, weeping Mike? He’ll be better off. Find some together chick—certainly not Tiffany—who wants to play housewife and grow old out in the ‘burbs raising an army of mini-Mikes. Sounds like the perfect ending to me. Scorsese couldn’t have directed it better.
