We both pause and start to embrace but an extremely old man with an empty fold-up grocery cart sits down next to us and smiles. He’s bundled in an old Army jacket and brown scarf; patches of grey hair sprout from the sides of his AFL-CIO union cap. The old man says, “I think I missed the bus. Won’t be another for 40 minutes.”
I feel sorry for the old gent. “Listen,” I reply, “I was going to leave my car and take the bus today, but it looks like I’m driving now. Where are you headed?”
“Down by Rector Street Market,” he answers.
“Yeah, that’s exactly where we’re going. C’mon, we’ll give you a lift.”
“Oh, great, it’s cold here.” The old man perks up.
Rocky smiles at the old guy and then grins at me. We weren’t going anywhere near Rector Street Market. Sometimes you need to make a few detours. I call Loot and let him know I won’t be back today.
Funny, but the best moment I have had to date with Rocky is segued into a cramped ride in the Saab with a faded old man. Rocky is generous enough to yield the front seat to our new friend, so we are separated. But it ain’t how it ended.
CHAPTER 18
After we dropped off the old guy, Rocky herself suggested we go to my apartment. How about that? And here she is in my arms, in my room, in my place at The Lakes. She is trying to be the same confident and playful girl, but she’s nervous. I sense the normal poise being overcome by a strange fear; I can hear a difference in her voice. I don’t want her to do something she doesn’t want to do. “Baby, there’s no hurry here, I know this is diff.... ” But before I finish, Rocky pulls me in for a long, hard kiss.
She walks over to the light and dims it. We are standing and embracing each other and I want to feel every part of her. I run my hands through her thick, wavy auburn hair and I kiss her neck, inhaling and bringing in her subtle fragrance. My hands move around her shoulders and then lower. Her body is firm and athletic from dancing but her skin is so soft and smooth.
Rocky is kissing my neck and unbuttoning my shirt. I am doing the same to her shirt. When we can’t unbutton each other anymore, we take off our shirts and remove our jeans. She smiles at me and while we are supposed to be shadows, her smile is clearer and brighter than ever. How do you halt time and make this never stop? Is there anywhere else in the world anyone would rather be right now?
We lie down in bed and I run my hands up the curves of her hips, caressing and feeling her smooth skin. She tells me how nice it feels, but I still sense that Rocky is nervous and I wish I could make her comfortable. It’s taken a lot to let someone over on this side of the wall, the wall that her father created. I want this to be right for her. I want to give her the feelings she has given me.
My hands are drawn to her body, and it feels as if my fingers are dancing on onyx. Her skin is precious and rare and I’m amazed that something like this exists. I wish she could relax and give herself completely to this moment. She is trying, there is no doubt about that, but this isn’t exactly like jumping into a lake.
My mouth moves down her body, kissing her navel. I can hear her breathing deepen as I continue. I kiss her inner thighs and her breathing gets deeper.
I want so badly for this to be great for her. This has to be great for her. Her breathing is getting deeper still. I stay down and continue; I feel her apprehension drift into the cold Albany night, I feel that quiver of nervousness replaced by shaking desire.
Just above the back of my neck, Rocky has taken a fistful of hair. Both her hands are filled with my hair and her grip is getting tighter. Her breathing is getting still deeper and transitioning into a light, low moan of pleasure. Her grip on my hair tightens, actually causing pain. But trooper that I am, I continue. Rocky pulls my face in deeper as her hips move up and down, offering a rhythm to follow. Her grip on my hair gets tighter, she pulls me in deeper, and her moan is picking up volume and duration. Her legs are slowly opening and closing, as if she is looking for a comfortable position.
“If you stop doing this, I’ll kill you!” she blurts out. I almost start laughing, but I need to concentrate. I’m thinking, I love that you’re enjoying this, but please don’t throw me off my game here.
Her legs stop moving, and her body is no longer rocking in a rhythm. Rocky’s back is arched with her hands grabbing my hair with the tightest grip yet. I feel her body shake from top to bottom as she climaxes. Her body arches even further as her climax continues.
I begin to kiss her body, by her tight stomach, moving slowly around her navel again. She pulls me up and motions for me to roll over. There is no uneasiness anymore. There is passion and it feels right. I am on my back with Rocky straddling me and I enter her. She is grinding slowly and my hands slide up that silky skin and caress her breasts as she moves, more rapidly, her head is tilted backwards, her long hair swaying.
We fall asleep cuddled in a combination of satisfaction and, exhaustion. I look over Rocky’s shoulder to see my clock radio reading 3:18 a.m. I glance down at Rocky’s smooth back and marvel at the feminine but muscular valley that divides the left from right side. Like a baby reaching for a toy in a crib, I can’t help myself. I need to touch her more. I don’t want to wake her, but I have to run my fingers along the perfect valley streaming down her back. If I am soft enough I can satisfy my selfish need to feel her body and still let her sleep. I run my fingers up once, then twice and by the third time I hear a muffled giggle. She turns over and smiles her brilliant smile at me. I roll on top of her and I’m delighted that this night is not over.
CHAPTER 19
Sunday mornings are a special tradition here. I’ve always been the first to wake up because no matter how tired or how late I went to bed, by 7:30 a.m. my mind is racing and there’s no turning back. Sundays are important days for us as the National Football League, and their little ecosystem provides the potential for a very nice income stream. All three of us are out of the apartment by 10:15 to get to the office and open the phones by 11.
This Sunday morning I look at the alarm clock and, true to form, it’s 7:25 a.m. The only difference today is that Rocky Campbell is sleeping next to me. Before I get out of bed, I stare at her motionless body for a few minutes. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt lucky. But this morning I feel flat-out lucky. She looks at me differently and talks to me differently than anyone I’ve ever met.
I make a huge breakfast, four ham-and-cheese omelets, bacon, bagels, and fresh-squeezed juice. I flip the last omelet and drop the pan in the sink. The bacon has been done for a while; I scoop the strips out of the pan and put them on a separate plate from the omelets. I turn to bring the plates to the table and am surprised by Rocky. She’s wearing her jeans from last night and one of my Gorilla sweatshirts. I wonder how long she was observing my hectic culinary preparations.
“Hey! Good morning,” I say. “I was going to let you sleep.” I know I am probably smiling a little too wide, but I’m looking at her smile and damn, she has an extra huge smile herself. She leans over to give me a kiss. I’d like to give her a hug but it’s tough with a plate of omelets in one hand and a plate of bacon in the other.
“Sleep?” She says. “How can I sleep with this huge breakfast out here?”
“Ahhh, the aroma of fresh bacon lured you out?” I set the plates on the table.
She playfully says, “Yes, of course. It had nothing to do with the three pans you dropped or 15 times you slammed the cabinets.”
“I only dropped the pan twice. I can see you don’t appreciate sheer brilliance.”
“No, you’re wrong. I appreciate it.” She walks over and hugs me. Now that my hands are free I am able to reciprocate. This is nice; it’s the Kodak moment you keep in your mind. We could stand here for hours but will have to settle for these few moments because, rather than a romantic sunrise to cap this magic moment, we will have to settle for the sight of Loot Hightower scratching himself outside his boxer shorts. A bright green pick is sticking out of the mound of hair that has been unleashed
from the cornrows. Loot has a shit-eating grin. Rocky’s been hanging around a lot, but she has never spent the night. “Yes, Loot,” Rocky says, smiling at him, “last night I kind of used your boy here.”
Loot, who is never at a loss for words, says, “Damn, that’s what I’m talking about!” He high-fives Rocky. “C’mon Rocky, don’t you got a friend or a sister or something for me?” he asks.
“I’ll keep my eyes open, but I have to find something special for you,” she says.
Both Carey and Loot are big supporters of Rocky. They’ve seen some of the other girls I’ve been going out with and they weren’t too taken with them. Rocky likes hanging with the guys, and we all have a lot of laughs when we’re together. It means a lot to me that my buddies approve of Rocky.
Carey wanders out, much less animated than Loot. It was clearly an effort for him to get out of bed at this ungodly hour of 8:30 a.m. He looks approvingly at the full spread on the table, nods to all of us and eloquently says, “Waz up?”
We sit down and enjoy our nice family breakfast. Loot hits the TV remote so we can watch MTV as we eat. I think Rocky is pretty impressed with my cooking. Hell, it’s another reason for her to want to spend nights over here.
After a slow, enjoyable repast, it’s almost time to clean up. I’m buttering a last bagel half when suddenly a show on TV grabs my attention. It’s a story about something called “the annual Celebrity Best in Show Dog Extravaganza” at Madison Square Garden. Are those my buddies, Buster Wellington and his charming daughter C.W., mingling with a batch of A-list celebrities? The camera shows them awarding prizes to Robert DeNiro, Tim Robbins, Tori Spelling and a gaggle of other actors while the announcer gushes about how much money the event has raised for charity. The catch is, the dogs are all untrained and definitely not show material; the whole thing is a spoof of the famous Westminster Dog Show, which also runs at Madison Square Garden. I watch as Susan Sarandon’s beagle takes a crap on the green carpet. Turns out that the Wellingtons have been running this event for seven years now; all the money raised goes to the Juvenile Diabetes organization. What they show next stops me mid-bite: It’s a close-up of C.W. Wellington as she hands a best-in-show trophy to Ben Affleck, who’s standing next to his bored German shepherd.
Our cozy and jovial breakfast table goes quiet as Loot looks at Carey and Carey glances at Loot and Carey and Loot both look sideways at Rocky. Rocky, noticing something is irregular, looks at me, but I’m just staring down at my plate, refusing to show a reaction. You would think that, after the night I had with Rocky, today would be the day I would be able to break my streak of thinking of C.W. Wellington at least once a day. But today is not the day.
Heaving sounds from alongside the couch in the living room interrupt our awkward silence. At first I think it might be part of the TV program, but of course, dry heaves are not usually part of an MTV celebrity dog show. The retching sounds are coming from below a small coffee table by our living room couch. There’s not a lot of room there but somehow our friend Ray, of Ray & Cindy distinction, managed to crawl into a ball and camouflage himself under the coffee table. Seeing Ray banged up is pretty standard, but this is different.
Loot lifts Ray and says, “Big night even by your standards, my man.” He’s joking with Ray but he’s not getting a response. Loot props Ray’s limp torso on the couch and gently slaps his cheek and says, “My man, are you with me?”
Loot smacks Ray’s face again. Loot is trying to be gentle but the smack is crisp and loud. To our relief, Ray opens his eyes and looks at Rocky. He shines a flirting glance toward her, and before we can rag on him, those flirting eyes roll back in Ray’s head. Only the whites of his eyes are visible as a rapid-fire shudder overtakes his eyelids at subhuman speed.
“Hey man, this is fucked up!” Loot exclaims. “Are we losing him?” Carey asks in amazement.
We all look at Rocky like she should know something, but she just shrugs.
Ray’s eyes continue to flicker and then his body starts shaking.
“Hey, should we give him mouth-to-mouth or something?” Carey asks in confused frustration. No one knows what to do, but when Ray gives three quick coughs, a soapy foam oozes out and runs down his cheek. We all know mouth-to-mouth is out of the question.
Carey blurts out, “Guys, this is beyond our means here. We got to call in the professionals. How about I call an ambulance?”
“It’s not that easy,” I interrupt. “We got 20 pounds of pot in here, a half kilo of coke and a closet full of X. We can’t have the place packed with strangers now.”
Ray tilts his head and says through the foam, “I’m fine, guys,” then closes his eyes. His head droops on his limp neck.
“Shit,” Loot says, “let’s bring him down to his lady’s apartment and let Cindy deal with this.”
Rocky says, “That’s not a bad idea.”
“Guys, I’m going to call first. We need to make sure she’s there,” I say. The answering machine picks up in Cindy’s apartment and voicemail stops me on her cell phone. Ray’s limp body begins twitching again.
Carey demands, “We got to do something here. Let’s bring him down and bang on that bitch’s door. If we hammer that door long enough she’ll wake up.”
“Calm down, Carey,” I insist. “If she’s not in the apartment, she ain’t gonna wake up.”
“Where she gonna be?” Loot asks.
“I suspect she’s gone on to another project. I suspect that’s why Ray’s been here so much lately. Recently she’s been whining how Ray can’t handle the real world. I may be wrong, but what if you bang the shit out of her door and wake up half the building while Cindy is cuddling with some up-tight lobbyist 10 floors away? If you play that out, we get plenty of attention back here where we can’t afford any attention.”
Rocky is flushed with frustration. “We got to do something,” she says. “He’s your friend and he’s really sick.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m thinking that I should take him to the emergency room. I can get him there in the Saab just as fast as it would take to get an ambulance up here.”
“You sure?” Rocky asks.
“No, I’m not sure about anything, but I’m doing the best I can. We’ve got to get a move on here. If I take care of Ray at the hospital, we need to keep business moving. We have a lot riding today. Loot, can you handle the bookie room?”
“Yeah, not a problem,” Loot says.
“Okay, but listen to me, lay everything off to Petro. Don’t fuck around. Not today. I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Loot shrugs in contempt for the money he believes I’m leaving on the table by dealing with Petro.
“Carey,” I say, “we’re scheduled to move eight pounds today. Can you leverage it with the spray bottles and move it if I walk you through today’s customers?”
“Hell yeah, I’ll be the rainman on those precious little buds.”
“Take it easy, Carey. Don’t be too obvious and don’t get us caught. Leveraging dope is an art. If you get us more pot but leave water all over the bags, we’re gonna get black-balled by everyone.”
“Okay, Kev, I got it, it’s an art. I’ll take care of this. You take care of Ray.”
I look at Rocky and say, “Do you want to take a ride with me to the emergency room?”
Rocky says, “How about I handle Luke’s Action Sports?”
“Yeah, that might work.” I look over to Loot and Carey and they give me a subtle nod of approval. “Okay, that’s great. The mere fact that you’re there would stop anything crazy from happening. Just hang in my office and peek out now and then.”
I look over at Loot. “You’ll be at the bookie operation. I don’t care how busy you get today, pop down every now and then and check in on Rocky.”
“I know, man,” he says in disgust. “I was gonna do that anyway.”
We get Ray propped in the front of the Saab and put his seatbelt on because we would hate to see him get hurt. Next stop, Albany General emergen
cy room.
CHAPTER 20
I text Cindy and leave seven messages on her voicemail before I even reach the hospital. “Cindy, I’m not fucking around, call me back.” It’s been hours and I’m still dealing with Ray. I should have just dropped him here and bolted. Then again, who am I kidding? As fucked up as Ray is, he was always good to me. Hell, good to Carey and Loot, too.
I can’t just abandon him. Still, I wasn’t equipped to handle questions about insurance and healthcare. I’m like, “Shit, the guy is sick and you help sick guys. Let’s get going.” It’s just not that easy. So I’m here all these hours and I can’t get cell service to get Cindy’s ass up here. Maybe all the X-ray beams being blasted from the hospital’s equipment are challenging my cell service. When did I ever give a fuck about the effect of X-rays on cell service? Waiting room bureaucracy can turn you into a philosopher. I don’t know why I can hardly use the phone, but I can’t use it and that sucks. Sundays of all days, this is happening. I have Luke’s Action Sports and the last few hours before game time to offer the miracle tip to the promised land. Not to mention the Sunday drug crowd. Yeah, those hard partiers were burnin’ it up in the fast lane on Friday and Saturday. As much as they try, there’s never enough to last the entire weekend. It’s Sunday morning and God forbid they go a day without something to get them through. Their miscalculations are an important transition for our weekly services.
I have the gambling lines moving and degenerate gamblers looking to arbitrage. January of all times is huge. Pro football is in playoff mode, pro basketball is in full swing and college basketball has finally started playing intra-league; those rivalries attract the most emotional gamblers. Bookmakers love emotional gamblers. Luke’s, bookies and dope, we do business all week, but there’s nothing like Sunday mornings.
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