The Wanderers

by Richard Price

  "Nah, I ain't graduated yet."

  A sneer. "Awright. I'll getcha into the printers. You twenny-one? You gotta be twenny-one."

  "I ain't eighteen yet."

  "Jesus Christ ... you goddamn kids ... Jesus Christ." Despie's mother started weeping, and Despie hugged her. "You got a place to live?"

  "Nah ... I..."

  "Jesus Christ ... no job ... no house ... nothin' here." All tapped Buddy's forehead. "It's all down here." He grabbed Buddy's crotch and squeezed. Buddy yelped and almost fell over backward. "Jesus Christ ... you goddamn kids ... awright ... you live in the basement ... we got wood paneling." Buddy nodded dumbly. "Despie, take your mother and go upstairs now. I wanna talk to him."

  Despie almost carried her mother past Buddy, who avoided her murderous glances.

  "Awright, Borsalino, I wanna have a man-to-man talk." He pulled up a chair in the middle of the living room almost touching Buddy's knees. "Look, I ain't a hard guy. I was your age once an' I used to put 'em away like there was no tomorrow. But one thing ... I never did it with nobody's daughter." He stared at Buddy and stabbed him in the chest with a cigar-like finger. Buddy stared at the ground. "Not only did you do it wit' my daughter, but you knocked her up, you dumb wop." Buddy blinked hard, trying not to cry. "Awright, like I said, I ain't a hard guy an' it takes two to tango an' all that bullshit. For all I know, she's been bangin' away since junior high school, an' you're the first jerk to get caught. It don't make no difference to me. Now, the thing is you knocked her up so you gotta pay the price an' do the right thing."

  Buddy sucked up the wetness in his nose, and his face buckled as he started losing the fight against tears.

  "Hey, what's this?" Al straightened up in his chair. "Awww ...now you're scared." He got up and poured Buddy a shot of Scotch, started to put the bottle away, then changed his mind and poured himself a shot. Sniffling, Buddy held the glass and stared at the floor.

  "Get up," said Al. Buddy raised himself slowly. "To my son-in-law." Al tried to clink glasses, and Buddy cringed—half expecting to get punched. Al put his arm around Buddy's shoulder and ushered him toward the basement. "You wanna see your new apartment?"

  "I awready seen it."

  "So that's where you did it," Al muttered more to himself than to Buddy. "Hey, Gloria!" Al shouted upstairs, "c'mon down wit' Despie!" He turned to Buddy again. "You like clams? I'll take you all to City Island for some clams."

  Buddy nodded grimly.

  "I ain't no hard guy," Al said, shrugging his shoulders and smiling.

  ***

  Buddy walked to Big Playground, his hip pocket full of wedding invitations. For the millionth time he hashed over in his head the story he was going to tell the guys. When he got to the playground Richie and Eugene were playing colored guys in two-on-two baseball. Buddy sat on the bench holding the invitations with clammy hands and waiting for the stupid fucking game to be over. At one point Richie, seeing Buddy, waved hello, and Buddy almost jumped on the court to give him his invitation.

  "Whew! I'm fuckin' wiped out!" Eugene sprawled on the bench next to Buddy.

  Richie nodded. "Those guys are good."

  "I'm getting married," said Buddy.

  "That big nigger can jump ... bawh," said Richie, leaning over, elbows on thighs, as he fanned himself with the wedding invitation Buddy handed him.

  "Me an' Despie decided to do it up right. Here." Buddy gave Eugene an invitation.

  "You into goin' to Bronx House tonight?" Eugene asked. Like Richie, Eugene used the invitation as a fan.

  "Nah, you wanna go next week? Tooky's playin'," said Richie.

  "Tooky can't play for dick," said Eugene.

  "Fuck you, Jack!" Tommy Tooky was Richie's cousin. "He'll play your ass off any day, man." Eugene had just started taking sax lessons.

  "Big fuckin' deal. If I was playin' as long as him I'd be giggin' the Duke every week."

  "You'd be giggin' my sazeech every week," Richie said.

  "I blow sax not the kazoo," said Eugene.

  "Ahhhhhhaaa ... woooo!!" They were surrounded by a dozen Big Playground regulars who sensed a major cut-down fight coming up.

  "Your mama blows the tuba!"

  "Wooo! OOO! OOO! OOO! OOO!"

  "Yours blows the bandleader!"

  The regulars were draped over the bench and mesh fence shrieking and freaking like a strung-out Greek chorus.

  "Aha—haaa!"

  "Your mama went to the circus an' gave the clap to a dyin' bull elephant." Eugene, red and tense, sat on the edge of the bench. Richie was on his feet.

  "The elephant was dyin' from eatin' cut your gramma!"

  "I'm getting married next Friday," Buddy said more to himself than to anyone else.

  "Your mama rides shotgun on the Cocoa Puff train."

  "They made a commercial about your mama—so spreadable it's incredible!"

  "Ahhhh-woooo! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

  "Oh yeah? They made one about yours..."

  "Lissen goddamit!" Buddy stood up on the bench and kicked at the mesh. "I'm fuckin' gettin' fuckin' married next Friday. You guys deaf?"

  Nobody knew exactly what to say. Somebody fell off the fence and landed on his ass. Two guys walked away sensing the fun was over. Richie sat back down. Both he and Eugene searched Buddy's face for bullshit. "You shittin' us?" Eugene asked.

  "The fuck I am."

  "Why?" Richie said hunching his shoulders.

  "I want to." Buddy sat down. Silence. The crowd started walking away.

  Richie's frown broke into a grin.

  "Borsalino, you bullshit so much your back teeth are brown."

  "We're goin' down to City Hall Friday an' we're havin' a party Friday night." He gave Richie and Eugene another set of invitations.

  MR. AND MRS. AL CARABELLA

  AND MR. AND MRS. VITO BORSALINO

  REQUEST YOUR PRESENCE AT

  A CELEBRATION FOR THE

  WEDDING BETWEEN THEIR CHILDREN

  DESPINOZA MARIE CARABELLA

  AND MARIO PETER BORSALINO

  ON JUNE I, 1962, AT THE COMMUNITY

  CENTER RECREATION ROOM

  AT 8:45 SHARP

  RSVP

  "Me an' Despie wrote it out ourselves, an' then we took it to a printer."

  "Why?" asked Eugene.

  "It ain't that expensive."

  "Why the fuck get married?" asked Eugene.

  "I'm in love, Eugene. You guys don't know what it means to be in love like this ... this is true love." Buddy was touched with his own sincerity and wiped away a tear. "This is really the once in a lifetime thing for me."

  "Did you hear bells?" asked Richie.

  "Did you knock her up?" asked Eugene.

  "No."

  "No what?"

  "No I din't hear no fuckin' bells, an' no I din't knock her up."

  "Buddy, you can tell us. You're our main man. She ain't pregnant?" Richie put an arm around Buddy's shoulder.

  Buddy looked at their faces for any sign of mockery. They weren't even smiling.

  "Hey, what's happenin'?" Joey came around the corner. "What's wit' him?" He nodded at Buddy. "You look like someone jus' died."

  "Buddy's gettin married," said Eugene.

  "No shit," Joey laughed.

  "No shit," said Eugene.

  "Jesus Fucking H. Christ, don't kid around like that."

  "Nobody's kiddin' around, Joey." Richie gave him the invitation.

  "What's this? A trick?" He looked at Buddy and squinted. "You ain't fuckin' aroun'." Elbows on knees, Buddy hunched over, resting his face in the net of his fingers. Richie stared across the court and massaged Buddy's shoulders. Eugene lightly touched his arm, then withdrew. Joey knelt on the ground in front of him and looked up past his hands trying to catch his eye. He touched Buddy's knee. "You knock her up?" he asked softly and seriously.

  "Yeah," Buddy said almost too low to be heard.

  "Shit." Joey squeezed Buddy's knee, rose, sat on the other side of him, and put hi
s arm around his shoulder.

  "I know how to get an abortion," said Eugene, who felt squeezed out by Richie's and Joey's tenderness. "Just dial PEACHES backwards onna phone."

  "That's for a cathouse stupid."

  "Well, hookers get knocked up too."

  "Ah shaddup, Eugene."

  Eugene raised his hands briefly in small circles of desperation, opened his mouth to say something, clammed up, jammed his hands in his pockets, and left the playground.

  Eugene walked home in a mixture of rage and terror. He'd fucked eleven girls in the last three months, and he'd fuck eleven more in the next two months at least, and he'd be goddamned if he would ever be stupid enough to knock anybody up. Buddy was a sap and a real pork to blow it all on the first roll. The jerk probably came before he could put on a bag—oh, Jesus, maybe I'm sterile. Eugene flashed on fucking Patricia Palladino with a busted bag, and she had her period two weeks early. Sterile. Then again that's fucking A-OK because who wants to have to get married and have kids. Maybe he should give up bags altogether. He unfolded the invitation and frowned. June I. Next Friday. He had a thing going with Nina Becker next Friday. Number twelve. Maybe he could bring her to the wedding. Or maybe he could split early to pick her up. He'd have to give Borsalino a call.

  ***

  Al Carabella was waiting for his daughter when she came home from school at three-thirty. He had a belt in his hand and every day since she'd told her parents she was pregnant, he marched her wordlessly into her bedroom, emerged ten minutes later, and locked the door until dinner time. Despie lay on her bed, her sore ass arched on a pillow. After the first two beatings, it didn't even feel worth crying about. Four more days to me wedding. Four more beatings. He wouldn't dare hit her after she was married. She lifted up her blouse, pulled down her skirt, and ran her fingers lightly along her lower belly. Doctor Pugliese said it was no bigger than a peanut She felt for the possible outlines of a peanut-sized baby. She found it to the left and a few inches below her navel and fingered the outline. She found its mouth and eyes and hands and feet. She even felt it squirm under the pressure of her hand. She rested her fingernail on its tiny chest Then she curled her hand into a fist and smashed it down on her belly again and again and again.

  ***

  Tommy Tooky and the Zircons fell through for the party so Buddy went around to everybody's house collecting 45s for the reception. He made a list of records so he could return them when the whole thing was over.

  Richie

  Patches (S)

  Pretty Litde Angel Eyes (F)

  Tell Laura I Love Her (S)

  Runaway (F)

  Tears on My Pillow (S)

  Spanish Harlem (C)

  Heartaches (F)

  Joey

  Sherry (C)

  Big Girls Don't cry (C)

  Walk Like a Man (C)

  Ain't It a Shame (F)

  The Wanderer (F)

  Runaround Sue (F)

  Lovers Who Wander (F)

  Eugene

  Could This Be Magic (S)

  The Closer You Are (S)

  The Wind (S)

  Diamonds and Pearls (S)

  Valerie (S)

  Donna (S)

  Every Beat of My Heart (S)

  Little Diane (F)

  Quarter to Three (F)

  Barbara-Ann (F)

  I Only Have Eyes for You (S)

  What Time Is It? (S)

  C

  Johnny Angel (C)

  Blue Moon (F)

  Any Day Now (S)

  Soldier Boy (S)

  Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow (C)

  The End of the World (S)

  Da Doo Run Run (F)

  Duke of Earl (S)

  He had a pretty good mix—sixteen slow, twelve fast, and six cha-chas. He was bringing 287 records himself, and Despie was bringing almost 400, but it was good to have some important doubles around.

  ***

  Perry stood in front of Trenton High School in his Tully jacket, a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a tiny blue loose-leaf tucked under his arm. Two sidekicks stood on each side of him, like identical bookends. They kept one eye on the crowds and one eye on Perry. If he shifted his weight, they shifted their weight. If he used his thumb and forefinger to take the cigarette out of his mouth, then squint and blow out smoke through compressed lips, like the hitter he was, then they followed suit. Perry took a last drag, dropped the butt, and walked across the street to a playground. His flunkies ditched their butts and walked three feet behind, one on either side to form a wing. Perry scanned the basketball court, saw who he was looking for, handed his looseleaf to a flunky without turning around, lit another cigarette, and slipped a two-dollar roll of nickels into his right fist.

  "His nose split open like a tomato." Perry spat a small ball of saliva. "An' I look down at him an' I says ... keep the change." The flunkies laugh appreciatively even though they had seen the whole thing. "Fuckin' A." Perry squinted, took a long hard drag, and spat again.

  Perry sat alone in the fake oriental living room of his Aunt Rosie's house watching reruns of "Rawhide" on the color TV, eating Fritos, and debating whether to do his homework. Fuck it. Fuck school. Fuck the world. He was getting left back because of his disciplinary record. The principal's office had him for eleven fights in three months, but Perry didn't see them as eleven fights. He saw them as three KOs, six TKOs, one unanimous, and a split decision. Besides, he was quitting school at the end of the month, going back to New York to see the guys one more time, and then shipping out for Africa or China or someplace. He heard that they had live fuck shows in Singapore where women fucked snakes grizzly bears and whirling dervishes Tokyo had whorehouses where they did Japanese tongue fucks that drove a man crazy. Tasmania paid a grand for every Tasmanian devil captured. Slaves could still be bought in Angola A guy could buy a fucking goddamn harem in Saudi Arabia He read that good manners' for an Eskimo was to offer you his wife, like you would offer a guy a drink. Tattoo artists in Casablanca knew a way of tattooing a barber pole on a guy's cock so that it rotated when he got a hard-on.

  Trenton New Fucking Jersey. "Eat me out backwards," Perry snorted.

  The telephone rang. "Yo."

  "Yo yourself."

  "Who the hell ...?"

  "Hey! Mistah Chooch!"

  "Joey!"

  "Digit!"

  "Joey!"

  "Hey, mah main man, how's it hangin'?"

  "In there, how's it goin'?"

  "In an' out."

  "Jesus Christ, Joey ... goddamn ... I can't believe..."

  "Lissen, Buddy's gettin' married."

  "You shittin' me?"

  "No way. He knocked up Despie."

  "He was fuckin' her?"

  "No, he knocked her up by sixty-nine."

  "He was fuckin' her?" Perry was still cherry.

  "He's gettin' married next Friday. You comin' in?"

  "I can't believe he was fuckin' her. Yeah! I'm comin' in."

  "You can stay here."

  "Dig it."

  "Dig it yourself. How's it goin'?"

  "I got left back."

  "Shit. How'd you manage that?"

  "I kicked some ass. You wouldn't believe the faggots aroun' here. I'm the toughest guy in the whole fuckin' state."

  "You asshole."

  "It don't mean squat. I'm quittin' school."

  "You gettin' a job?"

  "Nah, I'm gettin' seaman's papers."

  "Where you gonna go?"

  "I dunno ... China."

  "You can't go to China."

  "Why the fuck not?"

  "If's Communist."

  "So I'll go to Africa."

  "Why the hell you goin' to Africa? You got boogies in Tully."

  "I don't go to Tully no more."

  "I ain't gonna be goin' there no more either."

  "You quittin'?"

  "Graduatin'."

  "Fuck you."

  "Big deal. It don't make no difference."

>   "You gonna college?"

  "Whada you kidding'?"

  "Whada you gonna do?"

  "I dunno. I'm gettin' the fuck outta here. That's for sure."

  "Whadya mean?"

  "It's no good no more. You're gone. Buddy's good as gone. I had a fight wit' Eugene so it's me an' Richie. Nobody to play with no more."

  "How's Emilio?"

  "I can't live in the same house wit' that fuckin' maniac."

  "Jus' tell 'im I said he should dig himself."

  "He should fuckin' dig himself six feet under."

  "Don' worry, babe, he's gonna get hit."

  "I gotta get outta here, Perry."

  "You wanna come wit' me?"

  "Where you goin'?"

  "I got a uncle up in Boston in the Seafarers. He can get us papers an' we're off."

  "Jus' like that?"

  "Jus' like that ... jus' like that, Joey."

  ***

  Thursday night after dinner Buddy went downstairs to take a ride. As he was getting in his father's car, he saw Perry sitting in the passenger seat. "La Guardian!"

  "Heeeyyy!" Joey, Richie, and Eugene jumped up from behind the car, and they all grabbed Buddy. Laughing, they rammed him against the door, lifted him on their shoulders, and carried him back to his building. They dumped Buddy into the elevator and jammed in with him, still shouting and laughing. "What the fuck is goin' on?" Buddy yelled, as they tried to get him on the bottom of a pile-up.

  "Bachelor party!" they shouted. They hustled Buddy into bis apartment, into a fresh Banlon shirt, and back to his car.

  "Where we goin'?"

  "The Duke!"

  "Mom's!"

  "Ain't got one!"

  "The Duke!"

  Joey took the wheel, heading the car toward the Duke on Central Avenue in Yonkers.

  "Perry! Where the fuck you been?"

  "Fuckin' Trenton, New Jersey."

  Buddy took a good look at Perry. He'd lost a lot of weight. "You fat tub a shit, I missed you."

  "I wasn't gonna miss this for nothin'." Perry leaned over the front seat and flicked Buddy's ear. Buddy ducked, then half leaped over the seat and wrestled with Perry. Richie and Eugene piled on. Joey laughed and swerved the car sharply to knock everybody against the door. Everybody started laughing and yelling at Joey. Eugene pulled out a pint of bourbon, and Richie pulled out a quart of Tango. By the time Joey screeched into a parking spot, Eugene's green iridescents were soaked with Tango, Perry had lost a shoe somewhere in the car, and Richie had a lump like a softball on his forehead.