The Wanderers

by Richard Price

  After the second pitcher of seventy-sevens, Richie stood up and raised his hands to quiet everybody at the table. "We got a present here for you, Bors'lino." He staggered away from the table to the checkroom and came back with a big, shiny green package. He nipped it to Buddy. "Open it!"

  "C'mon, c'mon, open it!"

  "Yeah. Wait! Give 'im the card!"

  "Yeah, the card!"

  "Give 'im the card!"

  Nobody could find the card. People at other tables were watching and took up the cry. "Where's the card! We want the card!" Soon all the people were laughing and shouting for the card. Finally Richie found the card and held it in front of the packed club. On the card was a drawing of a farmer locking a barn door and two horses running in the distance.

  "Open a package!"

  "Open it!" The crowd shouted encouragement.

  Buddy ripped open the green paper, and four hundred foil-wrapped Trojans cascaded across the floor.

  ***

  Perry and Joey stumbled through the dimly lit hallway to Joey's door.

  "I can't fuckin' believe it." Joey giggled.

  "Did you see the look on 'is face?" Perry imitated Buddy's expression, opening his mouth to a big O.

  Joey doubled over in breathless laughter, extending a palm that Perry slapped loudly.

  Suddenly the door opened. Emilio stood in his shorts rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He yanked Joey inside. The door slammed shut before Perry could react. Perry stood startled, staring at the closed door, a horrible fear snaking through his guts. A slap. Another. A sharp intake of breath. Muttered curses. Silence. The door slowly opened. Perry backed away. Joey emerged. His face was pinched with pain. Tears ran down his cheeks in fat tracks. Five red lines streaked across the side of his ear. He held his stomach.

  "What the fuck!" Joey motioned to Perry to shut up, hesitated a few seconds, and ushered him inside the darkened apartment.

  ***

  Richie got home at two-thirty in the morning and called C. After two rings he remembered she was sleeping at Despie's. He hoisted himself up on the kitchen counter and lit a cigarette. He sat in the darkness, idly swinging his legs, staring down at the deserted street. An el train passed outside the window. The rocketing cars washed his face with light. The train was empty.

  ***

  Eugene undid his tie as he sauntered into the living room.

  "Ace!" Eugene's father faced a dead television. He wore his red brocade smoking jacket, a small pyramid of cigarette butts in front of him on the coffee table.

  "Whada you doin' up?"

  Al shrugged. "Couldn't sleep. How was your friend's party?"

  "Good." Eugene took a cigarette from the coffee table.

  "You get' im laid?"

  "Nah."

  "What kind of a send-off is that? You know when one a my friends was gettin' hitched we use to rent out a whole cat-house. There was this place, a brownstone down on Thirty-eighth Street." He lit another cigarette and exhaled through his nose. "Lefty Rao's bachelor party, we go down there," he chuckled, "and I put away ... I put away six chicks ... six"

  Eugene pressed his fingers into his temples. "Look, I don' wanna hear that now, O.K.?"

  Al was taken aback. "Whassamatter?"

  "Nothin' ... nothin'. I jus' don' wanna hear any a that bullshit right now, O.K.?" Al raised his eyebrows and lit a fresh cigarette from the butt in his mouth.

  Eugene paced the living room. "Sorry."

  Al shrugged, waving his cigarette hand.

  "I'm just goin' nuts. I don' know what the fuck is goin' on anymore." He jammed his hands into his pockets.

  Al's eyes darted around the room. He shifted uncomfortably on his buttocks.

  "I had a fight with Joey about a month ago and ever since then ... I dunno ... it feels like ... like I'm walkin' aroun' with my shirt buttoned wrong or somethin'." Al raised his eyebrows again and coughed. "An' las' week ... I had this chick upstairs..." Eugene sat down again. "An' I couldn't get it up."

  Al's face tightened. Eugene shrugged. "I mean the next night I gave her a double to make up for it but like ... the thing was ... that night I couldn't get it up. I didn't give a shit. I mean I wasn't scared about it or nothing'. I just didn't care if I ever got it up again for the rest of my goddamn life ... it's weird!"

  "You oughta see a doctor," Al said.

  "A shrink?"

  "You don't need none a that bullshit. Whyncha go over to Glassman tomorrow. Let 'im take a look."

  "At what?"

  "I dunno, maybe you got a pulled muscle or somethin'."

  Eugene made a fist, and, forearm up, jerked off an invisible prick.

  Al laughed. "You still jerkin'off?"

  "Whada you kiddin'? I ain't jerked off since I was twelve."

  "You got no time, hah?"

  "I got better things to do with it."

  Al laughed again and got up. "I'm gonna bed, Ace. You wanna see Glassman tomorrow, tell 'im to put it on my tab."

  Eugene sat alone on the couch rubbing his face between his fists, feeling like he just got cheated out of something, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

  ***

  Despie and C lay in Despie's bed staring at the ceiling.

  "Whada you thinkin' about?" C asked.

  "I forgot to invite Debby Tepper."

  "Call her tomorrow."

  "She'll be pissed off."

  "So what? She's a skank."

  "We're gonna get the license tomorrow."

  "You scared?"

  Despie shrugged. "I'm gonna be a married woman."

  "How does it feel?"

  Despie rolled over, her back to C. "Like shit."

  ***

  Perry and Joey lay in Joey's bed.

  "Rotten motherfucker." Joey fingered his face lightly where Emilio had slapped him.

  "He'll get hit."

  "Who's gonna do it?"

  "Don't you worry."

  "I gotta get outta here," said Joey.

  Perry stared at the ceiling, his hands clasped behind his neck. "You think of comin' wit' me?"

  A long silence. "Yeah."

  "I'm leavin' Sunday."

  "You goin' back to get your stuff?"

  "No."

  "You just goin' after the wedding?"

  "Yeah."

  "Up to Boston?"

  "Yeah."

  A long, slow exhale. "You takin' anybody?"

  "Just you."

  Another long, slow exhale. "I'm fuckin' scared, Perry."

  "I'm hip."

  A long silence. "How we gonna get there?"

  "I got two bus tickets." He reached over Joey's chest and took his wallet from the dresser. "Two tickets, an' I copped two hundred bucks from Rosie."

  "I got no money."

  "Don't sweat it."

  "Hey, Perry?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don' wanna sound like no faggot ... but I dig you ... you're my best friend."

  Another long silence.

  "We gonna make it, man." Perry rolled on his side.

  "I ain't gonna go to no Africa," said Joey.

  "Let's get outta the Bronx first."

  "I just ain't gonna go to no fuckin' Africa, that's all." Joey listened to Emilio's snoring through the wall.

  ***

  Eugene dreamed that he was dressed and in bed at a party, his dick hanging out of his fly. He rolled over in bed, but no matter which way he turned, he couldn't hide the fact that his dick hung out of his fly. Handsome men and beautiful women stood around his bed with drinks in their hands, yakking away, and he couldn't hide his dick from them, no matter how much he tossed, turned, or contorted himself.

  ***

  Buddy came home to an empty house. His father was at work, and his mother wasn't yet home from mahjong. He had all his shirts and shit packed to move to Despie's house tomorrow afternoon. The two suitcases were still open on top of his bed. He felt like he was going away to camp for two weeks. He went over the list of records for tom
orrow night's party, and that cheered him up a little. He wasn't sure if his father knew about the wedding. When he told his mother she said not to tell Vito, because he would blow his top. She would tell him. But Buddy wasn't sure when she was going to tell him. What the fuck difference did it make. Vito would be working, and Buddy didn't want him at his goddamn party anyhow. She could stay home too. He heard the door open, his mother humming opera. Buddy dumped everything off his bed and pretended he was asleep. She walked right by his room.

  ***

  Early Friday morning the Wanderers cut school and went to Fordham Road to buy new sport jackets for the wedding party. They got off the bus at Fordham and Webster Avenue in front of Sears Roebuck and started the long uphill trek.

  "Where we goin'?" asked Eugene.

  "Alexander's."

  "Bullshit. I ain't buyin' that crap."

  "Where you gonna go, Wallachs?"

  "Slak Shak."

  "That's the same shit as Alexander's."

  "I ain't goin' to no Alexander's."

  "You wanna split up?"

  "I gotta go to Alexander's."

  "Yeah, I only got twenty bucks."

  "They got good stuff."

  "Forget it, I'll meet you guys later." Eugene started to walk away.

  "Hey, Eugene!"

  "What!" He wheeled around.

  "What's goin' on wit' you?"

  He shrugged angrily. "I don't wanna go to no shithouse for a sport jacket. You wanna in-depth report?"

  "You better start diggin' yourself, Caputo," Joey said. They stared at each other, both tight-lipped and unblinking. Eugene walked back down Fordham Road. Perry made a motion in his direction, but Joey grabbed his arm. "Fuck 'im."

  The Wanderers continued up the hill toward Alexander's.

  In Alexander's basement Richie found a silver sharkskin jacket with green felt lapels. Buddy grabbed a pale yellow mohair with no lapels.

  "Dig it." Buddy slipped it on over his muscle shirt and stood in front of a four-paneled mirror.

  "That's fuckin' beautiful," said Perry.

  "I got this yellow tie." Buddy outlined a tie along his throat as he stared at his reflection. "An' a tab collar shirt ... man."

  "Dynamite."

  "How you like this?" Richie paraded in front of them in his discovery.

  "I didn't know Purina made sport jackets," said Joey.

  "Hey, fuck you. Let's see what you're gettin'," said Richie.

  Joey and Perry exchanged brief glances. "I think I'm gonna wear one I got awready," said Joey.

  "You ain't gonna buy a jacket?" asked Buddy.

  "Nah, I got a good one at home."

  "I'm fuckin' insulted," Buddy said half-seriously.

  "Ah, c'mon, Buddy. I got one that cost thirty-five bucks. I only wore it twice."

  "I ain't gonna buy one either," said Perry. "I ain't got no dough."

  "Bullshit! I'll lend you the money," said Buddy.

  "I brought one wit' me," Perry excused himself.

  "Fuckin' guys. Richie, you don't buy that jacket I'll cut your balls off."

  "It looks like shit," Richie sulked.

  "It's outtasite."

  "Bullshit."

  "What the fuck is goin' on here!" Buddy grasped the coat-rack with a bloodless fist. "You guys say you're gonna get jackets for the wedding an' now nobody's buyin' shit."

  People turned around and stared at Buddy. Nobody said anything.

  "What's goin' on? Damnit!" Richie rolled the jacket into a ball. Joey and Perry studied the floor. "Well, fuck this!" Buddy tore off the yellow jacket, flung it across the floor, and stormed out of the basement.

  "Hey, Buddy!" Richie took off after him.

  Perry held Joey back. "We can't afford it, Joey."

  "It's his fuckin' wedding, man."

  "We don't got that much dough."

  "It's Buddy, man."

  Perry shook his head. "Can't do it." They walked slowly past pants and records and clocks and out into Fordham Road.

  ***

  An hour after Buddy got back from Alexander's, Al picked him up and drove him and Despie to the Marriage Bureau. They were married in twenty minutes. On the way back Buddy decided he would like to see if any of the guys were around, so he asked Al to please drop him off at the projects. Despie said nothing. Al stopped the car in front of Buddy's building, then went home with his married daughter.

  Buddy walked to Big Playground but none of the guys were there. He went over to the campsite and wandered around, aimlessly kicking rocks and swiping at shoulder-high weeds.

  "Hey."

  Buddy whirled around to see Eugene sitting on the ground, his back against the sheet-metal garage that formed one of the perimeters of the hangout. An el train roared by overhead, casting running shadows across the garage and half the lot. Buddy sauntered over and sat down next to Eugene. He leaned back against the gray wall, propping his forearms on his knees. Eugene took out some smokes and passed the pack to Buddy. Buddy leaned into Eugene's cupped hands for a light and collapsed back against the garage. "You buy a jacket?" Buddy asked his eyes closed, twin slips of smoke trickling from Ms nostrils.

  "Yeah."

  A long silence.

  "I'm a married man, Eugene." Eugene rested his forehead in the bridge of bis thumb and index finger, eyes closed, head cocked to an angle. "I'm a fuckin' married man."

  "It could be worse."

  Buddy idly pulled out clumps of grass around his shoe. "Eugene, you're a lucky guy." Eugene raised an eyebrow. "You got everything—looks, brains, dough, you musta screwed a hundred chicks, an' it's like nothing. My first piece an' boom! I'm a daddy." Both Buddy and Eugene laughed in spite of themselves. "I'm a fuckin' daddy." Buddy shook his head sadly.

  "You're lucky, Buddy, not many guys got somebody to love like you."

  "I shoulda bought her an ankle bracelet and stuck to jerkin' off."

  "It's nice. A wife, a kid, your own place."

  "I'm fuckin' seventeen."

  "So what? We'll catch up soon enough." Another train roared overhead. Eugene flicked his cigarette butt into the high weeds.

  "If that kid is born retarded, I'm gonna stab it with a butcher knife an' dump it down the incinerator."

  Eugene looked at Buddy but didn't say anything. He lit another cigarette and extended the pack to Buddy.

  "Buddy." He blew a smoke ring. "Sex is bullshit. Cunt is bullshit. Love is bullshit. Everything is bullshit."

  "Fuckin' man-a-the-world." Buddy smirked.

  "Nah, I know it sounds like..."

  "Bullshit," Buddy offered. They both laughed.

  "There gotta be somethin' else goin' down," said Eugene. "I mean like ... like, I don' wanna sound like a fuckin' philosopher but ... pussy is pussy ... you know what I mean?"

  "No."

  Eugene winced. "O.K., look. Jus' cause you can fuck it don't make you a better person. O.K.?"

  "You mean like ... the fucking you get ain't worth the screwing you take?"

  "That's bullshit too. It's just that there's gotta be more to being a man than being a good fuck."

  "I still think the fucking you get ain't worth the screwing you take," Buddy said, stabbing out the half-smoked cigarette into the earth.

  ***

  Perry and Joey spent the rest of the afternoon in Army-Navy stores on Fordham Road. They bought dark blue, heavy-knit turtleneck sweaters, sailor hats, sea coats, ditty bags, knot-tying instruction manuals, and twenty feet of boat rope to practice with on the bus. They carried everything in the ditty bags. On the traffic island where the Fordham Baldies used to hang out before Hang On Sloopy died, they stood in front of a navy recruiting center.

  "This time tomorrow we'll be in Boston," Perry said.

  "Your uncle know we're comin'?"

  "Nah, but I know where he lives."

  "You fuckin' jerk! What if he's on a ship someplace!"

  Perry shook his head. "I don' think so. Las' time I saw him he was in a hospital."

&n
bsp; "Well, maybe he got better!"

  "Nah, he ain't goin' nowhere." Perry smirked. "He got no legs."

  ***

  "Well, I guess I don't have to tell you about the wedding night," said Despie's mother, half-a-dozen curtain tacks extending between compressed lips as she began redecorating the basement.

  ***

  Buddy walked home, stretched out on his bed, and fell asleep. On his way to work, Vito Borsalino stopped by his son's room, saw that he was asleep, and put two hundred dollars in Buddy's sport jacket, which was draped over a chair. Half an hour later, the telephone rang. Buddy bolted out of bed. "Hello?"

  "Buddy? Where the hell have you been?"

  Hearing Despie's voice, Buddy felt weak with terror. He hung up the phone and bent down to pick up a rubber band on the rug. The wedding party was two hours away.

  ***

  The community center was across from Bronx Park. It was a squat, red brick building adjacent to the building where Scottie Hite had jumped to his death. The community center recreation room was a pale green cinder-block square. The floor was poured concrete. Water pipes ran along the ceiling. The porters were tipped to haul in two long collapsible tables for the food and about twenty folding chairs that they lined up against the walls. The room was reasonably clean with the exception of some sheets of colored construction paper left by the day center's arts and crafts class, scattered around the floor. The room smelled like glue.

  "Good, they brought in the tables," said Al Carabella as he kicked open the door, his arms filled with shopping bags. Buddy followed right behind carrying a shopping bag and a phonograph. "It's a nice room." Al sniffed.

  Buddy thought it sucked. It smelled like a day camp. Al unpacked the bags on one of the long tables. He took out a long paper tablecloth, paper plates, plastic silverware, party napkins, monster bags of M&Ms, Fritos, popcorn, cold cuts, potato salad, cole slaw, macaroni salad, plastic cups. While Buddy unrolled the tablecloth, Al brought in records, a case of Pepsi-Cola, a large Styrofoam cooler filled with ice, a dozen rolls of crepe streamers, a big bag of balloons, and Scotch tape.