Property of / the Drowning Season / Fortune's Daughter / at Risk

by Alice Hoffman

  PROPERTY OF THE ORPHANS

  The Sweet was right: the Orphans ignored me, but I could feel the eyes of the Property as they turned occasionally from McKay to steal a glance at me. All right, I was looking also. I recognized Starry. Her reputation as a loner, as a fighter, as the Number One Property, was known all along the Avenue. Tonight her pale hair was pushed away from her face and she wore no make-up. She looked no more than fourteen, though she was probably closer to twenty. The way she drank from a bottle of tequila, the way her pale eyes surveyed the room, made it obvious that she was no child.

  Near Starry sat Irene La Hoy, who smoked a cigarette while she chewed gum, and who weighed at least twice as much as Starry. Irene also had a reputation on the Avenue, for more than her weight. She was known for her kindness to runaways, drifters, dogs, losers; she was known as a good cook and an easy lay. The rest of the Property were no more than shadows to me in the darkness of the room; six or seven of them sat behind Starry and Irene.

  “Brothers,” McKay began once more. “Evening on this Night of the Wolf.” Murmured greetings echoed his words. “Tonight,” said McKay, “we take care of the Pack. Tonight the Pack sees the strength of our colors.”

  Not bad, I thought.

  “Tonight,” McKay said with a smile, “they can run, but they cannot hide.”

  “That’s no lie,” agreed Tosh.

  “Hear what I say,” McKay continued. “This night is owned by, belongs to, the Orphans, and the Orphans alone.”

  General agreement was ensuing, and Danny the Sweet whispered, “Ain’t he something?”

  And then, somewhere close by, glass broke on the street. McKay held up his arm to silence us. Could it be the Pack’s attack? I wasn’t unfaithful to McKay, but I could live without an introduction to the Pack, particularly in this, the territory of the Orphans.

  The door opened and Martin (the Marine) Storm walked quickly into the clubhouse. He stood at attention and saluted McKay with a nod. “Sisters.” He then nodded to the Property.

  “What’s cooking out there on the street?” T.J. asked, pulling on a jacket sleeve, at a hand that was not there.

  “It’s Munda’s,” said Martin. “Some kids from over the church dance broke the windows.”

  “No alarms?” asked McKay.

  “None,” said Martin.

  “The Man ain’t there?” asked Tosh.

  McKay laughed. “What are we waiting for? We gotta protect our landlords.”

  On that signal the Orphans flowed from the clubhouse and up the stairs.

  “Stay here,” said Danny the Sweet as he followed them out.

  “Hah,” I said. “Not a chance.”

  “You heard me,” said the Sweet.

  But Irene La Hoy was already grabbing my arm, and who could refuse the power of her grasp?

  “Stick with the Property,” Irene said, and she winked.

  Out on the street Josh, Jose, and some others had chased away the dancers who had broken into Munda’s. Now Orphans flew through plate glass, grabbing fifths and howling laughter in the dark of the liquor store. Irene La Hoy loosened her grasp on my arm, and she bolted her weight through the broken window.

  Starry had walked up behind me. “Hope she don’t get stuck,” she said, laughing.

  Starry and I followed the path of Irene and the sound of smashing bottles. The smell of alcohol was alive in the air and Starry and I watched Irene La Hoy charge the rack of potato chips. Grabbing bags of Wise and Cheetos, she tore one bag open with her teeth and began to munch wildly. And then Starry silently disappeared to fill her jacket pockets with tequila and Harveys Bristol Cream.

  Irene’s mouth grew slack as she stood in the store surrounded by mad laughter and the noise of the Orphans tossing bottles onto the tile floor. Her head turned quickly and she knocked her fist on her skull. “What,” she cried out, “no dip?”

  As Irene began to rummage through a freezer case in search of clam and onion, I felt lost, surrounded by howls, and completely alone. So I walked to the back of the store to search for cartons of cigarettes and to escape the noise of the Orphans.

  “A drink?” I heard him say.

  It was McKay, seated on the top of the farthest counter, watching the riot that surrounded us, and calmly sipping Dewar’s from a crystal wine glass. Leave it to McKay to find crystal in this mess of broken bottles and Orphans. He was something, all right.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “There’s not even any dip in this place.”

  McKay smiled as he poured some whiskey into another glass. He nodded, and yes he was something. So I smiled and accepted the drink.

  “How come you’re here with the Sweet?” asked McKay. “The Sweet’s all right,” he continued, “just a matter of him having no brains.”

  “So they say.” I sipped from the wine glass.

  “You belong to him?” McKay said.

  “I don’t belong to anyone,” I said. McKay smiled down at me. Amused? We’d see if McKay stayed amused. “I belong to myself,” I said. I belong to myself; not bad. Not bad at all.

  “I see,” said McKay. He sipped and drummed a rhythm on the countertop with his palm. Under and above McKay’s eyes the color was rose.

  “Tonight,” I said. “What happens tonight between the Orphans and the Pack?”

  “That’s my business,” he said.

  “I see,” I said.

  This was getting nowhere.

  “Why don’t you be here when I get back?” said McKay. He was staring ahead into the air, into the mass of rioting Orphans. I assumed he was addressing me.

  “Did you say something?” I said.

  “Be here,” said McKay.

  I would have considered waiting for McKay if he were rowing a small boat to the Galápagos Islands had he merely coughed in my direction. I thought I might find something to fill a few hours while I waited for McKay to drive to the south end of the Avenue and back once more.

  “I’ll consider it,” I said.

  McKay smiled, but his smile disappeared when I said, “You sure you’re coming back? Kid Harris ain’t no child, I hear.”

  Kid Harris was the President of the Pack, and a name not to be mentioned in McKay’s presence.

  “I said I’m coming back,” McKay said quietly. “And I said be here. But you always got a choice.”

  I needed no persuasion, but had I, his words would’ve been enough. McKay sipped his drink amid the rubble of Munda’s Liquor Store.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Think no more,” said McKay.

  “I’m used to thinking,” I told McKay. He turned to stare at me. “But only occasionally,” I said.

  “Have another drink,” said McKay.

  I could see Danny the Sweet carrying family-size packages of M&M’s and searching the store frantically for me. I was wondering what to do with his worry when Danny’s eye found us.

  “Don’t do that to me,” said the Sweet, nervously popping M&M’s.

  “What?”

  “Disappear like that. Jesus.”

  “She can take care of herself,” said McKay.

  Really? I winked at the Sweet, but he still looked worried.

  “Relax,” McKay told him.

  “I don’t know,” said Danny and he stared at us. “I just can’t decide between plain and peanut.”

  “Decide later,” said McKay. “Because, brother, it is now time to get these here boys together. And you is the man for the job.”

  Danny nodded wildly. “Sure,” he said. “Sure, McKay.”

  I followed McKay from the store, tripping once or twice over trash, and bottles, and Orphans, as we walked out into the night air. It was still winter out there; and as we stood together in the alleyway, ice surrounded us and calls and cries were alive in the night.

  Later I told Starry that I had not been afraid. That was, of course, a lie. Because on that night, in that alleyway, with McKay’s arms holding me, in the half-light of the liquor-store ne
on, I saw the Dolphin’s face for the first time.

  “Evening, McKay.” The Dolphin’s voice was soft and I could not locate him at first.

  And then I saw him before us as he stood against the stone of the alley wall, his eyes covered by black sunglasses, the leather of his jacket glowing in neon. Slowly he smoked a cigarette. I could see the famous tattoos upon the skin of his wrists and throat.

  “Evening, Dolphin,” said McKay.

  “I see the liquor’s free,” said the Dolphin, and McKay laughed. “But you might think that the time for games would be over. This is a serious night—if these boys can understand the word.”

  The Dolphin came toward us and I moved closer to McKay. On the Avenue it was whispered that the Dolphin originated the Night of the Wolf on a January night when one of the Pack threw a vial of acid into his face. On a night of frost, and moon, and bitter cold, and the slick cement of the streets. And the story ends with the Pack boy never seeing another sunrise over the Avenue again. So they said. And over the counter of the candy store Monty had whispered that the blue butterfly which covers the scar that was the Dolphin’s cheek was born on that same night. That butterfly which glowed tonight like ice.

  “You playing games, too, McKay?” the Dolphin said.

  “There’s a time for that,” McKay answered.

  “And there’s a time to get rid of her,” said the Dolphin. He hadn’t looked at me yet, and he didn’t when I spoke.

  “That might be easier said than done,” I said, and I leaned close to McKay so that I could feel the outline of his hip against me.

  Danny the Sweet would have cried at the words I spoke, would have vowed, once again, never to take me anywhere. McKay only smiled.

  “I doubt that,” said the Dolphin, and he continued to stare at McKay. “I could get rid of that girl so fast no one would remember seeing her.” The Dolphin stroked his face. His lip curled and the blue butterfly seemed to flutter. Like moving ice.

  I merely nodded at the Dolphin and placed my hand on

  McKay’s shoulder. Enough of words—the Dolphin’s message to me was clear. Let mine be the same. I lit a cigarette and threw the match into the gutter. McKay took the cigarette from me and inhaled.

  The Dolphin said to McKay, “Whenever you say it’s time, it’s time.”

  “I say now,” said McKay.

  McKay knew that the Sweet could never get the Orphans together after all that free liquor. Hell, Danny the Sweet couldn’t even get himself together. But when the Dolphin walked toward Munda’s, McKay and I both knew it would be minutes before each Orphan had climbed into a Chevy or a Ford; only minutes before keys would be turned, motors started, and the race down the Avenue begun.

  “You know you don’t have to wait for me,” said McKay.

  Why did he keep insisting I had a choice? How many hours of watching McKay from second-story windows, how many pages of dialogue planned, how many ways to scrawl his name had I known? There was no question of choice. There had been none when I stood with my hand on the banister of the clubhouse steps. There had been none from the first time I saw him.

  “I want you to know that I don’t take any Property,” McKay said. He combed his hair. “I find it too constricting.”

  “Really?” I said. “You gonna make me cry,” I told him.

  “I will,” said McKay.

  Did he think so? And I kissed him; for the first time I kissed him.

  “Wait,” I said. “Wait, and then we’ll see who cries.”

  “I’ll be back before morning,” said McKay; and already the Orphans had left Munda’s to start their engines. The search for the Pack on this Night of the Wolf had begun. The Dolphin was driving the black ’59 Chevy that McKay owned and raced. He skidded the car to a stop at the curb and the engine strained.

  “McKay,” said the Dolphin.

  The door of the Chevy sprang open and McKay slid into the back seat. He leaned deep into the custom-velvet upholstery and rested his head against it. It was difficult to know where the eyes of the Dolphin stared, but they must have focused on McKay’s image in the rearview mirror, for the minute McKay nodded his head slightly the Chevy took off, fast as light, down the Avenue. The other cars belonging to the Orphans followed in procession and the street ice flew through the night air like bullets. And I stood, and waited in the night.

  Look, I was in love.

  What more can I say? Oh, I was a fool. Is that it? If that’s what you want me to say I can’t say it. Listen. It wasn’t only McKay. It was all of them, each one. Even the Dolphin, in a way. From that night on I thought of nothing but the Orphans, nothing but McKay. That’s how love is, isn’t it? Song lyrics and printing the name hundreds of times on hundreds of pieces of paper.

  Ah, I see. You can’t forget that all of the words are draped in black leather. Then don’t forget. If you want to know about dope, I’ll tell you about dope. You want words about sex, I can tell you those. Anything you want to know. I can spill my guts, I can tap-dance on signal. And I can lie, like I can dance. Words about orgies and betrayals and knife fights in the street. The location of the Avenue, the address of the clubhouse. If you want me to lie. Because the truth is McKay was in love with his vision of the Orphans, with his vision of himself. And I was in love with them both. That’s all.

  I fell in love with them on that night, though I suppose I had been even before I knew any names. I could not help it, because the spell was cast, the mood was set, and with the wind of the Avenue moving around me and the ice shining like a mirror, there was no choice at all.

  Do you see? Do you see McKay on that Night of the Wolf? Sitting in that Chevy, leaning against the maroon upholstery, smoking a cigarette, chasing his enemy through the darkness of the night? You see the scarred Dolphin driving the Chevy along the Avenue? His black-gloved hand upon the wheel? The Sweet, a codeine smile on his face. Possibly he sat in the front seat with the Dolphin that night. I don’t know. I didn’t see everything, I can’t tell you every detail; from where I stood I saw only the red glow of taillights moving down the Avenue.

  From where I stood I could only hear sighs, words that were a story of love. Nothing more than that. And nothing less. And so I waited in the alleyway. I waited for some time, smoking a cigarette, watching for the morning, for McKay. But morning was still hours away, and I remembered that it was winter, and that I was cold. So I made my way back to the clubhouse, and for a second time opened the door.

  Soft radio music played and the voices of the Property of the Orphans rose above the song lyrics. Starry stood in the middle of the room, her pale hair floating in a circle as she swung her head and drank from the bottle of tequila which was now almost empty. When I entered the room, when the cold air and the slamming of a door followed me and announced my presence, the Property of the Orphans became quiet. Starry gulped from the bottle until it was drained, then she turned and saw me. She smiled.

  “Welcome, sister,” she said.

  2

  “We have a responsibility to the Orphans,” Starry said.

  I nodded, lit a cigarette, and looked at the clock on the wall. They had surely reached the south end, the Pack’s side, of the Avenue by now.

  “We got a reputation to uphold,” Starry continued.

  “I know I do my best to keep my reputation,” said Irene La Hoy. There was laughter. We all got her double entendre, there was no need for Irene to poke me and giggle.

  “It’s nothing personal,” said Starry. “If McKay wants to see you some, that’s not my business. But you talk trash about the Property and we’ll punch your heart out.”

  Was that all? So this was Starry’s game—getting the new girl. I’d rather not play. I only wanted to wait for McKay and be left alone. So I smiled.

  “Personally,” said Starry, “I like you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I said. Did she think her opinion meant something to me? “Why?”

  “Why not?” Starry said. “I like you until you prove me wrong. I’ve m
ade mistakes, but I trust my judgment.”

  She was like they said, pretty tough for a girl only four feet eleven and ninety-something pounds and with strands of uncombed pale hair, and no particular Orphan to protect her. It was rumored that Starry didn’t need anyone to protect her; she defended herself.

  “I won’t cause no trouble if you don’t cause me none,” I said.

  “Don’t get so hostile,” Starry said. “Like I say, nothing personal, long as you know you’re nothing to the Property and that the minute McKay wants you gone, girl, you gone.”

  “Fine with me, sister,” I said. The minute McKay wanted me gone I would permanently erase the basement and all its occupants from my memory forever.

  Irene La Hoy was fixing salami on rye and whiskey sours from packaged mix—all taken from Munda’s. I accepted a drink and a sandwich. Irene smiled at me. Well, there was one on my side. Wait, did I have a side? What did I care? The Property was nothing to me, I was waiting for McKay.

  Starry called an informal meeting of the Property to order. I could see what had made Starry the Number One Property—she belonged to no one but herself, with her first allegiance to the Orphans. Before the death of Alf Cantinni, the Number One Property was always the Property of the President. But McKay had changed all that; Cantinni was dead, his Property, Wanda, had run off to Florida with some college football hero, and McKay was not one to take Property. That left Starry. She was the toughest, the smallest, the smartest of the Property. I’d say the Orphans had gotten a fair deal. Particularly when comparing Starry with the rest of the Property. I looked around and could now give names to those who were only shadows before.

  Leona I had seen wandering about on the Avenue; she was Tosh’s Property. Like Tosh, Leona had a special droopy-eyed look about her; on him the look was mean, but Leona just looked tired. Her long dark hair fell across her face, and she mechanically rubbed at her nose and then twitched the muscles of her cheek.

  To Leona’s right was Gina, who worked behind the counter at Monty’s mixing egg creams and stealing from the cash register. Gina and I had a speaking acquaintance. Often I said to her, as she attempted a short-change, “You owe me a dime.”