Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn
Page 17
“Is that their door?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Diego.
“Mr. Jackson!”
“Glory be! That you, Mista Richards?” said, Bill, from inside the room.
The door opened.
“Well come on in. Good to see yawl…and Diego, too?”
James Richards stepped inside and was taken aback at what he saw. Though clean, the sad condition and day to day existence in a room that was not only a living room, but a bedroom and kitchen all wrapped in one, was appalling and far worse than what he’d seen at Diego’s.
“Embarrased for not only himself, but for Beulah as well, Bill remained proud and spoke with energetic enthusiasm. “Miss Beulah, this here be the assemblyman I been talkin’ ‘bout. This is ma wife, Mista Richards.”
“Please to meet you, Mrs. Jackson.”
“Oh, shesh! Just Beulah, that’s all.” She waved at Diego. “Git on over here and give Momma Beulah some sugar.”
Following a tight hug, she wiped her hands on her apron and shook Mr. Richard’s.
Bill said, “What all brings two fine, decent folk like yawl to visit our humble abode?”
“The reason for our visit is because I have some good news. Mr. Ratzfarb agreed to clear Diego of all wrong doing concerning the dart incident.”
“Glory be! That sho is good to hear.”
“You get most of the credit, Mr. Jackson, and I know Diego especially appreciates what you did for him.”
“We got to celebrate,” said Beulah. Want some corn braid?”
“Actually, I’m heading home for dinner, but I hear your corn bread has quite a reputation.”
“Let me send you on home with some.”
“That’s kind of you, Beulah. I’ll have it with my evening coffee.”
The following day
Gowanus Housing project
211 Hoyt Street
Property Managers office
Phone ringing.
Clerk, “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Assemblyman James Richards from the 52nd District, downtown. I’d like to know the procedure for applying for an apartment there. I’m speaking for a gentleman acquaintance of mine.”
“Yes, no problem, Mr. Richards. He’ll have to fill out an application. It will go under review and if everything is in order and he qualifies, he’ll go on a list.”
“How long is the list?”
“Is this for a 1 bedroom or a 2 bedroom?”
“A 1 bedroom.”
“For a 1 bedroom, the waiting list runs for four years, and presently, where up to number…hold on Mr. Richards while I get that for you. This will take a minute. Do you want me to call you back?”
“No, I’ll wait, thank you.”
Less than one minute later.
“Hello? Are you still there, Mr. Richards?”
“Yes, I’m still here.”
Papers rustling.
“Presently, where up to number 2892 on a list of…of…”
More papers rustling.
“4,557 applicants.”
“That’s crazy. Why so many?”
“This is a nice project we have here. It’s quite desirable. We’re near downtown and the subway line is only a few blocks away, so the commute to Manhattan is a short ride of only a few stations. Besides that, the cost for our city apartments are far below that of market value, but I’m sure you are already aware of that, Mr. Richards.”
“Yes, that’s the reason for the call. Isn’t there some way that you and I could perhaps circumnavigate that little time consuming inconvenience?”
“None that I know of, rules being what they are, that is.”
A long pause.
“Mr. Richards?”
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was just thinking. So there’s no other way to do this?”
“Not through me. Would you like to talk to the project manager? I can switch you there now, If you like?”
“Yes, and thanks for your help.”
“Project manager, Whelans speaking.”
“Good Morning. This is Assemblyman James Richards from the 52nd District, downtown, calling. I have an acquaintance and his wife who are in dire need of immediate housing. I know there are procedures at hand, but if there is…”
“I’m sorry to have to interrupt you, Mr. Richards, but we do have a waiting list.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that, but the next list is probably, what, a few years down the road?”
“That’s right, and there’s no way I can tell you where on that new list your acquaintance will be placed. The wait could go for as long as another four to eight years from now.”
“Four to eight years? I don’t know if they have that much time left on this earth. These are elderly people, Mr. Whelans.”
“Believe me, there are a lot of sad stories out there, and I’ve heard them all.”
“I’m sure you have. But you see, Mr. Whelans, we have a real health issue here. The place they live in is crawling with vermin.”
“Like a lot of other apartments in the city, Mr. Richards.”
“Yes, but allow me to finish, please. These are elderly people. They live in one room. The bed is in the same place as the kitchen. The bathroom’s in the hall…”
“Like a lot of other people out there.”
“All right…all right, that may be true, but could you imagine your own mother living out her last years in squalor?”
“My mother prepared herself for old age. She married well and invested well. That’s why she and my father have what they…”
“Wait! Hold on a second! That’s not the same thing! These are poor, colored folks from the Deep South. What opportunities do you think they had growing up in the early 1900’s, with no education and having to go out in the work force at an age when you were probably riding your little bicycle with training wheels and looking forward to summers off from school, not having to break your back…”
“Okay…okay, you’re absolutely right. I agree. I didn’t mean to upset you. I apologize. Sometimes, I even forget, myself, about the horrific lives some of these people have. Let’s face it. It’s all around us, but we can’t help everybody.”
“So, what are you saying? Can you help them, or not?”
“Not with the present structure we have. Look, I really would like to help you, especially with you being a public official, but I just don’t know…”
“So, that’s it, there’s nothing you can do?”
“Oh…uh…I’m not exactly saying that…no. How about, I say what I’m about to say, in different way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose you and I start a new conversation that has nothing to do with what we just talked about, and maybe we could go from there.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, but go ahead, I’m listening.”
“Yes…good! Mr. Richards, I’ve been having the hardest time with the zoning Department. For years, I’ve been back and forth with them trying to get a permit so I can have a third bathroom installed in my limestone.”
“Where’s the location?”
“Park Slope?”
“Park Slope? Where in Park Slope is it?”
“12 Street and Prospect Park West.”
“That’s right at the edge of my district. I live on Union Street between 5th and 6th. We’re neighbors!”
“Well I’ll be darned? So, Mr. Richards…is there any way you can help me with that?”
“The permit! Of course! That won’t be a problem. Give me your address and I’ll get on the phone right now to that department. I’ll get you that permit. As long as you have the square footage, I don’t see why they’re giving you such a hard time.”
“It’s the Landmarks Preservation Commission and their historical bullshit that’s throwing a monkey wrench into this whole thing.”
“I didn’t get your first name, by the way?”
“Tom!”
“Tom, I’m James. I don’t know why they’re giving yo
u such a hard time. As far as I know, they only have a say as to the outside of the structure. I don’t see why they’re troubling you with this. Let me make that call and I’ll get back to you as soon as I get word.”
An hour and a half later
“Project Manager, Whelans speaking.”
“Yes, hello, it’s James Richards, again.”
“James, I’ve been waiting for your call with baited breath.”
“Good news! It’s in the mail! I never did get your address, so I took the liberty of having them mail it to your office.”
“Great! That’s fine, thank you. My wife will be so pleased to hear that.”
“Good! Say, since we’re neighbors, why don’t you and the mrs. stop by for cocktails this evening. I’ll get the fireplace going and we can play Scrabble. Do you play?”
“My wife does. Yes, sure, we’re not doing anything.”
“So…um…what’s going to happen now with my two acquaintances?”
“Don’t worry, James. I already have that all figured out. You can see the place tonight. It’s just been renovated and painted, and it’s on the second floor of an elevated building. My head clerk caught it just in time. Another day and it would have been assigned to someone on the list.”
Gowanus Housing Project: Building 8, APT 2B
That evening
“Are you ready, Beulah?” asked James Richards.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, I reckon.”
A young girl from the office handed her the key.
Beulah nervously inserted it into the key hole with shaking fingers. She twisted the door knob and opened the door to the smell of fresh paint. Beulah, Bill, Assemblyman Richards, Diego and the Puerto Rican girl from the office, all stepped inside. Large, west facing casement windows defined the living room with an expansive view of a tree-lined walkway one story below. Newly laid school-room tile graced the floor.
Beulah started to cry.
“Now, don’t be cryin’ like a fat girl sittin’ home on prom night. That’s only goin’ to start yo’ Daddy in on it, and I ain’t about to shame masalf in front of Mr. Richardson.” Bill grabbed her hand and walked her into the kitchen.
“It’s yeller, Poppa. I always wanted a yeller kitchen. An’ will you look at that? Glory be!” She opened the door to the refrigerator. “Look how big this ice box is, Poppa? You see the size of this here?”
Bill said, “We ain’t neva lived in a place like this. I don’t know what to say that’d be fittin’, Mr. Richards?”
“I have all the appreciation I need just watching the two of you. Come take a look at this, your own bathroom. It’s that door right there. By the way, your monthly obligation will be far less than what you were paying for that room on Bergen Street.”
Beulah rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Lord have mercy, Mr. Richards. And for a palace like this here with our vera own private bathroom?”
Diego held the door open for her. Beulah looked inside and marveled at the glistening subway tiles and unblemished fixtures. “There ain’t a chip on nary a thang in here.”
“Not one chip,” said Bill. My word, if it don’t look all brand spankin’ new.”
“Hey Poppa?”
“Yes, Missus Jackson?”
“You know how we get up in the middle of the night sometimes, and we be going all a the way down the hall for the bathroom when that floor be so cold you be thankin’ you is steppin’ on snow and ice. You can’t see nothin’ cause the light is so low, and us all groggy eyed ‘cuz we just woke up. The cocka roaches be crunchin’ under yo’ bare feet and Lord knows what else?”
The stern faced girl from the office, quickly responded. “Not here, ma‘am. We don’t tolerate pest. If you ever see one, make sure you call maintenance right away.”
“We ain’t a gonna carry narry a one to this pretty place. I can promise you that.”
“There’s a bedroom right over there,” said Diego.
“You mean this ain’t all of it, Diega?”
“This is a lot nicer than our place,” he said.
“Give me a little time. I’ll work on that…” said the assemblyman, “…and you can tell Ana what I said.”
“Hey, Poppa?”
“Yes, Missus Jackson!”
“Yawl ‘memba that nice, green farmhouse on Bear Crick Road we used to pass on the way to the sto, and how we would be wishin’ and a hopin’ that someday it would be ours. Not that we believed it, mind you?”
“Ah do!”
“And how we would picture oursalves in that big ol’ house a settin’ insod that big winda, cuz it finally wuz?”
“Sho do! I ‘memba!”
“Ah feels the same way about this place and now it’s ours. Can yawl believe that?”
“Nope! Neva did believe somethin’ like this would ever come to us. Nope! Neva did.”
Standing by the window, Mr. Richards got their attention. “Lots of luck with the apartment, folks. Oh, I almost forgot. I got you some assistance in the form of a check so you can buy some furniture, silverware and pots—you know, towels and things that you’ll need. It comes from a fund contributed by our local merchants.”
A sudden rush of emotion got the best of Beulah. Bill wiped her eyes with his shirtail. “There you go again, Beulah. I know thems be happy tears, so go on and get her done.”
Beulah cocked her head and eyed Richards with a glassy, ‘though heartfelt gaze. “Can I give you some sugar, Mista Assemblyman?”
“Of course, Beulah, I’ve been waiting for that hug all day.”
1:15 A.M.
Knock! Knock! Knock! Bam!
Diego threw the blanket to the side and jumped off the couch. “Who is it?”
“Police! Open up in there!”
A pair of jeans lay across a chair. “Just a minute!” He hastily put them on, tightened the belt on the way to the door and flicked the light on. He unlatched the bolt lock and eased the door ajar an inch.
The Geek reached over Fast Eddie’s shoulder and pushed the door all the way open.
“Go ahead, move away from da daw. We’re comin’ in.” Snap! Pop! Fast Eddie stepped inside, followed by the Geek who closed the door silently behind himself.
Diego was pushed in farther by a hand to his chest.
“So, uh, duz you got a mudder in dat udder room? Go get her, and den sit by dat table, da two o’ ya. We got some talkin’ to do.”
Ana’s voice sounded from the bedroom, troubled and high pitched. “Who ees eet, Diego?”
“Go ahead, kid, go get her and no funny business,” said the Geek.
Everyone sat at the table except for him. The Geek made himself comfortable on the couch where he sprawled out with his right leg on top of the cushions and relit a half smoked cigar.
“So, where is it?”
Ana faced her son who looked back at her the same anxious way. “Get dee moe-ney.” She said, hiding her shaking hands under the table.
Returning with it, Diego placed the box in front of Fast Eddie, and took a seat.
“Where was it?” said the Geek.
With a quiver in his voice, Diego replied, “In the chimney.”
“Damn…how do you like that?”
Removing the gum from his mouth, Fast Eddie stuck it under the seat. “Da chimney! I neva would a taught a dat. How da hell did ya find it dere?”
Searching their surprised faces for even the slightest sign of anger, Diego, said, “One of the stones on top was loose. I was only trying to fix it, but then I saw a rope. I was curious, so, I pulled it up and…well…that’s when I saw this grey box.”
“Ha! I don’t believe it. Wait till I tell Spillane,” said the Geek. “He’s going to get a kick out of this.”
“So…uh…the big sixty four thousand dolla question. Did yas spend any o’ da money or is it all in dis box whats here on da table?” Fast Eddie tipped back in his chair and put his hands behind his head to wait for the answer. “Well?”
Diego was more worried than ever.
More than the huge man that he saw leaning back on the couch, the thing that frightened Diego the most was the big, shiny gun fully exposed under his opened jacket.
“Yeah, you tink about it all you want, kid, we ain’t got nowhears else to go at da moment. So make it a good answer. Weez got all night.”
“Maybe he does, but I don’t,” said the Geek. “Come clean, kid. Tell us the truth?”
Diego buried his head under his hands and took a deep breath. He looked upwards at Eddie through the tops of his eyes and forced the words out. “I spent $50 dollars.”
(Sniff Sniff) Ana wiped her wet cheeks. She knew not to cry out loud. That would certainly anger the two men, but she could only hold back so much, and not for much longer.
“Fifty?” Bang! The side of Eddie’s fist slammed down hard on top of the table.
Diego bolted upright.
“Well, guess what? Ya should’na oughta did dat! Dis ain’t your money, ya liddle kweep!”
The Geek shouted at Eddie. “Shut up, dummy! Open the box, kid, and let’s count it.”
Obeying the order, Diego opened it with fumbling fingers.
Eddie quickly snatched the money and spread it across the table in a straight line to make sure the bills were all tens. He then restacked them and broke it all down into hundreds.
“Yep…it’s all here, except for da 50 bucks, like da kid said. So let’s have it…da 50 or tells us whatever it was dat you taught of in your widdle, kiddy bwain dat you wuz maybe planning on tellin’ us…or da coppas, and it better be good.”
Fast Eddie glared at Diego, wide eyed for 20 long seconds without an answer from the boy.
“Look at dis kid, Big Jimmy. He ain’t taught o’ nuttin’! Whaddya wanna do?”
“I’m thinking, shut up!”
“Let’s bring dems boat back to Spillane.”
“I said shut up?”
Eddie grimaced. Addressing Ana, he softly asked, “Say, uh, Mrs. so and so, mind if I use da turly bowl?”