Suddenly she felt contrite with tenderness for Cudge. He had his own problems to deal with. And he wasn’t so bad, not really. So what if this dumpy room wasn’t the Ritz? People like her and Cudge would never make the Ritz. They’d be lucky if they ever saw the inside of a Holiday Inn. She risked a quick, sidelong glance at Cudge to see if he really was watching TV. If he was, she could lean back and relax. She stared at the screen, fearful that any movement would alert Cudge that she was restless or scared. Her toothache was coming back and she wanted to massage her cheek but she was afraid to move.
“Someday I’m gonna get one of those portable satellite dishes so’s I can see some really sexy shows,” Cudge said during a commercial.
Elva shrugged.
“Why ain’t you sayin’ anything?” he demanded irritably.
“You told me to shut up, that’s why. I’m a dummy, remember?”
“That’s your trouble, you never know when to shut your mouth. Here,” he said, fishing in his pocket for money, “go get us a pizza, and I want the change. And listen—”
“I know, I know—I should tell that guy to put on extra cheese and not charge me for it.”
Cudge laughed. “You really think that old man has the hots for you, don’t you? Well, he don’t. And if he did, he knows better than to mess with you. Thirty minutes, Elva, and you better be back here handing me my first slice. Don’t lose the change!” He laughed again, his flat blue eyes narrowing.
Feeling like a trapped rat, Elva scuttled away. If she ran, she might make it there and back again in thirty minutes. Tony might be nice and give her somebody else’s pizza when she told him it was for Cudge. Tony would do that for her, maybe.
Her skinny body bent into the wind, she hurried along the deserted streets of Newark’s Ironbound section. The tap of her high heels echoed hollowly off the sleeping, brick-fronted tenements. She was wary, jumping at imagined shadows, at the prowlings of a conspiracy of cats lurking in an alley. Her worn navy parka was warm but it hung loosely on her slight frame. She pulled it higher, burrowing her chin into it against the late October cold.
Just ahead, less than a block away, she saw the dim red halo outlining the storefront of Tony’s Pizzeria. She broke into a run, eager to be near the warmth of Tony’s ovens and out of the menacing darkness. For an instant she panicked. Pushing her hand deep into the pocket of her parka, she searched for the ten-dollar bill Cudge had given her to pay for the pizza. Torn tissues and gum wrappers tumbled out, were caught in the wind and fell onto the sidewalk. Biting her lower lip, she prayed silently that the ten would magically appear. The last time Cudge had sent her out to buy something, she’d stupidly lost the money and had to go back to face his rage. She gave an audible sigh of relief when her skinny, twitching fingers found the bill. Holding tightly to the money, as though fearful some unseen force might pluck it away, she made a dash for the pizzeria.
The glass-paned door was steamed up, dripping moisture from the heat of the ovens meeting the cold outside. Throwing her weight against it, she entered into the light and warmth of the restaurant. The jukebox was playing a popular song and Tony, behind the counter, was singing along in his broken English.
“Hey, Elva! Whatcha doin’ out so late? Don’t y’know li’l girls should be in bed by now? I’m just closin’ up. Business, she’s bad tonight. Every Monday, it’s the same.” His white apron was stained with tomato sauce and the bright overhead lights accentuated the stubble on his jowly face.
“I ain’t so little,” she protested shyly. “I told you, I was eighteen last month.”
“Elva, you always gonna be a li’l girl. It make no difference how old you gonna get.” He smiled at her, showing a space between his front teeth.
Elva liked Tony. He was always friendly and he seemed to know instinctively how scared she was of everything and everyone. “Cudge wants a pizza.”
“So? He wants a pizza. I’m just closing up.” Tony saw the dread in her dark eyes. “Why you wait so long? It’s late. I’ve got a family waitin’ for me,” he complained, leaning over the counter. “Hey, how’s your eye? It’s not so nice what he does to you, that guy. Why you wanna stay with him?” His finger touched her cheek just below her left eye where, only last week, she had been black and blue from another of Cudge’s beatings. “Poor little thing,” Tony commiserated. “You oughta leave that son of a bitch.” He stared at her, pity in his eyes. “Sure, Elva, for you, anything. What kinda pizza you want?”
Cudge heard the door slam as Elva ran out. He really had to hand it to her—when she wanted she could really get that skinny ass of hers moving.
He wished he had a beer. The dull thudding in his head was getting louder; a beer might help. It was a piss-poor world when a man couldn’t have a beer. Elva always had her Kool-Aid in the fridge. His sullen mouth turned down. He was starting to hate Elva almost as much as he hated that sticky-sweet, artificial drink. It was getting to be time to rip the rug out from under old Elva. Time to move on and he liked to travel light.
Cudge let his eyes drift back to the blurry picture on the TV. It was an old rerun. Hutch was saying something to Starsky. Now that Starsky was a real man. Starsky, if you hoot with the owls all night, you won’t be able to soar with the eagles in the morning. Cudge rolled Hutch’s words around in his head then said them aloud. He liked the sound and the meaning. He repeated the sentence four times, till he was sure he’d remember it. It was just the kind of thing a guy would say to his best buddy.
A knock sounded and the door opened. “Cudge, you in here?”
Lenny! The thudding in his brain matched the beating of his pulses. He knew it! It’d been a sure bet that as soon as Lenny’d heard about the floating crap game, he’d come looking for that fifty. Some best buddy Lenny was. Lenny Lombardi would pick the gold from a dead man’s teeth; he didn’t deserve the words Cudge had just heard on the TV. He was a jerk. The whole world was full of jerks.
The muscles in Cudge’s neck went into a spasm. He feigned a smile, showing his teeth. “C’mon in, Len. Wanna drink? Elva’s got some Kool-Aid in the fridge.” He liked the stupid look on Lenny’s face.
“Nah. I didn’t come for Kool-Aid. I saw that Olive Oyl old lady of yours runnin’ down the street. What did you do? Threaten to beat her again?” Lenny loved to torment Cudge about his uncontrollable temper.
“What’s it to you?” Cudge drawled menacingly.
“Nothin’. I come for the bread you owe me. There’s a hot crap game and I want to sit in.” Lenny sauntered around the room, hands jammed into his pockets. “Cough it up, I’m in a hurry.”
Cudge’s fist tightened. The lone ten-dollar bill in his pants pocket seemed to be burning his leg. He didn’t need this cocky little dude with his pointed shoes giving him grief. “I ain’t got it.”
Lenny’s pinched face flattened. He worked his tongue between the space in his front teeth, making a hissing noise that set Cudge’s nerves on edge. “You told me that three weeks ago. Your time ran out, now pay up.”
Cudge laughed, an obscene sound. “I told you I ain’t got it. Gimme another week. Christ, Lenny, we been friends for a long time. You gonna blow it all for a lousy fifty bucks?” He watched Lenny keenly.
Lenny looked nervously over his shoulder before turning back to Cudge. It was a habit Cudge found irritating. Always looking away and then back again, diverting his attention, making him look over Lenny’s shoulder himself, making him half expect to see someone there.
“Looks like I’m gonna have to take it in trade, old buddy.”
Cudge’s mouth tightened. Both hands balled into fists. “Yeah? How?”
“By taking that camper sittin’ down at the curb, that’s how. And your truck goes with it. Give me the keys. When you come up with the bread, you get it all back. Simple.”
“You ain’t taking my rig so get that idea right out of your head. You want collateral, take Elva’s cassette player and tapes.”
“Hey, man, I don’t want your junk. Just
give me the keys to your wheels. I gotta get going if I wanna sit in on the game.”
Cudge’s mind raced. The hooves pounded in his brain. Without his truck he’d be sunk, unable to get to the construction sites where he could pick up some money, even though he had to work his balls off just to keep body and soul together. He had to think of something. Think fast. Before the thundering hooves blotted out all reason. Lenny was a sneak, a real bastard, when it came to money. He had to get rid of him somehow.
“Don’t even think about pulling a fast one, Balog. I know you got money. You think I’m stupid or somethin’? Your old lady was going into Tony’s, probably for a pizza and some beer. If you can eat, you can pay your debts.”
Cudge got to his feet, Elva’s tape player in hand. He had no plan as he stared at Lenny Lombardi. He could almost hear the creak of the gate that kept his rage penned in the back of his head. His shoulders hunched from the weight pressing against the top of his spinal column. “I ain’t got it. If you can’t take my word for it, you ain’t my friend.”
“Friends don’t welch on loans,” Lenny told him. At the look in Balog’s eyes, he edged back.
Cudge laughed, an unpleasant sound. Lenny backed up another step, lurching into the kitchen table. His eyes seemed to measure the distance to the door. “Okay, okay. Forget the wheels. I’ll give you another week to come up with the scratch. Look, I gotta go now,” he bleated as he put the table between himself and Cudge.
Suddenly the beast was loose. It took off at a gallop, snorting fire. Pressure moved from the back of Cudge’s head to a point at the center of his skull. Instinct told him that if he frightened Lenny enough the fifty bucks would be called even, and he could forget about ever paying it back. He took a deliberate step in Lenny’s direction, hefting the cassette player in his beefy hand.
It was the sheer terror on Lenny’s face more than his words that provoked Balog. “You’re crazy, man! Crazy!”
Havoc broke loose in Cudge’s brain. He became the beast, sensing his prey, moving in for the kill. Blood surged into his face; his skull throbbed and pounded. Fiery breaths scorched his thoughts; dagger horns gouged and ripped.
Lenny stood speechless, his eyes round with fear. Urine pooled around his shoes. A sound erupted from his throat—a sick, choking sound. He made a run for the door but Balog was there ahead of him, blocking the way.
Cudge snorted; saliva glistened on his chin. Lenny froze. Only his eyes moved as the cassette player lifted and crashed down on top of his skull.
“Take my wheels, will you?” Cudge raged, slamming the cassette player again and again into Lenny’s head. “You ain’t my friend. Now get your ass out of here before I throw you down four flights of stairs.”
Lenny lay with his face pressed against the floor. Cudge stood over him, seeing only the back of his friend’s head. “Get up! Move, you little turd!”
He prodded the still form with his boot, was surprised when there was no movement. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stab of pain in his temples. When he reopened them he noticed the widening pool of blood on the floor.
Cautiously Cudge crouched to the ground, the cassette player still clutched in his hand. He turned Lenny faceup, thinking how light he felt, how his still form offered little resistance. The wide, staring eyes panicked him and the cassette player fell from his hand.
Jesus. He didn’t need anyone to tell him that Lenny was dead. The jerk was dead! Jesus. Oh, Jesus. He had killed his best friend!
As Tony punched down the yeasty dough and stretched it over the shiny pan, he watched her. As always, his heart went out to her. She was still a kid. Other girls, by the time they were eighteen, were more woman than child. But not Elva. She would always remain a child, a frightened, winsome, confused child. Too bad she had to meet up with that animal, Balog. A nice guy could be the salvation of a timid kid like Elva, but in the hands of the hulk she was damned. Pity. She wasn’t a bad-looking girl. Too skinny, of course, and a little pinched-looking, and her eyes were always on the edge of panic, but she was pretty in a shy sort of way. With a little fixing she could be really pretty. A haircut and a little meat on her bones would make a world of difference. And something, Tony thought, or someone, to take that haunted look from her eyes.
As he scattered mozzarella cheese on the pizza, Tony found a chunk and handed it to Elva, noticing her severely bitten fingernails. She took the cheese from him with a shy smile and nibbled at it. He pushed the prepared pizza into the oven and went back to cleaning the counter. “Elva—what kind of name is that? Ol’ Tony never hear it before you come here.”
“It’s a name I just like,” she answered between nibbles.
“So, it’s not your name?”
“It is now. My name used to be Brenda Kopec,” she said, putting the last morsel into her mouth.
“Brenda! That’s a nice name. Soft, like you. So, how come you change it? My own two daughters, they want names like Brandy and Tiffany. What’s wrong with Maria and Theresa anyhow? I’m never gonna understand them. So, tell Tony, how come you changed your name?”
“I call myself Elva after Elvis Presley. I heard somewhere that Elva was the girl’s name for Elvis.”
“Elvis, huh? He dead long time now, you know.”
“Gone but not forgotten. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still the king and I love him!” she said with rare emotion.
Tony glanced up, struck by the sadness in her voice. It held the same note he had heard in his wife’s voice whenever she mentioned their own dead son.
“I’ve read all the books written about him, seen all his old movies, and I’ve got all his songs on tape. He was a gentleman, Tony. A real gentleman. And generous.” She pulled at her dull brown hair, her fingers working in agitation.
“You like your fellas generous? So what are you doing with that cheap son of a bitch, Balog?”
“He ain’t so bad. Sometimes I think he’s scared inside, just like me. Only he don’t show it like I do.”
Tony shrugged. There was no accounting for these American girls. He only prayed that his own daughters wouldn’t end up with anybody like Cudge Balog. If Elva was right about Balog being scared of something, Tony couldn’t imagine what it might be. He’d seen guys that Balog had worked over and he knew what the man’s fists could do to a face. It was only a matter of time before he killed someone, and Tony hoped that it wouldn’t be Elva. She was a good kid, even if she was a little stupid. Maybe if she weren’t so scared all the time she wouldn’t be so dumb.
Elva hurried back to the apartment, balancing the hot pizza carefully so the gooey cheese wouldn’t run to one side. She wondered how long she’d been gone. It seemed like a long time, and Cudge would get mad if she kept him waiting. Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if she’d picked up the change from Tony’s counter. Cudge was a real stickler when it came to money. She stopped in front of a tenement and propped her leg on the stoop, balancing the pizza on her knee. The heat penetrated the cardboard box and stung her leg as she frantically dug through her pockets, looking for the change. Her panic began to turn to hysteria when she couldn’t find it. She thought of going back to Tony’s to see if she’d left it on the counter and glanced back along the street. The red light over Tony’s door had gone out. What should she do? Maybe she could catch up with him at his car . . . Just then her fingers touched cold metal and relief flooded through her. She’d found it; she hadn’t been stupid after all. For safekeeping, Elva dumped the coins into her bra, then gripped the pizza box again and hurried back to Cudge.
She smiled in the darkness. Everything had gone right for a change. Cudge wouldn’t have anything to yell about.
When Elva turned down Courtland Street, she recognized the familiar outline of Cudge’s Chevy pickup truck and the flat square shape of the pop-up camper hitched to its rear. They rarely went camping, but just a few days ago Cudge had talked about taking a weekend in the country. Like so many things Cudge talked about, Elva never expected to see it com
e to anything.
She loped up the front stoop of their building and into the dimly lit hallway. Urine and stale cooking odors came to her nostrils. Just as her foot was on the first step leading upstairs, the door to the landlady’s apartment swung open.
“Oh, it’s you. I thought maybe it was you he was knocking around up there.” Mrs. Fortunati’s thin gray hair fell over her eyes and she brushed it away with an impatient gesture of her work-worn hands. “You’d better get your ass up there and see what’s going on. I was thinking about calling the cops.”
Elva gulped at the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The night was ruined; Cudge had done it again. Now it wouldn’t matter that she had bought the pizza and brought home the right change and had done everything just exactly right. Cudge was going to be nasty and find something, anything, to be mad about anyway.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Get up there! From the sound of it he was tearing the place apart.” She moved to the banister and watched Elva go up the stairs as she issued her last warnings. “I’m telling you now, there better not be any trouble or out you go! The both of you! Him in particular!”
Elva waited outside the door, dreading going in. For all Mrs. Fortunati’s ravings, it was quiet now. Only the cries of the baby from up in 4B broke the silence.
Picture Perfect Page 3
