by Judith Gould
Leslie Shacklebury sighed and shrugged. “Beats me. She’s your mother. You know her better than I do.”
Hallelujah narrowed her eyes painfully against his nerd’s outfit: a crisply ironed checkered shirt, a slide rule sticking up out of the shirt pocket; a pair of long and loud Hawaiian shorts; mismatched white socks—one with blue stripes and one with red; all topped off with a striped baseball cap with one of those funny propellers whizzing around and around the top. If this wasn’t a real dweeb outfit, she didn’t know what was.
“D’you know,” she said, dismissing his bizarre clothes and chowing down on a Sabrett wagon hot dog, “he sent another giant bunch of flowers this morning?” She gave him a wide-eyed look.
“He did?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “He did. An’ I mean, it was big. It was the flower arrangement that ate New York!”
“That big?” Leslie was impressed.
“All pink an’ white. Roses, mostly. But get this, Les. What do you think Ma did with it?” She chewed on her hot dog heartily. “Made Ruby throw it out and then went on and on about all those flowers gobbling up oxygen!” She rolled her eyes. “It’s totally beyond me.”
“Then Dad doesn’t stand a chance?” he asked fretfully.
“Who knows? This could be just some phase she’s goin’ through.” She took another bite out of the hot dog, unaware that she squirted weenie juice all over his black-framed thick glasses. “Y’know? Like a hormone imbalance or somethin’? Then again . . .” She shrugged expressively.
Leslie took off his glasses and wiped them clean with a handkerchief. “If you think your ma’s driving you crazy, you should try my dad. He won’t even leave the house.” He put the glasses back on and thumbed them further up his nose. “I’ve never seen him like this. It’s as if someone’s died.”
The hot dog finished, Hallelujah delicately licked mustard off her black-nailed fingers. “She’s up there right this very minute working away in the study.” She eyed the San Remo with disgust. Then she turned to him. “An’ you wanna hear the biggest joke of all? Yesterday, after months and months of unemployment, she not only got a job, but get this, Les, she got five million in backing to start her own company—five million!”
“Five?”
“Five. Plus, get a load of this. As if goin’ on an’ on about this Leo Flood, her backer, isn’t bad enough? Now she’s rhapsodizin’ about how gorgeously handsome he is! I mean, does that sound ominous, or what?”
“Yes,” Leslie agreed with a sad nod of his head, “it does. Maybe I should just have a man-to-man talk with my dad and tell him to forget about her.”
“Unh-unh!” Hallelujah shook her head violently. “Not yet you don’t! We’re gonna get ‘em back together if it kills us. The only thing is, I don’t know how.” Scowling, she sat back and hugged her tiger-striped knees. “At least, not yet, I don’t.” She looked at him pointedly over her kneecaps. “But I will!”
“I guess that leaves me out,” he sighed. “School resumes Monday, and we’re leaving for Boston in three days.”
“Yeah, I know.” She echoed his sigh with one of hers. “Maybe . . .” Suddenly she sat up straight. “Les!” she said excitedly. “Maybe since she’s so hepped up about this Leo Flood, we could . . . you know? Make her see how great your dad is in comparison!” Her eyes gleamed.
“Yes, but how?”
The excitement drained out of her as quickly as it had come. “Aw, rats! I don’t know. I mean, with you going back to Boston, an’ me startin’ school Monday . . .” She shook her head and sighed morosely. “Life sure ain’t easy. ‘Specially not since there’re now three of ‘em, an’ all it takes is two to tango. So one’s gotta go, and it’s gotta be Leo Flood. I mean, you should see the stars in Ma’s eyes!”
Leslie cleared his throat. “ Maybe . . .”he said slowly, his voice gaining authority, “maybe I can be of some help.”
“Yeah?” She glanced at him dubiously. “Like how?”
“Well . . . Dad and I are in town a lot, right?”
She nodded.
“And you and I . . . we’re both underage. So if we want to go out . . . you know . . .” He paused, embarrassed. “We’d need chaperons.”
“Les!” she squeaked, looking at him with unusually shiny eyes. “You’re a genius! Oh, Les! Why didn’t we think of it sooner?” She threw her arms around him.
Startled, he adjusted his slipping glasses. “It’ll mean going out together every so often . . . us two, I mean.”
Hallelujah, feeling particularly expansive, was seeing Leslie in an entirely new light. “Y’know what, Les?” she said warmly. “That outfit of yours sorta grows on me. Like it’s got a style all its own. Exotic. Know what I mean?” She thought about it for a minute. “So here’s what we do. Every time you and your dad come down from Boston, you just let me know, and we’ll set up our dates!” She grinned hugely and held out a hand. “That a deal?”
Leslie grinned. “Sure!”
They shook on it solemnly, making the pact as binding as a religious vow.
“Y’know? You’re not bad people, Leslie Shacklebury,” Hallelujah told him warmly.
“You’re not bad either, Hallelujah Cooper,” Leslie told her shyly in return.
“An’ I like your dad.”
“I like your ma too.”
“An’ most important, they love each other, even if they are all screwed up. So it’s up to us to see that things between them work out. Right?”
“Right!”
Beaming, she brushed crumbs off her tiger-striped leotards and adjusted the lacy pink garter she wore blatantly around her right thigh. “I’m bored. C’mon, let’s go.” She got up from atop the high boulder and pulled on her killer jacket—black motorcycle leather looped and swagged with miles of chains and rhinestones. She turned to him. “Last one down’s a rotten egg!” she blurted, getting a good head start.
Slipping and sliding, they raced down the boulder, scattering a startled family of six who held tightly to their youngest. Tourists from the hinterlands, obviously.
“Do you see what she’s wearing?” one of the family’s girls exclaimed. “Ug-ly!”
Ugly. Ugly? Hallelujah, always finely attuned to the reactions she provoked, slowed to a dignified walk. She grabbed Leslie by the arm and pulled him close. Then, her arm hooked through his, she turned her head slowly and eyed the family pitiably. So talk about us and stare!” she seemed to say with a toss of her head.
Then, Leslie’s beanie-topped propeller spinning madly and her chains and rhinestones clanging and flashing, they let go of each other and raced on ahead, shrieking with delight.
City kids.
The weather was killing Snake. It was real fine riding-around, hell-raising, true-blue-biker kind of weather. Not a cloud in the sky and warm as summer.
His bros had been coming and going on their snarling and snapping scoots all morning long, and each time he heard one of the Harleys firing up outside, something inside his heart just stopped cold. He didn’t have a scoot anymore—and took little comfort from the fact that even if it hadn’t been trashed, it would still be weeks before his ass healed enough for him to be able to sit on a saddle and absorb the shocks of the road.
He was grounded. Shit!
Snake didn’t like being cooped up or locked up—they were the same to him. It wouldn’t have mattered if there’d been an army of young sweet-pussied beauties with tight asses and perky boobs ministering to his every need. The thing was, he rode to live and lived to ride—that was his credo. Usually, neither ice nor sleet nor gloom of night had kept him from cruisin’ the streets—just two six-month terms of doin’ time—and now some rich fuckface in a fuckin’ Ferrari.
Shit.
Now he’d have to go out and start over from scratch. Steal another stock Harley. Painstakingly file off all the serial numbers. Spend another two years—and a small fortune, man—customizing it to his particular specifications.
Not only that, but being l
aid up was costing him bread. Till he healed, his lucrative dope-courier service was on hold. Some of the other bros had to make the rounds for him—and were takin’ his cut.
Fuckin’ Shirl and that rich pig were costing him—in more ways than one!
Just thinking about her made him turn purple with rage. Living the high life, fuckin’ some millionaire dude. Ruining his life. An’ who’d saved her from that pimp outside Port Authority three years ago? Why, ole man Snake—that’s who! An’ what does he get? A trashed bike and a raw ass, that’s what! Stuck in the clubhouse. Watching TV, for Chrissakes!
Shit.
That’s what life was—shit.
He glowered at the flickering tube.
“Snake, baby?” It was Conchita, his foxy new ole lady. Back from the walk he’d given her permission to take. Wearin’ jeans that coulda been sprayed on and a pink stretch tube top that made her perky nipples stick out to there—for all the world to slobber over, no doubt. He had a good mind to pop her one in the jaw—but who wanted to have to look at a piece o’ ass with a swollen face?
He sighed. Fuckin’ chicks. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.
“What d’you the fuck want?” he growled.
Conchita looked worried. She was scared of Snake. Especially when he was in a rotten mood.
“Just you, Snake honey.”
He squinted at her.
“You miss me, Daddy?” she cooed, suddenly all sparkly dark eyes and wiggly teasing ass. She dropped to her knees in front of him, bent down, and jiggled her tits in his face.
He softened.
“Yeah, Daddy missed you all right, honey,” he replied hoarsely, feeling the beginnings of a boner coming on.
She thrust her little knockers right in his face. “Mommy’s horny.”
He shoved her away. “Not now, honey. Daddy’s ass is hurtin’. Maybe later, huh?”
She sat back on her haunches, flipping her long hair out of her eyes. “Okay,” she said, as though it didn’t make any difference, and watched TV.
Beside her, Snake popped the tab of another beer can and lifted it to his lips.
And nearly shit bricks.
Shirl!
Shirl was on the tube!
Fuckin’ Shirl was on the fuckin’ TV! Holdin’ a fuckin’ press conference! Talkin’ about fuckin’ fur!
The roar he let out was an animal keen of pain and frustration.
Conchita jumped back, suddenly frightened by the change that had come over him. “Whassa matter?” she whined. “I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
Snake was breathing raggedly, his blood boiling and racing from one end of his body to the other.
Fragmented pictures raced through his mind.
“Fuckin’ bitch!” he screamed, flinging the twelve-ounce can at the TV screen, which shattered and imploded with a shower of sizzling sparks. “I’m gonna kill her!”
Chapter 46
Nina was wearing a ruched silk dress with a Byzantine pattern and slip-on shoes with grosgrain bows and golden buckles. She had a large red leather shoulder bag slung over one shoulder.
“Is this Obi Kuti?” she said into the pay phone.
“Who is this?” Obi demanded edgily from somewhere up in the high-rise across the street. Her voice was a heavily accented contralto with a soft Nigerian lilt. “Who’s calling?”
“We’ve never met. My name is Nina. Nina Zatopekova?” Nina’s voice was a contralto too, but with neither accent nor lilt. “Joy . . . she was my sister.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Obi’s guarded voice immediately became gentle. “I’m not usually so rude, but with what’s happened to Joy . . .” She sighed. “Well, every stranger who calls gives me the shivers.”
“I understand. Listen, I’m in town for a few days, and I wonder if we might meet?” Nina’s voice suddenly cracked and there was a sniffle and a pause. Then: “Joy spoke of you so often, I almost feel like I know you.”
“Sure,” Obi said. “I’d love to meet you too. Maybe we could have lunch?”
“Could we . . . you know . . . meet someplace more private? You see, every time I think of Joy or talk about her, I burst into tears. Silly, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not silly,” Obi said. “I tell you what. Why don’t you come up here?”
“You’re certain I won’t be imposing?”
“Gosh, no! It just so happens I’ve got the day off. Besides, I’m all alone. My roommate’s at work all day and I’m just puttering around the house. I can’t think of a better time to talk.”
“Is the next half-hour okay?” Nina asked.
“That’s fine!” Obi assured her. “I’m looking forward to it. See you soon.”
“Yes, I . . . I’ll be there,” Nina said, and quickly hung up. For a moment she stood there and looked over at the towering luxury high-rise. It was set back from the street, with a tiny curved drive that went under the canopied entrance, where a doorman was on duty.
She decided to kill the half-hour by walking around the block.
Off the avenue, the side street was quiet, lined with big leafy trees and town houses and garages. Shingles for doctors and caterers hung discreetly by front doors, and birds chirped gleefully from wherever it was city birds sang their songs. You could almost forget you were in the middle of Manhattan.
Then it was back to another noisy, congested avenue, and around the corner to the next quiet street, which looked and sounded exactly like the previous block.
Fifteen minutes later, she walked up the circular drive and into the big apartment tower.
The doorman announced her, and she entered the lobby. It was light gray marble with rust-colored varicose veins.
The elevator ride was a swift and smooth ascent—there was something to be said for these new buildings, she thought.
Once on Obi’s floor, she went down the narrow blue-carpeted corridor, looking at the apartment numbers. Rang the doorbell of 32J. Smiled reassuringly as she felt an appraising eye looking out at her through the magnifying peephole. Then the locks clicked and the door swung open.
“Hi!” Obi said breathlessly, backlit by the glare of sunshine streaming into the hall from the living room beyond. “Don’t mind me, I was just doing my aerobics.” She had on a green spandex exercise outfit that gave the impression it was sprayed on. With the sheen of perspiration, she looked like nothing so much as a dark panther, all black slanting eyes, prominent cheekbones, and Chiclet-perfect teeth.
“Hi, I’m Nina,” the visitor said with a timid smile, and held out a hand. “It’s really nice of you to see me.”
“And it’s nice of you to drop by.” Obi stepped aside to let her in. She smiled, then closed the door, locked it, and said, “You can’t be too careful. Come on. The living room’s this way.” She strode like a lioness on long sleek black legs.
Nina looked around. “It’s a lovely apartment.”
Obi said, “It’s not really home. I’m just staying here for a few weeks.”
“Oh, look! There’s Joy’s cat!” Nina bent down and extended a hand. “Here, pussy, pussy ...”
The orange tabby took one look at her, and its fur and tail stood on end. Then it let out a yowl and streaked into the bedroom.
“How do you like that?” Nina said, looking at Obi.
“Don’t mind Edgar, he’s a little strange.” Obi laughed. “If you had a little shrimp on you, he’d be in your lap. Edgar just adores shrimp. Would you like some white wine?”
“Uh. No. Thanks. Mind if I look around, though? I love high-rise apartments.”
“Be my guest.”
Nina walked about, peeking into doors and nodding to herself. At one point she said, “This isn’t the apartment where . . . ?” She left the sentence dangling and looked at Obi.
“No.” Obi shook her head. “That’s why I moved in here. Oh, by the way. There are still a lot of Joy’s things in the other apartment. Clothes, furniture, things like that. If you’d like . . .”
N
ina shook her head. “I couldn’t. I mean, I’d have nightmares forever.”
Obi nodded. “I know what you mean.”
“What a lovely bedroom!” Nina was poking her head into another door.
“Yeah.” Obi laughed. “As you can see, I’m a real slob.”
“Oh! I see you’ve got a picture of Joy!” Nina walked quickly over to the dressing table and stood there, head tilted to one side, eyeing the splendid, smiling face in the art-nouveau pewter frame. “Joy always was the one with the looks,” she murmured, half to herself. She looked at Obi. “You know, I used to be jealous of her. I wondered why she got all the looks.” Her voice turned suddenly bitter and her eyes swam with tears. “I’m glad I was born ugly!”
“You’re not ugly,” Obi said gently. “In fact, you’re very pretty.”
“I’m not! But you’re pretty. You’re very pretty.” Suddenly Nina reached out and touched the end of Obi’s splendid mane of soft, brushed-out kinky hair.
Obi instinctively drew back, too surprised and confused to sense any danger signals. She smiled awkwardly, unsettled by the way Nina was staring so intently at her. Even though that was nothing new—people always stared at her, men and women alike. What was it Alfredo Toscani had once told her? “No one can keep his eyes off your challenging reality.” Something like that. On impulse, she decided she would give Nina the picture of Joy. Being her sister, she would like the keepsake. “Would you like it?” Picking up the framed photograph, Obi held it out.
Nina looked down at it in surprise. Then she shook her head. “Oh, no, I couldn’t,” she said. “You’re very nice, though.” Her lips suddenly drew tightly back over her teeth, and her eyes shone with a maniacal inner light. “Too nice.”
Obi’s skin suddenly started to crawl. Slowly she set the picture back down and let her eyes meet Nina’s.
Nightmarish images started swirling in Obi’s head. I can’t have opened my door to a total stranger! she thought, everything inside her balling up into a sick, shriveling knot. She drew a sharp breath and started to back away.
“You’re not Joy’s sister!” Obi whispered with sudden comprehension. “You . . . you’re not even a . . . woman!”
