And what about Sister Beatrice? Was she now with God, as Sister Martin had suggested? Or did her spirit live only in the minds of those who loved her? Did she know how grateful Gabriel felt that she had been his teacher? And did her death have anything to do with Sister Martha’s decision to leave the convent?
Gabriel closed his eyes and tried to let his mind go blank, but he had so many questions. What was he doing driving a cab anyway? Teaching was an honorable profession. Was it really about the money? Or was it just restlessness that had made him lose focus? Gabriel couldn’t answer any of these questions. Maybe the police would figure out what had happened to Mandy. Or maybe only God, if he existed, would ever know.
What about his own life? Would he find happiness?
All this thinking made Gabriel hungry. He made a tuna sandwich and ate it alone.
CHAPTER 5
James Salvatore had gone to St. Pat’s with Gabriel and played left field on Finn’s Pub. But, unlike Gabriel, he had had enough of school and while Gabriel had moved on to college, Sal had tried his hand at several jobs — supermarket clerk, car salesman, auto mechanic — then finally became a cabby because he loved setting his own work hours. Sal worked for the Hughes Cab Company in Long Island City. Unlike Ann Corp, the Hughes Company allowed their cabbies to work whenever they wished; they just needed to show and gas up whatever cab was available. Sal was in the habit of working three days a week and resting four.
He lived just a few apartments down from Gabriel’s, with his girlfriend Julia, a pretty brunette who worked as an insurance clerk in downtown Manhattan. Their paths had diverged after St. Pat’s and merged again eight years later. In fact, Sal had suggested that Gabriel drive a cab for the summer after graduating from college. They’d often meet in the West Village at Carmine’s for lunch. Sometimes, while waiting at hotels for the sought-after fare to Kennedy or Newark airports, they’d exchange cab stories or join other cabbies in a round-robin of far-fetched adventures. Like an Egyptian pyramid, their friendship had endured the test of time.
Sal had the build and look of a wrestler — black hair that fell to his shoulders and brown eyes that could darken like the savage stare of a raging bull if you crossed him, which would be a mistake; he would pounce on anyone daring or stupid enough to fight him and he never seemed to know when a fight was over. Someone always had to jump in and pull him off before he pummeled his opponent’s brains in. But when he was happy, his huge smile reminded his friends of Freddie Prinze and earned him the nickname Chico.
Sal grew up hating the taunts of the older boys who called him “fatty” or “fatso,” especially when they were uttered in front of girls. He mostly shrugged it off as his mother had asked him to, but one day in fifth grade, a seventh grader peeked into the classroom and called Sal “the biggest fat sissy in school,” and Sal exploded. He tore up the classroom and spent a week in detention. After this, for the most part, he was left alone. Occasionally, older boys took cheap shots at him while playing touch football during lunch recess; but these incidents were often settled after school on the corner. When schoolmates heard rumors that Sal was going to fight someone, big crowds gathered knowing they’d be in for a treat.
Sal’s tolerance for pain was high. His older brother, Jacob, was a member of the Brooklyn Hell’s Demons gang and he fought with Sal weekly, usually over nothing. If Sal spoke back to his father or raised his voice to him, his older brother would beat on him. Or if he had forgotten to take out the garbage or neglected to do the dishes with his sisters after supper, he’d get crunched into a bedroom wall with a hand on his throat and a volley of punches to his stomach. Worst of all were the nights when Jacob was in a sour mood — and the nunchucks would come out. Once Sal had shown up to softball practice with his back swollen from the blows of the wooden chucks. He’d lifted his T-shirt to show them the bloodied black-and-blue lashes that looked like a crossword puzzle grid. Matt had wanted to call off practice and walk Sal to the local precinct to file a complaint, but Sal refused.
“I don’t need the cops for nothing. I can take care of myself. Next time he takes out those chucks, I’m going to wrap them round his neck. Let’s just play okay?”
After that, no one said another word about it.
By the time Sal started high school, he had been in many fights. But he had to prove himself all over again at his new school where there were fights daily and armed guards would check students for knives and guns as they arrived for classes. Lots of kids came to Long Island City from The Projects — a violent drug-infested haven where, for survival, they had joined gangs. These kids wore leathers and dungaree jackets displaying their gangs’ names or colors. Sal had found them an arrogant bunch, since they paraded around school as if they owned the place and from the beginning, he linked them in his mind to his lunatic older brother. If the opportunity arose, he’d fight one of these kids and make his reputation at LIC. He got his chance one overcast, cool September day, freshman year. Insanity must have possessed him when at lunch, he confronted a member of the Crescent Criminals and they agreed to fight after school.
Amid the roar of about fifty fellow students who formed a ring around the combatants in the schoolyard, Sal fought hard. With his patent wrestler’s move, he went for his larger opponent’s legs, lifted this heavyweight and knocked him flat on his back. Then he jumped on him and punched wildly at his stomach, chest and face. But seeing that Sal had gotten the advantage, a fellow gang member dragged Sal off his friend, giving him the chance to flip Sal over and use his weight to pin him down. But he wasn’t able to punch Sal squarely anywhere on his body because Sal was too quick and deflected each blow. Getting frustrated at Sal’s agility, the kid asked his friend to toss him a blade. Luckily for Sal, a patrol car arrived just in time. The crowd dispersed and Sal’s opponent disappeared with his group of thugs. Sal would never run from anything — not ever. So, as it turned out, he was left alone to accompany the officers to the station for questioning.
Sal’s father picked him up later that afternoon. And unfortunately when Sal’s brother came home, saw his parents upset and found out what happened, he showed no mercy. Jacob took out the chucks, only this time Sal was ready for him. Weeks later, rumor had it that Sal had beaten his brother so badly with those chucks that he’d been taken to Astoria General Hospital by ambulance. When Sal returned to LIC he was left alone. Some said he continued to be a “marked man” because of his fight with the Crescent Criminal; others insisted that the Criminals had asked Sal to join their gang but Sal had told them to go to Hell.
When he wasn’t driving his Checker, Sal enjoyed his time off by washing his old navy-blue Cadillac and brewing pot after pot of coffee, enough to keep anyone awake for weeks. He bragged about sitting around mornings, reading the paper and catching up on sports news.
When Gabriel entered Sal’s apartment that evening the aroma of a Colombian brew rejuvenated him, but the marks of woe were on his face.
“You’ve got the look of death in your eyes, Gabe. Come in and have some fresh coffee.”
Gabriel sat with Sal in the kitchen and explained what he’d done all day. While Sal poured the coffee, Gabriel poured out his grief.
“Did you know about Mandy’s disappearance?”
“Yeaup. Maurice told me about it over a year and a half ago.”
Gabriel’s affection for her had been so secret and so old that Sal was unaware of it. Gabriel now unburdened his heart and confessed his passion for Mandy.
“If I’d known you cared so much for her, I would’ve told you … and you never showed any signs of being hurt when she was with Matt.”
“I really wasn’t bothered when she went out with Matt,” Gabriel admitted. “She was happy, and they looked so good together that I thought I should feel happy for them. But today I felt so strange thinking that perhaps she’d still be around if I’d gone out with her instead. You know, change destiny’s course. Maybe I’d be on a different path too and not slaving as a cabby.”
Sal had risen out of his chair and spilled some coffee on the table so he sat back down and leaned back. “Let me ask you something. If you liked Mandy so much back then, why didn’t you ask her out?”
“I almost did, but … I guess I didn’t have the guts to go through with it. I did ask her to dance once and we did kiss.”
“One kiss doesn’t count. And she might’ve said no and broken your heart once and for all — the way that Susan Mariano broke mine. She went to the sixth-grade dance with me, she even kissed me a bunch a times but when I asked her to the movies, she told me flat out — no. Broke my fuckin’ heart. But unlike you, I got over it by the next day and didn’t start fantasizing about her. She was full of shit anyway because her parents did let her date older boys. Two weeks later, she was dating Danny Dunn, a ninth grader at 204.”
Nothing Sal said could diminish Mandy in Gabriel’s eyes. Noting that perhaps he’d been a bit hard on Gabriel, Sal held out the coffee pot as a peace offering.
“Another cup?”
“Yeah, fill me up. I’m not working tomorrow so I guess I’ll stay up as long as I want and sleep all day. I have to take advantage of whatever luxuries this job affords.” Gabriel pushed his coffee cup toward Sal. “Hey, you remember that big Finn’s Pub’s practice at LIC when I battled Eddie Cooney for starting shortstop?” he asked.
“Course I do. How can I fuckin’ forget?”
Sal reached across the table for his cigarettes, lit one, puffed and released the first batch of soothing smoke through his nostrils. “That was the day I hit two homers to dead center and nearly missed a third. And you? No one could tell what got into you that day. You fielded like shit. Even Matt didn’t know what had happened to your glove. But at the plate, you killed it. I think you hit three balls over the left field fence … and a few rockets in the gap.”
Gabriel shook his head. “All I remember is Matt and Mandy kissing.”
“No wonder you can’t remember anything,” Sal said. “You had your head up your ass. Now it all makes sense. You missed the balls because you were checking out Mandy the whole time.”
“Not the whole time, but most of the time.”
“And at the plate, you were Gigantor, trying to impress Mandy with your manly strength.” Sal laughed. “Man, did you have everyone fuckin’ fooled. To think it was all because of a girl and not even your girl. Feel no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” Gabriel replied and laughed, knowing Sal was kidding. “When I felt guilty I’d remind myself that I’d fallen in love with Mandy before anyone else. I’ve never stopped loving her. I love her even now.”
Sal shook his head. “Listen, I know you’re an emotional guy and occasionally, I get teary-eyed myself but there are times when reason has to prevail. I know you feel pain over Mandy and Sister Beatrice too, because of what she did for you. She did a lot for me too. She knew I had it rough at home. She asked me what was going on — where was I getting the bruises? Because of her, my parents had to get involved. Sister made them care about something they’d ignored. When I found out she died, I swear it was like my own mother died. I cried like a baby.”
Gabriel had never known how Sal felt about Sister Beatrice.
“Our pain is genuine, Gabe, because we feel it in the gut. How can you compare that with the way you feel about Mandy? She didn’t do anything for you. One dance, one kiss. It’s puppy love. But did you really know her? Whether she gave a shit about you? Did she even say hello to you when she was with Matt? From what I recall, she was in la-la land infatuated with him. So why question what you did or didn’t do? Stop thinking like a lunatic. Chances are, had you been in Matt’s shoes, she would have walked out of her house that day just the same.”
Gabriel stared into his coffee cup. He wholly disagreed with Sal’s assessment, but only said, “Funny you should say that Sister Beatrice called your parents when she noticed you were in trouble—”
“Called nothing. Paid them a visit. Told me that’s how she did business. What teacher cares that much today?”
“She came to my house too,” Gabriel said. “Sat with us for an hour explaining how I could improve my reading. Even brought a book of short stories for me — one for each day before hockey practice —like a doctor’s prescription. Some days I got so lost in the stories that I didn’t skate.”
“Don’t get carried away now. I’ll never believe you chose reading to skating. I know you too well.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“More coffee?”
Gabriel shook his head. His stomach felt empty and he was also sleepy, despite the two cups of coffee.
“Have any donuts? Or cookies?”
“Sure pal.” Sal grabbed a box of glazed donuts and some Chips Ahoy cookies from the top of his fridge.
“What you need right now is a woman,” Sal advised. “A real woman, not an imaginary one. Why don’t you go to a club on the Island and find yourself a babe? There’s lots of women out there looking for a smart, romantic guy like you. Trust me. You’ll sweep ‘em off their feet. Just don’t get too mushy too soon.”
“Wish it were that easy.”
“It is that easy! Man, you’ve got to believe in yourself. Dozens of women would adore a guy like you. Just turn on that Cuban charm.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Gabriel said. “I should get out more. Too bad you’re taken. Otherwise, we’d make an excellent team, just like the old days.”
“I’m perfectly happy. Julia treats me like a king and I don’t want to ruin what we’ve got going. Take your little bro with you.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Gabriel finished eating his cookie and got up to leave.
“Sit down. I got something funny to tell you.”
Gabriel loved Sal’s stories, and Julia was still not home so they didn’t have to worry about tormenting her with another taxi story. He sat back down as Sal lit up another cigarette and spoke out the side of his mouth while he puffed out rings of smoke.
“Other day I was up on Fifth around ten thirtyish, just after the early rush ended but the avenue was jam-packed. I couldn’t fuckin’ move.”
Sal paused to send smoke rings into the air. “Anyways, right on the corner, this decked-out old woman — earrings, plumed hat, gold bracelets — flags me down. I welcomed her and she made the bitchiest face, told me to cut the chitchat and drive to Saks. Problem was the traffic was bumper-to-bumper. Couldn’t even see a block ahead there were so many buses. I clicked on the meter and told the old Mrs. to relax. But with every ten cents on the meter, she complained about this or that — the potholes, the bus schedules, the cabs in the city, stupid pedestrians. This woman made my fuckin’ blood boil. I started driving like a maniac. On purpose! If she’d eaten any breakfast, I knew sooner or later she’d heave it. Couple times I was cut off and her face nearly hit the partition. She got nasty, complaining about my driving. Wrote down my license number and threatened to report me. I told her that wouldn’t do any good cause if I got fired they’d just hire some new immigrant who couldn’t speak English to take my place. She started cursing, bitching about the bus smoke and then had the fuckin’ nerve to tell me to put out my cigarette. I did. But what I really wanted to do was throw her the fuck out. Well, she rolled down her window for some fresh air and wouldn’t you believe, the traffic opened up. I floored it and cleared my thr
oat, heaved everything green, yellow and red in there out the window, not thinkin’ that she still had her window open. Then the lady starts screamin’ ‘Stop this cab! Stop this cab!’ I pull over, and …” Here Sal started chuckling and spent a few minutes trying to regain control of his story. “My big phlegmed-up blob of spit had gone out my window and right into hers. It got her fur coat. I thought she was gonna have a heart attack. I told her I was sorry but she just threw me a five-spot and got out of there. I’m telling you, I nearly pissed my pants. What’s wrong with these rich bitches?”
CHAPTER 6
Gabriel entered his apartment at a quarter to ten, flipped on the light and turned on the radio, preset to his favorite oldies station. His apartment was comfortable but cheerless and expensive at three hundred and thirty-nine dollars a month and every day he felt more strongly that he’d be better off living with his father and brother in the cramped basement on 29th Street.
Every room in the apartment was painted white and though tenants were allowed to decorate, Gabriel couldn’t be bothered. The summer before senior year, he’d painted the entire inside of his mother’s house. Occasionally he could still smell the paint and it made him nauseous. For now, these white walls would suffice. When he’d moved in two months earlier, he’d bought a veneered oak table and two cheap chairs so he could at least invite one guest over for dinner. And though his sister, Mary, and brother, Paul, would sometimes show up to keep him company on his day off, often it was Sal and Julia who’d come over. For the walls, Gabriel had gotten a couple of posters — one of London Bridge, the other of the Eiffel Tower — places he hoped to visit. Looking at these, he envisioned a future removed from his constrained existence. He had a small black-and-white TV, which was usually off. His life was a daily show and since he had all the entertainment he could handle driving in NYC, the last thing he needed when he got home was to turn on a television. He preferred the silence of this suburban dwelling where all he heard each evening were passing cars and an occasional street cat’s meow or dog’s bark. The pulled blinds in the windows were also white. Most of the time Gabriel spent in the apartment, he slept. He’d never felt like this would be a place to have fun, not even the first time he’d walked in. It seemed more like a place to do hard time.
Paint It Yellow Page 3
