“Sure. Where can I take you?”
Gabriel noticed the man’s prep-school look and demeanor — well-shaven, short black hair parted on the side, a rich scent of cologne.
“I need to find a woman,” the man said.
Gabriel glanced at him in the rearview. “Any particular place or club in mind?”
“What about Caesar’s Retreat? Or the Roman Palace? You know where they are?”
“Yes, but it may be too late to get in.”
“They’ll let me in … but you’ll have to wait for me in case they don’t.”
Something in Gabriel’s expression must have let the man know he wasn’t eager to play limo driver. “You can leave the meter running. I’ll make it worth your while.”
Gabriel made a U-turn on Central Park South and a left on Seventh. As he expected, the man was turned away at both Caesar’s and the Palace; Gabriel let the meter run and watched the man argue with the bouncers in front of each establishment; he gestured flamboyantly, pointed at himself and pounded his chest, but each time was refused entrance.
Gabriel had heard from fellow cabbies that customers had to bring a girl to these places, that there was wild, drug-induced partying highlighted by orgiastic sex, but the stories they told, Gabriel suspected, were exaggerated, embellished by horny older men in need of adventure and an attentive audience. But when the man came back to the cab and said they wouldn’t let him in because he hadn’t brought a partner, Gabriel thought perhaps what he’d heard wasn’t far from the truth.
“Damn! I need a woman tonight. Where are the hookers?”
Gabriel wondered what planet this man was from. If he wanted a hooker, why had he gotten in a cab? All he had to do was walk from the Plaza to Sixth Avenue and turn left, and right there on the corner of 57th or 58th he could’ve found the most expensive hookers in the city. And if this guy had bucks, and it looked like he did, why hadn’t he found a pricey escort service like those available in every city of the civilized world for lonely, wealthy executives in need of company? And in New York, of all places, one could find the very best, for the right price.
“My damned girlfriend pissed me off tonight,” the man said, while Gabriel steered his cab on 42nd toward Twelfth Avenue, where he knew there were prostitutes.
“She got piss drunk at a party. I told her to watch her liquor. Told her not to mix drinks. By the end of the night, she could barely stand. Puked all over the bed, so I left her sleeping in it. Now I need a woman, to get back at her. Understand?”
Gabriel was horrified. The meter read $18.40, and at this rate he could make a decent sum with the tip, but he really wished he’d told this guy to find someone else to go joyriding with, that his cab wasn’t for this purpose. What if this guy wanted to do it in the back seat? Would he let him? What should he do then?
“Here. Stop for this one,” the man said.
A young blonde woman in tight red leather pants stood near the curb. Her waist-length black leather coat fit her snugly, revealing an ample bosom that she displayed as she bent down near the cab’s back window, like a seductive Marilyn Monroe.
“Hey cutie,” the man said. “I need a date. You available?”
Gabriel became uneasy. He worried about the police, wished his passenger would hurry things along.
“Yeah, I’m ready for a good time, handsome. A hundred for me and sixty for the house. Sound good?”
“How ‘bout two hundred for you back at my hotel?”
“Can’t do that, sugar. My man has strict rules. Don’t want my jaw broken, ya know? Now, whatta ya say? Want me to show ya paradise?”
Gabriel’s passenger hesitated and the girl began to walk away. “Okay! Okay! Three hundred, plus the house, to do all I say.”
“Now you’re talking my language, honey.” The prostitute hopped into the cab and put her arm over the man’s shoulder. “Thirty-eighth, between Seventh and Broadway,” she told Gabriel.
Gabriel glanced at the red numbers on the meter — $27.10 and counting.
The young prostitute worked out of a dingy hotel, probably from the ‘20s, squeezed between an even older structure converted into a warehouse on the left and several thriving garment factories to the right and across the street. The front of the building was dimly lit by old wrought-iron lamps that took you back to the days of prohibition. There was no name on the building, just a number that was mostly scratched off, and Gabriel could not make it out. He parked in front of a hydrant across the street, just behind a huge green dumpster with metal rods, cardboard boxes, old wiring and housings for fluorescent lights jutting from its sides. From this vantage point, he could see several other young women parading the street nearby. Some were talking to potential customers in dark, smoke-filled cars, others were huddled together, perhaps discussing their prospects for the night. All of them, it seemed, became attentive the moment the yellow Impala pulled up to the curb. Two girls walked toward the cab.
“So, who do we have here? Could your boy use more company?”
“Yeah, sure,” the man replied. He tapped on the partition before getting out of the cab. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’ll be here.” Gabriel stared blankly at the red numbers on his meter — $34.00 and counting. He realized he could’ve been in Helene’s apartment at that moment, sleeping, dreaming of loving her again.
Gabriel was too tired to take out a book and read. His body was still not used to this new, late-night schedule. He had the urge to doze but didn’t feel comfortable enough doing so in this part of the city. For such an out-of-the-way street, pretty steady traffic passed through at this late hour. A couple police cars cruised by, perhaps just to remind the girls to keep their activity as invisible as possible. Gabriel assumed that the police knew exactly what was going on in that hotel and in some of the parked cars on the block, but chose not to interfere.
Gabriel knew that his cab stood out in that scene, even though his lights were out, his engine was off and he was tucked behind a huge dumpster. A dark car passed, which he thought he recognized, but it came to stop so far up the block that it was difficult to see its exact make and color or its license plate. But the rear lights looked familiar, like those of a ’72 or ’73 Caddy. Gabriel craned his neck to get a better view. The passenger door opened and a woman stepped out. The bright brake lights remained on. The woman walked to two others huddled for warmth near a recessed entryway and after a few moments, all three walked to the car’s passenger window.
Gabriel noticed how high the rear of that big car stood and thought the shiny bumper, which caught the red glow of the taillights magnificently, was so familiar. Instantly he thought of Sal, knowing how meticulously he took care of his Cadillac, what a stickler he always was about keeping his chrome gleaming, his lights and windows spotless. He remembered Sal installing extra beefy coil springs in the rear of his car that past summer because he planned on buying mags after Christmas.
What would Sal be doing here? Gabriel was about to get out of his cab for a closer look, but just then his passenger rapped on his window. “Open the door. It’s cold out here.”
Gabriel unlocked the door and the man jumped in. “Get me the hell outta here! To the Plaza and step on it!”
Gabriel fired up the engine and peeled out; he’d been dying to do this for the past forty minutes. But by the time he’d cleared the dumpster, the mystery Caddy was gone. As he passed the spot where the car had been, Gabriel noticed two women near the entryway, still huddled for warmth, waiting for customers. The woman who had gotten out of the car was gone.
“Damn,” said Gabriel’s passenger, as the cab headed up Sixth Avenue, “those were the dirtiest women I’ve ever been near. Disgusting!”
Gabriel tried not to laugh. What the hell did he expect when he went inside a place like that? For all his wealth and good looks, this man didn’t have a clue, and Gabriel wanted to respond to such stupidity but decided not to.
“God, when they started to undress, I nearly passed out. Yo
u’d think they’d wear deodorant or perfume or something. And that room was a toilet, dirty sheets, grime everywhere, mildew on the walls and ceiling. I almost puked.”
“Why didn’t you just leave?”
“They were all over me, ripping off my clothes, telling me to relax, that they’d show me a good time. But they smelled so damn bad … I just wanted out. Couldn’t go through with it. Then one of them grabbed my wallet, said she worked for a living and had to collect for services whether they were performed or not.”
Gabriel couldn’t believe that this man had subjected himself to such humiliation.
“I feel so damn stupid. My girlfriend doesn’t deserve this. So she drank a little tonight. Are we almost there? I’ve got to make it up to her. Feel so damn awful.”
“We’re almost there,” said Gabriel. “Relax, man. Nothing happened. Your girl doesn’t know what you’ve done and doesn’t need to know. Make it up to her. Appreciate her. The streets are dirty, and if you’ve got a special girl, you’re a lucky guy. Forget about this whole night. It never happened. I’m the only one who knows and I’ll never tell.” Gabriel smiled with this last comment, slowed the cab to a stop at the Plaza, then turned to his passenger and added, “But you owe me sixty-five bucks.”
The man reached for his wallet and took out two crisp hundred dollar bills. “This is for all your help, especially for waiting for me back there. Best of luck to you.”
“Likewise.” Gabriel watched his passenger ascend the stairs into the Plaza’s beautifully illuminated lobby. He looked a bit disheveled, as if he’d just emerged from the wash cycle in a laundry machine, and Gabriel wondered what he had to be feeling inside, what kind of scar he’d carry. The good thing was that this night was over, and as the early morning light gleamed over the trees in Central Park with a comforting, rejuvenating brilliance, Gabriel had the urge to sleep and not awaken for days, so exhausted was his spirit with the weight of human misery. He rushed down Seventh as the new day bustled to life, eager to return his cab and find Helene’s bed.
CHAPTER 25
Gabriel dreamed. He was flying to Minnesota to see Helene. He looked out the window at a great expanse of clouds, a white billowy ocean, but instinctively he knew that below were the Great Lakes. He sat back and checked his seat belt again, feeling that at any moment the plane would plunge into the water. He began to sweat. Why had he gotten on this flight? Why was he going to Minnesota? He hadn’t been invited. He wasn’t expected. He’d known Helene for less than two weeks. Why would her parents want a visit from him, from a New York City cab driver their daughter had met in the most bizarre way? He felt dizzy and unworthy, and yet he missed Helene terribly, wondered if maybe she wouldn’t be happy to see him, welcome him with open arms.
Rrrrring … rrrrring … rrrrring …
Gabriel tossed in bed several times before the telephone’s seventh ring dissevered him from his dream. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes and grabbed the phone.
“Hi Gabriel,” said Helene sweetly. “How’ve you been?”
Gabriel sat up. “Helene! Oh, I’m fine. Everything’s great here. I love your place, only it’s a bit empty without you.”
“That’s so sweet. I miss being there.”
“You do?”
“Well yes, a little.”
“Just a little?”
“Okay, a lot,” she whispered. “I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. I wanted to hear your voice. That’s why I didn’t leave a message.”
“I’ve started working nights — six to six in the morning. That’s why it’s been hard to reach me. Everyone says the money’s better and since you’re not here, I might as well make some cash and good use of my time.”
“Isn’t it more dangerous?” asked Helene, not particularly thrilled to hear of Gabriel’s decision.
“Nah. Pretty much the same. The people are just rowdier. More adventurous would be a better way to describe them.”
“Aren’t you nervous?”
“I keep my partition closed after midnight and only open it to collect my fare, so I think it’s pretty safe.”
“I’m sure your brother and father aren’t happy.”
“I haven’t told them. But there’s no traffic at night. I can cruise the town at light speed. The police leave us alone and most people are in a better mood. The money’s better too. Only bad part is I can’t stop thinking about you. Hey, how’s Edward James?”
“He’s wonderful. Loves his mommy and will not leave her side. Not for a moment.”
“You know that’s how boys are,” said Gabriel. “When you come back, I plan to be near you night and day. Treat you like a queen. You’re gonna have a hard time getting rid of me. So I can understand Edward’s behavior.”
There was a long silence.
“Is anything wrong, Helene? You are coming back, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but … maybe not for a while. Dad’s been in the hospital. Two days ago he woke up in the middle of the night with chest pains. The doctors say he has a weak heart and may need bypass surgery.” Helene began to sob.
Emptiness filled Gabriel; he lost his breath, upset that he couldn’t be there to hold Helene and reassure her. “It’ll be okay. Please don’t cry. Those operations are more successful today than ever before. He’ll pull through. I’m sure of it.”
Helene sensed that Gabriel was right, though she knew that her mother was the one who was really struggling with this new reality. Her husband of thirty-two years had never been sick, never needed anything from a doctor, and now he was in a hospital bed with tubes and gadgets to help him breathe and keep his body stable. She had rushed out of the room crying on her last visit; she couldn’t stand seeing him so vulnerable.
Helene knew that she had to be there for her mother and her son. All the pressure of maintaining a household was now on her shoulders. School and romance would just have to wait. This was her new reality, though it didn’t seem fair.
“Gabriel, I don’t know what the future holds. All I can tell you is I won’t be returning soon. And I can’t really say what life will be like after Dad’s operation. My mother can’t watch Edward James anymore, even though she says she can and that I can return to New York as planned. But I know better. He’s my responsibility. I may never go back.”
Gabriel choked up. “Please don’t worry. Everything will work out for you — for us. I promise. Take care of your mom. And if you need me for anything, just give me word and I’ll be on my way. I have plenty of money saved up. If you need it, it’s yours. I’ll pray for everyone there. And don’t you worry about me, okay? I’ll be fine. And I’ll think about you every moment, day and night, because I’m crazy about you. You do know that?”
“Yes, I do. You’re so sweet. Thanks for understanding. I’ll think about you too. I’m sorry, but I have to go. Edward James needs his lunch. And in an hour, I have to drive Mom to the hospital for the test results. I’ll call you as soon as I have news.”
Gabriel was stunned. He was too upset to cry. All he could think of was how difficult this would be for Helene, how he wished she would ask for his help so that he could fly there and be by her side.
It was after lunch. Gabriel had been sleeping since seven, but still felt tired. He was hungry, but didn’t feel like making anything to eat. He thought of visiting Sal, of sharing the bizarre events of the previous evening and asking him if by any chance he’d been downtown at four in the morning, but with the way he and Sal got caught up in storytelling, and with the traffic on the LIE at rush hour, Gabriel knew he’d not get back to the city in time if he drove out to Long Island.
Gabriel closed his eyes, thought of holding Helene again, and in minutes was asleep.
CHAPTER 26
At four thirty in the afternoon Gabriel awoke, hungry but refreshed. It was getting dark and he could hear the sounds of rush-hour traffic outside. He had an hour to eat before taking out his cab. As he reached for his keys on the nightstand, his eyes focused on a photo of Helene a
nd Edward James from the previous Christmas. Gabriel had looked at it several times before but never with the intensity of the present moment. Edward sat on Santa’s lap, gesturing with his hands stretched out in front of him, perhaps to show the size of the toy he hoped to get, while his mother smiled, amused, no doubt, at her son’s forthrightness. Helene’s life, Gabriel mused, revolved around Edward; he was her center — the pivot of her existence. This was a reality Gabriel had to accept if he wanted to stay in her life.
After eating a meatball hero at the corner pizzeria, Gabriel worked the evening rush hour. Around eight thirty, he was hailed by a doorman on the corner of 73rd and Park. The doorman jumped in the front seat and directed Gabriel down the block between Park and Fifth, to where an elderly couple stood waiting with their suitcases. Gabriel opened his trunk, helped the doorman load it and was on his way to Kennedy.
His passengers were British. They both spoke with an elegant, slow-paced air of authority, which not only commanded immediate attention, but also revealed the confidence of a people whose influence was felt throughout the world.
The woman looked like the queen mother in a black mink, her earrings visible just below fluffy earmuffs, her pungent perfume filling the cab and almost choking Gabriel who didn’t have the courage to crack open his window. She bombarded Gabriel with questions about the people who lived in the boroughs surrounding Manhattan, especially about how all the different immigrant races got along and how they entertained themselves when they weren’t working. It wasn’t that they didn’t have various immigrant groups in big cities like London, but in New York she’d detected so many. Gabriel always answered difficult inquiries like this as best he could and focused on his observations of the people who used his cab on a regular basis. They come from all walks of life, he reassured her; most were hardworking and sincere, and there was great tolerance for the idiosyncrasies of those from diverse cultural backgrounds. After a while, the elderly woman fell silent and focused her attention on the traffic on the Grand Central Parkway as they approached the Van Wyck Expressway. This gave her husband the chance to speak.
Paint It Yellow Page 13
