Ted turned to me, winked, then frowned when he saw that my hair was standing out all over my head. He bent down and attempted to comb it, but a large cowlick in front refused to stay in place. He spit on the comb, tried to press it flat, but only succeeded in making it worse.
“Damn it, Teddie. Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth.” He pushed me in the direction of the restroom with the bullhorns mounted on the door. It was cramped and cold inside, littered with newspaper and cigarette butts; the floor was wet and the toilet was running. Ted stood me on the toilet seat and held his comb under the sink faucet.
“Stinks like poop,” I said.
“No shit, Dick Tracy. What’s your next clue?”
“Stinks like pee and poop in here.”
“Kind of like life, ain’t it, Mutt. You got to toughen up you want to be a man in this old world. You want to be a man in this world, you got to get used to swimming in crap up to your nose hairs. That’s what it’s all about, Mutt. Bein’ a man. None of this mommy-boy bullshit.”
“Ain’t no mommy-boy,” I said.
“Hold still,” he said.
Ted ran a comb full of water through my hair. “You want to look good for all them hot chicks in there, don’t you?”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, you better. I don’t want nobody saying Ted Durbin’s kid ain’t a number one, good-looking little bastard just like his old man.”
I shrugged.
“Anybody says my boy ain’t the best-looking little son of a bitch in the place … I’d bust ‘em in their fat ass.”
“Fat ass!” I laughed.
“Don’t say stuff like ‘fat ass’ in front of your mom, Teddie.”
“How’s come?”
“She don’t like it. She won’t let you see me no more you say stuff like ‘fat ass’.”
“How’s come?”
Ted laughed. “Maybe ‘cause she’s got such a skinny little ass herself, she don’t want nobody bringing it up.”
He lifted me from the toilet seat and put me down on the floor. “Let’s go get ‘em, Mutt. Let’s see what kind of poon’s waiting for us two good-looking studs.”
“Poon,” I said.
“Don’t say ‘poon’, either.”
“Okay.”
He pulled a strand of hair down over my forehead, twisting it between his fingers until it stayed in place. He turned me around by the shoulders and marched me in front of him. I stamped my feet, swinging my arms like a soldier, and Ted came behind, dancing and whirling with invisible women.
We walked to the saloon doors at the end of the hall and looked in. Ted stood leaning over the top; I crouched, peering in from the bottom. It was early, and the shift had not yet come in from the mill. There were half a dozen regulars sitting at each end of the bar. Three women sat at a table next to the jukebox.
Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He squatted, folded the bill lengthwise, and held it under my chin.
“That’s old Bobby behind the bar tonight. You know old Bobby?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“You go right up to old Bobby. You climb right up there and tell him you want a ‘shot and a beer back’. Okay?”
I nodded and took the dollar. “Keep the change?” I asked.
“Hell, no. I look like a goddamn money tree? Go on, now, Mutt. Go over and tell Bobby you want a ‘shot and a beer back’.”
He pushed me out into the barroom.
The air was warm and smokey. One of the women had gotten up from the table and was bending over the juke box, running a fingernail along the yellow-lighted selections. The rest of the place was filled with soft blue light from the two neon martini glasses glowing in the front windows and the BLUE HORIZON sign behind the bar. Under the sign, running the full length of the wall behind the cash register, tiny blue birds winked like Christmas tree lights out of black, cut cardboard. Plastic Chinese lanterns hung from the heavy wood beams of the ceiling; some glowed red, some yellow, many were dark.
Bobby saw me coming, and moved down the bar toward me, smiling.
I shuffled my feet as I crossed the sawdust floor, churning a narrow path as I kicked the chips in waves before me. One of the women laughed and pointed when she saw me scuttling toward the bar. The other two shrieked and clapped their hands.
The women pushed themselves away from the table and came clamoring after me, trying to intercept me before I reached Bobby. I broke into a run and climbed up on a stool just as they surrounded me. They huddled around, calling my name, mussing my hair, hunting places for kisses.
“Alright, ladies, alright,” Bobby said. “Let’s give the customer a little breathing room. How you doing, Mutt?”
“Don’t!” I said, hunching away from a tongue in my ear.
“Jesus, Miriam,” Bobby said. “Give the kid a break.”
“Can’t help it. Such a big, strong, handsome man. Just like his daddy.” She took my face into her hands and moved toward me with giant red lips, looking at Ted out of the corner of her eye. He was standing with his arms draped over the saloon doors, grinning.
“Don’t!” I said. I wiggled from her grasp and jumped up on the bar.
“Not exactly like his daddy,” said one of the women.
“No shoes on the bar, Mutt,” Bobby said. He sat me down with my legs dangling over the side and folded his arms around me, shielding me from the women. Ted left the doorway and began strutting toward the bar.
“So what’ll you have, Mutt?” Bobby took the dollar bill from my hand.
“Shot the bear’s back.”
“What?”
“Shot the bear’s back!” I repeated.
“I told him ‘a shot and a beer back’,” Ted said as he walked up, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Mutt.”
“Oh,” Bobby said. “He means a shot and a beer back.”
Everyone laughed.
“You hear that?” Bobby called to the men at the other end of the bar. “Kid wants a ‘shot the bear’s back’!”
“Ain’t that a scream?” Miriam howled.
“What?”
“Shot the bear’s back!” Bobby said.
“Ain’t that a scream?”
“He’s so cute!”
“Just like his dad!”
“Gimme a kiss, Muttie!”
Ted muscled the women aside and pulled me from Bobby’s arms, sitting me down hard on a bar stool.
“Jesus, Mutt. Don’t you listen to nothing nobody says?”
“Ah, go easy, Ted,” Bobby said. “Anybody’d go screwy a bunch of broads hanging all over him.”
“I’ll say what about my own damn kid. Shot and a beer back, if it ain’t too goddamn much trouble, Bobby.”
“He’s cute,” Miriam said. “Muttie-boy didn’t know, did you, Muttie-boy?” She pretended to kiss me with a great smack of her lips, and I climbed Ted like a pole.
“Christ’s sake, Miriam. Don’t start with that ‘Muttie-boy’ bullshit. He gets enough of that woman crap from Lorraine.”
Ted peeled me from his neck and put me back on the bar.
“Stay put.” He turned and yelled at Bobby. “Pretzel and a big bag of nuts for old Mutt! Small Coke with ice!”
Miriam stuck out her tongue when Ted’s back was turned, then smiled when he faced her. She glanced at the other women, motioning them to return to the table near the jukebox. She put her arm around Ted’s waist and dug a breast into his side.
“Shit, Miriam,” one of the women said. “We want to talk to Muttie, too. I been knowing Ted since high school. Ain’t no time to get hoggy.”
Bobby placed Ted’s beer and whiskey in front of him. Miriam picked up the shot glass and, with a flick of her wrist, drained it. She then took a long pull on Ted’s beer, wiped the foam from her upper lip with her thumb, and licked it clean with a long, slow stroke of her tongue.
“I guess there’s knowing somebody, and then there’s knowing somebody.” She smiled up at Ted. “
Ain’t that right, baby doll?”
“I guess,” Ted answered, pointing for another beer and whiskey. He held up two fingers. “Don’t forget my Mutt, either.”
Bobby walked back to the tap.
One of the women put her hands on her hips and stood on one foot, twisting the spiked heel of the other into the sawdust.
“Sometimes you got a vulgar mouth on you, Miriam. You ought to tone it down around the kid.”
Miriam squeezed Ted harder and rested a hand on the inside of my thigh, smiling so broadly I could see the smeared lipstick on her teeth. “Ted don’t mind my mouth, do you baby doll.”
“Sure, Miriam,” he said, turning his back on the two. I pulled away from Miriam, scooted on my hands and knees around and in front of Ted, and positioned him between Miriam and me.
“Hey, Bobby!” Ted yelled. “You going to be all night! I got a fiver burning a hole in my pocket!”
The smile left Miriam’s face as she took a step toward the other woman.
“Have a seat, Phyllis. Put your feet up and play a couple of tunes on the jukebox. You know how to put your feet in the air, don’t you, Phyllis?”
Phyllis’ hands curled into fists.
“Don’t try me,” Miriam said.
The third woman stepped back. “Take it easy, you two.”
Bobby arrived with a tray and put it down next to Ted. The bar had become quiet, and the men sitting at each end turned on their stools to watch. Ted looked over his shoulder at Phyllis.
“Bobby,” Ted said, speaking slowly, as if he had not noticed the trouble, “Phyllis wants to play the jukebox. Give her a couple of quarters, will you?”
As Ted turned back to his whiskey, Bobby dug into the front of his apron and counted out four quarters and laid them on the bar.
“Buck,” Bobby said. Ted handed him another bill.
The women had not moved and stood with their hands on their hips, facing each other.
“I’ll mop up the floor with you, Phyllis,” Miriam said.
Bobby rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Come on, now, Phyllis. Go play that new Dean Martin one. G-25. Go on, now.”
Phyllis stood a moment more before she unclenched her fists.
“What do you want to hear, Ted?” Phyllis asked.
“Deano’s, okay,” Ted answered.
She scraped two quarters off the bar. “I’ll play it for you, Ted.”
Phyllis and the other woman walked back to the table near the jukebox, heads together, whispering from the sides of their mouths.
“Bitch,” Miriam said. She put an arm around Ted’s waist, rubbing against his body. “I’d of wiped up the floor with her.”
Miriam sat beside him and began to talk into his ear, pulling on his arm whenever he seemed distracted. I sat at Ted’s elbow, watching and listening.
Miriam wore a low-cut blouse, and I was captivated by the sight of her milky breasts as they bounced and jiggled. They were soft and creamy, much larger than Lorraine’s, with deep cleavage. When she laughed, Miriam hugged Ted’s arm, and her flesh would heave upward over the top of her brassiere. Now and then, she laughed too loudly, flashing her teeth at the women sitting by the jukebox.
“Ease off, Miriam,” Ted said.
“I can’t help it,” Miriam pouted. “I’m just so crazy about my Ted.” She yelled at Bobby and pointed to their empty glasses.
After awhile, the shift from the mill began to wander in. Men first, banging through the door in small, loud groups. They came straight from work in their grimy coveralls, hard hats cocked at rakish angles, boots pounding, lunch pails swinging, each bringing the musk of sweat, steel, and coal dust. The women came later, usually in pairs, bathed and powdered, changed into dresses and slacks. They rustled past the bar on their way to the back tables, ignoring the men, then lit cigarettes and surveyed the room, glancing at the door whenever it opened, setting slow trails of perfume adrift on the warm tobaccoed air.
Some of the men waved, called Ted’s name. A few stopped, said something quick and loud, then moved off, laughing. A few punched my arm or grabbed my hair. The women never stopped but would look Miriam up and down as they passed, faces set in stone.
The Horizon was crowded for a week night. A work night. Men stood elbow to elbow at the bar; women clustered at the back tables, at times shrieking so loudly the men would look at them over their shoulders. Phyllis had changed into her uniform and begun waiting tables. Thick clouds of smoke roiled along the ceiling and drifted among the beams in the blue light; soon, the music from the jukebox was lost in the noise of laughing, bickering, and the clatter of glasses.
Bobby wiped the sweat from his bald head with a bar towel and sent someone to turn up the jukebox.
Ted and Miriam huddled on their stools, foreheads pressed together, shouting over the noise. I grabbed Ted’s shirt and jerked on it until he turned and looked at me. His eyes were wet and red, and, for a moment, he did not seem to recognize me.
“Mutt!” he shouted.
“I got to go!” I said.
“What?”
“I got to go!”
He turned to Miriam for a moment. She slid off her stool and walked around to me.
“Number one or number two?” she asked.
I looked at Ted.
“Pee or poop?” he said.
“Poop!”
“Jesus Christ, Mutt!” Miriam said. “Call it number two. What the hell kind of mother you got, anyway?”
“Just take him to the can, Miriam.”
“That’s a hell of a way to talk. You teach’em ‘number one or number two’. What the hell kind of mother is Lorraine, anyway?”
“Are you taking him, Miriam?”
“Okay!” She threw her purse strap over her shoulder and pulled me toward the restrooms, elbowing people aside as we walked by. We stopped in front of the restroom door with the cow painted on the front. The cow had pink udders twice the size of the animal itself. There were women waiting in line.
“Not the girls’,” I said.
Miriam pointed to the door with horns. “Muttie, I can’t go in there.”
“Go ahead, honey,” a woman said. “Ain’t nobody in the men’s. We’ll watch it for you.”
“Not the men’s!” she stamped.
“Go on. The kid’s got to go. You don’t want him to piss his pants, do you?”
“Got to poop,” I said.
The woman laughed. “See? You go ahead. We won’t let nobody in.”
“Jesus, God. I ever have kids, somebody shoot me dead.” Miriam walked to the men’s restroom door and knocked. She waited a moment, then pushed the door open and peeked inside.
“Christ, what a mess!” She looked back at the woman. “Smells like something crawled in here and died!”
“Ain’t no better over on this side. Go ahead, honey. The kid’s got to go.”
Miriam stepped into the restroom, pulling me in behind her. “Ain’t no lock in here!” she yelled. “You don’t let no men in here!”
“We’re watching, honey. Who’s going? You or the kid? Just do your business and get out of there.”
Miriam looked at me and shook her head. “What I do for that goddamn dad of yours.”
The toilet was still running, the floor now strewn with clumps of soggy toilet paper.
I stood with my back against the door.
She motioned toward the toilet. “You’re the one had to go.”
“Stinks,” I said.
“Teddie God Damn Durbin! You don’t want to crap your britches like a little baby, you get your butt over here.”
I moved away from the door and walked to the toilet. I got up on the seat and looked down into the workings.
“Jump down from there and do your business. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
I reached in and put my hand into the spray from the broken pipe.
Miriam slapped me on the butt. “I said get down from there.”
I looked up at her. “Don’t,” I sa
id.
She raised her hand, but I didn’t move. We watched one another, neither of us moving. The woman outside beat on the door.
“What the hell you two doing in there? There’s men wants to use their bathroom.”
“Out in a minute!” Miriam shouted to the door. She turned back to me. “I call your dad, he’s going to come in here and whip your ass.”
I looked at her for a moment more, then jumped down.
“Okay,” she said.
I shrugged out of my suspenders and waited for her to leave.
“Wait a minute.” She took a roll of toilet paper from the top of the towel machine and began unwinding it around the toilet seat. “You catch anything, your dad’ll have a conniption.”
When she finished, I pulled down my pants and wiggled up onto the toilet seat with my underwear still in place.
“Don’t look,” I said.
“Will you do your business so we can get the hell out of here?” She rummaged through her purse and found a cigarette.
I kept looking at her.
“For god’s sake, Muttie.” Miriam turned her back to me and lit a cigarette. She took a long drag and exhaled. “It ain’t like I never seen one before.”
SEVEN
“The hell you been, Miriam?” Ted said. “You fall in? I was about to go looking.”
“I ever have kids,” Miriam said, as I pulled away from her grasp and ran for Ted’s leg, “take a gun and shoot me in the head.” She rested her elbow on the bar, chin in her hand, and looked down at her empty glasses. “I see you ain’t lost no time while I was takin’ care of your kid.”
“That beer was going flat.”
“My shooter going flat, too?”
“More where that come from.” He drained the rest of his beer. “Hey, Bobby!” he shouted, smacking his lips, pounding the top of the bar. “Hey, Bobby!”
The Violent Child Page 8
