“It’s okay,” Joe said. “I can wait for it.”
Jamaica smiled. “Keep it,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Joe said. It was not until he was outside in the street that he realized that he had just passed the first test.
5
HE CLOSED THE door of the telephone booth that shut the outside noise away. “Miss Shelton? I’m Joe Crown,” he said into the phone. “I’m the writer that your sister asked to call you.”
Miss Shelton’s voice was educated, self-important and cool. “Yes, Mr. Crown.” She seemed to offer no encouragement.
“Can I have a moment of your time for an appointment?”
She answered, still cool. “You’re the writer?”
“Yes, Miss Shelton.”
“What have you had published?” she asked. “Besides the stories in the magazines I already know about.”
“None,” he said. “But I have written a number of short stories and novellas.”
“You have submitted them to magazines?” she asked. “What has been their reaction?”
“Only rejections from those who read them,” he answered. “Usually they came back unopened with a note that they do not read a manuscript unless submitted by an agent.”
“Kathy thinks you could be a good writer,” she said.
“Your sister is very encouraging.”
“Can you send me several of those stories so that I can appraise your work? Try to select some of those you think are among the best.”
“I’ll do that, Miss Shelton,” he said. “Shall I mail them or deliver them to your office?”
“Mail will be all right,” she said. “I’ll contact you as soon as I have time to read them.”
“Thank you very much, Miss Shelton,” he said.
“Not at all, Mr. Crown,” she said formally. “I have a great deal of respect for my sister’s opinion and will look forward to seeing your work. Goodbye, Mr. Crown.”
“Goodbye, Miss Shelton,” he said. There was a click in the receiver against his ear. The nickel tinkled down into the box as he hung up the phone. Automatically he put his finger into the return slot. This was his lucky day. He looked down at his palm. There were four nickels in his hand.
He invested one of the coins to call his cousin. Motty came on the phone. “What did my mother say?” he asked.
“I didn’t talk to her,” she said. “She left the house before I woke up.”
He nodded. He had forgotten Friday morning was the busy time at the chicken market and his mother helped his father out on Friday. That was the only day they needed two cashiers to handle the rush. “When are you going to tell her?”
“I think Sunday would be the best. Saturday is too hectic. With the morning at the shul, then rushing home to make dinner.”
“Okay,” he said. “If you need any help with her, call me.”
He put down the telephone and placed another coin in the slot and dialed. Lutetia answered the ring. “Kitty there?” he asked.
“Wait a minute, I’ll put her on the line.”
A moment later Kitty came on the phone. “Joe?”
“Yes,” he answered. “I stopped by yesterday afternoon but you were sleeping.”
“I know,” she said. “I really tied one on.”
“You okay now?”
“Perfect,” she said. “I have your money for you if you want to stop over now.”
“I’ll be right there,” he said. He waited until the coin had tumbled down. But this time there was no jackpot.
* * *
MARTA TURNED FROM the cashier’s window that looked out over the chicken market. Phil was turning the lock in the deep drawer of his desk. She saw him strap on the shoulder holster, then check his Colt Police Positive .38-caliber revolver and slip it on. She looked at her husband. As she said every Friday that he strapped on the gun, “Why is it so important that you have to carry a gun just to collect lousy five-dollar bills?”
“That’s not just five dollars,” he answered as he usually did. “It comes to one thousand or two thousand dollars in the afternoon. There’s a lot of meshuggeners that try to grab it.”
“And you’re going to kill them?” she asked.
“And you want them to get away with it?”
“What if they kill you first? You’re such a sharpshooter, you’ll be faster?” she retorted.
“You don’t understand it,” he said. “I don’t wear a gun because I expect to use it. It’s because if they know that I wear a gun, they won’t bother me.”
She dropped the subject as she collected a bill from a customer in front of the window. Then she watched him stuff his billfold with five-dollar bills. “Where’s the shiksa?” she asked. “She’s always late after her lunchtime.”
“It’s only twelve-thirty,” Phil said. “That’s only a half-hour since she’s gone. She’s allowed an hour for lunch.”
“She knows that Friday is our busiest day. She should have more consideration and take only half an hour. But what do you expect from a shiksa?” Marta said sourly.
“She has to make lunch for her two kids when they come home from school,” he said.
“She should make an arrangement,” she said.
Phil didn’t answer her. Josie already had an arrangement. He started to leave. “I’ll be back by four o’clock.”
“So be careful,” Marta called after him as he walked out the door. She turned back to the window where several customers began lining up before her.
Josie’s apartment was only two blocks from the market. The door was open. He walked into the living room. Josie came in from the kitchen. “What took you so long?”
“We got busy,” he said, taking off his jacket and placing it over the back of a chair.
“You mean your wife was yakking about me,” she said, annoyed.
He didn’t answer her as he slipped off his gun and shoulder holster. He began unbuttoning his shirt, then realized that she was still completely dressed. “What’s bothering you?”
“Your wife doesn’t like me,” she said.
“So?”
“She knows,” she said.
“She knows shit,” he said. He dropped his pants to the floor and opened the fly of his BVDs. He took out his already erect phallus and held it toward her. “Feel these fucking balls,” he said. “They feel like fucking rocks.”
“We’ve only got twenty minutes,” Josie said. “I’ll be late. You know that your wife will be pissed off at me and give me a hard time the rest of the afternoon.”
“The only hard time you’re goin’ to get this afternoon is my prick in your hot wet pussy,” Phil said angrily.
“By the time I get undressed and out of my girdle and then dressed again, it will take over an hour,” Josie said.
“Then don’t get undressed,” Phil said. “Bend your ass over the side of the couch and I’ll shove it into you from the rear.”
She stared at him for a moment. “You got your rubber ready?”
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” Phil said half shouting at her. “You trying to make me crazy?”
Silently she turned away from him and bent herself over the arm of the couch as he had told her. She slipped the back of her skirt up and flipped it over her back. Then she pulled up the bottom of her girdle to the top of her buttocks. He didn’t give her the time to drop her panties, just enough to allow them to drop down against her garters to her stockings. She felt his strong hands gripping her by her hips as he slammed himself inside her. “Oh, Jesus!” she half-screamed. “You’re sticking that fucking thing all the way up to my goddam throat!” He felt like a triphammer slamming into her. A groaning animal sound came from him. She turned her face to look at him. His face was contorted purple with the blood rushing into his veins.
She reached underneath herself with one hand and cupped his testicles, squeezing them gently. “I love your balls, Phil,” she said, catching her breath. “You got the biggest balls I e
ver saw on a man.” She began squeezing them hard. “Oh God, Phil!” she said. “Why do we always have to make it so fast? Why can’t we spend more time together?”
“Fuck, don’t talk, you cunt!” he said harshly. Then he caught his breath. “Oh, shit!” he yelled. “I’m coming!”
She reached for his phallus. “You got the rubber on?” she asked in a frightened voice.
“Fuck the fucking rubber!” he yelled.
Angrily she pushed him off her with an elbow and turned around to look at him. “My God!” she said. “You son of a bitch. You’re still shooting your jism all over my damn couch.”
He stared at her silently until he could recover his breath. “Get me a washrag for my dripping cock,” he finally said.
“Fuck your cock,” she snapped. “Look what you did to my couch! You ruined it!”
Suddenly he felt drained. “I’ll get you another fuckin’ couch,” he said. “Just get me a washrag and get yourself dressed. You’re already late for work.”
She looked at him, then smiled. “Come to the bathroom with me,” she said. “I’ll clean you up. It won’t take long to get to work.”
He followed her into the bathroom and stood there as she knelt cleaning him. She looked up at him. “Can’t you come over tonight instead of going to shul?” she asked.
“I wish I could,” he said seriously. “But tonight I’m one of the minyan. That’s one of the ten men that take out the Torah. Maybe, next Friday night.”
She stood and watched as he began to put on his clothes. “Okay,” she said.
He was ready to leave. “I have to go,” he said.
“I know,” she said sadly. She lifted her face to his and kissed him. “You know, Phil, I really love you.”
There was a strange sadness in his voice. “I know, Josie,” he said. “I know.”
It was almost five o’clock when he returned to his office at the market. From the window outside he could see the market was already cleaned and closed. “How did it go?” Marta asked.
“How should it go?” he said. “It goes.” He didn’t look at Josie, as she sat counting the cash at her window. Neither did she turn to him.
“Josie will have the night deposit finished in a few minutes,” Marta said.
Still not looking at Josie, Phil called to her. “How much?” he asked.
“A hundred and fifteen dollars, Mr. Kronowitz,” she answered.
Marta looked over at Josie. “Try to hurry,” she said softly. “Mr. Kronowitz might be late for shul.”
“I’d better go and get the car,” Phil said. “I have to hide it two blocks away from the shul or the rabbi will see it.”
Josie looked at him as he went out. “Have a nice weekend, Mr. Kronowitz,” she said.
“You too, Josie,” Phil said, looking back at her. “Have a nice weekend.”
Marta got into the car beside him. “She doesn’t work on the weekend?” she asked.
“She works on Saturday. Al pays her extra to help him,” he said.
“Then she doesn’t work on Sunday?” she asked. “Why not?”
“Goyim are entitled to a Shabbes too,” he said.
6
KITTY BRANCH WAS seated behind the typewriter with her usual coffee mug on one side and the deep ashtray filled with cigarette butts on the other. Her short curled pepper-and-salt hairstyle was attractive with her black-rimmed eyeglasses. Despite the warmth of the apartment she wore a gray linen skirt and a soft cotton long-sleeved shirt. She looked up from the desk as Joe entered the room. Her voice was raspy from whiskey and weariness. “Want a coffee or a cold drink, Joe?”
“Coca-Cola is fine,” he answered. He looked down at her. “You look tired.”
Despite her ladylike appearance she spoke like a truckdriver. “I’m fucked. I have to dry out. Too damn much booze. It’s going to kill me.”
Joe dropped into a chair opposite her. “You know what’s best for you.”
“I know,” she said. “But I never do it.”
Joe didn’t answer.
She called to the other room. “Lutetia, bring Joe a Coca-Cola.” She turned to Joe, taking five singles from her desk, and handed them to him. “You were very helpful, thank you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Joe said. “I was glad to do it.”
Lutetia brought the bottle of Coca-Cola and a glass with ice cubes. “Anything else you want?” she asked Kitty sulkily.
Kitty stared at her. Lutetia was wearing the same sheer chiffon dressing gown that she had worn yesterday. “For Christ’s sake!” Kitty snapped. “Don’t you ever put on clothes?”
“What the hell for?” Lutetia retorted. “We don’t go out anymore. For the last week all you’ve done is drink and pass out, drink and pass out. I’m getting tired of it.”
“Why don’t you get a fucking job?” Kitty snapped.
“Doin’ what?” Lutetia asked angrily. “The only job I can make money at is modeling over at the New School, and you don’t like me doing nude modeling.”
“You used to be a good secretary,” Kitty said.
“Sure. For twenty a week. Modeling I could make fifteen dollars a day, twenty-five a day for private sessions. And at least I get to talk to some people.” She glanced at Joe and then back to Kitty. “The only one I saw yesterday was that asshole friend of yours who thinks that the sun shines out of his prick!” Angrily she stalked out of the room.
“What’s getting into her?” Joe asked.
Kitty looked at him. “I think she’s getting ready to leave me.”
He filled his glass. “Don’t worry about it. Let her go.”
“You don’t understand,” Kitty said, a hint of tears in her voice. “I love her.”
Joe sipped at his glass without speaking.
Kitty looked across at him. “She told me that you tried to rape her.”
He met her eyes. “Do you believe that?”
Kitty hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I know her. She gets pissed off even if I want to get a stiff cock inside of me once in a while.”
Joe was silent.
“What did happen yesterday?” Kitty asked.
“She wanted me to french her,” he answered.
Kitty looked at him. “And you did?”
“Yes,” he said.
“What did she do for you?” she asked.
“Bullshit me,” he replied. “She promised to suck me but she faked it until I came off in her hand.”
Kitty began to laugh. “She’s a real bitch.”
“Yeah,” he said sarcastically.
“But she’s got the sweetest pussy I ever tasted,” Kitty said.
“Sweet pussy is not enough,” he said. “That’s not the only thing in life.”
“She’s still a kid,” Kitty said. “She doesn’t know any better.”
“Okay,” he said. “But she’s goin’ to screw you up, I’ll bet on that.”
Kitty looked at him for a moment, then reached for a cigarette. “I know that,” she said sadly. “But what can I do about it? I love her.”
“I’m sorry,” Joe said.
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll manage,” she said. “I’ve been through it before.” She looked up at him. “I heard that the front desk wants a five-part story on the Gould family. You know, they built the New York Central with the Astors. If it comes through I’ll have about twenty hours of work for you.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I have an afternoon job in a store meanwhile and I have a deal for several stories for the magazine.”
She smiled. “I wish you could connect with one of the decent magazines.”
“Maybe I’ll get lucky,” he said. “Meanwhile I’m not complaining. It may not be much money but I’m being paid for writing.”
“That’s right,” she said. “That’s the name of the game.” She squashed out her cigarette. “You’ll keep in touch? Maybe we’ll have dinner one night?”
“Right,” he said, rising to leave. “I hope th
ings work out okay for you.”
She took him to the door. “So do I,” she said.
* * *
MOTTY WALKED THROUGH the driveway between the houses. The garage was open. Uncle Phil’s car was not there. She opened the side door of the house and entered the kitchen. The house seemed empty. The wall clock in the kitchen read six o’clock. That was normal for Fridays. She left work early and her aunt and uncle spent the evening at the synagogue. Usually they didn’t get home until ten or eleven at night.
She walked to the two pots standing on the stove’s gas burners and looked. Pot roast and small round potatoes in the large pot and tsimmes—carrots and peas cooked with either honey or brown sugar—in the smaller pot. All she had to do was heat them slowly. She hesitated for a moment. She really was not hungry so she decided to go up to her room and have a shower before dinner.
The tap, tap sound of the typewriter came from Joe’s room as she started up the staircase. She stopped in front of his door. The typewriter was really rattling, he was speeding along. She knocked on the door. “It’s me,” she called.
“I’m working,” he shouted through the door.
“I know,” she said. “I’m taking a shower before dinner. Call me when you’re ready and I’ll heat the dinner for us.”
“Okay,” he called back.
The sound of the typewriter began again and she walked into her room. Slowly she closed the door. Suddenly she felt tired. She took off her dress and stretched out on the bed in her slip. She closed her eyes and began to doze. Half asleep, she began to dream.
It wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. Her aunt Marta was screaming at her. “No, over my dead body you’ll marry my Stevie! You have to be crazy! What money have you got to help him? So could he open an office? Get an apartment and furniture to live in? My Stevie is going to be a doctor, a professional man. He has to marry a girl from a family with money. Not a girl we had to bring up, who we had to take care of so that she wouldn’t grow up in the street!”
She felt the tears running down her cheeks. “But, Tante, we love each other. We always loved each other, even when we were kids.”
The Storyteller Page 5
