286
COFFEE WITH GOD
& OTHER STORIES
(about 93,000 words)
COFFEE WITH GOD
& OTHER STORIES
Table of Contents
Coffee With God 3
We Beat Whitey Ford 19
Purple Heart 44
Joisey Guys In Hell 48
Fish Die By The Mouth 61
Bavarian Rage 124
The Hydrogen Thing 186
Interview At Weehawken 233
COFFEE WITH GOD
Kal, a man in his thirties, sat at the counter of his favorite Jersey diner on Route 22, sipping coffee, chewing on a bagel with cream cheese, and reading The New York Times. It was mid-afternoon, on a weekday, after the lunch rush, and the diner was fairly empty.
Another man, late middle age, entered, carrying an ultra-thin laptop computer, which he rested on the counter. He sat next to Kal and nodded. Kal nodded back.
The waitress, a young woman, approached and gave the man a menu. Without looking at it, he said: “I'll have the same as him ... poppyseed bagel, cream cheese, decaf.”
As the waitress left, the man asked: “So, how's it going, Kal?”
Kal, chewing his bagel, still reading his paper, replied: “Fine.” After a brief pause, still reading, he asked “Do we know each other?”
“I know everybody,” the man replied. “I'm God.
“Ha!” Kal replied, not looking up.
The waitress returned, served the bagel and coffee. The man took a bite of the bagel. “Mmmmmmm. Yummy.” Then he asked: “You don't believe me?”
“If it makes you happy, I'll believe you,” Kal said, eyes still glued to the newspaper.
“How's your sister June? You haven't seen her in a few weeks, have you?”
Looking up from his paper, Kal turned to him and asked: “You know her?”
“Know her? I helped you find her a few years ago.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“How about a little thunder and lightning?” the man asked. He waved his right hand, and suddenly there was a brilliant flash of light and a loud clap of thunder.
Kal flinched, looked around. The handful of customers seemed not to have noticed. One man was absorbed in his People magazine. Another gazed at the TV set on the wall, watching CNN. A young couple in a booth gazed into each other’s eyes and held hands.
“Is this one of those stupid reality shows?” Kal asked. “Where's the camera?”
“There are no cameras, Kal.”
“You really are God?”
The man shrugged, smiled.
“I've heard that God does speak to people ...”
“Not exactly...”
“There's this minister who says you speak to him. Pat...Pat…”
The man’s eyes flashed with anger. “Pat Robertson? I have never uttered a word to that shmuck!”
“A shmuck? Wait...are you Jewish?”
“I’m like tofu.”
Kal stared at him, not understanding.
“Tofu. You add your own flavor. People see me in their own image,” the man said and, after a brief pause: “In China, I'm short, chubby, inscrutable. Africa? Tall, muscular, voice like James Earl Jones. In Minnesota, I'm a blonde blue-eyed goy.”
“This has gotta be a gag. Did Marvin put you up to this?”
“You mean Marvin Schwartz? Who lives at 223 West Tenth Street in the Village? Third floor?”
“Yeah, Marvin.”
“You like tango, right?”
“How'd you know that?”
“I know plenty. Enjoy!”
The man gestured. Suddenly, Kal heard a lively tango. After a few seconds, God moved his hand, as though turning off a radio, and the music stopped. Again, Kal looked around, and again the few other customers in the diner were absorbed in their own lives.
Shaken, Kal asked: “What...do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I'm just looking in on you.”
“Looking in?”
“You missed the shabbos service on WQXR Radio from Temple Emanu-El last Friday.”
“I was busy!”
“It's okay.” God said. “I just thought...since you've been listening to it almost every Friday afternoon for so many years...”
“I can't miss one service?”
“Sure. Sure.” God said. “I just thought maybe you were losing your faith a
little.”
“Who said I had faith?”
“Every Friday at five-thirty for eleven years, and you tell me...
“It's a habit.”
“Ah, a habit! Is it also a habit every time you drive around Manhattan looking for a parking space---I see you!--you rub the steering wheel, rub, rub, rub ... suddenly a space opens up! And you pull in. And--I hear you!--you say ‘Thanks, God’."
Amazed, Kal asked: “You hear me?”
“Why the hell do you think you get all those parking spaces?”
“This is...incredible.”
“Of course, in the immediate area of the theatre district, that's another story. Free parking is impossible. Even God can't help there...”
“I noticed.”
Kal and God chewed on their bagels for a moment.
“God...”
“Yes?”
“I was just exclaiming ‘God!’ I'd always hoped you existed, but I wasn't sure. There is a God? My God!”
“People believe in God in the most remote parts of the earth,” God said. “Bali … Mozambique…Tierra del Fuego…even...Hoboken.” After a brief pause. “Just kidding.”
God reached over for his laptop, opened it, and began typing.
“What are you doing?”
“Googling you.”
“Googling me? God uses Google?”
“Well...I just say that,” God said. “I have my own private account.”
Kal leaned over to look at the computer screen. “There's stuff there about me? What does it say?”
“Plenty.”
“Why do you need Google? Aren't you supposed to know everything?” Kal pointed to God’s head. “Right in there?”
“After so many billions of years, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be. I think I have a tiny touch of...of...whatchamacallit...”
“Alzheimers?”
“Yeah.” God pointed at the screen. “Here's your grades from Bergen Street Elementary School. Almost all A's. Your Great-Grandma Ida was so proud of you.”
“I loved to make her happy. I would run home with my report card and show it to her. She never said an unkind word. If I got a B once in a while, she would smile, look at me over her glasses and say ‘B is goot. But A is bettah.’"
God pointed at the computer screen. “Here's the time you refused to be Bar Mitzvahed.”
Astonished, Kal said: “You even have that?”
“I have everything.”
“It wasn't for religious reasons! I took all the lessons in the neighborhood shul. But a few days before the big day, I panicked! I was too scared to stand up in front of all those old farts with beards, and recite stuff in Hebrew.”
“Your Great Grandma was so sad.”
“But otherwise I was a good boy!”
God pointed at the screen again. “And then, in the Army, why did you become a Catholic?”
“What's
wrong with being a Catholic? Do you just favor the Jews?”
“No.”
God replied. “All the religions are fine. I was just
curious...why?”
“This is a little embarrassing...”
“You can tell me,” God said.
“You mean you don't know why people do things?”
“I see what they do,” God said. “I can't always see inside their heads. Get it out. It'll make you feel better.”
“Oh, so now you're a shrink? Where's the couch? Do you charge by the hour?”
“No charge,” God said. “C'mon.”
“At Fort Benning, down in Georgia, there was this young Catholic chaplain. I fell in love with him.”
God gave him a look.
“No. Not in that way. I mean I really loved the guy. He was so...so holy. He was pure, and innocent, and good, and, and so bright. I admired him so much. I was just 19, and I'd never felt inspired by religion. Somehow, the way he was...I wanted to be part of that. I told him I wanted to become a Catholic.”
God chuckled. “I remember.”
Kal, surprised, asked: “You saw that?”
“I'd sort of forgotten the details. Go on...”
“He said this was a very serious decision. But I kept bugging him. I'm a Taurus. Stubborn. Finally he gave me catechism lessons. Not long after that he baptized me! I got a silver crucifix with black rosary beads that I put around my neck. And for a few months I went to confession, and he would listen to me...it was wonderful.”
“And then?”
“You probably know the rest.”
“C'mon. I like hearing you tell it.”
“When I got out of the Army,” Kal continued, “I started attending this church in Elizabeth.
There was this grouchy old priest. He would mumble the prayers. And during his Sunday sermon, what I remember most was him kvetching about how little money people were donating to the church. So I stopped going.”
“What happened to the crucifix?”
“I took it off, but I couldn't throw it away. I couldn't! I carried it in my pocket for a couple of years. And--I don't know--it must have been the friction in my pocket, after a while, little by little, the rosary beads fell off, and all that was left was the tiny crucifix with maybe three or four beads on each side...”
“That's when your Great-Grandma became ill, wasn't it?”
“She was ninety-two,” Kal said. “Slipped and fell in the kitchen. She lay in bed in a nursing home up in Irvington...That Labor Day weekend my buddies had gone down the Jersey shore. I told them I was gonna visit Grandma, and would see them later. I went to see her in the nursing home. She was fading, but sweet as ever. I kissed her on the forehead, went out, and got into my car. It was late. Driving south on the highway, it was misty. When I got to Bradley Beach and parked, it must've been nearly midnight. I didn't know where my buddies were. The boardwalk was dark. I walked onto the beach, spread a big beach towel on the sand, lay down and fell asleep.”
“I remember...” God said.
“Early the next morning, the sun woke me. I sat up, real groggy. My wallet had fallen out of my pocket, into the sand. And my car keys. I groped around and found them. Then I noticed, my crucifix was gone! I started poking around in the sand, searching, searching...and I felt something! But it wasn't the crucifix! It was a round shiny piece of metal. I picked it up and it was...”
“A Star of David medal.”
“I was amazed.” Kal continued. “I stared at it, then I looked up at the heavens. I was all alone. The sun was shining down on me through the clouds. It was as though something really incredible had happened.”
“It had,” God said.
“I kept poking around in the sand, trying to find the crucifix. But it was gone.”
“I left it there for a good Christian,” God said. “He found it a few weeks later.”
“You did that? Why?”
God shrugged.
“Why?” Kal asked.
“You figure it out.”
“I can't. It's a mystery.”
Smiling, God began to sing: "Ah! sweet mystery of life, at last I've found thee...Ah! I know at last the secret of it all..."
“It's about love?”
“One of my favorite ladies, Rida Johnson Young, wrote those lyrics. Wasn't it divine when Nelson Eddy and Jeanette McDonald sang it?”
“C'mon, tell me.”
“You loved your Great-Grandma, didn't you?”
“I adored her.”
God looked at him expectantly.
“She was dying,” Kal said. “I had let her down when I didn't get bar-mitzvahed. When I reached into the sand and found the Star of David...I was ...returning to who I was? To please her?”
God patted him on the shoulder to comfort him.
“That's it?”
“If that's what you think,” God said, “that's what it is.”
“God, you are mysterious.”
God broke into song again. "Ah, sweet mystery of life at last I've found thee..."
“God?”
“Yes?”
“Why do you let such terrible things happen?”
“You know what bugs me? When there are terrible disasters ... natural disasters, I mean...Earthquakes, floods, hurricanes, tsunamis...and so many people die. They call them ‘Acts of God.’ Can you imagine that? ‘Acts of God!’ As if I wanted them to happen! Me!”
“I thought you were all powerful.”
“There are six billion people on earth. If I devoted just one second to each person—one second!—it would take me two hundred and six years to get around to everyone. People are constantly calling out to me. In the desert of the Sudan, dying of thirst or hunger ... In Africa, India, Greenwich Village, young men and women dying of AIDS... In Iraq, wounded soldiers writhing in pain ... In the casinos of Atlantic City, desperate gamblers losing their shirts. They all want something. ‘Help me, God!’ I try. I'm pretty good at multi-tasking, but sometimes it's ... overwhelming!
“I guess it keeps you very busy...”
“It was so simple when I created the universe...the sun...the stars...the planets. The earth, rotating around the sun at exactly 67,000 miles per hour. I cooked up just the right temperature and the right mix of gases, allowing for life. The plants...and the animals. Everything was fine. . .Then, when I decided to create humans, I got this fercockta idea ... start them off ignorant--tabula rasa!-- but with creative minds, and give them free will.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I'm trying to help you understand! At first humans lived like animals. Bare asses in the wind. Hunters and gatherers. Millions died of exposure and disease. Famine! But with creative minds and free will, humans developed clothing. Farming. Medicines. Electricity. Radio. The movies. Now the Internet. Blogging! Sometimes it doesn't seem so, but life is changing...mostly for the better...”
“But why do you allow so many different religions?”
“Religions? That’s nothing. You know how many different languages there are? Free will! Everybody has a different take on things.”
“You think that's good?” Kal asked.
“It's out of my hands.”
“But there is so much injustice in the world...”
“Talk about injustice.” God said, waving the remnant of his bagel. “They erect statues to great warriors. But do they put up a statue to the man who invented Immodium? No!”
“Immodium?”
“Just a century ago, you know how many people died of diarrhea? Or pooped in their pants! I can't count the times nowadays that people cry out: ‘Thank God for Immodium!’ It wasn't me. It was some scientist who had free will!”
“But there's been such evil in the world,” Kal said. “African Slavery. The Holocaust. Monsters like ...Hitler!”
God shook his head sadly. “When Hitler was a young man, his mother was dying of cancer, in excruciating pain. I sent a Jewish doctor to his house. He made more than forty visits, never charged a penny. At the time, Hitler said he was grateful. But later...free will! A mass murderer, who was a vegetarian yet! I till don't understand the guy.”
“Did you actually talk to Hitler?”
“He had a closed mind. I don't really talk to people. I kind of whisper in their ear, usually when they're asleep.”
“Who do you whisper to?”
“Millions of people. Most of them you never heard of...You like Mozart, right?”
“Who doesn't?”
“He died so young...He composed so many divine pieces. God gestured with his hand, and suddenly they heard the beautiful duet by Susanna and The Countess from The Marriage of Figaro. As their voices soared, God closed his eyes, enraptured. The song ended, and God pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his eyes.
“Mozart makes you cry?” Kal asked.
“For joy!” God replied. “The human voice raised in song…it’s so glorious! And Walt Whitman. Did you ever read his ‘The Sleepers’?”
“Yes,” Kal replied, “but I don’t recall…”
“A masterpiece!” God said. "I wander all night in my vision, Stepping with light feet, swiftly and noislessly stepping and stopping, bending with open eyes over the shut eyes of the sleepers"“ He's speaking in my voice...to me...to everyone!”
“God?”
“Yes?”
“Why...why did you...let my Mom die so young?”
“I’m so sorry about that...”
“She was just twenty-two. I was only two years old. Except for a picture, I don't even have a memory of her.”
“I know...”
“Years ago, my Uncle Eddie and his wife Elizabeth, from down in North Carolina, sent me letters my mother had written to them. The first one was written in early 1936, not long after I was born. My mom was separated from my dad, and living with her grandparents in Newark. Eddie and Elizabeth's first child, Barbara, had just been born. Those letters are among my greatest treasures.
“Hello Pappy! How glorious, perfectly wonderful that Elizabeth has come through fine and with a precious bit of heaven. We up north are happy for you. I wish I could hop, skip and jump down to her and the baby. Give them a big kiss for all of us, and a wet one for Kalman. Grandma wishes she were able to make a trip down South, but it seems there is a nasty villain called money that always eludes us. Kalman walks all by himself at last. He is so proud of himself. He walks about, saying ‘alone, alone, alone’...telling us he doesn't need our help anymore. Very soon you will be writing us and boasting of your daughter's accomplishments. Isn't it a wonderful feeling to have a baby? Something all your own...a beautiful soft little body to love and cherish...it is something to live for...to cry for, fight and laugh for...”
“A few months later,” Kal said, “my mother wrote again to North Carolina.”
“Dear Mommie & Daddie and Barbara...Please, please forgive me for being so late answering, but I have been very busy. I am at last working as a sales girl in a very nice dress shop. When I get home I am so tired I just can't do anything but kiss Kalman goodnight and go to bed. How is my darling new cousin? I feel like an aunt to her. What does she look like? Does she eat like a little piggy, so that she will get fat and adorable? Aren't they gorgeous precious things to have? They are expensive, and troublesome, but one tiny smile and all is forgiven. When I get home at night I feel so utterly alone and morbid, so nasty after waiting on picky women all day. But Kalman runs up to me, throws his chubby arms about me and says ‘mommie—kiss’. Well, it's my seventh heaven!”
“The third letter to North Carolina is postmarked May 19, 1937, a month after my second birthday,” Kal continued. “My mother was eight months pregnant with my sister.”
“My dear Aunt, Uncle and Barbara...your lovely box of candy was received amid exclamations of ohs and ahs! Grandma thanks you from the bottom of her heart. It was the most delightful surprise. Kalman refused all candy but that which came from Grandma's box. He says it is ‘beee--yoo--tee-ful’. That is the way he talks. He draws his words out and uses much expression. One day I will get around to taking pictures of my son. He is the roughest, toughest kid on the street. Plays ball with all the big boys. And shouts ‘make a double!’ He plays marbles like a veteran and sings all the latest songs. All that at the age of two! The weather has been very nice here. All here are well. So close with love to you all from all...Rozlon.”
“Twelve days later, my mother gave birth and lay bleeding in the City Hospital,” Kal said. “In one movie theatre in downtown Newark the lights were turned on. They made pleas for blood donors. She died a few hours later.”
“I know...” God said.
“Sure, you know!” Kal replied angrily. “Why did she have to die?”
“Doctors today know how to avoid hemorrhage in pregnant women. Not then…And your Dad, with his Depression. Poor guy. It destroyed their marriage. A little Prozac or Zoloft might have helped.”
“The first time I met my Dad, I was already married and he was in his late 60s. I flew out to LA and looked him up. He lived alone, in a cheap furnished room. We met at a coffee shop and had lunch...”
Harold stared at his half-smoked cigarette, and said to Kal, and himself: “I have to stop smoking these.” He squashed the cigarette into the ashtray and turned to his son. “Do you get into New York much, Kal?” .
“Every so often. Last week I had lunch with a friend down in The Village.”
Harold smiled, and gazed off into the distance. “Ah, the Village! It brings back memories, more than forty years ago, of the two summers I worked on my degree at NYU. I remember the true Village. The cafeterias where we sat hours on end, talking about our hopes and aspirations! O'Neill, the sick, lean, hungry O'Neill, with his one-acters tucked under his arms, seeking solace in the theater!”
“Then you became a teacher in Newark, didn't you?”
Harold’s expression darkened. “Yes. But then...The years have slipped away...Many things bother me ...I still can't get around to talk about them. It's not just the teeth, or the diabetes ...but a host of things, past and present which still plague me. I've tried to get help...”
“Dad, we all have things that torment us. Maybe if you could talk to me, or someone...”
“You mustn't worry about me. When I've gotten over these hurdles, you'll know about it...” “But, can you tell me...”
Harold stared down at the table. “I would like to have certain areas in my life become more tolerant...and this will take time. I'm struggling with my own personal adjustment. I see you, the way you live, so confidently! You have such a wonderful family... Wealth is ephemeral. What you have can't be bought...”
“Dad...”
“You see how I talk! The outside world looms large and hostile...I know I sound like a tired old man...”
Kal reached out his hand, and placed it on Harold’s forearm. “Years ago, I sent you a short story of mine. You wrote back and gave me a wonderful critique. I brought it with me...”
Kal reached into his pocket, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to Harold, who slowly opened it and regarded it with surprise.
Harold began to read it slowly. "The exercise of a particular craft is one of mission, and is closely allied with God. One perfects a craft only through exercise, and practice, and more practice. I tell you, get it down on paper. Wear out the seat of your pants. Write...write anything...write everything... but write! I must warn you, there are no half-measures in art."
“Reading your letter was like...drinking an elixir of Inspiration,” Kal said.
“I’ve wasted so much of my life,” Harold said. He reached over and held Kal’s hand. “Time is a runaway child, gay, unconcerned, frivolous. Hold on to it, tame it, make it work for you!”
“Dad...I know this may be hard--painful--for you. I was so young when my Mom died. Can you tell me anything at all? Can you fill in any of the blanks for me? How did you and Mom meet?”
“I was directing a play at the old Jewish Y on High Street in Newark. She came to audition! She was so beautiful...just eighteen years old...”
“And then you married, and had me...”
“I loved her...very much...but...she was very young...she wasn't patient with me...I...”
Harold began to weep. Kal patted his father’s arm. “All right, Dad. Let's leave it for another time...”
Kal, tears in his eyes, said to God: “I saw my father just once more, before he died...”
They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their coffee.
“And why did you come today?” he asked God.
“Last Thursday afternoon, I saw you at the cemetery, standing by your mother’s grave.”`
“You saw me?”
“You looked so sad. There were tears in your eyes.”
“I don’t go often, but something drew me there that day. I keep a picture of her by my desk. I'm usually a happy guy, but every so often...I stare at that picture. She's so beautiful. She was so young. I feel...like a double loss... as though I've lost both a mother...and a child. It's not fair!”
“Life is not fair. It's...life.”
“Whenever I read about a young soldier dying in battle, or some child dying of neglect, I mourn for them, and I can't help thinking of my mother...Not a day goes by that...”
“I know. I feel bad...”
“Sure. So you give me parking spaces in Manhattan?”
“Listen to Mister Perfect! What about you?” God pointed at the computer screen. “There were plenty of times when you screwed up. What about that time when...”
“Okay, okay!”
“How many jobs have you had these past many years?”
“Lots. Maybe twenty.”
“How many did you actually apply for?”
Kal thought for a moment. “Maybe two...”
“All the rest just...happened?”
“Phone calls, out of the blue. Or bumping into people...”
“You remember that time in Puerto Rico when Henry Giniger from the New York Times called you? Offered you a job as their correspondent? Just like that?”
“Yes...”
God smiled at him. “And a few years later you and your family were up in Buffalo, freezing your asses off in the snow, and wanting to relocate?”
“Yes...”
“And this fellow Jacobson--a complete stranger--called you and offered you a job with the government in New York City?”
“Bob Jacobson. You arranged that, too?”
“And the time Leon King called you -- out of the blue!--and offered you a book contract?” After a pause, God said: “I whispered in quite a few ears...You have a loving family ... Good friends...”
Kal smiled. “God has a guilty conscience?”
God shrugged. ”I just thought I'd try to balance things a bit.”
“God?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes, when I take my morning walk, or lie awake in bed, I wonder. How should one live? Is there a right way?”
Laughing, God replied: “I've given you free will.”
“But...I don't know. What about The Ten Commandments?”
“Moses was a good man,” God said. “But he tended to ramble.”
Laughing, Kal said: “I can't even remember all ten.”
“Who can? You had the best teacher in your Great-Grandma Ida. Better than Moses. She taught by example.”
“Everybody loved Grandma. She was the kindest person I know.”
“Life would be so good if we followed just one commandment,” God said. “Just one!”
“Be kind to one another."
“You said it.”
“God?”
“Yes?”
“My mother...I was so young when she died...I don't remember ever seeing her...” Kal looked at God. “Do you think...is it possible?”
“I'm afraid not...”
“Just for a moment!”
“I'm sorry...”
“Please.”
“Well...okay,” God said, reluctantly. “Just a quick look.”
“The first time I remember hearing tango, I was in my twenties, and I loved it. My aunt told me that my mother once won a tango dancing contest in Newark.”
“She was very talented...”
“I must've heard tango then, when I was a tiny boy. Maybe that's why...every time I hear it, I feel a strange joy and sadness mixed together. I wonder, did my Mom and Dad ever dance the tango together?” After a pause, he added. “Do you think you could...Could I see them together? Just once?”
“You're asking a lot.”
"Be kind to one another."
“Alright. Alright.”
Kal looked around at the half empty diner. “Will anyone here see them?”
“Just us.”
God gestured with his hand. Now Rozlon could be seen, still young and beautiful, standing a few feet away. A few steps from her Harold appeared, looking shy and slightly bewildered. A plaintive tango song could be heard.
My day is gray, your day is gray,
can't get the sun to shine.
I think together we might break through the clouds
if you put your hand in mine.
Rozlon reached out her hand, and Harold, unsure, walked hesitantly towards her. They came together and she led him gently in dance as the song continued.
We walk a road it's long and it's hard
we're frightened, but if we try
we'll keep our minds filled up
with beautiful dreams
and build castles in the sky.
They danced closer. Slowly, Harold was becoming more relaxed. Smiling, they stared lovingly into each other's eyes.
Just a little yearning can fill the emptiness.
Yearn for gray skies or a bit of sun
makes no difference, doesn't everyone
Need a little yearning,
a dream on which they can build,
Just a yearning which won't be fulfilled!
The music stopped. Rozlon and Harold turned and blew kisses to Kal. Holding hands, they walked away, and disappeared.
“God?”
“Yes?”
“That was so...Thank you...Very much...”
“Don't mention it.” God glanced at his wristwatch. He closed his laptop computer. “I better get going soon...Other calls to make.”
“You don't know how much this meant to me ... seeing them. Together.”
“I'm glad ...”
“It's like a big dark cloud overhead--following me all these years--has drifted away. I'll never forget this.” Kal began to cry.
God patted him on the shoulder and said: “Good...Good...there was this English writer, nice fellow...Graham...Graham...”
“Graham Greene?”
“Yes.” God said. “I overheard him speak at a conference once. He said: ‘All writing is therapy. To some extent writers seek their craft to heal a wound in themselves, to make themselves whole.’ If you wrote about your mother...it might ease the pain.”
Kidding, Kal asked him: “Are you giving me Divine Guidance?” God smiled, shrugged.
“You know?” Kal continued. “You're really a nice guy.” God shrugged again.
“Being...who you are,” Kal continued, “seeing all that you see...sometimes it must get lonely.”
God, uncomfortable, shrugged again, and glanced at his wristwatch.
“God?”
“Yes?”
“Can I give you a hug?”
“A hug?”
“You know. Like in Latin America, two good friends, guys, when they get together, or are leaving, they give each other an abrazo. A hug. In Argentina, some guys even kiss each other ... on the cheek.”
Kal looked expectantly at God. God, who had never been hugged, shrugged his assent. Kal rose, leaned over, and gave God a big hug...then a gentle peck on the cheek.
Moved, God said: “Thank you...” Then God lifted his coffee cup and waved it at the waitress. “Can I have a refill?”
Both smiling, God and Kal continued chatting amiably, as the tango song could be heard, faintly, from a distance.
THE END
WE BEAT WHITEY FORD
At two-forty p.m. one December afternoon in 1972, a cab pulled up to the curb at Terminal A of Newark Airport. Hal Krantz paid the driver, collected a receipt, and walked briskly into the terminal.
"American Airlines flight nine seven three, departing Newark for San Juan, Puerto Rico at three-thirty p.m. will begin pre-boarding in a few minutes...Gate thirty-four..."
Hal, in his late thirties with flecks of gray at the temples of his dark brown hair, wore a blue suit and tie, covered by a tan Burberry raincoat. He carried a brown leather briefcase, and a tan garment bag. Hal stopped at the entrance to gate thirty-four, glanced at his watch, and looked in both directions
"United Airlines flight fourteen, departing Newark for Chicago at three-fifteen...Now boarding at gate number thirty-one."
Head down, self-absorbed, Mitch Johnson, a black man in his late thirties, walked by slowly, as though the life had drained out of him. A day's growth of stubble covered his cheeks, and his short curly hair receded high up the temples. He wore a light blue windbreaker, and khaki-colored slacks. Hal looked at him with growing intensity.
"Mitch?"
Mitch stopped, turned around. The two men stared at each other, struggling to remember.
"Mitch Johnson? Is that you?"
"Hal...Krantz."
"My, God, how long's it been?" Hal asked.
"Since South Side High..."
Hal lowered his brief case to the floor and shook Mitch's hand vigorously. "I can't believe it! Mitch! It's so great to see you!"
"You're lookin' real good, Hal. Where you headed?"
"Puerto Rico," Hal replied.
"Puerto Rico! I hear it's real pretty down there."
"Business trip. I'm with the EPA."
“Uh-huh,” Mitch said, pretending to understand.
"The U.S. Environmental Protection Agency..."
"Environment? You a scientist?"
"Me?" said Hal, smiling. "I near flunked chemistry in school! I'm in public affairs...I help the journalists who write about the environment."
"Sounds...interesting..."
"United Airlines flight fourteen, Newark to Chicago, now boarding at gate number thirty-one..."
Hal looked around, then glanced at his watch. "I'm supposed to meet a guy from my office. We're flying down together."
"Oh, then don't let me keep you," Mitch said.
"No problem! We can talk right here, while I wait. How about you, do you have time?"
"I...just got in," Mitch said. "I'm cool."
"Great." Hal pointed to a nearby row of plastic chairs. They sat down. "And your folks?" Hal asked. "How are they?"
"My Dad, he passed three years ago.” Mitch tapped his fist against his chest. “The heart."
"Gee, I'm sorry..."
"My Mom, she's fine," Mitch said. "She lives with Lonnie, my older brother, remember? He never married..."
"And your little brother? Whatsisname?"
"Artie. He's a stockbroker. Lives up in Montclair. Two kids. Drives a Mercedes..."
"That's great. And how about you?" Hal asked.
"I'm still playin' the field...renting in Irvington..."
"I'm right near you, in Maplewood!" Hal said. "Married. Kids. Mortgage! Just got back to Jersey. I was away quite a few years."
"So you missed the riots in sixty-seven," Mitch said.
Hal shook his head sadly. "First time I drove down Springfield Avenue...all those homes and stores burned to the ground...I couldn’t believe it!”
"Yeah, it's a bitch."
“It’s sad...”
“I guess nothin’ stays the same anymore...”
"Mama, he treats your daughter mean..." Flashback twenty years to an afternoon in December of 1952. On the phonograph, Ruth Brown belted out her latest 78 rpm R&B hit. Hal, a few months shy of his eighteenth birthday, lounged on the sofa in the modest, neatly furnished living room of the Johnson family apartment on Sherman Avenue in Newark. Smoking a Pall Mall, Hal glanced at the sports pages of the Newark Star-Ledger, and tapped his feet to the music.
"He's the meanest man I've ever seen..."
Mitch, nineteen, stood near the phonograph, snapping his fingers, and moving vigorously to the music. "Whooooaaaa! That bitch can sing!"
"Mama, he takes my money, makes me call him honey..."
"When are your folks coming home?" Hal asked.
"Lonnie took 'em Christmas shopping at that new Two Guys store over in Harrison. My mom said she'll be back to cook dinner."
"Can I see the letter again?" Hal asked.
Mitch, still snapping his fingers to Ruth Brown, walked over to the new 12-inch Dumont TV -- a gift from Lonnie -- and retrieved a letter from the clutter of mail atop the set. He handed it to Hal, who had read it several times since it arrived a week ago.
"Jee-sus. Fifteen thousand dollars to play baseball! For the Cleveland Indians!"
"Soon as the first check arrives I'm gonna buy my mom a brand-new Frigidaire," Mitch said. "That old heap makes such a racket we can't sleep!"
"Man, you're gonna be on the same field with Bob Feller ... Larry Doby..."
Laughing, Mitch replied: "You mean, they're gonna be on the same field with me!"
Mitch, a left-hander, reached over to a fruit bowl on the coffee table, grabbed an orange, and went through the motion of preparing to pitch, with a man on first base. "The Cleveland scout said I got the best pickoff move he's ever seen," Mitch said, glancing over toward the invisible runner on first base. "How many runners 'd we get this last season?"
"Six or seven," Hal said. "You on the mound, me at first, we made one helluva team." Hal rose from the sofa, and bent over near an imaginary first base, guarding the invisible base runner. Hal punched his left fist into the invisible mitt on his right hand. He held up the mitt as a target. "Atta boy, Mitchie baby," he called out. "C'mon now, throw a strike!"
Mitch looked to "home plate," raised his front leg, appeared about to throw there, but let his front leg drop in the direction of Hal, and gently flipped the orange to Hal, who put the tag on the runner.
"Out!" yelled Hal, who then peeled the orange, and proceeded to eat it. "When you goin' down to Florida for spring training?" Hal asked.
"February somethin'..."
"Mitch, is it really true that down South colored people have to sit in the back of the bus?"
"Maybe some Nee-groes. But not the big leaguers. You don't see no Jackie Robinson in the back of no bus! No, sir!
An afternoon in late December 1952. Hal's grandmother, in her eighties, sat at the kitchen table of the apartment on Belmont Avenue in Newark. It was a modestly furnished apartment, like the Johnsons’. Her silver hair tied in a bun, her hands trembling slightly, Grandma read The Forward, a Yiddish daily. She licked her thumb, turned a page. She was in the grip of the latest installment of a fascinating story about Holocaust survivors, by a writer named Isaac Bashevis Singer.
There was a knock at the door. Grandma Krantz laid aside The Forward, rose, and walked slowly on slippered feet to the door. When she opened, Mitch smiled at her.
"Is Hal home? We're supposed to go to the basketball game..."
"Herold! Your friend is here!"
Hal yelled from the bedroom. "Be right out, Mitch! I'm gettin' dressed!"
"Remember!" the elderly woman said. "First, you heff to go bakery!"
"Aw, Grandma! I'll be late. Can't I go tomorrow?"
"I'll go!" Mitch said.
Grandma looked at Mitch, a bit skeptically.
"Where's the bakery?" Mitch asked.
"Across street..."
"What d'ya need?"
Grandma opened a small purse, removed a couple of wrinkled dollar bills, and gave them to Mitch. "I vant you should bring me a small pumpernickel, sliced..."
"Small pumpernickel, right..."
"Should be sliced."
"Sliced. Right."
"...end heff a pound Keech-lach..."
"Keek-what?"
"Keech-lach," Grandma said.
"Kee-klocks."
"Keech-lach...Like sugar cake...good mit cup tea..."
"Kee-klocks," Mitch said. "Be right back!" He ran out the door, just as Hal entered the kitchen, buttoning his shirt.
"Where's Mitch?"
"He vent bakery," said Grandma, shrugging her shoulders. "For pumpernickel...end keech-lach!" Hal looked amused.
"You should take heavy jecket," Grandma said.
"Grandma..."
"Is vinter!"
Grandma took an apple from a fruit bowl atop the kitchen table, and gave it to Hal. "Take epple, too. Maybe you get hungry. Vot time you come home?"
"I'll be late, Grandma. We're goin' out after the game. Tonight, all you gotta do is turn on the teevee. I set it to your favorite channel.
"Artur Gah-fieldt?"
"Grandma, it's Arthur God-free. He's not Jewish. He's Irish."
"Artur Gah-fieldt is Irish?"
Another knock on the door. Hal opened, and there was Mitch. Proudly, Mitch handed a paper bag and small change over to Grandma. "Here it is. Pumpernickel, sliced. And...kee-klocks!"
Grandma regarded Mitch with wonder, as though he'd performed a miracle. She smiled. "Denk you. Such a nice young men."
Grandma reached into the bag, and pulled out one of the sweet cakes. She offered it to Mitch. "Here. Is goot."
Mitch took a bite. "Mmmm. Kee-klocks!" Grandma beamed at Mitch, and at Hal.
Moments later, Hal and Mitch were outdoors, shoulders hunched over against the December cold, walking towards the school gymnasium.
"I see Walcott's gettin' a rematch with Marciano," Hal said.
"Jersey Joe's gonna get his ass whupped again."
"Think so?"
"Too old," Mitch said. "Slow as molasses. Now you take Joe Louis ..." Mitch began jabbing, dancing around, like a boxer. "In his prime, Joe Louis, he'd whup Marciano's ass real good! Remember when that German guy beat Louis with a lucky punch?"
"Max Schmeling."
"Yeah, Schmeling. Then Joe gets a rematch. Wham! Wham! Tears him apart. Broke his ribs 'n all."
"Yeah. I saw it on Greatest Fights of the Century."
They walked along silently for a moment.
"Hal, can you do me a big favor?"
"Nope."
"You know Marlene. Marlene Wollensky? I wanna go out with her. Real bad."
So? You got a car dontcha?" Hal said.
"Where you been, man? Cops catch me alone with a white chick, my ass is grass. What am I gonna say? 'Oh hello offisuh, ah's dee cho-fer.' And if her father finds out...that cat is a gangster. He packs a gun."
"Marlene's father?"
"Yeah, man. He runs vending machines. Walks around with a roll o' cash this thick...and a gun."
"Mitch, your picture's always in the paper. Every place we go, people say hello. You can get any girl you want! Why mess with Marlene?"
"There's somethin' special about Marlene," Mitch said. "She likes me, too. I know it."
"Is it 'cause she's white?" Hal asked. "Seems like every girl you go after is white..."
Mitch laughed. "Look who's talking! I seen you in the halls, makin' eyes at that pretty colored gal!"
"Who?"
"Don't who me, man! The cheerleader!"
Hal’s face reddened. "Janet Randolph?"
"Yeah, Janet," Mitch said. "Seems like for me and you, the ass is always greener on the other side of the fence!” After a pause, Mitch added, ”I was thinking, maybe we could go on a double date."
"You and Marlene and me and Janet? I don't even know if she'd go out with me."
"Oh, she will," Mitch said.
"How do you know?"
"I already asked her."
"You what?"
"Janet lives right around the corner from me," said Mitch. "I saw her the other day in the candy store. I told her you wanted to go out with her!"
"And what did she say?"
"At first she got a little sassy," Mitch said, then imitating her voice: Why don't he ask me himself?"
"And then what?"
"I said you were sorta shy, but you really wanted to go out with her..."
"God, Mitch..."
"I think she likes you..."
"Stop the bullshit..."
"She does! She told me yes! She'll go out!"
Hal remained silent.
"Whatsa matter?" Mitch asked. "You never been out with a colored chick before? My big brother Lonnie. When he was stationed down in Panama during the war, he made it with white, colored, even Chinese! Lonnie says they're all the same in the dark!"
"It's not that," Hal said, looking away. "I don't have a car yet, like you. How'm I gonna take a girl out, even if I wanted to!"
"You mean you've never been out with a girl?"
"We talk in the hall at school sometimes," Hal said. "There's this girl in my neighborhood. Sometimes, when she babysits, she invites me over for a while."
"Well, man, you gotta start sometime!"
Hal looked away. Mitch, laughing, poked Hal in the ribs. "You scared shit! Aintcha?"
"I never know what to talk about with girls!" Hal said. "Hangin' round the corner with the guys, it's easy. Who had the best batting average? Who won the final game of the forty-six series? But with girls..."
Mitch reassured him. "Man, don't worry. I'll tell you all you need to know."
"Like what? When I see Janet in the halls, I say 'hi' and she says 'hi' right back. Then we smile, and that's it! I don't know what else to say!"
"First of all, when you see a girl, you tell her how nice she looks," Mitch said. "They love that."
"Uh-huh. That takes exactly five seconds. Then what?"
"Then maybe you tell a joke or two. Girls like to laugh."
"I hear lotsa jokes, can't remember a one," Hal said.
"None at all?"
"Well, let's see. My Uncle Murrey, he tends bar down on Halsey Street. Hears lotsa jokes. Last week he came over, told me this one. Guy walks into a store. He asks the clerk: 'Got any dates?' The clerk says 'no.' Then the guy asks: 'got any nuts?' The clerk answers: 'Listen buddy, if I had nuts, I'd have dates!'"
Mitch looked at him, unamused.
Hal pointed to his groin. "Get it? If he had nuts, he'd have dates!"
"Yeah, yeah. I think we better forget about the jokes. Don’t worry, man! You’ll be fine!
Hal looked unconvinced. "Gee, I don't know, Mitch."
"I'm thinkin' about a New Year's Eve party," Mitch said. "My place."
"New Year's Eve! That's next week!"
"Marlene and Janet said OK."
"What about your folks?"
"Lonnie's drivin' 'em down to Virginia to visit family," Mitch said. "We'll have the whole place to ourselves. Just the four of us. Have ourselves a ball."
"Oh! One more thing," Mitch said. "First I'll pick you up. Then we drive over to Janet's. I'll go up and get her. She told her folks she's comin' over to my house, for a family party. Then...we go over to Marlene's place. You go up and get her."
Hal suddenly stopped walking. "Me! Didn't you say Marlene's dad packs a gun?"
"Well I can't get her! He'd probably shoot me before I get halfway up the stairs! C'mon, man, do it for your buddy."
"Jesus, Mitch..."
"Come on...What else you gonna be doin' New Year's Eve?" Mitch grabbed at Hal's crotch. "Messin' with li'l ol' Mister In-Between?"
The evening of December 31, 1952. A knock at the door of the Wollensky apartment. Marlene ran out of the bedroom, and opened the door. She was seventeen, buxom, with a mane of black hair and lively blue eyes.
“Hi, Hal! Right on time! Come in for a second. I’m almost done with my hair.”
Hal entered, looking around nervously, as though expecting disaster to strike at any moment.
“Who’s there?” a male voice growled. In came Mister Sheldon Wollensky, a man in his late forties, wearing a tux, brilliantly shined shoes, holding an unlit cigar in one hand. He was dapper, tough, like a retired middleweight.
“Daddy, this is my date tonight, Hal Krantz.”
Mister Wollensky eyed Hal up and down. He was suspicious of any male predator going out with his daughter. He reached out to shake Hal’s hand, holding it in an iron grip, and spoke in a voice that was calm, but laden with menace.
“Krantz? Your name is Krantz?”
“Yes, sir...”
“So where are you going tonight?”
“To a party, daddy,” interjected Marlene.
“I was asking him,” said Mister Wollensky, staring at Hal.
“Friends...they’re giving a party.”
“Friends? What friends?”
“Cousins of mine,” said Hal. “The Greenbergs. They have a house up on Osborne Terrace.”
Mister Wollensky released Hal’s hand. “Osborne Terrace. Nice neighborhood.”
“I’ve got to finish doing my hair,” said Marlene, retreating to the bedroom.
“Tell your mother to hurry it up,” said Mister Wollensky, glancing at his wristwatch. He turned to Hal again.
“So, Hal, where do you live?”
“Over on Belmont, just three blocks away.”
“Where on Belmont?”
“Five ten Belmont. Second floor.”
“Marlene tells me you play baseball.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In my day, I played football. The goyim and the schvartzes thought they could push a little Jewboy around. A few broken ribs later, they learned different.”
“Yes, sir...”
Mister Wollensky fixed him with a hard stare. “Never again, right?”
“Yes, sir...”
Marlene came out of the bedroom. “We have to go now Daddy.”
Mister Wollensky reached for his side pocket. Hal tensed, and wondered: is he going for his gun? Mister Wollensky pulled out a fat wad of money, and peeled off a twenty-dollar bill. He took a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled on the bill.
“Just in case, here’s the phone number of the Rainbow Room. We’re sitting at Longie Zwillman’s table.”
“Okay daddy,” said Marlene, taking the bill.
“I want you back here no later than one o’clock.”
“Don’t worry, daddy, I’ll be fine. I’ll be back by two.”
“One.”
Pleading, sweet-talking, Marlene caressed her father’s cheek. “Two?”
Softening, he said, “one-thirty. It’s a deal.”
Marlene hugged her father. Mister Wollensky put his arm around Marlene and stared at Hal. “This is precious cargo I’m entrusting to you.”
“Yes sir,” said Hal, as Marlene walked over to a wall mirror for a last-second touch up of her hair.
Coming closer to Hal, Mister Wollensky whispered, “She’s not here by one-thirty, I’ll be coming to see you, personally, at five-ten Belmont Avenue. Second floor, fershtay?”
“Yes sir” said Hal, frozen with fear.
Glancing at his watch, impatient, Mister Wollensky called out towards his wife in the bedroom, “Sheila! How much longer?” as Hal and Marlene dashed for the door.
A car radio played Errol Garner in a soaring piano solo of Lover. Mitch sat in the driver's seat of his tan 1941 Ford sedan. In the back seat was Janet Randolph, a black girl, age seventeen. She was tall and slender, with a shy smile.
Hal came running up to the car with Marlene. He opened the rear door and sat in the back, next to Janet; they eyed each other, smiling shyly. Marlene, sitting up front with Mitch, glanced back at Janet--they knew each other from school--and waved merrily.
Laughing, Marlene said, "When Hal came upstairs to get me, he was shaking!"
"Your dad gave me the third degree!”
“Don’t worry. I know how to get around him.”
“You do! But what about me?”
“I told him I was going out tonight with a nice Jewish boy” said Marlene, giggling.
Caressing Hal's cheek, Marlene said, "Such a nice Jewish boy!" She then reached over, dramatically, to Mitch, like a silent screen star. "If they do see thee, they will murder thee.”
Mitch placed his hand on his heart. "Alack, there lies more peril in thine eyes than twenty of their swords.”
"Mitch, I didn't know you like Shakespeare!" said Janet.
"Miss Emery had us readin' some lines in English class this week. I really dug it. Kinda like Marlene and me."
Marlene embraced Mitch, with an exaggerated flourish, and said: "Forbidden love!"
Hal and Janet, sitting quietly in back, eyed each other shyly.
"You look nice," Hal said.
"Thank you," she replied.
Silence. Hal groped for something else to say.
"Real nice."
"Thank you, Hal. You do, too."
Hal and Janet smiled at each other. They both appeared a bit relieved.
"At last, my love has come along. My lonely days are over. And life is like a song," sang Etta James on the phonograph. The Johnson family apartment was dimly lit. It was shortly before midnight. A half-empty bottle of Seagram's 7 Whiskey, bottles of 7-Up, and a dish of potato chips were on a coffee table.
"At last the skies above are blue..."
Mitch and Marlene--she had been drinking heavily--slow danced close together, "belly rub" style, gazing into each other's eyes. They laughed, and occasionally kissed. Several feet away, Hal and Janet also slow danced, not quite as close together. They were both nervous.
"What are your plans after graduation, Hal?" Janet asked.
"If the Army doesn't get me first, guess I'll go to Rutgers, right here in Newark. Can't afford to go away."
"It's really expensive," Janet said. My folks saved up a long time so my brother Malcolm could go to Howard. That's down in Washington."
"Yeah, I know. Jimmy Young, from the baseball team? He's going to Howard next year."
"Malcolm's studying to be a teacher. Nice steady job."
"What about you?"
"My dad says a girl has to be independent. I'm going to business school up in East Orange. Learn bookkeeping."
"I'm okay in English or history," Hal said. "But algebra? That's like Greek to me!"
Janet brightened. "I get straight A's in math. "I love dealing with numbers. When you work on a problem, and it comes out just perfect...it's as if the whole world makes sense!" She broke into a brilliant smile.
"You're so good in math," said Hal. "Tell me: how much is five q plus five q?"
"That's easy! Ten q!"
"You're velcome!" said Hal.
Janet opened her mouth, with delight. Hal was proud, and relieved, that he'd told a joke. "Actually, I heard that on the Milton Berle show. But it's exactly the way my grandma talks."
Janet giggled. "It's cute!"
"Tenk you!" Janet giggled again.
"Maybe if I have a problem with math I can see you after school sometime"
"Sure, any time," Janet said.
“Tenk you!” said Hal, evoking more giggles.
Marlene broke away momentarily from Mitch’s arms, took another swig of whiskey from her glass on the table, and returned to him.
“You gonna write to me when I go to spring training?”
“I’ll think about it,” she said, teasing him.
“You’re not gonna miss me?”
“Maybe…” she said, as Mitch tickled her. Marlene squirmed in his arms and tickled him back.
“When you’re a big star, you’ll probably forget all about me,” she said.
“Oh, no! I’ll send you an autographed photo, signed: ‘From Romeo to Juliet.’
“My Dad’ll love that!” she said.
“Hey, you can tell him it’s just my Florida tan!” They both laughed.
"Next April, I'm getting my driver's license," Hal said. "This guy in my neighborhood has a forty-seven Mercury convertible. Says he'll sell it to me cheap. He's buying a new model."
"Convertible. Sounds beautiful!" Janet said.
"It's dark blue. Nice leather seats. And a radio. I'm working after school, saving up. Maybe I could take you for a ride some day."
"Maybe."
“Janet?”
“Yes, Hal?”
“I...just want you to know...I really enjoy talking with you.”
“Tenk you!” she replied. They both laughed.
Hal and Janet looked over at Mitch and Marlene, on the sofa. They were quiet now, and kissing passionately. Hal rested his cheek against Janet's cheek. It felt hot to the touch. He wondered: Is my cheek burning like that, or hers? Hal pulled back and looked into Janet's eyes. They were lovely almond-shaped eyes, dark brown, glistening in the dim light. Hal tentatively kissed Janet on the lips. She responded. Hal rested his hand on Janet's small, firm breast. She kept kissing him. Hal slowly slid his hand down below Janet's stomach. She stopped him, and held his hand in hers.
"Uh-uh. Not there."
"Why not?"
"I'm saving that...for my honeymoon."
"What if the Russians drop the atomic bomb?" Hal asked. "There'll be nothing worth saving it for!"
Janet smiled sweetly, and looked into Hal's eyes. "When they drop the bomb, you give me a call. I'll be waiting by the phone."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Hal gently rested his hand back on Janet's breast. They continued slow dancing, and kissing. Suddenly, Janet glanced at her wristwatch, and stopped dancing. "My God, it's nearly midnight!" she said.
Janet rushed over to the radio, and turned it on. She moved along the dial, as Mitch turned off the phonograph. "...and here we are at the Rainbow Room in Rockefeller Center, ladies and gentlemen ... with Guy Lombardo and his Orchestra, to usher in the New Year. In just a few seconds it will be 1953! Let's count down...ten! nine! eight!"
All four of them joined in. "Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Hap-py New Year!" Hal and Janet, and Mitch and Marlene kissed, as Guy Lombardo's Orchestra played "Auld Lang Syne."
Suddenly, Marlene lurched towards the sofa, and vomited behind it. Mitch ran over, and looked. "Shit, Marlene! You puked all over my mom's carpet!"
Marlene, half sitting, half lying on the sofa, was totally bombed. Moaning, she rose weakly, and threw up again behind the sofa. "Shit!" Mitch yelled again.
Janet, like a take-charge mother, rushed over to Marlene. Then she began barking orders. "Mitch, get a bucket, with some soap and water. Got any coffee in the kitchen?"
"Yeah."
Glaring at Mitch, Janet said, "You know you gave her too much to drink..."
"Gave her! I told her to slow down!"
"Hal," Janet said, "you watch her while I get the coffee going." Janet and Mitch hurried into the kitchen. Hal sat next to Marlene on the sofa. Trying to comfort her, he took her hand.
"Oh, I wanna die," Marlene moaned. "I wanna die! Kill me, somebody, please! Kill me!"
\ "Marlene, if you're gonna puke again, please don't do it on me."
Marlene laughed. "Such a nice Jewish boy...Oh, I wanna die." She leaned over and threw up again behind the sofa, just as Mitch came rushing in with the pail and mop. Mitch slipped and nearly fell in the mess.
"Shit!" Mitch yelled. "Shit! Shit!"
Janet came in with the coffee. She sat with Marlene, who continued to moan, and helped her to sip the coffee. Looking at Hal, Janet said: "Soon as we clean up, and give her the coffee, I think we should take her home. I'd better be going, too."
"Yeah, I guess," Hal replied. Will I see you in school next week?"
"Sure."
"In April, when I get my car...maybe we could go for rides... into New York..."
"I'd like that," Janet said.
Mitch tapped Hal on the shoulder. Hal rose, and reluctantly moved away from Janet.
"The carpet...my mother's gonna kill me," Mitch said. "The whole fuckin' night's shot. We better take 'em home."
"Yeah, I guess...” Hal said half-heartedly, casting a doleful glance at Janet.
"Then we're goin' to...Times Square!"
"Times Square?" said Hal. "Now? You're fuckin' nuts."
"The night is young, and we're so beautiful!"
"Mitch, it's an hour's drive. By the time we clean up here, and drop off the girls, and get there, it'll be after two a.m."
"I don't give a shit, man. We're gonna get us some pussy, some qwif! some poon-tang!"
New Year's Day 1953. A darkened room in a rundown hotel near Times Square. The faint sounds of traffic from the street below were audible. The early morning sunlight peeked through a torn window shade. Mitch and Hal were uncomfortably sharing a small, squeaky bed. Hal began to giggle.
"What?" Mitch growled.
"I can't sleep with that noise outside. Mitch, did you fart?"
"Man, if I laid a fart, you'd need earplugs and a gas mask!"
"Well, I smell something weird."
"Must be your feet," Mitch said. "Did you take your socks off?"
Hal tossed, turned, and finally sat up. "Man, I think there's fleas in this bed."
"Maybe you got a case o' the crabs," Mitch said, grumpily. "Gotta get you some blue ointment."
"No, I think it's fleas. Now I know what they mean when they say 'fleabag hotel.'"
"We couldn't stay at no Waldorf," Mitch said. "All I had was eight bucks."
"Man, I'm gonna be in deep shit when I get home," Hal said. "I've never stayed out overnight like this."
"I was too sleepy to drive," Mitch said. "And since you don't have your license yet, little boy..."
Hal laughed. "Man, when we checked in last night, the guy at the desk looked at us like we're a coupla queers!"
"Fuck him. Probably a fag himself."