“ ‘The snow twisted and curled around his feet, throwing the young boy onto his back. Each time he tried to lift the bag of newspapers onto his shoulders the weight of the bag threw him off balance and the icy sidewalk threw him back on the ground.’ ”
“That’s you?” Cathy said, stretching her naked body out on the bed, her breasts swaying to one side as she reached for a cigarette on the bedside table. Cathy’s skin was pale, colored in spots with blotchy pink rashes, her body still retaining the plumpness of childhood while await-ing the voluptuousness of middle age.
“Ya,” Terry responded, smoke rising up into the blond curls that dangled down his forehead. “Did you figure that out all by yourself?” Butting out his cigarette, Terry sat up in the bed, his thin caved chest 12 hairless and his skin yellow like wet putty. A sheet was loosely draped over his bare midsection.
He continued, “ ‘The snow was coming down so hard it seemed as if the young boy operated inside a white bag. And then from outside the curtain of snow that fell over him, he heard a laugh. A great bellowing laugh. A roar.’ ”
Cathy slid over on her side, perpendicular to Terry, her head in his lap. She sucked on a cigarette, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed.
“ ‘The boy looked around.’ ”
“Why do you have to speak in the third person?” Cathy asked, two horns of smoke rising out of her nostrils.
Terry continued, ignoring her remark. “ ‘Between the curtains of snow, a large black face hovered. The boy almost swallowed his tongue.
He’d never seen a black person before. The rest of the figure emerged.
He was huge, a giant of a man-if indeed he was a man.
“ ‘ “Having some problems?” the large black man asked.
“ ‘ “I…” the boy began to respond.’
“Quit playing with my cock!” Terry barked at Cathy.
Cathy removed her hand from between Terry’s thighs and sucked peevishly on her cigarette. She muttered, “It didn’t bother you before.”
“We can fuck later,” Terry said. “I’d like to read this.” Terry took a deep breath. “I thought he was God,” Terry said.
“You thought a black man was God?”
Terry nodded and continued.
“ ‘The great black man lifted the bag of newspapers off the boy as he helped him to his feet. Then he helped the boy place the bag over his shoulders and sent him on his way. As the boy walked off into the distance, the black figure once again slid behind the curtain of snow. But still, through the snow and wind, the boy could hear the giant’s laughter.’ ”
“Why did you think he was God?” Cathy wondered when Terry’s mother would show up. “Sounds more like the grim reaper.”
“Something about him,” Terry replied. “Something bigger than life.”
“I don’t get it.” Cathy turned her head, her cigarette only inches away from Terry’s penis. She thought that if she concentrated she could make it stand up. “What’s a black guy doing out in the middle of a snowstorm?”
Terry sighed. “That’s the point, stupid!”
“Don’t call me stupid! I got an A in biology. What did you get, smart-ass?”
“Look, Cathy, there weren’t any black people living around here at the time. I mean none. The only black people I ever saw were the natives in the Tarzan movies. It was like this guy appeared out of nowhere. It was like he wasn’t real. A mirage.”
“You said that this was a true story,” Cathy pleaded.
“It was true. A big black guy did appear in the middle of a snowstorm while I was getting my papers. It was so weird. I never saw him again.”
“Never?”
Cathy passed her cigarette to Terry, who drew on it lightly. She blew smoke toward Terry’s penis that now rose beneath its tent.
“Never! I asked around. My friends thought I was nuts. Nobody had ever heard of any blacks living in the area. I figured he had to be God.
Anyway, I think it works for the story.”
Cathy shook her head.
“There are no giants.”
“I was a kid. He was huge. When someone is almost twice your size, he’s a giant.”
“Did you make this up or did it really happen? You’re always making stuff up, Terry. I never know what to believe.” Terry passed the cigarette back to Cathy.
“That’s exactly the way it happened. You can believe it or not. I don’t give a shit. It happened and it stuck in my head.”
“One more thing,” Cathy added, “God isn’t colored.”
“Why not?”
Cathy was silent for some moments. Terry stared up at the ceiling, smoke slipping out of his mouth in halos. Cathy didn’t want to disturb him when he was drifting off. It pissed him off. She wondered if she could make Terry come if she concentrated enough.
“It may have happened. Okay, it did happen exactly the way you said, but no one is going to believe that some dude who looked like Isaac Hayes appeared to you in a snowstorm. You can make him a huge guy dressed in solid black and forget about the color of his skin. Then it’s more believable.”
“But that isn’t the way it happened.” Terry sulked. He took Cathy’s cigarette and sucked on it. Why did she have to be so picky? “You think it would be better that way?”
Cathy nodded. Terry thought about it for some time. For a while Cathy remained silent before she asked Terry a question.
“Do you think I’m fat?” Cathy looked over her body.
“No,” Terry was getting very annoyed. “Why do girls always think that they’re fat?”
Cathy was silent. She was about to ask Terry if some other girl had asked him the question.
“Do you think I’m a slut?”
“What?” Terry thoughtlessly combed Cathy’s hair with his fingers. He was thinking about his story. Cathy repeated her question.
“I hate that word-slut,” he responded.
“Ya, but boys use it, don’t they?”
“Well, I don’t,” Terry said. “And if I did, I wouldn’t say it about you.”
“I don’t know.” Cathy sighed, retrieving her cigarette from Terry.
“Sometimes I think I’m some kind of freak.”
“Everybody feels that way. Only the real freaks think they’re normal.” Cathy was quiet for a moment before she sat up and butted her cigarette out in the nearby ashtray.
“Do you think it’s natural to like sex so much?” she said, rolling over and kissing Terry on the stomach, then adding, “for a girl, I mean.” Terry laughed. “How would I know?” He placed the sheets of paper on the nearby table. His erect penis slipped from the sheet into the open air.
“Don’t your friends talk about girls?” Cathy asked, looking indifferently now at his penis.
“Sure, but what do they know? Anyway, you can’t believe anything those idiots say. Wiggy complains that when he gets an erection it doesn’t go away for hours. He skipped school one day because he couldn’t get the thing to lay down flat.”
“You’re kidding,” Cathy said with a giggle, her fingers playing with Terry’s pubic hairs.
“Hard in his hands for hours,” Terry responded, rubbing the palm of his hand over one of Cathy’s nipples. “The guy is full of shit. Him and Frank are still virgins, but they won’t admit it. Well, Wiggy won’t admit it. Do you think your mom likes being with your dad?” Cathy screwed up her face. “I don’t even like to think about it. Besides, they’re always yelling at each other. I wouldn’t blame my dad if he was screwing around on my mom. She is such a bitch! How about your mom? She always seems to have a new boyfriend.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Terry said. “Maybe I should just make the guy a dark figure, dressed in black. Ya, that might work better. More believable.”
Cathy was silent for several moments. Terry looked down at her.
“Now what?”
“I have a history assignment this Friday. Where am I going to find information about the War of 1812?”
“Jesus!” Terry laughed, slapping his forehead.
Cathy giggled and reached for Terry’s penis.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Terry grinned.
Cathy giggled. “My little soldier is at attention. Let me give him a kiss.”
Terry grabbed her wrist and listened.
“What?”
“Shit! It’s my mother.”
The two lovers scrambled to their feet and started pulling on their clothes.
“I thought you said she wouldn’t be back for hours,” Cathy cried, throwing her bra and panties into her purse as she pulled on a sweater and jeans.
Precautions
“What were you two doing up in your room?” Mary asked, hands on her hips, standing in the frame of the kitchen door.
“Nothing,” Terry said, standing by the counter and making himself a peanut butter sandwich. He poured himself a glass of milk. The tap dripped. A centipede scurried unnoticed up the side of the sink and slid behind the refrigerator. Terry hated skim milk but there was nothing else to drink.
“Your girlfriend sure took off in a hurry.”
“She has a history assignment.” Terry made a face. “This stuff tastes like mucus.”
“Don’t get that little slut pregnant. Her parents may be as rich as skunks but you know who’ll get left holding the bag. I’m not up to raising another rug rat.”
“She’s not a slut,” Terry barked. He grabbed his sandwich and milk and slumped down in a chair by the table.
Mary stepped over to the refrigerator.
“It’s not easy raising a teenage boy by yourself,” she said, opening the refrigerator door. “God, at least you’re not a girl. But please, Terry, for my sake, keep it in your pants.”
“How can you talk like that to your son?”
Mary smirked. “Give me a break, Terry. I was a kid myself.” 16
“She ain’t a slut,” Terry muttered. His sandwich stuck to the roof of his mouth. He took a swallow of milk. “Why do you have to use words like that?”
“I can’t believe her parents bought her a car,” Mary continued, glancing back over her shoulder. “Who has that kind of money? It’s a bed on wheels. What can they be thinking? No daughter of mine would have her own car, at least not until she’d graduated from high school. You be careful with that girl. I don’t want you catching anything.” Mary grabbed the sliced ham, lettuce, and mayonnaise and placed them on the counter. “Shit!” she cried, opening the breadbox. “You ate the last two slices of bread.”
Terry bowed his head and muttered, “What am I supposed to do, starve?”
“I guess I can use these hot dog buns. They’ll get a big laugh at the office. I can hear the wiener jokes now.” She made her sandwich, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and placed it in a paper lunch bag with an apple. “I may be home late tomorrow night, Terrence. I don’t want to come home and find that girl in my bed again. God, I’ll have to change the sheets.
You could at least use your own room. I hope that you’re using precautions.”
“I thought you were going to come and watch me play soccer.” Terry looked up at his mother.
“Oh shit! Is that tomorrow night? I’m sorry. But we really need the extra money. There’s Kraft dinner in the cupboards. And hot dogs. This is the last bun. Improvise.”
“Are you going to the Zig Zag again?”
“I might.”
Terry finished eating his sandwich. “Why do you have to hang out there?”
“Are you afraid that I’ll catch you and your friends drinking there-and don’t tell me that’s never happened. I’ve talked to Jack and told him that you fellas are underage. He’s seen your photograph. Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with the Zig Zag except maybe the name.
It’s a quite respectable place. And I need to unwind. You’re not much company. You need a haircut.”
“There was a call from the dentist. You’ve got an appointment next Tuesday at seven.”
“Shit! I’ll have to cancel. If Brennan weren’t such a cheap prick we’d have a dental plan. When was the last time you saw the dentist?”
“I’ll need some money,” Terry responded. “There’s a class trip to the art gallery next week.”
“Art gallery! What the hell does art have to do with education?” A Strange Hobby
“And you call that a hobby?” Mary laughed. She put her gin down on the bar and reached for a cigarette. The tall dark gentleman beside her smiled with his gallows face, and flicked out a lighter to light the cigarette waiting in her lips. She sucked the flame into her long white cigarette. He slipped his lighter back into his pocket like a gunslinger, adjusted his bow tie, and gestured to the bartender for another round. Mary liked the way he looked. A man dressed in black had always appealed to her. And he was tall. God, he must be seven feet. Mary glanced at his hands and smiled. His name was Hank. Why doesn’t he use Henry?
Hank turned and smiled at her. “Detroit won the Stanley Cup in 1950 against the Rangers who had to play all their home games at Maple Leaf Gardens. The circus had taken over Madison Square Garden in New York. Imagine not being able to play your home games at home.”
“I don’t know much about sports, Hank,” Mary confessed, smoke curling seductively out of her lips.
Hank smiled, his mouth salivating as he glanced at the cleavage in Mary’s dress.
“What is it that you find so interesting about 1950?” Mary asked, leaning on her elbow as she stared up into the dark deep eyes of her compan-ion. How can anyone’s eyes be that blue?
Hank shrugged his shoulders and laughed. “I think everyone should know something about something and I chose the year 1950. You wouldn’t have thought it was much of a year. Just another number. But a lot happened. Maybe a lot always happens.”
“Well,” Mary smiled, “I find it very interesting. Tell me more.”
“Rex Ingram died in 1950. He was the director who reputedly discovered Rudolph Valentino. He directed the great screen idol in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. His family name was Hitchcock but he adop-ted his mother’s name. Although he was married it was rumored that he was gay. His death was suspicious. Some say he was murdered.”
“Oh my!” Mary gasped, tapping her cigarette gently on her ashtray.
“Murdered! Why is it that people’s lives are so much more interesting after you find out that they were murdered?” 18
“It was hushed up. Rumor had it that William Randolph Hearst murdered him in a fit of jealousy, thinking that Ingram was having an affair with Hearst’s mistress.”
“Who was William Randolph Hearst?”
“One of the most powerful men in America. He owned a string of tabloid newspapers.”
“And no one was charged!”
“It happens. People disappear under suspicious circumstances all the time and no one does anything about it.”
In the background a Billie Holiday song about strange fruit played.
The dishwasher under the bar changed gears. A package of cigarettes tumbled down inside the cigarette machine.
“My husband disappeared,” Mary said, glancing over her shoulder to see who had bought cigarettes.