In Trouble (11 page)

I waited outside. Stevie burst through the front door of the building and jumped the stoop steps down to the sidewalk. He turned back and grinned. “Hot night, hot lips?”

“I’m going to strangle you!”

And of course Paul arrived at exactly that moment.

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Stevie ran down the street, but not before yelling,

“Hey Paul, hot night, hot lips!”

“Good idea!” Paul yelled back.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid!” I headed for the corner.

“Hey, he’s just a kid,” Paul said, catching up with me.

“No excuse!”

He pulled a clipping from his pocket. “I say the new Humphrey Bogart movie,
The Harder They Fall
. The boxing world. What do you think?”

I looked away.

“I know you don’t like watching people bash each other around, but it’s about—”

I didn’t hear what it was about. The harder they fall.

Me and Elaine.

I always have a crumpled tissue in my pocket. After a wipe and a blow, I tossed it in the garbage can on the next street corner.

Paul watched me closely. “What’s happening?” he said.

“Nothing. You know. Fragile emotions. Girl things.” I tried to laugh.

“Okay.” He sounded relieved. “So, what do you think about Bogart? The review says he and Rod Steiger are great.”

“Why not?”

We walked to the Loew’s Palace in silence, and that’s something else I like about Paul. We don’t feel uncomfortable if we don’t feel like talking. Inside the theater, 119

I went for the seats and he stood on line for popcorn. It was as much of a tradition as we had after going to seven movies. The balcony was where kids went to neck and smoke. I picked two seats in the middle of the orchestra.

I watched Paul as he came down the aisle. He was tall and thin, but nothing else like the Other One. Nothing at all.

The theater darkened, and we shared the popcorn.

Newsreel. Coming attractions. I love everything on the big screen. Once those lights go down I’m a happy person.

But not tonight. I kept stealing glances at Paul. He’s a good guy, a Jimmy Stewart. I think. Could he ever do something like . . . what happened?

It wasn’t a fair question. Paul’s been my friend. I didn’t know the Other One. I still can’t say his name, not even to myself. The Creep. And look at Neil. He won’t talk to Elaine. Do you ever really know someone?

The Harder They Fall
was bleak. Greed, power, and corruption big-time, with the syndicate fixing boxing matches. Bogart, an out-of-work sportswriter, was hired to make a weak fighter sound like the menace of the West-ern world. The crisis: what if you’ve done such a slick job both the world and the fighter himself believe he is that tough? You know he’s got a powder-puff punch, and because of you he’s going up against a killer. What do you do then?

The fight scenes were brutal. Black and white is more real than color.

120

Like me right now, black and white.

Long shot. The Girl walks down city street. Sun casts strong shadows. Girl is smiling. Man leans against stoop railing. Cleans his nails with a penknife. Whistles a tuneless tune. Says something to the Girl. Camera moves in to close-up of her face. Open, trusting. Camera pans over to the Man. He speaks, but traffic horns drown out the sound. Man beckons Girl up the stairs.

Screen goes black.

“The End” flashed on the big screen. What a mess I am.
The Harder They Fall
could be my title.
A Woman
with Dark Secrets
next best. “Melodramatic” they’d say.

Right. “Unbelievable storyline,” they’d say. Wrong.

Autobiographical.

We headed for Jimmy’s soda fountain, where we sat in a booth and talked about the movie, the
Record
, classes, the Dodgers and the Giants. Nothing personal.

Safe.

The counter boy came over for the order.

“White and black soda,” I said.

Paul smiled. “Black and white,” he ordered for himself. He grinned at me. “You’re the only person I’ve ever heard order it that way.”

The counter boy nodded. “Unique,” he said, flipping his pad closed.

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“I like chocolate ice cream and vanilla soda better than the other way around.”

“Of course.” Paul nodded solemnly.

“I’m not trying to be different.” I started to cry.

“Fragile emotions still?” Paul said.

I cried some more.

He moved over to my side of the booth and put his arm around my shoulders.

“Listen,” he said, “it can’t be that bad. I’ll give you an extension till mid-next week.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the soda.

“Okay, I know,” he said. “It’s not that. But an extended deadline can’t hurt.”

I sat up and tried to read him. His eyes were a deep brown. Warm.

“You’re my friend, right?”

“What is this, you need a notarized . . .” The look on my face must have stopped him. “Hey, always.” He took my hand and waited.

I pinched the top of the straw. Where do I start?

“You know my cousin Lois.” I didn’t wait for an answer or look at him, and I knew he wouldn’t say anything.

He’d wait for me, let me go at my own pace. He held my hand a little tighter, that was all.

“She’s got lots of friends, she lives in Greenwich Village, and I went to visit to find out . . .” Help! This started with Elaine. Do I tell him? “You see, it’s . . . it’s very complicated,” I said in a low voice.

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I didn’t consciously think
Either I trust him or I stop
, but I must have decided. I pulled my hand away and faced the empty side of the booth. I gripped the soda glass in both hands. The cold was numbing.

“Elaine is pregnant.”

Paul and Elaine had become friends, but only because of me. When Dad was arrested, almost nobody sat with me in the cafeteria. They did.

After a long silence he asked, “Is she okay?” I slumped against the booth. If he’d have said “No way!” I would have pushed him off the seat and gotten out of there as fast as I could.

“Yeah, she’s fine . . . no, she’s not . . . I don’t know.” My mouth was dry. I had given away Elaine’s biggest secret, and to a boy.

“She wasn’t attacked, was she?”

I wanted to scream, I WAS ATTACKED!

“No. It was her boyfriend, and now he won’t talk to her.”

“What’s she going to do?”

“They’re making her have the baby and give it away,” I said. “Her parents. They’re making her.” My voice cracked.

Paul put his arm around me again. This time I leaned back into his shoulder.

“So that’s why you asked about those homes.” I nodded and blew my nose.

I started to cry again. “Niagara Falls,” I blubbered.

“My grandma says I’m a regular Niagara Falls.” 123

We sat there together on the same side of the booth, like a movie couple.

And then I told him about me. In one long whoosh with tears, hiccups, shaking.

“
I was attacked
.” My voice was almost a whisper, but I knew he’d heard me because he pulled his arm away.

When I looked up, his mouth was open and his back rigid.

Scarlet Letter judgment?

“My cousin’s friend . . .” I almost choked on the word

“took me to a gallery opening. And there was wine. Too much wine.” I put my hands over my mouth. What must Paul think?

He touched my shoulder.

“I tried to stop him, I tried, but he didn’t listen, he wouldn’t stop!”

And that’s when Paul gave me a hug.

124

22.

Carol waited for me at the silverware bins. She pointed to a table in the back against the wall. Georgina and Kay were already there.

“Seems like weeks since you ate with us. It’s the newspaper column, right?”

I nodded. “Tons of
Record
work.” The thing about Carol is that if something sounds real she believes it. With my new position she accepted without question that I was busy.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she said.

Matter-of-fact can be comforting. We headed for the back table.

“Long lost!”

“Found at last!”

“Glad to be here!” I grinned. In truth I was mixed, but chatter was a great distractor.

125

“You missed me and Herbie in breakup number four,” Kay said.

I stared at her. “But you seem so cheerful.” Georgina snorted. “They’re back. The break lasted all of forty-five seconds. Question: when is a breakup not a breakup?” She pointed at Kay.

I groaned.

“It lasted a day and a half,” Carol said. She dug into the chicken pot pie, always happy to share facts.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Come on, Jamie. The usual fight.” Georgina never had much patience for the Kay-and-Herbie Wars.

“Some friend you are,” Kay said. “If I didn’t like you, I really wouldn’t like you.”

If the talk stays like this, I can handle it.

Kay sat across from me and leaned forward. “It may seem like same-old same-old to her,” she gestured toward Georgina, “but each time Herbie ups the pressure a little, it gets harder to say no.”

Georgina sighed. “I suppose.”

I’d said no, the bastard, I’d said no!

I scrambled. “What else is new?”

“I’m going to take the practice SAT,” Carol said.

“After the last Regents, Mr. Morabito said he’d do a test run. Why not, I figure.”

“Me too,” Georgina said. “And you, Jamie?”

“Hey, if you guys think it’s a good idea.” Georgina turned to face me. “You were gung ho about 126

getting into a good school and going away. Still?”

“Hey, give a girl a break. It’s curse cramp time.” I’ll grab at any excuse.

“Midol’s the only thing that helps me,” she said. “Anyway, you have to sign up for the session.” She went back to her apple pie.

“Hot-water bottle for me,” Carol said.

Georgina looked at her. “And you’re the practical one?

What’s she supposed to do in school? Sit with a hot-water bottle?” She turned to me. “I’ve got Midol with me if you want some.”

My cramps weren’t of lasting interest. They talked on about the SAT session—they’d all signed up and assumed I would—then summer vacation plans and college sororities Georgina had heard about from her brother. I murmured something now and then; most of the time I was silent due to “cramps.”

“Do you want to take some Midol for later?” Georgina asked.

“Midol?” For a moment I’d forgotten. “Sure, that’d be great.”

I wrapped the pills in a napkin. We left the caf as the first bell rang. Ten minutes to class.

I had a calendar pasted on the inside of my locker door. It was the only way I could keep track of my schedule. Chemistry now. My bag was behind the chem book. I reached to put the pills away. Nice of Georgina. She didn’t have many left. I glanced at the calendar. When’s my article due?

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Due? DUE!

I’d been so focused on making it through each day, I hadn’t noticed. I turned back to last month. The page tore but I held the edges together. I always make a small inked-in triangle on the date I get my period. Upper right-hand corner. I’m not exactly regular, but always within three or four days. I never have missed. Where was the last triangle? I flipped the pages. There it was. Forward. Two months plus late? No! Please, no!

I opened the door of the main office. The assistant behind the desk looked up.

“Yes?”

“Is Nurse Barclay in?”

“Name?”

“Jamie Morse.”

She pointed to the bench. “Wait.” She disappeared into the inner sanctum.

The door opened and she motioned to me. Nurse Barclay was behind her desk at the end of the room. She was typing and didn’t look up.

“The problem?”

“Can I have a pass to go home? I’ve got really bad cramps,” I said. “They’re making me nauseous, and they’re getting worse.” I rubbed my stomach.

“Better cramps than not,” she said, continuing to type.

128

23.

No one was home when I unlocked the front door. The calendar in my room—I looked for the last triangle. How did so much time pass since . . . and I didn’t notice?

I tapped my heart as I counted the days. This cannot be right. I couldn’t be. Please-tap-No-tap-Please-tap-No-tap-Please-NO!

Grandma was at the Bronx Symphony Orchestra’s free concert. She’d talked about it all morning. I ran to her room, the farthest from the front door. A hundred miles farther would have been good. A hundred miles underground even better. A hundred miles anywhere. Please-tap-No!

Grandma’s phone sat on the night table next to her bed, dust-free. She hated dust. She took it as a personal challenge that it came back every few days. And then I started shaking.

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I knew Lois’s number by heart. AG 3-1940. My nail scraped the bottom as I turned the dial. Lois had laughed when I told her it was easy to remember. AGGRAVATION, and 3-1940 is my birthday.

Rings into infinity.

“Lois? It’s me. Jamie. Yeah, I . . . no . . . yes, I did get the . . . no, I . . . yes . . . she told me you’d called . . . see, but, . . . Him? No, he wouldn’t . . . you didn’t give him my number? . . . sure I believe . . . no, you see . . .” She kept saying I should have called, I should have done this, I should have done that. I should have, I should have, I should have . . .

“You knew him. You’re my cousin! He . . . he raped me . . . and I . . . I missed my period.” Simple, horrible sentences.

I heard her breathing.

“Jamie, what are you saying? You . . . he . . . why didn’t you tell me?”

I stared at the phone.

Her voice cracked. “You don’t have too much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“To get it done. Under three months. Sometimes two and a half. That’s it.”

Please. No. Please. No.

“Jamie, are you there? Will your mother help? Jamie?

Talk to me. Jamie!”

I hung up.

My heart pounded. I started to sweat. I went to my 130

room and closed the door. There are no locks. I wish there were locks, oh, I wish there were locks.