18 -- Return to My Way
Our return to the My Way was
something of an anti climax.
I just
showed up with my notebooks and Wolfman said nothing about my being there, even
though as it turned out, Peggy was dancing.
She was a
different story.
When she
got up onto the stage and saw me, she gave me one of those: “What the hell are
YOU doing here?” looks.
I tried to
ignore it. But Peggy wasn’t about to be ignored – even though she was working
three of us at the time for drinks.
She
eventually sat down with a guy across the bar from me between her sets,
glancing at me often and laughing overly loudly, making a point of touching the
man she was drinking with.
I suppose
this was aimed at making me jealous.
I didn’t
exactly feel jealous, but certainly uncomfortable.
I didn’t
know what my status was with Peggy and felt a little awkward paying attention
to the other dancer.
So I just
kept my nose in my notebook.
This seemed
to annoy Peggy all the more. So when she got back up on the state, she didn’t
dance. She stood over and an pointed down at me.
“Hey, look
everybody,” she yelled. “Al’s doing his homework.”
This was
the last thing I needed on my first night being back after being banned. I
looked towards Wolfman who glared at me through his usual cloud of cigar smoke.
“Did I do
something wrong?” I asked Peggy.
She didn’t
answer. She just smiled, and then started to dance.
She was so
smug, it stung.
But Wolfman
continued to stare at me. So finally, I packed up my notebook and left, vowing
not to return on a night when Peggy was dancing.
************
So I’m sitting on my bed at home
thinking the whole thing was over – that whatever sentiment I expressed towards
Peggy was wasted and that I was better off not dealing with the enraged
character I woke up the previous morning or the vindictive one I saw last night
at the club – when the phone rings with Peggy on the other end of the line.
“When are
you picking me up?” she asked.
“What are
you talking bout?”
“We have a
date to go to the movies, remember? And you’d better hurry, the first show
starts at
She was off
the line before I could respond.
So I got
dressed.
I was more
than a little worried about money. Strip clubs were not cheap, and I had long
ago out stripped the budget I had set aside for a once-a-week excursion, diping
into funds I needed for utilities, phone, rent and gasoline.
The music
roared from the top floor of the building even as I entered the front door at
the bottom, growing more unbearably deafening with each flight of stairs I
climbed.
I didn’t
bother to knock; I just turned the door handle and went in.
She halted
in mid-stride in the middle of the kitchen, her drink in one hand, the makings
still spread across the table as a cigarette smoldered in her other hand.
She looked
stunned at seeing me.
“What are
you doing here?” she asked, her question just barely decernible under the
unbearable decipals of her music.
“You asked
me to come,” I shouted.
“I did?”
“On the
telephone. You said something about a movie.”
“I guess I
did,” she said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette and an even deeper drag on
her drink. “You’re early.”
“You said I
should hurry, so I did.”
“Well,
you’re going to have to wait; I’m unwinding.”
“Could you
– turn down the music?”
“Not yet. I
need it to unwind. It won’t take long.”
“Are you
like this everyday?”
“Only when
I work my day job. I hate it.”
“Why don’t
you get a new job?”
“Why don’t
you mind your own business?” she shouted, then became to pace the room,
apparently picking up from where she left off prior to my arrival, circling the
table as I eased passed her to the far side of the room and settled near the
kitchen windows. I didn’t look too closely at the paraphernalia on the top of
her dresser just inside the broom door – a mirror, razor and straw, and the
residue of white powder. Instead, I turned and looked outside, passed the flag
on the fire escape at the dark city below and the shadowy shapes that made
their way of the dark doorways into the twilight.
A sharp
knock came on the door, drawing my attention in that direction.
Peggy
stopped mid-stride, glancing sharply at me, one painted eye brow arched high up
on her forehead.
` “Did you
bring someone with you?” she asked, making the question sound like an
accusation.
“I wouldn’t
do anything like that,” I said. “Maybe it’s one of your neighbors complained
about the volume of music?”
“My
neighbors don’t complain,” Peggy said, peering through the peep hole. “They
know better.”
Then she
spoke at the door.
“Who the
hell is it?” She asked.
I heard
only the muffled reply, but not what was said.
“Damn,”
Peggy hissed and opened the door. “What do you want?”
Again came
the muffled response.
Peggy shook
her head. “Not now, I have company. You’ll have to come back.”
The voice
in the hall grew shriller.
“I don’t
care,” Peggy said, and shut the door.
Then she
came over and sat next to me on the window sill.
“An old
romance?” I asked.
“Be real. I
have better taste than that,” she said. “It’s merely business.”
“What kind
of business?”
“Don’t you
worry about it. You’re supposed to be having run tonight, remember? Stop
frowning and let me get ready.”
************
Downstairs
in the vestibule, Peggy paused to pull out the circulars from her mailbox,
letting them fall on the tiled floor.
“I hate
this junk,” she said. “I get sick of seeing it in my box. I get the whole
building’s crap.”
I looked at
the pile on the floor.
“What if
you get a real letter?” I asked.
“I never
get real mail here,” she said. “I have it sent to my mother’s place – which
reminds me, we have to stop there on our way to the threater.”
“Do we have
time?”
“I’ll just
run in and out, don’t worry.”
I led her
to my car which I had cleared of newspapers and empty coffee cups just for the
occasion.
She took no
notice, bearing the same look of distaste she had on her previous trip,
possibly because she disapproved of my driving a Japanese car.
“I hope we
don’t have any last minute turns this time,” I said.
“Just
drive,” she said, directing me back down Harrison Avenue to the military
monument at Midland Avenue in Garfield and then right on Midland towards the far
side of Garfield where it abbuted what was once called East Paterson – and
landscapt thick with my grandmother’s German roots, though the far her sister
ahd lived on had long vanished to post World War II housing.
We turned
left on Lanza and through the neighborhood Peggy had grown up in, though I was
unaware of the fact at the time, passing her father’s house – a class two
family with a large open lot beside it, a tavern next to that and a Polish deli
across the street that gave out coffee free on Sundays. Generations had resided
here, nestled into this tiny community
with a local grammar school a block away, a local middle school a few blocks
the other way and a sizeable park just beyond that.
Peggy’s
mother lived a few blocks down in an odd brick apartment building that seemed
to have no front door and tiny windows that made it look more like a fortress
than a place to live.
“Pull over
here,” Peggy directed when we had riched the corner of Lanza and Ray, a tan
brick church looming ominously on the far
corner.
I complied,
then waited until she got out to ask, “Don’t be too long or we’ll miss the
movie.”
“Just park
the car,” she said, leaning down to look at me through the open door.
“But I
thought you said you were going to run in and out?”
“Must you
hold me to every Goddamn thing I say?” she asked. “Just park the car. I might
be longer than a few minutes, and I wouldn’t want to get you peeved because you
have to wait.”
“You mean
I’m coming in?”
“That’s the
idea, Alfred. Or do you have a problem with meeting my mother?”
I glanced
at the building, some odd premonition coming over me – and ill feeling I had no
way to justify.
“Well?”
Peggy asked sharply.
“No, I have
no problem meeting your mother or any body else,” I said.
“Then come
on. I don’t want to be here all night.”
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