And the broadâs treated me pretty good considering everything. Sheâs a pain in the ass sometimes, but Iâm used to her. Weâre all right, I guess.â
Willy stopped talking. He made me smileâso phlegmatic, unruffled by poverty and frustration. His dream was the permanent euphoria of narcotics and to be left alone. He would stumble along, accept the parole officerâs indignities, incarceration being worse, live with his shrewish wife in patience, and he might finish five years parole.
âLetâs stop and see Mary,â he said. âSheâll groove on seeing you.â
âItâs 3:30 in the morning.â
âShe wonât give a fuck if we wake her up. Sheâs used to it.â
Mary Gambesi lived two miles from her sister and brother-in-law. Willy turned down an alley in the lower middle-class suburb and switched off the headlights. âShe lives in the back.â
Willy cut the motor and glided to a halt. Tiptoeing, our shoes nonetheless scrunching on gravel, we moved through extreme darkness to a darker bungalow. Willy knew his way. He rapped his knuckles against a window. A dog yipped nearby, aroused by the sound. A dozen canine voices instantly joined in chorus.
âNow some fool will call the police about a prowler. Sonofabitch.â Willy rapped harder.
The windowshade fluttered; a pale, featureless face appeared. âIs that you, Willy?â
âYeah, itâs me ⦠your old faithful brother-in-law.â
âIs that Max with you?â
âThatâs him.â Willy turned to me. âSelma mustâve called.â
We trampled through a flower bed and around the corner of the building. Willy muttered curses at the yelping dogs. Mary waited until the door was closed before turning on the lights. She held a flannel housecoat tight around her throat with one hand. She put the other to her mouth at sight of me. The gesture was so dramatic that it had to be spontaneous. âSelma called and told me, but I canât believe it.â
âLazarus risen,â I said. âEverybody gets out some day, parole or pine box.â I could see that time had been gentle with her. Even barefoot, hair in curlers, she looked no more than eighteen. She waited for my appraisal, smiling softly. We shared a bond of affection.
âYou havenât aged a day,â I said.
She made a deprecatory gesture; she was unaccustomed to compliments. âSit down,â she said. âIâll be right back.â She wanted to put on slippers and close the doors to the childrenâs room. She asked us to be quiet.
âYou two got somethinâ goinâ,â Willy said. âWhy donât you pull her? Sheâs a thoroughbred and sheâs free. Joe and her are all over.â
âSheâs still Joeâs old lady as far as Iâm concerned. And I dig her in a different way, anyway.â
âIf you really want to straighten up, sheâs perfect for you. I know you dig them stallion blondes, but youâve gotta be on top for that. For someone to stick with you, ainât none betterân Mary. Sheâs almost too fuckinâ sweet to be real.â
âMaybe sheâs too sweet for me.â
Mary returned at that moment, hair brushed out. The vast black mane tumbled over her shoulders. Again I was struck with how young she looked. âDonât you ever age?â I asked.
âI pluck out the gray hair,â She laughed, coloring.
âIf I did that Iâd be bald.â
âI noticed ⦠but you look distinguished.â
âYou still know how to make a fella feel good.â
She blurted suddenly: âOh, Max, Iâm so glad youâre free. I just hope you can stay out and enjoy life for a change.â The gust of emotion made her blush. She turned to Willy. âDo you have any cigarettes? I know Max doesnât smoke.â
âJust cigars,â I said.
âSmelly
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