A Deadly Affair (4 page)

“Probably thanking me for the money,” I said, gently. I sent Mama $25 every month and a week later would receive a painfully written note of thanks. A formal note, which she had certainly copied from someplace. Writing was hard for Mama. I kept on eating, glad Helen had changed the subject, because a certain fierceness had come into her eyes, which meant a big fight. While I would never admit it to Helen, at times I am afraid of her. What I mean is, while she is a most intelligent girl, she can not understand—not being Spanish—some of my way of thinking. When she was swollen with Henry I once rubbed her belly with talcum powder, explained it would make Henry’s skin white. Louisa’s mother once told me that. Helen nearly tore my head off with the anger of her words. How could I explain that even if I do not really believe in such old customs and nonsense, still, what is there to lose for trying?”

Helen came around the table, walking tall and strong. Kissing my neck she said, “First Miguel upsets you, then I am shouting … and you must be so tired. But we have to move. Soon Henry will be walking and we will have more children … but not in one room.”

“There is time for another child.” (I never wanted a big family.)

“About that, we will see. Housing is so damn cruel and frustrating. An application for a project is like making a bet—nothing happens. The few vancancies advertised in the papers which we can afford …”

“Are always ‘taken’ when a Latin comes around,” I finished, fondling her hair.

“And you never report them to the housing authorities, or let me,” Helen said, stroking my neck. “You’re tired, and discouraged. Let us buy Harry’s house. It’s far too expensive but we can rent out the top floor …”

“So the neighbors can say, ‘See, Spanish move in and start the first rooming housing on the street?’ Is that what you want?” I was so excited it wasn’t until I saw the troubled look on her face I realized I had lapsed into Spanish. I asked in English, “Helen, is that what you want?”

“All I want is for us to get out of here, Joe. I don’t give a thick damn about any neighbors, or that May. I’ll get a job and together we can manage the rent.”

“You will not! I will take another job at night. I will not have my son dragged up by a strange woman.”

She closed my mouth with a kiss. “At the moment since we’ve neither the money or the house, why fight?” Helen asked, her wonderful lips moving against mine as she spoke, exciting me.

Kissing her back I said, “Here I talk my head off without even telling you what happened to Harry today. Also, what do you think of my becoming a policeman?”

“A cop?” She straightened up. “I don’t think I’d like it. I’d worry. Joe, whatever gave you such an idea?”

“Talking to a detective in the police station who told me …”

“Joe, you were in a police house?”

Reaching up, I ran a finger over her nose. “Take the worry from your angel face. With this stupid Miguel business, I’ve had no chance to explain about Harry’s disappearing,” I said, and told her all that had happened. I even drew a rough plan of the handball courts, the fence, and the entrance where I had waited … the empty street. My smart Helen began questioning me much as London had, proving what a fine head she has, for a woman.

She was sure there had to be a connection between the old man sunning himself and Harry. That the folded money had been some sort of signal. Then Helen decided Harry
must
have climbed the fence. She switched to a new theory—that he had done it to show off for “a passing girl.”

I knew she didn’t think much of Harry because he went with Louisa, and I countered with, “But like I told London, if he wanted to go with a girl, why not tell me? Why leave his wallet and keys behind?”

“Suppose a passing girl calls him fatso, says he’s too old to be playing ball? Wouldn’t he be the type to prove himself by climbing the fence after her, follow her right to her bed?”

I shook my head. “Even if had happened that way, in a half hour, an hour Harry would have been at the garage for his keys.”

“And what if in this girl’s room he found trouble—her husband?” Helen asked.

I agreed this was a new idea, but when I went on to tell her what London had said about the number goons, Helen changed her mind again, like a woman, was sure
that
was the answer. The goons saw us playing, climbed the fence, were waiting for Harry on the other court.

“No, no,” I said, patiently. “I had chased the ball over to the other court a few minutes before and it was empty. Secondly, if goons did see us, why did they not come through the playgrounds, knowing they had us trapped, unarmed?”

“They didn’t want you to witness it. In fact, perhaps this old sun-bather was a finger man for the thugs?”

“Honey, if somebody had attacked Harry, I would have heard it …”

“Over the noise of the drilling?” Helen cut in.

“Well, no, but if anything like that had happened, how did the gangsters get out with Harry? They certainly could not have climbed the fence holding him!”

We keep arguing, both of us love a good discussion, until Henry awoke for his bottle, and that ended it.

Changing his diapers, I asked Helen what was on TV for the night but she asked, “Joe, what are you going to do about Harry?”

“Me? I’ve already done what I can; reported it to the police.”

“You know I have no use for the slob, but he did go out of his way to offer us his house. Shows he has a decent side. Suppose he’s hurt and alone, or in trouble?”

“Honey, you know the old gag about two
blancos
who were killing each other and a
Latino
passing by who tried to stop the fight? When a cop came running up he immediately whacked the
Latino
across the head with his club and asked the other two, ‘What did
he
do to you?’ “Even if I did wish to be involved, I do not know what else I can do.”

“Why not phone his house?”

I tickled Henry’s tiny feet and he made a goo-goo noise of enjoyment. “Over the phone I might have to explain things to his wife and … I could go up there, see if Harry is home. Also I was thinking of seeing Louisa. She may know something that …”

“All she knows is to make babies!”

“You are too hard on her. She is trapped, like all of us.”

“Joe, the real troubles are real enough, so don’t make like only Puerto Ricans are getting their prat kicked! No
blanco
made Louisa knock out three kids in as many years, and nobody made that jerk she married leave her, or forced Louisa to get on her back for Harry Simmons!”

“You are right and you are also wrong, my moral fireball,” I said, giving Henry a final pat. He was going to be well built, very much a man. “Louisa is no
puta
, no whore. Nor do I defend her because she is my cousin, but you must not be too hard on her, either. I told you, she was practically born up here. Well, most Spanish men would rather marry a woman fresh from the island—they are not so independent, like you.” Helen tried to give me a mock slap. I grabbed her hand, kissed it. “Louisa was raised on a very bad street where all the girls had to join a branch of one of the gangs, or be beaten daily. Once a girl joined, a boy picked her for his sleeping partner. The girl had little choice. If the girl became pregnant, the boy married her. That was how Louisa married that no-good Leon.”

“Look, I’m sick of dumb girls having kids and then whining for pity, as if bringing a child into the world was the same as growing up. Her folks could have moved, or done something.”

“Moved
where?”
I asked, a little hurt and angry. At times, despite what the Indians have been through, with all her smartness Helen talked like a dumb
blanco
. True, not too often. “Honey, why are we arguing about it? Louisa is not asking us for money or help. The least we can give her is compassion—not yet 22 years old and having to give herself to a Harry to supplement the relief food.”

“Compassion won’t buy shoes for her kids!” Helen flared. Then she sighed. “You’re right, Joe, I am too smug. Okay, go and see Louisa tonight, ask about Harry. Maybe go up to Harry’s house, too. Make it seem as if you merely wanted to look at the house again. That is all we can do for him.”

“Go out … now?”

“Joe, all day I have been looking forward to seeing you, but this you should do. Harry is a friend … I think.”

“You are a wonderful girl,” I said, pulling her to me, cupping my hand over her breasts. Helen’s
tetitas
are as firm and round as oranges. For a moment she pushed the breasts against my palm until I felt the exciting hardness of her nipples through the thin dress.

I grinned and she kissed me fiercely, whispering against my lips, “You—! At times I think I have two children. Now stop the proud bull grin and go, so you will be back sooner.”

I had to ride the subway far downtown, then take a cross-town bus to reach Louisa’s place. The Relief had placed her and the kids in one room of a “hotel” even worse than our’s. It was crazy, the Relief was helping these flea-bags stay opened, it seemed, paying the hotel almost a $100 a month for her room. Seemed to me for that kind of dough they could have found a better place.

It was a muggy night and Louisa was sitting on the stoop, talking with other women. Louisa has a pretty tan face, plump and alive with life, and flashing dark eyes. The rest of her is short and solid and sexy: there is this air about her, like a pillow—you know she is made for bed. But she is really not a bad one, will make a good wife for Louisa does not like to be idle. Some days she worked a foot press in a crummy factory, under her maiden name. As she never told the Relief about the few bucks she made, I often warned her it might bring bad trouble. But Louisa would shrug her soft shoulders and answer, “Hungry kids are worse trouble.”

When I first came up to New York I had lived with Louisa and her mother, and we have always got along. Now she was delighted to see me, introducing me to the other
mujures
, in Spanish of course: “This is my cousin Jose, from Luquillo. He is married to a real Indian, like we see on TV. He is strong, a great wrestler, boxer, and …”

“My press agent,” I said, nodding to the others. I asked Louisa, “Can we take a walk? I want to talk to you.”

“I do not like leaving my babies alone, the rats might set this dump on fire. We go across the street and you can buy me a beer.”

“You shall have a
refresco
, sweetened with Tamarindos.”

“I want a beer, but knowing you and your male strictness, I’ll settle for a Coke. Don’t you ask for a
pidequa
—only Marine Tigers and other hicks go for that shaved ice bit.”

We crossed the street, Louisa asking about Helen and Henry. She loved to talk, going from one subject to another without pause. Even as we had our sodas she told me about practicing on a friend’s sewing machine every morning, hoping to get into a small shop soon, then into the union. I cut off her words with, “Did you see Harry today?”

She made big eyes at me, her hot mouth mocking me with a grin, and shook her head. Louisa always keeps her hair very well brushed, sexy-looking. “Odd you ask, Jose,” she said, in English, so the others in the hot store might not understand us, “a policeman asked me the same thing a couple hours back. A large, handsome guy. You should have seen him look me over. I bet he goes for Spanish chicks. Left me his card. I’m to phone him at once if I see Harry. Got the card someplace in my bag …”

“Detective London?”

She nodded and sipped her drink “The coldness is refreshing, even if it brings on more sweat.” She raised her skirts to fan her legs. Louisa was always doing wild things like that.

I stared at my bottle, puzzled. How had London ever learned about Louisa? She must have guessed my thoughts for she said, “He told me he had asked around the remains of the old neighborhood. Some big cow-tongues told him about Harry and me. Is it so that a cop can find any person, Jose?”

“What did you tell him?”

“The truth—that I hadn’t seen fat Harry in days. For a cop, he was okay, didn’t make any dirty cracks. He told me Harry isn’t in trouble, merely missing and … Jose, you look worried.”

“Only because I made a point, while talking to this London, not to bring you into this. Now I must look the fool in his eyes.”

“Bring me into what?” she asked, cautiously.

“Harry and I were playing handball this afternoon and he practically vanished into space,” I said, and went on to tell her what had happened.

Louisa listened carefully, only breaking in to ask if I would buy her some cigarettes. When I finished she said, “I told him the same thing about the handball. That I happened to tell Harry about your Helen coming into this money and you wanting a house, and how he had looked you up in the playground, where I told him you went lunchtimes. I was careful only to tell the truth so …”

“But why see you? How are you in this?”

Louisa winked. “What is the saying about every dark cloud and the silver lining? The detective was not so much interested in me but in Leon. Despite my telling him I haven’t seen that louse in two years, he thinks perhaps Leon also knew about me and Harry, without my knowing it, and that Leon was after Harry. I told him that was all very silly, but the good thing is, the detective is now looking for Leon. Maybe the Relief can’t find him but I bet the police do! I told him all I could about Leon …”

“Louisa, do you hear the words coming from your mouth?
La jara
hunting for Leon, that is a good thing?”

“He has nothing to do with Harry, that I am positive,” Louisa said, opening one of the two packs I bought her. “But once they find him, he will have to give something to support his kids. That’s what will be good.”

“You shouldn’t have put the police on Leon, much as you hate him. What if he can manage to give a few dollars a week, it will only be deducted from the Relief … Do you want Leon back?”

She blew twin clouds of smoke through her nose, something she was very proud of being able to do. “Yes and no. While I hate him for leaving me, I also am aware that when things become too heavy, the weak drop them and flee. Leon had too small shoulders for the load he was carrying, no abilty except to brag. While I do not love him, maybe we can work something out. I’m young and there can be no divorce: what else is there for me? For the kids? If I could get into the dress union, and Leon got any little bit of a job, we could manage fine. But first let them find him. Maybe he is dead.”