Frog (67 page)

In the park with his mother and sister. Nice day, very few people around. “Let's go look at the ducks,” he says. “You go down, be careful, I'll sit and watch you from here.” “No, I want to stay with you,” he says. “I do too,” Vera says. They continue walking. A vendor. “Can I have something?” he says. “May.” “May I have something too?” Vera says. She nods, opens her pocketbook. He gets an ice cream. Vera wants a popsicle and pretzel. “Don't be a hog,” he says. She gets a big warm pretzel. “Sit down on the bench so you don't sully your clothes while you're eating.” They sit on either side of her and eat what they got. “Can I have some of yours?” Vera says. “May,” he says, “and no.” “It'd be nice if you both could share what you have, if only a single bite and lick.” He gives Vera a lick, she breaks off a small piece of pretzel and gives him it, they eat that and then continue to eat what they got. “You know, you're both doing something that I can say doesn't quite please me but which I'm sure you're both unaware of, do you know what that can be?” “What?” he says. Vera says to her “I don't know, what?” “I'm sure if you did know you'd correct it immediately. It's OK though. You'll learn on your own while you're doing it—or not doing it. That's a hint. Do you know what I mean now?” “No,” they say, “what?” “Or you'll find out after from me. Go ahead, eat your snacks.” They eat. Little while later she says “You know, you're both still doing something that displeases me, and now even a little more so than before, have you thought about what it could be?” “What?” he says. “What,” Vera says, “because I haven't found out yet.” “You'll find out sooner or later, I'm sure. Though I wish you could find out on your own and correct it on your own too.” “Is it something I said?” he says. “If it is, I'm sorry.” “No.” “Something I said?” Vera says. “Nothing either of you said though it does have something to do with words.” “Then I don't know what it is,” Vera says and gets up and skips off a few feet, points at a squirrel circling the trunk of a tree till it's in its branches, skips back and says “Did you see that? It was like a skip rope.” “How like a skip rope? A skip rope's straight. You're seeing things,” and eats his ice cream. “You both still don't know what it is you're doing wrong? Because you only have a little time left to correct it.” “No,” he says. “Is my shoelaces untied?” Looks. “No, they're tied. Did I get ice cream on my clothes? I don't see any. What did Vera do?” “Same thing you're doing and which is still displeasing me.” “Can you give us one more hint?” “No more. If you can't think of it, you can't, so let's forget about it for now.” “Can I go and skip like Vera?” “Of course, do what you wish, I'm not saying no. But finish your cone first if you're about to skip or run.” He finishes the ice cream, chews on the cone, skips off, Vera skipping after him. They stop to watch a couple of squirrels jumping from the branch of one tree to another. His mother catches up with them. “Are you finished eating your cone?” “Finished. Where should I put the napkin?” “Hold it till we get to a trash can.” “I didn't have a napkin,” Vera says. “I'm lucky, you're not.” “Now that you both enjoyed your treats, want to know what you did that was so wrong and which made me practically ashamed of you?” No, he thinks. “What?” Vera says. “You didn't offer any to the one person who didn't have any.” He laughs. Vera looks at him and then laughs. “I'm serious, what's so funny? If you get something, you offer the person who doesn't have any some of it. If there are several people who don't have it or anything like it and you're the only person who does, you offer them all some of it. If there's a crowd, then you eat it without offering.” “Why?” Vera says. “You could have had an ice cream or pretzel,” he says. “You have money.” “You're missing the point. You were both being selfish. I wouldn't have taken any if you had offered, since I don't like ice cream or popsicles much and can't stand pretzels, but that's not the point either. The point is to offer even if you know the other person doesn't want any. Always remember what I'm telling you here. I don't want what you did repeated. Otherwise I won't know what kind of children I've raised, and you can count on what I'll say if you ask me for a treat after the next time.” He felt so good, feels so bad now. Vera doesn't seem to feel bad though. She's still smiling and says “Why not pretzels? Too salty?” “That and other reasons.” “Oh. Can I go now?” and his mother nods and Vera runs off. “And you? Any response?” He can't speak, his throat's choking him, and she says “OK, I think I can guess what you'll do next time,” and sits on a bench and watches Vera circling a tree looking for a squirrel that just ran up it.

Poor grades and too much homework and what else?—couldn't take the regimentation and strictness in the specialized school like the hallway order (no whistling, no talking, keep walking), so first day as a transfer student at a high school way up in the Bronx. Had to give a relative's address to get in there, as the two regular high schools in his own borough were said to be too tough. Gets off the elevated train, from the station platform high above the street sees the school and a bell tower on top of it like a real school and all the grass and trees around it, down the steps, starts running to school when a block from it a hamburger and hotdog truck's being turned over. “Heave-ho!” When the truck's on its side he sees it was some boys who turned it over. A man climbs out of the serving window waving a long fork and shouting “You motherfuckers. You goddamn thugs. You'll get nothing from me now, nothing. You could've killed me.” “Eat shit,” “Cheap prick,” “Dago pimp,” and a couple of them scoop up pebbles and stones and pretend to throw it at him. He ducks, kneels behind his truck. They laugh, bang on the truck with their fists and sticks, run past Howard and some other boys. “What happened?” Howard asks the boys watching it. “A dumb old fuck,” one says and they head for school. “What was that all about for?” he asks the man. “Protection, the bastards. But who they think they're kidding I need it from? I know who they are. I'm not selling around your school anymore. Thieves and thugs and future murderers in it.” “But what kind of protection you mean?” “What're you asking me when I got other things?” Police sirens. “Better beat it like the others or they'll think you're in on it too. Or maybe you are. Come to gloat.” “No, really.” The man tries lifting up the truck. Actually gets it a little way off the ground. Howard helps him but together they get it no higher than the man did alone. “Maybe the cops will pitch in,” the man says. Howard thinks to stay to help them lift it, maybe the man will give him a tip, think him a nice kid and tell the school people what he did, but it's getting late for school and he doesn't even know what room he's in, so when the police come he goes.

Walking out of school to the train to get to work when some boy says “Hey, look at the fruity white bucks on the fag.” Turns to him, thinking maybe it's one of his friends or someone to take the train downtown with. “Oh, want to make something of it, faggot?” “Just leave me alone.” “You're going to do something if I don't?” Other boys pouring out of school surround them. “Dump him, Cal. Clobber the fucker.” He pushes past some boys and heads for the train station, hoping a teacher or one of the football players on the student patrol will break it up if anything more happens. He's shoved hard from behind. “C'mon, prick!” He's done this before. Loses control. Years later he says it saved his neck lots of times. Now he doesn't know if it would have been better all those times to keep walking away. No broken nose. No kid lying on the sidewalk with his head cracked and eyes closed. Another with his white turtleneck sweater all bloody and looking at Howard as if saying why'd you jump me so fast and have to go for the face? And just to have had that control. Drops his books and jumps him and gets him in a headlock and squeezes and punches his face while whirling them both around and takes some stomach blows and the guy scratching his neck and cheek but squeezes and punches his face some more and throws him to the ground and pins his shoulders with his knees and sticks his fist under his chin and says “Had enough, schmuck, had enough? ‘cause I'll bust your fucking ears in, I'll pick your head up and bust it on the fucking concrete,” and he says “Yeah, lay off, enough, you're OK. Your shoes are nice. I'm going to buy a pair.” “Bullshit you are,” and gets up. While they were fighting, boys yelled “Kill him, C. C. Poke the twit's eyes out. Kick his nuts off for me.” When he walks away someone says “Fucking faggot won.” “All right, come on, that'll be it, boys, everyone go home,” a teacher says.

He's in college, walking to his waiter's job, it's around eight. Someone says “Look at the fruitball.” They seem drunk, guys his age. He stops. “What're you stopping for, fruitball?” another of them says. “Because I don't like being called a fruit.” “My friend said you're a fruitball, not a fruit. But maybe you are a fruit. A fucking fruitball fruit. You suck old men's dicks in caves.” Jumps the guy, gets him in a headlock, takes some body blows but squeezes his head tight while punching the back of his neck and his face. The friends try pulling him off. The guy falls to the ground. Face a mess, busted nose seems like, lips split, blood all over him and Howard, eyes looking up at them sleepily, he's trying to talk. “Shit, you really did a job on him,” one says. “A fair fight, I declare it a fair fight,” the biggest of them says, “and a fucking good one. But if he hadn't had so much beer in him I bet he would have creamed you.” “Want me to help him up?” “Nah, you better get the fuck out of here. You don't look too good yourself.” Knuckles cut, that's about all, and his face maybe, and his sweater's torn. It's not his. His brother Alex's who says next day when Howard shows him it “My goddamn sweater. Look what you've done to it. Cashmere. Not even a month old. Even if we got all the blood out, which we won't, and the best darner for the rips, to me it's absolutely ruined. Next time use your stupid head and show some control by passing by whoever calls you a fag or Jew kike or whatever they throw at you. You're paying for it out of your wages. Cough up. I know you have a cigar box in your drawer stuffed with tips.” “That's for Europe.” “Forty-five bucks, and the sweater's now yours.”

They hear about her in a bowling alley. Chippy, for five dollars, bright red hair, very white body, not too old—thirty, maybe thirty-five, but she keeps herself in great shape. They say he should call her. “You know how to speak to older women.” “Me?” “Yes. You got brains, use big words, have a smooth voice almost and not such a New York accent, so you sound older. Call her.” Calls. She says “Who gave you my number?” “Ellis.” “I know Ellis. He's a good guy, everybody he's mentioned to me so far has been very refined, so come on over at eight tonight, and tell Ellis thanks.” “There might be a problem, since there's a few of us. Is that all right?” “How few?” “Three or four, though there also might be another.” “Four is the most I'll go for. More and you have a commotion, since my place isn't as big as a palace. So now with four, when you do come up, do it one by one, first door off the lobby marked stairway. I'm on the second floor, 207. The rest of you, when one client's up, stay outside and away from the hotel and don't gang together.” “Ellis said it was five dollars each, OK?” “I don't know what you're talking about, sir. Five for what? For the six cigars you're interested in buying, fine. But you should know that like a doctor I hate talking price over the phone. It's undignified, so remember that or don't bother dealing with me.” “Good,” Ellis tells them after his call. “With four she'll give me a freebie. But watch out. She has a small white poodle named Snowball who'll steal your scumbags right out of your wallet if you leave your pants pockets hanging open.” It's his first time. One of them says that even if they each plan on using a scumbag, they should drink lots of water before so when they get off her they can pee all the syphilis germs out if she has it and some managed to get inside the bag. They meet later at this guy's apartment, drink a canteen of water each, draw straws as to who goes first—all of them wanted to and he gets to be second—and go to her hotel and up to her floor together. They thought that all of them should get caught together rather than one getting caught while some of the others had already gotten laid. They don't know what to do when they get to her floor, but one of them finds a laundry closet and three of them stay in it while the fourth goes to her door. The closet's dark. “Any of you got a hard-on?” he says. “Because I sure do. Biggest I think I ever had. I can't wait.” “Me too,” one says. “It's poking a hole through my pants.” “I'm jerking myself off now,” the third says. “It'll last longer that way when I'm in her, since I know it'd take me two seconds if I didn't.” He makes some noises. “Jesus,” Howard says, “don't do it over here; you'll ruin my clothes.” “It's all right. I'm facing away from you, I think, and I did every spurt into my hanky. Now I'm going to be in her forever, since I'm the last.” The first guy comes back in about ten minutes. “How was it, how was it?” they all ask. “She was much older than Ellis said. Forty, maybe, like one of my aunts. He just said it so we'd go to her and he'd get a free lay. Still, nice tits that didn't hang and no wrinkly stomach, and she didn't stink. I went so far in her I thought I'd go out the other side, but she just laid there like she didn't feel me at all, and I didn't see no dog. Since I've already been laid once, I'd call it just average, while for you guys for the first time you'll love it.” “Come on, Howie, get it over with,” one of the other two says, shoving him to the door. He leaves, knocks on her door, she looks at him through the peephole, lets him in, is smiling, her almost orange hair held down by a band on top like a girl's, skin so white as if if she went on the beach for a minute when the sun's out she'd get blisters, soapy smell all round her, in a belted bathrobe and bare feet but one of her breasts he can see where it's open. He's so hot for her he almost can't stand up his head and chest's so woozy. She says “You're a pretty cute-looking kid. You the one who called? You sounded much older than your age. That why they had you call me, so I wouldn't be frightened off by all your ages?” “No, I volunteered.” “This your first time too? OK, but I hope not, because I hate showing the ropes each time. Takes too long.” “Why, the other guy was his first? He told us he's been laid before.” “Him? He was a good guy all right but had to be told everything. And not ‘laid,' will you? You ‘make love.' Or you ‘go to bed.' At best, you ‘have sex.' Be refined. That's what I like in all my men, young or old. Otherwise, we all feel messy. OK. Five dollars first. You can put it in there,” and he puts it in an empty cigar box on a table. “Now you're entitled to undress.” He takes off his clothes, folds them neatly on a chair, trouser legs over its pockets, tries not to show he knows he has a full hard-on. “Ellis said—” “Oh boy, you're ready to go. A real broom handle. The wonderful young.” “Yes, well. But Ellis said you had a dog Snowball. Do you?” “He's shy of people, almost never emerges from under the bed. But you might see him if you don't talk loud or gruff. Here, give me that thing.” She grabs it, squeezes it hard while staring at the head. “Just want to see if anything wrong comes out of it. Nothing. you're clean. Now I'd like you to put a condom on even if that's not what you bargained for. I've got them if you don't.” “No, I don't mind and I brought one,” and gets it out of his wallet. “Let me see it,” and she turns it over in her hand. “It's a good one, not in your pocket for a hundred years.” “No, I bought it just the other day. And Ellis said also that Snowball steals these things out of your wallet if you're not looking. He had to be kidding though.” “Steals them? The little yipper? What do you think I have, a circus dog? Just put it on. You got your pals downstairs.” Tries to. Practiced with one once but not over a hard-on. She says “You roll it on, oafy, like a sock in the morning,” and does it for him. When she's doing it he thinks he's going to shoot into it. She gets on the bed, takes her robe off and hangs it on the bedpost behind her, opens her legs and says “Well come along, darling, climb on.” “You mean the bed?” “I mean everything, darling,” and points to her cunt. He gets on the bed, squats in front of her but doesn't know where to put his knees, inside her legs or outside of them, or quite where to stick his prick in. In the hole he knows but where exactly is it? He got a quick look when he got on the bed; she's got a little square orange bush but he didn't see the crack where he thinks he should. “What's the wait for? Just say it's your initial time and you know from nothing and I'll show you how it goes. It'll take longer but probably not as long if you start experimenting on me.” “No, honestly, not like the other guy. This is my third time but last two were in the dark and the girl I was with was more experienced and she put it in for me.” The legs have to be inside hers he now sees and moves closer, gets on top of her and takes his penis and without looking pokes it around where he thinks the crack should be but doesn't find a hole. “Ouch, what're you doing? That's my ass and I don't want any of that stuff. You want to do it, find a man, but don't come back to me after. You want me to do something else to you, with my mouth, that's in addition and will cost you another five, but never the rectum. Never.” “No no, all I want's the regular.” “Then tell me you never done it before and stop wasting my time.” She grabs his penis, jerks it a few times—“Don't, I'll shoot”—“Then let's get going,” and sticks him in, brings him down on top of her and bounces her bottom a few times. He bounces the way he thinks he should and they're bouncing together when the phone rings. “Hold it a second,” she says. She pushes him up and reaches for it. He starts to get out and she says, her hand over the receiver, “Stay in. If you come you come, and this'll only take a second and you've already used up your five dollars' worth. Yes,” she says into the phone. “Yeah, I know you. Yeah, I remember you. Yeah, I said so already, the guy with the Persian lamb collar and hat, and what? Sure, when? Fine, got it, I'll remember. I don't have to put in down, I've got a fine memory. Johnson, that's your first name, I know, see ya.” All this while he tried not to think of his penis or feel it, looked around the room, painting over the dresser, window blinds with a droop of a few slats in it and lights from buildings across the street through it, listened for the dog under the bed but heard nothing. She hangs up and says “You didn't come? I thought I heard something. I don't care if you didn't make a sound or still have an erection. The wonderful young can usually keep it up after, so don't tell me that. Pull out, let's see.” He does and she looks at it. “OK, let's finish.” He says “I've suddenly got to pee bad, is it all right?” and she points and he runs to the bathroom, pees for about a minute, comes back, she's reading a fashion magazine in bed and says “Boy, you sounded like a horse in there. OK, now what do we do?—always something with you, more effort than you're starting to be worth,” and gets a condom out of the night table drawer, puts it on him, lies back, he gets on the bed, looks at her crack, sees the hole and puts his penis in and comes down on her and starts bouncing. “Could you go up and down too? I'll finish faster.” “Oh sure,” and she bounces up and down, he's pressed tight to her, smells the cold cream, it smells like it must be fresh on her face and neck it's so strong, comes. She slaps his buttocks when he's done jerking. He just lies there. “That little tap means to get off, darling. A signal.” “Oh, I didn't know.” Gets up and off the bed. She says “That was good, right? Call me again anytime if you want, alone or with only one other friend, and don't be passing my phone number around like it was a cigarette. Keep it special, it'll be better.” “I will call, and I won't be passing it around. What do I do about this now?” holding his penis up, tip of the bag with the come in it hanging over his hand. “What'd you do with your girlie?” “I didn't use one. She was on a period she said.” “Well, don't take it off here. In the bathroom, flush it down. And only use the tissues from the box to clean yourself, not the towel if there's one.” He goes in it, rolls the condom off and lets it drop into the toilet, flushes, cleans his penis with soap and water and dries it with tissues, little pieces stick to it so he sticks it under the faucet to get them off and pats it dry with the hand towel, comes out, she's in her bathrobe reading the same magazine, he gets dressed, she goes to the door, unlocks it, puts her face forward and lips out, he kisses them, grabs her breast from inside the robe, she says “Don't start unless you want to pay another five and think you can do it extra quickly.” “I don't. I haven't the money.” “Till the next time then. Now tell your friend who's next to be discreet coming up here. No noise. To act like a gentleman. And no elevator. That's the rule. Now you know what ‘discreet' is?” “It means don't make a big deal coming upstairs.” “To do it as if you're reserved and a quiet person and live in the hotel. They won't bother him if he acts like that. OK.” Opens the door, looks out both ways, signals for him to go, he goes, heads for the stairway but turns around moment her door closes and ducks past it to the linen closet, knocks, they open and he goes inside and says “It was only so-so, her face kind of greasy though her body OK, but at least now I can say I've been laid.”