Funny Boys (6 page)

Of course, the boys treated her very differently. She got both whistles and catcalls, admiring glances and nasty remarks. Some were very forward and tried to get friendly, but she gave them short shrift. In a few weeks high school would be over and she would probably never see any of them again. Or care.

Mutzie noticed, too, that the transformation had also made her think differently about herself. She felt more certain about
herself, more self-confident, more aggressive in the way she talked and observed others. She felt like “somebody,” as if this new look reflected the real Mutzie, the real person who had emerged from her cocoon of anonymity.

It gave her the courage to parade in front of the candy store on the corner of Saratoga and Livonia where Pittsburgh Phil and his cronies hung out. With her tight sweater, pointy brassiere, Jean Harlow hairdo and dark eyeshadow, she felt his eyes wash over her admiringly when she passed. More than anything, it was that look that she had hoped for and dreamed about.

It was her brother Seymour who brought her the news that Pep wanted to meet her.

“How come all of a sudden?” she asked, suspecting the answer, but wanting to hear it said nevertheless.

“He tinks yore a looka,” Seymour said. “For Pep to say dat is somethin.”

“Suppose I say no?” Mutzie teased.

She watched Seymour’s bony face grow longer, enjoying his visible loss of arrogance.

“Nobody says no ta Pep. Nobody. He says he wans to meetcha that’s an awda.” Seymour looked into Mutzie’s eyes and he could see the fear in them. “I’m ona spot now, Mutzie. I don deliver, I’m up shit’s creek widout a paddle.”

“Well then,” Mutzie said, enjoying her imperial attitude. “I wouldn’t want to do that to my big brother.”

The next evening, just after dinner, Seymour accompanied her to the corner. She had fussed with her face and hair for hours, then put on a tight sweater over her pointy brassiere and her new skirt and truly felt she looked her best. In fact, after she put on her beauty mark she actually winked at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Well now, aren’t you something, she told herself standing in profile and throwing out her chest, while Seymour banged on the door impatiently.

“Ya don make Pep mad, Mutzie. Get outa der.”

She deliberately delayed her exit, letting Seymour punch out the door until Mrs. Krauss in the next apartment began to scream.

“Jeez,” Seymour said when she came out, his anger quickly dissipated. “You look a million, Mutzie.”

Feeling like a million, she walked with him to the candy store.

“Memba now. You put in a good woid faw yaw big brudda. Right?”

“If the subject comes up,” Mutzie said haughtily.

“You make it come up, Mutzie. Ya unnerstand?”

Mutzie looked at him and shrugged.

“Do my best, big brother.”

That settled, Seymour began to move faster.

“Not so fast, Seymour,” Mutzie said as they began to approach the corner. She could see the towering figure of Pep standing among a group of men. As she came forward, they all turned to look at her. She loved that, and her eyes met those of Pep, whose seemed to actually sparkle under the brim of his immac ulate pearl gray fedora.

He stiffened as she came forward, his lips curled in a smile, his teeth sparkling.

“I brung ya my sister, Mutzie,” Seymour said. The men surrounding Pep ogled her appreciatively. Pep nodded. “This is Pep, Mutz. Pittsburgh Phil Strauss.”

Mutzie put out her hand and Pep took it in his. His hand was smooth and soft and she noticed that his nails were manicured. He wore a neatly pressed blue suit, a striped tie and a white-on-white
shirt. There was a starched white handkerchief in his jacket pocket with three points showing. Obviously he took great care with his grooming and his clothes. Most important, his shoes were highly polished and glistened with the reflection of the streetlights.

He held her hand in his for a long moment, looking into her eyes. Her knees felt wobbly.

“I seen ya aroun, Mutzie,” Pep said.

“Ain’t she sumpin, Pep,” Seymour said.

Pep shot him a look of dismissal.

“See ya aroun, Seymour,” Pep said.

“She’s a looka, right, Pep?” Seymour persisted.

“A real looka, Seymour.” He winked at Mutzie. “An we gotta job for ya tomorrow. Right, Bug?” He turned to the squat man beside him. The man nodded.

“Yeah. A liddle wheel work,” Bug said sourly. He seemed dirty and unpleasant-looking, more like the others who stood around on the corner. Some of them had mean, unsmiling faces and little fish eyes that ogled her suspiciously. Pep stood out, head and shoulders above them, handsome and princely. Seymour nodded gratefully and backed away, waving to Mutzie before he walked off.

“Ya bruddas a good kid,” Pep said. “We got idears faw him, don’t we, Bug?”

“Yeah,” Bug said grimacing.

“Ya wanna take a drive?” Pep asked. “I gotta Caddy.”

“Oh yes,” Mutzie said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

“You gonna see Albert, Pep?” the man called Bug said.

“Yeah,” Pep said. “And the Kid.”

“Lemmee know,” Bug said. “I gotta make plans.”

“Yeah, sure. See you guys lata,” Pep said, taking Mutzie’s arm
in his and starting to walk down Livonia, which was under the El. They walked toward Douglas, past the open pickle store, the cleaners and the grocer. As she walked away, arm in arm with Pep, she saw the eyes of the men on the corner watching them. Also, people that passed looked at them with admiration. Aren’t we a handsome couple? she thought, stiffening her posture, feeling the pressure of her pointy brassiere against the tight sweater.

Being the girlfriend of a man like this, she would be somebody. People would look up to her. She would have respect, prestige. Okay, she had heard rumors that some of the things he did weren’t exactly kosher, but what did that matter. He was somebody, admired, important. He wore classy clothes and drove a fancy car. People would envy her. Life with him would be an adventure, exciting, like in the movies, a long way from the drab future she could contemplate with Henry Goldbaum.

Pep’s Cadillac looked brand new. It was black and shiny with beautiful leather seats. Pep opened the door like a real gentleman and waited until she was comfortably seated before he closed it. She felt his eyes watching her body as she bent and seated herself primly.

“This is gorgeous,” she said when Pep had gotten in beside her. He leaned over and bent toward her, putting his face close to hers.

“So is this,” he said, his hand caressing her cheek. His touch felt electric and she felt a flush rush to her face. Then he bent lower and kissed her neck. She was too startled to move.

“You’re a fast worker, Pep,” she said.

“You ascareda me, Mutzie?” Pep asked. She had pulled away from him, more out of reflex and propriety than desire.

“Why should I be scared?”

“Evabody’s ascareda me,” Pep said. He put his keys in the
ignition, started the car and pulled away from the curb in a burst of speed. The car moved through the Brownsville streets, then headed toward Ocean Hill.

“I’m not,” she said.

“I gotta see these people,” Pep said, turning toward Mutzie. Pep patted her on the thigh. “Then I’m gonna show ya a good time.”

Mutzie looked toward him and smiled.

“Sounds good to me.” She was ecstatic. Here she was in the car with Pittsburgh Phil Strauss,
the
Pittsburgh Phil Strauss. He was obviously engaged in important business. She felt honored to be with him.

The car moved smoothly through the streets. As he drove Pep turned to Mutzie and winked, but said little. For her part, she wanted to know more about him, what he did, what his life was like. But that, she decided, would make her appear nosy, and she didn’t want anything to spoil things. Besides, he might not want to talk about what he did. Should it matter, she wondered? The effect of being with him was what really mattered and she felt great.

He stopped the car in front of an Italian restaurant with a big striped awning over the entrance and they went inside. Pep nodded to a group of men sitting at a round table in the rear and led her to a seat at a table for two on the other side of the restaurant.

“Give da lady anyting she wants,” Pep said to the fat Italian waiter with a stained apron that went from his chest to his ankles.

“A chianti, lady?” the waiter asked when Pep had gone. She nodded, not sure what it was, and watched the men peripherally. They talked in low voices. There were five of them, tough-looking characters, so different in looks from Pep. It struck her as incongruous that he should pick such hard-looking business associates.

She waited, sipped her chianti and occasionally looked their way. Although she was growing restless, she did not want to show any sign of impatience. From the intense expressions on the men’s faces, this was obviously an important business conference and, she assured herself, that came first. She was actually flattered that he would be taking time out of his business activities for this date.

As she sat there by herself waiting for Pep, a couple of men came into the restaurant. They were big, crude-looking, swarthy men in dark suits. One of them jabbed the other in the ribs, laughed and came over to where she was sitting.

“Well, I’m here, cutes,” one of them said. She could smell alcohol on his breath. “What say me and you blow this joint an have a party?”

At first she ignored him, busying herself with her hand mirror and looking closely at her teeth.

“Me and Louie here we gonna have one big party, right, Louie?” the first man said. He shoved his bulk on the seat facing Mutzie.

Still she ignored him, turning toward Pep who was in deep conversation with the men at the table.

“Aw come on, baby. We is nice guys. Right, Louie?”

“We gonna treat you just like a chocolate bar,” Louie said, “Lick ya ‘til ya scream fa mercy.”

“What a pair a knockers,” the other man said, leering. He put his hand out for a squeeze.

She moved quickly from his touch, the chair squeaking as she moved back. She could see Pep look up, scowl and quickly come over to the table.

He got behind the man who was sitting down and without saying a single word, grabbed the man by the throat with one
hand and lifted him out of the seat. Mutzie was surprised at his enormous strength.

“He diden mean nothin,” Louie said, glancing at the men at the table from which Pep had come. He made no move to help his hapless friend.

There was no scene, which surprised Mutzie. The man who had sat down simply rose obediently from the chair and, with Pep holding him by the windpipe, moved docily toward the restaurant door. Pep opened it and brought the man to the street.

“He’s loint his lesson,” she heard Louie say, but then through the open door, she saw the man fall to his knees, then to the ground. When the man’s head reached the curb, Pep swung out with the point of his shoe and kicked the man directly in the face.

He started to come back inside, stopped, looked over at the prostrate man then kicked him in the groin. Then he turned and came back into the restaurant.

Although Mutzie was certainly surprised by Pep’s sudden action, she felt strangely exhilarated by the scene. Pep had stood up for her, protected her. That was something. She was also surprised that she could summon little compassion for the man who had accosted her. They had it coming, she decided. She hated being pawed and insulted by strange men.

“He won’t bodder ya any more, Mutzie.”

“Thanks, Pep,” Mutzie said. She felt genuinely grateful.

“Gonna be soon, kid,” he told her patting her arm. “Coupla minutes more.”

“Okay with me, Pep,” she said pleasantly.

It was nearly an hour before the men finished their meeting and Pep came over and sat down. Later, while they were eating their spaghetti, two of the men passed their table as they left the restaurant.

“This Pep got taste in skirts,” one of the men said. He was thick and squat with eyes that glowed like burning agates. He wore a broad smile but it didn’t seemed to radiate much joy.

“This is a very pretty goil, Pep,” the other said. He seemed more benign, Italian-looking with a crop of curly black hair.

“Thank you, Albert,” Pep said.

“How come you don’t tank me, Pep?” the squat one said.

“This Reles always embarrasses me in front of ladies. That’s cause he’s jealous.”

The man called Reles laughed.

“He’s got more notches on his shlong than Buck Jones has on his six-gun.”

“These boys,” the man called Albert said to Mutzie. “They play like this alla time. Pay no attention.”

“The short one is very crude,” Mutzie said when they had left.

“Kid Twist?”

“That his name?”

“Monicka. Nickname.”

“Like you’re Pittsburgh Phil, right?”

“You don’t like that one? They call me Pep for short. Better than Harry. Harry Strauss.”

“Much better.”

They were silent for a while as Pep studied her closely with his confident lovely brown eyes.

Pep was, as she had hoped, very polite and attentive. He tied a napkin around his neck to keep his shirt spotless and she noted how carefully he moved in his clothes to keep the creases neat. She liked that. When they left the restaurant, they held hands while they walked to the car. In the car, he put on soft music and she nestled in the crook of his arm as he drove, caressing her shoulder.

“You look like a movie star, Mutzie.”

“Really?” Mutzie said, feigning surprise, loving the comparison.

“I like movies. Gangster stuff. You see Jimmy Cagney in
Public Enemy
?”

“I loved it.”

“Edward G. Robinson in
Little Caesar
.” He held his hands as if he were working a machine gun. “Rattatatata.”

“I’m more partial to love stories and musicals, Pep,” Mutzie said. She didn’t mind gangster movies if they had love stories in them. “Gangster movies have too much killing.”

“Yeah,” Pep said. “That’s the fun part.”

They talked about the movies for a while, then turned to other subjects like what she wanted out of life.

“I want the best of everything,” Mutzie said.