Ladies' Man (14 page)

"It's cool, Candy." Donny put out a placating arm.

"Nah, I'll bring chairs!"

"Fuck it, Candy."

"You sure?"

"It's cool."

"You want half a sandwich?" He offered his lunch to me. I declined.

"Donny?" Donny declined.

Twelve years had passed. I felt the same, but as I glanced at Candy I knew the road downhill was only a matter of time.

"How's it hangin', Candyman." I winked. He must have gained at least a hundred pounds since I last saw him. He looked like he had a pillow stuffed in his shirt.

"Kenny, it's a good life," he said soberly. "I truly have nothing to complain about, right, Donny?"

Donny raised his hands in submission and skimmed the shoe boxes to his right with his fingernail. "Candy's doin' good." He nodded. There was a touch of resentment in Donny's tone.

"You married, Candy?"

"Oh yeah! You know who I married? Remember Estelle Spate?" I flashed on a skinny, plain, bright girl in ninth-grade Spanish.

"No shit, Candyman."

"No shit, Kenny, I got three kids." He held up three eggroll-sized fingers. "Just had one six months ago, the ugliest thing you ever seen." He gave his patented high-pitched Candyman laugh, and it was 1965 all over again. I felt the impulse to crack them up, put them on the floor, but the impulse was so strong it jammed my brain and nothing flowed.

"Kids." I shook my head in shock. "Marron. I can't even handle a dog." It stunned me. I was supposed to have kids now.

"Yeah? You did okay with Lisa Fuchs." He hit his laugh button again and this time Donny joined in. I figured what the hell and pitched in a few chuckles myself, even though she wasn't that bad.

"You don't have kids, do you, Donny?" Somehow it had never entered my mind that he would.

Donny drew his chin into his neck, recoiling like "Who me?"

"You married, Kenny?" Candy was still smiling. He wiped his eyes with his middle finger and took a sip of coffee.

"Me? Nah." I thought of La Donna's voice and drooped against the shoe boxes on the wall.

"Fuckin' projects, Christ." Candy stared off into space, still smiling, biting his lip.

"Where you live now, Candy?"

"The Island. Bought a house in Cedarhurst. You know the Five Towns area?"

"Five Towns, huh? That's pretty ritzy." I was impressed. I wished he would gain about fifty more pounds and die. Candy shrugged with affected modesty.

"How 'bout you, Donny? Where you live?"

"Take a guess." Donny clasped his hands behind his -back and bounced absently against the ladder.

"Queens?"

"Queens! Get fucked! I live right here in the Village, man! I been livin' there since nineteen sixty-nine. You remember, I went to NYU. I dropped out after six months but I stayed in the area. Queens!" He turned his head away in disgust.

"Where you live, Kenny?" Candy wolfed down the rest of his sandwich.

"He lives in fuckin' Queens." Donny spat.

"I gotta crib on the Upper West Side, Nice."

We were all silent for a moment. I wondered about Candy's heart, if he was having trouble with it. At least he wasn't smoking.

"So Donny, you really live in the Village?"

"Shit, yeah."

"That's my territory. Where you live?"

"You know Carmine Street?"

"What number?"

"Two forty-three."

"Red brick, modern, fucked-up front door buzzer," I rattled off.

"You got it." He ducked his head in acknowledgment.

"Huh! You know, in a way I'm not surprised you live in the Village, Donny, you know?"

"Whata you mean?"

"You were always into that fuckin', ah, ah, I dunno, counterculture shit, remember? Hootenannies, schvugs. You used to read the
Voice
back then too. You and your main man there, Maynard."

Donny smiled gently, nodding his head.

"Maynard." Candy laughed low. "Remember fuckin' Maynard? Maynard G. Krebs. Beatnick Maynard." Maynard had been Donny's best friend. His real name was Larry Epstein but everybody called him Maynard after the character on
Dobie Gillis
because he wore a beret, grew a goatee and smoked reefer.

"Fuckin' Maynard," Candy repeated. "Hey-y Mis-ter Tam-bo-reene Man," Candy sang and played the bongos on the insides of his pillow-sized thighs. I noticed he was wearing Hush Puppies, not Earth Shoes. Five Towns.

"What ever happened to him?" I asked Donny.

Donny shrugged. "Last I heard he went to North Africa."

"Aw, he's been back for years." Candy waved in dismissal. "You know what he's doin' now? Maynard's a fuckin' travel agent. He set up his own business with his brother in the Bronx, this joint called On the Road up on Two hundred thirty-third Street. You know that plane that crashed last month going to Vegas? He booked the entire plane. That was a charter junket coming out of some lodge or other in the Bronx." Candy exploded with giggles. I started to join in but I noticed Donny wasn't even smiling. He was staring down at the floor.

"Hey, what happened to the other guys?" I wanted to change the subject.

"Fuck the other guys. What happened to you?" Candy asked. "Where
you
been since high school?"

"Me? I went to Baruch for business. I got fucked up the ass. My senior year I got engaged to this girl there. Her father owned Meyer Brother stationers. You know that chain? The guy was gonna break me in at the top. He loved my ass 'cause I told him I lived on a kibbutz for a year. Anyway, I got cocky 'cause I thought I had it in the bag so I dropped out of school with six months to go. He hears this, gets pissed at my disrespect for education and makes his daughter break it off." I shrugged. "Fuck it. I didn't really love her anyway. I was a kid, you know? But I never went back to school. After that I did some income tax work with my uncle. Then I did a gig in the reserves and, ah, the last two, three years, I've been working for Bluecastle House-wares, which I'll tell you the truth is ideal for me because"—I counted on my fingers—"I got no boss, I make my own hours and I meet people. My income is directly proportionate to my, my, ah, ability to communicate." I tried to come off as sober and mature as possible. What a' steaming pile of horseshit, though- I felt ashamed of myself. I even cut in half the number of years I had been doing door-to-door.

"What about you, Candy? You went to Bronx, right?"

"Yeah, Bronx Community. I quit. I got drafted, I was in Nam for a year behind a desk. I got caught selling government office supplies." He laughed and his chins jiggled. "Christ, did I get into a jam."

"You look like you're into a little more than
jam
, my friend." Donny smirked.

"Hey, fuck you, I'm on a diet." Candy sucked in his gut.

Donny imitated Candy inhaling and cracked up.

"Yeah? I'll still run
your
ass into the ground."

"You can probably
squash
it into the ground," I blurted.

Donny jerked with laughter. "Fuckin' Candyman." Donny snorted. "Fuckin' Candyman, he, he was any bigger he'd have his own Zip Code." We both cracked up and staggered toward each other for a double palm slap.

"Oh no! Oh no!" Candy smiled, waving his finger between me and Donny. "I ain't gettin' caught in no crossfire between
you
two jokers!"

When Candy said that I started twitching like an electrified frog. "Hey Candy, Donny! Donny! Yesterday Candy went down to Port Authority; two families with suitcases asked him what time's he leaving for Saratoga!" Donny and I collapsed in each other's arms. I couldn't breath. I felt like I was drowning in riff, smothering in riff. They were starting to come so fast and furious I couldn't see straight. But it felt right, comfortable, like a car that rattled until the speedometer hit 80, then it purred like a Caddy. It felt like
me
. And it felt like Donny. We. were joker soul brothers. Always had. been.

I was laughing so hard I was drooling. After a moment I went to turn away, but Donny put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me hard. He turned me toward Candy, slapped his arm around my neck and pinched my cheek.

"He was the fuckin' funniest, wasn't he, Candy?" Candy sat there, his fingers clasped across his gut, smiling like a benevolent Sidney Greenstreet.

"Kenny the Riffer," Candy glowed.

I hugged Donny back. No wonder I was so goddamn lonely. Friends, man. I didn't have any fucking friends. And friends were the bottom line.

"No kiddin', Candy, you should watch it with fats and shit." I stood arm in arm with Donny like Tweedledum and Tweedledee. I felt better, less jealous. I wished he would shed three tons just on my good vibes alone.

"Hey, no, I am! I am! Vitamins, Tab and yogurt! Vitamins, Tab and yogurt! That's all I eat all. fuckin' day. I lost six pounds this month!"

"Oh, yeah?" Every few seconds a ripple of laughter would lightly spasm my gut and pass through my lips in a weak bleat. "What… what was that cream cheese sandwich there?" I nodded toward the now empty wax paper and wiped my eyes.

"What, that?" Candy waved. "That wasn't shit."

"Hey." Donny detached himself from our embrace. "Speakin' a food, anybody up for some lunch?"

"Lunch is on me." Candy got to his feet.

"Anybody like Japanese food?" I asked.

Donny and Candy both made to puke.

"God, remember when we all used to go to Lucky's for lunch?" Donny mused.

"You wanna go there now?"

"How we gonna get up there?"

"I got wheels." Candy tucked in his shirt. "You guys got time?"

"I do." Donny shrugged.

I was going to pass but then remembered I had already scored two yards that day. "Me too."

"Well, then, let's go!" Candy held out both palms. And Donny and I slapped simultaneously.

Friends, man. Fucking friends.

Candy split to get his car while Donny and I hung out in front of the store waiting for him.

One of the last times anything felt consistently right for me was with these guys almost half a lifetime ago. Except for a few brief periods I felt as though I had been in a bad mood since high school graduation, but these were the guys and that's when it was happening for me… Maybe the answer was them. The boys. Even the old merchant marine was hip to that, to the power and need for the boys.

"Damn Candyman, he better watch his heart, huh?" I turned up my collar.

"I think he got turned down for life insurance, or they charged him something outrageous."

"You been seeing him around, Donny?" I felt slightly jealous.

Donny shrugged. "Now and then, you know, I drop in sometimes when I'm in -the neighborhood, nothin', ah, nothin' to speak of."

Candy pulled up to the curb in a long battleship gray Continental, honking the horn and waving us forward.

"That's
his
?" I moved toward the car hunched over and frowning in awe. I tossed my case in the rear and sat in the death seat. Donny climbed in the back. The door closed with a heavily cushioned thud.

"Mr.. Candy, awright!" I extended my palm. The seats were charcoal gray velveteen. Candy wore deep green racing sunglasses.

"What you picture me for, a VW?" Candy laughed, twisted his head to traffic and pulled out onto Eighth Street. He punched in an FM station and the car turned into Carnegie Hall. He had more speakers than stations.

"Hey, this is nice, Candy. What year?" He turned the volume down.

"Seventy-five?" He drove slowly, with his wrist on top of the wheel, his banana fingers dangling almost to the steering-column. "I .got a deal on it from my father-in-law, Estelle's old man. He's a mechanic, for the Police Department. This car was impounded .three years ago. Hie guy who owned it was pushing smack. Some Central Park West Jew. Estelle's old man had to take it apart looking for dope, you know, like in
.The French Connection
."

"Did he find anything?"

"Well, I'll tell you,
my
theory is he did but he didn't tell the cops. I think he sold the dope himself because two months later they moved out to Forest Hills, but what the hell do I know, right?" Candy grinned into his rearview mirror to catch Donny's eye. lie car hummed as we headed up Sixth Avenue.

"There's a bar in the back."

"A what?" I turned around, knees on the seat, and hung over the backrest. Sure enough, there were two gray padded velveteen cabinet doors built into the back of the front seat. Inside were two glasses, a small copper ice bucket, but no booze. I looked up at Donny. He was leaning back, legs crossed, arms flung out along the rear window ledge. He gave me raised eyebrows but didn't say anything. I couldn't tell if he was pulling out on us. Sometimes Donny would do that, be into things with the guys then all of sudden go off on his own planet, and as they say, when you get older you don't change, you intensify.

"So that's funny about Maynard, huh?" Candy turned onto the West Side Highway.

"What happened to everybody else?" My brain filled with more faces than a yearbook. .

"You remember Brazil? He lives near me out near
Malverne. He's got a big liquor store in a shopping center around Green Acres. Doing very well. He married an Irish girl, got a daughter now, and Bobby Bizarro? You know, Bobby Gallo? He's drivin' a cab, living out in Queens;
he's
married, got two kids, boys. And Terry Fischer? Oh, this'll blow you away. Terry Fischer runs an aquarium store on Staten Island. And! And! He married a yom."

"Terry did?" It wasn't that big a deal to me. "He was dark anyway."

Candy turned to me, slightly disappointed at my lack of amazement. Donny was staring out the window, chewing his thumb. I leaned my head back and cast my eyes in his approximate direction. "Everything okay back there, Mr. Donny?"

"I'm good, I'm good," he said without gusto. "Oh and Andy Cady? Andy and Frankie Fahey are somewhere down in Florida now. They got some business going with trailers, boats, I don't know. Neither of them are married or got kids last I heard. Oh, and Richie Perry? Richie married Jeanette Pella; he's teaching English in Yonkers; they got a boy and a girl. As a matter of fact, Kenny"—Candy was beginning to sound a little matronly to me—"I'm pretty sure Jeanette's an
Avon
lady now that I think of it." He smiled at me and if there had been enough headroom in the car I would have stood up and kicked his teeth in.