Last Exit to Brooklyn (4 page)

Harry flipped the knife underhand at her and yelled think fast! She
lifted her left leg slightly, covered her face with her hands, turned away and shrilled an OOOOOOO as the knife hit the sidewalk, bouncing off the wall behind her and skipping a few feet away. Harry and Vinnie were laughing, Vinnie walking over to the knife and picking it up, Georgette walking away still screeching at Harry. You big freak! You Neanderthal fairy! You – Vinnie threw the knife yelling think fast. Georgette leaping, pirouetting away from the knife screaming at them to stop (only the benzedrine preventing hysteria now), but they laughed, their daring growing with her fear; throwing the knife harder and closer to her feet; the knife skipping and billiarding away, picked up and thrown again at the dancing feet (the scene resembling one in a grade B western); the laughing, leaping and pirouetting stopping suddenly as the blade of the knife stuck in the calf of her leg (had it been a board, not flesh, the blade would have vibrated and twanged). Georgette looked quizzically at the small portion of the blade visible, and handle sticking from her leg, too surprised to feel the blood rolling down her leg to think of the wound or the danger, but just staring at the knife trying to understand what had happened. Vinnie and Harry just looked. Harry muttered something about that being a good shot and Vinnie smiled. Georgette looked up, saw Vinnie smiling at her, looked back at the knife and screamed that her new slacks were ruined. The others, watching from the Greeks, laughed and Harry asked her what she was growin from her leg. Georgette simply called him a fuck and hopped over to the step leading to the side door of the Greeks and sat down slowly, carefully keeping the leg stiff and extended in front of her. Harry asked her if she wanted him to yank the knife out and she screamed at him to go to hell. Leaning down and gently holding the handle in her fingertips and closing her eyes she tugged tentatively, then slowly pulled the knife from her leg. She sighed and dropped the knife, then leaned back against the door jamb, flexed her leg slightly and reached down and pulled her shoe off. It was filled with blood. The effects of the benzedrine were almost completely worn off and she shivered as she poured the blood from her shoe, the blood splattering as it hit the sidewalk, the small puddle flowing off in rills into cracks in the pavement, mixing with the dirt in the cracks and disappearing … She screamed and cursed Harry.

Whats the matta Georgie? Has the poor little girl got a Booboo? She screeched. You brought me down! You rotten freaks, you brought me down! She looked at Vinnie with pleading in her eyes trying to regain her composure (the effects of the benzedrine completely gone now and panic starting to take its place), hoping to gain his sympathy, looking tenderly as a lover taking irrevocable leave, and Vinnie laughed thinking how much she looked like a dog beggin for a bone. Whats the matta? Ya hurt or somethin?

She almost fainted from fear and anger as the others roared with laughter. She looked at the blur of faces wanting to kick them, spit into them, slap them, scratch them, but, when she tried to move the pain in her leg stopped her and she leaned back against the jamb, now fully conscious of her leg and, for the first time, thinking of the wound. She lifted her pant leg up to her knee and trembled as she felt the blood soaked pant leg and looked at the wound, blood still oozing out, her blood soaked sock and the small pool of blood under her foot, trying to ignore the whistles and, Atta girl, take it off.

Vinnie had gone into the Greeks and got a bottle of iodine from Alex and came out and told Georgette not taworry about it. I’ll fix it up. He lifted her leg and poured the iodine into the wound and laughed, with the others, when Georgette screamed and jumped up, holding the injured leg with both hands, hopping up and down on the other. They whistled, clapped their hands and someone started singing, Dance Ballerina Dance. Georgette fell to the ground, still clutching her leg frantically, and sat in the middle of the sidewalk spotted by the light from the Greeks, one leg curved under her, the other up and bent at the knee, her head bowed and between her legs, like a clown imitating a dancer.

When the pain subsided she got up and hopped back to the step, sat down and asked for a handkerchief to wrap around her leg. Whatta yacrazy? I dont want my handkerchief all messed up. The laughter again. Vinnie stepped gallantly forward and pulled the handkerchief from her pocket and helped her tie it around her leg. There yaare Georgie. All fixed up. She said nothing but stared at the blood; the wound growing larger and larger; blood poisoning streaking her leg,
the streak widening and almost to her heart; the stench of gangrene from her rotting leg …

Well, comeon, give. What? What did you say Vinnie? I said give me some loot and I’ll getya a cab so ya can go home. I cant go home Vinnie. Why not? My brothers home. Well, whereya gonna go? Ya cant sit here all night. I’ll go to the hospital. They can fix my leg and then I’ll go uptown to Marys. Areya crazy or somethin. Ya cant go to the hospital. When they see that leg of yours theyll wanna know what happened and the next thing yaknow the lawll be knockin on my door and I’ll be back in the can. I wont tell them anything Vinnie. You know that. Honestly. Inna pigs ass. They getya up there and shoot somethin inya and youll talk ya ass off, vague memories of radio programs heard and movies seen. I’ll getya a cab and takeya home. No Vinnie, please! I wont tell them anything. I promise. I’ll tell them some spick kids did it, holding her leg tightly with both hands, rocking back and forth with a steady hypnotical rhythm and trying with desperation not to get hysterical and to ignore the throbbing pain in her leg. Please! My brothers home. I cant go home now! Look, I dont know what yabrother will do and I dont give a shit, but I know what Im gonna do if ya dont shut thehellup.

Georgette called to him as he walked toward the avenue to hail a cab, pleading and promising anything. She didnt want to argue with Vinnie; she didnt want him to dislike her; she didnt want to provoke him; but she knew what would happen when she got home. Her Mother would cry and call the doctor; and if her brother didnt find the bennies (she couldnt throw them away and there was too much to take at once) the doctor would know she had been taking something and tell them. She knew they would take her clothes off and see the red spangled G string she was wearing. Her brother might ignore the makeup (when he saw her leg and all the blood; and when her Mother started worrying about her and telling the brother to leave him alone) but, he would never ignore the bennie and the G string.

Yet this was not what she really feared; it wasnt being slapped by her brother that brought back the fear that almost caused her to faint; that made her think (only briefly) of praying; that pushed from her mind the smell of gangrene. It was knowing that she would have to
stay in the house for a few days, maybe even a week. The doctor would tell her to stay off the leg until it healed properly and her Mother and brother would enforce the doctors order: and she knew they wouldnt allow any of her girl friends to visit her and she had nothing except the benzedrine which would probably be found and thrown away. There was nothing hidden in the house; no way she could get it. In the house a week or more with nothing. I’d crack. I cant stay down that long. Theyll bug me. Bug me. O jesus jesus jesus …

A cab stopped in front of the Greeks and Vinnie got out and he and Harry helped (forced) Georgette into the rear of the cab. She continued to plead, to beg; she told them she had a john who was a Wallstreet Broker and she was going to see him this weekend and he was good for 20, maybe more. I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you more. I know where you can get hundreds without any trouble at all. I know a few fairies who own an Arts & Crafts Shop in the Village. You can stick them up. They always have a lot of money around; it wont be any trouble – Vinnie slapped her face and told her ta shut the hell up, trying to see if the cab driver was paying any attention to what she was saying and telling him something, almost incoherently, about his friend just having a accident and was still kindda shook.

It took less than 3 minutes to drive the few blocks to Georgettes house. When the cab stopped in front of her house Vinnie took the change from her pocket and the 3 singles from her wallet. Is that all yagot? I’ll give you more in a few days if you take me to the hospital. Look, if ya dont walk in, we’ll carryya in and tell ya brother ya tried ta pick up a couplea sailors and they dumpedya. Will you come over to the house tomorrow and see me, alone? Yeah, sure. I’ll seeya tomorrow, winking at Harry. Georgette tried to believe him and for a moment forgot her previous fears and the old dream flashed briefly across her mind and she could see her room, the bed, Vinnie …

She limped toward the door and stopped in the vestibule, put a handful of bennie in her mouth, chewed then swallowed them. Before knocking on her door she turned and yelled to Vinnie not to forget about tomorrow. Vinnie laughed at her.

Vinnie and Harry waited in the cab until they saw the door open and Georgette go inside, her Mother closing the door behind her, before they paid the driver. They left the cab, walked down the street to the avenue, turned the corner and walked back to the Greeks.

The door closed. A hundred times. Closed. Even as it swung open she heard it bang shut. Closed. Closed. Dozens of doors like many pictures jerkily animated by a thumb, tumbling mistily like shadows … and the click, click, the goddamn click click click of the latch and it banged shut. SHUT. Again and again and again it BANGED SHUT. A thousand miserable times. BANG BANG. BANG. Always banging shut. Never a knock. Think it. Force it. A knock. A knock. Please, please. O Jesus a knock. Make it a knock. Make it someone knocking. To come in. Why cant it be a knock. Goldie with bennie. Anything. Anybody. Closed. Closed. Bang. BANG. BANG! SHUT!!! O Jesus SHUT! And I cant get out. Only roll in bed. This dirty freak of a bed (VINNIE!!!) and that rotten fairy of a doctor wouldnt give me anything. Not even a little codeine. And it throbs. It does. It does. It throbs and pains. I can feel it squeezing up my leg and it hurts. It hurts dreadfully. It does. It really does. I need something for the pain. O Jesus I cant stay down. And I cant get out. Not even Soakie. She might have
something
. Let her in. I cant get out. Out. Up – (the door banged and her Mother looked up and noticed first the strange look on her sons face, the staring eyes; then the blood on his slacks and as she ran to him she collapsed on Mothers shoulder, crying, wanting to cry on Mothers shoulder and have her listen and stroke her hair (I love him Mother. I love him and want him.); and knowing that she must scare her Mother so she would be protected by her sympathy, and perhaps Mother would get her to bed (she wanted to run to the bed, but she knew she had to hobble to impress her), get her to bed before her brother came in the room. She might be able to hide the bennie. She had to try! Her Mother staggered and they hobbled toward the bed (mustnt run), wanting her Mother near, wanting the comfort; and feeling calmer, safer, as her Mothers face paled and her hands shook; yet calculating just how far she could go with the scene so Mother would be properly concerned yet still capable of
protecting her from Arthur … and she may yet be able to hide the bennie) …

Why couldnt he be out. Why did he have to be home. If only he were dead. You sonofabitch die. DIE (Whats the matter with mommys little girl. Did ooo stub oo little toesywoesy Georgieworgit? Dont touch me you fairy. Dont touch me. Look whos calling someone a fairy. Aint that a laugh. Ha! You freak. Freak FREAK FREAK FREAK! Why you rotten punk – Georgette leaned more heavily upon Mother and swung the injured leg from side to side, groaning. Please Arthur. Please. Leave your brother alone. Hes hurt. Hes passing out from loss of blood. Brother? Thats a goodone. Please – Georgette groaned louder and started sliding from Mothers neck (if only she could get to the bed and hide the bennie. Hide the bennie. Hide the bennie); please, not again. Not now. Just call the doctor. For me. Please.) If he had stayed out. Or had just gone to the kitchen … Georgie porgie puddin n pie … Why do they do this to me? Why wont they leave me alone??? (Arthur looked at his brother and grunted with disgust then went to the phone and Georgette tried frantically to get the bennie out of her pocket but her slacks were so tight she couldnt get her hand in and she was afraid to move away from her Mother so she could get her hand in her pocket. She fell on the bed and rolled on her side and tried to get them out and under the mattress or even the pillow (yes; the pillow) but her Mother thought she was rolling with pain and held her hands trying to comfort and soothe her son, telling him to try to relax, the doctor will be here soon and you will be alright. Dont worry darling. Youll see. Everything will be alright … and then her brother came back, looked at his Mother then the ripped slacks and blood and said they had better take the pants off and put a little mercurochrome on the leg and Georgette tried to yank her hands free, but her Mother gripped tighter, trying to absorb her sons pain, and Georgette fought furiously, trying to hold her slacks and keep her brother from pulling them off. She screamed and kicked, but when she did the pain really throbbed through her leg, and she tried biting her Mothers hands but her brother pushed her head down (the G string! The bennie!!!). Stop. Stop! Go away. Dont let him. Please dont let him. It will be alright son. The doctor will be here soon. Nobody
wants to hurt you. You rotten fairy, stop. Stop! You queer sonofabitch. STOP, but brother loosened the belt and grabbed her pants by the cuffs and Georgette screeched and her Mothers tears fell on her face, begging Arthur to be careful; and Arthur pulled them slowly yet still tore loose the clot from the wound and blood started oozing, then flowing down the leg and Georgette fell back crying and screaming, and Arthur let the pants fall to the floor and stared at his brother … watching the blood roll to the sheet, the leg jerk … listening to his brother crying and wanting to laugh with satisfaction, and even happy to see the misery on his Mothers face as she looked at Georgette and lifted his head in her arms and stroked his head, humming, shaking tears from her face … Arthur wanting to lean over and punch his face, that goddamn face covered with makeup, wanting to tear at the leg and listen to his fairy brother wail … He straightened up and stood silently at the foot of the bed for a moment half-hearing the sobs and his thoughts, then stepped around to the side and started yanking at the Red Spangled G String. You disgusting degenerate. In front of my Mother you have the nerve to lay here with this thing on. He yanked, and slapped Georgette across the face, Mother pleading, crying, soothing, and Georgette rolled and clawed as the tight G String scraped along her leg, and Mother begged Arthur to leave his brother alone – BROTHER? – but he tugged and yanked, yelling above them until it was off and he flung it from him into another room. How can you hold him like that. Hes nothing but a filthy homosexual. You should throw him out in the street. Hes your brother son. You should help him. Hes my son (hes my baby. My baby) and I love him and you should love him. She rocked with Georgettes head cradled in her arms and Arthur stormed out of the house and Georgette rolled over on her back trying to reach the slacks and the bennie, but her Mother held her, continuing to tell her son that it would be alright. Everything will be alright.)