South Street (13 page)

Big Betsy drew back as if she had been slapped. “Yeah, sure.” She removed herself from the stool by leaning over and allowing gravity to clutch at the sagging mountains of her breasts and belly and drag her down. She caught herself with her feet on the floor and one hand on the edge of the bar, the wood creaking as it took her weight. Her purse swung, open, from her free hand. She sighed, squinted, sniffed, giggled a little.

“You need help?” said Leo.

Big Betsy’s head had sunk down onto her chest, her chin resting on her bosom. She turned it slowly, without raising it, and looked at Leo. “Shit,” she said. Slowly she straightened her spine against the pull of gravity. She squared her shoulders. She closed her purse with a snap. “Shit,” she said again. With measured steps she marched toward the door. In the opening she turned and looked at Leo. “You been a bartender too long, Leo,” she said with great dignity. “You done pickled your prick in alcohol.” She turned and advanced on the darkness.

Leo shook his head, bent over, and quickly finished washing the glasses. Then he went to the door and locked it, removed his apron, checked the booths to make sure no butt smoldered in the ashtrays or on the floor. He looked around and decided he would clean up in the morning. He went back behind the bar and took the money out of the register, put it in a zippered pouch. He put on his jacket, checked his gun, and went to the door. Before turning off the last light he paused and looked over the darkened bar, smiling tiredly into the shadows. Then he flipped off the light, checked the street carefully with one hand on his gun, closed and locked the door, and began the walk home.

Speedy came down the street cursing. He passed the State Store with its screened windows and locked doors and his cursing became louder. He reached the entrance to Lightnin’ Ed’s Bar and Grill, paused hopefully to pull on the handle, but the door refused to budge. Sadly he turned and walked on, peering through the windows and trying the doors of every bar he passed. The entire street was empty except for an occasional car and the subtle motion of shadows where, a block ahead of him, someone wandered through the darkness. At the corner of Seventeenth and South Speedy stopped and waited while a red-and-white police cruiser pulled through the intersection. The car slowed while one of the officers took a good long, slow, thorough, look at Speedy. Speedy grinned widely and waved. The car accelerated and turned the corner. “Muthafucka,” Speedy muttered, letting the grin dissolve.

He walked despondently onward, no longer bothering to peer in windows. The Street was shut—tight. Suddenly, at the mouth of an alley, he stopped and sniffed the air. “Naw,” he said softly. “Naw, it couldn’t be.” He sniffed again, shrugged, and ventured cautiously in. His feet moved carefully and slowly, skillfully avoiding the litter and garbage that covered the cobblestones. His breath came in short, quick snorts. His body was a taut bow of expectation. He peered into the gloom.

“Christ, quit breathin’ so goddamn loud,” came a voice from the dark depths. “Jesus, you wanna wake up the world?”

“Jake? That you?”

“Didn’t I tell you to keep it down? Course it’s me. This is ma damn alley, ain’t it? Come on in.”

Speedy moved to the back of the alley and found Jake sitting comfortably propped against two garbage cans. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Speedy was able to make out the shape of an empty wine bottle beside Jake’s leg. Cradled against Jake’s stomach was a second bottle that Speedy’s intuition told him was not half-empty. Sticking out of Jake’s jacket pocket was something that might have been the neck of a third bottle. Speedy’s mouth watered. “Hiya, Jake,” he said. “How you been?”

“Not too good,” Jake said. “Ma stomach’s been botherin’ me again. All that rotgut I been drinkin’ I figure. So I treated maself to some good stuff.” He nodded at the empty bottle.

Speedy accepted the implied invitation and picked up the empty bottle. “Hell,” he said, as he attempted to read the label, “it’s too dark in here to see shit.”

“Don’t need to see it,” Jake said, “there’s plenty a shit in here.”

“Humph,” Speedy said. His adjusted eyes could make out the label. “Damn!” he exclaimed, “this
is
good stuff. Musta cost a fortune.”

“Well,” said Jake modestly, “it wasn’t ’zactly cheap.”

“How much?”

“Ah, buck an’ a quarter.”

“A
bottle
? Jesus!”

Jake shook his head. “I just can’t take too much a that cheap shit no more. I figure, a man oughta treat hisself to some comfort in his last years. I ain’t as young as I useta be.”

“That’s true,” said Speedy, his natural tact dulled by lust.

“What you mean by that?” Jake snapped.

“What, well, I mean, damn, Jake, there ain’t nobody as young as they used to be.”

“Humph,” Jake said, somewhat mollified. “I guess there ain’t. I guess if there was somebody as young as he useta be, I guess that would be pretty goddamn perculiar.”

“You’re right, there,” Speedy said.

“Hell,” Jake snapped, “you don’t need to be tellin’ me that. You youngbloods ain’t as smart as you thinks.”

“Oh, I definitely agree with that,” Speedy said. “Course we does the best we can without havin’ the experience….”

“Have a drink,” Jake said, proffering the bottle. Speedy, touched, reached out and took the bottle, raised it quickly to his lips. Rich aroma filled his nostrils. He took a swallow and managed to get the bottle away from his mouth before Jake’s hand closed around it.

“Thanks,” Speedy said.

“Damn near drank the whole bottle,” grumbled Jake. “You young-bloods don’t know how to ’predate good wine. Y’aint sposed to guzzle it. You—sips it.” He held the bottle up to the sky and peered at it. There were about four ounces remaining. Jake shook his head sadly, tipped the bottle to his mouth, swallowed twice. “Dead,” he pronounced, and interred the carcass reverently beside its brother. He leaned back against the garbage cans and folded his hands over his stomach. “Ahhh,” he said. Speedy ascertained that the object in Jake’s pocket was definitely a third bottle.

“Those goddamn honkies,” Speedy said. “Kept me up there doin’ simple ass shit till after closin’ time. Here I sits, money in ma damn pocket, an’ all the damn bars is closed.”

“Money?” Jake said. “What from?”

“Tips. Helpin’ little old white ladies with their groceries. Shit like that.”

“Humph. What you gonna do with it?”

“Can’t do nothin’ with it if all the bars is closed. What else you gonna do with money, ’sides buy wine?”

“That’s true,” said Jake.

“Shit,” Speedy continued. “Man works all damn day, openin’ the door, closin’ the door—heavy damn door, too—bowin’ an’ scrapin’ to them white folks; after a day a that shit, a man needs his pleasure. Why if somebody was to walk up to me an’ say, ‘Speedy, I know where you can get your ass a nice bottle a wine,’ why I’d wanna kiss that dude an’ call him Jesus for sure.”

“I know what you mean,” Jake said. “I felt that way maself, many a time.”

“Sure,” Speedy said. “Everybody do. Time like this, you don’t care how much you gotta be payin’ for a bottle.”

“Sure you would,” Jake said, peering at Speedy from under half-closed eyelids. “I bet you wouldn’t pay a dollar an’ a half.”

“Bet I would, if it was good wine. If a man wants to drink after the bars is closed, he’s gotta expect to pay for it, an’ he can’t be gettin’ too particular. But for a dollar an’ a half, wine’d have to be pretty good.”

“How ’bout that stuff I had?”

“That was good stuff,” Speedy admitted. “Shame there ain’t no more.”

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Jake said. “Just so happens I got a bottle left.” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.

Speedy accepted it reverently. “Why, thank you,” Speedy said. “You gonna be lettin’ me pay you for this, I know.”

Jake stiffened and sat up. “Pay?” he said in outraged tones. “Course not. We friends. You’ll be doin’ the same for me one day.”

“Why, thank you,” said Speedy. “I sure will be. You ma main man.” He examined the bottle, fished out his pocket knife, opened the corkscrew blade, and set to work. “You know,” he said between grunts, “maybe what I oughta do is to give you some money now, just in case I wasn’t handy when you was needin’ me to return the favor. I mean, you got your steady place here, but I move around.”

Jake closed his eyes to consider the suggestion.

“Now look,” Speedy continued. “You take tomorrow for instance. You might wake up an’ decide you wanted some wine, an’ you be reachin’ for it, but you done already give it to me. An’ where am I? God knows. You’re stuck. But if I was to leave you some money, when you reaches for the bottle you be findin’ some change. Now that’s even bettern wine, ’cause you can go on down to the State Store an’ drink what you is in the mood for then ’stead a havin’ to drink what you was in the mood for before.”

“You done convinced me,” Jake said.

The cork emerged with a loud pop. Speedy fished into his pocket and came up with a handful of change. Bending low, he counted out a dollar fifty in dimes and quarters and dumped it into Jake’s outstretched palm. Jake wrapped the money up in a corner of his handkerchief. “Thank you, Speedy,” he said solemnly, and blew his nose.

Speedy tilted the bottle to his lips. He took two big swallows with his eyes closed, feeling the wine course down his parched throat. Then he placed his tongue against the mouth of the bottle and swallowed three or four times without actually drinking anything. He opened his eyes slightly. Jake sat with his handkerchief against his nose, his red eyes gazing passionately at the bottle. With each bob of Speedy’s Adam’s apple Jake clenched his hands, licked his lips nervously, and shook a little. Speedy took one more real swallow and lowered the bottle. “That’s fine stuff,” he said.

Jake stared straight ahead. “It’s all right,” he said.

“Here,” said Speedy, handing the bottle over. Jake gaped at him, grabbed the bottle, and took two small sips. “Go on,” said Speedy. “Christ, if it wasn’t for you, I’d be dry.”

Jake took one big gulp, rolled his eyes, lowered the bottle. “You’re one fine youngblood, youngblood,” Jake said.

Speedy smiled and took the bottle. He held it for a moment, feeling its odd shape. “You know somethin’?”

“I knows lotsa things,” Jake said. “Which one you speakin’ of?”

“Wine,” Speedy said. “Funny how it comes in all different shaped bottles when you get away from the cheap stuff.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. “I guess rich folks is into variety.”

“Yeah,” Speedy said. “You know, I been thinkin’ ’bout women.”

“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout women,” Jake said. “It’s easier.”

“Yeah,” said Speedy. He sighed, drank, lowered the bottle, and handed it to Jake. “All the same … You know, Jake, sometimes I wishes I had me a woman. Don’t you?”

Jake peered at him over the top of the bottle. “Hell no,” he said. “What the hell would I be wantin’ a woman for? I’m damn near seventy-five.”

“I didn’t know you was that old,” Speedy said.

“That ain’t old,” Jake said, “that’s just outa childhood. Just old enough to know bettern to be messin’ with women.”

Speedy chuckled and accepted the bottle, sipped at it, held it in his lap. “I useta have me a woman, when I lived up to Fifty-second Street. She was all right.”

“What happened?” Jake said.

“Aw, she run off. Said I drank too much.”

“They all say that,” Jake said. “Wine an’ women mixes like niggers an’ white folks. Me, I’ll take niggers an’ wine, let them white folks an’ women be. That how come you moved down here?” Speedy did not notice. He was staring into the darkness deeper in the alley. Jake reached for the bottle, but Speedy did not move. Jake pulled it away from him.

“Yeah,” Speedy said finally, “that’s when I moved down here.”

Jake drank and looked over at Speedy without lowering the bottle. Speedy did not seem interested, so Jake took his turn for him. Then he took his own next turn. Then he handed the bottle back. Speedy roused, accepted it, took a long drink. “How come you be thinkin’ ’bout women all the sudden?”

“Got this friend,” Speedy said. “He’s havin’ woman problems.” Speedy raised the bottle, drank, and extended it.

“Hold it a second,” Jake said. He groaned, tried to get up. “Shit,” he said. He rolled over onto his side, unzipped his fly, and urinated. He zipped his fly quickly.

“Hey, Jake?” Speedy said, handing the bottle over.

“What?” said Jake, raising it.

“You ever have a woman?”

Jake lowered the bottle without drinking. He swallowed dry. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “A long time ago.”

“Real long time?”

“Forty year.”

“Aw, hell, you had women since then.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jake said, “I had women, but I ain’t had no woman.”

“Oh,” Speedy said. “How come?”

“Humph,” Jake said, raising the bottle. “Ain’t one enough?” He swallowed, lowered the bottle, examined it. “Ain’t much left.”

“Gone an’ finish it,” Speedy said, lowering his head to his chest. Jake shrugged and poured the rest of the wine down his throat. He looked at the empty bottle and shrugged again. He laid it down in a row with the others, then eased himself down on the pavement beside Speedy and put his hands behind his head. Wincing slightly, he freed a hand and massaged his stomach. He put his hand back behind his head, closed his eyes, and in a few minutes he began to snore, first quietly, then louder and louder.

The lobby was in almost total darkness, the only light coming from the desk where the light-skinned desk clerk sat reading a copy of the Koran and mumbling to himself in Philadelphia-accented Arabic. Leroy came out of the office, crossed the deserted bar, and walked toward the stairway. He nodded to the desk clerk and stepped on the first step, but then he saw a pair of female legs protruding out of the shadows, and he changed course abruptly. “Hey, good-lookin’,” said Leroy, with a sharkey smile. “How’s ma honey?”

“I ain’t your honey.”

“Oh,” said Leroy, ceasing to smile, “it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me,” said Vanessa. She raised her cigarette to her lips and took a drag, holding the smoke in for a long time before she exhaled. Leroy looked down at her legs.