No One Rides For Free - Larry Beinhart (15 page)

The moonlight came. The hooks of her sexuality sunk
into the heart of my desire. She looked up at me. Sea-green eyes soft
with tenderness, her cheeks blushed with a faint hint of pink.

"I want you," she said, "to fuck my
face."
 

14
HOME

THERE IS PREPARATION H
,
aspirin, Alka-Seltzer, Orajel, cocaine, Tylenol, Desenex, morphine,
Valium, Brioschi, grass, grain alcohol, Ace bandages, stress-formula
vitamins, and Ben-Gay for all the niggling pains that make the walk
through life a trudge. Nothing beats infatuation as the all-in-one
pain-killer, pick-me-up, body toner and stimulant. I went home with a
spring in my step and a light in my eye.

I picked Wayne up from the after-school center early
to give him his birthday present, a midget membership at my squash
club, complete with an El Cheapo beginner's racket
and
a group of lessons.

The time would come soon, I thought, when he would
also have to learn to fight. When I was growing up the Police
Athletic League, the Catholic Youth Center and the YMCA all had
boxing programs. I wondered if they still did. Everything was
becoming karate and kung fu, which would do just as well. It's not
the technique that matters. It's learning how to deal in fear,
violence and pain, until you're cool enough to stay with your
technique while the violence rains around you and rages inside you.

I'm not in love with violence, either way, coming or
going. Nor did I want Wayne to be. But taking a blow and not
returning it can be a pain far more insidious and long-lasting than a
split lip or a cracked rib.

The second time my ribs were cracked was in a prison
riot. They were busted by the rifle stock of a guard who was
nominally on the same side. But he had reason to hate me and took his
opportunity when it came his way. Ribs take a while to heal. So I had
to wait for that, and then the opportunity. It took four months.
Until the night we met outside his favorite bar, I felt a kind of
shame and guilt.

It was something for Glenda and me to argue about,
like the issue of public versus private school.

The first time on a squash court can be frustrating
and downright bewildering. But Yogi, the tall, good-natured Sri
Lankan pro, made it fun for Wayne. I was grateful for that. After the
lesson I got on the court with Yogi and he was merciless. Even though
he's good at teaching midgets, playing down that far frustrates him.
Then Wayne and I played. On the subway home, Wayne got very serious.

"I'm not sure I like my name," he said.

"Oh, what's wrong with it?"

"I don' know . . . are people stuck with their
names their whole lives, forever and ever?"

"
They don't have to be," I said, "but
I don't see anything wrong with Wayne."

"Wellll," he weaseled around.

"Come on, well what?"

"Wellll," he hemmed and hawed, "it's
not real tough."

"What do you think would be tougher?"

“
I don' know."

"Come on, kid, what do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking, maybe Rocco, but that might be
too tough."

"Yeah, that's pretty tough. How about Angel? I
know a lotta tough guys named Angel." I did. And Jesus.

"Awww, come on, you're making funna me."

"Maybe I'm teasing a little bit. Just a little.
Now tell me what you have in mind."

"I'll tell you," he said, "but only if
you're serious."

"OK, I'll be serious."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Cross my throat and hope to choke
and all of those things," I said.

"Well, Rocco is too tough, you know, so I was
thinking, maybe Anthony."

What do you do with that? Ruffle his hair? Give him a
hug? Punch him lightly on the upper arm, yeah, that's the tough thing
to do.

The Korean fruit stand on our block had a fine
display of early summer flowers. I instinctively went to buy a bunch
for Glenda, then wondered if I was doing it by way of secret apology.
Worse, if she would see it that way. Then I thought, I would have
done it anyway, and stopped mind-fucking myself and spent the whole
$4.98 with a smile.

Just before we went to the door, Wayne said, "Don't
tell Mom, about changing my name. I don't think she's ready for it."

Glenda greeted the returning squash players with hugs
and kisses. Mine was a lot sexier, but Wayne didn't mind. In spite of
his workout, Wayne didn't want to finish his dinner; he wanted to
rush up to his friend in 26D who had a new video game. He asked, as
he did about every fourth day, if we could get a dog. Dogs, he
explained, were always glad to finish leftover burgers. I would have
liked one also. It was the sole positive association I had with
marriage. But not in the city, and probably not until Wayne's
intermittent sense of responsibility came in longer bursts. I was
drifting into commitment. Irrevocable, householding, even suburban
commitment. I wondered if I was afraid of it and if fear had led me
down into the valley of heavenly thighs. Maybe I was just
intermittent.

In any case, I said, "No."

"Why not?"

" 'Cause I only like big dogs. And a big dog
might eat you up. So we can't get one until you're big enough to
fight him off."

"How big?"

"Very, extremely huge."

Glenda nodded emphatic agreement. She looked at me
with an expression that said, "That logic should hold him."

Wayne said a thoughtful, "Oh," as if it
did.

"You have been gone a long time," Glenda
nibbled on my lip when the door slammed behind Wayne. The dishes were
going to wait and we waltzed to the bedroom. She "ummmed"
as I lifted her sweater. She lifted her arms up and I pushed her back
on the bed with her arms trapped over her head. She mixed giggles and
yums when I nibbled her belly. I attacked her bra and her nipples
popped up to say hello.

"It's been too long, I need my piece."

I moved from her nipples to her lips. Between kisses
I said, "C'mon, you had your vibrator."

"That's not the same," she blushed, "as
having you inside me."

I knew what pleased her and the items that satisfied
her. I did them. Something inside me was aware that I would rather
have waited until dinner had settled in my stomach. Which is, I
suppose, the difference between infatuation and a relationship.

Later, I went down to pick up milk and coffee for the
morning. I called Christina from a pay phone. Our actual dialogue was
hesitant and inane. Her voice enveloped and caressed me.

After Wayne went to bed, Glenda asked me about the
case.

"I don't know," I said. "It's not
there, and it sort of is."

"There's something going on inside your head. I
can feel it," Glenda said. "Do you have a thing for your
client?"

"Oh, come on!"

"
I suppose she's some hot young number. Wealthy,
young, clothes-horsey," Glenda teased. And probed. The only
reason I was not terrified by her intuition was that she had been
equally paranoid when there was no cause.

"How is Sandy these days?"

"I don't know, I didn't see her this trip."

"How could you pass it up? I suppose her tits
are as big and gorgeous as ever."

“
I don't know," I protested. "The time I
did see her I kept my eyes devoutly above her neck and ordered her to
wear bulky sweaters."

"If you didn't have such sexy shoulders,"
Glenda said, "I would have thrown you out a long time ago and
let all those evil women devour you."

"You just love me for my body, is that it?"

"Of course. Your character is nothing to boast
of. And your manners, I certainly can't take you home to mater."

"You could take your husband home to mater."

"
Mater adored my husband. But then, she never
went to bed with him."

"Are you suggesting I take your mother to bed,
just to create a good impression on your family?"

"She is not your type."

"What is?"

"Big bosomy things like Sandy. Or hot young
numbers like Christina Wood."

"What," I said with mounting irritation,
"is making you go on like this?"

"I wish I could trust you."

"I don't know what my next step is going to be,"
I said, offering up a different piece of meat for her to chew on. "I
would love to talk to Charles Goreman. But I have to be patient with
that. Everything I hear about him is that he's tough and smart, so if
I hit on him before I have some kind of opening, he'll just blow me
off."

"Couldn't the lawyer, what's his name, Haven,
introduce you?"

"Over & East is about the biggest legal meal
ticket in New York. So I better have a damn good reason before he
will want me to go and upset them."

"You're really concerned about this, or are you
just changing the subject?"

"I think maybe it offends me, that there is, I
don't know, an upper circle, a rarefied sphere, where crime isn't
crime . . . that sounds like something right out of my father's mouth
. . . I don't even know if Wood was murdered, with malice
aforethought, I mean. But if he was, the wall around it is going to
be high and wide, and if I find out whodunit, there's gonna be a high
wide wall to keep me from doing anything about it."

She stroked my hair. I stood up and paced, naked.

"Do you know Stew McCarthy?"

She looked blank.

"Judge Paul Stewart McCarthy, the judge who
sentenced Wood. The judge who was on my Corrections Department
investigation," I explained.

"You liked him," she remembered.

"
Yeah, I'll tell you one thing. I understand why
he wanted to send Wood up the river. All day long, he sits there. The
stupid hopeless junkies, the petty slime, parade through the
courtroom with their desperate nickel dime crimes. The law commands
us to send them to hell. And make no mistake, Attica is hell. Then
comes Edgar Wood. With his money and hotshot lawyers and connections,
he is damn sure positive convinced that prison is not the price that
he will pay. Prison is just for the slobs, the lumps, the dopes and
dopers.

"And the judge," I went on, "who knows
what he has been sending them away to, and in spite of everything,
feels it. He feels it. He sees Edgar Wood and for the sake of the
soul of Judge Paul Stewart McCarthy, McCarthy must send Wood away.
Otherwise he is living a lie. Otherwise it's not justice, it's just .
. . something else."

"Tony," my woman said, "it's all
right."

I stood, silent, as she sat, also silent. Both of use
were surprised by the depth of my feeling—the furious puritan I had
tried to bury years ago, when I saw the harm and horror that it, like
any passion, could cause. I had buried it, and with it guilt, knowing
that I had been as guilty as anyone I had put away.

"Why don't you talk to McCarthy?" she said
after a while.

"Well, when I was on jury duty, it seemed that a
lot went on in court that didn't go into the record. Not just the
intonation and the way people looked at other people, but things that
were actually said."

"Smart lady," I said, and got back into
bed. I snuggled beside her. She turned out the light. I was home and
settled into a deep, quiet, dreamless sleep.
 

15
TAIL

"
WHEN DID YOU
get back?" Joey D' asked me.

"Yesterday afternoon," I claimed.

"That's not the way I figure it."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I was talking to Gino, and he thought you
must be back, and then you checked out of your motel, day before
yesterday. But that wouldn't make me suspicious, and it could all be
explained. What nails you, kid, is that shit-eating grin on your
face. That only comes from doing fresh stuff. "

"Who the fuck do you think you are, my father?"

"Then I'm right," he said.

"Or maybe my mother."

"Tony, you are a stupid shit. I know you. You
need some goddamn roots. You ain't no good when all you got to take
care of is yourself. When you don't have a home, you go doing every
stupid thing that a stupid man can find. I don't want to watch you
snort stuff and pop pills, I don't want to go find you in gutters and
bail you out."

"You're not my wife, you're not my mama, so fuck
off," I yelled at him.

"OK, but I'm gonna say what gotta be said. I'll
do it calm, no yelling. I helped you get straight once, or half a
dozen times, depending on how you count it. Maybe 'cause your father
and me, we were friends. Maybe 'cause I think that when you're not
looking for oblivion you're a smart kid and a good partner. But I'm
older now. I'm tired. I ain't got the patience to baby-sit no more.
You're older now and you should know better."