Albany Park (16 page)

“What is it, son?” Whitman asked, moving closer.

“Well, do you think I’m good enough to ever be first string on this team? You see, if all I can do is sit on the bench and only play once in awhile, I’m gonna be disappointed; but if I’m really good and play a lot, somehow I’ll make it work. I’ll either find another job or maybe miss a few practices and still be able to play,” Vic said.

The coach rubbed his jaw. Hesitating, as if choosing his words carefully, he answered.

“Wayne, first of all, you’re only a freshman and I don’t know how good a player you’ll be in a year or two. You are one of the better freshmen and probably will improve, but in all honesty, I don’t think you’ll be a top player. I want you on this team because I can see you are a leader and teams need leaders, even on the bench.”

Vic looked at him and started to say something, but the coach put up his hand to stop him.

“Victor,” he went on, “telling me what you just did only proves to me I’m right. You are a young man of character and I want to have you, but you have to make up your own mind. Keep in mind, though, I can’t cut you any slack. You will have to show up for every practice and play your heart out. Think it over. Whatever you decide is good with me. If it doesn’t work out now, maybe things will be better next year.”

Vic knew the coach was being a nice guy when he talked about next year, and he appreciated the way he handled it.

That night he agonized over his dilemma before deciding that basketball was great, but he could live without being on the team and he could still play in the Park District League on his days off. Sometimes, he reasoned, family comes first; and just knowing he was good enough to play was enough. It was a tough decision, but helping the family was more important. He had started giving Ma a little for groceries every week and it felt good to know that she and Pa were proud of him.

But they weren’t going to be proud of him now.

Sitting up, Vic slumped with his head in his hands. Telling Ma and Pa about Shirley was going to be tough. He could picture each of them when the time came. Ma, he knew, would start crying very quietly but probably reach out and put her arms around him and say something like, “I always knew that girl would try to trap you.” Pa, on the other hand, would probably explode and holler. He would tell him how dumb he had been and ask why he wasn’t careful. He also would remind him of their talk several months earlier when he tried to explain to him about girls and what happens when boys reach his age. And he’d say, “Didn’t I tell you? Always use a rubber.” In the end they would be okay, but the thought of that confrontation made him sick to his stomach. Jumping up, he ran to the bathroom to throw up.

Ma and Pa were asleep, but Frank had come home about ten minutes before and was in the kitchen munching on a left over piece of chicken. He came into the doorway when he heard Vic return
to bed
.

“You okay?” he asked, watching Vic roll away so that all Frank could see was his back.

“Yeah” was the muffled answer.

“Hey, you don’t sound good. Are you sure?”

When there was no reply, Frank tried again. “C’mon Vic,
what’s up
?”

“Look, I’ve got a problem and I don’t think anyone can help.”

“Hey, I’m your brother, you can tell me,” Frank said softly, moving closer to the studio couch.

Turning over, Vic whispered, “What do you know about Crown Point?”

“Whadda ya mean? Crown Point, isn’t that where people go to get married in a hurry?”

“Well, yeah, but don’t they help girls that are pregnant, too?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, what’s goin’ on? You got a problem with a girl?”

Sitting halfway up and hunching over, Vic put his head in his hands and sobbed, as Frank sat and put his arm around him.

“Don’t worry, Vic,” he whispered. “I don’t know exactly who to talk to or how to find out, but I’ll ask around and then we’ll talk. Now why don’t you tell me what the trouble is?”

Getting up slowly and rubbing his eyes, Vic walked out onto the back porch. Frank followed, shutting the door.

Trying to catch his breath, Vic looked down as he leaned over the railings with his hands on the outside wall for support. “You know that girl I go with, Shirley?”

Frank’s forehead creased as he tried to visualize Shirley,

“You know, Shirley Siegal, you went to school with her older sister Doris.”

“Oh, Jesus, you mean little Shirley…shit, what happened?”

Vic explained what Shirley told him after the game. He also told him how frightened he was and didn’t know what to do.

“Do you know how far along she is?”

Vic shook his head. “Please don’t tell Ma or Pa.”

Frank put his hand on Vic’s shoulder. “Hey, somehow this will work out. I’ll find out about Crown Point. Now go in and get some rest and we’ll talk some more tomorrow.”

Chapter 8
 

Vic met Sam Greenstein after fourth period the next day to go to lunch at Purity’s. He hadn’t eaten breakfast and still wasn’t hungry, but thought getting away from school for a while would make him feel better. Not finding his Aztec jacket in his locker, he knew Shirley had already gotten it.

Kimball Avenue was crowded with kids walking to and from lunch on one of the warmest days since the summer. Across the street at the synagogue, near the corner of Ainslie, a group of old folks were soaking up the fresh autumn air. Two grey bearded men with black hats were sitting on the entrance steps, waving and smiling at the kids. Returning the waves, a couple of guys greeted the old men with Yiddish phrases they had learned at home. They got laughs from both sides of the street.

Walking at their usual quick pace, without paying much attention to all the shouting and talking around them, Sam turned to Vic, “What’s up, did you make up with Shirley? You know she took your jacket this morning.”

“Well, yeah, I guess so,” Vic answered without looking his way.

“Are you sure that’s all? You look upset. Something’s bothering you and it ain’t good,” said Sam, bumping his friend’s shoulder.

“Nah, it’s nothin.”

Vic quickened the pace weaving in and out between slower groups and dodged between those coming the other way. Sam, not saying anything, struggled to keep up.

The restaurant was crowded and noisy as they took seats at the counter. Both ordered their usual hot dog and fries with a coke. Sam devoured his, while Vic had a few bites and sipped at the drink. Sam attempted conversation. “Man did you see the ass on that Gladys? It’s getting bigger or her dress is getting tighter. She’s got great knockers too.”

Vic shrugged, snickering, “is that all you think about?” On a normal day, it might have been all Vic thought about too.

“So what, I bet your brother is getting’ some of that. I saw her with him here one night and she wouldn’t let him alone.”

Vic gave a little grunt. Talking about sex made him think about Shirley and right then, he wanted to think about something else. “Frankie just takes her out once in awhile. C’mon let’s go, I wanta get back.”

“What’s the big hurry?”

“Nothin’, I just wanta get back,” Vic answered, getting up and dropping a few coins on the counter.

Returning to school, they went to the Assembly Hall. Sam joined a few of the guys and Vic sat alone watching the couples dancing on the stage. He saw Shirley wearing his club Jacket and talking with a group of girls. She smiled and waved as the first bell signaled it was time for the next class. With one more look back she rushed out the door.

His mind drifted to all the times he and Shirley danced on the stage during lunch hours. He remembered the day last October when they started going steady and he gave her his jacket and smiled when it came way below her waist and cupped her luscious behind. The bright maroon and gold color looked perfect with her dark grey slacks and scuffed saddle shoes.

“C’mon she had coaxed him, reaching for his hand. I wanta show off, let’s go dance on the stage.”

“Nah, I dunno, I never did that.”

“C’mon,” she pleaded, “You’re a good dancer,” she went on grabbing both his hands, “I wanta show everybody my good looking boyfriend.”

Reluctantly he let her pull him toward the stage. “Five Minutes More,” was playing. They picked up the beat at the top of the stairs and he swung her around. Grinning, he thought how cute she looked and added a new step, bouncing her off his hip. The three other couples on the stage, quickly made room for them.

“There don’t you feel better,” she giggled, winking and holding tight as he twirled her around.

A small smile crossed his face thinking about all the fun they had, but it faded as the reality of the last few days sunk in.

After school, the park team played on the South Side and won by one point. The game was sloppy. Vic’s ankle was still a little sore, but that wasn’t the problem. He just couldn’t keep his mind on the game. One of the guys got hot with him for missing a few passes and easy shots. Sam called a time out a minute later and bawled him out. He didn’t say anything because he himself was upset. He knew they should win easily by at least ten points. Fouling out with three minutes to play after scoring only six points, he stormed off the floor, cursing the referee.

On the way home from the game, Vic stopped at Glick’s Drug Store to call Shirley. Shuffling to the phone booth in the back of the store, he barely nodded to Charley the porter, who grinned and greeted him with a big hello. She answered with a peppy hello, on the second ring. He winced, closing his eyes and grunted, “hi.” In a more somber voice, she whispered, “oh, hi,” when she found out it was him on the line. He told her about how lousy he played, but that they had won anyway, and then asked if anything was new. He didn’t like her irritated answer, “Whadda’ ya’ mean?” As if she didn’t know.

And then she cut him off because her folks were home and she didn’t want to talk.

Sagging in the booth for a few minutes, he kicked the glass and then shook his head thinking maybe it was good she was going to visit her sister downstate this week-end, except that he wouldn’t know what was going on with her until Monday.

After work on Saturday, Vic stopped at the pool room. Entering, his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit store. The only lights being bright spots over the smooth, green felt tabletops, surrounded by young men and boys lining up shots and waiting their turn. The owner Lou, with his ever present green eyeshade and short apron of green felt, nodded a greeting in his direction as he moved to the crowd around the lone billiard table. Squinting through the cigarette smoke, he saw Al Gordon. He was on a high stool, near the wall on the other side of the table, watching the game between two neighborhood hustlers. Quietly, the balls clicked on a perfectly executed five cushion shot; accompanied by a soft whistle and a few comments from bystanders, as Vic moved around the table, to say hello to Al.

They shook hands, Al saying, “what’s up Vic, how bout a game of eight ball?”

“Sure, why not,” Vic answered sullenly, starting toward a back table.

They played three games, Al easily winning all of them. Vic lost thirty cents and paid for the time.

“You look like hell Vic,” smiled Al, pocketing the money. “And, I don’t remember the last time I beat you three straight at pool.”

With a shrug Vic slid his cue into the rack and signaled to Lou they were done. “Just an off night, I guess. It’s been a shit week and I have a few things on my mind.”

“Why, what’s wrong? You’re okay, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m okay just some crap goin’ on and I’m a little tired. Between school, basketball and work, it sorta caught up with me. In fact, I’ve had it for today; I think I’ll go home.”

“Okay, take care, I’ll see ya.” Al said as Vic started for the door. Once outside, a nearly empty streetcar clanged by followed by a car trying to pass it on the right. Vic watched the young driver gun the motor getting by quickly. Turning in the opposite direction, he trudged slowly toward the Wayne’s apartment on Monticello.

The street lights had come on only a few moments before and were almost fully bright as the Sun disappeared in the west.

Passing the corner of Lawndale, Vic heard a loud crash behind him. He turned and saw three men running up the sidewalk toward a car with an open door. One of the runners, a short burly guy, screamed, “Get the fuck out of my way Sheeny,” as he plowed into Vic, knocking him onto his hands and knees over the curb into the street. Struggling to right himself, he saw the three jump in the car. Tires screeching, they roared past him, the car’s bumper almost brushing his shoulder as they sped away. Falling onto his back, he saw black smoke pouring out of the HIAS office. Jumping up he ran toward the smoke as people, frightened by the loud noise charged out of surrounding stores. Shouts erupted to call the fire department and within a few seconds, he heard a siren in the distance.

Vic ran to the open door next to the smashed window and, ducking low, he covered his face with his shirt and made his way inside to see if anyone was there. It was late, but the center stayed open till nine pm everyday for folks who worked during the day.

A black smoke bomb was smoldering on the floor. He yelled, listening for a response, and hearing nothing, quickly exited, choking as he retreated.

A crowd was excitedly milling about as the fire trucks began arriving. Firemen carrying extinguishers rushed in spraying the bomb, flushing it out into the street. Two fire trucks, their motors rumbling, quickly blocked Lawrence Avenue and police rushed to set up barriers to keep people away. In the background, onlookers were mumbling but he couldn’t make out the conversations because of fire truck engines and sirens as additional police and firemen arrived.

Spotting, Mrs. Grossman, the HIAS manager, Vic started toward her. A short stout woman, with soggy papers in her hands, she appeared to be crying as she talked to a Fire Lieutenant. Her usually neat hair was straggling and her sweater and slacks were covered with soot.

“This is the third Jewish place they’ve hit in the last month,” the Fire Lieutenant was saying to Mrs. Grossman as Vic ran up, shouting, “what happened, Mrs. Grossman? Are you alright?”