Honeymooners A Cautionary Tale (45 page)

Meet the love of my life,
Bill said, and stood aside in the doorway to draw forward a young
woman with long black hair and black eyes carrying a sleeping
child. —This is Lulu, the woman I love more than life itself. Lulu,
meet Lindsay, a woman I loved once, true, but you have nothing to
fear from Lindsay, little darlin’, for that was in another
lifetime.

The name’s Lucy, the young
woman said.

Well, hello, Lucy, Lindsay
said. —Hello. Welcome.

Yeah, Lucy said.
—Right.

Well, Lindsay said. —Well
well. Good God, Billy, come on in. And, Lucy, come in, please. What
a lovely child. Is it a boy, Lucy?

Right, Lucy said.

What a pretty baby, Lindsay
said, touching the back of the baby’s head of thick, black hair.
—How old is he?

About a year, Lucy said.
—Give or take a few weeks.

What’s his name? Lindsay
said. —He is so cute.

I mostly just call him Kid,
Lucy said.

I see, Lindsay said. —Well,
why not?

That’s our own boy, Bill
said. —I plan to give the litde fellow my own good name. Meet
little Bill, Bill said, and tapped the sleeping baby on the
head.

Hey, Lucy said, turning the
baby away. —You watch it.

Well, folks, just come on
up, Lindsay said. —Just make yourselves at home. The old gang’s
all here.

2

Holy moly! Jim said as Bill
lumbered into the room.

Jim and Ralph and Alice Ann
were seated about the round oak table in the turret, candlelight
flickering over their faces and upon Lindsay’s grandmother’s china
and ornate silverware, and gathering in rich points of flame within
the curved glass of the broad, old, wavy windows, beyond which the
lights of North Beach spread around and down the steep streets
toward the dark waters of the Bay and the glow of Alcatraz
Island.

Look! It’s the old Buffalo!
Ralph said, and jumped up.

Billy! Alice Ann said. —You
old good-looking devil you.

Meet Lulu, folks, the woman
I love more than my own life, Bill said, and reached back to take
Lucy by an arm and direct her into the room. —And meet little Bill,
my own boy. God but I love this woman. No more looking high and low
for love for this old buckeroo. The life I’m living with this
little woman is real grownup in nature. No more finding myself
trapped at every turn by foolish enterprises I keep mistaking for
purposes. This is the most realistic relationship I’ve had in
years, folks. Little Lulu here is one wonderful gal, folks, a plum
wonderful gal.

Well, Jim said, why don’t
you folks pull up some chairs and take a load off your feet. Lulu,
you and old Bill just sit right down and pile up a
plate.

The name is Lucy, Lucy
said.

Lucy, hon, would you permit
me to hold your little boy while you get a plate? Lindsay
said.

Be my guest, Lucy said, and
handed the baby to Lindsay, then sat down. —So what about your
buddy here? Lucy said, and nodded at Bill, who was busy spearing
pieces of roasted baby lamb onto his plate. —Is he really making a
big movie down here or what?

If I’ve said it once, I’ve
said it a hundred times, Jim said, the old Buffalo has been
floundering in the same freeze-frame for twenty years.

I mean, is your buddy here
really making an Indian movie down here or some shit? Lucy said as
she removed her jean jacket to reveal a clinging, low-cut, red
halter top and creamy brown shoulders and arms and the ample upper
swelling of beautiful breasts covered with tiny tattoos.

As I told my little darlin’,
Bill said between great bites of food, I am making a movie of the
final interior. By interior I mean a dream of the center of America
as a place that can most precisely be defined as a last chance to
be yearned toward. Ralph, don’t you hog that macaroni
now.

That ain’t fucken macaroni,
you big dumb shit, Jim said. —That’s lasagna inbottite, stuffed
noodles, which is a traditional dish on the wop-wedding menu, for
this is a second honeymooners’ wedding feast to end wedding feasts,
and Lindsay has been slaving over it for days.

I’ve never had a meal so
divine, Alice Ann said.

Yummy, Ralph
said.

Ghost Dancers will be the
name of my movie, Bill said between bites and gulps of wine. —It
will be about the final return of the ancient Indian spirits to the
lost center of America.

Just where did you two kids
meet? Alice Ann asked Lucy.

Nevada, Lucy said. —Where I
been working. He said he was gonna drive me and my boy down here
and put me in a movie. I got a cousin down here, too. I’ve been
trying to get down here.

Yes, Bill said, I met my
little darlin’, as best as I can recall, over hard-way sixes at
four o’clock on the luckiest morning of my life in one of those
heartbroke Nevada gambling towns where she clearly didn’t belong. I
see my little darlin’s role in my movie as a sort of Indian
Madonna.

I’m a full-blood Paiute,
Lucy said. —And fucking proud of it.

I see, Alice Ann said.
—Lucy, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is the meaning of
those mysterious hieroglyphic- like tattoos etched on your lovely
breasts?

To tell you the truth, I
don’t rightly know, Lucy said, looking down at her breasts and
touching the tiny tattoos gently with her fingertips. —This one is
a fish crying the blues ’cause he’s out of water. Which is what my
boyfriend says he felt like in jail. This here is a cross, a
upside-down one, though, ’cause my boyfriend don’t like Jesus. And
these little ones that look like more tears are really 6’s, my
boyfriend’s lucky number. My boyfriend gave me all these, and they
kinda hurt, the way he done them with a knife and ink. He learned
how when he was in Folsom. You ought to see the ones on him. Him
and his jail buddies didn’t have nothing better to do. I didn’t
want all these, but when my boyfriend is feeling bad, it’s what he
likes to do.

Isn’t my little darlin’ here
something else? Bill said. —Didn’t I tell you folks the whole truth
about my little darlin’? Little darlin’, all I ask of you is that
in the end you don’t go stomping my old heart flat.

Here, Ralph, Lindsay said as
she returned from the kitchen with the ketchup and white bread
Ralph had requested. The baby was asleep over her
shoulder.

Ketchup and white bread, Jim
said. —The idea! Ralph, you put that shit on Lindsay’s lamb, I’ll
pound you with the bottle.

Ralph puts ketchup on
everything he eats, Alice Ann said. —I’ve seen hard-boiled waiters
weep watching Ralph empty a bottle of ketchup on filet mignon. I’ve
seen Ralph pour ketchup on apple pie.

Ketchup was an acquired
taste for me, Ralph said. —A defensive measure from when I was a
kid and had to smother stuff that was looking back at me and
blinking.

Is anybody ready for their
salad? Lindsay said. —I have a nice chicory salad prepared, and
there is cassata alia Siciliana for dessert.

By this point Bill had drawn
Lucy onto his lap, where she perched clinging to his big belly
while he entertained her with a lingering French kiss and caressed
her tattooed breasts.

Billy, Lindsay said, could I
interest you and Lucy in some salad? Billy?

Is Billy being bad? Bill
said, coming up for air, both his and Lucy’s lower faces wet and
shining in the soft candlelight.

What about dessert? Lindsay
said.

I could go for some dessert,
Lucy said. —You got any ice cream? Chocolate?

Well, actually the dessert
is more like cake, Lindsay said. When the baby stirred she began
patting its back. —A sort of cream tart. But there is some
chocolate in it. But a sort of bitter chocolate. I’m a chocolate
nut, too.

Are we all having fun yet?
Bill said. —That’s the real question here. Is this the jumping-off
place for fun, or what? Folks, I, for one, am experiencing no
despair, Bill said, and he buried his face between Lucy’s tattooed
breasts, while Lucy smiled and looked about the table with
unabashed eyes.

3

Presently the people around
the table in the turret simply sat there in silence, their stunned
faces glistening with sweat and their eyes glassy, breathing fast
and shallow, as they watched the candles burn down and, over the
murmur of Italian opera turned low on the stereo in the next room
and the muted sounds of traffic on Union Street and the occasional
clang of trolley bells down the hill, listened to the heavy
industrial sounds of one another’s digestive tracks.

I, myself, Jim said, holding
aloft his long-stemmed glass, have just about enough warm spit left
in here for a final toast.

What in the world is there
left for us to toast? Lindsay said. She was still patting the baby
on its little back.

There is always something
left in this old world worthy of a toast, Jim said. —The foggy,
romantic night beyond these windows of old, curved glass. The
flicker of candle flame upon that sleeping child’s face.

Your buddy there has shot
his wad, Lucy said, pointing her thumb at Bill who was sound asleep
and snoring, his great shaggy head bent forward with his chin on
his chest, his breath ragged and his snores juicy.

Your buddy’s got something
stuck up his nose, Lucy said.

Good Lord, Jim said, bending
forward for a better look. —Lulu’s right as rain.

Will you look at that, Ralph
said, leaning over the table. —What in the world is it?

I think, Jim said, that it
is one of the most amazing boogers ever seen by human
eyes.

It looks like a fucking
worm, Lucy said. She took a compact and lipstick from her small
red-sequined purse.

Why, it’s a noodle, Ralph
said. —The old Buffalo has one of those tasty stuffed noodles
caught in his nose.

Dear God, Lindsay said, as
she shifted the sleeping child from her right shoulder to her left.
—How did Billy manage to do that?

Here, Alice Ann said to
Lindsay, opening her arms. —Let me hold him for a while. May I? she
asked Lucy.

Just don’t drop him, Lucy
said, as she applied black lipstick to her full lower
lip.

Well, Jim said, he was
grazing his last helping of lasagna inbottite pretty close to the
plate. It boggles the imagination. Ralph, reach over there and jerk
that noodle out of Bill’s nose.

Who says that’s my job?
Ralph said. —I wouldn’t touch something coming out of Bill’s nose
for all the tea in China.

Oh, I’ll do it, Lindsay
said, and stood up.

No way, Jose! Jim said, and
jumped up. —Just don’t you dare touch that thing! I’ll do it. Why
me? Why always me?

How far is the Mission
District from here, anyhow? Lucy said.

About ten or fifteen minutes
by car, Lindsay said; then said: Jim, you don’t intend to stick
that fork up poor Bill’s nose, do you?

How much would a cab cost
over there? Lucy said.

Five bucks. Six, Jim said,
as he slowly speared the noodle and pulled it from Bill's nose. Jim
placed the fork and noodle on Bill's plate. Bill’s breathing
immediately became more regular and relaxed. —I coulda been a brain
surgeon, Jim said.

Poor old Billy, Lindsay
said, and patted Bill’s head. —He’s down for the count.

Don’t bet on it, Jim said.
—He’s just recharging his Buffalo batteries.

Bill snorted from the
profound depths of his snooze, and burped and smacked his lips
wetly.

When he attempted to
reposition himself more comfortably, he let out an enormous fart
and almost tipped the chair over backward.

We’d better get Billy
stretched out somewhere, Lindsay said.

Good luck with that, Jim
said. —I, for one, am not about to risk life and limb trying to get
about a ton of half-baked Buffalo bullshit to bed.

It’s no sweat, Lucy said,
and cupped her tiny hand in Bill’s crotch. Bill did not open his
eyes, but he immediately mumbled mightily and sat up straight in
his chair. —So where do you want to park him? Lucy asked
Lindsay.