Thursday morning
OLIVIA WAS IN THE BREAKFAST NOOK WITH CARLOTTA, BOTH DRINKING café con leche and eating English muffins dripping with butter. Carlotta was reading a story about “el maniaco S.W.A.K.” in El Diario, muttering about what she’d do to that crazy man if she got her hands on him.
“Livvy, I hate you bein’ in that neighborhood. Promise me you don’ go wanderin’ around with nobody. I worry.” And when Carlotta kissed her, Olivia could feel the silkiness of the butter from Carlotta’s lips on her cheek.
Olivia was going in to school late. At ten-thirty, she had to submit the design assignment for her application to FIT, eight outfits all with a fruit theme. There was nothing her mother could do: Olivia had paid the application fee herself.
Carlotta, who had taught Olivia to sew, thought her designs were gorgeous. “You gonna be a famous fashion designer someday! I’m tellin’ you!”
She took a cab to Ninth Avenue and 28th Street. After dropping off the application, she stood around, watching kids hurrying to classes, portfolios and sketchbooks under their arms, and thought, “I’ll be happy here. I’ll make interesting friends.” Since tenth grade when her only close friend transferred to boarding school, all she had were the Lilys, who were okay for shopping sprees but not much else.
To put off going to Chaps a little longer, Olivia crossed Seventh Avenue and started walking uptown. At 33rd Street, she saw two guys hanging out on the wide steps that led to Madison Square Garden. She recognized them right away. Her eyes trained downward on her New Balances, Olivia kept walking, hoping to hurry past unnoticed. No such…
“Hey Chiquita,” the thinner of the two shouted to her while the other made lip-smacking sounds like he was beckoning a dog. “Come on! You remember us, I know you do.”
It was Grant and his friends who first started calling them Arm and Hammer because the coke they sold was half baking soda. The names stuck. For years Chaps kids had been buying drugs from them in Turtle Park. This year they’d been around when school first started, but then it was as if they vanished into thin air. Right away the rumors started. “Arm got arrested and snitched out Hammer.” “Hammer got shot and Arm left town.” “Arm and Hammer? They’re gay for each other. They moved to Vermont to get married.” But some kids said they heard that Mr. Marshall had gone over to the playground and told them to beat it or there’d be trouble with the cops.
“Come on. Say hello,” Arm called out teasingly. His neck was covered with so many tattoos that it looked like he was always wearing a blue turtleneck. Hammer was fat, with a blown-out Afro. Even when it was hot, he wore a puffy vest.
Olivia blinked in an imitation of surprise. “Oh, hey!”
“You saw us. Don’t be pretending like you didn’t,” Hammer said. His eyes swept over her. “You looking fine!”
“So—anybody asks, you tell them this is where to find us,” Arm said. “You got that? The business cards ain’t printed up yet.”
Hammer chuckled, shaking his head.
“We under new management. Moved to nicer digs. You like?” He gestured to a small building on the side street. “I can get my girl to get you an ex-spresso if you want it.”
“A Frapa-fuckin’-chino,” Hammer giggled.
“Got a new deal. Man upstairs. The man asked us to re-lo-cate.” Arm was talking fast, but he accentuated each syllable of the word. “You know him, Chiquita. Man upstairs.”
“Who?” Olivia said.
“He your man upstairs too.”
“Blond nigga with the stick up his ass,” Hammer said.
Arm stood up and took a few steps, feet pointing outward, shoulders stiff, head tucked in slightly; it actually wasn’t a half-bad imitation of the way the new headmaster walked, a little like a waddle.
“Mr. Marshall?”
“That his name? We don’t be looking for no trouble. We tell him that. Whatever he wants, here we are…happy to oblige. That right, son?” Arm turned for confirmation, but Hammer’s eyes were glassy and blank. “That right, son?” Arm repeated. “Any time he wants to party. Here we are.”
“Shit, nigga,” Hammer said. “I’m fuckin’ baked.” They both started laughing, a sly, stoned laugh.
A cab pulled up in front of the entrance to Penn Station.
“Yeah, okay—well, see ya!” Olivia said and ran over, rapping her knuckles on the glass to get the driver’s attention. Next stop Chaps. Just as she was slamming the door, Arm shouted to her, “Say hi to your bro…. Tell him there’s always a discount.”
Thursday morning
Invitation in Rannie Bookman’s mail
Please join the Chapel School Community
Monday
at eleven o’clock in the morning
at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine
for a celebration of the life of
A. Lawrence Tutwiler
Following the service, there will be refreshments in the basement of the Cathedral. Please note that school will be closed that day.