-3-

Josie stuffs the last of her clothing into a duffel bag, then drags it to the bedroom door for Richie to pick up. He’s driving her to the new apartment.

In the kitchen, crouching tigers await her: Johnny, Terry, her mother. No matter what anyone says to dissuade her, she’ll stay focused on her new place and her new friends.

The narrow hall leading to the kitchen ends too soon. Her mother stands in front of the refrigerator, hair in a bun, lips ironed shut, arms folded across her chest, a big woman, more square than round, who tells everyone what to do but never why.

“Come in. Make yourself at home even if you are leaving us.” Johnny pulls out a chair, which she ignores.

Richie is loitering nearby. “My bag’s ready,” she informs him.

“You can change your mind.” Johnny’s voice playful.

“Why would I do that?”

“So you don’t cause Ma the same kind of grief your cousin Grace did her mother when she ran away.”

“I left the address in my room, Ma, phone number too. I’m not running away.” But is she?

Her mother says nothing.

“Do you realize what you’re leaving?” Johnny shakes his head. “Everyone around here looks after you. You can’t buy that.”

“Richie, my bag please.” Who clipped his tongue? He could throw a few helpful words her way.

“I hear you got a job. Where?” Terry’s voice overly pleasant, but nothing fractures the tension.

“St. Vincent’s Hospital.” Does her mother plan to move from that spot?

“Now, that’s a safe environment.” Terry offers this as reassurance to the others. Josie’s sister-in-law’s been a member of the family since junior high school when she and Johnny began going steady. Josie has never been able to figure out if Terry married Johnny because he’s handsome, which he is in a Steve McQueen way, or because she enjoys being dominated. After two years of trying to conceive, Terry won’t ask him to go for a sperm test.

“What are they paying you?” Johnny asks.

“I don’t inquire after your salary.”

“Just looking out for your welfare.”

Several cheeses, a sliced tomato, and Italian bread are on the table. Even if she were hungry, she wouldn’t prolong the ordeal by a mouthful.

“Taking off this way is an insult to the family.” Johnny dips a piece of bread into some oil, holds it out to her.

“No thanks.”

“Your family wants to take care of you till you’re married. You’re not letting us do our job,” he says.

“I’m not a child.”

“You live apart from family, men won’t treat you with respect.” He pops the bread in his mouth.

She speaks directly to her mother. “Girls my age are on the go. It’s a different time.”

“Cousin Grace is stuck in some drug-infested den. Sorry, Ma.” Johnny glances at his mother.

“You don’t know that.” Her cousin lived on the same street, went to her school, was in all of the same classes through tenth grade when she disappeared. Though they had shared secrets, Grace had never told her she was leaving.

“Hey, I’m a cop. I cruise the streets. You can’t imagine what I see. Ma worries about what’ll happen to you out there.”

“Honey, let her be.” Terry touches his shoulder.

He shrugs her off. “Ma believes you don’t care about her anymore.”

“How do you know what Ma believes?”

“Josie, don’t,” Terry warns.

“I’ll phone you in a few days, Ma. Okay?” But her mother remains mute.

She kisses Terry’s cheek, then follows Richie out into the dark hall, down five flights, and to his car parked in front of her parents’ pizzeria. “Wait out here for me. I’ll only be a minute.”

The place is small, with only two tables. Her father, wrapped in a large white apron, is seated at one, his thin arm resting on the marbled Formica. He looks sad, worried, tired. How long can he keep up a fifteen-hour day? Still, if they sell, what’ll he do? Who would he talk to? She shudders.

Tony, a neighborhood kid who works there, is punching dough near the oven, a steel monster large enough to cremate a body.

“Hi, Pa,” Josie says.

He nods.

She pulls up a chair, rests her arm near his. “Ma has all the information.”

He nods.

“It’s a safe apartment with two women students. NYU’s just a skip away. You can bring Ma down for a visit. It’s only a train ride.”

“We’ll see.”

But he won’t see. They’ll never visit. Manhattan is outside the parameters of their life. “Has it been slow all afternoon?”

“They come in later, after the movies.”

“Ma’s not speaking to me. Tell her I’m not running away. Tell her thousands of young women move out before they’re married. It’s the American way.” But she knows her departure is already being recorded as one more event out of their control.

“She’ll get used to it.”

“And you?”

His warm hand comes down on hers. “You’re a good girl.”

With his elbow out the window, four fingers on the steering wheel, Richie careens around, cutting corners so close she expects to end up on the sidewalk.

“I hope you’re more careful with a tank.”

He smiles.

“Why didn’t you say a word in the kitchen?”

“What’s the point? You can’t change them. All you can do is reassure them that you won’t die.”

“You sound wise, but I think you’re chicken for enlisting.”

“I don’t mind going. I’m tired of waking up to the same boring chug of espresso machines.”

“Or garlic smells.”

“And cheese.”

“Shalimar perfume everywhere.”

“And pissy hallways.”

“Richie, not true. Everything is kept sparkling.”

“So who cares?” He stares ahead.

“Exactly. I need to make a life. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

“So why didn’t you say something nasty to Johnny?”

“He wasn’t razzing me.”

“How can Terry stand it?”

“Terry won’t bark at him in front of others. It’s different at home.”

“Do you know that?”

“That’s how women are, right?”

She can’t tell if he’s teasing. “Johnny would be happy living in Italy.”

“I’d rather learn about what I don’t know.”

“First intelligent remark I’ve heard today. What a trade-off, see the world and die. I’ll write you often.” She touches his hand on the wheel.

“Don’t send me antiwar propaganda.”

“Being informed doesn’t end because you’re a soldier.”

“It’s a challenge to bunk with guys who think you’re a traitor.”

“You could organize them.”

“To go drinking, sight-seeing, that’s it, Josie.”

“I can’t promise to suppress my feelings.”

“Then think about what I need.” His tone is serious.

“I will, all the time. And, Richie, you have to level with me. Don’t write me a bunch of crap about how well things are going. The truth and only the truth, so help you God, Mary, and the rest of the trio.”

“And what’ll you do with all that truth? Come and get me?”

“I can’t be helpful unless I understand what’s happening to you. So, promise.”

“The gory shit is yours.” But he doesn’t look at her.

Still clutching the key to the new apartment, she walks through the rooms. It’s as she imagined: political posters covering the walls and books everywhere. In the high-ceilinged living room, an overstuffed couch, two beat-up chairs, and protected by an Indian spread, the pullout she’ll sleep on. The studied carelessness of the place is comforting, something her home doesn’t offer.

Afternoon sunlight streams through the tall uncurtained kitchen window. The view reveals university buildings and a glimpse of Washington Square Park. On the white-tiled counter, a can of coffee and some filters. She prepares a pot of fresh coffee for her friends. As she listens to the drip, drip of the liquid, the strangeness of the newness is already fading.