10

AFTER A WEEKEND in which Albert was taken to a Mets game, the zoo, three movies and Adventurers' Inn for hot dogs and ketchup, the De Cocos settled down for a Monday night's TV. Marie and Tommy in the living room, Stony and Albert in their bedroom. The phone rang, and the two divisions played chicken to see who was going to pick it up. After four rings, Tommy cracked.

"Yo!"

"Is ... ah ... Stony there?"

Tommy frowned. A familiar voice, but he couldn't place it. "Uh ... hold on ... hey, Stones! Pick up."

Stony picked up the extension in his bedroom. "Yeah?"

"Stony? This is Doctor Harris."

"Hey, how ya doin'?"

"Good ... how's Albert?"

Stony glanced at Albert sitting on the floor, mesmerized by the television. "He's pretty good."

"Is he taking the Valiums?"

"The what?"

"The pills I gave your mother."

"You gave her pills?"

"For Albert." Harris found himself getting into a rage.

"She never said nothin' about no pills." Stony raised his voice, turning with a frown to Albert.

"Listen ... can you come in and see me tomorrow?"

"Me?"

"Yeah ... I need to talk to you ... it's very important."

"Sure ... what time?"

"How about one, we can have some lunch."

"Sure thing."

"And listen, don't tell anybody you're coming in, O.K.?"

"Sure. What's goin' on?"

"Nothin', I just wanna talk to you about your brother. One o'clock, O.K.?"

"Right." Stony slowly replaced the receiver. Albert briefly looked up, then returned his gaze to the TV.

Tommy came into the bedroom. "Hey, Stones? Who was that?" His hand on the doorknob.

Stony sat down next to Albert, leaning back against the bed. "Who was that? A friend from the Mount." Stony tried to concentrate on the Flintstones.

***

"Doctor Harris?"

Harris smiled when he saw Stony standing in the doorway. "C'mon in." He rose and shook Stony's hand. "Grab a seat." Stony pulled up a chair to Harris' desk. "So how's it goin' at home?" Harris filled a pipe and crossed his legs.

"O.K., I guess, uh, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Albert. I still don't know what the hell happened to him, although I have my suspicions." He sucked at his unlit pipe, watching Stony's face for a reaction.

Stony snorted. "I know what you mean. I think my old lady did some kinda number, but I don't know what. You hear what happened that night?"

"What night?"

"The night when Albert was brought in. I flipped and I punched her out."

"Your mother?"

"Yeah." Stony looked down at his shoes. "I clocked her pretty bad. I thought they were gonna put me inna room next to Albert after that."

"Hmph." Harris reached for the matches on the desk. "What do you think she did?"

"Who knows. She gets into these tirades aroun' him not eating. I seen him wig out once or twice. Coulda been something like that."

Harris lit his pipe, sending up cherry-scented smoke signals. "Well, let me give you a little advice." Harris held his pipe close to his mouth. "Any time she starts in on him, you clock her again."

Stony sat up as if he had received a small shock.

"You heard me." Harris nodded. "If a big kid was tormenting Albert, you wouldn't hesitate to cold-deck him, right?"

"Yeah, but it's my mother!" Stony laughed incredulously.

"Yeah, but it's your brother!" Harris countered. "Look, let me be more blunt than that, if I can. The only thing that keeps your brother alive is you. Your mother's out to get him and your father could give two shits. Now, Albert knows that, not in so many words, but we all have that instinct for survival. You're more than a brother to him—you're a lifeline. Do you know what anorexia's all about? Terror. Pure, simple shit-eating terror. There's not a goddamn thing wrong with that kid physically. But that mother of yours has got him hopping and jumping so bad he just can't eat. Now look, I wanted him in some kind of therapy. I don't know what your opinion of shrinks is, and frankly I don't give a damn, but it really doesn't make a difference now anyway. Your mother wouldn't grant permission, so there's nothing I can do about it"—Harris laid down his pipe—"except talk to you. Now you can't be Albert's shrink, but you can be his protector. Now, I'm telling you that your mother's out to do him in, and I'm telling you to slug her any time she starts in on him." He chuckled. "And you're looking at me as if to say, 'This bearded bastard's a doctor?' Well you're goddamn right. I'm a doctor and what's more I'm a goddamn good doctor, and I'll bet you a round-trip ticket to the ends of the universe that after your little outburst last week it'll be a long, long time before your mother tries any stuff on Albert with you around. All I'm saying is, we have to get her to feel that way, even when you're not around. Even if she thinks you might hear about it, you follow?"

"I dunno, Doctor Harris, you're talkin' some crazy stuff." Stony started to sweat.

"Stony, do you have a black suit?"

"No, what for?"

"Well, I suggest you get one, because you're gonna need it sometime in the next two years."

"What the hell for?"

"Albert's funeral."

Stony sank down in the chair. His eyes began to itch. "You just said there's nothin' wrong with him." His voice cracked.

"There will be." Harris relit his pipe. "I wonder what happened to those Valiums I gave your mother for Albert?" he asked innocently.

"They probably got ditched," Stony muttered.

"By your mother?" Harris asked with mock incredulity.

Stony glared at him. "O.K., O.K., I'll be King Kong, awright?"

Harris laughed. "Look, any time she starts in on him, if you can give her half the look you're giving me now, that'll put her on ice for six months."

"Oh yeah? How come you ain't scared?"

Harris sucked on his pipe. "Because I can wrap your ass three times around a doorknob before you could ever figure out where the door is, but I would be scared if I couldn't."

"You're crazy." Stony laughed nervously.

"Who isn't?" Harris stood up. "Let's get some lunch."

***

"Nice day." Harris munched on a hot dog as he scanned the park. Stony sat next to him on a graffiti-scarred bench. "You jog?"

"Nah. I used to run when I was playin' ball." Stony yawned. "That was somethin' else. The whole team used to run together, forty guys in cleats around the reservoir. We sounded like a goddamn army," he snickered, "we scared the hell out of everybody."

"You don't play ball anymore?" Harris rolled his napkin in a ball and tossed it into a trash can.

"Nah, those days are over."

"Are you going to college?"

"I got in someplace in Louisiana, but I ain't goin'. You ever been down south?"

Harris smiled. "Once or twice."

"You go to school down there?"

Harris flash-imaged sit-ins, dogs, black faces, jail, sunglasses like mirrors. "In a manner of speaking." He picked a shred of sauerkraut that was dangling from his beard. "So if you're not going to college, what are you going to do?"

Stony shrugged. "I guess be an electrician with my old man."

"You don't sound too excited."

"Well, you know, the bread's good. What can I tell you?"

"You ever think of doing something else?"

"To be honest with you, I never given it much thought, except..." Stony leaned forward, elbows on knees. "I useta have this fantasy a workin' with kids. I dig kids. I get along with them. About four years ago I was a camp counselor. I really dug that. I had fifteen third-graders, yeah. I really had some heavy times. I'm a dynamite storyteller, you know?"

"So why don't you work with kids?"

"I dunno. You can't just work with kids all your life."

"Why not? I do."

"Yeah, but you're a doctor."

"If I wasn't a doctor I'd still want to work with kids, why not you?"

"I dunno, I can't do that. It's ... I dunno."

"Do you want to be an electrician?"

"Well, I dunno." Stony grimaced. "Not really, I mean, I guess I could get into it." A gray-haired man in bermuda shorts and an orange beret zoomed by on a bicycle. "I mean, it's responsible work. I dunno what I'm talkin' about." Stony laughed apologetically. "Like I said, I never really thought about it either way. It's a living."

"How old are you, Stony?"

"Eighteen."

"You sound like you're forty-five."

"Is that good?"

"It's pathetic. If you feel like this now, how do you think you're going to feel twenty years from now, coming home for dinner, watching TV, going to sleep, going back to the construction site in the morning?"

Stony felt himself getting angry. "Hey, look, I stick with it twenny years I ain't gonna be runnin' around in a damn T-shirt. I'll be a goddamn foreman pullin' down forty-thou."

"I asked you how do you think you'll feel coming home, eating dinner, watching TV, going to sleep and starting all over the next day. How much juice do you think you'll be getting out of your life?"

"How the hell do I know?"

"I can make a phone call and get you a job as a recreation assistant at Cresthaven Hospital in the children's ward starting Monday."

"Hold it, hold it." Stony held his forehead. "Slow down."

"No. Give me a yes or a no." Harris draped his arms on the back of the bench.

"How much does it pay?"

"Peanuts. Yes or no?"

Stony laughed. Mad. Cornered. This guy was nuts. "Why not?"

Harris stood up. "Good. I'll make a call this afternoon." He smiled. "You have a good heart, Stony. That beats out forty thou, all the union benefits you can eat and a full house, aces high, but you have to play your hand."

Stony felt like he'd just done something bad, that he was going to get his ass kicked by somebody, that he just broke his mother's favorite lamp, but somewhere in the back of his head there was a nagging, irritating, terrifying, undeniable sense of excitement the likes of which he hadn't felt since the first time he got laid. "I'll give it a crack."

***

AFTER WORK Tommy bopped into Banion's laughing his ass off. He spotted Chubby at a small table. Tommy waved to Banion and pulled up a chair. "Hey, Stony sent a letter to that school down south." He cracked his knuckles.

"He's goin'?"

Tommy laughed. "He found out the school is ninety-five percent nigger."

Chubby belly-laughed. "Tell Banion."

"I'll tell 'im later. Anyways, it's all set. I spoke to Frankie Finnegan. Stony can work with me over in Riverdale this summer an' in the fall he'll start apprentice classes out in Queens."

"Last I spoke to Stony he still wasn't too crazy about comin' in."

Tommy leaned back in his chair, hissing through his teeth. He stared at Chubby. "What else is he gonna do?"

"Look, I'm not arguing with you. I think he should go in too, but it would be nice if he thought he should go in, don't you think?"

"Ach..." Tommy stared off in disgust, then got up. "You want anything?"

"Scotch."

Tommy went over to the bar, joked around with some guys and returned with a drink in each hand.

"Some day he'll thank me." Tommy solemnly nodded and winked.

"I hope so," Chubby said.

"Oh lissen, I almost forgot." Tommy leaned over the table and whispered, "You got fifteen bucks?"

"You short?" Chubby reached for his wallet.

"Nah, nah, we found out tomorrow's Banion's birthday. A couple a guys are gonna go down and pick up a new wheelchair for him. We'll close the place tomorrow night and throw him a surprise party. You wanna chip in?"

Chubby thought for a moment. "Tom, I think I wanna get Banion my own present."

"It's on you." Tommy rose from the table. "I'm gonna go home, get some dinner. Come in tomorrow night about ten, O.K.?"

Chubby winked. After Tommy split. Chubby got up, yawned and sat at the bar. He studied Banion moving around, making drinks. "You know, Banion, I was thinkin', since las' week when you was tellin' me about what happened with your kid, I was thinkin' that maybe you should give him a call or somethin'."

Banion sipped a milk on the rocks, nervously drummed his fingers on the armrest of his wheelchair.

"The reason I think that, Mikey, is because I think you really love him, you know? I dunno, somethin' just tells me you do."

Banion finished the milk, shaking some ice from the glass into his mouth.

"You know, I never met a parent who somewhere deep down inside, in spite of all the crap and thunder, deep down inside who wouldn't die for their kid." Chubby took out a pack of cigarettes, offered one to Banion. Banion shook his head no. "It's like cuttin' off your nose to spite your face what you're doin', and I'll bet dollars to doughnuts he really wants to see you ... you're his goddamn father." Chubby lit his cigarette.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Banion said.

"Aw c'mon," Chubby persisted, "you mean to tell me you don't care if you never see him again?" Banion wheeled away from Chubby, served up some drinks at the other end of the bar. "Banion, get the fuck back here."

"Hey look," Banion snapped across the room, "if you know anything about anything you'll lay off me about that."

"I only meant—"

"I said you'll lay off."

"Hey c'mon, Mikey."

"You'll lay off."

Chubby opened his mouth to speak, but his words subsided in a sigh. "O.K."

Banion wheeled back to Chubby's end of the bar. "Chubby, how come you never had kids?"

"I dunno." Chubby shrugged. "I guess I was afraid they'd all be fat and ugly like me."

"Cut the crap, Chubby, I'm asking you serious." Banion poured himself another milk.

"I'll tell you something, I never felt like I needed a kid. I got Stony, Tommy's boy. He's the best goddamn kid in the world. A goddamn kid-and-a-half." Chubby popped his knuckles. "You know, when we talk, me an' Stony, when we talk we're just like two guys, like two buddies. None of this Uncle Chubby garbage. An' I'll tell you somethin' else, that goddamn kid loves my ass. Jus' between you and me, I think the kid digs me even more than he does Tommy, but don't ever tell Tommy that." Chubby laughed.

"How about your old lady? Is Stony like a son to her too?"

Chubby looked pained. "Sometimes."

"Whatta you mean sometimes?"

"I dunno, sometimes yeah, sometimes no, what the hell's the difference?"

"Whatta you gettin' so mad about, Chubby? I just wanna know how come you don't have kids."

"I told you goddamnit, Stony's—"

"But he ain't yours."

"Hey, look, what the fuck you want from me? You want me to say I can't have kids? You want me to say Phyllis can't have kids? Well I won't cause I can! Phyllis can! She gave me a goddamn son, the most beautiful fat baby boy in the whole fucking world..." Chubby stared at his drink, his face burning, his hands clasped in a bloodless knot of fingers. Banion started to say something, but Chubby cut him short. "He's dead and buried so goddamn long it seems like he was never here, like the whole thing was a dream."

Banion stared at Chubby's hands.

"Louis De Coco, Jr." Chubby smiled as he looked up at Banion. "He weighed in at thirteen pounds, four ounces. Thirteen pounds and four ounces, can you imagine that? The goddamn doctor said Louie was the biggest friggin' baby he ever delivered." Chubby laughed. "Everybody came over the house, you know, when Louie and Phyllis came back from the hospital. I used to love to watch their eyes pop when they got their first look-see." Chubby bulged his eyes and shook his head in reverie. "That seems like a million years ago. A goddamn different world. I weighed seventy-five pounds less, and Phyll weighed thirty pounds more."

"What happened. Chubby?" Banion asked softly.

"What happened," Chubby repeated. He rubbed his eyes. "Two weeks after they came home from the hospital I'm working for Delta Electric on this housing project that was going up at that time; I'm puttin' in navigation lights on some buildings, you know, just pullin' cable all fuckin' day. We were livin' over by Yankee Stadium then. I come home that day, I remember it was a really crazy cold day for April. First thing I notice I don't smell no dinner or nothin'. I figure, well, maybe she's busy with Louie so I call out, 'Phyll? Hey, Phyll?' No answer, nothin', an' I figure now that's weird ... I know she don't go out and leave the kid or anything. So I walk into the bedroom." Chubby ran his finger around the rim of his glass. "I walk into the bedroom, and it's almost dark. Phyllis sitting up in bed with Louie in her arms, neither of them is movin'. I can't see so good so I go to turn on the lamp, and Phyllis says, 'Don't!' ...She don't even look at me, she just says, 'Don't!' like really sharp. I felt scared shit when she said that. I don't know why I did it but I reach over and touch Louie's face. His face is cold, really cold ... an' the room is hot. The steam's hissing from the radiator, and the pipes are clanking like crazy. An' his face ... I could almost feel the color blue through my fingers when I touched his face. After that I felt like I was sleepwalking. I never turned the lights on. I fished around the room until I found a newspaper. I took Louie out of Phyll's arms, an' I wrapped him head to toe in that paper. I walked right out of the apartment with him in my arms, down the stairs, into the street, got into my car, laid him next to me on the seat, drove over to Ciccio Funeral Home, walked into the director's office, laid him down on the guy's desk, emptied out my wallet—thirty-two dollars—dumped that on his desk and said, 'Bury him.' Then I got into my car, drove home, got undressed, got in bed with Phyllis and cried my heart out."

Chubby sighed. "I dunno. That night the cops came, doctors came, relatives came, it was like a fucking nightmare. It was unreal, like I was underwater or something, an' poor Phyllis. What had happened was that she was laying in bed with Louie, fell asleep and rolled over on him. He suffocated. When she woke up he was dead. That happens from time to time. I dunno, I don't blame her, she feels punished enough, you know?"

Banion poured him a Scotch.

"Ach, it ain't worth moanin' about." He accepted the drink from Banion with a nod. "That night was the last time I ever cried. I felt like that kid just sucked up all the hurt and heartache I was ever gonna let myself feel. The doctor said we should have another baby right away. I just said no day, no way. No more hurt. The next year Stony was born. I said to myself, 'I'll love my brother's kid, I'll treat him like I would've Louie, I'll play with him, I'll be the best goddamn uncle a nephew could have.' Uncle, not father, nephew, not son. And that's the way I want it. I got no room for nothin' else." Then Chubby added as a postscript, "You know, one thing I remember from that night just like it was yesterday, an' I don't know why this should stick in my head of all the fuckin' shit from that night, but I remember the sports headlines on one of the papers that I wrapped Louie in. 'Mays Grand-Slams Spahn, 4-3,' New York Mirror, April tenth, nineteen fifty-six." Chubby hunched over the bar, cradling his drink in both hands. "You know, I always was a Giants fan, even when they moved to San Francisco, but I never did like that black bastard."

***

"Albert, eat your string beans." Marie glared at him.

Albert hastily jammed two forkfuls in his mouth.

Stony lunged across the table in Marie's direction. Marie gasped, almost tipping her chair backward. Stony grabbed the salt by her plate and fell back into his seat, lightly salting his roast beef.

The blood drained from Marie's face. Stony busied himself with his food.

Tommy frowned. "What the hell's goin' on here?"

"Whatta you mean?" Stony looked at his father, fighting down a slight smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

***

"Hey, Stones?" Tommy popped his head into Stony's bedroom after dinner. Stony was doing James Brown splits in front of the closet door mirror. He jumped when he heard his father's voice.

"Yeah?" He quickly picked up a comb and, blushing, started doing his hair. Tommy sat on Stony's bed, squinting, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"I got some good news, babe, I swung it so you can work up in Riverdale with me."

Stony sighed, pocketed his comb and swung the closet door closed.

"Hey, don't go droolin' all over me with gratitude. A simple thanks is enough, you know?" Tommy leaned his elbows on his knees.

Stony balanced against his desk, arms folded across his chest. He stared at his father's shoes. "Hey, Pop? I thought we went through this deal awready. I don' wanna do construction this summer."

"So whattaya gonna do, drive around Harlem in a Good Humor truck again?" Tommy walked over to the window and flicked the butt into a spin fifteen stories to the street.

"It was Carvel," Stony said.

"Oh, excuse me." Tommy returned to the bed, lying back on the pillow.

"Hey look, I jus' don' wanna do construction, O.K.?" Stony twiddled a pencil between his fingers in a seesaw motion.

Father and son glared at each other across the room. Tommy suddenly bolted from the bed and headed for Stony. Scared, Stony sidestepped to the closet. Tommy charged past him to the desk and began pulling out drawers and rifling through the crap until he found a blank piece of loose-leaf paper. With his other hand he picked up a chair and banged it down in front of the desk. "Siddown," he barked at Stony.

Stony hesitated for a second, then cautiously sat, Tommy towering over him. Tommy slapped the sheet of paper. "Gimme that pencil." Tommy grabbed it from Stony's fingers, leaned over the desk and numbered the paper. "Here." He jammed the pencil into Stony's hand and closed Stony's fingers around it. "Now, I want you to write me three things you wanna be."

Stony held the pencil upside down and stared puzzled at Tommy.

"G'head. Write!"

"What?"

"Write down three things you wanna do witcha life."

Stony bent slowly over the paper, frowning like he was doing a surprise quiz.

"You got two minutes." Tommy stood over him, arms folded across his chest like a proctor.

Stony turned and twisted his head, looking up at Tommy. "You wanna get outta my light?"

Tommy walked out of the bedroom. "You got two minutes." Stony heard the bathroom door lock and a second later a glissando of piss. He stood up and gave the bedroom door crossed forearms before plopping back down to his task. He stared out the window and chewed his pencil. He held his head in his hands. He drew a big prick and labeled it, "Thomas De Coco, Sr." He bit off half the eraser and spit it out the window. He wrote down, "Work with kids." He picked his nose with his pinky, examined it and wiped his finger on the underside of the desk.

"You got one minute," Tommy warned from the doorway, lighting another cigarette.

Stony jumped up and saluted, "Sieg Heil!"

"Faggot fascist hard hat" was number two. He eliminated the prick and Tommy's name with what was left of the eraser. He stared at the paper, the number three, noticed an old James Brown album, "Mister Dynamite," lying under the TV, chuckled and wrote, "Mister Dynamite."

Tommy grabbed the paper from Stony's hands. "Whadda you, a smart-ass or somethin'?"

Stony smiled meekly, a fuck you in his eyes.

"You wanna be a nursery school teacher and you're callin' me a faggot?"

"Who wants to be a nursery school teacher?"

Tommy picked up the paper and read out loud: "Work with kids." He dropped the paper. It floated into Stony's lap.

"So?" Stony tossed the paper on the desk.

"So what's that mean? Kindergarten? 'Romper Room'? Milk and cookies? Whatta they gonna call you. Miss De Coco?"

"No! I can get a gig in a hospital workin' with kids. A friend a mine got me a deal if I want at Cresthaven."

"A hospital! Ugh! That's the pits! What'll they pay ya? A hundred?"

"I dunno, what's the difference!" Stony glared.

"The difference is, you come with me you be makin' more bread in two weeks than you'll make candy stripin' for two months."

"I ain't candy stripin'. I'll be a goddamn recreational assistant."

"What makes you think you can handle hospital work? I seen you go green at a nosebleed." Tommy lit another cigarette.

"I ain't doin' brain surgery, I'm just playin' with the kids."

"Ah, grow up, Stony. That's woman's work."

"Oh yeah, right, sorry, you're right. I should be runnin' aroun' in my T-shirt with a screwdriver and a red hat on. Yeah, then I'd be a real man. Right, sure!"

"Hey look!" Tommy pointed a finger an inch from Stony's nose. "I can still kick your ass all over this fuckin' room!"

Stony's face was composed. "I don't suggest you try it." His legs were trembling, but he wouldn't crack.

Tommy stood motionless, red-faced, his finger like a gun in Stony's face. Stony tried not to even blink. Tommy flung his cigarette toward the open window and stalked out of the room. The cigarette hit the window in a splash of embers and lay smoking on the windowsill. Stony flicked the cigarette out the window. "Candy-ass," he muttered, not too loud, and collapsed in his seat. He sat there, not moving, until Tommy came back into the room.

"Hey lissen." He tentatively laid a hand on Stony's shoulder. "I'm sorry. You do what you want this summer. You wanna be a candy striper or whatever, it's on you. It's none a my business." No reaction from Stony. "But if you want my opinion, you're a jerk if you don't go into the union."

Stony sighed, shaking his head sadly.

"O.K., look." Tommy sat on the desk. "I'll make a deal with you. You wanna do hospital work? Fine! Do two weeks hospital, then do two weeks with me, you know, like a test." Stony started to protest, but Tommy cut him short with a raised hand. "You do those two weeks with me, after that you can clean sewers for all I care." Stony walked around the room, his hands in his pockets.

"Stony, God as my witness." Tommy stood, one hand on his heart, one hand raised palm toward Stony like a saint. "God as my witness, Stones, gimme those two weeks and I won't say another word about nothin' until I'm dead. I swear."

"Awright, awright." Stony threw in the towel.

Tommy put an arm around Stony's ribs. "Stony, I'm your father. I don't want nothin' but the best for you." On every other word he squeezed Stony's side like an accordion. Stony felt relieved that Tommy had backed down from kicking his ass. "Do the hospital first so you can compare, but just do yourself a favor and lissen to yer old man."

Stony nodded. Fair enough.

"Oh, an lissen"—Tommy threw over his shoulder on his way out—"forget the Mister Dynamite number. Demolition's good bucks but someday you'll wind up wit' your ass blown halfway to China."