“We can do the rest later, after we see Ike,” she said, suddenly looking sad.
“What’s the matter baby?”
“You know, it isn’t easy for me even being near Atlantic City. You know why I went there in the first place, don’t you? I told you about my father.”
“Yah, of course you told me.”
“I mean, why’d he have to fuck me, huh? What kind of guy does that to his own daughter when I wasn’t even thirteen yet? He was already getting plenty of women on the side, you know, what’d he need me for?”
“Try not to go down that road, okay?” he said. “The pot will only make it worse.”
“I just feel nervous lately, anxious, like something very bad’s gonna happen. Do you understand? Like I’m gonna die soon, or something. Do you know what I mean? Maybe it’s just because we’re so close to A.C.”
He knew exactly what she meant. Lately, a lot of the time when he was straight he felt like he was going to die soon too, a feeling only the right drugs could take away, but he didn’t want to tell her that. “Kind of,” he said.
“I wish we were back in bed in Fort Lee doing it together. That’s what I wish.”
“We can drive back right after we see Ike. I’d like that too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really,” he said, although he still wanted to see the beach, if only for a few minutes, where he once swam with his father. Maybe he could go there alone for ten minutes while she stayed in the car or else while she was in the motel in Ventnor packing (if they really were going to leave right away), though he wished somehow they could go there together.
“I like that all the time,” he added to reassure her, “being in bed with you. Even in my grave I’ll want it with you.”
“No kidding?”
“No question about it.”
“So you’re not thinking of ditching me here and taking up with some loose bimbo you meet in a casino?”
“No way, course not. It’s just you I want, always.”
“That’s not the pot talking, is it? You don’t just love me when you’re on drugs, do you?”
“Course not. I love you all the time. So, you feeling better now?”
“Yeah,” Rina said, taking his hand and squeezing it.
“Okay, we’re only a block from Ike’s. I think we should go see him now, okay?”
“Sure,” she said. “I’m ready.”
He noticed the tight, smallish white beach houses of Ventnor were suddenly sparkling. He felt blissed out. He looked at her and thought she was feeling the same thing.
“What are you feeling?” he said to her when they were two houses from Ike’s. There was a strong breeze blowing in from the sea and it moved her hair in an attractive way.
“Like my problems are a million miles away.”
He gave her hand another squeeze. “Me too.”
Then they started to walk up the steps to Ike’s house, the largest one on a block where a number of low- to mid-level Mafia reputedly owned homes.
He rang the bell, hoping he wasn’t too stoned, but still glad that he’d smoked. He waited, then rang a second and third time. It probably took Ike longer to get around now that he was in his early seventies. Stacy continued to wait until he felt a pair of eyes staring at him through the peephole. An unfamiliar voice said, “Who is it?”
He felt then that he’d made a mistake and should excuse himself and leave. Instead, he said, “I came to see Ike. It’s Stacy.”
A few seconds later the door opened. The man who let them in was huge, both taller than Stacy by three or four inches and heavier by fifty to seventy pounds. He was wearing a loose T-shirt that said Hell Busters on it, loose light blue, low-slung jeans, black boots, and lots of tattoos on his arms and neck, making Stacy think he might be Ike’s bodyguard.
“Hey,” Stacy said. “This is Rina.”
Rina nodded and said a soft hello. There was something birdlike and sad in the little sound she produced.
“I’m Dom,” he said, without extending his hand. “Ike ain’t here. Wanna beer?”
“Sure,” Stacy said.
“You too?” Dom asked.
“Yes, thanks,” Rina said, a little nervously.
Dom left the room and came back with the drinks, walking in a herky-jerky halting kind of way. Neither Stacy nor Rina felt they could risk looking at each other so both stared straight ahead.
“Sit down,” Dom said, pointing to the generic-looking couch in the living room. “Take a load off.” They sat down on the couch, Dom on a straight-back chair facing them. While they made small talk about the weather Stacy strained to see something that would remind him of Ike but couldn’t. The furniture was much cheaper and more ordinary than Ike’s would be. Ike was a man who liked nice things.
“Want another?” Dom asked.
“No thanks,” they replied in unison. Stacy couldn’t help staring at Dom’s tough, inscrutable face—a collage of scars, wrinkles, and stubble. He was definitely on some drug but Stacy couldn’t tell which. “So you have any idea when Ike will be back?”
“He’s not coming back. Ike’s gone forever, I’d say, wherever forever is.”
“That’s too bad. I’m an old friend of his and I just thought I’d drop by.”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” Dom said, in a voice both matter-of-fact and sullen.
Stacy looked harder at him, but there was a blurred haphazard quality to Dom’s face as if it had run away from itself.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Dom said.
“I feel embarrassed but I can’t say—”
“I’m Ike’s kid, remember now?”
“Sure, he talked about you a lot.”
“I’ll bet he did. Ike’s not here though. I run things now.”
“Oh, I didn’t come about business.”
“Really? You sure about that? I remember you were very interested in business. I remember you muscling me out of a number of deals. Yeah, you wanted to get my territory in Atlantic City, and goddamn it if my old man didn’t give it to you.”
“That was so long ago.”
“Was it? I remember it real well and I ain’t even gone to college like you did. See how much I know about you? I have an excellent memory.”
Stacy shrugged reflexively. “Well, I’m not in the business now. Anyway,” he said, looking at Rina, “I think we should get going now. Thanks for the beers.”
“Really? I think you’re still trying to give me the business is what I think,” Dom said, putting down his empty beer can with emphasis, next to the three other empty cans on the little white Formica table beside him. Stacy stared hard at him as Dom slowly withdrew a gun that his T-shirt had previously hidden. “I was wondering when I’d see you again, college boy. I was thinking of visiting you, but I couldn’t find you. You must have been working on something big you wanted to keep secret from me and Ike, but now presto/chango you’ve come right to me.”
Seeing the gun, Rina let out a little gasp.
“Shut up,” Dom snapped, softly but authoritatively, moving his eyes snakelike for a moment in her direction.
“What’s going on?” Stacy said.
“What’s going on is what your late, great friend Mr. Ike would call a superior opportunity. For me anyway,” he said, laughing. “See, I can speak fancy too.”
“I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
“Upset?” Dom said, looking around the room incredulously, as if he were appealing to an audience. “You think I’m upset?”
“Your father likes me. I’m a friend of his. We never had a problem.”
“Oh, I know he liked you, matter of fact he fuckin’ loved you. I told him you weren’t worth a shit in the ground but he didn’t believe me. But it don’t matter what he thought anymore, does it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you listening, bright boy? Old Ike is dead. He’s worm food now, so it don’t matter what he said or thought. I run things no
w. I run all his things: the business, this house, this gun,” he said, waving it in the air briefly like a pennant.
“What happened to Ike?” Stacy blurted.
Dom looked down at the floor for a second. “Cancer. You heard of that, ain’t you?”
“My father died of cancer too,” Stacy said.
Dom nodded curtly. “That so? You think that makes us brothers or something?”
Stacy realized then that Dom was definitely on some kind of powerful drug. He didn’t know what it was, only that it was strong.
“So I can see you’re upset but—”
“Upset?” Dom said in the same incredulous voice, as he looked around the room again. “You in love with that word or something? I ain’t upset. Just ’cause I took out my piece to show you? I’m just having fun. If you knew me you’d understand. But you never bothered to know me. Bet you wish you had now.”
“Hey you.” He pointed the gun at Rina. “Show me your tits. I feel like seein’ something pretty.”
She looked at Stacy uncertainly for a second but he said nothing, felt his face was frozen as if he’d had some kind of neurological attack.
“Come on,” Dom said, pointing the gun at her. “I wanna see ’em now.”
She took off her dress in a few seconds. She was wearing a black bra he’d bought her from Victoria’s Secret.
“Take your top off too. What’re you, deaf?”
She took off her bra. Maybe someone would walk by and stop it, Stacy thought, a cop or someone from the neighborhood. Even if the neighborhood really was all Mafia, they liked order and quiet, didn’t they, and wouldn’t want any unnecessary trouble or attention, certainly not a loose cannon like Dom, who could never fit in with them. Never.
“You know how to dance?” Dom said to her.
She looked at Stacy again and he nodded to show it was okay with him.
“I can’t,” she said.
“You can’t? Course you can. Every girl knows how to dance. I’m sure you know how to dance, yeah. I’ve heard about you. Fact is, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you too. Yeah, I’ve seen all the dancers. Summer Wave I think your name was. I could have sworn that was your name in Atlantic City.”
“That’s not my name.”
“It’s not your name now, but it was once.”
“No, it wasn’t ever my name.”
“I think it was. I’ve got a really good memory for tits, especially unusual ones. Yeah, I remember your nipples, honey, remember ’em well. So, do me a dance.”
She shook her head back and forth then looked at Stacy. “I can’t.”
“What’s the problem? Is it Bozo over there?” he said, pointing the gun briefly in his direction. “I can get rid of him in a second.”
“No, no, it’s not him.”
“Hey, Bozo, tell the little lady to dance for me, okay? Tell her now.”
“Leave her alone,” Stacy said, more weakly than he wanted to sound.
“Hey.” Dom moved toward him and punched him hard in the stomach. “You don’t tell me what to do, ever.”
“Okay,” Rina said, beginning to dance. “I’m doing it.”
“See, I told you you could. Now bring it a little closer to me.”
Stacy was slumped over the chair.
She looked at him hesitantly, not knowing what to do, just like a little girl, he thought, as if the shock of the situation had drained her of her years.
“Don’t look at Bozo to see what to do,” Dom said. “Bozo’s a clown, a sad little clown who don’t know what to do. You want to live to dance again, you bring your tits to me now!” He pointed the gun at her again and she started to cry.
Stacy tried to sit up in the chair. There was a sharp pain in his ribs. He must have been hit more than once because his stomach hurt too.
Dom was hooting now like a cowboy at a rodeo as Rina continued to dance for him while she cried. Angel dust, Stacy thought, Dom must be on some kind of angel dust or maybe meth.
She looked at him one more time, while Dom was unzipping his pants.
“Hey, no staring at Bozo. I already told you that. Bozo don’t have what you need, bitch. He’s just got a little clown dick that don’t give nothin’ to no grown-up woman like you. You get on your knees now and open your mouth. I’m about to fill you up like you ain’t ever been filled before.” Dom laughed as he grabbed her head and, holding it firmly, put himself inside her. Stacy stared in disbelief for a few seconds then got up from his chair and charged at him with his head down, but Dom was surprisingly agile, moving away like a matador and then hitting Stacy on the head with his gun two times. Stacy landed on the floor but felt like he was still falling, like a pebble would keep falling in the depths of the ocean. Then he no longer saw anything.
When he woke up she was driving. She told him they’d left Dom’s house almost two hours ago, that Dom was worried he’d killed him. Then she told him that she’d stopped at the motel and thrown their things in the car as fast as she could. “If you want me to, I’ll take you to a hospital.”
“No,” he said, noticing that she was staring straight ahead (had barely looked at him once). She was also talking in an even, expressionless voice like a zombie. Then he wondered if Dom had finished in her mouth, but knew he could never ask her. Hated himself for even thinking about it. He felt a pain in his head and ribs though it wasn’t as bad as he’d remembered.
“I gave you a lot of ibuprofen,” she said, as if reading his mind.
“Thanks.”
It grew quiet in the car, as if quiet could grow like a spreading plant. It got so quiet Stacy felt like they were in some other kind of machine seated far apart, a Ferris wheel perhaps, somehow equipped to travel on the road.
No one wanted to hear the radio—they agreed on that without even talking about it. Nor did they speak about possibly stopping for food. He felt sorry that she had to be straight now, but she was afraid to drive a long distance on any kind of drug, and she wouldn’t let him drive, saying he was too beat up to do it.
After an hour or so, his thoughts about Dom faded a bit and he began thinking about Atlantic City and how he’d never gotten to go to the beach where he’d swum with his father, though that was the reason why he’d wanted to go there in the first place. It was funny, Atlantic City wasn’t what you’d call one of the beautiful places in the country like the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls. It was probably beautiful once, of course, but that had all ended with the boardwalk and the casinos. It was as if that once beautiful Atlantic City had sunk and was now like Atlantis, the “lost island” he’d read about as a kid.
Rina began crying, but softly, as if they were tears shed during a dream. “I’m not going home with you,” she said. “I’m going to drop you off and stay with my sister in Brooklyn.”
“Don’t do that, please.”
“No, I am,” she said, with tears running down her cheeks now. “You’ll be all right … I mean, you can’t want to sleep next to me tonight, or ever, so what’s the point of pretending?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m trash, Stacy, I must be. That’s why trashy things keep happening to me, don’t you get it? That’s why you take drugs all the time, ’cause you’re depressed about being with me.”
“Hey, stop it. Stop talking like that, okay? That’s crazy talk. You think I blame you for what happened? If there’s any blame, I blame myself for bringing you with me when I went to see Ike. You’re innocent, Rina, totally innocent. I shouldn’t have gone to see Ike. I really just wanted to see where my father took me swimming.”
“Why didn’t you then?”
“I don’t know. I should have. Look, pull over, get on the soft shoulder, will you?”
“Why?”
“Just do it, okay? I wanna feel some real air while I talk with you.”
“You’re sure you’re strong enough to get up?”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, though when they got out of the car he felt light-headed and took
one of her hands in his. “I want us to forget about what happened. It was horrible but now it’s over and none of it was your fault.”
“Are you high?”
“I’m not, no, no, I’m not,” he answered, still holding her hand.
She didn’t say anything. He could hear the cars whizzing past them in the dark, their headlights flying by like little bonfires.
“Are you losing it? Are you all right?”
He had been shaking but he wasn’t now. He decided he would never ask her about what happened with Dom. “I’m not losing it,” he said. “But if you talk about leaving me, I will lose it. So don’t ever say it.”
She looked at him and nodded. “Yah, okay, I’ll try to believe you.”
“Good, that’s good.” He looked down at the ground for a moment. When he glanced up he saw a single car pass by with only one headlight. It was as if the car were headed to hell all by itself, he thought.
“Stacy, let’s go back to your place. That’s what I really want to do,” she said. “I’m sorry I called it a tomb.”
“It is a tomb, no question about it, but it’s our tomb, isn’t it?”
“Our tomb,” she said with a little laugh. “Yeah, I guess it kinda is.”
AUGUST: FEEDING FRENZY
BY ALICIA OSTRIKER
Jersey Shore
Pink dawn, tide coming in: big fish driving mullets up
into jetty rocks and onto sand, pulling back
in the undertow, jaws agape for small
fry they devour by the hundreds, water
whorling, gulls circling and dipping—
my two little granddaughters gleefully watching.
PART III
COMMERCE & RETRIBUTION
A BAG FOR NICHOLAS
BY HIRSH SAWHNEY
Jersey City
Shezad Ansari—or Shez to his customers, fans, and friends—had once been a successful musician. He’d played keyboards in a psychedelic grunge band called Cold Warrior, which released a Billboard Hot 100 single in ’98. The next few years were good to Shez. Sandra, a film editor, finally agreed to marry him. He went to parties with distinguished actors and directors. He acquired a taste for champagne, caviar, and cocaine. But those days were long behind him. He was now thirty-eight and living, once again, in Jersey City.