The Wanderers Page 3

  "Scottie ... now you."

  "Goodbye ... so long ... I—I—"

  "One ... two..."

  Dougie and Scottie screamed at the top of their lungs.

  "Three!" The rocks flew over the side, landing with a dry thud on the cracked mud. Dougie and Scottie stood paralyzed but intact. If the drop was twenty feet the ropes must have been thirty feet long.

  Randy peered over the side. "Hmm, I guess the ropes were too long. There's only one thing to do." He took out his pocketknife, walking slowly toward Dougie. Dougie trembled, making high-pitched squeals. With one swipe Randy cut the rope off Dougie's prick. Then he cut Scottie's rope. "Well ... I guess well have to find shorter ropes." He tucked the two pairs of pants under his arm, and the Zorros marched off, leaving Dougie and Scottie bare-assed and shivering on the bridge.

  2. The Party

  EUGENE CAPUTO was having a party. The Wanderers met on Burke Avenue.

  "Awright, Perry, you goin' in again?"

  "How come I always gotta go in?"

  "'Cause you look like a fuckin' forty-year-old degenerate."

  "So does your mother."

  "You ain't got one."

  "Your's got a mattress on 'er back for curbside service. Hey! Get it while it's hot."

  "Hey, c'mon, Perry, you gotta go in, you look the oldest."

  "Awright, awright, what's it now? Two Tangos, a bottle of Seven..."

  "An' some vodka."

  "Ugh!"

  "Well fuck it, I ain't drinkin' any a that orange piss."

  "Awright, awright, get a pint a vodka."

  "Lessee, that's two, three, four, four-fifty."

  "O.K., there's five of us so that's ... ah ... ah, hey somebody gimme a pencil."

  "Ninety cents each, asshole."

  "Awright, get it up."

  "Shit ... all I got's a fifty-dollar bill."

  "Yeah right, you can't even count that high."

  "Oh yeah? It's more money than your old man sees in a week."

  "Oh yeah? Your mother gets that for spreadin' her legs."

  "Oh yeah? Your mother gets that for closin' 'em."

  "C'mon, c'mon, we ain't got all night."

  Once the booze was bought they split to pick up their girl friends. Richie walked back to the projects to get C.

  "Yeah? Whozzat?"

  "Richie."

  C's father opened the door, stared at Richie through leather eyelids, grunted. Richie walked past him through the foyer of the narrow apartment into C's room. C was standing in front of her mirror picking at her hair with a teasing comb. He stood in the doorway watching her.

  The party was in Eugene's wood-paneled basement C and Richie came early. Only Eugene's date Terry, his cousin Ralph from Queens, and Ralph's girl friend Anne were there.

  "Hey."

  "Hey, Richie, this is Ralph."

  "Howarya."

  "Howarya."

  "An' this is C."

  They all nodded. Eugene pulled Richie over to the record player. "Check this out." He handed Richie a stack of 45s. He looked them over: "Soldier Boy," "Ten Commandments of Love," "Sealed With a Kiss," "Patches," "Tell Laura I Love Her," "Tears on My Pillow," and ten more of the slowest songs imaginable. Eugene nudged him. "This is gonna be a grindin' night!"

  "Hey, you know what C said to me? She said she was so horny she might go all the way!"

  Eugene slapped his forehead. "You shittin' me?"

  "Would I shit you? You're my favorite turd."

  "Hey, up yours."

  "Be nice to me and 111 let you smell my finger."

  "Hey, watch this." Eugene flicked off the master switch and all the lights went out except a small red bulb in a corner. "Atmosphere."

  "Hey, cut it out!" Anne yelled.

  Eugene turned the lights on. "We'll save it for later, when they're all horny."

  "Hey, ah, lissen ... if, ah, things get goin' between me an' C, you know, can I use yer room?"

  Eugene frowned. "You really think you might go all the way?"

  "Maybe even farther."

  "Well, O.K., but don't use it unless you really have to."

  "Don' worry." Richie slapped Eugene on the shoulder.

  The front-door chimes rang. Eugene took the rickety basement stairs four at a time. The stairs rattled again a minute later as five guys and four girls came down yelling and shouting. Each guy had a bottle conspicuously hidden under his coat. Everyone gave their booze to Turkey. He went to work making quart shakers of Seven, screwdriver, and rum and Coke.

  "Hey, Turkey, put in that Spanish fly I gave you, heh-heh." Joey laughed and squeezed his date's shoulder.

  While waiting for the drinks, everyone grabbed at potato chips, M&Ms, pretzels, and Fritos.

  "Hey, man, me an' Margo saw West Side Story at the Valentine last night, you see that yet?" Buddy asked.

  "Yeah, that was boss."

  "Yeah, I dug the Jets."

  "Yeah, but the coolest dude was Bernardo."

  "Yeah, he's cute."

  "Ah; my ass is cute."

  "You see those shirts and jackets them P.R.s was wearin'?"

  "I just got me a jacket in Alexanders like Chico's."

  "I liked Tony. He was cool."

  "Yeah, he was boss."

  "Yeah, but howdja like them bazooms on that P.R. chick?"

  "Perry, you're such a pig."

  "Who you mean, Natalie Wood?"

  "No, man, the other one."

  "Natalie Wood, a carpenter's dream."

  "Flat as a board an' easy to screw."

  "I thought Richard Beymer was cute," said Margo.

  "Hah! You shoulda seen Margo bawl at the end," said Buddy.

  "I didn't know Margo balled," Joey said.

  "Drinks are ready," said Turkey from the other side of the room. The guys charged up to the portable bar.

  "Hey, you know, they shoulda asked the Wanderers to be the white gang for that movie."

  "Yeah, Perry woulda been A-Rab, Joey coulda been Action, Richie coulda been Riff, Turkey coulda been Baby John."

  "No! Turkey could be Anybody's." Everyone laughed except Turkey.

  "I coulda been Tony," said Buddy.

  "Yeah sure, my ass would be a better Tony," said Richie.

  "I'd a like to be Bernardo," said Joey.

  "What for? He was a P.R."

  "He ain't a real P.R. That George Chakiris, he's Italian."

  "No he ain't, he's Jewish," said Perry.

  "Bullshit, he's too good-lookin' for a Hebe."

  "Maybe he got a nose job," countered Perry.

  "Maybe he got a handjob," said Joey.

  "Maybe he got a blowjob," said Richie.

  "There's no job like a blowjob, there's no job that I know," the three sang.

  "An' now ladies an' gennelmun, will you please rise for the national anthem," Eugene announced, standing at attention by the record player. A static riddled piano brought on Dion's gutty voice.

  Oh, I'm the type of guy who will never settle down,

  Where a pretty girls are, a well you know that I'm aroun'

  I a kiss 'em an I love 'em Cause to me they're all the same

  I a squeeze 'em and I hug 'em, they don't even know my name

  They call me the Wanderer, yeah the Wanderer

  I roam aroun' aroun' aroun'

  After their theme song, Eugene put on a stack of 45s, mixing the slows to fasts in a two to one ratio. The party was on. The first record was the Marcels' "Blue Moon." None of the guys wanted to dance yet, so C and Pat, Perry's date, started doing the Slop. Then Margo, Buddy Borsalino's date, and Barbara, Joey Capra's date, started dancing. The guys were getting high, especially Perry, chugging Sevens as fast as he could The next Record was slow.

  C and Richie were alone on the floor. Perry started throwing M&Ms at Richie's head.

  "Cut it out, asshole."

  Perry laughed and went back to drinking. Half an horn-later almost everyone was dancing. Most of the guys were high except Turkey,
who never drank. Eugene sat in a corner of the couch with Terry on his lap, making out. Turkey flicked off the master switch, and the room glowed a soft red. Some of the girls yelled in mock protest, but no one told Turkey to put the lights on. Joey and Barbara took the other corner of the couch. Buddy and Margo sat down on a big chair. Ralph and Anne settled for the stairs. C and Richie were the only ones left dancing. Someone turned off the red light and the room was as dark as a closet.

  C and Richie started to tongue. He pushed his knee between her legs, and she responded with a nice rotating grind.

  "You wanna go up to Eugene's room?" he whispered in her ear.

  "What's up there?" she asked.

  "You ever see his rock collection?"

  "Yeah." He tried to usher her to the stairs. She resisted. "Hey, we can make out down here."

  "There's no room." He stuck his tongue in her ear. "C'mon." He took her hand. She held back.

  "You sure he won't mind?"

  "Nah, he said it was O.K."

  They groped their way through the darkness. Climbing the stairs unsteadily they fell over Ralph and Anne. They sorted who belonged to whom, and Richie and C continued upstairs.

  In the kitchen, Turkey made himself a sandwich. Perry was throwing up in the bathroom. Richie and C found Eugene's room and locked the door. The lights were out. They sat on the bed and started necking. Richie eased C down and climbed on top. They began to grind in a slow, mechanical motion. Richie stuck his tongue in her ear again and put his hand on her small breast. Groaning, she grabbed him around the neck. He unbuttoned her blouse and ran his fingers along the contours of her bra. He tried slipping a finger inside her bra, but it was as tight as a steel trap. She sat up and unhooked it. Richie went to work flicking and sucking just like the guys in the French films. He threw in some more heavy grinding before putting his hand up her skirt, feeling the wetness of her underwear. She reached between his legs and rubbed his cock He frantically unzipped his fly and whipped it out. She stroked his balls. He pushed her skirt above her waist and slipped his hand inside her panties. Running his fingers lightly through her tight curls he suddenly plunged his middle finger into the fleshy wetness. She moaned and squirmed like a fish on a hook. He moved his finger around trying to find the clit. Tommy Tatti said it felt like a marble covered with oil, but Richie would be goddamned if he could find anything like a marble down there. He could tell when he was close because she would gasp and squeeze his balls. This hurt, but was a good indicator. He tried to take off her panties but couldn't get them past her knees. He took her hand off his cock and tried to put himself in. She froze. He felt her tenseness and tried to put his fingers back in to see if she was still wet.

  "Don't." She twisted her legs.

  "Oh Christ! C'mon, I won't come in you."

  "Not yet."

  "Whadya mean not yet? You mean inna half-hour? Or do you mean in five years? I don't know whatcha mean by not yet."

  "Just not yet."

  He sat up, looked at his hard-on, and plopped down again. "Jesus Christ, I'm gonna die!" He tried to lick her ear. She turned her head away.

  "Ill do it with my hand."

  "Great! I can do it with my hand. I don't even need you for that."

  She started to cry. He lost his hard-on in degrees like a descending car jack.

  Suddenly they heard shouts and screams. Richie zipped his fly and ran out of the room leaving C sitting on the bed, her clothes on in all the wrong places. In the basement the lights were on. The girls were crying hysterically, Perry was sprawled on the couch, one side of his face covered with blood. The Wanderers were shouting out the window; other guys outside shouted back. Rocks thudded against the side of the house.

  "The Pharaohs," Joey Capra said, looking up at Richie.

  "So let's get 'em!" Richie started for the door. Turkey stopped him. "They got chains. Perry went out awready."

  Eugene came downstairs with two baseball bats and a souvenir bullwhip.

  "What're you crazy! There's eight of 'em out there!" said Joey.

  Eugene threw his arsenal on the floor. "Great! So what the fuck are we gonna do, let 'em tear down the house?"

  "C-call the cops," Anne said between sobs.

  "No!" Richie was livid. "We ain't callin' no cops for the fuckin' Pharaohs!" He flung the door open. "Antone! I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ass!"

  "C'mon out, Gennaro! C'mon out!" A rock smashed into the door over his head. Eugene dragged him back in.

  Perry started moaning, "I'm gonna kill 'em, I'm gonna kill 'em."

  A rock sailed through the window sending a shower of glass into the room. Richie grabbed a quart bottle of booze and threw it at the window. In his fury he missed, smashing the bottle against the wall.

  "That's a great help," said Ralph.

  "Hey, wait!" Turkey picked up a bottle half-filled with rum and Coke. "Yeah." He looked around at the other guys. "Grab a bottle and come upstairs."

  "What?"

  "Just do it." They each grabbed a bottle and ran upstairs after him. He emerged from the bathroom with a roll of toilet paper. "Grab off some and stuff it into the mouth of the bottle like this." He unrolled a foot and a half, shoving it into the bottle, leaving some hanging over the top. They copied him.

  "C'mon." He ran to Eugene's bedroom. "Fuck! The door's locked!"

  C opened the door. She was dressed now, and her eyes were red. They barged past her. Richie stopped. They looked at each other for a moment, then she ran downstairs. The window overlooked the front of the house; they were directly above the Pharaohs. Turkey eased up the window about halfway and motioned everyone to stand back. He took a lighter from his pocket and lit the toilet paper in his bottle. Standing flush against the wall, he lobbed the bottle grenade-style out the window. It crashed against the pavement, exploding into a sheet of flame. The Pharaohs screamed. Antone's pants caught fire, and he ran in circles in front of his horror-stricken gang until he had the presence of mind to take his pants off. Turkey, still against the wall, held his lighter out. Richie raised his bottle to the flame and whipped it out the window, sailing it over their heads. This time the Pharaohs took off. Lights went on all over the block.

  The Wanderers filed downstairs. Eugene and Richie stood outside, waiting for the police. Buddy Borsalino took Perry to the hospital. When the cops arrived, Eugene said they were having a party when some drunk guys came around and tried to crash. He showed them the broken window. He had no explanations for the fire. He didn't know who those guys were. Richie added that they had Puerto Rican accents, maybe Simpson Street dudes.

  When the cops left, Eugene and Richie went back inside. C was gone. Anne said Turkey took her home. Richie said, "Fuck'er."

  Turkey was a real turkey. He was in all the honor classes at school, but the other smart kids would have nothing to do with him because he was such a creep. He had a face like the French Angel and a thick, hunko body. His skin was yellow like bad teeth and he dressed in dirty-gray clothes. The Wanderers thought he was a creep too, but they weren't used to his intelligence. He knew about things like astronomy and war stories. He collected Nazi paraphernalia (even though he was Jewish) and could speak German. He could draw. Once he did a pencil portrait of C on loose-leaf paper that they swore looked good enough to hang in a museum. He could sing. He sang "Some Enchanted Evening" like Robert Goulet and wasn't ashamed to sing in front of people. So occasionally he hung with the Wanderers. Everyone knew his mother and father were flippy. That his sister was a royal skank who fucked for a dime. That his house was covered with tissues and dirty magazines.

  That night, he walked slowly and silently under the streetlights painfully aware of C at his side. When she left the party, he impulsively ran after her. She was crying. He offered to walk her home. "The Pharaohs might still be around," he said. She said nothing. After a few blocks she stopped crying. Once in a while she would sniff. She didn't look up at him, didn't raise her head. Turkey wracked his brain for something to say. They reached Big
Playground.

  "Did you have a good time tonight?" he asked.

  She started up again, her sobs ripping into him. She plopped down on a bench. He sat next to her—not too close. "I'm sorry, C. I was only tryin' to make conversation."

  She looked up at him with watery eyes, wiping her nose, smiling bravely. "You're sweet, Turkey. Thank you for walking me home." He placed his arm on the top of the bench behind her shoulders. "I'm gonna go up now."

  "I'll walk you upstairs." He stood up.

  "No, it's O.K., I can go myself. Thanks for walking me home. I mean it, you're really sweet." She smiled at him and walked toward her building.

  He sat on the bench watching her shaded bedroom window until the light went out.

  ***

  "I'm sorry."

  "For what?"

  "For Saturday."

  C examined her nails. "Sataday?"

  "You know."

  "Know what?"

  "Goddamnit, don't be a cunt!" Richie said it louder than he planned, and a few little kids stopped their basketball game to watch the show on the bench. Richie knew C would be bitchy when he apologized, so he'd rehearsed that line for half an hour, and now he'd said it too loud, and too uncool, and he blew it.

  "Why not, Richie, what else would a prick go out with?"

  Richie was impressed. That was even a better line than his. "That hurts, C, that really hurts." He looked hurt. The kids went back to their basketball game.

  "Aww," she pouted, "Richie's hurt."

  Richie stood up and surveyed Big Playground. C remained on the bench, crossed her legs, and continued to study her nails. "I can't talk to you," he said to no one in particular as he scanned the basketball court. "I never could."

  "You're talkin' now," she said in a singsong voice.

  He sat back down. "Look, I said I was sorry an' I ain't gonna say it again. You don't like it you can gimme back my fuckin' ankle bracelet."

  "That's the way you apologize, Richie? You call me a cunt an' say if I don't like it I can give you back your fuckin' ankle bracelet?" She finally looked up and he saw she had tears on her cheeks. Something in Richie folded like a flower.