The Summer of '37 (First Half)
by Raymond
Chapter 1Murder David Teller slumped at his desk, stared at a blank piece of paper in his open notebook and tried not to snooze. He glanced up. Miss Wither’s deep set eyes peered at him, while her knotted hand clutched the Chinese Dragon handle of her bamboo cane, which she used to hit the sides of daydreaming students’ desks. People had reasons for calling Withers “The Dragon Lady”. She also sent students who slept or interrupted class, to assistant principal Dixon’s office for an eighth hour. He didn’t want to sit for an hour after school, next to other class-talkers or sleepers, watching the scowling man shuffle papers. David straightened. His best friend, Jacky Isaac, read aloud from an article from the Kansas City Star about Italian Fascists. He tried to grasp the meat of the article, since Withers included current events from the newspaper in exams. Mussolini made trains run on time, but used poison gas against spear-carrying natives in Africa. David had little interest in Italy’s war in Ethiopia, but passing tests was a ticket to a diploma and a decent job. Without a diploma. . . Well, even boring Westport High was better than shoveling dung at the stockyards. The three o’clock bell rang. Finally! He stood and slipped out the door. After grabbing books out of his second floor locker, he weaved through the crowd to the exit doors where Jacky lounged against a wall, books in hand and a wide Friday-afternoon-grin on his face. They hustled down the long sidewalk to 39th Street and turned west. Students crowded the entrance to Katz Drug Store jostling and chatting while others, lucky enough to have spending money, stood around the inside soda fountain, buying snacks for the walk home. David slipped by the crowd and continued walking towards home. He cleared his throat. “Are you ready for tonight?” Jacky’s eyes widened. “You mean goin’ to some cathouse Harry Winkler told you about? The address is probably no good. Anyway, Cops raid those places and I sure don’t want jail. I heard they do nasty things to Jews. Then there’s the clap and syphilis. Besides, I bet it cost lots of money.” “You remember Lamont, the newspaper guy who dated Mom last year? He told me this town’s run by mobs. All the cops do is protect ‘em so I don’t think you have to worry gettin’ raided.” “Okay, I still wonder about—” “About clap, I’ve got rubbers up in my room. They don’t tell you about that in Hygiene class. Figured I might need them someday. And money, I’ll swipe a few bucks from my dime jars. And if we can’t find it, we’ll go to some movie. Come on. No more excuses.” Jacky didn’t respond. David walked north down Broadway and looked down at the uneven pavement. Ten years ago, he had befriended Jacky, a bean-pole-skinny, new kid living with his mother and a Jewish last name. David knew working-class Midtown rejected “Isaacs”, Indians, Italians and “different” people, but the kid followed him around like a sad puppy, so he included him when he played with friends and Jacky became part of the group. Now, Jacky usually agreed and he hoped tonight would not be an exception. “Look out!” Jacky’s arm swung against David’s chest. David stopped on the edge of the curb. A honking car whizzed by. Wow, better stop daydreaming. “Well, what’s the answer?” “I dunno.” “Jacky, you gonna be a ‘virgin’ all your life?” “Virgin?” “Come on. You know what I mean.” “I think we’re getting in over our heads. I’ve never heard of anybody at Westport going to a cathouse.” “So, I guess we could be the first. The jocks are always bull-shittin’ about the girls they’ve had. We’d have something to talk about, too. I’d like to see their faces.” Jacky shrugged and scratched his head. “Well, at least we wouldn’t knock-up some Westport girl. I’m thinkin’. . . Crap! Why not.” David started up the flight of steps to his second floor apartment. He stopped and turned. “See you at seven and don’t back out on me.” Jacky nodded, waved and strode toward his apartment in the identical adjacent four-unit apartment building. After dropping his books on a bookcase in his room, he went to the back porch, gripped his bicycle’s handlebars and bumped it down to the sidewalk. David rode down 33rd to Stack’s Drug Store, located in a brick building facing Summit Street. He walked between two display shelves full of tonics, smiled at Gladys, the soda fountain lady, and stopped at the back counter. Janice, the day manager, had several packages ready for delivery. The warm, spring day made pedaling down the streets and almost pleasant experience, even though his tired legs protested and cars on busy Broadway zoomed by, forcing him to ride a few inches from the curb. He said, “Sir” or “Ma’am”, smiled, and hesitated at each door so he could wheedle good tips. He’d need money, especially tonight. He returned home at six-thirty, with forty cents from tips, grinning as he thought about the cathouse. No sense in taking a bath, I’ll just get sweaty later, he mused. He splashed Winter Green cologne on his chest, gobbled a bologna sandwich and drank a glass of milk before getting Jacky. As they walked to the streetcar line, David said, “Mom didn’t get home yet, so I grabbed something from the fridge. She’s not been around much this week. It’s kinda the usual, ‘Hello’—‘goodbye’–‘how’s school’?” “Maybe your mom’s got a new boyfriend?” “Donno, but she mumbled something about doin’ inventory at the A&P.” “Huh, lucky you. Well mine’s there whenever she’s not working. Latest is, she’s worried about me drinkin’ enough water and not peein’ enough. ‘I never see you going to the bathroom. You need to drink more water.’ God, I can hold it for a long time.” David laughed. “You’re always full of piss.” A trolley rolled up and the doors clacked open. David boarded and dropped a nickel into the fare-box. Jacky joined him on a varnished wicker seat. They transferred to another car at 31st Street. Steel wheels roared on the track, but it slowly rattled up the long hill toward Troost Avenue. David spotted the Charlotte Street sign, pulled the bell cord and walked down the street. Lights seeping from the windows of three-story houses, and the quarter moon outlined the sidewalk. Shadows of elm trees and bushes created a montage of dark gray and black. David squinted, trying to see house numbers. His heart pounded with anticipation. David slipped over to the edge of the front porch on the first house and read the address. Jacky followed and they crept from one yard to the next. A fat man wobbled up the front walk to the door of an adjacent house and rang the bell while the pair hid behind a bush. The door opened and bright light illuminated a portly, middle-aged, blonde woman in a shimmering, red silk dress. She wore a sparkling necklace, two dangling bracelets and a brooch. A younger girl stood next to her, wearing a low cut blouse and skimpy shorts. Oh, God, look at her, David thought as his eyes focused on the girl’s curvy long legs. This must be thirty-one-twelve, and it sure looks like a cathouse. “Good evening Mr. Kurtz,” the blonde said. “This is Sherry, a new girl from Sedalia. I—” “I want Patricia,” the man grumbled. “Not any new girl.” “Yes, sir, she’s busy for a few minutes. We decided you weren’t coming tonight, so—” “Next time, you keep her available. You know I come every Friday.” “Certainly. If you’ll take a seat in the living room, I’ll pour you a couple of shots of Jack Daniels.” “I’ll go to the kitchen and get the bottle.” The man grunted, walked past the women and down a hallway. “Wow! Who’s that?” Sherry asked. “Jacob Kurtz,” the blonde replied after glancing back into the hall. “He’s in the Ticotti organization. They own the house, but I also give them a cut of the take. We give Jacob anything he wants and never charge him any money. I think he could be real mean. That bunch makes people disappear.” She paused and fiddled with her necklace. “If you are going to work here, I need to explain some of the rules. As far as tips. . . ” David stared at the older woman and thought about using a rubber and bedding down next to a middle-aged, heavy-set whore with lots of make-up. He had heard a rubber dampened the experience and the powdered, ghostly-faced blonde was not his type. He blushed as he pictured himself lying naked in some bed, next to a frowning, disgusted, portly female, who chided him because he couldn’t get excited. We should have gone to a movie. Even a Bette Davis love story would be better than this. If things don’t work out, I’m not tellin’ anyone, even Jacky. “Come on, let’s go to the door,” Jacky whispered, “before they go back in.” “I dunno. Maybe we shouldn’t. I gotta feelin’ that we’d cross the fat guy’s path.” He wanted to leave and not try sex in a mussed up bed with the unappealing blonde, who still stood in the doorway talking softly to the younger girl. “What’s he gonna do? We’re customers. We give ‘em money. I’m turned on. David, crap, you got me here. Let’s go.” He’s right. I guess it was my idea. I hope I get Sherry, but with my luck, I’ll get the blonde. Jacky shoved him onto the front walk. David stood silently in the shadows by the porch. He glowered back at Jacky and fidgeted. The madam, still standing in the open door of the cathouse, paused and stared at David. “Some more guests?” David couldn’t answer for a moment. Jacky nudged him. “Er—Ma’am—we were wondering . . . ” David paused and cleared his throat. His mind blanked. The blonde turned to Sherry. “I think we got some shy ones. Go down and escort them up.” The girl walked down and took David’s hand. Her perfume, long legs and gentle touch caused his crotch to tighten. If he got Sherry, he was ready. Jacky followed David onto the porch and into the light The blonde grumbled, “How old are you boys? I can’t take care of people your age.” She paused and shrugged. “Parents and preachers get pissed off and start writing letters to the newspaper editor or call the cops. Don’t need that. Get your fathers to bring you and it’ll be okay. Otherwise, come back in five years.” She grabbed Sherry’s hand and pulled her in the house. The door slammed. “****,” Jacky said, “Why didn’t you think of age? We can’t drink at a bar. Why would this be different?” “Why didn’t you think of it, dumb ****?” “Talk about ****, your red hair looks like a robin’s ****. I’m all worked up and now nothing. We should have gone to a movie. At least we wouldn’t have wasted Friday night.” “Damn,” David shouted, “I asked you a question. How come I gotta come up with everything and cover all the bases, Pinocchio.” “Pinocchio! You tryin’ to tell me somethin’ about my nose, huh,” Jacky shoved David, who stumbled across the sidewalk and cocked his fist. The blonde jerked the door opened and yelled, “I’ll call the cops, and you can both go to jail. I can’t have neighbors getting pissed over wild-**** kids fighting in my yard. Now, get out of here.” Jacky’s mouth hung open as he faced the woman. David froze and glanced up. “Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t want to deal with cops. As they hurried away, David shrugged and grinned. “Still friends?” Jacky smiled. “Yeah, you betcha, still ‘virgins’ and still friends. Sure wasn’t a great night.” They both laughed and walked toward the streetcar stop.***
0 comments in discussion |
add comment
'The Summer of '37 (First Half)' statistics: (click to read)
