A Matter of Love in da Bronx (48 page)

--He's selfish.

--What? What do you say?

--He satisfies his own machismo, he has done right! He will carry his burden, and pay for it completely! He could have sacrificed a little more!

--How? What?

--He could've gone that extra inch so long ago! His misplaced loyalty to his own ego and his business partner instead of to his wife and son! We're the ones who've been sacrificed, Ma! You and me! A life served up, covered and fed of shit! Just so he could present his documents to St. Peter that he did good by his code of honor, and should be allowed into the Kingdom of Heaven for eternity! He could've killed himself, Ma, all those long years ago if he couldn't face life without meeting those self-assumed responsibilities, and saved us all this grief! He wondered if this were true. A person was sword or block. If it wasn't his father beating on his back, wouldn't it have been some other swordsman's cause?

--What are you saying?

--Just one truth, Ma, between us: As if all these years you haven't wished him dead. Her silence was significant. It slipped a bond to them. He had served up the unsayable, a satisfaction surging up from deep inside him, yet searching for the motivation, wondering the source of his sudden and consuming anger. Even before his mother left the room he knew. He let the spasms of love's sublimities surge through him conjured by the thought of Mary Mary Mary.

INSPIRATION of my bliss you are though amidst an unweeded Edenic garden of love untrammeled my thoughts frolic. Its offerings are fresh and alluring, stimulating endless hours of romantic dreamings, allowing inquisitive visits to mysterious venues of all sorts of means and ways, yet I yield not to one petal's fragment that does not conjure up your spirit to the very essence of my being. It's not love that does this, though love its gardener. It is you to me who am representational of the mandate of Man given to be incarnate temporal exquisiteness. How rare. And how am I chosen to be the one this to share? Does it make a difference? As long as t'is I? Not to me. And do you know what company this ecstasy keeps? How marvelous! Ironing. Doing the dishes. Washing my hair. Fixing my nails. Through the ages, princesses' chores. But don't be smug, to luxuriate in self-indulgent ebullience, for there are other thoughts my attention pursues. Are you aware of the burden you undertake when I say I'm in love with you? I have been a girl for longer years than I have been a woman; one dreams, the other hopes. You have come to fill out the silhouettes fashioned from those dreams. Much long before I knew of love and lovers I knew of tending my own of my own--children! To meet my own needs of my own, to teach and train to teach and train. Will you make this possible? Even if I cannot, the burden will still fall on you. It may be the first disappointment; it very well could be the last. No matter that, I'm thinking, too, of the anger I find in my mother's heart. She, too, did her hair, and wash, and ironing and dreamt the longing dreams. She now tends a gardenful of weeds, aborted buds, decaying leaves. No spot of sun has it, only the damp cold of a thin moon's light. No more princess is she. And will this be me? Shall I find my fill on disappointment's bill? Do you think me adamantine? I must wonder about me, you, us. A family! Will you make for us a family? Will we have the marvelously good fortune to be a unit, a citadel against the world's assault? To be close-knit, and comforting, and needed, and resolute, and undefeatable? Where we can spread a groundcover on which to dance the dances of pride, harmony, joy. To set a stage for the humanness of births, christenings, confirmations, recitals, little league, graduations, promotions, holidays, vacations, seashore, photographs, safaris, weddings, funerals. In our dotage will we have these memories to dote upon? Rather no bitter reflections. Then, how often have we heard him say, --I will take care of you. Lord! What does that mean? It makes us sound like birds with maimed wings. Are we to be taken to a fairyland where every will and whim is met? Gracious! He promises, too, climate control. Yes, these are my mother's servants: fatigue, more work, long days. What is it you will provide, Provider? Provided you don't become an alcoholic, or a womanizer, or end up in a wheelchair, that's understood. And what if it turns that I should have to take care of you? Perhaps that for you is a better lure than to have a vessel into which you may release your ardor. A home to make my own goes without saying. I know about the turns and twists; about the central theme of life, the uncertainties of everything; and I think the think we all think: None of the nonsense of the world will hap to me. Now that I've said it, I discard it all, it can only interfere with the beauty of the moment, and this moment, together on a path with you, I can think and anticipate only joyous moments, such as tomorrow night. What will our rendezvous be like? We'll make love, and more love, and more love! What will a real orgasm be like? Gilda used to say they were addictive. One had to have another. She certainly hasn't made me feel sorry I helped her which has got to be an omen for myself. One thing she wanted more than anything was to be loved. And she certainly was getting that. What if Sam's penis is too big for me? No! No! I mean it. It's a legitimate question. Louisa says that's not a legitimate concern, whatever the guy's got it's never going to be a big as a baby! Thinking of that, he'll have to bring something. The pills they gave me won't work for at least a month. What if I got pregnant? Jesus! So what? You're both in love--and with each other--so you'll get married! Yeah! In disgrace! Naw! They don't think like that anymore. And I know just the wedding I want it to be. Yeah. The condom catches all his come, but it's like we never really get close. There's that separation. I don't know if I like that. Maybe I should use something? But what? Louisa says that gets messy, and the douche stuff and all that. I can't believe she lies on her back in the tub, shakes a Coke she put in a bottle and shoots it up her vagina. Works out great she says especially if her next date wants to go down on her. Do you think Sam will want to do that? Why not? I'd like to find out why they all like to put his thing in their mouth. Class pleasure, Louisa says, not because she likes doing it as much as it sends them off into orbit. The real pricks won't kiss you afterwards, she says, and that tells you all you need to know about them. She'd like to spit it back up their noses. Those that love it treat you as a goddess, and they make up for the fuckers. When I think of all the things I've missed out on, but tomorrow night is meant for us, My Love. It's okay if you do, but don't you fucking disappoint me!

TELEPHONE RING. Twice. Three times. Once more.

Holy Jesus Christ Almighty, the phone! Mary! Mary! Mary! It's got to be Mary. Jesus! Almost broke my neck getting off the ladder. If it`s not Mary, I'll just hang up. I won't talk to anyone else. She can only call on her lunch break. Let it be Mary...--Sanitary Upholstery...

He usually gets it on the second ring! Ah! There he is. Oh! Damn! It doesn't sound like him. Who else could it be? --Sam...?

It's her! It's Mary! --Sweetheart! How are you?

Oh! It is Sam! I'm so glad. Is there a problem?--You sound different?

Just have to ignore the reason, that I'm out of breath. Make me sound too old. I'm so happy it's her. --I...I was up the ladder...painting the outside of the shop... I just got lost in thought, thinking of you. Didn't know what time or I would've been right here by the phone.

Thinking of me! Oh! Isn't that marvelous to hear! To have someone care about what you do, and where you are. And waiting to hear my voice! How such feeling washes away the clammy oppression of loneliness. What a pleasant, deep, masculine voice. How it booms with enthusiasm and sincerity. It vibrates inside me. --Just hearing your voice gives me this strange feeling in my chest...

Chest? Those gorgeous tits of yours, so soft and full. I want to see them, to feel them, to take the nipples gently into my mouth, and suckle on them like a baby. Boy! Do I want to do that. --Oh?

How he is able to say it all in one word. His voice makes what I've been daydreaming about all morning so real. That's why I feel that fullness low in my stomach, just above my pube; like a dam filling and filling. The pressure waits to be released. It's got to be... --And someplace else, too. How come you're painting?

That someplace else, she's got to mean her vagina. Christ! I though I was bad. She's so horny. I suppose it's that way with everyone in love, they just want to be together, and express that love. Oh! Boy! Would I love to... --I've done every bit of work Sol left, and a couple pieces customers brought in. Can't sit on my hands, so I thought the shop would look nice with a coat of paint. Just felt I wanted to do it for the old man.

He's ambitious, considerate. If he's that way for others, he'll be that way toward me. What a sweet person, Oh! I love him so much! --How come?

She's interested! In me! All my life I've never had anyone interested in me as a person! I've never felt so much a being! I could complain love didn't come to me earlier, but how ineffective. Better to think just of this moment. Oh! Mary! Just let me go on loving you. What a wonderful gift. Almost as marvelous as the gift of life... Now that she asks, I realize I've been visualizing Sol with a variety of corona colors. Hope he's okay wherever he is, whatever he's doing. Doesn't seem to me he's in any difficulty. Just can't put my finger on it...--I don't know... A vague feeling I won't be working for Sol much longer. How much time do we have to talk?

Just the whole rest of our lives, but just talking hopefully isn't all that's before us. --What's left of my whole lunch time?

Just thinking about me all the time. She really cares. Lucky! Lucky! Lucky! --Great! You're at the same phone? I'll call you right back. ...We'll make it short. I don't want you to rush your lunch.

At one time, if there were people waiting to use the phone, I'd try to make it short, be considerate so they wouldn't have to wait long. Now with Sam in my life, tough for them. --Who can eat? When I think of tonight my stomach goes into spasm.

She's really anticipating...I sure don't want to disappoint her, but first I have to tell her; then I must come up with some sort of an answer. Christ, the way they do it in the movies, they grab each other by the ass, jump under a bush, and hump away! What do I say to Mary? --I have to talk about that...

I'm going to make myself sick if I don't stop thinking about having sex. --Me, too! I can't keep it out of my mind. Do you get the funny feeling, too?

I just can't get myself to say it! I don't know how to say it. What am I worried about? That she will think less of me? Perhaps. --Oh! Sweetheart, you know it. Like the shakes, nervous, you know. Like my whole body is in one of those automatic paint mixers.

We care so much for each other! It's not fair that something doesn't work our way. We've got to be together. Please! God! --Oh! Honey! Are we really going to be alone? I can't wait to see you, to touch you. I'm going to kiss you to pieces I love you so much.

The path of deep, true love--a walk through brambles...My! How exquisite! --I love you, so much I can't say. I have to talk to you...

If I could only step out of this phone booth, and into your arms...! --Yes, talk to me, your voice drives me crazy, it excites me in all sorts of strange and wonderful ways in all sorts of familiar and longing places...

What is the truth of this "love?" Do we start out with a simple, natural, needed thing, and hypnotize one another into making it a disproportionate artificiality? Will it dissipate with the dawning of repetition's boredom?--Mary, my love, if I could only hold you in my arms, right now... I want to feel you close to me, I want to feel your warmth, and smell your sweetness...to kiss those fantastic lips...

To hear, to hear, to hear him say these things! How his words bring so clearly those endless hours of dreaming there would be such thoughts for me in this world. And suddenly, it seems the wait was not so long at all. That all the time I was preparing my emotions to understand how marvelous and moving it all would be. How else can a sound over a telephone be so physically moving? These sensations! These exquisite pleasurable sensations! I could indulge in them all day! All my life! --Ohhhh! What you do to me... Stop or I'll come rushing there right now.

How one raises the other higher and higher! How each of us increases the other's desire! Somehow, our needs must be satisfied, or we'll burst. --What's wrong with that? Do it? Do it, Mary? I'll close up the shop, put a sign on the door, no one will bother us. I'll buy some wine...

Sure. How do I explain the loss of wages at home? Perhaps it would be a cheap enough price to pay for two admission tickets to Paradise? --and we'll spend the whole afternoon together...

What a fantastic idea! I can feel the blood pounding in my prick, swelling it, making it respond. --Yes, flesh to flesh, holding, touching, feeling, kissing, making love...

Look at what his words are doing to me! The muscle in my vagina...my asshole...is tightening again and again...so hard! I bet I could come doing this. What I wouldn't give to feel his cock in there! --And making love, and making love! Darling I want to know what it is to have you make love to me. To feel my heart pounding as your closeness turns my blood to steam knowing within moments the two of us will be one...

God! Mary! Don't say any more! My cock will break right through my pants. Jesus! I've never felt it so hard, so wanting. --Stop...

Does it bother him, like it bothers me? --Why? You getting hard?

Her vibrations go straight to my balls! Look at how I strain my aching, swollen cock against the unyielding edge of the table when it should be plunging into a more compliant, slick softness. --Yes.

The hell with being coy. He should know how much I want him, exactly what it's doing to me. --I'm just oozing. I think my little button is sticking out further than yours it wants your attention so bad. Sam, I want you, right now. I won't be able to do a thing all afternoon.

What a dream! To make love spontaneously on the spot when you want it. And I do. So bad. Not just today, Mary, for all the years I've dreamed of such a magical thing: loving and being loved. --So come on down. I'll have everything ready; the afternoon is meant to be ours! Come! Come! My Sweet!