Young and Violent (13 page)

I
NSIDE
the Aphrodite Ballroom that night at nine o’clock, there are more females than males. Half a dozen couples dance beneath the blue- and rose-colored bulbs strung from the high-ceilinged room by a wire. Their bodies undulate in time to the mambo played by a shirt-sleeved orchestra on the crepe-paper-decorated platform at the end of the hall. Around the refreshment stand opposite it, a cluster of girls, most of them with flowing skirts and tight bodices, feign interest in a hysterical conversation they pretend to be having, and eye the entrance on the one hand, and the tables along the wall on the other. At those tables sit more girls, a seemingly privileged group, for all wear white carnations in their hair and carry red leather bucket bags. Both gatherings of girls await the “fall-ins” of the Kings of the Earth, and the Jungles. Both wonder which fall-in will be the first, which the more fabulous.

Marie Lorenzi sips a Coke through a straw, standing beside Babe Limon. In addition to these two, there are in this cluster Flo Wenzel, Birdie Lyon, Ellie Sarantio, Mildred Costello, and a few more friends, classmates of Marie and Babe, girls who have been coming to the Aphrodite the same as Marie and Babe have, every Friday night. Occasionally a stag approaches and asks one from this cluster for a dance, and the pair glide on to the floor, stay for a set, and then part. It is the Kings and the Jungles who solidify things once they arrive; and it is because they are known, by sight and reputation, if not by name, by all who regularly patronize the Aphrodite, that no stag approaches Baby-O. She is known to be the property of a gang leader, which stamps her inviolate to anyone but him.

Marie gives a glance toward the tables and tells Babe, “That’s what I mean, Baby-O. The Jungles do things big! Them Junglettes act like queens, don’t they? You don’t see no one walk up to their bunch and try to horn in for a dance. They’re labeled goods.”

Babe wears a low-cut, off-the-shoulder sweater with rhinestones fastened all over it and no brassière under it. It is cherry-colored, and the silk skirt is full and black. Rhinestone combs hold her hair up on top of her head, and her ear lobes have dangling rhinestone earrings clipped to them. On her feet she wears her best Cuban-heeled, black patent leather shoes, and stockings, to signify the importance of the occasion. From her small, oval-shaped beaded purse, she takes a miniature bottle of cologne, and dabs some on the insides of her wrists with her fingers.

“In a matter of time, Marie,” she says, “we will have no one to envy. You want some of this stuff for your wrists?”

“Thanks.” Marie imitates Babe and hands the cologne back. Her get-up is not as fetching as Baby-O’s, though she has added falsies to her blue satin dress and pinned a paper gardenia in her hair. There is a dark spot near the neckline of the dress where she attempted to dry-clean a stew stain with a powder she bought at the drugstore down the street.

“Word is around that Eyes de Jarro’s girl friend was pushed to death off a roof last night.” Marie says.

Baby-O laughs. “It wouldn’t surprise me that Eyes was the one to push her. I can’t wait to get a load of Gober’s face when we pull the big scene on him.”

“The Jungles sure got Gober coming and going, Baby-O. I mean, last night the Polack’s luncheonette, and today his other chick gets taken.”

“Yeah, but my pleasure is that the rumble isn’t over the bust-up job, but over the fact Pontiac is making the play for me tonight. Gober is not one to let his temper cool. If the Polack had meant all that much, he would have gone for Flat Head long before this. Like this afternoon, Kings or no Kings. Gober is not one to run with the gang unless his mood is the same as theirs. Take it from me, I know.”

“You would if anyone would, Baby-O!”

“Gober I know like a book. He is not the one to go around long with a chick that doesn’t let him have what he wants. And Gober wants only one thing in this world from a chick! Well, he can rumble for it now that the Polack affair is cooled. May the best man win!”

Marie eyes Babe Limon with surprise. “You would go back with that louse if he did win?”

“I don’t say that. I just say I am giving Gober a taste of his medicine. Hey — brace yourself!” Baby-O says, nudging Marie in the side with her elbow and watching the entrance. “The fireworks are about to commence!”

At each side of the wide inner doorway leading to the ballroom, a large plaster figure of a nude woman, reclining on a rug, greets the entrants. Before the one on the left, the social chairman of the Kings of the Earth stands surveying the room. Then he turns to the Kings behind him, and says, “All right, we’re first tonight. That’s as it should be. Now let’s make this the best fall-in we ever had, because we all look mighty sweet. Okay, Gobe?”

“Okay, Flash.”

Gober does indeed look sweet. Tonight he wears his coolest — the navy blue suit, the white-on-white shirt, the red string tie, the square-cornered handkerchief in the breast pocket, the blue suede shoes and red socks. His black hair is combed back neatly and parted evenly, and it is not lacquered.

If there is one thing in this world Gober knows how to do it is how to fall in. Stepping just inside the entrance, he takes a stand there, turned slightly to the side, facing the refreshment stand and the tables along the wall. One knee is bent, and he casually pulls back his jacket and hooks his thumbs around his bright, wide red suspenders. His face is stony, save for the gradual raising of his right eyebrow, and the gentle poke his tongue takes at his cheek inside his mouth.

A step behind him, the other Kings make a row. They match their leader’s disdain with various innovations of their own; leers, grimaces, and highly individual bodily contortions.

Through closed teeth, Gober says, “Eyes ain’t here, huh?”

“No,” Flash murmurs behind him. “I tell you that after what happened, I don’t think he’ll show.”

“I bet my life he does show,” Gober says. “Eyes took his wife pretty seriously, I can see that now, and it is to his credit. But Eyes would not chicken on us. He’s a good King. It’s Tea I worry at now.”

Next to Flash, Braden speaks up. “Tea is probably cold-turkeyed right now.”

“That’s what I hate to imagine,” Gober says.

“Well, Gobe, there’s Baby-O over there, and I see she’s let them out of their cages for the event. I see them bobbing around inside that sweater every time she says something to Easy Marie.” Flash says. “You see her, Gobe?”

“Yeah.”

“And look beyond at the chicks of the Jungles, with posies in their hair, and little Bo-peep bags. Ain’t that a picture of Spring in the Rockies if you ever seen one?”

“That’s a picture, all right.” Gober says. He straightens and flips a cigarette from a package he pulls from his pocket. Braden is quick to scratch a match and lean forward with a light.

“Okay,” Gober says in hushed tones. “We proceed as planned. After the bit by Pontiac, the formalities are over. We let on like they’re not for half an hour or so, one by one gradually leaving and hiking it over to the clubhouse to change gear and get ammunition. We come on like we’re sort of falling apart at the seams, like we can’t handle the insult, like we’re going to light out and lick our wounds in the bushes — and pull a rumble tomorrow. Don’t forget to pretend we plan to get them tomorrow. Kings, we’re going to jap these horny Jungles so as they can’t move — but Pontiac is mine.”

“You gonna use the piece on him, Gobe?”

“I didn’t polish it for a display window,” Gober snaps.

Behind the Kings, a huge, swarthy man wearing a white coat and black pants, says, “You guys in line for a bus or something? Move inta the ballroom and let others get by.”

“Watch your tone, man,” Two Heads Pigaro says back, “or you’ll insult us paying customers.”

“I sell some other tickets besides to youse guys,” the bouncer snarls, “and I got the phone number of the police any time you don’t believe me.”

“Yeah, squeal and die young, fatso!”

“Remember,” the man warns, “I told you once to get on inta the room and don’t block passage.”

“C’mon,” Gober says after the bouncer is out of sight. “Let’s open the curtain.”

As Gober strolls leisurely across the shining waxed floor of the ballroom, the other Kings follow him pridefully. Gober lets his cigarette dangle from his lips, his arms at his sides, his fingers snapping in time with his step. He heads straight for the refreshment table, where Babe Limon stands slightly in front of the rest in that cluster. At the tables along the wall, the Junglettes watch, fascinated.

Directly in front of Baby-O, the cigarette still hanging in his mouth, Gober comes to an abrupt stop. The smoke curls up past his handsome features, and momentarily he simply looks at her through his dark, bright eyes. Baby-O looks back at him, steadily. Baby-O is no amateur at playing this game.

“I need a fresh smoke,” Gober tells her.

You have to give Baby-O credit for being smooth.

Her hand reaches up to Gober’s cigarette and takes it from between his lips. She brings it to her own lips, draws in on it, and then drops it to the floor. Gober crushes it with his shoe. Out of the side of her mouth, Baby-O blows smoke slowly, opening her bag and producing a fresh cigarette. This she puts in her mouth. Gober snaps a match in flame with his fingernail. She lights it and hands the cigarette to Gober.

Arrogantly Gober smiles. He flips it to the floor without smoking it. Baby-O comes on like no other chick in the world can. She steps on the red ash of the cigarette.

Then Gober says, “Ask!”

Baby-O moves closer to him. She stands with her round breasts pushing into him from under the sweater. Gober’s grin broadens to an even more arrogant one than the original. He takes her by the arm, pulls her close in a dancing embrace, and whips her away from the ring of people gathered around to witness the production.

Flash sighs with awe for his leader. “You know something?” he tells Braden. “I was skeptical before we got here. You know that?”

Braden says, “Last night didn’t hurt none at all. Gober needed to see the dawn again, that’s all. He’s behaving like a King again.”

Flash says, “Naw, I mean, I was wondering if maybe Baby-O would pull something, like not come on the way she did. But she knows whose property she is.”

Two Heads Pigaro says, “Yeah, lookit them out there. Wait till Pontiac gets here. What a kick! He’s gonna be a two-time loser t’night!”

Blitz Gianonni rubs his hands together, glancing around at the other girls near the refreshment booth. “Refreshments, anybody?” he chortles….

Gober holds Babe Limon possessively, his eyes cold, the smile gone from his mouth, his expression reverted to the same cool one he affected for the fall-in. He mamboes expertly, his body moving against hers in the necessary hot rhythm of the music. She says nothing, assuming the same disposition. The blue lights dance over the shadows of their faces. When Gober finally does concede to talk to her, he says, “Your style’s up to par tonight, Babe. Keep it that way.”

“Really?”

“I have a great big score to settle with the Jungles tonight, and in particular with Flat Head.”

“Would I let you down, Gober?”

“You would not. But tonight I want it extra special. When you brush him, brush him!”

“Did you think I would do otherwise?”

“Chicks are funny, Baby. This afternoon I don’t know how to figure it. Maybe you are pulling a fast one, I think. But when the votes are in, there is a fact about this sort of thing. And that is people stick by what they know.”

“True. True.”

“What do you know about Flat Head Pontiac, you’d let him cut me out? That is something about you, Baby, I learned just a second ago. You play by the rules of the game, and you play hard. Your style was never better than just then.”

“That’s because my heart is always in it, Gober. Like you.”

Gober says, “If you can’t stick by what you know, you got nothing else!”

About thirteen Jungles are gathered on a corner near the Aphrodite Ballroom, when Pontiac’s sleek Buick convertible draws up to the curb.

“Here’s our boy!” Blackie Buttoni shouts. “Right on the nose!”

They stand waiting as Flat Head eases himself from behind the driver’s seat, and steps out of the car. Bull Rossi slides under the wheel. Pontiac checks the back seat. Sweaters and khaki pants and sneaks are piled there, and sitting mutely beside them, Tea Bag Perrez smokes a cigarette and stares straight ahead of him.

“Okay, Bull!” Pontiac says. “You got your orders straight?”

Bull tells Pontiac, “I’ll be parked at the side entrance. We’ll change on the way down, them that’s driving down. The others change ahead of time, coming out one by one, and head off in the same direction. Perrez is about four hours from hell now, and he don’t get any birdie powder till he works for it.”

“Good cat!” Pontiac says. “Take it!”

Stepping backward from the car, he raises his hand in a salute which Bull returns as he starts the motor and pulls away.

“Citizens, citizens,” Jeep exclaims, “dig the outfit that is the most!”

Pontiac pretends to ignore the compliment. He sports a powder-blue linen suit, a light-blue silk shirt, a narrow white silk tie, and white buff shoes. In the lapel of his suit jacket is a white carnation. His black hair is newly brush-cut. He smells faintly of pine lotion.

“Jungles!” he says, “we got a full night and I am anxious to get started. Only one last word. The Junglette who is carrying your ammunition is the one to stay closest to. Keep your eye on her bag at all times, and by no means goof and try to take your weapon from her in plain sight of everyone. The best way is to make it look like you and her going to take a walk toward the end of the evening. Then tell her to vamoose, and you get changed.”

The Jungles murmur their approval of this plan, and follow after Pontiac as he leads the way toward the Aphrodite….