The Girl With Green Teeth: 6 of 6

                                             June 18, 1949

The odor of dinner overcoming whatever lingering nausea he may have had, by the time the boys sat down to eat Mitchell was well enough, and easily able to consume two servings of lasagna, salad, half a loaf of garlic bread, fresh string beans with almond slivers and two custard filled cannoli.

“Frankie, this one, he’s’a not so bashful like’a you other friends. This one, he’s’a like to eat. I like’a this one! Mitchell,” Mrs. Rizzo asked, holding the tray forward. “You like more cannoli?”

“No, ma’am, I’m stuffed.” He looked at the tray. “Well…” he’d never had any pastries that tasted better than this cannoli. “Oh, okay. Thank you, Mrs. Rizzo.”

“Gee, Ma,” Frank laughed, “guess you twisted his arm.”

“An’ such’a good manners, this one. You should learn such’a good manners from’a you friend here, Frankie.”

“Yeah, sure, Ma.” Frank pushed away from the table. “Lipensky, ain’t you never gonna get done? Come on, we ain’t got all day!”

Swallowing the last of the cannoli, “Thanks again, Mrs. Rizzo.” Following Frank from the dining room, “Frankie, I was supposed to call my mom when I got here this afternoon an’ forgot. Okay if I call her now?”

“Yeah, sure. Phone’s in the kitchen.”

                                                          ***

“Mom, it’s me, Mitchell.”

“I know it’s you, Mitchell! Why didn’t you call?”

“I am calling!”

“Yes, now!” Myra said angrily. “I thought I told you to call when you got there!”

“I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Big deal, you’re sorry! I sat by the phone all day waiting for you to call and you’re sorry!”

“Mom. I’m sorry! I forgot!”

The line quiet a moment, then, “So, okay already. How’s Frank? He look different from the last time you saw him, from the way you remember him? Tell him hello from me.”

Mitchell looked at Frank who, flexing his wrists and forearms, had both elbows on the table, watching the muscles in his arms expand and contract, “Frankie, my mom says hello.”

“Yeah? Tell her hello back.”

“Yeah, he really does look different, and he says hello back.”

“Did you have lunch?”

“Yeah, sure I did.”

“Where?”

Where? Like what difference does it make? “A place Frankie knows; his godmother owns it.”

“What did you eat?”

Jesus! “Something Italian. You never had it before.”

“Okay, so I never had it before. So what did you eat?”

“Pizza! It’s called pizza, Mom.” Catching Frank’s eye, Mitchell moved his right hand, index finger extended, in a small circle around his right ear, making the universally accepted “she’s nuts” sign.

“Pizza? I never had pizza. What’s it made with?”

“Uh, it’s kind’a like a big pancake, an’ it’s got lots’a stuff on it.”

“What kind of stuff?”

Sighing deeply, “You know, cheese’n’onions’n’green peppers’n’sausage. All good healthy stuff, just like you like me to eat.”

“Sausage?” Myra said sourly. “It had pork sausage?”

“Well, yeah, I guess. We eat pork sausage, don’t we?”

“Yes, but our pork sausage is ko…” About to say kosher, she caught herself. “I know what’s in our sausage,”—though, truly, she had no idea—“and God only knows what’s in that goyisha trayf!” [Gentile junk] “So, what’s done is done, and it probably won’t kill you. So, what did you and Frank do today?”

“Well, Mom…” Thinking a moment: I almost got killed by two anti-Semitic, Italian hoods, then met a girl with a dirty neck’n’ears’n’green teeth, an’ got stinkin’ drunk on homemade Dago Red, an’ told her’n’her girlfriend’n’Frankie how Jews get their dicks wacked off, then her’n’me went into a bedroom an’ got undressed an’ I sucked on her tits an’ put my finger into her cunt, but because I was so drunk I puked my guts out an’ never did get fucked. “Uh,” he said, “not too much. We just, kind’a, you know, hung around.”

“Come on,” Frank whispered, “we’re gonna be late.”

“An’ now we’re at Frank’s house, an’ we just finished a great dinner an’ we’re getting’ ready to go to a movie an’ we’re really late now, Mom.”

“Well, Mitchell, it sounds like you’re having a good time,” Myra said, not wanting to hang up. “And I suppose your father was right about this being a learning experience.”

“Yeah, Mom,” his mind going back to Lisa’s bedroom. “I’m learnin’ lots’a real neat stuff.”

“Okay, honey. Be careful, and don’t stay out too late.”

“Yeah, Mom, I’ll be careful.”

“Okay… Oh, by the way, if you should decide to come home tomorrow instead of Monday, were going to be at Aunt Bea’s all day because it’s Uncle Al’s birthday and we’re going to surprise him with a special brunch and,” not too happy about him being away from home, in that neighborhood, and well knowing the way to her son’s heart, “everyone is going to be there.”

Everyone? “What are you having to eat?”

Not above bribing him, “Oh, the usual,” Myra said. “Lox and bagels and all that, but much, much more—pastries, and of course a birthday cake. You know that when all the cousins get together they bring all kinds of good things to eat.”

“Yeah,” momentarily digesting, literally digesting, all that his mother had said, “I know!” His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall then down to Frank, who was cleaning his fingernails with a pruning knife. “Okay, if I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll see you on Monday. Okay?”

“Sure, honey… Well,” reluctant to say goodbye, “Goodbye.”

“So long, Mom.” Dropping the receiver onto the cradle, “Frankie, what’a’we doin’ tomorrow?”

“First thing, I gotta go to church, an’ I’ll be home ’bout ten, ten-thirty. If you want, you can stay in bed or watch television till I get back. Why?”

All kinds of good things to eat! “Oh, just askin’.”

“Come on, s’almost six-thirty an’ we gotta get dressed. You bring somethin’ decent to wear, at least?”

In Frank’s bedroom, “Yeah! Sure!” he opened the canvas bag, removed his shirts, khaki slacks and underwear, and laid them onto the guest bed. “See, I brought lots’a decent stuff to wear.”

“Yeah, I see. Who packed this? Not your Ma!”

“Nah, me.”

“Figures.” Taking the khaki slacks off the bed, unfurling them, “These look like shit!” Frank said, “You can’t wear ’em on a date!”

“Hey, I didn’t think we were goin’ to a formal.”

“You’re too big for my pants, but my shirts’ll fit fine, an’ I’ll ask Ma to iron these slacks.”

“What the hell’s the difference how I look? We’re only goin’ to a movie. An’ if I gotta be with Gina, it won’t matter if I roll in horseshit. Shit! I don’t think she’d even notice.”

“Mitchie, ain’t’j’ya never been on a date before?”

“Yeah!” Actually, no, he never had, but he didn’t want to tell that to Frank. “Sure I been on dates, lots’a times!”

“Lots’a times, eh? Bullshit!”

“Okay, bullshit! But it’s only with Gina, for Christ’s sake!”

“You can’t go lookin’ like a slob no matter who you’re with! An’ remember, you’re gonna be with me’n’Lisa, too, an’ you’re supposed to be a wop not a Jew, an’ wops don’t go on dates lookin’ like fuckin’ slobs… That’s my closet,” pointing his thumb. “Take any shirt ya want. I’m gonna ask Ma to iron these,” waving the khaki slacks. “Go on! Go find a shirt.”

Opening the door to a small, walk-in closet, pulling the string hanging from a bare ceiling light fixture, Holy cow! Mitchell was amazed at the neat rows of slacks, jackets and shirts that hung from wooden bars on all three sides of the closet. Separated by color, the shirts hung precisely and neatly to the right and left. Directly ahead were a number of jackets on wooden hangers and, hanging by their cuffs on metal pants hangers, the sharp creases in the slacks all faced outward.

Myra ironed her son’s clothing with her prize possession, a mangler, then she would hang the shirts on wire hangers and the pants on cardboard-covered pants hangers, then hang the shirts and pants neatly on the wooden rods in Mitchell’s closet where they would remain neat and orderly till he pulled the first pair of pants or shirt off a hanger causing the hangers on either side to hang askew and within a day all the hangers and all of the clothing in his closet were cockeyed.

Mitchell’s favorite color was yellow. There were four yellow shirts in varying shades in Frank’s closet. Carefully, so as not to jar the adjoining hangers, he took one down, studied it, put it back and took another. Coming out of the closet, standing in front of the mirror, removing his shirt, he put Frank’s on. The short-sleeved shirt was pale yellow with two breast pockets and military-style epaulets.

Studying his reflection he smiled, showing his white teeth to the deeply tanned figure that smiled back at him. Using his palm, Jeeze, I look good! pushing the wave in his hair an inch closer to his left eyebrow, It’s a shame that my first real date’s gotta be wasted on Gina.

                                                      *** 

Walking briskly, “Frankie?”

Taking one last deep drag on the cigarette, Frank flipped it into the gutter before answering, “Yeah, Mitch?”

“You know, they seem so different.”

“Who do?”

Going along with the gag, “Dey do.”

“Dey do? Who dey?”

Becoming serious, “The girls. How’s come they’re such good friends? Lisa seems like a nice girl, and Gina’s such a…”

“Whore?”

“Well, yeah.”

“They grew up together. Gina used to live upstairs from Lisa.”

“At where we were today?”

“Yeah. Lisa’s ma’n’pa own the buildin’ an’ Gina’s folks rented the apartment upstairs. Anyway, one day Gina’s ma’n’pa had this big argument an’ her pa took off an’ disappeared.”

“Yeah, she tol’ me her dad’s gone.”

Even though he and his father did not seem to be particularly friendly at times, and that occasionally he would go out of his way to avoid Walter, Mitchell felt a hollow core of sadness as he attempted to even imagine life without his father, and in so doing felt empathy for Gina, then felt anger at himself for disliking her as much as he thought he did.

“Jesus, Frankie! How can a father just take off an’ leave his wife an’ kid an’ never see ’em again?”

“Don’t know, Mitch, but Gina’s pop sure did.”

“When’d this happen?”

“Right before the war started. Gina was about eight then.”

“God, things had’a be really tough for ’em!”

“Yeah. Gina’n’her mother had’a move to a smaller place over on Campbell; it’s just a couple’a blocks away, but it’s a real dump. I guess bein’ without a father made it real hard for Gina an’ she just kind’a… you know, kind’a got wild ‘that way.’ An’ Lisa, bein’ as nice as she is, felt bad for her an’ they stayed friends, an’ I know Lisa’d feel real bad if somethin’ happened an’ her’n’Gina couldn’t be pals no more.”

“But hangin’ ’round with Gina? Don’t that make guys think that, maybe, she’s kind’a like Gina and, you know, try to get her to do the kinds’a things Gina does?”

“Well, yeah, they used to, an’ sometimes some guy still does, an’ you ought’a see how Lisa shoots ’em down. An’ for the last year, ever since her’n’me’s been together, almost everyone in the neighborhood knows, an’ mostly leave her alone or they know I’ll break their fuckin’ faces.”

Trying to think of a way to say what was on his mind, he was quiet a minute then, “Frankie, don’t misunderstand me. I like Lisa, but really, if she’s such a nice girl, then why’s she let you do it to her? To go all the way! Like today, an’ with Gina’n’me there, just in the other room.”

Knowing that his friend was right, searching for an excuse, also taking a minute to formulate his thoughts but, unable to come up with a creditable excuse, “If we hadn’t’a drank all that wine, an’ if you’n’Gina weren’t in the bedroom makin’ out, Lisa’n’me wouldn’t’a done it, then.” Quickly adding, “But Lisa only does it with me! An’ she does it because we, uh, like each other, a real lot!”

“Frank, lots’a girls like lots’a guys, but the nice girl’s don’t go all the way with their boyfriends. Yeah, I know they may touch each other an’ stuff, but…”

“’cause we love each other, an’ we’re gonna be married!”

Incredulous, “Married! Jesus, Frankie, you’re only… what? Sixteen! How do you know you’n’Lisa are gonna be married? How can you even think about marryin’ anyone now, when you’re only sixteen?”

“Nearer seventeen! An’ ’cause we love each other!” Frank repeated. “…An’ Lisa’n’me really love doin’ it with each other!”

“Frankie, I d’know a whole hell of a lot about it, but from what I’ve been told, hell, even a shit-head like Skorupsi loves doin’ it! An’ I don’t think fuckin’, an’ lovin’ fuckin’ someone means you gotta marry ’em, least way’s now!”

Frank stopped walking and, “Mitch,” grabbing him by the shoulder, spun him around so they’re facing each other. “I tell ya, Lisa’n’me love each other! Okay?” Poking his stiffened finger into his friend’s chest. “An’ it ain’t none’a your fuckin’ business, anyway! Okay?” Balling his right fist, cocking it beneath Mitchell’s chin. “I invited ya here to get laid, not to give me a fuckin’ lecture! Okay?”

He looked at the clenched fist, then into Frank’s anger-flushed face, and saw something he’d never imagined he would see coming from Frank directed towards himself: rage—pure, violent rage.

The two stared at each other for two seconds… four seconds, then, his face softened. “Shit, Mitchie!” and his clenched fist relaxed. “I’m sorry!”

Taking a deep breath, “Frankie, just now you looked like you hated me, an’ I really thought you were gonna slug me.”

“Mitch, you’re my best pal! I’d never hit’ch’ya!”

“Yeah, sure, I knew you weren’t going to hit me.” Really, though, he wasn’t too sure about that. “You’re my best pal, too…” Really, though, Norman was. “It’s just that I don’t wanna see you get into trouble an’ screw up your life.”

“Yeah, Mitch, I know that. Come on!”

Walking again, “I shouldn’t’a gotten mad at you,” Frank said. “Shit! What’j’ya said, I know you’re right. But Lisa keeps talkin’ ’bout when we get married this, and when we get married that. Damn! I’m still goin’ to high school an’ I wanna go to college so’s,” sweeping his hand in a wide arch, “I can get outta this shitty neighborhood. I know what Lisa’n’I’m doing’s a sin, but even when we try to stop we can’t! When we’re alone I kiss her an’ she kisses me an’ before you know it my hand’s under her blouse an’ I’m touching her an’ her hand’s in my pants touchin’ me, an’ we can’t seem to stop.” Taking a deep breath, Frank smiled. “An’ that ain’t all! You Jews think you got it tough? Lisa’n’me, we gotta go to confession.”

“Jesus!” Mitchell laughed. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Yeah, pal, ‘Jesus’ is right!”

“Yeah, we Jews had’a Hitler an’ gas chambers,” Mitchell said facetiously, “an’ you goys got confession. How d’ya handle it?”

Frank laughed. “It ain’t easy. Seems like all Lisa’n’me ever do, all the time, is say Hail Marys an’ Our Fathers.”

“How often do you guys gotta go to confession?”

Laughing again, “Every fuckin’ week!”

“Every week? Wow! An’ you gotta tell a priest every time you go, ’bout every time you’n’Lisa screw?”

“Yup! Every time!”

“Holy shit!”

“Oh, yeah! Holy shit is right!”

Sitting on the front stoop, the girls were waiting for them.

“Hi, babe!” Taking Lisa by the hands, pulling her onto her feet, kissing her on the cheek, “You look great!” Eyeing Lisa in her pink cotton skirt and white, off-the-shoulder blouse, “How’s come your mother let you out’a the house lookin’ this good?” Frank pressed his nose into the soft crease of Lisa’s abundant cleavage.

Giggling, “She ain’t home.”

Hugging her, “I’d guess not!”

Rising without assistance, “Hi’ya, Mitchie.”

Standing slightly behind Frank, “Gina?” he almost didn’t recognize her because she actually looked good… well, almost.

Having taken a shower or bath, Gina’s hair was brushed straight back and, still having a wet sheen, it didn’t look quite as brassy as it had earlier. She’d brushed her teeth and, though there was still a very noticeable stain between her teeth, the moss was gone. She had put makeup on, so in comparison to the pasty color her face had been that afternoon, Gina now looked radiantly healthy. The white, pleated skirt she wore was cinched tightly at the waist, giving definition to her slight hips. Unbuttoned three buttons down, the collar of Gina’s mint-green, sleeveless blouse had purposely been left open revealing, nowhere near as much as Lisa, but…

How’s she do that? Mitchell could definitely see the soft contour of her breasts. Where’d all those tits come from? His mouth dropping open, “Gina! God!” he stammered. “You look great!”

“Hey,” hiding his mouth behind his hand, whispering in Mitchell’s ear, “I tol’j’ya you’d be surprised ’bout the way she’d look tonight. Didn’t I?”

“Yeah!” Still looking at Gina, well, actually leering at Gina, knowing what was coming later, Mitchell sensed the familiar twitching in his crotch.

“You look great, too, Mitch, uh,” remembering, “Mario.”

The yellow shirt made his tan appear even darker and his teeth even whiter and, if anything, to Gina, Mitchell was handsomer now than he’d been earlier and, knowing what was coming later, contracting her vaginal muscle, thinking, Juicy-Lucy. Sensing a moistening in her crotch, “Yeah,” she said, “we’d better get used to callin’ you Mario now. An’…” looking from his face to the hollow of his throat, “you’d better take that off, too.”

Putting his hand to his throat, he held the mezuzah.

“Yeah!” Frank said, “Even I forgot about callin’ ya Mario, an’ about that thing,” pointing, “you’d better get rid of it.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Obviously not wanting to, reluctantly pulling the chain over his head, he dropped it into his pocket.

“Hey, I got an idea!” Opening her purse, removing the change purse, opening it, Lisa handed something to Mitchell.

This was the very first time in his life that he’d touched one, let alone considered putting one on, and, holding it in the palm of his hand, he looked at it distastefully.

“Yeah! Hey, that’s a great idea, babe! Come on, Mitch, I’ll help ya put it on.” Anxiously, as though this were something he’d always wanted to do, taking it from his hand, “Bend down so’s I can reach ya.” Clasping it behind Mitchell’s neck, “Hey, pal,” standing back, looking at him, “now ya look like a double grade-A wop.”

His hand going to his neck, Mitchell attempted to smile but, the smile freezing on his lips, he fingered the small, gold crucifix for a second then let it drop where it lay against the hollow of his throat and fleeting thought of the vampire movies he’d seen, and the inevitable scene came to mind when someone pressed a crucifix, or a reasonable facsimile of a crucifix, against the vampire’s forehead and the flesh smoked, singed, than burst into fire. This crucifix, now, felt to Mitchell as though it were burning the flesh of his throat.

Mitchell Lipensky, though never ashamed, had never taken great pride in what he was. He’d never really given it much thought or taken the time to consider his ancestry or heritage. When he had been forced to go to Hebrew school he’d thought he hated being Jewish. But at that moment Mitchell realized that he was Jewish and knew, absolutely knew, that wearing a crucifix, for any reason was wrong.

“No!” Looking at Frank, expecting understanding from his friend. “I can’t wear this! I hope you understand, but if I do, then I’m doing something wrong.” He looked at the girls. “I even feel funny taking my mezzuza off, but okay, I don’t want any problem with the people here so I’ll keep it off. I don’t mean to insult you, but I just can’t wear this!” He attempted to pull it over his head but the chain was not long enough so, reaching behind his neck, Mitchell fumbled with the small clasp.

Thinking it would be an honor, looking at him in near disbelief, Frank and Lisa did not understand Mitchell’s motive for not wanting to wear the crucifix. And yes, they did feel insulted.

Oddly, “Mitchie,” Gina—of the huge crucifix, which, thankfully, she wasn’t wearing on this night—“I’m sorry,” Gina said, standing in front of him. “Bend your head down an’ I’ll help ya take it off.”

Appreciating her help, “Thanks, Gina.” Bending forward, he smelled the subdued fragrance of her cologne.

“Okay, Mitch,” Frank begrudgingly said, “guess maybe you’re right… Hey, it’s getting’ late an’ we’re gonna have to stand in line there.” Taking Lisa’s hand beginning to walk at a brisk pace, within moments Frank and Lisa were a number of paces ahead of Gina and Mitchell.

Looking at her over his shoulder, “Gina.”

“Yeah, Mitch?” Looking at him, their eyes locked.

“I wanna thank you for what you did back there. It’s hard to explain, but soon’s I put the cross on, it made me feel… I don’t know… it made me feel kind’a funny. Really, Gina, I don’t mean nothin’ against you guys, or your religion.”

“Yeah, I know ya didn’t mean nothin’, Mitch.” Quiet a moment, “It’s just that I think that when ya know what’j’ya are, ya gotta be what’j’ya are.”

Looking at her again, he understood that Gina was referring to herself, and the way she was, as much as she was referring to him and the way he was. Reaching to his right, taking hold of her hand, “You’re a pretty good guy,” he said seriously.

They walked a few paces before, tightening her fingers around his, “In case ya ain’t noticed, I ain’t no guy.”

Squeezing her hand, “Yeah, Gina, believe me, I noticed!”

…Standing in the long line outside the theater, waiting to buy tickets, Frank’s right! Mitchell thought. This is the third guy that’s come over to talk to her.

Seeing Gina, they’d leave their place in line and come to where they’re standing. They would nod their hellos to Frank and Lisa as Gina proudly introduced Mitchell as, “Mario, this here’s my friend, Marco,” or Paulie, or Mike…

And Marco, Paulie or Mike looked at him with obvious envy, made small talk for a moment, then returned to their places in line and the girls they’d left standing by themselves.

                                                         *** 

The lights in the theater dimmed, faded and went black. The talk and laughter subsided. Motion in color moved along the folds of the crimson curtain as it opened outward from the center. People cleared their throats, coughed, then, outside of the rustling of hundreds of bodies on movie theater seats, were silent.

Sitting slouched in his seat, fully absorbed, Mitchell was staring intently at the screen when, reaching across with her right hand, taking hold of his right hand, forcing him to sit up higher, Gina lifted it over her shoulder and around her neck. Looking at her briefly, he gladly moved closer.

The beautiful golden fawn ran through the woods…

His right hand now held with both of her hands.

…and bounded into a sun-lit clearing…

Gina moved his hand from her shoulder onto her chest.

…and to the shore of a sparkling blue, mountain lake….

Covering the V of her blouse with her left hand, she led his hand through the opening.

“…Flag!” The boy, Jody, called to the fawn…

Her index finger over his index finger, moving the first two joints of her finger, she moved the first two joints of his finger in a small, tight circle.

…As Jody came through the woods into the clearing he saw the fawn…

He felt something. Looking to his right, Oh, God! he realized that his hand, under her hand, was on her breast. And, Oh, God! that his finger, under her finger, was circling the aureole of her nipple.

…standing silhouetted against…

Becoming hard, the flat circle of Gina’s flesh erected.

…azure sky…

Aware, Oh, God! of what he was touching, becoming hard, the soft cylinder of Mitchell’s flesh also began to erect, as…

…and reflected…

Squeezing, he gently palpated the wondrous softness in the palm of his hand.

…on the…

Leaning closer, looking at her, he stretched his arm further.

…blue water.

In the semi-darkness of the theater, with muted tones of Technicolor light playing across her flesh, softening the hard angles of her face, amazed at the transformation, feeling a binding in his heart, How come I didn’t notice before? She is pretty, and I do like her, and I’m gonna get fucked tonight!

Straining against the armrest that separated their two seats, forgetting there were people about, a whole theater of people about, holding Gina’s breast, kneading the soft flesh of Gina’s breast, turning her face to his with his free hand, bringing his mouth to her mouth he kissed her and now, without a hint of hesitation, Mitchell’s tongue pushed through Gina’s lips, beyond her teeth and into her mouth…

Breaking the long kiss, “Whew,” Gina whispered. “Cool off, baby.” Sitting back in her seat, taking his hand from beneath her blouse and brassiere, placing it back on her shoulder, sitting straight up, “Be a good boy, Mitchie,” she said, primly folding her hands on her lap. “Watch the movie.”

He didn’t know why she’d moved his hand, but sure liked it better where it had been and after a minute, moving it from her shoulder, he put his hand onto her chest, then it slipped beneath her brassiere.

“Mitchie,” motioning for him to move his head closer, whispering, “watch the movie.” Flicking the inside of his ear with her tongue—causing a shiver to run up his spine—as, once again moving his hand from her breast, Gina placed it back onto her shoulder.

Looking at her in profile, taking his hand from her shoulder, he placed it onto the armrest… then onto her thigh, and within a few seconds began to rub her thigh, moving his hand in an ever-widening circular motion, working his way inward, and upward.

Covering his hand with both of her hands so the lady sitting next to her could not see what he was doing, slouching lower, Gina crossed her legs.

He felt the heat generated from her thighs and pubis…

And she allowed his hand to remain there… just long enough to realize that he’d reached his goal, then, lifting it over the armrest, putting his hand onto his lap, holding it there, “Later.” she whispered.

Later!

“Later.” Having whispering the provocative word, like the gloating fisherman who’d finally hooked an elusive fish, sitting back, Gina thoroughly enjoyed the movie, and also Mitchell’s squirming.

                                                             *** 

“That was a great movie!”

In the jammed aisle, pressed in the crowd of exiting people.

“Yeah, it sure was!”

Into the well-lit foyer.

“You girls hungry?”

Outside, beneath the brilliantly glaring light bulbs of the theater marquee.

“Yeah, Frankie, I could eat a cow.” Taking Mitchell’s arm, pressing it against her side, Gina tightened the slack on the line of the circling fish…

A somewhat fickle fish, because, again, Mitchell felt all eyes were on him, and on this girl. This girl that just a short while ago had actually looked pretty, but now, in the harsh, cold light of thousands of unfrosted light bulbs, Gina had, once again, been transformed into the sharp-faced, pale-skinned specter she’d been earlier and, pulling his arm free, bending down, pretending to retie a shoelace, the fish spit the hook out.

Walking four abreast on the wide sidewalk, flanked by Gina on the far inside and Mitchell on the far outside, Lisa and Frank walked arm-in-arm.

What’d I do wrong? Gina wondered. Did I hold him off too long?

She’d played the eternal female game any number of times in the past and it had always worked before: her, getting him—whoever the him of the moment was—worked into a state of sexual expectation, then she’d back away and play hard to get for a while, and by that time, usually, the guy would be completely subservient and willing to do anything she’d asked. Once, though, Gina had lost all control and had gotten it roughly in a dark alley, standing painfully wedged between a telephone pole and a brick wall. Even so, she had understood the boy’s uncontrollable need, and as frightening as it was, it was also exciting to know that she was the cause of that need.

This technique did two things for Gina: it assured her that she’d have sexual gratification—or at least the attention she so desperately craved—and also it eased her conscience over her often uncontrollable promiscuity.

Gina Glambos knew that she was not pretty, or even cute, but when she was with a boy, almost any boy, the boy usually treated her as though she were his bambina and the most beautiful girl in the world.

She loved the affection and closeness, but mostly loved the control the sexual act usually gave her. But could not understand Mitchell.

Different from any boy she’d ever been with, from the moment she’d seen him, from the moment she’d been with him, she’d wanted nothing more than for Mitchell to desire her as she desired him.

In Lisa’s bedroom, after she’d finally been able to warm him up, before he’d gotten sick, she had been hot, much hotter than at most other times with most other boys.

Drawn to his unpretentious good looks and innocence, Gina knew that he was wholly inexperienced with girls because Frank had told her so. But even so, she found it hard to believe that any boy that looked as good as Mitchell wouldn’t have a dozen girls throwing themselves at him. Maybe they’re different where he lives. Nah, they can’t be all that different! But yet, Maybe so. Maybe they’re snobbish. Maybe he doesn’t realize just how good looking he is. Or maybe he really is that shy. Whatever the reason… Maybe, because he was not turned on by her, Gina was turned on by him, and by the time she’d finally gotten him undressed and, literally, into her hands, his strange-feeling penis had made her even more passionate. Gina had thought she had him panting in the theater, and she did, then. Now, though, it was as it had been when they’d first met. Gina had been reversed on: She was supposed to be standoffish with him doing the panting, instead, he was being standoffish and she was doing the panting. With Gina Glambos it was a game she was compelled to play.

With Mitchell Lipensky, as anxious as he was to actually see the genitalia of a girl, and, of course, to have intercourse, unlike the “any port in a storm” mentality of most other guys, on that day Mitchell Lipensky had discovered that he must have some semblance of affection for the girl. And at that moment he was not attracted to Gina, and, he thought, The girls I can get I don’t want. And, so he thought, The girls I want, like Amy Pearlman, I can’t get… So he thought, Sure, at Lisa’s, after a while I did want to fuck Gina. But I’d been drinking lots’a wine and got drunk and her tits and ass felt so nice and, God, the way it felt when she touched me… there. Sure, in the movie it felt great touching her tits. But she looked much nicer then… Wait a minute, what’s changed? Leaning forward, looking across Frank and Lisa to Gina, She looks real lonely, and—away from the harsh lights of the movie marquee—she don’t look so bad now, and we’re gonna be alone again. So, what the hell! And—well, maybe somewhat of an “any port in a storm” mentality, and—dropping back a step, crossing behind Lisa and Frank, “Hi!” he smiled at Gina.

“Hi!” Gina smiled back.

                                                           *** 

“Where’d they come from?” Mitchell asked, almost to himself, but loud enough for Frank, who was sitting next to him to hear.

“Huh?”

At White Castle, in a white room, eating hamburgers, munching on French fries and attempting to draw thick milk shakes through white straws, the boys were on one side of a white, plastic booth and the girls on the other.

Mitchell laughed.

“What’s so funny, Mitchie?”

“Gina, believe me, you wouldn’t wanna know.”

“Yeah, I would.” Reaching across the table, playfully punching him on the shoulder, “Come on!

What’s so funny?”

“You sure you wanna know? You won’t be mad?”

“Mitchie, baby, would I ever be mad at’j’ya?”

“Well,” hesitating as he looked into her lovely, blue eyes, “okay… Gina, you didn’t have ’em when I first met’j’ya. You had ’em tonight when I first saw you, but then you didn’t have ’em in the movie when you let me, uh, you know,” looking at her chest, “but you sure as hell got ’em now!”

“Mitch,” laughing, talking around a mouthful of hamburger, “what the hell ya talkin’ ’bout?”

“Frankie, look at her! You notice anything different?”

Frank and Lisa stared and, suddenly embarrassed, Gina blushed.

“Can’t you see?” Mitchell said. “Don’t you notice?”

Bewildered, Frank and Lisa shrugged their shoulders.

Pulling Frank’s head closer to his, covering his mouth, Mitchell whispered in his ear.

“Jesus, Mitch!” Laughing. “That’s what’s botherin’ ya?”

“Le’me in on it, guys! What’s so funny?”

“Gina,” holding laughter back, trying to look serious, “Mitchie don’t know how’s come ya suddenly got…” his laughter breaking through, “tits!”

“That’s what’s botherin’ ya?” Glancing about the room to be sure none of the other patrons are looking in their direction, reaching in her blouse, Gina withdrew her closed hand and, reaching across the table, “Here!” attempted to put her hand into his, but he hesitated. “Mitch, go on, take it! It won’t bite’j’ya!” She giggled. “An’ if it does, it’ll be the first time in history one of ’em ever did.”

“Okay.” Reluctantly loosening his hand, he allowed her hand onto his.

Opening her fingers, withdrawing her hand, the compacted pyramid of foam rubber, as though suddenly animated, sprung off Mitchell’s palm, did a somersault and landed, pointy-end down, into a blob of catsup on the corner of his hamburger wrapper.

“Falsies! Ain’t’j’ya never seen a falsie?”

Looking from the cone of pink foam rubber that was sitting in his catsup, up at Gina, then back to his hamburger wrapper, “Oy, gevalt! Falsies? They’re falsies!”

All eyes looked at the cone-shaped thing sitting amidst French fries and catsup…

Suddenly the entire table burst into a gale of laughter.

“Better bury the poor thing.” Lisa said, dropping a napkin over it.

Looking at Gina, whose chest was all but flat on one side and well pronounced on the other, “Better take the other one out; you look kind’a lop…” breaking into renewed laughter, “…sided.” Mitchell picked the falsie out of the catsup, wrapped it in a clean napkin and handed it to her.

“Yeah, thanks.” Reaching into her blouse, Gina removed the other foam rubber pad and, noting that he was watching her every movement, closely, put both into her purse.

“…Shit!” Pointing to the lit window on the third floor, “My ol’ lady’s home! Shit!”

Feeling his heart drop, as though confirming what he absolutely did not want confirmed, “Your mother’s home?”

“Yeah.” Looking at Mitchell, “They must’a let her outta the late shift. Shit!”

“Hey, I got an idea! Why don’t we go to the park?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Frankie, that’s all I gotta do, is come home with grass stains all over this here white skirt! Goddamn ’er!”

Not merely disappointed, “There’s gotta be someplace we can go!” Actually, downright desperate, “Can we get together tomorrow?”

“Ain’t no place to go to on Sunday, Mitchie, less’n ya got a car. An’ anyway, I gotta go to church in the mornin’ an’ then I gotta go with my ol’ lady to visit her goddamned brother.”

“So, when’ll you be through?”

“Too late. We always stay for supper, an’ I gotta be dyin’ to get out of it. An’ even if I am dyin’, my ol’ lady has a shit-fit! Tomorrow ain’t a good day. Shit! When’r ya goin’ home?”

“Tomorrow evening, I guess.”

“You can always come back again another time, can’t’j’ya?”

“Hey, Gina,” Frank said, “I got an idea! Why don’t’j’ya have Mitch walk you into the hallway? Lisa’n’me ain’t in no hurry.” Winking at her conspiratorially, he sat on a step. “Go on, take your time.”

“Yeah!” Sitting next to Frank. “Frankie’n’me’ll wait.”

“Yeah! Why didn’t I think’a that?” Taking his hand, “Come on, Mitch.” She led him up the steps, through the cracked, frosted plate glass door, to a dark alcove under the stairwell.

Anyone coming down the stairs or entering into the building would purposely have to go out of their way to see into the hidden alcove.

“It ain’t a nice cozy bed, but it sure’s better’n nothin’!” Rubbing her body against his body, putting her mouth to his mouth, the tip of her tongue brushed his lips, then met with his tongue… “Mmmm, Mitchie, you get a boner faster’n any one I know.”

Taking this as a compliment, which it was, “Yeah, thanks.” His hands, having found their way beneath her blouse, fumbled with the clasp of her brassiere, then thinking it too complicated, about to lift the cups over her breasts…

“Wait, Mitchie.” Reaching behind her back, unclasping the brassiere, Gina’s breasts fell free and instantly…

Oh, God! The double warmth filled his hands.

Pulling back a bit, “Wait, Mitchie, don’t wrinkle me.” Gina unbuttoned her blouse, giving him time to unbutton his pants and to work his engorged penis through the overlapping slit of his Jockey shorts and the fly of his slacks.

Coming together again, feeling him rigidly poking against her, “You ain’t so shy anymore, are you, baby.” They kissed and, holding him, playing her thumb over the still-strange spearhead of his glans, “Mitchie, I love the way your dick feels!”

No longer benumbed with wine, the touch of her cool hand on his penis exciting him almost beyond comprehension, tasting the taste of her flesh, touching his tongue to the hardened cone of her nipple, “And I love the way your tits taste.”

Kissing. Fondling. Tasting.

In the shadowy triangle of this hidden alcove, skinny, homely, Gina Glambos became the living incarnation of all the girls his imagination—and hand—ever allowed Mitchell Lipensky to make love to.

Lifting the back of her skirt and slip, reaching beneath the band of her underpants, he held the soft warmth of her buttocks, then stretching downward his finger touched the puckered orifice of her rectum, only, though, till he realized what it was he was touching then quickly, stretching further he touched, parted and easily slid his finger through the warm, very warm, wet, lower furrow of Gina’s, “Mmmm, Gina!” vagina.

The taste of her breast, the feel of her wetness, the wonder of her touch combined to cause a burning urgency and he began to pump within the heavenly constraint of Gina’s hand, and…

Suddenly he was out of her hand and she slipped from his hand and, “Oh, God!” he stood perfectly still… savoring the erotically delicious draw and release pressure of her mouth, and the flicking play of her tongue.

Squatting, Gina’s thighs were spread and her vagina was open to her hand, and as the pressure of her mouth tightened and loosened over and around his penis, keeping time with the movement of her mouth, Gina’s fingers played over her clitoris and into the channel of her vagina….

Tight, loose. In, out. Up, down. Tight, loose. In, out….

Now! Oh, God! Now! He knew he was about to ejaculate and tried, feebly, to pull from her mouth, but…

Feeling his flimsy effort, knowing Mitchell was about to ejaculate, tightening her lips, increasing the draw and release pressure Gina pressed him harder against the wall.

“Gina, I’m…” All semblance of willpower gone, “Oh, God!”

Apart, spasm following spasm, Gina and Mitchell orgasmed together, till…

When nothing was left, when the orgasmic itch, tug and release in her ovaries subsided, when the flow of his semen stopped, when his blood-engorged penis softened and wilted…

“Whew!” Standing, “That was nice.” she said, then added, “J’ya like it, Mitchie?” Did I like it? He didn’t know how to respond to “did you like it,” even if he had the breath to say yes, yes wasn’t near enough so, “Mmmm!”

“Yeah, baby, ‘Mmmm’s right! An’ ya know what?”

His breath and sensibilities near normal, “What?”

“You taste good, Mitchie. Real good!”

That… stuff tastes good! he thought. That tastes real good?

“You taste good, Mitchie. Real good!” Was not the right thing to say to Mitchell because the thought of Gina swallowing his semen made him slightly ill and also, as his penis shrunk so then did his affection… Whatever affection he’d felt for Gina shrank along with his penis, and having absolutely no idea of how to respond to “You taste good, Mitchie. Real good.” So saying nothing, Mitchell buttoned his fly.

“Mitchie, I wanna tell ya somethin’.” She hesitated. “I don’t do that… you know, that, that I just did to you, with just any guy. I gotta like a guy a lot to do that to him.” When he didn’t respond, she added, “You believe me, don’t’j’ya?”

“Yeah, sure, I do” he said, but really didn’t. “Thanks for doin’, uh, it, with me.”

“Yeah, Mitchie, you’re welcome.”

“Look, Gina. Frank’n’Lisa’s been waitin’ for me an’ we’ve been in here kind of a long time an’ I better get goin’.”

Coming out of the alcove, he went to the door.

“Mitchie!”

“Yeah?” His hand on the doorknob, he turned around.

“Somethin’ I been wantin’ to tell ya… I think it was real cute, you bringin’ that Captain Midnight ring so’s you’d have an excuse to get me into the bedroom.”

“Uh, it was really Frank’s…”

“An’ from now on, whenever I hear Captain Midnight on the radio I’m gonna think’a you. Ya know why?”

Captain Midnight had been off the radio for years, but, “No, why?” he asked anyway.

“’Cause you’re so good-lookin’ ya look like a hero, an’ you remind me of him… Captain Midnight.”

Not sure if a mere thank you was enough for this type of compliment, “Thank you.”

Standing on opposite sides of the hallway, Gina Glambos and Mitchell Lipensky looked at each other in the muted light of the cracked, frosted plate-glass door.

Wanting to say something, “Mitchie, I, uh…” starting to say something, instead, her face contorting as though she were about to cry, turning abruptly, running, Gina started up the stairs.

Listening to the hollow sound of her receding footsteps on the bare, wooden stairs, Mitchell suddenly realized that Gina had given him something… She’d given him…? Gina had given him an erotic, physical contact that up to this time Mitchell had only been able to dream of, and he knew that he would always remember this night, and this girl.

Also feeling a need to say something, “Gina, thanks!” Waiting for an answer, he heard the sounds of far off, receding footsteps, then silence, and a moment later the slamming of a distant door, and with the slamming of the door a deep sadness overtook him.

Trying to rid himself of this sudden depression, Well, he thought, I didn’t get fucked, an’ I never even got to see what a cunt looks like, but a blow-job ain’t too bad… An’, tweaking his ego, I remind her of Captain Midnight.

Forcing himself to smile, “Hi!” Mitchell opened the cracked, frosted plate-glass door.