A “Becoming” Excerpt

“Frankie,” consoling him, “it ain’t your fault, I’m just glad you came out when you did. God!” he said in awe, “you sure beat the shit out’a them two assholes.” Standing, smiling reassuringly. “Come on, let’s get outta here, I’m starvin’!”

“Shit, Lipensky, you’re ‘always’ starvin’!”

“Yeah, that is true , but I get especially hungry when I get into a gangbang an’ beat the shit outta two wop hoods… You got any edible food in this shitty neighborhood?”

“You wanna eat, huh? Ya think you Jews know what good food is, huh? Okay, I’m gonna take ya for somethin’ like ya probably never had before in your life!”

“Yeah?” Becoming very interested, “Like what?”

“Ain’t gonna tell ya. You’ll find out.” 

 ______________________________________________________

Chicago, Illiniois

June 18, 1949

Pizza and Girls

Going east on Sixty-third once again, “Mitch, I been thinkin’.”

“You, thinkin’? No shit, Rizzo!”

“Yeah, no shit! Ya know, if they know you’re a J… uh, Jewish, you’re gonna be a target for some’a the guys in the neighborhood, an’ I can’t fight em ‘all’ off so while you’re here, what if I call you, uh...”— Hesitant because Frank felt it insulting to make such a suggestion — “... ‘Mario’. You bein’ so dark an’ all you could easily pass for a wop, an’ if I introduce ya as my ‘paesano’.” He looked at Mitchell. “My ‘paesano’, my ‘pal’, Mario, from say, uh… Milwaukee. Yeah! That’s it! I’ll introduce ya as ‘Mario’, my old pal from ‘Milwaukee’, an’ no one’ll fuck with ya… I hope!”

Religion never being a problem with an all but errant Catholic boy and a non practicing Jewish boy… “So, Mitch,” Frank asked. “You okay with that?”

Though thinking, No! I don’t like that idea at all!. He’d been badly shaken by the violent experience with Guido and Al and would have agreed to just about anything so long as he didn’t have to go through that again. “Yeah, okay,” he said. “But what about the girls? They know I’m Jewish! An’ what about those other two pricks?”

“Gina’n’Lisa won’t say nothin’ an’ me’n’them guys don’t run in the same circles, so probably we won’t be seein’ ’em again.”

Looking skyward. “God willing!”

“Yeah! So what’ya say? It’s okay if we call you Mario?”

“Call me whatever you want, only let’s do two things.”

“Yeah,” Frank looked over his shoulder, “what’s that?”

“Let’s eat! An’ where the fuck’s the girls?”

“The girls’ll come a little later.”

Glancing at each other, they smiled at the unintended pun.

“You don’t get much chance to eat Italian food, do ya?”

“Well, my mom makes spaghetti.”

“I said ‘Italian food’— ‘real’ Italian food! Come on!” Frank began to run.

“Hey, hold up, not so fast!” Mitchell chased after him. Half way down the block, Frank disappeared through a doorway and he followed.

It had sawdust on the floor! He’d never been in a restaurant, or anyplace else, outside of a job site once with his grandfather, that had sawdust on the floor. Along the walls on both sides of the room there were wooden booths. In the middle of the room were six round tables, each of which was surrounded by four wire-back chairs. All the booths and tables were covered with crisp, clean, red- and white-checkerboard tablecloths. And each booth and table had a wax-dripped, raffia-bound wine bottle with a candle in its neck. Mitchell had never been anyplace with wax-dripped, raffia-bound wine bottles either.

“Uno momento!” A feminine voice called from a back room.

Sliding into one of booths, “Sit down Mitch.”

Sitting, he looked at the cheaply reproduced paintings of Italian masters that hung on all four walls.

“Frankie!” Folds of flesh from her copious bosom spilling over the top of a low-cut, off-the-shoulder white cotton blouse. Wearing an apron tied about her overly abundant middle, coming from the rear of the store,.“You come to visit your mama?”

“Frankie,” Mitchell whispered, “she ain’t your mother, is she?”

Waddling across the floor with both arms outstretched, encircling his head and all but pulling Frank out of the booth, the heavy-set, middle aged woman forced his face into the soft crease of her breasts.

His words muffled, “Nantmma!”

Able to turn his face after a few seconds. “No,” he said through puckered, compressed lips as the woman’s hand was pushing against his cheek. “She ain’t my ma.” His head still pressed against her chest, rocked back and forth. “She’s my godmother.” Reaching around her wide hips, “Mama, enough already,” he patted the big lady.

Laughing, she released him.

“ ‘Mama Mia’! You almost smothered me!”

“Frankie, how come you never come to see your Mama no more?”

“Mama, if I came here more, I’d be big as you.” Reaching up, he patted her cheek. “I save coming here for special times.”

“E’special times! E’special times!” she scolded. “Frankie, you know your Mama miss you when she don’t see you! Don’t wait for e’special times!” She looked at Mitchell. “And this is an e’special time?”

“Yeah, Mama. I want you should meet my oldest an’ best friend, Mi… Mario.” Looking at Mitchell, he winked. “Mario, I want you should meet my Mama Maria.”

Holding his hand forward, “Hi, I’m…” Surprised when he was jerked forward and also pulled into her copious bosom. For a moment Mitchell was alarmed, then, with his nose pressed against Maria’s chest, he smelled the pleasant odors of spice and sweet dough and, surprisingly, liked the soft, warm feel of his face being pressed against the large woman’s huge breasts, and he unwittingly sensed a tightening in his groin.

“Mama, Mario an’ me are hungry… Mama, let him go!”

Releasing Mitchell, pretending to pout. Standing back, she looked at Frank. “I’m just saying hello.”

“I know, Mama, but I been bragging about your ‘Special’ and…”

“My ‘E’special’! So,” scolding playfully, “that’s all you come to see Mama for? For my E’special?”

“No, Mama, I wanted Mi… Mario to meet you, but we want a Special, too.”

“Hokay!” Smiling broadly, she began to walk away.

“Oh, and Mama,” Frank called after her, “some vino!”

“ ‘Vino’?” Mitchell questioned. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Reaching beneath the table, Frank took a crumpled package of Lucky Strike cigarettes out of his sock then, partially standing so he could reach into his pocket to remove a Zippo lighter. “Oh, ‘vino’!” Sitting, he picked a bent cigarette out of the package, flipped the lighter open and flicked the wheel with his thumb. A large, orange-capped blue flame erupted from the wick.

“Frankie, you smoke?”

“Yeah, sure! Been doin’ it for years… Wine.”

“Huh?”

“Dummy, vino’s wine! You really don’t know nothin’, do ya?”

“Come on, Frank, we’re kids! They don’t serve kids wine!”

“Yeah?” Drawing on the cigarette, blowing the smoke upward he looked over his shoulder to the kitchen where Maria had just emerged carrying a small tray. “All dagos drink wine, Mario! You ‘do’ want wine! Don’t you, ‘Mario’?”

Laying the tray on the table, Maria put a glass in front of each boy then holding the bottle by its neck, poured a glass for Frank, who covered the second glass with his hand. “So, Mario,” he asked again, “do you want some wine?”

He hesitated a moment. The deep crimson-colored liquid did look refreshing and the odd-shaped, raffia-bound bottle intrigued him. “Yeah, sure!” Mitchell said. Why not?”

Pouring the Chianti, Maria stopped only when the glass was brim-full. Patting Frank on the head she walked back to the kitchen.

Lifting the glass. Holding it forward, “ ‘Salud’!” Frank said, and waited for Mitchell.

He wanted to pick it up, but the glass was too full so, hesitating, looking from the glass to Frank and back at the glass, lowering his head and bringing his lips to the rim Mitchell slurped a few drops, “ ‘L’chayim’!” so he could pick it up without spilling any on the clean tablecloth.

The two friend’s glasses clinked

Frank drained his without stopping.

Outside of an occasional glass of beer or an ounce or two of the thick, sweet kosher wine used in religious ceremonies, Mitchell had never tasted alcohol and after the first quick swallow of the strong, dry Chianti, putting the glass down and closing his eyes tightly, grimacing, “Yuck!”

“Ahh!” Frank said with a wink, “ ‘Tis the blood o’Christ’!”

“What?” Holding the glass away. “ ‘The blood of Christ’! What do you mean this is the ‘blood of Christ’?”

Smiling, “That’s what the ‘Micks’ call their booze,” Frank said. “ ‘The blood o’ Christ’. Come on, drink up! Don’t be such a baby! Drink up! I dare ya! I double dare ya!”

“You dare me, huh? You double dare me, huh? Okay you…” Remembering what he’d called Frank after their sexually enlightening discussion with Skorupski. “You, wop tittie, you!” Mitchell brought the glass to his mouth, closed his eyes and taking a deep breath drank. Stopping, he took another breath and drank slowly until he drained it. “Whew!” Opening his eyes and putting the glass down, looking seriously at Frank he pointed a finger at him and — the wine going immediately to his head— giggled. “You know, Frankie…”

Re-pouring. “Yeah, I know Frankie. Great guy!” Frank said, causing both boys to giggle, then laugh.

“As I was sayin’ before I was so rudely inter… ‘urrp’…” belching, “...uppted.”

“Yeah?” Blowing smoke rings, “What were ya sayin’?”

“Uh, where’s’a’food? An’ I wanna tell you som’thin’! It’s’a good thing you came out when you did, Frankie, ‘cause I was just gettin’ ready to wipe the place up with them two dago pricks.” Lifting the glass, about to take another drink, “Know what?” Not waiting for an answer, “I don’t think… urrp… I ought’a drink no more’a this here stuff.” He looked at the glass. “Aw, what the hell!”

“Yeah, sure you were!”

“Yeah?” Lowering the glass, “Sure I were, ‘ what’?”

“You was ‘getting’ ready to wipe the place up with them two dago pricks’.”

“Boy-oh-boy, Rizzo, you don’t know what a tough son’a’a’bitch I can be when I get riled up. An’ le’me tell ya, I’d just ‘bout had it with them two pricks when you came out an’ saved ’em from ‘really’ getting’ the shit kicked out of ’em.”

“Yeah, they sure were lucky I came out an’ saved ’em from ‘Super Jew,’ the caped defender of liberty, justice an’ the American way!”

“Yeah, that’s me okay. Mitch Lipensky, Super Jew!” Pointing his nose towards the ceiling, he sniffed deeply. “What ‘is’ that smell?”

“You’ll see.”

“Jeeze, that smells sooo good!” Hoisting the glass, he took a gulp. “So tell me. Whaz ’er name? The girl, my girl, what’s she like?”

“Girl? What Girl?” Teasing, “Oh, ‘that’ girl… Gina.”

“Yeah, Gina. She pretty? She got big tits? Shit, she got any tits?”

“Yeah, sure she got tits. They ain’t this big,” holding his cupped hands a foot from his chest, “but she do got tits.”

“An’ she really want’s’a fuck me?” Taking another drink of wine. “She really want’s’a see ‘mine’ an’ she’ll show me hers?”

“Mitchie,” Frank said patiently, “Gina’s a girl, an’ in case ya d’know, girls don’t got dicks….”

“Yeah, I know! Girls don’t got dicks, girls got nothin’… I Remember!”

“Ahhh, Mitch, I wanna tell ya sometnin’; girls ‘really’ do got spmethin’!”

The thought still unbelievable. I’m ‘really’ going to get fucked!”

Lifting his head again. Sniffing the air Mitchell watched as Maria came from the kitchen carrying a large, steaming tray which she put on the table between Frank and himself.

His eyes opening wide. “Oh, my God!” Salivating, Mitchell followed her every movement as, using a spatula, Maria lifted a large wedge of the pie-like substance. His eyes following the spatula, he stared at the trailing strings of steaming yellow cheese as Maria put a slice onto his plate, then Frank’s.

“Bon appetiteo!”

“Thank you, Mama,” Frank said.

Looking at the near-empty bottle, “You want more vino, Frankie?”

“No, Mama, not yet.”

“Hokay.” Turning from the boys, Maria waddled back to the kitchen.

Looking at his plate in absolute awe, his mouth, literally watering, “Frankie,” Mitchell asked softly, “what is this?”

“ ‘Pizza’. An’ be careful ’cause it’s hot.”

“ ‘Pizza’?” Gazing at the chunks of Italian sausage, tomato, onion and green pepper, “Kind’a looks like a pancake someone puked on, huh?”

Reaching for Mitchell’s plate, “Then I guess you don’t want any.”

Making a stabbing motion with his fork. “Touch it, Pal, an’ you lose a finger! You kiddin’? I’ve always loved puke on my pancakes!” Slicing the tip of the wedge with the fork and lifting the running cheese with his finger, he brought it to his mouth, and…

“Watch it, it’s hot!”

Though it burned his tongue, drawing air inward, his eyes rolling upward, “Oh, God, Frankie, it’s de-licious!”

The only sounds now: chewing, slurping and sighing.

                                                      ***

The last crumb of pizza devoured. The raffia-bound bottle of Chianti drained, “Mama,” Frank called, “okay if I use the phone?”

“Sure, Frankie, anything you want. You like’a the pizza?”

“Just like always, Mama, it’s ‘great’, an’ my friend loved it!” Forgetting he’d given her the impression that Mitchell was Italian. “He’s never had pizza before.”

“An Italian boy who’s ‘never’ had pizza?”

“Uh,” thinking quickly, “he’s from Milwaukee.”

As though Milwaukee were on another planet, “Oh.” Maria simply replied.

The telephone on a battered desk at the rear of the kitchen. Fishing a nickel out of his pocket and dropping it in the slot, Frank waited for the operator to ask for the number.

...“Hi, baby, it’s me… Yeah, he got here just fine, an’ we just finished eating… ‘Mama Maria’s’. … Yeah, he loved it! Would you believe he’s never had pizza before? … Yeah! Those people don’t know what’s good. … Yeah! He can’t wait to meet Gina. … Yeah, sure he’s gonna like her! … Okay, see you in a couple’a minutes.”

“Mama, let me pay you for lunch this time!”

“Frankie, I’m’a tell you a tousand times, I’m’a no take’a money from my godson! An’ besides, me’n you papa got a deal.”

“Yeah, I know, for the vegetables.”

“An’a you for the pizza.”

“Okay, then, at least for the vino!”

“ ‘No, Frankie’,” she said with finality, “you no pay here!”

“Okay, Mama.” Kissing her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Hey, Mitch… Shit! ‘Mario’! Okay, we did the first thing on your list.” Sliding into the booth, Frank lit a cigarette.

The heavy lunch sobering him somewhat, but still feeling the effect of the wine. “Yeah, an’ what’s next?”

“What’s next? Well, we et, diddle we?”

“Ah, so!” Mitchell said in a terrible Chinese-American accent. “An’ what else does the honorable ‘Charlie Chan’ desire?”

Standing, “Honorable Charlie Chan…” making a deep, exaggerated bow, “now desire fuckie, fuckie! Is so?”

“Ah…” pulling himself from the booth and standing, a bit wobbly, “ís so! Honorable Charlie Chan desire fuckie, fuckie.” Reaching into his pocket, Mitchell removed his five dollars.

“No need.” Frank pushed his hand away. “It’s all taken care of. She never charges my family or me for nothin’, an’ she gets all her vegetables for free. Some deal, eh, wot, ‘Holmes’?”

Taken from any Sherlock Holmes movie: “Elementary my dear Watson. ‘Elementary’!” Holding the bills forward again, “You sure?”

“Yeah, put your money away.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. Thanks! So, where are they?”

“Where are they, who?”

“The girls!”

“ ‘Girls’? What girls?”

“What do you mean, ‘what girls’? You dago, fart!”

“Oh,’ those’ girls! Come on.”

 They walked two blocks south and one east to Sixty-sixth and Rockwell. The entire block consisted of weather-beaten, two-story frame houses some of which had been converted to small apartments: one up and one down. Stopping five houses from the corner. “This is it,” Frank said. Its paint, whatever color it may have been, was now faded, blistered and peeling.

Looking at the structure, God, Mitchell thought, what a terrible place to live. “This is where your girlfriend lives?”

Taking the steps two at a time, “Yeah.” Frank knocked on the door.

Following him. Standing alongside Frank, Mitchell heard the muffled sound of a radio then echoing footsteps on a hardwood floor…

The door opening, “Hi, Frankie!” the girl looked from Frank To Mitchell.

“Hi’ya, Lisa!” Turning to Mitchell, “Mitchie, this here’s my girlfriend, ‘Lisa’.” Turning back, “Lisa, this is my pal, Mitchell.”

Thinking, She’s cute, “Hi, Lisa,” he said, “nice to meet’ch’ya.”

Fourteen years old, on the short side. Slightly overweight, much of the girl’s weight was around her hips and bust—just the way Mitchell liked girls. She had a dark complicated round face with clear, smooth skin. Cut into bangs to help cover a wide forehead, Lisa’s hair was jet black. Widely set over a small nose, her large eyes were dark brown. Meeting Mitchell she smiled showing small, even teeth. The girl wore a short-sleeved white blouse and a dark-blue, calf-length skirt with white bobby socks and black, patent leather shoes. A small, silver crucifix hung from around her neck.

“Hi, Mitchie! Frankie’s talked so much about you I feel like we’re friends already… Come in.”

“Me, too. Thank you.”

Leading the boys down a long hallway, past two closed doors into a large, sunny living room, where...

Considering the structure’s deteriorated exterior, the apartment was surprisingly clean and orderly.

...The girl sat on a green, slip-covered sofa. “Hi’ya, Frankie.” Standing, nodding her head, she looked expectantly at Mitchell.

“ ‘Gina’,” Frank said, “this here’s my friend, Mitchell… Mitchie, this is Gina.”

Feeling awkward, thinking, She’s ugly! Hoping the disappointment he felt wasn’t too apparent. Knowing he should step forward, offer his hand and say hello, or ‘something’… But standing as though rooted, Mitchell muttered a barely heard, “Hi.”

“Jeeze, Mitchie, I never knew you was so bashful.” Poking him in the back, Frank propelled him forward.

Coming closer. Forcing a smile and holding his right hand forward. “Uh...” at a complete loss for words. Having to say ‘something’. “Frank’s told me all about you.”

Which seemed to be the wrong thing to say because, shooting Frank an angry look. Forcing a smile, Gina haltingly took Mitchell’s hand, pumped it once then released it leaving both outstretched arms hanging, self-consciously, in mid-air.

If Lisa was a bit overweight then this girl was completely the opposite.

Tall, almost as tall as Mitchell and, Olive Oyl, reed thin. She looks like Olive Oyl!Instantly bringing the picture of ‘Olive Oyl’ from the ‘Popeye’ comic strip to mind.

Wearing the same blouse, skirt and shoes that Lisa wore, obviously a uniform from some parochial school. Whereupon Lisa’s neck hung a small silver crucifix, upon Gina’s neck hung a huge wooden crucifix. Probably to keep vampires away, Mitchell thought. That’s if any vampire would want to put his teeth into that neck. Gina’s pasty complexion accentuated the shadow of grime that went from behind her ears and down and around her chin, also there were streaks from dribbling water that ran beneath her chin and down her neck. When she smiled Mitchell noticed, Jesus…the upper portions of her front teeth had a greenish tinge… she’s got green teeth! Also noticed when she turned her head, She don’t clean her ears too good. There was a noticeable tinge of wax in her ears. As though she had tried and failed to dye her dark hair a lighter color, her short cut, dark brown hair had a brassy sheen. Gina’s eyebrows had been plucked to a near nonexistent line then heavily penciled over. To add to this, as far as Mitchell was concerned, completely unappetizing picture, the girl has a long, thin nose with a red blemish midway up the sharp ridge.

However… ‘However’, yes, Gina did have two noticeably redeeming features. Of lesser importance she did have beautiful, light-blue eyes. Of primary importance, noticing the two outward-pointing points, Gina did have breasts. Gina’s breasts appeared to be rather small beneath the formless, white parochial school blouse, but yes, they were definitely breasts, and, yes, they were definitely there.

Unaware that in the few seconds they’d been standing facing each other, Mitchell had assessed the multitude of bad points and, in his mind, her primary two good points, which were not necessary her eyes.

“Hi, Mitch,” Gina said, “glad to meet’ch’ya.” Doing a bit of assessing herself. Unlike Mitchell, though, Gina liked ‘everything’ she saw. “Frank’s been talkin’ bout’ch’ya for years now. Come on, sit down!” Back-stepping around the coffee table in front of the sofa, she satin the near-exact middle and patted the seat to her right

Going to the sofa, Mitchell sat, too, but rather than immediately to the right, he sat to the left of Gina, on the far end, as far to the end as possible.

Holding hands, Frank and Lisa sat with their legs crossed on the carpeted floor in front of the coffee table.

Nobody spoke.

Moments passing, no one seemed to know how to get a conversation started.

Mitchell stared at his hands, which were resting one on each knee. After a few seconds his fingers began a nervous, systematic tapping.

A breeze blowing through the open window caused the white, lacy curtains to flutter inward.

Three sets of eyes darted back and forth from one to the other as Mitchell sat, looking at his tapping fingers, till…

“Shit!” Gina said, breaking the silence. “Was today ever a hot day!” Reaching under the skirt of the sofa, searching a moment, she pulled out a package of Camels. “I thought school would never end!”

The three watched as Gina sophistically pushed a cigarette upward from the bottom, pulled it out with her teeth, tapped it on the back of her hand, stuck it between her lips, struck a match and took a deep drag… and started to cough and began to gag and had to run out of the room, into the toilet.

Turning to Lisa after he heard the door slam shut, “Uh,” Mitchell asked, “did I hear her say that you two had school today?”

“Yeah. You ‘public-schoolers’ got out a week ago, but, oh, ‘no’, not us kids that go to Catholic school! Us, they give an extra week an’ just got out today… Ain’t we lucky?”

“No!” Thinking she was serious, “I don’t think that’s too lucky at all. Is that why you’n’Gina’s wearin’ the same kind’a clothes, ’cause’a school? They’re some kind’a uniform?”

“Yeah, they are.”

“Yeah? What school?”

“ ‘Immaculate Heart’.”

“You like it? Going there?”

“No! I ‘hate’ it! I’d much rather go to school with Frankie.” Looking at Frank a moment, Lisa kissed his cheek. “You’d like it if me’n’you went to school together, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said sincerely, “you know I would!”

“Don’t know why I smoke that shit.” Returning to the room Gina dropped onto the sofa; closer to Mitchell. “It always makes me puke.”

“So, Mitch, how do you like this shitty neighborhood? Kind’a shitty, huh?” Angling her body in his direction, exposing her knee and about four inches of the bare flesh of her inner thigh, lifting her skirt she folded her left knee beneath her right leg.

He looked down, and up again, quickly, “It ain’t so bad.” And down again. “I’ve seen worse.” Though in truth he hadn’t.

“Where do you live?” .

“Uh,” Looking at the smooth, white flesh of the girl’s inner thigh.… “on the west side, on Homan, uh, near Ogden.” ...and up, into her beautiful blue eyes.

Noting his flickering eyes. “Gee, it’s really nice there,” she said. Though in truth she had no idea where Homan and Ogden were.

He’d never thought of his neighborhood as being really nice or even nice, but in comparison to this neighborhood it was. “Yeah, it’s okay, I guess.”

“Yeah! He’s just gotta love this neighborhood, ’specially since he almost got himself banged up real good by a couple’a assholes.”

“What ‘couple’a assholes’, Frankie?” Gina asked.

“These two guys that hang out together, Guido and Al.”

“Yeah, I know them cocksuckers.”

He’d never heard a girl swear as much as Gina.

“So, what happened?” she asked.

“Shit!” Frank said, taking one of Gina’s Camels. “It was all my fault. I had’a do some work for my pop for a couple’a minutes, an’ it was hot in the store so I told Mitch to wait outside, an’ then them two pricks came along an’ started hasslin’ him…”

“Yeah,” Mitchell interjected, “an’ ol’ Frank here came out like Gang Busters an’ kicked the…” hesitating a moment because up to now he’d never sworn in front of a girl but, Oh, well, he rationalized, swearing doesn’t seem to bother these two. “…shit out’a both of ’em.”

“I feel kind’a bad when somethin’ like that happens to anyone ’round here, but to Mitch? Jesus, I ever mad!”

No one spoke for a few seconds but afraid of letting the conversation come to a complete halt again, “An’ talk about puke!” Frank said.

“ ‘Puke’?” Lisa laughed. “Who’s talkin’ ’bout puke?”

“Gina! When she came out’a the toilet she said smokin’ makes her puke. You should’a heard what Mitch here said ’bout Mama’s pizza.”

“Come on, Frankie! If you didn’t fill me full’a cheap booze,” he said jokingly, “I’d’a never said such’a thing.”

“Yeah? What’d he say, Frankie?” Lisa asked.

“Would’j’ya believe he’s never had any before, and said Mama’s pizza looked like puke on’a pancake… An’ it was only one or two teensy,” holding his thumb and forefinger a half inch apart, “ ‘weensy ‘glasses of Chianti. Guess Jews just don’t hold their liquor too good. That’s if you want to call one or two ‘teensy’ glasses of Chianti liquor.”

“Mitchie, it’s true ? You’ve never had pizza before?”

“Gina, I’ve never even heard of pizza before. But, really...” enjoying the humor of the situation, he began to laugh so hard he was almost unable to continue talking. “...after I burnt my tongue and my fingers, an’ almost had the whole damn thing slip off the crust and land on my lap, it was really pretty good… No! It was ‘great’!”

“Frank...” Lisa scolded good-naturally, “...maybe, for Italians, eating pizza comes naturally, but for a Jewish guy like Mitchie maybe it don’t, and maybe you should have taught him how to eat it.”

“I did! But the dumb shit was so drunk he wouldn’t listen.”

“ ‘Dumb shit’? You schmuck! You dared me… you double dared me to drink the wine. An’ the glass was this big!” holding both index fingers, vertically, a foot apart.

“ ‘Schmuck’?” This tickling him, “Schmuck?” Frank fell onto his side laughing. “You called me a schmuck in front’a these ladies.” Catching his breath after about thirty seconds of prolonged laughter that— though the girls did not understanding the joke, the three others joined in. Sitting up. “An’ talkin’ ’bout vino!” He looked at Lisa. “How’s ’bout it? How’s ’bout us bringin’ some’a your ol’ man’s stuff up?”

“Mitchie, Lisa’s pop makes the best ‘Dago Red’ you ever tasted… Well, I wouldn’t wanna use your taste in vino as an example, but believe me, it’s great, an’ Lisa’n’me’n’Gina here helped Lisa’s ol’ man make it… But I suppose, in your case, Lipensky, any vino would taste good.”

“Or bad!” Mitchell added. “How’d he make it? You guys don’t crush the grapes in a tub with your feet, do you?” In geography, he’d seen a movie about people from around the world and remembered the scene of a group of people in a huge vat crushing grapes with their bare feet. He envisioned Gina, bare-footed, crushing grapes with her feet that, he was sure, had to be at least as dirty as her neck.

“Nah!” Gina said… “That’s the way they do in the old country,” while inching closer to him. “Here we use a grape press.” As she came closer, her skirt hiked up further, showing more bare thigh, and…

Mitchell looked away because each time he looked at her, his eyes, as though magnetized, were drawn to her naked thigh that, Oh, God — fighting the urge, I wanna touch it so badly! As…

Jesus, Gina thought, everything Frankie’s said about him is true ! He’s just about the best lookin’ guy I ever been with. And, subconsciously, no longer aware of her action, doing something she’d been doing since she was a child: tightening and loosening the muscles of her groin and rectum, Gina was invisibly masturbating.

“Gina, why don’t’j’ya tell Mitch all about makin’ vino while Lisa’n’me go on down to the basement an’ get a jug.” Turning to Lisa, “Huh, babe,” he asked. “Ya wanna go downstairs with me?”

“Your parents let you drink wine?” Mitchell asked Gina.

“My ol’ lady don’t give a crap ’bout whatever I do,” she said bitterly. “Yeah, I’d like vino. Go on, Frank, go get a jug.” Thinking, It’ll gi’me a chance to be alone with him.

“Yeah, okay!” Standing, taking Lisa’s hand, Frank pulled her to her feet. “An’ while we’re gone,” winking conspiratorially at Mitchell, “why don’t you two try an’ get better acquainted.”

Panicking at the thought of being alone with Gina, Mitchell asked, “Maybe you guys need help?”

“ ‘No’!” Emphatically shaking his head, “Lisa’n’me sure don’t need no help in the basement. Do we, babe?”

“Nope,” she smiled. “We sure don’t need help down there.”

Having spent a lot of time alone in the basement, holding hands, going through the kitchen, Lisa and Frank went down the back stairway, and…

The moment they were out of sight, Gina laid her hand on Mitchell’s thigh.

This being the first time a girl had ever placed her hand on his thigh. Staring at the hand a moment, “Uh, Gina,” he said, searching for something—anything to say, “before, you said your parents let you drink wine, an’ it’s okay with them?”

Sighing. “Jeeze, Mitchie, this must really be important to ya.” In order to see him better... “In Italy,”... she moved back a couple of inches, much to his —Mitchell wasn’t sure if he was glad or sad that she’d moved away… “kids drink wine ‘stead’a milk.”

“Really?” Desperate to keep the conversation going, “Why?”

“For one thing, it’s a lot cheaper ‘cause there’s more grape farmers than cow farmers. An’ also, the adults there think vino’s better for ’em than milk. Here, in America, we think that ain’t true , you know, ‘bout vino bein’ better’n’milk. An’ also here a bottle’a milk cost ten cents an’ a bottle’a vino, even shitty stuff, is at least twenty cents. So like the ol’ sayin’ goes: ‘In Rome do as the Romans do.’ Only here in America we do as the Americans do an’ drink milk. Only it’s just that drinkin’ vino is somethin’ we wops been doin’ a long time, so most parents don’t care so much if we do drink vino, only don’t want us drinkin’ it as much as the kids in Italy. ‘Capisce’?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I ‘capisce’. Your parents, they come from Italy?”

“My Ma’n’Pa, when I had a Pa, came from Sicily.”

“Really! When’d they come here?”

“Nineteen-thirty-five, when I was two.”

The thought that Mitchell might not like her had never entered Gina’s mind. All guys like me! So she’d thought. “Your mom’n’dad,” she asked, moving her hand along the back of the sofa, touching the back of his neck, “where they from?”

Her touch going through him like the scraping of fingernails on a blackboard. “Here.” Standing, he walked to the window, parted the curtain and looked out.

He’s just bein’ bashful. “Here?”

“Here, in Chicago. My Mom was born on the west side and my Dad on the north side.”

So bashful! “Know what?”

Not answering immediately, trying to fathom why, I hate her touching me, and yet I’d’a given anything to rub her leg a little while ago. Turning from the window, “Know what, ‘what’?”

“I d’know hardly any second-generation Americans.”

“ ‘Second-generation Americans’?”

“Yeah. Like me’n’my’Ma’n’Pa were born in Sicily, an’ Frank an’ Lisa’s parents were born in Italy, so that makes Lisa’n’Frank first generation Americans. An’ because I wasn’t born here, I ain’t even that. An’ because your parents were born here, right here in Chicago, an’ you were born here, too, then that makes you a second generation American… ‘Capisce’?”

“Yeah, I ‘capisce’.” Crossing the room, going to a chair he sat down. “You hate your school, too? What’s it called again?”

“ ‘Immaculate Heart’. Yeah, I do! Where do you go? You like it there?”

“ ‘Harrison’. It’s okay, I guess. But I don’t really like going to school too much.”

“Yeah, me, too! What do you like to do, Mitch?”

 Continued as: Olive Oyl and Porky Pig