Jesús finished fixing his drawing, and used his pencil to obliterate the other drawing which was too close to his own.  Quickly, he left the restroom and followed the boy downstairs.

“You did not.  You never had one.  I know you.  I would have remembered you if you came in.  You never bought a ticket.” said the teenage doorman angrily to the shoeshine boy.

Jesús stood calmly on the stair landing, glaring down at the doorman.  The teenaged doorman looked up at Jesús, but looked away quickly.  Junior did not see Jesús behind him.

“Did to.” said the boy.

“I know I’m right.” said the doorman, looking back at Jesús.  “But I’ll let you go this time.  The next time, though, you’d better have your ticket stub.”

Junior nodded and slunk away down the aisle into the theater.  The doorman moved around behind the candy counter, looking at Jesús.  The candy-counter girl was not there.

“I’ve already seen this movie.” said Jesús, coming down the stairs.  “I want my money back.”

“You’ll have to talk to the cashier.”

Jesús nodded.  He pushed open the red door and walked out the bright, long hallway.  Outside he started to stop at the cashier’s booth, but looking down the street he saw the young cop and the candy-counter girl hurrying toward the theater from a block away.  Quickly, Jesús walked to the corner of the building and moved away rapidly up the side street.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

“You don’t have a ticket stub, because you didn’t get a ticket.” the doorman said to Junior again.  “I know you.  I got a good memory for faces.  And I didn’t tear your ticket.”

“I might have taken his ticket, Tony.” said the large-breasted girl behind the candy counter.  “When you were upstairs or on your break.”

“She took my ticket.” said Junior quickly.  “You weren’t here when I came in.”

“Are you sure he didn’t buy a ticket?” the weak-chinned young policeman asked the doorman.  “You got to have solid evidence in a case like this, Tony.”

“I don’t know any more.  Everything’s been so confused around here tonight.  I don’t know anything for sure any more.”

The policeman turned to the candy counter girl.  “Did you take his ticket, Vicky?”

“I might have, Bobby.  When Tony isn’t here, then I collect the tickets myself.”

“Would the cashier remember you?” the policeman asked Junior. 

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“When I came in, there was a bunch of people all around.”

“Let’s ask her anyway.” said Bobby.  “Come with me, son.”

Junior followed the policeman, and was followed by the doorman, out the long, bright hallway.  “You look familiar to me.” said the policeman to the boy.  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“No, sir.  You don’t know me.”

The trio went through the front door to the cashier’s booth.

“Mrs. Cohen.  Good evening, ma’am.” said the policeman, touching his hat brim.

The old cashier looked up from her true crime magazine, putting a finger on the page to mark her place, and stared at the policeman impassively.  “Hello, Bobby.” she said, a bit coldly.

“Sorry to bother you again this evening, ma’am.” said the policeman.  “But we’re conducting an investigation to determine if this person is illegally on these premises.  Do you remember selling him a ticket earlier tonight?”

Only the cashier’s eyes moved when she looked over at Junior.  She smiled at him, looked at her watch, and turned her head as if watching someone walk away around the corner of the building.  The boy looked away from her, frightened, knowing he was caught.  The old woman laughed.  “Sure.  I remember him.” she said.  “I remember him because he lied and said he was only twelve.  Tried to get in for a kid ticket, but I knew better.  He bought a ticket.  But I made him buy an adult ticket, not a kid one.”

Junior looked up at the old woman, who smiled at him again.  He tried to smile back, but could only manage a weak grimace.  The weak-chinned policeman looked sternly at the teenaged doorman.  “You owe this young man an apology, Tony.”

The doorman stammered.  “I’m sorry, but if you’d keep your ticket stub, you could save yourself a whole lot of trouble.”

“Can I go back in and see the movie now?” Junior asked the policeman, ignoring the doorman’s apology.

“Of course.  Go back in.  We’ll all go back in.” said Bobby.  “Thank you again for your cooperation, Mrs. Cohen.”

“You’re welcome, Bobby.” said the cashier, with mock sincerity.

The policeman, the boy, and the usher walked back up the long, bright hallway.  The boy continued through the lobby into the theater.  “You’ve got to be more careful, Tony.” said the policeman.  “You can really get burned in this game for a false arrest.”

The policeman walked to the candy counter.  “You were right, Vicky.  I figured you probably would be.  You took the kid’s ticket while Tony was on break.”

“Thought I might have.  But Tony was so sure, I thought maybe he was right.”

Her tone lowered to a whisper.  “He can be such a boy sometimes.”

The policeman, in his usual position leaning against the counter, looked over at Tony sulking near the ticket stand.  He whispered something to the girl, and she giggled into the palm of her hand.  Out loud, Bobby said, “Well, I guess I better get back to work.”

As he left, Bobby patted Tony’s shoulder patronizingly.  Tony reddened and turned his back to the candy counter, then grabbed the small brown paper bag of ticket stubs from the ticket stand and emptied them into his hand.  Quickly he counted the stubs of all the tickets he has torn since supper, then turned to the candy counter girl.  “Sixty-four.  You got any more tickets back there?” he asked authoritatively.

“No, Tony.”

“And I put the ones you gave me when I came back from supper in this bag, didn’t I?  Now all these people should still be in the theater, shouldn’t they?”

“I suppose so.” said the girl.  “The rest would have seen both shows by now.  And we cleared the theater after the kiddie show this afternoon.”

“Is there anybody upstairs?”

“I haven’t seen anybody go up lately.”

“Good.” said the doorman.  “I’m going to count the people in the audience.  I know that kid didn’t pay.”

Tony took his flashlight from the ticket stand and went into the audience, circling down one aisle and back up the other, counting the audience members carefully.  He came back to the lobby discouraged.  “Sixty-four.  The same number.” he said sadly.  “I was wrong.  The kid did buy a ticket.”

“You got the same number of tickets as there are people in the audience?” asked the girl.

Tony nodded.

“But what about the mean guy?  The one in the balcony who was going to beat you up?”

“What about him?”

“He had a ticket, didn’t he?  And he left, didn’t he?”

“You’re right.” said Tony.  “And that proves the kid didn’t buy a ticket, doesn’t it?”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Junior sat to the side of the theater audience, near the wall and the side exit through which he had entered the theater, twirling his worn red baseball cap on his finger.  He was no longer watching the movie, but sat brooding in the dark, thinking about his problem.  He was awakened from his reverie by slow footsteps coming toward him, and the sudden glare of a flashlight, switched on and shining directly into his face.  The boy rose from his seat and backed against the wall, the circle of light rising also, keeping his face in the center of its yellow ring.  Junior put up his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding light.  “Who are you?” asked Junior fearfully.

“Who are you?” mocked a young voice.

“Are you the manager?  Are you police?” said the boy, sliding down the wall toward the side exit. 

“Come with me.” said another voice.

Before the boy could jump through the exit door, he was caught by two pairs of hands and led up the aisle to the candy counter.  The two people holding him were the teenage doorman and the weak-chinned policeman.  “You got him.” said the candy-counter girl, triumphantly.

“Yes, we got our man, all right.” said the policeman.

“What’d I do?” asked Junior.

“You sneaked in the theater.  And you didn’t buy no ticket.” said the doorman.  “And I got proof now.”

“What about the old lady?  She said I bought a ticket, didn’t she?” asked Junior.

“What does she know?” said the doorman.  “I counted the tickets.  And I counted the people.  And I know you didn’t buy a ticket.”

“We know it.” said the candy-counter girl.

“So I sneaked in.  So what.” said Junior, defiantly.  “What’re you going to do about it?  Throw me out?”

“Come with me, boy.” said the policeman.  “I’m taking you in.”

“In where?” said Junior.

“To jail.  And then probably to prison.” said the policeman, trying to frighten the boy.

Still holding the boy’s collar, the policeman walked him down the long bright hallway and out the front door of the theater.  Outside, Officer Charles stood quietly in front of the ticket booth talking with Mrs. Cohen, the old lady cashier.  “What’s going on?” asked Charles calmly.

“I’m taking this boy to jail, Sarge.” said the young policeman, winking at Charles.  “He sneaked in the movies.”

“Let go of him.” commanded Charles.

The young policeman released the boy’s collar instantly.

“Did you sneak in the movies, son?” asked Charles.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t have no money to pay my way in.”

Officer Charles looked at the young policeman, then back at Junior.   “Don’t sneak in the movies again, son.” said Charles.  “If you need money, come see me.  – Why’d you give up shining shoes?  – If you need money, I’ll find you a job to do somewhere.  To earn some money.  But don’t you ever sneak in the movies again, do you hear me?”

“I’m not your son.” said Junior.  “And I don’t need your charity.”

“Young man.” said Charles.  “There’s a right side of me, and there’s a wrong side of me.  And there’s no in-between.  Right now, you’re on the wrong side of me.”

Junior said nothing.

“Did you hear me?” asked Charles.

“Yes, sir.” said Junior, fighting back tears.

“Get out of here.”

“But…” began the young policeman.

“Let him go.” commanded Charles, again.

Junior walked away quickly.  “Since when do you work at this theater?” Charles asked the young policeman.

“I…”

“You spend too much time here.  Fighting their battles for them.  – But since you like it around here so much, one of the men on the late shift is sick.  You can work a double shift tonight.”

“But, Sarge, I got a…”

“I don’t care.  Why don’t you go walk your beat.” said Charles.

“Yes, sir.” said the young policeman, walking away, frowning, muttering to himself.

Officer Charles turned back to the ticket window and smiled at the cashier.  “Now, Sarah, what were we talking about?” he asked, softly.

“We was talking about when I first came to the City, Noel.”

“But that was after it had already happened, wasn’t it, Sarah?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I came.”

“Why’d you come to the City then?”

“You know why I came.” said Mrs. Cohen, laughing into her hand.     

At the edge of the alleyway in back of the Courthouse, the two old men propped a battered bicycle against two garbage cans, blocking the passage.  “Anybody tries to get in, they got to move the bike or the cans.” Rusty said to Joey, as they walked deeper into the alley.  “And we can hear them and sneak away and hide.”

Deep in the alley, they walked out onto the Courthouse loading dock.  The platform was empty—they were alone.  Joey tied his last white balloon, its string sagging slightly as the gas weakened, to a post near the ramp. Quickly they sat down, close together, legs dangling over the edge of the dock, and opened their bottles of wine.  They drank deeply, holding the bottles in both hands, so as not to drop or spill the precious contents.  “You feel it yet?” asked Rusty.

“Yes.” said Joey.

“You feel good?”

“Yes.”

Joey put his bottle down carefully on the side away from Rusty and reached behind his ears for the two cigarettes he had gotten earlier from Jesús.  “Here, Rusty.  Jesus gave us some cigarettes for to smoke.”

Rusty put his bottle down carefully on the side away from Joey, took a cigarette, lit it, and lit Joey’s at the same time.  He sucked the smoke deep into his lungs.  “It’s funny, you know?” he said.  “Would have liked to have put my hand up under that little girl’s dress.  But never would have thought of it without her mother said so.”

“You don’t needs that kind of trouble, Rusty.” said Joey smiling, no longer worried, enjoying the taste of the cigarette, enjoying the feeling of the wine in both his body and his mind.

“Did you think I wouldn’t come back?” asked Rusty, taking a drink from his bottle.

“No.”

“I thought about it.  There’s an old woman over near the church.  She would have helped me drink this wine, and then she would of…”

“You don’t needs that kind of trouble to get into neither, Rusty.” interrupted Joey, blowing smoke, picking his bottle up and drinking.

“You could go, too, Joey.  Old Mrs. Rafferty don’t care who or how many, as long as you bring something to drink.  We could go over there with these bottles, and we could get another one with the money you got for those balloons you sold while I was gone getting wine.”

 “Don’t wants to go see some old woman.” said Joey.  “I know that Mrs. Rafferty.  She’d drink up this whole bottle in one go—in one bite—all by her own self.  And then there wouldn’t be none left for us.”

“She may be old, but she’s still friendly, and she still…”

“Don’t wants to go.” said Joey quickly.  “You go on.  Take your bottle and go.  I gots somewhere else to go.”

They drank deeply.  “Where?” asked Rusty, after a minute.

“Gots to go see Mister Wilsons.”

“What for?”

“He cheated on me.”

“What you going to do about it?”

“Drink this whole bottle of old bad wine and go see him.”

“But he’s your partner.”

“Partners for the money.  But not partners for the work.  – He cheated on me.  Ain’t no partners if you cheat.  Gots to punch him.”

“Now you’re the one don’t need that kind of trouble to get into, Joey.  – Where we going to sleep tonight if you punch Old Man Wilson?  He won’t let us stay in the church.  And it’s getting colder, Joey.  Winter’s coming.  Maybe might rain.  Might even snow.”

“Gots to punch him.  He cheated on me.”

Both bottles of wine were more than half empty.  The two men began to sip more slowly, trying to make the wine last longer, savoring each swallow, smoking more slowly, too.  “Drink it on down.” said Joey, finally.  “Smoke break’s over, too.”

“You go ahead.”

“Goathead.  Don’t you call me no goathead.” said Joey, laughing.  “Okay.  Let’s do it together.”

Both tilted their bottles high and chugged down the remaining wine.  Joey held the last of his wine in his mouth for a long time, clinging to the taste.  Finally he swallowed, and set his empty bottle on the dock.  “We needs to hide these empty bottles so no one can find our drinking place.” said Joey.  “If they finds them, they might try to catch us.”

Rusty stood and stomped his cigarette, and picked up Joey’s bottle and placed it with his own at the bottom of a nearby trash can.  He rumpled up the trash in the can to hide the bottles.  “Sleep warm, sweet babies.” said Rusty softly, backing away from the can as if backing out of a nursery full of sleeping children.

 Joey stood and stomped his cigarette butt, untied the string of the white balloon, and jumped from the loading dock.  “Gots to go see Mister Wilsons now.” he said.

“Yeah, let’s go see Old Man Wilson.” said Rusty.  “He cheated on us.  And we got to punch him.”

Joey nodded, full of purpose.

Quickly the two men exited the loading dock by the road leading in, recovered Rusty’s bicycle, and walked away down the street.  Very quickly, they arrived at the church.  It was dark and deserted, except for a dim light in a window at the back of the building.  It was the only window of a small room with a cardboard sign ‘MISTER WILSON—CUSTODIAN’ written on it and nailed to the door.

Joey and Rusty sneaked around to the back of the church, walking softly on the freshly mown carpet of grass.  Rusty hid his bicycle behind a bush up against the building.  Joey, holding the string of the single white balloon in his hand, knocked loudly, but the door was not answered, except that the light in the room went out.  “Wilsons.” yelled Joey.  “Mister Wilsons.  You come on out here.  You cheated on me.”

There was the sound of laughter from inside the room.  The door opened a crack, and Wilson, dressed in a long, black choir robe, stuck his head out the door.  “You guys beat it.  I’m busy.” he said.  “Beat it, or I’m going to call the cops.”

“Busy beating it?” asked Rusty.

Wilson looked at him and started to speak.

“I wants my money back, Mister Wilsons.” said Joey, stepping closer to the door.  “And you gots to pay me for that balloon you stole.”

“Just a minute now, Joseph.” said Wilson, stepping out the door, half closing it behind him, his hand reaching for Joey’s shoulder.  “I really can’t believe you would think I cheated you.  You remember our agreement.  I help you get started, and you pay me back a little each week out of the profits.  Now, isn’t that what we agreed to, Joseph?”

Joey pushed Wilson’s hand away.  “We was already squared up.” he said.  “You cheated on me, Mister Wilsons.”

Wilson moved forward, his hand reaching out, forcing Joey and Rusty away from the door.  “Gentlemen, we’re all friends here.  But I really can’t discuss this with you now.  I have a guest.  The friend I told you about who’s very sick.  The one I got the balloon for.”

Rusty slipped behind Wilson and pushed open the half-closed door, and flipped on the light switch.  Inside the small, bare room there was a narrow bed beneath a crucifix hung upside down on the wall.  Tied to the feet of the crucifix, floating up toward the ceiling, was a single red balloon.  There was a half empty bottle of cheap wine on the floor at the foot of the bed.  A light shone from under the door of the windowless bathroom.

Rusty stepped into the room.

“Don’t go in there, Russell.” said Wilson.  “I‘ve got company.”

“Ain’t nobody in here.” said Rusty.

The door to the bathroom opened and an older woman carrying a second bottle of wine, also dressed in a long, black choir robe, came out.  “Hello, Rusty.” she said.  “I thought that was your voice.  – He told me it was the minister and for me to hide in the bathroom.”

“Hello, Mrs. Rafferty.” said Rusty, chuckling.  “I was just talking to Joey about you earlier tonight.”

“We’re just having a little Saturday night, week-before-Christmas party.” said the woman.  “Would you and your friend like to join us?”

“No.” said Wilson.  “This is a private party.”

“Don’t mind if we do.” said Joey, pushing past Wilson into the room.  “I see you already gived my balloon to your friend.”

“Joseph, I’m sorry.  But you and Russell are drunk, and you will have to leave.  I can’t give you the money.  I’ve already spent it.  And the bank is closed.  But I made a record of it in my notebook.  – You can have the balloon back if you want it.”

Joey looked at Wilson, but said nothing,

“But you have to leave now and take your friend with you.”

Rusty went to the foot of the bed and picked up the wine bottle, looking at the upside-down crucifix.  He removed the cap from the bottle and tossed it on the floor.  “Won’t he get a headache hanging like that?” asked Rusty.  “All his blood going be in his head.”

Mrs. Rafferty laughed, taking a long swig from her nearly empty bottle.  “He told me it was so the thing wouldn’t watch us all the time and see what we was doing.”

“Here’s where our money went, I bet, Joey.” said Rusty, taking a drink and handing Joey the bottle.

“Is it, Mister Wilsons?” asked Joey, taking a drink and passing the bottle back to Rusty.

“Of course, it is, you fool.” said Wilson, irritated.  “What’d you think I did with the money?  Put it in the poor box?”

Joey stared at Wilson, unconsciously balling his hands into fists.

“Told me he hasn’t bought any booze with his own money for years.  And he hasn’t done any custodian work neither.” said Mrs. Rafferty.  “Said he’s got a bunch of drunk bums who do it for him.  He laughed about it.  He laughed at you.”

“Shut up, old woman.” said Wilson, but then quickly regained his composure.  “Joseph, I’ve told you many times you really shouldn’t drink.  It brings out the worst in your personality.”

Joey walked toward Wilson, who retreated toward the bathroom.  “You cheated on me.” said Joey, striking the man once across the face.

Wilson came back at Joey in a rage, but stopped.  “You’re fired.” he said calmly.  “Both of you.  I never want to see either of you around here again, or I’ll call the cops.”

“Fuck you.” said Rusty, chugging from the bottle, passing it to Joey.  “You can’t fire me.  I quit.”

‘We quits.” said Joey, emptying the bottle into his throat, tossing it on the floor. 

“Let’s get out of here, Joey.” said Rusty.

“In a minute.” said Joey, advancing toward the crucifix.  He reached up and grabbed the red balloon and turned to face the others, now holding two balloons, the red one in his hands and the white one on a string.  “You cheated on me, Wilsons.  And I wish this balloon was your head.”

Joey squeezed the red balloon fiercely between his hands, until it popped, then reached over and turned the crucifix right side up, leaving the string and a bit of red plastic dangling from its feet.

“Wait for me, Rusty.” said Mrs. Rafferty, draining her wine bottle, pulling off the long, black choir robe, underneath which she was fully clothed, tossing it at Wilson.  “Ain’t nothing here for me no more.”

Wilson sat down heavily on the bed.  “All of you get out of here.” he said.  “If I have to, I’ll call the police, and they’ll force you to leave.”

“We’re going.  We’re going.” said Rusty, holding the door for Mrs. Rafferty and Joey, following them out, and as he slammed the door behind him.  “Bye, you monkey-lips bastard.”  

The young soldier, carrying his heavy overcoat, walked slowly along the brightly lit, neon-blinking street—for the third time—pausing every few steps to look into another bar, through a doorway that is always held open for him by a barker or bouncer or doorman.  But he did not enter.  Instead, he wandered farther along the Block, stopping to stare at the pictures and advertisements in front of an “ADULTS ONLY” book and magazine shop.  He watched the people on the sidewalk near him.  Men in red jackets, with white lettering on the back, and a few soldiers, were everywhere, alone, in groups, and talking to the women loitering in doorways.  One fireman stood drunkenly on a corner, lost, looking all around him, singing an old hymn softly to himself to calm his fears.

At the next bar the man who stood outside opened the door for the soldier and said, “Go ahead.  Step inside.  Take a peek.  It don’t cost you nothing just to look.”

Jack stepped up to the open door.  Vaguely he could see an almost naked woman dancing on a stage level with the bar.  Other women, variously dressed and undressed, wandered around the room, talking to the men customers sitting at tables or at the bar.  Jack turned away, avoiding the eyes of the doorman, and walked on down the street.  At the next bar, a young longhaired barker called to the soldier, “You going to just look all night, chief?  — Come on.  I got what you want right here.  All young chicks, man.  All young cunts.  Come on, chief.”

Jack, embarrassed to be singled out, did not answer, but he heard the final comment of the barker thrown at his back.  “Go home, then, goddammit, and quit blocking up the street.”

Farther along at another bar, a tall elegantly dressed man in a top hat and tuxedo stood with his back against the door, holding it open.  His hands were balled into fists and pushed deep into his pants pockets, to protect them from the cold.  He was talking to a pale, thin, curly-haired young woman, barefoot and dressed only in bikini panties and a loose pullover sweater, leaning around the doorjamb, peeking out the door.  The doorman did not speak to Jack, but stopped talking to the woman, when the soldier stepped up to the door and looked into the bar over the woman’s head.

Jack felt their eyes on him, looking him over, but he did not look at them.  Standing so close, the silence between them became awkward.  “Same as all the rest.” said the girl.

“Excuse me.” said Jack.

“I don’t know much about it.  I don’t go in for these kind of places.” said the doorman.  “But I like to think we got a little more class.  Got a band instead of a juke box.  Got a doorman instead of a barker or bouncer.  I like to think we’re a little bit above the rest.”

“Don’t fool yourself, Buster.” said the girl.  “The temperature’s the same, no matter where you stand in hell.”

Jack laughed and squeezed past the girl into the room.  The bar was dim and smoky and warm.  Quiet jazz music from a three- or four-piece band came from a balcony bandstand at the back of the room.  There were only a few customers, most talking in whispers with different bargirls.  A dancer was moving quietly to the soft music.  Jack felt an arm slipped carefully around his waist.  “You must like it hot.” said the girl from the doorway.  “You want some company, honey?”

Jack laughed and put his own arm around the girl.  “I guess so.”

The two strolled deeper into the room.  The girl guided Jack to a couple of bar stools near the stage but away from the rest of the customers.  Jack stared at the dancer across the bar, now much closer to him.  But her eyes looked out over the heads of the men staring at her and into her own reflection in a huge mirror on the opposite wall. 

“What do you want to drink?” asked the girl from the doorway.

“Beer.” said Jack, still staring at the dancer.     

The girl ordered beer from the bartender across the bar, but the bartender did not move.

“Dammit, Freddy.” said the girl.  “I’ll work it the way I want to work it.  Don’t push me.”

Still the bartender did not move.

“Okay.” said the girl, giving in, turning to Jack.  “You have to buy me a drink, too, or I have to leave.”

“What?” said Jack.

“I’m sorry.” said the girl, standing up.  “House rules.  I can’t talk to you unless you buy me a drink.”

“How much?” asked Jack.

“Two dollars.” said the girl.  “Everything is two dollars.”

“All right.” said Jack, without emotion, reaching for his wallet and finding a five-dollar bill.  “Rules are rules.  I understand rules.”

The bartender moved away down the bar.  The girl looked hard at the soldier’s wallet and sat back down.  “Rules are bullshit.” she said emphatically.  “I think a guy needs to settle in and feel comfortable before you take his money.”

Jack nodded, looking at the dancer.  “I guess so.” he said.

“She’s queer.  You wouldn’t like her.”

“What?” said Jack.

“I said she’d rather fuck me than you.  Look at me.  What’s she got that I haven’t got?”

Jack looked once more at the dancer, then turned to the girl at the bar, but said nothing. 

The girl laughed.  “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jack.”

“I’m Cat, Jack.” said the girl.  “Short for Catherine.”

“Hello, Cat.”

“Where you from, Jack?” asked Cat, pulling a cigarette case from the outer pocket of her pullover sweater, lighting a cigarette.  “You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

“Go ahead.” said Jack.  “I’m from here in town.  – Well, not really, anymore, I guess.  But I used to live here in town before they built the Park and tore our house down.  We moved away then.  Years ago.  When I was younger.  But now I’m in the service.”

The bartender brought the beer, which he poured into an iced mug, and a martini glass of pale liquid, which he set in front of the girl.  He picked up the five-dollar bill, and at the same time reached across the bar, found the girl’s breast under her pullover, and pinched her nipple.

 “Watch it, Freddy.” said Cat.  “I’m ovulating.  You might get pregnant.  – Besides there’s more there than you can handle anyway.”

The bartender laughed and removed his hand, quickly ringing up four dollars on the cash register and taking out four quarters in change.  As Freddy turned to give Jack the quarters, Jack stared at him with hard eyes.  Freddy returned the stare, then snapped down the quarters and moved away.  Jack continued to stare after the barman, then looked down and picked up the coins.  He searched the surface of the bar, but there were only two quarters to be found.  He put these in the side pocket of his coat, with the dollar bills from the pool games he won.

Cat laughed.  “Freddy took two quarters for a tip.” she said.  “Freddy always gets a tip.”

“Without asking?” said Jack, really beginning to dislike Freddy.

“You never been in here before, have you?”

“No.”

“You ever been in any of these bars around here before?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I didn’t think so.” said Cat.  “Why’d you come in here?”

“Just did.  It seemed quieter than the rest.  And all the guys in the barracks talk about these places.  And some other guys I met tonight told me about these bars.”

“What about these bars?” asked Cat.

“About drinking and getting drunk and girls and stuff.” said Jack.

“About getting laid in these bars?”

“Yes, about that, too.”

“So tonight you came in here to get laid?”

“No…well, yes…but…”

“Relax.  It’s nothing to worry about.” said Cat.  “Some guys come in to look.  Some guys come in to touch.  Others want to get laid.  I just needed to know what you wanted to do.”

“But I never…been in a place like this before.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

“You afraid?”

“Afraid?” asked Jack.

“Of getting ripped off?”

“Yes, of course, but…”

“How do you mean?  Robbed or…”

“Robbed.” said Jack quickly, not knowing an alternative.

“You won’t get robbed in here.” said Cat.  “You just have to be careful, that’s all.  And you have to remember to ask the girl how much her tip is.  Some of these bitches will take all your money.  Charge you fifty dollars if you don’t ask her first how much her tip is.”

Jack listened, but did not respond.

The girl continued.  “Like me, see.  I get thirty dollars, that’s all.”

Jack was still silent.

“You want to go in the back with me, Jack?” asked Cat.

“I still got beer left.”

“You can bring it with you.  Or you can buy me another drink here.” said Cat.  “But it’s cheaper if we just go in the back now.”

“Cheaper?” asked Jack.

“Less money in the long run.” said Cat slowly, adding patiently.  “You want to go in the back with me?”

“Maybe…maybe we should…”

“Freddy, champagne.” said Cat loudly, then softly to Jack.  “You got to buy a bottle to go in the back.  You got to buy me from the bar.”

“How much is that?” asked Jack.

“Twenty-five dollars.”

“For what?” said Jack, a little annoyed.

“A bottle of champagne.  And then we can go in the back for an hour and do anything we want.”

Jack was silent.

“You want to go in the back with me, Jack?”

Jack nodded.

The girl called again to the bartender.  “Freddy, champagne.”

Cat got off the barstool, and put her cigarette case back in the pocket of her pullover sweater.  “Bring your beer.” she said, leading the way to the back of the room.

Against the back wall of the bar, under a large stage eight feet off the floor on which the band sat and played, were three identical wooden booths, with a curtain of string beads hanging down across the entrance.  The booth in the middle was dimly lit on the inside by a small-watt bulb, but the booths on the right and left were dark.  Jack could not see into these other booths, but he heard the laughter of a man and woman coming from the one on the left.

“Get in.” said the girl, parting the strings of the entrance to the middle booth with her hand.

Jack entered and spread his heavy overcoat on a wooden bench and sat down.  There was only a small space.  Across from the bench a narrow wooden shelf was nailed and braced to the wall of the booth, chest high to the seated soldier.  Jack put his beer on the narrow shelf.

“Goddammit.” said the girl, pointing to the floor.  “Look.”

Two used condoms lay among other trash, mostly napkins, on the floor of the booth.  “I wish some of these bitches would learn to clean up after themselves.” said Cat, hotly.

She got a clean napkin from near the doorway, picked up the two condoms, and threw them away.  “Shit.” she muttered, coming back to the booth.

Freddy the bartender brought an ice bucket with a bottle wrapped in a towel sticking up from it.  There was no cork in the bottle.  He placed the ice bucket on the shelf next to the soldier’s beer.

Jack stared hard at the bartender, remembering the theft of his quarters.  Freddy waited patiently, staring back.  “Twenty-five dollars.” reminded the girl.  “Plus tip.”

Jack found his wallet and paid Freddy with a twenty and a five.  Freddy waited.  The soldier replaced his wallet and fished in his side pocket for change, finding the two quarters, which he offered to Freddy for a tip.  The bartender laughed, but took the coins and pocketed them.

“Turn off the light, please, Freddy.” said Cat, sitting down.

The barman reached into the booth and unscrewed the hot bulb with his bare hand.  “Asshole.” said Cat.  “I meant with the switch.”

It was dim and quiet and close in the booth.  There was just enough light coming in from the outside to see each other in the dark.  Muted music came from above them, but there was little noise from the rest of the bar.  “I just need a couple minutes, Jack.  I just want to close my eyes for two minutes.” said Cat.  “What a day!  I’m worn out.”

The soldier sipped his beer.  For several minutes, the girl sat quietly, then poured herself some of the pale liquid from the bottle in the ice bucket, and drank it with a sigh, sliding down to the edge of the bench, relaxing as much as she possibly could.

“How long can we stay in here?” asked Jack finally.

“An hour or so.” said the girl.  “There’s no hurry.”

The soldier sipped his beer silently, then gulped down two swallows, and put his mug on the shelf.  Cat turned her body slightly and put her bare legs across his knees.  She faced him, staring at him in the darkness.  He touched her bare legs cautiously, looking at her, rubbing his hand gently up and down her thighs.

“That feels nice.” she said.  “A guy ate me in here earlier tonight.”

“What?” said Jack.

“This is my lucky booth, I guess.  Old guy.  Said he was sixty-four.  Sat me up on the shelf next to the champagne.  Didn’t want me to touch him.  Didn’t even want to talk.  Just wanted to eat me.  For the whole hour.  He had me going so good, I didn’t know which way was up.”

Jack nodded, but said nothing.

The girl stared at him.  “Well?” she said.

“Well, what?”

“What’s your pleasure?”

The soldier stared at her.

“What do you want to do?” said the girl finally.

“What can I do?” asked Jack.

“Anything.” said Cat softly.  “What do you like?”

Suddenly Jack thought of Sissy.  “I was talking to a girl once.” he said.  “She says she really likes it when a guy starts in front of her and then flips her over and does it to her from behind.  Can we do that?”

Cat laughed.  “A little half and half, huh?” she said.  “Yes, we can do that.”

Jack reached for his beer and sipped several times.

“You remember about my tip?” asked the girl.

“Yes.”

“You got to give it to me before.”

The soldier fumbled again with his wallet, and took out all the cash.  Slowly he counted the money on the girl’s bare thighs.  There was only twenty-nine dollars.

“You got any more money?” asked the girl

“No.  – Maybe some loose change.”  said Jack

“You sure there’s no more money in your wallet?”

Jack handed the wallet to the girl.  She looked through it, found no more money, and gave it back to him.  He shrugged.  “Sorry.” he said.

“I’ll take it.” said Cat.  “Do you have a rubber?  It doesn’t matter if you don’t, I’ve got one here.”

“Yes, I’ve got one.”

“Let’s use mine.  It’s the best they make.”

Cat took the money off her thighs and folded it up, putting it in the cigarette case in the pocket of her sweater.  From the same pocket, she pulled out a condom package, and opened it with her teeth.  “Well, get it out.” she said laughing softly.  “Or do you want me to do it?”

She pulled the sweater off over her head, and put it on the bench beside him.  Quickly she turned and sat on his knees facing him.  He slid down slightly on the bench as she fumbled his zipper open and pulled out his penis.  His face is next to her breasts.  “You can play with them if you want.” she said, shaking her breasts in his face.  “Until we get you up.  Then I’ll suck on you a little so the condom goes on right.  Just don’t cum in my mouth.  A lot of the girls swallow, but I don’t.  – Guy told me once ‘Go ahead and swallow.  It’s pure protein.’  But I don’t swallow.  I don’t like the taste.”     

 

“Mister Wilsons ain’t gots nobody.

That’s what I telled him, Rusty.  ‘Mister Wilsons ain’t gots nobody.’

Old bad wine.  Bad old wine.

That’s what we needs.

A rainbow sign.  For some more old bad wine.

Knowed he was going to did it.

Ain’t change one bit.

Can tell how he talks it.  ‘Please, Mister Frank…’ Jesus.

Ain’t change one bit.

Needs some more wine, Rusty.  Bad old wine.  Old bad wine.

Selled my babies.  Had to sell all my sweet baby balloons.

Then she kissed on me.  Cause I gived her a balloon. 

She kissed on me. 

‘Balloons salesman.  He gots me the permits from the Courthouse.’

License.  He called it ‘the license’.

‘The license is very important, Joseph.’  He called me Joseph.

‘Carry it with you at all times, Joseph.  Without it, you can be arrested for vagrancy.  Or selling balloons without a license.’

Needs some more wine.

Been ‘rested for vagrants before.  Two—three—four times.  Been ‘rested for drunk and disorder more times though.  Six—seven—eight.

He cheated on me.  Had to punch him, Rusty.

He squeezed the money right out of me, just like last time.

Russell.  He called you Russell.  And me, Joseph.  Mister Wilsons.

Needs us some more wine, Rusty.

Church gived me these black clothes and white shirt.  Gived you a bicycle and tools.

Nice clothes for black.  Mostly match.  Mostly fit.  Makes me look just like them.

For Christmas, they gived them to us.  Maybe they give you new clothes this year, Rusty.

For Christmas.  Wrapped up the baby in squabbling clothes.

Gived us all squabbling clothes.

Wine, Rusty.  Old bad wine.  From the church.

Jesus.  Knowed he was going to did it.  Ain’t change one bit.

‘Santa Claus is coming to town.’

‘Santa Claus is…’

Name ain’t even Franks.

Demo—cra—zy.  That’s it.

No.  —  De—most—thin—knees.  That’s it.

‘Cause Rusty said he gots the most thin knees in the New Town.

But that ain’t true.  Gots fat knees.  Gots fat knees all over. 

Knees and everything else.  Everywhere.

Knowed he was going to did it.  Ain’t change one bit.

‘Santa Claus is coming to the town.’

BURP!  URP!  Eated too fast.  Drinked too much.

Where’s he been at?

Ain’t seen him for a long time now.  Last year maybe.

Christmas.  Merry Christmas!

Sell some more balloons for to buy some old bad wine for me and Rusty for Merry Christmas.  Selled all my sweet babies.

‘Cept for one.  And then she kissed me.  And they went with Officer Charles.  Balloons salesman.  Rainbow sign.

Nice new suit.  Sweet baby balloons.  Grow up to be big baby balloons.  Had to hit him.  He cheated on me.

Needs us some more wine.  Old bad wine.  Bad old wine.

Knowed he was going to did it.

Guy’s name ain’t even Franks. 

Could have telled him that much anyway.”