Jim moved toward the door of the bar, staggering slightly.  Just as he reached for the door handle, the door opened, and Jim bumped into a young soldier in uniform, carrying a heavy overcoat, who stepped back, holding the door open for Jim.  “Excuse me, sir” said the soldier.  “I didn’t see you.”

Jim stopped and saluted drunkenly.  “No, excuse me, sir.” said Jim.  “Definitely my fault.  Too much bourbon.  Too much blonde.”

“Sir?”

“Watch out for them, son.  They get their legs around you, and squeeze the life right out of you.  Watch out for them.” said Jim.

“Yes, sir.” said Jack.

“What outfit are you with, son?”

Jack turned slightly to the side and pointed to the patch on his shoulder.  Jim shook his head.  “Well, I’ll be damned.  My old outfit.” he said.  “I was in the Navy, too.”

“I’m in the Army, sir.”

“Me, too.” said Jim, taking a few dollars from the side pocket of his suit coat, forcing them into Jack’s hand.  “Here, have a drink on me.”

Jack shook his head in refusal, but said nothing and accepted the money.  Jim saluted again and turned abruptly, executing a brisk military about-face, and marched away unsteadily down the street.  Jack looked at the man’s back for a moment, shook his head again, then pocketed the money in his uniform coat.  He closed the door and walked into the room, toward the young men shooting pool.  He put his overcoat down on the back of an empty chair.  “Anybody got the next game?” he asked quietly.

The young men looked at him, but no one answered.

“Guess you do.” said a young man with a pool cue, leaning over the table in preparation for a shot.  “But this here is the big league, Slick.   We don’t play for nothing around here.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know.” said Jack.

“What’ll you have, General?” asked a waitress from behind him.

Jack turned, embarrassed.  “Whatever you have on draft, ma’am.”

“Polite, too.” said the waitress, smiling.  “Stick around, General, these clowns could learn a thing or two from you.”

“Bring me one, too, Millie.” said a teenage member of the group.

“Another bottle of pop for you, Spud?”

“No, a draft.” said Spud, reddening.

Millie put her hand on her hip, and gave Spud a long hard look.  “Okay, another pop.” said the teenager.

The waitress moved away.  The young men watched her go.  “Up yours, bitch.” said Spud, when she’s gone.

“I’d like to put it up hers.” said the man with the pool cue, making his shot.

“I wouldn’t kick her out of bed, Chick.” said the teenager.

“I would.” said the shooter’s opponent.  “I bet she’d be a real good floor fuck.”

The young men laughed.  Jack smiled.

“Floor fuck?” said Spud.  “Who wants to get it on the floor when you can get it on the bed?”

“Sometimes you ain’t got no choice, Spud.” said Chick, calmly sinking the eight ball, and motioning to his opponent.  “Ain’t that right, Butch?”

Butch nodded and threw a dollar bill on the table.  “Fuck you, Chick.” he said.

“Yeah, Spud, you’re in for a big surprise one of these days, son.” continued Chick.   “If you ever get laid.  Next.  — Rack ’em up!”

The young men all laughed again, except for Spud.  “Fuck you guys.” said Spud.  “I’ve had more pussy than I can remember.”

Chick moved over and put an arm around Spud.  “Well, hell, boy.  Why didn’t you say so?” he teased. “Tell us about it.  What’s her name?”

“Can’t tell no names.” said Spud.  “Promised I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, I always promise that, too.” said Butch.  “But your sister…”

Jack walked to the table.  “What do you usually play for?” he asked.

“Don’t matter what we play for, as long as we play for something.” said Chick.  “A dollar.  A beer.  Just can’t be for nothing.”

The waitress brought Jack’s beer and Spud’s pop.  Jack paid for both from his uniform pocket, and tipped generously, smiling at the girl.  “It’s on me.” he said.

“Thanks.” said Spud.

“Millie, the General here is going to teach us how to shoot pool.” said Chick to the waitress.  “Maybe after I learn, I could teach you how to use a big stick and balls to put it in the pocket.”

The young men laughed.  Millie, only slightly older than the young men, smiled.  “How big is it?” she asked.

The young men’s laughter faded.  “What?” asked Chick, confused.

“How big is it?” asked Millie again, enjoying Chick’s discomfort.  “How big is the pocket?”

“Not so big it can’t be filled up.” said Chick confidently.

“Chick, I know you play a lot of pocket pool.” said the girl.  “But I don’t think you could teach me anything.  Besides, what do I need you for, as long as the General’s still here?”

The waitress smiled and winked at Jack, then walked away.

“Guess it ain’t big enough, boys.” said Chick, lamely.

“Damn uniform always gets all the pussy.” said Butch.

“Haven’t got it all yet.” said Jack to laughter, then finished.  “But you can’t blame a guy for trying, now, can you?”

Several of the young men laughed again.  Jack went to the table, put in a coin, and pushed the release, freeing the trapped balls from the last game, making sure that all the balls have dropped before releasing the handle.  Quickly he racked the balls on the worn green felt of the old pool table, and went to the wall to select a cue from a dozen, stacked leaning in a corner.  “I’ll play you for a dollar or a beer, either one.” said Jack.

“Every one of them damn sticks is crooked.” said Butch to Jack.  “Here.  Use mine.”

“Thanks.” said Jack, taking the cue carefully, examining it.  “Nice stick.  Custom made?”

Butch nodded and extended his hand to shake.  “I’m Butch.  This asshole you’re playing against is my baby brother, Chick.  Short for Chickenshit.”

“Jack.” said the soldier, shaking hands.

Chick also shook hands with Jack, then turned to shake hands with his brother.  “Asshole.” said Butch to Chick, slapping his hand away.  “You want another beer?”

“Already got one.” said Chick, stroking the cue ball hard to break up the racked balls.  “Jack’s got it for me in his pocket right now.”

A ball fell in a pocket.  Chick smiled.  “Jack, what do you say?  Let’s play for a dollar and a beer.  Just to be friendly.” he said.

Jack looked for a few seconds at the scattered balls on the table.  “Okay.  Sure.” he said.  “Just to be friendly.”

Chick leaned over the table.  “Guess I didn’t tell you guys.  I took that girl from the drug store out last night.  Drove her way out in the country.” he said, sinking another ball. 

“Like hell you did.” said Butch.  “You was here all last night.”

“After I left here.  Shut up, and let me tell this story, will you?  Go get yourself another beer.”

Butch stalked off toward the bar.  Chick shot in another ball and continued.  “It was after I left here.  See, she don’t get off work till late on Friday night.  Drove her way out in the country.  Told her she had to put out or walk home.  So she said to me, ‘What do you mean ‘put out’?’.”

The young men all laughed. 

“Well, I told her.” said Chick, pausing to shoot in another ball.  “So she jumped on top of me and went at it.  What can I tell you?  I don’t remember a thing.  Must have fainted.  And when I woke up I was way out in the country.  She put me out of the car.  I had to walk home.”

Chick stroked the cue ball just as the laughter began again, and sunk another ball.  “I wondered when you were going to get to this one.” said Jack, pointing down to the yellow “one” ball, tight against the cushion between two pockets.  “Pretty difficult shot from way up there.”

“Nothing to it.” said Chick confidently.  “I’m just going to tap it a little bit here on the side and bank it in the corner.” 

Butch returned with a beer, just in time to hear this explanation.  “He’ll probably do it, too, Jack.” said Butch.  “Mama had to wean him early, cause he was always banging one teat off the other, studying the way things bounce.”

“Fuck you, too, Butch.” said Chick.  “Can’t I have a little peace and quiet in here while I’m trying to make this shot.”

The young men all stopped talking as Chick leaned over the table and placed his cue.  After a long silence, Butch said. “He’s really milking it, ain’t he, Jack?  Hey, speaking of tits, why ain’t you over on the Block with all the rest of the soldier boys?  This is Saturday night, ain’t it?”

Chick straightened up and walked away from the table in disgust.

 “I was going over earlier.  But I didn’t get a chance.  Something came up.” said Jack, sipping his beer.  “I may go over later.”

Chick walked over and took his brother’s beer from his hand and chugged it.  “You girls having a nice little chat over here while I’m trying to make the most important shot of my life?”

“Just shoot the fucking ball, will you?” said Butch.  “And then go get me another beer.  – So, Jack, you ever been to the Block before?”

“No, but I heard all the guys in the barracks talking.  I know what it’s all about.”

“We don’t go over there on weekends.  Too many soldiers.  Too many fights.  Go over sometimes on weekdays.  That’s the slow time.  Talk to the whores, you know.  Offer them a dollar.  Shit like that.”

“A dollar?” asked Jack.

“Yeah, one of them told Chick that for a dollar, she’d fart and he could fuck the stink.  Chick told her that sounded just like the last time he’d fucked her for twenty dollars.  Goddamn, man, that girl chased us for two blocks.  Still cuts her eyes at us when we walk by her over there.  —  Hey, Chick, tell that one about the quarters.” said Butch.

Chick looked around.  “You guys kill me.  The most important shot of my life, and all you guys want to talk about…” he said.  “Well, all right.”

The young men were quiet again, and all eyes turned to Chick.  “Went over to the Block one night by myself.  Don’t remember where Butch was that night.  Must have been when he was dating that Maggie girl.”

All the young men laughed and whooped.

“I dressed up real nice, you know, like I was from out of town.  Went in this one place over there.  Don’t remember which one it was.  Just sitting there minding my own business, drinking a beer.  Well, for some reason, all I had for money was a couple rolls of quarters that I’d been saving for a long time.  I was just a little way into the first roll and kind of playing with the quarters, you know, stacking them, unstacking them, standing them on edge, while I was watching the dancer.  So these girls keep coming by.  Saying ‘come on in back.  I’ll show you a good time.’  Shit like that.  Well, I knew I didn’t have enough money to go back there, and I told them so.  But this one girl kept coming by looking at my quarters, you know, so I took a stack of about ten and put them on the edge of the table, just to see what she would do.  Well, she came by.  She must have just got off the stage or something, cause she was dripping sweat.  Her eyes were kind of wild, too, like she was on something, you know.  And she lifted her robe or whatever she had covering her and sat down real careful on the edge of the table for just a second. When she got up, that stack of quarters was gone, man.”

The young men whooped and shouted.

“She walked away to the back.  Well, I took all the quarters I had left from that first roll, must have been twenty quarters, and stacked them in one big pile and put them over on the edge of the table.  Wasn’t too long, here she came back, smiling at me big as shit.  She put on more of a show this time.  Let me watch her do it.  Lifted her thing way up high.  Opened it all the way down.  Her eyes were really wild.  But she smiled and kind of eased down on those quarters.  Never said a word.  And when she stood up, there wasn’t nothing there but a little wet spot.”

The young men whooped and shouted again.

“I started to open up my other roll of quarters and stack them up, but I decided not to.  That girl was too good.  – But that’s why I always carry this roll of half dollars.  If ever I go in that place again and see that girl, I’m going to pull out this roll and dare her to swallow it.”

The young men applauded and laughed.  “Let’s go look for her, Chick.  Where was it?  Which place?  What was her name?” they said all together.

“I don’t think she’s at the same place no more.” said Chick.  “But she’ll be back.  Some night on the Block she’ll be there in one of those joints.  And I’ll see her and recognize her.  – And then it’ll be time for that roll of half dollars for sure.”

Chick chuckled and leaned nonchalantly over the difficult pool shot.  Quickly, he stroked the cue a short hard confident pump, and made the one ball cross-side in the corner pocket.  But carelessly the cue ball ran on, heading for the other corner.  Slowly it came to a stop, perched precariously on the edge of the pocket, a table length away from Chick’s last ball and the eight ball, without a clear shot.  “Goddammit.” said Chick.  “See what you made me do, Butch.  You and your bullshit.  – Shit.  I’ll play safe.”

Chick nudged the cue ball off a rail, off the eight ball, and back tight against a different pocket.

 “What?  My turn?” asked Jack in mock surprise.  “I didn’t think you ever missed?”

“What happened, baby brother?” asked Butch.  “You never play safe when you’re playing me?”

Jack walked to the table, chalked the cue and shot, sinking a ball, chalked, shot again quickly, sinking another ball.

“What do you do in the army, Jack?” asked Spud.  “I’m thinking about joining up myself.”

The young men laughed at the teenager.

“On holdover, right now.  Finished my training two weeks ago.  I work in the day room, cleaning, straightening, sweeping up, shining the floor.  Then after lunch, the First Sergeant inspects the room, and he and I shoot pool the rest of the afternoon.  He’s really good at it.  He’s been teaching me a little bit.  – We play for candy bars.  Right now I owe him eight hundred and some candy bars.  He always has me buy him one from the machine at the end of the game.”

Quickly Jack shot in two more balls. 

“Shit.” said Chick.  “Son of a bitch is a pro.”

“Shit is right.” said Butch, laughing, teasing Chick.  “It’s about time the hustler got hustled.”

Jack passed up an easy shot to try a difficult bank shot.  “The nine.” called Jack.  “All the way back in the corner.”

Jack stroked the ball confidently, but missed the shot badly, and looked up in embarrassment.

“There’s a dead spot in that cushion.” said Butch.  “Right where you hit it.  It’s hard to play on a table you ain’t used to.  I should have told you about that spot.”

“Got you now, Jack.” said Chick dramatically, shooting in his last ball rapidly.  “Eight ball in the corner.”

Chick pointed with his cue stick, then struck the cue ball hard, knocking the eight ball into the corner pocket, but the cue ball hit the dead cushion and bounced back oddly, all the way down the table into the opposite corner pocket.

Many in the crowd laughed.  “Shit.” cursed Chick.  “Scratched on the eight ball.  Mother-fucking eight-ball scratch.”

Chick pulled a dollar from his pocket and thrust it at Jack, who put it in the side pocket of his uniform coat.  “What kind of beer you want?  Draft, right?” Chick asked the soldier.

“Bullshit, Chick.” said Butch.  “Go get him one of those you always ask for when someone has to buy you one.  And get one for me, too, asshole.”

“Imported beer?” said Chick.  “Why I could put draft beer in one glass and that stuff in another, and he couldn’t tell the difference.”

“How much you want to bet, Chick?” asks Spud.

“Fuck you, shithead, go join the army.” said Chick, then added to Jack.  “Don’t go away, General.  I’ll be right back with a beer so good you can’t even read the label.”

“Thanks.” said Jack, chugging the rest of his draft.  “Who wants to shoot a game of pool?”

“I will.” said Spud.

“And when you lose.  I got the next game after that.” said Butch.

Chick came back quickly with three bottles of beer, handing one to Jack and one to Butch.  “Gentlemen.” he said, mock-serious, holding his own bottle high in the air.  “I’d like to propose a toast.  – It’s the only toast we drink to up in here, Jack.  – ‘TO WOMEN’.”

All the young men stood quickly.  “”TO WOMEN.” they repeated.

“To women.” said Jack.

All drank, several draining their glasses and going to the bar for a refill.  Some of the older men sitting nearby laughed, others joined the toast.

Jack drank deeply, smiling.  “Hey, this is good stuff.” he said.  “Somebody rack ‘em up.”

Jesús Rodríguez walked purposefully down the brightly lit, neon-blinking crowded street, past hookers and firemen, soldiers and drunks, peep shows and perverts, bars and strip clubs, barkers and bargirls.  He looked neither left nor right, but walked straight to the ticket booth of the movie theater, sitting sullen and alone on the corner at the end of the busy Block.  “One please.” he said to the ticket lady, holding up one finger, unaware of the two titles on the marquee.

 “You sure you’re old enough to see this picture, honey?” asked the old woman cashier in a friendly way, as she shifted the binoculars in her lap to her other hand and punched a button firmly.

A single ticket shot out magically from the mechanism, and somewhere in the bowels of the machinery a single digit was added to the total of tickets sold that day.  Jesús smiled, and paid with several rapidly unfolded square dollars from his jeans pocket, shoving them through the hole in the glass, and picked up his ticket and change, but did not answer the old woman’s question.  As he moved through the theater doors, the old woman chuckled to herself, laughing softly at some private joke.

Jesús walked slowly into the brightly lit hallway with the red and white checkerboard floor, up a long aisle where colorful posters of coming attractions were displayed.  He inspected each poster as he walked until he reached the end of the aisle and a bright red closed door with a NO SMOKING sign attached to it at eye level.  Instantly, Jesús reached into his jacket pocket for cigarettes and matches, and lit up, then opened the door and entered the lobby, hiding the cigarette in the palm of his hand.  The pimple-faced, teenaged usher-doorman tore his ticket in half mechanically, without looking at him, put one half in a bag in his ticket taker stand and returned the other half of the ticket.  Immediately, but without being seen, Jesús dropped the returned ticket stub on the floor.

The lobby was dim, except for the brightly lit display cases of the candy counter in the center of the room.  A staircase on each side led up to the second-floor restrooms and balcony, manager’s office and lounge, and the projection booth.  A young policeman with a weak chin leaned against the candy counter talking quietly with a large-breasted girl, sitting with her legs crossed, arms folded across her chest, on a stool behind the counter.  Jesús loitered near the counter, inspecting the contents of the lighted display case and, although not obviously, staring at the girl’s crossed legs.  The policeman and the girl ignored Jesús and continued their conversation.

“Just to get a burger and fries.  And maybe a milkshake.” said the policeman.  “Your mother can’t object to that now, even if it is after midnight.”

“Mama doesn’t like for me to go out on late dates.” said the girl.  “But she did say that at least with a policeman, she’d know I was safe.”

“You’d be safe, all right.” said the policeman with a smile, waiting for a reaction, getting none, then continuing.  “Then it’s all right if I stop by after I get off at twelve.”

“I guess so.  But you have to talk to Mama when you get there.”

“Good news.” said the policeman, his smile widening to a grin.  “Tell the boss I’ll be by at the regular time to walk him to the bank for the night drop.  – And I’ll see you at your house around twelve-fifteen.”

The policeman turned confidently toward the door, adjusting his belt and holstered revolver, and walked from the room, winking at the teenage doorman as he passed—his large grin becoming a huge leer, his hand rubbing up and down on the front of his pants.  The teenage usher looked at the candy-counter girl and blushed, then turned his back.

“I want those.” said Jesús, leaning down, pointing at the girl’s legs through the glass case.

“Which?” asked the girl, uncrossing her arms, leaning forward on the stool, looking down, but still not uncrossing her legs.  “This?  These?”

Jesús straightened up.  “Popcorn.” he said.

The girl slid off the stool and strode to the popcorn machine.  “You should have said so in the first place.” she said sullenly.

Jesús puffed once on his hidden cigarette and flicked the long ash on the carpet, staring hard at the girl.  He paid with a square-folded dollar, which he did not unwrap.  The girl set the popcorn on the counter and offered him change.  As he accepted the coins, Jesús moved his fingers and touched the girl’s hand, as if by accident.  The girl drew her hand back sharply, as if stung.  Jesús walked to a corner near the entrance to the auditorium and set his popcorn box on an ice cream machine.  He began to smoke openly and stare at the candy counter girl.  Quickly, the girl called the usher over and pointed to Jesús.  The doorman approached Jesús reluctantly.  “I’m sorry, sir.” he said, in a sing-song voice.  “But you cannot smoke in the lobby.  You must either smoke outside in the hallway or upstairs in the restroom.”

Jesús ignored the doorman, looking past him over his head at the girl.  The girl stared back at him harshly.  “I’m sorry, sir, but…” the doorman began his recitation again.

“Okay.” said Jesús in a surly tone, throwing the cigarette down on the shiny linoleum around the ice cream machine and crushing it with his scuffed black boot, next to the doorman’s polished black loafers.

Jesús grabbed his box of popcorn from the top of the ice cream machine and bounded up the stairs, two at a time, headed for the second floor.  After he had disappeared, the doorman called after him quietly.  “And no running on the stairs.”

The pimple-faced, teenaged usher-doorman approached the large-breasted girl shyly, hoping for a single word of praise for his actions.  Unconsciously he assumed the position and posture of the weak-chinned policeman, leaning across the counter toward the girl, who seated herself again on the high stool and, watching the boy closely to make sure he noticed, crossed her legs very slowly.

Upstairs in the empty lounge, Jesús stood for a moment in front of a sign THE BALCONY IS CLOSED that hung on a chain across the balcony entrance.  He stepped across the chain carefully and entered the balcony, choosing a seat in the last row, in a dark corner near the back wall.  In the darkness he felt the wooden arm of his chair and traced with his finger the heart, arrow, and initials carved deep in the wood.  Jesús ignored the movie on the screen in front of him, but began eating popcorn from the box, thinking hard about something.

“J.C.R. + M.M.M.

Maria Margarita Martinez. 

True Love.

‘First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Jesse in the baby carriage.’

Saturday.

Silky Saturday.

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y.

Twelve-thirty.  Long line.

‘You get the popcorn.  I’ll go upstairs and save our seats.’

Long line. Saturday.

‘No, Jesse, don’t.’

Silky Saturday.  Embroidered, raised letters.  Trace with your finger.  S-A-T.’

‘No, Jesse, don’t.  The lights are still on.”

Dark.  Cartoon.  Cat-and-mouse.

Little kids laugh.

‘No, Jesse, not yet.’

Deep kiss.

Darkness.  Mouse-and-cat.

‘Jesse, no.’

Smooth skin.  Swelling.

Coming attractions.

‘Jesus.’

Double feature.

Kiss, button, elastic.

Silky Saturday.

‘Upstairs and save our seats.’

Deep kiss.

‘Jesus.’

Silk, elastic, curly hair darkness.

Smooth.  Slick.  Sweet.  Smell.

Deep darkness.

Dark deepness.

‘Yes, Jesse, yes.’  “

Jesús put the empty popcorn box down on the seat beside him and lit another cigarette.  With the match he inspected the carefully carved initials on the wooden arm of the chair.  The match burned his fingers, and he blew it out.  In the darkness again, Jesús rubbed his crotch, feeling his erection, surprised at the strength of his memories.  He closed his eyes and tried to smell Rita Martinez sitting next to him.

At that moment a flashlight was switched on, and a flood of light fell on Jesús’s face.  Immediately, Jesús put up his hands to shade his eyes.  “What are you doing up in here?” asked the flashlight holder.

Instantly, Jesús recognized the doorman’s voice.  “Ain’t doing nothing up in here.” said Jesús.  “But if you don’t take that light out of my face, I’m going to be doing you up in here.”

Quickly the beam of light moved to the side and formed a neat yellow circle on the wall.  “I’m sorry, sir, but you cannot…” began the doorman.

“Fuck off, sonny.”

“You can’t sit in the balcony.” said the doorman quickly.

“Who says?”

“The balcony is closed.” said the doorman, remembering the sign.

“Listen, boy, you better get out of here.” said Jesús, rising slowly.

The doorman backed away, turned and walked quickly from the balcony, tripping over the chain and sign stretched across the entrance.  Jesús sank into his seat, smiling, and puffed on his cigarette.  “Smart kid.” he muttered to himself.  “Wonder where that young cop is?”

Jesús stood, and walked from the balcony, stepping over the sign into the lounge.  He walked to the men’s room and locked himself in the single stall.  “JAYBIRD WAS HERE” was written or carved in a dozen places on the wall, the bird sketch in some places elaborate and in others just a few curved lines.  Jesús ran his hand across the sketches, admiring his work, but was startled when someone else enters the restroom.  Peeking through a crack between the door and the wall of the stall, Jesús saw a boy standing at the urinal – the shoeshine boy from the hot dog stand.  The boy finished and went to the sink to wash his hands.  He looked in the mirror and combed his mop of red hair carefully with a wet hand, then replaced his worn red baseball cap on his head.  Jesús said nothing, but thought to himself.  “Damn kid followed me here.”

In a few moments, the boy left the restroom.  Jesús stood, intending to follow the boy, but was distracted by some artwork that was too close to his own.  He pulled out his pencil to fix it.

“Look out, Joey.  Here comes Old Man Wilson.” said Rusty, ducking into a Courthouse alley to hide.

Mister Wilson, a middle-aged man with close-cropped short hair, casually dressed, but with a starched white collar sticking out from beneath his heavy sweater, walked briskly along the sidewalk toward Joey.  “Good evening, Joseph.  All glory be to God.” said Wilson, patting Joey on the shoulder.  “Good evening, Russell.”

Rusty stuck his head out of the alleyway, dangling the homemade sign in his hands.  “Hello, Mister Wilson.” he said sheepishly.

“Good evening, Mister Wilsons.” said Joey, talking a step sideways, away from the younger man.

Wilson looked up and quickly counted the balloons above Joey’s head.  “Eight.  So you’ve sold four tonight.” he said.  “That’s good.  – That’s very good, Joseph.”

Wilson stepped closer to Joey and put an arm around his shoulder.  “Yes, sir.” said Joey, uncomfortably.

“I’ll bet it’s been a bad day for a lot of businessmen.  But you’ve made two dollars.  And tomorrow will be a better day for those other men, too, God willing.” said Wilson, hugging Joey tighter with one arm.  “Two dollars, Joseph.  Do you want me to take care of that money for you?  So that nothing happens to it.  Temptation is a powerful evil.”

Joey does not answer.

“Now Joseph, I don’t want to embarrass you in front of your friend.  But we all know about your problem.  – Two dollars is a powerful temptation for a man with that problem, isn’t it?  — Cast out that demon, Joseph.  ‘Get thee behind me, Satan.’  Thus sayeth the Lord.  Say it with me, Joseph.  Praise his name.”

Joey nodded, looking down at the hand on his shoulder, feeling it squeeze him tighter and tighter.  “Yes, sir.” he said sadly.

Rusty moved behind Wilson and spat on the sidewalk, then pushed his lips out from his teeth with his tongue.  “Monkey—Lips.” he mouthed at Wilson’s back.

Wilson hugged Joey tighter.  “You have come to the Lord with your problem, Joseph.  Trust in the Lord.  He will provide.  – You want me to take care of the money, Joseph?  So that nothing happens to it?”

There was a long silence.  “Yes, sir.” said Joey finally, fishing in his inside pocket for the two dollar bills, giving them to Wilson.

Rusty turned his back in disgust.

“Praise God, Joseph.  Praise his holy name.” said Wilson, turning to hug Joey with both arms, embracing him enthusiastically.  “For he has delivered you from evil, Joseph.  He has delivered you from the devil and the fires of Hell and eternal damnation.”

“Yes, sir.” said Joey, stepping back, freeing himself from Wilson.

“I’ll put this away for you, Joseph.  Toward the day when you’ve put temptation behind you forever.  Praise God.  Praise his holy name.”

“You writing this down?” asked Rusty.  “You keeping records?”

“Of course, Russell.  Are you angry with me?” said Wilson defensively.  “If I didn’t have records, that would be like stealing from Joseph.  And I wouldn’t steal from Joseph, would I?”

Rusty stared at Wilson, but did not answer.

“No, sir.” said Joey.

“By the way.” said Wilson, suddenly in a hurry.  “Could I have a balloon, too?  I need a balloon to take to a sick friend.  It would make them so very happy, Joseph.  They’re in such great pain.  I’ll tell them you sent it.  It’d be the act of a Good Samaritan.  You know that story, don’t you, Joseph?”

Wilson started to move toward Joey again, his hand reaching out for his arm.  “Yes, sir.” said Joey quickly, handing him a blue balloon.

“No, not that one.  Give me a red one.”

Joey hesitated momentarily, but complied.

Rusty held up the sign and read it out loud to himself.  “Balloons. Fifty cents.”

“That doesn’t mean me, Russell.  Why are you so angry?” said Wilson, laughing.  “Joseph and I are partners, aren’t we, Joseph?  Partners with the church.  And partners with God.  And partners with each other.  Share and share alike.  That’s something for you to think about, Russell.  That’s what the good book teaches us.”

Rusty turned away from Joey and Wilson, with a look of disgust on his face, looking around for customers.

“Good night all.” said Wilson, taking Joey’s hand and shaking it.  “Thank you for the balloon, Joseph.  You’re making real progress, I think.  All glory be to God.  Praise his name.”

“Goddamn Monkey—Lips.” mumbled Rusty to himself, secretly, as Wilson walked briskly away toward the Block.  “Shit, Joey.” he said louder.  “What did you do that for?”

“Couldn’t helped it.  He squeeze me and squeeze me and call me a drunk bum.  He squeeze it right out my pocket, just like last time.”

“Can we still get it?” asked Rusty plaintively.  “If we sell these, can we still get two bottles?”

“Not ‘less we selled the Daddy.  – No, not even we did that, we still couldn’t get two whole bottles.”  said Joey.

“That bastard.  He’s a stealer.” said Rusty.  “That old Monkey-Lips Wilson stole our two bottles of wine for sure.  Bet that’s where he’s going right now.  To get his own self two whole bottles of wine.  With our wine money that we worked hard for.”

Joey stood quietly, looking down at the sidewalk.  A man and woman approached from the direction of the Block.

“Evening, boys.” said a female voice.

The two old men turned to face a woman and her companion, a man in a red windbreaker jacket, obviously intoxicated.  The woman, dressed in a short skirt and tight sweater under a light open coat, was not drunk.  “This is my friend, Bubba.  He’s a fireman here for the convention.” said the woman.  “He wants to buy all of your balloons.”

“Not all of them for sale.” said Joey quickly.

“Come on, buddy.” said Bubba.  “Can read.  Look this sign he’s holding.”

Joey shook his head.  “Some of them are for sale.” said Rusty quickly, reading Joey’s thought.  “But we have to keep some, too.”

“All or nothing at all.” said Bubba.  “Come on, girl, let’s go to my room.”

“Now I know you ain’t never done it with balloons.” said the woman.  “If you had, you wouldn’t give up so easy.”

The fireman took a flask from his pocket and sucked at it furiously, emptying it.  “How many we need?” he asked the girl.

“At least two.  Four is even better.”

“You can have six.” said Rusty eagerly.

“The same color or different colors.” Bubba asked the girl.

“Don’t matter.” said the woman, growing tired of her own game.

“Give me four.” said Bubba.  “Give me all of them blue boys.”

Joey complied.

“That’ll be four dollars.” said Rusty, hiding the sign behind his back.  “Four balloons for a dollar each.  Four dollars.”

Joey looked at Rusty.  “Four dollars.” he said, almost inaudibly, a little afraid.

The woman laughed out loud.

Bubba fumbled in his wallet.  “You got change of a five?” he asked.  “Them other girls took all my little money.  Ain’t got nothing smaller.  All the little money I got is this five.”

“Poor baby.” said the woman, taking Bubba’s wallet, looking in it carefully, leaving him holding the five.  “Don’t worry about them other girls.  Mama’s going to take care of you now.”

Rusty put his hands in the front pockets of his pants, turning them inside out, looking for change, finding nothing.  He shrugged sheepishly.

“Ain’t got no change.” said Joey.  “You’re too late.  Just a little bit too late.”

The woman looked at the two old men carefully.  “You guys had anything to eat today?”

“No, ma’am.” said Rusty.

Joey shook his head.

“You going to spend this money on food and not on wine?” the woman asked Joey.

“Yes, ma’am.” said Joey, looking down at the sidewalk.

The woman laughed aloud once again.  “Sure you are.” she said.  “Give it to them, Bubba.  Give them the whole five dollars.  So they can buy some good whiskey instead of whatever shit they usually drink.”

Bubba handed Joey the five-dollar bill.  “Spend it on good bottle of whiskey.” he said, finding his flask again, trying to drink from it and surprised to find it empty.  “Not the usual…”

“Yes, sir.” said Joey.  “I’ll save the change for you.  You come back later and gets it.”

“Keep it.  Buy good bottle of whiskey.” said Bubba, as the woman pulls him away down the street toward the Park, holding the four blue balloons and his wallet in her hand.

The girl turned and looked back over her shoulder at Joey and Rusty as she walked away.  She smiled at them, and looked at the fireman, and shook her head in disbelief.  Rusty dropped the sign, and stooped to pick up his bicycle from out of the street.  “I’ll go get it.” he said.  “Where you want to drink it?”

“Still got some more balloons for sale.” said Joey.

“I saw Mister Charles move a minute ago.  While that girl was here.  – You sell the rest.  Give me the money.  I’ll go get it.”

Joey gave Rusty the five-dollar bill, which Rusty crumpled in his hand, holding on to it tightly.  “Where you want to drink it?” he repeated.

“Bring it to back here.  We can drink it in the alley next to the Courthouse.  Mister Charles don’t care if we drink it there.  Not really.”

Rusty pedaled away rapidly on the clanking, rattling old bicycle, steering with one hand, holding the money tightly in his other fist.  “I’ll be back quick.” he yelled over his shoulder.

Joey picked up the sign from where Rusty dropped it.  “Could tie it on a string round my neck.” he said.  “Never has to talks to the peoples ever again.”

Joey sat down on the curb where Rusty’s bike had rested, the three remaining balloons floating above him.  He did not notice the old couple shuffling toward him from the direction of the Courthouse.  “Excuse me, sir.” said the old man.  “Could you help us please?  We’re trying to get home.”

“We live on Eighth Avenue.” said the old woman.

Joey stood up, alarmed, holding the sign out in front of him, but he didn’t say anything.

The old man read the sign.  “Sorry.” he said.  “We couldn’t buy a balloon even if we wanted one.  – They’re very pretty, of course, but…”

“They’re lovely.” said the old woman.  “But I’m afraid we’re lost.  Can you help us?”

Joey looked around worriedly, trying to remember Eighth Avenue.  His eyes settled on the recessed doorway in which Officer Charles was hidden.  “Someone over here can help you.” he said, haltingly, walking across the street toward the doorway.

“Where?  I don’t see anyone.” said the old man.

Joey walked into the doorway, calling softly.  “Mister Officer Charles, Sir?”

Joey tapped the old policeman lightly on the shoulder.

“Yes.  What is it, Joe?” said an old calm voice abruptly.

“These people is losted, Officer Charles.” said Joey.  “They needs help.”

“Where are you trying to get to, folks?” said the old policeman gently, blinking as he stepped from the shadows into the light.

“Home.” said the old man.

“Eighth Avenue, sir.” said the old woman.

“That’s a long way from here, folks.” said Charles.  “Can I call a cab for you, or call someone to come get you?”

“No.  We’ll walk.  We always walk.” said the man.

“It’s the only exercise we get these days.” said the woman.  “And it’s good for us, too.”

“It’s a long way.” said Charles.  “But I’ll walk part of the way with you.  Get you started on the right foot.”

The officer and the old couple began to move away from Joey down the street.  “Thank you, sir.” the old man called back to Joey.

“Thank you, kind sir.” said the old woman.

“Just a minute, please.” said Joey, then added haltingly.  “Finished…with…selling… balloons…tonight.  – And the last guy gived me too much money.  – So here…would you both take…could I gived you both a balloon, please?  — Don’t want to sell no more balloons tonight.”

The old couple stopped.  Officer Charles walked on a few steps and stopped also, but did not turn around.

“Yes, if you want to give us a balloon, we’ll take it.” said the old man.  “It might help us get home.”

Joey struggled with the tangled strings of the three remaining balloons for a moment, but could not untangle them.  “Here, let me help you.” said the woman, carefully pulling the strings apart.  “I always have that problem with my knitting.”

Joey smiled shyly at her, and looked at the balloons, one red and two white.  He gave the old couple two balloons, keeping a single white one for himself.

“Thank you, again, sir.” said the old woman, kissing Joey’s cheek.

“You’re welcome.” said Joey, blushing, but grinning broadly.

The old couple followed Officer Charles away down the street.  Joey sat down again on the curb, looking up at the single white balloon.  He played with it for a moment, pulling it down to him and letting it go to fly back up in the air over his head.  He was very tired, but smiling broadly.  “She kissed on me.” he said to himself, happily.  “She kissed on me.”

“Last night.

In the mirror.  In the big mirror in the hotel bathroom.

You were big.  Remember.

You still look good.

Big.

Women in that book all tangled up together.

Wonder what they’re thinking?

‘Wish this bitch would get her cunt out of my face and they’d pay me, so I could get the fuck out of here.’

Some of them must like it though.

Or else they wouldn’t do it.

That one.  She looked like she liked it.

Susan.  Efficient Susan.  Wonder if she would?

Maybe.

She might like it.

Lisa would like it.

Every trip a different wife.  One way to look at it.  Road trip wife.

‘Stroke book.’  When did I first hear it called a ‘stroke book’?

Was it in the navy?

Susan.

Funny thing.  ‘Stroke book.’

Think about Susan.  And Lisa.  Don’t think about Monica at all. 

Don’t think about the kids.  Think about Lisa.  And Susan.  Secretary Susan. 

Hell, Susan could almost be one of my kids.

Kids.

Goat children.  Accidental children.

And me the goat.  An accident.  ‘I forgot to take my pill.’

Children.

‘I believe in plastic.’

‘Go down south for a while and lay in the sun.’  Sexy Lisa.

But I don’t want to buy drinks for everybody all night long and stay sober.  And make sure all the customers get home safe.  Let somebody else buy the goddamn drinks tonight.  And you got to get home safe by your own damn self.

That bastard.  Preacher bastard.  No different than anybody else.

Pretending to be something he’s not. 

Bottle of good bourbon and a good stroke book.  Get you through any road trip.

Sexy Susan.  Pretty Lisa.  Maybe they could do each other and let me watch.  And then I could join in all big. 

Road trips almost over now though.  Never really cheated.  Not really.  Almost maybe.  But never really cheated.

A blowjob, that’s not cheating.  That’s not sex. That’s not intercourse.

Lisa.  Lisa.  Lisa.

Mona Lisa.  Moaner Lisa. 

And a good stroke book.

Too good.  Forty years old.  Too good.  Die young.  Heart attack.

Big success though!

Vice President (Sales).

V.P. (Sales).

SUE—DOUGH, V.P. (Sales)

Vice President, SUE—DOUGH Corporation.

Heart Attack.  Stroke Book.

Pretty Susan.  Sexy Lisa.

Dresses nice Susan.

Sweet Sue.

‘Susan, where’s that file?’

‘You got it in your hand, Mister B.’

I got it in my hand now, too, Susan.  Sweet Susan.  Pretty Sue.”