Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn (21 page)

“So, now you want me to exonerate him because he does work for you?”

“No! I want you to exonerate him because Willy Goodwin admitted to me in my office that it was him all along. The darts were his.”

“Damn! Why can’t we leave this alone? What’s the big deal?”

“Diego’s a good kid with a future. He’s already proved himself with good grades. Why do you want to brand him with horse shit like this on his record, when I just gave you the name of the kid that was responsible?”

“Because, I have better things to do with my time. Hello?…hello?…hello…James? Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here. Look, John, I don’t want to go over your head, but if I have to I will.”

“For this lousy crap? Don’t you have better things to do with your time?”

“This
is
that ‘better thing’, John, and it’s not only important to Diego, it’s important to me. What are you planning to do with this, because if we can’t resolve it over the phone, I’ll be forced to make a call to the superintendent’s office?”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll take care of it. I’ll see that Goodwin kid in my office first thing tomorrow.”

“And lay off him, he didn’t have to come forward. The worst thing you could do right now would be to break his trust by punishing him. Make him write an essay or something easy. There’s no need to go any farther than that.”

“Yeah, all right James. I’ll take care of it.”

“I got your word on it, right, John?”

“Of, course! I said I’d take care of it.”

Later that afternoon, Diego’s apartment

“Come een, Meester Reechards.”

“Hi, Ana. Diego around?”

“He go to dee store for Maria. He coming down soon. coffee?”

“No thanks. Mind if I sit?”

“Oh…I’m sorry! Please! Sientate!”

It was hard for Richards to focus on conversation while looking around the room. The plastic curtains and dated, cheaply crafted furniture, pulled at his heartstrings. ‘Though neat with everything in its place, even the lone, frameless picture of a tropical beach scene hanging on the wall, spoke of paucity and the few basic essentials present.

“I need to see Mr. Jackson, but I…don’t know where he lives.”

“He leeve someplace on Bergen Street. Diego can show ju.”

“You won’t mind if I wait?”

“No, dat ees okay. No coffee?”

“I’m fine, Ana, thank you?”

The drab hall to the Jackson’s rear room smelled stale and musty. It took Richards a few seconds to accustom himself to the dim light of the hallway’s 25 watt bulb. The narrow walls had been painted a dull gray sometime back during the cretaceous period with no thought as to a contrasting trim color.

“Is that their door?”

“Yes, that’s it,” said Diego.

“Mr. Jackson!”

“Glory be! That you, Mista Richards?” said, Bill, from inside the room.

The door opened.

“Well come on in. Good to see yawl…and Diego, too?”

James Richards stepped inside and was taken aback at what he saw. Though clean, the sad condition and day to day existence in a room that was not only a living room, but a bedroom and kitchen all wrapped in one, was appalling and far worse than what he’d seen at Diego’s.

“Embarrased for not only himself, but for Beulah as well, Bill remained proud and spoke with energetic enthusiasm. “Miss Beulah, this here be the assemblyman I been talkin’ ‘bout. This is ma wife, Mista Richards.”

“Please to meet you, Mrs. Jackson.”

“Oh, shesh! Just Beulah, that’s all.” She waved at Diego. “Git on over here and give Momma Beulah some sugar.”

Following a tight hug, she wiped her hands on her apron and shook Mr. Richard’s.

Bill said, “What all brings two fine, decent folk like yawl to visit our humble abode?”

“The reason for our visit is because I have some good news. Mr. Ratzfarb agreed to clear Diego of all wrong doing concerning the dart incident.”

“Glory be! That sho is good to hear.”

“You get most of the credit, Mr. Jackson, and I know Diego especially appreciates what you did for him.”

“We got to celebrate,” said Beulah. Want some corn braid?”

“Actually, I’m heading home for dinner, but I hear your corn bread has quite a reputation.”

“Let me send you on home with some.”

“That’s kind of you, Beulah. I’ll have it with my evening coffee.”

The following day

Gowanus Housing project

211 Hoyt Street

Property Managers office

Phone ringing.

Clerk, “Hello?”

“Hello, this is Assemblyman James Richards from the 52
^nd
District, downtown. I’d like to know the procedure for applying for an apartment there. I’m speaking for a gentleman acquaintance of mine.”

“Yes, no problem, Mr. Richards. He’ll have to fill out an application. It will go under review and if everything is in order and he qualifies, he’ll go on a list.”

“How long is the list?”

“Is this for a 1 bedroom or a 2 bedroom?”

“A 1 bedroom.”

“For a 1 bedroom, the waiting list runs for four years, and presently, where up to number…hold on Mr. Richards while I get that for you. This will take a minute. Do you want me to call you back?”

“No, I’ll wait, thank you.”

Less than one minute later.

“Hello? Are you still there, Mr. Richards?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

Papers rustling.

“Presently, where up to number 2892 on a list of…of…”

More papers rustling.

“4,557 applicants.”

“That’s crazy. Why so many?”

“This is a nice project we have here. It’s quite desirable. We’re near downtown and the subway line is only a few blocks away, so the commute to Manhattan is a short ride of only a few stations. Besides that, the cost for our city apartments are far below that of market value, but I’m sure you are already aware of that, Mr. Richards.”

“Yes, that’s the reason for the call. Isn’t there some way that you and I could perhaps circumnavigate that little time consuming inconvenience?”

“None that I know of, rules being what they are, that is.”

A long pause.

“Mr. Richards?”

“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I was just thinking. So there’s no other way to do this?”

“Not through me. Would you like to talk to the project manager? I can switch you there now, If you like?”

“Yes, and thanks for your help.”

“Project manager, Whelans speaking.”

“Good Morning. This is Assemblyman James Richards from the 52
^nd
District, downtown, calling. I have an acquaintance and his wife who are in dire need of immediate housing. I know there are procedures at hand, but if there is…”

“I’m sorry to have to interrupt you, Mr. Richards, but we do have a waiting list.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that, but the next list is probably, what, a few years down the road?”

“That’s right, and there’s no way I can tell you where on that new list your acquaintance will be placed. The wait could go for as long as another four to eight years from now.”

“Four to eight years? I don’t know if they have that much time left on this earth. These are elderly people, Mr. Whelans.”

“Believe me, there are a lot of sad stories out there, and I’ve heard them all.”

“I’m sure you have. But you see, Mr. Whelans, we have a real health issue here. The place they live in is crawling with vermin.”

“Like a lot of other apartments in the city, Mr. Richards.”

“Yes, but allow me to finish, please. These are elderly people. They live in one room. The bed is in the same place as the kitchen. The bathroom’s in the hall…”

“Like a lot of other people out there.”

“All right…all right, that may be true, but could you imagine your own mother living out her last years in squalor?”

“My mother prepared herself for old age. She married well and invested well. That’s why she and my father have what they…”

“Wait! Hold on a second! That’s not the same thing! These are poor, colored folks from the Deep South. What opportunities do you think they had growing up in the early 1900’s, with no education and having to go out in the work force at an age when you were probably riding your little bicycle with training wheels and looking forward to summers off from school, not having to break your back…”

“Okay…okay, you’re absolutely right. I agree. I didn’t mean to upset you. I apologize. Sometimes, I even forget, myself, about the horrific lives some of these people have. Let’s face it. It’s all around us, but we can’t help everybody.”

“So, what are you saying? Can you help them, or not?”

“Not with the present structure we have. Look, I really would like to help you, especially with you being a public official, but I just don’t know…”

“So, that’s it, there’s nothing you can do?”

“Oh…uh…I’m not exactly saying that…no. How about, I say what I’m about to say, in different way?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose you and I start a new conversation that has nothing to do with what we just talked about, and maybe we could go from there.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, but go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Yes…good! Mr. Richards, I’ve been having the hardest time with the zoning Department. For years, I’ve been back and forth with them trying to get a permit so I can have a third bathroom installed in my limestone.”

“Where’s the location?”

“Park Slope?”

“Park Slope? Where in Park Slope is it?”

“12 Street and Prospect Park West.”

“That’s right at the edge of my district. I live on Union Street between 5
^th
and 6
^th
. We’re neighbors!”

“Well I’ll be darned? So, Mr. Richards…is there any way you can help me with that?”

“The permit! Of course! That won’t be a problem. Give me your address and I’ll get on the phone right now to that department. I’ll get you that permit. As long as you have the square footage, I don’t see why they’re giving you such a hard time.”

“It’s the Landmarks Preservation Commission and their historical bullshit that’s throwing a monkey wrench into this whole thing.”

“I didn’t get your first name, by the way?”

“Tom!”

“Tom, I’m James. I don’t know why they’re giving you such a hard time. As far as I know, they only have a say as to the outside of the structure. I don’t see why they’re troubling you with this. Let me make that call and I’ll get back to you as soon as I get word.”

An hour and a half later

“Project Manager, Whelans speaking.”

“Yes, hello, it’s James Richards, again.”

“James, I’ve been waiting for your call with baited breath.”

“Good news! It’s in the mail! I never did get your address, so I took the liberty of having them mail it to your office.”

“Great! That’s fine, thank you. My wife will be so pleased to hear that.”

“Good! Say, since we’re neighbors, why don’t you and the mrs. stop by for cocktails this evening. I’ll get the fireplace going and we can play Scrabble. Do you play?”

“My wife does. Yes, sure, we’re not doing anything.”

“So…um…what’s going to happen now with my two acquaintances?”

“Don’t worry, James. I already have that all figured out. You can see the place tonight. It’s just been renovated and painted, and it’s on the second floor of an elevated building. My head clerk caught it just in time. Another day and it would have been assigned to someone on the list.”

Gowanus Housing Project: Building 8, APT 2B

That evening

“Are you ready, Beulah?” asked James Richards.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I reckon.”

A young girl from the office handed her the key.

Beulah nervously inserted it into the key hole with shaking fingers. She twisted the door knob and opened the door to the smell of fresh paint. Beulah, Bill, Assemblyman Richards, Diego and the Puerto Rican girl from the office, all stepped inside. Large, west facing casement windows defined the living room with an expansive view of a tree-lined walkway one story below. Newly laid school-room tile graced the floor.

Beulah started to cry.

“Now, don’t be cryin’ like a fat girl sittin’ home on prom night. That’s only goin’ to start yo’ Daddy in on it, and I ain’t about to shame masalf in front of Mr. Richardson.” Bill grabbed her hand and walked her into the kitchen.

“It’s yeller, Poppa. I always wanted a yeller kitchen. An’ will you look at that? Glory be!” She opened the door to the refrigerator. “Look how big this ice box is, Poppa? You see the size of this here?”

Bill said, “We ain’t neva lived in a place like this. I don’t know what to say that’d be fittin’, Mr. Richards?”

“I have all the appreciation I need just watching the two of you. Come take a look at this, your own bathroom. It’s that door right there. By the way, your monthly obligation will be far less than what you were paying for that room on Bergen Street.”

Beulah rubbed her eyes. “Oh, Lord have mercy, Mr. Richards. And for a palace like this here with our vera own private bathroom?”

Diego held the door open for her. Beulah looked inside and marveled at the glistening subway tiles and unblemished fixtures. “There ain’t a chip on nary a thang in here.”