“What’s going on?” I asked.
Eddie and Christine apologized for the incident with his car. He said he made it up to me by firing a shot that scared off my attackers.
“We’re even,” he chuckled.
Suddenly there was a commotion and a scuffle at the entrance of the pool hall. Eddie yelled out in Cantonese, and Christine grabbed my arm, and whisked me to the far end of the room.
The shouting had to do with Eddie and a group of rival gangsters that had just entered the pool hall.
The situation escalated, at times profane, and in English. Christine shouted back, her face turning red with anger. Eddie drew his gun in response to his rivals drawing theirs. I was standing between them, in the line of fire. So much for the apology.
I stepped back into a corner. It was an argument amongst Chinese gangsters, and I didn’t want to get involved. But Carlos wasn’t like me. He failed to remain neutral, stood next to Eddie, and brandished his jeweled gun. I could see Carlos’s thoughts in his posture, in his eyes, and in his stone face. He saw Eddie as a friend. Carlos was loyal to a fault.
The manager came out from his office, shotgun in hand, yelling at everyone to get out of his pool hall. Sam and I walked out first, through the side exit. We stood on a side street, waiting for Carlos.
The shouting grew louder, and shots were fired a minute later. A stampede of people rushed out. The rival gang ran out. Carlos ran out as well; Christine followed, but there was no sign of Eddie.
Christine and I went back inside, and found Eddie standing over a dead body. Christine tried to revive the man without success.
Eddie looked panicked. Christine yelled at him and Eddie took her by the arm and bolted out of the pool hall. I ran out and headed to the subway.
When I reached home, I threw up in my bathroom, sickened by the smell of death in the pool hall. The sight of a dead gangster bleeding on the floor was etched in my memory.
Svetlana was at lunch the next day.
“I didn’t see you yesterday,” I said.
“I was home. Felt sick, threw up. Maybe I’m just sick of all the nonsense.” Maybe we both had the same virus. She smiled and thanked me for taking her home. She kissed me on the cheek.
“It must be going around; I was sick as well. What are you doing after school?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Do you like cheesecake?”
“I love cheesecake.” She left the cafeteria.
I was intrigued by Svetlana, and if Delancey didn’t want to speak anymore, then so be it. I was now guilt free and able to hang out with Svetlana.
Sam and Carlos approached me as she walked away. Sam said, “I guess the Cold War is getting warmer.”
Carlos placed his hand on my shoulder and sang “From Russia with Love.” We all watched Svetlana walk away. It was the highlight of my day.
“Carlos,” I said, “Why did you get involved in Eddie’s argument?”
“You know, for some reason, it was like an involuntary reaction. I couldn’t just watch. I don’t know Eddie that well, but I had a gun on me, the same one from Halloween, and I chose sides. It’s like a loyalty thing; you wouldn’t understand.”
“I know all about loyalty, Carlos. Trust me. I’m loyal to people who deserve my loyalty.” My loyalty to Mr. Zoose might have cost me Delancey.
“Never fight a land war in Asia,” Sam said, quoting General MacArthur.
Junior’s Restaurant was not a national landmark, but it definitely was a Brooklyn landmark. Svetlana was waiting for me inside when I arrived and seemed genuinely happy to see me. She smiled and we embraced. I ordered a couple of cheesecakes, and some coffee.
“I’m glad you took me home the other day,” she said. I assumed she was referring to the kiss.
“Me too. It was great, and I would like to do it again,” I replied.
“Do what again?” she asked coyly.
“Take you home.”
“You can take me home any time you want,” she said, causing me to blush. “I’m done with him; I’m moving on.”
She preferred to be called Lana. She didn’t look like a Lana. The waitress came over with our cheesecakes.
“Lana, how long have you lived in Brighton Beach?” I inquired.
“About five years. My family came here about six years ago. For a year we lived in Bensonhurst. Where do you live?” she asked.
“In Astoria. I’ve been there my whole life.”
I learned that her family had left Russia for Brooklyn, and had lived in France for a short time. Her father had been an engineer in Russia, but now worked a mover for a large moving company in Brooklyn. Her mother had been a teacher in Russia, and now worked as a receptionist in a doctor’s office.
I had never really noticed her beauty in school, although we were in the same history class. She was hard to miss, because of her slight Russian accent, and also because she was so voluptuous. I must have been blind until now.
“What are you going to do after graduation?” I asked.
“I’m going to Long Island University to study pharmacy.” Why couldn’t I be this decisive with my future, and why couldn’t I just commit to a career choice instead of going back and forth? But I didn’t want to seem confused or lacking direction when she asked, “What about you?”
“I’ve been accepted to State College. Probably major in business.” I hesitated, and then said, “But who knows, I may join the Navy.”
Smiling, she said, “America doesn’t need any more soldiers to fight the Russians. Things are changing fast in Russia. Why business? You go to Stanton; why not study engineering or become a doctor?”
“You mean like everyone else? Well, I really can’t see myself in medical school or dental school or pharmacy school. And engineering is…not exactly my cup of tea. I plan on making a lot of money, and I think the business field is probably going to get me there.”
“You go to Stanton, the best public high school in New York. This school produces more doctors than any other public high school in the nation. This school produces more physicists, astronomers, dentists, engineers, than any other school in the country. Why not go into the sciences?” Svetlana had drunk the Stanton Kool Aid.
“I don’t want to be locked into a future and twenty years from now, I’m miserable and feel that I wasted my entire life in a career in the sciences or engineering. That’s not for me. Just because I go to Stanton, doesn’t mean I have to be like everyone else.”
Svetlana laughed. I asked her what was so funny.
“You know what you are? You are a dreamer, a naive dreamer. You probably day dream about your future and see yourself making all this money in business. Business is risky…but if you go to medical school or engineering school, then you are almost guaranteed a good job with a good salary in the future. Why take all this risk and end up with nothing? Why go to Stanton to be a round peg in a square hole?” She looked at me expectantly.
“You know, this is America, and not Russia. We don’t have to play it safe, because risks can be taken with great rewards. If I wanted to have no opportunity to make it big, then I would move to Russia.”
“You’re all talk. If you mean what you say, then you would pursue a career in music. You have talent; you just don’t have courage,” she smirked.
“Like the courage you had to pursue Mr. Zoose,” I smirked back.
I wasn’t sure how she would react, but when she stormed off, I knew she did not take it well. I may have come across a bit condescending. I may have come across as another product of the American propaganda machine, and another patriot during the Cold War. But I probably came across as a jerk. She walked to the exit, looked back at me, and seemed surprised that I wasn’t following.
I paid the bill, and walked toward her. She had tears in her eyes. I had never made a girl cry before. I apologized twice. She took my hand, and we embraced. Svetlana leaned in and kissed me. When I opened my eyes, the entire restaurant was staring. We had created a scene.
I was astonished to see Delancey sitting nearby with her friends. Tears welled up in her big, sad eyes. She had been there the entire time. I felt awful; the last thing I wanted was to hurt her. Later that night I tried calling Delancey, but there was no answer.
High school baseball season would soon be underway, and I needed to interview the coach and some of the players. I liked to write about how they trained, and what hours they kept. The academic workload at Stanton was challenging for everyone, but especially for the school’s athletes.
Julio Sease (or Yulee, as he was known) was taking batting practice. Not only was he the best hitter on the team, he was also the best pitcher on the team. Everyone knew who Yulee was, and everyone knew that his girlfriend was Penny, a gorgeous senior.
Yulee stood six feet six inches tall. His forearms were thick; veins popped up when he squeezed the bat. His wrists were twice as thick as mine, and ball after ball seemed to fly effortlessly into the outfield. A machine pitched baseballs at 90 miles per hour. Swing after swing was like watching perfection at work. Yulee’s stance was perfect; his follow through was exact, and the way he turned his waist so that his navel rotated with his enormous swing, generated more torque than any baseball player I had ever seen. The baseballs ricocheted deep into the outfield each time he connected. I was in awe.
“Yulee, any decision on college?” He had gotten the nickname Yulee in freshman year when his poor handwriting led a teacher to read his name that way. Everyone laughed, and the nickname stuck.
“I’ve been accepted at Annapolis and State schools. I have a visit scheduled for Annapolis this weekend. I should make a decision soon.” He spoke without missing a single pitch. His concentration was flawless, and I could see the reflection of the baseball in his eyes as his pupils dilated. I wondered if he was taking steroids or if he was the real deal.
John approached me; we were going to take the subway home together. Yulee took a break and John picked up the bat. John stepped into the batter’s box, and missed the first two pitches. By the third pitch, he was hitting the ball further than Yulee had. Pitch after pitch went flying into the outfield and beyond. I was amazed at John’s natural ability. After two dozen hits, John gave the bat back to Yulee and walked away.
“Who was that guy?” asked Yulee.
“That’s John, he’s a friend of mine.”
Yulee was planning to major in history.
“How do you know you want to be a historian?” I asked.
“Actually I don’t. I’d like to be a high ranking member of the Navy. Your friend is a pretty good hitter.”
I looked at the bulging veins in his biceps, his muscular build, and enormous calves, again wondering if Yulee was natural.
“What’s your point of view on the growing number of high school athletes taking pills to make them better?” I asked.
“I know why they do it. They want to get scouted; they want to look good. They want to get scholarships. Off the record, it’s mostly the football guys, but I’ve seen guys on the baseball team using the juice. It’s not something I would do. I don’t need it.” I believed him. I ended the interview and thanked him.
John and I walked toward the subway. There were more Chinese gangsters than usual today. They were watching the students of Stanton leave the building.
John asked about Svetlana. I told him that she was not my girlfriend.
“That was some scene, kissing her in the restaurant. I think Sam is a little jealous,” John said.
“John, how did you know that I kissed her at Junior’s?”
“People talk. High school is a magnetic field for rumors.” John was right.
“That sounds like Sam; he’s not really capable of being happy for other people. He just wants whatever I have.” I had come to expect it from Sam.
“Did you ever play baseball?” I asked.
“Just some pick up games in elementary school.” John shrugged.
“I think you really missed an opportunity there. You could’ve been better than Yulee.”
“So what? What’ll it get you anyway? Baseball is for the birds. If Yulee doesn’t get a scholarship, then what? The chances of making the pros’ are slim. My dad says it’s a waste of time,” John said with a tone of regret. “It’s too late anyway. I’m graduating soon.”
If John had had supportive parents his life would’ve been so different. If he’d had parents that didn’t call him stupid, his life would’ve been so much better. He may have earned an athletic scholarship. He would have had a lifetime of high school memories, made new friends, and his development would have been shaped differently. I wasn’t physically gifted, but John was, and it was a shame for him to not utilize that potential.
Yulee was right to ask who John was, because he was an unknown. I would hate to come back for my twenty year reunion and not have anyone remember who I was. I would hate to be an unrecognizable loser.
Chapter 16
On the subway, a disheveled person was sleeping in the corner seat. His face was obscured, but his hair and clothing looked familiar. It was Sal. I shook him. He did not wake immediately, but I kept shaking him until he came to.
“Sal, what are you doing here?” I asked. He smelled like a homeless person.