Authors: Jerome Charyn
Paradise Man (29 page)
She brought him into the toilet. She didn’t examine the fixtures and the faucets. He held her from behind. He could taste her hair. She clutched the toilet seat. Holden’s socks were on the floor, near the PPK. He entered his darling like that first little bump of a dream.
Something bothered him. A noise he heard. The movement of a key. Or a dark scratch, as if the leopards had come down from that wall in Avignon. Holden walked out of the toilet with the PPK in his hand. But the leopards had already pounced.
Paul stood above him with the PPK. Holden was on the floor. He had a headache. Paul was in his undertaker’s suit. His voice was very sweet. “Holden, I’m not used to a blackjack. I had to borrow it from Dimitrios. Did I hit you too hard?”
“Not at all,” the Frog said, with blood under his ear. “I don’t have to ask you how you got in. You followed Fay.”
“Holden, I’m the district attorney.”
“In Queens you are. Not on Central Park West.”
“It’s all the same crib, Holden. Haven’t you learned that?”
“What is it you want?”
“Fay. Only Fay.”
“You can’t have her. I told you. We’re getting married.”
“You’re a ridiculous fellow. Sitting with your cock out. I could kill you, Holden, and swear it was self-defense.”
“You’d have to convince a jury.”
Paul looked at Holden with such contempt, the bumper began to feel lonely again. “Holden, you’re a hardened criminal, a psychopath, with God knows how many murders behind you.”
“But I had a stinking angel on my shoulder. The angel was you.”
“No jury would ever believe that. And you won’t be around to tell.”
“But Fay will.”
Paul started to laugh. “Fay has daughters to protect. She’ll grieve for you. I don’t doubt that. But she’d never put her family through the muck. Besides, she wouldn’t make a very good witness. She’s had a couple of breakdowns, Sidney.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“All right, Frog. I won’t. But you can’t win no matter what.”
“I’ll decide that,” Fay said, standing in one of Holden’s robes. Her face had a deep burn, as if she’d come out of the most brutal sun, rather than Sidney’s toilet. But Paul didn’t seem perturbed.
“Are you comfy, dear, in your new nest? I didn’t mind that rat’s palace down in Chelsea. It was Holden’s craphouse. But did you think I’d ever let you live with him out in the open? Among decent people? Dear, you don’t know me very well.”
“I know you, Paul,” she said. “Get out of this apartment.”
Paul kept laughing with his teeth. “I have Sidney’s gun. And if you come near me with such a temper, I’ll shoot his kneecaps off. He won’t be much good to you, dear. So get dressed like a quiet little girl and come with me.”
“I’m not coming with you, Paul. This is where I live. With Holden.”
“That’s preposterous,” Paul said. “You have nothing in common with him.”
“I had three semesters at Bernard Baruch,” Holden said, getting off his ass and dancing in front of the PPK.
“Did you study Milton? Or Shaw?” the district attorney asked, with a sneer on his face.
“I’m married to Milton,” Fay said. “And I don’t need him. I need Holden.”
And Paul’s eyes turned mean. He could have been a little boy robbed of his candy. “Then I’ll have to shoot your precious psychopath.”
Fay stood in front of Holden. But the Frog couldn’t let his own darling be his shield. He stepped outside the warm expanse of her body. “Go on, Paul. But make it good. Because if you don’t finish me with the first bullet, I swear I’ll shake you to death.”
Paul never bothered to look at the Frog. He watched Fay; her eyes were like a mirror to his own black life. Fay didn’t have the least regard or pity for him. He could neither woo her nor win her with Holden’s gun. Bumping Holden wouldn’t bring her back. There was a twitch in Paul’s cheek, like an animal under the skin.
Holden retrieved his PPK and marched into the toilet to put on a robe; when he returned to Paul, the twitch was gone. Sidney was the pope of this tower. And Paul was the ruler of Queens.
“I wouldn’t discuss this visit, old boy.”
Holden didn’t bite back. He let the district attorney have his little say.
Paul got onto the elevator and Holden went back to his darling. Fay swabbed Holden’s head with a bit of wet cotton. “I’m starving,” he told her.
“I’ll make some ratatouille,” his darling said. She was trembling, and Holden caressed her in the kitchen. “Ratatouille,” she said.
“But there’s no vegetables in the house ... and no coffee beans.”
“Then I’ll improvise.”
And Holden brought her suitcase into the bedroom while his darling searched the cupboards. The Frog had come home.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1987 by Jerome Charyn
cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa
978-1-4532-6638-0
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