Chapter 11 Chapter 10

When Larry woke up, he was still drunk, his mouth tasted like a potty for a child, and his mind felt like he was in a place he shouldn't have been. It was a single bed with two pillows on it.He smelled fried meat.He sat up and looked out the window, it was another gray sky in New York.The first thing he remembered was the horrible thing they'd done to Berkeley the night before: making it filthy and smoky.Then the situation of last night began to emerge, and he realized that it was not Berkeley in front of him, but Fordham.He was in a second-floor apartment on Tremont Avenue, not far from the central square, and his mother must have wondered where he had been last night.Did he ever call her?Really should just find any excuse, no matter how flimsy it is.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he found a crumpled Winston case with one last precious cigarette in it.He lit it with a green lighter.A smell of horse manure.There was the constant sound of meat frying from the kitchen outside, like radio jamming. The girl's name was Maria, and she said she was... what was she doing?Dental hygienist, is such a profession, right?Larry didn't know how much she knew about health care, but she was an eloquent speaker.He vaguely remembered being hugged eagerly like a big drumstick.In the living room, on the awful stereo, Crosby, Stiles, and Nash were singing about how much water had passed under the bridge, how much time we had wasted.If he remembered correctly, Maria hadn't wasted much time.She was thrilled when she found out that he was that Larry Underwood.At some point during the night of carousing, they were still running out, looking for a record store that was still open, and buying a copy of "Baby, Are You Satisfied With Your Man?" " record?

Moaning slightly, he tried to skip yesterday's tedious beginning and go straight to the feverish, impatient end. He remembered that the Yankees were out of town.When he woke up, his mother had gone to work.But there was a note on the kitchen table with the Yankees' schedule: "Larry: Tell you, the Yankees won't be back until July 1st, and they have two games on July 4th. If If you have nothing to do that day, how about taking mom to the baseball field? I'm going to buy some beer and hot dogs. There are eggs and sausage in the refrigerator, and coffee rolls and bread that you may prefer. Take care of yourself and kiss you." Followed by Typical Alice Underwood postscript: "Your cronies are probably gone by now, and it would be nice to get rid of those scoundrels, but I think Buddy Max might be at the printing office in Stricker Street Work."

Just thinking about that note was enough to scare him back.There is no "Dear" in front of his name, and there is no "Love You" in front of her signature.She doesn't believe in deceitful nonsense.The real stuff is in the fridge.Sometimes when he slept away the fatigue of the journey, she would have gone shopping for all his favorite things.Her memory is surprisingly good.How could she afford a can of good ham and two sticks of real butter with her salary?Two 6-packs of Coca-Cola.And mortadella.Roast beef doused in Alice's exclusive sauce, a recipe she won't tell even her son; a gallon of Barrow's ice cream in the freezer.There are also cheesecakes, the kind with strawberries on top.

In desperation, he went into the bathroom. In addition to reducing the burden on his bladder, he also had to check the medicine cabinet.There was a brand-new toothbrush hanging on a shelf, and all his childhood toothbrushes, side by side.In the cabinet was a pack of disposable razors, a jar of shaving oil, and even a bottle of cologne. "It's not expensive," she would say.Larry seemed to have heard her, though the smell was nothing compared to the spent bills. He stood there, looking at these things, and then took out a new tube of toothpaste and held it in his hand.No "Honey," no "Love, Mom," just a new toothbrush, a new tube of toothpaste, a bottle of cologne.He thought, sometimes, true love is silent and imperceptible.He started brushing his teeth, wondering if someone was singing somewhere.

The dentist came in, wearing nothing but a pink nylon petticoat. "Hi, Larry," she greeted.She was short, with something of a Sandra Dee, her breasts facing him proudly without sagging.What about that old joke?By the way, Lieutenant, she has a pair of .38s and a real gun.Haha, that's interesting.He'd come from 3,000 miles away to mess with Sandra Dee for a night. "Hi," he replied, and sat up in bed.He was completely naked, but his clothes were at the foot of the bed.He starts to dress. "I've got a dressing gown, you can wear it if you want. I'm making smoked fish and bacon."

Smoked fish and bacon?His stomach started to twitch. "No, honey, I have to go. I have to see someone." "Oh hey, you can't just leave me like this..." "Really, it's important." "Hey, I'm important too!" she began to yell harshly.Larry's head was buzzing.For some reason, he remembered Fred Fringston's screaming at the top of his lungs. "You're showing your Bronx, honey," he said. "What do you mean?" She put her hand on her hip, and the slippery spatula protruded from her clenched fist like an iron flower.Her tits dangled charmingly, but Larry wasn't fascinated.He put on his trousers and buttoned them up. "So I'm from the Bronx. Do you think I'm black? What do you hate about the Bronx? What kind of guy are you, a racist?"

"Nothing, I don't think so," he replied, walking up to her barefoot. "Listen, the person I have to see is my mom. I've been in this town for two days and I didn't call her last night or otherwise... no?" he added. , with a glimmer of hope. "You didn't call anyone," she replied sullenly. "I'm sure it wasn't your mother." He walked back to the bed and slipped his feet into his loafers. "It's my mother, really. She works in the Chemical Bank building as a housekeeper. Oh, she's probably cleaning floors these days."

"I'm sure you're not Larry Underwood who made that record either." "You believe in your needs. I must go." "You despicable bastard!" She stared angrily, "I have made so much food, what do you want me to do?" "How about throwing it out the window?" he suggested. She yelled angrily, and threw the spatula in her hand at him.Had this happened any other day in his life, the spatula would not have hit him.One of the earliest laws of physics is that if a spatula is thrown from an angry oral hygienist, the trajectory of the spatula must not be straight.Only this time is an exception, although it does not violate this law.The spatula flipped somersaulting, up and down, and lunged, hitting Larry on the forehead.The injury was not serious, and as he bent to pick up the spatula he saw two drops of blood on the carpet.

He took two steps forward, spatula in hand. "I should beat you with this thing!" he growled. "Of course," she said, shrinking back and crying. "Why not? Big star. Take advantage and leave. I thought you were a good person. You are not a good person." A few tears slid down her cheeks, fell from her chin, and fell on her chest.Fascinated, he followed one of the teardrops with his eyes as it flowed across the right breast and settled on the nipple.This teardrop acts as a magnifying glass.He could see the pores, and a black hair growing from the inside of the areola.Jesus Christ, I'm going crazy, he thought in amazement.

"I have to go," he said.His white cloth jacket lay at the foot of the bed.He picked it up and put it on his shoulder. "You're not a nice guy!" she yelled at him as he walked into the living room. "I just treat you as a good person to be with you!" The scene in the living room made him want to groan.On the couch are at least two dozen copies of Baby, Are You Satisfied With Your Man? ’, he had a vague memory of being hugged eagerly on that couch.On the turntable of the dusty portable stereo, there were three more of the same record.On the opposite wall is a giant poster of Ryan O'Neal and Ali McGraw.Being hugged means you never have to say sorry lol.Jesus, I'm going crazy. She was standing in the bedroom doorway, still weeping, her petticoat making her look all the more pathetic.He saw a gash on one of her calves, where she had scratched it while shaving it. "Listen, call me," she said, "I'm not crazy." He should have said "definitely" and the matter would have come to an end.But he didn't, and he heard a maniacal laugh from his own mouth, and said, "Your smoked fish is on fire." Screaming at him, she jumped up and across the room, only to trip over a cushion on the floor.She crawled forward a few steps and knocked over a half-empty milk bottle with her arm, which knocked over an empty Scotch bottle next to it.My God, thought Larry, how did they all come together? He quickly got away and walked downstairs.When he was only six steps away from the front door, she was heard shouting down the hall upstairs: "You're not a nice person! You're not!" He slammed the door shut, and the mist and moist warm air surrounded him, mingled with the scent of trees in spring and exhaust from cars, smelling really good after getting rid of the smell of frying meat and stale cigarette smoke.The filter was the only thing left of the odd cigarette, and he threw the butt into the gutter and took a deep breath of fresh air.It's great to be away from the madness.Come home with us and forget about the good old days when we're... Behind him, an upper window slammed open, and he knew at once what was about to happen. "Bad luck!" she screamed down to him below.A true Bronx street slut. "Hope you fucking get run over by the subway! You're not a pop star! You're so nasty in bed! You're so vile! Smash your ass with this! Take this to your mother, vile!" Milk bottles whizzed down from the second-floor bedroom window.Larry moved away.The bottle fell to the bottom of the ditch and shattered, like a bomb exploding, sending glass shards flying.The scotch bottle followed, somersaulting swiftly, smashing close to his feet. In any other line of work, her aim would have been terrifying.He sprinted, one arm to his head.This madness will never end. Behind him came the last drawn-out bray, a powerful Bronx tone, a victor's cheer: "Kiss my ass, you bastard!" He had rounded the corner , Standing on the overpass of the expressway, leaning forward, looking at the vehicles coming and going under the bridge, laughing hysterically and trembling all over. "Can't you hold on better?" he said, unaware that he had called out. "Oh, you, you should have acted better. It wasn't a great scene. You're such a piece of shit." He realized he'd said it, and burst out laughing again.Suddenly he felt a sea of ​​nausea in his stomach, and he couldn't help closing his eyes tightly. He treated the girl like an old whore this morning after the fraternity hall. You are not a nice person. No, no. But at that big reception, when the people protested his decision to leave, he threatened to call the police, which he really wanted to do.isn't it?Yes, yes, he wanted to call the police.Most of them don't know each other, it's true, and he'd care if they stepped on a mine.Wayne Stucky, the bastard, stood in the doorway with his arms folded, like a judge who'd kept the jury from reaching a unanimous decision on a big day. He opened his eyes, left the overpass, looking for a taxi, oh yes. (Wounded friend fell for it. If Sal was such an important friend, why was he the first to jump out and kiss his ass?) I'm an idiot, and no one likes to watch an idiot brighten up.This is the truth. You are not a nice person. "I'm a good guy," he said angrily. "Whatever it is, who's going to do the business?" A taxi came up and Larry gestured for it to stop.The taxi seemed to hesitate before pulling over, and Larry remembered the blood on his forehead, and before the driver could change his mind, he opened the back door and got in. "Manhattan. Park Avenue Chemical Bank Building," he said. The taxi pulls into traffic. "Your forehead is cut, my friend," said the driver. "Some girl threw a spatula at me," replied Larry casually. The driver gave him an unnatural smile of sympathy, and drove on. Larry leaned back comfortably in the seat, trying to figure out how to explain his whereabouts to his mother last night.