The silence was awkward, and the chatter self-conscious, as they rode to Big Tims. Tyrone had made the arrangements and was thinkin of the dope theyd be havin in a few hours, not thinkin of nothin else much as he wasnt really personally involved in what was comin down. Marion was apprehensive. She was alive with many emotions, but they had gotten off before they left the house so it was all tolerable and everything was possible. She knew she could, and would, do whatever had to be done without any problem. Her only concern was that she didnt get burned, that Big Tim would give her dope like he promised. Sheeit, you doan have to worry about that. Big Tim never cop out. He tough but straight. Marion nodded and continued taking quick pokes on her cigarette thinking of holding that dope in her hand, her dope in her hand and she wouldnt have to worry about being sick in the morning.
Harry sat in the corner glancing out the window from time to time, and at Marion, trying to figure out what sort of attitude he should adopt, wondering how he should look and sound, what he should say . . . and what he should feel. Shit, he felt relief. They were going to get stuff without having to scuffle those cold ass streets . . . but that didnt sit just right. He didnt like the idea of Marion ballin this dude. Fuck it, whats the big deal. He sure as hell wasnt the first guy she ever balled. If she had to turn a few tricks to— No! No! She aint no fuckin hooker. Shes just getting some shit man. And anyway, what the fucks wrong with a chick ballin some guy? Thats her business. Shes free. Just like the rest of us. Free to do anything she fuckin wants man. Whats this fuckin Victorian horseshit? A lot of broads fuck their bosses and thats straight. They dont think thats rank. Shit! Fuckem! Right where they eat. They dont like it they can go piss up a fuckin rope. You do what has to be done. Thats all. Harry reached over and started rubbing the back of Marions head, Its alright with me and if they dont dig it thats their fuckin problem, it sure as hell aint mine. Marion turned her head slightly and glanced at Harry, out of the corner of her eye, for a second, then continued to look ahead, looking through the glass partition and the windshield of the cab. She felt Harrys hand and wondered if she was supposed to do or say something. Was she supposed to feel something about Harry? Was she supposed to feel sorry for him? for her? Was she supposed to regret something???? She had vague feelings of regret, but they had nothing to do with going to see Big Tim. She briefly wondered what the feelings were about, but she didnt pursue the thought and it vitiated by itself as she was aware of the feeling of apprehension and the even stronger feeling of impending security.
They went into a coffee shop and Tyrone called Big Tim and when he came out of the booth he gave Marion the address. Its right around the corner. We'll meet you here. If we not here jus wait. She nodded and turned and walked stiffly from the coffee shop. Harry watched her go, wondering if he should have kissed her before she left. They finished their coffee and Tyrone suggested they take in a movie, Theres one jus a couple blocks. Do we have that much time to kill? Tyrone just looked. Harry shrugged and they left.
Marion walked the short distance to the large apartment building, looking straight ahead of her, her back stiff, unaware of the gentle quietness of her surroundings. The building still had a canopy, but the doorman had been dispensed with many years before. She pushed the button and the buzzer sounded and she pushed open the door, and she stood in front of the inner door, unaware of the television camera focused on her. The buzzer sounded again and she pushed the door open and rode the elevator to the twenty second floor. Big Tims smile was from ear to ear as he opened the door and stepped aside to let Marion in. He had to step aside because Big Tim was big, in every sense of the word. He was about six-six, broad, huge, big ... his body was big, his smile was big, his laugh was big, and even his apartment was big. The living room was huge and endless french doors opened on a balcony that overlooked Central Park and you could see for miles. His view was big. He took her coat and hung it up and told her to sit, indicating the large couch. There was some old Coltrane playing and he moved in time to the music as he went to the bar and poured himself a large glass of bourbon. What would you like? Marion shook her head, Nothing. O, you strictly a dope fien? Marion was startled by his question. She had never thought of herself as a dope fiend. She shook her head and felt a need to buy some time, but she wasnt sure why. Eventually she asked for some chartreuse. Yellow or green? Again she was surprised and muttered yellow while she tried to compose herself and recover from the rapid series of surprises. Her surroundings were starting to register and somehow they were diametrically opposed to what she had expected though she hadnt been aware of expecting anything. She looked over her shoulder at the incredible expanse of sky and skyline and then around the room. Big Tim brought the drinks, and bottles, over and put them on the table, then opened a drawer and took out a hash pipe and put a nice size piece of hash in the bowl. He lit it and took a long poke then handed it to Marion. She accepted it automatically and took a couple of pokes then handed it back to Tim. They handed it back and forth until the hash was gone and Tim turned the pipe over an ashtray and let the ashes fall out. Whats your name? Marion. His laugh was loud and deep and happy . . . very happy and relaxing, What you know, Maid Marion, hahaha, Im Little John. Marion sipped her chartreuse and smoked her cigarette feeling the combination of dope, hash and alcohol dissolving all concerns. She finished her drink and as Tim refilled the glass Marion leaned back and closed her eyes and felt the warmth flow through her as her body and mind relaxed and she smiled and then chuckled as she thought of what her family would do if they could see her making it with a schvartzer. What's so funny? Marion shook her head, laughed for a moment, Nothing. Its a family joke. You outta sight fox, why you want to get all fucked up behind scag? Again Marion was surprised by the reference to her being an addict and she shook her head and took another drag of her cigarette, buy more time. I like a little taste once in a while. Sheeit, you aint sittin here with me cause you like a little tase baby, uh huh. Marion shrugged and sipped her drink and tried to say something, but continued sipping her drink instead. Sheeit, that dont mean nothin to me. Jus so long as ah doan get into mah own shit. Ah aint even horned any an ah aint goin to neither, uh uh. He took a drink, A little juice and little smoke make it for me real nice. He refilled the hash pipe and lit it, took a long poke and handed it to Marion, Ah jus like to sit back an be cool and dig mah man Trane—sheeit, ah shore wish that mutha fucka was still alive. Damn he could blow. He refilled his glass and Marions and took the pipe when she handed it to him and took a couple of hits and gave it back to her, speaking to her while still holding his breath, Better make it quick baby, its bout gone. Marion dumped the ashes in the ashtray and drank some chartreuse and Tim put an arm around her and pulled her next to him. He put his legs up on the table and stretched out and Marion put hers up on the couch. You dig mah man Trane? Marion nodded, I have every record he ever cut. All the old Miles quintet, Monk, all of them. No shit? Thas nice. Ah likes a chick that knows how to listen to music. You know most broads jus dont know how to listen. Women arent the only ones. Maybe. But most brothers know how to listen. Ah mean really listen. He took another drink, licked his lips and leaned back with his eyes closed for a minute, listening. Marion closed her eyes and just leaned against his chest, feeling the weight and security of his arm around her, moving her toes slightly in time to the music. That last hash and the chartreuse really did it. She felt fine. She felt warm. She felt at home. Trane had just finished a chorus and the piano player came in and Marion muttered a soft, Yeah. Tim opened his eyes and smiled and looked at her. You know what ah likes best about patty chicks? They give good haid. Nigga broads—Marion felt something in her stir, she felt her eyes pop open, but remained immobile. Tims huge hand was fondling her right breast—doan know nothin about givin haid. Ah dont know why. Might be it has some-thin to do with some ancient tribal custom. Marion heard his laugh and wondered why it reminded her of Santa Glaus, but it was true, he sounded like a commercial for jolly old St. Nick. He put his other arm around her and pull
ed her up to him and kissed her as his hands seemed to cover her entire body at once. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him as hard as she could, clinging even tighter to his neck. After a minute he backed off slightly, Better save some a that energy. His laugh made her smile. Her hands slowly slid from around his neck and she was resting on his stomach when he gently turned her head around and took out his joint. All of Marions reactions were slowed from the dope and alcohol and so she just looked, stared, but inside she felt startled, as if she should say and do something besides just look at his joint. There was a terrible battle going on within her. She knew what she was supposed to do, but her entire being was suddenly repulsed by the reality of it. Her insides trembled and knotted. Ah know its purty baby, but ah didnt take it out for air. He nudged her slightly. Marion responded and grabbed it with her right hand and started kissing it and rubbing it with her lips when she became aware that she was getting sick. She sat up, her eyes wide, her hand over her mouth. Tim looked for a second, then laughed and pointed to a door, That way, and continued to laugh, still sounding like jolly old St. Nick. When Marion finished throwing up she bathed her face with cold water then sat on the side of the tub trembling with fright. For a second a panic froze her body and mind. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes. The nausea was gone. But she was sweating. Trembling. What would he do? She had to get that dope. She breathed deeply again. Put some more cold water on her face and patted it dry and tried to fix her hair as best she could. She almost prayed that he wasnt bugged. Please God, dont let him be bugged. Im alright now. Its all the same. All the same. She went back into the living room and did her best to smile. Guess it was the chartreuse. He smiled and laughed. Im alright now, her smile turning into an eager grin. He spread his legs as she knelt in front of him and closed her eyes and pulled his pants off and caressed his ass as she sucked his joint with all the enthusiasm the thought of the dope generated, glancing up at him from time to time and smiling. Big Tim leaned back and took a drink and laughed, Yeah, Little Bo Beep done foun her sheep. . . .
Harry fidgeted in the movie. He continually squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position, but each time he thought he had his back would start hurting, or his ass got sore or his legs started cramping and so he continually adjusted his position, smoking one cigarette after the other. He couldnt stay in one position more than a few minutes so he got up to get some candy, Want somethin man? Yeah, Snickers. He got a couple of candy bars and came back and started the routine all over again. One movie wasnt too bad, an old Randy Scott shootim up, but the other one was a fuckin drag, a real fuckin drag. A would be romantic comedy that musta had a budget of a dollar ninety eight. Jesus, what a bunch a shit. From time to time he would glance at Tyrone, from the corner of his eye, and he was just staring at the screen, diggin what was goin on. He tried to concentrate on the dumb ass flick but his head kept fighting him and telling him he was an asshole for even waiting for the broad, that she was there for a while man and forget it. Shes up there with a heavy weight dude with a pile of shit and youre going to sit and wait in a funky ass coffee shop for her? Shit, youre outta ya fuckin mind. Shes up there fuckin the ass off that dude man and youre here chewing them fuckin Chuckles until theyre all stuck all over your fuckin teeth and watchin some dumb ass flick made by a bunch of fuckin assholes. He moved around again and grunted out loud. Tyrone continued to stare at the screen, but reached over and patted him on the back, Its cool man. Everything cool. He turned and smiled a big, white toothed smile and patted him again. Harry nodded and shoved a few more Chuckles in his mouth.
Big Tim was leaning against the doorjamb, naked, rubbing his chest, smiling, and feeling gooooood all over, as he watched Marion brush her hair. He was bouncing the package of ten bags in his hand. You know, you cut this shit loose an I can turn you out an make you some real braid baby. Marion smiled into the mirror and continued brushing her hair, Not today. And Im not really hooked. Big Tim laughed his jolly old St. Nick laugh, Yeah, ah know, and tossed the package to her when she finished brushing her hair. Marion clutched it for a moment, then put it in her pocketbook. What the fuck you doin? Marion was startled and stared at him for a moment, then shook her head, Nothing. Im— Damn! he laughed and laughed, the sound so happy that Marion started smiling and chuckling without the slightest idea why, Damn! haha-haha, ah got me some kind a fuckin virgin. Now you got to be kiddin ol Tim, you just got to be. Marion was still smiling and shaking her head. I dont kn— You mean you not goin to count whats there but you jus going to be puttin it in your pocketbook an jus walk out in the street???? Damn! You sure aint been aroun long, have you baby? and his smile broadened and his expression and tone were amused and gentle. Marion flushed and shrugged, and started to protest, Im not exactly naive school girl, she fidgeted with her pocketbook as Big Tim continued to smile down on her, I ... I ..her head and shoulders jerking about, Ive been all through Europe, an ... an ... and Im just not— Big Tim was nodding and smiling, Sheeit, aint nothing to be ashamed of baby, we all gotta git down with it for the firs time. Ah aint bad rappin ya. Ah jus want to set you straight so you doan get ripped off. Sheeit, you earned that baby—Marion flushed slightly and blinked—an you sure as hell doan want to donate it to some purse snatcher. He laughed again and Marion smiled, You Tyrones bitch? the smile still in his voice and on his face. Marion shook her head. Then there be a couple a dudes waitin for you? Yes. I do — Well, lookit here, there be one place you can stash ol doogie without you worryin about it be accidently getting in the wrong hands, you dig? Aint no purse snatcher or mugger goin to rip you off there baby. Marion flushed, then smiled and shook her head. When she realized how dumb she must look to Tim, she flushed even "lore. An if you smart you make two packages, you dig? and you keep one for yourself. He laughed again and walked back to the living room and poured himself another glass of bourbon. Marion opened the package and put two bags in a separate package and put that up her snatch first, then put the other package in too. When Marion went back to the living room Big Tim was still naked and standing near the stereo, his glass in one hand, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, looking cool and nodding in time to the music. He glanced at her then smiled, Jus a minute, I want to dig this. He listened until the sax faded then he started walking to the door, I'll hear from you soon. Well ... I dont... I... Marion shrugged and blinked involuntarily— Big Tim just kept smiling, opened the door, Catch you later baby.
Tyrone and Harry were sitting in the rear booth of the coffee shop when Marion got there. The movie was bad enough, but this past hour or so, or however fuckin long it was, was a real fuckin drag. Somehow the movie took care of some of the action in him, but sittin in a fuckin coffee shop, waitin, made his fuckin crotch squirm. Jesus, it was drivin him fuckin bananas. He kept adjusting himself and rubbing and scratching until Tyrone started to giggle, Watch you doin to your thang jim. You look like you fixin to take the mutha fucka out and whip the table with it. I'll beatya over the fuckin head with it, and Harry smiled in spite of himself and put his hands on the table, Hows that, and continued fidgeting until Marion walked into the shop. She and Harry looked at each other for a moment, each frantically searching for some way to start a conversation without saying what was on their minds. Then Tyrone asked how it went. Marion nodded. He gave me eight bags. Harry gave a silent and inner sigh of relief. That aint a bad tase. How mah man Tim? Marion nodded. Yeah, he be a cool mutha jim. Ah mean coooooool. Harry stood, Lets split. Crazy. Good. Im dying to get home.
Marion stashed her two bags just as soon as she could, and when Harry left to sell some dope and cop some more she sat with them in her hand, fondling them, caressing them, closing her eyes from time to time and sighing, rubbing the bags of dope between the tips of her fingers, securely nestled on her couch listening to Mahlers Resurrection Symphony.
Sara trembled with such terror when she heard the food cart in the distance, even with the massive doses of tranquil-izers she was being given, that they stopped trying to get her to eat a
nd force fed her. They strapped her in a wheelchair and shoved a rubber hose up her nose and down into her stomach, Sara retching and gagging, then taped the end to her head. Her feeble attempts to defend herself and try to speak were quickly overcome as they simply slammed her against the back o£ the chair and tightened the straps. When they finished she reached up to tug at the hose and they told her to get her hands off that hose, and tied her hands to the arms of the chair, Weve had enough trouble from you. Youre just going to stay tied in that chair until you learn to cooperate and stop thinking that youre some kind of a queen. She continued to retch until her stomach felt like it was torn apart and she exhausted herself and no longer had enough energy to retch and she sat in her mute and immobile terror, staring at the world around her through her tear filled eyes, struggling to break through the haze of tears and drugs and understand what was happening. She tried to keep her head up, but it continually fell forward and she struggled to get it erect, but the energy was not there and it would hang like a gourd for a few moments, then fall back on her chest, each movement a monumental effort, each failure a death knell. With each breath the tears seemed to build up within her and she could feel and hear them swishing around, feeling them threaten to drown her as her lungs seem to hang limp in her chest. She wanted to cry out, at least to herself, but she forgot that there was someone, something to call out to. There seemed to be a vague sense of recollection in the back of her mind and when she tried to dig it out she once again fell exhausted, and if she hadnt, the drugs and shock treatment would not have allowed her to recognize the word God. The straps seemed to be tighter, but there was nothing she could do. They were cutting into her wrists and were pressing so hard against her chest they were restricting her breathing, but she could say and do nothing. She wanted desperately to go to the bathroom, but when she tried to call for someone to help her she gagged on the hose and only spittle dribbled down her chin as she fought to withstand the pain the hose caused in her throat. For hours she fought against her bladder and bowels, and when someone came by she looked, hoping they would look at her and see she needed help, but when they saw her they just walked on by and her head would fall once again on her chest and then she would start the long, long struggle of trying to raise it to get help, but they continued to simply walk on by, and still she fought, harder and harder, but eventually nature won, as always, and her bladder and bowels relieved themselves and she felt the warmth and moisture and her last semblance of dignity fled from her, along with her tears, as her mind called out for help . . . called, begged, pleaded, and then a nurse walked by and stopped, looked at her for a minute, came over, looked, twisted her face in disgust, You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Even animals dont do that. Well, you can just sit in it. Maybe that will teach you a lesson. Two days later Sara was still sitting in it, no longer attempting to lift her head, allowing it to hang in her shame, her tears streaking her face, blotting her gown, and filling her soul.Two days later she was still strapped in the chair and chained to her indignity until they came to prepare her for her next shock treatment.