This time, I forgot about the crate. She was one of the most stunning girls I had ever seen. I just stared.
She looked like she was about my age. Rich sable hair was drawn back in a ponytail from her face, tied with a pink ribbon. Her skin was pale, flawless, and slightly flushed from the heat. Brown eyes studied me carefully from under long lashes. A short string of pearls lay on the swell of breasts that were unusually full, especially for a teenager; they strained against a very expensive-looking white blouse trimmed with lace. A small brown purse hung from her shoulder on a narrow strap. She wore a light blue skirt, long and full, shaped with crinolines I couldn't see but knew had to be there. Her bobby socks were spotless and her brown penny loafers shone in the sunlight.
She was at least four inches taller than I was.
"Are you a joker?" She spoke quietly, almost timidly.
At first I was stung by the fear that she was mocking me, but then I saw that she was sincere.
"Yeah." I grinned wryly. "Can't you tell?"
She missed the sarcasm. "I don't know where I am. I couldn't decide from looking at you. Is this Chinatown or Jokertown?"
"Both." Flattered that she was taking me seriously, I straightened to my full height and walked over to the gate. "This is the border. We're on the Chinatown side right here. My boss delivers seafood to Chinatown restaurants and grocery stores. But he hired me from the Jokertown side to load and unload for him."
She gazed down the block on the Jokertown side. "I wasn't sure ... I got out of my cab on the Bowery and walked."
This was already the longest conversation I had ever had with a nat girl without being teased or ridiculed. "Can I help you find where you're going?"
She looked back at me through the chainlink as though seeing me for the first time. "Oh." Her face tightened uncomfortably. "I've never spoken to a joker before."
"What's your name?" I was afraid that if I was too forward, she would turn and run or else maybe get mad and start calling me the nasty names I already knew so well from other nats.
"Uh ... I'm Flo."
"I'm Chuck." I looked her over again. She didn't look like a Flo. Maybe a Florence. More like an Annette or a Mitzi.
"Pleased to meet you," she said primly, as if by rote.
I tried to think of more to say. "Do you like chess? Bobby Fischer won the U.S. championship in January. He's only fifteen."
She was silent, still looking down the street.
"I'm sixteen," I added, lamely. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen." Her voice was distracted.
"I think it's great, having a teenager as chess champion."
"I bet Bobby Fischer is a secret ace." She turned back to me.
"You think so?" I had never thought about that before.
"All aces should be exposed," said Flo, sharply.
I had never considered that before, either. "I don't suppose it matters much. I think they do whatever they want."
"Do you live in Jokertown?"
"Yeah. My family lives right on the edge here." I hesitated. "We're Japanese Americans. We wouldn't be at home in Chinatown."
"How well do you know Jokertown?"
"Fine."
"I mean, really well?"
"Sure I do. I live here."
She nodded, looking up at the buildings.
"Where are you going?"
"Oh. ..." She shrugged.
"I get off soon. I could take you there." I was sweating heavily again, now from tension as much as from the heat.
"I don't know exactly where I'm going."
That sounded like a brush-off. Disappointed, I expected her to say goodbye. I looked at her pretty brown eyes, waiting.
"And now," the radio blared faintly. "Here's a golden oldie from 1956! Here's Johnny Mathis! Chances are, if I wear a silly grin, the moment you come into view -"
Flo just stood there. It wasn't a brush-off after all. I got the idea that maybe she wanted me to take the initiative.
The door from the warehouse office squeaked. Startled, I turned to see my driver, Peter Choy, coming out. He was in his mid-twenties and had the short, stocky build common to many of the Cantonese in Chinatown. His khaki driver's uniform was stained with sweat under the arms.
"All finished, Chuck?" Peter asked.
"Uh - almost." Belatedly, I turned to get the last crate of shrimp. I had left it too long and it was starting to smell.
"Say, Chuck, this one's about to go bad! What have you been -" Peter stopped suddenly, seeing Flo. "Oh, pardon me." He winked at me and picked up the crate himself "Hey, not bad, pal. You go on. I'll punch out for you."
"Thanks!" I grinned. "Thanks, Mr. Choy."
"G'wan, get outa here!" Peter carried the crate back inside.
"He's not a joker, is he?" Flo asked softly.
"No!" I shook my head, still grinning. "He's a great guy. And he's the only one who calls me Chuck."
"What does everyone else call you?"
I paused, regretting that I had brought up the subject. "Aw, nothing. Look - you want me to show you around?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay." I looked down at my sweat-darkened t-shirt and faded blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up, both of which emphasized how chubby I was. "Sony about the way I look."
She shrugged.
"Well ... I'm getting awful hungry. Would you like to have dinner?" I opened the gate and stepped out.
She backed away, keeping her distance. "Um - in Jokertown?"
I knew of a little Chinese dive just up the street that I could afford. A girl dressed as she was might not like the atmosphere, but the only other choice within my budget was Biffs Burgers in the heart of Jokertown, where too many of my friends would be hanging around. I wanted to be alone with her.
"There's a Chinese place up the street, right on the border."
"Okay." Flo looked at my clothes pointedly. "Can you really take me out to dinner?"
"Aw, sure. Come on." I gestured and she came with me, walking well to one side. "I have money. I was planning to go to the hobby shop to look for some Slug Maligne baseball cards."
"Who?"
"Slug Maligne. He's the big, slimy joker who signed this spring as the Yankees' new backup catcher when Elston Howard got hurt. Somebody's got to spell Yogi. Slug's only got the one rookie card, but in Jokertown, it's real expensive already. A bunch of them would be a good investment."
"A joker? On the Yankees?" She grimaced.
"Aw, he'll do okay. Slug's not much on the base paths, but he can really block the plate."
"Oh."
I decided she wasn't a baseball fan.
***
The Twisted Dragon was only a narrow storefront, but I held the screen door open for her, watching her pretty face anxiously. I was afraid she would turn up her nose and leave. Instead, she stepped inside, clutching her little purse in front of her.
A couple of old, green ceiling fans creaked slowly over our heads. The hardwood floor had been worn clean of varnish years ago. None of the tables matched each other in shape or height, but they were covered with clean white tablecloths. The muffled sound of a t.v. came from the kitchen.
"Hi, Chop-Chop! How you?" The owner of the Twisted Dragon, a chubby little joker in a black suit that was too big, grinned broadly. His face was that of Chinese dragon, large and scaled and whiskered. Inside his baggy suit, his body was twisted and angled weirdly. He spoke with a heavy Cantonese accent. "You want early dinner today, eh? You come this way."
I winced at the use of my street name and glanced at Flo. She said nothing. I gestured for her to follow.
The owner limped to a small table under a ceiling fan, with straight-backed, wobbly wooden chairs. I sat facing the door. Our host handed us food-stained menus and started to leave.
"How's business?" I asked quickly. I wanted to prove to Flo that I was really part of this neighborhood.
"Business good! Really good, Chop-Chop. Couple year, maybe I sell out. Or, maybe move to b
igger place, fix up real nice."
"That sounds good."
"Hokay, Chop-Chop. You decide, I send somebody back."
"I already know what I want," said Flo. She was holding her menu gingerly by the edges, as if it was a phonograph record.
"We'll order right away," I said. "What do you want?"
"Won-ton soup and sweet and sour pork," said Flo.
"Make it for two," I said.
The guy nodded, taking our menus, and hurried away.
Flo was sitting rigidly in her chair. Her dark brown ponytail quivered slightly from side to side behind her, betraying her tension. Her eyes shifted around the nearly-empty restaurant. "Are there other jokers here?"
"Uh -" I glanced around. "No, not yet. But it's early. The Twisted Dragon brings people from both sides of the street."
She nodded. Her face was covered with sweat. It wasn't that hot in here, especially under the fan.
"Do you like movies?" I asked, hoping to get the conversation going. "I want to see Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot, but I'll have to sneak out so my mother doesn't get mad. I think Marilyn Monroe is beautiful." I waited for Flo to say something. When she didn't, I went on. "Saturday, I saw I Was a Teenaged Joker, with Michael Landon. It was cool."
She shrugged, uninterested. "Is Jokertown ... I mean, I know it's a neighborhood. But does it have all kinds of places?"
"Well ... I guess so. What kind of places do you mean?"
She shook her head tightly and said nothing.
I watched her, puzzled. When a waitress thumped a heavy white porcelain teapot down on the table, I poured tea for Flo first. I was feeling protective.
"I'll help you, if you want," I said quietly.
"Suppose, um ..." She looked down at the table for a moment. "Suppose someone wanted something that isn't normally available."
"Something illegal?"
She shrugged. "Can you really find everything in Jokertown?"
"Yeah. I think so." I waited, my heart thumping excitedly.
She was silent.
The screen door creaked. Flo didn't turn around, but I saw two jokers entering. One was a tall, slender man who had been divided down the middle by the wild card; the right side of his body was normal, but the left looked as though it had been made of candle wax, melted, and then solidified again. He walked with a slow, painful limp on his sagging, twisted leg and let his distorted arm swing freely. The other joker at least moved comfortably; he appeared to be normal, except for having the face of a teddy bear with a fixed, very happy smile.
The newcomers were seated across the narrow room. Flo glanced in their direction. Her eyes widened suddenly and she looked away, back down at our table.
"It's Jokertown," I said, puzzled by her reaction.
"It's so horrible," Flo whispered. "What that ... alien ... did. What he brought." The horror in her face was unmistakable.
I felt a familiar horror of my own, deep in my stomach, ruining my appetite. Maybe she was no different from other nats after all. In the same moment, however, I finally understood something I had never realized before: she was scared.
Yet she was here - with me.
I decided to sit there and enjoy the sight of her beautiful face and figure as long as I could. When our dinner arrived, we ate in silence. Even some of my appetite came back.
***
When we had finished dinner, I carefully counted out the customary ten percent tip that Peter had told me always to leave. As I paid the check, Flo stared straight down at her shoes, avoiding the sight of all the jokers who had followed us inside for dinner. Then we stepped outside and I found that the heat had finally begun to ease a little.
"Well," I said uncertainly, looking up at her.
Flo glanced up and down the street in the shadows.
"Would you like me to walk you to the Bowery or something?"
She shook her head again and suddenly peered straight down into my eyes. "Can we talk privately somewhere?"
"Sure. We can just walk. Nobody here will bother us."
"No, I mean, where we can't possibly be overheard. Inside."
"Okay. Both my parents work second jobs to get by. They won't be home till after midnight. I'll take you home."
"Good." Her voice was breathy with anxiety.
***
The walk was okay. We passed Jube the Walrus on the way, pulling his cart full of newspapers on his regular rounds. He looked very surprised to see Flo, I figured because she was so pretty. Flo looked away, as though he wasn't there.
My family lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment in a fairly small building. I closed the door and led her into the living room, where I switched on the lamps on each end table by the couch. The air was hot and stale, so I turned on the big standing fan in the corner, to sweep back and forth across the room. Then I opened the windows.
Flo paced nervously for a moment, looking around. Some framed pictures on the wall caught her eye, over the back of a pink canvas butterfly chair. "Is that your Dad?"
I came as close as I dared and raised up on tiptoe to see over her shoulder. Her perfume was light and sweet. She was looking at a posed studio picture of my father in his army uniform. A photograph of his whole platoon was next to it.
"Yeah, that's him."
"Is that the American army?"
"Yeah. 442nd Battalion."
"But they're all ..." She trailed off.
"Nisei. Second generation Japanese Americans. He fought in Italy, among other places. I was born while he was in the army."
"Really? Where were you born?"
"In California."
"Where? San Francisco or Los Angeles?"
"Uh, no. A camp in Tule Lake."
"A what?" Flo turned to look down at me.
I backed away. "An internment camp for Japanese Americans."
Her brown eyes were puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Well, it was a kind of prison camp. All the Japanese Americans on the west coast were put in them."
"Even if your Dad was in the army?"
I shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah."
She searched my face. I felt she was actually realizing for the first time that I was more than a joker. My face grew hot.
"Want to sit down?" I gestured toward the wing-back couch.
Flo hesitated, then sat down on one end of the couch. I sat down on the far end, well away from her. I just waited.
Finally, looking down at her hands in her lap, she spoke almost in a whisper. "Do you know what an abortion is?"
"Yeah." I froze, staring at her.
"You do?" She glanced up in surprise, her ponytail swaying.
"Yeah, I've heard about them from guys on the street," I said softly. I could hardly believe this was what she wanted.
She spoke quickly. "Can I get one in Jokertown? Safely? And in absolute, total secrecy? And how much would it cost?" Her brown eyes were large now, watching me anxiously.
"I don't know," I said slowly. "But I can find out."
"Would you? Please?" Her voice was pleading.
"Sure." I got up and walked over to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter. A guy named Waffle was good for stuff like that. I dialed Biff's Burgers, but he wasn't there yet. I hung up. "A friend of mine will call back."
"Okay."
I sat down on the couch again. I wasn't going to tell her what a jerk Waffle was. "He's twenty, and he knows about ... stuff like this. We'll just have to wait."
"How long do you think it will be?"
"No way to tell, but he goes by Biff's every night. When do you have to be home?"
She shook her head, then looked away. "I have to find out."
"Your parents don't make you come home on time?"
"My mother's dead," she said, almost in a whisper. Then she smiled cynically. "My father is ... very important. Always busy. He thinks I'm at a girlfriend's right now." She closed her eyes.
"Your father's important?" I looked at her stylish clothes again, especial
ly the pearls. Those weren't kiddie beads.
"He works for the government. And he has powerful friends. So I have to keep this a secret. I can't even tell you who he is."
I was getting a little scared. "Look, you want to watch TV? I'm not sure what's on - maybe Dobie Gillis."
She didn't speak or even look up.
"You know, The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, with Dobie and Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik? Don't you like it?"
Tears seeped from under Flo's eyelids. She began to sob, fighting it quietly. Then she fumbled her purse open and pulled out some white tissues from a little plastic packet.
Before I even thought about it, I slid over to her on the couch. I guess if I understood anything deeper than baseball cards at that age, it was feeling scared and alone. When I slid one of my bright yellow arms across her rounded shoulders, under her ponytail, she leaned against me and really began to cry.
I put my other arm around her. Being shorter than she was, with short arms, made this awkward. She cried for what seemed like a long time, and I just sat there with my arms stretched almost around her, yellow against her white blouse.
Finally Flo took some deep breaths and used the tissues in her hand. Reluctantly, I withdrew the arm that was in front of her, but dared to keep the other over her shoulders. Then, with her tissues wadded in one hand, she turned toward me.
Her eyes were wet and red, her eye makeup running. She had put on more lipstick after dinner. It was bright red.
I had certainly never kissed a girl. With my immense front teeth, I wasn't even sure that I could kiss a girl, properly. I looked from her deep brown eyes down to her perfect lips.
You know, I don't know where I got the guts, but I just did it. I kissed her. If she had jumped up and slapped me, I wouldn't have been surprised, but she didn't. She kissed me back.
It lasted a long time. I couldn't tell if my teeth were a problem. Then I forgot about them.
Tears were still welling from her eyes. She took one of my hands and slid it to the front of her blouse. When I caressed her, she kissed me again.