Part 44 (1/2)

He lights a Chesterfield, looks at the tabletop. He straightens the cutlery. He takes a sip of black coffee. Nods.

Do you hurt anybody?

He doesn't answer.

She makes two fists, holds them before his face. Do you make harm on anybody?

I go out of my way not to.

You promise?

Yeah.

Fine, she says. Is all that matter to me.

Willie doesn't have a phone, and neither does Margaret, so they arrange their dates well in advance. They only go out late, very late, when there's less chance of Willie being spotted, which suits Margaret. She already lives in a nighttime world. She comes to Willie's room, or else he picks her up from her room at the other end of Brooklyn, and they hit an all-night diner, a jazz club, a movie theater.

They both love movies. Willie feels safest when slouched low in a dark theater, his face in a bag of popcorn, and Margaret feels safest when she can lose herself in a soaring love story. There are many to choose from in 1951. Together they see A Streetcar Named Desire, An American in Paris, The African Queen. Margaret adores The African Queen. As the music rises and the credits roll, as the men and women in the theater crush their cigarettes under their heels and hurry toward the exit, Margaret touches Willie's arm.

Please, she says.

He looks at her, smiles, eases back into his seat. Sure, he says. I guess I can take another trip down that river with Bogie and Kate.

After the second show they go for coffee. Margaret can't stop talking about the movie. We are like them, she says.

Who?

Humphrey Bogie and Kathy Hepburns.

Willie looks around the diner, to make sure no one is listening. She chides him. No one care my thoughts about Humphrey Bogie, she says.

Sorry, Willie says. Force of habit. You were saying.

They on their leaky boat, we on ours.

I see. Yeah.

Is them against the world. Is us too, Julius.

Which one of us is Bogie?

She laughs, reaches across the table, takes his hand. You look like Bogie.

Willie twitches his lips, rolls his cigarette. Here's looking at you kid.

Her eyes widen. Julius, you just like him. You should be an actor.

Nah.

What this means, she asks-here is looking at you?

Oh, he says. It's an expression.

But what it means?

It means-here's to you.

She squints.

It means cheers, Willie says. Sort of a toast. Like L'chaim!

And what it means when Bogie says, Let us go while the going is good.

Another expression. Figure of speech.

But what it means?

It means the bad guys are coming, the bad guys are about to kick in the door, let's get out of here.

But this expression-I don't understand.

It just means-now.

Then why he does not say now? It take less time to say now. If he want to go when the good is going- Going is good.

-then why he waste time with all these words? While he is so busy saying let us go now, the bad guys can be coming.

Willie starts to laugh. A piece of pie goes down the wrong pipe. He coughs, laughs harder. His eyes fill with tears. Now Margaret laughs, and soon they're both pointing at each other, wiping their eyes with paper napkins.

Ah Margaret, I haven't laughed in I don't know how long.

The waitress behind the counter stares.

The waitress is looking, Willie whispers.

Here's looking at her, Margaret says.

They're going to ask us to leave.

While the going is good.

After their dates Margaret usually spends the night at Dean Street. She wakes before dawn, dresses quickly in the half-light, kisses Willie goodbye. One morning he tells her not to go. She has no choice, she says, she has to work. He tells her no, wait, he has something for her. While she perches on his club chair he gets out of bed and fumbles in his suit, which hangs neatly from the top drawer of the dresser. He pulls out a roll of cash wrapped in a rubber band. The nick from his last bank job with Mad Dog. He hands it to Margaret.

What this is?

Gift.

Why gift?

Why what?