Part 7 (1/2)
”Don't be ridiculous! Just thank G.o.d they're not killing each other. My father says that there are a lot more shvartzes in the neighborhood these days, but not to worry, the Italians and the Irish are going to force them out.”
”You think that's the right thing to do?”
”I don't know. I guess so. I mean, they don't belong here.”
”I'm sure some people say that about us, too.”
”Maybe. But I don't really care all that much what happens here. I'm not going to live here forever, you know. Hollywood awaits me.”
”Indeed it does,” Rachel replied as she took her best friend by the hand.
CHAPTER 10.
One crisp, sunny Sat.u.r.day afternoon in the second week of November, 1963, Alfred and Evelyn Sims were riding in their Lincoln on the Van Wyck Expressway, traveling to Manhattan to purchase a mink coat for Evelyn from one of Alfred's father's old business a.s.sociates. Alfred occasionally gave his wife extravagant gifts, hoping they might pacify her. It rarely worked.
The traffic in their direction was light and, strangely, the other side of the Expressway was barren, not a car for miles.
”Why do you think that is?” Evelyn asked as she pointed to the empty road.
”I don't know,” Alfred answered. ”Could be a major accident up ahead.”
They continued driving, still curious, for another minute or so, until they saw a long motorcade led by police cars and motorcycles. Sirens, flas.h.i.+ng lights, and limousines pa.s.sed by on the opposite side of the highway, and in the middle of the entourage was an open car carrying President John F. Kennedy, his wife Jacquelyn, Attorney General Robert Kennedy, and another lady Evelyn recognized from her society magazines as Mrs. Peter Lawford.
Evelyn was awestruck to have witnessed such a thing out of the blue. Alfred then recalled that he'd heard on the news that the President had been in town overnight for some special dinner, and surmised that the group was now on its way to Idlewild Airport for their return to Was.h.i.+ngton. He mentioned this to Evelyn as he tried to contain his own excitement at seeing the President, for Alfred was no longer a Democrat from Brooklyn. Now that he was a true Republican from Na.s.sau County, it would be unbecoming to be thrilled by the sight of a few Kennedys and a Lawford.
”I can't believe they let him ride around in an open car like that,” Alfred said, astonished. ”Somebody could shoot him.”
”Don't be ridiculous!” she reacted. ”Everyone loves Kennedy.”
”Yea, you think so, huh.” Arrogance. ”A lot of people hate him!”
She looked at him with disdain. She couldn't stand it when he was c.o.c.ky, which was just about all the time. But she tried to focus on the mink coat, and the fact that she'd just seen one of the most handsome, das.h.i.+ng men she'd ever laid eyes on, in person: John F. Kennedy.
Less than two weeks later, on November 22, Kennedy was a.s.sa.s.sinated while riding down a Dallas street in an open car. Evelyn was devastated. She wept for several days. Not only for the President, his family and the country, but for herself, her dreams and her hopes, for all the things that were obliterated by the life she led and the man with whom she led it. It was as if she blamed Alfred for the a.s.sa.s.sination; after all, hadn't he predicted it?
Yes, she could blame Alfred for this, and all the other ills of her existence. And in doing so, she would never really have to examine herself, or any of the things she'd done to contribute to the very circ.u.mstances she so despised.
CHAPTER 11.
The winter of 1963 brought numerous snow storms, and few days with temperatures above freezing. Schools were frequently closing, sometimes for several days, though that made little difference for Celeste and Joshua. They were somehow managing to miss a lot more school than that.
They usually played hooky at least once a week. A day here, a day there, forged notes about illnesses and family tragedies, doctoring of report cards before their parents signed them, and re-doctoring again before handing them in. They even had Celeste's father's work routine memorized, what he did and when he did it, thus allowing them to sneak into Joshua's empty apartment undetected.
Their physical relations.h.i.+p approached new frontiers. They experimented in all sorts of ways, but always stopped just short of intercourse. Joshua was hoping that his thirteenth birthday-just four months away-would give him more to say for himself.
Jerome, referred to by Celeste and Joshua these days as Saint Jerome, was aware of all this, but turned a blind eye. He knew the consequences could be quite severe for Celeste. Their father didn't need much of an excuse to beat either one of them.
Joshua's neighbor's, the Eisenmans, had become too old and deaf to detect anything, and their television usually blasted through the walls throughout the day. Mrs. Eisenman typically checked on Joshua around four o'clock each afternoon, and every hour or so after that. By then, Celeste was home.
Everything was working out, until one Wednesday afternoon in the third week of February. It was about 3:15, the time Celeste and Joshua were expected home from school. They had spent the day in Joshua's room, and their usual routine was to look out the window at 2:30 to watch Mr. Williams leave the building for the hardware store to pick up supplies. He did this twice a week, Mondays and Wednesdays, always at the same time, and was always gone for an hour. Celeste often joked about his having a girlfriend or something; she had just turned twelve and had a fertile imagination.
On this particular day, Joshua and Celeste had gotten so carried away with each other, they neglected the 2:30 lookout by a few crucial minutes. When they realized this, they convinced themselves not to worry. Mr. Williams was indeed a creature of habit.
Celeste was about to leave, and stopped to give Joshua a last kiss. She had her coat on, books in hand, and as she slipped into the stairwell she turned around and threw him a wicked smile.
After she disappeared, Joshua stepped back inside, closed the door, and sighed. Another perfect day with the girl of his dreams, he mused, picturing the spirited look on her face as she departed. It would be the last time he would ever see that.
The next morning he waited for her at their usual meeting place, the alleyway across the street from the park. After fifteen minutes, at about a quarter to nine, he realized something was wrong. She had never stood him up, had never been more than five minutes late.
He grew impatient, looking down the street towards their building to see if she was coming. He thought that she might have gone to school, might have misunderstood their plans. Yet, even so, she would still have had to pa.s.s this way. Something was wrong.
He paced, thinking what to do next. Then, he stopped thinking-always a bad idea-and walked back to the building. He looked around to see if anyone was watching. When he came to the front door, he peered through the gla.s.s into the lobby. The coast seemed clear.
The Williams' apartment was in the bas.e.m.e.nt. Celeste and Jerome's shared bedroom had a small window facing the back of the building where the trash was collected. Joshua figured he would knock on her window to see if she was there, hoping she was just sick.
The back of the building was accessible by going through the lobby and out the back door, or by walking around the block into an alley that was shared with several neighboring buildings. Joshua chose the quickest way.
As he entered the lobby, someone came at him from behind. At first, he thought he was being mugged, until he saw the face of his a.s.sailant. It was a raging face, eyes steaming and lips trembling. Mr. Williams.
Williams threw him to the floor and stood over him. Joshua was certain he was about to get the beating of his life, but then something happened. Williams froze.
Joshua waited, prepared for his punishment, but Williams remained paralyzed. Suddenly, Joshua realized that Williams was probably afraid to hurt him. After all, Williams worked for Alfred Sims, as did Joshua's mother, and beating Joshua might have complications. Joshua felt a trace of relief, but only a trace.
”I know what you've been up to,” Williams said.
Joshua didn't respond. He tried getting up, only to be pushed back down. He didn't try again.
”You got anything to say for yourself?”
”I don't know what you're talking about.”
”You don't, do you?”
Joshua didn't know what to say next. The last thing he wanted was to provoke Williams. He also didn't know exactly what Williams knew.
”Well, what you got to say?”
”About what?”
”About what you and my little girl have been up to!” Williams deep voice echoed through the lobby, making him sound ominous.
”I still don't know what you're talking about.”
”No need to go into details. I know what the two of you have been doing! I've already taken care of her, and have the mind to do the same to you, but I'll leave that to your Mama. I understand she's got a temper of her own.”