TIL MORNING

PART NINE, TIL MORNING

           

            Johnnie

            I started to want more with Dotty, started to wonder if it was something I could pull off. She accepted me for who I was, even if I hadn’t been able to accept myself. She gave me pure goodness that made me realize that a woman like this wouldn’t care for me the way she did unless I was a whole lot better than I thought I was.

            After the holidays, I felt sorry about not spending more time with my folks and my sister. I wanted them to meet Dorothy, but some things didn’t always work out the way I hoped. I’d not caught up with Dotty since New Year’s Eve, and today was January 10, my thirtieth birthday. Cornshucks came up to my apartment out of the snow, and we were having a taste when my drummer, Babe Pascoe, knocked on the door. As I started to open it, I told Cornshucks to hurry up and finish her drink.

            “We’re going bowling,” I told her.

            She and I joined Babe up in the front seat of his Fairlane. Morrie Blaine and my accountant, Saul Rosen, had been waiting for us in the backseat. Within minutes, we were tooling down Broadway.

            Saul Rosen gave Babe directions to the bowling alley. Snow fell silently.

            “Babe,” I said. “Best you turn on your wipers.”

            I soon learned that Saul didn’t know bowling from lacrosse. Morrie and Babe kept using the wrong lanes. A skinny-necked pinsetter popped up way down the lane and waved a tattooed arm. “You’re on the wrong alley.”

            “They in the gutter,” Cornshucks screamed.

            For the fifth time, the bowling gestapo asked could I please control the colored lady. Her pink pedal pushers were so tight they appeared dark fuchsia where she was divided. The noise killed both my good and bad ears. I suspected a motive behind this venture, but what? Had I agreed to this torture when I was too drunk to refuse?

            Saul Rosen clapped his hands and yanked his pants up above his waist. “Way to pick up that spare,” he congratulated Cornshucks. Most of us were just having fun, but Saul, always truthful, tried to keep an accurate tally of each player’s efforts.

            Projected on a screen above us was my score pad with the lipstick kiss Cornshucks had planted on it. In coarse printing, she had added for all to see: Bet you a blow job who’ll win the next frame.

            I grinned and sang her some Lady Day. “Love will make you gamble and stay out all night long.”

            “Treat me right, baby, and I’ll stay home every day.”

            People in nearby lanes stopped their deliveries and acted stunned. My voice broke loose, husky and wild. How I wanted to let it out of its cage.

            “Crazy,” Babe said, and shook his head.

***

            In the bar above the alleys, Saul Rosen’s son-in-law joined us. Right away I smelled fish. The kid lacked his father’s integrity. In his Brooks Brothers suit, he made Morrie look like a virgin when it came to hustle.

            “We didn’t forget your birthday, Johnnie.” Morrie stood up in our booth and raised his glass.      

            The whole gang sang the song.