Twentieth Century Limited Book One - Age of Heroes. Jan David Blais
to myself, what I just saw looked an awful lot like cheating.
Our room had two beds and a cot (guess who got the cot). We had to promise Catherine not to look. Fluffy white towels, too, little bars of soap in gold and red paper, a shower separate from the tub and not just on a hose like at home. In the corner was a television and a phone. Our parents’ room was next to ours with a door in between. While they unpacked, Catherine and I began calling in orders from the room service menu, holding down the button. My mother rushed in all upset, then she laughed. If you hadn’t already figured it out, this was my first time in a hotel.
The plan was, everybody could pick something they especially wanted to do unless it was too expensive, and everybody else would go along with no complaining. No surprise, my mother chose a play, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, which was interesting, especially all the yelling. Catherine went for the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. Jim picked Yankee Stadium, Yankees vs. White Sox. Mickey Mantle belted home runs his first two times up. My father said he’d enjoy everything since he was paying for it all.
I would have said the ball game myself, but for once I acted cagey and let Jim go first. Mine was the cheapest, all it cost was a couple of souvenirs. The United Nations might seem an odd choice, but I’d done a term paper on it and wanted to check it out. There wasn’t much going on, the General Assembly wasn’t in session and the Security Council had no great crisis going, but I was happy just walking around. We went on a guided tour and I saw where everything happened when it did happen. I came away with a wooden stand with flags of the countries. The African delegates were fascinating to see, some in colorful robes, some with faces so dark they had a bluish sheen. I heard native languages but also English with a British accent and a French one as well. These people seemed different from the Negroes I’d seen at home. None lived in my neighborhood, not counting the Project where there were a few, and none attended our church. I’d seen some downtown and on the bus though I’d never spoken to one personally. What I would say to a Negro? What he would say to me?
Our last night, my mother and father went to a double feature, leaving us on our honor and with permission to order dessert from room service, two dollars each, tops. About eight-thirty we were watching TV when Jim punched me on the shoulder, saying follow him to our parents’ room. “Let’s me and you go out,” he whispered, “some things I want to show you.”
Great idea! Our after-dinner family strolls had been fantastic, like being inside a light bulb. “But how can we? We’re supposed to stay here.”
Jim gave me his sideways look. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Anyway, we’ll be back in plenty of time.”
“What about Catherine? What about her?”
“Leave little sister to me.” He led the way back to our room. Catherine looked up. She knew we were hatching something. “Me and Paul are going out,” he announced blandly, “you know, get some air, that kind of thing.”
“But the parents said stay here! If you go I’m coming!”
“Well, you can’t! This is men’s night out.”
“Oh, yeah?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll tell on you!”
Jim smiled. “Listen, Catherine,” he said gently, “this means a lot to me and Paul. Be a good kid and shut up. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“How?”
He shot a glance at me. “You can have our desserts, both of them. So how about it?”
That stopped her but not for long. “I want money, too,” she said, scowling.
Jim laughed. “Okay. A dollar.”
“THREE dollars!”
“Two.”
“Three! Or I tell!”
“Okay, okay,” he grunted. “Three.”
Five minutes later the revolving front door of the Jefferson Hotel spun us out onto the sidewalk. Jim lit a cigarette. “This place me and my friends found, you got to see it.”
“What kind of place?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” Striding away he yelled back at me. “C’mon! Let’s go!”
A couple of paces behind, I was one with the steamy night. Millions of people on the street, so alive, so different from home. Department stores, clothing stores, jewelry stores, books, toys, restaurants, delis with sandwiches and drinks, signs in Benny’s Yiddish. Every few blocks we came upon a stand with fruit and vegetables stacked in wooden trays right out on the sidewalk. “Getting close,” Jim announced after a lot more walking.
As we turned the next corner this odd feeling came over me that I’d been in this very place before. “Where are we?” I asked, puzzled.
“Times Square. There’s the ball you see on TV.”
Of course! It was daytime, the signs, light in motion, people everywhere. I was pleased to see Times Square, but sensed there was more to the plan. Jim had slowed down, looking for something. “It’s around here, I’m sure,” he said. We waited for a light to change then crossed, dodging a couple of cars that didn’t even slow down. He turned to me. “Now, listen, leave everything to me. I’ll do the talking, they ask you anything, tell them you’re eighteen but you forgot your I.D. Got that? You forgot your I.D.”
I nodded, not knowing what was going on. We approached a brightly lit theater building with a lot of light bulbs winking on and off. A man in a dark suit wearing a movie-type gangster hat was standing in front, then there was this sign –
* LIVE! * NUDE DANCERS! * LIVE! *
Hanging back, I noticed a large glass case on the wall beside the entrance with pictures of women without anything on. Jim went up to the man like he’d known him his whole life. The man made a gesture and Jim reached in his back pocket. The man squinted at his wallet, handed it back. Jim pointed at me and the man motioned me over. “Let’s get a look at you, sonny, I need to see your I.D.”
“I... I forgot it. I left it in the room.”
He scowled. “You’re not trying to pull a fast one, are you?”
I swallowed hard. “I’m eighteen,” I croaked, “I’m small for my age.”
The man shook his head. “No way, sonny. I let you in, I lose my job.”
Jim jumped in. “Thing is, he smokes a lot. He used to be bigger than me! Two packs a day! Since he was eight!”
“That kid’s eighteen,” he rasped, “I’m the man in the moon!”
“But I tell you...”
“Beat it!” The man stuck out his thumb like an umpire. “This here’s a high-class establishment. We don’t want no trouble.”
“But...”
“Scram!”
We skulked back to the street corner. “Damn!” Jim frowned and looked around. We were right in front of an all-night restaurant, a Needix. “Listen,” he said, pressing a couple of bills into my hand, “wait in there, get an ice cream or a hamburger or something. I’ll be back in half an hour, hour at the most. Okay?”
I nodded. What choice did I have?
“Sure you’ll be all right?” he said, edging away.
“No problem.” I felt disappointed. I went into the Needix and ordered two hot dogs and an orange drink. I spotted a newspaper which after a minute I grabbed and began reading. The New York Post. It was smaller than the Journal and the pages went up and down. I read the sports then started at the front and worked through the whole thing. Still hungry, I ordered a sundae to make up for the dessert he talked me out of, fudge sauce and nuts, whipped cream and a cherry. Another twenty minutes, still no Jim. I decided to leave. Walking slowly toward