"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, flashing 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 Washington. 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, dashing 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 relationship 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."

Joshua didn't respond, thinking Williams was waiting for a reason to explode. He wasn't in an accommodating mood.

He wondered what Williams meant by "taking care" of Celeste. There wasn't a long list of choices, not with someone like this. He vowed to get even if Williams had hurt Celeste. He promised himself that much, even as he lay quivering at the man's feet.

Williams stood, staring down at Joshua for a few more seconds until old lady Eisenman appeared in the lobby with a shopping cart full of packages. She almost didn't see them as she pushed the cart toward the elevator, but Joshua started moaning to attract her attention.

"Vhat's going on?" she exclaimed at the sight of Joshua on the floor. "Is dat you, Joshua?" she continued, adjusting her bifocals.

"Yes, Mrs. Eisenman, it is."

Instinctively, Williams took Joshua's hand and helped him up. "It seems that Joshua fell. Right Joshua?" he said.

"Yes, I suppose I did." Tentative.

Mrs. Eisenman watched curiously. "Shouldn't you be at school now, Joshua?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," he said. "I was on my way there, running because I was late. That's how I fell." A bit more conviction this time.

"Are you okay? Do you need to come up for anything?" she asked.

"No, thanks to Mr. Williams here, I'm just fi-ne." Joshua turned to Williams with a smirk.

"Vell, then I suggest you go off to school right now. Ve vouldn't vant you to be any more late than you are already, vould ve?"

"No ma'am."

Joshua walked to the front door, feigning a slight limp to impress the old lady. But as soon as he came out onto the sidewalk, he lost the limp, dashed up the block to the corner, and down the alleyway toward the back of the building.

He approached Celeste's bedroom window out of breath. It was a dangerous and stupid move, he knew, being alone in the back of the building after his confrontation with Williams. Williams might have expected this, and could be waiting to finish what Mrs. Eisenman had interrupted. But Joshua didn't care, his only thought was of Celeste. He needed to know if she was okay.

He tapped on the window, looking over his shoulder all the while. Her hand appeared and lifted the curtain. The window, though dirty, was clear enough for him to see dark swollen welts on her face and tears in her eyes. She looked as if she'd been beaten with a lead pipe.

She tried to open the window from inside, but it was stuck from not having been open in years. There was nothing Joshua could do to help. Her pushing quickly turned into pounding. It didn't seem to faze her that the window might break or that her pounding could be heard throughout the building. The window didn't budge.

The door to her bedroom burst open. She screamed with fear as she was pulled away. Through the grimy gla.s.s pane Joshua could see her father attack her, swinging at her head and body. Joshua slammed his fist through the gla.s.s, and barely noticed the blood on his hand as he started kicking the frame. Celeste's screaming grew louder as he dislodged the frame and tried to squeeze through to get into the room. What he would do when he got in, he didn't know.

Williams turned from his daughter, and seeing Joshua stuck, violently pulled Joshua's legs, trying to drag Joshua into the room. Joshua kicked frantically to break free, pulled himself back out from the frame, and got to his feet. He ran back around to the front entrance of the building, raced up the stairwell to his apartment, went straight to the kitchen, and pulled open the knife drawer. He grabbed the largest knife he could find, hid it in his coat, and rushed back down the stairs.

He wasn't sure what he was thinking, only that he needed to protect Celeste.

He made it to the bas.e.m.e.nt, and at the front door to the Williams' apartment he heard the mayhem from Celeste's bedroom. Mrs. Williams was trying, unsuccessfully, to break it up, while Celeste was screaming, and Williams was yelling at his wife to get out of the way.

Joshua tried the door. It was open. He went into the living room, took a deep breath, and stepped into the bedroom. His hand was behind his back, clutching the knife.

Williams saw Joshua and charged, saliva drooling. Instinctively, Joshua took the knife from behind him, but Williams, too frenzied to notice, kept coming. He lunged, fell upon the knife, then backed away, standing erect, horrified, staring down at the blade handle protruding from his abdomen. He stumbled, looked bewilderingly at his wife and daughter, then fell over backwards to the floor.

Joshua saw that Mrs. Williams and Celeste were both in shock. He held his hand out for Celeste, but she was frozen, her face wet, her body shivering. He wanted her to grab him, to run away with him and never come back. But she just stood there, gaping at her father on the floor, a pool of blood forming around his body.

He was still breathing when Mrs. Williams came to her senses, ran to the phone, and called for help. Joshua tried again to get Celeste's attention, but to no avail. The next thing he knew, he was running away. Alone.

The police picked him up a few hours later, wandering in the vicinity of Troy Avenue and Empire Boulevard. He wasn't really trying to hide, just roaming the streets, thinking about what to do next. When they found him, he was actually relieved.

They took him to the precinct in the back seat of a patrol car. When he arrived there, he was processed by two plain-clothed officers. He figured they were detectives; they looked like the kind he had watched many times on TV. He loved police shows like Dragnet and Adam-12, but The Naked City was his favorite. It never bothered him that there weren't any black heroes in any of those shows; that's just the way things were.

The taller cop's name was McQuade. He had thin, dirty blond hair, and a filterless Camel between his lips. He tried badgering Joshua about what had happened, but Joshua offered nothing other than where his mother could be contacted. Growing up on the streets had taught him when to keep his mouth shut.

The other cop had jet-black, greasy hair, a neatly trimmed mustache, muscular build, and olive skin. He didn't bother telling Joshua his name, but did try the "buddy-buddy" routine. Joshua figured these guys took him for a fool, but he wasn't going to fall for it. "I don't know. When's my Mama coming?" was his answer to each and every question.

He was, surprisingly, worried about Mr. Williams, but more so about Celeste. He also wondered about Jerome and Mrs. Williams. He was smart enough not to ask the cops anything, not to let on that he knew why he was there. Thank G.o.d for television.

The cops eventually became exasperated and placed him in a holding cell, where he sat for another twenty minutes, as they talked among themselves. Finally, his mother entered the squad room with a tall, dark-haired, middle-aged white man in a sharp, expensive looking suit. Joshua had never seen this man before, but a.s.sumed him to be Mr. Alfred Sims.

The detectives walked over to greet Loretta and Mr. Sims. Joshua moved closer to the bars to get a better look, and tried to listen to what was going on. His mother was crying, and it seemed Mr. Sims was consoling her while talking with the cops. Loretta turned toward Joshua with a look reflecting more sadness than anger. Joshua was taken aback; he had never seen such an expression on her.

It appeared that Sims was in control of the interchange, which lasted but a few moments. Detective McQuade then walked over to the holding cell, unlocked the door, and let Joshua out. "You're a lucky kid," he said.

Joshua kept silent.

McQuade escorted Joshua to Loretta and Sims, turned to Sims and said, "Here he is Al. Better keep a close watch on him if you don't want him to end up here again."

Sims nodded with a smile. "Thanks, John, I owe you one."

Joshua was surprised that Sims and McQuade were so acquainted.

Sims shook hands with each of the detectives, the three of them smiling. Loretta barely acknowledged Joshua's presence. He knew he was in deep trouble.

Joshua sat in the back seat quietly, as Alfred Sims drove him and his mother home. The first and only thing Sims said to him was something about not needing to worry about the cops. He was finding it hard to focus, and hadn't heard the exact words. In any event, it seemed that Sims had somehow managed to convince the detectives to forget the whole thing and lose the paper work. From this, Joshua figured that Williams must be doing okay, and probably wouldn't being pressing charges, all things considered. It seemed to Joshua that his mother's employer wielded much influence, though he wondered just how much all this had cost.

Loretta remained silent in the car, but Joshua believed she would eventually make him wish he'd stayed in the holding cell. Sims dropped them in front of the building, said good-night to Loretta, and gave Joshua a stern warning about straightening up. Joshua thought it odd for this stranger to be so authoritative with him, but realized that the guy had saved his hide. He owed Sims, so the least he could do was pretend to listen.

When they got upstairs, Loretta sent him to his room and added, "I'm gonna make some supper. I'll call you when it's ready." That was all she said.

Joshua sat on his bed, thinking about Celeste. He could take whatever punishment his mother would dish out, but Celeste-he just couldn't bear to think what her father was capable of. He tried taking comfort in the hope that Williams might change now that Mr. Sims and others were aware of the beating. But Joshua knew better. He had instincts about such things, a peculiar familiarity with evil for someone his age. Big Bob had been right about the lessons you learn on the street.

Several hours pa.s.sed before Loretta called him into the kitchen for dinner. They sat across from one another at the small table, and Joshua helped himself to a hefty portion of macaroni and cheese from the serving bowl.

Loretta didn't eat, and didn't speak. She just sat there and looked at her son with that same expression she'd worn in the police station. Joshua tried ignoring her, stuffing his mouth with food, but the tension got to him. He wished she would say something, chew him out and p.r.o.nounce his sentence. The silence was unlike her; she'd found a new weapon.

Without realizing it, he'd polished off the macaroni. He looked at the empty serving bowl, and said, "I'm sorry Mama, guess I was hungry."

"Guess you were," she replied. "You should be, after not eating for a whole day." She got up and took the dishes to the sink.