Fifty-Boy 24 She's Exquisite

Fifty-Boy

24

She's Exquisite

I spent many a lazy afternoon with Bernhardt the doorman, sitting out front in the shade on the breezeway talking life and sipping mint tea. I really got to like him, and I think he liked me too.

I loved his accent. He was a big guy from Germany. We got into some pretty heavy conversations about women, wives, sex, and baking. Apparently, he loved to bake.

One day he showed me a picture of his wife:

"Bernhardt, she's exquisite."

"You think so?"

"Yes."

"You were married, Jake?"

When he saw my difficulty he said, "Never mind. I think I understand."

After that we became friends and I was able to tell him some little bit of my story.

One afternoon when things in the lobby were particularly quiet he said, "Hypothetically, would you have sex with another man's wife?"
I thought about Dale Outlay and Molly. I said, "I don't think so, but you can never tell. Who knows what you'd do in a given situation. I don't know nothing anymore."

"Let me pose a question." He said. "What if you were asked by a friend?"

"To have sex with his wife, hypothetically?"

"Jah, to help him out of jam."

"How would that work?"

"Well, let's say my friend comes to me and says, look my wife won't have sex with me anymore because she caught me with her friend... And, she says, you're not getting any anymore, 'til I can even the score, 'til I get to have sex with the man I'm choosing."

"Whoa..."

"Jah, whoa... And he's saying to you, please, man, help me. You must do this for me. I haven't had any in... And you can fill in that part for yourself... But you understand, now what would you do?"

"Depends on how good a friend he was... He's not gonna' get jealous later and kill me, is he?"

"No, he's not going to kill you, he's going to thank you. You' helping him."

"Yeah," I laughed. "But, Bernhardt, I don't care how good a friend he is, a lot's gonna' depend on what his wife looks like."

"She's exquisite." He said.

I said, Uh huh..."

A cop car pulled to the curb.

Bernhardt went over. I think he knew them. He pointed to me and said, "To be continued, my friend."

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 23 At Least My Teeth Were Real

Fifty-Boy

23

At Least My Teeth Were Real

I did a lot of thinking at the Sheraton. It was on the beach overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. I'd go out walking at sunset and think things over. Truthfully, I didn't really know what to do. At the same time I didn't care.

It wasn't hard to just go to sleep when you wanted to sleep and get up when you were ready to get up. But when I had the luxury of doing what I wanted when I wanted, I reverted to a workaday schedule and got up early and worried if I wasn't in bed sleeping by ten...

...But after a while I got over that.

Melinda who cleaned my room taught me to say thanks and you're welcome in Spanish, gracias, donata. She knew to clean my room last. I always left a nice tip. Then I'd walk five flights down. The elevator was too fast for a man living a lazy pace.

Jilly at the restaurant out back always had my coffee ready. She'd say, "Your want some sugar with that?"

What a tease.

I loved my morning coffee out on the deck under the awning overlooking the pool and the snow cone cabanas with the green and white striped tops.

Exotic birds would perch around and sing on the railings, hop onto the tables, walk up to the plates and pick at the leftovers. They'd chatter a little to make sure I knew it was their plate. "No problem."

Sometimes people would strike up a conversations and I got to practice giving one-word answers, saying as little as possible. I always smiled. I just wasn't over talkative.

After a while I'd stroll down the veranda and onto the beach. Pelicans in groups of three or five glided low over the Gulf. I couldn't believe how big they were; gliding in formation, then suddenly one dives down and comes up with a fish. Who would've knowns this stuff really existed outside of postcards?

I mean, dolphins in the ocean instead of hypodermics and trash. The gulf was warm and the waves were low. Sleek black birds I'd never seen before, with long arching necks and slicked back feathers sat on top of pilings and preened. To me they looked like sea ducks or ocean swans, so that's what I called them. The whole place was soothing, serene, and surreal.

People walked the beach, mostly alone. Sometimes they said hi with a nod. All I had to do was just touch the brim of my hat and smile. Shit, I couldn't help smiling. I was constantly amazeds at the old guys in hot pink short-shorts with their cheeks peeking out, and muscle shirts with baggy skin and brown sun blisters.

Then I thought how I must've looked and got over it. They were smiling at me too, in my cargo shorts and baseball hat, but at least my teeth were real.

The only time I ever saw shells like the ones on this beach was in shops with prices too high. First I said to myself, maybe I'll collect a few. But they were all so beautiful I couldn't just take one. I wanted them all, and believe me, I tried. But how many beautiful things can one man carry?

So, I said, well, then I don't want any. If I can't have 'em all, I don't want none. That left me feeling pretty miserable. By the time I got down to the big rocks at the channel where the sailboats came through and Jimmy Buffett music was playing over on the marina deck on the other side, I decided it was probably okay just to choose one.

Somehow that one shell could stand for all of them, and for the place, and the feeling, and the time, and the comfort... and the healing. And it did. So I picked one. Maybe it was that way with women too. I was beginning to see I was no expert, not by a long shot.

By the time I had one side of me pretty well sun burnt I'd turn around and head back, just to even out my color. It doesn't take long to walk a few miles on the beach once you start. But you never realize how far you've walked 'til its time to go back.

It was good to see my hotel when I finally got there, walls like stucco cocoa, with cantaloupe roof tiles, and lime green balcony railings, the whole building low and natural between the palms, looking all homey and comfortable... Not like the tall glass condos on either side, stuck in the sand like high-rise electrical transformers in the middle of an oasis.

By the end of the day couple were in the hot tub, families were in the pool. Lou at the towel stand had my two waiting, one for the lounge chair, one for my head. I'd stretch out, close my eyes, pull my hat down, and listen myself to sleep.

Happy sounds - kids splashing and laughing - mothers calling - lovers whispering - sea birds - vacation conversations: Where you from? Where you from? What do you do? And what do you do? - And nobody really caring, just enjoying the accents - the pleasant smells - suntan lotion - the ocean - the afternoon air all around me.

Time would go by, I never knew how much, and it didn't matter - take a deep breath, get up slow and slip into the hot tub, lay back against a jet and luxuriate......Once I had a conversation with a woman in the hot tub about lonliness.

The sky was going from blue to dark blue.

The sun was going down and there was one staron the horizon just above her head.

Her eyes reminded me of Molly

She said maybe we could have dinner together.

I lied and said I couldn't. I hadn't been lonely up to that point, but dinner in my room that night was so pitiful I could't finish it. I do admit, the nights were rough.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 22 Palm Trees - Hot Tubs- Curvy Girls

Fifty-Boy

22

Palm Trees - Hot Tubs - Curvy Girls

An outreach worker named Anna gave me a sandwich five nights in a row. She was driving a van that said Covenant House For Teens on the side. I guess she could tell I was hungry. I let her know I was living in the subway under Suburban Station. I let her know maybe ten or twenty times, just in case.

Early Saturday morning I started hitching back to the shore along 42 and got lucky. A priest in a new black Camry rode me all the way to Frank Farley rest stop on the AC Expressway. From there I called Spirit Airlines. They had a flight the next day to Tampa.

By eleven on Saturday morning I was at the Hamilton Mall.

By noon I had new clothes, carry-on luggage, shoes, and a haircut.

By one I found a travel agent and bought my ticket.

609

I even bought a snazzy little cell phone with a 609 area code and a neat blue light when you flipped it open. Twenty bucks a month. I coudln't believe it.

By five I was in the Barnes and Boble Cafe eating an egg sandwich with havarti cheese, sipping coffee, and reading travel guides to Tampa, Clearwater, Saint Pete's.

I found a motel, ordered a taxi for the morning, had a real shower, and went to sleep on a real bed by ten.

I couldn't hardly sleep.

Two o'clock Sunday afternoon I was buckling the new me in the seat. The things I purchased at the Mall were stuffed in the overhead with the money, taxiing for takeoff.

By four-thirty I was strolling out into the most aquamarine airport I'd ever seen - Cool tile floors, seashell walls, enameled mosaics - Pelicans - Palm Trees - Dolphins and Fish.

Man, I could've ridden those jazzy little orange and blue monorails back and forth between the terminals all day long, just looking at the palm trees and curvy girls in tight capri pants, clean tropical feet, pastel toes, healthy brown shoulders, sunlit hair.

I must have made security nervous.
I could tell by the way they were looking at me.
So I hopped a shuttle to a place they had a picture of, the Sheraton Sand key, and reviewed my escape in the hot tub with a mojito in my hand and the same silly smile all over my face.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 21 The Art Of Saying Nothing

Fifty-Boy

21

The Art Of Saying Nothing

I couldn't believe I heard his fucking voice. It was like a nightmare where you try to run but you can't. Bulldog Mathers had me by the neck, "Where ya' think you're going, Finn-man?"

I looked around and Lieutenant Wilmont Mathers was breathing in my face. He squeezed my neck again and said, "What's in the case? What're you doing in that building? You breaking into that building? Were you in that building, parasite?"

I bent over trying to relieve the pressure but he just tightened his grip and walked me to the back and tried the door. "Fucking door's locked." He said to himself without loosening his grip on me. "Couldn't get in, could you? Too stupid." I was hunched over the briefcase. "You're not saying much, Jake."

I was so happy this asshole didn't know my real name. It wasn't all bad being officially dead. When we got to his car he took the briefcase, threw me in the back seat, and walked to the drivers side. "You know what's in the case?" He looked at me in the rearview with the case on his lap.

I just looked at the back of his thick head.

"Couldn't get it open, could you, you dumb fuck." He smiled in the mirror. "Thought you'd sneak in that building and have a safe place to check out the contents of your stolen booty, didn't you?"

My four hundred thousand was slipping down my back.

"He hefted the briefcase. "Heavy."

Yeah, seaweed and sand, same stuff your head's packed with. 'Course I didnt' say that out loud, or tell him I spun the dials and locked it last night after I filled it on the beach.

"This isn't yours," he turned toward me, "Is it?"

Sounded like a rhetorical question to me. One thing I learned in the year out here was the art of saying nothing.

"You got a key?" He fumbled with the lataches. "You under the Boardwalk near Roosevelt Place this morning at three?" He looked me in the face. "Now don't you fucking lie to me, Jake."

"No." I said. "It's not mine."

"Good boy." He put the case on the console and stared me down. "You can go."

I thought, no shit!

He got out and opened my door.

I was afraid if I moved, the plastaic bag would drop and he'd find my money.

"What're you fucking waiting for? Get your soggy ass out of my car."

I looked at the briefcase. He looked at me and said, "You better go while you fucking can."

Holding the package against the seat with my back was giving me a serious cramp up the back of my right leg. It hurt like crazy. I was pointing my toe toward the ceiling but it wasn't helping.

He got impatient and said, "What the fuck are you doing back there... In fact, you know what? I changed my mind." He slammed the door.

I said, "Oh, shit."

He got in and started the unmarked car. The windshield wipers started clapping and we pulled out onto Atlantic Avenue. "You know what, Jake, you and me're going for a ride. I don't want to see you homeless bundle of rags ass around my town no more."
"I only had a cramp."

"Fucking parasites."

By the time we reached the bus terminal I'd adjusted my package. He turned around in his seat and gave me a ten. "This'll get you to Philly."

"Costs eleven, Lieutenant."

"You want it or not?"

"Yeah. I'll take it. But I like it here. I like the ocean. I don't know nobody in Philly. C'mon Lieutenant, please."

"Greyhound therapy, one way. And I don't want to see you around here no more."

The briefcase was still on the console. I inched across the seat. He got out and opened my door. I limped out holding my back, twitching my head, looking at him and rubbing my neck.

He said, "Don't you look at me like that. You're lucky I didn't break your fucking parasite neck."

I made a scene in the bus station, panhandling for the other dollar and almost got thrown out the the AC Transit Police, but when I told them Lieutenant Mathers gave me ten dollars and told me to get out of Dodge and I needed an extra dollar, they let me board the bus to Philadelphia where I spent the night in Love Park.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 20 Short Attire For A Jitney

Fifty-Boy

20

Short Attire For A Jitney

I'd ensconced myself in a luxury abandominium down on Ventnor Avenue. I had a journal full of notes, a briefcase and shoulder bag full of money, and a strong temptation to either fly on down to Florida or roll on home to Molly and try and buy her back.


But then there was Vivian. It'd be pretty cold to leave her holding the bag. She was the one who came to see me when I had nothing. She told me her dreams. She said I was part of her escape. I had to think about that.

Outside the world was raw and wet. But for some reason I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Nearly a million dollars and me holding it. It made me laugh out loud.

Just because I was homeless didn't mean I was unintelligent. Four hundred thousand I took for myself. The other five hundred, the new stuff, I wrapped like bricks with wax-paper and duct tape.

I sent Vivian a note on a Lucy The Elephant postcard that said: Short Attire For a Jitney, a clue as to where I hid the money, just in case.

Yeah, she said I was part of her escape, and she said she had dreams, but I never heard her mention me a being part of those dreams.

Just because I was homeless didn't mean I didn't listen, I listened good. I didn't know for sure but I figured what I'd witnessed at 3am had been some kind of swap. I wondered if Vivian knew Paul Meanos hadn't swapped her even. From what I counted it looked like he took a ten percent fee for switching old bills for new. I guess Vivian knew the deal. She was giving him the five hundred thousand in her shoulder bag and he was giving her the four hundred thousand in old money in his briefcase. I just wondered where she got the half million in the first place.

One thing I did know, Vivian wanted it all for herself, the whole nine hundred thousand. So she got me to wait there under the Boards, and then called Wilmont Mathers, that nasty detective, told him she was doing research on her new crime series and was afraid to be out there alone at 3am with Pauly Meanos, so Mathers shows up, and she just walks away with the whole thing.

She said she couldn't tell me the details of her escape to paradise, but she intimated when everything was said and done, I'd have enough to get my own Jitney. Well yahoo.



But I wasn't the same guy who got his dick caught in his zipper a year ago. What Vivian didn't know was, as I got to thinking things over counting the money in the abandoned tire store on Ventnor Avenue, I said, "This ain't never gonna' happend again, not to me, anyway... This is a once in a lifetime. Here's my chance to pass Go."


I finished stashing the bricks iand put the wall panel back in place, strapped my plastic bag with the four hundred thousand to the small of my back, put on all my bulky cold weather rain gear, picked up the briefcase I had filled with sand, and took a peek outside - Looked clear from what I could see. I slipped out a cellar window smiling and feeling pretty good about life.

It occurred to me half way down the block to go back and check the rear door in the alley. I didn't want no homeless people getting in there.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 19 The Day to Day Hell Of Other People

Fifty-Boy

19

The Day To Day Hell Of Other People

Vivian went home and slipped into bed.

The rain started against the window.

She closed her eyes and prayed for sleep, it didn't seem likely.

Today was the day. It had come too quickly. A thousand times she'd gone over it in her mind. Still she wasn't sure it was the best thing. She lay very still and thought, I should never have let Bonnie talk me into her bed. It would've been so much simpler without her, but I needed the cover. I'll be happy when I'm back downbeach in my own bed.

The ocean sounded loud and close, but it soothed her. She could hear the slow, rhythmic breathing from the other side of the bed. Bonnie's leg touched hers. It was smooth. It felt warm. Vivian drifed in a swirl.

Suddenly a male voice announced her name. "Vivian Vivant's special report, the homeless in our midst, don't miss her, today, on this morning's edition of AM Atlantic City, the Jersey Shore's favorite news and weather girl."

She reached for the alarm and turned it off. Another fucking rainy day. She closed her eyes and listened to the 6am Transit bus as it washed through the early morning darkness over the bridge out of AC.

She lay there and wondered if the ruse had worked. She wanted to be securely disconnected from the sequence of events she hoped would set her free from the day to day hell of other people.

The homeless guy under the Boardwalk? No problem. He'd meet her at noon and give her the nine hundred thousand, not even look in the bags, just like they arranged. He'd do anything for her, and she'd leave him just enought to incriminate him.

He'd Do Anything For Her

But what about the rest of it?

Cheating Paul Meanos, the guy Blue had set her up with to launder the money, that could be dangerous, but then again, he'd be a fool to touch a newsperson. Besides, she'd set him on Jake, and by the time they found him, she'd have Jacob Finley floating face down in the bay.

And lets not forget, there's always her ACPD insurance policy.

You couldn't have a more credible witness or beter protection than ex-marine detective Lieutenant Wilmont Mathers, could you?

And as for ditching Bonnie,

the dumb dyke, she couldn't wait to do that.

But what about scamming her own sister,Janice,
stealing the five hundred thousand Janice stole from the bank she managed out on the Parkway?
She felt bad about that too,
but the dumb ass had taken new bills,
 sequentially numbered.


Vivian figured with a stunt like that Janice didn't really deserve the money anyway, but she was her sister, and that's where homeless, brokenhearted Jake came in again, the guy nobody cared about, the perfect guy to take the blame, all the way around.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171

Fifty-Boy 18 Up To Something

Fifty-Boy

18

Up To Something

She Could Take Him Or Leave Him

Wilmont Mathers was Detective Lieutenant in America's biggest little city. He looked over the railing and said, "Shit, it's cold," cupped his hands and blew into his fingers.

The patrol officer driving called out to him, "Forget it, Lieutenant, there's nobody out there. We're the only ones dumb enough to be out on a night like this."

Mathers stood there thinking. "Then why was she out here? And with that excuse for a man. Yeah, I know, her crime-series, she didn't want to be with him alone... What a bunch of bullshit. "

Mathers looked north at the casinos, each a self-contained city, full of noise and yellow light. He said to himself, "She called... She asked for a discreet presence... So what's the problem? Why was she kissing him if she's afraid of him? I don't get it. I don't care what she says, they were up to something, or she was... And I swear I saw something crawling in the shadows... I hate those parasites..."

The moon went behind a cloud. He shivered and got back in his car. He said to his driver, "What, so now I'm seeing parasite in the goddamn moonlight?"

For a long time Jake Fiin didn't move. I encircled her shoulder bag and the briefcase like a slug on a beetle. I wondered what was in the bags, but I was terrified of Mathers. He was a tough black ex-Marine with a hard-on reputation when it came to parasites like the Finn-man.

After a while the moon got real hight and faded. It must have been 4am. In a Wilson Street alley Jacob Finley finally opened the briefcase and it began to rain.

www.amazon.com/Fifty-Boy-Desmond-Jones/dp/0741420171