Jerome Charyn - Bronx Noir

What she saw were little boys riding bikes dizzily around small patches of wire-enclosed dirt that looked like scraggly attempts at flower beds. The flowers were all dead. The boys shouted at one another, unmindful of anyone but themselves. Linda looked up. The sun was blocked by crisscrossed clothes lines filled with hanging laundry.

“Come on inside.” Now he navigated her through the large lobby, where he hurried her to another door. Tarnished brass letters indicated it was apartment 1A. “Ta da! Our very own private entrance. Isn’t it great?”

He took out a set of keys and opened the door. As Frank bent over to lift Linda and carry her over the threshold, they heard clapping.

“Put me down, Frank,” she said. He did.

She looked around the lobby. It was very large, and had seen better days.

The floors were black and white tiled squares. With imitation Greek columns and metal ceilings and a long bank of mailboxes against the wall next to the elevator.

There were people in the lobby staring at them. A couple of old guys were playing chess at a card table with a third man watching them. Two women with baby strollers sat on a marble bench. A woman with groceries had just removed mail from her box. They were all grinning as they clapped.

“Hey, Frankie, you’re back!” This from one of the chess players. To Linda he said, “I’m Irving Pinsky. 5F. You must be Frankie’s new wife.”

Frank waved. “Hey, Irv, it’s Doctor Frankie now. Show some respect.”

The lady with groceries said, “Welcome back from the Schwartz family too. Apartment 3D. I’m Helen,” she said to Linda. To Frank she said, “So what’s the bride’s name?”

“This is Linda, my wife, and also gonna be my nurse. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Linda turned sharply at this unexpected piece of news. His nurse?

“Too good for the likes of you, you, pisher. Just call me Phil,” the other chess player told Linda. A man who introduced himself as Sam teased Frank. “We always had Jewish doctors in this building. When Dr. Mayer retired to Miami, we didn’t expect a goyish kop like you to show up.”

Frank laughed aloud. “I promise I’ll be just as good.”

Phil shrugged. “Who said he was good?”

“Nice people, your in-laws,” said one of the mothers, Alice. “They got great food in their Italian restaurant on Arthur Avenue. That’s the Little Italy of the Bronx,” she informed Linda.

She shuddered. Don’t tell me about the Bronx. I could tell you horror stories.

“And speaking of food, don’t mind the smell.” Mrs. Schwartz pinched her nose with two fingers to make her point. “That’s Flanagan in 1G. They always have corned beef and cabbage on Thursdays.”

“Phew,” agreed Irving. Turning to Mrs. Schwartz, he said, “And your gribbines don’t smell all that great either. That chicken fat stinks up your floor pretty good.”

She made a face and waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Hey, doc.” Irving started to take a shoe off. “One of my big toes hurts. Could you take a look at it?”

Again Frank laughed. “Call my nurse for an appointment.” He hugged Linda, who stiffened.

“What a blondie, such a cutie,” the third man, Sam, commented with a leer. “She can take my temperature any time.” There was group laughter at that.

“Frank, get me inside right now!” Linda grabbed his arm, squeezing it hard.

Frank waved again. “Gotta go. Just drove in. The little woman needs her rest.”

With that, he lifted her up and carried her into 1A to a chorus of cheers.

When the door closed behind them, Frank faced his wife, beaming with pleasure. He waited for her to say something.

Linda turned away and walked from room to room examining the apartment.

“Swedish modern foam couches,” Frank recited, following after her as she looked at the bilious green fabric covering hard-looking flat pillows that sat on wrought-iron frames. “The salesman said it was the latest thing.”

He then flung himself into one of the plastic beanie bag “chairs” in the same ugly hue. He bounced around, legs flying upward, to show the fun of them.

She ignored him and continued down the dark hall. Frank dashed after her. The bathroom was small and also dark. She entered the next room and gasped. It was a nursery. Painted in blue. No furniture yet, but toys. Little boy’s toys.

He grinned at her and shrugged. “Just thinking ahead.”

Not here, never in this place, she thought.

He opened the master bedroom door for her with a flourish. She moved straight to the windows. She was chagrined to see they faced directly onto the courtyard. One of the kids on a bicycle rode by and stuck his tongue out at her. She quickly closed the curtains.

Frank continued his spiel. “And here’s our boudoir. And there’s our honeymoon bed, sweetheart.”

Finally she turned to him, red in the face. “Shut up! Shut up!”

That night, with great trepidation, she met Frank’s family — aunts, uncles, cousins, and siblings — as they introduced themselves en masse at the big dinner held in the newlyweds’ honor across the street in his parents’ side of the two-family building. Too many people pushed in close to meet her. And to offer congratulations to the son who became a doctor. Frank’s brother-in-law, Al, laughed. “Yeah, he’d do anything so he wouldn’t have to work in the restaurant.” Much agreeable laughter at that. She was offered antipasto, which she refused. And she was presented with more names she wouldn’t remember.

“Our spaghetti sauce cooks for four hours, our secret recipe,” Mama Lombardi told her proudly as she doled her out a huge portion. But Linda merely moved her fork around the plate.

“You marry a girl with no appetite?” Papa Lombardi asked, astonished.

Frank laughed. “Hey, she’s gotta get used to you guys. Get your garlic breaths off of her. Let her breathe air.”

After a massive dinner of six courses, which Linda only picked at, they finally reached the spumoni and espresso. The men lit up their huge cigars. And Mama asked the inevitable question.

“Linda, where are your folks?”

She spoke in a low, flat voice. “I have no family. I’m an orphan.”

There was a silence at that. Mama crossed herself.

Frank put his arm around his wife. “Well, honey bun, you sure have one now.”

The tense moment over, Papa grinned and said, “Welcome to la famiglia .”

Frank turned the key in the lock and made his way back through the foyer into his parents’ living room.

Knowing his brother could hear him, Vincent said, “It’s what I always said about him. Frankie’s such an easygoing guy. Ya have to kick him in the ass three times before he knows you’re mad at him.”

His sister Connie grinned. “Yeah, what a pushover. Girls always take advantage of him.”

Frank addressed his siblings, also grinning. “Thanks for nothing. You’re just jealous.”

They laughed.

The immediate family was sitting around drinking more espresso “She’s all right?” Mama offered him a cup.

“Just tired. Been a long day with a lot of new things to get used to.”

Papa said, “I like her. She’s quiet.”

Mama gave him a gentle hit across his head. “You always were a sucker for the blondes.” She patted her pitch-black hair, with the slight gray feathering at her forehead, and winked at him.

They sat quietly digesting.

Mama couldn’t resist a shot of guilt. “You had to go and elope? And disappoint the whole family?”

“Mama, what else could I do? I told you, Linda had no one to invite. I didn’t want to make her unhappy on her wedding day.” Mama sighed. “I understand. So, all right, she met everyone tonight.”