1933 Was a Bad Year by Fante John

Author:Fante, John [Fante, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Classics
ISBN: 9780062012999
Amazon: 0062012991
Goodreads: 9261989
Publisher: HarperCollins e-books
Published: 1985-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

Two blocks down College Avenue I ran into Kenny on his way home from the show. He said, “Hi, lover.”

“Aren’t you cute.”

“You missed a great show. Both pictures. Ginger Rogers—what a body.”

“I have to tell you something about me and your sister.”

“Don’t tell me you scored.” He was mocking me.

“I kissed her, that’s all.”

“Was it that bad? You look like a fugitive from justice.”

“I liked it. She didn’t.”

“She’s too old for you. Not your type.”

“What’s my type, Mr. Anthony?”

“She’ll emerge out of your fame, some girl along the way. Maybe a movie star like Ginger Rogers. It’s not important now. You have to think of the arm, Dom. Nothing matters but the arm.”

“The Arm’s not worried.” I held it out. “The Arm knows what’s important.”

“Does it know that women and pitching don’t mix?”

“It’s not so sure.”

“Does it pine for a certain tropical setting off the coast of California, owned by a chewing gum tycoon?”

“The Arm is aware of such a place.”

“Ask it, when do we leave?”

“Pretty soon.”

“Time’s running out. Let’s move.”

He stood pink-cheeked under the lamp post, warm as a beaver inside his new coat, his feet in heavy galoshes, confident, free to go anywhere.

“You talk pretty big,” I said. “Are you by any chance the son of Joe Parrish, one of the richest men in this town?”

“Oh, balls! There you go again.” He kicked at the snow. “A lousy fifty bucks. You can raise it, if you try.”

“How?”

“Your old man.”

“He hasn’t got it.”

“Can’t he borrow it?”

“He wouldn’t ask.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

He smiled faintly. “You know what I think, Guinea? I think you’re chicken.”

I thought of hitting him, but suddenly his smile was his sister’s, and so were his placid eyes. I spat right in his face. He did not move, the spittle trickling down his nose as he calmly flicked it away with the back of his glove.

“Feel better now?” he said.

Shoving my fists into the mackinaw, I walked away, but after twenty steps I slowed down. I liked him. He was the only friend I had. He respected The Arm. Sometimes he needled me, but I did the same to him, and we had a common dream. I couldn’t throw it all away. He was trudging up the hill, bending forward against the incline.

“Ken!”

He turned around.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, pal.”

“You sore?”

“Nope.”

“See you at the Elks tomorrow.”

‘Talk to your old man, Dom. It won’t hurt to try.”

“Okay.”

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