Deuce, The: A Novel (Midtown Blue) by F. P. Lione

Author:F. P. Lione [Lione, F. P.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Baker Book Group
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

9

We walked the boardwalk through South Beach and into Midland Beach, where the boardwalk turns to a wide cobblestone path. At the turn of the century South Beach was a resort town, and the boardwalk had rides and concessions. After the concessions closed and what was left of the rides moved to a small amusement park, the boardwalk deteriorated. It was a magnet for drug dealers and vagrants, with a pretty big homeless population.

About ten years ago the borough president restored these three miles of beach, turning the burnt-out remains of the old boardwalk into a seaside attraction. Local bands played here on the weekends, and parks department festivities had become the norm. At one entrance a fountain billowed with water while dolphins in motion soared at different heights. It would have been beautiful except one of the dolphins had its backside sticking up while its face was buried in the cement. I guess it was supposed to look like he was diving in the water; instead it looked like he had smashed into the cement and gotten stuck there.

It was now past lunchtime, and we had walked over four miles. We ended up in Miller Field, an old World War I airfield that the Parks Department now uses for sports leagues and picnic grounds. There is a roller hockey rink and huge playground. The old hangars are still there, and also a small row of houses for the park rangers. We sat down on one of the picnic tables by the ranger station, but Fiore got up and said we needed to keep moving or he’d fall asleep.

Summer sunbathers were out en masse on this hot summer day, and the beach was full when we turned around and headed back toward the Verrazano Bridge. The beach concession stands were open, and we bought more water to fight off the dehydration. Fiore wanted to get a couple of hot dogs, but the guy on the South Beach part of the boardwalk had better dogs. I was sweaty and my feet were swollen, but I’d still walk another mile for a better hot dog. I tried to keep talking but yawned every other word, and then Fiore caught it and he yawned every other word.

“Stop!” I moaned.

“Stop what?” He yawned

“Stop yawning.” I yawned.

We stopped talking so we had the energy to make it home. I suggested catching a bus that ran along Father Capodanno Boulevard. The bus would leave us by the bridge, but Fiore said the walking would do me good. I thought about running away and jumping on the bus, but I didn’t want to hear Fiore, plus I didn’t know if he could find his way back to my house.

We stopped at the South Beach hot dog cart. We each got two dogs with mustard and sauerkraut, and black cherry sodas. We ate standing next to the cart. I smoked a cigarette before walking again, putting the butt in my soda can. By the time we got back to my house it was 1:30 and I was too tired to stand.

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