Free Making Love by Norman Bogner

 
    Al was interrupted by a black crocodile purse which thumped against his ear, Sylvia's calling card. This was followed by a J&B right in the face, blinding him momentarily. The purse hit him in the face in a perfectly executed backhand passing shot.  
    â€œEverywhere we go he humiliates me. And as for you, Mel, introducing him to B-Girls. You know that I'm the brains of the business. Glamor boy doesn't know a sauna from a steam cabinet. Back to Roslyn, Mister,” she informed the chairman of HCA, “and no more monkey business. I'm putting you in escrow. Hy, get the car.”  
    She glowered at Jane and approached menacingly, the purse in position.  
    â€œNever rile a Weinberg,” she noted ominously.  
    â€œHe attacked me,” Jane said angrily.  
    â€œLiar. Don't you think I know a Buffalo hooker when I see one? You're an ice skater with the Ice Capades, I suppose. You lousy kids don't know anything except smoking pot, rioting, and screwing. What about personal hygiene, have you got any?”  
    As a parting gesture to enforce her point she was about to strike Jane, but a pair of muscular arms lifted her from behind and carried her through the room, depositing her at the door. Sonny Jackson with something larger than a football in his hands was unlikely to drop it.  
    The party had thinned out, and some bus boys were picking up dirty glasses and putting out small cigarette fires on the carpet and sofa. Jane found Sonny in the bedroom, changing into street clothes. His uniform was neatly hung on a wire hanger.  
    â€œSorry,” he said. “I didt know anyone was usin’ this.”  
    â€œI wanted to say thank you.”  
    He gave her a blank stare and nodded his head.  
    â€œI thought she was going to belt you.”  
    â€œShe was.” He buttoned his shirt and put on a black knit tie. “Where are you going from here?”  
    He looked at his watch, then wiped his shoes with a towel.  
    â€œIt's seven, and I have my dinner at the place about now.”  
    â€œWhere's that?”  
    â€œWhere I work.” He seemed surprised by her question. “At Joiners on First Avenue. Single city. The rush don't begin till eight thirty.”  
    â€œYou've got a job there—I hate to sound stupid.”  
    â€œThat's right. I been there since it opened”—he thought for a minute—“about eighteen months now.”  
    â€œSo this isn't full-time work.”  
    â€œRight. I do it a couple of times a week, you know. What do they call it—two jobs?”  
    â€œMoonlighting.”  
    â€œI moonlight to pick up a few.”  
    He lifted the hanger and inspected the black trousers for stains. A blotch of mustard was on one of the pockets.  
    â€œYou can get it off with hot water.” She went into the bathroom, ran the water, and came out with a wet towel and rubbed the pocket, then picked off the dry bits with her nails.  
    â€œThat's terrific, thanks, you've saved me one seventy-five for cleaning.” He stopped and looked at her quizzically. “Did you ask me something?”  
    â€œIf you liked your work.”  
    â€œI guess I do. I'm always meetin’ new people and I like the kids that come in. I let people in, you know, enforce the safety regulations. Every place in New York has a limit, you see. Unlawful for more than a certain number. We can hold three hundred and fifty, but it's real tight. Sometimes somebody has more than he can handle and I see that nobody starts pushin’ anyone around, or if a guy gets fresh with a girl, well, she's got no protection, so I straighten things out. I'm the equalizer. Then if they're short at the bar, I double as a bartender, but I don't like it much. You know, mixin’ drinks, then runnin’ to the rigister every second to make change. It gets very confusin'.”  
    He smiled with embarrassment