Free Making Love by Norman Bogner Page B

lankiness, was still known by his nickname, Tub. Tub Feeney was the first of his age group to give up nail biting and to put down conventional sports. His manner was languid and he introduced marijuana cigarettes to the cheerleaders.  
    New York was as depressing as the cab driver's photograph. At a light, George Lapidus decided to explain his position vis-à-vis passengers and impart the wisdom of thirty years of driving down side streets.  
    â€œThis morning my first fare was a couple. Man about thirty-five, girl maybe seventeen, nineteen on the outside. I pick ‘em up outside the Brasserie, the guy gives me a Village address. On Twenty-third Street, there's a malfunctioning of the light. A Firebird in front of me crosses the intersection and out of the other side comes this white El Dorado with four colored people. Blacks, whatever you want to call ‘em. Zap. A collision. Wonder that the schvartzers had gas in the car. I thought all they did was wash and simonize their Caddies. I get out and say to the couple, ‘We're witnesses.’ Would you believe it, they was havin’ an orkee in the back. The guy's got his pants down to his ankles and the girl's brassiere is in his handkerchief pocket. Hangin’ out. I said: ‘Get outa my cab. I'm a grandfather, shame yourself, havin’ an orkee in my back seat. Grandchildren ride in there on Sunday.’ Guy pulls up his pants and steps out and this little seventeen-year-old machonist says: ‘When you're in love, you go all the way.’ Would you believe it? What's your opinion, Miss? That's why I was suspicious when you hailed me.”  
    â€œWould you please stop talking and take me to 1045 Fifth Avenue.”  
    It was a new building, smaller than most, squeezed in between granite giants, as inconspicuous as ham in an Automat roll. She tipped Lapidus thirty-five cents and received a scowl. The doorman inspected her on closed-circuit television for a minute and came to the conclusion that she was not a delivery boy trying to crash or a drug addict fingering apartments. She remained in the vestibule where he could keep an eye on her while he buzzed Mr. Feeney. She gave her name. Feeney barked that it was okay, and she was pointed to the twin Otis Elevators, a safe conduct pass to the co-ops under his jurisdiction.  
    Tub lived on the fifth floor and answered the first ring. He was wearing an old pair of shiny corduroys and a denim shirt, which made her think of gardening and Sunday newspapers. His complexion had cleared, and he had his hair shorter and with a part on the side. Gone was that wild look that had attracted her.  
    â€œJane?” He blinked, awkwardly barring her way. He'd lost a tremendous amount of weight and looked rather frail.  
    â€œCan I come in?”  
    â€œCan you come in.... Why of course you can.”  
    â€œI got your letter....” He wasn't making it easy for her.  
    â€œOh, that. I've got this habit of writing letters and never mailing them. Well, a former friend decided to send them. I wrote it almost a year ago. Half the people I know have stopped speaking to me.”  
    Some of the sweet childishness had vanished, and his face had a tight severity about it. He didn't take his eyes off her.  
    â€œWhy'd you write to me?” she asked.  
    â€œWhy'd you come to see me? I suppose you ran out of people. That's what brings my old friends around ... or to have the rumors they've heard about me confirmed.” He lit a cigarette. “Well, Jane, I confirm them very quickly.”  
    â€œI haven't heard any rumors,” she admitted. “What's there to hear?”  
    â€œNothing significant. It's not as though Genet would dedicate a book to me or something. I've simply been reclassified. They tried to induct me into the army and I decided to kill two birds with one stone. I'll always be grateful to General Hershey.”  
    â€œWhat did