after a long night of drinking we trucked it to an all night diner. the waitress was a knock out (at least at 2:30 am she was), so we started in with the sweet talk. she brought out the eggs & bacon as we wise cracked flirtatious. i could tell pretty early in that we were golden. her shift ended and we headed back to her place for the cold beers in her fridge that she kept advertising. the heat from a santa ana killed as we pulled on the bottles & burned smokes on the balcony. the apartment didn’t have air. the windows & the front door all stood open as a single box-fan chugged, overwhelmed by the job. we eyed the night sky & we eyed our beautiful host, wondering which of us would get her.
baybree’s face said HONESTY. it looked clean & the ladies responded. at 21 he still had the face of a baby. i resembled a cut up veteran; seedy, seasoned. i could work with my eyes something nasty that let a broad know a night with me meant a good time, a good tumble, and nothing else. that gave “yes’s” & “no’s.” baybree’s condition brought out the “maybes” in a woman; they tried holding out on the kid, tried dating. dating was lousy. i knew that much already. love was for assholes. the joy i sought came with a constant new face, momentary acceptance, momentary ecstasy. having a different woman every night of every day i breathed remained my dream.
the sun lifted slowly, crawling in through the balcony; the 3 of us still up, still at it, already tanked. the last of the smokes were at our knuckles, the bottles near cashed, and the heat hadn’t let up an ounce. a song filtered through the radio too loud at the early morning hour. no one cared about the neighbors so no one turned it down. the light entered. soon it would fill the entire room. i gazed at the diner gal. god, her form pleased me; gently set up on a stool near the kitchen, relaxed, not trying— it pleased me. ‘she can have either of us, davinetti…or both,’ i kept telling myself. ‘she could have both of us & i wouldn’t care. if i could get my share i wouldn’t even be jealous.’
the announcer cut through on the radio, his voice tinny, distant, muffled. it brought with it urgency & we gave it our attention. a plane dove straight into the trade center, the man said…flew right in. another followed shortly after, & the man filled us in on that too. the skies were falling in new york…the skies are FALLING! drunk that meant nothing. sober it would alter the world, alter everything. “not since pearl harbor,” they kept saying, “not since pearl harbor.”
i craned my head at the clock on the wall & read its numbers. “it’s only 5…evry’body’s sleepin’.” the notion of a time change escaped me. the notion of lives dead hadn’t registered either. although drunk, i clearly recall baybree mouthing it. “well…we’d both better go get laid…we’re goin’ ta’ war.” our eyes pointed at the lady of the house... neither of us made her.
