Jimmy talked Frank into driving us to New York City to go see Mary who was living with Lewis near the foot of the 59th Street Bridge at
some point in 1975.
Frank was so desperate for a repeat of the old days when he and I drove
around with Jimmy on pointless adventures that he agreed to do it, and didn’t
even ask Jimmy to share the cost of gas or tolls, but refused to get locked up
in grid lock, telling Jimmy we would park near the Port Authority and take the
rest of the way by subway – to which Jimmy surprisingly agreed.
Jimmy was obsessed, either on the hunt for pot – as he always was – or stricken
by Mary the way he sometimes got with particular women who were above him in
status.
Mary came from a rich family in West Paterson, and the city fathers had
even named a street after her family.
But she also had a remarkable air of superiority Jimmy could not resist,
even if she happened to be living with someone else at the time.
Frank insisted on taking the subway, even though Jimmy hated the idea
and preferred to travel above ground by cab.
Naturally, being where we were when we got there, Frank started singing
the 59th Street Bridge song we used to sing together back when we wandered
Manhattan as kids, hoping to stir up a spirit of adventure in Jimmy, who
actually found it annoying, and told us to stop.
The building we arrived at reminded me a lot of the old place Frank
used to live in back downtown in the East Village, not quite posh despite being
in a posh neighborhood.
It was so much like the old days I looked around nervously half
thinking we might get mugged at any time.
Lewis and Mary lived in a two-room flat with a door at the red of the third-floor
hall, one room painted red, another blue, both trimmed in black. The furniture
was new.
Mary looked different from when she hung around the band, more mature, with
a pouty mouth and large dark eyes, her brown hair framing a small face.
Frank and I stared at her less than Jimmy did, but not much less.
She greeted up with a smile, and said she was particularly glad to see
Jimmy because she needed his help to balance her check book, claiming Lewis was
just too artistic for that sort of thing, perhaps forgetting the Jimmy was an
artist, too.
At this point, Frank and I learned of Jimmy’s plans to meet Ginger
here, a deception that hurt Frank more than me since Frank had such high hopes
for our finding an adventure again – remembering the old days much more fondly
than I did.
As taken with Mary as Jimmy was, Jimmy still hoped to spend the rest of
his life with Ginger unaware that in the near future she would find someone
much more stable to take up with, abandoning Jimmy for marriage and children.
Jimmy’s idea of the good old days was a few puffs of weed and a night
at a local café sipping wine and eating quiche.
Then Ginger showed up, part of pre-arranged plan Jimmy had neglected to
inform us about. She was still employed as an au pair with Carol for some
uptown family, I thought and so it was not hard for her to meet up with Jimmy.
Frank wanted for us to tag along.
Jimmy wanted no part of that and flagged down a cab as soon as we were
outside, waving at us as the cab pulled away, Frank glaring after it with a
look I already knew meant trouble.
Frank flagged down another cab and offered the driver a sizable tip if
he could get us to the theater where Jimmy and Ginger were going before they
got there.
We immediately got stuck in traffic with Frank bitching about it the
whole time.
As a matter of fact, we managed to beat Jimmy to the theater by our cab
taking an alternative route and were on the sidewalk in front of the theater
when Jimmy and Ginger stepped out of their cab.
Jimmy glared at us as he took Ginger’s arm and made his way into the
theater.
We stood there staring after him. I felt more than a little foolish.
A moment later, Jimmy and Ginger reappeared. Apparently, the traffic delay
had made them too late to get admitted to the show.
Jimmy was in too foul a mood to seek other entertainment but did not
want to be around us either who he seemed to blame for the whole thing, but both
accompanied us into the subway for the trip back to the parking lot. Frank
drove Ginger and Jimmy home, humming the whole time, as if he had gotten the
adventure he wanted after all.
A few years later, I saw Mary in a supermarket in Lodi, and didn’t
recognize her at first. Her life had gone in a different direction, not bad, or
sad, but not what she had expected.
“So, how is he?” she asked me, meaning Jimmy.
“You know Jimmy,” I said. “He’s always the same. If you want, I can
give you his phone number.”
And I did.
Later, I told Jimmy about the encounter and about giving her his
number.
“I wish you hadn’t,” he said. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
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