Lara Reznik - The Girl From Long Guyland Page 4

  I want to shout, “I’m a big girl now, Pop,” but instead I shoot him a thumbs-up.

  Charcoal clouds infuse the sky as I drive past the continuum of Long Island tract houses and strip malls to Southern State. Hope things aren’t too bumpy up in the air for Katie. I switch on the XM radio and fiddle with the controls until I hit the 70s Grateful Dead station:

  Black Peter, Workingman’s Dead. Denise’s favorite song. Did I ever notice that the lyrics are about someone not wanting to be alone when they die?

  Thunder claps outside. I believe that Denise has just spoken to me through the music. Or perhaps someone slipped a tab of LSD in my coffee. Ha ha ha. I haven’t done drugs in years.

  A flood of emotion pours out as I realize how instrumental Denise was in my life. While I only knew her that one year, she was my first friend outside the Long Island bubble of my childhood. For good or for bad, when I left for school, I was determined to change my life and Denise was a catalyst on my path of rebellion.

  My vision blurs with tears. If only I’d stayed in touch with you, Denise. Maybe I could have talked you through your pain. But I’m here for you now.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Danny the Pig

  Bridgeport, Connecticut, 1970

  On the drive back to Bridgeport, Joey and I sang Grateful Dead songs and chatted about concerts we’d attended. I tried to engage Denise in the conversation, but she wanted no part of it. I’d seen this sulky side of her before.

  It was after midnight when we arrived at Bodine Hall. Denise decided to spend the night with Joey at North Hall and said she’d come get me in time for the demonstration tomorrow night. I told her I’d think about it. Lately, both she and Joey had become seriously involved in the anti-war movement. Joey had even joined the Students for a Democratic Society.

  After a good night’s sleep, I spent most of Saturday at the library. The more estranged I felt with my parents, the more motivated I was to keep my grades up. No way could I stand returning to Long Island.

  In the late afternoon, I headed back to Bodine feeling happy I’d made a dent in my homework. I said hello to a couple of girls in the lobby and took the elevator to my room. When I opened the door, I discovered an overweight guy with a potato-shaped head adjusting rabbit ears of a small portable TV. I’d never seen the dude before. “Excuse me, who are you?”

  He turned around to face me. “You Denise’s roommate?”

  “Yes. What are you doing in my room?”

  “I’m her brother Danny. I brought her a TV. Sorry I missed you yesterday. Where’s my sister?”

  Should I lie? “She’s, uh, probably at the library.”

  He winked. “Cool. Guess it’s just you and me, baby.”

  I stepped back toward the door.

  Danny moved closer. “Want to grab dinner first? Get your energy up, baby, cause you’re gonna need it later.”

  I tried to recall what Denise had told me about her brother. Something about institutions and weird. “I’ve eaten already.”

  “You’re a lying bitch.”

  I reached for the doorknob. “See you later.”

  He gripped my arm. “Look, I-I didn’t mean that. I’m just lonely and I really hate to eat alone. I drove all the way here to visit my sister and bring her the TV and she ain’t even around. Please just join me for dinner and then I’ll be on my way.”

  His wavy hair was disheveled and his blue work shirt stretched across a stomach that looked like he’d swallowed a basketball. He looked so pathetic. “There’s a diner down the road called Rodman’s,” I said. “We can grab a hamburger there and then I’ll need to go meet my boyfriend.”

  He licked his lips. “You don’t really have a boyfriend, now do you?”

  Jesus. Back to weird. “Look, maybe you should start back to Queens. This isn’t going to work out.”

  He grabbed my arm and pinned me to the wall. “Not without a little nookie.”

  I tried to pull away but he heaved his bulky body against me and held my wrists. He pressed his lips on mine and forced his tongue into my mouth. Garlic and cigarette smoke breath filled my nostrils.

  I bit his tongue.

  “Bitch!” He pressed me harder against the wall.

  I screamed as the door opened and Denise entered the room. “You fat pig, let go of her!”

  Danny released my wrists. “Fuck you, bitch. I drive all the way up here and this is your reception? Don’t think I won’t tell Mama about all the drugs you’re doing.” He pulled out a bag of weed that Denise had stashed in her closet. “A little proof of your lifestyle.”

  Denise’s face reddened. “How dare you attack my friend.”

  He smiled. “Laila and I were getting it on.”

  “Bullshit. He pounced on me.” I said.

  “You want trouble? Say one thing to Mama and Laila will file assault charges against you. It wouldn’t be the first time, now would it, dear brother?”

  Danny picked up the television he brought and smashed it on the floor. The glass shattered. A shard hit me in the arm. He pulled open the door and stormed down the hall.

  Denise picked up what was left of the TV. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was coming up here today.”

  “Does your brother normally attack your friends?”

  Her eyes glowed. “I told you. Danny’s a pig.”

  I now understood why Denise could seem so dark at times. I’d occasionally catch her staring out the dorm window for hours. When I’d ask her what she was thinking about, she’d say something like, “God lives out there,” or “I’m staring at death through my eyeballs.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Demonstration

  Bridgeport, Connecticut 1970

  Joey arrived at our dorm room a few hours later. After Denise told him what had happened with her brother, he wanted to drive to Queens and beat the crap out of him. “Never mind Danny,” Denise said. “We need to go to the demonstration. You’re gonna come, right, Laila?”

  While an avid supporter of the anti-war movement, I had avoided the previous demonstrations fearful my parents would find out and make me come home. “I don’t think so. I’ve had enough action for one night.”

  “Don’t be a chickenshit. It’s time you get off the fence,” Denise said.

  Joey grinned. “There’ll be a lot of cute dudes there.”

  “Okay, okay, I’ll go,” I finally said. “And not because of all the guys.” I thought about my neighbor who had died in Saigon. I’ll do it for Billy.

  When we arrived at the student center that chilly New England night, hundreds of protestors had already taken over the building. I saw Katie at the center of things dressed in tight Levis and a Danskin, chanting the John Lennon tune “Give Peace a Chance” with the crowd. She was everything I wanted to be: daring, cool, pretty, unafraid to sleep with boys, or try new drugs.

  As we stood waiting for instructions from the revolutionary leaders, the wind whined through the trees. A swarthy boy pushed back strands of long hair and spoke in a loud voice. “They may shoot off their damn tear gas. They may even come in and beat us with sticks, like they did in Berkeley. But I say we stay here.”

  A guy with a bushy mustache cut in. “Perhaps we could set up some type of negotiations with the administration before anyone gets hurt.”

  “Fuck you, asshole! We shall overcome,” bellowed a boy with a stringy ponytail and sweat dripping down the side of his face.

  “Who’s calling who an asshole?” said the first guy. The two began slugging it out. A couple of their friends joined in the ruckus. People all around started pushing each other and someone shoved me in the shoulder. Hard. It hurt. I could barely breathe. This thing was totally out of control.

  In the commotion I’d lost sight of Denise and squeezed through the crowd in search of her. There was loud banging on the Union doors. Some guy yelled, “It’s the pigs!”

  The banging persisted. “This is the Bridgeport police department. If you don’t open the doors in th
e next three minutes, we’ll be forced to use tear gas.”

  I saw Katie through the crowd and tried to inch towards her. The moaning sound of the wind, the police pounding on the doors, and the frenzied students fighting freaked me out. My forehead was wet, my cheeks hot. I thought I might suffocate.

  “Are you all right?” said a tall guy with penetrating blue eyes and long blonde hair.

  “I feel claustrophobic,” I said.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Laila. Laila Levin.”

  “I’m Chris. If you want outta her, follow me.”

  “Okay, but I need to tell my friends I’m leaving.”

  He seized my hand and I led him through the crowd in search of Denise and Joey. When I spotted them, they both had a glassy-eyed appearance. Joey gave Chris the hi-five. “Hey bro, qué pasa?”

  Chris slapped his hand. “Joey, my man.”

  Denise whispered, “We dropped some Orange Sunshine.” She glanced at Chris and smiled.

  “He knows a way out if you want to follow us.” I said.

  Joey furrowed his forehead. “Why leave now? This is just getting exciting.”

  Chris stroked my cheek with his finger. “Do you want to stay?”

  “Maybe we’ll catch you guys later,” I said.

  Denise embraced me. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Joey grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear. “Be very careful, Lai. This dude is outta your league.”

  I THOUGHT ABOUT JOEY’S WARNING as I followed Chris down a narrow flight of stairs to the basement, and out a cellar door. “How did you know about this exit?”

  “I’m psychic.”

  “Really?” Why couldn’t I think of something hip to say?

  “No, but a chick who lives with us is one.”

  “She sent you instructions telepathically?”

  Chris laughed. “My mother works in the cafeteria. I’ve helped her carry boxes up from here. Say, you wanna get a pizza or something?”

  “Sure.” He was so cute.

  We headed toward the infamous Rodman’s Diner, the local Hells Angels’ hangout at the edge of campus. The Bodine girls always crossed the street to avoid close contact with the bikers, because they leered at us and made obscene comments like, “Hey sweet meat.” Or, “Wanna sit on my face?”

  Snow dusted Chris’s face by the time we reached the restaurant. I wanted to lick it off like sugar. That would make him forget about the pizza, all right. Of course, I’d never be that brazen.

  I noticed a couple of bikers staring in my direction and hesitated at the door.

  Chris seemed oblivious to my perceived danger. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s not safe.”

  “Chill, sweetheart.” He took my hand and led me inside the diner. A few of the bikers nodded at him as we headed toward a vinyl booth in the corner.

  An enormous black man with an eye-patch and a shiny bald head moseyed up to us. He held out an unlit cigarette to Chris. “Gotta light, dude?”

  “For you, Doc, no problem.” Chris threw him a pack of matches.

  The guy winked with his good eye and introduced himself to me. He turned to Chris. “Got yourself a cute one.”

  “You betcha.” Chris clasped my hand in his. “Call me tomorrow. I’ve got something that might interest you.”

  Doc nodded, then excused himself and strolled to a table filled with other bikers.

  “How do you know those guys?” I asked.

  “I went to high school with most of them.”

  “You’re a townie?” The minute the word “townie” came out, I wanted to retract it. Chris seemed different from the ones I’d seen at the movies or in downtown shops.

  He chuckled. “That’s what the U.B. girls call us, eh?”

  “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “Not at all. I do go to school, you know. Well, part-time for now. I get a tuition waiver because my mother works for U.B.”

  “What’s your major?”

  His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “Psychology. I’m really interested in people. You know, what makes them tick and all. What are you majoring in?”

  “Double major in History and Bio.”

  “You’re an unusual chick.”

  “A lot of guys find me too smart, I guess.” Why did I say that?

  “Are you kidding? Smart girls turn me on.” Chris asked questions about my classes, my hobbies, even my family.

  I found myself confiding things with him I’d never shared with anyone. Like how I never felt I belonged in Long Island. “The rich girls used to make fun of my clothes and my hair.”

  “You’ve got beautiful hair.” Chris said.

  “It’s really curly. I have to do all kinds of stuff to get it to look straight like this.”

  “Tell me about your parents,” he said.

  “My mother and I have never gotten along. She just doesn’t get me. My sister Amby’s her favorite.”

  “And your father?”

  “Pop came to all my games and stuff,” I said.

  “What games?”

  “I-I was a cheerleader in high school.” Now he’ll think I’m really straight.

  Chris grinned. “I’ve never known one of them before.”

  “Not very cool, is it?”

  “On the contrary. I’ve always thought cheerleaders were fucking far out. What was it like shaking those pompoms?”

  I rolled my eyes. Was he playing with me? “Tell me about your family.”

  He squinted then turned away. “Bad topic.”

  The florescent lights at Rodman’s began to flicker. Chris looked up. “Time to go.”

  We strolled hand-in-hand back to Bodine Hall. “Can I see you again, Laila?” He didn’t wait for my answer but kissed me softly, then licked my lips with his tongue. Then he pulled away and said, “I’ll call ya,” and disappeared into the snowflakes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Family

  Bridgeport, Connecticut, 1969

  The silver light of dawn crept through the blinds of my dorm room. I’d been awake all night obsessing on why Chris hadn’t asked me to go home with him. No way he could know about my big secret. Was I not pretty or cool enough for him? I needed to talk to Denise. She’d help me figure it out. But she was at Joey’s.

  A few hours later Denise pushed open the door. Her face was pale as powder.

  “You look like shit.”

  She dropped down on her bed, lit up a cigarette, and eyed me through the flame of the match. “I’m still buzzed on that acid. Didn’t sleep a wink.”

  “What’s it like?” I’d been offered LSD a few times but so far had stuck with grass.

  “It’s definitely far out but weird. But I want to hear about you. Spare no details.”

  I grabbed her hand. “I think he’s the one!”

  “Joey and I had a bet going. Did you or didn’t you?”

  “No. I mean, I would have, but we ended up talking. He’s so different from all the U.B. guys.”

  She grinned. “Joey told me he’s a townie.”

  “Such a sweetheart, even if he’s a little rough around the edges. I get all excited just thinking about him.”

  “Send me some of that fairy dust, would you, hon?”

  “You don’t feel that way about Joey anymore?”

  She dragged on the cigarette. “What’s not to love about Joey? He adores me.”

  “And he’s so cute in that… teddy-bear kind of way,” I added.

  “He’s really great. Just too, I don’t know, needy.”

  It saddened me that Denise felt that way about Joey. He would be devastated if he discovered her true feelings for him. It frightened me how little I knew about love and relationships. And yet, I ached for Chris. Was he the one for me? My mother had said that girls my age confused lust with love. I had no idea what she meant by that.

  That night I stood in the hall waiting for my name to be called by Mary Lou, an obese girl who took it
upon herself to act as our answering service. I heard her yell, “Telephone call for Katie Birnbaum,” at least three times in a row. By nine-thirty I decided to take a shower and wash my hair.

  Denise hugged me before heading to Joey’s. “He’ll call you tomorrow, don’t worry.”

  I had just returned from the shower draped in a fluffy towel when someone knocked on the door. When I opened it, I was surprised to see Katie there. “Leela, didn’t you hear Mary Lou? You’ve got a phone call.”

  “It’s Laila.” I charged past her like a human steamroller ready to crush anyone who dared get in my way. When I reached the phone, I snatched the receiver from Mary Lou’s hand.

  “It’s a boy,” she said with a knowing smile.

  With one pay phone for the whole floor everyone knew each other’s business. Boys never called me. I might as well have engraved a Scarlett V on my chest.

  I paused to catch my breath and make my voice sound like Lauren Bacall. “Hello.”

  “Hey, it’s Chris. This is Laila, right? You sound different.”

  My voice returned to normal. “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Would you like to come over, watch a movie on TV or something?”

  “I just washed my hair.” Damn, what a stupid thing to say.

  “Maybe another night,” he said.

  “No, I mean, no big deal, I can dry it.”

  “I live with my family a couple of blocks from your dorm,” he said.

  “You live with your folks?” I was shocked. Chris seemed way to cool to be living with his parents.

  “No, not that family. These are friends I’ve known forever. Totally hip folks.”

  He gave me the address and directions. I dried my hair under the hand blower in the restroom and tied it back with a rubber band. Then I slipped into my underwear, jeans, a tight red sweater, and lace-up work-boots. Did I forget a bra? Yeah, sure did. The new Laila was ready for adventure.

  I RACED DOWN MAIN STREET a bit apprehensively. As I passed Rodman’s Diner, I heard the roar of a motorcycle behind me. My heart beat like a jackhammer. I should have asked Chris to meet me half way. Too late now.