Chapter 2: After Paradise

At four o’clock I walked out the front door of the theater and onto the Grand Concourse. There was the girl with the orange shirt, leaning against a lamppost. She had her arms folded, and she looked at me with a slight smile. I felt chagrined about the agita I had been feeling; she had said she was going to meet me out there.

Although I was both surprised and very happy to see her, I knew enough to be cautious about expressing that to her. She’s obviously been coming to you; let that continue. It was an overcast but warm day, and I looked around to give myself time to think.

She solved the issue for me by speaking first, “So, how has your day been going?”

By this point in my life, I knew how to improvise comebacks to girls. “The same old same old. Like today, I had an unruly female patron in there, and I had to spank her and then fuck her. Just part of my job.”

She laughed at that, “Another day, another dollar. I bet you think I’m some kind of slut.”

“Baby, I don’t think you’re a slut; I know it!”

She laughed at that too. “Hey, I’ve only been with three guys in my life. Well, you’re number four.”

“By today’s standards, you’re practically a virgin.”

I can’t seem to miss with this chick; she likes everything I’ve been saying. My confidence was coming back. I was also getting the feeling that she had come down somewhat from whatever drug she had taken. However, that didn’t mean she had become quiet or meek now. Being brazen was just part of her personality.

She said, “So, how many girls have you been with?”

That was usually not the kind of question I would answer, but I decided to do it now. “It’s been a total of five.” I remembered their names, in order: Nora, Michelle, Andrea, Judy, and Donna. “Plus, until last month, I had snagged a female professor at my school.” Actually, she had snagged me when I went to her office to ask for an incomplete.

“Oh, I call bullshit on that.”

“No, her name is Marilyn Janssen, and she’s in the history department.”

“I’m sure she exists but, whatever. So, your view is love them and leave them, correct?”

Actually, they had all left me but I wasn’t going to tell her that. “Let’s just say that they’re gone.” Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say, so I moved the focus onto her. “Just curious, have you ever pulled a stunt before like the one you just did in there?”

“No, never; I don’t know what got into me.” I suspected it had something to do with whatever drug she had taken, although that surely wasn’t the whole story.

Then she continued, “What I think is, well, you should be going out with me now.” I hesitated for a second, and she sweetened the deal. “Come on, you already know I’m a sure thing, and you haven’t even had coffee with me yet.”

She gave me a moment or two. Man, she looks great with her orange shirt and her black halter top and black skirt. Even her sneakers and socks looked right on her. Yes, she’s got some eccentric – call them weird – streaks in her. But she’s such a funny - and juicy – piece of tail. I almost didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I was beginning to really like her.

The way she had asked me for a date seemed completely sincere. She wasn’t just teasing me. And she even had one more follow-up. “I’m kind of hungry; I haven’t had lunch yet. Be a gentleman and invite me someplace.”

That clinched it for me, “There’s Krums over there, right across the street.” It was a combination luncheonette and ice cream parlor.

“Oh, a big spender.”

“This is The Bronx, you know.”

“Of course, I was just busting your chops.” There was a good-natured note in that.

I said, “So you have a name, I assume?”

“Right, I haven’t said it yet. It’s Miranda, as in the warning.” I caught her reference. “Miranda Grossman, but most people call me Mandy.”

“Well, please to meet you, Mandy. I’m Paul D’Amato.”

“I bet you are pleased to meet me. Anyway, before our first date, we should have our first kiss.”

“I thought we’ve already had our first date in there.”

“Oh, that? That was just a little getting-to-know-you kind of chat.”

She seemed to have regained her confidence too. Before I could respond, she stepped forward and put her arms on top of my shoulders. Then she kissed me warmly. When she stepped back a bit, I looked into her intense dark eyes, and I had to drop my glance for a moment.

Then she took my arm and said, “Let’s go.” As we waited to cross the busy boulevard to the restaurant, I tried a little test on her. As casually as I could, I said, “The Miranda case, I suppose you know the full name of it?”

She was casual too as she replied, “I sure do. It was Miranda v. Arizona.” She smiled at me. I was sure she was thinking, hah, you thought you had me with that one, but you didn’t!

When we were about to sit down, she briefly rubbed her ass and quietly said, “Man, you really whacked my butt.”

“Well Mandy, you so richly deserved it. I did tell you to be quiet.”

“And I bet you’re glad I didn’t get quiet.”

I was perusing the menu instead of looking at her, although I already knew what I wanted. “It did make my job more complicated.”

“Hah, make your job more complicated. You probably wish this happened more often.”

I shrugged, “Maybe there’ll be another bad girl in there tomorrow.”

Maybe I have a knack for dates, but I usually liked hanging out with a woman and having drinks or a meal. I ordered Jello with whipped cream so I wouldn’t have to worry about chewing and talking at the same time. She got tuna salad with rye toast.

She tested me again, “So, you’re probably wondering what I’m doing with a skinny-ass guy like you.”

At this point in my life, I understood that it was not necessary to know exactly why a girl was with me. She was there right now, at the table, and the remains of my cream pie were still in her cunt. That’s all I needed to know for the moment.

I threw it back at her, “And you’re probably wondering what I’m doing with a chunky-ass girl like you.”

She frowned for a moment, and then she smiled, “So you’re thinking then that this skirt makes my behind look too big?”

I had heard so many versions of that before, but I only needed a single comeback for all of them. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

They were always surprised, but she had a new take on it, “Really? Then I must be the girl for you.” I just put my hands up and shrugged.

She found out that I had just graduated from City College and I found out that she had just graduated from another branch of CUNY, Lehman College. She said, “So we’re exactly the same age. How did we find each other?”

“You found me by singing back there.”

“And you found me by coming to me and telling me to shut up.”

“That was my job, remember?”

“So, anyway, this is the standard student question: what was your major?”

“Pre-med.” She couldn’t help but look impressed. I didn’t want to keep that lie going. “I was just messing with you. It was history.”

“Oh, you poor guy.”

“And what kind of scholarly work did you do at Lehman?”

“English. So we’re both going to be on the unemployment lines. Ah, what neighborhood are you from?”

“Williamsbridge, in the North Bronx.” I admit, I tried something to impress her. “The restaurant where they filmed The Godfather, you know, the shooting scene - that used to be a couple of blocks from me.”

She seemed to quote something I didn’t recognize immediately, “ ‘You think too much of me, kid. I’m not that clever. All I want is a truce.’ “ Then I got it, she was doing Sollozzo. I had already met women who seemed to be fascinated with that movie. And Mandy had demonstrated her good memory with her song lyrics.