Chapter 39

The exhilaration of going to the Village with Mr. Roman returned as I leisurely strolled toward our meeting place. It was early. I had lied once again when I told Paul that our time was up, but it didn’t bother me much. I had made him happy. He got more than kissing. Probably more than he had expected. I bet he hadn’t expected to see inside my blouse, let alone climax.

When I made the turn at the corner, I spotted the Corvette. I rushed over to it and bent to peek into the side window. The door swung open so I jumped back.

“Good, you’re early,” Mr. Roman said. “Get in.”

When I sat in the car and closed the door, Mr. Roman asked, “How’d it go?”

“Good. My mother thinks I’m on a date with a boy I’ve been dating.”

“And the boy?”

“I think he’s happy. I think he’ll do it again if I ask him to.”

“Where’d you two go? Teacher’s lounge?”

I gasped. “I’m not allowed in there!”

Mr. Roman chuckled. “You’re not allowed in the school after hours either. So where’d you go?”

“The soundproof room where we practice.”

“My classroom?”

My heart stopped. “Is that okay?” I asked with panic in my voice.

“As good a place as any. Although the teacher’s lounge has a couch. You guys didn’t leave any condoms on the floor, did you?”

My hand flew to cover my open mouth. “We didn’t have sex!”

Mr. Roman studied me. “Oh, okay.”

“What’s that mean? Did you want me to have sex with him?”

“Of course not. I just didn’t know what you had in mind.”

“But it would have been okay with you if I fucked him?”

“Julie, we had this talk before. There’s casual sex and then there’s sex people have when they’re in love. You don’t love the boy, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then it would have been casual sex which I think you’re old enough to decide if you want to do. Any other questions?”

I shook my head, perplexed as usual.

The car roared when Mr. Roman started it. He threw it into gear and sped away from the curb. There wasn’t much traffic at dusk so he raced through the streets. I held onto the inside of the door in a death grip with one hand and the edge of my bucket seat with the other. My body swayed right and left as he weaved around cars and made turns, and forward and backward when he braked and accelerated.

“You’re driving too fast,” I shouted.

“No sense having a sports car if you can’t enjoy it. It’s one of my vices.”

I was about to tell him that he was going to get us killed when he jammed on the brake and the car skidded. At the last minute, he swerved around the car he almost hit. I never got around to saying it because both my hands flew straight out in front of me and slammed onto the dashboard to keep me from flying through the windshield.

“Some day I’ll take you for a ride on a highway out of the city where there is less traffic,” Mr. Roman said as if nothing had happened. “Maybe the Deegan Expressway that goes upstate. I’ll put the top down and really let it out. There’s nothing like it.”

I was too afraid to talk and held onto anything I could. We didn’t slow down until we got to the Brooklyn Bridge and soon we were driving in Greenwich Village. It was my first time there and it didn’t look anything like the area where Macy’s and Gimbels was. It looked rundown. Scary.

Mr. Roman pulled into a building and stopped at a parking barrier. A man in a booth handed him a ticket and lifted the barrier. Mr. Roman drove to the first open parking place and zoomed his car into it.

Mr. Roman turned to me. “I splurge on parking in the Village. It’s not the best part of town and my car would probably be stolen.”

“It’s not safe here?” I said with my eyes wide and my jaw hanging.

“Don’t worry, I’m with you. But I wouldn’t walk around here at night by yourself. Hell, even during the day. That’s why Beats live here. It’s cheap. And a lot of Beats don’t work. They get what money they can in nefarious ways.”

“What’s that mean?”

“They steal. C’mon, let’s go.”

What was I getting into? Mr. Roman had never described Greenwich Village like the rundown place we were walking through and he never mentioned Beats being crooks. He had always made it sound sensational and glamorous. I clutched his arm with both hands as we walked through the dirty streets, sidestepping garbage and broken bottles. Everything looked dingy and old. Would I even like Mr. Roman’s friends? Were they crooks? Was Mr. Roman the person I thought he was?

We arrived at a building turned gray from exhaust fumes and, well, filth. Mr. Roman led me up four steps and through a door, and then two flights of stairs. I heard voices and jazz playing through the door at the top of the stairs. Mr. Roman knocked on the door.

The door swung open and a woman with long, straight black hair and bangs smiled at us. She wore a red beret and a long wraparound skirt that flowed to her ankles. So maybe wearing a skirt was the right thing to do. The woman lunged at Mr. Roman. She wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug and pressed her lips to his. I was jealous. Who was this woman to kiss my boyfriend? But I was even more surprised when she broke the kiss and put her hands on my shoulders.

“You must be Julie,” she said.

She pressed her lips to mine. The kiss wasn’t as long or passionate as the one she had given Mr. Roman, but on the lips nonetheless. When she pulled away, she was smiling.

“It’s so crazy to finally meet you,” the woman said. “Call me Asha. It’s Swahili. Means life and hope. Ronny really digs you. He’s always talking about you.”

Ronny? I never knew Mr. Roman’s first name. I always called him Mr. Roman. I had never thought to call him anything else.

Asha ushered us into her apartment. It was bigger than I thought it would be. The people there were gathered in a large room with several couches and coffee tables. I checked out the women first. Some wore skirts while others wore pants. One woman wore jeans that were cuffed at her calves. Most wore some sort of kerchief around their necks. The men mostly wore polo shirts and either jeans or corduroy pants. Some wore turtleneck sweaters even though it wasn’t cold. Not everyone wore black, but all wore dark colors. They all looked comfortable in their clothes.

Asha brought me to the middle of the room. “This chick is Julie,” she said. “I’m not going to bother introducing all you cats to her. Do that yourself. Just make sure she has a blast.”

People came up to me and introduced themselves. There were so many that I was sure I’d never remember their names. Mr. Roman was no help. He was attacked by people and busy talking to them. When I was introduced to everyone, or at least everyone who had come up to me, I honestly didn’t know if that was everyone, I found Mr. Roman at my side.

“So what do you think of my friends?” Mr. Roman asked.

“They’re nice.”

Mr. Roman laughed. “Yeah, I saw them crowd around you. That had to overwhelm you. But you’ll get to know them. They’re all cool.”

“I didn’t know your name was Ronny.”

“It’s Ronald, but I’ve been called Ronny since I was little.”

“Should I call you Ronny?”

“After you graduate and we’re married. Not now. Don’t want you to slip up in class. Know what I mean?”

Mr. Roman and I sat on a couch. There were snacks on the coffee table which I ate. Mr. Roman called them munchies, but they looked like normal snacks to me. Different people joined us at different times. They would talk to us and, when they moved on, be replaced by others. I had the time to look around. People were gathered in groups, some standing, some sitting. There were two couples sitting on the floor in a circle. Well, two men and two women. I didn’t know if they were couples. When the people sitting with us left and Mr. Roman and I were alone, he asked me what I was staring at.

“There are people sitting on the floor passing around a cigarette,” I said.

Mr. Roman looked at where I was pointing and chuckled. “It’s not a cigarette. It’s a reefer.” When I looked confused, he said, “A joint. Weed.”

I stared at him blankly.

“Marijuana,” he said.

“That’s a drug!”

“Sort of. It’s not a drug like heroin. Just gives you a nice buzz.”

“Do you smoke it?”

“Sometimes.”

“My friend who killed herself got addicted to drugs.”

“Not marijuana. It’s not addicting.”

“But it’s illegal.”