Cemetery Street - John Zunski (good novels to read in english .txt) 📗

of the vexing voice looked like, and when the voice stepped from behind the door, I was reminded how wrong I could be. A short athletic beauty with smooth olive skin and shoulder length raven hair stood before us. Her eyes dark coals that charred anything they touched. My jaw dropped. “I didn’t know what to expect, I just didn’t expect exotic,” Shannie said later.
“Yeah?” Genise asked. - oblivious why two white people stood speechless.
“Ah, Yeah. Hi, I’m Shannie, you must be Genise.”
“That I am.”
“This is James,” Shannie nodded towards me. I immediately got off on the wrong foot when Genise busted me studying her low-cut top.
“Um, Hi,” I grinned. I extended my hand.
“Listen, I have pigs leering at me all day, I don’t need that shit now.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Bullshit, you loved every second of it. Don’t say you’re sorry,” Genise pointed her chin at me.
“Ah, Sorry.”
“You thick or something? I told you not to say you’re sorry when it obvious you ain’t sorry. Damn men are all the same. You’re just like those drunken assholes I deal with day and night. If they ain’t grabbing, they’re staring.”
“O-Kay,” I stared at my feet, they were still there after Genise cut me off at the knees.
“James can’t help himself. Poor guy’s a virgin! He’s kinda like a starving kid staring in a restaurant’s window. Silly James, you’ll never get a table is you don’t learn manners. I’m trying to teach him.”
Genise stared at Shannie: “Uh, Yeah.”
Shannie smiled.
“Anyway, thanks for keeping our friend’s log.”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” Genise murmured. “Anytime girlfriend,” she said, her gaze transfixed on Shannie. “Hang on, let me get it for you.”
Genise disappeared into her apartment. Shannie punched my arm. “You twit. Busted. I oughta crack you.”
“She’s got great tits.” I rubbed my arm.
Genise returned. “Here you go,” Genise handed the small spiral notebook to Shannie.
Shannie beamed. “Thanks again. This means so much.” Shannie extended her hand to Genise. “Thank Calvin for me.”
“Will do,” Genise answered.
I studied the grains of gravel in the top step’s concrete. I didn’t want to risk a stray peep.
Shannie and I made our way down the steps. “Hey, you guys want a drink or something?” Genise called after us.
Let’s get out of here, I thought,. If I had the balls, I would have said no. It would have saved everyone heartbreak.
“Sure. That would be cool,” Shannie smiled at Genise.
Her apartment was small and cluttered. Dozens of photo albums lined shelves, others were stacked in piles, others lay strewn about here and there. On the kitchen table piles of pictures yet to interred waited within envelopes. Her apartment was organized chaos.
“Sorry for being bitchy, I’m kinda having a shitty day,” Genise said.
“No worries,” Shannie answered.
“It’s cool…,” I began.
“What do you do?” Genise asked Shannie, cutting me off.
“I’m a student. You?” Shannie replied.
“I’m a cocktail waitress - at a casino,” Genise told Shannie. “I got wine, beer and soda,” Genise told us.
“Got White Zin?” Shannie asked.
“My favorite,” Genise replied.
“Brew,” I answered.
Genise curled the corner of her mouth, showing me the annoyed look that I would come to know.
“What’s your major?”
“American history, heavy concentration on the 20th century,” Shannie answered.
“I like history too,” Genise opened a bottle of wine. I watched her reach for this or bend for that. When she disappeared behind the refrigerator door, I couldn’t help eying her ass. Shannie coughed. “You nuts?” Shannie mouthed. I sank lower into my chair as I studied Genise’s rear-end.
“I’m kinda fascinated by the old west,” Genise said as she served us. “I’m half Native American. My old man is full-blooded Shoshone.”
“No shit?” Shannie said.
Does that make her a Native-African-American, I wondered.
“Yeah shit,” Genise slid a bottle across the tabletop to me. She poured two glasses of wine. “I love hearing about the shit that happened to my people out west.”
Oh boy, I thought.
That’s how the evening went, Genise and Shannie pried into each others lives, I commented to myself. I may as well have been invisible. I buried myself in Genise’s photography.
An hour later, Genise said she had to get to work. Thank God for small favors, I thought.
“You need a ride?” Shannie asked.
“I’ll catch a jitney,” Genise said.
“Really, it’s not a problem, I’d love to give you a ride.”
“Excellent Eggs,” Genise giggled.
I popped my head up and gave Genise the-mother-of-dirty-looks. Until then, I never heard another person use that phrase, after an hour’s conversation - which Shannie used it once - Genise was aping her. Bitch, I thought.
A cool breeze greeted us as we stepped into the night. Like a beaten dog, I realized my spot and climbed into the backseat. Shannie drove across Ventnor Avenue into the heart of the Casino district.
“You got my number,” Genise said stepping from the car. “Call me sometime.” As I pushed the seat forward Genise slammed the door.
“Bitch,” I yelled after her.
“That’s right,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’m a Babe In Total Control of Herself.” She flipped me off as she wiggled past an ornate fountain.
“What crawled up your ass?” Shannie asked as I reclaimed the passenger seat.
“Whatever.” I lowered the seat and closed my eyes. I thought of the previous night, it seemed another lifetime. Shannie found a new distraction, someone else to take her mind off Count. I wished we could be each others distraction – if I could be so lucky. I fell asleep to the hum of the road.


Chapter 16 Moving On

With Count’s log in hand, Shannie running back and forth to Atlantic City, and Steve Lucas obsessed with his sisters racks, I had a lot of time to kill, and no one to kill it with - a perfect recipe for slipping from a well-worn groove into a deep rut.
Shannie occasionally asked if I wanted to spend a weekend in Atlantic City. I found excuses not to go. It was less stressful laying in bed listening to the rumble of distant freight trains than spending time with Genise. The only positive about Genise was Beetle was an afterthought. I so despised Genise that I told Shannie, “don’t invite me to Atlantic City unless we can play cowboys and indians. Put Genise and me in the same room, one of us is going to loose their scalp. And it ain’t going to be me.”
“You know, Genise likes you. Give her a chance.”
“She has a funny way of showing it.”
Later that night I sat in my perch watching a thunderstorm. I opened the window and stuck my head into the driving rain. Fresh air pierced my lungs. Lightning illuminated Fernwood, I laughed watching the wind whip trees and the rain pelt tombstones. I laughed so hard I cried. I cried for Count; I cried that I again lost Shannie; I cried that I was alone; I cried because I would always be alone; I cried so hard that I got pissed!
I ran into the stormy night, crossed our yards and pounded on the Ortolan’s front door. My hair - which hadn’t been cut since Count’s funeral - hung soaked and matted over my bare shoulders.
“James! Everything Okay?” Diane asked.
“Where’s Shannie?” I asked.
“Come on in.” On the landing Diane gave me a once-over. “Are you high?”
“No!” I didn’t think Diane knew I smoked pot. I started after burying Count.
“Your eyes are bloodshot!”
“I’ve been crying.”
Diane eyed me with skepticism “Don’t lie to me.”
“I don’t touch the stuff,” I lied.
“Tell me, what do I smell at night?”
“Incense.”
“Jesus James, at least you could be original. Been there, done that. You can’t shit me.” Behind us, Shannie walked into the kitchen.
“I’m not high. I’m upset. I need to talk to Shannie.”
“Listen, and listen good,” Diane said in a deliberate whisper. “Keep it away from her. Okay? I don’t want to have to hurt you.” She stepped back and ran her eyes over me. Shaking her head, Diane continued: “What happened to you James? You’re on a one-way trip down.”
My face burned. “What happened to me? What happened to you? What happened to me? Where the fuck have you been? Jesus Christ! Am I talking to Diane? For your information, one of my best friends got killed in some goddamned war. That’s what happened. You wanna know what’s else, I blame myself. Count told me, if it wasn’t for my goddamn grandfather he wouldn’t of joined the army. How would you feel? What’s your goddamn excuse?”
Shannie watched us from the top of the stairs.
“And you’re worried about me smoking a joint. Fuck you! I love your daughter. She’s the only good thing that’s ever happened to me. Piss off!” I slammed the door in Diane’s face.
I ran into the night. I found myself on the baseball field’s bleachers watching the storm roll away. I was sure Shannie didn’t care. I was so wrapped up in my own struggle I never fathomed hers. Today I obsess how different life would be if I had known her dilemma.
Over Christmas of ’98, I learned how Shannie struggled with her feelings, by then it was too late. Diane showed me Shannie’s journal entry written in the motel room on the way home from D.C.

6/xx/91
Somewhere between DC and Baltimore

Last night Just James told me he loved me. I don’t how to react. I love him wildly, I’ve loved him from the day we met, there are times I want to marry him. I think of spending our lives together, growing old together. Then there are the days when the idea revolts me. I’m torn, pulled away by my attraction to women. I think it’s inevitable; I think I’m lesbian. I mean what else would I want in a man? James knows me so well, he’s caring, he’s so passionate. I love being with him. I know him better than he knows himself. But there’s the penis issue. I mean I don’t hate it. But I’d rather be with, well sexually anyhow, Beetle or whomever. Beetle is so passé’, so tedious, she has no future. James could have a future. He is smarter than he thinks. He could be somebody. He has to believe. James wins the possibility index; James wins the innate intelligence index; James wins the passion index; James just isn’t soft enough; he doesn’t have a vagina. Fuck if he had a vagina we’d be perfect. Why is the world so unfair? Even Count sensed the electricity between us. Why can’t I give myself to him? God, there are days when I want to so badly. I hope last night wasn’t a mistake. I hope I don’t break his heart. He’s too good. He doesn’t deserve that. It’s not fair for him. I’m so confused.
PS. I’m not ovulating, I should be okay.

In the summer of ’91, sitting on the bleachers, cold and wet, I couldn’t be more wrong. I was figuring a way to sever my ties with Shannie. There was one problem: Shannie and I could not be apart. The following weekend, I found myself in Shannie’s passenger seat racing towards Atlantic City.
Boats of all shapes and sizes floated up and down the Intracoastal Waterway as Shannie parked along side of Genise’s apartment. A strong breeze danced over the back bay. Cries of seagulls welcomed us. Shannie and I locked eyes before I motioned for her to lead the way. I admired her French braid as we climbed the steps. It was sexy; she was sexy.
“Hey girl,” Genise said opening the screen door. “I see your friend decided to tag along.”
Here we go, I thought.