11

CHUBBY TOOK OFF from work at noon the next day. He told the contractor he felt sick, but instead of going home he headed for midtown Manhattan. He had special shopping to do. Chubby stood on the periphery of a gaggle of smartly dressed women surrounding a young man demonstrating a juicerator in the kitchenwares section of Bloomingdale's. The man made juice from celery, carrots, radishes and spinach. For the entire twenty-minute show, Chubby never took his eyes from the demonstrator's face. The man passed out small, clear plastic cups of the exotic juices among his audience. Amid the oohs, ahs, hmms and sounds of disgust, Chubby was silent, tasting none of the samples. And after the man quoted the price of the juicerator, Chubby stood alone in front of the demonstration table. He took out his wallet and laid down five twenties. "Can you gift-wrap that thing?"

"Yes, sir. Ah, you pay the cashier." He wore an immaculate white three-piece suit, a purple shirt and a white tie.

He even dresses like a faggot Chubby thought. "I'm buyin' this for a friend a mine," Chubby said. "His birthday's today." He watched the man's face for any reaction. "A very good friend of mine named Mikey."

The man flinched, stared at Chubby. "I'll bring it over to the cashier for you." He bent down under the counter for a boxed juicerator.

"Mikey Banion."

Slowly, the man stood up. The color drained from his face. "Who the hell are you?" He was three inches taller than Chubby and leaned forward, his palms flat on the table. Chubby resisted an impulse to grab him by the knot of his tie and yank him over the counter.

"I'm a good friend a yah father's, Paulie."

Paulie stared open-mouthed. "He send you here?"

"Uh-uh, he don't know nothin' about it. Today's his birthday, Paulie. You know what would make a nice present for him? You."

Paulie blew air out of his mouth, his head cocked to the side, a dazed expression in his eyes. "Lissen, Jack, I don't know who the fuck you are, what's the story with you an' my father, or how the hell you found me, but just buy your goddamn juicerator and get the hell outta here, O.K.?" The color came back to his face in mottled splashes. "Jim, you want to take care of this gentleman?" He started to turn away.

Chubby grabbed his tie. "Lissen a me, ya little snot, I don't give a flyin' fuck about you or ya fuckin' job. I'll fuckin' drag you outta here an' throw you at your goddamn father's feet you turn away from me while I'm talkin' to you. You got that?"

Both men were shaking.

"You don't let go of me right now I'll have your ass bounced outta here in two seconds flat," he whispered.

"An' you'll be on disability in three."

They stared at each other, neither blinking for a long moment. Chubby relaxed his grip. Paulie stood up, twisted his neck and straightened his tie. Chubby smoothed down his shirt. "Lissen, kid, I'm sorry. I'm excitable sometimes. I apologize." Chubby raised his hands in submission, then extended one. "My name is Chubby."