Chapter 57
The ceramics shop was right on Bloomfield Avenue just one block out of Newark. Ron knew that this small distance was important to his mother. Somehow, she would have seen it as a failure if she had returned to work in Newark for any reason, but that shop had a Bloomfield address and that made all the difference to her. Lois, who had also been a lifelong resident of Newark and a neighborhood fixture didn’t care or see it that way, but she was glad to accommodate her partner.
It was a storefront that was located between a meat market and a liquor store and that made parking difficult, but Marjorie had worked out a deal with a bank a short block down the street and in exchange for giving free classes to any of their employees, her clients were allowed to park in the bank once they had secured cards that read The Ceramic Kitchen and placed them on the driver’s side of their front windshield. Marjorie carefully monitored the distribution of cards and chastised Lois every time one of her family members or friends used a card to park with convenience. Lois took the verbal punishment, but surreptitiously continued to distribute the cards while cautioning their recipients to not “say anything.”
Ron did not have a card and so he circled the block several times before he was lucky enough to catch someone pulling out and parked on the street. The shop itself consisted of a large, open workspace with long banquet style tables and folding chairs. There were heavy wooden shelves along two walls of the room and it was here that the customers marked and stored their unfinished pieces. At the front of the store was another large, lighted case that contained finished pieces that Marjorie and Lois had completed and which were for sale. They were also the demonstration models, showing what could be accomplished when someone was proficient in the craft. Christmas trees with embedded lights, lamps, large dolls and platters along with various other kind of dust-catching bric-a-brac decorated every square inch of the front shelves. Wedding favors were becoming a new favorite and Marjorie had large books that she could use to encourage people to take advantage of what she referred to as the personal touch. The smaller back room held two kilns and a supply of newly casted pieces. Marjorie and Lois had not yet purchased the molds that they would need to really turn a profit. It was also here that a large collection of paints and brushes and water dishes were stored. A small bathroom was off the side of the back room and Marjorie had taken pains to make sure that it was neat, decorated and cleaned every day. She did not do the cleaning herself anymore, but Lois was glad to oblige.
There were a dozen women seated around the tables when Ron came through the front door. Marjorie was smoking a Virginia Slim with a half painted clown in front of her.
“Ronald,” she called out. “What a nice surprise.”
Ron smiled and moved to his Mom and kissed her on the cheek. “Hi Mom.” He knew from her greeting that he was supposed to play along about him coming there casually.
“Everyone,” announced Marjorie, “this is my son Ronald.” Marjorie beamed as Ron flashed his best dimpled grin at the women. Marjorie began her introductions. “This is Mrs. Porcelli, and Mrs. Triano and Mrs. Rolandelli and Mrs. Scafetti and Mrs. DelaTorre and her daughter Denise.” Marjorie went on and on until she had introduced Ron to everyone in the shop. Ron tried to keep the smile on his face but it got plastered there and then begin to hurt and cause his face to ache until he was sure that his smile had turned into a grimace. He tried giving each of the women a new smile commensurate with her name and that seemed to help. He noticed Mrs. Delatorre nudge Denise and the girl stood up and went to into the back room to use the bathroom.
Ron’s gaze took her in quickly. She was about 5’6” and had a set of gorgeous breasts and a firm and round rear that moved with an easy sway as she walked in front of him and then disappeared into the back room. She was wearing snug brown slacks and tan flowered blouse that was color matched to her pants. Her hair was a deep lustrous brown and bounced on her shoulders as she moved.
“Ronald drives down to the shore and picks up new pieces for us every weekend.” The ladies smiled and nodded.
Mrs. Delatorre nodded and said, “What do you do for a living, Ronald?”
“He’s a teacher,” said Marjorie. Ron felt himself start to bristle but took a long slow breath, inhaling from his nostrils and then exhaling from his mouth in an easy way that he hoped was not noticeable.
“In the summer time, I mostly tutor,” he said.
“It must be very nice to have the summers off,” said Mrs. Rolandelli. “I think that you know my son, Butchie.”
“Sure,” said Ron. “I remember Butchie Rolandelli from the old neighborhood. How’s he doing?”
“He’s a fireman. He’s married and has two children.”
“Wow,” said Ron. “That’s great. Give him my best.”
“Look at the time already,” said Marjorie. “The hour and a half just flies, doesn’t it?”
“It always does when you are among friends and are out of the house,” said Mrs. Triano.
Everyone laughed softly and then they began to clean off their tables and put their pieces back on the shelves.
Denise came out of the back room and moved towards Ron and his mother. She flashed her sparklingly white teeth in a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Ron.” She extended her hand and Ron took it. It was slightly damp from the bathroom sink and she squeezed his hand lightly as they completed their introduction. Ron looked into her face and it was warm and welcoming with a sparkle in her eyes that told him that she was also playing along.
“So what are you working on?” said Ron.
“Oh, let me show you,” she said.
She moved to her place at the table making sure that Ron got a good look at her from behind. Ron followed and found himself attracted to the way that she moved and seemed so easy with him.
“It’s a group of bluebirds in a tree,” she said as she picked it up from under the base and held it up for him.
“It looks like a lot of work,” said Ron, not sure what else to say about the tree and the birds that perched on its branches.
She shrugged and grinned. “It’s for my grandmother. She loves birds.”
“Maybe you should buy her a parakeet,” said Ron.
Denise giggled and said, “I don’t think she would like a real bird. They make noise and my grandfather likes the house quiet.”
Ron wondered how much longer he was gonna have to stay before he could flee this place. He nodded.
“You know how the old people are,” she said. She leaned into him and said softly. “Thank you for not saying how ugly it is.”
Ron was slightly startled by this. “It’s just different from me.”
“Me too,” confided Denise, “but my Nana would do anything for me and it’s the least that I can do for her.”
Ron liked this and smiled for her. “I can understand that. I was the same way with my Aunt Dottie.
“There’s the real smile,” she said. “So much better than the other one.”
Ron felt himself blush. This girl wasn’t dumb. “I guess you’re going home with your Mom now,” he said.
“Yes, I get up very early during the week, but tomorrow is Friday, thank God.”
“When are you driving down the shore, Ronald?” called Marjorie from the other side of the room. “Mrs. Porcelli wants to order a piece and I’m hoping we can have it for her by Monday.”
“I’ll go down on Saturday afternoon after I get done with my appointments,” said Ron.
Then on an impulse he turned to Denise. “Want to take a ride down with me on Saturday?”
“Well it is Thursday night and I think that I’m supposed to say that I’m busy, but I’m really not doing anything and I would love to go.”
She gave Ron her phone number and Ron told her that he would call when he was done on Saturday and she could tell him where she lived.
“That will be exciting,” she said. “I love the ocean.”
That night Ron called Chris Calvin. Although months went by during the school year when they did not speak to each other, during the summer it was different. Chris had just passed the New Jersey Bar exam and was now a full-fledged lawyer. Although he was still living on East 6th Street, the reasons for his residence in Manhattan were dwindling. He had graduated from NYU. He had graduated from New York Law. Much of the tuition for both institutions had come from the dealing of pot, which he had not done in over a year now. He still liked to see Ron but it was time for Chris to begin his serious life and that meant making connections. Ron really wasn’t going to be of any help in that regard and Chris knew that the two of them would no doubt drift further and further apart until they saw each other once or twice a year, if that. Chris thought Ron was bright but he was still hopelessly idealistic and did not want to do what it would take to be able to enjoy the finer things in life. That was what Chris wanted. The first step in the plan was someone with whom he could start a family, a woman that he could see himself with for a long time. He wanted a woman who was interested in having children and he was pretty sure that he had found her.
Hope Stafford was a pretty woman. She was divorced and had a little girl but she was young and strong and healthy. What’s more she came from a socially secure family and had been a debutante. Chris liked this very much. She had good genes. She knew how to conduct herself and she could show Chris things that he needed to know and tell him things that he needed to do. It never occurred to Chris that the money would not follow but what he knew he needed was a good foundation upon which he could build.
“Hey Chris, its Ron. How ya doin?”
“Good,” said Chris. “What are you up to?”
“I was thinking of driving in, maybe play a little music and hang for a while.”
“That would be cool,” said Chris. “I was thinking that I could use a day off tomorrow.”
Ron laughed. “Alright. How is the supply situation?”
“Low but easily rectified.” said Chris.
When Ron got there, Chris called “dial-a-dime.” He had been turned on to it while he was at New York Law. A quick call with an address that was on the customer list and within a half hour, someone appeared on the street in front of your apartment with a quarter ounce. The cost was $20 and the quality was good.
They sat cross-legged on the floor of his tiny apartment while Ron cleaned and rolled and Chris selected some music. He always had music that Ron hadn’t heard and Ron usually found it good although he tended to want to return to his favorites after he listened to the new stuff. More and more Chris was finding that it was the only time that he listened to this music and it occurred to him more than once that Ron seemed trapped in it and willing to listen to it over and over. Ron was different since Robin. He seemed more interested in reliving old experiences than he was in having new ones. Chris hoped that it was a phase from which he would emerge before it became too boring to continue to tolerate. Ron had even started writing a book about their days at college. Nostalgia was not all that attractive.
Mose Allison was cooing the song “Everybody’s Crying Mercy” as they smoked the first of the three joints that Ron had rolled.
“I met a girl,” said Chris.
“Alright!” said Ron triumphantly. “What’s her name?”
“Hope.”
“And is there?”
Chris grinned. “I think there might be.”
“What does she look like?”
“Well, why don’t you hang till tomorrow morning and you can see for yourself and maybe give us a ride back over to Jersey.”
“I can do that,” said Ron. “So, what does she look like?”
“Strawberry blonde hair, sweet face I’d say about 5’5” and well- constructed.”
Ron was nodding and smiling and sucking on the joint. He passed it to Chris. The smoke was filling his brain and giving the apartment a comfortable easy feel. The warm, humid air now seemed to have the whisper of a breeze. The pillows felt soft. Ron felt himself climbing up the music on spirals of smoke. His head was starting the feel good. His body was relaxing. He sucked in very hard when the joint came back to him and then he began to cough and choke. The lack of air made his head buzz and he closed his eyes and rode the spasmodic coughs until he could breathe again and when he reopened his eyes, he was in an even better place. “Damn, dial-a- dime. That was good!”
Chris giggled. “Iron lung still going strong,” he said. He sat back still somewhat amazed that Ron immediately lit the second joint. “You are amazing.”
“What?” laughed Ron. “We’re almost there but it’s like the big leagues. It’s hard to get there but you have to work even harder to stay at that level.”
Chris lay back against the pillows and smoked the second joint with Ron. They passed it between them over a large Italian pasta bowl that Chris used to collect his seeds and stems. He was always able to eke out another joint if he needed it, unless Ron stayed around too long.
“You heard from The Sheriff?” said Chris.
“Not in a while, but I heard from April that he asked Laureen to move out.”
“Of course,” laughed Chris in his imitation Southern drawl. “There was only so much that he could do for her.”
They both laughed. The idea of Warren “doing it for ya” was shorthand for him wanting you around only as long as he found the situation amusing and then finding some excuse as to why it would be in everybody’s best interest if that person left Rahway, which Warren would explain was not really that person’s home but his home. And now it was time for that person to move onto something new.
After the second joint, Ron immediately lit the third. Chris reached for his guitar and told Ron to go ahead. He lay back and sucked it like a sweet nipple while Chris played his version of “Long Black Veil.” His voice was low and the rhythm of his guitar was right on the melody. When he forgot some of the words as he inevitably did, he would pause before starting again. It always amazed Ron that he could start and stop the melody that way and always seem to go right back into the feeling of the song. They did best when Ron sang and Chris played. It allowed Chris to just concentrate on the guitar and there weren’t a lot of songs to which Ron did not know all the words. His singing was awful but at least it kept him involved.
Ron thought that Hope Stafford was perfect for Chris. They seemed like two pieces of a soon to be joined puzzle. His thick, dark hair and her light flowing crop with wisps that occasionally dangled down in front of her eyes and caused her to raise her fingers and push them away as if there was something that she did not want to miss passing in front of her gaze. They both giggled contagiously. She seemed to strike these natural poses for him, and he seemed to delight in watching her. They spoke to each other tenderly and she would run her fingers along his shoulders for no apparent reason except for the joy of touching him, and he would sit very still for it like a cat that wanted to purr.
She smiled for Ron and kissed him on the cheek and pressed her breasts into his chest when she did it. Ron did not find himself aroused by it, but he was pleased at what the promise of her meant for his friend. In the few seconds that they had alone, he smiled at Chris and said, “She’s got my vote.”
Chris smiled at Ron as if what he had said mattered and nodded enthusiastically. By now Ron had figured out that when Chris had a woman that his tendency was to disappear with her into a cocoon that did not extend to his friends. So Ron knew that he wouldn’t be seeing a lot of Chris, but it really didn’t matter that much. The school year would be starting in just a couple of weeks.