Selling

Mark Barkawitz

February 2006

"I don’t know if the smokers on my block can afford that?"

"Don’t worry about those chumps," Casey added. "They take no risk. It’s just like Prohibition in the Thirties. Cops mostly bust runners and distillers, guys like us. We get caught, we go to jail. You, too, Marty. They’d make a real she-man outta ya’ in there," he joked.

"Eighteen," Marty said.

John looked at Casey, then back at him. "You have cash?"

"I have sixteen with me. I can bring the rest in a couple days."

"Do you believe this guy?" John asked. "Credit and a break, too. Nineteen. And make sure you’re back here on time. Our rent’s due next week."

"I’ll be back."

"We know," John said. "You have a good credit rating with us."

"Besides," Casey added, "you’ll need your prescription refilled for those friends a’ yours." He smiled. There was a little piece of green pot–like spinach–stuck between his front teeth.

A couple days later, around midnight, there was a knock on Marty’s front door. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, his shoes off and only his levis and socks on. He wasn’t sure where he was when he first awoke. The TV was still on. Barretta was dressed like a fag, but he was beating the hell out of some poor guy. There was more knocking at the door.

"Yeah, yeah. I’m coming." He yawned and rubbed his neck, which was stiff from the position in which he’d been lying. He opened the door. It was Lamar.

"Hi, Marty. You sleepin’?"

"Naw, man. Not anymore. What’s up?"

"My mom’s havin’ the baby an’ she wants to know if you can drive her to the hospital?"

"What? She’s having it now?"

"Yep. That’s what she told me."

"Now, huh? And she wants me to take her?"

"Uh huh. She called Auntie Barbara, but she’s still out on a date or somethin’."

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Lamar leaned closer to the screen door. "You all right, Marty?"

"Me? Yeah, man." He yawned again. "Tell your mom I’ll be right over."

"Thanks, Marty." Lamar broke from the porch like a greyhound. He was tall for ten. In the yellow moonlight his thin frame looked like a shadow as he cut across the grass and down the block for home.

Marty turned off the TV and put on a sweatshirt, then ran out of his house and across the front yard towards the old Fairlane in the driveway. The grass was wet and now so were his socks; he’d forgotten to put on shoes. What the hell? He was just driving her. And it was still summer-like in L.A., so his feet weren’t cold. Just wet. He backed the car out and drove to Sarah’s place, where the porch light was on. The front door opened. She was wearing the same muumuu with a green Army jacket over her shoulders and fuzzy, purple slippers on her feet. She waddled towards the car. Lamar ran out of the house to help her. Marty opened the door for her and slid the bench seat all the way back, so she had more room, even though his feet barely reached the pedals now. She plopped into the seat.

"How you feeling?"

"Not real good. I’m very close."

"Which hospital?"

"Huntington."

"Lamar, you coming?" he asked the boy.

Lamar closed the car door for his mom. "Naw. I gotta watch Joey." Joey was standing in the open, front doorway now. He was only four, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to be tall like Lamar. And his skin wasn’t dark like Lamar’s. They really didn’t look like brothers.

"Okay, man." He put the transmission in Drive. "I’ll see you when I get back."

"Bye." Lamar waved and his mom waved back, as Marty accelerated away from the curb. He raced to the corner, but had to stop for a red light. He wasn’t sure what to say or ask, so he turned on the radio but kept it low. He looked over at Sarah.

"You okay?"

She nodded, then her faced tightened. "Contraction," she explained and a little groan passed through her clenched teeth. "You better hurry."

"Okay." The light was still red. He looked in both directions. There was no traffic, so he drove through the intersection. He didn’t care that it was illegal so long as it was safe. He needed to get Sarah to the hospital on time. As he sped through the streets, he began to imagine the worst. What if she had it now? In the Fairlane! He stopped for another red light, checked the cross traffic, then drove through the intersection. He imagined the cops red-lighting him. Where’s the fire? He imagined the Fairlane escorted behind a flashing cop car. Then he imagined himself handcuffed and in their back seat. Sarah groaned again. This time louder. Another contraction. They were just minutes apart. He didn’t know much about pregnant women but he knew that meant she was close. Really close. He kept his foot pressed to the floor on the accelerator pedal and the tires squealed around each corner.

It was normally a fifteen-minute drive in traffic to the hospital from their place. He cut the drive time in half. He tried parking in the Emergency Drive-In area–he figured their predicament warranted it–but the security guard wouldn’t let them. "Ambulances only." Marty explained about Sarah, but it did no good. He had to park on the street.

Sarah began to climb out of the parked car. "Thanks, Marty."

He ran around the car and helped her out. "Want me to go in with you?"

"I can go alone."

"I’ll go with you. A lady should have an escort when she’s having a baby. Come on." He put his arm around the back of her waist. She put her arm around his shoulder and leaned on him. They walked into the Emergency Room together. A dozen or so people, sitting or standing around the waiting area, turned and stared at them. He was aware they made a strange-looking couple–he a small, white man in stockinged-feet; she a big, black woman in flowered muumuu, Army jacket, and fuzzy, purple feet. They walked up to the reception desk, behind which sat a middle-aged woman in wire-rimmed glasses with tightly-bunned hair.

"She’s having a baby," he said to the receptionist.

The receptionist took out a form and laid it on the desk.

"Now," he said, disregarding the form. "She’s having it now."

The receptionist looked up and Sarah nodded, then groaned–another contraction. Within thirty seconds, a nurse had Sarah in a wheelchair and was pushing her through the swinging doors marked "Emergency" in red. He waved until the doors swung shut and he couldn’t see her anymore, then turned and started to leave.

"Just a minute, sir." It was the tightly-bunned receptionist. "You’ll have to fill out this form for your wife. They’re taking her right up to Maternity."

He walked back over to the desk. "She’s not my wife. Just a friend."

"And the husband?" she asked.

"I don’t think there is one?"

"Insurance?"

He shrugged. He didn’t know, but doubted it. Sarah hadn’t worked outside the house since her pregnancy.

"Are you responsible for her then? Should we call you if there are any problems?" She was scribbling something on the forms.

"I’m not responsible for anything. You can call me if you want, but it’s like I said–I’m just a friend. I know she has a mother somewhere. And a sister Barbara. But I don’t know their phone numbers." So he left his name and number. Just in case.

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