A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini

singleminded concupiscent rutter later to be discarded with as much deference as so much septic effluvium. No, thank you. And, one step above that level, for mutual satisfaction and embellishment? To meet the need? Too many knowns to know about before leaping into that cauldron. Would she enjoy it? Would she be brutalized? Would it be demeaning, giving away an irrecoverable part of her? Would she get pregnant? Would she get a disease? Course, she never said anything like this to Weezy, but Louisa intimated quite broadly that she'd been fucking men a long time and had been pretty goddamned lucky in lots of ways. Besides, she loved it better than anything else she could do on earth. Not that Weezy was one, but some whores were just lucky that way--getting paid to do something they'd be just as glad to give away. Well, that might be all right for Weezy, but she might not be so lucky, so Mary held back with one slithering thought in her mind which was that she'd get laid at least once before she reached forty--ten years to go. And when that time came, it sure wouldn’t be with Vito Cigrugli, the greasy baker, whose only redeeming characteristic for her parents--not for her--was that they tolerated him, no small accomplishment. Mary didn't learn until long after she was out of high school that whenever she dared consider a date, and invited the fellow home to pick her up to meet her parents, her father usually found a neat way of phrasing his concern for his daughter's chastity. With Mary out of hearing, the lad would be sat within range for him to poke him in the chest with his index finger, and ask, "What'sa you name again?" Then, he'd say something like, "Well, John--or Tony--or Frank--I suppose you want to fuck my daughter? Well, let's get this straight. You have to fuck me first, you understand?" It wasn't long before the story made the rounds of the high school, and when Mary heard it, she thought it was the funniest story ever told. It was only after she heard it came from a man in a wheelchair that she realized who they were talking about, which effectively ended her search for romance with the neighborhood boys. But, Vito, the baker, appeared to be prosperous--a most redeeming quality according to Ma and Pa--at least, he owned a bakery and had never once been married in his forty-odd years, which, to Mary, confirmed his least redeeming quality, which was that he was a schnook. Once she confided in Louisa, "Oh! Weezy! He's such a bore!" To which Louisa replied, "...which is not as bad, you'll learn, as lonely..." So far, Louisa was only close, not right about that. In the meantime, aid and abet romance, at least for Louisa.
    --Weezy, don't be late tonight. I don't like to stand alone at night. You know...?
    --Always plenty of people around Eden Farms...You'll be okay.
    --That's not the point, and you know it. A woman, waiting, alone. It looks bad. No, I really didn't want the hamburger. That Goldberg upsets me so much...I wish I could quit...
    --Forget him. He's a pig. Take my portfolio for me so I don't have to drag it around? Doesn't really add much to a date. If you've got a couple drawings to spare stick them on top with my name on them so I can show them to my old lady as work I did in class tonight. Really a brainstorm of you to say I enrolled in the Fashion Institute with you. Perfect excuse three nights a week. They don't know, my folks, old country clods what I'm really doing. They think it's America's dream come true for me.
    --Did you hear what I said? Don't be late! Damn! Already smoked all my cigarettes for the day.
    --Here. Take mine. Really. What you got for cigarettes I got for something else. Besides, I'll make my date buy me a pack. And I ate your burger. I promise, ten o'clock, Cinderella, right on the dot, usual place. You going to walk down to school? The rain's let up?
    --I'll just finish my coffee... You go on.
    --Later! Going.
    --Weezy? Take care! To the wind. Gone, she was. Tossing her head like