PRELUDES AND INTERLUDES

     . 

     Dora closed her eyes, pulled the army blanket up to her

chin, and wished she was in a place where the air was so

sweet and clean that she'd want to drink it.  Last night, her

best friend had hinted that she was the ugliest woman he

knew.  This morning Dora called in sick to work. She opened

her eyes and stared at ceiling. It was off-white. It was

dusty.  Her friend had been drunk, and sometimes after two or

three quarts of beer, he'd tell people that he was Jewish.

     Dora knew her friend had been to Idaho. There he'd hung

out with Neo Nazis, but he'd come back in a funk and tried to

take up heroin as a hobby. Dora chuckled remembering how

they'd hunted Old Town for the drug and none of the sly

Mexicans with white girlfriends would sell the drug to her

friend.

     Eyes closed again, she wondered if The Pumpkin House

Family Restaurant, where she bussed tables, would fire her.

She'd met her friend there. Was it six months ago? He'd been

a cook and wore pants with small black and white checks.

They'd fired him for spitting in a customer's omelet.

     Dora smiled, opened her eyes, and stretched. Her small

studio reeked of cigarette smoke. She opened her window and

left it open while she showered. Shivering, she toweled dry

in the draft of the window. The towel smelled of mildew and

she was out of deodorant.  She splashed perfume on her

armpits, and dressed carefully in her cleanest-of-the-dirty

black-on-black clothes.

     Outside, across the street, she looked back and saw that

her window was left open. Dora paused, and stared, then

shrugged and ambled slowly down the street, as sexily as she

could.  Two old men, near hairless and fat, smiled and waved

from the second floor window of a soot-gray, brick apartment.

Dora, on impulse, blew them a kiss. One chortled until he

coughed up something and hacked. The other one, with hopeful,

sad eyes, waved her to come back with small, almost child-

like hand movements.  Dora smiled quickly, shook her head,

and marched away, with a sway in her sway. The old man's

coughing hack filled the damp air and mingled with the smell

of the brewery three block north.

     At the next corner, Dora stopped. Overhead, the sky was

overcast dark as diesel fumes. Before her was a long street

of bleak houses that seemed loveless, and a sidewalk strewn

with Salvation Army toys and garbage. There were no children

visible. Dora felt armpits flood and her asshole pucker, and

yet she seemed unable to move. She was sure no one that lived

on this street had ever dined at The Pumpkin House Family

Restaurant.

     A child shrieked dully from one of the dark houses, and

Dora felt her feet moving down the street back the way that

she'd came.

     The old men, still at the window, waved. Dora waved

back, and thinking she'd spend her last four dollars on a

Waldorf salad, gifted them with a show of all her teeth and

most of her gums. Behind the old men, she could see a bare

light bulb dangling from the ceiling. One of the old men--the

hacker--waved money at Dora, while the other one motioned for

her to come to them with his small, almost childlike, hand

movements.  Dora shrugged and walked to the door to the

apartment house.  The inside of the building whiffed of mold,

stale beer, urine and food being cooked in garlic. She made

her way carefully up the worn stairs and looked down the

hallway. The last door on the left was open.

     She stepped into the stuffy, foul room and saw that both

old men were in wheelchairs. The hacker smiled toothless,

bubbles of saliva dripped from his mouth, and down his chin.

The other one, with small, almost childlike, hand movements

motioned Dora to sit on a chromed chair with a cracked vinyl

seat in the center of the room. Dora sat, crossed her legs,

and with both hands held her small, black purse tight to her

lap.  The old men snorted and giggled and the hacker pulled

two dirty dollar bills from a greasy leather pouch. "Shoes?"

He cooed and the other old man nodded with slight jerks.

     Dora took off her shoes and the old man laid the bills

on the floor. Dora smiled and shrugged.  The old men stared

at her feet like poker players evaluating a good hand.

     In the unnatural heat of the room, Dora found herself

blossoming under their gaze.  She smiled softly and set her

purse on the floor, next to her scuffed black pumps.  The

hacker's head shot up. His eyes were as wide as if she'd

fired a gun in the room. The other old man sighed and dug in

his pants pocket.  After a long moment he fished out a single

dollar bill. He looked at it for a long second and then his

small, bright, bloodshot eyes moved to Dora. She encouraged

him with sweet eyed smile and a questioning tilt of her head.

The old man looked back to his lone dollar. He was confused

and afraid.  The hacker whispered. "Nylons?"

     Dora glowed at the old men to set them at ease and rose

and picked up the three dollars where they lay. She swayed

with a confident sensuality back to the chair and with one

snappy move hooked her thumbs under her short, black skirt

and peeled her panty hose off.

     The old men gasp and Dora turned and sat in the chair.

Her thighs and lips were clamped tight together.

     The fat, old men pushed their wheelchairs together. The

hacker whispered in the other's ear. The other nodded while

his hands fluttered in his lap. Then the hacker rolled into

the other room. After a moment he came back with three rings.

In his wrinkled hand he held two wedding rings and a gold

ring with a square red stone. His eyes pleaded when he

croaked.  "All?"

     Dora nodded with a smiled, rose and took the rings from

him. When they were deposited deep in her black purse she

slipped on her shoes and leaving her panty hose walked out

the door.

     Dora moved away from the building at an angle that the

fat, old men could not see.  Two blocks from their apartment,

she caught a bus and found a window seat for the ride

downtown. The seat was vinyl and had been sliced with a knife

or a razor. At the next stop, two young, black men got on.

They sat behind her and played music on a ghetto blaster that

she did not understand, but, nonetheless, liked.  One of the

young men said. "Momma yo' sure be look'n fine today." Dora

didn't answer him. Instead she dug in her purse and found the

ring with the square red stone. She made a childlike and

harmless face, took the mans hand and slipped the ring on his

finger.

     He said. "Whoa!"

     He friend chuckled. "Shit Home that Bitch be engaging

you!"

     Despite their many pleas, Dora did not speak to them the

rest of the ride, but she smiled softly and nodded when they

addressed her. She skipped off the bus downtown and made her

way to a pawn shop on Fourth Avenue. The rings brought her

seventeen dollars and thirty five cents. Dora examined

several guns (two pistols and one automatic), and the man

behind the counter smiled and smiled and kidded her about

being a Pistol Pack'n Momma.

     Dora told him she was Jewish. She did not smile and his

face seemed to misplace his grin.

     At the ritziest department store in town Dora bought

panty hose. Wearing her new nylons, she went to the store's

second story restaurant, and had coffee. Waldorf Salad was

not on the menu. Dora ordered a Hot Dog and looked around the

restaurant.  Most of the customers were well-dressed women of

middle age. There were a few young people that looked hip.

Each table had fresh flowers. Dora's table had a single red

rose that reminded her of the golden ring with the red stone.

Her glass of ice water sparkled and looked much nicer than

the ice water at The Pumpkin House Family Restaurant. When

the hot dog was served, Dora asked her waitress if they were

hiring. The waitress looked at her for a second and murmured

"No,".

     Back on the street, refreshed and relaxed, Dora bought a

newspaper, found a bench, and went through the help wanteds

looking for a new job. She wanted to work in a place where

the ice water was nice. She wanted to know cooks that did not

wear black and white checkered pants. She wanted to dress in

crisp, white dresses and murmur sweetly at her customers.

     As night fell, wrapping the city in shadows, Dora walked

out of the last restaurant on her list. At six restaurants

she'd murmured sweetly for a job application. Two of them had

told her the position was filled, two of them had insisted

that she take the job application home, and two of the

restaurants had asked her when she could start.  La Jocks

was the place that Dora hoped would hire her. La Jocks had

purple curtains and neat pill box hats. Dora could see

herself in pill box hat murmuring, "I would recommend the

Waldorf Salad today."

     Still smiling, Dora made her made down the dark

sidewalk. A man in soiled cloths lurched toward her mumbling.

"Got'a quarter?"

     Dora cocked her head, murmured, "I would recommend the

rack of lamb today," and with a wink, danced away from him

and down the street.

     Dora took a round about way back to her apartment. She

passed down the street where the two old men lived. There was

a light in their window. The window was shut, but the glass

was so clean that it seemed to be open.  She stood there for

about ten minutes just watching the window. Then she

remembered that she'd left her own window open, turned and

went home. Maybe her friend would come over again tonight.

Dora had six dollars left.  She could buy him beer.