“You at Frank’s?” Susie asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Hang in there, kid,” Susie said. “I’ll be right up. Warn the doorman.”
“Should I warn him about a bear or about
you
, Susie?” I asked her.
“One day, honey,” Susie said, “the
real
me is going to surprise you.” One day, it was true, Susie
would
surprise me. But before Susie got up to 222 Central Park South, Lilly called me on one of Frank’s six phones.
“What’s wrong?” I said. It was nearly two in the morning.
“Chipper Dove,” Lilly whispered, in a frightened little voice. “He called here! He asked for Franny!” That son of a bitch! I thought. He’d call up a girl he’d raped when she was
sleeping
! He must have wanted to be sure that Franny really
did
live at the Stanhope. So now he knew.
“What did Franny say to him?” I asked Lilly.
“Franny wouldn’t talk to him,” Lilly said. “Franny
couldn’t
talk to him,” Lilly said. “I mean, she couldn’t get her mouth to work—no words came out,” Lilly said. “I told him Franny was out and he said he’d call again. You better come over here,” Lilly said. “Franny is
afraid
,” Lilly whispered. “I’ve never seen Franny afraid,” Lilly added. “She won’t even go back to bed, she just keeps looking out the window. I think she thinks he’s going to rape her
again
,” Lilly whispered.
I went to Frank’s room and woke him up. He sat bolt upright in bed, throwing back the covers and flinging the dressmaker’s dummy away from him. “Dove,” was all I had whispered to him. “Chipper Dove,” was all I had to say, and Frank woke up as if he were still banging the cymbals. We left a message for Father in the tape recorder next to his bed. We just said we were at the Stanhope.
Father was pretty good on the telephone; he counted the holes. Even so, Father still got a lot of wrong numbers, and they made him so cross that he invariably shouted to the persons on the receiving end of his calls—as if the wrong numbers had been
their
fault. “Jesus God!” he would holler. “You’re the wrong number!” Thus, in this small way, did my father and his Louisville Slugger terrorize a portion of New York.
Frank and I met Susie at the door of 222 Central Park South. We had to run up to Columbus Circle to find a cab. Susie was not wearing the bear suit. She was wearing old pants and a sweater over a sweater over a sweater.
“Of
course
she’s afraid,” Susie told Frank and me as we sped uptown. “But she’s got to deal with it.
Fear
is one of the first phases, my dears. If she can get over the fucking fear, then she gets to the
anger
. And once she’s angry,” Susie said, “then she’s home free. Just look at me,” she declared, and Frank and I looked at her and didn’t say anything. We were over our heads, and we knew it.
Franny was sitting wrapped in a blanket, her chair drawn up to the heat register; she peered out the window. The Metropolitan Museum stood in the pre-Christmas cold like a castle abandoned by its king and queen—so abandoned it looked cursed; even the peasants were staying away.
“How can I even go
out
?” Franny whispered to me. “He could be
anywhere
out there,” she said. “I don’t
dare
go out,” she repeated.
“Franny, Franny,” I said, “he won’t touch you again.”
“Don’t
tell
her things,” Susie said to me. “That’s not the way. Don’t tell—
ask
her things. Ask her what she wants to do?”
“What do you want to do, Franny?” Lilly asked her.
“We’ll do anything you want us to do, Franny,” Frank said.
“Think about what you
want
to have happen,” Susie the bear said to Franny.
Franny shivered, her teeth chattered. It was stifling in the suite, but Franny was bone-cold.
“I want to kill him,” Franny said, softly.
“Don’t say anything,” Susie the bear whispered in my ear. There was nothing I could say, anyway. We sat in the room with Franny looking out the window for about an hour. Susie gave her a back rub to try to warm her up. Franny wanted to whisper something to me, so I bent down to her. “Are you still sore?” she whispered. She wore a little smile and I smiled back at her and nodded. “Me too,” she said, and smiled; but she looked right back out the window again, and she said, “I wish he were dead.” In a little while she repeated, “I simply can’t go out, I can take all my meals here—but one of you will have to be here, all the time.” We assured her we would be. “Kill him,” she repeated, just as it was getting light above the park. “He could be
anywhere
out there,” she said, watching the light grow. “The bastard!” she screamed, suddenly. “I want to kill him!”
We took turns staying with her for a couple of days. We made up a story for Father—that Franny had the flu and she was staying in bed so that she’d be all better in time for Christmas. It was a reasonable lie, we thought. Franny had lied to Father about Chipper Dove before; she’d told him she was just “beaten up.”
We didn’t even have a plan—if Chipper Dove
did
call back, we had no idea how Franny even wanted to deal with it.
“Kill him,” she kept saying.
And Frank, waiting in the lobby with me for the Stanhope elevator to arrive, said, “Maybe we
should
kill him. That would take care of it.”
Franny was our leader; when she was lost, we were all lost. We needed her judgment before we could settle on a plan.
“Maybe he’ll never call again,” Lilly said.
“You’re a writer, Lilly,” Frank said. “You ought to know better. Of course he’ll call.” Frank was making one of his anti-world statements—expressing one of his perverse theories that precisely what you don’t
want
to happen
will
. As a writer, Lilly would one day share Frank’s
Weltanschauung
.
But Frank was right about Chipper Dove; he called. It was Frank who answered the phone. Frank was very uncool about it; when he heard Chipper Dove’s ice-blue voice, he twitched—he underwent such a spasm on the couch that he batted the standing lamp beside him, he sent the lampshade spinning, and Franny knew right away who it was. She started screaming, she ran out of the living room of the suite and into Lilly’s bedroom (it was the closest hiding place), and Susie the bear and I had to run after her and hold her on Lilly’s bed, trying to calm her down.
“Uh, no, she’s not in right now,” Frank said to Chipper Dove. “Want to leave a number where she can call you?” Chipper Dove gave Frank his number—two numbers, actually: his number at home, and his number at work. The thought that he had a job seemed to make Franny suddenly sane again.
“What does he
do
?” she asked Frank.
“Well,” Frank said. “He just said he was with his uncle’s firm. You know how everyone gets their rocks off the way they say ‘firm’—the fucking
firm
, whatever a
firm
is,” Frank said.
“It could be anything, Franny,” I said. “A law firm, a business firm.”
“Maybe it’s a rape firm,” Lilly said, and we had our first good sign in days. Franny laughed.
“Atta girl, Franny,” Frank encouraged her.
“That super shit of a human being!” Franny yelled.
“Atta girl, Franny,” said Susie the bear.
“That fuck-off in his uncle’s fucking
firm
!” Franny said.
“That’s right,” I said.
And finally Franny said, “I don’t
care
about killing him. I just want to scare him,” she said. “I want him to be
frightened
,” she said, shivering suddenly; she started crying. “He really
scared
me!” she cried. “I’m
still
afraid of him, for Christ’s sake,” she said. “I want to scare the bastard, I want to frighten him back!” Franny said.
“Now you’re talking,” said Susie the bear. “Now you’re dealing with it.”
“Let’s rape him!” Frank said. “Who’d want to?” Lilly asked.
“I’d do it—for the
cause
,” Susie said. “But even with me, I think he’d like it. Men are creeps that way,” Susie said. “They could hate your guts but their
cocks
will still like you.”
“We
can’t
rape him,” Franny said. So Franny was okay, I thought. She was our leader again.
“We can do anything we want,” Frank argued—Frank the agent, Frank the arranger.
“Even if we could figure out a way to rape him,” Susie said, “even if we could find the perfect rapist for him, I still say it wouldn’t be the same: the fucker would find a way to
enjoy
himself.”
And then Lilly, the author, spoke up. Our little Lilly, the creator: she had the best imagination. “He wouldn’t enjoy himself if he thought a
bear
was raping him,” Lilly said.
“Sodomy!” cried Frank, gleefully, clapping his hands—like the cymbals he’d once used on Chipper Dove. “
Sodomize
the bastard!” Frank cried.
“Wait a fucking minute!” said Susie the bear. “Maybe
he’ll
think it’s a bear, but
I’ll
still know it’s
him
. I mean, anything for the
cause
,” Susie said, “anything for
you
, honey,” Susie told Franny, “but you’ll have to give me some time to think this over.”
“But I don’t think you’d have to really
do
it to him, Susie,” Franny said. “I think you could scare him enough by
almost
doing it.”
“You could pretend to be a bear in heat, Susie,” Lilly said.
“A bear in heat!” howled Frank, with delight. “That’s it!” he shouted, wildly. “A bear in heat goes berserk! You could wolf the bastard’s
balls
right into your terrible bear’s
mouth
!” Frank screamed at Susie. “Make him think he’s going to get
blown
by a bear! For the last time!” Frank added.
“I could take him right to the edge,” Susie the bear said.
“But no further, Susie,” Franny said. “I just want to frighten him.”
“Scare him to death,” Frank said, exhausted.
“Not quite,” said Lilly. “Scare him
almost
to death.”
“A bear in heat: that’s brilliant, Lilly,” I said.
“Just give me a day,” Lilly said.
“For what, Lilly?” Susie asked.
“The script,” Lilly said. “I’ll need a day to get the script right.”
“I love you, Lilly,” Franny said, and gave her a hug.
“You all have to be very good actors,” Lilly said.
“I’m taking
lessons
, for Christ’s sake!” Susie roared. “And I’ll bring my friends! Can you use two friends, Lilly?” Susie asked.
“If they’re
women
, I can use them,” Lilly said, frowning.
“Of
course
they’re women!” Susie said, indignantly.
“Can
I
be in it?” Frank asked.
“You’re not a woman, Frank,” I pointed out. “Maybe Lilly wants all women.”
“Well, I’m a fag,” Frank said, huffily. “And Chipper Dove knows that.”
“I can get a great costume for Frank,” Susie told Lilly.
“You can?” Frank asked, excitedly. He hadn’t had a chance to dress up in a while.
“Let me work on it,” Lilly said. Lilly the worker: she would always work a little
too
hard. “It will have to be just perfect,” Lilly said. “To be
believable
,” Lilly said, “we’ll have to get everything just right.”
And Franny asked, suddenly, “Will I have to be in it, Lilly?” We could see she didn’t want to be, or she was frightened to be in it; she wanted it to happen—she thought she wanted to
see
it, but she didn’t know if she could actually take a
part
.
I held Franny’s hand. “You’ll have to
call
him, Franny,” I said, and she shivered again.
“You’ll just have to invite him here,” Lilly said. “Once you get him here, you won’t have to say much. You won’t have to
do
anything, I promise,” Lilly said. “But it’s got to be you who calls him up.”
Franny looked out the window again. I rubbed her shoulders so she wouldn’t be cold. Frank patted her hair; Frank had an irritating habit of showing his affection for human beings by patting them as if they were dogs.
“Come on, Franny,” Frank said. “
You
can do it, Franny.”
“You
got
to, honey,” Susie the bear told her softly, putting her friendly paw on Franny’s arm.
“It’s now or never, Franny. Remember?” I whispered to her. “Let’s just get this over with,” I told her, “and then we can all return to the rest of the business—to the rest of our lives.”
“The rest of our lives,” Franny said, pleased. “Okay,” she whispered. “If Lilly can write the script,” Franny said, “I can make the fucking phone call.”
“Then all of you get out of here,” Lilly said. “I’ve got to get to work,” she said, worriedly.
We all went to Frank’s to have a party with Father. “Not a word about this to Father,” Franny said. “Let’s keep Father out of it.”
Father, I knew, was out of it most of the time. But when we arrived at Frank’s, Father had come to a small decision. From the myriad options in front of him, Father had failed to come up with what Iowa Bob would have called a game plan; he still didn’t know what he wanted to
do
. Good fortune was an option unfamiliar to my father. But when we arrived at Frank’s in a party mood, Father had at least accomplished a mini-decision.
“I want one of those Seeing Eye dogs,” Father said.
“But you’ve got us, Pop,” Frank told him.
“There’s always someone around to take you anywhere you want,” I told him.
“It’s not just that,” Father said. “I need an animal around,” he said.
“Oh boy,” Franny said. “Why not hire Susie?”
“Susie’s got to stop being a bear,” Father said. “We shouldn’t keep encouraging her.” We all looked a little guilty, and Susie beamed—of course, Father couldn’t see our faces. “And besides,” Father said, “New York is a terrible place for a bear. I’m afraid the bear days are over,” he sighed. “But a good old Seeing Eye dog,” Father said. “Well, you see,” he said, almost a little embarrassed to admit his loneliness, “it would be someone for me to
talk
to. I mean, you have your own lives—or you
will
have,” Father said. “I’d just like a dog, really. The Seeing Eye part of the dog isn’t really what matters. I’d just like to have a nice dog. Can I?” he asked.
“Sure, Pop,” Frank said.
Franny kissed Father and told him we’d get him a dog for Christmas.
“So soon?” Father asked. “I don’t think you can
rush
getting a Seeing Eye dog,” Father said. “I mean, it would be a problem to get a badly trained one.”
“Anything’s possible, Pop,” Frank said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Frank,” Franny said. “We’ll
all
get him a dog, if you don’t mind.”
“One thing,” Father said. Susie the bear put her paw on my hand, as if even Susie knew what was coming. “Just one thing,” Father said. We were very quiet, waiting for this. “It mustn’t look like Sorrow,” Father said. “And you’ve got the eyes, so
you’ve
got to pick out the dog. Just make sure it in no way resembles Sorrow.”
And Lilly wrote the necessary fairy tale, and we each acted our parts. According to the fairy tale that Lilly wrote, we were perfect. On the last working day before Christmas, 1964, Franny took a deep breath and called Chipper Dove at his “firm.”
“Hi, it’s
me
!” she said to him, brightly. “I absolutely need to have lunch with you, in the
worst
way,” Franny said to Chipper Dove. “Yes; it’s Franny Berry—and you can pick me up, anytime,” Franny said. “Yes, at the Stanhope—Suite
fourteen-oh-one
.”
Then Lilly grabbed the phone away from Franny and said to Franny in a voice as crabby as any crabby nurse’s voice—and plenty loud enough for Chipper Dove to hear—“Who are you making phone calls to
now
? You’re not supposed to make any more phone calls!” Then Lilly hung up the phone and we waited.
Franny went into the bathroom and threw up. She was okay when she came back out. She looked awful, but she was supposed to look awful. The two women from the West Village Workshop had done the makeup job on Franny; those women can work wonders. They took a beautiful woman and they
ravaged
her; they gave Franny a face with the lifelessness of chalk; they gave her a mouth like a gash, they gave my sister needles for eyes. And they dressed her all in white, like a bride. We were worried that Lilly’s script might be too theatrical.
Frank stood looking out the window in his black leotard and lime-green caftan. He had just a little lipstick on.
“I don’t know,” Frank said, worriedly. “What if he doesn’t come?”
Susie’s two friends were there—the wounded women from the West Village Workshop. It had been
men
, Susie had told us, who had wounded them. The black one was named Ruthie: she resembled a near-perfect cloning of Junior Jones. Ruthie wore a sleeveless sheepskin vest, over nothing at all, and a pair of bright green bell-bottoms above which her belly wobbled. She had a long silver nail, almost as thick as a railroad spike, jabbed into her crazy hair. She held a long leather leash in one of her big black hands; at the end of the leash was Susie the bear.
It was a bear suit that was a victory of animal imagination. Especially the mouth, as Frank had pointed out; especially the fangs. Their wet look. And the sad insanity of the eyes. (Susie actually “saw” out of the mouth.)
The claws were a nice touch, too; they were the real thing, Susie proudly pointed out—the whole paws were the real thing. It somehow enhanced the reality of everything that Susie wore a muzzle. We’d bought the muzzle in an accessory shop for Seeing Eye dogs; it was a real muzzle.
We’d turned the thermostat on the heat register up as high as it would go because Franny complained of being cold. Susie said she liked the heat; she felt more like a bear if she sweated a lot, and inside the bear suit, we could tell, she was hot and dripping. “I’ve never felt so much like a bear,” Susie said to us, pacing, down on all fours.
“You’re all bear today, Susie,” I said to her.
“The
bear in you
gets out today, Susie,” Lilly told her.
Franny sat in the bridal dress on the couch, the candle burning in a sickly way on the table beside her. There were candles lit throughout the suite, and all the window shades were drawn. Frank had lit a little incense, so the whole suite smelled truly terrible.
The other woman from the West Village Workshop was a pale, plain-looking, very girlish type with straw-blond hair. She was dressed in the conventional uniform of a hotel maid, the same uniform worn by all the Stanhope maids, and she had a perfectly bored, expressionless gaze that matched her dull employment. Her name was Elizabeth Something, but in the Village she was called Scurvy. She was the best actress ever to graduate from the West Village Workshop—she was the queen of the Washington Square Park performers. She could have taught scream therapy to a whole backyard full of moles; she could have taught the moles how to scream so loud that the worms would leap right out of the ground. She was what Susie called a number one first-class hysteric. “Nobody can do hysteria better than Scurvy,” Susie the bear had told us, and Lilly had written up a number one first-class hysteric role for her. Scurvy just sat in the suite, smoking a cigarette and looking as lifeless as a park bench bum.
I played around with the big barbell in the middle of the living room. Frank and Lilly had greased me all over; I was oily from head to toe and I smelled like a salad, but the oil made my muscles stand out in a special way. I was wearing this skimpy little thing called a singlet—it’s that old-fashioned-looking, one-piece-bathing-suit thing that wrestlers and weight lifters wear.
“Keep warm,” Lilly coached me, “keep lifting just enough to keep the veins standing out. When he walks in here, I want those veins
popping
right up there on the surface of your skin.”
“
If
he walks in here,” Frank fumed.
“He will,” Franny said, softly. “He’s very near,” she said, shutting her eyes. “I know he’s very near,” she repeated.
When the phone rang, everyone in the room jumped—everyone but Franny and the number one first-class hysteric named Scurvy; they didn’t flinch. Franny let the phone ring a little. Lilly came out of the bedroom, all neatly dressed in her nurse’s uniform; she nodded to Franny at about the fourth ring and Franny picked up the phone. She didn’t say anything.
“Hello?” Chipper Dove said. “Franny?” we heard him ask. Franny shivered, but Lilly kept nodding to her.
“Come up right away,” Franny whispered into the phone. “Come up while my nurse is still out!” she hissed. Then she hung up; she gagged, and for a moment I thought she’d have to go throw up in the bathroom again, but she held it in; she was okay.
Lilly adjusted the tight, gray, mousy little bun of a wig she wore. She looked like an old nurse in a home for dwarfs; the women from the West Village Workshop had made up Lilly’s face like a prune. She stepped into the closet that was nearest the main door to the suite and shut the door. When you were in the living room of the suite, it was easy to confuse the closet with the entrance and exit door.
Scurvy put a stack of clean linen on her arm and went outside the suite into the hall. “Between five and seven minutes after he gets inside,” I told her.
“I don’t need reminding,” she said, crossly. “I can listen outside the door for my cue,” she told me contemptuously. “I’m a fucking
pro
, you know.”
The West Village Workshop women had one thing in common, Susie had confided to me. They had all been raped.
I started lifting the weight. I did some fast lifting to pump the muscles full of blood. Susie the bear curled up at the foot of the couch farthest from Franny and pretended to go to sleep. She hid her paws and her muzzled snout; from the back she looked like a sleeping dog. The black woman named Ruthie—the huge woman who was Junior Jones’s clone—plopped down in the dead center of the couch, right next to Franny. When the hibernating bear began to snore, Frank took off the caftan and hung it on a doorknob—he now wore just the black leotard—and went into Lilly’s bedroom and put the music on. From the living room, you could see the bed through the bedroom’s open door. When the music started, Frank started dancing on the bed. The music had been Frank’s choice. Frank had no trouble making up his mind: he chose the mad scene from Donizetti’s
Lucia
.
I looked at Franny and saw some tears squeeze their way out of the pinholes the makeup women had given her for eyes; the tears made messy tracks through the makeup caked upon her face. Franny knotted her fingers in her lap, and I knocked lightly on the closet door and whispered to Lilly: “A masterpiece, Lilly,” I said. “It’s got all the indications of a masterpiece.”
“Just don’t blow your lines,” Lilly whispered.
When Chipper Dove knocked on the door, my bicepses were standing right up there—the way Lilly wanted them—and the forearms were looking pretty good. I had a little sweat running over the oil, and in the bedroom Lucia was beginning to scream. Frank was so incredibly awkward, leaping on the bed, that I almost couldn’t look at him.
“Come in!” Franny cried to Chipper Dove. When I saw the doorknob turn, I grabbed my side of the door and helped Chipper Dove inside—fast. I guess I snapped the door open a little harder than was necessary because Chipper Dove seemed to be propelled inside the room—on all fours. I hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outside knob and closed the door behind him.
“Well, look who’s here,” Franny said, in her best ice-blue voice.
“Holy cow!” cried Frank, at full height above the bouncing bed.
I rolled the barbell against the door, but Chipper Dove stood up—fairly calmly. He had that smile that wouldn’t die; at least, it hadn’t died
yet
.
“What’s all this, Franny?” he asked her, casually, but Franny had come to the end of her lines. Franny’s part of the script was over with. (“Well, look who’s here.” That was all that was necessary for her to say.)
“We’re going to rape you,” I said to Chipper Dove.
“Hey, look,” Dove said. “That was never exactly what I’d call a
rape
,” he said. “I mean, you really
liked
me, Franny,” he said to her, but Franny wasn’t talking. “I’m sorry about the other guys, Franny,” Dove added, but Franny’s pinhole stare gave him nothing. “Shit!” said Dove, turning to me. “
Who’s
going to rape me?”
“Not me!” Frank screamed from the bedroom, bouncing higher and higher. “I like fucking
mud puddles
, myself. I do it all the time!”
Chipper Dove still managed a smile. “So it’s the one on the couch?” he asked me, slyly. He stared at big Ruthie; he must have been remembering Junior Jones when he looked at her—she just stared back at him—but Chipper Dove even managed to smirk at her. “I have nothing against black women,” Chipper Dove said, dividing his attention between Ruthie and me. “In fact, I like a black woman now and then.” Ruthie raised up one cheek of her enormous ass and farted.
“You ain’t fucking
me
,” she told Chipper Dove.
Dove directed his full attention to me. Almost all of his smile had left him, because I think he was beginning to suspect that
I
was the one appointed to rape him and he wasn’t so fond of this idea.
“No, it’s not
him
, you asshole!” Frank yelled from the bedroom, panting and leaping-higher and higher. “He likes
girls
, like
you
do!” Frank yelled at Dove. “Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting
girls
!” Frank hollered. He fell off the bed, but he was right back up and dancing, fiercely. Lucia was really sounding crazy.
“Are you trying to tell me it’s the
dog
?” Chipper Dove asked me. “Do you think I’ll hold still for a fucking
dog
!” he snapped at me.
“What dog, man?” Ruthie asked Chipper Dove. Ruthie had a smile that was as terrible as Chipper Dove’s.
“That dog right there,” Dove said, pointing to Susie the bear. Susie was curled up in a ball, snoring, her hairy back turned to Dove—her paws tucked in, her head tucked down. Ruthie stuck her big bare foot in Susie’s crotch; she started
kneading
Susie with her foot. Susie started to groan.
“That ain’t no
dog
, man,” Ruthie said, smiling—and obscenely kneading, kneading with her foot. Then Ruthie twisted her foot, sharply, in Susie’s crotch and Susie the bear roared awake; she wheeled viciously on Ruthie, snapping at her. Dove saw the muzzle barely restraining her, he saw Ruthie bound out of the way of the long, striking claws. Ruthie threw the leash in Susie’s face and ran to the far side of the room. Susie looked ready to charge after her, but Franny just reached out her hand. She touched Susie just once and Susie calmed right down. The bear put her head in Franny’s lap. Susie growled softly there.
“Earl! Earl!” she moaned.
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