Manhattan Noir - Lawrence Block [55]
“Naw. That’s not exactly how it works. But listen, my time is almost up here. I have to remind you about your calling. The NYPD is where you belong.”
“I’m not interested in police work at all.”
“Do you remember praying for a vocation when you were younger, to see if you were supposed to be a nun?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Try it again. You’ll find out what you need through prayer. I gotta go. Don’t forget, okay?”
He faded out, leaving me more confused than ever. I thought about it for a while, then hunted down my Rosary beads. Okay, God, I thought, if I’m supposed to have some sort of vocation, then let me know what you want me to do.
Nothing happened that night, but I thought I ought to give God more of a chance than that to show me His will. I said the Rosary every night, but I didn’t receive any celestial direction.
On the fourteenth day, my father’s younger sister Alma and her husband dropped by. They had a friend of my Uncle Juan’s with them. Sal was an absolute doll. He had a mustache and dimples that flashed when he laughed, which was often. He told jokes that cracked everyone up. His hair was dark and wavy, and I longed to run my fingers through it even though he was almost twice my age. I sat on my hands to make sure they didn’t jump out and touch him without my permission.
Tío Juan clapped Sal on the back repeatedly. They were celebrating his promotion from patrolman to sergeant. Juan kept saying how proud he was of Sal, one of the guys from the neighborhood making it: a good civil-service job, benefits, a pension. But I could hear the envy underneath my uncle’s words. He was a baker, but he never managed to get into a union. He would speak about others in the family who had landed union jobs as though they had hit the lottery. It was clear that he thought his life would have been easier if he had made it like they did. When he started getting obnoxious, my aunt pulled him out the door.
Sal lingered behind, saying goodnight to everyone, thanking my father for his hospitality. “It was very nice to meet you,” he said, looking into my eyes. His cheeks were made apple-round by his smile.
I wanted to touch his dimples, so I jammed my hands into the pockets of my jeans to keep them out of trouble.
He had been so easygoing and confident all evening that when he stuttered a little, I couldn’t imagine what was wrong.
“I, uh, that is, do you think you might like—”
My father had had a few glasses of wine and was watching us from his chair in the living room. “Oh, for chrissake,” he said, disgusted, “just ask her out already.”
Sal blushed and grinned at the same time. “Really? Would that really be okay with you?”
My father leaned back in the chair, his eyes almost closed. He flapped his hand in Sal’s direction, like, Don’t bother me.
Sal cleared his throat. “Would you like to go—”
“Yes!” I said.
He laughed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask you.”
Now it was my turn to blush.
He started again. “Would you like to go to a movie this weekend?”
I pretended to think it over. “Sounds good.”
“I’ll pick you up on Friday at 7.”
“See you then,” I said.
I dated Sal for three months before the attraction wore off. He was a gorgeous Latin male, but he was a Latin male. It was 1987, and the idea that I would be subservient because he was the guy grew old quickly.
After we broke up, I found myself missing the stories he told about his job. I didn’t miss him too much, but the day I saw a sign on the subway advertising the next police exam, I realized that I’d been bitten by the bug. I signed up to take it, and I went into the Academy right after my college graduation.
I was glad for the time I’d spent with Sal—it was good preparation for all the crap I had to put up with from the other cops. But I just laid low and smiled through the practical jokes, even the nasty ones. After a while, they stopped. I was pulling my weight, and then some. I started making some good busts, and a few of the old hairbags even gave me some grudging respect. I bumped into Sal