Bronx Noir

He helped her out of the car and grandly showed her around like a docent at a fine museum. “Welcome to my neighborhood. Look across the street.” He pointed to a brick two-family house directly opposite. “I grew up in that house. Mama and Papa are on the left. My sister Connie and her husband Al and their kids live in the other. You’ll meet them tonight.”

So close? No, not so soon. I’m not ready for any of this…

He fondly recollected for her. “I played stickball in these streets. I rode my sled down that hill. I played immies in these gutters. God, it’s great to be home.” She turned away and he assumed she was ready for the rest of his tour.

“Here’s our building. Six stories high.”

What she saw were over-filled garbage cans. Dogs running loose. People. So many people. So much noise.

Practically shaking with excitement, Frank turned right and walked her to a door, the only break in the brick structure. “My office! My patients will use this entrance. And…” He led her again, this time into the three-sided courtyard. “Look at our great brick courtyard.”

What she saw were little boys riding bikes dizzily around small patches of wire-enclosed dirt that looked like scraggly attempts at flower beds. The flowers were all dead. The boys shouted at one another, unmindful of anyone but themselves. Linda looked up. The sun was blocked by crisscrossed clothes lines filled with hanging laundry.

“Come on inside.” Now he navigated her through the large lobby, where he hurried her to another door. Tarnished brass letters indicated it was apartment 1A. “Ta da! Our very own private entrance. Isn’t it great?”

He took out a set of keys and opened the door. As Frank bent over to lift Linda and carry her over the threshold, they heard clapping.

“Put me down, Frank,” she said. He did.

She looked around the lobby. It was very large, and had seen better days.

The floors were black and white tiled squares. With imitation Greek columns and metal ceilings and a long bank of mailboxes against the wall next to the elevator.

There were people in the lobby staring at them. A couple of old guys were playing chess at a card table with a third man watching them. Two women with baby strollers sat on a marble bench. A woman with groceries had just removed mail from her box. They were all grinning as they clapped.

“Hey, Frankie, you’re back!” This from one of the chess players. To Linda he said, “I’m Irving Pinsky. 5F. You must be Frankie’s new wife.”

Frank waved. “Hey, Irv, it’s Doctor Frankie now. Show some respect.”

The lady with groceries said, “Welcome back from the Schwartz family too. Apartment 3D. I’m Helen,” she said to Linda. To Frank she said, “So what’s the bride’s name?”

“This is Linda, my wife, and also gonna be my nurse. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Linda turned sharply at this unexpected piece of news. His nurse?

“Too good for the likes of you, you, pisher. Just call me Phil,” the other chess player told Linda. A man who introduced himself as Sam teased Frank. “We always had Jewish doctors in this building. When Dr. Mayer retired to Miami, we didn’t expect a goyish kop like you to show up.”

Frank laughed aloud. “I promise I’ll be just as good.”

Phil shrugged. “Who said he was good?”

“Nice people, your in-laws,” said one of the mothers, Alice. “They got great food in their Italian restaurant on Arthur Avenue. That’s the Little Italy of the Bronx,” she informed Linda.

She shuddered. Don’t tell me about the Bronx. I could tell you horror stories.

“And speaking of food, don’t mind the smell.” Mrs. Schwartz pinched her nose with two fingers to make her point. “That’s Flanagan in 1G. They always have corned beef and cabbage on Thursdays.”

“Phew,” agreed Irving. Turning to Mrs. Schwartz, he said, “And your gribbines don’t smell all that great either. That chicken fat stinks up your floor pretty good.”

She made a face and waved a dismissive hand at him.

“Hey, doc.” Irving started to take a shoe off. “One of my big toes hurts. Could you take a look at it?”

Again Frank laughed. “Call my nurse for an appointment.” He hugged Linda, who stiffened.

“What a blondie, such a cutie,” the third man, Sam, commented with a leer. “She can take my temperature any time.” There was group laughter at that.

“Frank, get me inside right now!” Linda grabbed his arm, squeezing it hard.

Frank waved again. “Gotta go. Just drove in. The little woman needs her rest.”

With that, he lifted her up and carried her into 1A to a chorus of cheers.

When the door closed behind them, Frank faced his wife, beaming with pleasure. He waited for her to say something.

Linda turned away and walked from room to room examining the apartment.

“Swedish modern foam couches,” Frank recited, following after her as she looked at the bilious green fabric covering hard-looking flat pillows that sat on wrought-iron frames. “The salesman said it was the latest thing.”