Big Nose Frankie And The Cute Little Kitten, 1

Standing in front of Theresa’s Drugstore, I would often see Maggie walk past, not exactly smiling, but with a happy expression—serene. Every time I saw her it made me wish I could get up the nerve to speak to her. This was before I even knew her name, while I still thought of her as “Greer.” Greer was my favorite actress, and no matter whether marooned in the Alps with Mr. Chips or waiting for Charles Ranier to regain his memory, she always had that same serene expression I saw on Maggie’s face.

Not even Fat Wally the butcher’s son or Gaylord, two guys who never let any female under forty pass without some idiotic remark, ever called anything out at Maggie. She was tall, nicely built, square-jawed, with wide-set eyes and she always sailed past, bound somewhere--out of the reach of a bunch of clowns who had nothing to do but hang out in front of drugstores.

She lived on the ground floor of the building the Theresa was in, and as I walked past her window on 88th, I could hear her practicing scales and arias in Italian, French and German—this at a time when I was failing freshman Spanish. She had a beautiful rich voice, but I’d only quick-glance in as I passed. I didn’t want her to catch me.

One night I was standing on 85th and Broadway, downstairs from the Sterling Bowling Alley, with Big-Nose Frankie, Lockup Bill, Vitamins and Abner the Stooper. Lockup was telling us, not for the first time, how he was so well-known as a carver he could walk into any cafeteria in town and they’d hand him an apron and put him right on the carving board.

As he droned on, a cute little kitten kept mewing, rubbing against our legs and going from one of us to the next. At one point, Vitamins tried to rub its ears but the kitten wasn’t interested. It moved on to Frankie, who kept putting the side of his shoe against it and flipping it from where we were leaning against a car, toward the Tropical Health Drink stand on the corner. With each flip, he was giving it additional airtime.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t one of the regulars. I felt honored they even let me lean against the car and listen to them. Just as Frankie launched the kitten halfway to Tropical Health, I saw Maggie come walking up Broadway from our right. I stopped slouching against the car and stood up tall. I was seventeen at the time and wanted her to see me hanging around with older guys instead of the kids I usually hung out with in front of Theresa’s.

As she came near, the little kitten, who’d just gotten back to its feet from the last of Big Nose’s launches, went up to her and rubbed against her foot.  She stopped, knelt down, picked it up, and holding it in one hand and caressing it with the other, and made little crooning noises.

“Watch and learn,” said Big-Nose Frankie. He bumped his butt against the car, pushed himself forward and walked over to where Maggie was caressing the kitten.
To be continued in Part 2
Herb L
Oldtimewriter.com