Danny is a Real Person and This is a Real Story
Danny Nowak has an extension cord running out of his house,
traversing the gangway and running into Napoleon’s house next
door. Danny jumped the meter so it’s no sweat off his back. Napo-
leon’s supposed to pay Danny ten dollars a month, and actually did
for the first two months, but his only income is Uber and Lyft. With
five young mouths to feed, ten bucks takes on a whole new meaning.
Danny loves Napoleon’s kids like his own, though most would
realize that they’re only loosely related. Danny’s blood is Polish.
Napoleon’s people were African. Most of Danny’s wives have also
been African American. He’s treated them all kindly and remains
good to each and every one of them, even after the union is over. Just
last week he fixed the roof on Janet’s house, which she shares with her
new husband, Homer. Husband and wife are terms used loosely to
identify the person you live with. Ceremony and government legiti-
macy is a bit out of reach for most families.
Some of the police are jealous of Danny, an old, ugly Polack with
a defined white marble muscular body and equally carved face, who
partners with dozens of the neighborhood’s black beauties. Danny pre-
fers describing them as chocolate, not black. After all, he’s never seen
a black woman, and has been with many, many shades of chocolate.
The police often harass the bride and groom, calling Danny’s
wives crack whores. Danny doesn’t care much; he just calls ’em people.
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Danny prefers a monogamous relationship to none at all, but it’s hard
to focus when many neighborhood girls are serving it up from the
time they’re thirteen or even twelve. Sex is a commodity in New City,
and Danny detests child molesters like most red-blooded Americans
do. Having said that, if the girls are being bedded, Danny figures that
he has an obligation. Better a nice guy like himself, who is kind and
would never harm a hair on their heads, than someone who might
beat them, turn them into addicts, prostitutes, or even take their lives.
Danny noticed that things changed somewhat, and that the
police harassed him less when the Black Lives Matter movement
gained prominence. In fact, many police no longer stopped people at
all, fearing that they would eventually be charged for some infraction
while arresting someone.
Danny didn’t much appreciate police; light or dark skin, he had
little use for them. Danny himself thought it odd that Black Lives
Matter seemed to ignore the fact that hundreds of times more black
lives were taken by other blacks than by the police. Danny was an
avid reader. There were 221 blacks killed by the police in 2020 in the
whole country. Meanwhile, there were 783 murders in the city of
Chicago alone.
Each year, the city of Chicago lost tens of millions settling law-
suits with the families of the deceased shot by police. It amused
Danny that according to the press, each victim was an exceptional
citizen and former honor student.
Danny’s handy with just about anything. He could fix your tele-
vision, computer, fuse box, or clogged pipes. For this reason and
many others, he is viewed as some sort of tribal leader. Over the
years, as a result of his respected position, he’s had many daughters,
mothers, sisters, cousins, aunties, and friends.
It was commonplace in New City to hear about twelve- and thir-
teen-year-olds getting abortions or having children. For the most
part, the gang leaders got the pick of the litter. Some mothers were
even proud when one of their daughters gave it up to the thugs. It
meant that the family was protected royalty.
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Danny loved going to the Rawleys. Datisha, the eldest daughter,
had an angelic voice and loved to sing. Loving any kind of audience,
whenever Danny was there, she always gave a performance. Danny
never heard such a beautiful voice and loved her singing.
One day after Danny fixed Mrs. Rawley’s sink, she walked in with
Datisha. By now, the girl was a blossoming goddess. Danny couldn’t
help but stare at her long thin legs, tiny protruding butt, and caramel
eyes. He swallowed three times, an involuntary reaction to her beauty.
“Datisha, you take care of Danny, he’s our friend. He fixed our
sink,” Mrs. Rawley said.
Danny stared at the screen on the kitchen window above the
sink, not knowing if he was dreaming or in heaven. All of a sudden,
his pants felt snug.
“What do you want me to do with Danny, Mama?” Datisha
asked in a drawn-out drawl.
“Why, you do whatever he wants you to do. Go home with him
and don’t come back in less than an hour,” Mrs. Rawley replied.
Danny stood and switched his weight back and forth from foot
to foot. “I don’t need anything . . . Mrs. Rawley. Don’t worry . . . It’s
my pleasure to help out,” he said, mentally battling to get the words
out of his big stupid mouth.
Mrs. Rawley looked Danny in the eyes. “Danny, you done saved
our ass a hundred times. You never say no. Now, I don’t have no
money, but you deserves something, and you is a man. Besides, it’s
better that she learns love from a gentleman and not from someone
who will bust her up.” She smiled at Datisha and then looked back
at Danny. “Hopefully, she’ll demand and understand what kindness
and respect means to a woman. It will be a lesson that could end up
saving her life.”
Datisha’s mother noticed the sizable bulge in Danny’s pocket and
suspected he wasn’t carrying a gun. Toying with the statue of a man,
she asked, “You don’t think my Datisha is pretty, Danny?”
Danny glanced at Datisha, fearful of remaining in a trance.
“She’s, oh my God, she’s beautiful.”
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“Then take her, Danny, she’s yours for an hour or as long as she
wants to stay.”
Danny looked into Datisha’s eyes. Her stare seemed much older
than her biological age, but Danny always thought that women were
born older. “Is this what you want, Datisha?” Danny asked sincerely.
Datisha smiled slightly, her eyes fixed on his.
Mrs. Rawley took Datisha’s right arm and pushed her gently
towards Danny. “Danny, Datisha’s a good girl. She won’t do you
wrong.” She paused. “It’s the least we can do for all you done for us.”
From that day on, white marble and milk chocolate got together
often to melt into pure rapture.
It was one of those warm summer evenings that turned New City
into a paradise. A lake wind danced through the trees, ruffling mil-
lions of leaves, softly tugging a few from the branches in a tell-tale
story of how in a few months, winter’s fist would be violently thrash-
ing and stripping, leaving nary a one.
Danny sat on the top step of his porch. A strong humped nose
centered his face. His eyebrows were salt and pepper, and bushy,
but everything else about him was defined. His arms and chest were
muscular and taut. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of fat on him
anywhere. Danny considered himself a Polack. That was how he
grew up. Mexican kids were Taco Benders, Irish were Micks . . .
Danny’s clan was Polish and he was a Polack. He wasn’t really sure
when the media decided that Polacks were white, but to himself he
was no way in the world white. He was just an aging Polack.
The stoop was covered with old television sets, boxes, circuits,
and all sorts of electronic gizmos. Danny was taking the plastic off
the wires and throwing the copper into a bucket on the second stair.
Life just couldn’t get better.
Duchess sensed Danny’s happiness and barked from the ground
floor apartment. A big, fat, light-skinned woman had gifted her to
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Danny a few years ago. The old girl was now blind and full of arthri-
tis (Duchess, not the lady). Duchess sat contently in her apartment,
waiting for Danny to bring food and cuddles a few times a day. The
big, fat, light-skinned woman passed by a few times a month with
big bags of dog food, enough for all three of Danny’s canine friends,
including Dude and Elaine, who slept upstairs with Danny.
The woman had a sweet face and was kind. She waddled out of
her car with the bags of dog food and brought them to the door on
the ground floor. The door was hidden by the front stairs, which led
to Danny’s apartment. She insisted on entering to pet Duchess; and
though the old girl mostly shit and pissed outside, at her age she did
have accidents (again, I’m talking about the dog). Danny cleaned the
dwelling in the way that made the most sense, but the apartment
did carry the scent. The big, fat, light-skinned woman always wore a
half-gallon of cheap perfume. When you put that much on, it must
be reasonably priced (at least to you) no matter what you paid for it,
Danny thought.
Initially, Danny was confused when the big, fat, light-skinned
woman stooped over Duchess and wagged her tail (the woman’s tail,
not Duchess’s). By her third visit, Danny put it together; the perfume,
free dog food, and a wagging tail meant that she wanted to be petted
(not Duchess, the lady). Danny, a baptized Catholic, was more than
happy to comfort a person in need. He tried to get the large, light-
skinned woman to bob for the apple but she’d have none of that. She
also didn’t want to see Danny tagging her. From behind, Danny strug-
gled to get her pants down to her knees. The whole while she talked to
Duchess as if there was nothing going on out of the ordinary.
Danny rubbed the target and aimed. As he entered, she quieted
and remained silent. Suddenly she’d softly groan and straighten her
back. Danny would pull out and clean his rifle. The large woman
would begin chanting vivaciously to Duchess as if she were warming
up to sing in an opera. Danny would help pull her trousers up. She’d
then finish petting her old friend (the dog), smile quaintly at Danny,
and leave.
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Danny was a freelancer when it came to women, but it wasn’t
always that way. He once had a Guatemalan wife named Paulinda.
They had a son named Danny. He still has his son, who used to come
over from time to time. But the last time he visited, he told his father
that it was the last time they’d see each other. Danny Jr. was into
gangs and said that if he was ever followed or if his enemies knew
where Danny Sr. lived, they’d harm him.
Danny knew what his son was talking about. In the city of
Chicago, or most US cities for that matter (Chicago is only the
twenty-fifth most dangerous per capita), crime and thus security was
a major concern. Less than ten percent of murders in the US are ever
solved, and folks really can’t count on the police. The gangs filled the
void and from time to time actually do good for the community.
Danny was in love with Paulinda like he had never been with
anyone. She was tall for a Guatemalan girl with a body that begged
compliments. Everyone in the neighborhood had an eye for her, but
she was Danny’s from the time she was just a kid. He spent a lot of
time trying to understand what she saw in him.
Danny worked at Sweetheart Cup on Cicero Avenue, near the
Ford City Shopping Center. He was making good enough change
and bought a few properties in New City for less than five thousand
bucks each.
The Sweetheart Cup factory was non-union, and the manage-
ment wasn’t what Danny would have chosen. His immediate boss
often attempted to bully and berate him and his fellow workers.
Danny wasn’t one to be bullied or berated.
Over time, Danny observed that, adhering to the idea of Reagan’s
trickle-down effect economy, Sweetheart Cup stopped paying time
and a half for overtime and began cutting every possible benefit.
Danny was tempted to walk out a few times every week, but he had
Paulinda and Little Danny to consider.
Almost every day after work Danny went to the gym with Manny,
a giant Puerto Rican who lived a few blocks from him in New City.
They had been thick for seven or eight years. Beyond being built,
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Manny was handsome. He was also married, though most thought
he played around on the side. Danny didn’t care much about gossip
or what others thought. He and Manny were tight.
Little Danny was about eight years old. Paulinda hadn’t made
dinner and big Danny didn’t say a word. The woman cooked and
cleaned every day. It was no big deal that she didn’t cook tonight.
Danny walked into the kitchen, “Honey, you feel like hot dogs?
I’ll send Danny to the stand and get us some.”
Paulinda didn’t answer and Danny didn’t get it.
“Something wrong, honey?” Danny asked sweetly.
“Everything’s wrong, Danny,” Paulinda responded.
“Everything’s wrong? What are you talking about honey?” He
smiled and took Paulinda by the arms. “Life’s good, baby; Danny’s
healthy, doing good in school. We’re caught up on all our bills and
have some property.”
“If that’s what good means to you, Danny, you’re blind.” Paulinda
said lifelessly. “It’s not about a house, kids, and security. It’s about living.
And I don’t feel like I live anymore.”
Danny was as concerned as he was confused. “You wanna go on
a camping trip, honey? Wisconsin, Indiana, Michigan?”
Paulinda wrestled free and broke Danny’s grip. She turned away.
“I slept with Manny, Danny.”
“You what with who?”
Paulinda hesitated. The silence was interrupted by Little Danny’s
entrance.
“What we eating?” the boy asked.
Neither parent answered. Little Danny looked at his father, and
his mother, who had her back turned. He sensed that he had come in
at an inopportune time.
Danny winked warmly, reached into his pocket and took out
some money. “Get yourself a few dogs, son,” Danny said.
“What about you guys?” Danny Jr. asked.
“We’re good,” his father answered.
Little Danny took the cash and walked out.
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Big Danny heard the front door close. He gently turned the
body of the only woman that he had ever loved. She was now facing
him. Her face was pale and blank. Its void was less than nothing, its
expression was sickly and vacant. Danny remembered one of his old
man’s sayings, “When the face is vacant the mind is full.”
“I didn’t get what you said, something about Manuel,” Danny
said softly. He had heard every word but was hoping that she would
come up with an alternate version he could believe. He’d then tell her
he hadn’t heard the first time because of the noise at Sweetheart Cup
ruining his ears.
She wouldn’t look Danny in the eye. Her gaze was focused on
nothing. “I slept with Manuel,” she said plainly.
Her words were without flavor. It was as if she had surrendered
her life to emptiness, to nothingness. Danny let her hands fall and
walked out.
After ten minutes or so, he found himself on Manuel’s porch
on West 47th Place. He didn’t remember how he got there, but he
knocked on the screen door anyway.
Within seconds, Manuel was at the door smiling. “Danny, what’s
up, man?”
Danny remained quiet. Manuel’s wife Juanita came up from
behind. “Hi Danny,” Juanita said.
Juanita could have been Paulinda’s sister. They were both beauti-
ful Central American vixens.
Danny would never, ever not answer, but he did not say a word
to Juanita. Manny, who had seen a bit of the world, nudged her and
she walked away obediently, back to somewhere inside the house.
“You slept with Paulinda,” Danny said. At this point he was on
autopilot, not sure how he would proceed.
Five seconds passed.
“You want to come in Danny?” Manuel asked.
“No, I prefer that you come out,” Danny said coldly.
Manny had watched Danny many times in the gym. Manuel
might have been bigger, but Danny was certainly stronger. Manny
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liked to have muscles for exhibition, while Danny’s build was genu-
ine steel.
Manny swiveled his head on his neck. He wasn’t used to being
frightened and thought about grabbing his pistol. He stared at Danny,
not trying to intimidate him. He knew better. Danny didn’t scare.
Manuel slowly opened the screen door and stepped out. They
stood silently for a lifetime. Manuel figured that the more time that
passed, the less likely it was that Danny would hit him, but with
Danny, you never knew what to expect.
“Danny, man, what did you say, brother?” Manny asked, smiling
just enough not to be mocking.
Danny stared into Manny’s eyes. Manny couldn’t take the pres-
sure. He looked away.
“You slept with Paulinda,” Danny said in a low and firm voice.
“No man, that’s bullshit. Who said something like that, man?
You know the neighborhood is full of crazy rumors, man. I wouldn’t
do that.” Manny knew that he had to look at Danny or risk not being
believed. He looked in the other man’s eyes and shook his head.
“Bullshit, Danny. Who said that?”
“She did,” Danny said, as cool as a car hood on a Chicago winter day.
Manny’s mind raced like a mouse being chased with a broom. He
couldn’t take it anymore. He was cornered. “You wanna sleep with
Juanita, Danny? She’s inside, I’ll tell her to sleep with you,” Manny
threw this out like a slim rope, hoping that Danny would grab on
instead of pounding him.
“No, man, I don’t want to sleep with your old lady,” Danny
smashed his hand down on the porch banister. A few of the wooden
stakes waved in and out. Danny smashed his hand down again, this
time breaking the banister.
Manny watched in fear, and Juanita came to the door. “What’s
wrong, Manny?”
Danny turned and walked down the porch and back home. He
had no words for Manny or Paulinda, who cried and begged for
forgiveness.
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The anger was momentary, but he knew now, and there was no
changing the past. In place of rage was utter disenchantment, dis-
appointment, and discontent. Danny skated through life, smiling
on the curves. He never was really sure about the world, but he felt
sure about his Paulinda. She was his world. Her infidelity was his
tsunami.
Paulinda slowly shook out of her despair and for months cooked
Danny’s favorite plates. She cleaned the house extra clean and in bed,
she did absolutely everything she could think of to seduce him, but
nothing she did worked anymore.
Night after night, she cried, kissed and hugged him, all to no
avail. Any man would have fallen, succumbing to her beauty, her
prowess. Not Danny. He was despondent. He didn’t want her any-
more and no sexual maneuver could convince his mind otherwise.
It wasn’t a decision that he had consciously made to not forgive
her, and his sentiment was crueler than indifference. She didn’t even
exist anymore. She was just a vague memory of someone whom he
had mistakenly loved, but had never really known.
Paulinda couldn’t imagine life without Danny. They had been
with each other since they were kids. He worked at Sweetheart Cup.
It wasn’t like he was rich. She wasn’t being arrogant about his posi-
tion in life, and she wasn’t upset about it either. He had been the only
man she had slept with until Manny. She made a mistake, but read
that most women had seven partners in life. She only had two. Didn’t
that make her better, and for that matter, Danny more fortunate than
other husbands?
She had made one mistake, she thought. No one is perfect. She
deserved to be forgiven. Danny wasn’t perfect either.
But for now, Paulinda tried to clear her mind. She needed to be
confident and to convince herself that she could accomplish the one
thing that she needed to achieve more than anything that she ever
needed or wanted in her life, to be desired by her man again.
She now despised Manny. She wasn’t even sure how it all hap-
pened. Manny flirted with her the way he flirted with all women.
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Danny and Little Danny were gone on a long weekend fishing trip.
Manny knew that, which was why he came over, looking for Danny.
Paulinda knew that he knew, and he knew that she knew, but it
just happened. Paulinda had always been attracted to Manny. He was
pushy and more like an old-fashioned man. Danny was polite and
courteous.
She invited Manny in and before long they were grunting in
Danny’s bed. It was over in minutes and Paulinda had not even felt
Manny inside of her. It was just one of those crazy experiences that
you’re not really sure why or how it even happened.
It was only once, and Paulinda knew that it wasn’t only about
scratching an attraction itch. She thought that maybe she did it to get
Danny’s attention. Initially, she blamed Danny. Had he been more
attentive it wouldn’t have happened. That didn’t deliver the pizza.
Reading magazine articles about so-called liberated women didn’t
make her feel better about herself, but just part of a disgusting and
seemingly growing selfish group.
Danny was a good man, much kinder than most, and she didn’t
want to lose him. She just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t for-
give her and was she now falling into a deep bitterness. It was impos-
sible that such a banal act could compromise her whole life; and then
there was Little Danny.
Before she told Danny about Manny, they hit it at least ten times
a week. Now with their tenth wedding anniversary approaching,
Paulinda purposely played it cool. She wanted him to believe that
she was respecting his wishes. If Danny didn’t want her. . . . How long
could he hold out? She was sure that Danny wasn’t getting any on the
side, and he was only human.
Paulinda convinced herself that she could, would, that she had
to make it right on their anniversary. She had done her penance. She
had been punished enough. She arranged for Danny Junior to sleep
at her cousin Rita’s house.
Danny walked in at six-thirty.
“Tough day, Danny?” Paulinda asked.
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“Just a day,” Danny said as he removed his jacket.
The aroma of pozole (stew) and chiles rellenos (stuffed peppers)
filled his nostrils. He loved all Central American food, but these were
his favorites.
“Dinner’s ready, Danny,” Paulinda said firmly, not wanting to betray
her diabolical plan to save their marriage.
“Where’s Danny?” he asked as he pulled out a chair.
“He’s sleeping over at Rita’s. You know how he loves playing with
Carlos and Hector.”
“Yeah,” Danny smiled.
Paulinda filled Danny’s plate and placed it in front of him. She
filled her own plate and sat next to him. Danny looked at her inquis-
itively. “Why are you sitting there? You always sit across from me in
that chair.” He pointed.
Paulinda ignored the question. “Do you know what day it is,
Danny?”
Danny looked at her. His eyes grew red. “How much hot pepper
did you put in this pozole?” he asked, trying to deflect her recogni-
tion of the sentiment tearing up in his eye.
“It’s our tenth anniversary,” Paulinda said softly.
Danny remained perfectly still and after a few seconds nodded.
“Yeah, I guess that’s right.”
Paulinda laid her hand on top of his and slid it back, closing it
around his wrist. This had worked in the past. He knew what that
grip meant and looked down. If it was only that easy.
At the end of dinner, Paulinda squeezed Danny’s wrist tightly
again. After about twenty seconds she opened her hand and traced
her fingernails over Danny’s hand. She stood, smiled down at him,
and began cleaning the dishes. Danny walked into the front room,
sat in his favorite chair, and read a Louis L’Amour book.
After an hour or so passed, Paulinda walked in. “Let’s go to bed,
Danny.”
“What time is it?” Danny asked.
“Almost nine,” she replied.
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“Let me finish this chapter,” Danny said.
“I’ll be waiting,” Paulinda whispered, smiling softly.
Danny laid next to her. When he stopped rustling, she pushed
her firm, naked body against his. Danny sighed quietly, not looking
forward to the next few minutes.
Paulinda kissed him all over and sucked on his thumb. She began
moaning softly. Danny had been the only man she had ever loved.
Manny had been a disappointment in every way. But Danny, his
body was hard like a marble statue. He had a drive that pushed her
past ecstasy, each time bringing her to a new location that she’d never
been. It was never the same twice. She still couldn’t understand why
she had done what she did. But she was sure that she never, ever
betrayed Danny. She may have been with Manny, but she was never
his.
She slipped her hand into his underwear, pulled him out and
put him in her mouth. After a few minutes, she laid her head on his
stomach. “You must try, amor,” she said softly.
“I never had to try before,” he answered.
“Danny, I’m so sorry.” She began to sob. “I told you a thousand
times. It was one time. It will never happen again.”
“It was one time too many, Paulinda.” Danny hesitated. “I just
can’t.”
“You just can’t what, Danny Nowak? You have been with many
women. I know, Danny, and I have never let it get in between us,
never.” Paulinda sat up next to him.
Danny wanted to satisfy Paulinda. He stared into the dark, envi-
sioning Alice, the bubble-butted girl down the block. If he could just
get a hold of her for an hour or two. But he was with Paulinda and it
didn’t work. It had been months and nothing worked.
“Danny please, I promise,” she cried, “please, do it for little Danny.”
She knew that she was begging but she was willing to do anything to
have her man back, her family secure.
She pulled Danny’s underwear completely off, licked her fingers
and wet herself. She tried to mount him, but it was useless. He had as
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14
much interest in Paulinda as he had in a sheet of paper that he’d fed
into the cup machine at Sweetheart seven years ago.
After torturing herself for another half hour, Paulinda rolled onto
her back. “They make pills, Danny,” she said.
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” he answered coldly.
“Everyone takes them Danny, even twenty-year-olds take ’em.”
“Paulinda, I ain’t taking any pills.”
Danny’s mind was blank. Anger and despair assaulted Paulinda
until she fell asleep. When she woke, Danny was gone. She knew
that he’d return in the evening, but resigned herself to the fact that
he would never come back.
One day, a few weeks later, Danny came home and discovered that
Paulinda and Little Danny’s things were gone. A month after that, he
quit his job. He hadn’t given up. He was just tired of being an hourly
paid slave and wanted to begin living. When he was a kid, he lived every
summer day as if it was an adventure. He had always thought about
laying back and living. Now was the time. From that day on, every
moment was an adventure, different and exciting. He began thinking
about things he never fathomed, all sorts of things: politics, art, science.
People walked or drove past his home and saw Danny just sitting
on the top step, his mind thousands of miles away from New City.
Those first few days turned into weeks, months, and years. He
grew a beard in the winter and the outcome of all of his thinking was
that he had become an undocumented sage.
He stopped paying real estate taxes on his property and only
picked up rent from his tenants when he needed cash.
Danny realized that with a little thought he could resolve almost
any problem, whether it was a leaky foundation, an electrical short, a
car, a bicycle, or a broken heart. He kind of decided without deciding
that this would be his mission in life. He’d fix things. He had never
been so happy. He loved his people and they loved him back. He’d
lost his wife and inherited a handful of brides.
Beverly was one of Danny’s favorites, short and petite with skin
as smooth as the top of a Reese’s peanut butter cup, strawberry lips,
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caramel drop eyes, licorice twist hair, and a behind as cute as two per-
fectly formed Milk Duds. She was a walking candy store.
Beverly was a nurse’s aide at Saint Bernard’s on 64th Street.
Whenever she visited Danny she became a different character.
Sometimes she was a food taster, other times a nurse who put the
thermometer in her mouth. She did incredible check-ups and when
in bed, Danny felt like he was making love to three women.
Beverly was probably the smartest woman he had ever met.
Danny learned a lot from her and though her body was a few decades
his junior, her mind towered over his by centuries. They were a cou-
ple made in heaven.
He listened and concentrated on her every word. Initially, when
she told him about the dunking, he had to connect the dots. “I met
big guys that couldn’t make a shot, and little guys that could dunk,”
she said. “The most powerful tool is the mind, Danny.”
It took some thinking, but Danny realized that her words had
nothing to do with basketball.
Beverly wanted children, but nature had other plans. She was
raised by her grandfather, who warned her to never, ever trust the
white man. Danny laughed when she told him that the first time.
He said, “Grandpa doesn’t need to worry. I’m Polish. Crayolas can be
white, not people.”
Most of her family resented people that were light-skinned.
Beverly learned time and time again that the shade of a person’s skin
had little to do with their trustworthiness, or much of anything else.
It was curious to her how the media ignored that reality.
Finally, experience also taught her that most men have a one-
track mind. Danny was typical in that regard, but he was also affec-
tionate, at times about as funny as fighting squirrels, and she had
been attracted to him for years. He was kind, caring, and had the
strength and presence of a tall elm.
It was a typical night. Beverly kissed her grandfather and each
went to their bedrooms, but the night proceeded differently than
any she could remember. She woke in a sweat. Something wasn’t
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16
right. She sat up. Grandpa, she thought. She called him and rushed
to his room. The old man was stiff. Life had been absent for some
time.
Pulling herself together she realized that Grandpa needed to be
cleaned and shaved. On a nurse’s aide’s salary, she didn’t have much
money stashed and Grandpa would never approve of her borrowing
money to bury him. She could hear him prodding, “Girl, it just don’t
make sense.” This seemed to be the line he used the most while rais-
ing her.
Beverly’s heart was smashed to bits. She had lost the man who
had nurtured and loved her all the days of her life. Her mind was sur-
rounded by jagged, hurtful, broken glass. There was only one thing
to do. Danny would make sure that she wouldn’t cut herself.
To keep the price down, she’d deliver Grandpa to the Unity
Funeral Home ready to be displayed. Grandpa weighed about
130 pounds. She began planning. Again, she thought that the first
thing to do was to clean and shave him.
Danny jumped out of bed and onto his bicycle. He was at
Beverly’s door within fifteen minutes.
“I could flip him over my shoulder and take him to Tyro’s barber
shop,” he said. “I’ll call Tyro, he’ll open for me.”
“Grandpa would have none of that, Danny. He always said that
Tyro’s shop was filled with shiftless riffraff who sat there all day play-
ing with their phones and gossiping about decent folk,” Beverly
replied.
She ran warm water in the tub. Grandpa’s body was stiff. Danny
held him by his waist and carried him to the bathroom.
“Watch his head, Danny,” Beverly said.
Danny leaned Grandpa against the wall in the bathroom and
removed his pajama top, then tugged on his pajama bottoms.
“Danny, the man deserves some dignity. He don’t want his baby
granddaughter to see his privates!” she scolded.
“Sorry, would you leave for a minute? I’ll get him in the tub,
scrub him down.”
Patrick Girondi
17
“You’ll wash him. You don’t scrub him. You scrub the kitchen
floor!” Beverly covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, Danny.
I’m sorry . . .” She burst into tears and disappeared.
Danny thought for a moment. The best thing he could do for
Beverly and her grandfather was to get him tidy and to the funeral
home expediently. He shaved and bathed the old man gently, remem-
bering what Beverly had said about the kitchen floor.
Beverly was in the other room ironing her grandfather’s favorite
white shirt. After she finished, she brought a pair of clean underwear
and a T-shirt into the bathroom. She handed them to Danny, with-
out looking towards the tub.
Danny toweled the old fellow off. Looking at his kind face,
Danny sincerely regretted not knowing him. He was happy that the
old man’s eyes were shut tight. He had seen his share of corpses, some
of them laid out lifeless except for their eyes. Jaguar, a gang leader
that Danny had befriended and seen shot down, had lain on the
ground wide-eyed like he was watching the guy chasing people with
a knife in the film Halloween.
Danny got the underwear on and carried the old man into his
bedroom. It took almost thirty minutes to get the suit on over his
stiff limbs, but they got it done. Beverly looked at Grandpa lying
on the bed, smiled, and then burst into tears again, clinging onto
Danny like he was a life vest and she was in the middle of a choppy
ocean.
Danny gently carried Grandpa to Beverly’s car and laid him
down in the back seat. They drove to the Unity Funeral Home on
41st and Michigan. The owner lived above the parlor and was open
for business twenty-four hours a day.
Beverly, like 69 percent of American families, had less than two
thousand dollars in savings. She’d have to make payments for the cost
of the funeral.
Grandpa had taught his favorite granddaughter to be sensible.
After dropping him off and organizing the wake and funeral with the
undertaker, Beverly went with Danny to the thrift store on Halsted.
New City
18
For seven dollars, they walked out with a bright red tie, cuff links,
and a tie clip.
During the day of the wake, Beverly searched for Danny in
the crowd. Seeing him there helped hold her in place. He was like
the chair under her feet and she was standing on him with a noose
around her neck hanging from a pipe.
Most of the family knew who Danny was and actually respected
him. Of course, there are good and bad in all shades.
One of Beverly’s ex-boyfriends, Rilla, walked into the funeral
home with his troops to pay respects. After leaving the casket, Rilla
walked straight over to Danny.
“Whatcha doin’ here, white man?”
Danny looked right through him.
“Whatcha’ doin’ here, white man?”
Danny smiled. “You talking to me, Rilla?”
“I don’t see any other white men here,” Rilla snarled.
Danny looked to the front and spotted Beverly reverently mak-
ing the last stand with her grandfather.
Rilla, obviously perturbed that Danny was not giving him the
respect he was used to, continued. “You’re right. I’m looking at a
privileged little white boy, bitch.” Rilla looked to the side and then
stared across, looking into Danny’s eyes.
“You know, Rilla, I never thought of myself as being white, I
mean, I’m more peach-colored or maybe beige and your mamma had
three kids, there were twelve of us.”
Rilla noticeably moved up, onto the balls of his feet and stared
down into Danny’s eyes. “Whatcha talkin’ ’bout, Danny?”
“Rilla, we’re all just people.” Danny looked to the side and hesitated
before continuing. He looked back at Rilla. “And anyone saying that priv-
ilege has anything to do with the shade of one’s skin is just plain crazy.”
Danny had one of those sincere smiles that could con a robin
into giving you its worm. The funeral ended without incident.
Patrick Girondi
19
Napoleon’s kids were playing in front of their house, or as Napoleon
saw it, mostly running in and out the front door. Lippatu, his
eight-year-old daughter, sauntered her pretty little self to the bot-
tom of Danny’s porch. She was light milk chocolate with braided
hair and had an honest smile that Danny believed could convince
even a politician to tell the truth. Danny knew what she wanted
and purposely played coy.
“Hi, Danny.”
“Hi, Lippatu.”
“Whatcha doin’, Danny?”
“Oh, a little of this and a little of that. You?”
“Me too, a little of this and a little of that.”
Danny concentrated on pulling the plastic off the wire in his
hands.
“You don’t feel like talkin’, Danny?”
Danny adored the way Lippatu said his name. She put an extra
“ay” in there and he became Dayaynny.
“No, not really,” Danny said, looking at the wire in his hands.
Lippatu was confused. Danny always wanted to talk to her, or
anyone else for that matter. He raised his hands and scanned her
angelic, scrunched face and puckered lips through his fingers and the
wire.
After an uncomfortable silence, Lippatu spoke. “Why Dayaynny,
we got to talk about som’in’.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, you told me yesterday to speak to you today.”
“Did I now?” Danny hesitated. “I don’t remember.” He cupped
his chin in his hand.
“Yes, you do remember, Dayaynny Nowak! You remember
ever’ting! You’s just tryin’ to get me to beg, and I ain’t gonna!”
Lippatu hesitated, beamed, wound up, and smoothed out her deliv-
ery. “Napoleon tol’ me dat ladies don’t beg, Dayaynny.”
He didn’t know if it was a knuckleball, slider, or a fastball. At
any rate, he swung as it whizzed right by him. Not wanting to be
New City
20
humiliated, he brushed off his knees and stared squarely at her with-
out standing. “I see, and you’re a lady?” he asked.
Lippatu glared back menacingly, determined to give it all she had.
“Of course I is, Dayaynny and you always tol’ me so. You tol’ me I
was your little lady,” she said with a seriousness worthy of Margaret
Thatcher.
Duchess entered the conversation, barking happily.
“Shut up, girl, Lippatu don’t understand dog talk. She’s too
young.”
“What’s she saying, Dayaynny?” Lippatu asked.
“She says your bike is all fixed and in her front room.”
Lippatu darted to the door under the porch. Danny smiled.
“Duchess, I ain’t here to pet you, girl. I’m here to get my bike.”
Lippatu paused. “Uh-oh, Dayaynny, Duchess had another accident.”
“I know honey, she’s old. I’ll clean it up.”
Lippatu closed the door and zipped down the street on her little
pink bike. Danny was happy that in New City you could still give a
girl a pink bike without being publicly attacked.
“Thank you Dayaynny!” she yelled from down the block.