Read Online Pins: A Novel by Jim Provenzano - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jim Provenzano
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Montclair. Course my mom wants me to go to Montclair so I’ll be close to home.”
Plane trips. Hotel rooms. Outta here.
“Rutgers is a fine school. Lovely campus.”
“You went there?”
“Um, Columbia, actually, but I visited. Some protest, I think. Back in my radical days.”
“Dad, he doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dink muttered.
“He speaks.”
Joey felt awkward, caught with Dink on one side, his father on the other. Mr. Khors let it go, but the silence seemed too much for him. He kept talking.
“Got any girlfriends? Come to the matches to see you guys compete?”
Around the restaurant, passing waitresses whooshed by. Old people huddled in booths. Joey searched for an excuse, another lie.
He considered Chrissie and Kimberly, the faithful Mat Maids. They were about the only girls who ever came to a match, if any. Chrissie seemed sweet enough. Joey couldn’t understand why was she so cheerful all the time. Kimberly seemed more genuinely into the sport, tolerated such cheerfulness with a sense of humor. Maybe he could date her. She didn’t seem like she’d expect much.
“In my day all the girls went for jocks, didn’t even look at geeks like me, of course . . .”
“Dad. We don’t date, okay?”
Joey nearly spilled his soda at that. But then Dink said, “Girls don’t like guys who wrestle. They don’t get it.” Dink couldn’t have really meant it the way it sounded.
“What about this Melissa girl? Your mother told me she’s very nice.”
“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything she tells you.”
“Okay then.” Mr. Khors put his napkin on his plate. Joey figured it meant dinner was over. He’d seen that in movies. He glanced at Mr. Khors, wondering if he and Dink would still be friends when they were Mr. Khors’s age.
“I’m tired,” Dink said.
“Why don’t you boys sit in the back when we go home, get some rest.”
“And you sit up front like a chauffeur?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Mr. Khors went to pay the bill. Crumbs, spilled things, forks, napkins cluttered the table. Dink slouched in his chair. “I was beginning to wonder what you were here for.”
Joey sunk the last bit of apple pie into a pool of melted ice cream. His belly felt like a bowling ball. His neck twinged with a sliver of pain. Every muscle had begun to stiffen. He had to pee again.
“Hey, whyncha stay over?” Dink sat up.
“What, your house?”
“Naw, my dad’s.”
“In Passaic?” Dink nodded. “I shoulda asked before.”
“So? We can call ‘em. My dad’s got a car phone.”
“No, my parents …He didn’t meet them yet.”
“So?”
“It’s–” A tightness blocked his throat. His head flooded with possibilities. Stay over. Would he and Dink sleep in the same bed?
Joey knew he wouldn’t have a problem with the sex, if it happened. He knew it would be fun. But the afterward worried him. Would Dink treat him the same way he treated Anthony when he found out? Toss him away, ashamed, or bored after they’d done it?
“It’s an Italian thing.”
“What is?” Dink asked.
“Your dad’s gotta meet my parents.” Why resist? Why be so scared? If he’d known that morning that Dink would ask him this wonderful thing, that this would be the night, maybe he would have asked Mr. Khors inside to meet his dad, gotten approval, received some shred of the respect that straight kids who dated got to have, some measure of allowance.
But then Dink would have seen his mother in her bathrobe, his dad probably half-awake, looking like a slob. Maybe he was embarrassed by his parents. Dink’s dad turned his kid into a movie star with his video camera, but his own dad couldn’t even go to all his matches. That would change, his dad promised. “Besides,” he lied. “I gotta go to Mass in the morning.”
“You still go to Mass?” Dink asked, amazed.
“Well, yeah,” he lied again. He’d actually skipped a few weeks.
Dink looked like he wanted to say
Plane trips. Hotel rooms. Outta here.
“Rutgers is a fine school. Lovely campus.”
“You went there?”
“Um, Columbia, actually, but I visited. Some protest, I think. Back in my radical days.”
“Dad, he doesn’t wanna hear about that,” Dink muttered.
“He speaks.”
Joey felt awkward, caught with Dink on one side, his father on the other. Mr. Khors let it go, but the silence seemed too much for him. He kept talking.
“Got any girlfriends? Come to the matches to see you guys compete?”
Around the restaurant, passing waitresses whooshed by. Old people huddled in booths. Joey searched for an excuse, another lie.
He considered Chrissie and Kimberly, the faithful Mat Maids. They were about the only girls who ever came to a match, if any. Chrissie seemed sweet enough. Joey couldn’t understand why was she so cheerful all the time. Kimberly seemed more genuinely into the sport, tolerated such cheerfulness with a sense of humor. Maybe he could date her. She didn’t seem like she’d expect much.
“In my day all the girls went for jocks, didn’t even look at geeks like me, of course . . .”
“Dad. We don’t date, okay?”
Joey nearly spilled his soda at that. But then Dink said, “Girls don’t like guys who wrestle. They don’t get it.” Dink couldn’t have really meant it the way it sounded.
“What about this Melissa girl? Your mother told me she’s very nice.”
“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything she tells you.”
“Okay then.” Mr. Khors put his napkin on his plate. Joey figured it meant dinner was over. He’d seen that in movies. He glanced at Mr. Khors, wondering if he and Dink would still be friends when they were Mr. Khors’s age.
“I’m tired,” Dink said.
“Why don’t you boys sit in the back when we go home, get some rest.”
“And you sit up front like a chauffeur?”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Mr. Khors went to pay the bill. Crumbs, spilled things, forks, napkins cluttered the table. Dink slouched in his chair. “I was beginning to wonder what you were here for.”
Joey sunk the last bit of apple pie into a pool of melted ice cream. His belly felt like a bowling ball. His neck twinged with a sliver of pain. Every muscle had begun to stiffen. He had to pee again.
“Hey, whyncha stay over?” Dink sat up.
“What, your house?”
“Naw, my dad’s.”
“In Passaic?” Dink nodded. “I shoulda asked before.”
“So? We can call ‘em. My dad’s got a car phone.”
“No, my parents …He didn’t meet them yet.”
“So?”
“It’s–” A tightness blocked his throat. His head flooded with possibilities. Stay over. Would he and Dink sleep in the same bed?
Joey knew he wouldn’t have a problem with the sex, if it happened. He knew it would be fun. But the afterward worried him. Would Dink treat him the same way he treated Anthony when he found out? Toss him away, ashamed, or bored after they’d done it?
“It’s an Italian thing.”
“What is?” Dink asked.
“Your dad’s gotta meet my parents.” Why resist? Why be so scared? If he’d known that morning that Dink would ask him this wonderful thing, that this would be the night, maybe he would have asked Mr. Khors inside to meet his dad, gotten approval, received some shred of the respect that straight kids who dated got to have, some measure of allowance.
But then Dink would have seen his mother in her bathrobe, his dad probably half-awake, looking like a slob. Maybe he was embarrassed by his parents. Dink’s dad turned his kid into a movie star with his video camera, but his own dad couldn’t even go to all his matches. That would change, his dad promised. “Besides,” he lied. “I gotta go to Mass in the morning.”
“You still go to Mass?” Dink asked, amazed.
“Well, yeah,” he lied again. He’d actually skipped a few weeks.
Dink looked like he wanted to say
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