and is too desperately believed in by each to mention to another. Unlike Gober, Eyes did not write his letter, but received it three weeks after he had answered this advertisement in the back pages of a comic magazine:
LYRICS WANTED!
To be set to music!
Send your lyrics today for free examination!
Be a hit writing hits!
Arco Song Writers, J. Marius Mahler, Pres.
Post Office Box 748, Chicago, Ill.
The letter was the first one Eyes had ever received in his life; and his mother had said when she found it in their box, “Dominic de Jarro — now who the hell is that?”
Eyes told her, “It’s your beloved sonny boy, that’s who the hell it is, and give it to me.”
“I’ll put a match to it, you little bastard!” she’d responded, but she had given it to him.
Eyes had read it, trembling. J. Marius Mahler, president of the Arco Song Writers Association, assured him that he had great promise, wanted to be the first to congratulate him, and for an initial fee of seventeen dollars would find the
right
arrangement for his song.
Eyes had read the letter again and again, barely able to contain himself until Dolores Ventura had come home from her factory job at six o’clock. The two had taken the letter to the roof, and there sat together rereading it, discussing it, planning and rejoicing.
“You ought to write them, Dom, and reassure them about them being the ones that can write the music. They sound sorta afraid you might not let them?”
“What part?”
“Here. See? They say they hope to be the lucky ones to give you that assistance. See? Right here.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re the ones give me the encouragement the first place — geez, naturally I’d let them be the ones.”
“You’re going to be famous, Dom.”
“Geez, I don’t know. S’funny, I always knew I could write lyrics. I listen them all the time, you know?”
“And you’ll get fancy and forget all about me, I bet.”
“Lorry, all I want is to get us outa here. Get hitched and just get outa here. Geez, I wouldn’t forget about you. Dint I write that song for you?”
“Seventeen dollars is a lot of money, ‘Dom. Where you gonna get it? Dom, you gotta promise you won’t — ”
“Naw, Lorry. Dint I promise you I was straight now?”
“I could maybe save a little from my salary — except for Uncle Jesus. He always wants to know. He always asks and I gotta give it to him. If it wasn’t for …”
“I’ll kill him some day. If he ever touches you — ”
“Maybe Mr. Roan could tell you how to get it, Dom.”
“Me!” Red Eyes had exclaimed. “Me — going places!”
• • •
Standing there in Dirty Mac’s, Eyes thinks back on that night. He should go and see Dan, this he knows; but he must hang around a while until Tea shows up. Tea and he have business in the Jungle turf. He can’t chicken on that assignment.
“Hey, you guys see Tea?” Red Eyes says.
Blitz shrugs. “Ain’t it Monday? He’s probably up town trying to score.”
Braden, who has been standing silently looking back at the booth where Babe Limon and Marie are sitting, says, “I think that Marie is a goddam Lesbian, way she wears them slacks alla time.”
“Naw,” Blitz disagrees. “It’s cause her ankles is fat. She tole me that once. Comes right out wid it when I’m set to open her box. I told her if I cared what she looked like I wouldn’t be there. And she bawls the whole while I’m working! Broads! Dey’re nuts or somethin’!”
“Her feelings was hurt,” Red Eyes says.
“She’s de one brought her goddam fat ankles up. I dint!”
“You don’t understand women,” Braden says, “You’re a slob.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I tink I’m gonna have to unnerstand women a whole lot once I get ta be a big man. Oh, yeah, yeah, I tink so! I tink women gonna have unnerstand
me.”
Blitz slaps the side of the peanut machine. He moans, “Oh boy, how I wanna unnerstand women!”
“They’re all right,” Braden says.
Eyes says,
LYRICS WANTED!
To be set to music!
Send your lyrics today for free examination!
Be a hit writing hits!
Arco Song Writers, J. Marius Mahler, Pres.
Post Office Box 748, Chicago, Ill.
The letter was the first one Eyes had ever received in his life; and his mother had said when she found it in their box, “Dominic de Jarro — now who the hell is that?”
Eyes told her, “It’s your beloved sonny boy, that’s who the hell it is, and give it to me.”
“I’ll put a match to it, you little bastard!” she’d responded, but she had given it to him.
Eyes had read it, trembling. J. Marius Mahler, president of the Arco Song Writers Association, assured him that he had great promise, wanted to be the first to congratulate him, and for an initial fee of seventeen dollars would find the
right
arrangement for his song.
Eyes had read the letter again and again, barely able to contain himself until Dolores Ventura had come home from her factory job at six o’clock. The two had taken the letter to the roof, and there sat together rereading it, discussing it, planning and rejoicing.
“You ought to write them, Dom, and reassure them about them being the ones that can write the music. They sound sorta afraid you might not let them?”
“What part?”
“Here. See? They say they hope to be the lucky ones to give you that assistance. See? Right here.”
“Oh, yeah. They’re the ones give me the encouragement the first place — geez, naturally I’d let them be the ones.”
“You’re going to be famous, Dom.”
“Geez, I don’t know. S’funny, I always knew I could write lyrics. I listen them all the time, you know?”
“And you’ll get fancy and forget all about me, I bet.”
“Lorry, all I want is to get us outa here. Get hitched and just get outa here. Geez, I wouldn’t forget about you. Dint I write that song for you?”
“Seventeen dollars is a lot of money, ‘Dom. Where you gonna get it? Dom, you gotta promise you won’t — ”
“Naw, Lorry. Dint I promise you I was straight now?”
“I could maybe save a little from my salary — except for Uncle Jesus. He always wants to know. He always asks and I gotta give it to him. If it wasn’t for …”
“I’ll kill him some day. If he ever touches you — ”
“Maybe Mr. Roan could tell you how to get it, Dom.”
“Me!” Red Eyes had exclaimed. “Me — going places!”
• • •
Standing there in Dirty Mac’s, Eyes thinks back on that night. He should go and see Dan, this he knows; but he must hang around a while until Tea shows up. Tea and he have business in the Jungle turf. He can’t chicken on that assignment.
“Hey, you guys see Tea?” Red Eyes says.
Blitz shrugs. “Ain’t it Monday? He’s probably up town trying to score.”
Braden, who has been standing silently looking back at the booth where Babe Limon and Marie are sitting, says, “I think that Marie is a goddam Lesbian, way she wears them slacks alla time.”
“Naw,” Blitz disagrees. “It’s cause her ankles is fat. She tole me that once. Comes right out wid it when I’m set to open her box. I told her if I cared what she looked like I wouldn’t be there. And she bawls the whole while I’m working! Broads! Dey’re nuts or somethin’!”
“Her feelings was hurt,” Red Eyes says.
“She’s de one brought her goddam fat ankles up. I dint!”
“You don’t understand women,” Braden says, “You’re a slob.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I tink I’m gonna have to unnerstand women a whole lot once I get ta be a big man. Oh, yeah, yeah, I tink so! I tink women gonna have unnerstand
me.”
Blitz slaps the side of the peanut machine. He moans, “Oh boy, how I wanna unnerstand women!”
“They’re all right,” Braden says.
Eyes says,
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