Everybody Goes to Jimmy's by Michael Mayo Read Free Book Online

the first time I was there and came back a couple of times before I screwed up the courage to say a word.
    Anyway, she lived in a yellow brick apartment building up on the Upper West Side near the park. It wasn’t much of a building, and she shared her room with three other girls, and they shared the bathroom with three more.
    I was doing pretty well, so I took a cab to pick her up. She’d never seen me in a suit, either, so she was surprised when she came out onto the sidewalk and saw that I was presentable and I could afford to keep a cab waiting. She gave me a funny look as she got in and said, “You’re going to be trouble, I can tell.”
    She smiled when she said it, and I fell even harder.
    I wish I could remember all the details you’re supposed to remember about important moments in your life, but I’d be lying if I claimed to. I remember her skirt as something light, maybe pale green, and a blouse with a tie and a cloche hat like all the girls wore. The important thing is that if she looked good in the silly uniform she had to wear to work, she looked great when she dolled herself up in real clothes.
    In the cab, she held her bag in her lap and kept both hands on it. I’d had an idea that we’d go to one of those fancy uptown places, and we actually got out in front of one. But when she saw the kind of people who were going in—guys in tuxedos and women in long dresses and lots of jewelry, she took my arm and said, “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”
    â€œWhaddayamean?” I said, or something equally thick-headed. “I can afford a meal here. My money’s as good as anybody’s.”
    She must have realized then that I didn’t really know what I was doing. She was always a couple of steps ahead of me.
    She said, “Look, Jimmy, I’ve been working straight shifts all week. This is the first night I’ve had off since I can’t remember. Can’t we go someplace where we can get a plate of spaghetti and a beer? That sounds just swell to me.”
    And that’s what we did. Went down to one of those little joints in the Village, which she thought was neat and crazy. It sure wasn’t much like the Spanish Marketplace. The one thing that I do remember is the way she made sure that I left a big tip for the waiter. She explained how she and the other girls got fined if anything went wrong at a table. A broken cup, spoon not in the sugar bowl, guy runs out on his check—she’d get gigged for any of those. Most of the girls had to pay to get their uniforms laundered, but she got out of that by working a second shift in the laundry that the owner of the restaurant ran. Anna had to iron all those Spanish ruffles and striped tablecloths and napkins.
    She was working a hell of a lot harder than I was, and she made a hell of a lot less. So when I took her home that night, I decided to give her an extra tip.
    We were standing on her steps. She was a step higher than me. She put a hand on my shoulder and said, “I had a terrific time tonight, the best in a long time. I hope we can do it again.” I remember her smile, and we agreed to go out again the next week. That’s when I slipped a fin into her hand. She knew I’d given her a piece of paper money, but she didn’t look at it or say anything. She just tucked it into her pocketbook. It may not sound like much, but in those days, five dollars might have been half a week’s wages for a girl in her position.
    We went out just about any time she could get a night off, and it didn’t take her long to figure me out.
    The truth is that I had no real understanding of women and even less about sex. Once, I’d been with a bunch of guys who decided to go to a whorehouse. I was too embarrassed to say no and was terrified by the whole thing. The experience was dark, frustrating, brief, and actually kind of painful. Another night when I delivered the booze to