Chapter 16

Bad Question. Wait A While.

Thursday, 20 December '90, 5:30 A.M.

"John, I have toast and coffee." It's Jessi-time. We're at table. Silence. We're here for each other but we're stuck. I wish I could do something but we're just plain stuck. Gary won't call. We need some cooperation from the police, the DA, somebody. Other than that we're stuck

Nobody else is stuck. The holidays are overtaking us. Christmas is going to be on time. Everybody else is making their plans. We'll be included. We'll participate, feel like shit.

Hah! I'll bet the police and the DA and everybody else are starting their holidays. That's why we can't get any action. Maybe Gary can't get anybody to cooperate with him either. Maybe he won't be able to move on his custody thing - if he even filed for it. But, if he did file then maybe that action is moving. Shit!

"Julie, do you think Gary was telling the truth about filing for custody in New York?"

"JOHNNNN! HOW SHOULD I KNOW?"

Bad question. Julie must also feel that we're hung out to dry. Just wait a while.

Julie recovers, "Those things cost money. I don't think his family will give him any money. But you never know. Sometimes Gary can do anything."

Anything but take a job. Nevermind. "If he filed, where would he file?"

"DAMMN-IT. I DON'T KNOW. How would I know?"

Bad question. Wait a while. Julie expels air, heaves chest. "He filed for assistance in Brentwood. That's Suffolk County. But he said he wanted to get an apartment near the family's company. That's in the Bronx."

"I think he has to file for custody where he takes residence." My mind is running through the possibilities. "If he files for custody of a child wouldn't he have to say something about the whereabouts of the mother? I mean, don't they have to send you a notice?"

"JOHNNN! Don't SAY that! Look what happened last time!"

Bad question. Wait a while.

This is the lowest time for me in this entire recovery. My mind is racing. He could be filing in almost any court in or around greater New York. How in the hell are we going to stop some court from passing on some motion when we don't even know where he might file. Gary might make any kind of lame-brained statement to some court and may be able to get a piece of paper. Even if Julie gets away with Jessi it may result in a violation of New York's criminal code. And if my brothers are helping her - shit! This is definitely the lowest period. Gary hasn't called since Monday. I will say that I always felt that Gary loved Julie in his strange way and that he would call. But if he doesn't... This week was tough. We have to get SOME papers flowing here, a warrant, maybe some lame-ass custody paper.

"Julie, did I tell you I spoke to Larry Lawyer yesterday?"

"Oh yeah?"

"I called him because I wanted him to get you some writ of custody or something. If you move in with Gary and he's got custody going in New York I want you to have something here. That way when you get back here..."

"I know. I know. I'll have custody here. It'll be a standoff. John, we went through all that."

She didn't let me finish. I won't bother. But if she's guilty on some criminal code in New York, I want to have some mitigating paper here, anything that we can use as an argument that California should not allow extradition. Getting back here with Jessi doesn't count if New York will be allowed to extradite. I won't go into that. I'll simply say: "Right. Did you tell Larry Lawyer about my house in Petaluma?"

Tentative, maybe sheepish now: "Oh - yes. We were talking in the halls, before they told me that the hearing was canceled. I told him I was seeing you and that you had this big house."

"I was amazed. You were right!" She looks up. "Larry Lawyer sez to me, ‘If you moved her up to your house in Petaluma I could have those kids back in no time.’ I couldn't believe it."

Julie looks at me with an urgent hope, like, I hope you're not mad. I hope that idea is OK. We'd have that part of it solved. I'd do anything to help solve any part of her problems. But I don't see that jumping on Larry Lawyer's suggestion is good. I have extreme reservations about his idea but I don't have all of them verbalized. How can I tell her? She looks so hopeful for any good news. "Julie, I'd do it in a minute if we had Jessi back. You can't leave here. You need this address and telephone number. How's Gary gonna call you?"

Julie accepts my excuse, "Ohhh. Right."

"And how do we know all the social workers agree? They claim that the family is unstable, keeps  moving about. What are they going to say when they find that you've been with Gary all these years, he leaves, you pick up with somebody in a few weeks and you're moving in with him, trying to move your kids in, right away? How's that for unstable?" She seems to accept that some social workers may hold this against her. But she's still unhappy. Any good news would really help her. I'm closing now: "If Larry Lawyer can put together a deal, in writing, signed by all the parties, I'll do it in a minute."

Silence. I think she feels better. Now I'll be talking in subdued, concerned and committed tones. "Right now you have the proof that their own documents are wrong. You're here. You've been here - all along. They're the ones who created this, keeping your kids from you based on housing. And they're the ones who won't get their shit together and give you the housing that Social Services require. I'd like to get a lawyer to look at what Social Services did to your family, get a lawsuit underway, while these conditions exist. I don't mind this place. Geneva Towers isn’t bad. I’ll stay here with you, help you solve this... And you need this telephone. We gotta' get Jessi back before we think about moving to get the other four back." My tone is reassurance.

Julie isn't joyful. I’ll continue, “At any rate, that's where I was pushing when I asked him for help in filing for custody."

Julie is calm again. She asks,  "What did he say?"

"Something about him not being paid to do that, or that wasn't what he was supposed to be doing. I was pretty shocked."

Julie gets a cynical smile, "Yeahhh. Like how could he refuse? All's he'd have to do is ask his secretary to prepare some standard form. Send it over to the court house!"

"Right. Then he sez to me: "Are you taking over?", real sheepish-like. I couldn't understand that. Maybe I was questioning him... I don't think I was challenging him... Why would the lawyer on the case be so fearful, so sheepish?" We're both silent. I want to ask her who pays him but she'll just get in my face. I asked her once before. "So I said to him "Gary, I'm an engineer. I don't know how to file papers before the court!""

Julie asks,  "What did he say then?"

"Nothing. I don't know if he was thinking - or what."

"That's what he does to me at the courthouse. Anytime I ask him something, and it seems he doesn't know what to say, he just looooks at me."

"So I told him that you didn't have any money and asked him if he could look into filing the custody papers for you even though he's not being paid. He said he'd look into it but I think he was just blowing smoke. I don't think he's going to do anything to help you get Jessi back. I don't  understand this!"

"Now you know what I've been up against. It's the same way when I go to the police. They say they'll do something but you know they're just blowing you off."

I'm still shocked at his refusal. "Lawyers do pro-bono work for people who aren't even their clients. You're his client! You've been his client now for years."

Julie says,  "A year and a half." That year-and-a-half puzzles me. Why only a year and a half? Why wasn't she working on this earlier? Did it take two years to get a lawyer on this? Later.

"How can he not give you the smallest piece of his time? How can he not think of JESSI?"

Julie grimms her lips. "I guess I'll just have to wait. Gary will torment me for a while and, hopefully, he'll call me. Frediani has my letter on the warrant and we'll have to wait 'till he calls. It looks like all we can do is wait."

"Being's it's Christmas, Frediani may take a few more days. But Gary might call because of Christmas. You're having the kids over, right?. So he'll call on Christmas - won't he?"

"Johnnnnn - You never know what Gary will do."

"I'm sorry, babe. He has the upper hand now. But it won't be long. Either he'll let you move in and you'll leave with Jessi or we'll get the warrant and the FBI will get the information from Social Services and arrest him."

"When I get Jessi back and he's in jail, I'll go up to him and rip his eyes out. How could I rip his eyes out if he was behind bars?" She laughs at her impulse. "I'll go up to him, and I'll have Jessi in my arms, and I'll look him right in the eye, and then it will be MY turn."

"Right! Then you can say "How's the Weenie Leaning now, Gary?""

Julie's tickled, "Ha-ha-ha. What's that about a Weenie?"

We need a little levity. "It's a thing we said when we were kids. The Weenie is kind of like a judge, or fate or something. Like when you've been losing, which you have been, and guys have been scomping on you. Then, when the big one comes, and it's your turn to win, then you get to say "Aha, Weenie got you!" or "Ahhhh, how's The Old Weenie leaning now, good buddy?" Something like that."

Julie's amused and grinning. I continue: "But it's a multi-purpose taunt. Sometimes The Weenie is the judge of how things are going to fall. Sometimes it refers to a man's part and whether he got it twisted in his shorts. So when you say "How's the old weenie leaning?" they can take it many ways."

Julie says,  "Sorta' keeps them guessing." She's having a good time.

"Exactly. And there's fine points. When you really want to zing your opponent you say things that rhyme with Weenie. The more words that rhyme the more you zing them. You can say 'The Lean… Green… Mean...'"

Julie adds,  "Obscene."

"Good one Julie. “The lean, green, mean, obscene Weenie got you that time."

Julie in clever grin: "Well, I think we've beat the weenie to death."

"Ahhhhhh-ha-ha-ha! Good job, Lady!"

We sit there finishing coffee and toast and enjoying a moment's distraction.

"I got to get off to work, sugar lady." We hug. Julie puts a good one on me. There's woman enough here to hold. When she puts a warm kiss on you there will be sticky spots on your briefs. But I'm not going to say anything because I absolutely have to get to work.

“Ohhh, Julie. We have practice tonight, 6:00 to 7:30 over at Moscone Field in the Marina."

Julie loves it,  "I'm going to be downtown this afternoon. I can get over there real easy."

"Do you want to meet me there? After practice we can grab a bite, drop over to Rocky's. Everybody goes to Rocky's after practice. It'll be fun."

"That sounds good. I could use that."

"Ok. I'm off. I doubt Frediani will call today. It may take a few days."

Julie says,  "Probably, this being Christmas and all. He might be doing his Christmas stuff."

Off To Work - There's Nothing Wrong Here

I enter the elevator. There's four other adults. We're all just residents going off to work. We go down a few floors. The doors open. HOLY SHIT! WHAT'S THIS? The shit is about to fly!

Two young warriors are facing us down, glaring in. They each have a bicycle raised vertically, standing on rear tire, front tire up, face-high, tires to us. They're holding on to the handlebars. They begin a deliberate, maybe menacing advance, rolling the bikes forward on rear tires, using tires and frame as shields. I have no idea what this means but I know this isn't against whitey. They couldn't have had any idea that a white guy would be here. But here I am and that isn't making any difference. They advance glaring. Nobody blinks. Nobody speaks.

Now they've marched fully in. People have made way for bikes and soldiers. They both stop, shuffle to turn bikes and selves around, glare to all as they maneuver, face themselves and bikes toward the doors and they're ready to exit.

The elevator closes and begins to move. I review things again. They have books strapped to their waists! They're going to school! They have semi-baggy pants. This was 1990 and those who adopt style have not yet seen this budding style.These young lads with bikes have their grandfather's belts looped around their books and tied gnarly to their waists. It looks like something out of the 1920’s.

They're stylin'! They're bustin' off to school, doing what they're supposed to be doing! This is the only good way to get their bikes downstairs! Maybe people give them shit about bike tires in your face. Maybe there's a rule against this. They were just getting in our face ahead of time. It was A Pre-Emptive Strike. That's all it was. There's nothing wrong here.

The San Francisco Soccer League, The Hibernians

The San Francisco Soccer League is, I am told, the oldest organized soccer league in the United States. It was founded in the early 1902 by the Italian-American ‘Verdi’ club. World-class soccer players who have migrated to the San Francisco Bay Area because of work, or being slightly over-age for pro soccer, can be seen playing in this league. Our Hibernian team has one player who represented Nigeria in the Olympics. You have met Tom Graham who has seven caps for playing youth international for the country of Ireland. Other Hibernian players may not have played pro level but they’re good enough to have played. All of our players are excellent.

It was quite by accident that I fell in with this group. But it was a blessing to me. I understand that I am not who I am without all those who make me who I am. I am my ancestors, my immediate family, my children, my friends, my religion. When they asked me to teach the Catechism of Christian Doctrine I hoped I could live up to what the kids must have thought I was. When I met these guys I think they hoped I'd be good for them. It's been good for me.

I've been with them for four years by this time in 1990. I learn about my ancestors' lifestyle without realizing it.

For example, Ireland is mostly an agricultural land. When the guys come out to tog-out for soccer their custom is to simply undress and dress where they stand. It is so hypnotically standard behavior that no one need take notice that anything is occurring. I just assumed that the pitch (the playing field) is usually so remote and without facilities that all simply tog-out where they are. It seems that this idea is so imbued that, even if the pitch is very public, as long as you're on the pitch you strip where you are. Moscone field is very public. Women walk by with baby carriages. Our players may strip totally or may strip to underwear and it appears to be a matter of what job they are coming from and what gear they have with them.

I forgot to tell Julie about this when I left this morning.

Soccer Practice - Moscone Field - Marina District

We're in practice as Julie arrives. The night is cold. Eamonn Kavanaugh calls out to me, “Hey OooBee. There’s a beautiful young lady waving to you.”

I go to Julie,  "Julie, this building has night basketball. It's heated. You can go inside and watch them practice. Some of them are very good."

"Brrrrrrrrr. I think I will. But I wanted to watch you guys for a while."

"Ok. When you get cold go inside. If you go to the top seats, up by those windows there, you can watch us and watch basketball as well."

Julie says,  "There's a plan. Ok."

When Julie sees our team walking off the field her head disappears from the window. Everybody arrives at the gear bags.

“Julie, these are the Hibernian Soccer Club. This is The Bulldog, This is Colum, Smoodie, Liam, Wheels.”

 “Pleased to meet you.”

The guys are beginning to strip. “This is Lighthouse, this is The Bomber, and this is Credit..”

“Credit? Did you say Credit?”

“Yes. His name is Unan McConnell. So everybody calls him Credit… Get it? Credit Unan.”

“I get it. I get it. I didn’t think I heard you.”

Eamonn comes right up to Julie but his towel blocks full view. Julie notices some of his nakedness. Now Julie begins to look around. She continues to talk because everyone is in conversation. Now Eamonn removes his towel and runs it across his back. Julie looks down and – yes – that’s what had to be. Julie stiffens up, tries to look elsewhere. Eamonn continues to press conversation, wagging his parts as he towels his back enthusiastically. But Julie is a trooper and hangs in, so to speak.

I'll Get Him Back

Heading to Rocky’s Shebeen, I begin, "I forgot to tell you about where the guys change clothes."

"So I see. I was just talking away and - allll of a sudden - I realized."

"A-ha-ha-ha. Well, Eamonn is a bit of a tease. He was just messin' with you."

"Well, I'll get him back. I can mess with the best." She's grinning and happy.

I also forgot to tell Julie that Eamonn has never operated a motor vehicle. This is more common than not. Eamonn’s girlfriend, Lorna, will bring Eamonn to Rocky’s. Lorna likes her pint as well. I also forgot to mention Lorna. I had no idea how Julie was going to ‘mess with Eamonn’.

Rocky's Shebeen

"Hey Smoodie, Wheels. Hey Bulldog, Hamnbraek!"

Hamnbraek is the bartender. "Hey OoBee! Is that gorrrgeous young lady with you?”

“Yes. Hamnbreak, this is Julie.”

“Pleased to meet you. Wot'll it be?"

"Guinness for me and..." Julie pipes, "Irish coffee for me."

"You got it!"

Julie whispers to me, “His name is HanBrake?”

Julie pronounced his name very well. I’m going to tease her a bit, “HamnBreck.”

“HamnBreck?”

Okay. She’s too good. I’ll tell her, “His name is Brendan Hogan. He took his driver’s test with the emergency brake on. The Irish call it the hand brake. Now his nick-name is HandBrake. But these guys say, ‘HamnBreak’. Sounds like some Celtic warlord, doesn’t it?”

Julie is beaming, grinning. She polishes her pronunciation, “HamnBreck, HamnBreak.”

‘Just look at her face. She’s at peace, enjoying herself. She’s beautiful.’  We join a table. "Hi Guys. Julie, you know everybody but 'OxoCube', Handsome Danny Gallagher. All the women want him, with his darlin’ face and his tight hoop." Great roar of laughter all around.

Danny is bright red saying, "So don't break the run."

Gales of laughter. Julie's being regaled, she's the queen of all.

Julie turns to me, "I don't see Eamonn Kavanaugh."

“He’ll be here. Don’t worry.”

Eamonn arrives in a wave of people. Eamonn’s lady, Lorna, is back in the arriving crowd..  

Smoodie informs Julie. "Here’s Eamonn now?"

Julie calls, "Hey Eamonn."

Eamonn turns, impish, joyful face, gives a sexy pelvic move. Julie's got him now. "Eamonn. How's the Old Weenie leanin'?"

No one is thinking of Lorna. Eamonn reaches to his trouser button, "D'ya wanna' check?"

Julie hollers back, "I ALREADY HAVE!"

Rocky's is roaring. Julie still doesn't know how well she did. Now Lorna confronts Eamonn. Julie stops laughing as if she overdid it. But no one else thinks so.

Devo calls out, "He won't be gittin' his hoole tonight!"

Seamus Cudden is red with laughter, “Soorves him right, pareidin’ around full naked in froont of Joolie here. He'll be off his hoole for a month."

The opinions run free and all for Julie, "Fair play t'ya, Joolie.”…”Fookin' breel-liant, Julie."

She’s accepted. I watch as Julie’s face turns from being unsure to shining in the praise. ‘Look how beautiful she is now. Thank God. Thank God.’

Eamonn and Lorna join the group. Three tables have been comandeered. Other women have also joined the group. Smoodie introduces, “Niamh, Mareide, Seamus, Julie, Lorna, and EAMONN.”

Eamonn piles it on, "Oh, we already know each other, don't we Joolie?"

The Bulldog stirs more trouble, "So, Lorna, after all this are you still goin' to give him his hoole tonight?"

Lorna stares down The Bulldog as she shakes her fist in Eamonn’s face, "Are you kiddin'? I’ll show you what he’s gittin’ tonight.” Lorna grins over to Julie as she reaches across the table with a Sister Power High Five. The two women stand fierce. Lorna turns to The Bulldog saying, “And when he gets what he’s gettin’ whose business is it?” Lorna waits. The Bulldog grins but has nothing to say. Roars erupt again as Lorna and Julie reach across the table. High Five!

Thank God. Thank God.’

“There’s the fookin’ Narra-back bastard now!”

What? The crowd turns, but where should they look?

It’s Bulldog. He points to the TV. “Look at that Narra-back son of a bitch. Coulda murder’d poor Paschal.”

“Fookin’ Sheriff ‘a Alamayyda Cownty. Sheriff my fookin’ arss! Packy threw him out on his fookin’ arss. Him an’ that slapper o’ his.”

“An’ he was lucky at that.”

“What happened?” asks Lighthouse.

“Last fookin’ saturday night. That fooker comes in here with his fookin’ slapper like they was all special. And she’s one hell of a babe. A trophy she is. An’ he’s recently elected Sheriff a’ Alamayyeda Cownty so he’s carryin’ a concealed weapon. He sez he always has to be armed.”

“Ahh, but that’s bullshit. He’s not in his cownty. He’s in civilian clothes. He’s pareidin around with that fookin’ slapper he calls his girl friend. He’s got an Irish name and he wants to come around to us and make out like he’s our kin.”

“So, what happened.”

Julie whispers, “What’s a Slapper?”

“He’s a fooker. Young Paschal, here, tried to dance with his slapper and they got into this confrontation. So this Narra-back fookin’ Sheriff a Alamayyda Cownty reached for his fookin’ guun. And Packy got in between them and got up in his face an’ said, ‘Don’t you ever bring a concealed weapon into my bar.’”

“Then the bastard tried to say that he had to be armed cuz he was a peace officer.”

Julie whispers again, “What’s a Slapper?” I lean to Julie, “Think of the sound when we do it.”

“Peace officer, my arss. Packy grobbed him by the coat and boosted him outside and barred him for life. Packy said, ‘The next time you come in here with a weapon you better be wearin’ a uniform and show that weapon on the outside.”

“And the guy had his hand on the weapon?”

“The man’s a fookin’ disgrace.”

“Oh-ho-ho. If he’d a tried to pull it, Packy’d a boorst his skuul wi’ one blow.”

“Gun ‘r nooo.”

 “Be the end of him.”

 “Whorl’d a be a sayyfir playsse. Him lurin’ an innocent man to his death with his showpiece slapper an’ carryin’ a guun behind.”

 “A fookin’ disgrace.”

The opinion is well discussed. Julie asks, “What’s a Narra-back?”

“He wasn’t lurin’ me.”

All turn. It’s Paschal, young and still looking like he’s never had the need to shave. “He wasn’t lurin’ me. I knew what I was doing.”

“What’re you sayin’, Paschal?”

“I saw him leadin’ his slapper around like she was a prize animal at the trials.”

Niamh says, “We all saw it. It made us want to vomit.”

“And I saw his concealed weapon under his coat. I knew I could rouse him. I just wanted to see what he’d do with his fookin’ guun if I wound him up real tight. So I danced with her and felt her up.”

“Two fookin’ maniacs! What would we tell your mother if Packy hadn’t a’ inta-veened?”

“It’s a complete fookin’ disgrace it is.”

“Fookin’ Narra-back is noo kin o’ our’n.”

Julie repeats, “What’s a Narra-back?”

Credit Unan replies, “It’s an American-born Irish. No offense t’ ye OoBee. You’re a credit.”

I answer, “No. You’re a Credit, Unan.”

Rocky’s erupts with howls again.

Credit explains more to Julie, “We only say Narra-back when the American-born get an easy job, narrow back, and won’t try to help the new Irish nor anyone else.”

Hamnbreak calls out, “This round’s on the bar.” He’s working on a row of pints. “Can somebody carry  some of these for me?”

Chairs push back as many offer. But Julie jumps up with glorious, joyful face, “I’ll do it. Please.”

No one will deny her the pleasure she clearly feels. I watch as Julie accepts directions from HamnBreak, “This is Colum, Smoodie, Wheels.”

“Okay, HamnBreak.” – “Thank you, HamnBreak.” – “Who are these for, HamnBreak.”

Now a few people observe Julie. They are surely puzzled at her simplicity, compliance, her need to be a part of the group. A few look to me. My gut says ‘don’t explain’. My eyes reply, ‘don’t wonder – accept’.

Cheers and merriment echo down the night. The night ends. We head for Geneva Towers.

I park up and away as always. Julie hates it as always, “Why do you park way up here? I know. I know. You’re worried about your car. Now we have to walk down Schwerin Street where there’s no place to go if shooting starts.”

No sense explaining. Keep walking.

 “You’re saving your car but you’re going to get us killed. I live here. I know how to stay alive.”

I remain silent.

“I hope they shoot us.”

Halfway there now.

“Everybody’s life is so much fun. My life is so fucked up. Did you tell your friends anything about me?”

“No. Why?”

“I don’t want ANYBODY knowing ANYTHING about me – you understand?” Julie’s voice is becoming strident. “People look at me, Poor Julie, Poor Julie.” Julie juts her head and neck out and twists them side to side. “Poor Julie. I’m the center of all their pity. I can’t stand it. Then they want to talk about it and I have to answer all their questions and I just want to go somewhere and die. Don’t they know I’m a person. I’m a person. Just like them. I’m not to be looked at. I’m not to be talked about. This is not something to talk about. This is my life, or the end of it.” She pauses. “If anybody is going to know ANYTHING about me I’m the one who will tell them. YOU GOT THAT?”

“Sure. Okay. I didn’t tell them a thing.”

Julie becomes quiet. Her face unwinds. We enter Geneva Towers. Total silence up and in.

We climb into bed and hold each other in the cold of night. Soon we join as ever. I’m listening to the slap slap slapper sound that I never thought about before. Maybe Julie is also. I hold her more dear tonight, send care with touch. Then we lie beside each other, waiting for the collapse of sleep. But our agendas won’t release.

I Love Them All. Every One of Them.

“Julie, when I was a kid my father died. The Social Security checks named all of us kids. Well they printed the names of all those under eighteen. Six of us eight kids were under eighteen.”

“Yes. I know what they do. But I don’t understand. What’s this about.”

“When they give you a welfare check, doesn’t it say the names of the people who are covered?”

“Yes. It says Gary, me, and Jessi.”

 “Do you have any of those payment stubs?”

“Johhnn! You know I keep everything, everything.”

“Can I have a few, just to copy? I’ll give them right back.”

“Yes, why?”

“Gary says he’s filing for custody where he is. We may have to steal Jessi. They may come after us. I want to have documents that show Jessi belongs here and Gary kidnapped her.”

“Gary won’t come after us. He’ll shit. I love your friends.”

“You like them? I knew you’d like them.”

“No. I love them. All of them. I’ve never seen anything like that. I never knew there was people like that. Each one of them is so wonderful. I love each one of them. Hmmm. That’s impossible. But I do. I love them all.”

I hug Julie. “So do I.”

We sleep unto the morning like I can’t remember when.

Thank God. Thank God.

Chapter 16 - Pg  Copyright John O'Brien 201 Redwood Cir. Petaluma Ca. 94954