Bobby’s face was hot. He hoped he wasn’t blushing.
“Well, that’s definitely very flattering,” he said.
“It is?”
“Of course,” Bobby said. “I mean you’re a good-looking girl and-”
“You mean that?”
“Mean what?”
“That I’m good-looking.”
“Of course. Believe me, if I wasn’t in this wheelchair…”
“Oh, I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t?”
“If you want to know the truth I think a wheelchair’s kind of sexy. I mean it’s not like I’m some bleedin’ pervert or anything like that. I don’t go out trying to meet guys in wheelchairs, but it’s not like I have anything against it and you’re so, like, courageous about it. You don’t whine or moan – you just go on with your life. Max can use both of his legs and he never, and I mean never, stops whining.”
“I don’t think you understand-”
“You know who you’re like? You’re just like Tom Cruise in that movie about the Vietnam vet in the wheelchair. My mother loved that movie. She’d say, God rest her, ‘See that? That’s a man of character.’ ”
Bobby couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was like they were fucking communicating mentally. How great was that?
Angela was gazing at Bobby with her eyes wide open and her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to be kissed. In the old days, Bobby would have sat next to her on the couch, gone in for some tongue action, and the rest would have been history. But now he felt like it was his first time alone with a girl.
“I have an idea,” Angela said, maybe sensing his awkwardness. “I’m a really good cook. I could go out and get some stuff and cook you a really great dinner. Are you Greek by any chance?”
“No, but people sometimes think I look Greek. Why?”
“My father’s Greek and you sort of remind me of his side.”
Shit, why the fuck didn’t he just say he was Greek? He could do Greek. Hell, anyone could do Greek. Just don’t shave and grunt, what’s so hard about that?
“Hey, I have an idea,” Angela said, her face brightening. “I know how to make a great pasticcio and I could make a big Greek salad to go with it. How’s that sound?”
Bobby said that sounded dynamite. While Angela was out shopping for food Bobby got dressed as quickly as he could. He put on one of his good silk shirts and a pair of chinos. He wished he had time to take a bath and trim his beard, but by the time he finished getting dressed Angela was already back from the supermarket. Bobby had Thin Lizzy going, figuring he’d impress her with some Irish rock.
Angela heard the opening riff of “Whiskey In The Jar,” shrieked, “Oh my God, that’s like, my favorite song.”
Bobby had a feeling she was full of shit. He liked that, though – showed she was into him.
Coming back with some bullshit of his own, he said, “Yeah, I love Lizzy, man. My opinion, they’re better than AC/DC. I got everything they ever did on cassette.”
Angela told Bobby to wait in the living room while she was cooking because she wanted the meal to be a surprise. It took a long fucking time, but she finally told him dinner was ready and he wheeled up to the table. By the way Angela was looking at him he knew that after dinner she was gonna be up for some dessert. He hoped he could give it to her. Phil Lynott was into “The Boys Are Back in Town” and Bobby figured, hey, it had to be an omen.
The pasticcio was only so-so – okay, it tasted like horseshit – but Bobby told Angela that it was the best Greek dinner he’d ever eaten. They sat at the table afterwards, drinking Merlot and talking. He told her all the highlights of his life, including how he had wound up in the wheelchair.
“I was dating this black girl named Tanya,” Bobby explained. “It was nothing too serious, you know? We were just going out a lot, having a good time. Then one night we were at her place, up in the South Bronx, listening to some tunes. I remember the fucking song that was playing – Guns N’ Roses, ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ – when her boyfriend comes into the room.”
“She had a boyfriend?” Angela said.
“It was news to me too,” Bobby said. “He was a big black guy, like six-four, and he was angry as hell.”
“So what happened?”
“He starts saying, ‘Why are you fucking my woman?’ – shit like that. I didn’t know what was going on. I just said to him, ‘Look, you two better settle this yourselves,’ and I got up to leave. That’s when I heard the shot. Next thing I know I’m on the floor and I can’t feel my legs.”
“Did he go to jail?”
“No, he ran away and I didn’t press charges.”
“Why not?”
“What was the point? It wouldn’t get me my legs back.”
Bobby didn’t want to tell Angela the rest of the story, how when he got out of the hospital he took a bus up to the project in the Bronx where the guy lived and pumped six bullets into his back. But just thinking about how he’d plugged that fucking bastard and then put a couple in Tanya when she came home made his blood bubble.
“You okay?” Angela asked.
“Yeah,” Bobby said. “It’s just the memories are, you know… painful.”
Angela shook her head in sympathy then said, “You know what I think? I think you’re lucky.”
“Why’s that?”
“Look at you – you’re strong, healthy, not too old. If he shot you in the head you would’ve died and you never would’ve met me.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” Bobby said, thinking only somebody who wasn’t paralyzed would say a thing like that. He remembered what it felt like, lying on Tanya’s floor, realizing he was a cripple. In twenty-plus years, pulling heists and shit, he never got a scratch. Then some jealous fuck walks in a room and shoots him in the back. There was nothing lucky about it.
They started to talk about other things. Then Angela said she had to go to the bathroom, but instead she stopped behind Bobby and started kissing the back of his neck, running her hands over his chest. He had no idea what to do next. He felt sweat building under his arms and he couldn’t remember if he’d put on deodorant. He was positive that he reeked and that he was going in his pants. Angela rotated the wheelchair around, away from the table, and climbed on top of him. As she undid his chinos he said, “There’s something you gotta know.”
He told her how he couldn’t stay hard for more than a couple of minutes and how he didn’t think he’d be able to screw. It was hard for him to say all of it, to find the right words and then get them out, but when he finally did he was surprised how much better he felt. Still, he was ready for her to make up some phony excuse and go home. But instead she put her hands over his cheeks, and moved her face right in front of his, looking into his eyes and said, “Don’t worry, everything’s gonna be okay. Think of my mother looking down at us.” Bobby was going to say, Think of that black fuck looking up at us, but managed to keep it to himself.
After about ten minutes had gone by, Bobby was going to tell her that it was a waste of time, that they should just forget about it. But then Angela looked up at him and by the way she was smiling he knew they were finally getting somewhere. She climbed on top of Bobby in the wheelchair and started thrusting. At first, all Bobby could think about was how he was going to shit and make a big asshole out of himself. But then when he saw Angela starting to come Bobby felt a way he never thought he’d feel again.
“See?” she said. “I told you everything was gonna be okay, didn’t I?”
Later, they went into the bedroom.
“Hey, who took all these pictures?”
Bobby was afraid Angela would think he was some kind of loser, but he didn’t see any point in denying it.