"Quite the Player"

 

"I'm very surprised to see you here, Milford," said Miss Alcott.

"Oh, um, uh," replied Milford.

"What's that your smoking there?"

"This?" said Milford, holding up the thick brown cigarette.

"Yes," said Miss Alcott. "That. It doesn't look like one of your Husky Boys. You know, the Husky Boys I gave you a quarter to buy from the machine? Because you didn't have any change and were about to cry because you were too timid just to go over to the bartender and ask him for change?"

"Uh, yes, no, well, this is, uh –"

"That looks like a reefer to me."

"Well, okay," said Milford, "heh heh, yes, I guess it is sort of a reefer, that's true, but Mr. Jelly Roll over there handed it to me, and, uh –"

"Hi, Jelly Roll," said Miss Alcott, addressing Jelly Roll.

"Howya doing, Lou?" said Jelly Roll.

"Oh, I'm doing fine, Jelly Roll," she said. "So are you corrupting our young Master Milford with your drug-laced cigarettes?"

"Hey, Lou," said Jelly Roll, "ain't nobody forced the boy to smoke my special hand roll."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't twist his arm, Jelly Roll. And you, Walter," she said, turning to Mr. Whitman, "I suppose you've been sharing your hashish with the lad as well?"

"Aw, lookit now, Lou," said Mr. Whitman, "a little hash never hurt anybody. How do you think I write all my poems?"

"Hello, Margaret," said Miss Alcott to Miss Blackbourne.

"Don't look at me, Lou," said Miss Blackbourne, "all I did was buy him a pot of good Assam tea."

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Miss Alcott. She turned to Milford again. "I wonder if we could have a word, Milford."

"Um, sure," said Milford.

"I mean in private. That is if your friends can spare you."

"Uh, okay?"

"Splendid."

Milford nervously took another drag of the fat brown cigarette.

The music from the combo roared through his head, along with the shouting and laughter of the dark-skinned people all around him, and the furious stomping of the feet of the dancers on the dance floor.

"Well?" said Miss Alcott.

"Yes?" said Milford.

Mr. Whitman tilted his great hairy head toward Milford's small head.

"Lou wants you to get up, Mel, and go with her."

"Oh," said Milford.

"Ha ha," said Jelly Roll.

"Oh dear lord," said Miss Blackbourne.

"Um," said Milford.

"Take your time, Milford," said Lou.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Milford, standing up abruptly, and almost knocking his chair over, but fortunately Mr. Whitman grabbed it in time. 

"I, uh," said Milford, addressing Jelly Roll, Miss Blackbourne, and Mr. Whitman, "if you will excuse me –"

"Are you ready now?" said Miss Alcott.

"Yes," said Milford. He suddenly realized he still held Jelly Roll's cigarette. "Oh, Mister, uh, Roll, here's your cigarette back –"

"Take it, my man," said Jelly Roll, "I think you might need it."

"Oh, okay, thanks," said Milford.

"Let's go," said Miss Alcott.

"Where are we going?" said Milford.

"Just someplace we can talk in private."

"Oh, okay –" he said.

"Hey, Milford," said Jelly Roll.

"Yes?" said Milford. 

"Good luck, my man."

"I think he might need more than luck," said Miss Blackbourne.

"Ha ha, quite risible, Margaret!" said Mr. Whitman. He put his great hand on Milford's arm. "Be strong, my lad," he said, in a stage whisper. "Women love a dominant man."

"Oh, fuck off, Walter," said Miss Alcott. "What would you know about women?"

"Oh. Wow," said Mr. Whitman.

"Bam," said Jelly Roll.

"Ha ha, well said, Lou," said Miss Blackbourne.

"Gee, Lou," said Mr. Whitman, "I mean, I know a little about women –"

"Yes, a little," said Miss Alcott. "Come on, Milford." 

She put her arm in Milford's, and pulled him away.

"Okay," said Jelly Roll, "now what the hell was that all about?"

"Apparently," said Miss Blackbourne, "our young Milford is quite the player."

"I could be wrong," said Mr. Whitman, "but I think Miss Alcott was a little upset."

"Oh, really, you think so, Walt?" said Miss Blackbourne.

"Ha ha," said Jelly Roll, "young Milford gonna get his ass whooped."

"Do him good," said Miss Blackbourne.

They watched as Miss Alcott pulled Milford through the tables, through the laughing and shouting people and the crashing of the combo and swirling clouds of smoke, and towards the crowded bar.

"Now you're in for it," said that voice in Milford's head, the voice of his alter ego, called Stoney, whom he hadn't heard from for a while.

"Can you help me?" said Milford.

"I'll try," said Stoney. "But just look at what I have to work with here. I mean really."

"Please try," said Milford.

"I'll do my best, but you've got to do your part too."

"Okay, I'll try," said Milford.

Miss Alcott stopped, which meant that Milford stopped too, abruptly.

"Who are you talking to?" she said.

"No one," said Milford, his eyes darting away from hers.

"You were talking to that voice in your brain again, weren't you?"

"Well, uh, yes –"

"Your supposed alter ego."

"Yes."

"What was his name? Rocky?"

"Stoney, actually."

"Stoney."

"Yes," said Milford, glancing at her face, and then quickly transferring his vision to the floor, littered as it was with the butts of cigarettes and cigars, and even, alarmingly, what seemed to be a used condom.

"Please look at me when I'm talking to you, unless you find the planking of this floor to be of surpassing interest."

Reluctantly Milford looked at Miss Alcott.

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to, or, I, uh –"

What didn't he mean? Had he ever meant anything in his whole life?

"The answer to that is a resounding no," said Stoney, in his head.

"Oh, never mind, just come on," said Miss Alcott, and she resumed pulling Milford, and perforce Stoney, in the direction of the crowded bar.

"Okay, here's my first tip," said Stoney. "You want to hear it?" Milford was about to say yes, but Stoney cut him off. "My first tip is that when you're talking to me, don't talk out loud."

"Oh," said Milford. "Okay."

Miss Alcott stopped again, stopping Milford.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing," said Milford.

"You were talking to that voice again, weren't you?"

"Yes," said Milford.

"Jesus Christ," said Stoney, and this time Milford remembered to reply silently, saying, "Sorry, sorry," to his alter ego.

Miss Alcott said nothing, but resumed pulling Milford toward the bar.

"Do me a favor, Milford," said Stoney, in Milford's brain. "Don't be sorry. Just try not to be an idiot. Do you think you can manage that?"

Milford chose not to answer the question, because in principle he hated to lie any more than was absolutely necessary.

{Please go here to read the unexpurgated "adult comix" version in A Flophouse Is Not a Home, profusely illustrated by the illustrious rhoda penmarq…}