Florida Straits(18)

"Good," said Sandra. "I'm glad you had a pleasant afternoon." She looked at the fish, laid out on a warped wooden cutting board. Frozen, the fillets had been silvery and smooth. As they melted, they turned bluish and flakes bent back like small barbs.

"Sandra, hey, you like it better when I'm in a lousy mood and just mope around?"

"No, Joey, of course not. It's just—"

"Just what?"

"Joey, listen. I don't mind that you're not bringing in any money right now. I really don't."

"I think you do," he said.

"Maybe I do," she admitted. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if I do or if I don't. But Joey, that's not the point. It's not like you're a freeloader. It's not like you're lazy. I know you're not. You're out there putting in time, putting in trouble. I know that. But Joey, here's the thing. You don't wanna tell me the details of what you're trying to do, fair enough, I don't need to know. But isn't it getting pretty obvious that it isn't any easier to do things your way than it is to make an honest living? So why not use that energy—"

"Oh Christ, Sandra, we're gonna start in on this again?"

"Yeah, Joey, we are." Sandra crossed her arms and pressed them against her midriff. Her face, already flushed from the shower, turned a shade pinker under the unsteady fluorescent light. "Joey, I'm not sure I really understand why you came down here, but I'll tell you why I did. I came down here because I love you. That's the only reason. Not to get a tan. Not to wear sunglasses. Not because I was unhappy in Queens. To be with you. I thought you really wanted to change things around and you had to go far away to do it."

Joey examined his shoes. Sandra went on.

"The things you were doing in New York—look, I'm not stupid, Joey. But O.K., that was New York. That was your family, those were our friends. Fine. No one ever seemed to get in trouble, and if people got hurt, they weren't the people we knew. I'm not saying I liked it, but I could live with it."

Joey looked at the linoleum floor, at the ancient oily dust that stuck to the base of the refrigerator and hung down like a filthy beard. "So live with it and stop bitching."

Sandra undid her turban and draped the towel over the back of a chair. "Joey, that's what I'm saying. I'm not sure I can live with it down here. Down here I can't make excuses for you. I can't say you were born into it, I can't say it's what all your buddies do. Down here you got a choice, Joey, don'tcha see that? And as far as I can tell, you're choosing the exact same stuff you were doing in Queens."

"Oh yeah?" said Joey. He put his hands on his hips and tried to muster a tone of righteous indignation. "And just how sure are you about that?"

Sandra picked up the cutting board and spilled off some gray water that had come out of the fish. "I'm not sure," she admitted. "How should I be sure? You don't talk to me. And I'd love to be wrong, believe me. But Joey, how does it look? Does it look like you're joining the Florida work force? No, it looks like you're hanging around waiting to win the lottery. And now you tell me you meet a guy from New York. He knows your father.

We know what that means. It's just like the old neighborhood—"

"But Sandra," Joey cut in, "you're missing the whole point, which you woulda got if you let me talk insteada jumping down my throat before I'm even inside the goddamn door. The guy's from New York, yeah. And if you must know, he's family, that's true. But the point is that even he says you can't run a New York-style business down here, ya gotta go with the local style. Now, coming from him, I believe it. I mean, the man is a professional. So that's why I'm happy, Sandra. It's like a new idea, like a light bulb lighting up. And I have this feeling that this guy Bert and I are gonna do some things together."

"Legal things, Joey?"

Joey widened his dark blue eyes. "Now it's gotta be legal? A minute ago it just had to be different from New York. For Chrissake, Sandra, quit while you're ahead."

She looked at the fillets on the cutting board. They were still oozing gray water and had taken on the glazed translucence of someone's eyeballs when they have a cold. "That fish looks lousy."

"Yeah, it does," said Joey. He approached it as though it might be carrying a grave disease and gave it a clinical poke with his index finger. "Feels all mushy." He sniffed at his hand. "Doesn't smell terrific either. Could be like spoiled."

He went to the sink and started washing up with dish soap. He was fastidious about his hands, Joey was, aside from being finicky about his food.

Sandra sighed and ran her fingers through her short blond hair. "What's gonna be with you, Joey? Well, come on, let's go out. I get paid tomorrow.