The Temptations of St. Frank Read Free Page B

Tina.
    â€œI gotta go,” Tina said, and hurried off toward Yolanda, taking one last drag off her cigarette before she flicked it into the gutter. She looked back and flashed a flirty little cat grin, blowing smoke out the side of her mouth. But who was she looking at? Dom or him? Frank couldn’t tell.
    She walked over to Yolanda and Potato Man, who was holding onto Yolanda’s arm, and took his other elbow. The three of them started walking away, slowly because Potato Man couldn’t go that fast. When he started to cough, they all stopped. It was a harsh dry cough that rattled his whole body. He coughed for nearly a minute. Frank felt bad for him, but he couldn’t help staring at the girls’ legs from behind as they stood on either side of the old man. Yolanda’s legs were definitely the winners, but Tina’s skirt was hiked up higher, showing more thigh.
    â€œIs that her?” Dom asked. “Yvonne?”
    â€œYolanda. The one with the long hair.”
    â€œYou’re backing the wrong horse, pal. Go for the other one.”
    â€œTina?”
    â€œDefinitely.”
    â€œReally? Why?”
    â€œYour girl’s a prude.”
    â€œHow can you tell?”
    Dom shrugged. “You can just tell. Look at her.”
    Frank looked. He kinda saw what Dom meant… maybe. But maybe not.
    â€œTrust me. Tina’s the one. Definitely. The other one? She’ll just jerk you around.”
    â€œYou really think so?”
    â€œI know so.”
    Yolanda, Tina, and Potato Man started walking again. Frank stared at them, studying the girls. Compare and contrast. He knew what Dom meant, but he still liked Yolanda better.
    â€œLook,” Dom said, “if you don’t want Tina, maybe I’ll ask her out.” He took a slow drag off his cigarette, staring at Tina with squinty John Wayne eyes, the Marlborough Man on the toxic plains.
    Frank had a sudden urge to punch him in the face. He didn’t want Dom going after Tina.
    But he didn’t say anything.

Chapter 2
    Frank squeezed the purple rubber gorilla as he flipped through the latest
Ramparts
magazine. The gorilla had a gummy consistency that clung to Frank’s skin. He wasn’t at all in the mood for school, and the fact that it was only Tuesday bummed him out. He sat behind the big wooden desk in the yearbook office on the top floor of Mulvaney Hall, St. Anselm’s main building. He was the
Summit
’s literary editor, which meant he was in charge of all the copy in the book. He’d come up here to finish his math homework before school, but instead he’d started reading an article about guys who had fled to Canada to avoid the draft, guys not much older than himself.
    Assholes in the government were talking about getting rid of the student deferment for college kids because too many people were complaining that it was only poor kids who were getting their asses blown off in Vietnam. There were rumors that the government was going to start some kind of lottery system, putting the 366 days of the year in a big hat and picking them out one by one. You get a low number, you got a pretty good chance of getting a rifle, a buzz cut, and an all-expenses-paid trip to the Mekong Delta. Get a number in the middle of the pack, you get an ulcer worrying that you’re gonna get called up. Get a high number, you pray that the goddamn war ends before they get to you. Goddamn fucking Nixon.
    Frank had no intention of going to Vietnam. The war was fucked, and he knew for a fact that it really messed up the guys who went there. He had a cousin who had actually enlisted. The guy wasn’t even on the front lines—he was a fucking garbage collector in Saigon. But one day, out of the blue, a sniper took a shot at him. The bullet hit the garbage can he was carrying and saved his life, but the experience spooked him for good. He got jittery and paranoid and was never the same afterward. Well, fuck that.