Transits Read Free Page A

small, covered stand is stocked with the usual assortment of newspapers, magazines, candy bars and confections. It is only upon closer inspection that Roy notices many of the papers are yellowedaround the edges, and some of the celebrities on the magazine covers have died. All the periodicals in fact, are out of date. There are brittle copies of the
Times
from the late sixties, issues of
Esquire
and
Playboy
from the seventies.
    â€œYou brought a friend this time,” says the man, nodding at Alice. He speaks with a slight accent, which Roy cannot place. Alice reaches for something tucked behind a row of
National Geographic
s, and when the May 1950 issue of
Down Beat
is revealed, he knows why she has brought him here.
    The newsman takes the cigarillo from his lips. “This one is very rare, very hard to find.” His brings his left hand to his mouth, covering his lips from Alice's view, as if to conspire with Roy. “For you, only twenty dollars,” he whispers. “Make a nice gift for the lady.”
    Roy knows the man is asking far too much and he guesses that the man knows it too. As he considers the LPs he could buy with twenty American dollars, Alice flips through the pages, stopping at Ehlrich's feature, which is tastefully but predictably illustrated with the quintessential profile shot of Eleanora Sinclair in performance at Café Society circa 1948. Roy's romantic inclination is to agree with the man, to buy the magazine on the spot. The newsman winks at him. Roy reciprocates in order to appease the man, then checks his watch impatiently. Beneath them, the sidewalk rumbles and Alice looks up.
    â€œThe stop is right there,” says the man. “You can make it if you run.”
    Alice returns the magazine, grabs Roy's hand, and leads him in the direction of the descending stairs.
    â€œYou're not going to buy it?” the man calls after them.
    On the cramped train, pressed close to Roy, Alice speaks into his ear.
    â€œThe last time I looked at the magazine he told me I didn't need to pay in cash, that I could settle up another way.”
    By 98 th Street their car is nearly empty. Roy looks over his shoulder and observes two women seated at the back. One is black, tall and poised. Her companion, by comparison, is pale and diminutive. Both wear stilettos, too much make-up, and tight, revealing skirts despite the damp November air. Roy nudges Alice and gestures with his eyes.
    â€œDon't you have whores where you're from?” she asks.
    â€œI suppose so,” says Roy. “Not that I've ever had to pay for it.” Alice pinches his arm.
    At the next stop Roy follows Alice off the train and into the failing daylight. They must walk north for several blocks and when Roy suggests perhaps they got off a stop too early Alice responds that he gets to see more of the city this way. When they reach 138 th they come to a diner with a painted sign that reads “The Bridgeview,” and as Roy looks for the bridge, Alice opens the door and motions for him to follow.
    Roy notices, uneasily, as they seat themselves in a vacant booth, the two women from the subway sitting across the aisle.
    â€œDon't you want to find the place first?”
    Alice shakes her head. “It should just be another half a block down.”
    â€œAren't you nervous? I can never eat when I'm nervous.”
    â€œThen just have coffee.”
    â€œI never said I was nervous. I just thought that you might be.”
    As soon as they are seated, a young black man in a white t-shirt approaches and says “Mmm hmm?”
    â€œJust a coffee.”
    â€œGrilled cheese and fries.”
    Roy turns up his nose. Alice swings her foot under the table and taps him on the shin.
    When the waiter has come and gone again and his coffee cup is filled, Roy discreetly pours in whiskey. He is not so discreet so as Alice will not notice, for she looks directly at him, and at the appearance of the flask her foot touches his