All The Young Punks Pt. 46

"You're not dumb, so don't play dumb," Stan said sharply. "Joe asked to move Europe back for you. David Benjamin is not happy he lost the entire summer."

"That's not my problem," Tina sipped her drink.

Stan steeled his eyes. "He won't do it again, so you better get your gallery shit together."

Joe winced, sensing Stan might be overstepping his bounds. He glanced at Tina to measure her reaction. She seemed unfazed.

"You worry about your business," she said. "I'll worry about mine."

By the time food arrived, Joe counted six complaints and gestures of exasperation or annoyance. When Tina reached the bottom of her soft drink and made an obnoxiously loud slurp, Stan's eyes nearly crossed as he scowled at her. "Please don't do that. I didn't invite you to lunch for this crap."

"Seven," Joe said.

"What crap? She said, "I just want to get the last drop."

"They can get you more," he raised his arm. "Doris, can you?" He pointed at Tina.

Tina smiled at Joe just as his drink hit bottom with a slurp further irritating Stan. It always amazed Joe that Stan couldn't figure out that all he had to do was ignore the bad manners and Joe's game would be over. He always gave them the reaction they wanted.

"Eight."

When the clanking of cutlery commenced, Tina smirked at Stan. He was incapable of not showing his annoyance.

"Is that necessary?"

"What?" She said.

"All the noise."

"We're in a deli," Joe reminded him. "People use their knives and forks."

"Yes, quietly."

Joe held his hand to his ear to hear the sounds other patrons were making. "I don't think so."

After a period of quiet, each tending to their sandwiches, Tina took a big bite of tuna, chewed a few times, then said, "So, Stan. Why have you never seen the band play live?"

"Jesus," he shook his head. "Don't speak with your mouth full."

Joe took a bite and turned to Tina, "He's very sensitive about people talking with their mouths full."

Stan averted his eyes. "Goddamnit." He looked down at the table while Joe and Tina exchanged smiles.

"Ya know, Stan," Tina said. "My Nonno Costello was like you, always complaining. My grandmother says his grumpiness is what put him in his grave."

"Maybe your grandmother put him there."

"After lunch the three left together and took the subway to Chelsea for a meeting with Marty. At 23rd Street, waiting for a light to change, Stan stepped off the curb. Tina and Joe were behind him, talking, not seeing the light. When they realized it had changed, Stan was three steps into the crosswalk with a car taking a right turn in front of him. He was looking straight ahead and didn't see it.

"Stan!" Joe shouted, as the vehicle entered the crosswalk, the driver steering around Stan. The side of the car scraped Stan's left hip, spinning him sideways. As he slipped his foot went under. The rear tire ran over his toes. He let out a low, guttural scream and went down hard. The car stopped for a moment, and then sped off, cutting off other cars to escape.

Tina and Joe were on top of Stan in an instant. Joe reached under his arms and pulled him to the sidewalk. Tina talked to him but he was more interested in the car, pointing in the direction of the fleeing driver.

"I had the signal asshole! These sons of bitches drive like...!" His complexion went from normal to beet red in a few seconds.

"Stan, are you okay?" Tina said while taking his hand.

"My foot, he ran over my goddamn foot. My hip hurts but I can get up. Help me up."

"Wait a moment, Stan." She said, looking at Joe with concern. "You're hyperventilating."

"She's right Stan. You don't look so good."

"When do I ever look good?" Stan said in an unsteady voice.

"Just wait one minute," Joe said, as New Yorkers walked past, some gawked for a moment but most barely gave a glance at the old man who was just struck by a car. Joe looked up a few times to see them ignoring what had just happened, then back to Stan whose complexion went from red, back to normal, to pale.

One woman stopped and asked if he was okay, "We think so, not sure." answered Tina.

Stan stopped complaining. That's not a good sign. He was looking at Tina, then Joe, then straight up, back to Tina. His skin turned ashen.

"I'm not okay kids," Stan put his hand on his chest.

Joe stood and shouted, "Is there a doctor near? Is anyone a doctor, a nurse, anyone? We need a doctor."

Tina was sitting beside Stan. His head was in her arms, against her chest. She was holding him.

"We'll get help Stan," she said. "You relax, breathe easy." Tina comforted him. Stan grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"Fuck these people!" Joe shouted. "Fuck this city." He looked down at Tina and Stan. "Baby, I need to find a phone."

"Hurry, he doesn't look right, his breathing isn't good."

Joe looked frantically at all four corners for a phone booth, there was one across the street, occupied, and he was blocked by moving traffic.

"I'll be right back," Joe ran into the nearest storefront, a clothing store, and burst in. "My friend was struck by a car. I think he's in shock. May I please use your phone."

The clerk was on the phone with customers at her register. She looked at Joe with annoyance. "Can't you see I'm using the phone?

"You fucking bitch," he yelled as he turned to the door and went back to the street. He ran into the next storefront, a jeweler, and burst into the store already in full throat. "Can I please use your phone? My friend is dying!"

The jeweler had an interior security door keeping Joe out. He stood in the vestibule banging his palm on the inside glass while using his thumb and pinky finger to make the universal hand sign for a phone. The old man behind the counter, fifteen feet away, just stared at him, blankly.

"My friend was run over by a car. I must call an ambulance. Please!"

The man stared at Joe, not scared or annoyed, just no response.

"Fuck you!" Joe flipped him off, turned, and ran out to the street again. He looked back at Tina and Stan three two storefronts away, she saw and motioned to keep trying.

Joe frantically rushed into the third business, a bookstore. The lady at the counter looked horrified and ran into the back room before Joe could finish asking for help.

Two customers scurried to the back wall of the store. Joe reached over the counter, grabbed the phone, and dialed 911. After giving the dispatcher the information, Joe ran back to the corner.

His heart was lifted slightly by the sight of a New York cop standing over Tina on his radio. He ran to him and asked how long for help to arrive.

"Traffic is heavy," he said. "Hopefully, not long. The station is several blocks away."

Joe fell to the sidewalk beside Stan, opposite Tina, and propped him up. She held Stan tight. Joe put my arms around both.

Stan's breathing was slow and shallow. Tina and Joe shared a look of concern. Tears filled Tina's eyes.

"This city doesn't give a fuck," Joe said.

"People are busy with their lives," The cop said, "He'll be okay."

"Will he?" Joe shouted. "Thanks, Doc."

Joe was genuinely afraid this was the end for his friend as Stan closed his eyes, leaning against Tina. Joe took his other hand.

"Stay with us, Stan. Help is on the way." Joe felt this was deja vu, but it wasn't. He'd done this before.

There were a dozen onlookers quietly keeping their distance, standing, but not one person offered help. Only that one lady even asked how Stan was. It seemed like forever, but the ambulance got there pretty fast. As the paramedics walked up, Stan opened his eyes and looked at Joe.

"They're here, Stan. Keep your eyes open. Stay awake." Joe stood and stepped back as the first paramedic bent over Stan.

"We got him," the paramedic said to Tina while placing a blanket down behind Stan. He helped Stan lay back, his head on the blanket, as Tina let go. Joe helped her up.

They stood six feet away in an embrace as the paramedics took Stan's vitals and covered him in another blanket.

"He's going into shock," one of them said.

They were cool and collected. These men saw this stuff day after day. An old man struck by a car in distress was routine for them

"Will he be okay? Tina asked

The older of the two medics looked up. "I can't say for sure, Miss, but my gut says he's got a good chance. We'll get him to the E.R. real soon."

As the medics lifted Stan onto the stretcher, the cop took a statement from Joe; what happened in the street, if he got a tag number on the car, his name, address, and phone. Tina stood beside the stretcher, holding Stan's hand as they rolled him to the ambulance twenty feet away.

"Who's riding with?" The older medic asked. "We can only take one."

"You go," Joe said. "I'll run to the studio and tell Marty what happened." He leaned over Stan before the medics lifted him into the ambulance. "You'll be okay, old man. I'll see you soon."

Joe was not sure Stan would be okay. He had the hundred-yard stare, looking at the sky, as they lifted him. Tina hugged Joe while they secured him inside. The younger medic stayed in the back. Joe helped Tina up.

"Call the studio when you can. We'll be over shortly."

Tina nodded while wiping her tears. "I love you." She mouthed to Joe.

"I love you too."

The door closed. Joe stood on the curb, numb, as the ambulance siren chirped and then wailed as they pulled away from the curb into thick traffic. Cars honked horns.

Joe gazed at the remaining onlookers as they began to disperse, going back to their zombie lives of not giving a fuck. His fists clenched by his side. "I hate this city," he said lowly. "I hate this fucking city!" He screamed as he broke into a full run towards Marty's place a few blocks away.