Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

simply never shave again. Off they went to F. W. Woolworth Co. 5 and 10 Cent Store.
    The Woolworth’s back home had been nothing like this. Complete with a soda fountain, which Simon wouldn’t let her try, the store had everything a person could want. Clothes, canned goods, jewelry, personal items.
    For someone who’d never lived on a fixed budget, Simon was absolutely miserly. She managed to finagle a few items anyway. Toiletries were a must. The sales woman suggested a new product—Charmin bath tissue. What in God’s name did they use before? The soap smelled more like lye than lilacs, but at least it was something. They bought all the necessities: toothpaste, hairbrushes and a safety razor looked anything but. They purchased towels and undergarments (Simon had delicately disappeared for that one), and one pair of pajamas. Simon hadn’t thought her suggestion that he be tops and she be bottoms was all that funny. But with less than ten dollars left, they couldn’t afford a second pair.
    * * *
    It was early afternoon when they dropped off their packages at the apartment and hit the pavement again. For such a big city, there were precious few jobs to be had. It certainly didn’t help not having the faintest idea where to look.
    They wandered aimlessly for a few hours before Simon suggested they work on a grid. Walking the business districts block by block, east to west. By late afternoon, they’d traveled from Columbia Street on the East to Bowery on the West. Still no jobs, not even a nibble.
    As the day wore on, Simon grew more and more quiet. She knew he held himself responsible for them being there. She also knew that no amount of talking would make him feel otherwise. Screwing on her best smile, she suggested they get an early dinner.
    They walked a few more blocks when the unmistakable smell of garlic cooking in olive oil caught her attention. She sniffed the air like a bloodhound on the scent and led them further down Delancy. Even before she saw the street sign, she knew where she was—Mulberry Street, the heart of Little Italy.
    “Just like in ‘The Godfather’,” she said in awe.
    Simon was unimpressed. “Quaint.”
    “Oh, come on, look at it,” she said, tugging on his sleeve and pulling him into the fray.
    The street was small, barely wide enough for two cars, and bursting with life. Sidewalk cafes crowded with men playing cards and dominoes. Groceries with large wooden boxes displayed fresh fruits and vegetables on the sidewalk. Push carts selling every food imaginable clogged the streets. A few cars trying to weave through the mass crawled along more slowly than the people on foot. Green and white awnings jutted from the brick facades. Lace curtains covered the lower half of etched glass windows. And the smells. Garlic and oregano. Basil and simmering olive oil.
    Three men in black pants with crisp white shirts leaned against a light pole smoking cigarettes. “Ah, bambina. Molto bella. Venga averci una bevanda con.”
    Elizabeth giggled. “Hello.”
    Simon grunted and moved between the men and her, taking her arm and hurrying her past.
    “Isn’t this great?” she asked.
    Simon let go of her arm. “Charming.”
    He could be a spoilsport all he wanted to. She’d wanted to come to Mulberry Street since she was a little girl. A friend of her father’s, Tony Funnico, used to tell her stories about growing up there. Fun Tony, that’s what the other men called him, was always ready with a story. She’d spent many nights sitting with him, after he’d lost all he had to lose. As she looked at the young boys running down the street in their caps and knickers, she wondered if he might be one of them.
    They had a quick dinner, eaten standing on the sidewalk, of sausages and onions wrapped in flat bread. She really wanted a canoli for desert. Fun Tony said Mulberry Street had the best in the world. However, with their money so tight, a canoli was a luxury item they couldn’t afford. Later, when they had money, she’d come back and eat one of every kind.
    After dinner, on their way home, they zigged when they should have zagged and found themselves off the beaten path. The street was deserted and eerily quiet. Elizabeth hummed a Cole Porter tune she’d heard playing in a music store. It was a nervous habit she’d picked up from her father. She glanced over at Simon and could tell from the way his back was ramrod straight and his eyes were narrowed that he was tense.
    “We’ll find