That week I started my part-time job behind the counter of an Italian bakery. I had to put on my uniform at home. It consisted of a light-green dress, a round hat of the same color, and a white apron. Since I had to be on my feet so much, I wore sneakers and ankle socks.

They had excellent bread there, and I was given some to take home. The pastries were great too, but I limited myself to one cannoli per week.

On my third day, I was there with another girl when my neighbor Mrs. Marchetti came in. She hadn’t known I was working there, but her praise was effusive. “Chloe, it’s so good to see what an ambitious girl you are. And you’re also so nice.” She leaned forward to tell me something confidential. “You’re not like those hippie girls. They usually don’t wear underwear, you know.”

I smiled at her, but I was thinking, if you only knew. Yes, I could be quite nice indeed. By the way, the word “hippie” was thrown around a lot in 1973 although it had become archaic and had rarely been a full-time lifestyle anyway.

Later that week, Jenny and I went to see Gina at her new job, which was behind a soda fountain at a corner store up on Gun Hill Road. She also doubled as a cashier at times. She didn’t have to wear a uniform, but she did have to have a neat appearance. On the day we were there, she was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and tight black trousers. Of course, she also wore sneakers like I did at my counter.

Somehow, seeing her in her new role made me think again that she wasn’t beautiful, but she exuded an air of sexuality anyway. One of the first things I asked her was, “You must get a lot of guys coming in here who flirt with you.”

“Oh, sure, and I flirt right back.”

“So are you going on any dates with them?”

“Hah! I have yet to meet any who are worth my time.”

Jenny commented, “Those pants are tight enough to be a provocation.”

“Look who’s talking. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been showing your ass curves with tight jeans and trousers.”

Jenny didn’t get embarrassed or insulted. Instead, she smiled and said, “Yeah, you got me on that one!”

“Would you two like egg creams? Sorry, they can’t be on the house.”

An egg cream was simply seltzer water with some chocolate syrup mixed in. Jenny and I agreed, and we sat down on stools in front of the counter. While we were there, Gina caught my eye and winked at me. An emotion went through me, like lust and love together with some other feelings I couldn’t define. I knew our courtship had been our friendship. That exact configuration could not be duplicated with any man I might meet.

To distract myself, I asked her, “So have you heard from Dan again?”

She didn’t seem that engaged about him. “You know, it’s entirely preliminary with those guys. Maybe we should all hang out together a few times this summer. We’ll see how things go.”

A bit later, she and Jenny were talking about the guys they knew at their school. Gina said, “They will talk in some place where they know we will overhear them, but they pretend that’s not happening.”

Jenny said, “They brag about what they do with girls, but a lot of what they say, it’s just made up for the impression it will make.”

I asked, “How can you be sure they are faking it?”

Gina answered for her. “I can’t prove this, but some of their stories are almost too good to be true. There is some always element that just doesn’t make sense.”

She told one such tale. A classmate had described how he was hitchhiking in Connecticut. An older woman, a college girl, had picked him up and took him home with her. There, they indulged in a few hours of pot smoking and sex. When she was done with him, she dropped him off again on the highway.

Gina said, “First of all, it seems unlikely that women are driving around picking up male pedestrians and taking them home for that. It sounds more like a male fantasy than anything that could be real.”

Jenny had her take on it. “Also, he made no attempt to ever go back up there again.”

I said, “Maybe he was happy with some casual sex.”

“Not to that level, I’d guess. If he really had something that good so close at hand, he’d make some more trips up there. It’s not that far away.”

Gina added, “Yeah, I noticed he never specified what town it was in. I mean, how stoned was he? And he doesn’t have her phone number? I call bullshit on that one.”

*****

Gina and I went down a couple of times to see Jenny at her new job. Her task was entirely different from what we were doing. She was a foot messenger at a service on West 43rd Street.

Her lanky body and long legs seemed to be suited for several hours a day walking around Manhattan. To keep the sun off her head, she had purchased two hats, and straw one with a brim and dark cloth cap. Of course, she had to commute for an hour each way on the 2 train, but that didn’t seem to bother her. She liked the freedom of not being tied to a particular location for an entire shift. Also, she enjoyed poking around in parts of the city she had never been in before.

On our second visit, Jenny met us outside her office. “Come on upstairs, I want you to peek at something really weird.”

We gathered at the entrance to the room for messengers waiting for assignments. They had to sit in a long row of chairs lined up against the wall. At that time, there were only three of them present, including the one other woman who worked there.

Jenny waved her hand and we looked at what she had indicated. Along the wall behind the chairs, there were numerous centerfolds from Playboy and Penthouse taped in place. They were right behind the heads of anybody who was sitting there. The whole exhibit stretched for maybe twenty feet along that side of the room.

I briefly saw the grumpy-looking older guy who was running the operation from a desk on the opposite side. He took no notice of us, and we went back downstairs.

Outside, Jenny said, “Isn’t that one of the strangest things you’ve ever seen?”

Gina replied, “That’s all pretty mild compared to the things I’ve shown you.”

“That’s not the point.”

I said, “I assume they were put there or least tolerated by your boss.”

“Yeah, but what’s his motivation? It’s almost like a form of humiliation for his own employees who have to sit there. But why do that?”

I speculated. “Maybe he thinks they actually like it?”

In the end, we remained baffled. It had to have some meaning we couldn’t grasp.

We had planned to buy sandwiches and have lunch on the steps of the main library a couple of blocks away. Jenny seemed much more relaxed and upbeat than I had ever seen her before. On that day, she had her cloth cap. She was wearing denim shorts which came down quite far on her thighs. However, Gina couldn’t be surprised that her pants were quite snug in the rear.

Further down, she had blue-striped knee socks and black Converse basketball shoes. Gina noted, “You look really chic today. You’ve got your own unique style going there.”

“Thanks! I guess I wasn’t aiming for that, however.”

As we sat on the steps, she had her legs stretched out. As we watched the people and traffic going by on Fifth Avenue, Gina asked her. “So if you’re walking around all day, you must get a lot of guys hitting on you or otherwise commenting on your appearance.”

Jenny’s reply surprised us. “I’ve figured out how to handle that. Give me a moment to explain.”

I was struck by how much detail she went into. “You see, they are expecting that a girl will get all embarrassed and just walk away. Either that, or she’ll get angry and yell at them. That’s what they really want. But . . .”

With that pause for emphasis, she went on, “If you calmly have some comeback, especially if it’s at their expense, they fold like wet cardboard. They are caught flatfooted.”

I said, “Is that really possible?”

“Sure it is. Like I had one come up to me and say, ‘Honey, you have a beautiful ass.’ ” I looked him over and said, ‘Frankly, yours is a bit on the flat side.’ ”

Gina was doubtful too. “He didn’t get angry?”

“No, it was like what Ralph Kramden used to do when caught in some tough situation, usually by Alice. That, ‘huma-huma-huma’ bit of his.”

We laughed at that, and Jenny said, “There was another one who said to me, ‘I’d really like to make it with you.’ So I replied, ‘Fine. When my shift is over, meet me at the Dixie Hotel. You have to pay for the room, however.’”

I said, “So he wasn’t serious?”

“Of course not. He looked utterly flummoxed. They think they’re so clever, but when called out, they’re basically cowards.”

*****

A few days later, the three of us were hanging around in our basement room. We would go there instead of the park when we wanted to have some privacy for conversations. On that day, both Jenny and Gina had some revelations about themselves.

Jenny went first. She had shopping bags with items she had bought with money from her job, and she wanted to show them to us. She was particularly bubbly at that point.

“I’ve really discovered the joys of lingerie. Look at some of this.”

First up were two sets of garter belts and straps, plus the nylon stockings to go along with them. “I couldn’t decide which color I wanted, so I got both white and black.”

Gina said, “Those things became less common for a reason. It’s a pain to pin the stockings up, and then you have to sit on the belts at times.” I got the feeling that she felt a bit upstaged by Jenny. Also, I’m sure she had no first-hand knowledge of what she was talking about.

Jenny said, “There is a newer, alternative version if you want it. It’s got the grater, straps, and stockings all made out of a single piece of cloth.”

“I haven’t heard of that.”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

Jenny got to her feet and lifted her skirt above her waist. Gina and I gaped at her. It had appeared, based on what was on her calves, that she had been wearing white tights. Actually, perhaps it could be that she did have tights. Except that it was as if key sections had been cut out in the front, back, and sides. Just as she had noted, it was a one-piece garter and stockings combination. And it was completely open at the bottom of the crotch.

“I got a set in black too.” Her pubic hair was bared in the front. Then she turned around, and shook her bare behind at us. I suspected she was copying some of Gina’s moves.

The latter said dryly, “I think you are supposed to wear panties with that.”

“Of course, but as you know, you don’t have to! And, my God, panties. Look at these beautiful things.”

The first one she took out was white, I’d say. It was ample but the cloth was virtually transparent. “I’ll model this for you.”

After slipping them on, she again raised her skirt and showed us both front and back views. I could see all of her body right through her new underwear.

“Again, I couldn’t decide which color was best, so I got blue, black, and red ones too.”

I was imagining how pleasing it would be next fall if I could be wearing those items under my skirts at school. Wow, that would be so sexy. “I’d like to get that stuff too.”

“I know how you think, Chloe. I’ll go down there with you. There’s a nice lady in this store on Orchard Street who will help you find anything you want.”

In a moment, Gina said, “I’ve got some things to tell you about myself, actually three or four of them. But I don’t think I can do them all in one swoop.”

I was baffled by that. She went on, “I know you all think I’m quite wild, but I’ve got secrets like everyone else. It’s a bit hard to reveal these, but I have to get it out.” She paused as if trying to figure out how to describe something. “Jenny, remember when you mentioned how you knew what a dominatrix was?”

“Yeah, I know about them.”

“Well, the thing is, it isn’t just men with women. There are a lot of people who like, call it spanking and paddling, in other combinations too. Like there are men who think about other men; usually by not always, that is a gay preference. Then there are men who want to reverse it, and do it to women, although it’s probably less common for women to like it. I know, I’m being so wordy. Do you understand what I’m talking about?”

A lot of it was news to me, but I got the gist of it. Perhaps I admired Gina’s courage in bringing up such personal thoughts.

She said, “So, some people are thus submissive and some dominant, or want to be anyway. Does that make sense?”

Jenny said, “I get what you mean.”

“Here, let me show you this British magazine that I’ve got here.” She took it out of her bag. “This basically caters to men who, well, want to spank women. If you look at this you’ll get what I mean.”

She gestured so that we could sit next to her, and she opened it to a black and white photo spread.

“The theme of this one is what happens to misbehaving schoolgirls who are caught by their teachers or headmasters, or I guess headmistresses. I suppose this really happened a lot at English schools, but it was likely more with the boys than the girls.”

The pages she had opened showed a story, with both text and photos, called "Francine’s Troubles at School.” Francine appeared to be in her early twenties, but she was dressed like an English schoolgirl. Notably, she had dark knee socks.

As the tale progressed, she looked quite worried as two of her teachers confronted her about some misdeed. I didn’t read the text, but the photos told the story. In a school office, her teachers, one male and one female, punished her. She had to lower her panties and bend over; then the two adults whacked her behind with canes.

Jenny said, “Wow, where do they get people to pose for that?”

“The same as with most porn. They pay them, I imagine quite well.”

Something struck me. “They are really hitting her.” At least three photos showed the marks across her behind and upper thighs.

“Well, yeah, it must hurt, but – I don’t know, I suppose the humiliation is part of the discipline.”

Jenny said, “All porn is a bit off, strange, if you know what I mean.”

“That doesn’t stop you from looking at it.”

“This magazine, you obviously like looking at that yourself.”

I could see how tense Gina was. Yet she had a need to confess. “I suppose I do. We all have our own quirks.” My thought was that her Catholic sense of shame was still within her mind.

Jenny had another good question. “So who do imagine yourself to be? The student or the teachers?”

“I don’t think I’m ready to tell you that yet.”

It was my turn to be reassuring, “You don’t have to say more than you wish.”

“No, I trust you, and I feel I should tell you. I’m not sure how to put it.”

I expressed my thought. “Do you feel shame?”

“Sort of. As I said before, they used to really do this in British schools.”

“But not in American ones.”

“But they did, or still do, although not in New York. It’s still legal in some states to give ‘school swats,’ I mean paddling your ass, usually on the seat of your pants.”

I asked her, “How do you know all of this?”

She had closed the magazine. “Because I’ve seen depictions of that too. Like that old song, ‘reading and writing and arithmetic, taught to the tune of a hickory stick.’ What do you think they were doing with that stick?”

For a moment, she looked very intently at me. “Chloe, from the look on your face, you seem to know more about this than you let on.”

If was as if she could read my mind. She knew me well enough to perceive one of the deeper fantasies I had, one of those fantasies that we all have but never tell anybody about.

“I’m not sure, maybe.”

“Now I’m embarrassing you. I shouldn’t have done that. Anyway, my second revelation is where I’ve been getting these magazines.”

Jenny was on point again. “It must be from some guy you know, right?”

Gina told us it was one of her neighbors, a guy of nineteen who attended Lehman College. She named him as Richie Linero. He would go downtown and buy bundles of old issues of various porn mags.

I said, “This Richie person sounds like a real weirdo. I hope you don’t spend time alone with him. Does he have some girlfriend out there that he hasn’t mentioned?”

“If there is one, I’ve never met her or even heard about her.”

“So what does he want from you? And what do you want from him?”

“I’ll have to tell you some other time.”

“Here, let me see that thing.” She handed it over to me, and I flipped through the pages. For some reason, I found it slightly amusing. “Hah, this is quite a trip.”

****

A few days later, I took Gina’s advice and called Chris. I hadn’t heard from him in the weeks since the school year had ended, and I didn’t expect that I would.

However, he seemed glad to hear from me, if a bit surprised. After chatting for a couple of minutes, I went right into my Bronx Zoo proposal. I even skipped the preliminary step and asked him straight out to go with me. I know that’s not the conventional way to do it but I’m doing it anyway.

I had tried to be prepared to be turned down. If Chris had done that, I knew he would be subtle and indirect about it, postponing it indefinitely perhaps instead of outright refusing me.

He was obviously not ready for what I had said, but after a moment or so, he quietly agreed to it. I gave him the option of the time and place to meet, and he went for that Saturday at the Rainey Gate. That was the main entrance on the north side. I felt nervous and yet excited in an entirely different way than I had ever felt about my female friends.

We could have met to take the train down there together, but it seemed better to just show up at the spot. When my connecting bus went past the gate on Pelham Parkway, I could see that he had arrived early. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

Chris was not a tall guy, maybe five-nine, but that was quite a bit above what I was. I think we both felt a degree of wariness, or maybe I’d call it shyness on my part, about greeting each other in that new context. It wasn’t a free day for entrance, but he paid for it without either of us commenting on it.

The zoo was so large that it took us several hours to go through the entire thing. Chris and I talked about what we were seeing, but almost nothing personal was brought up. There was something formal and restrained about that date, but I guess that was to be expected. 

Later in the afternoon, we were near the south end, having sodas on a bench. Since it seemed that I had been getting what I had wanted so far, I decided to ask for something more. “I’m kind of hungry, aren’t you?” I gave him the chance to pick something. “Where would you like to go?”

“Well, if we go out on that side, we’ll be right in Belmont.” That was an area just to the west, the “Little Italy” of the Bronx, which was, like the version downtown, known for its many restaurants. 

I made a very lame attempt at a quip. “Maybe we’ll meet Dion over there.” Jesus, why did I say that? Wherever Dion DiMucci and his Belmonts were by then, it was probably far from The Bronx. But embarrassing statements are usually forgotten quickly by everyone except the person who made it.

When we reached Southern Boulevard, we had to wait at a traffic light. Perhaps it was mostly unconscious, but Chris reached out to hold my hand as if I needed help or protection for merely crossing a street. We didn’t look at each other. He continued to hold it until we found a restaurant about four blocks away. Somehow the feeling on my hand was different from what I had experienced with Gina and Jenny, but I liked it anyway.

Hey, maybe this is going to work out after all.

####