Chineese Cafe
"Hey, Hotsie!"
"Hotsie-Totsie, back at Buchanan!"
Her smile is as thick and sassy as accent. "Hey boys." She looks them up and down, one by one, picking them apart just as she had done back in high school.
Vinnie has a better body, she mused lightly. "How you doin', Babarino?" She listened as he reminded her that he was working in the medical profession now, and was living in Queens now.
"Still a nurse, Vinnie?"
His still-sculptured features turned downward, into a pout. "Who tol' her! I asked ya not ta tell 'er!"
A cacophony of denials rained out from the Sweathogs. She waited for the noise to dim before shouting out. "Actually, Mrs. Babarino told me that."
Vinny became a squirming mass of rubbery limbs. "Aww, geez..."
"Vinny! Where'd ya park th' car! I wanted to show Mister Kotter!" Judy Borden-Babarino's voice rang through the air, sending the boys into convulsions of laughter.
"It's in the lot!"
"No it ain't! You parked it in front of the sandwich shop next door, didn't you?!"
Vinnie pulled himself away from the group for yet another argument with his wife, and Rosalie continued to size up the boys.
"No one needs to tell me what you're doing, mister superstar..." She smirked at Washington. "Mister forward center for the Knicks..."
"Yeah, but that ain't gonna last too long; the docs want to scope my knee."
"That's too bad..."
"They're saving me a spot in the front office, though. I'm still solid gold, baby, don't worry about me!"
Rosalie shook her head; only Freddie would pretend he was still a suave seventeen-year-old twenty years after the fact.
"Epstein..."
"Easy!"
She snorted. "How's the store?"
"The store is now a warehouse, my friend. Business is good!"
She couldn't help but be a little bit proud of Juan. He didn't have the grades to be a veterinarian, so he came as close as he could and opened up a pet supply store. The store then turned into a thriving chain.
"So, whatt're you doin' now, Rosalie?"
She shrugged. "Still at the college."
"They're still keepin' you?"
"Yeah, I know; who thought I had the smarts?"
"I knew ya had the smarts, Rosalie."
She turned at the sound of his voice. "Thanks, Arnold."
He clutched a cup of punch between his hands, as though it could warm the chilly room. Of all of the Sweathogs, he had changed the least; that nose was still the same. But he was wearing a business suit now.
"Do you wanna talk in private?"
The boys let out their catcalls, and she gritted her teeth. "Anyone wanna knuckle sandwich?"
They shrunk back; she took pride in the fact that they were still somewhat afraid of her.
She and Arnold found privacy in Mister Kotter's old classroom. They shut the door and pulled the blind, then took a look at what was once their old homeroom.
"Wow..." She touched the desk gingerly. "Hey! They got a computer now!"
"Oooh," Arnold remarked. "Fancy."
"Are you sure you don't want to be with the guys tonight?"
"Oh, I see them every Friday." He shrugged. Rosalie knew that the old gang hadn't ever dropped touch with one another. Considering that most of them had moved up to either Queens or Manhattan, they probably just met at fancier digs.
Fondly, she wondered, "how are you doing, Arnold? I mean, since Mary -"
"We're okay. The kids are doing better than I pictured." Rosalie watched him for signs of overstress. Arnold was the only classmate she had kept tabs on, though they hadn't talked in years. But everyone who was part of their graduating class knew that Mary Horshack had succumbed to post-partum depression and put her husband's mother's gun to her head. It had been all over the news.
"How's your job?"
He shrugged. "Filled with grief." He said lamely. He had gone on scholarship to NYU, and had ended up a psychological councilor. That and the joke amused Rosalie.
"How's yours?"
"I file all day, but I get paid all right. The kid and me are doing okay. But I'm kind of lonely, nowadays."
"Don't got a boyfriend?"
"Nope."
"Oh. Well, I'm not askin' because I wanna fill the underwear of -"
"No, I know. I understand." She paused, then pulled a sticky note from a pile. "Here." She scribbled something down. "Call me here after five on weekdays. I'm around more on the weekend."
He squinted at the number. "Rosalie, this looks like your number."
"It is."
"But why?"
She responded to the Horshack whine with a sigh. "Arnold, I ain't got many friend, and it ain't like you can have deep talks with our fellow...uh...porkers."
Confusion slowly gave way to a smile. "Ohhhhh."
"So you call me. Especially if you need to talk about the kids."
He nodded.
And when she opened the door, he let out that famous, bronchial laugh.