Harry and Dante
Chapter 4
By
Lazlo Zalezac
Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezac, 2006

The pencil flew over the paper driven by a strong confident hand. 
The face that emerged was alive and vibrant, even though the 
subject was a homeless man staring at the ground in front of him. 
Another of the homeless men was standing behind Dante watching 
him work. Awed, he said, “You’re good.”

Dante shrugged his shoulders and filled in details around the eyes. 
So many deep lines gave the eyes a depth that was nearly 
impossible to capture. The pencil moved with short quick strokes 
in a staccato beat. A deeper character emerged from the broad 
expanse of the paper. 

Another man commented, “Damn, that picture almost makes The 
Beamer look handsome.”

Dante smiled at the comment. The Beamer, called that because he 
liked Jim Beam Whiskey, was about as far from handsome as any 
man could be. Beamer looked up and said, “Don’t be insulting the 
word handsome. There are some folks who actually deserve to be 
called handsome. If you don’t believe me, look at Handsome Sam 
over there.”

The comment created a loud round of laughter from the men sitting 
around the public area of the Homeless Hotel. If there was anyone 
who was uglier than the Beamer, it was Handsome Sam. Sounding 
offended, Handsome Sam said, “Hey, I resemble that remark.”

Adding a few finishing touches to the sketch, Dante said, 
“Actually, Beamer has a great face to draw. Lots of character and 
experience is etched upon it. I’ll admit that I wouldn’t want to kiss 
that mug, but of course there isn’t anyone around here that I would 
want to kiss. Well, except for Bad Betty.”

Handsome Sam said, “Everyone wants to kiss Bad Betty.”

Grinning across the fire pit, Betty said, “There ain’t one face here 
I’d kiss and that includes Hungry Man, too.”

Dante flipped the page over and adjusted the drawing pad back on 
his lap. He said, “I saw you kissing Harry when we pulled up.”

Snorting, Betty said, “Harry ain’t here. I’m stuck with you ugly 
mugs.”

Turning to Betty, Dante started outlining the shape of her face on 
the page with a light stroke. The initial lines would disappear when 
he laid the heavier lines over them. Beamer asked, “Who is he 
drawing now, Bushman?”

Bushman looked down at the page and grinned. Wiggling his 
bushy eyebrows at Betty, he said, “He’s drawing Betty.”

Merv the Perv asked, “Can you draw her without her clothes?”

Dante asked, “How about I draw you without your clothes?”

“I saw him playing with himself while staring lustfully at the ducks 
swimming in the park just the other day,” Betty said. She held up 
her fist with her little finger extended and said, “I swear his cock 
isn’t any bigger than my little finger.”

Handsome Sam asked, “Ducks?”

“Hey, the egg has to come out from somewhere,” Merv the Perv 
replied.

“You are one sick fuck,” Bushman said. He looked over at Betty 
shaking her head and then back down at the sketch pad. He 
couldn’t believe the image Dante was creating.

Softening the strokes of his pencil, Dante emphasized the gentle 
nature of Betty that wasn’t easily seen on the face of the woman. 
There was a twinkle to the eyes that emerged infrequently, but was 
what drew men to her. His pencil captured the twinkle with ease. 
Bushman drew in a sharp breath.

Betty asked, “When are you going draw Bushman?”

Smiling, Dante said, “I’m sure there’s a face under all that hair, but 
I’ll be damned if I can see it.”

Stroking the beard that went all of the way down to the top of his 
pot belly, Bushman said, “You’re just jealous of this beard of 
mine.”

Scratching his chin with the end of his pencil, Dante had to admit 
that after a month of not shaving that his beard barely qualified as 
a one compared to that worn by the Bushman. He went back to 
work and commented, “You’ve got a magnificent beard. It just 
hides your face.”

“So you can’t draw me?”

“Sure I can. I did it last night while you were telling us about 
jumping into the creek and sinking to your knees in the mud,” 
Dante answered. He spent some time working on Betty’s hair. He 
wanted to capture that half tamed texture created by the hair that 
had escaped from the hair clip. 

The Beamer said, “I still don’t see why they had to pull you out 
with a tow truck.”

“They didn’t have to use a tow truck, that was the only thing that 
was handy,” the Bushman said.

Happy Harry walked into the camp and looked around at the 
laughing faces. He wandered behind Dante and looked at the 
picture. Shaking his head, he said, “That doesn’t look like me. It 
looks more like Bushman.”

“It is Bad Betty,” Dante said while chuckling. 

Looking hurt, Bad Betty said, “Your picture of me makes me look 
like Bushman?”

Winking at her, Harry said, “Sure does.”

“Damn, I’m gonna have to shave my underarms again.”

Merv the Perv said, “Don’t do that. Hairy underarms turn me on.”

“Road kill turns you on,” Bad Betty said rolling her eyes.

“You’re right. All except for skunk, of course. Skunk turns me into 
a rutting monster,” the resident pervert said. He scratched his 
stomach and said, “On that note, I’m off to the john to relieve 
some of the fluids that such sexy thoughts have riled up.”

Dante paused in his drawing and watched Merv the Perv walk off. 
The baby face told the story that his words tried to hide. He 
wondered how he would act if he’d lost his testicles to testicular 
cancer at the age of sixteen. Harry said, “He handles it the only 
way he knows how.”

“I know. I was just wondering how I’d handle it,” Dante said. He 
turned back to the pad and rubbed a thumb over a part of the paper. 
It softened the hair.

“If I didn’t know about his condition, I’d be scared to death of him. 
The things that come out of his mouth are downright disturbing,” 
Bad Betty said. She shivered at the thought of what kind of 
monster would say those things.

“He’s never hurt another person,” Happy Harry said. 

Bushman looked down at the sketchpad and said, “You’ve got to 
show that one to Bad Betty.”

Dante held up the sketch pad for everyone to see. Holding a hand 
over her mouth, Betty asked, “Is that how you see me?”

“Yes.”

Handsome Sam looked at the picture and then over at Bad Betty. 
He commented, “You better watch out, Harry. I think Bad Betty is 
going to fall in love with Hungry Man.”

“That’s a mighty fine picture,” said the Beamer. 

Recovering from the shock of the picture, Betty said, “You’re right 
Harry. He did make me look like Bushman.”

Dante laughed and flipped the page over to begin another drawing. 
Bushman said, “It’s getting late. If you’re going to eat tonight, 
you’d better earn your keep.”

Closing the sketch pad, Dante asked, “What do you want me to 
do?”

“How about cleaning the sleep platforms that opened up today? 
Bad Betty, you help him. While they’re doing that, Beamer can 
wash out the bunks. I’ll let Handsome Sam help me cook today,” 
Bushman answered.

After stowing the sketch pad in the Roach Coach, Dante said, 
“Betty, why don’t you get the pail and the bleach. I’ll carry the 
platforms over to the hose.”

She nodded and went to get the bucket, brushes, and bleach. He 
went to the sewer pipe sections that had been freed up with the 
departure of three of the homeless men that morning. Looking in 
the pipes, he frowned. This was one of the dirtiest and nastiest jobs 
at the Homeless Hotel. He pulled out the wooden platform on 
which the former occupant had slept and dragged it over by the 
showers. A pungent combination of odors rose off the wooden 
platform. He dropped it and went back for another after glancing 
over at Bad Betty as she filled the bucket with water.

Two more trips and he was ready to help Betty scrub down the 
platforms. She handed him a brush and said, “Let’s get to it.”

He dunked the brush into the bleach solution and then started 
scrubbing with great energy. The smell of bleach permeated the air 
and brought tears to his eyes. Stains disappeared under the 
energetic scrubbing. Once one side was done, he grabbed the hose 
and sprayed if off. He flipped the platform over and repeated the 
process on it. He said, “I hate this job.”

“Everyone has to do it sometime,” Bad Betty said. She looked up 
from the piece she was working on and studied the artist. In a 
softer voice, she asked, “Do you really see me like that?”

“Sure.”

Using her shoulder to wipe her cheekbone, she was thankful that 
the bleach hid her tears. She said, “You made me look all soft and 
gentle.”

“I draw what I see, but I don’t draw everything that I see,” Dante 
said.

“What does that mean?”

“I didn’t draw the sadness that is most visible on The Beamer’s 
face,” Dante said.

“Oh,” she said and wondered what he hadn’t drawn about her. She 
started scrubbing with a vengeance to push the question out of her 
mind.

Dante finished the first platform before Bad Betty finished hers. 
He went to work on the third one and had nearly finished half of it 
before Betty was done. She rinsed off his side and suggested, 
“Why don’t you take the first two back while I finish the backside 
of this one?”

“Sure thing, Betty,” Dante answered. He picked up the one he had 
finished and carried it off. There was still the slight smell of 
bleach, but it was no longer over-powering. Beamer was still 
washing the third section of sewer pipes and said, “I’ll be done in a 
minute.”

While wrestling the wooden platform into one of the sections of 
pipe, Dante said, “I never thought I’d spend an afternoon doing 
this.”

Beamer said, “I grew up thinking that I’d be a brain surgeon or 
something like that. I never thought that a bottle of booze would be 
more important to me than saving lives. I never thought I’d spend 
my life wandering the streets, sleeping in alleys, or eating out of 
trash cans.”

Dante didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything for him to say that 
Beamer hadn’t already thought. Having gotten the platform in 
place, he said, “I’ll be right back with another one.”

“Okay.”

When Dante returned with the second platform, Beamer was gone. 
He wrestled the platform into the section of pipe without much 
difficulty. A month on the road had given him a certain facility in 
dealing with the sections of sewer pipe. At least now he didn’t hit 
his head each time he entered and exited one of them. 

Happy Harry was standing by the third section of sewer pipe. He 
helped Dante slide the platform in place. Once they were finished, 
Harry said, “We’re heading out tomorrow morning.”

This was the second time that he had been in a New York 
Homeless Hotel. The first time they had dropped off Maggie and 
stayed a couple of days. They had then turned north and visited 
sites in New York, Maine, Massachusetts, and Connecticut. He 
knew that Harry was going to turn south and cover New Jersey, 
Maryland, Washington D.C, and Virginia over the next couple of 
weeks. 

Dante thought about Maggie and how much he would like to see 
her. His time in the homeless hotels and seeing the other women 
on the street had convinced him that Maggie was a special person. 
He was hoping that he’d have a chance to see her while they were 
in New York, but the chance had never come. He said, “I’d like to 
stay here a couple of extra days.”

“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain 
Maggie James, would it?”

Dante hadn’t known her last name and he was sure that Harry 
knew that. Attempting to look a little disinterested, he said, 
“Maybe. I thought I might see how she’s doing.”

“I wish you luck,” Harry said with a grin. He rubbed his chin as if 
giving the matter a lot of thought. The wry expression on his face 
suggested that it was all an act. Finally, he said, “I guess I’ll see 
you in the South Side Homeless Hotel in Washington D.C. in 
about two weeks.”

“I guess,” Dante answered. He had more than enough money in his 
wallet to fly to Washington D.C. and Harry knew it. 

“In that case, I’ll leave now and head across the river to New 
Jersey,” Harry said. 

“I need my suitcase,” Dante said.

“I already put your suitcase in the storage shed,” Harry said while 
walking away.

Shaking his head, Dante stared at the retreating back of the green 
robed Druid wondering how he knew that kind of stuff. He was 
still standing there when the Roach Coach pulled out of the 
Homeless Hotel. Pulling himself together, he wandered up to the 
public area. He hadn’t even sat down when Handsome Sam asked, 
“So who is this mystery lady you’re looking for?”

Laughing nervously about the question, Dante asked, “Don’t you 
have anything better to do than gossip about me?”

“Let me check my social calendar,” Handsome Sam said after 
theatrically opening an invisible book and pretending to check out 
the contents. He said, “Nope, nothing to do until dinner.”

Putting her hands over her heart, Bad Betty threw her head back 
and said, “He’s dumping me already.”

Bushman said, “You’ve already rejected him once. Give another 
girl a chance to reject him.” 

Dante listened as his future sex life was discussed with lots of 
insults, impossibilities, and jokes thrown in. He knew that they hid 
their vulnerabilities behind such comments and didn’t mind. From 
talking about his merits as a lover, they turned to appropriate 
places to bed her. After twenty minutes of listening to them argue 
over whether an alley way or under an overpass was the better 
location, Dante gave up and went for some coffee. 

He was pouring a cup of coffee when Bushman stepped over to 
him. In a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry, he said, “You might want 
to stay in a hotel tonight. You need to get a good night’s sleep, a 
hot shower, shave, and get hair cut.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Dante said. He’d feel a lot more presentable 
if he were to do that.

“I’ll call you a cab,” Bushman said before stepping away.

The middle-aged woman’s face had adopted a very hard 
expression upon seeing Dante enter the room alone. He was too 
clean and well dressed to be in the business. In a voice that was 
cold enough to freeze water, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Maggie James,” Dante answered looking at all of 
the statues of angels on the shelves behind the woman. He 
recognized the angel Harry had given Maggie before she had 
entered the building.

The woman pretended to look through some records and said, “I 
can’t say if she was ever here.”

Dante pointed to the statue and said, “Happy Harry gave her that 
statue when we dropped her off here a month ago.”

The expression on the woman’s face underwent a dramatic change. 
Smiling, she asked, “You know Happy Harry?”

“I’ve been traveling with him for the past month,” Dante answered 
surprised at the sudden change of expression on her face.

“You wouldn’t be an artist, would you?”

“Yes. I’m working on a statue of Happy Harry.”

“Well, Hungry Man. I’m not supposed to give out that kind of 
information, but it seems to me that I heard she was going to 
school at New York University.”

The use of his street name surprised him. He asked, “How do you 
know who I am?”

“People talk. Stories get around,” she answered. She wasn’t going 
to say that he was all that Maggie could talk about when she had 
first arrived. She had seen love before and had recognized it in 
Maggie. 

Dante shook his head and said, “That homeless rumor mill is really 
something. I guess if you can find out that the Duke of Dallas had 
a baby girl named Amelia up in Cleveland, then word getting 
around about an artist traveling with Harry is nothing.”

The woman smiled at the news he had delivered and at his 
misunderstanding of what she had said. She said, “So the Duchess 
finally had a kid. I’m glad to hear that. I’m not surprised that she 
named it after the Chicago Angel. Miss Amy really helped her out 
of a mess.

“You know, I went to her wedding. I cried like a baby when Miss 
Amy was able to walk up to the podium without the braces. She 
was so beautiful that day.” 

Everywhere he went, Dante heard about the Chicago Angel. 
Everywhere he went, someone was sure to mention that they had 
attended her wedding. The more he heard about her, the more he 
wanted to meet her. He said, “I’ve heard that it was quite an 
event.”

Breaking out of her memories, she said, “You might want to 
wander down to New York University. It’s just a couple of blocks 
from here.” 

Surprised by the sudden change of topic, Dante said, “Thank you.”

“I never said anything,” she answered with a smile and a wink.

Washington Square was a large open area surrounded by several 
city blocks containing buildings associated with the New York 
University. Dante stood in the center of the square and looked 
around trying to figure out how he was to find Maggie James. 
Stopping a student, he asked, “How can I find out where a student 
lives on campus?”

“I’ve got no idea,” the student said and then went on their way.

Dante went over to one of the benches and sat down. Ten minutes 
later, a homeless man shuffled up and asked, “What’s the matter 
Hungry Man?”

“Hello, Boozer. I’m looking for someone and don’t know how to 
find her.”

“You shaved.”

“Yes I did. I wanted to look presentable.”

“Is she a student here or something?”

“Yes.”

Booze scratched his four-day old beard for a minute and then said, 
“Wait here, Hungry Man. I’ll be back with someone who can help 
you.”

“Thanks, Boozer.” 

Twenty minutes later a NYU Policeman stopped in front of Dante. 
Looking down at him, he asked, “Are you Hungry Man?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Boozer said that you’re a special friend of Happy Harry. He said 
that you’re looking for someone,” the man said. He examined the 
artist surprised to find that someone so well dressed was homeless. 
He wondered what the story was behind the guy. 

Shocked at the power of Happy Harry’s name to open doors, Dante 
looked at the badge. He said, “That’s right, Officer Harrigan. I’ve 
been commissioned to do a statue of Happy Harry and have been 
traveling with him for a month.”

“You can call me Bill. I can’t put you in touch with her, but I can 
put her in touch with you.”

Sitting up, Dante said, “That would be great, Bill.”

“What’s her name?”

“Maggie James.”

The officer stepped away and talked over his radio for a minute. 
Dante couldn’t hear what he said, but the body language looked 
promising. After what seemed like an eternity, Bill returned and 
said, “An officer has been dispatched to where she’s supposed to 
be. He’ll give her word that you’re sitting here. If she doesn’t come 
by in two hours, I’d leave if I were you. If you’re still here, I’ll 
have to chase you off.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Dante answered. For the first time, he wondered if 
she would want to see him. 

“If we can’t find her, we’ll let you know,” Bill said as he walked 
off.

Twenty minutes passed and Dante was getting worried that she 
wouldn’t show up. Did she actually like him? He was afraid that 
the connection he felt with her was only in his mind. Why would 
she want to see him anyway? He fidgeted in his seat and looked 
around. He spotted her heading in his direction. She was wearing 
blue jeans and a sweat shirt with NYU written across it. Her hair 
was pulled back in a pony tail. She looked like a million dollars. 

He stood to greet her. She spotted him and waved. Feeling like a 
little boy being told that he had a new bicycle, he wanted to jump 
up and down. Instead, he waved back to her and headed in her 
direction. When he was close enough for her to hear him, he said, 
“Hello, Maggie.”

“Hello, Hungry Man,” she said unable to believe that he had 
actually taken the effort to find her. 

Waving to the environment, he said, “So you made it to college.”

“Yes, I did,” she said.

“I know the life of a student is busy, but do you have time for a 
coffee?”

“Sure. Let’s go over to the student center and have a cup.”

Looking over her, he said, “Wow. Student life must really agree 
with you. You look great.”

She lit up at the compliment and said, “You’re looking good. Life 
on the road with Harry must be interesting.”

Although Dante wasn’t sure how it happened, somewhere between 
Washington Square and the Student Center he found that he was 
holding hands with her as they walked. When they stepped inside 
the Student Center, Bill walked over and said, “I see that she found 
you.”

“Yes. Thank you so much for your help,” Dante said. 

Recalling that the man had said that he was doing a statue of 
Happy Harry, Bill said, “Maybe one day you’ll do a statue for the 
school.”

Dante pointed to a statue of a student walking while reading an 
open book in his hands. “You already have one of mine.”

“Wow, that’s nice,” Maggie said.

“That’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do in the future. 
After I’m done with my commission, I’m going to cast a statue of 
the most beautiful woman in the world. That is, if I have your 
permission.”

Confused, Maggie asked, “What do you need my permission for?”

“How else will I get you to model for it?”