Boys and Girls Together

More praise for Boys & Girls Together "An extraordinary achievement . . . [that] will break y o u r h e a r t . . . will m a k e you laugh . . . will m a k e you weep . . . It is impossible to praise this b o o k t o o highly. If you care at all about people w h o have b l o o d in their veins, it is imperative t h a t you read it. If you are nostalgic for novels of plot a n d structure a n d c o m m i t m e n t , t h e n you can't afford to do w i t h o u t it." —Cleveland Plain Dealer

And acclaim for William Goldman's classic thriller, Marathon Man " S u p e r b . . . O n e hell o f a r e a d . . . There are two literary virtues t h a t o n e wishes h a d n ' t b e c o m e cliches: 'It's a good read' a n d 'It exists on several levels.' O n e wishes these h a d n ' t b e c o m e cliches because they are two obvious virtues of William G o l d m a n ' s Marathon Man! —Washington Post 1

"An exciting—often funny, often sad—chase . . . G o l d m a n does a masterly job." —Associated Press "Well-plotted, expertly characterized, a n d fast-paced." —Los Angeles Times "A slick, professional j o b .. . G o l d m a n has [his] craft well u n d e r control." —The Boston Globe "A cliff-hanger . . . I n t e r n a t i o n a l skullduggery, clandestine m a y h e m a n d sweet revenge." —Fort Worth

Star Telegram

ALSO BY WILLIAM GOLDMAN FICTION THE TEMPLE OF GOLD (1957) YOUR TURN TO CURTSY, MY TURN TO BOW (1958) SOLDIER IN THE RAIN (1960) BOYS AND GIRLS TOGETHER (1964) NO WAY TO TREAT A LADY (1964) THE THING OF IT IS . . . (1967) FATHER'S DAY (1971) THE PRINCESS BRIDE (1973) MARATHON MAN (1974) MAGIC (1976) TINSEL (1979) CONTROL (1982) THE SILENT GONDOLIERS (1983) THE COLOR OF LIGHT (1984) HEAT (1985) BROTHERS (1986) NONFICTION THE SEASON: A CANDID LOOK AT BROADWAY (1969) THE MAKING OF "A BRIDGE TOO FAR" (1977) ADVENTURES IN THE SCREEN

SCREENPLAYS

MASQUERADE (WITH MICHAEL RELPH) (1965) HARPER (1966) BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID (1969) THE HOT ROCK (1972) THE GREAT WALDO PEPPER (1975) THE STEPFORD WIVES (1975) ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN (1976) MARATHON MAN (1976) A BRIDGE TOO FAR (1977) MAGIC (1978) MR. HORN (1979) HEAT (1987) THE PRINCESS BRIDE (1987) MISERY (1990) THE YEAR OF THE COMET (1992) MAVERICK (1994) THE CHAMBER (1996) THE GHOST AND THE DARKNESS (1996) ABSOLUTE POWER (1997) THE GENERAL'S DAUGHTER (1999) HEARTS IN ATLANTIS (2001)

TRADE: A PERSONAL VIEW OF HOLLYWOOD AND SCREENWRITING(1983) WAIT TILL NEXT YEAR (WITH MIKE LUPICA) (1988) HYPE AND GLORY (1990) FOUR SCREENPLAYS (1995) FIVE SCREENPLAYS (1997) WHICH LIE DID I TELL? MORE ADVENTURES IN THE SCREEN TRADE (2000)

PLAYS

BLOOD, SWEAT AND STANLEY POOLE (WITH JAMES GOLDMAN) (1961) A FAMILY AFFAIR (WITH JAMES GOLDMAN AND JOHN KANDER) (1961) FOR C H I L D R E N

WIGGER(1974)

William Goldman's

Boys & Girls Together

BALLANTINE BOOKS

•

NEW YORK

A Ballantine Book Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group Copyright © 1964 by William Goldman Copyright renewed 1992 by William Goldman Foreword copyright © 2001 by William Goldman All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published by Atheneum Publishers, New York, in 1964. Ballantine is a registered trademark and the Ballantine colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc. www.randomhouse.com/BB/ Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 00-111113 ISBN 0-345-43973-2 Cover design by Carl Galian Cover art by Tom Nikosey Text design by Holly Johnson Manufactured in the United States of America First Ballantine Books Edition: August 2001 1 0

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

FOR

My Father

East Side, West Side, all around the town, The tots sang "Ring-a-rosie," "London Bridge is falling down"; Boys and girls together, me and Mamie Rorke, Tripped the light fantastic on the sidewalks of New York. JAMES W . B L A K E ( 1 8 9 4 )

Contents FOREWORD

xi

Part I I. II.

AARON WALT

1 16

III. IV.

SID & E S T H E R JENNY

55 76

V.

B R A N C H & ROSE

93

Part II VI. VII. VIII. IX. X.

S I D & E S T H E R & RUDY

126

AARON WALT RUDY AARON & BRANCH

190 208 240 265

Part III XL

JENNY

301

XII. XIII.

RUDY BRANCH

317 340

XIV. XV. XVI.

J E N N Y 8c C H A R L E Y WALT AARON

369 408 424

XVII. XVIII.

JENNY & CHARLEY AARON

443 483

XIX. XX. XXI.

WALT & T O N Y JENNY & CHARLEY AARON & BRANCH

514 544 612

Part IV

Part V XXII-XXVI.

BOYS & G I R L S T O G E T H E R

ix

633

Foreword to Boys & Girls Together

I

n 1938 I was seven, a n d my family had recently m o v e d to the t h e n very small t o w n of H i g h l a n d Park, outside of Chicago, a n d why I cann o t tell you, b u t for either o n e week or several, we got t h e Sunday New York Times.

I was already a m o v i e n u t , h a d been to the t h e a t e r m o r e t h a n a little a n d right now, as I write this, sitting in 2000 at a m a c h i n e u n d r e a m e d of t h e n , I can still see t h e seven-year-old child, t u r n i n g page after page of Times movie ads a n d theater ads a n d thinking, "I m u s t t r y a n d live there someday." I r e m e m b e r w h e r e I was in t h e r o o m , the p a t t e r n of t h e yellow rug, the light c o m i n g in from t h e bay w i n d o w at t h e far e n d . A n d as anyone w h o k n o w s me will tell you, I don't r e m e m b e r w h a t I h a d for l u n c h yesterday, m u c h less r u g p a t t e r n s . But the kid of that m o m e n t a n d that wish have b e e n inside ever since.

I t h i n k the original w o r k i n g title was Magic Town. I t h i n k I h a d this m u c h : a b u n c h of y o u n g people c o m e to N e w York. I k n o w I k n e w it went badly for t h e m . That's it, folks. O o p s , sorry, o n e m o r e thing: I knew m o r e t h a n a n y t h i n g that the novel had to be long. If it r a n over a t h o u s a n d t y p e d pages, fine. Ask me n o w where that lunatic n o t i o n c a m e from, I k n o w n o t . But long novels, I have survived to tell you, are t h e worst to write. I've always b e e n g o o d at guilt, b u t I t h i n k w h e n I began Boys 6- Girls Together, I m u s t have h a d O l y m p i c records in m i n d . You see, I had c o m e to t h e city. W h e n I was t w e n t y - t w o . A n d I had m i r a c u l o u s l y b e c o m e a writer. A n d the first t h r e e novels, t h o u g h short, h a d also b e e n successful. I was going great, no q u e s t i o n . But all a r o u n d m e , my friends were falling to e a r t h . A n d so, a r o u n d thirty, I set o u t to write my b o o k of a t o n e m e n t .

xi

xii • FOREWORD TO BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R Because I was p r o g r a m m e d all my life to fail, to finish, if I g o t to t h e line at all, at the back of the pack. W h e n I was m a y b e six or seven, I w e n t to p l a y g r o u p a n d at the end, t h e y h a d p a r e n t s ' day a n d there was a r u n n i n g race, I was in it, a n d it started a n d I t o o k off— —entering a nightmare— —I looked a r o u n d — n o o n e was near m e — / had gone in the wrong direction— — c a n you imagine t h e h u m i l i a t i o n ? I could. I did. — a n d t h e n blessedly c a m e M i n n i e ' s voice, M i n n i e , w h o h a d w o r k e d for my family close to half a c e n t u r y was s h o u t i n g now, " r u n Billy r u n " — — s o I ran, a n d I w o n — b e c a u s e I h a d nor been going in t h e w r o n g direction at all, I was simply o u t in front, far o u t in front, w i n n i n g if you w i l l — a n d I simply could n o t conceive it.

H i r a m H a y d n , my beloved editor for fifteen years, was a novelist himself a n d quick to u n d e r s t a n d t h e p r o b l e m s of fellow fumblers. Usually I p r e sented h i m with a c o m p l e t e d novel a n d we w o u l d t h e n go to w o r k . Since I h a d no idea w h a t Boys & Girls Together w o u l d b e , he p r e t t y m u c h directed the way t h e b o o k m i g h t go. Take the five characters a n d write a chapter a b o u t each of their c h i l d h o o d s , he'd say. So I w o u l d . T h e n we'd go on to the next p e r i o d of their lives. T h e process of w r i t i n g t h e b o o k t o o k three years—I s t o p p e d in t h e m i d d l e to do a play a n d a m u s i cal on Broadway, b o t h of w h i c h stiffed, you will be thrilled to l e a r n — a n d he was essential all t h e way. He m i g h t say " W h a t ' s h a p p e n i n g to Walt, h o w ' s Walt doing, that's w h a t I'd like to know," a n d off I'd go, trying to figure for myself h o w Walt was, in p o i n t of fact, d o i n g , a n d I'd c o m e up w i t h a Walt chapter, write it d o w n . My first three n o v e l s — T h e Temple of Gold, Your Turn to Curtsy, My Turn to Bow a n d Soldier in the Rain h a d n o t been well received critically. Except by D o r o t h y Parker w h o , bless her, could n o t have b e e n kinder. H i r a m t h o u g h t Boys & Girls Together w o u l d establish me as o n e of t h e serious American novelists o f m y generation. W r o n g . I t w a s . . . h o w shall I p u t i t . . .

Slaughtered. T h e m o s t crucifying reviews up a n d d o w n the line. I was t r u l y on t h e verge of tears for weeks. But o u t of t h a t c a m e a wonderful d e c i s i o n — — f u c k 'em! I have n o t read reviews for over thirty-five years now, g o o d or b a d . I

FOREWORD TO BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • xiii r e m e m b e r being sent an entire package of raves for t h e film of All the President's Men. —fuck 'em! Never o p e n e d it. I d o n ' t w a n t to read what those assholes have to say. A n d if any of you w a n t to write, I c a n n o t give y o u better advice. D o n ' t read anybody. Just fuck 'em! A n d g o write s o m e m o r e . Two final Boys & Girls Together stories, b o t h involving Princeton. T h e first involves finishing t h e b o o k . It was 1963 a n d I was n o t in great shape. I'd rented a h o u s e in Princeton for t h e s u m m e r to complete t h e writing a n d I was, of course, exhausted from finally a l m o s t getting it d o n e b u t m o r e this: I h a d a b a d back t h e n a n d it h a d c h o s e n to go out. So I lived on red wine a n d p a i n pills to force sleep, caffeine to get me going. Plus this: I h a d to wear a girdle to get t h r o u g h t h e day. Didn't do a lot for my g o o d old masculine sense of self-esteem. Anyway, the day I was d o n e I was alone in t h e h o u s e a n d stared at " t h e e n d " w h e n I wrote t h o s e blessed words, got u p , w e n t o u t s i d e to t h e backyard, where we h a d a child's swing set up for d a u g h t e r Jenny, t h e n all of a year. I sat in it, s m o k i n g , a n d s u d d e n l y I h a d this realization: J had told all my stories. Every one. I sat there t h i n k i n g it couldn't be true, because t h a t w o u l d m e a n t h e end for me as a writer, t h e n luckily I r e m e m b e r e d t h e story of t h e m o t h e r w h o dressed her son i n h e r clothes . . . N o , I'd p u t that in t h e novel, given it to Branch. I went t h r o u g h t h e m all a n d I'd given t h e m all away. That's my chief m e m o r y of that afternoon. K n o w i n g what I'd d o n e , w o n d e r i n g what I was going to do with the rest of my life. (I did n o t realize at t h e t i m e that two years d o w n t h e line, in t h a t same university t o w n , over C h r i s t m a s vacation, these two outlaws n a m e d Butch a n d S u n d a n c e w o u l d ride up from S o u t h America to save me.)

We m o v e d p e r m a n e n t l y to Princeton in early 1965, w h e n Susanna, D a u g h t e r N u m b e r Two, was b o r n . Shortly after, t h e regular writing teacher c a m e to me a n d said he h a d gotten a s u d d e n shot at sabbatical a n d n e e d e d a q u i c k replacement. W o u l d I do it?

xiv • FOREWORD TO BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R I h a d always w a n t e d to teach. Easy yes answer. I h a d a b u n c h of kids for creative writing, w a n t e d t h e m to r e m e m b e r me kindly, so I stopped w r i t i n g for t h e year a n d just t a u g h t . I m u s t have d o n e well because the visiting w r i t i n g professor (there were two at P r i n c e t o n in those days) c a m e to me on a Spring a f t e r n o o n a n d asked if I w o u l d like to be the p e r m a n e n t professor of writing there. My decision was that if I d i d n o t have any heavier a w o r k l o a d t h a n I'd already h a d , yes. Any m o r e , a n d I w o u l d never be able to get b a c k to my o w n work. He said he w o u l d get b a c k to m e . N o w you m u s t k n o w t h i s — t h a t s u m m e r , Boys & Girls Together was the beach b o o k in paperback. H u g e success. A very sexy cover for those days. A n d was the b o o k salacious? Sure, t h e gay characters I guess were m o r e shocking t h e n . But n o m o r e t h a n that. Days kept going, as t h e y d o , by. No answer a b o u t b e c o m i n g a writing professor. Finally (we are well i n t o May) I r a n into the visiting teacher a n d asked w h a t was going on. "I've b e e n avoiding you," he said. " I ' m just d r e a d i n g this." W h a t he was dreading was t h a t o n e of the t o p professors in t h e English d e p a r t m e n t , old a n d gray a n d gay, h a d h e a r d a b o u t Boys & Girls Together, a n d rejected me w i t h these words: I WILL N O T HAVE OUR C H I L D R E N WORSHIPING AT THE SHRINE OF A PORNOGRAPHER.

I t o o k my family a n d left P r i n c e t o n that week. Back to Magic Town w h e r e I belonged. Been to P r i n c e t o n o n e t i m e since. As s o m e o n e m u s t have said: fuck 'em!

Boys& Girls Together

Part I I Aaron would not come out. Nestled inside his m o t h e r , blind a n d wrinkled a n d w a r m , he defied t h e doctors. Charlotte's screams s k i m m e d along t h e hospital corridors, b u t Aaron, lodged at his peculiar angle, was mindless of t h e m . Charlotte v o m i t e d a n d shrieked a n d w a n t e d to die. As t h a t possibility b e c a m e less a n d less r e m o t e , t h e d o c t o r s hurriedly decided to o p e r a t e a n d , deftly cutting t h r o u g h the wall of Charlotte's a b d o m e n , t h e y slit t h e u t e r u s a n d reached inside. P i n k a n d white like a c a n d y stick, A a r o n entered t h e world. It seemed to be a great place to visit. His father could n o t have been gladder to see h i m . H e n r y Firestone, universally k n o w n as H a n k , was a big m a n , confident, w i t h a quick smile a n d a l o u d , r o u g h voice. Aaron never forgot that voice; years later he w o u l d still spin s u d d e n l y a r o u n d — on t h e street, in a r e s t a u r a n t , a theater l o b b y — w h e n e v e r he h e a r d a voice remotely similar. H a n k was a lawyer, for S i m m o n s a n d Sloane, t h e Wall Street firm, a n d w h e n he was t h i r t y - o n e Mr. Sloane himself m a d e H a n k a full partner, Mr. S i m m o n s being b e d - r i d d e n that day with gout, a disease to which he noisily s u c c u m b e d s o m e m o n t h s later. T h e week he b e c a m e a partner, H a n k was sent to R o a n o k e , Virginia, for a three-day business trip. H e stayed two weeks a n d c a m e back m a r r i e d . H e r n a m e was C h a r l o t t e Crowell, of the R o a n o k e Crowells, or what o n c e h a d been t h e R o a n o k e Crowells, the family h a v i n g been comfortably p o o r since shortly before t h e t u r n of the century. C h a r l o t t e was tiny, barely five feet tall, w i t h a sweet face a n d a voice as soft as her h u s b a n d ' s was harsh. Her hair was black a n d she wore it long a n d straight, d o w n her back; even w h e n it began t u r n i n g cruelly white (she was n o t yet thirty) she wore it that way. H a n k a n d C h a r l o t t e lived in N e w York for a few m o n t h s b u t then, the s u m m e r after they were m a r r i e d , they m o v e d to a large white colonial on

1

2 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

Library Place, a gently c u r v i n g tree-lined street in the best section of P r i n c e t o n , N e w Jersey. Mr. Sloane himself lived in P r i n c e t o n , on Battle Road, of course, a n d w h e n he saw t h a t t h e h o u s e on Library Place was up for sale he m e n t i o n e d it casually to H a n k , w h o immediately t o o k C h a r lotte for a look-see. Charlotte loved it—it r e m i n d e d her so of R o a n o k e — so H a n k b o u g h t it for her. He c o u l d n ' t afford it b u t he b o u g h t it anyway, partially because Charlotte loved it a n d partially because she was pregn a n t a n d everybody told t h e m N e w York was no place to b r i n g up child r e n . T h e y m o v e d into the h o u s e t h e week after D e b o r a h was b o r n , all waxy a n d red, t h e only t i m e she was ever unattractive. T h e wax soon washed away, t h e red softened i n t o pink, a n d she b e c a m e a beautiful baby, fat, spoiled a n d sassy. C h a r l o t t e a d o r e d h e r a n d H a n k liked her well e n o u g h — h e cooed at her a n d carried her a r o u n d on his big s h o u l d e r s a n d gently p o k e d her soft flesh till she g i g g l e d — H a n k liked h e r fine, b u t he was waiting for his son. T h e wait t o o k over two years. H a n k w o r k e d h a r d at t h e office, m a k i n g m o r e m o n e y t h a n he ever h a d before in spite of t h e depression, and C h a r l o t t e hired a full-time m a i d a n d t h e n a gardener to t e n d t h e lawn on s u m m e r m o r n i n g s . T h e y e n t e r t a i n e d a g o o d deal a n d t h e y e n t e r t a i n e d well; Charlotte h a d the gift. H a n k gave up tennis for golf, w h i c h b o r e d h i m , b u t it was better for business. A lot of things b o r e d H a n k until t h e evening A a r o n emerged. Before t h e b o y was a m o n t h old his r o o m was c r a m m e d w i t h toys a n d dolls a n d music boxes, a n d a m e n a g e r i e of stuffed animals p y r a m i d e d against t h e foot of his canopied b e d . A l m o s t every afternoon H a n k j o u r neyed n o r t h to F. A. O. Schwarz's for m o r e a n d m o r e presents, a n d w h e n Charlotte w a r n e d he was in d a n g e r of buying o u t the store he only n o d ded h a p p i l y a n d told her she h a d guessed exactly his last r e m a i n i n g a m b i tion. Nights H a n k spent in t h e boy's r o o m , rocking h i m to sleep, singing soft lullabies in his big r o u g h voice. W h e n e v e r the b o y was s i c k — a n d he was sick a g o o d d e a l — H a n k w o u l d go to w o r k late a n d r e t u r n early, calling in constantly from N e w York, always asking the s a m e question: "Aaron? H o w is Aaron? H o w is my s o n ? " H a n k loved Aaron; C h a r l o t t e loved D e b o r a h . There were n o troubles on Library Place. For Aaron's third b i r t h d a y H a n k b o u g h t h i m a jungle g y m . T h e y set it up together, the two of t h e m , in t h e back yard. It was a m a r v e l o u s s t r u c t u r e , m o r e t h a n six feet high, a n d H a n k used to take A a r o n a n d lift h i m , setting h i m on the very t o p r u n g . " H o l d tight now," H a n k w o u l d say. " H o l d tight a n d stay up there all by yourself." So Aaron w o u l d h o l d tight,

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 3

sitting on t h e t o p r u n g , his tiny fists gripping the bars for balance. H a n k w o u l d back away from h i m t h e n , calling o u t "Scared?" a n d A a r o n would yell " N o , no," even t h o u g h he was. O n e Saturday a f t e r n o o n the m a i d was o u t a n d C h a r l o t t e was watching D e b o r a h p e r f o r m at ballet class, so H a n k a n d A a r o n played cops and r o b b e r s for a while, s h o o t i n g each other, falling, s u d d e n l y up again, r u n n i n g pell-mell across t h e lawn. After t h a t it was t i m e to play on t h e jungle g y m . H a n k lifted A a r o n , carried h i m on his big s h o u l d e r s , carefully placed h i m on the very t o p r u n g . H a n k started backing away. " H o l d tight now," he said. Aaron held tight. "Are you scared?" he said. " N o , " Aaron cried; "no." H a n k stood a distance from the jungle g y m a n d smiled his quick smile. T h e n , thoughtlessly, he paled, falling to his knees. He gasped for a m o m e n t , then slipped to t h e grass. Gasping louder, he crawled forward, crawled t o w a r d t h e j u n g l e gym, saying, "Aaron. Aaron." He raised o n e big a r m , t h e n d r o p p e d it. Reaching for his son, he died, sprawled full length, white on the green lawn. A a r o n giggled. " T h a t was good, Daddy," he said. He d i d n o t k n o w the n a m e of the game, b u t w h a t e v e r it was it was obviously still o n — h i s father, after all, h a d n o t a n s w e r e d — s o he giggled again a n d stared d o w n at t h e d e a d m a n . It was a fine s u m m e r day, w i n d y a n d w a r m , a n d Aaron stared up at the clouds a m o m e n t , watching t h e m skid across the sky. G r a b b i n g on to the bars w i t h all his strength, he looked d o w n again—it frightened h i m to l o o k d o w n , it was so far—but his father still h a d n o t m o v e d . "That's good, Daddy," A a r o n said. He giggled o n c e m o r e , lifting his head, staring at t h e clouds. His fists were b e g i n n i n g to get sore from h o l d i n g the bars, b u t he d i d n o t dare loosen his grip. " D o w n , Daddy," A a r o n said, looking u p . "I w a n n a c o m e down." T h e g a m e was still on; his father did not move. A a r o n gazed at t h e clouds a n d started to sing. " H o w sweet to be a cloud floating in t h e blue. It makes you very p r o u d to be a little cloud." It was a s o n g from Winnie the Pooh—Aaron k n e w all the songs from Winnie the Pooh—and Pooh sang it w h e n he was floating up after t h e h o n e y on t h e tail of t h e balloon. But he never got t h e h o n e y b e cause t h e bees found h i m o u t a n d P o o h fell all t h e way d o w n . P o o h fell. Aaron's h a n d s ached terribly. "Daddy," he said louder. "Take me d o w n , Daddy. Please take me d o w n . " His father m a d e no m o v e to do so. "Daddy," Aaron said, frightened now. "I'll d r i n k my m i l k I will I will I p r o m i s e b u t take m e d o w n . " H e hated t o cry—his father never c r i e d — b u t suddenly he was crying, t h e tears stinging his eyes. "Take me d o w n , Daddy." He began to shake a n d his h a n d s were n u m b a n d t h e tears would

4 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN n o t stop. " T A K E M E D O W N D A H - D E E . " His chest b u r n e d and the clouds were m o n s t e r s diving at h i m so he closed his eyes b u t he t h o u g h t he m i g h t fall so he o p e n e d t h e m , alternating his stare, up to t h e diving m o n sters, d o w n to the still figure, up a n d d o w n , up a n d d o w n . A a r o n began t o scream. " D A H - D E E D A H - D E E D A H - D E E TAKE M E D O W N D A H - D E E TAKE M E D O W N TAKE M E D O W N D A H - D E E D A H - D E E D A H - D E E D A H - D E E TAKE M E DOWN."

He was still screaming w h e n C h a r l o t t e found h i m an h o u r later. She r a n across the lawn, t o o k h i m d o w n . T h e n she d r o p p e d to h e r knees b e side t h e still white figure on the grass. S o o n she was screaming too. For a s h o r t period after the funeral t h e r e were no changes in t h e life at Library Place. T h e n o n e m o r n i n g the gardener didn't c o m e ; a h i g h school boy was hired to m o w the lawn. Two m o n t h s later C h a r l o t t e let the m a i d go. T h e r e was no m o n e y c o m i n g in now, no m o n e y c o m i n g in. T h e y h a d always lived b e y o n d H a n k ' s i n c o m e a n d p r o b a b l y C h a r l o t t e s h o u l d have given up the big h o u s e sooner, b u t she d e t e r m i n e d to keep it, w o r k i n g desperately, cutting corners, cleaning a n d patching a n d cooking until finally, eight m o n t h s after t h e d e a t h , Charlotte, exhausted, f o u n d a n e w place to live, the first floor of a yellow frame house on Nassau Street, close to t h e center of town. D e b o r a h wept as her m o t h e r packed her clothes. " N o w , D e b o r a h Crowell Firestone, you stop that, h e a r ? " Charlotte said in h e r soft S o u t h ern voice. Aaron stood silently in t h e d o o r w a y of D e b o r a h ' s r o o m , w a t c h ing. " O h , baby," Charlotte sighed, o p e n i n g h e r a r m s . "You c o m e to me." D e b o r a h ran into her m o t h e r ' s a r m s . Charlotte rocked h e r gently, b a c k a n d forth. "It's all right, baby, hear? M o t h e r ' s going to m a k e it all all right. Everything's going to be wonderful, baby. M o t h e r promises. M o t h e r loves y o u a n d she swears it's going to be all right. M o t h e r l o v e s — " A a r o n crept into the r o o m . "Get out," D e b o r a h said. C h a r l o t t e said, "Now, D e b o r a h , you stop talking that way." "Get out," D e b o r a h repeated. "Aaron is y o u r brother. A a r o n is my son. Aaron is a p a r t of this family. Have you packed y o u r games, A a r o n ? " "No." "Well, m a y b e you better p a c k y o u r games, do you t h i n k ? " A a r o n t u r n e d a n d said, "All right." "And stay out," D e b o r a h called after h i m . T h e yellow frame h o u s e on Nassau Street was o w n e d by Miss Alexan-

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 5

d r a H a m i l t o n , an elderly lady w h o h a d been teaching high school in P r i n c e t o n since before t h e First World War. Miss H a m i l t o n h a d been m a r r i e d twice, b o t h t i m e s to t h e same m a n , an irresistibly h a n d s o m e p l u m b e r from Newark. He was still alive and p l u m b i n g , b u t after the second divorce Miss H a m i l t o n r e s u m e d her m a i d e n n a m e . She m e t C h a r lotte a n d the children as t h e y m o v e d in, set d o w n t h e law of the l a n d — " T h e r e is to be no noise"—and p r o m p t l y d e p a r t e d to t h e second floor via t h e outside stairway, which she always used. They h e a r d h e r occasionally, going in a n d c o m i n g o u t , b u t they saw her only once a m o n t h , w h e n she s t o p p e d by for t h e rent. Shortly after A a r o n was five, Charlotte went o u t a n d got a job. T h e m o n e y from t h e sale of t h e w h i t e colonial was going m u c h t o o quickly, so o n e m o r n i n g she c o m b e d h e r long black hair, p u t on h e r best white h a t — from b e h i n d she looked like a school girl—and left t h e h o u s e "to seek her fortune," as she told h e r children, giggling nervously while she said it. W h e n she r e t u r n e d to t h e h o u s e several h o u r s later she r e p o r t e d that she h a d "acquired the e n o r m o u s l y responsible p o s i t i o n " of saleslady at the Browse-Around, an expensive s h o p on Nassau Street catering to girls a n d y o u n g w o m e n . F r o m t h a t day on she seemed forever to be talking about t h e Browse-Around, a b o u t style a n d color a n d cost a n d t h e w o m e n w h o b r o u g h t their little girls in for clothing a n d h o w m u c h t h e y spent and " n o t o n e of 'em's as p r e t t y as you, D e b o r a h ; n o t o n e h o l d s a candle to you." A m o n t h after she h a d been at the store she b r o u g h t h o m e a playsuit for D e b o r a h . It was m a r k e d d o w n , she said, and, besides, she h a d her e m ployee's discount, a n d a week after the playsuit c a m e a dress, a n d t h e n there followed o t h e r dresses, a n d pajamas a n d shoes a n d gloves a n d socks a n d blouses a n d coats a n d hats. Aaron began to read. All t h e time, lying on his bed, his thin a r m s h o l d i n g t h e b o o k s u p right on his s t o m a c h , his t h i n fingers t u r n i n g t h e pages. He was tall and b o n y a n d long, a n d he ate only w h e n forced. He h a d no interest in food. Charlotte forbade his r e a d i n g at the table and at n i g h t she forced h i m to t u r n o u t his bed light a n d sleep. He w o u l d obey partially, lying still, waiting for her to go to b e d . T h e n he would read i n t o t h e night until his eyes burned. O n e h o t s u m m e r d a y w h e n he was seven A a r o n Firestone sat on his bicycle, staring hypnotically at t h e traffic on Nassau Street. T h e street was crowded; the cars s e e m e d hardly to be m o v i n g at all. A t r u c k l u m b e r e d noisily toward his h o u s e . T h e t r u c k stopped, t h e n started again, b u t slowly, slowly. Aaron p u s h e d h a r d on the foot pedal a n d t h e bike left the

6 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

sidewalk a n d skidded over t h e c u r b , d o w n into the h o t street. A a r o n fell b a c k w a r d , balance gone. T h e t r u c k braked, stopping, b u t n o t before its great wheels rolled up a n d over Aaron's legs. He awoke in the hospital to find his m o t h e r leaning over h i m , w e e p ing. Looking away from her tears, he m u t t e r e d , " I ' m sorry, M a m a . " C h a r lotte s o b b e d aloud, reaching for h e r son, cradling h i m . H i d d e n b e n e a t h t h e folds of Charlotte's dress, A a r o n f o u n d himself smiling. He was in the hospital over a m o n t h . Charlotte c a m e to visit every day a n d s o m e t i m e s D e b o r a h c a m e too, b u t mostly it was just his m o t h e r . A a r o n got to like it in the hospital until Charlotte told h i m t h a t his hips h a d been d a m a g e d , c r u s h e d s o m e h o w b y t h e truck, a n d h e w o u l d b e able to walk again, n o t well, p r o b a b l y n o t w i t h o u t s o m e pain, b u t he w o u l d be able to walk. A a r o n started practicing w i t h crutches. T h e n canes. Finally he was able to m o v e unaided. It h u r t , a lot at first, a n d the pain never completely left h i m , especially w h e n he was tired, b u t by the t i m e they b r o u g h t h i m h o m e from t h e hospital he walked by himself. It was a steaming afternoon, a n d Charlotte, first seeing t h a t Aaron's needs were accounted for, excused herself a n d h u r r i e d to t h e BrowseA r o u n d . D e b o r a h appeared briefly, wearing a new dress, a n d she m o d e l e d it for A a r o n before going d o w n t h e street to play. A a r o n lay on his bed a n d tried to read. T h e r o o m was very hot. His throat felt d r y a n d there was a different dryness d e e p b e h i n d his eyes, a n d p e r s p i r a t i o n p o u r e d off his t h i n face. A a r o n shut his b o o k a n d his eyes. He lay perfectly still until a fly b u z z e d near h i m . He l u n g e d for it, missing, b u t m a n a g i n g by t h e s h a r p ness of his m o v e m e n t to cause his hips to h u r t . Aaron bit his lip until t h e p a i n was gone. T h e n , taking a d e e p b r e a t h , he m o v e d slowly off t h e b e d to t h e t e l e p h o n e . W h e n he got t h e B r o w s e - A r o u n d he asked for his m o t h e r , a n d w h e n he got her he said, " D i d you ask me to call you? I forgot." "Aaron, w h a t e v e r — " "I couldn't r e m e m b e r if you asked me to call you at t h e store to tell you h o w I was or not, I'm fine." " G o o d . Of course you are." " I ' m reading this b o o k . It's a very thrilling a d v e n t u r e story." "It's my son," Charlotte said. " W h a t ? " Aaron said. "I was just explaining w h o you were to M r s . C a v a n a u g h , A a r o n . Mrs. C a v a n a u g h is buying the c u t e s t — "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 7 "I loved Deborah's n e w dress." " O h , good. Aaron? T h a n k you for calling; I'm very glad y o u called—" "Bye-bye, Mama," A a r o n said, h a n g i n g u p . He m o v e d back to his bed a n d lay d o w n . T h e n he got up a n d walked very slowly o u t of t h e r o o m , o u t of t h e h o u s e . On t h e sidewalk, he paused for a m o m e n t to stare at the spot where the t r u c k h a d hit h i m . A a r o n t u r n e d a n d , forcing his legs to obey, began to l i m p along Nassau Street. He was sweating terribly a n d his legs h u r t m o r e a n d m o r e w i t h each slow step, b u t he dragged himself along. Almost an h o u r later he reached the white h o u s e on Library Place. A a r o n stopped. In t h e yard he saw three children playing, a n d their high laughter reached h i m on t h e thick s u m m e r air. He h a t e d to c r y — h i s fat h e r never c r i e d — b u t s u d d e n l y he was crying, bitterly, painfully, o u t of control. Aaron d r o p p e d t o t h e c e m e n t sidewalk a n d w e p t . W h e n h e was d o n e , he vowed n o t to let it h a p p e n again. His w o r d was g o o d for close to twenty years. T h e days that followed p r o v e d easily e n d u r a b l e . He read books. Quickly at first, b u t by t r a i n i n g himself he increased his n a t u r a l speed until, by t h e t i m e he was twelve, he could finish a l m o s t any b o o k in a single day. He began to draw, his t h i n fingers fluttering h u r r i e d l y across white n o t e b o o k paper, leaving b e h i n d an accurate i m a g e of a tree or a g u n or an elegant car. He t a u g h t himself to play the p i a n o even t h o u g h he never h a d a lesson. D e b o r a h got the lessons, o n e each week from a u n i versity s t u d e n t w h o d i d n ' t really n e e d the m o n e y b u t w h o liked to look at D e b o r a h for an h o u r each Tuesday; even at fourteen, D e b o r a h was s o m e t h i n g to see. D u r i n g t h e lessons Aaron would s t a n d o u t s i d e the livingr o o m door, never m a k i n g a s o u n d — h e was g o o d at that; he would regularly frighten his m o t h e r by appearing s u d d e n l y in d o o r w a y s or d a r k halls, m a k i n g her spin a r o u n d , m a k i n g her gasp. A n d while t h e lesson w e n t on inside, Aaron w o u l d listen, a n d w h e n t h e university s t u d e n t said " C u p your h a n d s , n o , relax t h e m , relax them," A a r o n w o u l d c u p a n d relax his h a n d s . T h e n , w h e n t h e s t u d e n t was gone, he w o u l d r u s h to t h e p i a n o a n d practice. He h a d a g o o d ear. D e b o r a h h a d n o n e , b u t t h e lessons cont i n u e d for m o r e t h a n a year because Charlotte felt t h e playing of C h o p i n to be a m i n i m u m basic r e q u i r e m e n t for any y o u n g lady w o r t h y of the n a m e . By t h e e n d of t h e year, A a r o n could play. So he played, a n d he read, a n d he drew. But his greatest love was writing.

8 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN He h a d b e g u n to write quite by accident. He h a d been to t h e movies alone o n e night and, as was his ritual, he crept silently i n t o t h e h o u s e . W h e n h e h e a r d his m o t h e r ' s voice h e stopped. " I ' m worried a b o u t Aaron," C h a r l o t t e said. Deborah grunted. " W h a t are we going to do a b o u t A a r — s t o p fiddling w i t h y o u r nails a n d help m e , D e b o r a h — h e ' s y o u r flesh-and-blood b r o t h e r after all." "That," D e b o r a h said, "is n o t my fault." " H e should go o u t with o t h e r p e o p l e more," Charlotte said. D e b o r a h laughed. " W h a t o t h e r people? Aaron's a joke, M o t h e r . I just d r e a d having h i m in high school with me next year." " P e o p l e shouldn't laugh at Aaron," Charlotte said. " W h y do t h e y ? " " L o o k at h i m . He's n i n e t y feet tall a n d his clothes never l o o k like they fit a n d he t h i n k s he's so s m a r t a n d he's all t h e t i m e appearing b e h i n d y o u r back like a spook. He's a n u t , M o t h e r . I'm a s h a m e d to be seen w i t h h i m a n d that's t h e truth." "If only y o u r father h a d lived," C h a r l o t t e said. "If only he h a d n ' t — " A a r o n s l a m m e d t h e front d o o r . "Is t h a t you, A a r o n ? " C h a r l o t t e called. "Yes, Mother," he answered. " H o w z a flick?" D e b o r a h asked h i m . A a r o n smiled. "Yummy." T h a t night he drew a vicious picture of his sister. He looked at it. It wasn't e n o u g h . He began to d r a w a n o t h e r picture, t h e n , s u d d e n l y shifting from o n e form t o another, h e started writing. H e w r o t e for h o u r s . A b o u t D e b o r a h . A n d Charlotte. Page after page, crushing t h e m b e n e a t h t h e weight of his erudition, slashing the r e m a i n s with his wit. It was nearly d a w n w h e n he finished. A a r o n walked outside a n d waited for t h e s u n . He felt wild. He began writing character sketches of his fellow s t u d e n t s , t h e shift i n t o high school serving o n l y to w i d e n his choice of subject matter. He was p r o t e c t e d from everyone n o w ; as long as he h a d paper, he was safe. In school he was brilliant, a n d if his teachers were frightened of his habit of asking difficult questions, t h e n smiling at t h e m while they s t u m b l e d t h r o u g h an answer, they also a d m i r e d his brilliance. His fellow s t u d e n t s simply feared h i m . S o m e t i m e s , as he l i m p e d t h r o u g h t h e halls, he could hear t h e m whispering a b o u t h i m . " T h a t ' s Debby Firestone's brother. H i m . Yeah. C a n you believe it?" W h e n e v e r he met his sister on his way to class the p a t t e r n was always t h e s a m e . She would do h e r best n o t to see

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 9 h i m until he m o v e d a l m o s t directly in front of her. T h e n she w o u l d smile. A a r o n always smiled back. He was a freshman in high school w h e n he discovered his n a m e . He was reading in study hall, d o i n g his h o m e w o r k for t h e day, w h e n he c h a n c e d across the n a m e s of t h e four elements: earth, air, fire a n d water. He studied the words. E a r t h , air, fire a n d water. Earth a n d air. Air a n d fire. He said t h e m to himself. Air a n d fire. Aaron Fire. A A R O N F I R E . He shrieked. Heads t u r n e d to face h i m . A A R O N F I R E . T h a t was his n a m e . A a r o n Fire the writer. He was A a r o n Fire, the writer. At last he k n e w his i m m o r t a l i t y was assured. Charlotte decided t h e t i m e h a d c o m e for D e b o r a h to get m a r r i e d . D e b o r a h was eighteen, halfway t h r o u g h her senior year in high school, a n d there seemed little p o i n t in h e r going to college. H e r grades in high school h a d been barely average, a n d , m o r e t h a n that, w h a t was the p o i n t of going to college w h e n there were all the eligible y o u n g m e n right here in t o w n , in Princeton. "And you m u s t have an eligible m a n , my baby," C h a r l o t t e said. "It has got to be an eligible man." "You m e a n rich," D e b o r a h answered. Charlotte grabbed h e r d a u g h t e r ' s shoulders a n d t u r n e d her. T h e y faced each other, s t a n d i n g close. " N o w you hear me," she whispered. "You listen to y o u r m o t h e r . I w a n t you to m a r r y for love, you u n d e r s t a n d that? For love." Charlotte smiled. " B u t you m i g h t as well fall in love with a rich man." A n d so the search for a suitor began. N o t t h a t t h e r e was any shortage of candidates; D e b o r a h was pretty, with pale red hair a n d a lithe body, a n d boys flocked to t h e yellow h o u s e on Nassau Street. H i g h - s c h o o l boys a n d Princeton s o p h o m o r e s a n d even a few g r a d u a t e s t u d e n t s all t h e way from C o l u m b i a University. But the rich ones were t o o y o u n g a n d those old e n o u g h didn't quite s e e m eligible e n o u g h . Aaron watched it all, w a t c h e d as his m o t h e r e n t e r t a i n e d t h e m e n in t h e living r o o m while D e b o r a h applied a final t o u c h of lipstick, a last dab of perfume. Charlotte was at her m o s t c h a r m i n g — s h e s e e m e d to speak m o r e S o u t h e r n t h a n i n t h e p a s t — a s she gently p r o b e d t h e y o u n g m e n , i n q u i r i n g as to their h o m e s , their interests, their p a r e n t s ' occupations. "Mr. Firestone was a fine lawyer," she would begin. "Is y o u r father by any chance in law?" Occasionally she w o u l d b r i n g A a r o n i n t o use, calling to h i m as he stood by t h e wall o u t s i d e the living r o o m . " O h , c o m e in, Aaron. Do you k n o w my s o n Aaron? Aaron's the s m a r t o n e in t h e family." But

10 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN always, after D e b o r a h a n d h e r escort h a d gone, C h a r l o t t e w o u l d frown slightly, shaking her head. " N o t for my baby," she w o u l d m u t t e r . " N o t g o o d e n o u g h for my baby." Generally her disapproval w e n t only that far—a quick shake of t h e h e a d . T h e o n e t i m e it exceeded t h e limit was w h e n D e b o r a h w e n t o u t w i t h D o m i n i c Melchiorre. He was a big m a n , b r o a d a n d swarthy, a n d he c a m e to t h e d o o r wearing a s t r i p e d double-breasted suit. Ill at ease, he s t u m b l e d t h r o u g h a few m i n u t e s ' conversation with C h a r l o t t e . T h e n he smiled at C h a r l o t t e — h e h a d a dazzling smile, white teeth flashing against d a r k s k i n — a n d m o v e d o u t s i d e . "Tell D e b b y I'm in t h e car," D o m i n i c Melchiorre said. Charlotte w a t c h e d h i m t h r o u g h t h e screen d o o r as he got i n t o an old sedan a n d b e g a n s m o k i n g . D e b o r a h d a s h e d after h i m a few m i n u t e s later. "Bye, M a m a , " she said. " D o n ' t wait up." But C h a r l o t t e waited. A a r o n listened to t h e scene from his r o o m . D e b o r a h got h o m e after t h r e e a n d Charlotte was ready. "An Italian?" she began. "I b r o u g h t my d a u g h t e r up so she could be escorted by an Italian? I b o u g h t my d a u g h t e r clothes so she could look nice for a . . . a . . . " "Say it," D e b o r a h urged. "Catholic," Charlotte said. "I like him." "You like h i m . O h , baby, you d o n ' t k n o w w h a t you're saying. W h a t does h e d o ? " "He's in the c o n s t r u c t i o n business." " D a y laborer, you m e a n . A c o m m o n sweating day laborer." " B u t I Wee him." "There's n o t h i n g to likel He does n o t exist. This did n o t h a p p e n . N o t in o u r world. He is gone, hear? He is d e a d a n d forgotten a n d long, long gone. You tell me that. D e b o r a h Crowell Firestone, you just tell m e ! " T h e r e was a long quiet. "Gone," D e b o r a h w h i s p e r e d t h e n . "He's gone." T h e y wept t h a t night. Both of t h e m . W h e n they retired to their b e d r o o m s , A a r o n could hear t h e m weeping. A a r o n smiled. Jamie Wakefield a p p e a r e d t h e following week, as if divinely o r d e r e d . C h a r l o t t e m e t h i m first, at t h e B r o w s e - A r o u n d . " T h i s wonderful y o u n g m a n c a m e in today," she began, t h e m i n u t e she got h o m e . "Listen to m e , D e b o r a h , while I tell you a b o u t him." " W h o ? " D e b o r a h t o o k h e r g u m o u t o f h e r m o u t h a n d b e g a n rolling i t in h e r fingers.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 11 "Jamie Wakefield, that's what I'm trying to tell you. Jamie Wakefield, he b o u g h t a c o a t — D e b o r a h , stop playing with y o u r g u m this m i n ute, hear?—a c a s h m e r e coat. For his mother. It's h e r b i r t h d a y a n d he b o u g h t her a o n e - h u n d r e d - p e r c e n t cashmere coat just like that. We got to talking, and he is a real c h a r m e r a n d nice-looking a n d — " "I'll bet," D e b o r a h said. "And it t u r n s o u t he's from Dallas. Well, I h a d his address, of c o u r s e — he was sending t h e coat to his h o m e — a n d you r e m e m b e r my cousin Millie—well, she lives in Dallas, has all her life, a n d she told me t o d a y — " "You called h e r ? " D e b o r a h said. "To check up on this b o y ? " "I did no such t h i n g as check up on anybody. I o w e d C o u s i n Millie a letter—have for the longest t i m e — s o I called h e r to chat a n d if I h a p p e n e d to m e n t i o n t h e Wakefield boy, well, I certainly d o n ' t see anything u n u s u a l in that. D e b o r a h , you're going to love this Jamie Wakefield—I k n o w it. I told h i m all a b o u t y o u — h e ' s very interested—he's a premedical s t u d e n t a n d I m e n t i o n e d h o w you loved biology a n d all. He's c o m i n g on Friday to see you. I knew you'd be free, so I t o o k it on myself—" " I ' m busy Friday," D e b o r a h began. " N o t a n y m o r e you're not," Charlotte said. " N o t after w h a t Cousin Millie told me today you're not." " W h a t did she say?" "He's eligible, baby. That's w h a t she said." Jamie Wakefield arrived p r o m p t l y at seven o'clock on Friday, wearing a d a r k tweed coat, a d a r k tweed jacket a n d d a r k gray p a n t s . Shy, obviously nervous, he waited w i t h C h a r l o t t e a n d Aaron in t h e living r o o m . "I think the role of a physician is a noble o n e , Mr. Wakefield," C h a r lotte said. "My h u s b a n d , Mr. Firestone, was a lawyer. T h a t ' s n o b l e too." "Yes, ma'm," Jamie Wakefield said. He was of m e d i u m height, with b r o w n hair a n d a b l a n d , even face. "My son Aaron h e r e hasn't decided yet w h a t he w a n t s to be, have you, Aaron?" " N o t yet," Aaron lied. He h a d never told h e r a b o u t A a r o n Fire. There was no p o i n t in telling; she w o u l d never have u n d e r s t o o d . "Aaron's the brains of o u r little family," Charlotte w e n t o n . "Deborah's got the beauty a n d Aaron's got the brains." She l a u g h e d softly. "I don't k n o w where I fit in." " I ' m sure they b o t h take after you, M r s . Firestone," Jamie Wakefield said. "Gallantry," C h a r l o t t e said. " U n d e n i a b l e gallantry. See, Aaron? It's

12 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t r u e w h a t I say a b o u t S o u t h e r n m e n . T h e y h a v e — w h a t w o u l d you call it, Mr. Wakefield?" " I d o n ' t know, m a m . " "Flair," Charlotte said. " T h a t ' s as good a w o r d as any. Style. S o u t h e r n m e n have style." "If you say so, ma'm." Jamie Wakefield n o d d e d . "Why, I r e m e m b e r s o m e of my beaus w h e n I was g r o w i n g up in Roanoke. I remember . . . " Fortunately, D e b o r a h a p p e a r e d . Jamie Wakefield stood silently, looking at her. She was w e a r i n g a d a r k green dress a n d it contrasted perfectly w i t h her pale red hair. "Mr. Wakefield, my d a u g h t e r Deborah," C h a r l o t t e began. " D e b o r a h , this is Jamie Wakefield from Dallas." " H o w do you do, Mr. Wakefield," D e b o r a h said. "Yes, ma'm." Jamie n o d d e d , l o o k i n g at her. C h a r l o t t e saw t h e m to t h e d o o r , a n d w h e n they were g o n e she whirled a r o u n d , eyes bright, a r m s stretched wide. "Aaron," she said, "we have great expectations." For the next m o n t h D e b o r a h a n d Jamie dated several t i m e s a week a n d every weekend. Jamie was inexperienced, backward at t i m e s , ill at ease. He t o o k her to the movies a n d for coffee after, where she did m o s t of t h e talking, chattering o n a b o u t whatever c a m e into h e r m i n d , while h e simply n o d d e d , sipping his coffee a n d n o d d i n g , looking at her. T h e n they b e g a n going to N e w York. T h e y ate s o m e t i m e s at Le Pavilion—Jamie's fat h e r liked Le Pavilion—and t h e y w e n t to t h e theater on S a t u r d a y nights, a n d everything seemed t o b e living u p t o Charlotte's h o p e s u n t i l D e b o r a h f o u n d o u t she was p r e g n a n t . Charlotte's reaction to t h e n e w s was quite r e m a r k a b l e . T h e y were h a v i n g dinner, D e b o r a h a n d C h a r l o t t e a n d Aaron, sitting at t h e small table in t h e corner of the kitchen, a n d Charlotte was c o m m e n t i n g a b o u t h o w h a p p y she was a n d h o w h a p p y D e b o r a h was a n d h o w even A a r o n seemed h a p p i e r than usual a n d wasn't it wonderful w h a t o n e p e r s o n like Jamie Wakefield could do for t h e spirits of o n e family a n d t h e high cost of w e d d i n g s a n d was there ever a better t i m e of day t h a n s u p p e r t i m e with a family all together w h e n D e b o r a h b u r s t uncontrollably into o n e quick wave of tears a n d t h e n gave forth t h e news. In the e n s u i n g silence, D e b o r a h half closed her eyes, tilting her face up toward her m o t h e r , ready for t h e blow. C h a r l o t t e simply p u t her fork d o w n . "You're sure?" Deborah nodded.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 13 "Jamie?" D e b o r a h shook h e r h e a d . "Who, then?" D e b o r a h sat frozen. "Tell m e — " Abruptly C h a r l o t t e stopped a n d said " N o . " D e b o r a h n o d d e d yes. " T h e Catholic, I m i g h t have known," Charlotte said, a n d she p u t the tips of her fingers against h e r closed eyes, talking very quietly. "It is n o t going to h a p p e n a n d that is all there is to it. I simply will n o t allow . . . " She o p e n e d her eyes. "Are you sure it isn't Jamie?" Deborah nodded. " H o w do you k n o w ? " Charlotte asked, no longer talking quietly. "Jamie's never t o u c h e d me," D e b o r a h whispered. Charlotte reached across the table a n d t o o k h e r daughter's h a n d , stared at her daughter's eyes. "We can r e m e d y that, can't we, baby?" D e b o r a h said n o t h i n g . " C a n ' t we, baby? Can't we, b a b y ? " Staring a n d t o u c h i n g , Charlotte w e n t o n . "Can't we, baby? C a n ' t we, baby? Can't we, baby?" D e b o r a h was never o n e to argue with her m o t h e r . W h e n Jamie arrived t h a t night D e b o r a h was waiting for h i m , sitting in the living r o o m . "Where's y o u r m o t h e r ? " Jamie asked. "It doesn't seem as if I deserve to see you w i t h o u t talking with y o u r m o t h e r a while first. Sort of a price of admission." " M o t h e r h a d to go to N e w York for the evening. S o m e cousin of hers is in town." "Well, I'll miss her," Jamie said. "I'll truly miss her." He t o o k off his tweed coat a n d folded it over a chair. "You look very pretty, Deborah." She smiled at h i m . "You always say that." "It's the t r u t h is why." D e b o r a h wore a black sweater open at the t h r o a t w i t h a thin s t r a n d of pearls a r o u n d her neck. "Hey," she said, giggling. "Guess w h a t I discovered today. Guess. M o t h e r keeps a bottle. Isn't that amazing? Do you want a drink?" "No," Jamie said. " T r u e blue Jamie Wakefield," D e b o r a h answered. "Lips that t o u c h liquor will never t o u c h his. I'm going to have a d r i n k . A big strong one." She disappeared i n t o t h e kitchen and Jamie could hear t h e s o u n d of an ice tray splitting o p e n . He r u b b e d his p a l m s against his trousers. D e b o r a h c a m e back c a r r y i n g two glasses. "I b r o u g h t y o u o n e anyway. In

I 14 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN case you change y o u r mind." She h a n d e d it to h i m a n d t h e y b o t h sipped in silence for a while. "Aaron's at the movies," D e b o r a h said. "Like always, Aaron's at the movies." Jamie n o d d e d . T h e y sipped a while longer. " T h e lights b o t h e r my eyes," D e b o r a h said. "Jamie, t u r n off the lights." " W h a t ' s got into you anyway? 'Jamie, t u r n off the lights.' " D e b o r a h giggled. " I ' m just trying to get you alone in t h e dark, silly. That's all." Jamie looked at her. "You are?" "I are." "Oh." Slowly he walked to t h e wall switch a n d flicked it off. T h e r o o m was d a r k momentarily, b u t t h e n t h e y began getting a c c u s t o m e d t o t h e m o o n l i g h t . Jamie sat across t h e r o o m from her, h o l d i n g tightly to his glass. "Jamie Wakefield, you w i n t h e b l u e r i b b o n for stupidity. T h e world's championship." " W h a t did I d o ? " " W h y are you sitting over there? W h a t ' s the p o i n t of being all alone in t h e h o u s e w i t h no lights a n y w h e r e to be seen if you're going to sit a million miles away?" "You w a n t me to c o m e sit beside y o u ? " " N o . Move farther away if possible." He m o v e d t h r o u g h t h e d a r k n e s s a n d sat beside her. " H e r e I am," he said, taking a long d r i n k of b o u r b o n . D e b o r a h began to laugh. "It's j u s t like kindeegarden. I swear it is." She l a u g h e d louder. "You m i g h t as well t u r n the lights back on. Never m i n d . I'll d o it." She m a d e as if to move, b u t he t o o k h e r h a n d . " N o . " "Well, why n o t ? " H e r pearls glistened in t h e m o o n l i g h t . "Why not?" Jamie p u t his d r i n k d o w n . His h a n d s were t r e m b l i n g terribly. "Why not?" Jamie grabbed her. He d u g his fingers into h e r s h o u l d e r s a n d h e r face t u r n e d , m o v i n g u p t o m e e t his. "Jamie," D e b o r a h said. "Jamie."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 15 He kissed her again a n d she pressed her b o d y against his body, h e r a r m s locking a r o u n d his neck. H e r t o n g u e flicked at his m o u t h while his h a n d s pressed against h e r flat s t o m a c h . Slowly, hesitantly, his h a n d s began m o v i n g higher until t h e y were c u p p e d a r o u n d h e r breasts. "Yes," D e b o r a h said. Jamie began u n b u t t o n i n g her sweater. A a r o n saw it all. Standing in the d a r k n e s s of the foyer, he saw it from the first rough kiss. There were times w h e n it was h a r d to keep from l a u g h i n g at what they said, at Deborah's p s e u d o passion, Jamie's o v e r p o w e r i n g sincerity. But he did n o t laugh. He w a t c h e d instead as they disrobed, t h r o w i n g their clothes to the floor, lying on t h e couch in the m o o n l i g h t . D e b o r a h still wore her pearls a n d Jamie h a d his socks o n , b u t A a r o n did n o t laugh. He m o v e d closer as their bodies locked, Jamie astride her, D e b o r a h m o a n i n g wonderfully b e n e a t h h i m . W h e n they were d o n e A a r o n left, slipping o u t of t h e h o u s e . Alone on t h e sidewalk, he began to howl. T h e y waited three weeks before D e b o r a h m a d e t h e p h o n e call. Three weeks seemed s u d d e n l y an incredible length of t i m e . C h a r l o t t e would stare at Deborah's s t o m a c h in t h e m o r n i n g s , t h e n quickly l o o k away. But finally the t i m e c a m e a n d D e b o r a h m a d e the call. "Jamie?" she said. She was crying softly; the tears were real. "Yes?" "Jamie—" "What? W h a t is it? Tell me." D e b o r a h told h i m . "Are you positive? It can't be. It's t o o soon." " I ' m positive" was all D e b o r a h said. Jamie said n o t h i n g for a while. " C o m e see me," D e b o r a h m a n a g e d , crying h a r d e r now. " C o m e see me t o n i g h t , Jamie Wakefield. I'll be waiting." "I'll be there." He found the n o t e as he c a m e back to his r o o m after class. A folded piece of paper, it h a d b e e n slipped u n d e r his door. Jamie s t o o p e d , picked it u p . T h e n he read it. S H E LIES S H E LIES I T I S N ' T YOUR BABY IT I S N ' T YOUR BABY

16 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN T h e y waited for h i m on t h e front p o r c h of the yellow frame h o u s e , C h a r l o t t e a n d D e b o r a h a n d A a r o n . It was a w a r m night. D e b o r a h sat very still. A a r o n paced. Charlotte could n o t stop talking. " N o w d o n ' t you worry, baby. Just as s o o n as he gets h e r e we'll go i n s i d e — w o n ' t we, Aaron?—-the m i n u t e he arrives you k n o w we'll just disappear—you u n d e r s t a n d , A a r o n ? " "Yes, Mother," Aaron said. C h a r l o t t e t u r n e d t o D e b o r a h . " W h a t t i m e did h e say he'd c o m e ? " "Seven. He always c o m e s then." "Lots of t i m e , baby." A a r o n p a c e d faster. "Aaron, you're m a k i n g me nervous," Charlotte said. "Terribly sorry, Mother." A a r o n sat. " L o t s of time," Charlotte said. " M a y b e he won't come," A a r o n said. " H u s h , " Charlotte told h i m . "Well, m a y b e h e won't. M a y b e h e knows." C h a r l o t t e snapped, "Impossible." "I guess you're right, Mother." Aaron's fingers squeezed t h e a r m s of t h e r o c k i n g chair. "Lots of time," Charlotte said at seven o'clock. She said it again at a q u a r t e r after a n d again at half past. "Lots of t i m e . Lots of time." A a r o n waited with t h e m . H e could n o t r e m e m b e r h a v i n g b e e n s o wildly happy. He had never k n o w n until t h e n h o w splendid was his h a tred, a n d t h e strength of it s u r p r i s e d h i m , almost frightened h i m a little. Taste it, he t h o u g h t . Go o n . His sister stared straight into t h e q u i e t night. His m o t h e r t u r n e d constantly, gazing d o w n Nassau Street for t h e boy, t h e expression on her face growing m o r e a n d m o r e desperate as t h e h o u r s w e n t by. Aaron's b o d y flamed. Giddy, he waited, exultant; he w a t c h e d , enr a p t u r e d , t r i u m p h a n t , revenged. Taste it. Go on. Go o n . Taste it, bitch. Taste it, w h o r e . Taste t h e w r a t h of A a r o n Fire!

II Walt was trailing Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y while his m o t h e r died. T h e June sun felt cold on Walt's freckled skin a n d he k n e w his teeth were just aching to chatter. He was scared; no use d e n y i n g it. But he was n o t a s h a m e d of his fear. W h o w o u l d n ' t be afraid of Big Nose T i m C o n nery, w a n t e d for g r a n d a n d petit larceny, arson, fraudulent use of t h e U.S. mails, a n d w h o w a s — a c c o r d i n g to t h e poster in the p o s t office w h e r e

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 17 Walt got all his i n f o r m a t i o n — K N O W N TO BE A R M E D . Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y s t o p p e d . Walt d a s h e d b e h i n d a tree. Big Nose t u r n e d . Walt held his b r e a t h . A dozen or so lush streets away, in St. Louis' wealthiest s u b u r b , Walt's m o t h e r lay d o z i n g in h e r white b e d r o o m , a n u r s e in an easy chair sitting close beside. T h e d o c t o r , o n his m o r n i n g visit, h a d p r o n o u n c e d Emily Kirkaby to be "resting c o m f o r t a b l y " — c a n y o u rest comfortably with terminal c a n c e r ? — b u t no o n e was k i d d i n g a n y o n e a n y m o r e . It was simply a mathematical matter—seconds, minutes, perhaps days—until Emily died. Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y started walking again, faster n o w . Walt, on the far side of the street, p u s h e d his glasses up snug against t h e b r i d g e of his nose with his left t h u m b , t h e n dashed forward into t h e s h a d o w of the next protective tree t r u n k . He c o n t i n u e d on, from tree to tree, a n d as he passed s o m e kids playing m a r b l e s on a lawn the t h o u g h t crossed his m i n d t h a t he m u s t have l o o k e d like a n u t . But w h a t d i d kids k n o w anyway? It was lonely w o r k , g a n g b u s t i n g , a n d you just c o u l d n ' t care a b o u t appearances; you h a d y o u r j o b to do a n d you did it a n d t h a t was that. Big Nose s t o p p e d again. Walt froze b e h i n d a tree. Big N o s e t o o k o u t a handkerchief a n d w i p e d his forehead. Walt n o t e d t h e a c t i o n d o w n in his n o t e b o o k with his pencil stub. He h a d a list of Big Nose's activities for the past t w e n t y m i n u t e s a n d it p r o b a b l y w o u l d c o m e in h a n d y at the trial. Walt peeked out from b e h i n d the tree a n d , seeing his q u a r r y back on the m o v e , d a r t e d o u t of t h e s h a d o w s toward t h e next tree, b u t Big Nose Tim C o n n e r y t u r n e d a n d Walt, c a u g h t between shelters, was m o m e n t a r i l y visible, so he casually d r o p p e d to his knees a n d began searching for fourleaf clovers. Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y never suspected a t h i n g . Walt h a d to smile. Walt the Whizzer. T h a t was his favorite n a m e for himself: Whizzer. His full n a m e was Egbert Walters Kirkaby, a n d he h a t e d it. M o s t everyo n e called h i m Walt, w h i c h was O.K., except his lousy b r o t h e r A r n o l d , w h o called h i m Egbert or Berty. But Whizzer was t h e n a m e he cherished above all. Walt the Whizzer. T h e Whizzer strikes again. Walt t h e great whizzer Kirkaby. Whizzer! T h a t was a name. Up a h e a d of h i m , Big Nose was m o v i n g , so Walt got up from t h e clovers, confident n o w that the end was in sight, because Big N o s e T i m C o n n e r y s w u n g up t h e walk leading to a large b a s t a r d - T u d o r h o u s e , k n o c k e d once and, w h e n t h e d o o r opened, disappeared inside. Walt m a d e a n o t e of the h o u s e n u m b e r , t h e n dashed t o t h e h o u s e directly across t h e street. H e r a n g t h e bell a n d w h e n the d o o r o p e n e d h e said, " P a r d o n m e , m a ' a m , b u t m y n a m e i s Walt Kirkaby a n d could I use y o u r p h o n e please?" The woman knew the n a m e Kirkaby—everyone in the town knew

18 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t h a t n a m e — s o she said "Certainly" a n d led h i m to t h e living r o o m . Walt peered o u t the living-room w i n d o w ; it was perfect, t h e T u d o r h o u s e across the street was completely w i t h i n his sight so if Big Nose tried a getaway, t h e Whizzer would be on h i m in a flash. Walt picked up t h e p h o n e , a n d w h e n he got the police station he whispered, " G i m m e Sergeant Q u i n l a n . It's life a n d death. G i m m e Q u i n l a n . Right away." Across town, in the white r o o m , Emily Kirkaby sighed. It was a soft s o u n d , trivial; for just a m o m e n t her n u m b lips almost p a r t e d . T h e nurse, roused, stood up, looking d o w n o n t h e still, gray w o m a n . T h e n u r s e n o d d e d a n d s h o o k her head, a silly gesture, b u t what else could she do b e cause the w o m a n was dying a n d t h a t was a shame. T i p t o e i n g to t h e door, she o p e n e d it and gestured to t h e large Negro lady keeping watch o u t s i d e t h e door. T h e Negro lady n o d d e d a n d s h o o k her h e a d t o o , t h e n went d o w n s t a i r s to spread the u n t i d y news. T h e nurse crept back, still on tiptoe, a n d a s s u m e d her position of c o m m a n d by the b e d p o s t . In a m o m e n t t h e d o o r o p e n e d and P. T. Kirkaby entered, the P. T. Kirkaby, followed by his older son, Arnold. " H o w m u c h t i m e she got left?" from P.T. T h e n u r s e m o v e d h e r h a n d s . N o t very m u c h . "She say anything?" P.T. again. "No." P.T. g r u n t e d . "Go outside if you want," he said to A r n o l d . " I ' m O.K.," Arnold answered, readying his tears. Emily sighed a s e c o n d t i m e . This s o u n d was so frail as to m a k e t h e first seem like t h u n d e r . But t h e y all heard it, a n d t h o u g h they h a d no reason to be sure, they k n e w it was t h e last s o u n d she was ever going to m a k e . "Emily," P. T. Kirkaby said. "I d o n ' t t h i n k she can hear you." T h e nurse. " N o b o d y asked you, did t h e y ? " " I ' m sorry, Mr. Kirkaby." "So are we all." He t u r n e d his big body. "Arnold, where's Walt?" A r n o l d let go with a few tears. "Stop that a n d answer m e . Where's Walt? Wherever he is, get h i m ! Get h i m ! T h a t crazy Walt, where t h e hell is he?" "Sergeant Q u i n l a n speaking." "Sergeant Q u i n l a n ? " "Yes." "I've got Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y for you." Walt tried very h a r d n o t to hear Sergeant Quinlan's tired sigh.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 19 "Is that you, Kirkaby?" "Yessir, it's me." "You again, Kirkaby?" "Yessir, me again." "And you've got w h o this t i m e ? " " T i m Connery. Big N o s e T i m Connery. W a n t e d for g r a n d a n d petit larceny, arson, fraudulent u s e — " "Are you sure you've got Big Nose Tim Connery? Because I d o n ' t believe you, Kirkaby. I ' m n o t calling you a liar, u n d e r s t a n d ; I just s o m e h o w do not—" "But, Sergeant—" "You r e m e m b e r last week, Kirkaby? Last week you h a d Willie 'the Shiv' Fusari. You called me a n d y o u swore up a n d d o w n — " "Please, Sergeant Q u i n l a n . Before he gets away." "You swore up a n d d o w n you h a d Willie 'the Shiv' Fusari, b u t w h e n we checked it t u r n e d o u t you'd been trailing Rabbi Silverman of the St. Louis Synagogue. A n d two weeks before t h a t you t r a p p e d H a r r y ' t h e Weasel' T r o c k m a n in t h e card r o o m of t h e St. Louis C o u n t r y Club. And—" "It's going to look awful b a d on your record, Sergeant Quinlan." A n o t h e r weary sigh. " W h a t ' s going to look b a d on my record, Kirkaby?" Walt p u s h e d his glasses up s n u g against the bridge of his nose with his left t h u m b . " O h , just that you h a d a r e d - h o t tip on Big Nose Tim C o n n e r y and you let h i m get away." "Kirkaby, you are o n e s m a r t boy." " T h a n k you, Sergeant Q u i n l a n . " T h e weariest sigh of all. "All right, Kirkaby, where's Big Nose?" "He's lurking in t h e h o u s e at 274 South Elm. I'm calling from right across t h e street, so if he tries a getaway, I'll stay on his trail. D o n ' t w o r r y a b o u t that." " H o l d o n , Kirkaby." T h e line w e n t quiet. Walt stared o u t at t h e house across the street. " W H I Z Z E R D O E S I T A G A I N . " That w o u l d b e h o w the Post Dispatch would p u t it. In big black type the size of t h e w h o l e page. " O H T H A T W H I Z Z E R ! " T h a t w o u l d b e the Globe-Democrat's headline. " T o p p i n g off his already unbelievably fantastically incredible career, Walt the Whizzer Kirkaby t o d a y b r o u g h t to justice the worst criminal we've ever h a d a r o u n d here . . . t h e m o d e s t Whizzer . . . the h a n d s o m e Whizzer . . . t h e absolutely s u p e r b b u t shy Whizzer . . . the e v e r - p o p u l a r Whizzer . . . the . . . the . . . ooohhhhhhh that W H I Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z Z E R R R R R R R R I "

20 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN T h e nurse, embarrassed by the frail face of the d e a d w o m a n , began to pull the sheet up a n d over, b u t she stopped, frightened, w h e n P.T. said, "Don't." " I ' m sorry, Mr. Kirkaby." P.T. stood over his wife a while. He felt moved a n d he d i d n ' t like that, n o t P.T., so he t u r n e d t h e n a n d went to the b e d r o o m door. "It's over, Maudie," he said to the large N e g r o w o m a n . "Well . . . " M a u d i e began. But she h a d no place to go w i t h her t h o u g h t . "Well." "Tell Arnold to forget a b o u t l o o k i n g for Walt." "Um-hmm." " T h a t ' s all, Maudie." She n o d d e d a n d t u r n e d , t h e n , after a step, t u r n e d back. " I ' m sorry, P.T." "Yeah-yeah-yeah," he said a n d he gestured for t h e n u r s e to get out. W h e n she was gone he pulled a chair over beside the b e d a n d studied the d e a d face. He had been unfaithful to her so often, so m a n y times, always, almost, that it c a m e as a shock to h i m that this once she h a d beaten h i m . He h a d never lost well; it wasn't in his n a t u r e . But she h a d b e a t e n h i m , t h e tiny bird lying dead before h i m . G o d , b u t she had been a sweet t h i n g once, t h e n , before, whenever it was, ago, long, long ago, a n d p r o b a b l y he h a d loved her. No. N o t probably. He h a d loved her. T h a t was a fact. A d e a d fact. A sad one. He h a d loved her back aways. W h e n he was y o u n g a n d she was younger and t h a t was sad too. Everything seemed s u d d e n l y sad to h i m . He looked again on t h e quiet face of his wife. "Aw, nuts," P.T. said aloud. He did n o t cry; b u t t h e t h o u g h t crossed his m i n d . "Kirkaby?" "Yes, Sergeant Quinlan." "I've just spoken to t h e p e o p l e w h o live at 274 S o u t h Elm. T h a t m a n you've been following? He sells t h e Encyclopaedia Britannica, Kirkaby. He goes from d o o r to d o o r selling t h e Encyclopaedia Britannica. Are you wearing blue pants a n d a tee shirt, K i r k a b y ? . . . Kirkaby?" "Aw, nuts." " H e saw you following h i m . You scared h i m , Kirkaby. He says you were h i d i n g b e h i n d trees. Is t h a t w h a t you were d o i n g ? " "No." N o b o d y spots t h e Whizzer. Walt looked d o w n at his b l u e p a n t s . " I ' m wearing a green suit, Sergeant Q u i n l a n . A green suit w i t h a green tie a n d m a y b e he just claims he's selling that thing. M a y b e — " " T h e case is closed, Kirkaby."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 21 " H e looks an awful lot like t h a t picture of Big Nose T i m C o n n e r y they got h a n g i n g in the post office. It's a really fantastic resemblance." " I ' m sure it is. But will you let us t r y to keep c r i m e o u t of the area, Kirkaby? After all, it's o u r job." " I ' m just trying to help, that's all." "I k n o w you are. G o o d b y e , Kirkaby." Walt h u n g up the p h o n e , t h a n k e d the lady of t h e h o u s e a n d trudged on o u t the door, his h a n d s shoved deep in his p a n t s pockets. He p a u s e d a m o m e n t in front of 274 S o u t h Elm. He shoved his glasses up s n u g against t h e bridge of his nose w i t h his left t h u m b . T h e n he b e g a n retracing his steps to the corner of O a k a n d Archer, where he'd left his bicycle. You couldn't follow crooks on a bicycle. It was a pretty day, so he started singing. "A w a n d ' r i n g minstrel I, a thing of shreds a n d paaaa-tches, of baaaaa-lads, songs a n d snaaaaaatches, and dreeeeee-meeee luh-ulll-abies." He loved Gilbert a n d Sullivan and knew all of Trial by Jury by heart, plus m o s t of The Mikado a n d The Gondoliers. "My ca-ta-log is long . . . " S o m e kids were playing m a r b l e s up ahead of h i m . He was a terrific m a r ble player, t h e best in t h e w o r l d w h e n he w a n t e d to b e , so he reached into his hip pocket for his favorite shooter, a cat's-eye, w o r t h eight agates any day. Fatso M o r a n h a d offered h i m eight agates for it, b u t no soap. N o b o d y got the Whizzer's cat's-eye. " H o w about me playing?" he said to the kids. "You're t o o good, Kirkaby," o n e of t h e m s a i d — w h i c h was victory e n o u g h , Walt decided, so he m u t t e r e d "Chickens" a n d m o v e d on. H o w a b o u t that? Everybody k n e w y o u didn't mess with t h e Whizzer at big pot. He broke into a r u n t h e n , because if he was ever going to break the fourm i n u t e mile he had to stay in shape. Ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n , they're entering the last lap a n d G u n d a r Hagg has the lead a n d it looks like it's a n o t h e r victory for G u n d a r t h e W o n d e r — B u t wait! Somebody's m o v i n g u p . Just a m o m e n t , ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n , while I consult my p r o g r a m . It's—it's the Whizzer, ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n , Whizzer Kirkaby a n d l o o k at h i m fly. It's fantastic! Broken leg a n d all a n d he's gaining on Hagg. Hagg looks like he's standing still. Here he c o m e s . Here comes t h e Whizzer. Will you look a t h i m flyyyyy . . . Walt reached his bicycle a n d paused until he got his b r e a t h . T h e n he t o o k a r u n n i n g start, vaulting o n t o the seat, pedaling hard. He took off his right h a n d , steadied himself, then slowly r e m o v e d his left, sitting back on the seat, c u r v i n g off Archer Street, h e a d i n g for h o m e . "I am the m o n a r c h of the sea; the ruler of the queen's nay-vee. W h o s e praise Great Britain loudly c h a n t s a n d so do his sisters a n d his cousins a n d his

22 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN a u n t s . . . " He stopped singing w h e n he got to Linden Lane, pedaling in silence along the tree-shaded p a v e m e n t . W h e n he reached t h e e n d of t h e lane he r o d e slower. "You've just got to learn to slow d o w n on that bicycle, Walt, or you'll h u r t yourself." T h a t was what his m o t h e r always said b e cause she d i d n ' t k n o w he was t h e greatest bicycle rider of all t i m e alt h o u g h once he h a d a l m o s t told her. At t h e e n d of the lane s t o o d t h e great stone posts, a n d Walt experienced, as he always did, a flash of acute e m b a r r a s s m e n t because of the w o o d e n signs that read P R I V A T E DRIVEWAY. N o T R E S P A S S E R S . T R E S P A S S E R S W I L L BE P R O S E C U T E D . T h e y h a d always

b e e n there, those signs nailed to the great stone posts, a n d once, at C h r i s t m a s , Walt had asked t h a t they be taken away b u t P.T. t h o u g h t he was just trying to be funny. Walt pedaled for a while along t h e paved driveway until the house c a m e into view. T h e h o u s e w o u l d have e m b a r rassed h i m except that n o b o d y could see it from the street because of all t h e s h r u b b e r y a n d trees. He s t o p p e d the bicycle a n d got off, wheeling it into t h e garage, parking it in t h e c o r n e r of the garage next to the l i m o u sine. T h e limousine he classed w i t h t h e w o o d e n signs. B r u s h i n g his hair w i t h his h a n d s , he cursed his curls good, t h e n straightened his p a n t s . Presentable, hopefully, he walked in t h e back door, t h r o u g h t h e kitchen a n d t h e butler's p a n t r y a n d t h e d i n i n g r o o m to the front hall. T h e hated A r n o l d was waiting for h i m . " M o t h e r died," Arnold said. "She did not." Since he refused to believe in the possibility of death, h o w could she have died? Besides, A r n o l d had told h i m a n d A r n o l d was a liar. Besides, he h a d kissed his pale m o t h e r on the cheek t h a t m o r n i n g a n d she was breathing t h e n . "She died." "She did n o t either." G o d , h o w he loathed his brother, his three-yearsolder a n d twice-as-big b r o t h e r , his h a n d s o m e , picky, graceful, strong, sniveling, popular, "Walt, w h y can't you be m o r e like A r n o l d ? " brother. "Dammit, dammit." " N o , she didn't." "You don't care!" A r n o l d s c r e a m e d , because he d i d n ' t care, n o t remotely, a n d the t h o u g h t that it w o u l d show m a d e h i m wet w i t h fear. So he screamed it again, louder, straining his throat: "You don't care!" "Boys." M a u d i e s t a n d i n g black at t h e top of the stairs. Walt glanced up at h e r face and was forced b a c k w a r d t w o steps, s t u n n e d by t h e knowledge of death. "Boys." Walt glanced back at his b r o t h e r , w h o was crying n o w . "I care," he said. M o r e t h a n care. I loved her. I did. If I love her, w h y d o n ' t I cry? He

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 23 stared at his brother's tears, a n d suddenly their t r a n s p a r e n c y was clear to his good, quick m i n d . But his face always betrayed his t h o u g h t s , always, so before he could say, "You d o n ' t fool m e , A r n o l d , you d o n ' t fool me w i t h those tears, you got an o n i o n in y o u r h a n d , A r n o l d , h u h ? " the t h o u g h t was on his face a n d p e r h a p s A r n o l d saw it because in three great steps he was on t o p of Walt, slashing o u t with his thick h a n d s , bruising Walt's face, drawing b l o o d , splintering Walt's glasses on t h e expensive parquet floor. Walt h a d retreated at t h e realization of death, b u t he t o o k no backw a r d steps on his b r o t h e r ' s account. Rather he stood firm t h r o u g h o u t the onslaught, ignoring M a u d i e ' s high yells, the b l u r r i n g of his vision, the s h a r p , surprising taste of b l o o d . He stood firm, a n d w h e n his b r o t h e r had spent his anxious fury, before his b r o t h e r could t u r n his false tears to the p a p e r e d wall, Walt slipped it in good. "You're a shit, you k n o w that, A r n o l d ? " "All right, cut it, Walt." Big RT. standing beside M a u d i e on t h e landing. "You too, Arnold." "Yessir," A r n o l d said. " H e just gets to me sometimes." " W i p e your face, Walt. Go to y o u r room." Walt m o u n t e d t h e stairs, smiling at black M a u d i e , n o d d i n g to big RT., m o v i n g past t h e m in silence. W h e n he reached his d o o r he paused, t h e n crept forward again until he reached the r o o m w h e r e his m o t h e r had b r e a t h e d that m o r n i n g . He got inside quick e n o u g h b u t it t o o k a while before he was able to travel to h e r side; he had to t h i n k a b o u t it first as he leaned, eyes wide, his back against t h e door. Finally he m o v e d , eyes on the floor, to the bed edge. A chair was placed close alongside, so, eyes still on t h e floor, he sat, s u r p r i s e d at t h e s u d d e n n u m b n e s s i n v a d i n g his body. He looked at his m o t h e r a n d she looked like his m o t h e r except she was dead. Frail a n d dead. He was t h e only frail o n e left now. Before there had been two frail ones; n o w there was one. Before there h a d been s o m e o n e to cling to; two frail o n e s are never as frail as o n e . Before there had b e e n quiet s u p p o r t , a n d t h a t was needed for survival in this great r o u g h h o u s e . Walt looked at the t h i n g on the bed (she was that, t h a t only now, a thing, just a thing, like any o t h e r thing, useless, dreamless, w i t h o u t a n i m a t i o n ) a n d he almost t h o u g h t , I love you so, b u t t h a t was wasteful since you chose to leave m e , b u t he killed the t h o u g h t ruthlessly before it developed fully, so only t h e first part filled his m i n d . I love you so . . . I love you s o . . . He left her w h e n M a u d i e called that it was t i m e for d i n n e r , first washing t h e blood from his face before going d o w n s t a i r s n o t to eat.

24

• WILLIAM

GOLDMAN

By m i d n i g h t he k n e w he was falling asleep and he cursed himself for his weakness because he p l a n n e d to stay up all night (it s e e m e d t h e least y o u could do the day y o u r m o t h e r died). Ten, tired a n d funny-looking, Walt drowsed, aware that t h e day h a d been an i m p o r t a n t day a n d n o t just because of w h a t she h a d d o n e . His awareness was s o u n d . He did n o t k n o w that he w o u l d be sent away to school now, t h a t t h e tight k n o t s o f Missouri—it's m y h o m e , Missouri's m y h o m e — w o u l d never b e quite so tight ever. He did n o t k n o w that his m o t h e r ' s will m a d e h i m n i n e t e n t h s a millionaire, b u t if he h a d been told, t h e news w o u l d only have conjured up black signs on stone gates, so he m i g h t have n o d d e d b u t he never w o u l d have smiled. Nor, m o s t immediately painful, d i d he d r e a m t h a t t h e Whizzer was d y i n g — n o . . . n o t you, Whizzer . . . never y o u — b u t it was t r u e . W h a t was i m p o r t a n t was a simple t h o u g h t that e n t e r e d h i m forever s o m e t i m e that night, a t h o u g h t which later was to cause h i m such pain, such pain. Try as he w o u l d — a n d he did try, a n d mightily-—the t h o u g h t w o u l d n o t vacate his m i n d ; n o t h i n g , n o t even medical r e p o r t s which p r o v e d t h a t t h e g l u t t o n o u s cancer h a d eaten h e r frail b o d y to pieces, w o u l d shake it free. It w o u l d n o t go. He h a d loved his m o t h e r , a n d maybe, just maybe, just possibly, if only he h a d been there, there, n e a r her, near h e r to help fight that final o n s l a u g h t — t w o frail ones are never as frail as o n e — t h e n p e r h a p s she w o u l d n ' t have died. Ten, tired a n d funny-looking, Walt slept. P. T. Kirkaby was w o r t h considerably less t h a n a million dollars w h e n he m a r r i e d Emily Stahr H a r d i n g , w h o was w o r t h a million dollars a n d considerably m o r e . But P.T. (he was that even w h e n he was poor, a n d w h o w o u l d n ' t be with a n a m e like Phineas Thaxter?) h a d prospects as blazing as t h e air on his w e d d i n g d a y — t h e social event of a typically i n h u m a n p r e - a i r - c o n d i t i o n i n g St. Louis s u m m e r — s o no o n e t h o u g h t once to w h i s p e r that Emily's m o n e y was a factor in the love m a t c h . A n d it was n o t a factor. P.T. was aware of h e r wealth, of course, a n d its existence caused h i m n o pain, b u t h e was correctly confident that i n n o t t o o m a n y years she w o u l d be t h e p o o r e r m e m b e r of t h e family. If he h a d a m o t i v e in add i t i o n to w h a t he hopefully a s s u m e d was his u n d y i n g d e v o t i o n ( a n d he did) ( a n d w h o doesn't?) it was simply t h e cliche of social p o s i t i o n . H e r father was a H a r d i n g , her g r a n d f a t h e r a Stahr, while his father was an o r g a n g r i n d e r (yes, with a m o n k e y ) a n d his grandfather a nameless U n i o n soldier w h o stopped off in St. Louis o n e night on his way n o r t h after the Civil War.

B O Y S & G I R L S T O G E T H E R • 25

T h e y met on a s p r i n g afternoon at the St. Louis C o u n t r y Club, the year before P.T. b e c a m e a m e m b e r . He was playing golf with Joe M a n chester, w h o was shortly to b e c o m e his p a r t n e r for a while, a n d even t h o u g h he had lost, P.T. was in fine h u m o r ; he never m i n d e d losing at golf because it was such a s t u p i d g a m e . W h o the hell cared a b o u t p u t t i n g the ball o n t o the green into t h e cup? Distance off t h e tee was w h a t interested h i m , a n d t h o u g h his score was m u c h higher, he h a d o u t d r i v e n M a n c h e s ter on every hole. After t h e y finished the eighteenth, they started back to the men's locker r o o m a n d on t h e way they passed a w o m a n dressed in white. Manchester s t o p p e d to talk; P.T. waited, watching. She was a small w o m a n — n o , she wasn't, w h e n you looked at her carefully; she just seemed small. Thin, b u t the legs looked strong. P.T. liked t h a t — g o o d s t r o n g legs. He could never u n d e r s t a n d t h e lure of the b o s o m or the b u t t . Her face was n o t a pretty face, b u t it didn't miss by m u c h . Probably t h e n o s e was t h e spoiler—it was t o o small—because the eyes were good a n d b l u e a n d he found no c o m p l a i n t with the wide mouth. "Miss Harding, Mr. Kirkaby." "Miss Harding." He smiled at her. " H o w do you do, Mr. Kirkaby." She looked up at h i m . P.T. k n e w that look, so he b r o a d e n e d his smile. He was h a n d s o m e , a n d he k n e w that, too. T h e y stared at each o t h e r until she h a d to break it, almost jerking her h e a d t o w a r d Manchester. M a n c h e s t e r m u s t have suspected s o m e t h i n g , because he c o u g h e d u n n e c e s s a r i l y — n o b o d y has to clear his throat t h a t m a n y t i m e s — a n d took a step away t o w a r d t h e locker r o o m . P.T. c o n t i n u e d staring at her, sadistically, t h o u g h he did n o t k n o w t h e word, fully aware that t h e o n e place in the w o r l d she could n o t look was back at h i m . He was t e m p t e d to ask her for d i n n e r t h a t evening b u t he resisted; they d i d n ' t do that kind of thing, t h e rich, a n d he was almost o n e of t h e m now. M a n c h e s t e r said goodbye a n d she e c h o e d it. P.T. n o d d e d a n d moved a step a h e a d of Manchester, walking t o w a r d t h e locker r o o m . Abruptly P.T. t u r n e d , calling o u t to the retreating w h i t e figure. "Miss Harding." She t u r n e d , s h a d i n g h e r eyes from the sun, waiting. P.T. crossed to her, t e m p t e d to stop halfway, t e m p t e d to m a k e h e r cross to h i m , because he k n e w she would, a n d quickly, b u t he decided n o t to. A l t h o u g h he usually struck at the t h r o a t t h e r e were times w h e n he enjoyed s u b d u i n g m o r e slowly, a n d this seemed like o n e of those times. W h e n he reached her he t o o k an extra half step so t h a t he was right on t o p of her, a n d it pleased h i m vaguely that she held h e r g r o u n d .

26 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " D i n n e r tonight, Miss H a r d i n g ? " " I ' m sorry. I'm busy this evening." " S o m e other t i m e then." He started to t u r n away, b u t her h a n d t o u c h e d his a r m . P.T. waited. She fidgeted. "What?" "I h a d to say that." " C o m e again?" " T h a t I was busy. I h a d to say it." "Why?" "It wasn't p r o p e r of you. To ask me like that. I h a d to p u t y o u in y o u r place." P.T. laughed. "O.K. I'm in my place. N o w w h a t a b o u t d i n n e r t o n i g h t ? " "You really should give m e m o r e t i m e t o — " " G o i n g once. Going twice." "Yes. Please. I w o u l d love to." "Seven o'clock," P.T. said, a n d this t i m e he did t u r n . " D o n ' t you w a n t to k n o w w h e r e I live?" P.T. laughed again. T h e H a r d i n g h o u s e was as f a m o u s as any in St. Louis—thirty-five r o o m s , so they said, piled in t h e center of six green acres along Kingshighway. " D o n ' t you worry," P.T. told her. "I'll find you." A n d , p r o m p t l y at s e v e n — h e ifed never been late in his life—he pulled his n e w Packard into h e r driveway. She was ready for h i m a n d , after fencing w i t h h e r f a t h e r — n o t that it m a t t e r e d b u t t h e y liked each other; they b o t h w e n t for the throat—P.T. t o o k h e r to dinner. T h e y dined at t h e Chase Hotel. She ordered lobster a n d against his j u d g m e n t , he did the same. She b a d g e r e d h i m into it. " O h , you'll love the lobster here. It comes straight from the shores of M a i n e in N e w England. Take the lobster. Please, Mr. Kirkaby. Please." Reluctantly, he s u b m i t t e d , b u t w i t h vague fears; he h a d never o r d e r e d lobster or chicken in a restaur a n t before. While waiting for their food they d a n c e d s o m e . D a n c i n g b o r e d P.T., b u t she liked it a n d was adept, cool, elegant, in his a r m s . Finally t h e lobster came a n d t h e y sat d o w n . She picked up a red claw a n d deftly d u g o u t t h e rich w h i t e m e a t , chattering on all t h e while a b o u t what a fine dancer he was for such a big m a n . He watched h e r g u t t h e claw a n d t h e n , e m b o l d e n e d , c o m m e n c e d his o w n attack. Alas. His h a n d s were t o o powerful a n d he cracked t h e claw w i t h ease, sending splinters of red shell o n t o t h e floor, the tablecloth, h e r plate. Hurriedly P.T. sipped s o m e water,

B O Y S & G I R L S T O G E T H E R • 27

t h e n forked his vegetables into his m o u t h . She was eating t h e tail of the lobster n o w a n d he w a t c h e d her carefully, searing t h e s h a r p h a n d movem e n t s into his b r a i n . W h e n he was sure he k n e w how, he began again. Alas. Again the red splinters scattered. P.T. covered his face with his n a p kin, staring d o w n at his plate. He t h o u g h t he h e a r d h e r laughing a n d w h e n he could b r i n g himself to look at her he saw t h a t she was laughing, a n d hard, tears s t r e a m i n g from h e r eyes. " W h a t ' r e you l a u g h i n g at?" P.T. m a n a g e d , t h o u g h he m i g h t just as easily have hit her a g o o d o n e . "You eating lobster." T h e honesty of h e r reply embarrassed h i m still further, so for a while all he could say was "Oh." "It really is funny," she assured h i m . "It is, h u h ? " He w a t c h e d h e r a m o m e n t . "I never w o u l d have ordered the d a m n thing except you insisted." "I k n o w that. That's w h y I insisted. Of course, it was an outside chance at best, that y o u m i g h t n o t be familiar w i t h t h e niceties of lobster d e m o l i t i o n , b u t I h a d to take it." "I d o n ' t like being l a u g h e d at," P.T. said. " N e i t h e r do I, Mr. Kirkaby." "P.T." "P.T." "I never laughed at you." " O h , c o m e now. W h e n we met, a n d you just looked at m e . You were laughing t h e n . A n d w h e n you asked m e t o d i n n e r y o u were practically standing b e h i n d m e , you were so close. A n d t h a t was cause for laughter too. Wasn't it? Wasn't it?" "Maybe." "Yes or n o ? " "Yes." "All right." T h e y l o o k e d at each other across t h e table a n d he was surprised by the brightness in h e r eyes. "We're all trying to survive, aren't we, P.T.? You do it y o u r way, I'll do it m i n e . D o n ' t you m o c k m e . I won't m o c k you. Fair?" T h e n , w i t h o u t waiting for a reply, she smiled a n d reached o u t to take his h a n d . "You p o o r m a n , you m u s t be famished. O r d e r yourself a steak." P.T. held her h a n d a n d laughed and s n a p p e d his s t r o n g fingers clear a n d l o u d a n d three waiters scurried out, converging a r o u n d h i m , n o d ding while he o r d e r e d a sirloin. W h e n the steak c a m e , P.T. released Emily's h a n d . But n o t before.

28

• WILLIAM

GOLDMAN

At t e n - t h i r t y he drove her h o m e , walking her up the great stone steps to t h e great stone house. Thirty-five r o o m s . He believed it now. "I enjoyed myself," P.T. said. " I ' m glad." "You t o o ? " " D o e s it m a t t e r ? " " G o d d a m right." She flushed at that, o p e n i n g t h e front door, m o v i n g inside, t u r n i n g . " T h e n I did." " I ' m glad." "Yes." She hesitated in the doorway. " T o m o r r o w night?" "Was there ever any d o u b t ? " she said, smiling her sweet smile, closing t h e d o o r b e h i n d her. P.T. cackled as he h u r r i e d d o w n t h e steps to his Packard. He g u n n e d t h e m o t o r in farewell, then drove by m e m o r y to East St. Louis, p a r k i n g on a side street. He didn't b o t h e r locking his car; he was k n o w n in East St. Louis a n d n o b o d y was going t o t a m p e r with i t — n o b o d y h a d yet a n d n o b o d y was a b o u t to. P.T. walked quickly up the street. As he m o v e d along p e o p l e called to h i m , "Hiya, P.T.," a n d he winked back at t h e m or n o d d e d , as t h e fancy t o o k h i m . He p a u s e d o u t s i d e Randy's for just a m o m e n t , feeling an u n a c c u s t o m e d twinge of w h a t he did n o t k n o w was guilt. T h e n he w e n t inside. R a n d y ^ o o s e d h i m , bellowing her laughter as he swore. His favorite girl was busy, and, i m p a t i e n t , he did n o t wait for her b u t t o o k another, a n o t h e r nameless o n e w i t h no chest b u t with g o o d s t r o n g legs a n d a supple body, a n d w h e n they were upstairs b e h i n d t h e locked d o o r she m o a n e d entirely to his satisfaction. P.T. h a d been a c u s t o m e r at Randy's since long before he could afford it, a n d he h a d been aware of t h e place's existence, a n d w h a t it was, since he was a child. He was b o r n a n d b r o u g h t up right a r o u n d the corner, a n d o n e of his early g a m e s h a d been simply to h o o t at t h e rich m e n from St. Louis as they h u r r i e d o u t of Randy's at two or three o'clock on a s u m m e r m o r n i n g . P.T.'s h o m e was an o b l o n g room—fifth floor, 71 s t e p s — w i t h a single dark w i n d o w w h e r e he lived (lived?) with his father a n d his father's monkey, a surly b r o w n b u n d l e of hair n a m e d Belinda. P.T. h a d never k n o w n his m o t h e r ; either she h a d died o r t h e o b l o n g r o o m h a d p r o v e d t o o m u c h for her to bear. W h e n he was y o u n g he h a d b e e n afraid to ask his father for the t r u t h , a n d w h e n he was old e n o u g h to s h a m e his fear his father's m i n d h a d started playing tricks so t h e answer was unreliable.

BOYS & G I R L S T O G E T H E R • 29

Since h o m e was someplace you didn't go, P.T. spent his life on the streets. T h e y were d a n g e r o u s streets, b u t n o t to h i m ; he was big a n d he was strong a n d he was fast a n d he was s m a r t so he was safe. He r o a m e d , scavenged, stole, alone or with a pack, by day or by night, a n d it seemed only inevitable that he w o u l d , according to the countless fat housewives w h o screamed it at his fleeing form after he had t i p p e d their garbage cans for laughs, "rot in the jailhouse with t h e other scum." P.T. h a d no intention of rotting. And there were signs. School, for example. He liked school. N o t t h e work, not t h e studying, b u t the b u i l d i n g itself. He liked b e i n g inside it, w a r m on cool days, cool on hot. He was never absent or tardy, a n d although his grades were indifferent, there were occasional flashes of a m i n d operating b e h i n d t h e darting eyes. M o r e t h a n one teacher t o o k h i m aside, urging hopefully, whispering, " N o w , Phineas, if you w o u l d just apply yourself, if you w o u l d only try, Phineas . . . " So t h e m i n d was capable of survival a n d certainly the b o d y was strong, b u t w h a t gave P.T. his confidence was t h a t he h a d d r e a m s . Great s u n - d r e n c h e d d r e a m s . He was going to be a soldier. A general someday, b u t before that a captain, a d e c o r a t e d captain, chest bursting with r i b b o n s a n d stars, a stern captain, h a r d , b u t beloved by his m e n . He a t t e m p t e d e n l i s t m e n t w h e n he a n d t h e c e n t u r y were b o t h twelve, b u t although they were k i n d to h i m he k n e w he h a d m a d e himself a fool. Two years later, w h e n t h e Great War broke, P.T. used to pray at night that it would wait for h i m . Thoughtfully, it did. W i t h i n the week after St. Louis and the rest of t h e c o u n t r y declared war, P.T. m a r c h e d with tears in his eyes to m e e t his glory. He h a d flat feet. T h e shock of being rejected was t o o great to cause pain. P.T. w a n d e r e d d u m b l y along the streets of East St. Louis, t h e r i b b o n s a n d stars withering, falling from his chest row by row. If, d u r i n g this m u t e journey, s o m e intimate h a d seen h i m a n d asked h i m to join in a r o b b e r y or a m u g ging, P.T. would have likely gone along, and from there, w h o knows? But luck was with h i m (luck was always with h i m , only he d i d n o t k n o w it yet), for at precisely four-fifteen on that April afternoon of nineteen a n d seventeen, P. T. Kirkaby s t u m b l e d (quite literally) into his salvation. It was a toaster. S o m e o n e h a d left a toaster on t h e sidewalk, a n d P.T., blind, h a d s t u m bled over it. For a m o m e n t he was t e m p t e d to kick it to bits with his flat feet, b u t he didn't. Instead he stared at it—it d i d n ' t l o o k all that old-— eventually stooping, picking it u p , tucking it u n d e r a s t r o n g a r m . T h e n he

30 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN began to w a n d e r again. At half past five he paused on t h e sidewalk in front of Kindall's Garage. "Hey, P.T." P.T. t u r n e d at t h e s o u n d of George Kindall's voice. George h a d b e e n a friend, m o r e or less, in h i g h school, until he quit at t h e age of sixteen to t e n d his father's garage. "Hey, George." "Watcha got?" "Toaster." " L o o k s broke." "Is." "Hey, you enlisting today?" "Flat feet." " O h . Sorry, P.T." " C a n I use the t o o l r o o m ? " " W h y not." P.T. n o d d e d a n d walked to t h e t o o l r o o m in the rear of t h e garage, closing t h e d o o r tight b e h i n d h i m . Setting t h e toaster on a w o r k b e n c h , he e x a m i n e d it a while. He h a d no actual knowledge of its workings, b u t s o o n he started taking it a p a r t , confident that he could get it back t o gether w i t h o u t m u c h trouble; he h a d faith in his fingers. A n d wires a n d bolts a n d plugs never b o t h e r e d h i m m u c h ; h e u n d e r s t o o d t h e m s o m e h o w . This p a r t just h a d to fit i n t o that o n e , a n d the two of t h e m together w e n t snugly over this d i n g u s h e r e . Like that. He u n d e r s t o o d . C o n c e n t r a t ing fully on t h e toaster left no r o o m in his m i n d for t h e b e a t e n captain. First m a k i n g certain that t h e d o o r to t h e t o o l r o o m was still shut, P.T. b e gan to sing. T h e s o u n d was surprising. It s e e m e d to have no c o n n e c t i o n with his speaking voice, which was o r d i n a r y . T h e singing voice was sweet a n d p u r e a n d m o s t at h o m e with Irish ballads. " T h e Last Rose of S u m m e r " or p o o r , fat "Molly Malone." It was his father's voice—theirs were so similar as to be identical—and on occasional evenings w h e n t h e m o n k e y was still, they w o u l d sing old songs, sitting close together in t h e o b l o n g r o o m , h a r m o n i z i n g tenderly until t h e crazy lady living d o w n s t a i r s b a n g e d h e r b r o o m into her cracked ceiling, quieting t h e m . At a few m i n u t e s after six, P.T. left t h e t o o l r o o m , toaster in h a n d . " G e o r g e ? " he called. "All finished?" P.T. looked a r o u n d , finally locating t h e feet extending from below the r u n n i n g b o a r d of a black Chevrolet. P.T. waited, a n d in a m o m e n t George Kindall rolled o u t into view. "Fix it?" P.T. held o u t the toaster. "Better 'n new."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 31 "Buy it from y o u ? " P.T. was a b o u t to say "You can have it," b u t again luck was with h i m (luck was always with h i m ) , because before he could speak George Kindall said, "A buck," a n d he reached i n t o his overall pocket, pulling out t h e m o n e y . "Done," P.T. said, a n d t h e y swapped. "If it d o n ' t work, I get my m o n e y back." "Yeah-yeah-yeah." "O.K. See you, P.T." "See you, George." He left the garage a n d started slowly t o w a r d the o b l o n g r o o m . Halfway there he s t o p p e d dead. Jerking t h e grease-stained bill from his pocket, he stared at it. A dollar] A n d for what? Just a little tinkering. Hell, at that rate he could be a millionaire in no t i m e . It was almost that simple. T h e next m o r n i n g he was up by dawn, scavenging from the streets. By n o o n he h a d found an iron a n d several coffeepots a n d by nightfall he had fixed and sold t h e m , "Better 'n new." Profit: six dollars. By t h e end of the first week he had m a d e n i n e t e e n dollars. T h e following week he entered into negotiations with a small j u n k s h o p on the S o u t h Side, so after that he didn't have to scavenge a n y m o r e . He worked all day every day in the t o o l r o o m of the garage, paying George Kindall five dollars p e r week for rent. W h e n he had a g r o u p of appliances in w o r k i n g order, he w o u l d w a n d e r the streets s h o u t i n g "Better 'n new! Better 'n new!" until he h a d c u s t o m e r s e n o u g h to go a r o u n d . Inside of three m o n t h s t h e j u n k s h o p he h a d dealt with could n o t s u p p l y h i m sufficiently, so he struck a bargain w i t h another, t h e n another. By January the t o o l r o o m in t h e garage was too small, so he rented a loft a n d set to work there, w o r k i n g nights now, straining his brute's b o d y to t h e l i m i t . " . . . if you w o u l d o n l y apply yourself, Phineas . . . if you w o u l d only try..." Phineas tried. T h e brain that lurked b e h i n d t h e darting eyes grew tired of sleeping; day a n d night it b u r n e d . P.T. slaved sixteen h o u r s a day, a n d in N o v e m b e r 1918, w h e n the war was over, t h e image of the soldier was dead. He w a t c h e d the r e t u r n i n g heroes as they m a r c h e d the streets of St. Louis and he felt neither envy n o r p a i n . Because he h a d m o n e y n o w . A n d he was going to have m o r e . By his twentieth b i r t h d a y he could afford t h e highestpriced girls at Randy's on a biweekly basis, a n d h o w m a n y w h o were t w e n t y could do that? D a m n few. D a m n few. He h a d a staff now, three m e c h a n i c s working u n d e r h i m , a n d they worked, n o t as h a r d as he did, of course, b u t he was P.T. Kirkaby a n d look o u t up there. Before he was t w e n t y - t w o he o p e n e d his first store, on a side street in East St. Louis. (He

32 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN wasn't ready to m a k e the m o v e across t h e Mississippi yet; n o t q u i t e yet.) Painted across the entirety of t h e store front, in great white letters, was his n a m e — K I R K A B Y—and u n d e r n e a t h that, i n letters slightly smaller, B E T T E R 'N N E W . T h e store did surprisingly well, but n o t well e n o u g h for P.T., a n d , several m o n t h s later, w h e n a sales representative t h o u g h t to interest h i m in buying new appliances in large lots a n d selling t h e m for less t h a n s t a n d a r d price, P.T. was way a h e a d of h i m . But he feigned d o u b t , got a better deal, a n d from t h e n on there was no stopping h i m . He sold d e cent stuff a n d he sold cheap, so t h e housewives loved h i m . He h a d three stores before a n o t h e r year went by, a n d t h e week of his twenty-fifth b i r t h day P. T. Kirkaby rented a suite in the Park Plaza Hotel, w h e r e the rich people lived. It was a glorious day for h i m , t h e only difficult m o m e n t s b e ing caused by his father, w h o did n o t u n d e r s t a n d m u c h of w h a t was going on a n d w h o was deathly afraid of elevators. T h e old m a n tried fleeing across t h e lobby, a n d P.T. h a d to grab h i m a n d lift h i m into t h e elevator, w h e r e his father trembled, eyes closed, until the j o u r n e y to t h e eleventh floor was safely over. P.T. h a d six stores by that time, half of t h e m in St. Louis p r o p e r (he had crossed the Mississippi n o w ) , the largest of all being right on M a r y l a n d Avenue in the midst of t h e m o s t expensive s h o p s in t o w n . He never failed to smile w h e n he saw, at night, his n a m e — KI R K A B Y—-flashing red on M a r y l a n d Avenue. On their second date P.T. t o o k Emily H a r d i n g to watch t h e Cardinals play t h e Giants. H e b o u g h t p e a n u t s a n d h o t dogs a n d w h e n t h e g a m e was a b o u t to begin he n u d g e d her, gesturing toward the G i a n t manager. " T h e r e he is," P.T. said, awed. " T h e r e ' s McGraw." "Yes," Emily said. "Of course." "You never heard of John M c G r a w ? " P.T. was s t u n n e d . M c G r a w was o n e of his special heroes, along w i t h Fairbanks a n d (privately) John M c C o r m a c k . Shaking his head, he h a n d e d h e r s o m e p e a n u t s . " T h a n k you," she said, b u t it was immediately evident t h a t she did n o t k n o w w h a t to do with t h e m . She glanced several t i m e s at P.T.'s big h a n d s , at the way his fingers pressed sharply on the p r o p e r seam, m a k i n g t h e shell split. T h e n she tried it herself, suddenly talking very fast. "I h a d no idea baseball could be so m u c h fun. I really never t h o u g h t it. I'm n o t m u c h of an athlete, I'm afraid. Of course I played field hockey at school, b u t t h e n everyone played field h o c k e y at school." "Like this." P.T. d e m o n s t r a t e d his p e a n u t technique. " O h yes, I see now," b u t she still could n o t do it. Finally she d r o p p e d t h e p e a n u t s to the concrete. "I k n o w I m u s t look silly, b u t my father was

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 33 very strict. He would never let me c o m e to this k i n d of t h i n g . You u n d e r stand that." But the g a m e h a d started a n d P.T. was n o t aware of h e r talking until she pulled several times at his a r m . " W h a t ? " "I was just asking a b o u t y o u r father." " W h a t about m y father?" " N o t h i n g . It's just that y o u never m e n t i o n e d h i m . So I w o n d e r e d . . . " She shrugged. Dead. T h a t was w h a t she was asking. "Yes." " O h . I'm sorry." P.T. n o d d e d and t u r n e d back to t h e game. They sat in silence t h r o u g h the rest of the inning, a n d w h e n t h e Cardinals t o o k t h e field P.T. said, "He's alive." "Pardon?" "He's alive!" W h y so loud? " M y father. He's retired n o w b u t he's alive. He played the organ. He was a musician. A fine musician. O.K.?" She was looking at h i m a n d he d i d n ' t m u c h like it, so he shoved t h e p e a n u t s at her a n d said, "Have s o m e m o r e lobster," a n d , happily, she l a u g h e d . T h a t night, after he h a d pulled his Packard to a halt in h e r driveway b u t before she h a d a chance to p u s h at the d o o r - h a n d l e , he kissed her. She was surprised a n d at first m a d e token resistance, b u t as his s t r o n g a r m s held h e r in their circle, she honestly faced her o w n desire a n d kissed h i m back. W h e n that was d o n e , P.T. walked h e r up t h e stone steps to t h e great front door. Awkwardly, he kissed her h a n d (Fairbanks d i d it better) a n d p r o b a b l y it was funny, b u t she d i d n o t laugh. Later, P.T. stood o u t s i d e Randy's, frozen. He was u n a b l e to t h i n k why he was unable to m o v e , so he simply stood still, waiting. Eventually a gang of children began h o o t i n g at h i m from across the street a n d their derision freed h i m . P.T. reached into his pocket, scattered a handful of change into t h e street, roared as the children scrambled for t h e silver. Turning abruptly, he r e t u r n e d to his Packard a n d drove back to t h e Park Plaza H o tel, singing. T h e y were m a r r i e d in merciless heat a n d h o n e y m o o n e d for three m o n t h s in Europe. P.T. spent a fortune—"You're o n l y nouveau riche o n c e " — a n d on their r e t u r n their h o u s e in the s u b u r b s was finished, so t h e y all m o v e d in, P.T. a n d Emily a n d Emily's Negro m a i d a n d P.T.'s father a n d an English couple n a m e d Saunders, w h o were to be t h e first in an endless stream of servants. In their second year of m a r r i a g e Emily gave b i r t h to their first son a n d three years later Walt c a m e along, b u t between

34 • W I L L I A M G O L D M A N

t h e two t h e crash came, hitting P.T. h a r d for a while. T h r e e stores h a d to be closed a n d two m o r e were on t h e verge, t h o u g h he m a n a g e d to avoid the shattering losses that claimed m o s t of his competitors. Emily gave a lot of parties in between her seemingly constant social work, a n d t h e marriage looked exemplary for several years. It wasn't, of course, b u t t h e initial decay went unnoticed. It was n o t until their seventh-anniversary party, at which P.T. arrived late, d r u n k a n d with several female c o m p a n i o n s , that his w h o r i n g became very c o m m o n knowledge. Once it surfaced, however, he no longer t o o k pains to h i d e it—Emily's public h u m i l i a t i o n s were almost ritual n o w — a n d people t o o k to shaking their heads in silent c o m miseration whenever Emily walked by. O n c e — i t was the day after a s w i m m i n g party at t h e Kirkaby pool at which P.T. h a d struck Emily (it was the first time he h a d ever d o n e that, in public)—Emily's best friend, Adele Hosquith, asked her p o i n t - b l a n k why she p u t up with it all. E m i l y — w h o was probably the person at t h e party least surprised by P.T.'s action since he was always at his c r u d e s t right after he h a d "been b a d " (her w o r d for it)—was embarrassed by the question a n d tried n o t to answer. But w h e n Adele pursued, Emily simply stated w h a t she u n d e r s t o o d to be true: that although he was u n d e n i a b l y at times s o m e w h a t less kind t h a n she w o u l d wish, still, her a d m i r a t i o n of h i m a n d for h i m was m o r e t h a n sufficient to cover any occasional imperfections. But u n d e r n e a t h the explanation lay sadness, for the first t i m e he h a d been b a d (they h a d n o t been m a r r i e d a year) he h a d come to h e r a n d told her, painfully, explicitly. He told h e r a n d stood before her, waiting, a gigantic m o p p e t , impatient, almost, for his whipping. A n d she should have w h i p p e d h i m , she k n e w that now. She should have doled h i m his expected p o r t i o n of scorn. But she piled his plate high with forgiveness, a n d that night, w h e n he wept in her arms, she joyously m i s t o o k his hatred for penitential tears. W h e n Emily first noticed t h e small u m p on the u n d e r s i d e of her left breast she immediately decided n o t tc t h i n k a b o u t it. She was vaguely aware of t h e possibility of t h e l u m p being a harbinger of a certain disease (the clean image of a crab flashed across h e r m i n d , b u t she w o u l d n o t t h i n k t h e w o r d ) b u t she d o u b t e d it. No o n e in h e r family h a d ever h a d t h e disease (dirty thing) a n d , besides, she was still u n d e r forty a n d it was an old people's sickness. T h e r e was no q u e s t i o n a b o u t it: t h e l u m p w o u l d go away. To m a k e absolutely certain t h a t it w o u l d , she vowed never to l o o k at h e r left breast again. P.T. discovered it, m o n t h s later. T h e y were (for s o m e reason) in h e r b e d a n d his h a n d s m o v e d slowly across h e r body. S u d d e n l y t h e h a n d s stopped.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 35 " H e y " RT. said.

:

She pulled away from h i m . " H o l d still." She tried getting u p . "I said 'still.' " Forcing h e r back, he flicked on t h e bedlight. " W h a t the hell." "It's nothing." "You're a doctor?" "Please." In answer, he t o o k h e r gently in his a r m s . "Hey, h o n e y ? " " W h a t ? " she said, t h o u g h she k n e w w h a t he w a n t e d . A c h e c k u p . Just a little checkup, huh? Take a little t r i p to Chicago a n d let t h e m have a look at you. Emily resisted, b u t he h a d no i n t e n t i o n of losing, so eventually she s u c c u m b e d . She t o o k t h e t r a i n to Chicago, where P.T. h a d a r r a n g e d for a suite at the A m b a s s a d o r East, a n d she t o u r e d the Art Institute a n d b o u g h t s o m e clothes on Michigan Avenue a n d w e n t to t h e theater twice a n d after a week t h e doctors were d o n e testing. A sweet Jew n a m e d Berger was in charge, a n d w h e n he called h e r i n t o his office they lied to each o t h e r for a while. " I ' m going to be absolutely h o n e s t with you," Dr. Berger said. Lie n u m b e r one. " I w a n t you t o be." N u m b e r two. "Well, it could be a lot worse." N u m b e r three. "I believe you." Four. T h e y went t h r o u g h seventeen lies w i t h o u t once m e n t i o n i n g that n a m e (Emily stopped c o u n t i n g after seventeen), a n d w h e n t h e y were all d o n e they b o t h smiled a n d s h o o k h a n d s a n d a s she waved goodbye a n d started for the elevator she k n e w she was a dead w o m a n . Back at t h e h o tel, she was t e m p t e d to call P.T. b u t she did not. Instead she packed, paid h e r bill a n d t o o k a taxi to t h e railroad station. She arrived in St. Louis at a few m i n u t e s before seven a n d t o o k a n o t h e r taxi to h e r h o m e . P.T. was out, b u t t h e boys were glad to see h e r a n d she talked a n d played w i t h t h e m u n til they tired. T h e n she p u t t h e m b o t h to bed. After t h a t she u n p a c k e d , carefully folding h e r clothes i n t o their p r o p e r drawers. She showered, d r i e d herself thoroughly, r a n a c o m b t h r o u g h her hair Finally, naked (no sense in hiding it a n y m o r e ) , she lay d o w n in t h e d a r k to wait. She waited from ten till eleven till o n e till two, motionless, staring at t h e ceiling, feeling it build all the while inside her. She w o u l d gladly have waited a m o n t h or a year because the l o o k on his face was going to be w o r t h it. W h e n P.T. c a m e h o m e at three she m a d e no s o u n d of welcome. She listened, rather, v

36 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t o t h e s o u n d s o f his undressing. W h e n h e entered their r o o m a n d t u r n e d on t h e overhead light, she still d i d n o t m o v e . He did, t h o u g h . He saw h e r a n d his m o u t h d r o p p e d a n d h e s t u m b l e d with surprise. " I ' m going to be unfaithful to you, P.T." T h e t o n e in h e r voice thrilled her. She h a d never t h o u g h t herself capable of such h o n e s t o p e n loathing, b u t n o w her b o d y t h r o b b e d w i t h it. He flattened against t h e far wall, w a t c h i n g her, a n d the look on his face was w o r t h it. After all these years she h a d loosed her flood of v e n o m a n d she loved it. A r m s o u t s t r e t c h e d , n a k e d a n d dying, she advanced o n h e r h u s b a n d . " T h e u l t i m a t e infidelity is m i n e ! " ;U T h r o u g h a n d a r o u n d all this, Walt grew u p . •v W h e n he was n o t yet four, he s p e n t t h e entirety of Easter a f t e r n o o n staring at a piece of pastry. It was an exquisite piece of pastry, a delicate chocolate w i t h a p i n k Easter b u n n y etched on t o p in confectioners' sugar. T h e b u n n y h a d little p i n k eyes a n d big p i n k ears a n d Walt t h o u g h t it prettier t h a n any picture. But he was h u n g r y . He was incredibly h u n g r y . So he stared at t h e b u n n y , aware of its beauty, aware, also, of t h e r u m b l i n g of his s t o m a c h . Walt walked o u t o f t h e big living r o o m . H e r o a m e d a r o u n d t h e h o u s e (careful to avoid A r n o l d ) a n d t h e n went back to t h e living r o o m . T h e r e was t h e b u n n y , still beautiful. But his s t o m a c h w o u l d n o t stay quiet. Walt m a d e a circuit of t h e h o u s e again. O h , w h a t a beautiful b u n n y . He licked his lips. Gently lifting t h e b u n n y , he b r o u g h t it close to his face. ( N o t to eat it, just to look at it better.) T h e b u n n y grazed his lips. He res t o r e d it to its position on t h e table a n d left t h e r o o m again, h u r r y i n g this t i m e , m a k i n g a n o t h e r t o u r o f t h e h o u s e . A r n o l d was outside n o w playing catch w i t h his father a n d he t h o u g h t of joining t h e m , except A r n o l d w o u l d p r o b a b l y kill h i m later if he tried, so he w a t c h e d t h e m t h r o u g h a w i n d o w until i t was t i m e t o g o l o o k a t t h e b u n n y again. O h , h e was h u n gry. His s t o m a c h t h u n d e r e d . Walt r a n from the r o o m . A r n o l d was still playing catch b u t h e m i g h t s t o p any m i n u t e a n d c o m e i n a n d eat the b u n n y , s o Walt r a n back i n t o t h e living r o o m and, m o r e gently t h a n b e fore, lifted the b u n n y a n d m o v e d on tiptoe up the stairs to his b e d r o o m . He placed t h e b u n n y in t h e very center of his pillow a n d c l i m b e d up on t h e b e d to stare at the little p i n k eyes a n d the sugary ears. O h , my. It looked even m o r e beautiful t h a n before now, lying graceful a n d chocolaty in t h e very center of t h e white pillow. Walt stuck his n o s e close to t h e b u n n y a n d stared at it cross-eyed. My, my. He got up from t h e b e d a n d w e n t to his closet a n d p u t on his g u n belt (low on t h e h i p ) a n d , creeping to t h e window, fired a few h u n d r e d silver bullets i n t o A r n o l d . This

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 37 d o n e , he t o o k off his g u n belt a n d climbed on his b e d again. He was weak from h u n g e r now, so he closed his eyes, h o l d i n g his b r e a t h until his lips b u r s t apart a n d he lay still, gasping. T h e n he g r a b b e d for t h e b u n n y a n d gobbled it d o w n . T h e rich taste of chocolate still lingered in his m o u t h as he started to cry. B u r y i n g his h e a d in t h e very center of t h e pillow, Walt wept. It was m o r e or less t h e story of his life. His life, or at least t h e early years of it, s h o u l d have b e e n pleasant. Deprivations were few, m o t h e r s were w a r m , fathers o m n i p o t e n t b u t in absentia m o r e t h a n n o t . Yet his early years were filled w i t h an almost p e r e n n i a l fear. Arnold. "Hey, Ugly." (They were four a n d seven a n d Walt h a d j u s t eaten his first meal w i t h o u t spilling, an event t h a t caused p a r e n t a l disbelief, then joy. Walt lay in his d a r k b e d r o o m , ready for sleep.) "Hey, funny-looking, I'm talking to you." " W h a t is it, A r n o l d ? " "You're g o n n a cry, Ugly. You k n o w that? Every day till you're dead." " I a m not." "Y'are too." Arnold's fingers b e g a n p i n c h i n g h i m . "Stop it, Arnold." " M a k e me." T h e fingers d u g at t h e flesh on his ribs. He tried to struggle b u t A r n o l d was strong. "Stop it, Arnold." "Shut u p . If you ever tell t h e m , I'll m a k e you cry twice as bad." "Arnold, you're h u r t i n g . " ,» "Cry." Walt bit his lip b u t it h u r t . It really h u r t . Disobeying his orders, the tears c a m e . But A r n o l d c o n t i n u e d t o pinch. T h a t was t h e t h i n g a b o u t A r n o l d : he enjoyed it. "Hey, funny-looking." (A s u m m e r n o o n a n d he h a d his first real suit, fresh from the store all t h e w a y in St. Louis.) "What?" "C'mere and help me a sec." " W h y ? " Already wary. "Just c'mere a n d h o l d t h e hose. I gotta spray t h e garden." "You g o n n a get me w e t ? " " H o w can I get you wet? T h e water's n o t t u r n e d on." T h a t was true. Walt t o o k t h e h o s e from his brother. " N o w w h a t ? " "Just h o l d it. W h a t s a matter, d o n c h a trust m e ? "

38

• WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"No." ' "Well, just h o l d it." A r n o l d walked t o w a r d the h o u s e . " T h a t ' s a nice suit, Walt. I really like t h a t suit." "You d o ? " "Yeah. You really look g o o d in it. No kidding." "It c o m e s all the way from St. Louis." "It does?" " M a m a helped me b u y it. She drove me in the car." " N o kidding?" "You really like it?" "I'll say I d o . I wish I h a d a suit like that. Hey, Walt, is t h e r e s o m e t h i n g stuck in t h e end of the h o s e ? " "I d o n ' t s e e — " T h e water g u s h e d from t h e nozzle, d r e n c h i n g his body, t u r n i n g the blue suit a d a r k e r blue. Walt fled toward the h o u s e b u t A r n o l d grabbed h i m . " D o n ' t y o u tell t h e m or you'll really get it." Walt b r o k e free a n d c o n t i n u e d his r u n , Arnold's laughter k e e p i n g h i m company. "Hey, Goofy." (It was Walt's b i r t h d a y , a n d he was in his r o o m , getting r e a d y for a b o a t ride on t h e Mississippi w i t h his mother.) " W h a t ' d you close the d o o r for?" A r n o l d leaned against t h e d o o r . " N o special reason." " W h a t d o you have b e h i n d y o u r back?" "Nothing." " T h e n let me see y o u r h a n d s . " "Sure." A r n o l d b r o u g h t o n e h a n d o u t , o p e n e d it, p u t i t b e h i n d his back, t h e n b r o u g h t o u t the o t h e r h a n d . "See? Nothing." " B o t h at t h e same time, I m e a n t . " A r n o l d crossed t o t h e b e d , k e e p i n g his h a n d s b e h i n d his back. " T h a t b o a t ride sure o u g h t a be fun." Walt c o n t i n u e d getting dressed, keeping an eye on his b r o t h e r . "Ice cream a n d cake. All y o u can eat. That's what I h e a r d M o t h e r tell P.T." "You d i d ? " " T h a t ' s right. All t h e chocolate cake you can eat. Hey, Walt. Guess w h a t I f o u n d today?" "I give up." " O h , go o n , guess." " I ' m late, Arnold." "Guess."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 39 " W h a t have you got b e h i n d y o u r back, A r n o l d ? " . "Jar." " W h a t ' s in it?" "Guess." " C u t it o u t , Arnold." "You k n o w what I got." "Don't:' "Doncha know?" "Spider!" Walt said a n d he b o l t e d for the d o o r b u t A r n o l d blocked h i m . Walt retreated. A r n o l d waved t h e jar at h i m . "Baby. It can't h u r t y o u . N o t while it's in t h e jar. I w o n d e r w h a t w o u l d h a p p e n if it got o u t ? " He twisted t h e cap a n d t h e n t h e spider was crawling crazily on the rug. "Arnold—" " If t h e y hear you, you're d e a d , you k n o w that." "Please, Arnold." "Eat t h e spider." "No." "Yes. Eat t h e spider." "Please." A r n o l d scooped it up a n d r a n for Walt, g r a b b i n g h i m , forcing h i m d o w n , p u s h i n g t h e twisted black m a s s toward Walt's face. Walt screamed a n d got sick on t h e rug. "Hey, four eyes." (It was s u p p e r t i m e a n d M a u d i e was feeding t h e m at t h e kitchen table while she a n d t h e other servants served cocktails to c o m p a n y in the living r o o m far away.) Walt silently finished his m a s h e d potatoes. "You better answer m e , Egbert. You k n o w w h a t ' l l h a p p e n if you don't." M a u d i e c a m e in, big a n d black, a n d t o o k their plates, d e p o s i t i n g t h e m in t h e sink. She crossed to t h e icebox d o o r a n d b r o u g h t o u t two large bowls of chocolate p u d d i n g . "Surprise," she said as she set t h e bowls in front of t h e m . " O h boy," Walt said. " O h boy." M a u d i e t u r n e d a n d left t h e r o o m . Walt picked u p his s p o o n . "Wait!" A r n o l d said. Walt looked over at h i m , s p o o n poised. " D o n ' t t o u c h that. There's s o m e t h i n g w r o n g w i t h it." " O h , you d o n ' t fool m e , A r n o l d . N o t this t i m e , y o u don't." " I ' m n o t trying to fool you."

40 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You just w a n t my p u d d i n g , I know. Well, you can't have it." " I d o n ' t w a n t y o u r p u d d i n g , Berty. I d o n ' t even w a n t mine." H e p u s h e d his plate a few inches away. "Why don't you?" "Because there's s o m e t h i n g w r o n g with it." He sniffed his p u d d i n g . "It's spoiled or s o m e t h i n g . Smell it yourself if you d o n ' t believe me." Walt stuck his nose close t o t h e p u d d i n g a n d t h a t was w h e n A r n o l d p u s h e d his face d o w n , right i n t o t h e bowl. T h e p u d d i n g splattered all over a n d Walt's glasses were caked w i t h chocolate so he c o u l d h a r d l y see. "All right now, what's t h e fuss?" M a u d i e , big a n d black, s t o o d by t h e table. "Walt h a d a n accident," A r n o l d hollered. " H e t h o u g h t t h e p u d d i n g smelled funny a n d t h e n h e h a d a n accident." "I do believe you're right," M a u d i e said, picking up Walt's bowl, sniffing it. "I m u s t have used spoiled c r e a m . It sure does smell funny." " I t does?" A r n o l d said, a n d he sniffed at his bowl of p u d d i n g until t h e great black h a n d s l a m m e d d o w n , shoving his face i n t o t h e chocolate. A r n o l d kicked b u t the h a n d h e l d firm, forcing his nose flat against t h e b o t t o m of t h e plate. A r n o l d flailed his a r m s b u t the great black h a n d d i d n o t m o v e . I t p u s h e d a n d p u s h e d a n d only w h e n A r n o l d b e g a n c o u g h i n g convulsively did it raise u p . A r n o l d r a n sobbing from t h e r o o m , crying, "P.T., P.T." over a n d over. "He's going to tell t h e m , " Walt m u r m u r e d . "He's r u n n i n g right to them." T h e n M a u d i e h a d h i m , s h a k i n g h i m hard. "You! You are so gullible I w a n t to cry. You k n o w w h a t t h a t means? Gullible? It m e a n s sucker a n d y o u stop being o n e ! " T h e n A r n o l d was b a c k in t h e kitchen, screaming, "You're g o n n a get it now, you're g o n n a get it n o w ! " a n d t h e n P.T. strode in, followed by Emily. P.T. p o i n t e d to his eldest son. "You do that, M a u d i e ? " "Bet y o ' a s s ! " P.T. hesitated, staring at t h e folded black a r m s . "Oh," he said finally. "Well, y o u probably h a d a g o o d reason." " T h a t ' s my feeling." "Just checking," P.T. said, a n d he r e t u r n e d to his guests. Emily a p p r o a c h e d M a u d i e . " M a u d i e , " she whispered, "you m u s t t r y to watch y o u r language in front of t h e children." "You're absolutely right, Emily. I gotta do that." "Yes," Emily said, a n d she followed h e r h u s b a n d . A r n o l d just s t o o d there, staring a r o u n d .

B O Y S & G I R L S T O G E T H E R • 41

Walt looked at h i m . "Chicken!" he said. "Yellow chicken!" A r n o l d began t o shake. T h e n h e ( 1 ) s t a m p e d his foot i n anger; (2) b u r s t into tears; (3) fled. "He's yellow," Walt said. "I never told t h e m . Never even once." " S h u t u p a n d eat y o u r p u d d i n g , " M a u d i e said. Walt ate his p u d d i n g . A n d d i d n ' t it taste good! G i n o C a r u s o was t h e only m a r b l e player in school as brilliant as Walt. G i n o never fudged or spit d u r i n g an o p p o n e n t ' s t u r n . He simply knelt by t h e p e r i m e t e r of the big p o t circle, his chin resting on his knees, his d a r k eyes bright. T h e n , w h e n his t u r n came, h e w o u l d k n u c k l e d o w n fairly a n d begin to shoot, his deadly fingers cleaning o u t t h e p o t w i t h startling speed. He a n d Walt w o u l d usually battle a r o u n d t h e big p o t circle late in t h e afternoons, after t h e y h a d beaten all o t h e r c o m e r s soundly. T h e n , their pockets c r a m m e d w i t h spoils, they would engage each o t h e r in epic struggles that s o m e t i m e s lasted till dark. Gino w o n s o m e , others Walt w o n ; always the caliber of play was o u t s t a n d i n g . But G i n o was m o r e t h a n just a m a r b l e player; he was quick, brighter t h a n m o s t , a n d easily the m o s t graceful on the j u n g l e g y m or at tag or p o m - p o m - p u l l a w a y . "Hey, Gino," Walt said. It was a u t u m n a n d t h e y were s t a n d i n g t o gether on the p l a y g r o u n d d u r i n g recess. "Hey, Walt." "Hey, Gino," Walt said again, feinting with his right, sending a straight left t h a t grazed Gino's a r m . "Pow," Gino said, m o v i n g his lithe b o d y this way, t h e n that, getting Walt off balance, delicately l a n d i n g a light right to t h e c h i n . "Watcha d o o n ? " T h e y c o n t i n u e d t o spar. " Watcha m e a n , w a t c h a d o o n ? W h e n ? " "After." "School?" "Yeah." Walt drove in w i t h a right a n d left to t h e body, b u t G i n o was m u c h t o o fast, so b o t h p u n c h e s missed. " S o m e stuff for my old lady." " T h a t take long?" Walt tried a r o u n d h o u s e right, b u t it wasn't a good idea; G i n o gave h i m three fast ones in the ribs a n d was g o n e from range before the right arrived. "Half h o u r if I hurry." "You w a n n a do s o m e t h i n g after that m a y b e ? " "Sure. W h a t ? " "I d o n ' t know. S o m e t h i n g . "

42 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " F i n e w i t h m e . Where? H e r e ? " " H o w ' b o u t my house? We got trees." " W h e r e ' s your h o u s e ? " " E n d of Linden Lane." "I'll find it." T h e recess bell r a n g . T h e y started b a c k to school, still fighting. "Zonk." A right to t h e breadbasket. "See you, Walt." " W h a p . " A final e r r a n t left. "See you, Gino." As s o o n as school was over he h u r r i e d h o m e . His m o t h e r was b a c k b y t h e p o o l with M r s . H o s q u i t h . She waved t o h i m , gesturing t o w a r d t h e water, b u t he s h o o k his h e a d , s h o u t i n g , "Gino's c o m i n g to play" before t u r n i n g , starting for t h e kitchen. He let t h e screen d o o r slam s h u t w i t h a b a n g because that always got M a u d i e good. "You let t h a t d o o r slam o n e m o r e t i m e a n d you are d-e-a-d." "Hey, Maudie." H e e n t e r e d h e r d o m a i n . " D o n ' t y o u ' H e y M a u d i e ' m e , whoever you are. I d o n ' t associate with p e o p l e so s t u p i d they let t h e d o o r slam." "Hey,Maudie." "Hey Maudie what?" " W h a t we got to eat?" " F o o d , stupid. That's w h a t we generally eat, ain't it?" "We got any cookies or cake or a n y t h i n g ? " " W h o wants to know?" "Gino's c o m i n g to play a n d m a y b e he'll be hungry." " T h e famous m a r b l e s h o o t e r you told m e a b o u t ? " Walt n o d d e d . "Is he as stupid as y o u are?" Walt s h o o k his head. " T h e n d o n ' t you worry. I'll feed him." Walt d a s h e d o u t t h e back, letting t h e screen d o o r slam again, waiting till he h e a r d " d - e - a - d " l o u d a n d clear. T h e n he r a n a r o u n d to t h e front a n d started inspecting trees. H e decided t h a t t h e old m a p l e w o u l d b e best t o climb, a n d , t h e decision m a d e , h e tore into t h e h o u s e again a n d u p t o his r o o m . He got o u t his collection of baseball cards a n d tossed t h e m casually across his dresser t o p . T h e n he b r o u g h t his g a m e of P h o t o Electric Football from his closet a n d s t o o d it in a c o r n e r of t h e r o o m . Ready at last, he m u s s e d his hair, m a d e sure his h a n d s were d i r t y a n d walked to t h e w i n d o w seat on the landing. F r o m t h e w i n d o w he h a d a clear view of t h e l o n g driveway along w h i c h G i n o w o u l d have to travel. Walt waited. After a m o m e n t or two he b e g a n to sing. " I ' m called little B u t t e r c u p , sweet little

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 43 Buttercup, t h o u g h I shall never tell whyyyyyy; b u t still I ' m called Butterc u p , dear little Buttercup, sweet little Buttercup I-I-I-I-I-I-I." No Gino. He d a s h e d downstairs a n d looked at the grandfather's clock t h a t d o m i n a t e d o n e corner of t h e foyer. It h a d been half an h o u r . G i n o was d u e . He t o o k t h e stairs two at a t i m e a n d slid safely o n t o t h e w i n d o w seat. It was a beautiful day, w a r m , w i t h t h e leaves still striving for green. A light w i n d blew across the great lawn. Walt slid d o w n t h e banister a n d e x a m i n e d the grandfather's clock. Forty m i n u t e s now. He climbed b a c k to t h e w i n d o w seat. T h e m a p l e tree was begging to be conquered; its l o w a r m s reached o u t t o w a r d h i m , b o w i n g before t h e m o u n t i n g w i n d . "You're m a d , Kirkaby. No o n e has ever c l i m b e d Everest. M u c h less at night. M u c h less in a blizzard like this one. Great Scott, m a n , you won't have a chance." T h e Whizzer's eyes n a r r o w e d . "You've got to listen to m e , Kirkaby. It's two h u n d r e d below on the slopes tonight. A n d that wind! Just listen." T h e Whizzer listened. T h e n he d o n n e d his ear muffs. "Kirkaby, c o m e back. Kirkaby, don't. K i r k a b y . . . " Fifty-five m i n u t e s . Walt d r e w b a c k his foot to kick t h e clock, t h e n t h o u g h t t h e better of it. "Ain't y o u r friend h e r e yet?" "He'll come!" M a u d i e looked at h i m . " C o u r s e he will, sugar. D o n ' t y o u worry." Walt walked to t h e w i n d o w seat a n d stared out. N o t h i n g . Just the w i n d . At t h a t m o m e n t he could have cried, so he vaulted off t h e seat a n d ran o u t into the front yard. T h e m a p l e tree was no fun to c l i m b alone, b u t he pulled himself up over t h e b o t t o m limbs just to see better. N o t h i n g . Just t h e w i n d . H a d he said L i n d e n Lane? Maybe he h a d said t h e w r o n g address. Walt s h o o k his h e a d . He r e m e m b e r e d . E n d of L i n d e n Lane. T h a t was w h a t he h a d said a n d G i n o h a d answered I'll find it. Walt j u m p e d o u t of the tree a n d d i d an a w k w a r d somersault on t h e grass. T h e y always m a d e h i m dizzy, b u t t h e grass was soft so he didn't m i n d . He lay on his s t o m a c h a n d p u s h e d his glasses up snug tight against t h e bridge of his nose with his left t h u m b before he began looking for- a four-leaf clover. Fie was terrific at s p o t t i n g four-leaf clovers, p r o b a b l y t h e best in the world. He never cared m u c h for t h e m b u t his m o t h e r loved t h e m , so whenever h e h a d n o t h i n g better t o d o h e h u n t e d t h e m d o w n a n d gave t h e m to her. She always m a d e a fuss a n d t h a n k e d h i m a n d that wasn't so bad. Walt looked for a little b u t t h e n stopped because w h e r e was Gino! Walt rolled o n t o his back b u t t h e clouds were t o o t h i n to h i d e any animals. A n d wasn't that always t h e way? W h e n you were in a h u r r y there'd be a whole menagerie over y o u a n d w h e n you h a d t i m e , n o t h i n g . N o t

44 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN even a cow; not even if you cheated. Walt stood a n d started s p i n n i n g a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d . T h a t really m a d e h i m dizzy, m u c h worse t h a n the somersaulting, b u t he kept on until he almost fell back to e a r t h . He lay in a h e a p , eyes closed, h e a r t t h u m p i n g . Where was he? W h y did he say he was going to c o m e if he wasn't going to? He should never have told his m o t h e r a n d M a u d i e . Walt s t o o d a n d t h r u s t his a r m s o u t straight, m a k i n g airplane noises. He was g o o d at it b u t it b o r e d h i m t h e n , so he shoved his h a n d s into his pockets a n d started walking aimlessly across t h e perfect lawn. "Gino!" he yelled suddenly, all he had. F r o m s o m e w h e r e c a m e an answer, soft a n d far. "Walt? W a l t ? " Walt r a n . He tore d o w n t h e lawn to t h e driveway a n d t h e n sped over t h e gravel toward t h e great s t o n e posts at the e n d . G i n o was s t a n d i n g framed between the posts at t h e edge of t h e driveway. "Hey, G i n o ! "Walt cried. "Hey, Walt!" " H o w long you been h e r e ? " "Hour." "You have? You been h e r e an h o u r , G i n o ? " T h e y were s t a n d i n g side by side n o w a n d they s h o o k h a n d s . " W h y didn't you c o m e in? You crazy?" "I just been waiting for you here." " B u t you should have c o m e in. That's w h a t you s h o u l d have d o n e . You crazy Gino." " 1 can read." "Read w h a t ? " G i n o pointed. Walt stared a t the w o o d e n signs. PRIVATE DRIVEWAY. N O T R E S P A S S ING. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

" I ain't no trespasser," G i n o said. " O h t h e m . They're just there, y'know? N o w c'mon." "I ain't no trespasser." "Will you forget a b o u t t h e m , h u h ? " A n d he pulled at Gino's a r m b u t G i n o d i d n o t move. Walt pulled again a n d t h e n he let go a n d r a n at the signs. "I tell you they d o n ' t m e a n anything! See?" A n d he started pulling at t h e m b u t they were nailed in, so he grabbed a rock a n d started p o u n d ing with all his m i g h t until the w o o d began to splinter. "See? See? T h e y d o n ' t m e a n anything! N o t a g o d d a m thing! See! See, G i n o ! See!" He switched the rock to t h e o t h e r h a n d , crying like a fool, s m a s h i n g until t h e w o o d e n signs fell from the pillars to the g r o u n d , where he s t a m p e d t h e m to d e a t h beneath his feet.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 45 M a u d i e approved of G i n o a n d Emily was very k i n d , so t h e next recess Walt asked h i m over for l u n c h . "Got my lunch," G i n o said. "You got milk? You got dessert?" "No." " T h e n c o m e on." So they walked to Linden Lane, quizzing each o t h e r on b a t t i n g averages. (They were b o t h fantastic on batting averages.) W h e n they got to t h e h o u s e Walt o p e n e d t h e b a c k screen door, careful n o t to let it slam, and preceded Gino up t h e steps. "Hey, Maudie." "Hey Maudie what?" "Guess w h o I got w i t h m e ? " "I got my o w n lunch," G i n o said quickly, h o l d i n g up his b r o w n p a p e r sack. "He's g o n n a have m i l k a n d dessert." " T h a t ' s right," M a u d i e said. " C o u r s e he is." T h e y sat at t h e kitchen table a n d she b r o u g h t G i n o a plate. He unfolded t h e b r o w n p a p e r bag, t o o k o u t two sandwiches, t h e n folded t h e bag again on t h e same creases a n d stuck it into his back pocket. Maudie busied herself w i t h Walt's lunch. "Watcha got?" Walt asked. "Same as always." "What?" " P e a n u t butter a n d jelly sandwiches." " T h e y any g o o d ? " "You never h a d o n e ? " "No." M a u d i e b r o u g h t t h e m b o t h glasses of cold milk. T h e n she b r o u g h t Walt's lunch. It consisted of a slab of roast beef a n d m a s h e d p o t a t o e s a n d gravy a n d fresh green peas. " L e m m e taste," Walt said. Gino handed him a sandwich. Walt t o o k a small bite. "So this is p e a n u t butter a n d jelly." Gino nodded. Walt could say n o t h i n g m o r e . T h e n Gino said, "You ate my whole sandwich." " G i m m e the other." G i n o hesitated. "Here," Walt said, a n d he shoved his steaming plate of roast beef

46 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN across the table. "If you d o n ' t like it, you can have s o m e t h i n g else. But I gotta have that other sandwich." G i n o started eating t h e roast beef. " O h boy," Walt said. " O h boy." He finished half t h e sandwich, t h e n forced himself to slow d o w n . "You get these every day?" G i n o n o d d e d . " W h a d d y a call this?" "Roast beef." " O h , sure," G i n o said, a n d t h e n neither of t h e m s p o k e u n t i l t h e meal was d o n e . T h e next day, M a u d i e m a d e Walt p e a n u t b u t t e r a n d jelly sandwiches a n d he ate t h e m , b u t all t h e while he was watching G i n o eat his. Because Maudie's weren't the same. P e a n u t b u t t e r is p e a n u t b u t t e r ; jelly, jelly; bread, b r e a d — b u t t h e y just weren't t h e same. After l u n c h , he t o o k her aside while G i n o waited for h i m in the doorway. " T h o s e were terrific sandwiches, M a u d i e . I really liked those sandwiches." " G o on." "Well." Walt smiled at her. Finally he whispered, "I t h i n k it's that b r o w n bag gives t h e m t h e flavor, y o u k n o w what I m e a n ? " "I k n o w w h a t you m e a n . " She sighed. "And ask the m a r b l e shooter h o w he likes his steak. We a i m to please a r o u n d here." "Yes, Maudie. I'll ask h i m , Maudie." F r o m t h e n on it was h o t lunches for Gino. Afternoons, they played in t h e yard, t h e two of t h e m . ( O n c e A r n o l d tried to ruin it, b u t they were stronger than Arnold, t h e t w o of t h e m t o gether, so he tried it only once.) T h e y played marbles, of course, battling grandly on the gravel driveway, or tag or t w o - m a n t o u c h , or they lay on t h e grass a d d i n g n u m b e r s or c o u n t i n g animals in t h e sky. O n e afternoon it rained so they r a n up t h e stairs to Walt's r o o m a n d lay on t h e floor. " D u c k y Medwick in '35," Walt said. ".353. My t u r n . P e p p e r M a r t i n in '34." ".296. My turn." "Belinda..." " N o , it isn't your t u r n . He hit .289, so it's still my t u r n . " "Aw, nuts," Walt said. "Dizzy Dean in '34." "Belinda..." "Dizzy Dean in '34," Walt repeated. " T h i r t y w i n s , seven losses. O.K. My t u r n . Daffy D e a n in '34."

B O Y S & G I R L S T O G E T H E R • 47

"Belinda..." " W h a t is t h a t ? " "My grandfather. He lives in the back. Sometimes he yells a lot." "Daffy Dean in '34." G i n o closed o n e eye, t h e n sat u p . " W h o ' s Linda?" " N o t Linda. Belinda. A monkey. Grandfather's a little . . . " A n d he twirled his index finger a r o u n d his ear. "Is he r e a l l y . . . " Twirl of t h e index finger. " D o n ' t you believe me? You w a n t to see?" "Can we?" "Follow me." Walt s t o o d a n d crept o u t of the r o o m d o w n t h e long hall to the back of the h o u s e . He stopped in front of a partly o p e n d o o r a n d t u r n e d to Gino. " D o n ' t be surprised at h o w the r o o m looks. It's all his stuff. Very old." "O.K.," Gino whispered. " I ' m with you." Walt knocked a n d gave t h e d o o r a push. " G r a n d f a t h e r ? " "Belinda?" " N o , it's m e , Grandfather. Walt. You r e m e m b e r m e ? " He m o v e d into the r o o m a step at a t i m e . "You. Yes. I remember." T h e old m a n sat in a c o r n e r by the window. A t o r n blanket comforted his s h o u l d e r s . The r o o m was furnished sparely, a bed, a tired chair, a t r u n k w i t h o u t a lid. T h e old m a n p e e r e d at Walt, his eyes very pale, very wet, h a r d l y blue. " C a n I get you a n y t h i n g , G r a n d f a t h e r ? " "Belinda has gotten out. Have you seen h e r ? " " N o . I'm sorry b u t I haven't." "Well, she has gotten o u t a n d it is too cold for her. It is very cold t o day, yes?" Walt ignored the p e r s p i r a t i o n on his face. "Yes," he said. "Very cold." "Belinda is dead," t h e old m a n said then, waving a h a n d . He shook his head a n d smiled. "I just r e m e m b e r e d that. She is dead, Belinda. S o m e times I forget. It comes a n d it goes. Everything." He b e g a n to m u t t e r at the w i n d o w p a n e . "Everything comes, everything goes, yes?" "Grandfather?" No response. "Grandfather, I'd like you to m e e t somebody." He gestured for Gino, w h o crept forward till he was even with Walt. " T h i s is G i n o Caruso." T h e old m a n t u r n e d suddenly, wet eyes wide. " T h e great singer?" "No," Gino said. " N o . " T h e old m a n n o d d e d . " H e was taller t h a n you. N o t so young."

48 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes," G i n o said. "You sing? I sing. I was a great singer. N o t so great as my son. But I was great." " T h a t ' s wonderful, Mr. Kirkaby," G i n o said. "Sing for me, Caruso." " I ' m n o t so good, Mr. Kirkaby." " D o you k n o w 'Blessed Assurance'?" " N o . I'm sorry, I don't." A n d t h e n the old m a n was singing. Sitting on a dying w i n d o w , in a r o o m filled w i t h r u i n s , t h e t o r n blanket held his voice old, unsteady, dry. " ' T h i s is my story, this is my my Savior all the day long.' " He paused. "You r e m e m b e r it

chair by a wet tight, he sang, song; praising now?"

" N o , b u t it's very pretty, Mr. Kirkaby." "Yes," Walt echoed. "All together now. A t r i o . ' T h i s is my s t o — ' D o n ' t be shy. C o m e . A trio. Now. 'This is my s t o r y . . . ' " " ' T h i s is my song,' " Walt sang. " 'This is my song,' " G i n o sang. " 'Praising my Savior all t h e day long.' " T h e old m a n n o d d e d . " T h a t was all right. This t i m e we do better. Now; one, two, three," a n d they all sang, " 'This is my story, this is my song; praising my Savior all the day long.' " " D o you k n o w 'Rock of Ages'?" G i n o asked. "Of course." A n d t h e y all sang " 'Rock of ages cleft for m e , let me hide myself in thee.' " T h e y s o u n d e d better on "Rock of Ages" t h a n they had on "Blessed Assurance," b u t "Shall We Gather at t h e River" was t h e best yet, a l t h o u g h " T h e First N o e l " t o p p e d it by a mile because they were beg i n n i n g to feel each o t h e r n o w , Gino's voice soaring high in makeshift h a r m o n y , the old m a n g r o w i n g stronger, his voice b e g i n n i n g to swell. T h e rain s t o p p e d b u t they d i d n ' t , segueing into "Silent Night," t h e n "We T h r e e Kings," which was followed by seven of t h e "Twelve Days of C h r i s t m a s " a n d "Deck the Halls w i t h B o u g h s of Holly," really rolling now, demolishing "We Wish You a M e r r y C h r i s t m a s , " pulverizing "Hark! t h e Herald A n gels Sing," bringing n e w life to "O Little Town of Bethlehem," etching "It C a m e U p o n a M i d n i g h t C l e a r " so that you could almost see it, a n d w h e n they finished with "Joy to t h e W o r l d " there was joy. P.T. e n d e d all that. P.T. or the rain; either way it e n d e d . He h a d been golfing b u t t h e rain h a d stopped that, so he got h o m e early. Walt never h e a r d h i m b u t there he was suddenly, s t a n d i n g in t h e doorway.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 49 " W h a t ' s all this?" P.T. said. "We're just singing," Walt told h i m . "Well, I t h i n k t h e old m a n ' s tired." (He did n o t m e a n father, n o t the way he said it; he m e a n t t h e m a n w h o is old.) " N o , " the old m a n said. " C o m e sing." P.T. s n a p p e d his fingers. " T h i s is Gino Caruso," Walt said. "Hello," Gino said. P.T. s n a p p e d his fingers. Walt n o d d e d a n d he a n d G i n o left the r o o m . T h a t night Walt a n d his father h a d a talk. Walt h a d b e e n expecting it, m o r e or less—the old m a n p r o b a b l y was tired; m a y b e t h e y had excited h i m , a l t h o u g h Walt d i d n ' t t h i n k so. Still, he p r e p a r e d an apology so that w h e n P.T. called h i m i n t o his s t u d y after d i n n e r he t h o u g h t he was ready. " I ' m sorry we got h i m all tired," Walt said. "It was my fault." "Nice-looking boy." "Pardon?" " T h a t boy you were with." " O h , Gino? I d o n ' t know." "Italian, isn't h e ? " " N o , he's Greek." "You said his last n a m e was Caruso." "It is." "Caruso's an Italian n a m e . " "But he's Greek." " D o n ' t argue with me." "His n a m e is C a r u s o b u t it really isn't C a r u s o . It's G i a n o p o l o u s . T h a t was his father, b u t he d i e d a n d his m o t h e r m a r r i e d this Mr. C a r u s o and—" "Greek, Italian—that's beside t h e point." "Yessir." Walt n o d d e d . T h e n , almost in a whisper: " B u t you see, he really isn't Italian." P.T. got up from his big chair a n d walked to the fireplace. Above it, h u n g high on the wall, were t h e head of a deer a n d a fat bass. T h e bass h a d set a record—the biggest ever caught in the state of Wisconsin. " W h a t ' s his father d o ? " " H e r u n s the school." "You m e a n he's s u p e r i n t e n d e n t ? " " N o , n o ; h e r u n s t h e school." "You m e a n he's t h e janitor."

50 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes, b u t he r u n s the school, d o n c h a see?" " N o w listen, Mister!" P.T. left t h e rest unfinished. He reached up with a big h a n d a n d stroked t h e face of t h e b r o w n deer. Walt w a t c h e d t h e h a n d a n d waited for t h e voice. W h e n t h e voice c a m e it was friendly, fatherly, false. "Walt?" "Yessir?" " D o you trust m e ? " N o . "Yes." "Have I ever lied to y o u ? " Yes. " N o . " "Have I ever d o n e a n y t h i n g to h u r t y o u ? " Yes. " N o . " "You'll believe m e , t h e n , w h e n I tell you something." W h y should I? "Yessir." "You d o n ' t w a n t to b r i n g kids like t h a t a r o u n d here. I can't tell you w h o t o play with w h e n you're away from h o m e , b u t w h e n you're here, y o u d o n ' t w a n t to bring kids like t h a t over." " B u t he's my friend." "You'll have lots of others." "But he's my friend." "Are you listening to m e ? " "Yessir." " B r i n g h o m e whoever you w a n t to, b u t you d o n ' t w a n t t o b r i n g h o m e kids like that." " N o . I don't." "O.K.?" "O.K." He was a b o u t to say O.K. for you, old m a n . T h a t ' s w h a t he s h o u l d have said. O.K. for you, old m a n . Tough a b o u t you, old m a n . He's my friend, old m a n , so to hell w i t h you, old m a n . That's w h a t he s h o u l d have said. But he didn't. Walt discovered his salvation on t h e second day of s e c o n d grade. T h e f i r s t day, h e tried n o t t o t h i n k a b o u t . His m o t h e r h a d driven h i m in t h e big black car, d e p o s i t i n g h i m right in front of t h e school. (He h a d sensed even t h e n that it was t o o far, t h a t he should have m a d e h e r stop a block away, b u t he did n o t h i n g . ) T h e early h o u r s in school were u n e v e n t ful, b u t recess was not. He was s t a n d i n g by the jungle g y m w h e n s o m e b o d y p u s h e d h i m from b e h i n d . Walt s t u m b l e d forward, m a n a g i n g n o t to fall. T h e n h e t u r n e d t o f i n d W i m p y Carlson advancing o n h i m .

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 51 "I seen ya," W i m p y Carlson said. W i m p y Carlson was fat a n d p r o b a bly slow, b u t , unfortunately, big. "Hi," Walt said. " I seen ya," W i m p y said again. Walt m a d e a smile. " I n that car. Ya g o d d a m rich kid." " I ' m not," Walt said. "Rich." "Yes, y'are. T h i n k you're so good, doncha, 'cause you're rich, d o n c h a ? " " N o , " Walt said. "Yes, you do," W i m p y replied, a n d he p u s h e d Walt again. " C u t it out." "Gonna make me?" "Cut it out." W i m p y p u s h e d h i m again, very h a r d , a n d this t i m e Walt did fall. As he got up he calculated his chances of m a k i n g it safely to the school door. T h e o d d s seemed definitely in his favor, b u t by n o w a c r o w d h a d gathered so he h a d no choice b u t to charge. He r a n at W i m p y ' s s t o m a c h with all he h a d a n d his aim was good. W i m p y said "Ooof," m o r e or less, as Walt collided with h i m . T h e y b o t h w e n t d o w n , rolling across t h e gravel playg r o u n d for a while before W i m p y ' s weight began to tell. S o o n he was sitting astride Walt, p u n i s h i n g h i m as best he could, b u t Walt h a d been h u r t by masters so he d i d n o t cry. In time Miss Allenby pulled t h e m apart, with W i m p y hollering, "I'll getcha, I'll getcha good," Walt hollering back, "Just you try," b u t his h e a r t wasn't in it. At n o o n , w h e n Miss Allenby dismissed t h e m for t h e day, Walt h u r r i e d o u t of t h e r o o m o n t o t h e p l a y g r o u n d . There, d e a d ahead, was the big black car, his m o t h e r waiting b e h i n d t h e wheel. Walt stuck his h a n d s into his pockets a n d began to walk away from the p l a y g r o u n d , n o t b o t h e r i n g to t u r n as W i m p y s h o u t e d after h i m , " D o n ' t worry. I'll getcha tomorrow." Walt walked d o w n t h e block just as fast as he c o u l d — h e d i d n ' t r u n ; no o n e could accuse h i m of r u n n i n g — a n d by the t i m e he reached t h e corner the great black car was cruising alongside. "Walt, what's t h e matter? Get in." He c o n t i n u e d to walk. "Please, Walt." He shoved his h a n d s deeper into his pockets, staring straight ahead; his glasses began sliding d o w n his nose, b u t he didn't b o t h e r p u s h i n g t h e m back. " N o w , Walt. E n o u g h of this. Get in the car." Walt walked t h e second block w i t h o u t breaking stride. At the corner he glanced back. Sure that no o n e saw, he dashed a r o u n d the front of the car a n d got in. " N o w what in the world," his m o t h e r began, b u t t h a t was all she said. " D o n ' t you e v e r — a n d I'm n o t kidding, no sir, I m e a n i t — d r i v e me to

52

• WILLIAM

GOLDMAN

school, n o t me, I'm walking, or m a y b e my bicycle—but you're n o t driving me, n o t in this car—I m e a n , you're not!" He did n o t m i n d the fact that she was smiling, b u t w h e n he added, "Except w h e n it rains," he w o u l d have m u c h preferred it if she h a d n o t laughed. T h e h o u r s before recess on the following m o r n i n g were spent partially in trying to pay a t t e n t i o n to Miss Allenby, partially in trying n o t to pay a t t e n t i o n to W i m p y . W i m p y w o u l d t u r n in his seat a n d clench his fat fist, scowling, a n d Walt did his best n o t to show fear. He scowled or shrugged or yawned ostentatiously, b u t w h e n Miss Allenby said "Recess" h e was t h e f i r s t o n e o u t o f t h e r o o m . H u r r y i n g a r o u n d t h e c o r n e r from t h e playground, he f o u n d a d a r k place b e h i n d an o p e n d o o r a n d crept into it. H i d i n g . He could n o t deny it to himself. He was h i d i n g . He was afraid of g o d d a m fat W i m p y so he was hiding. H e — W a l t t h e Whizzer Kirkaby. S h a m e . T h e o n e a n d only Whizzer was hiding. Walt pressed d e e p e r i n t o t h e s h a d o w b e h i n d t h e d o o r a n d closed his eyes, swallowing air. W h e n he guessed that recess was over, he sauntered as casually as p o s sible back to the p l a y g r o u n d a n d up t h e steps into school. W i m p y was waiting by the d o o r a n d Walt said, " W h e r e were you? I was looking for you" as he passed by into t h e r o o m to take his seat. As Miss Allenby clapped h e r h a n d s for quiet, Walt leaned forward on his desk, c u p p i n g his chin in his h a n d s , watching her. She was quite y o u n g a n d pretty a n d h a d a nice soft voice. " P r i n t i n g can be fun," Miss Allenby said, a n d Walt n o d d e d in absolute agreement. She t u r n e d to the blackboard a n d Walt w a t c h e d as h e r h a n d m a d e m a r k s with a piece of yellow chalk. " T h a t is an 'A,' class. Say 'A.' " "A," everybody said. "Good," Miss Allenby said, a n d she t u r n e d to t h e blackboard again, c o m m e n c i n g to write m o r e letters. Walt was w a t c h i n g her closely w h e n his belch began. Miss Allenby had received her degree in Education from Washington University the s u m m e r preceding, so this was, in actuality, h e r first class. Of course she h a d h a d m a n y sessions in practice teaching, b u t this was h e r first real class. She was e v e n - t e m p e r e d a n d she liked children, so she felt she w o u l d be a fine teacher, given t i m e . She was, however, worried a b o u t enforcing discipline. She never m u c h cared for p u n i s h i n g pupils, a n d if they ever f o u n d that o u t , they would obviously take advantage of h e r weakness, a n d w h o could b l a m e them? Consequently, her initial reaction to t h e start of the belch was confusion. Should she p u n i s h the offending belcher? Or s h o u l d she ignore t h e whole t h i n g , m a k e believe it never h a p p e n e d ? She decided on t h e latter course of action (or inaction), which seemed sensible because, after all, belches were brief, a n d in a few m o m e n t s the whole incident w o u l d be forgotten. Miss Allenby p r i n t e d a

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 53 " C " a n d a "D." But the " D " was a sloppy " D " — b y n o w h e r h a n d s were shaking, she h o p e d n o t t o o noticeably. Because the belch was growing louder. Miss Allenby started on an "E," b u t she was just n o t up to it. She d r o p p e d h e r writing h a n d to her side. Really, it was t h e m o s t incredible belch she h a d ever heard. T h e d u r a t i o n , the resonance, t h e sheer blasting power! Reluctantly, Miss Allenby t u r n e d to face her class. She was a b o u t to ask, "All right now, who's belching?" (a difficult t h i n g to say u n d e r the best of conditions) b u t t h e r e was really no need. A n d so, s u m m o n i n g her fiercest face, Miss Allenby stared at t h e nice little b o y w i t h t h e glasses. Walt h a d always been able to belch. There was really n o t h i n g to it: o p e n y o u r m o u t h , swallow s o m e air, belch. These were average belches, indistinguishable from any other. T h e s u p e r h u m a n belch (later to be k n o w n far a n d wide as t h e "Kirkaby Special") he h a d n o t discovered until o n e afternoon w h e n A r n o l d was chasing h i m with a garter snake. Walt had taken refuge in the toolshed behind the greenhouse, where, in o r d e r to quiet his heart, he h a d b e g u n swallowing air. H o w m a n y swallows he t o o k he never knew, b u t ten m i n u t e s later the first Kirkaby Special gave his position away. A r n o l d traced t h e s o u n d a n d frightened h i m plenty, b u t Walt didn't m i n d so m u c h because the belch was such an impressive s o u n d he felt an u n d e n i a b l e p r i d e of ownership. To his knowledge, no o n e else in the world could belch as well. Being dimly aware of social amenities, however, he h i d his light u n d e r a bushel; RT. w o u l d doubtless have b e e n u n i m p r e s s e d , a n d even t h o u g h his m o t h e r or M a u d i e m i g h t have shared his pride, there seemed to Walt no p o i n t in p u t t i n g t h e m to t h e test. So his belches he kept private a n d secret, used only w h e n he had to quiet his heart (as from A r n o l d ) or w h e n he w a n t e d to r e m i n d himself of his limitless capabilities. H i d i n g from Wimpy, that second recess, he h a d n e e d e d to quiet his h e a r t , so, w i t h o u t really k n o w i n g it, he had swallowed air for p e r h a p s ten m i n u t e s . T h e resulting belch was, even by his standards, fantastic. Walt looked up at Miss Allenby. She was obviously n o t happy. He t u r n e d his head from side to side, watching all t h e eyes. T h e r e was no o t h e r s o u n d in the r o o m , w h i c h only served to m a k e his seem all the louder. W i t h o u t w a r n i n g , t h e belch ended. T h e classroom stayed silent. Walt was less aware of it t h a n of the look on Miss Allenby's face. Slowly he stretched o u t his h a n d s toward her, as if saying, "Whatever you decide to do to m e , I'll u n d e r s t a n d . " Miss Allenby began to laugh. At first she resisted it, b u t n o t long, a n d

54 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN as she leaned against h e r desk a n d d r o p p e d her head, t h e girl in front of Walt started laughing a n d t h e n t h e boy across the aisle a n d t h e n t h e b o y b e h i n d h i m , a n d as t h e p a n d e m o n i u m built even W i m p y laughed a n d after that Walt himself went, p u t t i n g his face on his d e s k t o p a n d howling like a fool. M o r e laughter c a m e , louder; there was simply no stopping it now, a n d w h e n Miss Allenby realized this she m a n a g e d to a n n o u n c e that class was dismissed for t h e day. But no o n e moved. Eventually Walt stood, a n d t h e n so did everyone else. He m o v e d toward t h e d o o r , a n d as he did t h e y s u r r o u n d e d h i m , t h e circle thickening as he left t h e school a n d walked d o w n t h e steps to t h e playground. "Hey, Kirkaby, howja do it, Kirkaby? Do it again, Kirkaby. O n c e m o r e , h u h , Kirkaby—just o n e m o r e t i m e , please, Kirkaby—please." T h e y p e p p e r e d h i m mercilessly a n d h e s t o o d there safe inside t h e m , waiting for t h e m to p a u s e . "You really want me to do it again?" he said t h e n , t r y i n g n o t to b e a m at t h e s h o u t e d cries of "Yes!""Well, I h o p e I'm up to it, b u t it takes time." Walt started swallowing air. "It's n o t as easy as it looks. I learned h o w w h e n I was a child in India, living at the Taj Mahal." T h e y laughed. He m o v e d to the teeter-totters, sitting in the very center of o n e , b a l a n c ing cross-legged while t h e y g r o u p e d a r o u n d h i m , breathless. (It was t h e first of such gatherings; t h e y were to c o m e often, with w o r d spreading for h o u r s b e f o r e h a n d — " H e y , didja hear? Kirkaby's g o n n a do it after school.") W h e n he h a d swallowed sufficient air, Walt h a d n o t h i n g to do b u t wait for the belch, so he filled t h e time with stories (they laughed) a n d imitations (he was terrific on H u m p h r e y Bogart, so they laughed) a n d occasional snatches of s o n g . Walt sat above t h e m , chattering o n , p a u s i n g for his laughs, t i m i n g t h e m instinctively, h u r r y i n g on as they reached a c l i m a x — t h e W h i z z e r t r i u m p h a n t , hiding no m o r e . So w h a t if he was funny-looking? W h o cared a b o u t b e i n g small? A n d w h a t did it m a t t e r if he was never able to p u n t a spiral? (he) Or hit a flat b a c k h a n d ? O r m a k e t h e pivot o n t h e d o u b l e play? O r m o v e w i t h grace? (he) Or dance the r u m b a or get A's w i t h o u t studying (he was) or win contests or elections or friends or wars or climb a r o p e h a n d over strong h a n d or fight w i t h o u t losing or lie w i t h o u t suffering or be President or King o r C h a m p i o n o r s t r u m banjo o r play d r u m o r m o u r n f u l t r u m p e t (he was . . . ) or do great t h i n g s or even good things or r u n fastest or t h r o w farthest or j u m p highest or skipper a ship or fly n a k e d up t h r o u g h cool night air to sleep on clouds or love his father or n o t love his father or write or p a i n t or sketch or slash b e a u t y from stone? H E WAS FUNNY.

(yeah!)

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 55

III F r o m t h e first, Sid a n d Esther were at war. Sid was the declarer. He e n t e r e d T u r k s Delicatessen, p l a n t e d himself at t h e counter, looked a r o u n d , a n d there, standing on a ladder reaching up for a can of sauerkraut, was Esther Turk. Of course, Sid d i d n o t k n o w her n a m e t h e n . N o r was he aware of the color of h e r hair (black) or her age (nineteen), height (she claimed five three b u t t h e t h r e e was a lie) or disposition (unstable). His total c o n c e n t r a t i o n was reserved for w h a t he immediately t e r m e d " t h e sweetest little ass in Chicagoland." Sid stared at it, expertly, his b r i g h t eyes d a n c i n g . Esther t u r n e d , s a u e r k r a u t in h a n d , saw the bright eyes, read their message a n d immediately sent forth a message of h e r own: You s h o u l d live so long. N o t remotely d a u n t e d , Sid let fly a smile. Esther caught it nimbly, swatted it to death with a y a w n . "Hello, Tootsie." He d i d a Valentino with his eyes. "Hello, Sport." Obviously she was n o t a fan of Valentino. Sid surveyed t h e selection of cold meats. " W h a t ' s g o o d ? " "Everything. W h a t d o you w a n t ? " Sid ogled her ripe b o s o m . " W h a t do I w a n t ? " She withered h i m a n d walked away d o w n t h e counter. "Back or front, either is perfection." She stopped, hesitated, t u r n e d sideways. " N o c o m p l a i n t with t h e profile," Sid said. She faced h i m , h a n d s on r o u n d hips. "You're a s m a r t guy, aren't y o u ? " " T h a t ' s right. Also good-looking." T h e eyes d a n c e d again. "Tall, too," she replied. "A real skyscraper." Sid reddened, sensitive a b o u t his height, or lack of it, a n d her o p e n laughter only colored h i m darker. "Five foot two, eyes of blue, that's me." "Little fella's blushing," she said, laughing on. " F a n c y that." "Pastrami!" Sid told her. "Heavy on the mustard." " P a s t r a m i for t h e skyscraper." Vulnerable, Sid was; b u t n o t permanently. "So after d i n n e r , do we go to a movie or a walk along t h e lake?" "Pest," she gave h i m . " T h a t ' s right." " Neither. We do neither." "A little wager?" "Listen to Mr. Irresistible." "That's right. I'm Sid Miller, the world's greatest d o o r - t o - d o o r salesman.

56 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN I can sell anything. Ice to Eskimos, you to me. On a c c o u n t of I got the secret ingredient." She was obviously n o t going to ask h i m , so he told h e r anyway. " C h a r m , " Sid said. "I am loaded with charm." A n d he smiled at her, k n o w i n g it was a good smile, k n o w i n g he was h a n d s o m e . Small? Sure, b u t , d a m m i t , h e was h a n d s o m e . "Catch m e , somebody, before I swoon." "Esther, quit fighting w i t h the customers." T h e m a n s t a n d i n g at the far e n d of the c o u n t e r was obviously the morsel's father. T h e resemblance was unmistakable, in spite of t h e fact that the old m a n h a d the largest n o s e Sid h a d even seen. " N o t a customer, Father. A gnat." "Well, quit fighting with h i m a n d let h i m go." "If he'd go I'd quit fighting." T h e old m a n t o o k two steps t o w a r d t h e m a n d started to speak, his voice kind, explaining. W h e n he spoke, his nostrils dilated. Sid watched t h e m . " M y d a u g h t e r is t h e local lure. G r a n t e d she is ripe, she is also, b e lieve me please, sour." "I am helpless before h e r charms," Sid said. "I assure you, you have no chance. Is y o u r suit cashmere? If n o t , strike three goodbye." "Persistency is my m i d d l e n a m e , " Sid said. " T h e n I weep for you a n d also wish you joy." O l d Turk gestured softly a n d retired. "Nice man," Sid said. "He's w o r d - h a p p y . A frustrated philosopher." She h a n d e d h i m the sandwich. "Two bits you owe me." "You can have my heart." "A quarter is preferable." Sid held the change in his h a n d . She reached o u t a n d t o o k it. Even h e r fingers, soft a n d p i n k a n d r o u n d , aroused his passion. " W e touched," Sid said. "Your h a n d a n d m i n e . N o w I can die." "Outside, n o t here." She m o v e d d o w n the counter, d i s a p p e a r i n g beh i n d a barrel of pickles. Sid p u r s u e d her to t h e pickles a n d b e y o n d until their eyes m e t over a c h u n k of Swiss cheese. " W h e n shall we two meet again?" " W h e n e v e r you're h u n g r y , feel free." " L o o k i n g at you, I starve." N o w she was starting to color, so he pressed on. "My n a m e is Sid. Say the word. Let me hear you say it." "If you're n o t o u t t a h e r e before I c o u n t two, I'm calling t h e cops."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 57 "I want a corned-beef sandwich," Sid said. "Heavy on t h e mustard." He smiled. " N o w the law's on my side, so call w h o you want." She backtracked to the c o r n e d beef a n d he followed along on the o u t side of the counter. "You really t h i n k you're s o m e t h i n g , d o n ' t y o u ? " " W h a t ' s my o p i n i o n against t h o u s a n d s of o t h e r s ? " She hacked at the c o r n e d beef with surprising vigor. "I wish you eternal indigestion," she said. "She cares for me," Sid said. Esther snorted. "Movies tonight or a walk along the lake?" " I ' m busy tonight." " T o m o r r o w night, then." " I ' m busy." " T h i s week s o m e t i m e . " "All week I'm busy." "I never ask a girl o u t m o r e t h a n a week in advance. That's a rule. Break o n e of your dates or you lose me." "Here's your c o r n e d beef." A n d she s l a m m e d it on t h e counter. "Two bits a n d get out." Sid paid her a n d started for t h e door. " T h e week after," he yelled, whirling. " I ' m busy the week after." "Goodbye. You'll never forget me." He was halfway o u t t h e door. "Two weeks from Thursday." Sid j u m p e d back inside. " W h a t ? " "I h a p p e n to be free t w o weeks from Thursday." " W h y n o t say next year?" " That's the best I can d o . Take it or leave it." "Sold!" Sid said a n d he s t o r m e d o u t p u r s u e d by h e r laughter. He did n o t like her laughter. But w h e n she laughed her b o d y shook. A n d he did like that. He did indeed. He liked that fine. He had, however, no i n t e n t i o n of keeping t h e rendezvous. Pride was pride a n d he h a d plenty, so even t h o u g h he called h e r on t h e p h o n e later that week to reconfirm a n d set seven as the t i m e , it was all show. Set her up high, let her d o w n h a r d . He was m u c h too successful with w o m e n to let a garlic m a i d e n ruffle h i m . He called her again to i n q u i r e innocently a b o u t the color of the dress she m i g h t wear. Naturally, she w o u l d envision flowers. Sid chuckled as they h u n g u p . (Set h e r up high, let her d o w n hard.) His normally busy social life—he had a string of succulent South Siders—became a b n o r m a l l y busy: Tilly o n e night, Adele t h e next, Adele

58 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN again, t h e n mysteriously C l a u d e t t e , a n d Esther Turk d i s a p p e a r e d from his life d u r i n g the day. But at night, on his bed, he h a d visions. O h , that ass, Sid w o u l d m o a n , seeing it twinkle. A n d he w o u l d rise a n d grope t h r o u g h the d a r k n e s s t o the kitchen sink a n d t h e r e a t t e m p t t o d r o w n his passion w i t h glasses full of Chicago water. So, in the end, he kept t h e date. He had to m a k e her suffer for her lip a n d he plotted this tiny revenge, t h e n that. His final decision was simply to keep her waiting. She had, after all, asked h i m for t h e date, was u n d o u b t e d l y looking forward to it, a n d the idea that she h a d b e e n stood up (or w o r s e — t h a t he h a d simply forgotten all a b o u t h e r existence) w o u l d be p u n i s h m e n t e n o u g h . So Sid, a p r o m p t soul, arrived at t h e deli at a few m i n u t e s before seven, s m i r k e d up at t h e lighted w i n d o w over t h e store a n d t o o k a walk. T h e night was steaming, b u t he did his best to ignore it, strolling a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d t h e block. At a q u a r t e r of eight ( n o p o i n t in m a k i n g h e r hysterical) he presented a slighdy p e r s p i r i n g version of h i m self at the Turk door. Sid k n o c k e d . There was a pause. T h e n t h e nose peeked out. "Young Lochinvar," O l d Turk said. "I desire y o u r daughter," Sid said, entering t h e a p a r t m e n t . "A worthy ambition," t h e old m a n allowed. " H a r d l y u n i q u e , b u t worthy." He gestured a r o u n d t h e living r o o m , at the sofa, at t h e two overstuffed chairs. "Pick. Each is uncomfortable." Sid settled on the sofa, t h e old m a n on a red chair. Sid glanced a r o u n d . T h e r o o m was very neat. "Your d a u g h t e r is a fine housekeeper," Sid began. " N o t h i n g could be further from t h e t r u t h . C l e a n i n g vexes her. I clean." A n d he bowed. Sid glanced at his watch. "She is a n o i n t i n g h e r body," t h e old m a n said. " S o m e t i m e s t h a t takes a while." Sid n o d d e d . He loathed being kept waiting; o n e of his n o t i o n s of Hell was a waiting r o o m with h i m at t h e end of an infinite line. "I believe I w a r n e d you she was sour." Sid n o d d e d again, folding his h a n d s in his lap, his left wrist t u r n e d so he m i g h t stare at t h e p l o d d i n g second h a n d . " W h a t would you like to talk about? Please, choose y o u r subject. I p r i d e myself on versatility. History, politics, astronomy. Pick. You'll find me equally dull on everything." W h e n Sid m a d e no reply t h e old m a n smiled. "Some prefer silent suffering," he said a n d he o p e n e d t h e Chicago Daily News.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 59 Sid transferred his stare from the second h a n d to t h e front-door k n o b . His legs w a n t e d to leave, a n d if his m i n d could have stopped envisioning Esther Turk's backside, his legs would have carried h i m away. But his m i n d could not stop, so he waited. A n d waited. A n d waited. A n d waited. A n d precisely at t h i r t y - o n e m i n u t e s after eight, she a p p e a r e d . "Shall we go?" Esther said. Sid t o o k h e r in a while before rising. A pale-blue dress, tight across the b o s o m a n d the b u t t ; a single s t r a n d of p h o n y ( b u t w h o could really tell?) pearls; black hair loose a n d long, t u m b l i n g d o w n between the y o u n g shoulders; black eyes shadowed a n d bright; lips red. Sid stood. Across, Old T u r k d r e a m t , the world his b e d , t h e Daily News his blanket. Sid led her quietly from the r o o m . T h e y d e s c e n d e d t h e stairs, exchanging the a p a r t m e n t ' s heat for the night's, walking d o w n t h e street toward the b u s stop. As he p a u s e d , she said it. "Bus?" T h e r e was a world to be read in that word. Sid b r o w s e d t h r o u g h s o m e of it. You m e a n we're going to take a bus? You m e a n you are such a short little two-bit piker you're going to let me ride on public transportation? Big talk, little d o . Phony. Faker. M o u t h . Hot, h o t air. " W h o said a n y t h i n g a b o u t a bus? I got a stone in my shoe." He ripped off his shoe a n d deposited t h e imagined blister m a k e r o n t o t h e baking cem e n t . T h e n , battling for a p l o m b , he hailed a cab. As they rode silently n o r t h ( w h o needed talk w h e n there was that Mozartian m e t e r to listen to) Sid p o n d e r e d killing her. She h a d kept h i m waiting a n d she h a d as m u c h as called h i m a piker, a n d to t o p it all off she looked so sexy he was weak. She sat—lush, p l u m p , ripe, rich, ready— staring o u t at the city. N i n e t e e n a n d already she h a d designs on the whole world. Sid watched her, passion m o u n t i n g . He was n o t used to w o m e n giving h i m trouble a n d it upset h i m . A n d w h e n he got upset, he got upset right smack in the pit of his s t o m a c h . So when they reached the Red Star Inn (to Sid's m i n d the best G e r m a n restaurant in captivity, no question) his s t o m a c h was as k n o t t e d as a basket of snakes. He o r d e r e d t h e duck b u t picked at it only, a n d t h e apple pancake for dessert w e n t so u n t o u c h e d as to be salable all over again w i t h m a y b e a little reheating. Esther, however, ate like a wrestler. Oblivious to his t o r m e n t , w i t h delicate fingers she s p o o n e d d o w n the s a u e r b r a t e n a n d p o t a t o pancakes a n d red cabbage and applesauce a n d strudel. W h e n she was d o n e , Sid paid (bitterly) the bill

60 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN a n d they walked o u t of t h e Red Star, crossed Clark Street (here Sid t o o k her soft a r m , the shock of c o n t a c t almost electrifying—can a m e r e a r m be voluptuous? Ye gods!) a n d h e a d e d east toward t h e Gold Coast. T h e u n i f o r m e d d o o r m e n filled Sid w i t h even m o r e t h a n c u s t o m a r y envy (he saw her eyes, saw t h e m covet t h e shined d o o r k n o b s , the carpeted e n t r a n c e ways, the spotless elevators b e y o n d ) , so he walked faster, quickly leaving Esther paces behind. She n o t e d t h e separation b u t m a d e n o a t t e m p t t o catch u p . Finally, Sid d r o p p e d b a c k until they were parallel again. "We gotta crawl?" Sid said. "After a big meal I d o n ' t speed." "Yeah." "You should learn to enjoy y o u r food." " W h a t ? " Sid s t o p p e d dead. "If you're n o t going to eat, d o n ' t order." "You kept me waiting!" "What?" " F o r an h o u r a n d a half. A lousy h o u r a n d a half she keeps me waiting a n d t h e n she tells me to enjoy my food!" "You lie!" S o m e h o w her v e n o m equaled his; her eyes b u r n e d just as bright. Sid quailed. " H u h ? " " I k n o w you big shots!" She m o v e d u p right n e x t t o h i m , almost t o u c h i n g (but n o t quite), a n d let fire. " I k n e w you were g o n n a keep m e waiting. You wait two weeks to see m e , you w a n n a m a k e me suffer. I read you, Mr. Big Shot. You kept me waiting forty-five m i n u t e s . Well, I kept you waiting forty-six. O n e m i n u t e m o r e . Just o n e m i n u t e . But o n e m i n ute more" "Just you hold y o u r water, Tootsie." "You h o l d yours. N o b o d y m a d e you see m e . N o b o d y b u t you. I'm the belle of the ball, Sport. Everybody wants m e . Everybody w a n t s little Esther. Well, goody for little Esther is what I say. She's king of t h e m o u n t a i n a n d she's h a p p y up there." She s t o p p e d talking b u t her eyes still b u r n e d . Sid looked away. " I ' m sorry, Esther," he m u m b l e d , h o p i n g like a bastard it s o u n d e d sincere. " I ' m really sorry. I should be shot, talking to you like that. Forgive m e , Esther. Please." "Forgiven," she said, a n d t h e y started walking again, n e i t h e r speaking. She was busy d r e a m i n g again of t h e life inside t h e d o o r m a n n e d buildings. Sid was busy m a k i n g p l a n s . Obviously she craved h i m as he craved her. ( W h y else t h e outburst?) A n d obviously he was going to satisfy her cravings (the little bitch) b e -

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 61 cause he was a g e n t l e m a n a n d liked leaving t h e ladies h a p p y a n d because n o b o d y yelled at h i m like t h a t a n d got away with it. N o b o d y m o c k e d h i m . Not her; not nobody. "I hate myself s o m e t i m e s , " Sid said, the w o r d s catching in his throat the way they always did w h e n he wanted t h e m to. T h e last syllable, "times," had an almost a u t h e n t i c sobbing quality. She looked at h i m b u t he t u r n e d away perfectly, his face to the w i n d . T h e w i n d m a d e h i m blink a n d luck was with h i m — o n e tiny tear formed in t h e c o r n e r of his eye. Sid t u r n e d back to her, m a d e certain she saw it, t h e n s h o o k his head. "You pegged m e , Esther. F r o m t h e very start." "I d i d ? " Sid n o d d e d . " D e a d t h r o u g h t h e heart." He p o i n t e d t o w a r d t h e lake a n d she n o d d e d , so he t o o k h e r a r m gently, guiding her t o w a r d t h e water. T h e night was cool here, the great dark waves muffled against t h e shore. Sid smiled shyly at h e r a n d the sight of Esther in the m o o n l i g h t s p u r r e d h i m on. " I ' m a phony," Sid said. "I talk too m u c h like a big shot. But I'm no big shot." He blinked furtively, waited a m o m e n t for t h e tears to glisten, a n d t h e n faced her, whispering, " I ' m n o t h i n g , Esther. N o t h i n g . Just like you said." " O h , I never said that." Sid shook his h e a d , d r o p p e d his chin to his chest, a n d m o v e d a few paces away from her. She was interested now, b u t he h a d to be careful. Slow a n d easy. O n e step at a t i m e . W o m e n h a d always b e e n a snap for him. Always. Always. "Maybe it's because I'm short." She m o v e d to h i m . " W h a t , Sid?" He m o v e d away. " T h e whole thing. All t h e talking, all the front. Maybe if I was taller—" " W h a t ' s tall got to do with it?" He shrugged. " N o t h i n g . I d o n ' t know. I'm always afraid people are going to laugh at m e . Because I'm strange-looking." "Strange-looking? O h , Sid, you're not. Believe m e , you're not." Bet your ass I'm n o t , Tootsie. "You really t h i n k that, Esther? D o n ' t kid a r o u n d now." "I promise you. I w o u l d n ' t ever kid about that." "You're sweet, Esther, you k n o w that? You're afraid to show it—you try like hell to h i d e i t — b u t I see, Esther. I see." T h a t particular ruse had never failed to score h i m p o i n t s , so he let it sink in a n d m o v e d away from her a gain, along t h e lake. She hesitated, then followed. "Sit here a while?" Sid p o i n t e d to a rock. Esther n o d d e d a n d sat.

62 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN W h e n she was d o w n he j o i n e d her, b u t a considerable distance away. C o m e to me a while, Tootsie. You will. You will. "It's pretty," Esther said quietly. Sid n o d d e d . "I love this lake. It's like p a r t of my family. T h e day my m o t h e r died, I c a m e here. To hide, I suppose." " W h e n did she die?" Sid t o o k a deep b r e a t h . It was just a b o u t t i m e for t h e stories of his life. But which stories? W h i c h life. "You don't w a n t to hear a b o u t m e , Esther." "I do, though." "After my father died, I guess my m o t h e r didn't w a n t to live either." "Oh," Esther said, m o v i n g closer to h i m across t h e rock. Sid's voice was very low. "See, my father never c a m e back from the Great War." T h a t was absolutely t r u e . Of course, his father h a d never d e p a r t e d for the Great W a r either, having been shot over a crooked c r a p g a m e in P i t t s b u r g h . " T h e G e r m a n s killed him." T h a t was also t r u e . His father's slayers, t h e b r o t h e r s N e u m a n n , Fritz a n d Erich, were o n e h u n d r e d - p e r c e n t G e r m a n . ( T h e y were tried for m a n s l a u g h t e r b u t acq u i t t e d . Or, at least, so his m o t h e r i n f o r m e d h i m . ) " D a m n the G e r m a n s , " Esther said, m o v i n g next to h i m , h e r t e n d e r leg b r u s h i n g Sid's. "I hate them." Sid n o d d e d . "You sure y o u w a n t me to go on with this, Esther?" "Please." "Well, like I said, once he died, my m o t h e r gave up." "Gave u p ? " "A b r o k e n heart." Medically, that was true. H e r h e a r t h a d been b r o ken. Along with the rest of h e r body. By a N o r t h Side streetcar as she r u s h e d heedlessly across a b u s y intersection because she was late for her nightly tryst w i t h the grocer. "First one, then t h e o t h e r ? " "Yes," Sid whispered. "First o n e , t h e n t h e other." W h e n e v e r he chose this story he carefully o m i t t e d that there were seven years between the two fatalities. "Oh," Esther said. "Oh." P r o u d that he h a d correctly guessed she w o u l d be a sucker for schmaltz, Sid h u r r i e d o n . He spoke of his b o y h o o d struggles, of m a k i n g his lonely way, of nights spent shivering on benches a n d in doorways, of days spent searching t h r o u g h garbage cans for food, of t h e beatings he absorbed, the w h i p p i n g s a n d t h e scorn, of the times he h a d been cheated a n d lied to a n d left for d e a d by t h e Wayside of Life. But never once in the r e c o u n t i n g of his tragic j o u r n e y did he allow a n o t e of self-pity to enter

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER - 63 in. (That was his secret. Let t h e m supply t h e pity. Every so often w o m e n w a n t e d to feel like w o m e n . H a p p e n s in the best of families.) He was closing in now, the e n d in sight, so he stood up a b r u p t l y a n d , as if deep in t h o u g h t , m o v e d close to t h e shore of the lake. On cue, Esther followed. Sid faced her. T h e setting couldn't have been better: m o o n , water, clean cool air. She stood before h i m , gazing, her h e a d tilted ever so slightly to one side. Sid was a b o u t to m a k e his move. " D o n ' t even try!" He couldn't have h e a r d her. She could n o t have said that. "Keep y o u r h a n d s to yourself, Sport, O.K.?" "My h a n d s ? " Sid's fingers flew into an i n n o c e n t k n o t b e h i n d his back. He tried to appear confused, which was easy. A n d t h e n she started laughing. "I tell you t h e story of my life and you laugh?" "I laugh at what's funny." W h i p p e d , Sid b r o u g h t h e r h o m e . It t o o k forty m i n u t e s on the bus ( e n o u g h was e n o u g h ) a n d n o t o n e word was spoken. W h e n h e got her t o her d o o r he told h e r he w o u l d never see her again b u t s o m e h o w it c a m e out, " W h e n can I see y o u again?" Her reply was "A week from Tuesday" a n d his answer to t h a t was "Never." Except s o m e o n e said, "O.K., a week from Tuesday," a n d t h e n she disappeared into t h e a p a r t m e n t , wagging her tail b e h i n d her. Sid m u t t e r e d his way b a c k to his place, u n d r e s s e d a n d w e n t to bed. Six glasses of water later, he slept. Their second escapade was no i m p r o v e m e n t on t h e first. N o t to Sid's m i n d . If anything, it w a s worse. Esther's d a r k skin was stained shades darker from the s u m m e r s u n a n d she served herself up totally in w h i t e — skirt, blouse and s h o e s — a n d the blouse was of such flimsy material, sheer almost, that as t h e y walked t h r o u g h t h e L o o p (Sid surreptitiously eyeing her profile) he h a d to restrain himself actively from roughly u n veiling her t h e n a n d there, on State a n d M a d i s o n , for all to see. But the sweetness of her b o d y h a d n o t sugared her t o n g u e . Lip she gave h i m , in full measure. Whatever pose he tried, she mocked. ( N o b o d y m o c k e d him.) Gallant, worldly, h u m b l e , witty, sad, fey—she m o c k e d t h e m all with obvious relish. But he e n d u r e d h e r t o n g u e with false smiles (visions of her b o d y in r h y t h m i c a c t i o n s u p p o r t e d h i m a n d his s t r e n g t h was as the strength of ten) a n d s p e n t his m o n e y (too m u c h , t o o m u c h ) on her like a fool (filet, she h a d to o r d e r ) a n d w h e n he followed her, at evening's end, up t h e stairs to h e r a p a r t m e n t (that ass, o o o o o o o o o h h h h h h ) he asked her

64 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN meekly w h e n he m i g h t again have the pleasure, a n d h e r reply of three weeks from yesterday b r o u g h t from h i m a n o d , a grin (false), a t h a n k you, a goodbye. T h e t h i r d t i m e a r o u n d was no cause for h o s a n n a h s . Esther w e n t M e x i c a n — s a n d a l s , black swirling skirt, red peasant blouse s c o o p e d low. S t a n d i n g up straight, she was e n o u g h to wet his palms; b u t w h e n she b e n t over . . . w h e n she b e n t over . . . (Did she b e n d over m o r e t o n i g h t t h a n she h a d in the past? Sid wasn't sure. Yes or no, the flash of w h i t e at t h e t o p of h e r b o s o m blinded h i m . ) T h e y dined on the steak for t w o at Barney's a n d t o o k in a movie at Balaban a n d Katz's Chicago (Garbo's face was better, b u t Esther w o n t h e b o d y ) a n d walked along t h e lake again. As they walked she did h e r c u s t o m a r y skillful j o b of scorning h i m , b u t Sid did n o t seem to m i n d so m u c h . Because a very sad d a w n i n g h a d c o m m e n c e d to flicker way back in his h e a d a n d it told h i m intermittently to p r e p a r e for second place; he, the m i g h t y Sid, c o n q u e r e r of countless breasty m a i d e n s , h a d m a y b e c o m e a c r o p p e r at last. Sid looked longingly at t h e fiery b o d y clad in swirling black a n d flashing red. N o b o d y got t h e best of h i m , b u t w i t h o u t exceptions, w h e r e w o u l d rules be? So w h e n he t o o k h e r h o m e he honestly hesitated before i n q u i r i n g after h e r future freedom, a n d her surprising answer of this c o m i n g Saturday filled h i m with less t h a n joy. But he arrived for t h e j o u s t p u n c t u a l l y ( a n d s u b d u e d — t h r e e strikes are o u t , four are ridiculous) to face Esther in yellow. Esther in yellow was better t h a n Esther in a n y t h i n g except maybe Esther in n o t h i n g . H e r shape j u t t e d a n d curved sublimely; she was a masterpiece ( a n d Sid w o u l d have chuckled at his p u n h a d she n o t been so ruthlessly u n o b t a i n a b l e ) . "You look wonderful, Esther. Absolutely wonderful." Sincere sincerity is n o t usually difficult to spot, a n d in Sid's case, because of t h e rareness of its a p p e a r a n c e (he, like m o s t , was long on the o t h e r k i n d ) , t h e occasional t r u t h gleamed like a wistful star. But he scored no p o i n t s w i t h Esther. She simply accepted the gratuity with a n o d ( t h o u g h O l d T u r k m u s t have detected s o m e t h i n g , because he g r u n t e d to life in his soft chair, t h e Daily News t u m b l i n g d o w n a r o u n d h i m in disarray). T h e y left t h e a p a r t m e n t , Sid a n d Esther did, Sid t h e n hailing the hated inevitable cab, instructing t h e driver to take t h e m to Chicago's feeble answer to C o n e y Island. T h e y w a n d e r e d t h r o u g h the s u m m e r heat, licking ice c r e a m , a n d the screams of t h e m y r i a d children s a d d e n e d Sid. It was a b a d idea c o m i n g here, a n d his wish that Esther m i g h t cling to h i m d u r i n g a roller-coaster ride ( h o p e springs eternal) was d a s h e d brutally as she sat bravely t h r o u g h o u t the entire j o u r n e y w i t h her a r m s crossed, her eyes w i d e o p e n . T h e Ferris wheel was no better, a n d Sid

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 65 missed t h e target with a rifle, so Esther won no doll. F o u r teenagers followed t h e m for a while, whistling at his yellow d r e a m b o a t , b u t Sid did n o t b o t h e r discouraging t h e m ; experience h a d t a u g h t h i m t h a t Esther was fully capable of defending herself, capable a n d t h e n s o m e . T h e evening s p u n painfully along. Sid, w i t h o u t half trying, was able to list at least t h i r t y - t w o zoftig succulents with w h o m he h a d been u n q u e s t i o n a b l y successful, so why with this o n e , this yellow vision, d i d he have to fail? He w o u l d gladly have t r a d e d at least twenty-five from his list for o n e t u r n with Esther. Twenty-five, hell; all thirty-two. Sid sighed. " W h a t ' s t h e matter? I'm b o r i n g y o u ? " " N o . I'm just tired. H a r d day." "I'll bet." " T h e exit's over this way," Sid said. "It's Saturday n i g h t . N o t even eleven o'clock." " H a r d day," Sid repeated, a n d he started t o w a r d t h e exit. He was n o t remotely fatigued, b u t he w a n t e d to r e m e m b e r o n e affirmative action on his part. In his future d a y d r e a m i n g he could e x p a n d on it, amplify it, color it to his advantage, r e m o v i n g at least p a r t of t h e sting from t h e shellacking she h a d so skillfully inflicted. He chatted w i t h h e r as amiably as he could, a n d w h e n t h e taxi s t o p p e d before t h e deli Sid h e l d t h e d o o r o p e n for her, paid t h e driver a n d followed her up t h e stairs, waiting politely by t h e d o o r of her a p a r t m e n t as she fumbled for t h e key, waiting only to say goodbye. W h e n she h a d t h e key held firmly, t h e yellow dress tilted abruptly, carrying t h e encased juts a n d curves into his a r m s as h e r red lips a m b u s h e d his m o u t h . H e r s t r o n g t o n g u e fired b a r r a g e after barrage while her shape locked itself against h i m . Sid reeled before t h e ferocity of the blitzkrieg, the a p a r t m e n t d o o r finally halting his b a c k w a r d voyage, and, braced, he l a u n c h e d an attack of his o w n . His a r m s h a d barely t o u c h e d her w a r m flesh (at last, o h , at last) w h e n she b r o k e from h i m , inserted the key, o p e n e d the door, told h i m she was free next Friday a n d , eyes fiery (yes, with passion; it h a d to be t h a t ) , disappeared. Sid could n o t m o v e . He sent a tentative o r d e r to his legs b u t , w h e n they were slow to r e s p o n d , rescinded it. His b o d y still felt her pressures, a n d he closed his eyes briefly, p u s h e d back t h r o u g h t i m e for thirty seco n d s a n d relived t h e m o m e n t , framing it forever in his m i n d : shock, surprise, pleasure, heat—all. Finally he t u r n e d , descending t h e stairs to the w a r m street, a n d started to walk. For a block or t w o he basked, a smile curling his strong m o u t h . T h e night heat was n o t oppressive; actually, it was relaxing, a n d Sid swung along at a loose gait, close to h u m m i n g , for he h a d kissed Esther

66 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Turk, he had, he h a d . A n d this c o m i n g Friday he w o u l d kiss h e r again. Definitely. Sid stopped. W o u l d she let him? Sid n o d d e d a n d r e s u m e d his walk. Of course she w o u l d let h i m . W h o ever h e a r d of o n e kiss? Impossible. But he had to be careful—he could n o t a s s u m e it was his God-given right; t h e n she w o u l d squelch h i m like a bug. Back to t h e Red Star Inn. ( W o m e n loved going back. M e m o r i e s . . . m e m o r i e s . . . ) Sid h u m m e d the t u n e aloud. A n d after t h e Red Star they m i g h t just h a p p e n to walk along t h e lake again. A n d again t h e y w o u l d sit on the rock. A n d they w o u l d laugh (a little off-color joke was always good for o p e n e r s ) a n d stroll a n d stop a n d t h e n into his a r m s with her. W h a t a kiss it was going to be! Here an h o u r before he h a d b e e n h a p p y to accept defeat a n d n o w he was back in the r u n n i n g . W h a t a kiss. W h a a a a t a kiss. A kiss to e n d all kisses. Suddenly Sid s t o p p e d dead. What? What? A kiss? "Christ," Sid said aloud. "A kissl" T h e h u m i l i a t i o n ! He, t h e o n e a n d only Sid Miller, t h e killer of t h e S o u t h Side, was plotting a kiss; he, w h o u n q u e s t i o n a b l y could m a k e a living as a full-time gigolo, was w o r k i n g up a sweat over a nineteen-year-old delicatessen keeper's daughter. "Christ," he said again. W i t h o n e flick of h e r b o d y she h a d sent h i m s p i n n i n g . O n e seemingly u n p l a n n e d embrace (she k n e w w h a t she was d o i n g , t h a t tootsie did; she k n e w all right) a n d God's gift to w o m e n was g r a p p l i n g for a n o t h e r peck on t h e lips. It was like Rockefeller scheming over a gallon of oil. But there it was. She h a d h o o k e d h i m . T h e little bitch h a d h o o k e d h i m . But good. Schmuck! T h a t was t h e w o r d for h i m . Sid seethed. O h h h , she was clever. A shrewd slut, t h a t little Esther. She saw he was getting away, leaving h e r in the lurch, beating h e r at h e r own game, so she t h r e w o u t a little s m o o c h to string h i m along. " H a h ! " S' 1 said, a n d he s p u n into a candy store, ordered an egg c r e a m a n d d o w n e d it in a swallow. Q u e n c h e d , Sid pierced t h e h o t night, fingers s n a p p i n g fast. Well, he w o u l d take h e r anyway. Take her, t h e n leave h e r ; have her to the hilt, t h e n d r o p her by the wayside. He h a d tried being c h a r m i n g , he h a d tried being sweet; kindnesses he h a d showered. C o u l d anyone have been nicer? He h a d w o o e d as a gentleman woos, a n d w h e r e were the results? In r e t u r n for his investm e n t s she h a d paid h i m w i t h ashes. But no matter; he w o u l d still w i n t h e day. By being evil. Because he h a d to have her. He just h a d to. That, or go m a d .

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 67

Wellington never m a p p e d a campaign with m o r e care. Sid stayed up late every night, p o n d e r i n g , fretting, pacing the floor. By Wednesday he had his plan a n d T h u r s d a y evening he went over details till he was bleary. No plan is perfect a n d neither was Sid's; he n e e d e d o n e break from the Almighty. Heat. Chicago was in t h e m i d s t of an August bonfire a n d Sid prayed for it to hold. He listened to t h e weather forecasts on t h e r a d i o every h o u r on the hour. At one in t h e m o r n i n g he first heard r e p o r t s of a cold front m o v i n g d o w n from M i n n e s o t a a n d t h a t news sent h i m quickly t o w a r d despair. The two-o'clock news repeated chill words of t h e arrival, b u t Sid, exhausted, could n o t wait for further bulletins. He fell asleep, the radio still going full blast. W h e n he awoke, groggy, he staggered to t h e w i n d o w a n d said hello to Friday. It was a steamer. For the rest of t h e day Sid moved. D o w n to t h e L o o p for a furtive transaction with Whittaker, t h e Negro train porter, t h e n back n o r t h for peanuts, quickly to a n o t h e r store for dry p o t a t o chips, t h e n a long bus ride west for t h e best t o m a t o juice in t o w n . W h e n he arrived back at his a p a r t m e n t he forced all the w i n d o w s shut a n d tried to n a p , first going over everything o n e f i n a l time. T h e a l a r m w o k e h i m o n schedule and, n o t taking t i m e to stretch, he b u r r o w e d t h r o u g h his closet for his oldest suit and, w i t h surgical care, ripped t h e left t r o u s e r leg along the seam. That d o n e , he r u m p l e d t h e coat, dirtied his face good, dressed, eyed himself one final t i m e in his full-length m i r r o r a n d w e n t forth to do battle. " W h a t h a p p e n e d to y o u ? " Esther said, o p e n i n g h e r a p a r t m e n t door, staring out. "I tripped." Sid hesitated in the doorway, l o o k i n g at her. She was dressed all in black; black was his favorite color. " W h a t d o you m e a n , t r i p p e d ? " "Fell d o w n . I fell d o w n . See, I was a little late getting over here so I r a n across the street a block back a n d my foot d i d n ' t m a k e t h e c u r b , I guess. Anyway, I skidded a n d r i p p e d the pants a n d — " He stopped at h e r laughter. " I don't think it's so funny, Esther." "You don't, huh? You s h o u l d see yourself." "Esther, I m i g h t have got h u r t , Esther. All right, all right, go ahead a n d laugh."

68 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN She did. Sid waited. "Listen, I can't take you to d i n n e r like this. Tell you what. I'll go h o m e a n d shower a n d c h a n g e a n d get back here as fast as I can. S h o u l d n ' t be m o r e t h a n an hour." "An h o u r ! " "Maybe a little less." "I d o n ' t m u c h feel like waiting a r o u n d , if you don't m i n d . " " I ' m o p e n t o suggestions." " W h y d o n ' t I c o m e along w i t h y o u ? " A n d she w e n t for h e r purse. N o w w h y d i d n ' t I t h i n k of that? Sid t h o u g h t , a n d while h e r back was t u r n e d he allowed himself to b e a m . T h e y taxied t h r o u g h t h e heat, Esther grousing a b o u t food a n d t h e heat a n d being kept waiting. W h e n they stopped in front of his a p a r t m e n t h o u s e she p u r s e d her lips w i t h evident disdain. Sid paid, led her up t h e steps a n d into the building. "Second floor," he said, a n d he m o u n t e d t h e stairs a h e a d of her, u n a b l e to ignore t h e strong smell of o n i o n s c l o u d ing t h e hall. "Italian people live next door," Sid explained a n d Esther n o d ded. Sid t o o k o u t his key, smiled at her, unlocked his a p a r t m e n t a n d u s h e r e d her in. " M y G o d , it's a steam bath." A n d she retreated quickly to the hall. "It'll cool off quick," Sid said, a n d he plunged t h r o u g h t h e still air, t h r o w i n g b o t h w i n d o w s o p e n . " I n this n e i g h b o r h o o d , leaving y o u r wind o w s o p e n isn't so smart." " T h a t I believe." "Kitchen, b a t h r o o m , living r o o m , b e d r o o m , " Sid said, p o i n t i n g as he spoke. "Palatial," she gave h i m . " N o w , Esther, I never once said it was a palace." " M a y b e not, maybe not." "And it's clean. You got to a d m i t that." F i n d i n g no dust, she h a d to s h r u g agreement. "Still, I've seen better." "I ain't g o n n a die here, Tootsie; you better believe it." He slipped off his suit coat a n d h u n g it in t h e closet. She w a n d e r e d a r o u n d t h e r o o m . "Sid?" "Huh?" "You got anything to nosh o n ? " "We're going to a good r e s t a u r a n t ; leave your appetite alone." "I asked did you have a n y t h i n g to nosh on." "Esther—"

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 69 " I ' m hungry" "All right, all right, check t h e cupboard." " U m m , " she said a m o m e n t later. "Peanuts." "Well, go easy." "And p o t a t o chips." "I said go easy." " P e a n u t s I love." She r e t u r n e d w i t h a handful. " W a n t o n e ? " " I ' m n o t spoiling my appetite." He t o o k off his shirt a n d tie, t h e n covered himself with his robe. " M o d e s t fella." A n d she r e t u r n e d to t h e c u p b o a r d for a n o t h e r handful of p e a n u t s . Sid tied the robe a n d m o v e d to t h e b a t h r o o m . Closing t h e door, he leaned against the wall opposite t h e m i r r o r a n d looked at himself, waiting. "Sid?" He let her t r y again. "Hey, Sid." He o p e n e d the d o o r a crack. " W h a t is it? I'm trying to take a shower." " I ' m thirsty." "I d o n ' t w o n d e r with all t h o s e peanuts." " W h a t have you got that's cool?" "Water." " W h a t else?" Sid o p e n e d the door. She was sitting on his couch, eating p e a n u t s . "I got s o m e cold t o m a t o juice." "Great. N o t h i n g I like better." Didn't I k n o w that, Sid t h o u g h t . Didn't she o r d e r it (the large glass, twice as expensive) with almost every meal h e ' d ever b o u g h t her? "I'll get it for you." " T h a t ' s all right. Take y o u r shower." She started to rise. "You're in my h o u s e , Esther. I ' m t h e host, O.K.?" "O.K." She sat back d o w n . Sid sauntered to the kitchen, b u t , once o u t of sight, he started to fly. O u t c a m e t h e t o m a t o juice a n d t h e ice cubes a n d t h e biggest glass he o w n e d ( b o u g h t today special), a n d once they were assembled he t o o k a d e e p b r e a t h before reaching far b e h i n d the stove for t h e secret ingredient. Vodka. It almost a m u s e d Sid, years later, w h e n the N o r t h Shore b r i d g e ladies discovered t h e stuff. "Try it," t h e y w o u l d urge h i m . "It has no taste at all." " N o taste?" he w o u l d reply, u n a b l e n o t to smile. "I can't believe it." H o w could they sense that he'd k n o w n a b o u t it all his life, t h a t he h a d first used it (successfully) on Midgie Greenblatt w h e n they were b o t h seventeen,

70 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t h a t his father h a d t a u g h t h i m of its loosening qualities, t h a t it was Sid's only worthwhile legacy from his old man? Sid p o u r e d a lot of vodka into the big glass. After c a m e a handful of ice cubes; finally t h e t o m a t o juice, sweet a n d cold. He gave it a quick stir with his finger, felt t h e glass's exterior starting to chill, hesitated o n e m o m e n t m o r e , t h e n walked b a c k to Esther. "Here," he said. " D o n ' t d r i n k it t o o fast." She gulped it d o w n . (She h a d to. He said d r i n k it slow, so she h a d to.) Sid watched her, a d a r k creature of infinite curves, a sour, tantalizing bitch a b o u t to go into an u n s u s p e c t e d heat. G o d , b u t he w a n t e d her, a n d t h e proximity of fulfillment did n o t m a k e life any easier. " I ' m a n e w w o m a n , " Esther said, p u t t i n g t h e glass d o w n . "Was that good!" "You can't taste a n y t h i n g w h e n you d r o w n yourself in it like that." "Let me have a little m o r e . " " W h y don't we just forget all a b o u t dinner," Sid said, a p p r o x i m a t i n g annoyance. "I'll eat, don't w o r r y ; just a little more." Sid grunted, t o o k h e r glass a n d m a d e her a n o t h e r d r i n k , except with half again as m u c h vodka. She t o o k it from h i m , a n d as he h e a d e d for t h e shower he could hear h e r h u m m i n g softly b e h i n d h i m . W h a t a shower! Sid ( n o singer) sang "Great Day," " W h e n the O r g a n Played at Twilight" a n d "Singin' in t h e Rain." All t h e t i m e t h e water cascaded d o w n , d a n c i n g across his shoulders, sliding a l o n g his shapely legs to t h e final safety of t h e porcelain. W h e n he h a d taken as m u c h t i m e as he could w i t h o u t arousing suspicion, he t u r n e d off t h e k n o b s , threw the robe a r o u n d his shoulders, a towel a r o u n d his neck a n d gave a quick check to his pigeon. She was sitting heavily against the back of t h e sofa, a r m s at her sides, eyes staring blankly o u t t h e w i n d o w . Sid stood before her, waiting while she slowly t u r n e d her heavy h e a d up to face h i m . He smiled at her and, w o n d e r of w o n d e r s , she r e t u r n e d it. (That vodka, it's fabulous.) "I won't be m u c h longer," Sid said. She waved a h a n d . "Take y o u r time, take y o u r time." W i t h o u t asking, Sid picked up her glass a n d m a d e h e r t h e crusher in t h e kitchen. Half a n d half (at this stage, w h o could taste?) a n d easy on the ice (dilutes). Setting the d r i n k carefully into her h a n d , he n o d d e d a p p r o v ingly as she sipped steadily away. "Bes' d a m n t o m a t o juice," Esther said.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 71 " F o r you, Tootsie, only t h e very finest." Sid z i p p e d back to t h e b a t h r o o m a n d dried himself g o o d before carefully applying exotic oils to his face, i m p o r t e d c r e a m to his a r m p i t s . He h u m m e d "Five foot two, eyes of blue" as he c o m b e d his hair, getting it to lie just right. T h e n he b r u s h e d his teeth with Colgate's a n d stepped back, eying himself, trying to be critical. He had never looked better a n d he k n e w it as he scurried to his b e d r o o m for his only p a i r of g e n u i n e silk u n d e r w e a r . (For you, Tootsie, only t h e very finest.) T h e n , d o n n i n g his blue s h a r k s k i n slacks, he hid his belt in a b u r e a u d r a w e r a n d closed in for the kill. "Esther?" "What?" "I leave my belt o u t t h e r e ? " "I d o n ' t see it." He walked into t h e living r o o m , bare-chested. He was well muscled and she noted h i m with w h a t he k n e w was pleasure as he approached. " W h e r e the hell's my belt?" He searched the r o o m , circling closer to t h e couch. " W h e r e did you leave it?" " T h a t ' s a b r i g h t q u e s t i o n , Tootsie." She t h o u g h t a b o u t it a m o m e n t before c o m m e n c i n g to laugh, her entire b o d y going into t h e action, quick tears shining in h e r eyes, a n d while she was a m u s e d ( n o t i m e like t h e present) Sid slid d o w n beside her, grabbed her tight, pulling h e r against his b a r e chest, a n d , taking dead aim, went for her m o u t h . It all m a d e for a sloppy kiss. N o t that she resisted; rather, it was a m a t t e r of h e r being unable to control h e r lower lip. It sort of lay l i m p across Sid's cheek, like a wet fish. Ye gods, he t h o u g h t ; have I m a y b e overdone? A quick glance at the table showed that the t h i r d v o d k a was gone. Sid stared at Esther, w h o could n o t stare back, being able only to blink in slow r h y t h m . Sid kissed her again and, w h e n it e n d e d , h e l d h e r close. " O h God," he said carefully into her ear. " O h God." "Sid," she c a m e back. "Sid." "Esther, I love y o u . O h , I love you, believe m e , Esther, I love you, do you believe me? Say you do." "Sid," she said. "Sid." "Esther, my beloved," a n d he started with t h e h a n d s , m o v i n g tentatively along her s h o u l d e r s , t h e n d o w n . "My darling, my darling, I love you so, oh G o d , Esther, I just love you." "Sid," she said. "Sid."

72 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " M y sweetest, dearest, beloved Esther," a n d he repeated t h a t a while as he fiddled with the b u t t o n s . She didn't resist h i m (or h e l p h i m for that m a t t e r ) b u t just kept saying "Sid, Sid," over a n d over, a n d as he was well along with depriving h e r of h e r dress he felt a m o m e n t a r y fear t h a t m a y b e she wasn't all real; m a y b e cotton p a d d i n g h a d given M o t h e r Nat u r e a helping h a n d . But t h e fear in no way crippled h i m , a n d w h e n she was naked on the c o u c h ( s l u m p e d , b u t naked) he saw joyously that his fears were groundless. " O h , my beautiful sweetest sweetheart," Sid said. "You creature from my d r e a m s , I worship you a n d love you." A n d she k i n d of n o d d e d with h e r eyes closed, a n d he k n e w she wasn't paying too close attention, b u t he always felt s o u n d was i m p o r t a n t in a n d for itself, so he talked a blue streak as he p e r u s e d her shape. " O h , o h , you Esther, my Esther, my sweet Esther, I love you, I love you," a n d she n o d d e d a little b u t she wasn't d o i n g m u c h talking a n y m o r e . T h e c o u c h was n o longer required, so Sid (at h e a r t a t r u e r o m a n t i c ) started to c a r r y h e r (with style) t o t h e b e d r o o m . "Esther, m y o w n , m y own," a n d h e shoved o n e a r m u n der h e r back, which s h o u l d n ' t have tickled her, b u t she d i d m a n a g e a small laugh. " I ' m taking you to d r e a m l a n d , beloved," a n d the o t h e r a r m struggled u n d e r h e r d i m p l e d knees. "We're going now, my sweet," Sid said. "To dreamland." It t o o k a while to get there. Sid lifted h e r halfway off t h e couch, b u t his grip on h e r back proved u n t e n a b l e a n d d o w n she s l u m p e d . "Yes, my sweetheart, we're flying off to heaven," a n d he attacked h e r again, trying to get her off t h e d a m n couch. Finally h e m a n a g e d t o brace his knee u n d e r her a n d w i t h o n e f i n a l tug h e h a d her up in his a r m s . Sid staggered back u n d e r his b u r d e n . " O n l y a m o m e n t m o r e , d u m p l i n g , a n d we'll b e floating o n heavenly clouds." H e b a n g e d her knees against a wall a n d her eyes half o p e n e d w i t h distant pain, so he kissed t h e m closed. "A little accident was all, my beloved; n o w rest up for dreamland." He w a s s t r o n g e n o u g h a n d she wasn't that heavy, b u t there was no denying t h a t she was one h u n d r e d p e r c e n t d e a d weight a n d bulky at that. "We're at t h e d o o r to d r e a m l a n d , my sweet," he said (wheezing a little n o w ) . "Heaven, here we come." But t h e n a r r o w d o o r presented an u n e x p e c t e d p r o b l e m in logistics a n d , t r y as he would, he could n o t solve it. He tried h e r first, h i m first, sideways, backward, front, b u t n o t h i n g came of it. His a r m s aching, he finally bulled his way t h r o u g h , scraping h e r knees again a n d banging h e r h e a d for good m e a sure. Again she c a m e to life, b u t by n o w he was a little w e a r y from all the talking so he didn't b o t h e r to speak. Instead he fell forward, d u m p i n g t h e m b o t h on the bed. I m m e d i a t e l y he assuaged h e r w i t h t e n d e r kisses

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 73 and t h e n pulled off t h e b e d s p r e a d (first m a n e u v e r i n g h e r to o n e side of the bed, t h e n rolling h e r to t h e o t h e r ) , revealing sheets b o t h cleaned a n d ironed. Sid stepped o u t of his pants, ripped off t h e clinging silk u n d e r wear and, sweating like a pig, leaped to his revenge. Sweet it wasn't. Sid h a d to m a n e u v e r for b o t h of t h e m , never t h e Platonic ideal, b u t he was professional e n o u g h to m a n a g e it with reasonable success. A n d Esther lying like a l u m p was n o t the Esther he envisioned. But l u m p or no, she was still Esther, delectable as any p l u m . So if t h e battle was n o t an overwhelming rout, still it was a victory, clean a n d tasty. A n d w h e n Sid deposited her at her d o o r s t e p (first filling her w i t h several bowls of chili) he could feel the laurel w r e a t h resting on his curly h e a d . A n d that night, as he fought sleep alone in his bed (one m o r e t i m e — h e h a d to go over it all just one m o r e t i m e ) , he k n e w he could give cards a n d spades to Valentino a n d n o t c o m e o u t b e h i n d . T h e way Sid lingered in bed the next m o r n i n g , Greta G a r b o might have been there. He h a d no Swede, of course, nor, for t h e first t i m e in his life, did he want her. He h a d his daydreams; he was rich e n o u g h . Said daydreams consisted of t h e scene he was a b o u t to play w i t h Esther, which would begin with his saying. "So long, Tootsie," to w h i c h , shocked, she would reply, "So long? So long? You're leaving m e ? " " T h a t I a m , Tootsie." "But my . . . my maidenhead—you took it." "Better me t h a n t h e garbage m a n , Tootsie.""You . . . y o u deflowered me."'"You s h o u l d feel p r o u d , Tootsie." " P r o u d ? W h y p r o u d ? " "Because, Tootsie, you were p l a n t e d by the greatest g o d d a m g a r d e n e r in t h e world." Luther B u r b a n k stretched in bed. Gloating was a terrible habit, a n d whenever he did it (often) he felt, ordinarily, p a n g s . But n o t this m o r n i n g . For Esther h a d b e e n an adversary w o r t h y of his guile (worthy? My God, for a while she looked a w i n n e r ) a n d only genius h a d b r o u g h t her to her knees ( p u n ) , so w h y should a genius feel guilty? Rising, he allowed t h e rug to c u s h i o n his p i n k feet as he j o u r n e y e d to t h e b a t h r o o m . Inside, he gave the m i r r o r a longer t h a n usual look at his b a b y blues while he selected the p r o p e r Sid to enter Turk's deli a n d b i d h u m p e d Esther a fare-thee-well; G r i n n i n g Sid, Sober Sid, Modest or Brilliant Sid—there were so many, each m o r e perfect t h a n the last. He decided finally on Sid t h e W a n d e r i n g cavalier. ( T h e element of mystery was w h a t appealed most to him; after all, w h o could explain Napoleon, C h a r l e m a g n e , mighty Alexander?)

74 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN He dressed with great care, c o m b i n g his curly locks to perfection, b r u s h i n g his teeth till t h e y glistened. (Let her r e m e m b e r h i m at his m o s t beautiful; m i g h t p a i n h e r just a speck m o r e in t h e long r u n . ) T h e n , j a u n t y as d'Artagnan, he m o u n t e d a trusty taxi a n d set off in quest of his final fillip, that terminal b u r p w h i c h always signals t h e settling of a perfect meal. Next to the delicatessen was a shoeshine p a r l o r a n d there Sid dism o u n t e d , letting t h e r h y t h m i c Negro t o u c h up his Florsheims. Flipping a q u a r t e r to the grateful black, Sid invaded Salamiland. Old Turk was a r m p i t d e e p in his pickle barrel ( m a y b e he'd d r o p p e d a penny?), a n d t h e way his m o n o l i t h i c nose was screwed over to the left indicated his displeasure in his task. At Sid's a p p r o a c h he gratefully removed his withered a r m f r o m the brine. "Pickle m a n ' s c o m i n g t o m o r row," he explained. " T h e r e f o r e t h e census." "A j o b for a lesser m a n t h a n you," Sid said. " C o u n t i n g c u c u m b e r s . " "Agreed." T h e old m a n n o d d e d , sponging his d r i p p i n g a r m . " B u t — " a n d he s h r u g g e d — " a little h u m b l i n g is good for t h e soul." " P e r h a p s , p e r h a p s n o . W h e r e is y o u r b e a u t y this m o r n i n g ? " "Up." His d r y t h u m b indicated the a p a r t m e n t above. "I would speak w i t h her." "I w o u l d not." "I must." "She is bursting w i t h a l u m , I p r o m i s e you." "I'll sweeten her." "Doubtful." "It's a chance I have to take. We m u s t have words." " T h e n go to y o u r d o o m , " O l d M a n Turk said, p l u n g i n g back into the pickle barrel. Sid left h i m a n d s a u n t e r e d up t h e stairs. K n o c k i n g , he waited. N o t h ing. He knocked again. M o r e of the same. Sid tried t h e door, found it o p e n a n d entered. Striking a pose in t h e center of t h e living r o o m , he called softly, "Esther." No reply. "Esther?" He m o v e d t o w a r d h e r closed b e d r o o m door. "Esther! It's m e . Sid. Esther, you in there, Esther?" T h e s o u n d of inner t h r a s h i n g indicated that she was. " I ' m o u t here, Esther," Sid said a n d w h e n h e r s t u m b l i n g h a d b e c o m e consistent, he retreated toward the living-room w i n d o w , posing himself so t h a t t h e sun streamed in a r o u n d his curly head, b u r n i s h i n g h i m an a l m o s t solid gold. If he h a d never looked better, she had never l o o k e d worse. She leaned in t h e doorway, eyes half closed, pale, a t o r n gray r o b e flattening her curves. "Yeah?" "Esther, you all r i g h t ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 75 "It looks like I'm all r i g h t ? " "What's the m a t t e r ? " " I ' m sick, fool." " I ' m sure sorry a b o u t that," Sid said seriously while s o m e o n e inside h i m laughed. " E s t h e r . . . ?" "Yeah, w h a t ? " " I ' m leaving, Esther." "Leaving? W h a t leaving?" "Town. I won't be seeing you for a while. M a y b e longer." "You b o t h e r e d me for fftflf?" "You're not h e a r i n g w h a t I'm saying, Esther. I said I'm leaving town." "So g o : God, b u t she was t o u g h . Sid h a d to give her credit. N o t m u c h , t h o u g h . Her p u n y a t t e m p t at p r i d e only m a d e h i m smile. " W h a t ' s so funny?" " N o t h i n g . G o o d b y e , Esther," and he t u r n e d for t h e door, k n o w i n g he would never get his h a n d on the k n o b , k n o w i n g she couldn't let h i m (and still survive), k n o w i n g t h e silence w o u l d be b r o k e n by her crying out his n a m e . Sid? W h y was he never wrong? Sid smiled again. T h e m a r k of genius, probably. Did C h a r l e m a g n e m a k e boo-boos? Sid c o n t i n u e d toward the door, waiting for her to plead. She did. On cue. "Sid. Sid, please. Wait." At the d o o r he p i r o u e t t e d (who's this Nijinsky anyway?) and gave her his Sunday smile. She s t o o d across the r o o m , still leaning against her doorway. "Yes, Esther?" " W h a t h a p p e n e d last n i g h t ? " W h e n D e m p s e y cold-cocked Willard in t h e s u m m e r of '19, there came a m o m e n t — h a l f w a y t h r o u g h the first r o u n d — w h e n big Jess was d o n e , gone, out; only he d i d n ' t k n o w it yet. His b o d y h a d t h e message, probably, b u t his b r a i n , s t u b b o r n , absolutely refused to answer the p h o n e . W h a t d o you m e a n , w h a t h a p p e n e d last n i g h t ? " "Just what I s a i d — w h a t h a p p e n e d last n i g h t ? " "You m e a n you d o n ' t r e m e m b e r ? " Left to t h e head, right to the heart, right to the head. "I'd ask if I r e m e m b e r e d ? " "You don't r e m e m b e r a n y t h i n g ? " "It was hot, I r e m e m b e r that. You t o o k a shower. I felt funny. T h e n later I got sick on s o m e c h e a p chili."

76 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Sid leaned against the door. Willard was falling; C h a r l e m a g n e too. " N o t h i n g in b e t w e e n ? " " Q u i t with the g a m e s ! " "You don't r e m e m b e r . . . " W h a t could he ask? His h a n d s g r i p p e d t h e d o o r k n o b for s u p p o r t . " . . . kissing m e ? " " T h a t was a week ago. O u t s i d e the front door. You a r o u s e d my pity." "Pity." " W h a t else?" "Pity!" "Fool." "Pity!" They charged t o w a r d each o t h e r like fighters, s t a n d i n g in t h e center of t h e h o t r o o m , p a n t i n g , circling, m e a s u r i n g . Sid stared at Esther. ( N o b o d y got the best of h i m . ) Esther stared at Sid. ( N o b o d y got t h e best of her.) Eventually (inevitably) t h e y m a r r i e d a n d got t h e best of each other.

IV Jenny grew up in C h e r o k e e , Wisconsin. W h e n she was b o r n , Cherokee's p o p u l a t i o n was 182; w h e n she left h o m e , nineteen years later, t h e p o p u l a t i o n was 206. Aside from that, n o t h i n g had changed. T h e t o w n consisted of a general store, a meeting hall, a drugstore, a saloon, all clustered together on a dirt road. Gray w o o d e n structures, square in shape, they differed from o n e a n o t h e r only in size, like children's b u i l d i n g blocks. T h e climate was dry, the weather clear—cool in s u m m e r , painfully cold from N o v e m b e r t h r o u g h March. T h e houses of the t o w n stretched feebly along b o t h sides of Cherokee Lake, o n e of the endless small bodies of water t h a t p o c k m a r k s the flat face of n o r t h e r n Wisconsin. T h e entire area was distinguished by two things only: on o n e side of t h e lake stood an exclusive c a m p for boys, while directly across was C h e r o k e e Lodge, a small, l u x u r i o u s retreat catering to vacationing b u s i n e s s m e n w h o h u n t e d or fished, as t h e season demanded. Jenny's h o m e was n e a r t h e lodge. Her father h a d built it himself. W h e n h e b e c a m e engaged h e set t o work, a n d w h e n t h e living r o o m , bedr o o m , kitchen a n d b a t h were finished, he got m a r r i e d . T h e n , each time his wife b e c a m e p r e g n a n t , he w o u l d build a n o t h e r r o o m for t h e new

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 77 baby. It was an a m p l e h o u s e , sturdy a n d clean, set in t h e w o o d s above the shore of Cherokee Lake. Jenny's was a quiet family. Mary, her m o t h e r , was a plain, quiet w o m a n , tall, b i g - b o n e d . H e r brothers, S i m o n a n d M a r k , were quiet brothers. But her father was the quietest of all. Carl Devers rarely spoke. He was a giant, with light b l o n d hair, great thick s h o u l d e r s a n d long, surprisingly thin h a n d s . T h e h a n d s were r e m a r k a b l e — p o w e r f u l , supple; there seemed to be n o t h i n g they could n o t do. His large face was u n u s u ally expressive; e m o t i o n ran close b e h i n d his b l u e eyes. W i t h his h a n d s and his eyes, he could a n s w e r almost anything; there was really little need for h i m to speak. W h e n he did talk, o n e syllable kept recurring: "Auh?" He said it quietly, always w i t h a rising q u e s t i o n i n g inflection. "Auh?" Jenny came to k n o w t h e s o u n d a n d its almost limitless meanings—yes, no, I'll t h i n k a b o u t it, I love you too, good night. "Auh?" It was his word. Carl Devers was a guide. Businessmen c a m e from all across the M i d dle West to fish with h i m or h u n t in the h u s h e d , snow-covered woods. Partially because of his skill, partially because of his size, stories grew up a r o u n d h i m . "Carl Devers," the businessmen w o u l d say, back again safely in the comfort of their clubs. "Let me tell you a b o u t Carl Devers. Big, b l o n d sonofabitch. A n d strong. Why, I've seen h i m grab a couple of packs and hoist a canoe a n d take off t h r o u g h the w o o d s on a p o r t a g e a n d there I a m , r u n n i n g like hell to keep up with h i m , a n d all I'm carrying is a godd a m fishing rod. But that's n o t h i n g . This guy is fantastic. Why, I've seen h i m . . . " A n d so t h e legend swelled. Jenny grew up in t h e w o o d s . Running. Barefoot across the pineneedled g r o u n d , then d o w n t h e gentle slope to t h e beach, t h e n along the n a r r o w stretch of sand, t h e n up again, back into t h e tree s h a d o w s , d a r t ing. She ran like a willowy boy, the m o v e m e n t s long, controlled, filled with quick grace. S o m e t i m e s she would plead with her b r o t h e r s to chase her a n d then she w o u l d s h o u t with joy, s c a m p e r i n g past trees, bolting t h r o u g h bushes, u n d e r limbs. By t h e time she was five, M a r k , w h o was nine, could barely catch her, a n d even Simon, eleven, w o u l d have to set his m i n d to his task, biting into his lower lip, s c r a m b l i n g after her. Her hair was long a n d still light b l o n d , her father's color, a n d it flew b e h i n d her, s o m e t i m e s swirling across her pale skin as she t u r n e d abruptly, spinning, changing direction. She was tall, b u t she did n o t m i n d it then, a n d her legs were good, t h i n - a n k l e d a n d long. Days she spent with her m o t h e r , Simon a n d M a r k being off to school, Carl usually having left before any of the others were awake, at d a w n , n o t to r e t u r n until near s u p p e r t i m e . O n e night, after he c a m e h o m e , Jenny copied h i m . She stuck

78 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN his pipe into her m o u t h a n d slipped into his b o o t s a n d c l u m p e d t h r o u g h the front door, t h e n she kissed her m o t h e r on t h e cheek, as her father did, a n d said "Auh?" as h e r father did, a n d n o d d e d to h e r b r o t h e r s the way he n o d d e d . At first they just w a t c h e d her. M a r k was t h e first to laugh, staring as she sat in her father's favorite chair a n d k n o c k e d t h e ashes from his p i p e into the ashtray. "Auh?" she said again, a n d by this t i m e they were all laughing, Carl loudest of all. Jenny was trying h a r d n o t to giggle as she p u t t h e pipe back into h e r m o u t h , adjusting it to h e r father's angle. Carl c a m e over to her t h e n a n d lifted her from t h e chair, h o l d i n g h e r high with his great a r m s . Slowly he b r o u g h t h e r d o w n , folding h e r gently against his chest, while the others a p p l a u d e d . For a m o m e n t Jenny w a n t e d to cry. It was h e r first p e r f o r m a n c e a n d she never forgot it. Jenny's best friend was T o m m y Alden. Frail, dark, he was o n e year older t h a n Jenny b u t n o t nearly so fast a runner. His father, Richard K. Alden, h a d been a successful clothing m a n u f a c t u r e r in Chicago until a h e a r t attack m a d e t h e further creation of dresses, coats a n d suits a perilous venture. Recuperating, h e h a d c o m e u p o n C h e r o k e e Lodge a n d decided almost i m m e d i a t e l y to b u y it. So he did, enlarging it, installing his family in one wing, t h r o w i n g the rest o p e n to his f o r m e r colleagues at o u t r a g e o u s prices. Because of Carl Devers, the lodge was an i m m e d i a t e a n d c o n t i n u i n g success. T h e y were close, Mr. Alden a n d Carl. Different as they w e r e — M r . Alden was short, paunchy, vocal, aggressive—they were close. A n d so were their children. T h e y were always together, Jenny a n d the boy. He was studious, shy, given to periods of silence followed by quick b u r s t s of speech t h a t only Jenny could u n d e r s t a n d . He loved to read, a n d late afternoons they w o u l d sit by t h e water a n d he w o u l d r e c o u n t tales of knights a n d kings while she listened, n o d d i n g w h e n he glanced at her, urging h i m to go on. T o m m y was t h e one w h o w a n t e d to be an actor, a career in which Jenny, at first, h a d no interest, preferring to r u n or swim or creep t h r o u g h the w o o d s on an Indian raid. T h e y c o m p r o m i s e d , eventually, s p e n d i n g t h e m o r n i n g s r u n n i n g , the afternoons perfecting their talents as performers. T h e y h a d a place, halfway b e t w e e n Jenny's h o m e a n d t h e lodge, a semicircle thick with shrubbery, t h e o p e n half facing the water. There they w o u l d act, s t u m b l i n g t h r o u g h R o b i n H o o d or Cinderella, listening as their w o r d s echoed back across t h e water. All t o o quickly Jenny's c h i l d h o o d passed. She grew taller, towering half a h e a d above her classmates in school. She t o o k to s l u m p i n g , r o u n d ing her shoulders, b u t she was still tall. Too tall. Taller even t h a n t h e boys. T h e n , w h e n she was eleven, h e r b o d y absurdly b e g a n to develop. At an

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 79 age w h e n everyone else was flat, Jenny's breasts were slowly starting to fill. She r o u n d e d her s h o u l d e r s even m o r e a n d did w h a t she could to ignore it. O n e afternoon w h e n she was alone in their acting place Mr. N o r m a n found her. It was a red day, h o t , a n d even as the sun b e g a n falling the heat lingered. Jenny sat cross-legged on the g r o u n d , staring o u t . She wore a white blouse a n d a s u m m e r skirt a n d her pale skin was stained dark. She t u r n e d as she realized a m a n was watching her, smiling d o w n . "Hello," the m a n said. "Hi," Jenny answered. "You staying at the lodge?" "Maybe I am," t h e m a n said, "and maybe I'm not." He smiled again. "What's y o u r n a m e ? " "Jenny." T h e m a n o p e n e d his m o u t h wide. "Isn't t h a t amazing? That's m y n a m e too." "Jenny? Your n a m e is Jenny?" "Absolutely. W h a t ' s y o u r last n a m e ? " "Devers." "Curiouser a n d curiouser," t h e m a n said, shaking his h e a d now. "So's mine. Jenny Devers. That's my name." "You're kidding m e . You are." " W o r d of honor." He raised his right h a n d as a pledge. It was a short h a n d , white a n d soft, w i t h little p u d g y fingers. "But Jenny's a girl's n a m e . " "Sometimes. N o t always. Why, s o m e of my best friends are called Jenny a n d they're n o t girls. I'm n o t a girl either." He smiled. Jenny said n o t h i n g , staring u p a t h i m . " T h e t h i n g that worries me," t h e m a n went on, "is that we've got the s a m e last n a m e too. Maybe we're t h e same person. Did you ever t h i n k of t h a t ? " "You're crazy." Jenny giggled. He laughed with her. "There's o n e way of finding o u t . H o w old are you?" "Eleven a n d a half." "Whew." He gave a t r e m e n d o u s sigh. "We're n o t t h e s a m e person. I'm n o t eleven a n d a half, so t h a t proves it. I'm only six. Six going on seven, really." " O h , you're n o t either six. You're way older t h a n I am." "I just look older t h a n you are, Jenny. I'm really just six going on seven a n d I can prove it. Here." He reached into his shirt pocket a n d pulled o u t a cigarette. "See that? That's my birth certificate." Jenny giggled again. " T h a t ' s y o u r cigarette. You really are crazy."

80 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " It's my birth certificate a n d I can prove it," the m a n said. He pulled o u t a lighter. "See? I'm going to s m o k e it a n d I d o n ' t s m o k e cigarettes. Never smoke cigarettes. O n l y s m o k e b i r t h certificates." He lit it a n d inhaled deeply, sitting d o w n quietly on the g r o u n d beside her. "If that's y o u r b i r t h certificate w h a t does it say on it?" T h e m a n peered closely at the cigarette, s q u i n t i n g , c u p p i n g his h a n d s a r o u n d it so Jenny c o u l d n ' t see. "It says on it, 'Jenny Devers is six going on seven.' " "It says 'Chesterfield,' " Jenny cried. "I saw t h e package." "You're n o t very logical, Jenny, are you, Jenny? It did say 'Chesterfield' on the package. I a d m i t t h a t . But I always keep my b i r t h certificates in a Chesterfield package." "Why?" "So they w o n ' t fly away, Jenny. Like you, Jenny. Are you going to fly away?" "I can't. I d o n ' t k n o w how. Anyway, people d o n ' t fly." " W h a t a b o u t pilots? D o n ' t they fly?" "Yes, b u t they're in air-o-planes, silly. T h e y c o u l d n ' t fly if they didn't have an air-o-plane a r o u n d them." "Have you ever asked a pilot if he n e e d e d an a i r - o - p l a n e , Jenny-oDevers? Have y o u ? " "No." "Well, I have. S o m e of my best friends are pilots a n d I've asked t h e m a n d they all say the s a m e thing." He picked up a long p i n e needle a n d s k i m m e d it along t h e g r o u n d . " W h a t did they say?" He t o u c h e d t h e tip of t h e needle to Jenny's skin a n d r a n it d o w n softly along her leg. " D o n ' t d o that. W h a t d i d they say?" " W h a t did w h o say?" He t o u c h e d the tip of t h e needle to her skin again. Jenny m o v e d away from h i m . " T h e pilots, silly. T h e pilots." " T h e y said y o u have lovely legs, Jenny. That's w h a t they said. Every last o n e of t h e m . T h a t Jenny Devers has lovely legs. Do you w a n t to see my legs, Jenny? W o u l d you like that? Say yes." She tried to s c r a m b l e clear b u t he was t o o quick for her. W i t h one h a n d he flicked t h e cigarette away a n d g r a b b e d h e r ankle, pulling her d o w n . She was a b o u t to scream w h e n his other h a n d c l a m p e d d o w n h a r d across her m o u t h a n d for a m o m e n t she could n o t b r e a t h e . He held her with surprising strength, t h e p a l m of his h a n d i m p r i s o n i n g h e r m o u t h ,

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 81 his other a r m locked a r o u n d her kicking body. T h e n he t h r e w o n e of his own legs over hers, p i n i o n i n g her. He smelled of tobacco a n d she wanted to o p e n her eyes b u t she was afraid of what she m i g h t see. T h e n his h a n d began m o v i n g up her leg. "Relax, Jenny," he whispered. She tried to kick b u t she couldn't a n d his h a n d was u n d e r her skirt, above her knees, m o v ing slowly higher. He was b r e a t h i n g harder, the heavy s o u n d exploding in the quiet afternoon. T h e s u n m u s t be beautiful now, Jenny t h o u g h t , all red a n d beautiful, a n d she w a n t e d to look at it, b u t she k n e w his face would be in the way a n d t h e t h o u g h t of his face m a d e h e r shiver. "You stop that," he whispered. "We're friends, Jenny, so y o u s t o p that. Nobody's going to h u r t you." But you are, Jenny w a n t e d to scream. You are. His h a n d h u r t her a n d t h e weight of his b o d y h u r t her terribly a n d she could feel herself growing faint w i t h t h e pain w h e n s u d d e n l y t h e p a i n was gone. Jenny o p e n e d her eyes. T h e m a n was suspended above h e r in midair a n d Carl Devers was h o l d i n g h i m . Carl's great s h o u l d e r s shrugged a n d the m a n s p u n u p w a r d t h r o u g h t h e air, crashing d o w n like a rag doll ten feet away. Carl was on h i m quickly, lifting h i m , a n d t h e b a c k of Carl's h a n d caught the m a n flush o n t h e m o u t h a n d h e s p u n t o w a r d t h e earth again, starting to bleed. Again Carl was on h i m , dragging h i m silently to his feet. Again Carl's great h a n d s w u n g a n d again t h e m a n s p u n d o w n . Blood d r i p p e d from o n e side of t h e man's m o u t h as Carl t o o k h i m by the shirt front a n d slowly, w i t h his left a r m , lifted h i m off t h e g r o u n d . Clenching his right fist, Carl d r e w it back slowly a n d carefully, t a k i n g dead aim. Abruptly the m a n started to cry. Carl hesitated. T h e m a n was sobbing, his face w r i n k l e d u p , tears streaming d o w n his cheeks, m i x i n g with t h e b l o o d a l o n g his m o u t h . Carl watched h i m a m o m e n t . T h e n h e p u t the m a n d o w n . "I almost h u r t you, Mr. N o r m a n , " Carl said. Mr. N o r m a n t u r n e d a n d r a n into t h e w o o d s t o w a r d Cherokee Lodge. Carl d r o p p e d to o n e k n e e beside Jenny. Gently he lifted her, carrying her d o w n to t h e lake. A c a n o e was half dragged up on s h o r e , Carl's fishing rod a n d tackle box lying alongside. He p u t Jenny d o w n , gestured for h e r to get in. She did. "Face me," he said. She faced h i m . P u s h i n g off, he began effortlessly to paddle in an easy r h y t h m , a n d t h e c a n o e sped along t h e shore of the lake, gliding t h r o u g h quiet patches of s h a d o w as t h e red sun settled. He watched h e r w i t h concern, a n d every so often he smiled, n o d d i n g his great b l o n d head, a n d she smiled back at h i m , h e r h a n d s gripping the sides of the boat. " I ' m all right," Jenny said. "I am." "Auh?"

82 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes. I'm fine." H e n o d d e d , c o n t i n u i n g t o p a d d l e . T h e r h y t h m was faster n o w a n d t h e c a n o e cut t h r o u g h the still water. Jenny t u r n e d , staring o u t a h e a d of t h e m . T h e n she looked back at h e r father. " T h a t ' s t h e e n d of t h e lake," she said. " T h e very end." "Auh?" "I've never been there before. Never. N o t once." He smiled, slowing as they a p p r o a c h e d the shore. H o l d i n g t h e b o a t steady, he gestured for her to step o u t . He h a n d e d her his r o d a n d tackle. Quickly he lifted the canoe, s h o u l d e r i n g it, setting off t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s , Jenny skipping alongside. " W h e r e ever are we going?" He shrugged his great s h o u l d e r s . "Wait till I tell T o m m y a b o u t this," Jenny said. "He'll just die." T h e y m o v e d t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s a m i n u t e m o r e a n d t h e n Jenny s t o p p e d , staring. They were on t h e shore of a n o t h e r lake. Very small, alm o s t perfectly r o u n d , it seemed, as she stared at it, with t h e final soft rays of t h e sun splashing it deep red, to be a magic place if ever t h e r e was one. Carl lowered the canoe, b e c k o n e d for h e r to get in. He p u s h e d off from shore a n d they glided quietly t o w a r d t h e center of t h e circle. T h e s u n was g o n e suddenly. Shadows slipped o u t t o m e e t t h e m , covering t h e m . T h e c o n s t a n t s u m m e r s o u n d of insects a n d birds seemed distant, m u t e d . Jenny locked h e r a r m s a r o u n d h e r knees, rocking gently b a c k a n d forth. "Princess lives in there." Jenny looked at her father; his hair seemed almost to shine in t h e dusk. He sat h o l d i n g the c a n o e p a d d l e in one h a n d , p o i n t i n g with it t o w a r d an area of shore w h e r e t h e trees were thickly b u n c h e d , interlaced w i t h b u s h e s . It was a d a r k place. Jenny stared at h i m , t h e n at t h e d a r k place, back a n d forth, back a n d forth. "A princess?" "Auh?" "A real princess?" "Auh?" " H o w d o you k n o w ? " "Seen her. Met her. Took h e r fishing once." "You t o o k her fishing ." "Auh?" " W h a t does she look like?" 7

He shrugged his shoulders. "Like a princess." " W h a t ' s her n a m e ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 83 "Name?" "Well, what did you call h e r ? " "Princess, I guess. I'd just say, 'Reel in slow, Princess. G o o d cast, Princess.' Like that." " O h , I d o n ' t believe you." Carl leaned forward. "Have I ever lied? Ever?" Jenny looked at him. T h e n she t u r n e d , squinting in at t h e shore. " N o , " she said. " N o t ever." "Well, then." "Tell me a b o u t her hair. H o w long was her hair?" " H o w long?" "Yes." Carl twisted the canoe p a d d l e in his h a n d s . "Well, it was long enough." " O h , n o . No. More. It has to be m o r e t h a n that. Princesses have long hair." "Well, as a m a t t e r of fact, n o w t h a t you m e n t i o n it, it was very long. Very long indeed. Longest hair I ever saw." "And was it golden?" "Yes. Very long golden hair." "She m u s t be a princess, t h e n . No d o u b t a b o u t that." Carl b e g a n to p a d d l e slowly, a n d they glided in closer to t h e d a r k shore. " W h y ever is she living here? What's she d o i n g ? " " H i d i n g , I guess. Waiting." "Auh?" Jenny said. Carl n o d d e d . "That's w h a t she told m e anyhow." H e m o v e d t h e p a d dle slowly t h r o u g h the water a n d t h e y edged still closer to s h o r e . " 'Carl,' she told m e — " "She called you by your n a m e ? Fancy that." "Very informal princess," he said. " N o t the least uppity. Anyway, she said, 'Carl, everybody w a n t s me because I'm a princess. Everybody's always g r a b b i n g for me on a c c o u n t of that. Well, I'm sick of it. I ' m going to hide o u t here a n d wait for a gentle m a n . I d o n ' t care h o w l o n g it takes, I'm waiting. Gentle people, they're h a r d e r to find t h a n you think.' 'I guess so, Princess,' I said. T guess m a y b e you're right.' " He pulled t h e p a d d l e sharply in t h e water a n d the c a n o e glided up on land. " H u n g r y ? " "Here? W o n ' t she m i n d ? " " 'Carl,' she told me, ' T h e shores of my k i n g d o m are y o u r s . You ever w a n t to b r i n g your wife or d a u g h t e r — ' " "She k n o w s a b o u t m e ? "

84 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " ' — y o u r wife or d a u g h t e r Jenny—' " " Fancy that." " '—for a meal, go right ahead.' " He gestured w i t h his long h a n d s . " N o w get us s o m e w o o d for a fire." Jenny stepped o u t a n d he p u s h e d off, stroking d o w n along t h e shore. She gathered s o m e g o o d w o o d , t h e n t u r n e d , a r m s full, w a t c h i n g h e r father. He was casting o u t , reeling in, w h i p p i n g the lake white, a gigantic figure kneeling in t h e center of the can o e . Again a n d again he cast a n d she heard the slap of t h e bait striking t h e water, the whisper as he reeled in. T h e m o o n b e g a n rising, catching his pale hair, h o l d i n g t h e color. All the rest of h i m was dark, shadow, b u t the pale hair glistened. Fish b e g a n hitting the bait a n d he b r o u g h t t h e m carefully up to the boat, effortlessly scooping t h e m from t h e water, d r o p ping t h e m on t h e floor of t h e c a n o e . T h e n he was casting again, steadily, in perfect r h y t h m . Jenny watched her father. W h e n he h a d half a d o z e n fish he returned, started t h e fire, t h e n set to work. She stared at his h a n d s as they scaled a n d cleaned t h e fish, m o v ing by m e m o r y , cutting, scraping. T h e fire began to snap, sparks spinning away, as her father, c a u g h t in t h e red glow, c o n c e n t r a t e d on p r e p a r i n g their dinner. W h e n it was ready, they ate. Jenny could n o t r e m e m b e r having h a d a better m e a l . Later, as she tired, t h e y p a d d l e d back. He led h e r t h r o u g h the d a r k portage, t h e n they were on water again. She n a p p e d . W h e n they got h o m e she w e n t straight to bed. She slept well until she began to d r e a m . She was r u n n i n g t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s d o w n to the lake. Far, far on t h e o t h e r side she saw her father a n d she r a n across the lake, b u t n o t fast e n o u g h b e cause n o w she could see w h a t was b e h i n d her a n d it was a h a n d . She fled b u t t h e h a n d was m u c h t o o fast a n d it was g r a b b i n g at her, pulling h e r d o w n . In the water there were m o r e h a n d s , h u n d r e d s of t h e m , all of t h e m pawing, a n d she tried fighting b u t they h a d her feet a n d h e r a r m s a n d were covering h e r m o u t h w h e n she screamed. She s c r e a m e d again a n d he h e a r d her. Carl h e a r d h e r a n d started for her a n d n o w t h e y were frightened. T h e h a n d s were frightened a n d they began s w i m m i n g away b u t she kept on screaming until she woke. " T h e r e , there," she h e a r d . " T h e r e , there, baby." It was Carl a n d he was sitting on her bed, stroking h e r face with his strong fingers. She relaxed. , She could never r e m e m b e r h i m calling her that before—"baby." " Baby," Jenny said, a n d she slept. Two m o n t h s later she m a d e her first dress. Until t h e n h e r m o t h e r h a d always m a d e h e r clothing, working quietly at t h e sewing m a c h i n e

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 85 that stood p e r m a n e n t l y in a far corner of the living r o o m . But w h e n Jenny asked could she please do o n e by herself, M a r y assented. Jenny worked very h a r d on t h e dress, carefully copying t h e p a t t e r n , sitting b e n t over by the m a c h i n e , s q u i n t i n g h a r d at the fluttering needle. Finally o n e afternoon it was d o n e a n d she tried it on. T h e y were in h e r b e d r o o m , M a r y sitting on t h e bed, Jenny pivoting before h e r m i r r o r . " W h a t do you t h i n k ? " Jenny said. "It's very nice," h e r m o t h e r answered. "A very nice j o b , considering." "Considering w h a t ? " Jenny pivoted sharply before t h e mirror. T h e dress was plain blue c o t t o n a n d the skirt swirled softly a r o u n d her long legs. " It's y o u r first try, Jenny." " W h a t ' s w r o n g w i t h it?" "Well, look." M a r y got up a n d a p p r o a c h e d h e r daughter. "Look, Jenny." She p u t h e r h a n d to the back of the dress a n d g a t h e r e d in a h a n d ful of material. "It's a little loose. A little big." " N o , it isn't." "Jenny, be reasonable. It's m u c h t o o big for you. You look lost in it." Jenny smiled at herself. "I like it this way." "But—" "I like it." " D o n ' t shout, Jenny." "I just w a n t you to hear m e . I like it. T h e way it is. A n d I'm going to m a k e all my clothes. F r o m n o w on. Just the way I like t h e m . Do you hear m e ? " M a r y Devers looked at h e r d a u g h t e r a m o m e n t . T h e n she lookdd away. "Yes, Jenny," she said. "I hear you." W h e n she was twelve she told T o m m y a b o u t h e r a m b i t i o n . T h e y were walking to school t o g e t h e r w h e n she said it. T h e y always walked to school together, d o w n t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s t o the lake, t h e n a r o u n d the n a r r o w shore half a mile to t h e school y a r d — J e n n y carrying h e r b o o k s across her chest, shoulders r o u n d e d , T o m m y walking straight alongside her. Sometimes he would s l u m p his s h o u l d e r s a n d press his b o o k s to his chest, m o c k i n g her. She d i d n ' t m i n d it w h e n he m o c k e d her; a n y o n e else, yes, b u t n o t Tommy. " I ' m going to be an actress someday," Jenny said. It was late March b u t t h e g r o u n d was still thickly covered with snow. "An actress?" T o m m y said, scooping up a handful of snow, packing it hard, tossing it o u t into t h e lake. "Yes."

86 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " W h e r e ' d you get that n u t t y idea?" Jenny t h o u g h t a m o m e n t . "I don't know, I guess. Besides, it isn't nutty. A n d anyway, it's w h a t I'm going to be." "Have you told y o u r folks?" "No." "Well, don't. They'll have a bird." "I won't. This is o u r secret." " O h G o d , Jenny, we got a million secrets already." " N o w we've got a million one." " W h y does everything have to be a secret w i t h y o u ? " "Because it's m o r e fun t h a t way, that's why." " W h o says?" "I d o . A n d I also say I ' m going to be an actress. You just wait." "Course I will," T o m m y said. "Course I will." Jenny hated high school. She was indifferent a b o u t studying a n d the o t h e r girls ignored h e r a n d t h e boys whistled after h e r or snickered as she walked by, her b o o k s c l a m p e d to her chest. She was terribly conscious of her height. W h e n she was a freshman she was already five feet eight, her m o t h e r ' s height, a n d at n i g h t she w o u l d pray silently, kneeling at t h e edge of h e r bed, her fingertips pressing against her eyes. Please, G o d , let me be small. Please, G o d . Please. W h e n she was fourteen h e r b o d y was wildly ripe a n d the s o u n d of derisive laughter seemed always to follow her. Cherokee H i g h was small, t h e percentage of attractive girls astonishingly small; the boys still w h i s p e r e d a b o u t Laverne Elias, a delicate redhead w h o h a d g r a d u a t e d f i v e years before a n d w h o n o w gave weather reports weekday evenings on a television station in M i n n e a p o l i s . Jenny, of course, was no delicate r e d h e a d . H e r hair was d a r k b l o n d a n d it looked peroxided. H e r lips were full a n d p o u t y a n d her eyes offered u n i n t e n t i o n a l suggestion. T h e boys, she knew, t h o u g h t her face cheap, a n d she could n o t disagree. At first, w h e n t h e y asked her out, she accepted, successfully fighting off their inevitable advances. In spite of h e r defenses, t h e backwash of stories a b o u t h e r b e h a v i o r grew t o o m u c h to bear. Completely u n t o u c h e d , she m a n a g e d to gather in a few s h o r t m o n t h s t h e worst reput a t i o n in the entire school. If it weren't for T o m m y Alden, she w o u l d have h a d no friends. They saw each other constantly, walking to school together, walking h o m e t o - . gether, studying together at n i g h t either by t h e fire in t h e lodge or at her h o u s e . He was terribly s m a r t a n d terribly kind. T h e y were inseparable. T h e n , one m o r n i n g , everything changed.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 87 T h e y were walking to school together, h u r r y i n g along t h e lake. It was May a n d t h e sun was surprisingly w a r m . "Listen to me," T o m m y said. "What about?" "Nothing," he answered finally. They walked quietly along for a while. T o m m y crossed his a r m s on his chest, r o u n d i n g his s h o u l d e r s , imitating her walk. "Stop that," Jenny said. "You're blushing." "Well, stop it." "Listen to me," T o m m y said again. " I ' m n o t talking to y o u until you stop walking t h a t way." T o m m y d r o p p e d his a r m s to his sides. " W h a t a b o u t ? " Jenny said t h e n . "You doing a n y t h i n g Saturday?" " W h e n Saturday?" "Night." "No." " W a n n a go o u t ? " "With you?" " W h a t t h e hell k i n d — " " D o n ' t swear so m u c h , " Jenny interrupted. " W h a t k i n d of q u e s t i o n is that? Yes, with me." "But we s p e n d Saturday nights together anyway. So w h a t are you asking me o u t for?" "Because this is different. We're n o t going to s t u d y or a n y t h i n g this Saturday. We'll go o u t someplace." "Together? Just t h e t w o of u s ? " "You w a n t me to b r i n g my father along? Boy, are y o u a nut." "A date?" Jenny said. " W i t h youV "Forget the w h o l e t h i n g , fatso. O.K.?" He g r a b b e d a stone a n d skipped it o u t across t h e water. She t o u c h e d his a r m . "I'd love to, Tommy. I m e a n it. It just surprised me, that's all. I'm sorry. I'd love to go o u t with you. I would." "It's a deal then," he m u t t e r e d . "Saturday n i g h t " "Saturday night," Jenny echoed. T h e y looked at each o t h e r a m o m e n t . Then, suddenly, he b r o k e i n t o a r u n , racing away along t h e sand. He picked her up at eight o'clock b u t she wasn't nearly ready. She h a d started preparing at a little after five, b u t w h e n she h e a r d h i m knocking at the front d o o r she was still only half dressed. She d i d n ' t k n o w w h a t to

88 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN wear, so she tried on every dress she o w n e d , staring at herself critically in her mirror, sharply shaking h e r head. She finally decided on a white dress she h a d m a d e herself a n d that was only a little t o o big for her. She wore white shoes, with high heels, a n d earrings a n d w h e n she finally entered t h e living r o o m everybody s t o p p e d talking a n d looked at her. " D o n ' t b o t h e r waiting up for us," Jenny said. " T h e r e ' s no telling h o w late we'll be. G o o d night, all," a n d she swept to the front door. T o m m y o p e n e d it for her. He was wearing white b u c k s k i n shoes a n d a b l u e suit a n d a blue striped tie. As she stood beside h i m , Jenny realized suddenly that the high heels were a mistake. W i t h o u t t h e m they were the same height; with t h e m , she seemed to tower over h i m . " W h e r e are we g o i n g ? " she asked w h e n they got outside. H e gestured with his a r m a n d they m o v e d t h r o u g h t h e w o o d s away from t h e lake. W h e n they got to t h e road T o m m y s t o p p e d , p o i n t i n g to a n e w Pontiac that was p a r k e d on t h e shoulder. "Mine," he said. "Yours?" Jenny looked at h i m . " T h e old m a n gave it to m e . On loan. As long as I d o n ' t d r i n k or s m o k e I get to keep it." He pulled a cigarette o u t of his coat pocket a n d lit it. "If t h e old bastard t h i n k s he's going to b u y me off he's crazy." "You're too y o u n g to be smoking." "I k n e w you'd say that." He got into the car. "I just k n e w it." He inhaled deeply on t h e cigarette, then began c o u g h i n g . " D a m m i t , " he muttered. Jenny sat beside h i m a n d they started to drive. " W h a t ' s the matter w i t h y o u ? " she said. " S m o k i n g a n d swearing." " T h a t ain't all, sister." He o p e n e d the glove c o m p a r t m e n t a n d pulled o u t a p i n t of whisky. " W a n t a s n o r t ? " " N o , I don't. I m o s t certainly do not." "Chicken," T o m m y said, raising t h e pint to his lips, d r i n k i n g . "Watch the road," Jenny c a u t i o n e d . "Chicken," T o m m y said again. "Sometimes I d o n ' t t h i n k I k n o w you, Tommy. Lately—" "Call me Tom. My n a m e is Tom, n o t Tommy. Call me that." "Tom," Jenny m a n a g e d to say. He t o o k a n o t h e r swallow of whisky, t h e n replaced the bottle in t h e glove c o m p a r t m e n t . After that, they drove in silence for a while. « " W h e r e are we g o i n g ? " Jenny said finally. "Dancing." "Auh?" She was conscious again of the white high-heeled shoes. " W o u l d n ' t you rather go to a m o v i e or s o m e t h i n g ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 89 "Nope." " I ' m not a very g o o d dancer," Jenny said. T o m m y shrugged, c o n t i n u i n g to drive. Every Saturday night the meeting hall in C h e r o k e e was used for d a n c i n g . A p h o n o g r a p h was placed on the platform a n d p o p u l a r records were blasted t h r o u g h the night, until o n e in t h e m o r n i n g . It was nine o'clock w h e n they got there but the hall was already crowded. T o m m y p a r k e d t h e Pontiac, t o o k another long swallow of whisky, stuck a Lifesaver in his m o u t h a n d led her toward the noise. There were a n u m b e r of high-school students g r o u p e d a r o u n d the perimeter of the big r o o m . Jenny stood very close to T o m m y in the entranceway, conscious of t h e stares, trying n o t to hear t h e whispered laughter. A g r o u p of boys were standing in a distant c o r n e r a n d T o m m y left her, m o v i n g to t h e m , talking, gesturing. She waited, alone, feeling awkward, oversized. A m a n c a m e up a n d asked her to d a n c e b u t she shook her head. T h e m a n looked at her closely, his eyes traveling up her body. Jenny gave h i m a n e r v o u s smile a n d retreated b a c k to t h e wall, standing rigid. W h e n T o m m y c a m e b a c k h e grabbed her a r m a n d they m o v e d o n t o the floor. He p u t his a r m s a r o u n d her, pulling h e r very close, pressing his b o d y against hers. She pulled away. Patti Page was singing " T h e Tennessee Waltz" a n d they struggled on t h e floor. " N o t so close, Tommy," Jenny whispered. "Please. W h a t e v e r is the matter with you?" He glanced over to t h e g r o u p of boys a n d waved o n e h a n d . They m o v e d awkwardly across the floor. Jenny began to perspire lightly. "I r e m e m b e r t h e n i g h t a n d the Tennessee Waltz," Patti Page sang. Jenny stepped on T o m m y ' s foot. A burst of laughter exploded in a corner of the r o o m . " I ' m sorry," she m u t t e r e d . He tried pulling h e r close again, her breasts g r a z i n g his shirt. She resisted a m o m e n t , t h e n let h i m h o l d her. She b u r i e d h e r h e a d in his neck and closed her eyes. "Attago, Tom, boy," s o m e b o d y shouted. T h e song e n d e d . A n o t h e r record began, louder, a n d they danced, awkwardly as before. W h e n it was over, Jenny d r o p p e d h e r a r m s . "I w a n t to go outside," she said. "Right this very m i n u t e . " They walked to t h e car a n d stood listening to t h e m u s i c as it pierced the soft evening. T o m m y got o u t t h e pint and t o o k a long swallow. T h e n another. His face was b e g i n n i n g to redden. You'll never be able to drive if you keep that up."

90 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN In answer, he d r a n k again. " I ' m n o t going back in there," Jenny said. "I p r o m i s e you. I won't." " W h y did you have to wear heels?" T o m m y said quietly. "I d o n ' t w a n t to go back in there either. I never w a n t e d to go there in t h e first place b u t w o r d got out. A b o u t us. Tonight. T h e y dared me to b r i n g you. So why did you have to wear heels?" She t o u c h e d his h a n d gently. He jerked his h a n d away. " C o m e o n , let's get o u t t a here." T h e y got in t h e car a n d began to drive. T h e y drove for a long t i m e w i t h o u t speaking. T h e n i g h t was w a r m a n d bright, the m o o n a tilted crescent spilling yellow light across the g r o u n d . Finally he pulled off t h e m a i n highway o n t o a dirt road that curved continually west. At t h e e n d of the r o a d T o m m y s t o p p e d the car, p a r k i n g at the edge of a n a r r o w river. T h e river was filled w i t h rocks a n d t h e water whispered as it r u s h e d along. Jenny listened. "There's t r o u t in there," T o m m y said. " S o m e t i m e s y o u r father, he brings people here to fish. Pretty, h u h ? " Jenny n o d d e d . "You're pretty, t o o , Jenny. D i d I ever tell you t h a t ? " " N o . N o t ever." "Well, you are. Especially tonight. I love y o u r dress. I like white. I do." A b r u p t l y he reached over a n d grabbed her, forcing h e r face t o w a r d his, trying to kiss her. She pulled away sharply, b r e a k i n g his h o l d , m o v i n g to t h e opposite side of t h e car. "Boy," T o m m y said. "Boy." He grabbed for his p i n t a n d began to drink, shaking his head, glaring at her. "Boy." " I ' m sorry," Jenny b e g a n . "Just shut up," he told her. Jenny n o d d e d , staring o u t the window, away. She s u d d e n l y h a d no idea w h o m she was w i t h a n d it frightened her. She could hear h i m d r i n k ing, t h e liquor b u b b l i n g in t h e bottle, rushing d o w n to his lips. "Maybe we'd better go h o m e , " Jenny said. "Maybe we'd better go h o m e , " he m i m i c k e d . " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with you? W h a t ? " "You did it w i t h Pete Johansson. He told m e . I know." Before she could reply he h a d o p e n e d t h e car d o o r a n d t h r o w n t h e p i n t viciously into the river. It hit a rock a n d splattered, s h o w e r i n g glass. He got back in t h e car, s l a m m i n g t h e door. "And Whitey, too." "That's n o t true," Jenny said. "You k n o w very well they're lying. Boys talk."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 91 "I'll say they talk. I'll say." " T h e y never t o u c h e d m e . On my word of h o n o r . N o t ever." " T h e y didn't, h u h ? " " T h e y didn't." "Liar." "Don't do this to me!" Jenny was surprised at h e r voice. "You're my friend, my best friend in t h e whole world, so d o n ' t do this to me." He edged over to her, their legs touching. T h e whisky smell was terrible, so she stared o u t at t h e river. "Look at m e . You like me so m u c h , Jenny looked at h i m . He lunged at her, his a r m s circling ened b u t t h e n she s t o p p e d , letting his h a n d s left her neck a n d they kissed, his

look at me." her neck. For a m o m e n t she stifflips press against h e r m o u t h . His m o u t h p u n i s h i n g hers.

Jenny pulled h e r h e a d back. "That's e n o u g h , Tommy." "Tom." " Tom. That's e n o u g h , Tom." " N o , it isn't," he w h i s p e r e d a n d he kissed h e r again. She tried to force herself into enjoying it, b u t t h e smell of whisky was t o o strong. " I like you, I d o , b u t — " He kissed h e r a t h i r d t i m e , his b o d y crushing hers, a n d she closed her eyes as tightly as she could a n d t h e n his h a n d s were on h e r breasts. She jerked her head away again, staring mutely d o w n at his h a n d s , c u p p e d on her breasts. " N o t you," Jenny said. "Please n o t you." They stared at each o t h e r a m o m e n t a n d t h e n his h a n d s began digging into the soft flesh, r i p p i n g at the white fabric. Jenny shoved at his hands, b u t they only d u g in deeper, so she t h r e w o p e n t h e car d o o r a n d tried escaping. He was still t o u c h i n g her. Finally she b u r s t free. She ran a few steps b u t he c a m e after her, grabbing her from b e h i n d , his h a n d s tearing at her breasts again. T h e y fell to the g r o u n d , wrestling, rolling over i n d over. Jenny was stronger. In a m i n u t e she was sitting on Tommy's chest, pressing his a r m s into the g r o u n d , p i n n i n g h i m . _ "Please stop now," she said. He kicked on t h e g r o u n d . "Get off me." "If you'll stop." "Get off m e , you cow." "Will you s t o p ? "

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"Yes." "Promise?" "I promise, I p r o m i s e . N o w get off." She let h i m go, rolling off h i m . He started to sit. "You p r o m i s e d , now. Remember." T h e y sat beside each o t h e r a n d in a m i n u t e they were b o t h crying. He lay back d o w n on his s t o m a c h , his head in his h a n d s , his h a n d s pressing into the soft earth. Jenny b r o u g h t her legs up a n d w e p t openly, rocking back a n d forth. T o m m y rolled over on his back a n d d r i e d his eyes. T h e n he s t u m b l e d d o w n to t h e river and knelt beside it, d u c k i n g his h e a d into the cool water. His coat was getting wet, so he t o o k it off, his shirt too, a n d d u c k e d his head, over a n d over. After a while, he c a m e b a c k to her. "I'll take you h o m e . " "Yes." He p u t on his shirt a n d coat a n d they drove east along t h e dirt r o a d to t h e highway. T h e n slowly he drove toward C h e r o k e e . Neither of t h e m spoke until he h a d t h e car p a r k e d on t h e s h o u l d e r of t h e highway above her h o u s e . "I'll walk you to t h e door." "It's all right. You d o n ' t have to." "Please." T h e y got o u t of t h e car a n d entered the w o o d s , m o v i n g slowly. " I ' m sorry a b o u t calling you a cow," T o m m y said. " O h , that's all right." "I h a d t o o m u c h to d r i n k was the reason I d i d it. I'm n o t m u c h of a drinker. As a m a t t e r of fact, I t h i n k I'm going to be sick any minute." "Auh?" T h e h o u s e was visible now, framed between t h e trees a n d the lake. "Will you ever let me take you o u t again?" " I d o n ' t t h i n k so." "Why?" " W h y should I?" "Well, at least you k n o w you'll be safe with m e . I m e a n , you're stronger t h a n I a m , so you've got n o t h i n g to be afraid of. That's something." Jenny shrugged. "I m e a n , I p r o m i s e I w o n ' t t r y to rape you again. You can take my w o r d on that." "Auh?" "Absolutely. Never again." "I'll think a b o u t it."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 93 " D o that. It's very i m p o r t a n t to me." "Why?" "Because you're my best friend too, Jenny. I love you. I have ever since we were eight years old. But it couldn't go on like it was. You u n d e r s t a n d that?" "No." "Well, it couldn't, that's all." They were n e a r i n g t h e front d o o r n o w and he lowered his voice. "Please let me see you again. I've got to. We're something to each other, Jenny. D o n ' t let it go." Jenny stopped a n d looked at h i m for a long t i m e . "You ripped my dress," she whispered finally. I m sorry. "Here," she said, t a k i n g his h a n d . "See w h e r e y o u ripped it?" There was a small tear in t h e fabric over her left breast. She raised his h a n d , placing the tips of his fingers'on t h e tear. "Gently," Jenny said. "Yes." Again she t o o k his h a n d , raising it, t o u c h i n g his p a l m to her lips. T h e n she m o v e d quietly to t h e front d o o r a n d o p e n e d it. "Jenny?" She t u r n e d in t h e doorway. " I ' m going to m a r r y you, Jenny." He waved. She waved. They were inseparable again.

V "You will sit here," Miss Dickens said, indicating t h e receptionist's desk. She spoke like a teacher addressing a class full of children, a n d Rose almost felt as if she o u g h t to repeat what h a d just b e e n told her, to prove she h a d learned her lessons well. I will sit here, Rose was t e m p t e d to say. Miss Dickens, an o v e r p o w d e r e d m a i d e n lady in h e r fifties, d r u m m e d her fingers on the desk t o p . "Have you any questions, Miss Mathias?" "Mathias," Rose corrected. "Accent the second syllable. N o t MarMas. Mathias." " I ' m sorry." Miss Dickens cleared her throat. "I shan't do it again; I never m a k e the s a m e mistake twice." T h e telephone rang.

94 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Miss Dickens was a b o u t to say "Answer i t " b u t Rose was t o o fast for her, a n d by the t i m e Miss Dickens got the first half of "Answer" out, Rose was already talking on t h e p h o n e . Miss Dickens converted t h e "Ans-" into a general all-around throat-clearing. " A n s - a h - u m - u m . " "West Ridge Real Estate," Rose said. " G o o d afternoon." She listened a m o m e n t , then h a n d e d t h e receiver to Miss Dickens. " F o r you." "What's t h a t ? " Miss Dickens said a m o m e n t later. "Your b a s e m e n t is filling with water again? Call the plumber. He'll fix i t . . . . He what? T h e p l u m b e r said w h a t ? " Bored with w h a t t h e p l u m b e r said, Rose strolled a r o u n d the office. It was small, two r o o m s , b u t t h e ceilings were high. T h e office was located on Central Street in West Ridge, set between a dress s h o p a n d a h a r d w a r e store. West Ridge, in t u r n , was located in n o r t h e r n O h i o , thirty miles west a n d a little south of Cleveland, a comfortable forty-five-minute drive on Route 10. Rose h a d o n l y m a d e t h e t r i p b y b u s ; b y b u s i t t o o k a n h o u r a n d a half. Although it was h e r first day on t h e job, she was n o t particularly nervous. She k n e w h o w to type, file—whatever was necessary. Rose looked at h e r short, strong fingers, t h e n s m o o t h e d her skirt. H e r skirt was a pleated green cotton (she favored green). H e r blouse was also green, neatly pressed, as was t h e skirt, a n d her s h o r t hair was carefully c o m b e d . Rose was neat, p r o p e r a n d clean. She was also plain. Her nose was t o o big. H e r eyes were too small. H e r hair was b r o w n . Just b r o w n . N o t d a r k b r o w n or light b r o w n or curly b r o w n or straight b r o w n . N o t even m o u s e b r o w n . Brown. Brown was t h e color of her hair. H e r lips were thin, b u t n o t t h i n e n o u g h to be m e m o r a b l e . Her chin was ordinary, neither weak n o r jutting. Her skin was gray. H e r b o d y was straight and square a n d flat, completely devoid of mystery. O n l y her legs were g o o d — r o u n d e d at the calf, t r i m at the a n k l e — s o g o o d that they c a m e as a shock after t h e rest of her, as t h o u g h , at b i r t h , s o m e o n e h a d said, " G o o d G o d , give h e r something." She was n o t yet twenty-five. She looked thirty. Plain Rose. Miss Dickens was finishing t h e p h o n e call w h e n t h e front d o o r of the office o p e n e d a n d Mr. Scudder walked in. He m o v e d up quietly b e h i n d Miss Dickens, a n d as she p u t t h e p h o n e d o w n he w h i s p e r e d s o m e t h i n g in her ear a n d whacked h e r on t h e fanny. Miss Dickens flushed, a pale h a n d h i d i n g h e r thin face.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 95 " T h e n e w girl," she whispered. Mr. Scudder t u r n e d . Rose stepped forward. "Hello, new girl." "Hello, Mr. Scudder." "Howard." "Howard." He held o u t his h a n d . "Miss Mathias," Rose said. "Rose." She held o u t hers. "Glad to have y o u a b o a r d , Rosie. Dickens s h o w you a r o u n d ? " " M o r e or less." "You'll like it here. We d o n ' t m a k e m o n e y b u t we have a helluva lot of fun." Behind h i m , Miss Dickens inhaled audibly. H o w a r d t u r n e d on her. "Helluva," he repeated. "I said it a n d I'm glad." Miss Dickens flushed. "Anything h a p p e n of late?" "Mr. Traphagen called. It seems his b a s e m e n t is flooded again." " P o o r Mr. Traphagen," H o w a r d said."Anything else?" "No." He walked i n t o his office, r e t u r n i n g a m o m e n t later with a briefcase. " I ' m off to s h o w a h o u s e . H o l d the fort." He w i n k e d at Miss Dickens a n d left. "Mr. Scudder is a terrible kidder," Miss Dickens said w h e n he was gone. " I can see that." "He's very nice, t h o u g h . " "Yes." "You'll like h i m , I ' m sure." "I wouldn't be a bit surprised," Rose said. It was late a f t e r n o o n before H o w a r d r e t u r n e d . He breezed into the office, patted Miss Dickens on t h e head a n d d i s a p p e a r e d into t h e back r o o m . A m o m e n t later he stuck his head t h r o u g h t h e doorway. "We eat," he a n n o u n c e d . "I sold it." T h e n he pulled his h e a d back a n d closed the door. Rose waited until it was nearly time for her to leave for the day. Across the r o o m Miss Dickens was already adjusting a faded s p r i n g hat, decorated with w h a t o n c e m u s t have been flowers. Rose walked to Howard's d o o r and k n o c k e d .

96 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Entrez, s'il vous plait." Rose closed t h e d o o r b e h i n d her. "If you're trying to hit me for a raise," H o w a r d began, " y o u r t i m i n g is bad." Rose m a d e herself smile. " W h a t is it, Rosie?" "I just wanted you to know," Rose said, "that I take dictation." "You d o ? " "Yes." " T h a t ' s wonderful, Rosie." H o w a r d smiled at her. He h a d a nice smile. He was better t h a n average looking to begin with, b u t he was h a n d s o m e w h e n he smiled. M e d i u m tall, he h a d a t r i m , athletic build. Even t h o u g h it was still only early April, he was deeply t a n n e d . "So if you want, you can dictate s o m e letters t o m o r r o w . " "I can't do that, Rosie." " W h a t d o you m e a n , y o u can't d o t h a t ? " "I get flustered. I have to write everything o u t in l o n g h a n d . " "But I take dictation." "Maybe Dickens has s o m e letters she'd like written. W h y d o n ' t you ask h e r ? " "Miss Dickens is an employee. You're the boss. There's all the difference in the world." H o w a r d pulled at his c h i n a m o m e n t . "We seem to be at an impasse, Rosie. W h a t d o you t h i n k w e s h o u l d d o ? " "I t h i n k you'd better learn to dictate. That's all t h e r e is to it." H o w a r d stared at her. She could feel herself starting to blush, so she s t o p p e d it. "After all, Mr. Scudder, there's no p o i n t in wasting me." "Right you are, Rosie. No p o i n t in wasting you. I'll just learn to dictate a n d that's all there is to it." " T h a n k you," Rosie said, a n d she t u r n e d , starting for t h e door. "You're a funny girl, aren't you, Rosie?" Rose glanced b a c k at h i m . " F u n n y ? " she said. " M e ? " she said. "No," she said. It was a pretty day, so she decided to walk h o m e . She walked along Central Street, t h e n t u r n e d two corners d o w n , crossing over to Beach, t h e n to Elm, t h e n to Cedar. W h e n she reached O a k , she t u r n e d again, m o v i n g to a h o u s e in t h e m i d d l e of the block. A sign in front of the h o u s e read " F u r n i s h e d R o o m s . " Rose m o v e d u n d e r t h e sign. H e r r o o m was on

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 97 the t o p floor. Small, perfectly square, it reflected n o t h i n g . T h e small closet was neatly filled with clothes. T h e b e d was m a d e a n d already t u r n e d d o w n for the night. On h e r bed table were a b o o k a n d a picture from a newspaper. T h e b o o k was t h e Bible. Rose never read it, b u t she was never w i t h o u t it either. T h e p i c t u r e was clipped from the West Ridge Weekly Sentinel. Dated m i d - M a r c h , it h a d already b e g u n to curl. " R e t u r n s from vacation," t h e picture said. A n d u n d e r n e a t h , s o m e society doggerel that began, " H o w a r d Scudder, o n e of West Ridge's m o s t eligible bachelors, ret u r n e d recently . . . " Rose d i d n o t b o t h e r reading t h e rest. She knew it by heart anyway. Instead, she stared at t h e picture.

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The next afternoon, on h e r way h o m e from work, Rose s t o p p e d at the West Ridge Public Library. Ordinarily she d i d n o t read m u c h ; books m a d e her impatient. She stood in the d o o r w a y of t h e library for a m o m e n t , quietly looking a r o u n d . Rose always did that; w h e n e v e r she had to enter a new r o o m she w o u l d stop a n d fix it carefully in h e r m i n d , so that w h e n she m o v e d she c o u l d m o v e directly. Rose h a d little patience with indecision. N o d d i n g to herself, she walked quickly to t h e library desk a n d m a d e o u t a card. W h e n it h a d been processed, she h u r r i e d to the shelves. She t o o k o u t two b o o k s on selling a n d two m o r e on t h e fundamentals of real estate. They were heavy, and she resented their weight, b u t she took t h e m anyway, charging t h e m on her card, n o d d i n g curtly to t h e elderly lib r a r i a n b e h i n d t h e desk. W h e n she got h o m e she b r e w e d herself a p o t of strong coffee—strong coffee was a weakness of h e r s — a n d began to read. It was nearly four in t h e m o r n i n g before she allowed herself to stop. Two days later Miss Dickens came d o w n with t h e flu, a n d t h e day following that Rose a p p e a r e d in t h e office carrying a large p a p e r bag. She worked efficiently for an h o u r , answering the p h o n e w h e n it rang, typing correspondence, c h a n g i n g t h e p h o t o g r a p h s of h o u s e s for sale that served as a display in t h e w i n d o w facing on Central Street. It was after eleven w h e n she m a d e her m o v e . H o w a r d e m e r g e d briefly from his inner office, w a t c h i n g her as she typed. "Slave on," he said. Rose finished t h e letter she was copying. " N e w dress?" H o w a r d asked. "It's very nice." " T h a n k you." Rose b r o u g h t t h e paper bag up a n d set it on her desk. "What's in the bag, Rosie?"

98 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You were s u p p o s e d to ask that." "Always on cue. That's me." "Food," Rose said. "You see, I h a d s o m e friends to d i n n e r last night a n d we h a d roast beef, except that I b o u g h t t o o m u c h , so instead of letting it go to waste—I c o u l d never finish it all—I m a d e sandwiches for us. A n d p o t a t o salad. A picnic l u n c h . Right here in t h e office." H o w a r d was watching h e r a n d she w o n d e r e d briefly if he k n e w t h a t t h e r e h a d been no friends, that the food was p u r c h a s e d early that m o r n i n g from the grocer on t h e corner. " S o u n d s great, Rosie." Rose allowed herself a smile. " B u t I can't m a k e it." Rose said n o t h i n g . H o w a r d h u r r i e d o n . "I eat l u n c h at h o m e , Rosie. Every day. Rain or shine." "At h o m e ? A l o n e ? " " W i t h Mother, of course," H o w a r d answered. "Oh," Rose said, l o o k i n g at h i m . T h a t was all. Just "Oh." Late in t h e a f t e r n o o n Dolly Salinger appeared. Rose was alone in t h e office w h e n the front d o o r o p e n e d . Rose glanced u p . T h e w o m a n i n t h e d o o r w a y looked t o b e t w e n t y - o n e o r -two, tall, slender, dark. H e r skin was pale a n d clear, h e r lips red, her hair raven black. She entered t h e r o o m a n d Rose e x a m i n e d her. She was almost u n fairly pretty, a n d she m o v e d with athletic grace. My legs are better, Rose t h o u g h t . My legs are better. "Yes?" Rose said. " H o w a r d here?" "Mr. Scudder is o u t just now." T h e o t h e r w o m a n shrugged. "Just tell h i m Dolly s t o p p e d by." "I certainly will," Rose said, jotting it d o w n on a n o t e p a d . "Dolly who?" "Salinger." Jew, Rose t h o u g h t . "I'll tell h i m , Miss Salinger." T h e y stared at each o t h e r a m o m e n t . "You do that," Dolly said. She c o n t i n u e d to stare. Rose busied herself w i t h s o m e papers. W h e n she h e a r d t h e front d o o r close she looked u p . "Stay away," Rose said o u t l o u d . "You hear me? Stay away."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 99

The next m o r n i n g Miss Dickens returned, m o r e p o w d e r e d t h a n usual. " T h e d o c t o r u r g e d me to s p e n d a n o t h e r day in bed," she began, hanging up her coat. " B u t I told h i m 'Absolutely not.' I can be very stubb o r n w h e n I w a n t to." Rose waited for h e r to sit d o w n . "Influenza is a dreadful disease. I seem to get it at least once each year. Usually I get it in the w i n t e r t i m e a n d — " "Who's Dolly Salinger?" "Dolly Salinger?" "That's right." "Why, she a n d Mr. Scudder are keeping company." "For h o w long?" "Several years now." "She rich?" "I don't believe so. N o t a n y m o r e . Her family w a s hit b a d l y by the crash." " O h , that's a shame," Rose said. "Yes. Yes, it was. H e r father t o o k his o w n life s o o n afterwards. Or so the story goes. At any rate, he died." "We all have to go s o m e t i m e . " "She's a lovely girl, d o n ' t you think? So pretty." "Beauty fades," Rose said. O n e m o r n i n g late in M a y Rose walked into H o w a r d ' s office. "If you promise n o t to ask me h o w old I'm going to be, I'll let you take me to d i n ner on my birthday. W h a t do you say?" H o w a r d smiled. " W h o could refuse an offer like t h a t ? " "You p r o m i s e ? " "Cross my heart, Rosie. W h e n ' s your b i r t h d a y ? " " Today." "Stabbed," H o w a r d said. "You promised." "You're a h a r d w o m a n , Rosie." " I never said I wasn't." "I've been w o r k i n g since I was sixteen," Rose was saying. "Full-time. Before that I w o r k e d p a r t - t i m e . I don't r e m e m b e r a n y t h i n g of my childhood except working. I never h a d much." She t o o k a n o t h e r sip of her

100 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Pink Lady. T h e y were sitting in a dark corner of a cocktail l o u n g e off Euclid Avenue in d o w n t o w n Cleveland. In the m i d d l e of t h e r o o m a fat Negro m a n played softly on t h e p i a n o . "Tea for Two" a n d "Dardanella" a n d "Blue Skies.""No," Rose s a i d , " I never h a d m u c h . " " W h a t did y o u r father d o ? " H o w a r d asked. "As little as possible right up until he died. My m o t h e r , she was dead too by that time." Rose realized that she was talking t o o m u c h a n d she paused, staring d o w n at h e r P i n k Lady. Ordinarily she d i d n o t d r i n k a n d this was her third cocktail. "Am I acting d r u n k ? " Rose said. "You're a perfect lady. Besides, it's your birthday." "I hate birthdays. N o t this o n e . But the others I hated." " H o w m a n y others have there b e e n ? " "And you p r o m i s e d y o u wouldn't ask." "See?" H o w a r d said. "You've got a m i n d like a trap. You can't be drunk." Rose sipped h e r cocktail. "You were talking a b o u t y o u r family." " O h , t h e m . To hell w i t h t h e m . I got a b u n c h of a u n t s . T h e y used to shift me a r o u n d every so often. H o u s e to h o u s e . I bet I've lived in m o s t every t o w n in O h i o . You ever m o v e much? I hate m o v i n g . " "West Ridge is my h o m e , Rosie. I've never lived a n y w h e r e else. Never w a n t to." "Your father d e a d t o o ? " "He's dead too." " W h a t did h e d o ? " "You're kidding." Rose looked at h i m blankly. "You can't have lived long in West Ridge w i t h o u t k n o w i n g a b o u t my father. He delivered n i n e - t e n t h s of t h e population." "That's a g o o d t h i n g to be. A doctor." "Yes." T h e p i a n o player started into "Make Believe." Rose h u m m e d along softly. "You would have been a good doctor, H o w a r d . You got good hands. I look at people's h a n d s a lot. You can tell a b o u t t h e m from their h a n d s . Did you k n o w t h a t ? " " B u m p s on t h e h e a d are a lot m o r e scientific, Rosie. Phrenology." "You're kidding, b u t I'm serious. You s h o u l d have been a d o c t o r with y o u r hands." "I tried. I w e n t to medical school for a year after college. I flunked out. So you see, you're wrong." "You're very good at selling houses, Howard."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 101 " D a m n right I a m . I k n o w every house in West Ridge. I used to bicycle a r o u n d w h e n I was a kid. All over town. Ask me any corner in t o w n and I'll tell you a b o u t t h e houses there. Go o n . Ask me a corner. Ask me any two streets t h a t c o m e together." "All right. C e d a r a n d Lincoln." "Cedar a n d Lincoln." H o w a r d closed his eyes. "There's four corner lots a n d two h o u s e s . O n e of them's o w n e d by t h e Fergusons. Brown house. T h r e e floors. T h e y b o u g h t it from t h e Slocums in 1926. T h e other h o u s e is e m p t y now, b u t Old M a n M a h n k e n built it back in 1915 a n d — " Rose laughed. "I believe you." "I can do t h a t for h o u r s , " H o w a r d said. " I believe that, too." " D a m n right," H o w a r d said. " D a m n right." They finished their drinks. " D o you t h i n k we s h o u l d have another, Howard?" He raised his h a n d for the waiter. " W h a t t h e hell, Rosie. It's your birthday." "It really isn't." H o w a r d lowered his h a n d . "My b i r t h d a y is in December. I was a C h r i s t m a s child. I lied to you, Howard. Are you m a d ? " " W h a t did you d o t h a t for?" "Better work relationships. I'm a firm believer in better w o r k relationships. Are you m a d ? " H o w a r d raised his h a n d again. T h e n he smiled. " W h a t t h e hell," he said. "It's May. That's a l m o s t y o u r birthday." "You d r i n k a lot, d o n ' t y o u ? " Rose said. It was t w o h o u r s later a n d she was on her sixth P i n k Lady. "Yes. I d r i n k a lot." "Does your m o t h e r like for you to do t h a t ? " " I don't believe we've ever discussed it." "But you live w i t h her." " T h a t ' s right. But she goes her way pretty m u c h a n d I go m i n e . She doesn't pry." "You're very lucky." Yes.' Rose swallowed half h e r d r i n k . "I love these. T h e y get better a n d better the m o r e you d r i n k them."

102 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN H o w a r d sipped his Scotch. " H o w old are you, H o w a r d ? I never p r o m i s e d / w o u l d n ' t ask." "Thirty-one." "You ever want to get m a r r i e d ? " " W h a t the hell k i n d of q u e s t i o n is that?" "I just wondered." " D a m n right I w a n t to get married." Rose t o o k a n o t h e r swallow of her drink. T h e n she said it. "You can do better t h a n Dolly Salinger." H o w a r d looked at her. "A lot better." " W h a t are you talking about? W h a t d o you k n o w a b o u t Dolly?" "I've seen her. That's enough." " D i d her h a n d s give h e r away?" "Are you serious w i t h h e r ? " "Dolly's my fiancee. We're m o r e or less engaged." " W h a t does that m e a n ? " "It m e a n s we're going to get married." "When?" "Soon, I hope." " D o you w a n t t o m a r r y h e r ? " "It's really n o t m u c h of y o u r business, Rosie. But since you stuck your nose in, yes, I w a n t to m a r r y her." " B u t she won't have y o u ? " "She'll have me." "When?" "Dolly's got this t h i n g a b o u t money." "You're n o t rich e n o u g h for her. Is that it?" "Now, look, R o s i e — " " D o n ' t talk a b o u t it a n y m o r e . If you d o n ' t w a n t t o , d o n ' t . C h a n g e t h e subject." H o w a r d t o o k a long swallow of Scotch. " I ' m going to be getting m a r r i e d myself o n e of these days." " W h o to?" "I got me s o m e ideas," Rose said. W h e n they drove up to the h o u s e on O a k Street it was early in t h e m o r n i n g . Rose o p e n e d t h e d o o r for herself a n d stepped out. H o w a r d m o v e d a r o u n d t h e car, h o l d i n g on to it with o n e h a n d as he went. T h e y started up the walk, m o v i n g past the " F u r n i s h e d R o o m s " sign. T h e night

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 103 was bright, the m o o n full. Rose stepped up the steps b u t lost her balance, falling against h i m . He steadied h e r as best he could. T h e y were standing very close together. "I never h a d a better time," Rose said. "My pleasure." H o w a r d started a bow, t h e n t h o u g h t better of it. "I'd never make it back up again," he explained. "I'd help you," Rose said. She stood a step above h i m , staring into his eyes. "I m e a n t that, H o w a r d . I never h a d a better t i m e . N o t ever." H o w a r d smiled. " T h a n k you, H o w a r d . " She closed h e r eyes, waiting. "Welcome," he answered, b u t she k n e w from t h e s o u n d of his voice that he was m o v i n g away from her. Rose o p e n e d h e r eyes. He was backing d o w n t h e sidewalk, waving. She r e t u r n e d i t . " 'Night, Rosie," he called. Rose t u r n e d , e n t e r i n g t h e house, climbing t h e steps to t h e t o p floor. Flicking on the lights in h e r r o o m , she went to t h e m i r r o r a n d stared at herself. She looked worse t h a n usual. I w o u l d n ' t kiss me either, she t h o u g h t . Taking a step closer to the mirror, she b e g a n e x a m i n i n g her face. Plain. God, it was plain. W i t h a wild burst of anger, she g r a b b e d a handful of her b r o w n hair a n d pulled it until the p a i n b e g a n to n u m b . "Easy, Rose," she said aloud. "Easy." H e r t e m p e r frightened h e r w h e n it came like that. She b r e a t h e d deeply, trying to b e n d it u n d e r c o n t r o l . In t h e m i r r o r she could see her r o o m . Square a n d dull. She h a t e d it. She hated everything a b o u t . . . N o . N o , that wasn't true. ( H e r t e m p e r was going.) She didn't hate it. (She was b r e a t h i n g easily again.) After all, she h a d had worse. A lot worse. A n d by Christ she was going to have a lot better. T h e m o r n i n g of t h e seventh of July, Rose talked to H o w a r d ' s m o t h e r for the first time. She a n d Miss Dickens were in t h e office w h e n the telep h o n e rang. Rose answered it. " T h i s is M r s . Scudder," t h e voice on the o t h e r e n d said. "Oh, Mrs. Scudder, h o w do you d o ? " Rose said. T h e question was ignored. " M y son will n o t be in today." "Is he sick?" " H e is n o t sick. He is fine." "Will he be in t o m o r r o w ? " " I ' m n o t in the least sure." There was a click on t h e o t h e r end. Rose h u n g up t h e p h o n e . "She's a sweetheart. H o w a r d won't be in today."

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104 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I d o n ' t wonder." " W h y don't y o u ? " "Haven't you heard? Dolly Salinger ran off a n d got m a r r i e d . He's quite a bit older t h a n she is, b u t very rich, or so the story goes. I imagine he's all upset, p o o r H o w a r d . It's really very sad." "Tragic," Rose said. H o w a r d did n o t c o m e to w o r k the next day. Or t h e day after that. But w h e n he finally did r e t u r n , a week later, it was o b v i o u s w h a t he h a d been d o i n g with his t i m e . Drinking. T h e smell of alcohol in t h e early m o r n i n g m a d e Rose w a n t to retch. " G o o d m o r n i n g , h a r e m , " H o w a r d said. "Miss m e ? " "You m u s t never desert us again," Miss Dickens b e g a n . H o w a r d held up his right h a n d . "Scout's honor." "You O.K. n o w ? " Rose asked. "Fine," H o w a r d said, m a k i n g a smile. "Fine, fine, fine." A n d with that he went into his office a n d closed t h e door. Later that m o r n i n g , w h e n Rose went into H o w a r d ' s office, she caught h i m hurriedly shoving a bottle of whisky into a desk drawer. "You better k n o c k n e x t t i m e , Rosie." "You t h i n k so?" " W h a t is it, Rosie?" "You got any letters you w a n t to send?" " N o t just yet. I'll call you if I do." Rose hesitated in t h e doorway. "Anything else, Rosie?" "It can wait," Rose said, a n d she closed t h e door. At eleven-thirty Rose looked over from h e r desk. " T i m e for your lunch," she said. Miss Dickens looked at t h e t i m e . "But I never go to l u n c h this early." "Yes, you do. Today you do." "But—" " O u t you go. D o n ' t argue." Miss Dickens looked at Rose's face for just a m o m e n t m o r e . T h e n she hurriedly p u t o n h e r s u m m e r hat, her s u m m e r gloves. Picking u p her purse, she was gone. Rose waited for a m o m e n t , her eyes closed. Finally she stood a n d walked to H o w a r d ' s office, t h r o w i n g the d o o r o p e n . "Didn't I tell you to k n o c k ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 105 "Did you? I forgot." "What's got into you, Rosie?" "That's not t h e q u e s t i o n . W h a t ' s got into y o u ? " "That's my business." Rose said n o t h i n g . H o w a r d sat back in his swivel chair, his h a n d s folded on his s t o m a c h . Rose stared at his puffy eyes. H o w a r d looked away. " I ' m busy right now, Rosie. So if it's n o t i m p o r t a n t , let's p o s t p o n e it." Rose m o v e d closer to h i m . " D o n ' t m a k e me o r d e r you to get out, Rosie." " O r d e r m e . See w h a t h a p p e n s . " "Dammit—" "You're scaring me." "Please." "Beg s o m e more," Rose said. She could feel h e r t e m p e r breaking loose inside her, a thing u n t o itself, anger building. She let it c o m e . "For the last t i m e , R o s i e — " "I hate weakness! H o w a r d . It makes me sick." A n d s u d d e n l y h e r voice was out of control. "You lousy lushl" H o w a r d closed his puffy eyes. "I never said I was s t r o n g , Rosie. Did I, n o w ? " He forced a smile. " U n d e r stress I t e n d to d r i n k . It's my pattern." "It is, huh? It is, h u h ? " A n d she whirled a r o u n d t h e desk, jerking at the drawers, o p e n i n g t h e m , s l a m m i n g t h e m shut, m o v i n g to the next drawer, jerking a n d s l a m m i n g until she f o u n d t h e bottle. "Here," Rose cried a n d she shoved t h e bottle at h i m . Howard's eyes were still closed. " D o n ' t do a n y m o r e . Please." Rose grabbed h i m . "You're t h r o u g h with t h a t stuff! Never no m o r e , not while I'm a r o u n d . You ever t o u c h that stuff again you'll have to answer to me a n d you d o n ' t w a n n a do that, Howard." She let h i m go. H o w a r d began to shake. "Aw, Howard," Rose w h i s p e r e d then. "Aw, c o m e on." "She left me, Rose." " G o o d , I say." "She left me." "Rest easy, Howard." She reached o u t , gently t o u c h e d his cheek. " I ' m here." After that, they were together. Most of the t i m e t h e y spent in the office, working until ten o'clock at night, six nights a week. Sundays he took her driving in the c o u n t r y or s w i m m i n g in Lake Erie. But even t h e n they talked a b o u t work. H o w to sell houses. H o w to sell h o u s e s . D u r i n g the

106 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN week they w o u l d t o u r West Ridge at l u n c h t i m e , driving slowly d o w n street after street, Rose w a t c h i n g a n d listening, H o w a r d explaining a b o u t w h o lived where a n d w h e n it was built a n d w h a t k i n d of a price it would b r i n g on t h e market. H o w a r d talked. Rose a b s o r b e d it all. In October she sold h e r first house. It was small, on t h e n o r t h side of t o w n , b u t still she sold it. T h a t night he t o o k h e r i n t o Cleveland again, where they h a d d i n n e r a n d t h e n went to the s y m p h o n y . Afterward he drove her h o m e , his right a r m d r a p e d over her s h o u l d e r m o s t of the way. W h e n they reached t h e front steps of her place on O a k Street, he hugged her briefly, then kissed h e r quickly on the cheek. As she walked up to h e r r o o m , Rose could n o t h e l p smiling. Toward t h e e n d of t h a t m o n t h Rose got a s e c o n d p h o n e call from M r s . Scudder. "Miss Mathias?" "Speaking." " T h i s is M r s . William Scudder." "I recognized y o u r voice." "I would like to see you." "Anytime." " T o m o r r o w , then? F o u r o'clock. C a n you get away?" "If you'd like me at four, t h e n I'll be there at four." "Until t o m o r r o w , t h e n . A n d , Miss M a t h i a s . . . " "Yes?" "I don't see any reason to tell H o w a r d a b o u t this, do y o u ? " "Is that an order, M r s . S c u d d e r ? " "That's an order, Miss Mathias." At four o'clock p r o m p t l y , Rose arrived at t h e Scudder h o u s e on Waverly Lane, o n e of t h e t w o m o s t exclusive streets in t o w n . T h e Scudder h o u s e was large a n d white, with four white c o l u m n s in t h e front. Rose walked up the p a t h a l o n g t h e lawn a n d r a n g t h e bell. A middle-aged servant lady o p e n e d t h e door. "To see Mrs. Scudder. Miss Mathias. I'm expected." " T h i s way, please," t h e servant lady said, t u r n i n g , walking t h r o u g h t h e foyer. Rose followed her. Mrs. Scudder was waiting, seated in t h e library. She was a small, heavyset w o m a n w i t h w h i t e hair. "Miss Mathias," she said. Rose sat in an easy chair across from her, carefully folding h e r h a n d s in her lap.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 107 "Coffee?" "Please. Black." Mrs. Scudder p o u r e d a cup of coffee from the silver p o t on the table beside her. Rose t o o k t h e c u p a n d balanced it carefully, m a k i n g sure n o t to spill. "Lovely fall," M r s . Scudder said after she h a d p o u r e d herself s o m e coffee. Rose allowed as to h o w it was indeed a lovely fall. "I felt the s u m m e r was a trifle hot." Rose allowed that too. M r s . Scudder talked o n , h o l d i n g her coffee c u p gracefully, sipping from it gracefully. Rose followed along as best she could. T h e r o o m seemed u n c o m f o r t a b l y w a r m a n d she w a n t e d to w i p e h e r brow, b u t she decided against it. T h e walls of the r o o m were lined w i t h b o o k s , the great majority of t h e m b o u n d in leathers of red a n d green. Rose c o m m e n t e d o n t h e b o o k s . "Dr. Scudder was a great reader," the older w o m a n said. "I wish I could say t h e same," Rose said. "You don't read, t h e n ? " "I k n o w how, if that's w h a t you mean." M r s . Scudder smiled. " B o o k s can be a c o m f o r t , Miss Mathias. In times of stress." "Some people read, s o m e people drink." M r s . S c u d d e r flicked her eyes across a n d for a m o m e n t they stared quietly at each other. "And you can call me Rose." "Rose," Mrs. Scudder said. Rose finished her coffee. " W o u l d you care for a n o t h e r c u p ? " Rose shook her h e a d . "I myself h a p p e n to have a passion for coffee. I d r i n k coffee most of the day. In the m o r n i n g w h e n I awake, then again at l u n c h , t h e n — " "Get to it." "I beg y o u r p a r d o n ? " " T h e point." "I prefer reaching t h e subject gradually." " I don't." " T h a t ' s m o r e t h a n obvious." " W h a t ' s the subject?" Rose said. " C o m e now. We b o t h k n o w the answer." "O.K.," Rose said. " W h a t a b o u t H o w a r d ? "

108 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N Mrs. Scudder p o u r e d herself a n o t h e r c u p of coffee before she spoke. "I owe you a debt of g r a t i t u d e for what you've d o n e with h i m . I could never have d o n e it. I k n o w that." " G o on." Rose got up from h e r chair a n d started to pace. " I prefer you t o sit." " I prefer n o t . G o on." "You're too c o m m o n for my son," Mrs. S c u d d e r said. Rose n o d d e d . " W h a t was the matter with Dolly Salinger?" " W h a t has that to do with anything?" "Plenty. Answer my question." "She was half Jewish, for o n e thing. I disapprove of mixed marriages." " W h a t k i n d d o y o u approve of?" "I wish you'd sit d o w n , Miss Mathias." "And w h o was the girl before Dolly and what was t h e m a t t e r with her?" " I ' m n o t going to c o n t i n u e this until you sit d o w n . " " T h e n just listen, lady, because you're right. I am t o o c o m m o n . A n d I'm t o o plain. A n d I've got a rotten sense of h u m o r a n d I've got a t e m p e r that could send you right up t h e wall, so d o n ' t m a k e me lose it. O.K.?" Rose was m o v i n g faster now, back a n d forth, r a n g i n g across the r o o m . "But if I was perfect you'd still find s o m e t h i n g w r o n g . Because there's n o b o d y no place g o o d e n o u g h for your son. H o w a r d is a weak m a n . We b o t h k n o w that. We sense it. Because we're just t h e opposite. At least, I a m . I'm strong, lady. I ' m so strong you w o u l d n ' t believe it a n d that's why I'm going to m a r r y y o u r b a b y boy w h e t h e r you like it or not." " S o m e h o w I d o u b t that." " W h o t h e hell cares w h a t you doubt? I'm going to m a r r y him." "You can leave w h e n e v e r you're ready." " W h e n I'm ready I will. I got m o r e to say. I got s o m e instructions for you. You k n o w w h a t you're g o n n a do? You're g o n n a tell H o w a r d that little Rosie is the girl of his d r e a m s . You're g o n n a p u s h little Rosie every chance y o u get. Rosie, Rosie, Rosie, that's all you're g o n n a talk a b o u t . You w a n t h i m t o m a r r y m e m o r e t h a n you ever w a n t e d anything." M r s . Scudder stood. "If you'll excuse me." She t o o k a step toward t h e door. Rose grabbed her. " D o n ' t you w a n t to k n o w why? I'll tell you why. I'm going to get H o w a r d o n e way or another, with y o u or w i t h o u t you. A n d if it's with you, I'll m o v e in here. He'll still be u n d e r y o u r roof, lady. Just like he always has b e e n . But if it's w i t h o u t you, I'll take h i m away. I d o n ' t care if he kicks a n d screams, I'll drag h i m all the hell across the c o u n t r y a n d

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 109 ' ] l never see h i m again. I'll m a k e sure of that. No visits h o m e to see m o m m y . Not for little H o w a r d . You u n d e r s t a n d me? O n e way you got half; the o t h e r you got nothin'. Your move, lady." v o U

Between the two of t h e m , H o w a r d never h a d a chance. They were m a r r i e d early in January a n d they h o n e y m o o n e d in New York. Rose didn't w a n t to go to N e w York at all b u t H o w a r d insisted, so she decided it w o u l d be best to give in to h i m . T h e y arrived at G r a n d Central Station a n d t o o k a taxi to the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Their suite at the Waldorf was on t h e thirty-fifth floor, a n d from the w i n d o w you could see all t h e way u p t o w n to H a r l e m , H o w a r d said, if you looked close enough. Their first n i g h t in t h e city they went to d i n n e r at Luchow's. The next m o r n i n g , after several h o u r s of walking, Rose f o r m e d her impression of the city. She hated it. The w o m e n were strange-looking a n d they w o r e t o o m u c h m a k e u p and the m e n walked t o o fast a n d looked d o w n their noses at her a n d everyone k n e w she was from o u t of t o w n a n d t o o k advantage of her whenever she walked into a s h o p to ask the price of a n y t h i n g . A n d worst of all, the city was cold. T h e t h e r m o m e t e r read close to t h e zero m a r k a n d sharp winds cut up t h e wide streets, stinging h e r eyes. That night H o w a r d w a n t e d to go to the theater b u t Rose said that she didn't feel up to it. Instead they h a d supper sent up to their hotel r o o m and went to bed early. H o w a r d seemed n e r v o u s a n d Rose was t o o u n happy to sleep. T h e y lay side by side in bed, staring u p , neither of t h e m moving for fear they w o u l d d i s t u r b the other. T h e next m o r n i n g H o w a r d h a d a business a p p o i n t m e n t for lunch. "Take your time," Rose said. "I'll be here w h e n y o u get back." "You o u g h t to go o u t . Buy things. That's w h a t w o m e n do on their honeymoon." " N o t this w o m a n , " Rose said. " W h a t will y o u do h e r e ? " "I don't know. M a y b e I'll write a letter to y o u r m o t h e r . " "You said goodbye to M o t h e r day before yesterday. W h a t have you got to tell h e r ? " " H o w m u c h I love N e w York. I could fill pages a b o u t that." Howard kissed h e r lightly on the forehead, "Suit yourself, baby." Rose n o d d e d . "Haven't you noticed? 1 usually do."

110 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

A few h o u r s later she f o u n d herself on Fifth Avenue. W h a t drove her finally from the suite was t h e fact that there was no o n e to write to. There was Howard's m o t h e r , of course, a n d there was Dickens b a c k at the office, b u t they didn't really care. N o t that m u c h , anyway. N o t e n o u g h . T h e t h o u g h t that there was n o o n e , n o t one p e r s o n a n y w h e r e o n the entire face of the earth, t h a t gave a sufficient d a m n a b o u t h e r sent her o n t o the street. Rose w a n d e r e d t h r o u g h t h e cold on Fifth Avenue, gazing in s h o p w i n d o w s . N o t h i n g i n t r i g u e d her. She o u g h t to b u y s o m e t h i n g , she realized, b u t what? M a y b e H o w a r d w a n t e d a wallet. But t h e n , he already h a d a wallet, n o t to m e n t i o n half a drawer full of o t h e r s at h o m e . Or shirts. He h a d shirts, t h o u g h . Stacks of t h e m . W h a t , then? W h a t ? She was trying to m a k e her m i n d u p o n e way o r a n o t h e r w h e n she saw h i m . W i t h Dolly Salinger. T h e y were h u r r y i n g across the sidewalk t o w a r d an e m p t y cab, laughing very hard. Rose watched t h e m a m o m e n t . T h e y m a d e a h a n d s o m e couple; there was no use in trying to deny it. He held t h e d o o r open for her while she got in; t h e n he followed her, closing t h e door. T h e cab drove up Fifth Avenue. H o w typical it was of H o w a r d , Rose realized, to w o r r y a b o u t w h e t h e r she w o u l d be h a p p y while he was o u t with a n o t h e r woman. Embarrassingly close to tears, Rose r e t u r n e d to t h e hotel. H o w a r d r e t u r n e d after four, smiling. T h e y e m b r a c e d a n d she held h i m very tightly for the longest time. She asked h o w his a p p o i n t m e n t h a d gone and he answered t h a t it w e n t as well as could be expected a n d all the while they chatted Rose w o n d e r e d w h e t h e r to tell h i m or not. T h e question stayed in her m i n d t h r o u g h d i n n e r a n d t h e theater a n d after w h e n they r e t u r n e d to t h e hotel. Finally, w h e n they were getting ready for bed, she asked h i m a q u e s t i o n . " D o you r e m e m b e r Dolly Salinger?" "Certainly. W h y ? " " N o reason. I j u s t saw s o m e o n e today w h o l o o k e d a lot like h e r a n d I w o n d e r e d whatever b e c a m e of her. After she got m a r r i e d , I mean." "She came east, I t h i n k . Boston, maybe." "Well, t h e n , it could have been her that I saw. Boston isn't that far away." "I d o u b t it," H o w a r d said. " O h , I d o u b t it, too," Rose agreed. A n d for t h e while she let it rest.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 111 But the next a f t e r n o o n , w h e n H o w a r d r e m e m b e r e d a n o t h e r business a p p o i n t m e n t , she h a d to go on with it. T h e y were in t h e suite, Rose sitting in a chair by the w i n d o w , H o w a r d standing by t h e closet door, selecting a necktie. "You certainly have a lot of a p p o i n t m e n t s . " " N o t so many, really." "I didn't k n o w you k n e w t h a t m a n y people here." "This is just my s e c o n d t i m e . I k n o w two people." "Both n a m e d Dolly?" H o w a r d found a tie to his liking a n d inserted it b e n e a t h his collar. "Yesterday—" "I know. We were getting into a taxi. I saw you t o o . So you see, New York really isn't m u c h bigger t h a n West Ridge." " H o w can you do it? H o w can you be so calm a b o u t it?" H o w a r d finished k n o t t i n g his tie. "At the risk of s e e m i n g trite, I'd just like to say that it isn't w h a t y o u think." "It isn't, h u h ? " "Scout's h o n o r , Rosie." "You're just g o o d friends, is that it?" "That's it." "Is she the reason we c a m e h e r e ? " " G o o d God, of course not." "Just because I k n o w , t h a t doesn't change y o u r plans or a n y t h i n g ? " " T h i s is the last t i m e . She's got to be back in Boston by tonight." " O n e final roll in t h e hay, is that it?" "Don't talk like t h a t . I told you, it isn't w h a t you think." "Does her h u s b a n d k n o w , since it's all so p u r e a n d u p r i g h t ? " "No. He wouldn't understand." "You expect me t o ? " " N o , Rosie." "This is all just t o o d a m n sophisticated for m e , H o w a r d . If you t h i n k I m g o n n a straighten y o u r tie, you're wrong." "I'll be back for dinner. We're just going for a d r i n k a n d t h e n I'll p u t her on the train. I'd let y o u c o m e along b u t you'd p r o b a b l y be bored." Rose stood by t h e w i n d o w , staring d o w n at Park Avenue. " H o w a r d , don't go. You're m a k i n g me do this b u t I forbid you, H o w a r d . " "Look at m e ! " Rose t u r n e d . ' I n the taxi," H o w a r d said, his voice growing louder, " w h e n I told her you'd seen us, Dolly, she predicted that. She said you'd forbid m e . A n d she

1 1 2 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N said I'd never disobey." H o w a r d slapped his gloves into his o p e n palm. "She said I liked b e i n g o r d e r e d a r o u n d . I got very irritated. I almost lost my t e m p e r right t h e r e in t h e taxi. Because it's so u n t r u e . I'm really sick of p e o p l e — w o m e n , I'm talking a b o u t n o w — t e l l i n g me what to do. I'm the m a n in the family, Rosie. A n d if I want to go o u t t h a t door, I'll go o u t that door. M o t h e r t h i n k s she can order me a r o u n d a n d so do you a n d so did Dolly. Well, if I w a n t to see Dolly off on t h e Boston train I will a n d if I w a n t to stay here a n d o r d e r R o o m Service to b r i n g me a double p o r t i o n of Jell-O I will a n d if I w a n t to do a n y t h i n g else t h e n by G o d this once I'm g o n n a do it." Rose h u r r i e d to h i m , t o o k his h a n d . " H o w a r d , will ya listen to me a minute? You r e m e m b e r ? T h a t first night in Cleveland? W h a t I said? T h a t I never h a d much? I was lying. I never h a d a n y t h i n g , H o w a r d . N o t really one thing ever in my life. I've got you now. But if y o u go o u t that door, I won't want you quite so m u c h . N o t h i n g will ever be t h e same again, Howard." "You don't t h i n k that's a little m e l o d r a m a t i c ? " "I w a r n e d you, H o w a r d . Always r e m e m b e r that." Rose w a t c h e d as he m o v e d to the d o o r a n d o u t . She stood very still, a n d w h e n it did n o t r e o p e n Rose ran to t h e m i r r o r a n d h a t e d her face for a while. T h e n she stepped back, raised her skirt above her knees and whispered, " M y legs are better, my legs are better," until, in spite of all she could d o , t h e tears c a m e . After two h o u r s of walking alone t h r o u g h t h e streets of M a n h a t t a n , H o w a r d c a m e back. He stood in the d o o r w a y of t h e d a r k e n e d suite a n d said, "I d i d n ' t see h e r off, Rosie. Honest, I just walked." T h e n his h a n d flicked on t h e light. " T u r n it off," Rose c o m m a n d e d . H o w a r d obeyed. " W h a t is all this?" Naked, Rose a d v a n c e d on him. W i t h terrible efficiency, she got h i m o u t of his clothes. W h e n he was naked, she p u t h e r a r m s a r o u n d his waist. Together they fell back o n t o the bed. T h r o u g h it all, Rose never said a word. Nine m o n t h s later to t h e day, her son was b o r n . W h e n H o w a r d c a m e to the hospital later t h a t day, he kissed her on the cheek a n d sat on t h e foot of the bed. " W h a t do you think of Will i a m ? " H o w a r d asked.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 113 "For what?" "His name." " N o t for my boy. Anyway, he's already got a n a m e . Last night it c a m e to me- Branch. His n a m e is Branch." "Are you k i d d i n g , Rosie?" " D o I look like it?" "But what k i n d of a n a m e is t h a t ? " "Strong, H o w a r d . You k n o w what that m e a n s , d o n ' t you? A b r a n c h from a tree. Strong." "But William was my father's name." "Your m o t h e r ' s n a m e d Flora. You w a n n a call h i m Flora?" " Listen, R o s i e — " "It's settled." "Branch William maybe? W o u l d that be all r i g h t ? " Rose relented. " B r a n c h William would be fine." W h e n t h e b o y was ten m o n t h s old h e c o n t r a c t e d p n e u m o n i a . For sixty h o u r s Rose sat by his bed, never sleeping. T h e d o c t o r c a m e several times a n d H o w a r d h i r e d a full-time nurse, b u t Rose never left his side. "For God's sake, Rosie, get s o m e sleep. You'll kill yourself if you don't watch it." This was t h e s e c o n d day. Rose stared at t h e boy. Howard took her hand. She jerked free. " T h e nurse is right here." Rose reached o u t a n d t o u c h e d the boy's fevered skin. "Get s o m e sleep. Please. C o m e to bed." "I can't." " W h y can't y o u ? " "If I leave h i m , he m i g h t die. But he won't. N o t so long as I stay right here." Rose stayed right there. T h e n , halfway t h r o u g h t h e sixty-first h o u r , the fever broke. "See?" Rose said, staring t r i u m p h a n t l y up at h e r h u s b a n d . "See? I told you." He was her baby; t h e r e was never any d o u b t 'about t h a t . As he began to grow she let his hair r e m a i n uncut, long a n d curly. She dressed h i m 'n elegant clothes, m a k i n g sure that he was always immaculately clean. Little Lord Faunderoy," H o w a r d said time a n d again. N o t that it did much good.

114 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Branch was a verbal child. He spoke sentences by t h e t i m e he was two, a n d he knew all t h e letters of t h e alphabet by sight. W h e n e v e r c o m p a n y c a m e over Rose w o u l d get o u t his blocks a n d he w o u l d say the letters in o r d e r while Rose b e a m e d . Branch was t h i n a n d his appetite was p o o r a n d he cried a lot. But o t h e r t h a n that he was fine. Flora spoiled h i m terribly, worse t h a n Rose almost, a n d Miss Dickens w o u l d stop by from t h e office after w o r k with presents several times a week. H o w a r d e n d u r e d it until o n e spring Saturday w h e n Branch was alm o s t four. H o w a r d awoke t h a t m o r n i n g with a particularly b a d hangover a n d at breakfast he yelled at t h e m a i d , a n e r v o u s y o u n g N e g r o girl w h o b u r s t into tears on t h e spot. S h o r d y afterward B r a n c h r a n in. He was dressed in perfectly pressed s h o r t pants a n d a clean white shirt a n d his hair seemed to H o w a r d to be longer a n d curlier t h a n usual. " H i , fella," H o w a r d said. Branch paused for just a m o m e n t , t h e n r a n o u t of t h e r o o m a n d upstairs. H o w a r d got up from t h e table a n d w e n t into t h e foyer. "Hey, Rose," he shouted. " C o m e o n d o w n here." While he waited for h e r to appear, H o w a r d paced. " W h a t is it?" She s t o o d halfway up t h e stairs, dressed, as usual, in green. "Let's talk." "What about?" " O u r son. O h , p a r d o n me." H o w a r d b o w e d low. " I m e a n y o u r son." "If you can't h o l d y o u r liquor, don't take it o u t on t h e rest of us." "I've h a d it w i t h t h e kid," H o w a r d said t h e n . " W h a t are you talking a b o u t ? " "He's spoiled, he's b a d - m a n n e r e d a n d he's just a b o u t to blossom into t h e biggest sissy in t h e w h o l e state of Ohio." "Shut up," Rose said. " W h y doesn't he play ball or s o m e t h i n g ? " "So he can grow up to be Babe Ruth? Thanks." " O t h e r kids play ball." " W h a t is this ball business? Since w h e n are you such a fan?" "I just d o n ' t like t h e way he's acting." "Branch," Rose called. " C o m e here, baby." A m o m e n t later he was standing alongside h e r on t h e stairs. " D o you w a n t to play catch with y o u r father?" "No," Branch said.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 115 "But you'd like it," H o w a r d said. " C o m e on. Give it a try. Just for a little, Branch. O u t in t h e b a c k yard. We'll quit w h e n e v e r y o u w a n t to." Branch looked up at Rose. " H u m o r y o u r father," she told h i m . "He's having a h a r d day." "I'll play for a little," Branch said. But there wasn't a ball in t h e h o u s e . H o w a r d looked in all t h e closets and in the b a s e m e n t a n d up in the attic a n d the best he could do was an aged tennis net, gray a n d m o l d e r i n g . " S o m e athlete," Rose said w h e n he told her. "I'll drive u p t o w n a n d b u y one," H o w a r d said. "You w a n t to c o m e along, Branch? We'll have fun." "No," Branch said. "It'll only take a second," H o w a r d said, a n d he h u r r i e d to t h e garage. It t o o k close to half an h o u r . Branch was p a i n t i n g a picture w h e n Howard found h i m . "O.K., fella," he said. "All set." " I ' m doing a pitcher now, Daddy." " T h a t can wait." "So can you," Rose said suddenly, c o m i n g up b e h i n d h i m . H o w a r d waited. Finally they m o v e d o u t o n t o t h e back lawn. Rose stayed on t h e porch, watching t h e m . H o w a r d m o v e d a few steps away from his son. " N o w I'm going to toss it to you, fella. A n d you catch it. Here she goes." He lofted the ball gently i n t o t h e air. Branch w a t c h e d it. It b o u n c e d off his s t o m a c h o n t o t h e grass. "That's pretty good, fella. Shows you're n o t afraid of it. But you're supposed to catch it w i t h y o u r h a n d s . Like this." H o w a r d c u p p e d his palms together in d e m o n s t r a t i o n . Branch s h o o k his h e a d . " T h a t w o u l d hurt." " N o , it wouldn't. I p r o m i s e you. Just toss it to me a n d I'll s h o w you." Branch picked up t h e ball a n d t h r e w it at H o w a r d . H o w a r d caught it. See, fella? It doesn't h u r t a bit. T h a t was s o m e toss. You've got a good arm. N o w you catch it this time." He lofted t h e ball t o w a r d his son. Branch t u r n e d his h e a d as t h e ball d r o p p e d to t h e g r o u n d a few feet to his left. "Bad toss on my part," H o w a r d said. "Give it here. I'll do it again." He was starting to sweat a n d his h e a d ached slightly. Branch threw t h e ball t o w a r d his father. H o w a r d picked t h e ball up and tossed it gently b a c k t o w a r d his son. T h e ball s t r u c k the b o y in the chest. Now, you could have caught that one, fella. You're just n o t trying." T must be careful of my h a n d s . So I can paint. M a m m a tells me to."

116 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Well, I'm telling you to do s o m e t h i n g now. So you do it." "Have you h a d e n o u g h ? " Rose called from t h e p o r c h . "We just started," H o w a r d yelled back. "We're h a v i n g a wonderful time." H o w a r d retrieved t h e ball a n d tossed it to B r a n c h . Branch half t u r n e d , a n d t h e ball missed h i m . " N o w c o m e o n , fella. Try." "I d o n ' t w a n t to play a n y m o r e , " Branch said. "You hear that, H o w a r d ? He w a n t s to quit." "We just started!" T h e r e was a crazy t o n e in his voice a n d Rose m u s t have h e a r d it too, because after a pause she called o u t to h e r son. "Play with h i m a little m o r e , Branch. Just a little m o r e . " H o w a r d walked over t o Branch a n d p u t a n a r m a r o u n d his shoulder. "You're going to learn this now," he said. "You're n o t leaving till you learn to c u p y o u r h a n d s . A b a b y can do it. You can do it." His h e a d a c h e was worse now, the p a i n m o v i n g d o w n , c a m p i n g close b e h i n d his eyes. " C u p y o u r hands." Branch did as he was told. H o w a r d d r o p p e d t h e ball into t h e h a n d s from a foot above. " N o w , d i d t h a t hurt? Tell me t h e truth." "No." "All right, t h e n . C a t c h it this time." He t h r e w t h e ball h a r d e r t h a n he m e a n t to a n d it struck B r a n c h on t h e knuckles. " T h a t h u r t , Daddy." " N o , it didn't. N o w t h r o w the ball back here." " B u t it hurt." " D a m m i t , it didn't. Q u i t being such a baby a n d t h r o w me the ball." " H o w a r d . . . " It was Rose calling from t h e p o r c h . Branch t h r e w t h e ball b a c k to his father. H o w a r d d r o p p e d it. Perhaps the s u n h a d s u d d e n l y b l i n d e d h i m o r p e r h a p s h e h a d b e e n staring a t the s h a d o w of his wife on t h e p o r c h . At any rate he d r o p p e d it. A n d t h e n t h e lawn was l o u d with Rose's laughter. "You're s o m e teacher, yes, you are." "Shut up." T h e laughter grew l o u d e r a n d s u d d e n l y B r a n c h j o i n e d i n a n d then blindly, with all his m i g h t , H o w a r d threw t h e ball t o w a r d t h e s o u n d . T h e ball crashed against Branch's temple. Branch s c r e a m e d a n d fell. H o w a r d r u s h e d t o w a r d h i m , tears in his eyes, kneeling beside the writhing b o d y o f t h e boy. H e reached o u t t o t o u c h h i m , b u t t h e b o d y rolled away a n d H o w a r d was a b o u t to reach o u t again w h e n Rose was on him. "Lush," she said. "Lush!" Cradling Branch in h e r a r m s , she carried h i m away.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 117 H o w a r d stayed w h e r e he was, e m b r a c i n g t h e grass w h e r e his son h a d fallen. Branch began d r e a m i n g of a black prince. For weeks on e n d he w o u l d wake in the m i d d l e of t h e night, the dreams vivid in his m i n d . T h e y were all m o r e or less t h e same. He was always b o u n d up, either w i t h belts or chains or cords of fire. N o t h i n g could save h i m . N o t this t i m e . But t h e n , always at the last second, a figure would appear. T h e black prince. T h e beautiful black p r i n c e . W i t h a slash of his silver sword, Branch's b o n d s fell d e a d . T h e n the prince w o u l d step forward a n d they w o u l d stare at each other. T h e n the prince was gone. Awake, Branch shivered in t h e night. Waiting... "Sal-Zee." "What?" " C o m e o u t a n d play." H e r n a m e was Sally Baker a n d she was five when he was six a n d she lived across the street. "No." "Why?" "I hate you, that's why." "I p r o m i s e I w o n ' t pull y o u r pigtails." "That's what you always p r o m i s e . Bully. Branch is a bul-ly. Nyahnyah-uh-nyah-nyah." Later, Branch in p u r s u i t . "Sal-Zee." "What?" "I'll let you play w i t h my train if you'll c o m e o u t a n d play." "Your fingers are crossed." Branch held his h a n d s up high. She stood in t h e w i n d o w of h e r r o o m o n t h e second f l o o r w a t c h i n g h i m . "Your legs are crossed." Branch uncrossed his legs. "I won't play w i t h you. Bully." Later. "Sal-Zee." "No."

118 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N "I'll let you play w i t h my train a n d I'll give y o u a lollipop if you'll play with me." He held up t h e lollipop. " W h a t flavor is it?" "Grape." "No." Still later. "Sal-Zee." " N o . You'll just pull my pigtails." " B u t I'll give you t h r e e lollipops a n d n i n e t e e n red r u b b e r b a n d s if you'll play with me." "Nineteen?" Branch o p e n e d his h a n d . "I've got ' e m right h e r e . All red. Every last one." "You p r o m i s e y o u w o n ' t pull my pigtails?" "Scout's honor." "And you've got n i n e t e e n r u b b e r b a n d s a n d t h e y ' r e all r e d ? " "Yes. Yes." She stuck h e r finger in h e r m o u t h . "You c o m i n g ? " "Just for a little while." She disappeared from t h e w i n d o w . As soon as she was outside he gave h e r t h e lollipops a n d the red r u b b e r b a n d s . W h i l e she was c o u n t i n g t h e m o u t l o u d — " t e n , 'leven, twelve"—he stepped b e h i n d her and g r a b b e d h e r pigtails. T h e n he started to pull. He y a n k e d a n d pulled until she cried. T h e n he stopped. She whirled a r o u n d a n d began to hit h i m . She slapped h i m in t h e face a n d kicked h i m in t h e shins, a n d the m o r e she d i d it t h e m o r e he w a n t e d to smile. W h e n Branch was seven H o w a r d t o o k t o d r i n k i n g m u c h t o o m u c h a n d gambling on Saturday nights. Once, as B r a n c h lay in b e d quivering from t h e closeness of his e s c a p e — h e h a d been b o u n d w i t h snakes a n d as the black prince s t r u c k t h e m they d o u b l e d in size a n d n u m b e r until they almost o v e r w h e l m e d h i m a n d he h a d to kill t h e m all with his bare h a n d s — h e h e a r d his m o t h e r a n d father talking in h e r b e d r o o m . It was a h o t s u m m e r n i g h t a n d t h e w i n d o w s were o p e n , s o h e h e a r d every word, starting with his m o t h e r ' s voice saying, "I c o u l d n ' t care less a b o u t w h a t you did Saturday." "You're lying." "Like hell. Just so long as you don't enjoy yourself, I d o n ' t care w h a t

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 119 you do. A n d you d o n ' t enjoy yourself, do you, baby? You haven't enjoyed anything m u c h since Dolly." Then his father's voice, suddenly soft. "I d i d n ' t p u t h e r on the train. I just walked a r o u n d all by myself. T h a t was eight years ago. C a n ' t you forget that?" "Can Hell freeze?" his m o t h e r w a n t e d to k n o w . H o w a r d t o o k to w a s h i n g his car. Every day after w o r k a n d every Saturday a f t e r n o o n he spent in the driveway, hosing d o w n his red LaSalle, t h e n s p o n g i n g it off, cleaning the whitewall tires, s h i n i n g t h e c h r o m e . It got to be a j o k e on Waverly Lane and he k n e w it, b u t he w e n t right on, day in, day o u t , washing his car. "Get it good a n d clean, Howard," t h e n e i g h b o r s w o u l d call o u t w h e n they drove past. "Shine it up good." A n d he w o u l d smile, n o d d i n g to t h e m , waving. If t h e Japanese h a d n ' t b o m b e d Pearl H a r b o r , he probably w o u l d have gone on washing it forever. "I was t h i n k i n g of enlisting." H o w a r d stood in t h e d o o r w a y of Rose's b e d r o o m . It was night on that cold December Sunday. T h e r o o m was dark. Her voice from h e r b e d . " T h i n k all you w a n t to. Just d o n ' t do it." " I ' m serious, Rosie." "You're a laugh." " T o m o r r o w m o r n i n g . I t h i n k I'm going to do it." " T h e y d o n ' t takes lushes in t h e Army." "I can stop drinking." " F u n n i e r a n d funnier," Rose said. T h e next day he enlisted. "Fool!" Rose c o m m e n t e d w h e n he told her. "Probably." "You'll regret it. Leaving us here like this." "You can take care of yourself, Rosie. We b o t h k n o w t h a t from long experience." "You left me once before w h e n I told you n o t to. T h a t was just for two h o u r s . This could be for years." " O r a lot longer," H o w a r d said. Early o n e s n o w y m o r n i n g he left. Rose kissed h i m goodbye at the front door. Branch sat on t h e stairs, watching. H o w a r d looked at his son. "Say goodbye to y o u r D a d d y , Branch? Will you do t h a t ? "

120 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N For a m o m e n t Branch sat still. T h e n he was flying, d o w n the steps, whirling a r o u n d the banister, r u n n i n g , r u n n i n g to his father, a r m s o u t wide. B r a n c h leaped into his father's a r m s a n d clung t o h i m . H o w a r d blinked at t h e quick tears that s u d d e n l y covered his eyes. M o n d a y of t h e following week, Rose w e n t b a c k to work. T h e realestate office was larger now. Several years before H o w a r d h a d taken over t h e h a r d w a r e store a n d b r o k e n the wall b e t w e e n t h e m so that n o w there were five w o m e n w o r k i n g at desks a n d a y o u n g Italian girl sitting as receptionist. Rose t o o k H o w a r d ' s old office a n d s o o n was b u s y from early m o r n i n g until n i g h t . L u n c h t i m e she always drove b a c k to Waverly Lane, eating with B r a n c h in t h e quiet dining r o o m , smiling at h i m , touching h i m , asking h i m a b o u t his day. " H o w was y o u r day, B r a n c h ? " Branch's days were going badly. He never told h e r that, of course, b u t he began to d r e a d school. He was d r e a m i n g a g o o d deal, a n d time after t i m e he w o u l d stare e m b a r r a s s e d as his teacher c a u g h t h i m u n p r e p a r e d . " I ' m sorry. I wasn't listening." He was c h u b b y n o w a n d b a d at sports and o t h e r boys were always picking on h i m . T h e r e was s o m e t h i n g that m a d e t h e m pick on h i m regardless of h o w he acted. " Fat ass." T h a t was what they called h i m . " F a t ass." "Fine, M a m m a . M y days are f i n e . " O n c e Rose r e t u r n e d to t h e office, business i m p r o v e d . Several factories o p e n e d on t h e o u t s k i r t s of t o w n , a n d even t h o u g h t h e n e w m e m b e r s of t h e c o m m u n i t y were n o t of t h e highest type, still, t h e y n e e d e d houses. A n d Rose sold t h e m . Between early in 1942 a n d C h r i s t m a s of that year, three t h o u s a n d p e o p l e c a m e to live in West Ridge. Rose drove herself viciously, w o r k i n g u n t i l late at night now, a n d t h e office on Central Street h u m m e d . Rose m a d e m o r e m o n e y that year t h a n H o w a r d h a d ever been able to do a n d 1943 was even better. She w r o t e h i m notes, keeping h i m abreast of business affairs, b u t he never a n s w e r e d t h e m . F r o m time to t i m e he w r o t e to B r a n c h , b u t never to Rose. In the s u m m e r of 1943 she was informed, via wire, that he h a d been killed. She o p e n e d t h e wire slowly, sensing t h e c o n t e n t s , a n d she read it t h r o u g h once before tearing it to pieces a n d t h r o w i n g it into t h e fireplace. Bending d o w n , she lighted a m a t c h a n d w a t c h e d it b u r n . " I ' m n o t sorry, Howard," Rose said, staring at t h e little yellow flame. "I can't say that I'm sorry." She told B r a n c h t h a t night. He was lying in b e d a n d she c a m e in a n d

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 121 t beside h i m , taking his h a n d . "Your father w o n ' t b e c o m i n g back, Branch." He looked at her. "You m e a n he's dead." "Yes." Branch said n o t h i n g for a while. T h e n he closed his eyes. " H o w did he die, M a m a ? " s a

"I d o n ' t know, Branch." "Tell m e , M a m a . H o w d i d h e die?" Rose kissed h i m . " G o to sleep, baby." Later, w h e n he was sure no o n e could hear, B r a n c h p u s h e d his face into his pillow a n d w e p t t h e n i g h t away. H o w a r d died superbly. On a steaming island, t h e n a m e of which Rose could never quite p r o nounce, he m a d e a wild lonely t r i p across a steep ravine. Alone, he stormed screaming d o w n o n e side a n d up the other, r u n n i n g , grenade in hand, toward a m a c h i n e - g u n nest that lay camouflaged on t h e far ridge. An opening b u r s t of fire tore his chest open, b u t he crawled forward, still screaming with w h a t was left of his voice. W h e n he reached the nest he pulled the pin o n t h e g r e n a d e a n d t h r e w himself o n t o t h e gun. He was awarded t h e Distinguished Service Cross. And the citizens of West Ridge h o n o r e d his family w i t h a parade. Rose tried to squelch t h e idea b u t there was n o t h i n g she could do. But endure. T h e reviewing s t a n d was set up on Central Street, in front of the office. Rose, r e s p l e n d e n t in green, stood, Branch beside her, while the parade m a r c h e d by. It was h o t a n d s u n n y and there were five brass b a n d s providing music. T h e A m e r i c a n Legion m a r c h e d by a n d the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts a n d t h e m a y o r gave a speech a n d t h e Lieutenant Governor of the state of O h i o gave a speech. T h e p a r a d e dragged on a n d on, f l a g s a n d tubas, w o r d s a n d d r u m s . T h e Lieutenant G o v e r n o r p i n n e d the Distinguished Service Cross on Rose's green suit a n d in t h e crowd Branch could see the boys from school smiling up at h i m a n d waving. No Fat Ass today. T h e n Rose was s t a n d i n g in front of the m i c r o p h o n e , clearing her throat. " N o one k n o w s w h a t I'm feeling at this m o m e n t , " she began. Across the street two w o m e n b e g a n to weep. "But my h u s b a n d — " a n d here h e p a u s e d — " m y late h u s b a n d w o u l d w a n t m e t o tell you that h e loved this town. A n d I'm sure y o u have m a d e h i m p e r m a n e n t l y p r o u d . T h a n k s

122 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N you." There was a b u r s t of applause a n d cheering a n d t h e n the b a n d started again, b l a r i n g away. Rose waved. T h e c r o w d waved back. T h e n , suddenly, two little boys with bugles were s t a n d i n g in front of t h e reviewing stand. Everything grew quiet as they began, badly, to play taps. Day is d o n e . . . gone t h e s u n . . . G o d d a m m i t , it's t o u c h i n g , Rose t h o u g h t . T h e parade e n d e d . As soon as they got h o m e , Rose went to h e r r o o m a n d changed into s o m e t h i n g m o r e c o m f o r t a b l e . W h e n she c a m e d o w n s t a i r s , Branch was standing in t h e b a c k yard, tossing a ball up into t h e air a n d catching it. " W h a t are y o u d o i n g ? " Rose called from t h e p o r c h . "Nothing." "Well, stop it." Branch tossed t h e ball up into the air again. " W h e r e did y o u get t h a t ? " "It was Daddy's." "You just find i t ? " "No." "Speak u p , Branch." "I've h a d it. In my r o o m . In my desk." "And you never told m e ? " "I guess I didn't." "Well, c o m e in, baby. You've been in t h e s u n e n o u g h for o n e day." Tossing t h e ball, B r a n c h c a m e in. " W o u l d you like s o m e l e m o n a d e , B r a n c h ? " "No." "You h u n g r y ? " "No." " W h a t d o you w a n t t o d o ? " "Play catch." "I already told y o u y o u can't do that. Give me t h e ball." "No." "Branch, give me t h e ball." "No." Rose held o u t h e r h a n d . Branch s h o o k his h e a d . "You k n o w w h a t w e d o with n a u g h t y boys?" "I w o n ' t give it to y o u . It's mine." " T h e n g o t o y o u r r o o m , Branch."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 123 "I won't give it to y o u . You'll t h r o w it away a n d I w o n ' t — " "Go to your r o o m ! " Clutching the ball in b o t h h a n d s , Branch w e n t to his r o o m . Lying down on his bed, he stared at the ball, rolling it a r o u n d on t h e blanket. Then he sat u p . It was h o t in the r o o m , so he t o o k off his shirt a n d pants and lay on the b e d clad only in his shorts. He tossed t h e ball a n d caught it a few times, t h e n stood a n d went to t h e door, o p e n i n g it, walking d o w n the hall to his m o t h e r ' s r o o m . Branch walked in a n d looked a r o u n d a while a n d was a b o u t to leave w h e n he saw her clothes a n d u n d e r g a r m e n t s on her bed, so he got a h a n g e r a n d t o o k her green suit a n d h u n g it neatly in her closet. He w e n t b a c k to her bed a n d picked up h e r brassiere a n d was glancing a r o u n d for a place to p u t it w h e n he saw himself in the mirror. Walking close to t h e glass, he held up t h e g a r m e n t . T h e n , o u t of curiosity, he tried to p u t it o n . T h e brassiere was t o o big for h i m a n d he reached a r o u n d to his back, trying to get it to fasten. He couldn't do it. He reversed the brassiere t h e n so t h a t the h o o k s m e t on his chest. He gazed at himself for a long t i m e . He looked stupid, s t a n d i n g there in his shorts with the brassiere o n . But he c o n t i n u e d to stare. He was b r e a t h i n g faster t h a n he should have b e e n a n d his b o d y was wet w i t h p e r s p i r a t i o n . "You've got it on backwards," Rose said. Branch screamed. Whirling, seeing h e r s t a n d i n g there, he d u c k e d his h e a d a n d ran o u t o f the r o o m . H e r a n d o w n t h e corridor t o his r o o m a n d s l a m m e d the d o o r a n d r a n into t h e b a t h r o o m a n d s l a m m e d t h a t d o o r a n d stood t r e m bling in the c o r n e r w i t h his eyes shut tight. T h e Black Prince. W h e r e was the Black Prince? Rose o p e n e d t h e d o o r a n d stood smiling at h i m . " C o m e here, baby," she said. " C o m e to M a m a . " Branch could n o t m o v e . She walked to h i m a n d t o o k his cold h a n d . "Follow me," she whispered, a n d she led h i m o u t of t h e b a t h r o o m . B r a n c h dragged his feet a n d tried pulling against her, b u t in a m o m e n t they were back in h e r b e d r o o m again. Rose sat on t h e b e d a n d held h i m close. "You m u s t p r o m i s e never to be afraid of M a m a again. I d o n ' t care w h a t y o u d o , I'll u n d e r s t a n d . Now answer me." "Yes." "Yes what?" Branch could t h i n k of n o t h i n g to say.

124 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N "Everybody else is afraid, baby. Everybody else in this whole world. But n o t you a n d m e . N o w tell m e , why did you r u n away from me like that?" "I was embarrassed." " W h y were you e m b a r r a s s e d ? " "Because you c a u g h t me." " C a u g h t you d o i n g w h a t , b a b y ? " "You know." "Say it to me." Branch s h o o k his h e a d . "Trying on M o m m y ' s clothes? Is that it?" "I never did it before. Never. I swear." "You d o n ' t have to swear, baby. M a m a believes y o u . A n d there's n o t h ing to be e m b a r r a s s e d a b o u t . Lots of little boys do it. Because they're curious. Isn't that h o w you were?" "Yes." "There's n o t h i n g w r o n g with curiosity, baby. So there's n o t h i n g w r o n g with w h a t you did. T h e only thing w r o n g in this w h o l e world is r u n n i n g away. You r a n away from m e , Branch, a n d y o u m u s t never do it again. If we just face things, n o t h i n g can ever go w r o n g . If we d o n ' t face things, they fester. You were curious. Fine. Curiosity m u s t be satisfied, baby. That's the best t h i n g for it. Face it. Come." She stood. "Let me help you." "Help m e ? " "Stand still now." Branch stood still while she t o o k t h e brassiere off. He looked o u t the window. T h e sun was very bright. " T h i s is h o w it works," Rose said, a n d she slipped t h e brassiere over his a r m s , fastening it in back. " G o look at yourself in t h e mirror." Branch obeyed. T h e g a r m e n t h u n g limply d o w n his chest. " R e m e m b e r , Branch; I'm just showing y o u there's n o t h i n g w r o n g w i t h w h a t you did. Here. This is a slip. Step into it." She held it for h i m . He d i d n o t raise his legs. Finally she took o n e leg a n d set it into the slip, t h e n t h e o t h e r leg. T h e n she pulled t h e slip up until it held a r o u n d his waist. She t o o k a green skirt from the closet. "You get into this the same way, baby. You do it. Show M o m m y you k n o w how." Branch p u t on the skirt. "And here's a beautiful green blouse, baby. M a d e of p u r e silk. See h o w s m o o t h it feels?" She p u t his a r m s t h r o u g h the blouse a n d b u t t o n e d it up t h e back. "And n o w for a hat." She r u m m a g e d t h r o u g h her closet before c h o o s i n g a w i d e - b r i m m e d white sunhat. She was a b o u t to set it on his h e a d w h e n she stopped. "Just

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 125 one m o r e thing, baby, a n d we'll be all set." He s t o o d frozen while she dabbed rouge on his cheeks a n d carefully lined his m o u t h w i t h c r i m s o n lipstick. T h e hat went o n . Rose t o o k his h a n d a n d they walked up close to the mirror. "We could pass for sisters now, c o u l d n ' t we, baby? All right, let's see you smile. C o m e o n . Let's see. L o o k — M a m a ' s smiling. You do the same. C o m e on. C o m e on now. We've h a d a h a r d day b u t it's all over. We're together, baby, just t h e two of us, always together. W i t h n o t h i n g to be afraid of ever again. So smile. For M o m m y . Smile." Branch w a n t e d to die b u t he smiled. " O h God," Rose said happily, hugging h i m tight. "Ain't we got fun."

Part II VI Esther d i d n ' t m u c h w a n t t h e baby. She was, in the first place, t o o y o u n g , a scant t w e n t y - o n e , n o t ready y e t — n o t nearly. And, besides that, there was her figure to consider. H e r waist h a d never been smaller (a scant t w e n t y - o n e , like h e r age), h e r p i n k t i p p e d prizes never so full a n d firm. T h e t h o u g h t of h e r flat s t o m a c h swelling from Sid's sting d e p r i v e d h e r of sleep, while t h e image of her sublime b o s o m sagging, w e b b e d w i t h blue veins, provided h e r with nightm a r e s . (Her m o t h e r ' s breasts h a d sagged, nipples a n d navel a level line; Esther r e m e m b e r e d little of h e r m o t h e r , b u t she r e m e m b e r e d t h a t , a n d it chilled her, it chilled her.) A n d w h o t h e hell liked babies anyway? N o t her. N o t little Esther. H o w could y o u like t h e m ? Ugly w r i n k l e d brats, cryi n g all t h e day, all the night, t y i n g y o u d o w n , jailing you, a n d for w h a t crime? Carelessness. Simple s t u p i d carelessness. So where was Justice anyway? O u t noshing bagels w i t h c r e a m cheese a n d no o n e w a t c h i n g t h e store. A n d h o w could she s u p p o r t a kid after her divorce? T h e r e was n o d o u b t i n h e r m i n d she w o u l d s o o n b e divorced. H e r m a r r i a g e (Ha!) h a d been o n e titanic n o t h i n g , b u t after it was over, w h a t then? Back p u s h i n g pickles in t h e deli? Better to die. Sid (the piker) w o u l d never c o m e across with a n y t h i n g resembling alimony. Talk? Sure. H o t air? Sure. Money? D o n ' t h o l d y o u r b r e a t h . She could always m a r r y again ( n o sweat, n o t with her looks) b u t m a r r i a g e m e a n t a n o t h e r h u s b a n d a r o u n d t h e h o u s e a n d Sid h a d s o u r e d h e r sufficiently on that score. M o r e t h a n o n c e she fiddled a r o u n d in h e r m i n d w i t h t h e idea of letting s o m e holvah b a r o n keep her, b u t that (if you p u r s u e d the n o t i o n to t h e e n d ) always s e e m e d unappetizing. Nice Jewish Girls didn't do it a n d she was a Nice Jewish Girl. Besides, everybody w o u l d whisper. Besides that, w h e r e w o u l d she be at forty w h e n her looks s t a r t e d going? A n d (finally) besides that, she h a d never m e t a holvah b a r o n . As she idly b r u s h e d h e r long hair each afternoon from t h r e e to four,

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BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 127 Esther stared in h e r m i r r o r a n d d r e a m e d . T h e b r u s h caressed t h e rich black curls, a n d Esther, wistful, prayed n o t for a y o u n g k n i g h t in shining a r m o r b u t for an (a) old rich m a n w h o w o u l d (b) change his will, m a k ing her t h e beneficiary, (c) m a r r y h e r a n d then, thoughtfully, (d) die. (Quickly, w i t h o u t suffering; Esther was p a r t romantic.) T h e chances of all this befalling her were, she knew, r e m o t e . (She was also p a r t realist.) Still, she wished it with all of h e r sad heart, every afternoon, from three to four. T h e rest of t h e t i m e she b u s i e d herself loathing h e r h u s b a n d . Sid. G o o d old Sid. Sid old kid. H o w could she have said "Yes" to his pleas? C o m p a r e d to her, General Custer was Alfred Einstein. Sid with the b a d jokes a n d his b a d breath a n d his b a d taste. Sid t h e Yid. A child of six could h o l d a job; could he? If it weren't for his luck playing poker, his good fortune at snooker, they w o u l d have starved long ago. All day long she spent alone in the a p a r t m e n t , t h e same c r u m m y a p a r t m e n t he seduced her in with that poisoned t o m a t o juice. H o w could she go o u t w h e n there was no money? C o u l d you get m i n k from Marshall Field's on credit? A n d no n e w clothes to wear. N o t h i n g to wear b u t promises. "Tootsie, I ' m w o r k ing on a deal a n d if it comes t h r o u g h . . . Tootsie, I'm o n t o s o m e t h i n g hot, big money, so m u c h if you w e n t i n t o training you couldn't lift it all Tootsie, t o m o r r o w , if everything goes right, I'm buying you t h e b i g g e s t . . . the b e s t . . . the f i n e s t . . . the m o s t . . . " Baloney. T h a t was all he was. Esther h a d m a r r i e d a sausage a n d it was killing her. As b a d as he was w h e n t h e y were together, w h e n t h e y w e n t o u t to o n e of his c r u m m y friends' c r u m m y parties he was unbelievable. Telling h e r h o w to d r e s s — " N o girdle, Tootsie. Let it shake. A n d wear the black dress w i t h o u t the front. Let t h e boys drool a little." A n d t h e n , always in public, he pawed her, p i n c h e d h e r r o u n d b o t t o m or, for variety, slapped it l o u d with t h e flat of his h a n d . Of course, he p a w e d h e r in private t o o . Nightly there was sexual solace, b u t t h e t h o u g h t t h a t she was supplying h i m pleasure deprived her of hers. So there she was, m a r r i e d to t h e all-time loser, King Schlemiel, a n d with t h e possibility of a "little o n e " an interval of u n h a p p i n e s s m i g h t easily b e c o m e a lifetime of grief. (After all, what were the o d d s on a rich old bachelor with a heart c o n d i t i o n k n o c k i n g on the door, to h e r a p a r t ment?) Life, once the color of w h e a t , was n o w rich milk chocolate. W i t h no m a r s h m a l l o w t o p p i n g in view. T h e f i r s t m o n t h , w h e n she missed h e r " t i m e " (her w o r d ) , she ignored it- It h a d h a p p e n e d before w h e n she was n e r v o u s a n d she was n e r v o u s now. She b u r i e d t h e t h o u g h t b e n e a t h a heaping m o u n d of bile a n d slept,

128 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN all things considered, soundly. T h e second m o n t h , t h o u g h , she began to p a n i c . She felt well e n o u g h ; there was no m o r n i n g nausea; h e r stomach was still beautifully flat. But h e r carefully tended red fingernails t o o k to clawing the base of her t h u m b , a n d s u d d e n s o u n d s gave h e r a start. Ail this was e n d u r a b l e , b u t w h e n h e r c o m p l e x i o n began s p o t t i n g a n d the skin b e n e a t h h e r eyes started to d a r k e n unattractively, Esther h i e d herself to Dr. Fishbein. T h e g o o d d o c t o r b o r r o w e d s o m e u r i n e , played a r o u n d for five days, a n d t h e n r e p o r t e d the g o o d b a d news. In t h e privacy of her a p a r t m e n t , Esther wept. She m i g h t have gnashed for h o u r s except that on passing h e r beloved m i r r o r she n o t e d t h e dark skin b e n e a t h h e r d a r k eyes was b o t h wrinkled a n d puffed a n d t h a t was t o o m u c h . Calling d o w n vanity, she showered, p e r f u m e d her soft body, d o n n e d her best bra, h e r sheerest slip, ironed a black dress, d r a p e d it subtly over h e r curves, a n d slaved over her face, disguising it, b a n i s h i n g the d a r k skin, so that w h e n Sid r e t u r n e d flush from a t r i u m p h a n t afternoon of eight-ball, h a d he b o t h e r e d to give her a glance, he w o u l d have seen a d a r k vision, scented a n d soft a n d r o u n d . But the Racing Form held m o r e allure for his blind eyes a n d he b u r i e d himself in half-mile r e s u m e s a n d abilities to leg it in t h e m u d . But w h e n Esther said "Hey, Sid, guess w h a t — I ' m p r e g n a n t " it was g o o d b y e to all that.

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Sid d i d n ' t m u c h want t h e baby. He was, in the first place, t o o y o u n g , a virile twenty-five, n o t ready y e t — n o t nearly. Inside h i m , he knew, were those same seeds t h a t formed all t h e titans, t h e Rockefellers, t h e Fords, the Julius Rosenwalds. He was a M a n o n t h e Move; direction: Up. A n d h e d o u b t e d w h e t h e r Greta t h e great G a r b o could have p r o v i d e d h i m with p e r m a n e n t joy, m u c h less t h e d a r k shrew he had b e d d e d himself with, a v o l u p t u o u s m o n s t e r w h o could play Lady M a c b e t h w i t h o u t m a k e u p . Witch Esther was certainly p a r t of his present, b u t his golden future? T h a n k s b u t no t h a n k s . Of course, Est h e r was g o o d in the sack ( b u t n o t t h a t g o o d . Winifred Katz, a remarkably athletic secretary h e h a d m e t o n e night peddling cutlery d o o r t o door, was at least her equal). A n d there w o u l d be others, just as pretty, n o t as tart, just waiting to be plucked (joke) once he h a d t h e loot. But baby spelled complication, b a b y spelled n o t - o n l y - a l i m o n y - b u t - s u p p o r t - y e t (oh, a n d she'd kill h i m w i t h that; just for spite she'd kill h i m ) , baby spelled Esther. So no baby. O n w a r m nights, w h e n Esther was asleep, Sid w o u l d s o m e t i m e s pull

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BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 129 e sheet away from her body, o p e n the curtain wide s o the m o o n touched her skin, a n d stare. Partly he d i d this for pleasure, b u t partly it a s to reassure himself that a n y b o d y m i g h t have slipped t h e way he had, anybody m i g h t have m a r r i e d this r o u n d e d slut, anybody. She looked so sweet that, if you tapped h e r veins, m a p l e syrup w o u l d r u n o u t . No flaws showing; all inside. How could she look like that and still be like that? H o w could she fail to see why the selling j o b s he quit were nowhere? C o u l d n ' t she tell just from looking at h i m he was going someplace? A n d all the kvetching about money. Did she have to b u y o u t Field's every day? D i d n ' t he make e n o u g h at p o o l a n d cards to keep any o r d i n a r y h u n k happy? And the way she dressed w h e n t h e y went out. It was h u m i l i a t i n g . No girdle a n d dresses cut to t h e navel. "Jesus, Esther. W h y d o n ' t we just go naked, Esther?" A n d at parties, slapping her b o d y up against every available m a n , inhaling a n d b e n d i n g over all night long. Did she have to give away w h a t he h a d m a r r i e d her to get? Well, forget it a n d smile. Divorce was just a r o u n d the corner. A n d fame was right there too. A n d love a n d m o n e y a n d trips a r o u n d t h e w o r l d a n d cashmere suits a n d half a million broads a n d . . . t n

w

" W h a t ' d you say, Esther?" "I said guess w h a t — I ' m pregnant." D o w n w e n t t h e Racing Form. " F o r sure?" For sure. " O h G o d , Tootsie, that's wonderful," a n d he t o o k h e r in his a r m s . "Isn't it? Isn't it?" Sid r a n his h a n d across her s t o m a c h . "I can feel it. I swear." Esther giggled. "Oh, Sid, you're crazy." Sid held her very close. "It's just like a d r e a m . You've w a n t e d a baby so bad." "So have you." "I know. After all t h e talking we've d o n e a b o u t it a n d n o w it's here. Oh, Esther, it's a d r e a m c o m e true." "A d r e a m c o m e true." " D o you love m e , Esther?" "Yes, yes. A n d do you love m e ? " " O h yes." He raised his h a n d from her stomach to h e r breasts. T h e n slowly he began to u n d o h e r b u t t o n s . "Sid. Careful." "I'll be careful. You're a m o t h e r now. I've gotta be careful." Esther u n b u t t o n e d his shirt, pulled it o u t from his t r o u s e r s , r u n n i n g her h a n d s across his chest. "You're a p a p a now. I'll be careful too."

130 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You k n o w w h a t I'm g o n n a do now, Tootsie? To celebrate? Something I've never d o n e before." " W h a t , Sid?" "I've never done it before b u t I'm gonna treat you like a queen, Esther—I'm g o n n a carry you i n m y a r m s into the b e d r o o — W h a t ' s t h e matter, Esther? W h a t ' r e you l o o k i n g like t h a t for?" " N o t h i n g . I just was afraid you m i g h t d r o p me." "Never." Sid picked h e r u p . "Esther the queen." "You happy, Sid?" " I ' m happy." " I ' m happy." "We'll be t h a t way forever." "Forever." "Say it again." "Forever. N o w you." "Forever." "Forever." " Q u e e n Esther." "King Sid." T h e next m o r n i n g , His H i g h n e s s was awakened by t h e Queen's groans. " O h h h h h h , " Esther said. " O h h h h h h h . " "Hey, Tootsie." Up on o n e elbow. " W h a t is it, Tootsie?" Pale smile. " N o t h i n g . N o t h i n g , darling. I'm fine." Two m o r n i n g s later, t h e King awoke alone. " E s t h e r ? " he called. N o answer. Again: "Esther?" No Esther. O u t of b e d he h o p p e d a n d into the next r o o m . T h e Q u e e n lay doubled up across t h e sofa, h e r a r m s g r i p p i n g her s t o m a c h . "Esther, w h a t ? " She bit her lower lip h a r d . "It's nothing." "But, my God, you're in pain." " W h a t ' s a little p a i n ? " "But—" " W o m e n get this way. It's n a t u r a l . D o n ' t worry." " I ' m h u m a n . I worry." " M y sweetheart."

B0YS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 131 "Can't I do something?'' Pale smile. " I ' m fine."

The next m o r n i n g he again awoke alone. But this t i m e t h e sofa was vacant. Likewise the kitchen. Sid p o u n d e d on the b a t h r o o m d o o r , t h e n opened it. Esther knelt by the toilet. "Esther?" "Get out." "No." "I said get out!" Sid stood in the doorway. " B u t — " "You t h i n k I like having you see me like this? Get out. Out! Out!" Sid closed the door, h e a r d it lock. T h e n the sink was going full, b o t h faucets h a r d . Sid pressed his ear against t h e wood. He d i d n o t hear h e r retch, b u t later the toilet flushed, so she m u s t have. W h e n t h e d o o r opened she came (weakly) o u t , looked at his face a n d t h e n dazzled h i m with her smile. At two o'clock on Saturday m o r n i n g Esther began to scream. Sid j u m p e d from the bed in p a n i c , staring at the creature clawing at t h e sheets. " W h a t ? " Sid said. " W h a t ? " "I hurt," Esther m u t t e r e d . " O h G o d , I h u r t . I w a n t to die." "I'll call t h e doctor." "No." "But, E s t h e r — " " S o m e w o m e n have difficult pregnancies. I'm like that. There's n o t h ing w r o n g . I just h u r t , that's all." "Where?" "Here," a n d she clutched h e r left side. "A second ago you were g r a b b i n g y o u r stomach." " I h u r t all over." "God," Sid said. " O h , Sid. Make it stop." " T o m o r r o w you go to t h e doctor." " It's nothing." " T o m o r r o w you go!" "I hate doctors."

132 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Tomorrow!" "All right. All right." "Promise?" Esther n o d d e d . "You take such care of me." "We d o n ' t want a n y t h i n g t o h a p p e n t o t h e baby now, d o w e ? " "Sweet Papa," Esther w h i s p e r e d . " G o o d Mama," Sweet Papa said. "Well?" Sid p u t d o w n t h e Racing Form a n d waited. Esther said n o t h i n g , t o o k off h e r gloves a n d h e r hat. "You saw the d o c t o r ? " Esther u n z i p p e d her dress a n d stepped o u t of it, h a n g i n g it in the closet. "You saw t h e d o c t o r ? " " I saw him." "And?" Esther shrugged. "And? A n d ? " " I w a n t t h e baby. D o you w a n t the baby?" "As G o d is my witness." "Good." " W h a t did t h e d o c t o r say?" Esther tried to smile. "It's going to be a difficult pregnancy." " W h a t does that m e a n ? I d o n ' t understand." " It m e a n s . . . " And she shrugged again, disappearing into the b a t h r o o m . "It m e a n s ? " Sid s h o u t e d t h r o u g h t h e door. " T h e baby is fine" c a m e Esther's voice. " C o u l d n ' t be better." " G o on." N o t h i n g from the b a t h r o o m except p e r h a p s a stifled sob. "Esther, for God's sake go o n ! T h e baby is fine a n d — " "Chances are I'll be fine too." "Chances are! Chances are!" T h e d o o r swung o p e n a n d n a k e d Esther raced into his a r m s . "Hold m e . Sid, d o n ' t talk—just h o l d me." "You m e a n you're liable to . . . " " D o n ' t say it. Just h o l d m e . " "You m e a n it's possible t h a t you m i g h t — " "Anything's possible," Esther said.

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"Esther?" Later that night, lying side by side. "Yes, darling." "There's s o m e t h i n g I've got to say." "Of course, darling." "This is very i m p o r t a n t , Esther. N o w you've got to listen to m e . Every word, it's that i m p o r t a n t . Will you p r o m i s e to hear me o u t ? " " W h a t is it, Sid?" "You've got to p r o m i s e to hear me o u t . No m a t t e r w h a t , I've got to finish telling you what I've got to tell you." " I promise." Sid sat up in bed, locking his h a n d s a r o u n d his knees. " M y father's closest friend all his life—I can't tell you h o w close, like b r o t h e r s they were—well, this m a n , he h a d a d a u g h t e r a n d she got, you k n o w , like girls do sometimes, a n d , well, she was a s h a m e d to tell h i m a b o u t it, so she went to a b u t c h e r a n d he did this t h i n g to her and she died." "Oh, that's terrible." Esther s h o o k h e r head. " T h e crazy things kids do. A story like that, it just m a k e s me w a n t to cry." "Yes, well w h e n that h a p p e n e d to this close friend of my father, he swore t h a t it would never h a p p e n to anybody he k n e w a n d cared for, what h a d h a p p e n e d to him." " D o n ' t go o n , Sid." "This m a n is a doctor, E s t h e r — " " D o n ' t say any m o r e . N o t o n e w o r d — " "He's a surgeon." "No!" "He's a great surgeon. A great s u r g e o n , you h e a r ? " " N o t h i n g ! I hear n o t h i n g . I w a n t my baby. I want my baby." Sid pulled her close. "You t h i n k I don't," he said. "Esther?" T h e next night. "Uh-huh." "Last n i g h t w h a t I said?" "Yes?" "I d i d n ' t say it." Esther (into his a r m s ) : "You're so good." Sid ( r u b b i n g her fanny): "Solid gold." O h God." Esther w r i t h i n g o n t h e f l o o r . " G o d . . . G o d . . . God." "Tootsie, can't I h e l p ? "

134 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Make m e stop h u r t i n g . O h God." " T h e doctor. Can't he give you s o m e t h i n g ? " " O h God." " T o m o r r o w . You go see h i m . " "Sid . .. m a k e it stop h u r t i n g , Sid . . . " "You m a k e h i m give you s o m e t h i n g for the pain. U n d e r s t a n d ? I don't care w h a t it costs. S o m e t h i n g for t h e pain." "Yes . . . t o m o r r o w . . . s o m e t h i n g for the pain . . . " "Well? W h e r e are t h e pills?" " H e w o u l d n ' t give me any." " W o u l d n ' t give you any?" "Pills won't help, he said. N o t h i n g will help, he said. lust for me to be brave." "I'll call up that d o c t o r r i g h t — " "No!" "But, Tootsie—" "Just hold m e , Sid. A n d tell me you love m e . That's t h e best medicine." "I love you." " D o you really m e a n it?" "Have we ever lied to each o t h e r ? " S o m e Thursdays O l d T u r k would c o m e to dinner. Or, m o r e accurately, b r i n g dinner, since Esther, never Fanny Farmer, d o u b l e d up n o w in a g o n y whenever she c a u g h t sight of t h e kitchen. So O l d T u r k c a m e , a n d w i t h h i m he b r o u g h t c o r n e d beef a n d cole slaw a n d rolls a n d m o r e t h a n a d o z e n crisp garlic pickles (his weakness), plus three celery tonics to wash it d o w n . " W h a t have you d o n e t o m y d a u g h t e r ? " Old Turk inquired. "She just sits a n d stares." C h o m p - c h o m p - c h o m p — t h e old jaws on the new pickles. "Worries she has," Sid explained. "A dear friend of hers makes Job l o o k chipper." "So?" C h o m p - c h o m p - c h o m p . "Yes, this dear friend of hers is with child, a n d the child is fine, b u t this dear friend is in terrible d a n g e r a n d the h u s b a n d of this dear friend has a dear friend of his o w n w h o is a great surgeon s y m p a t h e t i c to such d i l e m m a s b u t as yet no o n e has d o n e n o t h i n g . W h a t do you t h i n k ? " "I t h i n k they're b o t h meshugah" Old Turk p r o n o u n c e d . Chomp-chomp-chomp.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 135

As they were walking t h r o u g h t h e Loop a few n i g h t s later, on their way to a Ronald C o l m a n , Esther began to slow. Sid, n o w a few paces ahead, t u r n e d to watch, s t o p p i n g as she stopped, following h e r stare. She was looking at an elevated train. Sid r e t u r n e d to her. " W h a t ? " Esther's voice was soft, far away. "I w o n d e r . . . " "Yes?" "About trains. I've h e a r d stories t h a t it isn't good to sit on trains." "I have h e a r d t h e same." " T h e b u m p s , they're n o t g o o d for you." Sid t o o k her a r m t h e n , starting t o w a r d a flight of steps t h a t led up to the station. Esther let h i m lead, slowly, to the steps, t h e n up o n e , two, another. Halfway to the top she came alive, her fingers gripping his coat. "God will strike me dead!" She screamed a n d fled d o w n the stairs, across t h e street, running, running. Sid pursued, chasing through the crowd, trying to smile at the people he passed (because it was embarrassing), m u t t e r i n g explanations as he went. "It's all right, everything is all right, just a little misunderstanding, everything is really fine . . . " He caught up with her on the corner of Randolph, grabbing her, pulling her a r o u n d to face him. Her eyes were dry. But wide. "Sid?" A shake at four in t h e m o r n i n g . "Sid?" "Huh-huh?" "I woke you; I'm sorry." " W h a t is it? You all r i g h t ? " "I just w a n t e d to talk to s o m e b o d y , that's all." "Time?" "A little after four." " H o w c o m e you're u p ? " " O h , I've been awake for h o u r s . T h i n k i n g . I h a d a d r e a m , Sid." "A d r e a m ? " "Yes. I d r e a m t I was going to die." " N o w , Tootsie—" "I d r e a m t I was going to die b u t t h e baby was as healthy as can be." "Esther, a dream's n o t h i n g . You can't go getting upset because of s o m e silly dream." " I ' m n o t upset. Really. I'm n o t . But if that h a p p e n s you're going to have to take care of the baby."

136 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Palms across the eyes. "Will ya stop w i t h this crazy talk." "You d o n ' t even k n o w h o w to change a diaper a n d I'm w o r r i e d a b o u t t h e baby. Who's g o n n a c h a n g e t h e diapers? Who's g o n n a feed it? Who's g o n n a walk it w h e n it cries?" "You are! N o w go to sleep." " I ' m g o n n a die, Sid. You'll see." "Goddammit, Esther—" " W h o ' s g o n n a walk t h e baby? I gotta k n o w that. I d o n ' t w a n t it catching cold a n d getting sick a n d all like that. You've gotta p r o m i s e to take care of it." "Like hell!" "Sid—" " I ' m n o t g o n n a take care of it 'cause there ain't g o n n a be any baby!" "I told you. T h e baby is as healthy as can be." "You wanna die?" He t o o k h e r shoulders, squeezing h a r d , t r y i n g to m e e t h e r eyes, b u t she d r o p p e d h e r head. "Answer me, you wanna die? Yes?" T h e shoulders c o m m e n c e d to t r e m b l e b e n e a t h his fingers. Slowly t h e h e a d raised, t h e m o u t h loose a n d t o r n , the eyes w i d e , d r y n o m o r e . A w h i s p e r . " . . . n o . . . n n n n . . . " Again the head d r o p p e d . " T h e n I'm going to see this doctor. This great s u r g e o n friend of my father's. Tomorrow." T h e h e a d shook. " T h a t ' s w r o n g . " "You w a n n a die?" "No..." " T h e n it ain't wrong." "You're . . . sure?" "Yes! Yes!" "You swear it's all r i g h t ? " "I swear." "You're m a k i n g m e d o this." " T h a t ' s right." "Tomorrow?" Tomorrow. " T h i s doctor. He's really g o o d ? " "Best in t h e west." Sid smiled. A package tucked tight u n d e r an a r m , Sid entered t h e tiny p h a r m a c y . "So, Manfred," he called out. "So, Sidney" c a m e t h e a n s w e r from the sweet-faced cadaver b e h i n d t h e counter.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 137 "How's with the pill p u s h i n g ? " "Slow on t h e Trojans since y o u t o o k y o u r business elsewhere." Sid e x a m i n e d the aging face. " G o o d to see you." " I s u p p o s e likewise." "So," Sid said. "So." "Listen, M a n n i e . . . " " H e r e comes the touch," t h e druggist said. " 'Listen, M a n n i e , how's a b o u t a ten-spot?' " " N o t h i n g like that." "I w o u l d n ' t have given it to y o u anyway." " M a n n i e . . . you interested in a little w o r k ? " "Of which n a t u r e ? " Sid t o o k five twenties from his pocket, laid t h e m on the counter. "Guess." " H o t afternoon at t h e s n o o k e r table?" Sid n o d d e d . M a n n i e s h o o k his h e a d . " N o , " he said. Sid smiled, picked up t h e twenties, waved t h e m u n d e r t h e other's nose, asking, "Smell g o o d ? " " M y answer stands, Sidney. No." "Why no?" A s h r u g . " T h e heat, shall we say, is o n . My place is, I do believe, u n d e r surveillance." "Use m i n e ? " " C a n ' t be done." Again Sid waved t h e green. " T h e y have brothers, M a n n i e . Nestling in my pocket. Each has a twin." "Two h u n d r e d ? " " T h a t is correct." " N o t t h a t I don't trust you, b u t can I see?" Sid p r o d u c e d t h e m . M a n n i e grabbed t h e b u n d l e . " I ' m weak a n d greedy." " N o n s e n s e . You're rich w i t h character." "Will t o m o r r o w evening be satisfactory?" " N o t nearly so as tonight." "It so h a p p e n s I'm free." M a n n i e shrugged. "So who's t h e lucky girl, Sidney? Be sure y o u r wife is g o n e for several h o u r s at least. In case of complications." " If I d i d that, we w o u l d have to talk to each other, a n d m u c h as I love you, at these prices it ain't w o r t h it."

138 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Ah" from t h e druggist. " T h e dutiful a n d loving h u s b a n d . " " T h a t ' s right, pill-pusher. I'm rich with character too." M a n n i e p r o d u c e d s o m e capsules. "Give her these at n i n e . I'll arrive at ten." " T h e y are?" said Sid, p o c k e t i n g t h e m . " F o r sleep. To dull pain." "A h u m a n i s t in t h e bargain." "Tell m e , loving father, h o w far g o n e is she?" "Just barely." " G o o d . I'll see y o u at ten." "Just o n e thing." "So?" "Before you r i n g o u r bell, d o n this," a n d he tossed over t h e package. " W h a t is it?" " T h e white r o b e of t h e physician." "There's a reason, I ' m sure." "I told her you were a doctor." "A d o c — " "A great surgeon." M a n n i e began to l a u g h . "A great surgeon. O h , that's funny. That's very funny." T h e l a u g h t e r grew a n d grew. " M e a great surgeon. Oh Jesus, Sidney, you're a killer." Sid saw t h e joke. But he did n o t l a u g h .

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"Dr. L a u t m a n n , g o o d evening," Sid said, shaking h a n d s w i t h t h e m a n in t h e white coat. " G o o d evening to you, Mr. Miller." " C o m e , Dr. L a u t m a n n , in here," a n d Sid led h i m t o w a r d t h e b e d r o o m . "See, Esther, w h o is here? T h e great surgeon Dr. L a u t m a n n t h a t was the dearest friend of my father I told you about." Esther lay on t h e clean w h i t e sheets, d o p e d , l i m p , pale. "Doctor," she m a d e with h e r lips, b u t soft. "Doctor," a n d she tried to n o d , tried to smile. "Everything will be fine, I p r o m i s e you," t h e s u r g e o n assured. "But first a few w o r d s w i t h y o u r husband." T h e two m e n h u r r i e d to t h e living r o o m , closed t h e d o o r . "We'll n e e d noise," M a n n i e said. "Noise?" "Fool! You t h i n k she w o n ' t s c r e a m ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 139 "Easy," Sid said. "Easy." He scampered to the tiny Victrola in the corner, slapped on a record. "Russ C o l u m b o , " he explained. "A favorite of Esther's. Very soothing." "I have been happier," M a n n i e said. "Ya think I'm ecstatic?" M a n n i e d r u m m e d his fingertips together in no r h y t h m . Sid r u b b e d his palms against his p a n t s legs. "It's this coat," M a n n i e said. " T h i s godd a m doctor's coat." Sid's palms w o u l d n ' t get dry. "I never wore a d o c t o r ' s coat before, don't you see? T h a t makes i t . . . " He paused for a s h r u g . "Different is the word. D o n ' t y o u see, I'm n o t a liar. I d o n ' t . . . " He pulled at his earlobe. " I ' m an h o n e s t m a n . I p r i d e myself on being an h o n e s t m a n . " " T h e friendly n e i g h b o r h o o d abortionist," Sid said. M a n n i e smiled, the c o r n e r s of his sweet m o u t h rising, t h e n freezing there, suspended, t h e smile fixed, like a p h o t o . No s o u n d . T h e n he released the smile a n d it fled. "Yeah," he said after a while. " W h o ' m I kidding anyhow? Yeah." He tugged at t h e white coat. " M y size. Perfect fit." "Like a glove, M a n n i e . " "Shit," M a n n i e said, a n d he disappeared into t h e n e x t r o o m . Sid flicked on t h e Victrola, slid a record d o w n , t u r n e d t h e v o l u m e up full. Music. Sid sat beside t h e m a c h i n e . N o w C o l u m b o , w i t h that great rough voice. He could really sing, that Dago. "I can't forget t h e night I met you," Russ sang. " T h a t ' s all I'm d r e a m i n g of. A n d n o w you call it madness. But I call it love." Esther was showing h e r fanny w h e n they met, standing on a stool reaching u p . For what? Sardines m a y b e . Sauerkraut. Something. A n d he'd d o n e a Valentino with his eyes. She wasn't buying and that was w h e n he s h o u l d have quit, canceled t h e a c c o u n t before it opened. W h e n the cock gets h a r d , t h e brain gets soft. His father h a d told h i m that. "Sidney, listen a n d d o n ' t you forget. W h e n t h e cock gets hard, the brain gets soft." He h a d b e e n six or eight at t h e t i m e , so w h a t the hell was the old m a n bleating about? H e r e m e m b e r e d t h e m o m e n t , u n d e r stood it at last, w h e n he was a b o u t to score with his first piece, s o m e pig a year ahead of h i m in h i g h school. It was good advice. T h e old m a n was no fool. No. T h e old m a n was a fool b u t still it was g o o d advice. T h a t a n d vodka. Some inheritance. A noise from t h e next r o o m . Esther? Yes, Esther, a n d he didn't k n o w what she was d o i n g b u t it wasn't laughing. Sid started t h e record over a n d

140 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN this t i m e he j o i n e d in, m a k i n g it a songfest. "You m a d e a p r o m i s e to be faithful, by all t h e stars above. A n d n o w you call it m a d n e s s . But I call it love." Madness. T h e w h o l e megillah was that. Crazy. H e , Super Sid, tossing his life after a r o u n d b u t t a n d a pair of cans. Meshugah. A n o t h e r scream from Esther. Sid, no drinker, b o l t e d for t h e kitchen a n d p o u r e d himself half a glass of vodka. He swilled d o w n a goodly p o r t i o n , b u t aside from steaming his t h r o a t a little it d i d n o t h i n g to relieve. Sloshing t h e stuff a r o u n d in the glass, he r e t u r n e d to t h e Victrola a n d switched to a couple of Paul "Whitem a n i n s t r u m e n t a l s . W h e n they h a d r u n their course h e repeated t h e m , t a p p i n g his foot to t h e beat, d o w n i n g the r e m a i n d e r of t h e vodka. In a way, it was a s h a m e ; if the kid h a d been a girl w i t h Esther's looks a n d his b r a i n s she m i g h t have b e e n President, Jew or n o . He w o u l d have steered for her, separating t h e b u m s from the worthwhile suitors, e n d i n g her up with m a y b e a Rosenwald, m a y b e a L e h m a n (or a Rockefeller if they'd decided to m i x the b l o o d strains a little), a n d that w o u l d have been s o m e thing, Sid h o b n o b b i n g with old John D. himself, riding t h e h o u n d s , then a little whist, finally a little t h r e e - c u s h i o n billiards w i t h N a p o l e o n brandy. He'd take John D.'s ass at three-cushion, no d o u b t a b o u t that, a n d that (definitely) w o u l d have been s o m e t h i n g to tell t h e boys in the neighborh o o d , so it was, in a way, a little shame. " A n n n h h h ! " Sid cried o u t loud. Esther answered w i t h a scream. Back c a m e t h e C o l u m b o , full voice, with n o w a little record scratch a d d i n g to t h e fun, Sid singing so his t h r o a t b u r n e d worse t h a n from t h e vodka a n d then sweating M a n n i e stood in t h e doorway, pale like Esther. He m o v e d to t h e sofa, s t a n d i n g over Sid. "So s o o n ? " Sid said, rising. "I can't," M a n n i e said, a n d he sank. " W h a d d y a m e a n , ya can't? W h a t kind of talk is that, you can't? Get back in there. Finish it off. W h a t have you b e e n doing? Having, for crissakes, tea?" "I can't." C o l u m b o was still singing, "You m a d e a p r o m i s e to be faithful..." "Why? T h e coat? Take off t h e coat." "Nix." " . . . b y all t h e stars above . . . " " W h a t ' v e you b e e n d o i n g in there?" " P r o b i n g . I have b e e n e x a m i n i n g the patient."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 141 "Yer n o t g o n n a get m o r e money, you kike son of a bitch!" "I can't! D o n ' t you u n d e r s t a n d ? Nix. Nix!" " . . . b u t I call it love . . . " Sid kicked the g o d d a m Vic a n d it fell. " W h y ? " He kicked it again a n d this t i m e the cord c a m e loose from t h e wall. T h e record b r o k e a n d Sid gave t h e m a c h i n e a n o t h e r g o o d o n e because he liked t h e record m o r e t h a n almost any. " W h y ? " P a n t i n g . " W h y ? " A whisper. "You lied to me." "What-what?" F r o m Esther i n pain: " D o c t o r . . . D o c t o r . . . " "You lied to m e . You said she was just a couple w e e k s ' pregnant." "She is." "Doctor..." " T h r e e m o n t h s , " M a n n i e said, shaking his head. " T h r e e m o n t h s if she's a day." " T h e little bitch. T h e little bitch lied to me, I swear, M a n n i e . She k n e w two m o n t h s , she kept it secret." " T h a t m a y be, b u t it's t o o d a n g e r o u s now." "Doctor... please..." No.' " T h e longer you wait, t h e m o r e dangerous to all concerned." Sid stood still. "She's liable to die." Sid sat. "If I do it, she's liable to die." " W h a t are t h e o d d s ? " " I n her favor, b u t s t i l l . . . " M a n n i e shrugged. "You haven't got e n o u g h grief on your conscience?" A wail from Esther. "Dr. L a u t m a n n . . . Dr. L a u t m a n n . . . " "Have t h e baby, Sid. W o r s e things have h a p p e n e d . " "Dr. L a u t m a n n . . . " "I don't want t h e kid." "I'll give her a sedative a n d m a y b e — " " N o . You can't leave now." " D o c t o r . . . Please, D o c t o r . . . " "It's best, Sid." "I can call the police. A g o o d citizen. 'I k n o w w h e r e there's this dirty abortionist.' You'll go to jail. I can do that." "I k n o w you can."

142 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " M a n n i e , I d o n ' t w a n t t h e kid. I don't w a n t n o t h i n g to do with any g o d d a m kid." " D o n ' t m a k e me go b a c k in there, Sidney. It could t u r n o u t very bad. Bad for m e , bad for you, worse for t h e m in there." "Oi, God, Doctor. C o m e . . . please . . . " " W h a t am I g o n n a d o , Mannie? You tell me." He threw the e m p t y vodka glass against t h e wall, where it shattered. Sid t h r e w it, Sid was watching it, b u t w h e n t h e noise c a m e he j u m p e d w i t h fear. "Tell m e , Mannie." "I'll give her a sedative. You get d r u n k , she'll sleep. T o m o r r o w . . . " A n d he shrugged. " C a n t h i n g s be any worse?" "Shimah Yisroel..." Again Sid j u m p e d . "All of a s u d d e n she's religious." " W h e n people h u r t , they get religious. N o p a i n , n o God." "Baruch adonoi eluhenu ..." "So what do I d o , Sidney?" No quick answer. "It's best. I p r o m i s e . Please take my word. W h o n e e d s grief? G o d gave us enough." Sid sat. T h e n , finally, he said, "Yeah. Enough." "You're d o i n g t h e right thing, Sidney." "Yeah." It was h a r d for h i m to breathe. "Please, God, Dr. L a u t m a n n . . . " "Coming," M a n n i e said. "Coming." He stood a n d started m o v i n g for t h e door. "Coming," he kept saying. " C o m i n g . C o m i n g , " over and over, which was probably why he did n o t hear Sid leap u p , w h y he was so surprised w h e n Sid's h a n d s s p u n h i m s o viciously a r o u n d . " W h a t ? " h e m a n aged before Sid t o o k over. "Kill it! Now, now, now, kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it now!" M a n n i e quietly closed t h e d o o r to the b e d r o o m , t o o k off the white coat, folded it carefully a n d d r o p p e d it on t h e sofa beside Sid, w h o sat too stiffly, n o d d i n g his head, n o d d i n g his head. " T h e b l o o d y d e e d is done," Mannie muttered. Sid c o n t i n u e d to n o d . "Some i n s t r u c t i o n s , Sidney. Listen. Keep h e r flat on h e r back. D o n ' t let her move a r o u n d m u c h . T o m o r r o w I'll c o m e back and finish it off. I couldn't scrape, she was t o o far along, b u t this w o r k s as well; it just takes a little longer. B a m b o o expands, you see, a n d so in t i m e . . . " M a n n i e shrugged. "I t h i n k all w e n t well. I'll see you t o m o r r o w , Sidney."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 143 Sid heard the d o o r close. He sat, still stiff, n o t k n o w i n g quite what to d o , w h e r e to go. Esther lay behind the b e d r o o m d o o r a n d there was his place, he knew, beside her in this time o f . . . T i m e o f what? Grief? N o , s o m e t h i n g . . . s o m e t h i n g . . . Sid crossed to t h e c o r n e r of t h e r o o m a n d picked up t h e shattered vodka glass. His h a n d s m o v e d quickly, carelessly almost, asking for a cut. Pain. A little pain w o u l d have felt good, b u t his fingers were t o o deft a n d no blood spilled. D u m p i n g t h e slivers into the trash, he w e n t to the b a t h r o o m and c o m b e d his hair, t h e n suddenly t h r e w t h e c o m b d o w n h a r d and dashed into t h e b e d r o o m . Esther didn't look so h o t . "Oh, Tootsie, God," Sid said, t h e words o u t before he k n e w it. He dropped o n t o t h e b e d beside h e r a n d gently t o u c h e d h e r hair. "You O.K.? Huh?" Esther wasn't saying m u c h . She tried with a smile b u t missed a n d after t h a t she just lay there while Sid t o u c h e d h e r hair, h e r skin, while he kissed h e r eyes. He offered her some food b u t t h e idea d i d n ' t thrill her; neither d i d liquid of whatever nature. Sid, t h o u g h , felt t h e n e e d of a little p i c k - m e - u p , a n d w i t h a little kiss, a quick m u t t e r e d " 'Scuse me," he dashed for the kitchen, r e t u r n i n g with the bottle of vodka, w h i c h he swilled liberally. He h e l d her very close, muttering love, rocking h e r m u t i l a t e d body. T h e m o t i o n was pleasing a n d soon her eyes half closed, h e r fatigue battling t h e p a i n , w i n n i n g little by little, so that by o n e in t h e m o r n i n g she fell into a dizzy sleep. Sid continued to drink, h o l d i n g t h e bottle in o n e h a n d , h e r soft shape with t h e other, until the bottle deserted h i m a n d he d r o p p e d it e m p t y to t h e floor. Then, undressing, he slipped into b e d beside her, resting his h a n d s o m e head on her h a n d s o m e b o s o m , h e a r i n g only h e r soft b r e a t h i n g growing louder, louder as his o w n eyes closed. Sid slept t h e n , along with Esther, their bodies close, their b r e a t h i n g a unison. T h e sight of t h e two was close to idyllic a n d the evening, considering what it m i g h t have t u r n e d into, wasn't half bad. Until Esther started h e m o r r h a g i n g . Sid woke to find h e r w r i t h i n g , biting d o w n like a crazy w o m a n on her lower lip, drawing b l o o d a l m o s t , h e r small h a n d s k n e a d i n g her stomach, ^ h a t - w h a t ? " Sid cried b u t she w o u l d n o t answer, c o n t i n u i n g to writhe, m o a n i n g in spite of herself, u n w a n t e d tears trailing d o w n across h e r

144 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN cheeks, d i p p i n g for a m o m e n t into t h e tight crease of h e r lips, t h e n on again, falling d o w n her chin, where they mixed w i t h t h e sweat that glistened on her taut neck. "Esther, Esther, what can I d o ? " But still she twisted, h e r head shaking n o w as the vowelless g r o a n s g r e w louder, higher in pitch, a p p r o a c h i n g t h e k i n g d o m of the scream. Panicky, Sid bolted from t h e bed, r u n n i n g a r o u n d to h e r side, b u t she t u r n e d away from h i m , digging in with her fingers, g r a b b i n g her s t o m a c h , t r y i n g to rip it away. Sid ran like a fool a r o u n d t h e b e d again, j u m p i n g o n t o t h e mattress, grabb i n g her as she tried to t u r n , b u t she was deep in p a i n n o w a n d too strong, so his h a n d s slipped from h e r wet s h o u l d e r s as she began to cry o u t , " G o d - G o d - n o - n o " a n d Sid hollered along with her, "Esther, my little Esther," until she m a n a g e d to c l a m p h e r teeth back d o w n on her lower lip, leaving Sid to shout alone, "Esther, sweet Esther," a n d no telling h o w long that w o u l d have gone on if h e r sexy legs, kicking on their o w n to s o m e secret r h y t h m , h a d n ' t swiped h i m good a n d sent h i m sprawling off the bed to t h e h a r d floor. Sid rose a n d stared at the kicking t h i n g on t h e mattress. W h a t e v e r resemblance she h a d once h a d to Esther was rapidly disappearing as the thrashing a n d t h e biting picked up t e m p o . T h e entire b o d y was coated with pale sweat a n d t h e t e n d o n s in h e r neck awed h i m . He watched her until he realized t h a t very likely she was going to die and o n c e that t h o u g h t t o o k h o l d he t h r e w himself into his clothes, shouting, "Hospital! Hospital!" h o p i n g he could get t h r o u g h to her. " N o , " Esther screamed. Sid j a m m e d his shoes o n , b u t t o n e d his shirt, b u t t o n e d his fly, h a n d s never once stopping u n t i l Esther said " N o hospital." Sid tried to take h e r h a n d a n d lift her from t h e bed b u t she fought h i m . "Esther, for God's sake." " N o hospital!" "Es—" " F a t h e r m i g h t find o u t . S o m e b o d y else. No. N o . Please don't." Sid grabbed h e r with all his m i g h t a n d pulled h e r into a sitting position. " Q u i t now." " I d o n ' t want people to know. Leave me here. Leave me here." "Come." " N o . Please. Leave me be." "Come." Sid lifted h e r as well as he could, l o o p i n g h e r a r m a r o u n d his shoulder, forcing t h e m t o w a r d t h e door. "I want to die. I w a n t to die." Sid grabbed the front d o o r , flung it open, started o u t along the corri-

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 145 d o r a n d d o w n t h e stairs. T h e D a g o w o m a n next d o o r a p p e a r e d beside h i m b u t he s h o u t e d for h e r to get t h e hell away a n d she d i d as he t o o k t h e stairs o n e at a t i m e with Esther screaming every step, " N o hospital, let me die, no hospital," until s u d d e n l y she sagged semiconscious, just weight now, all fight gone. Sid staggered with her o u t o n t o t h e street praying for a cab a n d it worked, t h e driver h e l p i n g to lift Esther inside, t h e n breaking all records on the way to Michael Reese. W h e n they reached t h e emergency ward Sid said, " M y wife, miscarriage, miscarriage," to whoever would listen a n d insisted on a private r o o m for his beloved. As they started to wheel her away, Esther, w h o h a d staged a m i l d c o m e b a c k , held his h a n d as long as possible. "Miscarriage," Sid said to t h e wheeler, a young m a n in a white coat. "A private r o o m . T h e best." T h e white coat n o d d e d . Sid indicated a desire for privacy a n d t h e w h i t e coat retreated. Sid b e n t to taste his wife's pale lips. "Sleep, d u m p l i n g , " he whispered. "We killed it," soft i n t o his ear. "Sleep, d u m p l i n g , " Sid repeated, a n d he smiled. His was a helpful smile, a smile of reassurance. So why was she smiling back? As she awaited t h e arrival of t h e doctor, little Esther half dozed. T h e knotting pains of the b e d r o o m were loosening now, a n d she was able to breathe a g a i n — a luxury. She r e m e m b e r e d t h e piker yelling "Private r o o m , private r o o m " a n d t h a t was s o m e t h i n g to look forward to. Also she had gone t h r o u g h , in her m i n d , those y o u n g interns a n d potential physicians she h a d k n o w n before E. Scrooge had w o r n her d o w n , a n d n o n e of t h e m worked at Michael Reese, so she could relax on t h a t score, confident that neither Maxwell B a u m n o r T o m m y S t e r n m a n n o r any o f the other surgeons-to-be w h o p u r s u e d h e r o n their nights off w o u l d c o m e p o p p i n g in and thereby provide h e r w i t h an unnecessary h u m i l i a t i o n . (Maybe t h e private r o o m would have a view of t h e lake. In any case, she h o p e d it was wildly expensive; a little apoplexy w o u l d do Sid good.) Maxwell B a u m and T o m m y S t e r n m a n . Esther drifted. Doctors always appealed to h e r — m o r e t h a n lawyers, dentists, architects. T h e only t r o u b l e w i t h d o c t o r s was rt took so long before you started cashing in. T h e y o u n g goy p u s h i n g the wheelchair h a d looked at h e r w i t h lust in his blue eyes, a n d that was flattering; if you could lure t h e m at y o u r worst, you Were really s o m e t h i n g . That was what she was: a real s o m e t h i n g . Married to a real n o t h i n g , true, but everybody fumbles on occasion. T h e t h o u g h t of divorce m a d e h e r m i l e . In a m o n t h , probably, she w o u l d be looking herself again, a n d that was the t i m e to make t h e m o v e . Let Sid pay for t h e convalescence (do h i m s

146 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN g o o d ) , t h e n off to t h e races. Toot, toot, tootsie, goodbye. Let h i m crawl a little first, beg awhile (do h i m g o o d ) , lead h i m o n , let h i m t h i n k he's still got a chance of keeping her, t h e n o u t t h e door. Stick h i m for w h a t she could o n a l i m o n y (her smile b r o a d e n e d ) — e v e r y penny. G o d k n o w s she was deserving, living with t h e little letch the way she h a d . Esther began l a u g h i n g softly b u t it h u r t , so she s t o p p e d . Those pains. Never w o u l d she forget those pains. No m a t t e r w h a t they told you a b o u t childbirth, it c o u l d n ' t be as bad. T h a t Dr. L a u t m a n n : s o m e schlemiel of a s u r g e o n he was. But that was typical; you m a r r y a third-rater, you travel t h i r d class. An intern walked by. Esther r e t u r n e d his smile, w a t c h e d h i m until he was g o n e . Tall, good h e a d of hair, nice springy walk. Next t i m e a r o u n d , a d o c t o r . Definitely. A surgeon; if possible, a specialist on t h e b r a i n . If you m a d e o n e t h o u s a n d for an operation, a n d you d i d five o p e r a t i o n s a day, a n d y o u w o r k e d five days a week, t h a t was . . . m i n k for little Esther, that's w h a t it was. A m i n k coat a n d a m i n k stole a n d a m i n k blanket. A m i n k blanket? Did people have such things? She s h r u g g e d . W h y not? Give o n e g o o d reason. It w o u l d supply w a r m t h ; it w o u l d last a n d last, so it really wasn't such an extravagance. No. In m a n y ways, it was sensible. Her s t o m a c h began to h u r t a n d she pressed d o w n w i t h h e r h a n d s . N o t s o b a d this t i m e . T h e worst was over. T h e g o o d days were c o m i n g up h a r d on t h e h o r i z o n . She h a d h e r looks, her good b r a i n ; that was plenty. F r o m n o w o n , n o t h i n g b u t doctors, early thirties at t h e youngest, maybe a little gray at t h e temples. T h e good days. F r o m n o w o n , n o t h i n g b u t good days. T h e future glist e n e d before her, colored b r i g h t m i n k . She felt good. For t h e first time since the S h r i m p h a d cast a blight on h e r life, she felt g o o d . No Sid, no kid, no n o t h i n g to r e m i n d h e r of t h e past. Take an a p a r t m e n t on the near N o r t h Side a n d let t h e suitors c o m e . She was a divorcee, n o w , a w o m a n of mystery as well as beauty. W h a t a c o m b i n a t i o n . Mystery a n d beauty. She felt wonderful. Really wonderful. Really incredibly fantastically unbelievably wonderful. So why, all of a s u d d e n , w a s she crying? T h e ex-papa danced a jig on t h e sidewalk in front of t h e hospital. It was late, five, six in t h e m o r n i n g ( w h o cared), a n d he was b r i m m i n g to t h e t o p with piss a n d vinegar. "Toot, toot, tootsie, goodbye," he sang, , b r e a k i n g into a little soft-shoe. (He was o n e helluva d a n c e r w h e n he 1 w a n t e d to be.) A cab cruised by a n d Sid whistled it dead, h o p p e d inside ; a n d s l a m m e d t h e d o o r b e h i n d h i m . To t h e cabbie's " W h e r e t o ? " Sid said j "Drive," a n d he settled himself in t h e back, c o n t e n t to w a t c h t h e dying j

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 147 m o o n over Lake Michigan. H o m e was probably the place to go ( w o u l d n ' t be so b a d with the Bitch gone) b u t w h o could sleep? T h e y drove along t h e lake, Sid whistling a little Gershwin, a little Kern, p u n c t u a t i n g t h e concert with occasional bursts of laughter. T h e t h o u g h t crossed his m i n d to go beat the shit o u t of M a n n i e for d o i n g a lousy job that was going to cost h i m a hospital bill, b u t was t o n i g h t a t i m e for vengeance? M a n n i e could pay the bill w h e n it c a m e (if he balked, a little p h o n e call to t h e cops), so why sweat? Sid's fingers d a n c e d across his knees, a n d Sid, h e e d i n g their call for action, directed t h e driver to t h e Loop, w h e r e he got o u t at Painter's, t h e best pool hall in t h e city, o p e n all night. O r d i n a r i l y Painter's was a little stiff for Sid, t h e sharks a little t o o tough, b u t t o n i g h t , his fingers told h i m , was no night to be chicken. So he m o u n t e d t h e inevitable steps, confident that he could kill any shark alive. Painter's was empty, or nearly so, a n d Sid grabbed a cue (first testing the weight, m a k i n g sure the balance was perfect), t h e n p r o c e e d e d to a table, w h e r e he hacked away like an amateur, whistling all t h e while. His act was g o o d e n o u g h to lure a shark, an old m a n with w a t e r y eyes a n d n o t m u c h hair, a n d after t h e usual pleasantries (Care for a game? Well, I'm n o t m u c h g o o d . Neither am I. Et cetera) they got d o w n to business. T h e old guy could shoot a n d in the d i m , low-ceilinged r o o m he seemed quite at h o m e as he m o v e d his tired b o n e s a r o u n d the green, b u t Sid panicked not. No reason to with his fingers d a n c i n g the way they were, a n d w h e n the watery eyes e m e r g e d the victor in t h e first clash at straight p o o l (they were b o t h t r y i n g to give it away) there followed r o u n d two of t h e chatter (Christ, I stink. N o , I was lucky. Shall we try it again? If you w a n t to. I w o u l d n ' t m i n d . You break. Here goes n o t h i n g ) a n d Sid w o n t h e second game (still for free) b u t by the fourth they h a d ten b u c k s riding (a pittance) a n d t h e old m a n w o n , so they d o u b l e d up to twenty a n d he w o n that too b u t w h e n it got to fifty bucks a game, Sid released his fingers a n d they w e n t to work. T h e y banked, they drew, they applied follow English, the t o u c h elegant, precise, caressing t h e cue with g e n u i n e devotion. True love always finds a way, and by t h e eighth g a m e Sid was up two h u n d r e d a n d r o a r i n g . T h e old m a n called for coffee, Sid for Scotch, a n d the night g i m p (they gotta be g i m p s — u n i o n regulation) r e t u r n e d w i t h their orders, getting a fiver from Sid for his pains. T h e old m a n , h y p e d by the caffeine, staged a little c o m e back, b u t Sid h u n g in there, erasing t h e Elder's earningsnvith a h o t streak °f his o w n , increasing t h e b a n k r o l l to two-fifty. "Last g a m e d o u b l e or nothing," Sid (ever the s p o r t s m a n ) said and the Elder n o d d e d , chalking bis cue, lifting his watery eyes ( m a y b e praying to H o p p e ) , sipping a fresh

148 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN p o t of tea (always change a losing g a m e ) . T h e preliminaries d o n e , they began. U n d e r pressure, the old guy acted like a colt, his h a n d s like rocks. He b r o k e , left Sid n o t h i n g , a n d Sid's r e t u r n safety enabled t h e geezer to r u n a quick seventeen balls before he played safe again. Again Sid was blanked a n d this t i m e the old m a n p o u n c e d on Sid's shot a n d r a n fourteen m o r e , m a k i n g it thirty-one to goose-egg. W h e n Sid's t u r n came, he h a d no shot except a wild b a n k the long way t h a t a genius couldn't m a k e five times o u t of ten, which, besides, if missed, o p e n e d the rack for slaughter. Sid talked to his fingers, inquired after their health, a n d when they s e e m e d s o u n d he h e a r d his voice saying "Eleven ball the long way," after which he t o o k a practice cruise with the pool stick, felt the need m a y b e of a t o u c h m o r e chalk, applied it, bent d o w n low over t h e table, sighted for just t h e p r o p e r angle, f o u n d it, stood up, smiled at t h e old guy, inhaled, held it a n d shot. T h e ball b a n k e d like it h a d eyes. T h e rack split o p e n a n d there he was, t h e o n e a n d only Super Sid, chuckling, smiling, m a k i n g g o o d swift chatter as his fingers fired ball after ball, t h e r u n growing from t e n to eighteen, t h e n thirty, forty-five, a n d w i t h five balls to go t h e old guy was reaching into a pocket a n d c o u n t i n g t h e bills, licking his t h u m b in o b v i o u s pain w i t h the d e p a r t u r e of each C n o t e . Sid polished off t h e last five, m a k i n g an unnecessary b a n k on t h e last ball, taking a big risk b u t w h a t was life w i t h o u t them? So there he was, on t h e streets again, five h u n d r e d nestled neatly in his right front pocket with t h e s u n p o u r i n g d o w n from all over, the t i m e t e n o'clock on a b e a u t y of a m o r n . Probably s o m e sleep w o u l d have been helpful b u t you can't o r d e r its arrival, a n d if he was high w h e n he left the hospital, n o w he was looking d o w n at the stratosphere. W i t h a wave of his finger he materialized a taxi a n d sat back h u m m i n g while they j o u r neyed to t h e Blackstone, a g o o d e n o u g h hotel which h o u s e d , along with b u s i n e s s m e n a n d rich old ladies, a legendary b l o n d e , s u p p o s e d l y French a n d definitely expensive, ordinarily far o u t of his reach b u t t o d a y his a r m s were infinite. He buzzed h e r from t h e lobby, tasting h e r w r a t h (he roused h e r from s l u m b e r ) , b u t she sweetened w h e n the subject reached dinero a n d falling victim to his appeal, invited h i m to visit. Supposedly she h a d (according to Pinky Katz, w h o h a d a rich cousin w h o h a d o n c e tasted of h e r c h a r m s ) great tits, a n d Sid, ever t h e connoisseur, licked his c h o p s d u r ing t h e u p w a r d ride, anticipating w h a t only m o n e y can buy, a n d w h e n he k n o c k e d a n d she answered he saw (she m e t h i m in a negligee) t h a t she was sufficiently top-heavy (slim in t h e waist t h o u g h — t h a t was good) to slake any appetite. T h e b l o n d e was big, m u c h taller t h a n he a n d probably

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 149 heavy, b u t h e was used t o t h a t , s o unafraid. T h e y got c o m f o r t a b l e with m i n i m u m of chatter, which suited Sid, a n d after a little financial exchange they set up h o u s e k e e p i n g . She was practiced b u t lacking in inspiration, devoid of vision, a n d Sid r o d e h e r deftly into s u b m i s s i o n w i t h o u t the expected kick. Her body, great from any distance, was lacking on contact; softened by too m u c h wear, no t o n e to the muscle, j u s t flesh piled decently e n o u g h , b u t flabby, n o t remotely as satisfying as Esther on her bad days, let alone the good. Still, as Sid dressed he k n e w it was m o n e y well s p e n t — t h e story s h o u l d be g o o d for m o n t h s if he doled it o u t d e cently to t h e droolers across t h e p o k e r table, so he n o t e d carefully t h e d e cor, t h e perfume, the color of t h e rug. As he h e a d e d for t h e d o o r , t h e stack a c c o m p a n i e d h i m , u r g i n g h i m a speedy r e t u r n (she k n e w a m a s t e r w h e n she saw o n e ) , a n d he h a d n o t t h e h e a r t to tell her she was over t h e hill, so he smiled a n d whacked h e r a good o n e on t h e fanny a n d they b o t h laughed l o u d as he departed, h e r p r o b a b l y for the sack to rest h e r weary flesh, he for t h e Palmer H o u s e , w h e r e he blew twenty-eight bucks for lunch (which wasn't easy), such was his hunger. Belching, Sid sauntered across the L o o p for a while, s t o p p i n g into Field's briefly for a silk s u m mer jacket, t h e n on again to Florsheim's, where a pair of black leather wing-tips s o o t h e d his feet. He h a d n o t slept, n o t really, in forty h o u r s or m o r e , b u t he was, if a n y t h i n g , even m o r e chipper t h a n earlier a n d he danced along the street in his wing-tips until he r e m e m b e r e d Esther in the hospital. aS

a

T h a t soured h i m . It was an u n h a p p y prospect, b u t a visit did seem required; so, g r u m bling, he taxied to Michael Reese, stopping outside to b u y a b u n c h of posies for his beloved. She was sitting up in b e d w h e n he got there. He h a n d e d h e r t h e flowers and received the barest of t h a n k s (gratitude for you!), b u t , u n d a u n t e d , he went on with the charade, kissing her dutifully on the cheek, t h e n sitting in a chair beside the bed, h o l d i n g her h a n d , t h r o w i n g her little kisses (what t h e hell, why not?). "Well," Sid said, " h o w are y o u ? " "Well," Esther answered, "we're fine." T h e r o o m , as hospital r o o m s go, was better t h a n nice, being light a n d almost (but n o t quite) cheerful a n d possessing two w i n d o w s overlooking the Illinois Central tracks and, b e y o n d t h e m , Lake Michigan. F r o m where he sat Sid could see the lake, i m m e n s e a n d solid blue save for t h e slits of white foam t u m b l i n g from t i m e to t i m e toward shore.

150 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N "Pretty fancy, d u m p l i n g , " Sid said, smiling at t h e spouse. She looked good, almost all right again, t h o u g h her face was stern. "Just like t h e Blackstone," a n d he allowed himself a solid laugh. A train b u m p e d by outside on the I.C. tracks a n d Sid followed its progress awhile before ret u r n i n g to the calm b l u e of the lake. "You get my p h o n e message? I called you to tell you I m i g h t be a little late. Business a p p o i n t m e n t at the Palmer House. Otherwise I w o u l d have been here a l o t — " "We're fine." " I ' m sure glad rying." He flashed a n d he sat gaping, t h e d u n c e cap, t h e

of that, Tootsie. I didn't go to sleep last night for worh e r a smile b u t it died w h e n he realized her m e a n i n g s u d d e n l y a fool, the last to get t h e joke, the wearer of ass. "We are?"

"We are." "How come?" "You got me h e r e in t i m e . Those things Dr. L a u t m a n n did to m e , they d i d n ' t have a c h a n c e to work." W h y was he so tired? W h e r e h a d it c o m e from? "A day or two rest h e r e a n d I can go." "Ah," Sid said. "Ah." He got up a n d m o v e d to t h e w i n d o w , staring at t h e blue, his h e a d resting against the cool p a n e . He closed his eyes, int e n d i n g a blink, b u t it felt so good he kept t h e m s h u t a while. H o w long h a d he been w i t h o u t sleep? Too long. Too long. F r o m s o m e w h e r e far beh i n d his eyes, a red ache started, complete w i t h its o w n little t h r o b . Sid pressed h a r d e r against t h e p a n e . " T h e baby is fine." " T h e baby is fine," Sid repeated. "You O.K.?" " T h e baby is fine," Sid said again. " C o m e away from t h e window." "Sure thing." He g r o p e d back to the chair, fighting t h e p a i n in his head. All for n o t h i n g . Everything for n o t h i n g . A n o t h e r train w e n t by. Sid stared. "Sid, I got to talk to y o u — " "Maybe we'll take a t r i p — " "I didn't sleep e i t h e r — " "A nice trip on a t r a i n — " "Sid, I've been d o i n g s o m e t h i n k i n g — " "A long t r i p while y o u recover. We'll sit b a c k a n d r e l a x — " " A r e y o u listening ." 7

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 151 "My head. It h u r t s so." "Sid, this is i m p o r t a n t . " "I can't hear so g o o d , my head h u r t s so, go o n , go on." "All those things I h a d in t h e beginning t h a t w e n t w r o n g with me? You r e m e m b e r h o w I screamed a n d threw up a n d everything?" "Sit over t h e wheels. Sure, we'll sit over t h e wheels. Take a long trip and sit over the wheels. H a v e a lot of fun, nice scenery, sit over the wheels, watch the nice scenery . . . " S o m e t h i n g in her face, s o m e look, m a d e h i m trail off, waiting, t r y i n g to concentrate on t h e red p a i n creeping up b e h i n d his eyes a n d t h e n t h e h u s h of the hospital was e n d e d a n d Esther was shouting: "Are we animals?" "No," Sid said, " n o - n o , " a n d t h e n t h e d u n c e w a s crying, weeping u n accustomed tears as he fell across her body, clutching at h e r h a n d s . "I faked, Sid! All t h o s e pains, the t h r o w i n g u p , I faked so you'd get a doctor!" "Butcher!" Sid cried. " H e was no doctor. I led y o u to t h e slaughterhouse a n d you'll never forgive m e ! " "I forgive!" "I forgive!" " D o you love m e , Sid?" "I d u n n o , I d u n n o . " "Me either. But we can't do a n y m o r e . We can't." " N o , we can't." "Sid, we're n o t animals," a n d she was crying too. " N o t us," he m a n a g e d as he crawled blindly up on h e r bed beside her and they w r a p p e d their a r m s tight a r o u n d , j o i n i n g their private griefs, rocking, keening, seeking forgiveness from their a n c i e n t gods, twin sinners, Sid a n d Esther, for a m o m e n t together, all bullshit gone. So they h a d this kid. F r o m the first he was different. Not that he d i d n ' t soak his diapers twice an h o u r ; n o t that he didn't cry; n o t that he d i d n ' t smile w h e n b o u n c e d or l a u g h w h e n poked or shriek w h e n tossed or wail w h e n startled or h u n g r y or wet or sleepy or afraid or alone; n o t t h a t he preferred P a b l u m to his m o t h e r ' s milk; n o t that he liked beets or t u r n i p s or spinach or lima b e a n s ; n o t that he didn't like s o u n d s , rattles or m u s i c boxes or voices t h a t w e n t "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" d u r i n g t h e day or "Rockabye, Baby" at d a r k ; n o t that he didn't

152 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN lift his h e a d to stare fascinated at t h e blank sides of his cradle or, w h e n he could roll over, at the s u n n y particles of dust floating softly in t h e air; n o t t h a t he d i d n ' t give endless i n s p e c t i o n to the soft p i n k skin on his h a n d s or, later, suck his sweet t h u m b ; n o t t h a t he didn't cry o u t in t h e night with t h e pain of teething or, w h e n he was able to crawl, g n a w passionately on table legs; n o t that he was able neatly to master the s p o o n or guide the c u p on its t w o - h a n d e d j o u r n e y from table to lip to table w i t h o u t occasional m i s h a p ; n o t that he d i d n ' t like to b o u n c e a n d catch a red r u b b e r ball or r u n or kick or j u m p up high or o p e n a d o o r or close a d o o r or snip n e w s p a p e r s with tiny scissors or skip or h o p or balance on o n e foot with o n e eye closed or climb u n a i d e d up long flights of stairs. W h a t m a d e h i m different was simply this: T h e child was impossibly beautiful. T h e boy's a p p e a r a n c e certainly pleased Sid, b u t it by no m e a n s surp r i s e d h i m . O n e of those t h i n g s was all it was, o n e of t h o s e remarkable father-son resemblances t h a t c r o p up from time to t i m e , k n o t t i n g two generations. O h , m a y b e t h e kid's hair was a little darker, m a y b e his eyes a little bigger a n d brighter, m a y b e t h e l i m b formation a spec i m p r o v e d here a n d there. But these were trivia, n o t h i n g m o r e — m i n o r i m p e d i m e n t s in a m a j o r thesis, that thesis b e i n g t h a t the kid was a c a r b o n of his old m a n , a m i n t replica, detail for perfect detail. A n d w h e n he t o o k t h e kid o u t for walks, s o m e t h i n g he did c o n t i n u a l l y — a n d without Esther tagging along if y o u d o n ' t m i n d , g u m m i n g things u p — w h e n h e t o o k t h e kid o u t , Sid b e a m e d . N o t just because of t h e c o m p l i m e n t s the kid received (complim e n t s which, he knew, were as m u c h for h i m as for t h e offspring); n o , it was t h e k i n d of c o m p l i m e n t , t h a t was what did it. W i t h m o s t kids, all you got from the gassing g r a n d m a s in the p a r k was " O h , isn't he cute?" or "My, h o w adorable," or " T h a t ' s a h a n d s o m e y o u n g m a n " — j u n k like that. But w h e n Sid strolled by w i t h Rudy, the old ladies always started to speak, b u t t h e n they stopped, l o o k i n g closer at the kid, up to t h e p a p a , back to t h e kid again, staring h a r d now, a n d after that they either n o d d e d or s h o o k their gray heads. W h i c h e v e r they did, Sid b e a m e d . Esther, for her part, was also pleased by the boy's a p p e a r a n c e . But by no m e a n s surprised. Astonished, yes; she was that, for in all h e r s h o r t life she h a d never seen a b o y w h o so resembled his m o t h e r . W h e n you p u s h encyclopedias d o o r to door, either y o u have good days or bad, no so-so's. On t h e eleventh of July, Sid m e t a n d c h a r m e d an overfed, education-starved Polish lady from Cottage Grove Avenue, leaving her h o u s e at two in t h e a f t e r n o o n w i t h the p r e l i m i n a r y p a p e r s signed

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 153 a n d sealed in his briefcase, t h e r e b y m a k i n g the eleventh of July o n e of the good ones. On t h e street, Sid w i p e d his b r o w a n d p o n d e r e d further c h a r m - s p r e a d i n g , b u t it was h o t a n d if there was o n e t h i n g he wasn't, it was a greedy pig, a n d o n e encyclopedia set per day was e n o u g h for any m a n . So he decided to quit early a n d go h o m e a n d take his almost fiveyear-old for a j a u n t t h r o u g h t h e n e i g h b o r h o o d . O n his way t o the a p a r t m e n t h e passed Solomon's Delicatessen. N o w he passed Solomon's m o r e t h a n occasionally a n d usually it wasn't so painful, especially in w i n t e r t i m e w h e n t h e d o o r was closed. But this was July, the d o o r was o p e n a n d as Sid a m b l e d by he was a m b u s h e d by the a r o m a of Solomon's c o r n e d beef. Sid paused, t o o k a step, s t o p p e d a n d a p p r o a c h e d t h e store w i n d o w . Inside it was busy as usual, stuffed with stuffed hausfraus buying goodies. Sid peered t h r o u g h t h e a r m y of salamis h a n g i n g at rigid attention, g u a r d i n g t h e s h o p w i n d o w , his b r i g h t eyes w a n d e r i n g from p a s t r a m i to t o n g u e to g o o d garlic pickle. Sid sighed. He h a d l o n g ago sworn that w h e n he finally struck gelt he was going to plug a movie star all night a n d eat at S o l o m o n ' s all day—a d o u b l e orgy. T h e a r o m a of c o r n e d beef was stronger n o w a n d Sid was terribly t e m p t e d to fight the m o b inside. But it was so expensive. A rapist, old m a n S o l o m o n was, a p a s t r a m i p e d d l e r w h o drove a Cadillac, w h o lived like a m e r c h a n t prince on Lake Shore Drive. T h e prices he charged! Sid scowled. Ridiculous. Unfair. Illegal. T h e o n e a n d only reason he got away with it was that somehow, t h r o u g h s o m e miracle of curing, he p r o d u c e d the absolutely finest c o r n e d beef t h e w o r l d h a d ever tasted. Someday, Sid told himself, s o m e d a y I'll be b o r e d with it. " W h a t ? " I'll say. "Solomon's corned beef again? Pitch it. Get rid of it a n d b r i n g me s o m e food? But that, alas, was for the future, a n d Sid, very m u c h , alas, in t h e present, stood riveted before t h e salami sentries, his stomach r u m b l i n g . W h a t he wanted was c o r n e d beef for supper. W h a t he needed was a reason to buy. He noted that t h e flow of fatsos was primarily o u t of t h e store, leaving it m o m e n t a r i l y less t h a n c r a m m e d , which m e a n t he s t o o d a g o o d c h a n c e of dashing to a n d away from t h e c o u n t e r w i t h o u t getting g r o u n d to d e a t h between t h e expansive corsets of t h e regular customers. But t h a t was no reason. He did have in his h o t pocket, however, sufficient m o n e y for a m o d e r a t e purchase. But simple possession was no reason either. H o l d !t, Sid t h o u g h t . H a d n ' t it b e e n a g o o d day? H a d n ' t t h e sweet Pole from Cottage Grove fallen victim to his charms? So wasn't t h a t reason e n o u g h for a little celebration? W h o could object to that? Sid t o o k a step forward. Esther could object to that. Sid took a step b a c k w a r d , h e a r i n g her unbell-like voice belting away—"Celebration? For w h a t a celebration?

154 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Just because you did y o u r j o b for o n c e in y o u r lazy life w h i c h every o t h e r m a n in t h e world does every day, that's why we s h o u l d go crazy in Solomon's, just because you did your job Fool. Fool!" Sid s h o o k his head. T h e r e was no reason for s u p p e r to c o m e from Solomon's, so he started to walk away, head d o w n , feet scuffing the sidewalk for six steps before he whirled a n d entered Valhalla, b u y i n g n o t only t o o m u c h c o r n e d beef b u t also cole slaw a n d a w h o l e loaf of thick d a r k rye a n d a b o a t l o a d of Russian dressing a n d half a d o z e n scented dills a n d three slabs of pineapple cheesecake. He spent every penny, Sid did, his conscience so clear you could see y o u r face in it. Because he h a d his reason. 7

T h e kid. T h a t was his reason. T h e kid loved c o r n e d beef. T h e y h a d b o t h discovered it s o m e weeks ago w h e n , o u t for l u n c h o n e day, Sid h a d given the b o y a nibble of his c o r n e d - b e e f sandwich a n d t h e b o y h a d lit up like a top. He loved it. He loved it a n d it wasn't even S o l o m o n ' s , just s o m e inferior j u n k from a r o u n d t h e corner. Well, Sid t h o u g h t as he h u r r i e d h o m e , a b r o w n paper b a g u n d e r a n a r m , tonight, m y son, t o n i g h t you d i n e in heaven. Esther was o u t w h e n he reached t h e a p a r t m e n t , so, after tenderly placing t h e b r o w n bag of treasures in t h e icebox, Sid crossed to t h e livingr o o m w i n d o w a n d o p e n e d it, p e e r i n g up to the t o p of t h e fire escape, l o o k i n g for his son. T h e kid s p e n t all of his t i m e there, every free second, alone at the t o p of the fire escape, b u t n o w he was n o t there. Sid cursed mildly. Esther h a d p r o b a b l y t a k e n h i m for a long walk. She was always d o i n g that, taking h i m for m a r a t h o n s , showing h i m off to s h o p k e e p e r s or t h e old ladies in the park. It wasn't g o o d for t h e boy, all t h a t walking, n o t t h a t Esther cared. O n e t h i n g y o u h a d to say for Esther: she was a lousy m o t h e r . It was just like her, t a k i n g t h e kid o u t t h e o n e day he got h o m e early. She probably p l a n n e d it t h a t way. She h a d a sixth sense, Esther did; she was a great depriver. Hell, Sid t h o u g h t , I w o u l d n ' t have taken h i m to any lousy park; I w o u l d have taken h i m to t h e zoo. But d o w n was d o w n a n d w h a t was the p o i n t of aggravating yourself? T h e a f t e r n o o n was his; he h a d to do s o m e t h i n g w i t h it. It was well after six before he got back from t h e p o o l r o o m . He h a d n ' t m e a n t to stay that late b u t a couple of y o u n g wiseacres t h o u g h t they could s h o o t pool a n d i t h a d t a k e n h i m that long t o s h o w t h e m t h e error of their ways. He closed t h e a p a r t m e n t d o o r a n d h u r r i e d to t h e kitchen, b u t w h e n he got there he s t o p p e d dead: Esther was frying chicken. "You're frying chicken?" Sid said. " I ' m frying chicken." "You're frying chicken?"

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 155 "Smart, my husband," Esther said, tapping her t e m p l e . " H e walks in and sees his wife frying chicken a n d before you can say Jack R o b i n s o n he's figured o u t she's frying chicken." "For d i n n e r ? " " N o , breakfast; I t h o u g h t we n e e d e d a change. Of course for dinner, fool." She flipped a thigh from o n e side to t h e other a n d t h e grease spat. Sid edged to a safe distance from the stove, shaking his h e a d as he saw t h e gravy, the peas, the m a s h e d potatoes. "I already b o u g h t dinner," he said. "You w h a t ? " "I already b o u g h t dinner. A special treat. It's in the icebox. D i d n ' t you even look in the icebox to see if I m i g h t have b o u g h t d i n n e r ? " "If I o p e n e d t h e icebox d o o r every time I t h o u g h t y o u m i g h t have b o u g h t dinner, the hinges w o u l d rust a n d fall off." She j a m m e d a long fork into a breast a n d t u r n e d it. "Ouch," she said, r u b b i n g t h e grease from her forearm. "Get o u t of my k i t c h e n . I can't concentrate w i t h y o u in my kitchen." "A special treat," Sid repeated. "You should have looked. C o r n e d beef and cole slaw a n d pickles a n d cheesecake. All from Solomon's." "Solomon's?" Esther shot h i m a look. " O n sale," Sid answered quickly. "Everything was on sale." "If you've b o u g h t it, you've b o u g h t it," Esther said. "We'll have it t o m o r r o w for lunch." "We'll have the chicken t o m o r r o w for lunch." " C o r n e d beef keeps. Chicken's no g o o d cold." "Chicken's no good cold? Chicken's no good cold? Are y o u crazy?" " D o n ' t shout. T h e b o y will hear you." She gestured t o w a r d the fire escape. "Chicken is delicious cold!" " I said d o n ' t shout." "Chicken is delicious cold," Sid said. "And we'll have it t o m o r r o w for lunch. Just because you were t o o s t u p i d to look in t h e i c e b o x — " " D o n ' t argue with me," Esther said. " W h o ' s arguing? I'm telling." " T h a t stuff from Solomon's isn't healthy. No good for a g r o w i n g boy." "Chicken fried in grease is so healthy? Potatoes are so g o o d for you? I notice t h e Irish are c o n q u e r i n g t h e world, they're so healthy." " T h e b o y likes chicken." "You like chicken." "And you hate c o r n e d beef, I suppose."

156 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I b o u g h t it for t h e boy." " W h o am I c o o k i n g this for?" " T h e b o y loves c o r n e d beef." "He's never even had c o r n e d beef." " T h a t ' s a lie a n d he loves it a n d he's eating it for supper." "He's having chicken for supper because he loves chicken." " C o r n e d beef m o r e . I k n o w my son." "You k n o w n o t h i n g a b o u t y o u r son. He prefers chicken." " C o r n e d beef." "Chicken." " C o r n e d beef!" "Chicken!" "Corned—" " C h i c k e n — chicken!" "—beef!" "Rudy," Sid called o u t t h e window. "Yes, Father." "Supper," a n d he w a t c h e d as t h e child n o d d e d , rose from his seated perch at the t o p of t h e fire escape a n d raced d o w n t h e steps to t h e apartm e n t . D u c k i n g his d a r k head, the tiny creature slipped t h r o u g h the window, landing silently on t h e fraying rug, clean p a l m s exposed to his m o t h e r ' s inspection even before she said " H a n d s ? " O r d i n a r i l y w h e n he beat h e r she smiled. Tonight she did not. "Sit," Esther said. T h e child a p p r o a c h e d t h e d i n i n g table a n d s t o p p e d , staring at the serving plates filled w i t h chicken and corned beef a n d m a s h e d potatoes a n d cole slaw a n d gravy a n d Russian dressing a n d peas a n d dill pickles a n d pineapple cheesecake a n d chocolate fudge cake t h a t his m o t h e r had m a d e early in the afternoon. T h e b o y stared at t h e table, which was small, so t h a t n o n e of the serving plates was lying fully fiat b u t instead tilted a n d balanced against each other, barely leaving r o o m for t h e three clean plates from which they w o u l d eat. All t h e plates were c r a m m e d on t o p of his m o t h e r ' s best tablecloth, beautiful a n d white, w i t h delicate lace edges. T h e b o y stared at all this for a time, t h e n quickly looked up for his parents' eyes. "A feast, isn't it, R u d y ? " Sid said. The boy nodded. "All for you," Esther said. T h e b o y smiled.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 157 "Sit d o w n , sit d o w n , " Sid said. "Everybody sit d o w n . " Everybody sat d o w n . " N o w listen, Rudy." T h e boy looked at his father. " T h e r e ' s two different kinds of meals here; m a y b e they won't go together so good. So you pick whichever you w a n t . But first—" "Let h i m alone," Esther said. "First just a w o r d a b o u t the corned beef. It's from Solomon's, Rudy. You r e m e m b e r me talking to you about Solomon's, h o w they m a k e the finest corned beef in t h e world, let alone Chicago? Well, I b o u g h t it today for you, because you'll r e m e m b e r your first taste of Solomon's corned beef all your life, I p r o m i s e you, b u t if you'd r a t h e r have y o u r m o t h e r ' s chicken, I won't m i n d a bit. Of course, you've had y o u r m o t h e r ' s chicken m a n y times before a n d you've never h a d any of S o l o m o n ' s c o r n e d beef— you've only heard me speak a b o u t i t — b u t like I said, eat w h a t y o u want, I d o n ' t care o n e way or t h e other." "Eat the chicken, Rudy," Esther said. " T h e boy can m a k e u p his o w n mind." "You call w h a t you just said letting h i m m a k e up his o w n m i n d ? " "Rudy, I didn't t r y a n d influence you just now, d i d I?" T h e b o y s h o o k his h e a d . " R u d y a n d m e , we u n d e r s t a n d each other," Sid said, a n d he forked s o m e corned beef o n t o his plate. "I d o n ' t k n o w a b o u t a n y b o d y else, b u t I'm hungry." Esther reached for a piece of chicken a n d p u t it on h e r plate. "I love fried chicken," she said. "And this looks awfully g o o d , if I do say so m y — " "Oh," Sid i n t e r r u p t e d . " O h , o h , o h , this c o r n e d beef. O h . O h , my G o d , that old m a n S o l o m o n is a genius, oh, oh, it melts in y o u r m o u t h like a m brosia, it's so t e n d e r a n d — " " M y best chicken skin," Esther cut in. "Just so crisp." " I ' m in heaven," Sid said. "Eat, Rudy." "Yes, Rudy, eat." T h e boy hesitated, his h a n d hovering first over t h e corned-beef platter, t h e n over the chicken, back a n d forth, back a n d forth, a n d then it hawked d o w n , plucking a chicken leg. Esther started to smile b u t stopped as she saw her son's o t h e r h a n d gathering up c o r n e d beef, the two h a n d s depositing their loads simultaneously o n t o his plate. Isolating a piece of meat, a piece of fowl, he stuck t h e m b o t h o n t o his fork a n d gobbled t h e m d o w n , smiling at his p a r e n t s briefly before reaching o u t for the cole slaw and the mashed p o t a t o e s a n d t h e pickles a n d t h e gravy, a n d w h e n his plate was heaped high he began to eat.

158 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " N o t so fast, n o t so fast," Esther said as he d o w n e d a spoonful of p o t a t o e s , an equal helping of cole slaw. " T h a t c o r n e d beef's so g o o d it b r i n g s tears to your eyes, h u h , Rudy?" T h e b o y ate a piece of c o r n e d beef a n d there were tears in his eyes. "You like my chicken?" Esther said. "It's... all... so..." " D o n ' t talk with y o u r m o u t h full," Esther said. "Wonderful," the boy m u m b l e d . "Wonderful." A n d he c o n t i n u e d to eat, gulping everything d o w n as fast as he could, all t h e food, h o t a n d cold, b l a n d a n d sharp, staring at his plate, a n d when it was e m p t y he looked up at his parents, saw their eyes, hesitated a m o m e n t before reaching o u t , filling his plate again, filling it with everything, everything. "It's my best chicken, isn't it, R u d y ? " T h e b o y n o d d e d , c o n t i n u i n g t o eat. "You ever taste corned beef like t h a t before, Rudy?" T h e b o y s h o o k his head, eating relentlessly. "It looks like any o t h e r c o r n e d beef," Esther said. "Yeah, well, it ain't." Esther reached for a piece of t h e m e a t a n d nibbled. "It is good," she said. "I've got to a d m i t it." "Chicken's perfect," Sid said, m u n c h i n g on a wing. T h e child closed his eyes briefly, c o n t i n u i n g to eat. He o p e n e d his eyes. His plate was still half full, so he t o o k a deep breath a n d d u g in, forking t h e stuff into his m o u t h until finally, finally, his plate was e m p t y a n d t h e n he closed his eyes again. " S o m e meal," Sid said. "Rudy, clear the table," Esther said, a n d t h e child s t o o d a n d carried the plates to the kitchen. It t o o k h i m m a n y trips, b u t w h e n he was d o n e t h e table was e m p t y except for t h e chocolate fudge cake a n d t h e p i n e apple cheese. Esther cut a piece of fudge cake a n d p u t it on his plate. " Try the cheesecake, Rudy," Sid said. "Later, if he's still hungry," Esther said. " T h e cheesecake is a specialty of Solomon's. Cut h i m a piece of cheesecake." " G o o n , Rudy," Esther said. "Eat." "I'll cut h i m a piece of cheesecake," Sid said, a n d he g r a b b e d for the knife. " R u d y loves my fudge cake." Esther pulled the knife o u t of Sid's reach. " S o m e people love junk." "Are you saying my fudge cake tastes like j u n k ? "

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 159 "I d o n ' t know. W h a t does j u n k taste like?" " J u n k tastes like junk." " S o u n d s like y o u r fudge cake." " W h a t d o you know? W h a t d o y o u know? You d o n ' t k n o w a n y t h i n g except h o w to ruin a meal. I fixed this m a r v e l o u s meal a n d y o u r u i n e d it." " W h o said it was m a r v e l o u s ? " "You did! You said the chicken was perfect. A n d so is my fudge cake. I m a k e t h e best fudge cake! N o b o d y m a k e s fudge cake like I m a k e fudge cake! I'll stack my fudge cake up against any fudge cake in the—Rudy, not on the tablecloth!" Too late, t h e child clapped b o t h h a n d s t o his m o u t h , j u m p e d u p , r a n to t h e b a t h r o o m a n d d r o p p e d to his knees over the toilet, s h u t t i n g t h e door. T h e toilet flushed, b u t t h e d o o r d i d n o t immediately o p e n . Several m i n u t e s passed. T h e n there c a m e a s o u n d from t h e b a t h r o o m , t h e toilet flushed again, a n d t h e n slowly, slowly, t h e d o o r o p e n e d . " M y m o t h e r ' s best tablecloth," Esther keened, s p o n g i n g at it feebly, shaking h e r head. " M y m o t h e r ' s best tablecloth. An h e i r l o o m ruined." T h e child t o o k a step t o w a r d t h e m . "It's all over t h e fudge cake," Sid said. " T h e cheesecake t o o . Both of them." A n o t h e r step forward. " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with you, what's t h e m a t t e r w i t h y o u ? " Esther glared. "Are you an animal? A pig? You can't eat w i t h o u t getting sick all over m y m o t h e r ' s best tablecloth? W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r with y o u ? " " I ' m . . . sorry," the boy said. For a m i n u t e h e shook. T h e n h e was gone, whirling a n d gone, o u t t h e w i n d o w a n d u p the f i r e escape, g o n e . " W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r with y o u ? " Esther s h o u t e d after h i m , staring at the w i n d o w a m o m e n t before t h r o w i n g the sponge o n t o t h e tablecloth, s l u m p i n g back in her chair, h e r a r m s clasped b e h i n d her, breasts j u t t i n g . " W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r with him? W h a t is it with t h a t boy?" "Easy, Esther." "I'll talk h o w I w a n t to. He can't hear me." Yes, I can. Yes, I can. Every w o r d . " D o n e is d o n e , Tootsie." " L o o k at this tablecloth. M a d e by h a n d . Priceless. Look at it." "It d o n ' t exactly whet t h e appetite." "I just d o n ' t k n o w w h a t it is w i t h t h a t boy. D o n ' t I try?" "Don't we both?" "Yes. Both. A n d look at t h e t h a n k s we get. J u s t . . . d o n ' t do that." "Don't do what?"

160 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Sid, I m e a n it, S i d — " "That's my name." " T h e blinds are open." "Not in the bedroom." " I ' m just t o o u p s e t — d o n ' t doooo that." Laughter. "Dessert. I'm still h u n g r y . I w a n t a piece of Esther. Beats cheesecake all hollow." Laughter. " C o m e o n , Tootsie." "First let me clean this up." " T h e kid m a d e t h e mess. Let h i m clean it." " T h e kid. Chicken a n d c o r n e d beef a n d look w h a t h e d o e s w i t h it. Spoiled, that's all he is. H o w m a n y kids get chicken a n d c o r n e d beef? H a s h he'll get from n o w o n . H a s h he u n d e r s t a n d s . That's all he deserves, hash." O u t s i d e a n d above t h e m , t h e tiny face n o d d e d , m o u t h o p e n , eyes closed, yes, yes. " I ' m terribly hungry," Sid said. "Faint from hunger. D a n g e r o u s l y weak." " N o t that weak, I hope." " N e v e r that weak, Tootsie." Laughter. Fabric. T h e n a door. Silence. T h e d a r k child clung to t h e fire escape. His tiny h a n d s g r i p p e d t h e r u s t e d red bars; his feet dangled in space. Pushing his h e a d t h r o u g h t h e bars, he stared at his feet a n d , b e l o w t h e m , t h e n a r r o w back alley. Slowly at first he began to kick his feet, a n d w h e n t h e y were r u n n i n g he raised his eyes, challenging t h e setting s u n . Eventually, of course, his legs tired a n d t h e sun forced h i m to look away. T h e b o y fell back t h e n , lying flat, facing t h e gentler sky. He did n o t k n o w t h e w o r d "unworthy," b u t t h e feeling was familiar. After six years of being his grandfather, Old Turk o n e day b e c a m e his friend. T h e t r a n s f o r m a t i o n was b r o u g h t a b o u t primarily, if indirectly, by t h e depression, which did n o t exactly balloon the door-to-door-encyclopediaselling business. N o r was it m u c h help to the d o o r - t o - d o o r - i m p o r t e d c h i n a - m a r k e d - d o w n - t o - o n e - t e n t h - i t s - a c t u a l - v a l u e profession, w h i c h Sid tried next. He was still a great salesman, i n c o m p a r a b l e as always, b u t t h e

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 161 g o d d a m Republicans h a d loused u p t h e g o d d a m e c o n o m y ( p r o b a b l y n o t with his specific r u i n in m i n d , b u t he wasn't 100 percent s u r e even of that, Republicans being w h a t t h e y were) a n d people just weren't buying. No m o n e y ; was it his fault? D i d n ' t he t r y everything? Refrigerators after china, magazines after refrigerators, n e w s p a p e r subscriptions after m a g a zines? (Get a job, Esther b e r a t e d , b u t w h a t job? Behind a desk, b e h i n d a counter? Strangulation. Even if he could have found o n e , he w o u l d have said nix. He was a salesman, a d o o r - t o - d o o r executive, best in t h e west, and there was m o n e y in it t o o if t h e g o d d a m Republicans h a d n ' t etc.) After unsuccessfully p u s h i n g n e w s p a p e r s , Sid retired, because he h a d his pride, a n d besides that, if he w o r k e d full-time, pool playing could m o r e t h a n pay t h e bills. So he t o o k t h e little cash r e m a i n i n g a n d he started playing p o o l , nice a n d easy, no big p l u n g i n g , a few bucks at a t i m e . But his t o u c h was gone! Sid f o u n d it difficult to believe. Always b e fore, w h e n it h a d been for laughs, he h a d h a d it, right there, right in t h e sensitive tips of his fingers, b u t now, w h e n it was for a lousy loaf of bread, he couldn't sink a six ball in a b u s h e l basket. Until he was totally b r o k e , he always m a n a g e d to answer Esther's s h o u t s with shouts of his o w n , coupled w i t h assurances that he was on t h e trail of s o m e t h i n g h o t a n d t o m o r r o w would, indeed, be a n o t h e r day, b u t once his last pennies, h a d fled, he h a d no antidote for h e r v e n o m , sitting head bowed, d u m b , taking it like w h a t was left of a m a n , a n d w h e n O l d Turk's offer of gratis r o o m a n d b o a r d was voiced, Sid could do n o t h i n g b u t s u b m i t silently, all t h e t i m e trying to i n c o r p o r a t e t h e s o m e w h a t sullied image of a failure forced to living off t h e dole into t h e larger t r u e r picture of the Super Sid he k n e w himself to be. T h e boy, w h e n informed of t h e c o m i n g shift, was t r o u b l e d o n l y until he r e m e m b e r e d that Old Turk's a p a r t m e n t also possessed a fire escape. After that he d i d n ' t really care. T h e y m a d e the m o v e o n e bitter s p r i n g m o r n i n g , O l d T u r k delaying the o p e n i n g of his deli to c o m e over a n d help. He c a m e in a small truck, on s h o r t - t e r m loan from R o s e n h e i m , an old a n d s o m e t i m e friend w h o ran a Chinese l a u n d r y d o w n t h e block from the delicatessen. T h e y m o v e d with a m i n i m u m of chitchat, Esther p o i n t i n g here, p o i n t i n g there, Sid and t h e old m a n gathering up whatever it was she indicated, lugging t h e stuff downstairs to the truck. T h e b o y did what he could to help, t h e n , just before t h e final journey, he slipped o u t the window, up to his rusted place, standing in the cold, l o o k i n g d o w n a n d a r o u n d a n d all over until Old Turk stuck his head o u t t h e w i n d o w a n d said, " C o m e . Mine's got a

162 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

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better view." T h e b o y joined t h e old m a n , t h e two j o i n e d t h e o t h e r s , the four squeezed wordlessly into t h e t r u c k a n d Rosenheim's m o t o r t o o k care of t h e rest. W h e n they reached t h e deli, t h e y u n l o a d e d o n t o t h e sidewalk, Old T u r k r e t u r n i n g t h e t r u c k to b e h i n d t h e laundry, while t h e o t h e r s b e g a n to trek t h e belongings u p t o t h e s e c o n d floor. T h e old m a n rejoined t h e m , helped t h e m finish t h e chore, t h e n said, "Welcome, m a k e yourself at h o m e , excuse m e " a n d h u r r i e d d o w n s t a i r s to o p e n the store. Sid carried a suitcase i n t o t h e b e d r o o m a n d b e g a n t o u n p a c k , g r a b b i n g t w o h a n g e r s o f p a n t s , o p e n i n g a d o o r to h a n g t h e m u p . " T h a t ' s a closet?" Sid said, p o i n t ing. "That?" " S h u t up," Esther said. "Six handkerchiefs w o u l d fill it. That's n o t a closet, it's a crack in the wall." "It will h o l d o u r clothes," Esther said. "And shut up." " M y w a r d r o b e it m i g h t . Your w a r d r o b e w o u l d strain t h e Normandie. If I h a d half t h e m o n e y I've s p e n t on y o u r c l o t h e s — " "You'd lose it at pool. My father gave us his r o o m . His r o o m . He's sharing t h e living r o o m w i t h t h e b o y s o w e can h a v e — " " T h e living room's bigger," Sid said. "He's no fool, t h a t cocker" " W h a t ' s lower t h a n c o n t e m p t , I w o n d e r ? Whatever it is, that's w h a t I feel for you." Sid t u r n e d away from her, m u m b l i n g , " W h y d'ya gotta say t h i n g s like t h a t for?" " I speak what's o n m y m i n d . " "If t h a t were t h e case," Sid said, whirling back in t r i u m p h , " y o u w o u l d have n o t h i n g to say a n d w o u l d n ' t t h a t be a blessing?" " H o w does it feel to be a failure?" Sid t u r n e d away again, s l u m p i n g or to t h e bed, t h e h a n g e r s of clothes w r i n k l e d across his lap. "I can't live in a place like this, Esther." "You're talking a b o u t my h o m e , Failure. I was b r o u g h t up here." " D o n ' t say that w o r d a n y m o r e . " "There's w o r k to be d o n e , Failure. Do it." " I ' m used to better things." " T h e world's only Jewish m a h a r a j a h , that's you." "Esther, it m a y c o m e as a s u r p r i s e to you b u t you're getting to me." " N o t only a failure, b u t sensitive yet. My cup r u n n e t h over." "Bitch!" "Bast—Rudy? Rudy, darling?" "Yes" from the living r o o m .

I

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 163 "Go d o w n a n d see if you can h e l p y o u r grandfather in t h e store, will you do t h a t ? " "Yes." T h e a p a r t m e n t d o o r closed. "Bastard!" T h e b o y h e a r d the w o r d t h r o u g h t h e door, a n d the w o r d s t h a t followed too, b u t they faded as he raced d o w n the stairs to t h e store. Old Turk was sitting in his chair by t h e pickle barrel, reading a thick b o o k . He held the b o o k in his lap, a n d his chin was d r o p p e d o n t o his chest, so t h a t as he read he looked as if he were using his gigantic nose as a pointer. " C a n I h e l p ? " the b o y said. Old Turk lifted his nose, a i m i n g it first at t h e boy, t h e n slowly a r o u n d the e m p t y store. " T h a n k you," he said. " B u t I t h i n k I can h a n d l e things." " M o t h e r sent me d o w n to see if I could help." Old Turk said n o t h i n g . " T h e y ' r e very busy unpacking." Old Turk n o d d e d , a n d for a m o m e n t they listened to t h e muffled shouts from the r o o m directly above. "Yes. I can hear." T h e b o y said n o t h i n g . Old Turk d r o p p e d his nose a n d began to read. " M o t h e r sent me d o w n to see if I could help." T h e old m a n pulled a t o o t h p i c k from b e h i n d his ear a n d d r o p p e d it into t h e b o o k , m a r k i n g his place. T h e n he closed the b o o k , resting b o t h elbows on it. "We could talk if y o u like. T h a t m i g h t be considered h e l p ing; it w o u l d pass the time." T h e b o y said n o t h i n g . "I s o m e h o w feel that that idea doesn't thrill you." "No—" "Please." A n d Old Turk raised a finger. "I u n d e r s t a n d . W h e n we talk, I do all t h e talking. But that is as it s h o u l d be. I'm old. It's my right. W h e n you are old, t h e n you can do all t h e talking." He picked up t h e thick b o o k , holding it o u t a m o m e n t before setting it on t h e counter. "Philosophy," he said. "Are you knowledgeable on t h e subject?" " I d o n ' t understand." " N e i t h e r do I, a n d I am very knowledgeable on the subject. P h i l o s o phy is w h a t you study w h e n you desire to increase your i g n o r a n c e . W h y aren't you o u t on t h e fire escape?" "It's very cold." Yes. So it is. Sad for you, joy for t h e coal man." T h e b o y stared at the w o o d e n floor, standing on tiptoe, m o v i n g his feet a little this way, a little that, avoiding the cracks.

164 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Since there is little in t h e w a y of help at ihe present, I release you." T h e b o y c o n t i n u e d to avoid t h e cracks. "You m a y go," Old Turk said. "Yes." But he did n o t m o v e . "I see," the old m a n said. " W h e r e will you go? Upstairs is 'unpacking,' o u t s i d e is cold, here an old m a n jabbers." He sighed. "At best, an u n a p p e tizing selection. But p e r h a p s if t h e old m a n quieted, that, at least, w o u l d be s o m e t h i n g . You could go read labels a n d p r e t e n d you were alone. I reco m m e n d t h e t i n n e d fish. T h e y s w i m here from all over the w o r l d , a lesson in geography." He p o i n t e d to a far corner. "Read in peace. T h e old m a n is shut." T h e b o y m o v e d to t h e indicated c o r n e r a n d sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the shelves. " O n e t h i n g more," t h e old m a n said. The boy turned. "A pledge, a p r o m i s e , as G o d is my witness w h a t I have to say is so." T h e boy waited. "I w a n t n o t h i n g from you." T h e b o y stayed by the shelves until it was t i m e for l u n c h . T h e n t h e old m a n m a d e sandwiches a n d t h e b o y carried t h e m upstairs, leaving Old T u r k to m u n c h alone by t h e pickle barrel. T h e b o y entered t h e quiet a p a r t m e n t a n d p u t the sandwiches on the small dining table. His father w a s sitting on t h e sofa, l o o k i n g o u t t h e w i n d o w ; his m o t h e r was lying d o w n in t h e b e d r o o m , looking at t h e walls. "Food," he said to his father, a n d again " F o o d " to his m o t h e r , a n d t h e n he sat d o w n at t h e table to wait. He was very h u n g r y b u t they d i d n o t c o m e . "Food," he repeated to his father, w h o still sat across the r o o m , still staring o u t the w i n d o w . T h e b o y reached for a sandwich, salami on d a r k rye. He waited a m o m e n t longer, t h e n nibbled at the sandwich. It was delicious a n d he tried to wait s o m e m o r e b u t he couldn't, so he t o o k a big bite, t h e n another, a n d by the t i m e his p a r e n t s got to t h e table he w a s d o n e eating. Sid picked up a salami s a n d w i c h a n d looked at it. "You call this food?" he said. " I ' m all d o n e , may I go?" t h e b o y said. "Go," Sid said. "Stay," from his mother. "If I'd said stay, you w o u l d a said go, right?" " I ' m n o t talking to you," Esther said. " H o w I only wish that were true," Sid said.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 165 " M a y I please?" t h e b o y said. "Sure, kid, sure, Rudy. I'm y o u r father a n d I say you can go." "Yes, Rudy, go before you catch whatever he's got." "Are you saying I'm diseased?" " I ' m n o t talking to you." T h e b o y d a r t e d for the fire escape b u t as he o p e n e d t h e w i n d o w he started to shiver at the cold air a n d w h e n his father shouted, "You w a n t to freeze us all? Close the w i n d o w ! " it was already shut. T h e b o y crossed the r o o m to the front d o o r a n d s k i p p e d d o w n the stairs into t h e store. " G o o d salami," he said to his grandfather, w h o sat, as before, r e a d i n g by the pickle barrel. T h e old m a n n o d d e d with grace a n d t h e b o y sat d o w n again on t h e floor in front of t h e t i n n e d fish. A few m i n u t e s later he h e a r d a s o u n d , so he t u r n e d to see O l d T u r k d e v o u r i n g a dill. T h e old m a n caught t h e t u r n a n d p o i n t e d t o t h e barrel a n d the b o y n o d d e d , s o Turk reached d o w n for a pickle, discarding several before m a k i n g a selection, then t h r e w his choice e n d over e n d across t h e store. It was n o t a perfect toss, t o o high, b u t the b o y reached u p with o n e h a n d a n d m a d e t h e catch. " I n my y o u t h I was m o r e accurate." "It wasn't a b a d throw." " T h a n k you." H e r e t u r n e d t o his b o o k . T h e b o y began to eat t h e crisp pickle, taking little bites. " T h e y ' r e that interesting, t h e labels?" Old Turk said later w h e n t h e pickle was gone. "What?" " C a n y o u read?" "Yes. Of course I can read." He picked up a tin. " T h i s is salmon." "Almost." "It isn't s a l m o n ? " " T u n a fish. But they're very close." " O h , of course. Look." He p o i n t e d to t h e label. " T u n a . . . fish. I w o n der w h y I said salmon." "Slip of the t o n g u e . Everyone is p r o n e . " "Tuna . . . f i s h . " " T h a t is correct," a n d he r e t u r n e d to his b o o k . "I can't exactly read," t h e b o y said t h e n . "But the labels are very Pretty." "Beautiful," the old m a n agreed. "Sardine labels—there, two stacks to the left—they're my favorite. G e n u i n e works of art." " T h e y are nice. But I t h i n k I like t h e t u n a . . . fish better."

166 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You m a y well be right. Taste is a peculiar thing. S o m e p e o p l e prefer t h e s a l m o n — t h e stack in b e t w e e n — t h e s a l m o n labels to either." " O h , I d o n ' t t h i n k so," t h e b o y said. " N o t the s a l m o n labels. T h e t u n a is m u c h prettier. T h e sardine too." He b r o u g h t a sardine tin close to his face a n d stared at it. "Maybe t h e sardine is the prettiest after all." " T h e t u n a is certainly lovely. If I were forced to choose I t h i n k — " A n d he stopped as a s u d d e n b u r s t of screaming c a m e from above. T h e old m a n s h o o k his head. " T h e y ' r e at it again?" "At w h a t ? " "You've got to listen to t h a t every day?" "Listen to w h a t ? " " N o t h i n g , " the old m a n said, a n d h e picked u p his b o o k . " N o t h i n g . But it can't be m u c h fun." " N o , " t h e boy said, "it isn't m u c h fun." T h e next day was cold, so after breakfast the b o y left t h e a p a r t m e n t a n d w e n t downstairs. E n t e r i n g t h e store, h e a p p r o a c h e d t h e pickle barrel a n d stopped. Old Turk looked up from his book. T h e b o y n o d d e d . T h e old m a n n o d d e d . T h e n t h e b o y m o v e d t o the c a n n e d - s o u p section a n d sat d o w n . After a m o m e n t he picked up a can a n d held it u p . " T h i s is . . . ?" Old Turk sat forward, s q u i n t i n g . "Bean," he said finally. "Bean," the b o y repeated, staring at t h e letters on t h e can. "Beeen n n n n . B-e-a-n. Bean." "Last night, h o w was m y s n o r i n g ? " "You snore very well." "I m e a n t , did I keep you awake?" "I wasn't really tired. This is . . . ?" "Pea. You are given to rolling a r o u n d . " "I am? Pea. I'm sorry. P-e-a. Pea soup." "Forgiven. I snore, you roll, s o m e gnash; w h o a m o n g s t us can lay claim to perfection?" " W h a t does that m e a n ? " "It m e a n s that i f you j u m p u p a n d d o w n long e n o u g h , eventually you'll smell. G o o d m o r n i n g , M r s . Feldman." He smiled at t h e large lady e n t e r i n g t h e store. " G o o d m o r n i n g , Mr. Turk." " T h e little Feldmans?" "Bigger." "As it should be."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 167 " T h r e e q u a r t s milk, a loaf of rye a n d a p o u n d of y o u r g o o d Swiss cheese." "A tasty order," t h e old m a n said, leaving his beloved chair. He set t h e milk on the c o u n t e r a n d was going for t h e cheese w h e n a can of s o u p floated into view above a shelf of appetizers. "Beef," Turk said. " W h a t ? " M r s . F e l d m a n said. "Beef," c a m e a voice. M r s . F e l d m a n peeked over t h e appetizers. " W h o ? " she w h i s p e r e d . Old Turk shrugged. "A stray," he replied. "Either a small b o y or a midget. Backwards in either case." "B-e-e-f. Beef." "All he does is read s o u p labels. I checked t h e s y m p t o m in a medical text. T h e r e is a disease. Rare. Cogito ergo sum is t h e Latin n a m e . In English it's called D o u b l e Stupidity." Was t h a t a laugh? F r o m b e h i n d t h e shelf of appetizers? T h e old m a n listened. T h e r e was n o m o r e s o u n d . T h e old m a n sighed. " I ' m n o t hungry," t h e b o y said as O l d Turk finished m a k i n g t h e seco n d sandwich. "I'll just take t h o s e u p t o t h e m a n d c o m e o n b a c k d o w n . " Old Turk w r a p p e d t h e s a n d w i c h e s in a paper n a p k i n , o p e n e d two bottles of celery tonic a n d p u s h e d t h e m across the c o u n t e r to t h e boy. " W h a t will y o u r m o t h e r say a b o u t y o u r n o t eating?" "She w o n ' t mind," t h e b o y said, a n d he cradled t h e food in his a r m s and h u r r i e d up the stairs to t h e a p a r t m e n t . His father was in t h e living r o o m playing solitaire. "Lunch," t h e b o y said, a n d he set t h e food d o w n . His m o t h e r c a m e o u t from t h e b e d r o o m . "Lunch," h e repeated. She a p p r o a c h e d the table. " O n l y two sandwiches?" "I already ate," t h e b o y said. "Downstairs." His s t o m a c h started rumbling. " W h y are y o u c o u g h i n g like t h a t ? " his m o t h e r said. "Is it t o o cold for you in t h e store?" " F r o g i n m y throat," a n d h e t u r n e d for the door. " I ' m h e l p i n g G r a n d father. I've got to go now. Goodbye." " D o n ' t w o r k t o o hard," his m o t h e r called after h i m as he skipped on d o w n t h e stairs. T h e old m a n was sitting in his w o o d e n -chair, eating a sandwich. T h e b o y sat d o w n by t h e c a n n e d soups. "Chicken noodle," the old m a n said a m o m e n t later. "Chicken noodle," the b o y repeated. " C a m p b e l l soups, n o t only are t h e y tasty, they're educational." " C o u l d I ask you a q u e s t i o n ? "

168 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Ask me a question." " I n t h e m e a t counter? I w o n d e r w h a t do you call w h a t ' s b e t w e e n the salami a n d t h e tongue." " T h i s , from a Jewish boy? C o r n e d beef. In s o m e c o m m u n i t i e s you can be ostracized for such an inquiry." "I wonder, is it any g o o d ? " "Taste for yourself," a n d he s t o o d u p , slicing a piece of m e a t . T h e boy approached, t o o k t h e m e a t a n d ate it. T h e n he s h o o k his head. "What's the matter?" "Well, you just can't tell a b o u t c o r n e d beef unless there's bread a r o u n d it." " W i s d o m , " the old m a n said, a n d h e cut s o m e m o r e m e a t a n d two slices of d a r k rye bread. "I have h a d c o r n e d beef from S o l o m o n ' s . I w o n d e r is y o u r s as g o o d ? " "I await y o u r decision." T h e boy bit into the s a n d w i c h . " N o , " he said. " S o l o m o n ' s is better." "You have just," the old m a n said, " h u r t my feelings." "Of course, I'm n o t hungry," t h e b o y said quickly. " T h a t has a lot to do w i t h it. Probably if I was h u n g r y , yours w o u l d be at least as good." " T h e pain is lessening." "I have never been h u n g r i e r t h a n w h e n I ate the Solomon's." "Miraculous," the old m a n said. " T h e w o u n d is healed. A pickle?" "Yes, please. S o m e t i m e s a pickle makes food go d o w n easier, especially if you're n o t hungry." " N o t h i n g like a dill to m a k e t h e food go down." He reached d o w n i n t o t h e barrel, f o u n d a pickle, t h e n h a n d e d it back over his h e a d to the b o y o n t h e counter. T h e b o y sat quietly on t h e c o u n t e r , kicking his legs, biting i n t o t h e sandwich, nibbling at t h e pickle, keeping t h e m even, until, w i t h o n e last swallow, b o t h were gone. " S o m e t i m e s I wonder," the boy said presently. "About?" "Well, w h y is it, I w o n d e r , t h a t s o m e t i m e s I start to eat a n d I'm n o t h u n g r y a n d t h e n I eat a n d I'm still n o t hungry, b u t w h e n I'm all d o n e I could p r o b a b l y still eat s o m e m o r e . " " M o s t mystifying," O l d T u r k said, rising, m o v i n g a r o u n d t h e c o u n t e r to t h e c o r n e d beef, starting to slice. "Is it all right, my sitting h e r e on t h e c o u n t e r like this?" " D o you hear t h e c u s t o m e r s c o m p l a i n i n g ? " " W h y aren't there m o r e c u s t o m e r s ? " " W h y d o you never smile?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 169 "I smile." "You do? I can't r e m e m b e r having seen it. Perhaps y o u just d o n ' t smile a r o u n d me." " W h y aren't there m o r e c u s t o m e r s ? " "Anti-ss-ss-ss-Semitism." " I d o n ' t understand." T h e b o y t o o k t h e sandwich a n d b e g a n t o eat. " D o n ' t y o u k n o w that joke? A b o u t t h e Jew w h o applies for a j o b as a radio a n n o u n c e r . O n l y he has the stutters. A n d w h e n he d o e s n ' t get the job his friend asks h i m why, a n d t h e Jew says, 'Anti-ss-ss-ss-Semitism.' " T h e b o y t o o k a bite of his s a n d w i c h . "You d i d n ' t laugh." T h e boy looked at h i m . "At my joke. You didn't laugh." He s l u m p e d in his chair, n o s e p o i n t i n g to t h e w o o d e n floor. " D o you k n o w what t h e worst t h i n g in t h e w o r l d is? I'll tell you. T h e worst t h i n g in t h e w o r l d is to be a fool." " W h y are you a fool?" "Because you didn't laugh at my joke." " B u t I d i d n ' t get it." "I accept that as a possibility. But it is no excuse for n o t laughing. W h e n s o m e o n e tells a joke t h e r e are four possibilities: either y o u d o n ' t get it or you get it b u t you don't t h i n k it's funny or you get it a n d you do t h i n k it's funny or you've h e a r d it before. Of those four, only o n e relieves the listener from the obligation of laughing." He reached i n t o t h e pickle barrel, gave a pickle to the boy, t o o k a n o t h e r for himself a n d b e g a n waving it in the air. " T h a n k you," the boy said. "If the joke is funny, t h e n you don't have to laugh. Because a m a n telling a funny story is n o t a fool. O h , you can laugh if you w a n t t o ; no law against it. But you d o n ' t have to. T h e funny m a n , he d o e s n ' t n e e d y o u r laughter." A r o u n d a n d a r o u n d w e n t the pickle in t h e air, circling high, s w o o p i n g d o w n , suddenly p o i n t i n g straight at the boy, w h o s t o p p e d in m i d - b i t e , eyes a n d m o u t h w i d e . "I see a rich m a n with a l i m p a n d I think, my, w h a t an expensive cane he uses. I see a p o o r m a n w i t h a l i m p , a n d I think, o h , h o w that m u s t hurt." T h e pickle was s w o o p i n g again. T h e b o y gobbled the r e m a i n d e r of t h e sandwich. T h e n the pickle was back on h i m , a n d he froze. "I see a p r e t t y w o m a n weeping a n d I say, ' H o w pretty!' W h e n an ugly w o m a n weeps, I say, ' H o w sad!' T h e w i n n e r s of this world, they can adjust their o w n laurel wreaths. T h e losers go b a r e h e a d e d . T h e winners n e e d only a m i r r o r ; t h e losers need your laughter. Vegetable," he said to t h e boy, w h o was b a c k at t h e c a n n e d - s o u p shelf.

170 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Vegetable," said the boy, s t a r i n g at t h e can. "I k n o w a joke." "Tell me." "It's dirty." "I'll forget w h e r e I h e a r d it." "All right, here goes. Have y o u read The Yellow River by I. J. Daily?" "No." " T h a t ' s t h e joke," t h e b o y said. "The Yellow River by I. J. Daily." " O h , o f course, o f course," a n d h e started t o laugh. " I . . . h a h . . . I s e e — y e s — h o , h a h — T h e Yellow River—oh yes—I. J. Daily." T h e old m a n rocked back and forth in his chair. "Oh, I love that—wonderful, w o n d e r f u l — yes, h a h , ho." He laughed u n t i l he s t o p p e d . "I t h o u g h t you'd like it." " C l a m chowder," t h e old m a n said. " C l a m chowder," t h e b o y repeated. " C - l - a - m . . . " O l d Turk rose from his chair a n d walked to t h e front of t h e store, staring out. "The Yellow River by I. J. Daily?" He shrugged. " T h a t ' s a joke? T h a t ' s funny?" He s h o o k his h e a d . Back a n d forth. Back a n d forth. " D i d I say T. J. Daily?' " t h e b o y called. "Several times." " O h . Well, I told it w r o n g . I m e a n t 'P.' The Yellow River by I. P. Daily." "Yes, that's a decided i m p r o v e m e n t . N o t only is it dirty, it also makes a little sense." " B u t you're n o t laughing." "Of course I'm n o t laughing. W h y should I laugh? N o w it's funny." " W h a t k i n d of crap is t h a t ? " Sid s t o r m e d . "Shhh," Esther said. " T h e y ' l l h e a r you." She sat up in b e d watching h e r h u s b a n d crisscross t h e tiny r o o m . "I tell a joke a n d n o b o d y laughs. I m e a n , what k i n d of c r a p is t h a t ? " " T h e y m i g h t n o t be asleep yet. C o m e lie d o w n . It's late." "Was it a funny joke, Tootsie? I ask you. My joke a b o u t t h e camel. D i d n ' t I tell it perfect? Is t h e r e a better joke-teller t h a n me living anywhere? A n d t h e n my kid, my flesh a n d b l o o d , he says it's funny b u t he d o n ' t laugh. I m e a n what k i n d — " " M a y b e he didn't u n d e r s t a n d t h e joke." " D i d n ' t I offer to explain? D i d n ' t he say he u n d e r s t o o d t h e joke? I like to h e a r people laugh w h e n I tell jokes." Sid glared at t h e door. "It's t h a t fat h e r of yours. I'm telling you, he's no g o o d for the boy. W h y d o n ' t he s p e n d his t i m e on the fire escape like he used t o ? " "It's t o o cold."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 171 "Yeah?" Sid said, the d o o r still h o l d i n g his glare. "Well, it'll w a r m . " It did, b u t n o t for ten days, a n d d u r i n g the first five t h e b o y c o n t i n u e d his c a n n e d education. He m o v e d from the soups to t h e fruit, t h e n the vegetables. T h e c o n d i m e n t s gave h i m trouble, b u t eventually he mastered t h e m , advancing from there t h r o u g h the spices a n d t h e m e a t s , finally to the c a r t o n e d dairy p r o d u c t s , to t h e cheeses a n d the creams. Q u i t e by accident, o n e afternoon, he a n d t h e old m a n invented "Seek t h e Seltzer," a simple e n o u g h g a m e — i t evolved s o m e h o w o u t of " P i n t h e Tail on t h e Kreplach" an earlier invention t h a t after less t h a n a day h a d already started to pall—in which Old Turk s h o u t e d the n a m e of a p r o d u c t a n d then c o u n t e d slowly while the b o y whirled a r o u n d t h e store, seeking t h e p r o d u c t before the old m a n reached ten. " M u s h r o o m soup," t h e old m a n would s h o u t and t h e n t h e b o y w o u l d flash from the c o u n t e r to t h e s o u p section, searching desperately for t h e can with t h e eight-letter w o r d . In the b e g i n n i n g he lost m o r e t h a n he w o n , b u t by the second day he h a d pulled even a n d the day after t h a t f o u n d h i m beating t h e g a m e , s o m e times w i n n i n g before t h e c o u n t of seven, s o m e t i m e s before six, a n d once he located t h e pickled h e r r i n g before t h e c o u n t of three, g r a b b i n g t h e jar from t h e d u s t y shelf, h o l d i n g it t r i u m p h a n t l y over his h e a d for all the world to see. They played "Seek t h e Seltzer" all day long, day after day, even o n t h e m o r n i n g t h e w e a t h e r t u r n e d w a r m . I t rained t h a t m o r n i n g , rained h a r d , a n d there were fewer c u s t o m e r s t h a n usual to i n t e r r u p t the game, a n d a t l u n c h t i m e t h e b o y t o o k food u p a n d t h e n c a m e b a c k d o w n to dine with t h e old m a n , a n d after l u n c h they played until t h e s u n c a m e out. As it b r o k e t h r o u g h t h e clouds, they b o t h stopped a n d stared into t h e brightness, a n d then t h e old m a n s h o u t e d "String beans! String beans!" very l o u d a n d t h e b o y hesitated by t h e counter. "String b e a n s ! " t h e old m a n yelled a n d t h e n the b o y m o v e d , t o w a r d the string b e a n s a n d past t h e m , past t h e dairy case, o u t t h e d o o r , gone. "String beans," the old m a n said, softer now. He looked at t h e d o o r a while, a n d t h e n he shook his h e a d . He g r o p e d for his chair, f o u n d it, sat d o w n heavily. Again he s h o o k his head. T h e n he n o d d e d . T h e n he shrugged. T h e n he reached for a pickle a n d ate it, shaking his h e a d until the pickle was gone. T h e n he reached b e h i n d h i m for his b o o k , o p e n e d it to the t o o t h p i c k a n d started to read. He read t h e same sentence half a dozen t i m e s before closing t h e b o o k . M r s . Feldman c a m e in a n d he smiled until she said w h a t a h u r r y she was in so could she please just have a q u a r t of milk, a n d t h o u g h he tried to entice her with conversation she w o u l d have n o n e of it a n d , p l u n k i n g d o w n her pennies, she toted the milk o u t of the store a n d he was alone. Again Old Turk sat d o w n , b u t he

172 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN wasn't comfortable. "Too m a n y pickles," he m u t t e r e d , a n d he p a t t e d his s t o m a c h . T h e n he w e n t to t h e shelves a n d began straightening t h e cans. W i d o w K r a m e r c a m e in, evil W i d o w K r a m e r w h o always accused h i m of overcharging, of stocking only j u n k , of weighing with a heavy t h u m b . Old T u r k looked at the harpie, at t h e skeletal destroyer of his e q u i l i b r i u m , a n d he smiled. " W i d o w Kramer, a pleasure." "You got any cheese t h a t isn't r a n c i d ? " "So nice to see you, W i d o w Kramer. Have I got cheese? Here. Take a knife. Taste. Take y o u r time." "You sick?" "Never better. I just t h o u g h t we m i g h t pass t h e t i m e c h a t t i n g a n d tasting—" "A p o u n d of Swiss a n d be quick a b o u t it. A n d I'm n o t b u y i n g your thumb." T u r k weighed t h e cheese, w r a p p e d it, n o d d e d w i t h each insult, bade h e r farewell. Alone again. He started to sit, t h o u g h t t h e b e t t e r of it. He h a d craved the W i d o w K r a m e r ' s company. Begged for it almost. Turk sighed, a n d the s o u n d filled t h e e m p t y store. He was n o t partial to t h e s o u n d , b u t he sighed again. He could n o t stop sighing. A b r u p t l y he t u r n e d a n d started for t h e d o o r , half r u n n i n g , b e n t over in an old man's shuffle. He closed the d o o r a n d locked it a n d h u r r i e d o u t s i d e t h r o u g h the s u n s h i n e a r o u n d the b u i l d i n g to t h e back. W h e n he reached t h e alley he s t o p p e d , peeking a r o u n d t h e edge of the building. T h e r e , feet d a n g l i n g in space, was t h e boy, h e a d t h r o u g h t h e bars of the fire escape, staring. At what? W h a t was there to see? T u r k s h o o k his head. W h e r e d i d it c o m e from, such beauty? N o t from Sid or Esther; G o d k n o w s t h e y d i d n ' t resemble h i m . A n d G o d k n o w s he didn't. So where did it c o m e from? " G o d knows," Turk m u t t e r e d . A n d t h e n , w i t h a shake of t h e head: "Beautiful." Tiny a n d d a r k on the fire escape. Turk t u r n e d , t r u d g i n g b a c k to his store. " T h e b o y should have s o m e air," he said. "Yes." He u n l o c k e d t h e store and s t e p p e d inside. E n o r m o u s it w a s — s u d d e n l y e n o r m o u s . Bleak a n d plain a n d t o o big. M u c h t o o big. " T h e b o y should have s o m e air," T u r k said. He w a n d e r e d into t h e tiny store. "Fool," he said t h e n . "Fool." He sat d o w n in his beloved chair a n d tried to close his eyes, b u t t h e y preferred to scan t h e labels on the shelves across. " T h e b o y should have s o m e air!" t h e old m a n s h o u t e d , immediately feeling better for the exercise, stronger, for n o w his eyes did close a n d he s l u m p e d , h a n d s in his lap, n o s e a i m e d at t h e floor. G o o d times he t h o u g h t of. N o t good times g o n e , b u t good t i m e s as they h a p p e n e d , for t h e conjuring of past pleasures was t h e secret of long life. He h e a r d his father's laugh, his m o t h e r ' s song; he tasted duck

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 173 for the first time, a n d c h o p p e d liver lightly salted, a n d beer; he rolled in snow, he kissed a breast, he raced t h e dog to water, r o d e t h e h o r s e , w o n from his sister at checkers, lost to his b r o t h e r at chess; he talked on a telephone, listened to a radio, saw Toscanini, walked beside C a s a l s — a n d held his b r e a t h as his grandchild said "I was w o n d e r i n g " from t h e delicatessen door. " W h a t — y o u were w o n d e r i n g w h a t ? " " W h a t I was w o n d e r i n g was, y o u couldn't c o m e o u t to t h e fire escape, could y o u ? " "I could. But w h o w o u l d watch t h e store?" " M o t h e r ? " T h e b o y stood on tiptoe, avoiding the cracks. " In her present m o o d your m o t h e r w o u l d frighten away t h e few customers we have." "Father?" " T h a t strikes me as vaguely impossible. In his present m o o d y o u r father w o u l d frighten away y o u r mother." "We could hire somebody." "We could do that." " W h y d o n ' t we?" "Because we w o u l d starve, because it w o u l d cost us m o r e m o n e y t h a n we have just to pay his salary." "Well, would tie that every you could

m a y b e we could b o t h go o u t on the fire escape except t h a t we a string a r o u n d t h e front d o o r a n d take the string w i t h us so t i m e the string m o v e d we w o u l d k n o w it was a c u s t o m e r a n d r u n d o w n the fire escape to t h e store and fill t h e order."

" N o w that's a marvelous n o t i o n , except that I am n o t as y o u n g as s o m e people a n d chances are all t h a t r u n n i n g up a n d d o w n would kill me." "Well, we could do the s a m e t h i n g with the string except I w o u l d do the r u n n i n g u p a n d d o w n a n d f i l l t h e order." " T h a t , I think, is a perfect solution except that, even t h o u g h y o u are a first-class label reader, you are n o t quite so brilliant at a d d i n g up n u m bers a n d therefore you w o u l d p r o b a b l y either overcharge t h e c u s t o m e r s , in w h i c h case t h e y w o u l d yell at you, or u n d e r c h a r g e t h e m , in w h i c h case they w o u l d cheat you, and after a while they would either be so a n g r y at us they w o u l d go to the A&P or t h e y w o u l d have cheated us o u t of everything a n d we would starve." "You k n o w what? This is m o r e fun t h a n 'Seek the Seltzer.' " " M o r e intellectual," the old m a n agreed. " C o u l d I have a pickle? I m e a n , y o u do want to sit on t h e fire escape?"

174 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

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" N o t h i n g would give me m o r e pleasure." | "Well, we'll just have to figure it out." f "All p r o b l e m s are solvable." "And I'm going to stay right here until we d o . I m e a n , I could stay outside, b u t I'm going to stay right here. Stores are better for thinking." "Infinitely." "Yes. W e i l get it. But it m a y take days." "Weeks, even." "Months." "Years." " W h a t comes after years?" " P e r h a p s we'll find o u t , you a n d I." So they p o n d e r e d t h e p r o b l e m of the fire escape, a n d t h e y slept in the s a m e bed, a n d they did w h a t t h e y could to cheer Sid a n d sweeten Esther, a n d they played "Seek t h e Seltzer" until the boy was perfect a n d after that t h e y waited on c u s t o m e r s together, the old m a n saying "Spinach for the W i d o w Kramer," the b o y r u n n i n g d o w n the vegetable, s w o o p i n g it up, d a s h i n g back to set it on t h e counter, t h e n waiting for t h e next labor, " G r a n u l a t e d sugar, m o n k e y , five p o u n d s for t h e Widow," a n d he would retrieve the sugar a n d whatever followed t h e sugar a n d whatever followed t h a t until the list was d o n e . T h e n he w o u l d say "Add," a n d t h e old m a n w o u l d obey, a n d t h e n t h e old m a n w o u l d take t h e m o n e y a n d give it to h i m a n d he w o u l d gently o p e n t h e m o n e y drawer a n d t u c k it safe inside, a n d t h e n they would sit until t h e next customer. A n d while t h e y sat, they talked. T h e y talked a b o u t w h y there were cracks in t h e sidewalks and w h a t h a p p e n e d t o letters o n c e you d r o p p e d t h e m i n the mailbox, and prehistoric dinosaurs a n d railroad trains a n d sharks a n d squid a n d slinky b a r r a c u d a . They talked a b o u t h o w they were going to s p e n d t h e reward m o n e y they were going to get after they c a p t u r e d t h e gangsters who m i g h t t r y t o rob the store a n d h o w they would s u b d u e any frothing m a d d o g w h o h a p p e n e d to w a n d e r in a n d w h a t did t h e Lone Ranger really l o o k like a n d just what was in Fibber McGee's closet. A n d m e n from M a r s . A n d Stanley Hack. A n d t h e Italian t h e evil Yankees h a d f o u n d to r u n in center field. A n d t h e great B r o n k o Nagurski. A n d J. D o n a l d Budge. A n d rain. A n d they talked a b o u t t h e old country. A n d O l d Turk's childh o o d . A n d the awful b o a t ride across w h e n he was eight. A n d how he h a p p e n e d to c o m e to Chicago. A n d they talked a b o u t his father. And t h e y talked a b o u t his m o t h e r , w h o died on the trip. A n d his sister, who

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BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 175 died in Cincinnati. A n d they talked a b o u t his b r o t h e r a n d t h e y talked about his wife. But mostly they talked a b o u t his nose. " M y nose? You w a n t to k n o w h o w I got my nose?" "Yes." "You really w a n t to k n o w h o w I g o t — " "Tell m e — t e l l m e ! " "You're absolutely positive you're interested in h e a r i n g h o w — " "Yes-yes-yes." " G o d gave it to me personally." " N o , he didn't either." "Since you obviously already k n o w t h e story," Old Turk said, leaning back in his soft w o o d e n chair, " t h e r e doesn't seem to be m u c h p o i n t in going on with it." " B u t you've got to go on," t h e b o y said. He was sitting on t h e floor by the chair a n d he reached forward a n d pulled the old man's t r o u s e r s like a bell r o p e . "You called me a liar. I said G o d gave it to me personally a n d y o u said no he d i d n ' t either. A m a n likes to be believed." " B u t y o u always lie w h e n y o u tell a b o u t y o u r nose." "I d o ? " "Yes." "Well, this t i m e I'll tell t h e t r u t h . " "Promise?" "Of course not. I'm a m a n of my w o r d . I don't have to p r o m i s e . So anyway, o n e day w h e n I was n i n e years old, I was p l o w i n g t h e fields and—" " W h e n you were nine? You said you c a m e over on t h e b o a t w h e n you were eight, so h o w could y o u be p l o w i n g the fields w h e n y o u were n i n e ? " " I n t h e old c o u n t r y we c o u n t e d differently." "Oh," t h e b o y said. He m o v e d in closer to t h e chair. "So, this particular day w h e n I was plowing the fields G o d c a m e up to m e a n d s a i d — G o o d m o r n i n g , W i d o w Kramer." T h e b o y j u m p e d t o his feet a n d r a n t o w a r d t h e w o m a n . " W h a t d o you need? Tell me a n d I'll get it." A n d she gave h i m the order a n d a l m o s t b e fore she was d o n e telling it was filled. "Add," t h e b o y said. " T h e service is certainly improved," the W i d o w allowed. " I ' m s o r r y I can't say t h e same a b o u t t h e food."

176 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Always a pleasure, W i d o w Kramer," Turk said, a n d he gave the m o n e y to t h e boy, w h o t h r e w it i n t o the m o n e y drawer, t h e n pulled the old m a n back to the chair. " G o d c a m e — I hate those i n t e r r u p t i o n s — G o d — " "You never i n t e r r u p t ? " "Never. G o d c a m e — " "Yes, he came up to me o n e day w h e n I was p l o w — " " H o w did you k n o w it was G o d ? " " W h a t you just did, that wasn't an i n t e r r u p t i o n ? " "A question. I asked a q u e s t i o n . Go on." " H o w did I know? W e l l — " "I m e a n , he could have j u s t b e e n s o m e b o d y pretending he was G o d . A practical joker. Or a m o v i e a c t o r maybe." "I d o u b t that He was a m o v i e actor, since w h e n this h a p p e n e d no one h a d yet invented movies. A n d a l t h o u g h w h a t you say is possible, I think He was legitimate." "Why?" " T h e r e was this blinding light a r o u n d Him," O l d T u r k said. "And it was a cloudy day!' "Oh." T h e b o y n o d d e d . "Well, w h y didn't you say t h a t in t h e first place?" "I s h o u l d have. I'm a p o o r storyteller. My apologies." " T h a t ' s all right. Go on." "So I'm in t h e fields p l o w i n g a n d all of a s u d d e n G o d c a m e up to me a n d He said, 'Hello there, Joel Turk,' a n d I said, 'Hello t h e r e , God,' and He said, ' H o w are things?' a n d I said, 'You m e a n , You d o n ' t k n o w ? ' a n d He said, 'Of course I know. I k n o w everything. I was just m a k i n g conversation, that's all. Let me tell y o u s o m e t h i n g , Joel Turk. T h i s business of k n o w i n g everything, it doesn't leave m u c h r o o m for surprises. If I didn't m a k e a little conversation every n o w a n d then, I t h i n k I'd go meshugah! " "Means?" "Meshugah?" The boy nodded. Old Turk whirled his index finger a r o u n d his t e m p l e . T h e b o y n o d d e d again. "And w h a t did you say?" " 'Well,' I told h i m , 'God,' I said, 'we could all of us do w i t h a little m o r e strudel, even You.' A n d He said, 'Joel, you are so right. Being God, it's like being the family doctor, except the whole universe is y o u r familyA n d I said, 'Have You ever t h o u g h t of delegating t h e a u t h o r i t y ? ' a n d He said, T tried that once, only it d i d n ' t w o r k o u t so good. N o ; if you w a n t to

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 177 get s o m e t h i n g d o n e , you've got to do it yourself, a n d I've got a lot to do. So, m u c h as I'd like to s t a n d a n d schmoose with y o u — ' " "Schmoose?" "Chat. Talk. Pass the time." " T h a n k you." " ' M u c h as I am enjoying o u r conversation,' G o d said, 'it's t i m e we got down to business. I'm w o r r i e d a b o u t y o u r village, Joel. I am genuinely concerned.' ' O u r village?' I said, a n d He said, 'Yes. Have you n o t i c e d that in your village no one smiles, no o n e laughs?' 'Since I've lived h e r e all my life,' I said, 'it has c o m e to my attention.' A n d G o d said, ' D o y o u k n o w why?' a n d I answered, 'Well, G o d , no o n e has any clothes, a n d no o n e has any m o n e y to b u y any clothes, a n d t h e weather is stern, a n d in t h e w i n t e r everyone freezes, a n d t h e fields are solid rock, a n d n o t h i n g grows, a n d everyone is dying of starvation; I t h i n k that m i g h t have s o m e t h i n g to do with it.' A n d G o d said, 'Well, I'm going to change all that,' a n d I said, 'You m e a n You're going to m a k e t h i n g s grow, so we can have food, a n d m o n e y for clothes; You're going to c h a n g e t h e solid rock into topsoil, yes?' a n d He said, T could. I could do all t h a t a n d m o r e . But I d o n ' t w a n t to spoil you.' 'You k n o w best, God,' I said, ' b u t it sure s o u n d e d nice while I was saying it.' 'If I d i d it for them,' G o d said, 'then they w o u l d b e c o m e lazy; they w o u l d b e c o m e fat. But if only their hearts would buoy, t h e n their spirits w o u l d swell, a n d their strength w o u l d be as t h e strength of ten, and t h e rock w o u l d c r u m b l e , a n d t h e r e w o u l d b e n o t h i n g b u t rich black topsoil for as far as the eye could see a n d instead of being fat they w o u l d be youthful a n d instead of being lazy they w o u l d be proud.' ' O h , that's beautiful, God,' I said, a n d t h e r e were tears in my eyes, ' b u t w h y w o u l d that h a p p e n ? W h y do their h e a r t s b u o y ? ' 'Joel Turk,' G o d said, ' w h a t do you t h i n k of yourself?' Well, I t h o u g h t a m i n u t e , a n d you m u s t realize, monkey, that w h e n I was y o u n g I was pretty special, n o t ugly like you, b u t I d i d n ' t w a n t to s o u n d cocky to G o d , so I just said, 'I guess I'm n o t so bad.' 'You're n o t h i n g ! ' G o d said. 'A shadow. A l u m p . A cipher, Joel Turk, is what y o u are, a n d as you age you'll disappear a n d w h e n y o u die no o n e will care because no o n e will k n o w you were around.' ' I ' m t h a t b a d ? ' I said. T wish you h a d n ' t told m e . Getting the word from you, G o d — t h a t banishes h o p e . I can't even d r e a m a n y m o r e ; n o t now. W h a t have I got to look forward to?' 'Misery,' G o d said. 'Misery, loneliness a n d grief, coupled with g r a d u a l decay.' 'Please, G o d , stop!' I said a n d I couldn't help crying. No m o r e . I beg you.' A n d t h e n G o d c a m e right up next to m e , b l i n d i n g He was, a n d He said, 'Would you like a different fate, Joel Turk?' 'Yes,' I said. 'Anything.' A n d G o d said, ' W o u l d y o u like to be m u c h a d m i r e d ?

178 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN W o u l d you like to be m u c h a d o r e d ? ' 'Yes. Yes. M u c h a d m i r e d , m u c h adored, yes.' 'And would you like to help your village, Joel Turk? Would you like to m a k e t h e m s t r o n g a n d p r o u d ? ' 'Yes, b u t w h a t can I give them? W h a t d o they need?' ' T h e y n e e d only o n e thing. O n e t h i n g alone.' 'What, God? W h a t ? ' 'They need s o m e t h i n g to smile at, Joel Turk; t h e y need s o m e t h i n g to make t h e m laugh.' " "Your nose!" t h e b o y cried. "Your nose!" "Yes." T h e old m a n n o d d e d . "God's words exactly. But I d i d n ' t u n d e r stand. 'I've got a nice nose,' I said. 'It's small a n d cute.' 'Agreed,' G o d said, ' b u t if you like, I could c h a n g e that. I could give you such a n o s e . Such a nose! A n d w h e n the people of t h e village see it they will smile a n d then laugh a n d t h e n their hearts will b u o y a n d the rock will t u r n into topsoil a n d you will be m u c h a d m i r e d , m u c h adored.' 'You m e a n You're going to m a k e me funny-looking, a buffoon?' ' S o m e t h i n g like that,' G o d said. 'Along those lines, anyway' 'But, God,' I said, 'why t h e nose? I m e a n , the nose, it's so . . . visible. C o u l d n ' t you m a y b e do s o m e t h i n g clever with my ears instead?' 'Has to be t h e nose,' G o d said. ' D o n ' t you k n o w t h a t famous Shakespeare p o e m , p e r h a p s t h e greatest p o e m he ever wrote? 'The The The The

ears are for hearing, lips are to smile, nose is for laughing, tongue is for guile.

" ' N o w do you see, Joel Turk? T h e nose is for laughing. Has to be the nose.' T see, God,' I said. 'And that certainly is a great, great p o e m b u t — ' A n d G o d said, 'Make y o u r choice, Joel. A free choice. A life of unbelievable, incredible agony against a life of being m u c h a d m i r e d , m u c h a d o r e d . Choose!' 'God,' I said, 'You are indeed a t r u e G o d , a fine G o d , fair a n d in all ways sublime . . . ' " O l d Turk quieted. " G o on." " N o m o r e . My choice, I believe, is obvious to this day." "You m e a n all of a s u d d e n you h a d a nose? Just like t h a t ? " "As I r e m e m b e r , there was an a c c o m p a n y i n g flash of light." " T h e people in t h e village, did they laugh at y o u ? " " T h e y laughed at me." "And did the rock t u r n i n t o topsoil?" "Well, the next m o r n i n g t h e r e was a little dust." "Have you been m u c h a d m i r e d , m u c h a d o r e d ? " " S o m e t i m e s G o d is given to exaggeration," t h e old m a n said.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 179

T h e flag stood in t h e c o r n e r of the first-grade classroom. M r s . Witty gestured t o w a r d it. Rudy stared d o w n at his desk, listening as Mrs. Witty said, "Now, this m o r n i n g is o u r first assembly, so we'll n e e d s o m e one to carry t h e flag. I could pick t h a t s o m e o n e if I w a n t e d to, b u t I d o n ' t do that in my classes. You will pick that s o m e o n e . Right after recess, we'll have o u r o w n election; we will m a k e n o m i n a t i o n s a n d t h e n we will vote. And whoever we select will c a r r y t h e flag into assembly at t h e h e a d of the class. Yes, N a o m i ? " " C a n a girl do it?" "I won't say absolutely no" M r s . W i t t y replied, " b u t I will say t h a t generally boys carry the flag. I have never, in all my years here, h a d a girl carry the flag, b u t that doesn't m e a n a girl can't carry the flag. W h o e v e r you select, he or she, will have my w h o l e h e a r t e d approval. D o e s t h a t answer y o u r question, N a o m i ? " N a o m i indicated that it did. "Well then," Mrs. W i t t y w e n t o n . " O n c e we get i n t o t h e a u d i t o r i u m o u r flag-bearer will carry t h e flag up t h e steps o n t o t h e a u d i t o r i u m stage, a n d h e — o r she"—a smile t o w a r d N a o m i — " w i l l r e m a i n t h e r e along with the o t h e r flag-bearers while t h e principal addresses t h e school. So, alt h o u g h this is o u r first election, it is a very i m p o r t a n t o n e . A n d I k n o w we've only k n o w n each o t h e r for less t h a n a week, a n d t h a t isn't m u c h time, b u t it will have to d o . N o w go to recess a n d t h i n k a b o u t y o u r vote. Dismissed." M r s . Witty sat d o w n at h e r desk as the class fled t o w a r d t h e door. "Gently, gently," M r s . W i t t y cautioned, n o t looking u p . " N o b o d y likes a pusher." A n d she c o n t i n u e d filling o u t the daily a t t e n d a n c e r e p o r t . She h a d been filling o u t daily a t t e n d a n c e reports for twenty-seven years, and she loathed the chore, especially in t h e early fall, before n a m e s h a d attached themselves to faces a n d faces h a d attached themselves to desks. So a l t h o u g h she wrote with u n d u e speed, it still t o o k t i m e , a n d h e r finishing sigh w o u l d have been l o u d e r t h a n usual h a d it n o t s u d d e n l y changed into a start of surprise. "Oh," M r s . W i t t y said. "Oh." T h e n : " R u d o l p h , you didn't go to recess." T h e boy s h o o k his h e a d . "You've been here all this t i m e ? " The boy nodded. "Well, R u d o l p h , w h a t is it?" "I d o n ' t t h i n k I should carry t h e flag." " I ' m sorry, Rudolph, I d i d n ' t quite hear you." "I d o n ' t t h i n k I should carry t h e flag."

180 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Well, I guess I did hear you. I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d , Rudolph." " T h e flag." T h e b o y p o i n t e d to the corner. "I d o n ' t t h i n k I should carry it." "I u n d e r s t a n d that, R u d o l p h . But d o n ' t you see, y o u haven't been elected yet." "I will be," t h e b o y said. "Well, confidence is a wonderful thing, Rudolph, a n d I'm n o t trying to destroy yours, b u t there are, after all, thirty students in this class, and t h a t m a k e s y o u r chances o n e in thirty, so I d o n ' t t h i n k we n e e d get excited." M r s . Witty o p e n e d h e r p u r s e , m a k i n g sure h e r cigarettes were inside. "Please." M r s . Witty stood. " I ' d like to help, R u d o l p h , b u t there's really n o t h i n g I can do." She started for t h e door. "Please." Turning, M r s . Witty looked at t h e boy. "Are you all right, Rudolph? I m e a n , do you feel well?" "Yes. Yes. But I d o n ' t t h i n k I s h o u l d carry t h e flag." " I ' m sorry," M r s . W i t t y said. " T h i s is just t o o p r e m a t u r e , " a n d she h u r r i e d from the r o o m t o w a r d t h e Teachers' Lounge. After a m o m e n t t h e b o y m o v e d to t h e w i n d o w a n d stared o u t at the p l a y g r o u n d . H i d d e n , he w a t c h e d t h e others as they talked, their lips moving, h e a d s n o d d i n g , a r m s waving in t h e air. He stared u n t i l he h e a r d Mrs. W i t t y ringing the recess bell a n d t h e n he h u r r i e d to his desk a n d sat d o w n , his h a n d s in his lap, his eyes on his h a n d s . "Ail right now," he h e a r d M r s . W i t t y say w h e n it was quiet. "I hope you've all t h o u g h t carefully. N o m i n a t i o n s are open. Yes?" "Petey Steinem." "Peter Steinem. Yes, N a o m i ? " " R u d y Miller," a n d she reached forward from t h e d e s k b e h i n d Rudy, pulling at his shirt. " R u d o l p h Miller. Yes?" " N a o m i Finkel." " B u t I'm a girl" N a o m i said. "As I explained to y o u earlier, N a o m i , this is a free c o u n t r y . Anyone else?" " D o p e y Sternemann." "Daniel Sternemann," M r s . Witty said over the giggling. "All right now, anyone else? No? T h e n n o m i n a t i o n s are hereby closed. All right, everybody, shut your eyes. No peeking. As I say each candidate's n a m e , raise your hand

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 181 when I c o m e to your choice. Ready? Peter S t e i n e m . . . . R u d o l p h M i l l e r . . . . Naomi F i n k e l . . . . Daniel S t e r n e m a n n . . . . All right, you m a y o p e n your eyes. N o w we n o n e of us like being kept in suspense—" "Rudy, Rudy," N a o m i whispered. "I peeked. You w o n . It was practically umanimous!' " — t h a t R u d o l p h Miller has b e e n elected. N o w if you will all stand and form two rows w e — " " I d o n ' t t h i n k I should c a r r y t h e flag." " I ' m sorry," M r s . W i t t y raise their h a n d s . N o w we is it?" "Rudy's got his h a n d up " Thank you, N a o m i . All "I m i g h t do it wrong."

said, " b u t we don't answer p e o p l e w h o d o n ' t haven't m u c h t i m e so . . . Yes, N a o m i , w h a t now," N a o m i said. right, Rudolph."

" T h e r e is n o t h i n g to do except carry t h e flag." " B u t I m i g h t d r o p it." " T h e flag is not that heavy." " B u t I m i g h t trip. On t h e steps. T h e steps up to t h e stage. I m i g h t t r i p and d r o p t h e flag. Let it t o u c h t h e ground." "Stand u p ! " T h e b o y stood. "Are you ashamed to carry t h e flag of your o w n country? Is t h a t w h a t I'm to u n d e r s t a n d ? T h a t you're ashamed? Is that it? All right, class, there's no reason for any w h i s p e r i n g — I ' m really o u t of patience w i t h you, Rudolph. You're m a k i n g us late for o u r very first assembly a n d in all my twenty-seven years of teaching I have never never h a d a s t u d e n t w h o was ashamed to carry t h e flag of his o w n country. Class! For t h e last t i m e stop t h a t whispering! Class! O h , n o w I'm upset—you've got me upset. And we're late. If I d i d n ' t believe in d o i n g everything d e m o c r a t i c a l l y — Rudolph, get the flag! Everybody u p — t w o lines—all right. Right. Let's go." A n d they straggled o u t of t h e classroom a n d d o w n t h e hall, t h e b o y leading t h e m , Mrs. W i t t y r a n g i n g d o w n t h e line, " N o talking, n o talking," and w h e n they reached t h e a u d i t o r i u m m o s t of the seats were filled b u t she guided t h e m to an e m p t y area a n d t h e n p o i n t e d to t h e stage. " D o w n the aisle, R u d o l p h . Get up there now. Hurry. Hurry." T h e b o y carried t h e flag d o w n t h e long aisle. A h e a d lay t h e steps. Five of t h e m . He glanced a r o u n d . His was the last flag. Everyone was watching. Five steps. T h e b o y took a deep breath a n d started u p , b u t the steps were very slippery a n d before he was halfway there his sense of balance started to go, t h e flag a n d his b o d y tilting . . .

182 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "So," Old Turk said. "After you d r o p p e d the flag, w h a t h a p p e n e d ? " "I d i d n ' t d r o p it," t h e b o y said. "I started to, b u t I didn't." "Were you trying to d r o p it?" "I d o n ' t know." "So they w o u l d n ' t ask you a n y m o r e ? " "I d o n ' t know." " I n o t h e r words, all t h a t h a p p e n e d that needn't have h a p p e n e d is that y o u upset y o u r teacher a n d acted a fool in front of y o u r fellows." "Yes." " W h y was the role of t h e fool so alluring?" " W h o am I to carry t h e flag?" " W h o i s anybody t o . . . You're n o t listening t o me." T h e b o y m o v e d across t h e floor, avoiding the cracks. " N o . " "If I were a m a n of action, y o u w o u l d listen, because w h e n a m a n of a c t i o n speaks, that in itself is u n u s u a l . But since I am a m a n of speech, y o u pay no attention. Consequently, in order that y o u will r e m e m b e r w h a t I say, I am going to hit y o u . Do you u n d e r s t a n d ? " "No." " D o you trust m e ? " "Yes." " T h e n c o m e here." T h e old m a n waited until t h e b o y s t o o d close i n front of h i m . "It will be a soft hit. A m e r e t o u c h . But I t h i n k you will rem e m b e r what I say. Now, I could answer y o u r questions any n u m b e r of ways—philosophically, historically, et cetera. But I will be brief instead a n d y o u will never again ask such a question. W h o are y o u to carry the flag? You are you to carry t h e flag. N o w for the slap. Are y o u ready?" "Yes." O l d Turk raised his a r m , hesitated, t h e n sent it on its way. For a m o m e n t his fingers rested against t h e boy's cheek. As his old h a n d fell away, a tiny h a n d rose, covering t h e spot. T h e boy s p u n t o w a r d t h e wall, t h e h a n d still to his cheek. T h e slap could n o t have b e e n gentler. But t h e boy's h a n d did n o t m o v e . O n e w a r m October evening t h e y lay side by side in bed, O l d Turk a n d t h e boy, eyes shut tight, while in t h e next r o o m Esther s h o u t e d "Failure!" for at least t h e fifth t i m e . "Sticks a n d stones can b r e a k y o u r bones, so watch it, Tootsie," Sid said. "It's a good t h i n g we're sleeping," Old Turk said. "Else we w o u l d be o v e r h e a r i n g their conversation."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 183 "Yes." T h e boy n o d d e d . " D o e s it b o t h e r you t h a t y o u r looks are going?" Sid w o n d e r e d . "Guess h o w sick you m a k e me," Esther answered. " I ' m sorry," the boy whispered, a n d he slipped from t h e b e d to t h e window, t h e n out, disappearing up t h e fire escape. T h e old m a n slowly rose, clutching at his nightgown, a n d crossed t h e living r o o m t o the open w i n d o w , looking u p . T h e n h e t u r n e d a n d m a d e his way to t h e b e d r o o m . K n o c k i n g , he o p e n e d t h e d o o r a n d said, "You could never d r e a m what things I wish for you." T h e n he closed t h e door, ignoring w h a t they called after h i m , a n d crossed the living r o o m again. Sticking his h e a d o u t the w i n d o w , he said, "Assuming you w a n t e d c o m pany a n d assuming there was r o o m , is it y o u r o p i n i o n I w o u l d be w a r m enough?" " O h yes. C o m e . Come." T h e old m a n began w o r k i n g his b o d y t h r o u g h the w i n d o w . "I'll help you," the b o y said. "Next, w o m e n will b e giving m e their seats o n t h e b u s , t h a n k you no," a n d he waved t h e b o y away. W h e n he was outside, he p a u s e d a m o m e n t , t h e n walked up to t h e t o p w h e r e t h e boy sat, his feet d a n g l i n g in space. T h e old m a n looked a r o u n d . " D o you like it?" the b o y asked. "Beautiful view of the alley," t h e old m a n said. " N o w o n d e r you're partial." "Sit. Sit." "And dangle my feet like y o u ? " "It's t h e best way." "I always accept the w o r d of t h e connoisseur," Old Turk said. He sat d o w n a n d dangled his feet. "To my knowledge, no o n e is so fine as you at fire-escape sitting. A n d n o t yet eight years old. My G o d , t h i n k w h a t you'll be at fifteen. A n d by t h e t i m e y o u reach t w e n t y — " " W h y d o they d o t h a t ? " " W h y does w h o d o w h a t ? " "Please." O l d Turk sighed. "Since I d i d n o t rear y o u r father, it w o u l d be unscientific of me to speak of him." "Mother?" " W h y is my d a u g h t e r t h e way she is? W h y is any child? Today, t h e fashion is to b l a m e the p a r e n t s . I myself r e m a i n u n c o n v i n c e d . Personally I t h i n k — y o u are my greatest a u d i e n c e , do you k n o w t h a t ? " " G o on."

184 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Heaven to me is e n o u g h dill pickles, no indigestion, a n d you beside m e listening." " G o o n , go on. You said 'Personally I t h i n k " I t h i n k we are all given infinite choices. My father is cruel, so I am cruel. Or sweet. Or any stop along t h e way. My m o t h e r is rich, so I hate m o n e y . Or love it. I d o n ' t t h i n k we can b l a m e o u r p a r e n t s . That's t o o easy. We are t h e way we are. It's G o d ' s world; He gets t h e credit, let's give H i m a little of the b l a m e t o o , do H i m good. God's h u m a n , just like the rest of us." "And M o t h e r ? " " W e l l . . . " Old Turk kicked his feet. T h e boy did t h e same. " T h e r e are those w h o w o u l d say my d a u g h t e r is t h e way she is because of heredity, or e n v i r o n m e n t — y o u d o n ' t k n o w w h a t I'm talking a b o u t , d o y o u ? " " N o ; go on." "You are such a fine listener t h a t if I ever b e c o m e King of England, I'll k n i g h t you. Heredity. H e r e d i t y is t h e answer. Except for o n e thing: for generations, we Turks were k n o w n as t h e cocker spaniels of o u r village— gentle, loyal, bland. So e n v i r o n m e n t is the answer. Except for o n e thing: m y w i f e — a n d you have only m y w o r d for t h i s — b u t m y wife . . . Let m e p u t it this way: I was the savage in t h e family. A n d we raised o u r d a u g h t e r w i t h love. So o u t of this, h o w does y o u r m o t h e r a p p e a r ? " "Yes. H o w ? " "Your m o t h e r is a b a d miracle," O l d Turk said. Late on a winter afternoon, O l d Turk suddenly jackknifed up from his chair, m a d e a s o u n d a n d p i t c h e d forward into t h e pickle barrel. T h e boy, watching, also m a d e a s o u n d , a louder s o u n d , a n d r a n to the body, pulling t h e old head from t h e b r i n e , grappling with t h e l i m p flesh, trying to get it first into the chair a n d , failing that, lowering it finally to t h e cold w o o d e n floor. "A doctor," Turk whispered, a n d t h e b o y raced t o w a r d t h e stairs a n d was halfway to the a p a r t m e n t before he r e m e m b e r e d it was empty, his p a r e n t s having decided earlier to d o u s e their differences in n i n e t y m i n utes of G a r y Cooper. T h e b o y whirled on t h e stairway, t o o k t w o steps a n d leaped into space, l a n d i n g gracefully, bolting for t h e street w i t h o u t breaking stride. On the street he p a u s e d , saw t h e familiar back of t h e W i d o w K r a m e r a n d was on her in an instant. Her m o u t h d r o p p e d o p e n at his veh e m e n t shaking, b u t she n o d d e d in u n d e r s t a n d i n g after he h a d said " D o c t o r — g e t a d o c t o r " a sufficient n u m b e r of times. T h e e r r a n d d o n e , t h e b o y whirled again a n d raced into t h e store, d r o p p i n g to his knees b e -

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 185 side t h e old body, lifting t h e old h e a d , stroking the gray s t r a n d s which were still wet from their d o u s i n g in t h e pickle barrel. "To die smelling of garlic," O l d Turk whispered. " F o r a delicatessen m a n , w h a t could b e m o r e fitting?" "You w o n ' t die," t h e b o y said. " T h e W i d o w K r a m e r is getting you a doctor." " T h e W i d o w Kramer? H o w fitting. Everything s u d d e n l y is fitting." "Stop talking." "Stop talking? Me stop talking? Are you trying to kill m e ? " "Please." "I believe," the old m a n w h i s p e r e d . "I believe I just said s o m e t h i n g funny." "Yes. Very funny. So I d o n ' t have to laugh." He raised his h e a d , trying to stare at the ceiling. "Of course. N o t w h e n it's funny. You r e m e m — D o n ' t y o u dare. D o n ' t you dare cry." " I ' m sorry," the b o y w h i s p e r e d . "Have we cared for each o t h e r ? " "Yes." "Have we loved?" "Yes. Yes." " T h e n don't you dare cry. I will n o t have my d e a t h sullied. N o t by you." " T h e W i d o w Kramer is c o m i n g . W i t h a fine doctor. This I know." " H e a r t s wear. M i n e is w o r n . A fault with t h e h u m a n m e c h a n i s m . I'm seventy-two years old. Already I have bested t h e i n s u r a n c e c o m panies. N o t m a n y can boast of besting t h e i n s — " For a m o m e n t Turk could only gasp, his b o d y s u d d e n l y tense, stiff, his eyes o p e n i n g a n d closing in r h y t h m with the painful s o u n d s . W h e n he could speak again, his voice was half of w h a t it was. " I ' m dying, Rudy, I'm . . . dying a n d I w a n t t o . . . say s o m e t h i n g . . . wise b u t . . . n o t h i n g comes t o m i n d . Smile o n m e . . . R u d y . . . beautiful Rudy, let m e . . . see you smile . . . " T h e old eyes closed, a n d this t i m e they d i d n o t o p e n . T h e b o y waited for s o m e t h i n g , s o m e sign. He held t h e b o d y tightly in his a r m s . T h e n , w h e n n o t h i n g h a p p e n e d , he riveted his eyes on t h e pickle barrel a n d began to rock silently, clutching the b o d y a n d rocking, back a n d forth, back a n d forth, b a c k — " T h a t is m o s t uncomfortable," O l d Turk said. T h e b o y looked d o w n . "You d i d n ' t die." "To my chagrin."

186 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You didn't die!" "I swear I t h o u g h t I was. I knew. In the movies they always know. R o n a l d C o l m a n , he can always tell w h e n he is dying. Spencer Tracy too. Leslie Howard. I w o n d e r h o w they k n o w in the movies? Edward G. R o b i n s o n , I like Edward G. R o b i n s o n , I have seen h i m die so m a n y times, m o r e t h a n anybody. ' M o t h e r of G o d , is this the e n d of Rico?' He said that a n d he died. H o w did he know? W h a t a marvelous t h i n g to say. I would also like to think of s o m e t h i n g marvelous. Say it a n d t h e n die. Something m e m o r a b l e . Help me t h i n k of s o m e t h i n g m e m o r a b l e . Perhaps with a Biblical ring; that always lends authority. Perhaps . . . " A n d suddenly the gasping was back again, l o u d e r t h a n before. " R u d y . . . R u d y . . . I've got to s a y . . . something . . . " T h e gasping stopped. N o t h i n g r e m a i n e d . T h e b o y cradled t h e tired head. "Joel? Joel?" N o t h i n g . "Please. For m e . Joel? D o n ' t die. I promise y o u t h e W i d o w Kramer c o m e s . W i t h the finest d o c t o r in all t h e world. So please, Joel. D o n ' t die. Please. Speak. A word. For me." " I have never . . . been . . . s o e m b a r r a s s e d i n all m y life." T h e boy began to laugh. " G o o n . I deserve it." " I ' m sorry," the boy said. " W h e r e . . . the h e l l . . . i s t h e W i d o w K r a m e r ? " " P e r h a p s you won't even n e e d a doctor." " T h a t t h o u g h t has crossed my m i n d , believe m e . 'Your heart is fine,' he'll say. ' W h a t you've got is indigestion. Too m a n y pickles. Five dollars, please.' " Turk tried to shake his head. " I ' m a fool. W h e n a Jew is d u m b , he's really d u m b . T h e r e is a saying to that effect. O h , I'm a fool. A fool." "Tell me a b o u t your nose." "I w o n i t — " " I n a raffle. You've told me t h a t o n e already. Tell me another." "All r i g h t . . . I'll tell you t h e t r u t h this time. T h e final t r u t h . O n e day, w h e n I was s w i m m i n g in t h e d e s e r t — " "Swimmingin the desert?" "It was the rainy season." " G o on." "And . . . O h , oh, o h , m y G o d . . . I'm wetting i n m y p a n t s . . . just like a baby .. ." T h e funeral a r r a n g e m e n t s fell to Sid, a n d they were o n e big irk. First of all, t h e old m a n was n o t at t h e t o p of Sid's hit p a r a d e . O h , he was all right, a harmless gas bag, b u t b o s o m b u d d i e s they h a d never been.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 187 And besides that, death h a d never m u c h appealed to Sid. N o t that v b o d y begged to lap it up w i t h a s p o o n , b u t there were s o m e , even many, w h o seemed n o t to m i n d the rituals—the keening, t h e floral d e c o rations, t h e rabbinical razz-ma-tazz. Sid m i n d e d . He m i n d e d every stinking (his word, b u t admittedly an u n f o r t u n a t e choice) detail. M o r e t h a n anything, t h o u g h , Sid m i n d e d Esther's attitude, for, after a lifetime of ignoring h e r father, suddenly, w i t h t h e old m a n gone, their relationship overnight became the closest t h i n g since G o d a n d G i d e o n . A n d w h a t was so killing a b o u t her a t t i t u d e was that it cost. N o t h i n g was t o o good. The best, only, for t h e dearly d e p a r t e d . T h e t h o u g h t of using t h e funeral parlor a r o u n d the corner m a d e Esther gag. N o ; Shapiro's h a d to do t h e stuffing. Shapiro's, the spiffiest g h o u l spa on the entire S o u t h Side of Chicago. Young Shapiro himself h a n d l e d the festivities a n d every r u b of his m a n i c u r e d h a n d s probably m e a n t a fiver, every n o d of his h a n d s o m e greaseball h e a d a ten-spot. T h e fact that it wasn't Sid's m o n e y m a t t e r e d to h i m n o t at all. T h e old cocker was footing the bill for his o w n funeral, but w h e n Sid tried preaching c a u t i o n Esther only s h o u t e d , "It's his, shut up," because she was t o o d e n s e to u n d e r s t a n d that w h a t they were spending n o w would not, miracle-like, reappear u n t o u c h e d at t h e reading of the will. T h e estate was p a l t r y to begin with, a n d with Esther digithappy they were going to be lucky if a sou remained. So, w h e n discussing caskets w i t h his wife a n d y o u n g Shapiro, if Sid risked universal scorn by venturing to ask, Did t h e lining have to be of quilted satin, w h o could blame h i m ? a n

After nearly three days of preliminaries they finally got a r o u n d to t h e main event, which was held in a large r o o m on Shapiro's second floor. Sid would have preferred s o m e t h i n g a little smaller, a cubicle m a y b e , since Shapiro's seemed to charge by the square foot, b u t Esther insisted on a big r o o m , to a c c o m m o d a t e all t h e m o u r n e r s . Sid tried telling h e r n o t to expect t h e entire city of Chicago, lest t h e experience provide e m b a r r a s s ment as well as grief; Esther's o n l y answer was a fervent " T h e y ' l l c o m e , they'll come," followed by a semistifled sob. A n d they came. As Sid led his family into the second-floor r o o m , he n o d d e d in surprise, for t h e r o o m was close to full. C u s t o m e r s all, a n d Sid recognized several of t h e m from t h e agonizing h o u r s he .had spent t h e past few days m i n d i n g the g o d d a m store. M r s . Kramer, M r s . Feldman, Mrs. Katz, Rosenheim the l a u n d r y m a n . Not a m u l t i t u d e , b u t certainly a respectable t u r n o u t . I h o p e I do as well, Sid t h o u g h t as he h e r d e d his tribe to the coffin. It was, on Esther's insistence, open, a n d n e i t h e r Sid n o r the b o y h a d seen the old m a n since t h e demise. Esther, of course, h a d

188 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN c o m m u n e d for h o u r s the day before, weeping over t h e corpse while Sid h a d t e n d e d store. T h e old cocker looked unbelievably well, better than w h e n alive almost, a n d Sid experienced a m o m e n t of s o m e t h i n g as he gazed d o w n , because he realized t h e n t h a t Turk was indeed, as advertised, dead, really dead, finally a n d irrevocably dead: dead. Sid glanced at Esther, w h o stood by t h e coffin, Bravely Biting Her Lip, a n d t h e n young Shapiro was gesturing to h i m . Sid a p p r o a c h e d the gravedigger, his h a n d m o v i n g protectingly to his wallet. "Yes?" Sid whispered. " P e r h a p s we could do s o m e t h i n g for the boy." " W h a t ' s w r o n g with t h e b o y ? " T h e m a n i c u r e d fingers gestured toward the coffin. "Well, look at him." "It's his first funeral. He'll get over it. Besides, he's n o t crying." " P e r h a p s we could have h i m sit d o w n . Generally, o n e is less affected w h e n n o t actually viewing t h e deceased." Sid walked back to t h e boy. " C o m e o n , Rudy. Let's sit d o w n . " He tried to take his son's a r m b u t t h e tiny fingers were tight a r o u n d t h e coffin edge a n d w o u l d n o t move. "Rudy," Sid whispered. " C o m e now." T h e b o y stayed w h e r e he was. Sid glanced t o w a r d y o u n g Shapiro a n d shrugged. Abruptly, t h e b o y t u r n e d , a n d Sid said, " C o m e sit by m e , Rudy," b u t t h e b o y m u s t n o t have heard, for he m o v e d off by himself to the far e n d of t h e front row. Sid escorted Esther to t h e best seats in t h e house, front r o w center on t h e aisle, a n d they sat d o w n . Sid looked a r o u n d . It was all very impressive, b u t he wasn't impressed; his roving eye saw only bills. T h e h u s h e d r o o m cost m o n e y , the h a r d w o o d e n chairs; the flowers cost, t h e o r g a n music, t h e casket ( m a h o g a n y yet), everything. Sid sighed. T h e n R a b b i K o r n b l u t h was m a k i n g with t h e H e b r e w a n d everybody bowed, a few already practicing their sobs. Sid scowled at Rabbi Kornbluth; no w o n d e r he drove a Packard. For w h a t he charged he could have it gold-plated. Maybe I s h o u l d have been a rabbi, Sid t h o u g h t . A funeral specialist. W o r k just the s p r i n g a n d fall, t h e n s u m m e r in t h e Catskills, winter in M i a m i Beach. "We are here to h o n o r Joel Turk," Rabbi K o r n b l u t h said, switching t o n g u e s . " I n all o u r lives we will have no m o r e noble p u r p o s e . " Of course it would be t o u g h to play a r o u n d if you were a rabbi. If a b r o a d shot off her m o u t h , it could r u i n you; w h o w a n t s a playboy rabbi? But if you w a n t e d to play a r o u n d , h o w could you do it? W i t h o u t risk. A mistress? N o ; no good. O n e - s h o t j o b s would be better. But t h e bitches m i g h t blackmail you. Kill t h e funeral racket. Maybe you could give t h e m a p h o n y n a m e . Tell t h e m you were a cloak-and-suiter. T h a t m i g h t work. Or m a y b e — S i d stiffened in his chair. Because right t h e n he saw it.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 189 Turk's nose. C u r v i n g up above the casket edge. Sid looked away, t h e n back. It was still there. T h e nose. In full view of t h e audience. T h e nose. Just t h e nose. Sid almost laughed b u t m a n a g e d to bite d o w n on his lip in t i m e . He lowered his head, fighting for c o n t r o l . "I never h a d the pleasure of m e e t i n g Joel Turk," Rabbi K o r n b l u t h said in his fine cantorial t o n e . "So in a sense I am saying hello to h i m today. But that is w h a t we are all d o i n g , saying hello. This is no t i m e for g o o d bye. Joel Turk will stay in y o u r hearts, just as he will stay in m i n e . " Sid raised his head quickly a n d peeked at the nose. T h e n m o r e quickly he d r o p p e d his h e a d again, biting d o w n h a r d e r on his lip, causing himself m i l d pain. C o u l d n ' t t h e y all see it? Couldn't e v e r y b o d y see it? W h y weren't they laughing? S o m e b o d y was. Sid h e a r d the s o u n d at t h e s a m e t i m e Rabbi K o r n b l u t h did. T h e rabbi had just said "In y o u r faces I can see Joel Turk. Your eyes tell me everything. T h e y tell m e . . . " w h e n h e s t o p p e d , hearing the laughter. " T h e y tell me t h a t . . . " T h e laughter lingered. " T h a t he was a fine boy," Rabbi Kornbluth said. "I m e a n m a n . A fine m a n . " Sid stared at his laughing son. "The finest of men . . . " T h e boy's laughter rang. "A m a n w h o loved his fellows a n d his G o d . A m a n w h o l a u g h e d a l l . . . loved all living things . . . " Sid looked at Esther, w h o was staring at the boy. Sid looked away. "A m a n w h o treated all m e n as equals, a m a n w h o felt s u p e r i o r to no one, inferior to n o t h i n g . A m a n . . . " T h e b o y could n o t stop laughing. Rabbi K o r n b l u t h t o o k o u t a large white handkerchief a n d m o p p e d his forehead. Esther inhaled sharply, h e r eyes shut tight, her fingers s u d d e n l y digging at her temples. "A m a n worthy of the n a m e m a n . And now he is dead . . . " L o u d e r laughter. " T h a t is why we are here, because he is dead," Rabbi K o r n b l u t h said, his voice rising. Esther was gasping now, h e r face very pale. " B u t he is n o t dead!" Rabbi K o r n b l u t h raised his right h a n d high. " I n y o u r eyes I can see he lives on a n d so I say this to you: Joel T u r k is alive!

190 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN T h e R i m Greaper will n o t have h i m ! " Rabbi K o r n b l u t h w i p e d his foreh e a d vigorously. " G r i m Reaper. T h e G r i m Reaper will n o t have h i m . . . " He glared at the boy, w h o , helpless, could only laugh a n d shake his head. Sid p u t his a r m a r o u n d Esther, listening as t h e rabbi d r o n e d o n . She pressed h e r knuckles against h e r eyes, her head t h r o b b i n g relentlessly. R a b b i K o r n b l u t h switched back into H e b r e w a n d Sid sighed w i t h relief, feeling t h e e n d a p p r o a c h i n g . T h e n t h e rabbi was d o n e . He walked over to Esther, said s o m e t h i n g a n d left the r o o m . T h e organ m u s i c grew louder. Quietly t h e people filed out. W h e n m o s t of t h e m were g o n e , Sid leaped u p a n d ran t o the boy, g r a b b i n g h i m b y t h e a r m s , d r a g g i n g h i m t o his feet. " H o w could you laugh?" Sid said. " H o w ? " " T h e nose," the b o y m a n a g e d . " T h e nose." " H o w could you laugh? I s h o u l d beat you." " T h e nose . . . " " W h a t nose? O h , I s h o u l d beat you. Look w h a t you've d o n e . " "It's for laughing. I c o u l d n ' t stop, I j u s t — " Esther cried o u t then, l u n g i n g to h e r feet. Young Shapiro reached for her, b u t she s h o o k loose a n d started t o w a r d the boy. O n e of h e r eyes was closed a n d t h e other could n o t s t o p blinking a n d t h e veins in h e r foreh e a d t h r o b b e d . T h e boy retreated t o w a r d the casket b u t she followed h i m , closing the gap. T h e b o y reached o u t for t h e old m a n . T h e n Esther was on h i m , forcing h i m to his knees, s c r e a m i n g "You killed m e ! You killed m e ! " until h e r voice was gone.

VII A a r o n despised Princeton University. He h a d n o t wanted to go t h e r e at all, b u t n o n e of t h e o t h e r colleges he applied to offered nearly so g e n e r o u s a scholarship, so P r i n c e t o n it was. A a r o n immediately o p e n e d hostilities. T h e other s t u d e n t s h a d their hair cut short; he let his hair g r o w long a n d he kept it that way, d a r k a n d u n ruly, b r u s h i n g it back only w i t h his h a n d s . They all dressed in d a r k gray or navy blue; A a r o n b o u g h t a yellow corduroy jacket a n d w o r e it incessantly, until it became his t r a d e m a r k . In classes he was completely c o m petitive, never caring w h a t g r a d e he received just so it was t h e highest in t h e course. Sometimes straight "A" was required, s o m e t i m e s "A—" sufficed. T h e first semester of his s o p h o m o r e year, Klein, a s t u b b y scholar from Denver, was doing straight "A" w o r k in M o d e r n E u r o p e a n History.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 191 A a r o n braced for the challenge, driving himself into t h e night, grinding, g r i n d i n g . After t h e final e x a m i n a t i o n t h e professor called h i m i n t o his office. "I could find n o t h i n g w r o n g w i t h y o u r paper," the professor said. A a r o n n o d d e d . " I know." "I d o n ' t believe in giving t h e g r a d e of A plus . . . " " B u t you're m a k i n g an exception in my case." "Yes." "I deserved it," Aaron said a n d , abruptly, left the r o o m . For t h e first two years, he suffered no friends. Several m a d e overtures, Klein a m o n g t h e m , b u t h e rebuffed t h e m all, w i t h o u t t h i n k i n g . " N o , I ' m busy. N o , I'm busy t h e n t o o . That's right. I'm busy." A a r o n alone. But that was before t h e c o m i n g of W h i t e . He n e e d e d money. Always. For b o o k s . Books were his passion a n d he b o u g h t t h e m a dozen at a t i m e . His r o o m at h o m e was flooded with t h e m . T h e y spilled across t h e t o p of his desk, overflowed his shelves. He h a d stacks of books balanced on his windowsill, piles of b o o k s lining the floor by the edge of his bed. " W h e r e are you ever going to get t h e t i m e to read t h e m all?" Charlotte w o u l d ask as he lugged h o m e a n o t h e r a r m l o a d . "Honestly, Aaron. Haven't y o u got e n o u g h books by n o w ? " " I ' m paying for them," he w o u l d answer w h e n he cared to answer at all. "It's my money." Alone in his r o o m , he w o u l d t o u c h the clean jackets w i t h t h e tips of his fingers, gently r u n t h e p a l m of his h a n d along t h e spine. T h e n he w o u l d read. He read t h e m all, as fast as he could, carefully t u r n i n g t h e pages, keeping t h e m fresh a n d clean. He never felt as if he really o w n e d a b o o k until after he had read it t h r o u g h . T h e n it was his. To get money, he typed. T h e m e s , t e r m papers, a n y t h i n g . He tacked little postcards u p all a r o u n d t h e c a m p u s with the words F I R E S T O N E T Y P ING S E R V I C E on the back. Beneath he p u t his p h o n e n u m b e r . He was a marvelous typist, a n d he w o u l d sit for h o u r s h u n c h e d over his desk, head tilted to o n e side, a cigarette glued to a corner of his m o u t h . For a t i m e he got e n o u g h m o n e y that way, b u t t h e n , as his taste in b o o k s g r e w m o r e expensive, he began seeking o t h e r w o r k . At t h e start of his senior year he t o o k a job at t h e Nassau Food Shoppe. T h e fancy spelling was t h e idea of the owner, Mr. A k r o n , w h o had taken over w h e n t h e old Nassau Food Shop h a d gone b a n k r u p t seven years before. Mr. A k r o n a d d e d t h e two extra letters the day he t o o k over, °n t h e t h e o r y that it added, as he p u t it, "a toucha class." He was a dark, harried m a n a n d his real n a m e was A k r o n o p o l o s . T h e only distinguishing

192 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN feature of t h e Nassau F o o d S h o p p e , aside from t h e fact t h a t its h a m b u r g ers were cooked in olive o i l — M r . A k r o n was a great believer in olive oil—• was that it stayed o p e n until two in the m o r n i n g , m u c h later t h a n any of its c o m p e t i t o r s . A a r o n w o r k e d from eleven till closing, w h i c h gave h i m t i m e to catch the late m o v i e at t h e Playhouse before r e p o r t i n g for duty. Aaron's d o m a i n was t h e soda fountain, at the front of the store, Mr. Akron himself h a n d l i n g the h o t - f o o d s d e p a r t m e n t along t h e rear wall. " N o t so m u c h ice cream," he w o u l d s h o u t at Aaron nightly, his voice b o o m i n g across the b o o t h s a n d square tables that separated t h e m . "Easy with that dipper." T h e c u s t o m e r s d u r i n g Aaron's working h o u r s were almost all university students up late c r a m m i n g for tests or finishing p a p e r s . Occasionally he would k n o w o n e of t h e m b u t mostly they were just faces. S o m e t i m e s t h e faces w o u l d whisper to h i m , " H o w a b o u t a little extra on t h e s u n d a e ? " a n d he w o u l d always reply, "A little extra for you, a little extra for me." T h e y would either n o d or shrug. If they n o d d e d , he would pocket t h e nickel or d i m e t h e y gave h i m ; if they shrugged, he shortc h a n g e d t h e m on syrup. Either way, A a r o n emerged v i c t o r i o u s . W h i t e f o u n d h i m o n e night in late November. It h a d been s n o w i n g m o s t of t h e day b u t that h a d s t o p p e d by nine o'clock. Now, well past m i d n i g h t , it was clear out, clear a n d unseasonably cold. W h e n e v e r the front d o o r of t h e store o p e n e d , A a r o n glanced up, shivering. He hated winter. His b o d y was t o o spare for winter. Aaron saw W h i t e w h e n he c a m e in, shrugged a n d went back to his reading. He always t o o k a b o o k with h i m on t h e job, p r o p p i n g it o p e n on the counter, r e t u r n i n g to it whenever he h a d a chance. He was aware t h a t W h i t e was sitting across t h e c o u n t e r from h i m , b u t he kept on reading, carefully finishing t h e p a r a g r a p h , taking his t i m e . T h e n he looked u p . "Something?" " W h a t ' s g o o d ? " W h i t e was wearing a d a r k tweed coat, b u t t o n e d to the t h r o a t . His hair was perfectly c o m b e d . "Everything. You n a m e it." W h i t e d r u m m e d his fingers on t h e counter. " M a k e it a sundae." "What kind?" W h i t e smiled. "Surprise me." O.K., A a r o n t h o u g h t . You w a n t a surprise. You'll get a surprise. Grabbing a s u n d a e dish, he m o v e d to t h e ice-cream freezer. Deftly he d u g o u t a large scoop of orange sherbet. H u m m i n g to himself, he covered t h e sherbet with a thick layer of butterscotch sauce. A m o u n d of w h i p p e d cream a n d a cherry completed t h e j o b . A a r o n set it d o w n in front of W h i t e . "Bon appetit," he said.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 193 W h i t e n o d d e d a n d fiddled w i t h his s p o o n a m o m e n t . T h e n he began to eat. A a r o n watched h i m . T h e y h a d never spoken b e f o r e — t h e y were sharing Professor Haskell's class in essay writing that semester b u t they had never spoken. A a r o n k n e w a b o u t h i m , t h o u g h . H u g h W h i t e was o n e of t h e two or three b e s t - k n o w n s t u d e n t s at Princeton. It was hardly surprising. To begin with, he h a d all t h e secondary virtues: he was a WASP in g o o d standing. White Anglo-Saxon Protestant. His breeding was impeccable—his m o t h e r was a Boston Clarke. He dressed extremely well b u t casually. He was h a n d s o m e , b u t his features were u n even, w h i c h only a d d e d to his attractiveness. He was athletic e n o u g h — a s h o u l d e r separation freshman year had e n d e d a p r o m i s i n g football c a r e e r — a n d s m a r t e n o u g h , friendly e n o u g h b u t n o t t o o friendly, m o d e s t b u t sincerely so. A n d of course he was rich. T h a t was t h e p r i m a r y virtue. Money. U n c o u n t a b l e m o n e y . His grandfather h a d f o u n d e d W h i t e & Co. Steel before the t u r n of t h e century, a n d w h e n the old m a n died, to t h e a c c o m p a n i m e n t of headlines all across t h e country, he was w o r t h , conservatively, u p w a r d of seventy-five million dollars. Since t h a t t i m e , t h e steel business h a d improved. H u g h W h i t e was heir to it all. A a r o n loathed h i m o n principle. " W h a t the hell is this?" H u g h W h i t e said, gagging on his s u n d a e . "Specialty of the house," A a r o n replied. "Like it?" " N o t all that much." "We call it 'Butterscotch D r e a m . ' It's very popular." " D o you charge m o n e y for it?" "Two bits." "Here." A a r o n t o o k the dollar bill a n d rang it up on t h e cash register. He started back with the change. "Keep it." A a r o n bowed. " M a n y thanks." He picked up his b o o k a n d began to read. O n c e he looked u p . W h i t e was watching h i m . A a r o n c o n c e n t r a t e d on his reading. A little later t h r e e o t h e r boys came in a n d A a r o n served t h e m . H u g h W h i t e sat quietly, t h e s u n d a e melting in front of h i m . A a r o n stretched, t h e n r e s u m e d his reading. "Aaron?" W h i t e was calling h i m . A a r o n could feel himself starting to flush, so he kept his head d o w n , staring at t h e glazed p r i n t until it was safe to look u p . H e was surprised that W h i t e k n e w his n a m e . Surprised a n d u n d e n i ably pleased. "Hey, A a r o n ? "

194 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "What?" "Like to talk to you." " Talk to me." " N o t here." "Why?" H u g h gestured t o w a r d t h e t h r e e boys d o w n t h e counter. "It's a little crowded." " O h , I get it," A a r o n said. "We're playing Spy." He lowered his voice, speaking in a h u r r i e d whisper. " T h e secret formula is E equals MC squared. Pass it on." "You finished?" "Momentarily." " T h e n let's take a walk." " I ' m working." "It'll only take a m i n u t e . " A a r o n lighted a cigarette. "You're . . . uh . . . I forget y o u r n a m e . You're..." " H u g h White." A a r o n shrugged. Eat that, y o u bastard. "Ready?" "Mr. Akronopolos," A a r o n called o u t . "Akron. Akron, n o t A k r o n o p o l o s . " " I ' m going o u t for a m i n u t e , Mr. Akronopolos." G r a b b i n g his coat, he r o u n d e d the c o u n t e r to t h e front door. H u g h held it o p e n for h i m and t h e y stepped into t h e cold, walking slowly along Nassau Street. "All right," A a r o n said. " W h a t ? " "You k n o w that essay we've got d u e t o m o r r o w ? " Aaron nodded. " W h a t did you write o n ? " " S o m e t h i n g or other," A a r o n answered. "I forget." " I couldn't f i n d m u c h t i m e t o d o one," H u g h W h i t e said. " M y heart," Aaron said, "is bleeding." H u g h stopped. A a r o n was shivering with t h e cold. "Here," H u g h said. " T h r o w this on." U n b u t t o n i n g his coat, he h a n d e d it to A a r o n . A a r o n felt t h e soft, rich tweed a m o m e n t , t h e n slung the coat a r o u n d his shoulders. "I like this k i n d of weather," H u g h explained. A a r o n said n o t h i n g . "About that essay." " W h a t a b o u t it?" " H o w a b o u t letting m e have it?"

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"You m e a n to copy? Are you crazy? No." "I wasn't exactly t h i n k i n g of copying it." Aaron waited. "I t h o u g h t you m i g h t give it to me." "Give it to you? W h y t h e hell s h o u l d I?" " Ten bucks," H u g h W h i t e said, h o l d i n g two fives in his o p e n h a n d . " T h a n k s for the use of t h e coat." A a r o n h a n d e d it b a c k to h i m . " I n e e d that essay, Aaron." "Write o n e , like t h e rest of t h e c o m m o n e r s . " "There's n o t e n o u g h t i m e for me to. But you could, A a r o n . You're a s m a r t guy. You could k n o c k o n e off t o n i g h t after you quit w o r k . It doesn't matter w h a t you h a n d in. You k n o w that. You've got t h e p r o f buffaloed. You'll get y o u r A." " G o to hell." " W o u l d twenty dollars c h a n g e y o u r m i n d ? " He started reaching for his wallet. "No." "Twenty-five, then." He pulled t h e m o n e y out. "Twenty-five dollars, Aaron. You can use twenty-five dollars, can't you?" Aaron stared at the m o n e y . "Twenty-five dollars. I really n e e d that essay, Aaron. I haven't been doing so well in that course lately. So h o w a b o u t it?" A a r o n grabbed at t h e m o n e y , folding it u p , shoving it i n t o his pants pocket. "You son of a bitch," he said. "You k n o w I'm broke." "I'll stay in the food s h o p while you get it." "I'll give it to you before class." "I d o n ' t t h i n k so. S o m e b o d y m i g h t just see us. It's better if y o u get it for me now. I'll wait." A a r o n t u r n e d , h u r r y i n g d o w n Nassau Street t o w a r d his h o u s e . " T h a n k s a lot, Aaron," H u g h called after h i m . "And take y o u r t i m e . No hurry." O h , you bastard, A a r o n t h o u g h t . You rich bastard. He kicked at the snow as he m o v e d along, furious at w h a t he h a d d o n e . Yanking t h e m o n e y from his pocket, he c o u n t e d it. Twenty-five dollars. You could b u y a lot of b o o k s for twenty-five dollars. A a r o n spit. Lighting a cigarette, he inhaled viciously. He was b l i n d m a d . G o d d a m White. G o d d a m all t h e rich ones. A a r o n flung his cigarette into t h e snow. He was almost to his h o u s e before he realized t h a t w h a t riled h i m was n o t that he h a d sold o u t b u t t h a t he h a d sold o u t so cheaply. W h o e v e r b o u g h t h i m next t i m e was going to pay.

196 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

He worked m o s t of t h a t n i g h t completing a n e w paper. It was after two w h e n he started a n d he was tired so t h e work w e n t slowly. T h e n , a r o u n d three, he r e m e m b e r e d w h a t W h i t e h a d said. "You've got t h e p r o f buffaloed. You'll get an A." It was true, of course. A a r o n k n e w that, b u t he h a d never t a k e n a d v a n t a g e of it. N o w he decided to. Carefully placing a cigarette in t h e c o r n e r of his m o u t h , he half closed his eyes a n d typed a quick six-page essay on the joys of b i r d w a t c h i n g in P r i n c e t o n . Finished, he read it aloud, laughing, retyped it carefully a n d w e n t t o bed. W h i t e was waiting for h i m w h e n he got to class, p a c i n g beside t h e ent r a n c e to t h e classroom. " M o r n i n g , " W h i t e said. A a r o n h u r r i e d into class w i t h o u t answering. W h e n the class was over he left t h e building a n d was halfway d o w n t h e steps w h e n White caught u p t o h i m . "Aaron. Hey, Aaron." A a r o n slowed. " W h a t ? " " T h a t was a good p a p e r y o u gave me. Really good." " H o w w o u l d you k n o w ? " "I read it. Twice." " T h e n y o u r lips m u s t be tired," Aaron said. " N o w if you'll excuse me," a n d he t u r n e d right, h e a d i n g for t h e library. He t o o k notes in t h e library for close t o a n h o u r , a n d w h e n h e c a m e o u t W h i t e was waiting. " N o w , look," A a r o n began. "Will you let me talk?" "Talk." " W e l l — " H u g h s h r u g g e d — " I t h o u g h t maybe w e m i g h t get t o k n o w each o t h e r a little." " N o t in t h e Biblical sense, I trust. My m o t h e r ' s told me a b o u t boys like you." "Will you cut it o u t ? " "I d i d n ' t start this conversation, you r e m e m b e r ? " T h r e e seniors sauntered by, going to t h e library. " H u g h , boy," o n e of t h e m said. H u g h n o d d e d t o t h e m . "Listen," he said w h e n t h e y were gone. "Why? You don't say a n y t h i n g . A n d I'm getting cold s t a n d i n g here." "Let's go for s o m e coffee, then." "I d o n ' t w a n t coffee," A a r o n said. "I've lived t w e n t y years w i t h o u t you. I can probably c o n t i n u e for a while longer."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 197 "I have a t r e m e n d o u s desire," H u g h said, "to clobber you right on t h e nose." "If you do I'll never wash it again. I promise." "Look—" " W h a t do I need you for? T h e only answer I can c o m e up with is m a terial. I m i g h t w a n t to write a b o u t t h e o t h e r half someday. I'm always on the l o o k o u t for material. But t h e r e are limits." " W h a t have you got against m e ? " " T h e way you dress, just for o p e n e r s . You're so casual it m a k e s me sick. T h e way you walk. You swagger." Go on. " T h e way you always look people in the eye w h e n you're talking to t h e m . I'll bet you've got a firm h a n d s h a k e . If you do, I hate t h a t t o o . I hate t h e way you look." A a r o n w a r m e d to the task. "I hate t h e way you talk. I hate t h e way people t r y sitting beside you in class. I hate t h e way they w h i s p e r to you, h o p i n g you'll l a u g h . I hate the girls you b r i n g d o w n here; they're t o o pretty a n d they smile at you. Everybody's always smiling at you a n d I could do with less of t h a t . I hate your m o n e y a n d y o u r social b a c k g r o u n d a n d I hate the h u m b l e act you're always p u t t i n g o n . I even hate y o u r n a m e . Hugh." A a r o n said it nasally, tauntingly. " H u g h . Hugh." "It stands for H u b e r t ! I used to get picked on in g r a m m a r school b e cause o f m y n a m e . H u b e r t ! W h a t ' s s o g o d d a m good a b o u t H u b e r t ? " A a r o n laughed. H u g h smiled. T h e n they went for coffee. "C," H u g h said. "You get an A on a piece of j u n k a b o u t b i r d w a t c h i n g and t h e son of a bitch gives me a C." It was a week later a n d t h e y h a d just got their essays back. " C a n I help it if the teacher h a p p e n s to be a bird w a t c h e r ? " T h e y walked o u t of the b u i l d i n g a n d d o w n the steps. T h e day was s u n n y a n d cool b u t n o t cold. T h e y p a u s e d a m o m e n t at the b o t t o m of the steps, t h e n started aimlessly across c a m p u s . "God," H u g h said. A a r o n looked at h i m , t h e n away. Briefly he w o n d e r e d if H u g h was going to hit something, or b u r s t i n t o tears, or b o t h . " G o b u y yourself s o m e t h i n g in cashmere, H u b e r t . It'll cheer you." "Don't," H u g h said. "Just don't." A a r o n shrugged. "I've got to go to the library." " I ' m m a d , Aaron. Can't y o u see t h a t ? "

198 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes." " I ' m really mad." " M y m o t h e r always says if y o u do a g o o d deed you'll feel better." "You d o n ' t have to go to t h e library." "No." "Let's walk then." T h e y m o v e d in silence for a while, circling d o w n past t h e g y m , along t h e t e n n i s courts, t h e n up t o w a r d Nassau Street. "It was a good paper," H u g h said finally. " B u t you didn't write it. I did. I'm t h e o n e that o u g h t to be angry." "Everything's set!" H u g h cried suddenly, whirling on A a r o n . " D o n ' t you see that? My whole life is set. It's like a maze. There's o n l y o n e o p e n ing a n d I've got to follow along. I've b o u g h t papers before. Just to prove it to myself. It always t u r n s o u t t h e s a m e . It doesn't m a t t e r w h a t I d o . It's set. D o n ' t you see?" "I find it difficult to sympathize," A a r o n answered, " w i t h either the rich or t h e beautiful." "I d o n ' t w a n t sympathy. Just u n d e r s t a n d , that's all. We all of us could use a little understanding." "Yes." A a r o n n o d d e d . " T h a t we could." They began to walk again, slowly, changing direction, h e a d i n g s o u t h , t h e n east, w a n d e r i n g . T h e s u n was w a r m for November. H u g h t o o k off his coat a n d t h r e w it casually over his shoulder. "You d o n ' t like the maze, get o u t of the maze." "Sure." " W h a t ' s stopping y o u ? " " I ' m weak, Aaron. I am n o t strong." "Take v i t a m i n pills." H u g h smiled. "It's very h a r d , A a r o n . Try to believe t h a t . It's very h a r d . Look. W h e n I was sixteen, I got o u r chauffeur's d a u g h t e r in trouble." " T h a t was precocious of you." H u g h ignored h i m . "It was a terrible t h i n g to d o . For all k i n d s of reasons b u t m a i n l y because I liked her. A lot. We'd sort of g r o w n up together a n d we were close. But anyway, I d i d it to h e r a n d w h e n she told me I w a n t e d to die. I was sixteen, r e m e m b e r , a kid a n d I h a d s i n n e d a n d w h e n you do t h a t you get p u n i s h e d . It d o e s n ' t m a t t e r if you're rich or n o t , G o d p u n i s h e s you. That's what I t h o u g h t . I stayed up all that night, on my bed, t r e m b l i n g , trying to figure o u t w h a t to d o . Because Deedee was p r e g n a n t a n d it was my fault a n d I h a d to set it right." H u g h s t o p p e d talking. " W h a t h a p p e n e d ? " A a r o n said.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 199 " I ' m just trying to get it straight." He closed his eyes a m o m e n t . "Yes. The second night. It was the second night after I'd found o u t a n d I was up in my r o o m w h e n my father c a m e in. He was wearing an a s c o t — t h a t was d u r i n g his ascot phase. His tailor h a d told h i m they were c o m i n g back, so he w a n t e d to beat t h e fad. We l o o k a lot alike, my father a n d m e . We're b o t h of us b r o w n , b r o w n eyes, b r o w n hair. Well, he came in. I n o d d e d to him, waiting for h i m to say s o m e t h i n g . He fiddled with his ascot a while—it was on straight b u t he fiddled w i t h it a n y w a y — a n d t h e n he cleared his throat. I just waited. " T k n o w a b o u t your difficulty,' my father said. " ' O h ? ' T h a t was all I could answer because I was so happy. Because I knew I was going to get p u n i s h e d . For w h a t I h a d d o n e . " H e cleared his throat. 'You s h o u l d be m o r e careful, Hugh.' " 'Yes,' I said. 'Yes, sir.' " T h e n , as I was watching, he t u r n e d a n d went to the door. He got it half o p e n before he said a n y t h i n g m o r e . T h e n , just before he left m e , he said it. His back was to me a n d he said, 'It's all been taken care of.' " T h a t was it. 'It's all been taken care of A n d t h e next m o r n i n g w h e n I c a m e d o w n s t a i r s it was. T h e chauffeur was gone. Deedee was g o n e . A n e w chauffeur c a m e that afternoon. Life w e n t on. I found o u t later t h a t w h a t h a p p e n e d was father h a d given Deedee's old m a n a c h u n k of m o n e y a n d s o m e reference letters a n d h a d p a i d for anything medical. As simple as that. Everybody p a r t e d happy. N o b o d y ever talked to me a b o u t it again. In a couple of m o n t h s I began to w o n d e r myself w h e t h e r it h a d really h a p p e n e d o r not." " E n d of story?" A a r o n asked. H u g h n o d d e d . "But d o n ' t you see? W h y it's hard? Everything's been taken care of for m e . I d o n ' t have to w a n t anything. I'll get it anyway. That's w h y I n e e d a creep like you a r o u n d . " "You go t o o far." " O h , let's face it, Aaron: if t h e y h a d a National Creep C h a m p i o n s h i p you'd w i n in a walk. My G o d , walking a r o u n d the way you do w i t h y o u r hair l o n g e n o u g h to m o w a n d t h a t unbelievable yellow jacket. You m i g h t as well have T am a creep' sewed on t h e back." " T h a t jacket, knucklenose, h a p p e n s to be a beacon of i n d e p e n d e n c e in a d a r k sea of Harris tweed." " O n l y a creep w o u l d say a t h i n g like that." "Your m i n d is n o t at its best with subtleties." " I n e e d guys like you. It's n u t t y b u t I keep h o p i n g you'll m a y b e help m e . Osmosis, I don't know. You w a n t things, Aaron. I don't. But I'd like to."

200 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h a t s o u n d you just h e a r d was my heart breaking." H u g h White smiled. F r o m t h e m o m e n t they b e g a n being seen t o g e t h e r — a n d they were together constantly—Aaron's position o n c a m p u s a b r u p t l y changed. Boys w h o were never aware of his existence suddenly k n e w his n a m e and called o u t to h i m as he passed; as he stood outside of classrooms, smoking, o t h e r boys came up to h i m a n d started conversations, asking questions a b o u t assignments. People were talking a b o u t h i m , n o d d i n g their h e a d s in his direction. Of course he p r e t e n d e d n o t to notice a n d was as c u r t with everyone as he h a d b e e n before, n o t r e t u r n i n g their hellos, shrugging to their questions. He really didn't care a b o u t t h e simpering bastards. W h a t he did care a b o u t was H u g h . But that was n o t surprising. Twenty years h a d b e e n a l o n g t i m e to go w i t h o u t a friend. O n e December afternoon, as they were walking t o w a r d t h e library, H u g h said, "You do like girls." A a r o n b u r s t o u t laughing. " D o I like girls? You're g o d d a m right I do." He lighted a cigarette, j a m m i n g it into t h e corner of his m o u t h . " W h a t m a k e s you ask a t h i n g like t h a t ? " " N o reason." "Because I haven't b e e n d a t i n g m u c h lately? Is t h a t it? Well, hell, that's just because I've been a little low on funds. Hell, I like girls as well as the next guy." "Let's double s o m e t i m e t h e n . O.K.?" "Great by me," Aaron answered. "Let's do that." O n e night early in F e b r u a r y t h e y were studying in Hugh's r o o m , A a r o n sprawled on the bed, H u g h at t h e desk, reading. A a r o n stretched. " I o u g h t t o b e getting d o w n t o t h e F o o d Shoppe." H u g h looked up from his b o o k . "Already?" A a r o n n o d d e d , sitting u p . "It's a b o u t that time." "Hey," H u g h said. "Your m o t h e r . W h a t ' s she doing Saturday n i g h t ? " "Why? You w a n t to date her? D o n ' t you t h i n k she's a little old for you? "Just tell me what she's d o i n g ? " " S a m e t h i n g she always does Saturday nights. Baby sitting w i t h Debby a n d D o m i n i c ' s kid, over in N e w Brunswick." " T h e n your h o u s e is available?" "Available?" "Empty." "Yes." H u g h n o d d e d . "Excellent."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 201 " W h y ? " A a r o n began gathering his books. "Because we've got dates Saturday night, Aaron. You a n d m e . It's all fixed up." A a r o n smiled. " W h e n d i d this all h a p p e n ? " "I've been researching the subject for quite s o m e t i m e . Trying to find just t h e perfect m a i d e n for a creep like you. At long last I believe I have succeeded." " I wish you'd told me a b o u t it, H u b e r t . D a m m i t . I can't go Saturday." "Will it change your m i n d if I tell you this girl is absolutely g u a r a n teed to do t h e trick, a n d no guilt feelings whatsoever?" H u g h laughed. "I ever tell you a b o u t this b u d d y of m i n e w h o was working in a b o o k s t o r e — this is t r u e , I swear—anyway, he answered t h e p h o n e o n e day a n d there was this lady on t h e other e n d a n d she said, ' P a r d o n me, b u t do you have Sex without Guilt?' a n d my b u d d y said, 'Sometimes.' " A a r o n laughed a n d laughed. " N o kidding? He really said t h a t ? " H u g h raised his right h a n d . " W o r d of honor." " W h a t a great t h i n g to say," A a r o n went o n . "That's really funny. No kidding." He burst o u t laughing again. " 'She asked if he had Sex without Guilt a n d h e — ' " " Q u i t stalling a n d tell me you'll come." A a r o n p u t on his coat. "I'd really love to; I can't." "Aaron," H u g h said, "this girl is right for you. I just k n o w it. I've d o n e a major screening process, Aaron. I w o u l d n ' t get you with a n y b o d y you might get e m b a r r a s s e d about. I m e a n that. This girl is bright e n o u g h a n d terribly friendly. A little sick m a y b e , I'll a d m i t that, b u t that's n o t t h e e n d of the w o r l d — s o are you." "It s o u n d s like a lot of fun. I ' m sorry." "Aaron, I k n o w you're shy, it's all right. I t o o k everything i n t o consideration, believe that." "I said I'm sorry. I can't go." "Why?" " Busy." "Doing what?" " T h a t ' s m y business." "You're scared, aren't you? D o n ' t b e . It'll w o r k o u t fine." " N o ! " A a r o n lowered his voice. " W h a t the hell's to be afraid of? I just don't like b l i n d dates. They b o r e me." " T h e n you're n o t busy." "I am." "Aaron..."

202 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " G o d d a m m i t , g o d d a m m i t , q u i t pestering m e . I said I was b u s y a n d I m e a n it. Busy. N o w let it drop." "Sure," H u g h said. He looked at the b o o k he was reading. "It was a silly-assed idea, me springing it on you. Forget it." A a r o n o p e n e d t h e door. " S o m e o t h e r t i m e we'll d o u b l e . O.K.?" "Sure. Great. W h a t e v e r y o u say." " C o m i n g d o w n later for a Butterscotch D r e a m ? " "I imagine." H u g h waved. A a r o n closed the door. He started to walk, t h e n p a u s e d a m o m e n t , leaning against t h e wall. He looked at his h a n d s . T h e y were shaking. Why? W h a t was he afraid of? A a r o n lit a cigarette a n d decided to play N a m e T h a t Fear. He walked slowly d o w n the corridor, t h e cigarette j a m m e d into t h e far c o r n e r of his m o u t h , his eyes half closed. Your friend fixes you up on a b l i n d date, so why, A a r o n old creep, do you b e c o m e unstrung? H o n e s t now. Let t h e studio audience hear y o u r answer. A a r o n left the building a n d stood outside in t h e chill air. He t o o k a step, t h e n stopped. It was his g o d d a m passion for perfection that was screwing h i m u p . Aaron n o d d e d . T h a t was why he was afraid. W h a t if he tried hard to impress the girl and she didn't like him? W h a t if he broke his b u t t a n d then he didn't like her? There were a h u n d r e d chances for disaster, few if any for success, so what was the p o i n t of getting involved in s o m e t h i n g if you knew ahead of time you were going to b o m b ? He had an image of himself, so w h a t was the percentage in allowing some d u m b b r o a d to shatter it? W h a t if she didn't like h i m ? W h a t if she didn't like h i m ? It was as simple as that, so he re-entered t h e building, h u r r i e d down t h e c o r r i d o r to Hugh's d o o r , t h r e w it u n c e r e m o n i o u s l y o p e n a n d said, " T h e thing is I hate blind dates. If I said yes, it w o u l d just be a fiasco— she'd probably hate me a n d I'd hate her a n d you'd feel lousy even though it wasn't y o u r fault. I w a n t to really t h a n k you, t h o u g h . For t h i n k i n g of m e . T h a t was nice a n d if I d i d n ' t hate blind dates t h e way I d o — " H u g h stood. "Aaron? You O.K.?" " F o r chrissakes of course I'm O.K., g o d d a m m i t . I ' m only trying to explain h o w I hate blind dates. She w o u l d probably a b o m i n a t e the hell out of me a n d vice versa. I can be very caustic, especially a r o u n d blind dates and—" "Aaron, it doesn't matter. You don't have to explain. It's my fault. I s h o u l d have asked you instead of sneaking a r o u n d m a k i n g surprises."

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" H o w do you k n o w she'll like me? W h e n you get right d o w n to it, how can you absolutely prove she's going to like m e ? " " I can't prove it." "Well t h e n , see?" A a r o n p u t his h a n d to the d o o r k n o b , started to close the door, stopped. "You'd be along, w o u l d n ' t you?" "I usually am w h e n I d o u b l e date w i t h somebody." Aaron stood very still. T h e n he s h o o k his head. " N o p e , " he said, "It just w o u l d n ' t work. I d o n ' t k n o w w h y I should feel sorry except I sort of feel sorry p u t t i n g you o u t after you've gone all t h r o u g h this legendary screening process. If I said, 'Hey, let's go pee on Nassau Hall' a n d you didn't m u c h feel like it you'd be k i n d of a creep to feel s o r r y a b o u t n o t going along, isn't that right?" H u g h m i m e d a t e l e p h o n e in his h a n d s . "Let me speak to Karl M e n ninger," he said. A a r o n roared appreciative laughter, quickly closed t h e door. In the hall he e x a m i n e d his h a n d s . T h e y were very wet a n d t h e y w o u l d n o t stay still. A a r o n closed his eyes. " H u b e r t ! " He realized he was yelling b u t he just couldn't care. "Yes, A a r o n ? " Hugh's voice was muffled from inside t h e r o o m . "About Saturday?" " W h a t a b o u t Saturday?" A a r o n paused. T h e n t h e w o r d s b u r s t from him. "I'll go, H u b e r t . W i t h you, H u b e r t . I'll go . . . " There were twenty-five boys waiting at the railroad station on Saturday afternoon when H u g h a n d A a r o n arrived. Some of t h e boys were walking; others stood alone or in g r o u p s . F r o m t i m e to t i m e t h e y all, casually, glanced at their watches. "We m a d e it in time," A a r o n said. " M i n u t e s to spare," H u g h told h i m . T h e y began to pace. Aaron stopped abruptly. " H o w do I l o o k ? " he said. H u g h smiled at h i m . " N o t nearly as creeplike as usual." A a r o n was wearing a n e w pair of gray flannel trousers, neatly pressed and a n e w tweed jacket. "I s h o u l d have w o r n my yellow cord. I w o u l d have felt better if I'd w o r n my yellow cord." He ran his fingers t h r o u g h his hair. His hair was s h o r t e r — h e h a d h a d it cut that m o r n i n g , m u c h against his better j u d g m e n t . "I s h o u l d never have let you talk me i n t o a haircut. It makes my head look pointed." " T h i s girl loves p o i n t e d h e a d s . She's told me as m u c h . " "You sure she wants to m e e t m e ? "

204 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN H u g h p u t his a r m a r o u n d Aaron's shoulder. "Yes, yes, yes, for t h n i n e t y - n i n t h time, yes. She's crazy for writers."

e

"I forgot her n a m e already." "Shelly. Her n a m e is Shelly." " H o w do I look?" Aaron said. H u g h sighed. A a r o n looked a r o u n d . All t h e o t h e r boys were pacing now, back and forth along the platform, s m o k i n g cigarettes, staring o u t along t h e track. A a r o n lighted a cigarette a n d stuck it in t h e corner of his m o u t h . It was a cool day, clear, b u t with a h i n t of a p p r o a c h i n g snow. Casually, H u g h stuck his right h a n d into his p a n t s pocket. A a r o n paused, t h e n did t h e same. He looked a r o u n d again. All the o t h e r boys h a d their right h a n d s in their pants pockets. H u g h paced faster a n d A a r o n h u r r i e d alongside. "Shelly w h a t ? " "Bingham." "Shelly Bingham." A a r o n n o d d e d . "And she's pretty?" " I t h i n k so." "Good." H u g h h a d his left h a n d in his left pants pocket now, so Aaron did t h e same. He glanced at t h e o t h e r boys. T h e r e was n o t a h a n d to be seen on t h e platform. Everybody stopped. "Train's coming," H u g h said. A n d suddenly the h a n d s reappeared, flying t h r o u g h t h e air, tugging at trousers, straightening ties, s m o o t h i n g d o w n hair. T h e n , like dive bombers, t h e h a n d s swooped low, d i s a p p e a r i n g again into pockets. T h e t r a i n was pulling into t h e station. A a r o n grabbed H u g h , t u r n i n g h i m . "It's going to be all right," he s h o u t e d over the noise. "Tell me that." " W h a t ? Yes. Yes. Relax." " P r o m i s e me." H u g h looked at h i m . "I p r o m i s e you." There was a p a u s e . T h e n chattering, shrieking, t h e girls s w a r m e d from t h e train. She was really quite a p r e t t y girl. Tall with long b r o w n hair, she h a d a delicate face, an a m p l e body. A a r o n walked beside her, following a few steps b e h i n d H u g h a n d his date as they crossed from t h e station to the P r i n c e t o n Inn. Hugh's date, a dark, taut girl n a m e d Tony, clung to h i m as t h e y m o v e d , looking up at h i m , smiling. Aaron t u r n e d his a t t e n t i o n to Shelly B i n g h a m .

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 205 Shelly was from the South, N e w Orleans, to be exact. She p r o n o u n c e d ; "N'awlins." A n d her " D a d d y " was in the cotton business. She loved her daddy, her m o m m y , too. As he listened to her, A a r o n realized that the girl seemed to love everything. She loved t h e East a n d she loved Sarah Lawrence, which was t h e m o s t wonderful school in t h e entire world, didn't he t h i n k so? Aaron n o d d e d . Shelly a n d Tony were friends at Sarah Lawrence, b u t t h e n everybody at Sarah Lawrence was friends w i t h everybody else. T h a t was what m a d e it so wonderful. Aaron smiled as she rattled on. She was wild a b o u t P r i n c e t o n a n d simply ecstatic a b o u t being back again a n d so glad to m e e t h i m , H u g h h a d spoken a b o u t h i m so m u c h . H u g h was a dear, d i d n ' t he t h i n k so? Aaron said he t h o u g h t so. And she was so h a p p y to m e e t a fellow writer. She herself was a poetess of sorts. She laughed. Poetess. Such a f u n n y - s o u n d i n g word. A a r o n smiled. She loved Aaron's n a m e . It s o u n d e d like a writer's n a m e a n d t h a t was probably w h y she loved it. "Ay-ron," she said. "Ay-ron Fahstone." W i t h o u t warning, she smiled and t o o k his h a n d . t

She liked h i m . She liked h i m . So why was he still afraid? They h a d cocktails at the P r i n c e t o n I n n , two drinks apiece, a n d t h e n slowly m a d e their way into t h e m a i n d i n i n g r o o m . Shelly h a d a n o t h e r drink; A a r o n joined her. He d r a n k a n d he smiled a n d he talked, b u t all the while he was playing the g a m e again, N a m e T h a t Fear, a n d he was just finishing his s h r i m p cocktail w h e n t h e answer c a m e to h i m . She was a warm girl, a girl w h o was absolutely g u a r a n t e e d to do the trick. Later, in his h o u s e , they w o u l d be alone; H u g h w o u l d go off to a n o t h e r r o o m w i t h Tony a n d t h e n they w o u l d be alone, he a n d Shelly, and she w o u l d l o o k at him a n d she would smile at h i m a n d she w o u l d expect things of h i m . A n d w h a t if he couldn't perform? He h a d h e a r d stories a b o u t t h a t . O n e concerned a P r i n c e t o n b o y w h o had p u r s u e d a Barnard girl for t h r e e years, always h o p i n g , a n d t h e n , t h e n , the n i g h t she relented, that m o m e n t as she lay naked beside h i m , he couldn't perform. A a r o n sipped his water, p u t it d o w n , picked up his drink, finished it off a n d o r d e r e d another. If he couldn't p e r f o r m , t h e n Shelly m i g h t tell Tony a n d Tony m i g h t tell H u g h a n d H u g h w o u l d n ' t tell but Tony m i g h t date other boys, Shelly t o o , a n d they w o u l d tell t h e o t h e r boys a n d t h e n everyone w o u l d k n o w a n d t h e n everyone w o u l d l a u g h a n d I m scared, A a r o n t h o u g h t . I'm just so scared. W h a t if I can't? W h a t if I can't?

206 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Please, G o d . As d i n n e r went on, A a r o n b e g a n telling tales a b o u t his m o t h e r , C h a r lotte Stories, m o s t of t h e m imaginary, a n d everyone l a u g h e d a n d Shelly was smiling at h i m almost all t h e t i m e a n d he r e t u r n e d it, talking a n d l a u g h i n g , a n d w h e n d i n n e r was d o n e he excused himself a n d fled to the m e n ' s r o o m , where he carefully w a s h e d his face, taking his t i m e , pressing cool water against his fevered skin. "You really are shy a r o u n d girls," H u g h said, s t a n d i n g b e h i n d h i m , smiling. " O n e t h i n g a b o u t you, A a r o n , is you have absolutely no way with women." "You k n o w h o w it is," A a r o n said casually. "Just keep your h a n d s off my date," H u g h said. "I w a n t to tell you that rarely have I m e t a creep so reeking with charm." "She does like m e , doesn't s h e ? " A a r o n said. " N o , she hates you." H u g h slugged A a r o n on t h e a r m . "Creep." Together they walked back to t h e girls, t h e n m a d e their way to H u g h ' s eating c l u b on Prospect. There was a d a n c e that night, a n d A a r o n w a t c h e d as H u g h t o o k Tony in his a r m s a n d d a n c e d away. A a r o n p a u s e d , t h e n t o o k Shelly in his a r m s . He h a d learned to d a n c e from his sister, w h o used h i m to practice with w h e n no o n e else was available, a n d he d a n c e d well e n o u g h . Shelly's b o d y was heavy against his. Pressing. After o n e dance A a r o n asked if they m i g h t sit, explaining a b o u t his legs, h o w t h e y s o m e t i m e s h u r t . Shelly was i m m e d i a t e l y sympathetic, so they sat in a c o r n e r of t h e r o o m , watching t h e o t h e r s . Shelly was quite d r u n k a n d A a r o n forced himself to listen as she explained t h a t she really didn't love h e r father because w h a t he was was a n o - g o o d b a s t a r d a n d her m o t h e r wasn't m u c h m o r e t h a n that a n d she talked o n a n d o n and t h e n H u g h was beside t h e m , suggesting to Aaron t h a t they take a little t r i p to Aaron's house. A a r o n stood. Slowly they climbed t h e hill from Prospect to Nassau Street, H u g h a n d Tony in front, A a r o n a n d Shelly a few steps b e h i n d . M a y b e his m o t h e r h a d c o m e back early. S o m e t i m e s she did that. O n c e . O n c e she h a d d o n e it. Perhaps t o n i g h t w o u l d be t h e second t i m e . T h e lights w o u l d be on a n d she would be sitting in the living r o o m , knitting s o m e t h i n g for D e b o r a h ' s child. A sweater or a pair of socks o r — T h e h o u s e was dark. T h e y walked inside. " N o b o d y ' s h o m e , I guess," A a r o n said. "How's t h a t for luck?" T h e y sat in t h e living r o o m a while, talking. A a r o n asked if anyone w a n t e d a d r i n k a n d Shelly said she w o u l d n ' t m i n d a wee o n e , so he went t o t h e kitchen a n d slowly m a d e two highballs. W h e n h e r e t u r n e d they

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 207 talked s o m e m o r e . Tony was all over H u g h now, r u n n i n g her h a n d s along his body, kissing his neck. T h e n H u g h stood. "Excuse us a while," he said. H e a n d Tony disappeared into D e b o r a h ' s old r o o m . T h e d o o r closed. "We're all alone," Shelly said. A a r o n m a d e a smile. W h a t if I can't? W h a t if I can't? Please, God. " D r i n k O.K.?" "Fine." A a r o n t o o k a long swallow. "I c o u l d use a little freshener," he said, a n d he s t o o d . She d r a i n e d t h e glass. "As l o n g as you're h e a d e d in t h a t general direction..." A a r o n w e n t to the kitchen. Slowly he got o u t an ice tray. He reached for t h e bottle of whisky a n d p o u r e d t h e drinks. T h e n Shelly was in the doorway. "I got lonesome," she said. " W i t h y o u in a sec," A a r o n said, fiddling w i t h a long s p o o n , t r y i n g to stir t h e highballs. He could feel h e r s t a n d i n g close b e h i n d h i m now, m o v ing in. H e r a r m s went a r o u n d his chest. A a r o n waited. "You m u s t swear never to let me get l o n e s o m e again," Shelly said. " O n your sacred w o r d of h o n o r . I'll never release you until y o u do." "I swear," A a r o n whispered. She relaxed her h o l d a n d he s p u n a r o u n d , eyes closed, b l i n d l y reaching o u t for her, pulling her b o d y in t o w a r d h i m . He kissed h e r brutally, h o l d i n g t h e kiss for as long as he could before breaking it, b u r y i n g his face in h e r neck, kissing her hair. He kissed h e r ear a n d t h e n h e r cheek b e fore attacking h e r m o u t h again. H e r a r m s were tight a r o u n d h i m a n d they battled with their tongues. T h i s t i m e she was t h e o n e w h o b r o k e , t h r o w i n g h e r head back, smiling up at h i m . "Hey, lover," Shelly said. He smiled back at her a n d he r u b b e d his h a n d s across h e r full b o d y and he bit h e r neck b u t he felt n o t h i n g . No excitement, n o t h i n g at all, a n d he k n e w unless he could feel he w o u l d never be able to p e r f o r m a n d he told himself that everything w o u l d be fine if he w o u l d just give himself time, t i m e , b u t even in that m o m e n t he k n e w he h a d never b e e n so frightened in his life, n o r w o u l d he ever be again. But he was w r o n g . His fear was just beginning. Because slowly, a r m s tight a r o u n d h i m , she began to lead" h i m to the bedroom. She undressed in the d a r k a n d as she did he periodically attacked h e r body, caressing her breasts, h e r thighs, her gently r o u n d e d s t o m a c h . W h e n she was naked he t o o k off his clothes a n d t h e n t h e y e m b r a c e d ,

208 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN s t a n d i n g by t h e bed. Aaron bit h e r lip a n d she winced, pulling back a m o m e n t before dragging h i m d o w n o n t h e sheets. Horizontal, t h e c o m b a t c o n t i n u e d . Viciously, A a r o n kissed her. Again a n d again he t o u c h e d her breasts a n d fingered her soft thighs. T h e n , w h e n he k n e w he was going to scream, h e j a m m e d his m o u t h d o w n o n hers a n d held i t there until the scream died inside h i m . "You're pretty," A a r o n w h i s p e r e d t h e n . Please, G o d . "You are. You're so pretty. You're pretty." Please, G o d . He felt n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g . A a r o n kissed her breasts. T h e y felt like clay. In t h e darkness he could see h e r l o o k i n g at h i m . In the d a r k n e s s he could sense h e r starting to pull away. Ferociously Aaron attacked her, rolling across t h e b e d , kicking a n d biting, g r o a n i n g for her benefit, saying her n a m e , "Shelly, Shelly," over a n d over. Mechanically his h a n d s j o u r n e y e d along h e r body, a n d h e c o n t i n u e d whispering her n a m e , louder, a n d h e g r o a n e d a n d p a n t e d a n d sucked in air. But he felt n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g . Nothing at— Q u i t e w i t h o u t w a r n i n g he b e g a n to feel. His eyes shut so tightly they h u r t , Aaron shrieked as t h e excitement grew inside h i m , swelling like a blister, filling his body. He kissed l i p s — b u t in his m i n d , n o t her lips. He t o u c h e d flesh—but in his m i n d , flesh o t h e r t h a n hers. Hugh! It was H u g h he was t o u c h i n g . H u g h was beside h i m . H u g h was the o n e w h o was breathing his n a m e . A a r o n knelt over t h e o t h e r figure. In r h y t h m , their bodies rocked.

VIII "Osric!" Walt said. "Me play Osric? I a u d i t i o n e d to play Hamlet." He t u r n e d to t h e girl at his side. "Say something." "Something," Blake said. "You're a scream, you are. M a y b e it's a mistake, do you t h i n k it's a m i s t a k e ? " a n d he t u r n e d back to t h e bulletin b o a r d , t u r n e d faster t h a n was necessary because a l t h o u g h he t h o u g h t he was p r o b a b l y t o o funnyl o o k i n g to play the title role in t h e O b e r l i n College p r o d u c t i o n of Hamlet, he h a d still worked very h a r d on t h e p a r t a n d h a d given the best audition of his life, so he h o p e d he h a d a c h a n c e b u t now, t h e way t h i n g s t u r n e d o u t , he was embarrassed a n d h u m i l i a t e d a n d afraid Blake m i g h t see. A n d if she d i d , he k n e w she w o u l d never be able to resist e m b a r r a s s i n g h i m

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 209 still further. Pushing his glasses up s n u g against the bridge of his nose with his left t h u m b , he squinted at t h e notice: SPRING PLAY—FINAL CASTING HAMLET Dennis McBride CLAUDIUS Edward Neisser T h e final listing, at the very b o t t o m of t h e page, said: OSRIC

Walt

Kirgaby

An additional half page, tacked to t h e b o t t o m , was filled entirely by Hilton's curlicued signature: B. Henry Hilton, P R O F E S S O R OF E N G L I S H . " T h a t lousy Hilton," Walt m u r m u r e d . " H e even spelled m y n a m e wrong." " C o m e along, Osric," Blake said, t u g g i n g at his a r m . " B u y me a h a m burger a n d a milk shake." Walt stayed where he was, staring at the bulletin board, shaking his head. "Hey, you're upset," Blake said. "Nope." "Yes, y o u are, you are too." " I ' m not upset. It's just t h a t I ' m a senior a n d this is my last play a n d Osric—well, let's face it, Osric's just a b o u t t h e smallest part in t h e play—I m e a n , Osric! He's got a b o u t six stinkin' lines. Six lines. Well, I just w o n ' t play it, that's all, I m e a n , w h o does H i l t o n t h i n k he's dealing w i t h , s o m e freshman? I'm n o t remotely upset, b u t if you want to k n o w t h e t r u t h , w h e n y o u a u d i t i o n to play H a m l e t a n d get stuck with the smallest p a r t in the play it's a little bit upsetting, especially w h e n you've played m o r e leads than a n y b o d y else has over t h e last four years, isn't that right? W h o starred in Charley's Aunt this fall?" " T h a t was a comedy, Egbert. You do comedy. H a m l e t ain't s u p p o s e d to be funny. A n d n o w I want two h a m b u r g e r s a n d a milk shake." "I m e a n , if you were casting Hamlet, w o u l d you have me play Osric?" "Of course not." "Well, neither w o u l d I, so h o w c o m e that c r u m m y H i l t o n — " "Personally, I t h i n k you'd m a k e a great Ophelia." "Will you shut up, please?" "Let's be honest, you're t o o y o u n g to play the Queen." "Y'know, whoever told you you were funny did us all a vast disservice." "I w a n t two h a m b u r g e r s a n d a m i l k shake a n d a plate of French fries."

210 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I d i d o n e of those soliloquies for you. I wasn't b a d . I wasn't. Say that." "That." " W h y have I dated you all y e a r ? " "I t h i n k you keep h o p i n g I'll p u t out." " C ' m o n , " Walt m u t t e r e d a n d he started abruptly for t h e door. Blake caught him. " N o w d o n ' t get mad." " I ' m sorry, b u t I just d o n ' t like that k i n d of talk. I m u s t have told you at least fifty t h o u s a n d times t h a t I d o n ' t h a p p e n to find it hilarious, so why d o you keep d o i n g it?" " W h e n you get a n g r y it proves you care. It proves y o u love me." " W h o said I loved y o u ? " "You did, buddy." "Will you quit with t h e ' b u d d y ' business? I m e a n , we've all read Salinger. M o s t of us have m a n a g e d to o u t g r o w him." " O h , 'fess up, secretly y o u t h i n k you're H o l d e n Caulfield. Ask me where t h e ducks go in the winter." " W h e n d i d I say I loved y o u ? " "Last night. In front of t h e d o r m . At precisely eleven fifty-two P . M . " "I d o n ' t remember." "You said, T love you, Blake.' " " O h , now I r e m e m b e r . Sure. I was talking a b o u t William Blake, the p o e t . I just love William Blake's poetry. A n d you t h o u g h t I was talking a b o u t you P a r d o n me while I chuckle." 7

She n i p p e d his ear. "Hey—" "I told you I was hungry." Walt o p e n e d t h e d o o r a n d held it while they adjusted their raincoats. O u t s i d e , the c a m p u s was i n t e r m i t t e n t l y visible t h r o u g h t h e gray aftern o o n drizzle. " W h a t I'll miss m o s t a b o u t Oberlin is t h e climate," Walt said, letting t h e d o o r slam b e h i n d h i m . T h e y h u r r i e d across c a m p u s t o w a r d t h e t o w n . "I should have played Hamleti" Walt s h o u t e d . "I'm an actor." Blake snickered. " M y o w n little D a m e May Whitty," she said. " W h a t ' s so crazy a b o u t it? I t h i n k it's a terrific idea." Walt b a n g e d his s p o o n against the tabletop for e m p h a s i s . " P u t on o u r o w n revue? W h e r e ' l l we get the material?" " W r i t e it. A n d what we can't write, we'll steal from Sid Caesar. I k n o w a b o u t t w e n t y sketches he a n d Coca've d o n e that'd be great." He leaned

I

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 211 back in t h e b o o t h , smiling. "And y o u k n o w what else we'll do? We'll r u n it the s a m e week as Hamlet. We'll steal their audiences. B a n k r u p t t h e D r a mat. N o b o d y casts me as Osric a n d gets away with it." "Revues have songs, buddy." "Well, you m a k e up p o e m s , d o n ' t you? You play t h e p i a n o , right? Aren't you always blabbing a b o u t h o w creative you are? Write s o m e songs." "I have never, in my entire life, blabbed." "Will you just write s o m e songs, please? Better make t h e m funny." "Aye, aye, sir, right away, sir, funny songs c o m i n g right u p . C a n we get Kazan to direct, do you t h i n k ? " "I'll direct t h e show, if you d o n ' t m i n d . " "Ho-ho-ho." " W h y do you always have to k n o c k me? It so h a p p e n s I am o n e helluva director." "You've never directed a n y t h i n g in your whole life." "I have too." "What?" " P l e n t y of things." " N a m e one." " T h a t ' s n o t t h e point, d o n ' t y o u see? T h e p o i n t is, I've always w a n t e d to be a director. I've t h o u g h t a b o u t it, I've read a b o u t it, I k n o w I can d o it." "I t h o u g h t you were an actor." "Acting," Walt said. " W h o n e e d s acting? As a m a t t e r of fact, if you w a n t to k n o w the t r u t h , acting is a drag. It's n o t creative. You can't express yourself. All you do is spiel off s o m e t h i n g s o m e b o d y else p u t d o w n . But directing. That's something. In t h e i m m o r t a l words of Peter L o r r e — " "If you start with your i m i t a t i o n s , I'll t h r o w up all over you." "You d o n ' t like my imitations?" "I loathe your imitations." "It so h a p p e n s I do terrific imitations." "It so h a p p e n s you t h i n k you do terrific imitations." "It so h a p p e n s you are asking for a belt right in the snoot, sister." "It so h a p p e n s I'm o u t of cigarettes." She reached across t h e table for Walt's pack. Walt g r a b b e d his cigarettes a n d p u t t h e m in his pocket. " C o u l d I have one of y o u r cigarettes?" "Say please." " C o u l d I please have o n e of y o u r cigarettes?"

212 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "No." "Will you get me a pack?" "Will you give me the m o n e y ? " "Here," a n d she slapped a q u a r t e r on the table. " D o y o u love m e ? " " I refuse to answer on t h e g r o u n d s — " " D o you love m e ? " "Yes—madly." "Get y o u r o w n cigarettes." "I have got to be part masochist. That's the only explanation." She p u s h e d herself o u t of the b o o t h . "Hey." Walt t o o k her h a n d tenderly. " W h a t hey?" "Last night," Walt whispered, l o o k i n g in h e r eyes. "Last night, w h e n I said T love you, Blake,' I wasn't talking a b o u t William Blake." She smiled at h i m . "I was talking a b o u t Francis Blake." She s t o p p e d smiling. " W h o t h e hell is Francis Blake?" " T h e Spanish A r m a d a , fool. Fifteen eighty-eight. He saved England." " T h a t was Drake. Francis Drake." " T h a t ' s w h a t I said. Francis Blake. I have a speech i m p e d i m e n t . " " W h o e v e r told you you were f u n n y — " "Yeah-yeah-yeah, a vast disservice." He ducked as she swiped at the t o p of his head, starting to laugh, t h e laugh contracting i n t o a smile as he w a t c h e d h e r m o v e d o w n t h e aisle t o w a r d the cigarette m a c h i n e . She m o v e d well. A b o u t that there was no question. She wasn't pretty, b u t she m o v e d well. W h y wasn't she pretty? Walt shrugged. She h a d nice black hair a n d b r i g h t eyes a n d a straight n o s e a n d the m o u t h was fine, b u t she just wasn't pretty. N o t b a d . N o t r e m o t e l y a dog. Just n o t pretty. D a m n attractive, t h o u g h . Her b o d y was fine, slender yet full, b u t t h a t wasn't w h a t m a d e her attractive. P r o b a b l y it was t h e way she m o v e d . Walt n o d ded. H e r m o v e m e n t s were graceful yet, at the same time, a l m o s t awkward; h e r m o v e m e n t s were s u d d e n yet, at t h e same time, a l m o s t languid; her m o v e m e n t s were . . . Face it, Walt t h o u g h t , she's sexy. That's all. She is a sexy girl. Of course, h e r n a m e was terrible. Blake S i m m o n s . H o w p h o n y can y o u get? But she was s m a r t as hell a n d sexy every inch of t h e way. Walt r e m e m b e r e d C h r i s t m a s vacation w h e n she h a d visited h i m in St. Louis a n d h o w his b r o t h e r A r n o l d h a d watched her w h e n she walked. Walt h a d seen it, Arnold's lust, a n d once, w h e n P.T. was w a t c h i n g her,

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 213 Walt t h o u g h t m o m e n t a r i l y t h a t even his father had a couple of ideas of his o w n . As she reached the cigarette m a c h i n e she glanced back at h i m a n d stuck o u t h e r t o n g u e . Walt smiled. A m o m e n t later she was intently studying t h e selections in the m a c h i n e , o n e eye closed. She always d i d that, closed o n e eye, h e r left, whenever she was faced with a decision. In t h e b e g i n n i n g he h a d teased her a b o u t it, b u t only w h e n they were alone. T h a t was o n e of t h e big differences b e t w e e n t h e m : she had no feelings w h a t ever a b o u t embarrassing h i m in public, a n d w h e n she attacked she was merciless. If it developed into a fight, t h e n fine; she loved public c o m b a t . Private brawls, t o o . Fighting in general was all right with her. Walt w i s h e d she were calmer, wished she could relax, b u t whenever he b r o a c h e d t h e subject she shut h i m up quick. She was g o o d at that. Quick a n d flip a n d always alert for openings. But never, never dull. Blake started back d o w n t h e aisle t o w a r d h i m . In her o w n way she was a g o o d girl, as good as he was ever going to find. Bitchy, sure, a n d s m u g , at least on occasion, a n d spoiled, she was that, too. But just t h e same he was going to m a r r y her. He h a d decided that m o r n i n g t h a t he was going to p r o p o s e to her that evening, a n d it was evening n o w . Walt dried his h a n d s on his gray flannels. She was a great girl, Blake S i m m o n s , p h o n y n a m e or no p h o n y n a m e , a n d if he got her he was lucky, so there was no reason for his h a n d s to start perspiring on him. No; t h a t wasn't totally t r u e . T h e r e was o n e reason. Small, b u t still a reason. He was n o t remotely sure that he loved her. He t h o u g h t he did. He h o p e d he did. But he was n o t remotely sure. A n d t h a t u n c e r t a i n t y gave h i m m o r e t h a n pause from t i m e to time. "Your n a m e , " Walt said as she sat d o w n , "stinks." "Egbert Kirkaby don't ring bells, buddy." "You are s m u g , bitchy a n d spoiled." "You're absolutely right. I'm a typical A m e r i c a n girl. I also hate c o o k ing, d r e a d having children, i n t e n d cheating o n m y h u s b a n d a n d o w n m y o w n d i a p h r a g m . W h a t else d o you w a n t t o k n o w ? " " W h y do you talk like that? You d o n ' t o w n o n e of those things." "It w o u l d rock y o u r f o u n d a t i o n s if I did, w o u l d n ' t it, b u d d y ? H e r e , gimme," a n d she grabbed his o p e n h a n d . "Very interesting," she said, s t u d y ing his p a l m . "Your n a m e is Walt Kirkaby a n d you wear glasses. You're a senior in college a n d getting duller every day. By the t i m e you're t h i r t y you'll t h i n k golf is the n u t s , followed o n l y slightly by gin r u m m y . By t h e time you're forty you'll be potbellied a n d you'll talk like Casanova in t h e

214 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN m e n ' s locker r o o m b u t you'll still be scared green every t i m e y o u d r o p in t h e hay with a female." Walt tried to pull his h a n d away. Blake held tight. "And she w o n ' t always be your wife, this female. Your second wife, I should say, because you'll be on y o u r second wife a n d your t h i r d kid by t h e n , a n d y o u r s e c o n d wife won't be any better t h a n the first o n e was, because you never w a n t e d a w o m a n in t h e first place, you w a n t e d a servant, s o m e o n e to d a r n — " " C u t it." "So you'll get divorced a n d m a r r y s o m e o n e absolutely totally o n e hund r e d percent different except she'll be exactly the same only you won't k n o w it until it's too late a n d by t h a t t i m e you'll have figured o u t that all you really wanted all your life was to bed d o w n with y o u r m o m m y — " "I said cut it," Walt began, a n d he was a b o u t to say m o r e , a lot more, b u t w h e n she suddenly lowered h e r head, eyes closed, and kissed his palm again a n d again he could o n l y stare, t h e n blink, t h e n quickly, quickly, l o o k away. At 11:31 t h a t evening, Walt p r o p o s e d . T h e rain h a d s t o p p e d a n d they were h u r r y i n g t h r o u g h t h e cold to Blake's d o r m , after s p e n d i n g several h o u r s whispering in t h e library, discussing the revue. After t h e library c a m e a c u p of coffee in t h e snack bar, a n d following that, on t h e way to H a r k n e s s , Walt looked at his watch, n o d d e d a n d said it. "Will you m a r r y m e ? " " W h a t ' s the p u n c h line?" "Huh?" "Well, obviously that's a joke. I just w o n d e r e d w h a t t h e p u n c h line was." Walt stopped. "It so h a p p e n s , bright eyes, that I m e a n t w h a t I said." Blake kept on walking. " W h y in t h e world should I m a r r y y o u ? " "Because," Walt began, r u n n i n g after her, "because you are w i t h o u t q u e s t i o n a dog a n d n o b o d y else is ever going to ask you." " T h a t m a y well be, b u d d y , b u t you . I m e a n , you . I m e a n , have you t a k e n a peek in the m i r r o r lately?" 7

7

"It so happens," Walt s h o u t e d , h u r r y i n g alongside, "it so h a p p e n s — slow d o w n , d a m m i t — h a p p e n s that I am o n e helluva neat guy." "Your glasses are fogging up," Blake said. "Right in the kisser if you're n o t careful, b u d d y old buddy." He shook a fist in front of her.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 215 "I am literally freezing," Blake said. "Let's run." Walt g r a b b e d her. " W h a t a b o u t it?" "What about what?" "Getting married." "Oh, that." " I'll kill you so help m e . I'll kill you." Blake started r u n n i n g . Walt o v e r t o o k her/ a n d grabbed h e r from b e h i n d a n d they s t u m b l e d off the p a t h against a tree. " M a r r y m e ! " "I can't. I'm really a boy. See, I w e n t to Sweden last s u m m e r a n d I h a d this o p e r a t i o n a n d — " She broke loose a n d started r u n n i n g again. " B e sides," she s h o u t e d over h e r shoulder, " I ' m already married." "You're really g o n n a get it now," Walt yelled, chasing her d o w n , g r a b bing her again, s p i n n i n g her into his a r m s . " I ' m already m a r r i e d . I a m , I a m . A n d I will n o t c o m m i t bigamy. Dutch a n d I — " "Dutch! Who's Dutch?" " D u t c h Cleanser. He's a nice Jewish boy." She stepped d o w n h a r d on Walt's loafer a n d t o o k off again. " T h a t hurt." "Tough." "See you tomorrow," Walt called. Blake s t o p p e d . "Aren't you going to chase m e ? " "No." Blake c a m e back to h i m . "It's no fun if you're n o t going to chase me." They started walking again. " N o w w h a t was it we were talking a b o u t ? " "I t h i n k it h a d to do with marriage." Walt shrugged. "Yes. That's right. You were proposing." "I was?" "I t h i n k so. I don't know. Maybe I was p r o p o s i n g . Anyway, s o m e b o d y was p r o p o s i n g , I'm quite sure of that." "Was I d o w n on o n e k n e e ? " "No." " T h e n it couldn't have been m e . I always get d o w n on o n e k n e e w h e n propose." "Well t h e n I m u s t have been the o n e , except I don't u n d e r s t a n d w h y I should have been p r o p o s i n g to you. You're such a meatball." "True." 1

"Scrawny a n d pint-sized."

216 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Five-eight. T h e n a t i o n a l average." " I can't t h i n k of a n y t h i n g salvageable a b o u t you. Except you do terrific imitations." Walt stopped. "And I've always w a n t e d to m a r r y a m a n w h o did terrific imitations." Walt t o o k her h a n d a n d started to r u n . " W h e r e are we going?" "Someplace dark." T h e y raced across t h e street, Walt leading, and w h e n they reached Peters Hall they dashed up the steps i n t o t h e archway a n d Walt was a b o u t to e m b r a c e h e r w h e n he h e a r d a n o t h e r couple beh i n d t h e m , so he whirled a n d in his m o s t m e n a c i n g Sidney Greenstreet voice snarled, "You infants better get o u t of here unless y o u w a n t trouble," a n d , in the darkness, a girl gasped a n d suddenly the o t h e r couple was g o n e , r u n n i n g d o w n t h e steps a n d away. "Freshmen," Walt said, a n d then he g r o p e d for Blake in t h e darkness, found her, kissed h e r m o u t h . "Hey," he whispered. "We're engaged." "Yeah." " D o n ' t say 'yeah' at a t i m e like this. You're verbal. Be verbal." "Well, you'll do for a first h u s b a n d . How's t h a t ? " Walt kissed her again, his h a n d s fumbling with her raincoat, finally getting it u n b u t t o n e d . His fingers t o u c h e d her c a s h m e r e sweater a n d he pressed d o w n h a r d e r w i t h his lips as his fingers crept u n d e r t h e sweater, starting t h e slow m o v e up h e r firm body, s o m e t h i n g he h a d d o n e only once before, in St. Louis, at C h r i s t m a s t i m e , a n d they were lying together on his bed, naked, t o u c h i n g each other, a n d if P.T. h a d n ' t s u d d e n l y called for h i m , sending t h e m s c a m p e r i n g wildly into their clothes, G o d knows w h a t w o u l d have h a p p e n e d . "Remove your h a n d s from my b o s o m , " Blake said. "Huh?" "Your h a n d s . Remove t h e m . " She stood very still, h e r a r m s at her sides. "We're engaged. I'm entitled." "I d o n ' t w a n t you discovering I wear falsies until after everything has been officially a n n o u n c e d . " "I fcrtcwyou d o n ' t wear falsies. I f o u n d o u t in St. Louis. R e m e m b e r ? " "I b o r r o w e d those breasts for t h e occasion." "Blake—" "If you do n o t remove y o u r h a n d s from my b o s o m by the c o u n t of three, I shall scream 'rape.' "

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 217 "Willya please—-" "One—" " Q u i t this now." Two— "Blake, I'm y o u r fian—" "RAPE!" Walt scurried d o w n the steps, his h a n d s in his pockets. After a m o ment he h e a r d her following. T h e n she fell in step beside h i m . "Hi," Blake said. " N o b o d y likes a smart-ass," Walt told her. "Bear that in m i n d . " " S o m e t i m e s I'm so cute a n d unbelievably adorably attractive I just can't s t a n d myself." "Yeah-yeah-yeah." " M r s . Egbert Kirkaby. Ye gods." Walt kissed her. "Poetry." He kissed her again. "Hey, you k n o w w h a t ? " "What?" " N o b o d y m e n t i o n e d love." "Cliches," Blake said. "To hell with 'em."

"Walt? You in there? It's me." Walt lay in bed reading. " D o o r ' s open," he called, l o o k i n g up as Branch Scudder, balding a n d pudgy, h u r r i e d in. "Are you going to do it?" Branch asked. " P u t on a revue?" "I h o p e so; I'm g o n n a try." " W e l l . . . uh . . . what I w o n d e r e d is could I help?" "Gee, Branch, we're d o i n g it t h e s a m e week as Hamlet. You stagem a n a g e t h e D r a m a t . H o w can you do two shows at once?" " U n d e r certain c o n d i t i o n s I w o u l d . . . u h . . . resign from t h e . . . u h . . . Dramat." " W h a t conditions?" "If y o u would let m e . . . u h . . . p u h . . . p r o d u c e y o u r show." "It's just g o n n a be a little revue, Branch, It's nice of you, b u t I d o n ' t think there's that m u c h to be d o n e . I t h o u g h t I'd p r o d u c e it." " T h e r e are lots o f little . . . u h . . . details a n d things." "I really t h i n k I can h a n d l e it, Branch." " F i n e . Fine. Uh . . . d o n ' t tell anybody, please, I m e n t i o n e d resigning from the D r a m a t , O.K.?" " M y heart is crossed."

218 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Branch t o o k a step t o w a r d Walt a n d lowered his voice. "You should have played Hamlet," he said. " T h a t ' s w h a t I t h i n k anyway." T h e n he was gone. ANNOUNCING

DROP

THE

SOAP

A N E W REVUE

Written,

Directed,

Produced and Starring

M O D E S T W A L T KIRKABY

Since it is obvious that if you had talent you would not be at Oberlin, we are looking for YOU. We need NO TALENTS. We crave NO TALENTS. The success of our show depends 100% on NO

TALENTS

T H E R E F O R E : If y o u are t o n e deaf, sing in the show. If y o u are clumsy, dance. COME ONE C O M E ALL A U D I T I O N ' S MONDAY

4 P.M.

Walt stared off into space. "I d o n ' t get it," he m u m b l e d . "I p u t those signs up myself. N o o n today. Ten signs. All over c a m p u s . I just d o n ' t get it." Sadly he s h o o k his head. "A C o m m u n i s t plot, do y o u t h i n k ? " Blake said. Walt ignored h e r . " I really w o r k e d on those signs. I t h o u g h t t h e y were great. If you'd seen those signs, w o u l d n ' t you have a u d i t i o n e d ? " He m o v e d to the doorway a n d stared o u t t h r o u g h t h e drizzle at Tappan Square. T h e building was an old o n e - s t o r y affair, once t h e p r o p e r t y of the Geology D e p a r t m e n t b u t u n u s e d for m a n y years. T h e D e a n himself had given Walt the key, on Walt's p r o m i s i n g that no duplicates w o u l d be m a d e a n d t h a t n o " s k u l d u g g e r y " — t h e Dean's w o r d — w o u l d take place w h e n t h e lights were out. "Nuts," Walt said. "It probably would have b e e n a c r u m m y revue," Blake told h i m . "You can console yourself with that." " S o m e t i m e s you thrill me less t h a n other times." Blake curtsied. " N u t s , " Walt m u t t e r e d again as he stared o u t at t h e rain. "You could always p u t on a o n e - m a n show," Blake said. "Sing, dance, do a few imitations—really stink up t h e joint."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 219 "Willya shut u p , please. Boy, give you an occasion a n d you'll sink to it. " C r y b a b y cry," Blake sang. " W h a t is it with you? You t h i n k I like m a k i n g an ass of myself? Boy, you are o n e helluva first-class castrator, you k n o w that?" "I d i d n ' t do it to you, buddy. T h e j o b was d o n e long before I arrived on t h e scene." " W h a t ' s that supposed t o m e a n ? " "It m e a n s quit m o a n i n g 'cause y o u r great big show fell on its face." "Big? W h a t big? It was just g o n n a be a c r u m m y little revue, that's all. I like h o r s i n g a r o u n d the theater a n d in three m o n t h s I g r a d u a t e a n d t h e n it's t h e old man's business a n d I just w a n t e d s o m e t h i n g to r e m e m b e r , so what's t h e crime? A n d if you w a n t to take t h e afternoon off, I won't be heartbroken." He t u r n e d , c o n c e n t r a t i n g again on the rain. Blake chucked h i m u n d e r t h e c h i n . " Wuzzy, wuzzy, wuzzy," she said. Walt b r u s h e d her h a n d away. "Hey," and she shook his shoulder. "Don't faint, b u t here comes Jiggles." "Branch?" " W h o else carries an u m b r e l l a ? " Walt p u s h e d his glasses up s n u g over t h e bridge of his n o s e w i t h his left t h u m b a n d squinted. "Hey, Branch," he shouted. "Over here." Branch scurried in t h r o u g h t h e doorway. " W h a t ' s u p ? " W a l t said. " U h . . . I just w o n d e r e d if you m i g h t change y o u r m i n d a b o u t letting me p r o d u c e t h e show." "Ain't g o n n a be no show." "Why?" " N o b o d y wants it. N o b o d y c a m e to audition." " U h . . . I spoke to any n u m b e r of people w h o were interested." "Yeah? T h e n why didn't t h e y a u d i t i o n ? " " I . . . u h . . . I t h i n k the . . . u h . . . sign h a d s o m e t h i n g t o d o w i t h it." " N o w h o l d the p h o n e , " Walt said. "I wrote that sign. I s p e n t all last night figuring o u t just what to say. I t h i n k it's a terrific sign." "Lovely work. Yes, yes. Except it d i d n ' t quite m e n t i o n where t h e a u d i tions were. T h a t would be my o n l y criticism. Otherwise it was perfect." " N u t s , " Walt said. Blake started laughing. "You see . . . uh . . . a p r o d u c e r t e n d s to little things like that. Trivia. Well, do I get t h e j o b ? " "I'll t h i n k a b o u t it," Walt said.

220 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN BRANCH SCUDDER

announces

audition for W A L T K I R K A B Y ' S original revue

D

P R

A O

O

P THE S WEDNESDAY

T H E O L D G E O L O G Y LAB

4 P.M.

Walt a n d Branch stood w h i s p e r i n g in a back corner of t h e geology lab while, up at the front, t h e eight leotard-clad girls did their best to m o v e in u n i s o n . "Ladies, please," Walt said, a n d Blake, seated at t h e old u p r i g h t pia n o in t h e m i d d l e of the r o o m , s t o p p e d playing. "We've got to t r y a n d keep together, ladies. Everybody start on t h e beat with t h e left foot. All of you, s h o w me your left foot." T h e girls showed h i m . " G o o d work. All right, again, a n d give it all you've got." He t u r n e d back to B r a n c h as Blake b e g a n playing. Walt s h o o k his h e a d . " I n t h e movies, c h o r u s girls always look like Virginia Mayo. W h y d o n ' t o u r s ? " "We'll light t h e m dimly," Branch said. "That's b o u n d to help." " N o t h i n g will help. Look at t h o s e calf muscles bulge. W h e r e were they this fall w h e n the football t e a m n e e d e d them? How-—ladies, ladies— h o l d it, Blake," a n d he h u r r i e d up to the front of the r o o m , smiling at t h e m , speaking with what he h o p e d was quiet e n t h u s i a s m . " N o w I k n o w this is only o u r second day of rehearsal a n d n o b o d y expects miracles, b u t please, ladies, first the left foot, then t h e right. Stop h o p p i n g . O . K . , Blake," a n d he stood in front of t h e girls, smiling a n d clapping in r h y t h m as they began to m o v e . "You're getting it. M u c h better. M u c h . You're d o i n g great, so keep it up," a n d he t u r n e d a n d started back to Branch, except Branch was talking with I m o g e n e Felker. Walt stopped walking. Branch gestured to h i m . Walt glanced at Blake. B r a n c h gestured again. Walt a p p r o a c h e d a n d Branch said, "Surprise for you. You k n o w I m o g e n e , d o n ' t you? She's going to be in the show." "I've never acted," I m o g e n e said. "I don't really k n o w w h a t I'm doing here, except Branch m a d e it s e e m like my patriotic duty." "I t h o u g h t she'd be a p e r f e c t . . . uh . . . straight m a n for you. In .. • s o m e of y o u r skits." "If y o u d o n ' t w a n t m e , I'll u n d e r s t a n d . I m e a n t h a t . I probably

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 221 w o u l d n ' t be any good. I'll try, t h o u g h , just as h a r d as I can, b u t that's all I can promise." "Of course he wants you," Branch said. " G o o d heavens, it's settled. Well, shall we begin?" T h r o u g h it all Walt never said a w o r d . An informal survey Walt h a d c o n d u c t e d d u r i n g exam week of his junior year at O b e r l i n found t h a t I m o g e n e Felker possessed n o t o n l y o n e of the t w o best bodies a m o n g female u n d e r g r a d u a t e s , b u t o n e of t h e two prettiest faces as well. Taking b o t h items together, she left all c o m p e t i t i o n behind, since Fran McEvoy, the o t h e r head, was flat-chested a n d hippy, while Janine Frankel, the o p p o s i n g shape, h a d a face like a foot. Imogene's appeal, however, was n o t based solely on appearances; w h a t set h e r m o s t clearly a p a r t from her fellows was t h e possession of an a t t r i b u t e all b u t unique to northern Ohio. I m o g e n e Felker had glamour. Just w h y this was so, Walt could never ascertain. T h e r e was o n e p e riod, early freshman year, i m m e d i a t e l y following their first a n d only eight-word conversation, w h e n he t h r a s h e d at night, trying to isolate t h e reason. Toward the end of t h a t p e r i o d he read Saint Joan, n o t i n g with s o m e insight t h a t the best Shaw could c o m e up with on t h e M a i d was that " T h e r e was s o m e t h i n g a b o u t her." Well, there was s o m e t h i n g a b o u t I m o gene Felker too, and if Shaw could be vague, why n o t E. Walters Kirkaby, then all of eighteen? I m o g e n e Felker arrived u n k n o w n at O b e r l i n , a quiet child, t i m i d a n d sweet, a non-giggler w h o h u r r i e d alone from Talcott D o r m to t h e library, eyes always d o w n , b o o k s always pressed across her priceless b o s o m . In less t h a n a m o n t h she was legend. T h e r e was no question in Walt's m i n d that she would have achieved that stature eventually, b u t t h e r e was also no question that D o n n y Reilly helped speed the elevation along. D o n n y Reilly was s o m e t h i n g of a legend himself, a dazzling Irish giant w h o , because he was the o n l y football player in school blessed w i t h better t h a n average c o o r d i n a t i o n , f o u n d himself a gridiron celebrity in spite of the fact that he was n o t p a r t i c u larly accurate as a passer or fast as a r u n n e r a n d was given to fumbling on those rare instances w h e n O b e r l i n f o u n d itself in t h e s h a d o w of its o p p o n e n t ' s goal. He was also s o m e t h i n g of a sexual whiz, having successfully seduced, by his o w n account, forty-three coeds, at least that m a n y townies a n d , crown in his cap, Miss D u n h i l l , the only attractive associate Professor in the history of the school. T h a t D o n n y a n d I m o g e n e s h o u l d

222 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN cross was hardly chance, since he m a d e it a practice to begin each acad e m i c year by eying a n d t h e n destroying the half dozen or so m o s t alluring freshmen before m o v i n g , u n s c a t h e d , to their m o r e m a t u r e sisters. Late in September they went o u t for the first time, big D o n n y , quiet I m o gene. T h e y c a m e to the Pool Hall, Oberlin's m o s t sinful 3.2 beer dispensary, sitting together in t h e very front b o o t h , sitting close, a n d while D o n n y joked with whatever t a b l e - h o p p i n g inferiors h a p p e n e d by, I m o gene stayed silent, from t i m e to t i m e m a n a g i n g a sip from h e r glass of beer. Discreetly, Walt watched t h e m , n o t only that night b u t in t h e nights t h a t followed, a n d there was no d o u b t in his m i n d t h a t he saw things in h e r face (Walt was always a great o n e for seeing things in faces). T h e child was lonely, the child was sad. You can't w a n t h i m , Walt t h o u g h t . You can do better t h a n h i m , I p r o m i s e you. S o m e w h e r e there's s o m e b o d y better. But as they left each evening, D o n n y ' s big a r m t h r o w n possessively across h e r shoulders, Walt could only d r o w n his d o u b t s in u n n a t u r a l a m o u n t s of watery brew. A n d each evening, after taking I m o g e n e h o m e , D o n n y w o u l d r e t u r n , louder t h a n ever, a n d he would gather o t h e r seniors a r o u n d h i m at the bar a n d there h o l d forth on various subjects: the form a t i o n of Imogene's body, the s m o o t h n e s s of her skin, t h e texture of her pale red hair. S o m e w h e r e along t o w a r d t h e m i d d l e of October, I m o g e n e b r o k e his heart. Just h o w this h a p p e n e d , no o n e ever knew, for I m o g e n e w o u l d never have told a n d Donny, for o n c e in his life, shut u p . But it h a p p e n e d , and Walt was in the Pool Hall d r i n k i n g his fifth glass of 3.2 beer at t h e m o m e n t D o n n y ' s statue t u m b l e d d o w n . H e entered t h e b a r quietly, D o n n y did, a n d that was already strange, a n d he ordered a pitcher of beer, grabbed a stein, a n d h a d t h e m b o t h in his big h a n d s , the pitcher a n d t h e stein, w h e n s o m e o n e shouted, "Hey, where's I m o g e n e ? " Walt was staring at t h e Celt a n d as the question e c h o e d there c a m e across D o n n y ' s face an expression so n a k e d — h e was eventually to lose it from his skin, never from b e h i n d his eyes—so full of totally deflated ego, t h a t Walt almost felt guilty at his s u d d e n smile. (But t h e lying bastard, he'd never laid a glove on her, so w h o could help smiling?) A n d that night as D o n n y d r a n k h i m self into a silent stupor, alone in the farthest corner of t h e bar, Walt w a t c h e d h i m and, while o t h e r s a r o u n d h i m evinced a s t o n i s h m e n t , Walt was n o t o n e whit surprised. For t h o u g h Walt h a d s p o k e n to I m o gene b u t once (eight w o r d s ) , been close to her that o n e t i m e only, it was e n o u g h . He knew. There was s o m e t h i n g a b o u t her. S o m e t h i n g . An air, an a u r a , a way. She was a mystery. O p e n a n d sweet, yet a mystery. N o t myste-

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 223 rious, therefore mysterious, therefore g l a m o r o u s , for mystery w i t h o u t g l a m o u r is like love w i t h o u t like: false; m u c h t r u m p e t e d , b u t false; m u c h avowed, yet false; pledged, sworn, p r o m i s e d , still a n d always false; false, nothing more. Following the b r e a k u p , I m o g e n e went o u t with basketball dribblers and scholars, a n d in her s o p h o m o r e year several slender m e m b e r s of the s w i m m i n g t e a m tried for t h e brass ring. T h e n , in h e r j u n i o r year, there began to be r u m o r s of a n o n - O b e r l i n i a n , a Philadelphia lawyer, m o r e precisely, w h o , according to talk, was quiet a n d kind a n d a o n e - t i m e editor of the Yale Law Review. T h e r u m o r s received substantiation as h e r senior year began, for I m o g e n e r e t u r n e d to school officially engaged, a n d at Thanksgiving t i m e her c o n q u e r o r appeared, neither particularly tall n o r strong n o r beautiful, b u t , if I m o g e n e ' s eyes were to be believed, k i n d . As they walked h a n d in h a n d across c a m p u s they were watched, studied, a p praised, a n d by n o n e closer t h a n E. Walters Kirkaby. But t h a t wasn't u n usual; he h a d always m a n a g e d to keep tabs on Imogene. T h e first t h i n g he ever n o t e d a b o u t h e r was her hair. It was pale red, and it t u m b l e d d o w n a r o u n d h e r shoulders as she walked a h e a d of h i m t h r o u g h Tappan Square, on t h e way to town. This was their freshman year, second day of school, a n d Walt was excited because he h a d h e a r d of a pinball m a c h i n e called Blue Skies a n d he wanted to test its mettle. At the sight of t h e red-haired girl, he d o u b l e d his speed, closing t h e gap b e tween t h e m , anxious to see h e r face. Suddenly he stopped, because it was really a d u m b thing to do, following girls; whenever you followed a girl she always t u r n e d o u t to be a d o g . T h o s e were Walt's findings, anyway, so what was t h e p o i n t of navigating after this o n e , particularly since she was a redhead? Redheads were invariably at their best w h e n viewed from b e hind. T h e t h i n g a b o u t redheads was that w h e n you looked at t h e m from the front, w h a t you saw was freckles, a n d what you d i d n ' t see was eyebrows. So w h a t was the point? Walt shrugged a n d slowed. This hair was pale red, t h o u g h , so maybe that was s o m e t h i n g . He m o v e d a little faster. But w h a t t h e hell, she h a d a r a i n c o a t o n , so h o w could you tell a n y t h i n g about t h e body? He m o v e d a little slower. I'll bet she's a d o g , Walt t h o u g h t . But h e r legs were nice. T h e ankles appeared thin a n d t h a n k G o d the calf muscles didn't bulge, so p r o b a b l y she wasn't a field-hockey star and he began m o v i n g faster again, until he was only t w e n t y steps b e h i n d . At that distance he n o t e d t h a t h e r pale red hair glistened in t h e gray aftern o o n , so he halved t h e gap, s t u d y i n g h e r with professional care. It really a s a p r o b l e m , because from his vantage p o i n t she looked great, a n d a decision w o u l d have to be m a d e s o o n because they were t h r e e - q u a r t e r s w

224 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t h r o u g h t h e square a n d t h e c h a n c e s were that she was n o t o n h e r way t o play pinball. To hell w i t h her, Walt t h o u g h t , a n d he started to slow w h e n the girl t o o k off h e r raincoat. Walt picked up the step. She was wearing a fuzzy white sweater a n d a straight black skirt. " H m m m , " Walt said, a n d he s q u i n t e d at her over t h e u p p e r r i m of his glasses. T h e o d d s were still on an eyebrowless dog, b u t t h e fuzzy sweater looked nice, t h e skirt too, a n d she certainly wasn't fat a n d he could n o t fault her walking m o t i o n . They were n e a r i n g t h e e n d of t h e square, t o w n just ahead, so it was n o w or never. Now! Walt t h o u g h t a n d , p a u s i n g just a m o m e n t to attain the p r o p e r swagger, he t h r u s t his h a n d s into his pockets at a brilliantly casual angle a n d h u r r i e d alongside. She was n o dog. Walt stared at her, walking right beside her, eyes w i d e , a n d w h e n she glanced up at h i m he was u n a b l e to look away. She d i d , t h o u g h , so he c o n t i n u e d to stare. T h e y walked together, stride for stride, a n d Walt t h o u g h t that h e really o u g h t t o s t o p this a n d g o o n a b o u t h i s business, b u t his h e a d was practically resting on h e r shoulder a n d it was simply physically impossible for h i m to pull it away. T h e girl t u r n e d t o w a r d h i m again, a n d he was debating w h e t h e r he preferred h e r full face or profile w h e n she stopped a n d spoke. "Yes?" "Sorry. T h o u g h t you were s o m e o n e I knew." T h e eight words spoken, Walt r a n . By the t i m e he w e n t to b e d that night, he had, by casual c r o s s - e x a m i n a t i o n of other freshmen, discovered h e r n a m e , age (18), place of b i r t h (India), parents' o c c u p a t i o n (missionaries) a n d shoe size (7 AAA)—this last piece of data c o m e to h i m because this kid w h o lived d o w n t h e hall w o r k e d afternoons in t h e shoe store w h e r e she h a d gone earlier t h a t day to purchase a pair of cordovan loafers. A r m e d with his i n f o r m a t i o n , Walt slept. l

O r tried to. A b o u t three that m o r n i n g t h e t h o u g h t crossed his m i n d t h a t h e was totally a n d completely m a d l y in love, b u t by half past t h r e e a little of reality r e t u r n e d . She was o n e of t h e p r e t t y people, sure, a n d it was t o o bad he couldn't talk to her again, b u t h o w could he, after t h a t beginning? Still, he consoled himself with t h e t h o u g h t that talking to h e r w o u l d only lead to ashes. You didn't talk to p e o p l e like that; they d i s a p p o i n t e d y o u if you talked to t h e m . T h e y were for looking, only for looking, a n d ideally everybody s h o u l d have o n e , o n e just like Imogene, a n d e v e r y b o d y should keep t h e m a r o u n d , someplace close by, so you could just t u r n y o u r head

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BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 225 a n d stare at t h e m a while, to m a k e you feel better, on those days after the b o t t o m fell, or the roof, or t h e sky. T h e night Imogene first c a m e to rehearsal, Walt walked Blake h o m e . Blake's eyes were very bright, t o o b r i g h t for Walt, so he looked away from t h e m , a n d w h e n he g r o p e d for her h a n d she pulled it from his grasp. But I haven't d o n e anything, Walt t h o u g h t . So don't fight. Please. "You'll never m a k e it, b u d d y . It's a long-lost cause. Take my word." " W h a t d o you m e a n ? " " O h , c o m e off it, what do you t h i n k I m e a n ? " You m e a n Imogene, Walt t h o u g h t . But I haven't looked at her. N o t once all night. N o t o n e t i m e , I swear. "I d o n ' t know. You tell me." "Right n o w I find you particularly unappetizing," Blake said. "Look. I don't want to fight with you. We've got n o t h i n g to fight about. You're smarter t h a n I a m . See? I a d m i t it. You can o u t w i t m e , so n o w you d o n ' t have to prove it. Just go easy." " I hate that bitch. H e r a n d h e r g o d d a m sweetness act." W h a t should I say? Walt w o n d e r e d . If I ask w h o she's talking about, she'll l a n d on me with b o t h feet. If I assume she's talking a b o u t I m o gene, she'll l a n d on me with b o t h feet. "Swear s o m e more," Walt said. "It's terrifically b e c o m i n g . So feminine." "You d o n ' t get o u t of it t h a t easy, buddy. No sir, you d o n ' t . Go o n . A n swer my question." " W h a t question? W h a t are y o u talking a b o u t ? " " I ' m w a r n i n g you. I'm just a b o u t to get angry." "I love you. N o w shut up." " O h , that's cute." "God," Walt said. "God," Blake m i m i c k e d . " W h a t d o you w a n t from m e ? " " W h a t d o you w a n t from h e r ? " "Let's change the subject, h u h ? " "Let's not." "Blake—" " W h a t d o you w a n t from h e r ? " "There's n o p o i n t — " " M a k i n g an ass of yourself. M a k i n g an ass of yourself a n d I've got to watch you d o i n g it." "Now dammit—"

226 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Ass!" Walt h u r r i e d on ahead of her. "She'll laugh in y o u r face, buddy." Walt whirled. "I never even looked at her!" he said, a n d as he said it he k n e w it was a mistake, b u t she was t o o angry n o w to catch it. T h a t was something. " W h a t d o you t h i n k I'm talking about? O h G o d , just w a t c h i n g you g o o - g o o i n g a r o u n d that bitch w i t h y o u r eyes on the floor like old Uncle T o m himself. You t h i n k she's so fantastic you'll t u r n to salt if y o u look at her?" " If I'd looked at her you'd have yelled at me for that." "Like hell I would." "Admit it!" "I w o u l d not." "Admit it." I'm w i n n i n g , Walt t h o u g h t . H o w a b o u t that? "Let's change the subject." " N o . N o t till you a d m i t it. You just w a n t to blow off, right? No m a t t e r w h a t I'd d o n e , you'd have b l o w n off, right? Right?" Blake c a m e at h i m t h e n , reached for his h a n d s . An i n s t a n t later she'd placed t h e m on her breasts a n d t h e n she was kissing h i m , raking his m o u t h with her tongue, p u s h i n g h e r b o d y close against h i m while his h a n d s k n e a d e d h e r b o s o m . Walt started getting aroused, biting at her t o n g u e . She broke from h i m , b a c k i n g away, smiling, s m o o t h i n g h e r hair. Walt was e m b a r r a s s e d at t h e s o u n d of his breathing, b u t he g r a b b e d for h e r anyway. She was t o o quick. He started to chase her. Blake started to laugh. Walt stopped. O r d i n a r i l y t h e s o u n d of her laughter ruffled h i m . But n o t now. N o t tonight. After all, he'd w o n , h a d n ' t he? Branch sat in front of t h e geology lab w i t h the ticket b o x beside h i m . Walt c a m e u p . "Anybody b u y i n g ? " Walt asked. "I just purchased a pair for my mother," Branch said. " T h a t brings o u r g r a n d total to three." "Three?" "Yes. T h e third was b o u g h t by s o m e gullible freshman." "Three?" "Fear not." "Three?" "I anticipate an u p s u r g e this afternoon." " H o w can you smile?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 227 "Check you local bulletin board," Branch said. T h a t was all. AN

IMPORTANT

ANNOUNCEMENT

from the cast of D

P R

A O

O P

THE

S

We wish to lay finally and forever to rest the following rumor: IMOGENE FELKER WILL APPEAR ABSOLUTELY A N D TOTALLY W I T H O U T BENEFIT OF CLOTHING

This is false The final decision on M I S S F E L K E R ' S C L O T H E S hasn't been reached. Branch sat in front of t h e geology lab with the ticket b o x beside h i m . In front of h i m , seventeen people waited in line. Walt c a m e u p , c o u n t e d the line a n d b o w e d low. Branch shrugged. "Culture," he said. "It's wonderful." "O.K., now," Walt said to I m o g e n e . "Here's this n e w sketch." He becko n e d h e r to the makeshift stage at o n e e n d of the geology lab. At t h e o t h e r end, o u t of the corner of his eye, he saw Blake a n d Branch in whispered conversation. " W h a t do I have to d o ? " I m o g e n e asked. "Well, it's like this. I'll be dressed as a magician, see? A n d I'll give a little i n t r o d u c t o r y thing, a n d t h e n I'll clap my h a n d s a n d say, ' N o w if my sister will be k i n d e n o u g h to h a n d me my wand,' a n d t h e n y o u c o m e on. And I'll talk a sentence or two m o r e a n d t h e n I'll do a d o u b l e - t a k e a n d I'll say, 'You're n o t my sister.' A n d t h e n you say, ' I ' m a friend of hers. She's n o t feeling well, so she asked me w o u l d I help.' Got it?" "I t h i n k so." "Great. T h e n I'll start i n t o this trick where I m a k e t h e h a n d k e r c h i e f turn color a n d I'll build up to it a n d just before I do it I w a n t y o u to stand there a n d shift your weight from o n e foot to the o t h e r — s h o o t y o u r hip ° u t , you k n o w what I m e a n ? "

228 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Like this?" I m o g e n e said. "Right. A n d I'll ogle you, a n d w h e n I do the trick, n o t o n l y will the h a n d k e r c h i e f n o t change color, it'll rip in half. That's sort of t h e way the w h o l e sketch'll go. W h e n I m a k e t h e glass bowl float, you s h o o t y o u r hip a n d t h e bowl will crash a n d break on the floor. Every t i m e I'm a b o u t to d o s o m e t h i n g , you distract m e , a n d the trick'U g o w r o n g . U n d e r s t a n d ? " Imogene nodded. "If I can m a k e a big e n o u g h mess, it o u g h t to work. Art it ain't, b u t it m i g h t be funny. Shall we give it a t r y ? " "Go," Imogene said. "O.K.," Walt began, a n d he m o v e d to the center of t h e stage, starting to address the imaginary a u d i e n c e . "Ladies a n d g e n t l e m e n — " "She o u g h t to be y o u r wife," Blake called from the rear. "Ladies a n d gentlemen, it's a great pleasure to b e — " "It's n o t funny if she's y o u r sister," Blake said, starting to m o v e down t h e r o o m . "She's got to be y o u r wife." " — t o b e here. W h a t you're a b o u t t o s e e — " "Walt," Blake said. "Shut up a m i n u t e . " " — t o see will u n d o u b t e d l y a m a z e — " "Walt!" " — a m a z e a n d delight you." "Imogene," Blake called. "Will you please get the b o y genius' attention." "Walt," I m o g e n e said. "Blake's t r y i n g — " "I heard!" Walt said. "I h e a r d a n d I chose to ignore. N o w — " " I ' m talking to you, b u d d y , so h o l d on." "Yes," Branch said, a n d he m o v e d d o w n beside Blake. " T h e whole t h i n g is n o t funny this way, buddy. I m e a n , I know, it's y o u r sketch, you stole it, a n d G o d forbid I should criticize, since I don't t h i n k it's going to get yucks no m a t t e r w h a t you do with it, b u t I know it's n o t going to w o r k this way." "Will you just please let us t r y a n d rehearse?" " T h e whole t h i n g works off of you lusting after I m o g e n e , right? The lecher, right? Well, it's only funny if you're m a r r i e d , d o n ' t y o u see? If you're m a r r i e d a n d you're h o t for y o u r wife's friend, t h e n it's at least got a chance. This way it's nothing." "You t h r o u g h ? " Walt s a i d . " 'Cause if you are, I'd like to rehearse." "It stinks this way, b u d d y . Believe me." " I ' m sorry," Walt said, a n d he climbed d o w n off the stage. "Forget it, I m o g e n e . We'll t r y later. T o m o r r o w maybe." "You won't even talk a b o u t it," Blake said.

11 BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 229 "Please. Just forget it, will y o u ? " "All right. Go sulk. You're great at taking criticism, aren't you, buddy?" "You're getting to m e . T h a t w h a t y o u want? Well, h o o r a y for you." "Everybody thinks I'm right." " Yeah-yeah-yeah." "Tell h i m , Branch." " U h . . . Blake's got a point, Walt. She does." Walt t u r n e d t o Imogene. " W h a t d o you t h i n k ? " " I d o n ' t know. I really don't. It m i g h t be funnier." " T h e three experts," Walt said, his voice starting to rise. " W h a t do you k n o w ? " he said to I m o g e n e . "I m e a n , you're such an expert. W h a t do you know? I'll tell you. You d o n ' t k n o w a thing. N o t o n e c o t t o n picking t h i n g . So you k n o w w h a t y o u r j o b is? Your j o b is to shut u p . You too, B r a n c h . Got it?" He t u r n e d to Blake, a b o u t to speak, b u t all of a sudden he could feel tears b e h i n d his eyes. Blake m u s t have seen t h e m , because she started to smile. Walt r a n at h e r until he saw she was afraid of him, for t h e first time afraid of h i m , a n d her fear was frightening, because he h a d n ' t realized he was that upset, so he veered away from her, c o n t i n u ing t o r u n until h e was o u t t h e d o o r a n d t h r o u g h the square a n d they were far b e h i n d h i m . T h e next m o r n i n g Walt f o u n d h e r studying in the m a i n r o o m of t h e library. She was at a back table, taking notes, a n d as he a p p r o a c h e d , Walt tried to r e m e m b e r if he h a d ever seen her in blue before. Probably not, and that was a s h a m e ; she looked g o o d in blue. "Hey," Walt w h i s p e r e d . I m o g e n e looked u p . " C a n I talk to you a sec?" She n o d d e d . Walt sat in t h e chair beside her. "About yesterday," he w h i s p e r e d . She smiled. "It's all right." " N o . I've gotta apologize. I s h o u l d n ' t have yelled at you." "It p r o b a b l y did me good. Really. You shouldn't w o r r y a b o u t it." "Shh," a girl d o w n the table said. Walt ignored her. "I didn't w a n t to yell at you." " I know." "You weren't upset or a n y t h i n g ? " " I ' m n o t anymore." " I d o n ' t really k n o w why I d i d it." "Shh!" c a m e from d o w n t h e table.

23 0 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes, I do too. See, I was really P.O.d at Blake a n d — " " I ' m telling you shhhhr " S m o k e ? " Imogene said, rising. "You smoke?" "Sometimes." " O h , you shouldn't. Ever. Spoils t h e image, you k n o w w h a t I m e a n ? " "I w o n ' t inhale; how's t h a t ? " T h e y started o u t of t h e big r o o m . Hey, Walt t h o u g h t , I'm walking w i t h I m o g e n e , what do you know? He shoved his h a n d s into his pockets a n d scuffed his way o u t of t h e library. It was a fine m o r n i n g , b l u e and w a r m , a n d they m o v e d across t h e street to Tappan Square a n d sat d o w n together on the grass in t h e s u n s h i n e . "Nice," Walt said. She n o d d e d . "Here's t h e thing a b o u t yesterday," Walt began. "See, Blake a n d I, we'd h a d it all o u t beforehand. T h e sister-wife business. Just t h e t w o of u s . In private. A n d I told h e r I was going to do it my way. I d o n ' t t h i n k it's funny, infidelity, on account of I guess I ' m a p r u d e . Anyway, I d o n ' t , so Blake, just to get to m e , she b r o u g h t t h e whole thing up again. In public. She does that. I m e a n , she's a great girl a n d all, b u t she does t h a t . I was really m a d . That's why I yelled at you." He dragged on his cigarette. " B u t I didn't m e a n anything." Suddenly he s t o o d u p . "I've got to be going," he said. "It's really great, t h o u g h , h a v i n g you in the show," Walt said as he sat d o w n again. "I m e a n , you're really g o o d . I enjoy w o r k i n g w i t h you." " S a m e here." "I m e a n , you could have b e e n just awful." "You're right." "I hate it w h e n you see s o m e b o d y on the stage a n d they're just awful." "Me too." "It's so embarrassing." "Yes." " S o m e t i m e s I w a n t to h i d e u n d e r my seat, I can't s t a n d it so m u c h . " "Absolutely." She began to laugh. "You d o n ' t laugh m u c h . " " N o . I guess I don't." "I d o . It's supposed to be g o o d for you. S o m e t h i n g a b o u t wrinkles." "I'll r e m e m b e r that." " W h y were you laughing?" "We s o u n d e d so stupid." "Yes. I guess we did."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 231 I m o g e n e stretched her h a n d s high into the air. " N o clouds," she said. " N o t one." " N o t one," Walt echoed. Suddenly she stood u p . "I've got this paper I just have to finish." "Yes." " T h i s paper," I m o g e n e said as she sat d o w n again, "it's for A b n o r m a l Psych a n d it's killing me." "You'll get it." "I d o n ' t know. Ever since we started rehearsing I d o n ' t seem to have any t i m e . I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t my grades are going to be. T h a t never b o t h ers you, t h o u g h , does it? Weren't you P h i Bete?" "Pull. P u r e pull." "You never look at people. D i d y o u k n o w that?" "I have a very sneaky character." "How's your handshake?" "Fishlike." "Sneakier a n d sneakier. W h y d i d you r u n away?" " W h a t ? W h e n ? Yesterday?" " N o , n o , n o . Freshman year, I m e a n . Right at the start of school. I was walking t h r o u g h here on my way d o w n t o w n a n d all of a s u d d e n you were right next to me a n d I k n e w w h o y o u were, of course, because the night before there'd been a sort of get-together at the d o r m a n d y o u were sort of t h e master of ceremonies a n d y o u imitated s o m e people a n d y o u were really very funny, so w h e n I saw y o u right next to me I was s u r p r i s e d b u t glad because I w a n t e d to m e e t y o u a n d t h e n all of a s u d d e n y o u said that you'd mistaken me for s o m e b o d y else a n d t h e n you r a n away before I could say anything." "It wasn't me," Walt said. "It w a s n ' t ? " " N o . You "Oh." "I m e a n , not the thing Imogene

m u s t have got me m i x e d up with s o m e o t h e r guy." I was the master of ceremonies. I m e a n , that h a p p e n e d , b u t in the square." nodded.

"I m e a n , if s o m e t h i n g like t h a t h a d h a p p e n e d , I_ w o u l d have remembered." "Yes. Well, I've never been any g o o d at faces. N a m e s I'm all right o n , b u t faces, no." " I ' m t h e same way. Except I d o n ' t r e m e m b e r n a m e s all t h a t well either."

232 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I read that somebody's w r i t t e n a b o o k a b o u t h o w to get better at things like that. R e m e m b e r i n g . S o m e system, I think. You c o n n e c t the n a m e with s o m e t h i n g else. I d o n ' t know." "Cigarette?" "I really should get b a c k to work." "So should I." " O n e m o r e won't h u r t , t h o u g h . " " N o . " Walt h a n d e d her a cigarette a n d c u p p e d his h a n d s a r o u n d the m a t c h until she'd m a n a g e d to get it lit. T h e n he lit o n e for himself. T h e y s m o k e d a while. " I almost did it," I m o g e n e said finally. "Did w h a t ? " "Asked you w h a t you were t h i n k i n g . I hate it w h e n people ask you w h a t you're thinking. T h a t a n d 'what's the matter?' People ask t h a t too." "Constantly." "P's really nobody's business w h a t you're thinking. D o n ' t you think so?" "I was embarrassed," Walt said. " T h a t ' s why I r a n away." "Yes." "You knew, d i d n ' t you? T h a t it was me." "Yes. Are you n e r v o u s ? " "Absolutely. All t h e t i m e . Very." " N o . I m e a n now." "You m e a n m o r e t h a n ordinarily?" "Yes." "No. Why?" "I d o n ' t know. I a m . I just w o n d e r e d if you were." "Well, as a m a t t e r of fact, if y o u w a n t to k n o w t h e t r u t h , I a m , too." " W h y are y o u ? " " I d o n ' t know. W h y are y o u ? " "I d o n ' t know. But we're s o u n d i n g stupid again." I m o g e n e smiled, n o d d i n g . She ran her fingertips over t h e grass, back a n d forth, back a n d forth. Walt stared at her face. W h e n she t u r n e d to h i m again, he was still staring, a n d he tried very hard not to move. "See?" he said. " S o m e t i m e s I l o o k at people." T h e n he looked away. "I never do this," I m o g e n e said. " N o t often, anyway." "Do what?" "Just sit. Just talk."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 233 " W h y d o n ' t you?" " I d o n ' t know." " In t h e d o r m at night? I t h o u g h t girls d i d that. Sort of their n a t i o n a l pastime. H e n parties, aren't t h e y called?" "Yes." "Girls d o n ' t m u c h like you, d o t h e y ? " "Not much." " T h a t ' s t o o bad, isn't it?" "Yes." "Have you always been p r e t t y ? " "Yes." " O n e of my big p r o b l e m s is that I never ask personal questions." I m o g e n e said n o t h i n g . "Listen. You can't help t h e way you look. It's y o u r cross, that's all. I understand. It's the same with m e . I've always been fantastically handsome." "You're n o t fantastically h a n d s o m e . " " O h , I a m too." "You're n o t h a n d s o m e at all. You're funny-looking. A n d you're always p u s h i n g y o u r silly glasses up over t h e bridge of y o u r nose. A n d if you're not going to c o m b your hair, w h y d o n ' t you get a crew cut? A n d shine your shoes once in a while. A n d t u c k in your shirt—it's always h a n g i n g out in t h e back. A n d look at me." Walt looked at her. "And smile." He did that, too. " N o , it doesn't help. You're just awful." " I know." "You can stop smiling." " I will if you will." "Nut," I m o g e n e m u t t e r e d , a n d she t h r e w her head back. "It's just such a beautiful day." "If you like beautiful days." "Except I've got so m u c h to do." "Likewise." "I m e a n , I've just got to get back to work." "You're n o t the only one." "I m e a n , if I d o n ' t get t h a t p a p e r d o n e I won't pass t h e course, a n d if I don't pass t h e course I w o n ' t g r a d u a t e . Just think of that." "All right. I'm thinking." "So what."

234 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Huh?" "So w h a t if I didn't g r a d u a t e from Oberlin? Lots of p e o p l e didn't g r a d u a t e from Oberlin. W i n s t o n Churchill didn't graduate from Oberlin." " N e i t h e r did Johnny Weismuller." " O r Shoeless Joe Jackson." " H o w do you k n o w a b o u t Shoeless Joe Jackson?" " M y father w a n t e d a boy. I ' m going to swear. To hell w i t h A b n o r m a l Psychology." "Sing it out." "I m e a n , after all, t h e s u n is shining." " T h a t it is." "And V i t a m i n C is good for health." " N o t h i n g better." I m o g e n e clapped her h a n d s . "And besides, it's nice here." Walt stretched full on t h e grass. "It'll do," he said. W h e n Walt got to t h e geology lab that evening, Blake was waiting for h i m . He kissed her lightly, u n l o c k e d t h e d o o r a n d followed h e r inside. Walt b e g a n setting up t h e stage for rehearsal while Blake, after watching h i m w o r k a while, began to play " T h e Volga B o a t m a n " on t h e p i a n o . "So w h a t ' d you do today?" Blake said. " N o t h i n g much." "Oh?" "Just goofed around." "I saw you," Blake said t h e n , playing high trills on t h e p i a n o . "Oh." " T h a t ' s right. In t h e square. F r o m eleven till two. T h e p o o r girl must have been starving. W h y d i d n ' t y o u b u y her l u n c h ? " Walt said n o t h i n g . " O h , I bet I k n o w why. You're p r o b a b l y still p u t t i n g on y o u r poverty act." She began to play " Brother, C a n You Spare a D i m e ? " " W h y d o n ' t you tell h e r t h a t y o u r old man's loaded? M i g h t score a few points." Walt c o n t i n u e d setting up t h e stage. Blake b a n g e d o u t " T h e W e d d i n g M a r c h . " " T o n i g h t you m a k e t h e pass, right? T h a t the plan? Tonight, w h e n you walk the bitch h o m e . " " W h a t are you talking a b o u t ? I walk you h o m e at n i g h t . You know that." " N o t tonight, buddy. Tonight I'm leaving early. D o e s t h a t m a k e your little h e a r t go pitty-pat?" "I really—and I k n o w you c o u l d n ' t possibly believe w h a t I ' m a b o u t to

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 235 say, b u t I honestly, cross my heart, et c e t e r a — d o n o t want to fight w i t h you." " W h o ' s fighting? I'm flying t h e dove of peace myself." "Yeah-yeah-yeah." "Tonight's y o u r chance, buddy. There'll be just the two of you u n d e r the m o o n . N o m e a r o u n d , c r a m p i n g y o u r irresistible style. T h i n k you'll make it? W h a t do you figure y o u r chances are?" " I n t h e first place, I'm not g o n n a walk h e r h o m e — " "Bet m e — " "Shut u p . A n d in the second place, I am engaged to this slightly erratic n u t a n d since even an a t t e m p t e d s e d u c t i o n m i g h t be considered an act of infidelity, I would d o u b t — " Blake b e g a n to play " T h e Star-Spangled Banner." Walt started o u t of the building. " W h o said I was finished?" Blake b e g a n . "You're so nasty s o m e t i m e s it still surprises me." Blake smiled. "A bitch like her, y o u k n o w what she'll do if y o u m a k e a pass, b u d d y ? She will laugh, right in y o u r — y o u should p a r d o n t h e expression—face." "You m e a n like you d o ? " " T h a t ' s right." " W h y do you like to see me s q u i r m ? " "You do it so good," Blake said. Walt w o r k e d t h a t night. H e directed t h e rehearsal with w h a t h e h o p e d was gentle b u t firm efficiency, going over skits again a n d again, staging and restaging s o n g after song, driving himself w i t h o u t letup. He w o r k e d harder t h a n he h a d ever worked before, because Blake m i g h t be right, of course, a b o u t h i m m a k i n g a pass at I m o g e n e , a n d he didn't w a n t to t h i n k about it. He h a d t h o u g h t a b o u t it every m o m e n t as they lay c h a t t i n g on the grass, a n d if it h a d n o t been daylight, if they h a d been alone, well, he just didn't k n o w . For t h e first half of the evening, as Blake sat at the p i a n o , he b e g a n to think t h a t she h a d changed her m i n d , t h a t she wasn't going to leave, b u t then quietly she was gone, a n d s o m e b o d y else was playing t h e p i a n o , a n d Walt i m m e d i a t e l y sought out Branch a n d m a d e an a p p o i n t m e n t for after h e a r s a l a n d Branch was free so that was that. He c o n t i n u e d rehearsing, moving from skit to song a n d back, chain s m o k i n g , giving a suggestion here, t h r o w i n g o u t a n o t i o n there, never raising his voice, never l o o k i n g at anybody, a n d he was surprised at q u a r t e r of twelve w h e n B r a n c h told re

236 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN h i m it was t i m e to stop, t h a t the girls h a d to be back in their d o r m s , so w i t h reluctance he let t h e m go a n d they went, a n d w h e n he t u r n e d to start talking with Branch, B r a n c h wasn't m u c h interested in p r o l o n g i n g t h e discussion, partially because Walt really h a d n o t h i n g n e w to say a n d partially because Branch felt a cold c o m i n g on a n d in spite of Walt's pleadings Branch n o d d e d a n d s t a m m e r e d a n d left, leaving h i m alone in t h e r o o m , alone except for I m o g e n e , w h o quietly was cleaning u p , disposing of coffee cups, cigarette b u t t s , t h e usual debris. "You're g o n n a be late," Walt said. "You better get h o m e . " "It's all right. I got a special Per." "I'll clean u p . You better get h o m e . " "I d o n ' t m i n d , really. It's w o m a n ' s work, tidying." "Get o n h o m e ! " I m o g e n e looked a t h i m t h e n , n o d d e d a n d started o u t t h e door. "Hey." She s t o p p e d . "I'll clean it up t o m o r r o w . It's t o o late now. I'm bushed." He walked o u t s i d e a n d locked the d o o r . " 'Night." " 'Night." She started m o v i n g to t h e right while he cut quickly across t h e street i n t o T a p p a n Square. See? Walt t h o u g h t . I didn't do it. I d i d n ' t walk her home. " G o o d night, Imogene," he called. She waved. He shoved his h a n d s i n t o his pockets a n d h u r r i e d a l o n g a few steps before he stopped again. "See you t o m o r r o w . " "Tomorrow." He started walking again, h a n d s o u t of pockets now, fingers s n a p p i n g in a soft r h y t h m as he started singing like Fred Astaire. "I'll go my way by myself. Here's where the c o m e d y ends." He did a glide, t h e n a few taps, t h e n a n o t h e r glide, t h e n he r a n o u t of t h e square across t h e street s h o u t ing "Hey!" I m o g e n e stopped. "Walk you h o m e , " Walt m u t t e r e d , a n d he shoved his h a n d s i n t o his pockets. " T h a n k you." "You m i g h t get accosted, you know. Something." "Something." "An' I got e n o u g h guilt feelings as it is. T h i n k h o w I'd feel if I

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 237 found o u t t o m o r r o w you got accosted or s o m e t h i n g . I m e a n , w h o n e e d s that?" I m o g e n e smiled. I can't just kiss her, Walt t h o u g h t . Just l u n g e a n d grab her a n d kiss her. I couldn't do that. She'd never let m e . Hell, I w o u l d n ' t let s o m e b o d y kiss me if t h e y just lunged a n d m a d e a grab. There's such a thing as m a n n e r s . "What?" "I just asked if you t h o u g h t we'd be ready. To open. It's only five days." "Everything will be fine. We w o n ' t be ready, b u t everything will be fine." Gradually. T h a t was the only way. M a k e contact first. Maybe take her h a n d . Walt shoved his h a n d s deeper into his pockets. W h a t if I t r y to take h e r h a n d a n d she pulls away? She m i g h t pull away. Besides, he was never any g o o d at h a n d - h o l d i n g . His p a l m s perspired. H a n d - h o l d i n g was jerky, anyway. To hell with it. "It's really g o n n a be a good show. Have faith." "I'll try." T h e t h i n g t o d o was p u t a n a r m o n h e r shoulder. O n o r a r o u n d , either one. P r o b a b l y on h e r shoulder was better. Just rest an a r m on h e r s h o u l der. N o b o d y could get m a d if you just rested an a r m on their shoulder. Just a casual resting of an a r m on a shoulder, that was the t h i n g to d o . Then, if y o u snaked your a r m right, you could get it around. T h e n , if you played t h a t loose e n o u g h , you could begin applying a little pressure to your a r m , so t h a t she'd be a little closer to you. T h e n closer still. T h e n you started to slow t h e pace until you were hardly walking at all. Then, t h e n you did it. Kissed her. Smack on t h e old lips. Right s m a c k — d i d she just say something? She was looking at h i m as if she'd just said s o m e t h i n g . Quick, Walt t h o u g h t . Quick, answer her. "Maybe," he said. "Maybe not." "What?" " D i d n ' t y o u just say s o m e t h i n g ? " "No." "I t h o u g h t you just said something." "I didn't." "Oh." He smiled quickly. "I do t h a t a lot. All the time, as a m a t t e r of fact. I'm all t h e t i m e thinking people are saying s o m e t h i n g w h e n they're not, you k n o w w h a t I m e a n ? " I m o g e n e smiled. G o d , you're pretty. You really are pretty. You're really a p r e t t y — t h e arm! Get to w o r k on t h e a r m . T h e a r m on the shoulder. But casually.

238 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Casually. Walt t o o k his h a n d s o u t of his pockets. His p a l m s were wet, so he r u b b e d t h e m on his t r o u s e r s . N o w it was just a m a t t e r of raising the a r m , a n d almost by accident, p l u n k i n g it d o w n on h e r shoulder. Just as n a t u r a l as can be. Just raise t h e a r m a n d let it settle on t h e shoulder. Easy apple pie. Except why the hell s h o u l d my a r m be on her shoulder? W h a t ' s it supposed to be doing there? I'll never m a k e it. Never. W h a t if she doesn't w a n t it on her shoulder? W h a t if she says " W h y is y o u r a r m on my should e r ? " H o w do you answer a q u e s t i o n like that? W h a t do you say? "What a r m ? " That's n o answer. "I d i d n ' t hear you," I m o g e n e said. "Huh-what?" "Your lips were m o v i n g . Just t h e n . But I d i d n ' t hear w h a t you said." " O h , you m u s t n ' t pay any a t t e n t i o n to that. I do that all t h e t i m e too. M o v e my lips. My whole family does that. We're all t h e t i m e m o v i n g our lips. You should see us. Just sitting a r o u n d quietly, m o v i n g o u r lips." "Sometimes I d o n ' t always follow you." " I ' m very mysterious," Walt said. Imogene nodded. Kirkaby, you're a fink, you k n o w that, Kirkaby? Fink first class. Now cut t h e screwing a r o u n d a n d do it. Do it! Move that a r m ! Get t h a t a r m on h e r shoulder! To hell w i t h w h a t she says! She'll probably love it. She'll p r o b a b l y say, " I ' m so h a p p y y o u p u t y o u r a r m on my shoulder." Somet h i n g like that. So do it! Walt t o o k a deep breath. T h e n a n o t h e r . T h e n h e m o v e d his a r m . If he h a d been paying a t t e n t i o n to t h e fact that they h a d reached the e n d of the block a n d were s t e p p i n g d o w n to cross t h e street, t h e chances are that he would n o t have elbowed her in the neck. But he was n o t paying attention. So he elbowed her. H a r d . "Ow." " I ' m sorry." "It's nothing." I m sorry. "It's all right. Really." She smiled at h i m while she r u b b e d h e r fingers against t h e side of her neck. "I was just stretching. I'm k i n d of clumsy. I m e a n , I d i d n ' t m e a n to elb o w you. But like I say, I ' m n o t t h e m o s t graceful guy in t h e world, so s o m e t i m e s I elbow people." As they started up the street Walt saw she was walking faster t h a n before. A n d farther away from h i m . " N u t s ! " Walt said, a n d he kicked at a small rock, s e n d i n g it flying ahead of h i m .

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 239 " D o n ' t be upset." " I ' m n o t upset. W h a t m a d e you say that? Just because I said 'nuts'? I always do that whenever I kick a rock. Sort of a password. I ' m a terrific rock kicker. W h e n I was a kid I was t h e greatest rock kicker in t h e world. Once I kept t h e same rock going for m o r e t h a n a mile w i t h o u t o n c e breaking stride. I m e a n , a n y b o d y can kick a rock, b u t to n o t b r e a k stride, that's something." "Jacks were my specialty." "I played Jacks too. N o t so m u c h in public. I m e a n , it's a girl's g a m e , so I stuck m o r e to marbles in public, b u t I played Jacks w h e n I was by myself. I was good at it, t o o . N o t great. Just good." "I was fantastic," I m o g e n e said as she pointed. "There's t h e d o r m . " Walt stayed even with h e r as they c u t t o w a r d the b u i l d i n g . Fifty yards to the front door. Sixty at t h e m o s t , so you better do it. If you're going to do it you better get on t h e stick. S o m e t i m e s you just have to take the plunge. Kiss t h e m right off. No w o r k i n g up gradually. Just do it w i t h o u t the preliminaries. Now. Right this m i n u t e n o w — " W h a t comes after ten-zees?" Walt said. "I r e m e m b e r y o u w o r k y o u r way u p t o ten-zees, b u t t h e n w h a t ? " "Eggs in a basket, t h e n pigs in a pen." " O h , sure, that's it. Eggs in a basket, t h e n pigs in a pen." D o n ' t be a fink, fink. There's thirty yards to go. Twenty-five a n d you'll never get another chance, so m a k e up y o u r m i n d . O n e way or the other. Do it or d o n ' t d o it. Make u p your m i n d . T h i n k . T h i n k — He was still t h i n k i n g w h e n I m o g e n e t u r n e d h e r body. It was such a graceful m o v e m e n t t h a t for a m o m e n t he wasn't even aware that she had d o n e it, b u t s u d d e n l y she was ahead of h i m , o n e step ahead, a n d t h e n h e r b o d y t u r n e d , pivoted, stopped, a n d she was facing him—facing h i m in t h e d a r k n e s s . D u r i n g t h e m o m e n t it t o o k for h i m to realize h e r action, he c o m p l e t e d o n e final step toward her. T h e gap closed. There they were. O m i g o d , Walt t h o u g h t . She's m a k i n g a pass at m e . T h e y stood quite still, n o t l o o k i n g at each other. Walt waited for h e r to move, b u t she didn't, a n d t h e n he realized that she was w a i t i n g for h i m to do it, move, act, s o m e t h i n g . I wonder what I'm going to do, Walt t h o u g h t , because whatever q u a n d a r y m e a n s , I'm in o n e , Because I'm engaged a n d that's i m p o r t a n t , to m e , it is, even t h o u g h I d o n ' t k n o w if I love her or n o t , Blake, a n d Blake says she's a bitch, I m o g e n e , b u t if she is I've never seen it so I don't t h i n k so, w h a t I t h i n k is that she's beautiful a n d sweet a n d kind a n d m a y b e even cares for m e , n o t m u c h b u t m a y b e a

240 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN little, m a y b e , so / wonder what I'm going to do. I m e a n , of course, I won't do a n y t h i n g . I just couldn't. Except she's right there. I m o g e n e . Waiting for m e . T h e t w o of us. Together. In t h e dark. Alone. Hey, Walt t h o u g h t . Hey, I better r e m e m b e r this. T h e pressure of her breasts against his body; he could feel t h e tender pressure. T h e y were s t a n d i n g close together, almost b u t n o t q u i t e t o u c h ing, except where her breasts grazed t h e front of his shirt, a n d even t h o u g h the pressure was light, so light, he could feel it. A n d t h e date was t h e eleventh of May; t h e t i m e : half past twelve. Place: O b e r l i n , Ohio. M o r e specifically, the lawn of Keep Cottage. M o r e specifically still: close beside a tree, the biggest tree on t h e lawn, to the left of t h e front door, d e e p in shadow. T h e weather was w a r m , a n d a w a r m e r w i n d washed t h e m from the south. Except for t h e leaves overhead, there was no s o u n d . T h e sky? Clear, with the usual n u m b e r of stars, a wedge of m o o n . The m o o n l i g h t was n o t strong, a n d the tree branches cut off m o s t of what there was, b u t a bit of it m a n a g e d to spot her shoulder, paling h e r pale red hair. She wore white, a man's shirt, m u c h t o o big for her, t h e sleeves rolled up over t h e elbows. Her red hair cascaded d o w n , covering t h e collar of h e r shirt. Her eyes were b r i g h t — p a l e blue in sunlight, b r i g h t only now. Bright was t h e color of h e r eyes.

IX Sid at t h e deli was Sid at t h e b o t t o m . In all his life he hated n o t h i n g as he hated that store. Yet, every m o r n ing at eight, he descended t h e stairs a n d unlocked the d o o r a n d sat in the g l o o m waiting for customers. T h e b o y was no help, being off at school, a n d Esther spelled h i m only occasionally, because of h e r migraine headaches. T h e first migraine, the day of h e r father's funeral, she h a d e n d u r e d w i t h o u t medical aid, b u t a week later, after a second a n d m o r e severe attack all b u t crippled her, she s o u g h t attention, thereby l e a r n i n g t h e n a m e a n d n a t u r e of her malady. T h e d o c t o r ' s advice, so Esther r e p o r t e d to Sid, s e e m e d e m i n e n t l y sensible: take it easy, get lots of fresh air, t r y n o t to get excited. For a few days thereafter, she a n d Sid alternated in t h e deli, but s o o n it t u r n e d o u t that h e r presence in the store b r o u g h t t h e headaches o n , so Esther r e t u r n e d to t h e d o c t o r , later c o m i n g back to Sid w i t h b o t h 3 reason a n d a solution. Reason: being so close to the spirit of h e r father caused tension a n d tension caused headaches. Solution: stay o u t of the

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 241

store. So t h e business of clerking fell to Sid alone, a n d Esther b e g a n getting lots of fresh air. As spring c a m e she t o o k to s p e n d i n g m o r n i n g s u p stairs, resting a n d gathering strength, a n d then, on nice afternoons, she w o u l d dress u p prettily a n d wave g o o d b y e t h r o u g h the store w i n d o w a n d never r e t u r n until late afternoon. A l t h o u g h Sid resented h e r d e p a r t u r e s , h e h a d t o a d m i t that t h e t r e a t m e n t was working. Her h e a d a c h e s grew rare while h e r disposition a n d a p p e a r a n c e were u n q u e s t i o n a b l y b e t t e r t h a n they h a d been in years. Sid, in t h e m e a n t i m e , declined. It was t h e store, t h e g o d d a m store, that was d o i n g it. He could never decide which was worse, w a i t i n g for t h e c u s t o m e r s t o c o m e o r waiting o n t h e m w h e n they c a m e . H e l o a t h e d waiting on t h e m . T h e indignity of it was b a d e n o u g h ; worse was t h e fact t h a t he wasn't g o o d at it. They d i d n ' t like h i m , t h e fat lady c u s t o m e r s . T h e y didn't like h i m , n o t o n e bit, a n d he could tell. T h e y resented his presence (was it his fault he wasn't T u r k ) , his slowness (he could never q u i t e learn where a n y t h i n g was, a n d while he scurried frantically from shelf to shelf h e could hear t h e m m u t t e r i n g i m p a t i e n t l y b e h i n d h i m ) , his jokes (they w o u l d n ' t l a u g h — n e v e r ; n o m a t t e r h o w funny, they just w o u l d n ' t l a u g h ) . So w h e n t h e y walked o u t t h e d o o r w i t h their b r o w n bags full of j u n k , Sid wasn't sorry. Except t h a t w h e n they were g o n e , he was alone. A l o n e with his t h o u g h t s a n d t h e r o t t e n smell of garlic. Everything smelled of garlic in t h e lousy store, a n d eventually he t o o smelled of garlic, no m a t t e r h o w h a r d he s c r u b b e d his o n c e m a n i c u r e d h a n d s . Stinking, Sid sat in t h e old man's chair a n d t h o u g h t . A n d no m a t t e r w h a t he tried to t h i n k a b o u t , no m a t t e r w h e r e he began his daydreams, it was only a m o m e n t until his m i n d betrayed h i m a n d he was s t a n d i n g o u t s i d e himself, l o o k i n g d o w n at himself, seeing only a small m a n w h o stank of garlic—a failure. A failure. A n o t h i n g . For t h e first t i m e in his life his c o n fidence was entirely gone. His d r e a m s of gold, gone. Everything, gone. Alone in t h e store, Sid saw himself as w h a t he was afraid he was: a b u t t , a runt, a gas bag, a c l o w n — t o be l a u g h e d at, to be pissed o n . O n e afternoon he closed up s h o p . He r a n o u t t h e door, locked it good a n d t o o k off for an hour. W h e n he c a m e back he was afraid Esther might find o u t , b u t she didn't, so t w o days later, w h e n t h e g l o o m b e c a m e overpowering, he t o o k off again. He d i d n ' t go anywhere special, just walked, b u t he always felt better w h e n he c a m e back. Business, of course, fell off a little b u t n o t to the p o i n t of total disaster, so Sid kept it u p , chip¬ Per with his secret, h o p i n g only t h a t he w o u l d n ' t r u n into Esther, w h o Would flay h i m , he knew, if she discovered. Spring h a d never s e e m e d

242 • W I L L I A M GOLDMAN so b e c o m i n g to Sid as it d i d on his afternoon walks, a n d so t h e day he saw t h e hearse parked in an alley he s t o p p e d a n d s h o o k his h e a d , because it d i d n ' t seem right that a n y o n e s h o u l d die in such weather. T h e hearse, Sid n o t e d first, belonged to Shapiro's, a n d as he s h o o k his h e a d he saw t h a t y o u n g Shapiro himself was seated b e h i n d the wheel. A n d Sid saw t h a t y o u n g Shapiro was talking, w i t h o b v i o u s relish, to a w o m a n . A n d the w o m a n , Sid saw, was Esther. Sid s t u m b l e d back to t h e store. Esther? Esther having an affair? N o , n o , n o t possible. N o t Esther. She wasn't t h e type and, besides, w h o w o u l d w a n t her? O n c e it m i g h t have b e e n conceivable, back t h e n , w h e n she h a d her body, b u t n o w h e r breasts sagged a n d her can was flabby a n d she was getting a gut. Sid n o d d e d . It was absolutely impossible. W h a t he h a d witnessed was an accident, a c h a n c e meeting; h a p p e n s all t h e t i m e . Young Shapiro was p r o b a b l y driving a l o n g in his hearse a n d he saw Esther a n d he gave h e r a lift to the alley. " W h y to the alley?" Sid said o u t l o u d . He shrugged. W h y n o t to the alley? Sure, he d r o p p e d h e r off at t h e alley a n d w e n t inside a n d picked up s o m e corpse. M a d e perfect sense. Esther unfaithful? Never. But t h a t afternoon, as she r e t u r n e d from h e r constitutional, Sid becko n e d h e r into t h e store a n d t h e y chatted amiably for a while. A n d as they chatted, Sid studied h e r — e v e r y m o v e , every s o u n d , every look. A n d it was o b v i o u s . All so o b v i o u s . N o t t h a t she slipped a n d called h i m "Eli," y o u n g Shapiro's n a m e — n o t h i n g like that. Sid just knew. He could tell. Because she loved Eli Shapiro. N o t only was she having an affair, she loved h i m . N u m b , Sid sank into O l d Turk's chair as Esther smiled a n d went u p stairs. She loved h i m . T h a t was w h a t almost m a d e h i m cry. H o t p a n t s he could almost u n d e r s t a n d . But love? H o w could she? Why? Sid h i d his h e a d . W h y not? Eli Shapiro was rich a n d h a n d s o m e . Eli S h a p i r o h a d a p r e s e n t a n d a future. You d i d n ' t piss on Eli Shapiro. "Closed," Sid said to t h e w o m a n in t h e doorway. "I just w a n t milk," t h e w o m a n said. "Closed," Sid repeated. "Go," a n d she left. Sid got o u t of t h e chair a n d locked himself in t h e store. T h e n he t u r n e d o u t t h e overhead lights a n d sat back d o w n in t h e d a r k n e s s . Esther was leaving h i m . A m a t t e r of t i m e only. She would take t h e child a n d go. H o w m a n y t i m e s h a d he w i s h e d for just such a h a p p e n i n g ? A n d n o w the possibility was horrifying. Why? Why? He didn't love her, so w h y n o t let h e r go? Be glad of it? Why? Sid h u d d l e d in t h e d a r k store, his hands a r o u n d his knees. He h a d never lost a w o m a n . A n d if he lost o n e noWi

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 243 ow, w i t h things t h e way they were, it could only prove that he was t h a t lowest of all lows, a h u m a n urinal, a n d Sid was n o t remotely sure if he n

could bear t h a t b u r d e n or, if so, for h o w long. "Eli, over here," Sid s h o u t e d as Shapiro entered the p o o l r o o m . Shapiro a p p r o a c h e d . " G o o d to see you, Eli," Sid said, a n d he held o u t his h a n d . " I ' m sorry to b r i n g you all this way, b u t I told Esther I'd be playing tonight, a n d in case she calls me . . . you u n d e r s t a n d . Esther a n d I, we d o n ' t like to lie to each other." "I u n d e r s t a n d nothing," Eli Shapiro said. "You t e l e p h o n e d m e , told me to m e e t y o u on a matter of terrifying i m p o r t a n c e , you s o u n d e d upset, and h e r e I a m . Mr. Miller, I w a n t — " "Sid's t h e n a m e a n d I apologize. I k n o w I acted mysterious, b u t I just had to talk to you, Eli." "I haven't m u c h time, Mr. Miller." "Please, Eli. Sid." "Sid. I ' m playing cards this evening w i t h my father a n d we p r i d e o u r selves on o u r punctuality." Sid sat in an e m p t y chair. "We m a y as well get comfortable." " I ' m q u i t e comfortable standing. All right, what is all this?" "I w a n t you to p r o m i s e to take care of t h e boy," Sid said. Shapiro looked at h i m . " T h a t ' s t h e whole thing, Eli, right in a nutshell. I just w a n t y o u to promise m e , m a n t o m a n , t h a t n o m a t t e r w h a t h a p p e n s , you'll take care of the boy." " W h a t boy? W h a t are you talking a b o u t ? " "Eli, this is Sid. C o m e on. Will y o u p r o m i s e ? " "You've m a d e a mistake, Mr. Miller." "Eli, I know. I k n o w all a b o u t it." "All a b o u t w h a t ? " "Eli, please. I'm n o t m a d . I u n d e r s t a n d you w a n t to be cautious, b u t I know. Everything." "You'll have to excuse me," Shapiro said, a n d he t u r n e d . Sid g r a b b e d his coat sleeve. "Esther's told me everything, Eli. So c u t it out." "Esther? You m e a n M r s . Miller?" ' "Eli, my G o d , Eli, will you stop w i t h t h e ignorance. This is m e . Esther's told me everything. Today, after y o u screwed her, you p a r k e d in t h e hearse in an alley. Do you want me to tell y o u w h a t you talked a b o u t ? " Shapiro said n o t h i n g .

244 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " D o n ' t be upset, Eli. Esther always tells me everything. I told you earlier, we d o n ' t like to lie to each other." Shapiro sat d o w n . " O h , you are upset. Well, s t o p it. Esther loves you. I swear to you on my sacred w o r d of h o n o r , she loves you, Eli. You're n o t like t h e others." "Others?" "Of course others. E s t h e r ' s — b u t you k n o w it anyway—Esther's a n y m . . . n y m p h . . . W h a t ' s t h a t w o r d , the opposite o f lesbian?" Shapiro said n o t h i n g . " M a y b e she's n o t really that, b u t she needs her action. I s u p p o s e that's my fault. I don't satisfy her. Never have. Maybe that's w h y she does it. But anyway, the t h i n g is, she really loves you, Eli. But I'm afraid for t h e boy. I m e a n , he's n o t yours, a n d I love h i m except I can't take g o o d care of h i m , a n d I w a n t you to p r o m i s e t h a t no m a t t e r w h a t Esther does w h e n t h e two of you are m a r r i e d , no m a t t e r w h a t she tells you, t h a t you'll love t h e boy a n d take care of h i m . Will y o u promise? C o m e on now, Eli, she loves you, you'll get used to this—it's n o t so bad. Eli, get h o l d of yourself. Snap o u t of it. Please. Aw, E l i . . . " T h e next day, Esther h a d a m i g r a i n e . Sid did w h a t he could to help, talked to her, s o o t h e d her, r u b b e d her b a c k a n d neck with ice until his fingers were sore. But t h e h e a d a c h e lingered. Esther m o a n e d , w r i t h i n g a n d sobbing t h r o u g h t h e n i g h t a n d well i n t o t h e next m o r n i n g until finally she d r o p p e d m o m e n t a r i l y i n t o a dead sleep. Sid scurried d o w n s t a i r s a n d o p e n e d the store, b u t in a while he could hear Esther p o u n d i n g on t h e floor above, their signal, so he closed t h e store a n d ran upstairs a n d r u b b e d h e r again w i t h ice. All told, he r a n up a n d d o w n t h e stairs m o r e t h a n a d o z e n times that day. It set a pattern. T h r o u g h t h e next m o n t h , Sid t e n d e d t h e invalid and t e n d e d the store. T h e d o c t o r s were no use; migraines were mysteries. S o m e t i m e s ice was good, s o m e t i m e s heat. Try this, t r y that, t r y anyt h i n g . Sid tried. He s t u m b l e d exhausted from week to week, losing sleep, weight, hair. T h e r e was never a m i n u t e to relax. If it wasn't s o m e old bag in t h e store screaming his n a m e , it was Esther. Up t h e stairs, d o w n ; d o w n t h e stairs, u p . Run, r u n , all t h e day, all t h e night, r u n . He b e g a n to regret bitterly ever having spotted t h e hearse in the alley. For, c o m p a r e d to his present ( n o n ) existence, before h a d b e e n splendor. At least before he h a d h a d occasional daydreams; n o w h e h a d n o time. U p t h e stairs, d o w n the stairs. C o m i n g , Tootsie, c o m i n g , M r s . Feldman, c o m i n g , everybody, c o m ing. In spite of his labors, business began falling off. He c o u l d n ' t really

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 245 blame the bags for heading elsewhere; n o b o d y likes b a n g i n g on t h e d o o r of an e m p t y shop, waiting five m i n u t e s for a lousy q u a r t of milk a n d a half a p o u n d of cheese. But b l a m e or no, business was failing, a n d so Sid was forced to keep longer h o u r s in t h e store in an effort to b r i n g it up to his old low level. O P E N TILL E I G H T Sid printed on a c a r d b o a r d sign h a n g ing in a window, a n d t h a t sign lasted for a week, w h e n t h e " O p e n Till N i n e " sign replaced it. T h e n it w a s ten. Still there was no m o n e y . Eventually the sign read O P E N T I L L M I D N I G H T a n d there it stayed. At m i d n i g h t , Sid w o u l d lock the d o o r a n d t r u d g e up to Esther, r u b h e r weakly as long as he could, t h e n fall back l i m p on his pillow, feet, m o r e often t h a n n o t , h a n g i n g over the side of t h e b e d . Rarely did he get a full night; Esther usually s h u d d e r e d between t h r e e a n d four, s l a m m i n g her fists against her forehead. Sid, once awakened, w o u l d feel his way to t h e icebox a n d r e t u r n with t h e cold cubes, r u b b i n g t h e m into her flesh until she was semi-quiet, and t h e n he w o u l d collapse again, dreamless until eight, w h e n t h e first c u s t o m e r s began filtering i n t o t h e store. Sid was too tired for anger, b u t every so often, in t h e m o r n i n g , in the shower, a vision of the past w o u l d b u b b l e up b e h i n d his w e a r y eyes, a n d for a m o m e n t he would see t h e Sid that was, Super Sid, in full glory. T h a t was what m a d e it so h a r d , t h e past. If only t h e b r o a d s h a d b e e n less easy, n o t quite so soft; if only the p o o l cue h a d never been steady, t h e inside straights h a d never filled. But t h e y had, a n d at the sight of w h a t h a d b e e n — w i t h o u t a break in t h e r h y t h m of soap a n d w a s h c l o t h — S i d w o u l d weep. For he was dead. Sid was dead. A n d soon (he prayed) he w o u l d get to lie d o w n . S u m m e r m a d e things worse. T h e steaming days increased Esther's agony, a n d a l t h o u g h the b o y was h o m e from school, Sid could never leave h i m alone for long in t h e store. He was good at reading labels, a n d w h e n the orders were small, two digits, he could select the p r o p e r s u m , after m u c h pencil-point licking. But as s o o n as a customer w a n t e d m o r e t h a n a pickle a n d a can of soup, t h e boy's m a t h e m a t i c s failed h i m . So a l t h o u g h Sid was n o w free to walk o u t of t h e store, he was only free to walk far e n o u g h to realize that he h a d to get back. A n d that was worse t h a n n o t being able to go at all. S u n d a y was the store's biggest day, since all nearby c o m p e t i t i o n was closed. A n d t h e first Sunday in July was better t h a n m o s t , b e i n g close to the holiday. So w h e n the nigger a p p e a r e d in the e n t r a n c e , Sid h i d his natural prejudice with a smile, figuring on an order of at least several q u a r t s of beer. T h e nigger's pistol, however, Sid did n o t figure o n , a n d his smile vanished as the black rifled the m o n e y drawer a n d disappeared.

246 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN S t u n n e d , Sid m a n a g e d t o s u m m o n t h e cops, w h o were polite b u t n o t particularly helpful, since Sid was u n a b l e to give m u c h of a description, for in his m i n d niggers were like C h i n a m e n , indistinguishable. " R o b b e d ? " Esther said. Sid n o d d e d . "All t h e m o n e y ? " Sid n o d d e d . Esther lay back in bed, clutching at her brain. Sid started for the door. " W h e r e are you going?" "Out." " O u t where?" " O u t somewhere." " W h a t a b o u t the store?" " G o o d question." "Sid—" "I can't go in there, Esther. Please. N o t today. I just can't." "I k n o w . You've been w o r k i n g very hard." "I'll be back. Later. Try a n d get s o m e sleep." "I will. A n d you have fun." Sid m a n a g e d a n o d a n d closed t h e door, walking slowly d o w n the stairs, h o l d i n g tight to the banister. It was late afternoon a n d very h o t and w h e n he reached t h e street he p a u s e d , h a n d s in his pockets, t r y i n g to d e cide w h e r e to walk. It d i d n ' t m a t t e r , a n d that m a d e t h e decision n o t only difficult b u t painful, b u t finally he started to m o v e because at a far corner he c a u g h t a glimpse of a red skirt a n d w h a t m i g h t have been halfway d e cent legs, so he t r u d g e d to t h e corner. T h e legs a n d t h e skirt were o u t of sight w h e n he got there, b u t he was started in a direction now, a n d since he could t h i n k of no reason to change, he kept on. He i n t e n d e d to walk forever, b u t in twenty m i n u t e s he was b u s h e d . T h e heat. It w a s t o o m u c h . Too h o t to move, t o o h o t to t h i n k . Sid leaned against a l a m p p o s t , searching for relief. D o w n on t h e next c o r n e r was a m o v i e theater, a n d Sid sighed, squinting a t the m a r q u e e . G a r y Cooper. G a r y C o o p e r a n d s o m e t h i n g else. A double feature. Sid n o d d e d a n d crossed t h e street in t h e direction of the theater. "Air-cooled," it said, a n d Sid picked up t h e pace. Paying his pennies, he walked inside t h e theater a n d sat d o w n . T h e " s o m e t h i n g else" was playing a n d Sid gave it little a t t e n t i o n at first. T h e n he tilted his h e a d up t o w a r d t h e screen. A m o m e n t later he was r a m r o d straight. H e gaped a n d t h e n t h e w o r d "Yes!" escaped, m u c h t o t h e a n n o y ance of those a r o u n d h i m . "Yes!" he said again, a n d before a n y o n e h a d a

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 247 chance to say "Shut u p " he was off, r u n n i n g from the theater, tears in his eyes. Tears of joy; the news was g o o d . S u p e r Sid was back in t o w n . "A m o v i e star?" Esther said, sitting u p . " O u r Rudy? A m o v i e s t a r ? " " W h y n o t ? " Sid cried. " W h y not? Give me one g o o d reason." " O u r Rudy?" Esther repeated. Sid g r a b b e d her hard. " O u r Rudy! Yes! Yes!" "But—" "Esther—Esther, listen—I k n o w I'm right. I can feel it. I know. We've been crazy n o t to see it sooner. Fools. O h , Esther, I tell you, I was sitting in this m o v i e watching this Shirley Temple a n d I t h o u g h t , ' W h a t ' s so special a b o u t her? W h a t can she do my little R u d y can't?' A n d t h e answer is n o t h ing. N o t h i n g . Is Rudy gorgeous? You s h o u l d see t h e way t h e p e o p l e stare at h i m in t h e store. T h e old ladies. T h e y stare a n d they stare, t h e y can't believe it. You k n o w h o w m u c h m o n e y that little Shirley Temple m a k e s a year? Millions. A n d Rudy will m a k e m o r e . Can't you see us, Esther, in California w i t h a h o u s e a n d servants a n d big black limousines? O h , we've been fools starving here w h e n we can live like kings in California." "How—" " M o v i e people, they c o m e h e r e all t h e t i m e . In the p a p e r s , y o u read a b o u t t h e m staying at the P a l m e r H o u s e or the A m b a s s a d o r East. Every day s o m e big shot is in t o w n a n d w h e n he sees Rudy we can kiss this all goodbye." Sid whirled a r o u n d , clapping his h a n d s . "We're on o u r way. I know. I k n o w . We're gone." " D o n ' t get so excited." "I am excited. I can't h e l p it. Smile, Esther, for God's sake. We'll n e e d p h o t o g r a p h s . T h a t will cost b u t n o t h i n g we can do a b o u t it. Get s o m e good pictures of Rudy, big pictures, a foot square, in color maybe." "Shirley Temple, she can sing a n d dance." " R u d y will sing a n d dance. Like an angel." "We can't afford lessons." "Afford," Sid cried. "Afford. We're g o n n a teach h i m ! " Esther lay back on the b e d . Sid b o u n d e d into the next r o o m , r e t u r n i n g a m o m e n t later with a package. "I went all over getting these tonight. I traveled t h e L o o p from end to end." He ripped at t h e w r a p p i n g . " W h e r e is he? T h e b o y ? " " T h e fire escape." "Look," Sid said. "See? T h e sheet m u s i c to ' G o d Bless America.' Very Patriotic. Everyone will love h i m w h e n he sings it. A n d l o o k still, these

248 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN b o o k s . T h e y teach you d a n c i n g . A little tap, a little ballet. N o t m u c h , just e n o u g h so he'll look cute. It's perfect. Perfect! And w h e n he's ready, a n d t h e right m a n comes to t o w n , we can start packing. G o d , Esther, it's so exciting." " I t is. I t h i n k you're right, Sid. It really is." "Right! I'm right! I k n o w . I can feel. Everything is right. Everything." He leaped o n t o t h e bed a n d g r a b b e d her, twisting h e r across his body, kissing her o p e n m o u t h . "You're crazy." Esther giggled. "You're a crazy m a n . " Sid stroked her. "Kiss me again." "Later," a n d h e b o u n c e d from t h e bed, r u n n i n g t o t h e o p e n window, s h o u t i n g , "Rudy, Rudy." "What?" "Surprise!" " N o ! " t h e b o y cried. " N o ! " "Rudy, I'm a patient m a n , b u t I'm getting tired of a r g u i n g w i t h you. You'll like it. I promise." "Yes," Esther said. "Really, Rudy. We'll all have fun." T h e b o y twisted in t h e chair as they walked a r o u n d h i m . " N o . Please, no." "Rudy," Sid said, "I've explained a h u n d r e d times, there's n o t h i n g w r o n g with being a m o v i e star." "We'll teach you everything," Esther said. " H a v e we ever led you w r o n g ? Ever?" "Please." "You're being very s t u b b o r n , Rudy. Any other b o y w o u l d be p r o u d if his p a r e n t s w a n t e d to m a k e h i m a m o v i e star. Because it shows h o w m u c h they love him." "Yes, Rudy." "All right now, this is t h e last t i m e I'm going to a s k — t h e last t i m e , you u n d e r s t a n d that? T h e last time. Will you do it?" "Please," t h e b o y said. "Rudy," Esther said, "for y o u r m o t h e r — " " I ' m sorry to interrupt, Esther, b u t e n o u g h is e n o u g h . Rudy, do you w a n t to go back on the fire escape?" "Yes." " T h e n go." T h e b o y vaulted t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w .

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 249 " B u t I'm locking the w i n d o w , Rudy," Sid said. "Stay o u t there. Fine. We d o n ' t care. Just r e m e m b e r , you're n o t c o m i n g back in h e r e until vou see we're right. We're y o u r p a r e n t s a n d we k n o w w h a t ' s best. Stay a day, a week, stay a year. It's all t h e same to us. G o o d b y e , Rudy!" A n d he s l a m m e d the w i n d o w d o w n a n d locked it. " D o n ' t get m a d , Sid." Sid t u r n e d , smiling. "Mad? I love it. T h e s t u b b o r n e r the better. Shows we're right. All the big stars have it." "Have w h a t ? " "Artistic t e m p e r a m e n t . " T h e next m o r n i n g there was a soft r a p at the window. "Even artists have to eat," Sid said. So they started with t h e lessons, singing and dancing, an h o u r of o n e , an h o u r of the other, in t h e m o r n i n g , in the afternoon, a t h i r d t i m e at night. " G o d bless Americaaa," t h e b o y sang, "laaand t h a t I love . . . " He h a d a soft voice, b u t pleasing to t h e ear a n d always on pitch, a n d , at night as they listened, Sid a n d Esther n o d d e d to each other. T h e d a n c i n g was no trouble; he picked up the Waltz Clog in o n e afternoon a n d before a week was o u t he could glide gracefully t h r o u g h t h e five ballet positions. "Again," Sid w o u l d shout. "Again, it m u s t be perfect," a n d t h e tiny figure would repeat the m o v e m e n t s as Esther h u m m e d for r h y t h m . P i n k u s of t h e Shoreland did the p h o t o g r a p h y , for t o o m u c h , b u t t h e results were w o r t h it. By t h e m i d d l e of August Sid began reading all t h e p a p e r s , n o t i n g from t h e c o l u m n s w h o was in t o w n a n d where. Business at t h e store was terrible, b u t they m a n a g e d to eat a n d pay t h e rent, so w h a t else mattered? " G o d bless America" t h e b o y sang, for the t h o u s a n d t h t i m e , a n d he danced, m o v i n g his small b o d y w i t h easy grace, Esther h u m m i n g , Sid n o d d i n g his head, m o r n i n g a n d night, night a n d a f t e r n o o n , until, at the end of September, Springer c a m e to t o w n . "Mr. Springer?" "Yes." " M y n a m e is Miller. Sid M i l l e r ? "Yes." "I've got to talk with you, Mr. Springer." Sid glanced d o w n t h e e m p t y corridor, t h e n back at t h e o t h e r m a n , w h o stood, barely visible, peeking o u t from b e h i n d the half-open hotel r o o m door. Springer was short, shorter even t h a n Sid. Sid smiled. "About w h a t ? "

250 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "It's very i m p o r t a n t , " Sid said. It IS? "Actually, I'm d o i n g you a favor. You could l o o k at it t h a t way. You'll benefit, I promise you." Springer closed t h e d o o r . Sid s t o p p e d it with a foot. "Move," Springer said. "Your foot." " N o t until we've talked." "I'll call the h o u s e detective." "After we've talked." " I ' m a master of jiujitsu," Springer said. " I ' m small, b u t I'm n o t to be trifled with." " I ' m m u c h smaller t h a n y o u are, Mr. Springer. A n d weak as a kitten." "I've always hated Chicago. Always." " I ' m n o t d a n g e r o u s , I p r o m i s e . Merely desperate." "Please go away." I can t. " I ' m n o t feeling m y best today. C o m e back s o m e o t h e r time." " I said I was desperate. I spoke t h e truth." "I feel like a fool h o l d i n g y o u r foot in the door." " T h e n let me in." "You've probably been sick." " I beg y o u r p a r d o n ? " "I h a p p e n to be a h y p o c h o n d r i a c . You've probably been sick." " N o t in three years, a n d t h e n just t h e t w e n t y - f o u r - h o u r flu. I swear." " W h a t d o you w a n t from m e ? " Sid h a n d e d the large m a n i l a envelope t h r o u g h t h e o p e n i n g . " L o o k inside." "Why?" "Just look." "Are they pictures?" "Yes. O p e n it. Please." "Pictures of y o u ? " " N o . N o . Of my son. T h e next Shirley Temple." "You m e a n — " Springer began, a n d t h e n he started to laugh. Sid saw his h e a d shaking t h r o u g h t h e n a r r o w o p e n i n g a n d a m o m e n t later the d o o r s w u n g o p e n as Springer leaned against the foyer wall, shaking with laughter. " T o o m u c h , " he m a n a g e d . "It's really t o o m u c h . " H a t in h a n d , Sid waited.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 251 "You went t h r o u g h all this just so I would look at s o m e pictures of your s o n ? " " W h a t better reason?" "You've m a d e a ghastly mistake, M r . . . . " "Miller. Sid Miller." " I ' m n o t a talent scout. I d i d n ' t discover Lana Turner." "I k n o w w h o you are, Mr. Springer. You're a director. A great director." " I am a lousy director. My father helped to f o u n d t h e c o m p a n y . I am a hack. But t h a n k you." " N o w , will you look? Will y o u see my s o n ? " "No." " H e sings like an angel. He dances like a d r e a m . As an actor, he's a natural. A n d I'm n o t biased, I swear." " I ' m a director, Mr. Miller. I can't do anything for y o u r son." "If you liked h i m , you could. If you felt, as I feel, that he will be bigger than Shirley Temple, you could. You could p u t h i m in o n e of y o u r movies. You could m a k e h i m a star." "It's all highly unlikely." " L o o k at the pictures, Mr. Springer. A n d then meet my s o n . H e a r h i m sing. Watch h i m dance. I p r o m i s e you, it's an experience. W h a t my son does w i t h ' G o d Bless America' will b r i n g tears to your eyes." "Mr. Miller, w h e n I repeat all this in Hollywood, you'll be famous." "You've got to meet my son." " I ' m sorry, Mr. Miller." "I d i d n ' t c o m e here to fail, Mr. Springer." "I'll write a n o t e to t h e studio, how's that? You can enclose t h e pictures and I p r o m i s e you s o m e o n e will give y o u r child every consideration." "I d i d n ' t c o m e here to fail, Mr. Springer." "It's all I can do. U n d e r s t a n d that." "You can make my son a star." "I can't make my wife a star a n d she also sings like an angel a n d dances like a dream. Southern California is c r a m m e d with d r e a m y dancers, Mr. Miller." " N o t like my Rudy. You notice h o w I haven't m e n t i o n e d h o w he looks? That's because there are no words. You have to see for yourself. See for yourself, Mr. Springer. Do us b o t h a favor." "I wish I h a d a recording of all this." "You w o u l d n ' t even have to c h a n g e his n a m e ! " " D o n ' t get excited, Mr. Miller. Remember—jiujitsu."

252 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "All his life he's been g r o o m e d for this. F r o m birth. His m i d d l e n a m e is Valentino, Mr. Springer." "Valentino?" " R u d o l p h Valentino Miller. Isn't t h a t s o m e t h i n g ? " "Undeniably. H o w e v e r — " "We're b o t h Jews, Mr. Springer." "What?" "We've got to help each other. Jews owe that to each other. O t h e r w i s e the Gentiles will kill us all. You're a Jew, I'm a Jew, see my son!" " C a l m yourself." "Look," Sid said, a n d he d r o p p e d to his knees. " I ' m begging." "Get up." " O n m y knees. W h a t m o r e d o you w a n t ? " "Get u p , get up." See m y son. " For God's sake, Mr. M i l l e r — " " I ' m a p o o r Jew on my knees before you. No pride. N o t h i n g . A begging Jew w i t h his life in y o u r hands." "Mr. Miller, please get u p . I can't take m u c h m o r e of this." " L o o k at the pictures." " I ' m looking, I'm looking." A n d h e r i p p e d the envelope o p e n . " N o w get up." Sid stood. "Well?" Springer said n o t h i n g . " P i n k u s of the Shoreland t o o k t h e m . Aren't they beautiful?" "Your son, he resembles these pictures?" " D o e s a s n a p s h o t of t h e ' M o n a Lisa' resemble the ' M o n a Lisa'?" " P h o t o g r a p h s can be deceiving." " T h e s e are. He is a h u n d r e d t i m e s m o r e beautiful." "You m u s t be very proud." "I love h i m like my life." "Send h i m down." "Poise," Sid said, tying t h e boy's tie. "Poise is crucial." "Poise is crucial," the b o y repeated. "Hurry," Esther said. Sid t u r n e d on her. " T h e b o y c a n n o t have poise if you all t h e t i m e ' h u r r y ' h i m . T h e a p p o i n t m e n t is for three. It is n o t nearly that. T h e r e is lots of time." He t u r n e d back to t h e boy. "Get y o u r shoes o n , Rudy. Hurry."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 253 T h e b o y r a n to his closet a n d pulled o u t his shoes. " T h e y ' r e s h i n e d ? " Esther said. T h e b o y n o d d e d . " T h i s m o r n i n g . " He sat d o w n in a chair, t u g g i n g at the laces. " D o n ' t sit so hard," Sid said. "You'll wrinkle t h e trousers." T h e b o y d r o p p e d into a kneeling p o s i t i o n a n d c o n t i n u e d p u t t i n g on his shoes. "A w i n n i n g smile is as crucial as poise. R e m e m b e r that." "Yes, Father. A w i n n i n g smile." "Let m e see." T h e b o y smiled. "Very winning," Sid said. "Excellent. All right, after we d a n c e , w h a t do we d o ? " " W e sing ' G o d Bless America'?" "And h o w do we sing ' G o d Bless A m e r i c a ' ? " " W i t h feeling. Not loud, b u t w i t h great feeling." "And w h a t are o u r h a n d s d o i n g ? " " D u r i n g t h e first half, they are clasped on my chest, like in prayer. For the last half, t h e left dangles while t h e right salutes." " G o o d . T h e salute is very crucial." "Everything is very crucial." " T h a t ' s right," Sid said. "Everything." "His tie," Esther said, shaking h e r h e a d . " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r with his tie?" (it.)

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It s w r o n g . "I selected that tie. It's perfect. W h a t ' s w r o n g with it?" " S t a n d u p , Rudy." T h e b o y stood. He was wearing a b r a n d - n e w navy-blue suit a n d white shirt a n d d a r k shoes a n d d a r k socks a n d a red tie. Esther studied h i m . "It clashes. T h a t m u c h is obvious." "Clashes with w h a t ? " "Clashes with everything." " T h e tie is perfect." " T h e tie is n o t perfect. He is a b l u e boy, why a red tie?" "To give color. Contrast." " T h e tie is wrong." " T h e tie is right." " T h e tie is wrong." " Please," t h e boy said. "See?" Sid said. "You're u p s e t t i n g Rudy."

254 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I'm n o t upsetting Rudy. You're upsetting Rudy." "Rudy, am I upsetting y o u ? " "Please." " T h e tie should be blue," Esther said. "To m a t c h t h e suit." "Blue?" Sid said. "Blue!" "Rudy, get your blue tie." " T h e b o y will n o t dress like s o m e g o d d a m u n d e r t a k e r ! " Esther clutched h e r forehead. T h e boy ran to his closet. " P e r h a p s this tie," he said, h o l d i n g o n e u p . "It has b o t h red a n d blue. D o you t h i n k ? " Esther said n o t h i n g . "Very good," Sid said. " C o m e . I'll p u t it on for you." T h e boy app r o a c h e d his father a n d s t o o d quietly. Esther watched a m o m e n t , t h e n t u r n e d away. " W h e r e are you going?" "To finish with my m a k e u p . " "Your makeup? W h y m a k e u p ? " "So I can be seen on t h e streets." " W h a t streets?" " I ' m going d o w n t o w n w i t h Rudy." " N o , you're not." "Yes, I am." "I tell you you're not." "At a t i m e like this, a b o y needs his mother." "His father will be m o r e t h a n sufficient." " H e needs m e . I'll keep h i m calm." "Joke." "I'll keep h i m calm!" ' 7 7 / k e e p h i m calm!" " I ' m going." "You are not." "I a m too." "Are not." "Am too." "Are—" "Stop!" the b o y said. "Now!" "See?" Sid said. "See w h a t you've d o n e ? " "I have d o n e n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g ! " "Just relax, Rudy. I won't let h e r upset you anymore." "He's the o n e upset you, Rudy. Tell him." "Rudy, tell the t r u t h , have I upset y o u ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 255 "Yes, Rudy, tell h i m . Tell h i m it's n o t me." "You need me along, right, R u d y ? " " N o , me." "Me." "Neither!" the boy cried. " W h a t ? " Sid said. "Rudy," Esther said. "Neither," t h e boy said. "I n e e d neither. You fight. I c a n n o t have poise w h e n you fight. I c a n n o t smile. I will forget the salute." " R u d y — " S i d said. " N o , " t h e b o y said. "I will go by myself. A n d I will smile. A n d I will have poise." "You can't go by yourself." " D o you w a n t this t o h a p p e n ? " t h e b o y asked. "Yes," Sid said. "You're very sure?" "Yes." " T h e n I will face Mr. Springer alone." "Will y o u quit with t h e ' d o n ' t be nervous'? If you say ' d o n ' t be nerv o u s ' o n e m o r e time, Esther, I d o n ' t guarantee w h a t I'll d o . Because I am n e r v o u s . So shut up." "Well, at least stop pacing." "I could stop b r e a t h i n g just as easy. You w a n t I s h o u l d do t h a t ? " " N o w , Sid. Now, honey." "It was a g o d d a m fool idea, letting h i m go alone." "He's a big boy." "It's still a g o d d a m fool idea. If you h a d n ' t stuck y o u r fat n o s e i n — " "We've been t h r o u g h t h a t already e n o u g h , so w h y go t h r o u g h it again?" "Because I'm scared," Sid said. "If you w a n n a k n o w t h e t r u t h , I'm scared." " T h e b o y will do wonderfully." " W h a t if he forgets t h e w o r d s to ' G o d Bless America'? He could. It's possible. So w h a t if he doe?? W h a t then? Who's g o n n a h e l p h i m r e m e m ber? Answer me that." "You'll kill yourself w i t h a h e a r t attack. At t h e very least, ulcers." "He's a kid. Kids get n e r v o u s . G o d d a m m i t , it's way after t h r e e . W h y haven't we h e a r d ? " " N o news is g o o d news."

2 56 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "If you say that o n e m o r e t i m e — " " H i t m e ! " She j u m p e d in front of h i m , blocking his p a t h . "Get it over w i t h . Hit m e a n d shut u p . G o on." Sid pulled her close, h o l d i n g h e r very tight. " I ' m sorry, I'm sorry, b u t it's very i m p o r t a n t , Esther. You gotta u n d e r s t a n d that. It's gotta work. I can't take t h e store a n y m o r e . I n e e d s o m e t h i n g , a change, or I'll die. I'm n o t k i d d i n g . I will. I'll die, Esther." "Close y o u r eyes, Sid." " T h e y are closed." He w e d g e d his face d o w n into h e r neck. "I really w a n t this to h a p p e n , Esther." "It will happen." " T h e boy could forget." " T h e b o y will remember." " H e could be a movie star. T h e biggest. If t h a t lousy Springer has any sense, he'll see." "Are you crying, Sid?" "No." " W h y are you crying?" "I d o n ' t know. I don't know." Sid p u s h e d her away a n d m o v e d to the window. Esther p u r s u e d him. "If you cry, I'll get a headache, I can almost feel it." " D o n ' t get a headache." " D o n ' t cry." " I ' m fine," Sid said. "Nerves." " D o n ' t be nervous." "All right, Tootsie. I w o n ' t be." " T h a t ' s a good boy." " W h a t does he see on t h e fire escape? What's so wonderful o u t there?" " W h a t are you d o i n g ? " "I d o n ' t know, going o u t on t h e fire escape." He d u c k e d u n d e r the open window. " G o o d , m a y b e you'll get s o m e s u n . You're very pale, Sid." " S o m e sun, yes," a n d he waved, walking slowly up to t h e fire-escape l a n d i n g . Sid looked a r o u n d b u t t h e r e was n o t h i n g to see. Below, an alley e n d i n g at the street, people walking by. Beyond the alley, o t h e r houses, o t h e r fire escapes. Beyond t h e h o u s e s , o t h e r alleys. Sid t u r n e d his face to t h e s u n . I t was w a r m a n d h e c o u l d n o t r e m e m b e r having slept t h e night before; m a y b e a catnap, b u t t h a t was all. Sid yawned a n d stretched, leaning back against the building, closing his eyes. T h e s u n felt g o o d . His

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 257 body began slowly to d r a i n . Esther was probably right. T h e b o y w o u l d do well. T h e b o y w o u l d n o t forget t h e w o r d s to " G o d Bless America." No point in w o r r y i n g a b o u t the boy. W o r r y a b o u t Springer. M a y b e Springer didn't like kid actors. A lot of p e o p l e d i d n ' t like Shirley Temple. W h a t if Springer was one of t h e m ? N o . You h a d to like the boy. You just h a d to. The old bags in the store, they p r o v e d that, the way t h e y looked at h i m . Always looking at h i m , w a t c h i n g h i m as he moved. T h e kid h a d it w i t h w o m e n ; no question. In ten years, if his nose didn't grow, t h e kid w o u l d have his pick of the world. Any b r o a d . Princesses, society bitches, o t h e r movie stars; he'd have t h e m all p a n t i n g . I'll pick up t h e pieces, Sid t h o u g h t , a n d then he realized he h a d m a d e a joke, so eyes still closed, he smiled. Any loose ends. A n o t h e r joke. Sid leaned t o w a r d t h e sun. G o d , it felt good. I should do this every day, Sid t h o u g h t . For as l o n g as it's w a r m . G o o d for what ails you. W h a t ails you? Nerves, that was all. A case of nerves could kill you quicker t h a n a case of Scotch. That's w h a t h a d r u ined his pool g a m e — n e r v e s . F r o m n o w on I'm g o n n a play it loose. T h a t was t h e only w a y — "SID!"

T h e m o m e n t h e h e a r d Esther s h o u t i n g , h e t u r n e d a n d started r u n ning d o w n the rusty steps. T h e n h e stopped. "Loose," h e said, a n d h e sauntered t h e rest of t h e way, fighting t h e urge to r u n as Esther c o n t i n u e d to s h o u t . "SlD! SlD! SlD! SlDl" Sid c r o u c h e d d o w n o u t s i d e t h e w i n d o w , a b o u t to e n t e r t h e a p a r t m e n t , b u t he stopped after a l o o k at Esther. She was s t a n d i n g no m o r e t h a n a foot from h i m , inside by t h e w i n d o w , staring o u t . As he crouched, he d r o p p e d directly into h e r line of vision, only she d i d n ' t see h i m . Or if she did, he couldn't tell, because she c o n t i n u e d to stare blankly o u t , s h o u t i n g his n a m e , "Sid! Sid!" over a n d over. Sid looked past h e r i n t o t h e center of t h e r o o m where t h e b o y was. T h e boy was totally bald, b u t o t h e r t h a n that he appeared t h e s a m e as w h e n he left h o u r s earlier, his b l u e suit still neatly pressed. Sid looked b a c k at staring Esther, t h e n at t h e bald boy. T h e n Sid s n a p p e d . H e h u r l e d his b o d y t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w , t r i p p i n g , falling inside, rolling to his feet, l u n g i n g a r m s o u t at t h e boy. D u r i n g t h e next m o m e n t s he said several things, all of t h e m indistinctly. " T h i s to me," he said. A n d "Cut it all off. You h a d it all cut off." A n d "You m o c k e d m e ! — M o c k e d m e — O n m y knees I went t o t h a t m a n — I begged that man—-Mocked m e — Y o u m o c k e d m e — I begged like a beggar I begged, a n d you m o c k e d m e — m y p r i d e I gave up and you m o c k e d m e . I fell on my knees—I crawled—Me! Me you mocked—Me!—Me!—Me!—-" W h e n

258 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN he wasn't talking, he hit. He hit t h e boy's face a n d t h e b o y s t o o d there, and then he slammed the boy in the stomach and as the boy doubled up Sid s l a m m e d h i m again, this t i m e on t h e neck, a n d t h e b o y fell. Sid p l u n g e d d o w n on t o p of h i m , swinging his fists at the face. Sid tried grabb i n g t h e boy's hair, b u t there was n o n e , n o t a strand, so he h a d to c o n t e n t himself w i t h the boy's ears, slapping t h e m , shaking t h e m , b o u n c i n g t h e boy's h e a d against t h e floor. Esther fell on t o p of t h e m , t r y i n g to pull Sid away, b u t Sid was in no m o o d for pulling. Esther was s c r e a m i n g his n a m e still, b u t t h e m e a n i n g was different as she crawled on h e r h u s b a n d ' s back, shrieking, trying to stop his h a n d s as they pulled at the boy's ears. Sid c o n t i n u e d to b o u n c e t h e boy's h e a d against the floor. T h e r e was m u c h b l o o d now, a n d as Esther finally t o p p l e d Sid off, they all got s m e a r e d w i t h red. T h e b o y lay still, b r e a t h i n g b u t still, a n d Sid sat beside his body, p a n t ing like an animal. Esther was w h i m p e r i n g , a n d Sid w a t c h e d h e r a m o m e n t before he wheeled to his feet a n d fled. Esther glanced after h i m , t h e n r e t u r n e d h e r attentions to t h e boy, h u r r y i n g after a cloth, w i p i n g t h e b l o o d from his battered face. T h e n she lifted h i m a n d carried h i m to t h e sofa a n d t o o k off his clothes. T h e b o y was aware now, eyes half o p e n , a n d Esther cried, smiling d o w n at h i m because he wasn't d e a d . She wept wordlessly as she stroked his face, kissed his eyes. T h e b o y blinked. " C a n y o u h e a r m e ? " T h e b o y n o d d e d . "Are y o u all right?" A n o d . " C a n I get you a n y t h i n g ? " No n o d . " C a n you sleep?" A n o d . "Try, then." T h e b o y t u r n e d his face to t h e wall. "I won't be long," Esther said, a n d she h u r r i e d across t h e r o o m , d o w n t h e stairs a n d o u t s i d e , looking for Sid. Fifteen m i n u t e s later she f o u n d h i m , standing in a c o r n e r of t h e darke n e d delicatessen, his face to t h e wall. He d i d n o t t u r n w h e n she entered. "He's all right," Esther said, "I think." Sid said n o t h i n g . "To be sure we o u g h t to m a y b e call a d o c t o r b u t h o w can I call a doctor? W h a t can I say? ' M y h u s b a n d tried to kill my son'? C a n ( say that? Yes?" "I d i d n ' t t r y to kill him." "No?" "I was only teaching h i m a lesson." " W h a t lesson?" Sid said n o t h i n g . "What

lesson?"

"I d o n ' t know, I don't k n o w , I d o n ' t believe me either." "Apologize to t h e boy." " W h y d i d he have his hair cut? It was for h i m we d i d e v e r y t h i n g . W h y did he c u t his hair?" "Ask h i m . Talk to h i m . Apologize."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 259 Sid stayed standing in t h e corner. Esther jerked h i m away. "Don't," Sid whispered. Esther pulled h i m along. "I w o r s h i p him," Sid w h i s p e r e d . " W i t h all my heart. He is my son." W h e n they stood on t h e l a n d i n g outside the a p a r t m e n t Esther said, " G o on." Sid p u s h e d at the door. " L o v i n g m e a n s caring, isn't t h a t right? If I d i d n ' t care, w o u l d I have t o u c h e d him? Doesn't that prove I love h i m ? " Esther stayed on the l a n d i n g , a n d , w h e n she was alone, she pressed h e r fingers against her temple, t r y i n g to stop t h e pain. "He's n o t here," Sid said, r e a p p e a r i n g a few m i n u t e s later. " N o t o n the sofa? N o t i n t h e b e d r o o m ? " " N o t here." " N o t o n the f i r e escape?" "Gone." "Gone?" "Gone." T h e b o y was o n f i r e . His h e a d would n o t stop b u r n i n g . H e m o v e d quickly across the crowded b e a c h t o w a r d Lake Michigan. S t r i p p i n g d o w n to his b a t h i n g suit, he slipped into t h e water and, w h e n it was deep e n o u g h , fell head d o w n i n t o a d e a d man's float. T h e waves w a s h e d over h i m , cooling his body, b u t his h e a d was still on fire. He h e l d his b r e a t h a n d sank u n d e r water. W h e n his b r e a t h was gone, he surfaced a n d floated on his back for a while, staring up at t h e totally blue sky. T h e n he d u c k e d his b o d y a n d sank u n d e r water again, his h a n d s gently r u b b i n g t h e t o p of his bald head. Surfacing, he stroked until he could t o u c h b o t t o m , a n d t h e n h e h u r r i e d u p the beach t o his clothes. G a t h e r i n g t h e m , h e t u r n e d a r o u n d in a circle several t i m e s before r u n n i n g n o r t h , n o r t h w h e r e it was cool. He r a n for half an h o u r , c u t t i n g in a n d a r o u n d , avoiding t h e others, a n d t h e n h e stopped, d r o p p i n g his clothes, s w i m m i n g o u t , f l o a t i n g , d u c k ing, surfacing, t h e n back, r u n n i n g again. T h e beach e m p t i e d w i t h t h e falling of the sun a n d he walked n o r t h , t h r o w i n g on his shirt, d o n n i n g his p a n t s a n d shoes, a n d w h e n h e was dressed h e started tq_run again, r u n n i n g along the edge of t h e lake, r u n n i n g easily, r u n n i n g , r u n n i n g n o r t h . He s w a m twice m o r e before he slept, falling instantly asleep in t h e w a r m night, his b o d y curled b e t w e e n t w o rocks, safe from t h e w i n d . At d a w n he was off, walking quickly, staring at t h e sun as it i n c h e d up over the h o r i z o n of t h e lake. T h e day was h o t , a n d before t h e m o r n i n g e n d e d he

260 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN began having h u n g e r pangs, his s t o m a c h s o u n d i n g f i e r c e l y , b u t h e did n o t give in to t h e m a n d by late afternoon they were gone. T h e second n i g h t he went to sleep shortly after s u n d o w n , again curling between w a r m rocks, a n d he slept deeply until the rain started, a n d t h e n he rose a n d m o v e d n o r t h t h r o u g h it, h e a d d o w n , h a n d s in his pockets, eyes half closed. T h e rain s t o p p e d by m i d m o r n i n g a n d by n o o n t h e sun was strong, a n d he was b e y o n d C h i c a g o now, r u n n i n g up t h e N o r t h Shore r u n n i n g past Evanston, e n t e r i n g W i l m e t t e , leaving it, starting i n t o W i n netka. He s w a m m o r e often t h a n before, a n d for longer p e r i o d s of time, trying to get cool, since his h e a d was m o r e on fire n o w t h a n it h a d ever been. His forehead felt h o t w h e n he t o u c h e d it, a n d his eyes h u r t h i m . As he s w a m , he stared up over t h e bluff that paralleled t h e lake, l o o k i n g at the giant houses. He stared until his eyes required closing, a n d t h e n he w o u l d close t h e m and sink u n d e r t h e water, r u b b i n g t h e m w i t h t h e tips of his fingers. T h a t afternoon he c o m m e n c e d to shiver, even t h o u g h t h e sun was strong, a n d he was unable to r u n fast or far. T h e s u n h a d n o t yet disa p p e a r e d w h e n he crept a few feet up t h e bluff a n d m a d e a place for h i m self b e n e a t h s o m e bushes a n d closed his eyes. But he could n o t sleep. He was very tired a n d his eyes felt as if they were swelling b u t t h e shivering was m o r e distinct t h a n ever, so he lay there, b o d y foetal, awake. T h e m o o n c a m e , a c c o m p a n i e d by t h e early stars. Suddenly it was very cool a n d he was perspiring, the s h a k i n g almost painful, t h e swelling of his eyes m o s t severe. T h e boy t o o k off his shirt a n d pants, keeping t h e m off until t h e chills began, a n d then h e p u t t h e m back o n and scurried d o w n t o t h e beach, frantically digging a h o l e in t h e w a r m sand, crawling i n t o t h e d e pression, covering his cold body. T h e effort exhausted h i m a n d his h e a d d r o p p e d back at an u n c o m f o r t a b l e angle b u t he was t o o dizzy to right it. W h e n t h e perspiring r e t u r n e d , he m a n a g e d to roll clear of t h e depression. He lay quietly, stretched o u t beside it, a n d as the chills began, he rolled back i n t o the tiny hole, scraping a few handfuls of s a n d over h i m . His h e a d was swelling n o w a n d his ears h e a r d strange s o u n d s , s h a r p whistles, m u t e d cries. T h e b o y p u t his h a n d s over his ears and w r i t h e d . T h e chills increased a n d he could no longer s t o p his teeth from chattering, so he l u n g e d away from the hole a n d p u s h e d himself to his feet, starting a jagged r u n along the sand, r u n n i n g until h e was o n f i r e again, a n d t h e n h e r i p p e d at his shirt, d r o p p i n g to his knees, cradling his h e a d in his elbows. At t h e next sign of freezing he was u p , trying to r u n , p a n t i n g , slapping his a r m s across his body. As his b o d y began heating, he m a d e for t h e lake, s u b m e r g i n g in the cool water until t h e chill r e t u r n e d , worse n o w t h a n b e -

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 261 fore. He c o n t i n u e d on like that, r u n n i n g w h e n cold, b a t h i n g w h e n h o t , for as long as he could. But eventually he lacked the strength to reach the lake, so he slipped noiselessly o n t o t h e sand and, after a t i m e of quiet breathing, slept. T h e next day he began falling d o w n . T h e m o r n i n g was perfect, w a r m a n d blue, a n d a l t h o u g h t h e fever was stronger, he was used to it, k n e w its limits, was able to cope. He jogged n o r t h , s t o p p i n g from t i m e to t i m e to gaze up at the great h o u s e s d o t t i n g the bluff rim. At n o o n the s u n was h o t , so the chilling times were easier to bear, a l t h o u g h the periods of p e r s p i r i n g were probably less comfortable t h a n ever. He swam a good deal d u r i n g those periods, a n d it was after a particularly long swim, as he reached for his clothes, that he first fell. His face reflected surprise, b u t t h a t left, a n d t h e n he h a d his clothes in his a r m s a n d was r u n n i n g again until he fell. This t i m e he p a u s e d on the sand, shaking his head weakly. His s t o m a c h r u m b l e d a n d his eyes b u r n e d a n d t h e crazy s o u n d s were back in his ears, so he lay still until he could rise. T h e n he walked n o r t h until he fell again. This t i m e he stretched o u t full on his back, his h a n d s shielding his h o t eyes. After a while he rolled o n t o his s t o m a c h and p u s h e d himself into a kneeling p o s i t i o n . F r o m there he m a d e it to his feet a n d began walking. He tried m o v i n g straight ahead b u t he kept veering off, first o n e way, t h e n t h e other. D r o p p i n g his clothes, he lunged for the lake, falling into the water, resting there. He sat in the water, t h e waves washing h i m rhythmically, the s o u n d s in his ears growing louder. He tried to rise b u t slipped back into the water. Again he tried b u t he could n o t m a k e it to his feet, so he stopped t r y i n g a n d lay in t h e water, waiting for his strength. W h e n it c a m e he got to his feet a n d broke i n t o a wild r u n up the beach. T h e r e was n o t h i n g a r o u n d h i m , n o t h ing near, so he closed his eyes a n d r a n . He ran faster t h a n he h a d ever r u n before a n d this time w h e n he fell he got up immediately a n d r a n s o m e m o r e . He fell again a n d n o w it was h a r d e r to rise b u t he fought his way off his knees a n d ran, slower n o w b u t as fast as he could. He k e p t his eyes closed until he felt the lake a r o u n d his legs a n d t h e n he t u r n e d , because he h a d veered again, a n d he left t h e lake b e h i n d h i m , bolting for t h e bluff, b u t he never m a d e it. He fell h a r d , a n d n o w there was no strength left. He tried to rise b u t his b o d y h u g g e d t h e sand, a n d all his kicking d i d was to m o v e h i m a r o u n d in a circle, a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d , his h e a d t h e center of the circle, his footprints a jagged circumference. He kicked until he s t o p p e d . After that he k n e w n o t h i n g , n o t the week, t h e year, t h e t i m e °f day. Eventually he b e c a m e aware of t h e hospital r o o m , b u t h o w he

262 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN got there he never r e m e m b e r e d . In the hospital, however, several things b e c a m e clear. He h a d lost eleven p o u n d s . He h a d a fever of a h u n d r e d and five. A n d he was deaf. "I didn't do it!" Sid said. "You can't b l a m e me." " N o o n e is b l a m i n g you, Mr. Miller," Dr. Weiss said. "Please." Sid glanced d o w n t h e hospital c o r r i d o r t o w a r d Esther, w h o sat s l u m p e d in a w o o d e n chair. "I love that boy. It's n o t my fault. I love h i m . I w o u l d give up my life for t h a t boy." "Please," Dr. Weiss repeated. "Try to get control, Mr. Miller." " W h y did it happen? W h a t ? " " T h e b o y showed signs of being beaten severely w h e n he was b r o u g h t in. Particularly a r o u n d the h e a d a n d face." "I never t o u c h e d h i m . Ask anybody. I have never laid a h a n d on Rudy." " U n d o u b t e d l y he was b e a t e n on t h e beach. Or someplace nearby. At any rate, he was beaten. A n d t h e n t h e infection set in. He was n o t in g o o d s h a p e w h e n they b r o u g h t h i m in, Mr. Miller." "Poor Rudy—God." " T h e hearing loss isn't c o m p l e t e . Almost, b u t n o t quite. P e r h a p s , with t h e use of a hearing aid, plus lip r e a d i n g — " "God," Sid said. " W h y wasn't it me? W h y Rudy?" " W o u l d you like to see h i m ? " " M o r e t h a n anything." "He's looking quite well n o w . M a y I ask you a q u e s t i o n , Mr. Miller?" "Yes, yes." "I u n d e r s t a n d t h e boy's reluctance to give his n a m e . But w h y d i d n ' t you notify t h e police a b o u t t h e boy's disappearance sooner? Two weeks is a long t i m e to wait." "I w a n t e d to. My wife, she was against it. She kept saying he'd c o m e back. We love the boy. He never r a n away before. Every n i g h t Esther prayed for his r e t u r n . It wasn't t h e police's affair, she said. A family business only. We have never liked w a s h i n g o u r dirty linen in public." "Yes," Dr. Weiss said. He gestured d o w n the corridor. "Your son is in t h e last r o o m . D o n ' t stay long. I'll s t o p in after a few m i n u t e s . W h e n I c o m e , that will be y o u r signal to leave." "Bless you, Doctor," Sid said, a n d he t u r n e d , h u r r y i n g to Esther. " C o m e , " he said. " C o m e quick. We can see Rudy now."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 263 " W h y d i d n ' t you let me call t h e police? Two weeks he's b e e n alone. All by himself. We should have b e e n w i t h h i m . I should have been." " C o m e , " Sid said. "Every m i n u t e is precious." Esther stood. "Rudy," she said. "Rudy." " T h e last r o o m . This way." " W h a t did the d o c t o r say to y o u ? " " H e looks fine, the d o c t o r said." " T h e n he's all right." "Perfect. Except maybe for a little t r o u b l e with t h e ears." Esther stopped. "What? W h a t t r o u b l e ? " " N o t h i n g . S o m e infection h e caught." " H e can h e a r ? " "Of course he can hear. He'll be perfect." Sid pulled at her, b u t she would not move. "Tell me." "A h e a r i n g aid. Maybe. N o w come." "Tell me." " H e will be perfect with a h e a r i n g aid a n d maybe s o m e lip reading. Come." "You b e a t h i m deaf." " T h e infection. It was t h e infection. Ask the doctor. Ask anybody. D o n ' t get excited. He will be fine." "You b e a t h i m deaf!" "I hardly t o u c h e d h i m . You k n o w that." "Rudy!" "Esther—Esther, stop!" Sid chased after h e r d o w n t h e c o r r i d o r . "Rudy! Rudy!" a n d she r a n i n t o his r o o m . Sid entered a m o m e n t later, s t a n d i n g in t h e doorway, w a t c h i n g as she cradled t h e boy, rocking back a n d forth, m u t t e r i n g in Yiddish. "Weh ist mir. Weh ist mir." Sid smiled. "Hello, Rudy," he said. T h e b o y said n o t h i n g . "You look good, kid. I m e a n it. Fine." T h e b o y looked a t h i m . "Shondeh. Weh ist mir." " T h e y treating you O.K.?" Slowly t h e boy's eyes w i d e n e d . " C a n you hear me, Rudy? At all?" "Shondeh.

Shondeh."

264 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h e d o c t o r told me it isn't so b a d , Rudy. D o n ' t m i n d y o u r m o t h e r . T h e p o i n t is it's n o t so bad. T h a t infection, it could have been a lot worse. W i t h a little help, you'll hear perfect." Still the boy's eyes w i d e n e d . "Oy. Oygewalt." Sid hesitated, then a p p r o a c h e d t h e e n d of t h e b e d . "You really look wonderful. Never better, so help me God." T h e wide eyes watched. "Rudy, look, I'm so h a p p y you're all right, I'm crying. See, Rudy? See t h e tears?" Sid pointed to his face. "See? That's h o w h a p p y I am we f o u n d you. You had us awful worried, Rudy. R u n n i n g away like that." "Shondeh. Shondeh. Weh ist mir." "I'll m a k e it up to you, Rudy. I swear. Look at my tears. C a n you hear me? Look at my tears, Rudy. I'll m a k e it up to you. As G o d is my witness, you'll never have a n o t h e r u n h a p p y day. You hear that? That's a p r o m i s e . I p r o m i s e it to you. You're my son a n d I m a d e you a s o l e m n p r o m i s e . Please, Rudy, close your eyes. D i d n ' t you hear my promise? Close y o u r eyes. O h , Rudy, G o d , please, I'll m a k e it all up to you. We'll be so happy. Everyone will envy us. That's h o w h a p p y we're g o n n a be." T h e eyes did n o t stop staring. " Weh ist mir. Weh ist mir. Weh ist mir." "So happy. O h , yes, so happy, Rudy. Yes. Please don't look. No m o r e . T h e infection. It wasn't m e . It was t h e infection. Ask the doctor. He'll tell you. He never m e n t i o n e d t h e s p a n k i n g I gave. That's all it was. A little s p a n k i n g . It was the infection did it. On my word of h o n o r , Rudy, my sacred w o r d of h o n o r , it wasn't t h e spanking, it wasn't me." He looked d o w n at the floor, t h e n up quickly, t h e n away. T h e eyes stared. Sid m a d e a smile. "All right, all t h e water is over t h e d a m . We're just like we used to be. Can I get you s o m e t h i n g , Rudy? A n y t h i n g . You just n a m e it." Sid glanced a r o u n d t h e r o o m . "I'll write it d o w n . T h a t way we can talk. I could s h o u t b u t they d o n ' t like that in hospitals. I'll w r i t e it d o w n . C a n I do s o m e t h i n g for you? Here." A n d he g r a b b e d a c r u m p l e d piece of paper from Esther's purse. He r u m m a g e d t h r o u g h s o m e m o r e until he found a pencil. "See, Rudy?" and he waved t h e pencil. " N o w we can talk. Here. C a n I do s o m e t h i n g for you? I'm writing it d o w n . " Slowly, Sid p r i n t e d t h e w o r d s t h e n gave the p a p e r to t h e boy. As the boy read the words, Sid said t h e m again. "Can I do s o m e t h i n g for y o u ? " "Die."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 265

X Sleeping w i t h Shelly Bingham was, for A a r o n , a watershed event, since it forced h i m at last to face w i t h o u t flinching the one u n e n d u r a b l e q u e s tion: was there " s o m e t h i n g the m a t t e r w i t h him"? T h a t possibility h a d existed for quite s o m e time, first, p r i m a r i l y in his subconscious, a weightless fear lying s u s p e n d e d inside h i m , a tiny spider floating darkly across his m i n d . Occasionally it would catch t h e light, b u t n o t often, a n d w h e n it did he w o u l d quickly b r u s h it b a c k into t h e shadows again, p r a y i n g for the d a r k n e s s to kill it, kill it, m a k e it die. It festered. O n e s p r i n g night w h e n A a r o n was sixteen the fear h a d exploded, s h r e d d i n g his subconscious. He h a d left t h e movies early t h a t s p r i n g night, by t h e side entrance, a n d he h u r r i e d to his h o m e via b a c k streets, m o v i n g t h r o u g h tree shadows, avoiding light. Arriving at his h o u s e , he crept in t h r o u g h the rear door, t u r n i n g t h e k n o b noiselessly, s t e p p i n g inside, s h u t t i n g t h e d o o r w i t h o u t a s o u n d . A a r o n paused. F r o m t h e living r o o m he could hear talking, a n d he t o o k advantage of that s o u n d , m o v ing a step at a t i m e toward it. W h e n he h a d m o v e d as close as he d a r e d he stopped, waiting, waiting. T h e lights in t h e living r o o m w e n t off. T h e n Aaron h e a r d his sister's voice. D e b o r a h was saying, "Jamie Wakefield, you w i n t h e b l u e r i b b o n for stupidity. T h e world's c h a m p i o n s h i p . " " W h a t did I d o ? " Jamie Wakefield said. A a r o n crept forward again, closer. N o w he could see t h e m , framed in moonlight, sitting on the couch. A a r o n waited. Suddenly he saw t h e m kiss. "Jamie. Jamie." A a r o n held his breath. Jamie w a s t o u c h i n g Deborah's b o d y now. T h e y began to disrobe. Aaron m o v e d closer, standing framed in t h e d o o r way. Their eyes were closed as t h e y p a w e d at each other, b r e a t h i n g louder. Soon they were naked save for D e b o r a h ' s pearls, Jamie's socks. Panting, they clawed each other, fingers digging into flesh. A a r o n t o o k a n o t h e r step forward. He was inside t h e r o o m now, a n d h a d he w a n t e d to he could have almost reached o u t a n d t o u c h e d t h e m . Jamie s t r a d d l e d D e b o rah. D e b o r a h groaned. Aaron stared. Their bodies glistened*in t h e m o o n light. G r a p p l i n g , they rolled t o g e t h e r on the couch. D e b o r a h ' s fingers tore at Jamie's back. Jamie bit h e r n e c k a n d t h e n he yelled a n d D e b o r a h m o a n e d his n a m e , Jamie, Jamie. A a r o n closed his eyes. It was over, all e r , and he felt... he felt... 0 v

266 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN N o t h i n g . It h a d been like w a t c h i n g a wall. A a r o n backed o u t o f t h e r o o m , slipped t h r o u g h t h e h o u s e , mindless of noise. He o p e n e d t h e rear d o o r a n d stepped into t h e s p r i n g night. He felt sick a n d dizzy a n d he staggered along the sidewalk, h o w l i n g like a cretin in pain. Shades lifted as he staggered o n , m o v i n g in a n d o u t of shadow, t u r n i n g corners, traveling lanes. His legs ached terribly b u t he forced t h e m o n , glorying in t h e p a i n t h a t gave h i m s o m e t h i n g else to c o n centrate o n , s o m e t h i n g o t h e r t h a n t h e o n e u n e n d u r a b l e q u e s t i o n . Eventually he lost track of t i m e . His h o w l i n g weakened. Finally he pitched forward. A a r o n on the grass. Racked. T h e night with Shelly B i n g h a m racked h i m again. Try as he w o u l d to forget it, he could not. A n d so, three days later, desperate a n d weak a n d pale, A a r o n forced himself o n c e a n d for all to face t h e o n e , t h e only unendurable. Was he homosexual? Praying, Aaron walked i n t o t h e university library a n d was a b o u t to ask the librarian for s o m e b o o k s on t h e subject, except w h e n she asked, "Yes?" he f o u n d himself t o o frightened to speak. He tried for a smile, finally settled for a feeble s h r u g a n d fled her sight. Later, h a t i n g h i m self, A a r o n for t h e first t i m e in his life stole t h e b o o k s on h o m o s e x u a l i t y from t h e library a n d crept away from t h e building, c o n v i n c e d of his perversion. W h e n he got the b o o k s safely inside his h o u s e he locked his b e d r o o m d o o r a n d began to read. He read t h e b o o k s several t i m e s t h r o u g h , always w i t h t h e d o o r locked, a n d w h e n he h a d to leave his r o o m for t r i p s to the kitchen or into t o w n for cigarettes he carefully hid t h e b o o k s in t h e farthest c o r n e r of the t o p m o s t shelf in his clothes closet. After h e h a d c o m m i t t e d t h e material almost t o m e m o r y , A a r o n t o o k to j o u r n e y i n g into M a n h a t t a n , s t a n d i n g in the cold on 4 2 n d Street, a cigarette dangling from t h e c o r n e r of his taut m o u t h as he watched t h e h o m o s e x u a l s p r a n c e by. N i g h t after night he stood there, w a t c h i n g as t h e y swaggered a n d swished, s o m e wearing lipstick, s o m e mascara; l i m p wrists a n d muscle m e n , b r u n e t t e s a n d peroxide b l o n d e s , A a r o n eyed t h e m all. T h e y m a d e h i m sick. T h a n k G o d , Aaron t h o u g h t , s t a n d i n g in the cold, a n d w h e n a few a p p r o a c h e d h i m h e sent t h e m sharply o n their way with w i t h e r i n g scorn. For t h e first t i m e since Shelly, A a r o n felt alive.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 267 I'm all right, he realized. I'm fine. T h e n w h a t h a d h a p p e n e d i n his m i n d that night? A a r o n read his books again, a n d t h e m o r e he read t h e m t h e clearer it all came. H u g h had c o m e after h i m , p u r s u i n g h i m d o w n to t h e Food Shoppe. H u g h h a d pestered h i m after classes. H u g h incessantly talked of w o m e n a n d his need of t h e m a n d his infinite conquests, obviously, A a r o n realized now, protesting t o o m u c h . Hugh's insistence on t h e d o u b l e date, on sharing an evening of sex, t h a t was a n o t h e r sign. A n d H u g h was always t o u c h i n g h i m , p u n c h i n g h i m or t h r o w i n g an a r m in a seemingly casual way a r o u n d Aaron's s h o u l d e r — d e s p e r a t e , Aaron realized now, for contact. He's after m e , Aaron realized. A n d considering w h a t h a d h a p p e n e d in his m i n d t h a t night, H u g h was c o m i n g perilously close to succeeding. At last, A a r o n saw it whole: he h a d g o t t e n involved with (to give H u g h the benefit of any d o u b t ) at best a latent h o m o s e x u a l . A n d w h o could tell how long Hugh's latency w o u l d hold? Isn't that just t h e way, A a r o n thought: the o n e t i m e you get a friend in this world he t u r n s o u t to be a dirty, n o - g o o d , scheming, son-of-a-bitching fag? R e t u r n i n g the b o o k s to t h e library, A a r o n c u t himself off from the world. Until his graduation, he simply w e n t to classes, c a m e straight h o m e . He quit his j o b . He did o n l y w h a t schoolwork was necessary. He lay on his bed a n d he stared at t h e walls a n d he t h o u g h t . For t h e b o o k s he h a d stolen h a d told h i m that there was a little bit of the h o m o s e x u a l in every m a n . T h r o u g h weakness, A a r o n h a d allowed his little bit to c o m e close to conquering. I m u s t take stock of myself honestly, A a r o n decided. No more weakness. I m u s t set my h o u s e in perfect order. So he c u t himself off from t h e world. For t h e next m o n t h s he saw, as far as was possible, no o n e . He was terribly lonely, of course. But he h a d been there before. Two weeks after his g r a d u a t i o n from Princeton, A a r o n received a n o tice of i n d u c t i o n into the Army. T h e notice irked h i m . In t h e first place he was going to be 4F because of his legs, so the whole t h i n g was a waste of time. A n d , m o s t i m p o r t a n t , it w o u l d deprive h i m of a full day's writing. He h a d started a b o o k of s h o r t stories t h e day after his g r a d u a t i o n , a n d the way he was going there was no reason n o t to have it all d o n e by early fall. Except t h e crucial t h i n g was n o t to break the r h y t h m , a n d this a b s u r d all to c o u n t r y forced h i m for a day to do just that, so he d i d n o t feel, as he reread t h e notice a n d c r u m p l e d it u p , the least patriotic. c

He was in a foul h u m o r t h e m o r n i n g of d e p a r t u r e . C h a r l o t t e c o o k e d

268 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN h i m breakfast and, in spite of his protests, insisted on p a c k i n g an overn i g h t bag while he stood stiffly in t h e kitchen, sipping coffee a n d practicing l i m p i n g . He h a d been w o r k i n g on a particular walk ever since the notice came, a n d by n o w he h a d it d o w n to perfection. A vague pained expression on his face, a decided stiffness in his body, A a r o n stalked a r o u n d t h e kitchen. It was i m p o r t a n t , he t h o u g h t , to a p p e a r to be h i d i n g t h e l i m p . He was no malingerer; t h e l i m p was real. So he d r a n k m o r e coffee a n d practiced his l i m p until C h a r l o t t e r e t u r n e d with his bag. A a r o n t o o k it a n d walked halfway o u t t h e d o o r w h e n she called his n a m e . "Aaron." " W h a t ? " A a r o n said. She w o r e a flowered s u m m e r r o b e a n d h e r long hair, totally white now, h u n g straight d o w n her back. She looked at h i m , saying n o t h i n g , a n d he was a b o u t to say " W h a t ? " again w h e n he noticed h e r tiny h a n d s ; they were in c o n s t a n t flight, from her cheek to h e r hair to h e r h e a r t . "Oh," Aaron said t h e n as he realized she w a n t e d to be kissed goodbye, so he b e n t a b r u p t l y a n d t o u c h e d his lips to h e r forehead. C h a r l o t t e n o d d e d . " D o you w a n t a n y t h i n g special for supper? A celeb r a t i o n meal?" She clapped h e r h a n d s . "A 4F fiesta we could call it." Aaron grunted. " D o n ' t b e nasty t o t h e m , A a r o n . Please. R e m e m b e r y o u r m a n n e r s a n d d o n ' t get t h e m m a d a t you a n d — " A a r o n waved a n d closed t h e door, starting on his n o t so m e r r y way. By t h e t i m e he reached t h e i n d u c t i o n center, an old gray b u i l d i n g , p o n d e r o u s , covered with heavy soot, he was perspiring a n d angrier t h a n ever at t h e A r m y for wasting his very g o o d t i m e . L i m p i n g d o w n a l i n o l e u m corridor, A a r o n sat u n c o m f o r t a b l y in a stiff-backed w o o d e n chair, waiting i m p a t i e n t l y along with m o r e t h a n a h u n d r e d o t h e r p o t e n t i a l soldiers. T h e y were so young, so p a n i c k e d , t h a t it was difficult for h i m to keep from laughing. Gawky bodies, a c n e - r i d d e n faces, dead eyes. A a r o n tried n o t to listen to the bursts of n e r v o u s laughter which exploded intermittently, m a k i n g t h e ensuing silences especially welcome. Finally a buzzer s o u n d e d a n d a corporal w i t h a clipboard began calling off n a m e s at the front of t h e large r o o m . "Abbott, H e n r y C." T h e r e was silence. "Abbott, H e n r y C." M o r e e m p h a t i c this t i m e . A high voice said " W h a t ? " " W h a t the hell do you think? Are you here, Abbott? If y o u are, say so." " H e r e , sir."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 269 "All right; d o w n the corridor, first d o o r to y o u r left. T h i n k you can h a n d l e those instructions, A b b o t t ? " O h , you s m u g bastard c o r p o r a l , A a r o n t h o u g h t . "Adams, William F." " H e r e , sir." "Adderly, M o r r i s I." " H e r e , sir." A a r o n waited. " Fazio, Eugene D." " H e r e , sir." " Firestone, Aaron." A a r o n paused a m o m e n t before standing. T h e n , deliberately, formally, he answered, " I n attendance." T h e r e was a b u r s t of laughter, a n d Aaron was conscious of dead eyes w a t c h i n g h i m . W h e n t h e laughter died, he a d d e d , with infinite disdain, "Sir." T h e c o r p o r a l looked at h i m . "You'll love it in the Army, Firestone." " D u b i o u s , " Aaron answered. "Highly." A n o t h e r b u r s t of laughter. T h e n A a r o n n o d d e d courteously to t h e corporal, picked up his overnight bag a n d disappeared d o w n t h e corridor. T h e e x a m i n a t i o n was a farce. T h e y were allowed forty m i n u t e s to complete t h e written test, a m o r o n i c g r o u p of multiple-choice questions. Aaron finished t h e m in five, t h e first o n e d o n e . He glanced a r o u n d at the others; they sat, h u n c h e d over, perspiring. Illiterates, A a r o n t h o u g h t as he h a n d e d in his answer sheet. L i m p i n g noticeably, he left t h e r o o m , h e a d i n g for t h e physical exam. It proved to be even m o r e ludicrous. A series of aging d o c t o r s , obviously no longer able to sustain themselves in private practice, p r o d d e d a n d p o k e d h i m . T h e y checked his eyes a n d his ears a n d his teeth. A a r o n e n d u r e d t h e m . Finally a d o c t o r noticed his l i m p . A a r o n explained. T h e doctor t o u c h e d his hips, m u t t e r e d to himself, t h e n asked Aaron to walk. Aaron walked. T h e d o c t o r s h o o k his head, t h e n called in a n o t h e r doctor. T h e other d o c t o r asked A a r o n to walk. A a r o n walked, limping magnificently. T h e d o c t o r s conferred, b o t h of t h e m m u t t e r i n g , shaking their heads in u n i s o n . A a r o n s t o o d very straight a n d tried to look patriotic. In a few m i n u t e s it was all over. They took him. " T h e y t o o k me, Mother. T h e y t o o k me." He sat sweating in a telep h o n e b o o t h , trying to keep his voice u n d e r control. " W h a t ' s that, A a r o n ? " " O h , t h e stupid bastards, t h e s t u p i d idiotic bastards." His h a n d s were

270 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN shaking b u t he m a n a g e d to light a cigarette. Inhaling deeply, he scowled at his h a n d s , c o m m a n d i n g t h e m to be still. " D i d n ' t they see you walk?" " T h e y saw. They saw. Stop!" "Stop what, Aaron?" "I was talking to my h a n d s , Mother." "Are you all right, A a r o n ? " " I a m angry, Mother." T h e r e was silence on t h e wire. " W h e n I get settled I'll w a n t y o u to send me my writing." T h e n a n o t h e r silence. H e sensed h e r tears, said, " D o n ' t . Goodbye." H u n g u p . O n e . Two. T h r e e . T h e t r a i n ride proved dreary. For two nights a n d a day they traveled s o u t h , t h e n west, t h e n s o u t h again. T h e weather grew progressively h o t ter, b u t t h e cars were so u n c o m f o r t a b l e to begin w i t h that t h e increase in t e m p e r a t u r e didn't really matter. T h e r e was a s u d d e n vicious t h u n d e r s t o r m t h e second afternoon, b u t o t h e r t h a n that the sun r e m a i n e d steady. A a r o n sat alone in t h e rear seat of his car. Originally a fat, s w a r t h y boy shared t h e seat with h i m , b u t Aaron's legs were t o o long for b o t h of t h e m to be comfortable, so m i d w a y t h r o u g h t h e first night, g r u m b l i n g , the o t h e r b o y left. Aaron's c o m p a n i o n s b o r e d h i m . He quickly had t h e m all pegged. Across the aisle sat a short, ugly Irish b o y w h o boasted continually of his sexual prowess. "I h a d her p a n t i n ' like a bitch in heat, see, a n ' she's beggin' me for m o r e . ' G o - w a n n , Danny,' she's sayin'. 'Yer killin' m e , Danny, b u t go-wann.' " In front of h i m sat four curly-haired Jews, gamblers, d e v o u r e r s of salami. "Willya deal t h e cards, H e r m a n , for crissakes." " S h a d d u p , Byron, cantcha see I'm eatin'?" "Well, I d o n ' t give a c r a p if yer eatin' or n o t , deal the g o d d a m cards." A n d in front of t h e m , two laughing Negroes w h o h u m m e d a n d s n a p p e d their fingers a n d said " M a n . . . m a n " over a n d over. And three sullen P u e r t o Ricans reading " B a t m a n " a n d a quiet b l o n d letter w r i t e r — " D e a r Sis. Well, I am on the train a n d so far so good..." You are cliches, Aaron t h o u g h t . Every bloodless o n e of y o u . D e a r Aunt Lou . . . Hey, m a n (finger s n a p ) . Hey, m a n . . . O h h h h h h h h h , Danny, Jee-zusssss . . . Yer a fink, Byron, you k n o w t h a t . . . H e r m a n , yer droolin' o n t h e cards . . .

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 271 M a n , hey, m a n . . . Dear C o u s i n S t a n l e y . . . Danny, yer drivin' m e cray-zeeeeeeee . . . You do n o t exist, Aaron t h o u g h t . N o t in my world. If you b r e a t h e , then I give y o u permission to b r e a t h e t h e same air. But that is all. T h e y reached C a m p R a n d t h e m o r n i n g of t h e third day. G e t t i n g off the train, t h e y m a r c h e d to a line of o p e n trucks a n d began c l i m b i n g o n . Climbing was difficult for A a r o n a n d he felt a sharp pain as he m a d e his first a t t e m p t at b o a r d i n g . Failing, he tried again, b u t it h u r t , a n d he h a d no success until s o m e o n e started h e l p i n g h i m , half lifting h i m o n t o t h e truck. A a r o n t u r n e d . It was the b l o n d b o y w h o w r o t e letters. It w o u l d be you, A a r o n t h o u g h t ; of course, it w o u l d have to be you. S h o u l d he say "thank you"? he w o n d e r e d . T h e r e was always the chance that t h e b o y might take it as a prologue to conversation. A a r o n solved t h e p r o b l e m by saying " T h a n k s " sharply, t u r n i n g away at t h e same time, m o v i n g to a corner of t h e t r u c k a n d standing rigidly, s t a r i n g o u t . W h e n he first caught sight of C a m p R a n d , A a r o n had to laugh. It t o o was a c l i c h e — h o t , flat, endless, just like in t h e movies. Not m u c h grass, not m a n y trees, a plenitude of dust. T h e t r u c k s g r o u n d d o w n to a lower gear, slowing, t u r n i n g into the post p r o p e r . A c o m p a n y of basic trainees in full field u n i f o r m , complete with rifles a n d heavy packs, m a r c h e d along a parallel road. Aaron w a t c h e d t h e m , listening as they c h a n t e d , "Lef, ri, lef, ri, ho-lef, ri, lef." A a r o n panicked. His legs w o u l d never hold! Never. T h e y w o u l d fail h i m a n d he w o u l d fall to e a r t h o p e n , exposed to laughter. A a r o n r u b b e d his hips. T h e y still hurt from t r y i n g t o j u m p o n t o t h e truck. Never hold. Never. O h , y o u g o d dam s t u p i d d o c t o r s . You silly-assed sinecures, d o i n g this to m e . P u t t i n g me here. "Lef, ri, lef, ri, ho-lef ri, lef." I can't do it. I'll never be able to. Suddenly h e w a n t e d t o cry. H e h a d n o t cried since . . . since . . . My n a m e is A a r o n Fire a n d I do n o t cry. I endure. The m e n were all delivered to t h e Transient C o m p a n y , a squat series °f dull rectangular buildings set directly across the road from t h e Post Stockade. Usually recruits stayed o n e n i g h t in t h e Transient C o m p a n y b e fore being s h i p p e d o u t to o n e of t h e o t h e r c o m p a n i e s on post for basic training. Several times a day whistles w o u l d blow and the m e n w o u l d race °ut to t h e street, standing in f o r m a t i o n , waiting for their n a m e s to be called. T h e n they w o u l d be m a r c h e d away. A a r o n stayed a week. M o s t of

272 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN

t h a t t i m e he spent pulling details. Twice he h a d KP a n d t h e strain on his 1 legs was great. He w o u l d lie awake at night, r u b b i n g t h e m , p o u n d i n g ] t h e m w i t h the sides of his h a n d s , t r y i n g desperately to alleviate the pain. \ At first he was delighted that his n a m e was n o t called a n d he began think-1 ing t h a t p e r h a p s the A r m y h a d m a d e a mistake, forgotten h i m . But as the days w o r e on, the delight soured. He was always being selected for some d u t y or o t h e r — h i s height betrayed h i m . "You, Shorty, go g r a b a m o p . " , "All right, Shorty, two steps forward." He did what he was told, silently, speaking to no one. But he l o n g e d for training to begin. A n y t h i n g was better t h a n waiting; s o m e t h i n g was better t h a n n o t h i n g . T h e n , the eighth day, his n a m e was called. H u r r y i n g to his barracks, he g r a b b e d his green duffel b a g a n d dragged it back o u t i n t o the company street. Several o t h e r boys were waiting. T h e n a b u s appeared. All the other recruits h a d m a r c h e d off, b u t Aaron's g r o u p silently b o a r d e d a bus. Slowly, the b u s began to m o v e . A a r o n lit a cigarette. W h e r e in hell were t h e y going? Inserting the cigarette at the left corner of his m o u t h , he waited. T h e b u s drove for fifteen m i n u t e s . T h e n it stopped. T h e recruits g o t o u t . Aaron looked a r o u n d . He was standing in the street of what app e a r e d to be the m o s t r e m o t e c o m p a n y on post. There were several barracks buildings, a classroom a n d an orderly r o o m . Set i n t o t h e dirt by the orderly r o o m d o o r was a freshly p a i n t e d w o o d e n sign t h a t read "X Company." Across from the b u i l d i n g s was an e n o r m o u s , d u s t y field. Behind the buildings was a n o t h e r field, equally large, equally dusty. They were isolated from the rest of C a m p R a n d . T h e firing from the rifle ranges s o u n d e d l o u d e r here t h a n at the Transient C o m p a n y . It was all very strange. Aaron t u r n e d a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d , perspiring, o n t h e d u s t y road. T h e n the b u s driver asked w o u l d t h e y please follow h i m , so t h e y did, trailing along to the supply r o o m , w h e r e they were given sheets a n d blankets. T h e b u s driver requested t h e y go into the nearest b a r r a c k s , select a b e d , m a k e it a n d wait for further instructions. As A a r o n e n t e r e d the barracks he saw a n o t h e r busload of recruits pull into the c o m p a n y street. He waited for the better part of an h o u r a n d t h e n the bus driver reappeared, asking quietly if they w o u l d please go to the classroom n o w . Aaron entered the classroom a n d sat in the rear corner. Gradually, o t h e r recruits straggled in, looking a r o u n d , u n s u r e , uncertain. In fifteen m i n u t e s there were seventy-five m e n in the r o o m , smoking, talking nervously a m o n g themselves. Suddenly the talking stopped. A figure h a d appeared by the lectern at the front of t h e r o o m . An ape clad in the c o s t u m e of a m a s t e r sergeant. " W e l c o m e to X C o m p a n y . T h e X, for the curious, s t a n d s for experi-

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 273 mental, b u t m o r e of that in a m o m e n t . My n a m e is Sergeant Terry. Please call me that: Sergeant Terry. N o t 'sir,' n o t 'Sarge.' Sergeant Terry. T h a t is my n a m e . Clear?" W h e n t h e m a n began to speak, A a r o n experienced a s u d d e n s h u d d e r of r e c o g n i t i o n — t h e voice was low, r o u g h , harsh. A a r o n leaned forward, studying. Sergeant Terry was of less t h a n average height, incredibly broad. His shirt strained at the s h o u l d e r s , t h e fabric taut. T h e front of t h e shirt was covered with ribbons; t h e sleeves were covered w i t h stripes a n d bars. T h e t r o u s e r s were perfectly pressed. His face was simian, small eyes, thick nose, thick lips, n a r r o w forehead. His hair was s h o r t a n d reddish brown, tightly curled. Yet the m a n d i d n o t appear stupid. Why? A a r o n leaned back, folding his a r m s across his chest. Why? Suddenly he knew. It was t h e eyes. T h e small eyes. T h e eyes were alive. " W o u l d you all please stand up n o w ? " Sergeant Terry requested. T h e men rose. "I w a n t you each to tell me y o u r n a m e . Say it l o u d a n d clear. As soon as you've d o n e that, you m a y sit d o w n . Begin here." He p o i n t e d to the front row. In five m i n u t e s t h e y were all seated again. " T h i s is called getting acquainted," Sergeant Terry said. "You k n o w my n a m e . N o w I know yours." He began pacing b e h i n d t h e lectern, his thick h a n d s clasped behind his back. "You are w i t h o u t q u e s t i o n t h e m o s t incredible g r o u p of recruits ever assembled in the A r m y of t h e United States." T h e r e was a burst of n e r v o u s laughter. Sergeant Terry s t o p p e d pacing. "I do n o t jest. Take a look at yourselves. Go o n . E x a m i n e each other. You have sixty seconds." A a r o n looked a r o u n d at t h e o t h e r m e n . T h e y were staring at o n e another, laughing, talking. T h e b o y next to A a r o n was u n c o m m o n l y fat. The o n e in front h a d thick glasses. Aaron's eyes m o v e d faster. T h e y were all of t h e m defects. Wheezers, d r o o l e r s , gaspers; thin, fat, t o o tall, t o o short. A a r o n felt suddenly at h o m e . "Did I exaggerate?" Sergeant Terry's voice cut t h r o u g h t h e laughter, dousing it. "You see? You're rejects. Every o n e of you. I trust y o u feel m o r e at h o m e now. We all feel at h o m e w i t h o u r o w n kind, isn't t h a t s o ? " T h e r e Was general n o d d i n g . "And here we all are in X C o m p a n y . T h e q u e s t i o n is why? T h e answer is simple." He p a u s e d . G o o d , A a r o n t h o u g h t . T h e Proper t i m e to pause. W h e t interest. T h e m a n was a good speaker—light, casual, direct. A n d of course t h e voice helped h i m . T h e low, r o u g h voice. " I n this great freedom-loving l a n d of ours," Sergeant Terry said, everyone's a slob. We found t h a t o u t . By 'we,' I m e a n the Army. It was u e in b o t h World Wars. It s i m p l y d i d n ' t m a t t e r h o w low we set t h e Physical s t a n d a r d s , people kept getting rejected. So we h a d to use ablebodied m e n for desk work. Now, if only there were s o m e way to free t h e m t r

274 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN for c o m b a t duty, the advantages w o u l d be obvious. A n d you, g e n t l e m e n , are t h e e x p e r i m e n t to see if t h a t way can be found. G e n t l e m e n , each a n d every o n e of you got t h e shaft. I feel for you. Ordinarily, y o u w o u l d have been classified 4F. But n o w y o u have the s u p r e m e privilege of serving y o u r c o u n t r y as guinea pigs. D o n ' t b l a m e m e . It isn't my fault." "Son of a bitch," s o m e b o d y said. "I couldn't agree m o r e . " Sergeant Terry n o d d e d . "We will n o w have fifteen seconds in which you m a y swear. Please feel free." He waited a m o m e n t . "All right. Consider my position. I, gentlemen, am going to sheph e r d you t h r o u g h the easiest basic training in history. My c o m r a d e s in a r m s will sneer at m e . ' H e r e c o m e s Terry with the nuts,' they'll say. You, g e n t l e m e n , are the nuts. I d o n ' t like it any better t h a n y o u d o . O u r c o m m a n d e r , Captain Apple, is at t h e present t i m e trying to talk his way into a different assignment. He is already the laughingstock of t h e Officers' C l u b . He will be a r o u n d from t i m e to t i m e . You can tell h i m by t h e twin bars on his shoulders a n d t h e l o o k of h u m i l i a t i o n on his face. Be k i n d to h i m in his t i m e of trouble. Are t h e r e any questions t h u s far?" T h e r e were n o n e . "Training starts t o m o r r o w . We travel by b u s , no m a r c h i n g . This indignity—" "Catch t h e big words," a b o y in front of A a r o n said. Too l o u d . Sergeant Terry d r o p p e d his voice. "All right. S t a n d up." He s n a p p e d his fingers. "You k n o w w h o I ' m talking to. Stand up now." T h e b o y stared innocently ahead. Suddenly Terry vaulted d o w n a m o n g t h e m , screaming. " S t a n d u p , g o d d a m you! I'm talking to you, Winkler, M a r t i n P. Stand upT M a r t i n P. Winkler stood u p . Sergeant Terry b r e a t h e d deeply a m o m e n t , staring at h i m . "I d o n ' t like being derided," Sergeant Terry said, his voice u n d e r c o n t r o l . "All of you. R e m e m b e r that. Never d e r i d e m e . Never deride m e . You see, I k n o w all y o u r n a m e s now. I told you t h a t before. I'm good at n a m e s . N a m e s and faces I remember." He c o n t i n u e d staring at Winkler. "I've got to p u n i s h y o u . You u n d e r s t a n d t h a t ? " "Yes, sir." "Yes w h o ? " "Yes, Sergeant Terry." Terry n o d d e d . "All right. W h a t ' s y o u r disability, W i n k l e r ? " " B a d feet. I got b a d feet." " T h e n I can't m a k e y o u r u n , can I? T h a t w o u l d be cruel. H o w are your arms, Winkler?"

1

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 275 "All right, I guess." "Your shoulders?" "Yes." " T h e n dig me a hole, Winkler. Go get a shovel a n d dig me a hole." "A h o l e ? " " G o o d work, Winkler." " H o w big a hole?" "Ah, n o w that's the p r o b l e m , isn't it, Winkler? H o w big a hole? Firestone!" A a r o n j u m p e d . "What? W h a t ? " " H o w tall are you?" "Six four a n d a half. Six five." "There's y o u r answer, Winkler. Dig me a hole big e n o u g h to b u r y Firestone. Clear?" Yes. "Anyplace in that field across t h e r o a d will d o , Winkler. Pick y o u r o w n spot. I like to give my m e n initiative. Firestone?" "What?" " D o you f i n d m y o r d e r m a c a b r e ? " " N o , Sergeant Terry." Terry looked at Aaron. " G o o d , " he said. "However, I a m , from t i m e to time, macabre." He m o v e d b a c k to t h e lectern. "All right, g e n t l e m e n , if there are no questions, we can adjourn." T h e r e were n o questions. " T o m o r r o w , as I said, we start. You have t h e rest of t h e day to get ready. Relax. Sleep well. Fear n o t . T h i n k of me as y o u r security blanket a n d we'll all live forever." W i t h that, Sergeant Terry was g o n e . He reappeared several h o u r s later. Aaron was lying on his b u n k , listening as a dozen other recruits exchanged A r m y experiences. T h e front d o o r of the barracks o p e n e d a n d Sergeant Terry entered. T h e recruits quieted. "I n e e d a volunteer," he said. Nobody moved. " G e n t l e m e n , you m u s t have faith," Sergeant Terry said. " N o t h i n g hideous is going to h a p p e n . I n e e d s o m e typing d o n e . 'Now. W h o can type?"

A

N i n e boys stepped forward. "Wonderful," Sergeant Terry said. "I've never seen such get up a n d go. H right, Phillips," this to the nearest b o y " H o w fast?"

276 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h i r t y words a m i n u t e . " " T h a t is n o t what I call typing." "Forty-five," a n o t h e r said. "Fifty." "Fifty-five." " G o i n g once," Sergeant Terry said. "Going twice." " O n e h u n d r e d words a m i n u t e , " A a r o n called out. Sergeant Terry looked at h i m . "Firestone, I'm impressed. I b o w to talent." He bowed. "All right. Get y o u r shoes on a n d c o m e along." Hurriedly, A a r o n did as he was told. T h e y left t h e b a r r a c k s together a n d t u r n e d left, h e a d i n g for t h e orderly r o o m . Up ahead, five m e n stood clustered, talking. Two were fat, o n e was very short a n d two were myopic. "Ye gods," Sergeant Terry m u t t e r e d . "It's a zoo." As he passed t h e m t h e five m e n saluted. Sergeant Terry sighed. " T h a t ' s quick thinking, gentlemen," he began. " B u t please d o n ' t do it again. I'm n o t an officer. Officers have insignia on their shoulders. That's h o w y o u tell t h e m from enlisted m e n . Officers have insignia on their s h o u l d e r s . Say that." Raising his thick h a n d s like an orchestra c o n d u c t o r , he gave a d o w n b e a t . "Officers have insignia on their shoulders," the five m e n said. Sergeant Terry n o d d e d . "I'll p u t you all in for p r o m o t i o n . " Sighing again, he c o m m e n c e d to walk. "I w a s b o r n for better things," he m u t t e r e d as he neared the orderly r o o m . "Tell m e , Firestone; what's y o u r trouble? Neuralgia?" " M y legs. I was r u n over w h e n I was little." " T h a t was thoughtless of you." "Yes," A a r o n said. "It was." Sergeant Terry o p e n e d t h e o r d e r l y - r o o m door. "Sit there." He pointed. A a r o n sat at a desk. " T h i s is t h e c o m p a n y typewriter," Sergeant Terry said, c a r r y i n g it over to A a r o n . "Like all of us, it has seen better days. There's p a p e r in t h e top desk drawer." A a r o n got o u t two sheets of p a p e r a n d inserted t h e m i n t o t h e aged machine. "I'll give you o n e m i n u t e , Firestone. Type me a h u n d r e d words." He m o v e d close to Aaron, s t a n d i n g over h i m , his a r m s folded across his chest. "Ready, set, go." A a r o n typed. "Stop," Sergeant Terry said a m i n u t e later. Yanking t h e p a p e r from the

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 277 m a c h i n e , he studied it a while. " T h i s is beautiful work, Firestone. Really first rate." He shook his head. " B u t I needed s o m e o n e w h o could type in English." "Are there that m a n y mistakes?" Sergeant Terry squinted at t h e paper. "It looks like Urdu." "I was nervous." "Why?" "I d o n ' t like people standing over me." " T h a t t h e only reason?" " W h y else?" "I d o n ' t know, Firestone. W h y else?" A a r o n shrugged. "Let me t r y again." " T h a t won't be necessary." "Suit yourself." Aaron stood. "You w a n t t h e j o b ? " "What job?" "Clerk." "What would I do?" "Little." " T h e n 1 w a n t it." " T h e n it's yours." " W h e r e w o u l d the A r m y be w i t h o u t you college b o y s ? " Sergeant Terry m u s e d , sitting crouched, apelike, at his desk. He glanced o u t t h e window. It was after lunch three days later, a n d the t r o o p s were f o r m i n g uneven lines in t h e c o m p a n y street. " W h a t did I do w r o n g this t i m e ? " A a r o n asked. " N o t h i n g . N o t a thing. No sarcasm intended, Firestone." Quickly he m o v e d to t h e o r d e r l y - r o o m d o o r a n d s h o u t e d . "Straight lines, g e n t l e m e n . Get even with each other. T h r e e straight lines. Try a n d do it right. Surprise me." He m o v e d back to his desk a n d picked up his cap. "You ever go to college?" "No." "Why not?" " Pigeon-livered, Firestone. I lacked gall. I intended to o n c e u p o n a time. But I was t o o old w h e n t h e war was over. Old a n d decrepit. Anyway, I like t h e Army." "To each," Aaron said. " It has its advantages." "What?"

278 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h e chance to associate w i t h superior people, Firestone. People like yourself. You do consider yourself superior?" " D a m n right." "Ah, t h e confidence of youth," Sergeant Terry said. "You are y o u n g , aren't you, Firestone?" H e p u t o n his cap a n d p u s h e d t h r o u g h the screen door, letting it bang shut b e h i n d h i m . Aaron stood a n d m o v e d to the doorway, listening. "All right now, gentlemen," Sergeant Terry began. "Let me have your attention. This is going to be o n e of o u r m o r e grueling afternoons, so brace yourselves. It's t h e trench-foot m o v i e today, so I suggest y o u close y o u r eyes d u r i n g the gory sections." Two buses r o u n d e d t h e c o r n e r of the c o m p a n y street. "Any of y o u w i t h foot fetishes m a y be excused from going at all." He paused. " N o foot fetishes? Wonderful." T h e b u s e s stopped. "All aboard, gentlemen. We're off to see t h e wizard." T h e t r o o p s got on t h e buses. Sergeant Terry t u r n e d a n d n o d d e d . A a r o n n o d d e d back. T h e n t h e buses drove away. A a r o n stretched. T h e c o m p a n y was quiet now. C a p t a i n Apple was up playing his afternoon golf m a t c h , so the orderly r o o m was deserted. A a r o n lit a cigarette a n d i n h a l e d deeply. Placing the cigarette in t h e corn e r of his m o u t h , he sat at his desk. He h a d a little m o r e t y p i n g to do and he w o u l d be t h r o u g h for t h e day. W h e e l i n g the typewriter i n t o position, h e began t o work. A few m o m e n t s later t h e r e was a k n o c k at t h e o r d e r l y - r o o m door. "Yes," A a r o n called, c o n t i n u i n g to type. " C a n I c o m e in?" A a r o n looked u p . " C o m e on." A pudgy, balding figure m a r c h e d into the r o o m , s t o p p e d in front of his desk a n d saluted. "Sir, Private Branch Scudder r e p o r t i n g for d u t y as ordered, sir." Flustered, Aaron r e t u r n e d t h e salute. " I ' m n e w in the company," Branch Scudder said. "I gathered." " H e r e are my orders." He h a n d e d a file of papers to A a r o n . " W h a t do I do now?" "Relax," Aaron said. " I ' m a recruit too." "I t h o u g h t so," Branch said. " B u t you can't ever be sure. W h a t ' s your name?" "Aaron Firestone." " I ' m Branch Scudder."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 279 Branch held o u t his h a n d . A a r o n paused, t h e n t o o k it. " W h e r e is everybody?" " G o n e . They'll be back." "What about me?" "You've got the afternoon off. Get s o m e sheets from t h e supply r o o m . A r o u n d to t h e left." He p o i n t e d . " T h a t ' s all?" " T h a t ' s all." "You're sure? I w o n ' t get in any trouble?" " N o . N o trouble." Branch t u r n e d , walking t o w a r d t h e door. T h e n h e s t o p p e d . "Around to t h e left, you said?" "Yes." "O.K. T h a n k s . T h a n k s a lot. You've been very helpful." "De nada," A a r o n m u t t e r e d , watching as the o t h e r b o y h u r r i e d o u t the door. W h e n he h u r r i e d , A a r o n noted, he jiggled. All over. His ass jiggled a n d the flesh above his h i p s jiggled. Everything. Baby fat, A a r o n t h o u g h t a n d h e r e s u m e d his t y p i n g . In ten m i n u t e s he was finished. Carefully filing t h e p a p e r s away, he lit a n o t h e r cigarette a n d got o u t his n o t e b o o k . T h e a f t e r n o o n was his now. To write. He h a d notified his m o t h e r to send his b o o k of stories d o w n to h i m , b u t while he was waiting its arrival he kept busy. Sketches, o d d t h o u g h t s . O p e n i n g the n o t e b o o k , he paused a m o m e n t , l o o k i n g at t h e title page. The Journals of Aaron Fire. W h e n he got a r o u n d to his a u t o b i o g raphy, he w o u l d call it that. The Journals of Aaron Fire. It h a d an almost Biblical ring. He t u r n e d t h e page a n d began to write. " S c u d d e r jiggles. He is losing his hair while k e e p i n g his baby fat, which m a y be t h e neatest trick of t h e week. He a p p e a r s to be boneless. Barbecued, he w o u l d u n d o u b t e d l y prove tender." Drivel, A a r o n t h o u g h t . C r a p . He flipped to a n o t h e r page. "Terry," he w r o t e . "Terry t h e Ape." He erased it, t h e n lit another cigarette. He h a d b e e n t r y i n g for two days n o w to write a b o u t Terry a n d as yet he h a d n o t h i n g . W h y was that? W h a t s t o p p e d him? It h a d s o m e t h i n g to do with Terry's eyes. T h e y were too bright. He could n o t see past t h e m . N o t yet. S c u d d e r was easier to write a b o u t . A a r o n t u r n e d back a page. "Scudder was p r o b a b l y a beautiful baby b u t n o w t h e b e a u t y is gone. He didn't grow; he simply enlarged. He . . . " " I m a d e m y bed." A a r o n looked u p . S c u d d e r s t o o d in the doorway. "I got t h e sheets like y o u said. My bed's all made."

280 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Aaron nodded. "There's no one in the b a r r a c k s at all. I . . . uh . . . felt like talking to somebody." A a r o n tilted his head to o n e side. Scudder h a d a speech peculiarity he h a d n ' t noticed before. Either he talked t o o quickly or t o o slowly; no m i d dle g r o u n d . "I m a d e my b e d " s o u n d e d like o n e w o r d . This last sentence was filled with unnecessary syllables. " I . . . u h . . . f e l t . . . like . . . u h . . . talkingtosomebody." A a r o n said n o t h i n g . "Am I . . . u h . . . b o t h e r i n g y o u ? " "Yes, frankly." "You're w o r k i n g ? " "Trying to." Branch jiggled over to Terry's chair a n d sat. " W h a t k i n d of w o r k ? " A a r o n shrugged. "I w a t c h e d you t h r o u g h t h e screen door. You were w r i t i n g . Are you a writer?" "Yes." "Are you writing a b o o k or a play?" "Listen, S c u d d e r — " "If y o u write a play I'll p r o d u c e it. I'm a producer. I will be. W h e n I'm d o n e w i t h the Army." " T h a t ' s wonderful." "You k n o w the saying, ' T h o s e w h o can, write; those w h o can't, teach'? Well, it's different in the theater. In t h e theater it's ' T h o s e w h o can, write; those w h o can't, produce.' " He l a u g h e d lightly. It was w a r m in t h e r o o m a n d A a r o n was sweating, b u t Scudder's skin was dry. " W h a t were you writing?" "Nothing." " C o m e on. You can tell me." "You d o n ' t sweat, do y o u ? " " N o t very m u c h . W h y ? " " N o reason." " T h a t ' s o n e way to tell a writer. By h o w perceptive t h e y are. You're very perceptive. I just k n o w it. I'll bet y o u r writing is t h a t way t o o . Read m e something." "I will not." "It's all right. W h a t were y o u just w r i t i n g a b o u t ? " "You, Scudder." Branch laughed again, louder. "You're kidding."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 281 " N o , " A a r o n said. " I ' m not." "Well, t h e n , you've got to read it to me." "It's hardly flattering, Scudder." "Read it anyway." "Dammit—" " I ' m waiting." "All right. All right." A a r o n picked up the j o u r n a l . " ' S c u d d e r jiggles,' " he b e g a n . " ' H e is losing his hair while keeping his baby f a t . ..' " He read it venomously. W h e n he finished, he p u t the j o u r n a l d o w n . Branch was staring at h i m . A a r o n smiled. "Like it?" he asked. " I ' m . . . u h . . . very sensitive a b o u t . . . u h . . . m y . . . u h . . . hair. I d o n ' t like . . . u h . . . people . . . m a k i n g . . . u h . . . jokes a b o u t it." "I'll t r y to r e m e m b e r that." "Otherwise I t h o u g h t it was fine." " I ' m delighted. N o w — " " W h e r e did you go to college? I w e n t to Oberlin. W h e r e d i d you go?" "Princeton. Now come on, Scudder—" "I was going to guess Yale." " T h a t makes u s b o t h perceptive." "I h a d s o m e friends at P r i n c e t o n . Did you, by any chance, k n o w — " " P r o b a b l y not. For t h e last t i m e , Scudder, leave me in peace." He paused. "If you don't, I'll have y o u p u t on K.P." B r a n c h sat u p . "You w o u l d n ' t do that." "I'll give you three to get o u t of here." "We're b o t h college m e n . You w o u l d n ' t — " "One." "Besides, you d o n ' t have t h e authority." " T h e first sergeant does. He'll do w h a t I say. Two." Nervously, Branch stood. " R e m e m b e r , if you write a play, I'll p r o — " " T h r . . . " A a r o n began. Jiggling, Branch bolted o u t t h e door. Alone, Aaron laughed. H e p u t his head d o w n o n his a r m s a n d howled, tears falling o n t o t h e desk blotter. He laughed u n t i l his t h r o a t h u r t . He sat up then, w i p i n g his eyes. Hurriedly, he o p e n e d his j o u r n a l , m u t t e r i n g aloud. "I said, 'If y o u d o n ' t , I'll p u t you on K.P.' a n d he said You w o u l d n ' t do that' a n d I said . . . " It was good dialogue a n d s o m e lime it m i g h t be usable. A a r o n lit a cigarette, c o n t i n u i n g to write. He felt, s o m e h o w , strange. Why? He p a u s e d in his w o r k . His s h o u l d e r s itched, so he r u b b e d t h e m against t h e back of his chair. Taking a deep

282 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN b r e a t h , he held it. T h e r e was no s o u n d in the r o o m . A a r o n listened. Yes, there was. He could hear it n o w . It was c o m i n g from b e h i n d h i m , a soft s o u n d . W h a t was it? T h e r e was an o p e n w i n d o w b e h i n d h i m a n d sudd e n l y A a r o n knew. S o m e o n e was watching h i m . A a r o n froze. T h e s o u n d was t h a t of quick b r e a t h i n g b u t very soft, like a tiny puppy, p a n t i n g after t h e ordeal of b i r t h . A a r o n waited. T h e sound stayed. "Cut it out, Scudder!" A a r o n shouted. Still t h e s o u n d . "I m e a n it, c u t it out!" T h e p a n t i n g s e e m e d a level l o u d e r now. W i t h a cry, Aaron flung his b o d y a r o u n d , facing t h e w i n d o w . He saw n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g . He k n e w t h a t he h a d only to go to the wind o w a n d stick his h e a d o u t to see w h o it h a d been. But he did n o t m o v e . T h e next afternoon, A a r o n sat alone in the orderly r o o m . It was a pleasant day, w a r m , b u t w i t h a w i n d , a n d his writing was going well. Captain Apple h a d called in at l u n c h , saying, s o m e w h a t thickly, t h a t he would n o t be d o w n for a while. In t h e b a c k g r o u n d Aaron could h e a r w h a t he ass u m e d to be t h e s o u n d s of t h e Officers' Club b a r — s o f t m u s i c , loud laughter. Starting a fresh page in his j o u r n a l , Aaron titled it Apple's Fall a n d set to work. He h a d w r i t t e n almost a page w h e n Terry a p p e a r e d . " W h e r e are the t r o o p s ? " A a r o n said. " W a t c h i n g a triple feature. Hygiene, Military C o u r t e s y a n d somet h i n g else." He sat heavily at his desk. "Ye gods." "What's up?" " M o r e nuts," Sergeant Terry said. "A fresh supply. Two d o z e n or more. D u e this afternoon." "Where'll we stick t h e m ? " " T h e last barracks d o w n . " " T h a t ' s locked up." Terry threw h i m a key. " O p e n it." He r u b b e d his eyes. "And give it a once-over." "How?" "See that t h e toilets all flush. A n d m a k e sure each b e d ' s got a mattress. A n d m a k e sure the sinks w o r k . T h i n k you can do that, Firestone?" " W i t h luck." A a r o n stood. "I'll be d o w n in a while," Sergeant Terry said. He r u b b e d his eyes. " M o r e nuts," he m u t t e r e d . "Jesus." A a r o n left the orderly r o o m a n d t u r n e d right, walking quickly. T h e large vacant field across t h e r o a d seemed alive as little puffs of dust ex-

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 283 ploded, detonated by t h e w i n d . A a r o n whistled, s n a p p i n g his fingers in rhythm. W h e n he reached t h e last barracks he unlocked it a n d stepped inside. It was stuffy, of course, b u t surprisingly cool. T h e silence was so complete h e stopped whistling a n d listened. N o s o u n d . N o d d i n g , h e p r o ceeded to the latrine and, m o v i n g d o w n the row of sinks, t u r n e d on the faucets. T h e pipes groaned softly a n d rusty water cascaded o u t . A a r o n moved into the hext r o o m w h e r e t h e toilets were. T h e y all flushed. Ret u r n i n g to t h e sinks, he n o t e d t h a t t h e water was clear now, so he t u r n e d t h e m off a n d headed o u t of t h e latrine to the m a i n r o o m on t h e first floor. Carefully he m o v e d d o w n t h e center aisle, c o u n t i n g cots. T h e r e were twenty-four of t h e m , a n d each h a d a mattress. "Twenty-four," A a r o n said o u t loud, breaking t h e quiet. T h e floor needed m o p p i n g b u t aside from that everything s e e m e d to be fine. A a r o n left t h e r o o m a n d m o u n t e d t h e w o o d e n stairway t h a t led to the second floor. He b a n g e d his boots d o w n heavily as he climbed, taking pleasure in t h e s o u n d . T h e r e were two cadre r o o m s by t h e t o p of t h e stairs a n d he glanced inside. Sun streamed i n t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w s . Each r o o m h a d t w o b e d s a n d two mattresses. Aaron left t h e m a n d t o u r e d the second floor. "Twenty-four," he said, again aloud, w h e n he was finished. Making a g r a n d total of fortyeight, n o t c o u n t i n g the cadre r o o m s . "Forty-eight," A a r o n said. T h e front d o o r of t h e b a r r a c k s o p e n e d a n d closed. A a r o n went to the h e a d of t h e stairs a n d looked d o w n . "Stand a n d unfold yourself." "Everything all right?" Terry said, m o u n t i n g t h e stairs. "Yes." "Forty-eight cots excluding t h e cadre r o o m s ? " "If you knew, why'd you have me c o u n t ? " "Caution," Terry answered. "I a m , by nature, cautious. Water fountain work?" "I d i d n ' t check it," A a r o n said. " W h y don't you, t h e n ? " Terry told h i m . "Seeing you have t h e time." Aaron descended t h e stairs to t h e water fountain. It was located in a niche outside the latrine. T h e water was rusty at first b u t t h e n it cleared. "It's fine," A a r o n called. "Good." A a r o n walked up the stairs again. " W h e r e are y o u ? " "Here." Aaron entered o n e of t h e cadre r o o m s . "Break time," Terry said. "Take five." Terry was s m o k i n g , his ape's b o d y sprawled across o n e of the cots. A a r o n sat d o w n on t h e o t h e r cot a n d lit a cigarette. T h e r o o m a s stuffy, t h e d a r k shade pulled d o w n over the w i n d o w . Above, a b a r e w

284 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN b u l b lit t h e r o o m starkly. A a r o n glanced at Terry, t h e n away. Terry had shaved. A a r o n sniffed once. ' W h a t ' s that smell?" Terry laughed. "Aftershave. French. It's i m p o r t e d . A weakness of m i n e . You d o n ' t like it?" "It's strong, all right." Terry laughed again. "Distinctive w o u l d have b e e n a k i n d e r word." A a r o n dragged on his cigarette. "I was first given s o m e in Paris d u r i n g t h e liberation. A gift from an admirer. I've used it ever since. T h e sentimentalist in me." "If I were writing you in a b o o k , I'd never let you use it." "Why not?" " T o o obvious. It's gimmicky. F r e n c h - i m p o r t e d aftershave. My God, is t h a t phony." "If you were writing me in a b o o k , w h a t w o u l d y o u say?" "I d o n ' t k n o w yet. I haven't got you straight. But I will." "I've been written a b o u t before," Sergeant Terry said. " N o kidding?" " N o kidding." " W h o did it?" "Friends." " W h a t did they say?" " U n k i n d things." "Why?" "Revenge, I suppose. Writers write o u t of revenge. W o u l d n ' t you say so?" "Maybe. I t h o u g h t you said t h e y were friends of yours." " T h e y were." " H o w do you k n o w it was y o u they were writing a b o u t ? " " T h e y sent me copies of t h e b o o k s . Suitably inscribed." A a r o n lit a n o t h e r cigarette a n d carefully placed it in t h e c o r n e r of his m o u t h . T h e r o o m was cooler now, t h e black shade b l o c k i n g t h e heat of t h e sun. Sergeant Terry stretched. "Maybe I'll write a b o u t y o u someday," Aaron said. "And send you a b o o k , suitably inscribed. To a d d to y o u r collection." " O h , you will," Sergeant Terry said. A a r o n shrugged. "And yours will be just like t h e others. V e n o m o u s . U n t r u e . " " W h a t makes you t h i n k so?" " Trust me."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 285 "You're pretty confident, aren't y o u ? " " I n certain areas only." A a r o n inhaled deeply. " T h e light," Sergeant Terry said. Aaron's heart bucked. "Relax," Terry said. "Relax, Aaron." He pointed a thick h a n d . " T h e light." A a r o n fought the t r e m b l i n g . " T u r n it off, Aaron." " W h a t are you talking a b o u t ? " "You know." " W h a t t h e hell are y o u talking a b o u t ? " Terry smiled. Aaron's throat b u r n e d from t h e dryness. Terry rose up on an elbow. "You got the w r o n g guy," A a r o n said. Terry s h o o k his head. "You got the w r o n g guy." Louder. "No," Terry said. "I don't." " I ' m n o t what you think." "Aren't you?" "No." A a r o n slid along t h e b e d t o w a r d the door. " I ' m n o t . N o t . I k n o w I'm n o t . . . see once . . . t h e r e was s o m e p o s s i b i l i t y . . . i t crossed m y m i n d that I m i g h t be. But I'm n o t ! I faced t h e possibility. I researched it. I did. A n d t h e conclusions I reached were t h a t . . . I'm n o t . A n d I'm s o r r y for you being what you are, b u t I ' m n o t what you are. I m a y be a lot of t h i n g s . . . b u t I'm n o t w h a t y o u are. It has been proven. I p r o v e d b e y o n d the least d o u b t — I ' m not! I ' m n o t a n d you leave me alone!" "You're protesting a bit t o o m u c h , " Terry said, smiling again. " I ' m getting o u t of here." "Go." Aaron "Run!" Aaron down the called.

stood in the doorway. "I will." Terry shouted. " R u n , then." ran. He r a n o u t of t h e r o o m a n d along t h e hall a n d halfway stairs. Halfway d o w n . T h e n he stopped. "Sergeant Terry," he

No answer. A a r o n pressed his h e a d against the wall, closing his eyes. His legs ached from r u n n i n g a n d t h e b u r n i n g in his t h r o a t m a d e it h a r d to breathe. He leaned against t h e cool wall, gasping. "Sergeant Terry," he called again, weaker this t i m e .

286 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN No answer. "Please," Aaron called. S l u m p i n g d o w n , he sat h u d d l e d on t h e stairs. Above h i m he heard footsteps, t h e n t h e s n a p of a wall switch, t h e n m o r e footsteps. A mattress creaked. T h e n n o t h i n g . Aaron d u g his fingers into his eyes. He was aware his entire b o d y was twitching b u t he was helpless to s t o p it. "Please," he m u r m u r e d . "Please." T h e r e was no s o u n d in t h e entire barracks save his o w n u n e v e n b r e a t h i n g . H e tried h o l d i n g his b r e a t h b u t h e could n o t . H e could d o n o t h i n g . N o t h i n g . T h e n , with a last desperate effort, he stood, h o l d i n g to t h e wall for s u p p o r t . At last his legs b e g a n to move. Up t h e stairs. His legs were m o v i n g slowly up t h e stairs. They carried h i m along. He was helpless to stop t h e m as t h e y raised themselves a n d b r o u g h t t h e m selves d o w n , each t i m e on a higher stair. Finally he reached t h e t o p . His legs c o n t i n u e d to move, t u r n i n g h i m , dragging the u p p e r half of h i m along. W h e n they reached t h e doorway, t h e legs s t o p p e d . A a r o n p u t a h a n d o n t h e door-frame a n d p a u s e d , looking in. T h e r o o m was d a r k now, t h e light gone. In the far corner, s o m e t h i n g moved. "You're back, I see." "Yes," A a r o n admitted. " B u t n o t for w h a t you think." "Why then?" " I j u s t . . . I just w a n t e d t o tell y o u . . . " D a m n the gasping. G o d d a m n t h e gasping. " T h a t I w o n ' t tell anybody." " W o n ' t tell anybody w h a t ? " " W h a t you tried to do." "And w h a t was t h a t ? " "You know." "Tell me anyway, Aaron. Say it." A a r o n was silent. " T h e word, Aaron. Say t h e word." Terry's voice was w i t h o u t a body. It c a m e , almost mystically, from t h e d a r k r o o m . "It's like an oracle," A a r o n m u t t e r e d . "Say t h e word." " D o n ' t you get it? I can't see you. Just hear. That's all. Like an oracle." " T h e word." "Seduction. Seduction. I said it." "There's no such thing, Aaron." T h e voice was quiet now, coiled. " N o b o d y seduces anybody. S e d u c t i o n s m u s t be m u t u a l . Like ours." " T h a t ' s n o t true."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 287 T h e voice laughed. "You w a n t y o u r pride, don't you? All right. I'll let vou keep y o u r pride. T h e responsibility belongs to m e , A a r o n . You're free a n d clear. N o w c o m e in t h e r o o m . " "No." " C o m e i n the r o o m , Aaron." A a r o n entered the r o o m . " N o w close the door." A a r o n closed the door. " N o w we're b o t h oracles, A a r o n . You can't see m e . I can't see you." "Yes," A a r o n said. " I ' m h o l d i n g my h a n d o u t to you, Aaron. You can't see it, b u t it's there. Take it." A a r o n did n o t m o v e . " Take it." T h e r e was a silence. T h e n Terry's voice exploded. " T h e h a n d ! " A a r o n listened to the s o u n d . It was wild. Wild a n d r o u g h . " T h e h a n d ! " R o u g h a n d , familiar. Commanding. A a r o n obeyed. " T h a n k G o d you could type," Sergeant Terry said. He was lying sprawled on o n e of t h e cots, shirt o p e n , s m o k i n g . "It sure m a d e things a hell of a lot simpler." Terry laughed, flicking a stubby finger across the b u r n i n g e n d of his cigarette, k n o c k i n g specks of ash o n t o t h e floor. Obviously in g o o d h u m o r , he slapped his o t h e r h a n d flat against his chest. " T h a n k God." A a r o n sat across from h i m , watching. "It was all p l a n n e d , t h e n ? " "You m i g h t say that." "Why me?" Terry laughed. "I like ' e m skinny. T h a t a good e n o u g h r e a s o n ? " A a r o n shrugged. Terry slapped his chest again, harder. " D o n ' t do that." "Why not?" "You look e n o u g h like an ape. D o n ' t p u s h the resemblance." Terry laughed. "And b u t t o n y o u r shirt." "If it pleases you." Slowly, he began closing his shirt front. "Aaron?" "What?" "You were . . . " Terry p a u s e d .

288 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I was w h a t ? " " I ' m looking for t h e right word." "Well, find it." Terry finished with his shirt a n d lay back. "Inexperienced," he said t h e n . A a r o n said n o t h i n g . "Weren't y o u ? " "I've slept with a w o m a n . " "Really?" Terry said. " T h a t m u s t have been fun for you." "It was!" A a r o n s n a p p e d . " D a m n right it was." Terry sat up quickly. "Easy," he said. "Easy, Aaron." A a r o n t o o k a deep d r a g on his cigarette. "You all r i g h t ? " "I'm fine." "I m e a n it. You all r i g h t ? " "I said I was fine." Terry n o d d e d . " I ' m getting the hell o u t of h e r e a while, if that's all right w i t h you." He stood, starting for the doorway. "Sure. Sure. Take the a f t e r n o o n off if you want." A a r o n whirled o n h i m . " T h a n k s , Sarge." Terry smiled. " I ' m k n o w n far a n d wide for my leniency." A a r o n m o v e d to the doorway, t h e n s t o p p e d a n d t u r n e d again. "Just tell m e o n e thing." "Ask." "What's your first name?" "Oh," Terry m u r m u r e d , slowly shaking his head. " I ' m sorry. It's Philip. Phil." "See you a r o u n d c a m p u s , Phil," A a r o n said, a n d he left t h e r o o m , walking d o w n the stairs. W h e n he reached the front d o o r of t h e barracks he p u s h e d it. It was locked from t h e inside. C a u t i o n , A a r o n t h o u g h t as he t u r n e d the lock, shoving the d o o r o p e n . He stopped for a m o m e n t on the l a n d i n g , looking a r o u n d . Quiet. No o n e in sight. Aimlessly he began to m o v e , scuffing his shoes in t h e d u s t . T h e w i n d was stronger n o w a n d far, far in t h e distance s t o r m clouds s c u d d e d toward each other. I'm a h o m o sexual, A a r o n t h o u g h t . M e . I am a h o m o s e x u a l . He said t h e w o r d aloud. "Homosexual." Shoving his h a n d s deep i n t o his pockets, he a m b l e d o n . He felt curiously empty. N o , n o t curiously. It was w h a t he always felt. Emptiness. N o t h i n g . Neither rage n o r joy n o r s h i m m e r i n g pain. N o t h i n g . He felt

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 289 n o t h i n g . He was m o v i n g n o w t o w a r d t h e center of the great field across from the company, dust kicking up all a r o u n d h i m , stinging his face. Aaron closed his eyes a n d walked in darkness for a while. Look on the bright side, faggot. G o o d b y e to self-delusion. You can r u n for office with a slogan like that: goodbye to self-delusion. Hell, you can be a king with a slogan like that. Maybe n o t a king. A q u e e n , t h e n . Eyes closed, A a r o n h o w l e d . All the lying he h a d d o n e , all t h e perverting of t r u t h and fact, all in t h e desperate a t t e m p t to p r o v e w i t h o u t question to himself that he wasn't w h a t he so obviously was. " I ' m a fay-reeee," A a r o n s h o u t e d at t h e wind. H o m o s e x u a l was an ugly w o r d , five ugly syllables, h o - m o - s e x - u - a l , b u t t h e s y n o n y m s were just as ugly. Ugly. W h y didn't they have a prettier word for it? Like wisp. T h a t was a p r e t t y word. Aaron Fire is a wisp. T h a t wasn't nearly so bad. Aaron o p e n e d his eyes a m o m e n t . D u s t b r o k e across his vision in great sheets n o w as t h e w i n d grew stronger. Closing his eyes quickly, h e w r a p p e d his b o n y a r m s a r o u n d his b o n y b o d y a n d t h r e w his head back. Aaron began to s h o u t . "Kuh-weeeeer. I'm kuh-weeer." "A perrr-verrt." "Suh-wisssh." " Faaaaaaaaag." T h e w i n d picked u p . In t h e center of the great field, A a r o n began t u r n i n g a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d , disappearing, d r y dust s p o t t i n g his eyelids, caking his t o n g u e . H e r e p o r t e d t o the orderly r o o m o n t i m e the next m o r n i n g . Sergeant Terry was already at work, going over s o m e papers. A a r o n h u n g up his cap a n d sat d o w n . Terry glanced over at h i m . " G o o d day, Firestone." A a r o n n o d d e d . "Sergeant Terry." " fm afraid I've got a lot of w o r k for you this m o r n i n g . " He h a n d e d s o m e p a p e r s to Aaron. "Original a n d five. T h i n k you can h a n d l e it?" I imagine. "A gold star for you, Firestone," Sergeant Terry said. He stretched, yawning. T h e n he m o v e d to t h e door. " I ' m off to do battle w i t h the nuts." Walking outside, Terry t o o k a whistle from his pocket "and blew on it sharply three times. Eventually t h e t r o o p s began straggling o u t of their barracks, slowly m o v i n g into t h e c o m p a n y street, f o r m i n g t h r e e u n e v e n rows. Terry stood on the sidewalk w a t c h i n g t h e m , shaking his h e a d sadly. "Ye gods, gentlemen," he said, "you're killing me."

290 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN A a r o n watched t h r o u g h t h e o r d e r l y - r o o m w i n d o w . Terry was walking in front of t h e t r o o p s now, scolding t h e m , his long a r m s h a n g i n g l i m p at his sides, his stubby legs c a r r y i n g h i m jerkily forward. All you need is a b a n a n a , A a r o n t h o u g h t . Terry t h e ape. T h a t night they went to a m o t e l . Terry was waiting for h i m in his car w h e n he finished supper. A a r o n got in quietly a n d they drove off post for a while. T h e motel was s o m e fifteen miles distant, small a n d dirty, a series of peeling gray cubicles with a h a n d - p a i n t e d "Vacancy" sign in front. T h e i r cabin was filthy. A a r o n f o u n d a cockroach scuttling d o w n o n e side of t h e b a t h t u b . He killed it slowly. T h e next day A a r o n was eating l u n c h in t h e mess hall w h e n Scudder jiggled u p t o h i m . " I ' m getting my car," S c u d d e r said. A a r o n went o n eating. " T h e y allow us cars in this company," Scudder explained. "And I'm getting m i n e . I'm having it sent d o w n . It's a convertible." A a r o n c o n t i n u e d to eat, staring at his tin tray. " W h a t are you telling m e for?" " W e l l . . . u h . . . w h e n e v e r y o u w a n t t o . . . u h . . . use it, you can. Feel free." A a r o n looked u p a t t h e o t h e r boy. "You o u g h t t o k n o w b e t t e r t h a n t o go l e n d i n g y o u r car to a n y b o d y w h o wants it." " O h , I d o n ' t lend it to just anybody. O n l y special friends." "Scudder, you a n d I are n o t special friends." "We could be." " N o t b l o o d y likely." A a r o n r e s u m e d eating. "You're a slob, Scudder." B r a n c h laughed. "If you ever w a n t to go anyplace," he finished, "feel free." " T h a n k s . N o w will you let me finis.i eating?" "You d o n ' t w a n t me to stay a n d talk to you? I can." A a r o n glared at the o t h e r boy. Branch smiled. "See you, Aaron," he said. T h e n , for no reason at all—-there was only four feet between t h e m — h e waved. Again, t h a t night, A a r o n a c c o m p a n i e d Terry to a m o t e l . A different m o t e l this time, a few miles farther from post. "Caution," Terry explained it. T h i s motel was older t h a n t h e p r e v i o u s one, b u t just as b a d l y kept. As t h e y walked to their cabin A a r o n lit a cigarette. Terry o p e n e d t h e d o o r to t h e cabin. " C o m e on," he said. " I ' m smoking."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 291 "You can s m o k e in here." "I k n o w that." " I ' m waiting, Aaron." " D o you good," Aaron told h i m . He finished his cigarette, g r i n d i n g it out in t h e dust. T h e n he w e n t inside. Later, w h e n they were going back to the car, Terry t o u c h e d h i m . It was dark a n d Terry reached o u t , p u t t i n g a thick h a n d on Aaron's shoulder. Aaron s p u n a r o u n d , t h r o w i n g the h a n d off. " D o n ' t ever do that!" "Do what?" "Lay a h a n d on me in the open." Terry shrugged, looking a r o u n d . T h e motel was quiet. "You see anybody?" "I w o n ' t w a r n you again," A a r o n said. Terry smiled at h i m . "I d o n ' t get you." " T h a t ' s right. A n d you never will." T h e following night, Thursday, as Aaron was washing up in the latrine, getting ready for bed, Branch c a m e in. A a r o n groaned. " W h a t is it this time, Scudder?" " N o t h i n g . I just w a n t e d to ask y o u a question, that's all." " D o I have to answer?" Branch s m o o t h e d his t h i n n i n g hair. " I was j u s t . . . u h . . . w o n d e r i n g i f . . . u h . . . i f you liked movies?" Aaron dried his h a n d s a n d face. "I love movies. I'm a m o v i e n u t . I plan to write s o m e if I ever have t h e time." He slung his towel over his shoulder a n d left the latrine, walking toward his b u n k . Branch followed h i m . " T h e reason I asked was that there's this terrific movie playing in Capital City on Saturday night." " T h e r e is, h u h ? " "Yes. A revival of Bicycle Thief. It's an Italian movie. De Sica directed it." " 1 k n o w w h o directed it." "Have you seen it?" "No." "Let's go, t h e n . Saturday night." "It's fifty miles to Capital City." "I've got a car. R e m e m b e r ? " He was speaking quickly now. "We can just go on in and see it. T h e two of us. I think it'll be fun. Hey. You k n o w what? We can have d i n n e r in Capital City. They've got s o m e good restaurants in there. I've b e e n told that." " I ' m a little low on funds right now, Scudder."

292 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " O h , I'll pay. I'll pay for everything. D i n n e r a n d the movie. Everyt h i n g . It'll be w o r t h it to m e . We can get g o o d a n d a c q u a i n t e d . I ' m looking forward to it already." "You rich?" Branch laughed. " N o t so m u c h rich as spoiled. I'm spoiled. Rosie gives me pretty m u c h whatever I want." "Rosie?" " M y m o t h e r . Rosie, I call her." "Cute," A a r o n said. " H o w a b o u t it? You w a n t to go?" "Will you quit pestering me if I d o ? " "Maybe." A a r o n did n o t hesitate. "Sure, Scudder. As long as you're paying for it, I'll tag along." "Good," Branch said. "You just leave everything to m e . I'll take care of everything. Good." H e t u r n e d a n d h u r r i e d o u t o f the b a r r a c k s . Fifteen m i n u t e s later he was back. "Scudder, old buddy," A a r o n said. " W h a t a pleasant surprise." "I was just thinking," B r a n c h began. "I find that highly doubtful." "It's a long drive back at n i g h t after the movie." "You're right. Let's forget t h e w h o l e thing." " N o , n o . That's n o t w h a t I m e a n t . W h a t I m e a n t was . . . u h . . . t h a t . . . w e l l . . . u h . . . Regency H o u s e i s i n Capital City a n d that's o n e o f t h e best hotels in the whole c o u n t r y . It is. I k n o w that for a fact. They've got gorgeous suites in Regency H o u s e . Big a n d spacious. W i t h a view of t h e river. S o m e of t h e m even have terraces." "So?" " W e could spend t h e night in o n e of those suites. A n d t h e n Sunday we could drive back. Or we could look a r o u n d Capital City a n d t h e n drive back, whichever you wanted." " T h e y ' r e probably all b o o k e d up by this time, Scudder." Branch s h o o k his head. " H o w d o you k n o w ? " Branch laughed. "Because I just m a d e a reservation. N o t two m i n u t e s ago. That's how." W h e n e v e r Aaron t u r n e d t h e next day, Scudder was there. He p o p p e d in while A a r o n was shaving. " D o n ' t forget a b o u t t o m o r r o w , A a r o n . Rem e m b e r now." A n d again at breakfast. "We're going to have fun, Aaron. You'll see." A n d he was there at l u n c h a n d at supper. "I can hardly wait for

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 293 that m o v i e to start. Can y o u ? " A n d w h e n Aaron c a m e back late at night after having been with Terry, S c u d d e r was sitting on his b u n k , waiting. "Saturday can't c o m e s o o n e n o u g h for m e . Twelve o'clock t o m o r r o w we take off. That's j u s t — " a n d he consulted his watch—"just t h i r t e e n h o u r s from now." A n d t h e n Saturday c a m e . A a r o n worked in t h e m o r n i n g , typing. At n o o n he left t h e orderly r o o m a n d walked slowly t h r o u g h t h e heat to his barracks. G o i n g inside, he sat d o w n on his b u n k , u n b u t t o n i n g his shirt, slowly starting to m a k e the c h a n g e into civilian clothes. He was almost finished w h e n Scudder c a m e in. Scudder was w e a r i n g d a r k p a n t s , a blue seersucker jacket; he seemed less flabby t h a n usual. A a r o n n o d d e d to h i m . "Let's go, let's go," Branch said. " G o d , you're a slowpoke. I've got my pass already. Sergeant Terry just gave it to m e . Have you got y o u r s yet?" " N o . N o t yet." "Shall I go get it for you? It'll save us s o m e time." "I'll get it myself." "O.K. But h u r r y up." " I ' m ready." "Well, let's go to t h e orderly r o o m for y o u r pass." "Where's y o u r car?" " I n the p a r k i n g lot." " G o there. Take this." A a r o n h a n d e d h i m his overnight b a g . "I'll meet you." T h e y left the barracks, s t o p p i n g for a m o m e n t in t h e heat. "I can go to t h e orderly r o o m with you. It's no trouble." " N o , " Aaron said. "I'll m e e t you at t h e car." "Well..." " G o on!" Aaron watched as Scudder m o v e d away. He t o o k a deep b r e a t h . T h e n he started slowly toward the orderly r o o m , aware of t h e p o u n d i n g of his heart. As he d r e w near he saw t w o trainees standing inside, so he stopped. He lit a cigarette. T h e trainees were talking to Terry. A a r o n waited. T h e sun was very w a r m a n d he was perspiring heavily. He w i p e d his forehead. Finally t h e o t h e r trainees left t h e orderly r o o m . A a r o n flicked his cigarette away. Taking a deep breath, he walked inside. "Well, well, well," Sergeant Terry said. "All dressed up." He was seated at his desk, the box of passes in front of h i m . " I ' d like my pass, please, Sergeant Terry." " G o i n g someplace, Firestone?"

294 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h a t ' s right." It was h o t in t h e r o o m . A a r o n dried t h e p a l m s of his h a n d s on his trouser legs. " W h e r e , m a y I ask? It's my business to know. After all, I'm first sergeant." "Capital City." " T h a t s o u n d s like fun." Aaron nodded. "A little rest a n d relaxation, Firestone? T h a t w h a t you're after?" " I ' d like my pass, please." "Certainly," Terry said. "Right away." He r u m m a g e d t h r o u g h t h e b o x for a while. T h e n he looked u p , s h a k i n g his head. " I ' m sorry, Firestone. I can't seem to find your pass here." "Give it to me." Terry smiled. "I just told you. You haven't got o n e . I ' m afraid you're n o t going anyplace just now." " I ' m waiting." "Glad to have the company." "Game's over," Aaron said. "Let's have it." Terry stood. "Aaron," he began. "You'd better give me my pass, Sergeant Terry." "Aaron, listen—" " I m e a n that." Terry walked over close to h i m , his r o u g h voice low. "I h a d plans for tonight." " C h a n g e them." "We've been together every evening." " N o t anymore." "Why not?" "Because I said so." T h e a p e face began clouding. " W h o is it?" " W h o is w h a t ? " "You're going to Capital City w i t h somebody. W h o ? " "Scudder." " S c u d d e r ? " Terry forced a laugh. " T h a t fat-ass?" "Correct." "Why? W h y Scudder? W h a t ' s Scudder's attraction?" "Money," Aaron answered. "As simple as that." Terry's voice was loud again. "You a prostitute all of a s u d d e n ? " " T h a t ' s the word." Terry was a b o u t to speak w h e n s u d d e n l y he smiled, t u r n i n g back

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 295 t o w a r d his desk. T h r e e recruits walked into t h e orderly r o o m . "Gentlemen," Terry said. "We'd like o u r passes," o n e of t h e m said. " O f course you would." A a r o n m o v e d to a corner of t h e r o o m , waiting. " N o w you'll have to sign out," Terry went on. "First a n d last n a m e s b o t h . You all k n o w y o u r first a n d last n a m e s ? " O n e of t h e t h r e e laughed. Terry gave t h e m their passes, w a t c h i n g as they signed their n a m e s in t h e register. T h e three recruits left t h e orderly r o o m . Terry stared after t h e m until t h e y were gone. T h e n h e t u r n e d , walking u p t o A a r o n . "We were speaking of prostitutes," Sergeant Terry said. " I ' m sick of cockroaches. You m a y love t h e m b u t I d o n ' t . I'm sick of cheap motels. I'm sick of sneaking a r o u n d at night like a freak fresh from a sideshow. A n d , if you w a n t to k n o w t h e t r u t h , m o s t of all, I'm sick of you." Terry hit h i m . It w a s n o t a h a r d blow. A a r o n m a n a g e d to t u r n his h e a d in t i m e so that t h e thick fist only b r u s h e d his face. But it was e n o u g h to split the skin. Aaron's lip began bleeding. He j a m m e d his t o n g u e i n t o t h e cut, tasting b l o o d . " T h a t was a mistake, Sergeant Terry. You just miscalculated." "Aaron..." T h e heat in t h e r o o m was oppressive. Sweat s t r e a m e d d o w n Aaron's face as he fought to keep his voice u n d e r control. "If you ever so m u c h as c o m e near me again—ever!—you're t h r o u g h . I m e a n it, Ape. I swear to G o d I'll r e p o r t you. I'll go r u n n i n g up to t h e d o c t o r s a n d I'll cry like a baby a n d I'll tell t h e m w h a t y o u are. I'll tell t h e m e v e r y t h i n g a n d you k n o w w h a t that means? T h e y d o n ' t like faggots in t h e Army, Ape. They'll discharge us b o t h dishonorably. Well, I d o n ' t give a shit. But y o u d o . You'd b e lost w i t h o u t the A r m y t o m o t h e r you. W e b o t h k n o w t h a t . Right, Sergeant Terry? Right, Phil?" Terry said n o t h i n g . Aaron's voice was rising, o u t of control. " I ' m going to hit you back, Phil. Now. A n d you're going to let m e . You've got no choice. Apes have no choice in this world. N o n e . A n d you're an ape." A a r o n s w u n g his o p e n h a n d at Terry's face, slapping his m o u t h . "Ape," a n d he s w u n g again, b a c k h a n d e d , catching t h e m o u t h a second time. "Ape, age," A a r o n cried, w h i p p i n g his h a n d back a n d forth, lashing the other m a n ' s m o u t h . Terry stood still. " N o w we can b o t h taste blood," Aaron said. "Like it?" He s w u n g again, t h e n d r o p p e d his a r m . " N o w give me my pass." Terry did n o t move.

296 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN A a r o n crossed to t h e box, g r a b b e d his pass a n d signed t h e register. He m o v e d to t h e doorway. " T h a n k s for the pass, Sergeant Terry. Have a good w e e k e n d yourself, now." Terry stared at h i m , frozen. A a r o n o p e n e d the d o o r , smiling. "I have an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. I s h o u l d have told y o u that." A a r o n s l a m m e d t h e door. He t o o k a few steps in t h e s u n s h i n e before he realized he was on the verge of fainting. He tried closing his eyes, b u t t h a t was worse. C u r s i n g a l o u d , he forced his b o d y forward t h r o u g h t h e heat t o w a r d t h e p a r k ing lot. Branch was waiting in t h e convertible. A a r o n o p e n e d the d o o r a n d sat d o w n heavily, leaning back, staring at t h e sky. Branch looked at h i m . "Your lip is bleeding." "Family trait." "What?" " S o m e people get b l o o d y noses. We Firestones get b l o o d y lips." B r a n c h was a b o u t to speak again w h e n A a r o n cut h i m off. "Drive!" Branch drove. T h e suite was lovely. As A a r o n followed the bellboy into the e n o r m o u s front r o o m , h e smiled. T h e bellboy p u t their overnight bags d o w n a n d n o d d e d . Branch t i p p e d h i m . T h e bellboy m u t t e r e d t h a n k s a n d closed t h e door. Aaron m o v e d to t h e large picture w i n d o w s a n d looked o u t at t h e river b e y o n d . Turning, he walked t h r o u g h the b a t h to t h e adjoining b e d r o o m . It, too, h a d a view of t h e river. "Very fine," A a r o n said, c o m i n g back into the front r o o m . "Very fine." "I told you, didn't I?" "Yes, Scudder. You told m e . W h i c h r o o m do you w a n t ? " "Well... uh ..." "Take this r o o m . It's bigger." " N o . You take it." "You're paying, Scudder. Get a little value for y o u r money." " W o u l d . . . u h . . . you like a drink? I've got s o m e Scotch i n m y o v e r n i g h t bag." "Isn't it a little early?" " N o t for Scotch. Never for Scotch." " I ' m going to shower first," A a r o n said. "Maybe later." He picked up his b a g a n d walked into t h e b a t h r o o m . Undressing, h e t u r n e d o n t h e s h o w e r a n d quietly locked t h e door. T h e water beat against t h e tiles.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 297 A a r o n waited. Finally t h e d o o r k n o b b e g a n t o t u r n slowly. A a r o n watched. T h e d o o r was being p u s h e d n o w . T h e lock held. Quietly t h e d o o r k n o b slid back to its original position. Laughing o u t loud, A a r o n let t h e water cleanse h i m . W h e n he was d o n e , he d r i e d himself off a n d went to his b e d r o o m . Pulling a sheet from the cool b e d , he w r a p p e d it a r o u n d himself carefully. T h e n h e e x a m i n e d himself i n t h e m i r r o r . C h i n high, b o d y straight, h e looked, h e t h o u g h t , very m u c h t h e R o m a n emperor. U n l o c k i n g t h e b a t h r o o m door, h e entered t h e front r o o m . "Hey," Branch said. " W h a t are you d o i n g ? " A a r o n m o d e l e d the sheet. " T h e very latest thing." Branch laughed. " H o w a b o u t a d r i n k n o w ? " "You going to have o n e ? " "Yes. Of course." "All right, then." Branch got two glasses a n d filled t h e m with Scotch. He h a n d e d o n e to Aaron. "Here's to lots of fun in Capital City." A a r o n sat in a chair by t h e w i n d o w . Branch lay half sprawled on t h e bed across t h e r o o m , his h e a d p r o p p e d on an elbow. A a r o n t o o k a m o u t h f u l of Scotch, r u n n i n g it over his t o n g u e . It stung s h a r p l y at his cut lip, so he swallowed it quickly. "Like it?" Branch asked. "It's O l d Smuggler. That's my favorite kind." "Mellow," A a r o n answered. " N i c e a n d mellow." " D o e s y o u r lip h u r t ? " A a r o n shrugged. " H o w d i d you cut it? Really?" "Sergeant Terry hit me in t h e face." Branch laughed for a while, his b o d y quivering. "All right," he said finally. "If you d o n ' t w a n t to tell m e , d o n ' t tell m e . C o m e o n . D r i n k u p . Let's toast something." "Let's not." Aaron t o o k a n o t h e r long swallow of Scotch. " T h i s sure beats X C o m p a n y all hollow," Branch said, gesturing around the room. "All hollow," Aaron agreed. "You've got s o m e t h i n g w r o n g with y o u r legs, d o n ' t y o u ? " " T h a t ' s right. S o m e t h i n g w r o n g w i t h m y legs. W h a t ' s y o u r p r o b l e m ? " "Will you p r o m i s e n o t to tell?" "No." "I w o n ' t tell you unless y o u promise."

298 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN A a r o n sighed. "You have my w o r d , Scudder." " N o t h i n g , " Branch w h i s p e r e d . " N o t h i n g ' s w r o n g with m e . I got in by pull." "Rosie arrange it for y o u ? " " H o w ' d you k n o w ? " "Two a n d two, Scudder." "Anyway, you won't tell. You promised." A a r o n d r a n k his Scotch. " T h i s sure is a big r o o m . I almost feel like I have to s h o u t so you'll hear me." "Well, restrain yourself." "You're funny." "Hilarious," Aaron agreed. "You are." Aaron glanced o u t the w i n d o w . " T h a t Scotch getting t o y o u ? " "I feel a distant buzz." "Excuse me," Branch said, a n d he got off the bed, m o v i n g to t h e b a t h r o o m . F r o m his position in t h e chair Aaron could see h i m . Branch half closed the b a t h r o o m d o o r b u t A a r o n could see h i m as he p o u r e d his d r i n k d o w n the toilet. A a r o n r e t u r n e d his gaze to t h e w i n d o w . A m o m e n t later the toilet flushed a n d B r a n c h was back. Lying on t h e bed, he b r o u g h t t h e e m p t y glass to his lips, licking t h e edge with his t o n g u e . " W h a t river is that o u t t h e r e ? " A a r o n asked. "I d o n ' t know. S o m e river." "It's picturesque as hell." Branch got off t h e bed a n d c a m e close to Aaron's chair, staring out at t h e water. "It is at that," he said. "Yes, indeed." Again he licked at the edge of his glass. " I ' m ready for a little refill, Aaron. H o w a b o u t y o u ? " A a r o n finished his d r i n k . "Love it." Branch filled the glasses w i t h m o r e Scotch. T h e n he h a n d e d one to A a r o n a n d sprawled d o w n on t h e b e d again, his h e a d p r o p p e d on an elbow. A a r o n looked at h i m . Branch began to fidget. "It's sure nice this suite is air-conditioned. I m a g i n e h o w h o t it w o u l d be otherwise." Aaron said n o t h i n g . " W h a t are you looking at me like that for?" A a r o n did n o t reply.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 299 Branch was fidgeting b a d l y now, his fingers fluttering on t h e bedspread. " W h a t is it, Aaron? W h a t ' s t h e m a t t e r ? " "Lecher," Aaron said. "Huh?" Aaron laughed o u t loud. " W h a t ' s so funny?" "You filthy lecher. Trying to get me d r u n k . You o u g h t to be ashamed." " W h a t are you talking a b o u t ? " "I saw!" "Saw w h a t ? " "Will you quit with the i n n o c e n t act? I saw you. T h r o u g h t h e b a t h r o o m door, Scudder. You s h o u l d have closed the d o o r all t h e way. Fool. Didn't you t h i n k I could see? W h y didn't you close t h e door? W h y didn't—" T h e answer m a d e h i m s h u d d e r . "Jesus," Aaron whispered. " D o n ' t say any m o r e , A a r o n . Be careful now." "You w a n t e d me to see," A a r o n whispered. "You w a n t e d it." "No." "Yes! You w a n t e d me to catch you." "I didn't. I didn't." "So I'd p u n i s h you for b e i n g such a bad boy." " T h a t isn't true." "You love p u n i s h m e n t , d o n ' t you, S c u d d e r ? " Branch sat up on t h e bed. " N o . " " O h , it's so obvious, Scudder. It's written all over you. A d m i t it. You love being punished." Branch stood. "Sit back d o w n ! " Branch sat back d o w n . Aaron smiled. Slowly he d r e w t h e white sheet tightly a r o u n d h i m . " D o you k n o w the p o e m , Scudder, a b o u t the sadistic m a n ? A sadistic m a n h a d a masochistic wife a n d he beat her every day a n d they led a h a p p y life.' Do you think we could have a h a p p y life, S c u d d e r ? " Branch t o o k a long d r i n k of Scotch. T h e n another. A a r o n r a n his h a n d s across his chest. Sunlight s t r e a m e d in t h r o u g h the window, b u t t h e r o o m was cool. Aaron smiled again. "You desire m e , don't you, Scudder? D o n ' t you, y o u fat fairy, you swish, you queer? D o n ' t you?"

300 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Branch d r a i n e d his glass. "Don't you?" Branch spoke. It was barely a whisper. "Yes." "Desperately?" "Yes." " M o r e t h a n you ever w a n t e d a n y t h i n g ever before?" "Yes. Yes." A a r o n stood, his chin held high, his b o d y straight. "All right t h e n , Scudder. You can have me." Branch started to get u p . " B u t it's going to cost you." "I d o n ' t care what it costs. I don't." "And n o t just money, Scudder." " I d o n ' t care." He started t o w a r d Aaron. "Stop." "But—" "Stop!" Branch stopped. " N o w . O n y o u r knees." "Aaron..." " O n y o u r knees, Scudder." Branch knelt. "All t h e way d o w n . I w a n t y o u r h e a d t o u c h i n g t h e rug. Bow. To m e . Bow!" Branch bowed. Like an emperor, A a r o n walked a r o u n d h i m , studying t h e h u d d l e d figure. "You like being p u n i s h e d , d o n ' t you, Scudder?" "Yes." "You will be p u n i s h e d . Rest assured." Aaron lifted his left foot, b r i n g ing it d o w n , his heel on Branch's neck. "You're h u r t i n g me." "You love it. Shut up." He h e l d o u t his right h a n d , fist clenched, t h u m b extended. "Well," he s h o u t e d . " W h a t shall it be? T h u m b s up or thumbs down?" "Aaron..." A a r o n pressed d o w n h a r d e r w i t h his heel. " O h God," he said, a n d his b o d y s h o o k with anticipation. " T h e things I'm going to do to you."

Part III XI As s o o n as she saw M a n h a t t a n , Jenny k n e w she h a d m a d e a mistake. She sat very still, staring o u t , as t h e b u s roared t o w a r d t h e a p p r o a c h ing city. Oh dear, Jenny t h o u g h t , w h a t am I going to do? I still get lost in Duluth. W h a t ' s going to h a p p e n to me here? For a m o m e n t she i m a g i n e d the headline, "Girl Dies Trying to F i n d Radio City Music Hall." Jenny looked away. You stop this now, she told herself. I'm n o t kidding either. Millions of people find their way a r o u n d , you can find your way a r o u n d , right? Right! That's better. See you don't p a n i c again, right? Right. Promise? Promise. O.K., l o o k at it. It's n o t so big. Just look. Jenny looked. Oh dear, she t h o u g h t , it's growing. "I just love New York." Jenny t u r n e d to t h e t h i n lady next to her. "Auh?" "Yes, it's a wonderful place. I love to travel b u t N e w York's my favorite. S o m e cities, they m a k e it so h a r d for you. But here it's just so easy to get w h e r e you're going." It is? " O h , yes. T h e crosstown streets, they're n o t h i n g . T h e y just go u p , o n e n u m b e r at a time." " F a n c y that," Jenny said. "You m e a n fifteenth is b e t w e e n f o u r t e e n t h and sixteenth?" "Yes. A n d the up a n d d o w n s are simple too. First, Second, Third, Luke, Paul, Matthew, Five. That's t h e East Side, and—-" " Luke, Paul, M a t t h e w ? " Jenny said. "Lexington, Park, M a d i s o n . Luke, Paul, M a t t h e w — t h a t s w h a t I call a m e m o r y help. I get m o s t of my m e m o r y helps from t h e Bible. Do you read t h e Bible?" "Yes, I do." Y

"Well, t h e n , you'll never get lost in New York."

301

302 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " F a n c y that," Jenny said, a n d she t u r n e d back to t h e w i n d o w , whisp e r i n g Luke, Paul, Matthew, Luke, Paul, M a t t h e w over a n d over while she stared o u t at t h e tiny t o w n . I'll never m a k e it, Jenny t h o u g h t as she saw t h e m u n l o a d i n g h e r two e n o r m o u s suitcases. Her a r m s were already practically full, w h a t with her p o c k e t b o o k a n d her magazines a n d camera a n d two street m a p s of the isl a n d of M a n h a t t a n plus four tourist guides (three hard-cover, o n e p a p e r b a c k ) , so h o w was she ever going to m a n a g e her suitcases? H e r m o t h e r h a d urged h e r n o t to take e v e r y t h i n g a n d even her father h a d suggested that she m i g h t leave a few o d d s a n d ends a r o u n d t h e h o u s e . But she h a d resisted their suggestions, n o t because she was s t u b b o r n b u t rather b e cause she k n e w she was, at h e a r t , a coward, a n d it seemed wise to b r i n g it all: if t h e r e was n o t h i n g to r u n b a c k to, there would be less c h a n c e of r u n n i n g back. But as she stood b e t w e e n the great bulky bags, Jenny d o u b t e d h e r decision: after all, eleven stuffed animals was a lot of stuffed animals. Jenny sighed. I'll just have to get o n e of t h o s e redcaps, she t h o u g h t . That's just w h a t I'll d o , b u t I w o n d e r h o w m u c h you have to pay them? " R e d c a p ? " she whispered. "Redcap?" A n d she o p e n e d h e r purse a n d w h e n she d i d she was glad she h a d whispered because all she had was a h u n d r e d dollars in travelers' checks a n d a twenty-dollar bill a n d three p e n n i e s . "Whew," Jenny said. T h a t was a close o n e . I'll have to get change. She looked a r o u n d for a place, b u t t h e n she gasped because o u t of t h e c o r n e r of h e r eye she saw a titanic Negro r e d c a p b e a r i n g d o w n on h e r a n d he h a d a big scar on his left cheek a n d if he t o o k her bags a n d she tried to give h i m the twenty-dollar bill he w o u l d t h i n k she was either a cheapskate p h o n y or a girl w h o hated Negroes a n d t h e n h e w o u l d whip o u t his razor a n d she saw t h e headline that said " R e d c a p Slays Racist Girl Visitor" a n d he was right up on t o p of her n o w a n d Jenny was a b o u t to say " B u t I like N e groes" w h e n suddenly a b l o n d m a n c a m e up from b e h i n d h e r a n d said " N e e d a h a n d ? " a n d whisked h e r two suitcases up a n d started walking for t h e m a i n entrance. "But," Jenny said, tagging along after h i m , "but," b u t by the t i m e she h a d actually caught u p t o h i m t h e y were o n the sidewalk a n d h e h a d p u t t h e bags d o w n and said "You'll p r o b a b l y have trouble getting a taxi" a n d t h e n he was gone, a n d she could only s h o u t " T h a n k you, t h a n k you very m u c h " after h i m . " H o p in." Jenny looked at the m a n in t h e car. "Are you a taxi?" she said finally.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 303 "Am I a taxi. Am I a taxi?" T h e m a n s h o o k his head. "You w o u l d n ' t be, by any chance, n e w to N e w York?" O h , w o u l d n ' t you like to k n o w , Jenny t h o u g h t . Well, y o u d o n ' t fool m e . I've h e a r d a b o u t you taxi drivers. H o w you drive people h u n d r e d s of miles o u t of t h e way a n d take all their m o n e y a n d like that. " N e w ? " she said. " O h , n o . I'm a veteran traveler. I h a p p e n to have b e e n h e r e thirtyfive times." She o p e n e d her p u r s e a n d t o o k o u t a piece of paper. " N o w , I w a n t to go to t h e Dixon Hotel. That's in M a n h a t t a n . On West Forty-fifth Street. O n e h u n d r e d a n d sixty-four West Forty-fifth Street. D o y o u k n o w where t h a t is?" "Well, now, l e m m e see," t h e driver said. " T h a t ' s a t o u g h i e . It's in M a n h a t t a n , y o u say. O n e sixty-four West Forty-fifth. You d o n ' t h a p p e n to know, is it on t h e u p t o w n or d o w n t o w n side of the street?" Jenny consulted her paper. " T h e d o w n t o w n side." " T h e n I t h i n k I can find it." He waited while she shoved h e r bags in the b a c k a n d w h e n that was d o n e he said "Dixon Hotel, I'm really nervous," a n d t h e n he started to drive. " O h , by t h e way," Jenny said from t h e back seat. "If y o u get a chance, you m i g h t go t h r o u g h the theater district." " T h e Dixon's in the theater district." " O f course it is. I was just testing you." " F r a n k l i n Truman." "Pardon?" " T h a t ' s my n a m e , Franklin T r u m a n . " He jabbed a finger at his h a c k license. "See? Franklin T r u m a n . Easy to r e m e m b e r . So w h e n I do to ya whatever it is you t h i n k I'm g o n n a do to ya, you won't have no t r o u b l e telling t h e cops." " W h a t are you going t o d o t o m e ? " "Little girl, listen—" "I am n o t a little girl." "All right, big girl. Listen, big girl. I'm seventy years old, w i t h eight g r a n d c h i l d r e n a n d a thyroid c o n d i t i o n , is it likely I'm g o n n a r o b you blind?" " I never s a i d — " "You got me so nervous up h e r e I ' m quivering. Forty-eight years I'm hacking I never m e t a n y b o d y so suspicious as you. I r o d e Du"tch Schultz the week before they shot h i m a n d he wasn't nearly as suspicious as you a n d he h a d reason to be. N o w I'll get y o u to t h e Dixon, b u t have a h e a r t . I got feelings, lady. I never stole a n y t h i n g in my life. I got pride."

3 0 4 • W I L L I A M GOLDMAN " O h dear, I didn't m e a n — " " M y d a u g h t e r I p u t t h r o u g h Bryn M a w r college, my s o n t h r o u g h Massachusetts Tech; I'm p r o u d of that. I never once yet cheated on my wife; I'm p r o u d of that. I ain't a b u g , lady; quit m a k i n g me feel like one." Jenny bit h e r t o n g u e a n d stared o u t at the traffic. " I ' m sorry, Mr. Trum a n , " she said. "Franklin." " I ' m sorry, Franklin." "What's your name?" "Jenny." "Jenny?" "Yes." " T h a t ' s a nice name." " D o you t h i n k so?" She leaned forward in h e r seat. " C a n I tell you something?" " O f course." "It's n o t that I'm s u s p i c i o u s — n o , I guess I am s u s p i c i o u s — b u t anyways, t h e reason that I'm particularly suspicious today is, w e l l . . . " " G o o n , go on." Jenny p u t her head up next to his. " I n all my life," she w h i s p e r e d , "I've never been m o r e t h a n t h i r t y - t w o miles away from h o m e before a n d I'm absolutely fantastically nervous." "You m e a n this is y o u r first t r i p to N e w York?" "Yes. My very one." "You could a fooled me." "I was trying to. I t h i n k it's terribly i m p o r t a n t t h a t p e o p l e t h i n k I'm a native, d o n ' t y o u ? " "Definitely." "It's no good being a stranger. Why, I've heard stories a b o u t things that h a p p e n e d t o strangers i n D u l u t h that w o u l d m a k e y o u r hair stand right u p o n end." "I believe it." "It's t h e t r u t h . O h , t h e stories I could tell." " W h y are we w h i s p e r i n g ? " " T h a t ' s a habit I have; it p r e v e n t s eavesdropping." " U n d e r s t a n d m e , I got n o t h i n g against t h e practice. It's just we're all a l o n e in t h e cab." "You're probably right," Jenny said, a n d she sat back against t h e cushions. " D o you k n o w what, Franklin? You have a very sweet face. I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d h o w I could ever have mistrusted you with a face like that."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 305 " H a p p e n s , " he said a n d he t u r n e d a corner. "Stop!" "What-what?" " L o o k . At that theater." Jenny p o i n t e d to t h e left. " T h a t ' s Stagpole's play. See? The Left Hand Knows." "So?" "Well, he's practically my favorite writer. He's w o n t h e Pulitzer Prize. Two times. For a novel a n d a play. He's the only o n e w h o ever d i d t h a t except for Mr. Wilder. A n d / k n o w h i m . Well, I've never m e t h i m , of course, b u t my boyfriend—I guess you'd call h i m my boyfriend; we grew up t o gether, of course he's my b o y f r i e n d — a n d his father, he r u n s t h e l o d g e — he's very rich, he doesn't have to r u n t h e lodge, he just does, ever since he had this h e a r t a t t a c k — a n d he a n d Stagpole b o t h c a m e from Illinois, the d o w n s t a t e p a r t to begin with, a n d whenever they see each other, why, it's just as friendly as can b e , a n d T o m m y — t h a t ' s my boyfriend—well, I think it's pretty impressive w i n n i n g two Pulitzer Prizes, d o n ' t you, o n e for a novel a n d o n e for a play?" "Your boy friend w o n t h e Pulitzer Prize? That's marvelous." " N o , " Jenny said. "I d i d n ' t tell it right. But it's very exciting all t h e same, d o n ' t you think so, F r a n k l i n ? " " I ' m thrilled, a n d I d o n ' t even k n o w w h a t you're talking about." " N e w York is certainly a wonderful place," Jenny said. " D o you k n o w a nice hotel I could stay at?" "A nice hotel? What's w r o n g with t h e Dixon? Haven't y o u got a reservation?" " O h , I made o n e b u t t h e y p r o b a b l y forgot all a b o u t it. I m e a n , things like that h a p p e n to me all t h e t i m e . I lead a very perilous life. Why, d i d you k n o w that w h e n I g r a d u a t e d high school they forgot to give me a diploma? T h e y just skipped right by me in the alphabetical order. T h e principal, he was absolutely mortified, b u t I expected it to h a p p e n . I just sat t h e r e while he was calling t h e roll a n d I t h o u g h t , Betcha you forget my n a m e , Mr. Lund, what d o you w a n n a b e t ? " " T h a t ' s terrible." "You should have seen w h a t h a p p e n e d w h e n I went to secretarial school. In D u l u t h . I was there for three m o n t h s before a n y b o d y — " " I h a p p e n to be very well c o n n e c t e d at the Dixon," a n d he j u m p e d t h e car ahead. " N o w just relax a n d leave it all to me." He c u t in a n d o u t of traffic, g u n n i n g the car, m a k i n g a light at t h e last possible m o m e n t , finally Pulling up in front of t h e Dixon Hotel. T h e Dixon d o o r m a n o p e n e d t h e taxi door. Mr. T r u m a n s h o o k his

306 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN head. T h e d o o r m a n looked at h i m . Mr. T r u m a n b e c k o n e d o n c e with the index finger of his right h a n d . T h e d o o r m a n shut t h e taxi d o o r and walked a r o u n d the car until he stood outside the driver's w i n d o w . "Franklin," the d o o r m a n said o u t of the side of his m o u t h . "Mort," Mr. T r u m a n a n s w e r e d o u t of the side of his m o u t h . " S o m e t h i n g ? " M o r t said softly. " W a n t c h a to take care of this girl." "Consider it d o n e . W h a t ' s h e r n a m e ? " " W h a t ' s y o u r n a m e , Jenny?" "Devers," Jenny said. "Devers," Mr. T r u m a n said o u t of t h e side of his m o u t h . "Devers," M o r t said, n o d d i n g . "Check that her reservation's straight," Mr. T r u m a n said. "Consider it done," M o r t said, and he h u r r i e d into t h e hotel. " T h i s is really very nice of you, Franklin," Jenny said. " B u t I never meant—" "It's n o trouble. H e owes m e money." "Oh," Jenny said. "Well, I h o p e he pays you." He t u r n e d a r o u n d a n d looked at her. "You're a p r e t t y girl, you k n o w that?" " N o , I'm not pretty." He looked at her again. "Well, just the same, you got qualities." " I ' m very nice," Jenny said. "At least I try to be." " W h y ' r e you here?" " O h , because my boyfriend's in t o w n visiting. Well, he's s u p p o s e d to be in t o w n visiting. He's p r o b a b l y g o n e away unexpectedly, b u t I t h o u g h t since he was here that I o u g h t to c o m e then because it w o u l d give me s o m e b o d y to talk to. I think that's very important, don't you, to have someb o d y t o — o h , here comes M o r t o n . " T h e d o o r m a n h u r r i e d o u t of t h e hotel a n d a r o u n d t h e taxi to the driver's window. "Seems there's been a slight screw-up," he said o u t of t h e side of his m o u t h . " T h a t ' s certainly no surprise to me," Jenny said. " H o w slight?" "Well," the d o o r m a n said. " W h y are you b o t h talking o u t of the sides of y o u r m o u t h ? " Jenny said. "It seems they goofed on h e r reservation," the d o o r m a n w e n t o n . "Didja fix it O.K.?" Mr. T r u m a n asked. " D e p e n d s on h o w long she's staying. H o w long is she staying?"

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 307 " H o w long are you staying, Jenny?" "Just until I find someplace. Just a couple of days." "A couple of days," Mr. T r u m a n said. " I n that case," the d o o r m a n said, "she can have it." "Have what?" Jenny asked. T h e d o o r m a n walked a r o u n d t h e car, o p e n e d t h e d o o r a n d started struggling with her luggage. " T h e H e r b e r t Hoover suite," he said. I'm in the H e r b e r t H o o v e r suite, Jenny t h o u g h t as t h e bellboy closed the door. Just fancy that. She scurried from the living r o o m into the b e d r o o m , back into the living r o o m , into the closets, o u t , b a c k to the b e d r o o m , w h e r e she picked up t h e p h o n e . " T h i s is Miss Jenny Devers a n d I'm in the H e r b e r t Hoover suite a n d I w o n d e r e d could I talk to t h e A l g o n q u i n Hotel, please." She lay back carefully on the bed a n d w h e n the Algonq u i n answered she said, "Hello, my n a m e is Jenny Devers a n d I'm sorry to bother you b u t I would like to talk, please, to a Mr. T o m m y Alden except that I t h i n k he's probably n o t there a n y m o r e , having left t o w n unexpectedly, so could you tell m e , please, d i d he say where he m i g h t be g o i n g ? " "Mr. Alden's in r o o m 802." " O h . T h a n k you. Well, c o u l d I talk to h i m , please, if his line isn't busy?" A n d t h e n a m o m e n t later she heard T o m m y ' s voice. " T o m m y ? " she said. "Hello? Who's this?" " T o m m y ? It's me." "Moose?" Jenny giggled. "Moose? W h e r e the hell are y o u ? " " I ' m in the H e r b e r t H o o v e r suite." " T h e where?" Jenny giggled again. "Listen, Bronko, you're wasting y o u r money. Speak up." "It only costs a dime." "You're in New York?" "Isn't that just the m o s t incredible thing?" " W h a t are you d o i n g h e r e ? " "You k n o w very well w h a t I'm d o i n g here." " O m i g o d , you're going to be an actress." "I just got off the bus." "Have you still got y o u r r e t u r n ticket?" "I d i d n ' t b u y one, smartie."

"

308 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Omigod." "And stop saying that. Or I w o n ' t let you see m e . Do you w a n t to see m e ? " " W h a t d o you t h i n k ? " " I ' m at t h e H e r b e r t H o o v e r suite at t h e Dixon Hotel in M a n h a t t a n on West Forty-fifth—" "I can find it. I'll be right over." "Wait fifteen minutes." " W h a t for?" " W h a t for?" Jenny said. " W h a t for? I'm in a suite. I ' m a lady. A lady n e e d s t i m e to prepare." After she h u n g up Jenny t h r e w off her clothes a n d d a s h e d into t h e shower a n d t h e n dried herself a n d u n p a c k e d a little until she c a m e to her newest spring dress, the pale-yellow o n e she h a d m a d e just before leaving C h e r o k e e , Wisconsin, a n d she p u t it on a n d h a d just finished c o m b i n g h e r hair w h e n there was a l o u d k n o c k on the door. "Yes? W h o is it?" "It's m e , Moose, w h o d o you t h i n k ? " Jenny went to t h e d o o r a n d o p e n e d it. "Miss Devers will see you now," she said. "Hello, Miss Devers," T o m m y said, closing t h e door. He wore a blue cord suit a n d cordovan loafers a n d a white b u t t o n - d o w n shirt a n d a narrow, regimental striped tie. Jenny n o d d e d to h i m . "Hello." He was a senior at Williams College, b u t she h a d n o t seen h i m since t h e s u m m e r of his j u n i o r year, almost ten m o n t h s before, because he h a d g o n e s o u t h for C h r i s t m a s , to B e r m u d a or Jamaica (she could never keep t h e m straight), a n d t h o u g h she w e p t w h e n he w r o t e her he was going, a n d t h o u g h she swore to e n d their c o r r e s p o n d e n c e t h e n a n d there, she (frantically) changed her m i n d t h a t s a m e night a n d w r o t e h i m as if n o t h i n g at all h a d h a p p e n e d , in spite of t h e fact that she was desperately afraid of his m e e t i n g s o m e horrible beautiful college girl a n d falling in love w i t h h e r because it was so r o m a n t i c d o w n there, in B e r m u d a or Jamaica, whichever it was. "Hey, you look good, Jenny." "You look beautiful." "C'mere?" "I t h o u g h t you'd never ask," she answered, a n d she r a n i n t o his a r m s . T h e y kissed a n d t h e n he g r a b b e d her as tightly as he could a n d hoisted h e r into the air. " G o d , you're a tank." " O h , you hush," a n d she m a d e h i m p u t her d o w n s o she could kiss h i m again.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 309 "I love you, do you k n o w t h a t ? " "Well, you should." "Get her." He fingered her pale-yellow dress. " N e w t e n t ? " "It is not a tent." T o m m y kissed her. "Well, shall we?" W i t h o u t a word, Jenny walked h i m to the full-length m i r r o r a n d they took off their shoes and stood, ritually, back to back, eying t h e results in the m i r r o r . " I ' m still taller," T o m m y said. " G o t you by over an inch." " T h a n k heavens," Jenny said, a n d they p u t their shoes b a c k on. " W o u l d you like to see t h e H e r b e r t H o o v e r suite?" He followed her into t h e next r o o m . " T h e hotel's a d u m p b u t this room's O.K. H o w ' d you get it?" "It's all in w h o you know," Jenny answered. " H o w was Jamaica?" " W h a t did you say?" " Nothing," Jenny m u m b l e d , a n d she flicked a speck of d u s t from the b u r e a u top. "I just w o n d e r e d h o w Jamaica was." "It was B e r m u d a a n d it was four m o n t h s ago, so w h y are y o u asking a b o u t it n o w ? " "Just m a k i n g conversation." A b r u p t l y he t u r n e d away. " D a m m i t . " " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r ? " "Just dammit," T o m m y said, a n d he led her back to t h e living r o o m . "I didn't w a n t to get into this. N o t right away. W h a t did you have to ask for?" "I d o n ' t understand." "Sit d o w n , huh? Please." Jenny sat on the sofa. T o m m y sat in a chair across from her. "It h a p pened," he said. "What did?" " W h a t you were w o r r i e d a b o u t that m a d e you ask a b o u t B e r m u d a . W h a t you're afraid h a p p e n e d . Well, you're right." Jenny said n o t h i n g . "I was g o n n a h o l d off telling you until this s u m m e r . I never w o u l d have w r i t t e n it to you; I h o p e you believe that." "I believe that." "She's English," T o m m y said. " H e r n a m e is Cecily." '" "Auh?" "And nothing's set yet. I m e a n , no date or anything like that. I've got to go to L o n d o n this s u m m e r to m e e t her parents. He's s o m e rich guy. Coal business, primarily. Very snobby."

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• WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"Is she nice?" "I t h i n k so. I don't k n o w . It was so d a m n e d r o m a n t i c d o w n there, you k n o w w h a t I m e a n . Beach a n d s u n a n d dancing all night long. I'm really t o r n up a b o u t it, Jenny. H o n e s t I a m . But she's so little a n d cute a n d that way she talks, it just knocks me out." "Little a n d cute?" T o m m y n o d d e d . "Like a b u t t o n . Cecily Henshaw. She c o m e s to about here on me." He indicated his chin. "Well," Jenny said, "I h o p e y o u k n o w w h a t you're doing." "So do I," T o m m y answered. "So do 1.1 k n o w it's crazy, b u t . . . " His voice drifted off. "Just a little ago. W h y d i d y o u say you loved m e ? " " I ' m sorry," T o m m y said. "I was just trying to be nice." "I'll always care for you a n d I h o p e you'll be very happy." " T h a n k s . O h , Jesus, Jenny, d o n ' t t h i n k this is easy for m e . But there she was on t h e beach in B e r m u d a a n d , well, I never m e t a n y b o d y like her before. She's so petite a n d all, b u t w i t h this terrific s h a p e a n d great eyes a n d this green hair a n d d i m p l e s a n d a smile, well, I d o n ' t k n o w h o w to describe h e r smile." "She s o u n d s like a very p r e t t y — d i d you say green h a i r ? " T o m m y sighed. " L o n g a n d green." "You're terrible!" ' T o m m y sighed again. "Like seaweed." Jenny j u m p e d u p a n d r a n i n t o t h e b e d r o o m a n d shut t h e door. " M o o s e ? " T o m m y said. H e w e n t t o t h e b e d r o o m d o o r a n d tried pushing it o p e n . "Hey, M o o s e ? " Jenny held it shut. " M o o s e , c o m e o n now." " H o w dare you lie to m e ? " Jenny s h o u t e d t h r o u g h t h e door. "Especially w h e n you k n o w I always believe everything." "You started it with t h a t ' h o w was Jamaica' junk." "I did not. Besides, it d o e s n ' t m a t t e r a n y m o r e . You w e n t t o o far to ever regain my good graces. I t h o u g h t you m i g h t like to k n o w that." T o m m y t h r e w his weight against the door, b u t Jenny held it shut. "Let m e in." "Never." "Let me

in."

"Give me o n e good reason." "I h u n g e r for your lips." "Oh, in that case," a n d she o p e n e d t h e door.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 311 "Listen," T o m m y said after he kissed her. " W h e n do y o u w a n n a get married?" " I d o n ' t know. W h e n d o y o u w a n n a get m a r r i e d ? " " I don't know. W h e n d o y o u . . . " H e started t o laugh. " D o y o u think, that m a y b e this conversation m e a n s we're n o t quite ready?" "Probably; I d o n ' t know." She clung to h i m . "We really love each other, d o n ' t we?" "Haven't we always?" " I guess w e have. That's nice, d o n ' t you t h i n k ? " "If you like that kind of thing." "I d o n ' t even k n o w why I b o t h e r with you." She looked at herself in t h e b u r e a u m i r r o r a m o m e n t . T h e n she s h o o k her h e a d . " S o m e t i m e s I'm n o t so ravishing as s o m e people," she said. " T h e y ' v e got these n e w things for hair I just h e a r d about," T o m m y said. "I t h i n k they're called 'combs.' Supposed to w o r k w o n d e r s . " He w a t c h e d as she o p e n e d h e r c o m p a c t . "Try n o t to take all afternoon." " W h a t are we going to d o ? " "I d o n ' t know. Have cocktails eventually. First I t h o u g h t y o u m i g h t like to see the sights. As long as you're here a few days." Jenny said n o t h i n g . "Let's face it. Lloyds of L o n d o n says you're n o t liable to stay." " I ' m p u t t i n g on my m a k e u p . It requires fantastic c o n c e n t r a t i o n . " "I w a n n a talk a b o u t it if you don't. I'm glad you're here, b u t I d o n ' t see m u c h p o i n t to y o u r staying, considering we're g o n n a get m a r r i e d s o m e t i m e and, anyway, y o u d o n ' t probably even w a n t to stay, do y o u ? " "I d o n ' t know." She p u t h e r m a k e u p away a n d he h e l p e d h e r on with her coat. "But, Tommy, so far, today, I m e a n , well, t h e t h i n g s that have h a p p e n e d to m e . Why, y o u w o u l d n ' t believe it." "Try me," T o m m y said as he locked t h e d o o r a n d they walked d o w n the hall to wait for the elevator. " I ' d rather b e mysterious." " T h e day you're mysterious . . . " A n d then h e s t o p p e d , because t h e elevator d o o r o p e n e d a n d t h e y r o d e d o w n in silence. " I ' m an enigma," Jenny said, pulling her coat collar to just below her eyes. T h e y walked t h r o u g h t h e lobby. "Behave yourself," T o m m y told her. They m o v e d o n t o the sidewalk. " N o w , I t h o u g h t we m i g h t begin at Rockefeller C e n — " " G o o d afternoon, Miss Devers." " O h , hello, Morton."

312 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Miss Devers, Franklin was wondering if you might be wanting the car." "Tell h i m ' t h a n k you' for m e , will you, Morton? I t h i n k I'm fine." T o m m y looked at the d o o r m a n , t h e n at Jenny, t h e n back at the d o o r m a n , t h e n he started to r u n , h u r r y i n g to catch up w i t h Jenny as she floated toward Fifth Avenue. As they started to enter t h e A l g o n q u i n Jenny said, "Is t h e R o u n d Table still h e r e ? " T o m m y stopped. " H o w m a n y b o o k s did you read before you c a m e ? " "About N e w York? Seventeen. I t h o u g h t I should p r e p a r e myself." T o m m y s h o o k his head. " O h , they weren't all all a b o u t N e w York. S o m e of t h e m just h a d chapters." T h e y walked into t h e hotel a n d Jenny looked at t h e p e o p l e having cocktails in t h e lobby, at the d i n i n g r o o m beyond. T o m m y t o o k her a r m w h e n she gasped. " W h a t is it?" "Look," Jenny whispered. "Where?" "There." "I d o n ' t get it." "There," a n d she gestured w i t h h e r s h o u l d e r to the r e d - h a i r e d m a n d r i n k i n g by himself in t h e corner. "So?" " T h a t ' s him," Jenny whispered. " T h a t ' s Stagpole." "You're crazy." "I've seen his pictures." " C o m e on," T o m m y said. Jenny held back. "Can't we stay here a minute? I w a n t to watch him." "You're probably looking at s o m e guy from Salt Lake City who's in t h e b u t t e r - a n d - e g g business." " H e looks just like his b o o k jackets." "Jenny, will you cut it o u t ? " "I w o n d e r if I could get his a u t o g r a p h . You could ask h i m for m e . It's less e m b a r r a s s i n g for a m a n . " "I've had e n o u g h of this," T o m m y said, a n d he t o o k h e r a r m . "I'll p r o v e you're crazy." "How?" "We'll just go ask him." He started pulling her across t h e lobby. At

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 313 first she resisted, b u t t h e n as she i m a g i n e d people m i g h t be staring at her she stopped, contenting herself w i t h frantic whispers. " T o m m y , please. Tommy, n o w stop this. T o m m y — " " I ' m sorry to b o t h e r you," T o m m y said w h e n they reached t h e redh e a d e d m a n . "But this girl h e r e w a n t s to ask you a question." " W h a t is it, Jenny?" t h e m a n said. "Well," Jenny said, " t h e t h i n g is . . . " A n d t h e n she said, " T h a t ' s my n a m e . " A n d then she said, "You're him\" Then: " T o m m y , y o u pull any m o r e tricks o n m e a n d . . . " T h e n : "Fancy that." T h e n she just stood there. "Sit," T o m m y said, h o l d i n g a chair. Jenny sat. "Where's D a d ? " T o m m y asked, sitting beside her. "Talking t o o m u c h someplace, I expect," Stagpole replied. "You k n o w y o u r father." He t u r n e d to Jenny. "I u n d e r s t a n d we're b o t h fans of mine." "Hello," Jenny said. "She thinks you're even greater t h a n Edgar Rice B u r r o u g h s , " T o m m y said. Stagpole laughed. Jenny p u t her a r m a r o u n d T o m m y ' s neck and pulled h i m close. " N o w you be nice to me," she w h i s p e r e d . "And, please, don't call me 'Moose.' " " W o r d of honor," T o m m y said. " T h e r e she is!" Mr. Alden's voice b o o m e d from b e h i n d t h e m . " T h e r e she is!" He h u r r i e d up a n d kissed Jenny roughly on t h e cheek. "You a n d I are through." "But—" "Nineteen years I k n o w this girl." Mr. Alden gestured with his unlit cigar. "I was there w h e n she was b o r n . A n d when she comes to N e w York, does she tell me? Hell no." He sat d o w n a n d signaled for the waiter. " T h r o u g h . W h o wants w h a t ? " T h e m e n o r d e r e d Scotch, Jenny ginger ale. " T h e reason I h a d to keep it secret was if I told you you w o u l d have told T o m m y and he w o u l d have m a d e s o m e joke a n d t h e n I w o u l d n ' t have come." " T h a t makes m e s o u n d p r e t t y neat," T o m m y said. "Have you always w a n t e d to c o m e ? " Stagpole asked. " N o t always, exactly. Just since I was twelve." "Have you acted a lot?" Stagpole said. " N o t a lot, exactly. I'm t o o tall for m o s t parts." " H o w tall are y o u ? " " O h , a little over five-seven."

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" T h r e e inches over," T o m m y said. "Tommy." "Anyway," Mr. Alden said, "you're here. How's it been so far?" "You w o u l d n ' t believe it," T o m m y said. " T h a t ' s t h e truth," Jenny said. "Mr. Stagpole?" "Call h i m 'Wormy.' " Mr. Alden told her. " W h e n we were growing u p , that's all a n y b o d y called h i m . Just 'Wormy.' " " G o o n , Jenny," Stagpole said. "Well . . . " Jenny began. T h e n she stopped. "Did they really call you 'Wormy'?" Stagpole n o d d e d . "Alas." "I t h i n k that's terrible," Jenny said. "I saw your play this afternoon. I w e n t right by it in my taxicab. The Left Hand Knows" " T h a t turkey," Mr. Alden said. Stagpole looked at h i m . "Have you no h e a r t ? " Happily, Mr. Alden lighted his cigar. " T h a t play," Stagpole went o n , " h a p p e n s to be an o u t s t a n d i n g artistic achievement. N o t only has it r u n m o r e t h a n a year b u t W a r n e r Brothers b o u g h t it for four h u n d r e d t h o u s a n d dollars. T h a t proves it's an o u t s t a n d i n g artistic achievement." "Bushwah," Mr. Alden said. "It's just like t h e rest of y o u r turkeys. T h e m e n are all studs a n d the w o m e n are n y m p h o — " H e s t o p p e d a n d smiled at Jenny. "Your father w o u l d disapprove of my language. Forgive me." " H e still thinks I'm a baby," Jenny said. " B u t I k n o w lots of words." T h e waiter b r o u g h t their drinks. Jenny t o o k a sip of her ginger ale. " I ' m in N e w York a n d I'm having cocktails a n d I'm just so happy." She giggled at T o m m y . "I am." " D o you always say w h a t you t h i n k ? " Stagpole asked. "Always," T o m m y said. "Believe me." " T h a t ' s a bad habit, Jenny. Nice. But bad." " O h , I'm a terrific liar w h e n I w a n t to be. You w o u l d n ' t believe s o m e of t h e lies I've told. W h y — " She b r o k e off suddenly. " W h y are y o u staring at m e ? " " N o reason," Stagpole said. "I d o n ' t like it for people to do that." " D o you k n o w why you d o n ' t like it, Jenny? I t h i n k I do." " O h - o h , " Mr. Alden said. "He's playing God." "Yes." Stagpole n o d d e d . " T h a t ' s a b a d habit of m i n e . O n e of my better b a d habits. W h y did you c o m e here, Jenny?" " I d o n ' t know. No reason."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 315 " It's h a r d to be an actress, Jenny. H a r d , a n d n o t particularly rewarding. Are you talented?" " O h , I d o n ' t t h i n k so. N o t really. I ' m — " "She's very talented," T o m m y cut in. "She just s h o u l d n ' t waste her t i m e here. She won't be happy." "I've got to find out," Jenny said. "You're always gassing a b o u t w h a t a big deal you are," Mr. Alden said to Stagpole. "You're quite right. I h a p p e n to be an e n o r m o u s deal." " T h e n w h y n o t give t h e kid a break? Let her find o u t fast. Give her a p a r t in t h a t f o u r - h u n d r e d - g r a n d turkey of yours." Stagpole n o d d e d . " T h a t ' s n o t impossible." Jenny held her breath. " N o t a part, really," Stagpole w e n t o n . "Just an u n d e r s t u d y ' s job. A n d , of course, I couldn't give you t h e j o b myself; that's t h e director's function. But I suspect if I strongly u r g e d it, he w o u l d n ' t b u c k m e . C h a n c e s are you'd never go on; the show's n o t going to r u n m u c h longer. But we do need an u n d e r s t u d y just now, a n d I w o u l d be surprised if it couldn't be m a n e u v e r e d . She's n o t altogether w r o n g for the part; to tell t h e t r u t h , t h e part's so dimly written nobody's w r o n g for it. Well, Jenny, w h a t do you say? W o u l d you like a j o b ? " "You're all just fooling m e ; y o u p l a n n e d it all before." "Answer the question, Jenny," Stagpole said. "If y o u did it, t h e n this w o u l d be t h e happiest day of my life." Stagpole t u r n e d to Mr. Alden. " W h e r e do you suggest we d i n e ? " " W h a t ' s w r o n g with h e r e ? " " N o t h i n g . W h y don't y o u a n d T o m secure us a table? N o w w o u l d be a good time." He flicked his h a n d . "Away." " L o o k out, he's g o n n a play G o d again," Mr. Alden said, rising. "Jenny, you got my sympathy. C ' m o n , Tom." Stagpole watched t h e m go. T h e n he t o o k o u t a very long cigarette holder a n d inserted a very long cigarette. " O n e of my affectations," he explained. " O n e of an infinite n u m b e r . " Jenny smiled. "We are talking n o w of h a p p i e s t days," Stagpole said. " D o y o u k n o w what t h e y are?" "Yes," Jenny said. " T h e y ' r e — " " T h a t was a rhetorical q u e s t i o n , Jenny. Now, I have a t h e o r y a b o u t happiest days, a n d since you don't k n o w w h a t they are, I t h o u g h t I'd enlighten you."

316 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Jenny giggled. "You're funny." Stagpole almost smiled. " T h e happiest day is that day in t h e past that you always r u n back to w h e n t h e present proves u n e n d u r a b l e . Let me give you an example. I was t h i r t y - t w o . I h a d been famous for p e r h a p s six m o n t h s . T h e day was Sunday. T h e season, fall. I woke late, w i t h o u t the slightest trace of h a n g o v e r — u n u s u a l ; those were my d r i n k i n g years. A n d I shaved a n d bathed a n d oiled my b o d y a n d t h e n I dressed. I chose my c a s h m e r e blazer. It was still new, b u t I h a d w o r n it at least twice before. A n d I strolled over to M a d i s o n Avenue a n d I h a d a late b r u n c h . T h e food was excellent, wonderfully expensive. I had, I believe, four d r i n k s . T h e n I walked. H o u r s of walking. A n d watching. W i n d o w s , faces. T h e n I m a d e a t e l e p h o n e call. I h a d been, you see, to a party the night before, a n d I h a d m e t a b l o n d e , a wild, wonderful b l o n d e , and I called, a n d we m a d e an assignation, and we met, a n d walked, a n d d r a n k a bit, a n d t h e n , then, Jenny, we m a d e love. N o t perfectly, n o t t h u n d e r o u s l y — n o . Adequately only. Adequate was t h e w o r d for o u r love-making. Am I embarrassing you?" " No," Jenny said. "Yes. Go on." "Very little m o r e . We d r a n k , d i n e d together, separated; by this t i m e it was late. I went h o m e . I u n d r e s s e d . I went to bed. A n d a l m o s t i m m e d i ately I k n e w I was going to sleep. I n s o m n i a is one of my curses, b u t n o t t h a t night. A n d as I drifted off I t h o u g h t yes. I choose. I c h o o s e today. I have chosen. A n d t h e n I slept." He lit a n o t h e r cigarette. "Oh," Jenny said. "Well, that's certainly very interesting." "You d o n ' t t h i n k so at all." "Yes, I — " " T h a t ' s the whole p o i n t . That's why it's so perfect. You s e e — a n d here you m u s t pay a t t e n t i o n — w e all get to pick o u r day. But we only get one pick. O n e t i m e to choose. A n d t h e worst thing in t h e world, Jenny, the saddest t h i n g is to choose t h e w r o n g day. You've got to pick a day that w o n ' t go b a d on you; if y o u do, you'll have no place to run." "And that's sad?" "Inexpressibly. That's w h y you've got to pick an o r d i n a r y day. T h e great ones sour. Your love h o l d s you for t h e first time in his a r m s a n d you t h i n k , H o w perfect, h o w splendid, b u t t h e n , w h e n y o u r love isn't your love a n y m o r e , you t h i n k only, I let h i m t o u c h me, h o w h o r r i d , h o w vile. This isn't your day, Jenny. I p r o m i s e you. You m u s t n ' t take my offer. A n d if I weren't quite so cruel, I ' d never m a k e it to you." " O h , you're n o t either cruel." "You don't k n o w a b o u t m e , Jenny. But I k n o w a b o u t you."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 317 " W h a t d o you know? W h a t d i d T o m m y tell y o u ? " " N o t h i n g . But I know. You're very sweet and n o t particularly b r i g h t a n d n o t particularly pretty either. But you've got a b o d y that m a k e s m e n gasp a n d you hide it, or t r y to, b u t you can't, n o t really, a n d I'm e m b a r rassing you again." "Yes." "And you're probably a g o o d e n o u g h actress, b u t you d o n ' t w a n t it all t h a t m u c h , a n d if you d o n ' t accept the job you'll p r o b a b l y never get a n o t h e r o n e , b u t if you do accept you'll probably stay. Here. In this t o w n where n o b o d y really belongs. A n d this day, this happiest day, will go b a d on you, a n d you'll have no place to r u n . So I beg you, c h o o s e s o m e o t h e r t i m e . Choose t o m o r r o w ; choose next year. But t h e choice is yours. Make it." "I choose today." " P o o r Jenny."

XII At t h e migraine's mercy, Esther w r i t h e d . She lay across her bed, h e r fingers j a b b i n g at her t e m p l e s , p r o b i n g for e n t r a n c e . Suddenly she d o u b l e d up like a tumbler, straightened just as fast, h e r head at the foot of t h e bed now, her feet kicking at t h e pillow. H e r fingers crawled up h e r face, p a u s e d for a m o m e n t at t h e t e m p l e , t h e n scuttled o n , finally getting ready to jab again, straight for t h e eyes this t i m e . T h e b o y grabbed h e r h a n d s . "Let go!" Esther cried. T h e b o y held on. "Rudy!" T h e m a i d came in with an ice pack. R u d y t o o k it, m u t t e r e d , " T h a n k you, M r s . Kenton," t h e n applied t h e p a c k to t h e base of his m o t h e r ' s neck. At t h e first t o u c h of cold, Esther cried o u t again, b u t s o o n she began to subside. Sid walked in, tying his tie. "You ready?" he said to t h e boy. "If you w a n t a lift, move." T h e b o y t o o k his m o t h e r ' s left h a n d , clamped it against t h e ice pack. "I've got to go, Mother. You t r y a n d sleep; you'll be fine." He m o v e d quickly to t h e doorway.

WILLIAM GOLDMAN Esther watched h i m . He was wearing white tennis s h o r t s a n d shoes, tee shirt a n d socks. "Watch o u t for t h e girls," Esther said. W h e n he was alone with his wife, Sid said, " I ' m late, Tootsie; so long." Esther m u t t e r e d , "Leave me." " W h y do you always c o m e up w i t h a migraine whenever I go anyplace? For t h e love of Christ, Esther, it's just for two days." " W h o is she this t i m e ? " Esther asked. " W h o is w h o ? " "I'm dying and he gives me riddles!" Sid retreated a step, tentatively blew her a kiss. Esther wiped b o t h sides of her face clean before c o m m e n c i n g to m o a n . Sid stood still, waited, said "Esther . . . " twice to no response. T h e n he t u r n e d , r u n n i n g d o w n t h e stairs to t h e garage. T h e boy was w a i t i n g in the red Cadillac. Scowling, Sid s l a m m e d t h e car door, p u s h e d a b u t t o n , p u t t h e t o p u p , p u s h e d a n o t h e r b u t t o n , t u r n i n g on t h e air-conditioner. For a m o m e n t he looked a r o u n d for m o r e b u t t o n s to push, started for t h e radio w i t h his index f i n g e r , c h a n g e d his m i n d , d r o p p e d his h a n d . W h o n e e d e d music? At w h a t it cost, t h e s o u n d of the air-conditioner was m u sic e n o u g h for anybody's ears.

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Sid hit d u r i n g the war. Black-marketing, naturally, b u t w h a t was the m a t t e r w i t h that? If he h a d n ' t d o n e it, t h e n s o m e b o d y else would, a n d why s h o u l d his family starve? W h i c h they were d o i n g , until t h e day his friend M a n n i e t h e d r u g gist r a n into the deli frantic w i t h a l o a d of h o t nylons. T h e fact t h a t t h e cops were on to the s h i p m e n t fazed Sid less t h a n little: he s i m p l y sold t h e deli, b o u g h t t h e nylons, sold t h e nylons, split his profits w i t h t h e boys in b l u e a n d was on his way. For six m o n t h s he dabbled in nylons, e n r i c h i n g b o t h himself a n d Chicago's Finest, a n d t h e n he spread i n t o r u b b e r tires, w h i c h he sold at prices so high it was genuinely e m b a r r a s s i n g to h i m , alm o s t . W h e n his tire supply d w i n d l e d , he q u i c k - h o p p e d back to his first love, a n d gladly, because n o t o n l y were nylons nice a n d steady, b u t the b r o a d s d i d n ' t flop as m u c h for whitewalls, a n d o n e night, flush, he inv a d e d t h e p o o l hall to find his t o u c h h a d r e t u r n e d , a n d with just a speck of practice he was better t h a n ever, so t h e n he h a d a parlay going, stockings and a cue stick, a n d by 1943 he was able to b u y his first c u s t o m - m a d e suit a n d give five h u n d r e d dollars to t h e M a r c h of D i m e s . 'Forty-four was even better, a n d in July of t h a t year he o p e n e d his o w n store n e a r t h e Loop, a hole in the wall, true, b u t c r a m m e d with bitches b u y i n g stock-

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 319 ings, a n d he would have m a d e a trillion except the police c u t was killing h i m , so he sold the whole enterprise at a spectacular profit, gave a farewell p a r t y at Barney's for all his friends in the law-enforcement g a m e a n d retired to his seat at Painter's, t h e best pool hall in Chicago, to await the next lightning bolt that he was sure n o w would c o m e . Of course he was right, for in January he w o n half interest in an a u t o m o b i l e agency by pulling a typical Super Sid finish ( W h o ' s this Gentile G a r r i s o n ? ) , sinking t h i r t y - f o u r straight to close o u t t h e m a t c h , t h e thirty-fourth being a b a n k shot t h a t w o u l d have given H o p p e trouble. T h e agency, o n c e t h e war e n d e d , was w o r t h plenty, half of w h a t Sid sold it for, at w h i c h p o i n t he m o v e d his family o u t to t h e N o r t h Shore, Highland Park no less, a n d w e n t into t h e business t h a t m u s t have been invented w i t h h i m alone in m i n d . Insurance. Since salesmanship a n d c h a r m were the twin r e q u i r e m e n t s for success, was it any w o n d e r he p r o v e d an instant sensation? Mostly he sold to t h e rich-bitch s u b u r b a n ladies, b u t he also o p e n e d up a little territory in B e n t o n Harbor, because there was m o n e y there a n d because it gave h i m a c h a n c e for a day or two away from Esther every so often, n o t to m e n t i o n t h e o p p o r t u n i t y of plugging at his leisure s o m e Michigan lovely or other. His kid adjusted quickly to all t h e changes, taking to s u b u r b a n life, d o i n g well at school, athletics t o o , tennis especially, at which he was, like at everything else, a natural. Sid w o u l d maybe have liked a little m o r e noise from t h e kid, a little m o r e of t h e old be-zazz, b u t even as things were, Sid wasn't complaining; he u n d e r s t o o d — i t takes all k i n d s a n d t h e kid was just that kind, t h e quiet k i n d , except m a y b e for o n c e (it was cloudy in Sid's m e m o r y ) , once m a y b e right after the kid h a d got t h e news a b o u t the hearing loss a n d h a d n ' t adjusted to it yet a n d he'd yelled at Sid, yelled s o m e t h i n g , Sid couldn't really r e m e m b e r , a n d besides it d i d n ' t m a t ter, because the kid h a d practically as m u c h as apologized for it later a n d Sid, big like always, accepted on t h e spot. Esther, however, s u b m e r g e d d u r i n g Sid's ascension. H e r g o d d a m headaches drove h i m loony a lot of t h e time, so he hired a m a i d w h o d o u bled as n u r s e , a Mrs. Kenton, w h o m he hated, because she was old a n d ugly. He h a d always d a y d r e a m e d of having s o m e o n e like T h e d a Bara or Jean H a r l o w (lately he w o u l d have settled for Rita H a y w o r t h ; no o n e could call h i m a fussy m a n ) serve h i m supper, because t h e t h o u g h t of sneaking up the back stairs a n d w h i p p i n g off a piece appealed to his senses of pleasure a n d thrift, except sometimes lately, w h e n he dayd r e a m e d t h e excursion, he was t h w a r t e d to find his son thrilling t h e m a i d

320 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN on his arrival. T h e kid was tiny, t r u e , b u t otherwise great-looking, a n d it p a i n e d Sid to watch the way w o m e n watched h i m . Of course he, Super Sid, h a d had his share of looks too, w h e n he was y o u n g , b u t n o w n o t so m a n y : he was edging into m i d d l e age, a painful journey. But aging a n d Esther were as n o t h i n g c o m p a r e d to his t h i r d pain, t h e p a i n that was assuredly killing h i m . Greentree C o u n t r y Club. T h e snotty sons of bitches, t h e y t u r n e d d o w n his application for m e m b e r s h i p . He applied again t h e next year, working o v e r t i m e , c h a r m ing t h e hell o u t of any m e m b e r s he h a p p e n e d to m e e t socially. Sid fought like crazy b u t he k n e w his chances were less t h a n tepid, so at nights he prayed for a miracle. A n d w h e n Rudy was offered a s u m m e r j o b working as ball boy at the Greentree C o u n t r y Club courts, Sid sensed b i n g o ! — a t last t h e o m e n s were all on his side, which was just a n d fair a n d g o o d a n d well deserved, only that, no m o r e . " I ' m freezing," Sid said as he drove swiftly t o w a r d G r e e n t r e e C o u n t r y C l u b . He j a m m e d his finger against t h e air-conditioner b u t t o n , t u r n i n g it off. " L o u s y crooks. I ask for a u n i t to cool the car, they give me o n e to cool t h e L o o p . Everybody's m o n e y h u n g r y , kid; you r e m e m b e r that." The boy nodded. " T h o s e headaches! G o d d a m n those headaches of hers. Let me tell you s o m e t h i n g a b o u t y o u r m o t h e r , kid." " D i d you say s o m e t h i n g , F a t h e r ? " T h e boy t o u c h e d his h e a r i n g aid. "It w e n t off. I'm sorry." "It always goes off w h e n e v e r I say s o m e t h i n g you d o n ' t w a n t to hear, ever notice t h a t ? " " N o ; that w o u l d be a r e m a r k a b l e coincidence. I'm sure it c o u l d n ' t — " "She thinks I'm playing a r o u n d in Benton H a r b o r . I look, yes. Everyb o d y looks. But I never t o u c h . I swear. She's trying to kill me w i t h her accusing a n d her headaches w h e n e v e r I set foot o u t t h e d o o r a n d — " " I ' m sorry, Father. It w e n t off again. W h a t were you saying?" " T h o s e headaches are just to t o r t u r e m e , Rudy." "She suffers." "Are you saying I don't? She tells you that while I'm g o n e , d o e s n ' t she? While I'm gone trying t o m a k e e n o u g h s o m e h o w t o pay h e r g o d d a m n q u a c k - d o c t o r bills she fills y o u up with p o i s o n against m e . You t h i n k I d o n ' t suffer? I'm a Jew. I bleed." " T h i s instrument." T h e b o y s h o o k it. "I really m u s t have it looked at someday."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 321 Sid sighed. "It's going to be a wonderful day for tennis," the b o y said. W h e n he reached Greentree C o u n t r y Club, Sid t o o k a right, t h e n the first left, following the r o a d d o w n t o w a r d the tennis area, s t o p p i n g at the far e n d of the b a n k of c o u r t s . R u d y said " T h a n k y o u " a n d started to get out. Sid grabbed h i m . He was staring t h r o u g h the fence, p o i n t i n g at the m a n a n d w o m a n hitting o n t h e f i r s t court. " W h o ' r e t h e y ? " "Mr. W i n t e r s , the p r o , a n d M r s . Marks. She takes a lesson almost every m o r n i n g . " "Dolly Marks?" Rudy n o d d e d . Sid c o n t i n u e d to stare. " H o w ' d y o u like to stick t h a t ? " he said. "It's always nice to e n d on a religious note," the b o y said, a n d he skipped from the car. Sid stared a m o m e n t longer, t h e n t u r n e d the car. He drove o u t of the club, pausing just a m o m e n t to look at the " G r e e n t r e e " sign, until there was a l o u d h o n k from b e h i n d h i m . "Screw," Sid said t h e n , j a m m i n g d o w n on t h e gas, shooting t h e car o n t o the highway, n a r r o w l y missing a Chevrolet. T h e Chevy was dirty a n d several years old, a n d such was the scorn w i t h which Sid eyed it that, h a d it feelings, it w o u l d have piled itself into the nearest e m b a n k m e n t , killing itself on t h e spot, from sheer chagrin. "You two play," Dolly M a r k s said, watching as t h e ball b o y walked o n t o the court. In the distance, an e n o r m o u s red Cadillac r o a r e d away. " H a d e n o u g h ? " Mr. W i n t e r s asked. Dolly n o d d e d . "I've got a g a m e in a few minutes." "O.K.," Mr. Winters said. "Let's hit a little, Rudy. Before the heat gets me." Dolly said, "You beat h i m , Rudy." T h e boy smiled. " W h a t e v e r you say, Mrs. Marks." Dolly m o v e d off t h e c o u r t , lowering herself into a l o u n g e chair, crossing h e r long legs. She was in all ways a splendid-looking creature, supple a n d sleek, tall, p e r m a n e n t l y t a n n e d , with legitimately black hair and a s t o m a c h as flat n o w as it h a d b e e n w h e n she was twenty, t w e n t y years before. "Sorry if I'm late, dollbaby," Fran Green said. Dolly glanced up. " D e nada, w i d o w Green." Fran Green pulled up a n o t h e r l o u n g e chair a n d stretched out. For a

322 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN while the two w o m e n lay quietly, watching the m e n play tennis. Then Fran flicked her sunglasses up into h e r gray-blond hair. "My, w h a t an interesting-looking ball boy." " D o n ' t harass me today," Dolly said. "Harass? All I did was c o m m e n t on the appearance of the ball boy. I d o n ' t see h o w that could be c o n s i d e r e d — " "I m e a n it, Fran." Fran Green n o d d e d a n d was silent. Reaching u p , she t o o k h e r sunglasses, twirled t h e m a m o m e n t , t h e n rested t h e m on the tip of h e r nose. " N o , " she said finally, "I d o n ' t see it." " D o n ' t see w h a t ? " " O h , n o t h i n g — j u s t that my d a u g h t e r reports that all t h e girls in high school are very big on this ball boy." "You just never stop, do y o u ? " " R u d y Miller, I think she was talking about. T h a t o n e . There." She p o i n t e d a n d laughed. Dolly M a r k s said n o t h i n g . " T h e y ' r e maaaaaad for h i m , so I'm told." Dolly M a r k s e x a m i n e d h e r fingernails. "Have y o u ? " Fran asked. "Have I w h a t ? " "Initiated proceedings w i t h t h e subject u n d e r discussion." Dolly sighed. "I know, dollbaby; you're g o n n a start something, I k n o w all t h e signs, b u t I'm w a r n i n g you, you wait m u c h longer I m i g h t just take t h e play away from you. W h a t do y o u t h i n k my chances m i g h t be w i t h t h e ball boy?" "You're t o o fat to be a cradle robber." "Merci." "Ask a question, get an answer. G i n me a cigarette." " W h y do you smoke? You d o n ' t inhale." " S a m e reason I cheat on my h u s b a n d : gives me s o m e t h i n g to do with my hands." Dolly grabbed t h e cigarette from Fran. "I hate h e a r i n g old w o m e n m o o n i n g over infants. H o w old is he? Eighteen? Seventeen? Well, you're forty a n d so'm I. I'm forty a n d my h u s b a n d ' s fifty-five a n d there's no law against that, b u t w h e n we're alone he acts like he's a tired seventy, a n d that's all right too, except w h e n e v e r we're in public he goes a r o u n d playing like a Yale freshman a n d he m a r r i e d me because I was p r e t t y a n d I m a r r i e d h i m because he h a d loot a n d in this world you get w h a t y o u pay

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R

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for a n d forget what I'm saying, I m u s t have gotten up o u t of t h e w r o n g bed this m o r n i n g ; let's play tennis." T h e y played for an h o u r , h i t t i n g t h e ball like m e n , a n d t h e n t h e y decided to play s o m e cards by t h e p o o l , b u t almost before they'd started over Dolly said, "Wait for me h e r e " a n d h u r r i e d back to t h e t e n n i s shack. " G o o d luck with the infant," Fran called after her. "Yes, M r s . Marks?" Rudy said w h e n Dolly entered the tennis shack. "I was just w o n d e r i n g if you t h o u g h t my racket n e e d e d restringing." T h e b o y examined it. "It's fine, M r s . Marks." "You're sure?" "I r e s t r u n g the racket myself, M r s . M a r k s . It was just a few weeks ago." " O h , n o ; it was m u c h longer t h a n that." "I guess you're right, M r s . Marks." She h e a d e d for t h e door. "It m u s t really get brutal h e r e in t h e afternoons. It's m u c h nicer playing at night, d o n ' t you t h i n k ? " "I guess it would be." " O u r court's lit, you know. We play there at night all t h e t i m e . If you're ever in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , feel free." " T h a n k you, M r s . Marks." "I m e a n it. It's all very casual. Just come." "If I'm ever in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , " Rudy said. At s u p p e r a week later, Sid m a d e an inquiry: " W h a t a b o u t Dolly Marks?" " W h o ? " Esther asked. " L o u M a r k s ' wife. Tell m e . A bitch? W h a t ? " "She's very nice," Rudy said. "I've h e a r d wild stories," Sid said. "She's really very nice," t h e b o y repeated. "She even invited me to play tennis at h e r h o u s e if I ever w a n t e d to." " W h e n was this?" "Last week." "And you didn't go?" Sid said. " W h y should he?" Esther w a n t e d to know. " L o u M a r k s ain't on the b o a r d at Greentree?" "And you didn't go?" Esther said. The M a r k s estate spread for twelve acres along t h e shores of Lake Michigan. T h e house was e n o r m o u s a n d old, four-storied. T h e r e was

324 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN a formal garden a n d next to that a pool a n d next to t h a t an en tout cas tennis court. F r o m there t h e lawn swept in an u n b r o k e n line to the bluff. In t h e midst of serving, Lou M a r k s stopped. A reedlike m a n with an i n c o n g r u o u s l y deep voice, he bellowed, " W h o ' s this? We've got an intruder." "Rudy, hi," Dolly called from net as Rudy got o u t of t h e car a n d walked toward the court. "I was in the n e i g h b o r h o o d , " Rudy said. Dolly t o o k his h a n d . T h e r e were half a dozen people p r e s e n t a n d she i n t r o d u c e d t h e m quickly, saying, "Let's see now, y o u can play next set— y o u a n d I, we'll take on the w i n n e r s — a l l right? Fran, take my place, be a dear. I'll give you the fifty-cent tour, Rudy, c o m e on." A n d she whisked h i m away. " I ' m a m a r v e l o u s hostess, d o n ' t you think? D i d n ' t I do that well?" She laughed a n d , w h e n she was d o n e , smiled. " W h a t w o u l d you like to see?" T h e b o y gestured across t h e lawn to the bluff. They started to walk. " I ' m really surprised you're here. I never t h o u g h t you'd come." "It's t h e m o s t beautiful place." " T h a n k you, I guess it is. I have to ask you s o m e questions now, do you m i n d ? " T h e b o y s h o o k his h e a d . "You d o n ' t talk m u c h , do you? Aren't you even interested in why I have to ask you s o m e q u e s t i o n s ? " " O h yes. Very. W h y ? " "So that later, w h e n Lou asks me a b o u t you, I can tell h i m . Lou's terribly curious. A n d I d o n ' t k n o w m u c h a b o u t you, actually, except that you w o r k at Greentree. You haven't a cigarette, have you? I'm really delighted you c a m e . A n d surprised. N o t h i n g quite so dull to t h e y o u n g as the old, d o n ' t you t h i n k ? " T h e boy said n o t h i n g . T h e y c o n t i n u e d walking across t h e lawn to the bluff. " W h e r e do you live?" "Over near the high school." " B r o t h e r s a n d sisters? Now, d o n ' t t h i n k I'm nosy, I told you, I have to ask this—well, I suppose I am nosy. I like gossip, d o n ' t you? Except w h e n it's a b o u t me of course. Have you ever h e a r d any gossip a b o u t m e ? " " N o b r o t h e r s or sisters." He m o v e d a step or two a h e a d of h e r to the edge of the bluff. Rudy stared into t h e darkness.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 325 She m o v e d in, standing close beside h i m . Below t h e m t h e lake r u m bled. " H o w did you lose y o u r h e a r i n g ? " Dolly said. " D o w n there." " D o w n there?" " S o m e w h e r e . I ran away. I was very y o u n g . I got sick a n d . . . " He indicated his earpiece. "I can r e m e m b e r r u n n i n g a n d looking u p . To the top of t h e bluff. Sometimes I could see t h e houses." " W h y did you r u n away?" " F o r t h e fun of it. Everybody s h o u l d once. I never h a d . So I did." "Your parents m u s t have b e e n in a panic." T h e b o y c o n t i n u e d staring d o w n . " O h yes. We're very close." "Your father sells, doesn't he? Insurance?" "Yes. A n d my m o t h e r is a housewife." " S o u n d s wonderfully A m e r i c a n . A Collier's short story. S o m e t i m e s I t h i n k w o u l d n ' t it be wonderful if life were like a Collier's story? A n d we could all be y o u n g doctors a n d nurses a n d find happiness in fifteen h u n d r e d words." T h e b o y said n o t h i n g . "Dah-lee!" Lou's voice b o o m e d o u t across the lawn. " C o m i n g , " Dolly answered. "Lover." " G o o n — " Sid said. "—Tell u s — " Esther said. " — D i d you play?—" Sid said. " — O f course he played, f o o l — d i d you win, R u d y ? — " " — W h o cares if he won? T h e i m p o r t a n t t h i n g is did you enjoy yourself—?" " — O f course he enjoyed himself, fool; did they ask you back, Rudy—?" " — W h y shouldn't they ask h i m back? W h e n are you g o i n g — ? " "—Yes, Rudy; w h e n , R u d y — ? " " — W h e n , Rudy, w h e n — ? " Later. Upstairs.

SID

It's a real break, they're t a k i n g an interest in o u r Rudy. ESTHER

It does h i m good to associate w i t h people like that.

326 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN SID

That's all I care a b o u t : t h a t R u d y associates with the right k i n d of people. ESTHER

You can tell a m a n by his friends. SID

T h e club m e a n s n o t h i n g . W h o cares a b o u t the club? ESTHER

Not me. SID

Not me. ESTHER

I just w a n t Rudy to be happy. SID

(Nodding) A m a n wants t h e best for his son. T h e second t i m e he w e n t to play, R u d y a n d Dolly s t o o d Lou M a r k s a n d a b l o n d m a n n a m e d McCandless, w h o h a d been there t h e first night t o o . R u d y a n d Dolly w o n a n d R u d y suggested a second set b u t L o u said n o , he w a n t e d to play singles instead, a n d McCandless said I'll take t h e w i n n e r a n d t h e n he a n d Dolly were g o n e , so Rudy a n d Lou began to play. T h e y split the first six games a n d t h e n Lou beckoned Rudy up close to t h e net a n d w h e n Rudy got there L o u said, "Try." "T

„

m

»

1 am. "I said 'Try!'" R u d y w o n the next three g a m e s a n d t h e n suggested t h a t t h e y sit a while, b u t Lou said no, another, a n d Rudy looked a r o u n d for t h e b l o n d M c C a n d l e s s b u t he was still g o n e a n d Dolly was still g o n e , so R u d y raced t h r o u g h t h e next six games, b u t t h e y r e t u r n e d in t i m e to watch the last few p o i n t s of the set. Lou was p a n t i n g a n d flushed and Rudy said, " T h a n k you. Really very m u c h . T h a n k you." "I h u r t my foot," Lou M a r k s said. " O h , Jesus, Lou," Dolly said. "You a n d y o u r lousy alibis." " I h u r t m y foot!" "It's true," Rudy said. "If he h a d n ' t it w o u l d have b e e n a m u c h differe n t story."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 327 "Sure, sure," Dolly said. Lou l i m p e d off the court. "Listen, w h y would I alibi? He's n o t t h a t good. W h e n I was his a g e — " "You were never his age," Dolly said. "Yeah?" Lou said. "Yeah?" Rudy t u r n e d to Dolly. "It doesn't matter. I was very lucky. It's just a game." T h e n , from b e h i n d him, Lou M a r k s was screaming "Can you do this? Can ya? Can ya?" He was t r y i n g to stand on his h a n d s . "Please," R u d y said w h e n he saw. "Please." Lou fell d o w n , tried again, fell again. "I can do it! I can do it! You watch! H u r t foot a n d all. Let's see you do it!" He kept falling, kept t r y i n g . "I c o u l d never do it," Rudy said, a n d he r a n to the fallen m a n . "Please. That's wonderful. Please stop. Please stop." "You t h i n k I can't do it!" Lou fell d o w n , h a r d this time, his s h o u l d e r s l a m m i n g t h e g r o u n d , a n d he lay still a m o m e n t before trying again, kicking his feet h i g h into t h e air, trying to walk on his h a n d s . "Please," Rudy said. "Stop it!" " H u r t foot a n d all!" Lou M a r k s cried. R u d y knelt beside him. "Please. Please!" Lou fell again, very hard, lay still. " H u r t foot a n d all," he w h i s p e r e d . R u d y t h a n k e d t h e host, t h a n k e d t h e hostess, r a n . " W h a t do you m e a n , you're n o t going back?" Sid said t h e next morning. " D o n ' t ask me," t h e b o y said. " O f course you're going back," Esther said. "We're all going back." T h e b o y watched his m o t h e r . "All?" "Saturday night," Esther said. "We're all invited to a party. M r s . M a r k s herself just called to m a k e the invitation. She insisted on us all, M r s . Marks did." "Please, Tootsie," Sid said. "Dolly." " O h my God," Esther said as they drove up the driveway to t h e Markses' house. "Such riches." Sid whistled. T h e b o y sat in the back, quietly w a t c h i n g as a u n i f o r m e d a t t e n d a n t stepped i n t o the driveway ahead of t h e m . " I look all right?" Esther whispered. She was wearing a blue silk dress,

328 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN new, a n d so well was she girdled a n d coiffed that from t i m e to t i m e the girl of nineteen m a d e brief a p p e a r a n c e s . "Delicious," Sid said. He s t o p p e d the car, looked at himself in the rearview m i r r o r , gave a final quick t u g to his bow. T h e a t t e n d a n t o p e n e d t h e d o o r for Esther. "Such riches," Esther whisp e r e d to Sid before she got o u t . T h e a t t e n d a n t t o o k h e r a r m , led h e r to a p a t h t h a t w o u n d a r o u n d to the rear of the house. T h e n he got into the Cadillac a n d drove it away. "Lead," Sid said to Rudy. He t o o k his wife's h a n d . T h e b o y followed the p a t h a r o u n d until it w i d e n e d a n d t h e expanse of lawn o p e n e d to t h e m . T h e lawn was lit by great flaming torches b u r n i n g in t h e night. T h e torches stood at t h e t o p of long stakes a n d they flickered a n d shifted before each tiny puff of w i n d , casting kaleidoscopic shadows. A large tent stood near o n e e n d of t h e formal garden a n d m u s i c e m a n a t e d f r o m it, a n d couples d a n c e d , a n d m o r e couples d a n c e d a r o u n d the s w i m m i n g pool a n d a few d a n c e d b e n e a t h the torches on t h e green lawn. T h e r e were other tents, for food, for drink, each tent a different size, a different color. F r o m the people, from t h e h u n d r e d s of people, there s e e m e d no s o u n d ; they seemed c o n t e n t with the silent grace of their m o v e m e n t s , a n d as the Millers w a t c h e d , a puff of w i n d c a m e , a n d with the w i n d c a m e s u d d e n noise, a b u r s t of laughter, a snatch of song, a n d w i t h t h e noise c a m e different s h a d o w s , t h e s u n t a n n e d faces c h a n g e d , b u t w h e n t h e w i n d died t h e noise died, t h e faces reverted, until t h e next puff, so t h a t t h e entire p a r t y seemed a gigantic dance, c h o r e o g r a p h e d by the mindless w i n d . Sid tightened his grip on Esther's h a n d a n d said "Lead!" to his son. T h e b o y t o o k t h e m t o t h e h o s t a n d hostess, m a d e i n t r o d u c t i o n s , lingered for t h e next awkward dialogue until his father began t h e joke a b o u t t h e p e a n u t - b u t t e r sandwiches t h a t always got a laugh, a n d as his father said, " L o u , you listen; Dolly, you m i g h t enjoy this too," he slipped away, m o v i n g between the torches to t h e edge of t h e bluff, t h e n following it, away from the pool, the colored tents, the silent dancers. He was alone now, in starless night, and he lifted his h a n d s to the cooling w i n d . He s p u n with quick grace, t h e n , a s t h e w i n d stopped, h e s t o p p e d , a n d c o n t i n u e d along t h e perimeter of t h e great lawn. At the far e n d he t u r n e d , w a t c h i n g t h e pretty d u m b show. T h e n h e c o n t i n u e d o n , a m b l i n g until he f o u n d w h a t once had b e e n a p a t h , following it in a m o n g trees until he reached its e n d . He saw a tiny h o u s e , dark; a teeter-totter, a swing. He walked a r o u n d , trying to see i n t o t h e w i n d o w s of the h o u s e . T h e n he p u s h e d t h e swing, h o p p e d o n t o t h e teeter-totter, began walking from one

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 329 end of it to t h e other, balancing gracefully, a r m s out, knees b e n t . "I always m e a n t to pitch this stuff," Dolly said from t h e p a t h . "You have a child?" " H a d . I always m e a n t to pitch it. I will too, someday." She sat in t h e swing a n d stared up at the b o y t h r o u g h t h e darkness. "Careful y o u d o n ' t fall." T h e b o y c o n t i n u e d pacing the teeter-totter, one e n d to t h e other. " T h i s is a skill of m i n e . As a child I was brilliant." " W h o are your friends? I m i g h t k n o w s o m e of them." "Well, I stay to myself a lot." " W h y is t h a t ? " " O h , it won't m a k e any sense to y o u . It'll s o u n d funny, b u t p e o p l e , s o m e t i m e s they ask me for things. A n d it doesn't usually w o r k o u t so well. I can tell this to you because I k n o w you wouldn't ever do a n y t h i n g like t h a t . You've got so m u c h here." " W h a t k i n d of things?" " W h a t kind? O h , whatever they w a n t , whatever they need, t h e y ask me for." "And it ends badly?" "Yes." "Why?" " O h , because I t r y to give it to t h e m . " "Always?" "Yes." "Why?" " O h , because just once, o n e t i m e , I'd like to succeed." "You weren't g o n n a c o m e back, r i g h t ? " "Right." " O n a c c o u n t o f Lou?" "Yes." "I hate t h a t p h o n y act of his. C a n y o u hear the music?" "No." "It's a wild scene. Kid on a teeter-totter, old b r o a d in a swing, faint m u s i c . All k i n d of erotic." She was wearing a sheer red dress a n d h e r black hair was piled high a n d her perfect t a n n e d skin seemed to glisten. She b e g a n to swing. For a m o m e n t she t h r e w back her h e a d a n d closed her eyes.

e

"It's t o o b a d I can't hear the music," t h e boy said. "It m a k e s me o u t the bitch, you u n d e r s t a n d that?" She o p e n e d h e r yes. " T h a t ' s why I hate it. O l d Lou falling all over on t h e g r o u n d a n d

330 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN there's that bitch wife of his w a t c h i n g a n d you k n o w she's driven h i m to it. I d o n ' t like being m a d e o u t t h a t way. You got a cigarette?" "No." "I d o n ' t inhale anyway." She s t o p p e d swinging. "You r e m e m b e r McCandless?" "Yes." "Shut up w h e n he gets here." " H o w d o you k n o w he's c o m i n g ? " " D i d n ' t you k n o w I was?" R u d y adjusted his earpiece. " I ' m sorry," he said. " T h i s i n s t r u m e n t of mine." He s h o o k his head. "I d o n ' t drive Lou to it. You r e m e m b e r that. I'm n o t saying t h a t to get o u t of being a bitch. I a m . But I ' m a bitch on my o w n t e r m s a n d he does w h a t he does w i t h o u t any h e l p from me." " H e seems very nice." Dolly watched h i m . "You're very graceful." T h e b o y shrugged. " I ' m small." "You m a y not!" Dolly said before McCandless said a n y t h i n g . He r a n his h a n d s t h r o u g h his b l o n d hair. "May n o t w h a t ? " "Talk to me." "Why?" "Because you're dismissed." " W h a t does that m e a n ? " "Shoo." McCandless t o o k a step t o w a r d her. "Shoo!" T h e b l o n d e retreated, disappeared. "I told you I was a bitch," Dolly said t h e n . " I ' m getting so sick of this i n s t r u m e n t , " Rudy said. "You didn't hear any of t h a t ? " "Any of w h a t ? " "O.K.," Dolly said. "O.K." She p u s h e d h a r d at the g r o u n d , t h e n lifted h e r long legs, p o i n t i n g her toes, swinging back a n d forth, back a n d forth. "Your father's a very funny fella." " O h yes." "And y o u r m o t h e r m u s t have been lovely—she is now, of course, but y o u k n o w what I mean." "So my father says." " T h i n k they'd like to join G r e e n t r e e ? " "Did they m e n t i o n it?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 331 " I n passing. Your father did." " W h o k n o w s w h a t people w a n t ? " R u d y said, and h e j u m p e d h i g h into t h e air, l a n d e d silently on the soft g r o u n d , p o i n t e d toward t h e p a t h , started t h a t way. Dolly got o u t of the swing. "I play a r o u n d a lot," she said. "I know." "How?" "Stories." " W h a t d o they say?" " T h a t you play a r o u n d a lot." "Ah, w h a t do they k n o w ? " Dolly said. T h e y reached the b e g i n n i n g of the lawn. " D o you dance?" "Yes." " D a n c e w i t h me." "I can't hear the music." "I've got this t h i n g a b o u t getting old," Dolly said. "You'll get over it," Rudy said. " O r you won't." He started across the lawn t o w a r d the dancers. "Rudy—" " W h a t a beautiful party this is; y o u m u s t be so proud," a n d he d a r t e d in a m o n g t h e torches a n d the s u n t a n n e d people, with Dolly following, a n d w h e n L o u h u r r i e d over to t h e m R u d y said, "It's the m o s t beautiful party, Mr. Marks," a n d t h e n he said, "Look! Look!" a n d he p o i n t e d to Sid a n d Esther, crying, "They're dancing," a n d they were, holding each o t h e r close, t u r n i n g a r o u n d a n d a r o u n d . Rudy b r o k e into a s u d d e n r u n , t h e n s t o p p e d , c o n t e n t e d just to watch as his p a r e n t s held each other. Over a n d over Rudy said, " O h , isn't that pretty. O h , o h , isn't that just the prettiest thing." A n d he smiled. A n d he clasped his h a n d s . A n d he blinked his e y e s . . . T h e b o y lay in the d a r k r o o m , his n a k e d b o d y covered by t h e w h i t e sheet. It was almost five in t h e m o r n i n g a n d he h a d been h o m e for less t h a n an h o u r , his parents being a m o n g the last to leave the party. He lay very still, t h e h e a r i n g aid in his h a n d . T h e d o o r to his b e d r o o m o p e n e d a n d closed, a n d t h e n s o m e o n e was t o u c h i n g his leg. "Kid," Sid said. " P u t it on." T h e b o y m i m e d reaching for his i n s t r u m e n t . "I h a d d a wait till y o u r m o t h e r was asleep. This concerns her." The boy nodded. "Didja see h e r tonight, kid? Didja ever see her so h a p p y in years? T h e t r u t h now." He sat beside his son's body.

1 332 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN T h e boy s h o o k his head. " T h a t ' s the kinda people y o u r m o t h e r needs. People like that. T h e y bring out t h e best in her. T h e r e was no headache tonight, no nothin'. I tell you, it was like w h e n we were y o u n g . We were awful h a p p y t h e n , kid, b e fore t h e headaches came." " M o t h e r ' s told me." " N o w I w a n n a get s o m e t h i n ' straight, kid. I'm n o t telling you w h a t to do. Nossir. You d o n ' t get that k i n d a stuff from m e . Your life's y o u r o w n , and that's that." Sid paused. "We're h a v i n g t h e Markses for d i n n e r next week. H o w ' b o u t that?" "Wonderful." "I invited t h e m . 'Dolly,' I said, 'how's a b o u t it?' a n d they're c o m i n g . Esther said I shouldn't ask, b u t you k n o w h o w Esther is. Afraid to try anything. A week from tonight. Lou a n d Dolly Marks, c o m i n g here. That's s o m e t h i n g , y'know? It could m e a n a lot to your mother." "Yes," t h e b o y said. "I d o n ' t give a shit a b o u t t h e c o u n t r y club, n o t for myself, y ' u n d e r stan'? I m o v e a r o u n d a lot anyway; I m e e t people. But y o u r m o t h e r . Well, it w o u l d do her so m u c h g o o d I can't tell you, being with p e o p l e like that. She needs being with t h a t k i n d a people, kid. Didja see h e r tonight? That's w h a t I m e a n . You could really h e l p her. You could really m a k e your m o t h e r happy." T h e b o y lay very still. " D o n ' t blow it," Sid said t h e n . " P a r d o n , Father?" "Kid, I see things. I hear, I see, I pick up what I can. Dolly M a r k s , she looks at you a lot." " O h , I d o n ' t think she does." "She plays; so, she's rich, she can afford it. T h e latest was this goyetn b u i l d e r from Chicago, McCandless, s o m e t h i n g . He was there t o n i g h t . Left early. T h e w o r d is, it's all over." "Well, I wouldn't k n o w a b o u t that." " T h a t ' s why I'm telling you. Listen to y o u r father. It's y o u r o w n life, b u t y o u still gotta t h i n k a b o u t o t h e r people s o m e t i m e s , like y o u r m o t h e r . So it's my guess Dolly M a r k s d o n ' t hate you, O.K.? There's n o t h i n g w r o n g with that. Now, I'm n o t telling you to take advantage, u n d e r s t a n d . Follow y o u r o w n heart-—that's t h e only way to m o v e t h r o u g h this w o r l d . I m e a n , I'm not telling you to t h r o w a b a g over her head a n d do it for Old Glory. That's t h e farthest thing from w h a t I'm telling you. G o d forbid I should ever tell a thing like that to my son."

i

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 333 T h e b o y s h o o k his hearing aid. "You d i d n ' t miss anything," Sid said. "I was just r a m b l i n g o n . T h e m a i n p o i n t is, kid, don't make waves. Be nice, that's all I'm telling you. They like you. Keep it that way. Play tennis, smile, see your dentist twice a year. You follow m e , d o n t c h a ? " "I follow." " T h a t ' s all I w a n t e d to say, kid. Go on back to sleep." He p a t t e d his son's shoulder. "And r e m e m b e r : you're helping your mother. You got a chance to really m a k e her happy. 'Night, kid." " 'Night," Rudy said. He stared, eyes wide, at the ceiling until his m o t h e r c a m e in half an h o u r later. She s h o o k h i m . " P u t on y o u r thing." H e m a d e t h e a p p r o p r i a t e gestures. "Your father m u s t n ' t hear." The boy nodded. " T h e y ' r e c o m i n g , Rudy. Here." "Who?" "Mr. a n d M r s . Marks." "Ah." " T o o u r house." " H o w wonderful." Esther sat d o w n heavily on t h e b e d . " I ' m very tired," she said. "I should be. Frisking a r o u n d like a fool t h a t way. I h a d to do it, Rudy. I couldn't let h i m d o w n . He was so full of life tonight; Sid." "Yes." Esther sighed. " I ' m so tired. N o t just from t h e frisking. It's b e e n a h a r d life, Rudy, for your father a n d m e . A long struggle. No o n e has ever had to struggle any worse, I p r o m i s e you that." "I know." She sighed again a n d t o u c h e d h e r eyes. "Sometimes, way b a c k b e h i n d the eyes, I can feel o n e forming. A m i g r a i n e . Like a t h u n d e r s t o r m t h e y tell you is over Kansas on t h e weather report." "You s h o u l d rest," Rudy said. " S o m e parents, they p u s h their children. Sid a n d m e , we ain't like that. We w o u l d never be. It was very i m p o r t a n t to us. Almost a pact. We love y o u so, Rudy. You make us so p r o u d . Everybody loves you. Do you k n o w h o w lucky you are? Do you k n o w w h a t a cruel place this w o r l d is? 1 know. So does y o u r father." " I ' m very lucky," Rudy said. "He's h a d to fight. For everything. It c r u s h e d h i m w h e n t h e y t u r n e d

334 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN h i m d o w n from that silly club. I, myself, w o u l d never go. You k n o w that. H o w little I care a b o u t silly t h i n g s like c o u n t r y clubs a n d canasta a n d sitting by t h e pool a n d having s o m e o n e b r i n g you l e m o n a d e . I've always gotten my o w n l e m o n a d e , Rudy. You k n o w that. We've h a d a lousy m a r riage, Rudy, y o u r father a n d me." T h e b o y closed his eyes. "Because he's h a d to fight so h a r d . Rudy, he doesn't k n o w w h o he has to fight a n d w h o he doesn't, so he fights m e . His o w n wife s o m e t i m e s . We love each o t h e r a n d we always have, b u t s o m e t i m e s we fight t o o m u c h . If o n l y he could get into that club, t h o u g h . T h e n there'd be no place else for h i m to get to. He's got everything else, Rudy. A n d once he h a d that he'd stop fighting a n d be so happy." "You haven't h a d a lousy marriage," t h e boy said. " O f course not; w h o said that? We love each o t h e r I d i d n ' t m e a n we h a d a lousy m a r r i a g e . My God, we've s o m e t i m e s you could bust. But w h a t I m e a n is, every father—well, it w o u l d m a k e h i m so happy, being at last t h a t for h i m , Rudy. Help him."

like anything. been so happy so often your a m e m b e r . Do

" W h a t would you like?" "Tell t h e m , the Markses, tell t h e m what a fine m a n he is a n d w h a t a fine addition he would make. Tell t h e m I don't care, I d o n ' t even have to set foot in the place, that w o u l d suit m e , b u t your father—they're coming to dinner, Rudy, and you k n o w it's going to be jokes from h i m a n d from me n o t h i n g b u t nerves a n d they w o n ' t see what a fine a d d i t i o n he would be. You m u s t tell t h e m . T h e y like you. You they listen to. You they understand. Do this for your father, Rudy. End the fighting. M a k e h i m happy. H e l p h i m . It's up to you. You k n o w it is. Help him." She sighed again, kissed her son on the cheek. T h e n she got u p . "You go to sleep now." " I ' m halfway there already." " T h i s has been an i m p o r t a n t talk, Rudy, don't you t h i n k ? " T h e b o y n o d d e d . " I ' m really glad you b r o u g h t it all to my attention." Late t h e next afternoon, as he was closing up the t e n n i s shack, he saw h e r waving to h i m from t h e p a r k i n g lot. He walked over. "I have to correct an impression," Dolly said. "Pardon?" "Get in." T h e boy walked a r o u n d t h e Jaguar. "We all have these images of ourself, you k n o w ? " She r o a r e d up the hill t o w a r d the club exit.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 335 "Yes." "I d i d n ' t like the impression I m a d e last night." "I t h o u g h t you were very nice." "I s h o u l d n o t have discussed my faults." "Faults?" " Playing." "Ah." T h e boy squinted up at t h e billowing clouds a n d w h a t was left of b l u e sky. T h e n , as the car t u r n e d , he said, "We're going to y o u r h o u s e ? " "I t h o u g h t we might." The boy nodded. "I spoke to y o u r father. He said it w o u l d be fine." T h e b o y smiled. " T h i s used to be my favorite time, w h e n I was young. Just before the rain. Everybody's in a h u r r y then, you ever notice that? Everybody's scurrying a r o u n d just as fast as they can; they haven't got a second to notice you or anything else. They're all in this t r e m e n d o u s hurry. You can do crazy things and no one ever knows it, just before the rain." The car picked up speed. " O n e time, back in Ohio, there was this dress I hated. It m a d e me look all fat and d u m p y a n d you'll never know h o w m u c h I hated that dress. Pink. For God's sake. Pink and frilly and this t r e m e n d o u s rain appeared way off on the horizon. All of a sudden. You could see it coming closer a n d closer a n d it got d a r k o u t and a terrible w i n d started and, like I said, everyone's in a h u r r y then, n o b o d y notices you, so I ran upstairs and I put on this d u m p y pink dress—that's all; I was barefoot and everything—and I went outside just as the wind was reaching a peak a n d across the street a n d d o w n the block you could see everybody all h u n c h e d over, scurrying a r o u n d , a n d I— very slowly—I took off that d u m p y dress a n d I held it just as gracefully as I could, just like a lady, the tip of o n e sleeve between two fingers, a n d the trees were b e n d i n g , a n d I was standing there naked, holding this dress, waiting for just the right gust of wind, a n d w h e n it came I opened my h a n d a n d it flew away like Dorothy to Oz, a n d I stood there waving and shouting 'Byebye, bye-bye' a n d n o b o d y noticed me or anything. People ran past, this way, that way, b u t I knew they wouldn't see m e , a n d they didn't, not with the first big d r o p s of rain coming down." Dolly laughed then. "I am k n o w n far a n d wide for my abilities as a storyteller. For an encore I'll shut up a while." She drove silently until they reached her house. T h e n she got o u t of \he car, said "Come o n " and followed the path a r o u n d to the great back lawn. N o t h i n g had changed. T h e colored tents still stood, t h e stakes, the torches. But t h e torches were dead, t h e people gone. O t h e r t h a n that, n o t h i n g had changed.

336 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h i s is t h e real party," Dolly said t h e n . T h e b o y said n o t h i n g . "There's no music. We can d a n c e now." He t o o k h e r in his a r m s a n d they began to glide across t h e green lawn, t u r n i n g a n d b e n d i n g , silent b e n e a t h t h e blackening sky. "I t h o u g h t you'd like it b u t you don't," Dolly said. " W h y d o you t h i n k t h a t ? " " l e a n tell." "You're wrong." They c o n t i n u e d to dance. "It's very lovely, b u t a b a d t h i n g h a p p e n e d to me today. T h i s m o r n i n g . S o m e t h i n g u p s e t t i n g . I haven't gotten over it yet." " W h a t was it?" "Well, this friend of my m o t h e r , she gave me a lift to t h e c o u r t s this m o r n i n g . She picked me up a n d t o o k me there. A very lovely lady. Truly. Except on the way there she s t o p p e d t h e car. At her h o u s e — " "And she m a d e a pass at you," Dolly said. T h e y were in the center of t h e lawn now, two t u r n i n g spots of color, white for t h e boy, yellow for Dolly, w h i t e a n d yellow over green, b e n e a t h black. "I s u p p o s e so." "And you d o n ' t find h e r attractive." "She's very beautiful." " B u t n o t very young." Dolly d r o p p e d h e r a r m s . "She m u s t be a godd a m fool. Doesn't she know? T h e worst thing in t h e w o r l d is to be rebuffed. You don't m i n d it so m u c h w h e n you're y o u n g , b u t w h e n you're n o t y o u n g a n y m o r e . . . W h a t a g o d d a m fool." "At any rate," Rudy said, "this is very nice here, b u t I'm still sort of upset." " T h e r e are only two possibilities of why a w o m a n does that. Either they t h i n k they're going to succeed . . . " "Or?" "Desperation." R u d y t u r n e d away, faced t h e tents, t h e cold torches. " W h e n will this come down?" " T o m o r r o w . I could have h a d it d o n e today b u t I like leaving it up as long as possible. I like ruins. D i d y o u see my dollhouse?" "Yes. Last night, r e m e m b e r ? " "But you didn't see in it. That's t h e treat. Come." She started walking toward the p a t h . " D o you have a cigarette? N o , that's right, you don't smoke." "And you don't inhale."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 337 Dolly h u r r i e d along t h e p a t h , t h e n s t o p p e d , p o i n t i n g t o t h e swing a n d the teeter-totter. " N o t so erotic in t h e daylight, I guess." She p u s h e d o p e n the d o o r of t h e dollhouse, stooped, went inside. He followed. "Sit," Dolly said. T h e y sat on t h e floor. " P r e t t y snazzy, h u h ? " T h e b o y glanced a r o u n d t h e tiny r o o m . There was a sink a n d a stove a n d an icebox a n d a bed and d o z e n s of stuffed animals a n d h u n d r e d s of dolls. H e n o d d e d . " T h e dolls are m i n e . F r o m since w h e n I was a kid. D o r o t h y — D o l l y . Get it? T h e rest I h a d fixed up w h e n t h e baby came, b u t t h e n she died. Stoppage of t h e heart. She was very small, so it didn't b o t h e r me all t h a t m u c h ; I never got to k n o w h e r all that well. I'm going to have all this pitched s o m e — o h , I told you all that." " T h a t ' s all right." " N o ; I talk t o o m u c h s o m e t i m e s . I should never have told y o u a b o u t my playing." " T h a t ' s all right too." " W h e n I started—playing, t h a t is—I m a d e a rule: I h a d to care. It wasn't so b a d until I began breaking it. This was a long t i m e ago." "And y o u r h u s b a n d ? " " M y h u s b a n d inherited a shoe business. He buys things w i t h t h e profits. Trinkets. You are looking at a trinket. He is a physical c o w a r d a n d a m e n t a l gull a n d I am in all ways his equal. If you're asking does he k n o w , the a n s w e r is yes." She smiled. " C a n you h e a r ? " R u d y tilted his head to o n e side. Dolly p o i n t e d u p . "Rain on t h e roof." Rudy nodded. " T h a t ' s s u p p o s e d to be r o m a n t i c , rain on the roof is. I've got this thing a b o u t getting o l d — n o , I told you that too." She p u s h e d t h e d o o r of the d o l l h o u s e wide open and stared o u t at t h e rain. "I m u s t have a cigarette. W h y d o n ' t you smoke?" " I ' m sorry." "I've got this terrible fear you're going to t u r n me down." " S h u t up." She started c o m i n g toward h i m , m o v i n g into his a r m s . He held h e r close a n d t h e y lay flat on the d o l l h o u s e floor. " D o n ' t laugh at me," she said. "See? My h a n d s are shaking. D o n ' t laugh." "It's n o t funny; I o u g h t to." " H e l p me," Dolly whispered. " H e l p me." A n d t h e n t h e boy was s h o u t i n g , " I . . . a m . . . s o . . . sick . . . o f . . . People . . . asking . . . m e . . . t o . . . help . . . t h e m ! I a m sick u n t o d e a t h o f

338 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN p e o p l e asking me to help t h e m ! All my life everybody always asks me to help t h e m b u t you don't w a n t m y help!" H e scrambled across t h e dollh o u s e floor, bolted o u t into t h e rain, sped along the p a t h o n t o the great lawn. T h e rain was thick a n d steady a n d he stopped, staring at t h e ruins of t h e party. "Everybody says help me b u t n o b o d y m e a n s it; they only m e a n do w h a t I want." Dolly t o u c h e d h i m . "Listen . . ." " N o ! " He ripped his earpiece from his ear. "I hear n o t h i n g ! " He shut his eyes. "I see n o t h i n g ! " H e r a r m s went a r o u n d h i m . His h a n d s ripped at h e r b o d y ; he kissed her m o u t h . " T h a t ' s w h a t you w a n t b u t that's n o t helping y o u . T h a t is only w h a t you get from everybody. Helping you is saying n o ! But you don't w a n t that. You w a n t my help? I'll help you—I'll say n o ! " She held h i m tighter. "Act y o u r age!" Rudy cried. She started to slap h i m , c h a n g e d her m i n d , changed it back, slapped h i m twice, d r e w blood. T h a t evening there was a k n o c k on t h e door. " W h o can it b e ? " Esther said. "I k n o w this terrific way of finding out," Sid said, a n d he w e n t to t h e door. Lou Marks stood o u t s i d e in the rain. "Lou!" Sid said. "Lou! C o m e in." L o u M a r k s stayed w h e r e he was. He wore a m o n o g r a m m e d white shirt a n d a pair of pale-blue t r o u s e r s , soaked. " W h a t is it, Lou? My G o d , w h a t h a p p e n e d to y o u r h a n d ? " L o u M a r k s raised his right h a n d , swathed in b a n d a g e s . "I just s l a m m e d the car d o o r on it. I b a n d a g e d it myself. It h u r t s like crazy." " W h a t ' s going o n ? " Esther asked, c o m i n g u p . "Your son tried attacking my wife," Lou M a r k s said. Sid said n o t h i n g . Esther gasped. "Earlier this evening. She m a n a g e d to beat h i m away." "Jesus God," Sid said. Esther began r u b b i n g h e r t e m p l e s . "Dolly's pretty upset," Lou said. " O h , n o , oh, n o " from Esther. " T h e boy came h o m e n o t l o n g ago, Lou. H e w e n t t o his r o o m . H e s e e m e d upset b u t — "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 339 " H e tried to rape her. My wife. On the lawn." "Lou," Sid said. "Lou, believe me w h e n I say—" " T h e b o y should be p u n i s h e d , " Lou M a r k s said. " N o , " Esther said. "Of course, of course." Sid n o d d e d . "Yes. Definitely. Lou, it takes a while t o adjust t o — " "He should be punished!" " H e will be." "Sid—" Esther cried, a n d her fingers pushed at her eyes. " M y medicine." "I w o u l d do it," Lou M a r k s said. " B u t . . . " a n d he indicated his d a m aged h a n d . "I'll do it," Sid said. "Rest easy. I'll do it." " H o w do I k n o w that?" "You have my word," Sid said. "Sid, m y m e d i c i n e — " " T h e w o r d of the father of a b o y w h o tried to rape my wife?" "Like son d o n ' t m e a n like father, Lou. Believe m e . All my life I've h a d n o t h i n g b u t m y word t o g o o n . That's all that's m e a n t a n y t h i n g — " " I w o u l d love t o p u n i s h h i m , b u t m y h a n d . . . " H e held u p t h e b a n dages again. "Dolly told me a n d I s l a m m e d the g o d d a m car d o o r on it, I was so upset. I can't p u n i s h h i m w i t h just my left hand." "Are you sure . . . " Sid said. " T h e r e could be no mistake?" "You're calling my wife a l i a r — y o u k n o w that." " N o - n o , " Sid said. "I w o u l d r a t h e r die. Rudy! Rudy! Lou, this will all w o r k o u t , you'll see, you'll see, I swear to you." T h e boy stood above t h e m o n t h e landing. " G o back, Rudy," Esther cried. " R u n ! " " D i d y o u — t o n i g h t — d i d y o u — h o w could you d o i t h o w — d i d you attack M r s . M a r k s ? " " I n desperation," Dolly M a r k s said, m o v i n g in front of h e r h u s b a n d . " D i d y o u ? " Sid said. " D i d y o u ? " T h e b o y looked d o w n at t h e m . "If I said n o , w h o w o u l d believe m e ? " " H e d i d n ' t deny it," Lou M a r k s said. " R u n , Rudy," Esther cried. "God!" Sid smacked his forehead. "Rudy, h o w could y o u — a t t a c k the wife of a m a n like Lou M a r k s , a w o m a n like that. How—>iriy G o d — t h i s is n o t a t h i n g you can excuse. T h e y were nice to y o u — h e t o o k y o u into his h o u s e — t h i s is h o w you repay a m a n like that, a m a n on t h e b o a r d of clubs, a director of c o m p a n i e s — y o u get dirty with his wife. Rudy, Rudy, what must be done to you?"

340 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " P u n i s h him," Lou said. "I could go to the police b u t I w o n ' t go to t h e police w i t h a thing like this. My wife's n a m e does n o t get m e n t i o n e d in c o n n e c t i o n with a . . . a . . . " H e stared u p a t the boy. " I w o u l d love t o p u n ish y o u . I w o u l d . B u t . .." He raised his b a n d a g e d h a n d . "I'll p u n i s h h i m , Lou. You'll see. C o m e d o w n here, Rudy. This is your father talking. C o m e d o w n . Now." " N o , Sid," a n d Esther g r a b b e d for her h u s b a n d . Sid p u s h e d her away. "Come down, you! I got a belt here. I got a s t r o n g belt a n d you'll see, Lou. Sid Miller is a m a n of his word." T h e b o y looked at t h e m , glancing quickly from face to face: Lou t h e observer, crippled a n d safe; Dolly smiling, a b o u t to be avenged; keening Esther, on her knees now, b e g i n n i n g to w r i t h e ; Sid the inflicter, i n n o c e n t b l u e eyes bright. Isn't it wonderful, t h e b o y t h o u g h t , s h u d d e r i n g , d e s c e n d i n g t h e stairs t o w a r d t h e m , his o w n eyes filling with tears; I've m a d e everyone h a p p y at last.

XIII T h e o p e n convertible bulleted d o w n t h e dark highway. Branch sat h u n c h e d b e h i n d the wheel, driving w i t h his left h a n d , using his right to lock t h e sleeping girl against his body. Annie W i t h e r s h a d a p r e t t y face ( u n u s u a l for an Oberlin coed) b u t a b a d figure (S.O.P.). H e r hips were large a n d her a r m s were too s h o r t a n d , worst of all, her legs were k n o t t e d a n d thick, dancer's legs. B r a n c h flicked a fingertip across h e r small breast a n d she stirred, blinking up at h i m . He smiled, so she closed h e r eyes. T h e s p e e d o m e t e r read eighty, b u t Branch fixed that fast, j a m m i n g his foot floorward. Eighty-three, eighty-five, n o w ninety. T h e w i n d screamed. B r a n c h increased his pressure on t h e gas pedal and at ninety-five t h e cust o m a r y p a n i c built inside h i m , wetting his palms. G o d , h o w h e longed t o b r a k e , to slow, to crawl. It was o u t of t h e question, naturally; Branch S c u d d e r drove fast. Everybody k n e w that. At one h u n d r e d miles p e r hour, t h e T h u n d e r b i r d began resenting; t h e m o t o r roared, m a t c h i n g t h e scream of t h e w i n d . Up ahead lay Oberlin a n d Branch felt, as he always did u p o n a p p r o a c h , smug. Students were forbidden cars and they glanced longingly at his black carrier, just as he h a d glanced at other cars w h e n he h a d been a s t u d e n t there, four years before. W h e n he reached t h e edge of town, Branch slowed. Annie Withers woke, o p e n e d her eyes, blinked slowly, then self-consciously ran her fingers t h r o u g h h e r short b r o w n hair. " W e here?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 341 "We are." "How's the time?" "Peace. You've got till one-forty. It is n o w — " a n d he looked at his watch—"one-twenty-three." A n n i e curled up against h i m , h e r a r m a r o u n d his waist. "Wow," she said. " T o o m a n y martinis." "You college kids. No capacity." "Amen." She snuggled up tighter as Branch drove t h r o u g h t h e quiet t o w n . W h e n they were almost at h e r d o r m , she walked her fingers up his cheek, across his forehead, t h e n up again, where his hair s h o u l d have been. "Bald m e n fracture me," she said. "I am n o t bald. I have a receding hairline." A n n i e squinted at his skull. "Very." She kissed his cheek. "Face it, Branch old m a n : you're bald." B r a n c h pulled up in front of H a r k n e s s d o r m . Spaced along the d o r m wall, d e e p in shadow, couples grappled. A n n i e gestured toward t h e m . " H o w c o m m o n . " B r a n c h n o d d e d . "Absolutely no class." Taking her roughly in his a r m s , he kissed her. Eyes closed, Annie said, "You're a killer, you k n o w that, Baldy?" "Brat," Branch said, a n d he kissed h e r again. " I ' m s m e a r i n g you," Annie w h i s p e r e d . " S m e a r m e , I'll live." He kissed h e r a n d held her close a n d massaged her small breasts. She whispered his n a m e and he smiled, h o l d i n g h e r u n til it was t i m e to go in. He got o u t of the car, o p e n e d the d o o r for her, t h e n swatted her as she exited. "Beast." "You love it." "Yeah," she said. "Y'know I do." She locked her a r m s a r o u n d h i m a n d they walked slowly toward the e n t r a n c e . Several other couples s t o o d clustered by t h e door. "Aren't they ugly?" A n n i e whispered. "All that hair." B r a n c h smiled, conscious of t h e o t h e r boys, of h o w y o u n g they looked, h o w p u r e . A n d he k n e w they were conscious of h i m t o o . He was Scudder from West Ridge—the Guy w i t h the Car. Branch kissed A n n i e on the forehead, held the d o o r o p e n for her, waved t h r o u g h t h e glass. T h e n he t u r n e d , jogged to his T h u n d e r b i r d , got in, t u r n e d on t h e ignition, g u n n e d t h e m o t o r several times (it was expected of h i m ) . T h e n he released t h e b r a k e a n d roared o u t of t h e quiet town. It was less t h a n ten miles from O b e r l i n to West Ridge, a n d he could make it in eight m i n u t e s if he w a n t e d to. But he didn't w a n t to. (Sweet Jesus, did he n o t want to.) O n e mile o u t of Oberlin, t h e r o a d forked. T h e

342 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN m a i n r o a d was, of course, t h e better of t h e two, straighter, brighter, faster. But t h e back road passed t h e Pelican. Branch t o o k the back road. It was deserted, so he t o o k his foot off the gas a n d coasted d o w n to thirty. Happily, he kept t h a t pace, s o m e t i m e s d r o p p i n g d o w n as low as twenty-five until, ahead of h i m t h r o u g h the trees, he saw the n e o n outline of a pelican fluttering its p u r p l e wings. Branch slowed, c o n s c i o u s already of the p o u n d i n g of his heart. W h e n he drew even with t h e Pelican, Branch p u t his foot on t h e b r a k e . T h e T h u n d e r b i r d s t o p p e d o n t h e highway. Keeping the m o t o r r u n n i n g , Branch w r a p p e d his h a n d s a r o u n d the steering wheel, rested his chin on his white knuckles, staring at t h e bar a n d t h e noiseless p u r p l e b i r d flying overhead. For an instant, Branch shut his eyes, trying to envision t h e inside of t h e bar. He saw it t h e n , as clear as his m o t h e r ' s smile, which was r e m a r k a b l e , considering he h a d only been inside t h e bar once in his entire life, m o r e t h a n a year ago, t h e 23rd of April, a date that, like his b i r t h d a y a n d Pearl Harbor, he k n e w himself incapable of ever forgetting. ( H e h a d h e a r d a b o u t t h e Pelican all his life, t h o u g h — w h i s p e r s here, half phrases there. It was n o t that k i n d of p l a c e — t h e r e simply weren't sufficient p e r s o n n e l to s u p p o r t that kind of place in this p a r t of O h i o — b u t it was the k i n d of place where, if you were looking for rfjaf kind of t h i n g , you went.) Branch gripped t h e steering wheel tighter a n d listened to himself b r e a t h e . He was afraid, just as he always was whenever he s t o p p e d to stare in at this p u r p l e place. W h y do y o u keep coming? Branch w o n d e r e d . You'd rather die t h a n go back inside, so why do you keep coming? A n d t h e n he t h o u g h t of Aaron a n d s o m e t h i n g Aaron h a d said to h i m once: "You like p u n i s h m e n t , d o n ' t you, S c u d d e r ? " "Yes, Aaron," Branch said o u t l o u d . He stared a m o m e n t longer, t h e n j a m m e d his foot d o w n on t h e gas, g u n n i n g the T h u n d e r b i r d viciously, r o a r i n g d o w n t h e e m p t y r o a d t o w a r d West Ridge a n d h o m e . Still afraid. But t h e n , fear was m o r e or less his constant c o m p a n i o n . He was afraid of so m a n y people, e v e r y b o d y b u t Rose, really, a l t h o u g h s o m e t i m e s he even w o n d e r e d a b o u t that. He h a d been afraid of Aaron. He h a d been afraid of the A r m y itself, yet on his Separation Day, two years ago now, Branch h a d been sad. Rose h a d driven d o w n t o Chicago t o pick h i m u p a n d all t h e way back she fairly b u b b l e d a b o u t s o m e wonderful mysterious surprises awaiting h i m in West Ridge a n d Branch had smiled as expected, b u t he was sad. He w o u l d miss t h e Army, or s o m e things a b o u t it. As soon

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 343 as his t r a i n i n g in X C o m p a n y was finished, he said goodbye to A a r o n a n d t h e S o u t h a n d t o o k a train to 5th A r m y h e a d q u a r t e r s in Chicago. There, life was easy. He clerked, s w a m in Lake Michigan a n d shared an a p a r t m e n t w i t h a terrible-tempered sergeant n a m e d Rattigan. W h e n Rattigan was transferred to Japan, B r a n c h kept t h e a p a r t m e n t alone for a while, until Peter B e a u m o n t arrived. Peter B e a u m o n t was a private, sweet a n d simple, from Los Angeles. He was m a r r i e d , b u t his wife stayed in California, so she was no bother. On t o p of everything else, B r a n c h liked Peter. T h a t was why his Separation Day was sad. Rose's wonderful surprise, which she p o i n t e d o u t p r o u d l y as s o o n as they reached West Ridge, was this: On t h e glass w i n d o w of t h e real-estate office there were n o w two n a m e s where before there h a d b e e n b u t o n e . W E S T R I D G E R E A L ESTATE. A n d u n d e r n e a t h : B R A N C H S C U D D E R . R O S E

S C U D D E R . "Yours above m i n e , baby," Rose h a d said t h a t day. "Yours above m i n e , " a n d she waited for his smile. He gave her o n e , b u t t h e cost was considerable, because he h a d never functioned (his w o r d ) in West Ridge. He h a d learned the g a m e from a counselor at boy's c a m p , practiced his skills on a college t o u r of E u r o p e , refined his style in the Army. But never h a d he functioned in West Ridge. Never near h o m e . B r a n c h w e n t right to w o r k learning the business. He a n d Rose shared t h e i n n e r office that h a d o n c e belonged to his father. He caught on quickly. Rose was p r o u d of h i m a n d that was pleasing, b u t it was n o t e n o u g h . He spent evenings at O b e r l i n , helping the D r a m a t with their fall p r o d u c t i o n , a n d it was a success a n d that was pleasing, b u t it was n o t e n o u g h . T h e Black Prince shared his nightly d r e a m s a n d t h a t was always pleasing, b u t even that was n o t e n o u g h , for the Black Prince was d r e a m ing a n d West Ridge, O h i o , was no d r e a m . Branch grew desperate as w i n t e r grew near. He decided to spend a few days in Chicago with Peter B e a u m o n t , b u t Rose s t o p p e d that. "Ya get o u t of t h e A r m y all of a s u d d e n y o u can't wait to go visit. Well go! Go! Go o n , go!" He h a d never been able to m a t c h her w h e n she chose to overpower h i m , so he stayed. There was an actor at O b e r l i n w h o m i g h t have served h i m , b u t w h a t if he talked? Branch k n e w the answer: it would kill h i m . A n d Rose? W h a t if she ever f o u n d o u t a b o u t him? T h a t answer Branch k n e w too, b u t it was so h i d e o u s he never n a m e d it. So w h a t was he to do? N o t h i n g . He could do n o t h i n g . But t h e cost. T h e cost. Branch began overeating, stuffing great slabs of f o o d d o w n his

344 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN d r y throat, following it w i t h t a n k a r d s of beer. But his t h r o a t r e m a i n e d dry. He h a d always t e n d e d to flesh a n d n o w the tendency flowered: a d o u ble chin appeared; the layers of flesh below his hips blistered, camouflaging his h i p b o n e s . Some nights he w o u l d slave at the office till his bloated b o d y ached; s o m e nights he h e l p e d at t h e college, b u i l d i n g sets, t r i m m i n g b u d g e t s , anything, anything. But every so often he w o u l d drive by t h e Pelican a n d w o n d e r . Cruise ( n o u n ) . To cruise (verb). Cruising (participle). B r a n c h loathed the w o r d in any form. T h e h u m i l i a t i o n (he, Branch Scudder, fumbling after s o m e stranger, praying for a p i c k - u p in s o m e s c u m m y b a r ) , t h e danger (the police: a n y o n e m i g h t b e t h e police), t h e ever-lasting lying ("My n a m e . . . ? M y n a m e . . . ?") a n d , m o s t h i d e o u s o f all, the hovering stench of guilt. He hated being "that way," h a t e d having to guard t h e secret. There were days, as he walked along t h e streets of West Ridge, t h a t he w a n t e d to scream it o u t , scream it o u t , just to end it, just to get it at last over a n d d o n e . I'm just like anybody else. I want love. Is that so terrible? Love! I want love! A n d so, in the n a m e of love, at precisely thirty-five m i n u t e s after nine o'clock on t h e night of the 2 3 r d of April, Branch drove (was driven) into t h e glow of t h e m u t e p u r p l e b i r d . He p a r k e d in the m i d d l e of t h e lot a n d got o u t of t h e car a n d t h o u g h t he was remarkably calm until he t o o k a step a n d realized h o w close he was to n o t being able to walk. As he crossed to the front d o o r of t h e b a r his p a n i c built wildly, a n d he was p a n t i n g as he t o u c h e d t h e k n o b . He froze there for a while, left h a n d o u t . T h e n he t u r n e d back to t h e car a n d h a d actually taken a step in t h a t direction before whirling a r o u n d , yanking at t h e b a r door, shoving it o p e n , stepping inside. T h e place was almost deserted. A fat m a n a n d w o m a n sat at t h e bar, talking to t h e bartender. In t h e far left corner a j u k e b o x glowed. In the back a crippled little m a n was m a k i n g pizza. A n d to the right, engaged in a solitary d a r t game, s t o o d M r . Saginaw. Branch could not help smiling as he h u r r i e d to t h e bar. Mr. Sagin a w was h e a d of the c h e m i s t r y d e p a r t m e n t at West Ridge H i g h , a p o p u l a r teacher, lean a n d witty a n d dry. A n d a bachelor. T h a t was t h e fact t h a t always preoccupied t h e students. W h y was old Saginaw a bachelor? H o w t h e y strained their adolescent i m a g i n a t i o n s for reasons: He h a d once

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 345 been m a r r i e d b u t his wife h a d b e e n killed tragically; he h a d o n c e been engaged to a beautiful girl w h o left h i m s t u n n e d a n d w e e p i n g at t h e altar; he h a d loved a Catholic w h o r e t u r n e d his devotion b u t h e r h u s b a n d was a fiend w h o w o u l d n o t die. B r a n c h s h o o k his head a n d signaled to t h e bart e n d e r for a glass of cold beer. W h y was old Saginaw a bachelor? Seeing h i m here, at this t i m e , in this place, m a d e it all so o b v i o u s , so painfully plain. Because he was queer. T h a t was why. A n o t h e r couple c a m e in, y o u n g e r t h a n the fat pair, a n d a p p a r e n t l y acq u a i n t e d , for in a m o m e n t t h e four of t h e m were laughing together. Sad old Saginaw still played his d a r t s a n d the b a r t e n d e r busied himself d r y i n g glassware, the cross of his t r a d e . Branch glanced at his w a t c h . If no o n e c a m e in soon, he w o u l d go. T h e jukebox s o u n d e d " S t a r d u s t " in response to t h e crippled pizza man's nickel. (A r o m a n t i c , Branch t h o u g h t . Well, so am I.) He finished his beer a n d o r d e r e d a second, a third, a f o u r t h . C o m e o n , S o m e b o d y — N o don't n o don't—yes please—no p l e a s e — S o m e b o d y — no Nobody— T h e d o o r t o the Pelican o p e n e d a n d S o m e b o d y walked in. Branch glanced u p , t h e n b a c k to his beer. S o m e b o d y was walking in his direction, and then t h e stool two d o w n from his was occupied. By what? A t h i n y o u n g m a n with a scar. A long, puckered scar c u r v i n g from the right eye d o w n across the b o n y cheek to the thin m o u t h . A thin y o u n g m a n w i t h a scar a n d black hair piled high, curl on curl. Go away, Branch t h o u g h t , b u t he smiled at the scar. A n d the scar smiled on h i m in r e t u r n . "Beer," the m a n with t h e scar said. Branch finished his draft. " M a k e that two." He glanced over his right s h o u l d e r to where Saginaw played his solitary dart g a m e . As he r e t u r n e d his glance, his eyes m e t t h e eyes over the scar. T h e r e was no flicker. Nothing. Yet. T h e b a r t e n d e r earned his keep. Branch picked up his glass a n d t u r n e d it slowly in his h a n d . He did n o t speak, n o r did the scar, b u t t h e air was filled w i t h the i m p e n d i n g inevitable conversation. " H o w do you figure t h e I n d i a n s ? " Branch said. G o d ! Talking a b o u t baseball. He, Branch Scudder, w h o couldn't even catch ( t h o u g h he seemed to r e m e m b e r his father once t r y i n g to teach h i m ) , was talking a b o u t baseball. But he went right on; baseball was safe. " T h i n k t h e y have a chance?" " T h e y gotta beat t h e Yankees." " T h a t ' s the truth."

1 346 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h e y got pitching, all right." "Sure. But t h e hitting's s o m e t h i n g else again." " T h a t ' s the truth." Branch n o d d e d a n d gulped d o w n his beer. He raised his h a n d a n d t h e b a r t e n d e r c a m e over. " O n e m o r e . Two?" a n d he looked at t h e scar. A shake. "Just one." T h e b a r t e n d e r t o o k the glass. " H o w do you figure the I n d i a n s ? " Branch said. " T h i n k they have a chance?" " W h o gives a shit a b o u t the Indians," t h e b a r t e n d e r said. Branch p a i d h i m a n d he walked away. " U n - A m e r i c a n , w o u l d n ' t you say? A C o m m u n i s t ? " " S o m e b o d y o u g h t a notify Eastland a b o u t him." "Absolutely," Branch agreed a n d t h e y smiled at each other. "You from around here?" A m u s c u l a r m a n entered t h e bar. He sat across from Branch, absently fingering a tattoo on his forearm. T h e m a n w i t h t h e scar t o o k in t h e n e w comer, t h e n t u r n e d back to Branch. "Just passing through," he said. " S a m e here. Just passing through." T h e y sipped in silence for a while. A slight, effeminate b o y c a m e in and the m a n with the tattoo smiled. T h e y m o v e d to the j u k e b o x a n d p u t in a coin. M a n t o v a n i began to play. "Pretty," the m a n with the scar said. W h i c h , Branch w o n d e r e d , the b o y o r the music? H e n o d d e d , noncommittal. " H e a d e d for Cleveland?" t h e m a n with t h e scar asked. " W o u l d n ' t be surprised." " G o o d t o w n , Cleveland." "If you like good towns." "You can have fun in Cleveland, if you k n o w how." "I hear." " T h e y got s o m e good bars in Cleveland, n o t like this." Branch n o d d e d . "You k n o w the Raven?" " T h e Raven?" Branch had h e a r d of it; it was that k i n d of bar. "It's a bar." "Oh." \

"You can really have a t i m e for yourself at the Raven. It swings." "I t h i n k I've heard of it," Branch allowed. He finished his beer. T h e fencing m a d e h i m thirsty. W h y d o n ' t we just c o m e out a n d say it? W h y don't we cut the crap and just c o m e right o u t in the o p e n a n d say it?

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 347 T h e b a r t e n d e r c a m e over a n d B r a n c h was a b o u t t o order w h e n the m a n w i t h t h e scar said, "Dos cervezas, amigo." T h e b a r t e n d e r m u t t e r e d as he filled t h e glasses. "Gracias," Branch said. "De nada." " N a m e ' s Aaron," Branch said, h o l d i n g o u t his h a n d . "Evelyn," t h e m a n with the scar said. Branch looked at h i m . "I k n o w , I know, it's a girl's n a m e . My father was a joker. Besides, there's Evelyn W a u g h . A lot of E n g l i s h m e n are n a m e d Evelyn. It's very big over there." " I guess." " T h a t ' s w h a t I ' m told, anyway." "Hello there, Evelyn." "Hi." "Evelyn from Clevelyn." "Hey, that's good." "De nada." Branch's eyes roved t h e bar: t h e laughing f o u r s o m e , t h e baseball-hating bartender, the M a n t o v a n i - l o v i n g couple across, sad old Saginaw w i t h only his darts for c o m p a n y — " 'Chemistry' c o m e s from 'alchemy,' a science which tried to p r o l o n g life; please p r o l o n g m i n e by staying awake d u r i n g my lectures." B r a n c h gave a little laugh. "Aaron? A a r o n ? " Branch t u r n e d . " W h a t ? " " W h a t ' s s o interesting a b o u t h i m ? " T h e m a n with the scar indicated Saginaw. " N o t h i n g . I ' m sorry." " W e were talking a b o u t my n a m e , r e m e m b e r ? A b o u t h o w it's a girl's name." "Yes. That's right." "Boy's n a m e , girl's n a m e , it doesn't really matter, I don't t h i n k . I m e a n what difference does it make? Boys a n d girls, they're really n o t so different, are t h e y ? " " N o . No." I'm just like anybody else. "I m e a n , y o u weren't laughing at me just because my father gave me a n a m e like that." "No." "I d o n ' t m u c h like being laughed at." I d o n ' t m u c h like you. " W h o d o e s ? " I d o n ' t m u c h like you at all.

348 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN You're n o t b r i g h t a n d you're p r o b a b l y n o t very nice either. But you're H e r e . That's y o u r great c h a r m , Evelyn from Clevelyn; y o u w i n t h e gold star because you're Here. " W h a t ' s the matter, A a r o n ? " " N o t h i n g . Nothing's t h e matter." Love. I want love. "If it weren't so late I'd drive y o u to t h e Raven, just to s h o w y o u w h a t a g o o d b a r is like. But I t h i n k it's t o o late for that, d o n ' t y o u ? " "Yes. Too late." "I d o n ' t k n o w any fun places nearer, do y o u ? " " F u n places?" Branch was a b o u t t o n a m e the West Ridge M o t e l ( n o b o d y stayed overnight at t h e West Ridge Motel) b u t the w o r d s were h a r d to form. T h e amenities were d o n e ; n o w it was only the practicalities that h a d t o b e faced (time . . . place), b u t t h e w o r d s were h a r d t o f o r m . B r a n c h fingered his glass. I wish I liked y o u better. I wish I t h o u g h t y o u were nicer, t h a t you m i g h t be k i n d . I wish . . . I wish . . . Abruptly, B r a n c h s w u n g off the b a r stool. " N o t h i n g goes t h r o u g h me like beer," he said. His h a n d rested briefly on Evelyn's t h i n shoulder. "Be right back." "See y o u d o n ' t take t o o long." "I'll take it up with my bladder." T h e y b o t h laughed lightly as B r a n c h l o o k e d a r o u n d , saw the p a i n t e d s i g n — G E N T S — i n t h e rear o f t h e bar, across from the pizza m a n . He h e a d e d in that direction. "Pizza, mister? W a n n a pizza? Lotsa cheese, lotsa t o m a t o . " B r a n c h s h o o k his head at t h e little cripple. I'll bet you're lying, he t h o u g h t . I'll bet the only t h i n g there's "lotsa" is crust. I'll bet you're a liar, b u t t h e n so am I, so in a way we're b r o t h e r s , did you k n o w that? T h e pizza m a n stared dully a t the glowing j u k e . N o , y o u d o n ' t k n o w that. We're b o t h liars, b u t I'm a coward t o o , t r y i n g to find s o m e strength in t h e men's r o o m . "Hey, I h e a r d a b o u t a place, Evelyn; it's called a m o t e l , b u t . . . " W h y c o u l d n ' t he say that? He k n e w t h e w o r d s . I'll say it. I will say it. I will find my strength a n d say it a n d h o p e you'll be k i n d . Branch glanced over his s h o u l d e r at Evelyn. Evelyn smiled. B r a n c h entered the m e n ' s r o o m a n d w e n t straight to the tin m i r r o r over t h e rusted sink. He was p e r s p i r i n g heavily, so he t u r n e d on t h e Cold spigot, waiting for the l u k e w a r m water to chill. "He's a cop, Scudder." B r a n c h g r i p p e d t h e rust. H e k n e w t h a t voice. O n c e i t h a d c o m e from b e h i n d a lectern; n o w it c a m e f r o m b e h i n d t h e closed toilet stall. O n c e it h a d linked c h e m i s t r y a n d alchemy; n o w it carried a different message, e c h o i n g . . . echoing . . .

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 349 He's a cop, Scudder. He's a cop, Scudder. He's a cop, Scudder. He's a cop, Scudder. He's a cop, Scudder. B r a n c h died. . . . t h e d o o r . . . g o for the d o o r . . . o u t the d o o r . . . t h e law was o u t t h e d o o r . . . the law, the law, dear G o d . Dear, dear God, forgive m e , for I d i d n ' t k n o w w h a t I was d o i n g . . . w h a t was I d o i n g ? . . . n o t t h e d o o r . . . never t h e d o o r . . . Branch t u r n e d for sanctuary . . . allee allee alltz i n freeeeeee . . . t h e w i n d o w was small a n d he was big b u t there was no law o u t s i d e t h e w i n d o w . . . Branch t h r e w i t o p e n a n d j u m p e d u p . . . sill splinters attacked his f i n g e r s . . . h e fell back . . . that s o u n d , t h a t terrible i n h u m a n s o u n d , i t was c o m i n g from his t h r o a t . . . a n i m a l . . . h e was a n a n i m a l s o h e m a d e animal s o u n d s . . . Fear o u t o f Guilt sired b y Panic . . . B r a n c h j u m p e d for the w i n d o w , forcing his shoulders into t h e blessed April n i g h t . . . at Oberlin t h e boys a n d girls were walking h a n d in h a n d . . . his hips c a u g h t . . . his fat h i p s j a m m e d the frame . . . Love . . . 7 want love... Branch struggled in t h e w i n d o w . . . the t o u g h w o o d pierced his t r o u s e r s , bruising his flesh .. . scraping his flesh . . . was he bleeding? . . . a trail of b l o o d for t h e law to follow . . . Your son, M r s . Scudder, I'm afraid I have to tell you a b o u t y o u r son, Mrs. Scudder, y o u r s o n is . . . y o u r s o n is . . . Branch fell t h r o u g h t h e w i n d o w o n t o the gravel p a r k i n g lot . . . h e h u r t . . . b u t h e r a n . . . h e r a n stumbling over t h e gravel t o t h e car a n d w h e n it was started he p o i n t e d it h o m e a n d it carried h i m all t h e w a y . . . o u t the garage a n d i n t h e d o o r a n d u p the stairs a n d o n t o his b e d . . . Branch lay face d o w n . . . his h e a r t . . . his p o o r h e a r t . . . his p o o r caged h e a r t . . . . . . fluttering . . . T h e next day he started to diet. He kept at it faithfully a n d after a week he t o o k to exercising for half an h o u r before he slept ( n o t with weights, of course. He didn't w a n t bulging muscles. S o m e o n e m i g h t suspect t h a t ) . In a m a t t e r of m o n t h s he h a d lost over thirty p o u n d s a n d the flesh by his hips was gone. Branch b o u g h t s o m e n e w clothes, gray suits a n d tweed jackets, conservatively cut ( n o t h i n g flashy, n o t h i n g w i t h style; s o m e o n e m i g h t suspect t h a t ) . He h a d his hair (those few loyal strands) cut short, flat a n d clean across t h e t o p . He got his m o t h e r to b u y h i m a

350 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN n e w car, a Chevy, b u t he soon t r a d e d t h a t in for a black T h u n d e r b i r d convertible, paying for the switch himself. A n d he started with girls. Secretaries, dental technicians, b a n k tellers, seniors from Oberlin, j u n i o r s a n d s o p h o m o r e s , teachers, librarians, clerks from the d i m e store; he dated t h e m all. Just so they were pretty, just so they looked " r i g h t " (his w o r d ) driving t h r o u g h t o w n . Some h e liked; s o m e h e loathed. A b o u t m o s t h e felt n o t h i n g ; they were objects only, live dolls. S o m e he kissed, s o m e he t o u c h e d ; with m o r e t h a n a few he g o t into b e d (only if t h e y w i s h e d it), a n d at t h e close of such e n c o u n t e r s he always felt as if he h a d h a n d l e d himself with at least adequacy, a n d t h e y solidified his feeling, never once b e h a v i n g as if he h a d s h o r t - c h a n g e d t h e m . D o i n g it—hell, t h e r e was no trick to d o i n g it. Enjoying it was the p r o b l e m . T h e n , o n e January m o r n i n g , t h e West Ridge Weekly Sentinel carried an article. " R e t u r n from Vacation" was t h e headline. A n d b e n e a t h : " L o o k i n g t a n n e d a n d h a p p y after t w o weeks in the Virgin Islands, M r s . H o w a r d Scudder a n d her son Branch, o n e of West Ridge's m o s t eligible bachelors . . . " W h e n h e read t h a t p h r a s e Branch b e a m e d — h e was o n e o f West Ridge's m o s t eligible bachelors a n d o n e of West Ridge's m o s t eligible bachelors could n o t ever u n d e r any conditions possibly be " t h a t way." As far as West Ridge was c o n c e r n e d , he was safe. He was s o m e o n e . He h a d arrived, no question a b o u t that. Now, getting o u t was t h e p r o b l e m . Branch drove t h r o u g h West Ridge. W h e n he reached Waverly Lane he t u r n e d in with c u s t o m a r y regret. All t h e houses were dark, except for his, b u t that was customary too. Branch picked up speed, t h e m o t o r roaring, a n d he wheeled sharply o n t o t h e driveway, then braked just as sharply, skidding t h e last few feet into the garage. Flicking off the ignition, Branch e x a m i n e d his face in the rearview mirror. Annie Withers' lipstick still clung; his lips were smeared red a n d there was another long red s m u d g e along his right cheek. Branch got o u t of the car a n d entered t h e h o u s e . His m o t h e r a n d g r a n d m o t h e r were in t h e living r o o m , playing casino. " H i , hon," Rose said, glancing up from t h e game. "Howdy, howdy," Branch said, a n d he fell into an easy chair across from t h e card table. " U p k i n d of late." "You ever found me asleep w h e n you got h o m e ? Anyway, M o t h e r felt like cards." " B r a n c h is h o m e , " M o t h e r Scudder said. She was eighty-three, frail a n d gray, and her voice was very h i g h .

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 351 "Yes." Rose n o d d e d . "I know." "Hello, Branch." B r a n c h looked at his father's m o t h e r . "Howdy, howdy." "Your play," M o t h e r Scudder said. " B u i l d i n g sixes," Rose said. "I've got o n e , I've got one," a n d she t o o k the pile. "You're crafty, Mother." M o t h e r Scudder n o d d e d h e r h e a d . "I had a six. Right in my h a n d . " "Care for a nightcap?" Branch asked, pulling himself from t h e chair. " W a t e r for me," Rose said. " W a t e r on the rocks c o m i n g up." Branch m o v e d to t h e b a r in t h e corn e r of t h e r o o m , p o u r e d s o m e water from a pitcher into a tall glass. T h e n , before o p e n i n g the ice bucket, he reached quickly for his h a n d k e r c h i e f a n d r u b b e d it across his right cheek. He glanced over his shoulder, saw his m o t h e r ' s eyes a n d smiled at t h e m while he j a m m e d t h e h a n d k e r c h i e f back into his pocket. Taking s o m e ice from the bucket, he filled t h e glass a n d b r o u g h t it to the card table. "You're a sweetheart," Rose said, a n d she t o o k a long swallow. B r a n c h r e t u r n e d to the bar, first s t o p p i n g by the record player. In a m o m e n t " I C o u l d Have D a n c e d All N i g h t " f i l l e d t h e r o o m . " W h a t ' s that music?" M o t h e r Scudder said. "It's from that show," Rose told her. " O h yes. T h e one with Ezio Pinza." At t h e bar, Branch m a d e himself a Scotch a n d water, s c r u b b e d his m o u t h w i t h his handkerchief, t h e n t u r n e d back into the r o o m , walking t o t h e easy chair, s l u m p i n g d o w n . "Such a beautiful man." " W h o ? " Rose asked. " T h a t Ezio Pinza. Dr. S c u d d e r a n d I saw h i m once at t h e M e t r o p o l i t a n O p e r a H o u s e . Building eights." "Get any speeding tickets t o n i g h t ? " Rose asked. " N o p e , " Branch said. " N a r y a one." " T h a t Annie's a brave girl, driving with you." "She slept most of the way back from Cleveland." "Later that night we went to an Italian restaurant a n d he c a m e in." "What, Mother?" " T h i s Ezio Pinza I'm telling y o u a b o u t . He came into t h e s a m e restaurant w h e r e we were. Sat at t h e very next table." "Hey, A n n i e got a s u m m e r job. A m u s i c tent a n d it'll m o s t l y be just c h o r u s work, b u t there's a c h a n c e she'll play a couple of s e c o n d leads."

352 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "She's a sweetheart, t h a t A n n i e . You better be careful, B r a n c h . She just m i g h t n a b you." "She just might." Branch sipped his Scotch. " W h o ? " M o t h e r Scudder asked. "Annie, Mother. You r e m e m b e r her. T h e sweet little girl Branch h a d for d i n n e r last week, r e m e m b e r ? You liked her." "I liked her," M o t h e r S c u d d e r said. "Yes." "She's sweet," M o t h e r S c u d d e r said. "Yes," Rose said again. " T h a t Scotch looks awfully good." "Change your mind?" "A weak o n e , please." Rose w a t c h e d as Branch's h a n d k e r c h i e f fell to t h e rug. She waited for h i m to retrieve it before r e s u m i n g playing. "Building sixes again, and d o n ' t you d a r e , Mother." "I haven't got a six. I wish I h a d a six." "Annie's b o u g h t her dress for t h e p r o m , " Branch called from t h e bar. "It cost a lot b u t she says o n l y an expensive dress can really h i d e h e r figure faults." "She's got a lovely figure, I think," Rose said. "Yes," M o t h e r Scudder said. "And you can imagine h o w well he looked on t h e stage of the Metropolitan." " W h a t ' s w r o n g with h e r f i g u r e , B r a n c h ? " "I t h i n k it's terrific—here's y o u r S c o t c h — b u t you k n o w h o w girls are." He crossed to his chair a n d sat back, his fingers locked b e h i n d his n e c k . " I t h i n k h e r body's sensational." Rose p u t her h a n d s on her waist a n d inhaled and, in a voice of m o c k h u r t , said, "Better t h a n m i n e ? " Branch laughed with her, w i p i n g his forehead with his handkerchief. Rose d o w n e d her d r i n k . "Refill?" " T h a t o n e did go awfully easy." Branch t o o k her glass a n d j o u r n e y e d to the bar. "Big Casino!" M o t h e r S c u d d e r held it high. "You m u s t n o t be paying any m i n d , Rose. I got t h e Big Casino." " G o o d for you, Mother." "I got t h e Big Casino, Branch. See?" Branch n o d d e d . " H e didn't care," M o t h e r S c u d d e r said. "He's a bridge player, M o t h e r . Casino's beneath him." Branch b r o u g h t t h e d r i n k a n d set it on the card table. "I h a p p e n to

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 353 like bridge. Is that a crime? A n n i e a n d I w o n five dollars playing last night. At a tenth, too. She's got terrific card sense, y o u k n o w what I mean?" "She's a sweetheart," Rose said. " T h a t she is." "It's my lucky day a n d he d i d n ' t care. You're a b a d boy, Branch." " I ' m terrible." Branch sat b a c k in t h e chair, folding his h a n d k e r c h i e f in his h a n d , occasionally b r i n g i n g it up to his forehead, d a b b i n g it against his d r y skin. He kept this up until Rose, with a cry, t h r e w h e r cards o n t o t h e tabletop a n d M o t h e r S c u d d e r cackled, "I beat, I beat," over a n d over. T h e n t h e three o f t h e m got u p a n d t u r n e d off the lights a n d w e n t t o bed, M o t h e r Scudder d o i n g all of t h e talking. T h e next day was Sunday. B r a n c h spent it with A n n i e . Most of t h e a f t e r n o o n t h e y were at O b e r l i n , b u t at cocktail t i m e he drove h e r to West Ridge. Rose a n d M o t h e r Scudder were waiting o n the p o r c h a n d w h e n A n n i e c a m e in Rose stood a n d kissed h e r a n d i n t r o d u c e d h e r again to t h e old w o m a n — " Y o u r e m e m b e r Miss Withers, M o t h e r " — a n d t h e gray h e a d n o d d e d a n d said, "She's sweet," repeating the p h r a s e t h r o u g h o u t t h e evening. T h e y all d r a n k g i n - a n d - t o n i c for a while a n d w h e n it g r e w d a r k Branch went o u t the p o r c h d o o r t o t h e veranda a n d started t h e b a r b e c u e . In t w e n t y m i n u t e s t h e fire was ready, so he p u t on t h e thick sirloin, t e n d ing it with professional care. Rose w a t c h e d as A n n i e m o v e d from t h e p o r c h to t h e veranda, standing very close to Branch, w h i s p e r i n g to h i m , b o t h of t h e m laughing, circling t h e grill as the s m o k e p u r s u e d t h e m . "She's sweet," M o t h e r Scudder said a n d Rose smiled in assent. Branch said s o m e t h i n g t h e n t h a t m u s t have been funny, for A n n i e a l m o s t cried w i t h s u d d e n laughter, t h r o w i n g h e r a r m s a r o u n d Branch. Branch caught her, held h e r tight, even w h e n t h e tracking smoke c a u g h t t h e m b o t h , framed t h e m in rising white. O n l y w h e n they started c o u g h i n g d i d they break, a n d Branch looked t h r o u g h t h e s m o k e t o t h e old w o m a n sitting alone o n t h e p o r c h . "Rose w e n t t o t h e kitchen," M o t h e r S c u d d e r said. " K e t c h u p or something." O r s o m e t h i n g , Branch t h o u g h t . M o n d a y m o r n i n g Branch a n d Rose w e n t t o w o r k o n schedule, talking a m i a b l y a b o u t n o t h i n g in particular. T h e y worked together in t h e office until l u n c h , w h e n Rose excused herself, so Branch ate alone. Rose ret u r n e d in t h e m i d d l e of t h e a f t e r n o o n , h u m m i n g . She was n o t , ordinarily, musical, a n d Branch waited, b u t n o explanation c a m e . T h e y f i n i s h e d w o r k , r e t u r n e d h o m e a n d h a d a quiet d r i n k on t h e p o r c h . After d i n n e r

354 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Branch excused himself a n d w e n t up to his r o o m to shower. W h e n he was almost dressed, Rose walked in a n d sat on t h e edge of his bed. "Date?" Branch n o d d e d . "Annie?" "Annie." "Give h e r my best." "Will do." He took his change from the t o p of his b u r e a u a n d p u t it in his pocket. T h e n he carefully c o m b e d his hair, b e n d i n g close to t h e mirror, squinting, m a k i n g sure the p a r t was right. Rose watched h i m , stretched on the bed, her h a n d s c u p p e d b e h i n d h e r neck. "You're an Adonis." "Ain't it the truth." "Be o u t late?" "You never can tell." "Well, listen to him." Branch smiled, starting for t h e door. "Have fun now." "I'll try." "Oh, Branch?" "What?" "I was just wondering." "About?" "Saturday." " W h a t a b o u t Saturday?" "You busy?" "Yes." " O h . Well, that's t o o bad." "Why? What's t o o b a d ? " "You r e m e m b e r that nice n u r s e , M r s . Cortesi? She's c o m i n g for the w e e k e n d to look after Mother." " W h y is she c o m i n g ? " "You're sure you're busy S a t u r d a y ? " " I ' m positive." " T h a t really is t o o b a d . I w a s lucky getting that nice M r s . Cortesi on such s h o r t notice. Usually she's b u s y for weeks in advance." " W h a t does G r a n n y need a n u r s e for?" "You're absolutely sure you're b u s y on Saturday?" "It's t h e p r o m . I told you. Annie's b o u g h t a dress specially for it." " O h , well, you couldn't miss that."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 355 "Miss it? W h a t for?" " W h a t kind of dress did she b u y ? " "Green, b r o w n , I d o n ' t know." "I bet it'll be pretty. Well, I'll just have to r e t u r n the tickets." "Tickets?" "Yes. It was a silly n o t i o n on my p a r t anyway." "Tickets for w h a t ? " " T h a t show. T h a t musical." "There's no musical in Cleveland." " I d o n ' t r e m e m b e r saying a n y t h i n g a b o u t Cleveland." " W h a t musical? W h a t musical?" "Leslie H o w a r d played it in t h e movies." "You've got tickets for My Fair Lady ." 7

"I've got tickets for My Fair Lady" "Saturday night?" "Saturday night." " N e w York?" " N e w York." P o o r Annie. T h e y stayed at the Plaza (Branch's choice), arriving on Friday night, t o o late for t h e theater b u t n o t t o o late for a walk, after u n p a c k i n g , across C e n t r a l Park South to Broadway, t h e n d o w n Broadway, d o w n t h r o u g h t h e theater district to 44th Street a n d Sardi's, where B r a n c h t h o u g h t he saw Rex H a r r i s o n a n d Rose ate spaghetti with meat sauce. After Branch's t h i r d stinger, they left t h e r e s t a u r a n t a n d r e t u r n e d to t h e hotel, where Rose, exhausted, slept till after ten, finding, on awakening, a n o t e from h e r son saying that he was off to t h e Frick a n d n o t to worry, b u t she did, a n d w h e n h e f i n a l l y r e t u r n e d , a t n o o n , babbling a b o u t s o m e Greco cardinal, she was undecided as to w h e t h e r to h u g h i m or s h o u t h i m d o w n to size, c h o o s i n g the former, after s o m e hesitation, with only a t w i n g e of regret. T h e y lunched at the Waldorf-Astoria (once she h a d h o n e y m o o n e d there) a n d went to the Radio City Music Hall (her choice) in the aftern o o n . T h a t night they saw My Fair Lady a n d it was every bit w h a t everyb o d y said it was. Originally t h e y p l a n n e d to r e t u r n on Sjunday because A n n i e was g r a d u a t i n g Tuesday a f t e r n o o n , b u t they were h a v i n g such a g o o d t i m e that Rose decided, t h e n insisted, they stay t h e week, so after Branch was convinced they e x t e n d e d their reservation at t h e Plaza a n d S u n d a y was spent in Greenwich Village watching t h e artists a n d The Threepenny Opera at night, w h i c h Rose t h o u g h t was d i r t y b u t never told

356 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Branch because he loved it a n d w o u l d only have chided her for her p r u d ish ways. M o n d a y it rained, so t h e y s h o p p e d , taxiing from Brooks Brothers (Branch got a coat, dark tweed) to Saks (where Rose almost got a dress b u t it wasn't quite the right shade of green) to Bendel's (still n o t the right shade) a n d t h e n a r o u n d t h e c o r n e r to Bergdorf's, w h e r e Branch selected a pair of high heels for his m o t h e r which he p r o m i s e d m a d e her legs equal to Mistinguette's. T h e y l u n c h e d at the Plaza a n d t h e n t o o k a long h a n s o m cab ride in t h e rain, finally r e t u r n i n g to t h e hotel a n d n a p p i n g until it was t i m e for the theater. Tuesday they m u s e u m e d , t h e Metr o p o l i t a n a n d the M o d e r n Art, a n d after l u n c h they t o u r e d t h e galleries a n d Rose h a d to keep Branch in t o w lest he b u y s o m e t h i n g , n o t t h a t she couldn't have afforded to please h i m , b u t the t h o u g h t of h a n g i n g s o m e pointless paint splattering in h e r nice clean h o u s e (she w o u l d have to h a n g it if she b o u g h t it) or, worse, having to look at t h e t h i n g all her life pulled her purse strings tight. W e d n e s d a y (Rose was wearying) Rose slept late, letting her son r o a m , b u t t h e y m e t at a m a t i n e e a n d saw s o m e t h i n g (she could no longer keep t h e m straight) a n d ate someplace, a n d then saw s o m e t h i n g else, a n d before she slept that night she m a d e two plane reservations h o m e for the following evening, Thursday. T h u r s d a y m o r n ing she m e n t i o n e d to Branch that she m i g h t like to go h o m e s o o n a n d w h a t d i d he think? A n d he t h o u g h t no! N o t yet! A n d she allowed as to h o w she d i d n ' t w a n t to p u s h h i m b u t if they could get tickets for a plane o u t t h a t night she was going to take t h e m , a n d w h e n it t u r n e d o u t (surprise) t h a t she could indeed get tickets she d e m o l i s h e d his objections w i t h a few well-chosen w o r d s a n d n a p p e d while he voyaged t h r o u g h the city, trying to get everything d o n e in o n e thin afternoon. Branch ran t h r o u g h t h e heat a n d u r g e d his taxi drivers to great speeds, t i p p i n g t h e m well, because w h a t did m o n e y m a t t e r w h e n the city was b e i n g t a k e n away from h i m a n d h e had s o m u c h t o d o . H e drove n o r t h t o t h e Cloisters, s o u t h to the Staten Island Ferry, t h e n n o r t h again for a final r u n t h r o u g h Greenwich Village, t h e n n o r t h a n d east a n d a quick sad l o o k at t h e Biltm o r e Bar. There was too m u c h , t o o m u c h to see, b u t he tried. He saw the lobby of t h e M a r k Hellinger (I could have danced all night) a n d he saw t h e b a r at Sardi's ( e m p t y ) . He saw t h e Greek's Toledo. He saw t h e shops on Fifth, t h e movie houses on Broadway. He saw Central Park. He saw Picasso's Guernica, the UN from t h e roof of the B e e k m a n Tower, a C h i p p e n d a l e chair up for a u c t i o n at Parke-Bernet. He saw p o o d l e s in Sutton Place, cats in W a s h i n g t o n Square, blue girls from Brearley, black ones from 125th. He saw w o m e n , fair-skinned (Park Avenue), f o u l - m o u t h e d ( G a r m e n t District); h e saw brittle m e n , m e a n m e n , rich m e n , beggar

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 357 m e n . A n d , quite by accident, for b u t a few, few m i n u t e s late on t h a t last a f t e r n o o n , he saw: Aaron. "You're sure all h o t a n d bothered," Rose said, taking a green skirt, s m o o t h i n g it carefully with b o t h h a n d s , finally folding it neatly into her suitcase. "Well, it's just such a great city." Branch paced nervously b e h i n d his m o t h e r . "You've got to a d m i t that." "It's big," Rose replied. "And you'd die w i t h o u t air-conditioning." "It's n o t just big, Rosie. C o m e o n . W h e r e else can you find so m a n y things to do? N a m e me any o t h e r place that compares." "You all packed?" "And t h e people. H o w a b o u t t h e m ? " "Plane's got a schedule, you k n o w . You better be ready." She picked up h e r n e w shoes, blew on t h e m , t h e n inserted t h e m into a plastic b a g a n d w e d g e d t h e m into a c o r n e r of h e r suitcase. " O h , this city," Branch said. " T h i s g o d d a m city." "Chicago's just as nice. So's Cleveland." "Cleveland? Cleveland! That's t h e funniest t h i n g you've said all week." " W h e r e did I leave my b a t h r o b e ? Oh yes," a n d she m o v e d to the closet, t o o k her robe off t h e h o o k a n d started folding it. "You've h a d a good t i m e here; a d m i t it." " I ' m n o t sorry I'm leaving; I'll a d m i t that." " B u t you've h a d a good time." " G o o d company, g o o d t i m e . You d i d n ' t forget y o u r h a i r b r u s h , did you? D o u b l e - c h e c k everything." "I can't tell you w h a t this t o w n does to me." "I h o p e M o t h e r likes her surprise. Do you think she will? I got h e r two beautiful decks of playing cards. You can wash t h e m w h e n t h e y get dirty." " O h , this t o w n . This crazy town." "You m a k e me dizzy w i t h all t h a t walking." Branch w e n t t o t h e w i n d o w a n d looked out. " T h i s beautiful g o d d a m town." " W h a t ' s so beautiful a b o u t an air shaft? That's all you're l o o k i n g at a n d you're swearing t o o m u c h . N o w double-check y o u r packing." Branch stooped, ducking his head toward the air-conditioner. "Ahhh." "If y o u w o u l d n ' t walk a r o u n d so m u c h , you w o u l d n ' t get sweaty." Branch s p u n away from t h e wall a n d t o u r e d t h e r o o m , his fingertips t o u c h i n g t h e walls. "I love this hotel. I just love it."

358 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " B r a n c h , are you p a c k e d ? " " C a n you love concrete? I love N e w York." "I've asked you a t h o u s a n d times, Branch. N o w answer m e . Are you packed?" "Rosie..." "Answer me." "Rosie..." "I m e a n it, Branch." "No." Rose t u r n e d on h e r son. "You're n o t packed, is that r i g h t ? " "I d o n ' t w a n t to go back," B r a n c h said. "I w a n t to stay here." Rose n o d d e d , picked up a green flowered dress, tucked t h e neck u n der h e r chin, a n d folded t h e flowered sleeves across h e r body. "I b e l o n g here, Mother." Rose b e n t over the edge of t h e b e d a n d folded the dress at the waist, s m o o t h i n g o u t t h e wrinkles. "I k n o w this probably c o m e s as a surprise to you, b u t believe m e , I've t h o u g h t a b o u t it. It's n o t a w h i m . I've really t h o u g h t . A lot. T h e theater. I w a n t to get in t h e theater. That's my place, d o n ' t you see?" Rose lifted t h e flowered dress a n d placed it in h e r suitcase. "I've k n o w n that for a long t i m e now. Back in college. You r e m e m b e r b a c k in college?" Rose glanced at h e r watch, n o d d e d , t h e n walked to t h e closet, taking o u t h e r green traveling suit. Laying it on t h e bed, she started to u n b u t t o n h e r dress. " T h a t crazy little show we h a d in college? That n u t t y little s h o w we p u t o n , y o u r e m e m b e r ? I p u t it o n , M o t h e r . Me. You d i d n ' t see me on the stage, b u t I p u t it on. If it h a d n ' t b e e n for m e , there w o u l d n ' t have b e e n a t h i n g . N o t o n e lousy thing. I got t h e money, I got t h e ads for t h e p r o g r a m s , I t o o k care of everything. M e , myself, alone." Rose stepped out of h e r dress a n d folded it into t h e suitcase. She r a n h e r h a n d s d o w n along her slip, m a k i n g sure it was straight. T h e r e was no extra f l e s h o n h e r squat body. H e r s t o m a c h was firm a n d f l a t a n d there was no fat puffing t h e tops of h e r a r m s a n d her breasts d i d n ' t sag. Again she straightened her slip, r u n n i n g h e r small h a n d s d o w n h e r body. "I was h a p p y t h e n . That's t h e t h i n g . That's the only t h i n g , M o t h e r . It's w h a t c o u n t s . I was happy. S o m e p e o p l e , they can be h a p p y anywhere. Put ' e m on a desert island, they'll be happy. But I'm n o t like t h a t . You just can't say, 'Branch you go be happy.' I'm n o t set up that way. I was h a p p y

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 359 back t h e n . Well, I can be h a p p y again. Here. Here in New York. I can be happy, Mother. D o n ' t you u n d e r s t a n d ? That's i m p o r t a n t , d o n ' t you see?" N o t h i n g from Rose. " O h G o d , I wish you could see h o w i m p o r t a n t this is to m e . I wish you could c o m e right into my b r a i n , right here, and read every single t h o u g h t I have so you'd k n o w h o w i m p o r t a n t it was. Believe m e . Believe me." N o t h i n g from Rose. " I ' d still c o m e h o m e . I'd c o m e h o m e a lot. And you could c o m e here. W h a t ' s a t w o - h o u r plane ride? You could be here whenever y o u w a n t e d . A n d we'd do things together, go all over. You'd like that. A n d it w o u l d n ' t cost all that m u c h . I'm no d r u n k e n sailor. I'd b o r r o w t h e m o n e y from you. I'll write you a note, nice a n d proper, a n d w h e n I get successful I'll pay b a c k every penny. You k n o w I will." N o t h i n g from Rose. "Rosie! You've got to do this for m e . It is i m p o r t a n t . My h a p p i n e s s is i m p o r t a n t . A n d that's what I'm asking you for. I w a n t my h a p p i n e s s Rosie. You can give it. I want my h a p p i n e s s , you hear m e ? " "You're n o t saying anything." "What?" " I d o n ' t hear anything a n d d o y o u k n o w what that means? I t m e a n s you're n o t saying anything. N o t a w o r d . 'Cause I got good ears a n d if you were talking I'd hear you. I d o n ' t h e a r you. T h a t m e a n s you m u s t n o t be talking." Branch m o v e d to t h e window, staring. " T h e r e hasn't been a s o u n d in this r o o m . I've been p a c k i n g a n d you've been walking a r o u n d b u t we d i d n ' t speak. No s o u n d . Just t h e airconditioner, that's all I heard. U n d e r s t a n d m e , Branch. Get me now. No o n e has said nothing." Branch s p u n from the w i n d o w . Rose waited. "You d o n ' t love me," Branch said. "I d o n ' t , huh? I don't; h u h ? " "I belong here." " W h e r e ? At the Plaza Hotel? W i t h h o t - a n d - c o l d - r u n n i n g r o o m service a n d m a i d s to fluff y o u r pillow? Terrific. Wonderful. In a few m o n t h s if y o u have to p i n c h pennies you can go r o u g h it at the Waldorf." "You d o n ' t love me." "You said that for t h e last time."

360 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "It's t h e t r u t h . Let's just a d m i t it. If y o u loved me you w o u l d n ' t m a k e me go b a c k to g o d d a m West Ridge. I hate t h a t pit." " W a t c h it, baby." " I ' m dying back there." "Please watch it, baby." " I ' m n o t going back. I'm staying here." "Stay!" Rose advanced on h i m . Branch's back was to t h e wall. " T h e old w o m a n , she k n o w s h e r baby. T h e old w o m a n k n o w s what's best for h e r baby." Rose was on t o p of h i m n o w a n d Branch stared at her fist as it beat steadily against h e r chest. "You say you're dying b a c k there? You k n o w w h a t the old w o m a n thinks? She thinks if you c o m e h e r e , t h e n you're really dead. She h a d a b a b y b u t he died. T h e old w o m a n ' s baby d i e d dead. A n d after a while she'll t h i n k she never h a d a baby. No son. She never h a d none." "Mother..." " W h o are y o u ? " "Rosie..." "Do I know you?" "Please, M o t h e r . . . " "You look like s o m e b o d y I t h i n k died." " I ' m sorry." "Are y o u d e a d ? " "Please, I'm sorry." "Are you dead? H u h ? " " M o t h e r . . . ?" "Huh?" " I ' m alive." "Again." " I ' m alive." "Louder." " I ' m alive." " T h a t ' s my baby." Branch was quiet on t h e flight h o m e , b u t Rose let h i m sulk, k n o w i n g it w o u l d pass. A n d it did pass, for by t h e time they reached t h e h o u s e on Waverly Lane he was l a u g h i n g at the frivolity of t h e request he h a d m a d e back i n the hotel r o o m . M o t h e r Scudder was awaiting t h e m , and while Rose paid the nurse, B r a n c h began telling the old lady stories of the city a n d the old lady almost w e p t because, after all, they were h e r family

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c o m e b a c k t o h e r and, besides, t h e nurse frowned o n casino. W h e n Branch gave h e r the decks of playing cards she did weep, saying, " O h , you s h o u l d n ' t have, n o t for me," b u t t h e tears stopped at the w o n d e r of washable kings a n d queens, a n d she could only shake her head, repeating "Just i m a g i n e — w a s h a b l e ; just i m a g i n e " u n t i l it was bedtime. Rose w a t c h e d as h e r s o n kissed his g r a n d m o t h e r , h a p p i l y waiting her o w n g o o d - n i g h t kiss, a n d after his lips touched h e r cheeks he whispered, "It really is g o o d to be h o m e , " so Rose h a d no trouble besting sleep that night. In t h e week that followed Branch w o r k e d h a r d e r t h a n ever at the office, a n d in spite of t h e fact t h a t she d i d n o t m u c h believe in c o m p l i m e n t s , she f o u n d herself praising h i m to his face, his efforts were t h a t rewarding. He s h r u g g e d at h e r w o r d s , barely smiling, b u t she k n e w he was pleased. On Friday of that week he sold a sixty-five-thousand-dollar h o u s e n o t far from w h e r e they lived on Waverly Lane. It was by far his biggest sale, a n d she was w o r r i e d that he m i g h t s o m e h o w b o t c h it t h r o u g h inexperience, a l m o s t taking over t h e t r a n s a c t i o n herself, b u t she didn't, a n d he pulled t h e sale off like a veteran, so that night in celebration she t o o k h i m to d i n n e r at Etienne's a n d from there to the Hotel Cleveland, where they danced, finally r e t u r n ing h o m e well after m i d n i g h t w i t h t h e taste of c h a m p a g n e still s t r o n g on their lips. T h e weather t u r n e d h o t t h e following week, b u t t h e office was a i r - c o n d i t i o n e d a n d since they spent m o s t of their t i m e there t h e y d i d n ' t m i n d t h e heat. Branch was h a p p y a n d Rose herself could never r e m e m b e r a sweeter t i m e , a n d it was p r o b a b l y t h a t u n u s u a l b u o y a n c y of spirit that a c c o u n t e d for the s u d d e n cry t h a t escaped her when, after sleeping late S u n d a y m o r n i n g , she found, o n l o o k i n g o u t her b e d r o o m w i n d o w , her son clad in a navy-blue b a t h i n g suit, t a n n i n g his t r i m b o d y on t h e back lawn, lying flat on the grass, o n e h a n d outstretched. A n d lying beside h i m , h o l d i n g t h a t h a n d , was Annie W i t h e r s . Rose deserted the window, b u t t o o late, for Branch's h e a d jerked up at t h e cry, a n d t h o u g h she was g o n e before his eyes could m a k e positive identification, still, she k n e w an a p p e a r a n c e was called for. So she dressed hurriedly, exchanging her r o o m for the kitchen, heating s o m e coffee, d o w n i n g two cups before Branch entered, smiling. "We've got a visitor," Rose said, smiling back. " T h a t we have." " T h a t ' s wonderful." "I k n e w you'd be pleased." " D i d y o u k n o w she was c o m i n g ? " "I t h o u g h t I'd surprise you."

3 6 2 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " W h a t h a p p e n e d to h e r job? I t h o u g h t you told me she was w o r k i n g at a theater." "She is." "Oh?" " T h e theater's near Cleveland." "Oh." "Isn't that marvelous, Rosie?" " T h a t ' s just wonderful." Branch b e a m e d . "We'll be seeing lots of her, I hope." Rosie waited. "Lots of her." "Wonderful," Rose said w i t h a smile, a n d still smiling, a r m s stretched w i d e , she r u s h e d to the lawn, h u g g i n g the slender visitor, a c c o m p a n y i n g t h e e m b r a c e with s o u n d s of joy. In t h e weeks that followed she really did n o t see "lots" of A n n i e ; it just s e e m e d t h a t way. O n c e each week she a n d Branch w o u l d drive to the s u m m e r tent a n d watch A n n i e p r a n c i n g as a nurse in South Pacific, t h e n A n n i e as a t o w n s w o m a n in High Button Shoes. Sundays, Branch would b r i n g her to West Ridge for t h e day. T h a t was all. Twice a week. But the musicals c a m e to be almost as d r e a d e d as an opera in Italian, a n d in o r d e r to lessen t h e ordeal of t h e Sabbath Rose t o o k to going to c h u r c h . (The m i n i s t e r was l o n g - w i n d e d , g o o d for at least an h o u r each Sunday, a n d she blessed h i m for his dreary harangues.) Annie twice a week. But it wasn't t h e a m o u n t of t i m e that deprived Rose of sleep; it was the way A n n i e a n d Branch acted w h e n they were together. Always t o u c h i n g each other. H a n d - h o l d i n g Rose could ignore, b u t it seemed t h a t w h e n e v e r she entered a r o o m in h e r h o u s e t h e y w o u l d be starting a kiss, or e n d i n g one or, worse, in t h e very act. T h e y kissed in the living r o o m , t h e y kissed on t h e p o r c h . They wrestled on t h e lawn, in plain view of n e i g h b o r s , laughing a n d kicking, skin t o u c h i n g skin. Right in front of t h e n e i g h b o r s ! Their a t t r a c t i o n was u n d e r s t a n d a b l e e n o u g h . Branch was certainly h a n d s o m e a n d s o m e m i g h t consider A n n i e pretty. But it wasn't decent. It simply was n o t decent. N o t decent at all. In bed, alone, Rose tossed. O n e day—it was the second week of a blazing July—Branch walked over a n d sat on h e r desk a n d said, " M o t h e r ? " There was n o t h i n g u n u s u a l in t h e action, b u t the t o n e he used m a d e her instantly wary. "Yes, baby?" " C o u l d I talk to y o u ? "

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 363 " C o u l d you talk to m e ? " Branch nodded. Rose sat very still. "It's a b o u t t h e business." " G o on." " W e l l . . . H o w good i s it?" " G o o d ? W h a t d o you m e a n , g o o d ? " "I m e a n , w e l l . . . from a l o n g - r a n g e p o i n t of view, w h a t do y o u think? I m e a n , is t h e t o w n going to g r o w t h e way it has been or do you t h i n k m a y b e t h e peak is over or w h a t do you t h i n k ? " " W h a t are you talking a b o u t , B r a n c h ? " " C a n I m a k e a living? A g o o d living?" "I d o n ' t see you starving." "Well, yeah, of course, that's t r u e , b u t . . . uh . . . I m e a n , I d o n ' t have m a n y expenses . . . n o w . . . I m e a n , I ' m living a t h o m e , o f c o u r s e , a n d . . . u h . . . there's just m e for m e t o s u p p o r t a n d . . . w e l l . . . I was just w o n dering." Rose watched as he got off h e r desk a n d m o v e d quickly to his o w n , sitting d o w n , staring o u t t h e w i n d o w . "Branch?" "Yes, M o t h e r ? " "Everything all right?" "Yes, Mother." "Is there s o m e t h i n g you're n o t telling m e ? " "Have we ever kept secrets from each o t h e r ? " " T h e n w h y did you ask a b o u t t h e business?" E m b a r r a s s e d , her son looked away. " N o reason." T h a t night, Rose t o o k a Seconal. T h e following Sunday m o r n i n g , on her r e t u r n from c h u r c h , Rose strolled o n t o the p o r c h to find t h e y o u n g couple lying e m b r a c e d on t h e c o u c h . T h e kiss she was a l m o s t used to, b u t the way h e r son's h a n d s r o a m e d t h e girl's b o d y shocked her. T h e y broke w h e n h e r presence d a w n e d , b o t h of t h e m blushing, a n d Rose ignored the whole t h i n g as well as she could. But she could n o t ignore, d u r i n g the following strained conversation, t h e fact that t h o u g h t h e y were talking to her, they were l o o k i n g directly at each other, always at each other. Lunch was s a l m o n salad, ordinarily o n e of Rose's favorites. But n o t today. Late that evening Rose was playing casino with M o t h e r S c u d d e r w h e n Branch r e t u r n e d from having taken A n n i e h o m e . There were traces of red o n his m o u t h and she tried n o t t o look while h e removed t h e m , t u r n i n g

364 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN his b a c k as he did it so she w o u l d n ' t suspect. He watched t h e m play a h a n d or two, t h e n quietly w e n t upstairs. Rose e n d u r e d t h e cards a n d M o t h e r ' s prattling for a decent a m o u n t of time, then called a halt to t h e g a m e . "You're tired, Mother." "I a m ? " "You were yawning." "I was?" "Yes." This t i m e the old w o m a n d i d yawn. "We'd better stop, if you d o n ' t mind." "If y o u like." " I ' m very tired," M o t h e r S c u d d e r said. "I better go to sleep." Rose escorted h e r t o her r o o m , saw h e r t o bed, t h e n went t o h e r o w n r o o m a n d p u t on a n i g h t g o w n a n d a r o b e before j o u r n e y i n g d o w n t h e hall to her s o n . " B r a n c h ? " She walked in. Branch lay in bed, reading. As she a p p r o a c h e d , he h u r r i e d l y p u t the book down. "You forgot to kiss me g o o d night." " D i d I? I'm sorry." He sat u p , lightly t o u c h e d his lips to h e r cheek. " G o o d night, Rosie." " G o o d night." She t o o k a step, t h e n stopped. " W h a t are you reading?" "Just a book." " W h a t ' s it a b o u t ? " Branch shrugged. " N o t h i n g . " "Is it good? Should I read it?" " I ' m n o t all that far into it yet. Probably not." " W h a t ' s it called?" "I forget." "Is it dirty?" Rose laughed. "Are y o u embarrassed to tell m e ? " " N o , n o , of course not." " T h e n what's it a b o u t ? " "California," Branch said. Rose said n o t h i n g . "San Francisco, actually. Annie's from San Francisco. H e r whole family lives there." "Yes?" "She's crazy a b o u t the place." "She is?" "It's h e r h o m e ; she loves it. T h e r e are s o m e pictures in t h e b o o k here,

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 365 a few p h o t o g r a p h s . I've got to a d m i t , it does look beautiful. T h e hills a n d t h e water." " I ' m told it's very pretty." " N o t only that, b u t according to this book, there's a real b o o m o u t there now." " T h e r e is?" B r a n c h n o d d e d a n d picked up t h e book. "If you want, y o u can read it w h e n I'm done." " M a y b e I will." Rose m o v e d to t h e door. "It's a real land of o p p o r t u n i t y o u t there." He blew h e r a kiss. " G o o d night, Mother." " G o o d night, Branch," a n d she closed t h e door. At two o'clock, she t o o k h e r s e c o n d Seconal; at three, h e r third. She disliked sleeping pills—they were a sign of w e a k n e s s — b u t she h a d to get s o m e rest. Somehow. Rose tossed. T h e sheet beneath her b o d y felt w r i n kled, so after a while she stood up a n d tore her bed apart, carefully tucking clean cool sheets on the m a t t r e s s . She got back in a n d t h e cloth was s m o o t h to h e r aching body, b u t still she could n o t sleep. H e r h e a d t h r o b b e d steadily, a n d that d i d n ' t m a k e it any easier. In vain, Rose tried clearing h e r m i n d , b u t inevitably t h e picture of that girl p a w i n g h e r son h a u n t e d her. She was a fast o n e , t h a t Annie. Of course y o u n g people acted differently today, b u t any way y o u looked at it, Annie was a fast o n e . Well, w h a t could you expect from Californians? All those movie stars setting the k i n d of examples they did. Rose kicked at the sheets, d r i v i n g t h e m clear off h e r slender legs. G o d k n o w s she w a n t e d Branch to get m a r r i e d . G o d k n o w s she had been sweet to his girls. H a d n ' t A n n i e practically m o v e d in with them? Branch o u g h t to get m a r r i e d someday, b u t with t h a t girl? A little dancer with n o t o n e o u n c e of c o m m o n everyday o r d i n a r y decency? Rose r u b b e d her eyes with the very tips of h e r fingers. No o n e c o u l d say she hadn't been cordial. No o n e could say she h a d n ' t been w a r m , h a d n ' t encouraged Branch to go out, find girls, b r i n g t h e m h o m e . No o n e could say she h a d n ' t tried. But she k n e w what that little girl was u p to. W o m e n u n d e r s t o o d those things better than m e n ever could. W o m e n sensed things. But d i d Branch? He was so o p e n , so h o n e s t , so gullible, almost, that maybe he d i d n ' t see. Maybe that girl h a d h i m fooled. "You d o n ' t fool me," Rose said o u t loud. No, sir, she d i d n ' t ' W h y d i d n ' t Branch see? Rose fluffed her pillow w i t h t h e flat of her h a n d . She d i d n ' t w a n t to have to tell Branch; she h a t e d being " t h a t " kind of m o t h e r . T h e y were so close, they u n d e r s t o o d each o t h e r so well, that having to "talk" to h i m that way—well, it just wasn't going to be m u c h fun. But it was his

366 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN life. O n e w r o n g move a n d it was liable to be ruined. She h a d n ' t b r o u g h t h i m up for that. She hadn't loved h i m to see h i m throw it all away, his whole life, just-like-that." Branch," Rose said." Branch." She got o u t of bed a n d began to pace. In a m o m e n t she was at the window, looking o u t at the still back lawn. There. There was t h e spot where Annie h a d m a d e h e r reappearance, lying practically naked, clutching her son's h a n d . Rose stared at t h e black grass. "You d o n ' t fool me," she said again. " N o t m e , y o u don't." She inhaled deeply. There was really no choice for her. She w o u l d have to do it, tell Branch, m a k e h i m see. In spite of everything, she w o u l d have to talk to h i m , explain to h i m , right away, honest a n d a b o v e b o a r d . M a n to m a n . But at breakfast t h e following day he was half asleep, having read m o s t of t h e night to finish his b o o k . So Rose waited. T h e drive to t h e office was t o o short, b u t the w h o l e m o r n i n g lay ahead of t h e m , a n d that, she decided, was the t i m e . But t h e m o r n i n g was Monday, a n d by ten o'clock they were still s w a m p e d w i t h work. So Rose waited. At eleven she saw t h e y w o u l d never catch up by n o o n , so she called to B r a n c h t h a t she w a n t e d t o have lunch with h i m a n d h e n o d d e d w i t h o u t speaking. S o Rose waited. A n d waited. A n d — "Ready?" B r a n c h looked up from his desk. " F o r w h a t ? " " L u n c h , silly. I asked you to have l u n c h a n d you said yes." "I did?" "You nodded." " M y G o d , what time is it?" "Half past twelve." B r a n c h stood quickly, shoving papers into his t o p desk drawer. "I've got t o go." "We're having lunch." "I can't. N o t today. Goodbye." A n d he was o u t the door. Rose waited a m o m e n t , hesitating. T h e n she dashed for t h e d o o r after h e r son. He was half a block a h e a d of h e r w h e n she got to the street, h u r r y i n g along Central. Rose felt t h e fool, in b r o a d s u m m e r daylight, in the center of her own small t o w n , following her son. But she followed h i m . At the c o r n e r of Central a n d Tubbs he s t o p p e d , glancing over his shoulder. Rose pressed against t h e side of S i m m o n ' s Grocery, her b a c k against the h o t glass, h i d i n g until it was safe. Branch t u r n e d o n t o T u b b s , walking faster, b u t she kept pace, staying close to the store fronts lest he t u r n

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 367 again. He c o n t i n u e d on Tubbs past Willow before he s t o p p e d again, looking a r o u n d . Rose busied herself w i t h a hardware-store w i n d o w , h i d d e n by t h e t o r n green awning overhead. W h e n he got to Percy he t u r n e d again, m o v i n g o u t of sight, a n d Rose h a d just started to r u n w h e n M r s . Mulligan g r a b b e d her a r m . "Hello there, M r s . Scudder." " H u h ? O h , M r s . Mulligan, hello." "Beautiful day." "Yes. I'm in s o m e t h i n g of a h u r r y , M r s . Mulligan." "Well, it's just that Mr. Mulligan a n d I are thinking of m o v i n g a n d I was w o n d e r i n g w h a t you t h o u g h t you could get for o u r house." "House? Please, M r s . Mulligan, call me at the office. Do that," a n d she pulled loose, r u n n i n g as fast as h e r good legs could carry h e r up to Percy. She reached t h e corner a n d crossed t h e street b u t B r a n c h was gone. She looked again a n d t h e n she saw h i m , far ahead of her. Rose r a n . He was walking slower n o w a n d if he t u r n e d again he w o u l d see her, b u t t h a t d i d n ' t seem to m a t t e r now. She r a n , closing t h e gap. Branch s t o p p e d . Rose r a n o n , p a n t i n g , t h e air b u r s t i n g from h e r d r y throat. O n e h u n d r e d yards, n o w seventy, fifty, twenty-five. H e r dress was soaked a n d h e r legs h u r t a n d h e r t h r o a t , so she stopped r u n n i n g , p a u s i n g a m o m e n t , leaning against t h e w i n d o w of a haberdashery, t r y i n g to get her breath. B r a n c h m o v e d very slowly, o n e small step at a t i m e . Rose stayed with h i m . T h e n he t u r n e d a b r u p t l y a n d entered a store. Rose waited. In a few m o m e n t s h e r b r e a t h was a l m o s t back to n o r m a l a n d she straightened her dress a n d d i d w h a t she c o u l d a b o u t d r y i n g t h e p e r s p i r a t i o n from her forehead. T h e n , w i t h a brisk step, she moved forward, b o d y stiff, head held high. W h e n she passed t h e place she glanced quickly to the right a n d caught a glimpse of h e r son. He was busy, so he d i d n o t notice her. He was in a jewelry store. Rose could see the display of w e d d i n g rings in t h e w i n d o w . "Branch?" "Yes?" "We've got to have a talk." It was late t h e same evening a n d t h e y were sitting on t h e back porch, p r i o r to b e d . "Sounds important." "I've t h o u g h t a b o u t this, Branch. M o r e t h a n you'll ever know. It's b e e n in my m i n d for weeks. Day a n d night, all the time." "You're upset."

368 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes," Rose said. "Yes, I a m . Do y o u love m e , Branch? Do y o u t h i n k I love y o u ? " "Of course." "Well, for the first t i m e in my life I feel like a b a d m o t h e r . I d o . A n d I d o n ' t m u c h like it." Branch was silent. "I w a n t t h e best for you, my baby. That's all I w a n t . Do you b e lieve m e ? " " I d o n ' t even have to answer that. You k n o w h o w I feel." "Well..." "Yes?" "It's just t h a t . . . " "Yes?" "I t h i n k you should go to N e w York." Branch waited. Rose said n o t h i n g , t h e n t h e w o r d s c a m e t u m b l i n g d o w n . "Right away. Pack up a n d go to N e w York. Just go. Now. You're not extravagant, I k n o w t h a t . I'll s u p p o r t you." " I ' m stunned," Branch said. "Like I say, I've t h o u g h t a lot a b o u t this. Ever since we h a d o u r talk in N e w York a n d you told me you w a n t e d to stay a n d I said I d i d n ' t t h i n k it was a g o o d idea. Well, I was w r o n g . You owe it to yourself to t r y a n d m a k e g o o d there. If that's what y o u w a n t , y o u have it c o m i n g . Forget a b o u t us here. Just go there a n d m a k e y o u r m a r k . Will you do t h a t ? " "I h a d n ' t t h o u g h t — y e s . I'll go. If you w a n t me to." "I do." "I'll fly in this weekend a n d find a place to live." "Yes." "I'll n e e d two b e d r o o m s . " "Why?" "You'll c o m e visit me, w o n ' t y o u ? " " I ' d like to." "Well," Branch said, a n d he smiled at her, "I w o u l d n ' t d r e a m of allowing my o w n m o t h e r to stay at a hotel." W h a t could she do b u t smile? "I do love you, baby. I do w a n t what's best for you." " I k n o w that." " W h o can tell; maybe you w o n ' t like it there. Maybe you'll miss y o u r h o m e . " A n d if you don't, t h e m o n e y stops. After six m o n t h s . Six m o n t h s

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 369 was a l o n g t i m e . N o b o d y could say it wasn't generous. Six m o n t h s . At t h e o u t s i d e . M a y b e less. "You're right. I probably w o n ' t like it. O n c e the novelty wears off." " T i m e will tell." "Yes," Branch said. " G o o d night." He kissed his m o t h e r on t h e forehead, t h e n m o v e d to the doorway. " G o o d night, my baby." "You k n o w what you are?" "What?" "Unselfish." Rose smiled. Branch left h e r there, alone on t h e p o r c h , staring at s o m e t h i n g lawn. Inside t h e house, Branch m o v e d very slowly up t h e stairs r o o m . Carefully he closed the door. T h e n he ran full tilt across t h e dove o n t o his bed, clutched his pillow to his b o d y and stuffed o n e into his m o u t h so she w o u l d n ' t hear h i m laughing.

on the to his room, corner

XIV Jenny k n e w she was ready for s o m e t h i n g . M o n d a y night she forgot to go to acting class, w a n d e r i n g instead t h r o u g h Central Park, which wasn't a s m a r t t h i n g to d o , b u t she d i d it anyway. Tuesday n o o n she h a d an a r g u m e n t with her t e m p o r a r y boss at Kingsway Press, which also wasn't a s m a r t thing to do, especially for a secretary, b u t she did that too, anyway. Wednesday she simply overslept, w a k i n g at half past one-—after a solid thirteen h o u r s ' sleep—still tired. T h u r s d a y she jaywalked recklessly, all day long, a n d h a d a n o t h e r argum e n t with her t e m p o r a r y boss, w h o s e n a m e was Archie Wesker a n d w h o looked for all t h e world like R o b e r t M i t c h u m . T h e n , Friday m o r n i n g , h e r d r y cleaner disappointed her. His n a m e was Mr. Yang a n d he was old a n d very wise a n d Jenny loved his d r y cleaning, because he s h o w e d g e n u i n e interest in h e r occasional spots a n d always r e t u r n e d g a r m e n t s w h e n he p r o m i s e d . So, on Friday m o r n i n g , w h e n she dashed t h r o u g h t h e s u m m e r heat to his s h o p only to find t h a t half of her clothes h a d n o t c o m e back a n d the o t h e r half were less well pressed t h a n usual, she nearly wept. Sadly, she r e t u r n e d to her tiny a p a r t m e n t a n d almost w i t h o u t t h i n k i n g p u t on a tight b l u e blouse a n d skirt a n d left for w o r k w i t h o u t h e r c u s t o m a r y raincoat. As she waited

370 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN for t h e West Side subway she w a s p r o p o s i t i o n e d twice a n d elbowed half to d e a t h by hordes of m e n w h o all seemed smaller a n d d a r k e r t h a n she was. Ordinarily the elbowing w o u l d have upset her, b u t this m o r n i n g she t o o k it all serenely, leaving t h e subway before the t r a i n c a m e , hailing a cab, blowing her budget, going to w o r k in style. She h a d n o t been at her desk m o r e t h a n five m i n u t e s w h e n Mr. Wesker c a m e up a n d stood in front of her, a r m s crossed, staring. He h a d , of course, stared at her before, except that before, w h e n he h a d stared, she h a d n o t flushed. She looked up at h i m . "Yes?" " D o n ' t attack me, Miss Devers. You didn't have to say 'yes' quite so negatively." I really d o n ' t like you, Jenny t h o u g h t . He smiled at her crookedly, t h e way Robert M i t c h u m smiles. There's m o r e to a m a n t h a n looks, Jenny t h o u g h t . " G o o d news, Miss Devers." "Auh?" "Yes. You're getting a n e w boss. I'm transferring to t h e textbook department." "Auh." "We'll still be on the s a m e floor, of course. A n d if y o u ' d like, I could p r o b a b l y swing having you transferred with me." Jenny said n o t h i n g . " T h a t was a joke, Miss Devers. O u r short t i m e together has been m o r e t h a n sufficient for b o t h of us, I'm sure." "I haven't a n y t h i n g against y o u , Mr. Wesker, a n d that's t h e truth." " T h e n have lunch with me." Jenny almost said " W h y ? " b u t it w o u l d have b e e n r u d e , so she s t o p p e d herself in t i m e . Rude or n o t , it was a good question. W h y in the w o r l d h a d he asked her? A n d w h y in t h e world did she accept? T h a t was a good question, t o o . They lunched at Adela's, a long, n a r r o w restaurant, very expensive, with red d r a p e s lining the walls a n d elegant candles, o n e on each table, providing light. As they entered t h e cool darkness Jenny felt flattered. W h e n a Kingsway editor w a n t e d t o impress s o m e o n e , m o r e often t h a n n o t they l u n c h e d at Adela's. T h e headwaiter led t h e m to a table in t h e rear corner of the r o o m . Mr. Wesker smiled a n d sat d o w n right beside her. "Who's going to be my n e w boss?" Jenny asked, moving a little bit away. "I t h i n k Fiske." Archie smiled again. "Mr. Fiske." Jenny p a u s e d a m o m e n t . "He's s u p p o s e d to be very nice." " W h o says?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 371 " T h e girls in the office." "Charley's honest, u p r i g h t a n d true," Archie said. "A perfect senior editor. W h a t d o you want t o d r i n k ? " " N o t h i n g , t h a n k you." "Why?" " O h , I just d o n ' t feel like anything." "You do drink." "Sometimes." " B u t n o t now. W h y ? " " I already said. I just d o n ' t feel—" "Miss Devers, we're separating as of today, so in celebration of that fact, let's be honest. You're afraid you'll get plastered a n d I'll lure you someplace a n d q u o t e take advantage of you close quote." Jenny was tempted to get u p , just get up right then a n d t h e r e a n d say, "Archie Wesker, you think you're so s m a r t you make me sick." But she didn't. Instead, she sat very still w i t h her h a n d s folded in h e r lap a n d cursed t h e weakness she h a d always h a d for Robert M i t c h u m . "Well, let's analyze your fear," Archie w e n t on. "You're a big strong girl. I'll tell you the t r u t h : I w o u l d n ' t w a n t to arm-wrestle you, at least n o t for m o n e y . A n d answer me this: w h e r e am I going to lure you t h a t if you d o n ' t w a n t to go there with me you can't say 'no'? H o w ' m I going to surprise you? I'd have to have s o m e k i n d of wild place, w o u l d n ' t I? Ian Fleming o u t of Rube Goldberg. You know, we're walking along a n d I p u s h s o m e h i d d e n b u t t o n a n d the sidewalk o p e n s a n d you fall helpless o n t o this h u g e bed I've got stashed away u n d e r m i d t o w n M a n h a t t a n . N o w all that's possible, b u t the o d d s against i t — " " G i n a n d tonic," Jenny said. "Sure you're n o t game for a m a r t i n i ? " " G i n a n d tonic, t h a n k you." Archie signaled for a waiter, gave t h e order. " W h y d o n ' t y o u like m e ? " he said t h e n . " I told you before, Mr. Wesker; I've got n o t h i n g a g a i n s t — " " C o m e o n , Jenny. Spiel." "You t h i n k you're so g o o d y o u m a k e me sick. There." She felt herself flushing again a n d she r u m m a g e d quickly t h r o u g h her p o c k e t b o o k . " W h a t are you searching for?" " N o t h i n g . I'm just hiding. Look away. Give me a c h a n c e — p l e a s e — t o get back my c o m p o s u r e . I don't like fighting—please." Archie lit a cigarette. " I ' m cursed," he said. Jenny went o n r u m m a g i n g .

372 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You're absolutely right—I do t h i n k I'm good. I'm cursed. I am good. I w o u l d love—underline love—to feel insecure every so often. A little inferiority. But I don't. W h e n I'm honest, I'm an egotist. I've got to be hypocritical for m o s t people to like m e . It's a curse, I tell you. W h e r e you from?" "Wisconsin." " H a d t o be. O r Minnesota. H o w ' r e you f i x e d o n c o m p o s u r e ? " "Fine." "You like me any better?" "I d o n ' t know." " I ' m really a great guy." "You're very m o d e s t . I'll say that." "Listen: can I help it that I look like Robert M i t c h u m ? " T h e waiter c a m e with their d r i n k s . Jenny sipped her gin a n d tonic. She was to finish three before the meal was over. M o r e accurately, she was to finish three before the meal began. Each t i m e she neared t h e b o t t o m of h e r glass Archie w o u l d make a gesture a n d s o o n a n o t h e r d r i n k w o u l d a p pear on t h e table. T h e gesture was a wrist flick, d o n e with what, Jenny s u p p o s e d , he supposed was b r e a t h t a k i n g nonchalance. Actually, he was so o b v i o u s she w a n t e d to giggle. T h a t was w h a t most s u r p r i s e d h e r — h i s obviousness. D i d he t h i n k she d i d n ' t know? Wasn't it clear t h a t she k n e w w h e n , m i d w a y t h r o u g h her first d r i n k , she d o w n e d several pieces of French bread a n d butter, thereby coating h e r stomach, thereby p r o v i d i n g i m m u n i z a t i o n ? Evidently it was n o t clear, because d u r i n g t h e meal he insisted on their sharing a bottle of w i n e , which she was m o r e t h a n glad to d o , although he was getting a little t h i c k - t o n g u e d by t h e n . He was o b v i o u s in other ways t o o : t o u c h i n g h e r a l o t — h i s h a n d on her h a n d , on her shoulder, once, ever so briefly, on her knee. A n d w h e n he asked her q u e s t i o n s a b o u t her b a c k g r o u n d , it was o b vious that he was just m a k i n g conversation, that he didn't really care a fig for h e r b a c k g r o u n d , that he wasn't t h e least bit interested in t h e fact that she h a d b e e n in M a n h a t t a n over a year a n d h a d had an u n d e r s t u d y part in a Stagpole play b u t h a d n ' t ever actually acted it because t h e play closed t o o s o o n a n d , besides, the girl she was u n d e r s t u d y i n g h a d h a d t h e constit u t i o n of two truck horses. W h y am I talking so much? Jenny w o n d e r e d , p a u s i n g before launching into a discussion of h o w m u c h she h o p e d she was a good actress because that was t h e o n e thing in all the w o r l d she really w a n t e d to be, a good actress, just a good solid professional working actress, a n d she was a b o u t to tell Archie Wesker h o w h e r acting teacher

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h a d taken her aside less t h a n a m o n t h before a n d whispered that he t h o u g h t she h a d the potential, except t h a t since it was so o b v i o u s Archie d i d n ' t care, Jenny decided to keep m u m on that one. She also decided n o t to talk a b o u t T o m m y Alden b e i n g on a Rhodes Scholarship to Oxford or C a m b r i d g e (she could never keep t h e m straight) except she c h a n g e d her m i n d a n d did talk about it, because t h a t way Archie would k n o w she was practically for all intents a n d p u r p o s e s spoken for a n d so w o u l d n ' t t r y "anything," whatever that was. But telling of T o m m y failed, for n o t h i n g Archie did was half as obvio u s as his a p p r o a c h at the e n d of t h e meal. " G o t t a pick up this m a n u s c r i p t , Jenny babe." His h a n d rested on h e r shoulder. " W h e r z i t ? " Jenny said, speaking fuzzily so as n o t to e m b a r r a s s h i m . " T h i z z place. C o m e along?" "Izzit o n n a w a y t u h the offizz?" "Sorta." "Sher." She smiled at h i m . " T h a n k you." "Fer w h a ? " "Meal." "Yuh travel wi' Archie, y u h travel firzz clazz." They got up a n d slowly m a d e their way out of Adela's, p a u s i n g for a m o m e n t w h e n t h e y reached the sidewalk. " H o t azza pistol," Archie said. " H o t azza pistol." Jenny n o d d e d . Archie t o o k her h a n d . "Gotcha." " G o t me." T h e y started to walk. "Whazzatime?" Archie looked at his watch a while. "Four," he said finally. " F o u r o'clock?" Archie n o d d e d . Jenny pulled loose. "I've got to get back to the office. I can't take a t h r e e - h o u r lunch. H o w did it get to be s o — " She s t o p p e d suddenly, because, a m o n g other reasons, she was speaking m u c h t o o clearly, b u t so was he w h e n he answered, "Forget it! Just forget it! I'm y o u r boss. We're on c o m p a n y business." Jenny began r u m m a g i n g t h r o u g h h e r purse. H e m u s t b e terribly e m barrassed, she t h o u g h t . "Fresh air," she m u m b l e d . "It really clears t h e head." " W h a t are you looking for?"

374 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " I forget." She closed the p u r s e after a while. " N o w just you quit w o r r y i n g a b o u t t h e time. It's Friday a n d it's s u m m e r t i m e . N o b o d y works. H a n d ? " H e held his out. She t o o k it. "Hand." Jenny smiled. "Gotcha." " G o t me." They walked in silence for a while. T h e n Archie hailed a cab. " W h e r e are we going?" Jenny said. "To pick up this manuscript." " B u t where?" " Listen, do you w a n t me to d r o p you at t h e office?" " N o , n o . It's Friday a n d it's s u m m e r t i m e . N o b o d y works." Archie n o d d e d , gave t h e driver a n u m b e r . " M u c h cooler in the cab anyway," Jenny said. "Much." He took her h a n d again. "Are you bright as a penny, Jenny? T h e song says you're s u p p o s e d to be." " I ' m n o t so bright," Jenny said. " N o t as s o m e people, anyway." "And you're going to be a great actress someday?" "I d o n ' t know. I'd like to be." "We should have l u n c h e d before this. O u r business transactions w o u l d have b e e n less rocky." "Yes." T h e y sat quietly until the cab s t o p p e d in front of a b r o w n s t o n e off Park. Archie paid a n d they got o u t . "It's the garden a p a r t m e n t , " he said. " T h a t ' s where the m a n u s c r i p t is." "Oh." " W a n t to see?" " O h , yes; I love looking at o t h e r people's a p a r t m e n t s . M i n e isn't m u c h . I t h i n k that's why." She waited b e h i n d h i m while he t o o k o u t a key a n d p u t it in the lock. Jenny started to r u m m a g e t h r o u g h h e r p u r s e , t h e n s t o p p e d . She waited. He o p e n e d t h e d o o r a n d ushered her into t h e hall. T h e n he let t h e front d o o r close a n d m o v e d d o w n the hall to t h e a p a r t m e n t door. Jenny waited again. Her fingers played with the clip on her p u r s e . She m a d e t h e m stop. T h e y s m o o t h e d her skirt, m a d e sure her blouse was tucked in neatly. Archie o p e n e d the a p a r t m e n t door. Jenny walked inside. Archie closed the d o o r b e h i n d her. She stared straight ahead. He walked up b e h i n d her, p u t his h a n d s to her shoulders, t u r n e d h e r slowly, b r o u g h t her against h i m . As her a r m s went a r o u n d his neck she r e m e m b e r e d she was still h o l d i n g h e r purse, so she d r o p p e d h e r a r m s , released the purse as quietly as she could, then e m b r a c e d h i m again. W h e n they broke, they looked at each o t h e r a n d smiled. T h e n they fell

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 375 into another, a longer kiss. T h i s t i m e , as they separated, he t o o k h e r h a n d s , raised t h e m , kissed t h e tips of her fingers. It was, she t h o u g h t , a sweet t h i n g to do, sweet a n d gentle a n d , from h i m , surprising, so w h e n he held h e r close again she could feel h e r b o d y relaxing. He kissed h e r on t h e m o u t h several times a n d on t h e neck a n d eyes a n d he h a d h e r b l u e blouse half u n b u t t o n e d before she spoke. "Are y o u m a r r i e d ? " "Huh?" "Are you m a r r i e d ? " " D o e s it m a t t e r ? " "Yes." "Yes." "Oh." Jenny looked a r o u n d for h e r purse. Archie m o v e d to take h e r in his a r m s again. Jenny discouraged h i m . " C o m e on," Archie said. Jenny r u m m a g e d t h r o u g h h e r purse. "All of a s u d d e n we're t u r n e d i n t o p u m p k i n s , is that it?" Jenny n o d d e d . "Well, for Christ's sake." " I ' m sorry," Jenny m u m b l e d . "Jesus H. Christ!" " D o n ' t talk like that." "Just can it, will ya?" "Please. I said I was sorry." "If I seem the least bit ruffled, Miss Devers, it's only because, with t h e possible exception of cancer, t h e r e is n o t h i n g I loathe m o r e t h a n a g o o d old-fashioned, o n e - h u n d r e d - p e r c e n t American teaser." " I ' m not." " D o n ' t get me started." I m not. " T h e n what the hell are ya? You been c o m i n g on at me all week. Let's just c u t t h e c r a p a n d a d m i t it." " I w a n t . . . you t o k n o w . . . " Against her will, she started crying. " H o o r a y , here comes t h e tears." " . . . t o k n o w t h a t . . . you have totally a n d . . . completely m i s u n d e r s t o o d m y . . . actions." "Sure I have. Of course I have. T h a t story of m i n e m a k e s a lot of sense, leaving a m a n u s c r i p t a r o u n d someplace. So tell me you believed it a n d tell me that you couldn't have waited for me just as easy o u t on the

376 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN sidewalk a n d tell me why g o d d a m m i t you h a d to wait until t h e last godd a m second before asking was I m a r r i e d ! " "You have . . . t o t a l l y . . . a n d c o m p l e t e l y . . . " " C r y all you want." " . . . m i s u n d e r s t o o d m y . . . actions." "It doesn't change anything. N o w I m a y have m i s u n d e r s t o o d yours, Miss Devers, b u t I'll t r y to m a k e it next to impossible for you to m i s u n d e r s t a n d m i n e . I used to live in this a p a r t m e n t before I got m a r r i e d . For a small fee my e x - r o o m m a t e allows me afternoon privileges. I i n t e n d e d s h a r i n g those privileges w i t h y o u this lovely afternoon until it t u r n e d o u t otherwise. I c a n n o t say that I am pleased at t h a t t u r n of e v e n t s — y o u are, to use t h e vernacular, s h a p e l y — b u t I will, however, live. I will n o t , h o w ever, wait for you to do y o u r face so t h a t it looks like you haven't b e e n crying. I will see you at the office, p e r h a p s later, p e r h a p s M o n d a y . Until t h a t t i m e , Miss Devers, m a y I just say shove it." Jenny waited until the d o o r s l a m m e d before allowing h e r s o b b i n g to get o u t of control. Half blindly, she m a d e her way to the sofa a n d d r o p p e d d o w n , clutching at t h e cushions, h e r h e a d b u r i e d in her a r m s . She cried for a long time, until her t h r o a t h u r t . T h e n , slowly, she m a n a g e d to stop. She sat up on t h e sofa, h a n d s folded in her lap, b r e a t h i n g deeply. W h e n she was u n d e r complete control, she stood, looked a r o u n d for t h e b a t h r o o m , f o u n d it, t u r n e d on t h e faucet, a n d stared at herself in t h e m i r r o r . Her face was, of course, a mess, b u t t h a t was all right. It was t h e fact t h a t h e r blouse was u n b u t t o n e d t h a t set h e r off crying again. This siege was shorter, a n d w h e n it was over she w a s h e d h e r face a n d did w h a t she could w i t h h e r hair a n d then went back to t h e sofa a n d sat d o w n . Well now. W h a t do you do if you're a g o o d girl in a b a d world a n d you're sitting in s o m e b o d y ' s a p a r t m e n t a n d it's Friday in M a n h a t t a n a n d you've just b e e n unjustly insulted and it does m a k e a difference, a big difference, if he's m a r r i e d or not, a n d it's h o t , a n d your a p a r t m e n t n o t only isn't airc o n d i t i o n e d , it can't be, because t h e w i r i n g in the building is so rotten, a n d I could just kill that Archie Wesker. Well, of course, I'll just have to q u i t my job. I'm n o t going to have Bob M i t c h u m staring me in t h e face for t h e rest of my life. I'll q u i t — s n a p — l i k e t h a t — s n a p — a n d I'll live a life of luxury while t h e two h u n d r e d a n d fifty-seven dollars in my special checking acc o u n t lasts, a n d t h e n — t h e n — t o hell w i t h t h e n , Jenny t h o u g h t . I can't be b o t h e r e d with it now. She was suddenly in a m a r v e l o u s m o o d , so maybe that was w h a t she

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 377 h a d b e e n ready for all t h e t i m e — q u i t t i n g . She stood a n d g r a b b e d her p u r s e , h u r r y i n g across the r o o m , because the i m p o r t a n t t h i n g was to get right d o w n to that office a n d e m p t y that desk a n d leave a little n o t e inf o r m i n g Kingsway Publishers Inc. t h a t this was n o t goodbye, it was g o o d bye foreverl "Miss Devers is b u g g i n g out," Jenny said, a n d she left the a p a r t m e n t , dashed to t h e street, caught a cab a n d urged t h e driver into a m a x i m u m effort as he raced h e r d o w n to Kingsway. As Jenny got o u t of the elevator, t h e m a i n - d e s k receptionist w a s waiting to get in. They n o d d e d to each o t h e r a n d Jenny h u m m e d a l o u d as she m a d e h e r way along the deserted c o r r i d o r to her desk. Sitting d o w n , she started o p e n i n g drawers. T h e y were empty. Oh, there were p a p e r clips a n d pencils a n d carbons of c o r r e s p o n d e n c e that needed eventual filing, b u t , as far as anything personal was concerned, t h e drawers were empty. Jenny n o d d e d . Of course they were. It was a b a d habit to keep personal things in t h e office. O n c e you started spreading your worldly g o o d s , you lost t h e m . So the drawers were e m p t y , a n d she h a d k n o w n all along they were going to be, so why h a d she r u s h e d like a lunatic to clean o u t an already e m p t y desk? Jenny w o n d e r e d a b o u t that. T h e n she b e g a n to w o n d e r if there was anything of h e r in h e r tiny a p a r t m e n t or was t h a t just like h e r desk was? T h e n she w o n d e r e d if she was going to cry again, helplessly realized t h e answer was going to be yes, said "Dear G o d " o u t l o u d a n d bit h e r lower lip as h a r d as she could, t r y i n g desperately s o m e h o w to stop, because even t h o u g h the office was empty, it just didn't do to broadcast grief, a n d , besides, if the office wasn't empty, whoever was t h e r e w o u l d c o m e a r o u n d a n d ask a lot of silly questions. In spite of herself, Jenny w e p t — q u i e t l y , b u t n o t quietly e n o u g h , because from s o m e w h e r e Mr. Fiske was suddenly standing over her, saying, "Miss Devers? Miss Devers? Is s o m e t h i n g w r o n g ? " "No." "Then..." "I happen to be in a marvelous mood!" Jenny s h o u t e d at h i m , a n d he n o d d e d , a n d that m a d e her m a d , a n d t h e n h e smiled, a n d t h a t m a d e her m a d d e r , a n d she couldn't have b e e n m o r e amazed a couple of h o u r s later w h e n she f o u n d herself in b e d w i t h h i m . She was t e m p t e d to ask h i m if he t o o was m a r r i e d , b u t s o m e h o w a n o t h e r affirmative answer w o u l d have b e e n just t o o embarrassing, so she didn't. Charley w o u l d have given an affirmative answer, h a d she i n q u i r e d . He was m a r r i e d , h a d o n e child, a n d h a d never before, n o t even remotely, b e e n t h e least remiss. He d i d n ' t do t h a t k i n d of thing ( h a d n ' t d o n e that k i n d of t h i n g ) .

378 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Reprehensible: indefensible. (His way of p u t t i n g it.) "You gotta n o t be ashamed." (His father's.) To t h e best of Charley's m e m o r y , his father h a d first u t t e r e d those w o r d s on a blinding a u t u m n m o r n i n g , d u r i n g recess, on t h e p l a y g r o u n d of C o v i n g t o n Academy, a reasonably exclusive C o n n e c t i c u t b o a r d i n g school for boys. Just p r i o r to his father's utterance, Charley h a d been c h a t t i n g with t h e Keeler twins, R o n a l d a n d D o n a l d , w h o o r d i n a r i l y ign o r e d h i m . This day, however, he h a d just t r o u n c e d t h e m b o t h in a relay race, he alone r u n n i n g against t h e t w o of t h e m , a n d since their d e m i s e h a d b e e n witnessed by several o t h e r m e m b e r s of their class, t h e Keeler t w i n s were anxious to air t h e reason b e h i n d their setback. "You cheated," Ronald (or D o n a l d ) Keeler said. "It was a r u n n i n g race. H o w could I cheat?" Charley replied. " C o u r s e he cheated," D o n a l d (or Ronald) seconded. " B u t I didn't." "Guys like h i m , they always cheat." T h e twins were i g n o r i n g h i m now. "Always." "You gotta expect that of guys like h i m . Cheating." "You gotta." " I ' m n o t surprised. Are you s u r p r i s e d ? " " I ' m n o t surprised. Are you s u r p r i s e d ? " "After all, his old man's n o t h i n g b u t the janitor a r o u n d here." "Custodian," Charley said. T h e y t u r n e d to look at h i m . " J a n i t o r " in chorus. C h a r l e y s h o o k his head. " N o . Custodian." "He's t h e g o d d a m lousy j a n i t o r a n d that's all he's g o n n a be a n d you're n o t h i n g b u t the g o d d a m lousy son o f t h e g o d d a m lousy j a n i t o r a n d that's all you're g o n n a be t o o . G o d d a m janitor's son." T h e r e were two of t h e m a n d t h e y were b o t h his size, b u t if there h a d b e e n ten a n d all ten giants, he still w o u l d have attacked. C h a r l e y r a n at t h e m , p u m m e l i n g o n e until t h e o t h e r grabbed h i m from b e h i n d a n d pulled h i m d o w n o n t o the p l a y g r o u n d a n d for a t i m e it s e e m e d as if their n u m b e r s w o u l d carry the day. T h e y were sitting on h i m , hitting h i m a r o u n d t h e face, a n d his nose was bleeding badly a n d his lower lip was cut a n d s u d d e n l y it d a w n e d on h i m t h a t he m i g h t just possibly lose a n d so he gave a terrible shout of protest a n d p e r h a p s it was the s o u n d of his o w n voice or t h e taste of his o w n b l o o d or t h e fact that he h a d always associated the Keelers with t h e b a d guys in his o w n private Western b u t as he lay there, as they hit d o w n at his face, he knew he could beat t h e m if he w a n t e d to. And he w a n t e d to. Charley twisted his b o d y o n e way, t h e n

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 379 t h e other, back a n d forth, a n d s o o n o n e of the Keelers lost his balance, t h e n the other slipped, a n d t h e n Charley was on his feet, light a n d fast a n d on his feet, and soon o n e of t h e Keelers had a b l o o d y nose a n d t h e n the o t h e r h a d a swollen right eye a n d then t h e b l o o d y o n e began to cry a n d his b r o t h e r joined h i m a n d they started t o t u r n a n d r u n away b u t Charley s h o u t e d again, diving on t h e m , pulling t h e m d o w n , sitting astride t h e m b o t h , s h o u t i n g a n d hitting until he felt a sharp p a i n at his ear a n d his father h a d h i m a n d was d r a g g i n g h i m across the p l a y g r o u n d a n d d o w n a flight of steps a n d t h r o u g h a d o o r into the boiler r o o m b e n e a t h t h e m a i n building of C o v i n g t o n Academy. "Animal!" Mr. Fiske said t h e n . "Squabbling! Fighting in t h e dirt!" He was from t h e old country. He h a d lived in America for fewer t h a n t w e n t y of his forty-five years. His n a m e , n o w Fiske, was once a g o o d deal longer. "But—" "Before you give me y o u r excuse, let me tell you there is no excuse." " T h e y called you the janitor. I tried to tell t h e m you were t h e c u s t o d i a n . T h e custodian." "Look!" Mr. Fiske held o u t his h a n d s . He was tall a n d wiry a n d his fingers were long. "At my h a n d s . Look." C h a r l e y s h o o k his head. "Yes?" " T h e y ' r e dirty! T h e work I d o , they get dirty! Either way, t h e y get dirty! But I ain't ashamed. That's t h e m a i n thing. T h e only t h i n g . No m a t ter w h a t . You gotta n o t be ashamed." " I ' m n o t ashamed," Jenny said. She lay in her bed u n d e r the top sheet; C h a r l e y Fiske lay beside her. T h e y h a d finished sleeping together p e r h a p s t w o m i n u t e s before, and since t h e n neither of t h e m h a d said a n y t h i n g . " O f course you're not." Charley rolled up on o n e elbow. T h e b e d creaked. " M y God, neither am I. We s h o u l d n ' t be. W h y did you say a t h i n g like t h a t ? " T h e bed creaked again. " T h a t creaking. It just drives me crazy." She tried to m a k e h e r fingers s t o p fidgeting w i t h the sheet, tried to get her voice to s o u n d less fretful. " W h y did you say that a b o u t b e i n g a s h a m e d ? " "Because it's true. I'm n o t a s h a m e d — 1 don't care what you do." " W h a t do you m e a n , w h a t I d o ? " "I h a d t h e feeling—ordinarily I'm n o t like this; I probably seem nervous to you b u t I'm not, I'm placid ordinarily a n d — I h a d t h e feeling t h a t — t h i s is very h a r d — t h a t you w a n t e d to r u n — t h e r e , I said it!—I h a d t h e feeling that bed play was over a n d you were going to run." "Well, you're wrong." " G o o d . I'm glad."

380 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " N o w , I do have to go." "Oh." " B u t it's because I've got a very i m p o r t a n t a p p o i n t m e n t t h a t I simply c a n n o t break." He sat up in bed a n d reached for his clothes. Jenny watched him. " I ' m n o t a s h a m e d ! " she said again. " T h i s is p r o b a bly o n e of t h e three worst conversations of my life a n d G o d k n o w s what the o t h e r two were b u t it is n o t going to m a k e me feel ashamed." Charley zipped up his fly. "I am a m u c h better p e r s o n — " "Than what?" " T h a n you have any reason to believe. T h a n I may seem now." " I ' m a better person too. W h a t do you think, that I'm a q u i c k — w h a t ' s t h e phrase?—roll in the hay?" " O f course not." " Why shouldn't you? Haven't I acted like one? You d o n ' t even k n o w me. Why shouldn't you?" "Jenny . . . " Charley said, a n d his voice was sweet a n d full of c o m p a s sion a n d very, very sad. " C o m e on now." "You say you're nice. Are y o u ? " "Yes. I h o p e so. I try to be." " T h e n don't leave. Not yet. Do t h a t m u c h . I'll entertain you. I can be very entertaining. W h a t w o u l d you like?" "A suede jacket for my birthday." " I ' m sorry," Charley's father said, "I can't give you a suede jacket." C h a r l e y looked up at his father. It was d u s k a n d they were walking to the little h o u s e that C o v i n g t o n A c a d e m y let t h e m live in, t h e w h o l e Fiske family: Charley, his father, and his t h r e e beautiful sisters. " I ' m sorry," his father said again. "I feel very foolish. I ask you w h a t w o u l d y o u like a n d w h e n you tell me I say 'no.' I promise you this, t h o u g h : s o m e d a y I'll have the m o n e y to give you a suede jacket. But n o t next m o n t h , n o t this birthday. D o you u n d e r s t a n d ? " "I d o n ' t really need any jacket," Charley said. "I d o n ' t really n e e d anyt h i n g . I d o n ' t like birthday presents. I t h i n k it's d u m b , giving p e o p l e presents just because they have a birthday. N o w someday, w h e n I g r a d u a t e the s m a r t e s t in my class from C o v i n g t o n Academy, then you can give me a present." "You're a nice boy, Charley." "I h o p e so. I t r y to be. I d o n ' t k n o w why I said that a b o u t w a n t i n g a jacket. As long as I have t h i s — " he reached into his back p o c k e t a n d pulled o u t his folding carpenter's r u l e — " a n d t h i s — " he t a p p e d t h e rule

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 381 against his wrist watch with the second h a n d — " w h a t do I n e e d ? " T h e n he d a s h e d off to t r y to find s o m e t h i n g to measure. Charley h a d been m e a s u r i n g things for almost as long as he could rem e m b e r . He was never w i t h o u t his wristwatch with the second h a n d a n d his folding carpenter's rule. He k n e w h o w big his bed was, a n d his r o o m , a n d h o w m a n y feet it was from there to t h e t o p of the stairs, a n d h o w long it t o o k to crawl that distance as well as walk it or h o p it, a n d he k n e w t h e length of his front yard, the w i d t h , too, as well as the length a n d w i d t h of each block of cement in the blissfully irregular sidewalk t h a t passed by his h o m e , a n d h o w m a n y feet i t was t o t h e c o r n e r a n d t o t h e next corner, a n d to t h e c o r n e r after that. W h a t he couldn't m e a s u r e with his wristwatch a n d his carpenter's rule was whatever it was his father felt that drove h i m to take a j o b , an extra additional secret nightly job, as a dishwasher in d o w n t o w n Covington, in o r d e r to get the m o n e y to get t h e suede jacket. Charley k n e w that his father was going o u t evenings, b u t he didn't k n o w why, n o t until his b i r t h d a y m o r n i n g w h e n he woke to find the suede jacket folded carefully over the foot of his bed. T h e m i n u t e he saw it he j u m p e d u p , t o u c h e d the jacket, t o u c h e d it again, t h e n d a s h e d downstairs to find his father, w h o was having his coffee, a n d as he lowered his cup Charley kissed h i m , let h i m go, kissed h i m again, t h e n d a s h e d back upstairs to t r y t h e jacket o n . It fit, of course, perfectly, a n d as he gazed at himself in his m i r r o r , he l o o k e d — h e hated to a d m i t it; it s o u n d e d conceited, b u t w h a t could he do?—magnificent. Even his three sisters—Emily, Charlotte a n d A n n e — (his m o t h e r h a d been, while alive, a reader) w h o were engaged in their c u s t o m a r y m o r n i n g squabble over b a t h r o o m rights, h a d to a d m i t , as he whirled before t h e m , that a l t h o u g h ordinarily he did not l o o k magnificent, he certainly did now. Charley left t h e m , invaded t h e kitchen o n c e m o r e , a n d this t i m e he did n o t kiss his father b u t looked at h i m instead, just looked at h i m , until the stern old m a n n o d d e d , gave a small, rare smile, a n d t h e n Charley was o u t t h e d o o r t o the sidewalk (twenty-four feet), t h e n to the corner (forty-six feet, four inches), t h e n to t h e lawn of C o v i n g t o n Academy (fifty-one seconds if you walked, t h i r t y if you r a n ) , w h e r e he e n c o u n t e r e d T i m m y Brubaker, a dear friend of t h e Keeler twins, only richer. Nevertheless, Charley s p u n a r o u n d for T i m m y , let T i m m y t o u c h , a n d T i m m y repaid his k i n d n e s s with four words: " T h a t isn't real suede." Charley n o d d e d and smiled a n d c o n t i n u e d on his way, walking until he was o u t of Timmy's sight, t h e n r u n n i n g , r u n n i n g deep into t h e w o o d s

382 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN b e h i n d t h e Academy, where, his h a n d s hugging the i m i t a t i o n leather, he wept. He was p o o r a n d his father was t h e janitor and, i m i t a t i o n or real, it s h o u l d n ' t have mattered, he s h o u l d n ' t have cared. Except that he did. A n d w i t h o u t t h i n k i n g , he began to dig, scraping away with his fingers, m a k i n g a hole, enlarging it until it was e n o u g h . He t o o k the jacket off, folded it neatly, p l u n g e d it into the h o l e a n d covered it up with dirt. T h e n he stood a n d started o u t of the w o o d s . W h a t he w o u l d say w h e n he got h o m e , he decided, was that he'd lost it s o m e w h e r e , which was a perfect idea unless his father h a p p e n e d to ask h i m w h e r e was the last place he could definitely r e m e m b e r having h a d it, w h i c h his father w o u l d definitely ask, s o . . . W h a t h e would say w h e n h e got h o m e was that t h e jacket h a d been stolen, a n d t h e n his father w o u l d ask w h o stole it, a n d he w o u l d answer T i m m y Brubaker a n d the Keeler t w i n s , a n d his father w o u l d suggest they pay a visit, so . . . W h a t he w o u l d say w h e n he got h o m e was t h a t he h a d given t h e jacket away, to s o m e p o o r kid, a n d his father w o u l d c o n g r a t u late h i m for his charity except he w o u l d probably w o n d e r , his father w o u l d , why he h a d worked so h a r d for s o m e t h i n g that m e a n t so little. Charley stood at the edge of t h e w o o d s a n d stared at the sky. It was interesting, b u t n o t as interesting as trying to measure h o w m a n y feet it was from w h e r e he stood back to t h e hole. (Two h u n d r e d a n d sixteen, on t h e b u t t o n . ) Charley m e a s u r e d t h e d i a m e t e r of the hole (eleven inches), b u t in o r d e r to get a really accurate d e p t h m e a s u r e m e n t he h a d to lift the jacket o u t , which he did, b r u s h i n g it carefully before t h e final m e a s u r e m e n t . ( N i n e inches.) T h e n h e p u t i t o n , the imitation suede, a n d h e wore it u n t i l it wore o u t or he o u t g r e w it, he could never quite r e m e m b e r w h i c h c a m e first. He was p o o r , a n d his father was t h e janitor, b u t w h a t t h e hell. Besides, t h a t fall he discovered football. Sports were emphasized at C o v i n g t o n Academy, a n d first Charley tried soccer. But he wasn't very fast a n d he wasn't agile a n d he couldn't kick very well. He was big, t h o u g h , a n d strong e n o u g h so t h a t n o b o d y ever picked fights with h i m a n y m o r e , so they sent h i m to t h e football field, w h e r e he tried tackling p e o p l e , b u t he still wasn't fast, a n d he wasn't agile, a n d things looked b a d for h i m there, too, until t h e a f t e r n o o n they gave h i m t h e football to r u n with. He sighed a n d tucked it u n d e r his a r m a n d r a n , n o t fast, n o t with agility, just straight ahead, a n d it t u r n e d o u t , to t h e surprise a n d delight of t h e Latin professor w h o h a d to d o u b l e as coach, t h a t it was very h a r d to k n o c k Charley d o w n . F r o m t h e n on he was fullback. F r e s h m a n year of high school, w h e n he stood six feet o n e a n d weighed close to two h u n d r e d , he scored four p l o d d i n g t o u c h d o w n s in a

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 383 s c r i m m a g e against the varsity. F r o m t h e n on he was the fullback. He scored m o r e points t h a n a n y o n e else in the history of t h e Academy, a n d everybody liked h i m , especially in t h e fall, a n d although he despised football he kept at it, because it was nice to have everybody like y o u , even if it was only especially in the fall. He g r a d u a t e d t h i r d in his class, w h i c h w o u l d have b e e n d i s a p p o i n t ing, since he w a n t e d to g r a d u a t e first, because once, years before, he h a d told his father that he w o u l d , except w h e n g r a d u a t i o n c a m e it d i d n ' t m a t ter because his father h a d died t h e m o n t h before. Any n u m b e r of colleges were interested in h i m , because he was so h a r d to k n o c k d o w n , b u t he c o u l d n ' t m a k e a decision, a n d as t h e s u m m e r wore o n , as it began to d a w n on h i m that his good father was dead, he enlisted. He w a s sent, as an i n f a n t r y m a n , to Europe, w h e r e he did n o t h i n g to be a s h a m e d of, e a r n ing several medals, a m o n g t h e m a Silver Star, a Purple H e a r t , a n d he adv a n c e d from private to sergeant first class a n d twice t u r n e d d o w n c o m m i s s i o n s , a n d once a full colonel called h i m in to chat a b o u t m a k i n g t h e military his career. After t h e war, he c a m e back to C o v i n g t o n briefly before leaving again, this t i m e for t h e University of Chicago, w h i c h was a very g o o d school w i t h o u t a football t e a m . He majored in English (he was, like his m o t h e r , a reader) a n d enjoyed t h e whole academic experience, except t h a t w h e n h e received his d i p l o m a h e didn't k n o w quite w h i c h p r o fession to attach it to. S o m e t h i n g a b o u t writing, maybe, Charley t h o u g h t , so he c a m e to N e w York because it seemed like b o t h t h e place to go a n d t h e t h i n g to d o . He rented himself a cell of an a p a r t m e n t a n d w r o t e a b o o k (that seemed like t h e t h i n g to d o , t o o ) , a novel a b o u t t h e war. It t u r n e d o u t to be a b a d novel a n d n o b o d y showed t h e least interest in p u b l i s h i n g it, b u t in t h e course of traveling from o n e rejection to a n o t h e r C h a r l e y m e t s o m e people w h o s e e m e d to like h i m even t h o u g h it was w i n t e r t i m e , a n d w h e n he was offered a j o b at Kingsway he w i t h joy accepted, editing, as his first b o o k , The Nose Is for Laughing, a novel by R. V. Miller. He got m a r r i e d , a n d s o m e t i m e after that he a n d his wife h a d a son, a n d s o m e t i m e after that t h e three of t h e m m o v e d to P r i n c e t o n . T h e c o m m u t e wasn't bad, since it gave h i m t i m e to read. He w o r k e d very h a r d for Kingsway, eventually b e c o m i n g a senior editor, a n d w h e n , in t h e office late o n e afternoon, he h e a r d Miss Devers crying at her desk, he tried to be s o o t h i n g a n d he couldn't have b e e n m o r e amazed, a couple of h o u r s later, to find himself in bed with her. He h a d waited with her as she wept at her desk, her sobs shattering t h e quiet of Kingsway, a n d t h r o u g h t h e use of great patience he finally got h e r to stop. Since she was upset he offered to see her h o m e . W h e n they

384 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN s t o o d on her d o o r s t e p she invited h i m in for s o m e coffee or s o m e t h i n g , a n d he accepted only because she seemed so lost a n d alone. Jenny m a d e the coffee or s o m e t h i n g invitation partially o u t of e m b a r r a s s m e n t (Mr. Fiske had, after all, caught her crying) a n d partially b e cause, as he stood fidgeting on h e r d o o r s t e p , he seemed so lost a n d alone. She brewed the coffee a n d they d r a n k it. It was stifling a n d he asked if he m i g h t take off his suit coat a n d loosen his tie. She said g o o d heavens, please. He t o o k off his coat a n d loosened his tie. T h e n she asked if he w a n t e d s o m e iced coffee, seeing as it was so hot, a n d she laughed, exp l a i n i n g that she felt like a fool since only a fool w o u l d n ' t have fixed t h e m iced coffee t h e first time. He said he w o u l d love s o m e iced coffee. She excused herself a n d went to t h e tiny kitchen. He followed h e r to the k i t c h e n e n t r a n c e a n d stood there, talking to her while she m a d e s o m e m o r e coffee. He found h e r face q u i t e p r e t t y a n d he w o n d e r e d w h y he h a d never noticed anything b u t h e r b o d y before. She was s u r p r i s e d at t h e b r e a d t h a n d thickness of his shoulders; with his jacket on he never s e e m e d nearly so powerful. She asked h i m , once t h e coffee was ready, if he w o u l d m i n d getting o u t t h e ice cubes. He said he w o u l d be glad to. He stepped into t h e tiny k i t c h e n a n d she stepped as far b a c k as she could, b u t still their bodies t o u c h e d . T h e y were b o t h a b o u t to apologize b u t t h e y b o t h stopped themselves in t i m e . They went b a c k i n t o t h e living r o o m a n d sat d o w n a n d d r a n k their iced coffee. T h e s u n was going d o w n a n d they b o t h c o m m e n t e d o n h o w m u c h cooler everything was i n t h e dark. H e got u p a n d m o v e d t o w a r d t h e w i n d o w ; she apologized t h a t there wasn't any view. He explained that he was only going to get his coat, w h i c h was on the sofa b e d , which was next to t h e w i n d o w ; she said he p r o b a b l y h a d lots of t h i n g s to d o . He said lots; she said oh. H e stared o u t the w i n d o w ; she w a t c h e d h i m . T h e n she got up a n d m o v e d across t h e r o o m a n d stood so close b e h i n d h i m t h a t their bodies barely t o u c h e d ; h e decided h e o u g h t t o move away from her. Barely t o u c h i n g , they s t o o d very still, staring o u t the w i n d o w . He w o n d e r e d if he was going to do anything; she w o n d e r e d , if he did a n y t h i n g , w o u l d he be gentle? He decided n o t to do anything; she decided that, even if he was gentle, it wasn't e n o u g h .

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 385 He t h a n k e d G o d that his m a r r i a g e was going so well or else he m i g h t have got involved; she gave t h a n k s that although she was no genius, she was blessed with c o m m o n sense. He t u r n e d ; she m e a n t to step back. He realized suddenly t h a t she t h o u g h t he was going to do s o m e t h i n g ; she stepped back. He reached o u t for h e r because he h a d to explain t h a t she h a d m i s u n d e r s t o o d his intentions; she w o n d e r e d if he was m a r r i e d . He b r o u g h t her roughly i n t o his a r m s because s o m e t i m e s y o u h a d to b e r o u g h with w o m e n t o m a k e t h e m u n d e r s t a n d ; she t h o u g h t o h , he's n o t gentle, I w a n t to cry. H e r b o d y stiffened. She wasn't expecting anything, he t h o u g h t , a n d he a l m o s t released her, b u t n o t quite, a n d he c o n t i n u e d to h o l d her, b u t lightly; she realized, as his fingers lightly caressed h e r body, h o w o d d a n d wonderful it was that s o m e t i m e s the biggest, strongest m e n were the gentlest m e n of all. She kissed his eyes. She kissed his m o u t h . She pulled h i m d o w n . Charley caught the P r i n c e t o n train just as it was starting to m o v e . P a n t i n g , he entered the s m o k e r a n d sat d o w n heavily. T h e car was n o t airc o n d i t i o n e d . Charley t h o u g h t ill t h o u g h t s a b o u t the Pennsylvania Railr o a d while he wiped his forehead. Setting his briefcase on t h e seat beside h i m , he forced the w i n d o w o p e n , letting in the night air, w h i c h was h o t , b u t he basked in it anyway. T h e n he fanned his h a n d k e r c h i e f across his neck, d o i n g what he could to t h w a r t t h e shaving rash he could feel f o r m ing; he k n e w better t h a n to r u n full o u t in h o t weather; he was a big m a n a n d in h o t weather he paid for his size. But Miss Devers h a d — n o , Jenny; it was a little absurd calling h e r Miss Devers a n y m o r e — b u t Jenny h a d begged h i m to stay with h e r a while, so he h a d stayed, for t o o l o n g a while, a n d so he h a d to r u n to catch his train. Result: he was h o t a n d cheerless a n d shaving rash was already forming on his neck, ready to b l o o m a resplendent red w h e n he next t o u c h e d razor to skin. P o o r Jenny, Charley t h o u g h t . P o o r Jenny all alone in t h a t cell of an a p a r t m e n t . A n d t h e n h e t h o u g h t , N o , g o d d a m m i t , t h a t way m a d n e s s lies. D o n ' t feel sorry for her because once you start feeling s o r r y t h e n you'll start feeling guilty a n d o n c e you start feeling guilty you'll b o r e m e . W h a t ever h a p p e n e d h a p p e n e d a n d i t ain't a b o u t t o u n h a p p e n n o m a t t e r h o w you w r i t h e , so forget it, forget it, take two a n d hit to left.

386 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Charley o p e n e d his briefcase a n d lifted o u t the large t y p e d m a n u script. He p l o p p e d it on his lap a n d looked carefully a r o u n d . W h e n he was sure no o n e was watching he quickly flipped to t h e e n d of t h e b o o k a n d read t h e page n u m b e r . It was a c h i l d h o o d habit of his, a n d it e m b a r rassed h i m now, b u t he c o u l d n ' t b r e a k it any m o r e t h a n he could forget t h e texture of Jenny's skin. Now, d a m m i t ! he told himself. But it was e x t r a o r d i n a r y skin. All right, he told himself, louder, so it was e x t r a o r d i n a r y skin. A d m i t it. Lots of people have e x t r a o r d i n a r y skin. You enjoyed yourself. A d m i t t h a t t o o . She has an altogether m e m o r a b l e frame. Bless h e r for it, because w h e n you're old, w h e n whatever drives t h a t drove you to do w h a t y o u d i d earlier are dead, you'll be able to s u m m o n u p Jenny Devers' b o d y a n d t h i n k a b o u t i t with r e m e m b e r e d lust, t h e best k i n d . So r e m e m b e r her. Just s t o p trying to m a k e yourself feel guilty. She started it. It was her idea. You m a y n o t resemble t h e driven s n o w b u t n e i t h e r does she a n d you've got a 418-page novel to read this weekend, so h o p t o it. C h a r l e y t u r n e d to the title page: Does Your Detergent Taste Different Lately? by E m m e t Slocum. C h a r l e y h a d never been a fan of E m m e t Slocum's novels, b u t they sold well, a n d it was a sign of Charley's advance at Kingsway that w h e n Slocum's old editor died, this, his n e w novel, was a w a r d e d to Charley rather t h a n to Ted B o a r d m a n or any of t h e others. C h a r l e y read t h e first page a n d a half before he sighed audibly, because it c a m e s u d d e n l y clear that Does Your Detergent Taste Different Lately? was a M a d i s o n Avenue Novel. Charley s k i m m e d t h e o p e n i n g chapter, in which it was s h o w n that the h e r o — P e t e Fletcher, ace copywriter for A n d e r s , Swivett a n d Bodkin (ASB to t h e t r a d e ) — t h o u g h a good father, loving h u s b a n d , h a n d s o m e , brilliant, successful, rich a n d Protestant, was s o m e h o w u n h a p p y . Q u i t your job, Pete, C h a ley urged; quit in t h e first chapter a n d go back to that teaching post in Massachusetts a n d save me from r e a d i n g 400 pages of bilge. As he began the second chapter, Charley sighed again. I k n o w the plot already, he t h o u g h t . T h e hero's u n h a p p y , b u t he doesn't k n o w why, b u t he k n o w s that he has to find o u t why, a n d it never d a w n s o n h i m t h a t t h e Machiavellian f i n k w h o r u n s t h e a d agency m i g h t have s o m e t h i n g to do w i t h his u n h a p p i n e s s , so t h e h e r o , in desp e r a t i o n , has an affair with his faithful secretary— Jenny, you're unavoidable, C h a r l e y t h o u g h t . — h i s faithful secretary, who's this great sweet girl w h o loves h i m from afar b u t in the e n d he stays w i t h his wife on a c c o u n t of t h e kids

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 387 a n d . . . Charley began t h u m b i n g t h r o u g h the book. T h e n h e said " B i n g o " o u t l o u d because he found t h e first sex scene between Pete a n d Helen, his faithful et cetera. Charley started reading after the d o t - d o t - d o t d o u b l e space: "I w a n t e d that," Helen said. She cradled h i m in her a r m s . Pete looked at her. "God," he said. "God." "I hate her," Helen said then, a n d there was no denying t h e passion in h e r voice. " T h a t wife of yours. T h a t Doris. I wish she were dead." " W h y didn't I meet you before?" Pete said. He grabbed h e r l o n g black hair. "Darling." His lips b r u i s e d h e r s . . . Charley r u b b e d his m o u t h . O u r dialogue was better, h e t h o u g h t , Jenny's a n d m i n e , a n d he closed his eyes, r e m e m b e r i n g w h a t they had said. Well, h e a d m i t t e d t h e n , w h e n y o u c o m e right d o w n t o it, o u r dialogue wasn't all that h o t either. There's n o t m u c h you can do w i t h the m o m e n t ; everybody's read it before, so it's best just to h u r r y on by. Charley flicked a few pages farther in t h e b o o k until Pete Fletcher was walking by himself at three o'clock in t h e m o r n i n g , staring m o o d i l y at t h e H u d s o n River a n d . . . I've got no patience with you, Pete. N o t with you, n o t w i t h m e . I've edited this scene fifty times in my life a n d every t i m e I edit it I have no patience with t h e d a m n m a n a n d his breast-beating, because this is a w o r l d in which you get w h a t y o u pay for, so just forget w h a t you did, b e cause Jenny has by now, probably, a n d if she has, she's s m a r t , so you be s m a r t t o o . You're n o t the office s t u d like Archie Wesker. It m a y kill you to a d m i t it, b u t you've d o n e s o m e things you can be p r o u d of. You're n o t a bastard! We k n o w t h a t already! W h a t he wanted, suddenly, was s o m e b o d y to hit, h a r d , except he d i d n ' t do that k i n d of thing, b u t he w a n t e d to anyway, t h e feeling was there, so naturally he t h o u g h t a b o u t the night he first m e t C o n n i e . He was living all alone in a cell of an a p a r t m e n t between Tenth a n d Eleventh in t h e West Forties, a n d his o n e a n d only novel, his b a d b o o k a b o u t the war, h a d just b e g u n its string of rejections. He was just six m o n t h s o u t of t h e University of Chicago a n d w h e n he got the invitation to t h e Covingt o n A c a d e m y reunion he decided n o t to go several times before he went. T h e r e u n i o n was set for a r o o m in t h e Yale Club, a n d as he sat in his cell a n d fingered his invitation C h a r l e y felt very alone a n d wildly poor. T h e loneliness he was used to; the loneliness he could cope with. N o t so t h e poverty. True, he h a d been b o r n p o o r , p o o r in a rich kid's world, b u t that was

388 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN all so long ago. N o b o d y cared in t h e A r m y a n d n o b o d y cared at Chicago, a n d w h e n he came to N e w York to live the shock of being p o o r again was s u d d e n a n d cold a n d lingering. So he decided n o t to go, b u t t h e n he c h a n g e d his m i n d , a n d as he e n t e r e d t h e r o o m at the Yale C l u b he realized h o w right he h a d been t h e first t i m e . He would have left then, t u r n e d a n d slipped out, except s o m e o n e said "Charley" a n d took his a r m a n d steered h i m into the crowd at the bar. Everyone was very well dressed, b u t so, he told himself, was he. Didn't he have on his good suit? Besides, from the outside, w h o could tell a t h i n g a b o u t t h e lining? Charley o r d e r e d a Scotch a n d looked a r o u n d . There were a n u m b e r of pretty girls, s o m e of t h e m wives, s o m e just girls, a n d t h e m e n were sleek a n d h a n d s o m e , so Charley m o v e d quietly to the edge of things, standing alone, w a t c h i n g all the rich kids play. W h e n the totally unfamiliar girl began walking t o w a r d h i m he tried frantically to r e m e m b e r w h o she was, b u t he couldn't. "You're Charley Fiske," she said. " H o w are you, you l o o k m a r v e l o u s , great to see you," C h a r l e y said, feeling completely p h o n y a n d blissfully at h o m e in the Yale C l u b . " N o , " she said, a n d she flushed. " N o , we've never m e t . I watched you play, t h o u g h . You were the fullback." " I ' m sorry," Charley m u t t e r e d . " Forget it." " N o , you don't u n d e r s t a n d , c o m i n g on the way I did. I d o n ' t do things like that." "Except you just did." "Except I just did." " I ' m C o n n i e D o n a l d s o n . I'm h e r e with T i m m y Brubaker." T h a t surprises m e , Charley t h o u g h t . Because you're n o t pretty e n o u g h , a n d until you told me w h o you were here with, I t h o u g h t you m i g h t be nice. " G o o d old Tim." "Yes. Well, he sent me h e r e to fetch you." " G o o d old Tim." "Yes. Well, he'd like to talk to y o u b u t he's all tied up w i t h t h a t g r o u p over t h e r e a n d he can't get away." " C o n s i d e r me fetched," C h a r l e y said. T h e y m o v e d across the r o o m . " W h a t ' s T i m doing nowadays?" " N o t h i n g . I m e a n , he's in his father's business. I d o n ' t k n o w w h a t he's d o i n g . Ask h i m what he's d o i n g . W h a t are you d o i n g ? " Charley said n o t h i n g . T h e n T i m m y Brubaker stood before t h e m , tall a n d casual, a d r i n k in o n e h a n d , a cigarette in the other, c h a t t i n g quietly

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 389 w i t h t h e Keeler twins, R o n a l d a n d D o n a l d , w h o flanked h i m on either side, a m i r r o r Army. Several o t h e r s milled a r o u n d Timmy, w h o was, to Charley's disgust, b o t h better- a n d richer-looking t h a n a n y o n e h a d any legal right to be. "Hello, Fiske," T i m m y Brubaker said w h e n it was Charley's t u r n . Charley n o d d e d , w o n d e r i n g if T i m m y r e m e m b e r e d t h e day w h e n he said, " T h a t isn't real suede." " W h a t are you up to these days?" Charley shrugged. "School?" "Chicago. University of. The." "Excellent." " T h a n k you. I'll write Bob." "Bob?" "Hutchins." "Ah," T i m m y said. "A joke." I m a y just kill you, Charley t h o u g h t . " H o w was your war?" T i m m y asked. " M y what!" "You were in, weren't you? D i d you fly? I flew." "Yes, I was in. No, I d i d n ' t fly." "I h e a r d you did well." I believe it, Charley t h o u g h t , a n d he looked a r o u n d at t h e r o o m in t h e Yale C l u b because it helped h i m envision t h e world where o n e m a n m i g h t say to another, " D o you r e m e m b e r Fiske? T h e football ox, t h e janitor's son? I hear he did well in the war." "I really d o n ' t like you," Charley said, a n d as he said it he t h o u g h t , I'll bet you d o n ' t hear m e . " G o o d to see you, Fiske," T i m m y Brubaker said. "You're l o o k i n g well." "Bingo." "Pardon?" "I m a d e a bet with myself a n d I w o n . So I said 'bingo.' " "Ah." He got ready to t u r n . " P e r h a p s we'll r u n into each o t h e r again." " I ' m unfetched?" "Pardon?" " D o you r e m e m b e r a jacket of mine? A suede jacket?" "Yes. It wasn't real." C h a r l e y u n l o a d e d . He was a trifle overweight at the t i m e , t w o h u n d r e d a n d thirty, b u t he was by no m e a n s fat, a n d his h a n d s were h a r d , a n d

390 • WILLIAM G O L D M A N T i m m y Brubaker said " O o f " as Charley's left entered his s t o m a c h , "Ahh" as Charley's right contacted his chin. T h e n he fell into t h e a r m s of R o n a l d or D o n a l d Keeler. "Hey!" the free Keeler cried. "And t h a t goes for your cat too," Charley said, and he s w u n g from his heels a n d connected and as his o p p o n e n t s l u m p e d Charley whirled, t h i n k i n g he h a d best get the hell o u t because he had caused a d i s t u r b a n c e at his p r e p - s c h o o l r e u n i o n a n d he d i d n ' t do things like that. He walked back to the b a r a n d o r d e r e d a n o t h e r Scotch. T h e n he m o v e d to a chair a n d sat d o w n . He sipped his drink, staring at T i m m y Brubaker, w h o , visibly distressed, was lying sprawled in the m i d d l e of t h e floor in the m i d d l e of the r o o m in t h e m i d d l e of the Yale Club. Charley beamed. " H o w can you smile like t h a t ? " C h a r l e y studied C o n n i e D o n a l d s o n a m o m e n t . She s e e m e d to be a n gry, so he s t o p p e d looking at h e r face, w h i c h was all right, n o t a great face, n o t b a d , a n d concentrated on h e r body. But she was wearing o n e of those black dresses that m a k e it h a r d to tell. " W h a t d i d T i m m y Brubaker ever d o t o y o u ? " " H e insulted . . . " My poverty, Charley was a b o u t to say. " H e insulted me." " H e did not. I was right there. I h e a r d every word he said. W h e n did he insult y o u ? " " T w e n t y years ago." "Twenty—" " I ' m very moral. I believe in p u n i s h i n g t h e bad guys w h e n e v e r possible. S o m e t i m e s it takes a while." " I t h i n k you o u g h t to apologize to T i m m y Brubaker." " W h a t was y o u r n a m e ? " " C o n n i e . C o n n i e D o n a l d s o n a n d I t h i n k you o u g h t to apologize to T i m m y Brubaker." " O h , screw T i m m y Brubaker." She looked at h i m for a long t i m e . " H e is k i n d of awful," she said finally. " W h a t are you doing o u t with h i m ? " " W h a t d o you m e a n , what a m I d o i n g o u t with h i m ? " "Just w h a t I said. W h a t are you d o i n g o u t with h i m ? " " H e asked m e ! I'm twenty-four years of age a n d I'm single a n d w h e n a b o y asks me to go o u t with h i m , I go!" "Any b o y ? "

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 391 " W i t h i n reason." "Am I w i t h i n reason?" "I t h i n k so." " T h e n g o o u t with me." "When?" "Now." " B u t I'm with T i m m y Brubaker." She looked at Charley for a long t i m e . " O h , screw T i m m y Brubaker," she whispered finally a n d , i m m e d i ately thereafter, blushed. T h e n she said, " I ' m embarrassed, so please . . . " A n d t h e n she said, "Except I d o n ' t w a n t to m a k e a t h i n g o u t of it. I d o n ' t like t h a t . Do you like that? People w h o m a k e things o u t of things? I d o n ' t . I d o n ' t even k n o w quite w h a t I'm saying, b u t I'd m o s t enjoy going someplace w i t h you except that if I t h i n k a b o u t it I p r o b a b l y w o n ' t , b e cause I s h o u l d n ' t , so get me o u t of here." C h a r l e y got h e r o u t of there. T h e y s p e n t t h e next few h o u r s exploring G r a n d Central Station, b e cause it was right across the street a n d because you could explore it for n o t h i n g a n d because, m o s t of all, C h a r l e y h a d always p l a n n e d on s o m e day s p e n d i n g a n evening exploring G r a n d Central Station. T h e y d i d n o t take sixteen trains which traveled eventually t h r o u g h a total of thirtyseven states a n d w o u l d have cost t h e m , h a d they been m a r r i e d a n d g o n e i n style, m o r e t h a n three t h o u s a n d dollars, n o t c o u n t i n g meals. W h e n t h e y finally did take a t r a i n it was the shuttle, across t o w n to T i m e s Square, where they transferred to the u p t o w n Broadway express, getting off at 96th Street, walking quietly to Connie's a p a r t m e n t , on t h e t o p floor of a five-story b r o w n s t o n e on 94th Street, between Broadway a n d West E n d . H e r place was bigger t h a n his, b u t still small, a n d t h e furn i t u r e , t h o u g h in good taste, was obviously Salvation A r m y M o d e r n . Before he said g o o d night he asked h e r o u t for the following evening, Monday, a n d she graciously accepted, a n d on M o n d a y evening he asked her o u t for Tuesday, on Tuesday for Wednesday. They c o n t i n u e d , nightly, to go o u t , b u t after Wednesday he s t o p p e d asking; there d i d n ' t seem to be any real reason to ask. They b o t h a s s u m e d that w h e n they h a d free t i m e t h e y w o u l d s p e n d it together, a n d t o g e t h e r they e n d u r e d t h e winter, welc o m e d t h e spring. W h a t he liked a b o u t her, a m o n g o t h e r things, was that she was poor. A m o n g t h e o t h e r things were: a certain attractiveness, a certain wit, a definite desire to be kind. But t h e m a i n t h i n g was her poverty. T h e y were p o o r , t h e b o t h of t h e m , so he d i d n ' t have to be e m b a r r a s s e d if his collar was frayed, his sports coat slightly o u t of style. A n d w h e n he was

392 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN able actually to spend s o m e money, on a steak d i n n e r or a b a l c o n y seat at a play, she appreciated it. W h a t he didn't like a b o u t her, a m o n g other things, was t h a t she was poor. A m o n g the other things were: she a d m i r e d h i m t o o m u c h a n d excited h i m t o o little, t h o u g h t h e f o r m e r b o t h e r e d h i m only occasionally, t h e latter less t h a n that. But t h e m a i n t h i n g was her poverty. He respected h e r a n d h e r aims. H e h a d k n o w n m a n y w h o claimed a n interest i n social work, b u t C o n n i e was t h e only o n e w h o actually did it for a living. What kind of a living, though? C h a r l e y p l a g u e d himself w i t h t h a t q u e s t i o n . He h a d n o m o n e y , neither d i d she, s o w h e n e v e r h e t h o u g h t a b o u t t h e k i n d o f future they m i g h t have together he quickly changed t h e subject. All in all he liked her a great deal m o r e t h a n not. She liked h i m too, or so he assumed, b u t the exact extent of h e r caring was s o m e t h i n g he m o r e or less ignored until the day she said, obviously e m b a r r a s s e d , t h a t she t h o u g h t it m i g h t n o t be a half b a d idea, if he didn't m i n d , for h i m to m e e t h e r p a r e n t s . H e d i d n ' t m i n d — w h y s h o u l d h e m i n d ? — s o i t was a r r a n g e d for t h e following Sunday. Late Sunday m o r n i n g , precisely on schedule, he picked h e r u p , a n d she kissed h i m full on the m o u t h , w h i c h surprised h i m , since she ordinarily d i d n ' t do that k i n d of t h i n g . He told her she looked very pretty, w h i c h was almost true, a n d she e x a m i n e d his clothing w i t h quiet c o n c e n t r a t i o n before f i n a l l y n o d d i n g , o n e time, a n d kissing h i m again. They walked d o w n t h e five flights a n d w h e n they reached t h e street she t o o k his h a n d a n d kissed it, explaining t h a t a l t h o u g h she ordinarily f o u n d h i m irresistible m o s t of t h e t i m e , she f o u n d h i m particularly irresistible on w a r m Sundays in April, b u t t h a t he shouldn't be at all surprised, since it was a trait t h a t r a n in the w o m e n of h e r family, finding m e n particularly irresistible o n w a r m Sundays i n April a n d — " W h a t are you so n e r v o u s a b o u t ? " Charley said. " I ' m n o t nervous. Who's nervous? Just because I'm b a b b l i n g doesn't m e a n I ' m n e r v o u s . S o m e people babble w h e n they're perfectly relaxed a n d I'm of that ilk. Did you k n o w I was of that ilk? 'Ilk' is a funny word. D o n ' t you t h i n k 'ilk' is a—" "Your folks won't hate m e . I'll c h a r m t h e m or die in t h e attempt." "I k n o w you will. But that's n o t w h a t I'm n e r v o u s about." " T h e n w h a t is?" " N o t h i n g . Forget it." "Forgotten." "Listen, t h e thing is I'm rich." "Rich?"

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 393 " T h a t ' s right." "You m e a n really rich?" " I guess so." "You m e a n you've got m o n e y ? " "Yes. I've got money. I'm rich." " T h e n w h a t are you living in a fifth-floor w a l k - u p on t h e West Side for? You're eccentric?" "I w o u l d have said 'independent.' " " I n d e p e n d e n t , eccentric, you're loaded, right?" "Right." " H o w loaded?" "Sufficiently." " O n e million, two million, f i v e , ten, w h a t ? " "Less t h a n five." " B u t m o r e t h a n two?" "I guess so." "More than two?" "Charley—" "Wow." "Charley—" " T h e n w h a t were you s o n e r v o u s a b o u t ? " "When?" "A little bit ago." "Nothing." " C o m e o n . You were n e r v o u s . W h y ? " " O h , because." "Care to amplify t h a t ? " "Well, because I h a d n ' t told y o u before a n d I t h o u g h t you m i g h t be a little upset t h a t I'd lied to you all this time." "A little upset? Listen: tell me you're a leper, I m i g h t be a little upset. But tell me you got two million dollars, w h a t t h e hell have I got to be u p set a b o u t ? " " N o t h i n g . But you are." " W h e r e do they live, your folks? Fifth, Park, or b o t h ? " He looked at Connie. "That was supposed to be a joke." He smiled. She returned it. "Then you're not mad." "I'll tell you t h e absolute t r u t h : it doesn't b o t h e r me o n e way or t h e other." T h e y t u r n e d the corner a n d s t a r t e d walking toward t h e crosstown bus. A m o m e n t later a cab drove by. Charley hailed it.

394 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN T h e D o n a l d s o n a p a r t m e n t , it t u r n e d o u t , was on neither Fifth n o r Park b u t on Beekman Place, a n d as s o o n as he heard C o n n i e giving the driver t h e address Charley began to p r e p a r e himself: the living r o o m w o u l d be large a n d expensively furnished, t h e dining r o o m t o o ; there w o u l d p e r h a p s be a large terrace w i t h an u n o b s t r u c t e d view of t h e East River; there w o u l d u n d o u b t e d l y b e servants. H e t h o u g h t o n a n d o n , because it was i m p o r t a n t that n o t h i n g c o m e as a surprise because it didn't m a t t e r t h a t C o n n i e (suddenly) h a d m o n e y because a janitor's s o n could be just as civilized as a n y b o d y else. But as soon as they walked t h r o u g h t h e front d o o r C h a r l e y panicked. T h e D o n a l d s o n s ' foyer was bigger t h a n his entire a p a r t m e n t . Charley h u r r i e d after C o n n i e , b u t as t h e y e n t e r e d t h e living r o o m he s t o p p e d . The r o o m was filled with vases, great, elegant vases, a n d Charley k n e w he was s o c l u m s y h e was going t o break o n e , a n d t h e n h e t h o u g h t h e h a d u n d e r gone all this before. At s o m e o t h e r t i m e , in s o m e o t h e r place, he had stood, t r e m b l i n g in fear of b r e a k i n g a great, elegant t h i n g , a n d t h e n he rem e m b e r e d what it was, a n d it was Prince Myshkin, Dostoevski's p o o r idiot, w h o h a d t r e m b l e d in fear, a n d Myshkin's fear h a d c o m e t r u e , and Charley whispered " C o n n i e ! " a n d she s t o p p e d a n d c a m e b a c k t o h i m and smiled as he t o o k her h a n d . T h e D o n a l d s o n s were waiting for t h e m o n t h e terrace. C h a r l e y m a d e his way t h r o u g h the hellos, b u t in the e n s u i n g pause he h e a r d himself saying h o w nice a n d " u n o b s t r u c t e d " t h e view was, and as he said it he knew he s o u n d e d like an ass, so he b l u s h e d a n d shut u p , feeling like t h e fool of all t h e w o r l d until from s o m e w h e r e he h e a r d his father saying t h a t you gotta n o t be a s h a m e d , and for just a m o m e n t he felt h o t tears b e h i n d his eyes, b u t he blinked t h e m g o n e , a n d after that he was q u i t e himself again. He entered the conversation a n d , in a few m o m e n t s , f o u n d himself leading it. He spoke quietly, easily, a b o u t n o t h i n g in particular: football, fashion, t h e war, t h e peace. He accepted a daiquiri w h e n it was offered h i m , refused a second w h e n t h a t t i m e c a m e . A servant a p p e a r e d a n d Mrs. D o n a l d s o n suggested they have b r u n c h , so they all m o v e d to t h e end of t h e terrace a n d sat d o w n b e n e a t h a large striped umbrella. C h a r l e y stared o u t at t h e East River and t h o u g h t a b o u t things. B r u n c h was simple—eggs a n d livers a n d bacon a n d toast a n d m a r m a l a d e a n d c h a m p a g n e — a n d a s he sipped his third glass C h a r l e y s u d d e n l y stopped a n d realized that it d i d n ' t m a t t e r at all, Connie's m o n e y , except that he could never, n o t in all his life, r e m e m b e r having h a d a nicer meal. W h e n b r u n c h was d o n e C h a r l e y was aware that t h e ladies seemed to be m a k i n g excuses for leaving, a n d he w o n d e r e d why, u n t i l he decided

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 395 that t h e reason m u s t be because it was t i m e for the two of t h e m to have a "talk," Mr. D o n a l d s o n and he, except they really hadn't a n y t h i n g to talk a b o u t . But by t h e n Mr. D o n a l d s o n was talking. " C o n n i e ' s in love with you." " H o w d o you k n o w ? " Charley wished h e h a d d r u n k less c h a m p a g n e . Or more. "By y o u r presence. You're t h e first o n e she's b r o u g h t here. Like this. She's r a t h e r a s h a m e d of us, you know." " I can't imagine why." " O h , she likes us well e n o u g h . We're all really quite close. In o u r o w n way." Charley n o d d e d a n d stared at t h e older m a n . Mr. D o n a l d s o n was p r o b a b l y fifty-five, b u t he looked a g o o d ten years younger. His face was pleasant a l t h o u g h at o n e time, years before, he was p r o b a b l y strikingly handsome. "Actually," Mr. D o n a l d s o n said, "I k n e w of Connie's feelings a g o o d deal before she b r o u g h t you. She's told us a b o u t you, of course. Everything, I imagine. In the m o s t disgustingly praiseworthy way. I was quite p r e p a r e d to loathe you on sight." He smiled. "To my horror, I find y o u altogether likable." C h a r l e y n o d d e d and he smiled back at Mr. D o n a l d s o n a n d t h e n s u d d e n l y he stopped smiling, because he realized that the older m a n was waiting for h i m to say s o m e t h i n g . "You're waiting for me to say something." " T h a t ' s correct." "Well n o w . . . I m e a n , c o m e o n , Mr. D o n a l d s o n , aren't we r u s h i n g things just a little?" "No." " W h y aren't we?" " D o n ' t you k n o w what we're really talking a b o u t ? " "I guess I don't." "We're n o t talking about you, Charley. N o r about C o n n i e . We're talking a b o u t money." Charley said n o t h i n g . "You haven't got m u c h , have you? As a m a t t e r of fact, you haven't any. C o n n i e , o n the o t h e r h a n d — " "Mr. D o n a l d s o n , I don't love y o u r daughter." " T h a t m a y n o t be as crucifyingly i m p o r t a n t as you think. You do like her?" " O f course I do."

396 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "And she loves you. And I love her. S o m e t h i n g o u g h t to w o r k o u t , d o n ' t y o u think? There are no villains here." " N o villains." "I'll tell you s o m e t h i n g , Charley. N o t only was I totally p r e p a r e d to dislike you, which, alas, I don't, b u t w h e n you came in earlier I was p e t r i fied you were going to m a k e an ass of yourself. C o n n i e w o u l d have h e l d that against m e , you see. T h e m o n e y u n d i d you, she'd say. It was my fault you were an ass a n d she'd only love you all the m o r e . A n d you d i d m a k e an ass of yourself for a m o m e n t . " "Yes. T h a n k you for n o t letting on." " G o o d G o d , Charley, I'm a g e n t l e m a n , I h o p e . W h a t m a d e you so nervous?" Charley gestured toward t h e river, t h e n the terrace, t h e n back t o w a r d the s p l e n d o r of the living r o o m . "This," he said. " N o w I don't understand." "We're talking of money, isn't that right? Well, I didn't k n o w y o u were rich." Mr. D o n a l d s o n got up from t h e terrace table. W h a t is it? Charley t h o u g h t . W h y did he look at me like that? "You d o n ' t believe me." " O f course I believe you." " N o , you don't." "All right, I don't." Charley got up from t h e table a n d crossed the terrace. T h e y stood side by side, staring d o w n at the river. T h e sun was very strong. "It's the truth," Charley said. " C o n n i e told you you were c o m i n g to a tenement." " N o . Of course not. But today was t h e first time she'd let o n . I swear." "It's really n o t w o r t h this m u c h discussion." "Yes it is. I don't lie." " W h i c h of us does?" "Lots of people d o . But I don't." " O h , Charley." "/ didn't know. I wouldn't have g o n e o u t w i t h her if I'd k n o w n . " " W h e r e did you meet h e r ? " "You k n o w where. My class reunion." "And is she pretty, my C o n n i e ? " "Yes." " N o . She really isn't. I love her, b u t my eyes do n o t dazzle." "She's attractive enough," Charley said.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 397 "Let's h o p e so. And w h o was she w i t h ? " " T i m m y Brubaker." " T h a t ' s right. N o w shall we a d d things up? Is it possible it never crossed y o u r m i n d to ask why a n o t overly attractive girl s h o u l d be at a function like a class r e u n i o n with a beautiful, socially a m b i t i o u s y o u n g m a n like T i m m y Brubaker?" "Money," Charley said. "Of course, money." "I never t h o u g h t it." "Didn't you?" " N o , " Charley said. "No." "Are you sure?" "Yes," Charley said. T h e n a m o m e n t later he heard himself say, " N o . " And a m o m e n t after that: " I ' m n o t sure." "Shall we go inside?" Mr. D o n a l d s o n said. Charley followed h i m into t h e living r o o m a n d they sat d o w n a m i d s t the vases. " M r s . D o n a l d s o n is vase happy," Mr. D o n a l d s o n said. " O n e learns, eventually, to live with things." "I only m e a n t I m a y have asked myself the question. But I d i d n ' t k n o w she was rich. Please believe that. I'm n o t after her money. If I were after h e r m o n e y , w o u l d I have told you I d i d n ' t love her?" " 'Get o u t of my house, you s c h e m i n g son of a bitch!' " Charley j u m p e d u p . Mr. D o n a l d s o n laughed. " T h a t was a q u o t e , Charley. Sit back d o w n . Please." A n d he waved his h a n d until Charley sat. "As I said, I was q u o t i n g s o m e t h i n g s o m e o n e once said to m e . My wife's father, to be specific. On the m o m e n t of o u r first meeting. M r s . D o n a l d s o n brought me to m e e t h e r father only after m o n t h s of peaceful persuasion. T h e m a n t h o u g h t me a fortune h u n t e r . Me. Just because I was poor, he thought I was after his daughter's money. But she p e r s u a d e d h i m 1 wasn't. A n d we met. N o w this was a self-made m a n , Charley. He didn't believe in amenities, like b r u n c h . O u t with it he came. I stepped t h r o u g h his front entrance a n d he looked at me a n d he screamed. 'Get out of my h o u s e , you scheming son of a bitch!' Poor m a n . He t h o u g h t I didn't love his daughter; he t h o u g h t I w a n t e d h e r money." Mr. D o n a l d s o n lit a cigarette. "And, of course, he was right." C h a r l e y looked a r o u n d . "Relax," Mr. D o n a l d s o n said. " T h i s isn't any secret, Charley. For G o d ' s sake, if a n y t h i n g it's an old family story. Mrs. D o n a l d s o n a n d I laugh about it from t i m e to time. Does t h a t surprise y o u ? "

398 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Yes." " It shouldn't. You see, we love each o t h e r very dearly. Have for over twenty-five years. We are devoted; we are inseparable. I m a r r i e d her for her m o n e y — I was, you m u s t believe m e , dashing in those d a y s — a n d t h e n to my absolute h o r r o r I fell, as t h e saying goes, in love. W i t h my wife. O h , it was terrible. I couldn't a d m i t it for days. T h e n I did, a n d t h a t was that. We love each other, M r s . D o n a l d s o n a n d I. We did t h e n ; we do now. Cigarette, Charley?" " N o , t h a n k you." "You're starting to s q u i r m a little in that chair, aren't y o u ? " No.' " O h , nonsense. I k n o w w h a t you're thinking: ' T h e old gasbag's getting to t h e point.' I like you, Charley, y o u k n o w that? You have such a terrifyingly h o n e s t face." " T h a n k you, I guess." Mr. D o n a l d s o n p u t o u t his cigarette. "All right, Charley, w h a t do you say?" " W h a t does that m e a n ? " " C o m e , now." " W h a t is this? You're offering me y o u r d a u g h t e r — w h a t k i n d of a t h i n g is t h a t ? " " I ' m n o t offering a n y b o d y a n y t h i n g . I love my daughter. My d a u g h t e r has indicated a p r e f e r e n c e — y o u — a n d I approve of h e r selection. I'm simply d o i n g whatever I can to m a k e her happy. You d o n ' t have to love her, Charley; that's w h a t I'm t r y i n g to tell you. In t i m e you will." "Maybe." "Take my word, Charley." " L o o k at this r o o m . W h a t am I d o i n g in a r o o m like this?" "Just because she's rich, d o n ' t h o l d it against her." " I ' m not." "I was like you at o n e time: t r y i n g to m a k e a virtue o u t of poverty." "Listen," Charley said, a n d he got o u t of the chair. "Listen, I liked b r u n c h . I would like to say I d i d n ' t , b u t I did. It's nice having p e o p l e wait on you. I like it." "And it scares you." "Yes." He began to pace. " D a m n right. D a m n right." "Relax, Charley; you n e e d n ' t decide this instant." "I gotta n o t be ashamed, d o n ' t you see? That's t h e i m p o r t a n t thing-1 gotta n o t m a r r y s o m e b o d y unless I love t h e m because I always t h o u g h t

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 399 t h a t w h e n I got m a r r i e d I ' d — y o u k n o w — l o v e my wife, a n d t h e n y o u tell me I will a n d look at you, you're happy, a n d it bothers m e . I d o n ' t k n o w . S o m e t i m e s I do crazy things a n d it b o t h e r s m e . I hit T i m m y Brubaker. I never hit a n y b o d y b u t I hit h i m a n d I've got to love my wife a n d I d o n ' t love C o n n i e , b u t you say I will, a n d it b o t h e r s me because I t h i n k you're right. I d o n ' t know. I like it here. I like you. I don't know. If I k n e w w h a t to do I w o u l d n ' t be walking a r o u n d talking like I was crazy n o w , b u t I d o n ' t . You see, I was poor, all my life, p o o r , a n d I really like C o n n i e , a n d . . . " He t u r n e d sharply to face Mr. D o n a l d s o n , a n d as he t u r n e d his h a n d hit a vase a n d t h e vase toppled a n d fell a n d Charley watched it shatter on the floor, listening as Mr. D o n a l d s o n said, "Forget it. T h a n k you for d o i n g it. I've always loathed it. It's insured." But Charley, staring at t h e pieces, felt n o t o n e bit less clumsy a n d began s h o u t i n g "Fool!" " P r i n c e t o n Junction; change for Princeton." T h e c o n d u c t o r c o n t i n ued t h e chant, m o v i n g d o w n t h e car. " P r i n c e t o n Junction; c h a n g e for Princeton." " Fool!" Charley said to t h e h e r o of Does Your Detergent Taste Different Lately? a n d he s l a m m e d t h e m a n u s c r i p t shut a n d stuffed it i n t o his briefcase. " F o o l for feeling shame." He got off the train a n d transferred, a n d w h e n he got to P r i n c e t o n he walked to the p a r k i n g lot a n d got i n t o his car. As he started to drive he felt loose a n d relaxed a n d free from whatever it was he h a d b e e n feeling earlier, a n d he hardly t h o u g h t of Jenny Devers at all until he got to his h o u s e a n d saw Betty Jane waiting on t h e sofa in t h e living r o o m . " R o b b y ? " Charley said t h e n , m e a n i n g their son. "Upstairs asleep," his wife answered. C h a r l e y crossed to t h e sofa a n d she tilted her perfect face for a kiss, b u t he g r a b b e d her thin s h o u l d e r s w i t h his big h a n d s a n d lifted h e r to h i m a n d t h e n they b o t h fell b a c k o n t o t h e couch a n d he engulfed h e r a n d she gasped b e n e a t h h i m a n d he was a b o u t to say "I love you, I love you" except he h a d always h a d a terrifyingly h o n e s t face, so he s h u t his m o u t h tight a n d let his b o d y do t h e talking. "Robby?" "Upstairs asleep." Betty Jane looked at her h u s b a n d ' s face as he crossed t o w a r d her, a n d for just a m o m e n t she was afraid he was going to cry. She raised h e r head, b u t t h e n he h a d her by her s h o u l d e r s , a n d as he lifted h e r she w o n d e r e d w h a t in t h e world he h a d to cry a b o u t . He kissed her roughly, t h e n lowered

400 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN h e r back to the couch. Her a r m s clung to his neck. As he engulfed her, she could n o t h e l p thinking, O h , Charley, Charley, you've d o n e s o m e t h i n g wrong. A lot of funny things h a p p e n e d to Jenny that weekend. A n d she realized, as they were h a p p e n i n g , t h a t t h e y were funny. But she d i d n ' t smile. No m o r e t h a n an h o u r after Mr. Fiske left, Archie Wesker called her on t h e p h o n e . He s o u n d e d m o r e t h a n a little d r u n k a n d Jenny listened as he apologized for p r o p o s i t i o n i n g h e r that afternoon a n d t h e n p r o c e e d e d to p r o p o s i t i o n her again, this t i m e for later in the evening. T h a t ' s very funny, Jenny t h o u g h t , b u t instead of smiling she simply h a n d e d o u t a flat " n o " a n d h u n g u p , grabbing a pencil a n d paper, c o m m e n c i n g a letter to T o m m y Alden. She wrote for over an h o u r , six full pages a n d she was in t h e m i d d l e of t h e seventh w h e n she a b r u p t l y tore it all u p . Because it was all his fault, Tommy's. Everything was. W h o needed a Rhodes scholarship anyway? W h y couldn't he have just t u r n e d t h e silly t h i n g d o w n ? Jenny w e n t on like that a while before she realized h o w funny it was, t h e way she was t h i n k i n g . But again she d i d n ' t smile. She got t h r o u g h t h e n i g h t alive, r e m a r k a b l e , considering the heat, a n d the f i r s t t h i n g the next m o r n ing she dressed and subwayed d o w n to Korvette's a n d b o u g h t an airconditioner. She was writing o u t t h e check w h e n she r e m e m b e r e d that h e r b u i l d i n g wasn't wired for a i r - c o n d i t i o n i n g . T h a t was funny t o o , only the Korvette's m a n didn't t h i n k so. T h e rest of t h e weekend was like that: funny. M o n d a y m o r n i n g , she called up Kingsway to quit her j o b . It was h o t a n d she felt very tired, groggy almost, a n d she misdialed twice before finally m a k i n g connections. "Kingsway," t h e o p e r a t o r said. "Hello. This is Miss Devers." "Yes, Miss Devers." " I won't be in today." "You're ill?" "Yes." "Will you be in t o m o r r o w , do you t h i n k ? " "Maybe. I d o n ' t know. If I feel all right." " T h a n k you. Goodbye, Miss Devers." Jenny h u n g up a n d fell into b e d . She lay still, b r e a t h i n g deeply, her right h a n d r o a m i n g the sheet, t r y i n g to find a cool spot. I w o u l d really like to sleep, Jenny t h o u g h t . M o r e t h a n almost anything. She closed her eyes. I feel m u c h better, she t h o u g h t , n o w that I've quit my job. Except 1 d i d n ' t really quit. T o m o r r o w . I'll quit t o m o r r o w if it rains. I w o u l d like

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 401 that. S o m e nice cool rain. A n d sleep. Nice cool sleep. I'm really tired too. S o m e t i m e s w h e n you're really tired, y o u can't sleep. You're so tired you're t o o tired. I w o n d e r if I'm t o o tired to sleep? "Miss Devers. Miss Devers!" Jenny h e a r d the voice a n d was at first a n g r y because it was t h e super c o m e to ask s o m e t h i n g except t h a t w h e n she h e a r d the voice again, "Miss Devers! Jenny. " she decided it c o u l d n ' t be t h e super because he never called h e r by her first n a m e , a n d even t h o u g h , as she said " W h o is it?" she k n e w w h o it was, she said it. " W h o is it?" 1

"Charley." "Charley?" Jenny sat up a n d s h o o k h e r head. It was cool in t h e r o o m . She grabbed her old bathrobe a n d tied it tight and went to t h e door. "Charley?" she said again. "Yes." " O h , Charley." Jenny r u b b e d h e r eyes. "I've been asleep," she m u t t e r e d . " M a y I c o m e in?" "Sure." She o p e n e d the d o o r a n d looked at him. He was carrying a raincoat a n d a h a t a n d a large briefcase. " W h a t t i m e is it?" Jenny said. " Five." " I n t h e afternoon?" Yes. "Five M o n d a y afternoon?" "Yes." "Well, fancy that. I've slept t h e day away." " M a y I sit d o w n ? " " I ' m n o t awake yet. W o u l d y o u like s o m e coffee?" " T h a n k you, no." " I ' d like s o m e coffee." She h u r r i e d to t h e tiny kitchen. " O h , w o n d e r ful," she said as she lifted t h e coffeepot. "There's s o m e old." Jenny t u r n e d the heat up full a n d w h e n t h e coffee boiled over she p o u r e d herself a cup. "I always do t h a t w h e n I wake up," she said, c o m i n g b a c k to t h e o t h e r r o o m . "Boil it over. Terrible. Sure you w o n ' t change y o u r m i n d ? " " T h a n k you, no." " D i d it r a i n ? " "Earlier, yes." " T h a n k heavens; it's cooler." "Yes."

' "

Jenny t o o k a small sip. "I d o n ' t t h i n k I can d r i n k this stuff. It's like solid oil." She laughed. "Except oil's a liquid. But you k n o w w h a t I m e a n . " " G o p u t s o m e water on y o u r face," Charley said.

402 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Why?" "Just go do it." Jenny went to the sink. "Any particular p a r t of my face?" Charley said n o t h i n g . Jenny came back a n d sat d o w n . "All wet," she said. " S o ? " "You weren't sick today, were y o u ? " "Yes, I was." "You didn't c o m e to w o r k because you didn't w a n t to see me." " T h a t ' s n o t true. I like you. You're a very nice m a n , Mr. Fiske." "I've been terribly upset. All day. Just as soon as I got w o r d you weren't c o m i n g in. I decided t h e n I h a d to talk to you." " W h y didn't you call?" "Because I felt what we said m i g h t be of an i n t i m a t e n a t u r e . " Jenny b r o k e o u t laughing. Charley waited till she was d o n e . " I ' m sorry," Jenny said t h e n . " ' I n t i m a t e nature' struck me funny." "I d o n ' t pretend to be g o o d at this; I a d m i t to a certain lack of agility." " I ' m going to laugh again if you keep talking like that." " I b e c o m e overly formal u n d e r certain conditions. I'm sorry." Jenny shrugged. "At any rate, I want to tell y o u something." "What?" Charley hesitated. T h e n : " T h a t you m a y r e t u r n to w o r k secure in the knowledge that there will be no repetition of Friday's actions." "Friday's actions? W h a t h a p p e n e d Friday?" "Jenny—" "You're married, aren't y o u ? " "Yes." "Kids?" "One." " H a p p y h o m e life in t h e s u b u r b s . Right?" " I ' m afraid so." " H o w embarrassing it m u s t be for you. C o m i n g here. A solid citizen like you. A den of iniquity like this." "There's no reason for us to fight. We b o t h did s o m e t h i n g . We're neit h e r particularly p r o u d of it. I'm sure we're equally sorry." "I'm sorrier! You h a d t h e kid to play with this weekend. You h a d the wife to h o l d your h a n d . Let me tell you s o m e t h i n g a b o u t Friday's actions. I regret Friday's actions s o m u c h . . . s o m u c h . . . " "I didn't m e a n to upset y o u like this."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 403 " W h a t did you think, c o m i n g h e r e ? " "You won't be at w o r k a n y m o r e , will you?" " T h a t ' s right." "I b u n g l e d this whole t h i n g . I'm sorry, Jenny." " N o w you're going, I suppose." " W o u l d I make things any better if I stayed?" "I d o n ' t see how." " N e i t h e r do I. Goodbye, Jenny." "Goodbye." "Goodbye," he said again a n d she watched as he g r a b b e d his raincoat a n d h a t a n d h u r r i e d o u t t h e d o o r a n d was gone. He left the d o o r partially o p e n a n d for a m o m e n t Jenny t h o u g h t he was c o m i n g back, b a c k on the r u n , to take her in his great a r m s , b u t then she realized t h a t he was n o t ret u r n i n g , wasn't about to r e t u r n , a n d she w o n d e r e d w h y she w a n t e d h i m to. For she did. That m u c h was sure. She stood slowly, s h o o k her head, t o o k a deep breath. T h e a p a r t m e n t was cool a n d that s h o u l d have m a d e h e r feel better b u t it didn't. She was alone. Alone a n d lonely in a cool place, a n d that was better t h a n being alone and lonely s o m e p l a c e h o t , b u t it still wasn't e n o u g h to w a r r a n t a hooray. Jenny started t r u d g i n g toward t h e door, thinking that she m u s t absolutely do s o m e t h i n g cheerful tonight. Like go to a play and sit in t h e orchestra or take in a foreign film. It was Monday, so getting a good seat w o u l d n ' t be hard. Yes, she t h o u g h t , I m u s t do that. A n d I won't cook myself dinner, either. I'll eat out. I'll eat o u t a n d I'll go to t h e theater a n d if I have to walk m o r e t h a n half a block I'll take a taxi. For a m o m e n t she c o n t e m p l a t e d hiring a limousine for t h e evening, hiring it a n d just telling the chauffeur to drive, and her sitting back on the soft cushions looking o u t at all the people, b u t she killed her c o n t e m p l a tion because it was so silly a n d because as she was almost to t h e d o o r she saw his briefcase standing by t h e chair where he must have forgotten it, a n d w h e n she saw it she said " H e forgot his briefcase" right o u t loud, a n d t h e n she said "Charley" right o u t l o u d and she started r u n n i n g to the d o o r b u t as she reached it he was already there a n d he said "I forgot m y — " b u t t h a t was all, because she cut h i m off with " T h a n k God," a n d t h e n she was in his a r m s , his great a r m s , a n d he said " T h a n k God," a n d t h e n t h e y were saying it m o r e or less together, eyes closed, in blind u n i s o n , " T h a n k God, t h a n k G o d , t h a n k God, t h a n k G o d , t h a n k God." "I tell you," Archie Wesker said as he paced a r o u n d Charley's office, "she's p u t t i n g o u t for somebody." Charley looked at h i m . " W h a t makes you think so?"

404 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h i n k ? G o d d a m m i t , I can tell. A girl starts p u t t i n g o u t , old Arch, he k n o w s . Just look at her. Talk to her. She's acting different t h a n a week ago." "Different from." " F r o m , then, d a m m i t , Charley, s o m e b o d y ' s scoring w i t h t h a t b r o a d a n d it's not me" "So?" "So? Have you taken a l o o k at her? Zoftig." " H o w ' s M r s . Wesker?" " M r s . Wesker is built like Marjorie M a i n , t h a n k you." "She is not." "Have you seen her naked? I've seen her naked. T h e female frame loses its elasticity after three kids, believe me." "You were cheating before you h a d any kids." " C o m e o n , Charley, what do you want to say a t h i n g like t h a t for?" "It's true." "I k n o w it's t r u e ; so what? D o n ' t m a k e me o u t i m m o r a l , Charley. I w a n t to be o n e of the good guys." " N o , you don't. That's w h a t I like a b o u t you: you're an h o n e s t lecher." " T h e basis of o u r entire relationship, Charley, is t h a t we l o o k d o w n on each other. You've got a great marriage, a n d I don't, so y o u feel sorry for m e , b u t actually all the t i m e I'm feeling sorry for you. Let me tell you my philosophy." " D o n ' t tell m e . Write it d o w n . No k i d d i n g , Archie. You write it a n d I'll edit it and it'll be the biggest children's book since Horton Hatches the Egg" Archie laughed. "Score o n e for you." T h e intercom s o u n d e d . "Yes, Miss Devers," Charley said. "Ready for that dictation now." "Fine," Charley said. Archie started for the door. " W h a t ' s all this 'Miss Devers' crap? She's y o u r secretary." "If y o u t h i n k I'm a b o u t to call her 'Jenny' with a suspicious m i n d like y o u r s a r o u n d , you're crazy." Archie s h o o k his head. "I do n o t consider you a suspect, I promise you." Jenny knocked a n d entered. Archie looked at her. " H o w do you do, Miss Devers." " H o w do you do, Mr. Wesker." "She hates me," Archie whispered, a n d he closed the door. "He's right," Jenny w h i s p e r e d w h e n it was safe.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 405 "You shouldn't." "I don't, n o t really. I just wish you didn't like him." "I guess I wish I didn't too, b u t I d o . W h a t ' s the dictation?" "You haven't asked me where I've b e e n ? " "All right; where have you b e e n ? " " T h e lounge. Beautifying myself. C o m b i n g my hair. But m o r e i m p o r tant, taking off my lipstick." "Jenny, this is a busy office a n d it's three o'clock in t h e a f t e r n o o n — " " P u t a piece of paper on y o u r desk. Do as I say." Charley p u t a piece of p a p e r on his desk. " N o w p o i n t to it." Charley pointed. " N o w I can't tell what t h e p a p e r says from here, d o n ' t you see, so I'll have to walk a r o u n d the desk until I'm right next to you." W h e n she was next to h i m she said, " T h e n I'll b e n d d o w n to see better a n d — " Charley kissed her. He rose o u t of t h e chair a n d his a r m s went a r o u n d h e r a n d he shoved his b o d y tight against her. Jenny b r o k e free. C h a r l e y stood very still. She m o v e d a r o u n d the desk away from h i m a n d sat d o w n uncertainly. " N o w will you please keep away from me? While we're here? Please?" " I ' m sorry. But I didn't i n t e n d for quite that. Your lips were just s u p p o s e d to graze m i n e — t h a t ' s h o w t h e y tell it in novels. 'His lips grazed hers.' " "Just stay away from m e . We could have been caught t h e n . Archie might—" " T h a t ' s part of the fun of an affair," Jenny said. "I've been r e a d i n g a b o u t t h e m this past week a n d it seems a great p a r t of the fun is in almost getting caught. At least in the b e g i n n i n g it is." " D o n ' t call it an affair. It's barely a w e e k — " "You're right, b u t I don't k n o w w h a t else to call it." "We're confused a b o u t each other. How's t h a t ? " "Wonderful. A n d we're having a confusion." "A confusion." Charley n o d d e d . " F i n e with m e . N o w what's this dictation?" ,.• "You have that i m p o r t a n t letter to write, remember? To that nice D e vers girl. A b o u t dinner. I'll read you w h a t I t h o u g h t m i g h t be a nice o p e n ing: ' D e a r Miss Devers, let me begin by saying that o u r conference of last evening has lingered in my m i n d . You have a mighty brain a n d t o u c h i n g it gives me m o r e pleasure t h a n y o u will ever know. Consequently, I

406 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN t h o u g h t we m i g h t pick up this evening where we left off. I t h o u g h t we m i g h t even go to that same r e s t a u r a n t — t h e one that seems like a tiny a p a r t m e n t over on the West Side. T h e food a n d the decor aren't m u c h b u t y o u couldn't ask for greater seclusion.' I t h o u g h t you m i g h t take it from there, Mr. Fiske." "I can't." "Can't what?" "Miss Devers will u n d e r s t a n d . " "Miss Devers t h o u g h t you were joining her for dinner. She m a y not u n d e r s t a n d at all." " ' M y darling Miss Devers: I m u s t send my regrets for this evening. A certain lady of my a c q u a i n t a n c e — ' " "You said you t h o u g h t you could get h o m e late again." " T do n o t feel it wise to a r o u s e t h e least curiosity in this certain lady, a n d therefore I feel o u r conference h a d best be p u t off till later in the week.' " "You said you t h o u g h t you could get h o m e late again. You said that, Charley." "I know. I changed my m i n d . " Jenny stood u p . "You look very pretty, Jenny." " T h a n k you." She started for t h e door, stopped, started talking, her b a c k to h i m . " I ' m sorry, I'm n o t ordinarily like this—possessive—I'm sorry. You've got to realize s o m e t h i n g , though." "What?" "I care for you, Charley." She t u r n e d a n d gave a little smile. " B u t then, I guess I have to." "I have seen happier smiles." " T h e t h i n g is, Charley, w h e n everything goes right, that's fine; b u t w h e n everything doesn't, t h e n I have to ask myself w h a t I'm doing. I d o n ' t m u c h like asking myself w h a t I'm doing." " I b a n i s h e d that question from my vocabulary recently. I suggest you do t h e same." "Will there be anything else?" " T h a n k you, no." Jenny o p e n e d the office door. Charley started to call h e r n a m e , t h e n stopped. She closed t h e d o o r a n d h e n o d d e d . There h a d been altogether t o o m u c h l a s t - m i n u t e calling of n a m e s lately. It was a device he h a d always disliked, especially in movies, w h e n the heroine t u r n s a n d goes to the d o o r a n d at t h e last possi-

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 407 ble second t h e hero calls o u t "Jessica" and she stops, back still t u r n e d , s h o u l d e r s tense, and says "Yes?" a n d t h e n you're into a n o t h e r w h o l e lousy scene. Well, t h a n k G o d he h a d n ' t called o u t "Jenny." Because he h a d been late getting h o m e last night a n d it just wouldn't do, m a k i n g a h a b i t of it. Charley sat back in his chair a n d p o n d e r e d the phrase, "late getting h o m e . " He h a d never been fond of e u p h e m i s m s , b u t they were, like splinters, a necessary evil, a n d taking t h a t i n t o account, "late getting h o m e " wasn't b a d . True, it was vague. But at least it wasn't a lie. I'm n o t going to lie to Betty Jane, Charley t h o u g h t . I will not lie. A n d Jenny's just going to have to u n d e r s t a n d that. For a m o m e n t he t h o u g h t of Jenny, a n d t h e n he t h o u g h t of grabbing her t h e way he had, and t h e n he reached for the p h o n e a n d called his wife. W h e n she answered he said, " T h i s is Maxwell Perkins." "Hello there, old Maxwell," Betty Jane said. "I have n o t h i n g to report," Charley told her. " N o t h i n g is new." " S a m e . O h — R o b b y ate all his lunch." "Huzzah." "I wish he weren't so skinny," Betty Jane said. " P e r h a p s a n e w leaf is t u r n i n g . " "Yes," Betty Jane said. T h e n : " W h y are you calling?" " N o reason. To hear thy sweet voice. Really, no reason. No reason at all." " O h , Charley, are you going to be late again?" " W h a t makes you say t h a t ? " "I k n o w that t o n e in y o u r voice a n d it just makes me so m a d s o m e t i m e s . I swear, w i t h o u t you that firm w o u l d fall d o w n a n d die." " T h e y pay me." " T h a t ' s n o t t h e p o i n t . W h o s e w o r k are you d o i n g tonight? Boardman's? Or that awful Archie Wesker's? Or is it cocktails w i t h s o m e writer we're w o o i n g away from R a n d o m H o u s e ? " " N o w easy—" "I d o n ' t m u c h feel like being easy. Everybody's always t a k i n g advantage of you because you're so big. T h e y k n o w you won't hit t h e m . I m e a n it. You w o r k t o o hard." " N o , I don't." "Yes, you do. I m e a n it. S o m e d a y I'm c o m i n g d o w n there a n d I'm going to give t h e m all you k n o w what." "Hell?" "Yes." "You're very sweet."

408 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You bet I am." "I'll be talking to you." "I'll be u p ; get h o m e w h e n you can." "Bye." "Charley?" "Yes?" "I love you, Charley." Charley p u t the p h o n e back in its cradle. Well, he t h o u g h t after a while, at least I didn't lie.

XV Walt sat cross-legged on the l i v i n g - r o o m floor building a h o u s e of cards. It was a m o n t h since Blake misbehaved at t h e St. Louis C o u n t r y C l u b , half t h a t since their divorce, half t h a t since he h a d h e a r d from her. (She h a d b u z z e d h i m collect from N e w York's Idlewild to r e p o r t t h a t she was off on an extended t o u r of t h e C o n t i n e n t a n d to wish h i m luck. T h e call h a d n ' t b o t h e r e d h i m . N o t really. Or n o t really as m u c h as he t h o u g h t it was going to w h e n he picked up t h e receiver a n d heard h e r voice, a n d alt h o u g h he cursed aloud after h a n g i n g up for n o t m a k i n g h e r pay for the call, cursed again w h e n a couple of beautiful "I should have saids" crossed his m i n d , he quickly forgot t h e w h o l e thing.) Now, wearing a tee shirt a n d khaki p a n t s a n d dirty white tennis shoes a n d no socks, he c o n c e n t r a t e d on t h e h o u s e of cards, h a r d work, so he s t o p p e d every little while to g r a b a sip from his Budweiser can. Across the r o o m the TV set was t u n e d up full on a Bugs B u n n y c a r t o o n , a n d alongside it t h e C a p e h a r t clicked Pal Joey back into position a n d o n c e again, at t h e t o p of his lungs, H a r o l d Lang began to sing, "I have t h e worst a p p r e h e n s i o n that you don't crave my attention . . . " Walt n o d d e d his h e a d in t i m e to the music, t o o k a n o t h e r sip of beer. T h e n he w e n t back to his h o u s e of cards, carefully fitting a t h i r d tier o n t o a n o n e t o o s t u r d y second. W h e n he h a d the third tier finished, Walt d r a i n e d the last d r o p s of Budweiser, stood, crossed the r o o m a n d said, "Flynn, s o m e b o d y ' s got to k n o c k o u t that Japanese pillbox." In his best Errol Flynn voice Walt said, " M y pleasure, General," a n d he crawled across the l i v i n g - r o o m rug to t h e shelter of an easy chair. Pulling the pin from his Budweiser can, he j u m p e d u p , s h o u t e d " G e r o n i m o ! " a n d lobbed the beer can t o w a r d the h o u s e of cards. As the can was in midair, Walt groaned, clutched his

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 409 s t o m a c h and, eyes closed, d r o p p e d to his knees. "Flynn, Flynn, you'll get t h e Congressional; k n o c k i n g o u t t h a t pillbox w o n t h e war." Eyes still closed, Errol Flynn said, "Always b e e n lucky, General," a n d t h e n toppled over a n d died. Walt lay still a m o m e n t before getting up a n d looking around. T h e h o u s e of cards still stood. " N u t s , " Walt said. H o w can you miss from six feet? T h e beer can lay on t h e edge of the rug in a little p u d d l e of foam. Walt retrieved t h e can, m a s h e d his foot into the p u d d l e , spreading it good, t h e n w e n t a n d stood over t h e h o u s e of cards. " B o m b s t h e hell away," he said, d r o p p i n g t h e can, except it stuck to his fingertips a n d , w h e n it did fall, it veered off, missing t h e h o u s e again. Walt kicked the h o u s e of cards d o w n , h u r r i e d to t h e t e l e p h o n e , flipped the p h o n e b o o k o p e n , f o u n d a n u m b e r a n d dialed. "Hello?" a lady said. " I ' m sorry to b o t h e r you, m a ' a m , b u t I'm working for t h e Kirkaby stores. We're taking a survey a n d I w o n d e r e d , is y o u r refrigerator running?" "Yes, it is." "Well, I'll catch it if it c o m e s my way," Walt said, h a n g i n g up fast, falling o n t o the sofa, laughing a n d kicking his feet. D o n e , he lay very still a n d w o n d e r e d if he was h u n g r y . Eventually he decided he was, so he got u p a n d p a d d e d t o t h e kitchen a n d o p e n e d a n o t h e r can o f Budweiser. T h e kitchen clock said five on the b u t t o n . Walt r u b b e d his eyes. M o r n i n g or evening? he w o n d e r e d . He c o n t i n u e d to r u b his red eyes, t h i n k i n g that he really o u g h t to be able to figure o u t a question like that. M o r n i n g or evening? He could always pull the d r a p e s or look t h r o u g h t h e blinds or o p e n a d o o r a n d peek outside, which w o u l d n ' t have told h i m m u c h if it was winter, since five in the w i n t e r looks the same either t i m e , b u t this was s u m m e r now, definitely s u m m e r , or at least it had been the last t i m e he'd checked, a n d I don't w a n t to p e e k outside, Walt t h o u g h t ; I w a n t to figure it o u t for myself. Logically. M o r n i n g or evening? M o r n i n g or . . . "You ass," Walt said o u t loud. "Dumkopf." It was evening. It h a d to be. T h e y didn't show Bugs B u n n y at five in t h e m o r n i n g . Hell, w h o ' d be up to see it? N o b o d y b u t . m i l k m e n a n d ins o m n i a c s a n d you couldn't get a decent rating with just t h e m , so t h a t was that; t h e t i m e was five o'clock in the evening, b u t what was he d o i n g in the kitchen? I p r o b a b l y c a m e for t h e t i m e , Walt t h o u g h t , a n d he m a d e his way o u t

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of t h e kitchen, dancing like Fred w i t h Ginger in his a r m s , swirling a n d d i p p i n g until he came to t h e living r o o m , where he s t o p p e d very short because his father was there. "Walt," P.T. said, n o d d i n g . He was a big erect m a n , gray-haired, t a n n e d and handsome. Walt n o d d e d back. "P.T." T h e n he h u r r i e d to the television a n d the C a p e h a r t a n d t u r n e d t h e m b o t h off. "Everything going O.K.?" Walt n o d d e d again. "O.K." " N e e d i n g anything?" " N o t h i n g , thanks." Walt s h o o k his head. "Sure, n o w ? " Walt repeated the shake. "Sure." "Like you to do me a little favor," P.T. said t h e n . Walt waited. "Well, w i l l y a ? " " If I can." "I got Dr. B a u g h m a n o u t s i d e in t h e car a n d I'd like y o u to see him." " W h o ' s that?" "A very nice guy. A friend of mine." Walt couldn't help smiling. " W h a t ' s so funny?" Very softly Walt s a i d , " I do n o t need, n o w or in t h e future, a n d I h o n estly wish you'd get this t h r o u g h y o u r head, any g o d d a m psychiatrist." " H o l d t h e p h o n e , mister; he's a medical doctor." Walt p u s h e d his glasses up s n u g against the bridge of his nose with his left t h u m b . "Well, I w o n ' t see h i m , n o t u n d e r any c o n d i t i o n s . I'm fine." Very softly P.T. said, " I ' m w o r r i e d a b o u t you. You're acting funny." "Say w h a t you m e a n , w h y d o n ' t you? You t h i n k I'm cracking u p . You s t a n d there with y o u r t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y m i n d a n d you t h i n k I'm going b u g h o u s e . Will you just please r e m e m b e r that I was, until recently, m a r ried three years a n d in t h e language we have a w o r d called 'adjusting' w h i c h is w h a t I'm d o i n g now." " H i d i n g , you mean." " O h , Father, I'm n o t hiding." He t o o k a long d r i n k of Budweiser. "Walt! You stay inside t h e h o u s e ! You pull d o w n t h e shades! You draw t h e d a m n blinds! You never go o u t . W h a t t h e hell do y o u call it?" "I told you: I'm adjusting to t h e past a n d figuring o u t t h e future." "Will ya please h u r r y ? " He reached a big h a n d t o w a r d Walt's face. Walt t o o k a step backward. P.T. j a m m e d the h a n d into his p a n t s pocket.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 411 " D a m m i t , d a m m i t , I wasn't g o n n a hit you. I'm worried. D o n ' t r u n away from me like that. Nuts." P.T. s p u n a r o u n d and h u r r i e d to t h e foyer. " W h y do we fight? I ask you to see a doctor, we e n d up squabbling." P.T. o p e n e d t h e front door. "And you s h o u l d n ' t have said that a b o u t me having a t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y mind." T h e n he was outside a n d gone. Walt ran to the d o o r a n d o p e n e d it a n d t h o u g h t a b o u t saying " I ' m sorry." It was a difficult decision, b u t as P.T. a n d t h e o t h e r m a n drove away, Walt m a d e up his m i n d to do it a n d he s h o u t e d " I ' m sorry, I'm s o r r y " to the disappearing car. T h e telephone rang. Walt sagged. As he started slowly t o w a r d t h e telephone Walt said, "Hey, Walt, h o w a b o u t d r o p p i n g over for a little chow? Gee, I'd love to b u t I can't. W h y the hell can't you? Listen, tell y o u w h a t , you stay right there a n d I'll h o p on over a n d get you. Gee, I'd love to, b u t I just can't t o n i g h t . I'm busy tonight. I've got these plans t o n i g h t b u t t h a n k s , I m e a n it, t h a n k s , t h a n k s just o n e helluva lot, thanks." Walt picked up the p h o n e , closed his eyes tight, m a n a g e d "Hello?" "Hey, Walt, it's m e — M a r t y . Listen, Sally b o u g h t a b o u t eighty times t o o m u c h p o t roast, s o h o w a b o u t d r o p p i n g over t o bail h e r o u t ? " " G o d , Marty, t h a n k s , I just can't tonight." "Sure you can. Course y o u can. C'mon." "Aw, Marty, God, w o u l d n ' t I love to. But I've got this u n b r e a k a b l e eng a g e m e n t . No kidding. I d o . But thanks. Really t h a n k s . No kidding, t h a n k s o n e helluva lot, a n d my love to Sally, h u h ? " T h e y m a d e the usual goodbyes a n d t h e n Walt, eyes still closed, g r o p e d with his free h a n d , f o u n d t h e cradle, d r o p p e d the receiver into it. Well, M a r t y was taken care of. T h a t left probably Irv a n d Wils a n d m a y b e D o n n y a n d that would take care of his St. Louis cronies for t h e night. Tom o r r o w n i g h t Marty, being t h e m o s t persistent, w o u l d call again, Irv too m o s t likely, a n d Sandy a n d p r o b a b l y M u g g s y — n o , Muggsy was in Europe, h a d been for nearly two m o n t h s . " T h a n k G o d for small favors," Walt said o u t loud. A n d t h e n , very m u c h louder: "Leave p e o p l e the hell alone!" N o . T h a t was w r o n g . You h a d no right to get m a d at t h e m . T h e y were y o u r friends, a n d they were w o r r i e d a b o u t you a n d they were just trying to help, so they called you a n d asked you to d i n n e r or a flick or poker or m a y b e a box seat at the Cardinal game. You couldn't ever get m a d at a friend w h o was trying to h e l p you, b u t still it was a s h a m e there were so m a n y helpers, a s h a m e he a n d Blake had been such a social couple, so

412 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN r o t t e n popular. Friends were great, b u t s o m e t i m e s they d i d n ' t u n d e r s t a n d t h a t w h a t you were d o i n g was t h i n k i n g . For maybe the first t i m e in y o u r life, really h o n e s t - t o - G o d t h i n k i n g . Walt sat d o w n on the sofa a n d t h o u g h t a b o u t thinking. " N u t s , " he said, getting u p . W h a t t h e hell business did P.T. have c o m ing in a n d accusing h i m of hiding? Hell, he wasn't hiding. Just because he h a d n ' t b e e n o u t of t h e h o u s e for a while didn't m e a n he was h i d i n g . Walt r a n his h a n d s across his chin. H o w long since he'd shaved? He tested t h e stubble again. A while probably. I'll shave, Walt t h o u g h t , because that's p r o b a b l y why P.T. thinks I'm h i d i n g , because he probably t h i n k s h e r m i t s g r o w beards, a n d since it looks like I'm maybe growing a b e a r d , I'm a u t o matically a hermit, for God's sakes. Walt finished his Budweiser, t h e n b e n t into his imitation of L a u g h t o n d o i n g Q u a s i m o d o and, his t o n g u e sticking practically t h r o u g h his cheek, said, " W h y wasn't I m a d e of stone like you?" a n d loped to his b a t h r o o m . Spinning on the h o t - w a t e r spigot, he pulled off his tee shirt a n d khakis, flexed his right biceps, tested t h e result with t h e fingers of his left h a n d . " N u t s , " Walt said, a n d he reached for his B u r m a Shave. He h a d always used B u r m a Shave because he loved t h e highway signs. Blake loved t h e m too, a n d s o m e t i m e s , w h e n they were m a r r i e d , t h e y used to m a k e up jingles as they drove along. Boys with bristles On their cheeks Often stay Alone for weeks. Burma Shave. Janes cannot resist Their cravin' For a Joe who's Freshly shaven. Burma Shave. S o m e t i m e s , w h e n Blake was quiet for k n e w she was working on w h a t she called a o u t she'd b u r s t with s o m e p o e m w h e r e t h e gins" a n d he'd do w h a t he c o u l d to shush

a particularly l o n g t i m e , he "spicy" o n e , a n d p r e t t y soon first word was usually "Virh e r a n d after a while they'd

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 413 b o t h start laughing, a n d as he p u t t h e lather on his face Walt could feel himself starting to go, so he quick grabbed the sink with b o t h h a n d s a n d stared at the hot r u n n i n g water until he was pretty sure he h a d control. He heard his brother's voice t h e n , calling "Egbert," a n d Walt checked his eyes to see they were d r y a n d they were a n d wasn't that a break, b e cause that was all he n e e d e d , to lose control in front of A r n o l d . A r n o l d , w h o was almost as big as P.T., almost as h a n d s o m e too, a n d d u m b as a b a r n d o o r b u t n o b o d y seemed to m i n d , a n d those were just four of the reasons Walt despised h i m . Walt c o n t i n u e d to lather his b e a r d , looking in t h e m i r r o r toward the b a t h r o o m door, where A r n o l d w o u l d s o o n appear a n d p r o b a b l y say "Berty" a n d t h e n t h r o w his a r m a r o u n d Walt's shoulders. A n d of course A r n o l d w o u l d be smiling. Arnold h a d a perfect smile, even a n d winning, and he only used it all the time. Walt picked up his razor, held it u n d e r the h o t water. "Berty," Arnold said from t h e doorway. He m o v e d i n t o t h e b a t h r o o m , p u t a big a r m a r o u n d his b r o t h e r ' s thin shoulders. " W h a t ' d t h e d o c t o r say?" Smiling. Walt cleared the stubble from in front of his left ear, t h e n d i p p e d the razor back u n d e r the water. You d o n ' t care what t h e d o c t o r said. You're only asking because you k n o w it zings me P.T. tells you things. That's w h a t you're really saying: Father confides in me. He favors m e . I am the preferable son. "Didn't see him," Walt m u t t e r e d . "Listen, it's your life, w h y should y o u ? " A r n o l d smiled. " C o m e for dinner?" Walt shook his head. "Tell Sheila t h a n k s , I'd really love to, b u t I can't. D o n ' t p u s h it tonight, A r n o l d , h u h ? Please?" " W h y can't you?" " I just can't, Arnold." "Sure you can. C o m e on." A r n o l d smiled. "You have an altogether w i n n i n g smile," Walt said. " D o n ' t get nasty with m e , Egbert," Arnold said, smiling, p u n c h i n g Walt on the a r m . H a r d . " I ' m still y o u r big brother." I won't r u b it. On my grave. I swear. "Apologies to all concerned." Walt c o m m e n c e d to shave again, t h i n k i n g it was a b o u t t i m e for A r n o l d to get a r o u n d to asking whatever q u e s t i o n it was that h a d b r o u g h t h i m . "Forget it. Didn't m e a n to slug you that h a r d either." A r n o l d t u r n e d , m o v e d to the doorway. His b a c k t u r n e d , he said, "Say, w h a t do y o u t h i n k a b o u t p a i n t i n g the stores?" "Score one for o u r side."

414 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "What?" " N o t h i n g , " Walt said. He shrugged. "I d o n ' t know, A r n o l d ; if they n e e d p a i n t i n g , paint them." " I m e a n different colors." " N o w you elude me." " T h i s g u y — " A r n o l d m a d e a hitchhiking gesture t o w a r d d o w n t o w n St. Louis—"P.T. says I should figure it out. This guy claims that if you p a i n t walls different colors it m a k e s people feel better. T h e y t u r n a c o r n e r in a store, they see a p i n k wall, they feel better. So they s p e n d m o r e m o n e y . I t h i n k it's a lot of crap. W h a t do you think?" "Are y o u asking is there psychological validity behind color affecting mood?" " I ' m n o t asking you anything." "Well, there is." " T h e n you t h i n k I should p a i n t the stores." "I d o n ' t know, Arnold. W h y n o t p a i n t one? If sales go u p , p a i n t the rest. If they don't, don't." " T h a t ' s no answer; what k i n d of an answer is that?" A r n o l d s h o o k his h e a d . "I d o n ' t k n o w why I b o t h e r discussing business with you; you're never any help." He smiled, p u n c h e d Walt on the a r m again. "Sheila'd sure love to have you for dinner." Walt m a d e a smile, shook his h e a d . A r n o l d smiled back. T h e n he was gone. Walt finished shaving a n d t h o u g h t a b o u t Sheila. G o d , it was irritating. H e r e was Arnold, rich a n d d u m b , a n d he marries a girl w h o likes d u m b rich m e n . And n o t only t h a t , b u t she's built a n d gorgeous. Walt envisioned Sheila's face. G o r g e o u s was p r o b a b l y the right w o r d , a l t h o u g h there were degrees; Sheila wasn't gorgeous like I m o g e n e Felker h a d been. Of course, you didn't find hair like Imogene's every day in t h e week, or a face like that either. Walt r e m e m b e r e d o n e night when he'd walked I m o gene h o m e once after rehearsal a n d right o u t loud he said, "I s h o u l d have done something!" Abruptly he held his b r e a t h ; A r n o l d m i g h t still be h a n g i n g a r o u n d a n d it w o u l d n ' t have paid to have A r n o l d hear h i m talking to himself. H e ' d b e e n doing too m u c h of t h a t lately, gassing away all alone. "I m u s t s t o p talking to myself," Walt said o u t loud, a n d he quickly saw t h e h u m o r in it, so he laughed. T h e n he dried his face a n d p u t on Afta because it d i d n ' t sting, a n d t h e n he decided to shower, so he did, letting t h e water tingle h i m good and h a r d as he t h o u g h t a b o u t I m o g e n e , a b o u t h o w she p u t a piece like Sheila in t h e s h a d e b u t good, and he w o n d e r e d why he

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 415 h a d n ' t d o n e anything that night, a n d t h e n h e r e m e m b e r e d h e h a d been engaged to Blake at the t i m e a n d t h a t m e a n t s o m e t h i n g t h e n , b u t now, s h o w e r i n g , he w o n d e r e d if he h a d ever m a d e a bigger mistake in his life t h a n in t u r n i n g on his heels t h a t n i g h t with Imogene, just t u r n i n g a n d m u t t e r i n g "See ya" with his h a n d s practically roped a n d tied i n t o his pockets because he k n e w if he freed t h e m they'd make a grab a n d he was engaged a n d wasn't that a laugh, or didn't it t u r n o u t to be o n e . He s h o u l d have grabbed I m o g e n e t h a t night. He should have g r a b b e d her a n d tried to kiss her a n d if she'd laughed at h i m , then let h e r laugh, he s h o u l d have taken the chance. " N u t s ! " Walt shouted. " N u t s , n u t s , nuts, g o d d a m m i t nuts'." "Talking to yourself again," he said, d o u s i n g the shower, d r y i n g his s p i n d l y body. Walt looked at himself in t h e mirror. H o w could y o u even d a y d r e a m of m a k i n g a pass at a girl w h o looked like I m o g e n e w h e n you were skinny with b a d eyes a n d p i m p l e s on y o u r back a n d a face t h a t was a n d always h a d been u n d e n i a b l y funny-looking? A r n o l d h a d t h e looks in t h e family a n d A r n o l d h a d P.T.'s confidence a n d P.T.'s size, n o t to m e n t i o n everything else in t h e w o r l d except b r a i n s . "And where have y o u r b r a i n s got y o u ? " Walt w o n d e r e d . You were so s m a r t y o u let I m o g e n e get away a n d — w i l l you just once and for all please just forget about her? Walt dressed a n d w e n t into t h e b e d r o o m a n d flopped d o w n o n the b e d , looking a r o u n d for s o m e t h i n g to read. N o t h i n g looked interesting, so he picked up his college senior y e a r b o o k a n d began s t u d y i n g t h e pictures. He c a m e across a shot of himself in the show he a n d B r a n c h Scudder h a d d o n e a n d he w o n d e r e d w h e r e Branch was from, so he flipped to t h e i n d e x a n d found t h a t B r a n c h was from Waverly Lane, West Ridge, O h i o , a n d 23 Williams Street, P o r t l a n d , Maine, was t h e address listed for I m o g e n e Felker. " N o w w h a t ' d you do t h a t for?" Walt said. Sneak up on yourself. If you w a n t to look up t h e address s o m e girl h a d three years ago before she got m a r r i e d , l o o k it u p . M e m o r i z e it if y o u w a n t to. Walt p r o m p t l y forgot t h e address. His s t o m a c h r u m b l e d , so he got up a n d went to t h e kitchen. Checking t h e icebox freezer, he f o u n d he was r u n n i n g low on S w a n s o n d i n n e r s a n d he r e m i n d e d himself to call t h e grocer t o m o r r o w ^ a n d have s o m e m o r e delivered. T h e n he o p e n e d a n o t h e r can of beer a n d walked into the living r o o m . Sitting on the sofa, he reached for the p h o n e a n d , a m o m e n t later,

416 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN w h e n he h a d got t h e long-distance operator, he said, "Listen, here's the thing: I d o n ' t w a n n a b o t h e r you b u t I w a n n a call s o m e b o d y b u t she isn't w h e r e I have her being so w h a t do I d o ? " "Your call, please." " T h a t ' s w h a t I'm trying to explain. I w a n t to get in t o u c h with this girl I w e n t to school with, college, b u t she's n o t there a n y m o r e because I t h i n k she got m a r r i e d after g r a d u a t i o n to s o m e lawyer from Philadelphia, so she's probably in Philly, b u t I d o n ' t k n o w where a n d I d o n ' t k n o w h e r h u s b a n d ' s n a m e , do you see my p r o b l e m ? I k n o w where she isn't; I just d o n ' t k n o w where she is." " T h i s is my first week on t h e job," t h e o p e r a t o r said. " P e r h a p s I'd better give you t h e supervisor." " N o - n o , please, I d o n ' t w a n t to cause you any t r o u b l e . I just w a n t to get in t o u c h with I m o g e n e Felker, except that isn't her n a m e a n y m o r e . " " D o you have an address for where she isn't?" the o p e r a t o r said. T h e n t h e r e w a s a pause. "I really t h i n k I'd better let you talk to t h e supervisor." Walt closed his eyes very tight. "Twenty-three Williams Street. Portland, Maine." "You wish to speak to an I m o g e n e Felker at Twenty-three Williams Street in Portland, M a i n e ? " "Yes." " H o l d the line, please." Walt held the line while t h e o p e r a t o r did all the things t h a t o p e r a t o r s d o , like getting in t o u c h w i t h o t h e r o p e r a t o r s a n d talking to each o t h e r like they were really IBM m a c h i n e s , a n d he began to kick his feet a little because p r e t t y soon he'd have Imogene's m a r r i e d n a m e a n d p h o n e n u m b e r in Philly a n d then he'd be talking to h e r a n d it was always fun just s h o o t i n g t h e breeze with I m o g e n e , you d i d n ' t have t o w o r r y a b o u t being funny or b r i g h t or anything w h e n you talked with I m o g e n e , just yourself, t h a t was all you h a d to be a n d m a y b e s o m e d a y she'd c o m e to St. Louis w i t h her h u s b a n d and they could all have o n e hell of a time, sitting a r o u n d a n d just shooting the breeze, a n d he'd show t h e m t h e t o w n a n d m a y b e t h e Kirkaby stores if they were interested a n d t h e n he'd take t h e m to d i n n e r to o n e of the artsy places in Gaslight Square, a n d Walt kicked his feet h i g h e r as he sat there while the o p e r a t o r p u t the call t h r o u g h a n d t h e n the o p e r a t o r said "Miss I m o g e n e Felker, please, long distance is calling," a n d t h e n s o m e o n e said "This is she," a n d Walt h u n g up a n d w e n t to t h e garage a n d h o p p e d into his Ford a n d t o o k off. As he started to drive he realized it looked as t h o u g h he was r u n n i n g away from something, b u t t h a t wasn't it. It looked like t h a t , sure, b u t

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 417 t h e t r u t h was he h a d n ' t expected to talk to I m o g e n e personally, at least n o t t h a t second, a n d he wasn't p r e p a r e d to say m u c h of a n y t h i n g , a n d if he h a d spoken to her that's just w h a t the conversation w o u l d have b e e n , n o t m u c h of a n y t h i n g , a n d he w a n t e d to talk well w h e n he spoke to h e r so that he didn't l o o k like a complete nut, calling h e r cold after t h r e e years. Besides, n o t only w o u l d she t h i n k he was a n u t , b u t so w o u l d h e r h u s b a n d , except that t h e o p e r a t o r had said "Miss I m o g e n e Felker, please," a n d Imogene h a d said, " T h i s is she" and not "You m e a n M r s . S o - a n d - S o . I used to be I m o g e n e Felker b u t I'm n o t a n y m o r e . " " T h i s is she," Walt said o u t loud, a n d it crossed his m i n d casually t h a t p e r h a p s she wasn't m a r r i e d a n d that m e a n t she was Available a n d so was he, Available, so you really h a d to p r e p a r e like crazy for that first p h o n e call or she'd t u r n you d o w n cold w h e n y o u asked to see her again. I better get everyt h i n g straight in my m i n d , Walt decided. I better drive a while. Walt drove. At first he just cruised along, b u t t h e n he t h o u g h t it m i g h t be nice to take in a ball game, so he h e a d e d for the park, except t h a t w h e n he got t h e r e it was e m p t y because it wasn't t i m e for the g a m e yet a n d because t h e C a r d s were playing in C h i c a g o a n d that was too b a d because it w o u l d have been nice on this his first night o u t to see old Stan clobber o n e good, just swing that crazy swing of his, uncoil a n d zap! o u t of the park. Walt stared a t t h e e m p t y s t a d i u m , t h e n t u r n e d and drove i n t o t o w n , M a r y l a n d Avenue, the nicest of the Kirkaby stores, a n d he stared at that a while a n d t h e n he t h o u g h t ( m o v i n g again n o w ) a b o u t what a fool he was, holing up inside his h o u s e the way he'd d o n e . He z o o m e d on over to t h e Mississippi a n d t o o k a look before driving to Kingshighway a n d t h e great old pile of stone that had once been his grandfather's house. It was k i n d of a m u s e u m n o w (P.T. used it as a tax d o d g e ) a n d as he stared at it Walt w o n dered h o w his m o t h e r could ever have been h a p p y g r o w i n g up in a place like that, a big cold pile of s t o n e , a n d as he stared at it he realized s o m e thing: he wasn't hiding a n y m o r e ; he was t h r o u g h w i t h all t h a t . T h e h i d i n g t i m e was d o n e . "Son of a bitch," Walt said happily, a n d all of a s u d d e n his s t o m a c h was r u m b l i n g like crazy, so he decided to hit Gaslight S q u a r e because it was lively a n d because he d i d n ' t figure to r u n into a n y o n e he knew, so he drove there a n d parked a n d right away almost ran into Irv a n d his wife, so he d r o p p e d his car keys on t h e floor a n d by t h e t i m e he'd retrieved t h e m they h a d walked on by. It w o u l d have been just his luck, m e e t i n g s o m e o n e , a n d t h e n he t h o u g h t t h a t since he'd lived m o s t of his years in St. Louis he k n e w o n e helluva lot of people and, besides, Irv h a d w a n t e d

418 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN to be a p o e t once a n d Gaslight Square was the artsy section of St. Louis (a c o n t r a d i c t i o n in terms?). Walt got o u t of the Ford a n d started walking to the corner, b u t before he got t h e r e a h a n d grabbed his s h o u l d e r a n d Walt j u m p e d a n d s p u n a r o u n d , frightened until h e saw that t h e h a n d belonged to Muggsy. "Gladt'seeya," Muggsy said, d o i n g his best to s o u n d like Phil Silvers. Muggsy's real n a m e was M o n t g o m e r y Spanier, Jr., so the Muggsy was n o t only inevitable b u t an i m p r o v e m e n t . M o n t g o m e r y Spanier, Sr., ran the b a n k in which M o n t g o m e r y , Jr., toiled. "Hey-hey," Walt said, a n d t h e n he said " M r s . Muggsy" to Amy Spanier, a dark, serious girl w h o h a d o n c e written a t e r m p a p e r at Indiana University on E d n a St. Vincent Millay, which to Walt, in s o m e crazy way, s e e m e d to s u m h e r u p . "So h o w was Europe? T h i n k it's h e r e to stay? What?" "Fulla foreigners," Muggsy said. "I w h o o p s e d all over Italy," A m y said. "I was never so glad to get back in my life." She looked a r o u n d . " W h e r e ' s Blake?" she said t h e n . "You eaten?" Muggsy said. "Let's t h e four of us mangez" " D o n ' t you k n o w ? " Walt said. " D i d n ' t anyone tell y o u ? " " K n o w what? We just got back, Walt. Is everything all r i g h t ? " "Yeh, sure, everything's fine. It's just that, well, Blake a n d m e , we m o r e or less, you know, decided to pffffffft" He m a d e the s o u n d a n d smiled, or tried to, b u t he only got halfway there because it d a w n e d on h i m sudd e n l y t h a t he m i g h t just go, lose control, right here, on a c r o w d e d sidewalk, on a s u m m e r night, in t h e m i d d l e of Gaslight Square. "Well," Muggsy said. T h e n he said it again: "Well." T h e n he said, " I ' m sure as hell sorry." Walt n o d d e d . "I d o n ' t t h i n k Walt m u c h w a n t s to alk a b o u t it," A m y said. " O h listen, it doesn't b o t h e r m e . W hat b o t h e r s m e — " a n d he started d o i n g Peter Lorre—"is I c a n n o t get my h a n d s on the Maltese Falcon. A n d I m u s t . I must." A m y smiled and a p p l a u d e d warmly. "So let's the three of us mangez," Muggsy said. They started to walk. " H o w t h e Cards been d o i n g ? " Walt laughed. " C o m e o n , Muggsy, you hate baseball. You've hated baseball all y o u r life, so you d o n ' t have to talk a b o u t it n o w because you're afraid I'll get all upset or s o m e t h i n g . I already said it doesn't b o t h e r me a n d it doesn't. To tell you t h e t r u t h , I'm a helluva lot m o r e b o t h e r e d a b o u t o u r foreign policy t h a n a b o u t w h a t h a p p e n e d b e t w e e n Blake a n d

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 419 m e . O h , I was bothered, I'll a d m i t that. I m e a n , w h o the hell w o u l d I be k i d d i n g if I said it didn't affect me for a little, b u t hell, I m e a n , I've h a d t i m e to t h i n k now, to adjust to it, so let's not restrict the conversation to t h e C a r d s if you don't m i n d . I m e a n — I m e a n — I ' m sorry," Walt said. " I ' m sorry." He t o o k off. He didn't say goodbye, d i d n ' t say anything, just bolted for his Ford a n d w h e n he got in he m a d e like Fangio until he was back in his garage a n d t h e n in t h e house a n d safe, because a man's h o m e is his castle, bet y o u r ass, a n d I'm safe in my castle, safe and s o u n d a n d t h e shades are d o w n a n d it's h o t b u t I got a i r - c o n d i t i o n i n g and I got a grocer w h o delivers TV d i n n e r s a n d I am safe as long as I stay right w h e r e I a m , inside, away, alone, a n d t h e n the p h o n e began to ring and Walt k n e w right off w h o it was, w h o it could only be, a n d that was I m o g e n e , because he'd given t h e o p e r a t o r his n a m e a n d n u m b e r , so it had to be I m o g e n e calling back a n d Jesus, what the hell am I g o n n a say to her, I gotta say t h e right t h i n g b u t I don't k n o w what t h e right thing is a n d if I say the w r o n g t h i n g I m i g h t just as well kiss it all goodbye, kiss Imogene goodbye a n d I'm Available a n d so is she, m a y b e , a n d I can't mess up with h e r again so I can't stay here because if I do I'll pick up t h e p h o n e a n d it'll be h e r a n d out'll c o m e t h e w r o n g t h i n g so I gotta take off, gotta get o u t t a here, outta here now, gotta get o u t b u t I can't go out, I'm only safe if I stay here b u t I can't stay here because I'm n o t safe if I stay here because t h e p h o n e keeps on ringing a n d I gotta say t h e right t h i n g b u t I gotta be safe first so I can figure w h a t the right thing is b u t t i m e is against m e , I gotta fly, I'm in a race, a helluva race, and I d o n ' t care if I win, my problem's n o t w i n n i n g , hell, I d o n ' t even k n o w where t h e finish line is.

" W h a t ' s this about New York?" P.T. said. It was m i d n i g h t , a n d he was sitting at the d i n i n g - r o o m table in his h o u s e on Linden Lane, sipping a cup of h o t cocoa. He was wearing white pajamas a n d a great red silk robe. Walt cleared his throat. "I t h i n k you h e a r d me." "Yeah-yeah-yeah." P.T. p o i n t e d to t h e flowers set in a vase in t h e m i d dle of t h e table. "Roses," he said. "I g r e w ' e m . " Walt n o d d e d . "You said you were t h i n k i n g of paying a visit to N e w York. H o w long a visit?" "Permanent." P.T. looked at him. "You'd q u i t w o r k i n g for me a n d just g o ? "

420 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " T h a t ' s right." P.T. blew softly on his cocoa. "You've t h o u g h t a b o u t this?" "Yes." "I d o n ' t get it. You're m a k i n g decent money, you got challenge, you got responsibilities; what's w r o n g with a j o b like t h a t ? " "It's n o t fulfilling," Walt said. "Fulfilling?" Walt n o d d e d . " T h a t ' s a word I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d , " P.T. said. Walt shrugged. " I ' m already thinking a b o u t retiring, y'know. T h e n you a n d your brother, you'll have the whole business." "Arnold can m a n a g e alone. Happily." P.T. stood. "You never seen my garden." " C o u r s e I have." " N o t at night. C ' m o n . " He walked o u t of t h e r o o m , Walt right behind. "We're g o n n a paint t h e walls of t h e n u m b e r - t h r e e store," P.T. said. "Oh?" "Crazy idea. A r n o l d just decided tonight. Called me a n d told m e . He's b e e n studying the p r o b l e m . There's a connection between color a n d m o o d , A r n o l d says. Maybe if t h e walls are brightened u p , people'll b u y m o r e . W o r t h a try, A r n o l d says. We'll do just the one store to start. Can't cost t o o much." "Well," Walt said, "since I'm quitting, that's n o t my c o n c e r n any more." " T h a t A r n o l d is o n e s m a r t kid." Walt o p e n e d the front door. "You o u g h t to know." T h e y m o v e d into the n i g h t a n d as soon as the shadows h a d t h e m P.T. g r a b b e d Walt by the s h o u l d e r s a n d s h o o k h i m . "Like hell he's smart. W h e n A r n o l d starts talking a b o u t color and m o o d y o u t h i n k I don't k n o w he's heard it someplace? W h y d o n ' t you toot y o u r o w n h o r n once in a while? Aw nuts." A n d he let Walt go, stood still a m o m e n t , breathing deep. T h e n h e p o i n t e d t h r o u g h t h e darkness. " T h e s e here, they're m y roses." P.T. gave a laugh. "You p r o b a b l y t h i n k I'm batty, h u h , growing roses. All of a s u d d e n . At my age." Walt s h o o k his head. "So if I m a d e you h e a d of t h e c o m p a n y , over A r n o l d — w h e n I quit, I m e a n — w h a t then? W o u l d you stick a r o u n d ? " " W h a t the hell kind of q u e s t i o n is t h a t ? " " I ' m trying to b u y you. Yes or n o ? "

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 421 "No." P.T. s h o o k his head. "Your t r o u b l e is you got t o o m u c h m o n e y . I told y o u r m o t h e r that. She was m a k i n g o u t her will once a n d I told her n o t to leave you so m u c h m o n e y It's a terrible thing when a father can't b u y his o w n son. These are my r h o d o d e n d r o n . " P.T. laughed. " P r e t t y g o o d word for a t h i r t e e n t h - c e n t u r y m i n d , yes?" " W h a t are we doing? Can't I be excused?" "Sit down." He p o i n t e d to an iron b e n c h circling an oak tree in the m i d d l e of the lawn. "Why?" "Please." "Why?" "I w a n t to talk to you." "What about?" "You d o n ' t m a k e it easy, I'll say that. Please." Walt sat. "Talk." "I never showed you my p e t u n i a s , did I? I m e a n — " " W h a t do we have to talk for? We never talk. W h y do we have to talk now?" P.T. sat d o w n . "I guess we've never been what you m i g h t call close, have we, Walt? I'm n o t really w h a t you might have chosen for a father." " W o u l d you have picked me for a s o n ? " " N o , " P.T. m u t t e r e d . "I guess m a y b e not." Walt closed his eyes. "Isn't it funny? T h a t really upsets me." He s h o o k his h e a d . " N u t s , " P.T. said. "Maybe you better tell me w h a t you want to talk about." "Yeah-yeah-yeah, m a y b e I better." He t o o k a deep b r e a t h . "I want to talk a b o u t t h e divorce rate in California. It's very high. I read all a b o u t it in an article." " W h a t ' s this got to do with a n y t h i n g , Father?" P.T. fiddled with his red silk robe. "Well, like I said, t h e y got this very high divorce rate. A n d this article, it told a b o u t why. There's a lot of reasons b u t the o n e I r e m e m b e r is this: You see, lots of p e o p l e , they got b a d marriages, and they figure what they need is a n e w start in a n e w place to m a k e it all right again. So they go to California. Except w h e n they get there, nothing's any different. So the marriage dies in California. It d i d n ' t get sick there, it just dies there. That's why t h e divorce rate's so high." "So?"

422 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "So if you're g o n n a fuck u p , kid, you're g o n n a fuck up in N e w York t h e same as here." " N o , I won't. It'll be different." " T h e only difference is t h a t here at least the p o s t m a n k n o w s y o u r name." "You're such an expert on N e w York." " W h o said? I go there every so often, I b u y s o m e stuff, I stay in s o m e suite, I eat s o m e French food, a n d I see the hit plays. I d o n ' t care what they are just so they're t h e hit plays. T h e n , w h e n I c o m e b a c k here a n d p e o p l e ask me w h a t I d i d I say I saw t h e hit plays. That's w h a t I k n o w a b o u t N e w York. Zilch." " Look, it's n o t that I d o n ' t appreciate your i n t e r e s t . . . " Walt started to stand. P.T. held h i m . "But it'll be different for you, right? Because it's so fulfilling." "Maybe." "Kid, take s o m e time. Go to E u r o p e . Have yourself a little fun. T h e n , w h e n you're n o t s o n e r v o u s a n y m o r e , c o m e o n back a n d — " " N o ! I've t h o u g h t a b o u t that. G o i n g to Europe w o u l d be r u n n i n g away." " B u t going to N e w York isn't." " D a m m i t , Father, there's gotta be m o r e t h a n St. Louis, w o u l d n ' t you say? There's gotta be m o r e t h a n sitting on your duff letting y o u r old m a n ' s business r u n itself for you. In N e w York I'll be a director. Maybe I'll m a k e it a n d maybe I won't b u t at least I'll have a little satisfaction—" "I am P. T. Kirkaby! You m a k e a list of the ten m o s t successful busin e s s m e n in the city of St. Louis a n d you'll have one bitch of a t i m e leaving my n a m e off." " N o one's arguing." "Hell. I m a d e millions. 1 m a r r i e d millions. How's that for fulfilling?" " T h a t ' s great. You've h a d y o u r s . N o w I w a n t mine." "You little fool! G o d d a m n d u m b little stupid little fool! D o n ' t you k n o w what I wanted to be? I w a n t e d — s o n of a bitch, I got tears in my eyes." Walt chose n o t to look at t h e m . P.T. sat very still. Walt realized h o w interesting the m o o n was if you just t o o k t h e time to e x a m i n e it. "I w a n t e d to be a soldier," P.T. said then softly. "I w a n t e d r i b b o n s . I w a n t e d my m e n to love m e . I w a n t e d y o u r m o t h e r to love me t o o , a n d she did, until I w h o r e d her o u t of it. I w h o r e d on your mdfher."

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 4 2 3 "Yes. I r e m e m b e r once, o u t by t h e pool, you hit her. I saw." "I have m a n y regrets," P.T. said. " I ' m sorry, Father." " I ' m n o t interested in y o u r sympathy. I have not exposed myself to you in o r d e r to gain that." "Look, we're neither of us enjoying this. Can't we stop?" P.T. s h o o k his head. "I am a success. Everyone believes that. I believe, as you n o w know, a little different. W h o ' s right?" "I d o n ' t know. I guess it d e p e n d s . " "Bullshit, it depends! It doesn't matter. There's only o n e t h i n g that's i m p o r t a n t a n d that's this: I got t h r o u g h it. All this fulfilling stuff. W h e r e ' d you get that? Whoever told you it was s u p p o s e d to be fulfilling? It's not. All you kids t h i n k so a n d d o n ' t ask me h o w I know: I play golf w i t h t h e m on weekends; I d r i n k cocktails w i t h their wives. A n d they d o n ' t w a n t to be housewives either, because that's n o t fulfilling. G o d d a m m i t , it's n o t s u p posed to be. You . . . just . . . get .. . t h r o u g h . . . it. That's it. That's all. That's all a n d it's what I w a n t on my t o m b s t o n e : P. T. K I R K A B Y . HE G O T T H R O U G H IT."

"I'll r e m e m b e r everything you've said." "Aw, Walt, c o m e on, d o n ' t bullshit me." "I'll t r y to r e m e m b e r . H o w ' s t h a t ? " " It's sad, y' k n o w ? " " W h a t is?" "You a n d me. I favored y o u r brother. Arnold was the first. I liked that. Arnold's big a n d strong. I liked t h a t too." P.T. closed his eyes. "I regret us, Walt." "You t h i n k I d o n ' t ? " "I regret everything that's passed between us." "You m e a n that hasn't passed." "Yeah, that's what I mean." P.T. o p e n e d his eyes a n d smiled. T h e n he stood u p . "So n o w you're off to the big city." Walt stood alongside his father. " L o o k s that way." "Follow me a sec." T h e two of t h e m p a r a d e d across t h e lawn. P.T. b e n t d o w n , picked a flower. "Here," he said. "A h o m e - g r o w n peony." "I'll have it stuffed." P.T. laughed in the m o o n l i g h t . Walt looked up at t h e big m a n . " I ' m glad you u n d e r s t a n d a n d everything." "Hell, kid, d o n ' t w o r r y a b o u t m e . I'm n o t g o n n a waste m y t i m e worrying a b o u t you. You'll do great."

424 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "You really t h i n k so?" " C o u r s e I think so. Aren't you y o u r father's s o n ? "

XVI After serving almost six m o n t h s of a two-year hitch, A a r o n said goodbye to t h e military u n d e r u n u s u a l b u t " h o n o r a b l e " (the Army's w o r d ) circ u m s t a n c e s . It was winter a n d Sergeant Terry saw h i m off on t h e train. In spite of everything, Terry saw h i m off. S o m e h o w t h a t was sad. Even sadder was Terry's gift, a silver flask (engraved: To A from P: alas) filled to t h e lip with good Scotch. A a r o n sat in the train, Terry watching t h r o u g h the w i n d o w ( w o u l d he never leave?), a n d that was saddest of all, t h e ape staring, smiling, close to tears. T h e train pulled o u t finally, Terry walking along outside, smiling, m o u t h i n g " g o o d b y e " while Aaron smiled back a n d m o u t h e d "screw" until Terry's short legs p r o v e d u n e q u a l to t h e pace a n d he was g o n e . A a r o n d r a n k from t h e flask, finished it in less t h a n an h o u r a n d (buzzed) tossed it into the s n o w at the first opportunity. As t h e train j o u r n e y e d east a n d n o r t h the s n o w d e e p e n e d a n d Aaron sat shivering (God, he hated w i n t e r ) , trying to doze. Eventually he hurried from the train d u r i n g a t e n - m i n u t e layover, b o u g h t a p i n t of cheap Scotch, smuggled it back on b o a r d a n d within a half h o u r was sleeping blissfully e n o u g h , except o n c e w h e n he awoke s h o u t i n g from a n i g h t m a r e in w h i c h he was r u n n i n g n a k e d t h r o u g h s o m e jungle while a tribe of m o n k e y s pulled h i m to pieces. N e w York was braced for C h r i s t m a s , a n d Aaron t o u r e d t h e streets, his r e t u r n to civilization almost joyous. Saks Fifth Avenue was m a k i n g with the carols a n d on alternate c o r n e r s spindly Santas endlessly r a n g their bells. T h e skaters on the r i n k in Rockefeller Center were back (they were t h e same people every year, E q u i t y m e m b e r s m o s t likely, b u t where, A a r o n w o n d e r e d , did they go in t h e s u m m e r t i m e ? ) , a n d after he tired of watching t h e m circle a n d swirl he (because it was a corny t h i n g to do) elevatored up to the R a i n b o w R o o m a n d h a d a drink. As he sat by the wind o w looking n o r t h at C e n t r a l P a r k a n d t h e rest, at rich Fifth a n d , beside it, struggling Madison, at t h e west side, ugly, old (she's d e a d b u t she won't lie d o w n ) , at black H a r l e m a n d the golden spire of Riverside C h u r c h , as his eyes t o u r e d east a n d n o r t h a n d all a r o u n d the t o w n , A a r o n inhaled a n d t h e n n o d d e d a n d t h e n smiled a n d t h e n his right h a n d reached out, b o n y fingers stretched wide for just an instant before" s u d d e n l y they d o u -

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 425 bled up a n d he had it all, t h e w h o l e s h o o t i n g match, safe in t h e p a l m of his h a n d . His m o t h e r met h i m at the P r i n c e t o n station. It was t h e last weekend before C h r i s t m a s vacation a n d A a r o n left the train in the c o m p a n y of t w e n t y nervous-sweet-maybe-I-will-this-weekend y o u n g things, seas o n e d representatives of Radcliffe a n d Vassar a n d Barnard, clad in tweed a n d camel's hair a n d dainty galoshes with fur a r o u n d t h e top, a n d even before t h e train h a d fully s t o p p e d they streamed a r o u n d h i m , a p l a t o o n of potential flesh, to be m e t by t w e n t y eager Princetonians a n d C h a r l o t t e . A a r o n h a d to laugh. Twenty girls, t w e n t y boys, me and my m o t h e r . A s y m b o l maybe? " W h a t ' s so funny, A a r o n ? " after t h e ritual kiss. "Just glad to be h o m e , M o t h e r . Just h a p p y to be h o m e . " "I've missed you, Aaron." "I've missed you too, Mother." M o r e ritual, p e r f o r m e d w i t h polish, a n d it carried t h e m to the car a n d up t h e hill to Nassau Street a n d finally to t h e first floor of the yellow frame. His sister, D e b o r a h , was waiting for h i m , along with her d a r k h u s b a n d , D o m i n i c , a n d their child, Christina, n o w six. (They h a d been trying to have m o r e children for a long time, b u t n o t h i n g . S o m e h o w that was funny.) Christina was a pretty little girl w h o loved Aaron, a n d he, a l t h o u g h n o t ever certain what he felt for her, ret u r n e d h e r w a r m t h . D e b o r a h talked a great deal (she was losing h e r looks already; hardly twenty-four a n d already lines were cutting in h e r skin. A a r o n smiled) and Christina showed h i m her tricks, b a l l - b o u n c i n g a n d jack-grabbing, and she shrieked aloud at Aaron's praise. C h a r l o t t e h o v ered over it all, filling a n d refilling coffee cups, e m p t y i n g ashtrays, talking w h e n D e b o r a h stopped for breath, her accent as S o u t h e r n as ever. " H o w c o m e they let you o u t ? " This suddenly from D o m i n i c , his big h a n d s clapping softly. " I w o n a raffle." "I m e a n it, h o w c o m e t h e y let you o u t ? " A a r o n indicated his legs. "You h a d that w h e n t h e y t o o k you, so all of a s u d d e n they change their minds? Doesn't m a k e sense." "It doesn't huh? W h a t d o e s ? " A a r o n stared at the o t h e r m a n . Go o n , say it. Say w h a t you're t h i n k i n g , you w o p son of a bitch. W i t h a smile Aaron let a wrist go limp. T h e n , still smiling, he raised o n e eyebrow. Say it! "Well, you're sure lucky," D o m i n i c m u t t e r e d finally, retreating.

i 426 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN Aaron laughed o u t loud. "Food," Charlotte called, a n d they all t r o o p e d in to d i n n e r . T h e y fussed a n d fluttered a r o u n d h i m , the c o n q u e r o r returned, Charlotte h e a p ing his plate high with sweet p o t a t o e s (where did she ever get t h e idea he liked sweet potatoes?), c u t t i n g h i m slice after slice of turkey breast (he preferred d a r k m e a t ) , a n d D e b o r a h lied a b o u t h o w well D o m i n i c was d o i n g a n d D o m i n i c bolted his food in r u d e silence a n d little Christina talked with her m o u t h full while C h a r l o t t e gave A a r o n m o r e sweet p o t a toes, so all in all it was a typical evening with the family, u n b e a r a b l e , b u t A a r o n b o r e it well e n o u g h because he k n e w that soon it w o u l d all be a p a r t of his past, soon he w o u l d be sipping D r a m b u i e in t h e O a k R o o m of the Plaza, discoursing brilliantly on everything, while these creatures (were t h e y people?) w o u l d rapidly b e c o m e little m o r e t h a n figments of his exquisite imagination. So A a r o n b o r e t h e m well e n o u g h , a n d , t h o u g h they were n o t aware, he studied t h e m each, fixed t h e m , mentally m a r k e d their b o u n d a r i e s . T h e y were saying hello; he was saying g o o d b y e . Besides, he h a d his b o o k to t h i n k a b o u t . Books, actually, for he h a d t w o in m i n d (both novels; s h o r t stories b o r e d h i m ; he was a big b o y n o w ) a n d was u n d e c i d e d which to c o n q u e r first. T h e o n e was a comic novel, savage, to be sure, biting a n d p e r t i n e n t , a m o d e r n - d a y retelling of Le Cid by Corneille, in which t h e h e r o was an a c c o u n t executive in an advertising agency, the h e r o i n e a g y m teacher at Brearley, the e n e m y J. Walter T h o m p s o n , w h o was t r y i n g to steal the Buick account. Aaron was confident t h a t Commentary a n d t h e Partisan Review would justly hail h i m a n d that M a r y McCarthy, Dwight M a c D o n a l d a n d E d m u n d W i l s o n (three little m a i d s from school) would o u t d o each o t h e r in affixing superlatives alongside his n a m e . But w o u l d it sell? A little h i g h b r o w acclaim was w a r m i n g to the soul, b u t a little Harris tweed was w a r m i n g to t h e body, a n d you couldn't invade Brooks Brothers w i t h clippings from the Transatlantic Review. Aaron w a n t e d the clippings, sure, b u t he had been p o o r for a long time. A n d Autumn Wells, he knew, w o u l d m a k e h i m rich. Autumn Wells was a r o m a n c e ( w o m e n b u y books) t h a t A a r o n had c o n s t r u c t e d d u r i n g his last days in t h e Army, cribbed equally from Rebecca, The Great Gatsby a n d Catcher in the Rye. A slight b u t w i n n i n g narrative, it concerned A u t u m n Wells (Aaron was genuinely p r o u d of the n a m e , easily the best since Thackeray's Becky), a willowy creature, eerie, vague, troubled, passionate on occasion, a n d possessed of an altogether breath-catching beauty.

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 427 U n d e c i d e d , t o r n between t h e t w i n cliches of wealth a n d fame, A a r o n w a n d e r e d t h e streets of Princeton t h e next few days, m a k i n g up his m i n d . It was r e m a r k a b l e h o w the place h a d changed. T h e A r m y h a d deprived h i m of b u t six m o n t h s , a n d yet t h e difference. His sexual b l o s s o m i n g was t h e key. Suddenly he k n e w such things. T h e m a n w h o r a n t h e interiord e c o r a t i n g place—he was one. A n d t h e y o u n g druggist with t h e b a d smile w h o was always so friendly—he was another. And the m a n w h o r a n t h e B r o w s e - A r o u n d , his m o t h e r ' s o w n e m p l o y e r — h o w could A a r o n n o t have guessed before? A n d the s t u d e n t s . T h o s e seemingly p r o p e r y o u n g m e n w h o b u n c h e d together i n corners o f t h e music r o o m , w h o w h i s p e r e d a n d l a u g h e d softly while he h a d waited on t h e m at the Nassau F o o d S h o p p e , h e k n e w a b o u t t h e m now. A n d , as he walked by t h e m on t h e chill streets, Aaron realized t h a t they k n e w a b o u t h i m too. A quick glance, a stare held too long, a n d s u d denly everything was clear. He k n e w a b o u t t h e m ; they k n e w a b o u t h i m . Everybody relax, we've all got blackmail on each other. O n c e or twice he almost tried to strike up an a c q u a i n t a n c e (where would you go? S o m e place), for they were t e m p t i n g , these y o u n g m e n ; the s t a n d a r d of male b e a u t y in P r i n c e t o n is surpassingly high. But he bested t h e t e m p t a t i o n a n d t h e n they were gone, off for t h e C h r i s t m a s holidays. A a r o n relaxed a n d set to work. On Autumn Wells. It was t h e right choice; no question. T h e i m p o r t a n t work w o u l d c o m e later, w h e n t h e belly was properly full. A a r o n arose each m o r n i n g at seven, d r a n k coffee for an hour, showered a n d cleaned his nails a n d t h e n , with Charlotte finally gone to the B r o w s e - A r o u n d , set to w o r k . He w r o t e directly on t h e t y p e w r i t e r (if he had genuinely cared, he w o u l d have caressed a pencil d u r i n g the first draff), d e m a n d i n g of himself a m i n i m u m of five h u n d r e d w o r d s a day (he c o u n t e d t h e m p r e cisely), b u t the work went so simply t h a t m o s t times he d o u b l e d t h e m i n i m u m . T h e plot he kept p u r p o s e l y simple. T h e n a r r a t o r , a p r e p school teacher (the first chapters t o o k place at p r e p school), was a y o u n g m a n , Willis M u m f o r d , ugly b u t k i n d , an extraordinarily gifted p a i n t e r who, o n e spring, t o o k his paints a n d w e n t off by himself to a desolate section of N e w England. There, by a swift river, he c a m p e d a n d p a i n t e d , alone a n d away (he t h o u g h t ) from civilization. But one m o r n i n g as he followed t h e river he saw, set deep in t h e w o o d s , a great bleak castle of a house, seemingly deserted. T h a t day he met A u t u m n , or saw her rather, briefly, s t a n d i n g in a clearing, w a t c h i n g h i m paint. W h e n he realized her Presence he started to wave b u t was u n a b l e to move, so did h e r b e a u t y Petrify h i m (Aaron chuckled), a n d w h e n he was finally able to s h o u t

428 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Wait!" she was gone. But t h e next day she was back, closer to h i m , a n d finally the day after that t h e y m e t . H e r eyes danced a n d his b r e a t h came h a r d , b u t he asked could he p a i n t her a n d w h e n she assented he did, falling in love with h e r as t h e p o r t r a i t grew. She lived in t h e castle-house w i t h her father, a cruel m a n , given to flights of sadism, a h u n t e r w h o chose only to w o u n d , never to kill (Willis r e m e m b e r e d a b i r d he h a d seen, crippled a n d dying, crying o u t pitifully in lingering p a i n ) , a n d she m a d e Willis p r o m i s e that never, u n d e r any circumstances, w o u l d he c o m e to h e r dwelling place. But even as he p r o m i s e d , Willis d o u b t e d his capacity to keep the pledge, for t h e p i c t u r e was c o m i n g to c o m p l e t i o n a n d so was his love. A n d she loved/him t o o ! He k n e w that. For suddenly, late o n e perfect day, they kissed a n d t o u c h e d , lying together by t h e r u s h i n g stream, a n d t h a t night, w h e n Willis was close to sleep, she r e t u r n e d to h i m , t u m bling into his a r m s , a n d Willis, as t h e strange wonderful creature quivered b e n e a t h h i m , hesitated a m o m e n t before . . . (Aaron dragged on his cigarette. Should they go all t h e way or not? W o u l d McCall's serialize it if they w e n t all t h e way? W h y not? W h y not? W h a t the h e l l ! ) . . . before sating his desires... W h e n h e awoke t h e next m o r n i n g A u t u m n was g o n e , a n d t h o u g h h e waited the entire day, Willis waited in vain. So that night, p r o m i s e or no p r o m i s e , his heart p o u n d i n g w i t h love (Aaron had to l a u g h ) , Willis crept t h r o u g h the d a r k w o o d s t o w a r d t h e great house. It was dark, bleak, s o m e h o w evil, a n d Willis circled it once, skirting from s h a d o w to shadow, before finally planting himself by t h e w o o d e n front door. It was o p e n a n d Willis s h o u t e d "Hello . . . ? Hello . . . ?" b u t there was no reply. He p u s h e d t h e d o o r o p e n full a n d s t e p p e d i n t o the gigantic e n t r a n c e hall. Beyond lay a d a r k sprawling r o o m , lighted only by the flames from t h e fireplace. "Hello . . . ?" Willis said again, a n d t h o u g h there was still no reply, he knew, as he stood in t h e center of t h e r o o m , that he was n o t alone. A n d s u d d e n l y t h e r e — t h e r e ! — f r a m e d n o w in the red light of t h e fire stood A u t u m n ' s father, a giant of a m a n with thick brutal a r m s a n d t h e face of a gorilla. F r o m the waist up he wore n o t h i n g ; from t h e waist d o w n he was clad totally in leather (a little s o m e t h i n g for the p e r v e r t s ) , black leather b o o t s a n d tight black leather riding p a n t s . F r o m s o m e w h e r e above t h e m c a m e a scream, a n d Willis t u r n e d , trying to place it, a n d w h e n he t u r n e d back, the half-naked giant h a d n o t moved. Except that n o w there was a g u n in his h a n d , a n d s o o n t h e lovers were t h r o w n together in a r o o m d e e p in t h e bowels of t h e castle where terrible things h a d once taken place. Willis e x a m i n e d t h e strange m a c h i n e s set up in v a r i o u s corners, a n d w h e n he c a m e across a m a c h i n e with b l o o d still d r i p p i n g from it he

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 429 realized t h e father was a m a d m a n , t h a t they h a d to get o u t , s o m e h o w , he a n d his beloved A u t u m n , that or die. A a r o n h a d a ball with t h e rest of t h e b o o k . He threw in a little t o r t u r e , A u t u m n naked a n d writhing, h e r glorious b o d y glistening, h e r face pale w i t h p a i n (they'll t h u m b the hell o u t of this page at Brentano's), a n d following t h e t o r t u r e c a m e an escape-chase-capture scene, t h e n a n o t h e r escape, t h e n a revelation from A u t u m n ' s bruised red lips t h a t t h e giant was her h u s b a n d (It's really good, A a r o n knew. It is. It is!), t h e n a long love scene, graphic: "Willis m o a n e d as he r a n his fingers across h e r body, such was his pleasure, the presence of d e a t h serving only to increase his passion . . . " b u t sensitively d o n e : no four-letter words, lots of m e t a p h o r s , a n d t h e climax ending with three d o t s . . . a n d then, finally, t h e confrontation, high on the roof of the h o u s e , w i t h Willis battling t h e giant, almost losing b u t s o m e h o w s u m m o n i n g t h e strength of the desperate lover, vanquishing t h e enemy, g r a b b i n g t h e prize while the villain g r o a n e d , a n d fleeing into the beauty of t h e w o o d s . As they ran, Willis a n d A u t u m n , they t u r n e d o n e last time, a n d A u t u m n screamed to see t h e great bleak h o u s e on fire, flames d a n c i n g across t h e roof where, totally m a d now, her h u s b a n d stood, shaking a fist at t h e heavens until the fire h a d h i m a n d t h e n he ran, a screaming torch, to t h e edge of the roof a n d off, falling in flames to his death. Willis held his t r e m b l i n g A u t u m n , held h e r w i t h all his m i g h t , all his love, a n d w h e n t h e sun c a m e they walked off h a n d in h a n d i n t o the d a w n . . . "Aaron Fire. To see Mr. B o a r d m a n . " T h e secretary gave h i m a smile. "Certainly. You have an a p p o i n t m e n t , Mr. Fire?" " F o r ten-thirty," Aaron said. He showed her his watch. " I ' m n o t h i n g if not prompt." She smiled again. "Please be seated just a m o m e n t , " a n d she started fiddling w i t h t h e intercom. A a r o n stayed by her desk, looking a r o u n d . He h a d always envisioned a p u b l i s h i n g h o u s e as being a small b r o w n s t o n e in an old p a r t of t o w n , with frayed rugs on the floors a n d walls stuffed with b o o k s , with frayed secretaries a n d p i p e - s m o k i n g , tweed-clad editors p a d d i n g softly a r o u n d chatting softly a b o u t Sartre. Kingsway Press, w h e r e he stood, looked like a Hollywood version of an advertising agency. Located on the n i n e t e e n t h a n d twentieth floors of a n e w glassa n d - w h i t e - b r i c k (what else?) b u i l d i n g on M a d i s o n Avenue in t h e 40s, it was sterile e n o u g h to d o u b l e as a hospital. T h e receptionist's desk was Danish m o d e r n , the lighting indirect, t h e rug o n e of those bloodless pale

430 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN colors adored only by designers, t h e twin waiting sofas clean, new, a r m less, almost legless, practically backless, defiantly u n c o m f o r t a b l e — h o s t i l e modern. A n d n o t a b o o k in sight. "Mr. Fire?" "Yes." She was smiling again. W h a t was so funny? " T h e r e seems to have b e e n a m i x - u p . Mr. B o a r d m a n h a s n ' t — " "Look. I'm from Time. We're d o i n g a piece a n d — " "Hasn't got you listed for an a p p o i n t m e n t . " " I ' m going to kill my secretary." " I ' m terribly sorry, Mr. Fire." "She called yesterday at twelve-thirty a n d s o m e b o d y over here verified t h e a p p o i n t m e n t for today." " P e r h a p s Mr. B o a r d m a n ' s secretary was o n her l u n c h h o u r a n d s o m e b o d y else t o o k the call." "Possibly," Aaron allowed. "You said you're from Time?" "Unless they've just fired m e . " "Excuse m e o n e m o m e n t . " A a r o n watched as she disappeared d o w n t h e carpeted corridor. Calmly he lit a cigarette, setting it carefully in a c o r n e r of his m o u t h , inhaling deeply. He h a d never m e t Dave B o a r d m a n , b u t he k n e w he was a b o u t to. B o a r d m a n liked b e i n g interviewed; Aaron h a d read t h e quotes. W h e n e v e r anything n e w s w o r t h y h a p p e n e d in t h e p u b l i s h i n g business (rarely) Bennett Cerf was t h e first o n e called. If Cerf w a s o u t of town, t h e n it was B o a r d m a n . "Mr. B o a r d m a n can see you," the receptionist said, c o m i n g back d o w n t h e hall. "Goody," Aaron said, a n d he followed her along t h e carpet, a t u r n to t h e right, o n e to the left, t h r o u g h a door, a n o t h e r door, a n d t h e n there he was, alone with B o a r d m a n . At the age of forty-two, Dave B o a r d m a n h a d been chief editor of Kingsway Press for m o r e t h a n a decade and, in a field w h e r e c o m p e t e n c y was equated to brilliance, h a d t h e r e p u t a t i o n of being a genius, which m e a n t he was probably s o m e w h a t better t h a n fair. He was editor for three novelists w h o h a d w o n Pulitzer Prizes, o n e of w h o m h a d a decent shot at eventually taking a N o b e l w h e n America's t u r n c a m e , plus half a d o z e n others, three of t h e m ladies w h o wrote n o t h i n g b u t best-sellers. A n d if Kingsway resembled an ad agency, Dave B o a r d m a n c o n t i n u e d t h e image. His suit was d a r k a n d conservative, his tie striped a n d narrow,

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 431 his shirt white with a b u t t o n - d o w n collar. I'll bet you're w e a r i n g loafers, A a r o n t h o u g h t , studying the face until he could place it. He h a d seen it t h o u s a n d s of times. It was t h e face of t h e white-jacketed television pitchm a n r e c o m m e n d i n g a laxative. "Doctor's reports prove t h a t L i m p o will positively loosen y o u r stool in twenty-four h o u r s or . . . " T h e Trustw o r t h y Face. "Where's y o u r pipe?" A a r o n said. "Pardon?" "All editors smoke pipes, d i d n ' t you k n o w that? U n i o n regulations." B o a r d m a n laughed. It was a g o o d laugh. Rich. Sincere. "I t h o u g h t I k n e w m o s t of the boys from Time. You m u s t be n e w over there." A a r o n smiled. "You are from Time" A a r o n laughed. " T h e receptionist s a i d — " "I lied." " O h my God, don't tell m e . You're a writer." A a r o n bowed. " F o r crissake, why the subterfuge?" "If I'd called for an a p p o i n t m e n t , w o u l d you have seen m e ? " "No." " N e x t question," A a r o n said. B o a r d m a n smiled a n d sat straight, examining A a r o n . " H o w ' d you k n o w it'd w o r k ? " "Vanity. I researched you. You like getting your n a m e in t h e papers. You're vain." "So I a m . So I a m . Your n a m e is . . . ?" "Aaron Fire." " G o o d b y e , Mr. Fire." "Goodbye." Aaron stood, g r a b b e d his briefcase, started for t h e door. " O n e t h i n g , though." H e s t o p p e d . " H o w d o you k n o w m y b o o k isn't good?" " T h a t ' s a risk I'm taking." A a r o n n o d d e d . "You," he said, "are a stupid son of a bitch," a n d he was o u t t h e door. "Fire!" A a r o n let h i m yell it again—"Fire"—before he re-entered t h e office. "You called?" B o a r d m a n was u p , m a d , b u t y o u couldn't tell it from his face. T h e b o d y was a n g r y b u t the face was serene, trustworthy. "You r u d e little

432 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN bastard, w h o the hell d o you t h i n k you are?" B o a r d m a n p a c e d b a c k a n d forth, back a n d forth. A a r o n m o v e d back to t h e chair a n d sat d o w n . " H o w old are you, Fire?" "Twenty-two." "Twenty-two," B o a r d m a n g r u n t e d , c o n t i n u i n g t o pace. F r o m s o m e w h e r e a golf ball a p p e a r e d a n d he tossed it from h a n d to h a n d as he m o v e d . "That's a b o u t h o w l o n g I've b e e n in this business. Twenty-two years of writers." Whap! He t h r e w t h e golf ball against t h e wall, caught it w i t h o u t breaking stride. "I d o n ' t like writers, Fire. I hate writers. N o t b e cause I'm jealous. N o t because of their egos. P l u m b e r s have egos." Whap! "I hate t h e m because t h e y are so childish." Whap!"I u n d e r s t a n d you, Fire. You fake y o u r way in here a n d t h e n w h e n you're a b o u t to get tossed o u t on y o u r ass you t r y a little s h o c k t r e a t m e n t . H o p i n g to i n t r i g u e me." " S o m e t h i n g like that." "I see t h r o u g h it. It's so childish I see the w h o l e thing." Whap! " B u t — " Whap! Whap! "and this is w h a t really irritates m e — " Whap!"l am intrigued. I a d m i t it. You have i n t r i g u e d m e , Fire." "You're very good with t h a t golf ball." "Years of practice. W h a t ' s y o u r b o o k a b o u t ? " A a r o n was ready for t h a t o n e . " T h e possibility of r o m a n c e in a m e c h anized world." Whap!"Bullshit. Tell me h o w great it is." Great, n o . There was a t i m e , w h e n he'd just started, w h e n A a r o n considered t h e b o o k pap. But n o m o r e . I t h a d e x p a n d e d s o m e h o w i n the writing, taken on a polish, a b l i n d i n g sheen. If it was shallow, t h e n it was s u p e r b l y shallow. It was a clean, h o n e s t piece of w o r k a n d t h a t honesty gave it its stature. "War and Peace it ain't." "Modest of you." "I'll tell you this, t h o u g h , b u d d y : it's pretty g o d d a m good." "You got an agent, Fire?" " W h o needs an agent? I ' m seeing you, aren't I?" Whap!" Title?" " N a m e of the heroine. Autumn Wells" "Nice." "I t h i n k so." B o a r d m a n sat d o w n at his desk, b o u n c i n g the golf ball across the glass t o p . " W h y did you have to pick m e ? " "I checked a r o u n d . You're s u p p o s e d to be m o d e r a t e l y literate." B o a r d m a n laughed. "Were y o u b o r n or did you s p r i n g full grown?

BOYS & GIRLS T O G E T H E R • 433 You are a t h o r n y little bastard." He d r o p p e d the golf ball into his t o p desk drawer. "All right, all right, give me t h e masterpiece." A a r o n o p e n e d his briefcase. "Leave y o u r n u m b e r w i t h my secretary. I'll let y o u k n o w w h e n I've read it." A a r o n closed his briefcase. "Monday," he said. "What Monday?" "Today's Wednesday. You can have over t h e weekend. T h e n on M o n day I'll call you" "You have a reasonable a m o u n t of self-confidence, haven't y o u , Fire?" "It's all front. Secretly I'm trembling." " G o d , I hate writers," B o a r d m a n said. He held o u t his h a n d for t h e m a n u s c r i p t . "O.K. Monday." A a r o n h a n d e d it over. "You have a treat in store." " G o o d b y e , Fire." "David." A a r o n stood up to go. B o a r d m a n watched h i m . " F i r e ? " "Sir?" "You as talented as you t h i n k y o u are?" A a r o n h a d to smile. "I better be," he said. "Aaron?" "Yes, Mother." " W h a t are you d o i n g ? " "Packing." "Packing?" "Yes, Mother." She m o v e d into his r o o m a n d sat d o w n on the bed, w a t c h i n g h i m . It was late afternoon b u t the April s u n was hot. "You're going away," C h a r lotte said a n d her h a n d s w a n d e r e d a while before finally lighting on h e r long w h i t e hair. Aaron nodded. "But why?" " W h y ? " A a r o n whirled. Because I d o n ' t need you a n y m o r e . Because I loathe it here. Because . . . "It's best I go." She looked so pathetic, so old, fragile. Be nice. " I d o n ' t understand." "Well, I saw this editor today. B o a r d m a n ' s his n a m e . He's r e a d i n g my b o o k . M o n d a y we'll start conferences on rewrites. I'll have to be in N e w York all t h e t i m e anyway, so it's best I go live there. Easiest all a r o u n d . "

434 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN She watched as he carried a handful of b o o k s , gently d u s t i n g t h e m before laying t h e m into an e n o r m o u s c a r d b o a r d box. T h e r e are several boxes in the r o o m , m o s t of t h e m full. "All those books," C h a r l o t t e said. "I rented a r o o m before I c a m e h o m e . Right after I left this Boardm a n . It's n o t m u c h of a r o o m . But t h e n I w o n ' t be there very long." "It's probably best you go." "Yes." "Oh," Charlotte said, a n d t h e s o u n d m a d e A a r o n t u r n uneasily. H e gave her a quick smile. " O h " again. " I ' m really sorry." A a r o n busied himself w i t h his b o o k s . C h a r l o t t e rocked o n t h e b e d . " Both m y babies." " N o w , Mother." "Next you'll be getting m a r r i e d . " "I sure h o p e so." "I'll miss you, Aaron." "I'll miss you too, Mother." "Oh," Charlotte said again, a n d again Aaron's features f o r m e d t h e quick smile. " O h , it's sad, it's j u s t sad." "Yes." A a r o n n o d d e d . "I guess it is." He packed slowly, slower t h a n he had to, finishing t h e following day, Thursday. Friday m o r n i n g he dragged t h e big boxes of b o o k s d o w n the front steps of the yellow h o u s e a n d into t h e family car. It was h a r d w o r k for h i m a n d soon his legs were aching, b u t he kept at it until he was d o n e . Aside from the b o o k s he h a d really little to take. A few clothes, o d d s a n d e n d s , that was all. Friday a f t e r n o o n he drove into t h e city. He h a d taken a furnished r o o m in the West 40s, close by the Times Square area, a n d alt h o u g h it was neither particularly big n o r particularly clean, he liked it; it w o u l d give h i m s o m e t h i n g to r e m e m b e r . A g r o u p of small boys watched h i m drag his boxes into t h e r o o m i n g h o u s e a n d up t h e o n e flight of h a r d stairs to his cubicle, a n d a l t h o u g h at first he refused their offers to assist, he eventually s u c c u m b e d , m o v i n g e m p t y - h a n d e d alongside t h e m as they tugged mightily at the great boxes, straining their tiny bodies. Ants. D o n e , A a r o n t i p p e d t h e m , locked t h e d o o r t o his r o o m a n d d r o v e back t o P r i n c e t o n with the car. C h a r l o t t e was waiting, a n d t h e y h a d a farewell d i n n e r , complete with ( d o m e s t i c ) c h a m p a g n e . C h a r l o t t e a t t e m p t e d gaiety, which m i g h t have t o u c h e d h i m , except that she h a d said h e r goodbyes so often in the p r e c e d i n g forty-eight h o u r s that A a r o n h a d h a d it w i t h t h e m . A n d her, t o o . After d i n n e r (sweet potatoes again!) she drove h i m t o t h e train, where h e m u t t e r e d goodbye, vaguely a n g r y (why wasn't

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 435 she crying?) as he kissed h e r cheek. He b o a r d e d the train b u t it w o u l d n ' t start a n d Charlotte stood o u t s i d e waving a n d waving (to A. from P.: alas) a n d A a r o n a t t e m p t e d ignoring her, b u t he did n o t feel cruel t h e n , so he waved back at her until ( T h a n k G o d , t h a n k God) the train's m o v e m e n t mercifully curtained the scene. H e h a d intended t o s p e n d t h e night w a n d e r i n g , b u t w h e n h e reached P e n n Station his legs ached slightly a n d his head too, so he t o o k the s u b way up o n e stop to Times Square a n d walked to his r o o m . It was n o t a pleasant place a n d the b e d was lumpy, b u t he slept fourteen h o u r s . Saturday night he slept for ten; Sunday t h e same. T h e waking h o u r s h e spent a p a r t m e n t h u n t i n g . "I'll need a terrace," A a r o n said. "And of course a view of t h e river." "View," t h e renting agent said, a n d he w r o t e the w o r d on a three-byfive card. A a r o n lit a cigarette. " I ' m getting a bit desperate, if you w a n t to k n o w t h e t r u t h . I spent t h e m o r n i n g l o o k i n g at East End, b u t it's so nouveau" " M y feeling exactly." "And Fifth. Well, Fifth is passi." T h e renting agent n o d d e d . " I ' m sure you'll like Sutton Place, Mr. Fire." "I h o p e so. I was terribly d i s a p p o i n t e d in Beekman. B e e k m a n a n d I, I d o n ' t know, we just didn't hit it off, somehow. We were n o t — h o w shall I say?—sympathetic. O n e has to feel s y m p a t h y with one's s u r r o u n d i n g s . " "I u n d e r s t a n d . May I tell you that m a n y of o u r prospective t e n a n t s are m o v i n g from Beekman Place to us. Beekman Place is just n o t w a r m . " I can o u t p h o n y you, b u d d y , any day of t h e week. "Like a cat. Too independent." "Precisely, Mr. Fire." He stood. " N o w you u n d e r s t a n d this building will n o t be ready to receive t e n a n t s for two m o n t h s yet." " T h a t dovetails perfectly." "We have a beautiful a p a r t m e n t on the seventeenth floor. Of course, it is n o t beautiful now. N o t h i n g has been d o n e to it. But I assure you it will be a showplace." "Excellent," Aaron said. "Follow m e , please," a n d they went d o w n the hall to t h e elevator. " T h e lobby will have a special quality all its own. Beautiful free-form sculpture. Soft music playing constantly." I m a y vomit. " S o u n d s very tasteful." "We p r i d e ourselves on o u r taste, Mr. Fire. After you," a n d t h e y entered t h e elevator. " T w e n t y - f o u r - h o u r d o o r m a n service. Twenty-fourh o u r elevator-man service. T h e newest in a u t o m a t i c elevators."

436 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " S o u n d s like a m a r v e l o u s job," A a r o n said. " R u n n i n g an a u t o m a t i c elevator." " T h a t ' s very funny, Mr. Fire. After you. This way. Here. See. Apartm e n t seventeen F. F as in Fire." "Kismet." A a r o n waited while t h e d o o r was o p e n e d . "After you. Foyer. Large, spacious. D i n i n g area, n i n e by nine." "I have a seven-by-seven d i n i n g table," Aaron said. "Kismet." A a r o n m o v e d o u t to t h e terrace. Below, t h e East River; above, t h e s u n . A a r o n closed his eyes. I w a n t it. I w a n t it. "You're all right, Mr. Fire?" A a r o n smiled. "Fine. I'll n e e d a few days to think, b u t this seems like w h a t I've been looking for." "Let me show you t h e rest." " I n time." "Of course, Mr. Fire." " T h e rent?" "Just six h u n d r e d dollars a m o n t h . " "Reasonable," A a r o n said. " C h e a p at half the price." "You recognize value." "I t r y to. It's my business to notice things." "Your business?" " I ' m A a r o n Fire, the writer." "Ah, yes." "You've h e a r d of m e , t h e n ? " "I p r i d e myself on being a literate m a n . W h o hasn't h e a r d of y o u ? " "I c a n n o t answer t h a t question," A a r o n said. Were those tears? Behind his eyes? "Modesty forbids." Were those tears? M o n d a y m o r n i n g A a r o n w o k e w i t h a headache. He lay in b e d awhile, pressing his fingertips against his eyes, t h e n grabbed a towel a n d h u r r i e d d o w n t h e corridor t o the c o m m u n a l b a t h r o o m , where h e shaved carefully a n d showered, letting t h e water p o u n d against his neck, lessening t h e tension. T h e r e was tension, no q u e s t i o n a b o u t it, a n d he m o c k e d himself for allowing it to grab h i m , b u t t h a t d i d n o t loosen its hold. At half past n i n e he called was n o t in. No o n e was in, a n d ter. R e t u r n i n g to his r o o m , he cigarettes, fourteen. T h e r o o m

Kingsway a n d asked for B o a r d m a n , w h o he cursed his eagerness, for he k n e w betc h a i n - s m o k e d for an h o u r , c o u n t i n g the was h o t , the air thick w i t h s m o k e , b u t

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 437 A a r o n lay flat on the bed, staring at t h e ceiling, coughing, his h e a d a c h e less vague t h a n before. At precisely t e n - t h i r t y he gave himself p e r m i s s i o n to place t h e call again, a n d this t i m e he got B o a r d m a n . "Well, am I a genius? Be candid." "Fire, I c a n n o t cope w i t h y o u r ego in the m o r n i n g . I'm a n i g h t p e r s o n myself, so please go easy." "David, I'm filled with compassion." "If I tell you you're talented will y o u get off my b a c k ? " "Say it again. I'd like a little m o r e feeling." " C o m e on up here a n d we'll talk." " I ' m hungry," Aaron said. "What's that mean?" " B u y m e lunch." B o a r d m a n sighed. "I h o n e s t l y wish I could say I was b u s y b u t I'm not." "I accept. I'll m e e t you at twelve." "Any preferences?" "Just so it's expensive," A a r o n said. Adela's was expensive. A a r o n arrived at a few m i n u t e s before twelve a n d waited across the street o u t of sight. B o a r d m a n arrived p r o m p t l y a n d w e n t in. A a r o n lit a cigarette. W h e n he had s m o k e d it, he lit a n o t h e r , smiling all t h e while. After fifteen m i n u t e s he decided he h a d k e p t Boardm a n e n o u g h , s o h e crossed t h e street a n d m e n t i o n e d B o a r d m a n ' s n a m e to t h e headwaiter. Adela's was a long restaurant, very n a r r o w , w i t h red d r a p e s lining the walls a n d elegant candles, o n e on each table, providing light. B o a r d m a n was seated at a c o r n e r table in t h e rear d r i n k i n g a Bloody Mary. "I'll have o n e of those too," A a r o n said, sliding in alongside. B o a r d m a n signaled for a waiter. "Talk a b o u t t h e book," A a r o n said w h e n the waiter h a d g o n e . "I couldn't possibly. It's t o o early." " T o o early?" B o a r d m a n held up o n e finger for silence. "Fire, I w a n t to talk seriously to you for just a m o m e n t . Pay attention. W h a t I ' m a b o u t to tell you is valuable advice. So heed." He t o o k a sip of his drink. "J.'m a very successful m a n , Fire. Very successful. My only equals: m e n w h o are sons of publishers o r m e n w h o m a r r i e d t h e d a u g h t e r s o f publishers. I'm t h e top, Fire, t h e creme de la creme. A n d do y o u k n o w why?" "I s t a n d a pretty good c h a n c e of finding out." "Yes. N o w you probably t h i n k I'm where I am because of my m i g h t y

438 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN b r a i n . But you're w r o n g . I am n o t brilliant. I'm n o t even particularly s m a r t . I'm n o t m u c h of an idea m a n . I lack the social graces. All my writers are better read t h a n I. A n d yet, in spite of all this, in spite of all this, in spite of my a d m i t t e d mediocrity, if I chose to leave Kingsway every p u b lishing h o u s e in t o w n w o u l d c o u r t m e , w o o m e , p u r s u e m e . Now, w h a t is my secret? W h y ? " "Tell m e ; tell me." B o a r d m a n smiled. "I l u n c h superbly; that's why." A a r o n started laughing. Again, B o a r d m a n held up a finger for silence. "I speak t h e t r u t h , Fire. You are in the presence of royalty; t h e king of lunchers sits beside you. Notice." He waggled a finger. A waiter appeared. B o a r d m a n glanced d o w n at his e m p t y glass. "Right away, Mr. B o a r d m a n , " a n d he vanished. " D i d you n o t e the s m o o t h n e s s of that entire operation? At t h e groaning b o a r d , I am a genius." "Sire," A a r o n said. " T h e r e are, of course, certain rules for Lunching-—I speak w i t h a capital L—rules which I discovered a n d refined. Choice of r e s t a u r a n t is crucial. For example, if I am to L u n c h with a virile o u t d o o r s - s t e a k - a n d p o t a t o e s writer, I always select a d a i n t y restaurant. M a k e t h e m a trifle ill at ease, follow? W i t h a h u n g r y yearling like yourself, I like to c o m e here to Adela's. It's ridiculously expensive, b u t , m o r e t h a n that, t h e clientele is h a n d s o m e . Notice the people. T h e y all look substantial. T h e y b e l o n g to t h e w o r l d you haven't m a d e b u t yearn for. Of c o u r s e — a n d this s h o u l d go no further—all t h e people here, a n d I k n o w m o s t of t h e m , are b r o k e , living b e y o n d their incomes a n d surviving only t h r o u g h t h e graces of G o d a n d their company's Diners' C l u b card. T h e next r u l e — " " C a n I have a n o t h e r d r i n k ? " " T h a t ' s the next rule. Always get your c o m p a n i o n loaded." A n o t h e r waggle of t h e finger a n d Aaron's o r d e r was on its way. " N o t o n l y can you have a n o t h e r drink, you will have a third. A n d wine w i t h t h e m e a l . W h i c h leads to rule n u m b e r three: Never discuss business until dessert. Empires have fallen for ignoring that rule, Fire. T h e future of o u r c o u n t r y rests on t h a t rule. Never discuss business until dessert. I speak o n l y t h e t r u t h . L u n c h is w h a t makes t h e w o r l d go r o u n d . You asked me to talk a b o u t y o u r b o o k . If I started talking business before t h e appetizer, I w o u l d be a r u i n e d m a n . In six m o n t h s , o u t of a job. In a year, alcoholic; next, skid row; finally, the river. So let's forget y o u r masterpiece, Fire, at least till

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 439 p a s t r y t i m e . Tell me a b o u t yourself. Have you always b e e n a m o n s t e r or d i d you work at it? Relax, Fire; smile. You're at Lunch. G o d protects Lunchers. Heaven is n o t h i n g b u t o n e long Lunch. So d r i n k to it, m a n ; h o n o r it. Raise that glass. To Lunch." "Lunch!' It was a splendid meal. A a r o n chose artichoke vinaigrette for an a p p e tizer, dissecting it with care, leaf by tiny leaf, a n d w h e n t h e y were gone he deftly separated the heart a n d swallowed it quickly with t h e r e m a i n d e r of t h e sauce. Adela's was full n o w a n d three tables away he saw a y o u n g film actor with a squat gray w o m a n , his agent probably, a n d across t h e n a r r o w r o o m sat a n o t h e r familiar face, a financier or an ex-general, s o m e t h i n g like that; A a r o n couldn't quite place it, b u t the face h a d o n c e b e a m e d o u t at h i m from the cover of Time. A a r o n smiled to himself. I b e l o n g here. H e r e a n d all t h e o t h e r places like it. H o m e is where t h e h e a r t is. My h e a r t is here. B o a r d m a n suggested t h e w i n e a n d Aaron went a l o n g w i t h t h e choice—a strong red b u r g u n d y . For his m a i n course Aaron t o o k t h e cold roast beef; a great rare slab of it, a n d a delicate green salad. T h e wine w a r m e d his throat; the salad cooled his t o n g u e . Probably it was silly taking an a p a r t m e n t on Sutton, tying up all that m o n e y w h e n w h a t he w a n t e d really was to travel, Italy, Spain, the civilized sections of t h e O r i ent. Aaron rolled the red w i n e a r o u n d his t o n g u e . Yes. P e r h a p s even S o u t h America, the less h u m i d p a r t s anyhow. Or was t h a t a waste, traveling t h r o u g h South America? T h e people were n o t o r i o u s l y b a c k w a r d a n d w h a t if you d r a n k t h e water? W h a t disease? Malaria? N o , t h a t c a m e from m o s q u i t o e s . To hell with S o u t h America. Just to hell with it, he decided. For dessert Aaron chose profiterole. He had always b e e n partial to chocolate, gorging on it even w h e n he r a n the gauntlet of adolescence, a n d t h e sauce on the profiterole was perfect, spectacularly rich. A a r o n toyed with it, d i p p i n g t h e edge of his s p o o n into it, m a k i n g it last as long as he could while B o a r d m a n t h u m b e d t h r o u g h the m a n u s c r i p t of Autumn Wells. B o a r d m a n was smiling, talking softly, a n d it was h a r d to listen to h i m over the noise of t h e o t h e r diners. Aaron closed o n e eye a n d sighted d o w n the long r o w of tables. T h e candles d a n c e d for h i m . Boardm a n was t u r n i n g the pages rapidly now, a n d Aaron glanced a d m i r i n g l y at t h e neatly typed paper. He was a wonderful typist, a n d this was his original copy of the book, clean a n d new. But it was silly of B o a r d m a n to b r i n g it along, to b r i n g it here. You couldn't discuss rewrites in t h e rear of a restaurant, n o t after you've h a d d r i n k s a n d good wine a n d a full meal. It was silly. You couldn't t h i n k u n d e r those conditions. Never. He should

440 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN have left it in his office. You could talk there. Have coffee sent in a n d really talk. T h a t was the way to do it. T h a t was t h e w a y — A a r o n felt light. "So here we are at the t o r t u r e scene. N o w Jesus, Fire, it's t h e twentieth century. A t o r t u r e scene in t h e b a s e m e n t of a castle with a n a k e d maiden? A n d does t h e villain have to drool? You call it 'flecks of spittle' a n d that's pretty, I suppose, b u t drool's d r o o l , Fire, c o m e on." "You're giving it back to m e ? " " W h a t ? I'm sorry, I d i d n ' t h e a r ? " "You're giving it back to me? T h e b o o k ? " B o a r d m a n looked at h i m . "You're n o t going to publish it?" " T h a t ' s right. Haven't y o u b e e n listening? I'm just t r y i n g to explain why. N o w I d o n ' t w a n t to pick on this p o o r t o r t u r e scene, b u t it's indicative of what's w r o n g with t h e b o o k . It lacks credulity. You're w r i t i n g d o w n all t h e way t h r o u g h it. T h e writing's g o o d e n o u g h , it's fine, b u t did you m e a n this stuff? N o w h e r e — " "You've got to. Publish t h e book." B o a r d m a n s h o o k his h e a d . "See, you've got to p u b l i s h it. I w r o t e it. I w r o t e it a n d you've got to p u b l i s h it, d o n ' t you see?" "You all right, Fire?" "Sure, sure, I'm fine, it's just t h a t I'm trying to explain to y o u why you've got to publish it because I w r o t e it, you u n d e r s t a n d . " "Fire—" "I'll change it. Any way you like. I'll change it all a r o u n d . I ' m a good writer. I'm talented like you said, so I'll just change it." "I w o u l d n ' t be blowing y o u to l u n c h if I didn't t h i n k y o u h a d s o m e t h i n g , Fire, b u t — " "You just tell me w h a t y o u w a n t me to change. I'll do ten pages a day. I'll do t h e whole b o o k over. N o w y o u tell me." He pulled at B o a r d m a n ' s coat sleeve. " I ' m listening now, so you tell m e . I'll r e m e m b e r everything y o u say." B o a r d m a n was trying to get his sleeve free a n d A a r o n w a n t e d to h o l d it b u t he was still t o o light. B o a r d m a n m o v e d away a n d A a r o n slid after h i m . " F o r chrissakes, Fire, c u t it out." "Please." "Fire—" "Please." A a r o n had his sleeve again a n d n o w there was strength in his fingers. N o t full, n o t yet, b u t it was c o m i n g . "Please."

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 441 "I d o n ' t w a n t to call a waiter, s o — " "Please. Please." "Let go before—" " Please." " F o r the L s t t i m e — " "Please. Please! P L E A S E ! Y O U S O N O F A B I T C H , I S A I D P L E A S E ! D I D N ' T Y O U H E A R M E ? D I D N ' T Y O U H E A R ME? I said P L E A S E ! " A n d t h e n h e was u p ,

A a r o n o n the move, r u n n i n g d o w n t h e long, long r o o m , r u n n i n g b y t h e candles that h a d d a n c e d for h i m , by t h e movie actor a n d t h e agent a n d t h e financier-general, away from all the people, all t h e p r e t t y people, the p r e t t y sweet people, r u n n i n g , r u n n i n g until at last he was free a n d clear a n d o u t o n the street a n d alone. W i t h o u t his m a n u s c r i p t . A a r o n stopped on t h e sidewalk. His precious m a n u s c r i p t . Beautiful A u t u m n . In there. W i t h B o a r d m a n . W h o ' d tear it u p . Flush it away s o m e place. No. Steal it. That's w h a t he'd d o . Steal it a n d claim it was his o w n . Autumn Wells, a novel by David B o a r d m a n . Aaron s p u n , backtracked to Adela's door, threw it o p e n . T h e h e a d waiter h u r r i e d quickly to m e e t h i m , b u t Aaron b r u s h e d by, t o o k a step, only t h e headwaiter m o v e d a r o u n d h i m , confronting h i m again. " S o m e t h i n g ? " the headwaiter said. A a r o n stood at o n e e n d of t h e restaurant, staring d o w n t h e candle rows to B o a r d m a n , w h o sat w h e r e he was, drinking coffee. A a r o n t o o k a l o n g step t o w a r d h i m , t h e headwaiter still at his side, b u t even as he m o v e d Aaron realized his error. T h e y were looking at h i m . All of t h e m , all t h e p r e t t y people, they were staring, tittering b e h i n d their fine linen n a p k i n s , p o i n t i n g at h i m with their fine silver forks. W h i s pers in the r o o m . T h e long aisle was a cage in a zoo. He was in t h e cage, he, A a r o n Fire, was in a cage a n d they were all watching the funny a n i m a l as it l i m p e d along. Aaron could feel his face flame. He blinked, tried to smile. "Just a joke," he m u t t e r e d as best he could. "Just a little joke b e t w e e n Dave a n d me." But they w o u l d n ' t stop l o o k i n g at h i m . They w o u l d n ' t s t o p whispering. Pointing at the funny l i m p i n g animal. No pity. N o n e . But plenty of soft laughter. T h e s o u n d d r u m m e d . Aaron took a n o t h e r step, t h e headwaiter escorting h i m still, j o i n e d n o w by a n o t h e r flunky, a s h o r t m a n , b u t b r o a d , with a face that was n o t kind. Aaron tried to ignore t h e m , fumbling in his shirt pocket for his cigarettes, b u t his wet h a n d s could n o t grasp securely a n d as the pack slipped a wave of laughter grew, building

442 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN as t h e pack hit t h e floor, spilling cigarettes across the red r u g . Never h a d he h e a r d such laughter, never before. Never again will you laugh at m e , never again will you be afforded t h e chance of laughing at m e . I p r o m i s e you. I promise you all. At the e n d of the r o o m B o a r d m a n waited, half smiling, half not. B o a r d m a n gestured a n d suddenly Aaron's escorts paused, allowing h i m to travel t h e final steps alone, closer to B o a r d m a n , ten feet, eight feet, five. A a r o n smiled at the editor a n d B o a r d m a n smiled back, b u t A a r o n saw t h e p a n i c in his eyes. A n d you're right, friend David. Because if I never do a n o t h e r t h i n g in my great life, I am going to repay you. For every slight, every indignity, you will w r i t h e a n d scream a n d pray for my forgiveness. "I forgot the manuscript." " O h , so you did. Here." " T h a n k s . " Please, A a r o n , d e a r G o d , Aaron, n o m o r e , A a r o n , o n m y b r o k e n knees I beg, no m o r e , A a r o n , great Aaron, m i g h t y A a r o n , A a r o n Almighty Aar— A a r o n tripped. As he was t u r n i n g away from t h e table, the m a n u s c r i p t tight in his h a n d s , he tripped, falling sharply, t h e pages spilling away from h i m . B o a r d m a n h u r r i e d d o w n t o help, b u t Aaron p u s h e d h i m away—"I'll get y o u for this, you wait, you s e e " — a n d he scrambled solo after t h e pretty pages while the laughter enveloped h i m again b u t n o w h e h a d n o t h i n g left, no reservoir of revenge, so he could only grab a n d p l u c k t h e pages from t h e red rug to his pale h a n d s a n d t h e n p u s h himself up again, t h e beautiful b o o k a ball of p a p e r now, beautiful no m o r e . A a r o n l u r c h e d to his feet and, clutching t h e ball tight against his s t o m a c h , staggered b e t w e e n t h e candles, trying n o t t o hear w h a t was going o n a r o u n d h i m . A a r o n screamed. T h e laughter died. But s o m e b o d y started h i c c u p i n g . It a c c o m p a n i e d his final p l u n g e d o w n t h e long r o o m , the h i c c u p i n g , a n d he finally g r o p e d for freedom, as he shoved his shoulder against t h e final door, as the sunlight hit h i m , it was t h e last thing he heard, the ultimate unerasable s o u n d . A hiccup.

Part IV XVII Early o n e evening, a m o n t h after t h e start of their confusion, Jenny sat in h e r a p a r t m e n t waiting for t h e b u z z e r to s o u n d . She was n e r v o u s a n d excited a n d she finished c o m b i n g h e r hair, looked at herself, s h o o k h e r head, m u s s e d her hair w i t h b o t h h a n d s , t h e n started to c o m b it all over again. She h a d never, n o t o n c e in all her life, really liked h e r hair. Jenny sighed, glancing across t h e b e d to t h e a l a r m clock. It w a s five after six, w h i c h m e a n t that Charley was five m i n u t e s later t h a n usual, which in t u r n m e a n t that h e p r o b a b l y suspected s o m e o n e was following h i m . W h e n e v e r they finished w o r k at Kingsway, Jenny always c a m e straight to h e r a p a r t m e n t , b u t Charley always walked, for half an h o u r , w i n d o w s h o p p i n g until he was sure no o n e was following h i m , until he felt it was reasonable to taxi to her place. "Reasonable" was Charley's w o r d ; he was terribly suspicious, except t h a t he claimed he wasn't, so s o m e t i m e s she w o u l d imitate h o w she i m a g i n e d he m u s t look on his p o s t w o r k walk: a desperately i n n o c e n t figure slinking along Madison Avenue w i t h his h a t pulled over his eyes. Charley w o u l d laugh t h e n a n d kiss h e r for h e r m i m icry, b u t he still insisted on walking for thirty m i n u t e s , rain or shine. He loved for h e r to imitate h i m , a n d she enjoyed acting h i m ; it was o n e of their best jokes, except t h a t Jenny didn't t h i n k it was all t h a t funny. She b e g r u d g e d h i m his half-hour walk. Because he usually left h e r by nine, always by ten, a n d she could never q u i t e learn to enjoy those m o m e n t s after his d e p a r t u r e w h e n she was alone. Suddenly. Again. T h e buzzer s o u n d e d . Jenny d a s h e d across the r o o m , buzzed back. She straightened h e r skirt, said "to hell with y o u " to her hair, grabbed t h e package a n d o p e n e d the front d o o r as far as t h e chain lock would p e r m i t . S h e stood pressed against t h e d o o r till she h e a r d footsteps. T h e n she said, "Is t h a t you, X-9?" "O.K., O.K.," Charley whispered. " O p e n up." " W h a t ' s t h e password?" "You really think you're funny, d o n ' t y o u ? "

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444 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "I t h i n k I'm adorable." " T h a t makes two of us." " T h a t ' s t h e password," Jenny said, and she unlocked t h e d o o r a n d h e l d o u t the package a n d said, "Surprise." Charley looked at the package. It was small a n d rectangular a n d w r a p p e d in white paper with a red bow. He took it in his h a n d a n d closed t h e d o o r a n d kissed her. " T h a n k you." He h u n g his coat over a chair a n d l o o s e n e d his tie. Jenny stepped away from h i m . "You d o n ' t k n o w w h a t it's for, do y o u ? " "No." " I ' m really hurt." She t u r n e d away. "You're a rotten actress." " I ' m n o t a rotten actress!" Jenny whirled on h i m . "It so h a p p e n s I'm h u r t a n d t h e reason I'm h u r t is t h a t today is the first m o n t h anniversary of o u r confusion a n d I got y o u a present a n d you forgot t h e w h o l e thing." She began to pace. "And I ' m sick t h a t this m e a n s n o t h i n g to you. I'm tired of being h u r t by you. I'm tired of being ignored a n d I ' m tired of being u s e d a n d h u r t a n d forgotten a n d I t h i n k you m i g h t just as well t u r n a r o u n d a n d leave right n o w because this is n o t going to be o n e of o u r m o r e pleasant evenings a n d — " Charley started after her, saying, "Jenny. Jenny, listen. Please listen—" Jenny stopped a n d l a u g h e d a n d kissed h i m on t h e m o u t h . "Call me a r o t t e n actress, will y o u ? " Charley looked at her. " H a d you going, didn't I? Just r e m e m b e r s o m e t h i n g : I have acted on t h e Broadway stage." She gestured dramatically. "Of course, it was just u n d e r s t u d y rehearsal a n d the theater was empty. But technically, I acted on t h e stage. My feet rested on t h e floor. So there, unbeliever." Charley t o o k her, lifted her, held h e r in the air. "If y o u t h i n k this is easy, you're crazy." "I know. I'm a m o o s e . You'll b r e a k y o u r back." " H a p p y anniversary, Moose." He kissed her, p u t h e r d o w n . " D o you k n o w something? I feel brazen a r o u n d you a n d I love it! I feel like t h e m o s t brazen—ordinarily I'm so timid I make me sick. S o m e t i m e s —

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sometimes I wake up a n d I think, don't be timid today, Jenny, old kid. Let the world have it right between t h e eyes today, Jenny, old kid. But then, w h e n I get outside I think, well, m a y b e I'll let the world have it right between the eyes t o m o r r o w instead. Aren't you even going to o p e n your present?" Charley began u n w r a p p i n g t h e package.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 445 "Wait. D o n ' t you w a n t to give me y o u r present first?" "Huh?" "Your anniversary present to me." "I didn't g e t — " "I k n o w w h a t I w a n t . You can still give it to m e . Right now. W o u l d n ' t y o u like t h a t ? " "Yes. W h a t is it?" " S p e n d t h e night." Charley looked at her. "Just this once." "I can't. You k n o w that." "Please." "Impossible." " S o m e t i m e s you're such a churl. Isn't that a great word? I just love it. I w o r k in a publishing h o u s e . That's h o w c o m e I have this fantastic vocabulary. Aren't you going to o p e n y o u r present?" "You told me to wait." "Since w h e n do you do w h a t I tell you? I just told y o u to s p e n d t h e n i g h t a n d you wouldn't." "Minx." He t o o k off the red b o w a n d shook the package. " S h o u l d I be able to guess?" "I h o p e not. Charley? Before you see, I've got to explain, because it wasn't easy, getting you s o m e t h i n g , on account of o u r confusion. I m e a n , I w a n t e d to get you s o m e t h i n g sweet, of course, b u t I c o u l d n ' t get you s o m e t h i n g permanent, because t h e n people m i g h t ask you questions about—" "I u n d e r s t a n d . I do." "All right then. O p e n it." Charley o p e n e d it. " F o r crissakes," he said. "A H e r s h e y bar." "See? Sweet b u t n o t p e r m — " "I get it, I get it." " D o you like it?" "I like it." " D o you like m e ? " "I like you." " T h e n why won't you s p e n d t h e n i g h t ? " "No." "She w o u l d n ' t m i n d . N o t for o n e night." "No." "Call h e r up a n d tell her."

446 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN " W h a t should I tell h e r ? " "Lie." "Jenny—" "Charley, she w o u l d n ' t suspect anything. Just fib a little this o n c e — " "I w o u l d like to. You k n o w that. But don't ask m e . Please. Forget it." "Forgotten. Aren't you going to eat your anniversary p r e s e n t ? " Charley sat d o w n on t h e b e d a n d t o o k a bite of t h e H e r s h e y bar. "I spent eons getting ready for tonight. You m i g h t at least tell me h o w p r e t t y I am or something." Charley looked at her. She was wearing a white blouse a n d a w h i t e striped skirt a n d white h i g h - h e e l e d shoes. " H o w p r e t t y y o u are," he said quietly. " H o w lucky I a m . H o w p r e t t y you are." She smiled a n d slowly walked across t h e r o o m until she s t o o d in front of w h e r e he sat. Gently she reached out, p u t her a r m s a r o u n d his neck, b r o u g h t h i m close until his h e a d rested on her breast. He kissed her there. "Charley is my darling," Jenny whispered. He kissed h e r again. T h e n he locked his a r m s a r o u n d h e r waist a n d leaned back o n t o t h e bed, b r i n g i n g h e r d o w n o n t o p o f h i m . "I love it w h e n you t o u c h me," Jenny whispered. "Isn't that nice." H e kissed h e r o n the m o u t h a n d w h e n t h e y b r o k e h e could hear her breathing, a n d w i t h his eyes closed he t o u c h e d h e r b o d y a n d kissed h e r again, h a r d e r this t i m e , h a r d e r a n d longer, a n d this t i m e w h e n they broke his o w n b r e a t h i n g was what h e h e a r d a n d h e reached o u t for her again b u t she was g o n e . " C o m e back here," Charley whispered. Jenny walked slowly a r o u n d t h e r o o m . " W h a t ' s the m a t t e r ? " She m a d e a fanning m o t i o n . "It's so hot," she m u t t e r e d . C mere. Jenny s h o o k her head. " N o t now. I'm just stifling. It's t o o h o t , Charley." "Hot? It's a cool S e p t e m b e r evening, n o w — " "You m u s t have cold b l o o d , t h e n . Or w a r m , which is it? It's t o o h o t for m e , I k n o w that much." " W h a t are you talking about? C o m e back here." She walked back to h i m . He t o o k her in his a r m s . " T o o hot," she said. "Just like I thought." She walked away again a n d slowly, starting at the throat, she began to u n b u t t o n h e r w h i t e blouse. Charley watched in silence as she pulled the blouse o u t from h e r skirt

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 447 a n d slid it d o w n her a r m s . H e r b r a was very white against h e r skin. For a m o m e n t she c u p p e d her h a n d s b e n e a t h her breasts. C h a r l e y cleared his t h r o a t . "Please c o m e here," he said. Jenny u n z i p p e d h e r skirt, guided it d o w n across h e r h i p s , let it fall i n t o a circle a o u n d h e r long legs. " T h a t ' s a lot m o r e comfortable," she said. "I love it w h e n y o u r legs get t a n n e d . You d o n ' t have to b o t h e r w i t h stockings or a girdle or a n y t h i n g like that." She t o o k a few long steps t o w a r d h i m . "See?" She ran t h e tips of her fingers d o w n along h e r legs. "Bare." r

Charley stared at her. She was wearing the b r a a n d a w h i t e half slip a n d p e t t i - p a n t s a n d t h e white-heeled shoes. "Just exactly w h a t is it you t h i n k you're doing?" "Getting comfortable, that's all. You get comfortable t o o , if y o u want. Take off y o u r shirt. This heat is terrible." "It's n o t hot." " M a y b e late tonight it w o n ' t be." "Jenny, I can't s p e n d t h e n i g h t , so quit this." " Q u i t what? I d o n ' t u n d e r s t a n d you." "You can't blackmail m e . I've got to go home." "Of course you do." Jenny walked to her dresser a n d splashed on s o m e cologne. "You said you loved cologne. So do 1.1 always feel so m u c h cooler w h e n I'm wearing cologne." "Jenny, I've got to go h o m e . " She blew h i m a kiss. "Bye-bye," she said. Charley stared at her, saying n o t h i n g . Jenny u n h o o k e d h e r b r a . Charley s h o o k his head. Slowly, Jenny slipped t h e straps off h e r a r m s , m a n a g i n g to h o l d the b o d y of t h e b r a in place, first w i t h o n e h a n d , t h e n t h e other. T h e n , even m o r e slowly, she began to raise t h e white half slip, an i n c h at a t i m e , until it barely covered her breasts. T h e n she removed h e r b r a , carefully, conc e n t r a t i n g on the action. D o n e , she held it o u t full length, flipped it a r o u n d a finger, let it fall. A m o m e n t later she was n a k e d , except for the white high-heeled shoes a n d t h e white half slip clinging to t h e tops of her breasts. Charley s h o o k his h e a d a n d said, "I'll stay." "Call her." " C o m e here." "Call her." "Later."

448 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "Now." He stood, started walking t o w a r d her. "You don't trust me." H a n d s on hips, she awaited h i m . " T h a t ' s right." He t o u c h e d her. But only for a m o m e n t . "Call her." Charley d r o p p e d his a r m s to his sides. " T h a t ' s better," Jenny said. Charley t u r n e d , w e n t b a c k to t h e bed, sat, reached for t h e p h o n e . " D o n ' t y o u t h i n k you m i g h t w a n t t o wait i n the k i t c h e n ? " "No." "If I asked you t o ? " Jenny snuggled u p beside h i m . C h a r l e y s h o o k his head, picked up t h e p h o n e . After h e ' d s p o k e n to t h e o p e r a t o r he said, "Be quiet now. I m e a n it." " N o t a peep," Jenny whispered. " H e m e a n s it." As s o o n as he h e a r d Betty Jane's voice, Charley closed his eyes a n d said, " T h i s is Alfred A. Knopf." "Hello there, old Alfred A.," Betty Jane replied. Jenny began to take off Charley's tie. C h a r l e y looked at her, tried p u s h i n g h e r h a n d s away. " S o r r y I'm so late calling." " T h a t ' s all right," Betty Jane said. Jenny got the tie u n d o n e . " W h e n are you getting h o m e ? " Betty Jane said. " T h a t ' s w h a t I'm calling a b o u t . I've got to stay in t o w n t o n i g h t . But I'll be h o m e t o m o r r o w . Early." Jenny h a d his shirt half u n b u t t o n e d . " I ' d like to talk to you," Betty Jane said. C h a r l e y pulled at Jenny's fingers. Jenny slapped his h a n d s , p u t a finger to his lips. "Shhh," she whispered. " H o n e y , I'm in a pay p h o n e . " " I d i d n ' t m e a n o n t h e p h o n e , Charley." Jenny pulled his shirt o u t from his trousers, slipped it d o w n his a r m s . Charley closed his eyes again. "Great. We'll talk t o m o r r o w . " Jenny r a n t h e tips of h e r fingers across his chest. Charley sat very still, eyes s h u t tight. "Tomorrow," he said again. "I was sort of h o p i n g — " "I can't m a k e it h o m e tonight." "I guess it doesn't really m a t t e r . We haven't talked in a while, Charley." Jenny fought with his belt, got it o p e n , quietly u n z i p p e d his trousers.

BOYS & GIRLS TOGETHER • 449 "Charley?" "What?" " W h y can't you make it h o m e ? " Jenny knelt beside t h e b e d a n d tried u n t y i n g his shoes. " I ' m sorry, didn't I tell you? Rudy. Miller. God, I'm sorry. But I'm going d o w n to see Rudy tonight. You k n o w h o w late those sessions go." Jenny m u t t e r e d "darn" as she pulled o n e of the laces i n t o a knot. S t a n d i n g , she p u t her h a n d s on his trouser tops. " D i d you k n o w you were going to see Rudy t o n i g h t ? " "I never k n o w w h e n I'm going to see h i m . He just a p p e a r s s o m e t i m e s ; y o u k n o w that. He did today." " H o w is Rudy?" " H e looks to be in excellent health." Jenny tugged at his p a n t s a n d drawers, pulling t h e m d o w n his legs, snarling t h e m m o m e n t a r i l y a r o u n d his shoes. "Ask h i m why he hasn't r u n off with m e . Tell h i m I'm waiting." "I'll tell him." " W h y can't you c o m e h o m e , Charley, after you see R u d y ? " "Because there's no way to get to Princeton once it's late unless you w a n t m e t o taxi. That's thirty-five dollars. D o you w a n t m e t o taxi?" " N o . I'll see you t o m o r r o w . Early, you said." "Early." Jenny tugged at the clothes, finally pulling t h e m a r o u n d his shoes a n d off. "Bye, honey," Charley said. " D o n ' t you w a n t t o ask a b o u t R o b b y ? " "Of course I do. G o d . H o w ' s R o b b y ? " " F i n e . Goodbye, Charley." Jenny t o o k the p h o n e from Charley a n d d r o p p e d it in its cradle. She sat in his lap a n d kissed h i m . "Hey," she said. "It's m e . O p e n y o u r eyes." She reached out, t o o k his h a n d , c u p p e d it a r o u n d her breast. T h e h a n d d r o p p e d away. "Clumsy," Jenny said. "Get u p . Please." "You're mad." " N o , I'm not." "Yes, you are. D o n ' t be." " W h a t t h e hell were you t r y i n g to d o ? " "I d o n ' t know." " D o you want her t o f i n d o u t ? "

450 • WILLIAM GOLDMAN "No." " W h e r e are you going?" "To t u r n off t h e light." "Leave it on." "You're still mad." "Yes." "You d o n ' t w a n t me." "I d o n ' t know." (IT

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I w a n t you. "You shouldn't have d o n e that." "I only w a n t e d to excite you." "I was excited." "Aren't you a n y m o r e ? " "No." "You're a liar." "Yes." "Charley—" " S h u t u p . Take off that thing." " T h e slip?" "Take it off." "It's off." "Yes. I can see." "You k n o w what's silly?" " W h a t ' s silly?" "We've b o t h still got o u r shoes on." "Yes. T h a t is silly. Turn off t h e light." "Done." T h e y r a n toward each o t h e r in t h e darkness. Charley woke, g r o p e d for t h e tim