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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 ? "

92

WILLIAM GOLDMAN

"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