Archives for August 2026

Warren Lashly saw ten more classroom faces than he expected, he dropped twenty-five copies of his syllabus on the front desk and drawled, “There are two kinds of people in this world: poets and shit-heads. I am a poet, and you are shit-heads.” Then he left.
Ron Tuck sat among the dumbfounded group. He was sure that something would happen next, but people just began approaching the desk and taking copies of the syllabus. He got up, took his, and was out the door.
Idling in his ’59 Catalina cruiser at a corner street light on the avenue with the radio blasting The Beachboys “Fun, Fun, Fun,” the car suffered a series of frame-shaking convulsions. Metal to metal grinding hurt his ears, and he brought his arms up over his face. When he opened the hood, a ruptured hose sprang out and danced like a performing snake, dancing in clouds of steam and smoke. Ron tried to settle and think. Maybe it would just start up once more, and he could get it across the street. He turned the key, but there was only a weak, weird moan from the Catalina.
He strained against it from the open door and tried to get his feet going, but there wasn’t even a hint of give. He pushed harder, determined that he could move the car. It was then that he noticed the gearshift snugly in park. “Ahh!” exploded from him and he collapsed onto the front seat, staring down at a pile of trash collected by the corner of the mat. There was a matchbook cover, a penny, and some sand. If he could shrink down and crawl into this pile, he could stay there until this all went away.
He looked up. The light was green. He snarled, “This really sucks!” and wanted to bang his fists into something. Instead he popped out of the car, flipped the gearshift into neutral and waited for the light. A steady trickle of oil and water was dripping from the Catalina. “Cocksucker!” he hissed. The light changed, and he drove into the frame like he was trying to move a seven-man football sled. He could hear the coach’s voice screaming, “Drive! Drive! Move those feet! Short choppy steps! Drive, babies, drive!”
The car arced into the center of the street. Horns complained. It was starting to slip back. He threw it into park and collapsed again. Horns blew louder. He ignored them. He needed to breathe. Then a suit with black-rimmed glasses appeared outside his door and said, “Let’s try it again.” He popped up like the team was going to run a fresh play. The Catalina rolled across the yellow line and started for the other side. He was gonna make it! It coasted to the fringes of the station blacktop. Ron yelled a “thanks” back to his Samaritan, who didn’t turn around.
Ron entered the garage and stood by a raised hood. “I got my car here,” he said triumphantly.
A black apron came out from under the hood and stopped when it saw the cruiser, dripping oil and water. The apron-wearing man moved towards the car and looked at it with a shit smell expression. He turned to Ron. “You got big problems,” he said smiling.
“Can’t ya’ fix it before you close up?”
The owner laughed. “You probably need a new engine, kid, which nobody is gonna drop into this pile of shit.” He started to walk away but turned back on his next thought. “I got no place for that wreck here.”
Eventually, Ron made arrangements to have it towed to the junkyard. Seeing decent tires and battery, the owner took the carcass off the kid’s hands for what it would cost to get it to the yard. Ron could come back later that evening and get his stuff. The walk home wasn’t long. Ron started in a dazed condition. The man had been right. He had big problems. How was he supposed to get to school on Monday? How was he supposed to go anywhere that night?
Instant immobilization. First he would have to borrow their car to get back up to the station, and then he would have to beg. He tried to phrase the way that he would explain himself, but just that morning his mother said that she was ready to scream because she needed $400 worth of dental work done and had no idea where she was going to get the money
Slamming his way from the bathroom to the kitchen and back into his room, he shouted out the story of what had happened. His mother screamed at him to stop yelling and knocking things around like he was a crazy person.
“Don’t you understand? I now have no way to get anywhere.”
“Well,” she said, “you’ll just have to get another car.”
“With what?”
Marjorie Bombasco seemed surprised by the question at first, but then a resolute expression spread across her face. “I don’t know, but I don’t think that I can help you.”
Ron slammed back into his room.
“I’m not going to walk around with rotten teeth so that you can have a car.”
“Do you think George has any money?”
The resolute expression dissolved to mock disbelief. “George! You don’t even talk to him and now you want to ask him to buy you a car!”
“I don’t know,” he said, his shoulders slumping.
It was a macaroni night. They had pasta three times a week. Sometimes it wasn’t bad, but when the weather was warm, the idea turned his stomach. It left him feeling bloated and burping, and it always would end up stuck to him someplace. He’d get coated with the stuff and find it on him hours later. He wasn’t Italian; and he hadn’t ever been Italian. This, however, wasn’t the best night to complain. He’d eat what they were having and keep his mouth shut.
Steam whooshed back into Marjorie’s face as she poured the boiled pasta into the colander. She grunted. The steam continued up the wall and outlined an old water stain. She was sweating when she looked at her son. “Do you think you could do something to help me?”
“What?”
“You could set the table and put out three glasses, three knives and forks, and three macaroni dishes.”
He wanted to scream but didn’t. He set the table as George Bombasco came home from work and grunted hello. He looked at his wife. “How do you feel?”
“Well,” she said, striking a pose, “At the moment, the sweat’s pouring off me; and from the way he’s acting, I don’t know if I’m going to be allowed to eat this friggin’ dinner or whether I’ll end up puking it all over the floor.”
George moved toward the bathroom without answering. “What’s the matter?” he asked as he closed the door and turned on the water.
At dinner, Ron tried to repeat the story of what had happened to him. His mother moaned, “Why do I have to listen to this shit over dinner? My ulcer is now good and frigged up, and I can’t eat anything, but neither of you give a damn. Ron and George ate in silence, as she stared angrily at her plate. Finally, she picked it up and carried it to the sink. She came back with her cigarettes in her hand. “Well,” she said, “what are you gonna do?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron.
“Do you think we can afford to help him, George?”
George froze with the fork about 2 inches from his mouth. “We haven’t got it.” he said and continued eating.
“Maybe I’ll ask my father if he can loan me the money,” said Ron.
Marjorie nodded. “Yeah, why don’t you ask your father for a change?”
Ron addressed himself to George. “Can I borrow your car to get my things out of the Catalina?”
George froze again. “I might have to go out for a little while.”
“I’ll only need it for about 20 minutes.”
Silence.
“Can I use it or not?”
“You know,” began his stepfather, “I’ve been asking you for two weeks to get the cover on the swimming pool.” Ron felt helpless. “I’ve asked you in a nice way and you treat me like shit. You make believe that you don’t hear me, and then you ignore me. But when you want something, you ask for it like you deserve to get it.”
Ron pushed back from the table and got up. He went to the telephone and began to dial.
“Why can’t we ever discuss anything like normal people?” said Marjorie. “Why do we treat each other like we’re animals?”
The phone was ringing. His father’s voice sounded happy and strong. “Hi Dad! Are you going to be around tonight? You are? Yeah… OK, then I’ll see you later”
Ron came back to the table. “When you’re sure about whether or not you’re going to need your car, can you let me know? I want to go over my father’s house and see if he can give me the money to get some transportation.”
“Why can’t he come over here?” said Marjorie.
“I already told him that I’d go over there.”
“Well, call him back!”
“No. I’ll walk over there and maybe I’ll have to wait to get my belongings out of my car, and maybe they’ll get stolen or that’s just the breaks I guess, huh?”
George finished eating. He threw down his fork. “Take the car,” he said. “I’m just a piece of shit around here anyway, so take the car.” He lit a cigarette and threw down his lighter. He picked up his newspaper and headed toward the living room.
“Nice meal,” she said.
Chapter 2

It began to get cool around 11 o’clock that evening. Ron and Hank were riding the loop in Hank’s VW. “Hank, I want to get so fucked up tonight that I don’t know anything.”
“After a while you just don’t get any higher,” said Hank.
“That’s not true, man. We just haven’t smoked enough dope yet.”
A Dylan song came on the radio. They both laughed when it came to the “Ah, Mama” part. Ron shook his head appreciatively. “Fuckin’ Dylan. He knows. He knows where the shit is, and he tells you how you’re gonna get hit with it. He knows that if you don’t keep your eyes open, there won’t be any difference between the shit and you.”
“Even Dylan’s full of crap,” said Hank.
“Nah, but he sure is telling us that we are. The trouble is that knowing he’s right doesn’t help.”
“The Beatles help,” said Hank. They both laughed.
“That’s my point,” said Ron. “They say that if you stay fucked-up enough of the time, you won’t notice that it’s shit, and therefore, it won’t really be shit for you.”
“Yeah, but when you’re that fucked up, everybody dumps on you anyway.”
“Do you think Mick knows it’s all shit, man?”
“Mick is one of the big shot dumpers,” said Hank sliding into his Reginald Van Gleason voice.
“He just dumps with style though, you know? But sometimes,” Ron went on, “I think he’s really cool and sometimes I think I’m a jerk-off for thinking he’s really cool.” They didn’t talk for what seemed like a long time. Then Ron said, “Let’s light the last joint.”
“I don’t think I want to smoke anymore,” said Hank.
“Come on, man! I spend half the day with a piston shoved up my ass and the other half begging somebody to take it out.”
Hank lit the joint.
“Let’s ride down past my old man’s house, you know. I just walked over there and explained things to him and he said that it would be okay. Said that he’d see what he could do about getting me some transportation. He can’t get me much more than transportation, but what else do you need?”

Chapter 3

When Ron woke up on Saturday morning, his first impulse took him toward the front door. He picked up the paper and took it to the bathroom. He began to read through the classified ads, but most of what he saw was beyond the range of transportation. There was an ad for a ’58 Ford station wagon that planted a disgusted look on his face. He could hear the thing rattling down the street the way all old station wagons did. He hated station wagons. There was an ad for a ’66 Chevy Malibu with a vinyl top and a stereo tape player. It was definitely not transportation, but he smiled as the ad drew its picture. There was nothing in the paper.
Later that morning, the first real word of a prospect came through one of his stepfather’s friends. It was an Oldsmobile that had suffered a rear end collision. “The car’s been well kept,” said George. “Jerry always knew how to take care of a car.”
Marjorie nodded her head. “It’s a nice car, or at least it was anyway.”
“It runs fine,” George hollered. “It’s got a dent in the trunk, that’s all! Jerry had that car in the shop every other week.”
“Something was wrong with it every week!” said Ron.
George came to the end of his patience immediately. He was fully committed to defending his friend’s product. The discussion was going to descend to the stage that called for raw mimicking and the slamming of objects. The stepfather galloped to the refrigerator. When he was angry, he didn’t walk. It was a hurried, shuffling double time that increased in pace with the level of his agitation. He was a rather large man who weighed well over two hundred pounds. He had come to think of himself as a quiet person who had cultivated a distaste for verbal communication. When he was forced to talk, it was with a resentment that clenched his teeth and distorted his face. George lit a cigarette and walked away saying, “Do what you want.”
There was something about the thought of a car that had been kicked in the ass which Ron found both impossible to live with and fitting. It was like taking out an advertisement for ridicule. Anyway, there would be a two-week delay until that car was ready. At least it would buy him time until something better came along.
“I gotta have faith in something,” Ron told his Aunt Dottie. “Sometimes I feel that there really is something that I’m supposed to be doing with my life.” He didn’t realize that it was a rather common thought to have, and so he took a secret delight in his destiny fantasies.
Aunt Dottie lived upstairs. She was a gutsy old woman who had survived husbands and a rags-to-riches-to-rags life, which had seen her laced with diamonds, minks, yachts, and rum & coke. She had survived heart attacks, cobalt treatments and the removal of several inches of intestines while continuing to puff her Chesterfields every day. She and her nephew exchanged a look that ended in a shared smile. He had been her favorite since his mother had named him after the son Dottie had not been able to keep alive.
“You shouldn’t drive junk,” she told him. “People will always judge you based on what it is they think they see. If you show them junk, they’ll treat you like garbage.”
“I don’t care what they think,” he told her.
“I was the same way and it made my life a hell of a lot harder. It’s stupid to be a target for what people don’t like about the world.”
“Suppose I don’t let them get me?”
She squinted through her glasses at him. “Driving a car like that, who’s going to believe that you can’t be gotten?”
Silver gray hair added to the look of transparency in her skin. He reached over and patted the top of her hand. After a moment she drew her arm away. He stood up and, as was his custom, took a tour of her rooms. Everything spelled elegance and fragility. The living room sofa cushions were fluffed as plump as ripe vegetables,. The gloss of polish gave everything in the room the feel of a photograph. When he was a little boy, he felt like a moving smudge in her rooms. Now, as always, her drapes were closed. He patted the arm of a Queen Anne chair that was done in silk thread paisley.
He walked back out through the rooms. “I’m gonna try to make Jerry’s car work, but if it doesn’t maybe you could help me get something else.” She smiled at his con man tactics. She liked it that he was always a few moves ahead, even if he didn’t know it. She wore her donations to him like they were badges of honor. She nodded her head. “What did it feel like to have money, Aunt Dot?”
“Didn’t feel any different except it made me think who I was more than I had a right to.”
Her parakeet flew down and landed on her shoulder and she lifted him up close to her lips. “What do you want, Sonny?”
She was late into her sixties, and the skin she had spent the better part of her life tanning and creaming had developed into a leather tapestry of veins and patterns. “Go see Ronald,” she said with an upward motion of her hand. Instead the bird flew back to its continually opened cage.
This was Sonny the 5th. His unknown and coincidental namesakes shared his coloring and had always lived in the same unconfined circumstances. Sonny was her student, her whipping boy (when there wasn’t a husband available), her pet, and her confidant. All five Sonnys had been taught the same tricks and language. They could say: “Pretty, pretty boy; you god-damned fool; son of a bitch; where’s Margie; take another drink; you dirty bird.” This last phrase was one that each bird learned without her patient repetition. It became sort of paradoxical irony that evolved from her reactions to their bowel movements, something that she had tried over and over again to teach them to control. She would find their droppings and automatically accuse them of being “dirty birds”. They, of course, learned to repeat the phrase back to her, particularly right after they’d accomplished the expulsion. They would continue to repeat the phrase until she threatened to put them in the cage and cover it up. Then they would fall quiet.
Aunt Dottie got out of her chair and walked into her bedroom. She stood only a fraction over five feet and had spent 85 percent of her life weighing less than 100 pounds. She did develop a little paunch in her fifties, but the illnesses, especially the cancer, slimmed her right back down. She walked with an easy motion, an overall suppleness that she seemed to maintain through the sheer force of her will. She came back out of the room holding a $20 bill. She waved it at Ron.
“You take this in case you need to take a cab somewhere.”
He slumped back in his chair and looked embarrassed. He looked up just at the moment that the bird sprang into the air and landed on his head. Ron didn’t like the thought of the bird sitting up there. He had seen his uncle toddling through the house with more than one load of bird shit nestled in his hair. The bird hopped on his fingers and he waved him back toward the cage. “I don’t think I need it,” he told her.
“Take it anyway.” She placed it in front of him. “Show somebody a good time with it. Waste it! I don’t care what you do with it.”
Ron looked at her face and saw that she was serious. They exchanged a look of camaraderie that neither of them had ever felt with anybody else in the world.

Chapter 4

On Saturday afternoon, Ron began to think about why he didn’t have a girlfriend to call. The thought depressed him and made him pace. His mind pounded his hand into his fist, and he began to breathe a little more heavily. He lit a cigarette, walked out to the Avenue and stuck out his thumb. Twenty bucks, it was gambling money for sure. She had just as much as told him to take his best shot with it.
Welmont Lanes was a 36-alley house that contained a pool hall, a luncheonette, a bar, and a long, waxed hall that connected everything. Ron had been a hanger here ever since his family had gotten out of Newark. It was a place that always held the promise of action. A small fortune could be won on any day that a person was skilled or lucky enough to take it. He would have liked to picture himself as a shrewd player on the tables and a dark horse on the lanes, but Ron had lost as many times as he’d won and a lot of his winnings had come on side bets. Playing with $20 for a bank was short money and that made him an automatic long-shot anywhere.
The smell and feel of air-conditioned lacquer permeated the place, and it took a moment for him to adjust to the cool, acrid feel. Up the hall past the poolroom and luncheonette, Ron saw a familiar group of shadows. There were only two pairs going, a small group of men that had gathered on 13 and 14 and a trio of teenage girls on lane 22.
Butchie Alletta and TJ were playing Quimpy and Zeke. Ron hoped there was some sucker silly enough to think that Butchie and TJ had a chance. There were seven or eight guys watching the match. The score was being projected onto the overhead viewer that was customary with a money match. The management gave the regulars certain privileges: unlimited practice balls, the privacy of having the adjoining pairs empty and a place to cash your payroll check. But these privileges could be revoked from certain individuals who caused trouble, and sometimes from the majority of the group, when one of the owners got a hair up his ass. Ron didn’t spend enough money to rate these privileges, and he was always hanging out with the troublemakers.
The deskman gave customers such as Ron a tolerated nod when he acknowledged them at all. To those troublemakers that did spend enough money, there was a begrudged “hello” and reluctant privileges that always had to be checked with the boss before they were rendered.
Quimpy was a teacher who had been simultaneously touched by the revolutionary bugs of the ’60s and the much older lure of a gambler’s call. He was a short, chubby guy with a high forehead and a big brain. He’d been bowling for money since high school and had used the game to put himself through college. Sporting long, springy, black hair that wrapped itself around into a full beard, he wore a Screw magazine T-shirt that advocated “PRICK POWER”. Quimpy had ordered the shirt especially for the alleys, where it was not only sure to state a significant and obvious truth but would also cause the greatest amount of disruption. He grinned broadly when he saw anyone reading his chest. He would simply point to it if anyone tried to hit him up for a stake. Quimpy shouted a “What’s happenin’ man?” when Ron arrived at the scorer’s table.
Ron sat down and picked up a wax pencil. Butchie was shaking his head as he carried his ball back to confront Quimpy. “I’m not sure that I want him keepin’ score. I got enough to think about without havin’ to consider any tamperin’ with the numbers.”
Butchie was a construction worker who threw the biggest hook in the house, but his control and smarts were minimal. Convinced that he was meant to be screwed by life, he took pleasure relating accounts of his ordeals. He didn’t really dislike Ron, but he sure didn’t trust Quimpy. “Ah what the fuck. You can keep score but make sure those pins don’t go through any numerical changes from the time your eyes see them until they get where I can count ’em.”
Ron didn’t answer. He slid forward in his chair and began to write. He could feel Butchie watching him, and then he heard some mumbling that included his name and was followed by gravelly laughter. Ron quietly snapped the pencil between his fingers and stared straight ahead.
Quimpy mounted the approach, inserted two fingers of his right hand into the ball and brought it to a spot off to the side and just below his waist, where he hooked in his thumb. He swayed for a few seconds of suspended concentration, shuffled forward and eased the ball out onto the lane. It took hold smoothly and began to churn toward the headpin like a curve ball, picking up revolutions as it went. It hit the pins with the hollow hammer sound of the head pin being struck straight on. The pins collapsed in a less than picture perfect hit. Quimpy lifted his hands over his head, and Butchie exploded. “This guy’s got the biggest ass in the house. Man, you need a bus to transport your cakes around.”
Quimpy always said that Butchie believed in luck because he was stupid. He didn’t say it then though. He wasn’t going to insult his paycheck while he was in the process of collecting.
When Butchie’s partner TJ approached the foul line with his compact three-step delivery and effortless swing, he buried the ball in the pocket and left a ringing four-pin. His body jerked back in a spasm of disapproval.
“That’s right,” Butchie screamed. “We put the ball right in the hole and get screwed. These guys throw it in the fuckin’ gutter and everything goes down like magic.” He started down the lane after the pins. “What have you cocksuckers got against me? Why do you always stick it right up my ass?” Then he noticed the three girls watching him and grinned. He raised his voice even higher. “I could be home crawlin’ in my old lady’s hole,” he stopped and turned directly to the girls,” or maybe somebody else’s hole.” He turned back to the scorer’ s table and jerked his thumb at the bewildered girls, “To tell the truth, all them holes look the same.”
Quimpy said, “Come on man, let’s play.”
“Why should I bother to play? Why don’t I just give you the money and avoid the exertion. I couldn’t look like any more of a jerk-off than I do now.”
Ron figured the match had gone too far to even consider looking for a bet; but, almost on cue, the backdoor opened and all the regulars’ heads turned instinctively towards it.
“Ain’t this nice,” said Quimpy. Butchie whistled a satisfied signal of approval as six men carrying leather bowling ball bags walked into the place in a tight group. It was the regulars from the Paladrom. The only reason they were here was big action. Everybody could suddenly feel that it wasn’t going to be a boring afternoon after all.
The deskman squeezed the counter and looked like he wanted to sound some kind of alarm. There probably wasn’t going to be any trouble, but he hated having strange niggers around when he was on duty.
A fat man wearing a tight silk shirt walked up to Quimpy with a toothy grin. “How’ya doin’ Quimpy?” he said with cool, clipped tones.
“Brewster! What’s happenin?” Quimpy got up to throw his ball.
“What brings you to this hole?” said Butchie, who was looking like a boy who was about to do something that he knew was wrong.
“Do some bowlin,” said Brewster.
The Paladrom formation had stayed pretty tight and was now withdrawing for a small conference. Brewster was talking to a light skinned, large man, who had stayed back in the group.
Brewster called over to Quimpy. “You want to play?”
“I’m playing this match right now.” Quimpy feigned a bit of disinterest.
“This ain’t a match, this is practice,” cooed Brewster.
Quimpy laughed, and Zeke got up to throw his ball. Negotiations for the matches were ritualistic. Everybody knew that there would be a match and that Brewster and Quimpy would be somehow involved, but the partners and pairs and the bet all had to be decided. Zeke and Quimpy’s beating of TJ and Butchie was summarily decided to be over, not that Quimpy was quite ready to admit that into the negotiations as a leverage point.
“We’re just interested in doing a little sociable playing,” said Brewster, panning the faces and hitching up his pants with a series of tugs that might have once been used as signals.
“You come in here and tell me that you want to play. Now what do you want to do? I’m just as content to go back to the match I was playing.”
“Who you want to play with?” said Brewster. He removed a linen handkerchief and wiped the back of his neck. “You want with Butchie or Zeke?”
“I don’t need you to pick a partner for me, Bro!” said Quimpy. “Name your team and then I’ll tell you who I want to play with.”
There was a brief huddle. They withdrew at the drop-back signal of Brewster. Quimpy stared stiff-eyed into the group. He believed that if you paid attention to the subtle aspects of your opponents’ thinking, you could come up with an attack that wasn’t easily recognizable. No one was talking on the Welmont side of the circle, but the nucleus of this group was also alive and creating its orbiting interests.
Brewster led his group back to its bargaining position. “I’ll bowl with Joseph T. against you and who?”
Quimpy glanced at Zeke and together they surveyed the Welmont bowlers. The men all looked at one another, and Butchie said, “Just about anybody can play that match, Cakes.”
Ron looked around the circle and saw two real possibilities and decided he could bet on either one of them. What would be best was if he could put his money in as a piece of the main action. That was a safe bet, but you could get squeezed out. If the bet went up, so did your part of it. Nobody liked people who begged off because of high stakes.
Quimpy was carrying a thousand dollars in his pocket and he knew that Zeke had at least that much. The truth was that he had never really seen Zeke go broke. Zeke always had enough if he thought the match was right. Quimpy and Zeke had bet together for a long time and respected each other’s ability to not make bad bets. “I could bowl with my brother Nicky.”
“Where’s Nicky?” said Brewster in an alarmed sort of way. He looked around the room. He paid attention, too; and he hadn’t calculated Nicky. Brewster felt an uneasiness coming from Joseph T. He stepped forward and shook his head slowly “Nicky’s too strong.”
“Look,” said Quimpy with gesticulation and a voice that was slighter higher in pitch and a hair faster and louder than before, “You guys come over here and asked me to pick a partner so that we could play. That’s who I want to play with!”
There was a second retreat. One of the crew was dispatched a telephone and walked off at a hurried gait. Brewster came back to the group slowly and alone. “You want to play with Nicky against Brown and Joseph T.?”
“We can play that match,” said Quimpy. He exchanged a quick look with Zeke that shared the disappointment that it was Dennis Brown instead of Brewster. “I don’t see Dennis Brown.”
“Jackson went to call him over at the Paladrom.”
Quimby, Zeke and most of the Welmont crew went down to the luncheonette to talk to Nicky. TJ and the houseman stayed at the desk and spoke in mumbled tones. The Paladrom crew had some pairs turned on and began to practice. Maybe Joseph had been right to call Dennis Brown to play the match, but Brewster was feeling shown up in the process. He had been made to look like an asshole in front of these assholes. He needed to get well on one of these chumps and he knew exactly where he was going for it.
The luncheonette had a winding counter, several tables, booths, a cubicle sized kitchen and a grill. Quimpy and Zeke sat at the counter. Nicky walked over from the telephone and slid in between his brother and Ron. The rest of the crew spread themselves out along the counter. Butchie was at the far end, and Quimpy watched Brewster come into the luncheonette and slide into a seat next to him. Then he turned to Zeke and Nicky.
The blonde waitress smiled a delicious little grin that caught the eyes of each of the men individually. As she walked over, it appeared to Ron that she was sliding her hands up and down her thighs inside the pockets of her uniform. Ron stared at her open mouthed as she took orders. He thought that she looked like the greatest fuck in the world. He let his eyes roll over the sides of her hips and stare at her backside. She didn’t look at him once. She spoke to Quimpy first and then she waited while each of the men put in his request. She struck a slightly different pose each time one of them put his order in. She had thin, white blonde hair and a uniform that was as short as her round little apron. Her mouth was unbelievably long and smiled into ripples that made Ron want to leap over the counter. Then he realized that she was walking away and that he hadn’t had a chance to put his in yet.
An embarrassed splash dyed his face with a prickly sensation that caused him to want to hide his head in his arms. He’d wait until she came back and put his order in then.
“I’d love to have your box lunch,” said Butchie as she was bending over the coffee urn.
The bet was set at $125. It would probably move up to $200 by the third game. The Welmont crew decided they would rather play on a pair near the back of the house, the place they called “The Woods.” It was a philosophy that was meant to keep scores low, frustration levels high, and spare shooting important. “The Woods” weren’t as well maintained as the lower numbered pairs and they tended to be more idiosyncratic. It was all decided with a few short words, nods, and gestures.
As the procession started back up to the lanes, Ron asked Quimpy if he could have a $5 piece of the action. Quimpy asked him if he wanted $10. Ron put his head down, shrugged and mumbled, “No.”
For brothers, Quimpy and Nick didn’t really act alike. Nicky was filled with explosive emotions that would cause him to punch walls and kick ball racks. He gambled with a higher percentage of his stash than most people would have dared risking and threw himself completely into the situation. Quimpy often said that Nicky threw the best ball in the house. He also thought that his brother was crazy. Nicky carried on strange conversations. He spoke in and out the side of his mouth, telegraphic voice that was indecipherable to anybody who didn’t know him. It was not unlike a convict’s style. “You know Bro, this match is tough,” said Nicky.
“I figure that we pay attention and slaughter them,” Quimpy accented his comment with a decided bob of his head. Nicky held out a lightly closed fist. Quimpy bonked down on it, “Alright.” Zeke put his hands in his pockets and Ron smiled.
The Paladrom crew was practicing on lanes 5 and 6. They didn’t do anything for free and always looked at their change with an air of suspicion. It cost l5 cents more a game at Welmont than it did at the Paladrom, but they were ready, cool and a bit jubilant.
When Dennis Brown arrived, he advanced and extended a multi-braceleted arm in Quimpy’s direction. He wore a loosed fitting, silk shirt always open enough for people to see the thin gold necklaces that matched the bracelets.
“Quimpy, how are you doin?”
They both laughed and exchanged genuine smiles. “It’s good to see you Brown.”
Brown nodded to Zeke and Nicky and returned to his group. He brushed his hair back with his fingers and then ran them easily around the waistband. He headed for the bar. Quimpy looked at Joseph T. “Where do you want to play?
“I don’t know. Right here would be OK.”
Right there would have been OK with Nicky and him too, but Quimpy decided that he had nothing to lose by being disagreeable. He looked down the row of lanes and scrunched his face into an expression of unconcern. “What about 17 and 18?”
“That’s gotta be your favorite pair,” croaked Brewster who had left his conversation with Butchie when Dennis arrived.
“How about 35 and 36?” That was Quimpy’s sucker pair because they were the last 2 lanes in the house and the presence of the wall was a distraction that they wouldn’t be used to.
Joseph smiled and shook his head no.
“33 and 34?”
Joseph shook his head again.
“Come on for Chris-sakes,” said Quimpy. “OK, you pick a pair that you’d like.”
Joseph grinned again. “What about 15 and 16?”
They were a sewer pair, which meant they’d produce higher scores, but Quimpy felt that even though it wasn’t the plan, he and Nicky could out-bomb them. Nicky’s eyes gave an “ok” flash. Then everybody headed toward the pair.
Butchie sauntered up to Dennis who was just turning away from the bar with a scotch and soda in his hand. “I think you’re playing on 15 and 16. Good fuckin’ luck.”
Dennis Brown smiled but didn’t answer. He carried his drink over to the Paladrom group, went into his pocket and handed some money to Joseph T. There were two small huddles of men reaching into side and back pockets. Clumps of bills inside money clips that flashed in the light were counted and watched. The bowlers practiced for a solid five minutes. The deskman totaled the price of half of the used frames. Zeke slid in at the scorer’s table, and the bet was set at $100. Both groups settled into vantage points that spread over three pairs of lanes.
Brown mounted the approach, put his fingers to his lips and licked their tips. He blew on them and then tugged at his cock. He slid his fingers in and out of the ball’s three holes. With his grip set, he began shifting his feet. He went forward and then back a full step before he approached the line. The ball was lofted with slick precision that caused it to slide, grab and then churn its way to the pins. The hit exploded with a loud pop that lifted Dennis Brown off his feet and turned him around. He gave the Paladrom crew a quick grin.
Nicky brought his ball to his chest, set for a count of one and was ready to go. The economical approach ended with a steel trap arm motion that put the ball on the lane with no sound and propelled it like a shark on ice. There was a crack and the deck was clear of pins.
“Freight train.'” screamed Quimpy. He popped off the bench and bonked fists with Nicky.
Ron was still looking for a good place to sit. He found an empty chair next to TJ who had walked over just in time to make a $20 side bet with Brewster that wasn’t part of the regular bet. Ron knew about three other side bets that had been made, but he was happy that his $5 was part of the main action. “What do you think T? TJ gave Ron a wait and see gesture. He wasn’t as worried as he was suspicious.
When the back door opened, the tangle of Hank’s curls were immediately visible. He exchanged a cordial “Hello” with the deskman and drifted over to the match. He gave Quimpy a reassuring nod before he sat down next to Ron and TJ.
“What’s happenin’ Hanky?” said TJ in his gritty comical voice.
Hank wrinkled his face into a grimace and shrugged, “Same old shit, TJ.”
When the first game ended, Ron moved in to pick up his share of the winnings.
“l0,” said Quimpy. Ron hesitated. “Either bet $10 or take $10.
“Bet $l0,”said Ron.
He felt an itching pressure in his stomach as the second game started. He moved toward the luncheonette to get some coffee. Jo Lee smiled when she asked him what he wanted. He stared at her ass as she walked away and then saw the cook giving him a condescending grin. Ron looked down at the napkin holder and switched the positions of the salt and pepper. He touched the palm of Jo Lee’s hand when he paid her for the coffee. He started back quickly for the lanes and realized that the coffee was going to spill. His mouth opened in a silent oval of pain as it ran over his hand. When he clenched the fist that held the cup, he forced more of it out over his scalded hand. Finally, he shifted the cup to his other hand, stood still and shook his steamy paw. Then he wiped it to a dry stickiness on the side of his jeans. He stared up at the projected numbers and saw that he was losing.
Joseph T. and Dennis Brown had started the game by throwing three strikes each. Nick and Quimpy were down by 30 pins. He cursed, lit a cigarette and crossed in back of the crowd to rejoin Hank and TJ.
“Nicky’s head is getting fucked up,” said Hank out the side of his mouth. TJ had adopted a set back, hands folded posture that wasn’t saying anything. Ron was looking for more of an explanation from Hank.
“Why?” he said.
It had been five and a half years since TJ had worked in the poolroom. He shot a pretty good game of 9 ball, but he was mostly there to take bets on horses. Every once in a while, with the help of a friend at the track, TJ would send in a bet that he was sure couldn’t lose. TJ had pulled it off three times in four years. But it had been five and a half years since he walked up to the owners and told them what they could do with their job. He told them that he would never work another day in his life. The story was that he’d landed a rich woman who wanted to marry him. He was gone for four years. He had resurfaced the winter before last and started hangin again as if nothing had happened. Within a week, he felt and Welmont felt as if he had never left. His vacation wasn’t even mentioned now. “They got me on the 3rd shift, Hanky.”
“How do ya like it TJ?”
“It’s quiet and peaceful,” he said, folding his hands and twirling his thumbs. He’d gotten a room in the center of town and a job at the Ford plant.
Ron wondered if anything could ever change at Welmont. It was as if they were part of an urban Brigadoon put together by someone who had a sick sense of humor. TJ thought that he had it by the balls, but now he was back there like everybody else.
In the eighth frame of the game, Quimpy and Nick pulled even. Ron’s blood was pounding and even TJ had let out with a short, encouraging, “Come on,” when Nicky’s ball had torn up the alley. The pins bounced off the sideboards like paper houses in the Godzilla movies.
“Oats!’ screamed Butchie.
Joseph T had a slight hesitation in his delivery but the ball was frightening. It moved with the sameness of a machine and hit the pins like a cannon. It was always like a miracle when anything stood up. It cleared the deck as effortlessly as a drill press. Brown followed by slicking in a quick strike. The pressure was on Quimpy now. After he came out of the ball, Nicky started yelling, “Fingers, fingers.” Quimpy raised his hand straight up in the air and the pins scattered. Now the pressure shifted to Nicky. Quimpy leaned forward and whispered something to his brother. Nicky nodded his head and lined up. His ball was buried and left a solid 4. Hank thought to himself that Nicky’s line was too tight, it left no room for error. But Joseph T. also left a single pin. The match was still even. Joseph made his spare before he had time to think about it.
Ron felt helpless; if Nicky and Quimpy lost, he would be out money and his next bet could be his last. His mind raced to the gloomy situation that left him with five bucks. Then he realized that he’d forgotten about his original six dollars. He breathed easier. At least he could have two more shots if they lost. Both Quimpy and Brown made their 9th frame strikes. Then Joseph’s ball belted the pins. Ron closed his eyes for a second and froze. When they opened, he saw a 10 pin. He couldn’t believe that it hadn’t gone down. Neither did Joseph, who stood on the approach like he was waiting for a mistake to be rectified. He came back to the wooden bench and grabbed hold of a towel as Nicky’s ball hit the pins like a Mack truck. A burst of noise came from the Welmont group. Nicky strode back swinging his arms from the elbows. He stuck his hand in front of the air blower. He threw the next strike and clasped his hands together like the seal of a private contract that he had lived up to. A second burst came out of the Welmont group like a background chant.
The teenagers from a few lanes away found that there was no one there to take their money at the desk. They left their sheets and walked out without being noticed by the houseman who also had a little something on the match. Dennis Brown danced his way through an easy double. He turned and grinned at Quimpy, who didn’t return his look. Quimpy had decided that he would see if Brown could double before he took his first shot. Now, he was just anxious to get up on the approach. He raised the ball up to his ear and slowly brought to the spot off to the side and below his waist. There was the suspended moment of concentration that preceded the shuffle to the foul line. The ball looked high on the head pin, but everything collapsed like the supports of a mineshaft cave-in.
“Goddamn!” said Brewster.
Quimpy’s second strike came off a light hit with the ball charging. Pins spun around the deck and flopped like wounded animals. Brown waited and Quimpy waited. Neither one had to look at the score to know the way that it broke down. Quimpy had him by a pin and couldn’t resist playing a little. “You want me to throw another one?” he asked innocently.
“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Brown. He mounted the approach and launched his ball out onto the alley. It was a picture strike that caused the Paladrom crew to erupt. “Mr. Brown!” they shouted. The houseman got nervous and retreated back to his desk. He found the unpaid sheets and pairs of bowling shoes. “Damn niggers!” he said to himself.
Quimpy was out on the approach. He would try to repeat everything with the same stroke that he’d shown before. He would swing the ball out passed the 12th board and let it come home with everything that it needed. He felt the ball drop below his waist and checked the alignment of his feet. He was ready to push off. His arm and fingers felt just right when he let the ball go. It was right where he wanted it. He leaned out over the line and waited. When it hit, the pins splattered and for a second he saw an 8-10 split, but then it kicked out like somebody had pulled a string and the deck was empty. There were grumblings and acclamations.
“How could anybody bet against those cakes,” said Butchie. Then money was exchanged. Ron collected his $10 with a smile that stayed on his face until he’d folded the bill into his pocket and patted it. TJ got up to get a drink, and Quimpy came back for a word with Hank.
“What do ya think, coach?”
“You got ’em,” said Hank, spitting out a piece of minute, bitten nail.
Joseph T. and Brewster approached the scorer’s table together. “We want to raise the bet,” said Brewster. Nick and Quimpy stared back at them. “Let’s play for $200.”
Quimpy turned around and looked at Zeke, who wasn’t reaching for his pocket. If Zeke had thought it was a good idea, that’s what he would have been doing.
“What’s the matter Quimpyman?’ said Brewster, “You lose a little heart when you see real stakes?”
“Man, this ain’t your match! What business you got doing the talking?” Quimpy calculated that the outburst would throw things off for long enough to give him a chance to think it over, but Nicky whirled on Brewster.
“Bet two hundred more! We’ll see who’s got heart.”
Brewster lit up like neon. “Your little brother got more heart than you’ll ever have, Quimpyman.”
Quimpy felt embarrassed and wanted to smack Nicky on the side of the head and ask him what the fuck he was thinking about. He glared at Nicky who seemed to stare back at him without any sense of doubt.
Nicky and Quimpy lost the game. Quimpy exploded at Nicky halfway through for not paying attention and causing himself to miss a one pin spare. In the 6th frame, Nicky left the same spare again and kicked the ball rack hard enough to knock two of the other players’ balls onto the approach. Then he smacked the scorer’s table and dumped two containers of coffee. He limped over to the wooden bench and stared intently and with menace at the far wall. Butchie came over and growled, “Ya better take it easy.”
Nicky pushed Butchie’s hand away and said, “Why I got to take it easy? Who are you to say that I should take it easy?”
Butchie raised his hands and said, “You don’t need to get your bowels into an uproar is all I’m saying.”
Nicky pointed a serious finger at Butchie. “I don’t need you to tell me that either.” He mounted the approach and flung the ball down the lane. It seemed to miss the spare on the short hop. He kicked the table again and more coffee spilled. This time it went on Quimpy and Zeke.
“What’s the matter with you? ” hollered Quimpy. He turned for the houseman and asked if he could get something to clean it up.
“It’s your mess, you clean it up.” said the houseman.
After being beaten for six lines of games, he was damned if he was gonna go clean.
Butchie and Ron came out of the toilet with a mess of paper towels, the Paladrom crew proceeded to run through the rest of the game. Ron’s heart sank. Now he was only up five bucks and if they lost again, he would be down money. Again his mind raced to a tapped out image of himself with nothing to do.
“Let’s raise the bet again,” said Quimpy. “Let’s play for $250. Quimpy walked back to TJ, Hank and Ron. First he looked at Ron. “You want any more of the bet?”
“I’ll stay with ten.”
“How much is open?” said TJ. Quimpy went over and whispered in his ear and they both nodded. Quimpy and Nick won the next 2 games. The Paladrom crew wanted to double the bet for another game. People began coming in from the night crew. The afternoon had become evening without much change in atmosphere. This game was for $500.
“They shot their wads,” said Butchie.
Everybody, including Ron, doubled his bet. Even if he lost this game, he would be up money. TJ wiped an imaginary line of sweat from his forehead and looked at Hank. “I can feel them marching trombones comin’ up on me now.” Then he flinched and pretended to duck something that was gaining on him. Hank laughed and Ron wondered what TJ was talking about. Quimpy and Nick won their bet “going away” as Quimpy put it.
Quimpy agreed to take a trip over to the Paladrom at some point in the near future, which wasn’t going to happen as long as he had their money. He turned to Nicky and said, “When they have my money, that’s when we’ll go over there.” Nicky smiled and they bonked fists. Zeke called up his five-year fiancée and made plans for a late dinner.
As Quimpy was changing his shoes, a young, fat kid named Randy came over and asked about a letter of recommendation for his probation officer. Quimpy laughed and asked Randy where he’d been all day. Randy grabbed one arm and rocked back and forth with his eyes closed. “I been in my crib, all fucked up. I love to get fucked up and lay around my crib all day.” Quimpy shook his head and said that he would have the letter when he came back next Saturday. He told Hank and Ron that he would be around his house later that night, if they wanted to take a ride out there. Hank gave Ron a ride home and then returned to Welmont to read the book on partial differential equations that he’d been thinking about all day.
The Paladrom crew disappeared. Well, actually Dennis Brown went back to his alleys to practice and drink scotch and soda. He called his girlfriend Georgina to come down for the time when he wouldn’t want to practice but would still want the alcohol. Brewster and Joseph T went to a bar called Caspers where they could sit in the dark, listen to music, and talk about the match. That night they were both drinking shots and beers.
On Saturday nights, TJ bowled in a league at a house up Route 46 that was named after two baseball players who lived in Jersey. Before he left he had time to go home, strip down to his underwear, eat some bologna and cheese with Italian bread and drink a bottle of beer.
The deskman thought bitterly about how his heart attack had caused him to have to retire from his civil service job. Now he was a nigger helper. He told his wife that if she didn’t leave him alone that he’d drop dead to spite her when she asked why he refused to share his problems with her.

Chapter 4

At 8 o’clock Jo Lee asked Hank if he would mind giving her a ride home. When he looked up, she could tell that he was startled.
Small rainbows of light jumped from his glasses as he said, “Sure. Yes. That would be no problem.”
She said, “goodnight,” to the cook who leered that slobbery way he had whenever she said anything to him. Hank closed a napkin on the place where he’d been reading and walked out with her past the night manager who wondered if Hanky was getting any and then decided that she was just using him as a flunky.
When they pulled up to her house she thanked him for being so nice and asked if he would like to come over to listen to records and talk some time. Hank said, “That would be really nice. Then she asked him if he wanted to come over on Monday night, adding that her husband would be out on the road with his truck and not expected back until at least Wednesday. Hank said that he thought he would be able to come over her house any time she wanted him there. She smiled and hunched her shoulders together. Then she got out of the car.
Hank’s parents were sitting in the kitchen when he got home. They had drunken little smiles on their faces that looked up at him and said “Hello.” Hank grimaced and went to his room. He’d just settled into an earphone blast of Eric Clapton when he noticed that his mother was standing in his doorway waving her arms. She looked like an overweight propeller. He grimaced and took off the phones. He recognized the silky voice, but he still couldn’t believe it was her. “My husband is leaving tonight at 11 o’clock instead. Do you want to come over then?”
He felt himself beginning to sweat. His heart fluttered but he recognized it as anxiety. He managed to mumble, “Yeah, sure. That would be no problem,” and then she was gone before he said anything else.
His mother had a worried look on her face. This must be bad, thought Hank. She’s actually going to talk to me about it.
“Who was that, Henry?”
“A girl.” Hank grimaced.
His father beamed and bulged his striped undershirt like he was waiting for someone to take his picture. Hank returned to his room. He was scared. He’d seen her husband the last time he gave her a ride home. Tony was short with a large, hard stomach. He carried a crazy “looking for trouble” expression plastered on his face all the time. Small groups of burns and scars were always visible on his hands and lower arms. Hank went to the bathroom where he sat and contemplated his insanity. This was perhaps the most ironic indignity foisted upon him yet. The world just wouldn’t let him alone. He felt his groin and thought about the few times a month that he allowed the sheets to get wet. Then he let go of an anger that caused a groan to accompany his grimace. He took a shower and the water felt splendid as it rivered from his hair down his back. At least it wasn’t gonna be the same old shit again tonight. He was drying his hair in his room when the telephone rang again. He heard his mother say, “just a minute,” in the sarcastic way that indicated it was Ron. Hank wrapped a towel around his waist and grimaced at his mother as he picked up the phone.
“What’s happenin’ man?”
“Not much,” said Hank.
“Let’s go out for a while?”
“Maybe for just a little while, in about twenty minutes,” said Hank. Ron didn’t say anything. Hank added. “I’ve got an appointment at eleven.”
Hank dressed, returned to the bathroom for some of the cologne his father had given him last Christmas as sort of a family joke and returned to the kitchen. Hank’s father draped an arm around him and sniffed the cologne. “Who are you gonna use it on?” he asked with a thick lilt.
“I don’t know,” said Hank, disengaging himself and looking his father up and down. “Why don’t you and Ma find somebody for me?”
It had been an impulsive remark. He noticed his mother’s face and saw her computer running. He ducked back towards his room and his father followed. “Do you need any money, Henry?”
“Sure,” said Hank in his best bowling alley fashion. His father left a twenty on the dresser. Hank stood in front of his reflection staring at his jaw line. He snuck himself a quick grin. Perhaps some things could work out after all.
He gained speed as he moved toward the kitchen. He was hoping for a quick exit. His mother and father had gotten out the bottle again. She sat quietly with her eyes focused on her drink. His father was grinning and had lit his cigar. “Come back whenever you feel like getting here, Hank.”
His father never called him Hank. His mother didn’t take her eyes off of her drink, though both her husband and son saw her wince at the remark.
Ron sat on the porch waiting with his Aunt Dottie and their dog Chipper. She was smoking, rocking back n’ forth in her chair and asking him where he was going with the feeling of satisfaction that she had helped make his going possible. Before Ron could answer he heard Ilsa, the next door neighbor, call, “How are you tonight, Mrs. Thomas?” as she made her way across the lawn.
“Christ,” said Dottie under her breath. “Can’t even come out without getting attacked.” She swatted away an imaginary bunch of insects.
“The bugs is bad this time of year Mrs. Thomas.” She made her way to the porch steps while Aunt Dottie stared at her like she was a Martian. She called her Ilsa because Ilsa called her Mrs. Thomas. Whenever Ilsa would switch and start calling her Dorothy, she would immediately start calling her Mrs. Rudolph.
“Did you know that you left the light on in Mr. Thomas’ room all night last night?”
“Did you see anything going on in there, Ilsa?”
“What do you mean, Mrs. Thomas?” Ilsa had shock in her voice.
“Just anything that you might want to report to me before you told anybody else.”
“I was just hoping that you had no trouble, Mrs. Thomas.”
“Mr. Thomas left for the hospital from that room two years ago and died. I doubt that there’ll be any more trouble there.”
Mrs. Rudolph turned to start back across the lawn to her property and Ron saw Hank’s VW turn the corner. He rubbed Chipper’s head and started down the stairs, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Aunt Dot,” he said.
Hank sat with his hands on the steering wheel. As Ron closed the door, he hit the gas and pulled the gearshift into second. He felt tight. Ron said, “So, what’s going on?”
Hank was unsure as to whether he’d be stupid enough to let Ron in on what was happening. People’s lives were at stake here. He brought his fingers up to the tip of his nose and squeezed. He grimaced, “I don’t know how to say it. Let’s just say that there’s somebody who I have to talk to at 11 o’clock.”
Ron said, “A chick?”
Hank said, “Yeah” and laughed with Ron. He saw himself as a subject of envy.
Ron said, “Where’d you meet her, man?”
“It’s a secret,” said Hank.
“What do you mean, a secret?”
“Well, she’s married.”
Ron was excited. “You’re gonna see a married woman, man! Fuck!” He rolled down the window and stuck his arm out like it was a rudder. “How’d it happen?”
Hank was quiet and then he said, “I didn’t do anything, it just happened.” He repeated the line a few seconds later. He felt comfortable making dramatic statements around Ron and this was more drama than he’d ever had before. Hank decided that he’d better tell somebody about where he was going in case something happened to him. Finally, it came out like a calculated blurt. “I’m going over Jo Lee’s house.”
Ron’s face grew with the news. “Jo Lee!” Hank grimaced when he heard Ron say her name. “You’re going to see Jo Lee! Holy shit, man!” Hank grimaced again. He knew that it had been a mistake. “She’s pretty old, isn’t she?”
Hank hadn’t thought much about her age. This was partially the result of his mind being still somewhat paralyzed from thinking about her husband. He created a picture of the brute in his mind. He put the crossbow that Jo Lee said he owned in the brute’s hands. Then the image readied an arrow in the bow and turned toward him. Hank clicked the picture away.
“Are you sure that you should go, man?”
Hank considered the question. It was always preferable not to do something that he might not like, he thought and glanced at the quizzical expression Ron was giving him. The image of the crossbow returned to him. It was still pointing in his direction. He could see the blood pulsing through the monster’s arms, swimming through the scars and veins with a swirling action the reflected agitation. Hank looked desperately for another place to focus his attention.
“Let’s stop and get something to eat,” said Ron. “I don’t really care where we go; but if it was up to me, I’d be heading for burgers.”
Hank peeled off toward the quickest route to the Dairy Queen and switched on the radio station. “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes” filtered into his ears and he saw Jo Lee’s long, dimpled smile. Hank sat back and let himself float on the song until he reached the Dairy Queen lot. They let the song play through and went inside.
Ron said, “Do you think you’ll get laid?” Hank’s mind created an image of him, hurriedly closing up his pants and running out the backdoor as a truck stopped in front of her house. They couldn’t have sex until they talked about how to sidestep her husband.
Ron was going to offer to shake Hank’s hand but decided that it would look too corney. In a Dylan voice, he mimicked, “Good luck.” and Hank dropped him off.
Turning off the radio, Hank tried to quiet himself. Everything would be all right if he just kept his sense of self- control. He drove past her house without slowing down and then circled back toward his target. On the floor that she occupied there was a single light burning. The shades were drawn and the curtains were closed in back of them. He parked his car around the corner and sat waiting for his breathing to become regular. It wouldn’t do to be waiting at her door panting. He’d brought three records and two joints along with him. If his father really knew anything, he would be proud of his son’s preparedness. He dug into his wallet until he found the condom. His face showed embarrassment and fear as he outlined the circular band with his finger. Fidgeting, he stared at his watch. It said 10:50 and Hank figured that he was cutting things a little too close.
When Jo Lee opened the door, Hank looked up and took a step backwards. There were no food stains on her clothes; no trace of anything that had gone on before. She looked radiant. Hank smiled as broadly as he could. He scolded his mind, saying that it was his sickness that pictured her in a uniform or a dirty bathrobe. He told himself that he was a real jerk. Her face and neck were covered with beautiful freckles that she hid under pancake when she went to work. They made her look healthier. Hank brought his hand up over his mouth to hide his smile, and Jo Lee giggled at the way he was staring at her.
“I wasn’t sure that you would come,” said Jo Lee giving Hank the longest and most beautiful smile that had ever been given to him. Her mouth seemed to open like a splendid flower.
He brought the records up from his side. “I wasn’t sure if you’d heard these or not.”
Jo Lee wasn’t wearing any shoes and it made Hank feel taller than her for the first time. She tilted her gaze so that she could see his neck and chin. Hank was looking at the floor. She took the albums out of his hand and sat down on the carpet with them.
The living room contained a two-piece couch and a one-piece record player. The rest of the wall space was occupied by a set of drums.
“Let’s hear this one,” she said, holding up the Crosby, Stills and Nash album. She stood up and gave him that tremendous look that was making him dizzy. She was wearing thin, white slacks and Hank was transfixed by the view afforded him when she bent over to put on the record.
Jo Lee sat back down on the spot where the album had been. They listened to the first strums of “Sweet Judy Blue Eyes”. She sucked her tongue for a moment and, while he was watching, snapped it back into her mouth with a distinct pop. She ran her fingers along the insides of her thighs.
“I think you’re a very interesting person,” she said. Hank felt as if she had reached over and taken him by the hands, even though she was caressing her slightly more parted thighs. He looked into her face, saw the lines crossing her forehead, and saw her as a tormented princess whose rescue from this cheap prison would become his undeniable goal in life.
“I know what you must think of me, but I don’t love my husband. He doesn’t ever satisfy me,” she paused, “or talk to me and I’m afraid when he gets drunk, ya know?”
Hank could sense her distress. His mind raced to the contemplation of her rescue. They were fleeing from this house, and she was carrying a hastily packed suitcase. He blocked a shot from the beastly husband’s crossbow with the door of his VW and roared down the street like super jackrabbit.
“Will you come see me, Tuesdays and Saturdays,” said the song and Hank smiled at the thought of what he would be doing on Tuesdays and Saturdays from now on. He was feeling strong until a creak of the stairs and a knock at the door sent panic waving through him with an intensity that he was sure was going to end his existence.
Jo Lee looked strangely at Hank and went to the door. He couldn’t see the door from where he was sitting, and he was afraid to move. There was good-natured talking, but it was going on forever. A cold tingling passed over his body. He was sweating through his tee-shirt. He looked around the room and spied traces of the defects of life with her husband: the frayed arms on the couch, the discolorations in the rug. Life with this pig must be hell, he thought. His mind pictured the very tidy house that his mother kept. He thought that Jo Lee must always feel like she needs a shower from living in this dump.
She came back into the room grinning. “That was Jack from upstairs. When Tony goes away, I go up there sometimes.” Hank look worried. Jo Lee was still grinning. “I have a couple beers with him and his wife.”
He cleared his throat. “Is it ok, you know? Do you think I should…?”
She grinned again. She put an ashtray on the floor between them. She placed her foot provocatively on the other side of the border the ashtray made. Her face became serious. Hank tried to meet her gaze with a sense of steadiness. For a second he felt like he’d never accomplish the feat and would have to run out with his tail between his legs. Then he grimaced and met her eyes with a grimness that dwarfed her concern. She smiled broadly and took his hand into her lap. She brought his fingers up to her lips and kissed the shocked mitt. Hank was frozen.
“Now what problems do we have, Hank?” she said softly. Hank’s head bent in helpless agreement while his heart was doing butterfly tricks. Shee took his head in her hands and made circular strokes in the short patches of reddish blonde curls that covered his temples. She traced the sides of his glasses with her index fingers sliding back and forth along them. Her fingers came to rest on the insides of his ear lobes.
Hank was in an enraptured state. The phrase “How Sweet It Is” was stuck in a section of his brain, but even that indignity didn’t lessen his feeling of ecstasy. Jo Lee’s long sweet tongue slipped into his mouth like a curling wave. He entangled himself and held her waist. Although he was still too shocked to move the bottom half of his body, he felt her squirming and vibrating. She was seeking him out and he was ready to come through. He struggled briefly when he thought he needed air, but she wouldn’t release him; and he learned to breathe through his nose. Every part of her was moving, and all the parts were touching him.
When she got up to change the record, he followed her movements with open satisfaction. He was still gasping slightly for air and beaming with a combination of emotions that he wouldn’t have thought possible. He could still feel her legs rubbing on his hips.
She returned from the record player and sat on the couch he was leaning against. She brought him to her knees and separated her legs. She let go of his hands and he lost balance. His glasses fell to the edge of his nose and brought his hands down to brace himself on the couch. She stared at the picture of his arm between her legs and laughed a sheet-rustling giggle. She closed her thighs around his arm. They kissed and she reached down and squeezed the bulge at his crotch. Hank was startled because he hadn’t been thinking about his cock and now she was there. It was large and very hard. Next she took her foot and rubbed the patch of contained genitals. He was going to acquit himself well. Then he heard himself groaning. She stopped, squeezed his dick and said, “Let’s have a drink.”
When she got up, the telephone rang. It felt awkward to hear her voice and the ease with which she was talking and now laughing. He lit a cigarette and exhaled deeply. She came back into the room holding two drinks and Hank remembered that she worked at Welmont. The thought sent a twinge through his body.
“I’m not really married to Tony,” she began, “but I’ve been with him for a long time. I told him that I’d do anything to get out of Pennsylvania.” Hank exhaled more deeply. He felt his swelling sinuses cause pressure in his forehead and hoped that he wasn’t going to start to sneeze. “I really feel attracted to Tony in a lot of ways.” Hank’s head shook with understanding and he drew in on his cigarette. He tried to decide if he should break out the pot. Maybe it wasn’t the right time.
“It certainly sounds like you’ve been through a lot with him. He didn’t know what to say next. He put his head down and pictured the way she looked when he masturbated to the fantasy of her.
They were the only ones in the luncheonette and he’d walked in back of her and unzipped her uniform. She straddled the counter and slid herself down its length stopping where he was now sitting and opening her legs wider with movements of her fingers and toes that called to him. He’d thrown himself into her with a casualness and grace that belied comparison and now he couldn’t find the strength to lift his head.
Jo Lee said “I want to show you something.” They got up and moved to an alcove she’d created in back of the drum set. There were large, colored pencil drawings on grey cardboard. She turned them around like Ferris wheels in a slow animation that changed the expressions on the faces of her caricatures.
“Are these yours?”
“Here’s one I did of Tony,” she answered. At first the picture had the head of a pig. When she began to turn it, the features changed so that in the next position it was the body of a gorilla with the pig head on it. Finally, it evolved into a bull with a big red ring dangling from his snorting nose.
The next drawing showed the cook frying his tongue and cock, stuck to the grill, using his feet as spatulas. Hank jumped back from the cartoon in a way that made Jo Lee laugh. She kissed him on the neck and showed him the last picture. It was a self-portrait created out of the shapes and eyes of at least a dozen cats. The feline family was observing. Hank looked up at Jo Lee’s mouth, which also changed from the shape of an “0” to a long slit out of which she slowly stuck her red tongue.
“These are real works of art,” said Hank.
Jo Lee smiled and said that he was sweet. She remembered the night that Tony had pulled them out for his friends. “Look at these pieces of shit that my wife wastes her time doin’!” he’d said. He always had the right to call her his wife – that had been part of the agreement. She looked at her tangle-haired visitor and decided that he was definitely a little strange. She kissed him again and this time he stroked the front of her legs with his fingers. “I told Jack that I’d be up for a beer before I went to bed,” she said. She undid his shirt button and kissed him on the chest. “Tony will be leaving again on Tuesday. Can you come back over on Tuesday night?”
Hank said “yes” and found himself being walked to the door. It was a swift good-bye. He wanted to make sure that she knew how much his life had changed in the last couple of hours. She stopped him by kissing him good-bye and saying that it was mostly going to be him that she thought about between now and Tuesday. Hank didn’t really want to go.
“What else will you be thinking about?” he said.
“What comes after Tuesday,” she said and gently closed the door on his bewildered face.
Hank rode home in shock. He was unable to form any words or ideas. He could only feel his body.

Chapter 5

“I’ll call you at home at 4:30 and let you know if you should pick me up,” said George. “Don’t race around.” George removed the ignition and trunk keys from his leather case.

Ron said, “Thanks, George” without looking up at his stepfather. Something in him wouldn’t allow him to feel good about anything that George did for him. All he heard was the line “Don’t race around.”

The door slammed and George headed for the entrance of the shop where he was a foreman. A look of power and security crept into his step. Only two people on the other side of that door could tell him what to do. If Mario would let him trim some of the dead wood out from the rest of the staff, they could get a good product with less of an overhead. In George’s eyes, Mario was a second father. The principal owner deserved whatever it was that he needed. Without Mario, he wouldn’t be able to eat.

Ron threw some gravel as he took the Olds out of the parking lot. He was finally headed back to school. He changed the radio station and turned the volume up to its loudest blare. He rolled down the window and stuck out his elbow. He felt like he was picking up speed on the freedom of a life, which had up to now eluded him.

He pulled the car into the college driveway oblivious to the yellow speed bumps. He thought he’d run over a bicycle. He felt the Olds lurch and then heard it scrape the ground. “Shit!” he cried and threw the gear shift into park. Horrendous thoughts ran in his head. “Two fuckin’ cars in four fuckin’ days. Way to fuckin’ go!” He got out to look for damage and glared at the size of the bump and the fact that it had been put there intentionally. He turned to the nearest college building and snarled.

Ron sat in an empty, pastel colored room looking out a wall of windows that opened on one of the parking lots that surrounded the place like a series of moats. There were still 15 minutes before the class was supposed to begin, and the empty desks were embarrassing him. He got up and headed for the door. When he arrived, he found himself looking full in the face of a young woman who intended to enter. It was awkward. He would have liked to stay but felt committed. He nodded as he held the door for her and started down the hall to get coffee.

The crowd and din of the cafeteria was startling. It was all over-ridden by the radio station speakers. It was loud, but he could take it. He stood at the end of the nearest line and looked for a familiar or desirable face. His body flexed when he noticed that over half of the people in the room were women who probably weren’t attached that strongly to anyone. With excellent eye coordination, he squeezed every breast that he could grab hold of. He inhaled deeply and brought his hand to his stomach to assure himself that it at least gave the appearance of being flat.
The line evaporated and he received his container of coffee from a middle-aged dyed blonde with a saggy arm. As he made his way back to the hall, the coffee spilled on his hand. He didn’t flinch but did turn around for some napkins and a lid for the coffee.

He used the coffee as a gyroscope as he zoomed back over the half-familiar track. He walked to the end of the hall and lit a cigarette by the entrance.

A thin, brown haired guy with a prominent Adam’s apple walked up after him. The guy lit his cigarette with a metal lighter that dropped back into his pocket with a bell type chime that caused the man to smile as he exhaled quietly and acknowledged Ron.

Ron gulped his coffee, drew in on his cigarette and looked away. “What do you think of this place?” he said in a non-committal tone.

“It’s pretty good,” the Adam’s apple bobbed, “pretty good.”

Ron could think of nothing else to say to him. He stared at the way the sun beat down on the line of cars. None of them had bashed-in trunks. The pavement was steaming and everything looked uncomfortable with the late summer heat. He dropped his cigarette into the metal cylinder that was filled with sand and made him think of the beach.

By the time things were supposed to begin, Ron counted 20 people in the classroom. It seemed to him there had been more last time. He wondered if the ones who weren’t there were the smarter ones.

Warren Lashly was a skinny guy with tinted glasses and a lamb chop beard that sprouted from the sides of his face like pubic hair. He walked into the room about five minutes after the class was supposed to have begun, carrying a stack of photocopied papers and two large, lidded containers of coffee. He was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved work shirt that was covered by a red wool vest. He placed the materials on top of the desk and stared down at them for a full minute. There was a giggle in the back of the room.

The instructor peered out into the class like he was looking through a window. He mumbled an inaudible bit of advice to himself and any in the class who had the ability to read lips. He split up the pile of papers, going through a still silent period of dramatic confusion about the order he had intended for things. He opened his vest and produced a pouch of tobacco which he stuffed into a pipe as he called the roll. He undid the first of the coffee containers and backed over to the windowsill. He fixed his eyes on an unrecognizable point then brought them back to the class.

“What words would you use to describe God and his opposites?”

No one ventured an answer. He waited a sufficient length of time and struck a match. He puffed a few times and took a swallow of coffee. “My name is Warren Lashly. I’m from the South.” Lashly brought his knee up to the windowsill and rested his coffee arm elbow on it. “It has come to my attention, for quite some time now really, that America, and I really love her, is in deep trouble. There are obvious, outward signs of this trouble that I prefer not to dwell on. What I intend to explore are the more real problems of the exhaustion of our cultural underpinnings. I am talking about the sickness that has come to the concepts upon which we have been built.”

“Great!” Ron said to himself. “Now what the fuck does this have to do with English?”

Lashly continued, “Now all of you have either been at this college for a year or have shown some talent in the field of language. Language is what binds us to the cultural foundations of our society.” Lashly emptied the first container of coffee and discarded it. He undid the second lid and placed the container carefully on the sill. He divided one slab of the blackboard in half. “What words describe God and his opposites?” he repeated.

Lashly pointed to a girl in the seat in front of the window aisle who hadn’t raised her hand. “Love,” she said.

Lashly grinned broadly. “Well, that’s what your generation is supposed to be about.” He raised his eyes up over the top of his glasses and gave the class an incredulous stare.

Ron tried to get a look at the girl who’d made the comment, but Lashly had moved on to the guy in back of her. “Power,” the guy said. Ron could see him with no trouble. He had bucked teeth and chipmunk cheeks. Ron was the fourth person in the row, and he had no idea of what he was gonna say.

Lashly pointed to a raised hand on the other side of the room. “Big Brother,” Ron heard the sarcastic voice say. Everybody laughed and Ron wondered what they were laughing about. He tried to formulate a word and waited for the question to come back his way.

As people gave their words, Lashly recorded them on the board. Ron noticed that he printed. When someone said, “expanded consciousness,” Lashly was momentarily stumped with the spelling. Then he gave up his attempt with an abbreviation and told the class in confidential tones that penmanship and spelling weren’t his strong points. He went on to say that his script had so deteriorated that he exclusively printed these days. “Most of my writing now is done on a typewriter anyway,” he added.

Ron was interested. His own handwriting and spelling had usually put him at odds with English teachers. Lashly ended his digression by saying, “The result is that we’re exploring literature, much more than English, this year.”

Ron wasn’t sure that he understood the difference and let his attention wander around the room. He was stopped by the sight of a girl with unbelievably long hair, who was bobbing her head in agreement with Lashly. Ron shifted his position to see her better. Her face was covered with soft pink freckles, and she was dressed expensively.

After about ten people had given their words, Ron noticed that Lashly had put them all on one side of the board. He walked back to his container of cooling coffee, took a quick sip and headed for the stacks of photocopied sheets. He spoke quickly as he distributed them to the group. “Here are the syllabus and course requirements. I expect you to always have reading done prior to the date when it appears on the calendar.”

“Any of you who wish to earn an A or B should make an appointment to see me about additional requirements. If you do not see me, I shall assume that you are working for a C. A “C” can be obtained by reading all of the assigned material, keeping a journal that will be collected, and coming to class regularly.”

“That should be enough for an A,” Ron whispered to himself. He looked down the list and saw that one of the class readings was the story of Abraham and Isaac. He looked up at the instructor with an ‘are you kidding me’ expression. He hadn’t come to college to read the Bible, and this guy seemed more than a little nuts.

Lashly pointed to the board and said that all the words up there were used to describe a Christian God/Devil duality. “Some of them are even more limited to the Catholics’ understanding of things.”

Ron saw the girl with exquisite red hair bring her hand up to finger the thin gold cross that hung around her neck. “Only this word,” said Lashly, circling “power” and bringing a line over to the other half of the board, seems to be a universal. Lashly paused, reconsidering the list of words. “I’m not sure what this word,” he said, drawing about 10 circles around “love”, means any more, but I think the Christian version is dangerous and ultimately fatal. He tapped the end of the chalk on the word “power” and said, “See you next time.”

The hand of the girl who’d said “love” shot into the air. “Can I see you about my grade now?” she asked shyly.

Lashly broke into a grin that made his Abe Lincoln mole disappear. “If you’ve got some time to wait, I can see you in about 20 minutes.” The girl nodded her head, and Lashly turned back to the remainder of papers on his desk while the class emptied.

Ron hit the hallway and zoomed toward the cafeteria. There were no seats, and the din blew him back into the hall. He made his way through glass doors that opened onto a quad. He sat down on a patch of grass next to a recently landscaped evergreen. He looked at the syllabus. “Western Literature: A Search for Madness.” It stated those things that had already been said in class and went on to state that all papers would be graded with comments and a happy face that indicated acceptance or a sad face that indicated rejection. Ron didn’t understand the point of drawing stupid faces instead of giving grades. “Additionally, most classes should be preceded by a comment that you feel sums up the reading of the day, placed on the side board before the beginning of class. I reserve the right not to start class until half of the students present have commented.”

Ron scanned the reading list but didn’t recognize any of the other titles. There were one or two books that he’d heard about, but that was all. He really didn’t like sitting around reading, and the work that this piece of paper represented didn’t cheer him. He looked up in time to see Lashly and the first girl in the first seat walking along the quad together. Lashly threw back his head in a cackling laugh as they entered the set of doors on the other side of the quad. Ron got up and started for the parking lot. He wondered who would be at the bowling alley.

Chapter 6

Hank was too nervous to go to school on Tuesday. He left his house in his routine way and drove around. His nerves had been making his stomach quiver all morning. He kept asking himself if he really wanted to become involved in this situation. It was a loaded question; he knew that he had to go through with it. Abruptly, and with grim determination, he turned onto the street that led directly to hers.

The sight of Tony’s truck almost stopped his heart. It sat there idling in the driveway like a greasy, gluttonous slob. He gunned his VW and sped down the street. He lay in a 30-minute junket that would make sure the coast was clear. He felt a sense of relief when he was an untraceable distance from her house. About half way through his loop, he turned back toward her house. He was about a quarter of a mile away when he saw the truck belching and jostling its way down the tree-lined street. He knew that things still weren’t safe and turned onto a route that would swing him past Welmont. He put himself on automatic pilot and thought about his meeting with Jo Lee. He lit a cigarette and made a list of things that he definitely wanted to discuss.

Looping around Welmont, he accelerated and started back towards her house. He scratched the bottoms of his palms. His pants felt tight in the crotch. He climbed her porch steps without raising his head to look at the house, scratched his palms with a last series of quick slashes, and rang her bell. Jo Lee appeared instantly and closed the door behind her. “We should get away from here for a while,” she said quickly.

They headed back to his VW. Hank felt that every window on her street was hiding a face that would catalog the details and times of their liaisons.

“Did you eat?” he asked.

She tilted her head to the side in a way that brought the light into her eyes. “No, but I’m hungry.”

“Good.”

“I know a place,” she said.

Hank felt like he would follow her anywhere. He was ready to blast off for other planets. He watched her out of the corner of his eye. At first she didn’t seem comfortable and shifted, trying to find the right position. The toy car feel coupled with Hank’s boyishness didn’t seem right, but there was a smile that was tugging at the ends of her mouth. She decided that her discomfort was very silly and that she liked Hank a lot. He sat there trying to formulate what he could now say to her actual presence. He was grateful for the silence and felt that they must be attuned in some cosmic fashion. Attuned in a way that his newest favorite author, Alan Watts, would approve.
Chapter 7

“Did you fuck her?” asked Ron.

Hank was offended by the question. Getting fucked was something that happened at Welmont, and this was different from that. Hank scowled at the existence of Welmont in his life. He’d been going there since the place had first opened and everyone he knew had grown to associate him with the place. He did meet Jo Lee there, but it was no comfort to his beleaguered spirit at the moment. Ron didn’t have to put it in those terms and besides, the answer was no.

They’d bought deli food that she liked and spread out a blanket at The South Mountain Reservation. She had rubbed her pantied pussy all over his crotch and up and down both of his legs. He’d been sure that he was going to explode right in his pants and suggested that they go to a motel. She’d stopped rubbing herself on him and moved to a cross-legged position on the blanket. “Do we have to?” she’d said in a small voice. He’d tried to sound gentle when he asked her what the matter was. “Do you know how many men I’ve been to bed with?” He was about to tell her that it didn’t matter, when she continued, “Do you know how many people have told me that it didn’t matter and then never allowed me to talk about my feelings for anyone that I’d ever been with?” She stared full into his face. “That was what you were going to say wasn’t it?”

Hank bowed his head. It was true. He felt totally responsible for all the wrongs that had ever been done to her. His was now the face of the oppressor. He had wronged her beyond measure. He grimaced in a long, hard way that allowed his consciousness to enter the web of her hair. He sat there quietly sorry about the bulge that he had between his legs, sorry that he’d ever gotten the sheets wet using her image as inspiration. His sinuses swelled, and he lit a cigarette. He blew out hard and watched the cars that passed in front of their vantage point.

Jo Lee hugged her knees and felt like crying when she considered the relative mess of her life. Her dealings with Tony had become hateful and bitter. She’d known that it was time for a change even before she’d singled Hank out. She smelled his cigarette and wanted one. She turned and offered him an open view of her face. She tried to look at his eyes but the thickness of his glasses reflected the light in a way that made it difficult. Reaching into his shirt pocket she took one of his cigarettes, lit it and asked herself if she really wanted to sleep with this kid. Hank watched her face, more sure than ever that he was in love with her.

Ron cranked up the volume on the car radio, and the change brought Hank out of his reverie. Ron felt the time had come to talk about Jo Lee’s husband. Hank hadn’t mentioned him at all. Ron wanted to tell Hank that when girls got married or pregnant, it was best to leave them alone. Ron wanted to tell him how suffocating it was when they got so close they figured they had a right to your time. They started making plans that you were included in but not asked about. Ron knew that Hank wasn’t as emotionally tough as he was. Hank was the kind of guy who could be taken for a sap. Maybe that was why Hank had never really had a girl before. Ron quietly prided himself on the girls he’d gotten, but the thought that he hadn’t had a date in weeks sent him running over his list of past girlfriends to regain his sense of security.
Reassured, he returned his thoughts to Hank and Jo Lee. She was a whore. Sure, Ron had spent his share of time thinking about what a great fuck she must be, but Hank was taking her seriously. Ron could tell by the whole way his friend looked and talked. He was fucked up about her. Besides, this would definitely screw up their routine. Ron pictured his life without the loop and the FM and the jokes that only he and Hank understood.

Hank pulled the VW into the Dairy Queen lot. They ordered some food and sat down. Ron surveyed the crowd. There was no one worth staring at.

“Do you really feel like you could love her?”

The question was overly dramatic, but Hank took this as a sign of sincerity. “She’s really beautiful,” said Hank. He didn’t know how to describe the feelings that Jo Lee gave rise to inside of him. Her vibrations stroked his manhood and gave purpose to his being. There was no way to explain that to Ron. He replayed Ron’s voice asking if he fucked her. Ron would think he was stupid for the way he felt and that was probably true but he didn’t care. He didn’t feel that way when she was there. Jo Lee stood between himself and his mind. The only problem was all the things standing between the two of them. Images of their problems stampeded into his head and displayed themselves grotesquely in front of his eyes. Hank tossed down his unfinished cheeseburger with a look of disgust.

Ron gobbled his chilidog in five gulps. He finished his soda, lit a cigarette and watched Hank stare at his food. Sometimes he admired Hank’s steadiness. Ron thought himself too sloppy, fast and awkward. Maybe that’s why Hank, and not him, had gotten Jo Lee. Ron told himself it was because he had no idea of how to take his time. Hank hadn’t taken a bite or moved since Ron had been watching. Ron told himself that if he went as slow as Hank, he would be mistaken for dead or wounded.

“So, when are you going to see her again?”

Hank raised a napkin to his mouth and tried to decide if he wanted to tell Ron anything more. Ron knew Jo Lee and a lot of the people that Jo Lee knew. What would happen if Ron opened his mouth and this leaked out for everybody to see and talk about? Hank decided it wasn’t a good idea to tell anybody about her, but then the thought of how much Ron already knew washed over him. Hank called himself a jerk. How could he have sat in Welmont all those years and still thought that it was possible to trust somebody else who sat there. He consoled himself with the idea that not many people actually talked or listened to Ron. Maybe Quimpy, but Hank had already decided that he had to tell Quimpy at some point.

“I’m going to see her tomorrow morning,” he said.

“What do you think is gonna happen?” said Ron.

Hank was, again, instantly sorry for his disclosure. “I don’t know,” he said very slowly. He smiled at Ron. “I don’t think that there will be any problems.”

“Really?” said Ron. “Well, how close did she actually let you come to her box?” Ron had decided now that Jo Lee was using Hank to make Tony, or maybe even somebody else, jealous.

“There are some things that I don’t want to talk about, “said Hank.”There are some arrangements that have to be taken care of before we can let anything else happen.” Hank hoped vainly that Ron would somehow see their need for privacy.

“Wow man! You’re really serious and you didn’t even get to finger her, did ya?”

Hank hated him instantly. He hated his own petty weakness that ever allowed him to get close to anybody. He clenched his teeth and stared harder at the uneaten portion of the burger. “I guess I’m pretty strange,” he said, picked it up, closed his eyes and bit into it.

Ron began to laugh. “I didn’t mean that, man. You know I really didn’t mean that. You know what I mean? Everything is just all fucked up.”

Ron tried to use this last statement as the basis for a treaty between them that would allow for mistakes and oversights. Hank recognized the intent and decided it was easier to agree with Ron than to try to show him how he ever felt about anything.

Chapter 8

Hank arrived at Jo Lee’s house about five minutes early. She asked him in with a lazy smile on her face. Hank held the smooth fabric of her summer robe when they kissed. It was scented with a fine, lingering odor that he had never whiffed before. Jo Lee drew back and told him she had to get dressed. She opened the robe just before she turned to go. Hank didn’t have time to focus on the flash of her body. He cursed his glasses and the bad vision that necessitated them.

The room was even more distastefully shabby in the daylight. The rug was covered with a deluge of discolorations that told the same piggish story of life with Tony that Jo Lee’s picture did. He inclined his head to listen to the room she’d disappeared into, but heard nothing. He allowed himself another triumphant gaze around the room and was staring intently at the doorway when he heard her call his name in a cheerful voice. At first he couldn’t speak but eventually mustered what he though sounded like a nonchalant “yes.”

She didn’t answer and Hank went searching for her. She was bent over a box at the foot of the bed. She was partially covered by a cloud of sheer pastel material. He stopped in the doorway and said, “yes,” again.

“Would you come here and help me with this?” She bent lower into the box and began to wave her ass back and forth in the air. It was a slow, unmistakably deliberate swaying motion. He stared gluey-eyed at her. He wanted to squeeze and rub her ass. He found himself moving forward but not deciding to move forward. He put his hands on the frame of his glasses to steady himself. Then he reached out and ran his palms up the back of her thighs and squeezed her cheeks.

An “ummmh” echoed from out of the box. His cock got immediately hard, and he wanted to take it out of his pants. Hank submerged himself in the picture she was presenting to him. Her ass was firm and he loved the line of its crack. Now she slipped one hand back through her legs and searched out his cock. Hank was jolted. He hadn’t expected her to touch him there and now he was pushing his pelvis toward her. She traced his zipper with her fingernail. Then she squeezed the whole front of his pants and began jerking him up and down. He’d gotten very hard and was pushing his pants front noticeably out. She gave him a last squeeze and let go. When she straightened up and turned around, he came back towards her. She smiled one of her liquid, slow smiles and flexed her fingers on his chest. “I have to get dressed,” she giggled and walked into the bathroom, leaving Hank staring at the open box and Tony’s unmade bed. A long wince crept onto his face. He forced his eyes to roam the room.

Their wedding picture was standing open on an unkempt dresser. Hank glared at the drunken leer on Tony’s face. Hank hadn’t cared if she was married, but the story she’d told him about it being a fake marriage was sending prickly heat sensations over his skin like an allergic reaction would. Had she lied to him? He felt his face getting hot and stared blankly at the picture.

Jo Lee came out of the bathroom in blue jeans and a bra. She walked over to the dresser and casually stood between Hank and the picture. She inhaled so that he would see the rise of her tits. Then she noticed that his face was crumpled up like a paper bag and that his eyes weren’t following her. There was a stiffness in the awkward way he held his head and the bulge in his pants had collapsed.

She turned back to the dresser and stared at the picture with him. She tilted her head to meet his eyes and smiled. “That’s a fake. We rented those costumes for a picture that we could show to people who asked.” She stood close to him and rubbed her nylon-covered tits on his chest. A hand that he hadn’t told to do anything reached up and squeezed her nylon cup and then fell back to his side.

She started to put on her shirt, and he retreated to the front room. He was looking for a magazine or a record jacket, something to read so that he could focus his mind.

They left and Hank walked quickly to his car. He didn’t feel the stare of the neighbor’s eyes, but he knew they were there. As the car turned off her street, he asked if she wanted to take a ride down to the shore. In the sunlight, it was even easier to see the plumage of freckles that colored her face and made an extraordinary contrast to her white blonde hair. She was watching him look at her with the ever- present slender smile she had these days. Now she turned to face him, and he reached into his pocket for the toll money he’d need. He tried to watch her and the road and his head bobbed between them like a flicking switch.

Ron took a swallow of coffee and looked at the total of his book bill with despairing astonishment. The figures ascended in front of his eyes like huge stone columns, which he dreamed of picking up and flinging into outer space. He had one more class to go and the figure was already more than $80. He brought his hand up to his forehead and squeezed. How could he have possibly forgotten to compute a book bill into the cost of going to school!

He pictured himself as a complete fool, incapable of advancing beyond the stage of toilet training. The strangeness of the image stopped him until he remembered the phrase was something that he’d heard in his first psychology class and that he’d picked up the phrase from his professor.

He took out a fresh cigarette pack and wondered which side you were supposed to tap and why. He tapped both ends and opened the pack. He put the cigarette into his mouth backwards and looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked. He didn’t have to buy all the books at once, and the teachers didn’t quite seem ready to start giving assignments, except for Lashly.

There had been a mix up in orders at the bookstore, and some editions hadn’t arrived yet. Ron pictured his psychology professor dusting off a pant leg as he gave the class that information.
For a moment Ron considered the possibility of chucking the whole idea and driving back to IBM in the morning. He could tell them that going to college had been a great error and that maybe they could give him his old job back. He thought about the cork- lined, windowless room in which he’d worked for the last two years. He swallowed hard on another gulp of coffee and heard a voice standing over him saying, “Would you like to be part of the best frat on campus?”

Ron looked up at a hand that was extending a sheet of paper in his direction. Behind it was a curly-headed guy in a gray sweatshirt and white, cut-off Levis. The shirt had the letters G.I.A. spread out across its chest.

“What?”

“My name is Phil Frybush,” said the voice, and Phillip sat down in the chair next to Ron. “Do you know what a service frat is?”

“No”

“We provide community services and donate our time to worthy causes, but mostly we just party.” He added the last part with a salesman’s grin that Ron had seen many times before. “Each semester we make rounds and choose those people we think would get along well in our kind of organization. We keep out the niggers and freaks without hurting anybody’s feelings.”

“I don’t think I’m the fraternity type,” said Ron in the ‘I want to get back to what I’m doing’ voice that he used on Jehovah Witnesses.

Phillip was a business major who wanted to go into sales. He took Ron’s lack of interest as an opportunity to practice his difficult customer routine. He continued positively, as if nothing had been said.

“You know pledging with us isn’t half as bad as what some frats put you through, and we have a sister sorority right here on campus.”

Ron watched him hoping that his obvious lack of interest would get rid of the guy.

“Did I mention that one of our brothers owns a Jaguar and that we have a shore house that is ours all year long?”

Ron continued to stare at him.

“By the way, what’s your name?”

“Ron Tuck.

“Well Ron, we currently have about 20 active student members and about 35 more dues- paying alumnae, but that’s not all. You’d be connected to frats all over the Northeast that are part of our organization.”

“I don’t have the time or money,” said Ron. “And besides, I don’t think I’m interested any way.” Ron used his official IBM voice.

Phillip looked punctured, and the smooth collegiate smile disappeared as the boy frowned. He began to scan the room for another prospect. Ron swallowed down the rest of his coffee and stood up. “Baby you’re a rich man, Baby you’re a rich man, Baby you’re a rich man, too” pounded out of the speakers and echoed in his ears after he was out in the hallway.

His last class of the day was math. He stopped in front of the door and looked in. He saw an old man with white hair sitting drowsily at his desk while three students sat in their chairs watching the teacher. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Spinning on his heel and picking up speed, he headed for the parking lot.

He left the radio off in the Olds because he had forgotten to adjust it back down yesterday, and George had brought it up this morning. Images from the day went through his mind like a number of transparencies that he was trying to align. They slid across each other’s surfaces like glaciers. Without words, there was a motion and peacefulness to silence.

A GTO whooshed past him with the blare of its radio. Ron saw the driver’s blonde hair and stared at the rear end of her car. He flipped on the radio and began to scan his mirrors for an opening. He jumped over into the right hand lane and began making tracks. He tailgated a station wagon until there was nothing left to do but cut off the Buick to his left. Ron beeped at the Buick and made his move. The woman in the car stomped hard on her brake and threw her arm out to protect the slumbering cat who lay next to her. An “Oh God,” escaped from her lips, and she began to tremble.

Ron was humming along with “Surf City” and passing cars easily now. George always did buy cars with plenty of pick-up. He had a clear view of the pale blue GTO now. They were approaching a toll plaza that would help him catch up. He knew how to make the most of toll booth openings. There were 12 of them to choose from, and they were fed by only 3 lanes. The trick was to keep your speed up and be ready to bank to the left or right. All you had to do was pick your slot and not stop.

He was able to slide in right in back of the GTO. A naked-to-the-elbow arm flipped a coin, and Ron noticed a bounce in her hair as she pulled away. Gliding through the plaza, he flipped the coin without stopping. The light blinked green when the Olds was halfway through. The timing was good. The Olds was almost alongside her now, and Ron goosed the pedal to pull them up even.

She drove with both hands on the steering wheel. Ron was able to scope her before she noticed him. She looked like a heavy-set dog, and he pinched the pedal again so as not to prolong contact. The Strawberry Alarm Clock called on “Incense and Peppermints” as he settled into the middle lane and continued home.

Jo Lee’s legs were spread like a two-pronged fork. Instead of the jack-rabbit Hank usually pictured himself as, he was now batting out the springy tattoo of a bedroom jack-hammer. Without his glasses, he saw her as a blur. But he could feel her all over his body. It was blind ecstasy, until she shoved her finger up his ass. Hank thought he was going to swallow his tongue from the shock, but he told himself that he didn’t care as long as he was allowed to continue to fuck this amazingly fuckable woman. She scraped her nails along the inside of his ass, and Hank was sure that he’d started to bleed. He didn’t care. He was going to run like an engine no matter what. Jo Lee clamped her legs around his kidneys and beat her heels on his spine. She was twitching involuntarily and then her eyes opened like someone who was coming out of a coma. Hank felt his hips moving with the urgency of a water pump whose speed had shifted. He felt droplets of sweat trickling from his armpits. He wanted to make noise when his orgasm sent him bucking into her but buried his mouth on her shoulder and issued muffled moans. She brought her palm to the back of his head and stroked him until the spasms subsided. Her skin glowed with pink and white luminosity that seemed to wash the lines of men and years away.

Chapter 9

The next week was as slow and painful as hemorrhoids during a cherry pepper shit. Ron had no way to get anywhere most of the time and Hank, who was walking around with the barefoot paradise feeling of wiggling his toes in four-inch thick carpet, wasn’t going to bail him out with the VW joint loops that worked on his head like ex-lax.

Ron was having trouble trying to talk to anyone and, worst of all, his twitch had returned. It was a simple flicking of his neck that was only noticeable when pointed out, but it left him with the compulsive need to stand in front of the mirror and wait for it to happen. When he finally made himself do it, he doubted that it looked the same as it did when he wasn’t watching. It was Thursday afternoon before he got a call from Hank.

“Hey man, where you been?”

“I don’t know,” said Hank happily.

“You been gettin’ laid, haven’t ya?”

“Yeah,” said Hank with a new feeling that was turning his grimace into a smile.

“Go fuckin’ get her,” laughed Ron. “Hump her once for me. ”

Hank didn’t answer, so Ron continued, “What are you doin’ now?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, when are you going to see her again?”

“I don’t know,” said Hank. “We gotta wait for her husband to go away. She has to spend some time with Tony, so that he doesn’t figure anything out.”

“Do you want to come over and get fucked-up? You could tell me about it.”

Hank thought that getting stoned was probably what he meant. “OK.”

“Come on down as soon as you want. You got any pot?”

“Yeah, I still have some of that yellow stuff.”

“Great,” said Ron, “but don’t roll anything up. I found an old piece of hash in my sock drawer. We can make hash joints.”

“Sounds good,” said Hank. “I’ll be there in about 20 minutes.”
Hank cradled the phone as his mother, who seemed to be on cue, called from the kitchen, “Are you going to have supper with us tonight, Henry?”

The thought of sitting at the same table with them and eating her cooking made him grimace. “I don’t think that I feel like having anything.” He headed for the bathroom. After he washed the upper half of his body, he patted himself with powder. He grimaced when he felt the stuffiness’ in his sinuses. He walked back to his room and slapped on some aftershave. He slipped into a madras shirt with Western snaps. He tilted his head down as he closed them because he liked the neat, little clicking sound they made when the shut. He measured about half of his pot into a black film container and tamped it in with his finger. He stuffed his front shirt pocket with cigarettes and his lighter. He slipped the film case and some rolling papers into his jeans. He picked up his keys and some momentum as he headed for the door. He glanced at himself in the hallway mirror and didn’t grimace.

His mother sat in the kitchen looking into the glass door of her empty oven. “Your father hasn’t seen you in a week, Henry.”

“Did he mention it?” He stopped to look at her with his head tilted at a 45-degree angle. He put one hand on his shirt pocket and with the other he squeezed the film container. “Tell him that I’m alright and that I probably won’t be home too late tonight.” He didn’t wait for the next question. He headed down the stairs thinking that his old man would be too blasted to ask him about anything by the time he came home.

They would probably both sit there after a soggy dinner and drink gin and tonic. He would eventually try to kiss her, whereupon she would remark about how humid and uncomfortable it was. He would get depressed and talk about Henry. He would accuse her of spoiling him. They would exchange loud words that would end when he headed for the couch. He would read the paper and fall asleep. Hank played the drama through his head with a frozen grimace on his face. Then he smiled at the thought of the hash joints.

The dog began to bark immediately when Hank rang Ron’s doorbell. He grimaced. He knew it wouldn’t stop until he was well into the house. He saw an approaching figure moving like Ron or Ron’s mother. “Be quiet!” Marjorie hollered to Chipper who continued to bark a safe distance away from her. The hallway opened into Ron’s parents’ room and then into the kitchen. Hank always thought the arrangement of rooms was weird but never mentioned it except for once when he was telling his mother what Ron’s mother was like.

Ron’s room was off the kitchen. Hank could hear the stereo on the other side of the door, which Marjorie opened without knocking. Ron threw up a sharp glance as she ushered Hank into the room. She made several return trips, making a point of not knocking so that Ron didn’t forget whose house it was.

She asked Hank if he wanted anything to drink. She returned to ask if he wanted anything to eat. When Ron answered that they’d be going out in a few minutes, she told him with a large smile and wink at Hank that she’d been talking to his friend but that he could also have something to eat if there was anything they were having that he wanted. Ron’s face flushed, and Hank sat there in awkward silence.

There were two more incursions: one to ask Hank if he was sure about not wanting anything and another to use the sliding door closet that belonged to George and her. When Ron calculated that she was finished, they broke out the dope. Ron was excited. He fingered the joints respectfully and squeezed off their ends. “Do you know how fucked up we can get on this stuff?”

“That’ll be good,” said Hank with a decisive nod. He placed the joints in a plastic bag that Ron gave him and they headed for the door.

Ron trumpeted an “I’ll see you later.” Chipper began to bark again as they left the house and got into the VW. Ron threw his head back and blew out a breath. “Wow! What it feels like to get out of there. Head for the loop so we can smoke one of these joints man.”

“Did you eat anything yet?”

“We’ll do it later. Let’s get knocked on our asses first. I don’t want to know who the fuck I am by the time the night’s over.”

Hank thought that was a pretty good image of what dope did to a person. There was something about Ron that made him, and others, nervous. It was also the part he liked about him. The “I don’t give a fuck” attitude produced much of the humor that they shared.

Hank wanted to get stoned too and have the car feel like a ball on an endless alley without pins, but there was this ache between his legs that kept reminding him of Jo Lee’s mouth. He wondered if he would be able to control his mind at all when he got stoned.

Ron stuck his elbow out the window, pretending to be contemplating some far off idea. “If you’d rather eat first, it would be fine with me. I mean if you want to go to the Dairy Queen or something like that.”

“Nah, let’s get stoned,” confirmed Hank.

Ron felt his heart start to pump blood at a good rate again. He turned up an indistinguishable song on the radio. Hank winced and headed for the loop.

They smoked the first joint without saying a word. Hank drove extra smoothly, and Ron made sure there were no stupid oversights where cops were concerned. They passed the joint at the level of the gearshift, while each of them kept a cigarette going

“So what the hell is the story with Jo Lee?”

Hank grimaced. Ron had mentioned her as if she was a problem, as if they were talking about their home lives or Welmont or something equally perverted. “She’s fantastic,” he said trying to put as much truth into each syllable as he could. “We’re gonna go away together. ”

Ron stopped smoking and looked at Hank like he’d just received a gland that no one else had. “Where are you going to take her?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe out to live with her sister.” Ron had the panicky feeling that someone was watching them and put out the joint. “Why do you want to do that?”

Hank slid over the memories of his life like they were a stream of phlegm. It had been like one huge allergy except for when he made love to Jo Lee. He had felt stronger the second time and taken 45 minutes to come. She had cried because she’d been too happy to smile. She’d told him about how it was with her husband. Hank answered that she didn’t have to call Tony her husband if she didn’t want to. She scratched his head and told him that he looked like a cat.

“It just seems like a good idea,” he said to Ron.

Ron exploded. “What the fuck kind of an answer is that? You sound like you’re from fuckin’ Texas or something!”

Hank’s mind automatically dressed Jo Lee in a cowgirl suit and put a lasso in his hand. He tried not to giggle out loud but couldn’t help it. Ron couldn’t understand what Hank was laughing about, unless it had something to do with his line about Texas. He laughed too. Hank was certain that he was getting his chance to have what everybody really wanted out of life and felt satisfied at where he currently fit into his image of the world.

Ron switched the radio stations until they got Neil Young’s “On the Way Home.” They settled into the music, and Hank pictured himself appearing at a door in a dreamlike cloud. Jo Lee answered it wearing a freshly scented, flowery bathrobe, holding their first child up to her naked breast. Hank saw himself move forward and hold out a finger or the infant to hold. Then he returned to the reality of Ron. “Let’s go to the Dairy Queen.”

Ron nodded from his “lost-in-the-music posture,” but when they got to the highway he said, “Fuck the Dairy Queen, man!”

“Why’s that?” Hank was hungry. He’d been composing his order and savoring the flavor of the sesame seed bun that his burger would be served on.

“Let’s get eggs or something else. Ya know, I just got the feeling that it’ll be noisy and crowded there. Let’s go to the diner or the pancake house.” Ron stopped. He was confused because he didn’t know why he really didn’t want to go to the Dairy Queen. “I don’t care,” he said. “We can go to the Dairy Queen if you want.”

Hank was flustered. He’d already started to decide where he could get off the highway and turn the car around when he caught hold of Ron’s last phrase. The sesame seeds danced through his brain. They tasted like Jo Lee. Hank gave Ron his “what do you want me to do?” expression.

“You decide, man. I don’t care. Anything is ok.”

Hank pulled into the Dairy Queen lot. The place was only half full. Ron exhaled with relief and nodded at Hank. They put in their usual orders and headed for an empty corner of the room. Ron tapped on the table with an empty straw left behind by a previous customer. He ripped down the paper so he could blow it off.

Hank’s mind honed in on the first time he’d seen her working at Welmont. He remembered the mysterious rustle her fabric made when she walked. It was a soft signal that perked his ears and seemed to communicate her smooth firmness and its electrifying needs. He imagined her serving him at their own private counter, his hand sliding up her leg until she smiled down at him with that long, beautiful mouth. He held the image for as long as he could. Then he felt Ron get up and head for the counter. Their numbers must have been called. He smiled at how good his timing was becoming since he’d met Jo Lee and headed for his food.

After they’d finished two more joints and done three circles of the loop, Ron told Hank the story of the fraternity recruiter. Frybush had been a squat curly-haired kid who grew more stupid and overmatched at every turn of Ron’s rapier wit. Tears bubbled in Hank’s eyes, squinting from laughter. Ron ended the story embellishing everything except the core of truth.

The idea that he should write it up as an article for the school newspaper struck him in a silencing way. A dumb voice from his recesses belched out, “The fucking school newspaper” and shook a head back and forth in a “you’ll never learn” way. He remembered first reading “Avant-Garde” magazine and being frightened by how innocent and stupid he was. He wondered if he’d get jumped and called a nigger lover. At the thought, he drew his arm muscles tight, checked them and threw a hard-as-nails look out the window. Suppose everybody laughed and called him a jerk-off? Suppose it was something that everybody knew and had almost always known and didn’t need to be told again. He told himself that it didn’t matter. His scared self would always try to keep him from doing anything new. It was more likely that he wouldn’t be able to write anything worth being read. He’d never seen the school newspaper nor did he have any idea of why he thought of it.

There was this kid who said hello to him in one of his classes, and he’d seen the kid going in and out of their offices. Then he remembered seeing the front page of it tacked over the office window. It was a large cartoon that pictured the sun rising over “Pleasant Valley Munchkin Land.”

Hank had forgotten that Ron was in the car. He was startled when Ron asked to light another joint. Hank couldn’t believe that Ron wanted to smoke more. He grimaced. “I don’t know. I’m really stoned. I don’t think that I can drive if I smoke any more.”

“Do you want me to drive?” said Ron sarcastically.

Hank was ready to give in and smoke the thing when an interior voice objected, “You mean you’re gonna take a stupid chance like this for something that you don’t even want?” Hank saw a wise finger shaking at him. “This glut next to you has never known when he’s had enough. Hank watched himself take out the last joint. Then he saw Jo Lee’s arms reaching out to him like she was a Gypsy dancer calling him to her tent. He handed the joint to Ron unlit. “You smoke it,” said Hank. He lit a cigarette and the harsh taste of the tobacco brought his concentration back to the road. He wondered how he’d been driving for the last he didn’t know how long.

“You want to head back to my house and listen to some music?”

Hank said that he did. Ron sucked easily on the hash joint and concentrated on the cradling canopy feeling he got from the tree branches. They protected everything and defended everyone. All of a sudden Hank felt relieved and completely able to handle the car. He scooted through the streets with his crusader rabbit fantasy playing in back of his eyes.

They slipped around to the back door and came in through the kitchen. They went directly to Ron’s room. Hank walked on his toes and cast sidelong glances into the corners. Ron walked back into the living room and said that they were going to listen to some music.

“Not too loud,” said Marjorie, “we’re watching a story.”

“I’ll check to see if it’s okay.”

This time her voice sounded annoyed. “Just make sure you keep it down.”

Ron went back to his room and turned on whatever record was on the turntable. It was Dylan. Hank grimaced. This was all he needed, somebody else to tell him he was a fool. “All I really want to do-ooo-ooo is baby be friends with you.” Hank put his hands up to his face, began rocking, and then moaned.

Ron laughed. “Really makes you feel good to hear his voice, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, real good.”

“Do you want to hear something more soothing? Maybe a love song? Ron was grinning and enjoying himself.

Hank didn’t know why Dylan’s voice had been kicking him in the ass every time he heard it lately. He closed his eyes and there was Bob, big beak and all, snarling at him. Ron was turning his reveries into Popeye cartoons.

Ron got up and changed the record. Neil Young started singing “Cowgirl in the Sand” and Hank immediately put Jo Lee in a bikini and stretched her out on a beach blanket. He was rubbing oil into the backs of her thighs. The voice squeaked, “Hello woman of my dreams,” and Hank nodded his head in assent.

Ron was searching the room for something to write with. Marjorie was going to get her commercial time snack and paused at the door to see if the music was too loud. She knocked on the door and then quickly opened it. Ron winced when he looked up and saw her. “What’s the matter?”

“Turn it down some. It’s getting late.” She quickly closed the door so she could get what she wanted and be back in the living room before the movie started again. Ron threw a short hard punch into the mattress. Hank shook his head back and forth when they exchanged looks. Ron got up and yanked the record off the turntable. “I got to get outta here. Do you want to go for a ride?”

They exchanged a look of friendship and headed for the door.

Ron’s hands were clenched tight. He was crossing and uncrossing his legs. His neck was twitching. Hank turned the radio on without mentioning Ron’s spastic condition. His mind drifted to Jo Lee, and he realized that he was driving towards her house. Ron probably wouldn’t even notice if he turned down her street and took a quick look at her house. It was a familiar ride even from this approach. Hank was pleased with the idea of approaching a woman with whom he was also familiar. It made him feel especially strong when he looked over at his twitching friend who had sort of rolled himself into a ball against the car door and was inhaling a cigarette at a vacuum cleaner rate. They turned onto the street that led to Jo Lee’s house and Ron raised his head like an animal feeling something in the wind. “Where are we goin’?” Hank grimaced and didn’t answer.

He drove slowly past the house, looking at the curtains for silhouettes. None of the front room lights were on. The truck cab sat in the doorway like a stuffed gargoyle. Hank stared at it with fearful disgust. They went around the loop twice; but there was nothing else to smoke, and the radio stations seemed to have saved up all the shitty songs to play at once. Ron had a headache and wanted something to eat.

“Let’s get some coffee,” he said, turning the radio off. “I’m going to give this article to the student newspaper, man. Fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke. I don’t care what happens.”

Hank smiled. He headed for a West Orange location where they could just have coffee and sit in a booth as long as they wanted to. Hank’s mind created Jo Lee’s lawn and slid his eyes up to her window. “Silhouettes on the Shade” played cornily in the background. He entered the window like a camera at the beginning of a movie. Jo Lee was holding her dress up in the air like she’d seen rodents. Tony moved across the kitchen on his hands and knees. Beer dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His t-shirt had large stains on the stomach and rips under the arms. Jo Lee was the girl in a horror movie who was about to be snagged by the creature. Hank saw the thing’s hairy hands on her smooth knee. He clicked the picture away and just remembered her real life voice saying, “Hank, you did me good.”

When Ron arrived back home, he headed for the refrigerator where he saw a large note with his name at the top of it. “Ronald, Jerry called and you can have the car anytime you want.” He studied the note without reaction. He noticed that his heartbeat had picked up its pace. He smiled to himself and said, “What the fuck, it’s only transportation.” He bobbed his head as the idea of owning a car that had been knocked on its ass sunk in. He’d been knocked on his ass a few times.

He was in 6th grade the time Richie Porkelli had come running down the street full speed and belted him before he could look up from the book on human anatomy he was reading. He saw himself go up and back and then bounce hard on the pavement. His vibrating elbow sent electric shocks up and down his arm. His eyes blurred and refocused and then blurred again. Richie was the toughest kid in the 6th grade. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he grinned at Ron. “I did it as a dare,” he said. “Don’t be a baby, you ain’t hurt.”

“Fuck you,” snapped Ron. Then he realized that he was dizzy and couldn’t bend his elbow. He knew he wasn’t gonna fight. “You really suck, you know that?” Porkelli walked away laughing. Ron tried to remember if he’d gotten even with Porkelli.

There was the time in 8th grade when they had spent an evening wrestling on Richie’s mats. Ron broke out with chicken pox the next day and about a week or so later when Easter vacation was just starting and he was better Richie called to say that he had them. A get-back is a get-back he told himself.

He wondered what happened to the car that had hit his car. He tried to picture it but all he could remember was that it was black and square. He took the note off the refrigerator and headed for his room.

When Ron saw color coming through the green shades, he crawled across the room to look at the clock. It was 5:30. There were scattered balls of yellow paper all over the floor. Ron put them in a pile and began to take basketball shots at his lampshade. They all missed. He gathered them up to try again. When he made one, it dropped down directly into a water glass under the lamp where it opened a little like a water lily. The paper grew as it opened and then fell out of the glass onto the floor. “That’ll never happen again,” he said out loud. When he got up, his body creaked like a flight of wooden stairs. He walked out to the back porch and lit a cigarette. He sat hunched with his elbows resting on his knees. It was a heavy-aired morning and too early to judge the weather of the day. Ron felt like the chorus of birds asking him why he hadn’t been to sleep. His eyes felt watery as he flipped the cigarette onto the wet grass and staggered back to his room.

He picked up the last draft he’d made of the article and stood in the center of the room trying to read it one more time. He liked the title: A Darker Shade of White. He started to read but his mind became a snowy TV set before he got through the first few sentences. He took off his pants and shirt and flopped on the bed, almost asleep before he landed.

Hank masturbated until he came like a water sprinkler. It had taken him a while to get it going, but when he started squirting he felt like the spurts would go on forever. He was exhausted by the time his cock quieted down. He remembered the puny, dribbly little orgasms he used to have. He thought of Jo Lee and smiled the most satisfied smirk he’d ever let out with in his life. The sheet was moist and his grimaces were fading like wrinkles on a hanger-hung, permanent press shirt.

Chapter 10

Ron’s 8:00 am class was in the auditorium where he couldn’t hear half of what the professor said, where his legs stiffened and fell asleep, and where he still hadn’t figured out how you were supposed to take notes without a desk, a black board, and someone who made sense to you.

He drove George’s Olds down the parkway for what he hoped would be the last time. He’d found another note on the table this morning that said Jerry and his wife would be over to play cards that night and they were bringing the car with them. Ron was enjoying the Olds. He goosed the engine and the car shot over to the left lane with a strong power surge. The radio was playing “Hitchin’ a Ride” and Ron increased his speed until the needle began to descend and the speedometer arc. He saw that he’d gotten up to 85 mph and panicked. He looked into the rear view mirror to see if he was screwed and realized that he’d been so busy looking for cops that he hadn’t slowed down. He took his foot from the accelerator, and the car seemed to relax and begin to cruise. He moved back to the center lane where he would be less conspicuous.

Walking through the parking lot, he realized that he hadn’t brought his history notebook for the second class in a row. “Fuck,” he said and pushed through the doors of the building, gave his cock a reassuring tug and went into the auditorium.

The history class was depressing because it was dark and he never got to make out a familiar face. The teacher was a balding bearded man who wore a suit and laughed at his own jokes and anecdotes. Ron liked to sit low in his seat so that it was easy for him to not even see the instructor. He slipped in and found his place but discovered that he’d also forgotten to bring a pen. He groaned audibly. He stared down at his Math notebook and wished that he’d never come to college with its bullshit courses and its asshole teachers.

The subject for that particular ‘Western Civilization to 1600’ class was Professor Paul Lanza’s first real lecture on Paleolithic man. It was, by structure, a short wrap-up of information stretching from the dawn of man on down to the magical numbering of years which Lanza assured his class he would refer to as often as (ha, ha) the first amendment. Lanza stroked his beard and said several things that Ron couldn’t hear.

Ron squirmed uncomfortably trying to decide if he should ask somebody for a pen or just get up and leave. He looked around to see if there was a girl he’d like to ask to coffee after the class. There was nobody. He stared tensely at Lanza. He gnawed the inside of his forefinger and then said, “Fuck it. I can’t hear what he’s saying anyway.” Professor Lanza did not see Ron leave, but he did hear the back door close with a jarring thud that toppled him from his line of thought about “pre-historia” as he fondly called it. He stammered and the freshman class smirked.

Ron slumped over his coffee with the cheerfulness of a stranded astronaut. The feeling of not being where he belonged enveloped him like the smell of rotten eggs. His face reacted likewise. He bit into his glazed donut like it was his future. He tore it off in chunks that he sloshed down with coffee. In his English notebook was the final draft of “Darker Shade of White.” The title stared back at him. He admired it. He sure did like that title.

As he read his account of the encounter with Frybush, he looked around to see if there was anybody from that group present. He located their table at the back of the room and looked over at it periodically as he reread the article. There were several words that he’d guessed the spelling of, but he figured fuck it. If they didn’t print it on account of the spelling, they would be the ones making the error. He hadn’t embellished the story this time. He’d spelled out what happened and what he thought was wrong about it. His coffee had developed a sickly white film on its surface. He swallowed it down with his eyes closed.

The newspaper office had the officially cluttered look of a place where lots of people came to do their work. At the moment, it was empty floor in the center with conference tables and typewriter tables lining the walls. Ron stared down a large head of stringy blonde hair that was hunched over a pad and didn’t look up. Ron silently checked the article with the feel of the room and decided that it would be all right. He cleared his throat, but the pile of greasy straw didn’t react. Ron took a few steps into the room and there was still no reaction. “Are you on the paper?” he said in a little voice that he wasn’t even sure had gotten out of him. There was still no movement. He could see that it was a large guy and that he was working on a drawing. His skin was splotchy to the point that he looked allergic to everything. Ron thought to himself that he wouldn’t look as bad as this kid if he’d been dragged along a dirt road. He didn’t know what to do and he didn’t want to leave, so he lit a cigarette, put his books on one of the typewriters and kept staring at the growth. The bottoms of its jeans were ragged and torn up the legs. It wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Then the door to the room opened and an indistinct brunette walked past Ron squealing, “Richard! How are you?”

Richard rose slowly. “Vee. Oh far out. Got any acid?”

Vee, who now seemed fully aware of Ron, rested her hands on Richard’s shoulders. “Hello,” she said in the best formal voice she could muster.

Ron moved quickly toward her with the article in his hands. “I wrote this for the newspaper. Do you know where I can leave it?”

Vee cracked her chewing gum and pointed to a wooden box that had ”New Submissions” written on it. ”Right here,” she said.

Ron moved toward the box and gently put his article into it. He picked up his books and headed for the door.

“Are you new around here?” she said.

Ron looked down at Richard and smiled. He looked back up to Vee and broadened the smile so she could see his dimples. “Yeah,” he said and then he was out the door.

“Vee Vee,” said Richard, “Was that somebody? I’m trippin my brains out!”

“Far out, Richard” she said as she picked up her books and headed back out the door.

Ron breezed out a set of double glass doors that led to the quad. Several blankets had been laid out by sunbathers, and a football was being tossed around. Ron stopped and watched the flight of the ball. He grinned when he saw the slap against the bare chest of a stocky kid who then threw a tight spiral to his friend. Ron’s mouth fell open as his eyes panned the blankets. Some of the girls were wearing skirts that were so short they didn’t even bother trying to cover their panties. There were cut-offs and halter tops, tight jeans and long, loose hair. He had at least ten minutes before his next class. He stood against a wall and brought his knee up so that he could rest his books on them. The other hand deftly snagged his cigarettes and matches. He comfortably saw that there were other people in the same position doing the same thing. He was almost relaxed and blew his smoke out easily.

He didn’t notice Vee, who didn’t notice him as she walked by. She was upset. A stranger at the school was not her idea of somebody it was cool to talk about acid around. She dismissed the worry with the thought that she’d ask Chris to tell Richard to be more careful. Ron felt like he was part of the panorama. He counted the nipples and the delightfully wiggling behinds and then he thought that it must be time for his class. In the hallway he saw a clock that told him he was late. He said, “Shit,” and walked quickly to the class.

Ron was mechanically copying down all the numbers the math teacher was putting on the board. He hadn’t the slightest shred of understanding of anything the guy said. He aimlessly connected circles and squares and wondered if he was ever going to get a date with one of the girls who seemed to be everywhere. The time he’d spent at IBM had left him feeling sexually deprived and turned him into a desperate man. Maybe he couldn’t get a date for tonight, but what about tomorrow? If Jerry’s car was coming over tonight why couldn’t he get a date? He drew a ”$” in his notebook that answered his question. The check for his first student loan hadn’t come through yet and tuition had taken everything that he’d put aside when he was working. He did have about $12 but that wasn’t the point. The point was finding somebody to go out with.

Ron raised his head to the blackboard to write down some more numbers and then turned around to a full-faced, picturesque smile that was sitting in back of him. She was as smooth as cultured pearls. The pearls smiled again and Ron tried to smile back at them but wasn’t sure if he’d smiled or just stared. He turned back to his notebook. He felt a tension in back of him. She was right there and she was fuckin’ beautiful. Okay, he thought, this is my shot. We’re going to be leaving together. It would be okay if he found the right way to make connections and the connections didn’t already have something plugged into them.

Ron wrote more numbers and thought about a good excuse to turn around again. He didn’t want to look like an obvious jerk-off. He could drop something. He sneered at his own thought. That was the way he and his friends looked up girls’ skirts in the 7th grade. He flashed back on Susan Lucarelli, the chunky, dark-haired girl who sat with her uniform hiked up high enough for anybody to see whatever he wanted to look at. He remembered telling his friend Paul to get a look at her. Paul thought she was schievy but began dropping his pencil as much as Ron. Later that week, Paul and Susan had told everybody that they liked each other and Ron had felt screwed.

Okay, so he couldn’t drop anything. What about asking her what was going on with the class? It was an honest question and probably good for later on, after he’d starting talking to her but it didn’t help him right now. Ron wrote down another set of numbers and tried to look at Professor North like he was listening. He actually did understand about a third of what the old geyser was saying. Maybe if he paid attention, he would understand it all before long.

He shifted in his chair and turned so that he was facing the aisle. He looked down at the floor again and then at her desk and then at her face. She smiled again. Ron judged the second smile to have been smaller than the first and wondered if he’d fucked up. The exit was the important move now. There were at least ten minutes left in the class. He wanted to groan. He wondered if he should ask her to go get some coffee. His attention then turned to Professor North, who was saying that it was rather warm today and that they were at a time of year when summer weather was at a premium and so he was letting the class go early. Ron decided that the old guy was okay.

Everybody started to stand up and now Ron felt that it was almost happening too soon. He turned around as he stood up. She was still seated, arranging her books and pens. Ron watched as she opened different compartments of her handbag to put things away. He’d stood up too soon, and now there was nothing for him to do except leave the room. When he got out into the hall he turned with the door to look back into the room. She was making her way down the aisle. Okay, he told himself. All I’ve got to do is stall for a few seconds. He found a beautifully convenient bulletin board covered with sheets of computer print-out paper. He stared at them thinking about how the perforations made it resemble toilet paper.

He gave the pearls a big smile when she walked past him, but she didn’t seem to notice. He watched her tight jeans and the sway of her superb ass as it wiggled down the hall. Out of my league, he told himself. This is a real piece of ass. “Fuck it.” said a voice from inside him. He quickened his pace and was up alongside her in a few seconds.

“That was pretty nice of him to let us out early like that.”

She smiled the way he’d seen her smile the first time.

“I think he’s a nice man.”

She turned through the doors and out into the parking lot. Ron stayed alongside her, not knowing where his car was or in what direction they were headed.

“Would you like to get something to drink?” he said awkwardly.

A polite little smile answered him. “No, I don’t think that I can. I really have to be getting home right away.” As she turned him down, they arrived at the apron of the parking lot. “See you next week,” she said and started for her car.

Ron heard the voice say, “stop worrying,” and called after her to wait a second. “What I really wanted to ask you while we were having coffee, was whether or not you’d like to go to the G.I.A. rush party with me on Saturday night.”

She looked at him without saying anything. It was almost like she was silently stuttering.

“I know,” he said figuring that he’d better go on, “that it’s a bit sudden, but I’ve been trying to figure out how to get to know you better and I waited for you after the last class (this was, of course, a lie) but I couldn’t find you. I mean, well the truth is that I think you’re very pretty and that it would be great if you went to this party with me.” Ron decided that he’d said enough.

She had to admit to herself that she didn’t have a thing to do on Saturday and that she’d been complaining to her friend Joyce that very morning about how not one of the boys at the school had done anything except stare at her. She’d told Joyce that she was sure there was something wrong with her. She’d seen the signs for the beer blast but this didn’t seem quite right. She was on her way home and this guy who’d never even said hello to her was asking her out.

“I don’t know,” she said.

It was a small opening and Ron was going to try and scoot in before it closed. “What’s your name?” he said grinning. Everybody told him he had a beautiful smile, so he might as well put it to use.

“Veronica.

“My name is Ron,” he offered. “Hey, you know, this does sound weird, but I think that we could have fun together.”

“Why not,” she heard herself saying.

She clunked her books down on top of her car, a ’64 Ford that Ron told her looked to be in great shape, tore out a piece of paper and gave him the necessary information. He stared at her breasts as she wrote.

“I’ll be seeing you on Saturday night then,” he said. “At about 7:30?”

“Why don’t you give me a call at around 5:00 when I get home from work,” she said thoughtfully.

“OK,” said Ron and smiled.

She thought that he had a round face. He backed away and gave her a silly little wave. She looked down at her books and then back up as she got into her car. And big shoulders, she thought.

Ron’s pulse was beating like the drum solo from “Pipeline.” He maneuvered his way to his car feeling like Superman. Her ass was outstanding and the jeans were super tight. She must have known how it wiggled and done it on purpose. He wondered if he’d get laid. He ran his hand over the sheet of directions that he’d put next to him on the seat of his car. The phrase “Treasure Hunt” went on in his head like a sign. He saw himself running down aisles stacked with footlockers that had girls’ faces pictured on them. Jan Murray urged him on and the audience clapped wildly. He stopped at the locker with Veronica’s face. The pearls shone with a smooth luminosity. He pushed the button on her locker and the face was replaced by a picture of her tight-jeaned ass. Ron cheered with Jan and the audience.

He switched on the radio in the middle of a commercial for Raceway Park that featured the sounds of Big Daddy Don Gartlet and his funny cars. Ron was happy. When the Four Tops began to sing about Bernadette he sang along with them and thought about how good it was gonna be to get his hands on Veronica’s behind. The ride home took about 20 minutes. There was a fair amount of traffic that made zig-zagging fun. He floored the gas pedal when he heard “Paint It Black.” Then he saw a trooper’s unit and slowed up. He felt like he was always surrounded by cops.

The police station in his town was located on the corner and patrol cars went past night and day. The fuckin’ town judge lived across the street with his screwy daughter. Ron vaguely remembered a story about how she used to put on a show with frozen hot dogs for some of the guys on the football team. There was supposed to be a whole lot more to the story but he hadn’t been a part of the group, and the girl had only barely ever said hello to him. He swung George’s car into the driveway, trying to come close enough to a tree that marked its far corner to break off a twig that jutted out from its trunk.

Aunt Dottie was sitting on the steps that led up to her apartment with Chipper beside her. “How are you doing, Ronald?” she said fishing into her pocket and coming out with a $20 bill. Go on down to the corner and get me 4 packs of Chesterfields, will you?”

“OK,” said Ron taking the bill and heading back out the door.

She watched him leave and put her arm around Chipper. “I guess I’d better let him have the change, don’t you think Chip? He’s probably broke. Twenty years old he is and still in school. Been married two years and lost a child by the time I was his age. He is a handsome boy though, isn’t he Chip? Just like my brother before he went into the Navy. Thank God this one is smart enough not to want to go!” She hugged the dog’s neck. “Well, I don’t think I’ll get to puff that many more packs of Chesterfields.” She paused and the dog whined. “Do you want to go out?” Chipper barked and wagged her tail. She made her way into the back yard.

When Ron returned, she told him to keep the change. Ron was confused by a mocking voice from inside him that kept laughing at him and saying that he was too old for this sort of thing. He settled for a hollow, “I’ll get this back to you sometime, Aunt Dot”

She gave him a stern look. “I should live so long.”

“You’ll be around,” he said with a look of reassurance that made her want to spit at him. She turned her back and walked to the other end of the yard wondering why nobody except for her was willing to see that she was obviously dying.

They were having Larusso’s sausage mixed with potatoes, onions and oil for dinner. Marjorie had met the owner of the market when they’d been on vacation a few years ago and now they bought their meats exclusively from the market. George loved to go back to the old neighborhood and shop whenever he could and Ron loved to sop Italian bread in the stuff, so it was usually a happy meal.

Ron told the story of how he’d gotten his date and added that Jerry’s car had come along just in time. Marjorie laughed to Dottie that he was already making plans for a car he hadn’t gotten yet.

“What do you expect from a young man,” snapped Dottie.

“At least he’s got some life in him. This house would seem like a graveyard if somebody didn’t bring some life into it.”

“What’s that remark supposed to mean,” said Marjorie. Then George said, “How are you going to drive the car and make sure it’s registered and has plates and insurance?”

Ron froze with a mouth full of sausage. He started to say the word fuck and caught himself. He hadn’t thought about any of that or what it would cost. He swallowed, forgetting to chew the food any more, and a glob of sausage fat caught in his throat and made him start to cough. A few seconds later he realized that he was choking. It wasn’t fat at all, it was a sausage string and it was caught halfway down his throat. He reached, red faced, into his mouth and tried to pull out the string. He gagged and had to run to the bathroom where he vomited his dinner into the bowl.

“Jesus Christ!” said Marjorie. “What did you tell him that for?”

“What did I say?” screamed George waving a fork full of salad.

“I’m taking my plate upstairs,” said Dottie, who was a bit ashamed of Ron and saw that the meal wasn’t taking a good turn.

Ron came out of the bathroom with beads of sweat on his red face. “Why do they put string in the meat?” he growled intensely.

George looked down with a secret smile at the two pieces of string carefully laid out on the fringes of his plate and didn’t say anything.

“Sit down and have your coffee,” said Marjorie. She replaced the mug and filled it for him. She picked up her dish and scraped it into the garbage.

“What’s the matter?” said George.

“I’m not hungry any more,” she answered.

George stabbed his last piece of sausage pointedly. His fork pierced the skin with a little pop that emphasized the fact it was good Italian sausage and that he liked LaRusso’s market.

Ron knew that George would never let him have the car to take Veronica to the party but was struck with an idea.

“Won’t the car have plates on it?”

“Probably not,” said George.

“Well then how are they gonna get the car over here?”

“I don’t know,” said George stumbling. “Maybe he left the plates on and just turned in the registration. The car still won’t be insured.”

Ron thought that this seemed like the best time. “Well, can I borrow your car on Saturday night then? You’re smirking.”

“Your mother and I are supposed to go out,” said George.

Ron looked at his mother, who nodded in the affirmative. Ron looked up and headed for the phone. He dialed Hank’s number with a hand that wanted to punch something. The line was busy. He slammed the phone down and headed for his room.

“You are really something,” hollered Marjorie.

Ron walked back into the kitchen holding his shoes. “What do you mean?”

“Here we are trying to help you get a car. Is it our fault that your car blew up? Is it our fault that we work all week and want a little friggin’ enjoyment on Saturday night?”

“Did I say it was?”

“But the way you act is shitty?” Nothing can go wrong in your life without you blowing up. Grow up for God’s sake.”

Ron’s face was a tense mask of muscle when he got to the sidewalk. There was a booth on the corner. He dialed Hank’s number again. The line was still busy. “Fuck it,” he said and went to the avenue and stuck out his thumb. Nobody stopped for the ten minutes that he stood there. He saw a bus in the distance and dug into his pocket for some change.

Chapter 11

Hank hung up the phone and sailed toward the back door with a hop in his step. He issued his normal, but this night slightly extra cheerful, “Good-bye, see you later.” He trotted down the wooden steps. Tony had called Jo Lee to say that he had a chance for a quickie overnight haul that would pay about $200 after expenses. Jo Lee told Tony that she didn’t mind if he went. She said she would go to the movies and he should have a good trip. She told Hank about it with excitement in her voice. She said they would be able to make their own movie. Hank asked what time he should come over and Jo Lee said that depended on how much he wanted to see her. “I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” said Hank. Jo Lee giggled as she hung up the phone.

Hank jumped into his car and started the engine with the phrase “reckless abandon” in his head. She was waiting for him at the curb and popped into the car with a freshness that made Hank want to toot out a happy trumpet sound. “Drive away from here so I can kiss you,” she said in a way that put a bulge in Hank’s pants.

“You look wonderful,” he said.

Jo Lee blushed and turned her head to the side. Something in the silly way he said things made her act like a girl and she wasn’t going to have to sit home getting loaded and watching Friday night clunkers on TV. Suddenly she said that Hank had to stop the car right away. She took hold of his head and stuck her tongue in his mouth. Hank felt like even his hair was shivering. She ran her hand along his stomach and up to his chest, found his nipple and tweaked it, something that Tony would have slapped her for doing. Hank just jumped a little and started his face back towards hers.

“Let’s see a movie,” she whispered.

Hank reached into the back seat and resourcefully produced the daily paper’s movie section, opened and folded right to the theater timetable. “Let’s see a drive-in,” she said. Hank smiled and wished that he still had his Chevy with its bench seats. The bug wasn’t that good for a drive-in.

“Would you rather see “2001” or “Midnight Cowboy?”

“Either one is okay with me,” he said.

Jo Lee’s mouth made a little “O” and said, “I know what you want to see. You want to see “Danish Delights” and Mrs. Hill’s Fanny” don’t you?” She watched him holding the paper in front of her face like a veil.

“That’s at a drive-in,” said Hank weakly.

“I’m not going to tell you where it is because then you’ll just take me there and do who knows what to me.” Jo Lee put her fingers on the edge of her skirt and began to roll it back. It took Hank a few folds to notice but once he realized she was pulling up her skirt right there in his car, he became the driver of a rather reckless vehicle. He couldn’t stop looking at her. His expressions changed from excitement to lust to anticipation to frustration. His confused voice said, “Have you seen ‘2001’?”

Jo Lee’s skirt was well over the edge of her panties and she stopped with a last fold that clearly intended to leave it there. “No,” she said, “what’s it about?”

Hank wanted to stare at her and wanted to drive and wanted to tell her about the story. The overload had frozen him. “I don’t really know. Different people have written really different things about it.”

“Don’t you want to see for yourself?” she said in a strange voice that made him return to staring at her.

Her hand was between her legs and she was walking her second and third fingers up and down the front of her panties like a joyful yellow pages commercial. Then they came walking over her left thigh towards Hank. They leaped to the gearshift and Hank realized that he hadn’t looked at the road for what must have been minutes. Somehow they were still going down the street normally and not seeming any different from any of the other cars. “Helicopter, helicopter,” she said as her hand popped into the air with wiggling fingers and landed between Hank’s legs. She scratched the corduroy that covered his cock. She whispered close to his ear “Do you want to come out to play?” Hank held the wheel firmly. She bit into the bottom of his ear. “What film would you rather see, Hank?” Hank tried to say that he wasn’t sure but she plopped her tongue in and out of his ear and he moaned. “I think you’re a ‘Midnight Cowboy’,” she said and squeezed his cock again. It was hard and pressing against his zipper. If he hadn’t been watching the road, he would have seen how much the erection impressed her. Hank was breathing hard and his sinuses hurt.

“We can see “Midnight Cowboy”,” he managed to say. His throat was beginning to clog from the migration of mucus. She kissed him underneath his sideburn and read out the name of the drive-in on Route 3.

Chapter 12

It had just turned dark when Ron, bored with being at Welmont again, started to walk home. He wanted to make sure that he was there in time to see “The Hustler.” It was his favorite movie although “The Ten Commandments”, which he hadn’t seen in some time, still got some billing on his list. He stared into the window fronts and thought that the streetlights made him look good. When he reached the corner by the Tremont Theater, he studied the poster of an actress holding Steve McQueen’ s hands up to her tits.

The picture and the location made him think of Cindy, who lived just up the street. They’d dated during the year after he graduated high school and they’d fucked at least once a week. He used to love to bounce her tits on the palms of his hands. She’d said that she liked it when he squeezed them gently and sucked them hard. Thinking of those huge creamy tits and her red bush, he walked up her street. He wondered if she’d gone back to high school and stopped across the street from the driveway that ran alongside the apartment building she lived in. He pulled on his cigarette and stood still like a picture. Then he flipped the butt away just like Sinatra would’ve done it. He almost imagined a spotlight following him back down the street.

As he turned the corner he came face to face with two policemen who had been watching him from the other side of the corner store window front. Ron’s eyes caught the flash of a long silver cylinder and then he was blinded by an explosion of light.

“Hey,” said Ron, bringing his hands trying to turn away.

“Where are you coming from?” said a voice from the other side of the light.

“Welmont Lanes,” said Ron. He felt himself being backed up against a wall and held there with one arm. Two other hands patted down his chest, sides, and legs.

“Welmont Lanes isn’t up this street,” said the cop who clicked off his flashlight in time for Ron to see two patrol cars pulling up at the curb.

A tankish guy with a bald head, wearing a short sleeve shirt and baggy pants with the flourish of a handkerchief sticking out of his rear pocket, approached Ron with a swagger that made him look like a rumbling machinery. The two patrolmen backed away a step as Detective Gavonelle stopped in front of Ron, who thought the guy was going to hit him. “What’s your name?”

“Ron Tuck. Can I ask what I did wrong?”

“You know what you did,” said the tank. Detective Gavonelle turned around to make sure that the other men were paying attention. “OK, you found him coming from up there?” He pointed up Cindy’s street. “What did he tell you?”

The voice from in back of the flashlight had blonde hair and a broken tooth. “He lied. He said he was coming from Welmont.”

The tank turned its barrel mouth on Ron. “You said you came from where?”

Ron looked past the tank and saw that a small crowd had gathered in twos and threes. The people had come from nowhere and were staring at him. He heard a voice say, “There’s Betty! Hello Betty.”

“I was walking home from Welmont, and I took a little detour.

“Sure you did kid.” The tank put his hand on Ron’s shoulder and was leading him to the car.”We’re going to take you in Ron,” said Gavonelle. Ron slid into the back seat next to the flashlight holder who smirked and showed his broken tooth.

Ron felt dull and detached. I’m in a squad car, he thought, and they’re taking me in. He felt like he must’ve done something very wrong and first they would show him what it was and then they would put him away for a long time. As they reached the police station, he thought, this could really be the end of my life. I’ll be out on the streets and probably die in some gutter when they’re done with me.

Ron was led to the Sergeant’s desk. The blonde guy left him standing there and went around the side through a swinging door. He stopped in front of a guy with a cigar in his mouth and gestured over his shoulder at Ron. Ron started back at them and fought off the inclination to put his head down. Then the blonde guy came back towards Ron and said, “Come with me.”

They walked slowly down a fluorescent-lit corridor. Ron kept looking for a clock and wondering if “The Hustler” had started yet. They entered a room that held a dozen large, wooden worktables and a wall of file cabinets. Ron reached for his cigarettes but found they’d disappeared during the confusion. “Are you guys gonna tell me why I’m here?”

“In a few minutes,” said the broken tooth who Ron noticed had a tattoo creeping down from under the edges of his shirt sleeves.

“Can I make a phone call?” said Ron in a voice that he was sure would get action.

He was startled when the cop replied, “Not yet.”

“I dropped my pack somewhere when you guys picked me up. Do you think I could have a cigarette?”

The cop looked back at Ron quizzically. He reached into his pocket and drew out his pack along with the lighter his wife had given him for his birthday. He watched protectively as Ron used it and snapped it shut with a click, which was rougher than the treatment Patrolman Peters thought it deserved.
The tank rolled into the room just as Ron was finished looking at a bulletin board full of messages that he couldn’t quite read from where he sat. The tank was followed by a man in a blue uniform with a jacket Ron hadn’t seen before. Gavonelle stopped in front of Ron and leaned over the worktable saying, “Okay Ron, you can make this a lot easier if you just tell me what happened.” He had a sickly kind of scary look on his face.

“Well, I was walking down the street and you guys, he looked over at Patrolman Peters, came along and grabbed me.” He looked into the barrel of the tank as sincerely as he could. His voice was beginning to quaver. He was aware that this wasn’t like being told to move on and then getting caught standing on the same corner a few minutes later. He tried to remember what he’d done wrong and summoned up a courage that was born out of innocence and curiosity. “Would you tell me why I was brought here? What am I supposed to have done?”

“Purse snatching,” said Gavonelle. He delivered the charge at Ron’s face with a searching expression that would clue as to the type of individual he was dealing with. Ron was in a state of semi-shock that could only be compared in his life to the way he felt when they told him they were going to operate on his left knee, or when they told him they were going to operate on his right knee, or when they told him after the second operation that they’d found a tumor in his knee and that they were going to check for malignancy, or when they told him that he was being thrown out of his first high school, or when he’d gotten caught stealing money from Marjorie’s piggy bank and he was told that he was being taken to Boystown. He was unable to do anything for at least 30 seconds. He wasn’t dizzy but everything seemed to blur in front of him. He tried to look at something he could grab hold of.

Gavonelle interpreted his silence for resignation and even went so far as to nod his traditional nod, something he reserved for a private job well done that he learned to give himself because there was no one else there going to give it to him. He was disappointed when Ron mumbled, “I didn’t take anybody’s purse,” in a rather believable way. Some of them held out longer than others and some of them never did admit to things they’d done no matter what the evidence was. You could never really figure out how they were going to react. It was only a guess as to whether the evidence would put some sense into them as it was built up.

“All right,” said Gavonelle, “You’re not going to do this the easy way, right? You’re going to sit there and make us listen to your bullshit story about where you were, aren’t you? I’m telling you right now, Ronnie, I’m not gonna give you a break if you put me through a load of crap. Do you understand what I’m telling you kid?”

Ron shook his head “yes” and then said, “But it’s not crap. I didn’t take anybody’s purse.”

“Okay,” said Gavonelle throwing up his hands and gesturing to the guy in the blue jacket. “This is Sgt. Brady. He’s going to take your fingerprints and check them out to see if you have a record. Do you have a record, Ron?”

Ron immediately flashed back to the time when he lived in Newark. He was in 6th grade and had been caught with a butcher knife that he’d stolen from his mother’s utility cabinet. He and his friends were going after the niggers because they had gone too fuckin’ far this time. The war never came off because the cops got wind of it and showed up before anything happened. Even though they were Protestants, his mother had put him in a Catholic school after that.

Sgt. Brady led him over to another table. Ron wanted to yelp when Brady pressed his fingers onto the pad and then across the paper, but he only looked up at the tank and waited to see what was going to happen to him next.

“Okay,” began Gavonelle in a tired and sarcastic voice, “Where were you about 9 o’clock tonight?”

Ron said, “Can I make a telephone call and let someone know that I’m here?”

“Why do you want to do that?” Gavonelle was now more convinced of the suspect’s guilt. He’d been in the station less than an hour and he hadn’t really been asked any questions and he was already requesting counsel.

“Isn’t it my right?” said Ron.

The three cops in the room smiled at each other and the broken-toothed one shifted his feet and relaxed. At least now he was starting to act like someone who’d gotten caught.

“You’ll get all your rights,” said Gavonelle. “Where were you at 9 pm is what I asked.”

“I was probably at Welmont Lanes or had just left.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I went to shoot some pool and see if any of my friends were around.”

“Who did you meet?”

“Nobody was really there, so I had a cup of coffee and played by myself for a while.”

“Okay, Okay,” said Gavonelle. He was impatient to get to the rest of it. “When did you leave the bowling alley?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Didn’t you just say that you left at 9 o’clock?” Gavonelle shook his head. He was sure that his instincts were correct. The kid would come around in no time, especially after they got the woman to identify him.

“Can I have another cigarette?” said Ron.

Peters didn’t answer this time, nor did he appear particularly pleased when the tank swerved around to him and said, “Let’s make sure our fearless purse grabber gets his rights. Give our boy a cigarette. He’s a hero who grabs old ladies’ purses in the dark. He deserves not to be deprived.”

Peters put his pack of cigarettes and the lighter on the table a distance away from Ron. Ron looked down at the black-tipped fingers which made him look like a shoeshine boy. He held up his hands to show them that he couldn’t touch anything without smearing it. Gavonelle tossed a single butt and a pack of matches from his own pocket in Ron’s direction. “Helpless as a baby, right,” he said with a short, bitter laugh. The other cops looked at Ron like the word asshole was written on his forehead.

A fourth cop came into the room and leaned down to say something near Gavonelle’s ear. The detective got up and pulled out his back pocket handkerchief. He wiped his face and gestured to Patrolman Peters. “Make sure gorgeous George here doesn’t burn himself trying to light his cigarette.” He started for the door after the fourth cop.

Ron wondered if this was when he was gonna get hit. He’d heard stories about the room downstairs at this police station. When Gavonelle was out of the room, Ron turned to Peters. “Look man, I didn’t do anything. How do I get this guy to stop acting like I’m guilty?”

Peters didn’t seem to want to answer but said, “The detective is only doing his job. If you haven’t done anything wrong, everything will work out okay for you.”

Ron didn’t believe a word of it. He had a panicky feeling that told him he was about to get screwed really badly. He got up and started to pace towards the door. Peters instantly moved around so that he was in front of Ron. It was odd how this kid didn’t realize that his freedom had been taken away and that things were going to stay this way until a matter was settled and probably after that. Peters would show him exactly what that meant if he did anything stupid.

Ron backed up and sat down in the chair again but was unable to stop fidgeting. These fuckin’ guys sucked and they were about to make one of the most jerked-off moves of all time! He wanted to tell Peters about how he knew the judge in his town and that he was gonna make sure that they were the ones who got screwed for this. Too scared to say anything more, Ron formed his accusations in his mind and tried to write them on his face with his expression. Peter’s wasn’t moving, and Ron wondered if they taught you to stand there and do nothing at policeman’s school. Peter’s probably thought there were no contradictions in the world. What a jerk-off! He’s got it figured out so that things always come out even or in his favor, thought Ron.

The door opened, and Gavonelle rolled back into the room. Ron could have sworn that he made squeaky sounds when he walked. “Get up and come over here,” he ordered. “Stand in front of this mirror.”

Ron thought, “This is where I get belted.” He felt very small and like there was a big hole in his pants. The mirror reminded him of a clothing store that he once worked in. He put his head down with shame at how innocent he’d been back then.

“Look straight into the mirror,” said the tank. “Stand up straight.” After a few seconds he barked, “Say something.”

“What should I say?” Ron turned around to the tank like he was a friend who would help him in this time of need. Gavonelle nodded his head understandingly. “Say: if you scream, I’ll kill you.” Ron repeated what the detective had said. “Say it louder and meaner,” said Gavonelle like he was firing a machine gun. Ron closed his eyes and bit his lip. He screamed out the line Gavonelle had given him. “Turn sideways,” said the tank, who Ron now decided resembled a bull dog. He felt almost too weak to stand up anymore. “The other way,” barked Gavonelle.

Ron showed the mirror his other side. He was ready to scream out, “Okay! You’re right! I’m disgusting! I disgust myself too.” He wanted to ask for another chance to straighten things out. A voice in his head said that only little kids get second chances and that he should have known that they’d catch up with him sooner or later.

“Sit down here,” said Gavonelle, placing a chair in front of the mirror and mumbling to Peters, “Keep him in the chair.”

Ron squeezed the bridge of his nose from his eye sockets.

Why had this happened to him? How the fuck could he ever explain this? He had just been on his way home like any other fool who didn’t have anywhere to go on a Friday night. Maybe that was why it had happened. Maybe it was because he didn’t have places to go like normal people. That was probably what this was all about.

“Is there any place where I can get some water?”

“Just sit there,” said Peters.

He turned and left the room. Ron was by himself for the first time in what seemed like hours. He let out a breath and cracked his knuckles. Peters didn’t seem to be coming back. Ron got out of his chair and went to the door to see where his water was. Peters met him at the door with a 2-ounce Dixie cup in his hand. “Didn’t I tell you not to get out of the chair?” he said in a raised and worried voice.

“No,” said Ron. “You told me to stay where I was. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Peters clenched his fist, and Ron moved back to the chair draining the cup that teased his thirst. He stared at his own reflection. He could have sworn for a minute that he could make out the smallish figures of the tank and the silhouette of a dress in the mirror. They appeared to be inside a camera. It wasn’t until then that he realized that he was in front of a two- way mirror. He stiffened and looked down at his shoes. He did not look up at the mirror again.

A long time passed. Ron did not ask for a cigarette or any more water. He ceased to search out the details of the muggy room. He no longer wondered if “The Hustler” had started. The flesh and lines of his hands became increasingly interesting to him. He studied them intently as if he was tracing the route of a long, winding river. He dug at the creases of his knuckles like his nails were bulldozers that he could just go on digging with until he made some real progress, until he had done some real structural damage that would even impress these punchpress people. He was happy when his hand began to bleed. He held the cut up to the corner of his mouth and gnawed at it like a merciless rodent. His lips got sticky from the blood.

When the tank came back into the room, he was swinging his arms loosely. “Okay Ron,” he said cheerfully, “everything checks out for you.”

Ron stared up at him. “What?”

Gavonelle immediately looked annoyed. “I said that everything checks out for you. You can leave but watch yourself in the future.”

“What do you mean I should watch myself in the future?” Ron was reviving quickly. He shoved his left hand into his back pocket. “What the hell did I do that I should watch myself about? Walking home? Is that what I did wrong? You wonder why people my age can’t stand you!” Gavonelle was walking away and Ron started following him. “I should tell you what I did and make things easy,” he spit after the tank as it rumbled into the hallway.

Patrolman Peters moved in front of the door. “Calm down before you get yourself in real trouble.”

“What did I do to get myself brought in here?” shouted Ron.

“Just relax!” screamed Peters, a little louder than Ron had shouted. He held out his arm to keep the punk from running after the detective. If there was going to be trouble from this smart assed punk who was probably right for the first time in his life, Peters would love to deck him. Ron stared at the cop and shifted on his feet. In his gut, he wanted to race at the cocksucker and drive a nail into the broken tooth with his fist. What fuckin’ right did these bastards have to put him in here and do this to him? Ron was led out of the room some two minutes later and was escorted down the hall by Patrolman Peters, who stood him in front of Sgt. Brady

“They’re spoiled, that’s what the matter with them is! How do they think they’d make out in any other country in the world? For about ten minutes they’d last. They all act like it,” Brady shouted over to Gavonelle. Ron saw him out of the corner of his eye.

Ron wanted to scream “Fuck all of you” and drive the stapler that was sitting on Brady’s desk into the prick’s eyes. He was certain that he could do damage before they got him. It seemed that everyone in the room was smirking at him. They’d gotten the best of him.

He hit the door, saw his bus coming down the street and ran to meet it. As he paid the fare, he wondered why they hadn’t searched him. On top of being cops, which was bad enough, they had been fuckin’ stupid cops.

He could hear the hum of the air conditioner as he approached his house. When he climbed the steps, he could make out the background noise of the television. He smiled at the familiarity.

The apartment was dark except for the TV light. Ron walked over to the floor lamp and switched on the brightest light. Marjorie and George were temporarily blinded. Ron watched them squinting and thought they resembled mole people.

“What’s the matter with you? We’re watching something!” moaned Marjorie. George groaned, got out of his recliner and headed for the bathroom.

“I was arrested tonight,” Ron announced.

George stopped in his tracks and Marjorie looked scared when she asked, “For what?”

“Purse snatching,” said Ron, adding sarcastically, “I didn’t do it.”

George walked away shaking his head and muttering. When he was safely in the bathroom, he reached into the hamper and pulled out a copy of “The Kitten.” He began to read from the place he marked that morning. The kitten had just decided to help out this couple whose marriage had become dull. She was telling Mrs. Undee to open her legs and that she would do the same. Mr. Undee would play bunny rabbit. Mr. Undee had gotten very excited when George heard Marjorie call, “Would you please come out here and call this police department that arrested Ronald?” George closed the book, put it back in the hamper, stared at the shower curtain and got up wearily.

Chapter 13

While Hank and Jo Lee were waiting for the start of the movie, they stared out into the playground that was set up at the base of the screen. Jo Lee gazed at Hank’s profile and saw a softness in his expression as he watched the children. She wondered what a child of theirs would look like. She took her yellow page fingers and twined them in the hair above his temples. Dangling in front of her eyes was Shirley Temple singing “On the Good Ship Lollipop.” She stared down disapprovingly at his glasses. The thought that they might have a blind child frightened her. Suppose he went blind and she got stuck taking care of him.

Hank was smoking a cigarette and quietly letting Jo Lee play with his hair. He knew that this was the way life was supposed to be. He had been slightly concerned about whether the car speaker would be broken or fuzzy, but by now not even an essential like that was more than a detail.

They tickled each other and laughed when the movie started. They pointed like they were visiting a zoo. Hank became interested in the plot, while Jo Lee grew bored and decided it was one of the stupidest movies she’d ever seen. She wondered what Hank could be thinking about while they watched this thing. She liked the title but the people were all the same. There was no monster, no action, none of the things she liked in a good story. She reached for Hank’s hand. “It’s so dark now that we could go anyplace,” she said. “I feel like there are people breathing all around here.”

Suddenly the weight, mass and sweat of the palpitating crowd oppressed Hank like he was locked in a closed closet in August.

He took the speaker off the window and asked her where she wanted to go. At first Jo Lee couldn’t believe that he was doing it. She had never walked out of a movie in her life, except for the time she was in the balcony with Dennis Worth. She had been jerking him off and then there was a power failure and everyone had been given passes to come back whenever they wanted. She hadn’t liked the drive-in but it gave her a strange feeling in her stomach that she just said that she didn’t like it and he was ready to go. They turned onto the highway and she said, “Hank, can we get dinner?”

Hank had $60 dollars in his pocket and didn’t care how much of it he came home with. His mind scanned a list of blue ribbon restaurants he’d constructed for just such a purpose. “How about a seafood place called The Fin and Claw,” he said in a smooth ‘Jonathan Schwartz reading a commercial’ voice.

At dinner they smiled over and over again at how good everything tasted. They drank two bottles of red wine. They talked about actors and movies that Hank had never told anyone he’d seen. He knew no one else who liked Fred Astaire, even though Fred made Mick Jagger look like he was afflicted with a disease of the nervous system. For the first time that he could remember, he allowed himself to be critical of rock music. Sure, he and Ron had talked about how Jagger was nothing but a prick who fucked on everybody’s head and took their money to boot, but that had been said with admiration and laced with envious laughter. “I think Mick Jagger is a lazy slob who’s done nothing with his talent except created absolute shit,” said Hank.

Jo Lee was thinking about a fantasy she once had about giving Mick a blowjob while he stood on stage and sang “Jumpin Jack Flash.” She said, “Why do you think that?”

“He just hasn’t changed and it’s getting harder and harder to find something about their songs that isn’t dull.”

“So who do you like now?” She knew that he wanted to talk and decided to let him run along what he would consider a wonderful conversation during which she would say little and offer not one opinion. It was the way most men and boys liked it.

Hank opened his musical heart to Jo Lee’s scrutiny. She listened with an expression of studied interest. He was totally oblivious to the fact that she didn’t care about rock music at all. She wondered why men drew women into the useless confidences. She studied his cheekbones as the subject came round to San Francisco groups. Hank rambled about his quandary concerning groups like Quicksilver Messenger Service, a great band that could reach real stardom if they could find a distinctive vocalist. Someone who would jump out at you like one of the instruments instead of just droning along.

Jo Lee decided there was something about Hank’s faces that reminded her of an embryo. He had moved on to talk about Jefferson Airplane, and she giggled at the thought of an embryo with glasses. She scratched his sideburn and Hank thought that he must be impressing her with what he knew.

They each drank a brandy after dinner. Then, at Jo Lee’s suggestion, they moved to the bar and had gin gimlets. Hank liked the alliteration in the phrase and had taken to repeating it as often as he could. Long after his words began to slur, he told her about how Ron always put down people who drank too much. Jo Lee really didn’t care for Ron and by the fifth or sixth time his name had come up, she was openly hostile.

“Don’t you see that he only criticizes to make himself feel better?” Hank was stunned. He had never noticed what was now an obvious thing. He liked the way Jo Lee had just pinpointed it.

They were very drunk when the reached the parking lot. Jo Lee was enjoying leaning against him while they moved. She walked up to his side of the bug and said sneakily, “I want to get in this way.” Hank knew immediately that she’d forgotten about the gearshift. It made him bite down on his lip and think about his Chevy.

“We found that your son was as clean as the driven snow,” explained Detective Gavonelle, slowly giving the phone the finger as he shook his head and said, “Of course I would have let him call home if there was ever a question about us holding him.” A pause. “Yes Mrs. Bombasco, it would be our duty to let you know if anything had really been wrong.”
Marjorie again mentioned her connection with Judge Mathewson, and Gavonelle’s face tightened the same way it had tightened when his chief had told him that he should call the woman up and smooth things over after the chief had listened to her mention the judge’s name several times during their conversation. The chief had been right on the mark when he told Gavonelle that his actions had been 200 percent in the right but that he was requesting that Gavonelle make the call so that Judge Mathewson wouldn’t have to listen to this woman complain for the next 20 years. Gavonelle had been around long enough so that the chief didn’t have to say another word. Gavonelle concluded the mission by repeating that the department was sure that Ron was “as clean and pure as the driven snow”.

Marjorie said that she would accept the apology but that she thought the police could find better things to do than harassing innocent people. Gavonelle thanked her, put down the phone, exchanged a disgusted look with Sgt. Brady and walked out for the night dramatically ringing out his ear with his finger.

By the next morning, Ron was beginning to feel proud about having endured the situation in the police department. He had been waylaid by the enemy and kept his cool and he had broken free with the logic of the situation demanding his release. When Marjorie told him about her conversation that morning, first with the chief of police and then with Gavonelle, he looked at her with contempt. He swallowed down two hard rolls and a cup and a half of coffee. He kept his eyes half open and silently repeated to himself that he had a real date that evening and that this was a good time to ask about the car again.

Marjorie finished telling him about what Gavonelle had said and asked if he would go out and get some breakfast cake. “Sure,” said Ron, “but couldn’t you call Jerry’s wife and make plans to ride in their car tonight? This is a really pretty girl and do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a date? Weeks!”

“Oh you poor thing,” said Marjorie smiling.

“Come on,” he said, returning the smile, “You’re gonna laugh at me?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Ron was back with the buns by the time George came to the table. George usually drank his coffee without saying anything. She never criticized him for being quiet in the morning since she was usually quiet herself. He was pleased to find that Ron had included some apple turnovers in the sack. They were his favorite and he was the only one who ate them. He placed them on his napkin, sweetened his coffee, poured in the milk in the same orderly manner that always gave him a sense of satisfaction. He had taken about three bites of the turnover when Marjorie said, “Aren’t they good, George?” He didn’t quite say yes but he nodded an assent. “George,” she began. He stopped eating with the frozen look that waited for what was coming. “Why don’t we see if we can use their car tonight? We could really go out in their new car just as easily and I’m sure Jerry would like us to go for a ride in it.”

“Go ahead,” droned George in a defeated voice that didn’t want to start the day with an argument. Ron headed to empty the garbage in appreciation. He hadn’t bought books and that meant he had almost $30 which gave him about $10 to fuck around with at Welmont. As he took the garbage can out the back door, he saw Jerry’s old car, his new car, parked by the garage. He had forgotten all about it. From this angle he couldn’t see any dents at all. He put the garbage down beside the cans and went to have a look at it. As the back of the car came into view from behind the hedges, he saw the shot it had taken. Ron thought that it must have been hit by a pointy nosed thing. He checked the gas tank and saw that it was solid and in place. The car sat up straight. There was only this huge needle-nosed gash that pushed its trunk about a third of the way in. The steering wheel was a big silver thing, not like the tight leather wheel of his Batmobile. Everything else checked out fine and the hood had these two silver tips that he knew he would like guiding the car by.

George was reading the morning paper when Ron came back into the house. “The car looks really good,” he said.

“Never try to tell you anything,” said George, who stood up and folded the paper under his arm. Then he turned and headed for the bathroom.

“He’s right,” said Marjorie. “You always give him a hard time and this time he’s right,” she repeated with emphasis.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Stick around and give him a hand once in a while. He never has any help when he tries to do anything.”

George stopped reading his paper and listened. He smiled with the knowledge that at least she took his part sometimes, but he could only make out about every third word that she said.

“Hank, your father and I want to talk to you before you go out. Just for a few minutes,” she added with a reassuring nod of her soft, double chin.

Hank stared down at his nails and then strapped on his thick leather watchband. He was walking with a hop in his step and was sure that he was just missing bouncing of the ceiling. He found them at the kitchen table, watching him with an avid curiosity. They always acted like something was wrong with him. They were like a comedy act when they tried to talk to him. Phony as the way I used to recite the pledge of allegiance, he thought to himself. He sat down opposite them. His eyes studied them back and his face was expressionless.

“Hank,” began his father, “we’re worried about where you’ve been going at night. We know that you’re keeping company with a girl and now your mother tells me that you didn’t want to say where you were going the other day. We feel it’s our duty to advise you not to do anything that you’ll regret. You’ve got your whole life in front of you Henry.” Hank’s father leaned forward with an open grin on his face. “Have fun with her but don’t screw yourself up.”
Hank’s mother shifted her bottom nervously around the kitchen chair in a way that showed she’d been made uncomfortable. Hank grimaced when his father stopped talking and asked her if anything was wrong in a sarcastic voice. She looked at him coldly and then turned her eyes sadly to her son. “We just don’t want you to make any stupid mistakes. The world is filled with nice girls.”

Hank grimaced. No matter how hard he tried, he knew that his mother would never like Jo Lee. He’d known that before and now he realized why it bothered him. Things were going to be just that much more difficult now. His parents both had sympathetic expressions plastered on their faces. Hank knew that it wouldn’t be necessary to say anything to them. He sat there for three or four minutes clasping and unclasping his watchband while they looked at him. When he felt he’d shown them that he’d contemplated their words for a decent interval of time, he asked if there was anything else they wished to discuss with him. He watched them shake their heads and look at each other gravely. He started for the door and his father followed him onto the porch and said, “Here Hank, take this. I know it’s expensive to have a girl these days.” Hank took the money without smiling and barely saying thanks. He started down the stairs and his father called after him, “Your mother and I want you to have fun, Hank”

Chapter 14

Standing with the showerhead pointing right into his face, Ron would close his eyes and mouth and take it for as long as he could. He liked it better when it didn’t make him choke. It was tradition to give his cock several extra soapings on the night of a date. It reminded him of doing warm-ups prior to a game. After he rinsed his crotch, he re-soaped the pubic hair in slow circles that started on the outside and worked their way into the center. He took hold of it, bent it up and squeezed so he could see down the hole at the top. He rubbed it with the bar of soap like he was shining it up and then moved it toward the bristling water with a trace of timidity. He closed his eyes again as the sensations traveled through his body.

He felt like he was in a cloud ship when he turned off the water. The mirror was a portal he was anxious to have cleared. His feet slipped on the wet tile. He ran the sink water until it was ice cold on his hand and drank four or five glasses in gulping swallows. Sweat and dripping shower water mixed in rivulets, making lakes at his toes. He rubbed a towel across his shoulders as if he was trying to take off a layer of skin. He opened the door a crack and watched the escaping steam. My stomach sticks out again, he thought. He pulled in the muscles as tightly as he could and struck an Atlas pose with his arms. He always looked very strong when he did that.

Ron sat on the edge of the tub and pictured Veronica’s ass. He spread the towel he’d been using on the floor and began to dry again with a second towel. The word dipsy-doodle danced across her swinging cheeks as he remembered the way she walked. He grabbed the baby powder and doused his genitals with four puffy shakes. He stood up trying to avoid the sight of his gut. The toothpaste tasted good and he gave his teeth two extra cleanings to ensure against bad breath. He rolled deodorant sumptuously on his still dripping armpits. He rolled it experimentally across the patch of hair on his chest, but he immediately decided that it was too sticky and rinsed it off with a scowl that lasted as long as the rinsing process took. Stretching his Jockeys over his still wet ass, he headed for his room. The cool air outside greeted him with the aroma of the meatloaf his mother was making. He licked his lips.

Hoping to find something he’d never seen before, Ron threw open his closet. A row of blacks and blues hung neatly on hangers. They called for starched shirts and sweaters or sports jackets. “Fuck them!” he said under his breath. He wanted clothes that didn’t have to be cleaned and pressed after each outing – stuff that could be crumpled up and kept in drawers. Stuff that wouldn’t make him feel like an old man who worked from 9 to 5. He slammed the closet door and brought out a new pair of jeans he’d bought a couple of weeks ago. He hated wearing jeans for the first time. He still hadn’t shaken the feeling that they were unlucky for him.

He’d been wearing jeans on the Sunday morning when they discovered he’d been taking money from his mother’s bank. They called his father, his real father, to come down and punish him. They made him wait in bed. It was just the day before they had agreed to start giving him an allowance, the lack of which had been the reason he was clipping their money. Lying in bed, he kept feeling the harsh, scratching sensations that his new jeans were making on his legs. His father was out golfing and his father’s wife said that he wouldn’t be back until late that afternoon. He stayed in bed all day, waiting. They let him get up and eat and go to the bathroom but no one said a word to him.

When Freddy arrived, he just walked into Ron’s room and took off his belt. He asked Ron which hand he’d taken the money with. Ron couldn’t remember and raised his right arm. He closed his eyes and heard the skin crack. He heard himself say “Owwwh,” before he felt much pain, but he was determined that he wasn’t going to cry or move his hand. It was the intense burning that finally made him draw it back and roll over while his father continued to strap him through the new jeans.

When he was finished, Freddy led Ron out of the house by his other arm and left him standing in the hall of his mother’s basement apartment. Ron rubbed his face on the cool plaster walls. He could feel wetness and his face and neck and flashes of pain running through his arm like jolts of electricity. The welts were puffing out. He slipped on the floor but the blue jeans were digging into the welts that he couldn’t see on his legs and ass.

His father came out of the apartment and walked Ron stiffly to the car. Ron was sniffling as he got in. “I was playing in the back of the big closet. I saw the bank laying there for a long time and didn’t touch it and then one day I was playing pirate and I thought it would be a fun adventure to go to Levy’s candy store and buy soda with the treasure I’d captured. I just kept doin’ that every day.”

“There’s no excuse for stealing,” his father said firmly. “Since you are obviously too much for your mother to handle, I think you’re going to spend some time at Boystown where you’ll learn a real lesson.”

Ron was silent until he felt the car going over the bridge that led to Kearny. He’d seen the large letters spelling out Boystown from the opposite bank of the river. He felt himself slide down to the floor on the passenger side of the car. The heater irritated his skin through the blue jeans.

“Can I come and stay with you?” he asked.

“I don’t want a thief in my house,” said a sharp voice he was afraid to look at.

He could think of nothing else to say and slumped against the door and let the scenery move past him without noticing it for the first time he could ever remember.

The car stopped and he heard his father’s voice say, “Let’s go,” but he was too numb to move. He felt his father’s door slam and felt the door against his back being opened. He still didn’t move. “Don’t be so dramatic about this,” said Freddy. “You make a federal case out of everything.”

In the end, he took Ron up to the door and when the boy began to beg, brought him back home. If it was up to him, he’d have left his son there for a day or two, but his ex-wife would never have stood for such a thing. She had spoiled the shit out of him anyway. No wonder he lay there like a blubbering baby. No son of his should act this way about anything. When he was left alone, the kid was really tough, but his mother just wouldn’t leave him alone. She always gave in to him. He didn’t blame Ronald. Kids try to get away with everything they can, if you don’t draw a line and just not allow them to cross it. What the hell was he doing playing in the back of a closet anyway. The kid should be out playing football. Well, things were going to be very different starting right now.

George handed the keys to Ron and said that the gas tank was full and he expected the car returned that way. “Pay attention to what he says and it won’t be so difficult for you to get the car the next time you need it,” said Marjorie.

“Okay,” said Ron. He would have said anything and they both knew it, but at least this time he had to stand still and listen without one of his smart-assed answers. “How do I look?” he asked after they’d finished their warnings.

“You like fine,” she said sternly and then had to smile at the way his face adopted the innocent pose which he’d been using his whole life. She swore that when he made that face, she would sometimes forget time and where she was. She told herself again that there were still plenty of years for him to find out what he wanted to be and who he really was. She wouldn’t tell him again, just yet, that leaving IBM had been a terrible mistake. She’d let him find it out for himself, the way he always said that he wanted to find things out. IBM was a terrific company to work for and their benefits had been outstanding. He’d assured her that it was just an educational leave of absence, but how would it look for him to take off all this time after just being there for two years.

She looked at the window in time to see the white fins bounce as the car left the driveway. She heard a metallic scrape and saw his head bounce off the roof of the interior. “Son-of-a-bitch,” she said. This was the last time she was gonna let him drive the car until he learned to use it properly. She was glad that George hadn’t seen or heard it. The phone was ringing. “No Hank, he isn’t. He had a date,” she said.

Hank walked out of his door not sure where he was going but certain that he wanted to be out of the house before his parents got back from shopping. There were two records that he wanted to pick up and he had been meaning to go out to Arrow Electronics to see if they’d gotten the new Bose speakers in yet. Hank smiled at the way his engine turned over. Maybe it didn’t have Chevy seats but he was sure it was going to start whenever he turned the key and that was what was really important. He liked the distinctive tapping of the engine so much that sometimes he left the radio off and listened to it.

He set his course for Sam Goody’s thinking that maybe he’d drop by and see TJ at his night league later on. He withdrew what Ron would have called a toothpick joint from his pocket and lit it with the smooth click of his lighter. Just enough to be nicely buzzed he told himself with “and away we go” feel and sailed up to the parkway heading north.

Veronica met Ron at the door with a very friendly smile and a large “hello.” Their phone conversation had been short and she couldn’t even remember what he looked like very well. Ron smiled back from the other side of the screen door, and she decided that she liked his row of straight, white teeth and hoped. She hoped he wasn’t an octopus.

She left him out on the porch and grabbed her thin white sweater before her father had a chance to say to her mother, “Natalie, isn’t the boy Veronica’s going out with even going to come in for a moment.” She tossed a grateful good-bye to her mother and assured them both that she wouldn’t be home too late.

Ron thought she looked great and let her get a couple of steps in front of him so he could sneak looks at her dreamy ass. Veronica saw him look and thought “uh-oh” but gave her hips a little more of an involuntary swing. Her backside was stretched out in green corduroy and she wore a tucked in button down shirt. Ron looked back over his shoulder and saw her parents watching them. He walked quickly so that he could catch up to her by the time they got to the car.

Veronica’ s mother seemed to be waving sadly as her daughter got into the car. She turned back to them with the innocence of a well-shaped lamb and “baahed” silently in their direction. Natalie bleated back at her daughter and Veronica’s father offered to stop the whole thing before they had a chance to pull away. He’d already seen enough to know what Ron’s interest was. “I mean who the hell ever heard of it, Natalie. A good girl going off with some punk she knows for less than five minutes. Think of it Natalie! What kind of guy waits for that time of day to make a proposal (the use of the word made Natalie smile) to a girl he’s never met? A pathetic, desperate character, that’s the kind of person climbing into his car with our daughter right now.”

“Oh stop being silly,” said Natalie.

“He’s probably desperate because he’s some kind of weirdo. I’m telling you that’s the story with this bird. Did you see him drooling over her? And the way you’ve raised that girl, she’s gullible enough to be taken advantage of.”

“You’re not fair,” said Natalie. “I remember how you used to drool over me.” She closed the door wishing that she were seeing an exciting, new person for a change.

Not knowing what to expect, Veronica began the conversation formally. “Did you have any trouble with the directions?”

“Nah,” said Ron, “but I lost the directions to the beer blast, so we’ll just head in the general direction and find out what happens.”

Veronica wasn’t sure about how to take that remark. She thought he seemed like a very confident boy. Sometimes they were the best and sometimes they were the absolute worst. “I thought you knew where we were going,” she said with a slight stiffness in her voice.

Ron grinned at her gently. “I do but I’m a little disorganized sometimes and I forgot to bring the directions with me.”
“You know,” said Veronica, “I think I’ve got a copy of the map.” She dug into her purse and came out with it. “I used it to write somebody’s phone number on.”

Ron felt a pang for a reason he didn’t understand. He didn’t really want her to have anybody else’s number with her while she was out with him. “Whose number is it?”

“Just someone I met at school,” she teased. She wasn’t going to tell him that it was a girl from her biology class.

Ron’s instinct said that it didn’t matter whose number it was, so he let it slide. It wasn’t going to affect him and besides he liked the idea of her being bright enough to have the directions with her. It showed resourcefulness and the ability to be prepared that he admired and lacked. It became evident that she was the kind of person who fit well into things, the type of person who definitely wouldn’t understand what had happened to him the night before.

Ron smiled and took out his cigarettes. He offered one to Veronica, who surprised him by taking it. He’d definitely figured her for a non-smoker, certainly not the type who would take anybody’s. He gave her his lighter and smiled at her awkwardness with it. She gave it back with a little girl look that tickled him. He flicked it on easily and thought about how simple things were more fun with a girl.

TJ was in the middle of the third frame of his first game when Hank got to the alleys, and had just thrown his third consecutive 9 count. First the 10 pin, then the 7, and now the 5 pin confronted him like wobbly visions. Hank watched him convert the spare and walk away rubbing his eyes, shaking his head with the hope that not only the pins would disappear but that he would wake up and find out that things had turned out differently than they had. One day he would get up and throw a strike that would cause time to snap its fingers right along with him. It would be the way the genie popped out of the bottle but TJ was gonna do the popping and wind up in an exotic land, walking down the beach with white leather shoes and a walking stick. TJ had told Hank about that dream on Sunday night after they’d closed the doors at Welmont and had the real money matches. Nobody cared who drank what at the bar as long as the bartender got to tack a quarter onto each drink to make up for his time. Hank and TJ were huddled over TJ’s tenth drink when he told him, secretly, why he snapped his fingers after each strike. The information stuck with Hank and caused him to view T3 as an H.G. Wells type character.

TJ liked Hank because he was a smart kid who knew how to keep his mouth shut and never brought their friendship around to matters that dealt with money. When TJ had fixed Hank’s car and wouldn’t take any money, the kid had made sure to buy him a couple of good bottles. They laughed at each other’s jokes and TJ had the comfortable feeling that there was something about his view of the world that Hank admired. Under normal circumstances, TJ wouldn’t let anyone admire him, not with him being a semi-bum, loafer-crook; but Hank had been at the alleys long enough to have seen worse. “Hanky, it’s been so long since I seen you, I told myself that you must be some sort of ghost.”

Hank stopped and dramatically patted his chest, shook his head and smiled at TJ. “No, I seem to be alive.”
TJ laughed a short gritty kind of chuckle and waved for the waitress. Hank slid into his spectator’s seat, lit a cigarette and put his hand under his chin with an easy motion. TJ broke out a cigar and asked Hank if he had a light. Hank never remembered TJ in need of anything and moved quickly. TJ puffed dreamily on his cigar and asked Hank, since he hated to turn around and look in back of himself, if the waitress had moved into the area. Hank was a little nervous because he was still technically breaking the law. But TJ had said that he didn’t mind doing it and that it didn’t matter so often that Hank was mostly at ease. He realized that he never thought about being underage with Jo Lee. Ron’s voice popped into his head saying that was because she was old enough for the both of them.

TJ got up to bowl, and Hank admired his economical style with a sense of connoisseurship. Anybody that didn’t really know bowling would say that TJ looked funny because he only took three steps and didn’t seem to bring the ball back high enough to get a good swing, but Hank knew that it was all there. The necessary motion was concentrated into an easy walk and roll, TJ looked as effortless as he felt when he walked alongside Jo Lee. The ball was a strike and TJ snapped his fingers and hitched his belt. Hank felt his mind traveling down a corridor. At the end he could see himself playing in the sand with Jo Lee. Her silver hair was in pigtails and she wearing a brightly colored sundress with flowers on the pockets. Hank was himself holding a shovel and pail and for some reason that he couldn’t figure, not wearing his glasses.

“You off in the stratosphere, Hank?”

“I think I’m in love, T,” said Hank taking his first in gimlet.

“Take something for it as quick as you can,” said TJ that Hank realized wasn’t comical.

“Go pick up a slut that you can really knock it into better than you do right now and in the long run it’ll even out if you give her $40 or $50 for a specialty.”

“I wouldn’t be too good at that kind of thing T. I couldn’t work with a whore.”

“Hanky, I’ve seen the look that you’ve got on your face pasted on my own kisser and what I’m telling you is the best advice I ever gave to anybody. If you let yourself get involved with a woman that makes you feel like you’re feeling, chances are she’ll squeeze off your cock in six months.”

TJ’s imagery left Hank speechless. He trusted T’s opinions and now, without even knowing what Hank considered the bad part of things, TJ had told him that it was all fucked up. “I don’t understand,” said Hank. “Why are you worried about me feeling my way through this?”

You’re in no condition to feel your way through anything. You’re more fucked up than you are when you and that lunatic friend of yours go out and smoke those funny looking cigarettes.”

“T, I haven’t even told you the drawbacks of the situation yet. I haven’t knocked your socks off and told you who she is.”

“You think I’m stupid, Hanky? If I didn’t know who you was taking about, do you think I’d react this way?” Hank looked at TJ with disbelief. “It’s around the alleys, Hank. You better think fast because her husband’s gonna know real quick.”

Hank was impaled on an arrow. He emptied the gimlet into his mouth as a dull throb started up the back of his throat. It must have been Ron who betrayed him. How could anybody else find out what was going on? He smiled to himself with the thought that he would poison the bastard. He would watch him curl up like a dead leaf on the floor of the luncheonette. “Where’d you hear about it T?”

“The insurance men were teasing her about her new boyfriend when they were in for lunch. Joey Face asked her if she would sit on his knob if he frizzed his hair and started ordering fruit cocktails. She got embarrassed and told him to fuck himself. She wouldn’t even go back to their table. She made the cook bring their food over and wouldn’t take the $3 tip they left her. Then I hears Norman and Si talking about how you spend more time than money in the place and that they don’t want any trouble so that maybe it would be better if they just kept you out.”

” Hank sat there like he’d been lured into a showing of “Your Life.” He realized for the first time that all the Welmont including TJ, were alike.

“One thing that everybody’s happy about though is that you’re not a fag, Hank.”

Hank stared into his ice cubes as TJ went to throw his ball. He contemplated suicide. He thought of selling his car for as much as it would take to buy enough heroin to do in 5,000 people. He would cook it into a jell-o and trick Ron into splitting it with him just to see the look on the asshole’s face when he told him what they’d just eaten.

TJ threw his ball and a wiggly 5-7 collapsed for his first double. TJ snapped his fingers as Hank thought about dying. It was no great solace that everybody was relieved that he wasn’t a fag. He knew he wasn’t a fag. The cunt who’d started that rumor was just a crazy bitch who he didn’t want to have anything to do with. After convincing him that she was his friend and no longer interested in having him as a boyfriend, she spent the next three years telling everyone she met that he was a fag. Until Donna Lewis had gotten up the guts to ask him if it was the truth while they were standing at a bus stop with about eight other kids. Hank had tried, with Mr. Clean memory cleanser, to scrub away the image of how he’d been too shocked to answer her. He thought that Donna was probably engaged in some kind of leftover grammar school behavior or it was a joke that he wasn’t falling for. He stood there stubbornly waiting in the awkward tension that followed her question. Then he grimaced his most definite “No” but knew that he was marked as some kind of deviant forever. He tried to snap his mind back to Jo Lee on the beach where they were dancing like gods who were pulling the earth together with their movements.

“You see what I mean, Hank? You could have been hit by a car just now and you wouldn’t have even known it.”

Hank needed a cigarette. He steadied his gaze by fixing it on the overhead scoreboard and saw that TJ had just completed his first game. “How’d I miss the rest of your frames?” he asked.

“You better get used to it, Hank, because this is just the beginning for you.” TJ puffed on his cigar, and the waitress brought their second round of drinks.

Hank paid closer attention to the second game but the idea of everybody at the bowling alleys knowing what was going on had taken over his mind. The fact that Ron had sold him out and that he had been stupid enough to tell the asshole left him feeling like a two- day old cup of coffee in a hot room. Maybe he should stop Jo Lee from ruining her life by becoming involved with a buffoon like himself. Why should she risk the only security she had in the world to involve herself with a fishbowl clown?

“She isn’t any good, Hanky.” Hank noticed that TJ always looked sinister when he tried to sound sincere. “Do you have any idea of how many guys have had their pud in her patch?” Hank stared at his new ice cubes. “Just at Welmont, there are three guys she gave blowjobs to when they drove her home.”

“Why should I believe that?” said Hank. Everybody at Welmont lies through their teeth!” Hank stared at the alley in front of him. His eyes slid down the oiled wood. When he came to the pit, he punched the pins which had taken on the appearance of Welmont characters.

“The guy who told me right out was Pete the bartender. Jo Lee told him about you. You know why? Because she had to get him out of the way to make room for you.” Hank had liked Pete. Somehow it didn’t matter that Pete had been seeing Jo Lee. Then TJ just as suddenly, changed his mood. “Ah, everybody’s got the right to be stupid for the right reason, right Hank? I guess it’s what makes things interesting. I’m not gonna say one more dark word about her, Hank.” TJ put down his cigar and walked away to throw his ball.

Chapter 15

The dance floor at the beer blast was washed with spilled mugs and polished with the sweat of the awkwardly slithering dancers. The place was actually a VFW hall on which the frat had been able to wangle a discount. Streamers and half deflated balloons that the dancers kicked like trash as they bumped and staggered across the room, mixed with soggy paper tablecloths that had been pulled off fold out tables.

Ron smiled at Veronica so frequently that he felt like Howdy Doody. There was nothing he could say to her that wouldn’t have to be shouted. “I’m going to get a couple more glasses,” he told her slowly through his cupped hand. Veronica smiled and scanned the floor. She saw broad shoulders hunched over bared necks and everything was being pulsed by what she thought was a good rhythm. It surprised her that at least half the girls had been silly enough to wear dresses. Anyone dumb enough to make that mistake was going to be out the cost of a dress or a twice-through-the-cleaners bill. She had figured it just right, except that as her shirt got wetter it stuck to her bra in the most obvious way. It wasn’t a good idea to give Ron any extra inspiration. She’d been a little put off by the way he tried to rub her pelvis with his the first time they danced together. He seemed to be the type of boy whose idea of dancing was to hump you in some corner, but there were certainly plenty of cute guys here who had seen her. Some of them she actually recognized from the halls as being in her group of outstanding catches.

At the back entrance to the kitchen was a girl wearing a black bathing suit who was drenched in beer. She had the type of hair that tended to be stringy. As the night progressed, she had given up trying to keep it off her forehead, where two or three large tangles of it were matted down with beer, perspiration, and saliva that sprayed from the mouths of the drunken boys who tried to grab her tits while she poured their beers. She’d been paid $25 in advance and promised another $25 if she kept everyone happy until the kegs ran out.

Ron watched her belly and licked his lips. As she handed him his glasses he was pushed from behind and watched helplessly as the foamy head sloshed over the top of his mugs and into her cleavage. He tried to apologize but she ignored him. He felt himself being moved away by the crowd and started back to find his table. He carried the glasses at high port and tried to keep them turned away from his collisions, until a polyester elbow crashed through his defense and sent half of one of the mugs down his shirt. Ron felt the fizzing liquid gather at his belt. The elbow turned to say it was sorry. Ron growled a “don’t worry about it,” without looking at the face attached to the elbow. He shook out his right leg like a character who’d just taken a leak. The dance crowd suddenly being to stomp their feet in unison and chant, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah,” to a thumping base. Ron stopped and looked around hoping that one of the girls was going to take her clothes off, but the shouting stopped and people began to sway to the new riff the guitar had broken into. He was still standing there waiting for something to happen and looking foolish when he saw Veronica sitting about ten feet away. She gave him her “bahh” smile and had a sympathetic look on her face.

When he sat down, he felt a reservoir of beer empty into his Jockeys. He frowned and squirmed a little. He now felt like he had to piss. A voice inside of him mocked, “Why move? Nobody will notice the difference.” Finding his soggy cigarettes shredding in his shirt pocket, he took them out and splashed them down in a crumpled ball on the saturated tablecloth. Veronica looked down at his cigarettes and smiled. Ron tried to pour half of the mug he’d saved into the one that spilled. Carefully tipping the edge, he watched as the beer dribbled down the side onto his ball of tobacco.

When Phillip Frybush saw Ron at the blast, he knew what was meant by laying seeds which would later sprout. He shook his head sagely and engineered his way in Ron’s direction. Ron had ripped away a semi-dry piece of tablecloth and was trying to mop up in front of them. Phil clasped his hand on Ron’s shoulder and pronounced a “Hey, good to see you!” with the same enthusiasm he’d shown a number of other prospective pledges he’d recruited.

Phillip produced a pack of Winstons and handed them to Ron who had been hoping for menthol. eronica wondered when Ron was going to introduce her to this college looking type who seemed to know his way around, but all Ron did was take out two cigarettes, return the pack, and turn his back on Frybush, who shrugged and moved off in another direction. Veronica decided that Ron was impolite and didn’t care that their friends would call them Ron and Ronnie. She wished she’d come here with someone else. Someone who knew his way around and knew how to have fun. They finished their beers and Ron suggested that they leave. She was quick to agree. As they got to the door, Ron heard somebody yell, “Beer’s gone!” The crowd cheered.

Ron thought they were leaving just in time. He would have bet at least $10 that there would be a fight within the next fifteen minutes. When the cops were called, a bunch of people without proof were gonna get busted, he thought. He laughed when they got into his car. “Wow! At least we can talk in a normal tone of voice now, “he said a bit too loudly. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

She was about to answer that the evening had been interesting, but he continued talking. “I’m not very good at things like that. You know, I never enjoyed high school dances either. I’m a lot better at being able to sit and have a conversation with one or two other people, four or five at the most you know what I mean?”

Veronica enjoyed large parties and dances. “Yes,” she said, “I know what you mean.”

Ron decided that he wanted to kiss her, except that he was driving. “Why don’t you come over and sit next to me,” he said, scratching the seat next to him. Veronica stared down at the scratching hand and imagined him trying to scratch her that way. She didn’t go as far as the hand, but she did reduce the distance between them. Ron’s right hand traveled along the back of the seat and rubbed its knuckles on her shoulder. He liked the fleshy way her skin felt. Veronica hoped he was able to still drive with one hand on the wheel. Ron asked if she’d always lived in New Jersey. She told him that she had lived in the same house for as long as she could remember, but that when she was two her parents lived in Illinois. He asked about how she was doing in school and thought about how he could get the conversation around to sex without getting her suspicious. Ron was certain that the way to turn this girl on was without her knowing it. She was the type who could be led up to anything if the right foundation was laid.

Hank was starting on his 10th cigarette and 4th gimlet. The happy humming of the bowling alley reminded him that he was at a hub of activity, a human beehive filled with the energy and strength of over a hundred people.

“You know T,” he slurred, “I like the idea of being able to sit still while everybody runs around. It’s a time when I feel like I belong.”

“That’s why it’s a good thing you’re getting an education. The only thing you got to worry about is keepin’ your wits about you. It’ll be like you’re seeing it all from your living room chair, if you make it work,” he said sentimentally.

Hank sucked his ice cube and cracked it with his teeth. If the night went on like this, TJ would soon be telling stories about growing up. He could describe scenes and situations with more clarity than anyone Hank knew. It always amazed him that TJ, who was everything Hank knew a city to be, had grown up in a small town in Virginia. Hank especially liked the stories of how T had gotten laid under the town gazebo and how one night two squirrels were chasing each other under there and TJ and his girl had gotten scratched up and scared shitless. TJ would say that he’d never been so worried about his nuts in all his life. “For years after,” said T, “whenever I saw one of those bushy tailed rats, I tried to kill it.” Hank remembered laughing so hard that tears welled up in back of his glasses and how it felt like he was coming up from under water when he took them off. He wasn’t sure exactly when he decided that he really was gonna run away with Jo Lee but by the time he left the alley, he was resolved.

On the way home, the idea that she resembled the blonde witch in the TV sitcom took his fancy. He dressed her in a sheer black nightgown with a high open neck collar. He could see her nipples and navel, through the material. As they stood gazing at each other, she twitched her nose. They both stared down at the baseball bat sized hard on she presented him with. She smiled with that long, liquid mouth that promised to be so bad that he couldn’t stand it. She rested her hand on the head of the hard on, turned gracefully pulling him along in tow. The witch rubbed the tip of his cock lightly and a clear lubricant oozed out. “And’ what’s this?” she said. Hank grinned his Andy Griffith after breakfast grin. “Well, I think you need to be tended to right now, honey. You just lie down and I’ll take care of everything. She twitched her nose and they were both in bed naked. She bent over him and planted a slow sucking kiss that left a red lipstick ring on his cock top. “How many different girls do you want me to be tonight, Hank?”

The thought startled him out of his fantasy. “That’s closer to what living with Jo Lee would really be like,” he told himself. He was breathing fast and saw his dick was rock hard. More proof of her power, he thought. He turned on the radio and thought she’d be every fantasy he’d ever dreamed of.

Ron knew the evening wasn’t going to be a total disaster when she let her head rest back against his arm. Maybe he wasn’t going to get laid, but what could you expect from a first date? The important thing was getting her to relax with his body. He’d taken her for coffee and Danish that had settled everything inside him in an excellent fashion.

Veronica put her head back and swirled with a blend of alcohol and caffeine. There was a warmth in her belly and a delightful buzzing her brain. Everything was soft and comfortable. The creature sitting next to her was named Ronald. The name sounded better than the product appeared in its entirety. She let her eyes drift in the car shadows and wondered if he was cute in his entirety.

At the next red light, Ron threw the car into park and went for her. His face moved in like an animated slinky toy. She pulled back with a startled flinch that was accompanied by an audible gasp. At first she thought she was being choked and was relieved to find that he was just kissing her. The kiss was hard and when it was over, her lips felt a numbness that was followed by a tingling that signaled the refilling blood vessels that had been squeezed off during the encounter.

Ron put his car in gear and stepped on the gas with a huge sense of exaltation. Veronica turned her head to the side and rubbed the nape of her neck. Her breathing was just becoming regular when she saw another red light approaching in the distance. She pressed down on the floor with her foot to gain some leverage and waited. When the assault came, it was rapid and complete. He hovered over her like a thunderstorm cloud and when he pulled away she felt washed and scrubbed. She rubbed her lips lightly and tried to judge how many more lights there were before they got to her house. It was impossible to tell because she didn’t know where they were.

Ron could feel the quickening of his pulse as he moved the car toward a place where they could park for a good long time. She hoped that this was the end for a while. She wondered if he planned to test her survival instinct further. The answer was obvious but she had started recognizing the street and knew her house was only a few blocks away. It was odd. He seemed like a nice, intelligent boy when he’d asked her out.

Veronica felt secure when he stopped the car across the street from her house. With his peripheral vision, Ron checked to see if she was making any obvious moves toward the door. When she didn’t bolt, he kicked off the engine and the lights. He left the radio playing.

“I’m sorry if you were surprised when I tried to kiss you back there at the light. Sometimes I move in ways that startle people. It’s not that I mean to do it. It just seems to always turn out to be the way I am.”

“You didn’t really scare me. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I like surprising you,” said Ron flicking his cigarette out the window and moving back in on the sentence. As they kissed, he slipped his arm around her back. He dropped his mouth to her neck and nudged her head back with his shoulder. His free hand fell to her waist, where he began tugging at her shirt. Veronica’s brain lit up like a billboard. He was pulling her clothes off! They were parked in front of her house! She deftly slipped her hand on top of his and pried it loose. It traveled up the front of her shirt and latched on to her breast. She squealed and struggled to sit up.

“What’s the matter,” said Ron.

“I don’t do that,” she answered curtly.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re a boy that I met two days ago and I don’t intend to get involved with you this way.”

Ron lit another cigarette and stared at her. “Why not?”

“I guess what I really mean is that I have rules about what I will and won’t do, until I really know someone.”

“And how long does that take?” Ron blew out the question with the smoke he exhaled.

“I don’t know. Certainly longer than I’ve known you for.”

Ron watched the image of her green corduroy ass dancing away with “Fuck You” spelled out in block letters across her cheeks. At first he felt like he should apologize for what he’d done but a sullen air of disappointment blew into his face like bad breath. “What you want is for a guy to say he’ll marry you before you let him feel you up.”

“I don’t want you to say anything at all.” She reached for the door handle and opened the door.

“Hey wait a minute,” said Ron. “I shouldn’t have said that to you. You got me pretty excited and I just got carried away myself, you know?”

“You get carried away easily, Ron, don’t you?” She reached back and squeezed his shoulder and was almost out the door when his arms came around her like a steel trap. He trailed his left hand down over her hip and reached around to give her cheek one good squeeze. She pulled away. “You are the most persistent boy.” She was free from the car but there he was running around in front of her.

“Can I call you again?” he asked innocently.

“I don’t know and good night now.”

He came up on her in the dark and planted a quick light brush of his lips on her forehead. Veronica was elated at the way the breeze lifted her hair, and the freedom of being able to walk alone again.

Ron drove home on automatic pilot. He kept one hand between his legs, opened and closed on his cock like it was a tourniquet. He thought about how Cindy would let him put his head on her lap while she slipped her hand inside of his pants and masturbated him. She’d sometimes complain about her hand getting tired when it took him a long time to get there. It made Ron feel guilty because he knew that he would have no trouble coming if he hadn’t already jerked-off a couple of times that day. He would wonder if that made him a jerk-off. The connection between the insult and the act always bothered him. He felt that he had to be secretive about masturbating. It wasn’t like when he was a little kid and they had circle jerks. He had only ever been involved in one of those anyway.

They’d gone into Billy’s living room. Richie was there too. Ron couldn’t remember exactly but he thought it was when he was about 11 years old. The stared at pictures of Marilyn Monroe and talked about Billy’s sister and the girls in their class. It had taken Ron the longest to come. Billy and Richie had even begun to say that they didn’t think he was able to do it. That he wasn’t old enough to make it work. He wanted to tell them that it worked better when he read about other people doing it than it did when he looked at pictures that didn’t really show anything at all. The harder he’d pulled his cock the more convinced he’d become that it just wasn’t going to work right. His dick even seemed to get skinnier as he worked it. He knew he would be embarrassed after the way Richie’s sperm had shot all over Billy’s living room. There was so much of it that Billy started getting worried that his parents were gonna find the stains. Ron knew that his wasn’t going to jump off the bat like a Mickey Mantle home run. His was more like a drag bunt that seeped out and rolled over his fingers. After what seemed like a half hour, Richie said that he was sick of sitting around watching Ron try to jerk-off and that he was gonna go shoot some baskets in his backyard. Billy frowned at Ron’s dick dourfully. “Look” he said, “I’m gonna give you threee more minutes.” Billy held up the Monroe pictures and Ron concentrated and tried to work harder. Richie waited to watch Ron race the clock. He felt his cock starting to swell when the first minute lapsed. He told his friends that he thought he had it going now. He asked to see the picture where she was lying alongside the pool. Billy and Richie grinned at each other, glad that their cocks had worked when they were supposed to and without all this bullshit. Sweat was forming on Ron’s forehead as Richie leaned over and started talking to him. “Look at those tits! Wouldn’t you like to rub your thing on them? Don’t they make you want to blow your wad?” Ron was breathing hard now. He pulled on it fiercely. Richie and Billy watched it cream like they were viewing a TV show. Ron pulled up his pants quickly.

Billy looked surprised. “It’s pretty screwy that you didn’t even wipe it off.”

“I bet it gets pretty cakey down there when it dries,” said Richie.

“Hey wait a minute,” said Ron. “I usually wipe it off.”

“I’ll bet he doesn’t,” said Richie, as Ron squirmed with the wetness in his pants and wished he could take a bath right away. He wished that he’d never agreed to the circle jerk in the first place. Besides, Richie was two years older and what was he doin’ hanging around with them anyway. Ron winced as he remembered that Billy had told the story at baseball practice and everyone had laughed at him and called him “cakey.” It took him weeks before he talked to Billy again.
It had become Hank’s habit to drive down Jo Lee’s street whenever he could. He took the route on the way home from the alleys. He saw her shadow on the shade and stopped his car in the middle of the street to gaze at her. He had the feeling that she was either standing crooked or was hunched for some reason that he didn’t know about. He decided that he didn’t care who she was or what she’d done and vowed silently to rescue and protect her for as long as he was able. He decided that it didn’t matter what he had to go through to have her.

Chapter 16

Jo Lee called Hank the next morning and asked if he wanted to live with her at her sister’s house in Mount Freedom. Hank was stunned. The call had come at about 10:30 in the morning when Hank was still trying to milk his swollen sinuses, so that he wouldn’t feel like he was going to burst. His mother answered the phone and Hank heard her very stiff voice say that she would bring Hank to the phone momentarily. She tapped on his door in a nervous way. Before he could answer, she announced that there was “some woman on the phone.” Hank looked at the closed door with a tissue stuffed up his nose and muttered Jo Lee’s name. His mind raced like a pulse beat. He pulled the door open and strode to the phone.

He heard her say his name in her long river-like way and before she could say anything else she was sobbing. Hank felt a little odd standing there in his underwear talking to Jo Lee while his mother listened from the other room, but as she continued to cry, he realized that he didn’t care how it looked to anybody. She told Hank that Tony had gotten drunk the night before and that he’d wanted to fuck her. She told him that Tony only thought of her as a piece of meat with a soft hole in it. She told him how he kept belching beer into her face and that he’d passed out while he was on top of her.

The images were on a grotesque carousel twirling in front of his mind to the music of her tears. Tony had started by pulling off some of her clothes in front of one of his friends. When she protested he slipped a half-nelson on her. She sat frozen while he showed his friend how bouncy her boobs were. She didn’t tell him about the nights when she voluntarily jiggled her tits and put her ass in front of his friends’ faces. She told him that after the man was so embarrassed that he left she started crying and shaking uncontrollably. He told her that she could cry her fuckin’ eyes out but that he was gonna stick it to her good before he went to sleep. She was still crying when she laid back on their bed and spread her legs. When Tony lost his hard-on, he slapped her face and said that she was a stinking whore who put out for everyone except the guy who was putting a roof over her head. Then Jo Lee couldn’t talk anymore and Hank said that he wanted to see her and was there any place where they could meet. She said, “No,” in a quiet and pathetic way, adding that there was no way she could get out but that when he left for work on Monday, she was taking everything that was hers and leaving there once and for all.

“Are you coming with me?” she asked.

Hank put his head down and tried to think. He couldn’t and there was no time to think right now anyway. “Yes,” he said. They arranged a time later that night when he could call and she would make sure that she was next to the phone. Then they said good-bye.

There was a swagger in Hank’s step when he walked back into his room that would have challenged Matt Dillon. He closed the door and blew out his sinuses like a triumphant elephant. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled at the way his eyes twinkled. He curled the short hairs above his sideburns and gave his mirror a sheepish grin. He told himself that this time he was gonna find out what he was really made of. “A real life, slithering cat of a woman has just as much told you that she wants you forever and your alternative is this comfortable, stupid, dough-faced life you’re stuck in.” Hank saw himself as Crusader Rabbit, slashing his way out of a wall of breathing flypaper as the music rose and footsteps approached.

The phone rang again. In her exasperated voice his mother said, “He’s in his room, Ron. Hold on a second.” He heard her approach his door and tap more firmly. “Hank, telephone,” was all she said. She retreated down the corridor back to the kitchen.

Hank answered the phone and Ron blared in his ear, “Have I got a fuckin’ story to tell you!”

“Oh yeah,” said Hank, not trying to hard to hide his disinterest.

“I was fuckin’ arrested, man. Thrown in the slammer and everything.”

“Why?”

“It’s really complicated, but basically for walking down the street. Hey, are you seeing Jo Lee today?”

“I don’t think so.” Hank had decided to spend the day planning an approach to the mountain of problems that confronted him.

“Do you want to get together? Have you got any of that good pot left?”

“Not very much at all,” said Hank. He wasn’t going to spend the day getting stoned and furthermore he wanted to split the rest of his pot with Jo Lee, who had told him that she only tried it once and that it made her so horny that she was afraid to smoke it again
“Today probably wouldn’t be any good,” said Hank in a voice that he was proud of.

“OK, man. Well, I’m gonna have my car tomorrow and…” There was a pause. “How come today isn’t any good?”

Chapter 17

“A Darker Shade of White” was published in the next issue of The Commuter. Ron was surprised that none of it was changed, including his five misspellings. They leaped out and made him cringe when he read them. The day after the paper came out, Ron was confronted by two members of the fraternity. They approached him in the cafeteria as he waited in line for his first morning coffee. “We just want you to know that we think you’re a fucking jerk-off,” said the larger one. Ron laughed nervously and set himself, figuring that if they were gonna do anything, a public place was his safest bet. It would be harder for them to jump him and the fight would be quickly broken up. Ron felt that he had nothing to lose by cold-cocking the first guy who moved toward him, nothing came of it. They stood behind him as the line moved and threw evil looks in his direction. Ron decided they were a pair of pussies and he was glad that he hadn’t started hanging around with them.

Hank had run away with Jo Lee without a word to him and he’d been shocked. It happened faster than Ron thought Hank was able to do anything. Actually, Hank’s mother had been impatient and told Ron on one of his calls that Hank didn’t live there anymore. He’d stammered and asked if she could give him the message that he called when she saw him. Hank called the next week and told him that he had run away with Jo Lee. He said they were hiding out because Tony was looking for them with a gun. Hank went on to say that he couldn’t give him a number or tell him where they were staying, but that if he heard anything important he should call his mother and say that he needed to talk. “We’ll be able to get together at a place that we can both drive to after that,” said Hank. Ron had convinced Hank that he’d told no one about Jo Lee but Hank wasn’t taking any chances. He said he’d call Ron again when things looked better and they could get together. Ron hadn’t heard from him in the five days that had gone by since then.

Hank faded from his memory. Ron began to hang around the newspaper room and ask if there was anything that he could do to help with the paper. Peter Shaffer, a tall blonde kid who reminded Ron of somebody who should live on a farm, was the managing editor. The editor-in-chief hadn’t been to school since the first week when she’d gone on a ridiculously bad trip. Ron had discovered that Peter wasn’t the type who would stab someone in the back for the hell of it and he’d also discovered that Peter was a slob and not too bright. It confused Ron that a person like this could wind up in a position of power at a college. Peter assigned Ron to cover the speeches of those students who were running as Freshman Reps to the Student Council.

Ron sipped his coffee seated in the back of the auditorium and surveyed the group. The candidates stood in a group with their backs to the audience waiting for things to get started. He couldn’t see any of the girls’ faces but he did pick out two tightly-circled asses to stare at. He tried testing a theory about telepathy that his psychology teacher had talked about. It consisted of concentrating on a subject and then letting the thought go and trying to direct it to a specific receiver. He formed the wording of his message: “I’d like to hump you silly,” and sent it off in the direction of the two asses. e quickly shifted his gaze to the rows of theatrical lights that were visible above the heads of the candidates, who were now taking their seats
He moved up to the front row to get a reporter’s eye view of what was happening. There were about 65 people in the auditorium when the first speaker got up to the podium. Ron wrote a large 65 across the top page of his notebook.

Chris Calvin brushed the hair out of his eyes. From behind the square, tinted lenses, they all appeared shadow-like in the darkened auditorium. He glanced down at the word “greeting” which was next to the number 1 on his 3×5 file card. He told himself that he wanted to speak clearly and keep in mind where their heads were at. He told himself that it was minimally important that this portion of things went well. It would allow him to focus in on the executive perspective. The phrase had a pleasing sound when he applied it to himself. He cleared his thoughts and throat. “It’s good to see you all here for these speeches. My name is Chris Calvin.” He removed his glasses, squinted for a second in the theatrical lights and focused straight out at them. “I’m this year’s Student Council President. I think there are more people in the auditorium right now than the number who voted for me, but that’s far out because it’s a good idea that we all work together to enjoy ourselves as much as possible.”

From Ron’s vantage point, up front and off to the side, he saw that Chris’ leg was shaking back and forth violently. Ron wondered if he had to take a leak, or if he was in some way afflicted. Chris continued, “The purpose of these speeches is to see who the candidates are and get an impression of them. There will be four people chosen from this group to represent the first year students.”

Ron wondered why he hadn’t heard about these elections before and how the people seated in back of the speaker had been chosen. He moved his eyes down the row of candidates discovering two facts: four of the seven people up there were females and he could see straight up the dresses of two of them.

One of the girls had short blonde hair and a busty chest. She was sitting so that anybody could see up her skirt with no trouble at all. There was a smile on her face that told the audience she knew it. Ron gaped at her open legs. He moved forward and craned his neck for a better view. He felt a little embarrassed at the obvious intent of his position after a while and slunk back lower in his chair.

From his lower vantage point, he looked up the second dress. She was a girl with dark brown hair and a tight sweater. She had her legs crossed at the ankles and Ron could glimpse a patch of white at the tops of her thighs. His eyes bored luxuriously into her panties. He looked up at her face, relieved to see that she wasn’t watching him. She was curling her hair around her fingers and listening nervously to the first candidate, a pledge from the Psi Omega frat who said that he thought he could honestly represent the fraternities and sororities on campus. Ron ignored him and stared back at the first and then the second cunt. He wanted to sneak up on stage and sit down in front of the second girl. He would secretly work his hand up her dress, without touching those fleecy thighs, and sensually drag his finger across the ridges of her pussy. It would be like a beautiful itch. She would smile down at him and say, “Please do that again.” He would rub her cunt until she got up to speak. When she stood up to speak, the patch of panties disappeared and it snapped his attention back to the business at hand. She was the second speaker and Ron hadn’t caught her name when she’d been introduced. His eyes traveled with her on the way to the podium. He absently stroked the notebook page with the 65 written across the top of it. She looked well manicured and organized. She held her two sheets of paper and began.

“I think that I would make a good representative because I’ve been around people who are connected to the law my whole life. My mother is a legal stenographer and my father is an agent with the FBI.” Ron saw a shifting of positions on stage and noticed that Chris began tapping his right leg again. He saw that the blonde had turned sideways in her seat and was smiling broadly, her legs still open, at Chris. When the girl in the white panties finished her speech, Ron applauded until she looked in his direction.

Chris approached the podium and said, “That was Cathy Quill whose father is an FBI agent.” Ron wrote her name underneath the 65. Ron paid only casual attention to the rest of the speakers. He was busy wondering what the best method of approaching Cathy would be. It was true that when she reseated herself he could no longer see up her dress, but he decided that he liked her anyway.

The blonde was the next speaker. She was giggling her way through her speech when Ron remembered that as a reporter he had the perfect excuse for approaching any of the candidates. He was immediately sure that he could meet any of the four girls on stage. He loved the newspaper! He imagined what Giggles up at the podium would do for a positive mentioning of her name.

Ron tried to listen attentively the rest of the time. Then he tried to figure out who would win. The one black candidate who wore sunglasses and seemed very cool was a shoe-in. He had the history of slavery and the civil rights movement on his side. The frat bum would turn out votes and who could keep from voting for Giggles with the open legs. That left one spot to go.

Chris got back to the podium and thanked everyone for coming. He snapped his fingers and said, “Well, that’s it. Far out,

Chapter 18

Hank woke up with the sticky feeling of being a fish on a pan. He turned on his side and faced, with blurred vision, the sight of Jo Lee’s armpit. It looked like a biology slide. His eyes roamed the surface, snapping wide-angle shots and doing slow, inspective sweeps. He wondered if she’d open her legs and and let him study her like this. He’d tell her it was a game called eyeballing and she’d love it. He thought he could probably spend the next five years doing nothing except watching her. It was morning, he was almost sure of that. A few days ago, he’d thought that it was morning too and Jo Lee had laughed and told him that it was 7:30 at night. She’d brought his uncombed head to her chest and he’d sucked at her tits like an eager puppy. He could never leave this room and feel like he was in paradise forever.

He sat up in bed and reached for his glasses. The minute Jo Lee felt him move, she reached for his cock. It was soft. She squeezed it in her palm and pressed it back against his balls. Hank sat there holding his glasses and watching her hand. She murmured and ran her fingers up and down on him. Hank put his glasses back on the nightstand and dove back under the sheets.

Her thighs were moist as his fingers moved steadily up to her pussy. He put a finger in and stirred like a spoon in a cup of coffee. She let go of his cock and opened her legs wide. He replaced his index finger with his thumb and slid the wet index up her behind. She wiggled her ass happily to help it slide in. The two fingers searched for each other through the squishy-firm membrane. “Are you my Roto-Rooter man, Hank? Are you gonna put your big snake in both places? Please!

“Hank, put your big snake back there too!”

Hank had never had his big snake in both places before. His cock hadn’t made any stiffening movements yet, and Hank was a little worried that it wasn’t gonna let him go anywhere right then. “I can’t get my big snake started this morning,” he said.

“Is it all done in?”

“I don’t know,” said Hank. He wondered if doing it this much was bad for you. Butchy Aletta said that you could wind up with a hard-on that wouldn’t blow its wad or go away. He said that when that happened to him, they had to pack his cock in ice at a hospital.

Jo Lee struck the pose of a dissatisfied customer. “Well, I’m not going to pay unless you get your big snake going real fast.” Hank started his head down towards her cunt. Her fist grabbed a handful of his tangled curls with a fierce jerk. “None of this sucking around Roto-Rooter man. I want a hard pole right now.” She smiled. Hank didn’t mention that she hurt him when she pulled his hair. “Maybe if I bite this little worm real hard.” She dove down at his cock like a hungry bird. Hank got his hands free and held them over his dick with a frightened little boy look on his face “Take your hands away, Hank.” Hank stared up at her. Being reluctant was part of the rules of the game. His hesitation excited her. She had a wicked smile and there was a glint in her eyes. “Maybe you’re right to be frightened. Maybe I should go back to Welmont and you should go back to school and your mommy. You better take your hands away this very minute and let me give you what you deserve.”

Hank drew his hands back from his dick, which had now shriveled to almost nothing. She looked at the tiny member and laughed.

“Come on out Mr. Turtle,” she said in a cartoon voice. “I want to see your fat red head.” She laughed again and lowered her mouth to his dick. Hank sighed and closed his eyes. She sucked his cock magnificently. When it was hard and thick, she said in a little girl voice, “Are you gonna put it back there and give it to me real good for being bad?” She put her eyes down demurely and held his cock in a beautiful squeeze.

“Not yet, “said Hank.

“I don’t want to suck it any more.” she turned on her belly and began to hump the mattress.

Her mouth had felt so good and he’d desperately wanted her to continue, but then a groan broke out of him and he bounced up on his knees thinking that he was gonna shove it in so hard that her was gonna knock on the door and ask if everything was ok. She had her ass up at his face and waved it back and forth. “Don’t forget some Vaseline on first, honey.”

“No Vaseline,” said Hank gruffly. Now it was his turn to play.

“Oh please, baby. Please grease it up first or you’ll never get it back there and it will hurt too much.” He was holding her cheeks apart and rubbing his big snake against her crack.

“Believe me! It’ll hurt so much.”

Hank bounced off the bed and headed for the bureau. He put a large blob of the stuff on his finger. The line “I’ll bet you know how much it hurts,” flashed silently in his brain.

Hank and Jo Lee emerged from their room about 3:00 pm. Jo Lee’s sister Myrtle met them in the kitchen. Her hair was wrapped in a kerchief, she said, because it was dirty. Hank noted with a trace of disgust that she’d been saying that for three days. While they were having their coffee, Myrtle announced that she was going grocery shopping and asked if they wanted anything. Hank took a $10 bill from his wallet and said “Get whatever you can use.”

“Are you sure, Hank?” she said putting the money away as she spoke.

Hank said, “Sure,” and turned his head in away that caused the sun to reflect the light off his thick glasses and temporarily startle her.

“What was that?” she hollered holding her breasts up against her chest. “My God.”
Hank watched her with a hidden and controlled scorn that he was accomplished at concealing. Myrtle had a washed out haggard look that Hank associated with people who came from the dirty little towns in Pennsylvania. She drank beer every night and stayed up until she couldn’t stand up on Fridays and Saturdays. There was no way to tell how old she was but Hank felt that it made no difference. She’d been frumpy since her early 20’s when her body lost its last traces of natural suppleness. Hank thought she was pathetic but kept telling Jo Lee how nice of her it was to let them stay there.

When the three dogs realized that Hank was up, they crowded around his feet, licking his toes and whimpering. On his second night there Myrtle had asked Hank if he would mind feeding the dogs. Her boyfriend Ernie was out and it was always his job to feed the animals. She told Hank that she didn’t think she could handle them and that they would probably knock her down.

Myrtle told Ernie that night that Hank had fed the dogs. It hadn’t been a big deal because they’d been out of the house and Hank just filled up the bowls and told Myrtle to let them in. Ernie clamped a hammy hand on Hank’s shoulder and said that he appreciated it with a wide, triple chinned grin that opened up like rising bread mix. Hank stared at the greyish white tee shirt that Ernie wore and wondered what size it was, figuring that Ernie’s stomach was at least two sizes larger than the largest stomach he’d ever seen before. While Ernie held his hand on Hank’s shoulder the rank odor of perspiration was visibly weakening Hank.

“Any time,” Hank was able to say smoothly but not without some difficulty.

“That means every time!” Ernie screamed in his ear. He laughed and lifted his hand only to reclamp it on Hank’s shoulder. Hank was beginning now to feel the effects of Ernie’s breath which hit him a second or two after the laughter.

Myrtle laughed too and wiped the hair out of her eyes. “He sure got you there. Ernie ain’ t one for doin’ jobs he can get out of.”

Jo Lee looked sadly at Hank.

“He sure got me there,” echoed Hank.

They were three two-year old hunting beagles that had been trained for ducks. They were kept in the house and only let out when they cried or somebody remembered. They patrolled the house, ceaselessly wandering through the rooms. Hank had heard them nuzzling the door when he and Jo Lee fucked. They had laughed and Jo Lee had said, “I bet that’s Casper who’s all hot and bothered out there. He’s always trying to sniff me.” Hank had a picture of Casper licking the front of Jo Lee’s panties. He’d giggled and let out several moaning yelps.

He’d taken a liking to Casper after that fantasy.

The other two dogs were a spayed bitch named Betty who tried to bite Casper every time he went to mount her and Dagger, whom nobody trusted because of a blood clot in his eye that gave him a cranky and sinister appearance.

Ernie liked to sit in his chair and throw dog biscuits off the walls and down the halls into the other rooms. The dogs would charge after them, climbing over each other and snarling. When two dogs would square off over one of the biscuits, Ernie would wait to see if one backed down, then get up and go over and kick the biscuit to the dog that he thought deserved it. Sometimes he’d also slap the other dog with the scolding motion of a referee. “I thought I told you that you had to try for it fair and square.” He’d laugh in the direction of whoever was present and go back to his seat. Often he’d try to get other people to bet on which dog would get the prize. If Myrtle’d had a few drinks in her, she’d play the game laughing loudly and bouncing up and down in her seat.

“Ain’t that smart of Ernie?” she said to Hank and Jo Lee.” Ernie’s gonna think up something one of these days that’ll make everybody take notice.”

“Could very well be,” said Ernie as he took a long pull on his beer.

Because of the game, there wasn’t one piece of furniture that hadn’t been ripped, pissed on, or in some way broken. The aluminum legs around the kitchen table held up best.

The dogs were barking in a deafening crescendo that rose up around Hank’s feet. He spooned food into their dishes with wet plops and pulled a giant package of dry food down from the pantry. When he walked away from the wet food, the dogs bayed and tried to jump on the counter, a feat that Ernie had enjoyed seeing and rewarded with an extra bowl.

This time Hank knew enough to place the dishes far back on the counter so they couldn’t be touched. On an earlier occasion, one of the dogs had snagged the edge of a bowl and sent it splattering against the kitchen wall. Hank had felt obliged to clean it up. When Hank tried to put the dogs in the other room so he could safely place the bowls on the floor, the frenzied animals (who didn’t know Hank that well anyway) had threatened to attack with dangerous sounds that Myrtle could distinguish from the normal howling. She explained the rules of the bowl game to Hank and told him that if he didn’t want to play, he should just push the bowls back on the counter and wait for the dogs to forget and wander off. She went on to say that the jumping for the bowl game made a lot of mess but that she didn’t have a lot to do anyway and if it made Ernie happy, that was what was important. She poked Hank and said, “Ain’t that right?” Hank put his head down and said that it was.

Hank sat back down over his coffee and tried to inhale the aroma. Myrtle threw a quick glance at Jo Lee, who nodded her head. “Hank,…” she said and stopped. Hank raised his head without succeeding in clearing out his sinuses even a little bit. The rural pollen was more potent, but Hank had taken to accepting the discomfort and doctoring himself only when he could do so without arousing much attention. “Hank,” she said again, “I really don’t know how to ask you this but would you mind being out of the house between noon and 7 o’clock tomorrow night.” Hank was about to say that he didn’t mind when she continued.
“The welfare people are coming over and well, you know, I’m gonna say that my sister had to move in with me.” Hank looked sharply at Jo. He had expected they’d be going out together and now wasn’t sure.

Jo Lee looked back at him and confirmed, “I’m going to see if I qualify.”

Hank was silent. She hadn’t said anything to him about this in all the time they’d been alone together. They were only supposed to be staying at her sister’s house for now, until it was safe to go out. Then Hank was gonna get a job and they were gonna get their own place. That’s what they talked about. He looked at Jo Lee with a confused expression.

“We have to have some money besides your allowance, Hank.”

He was stung as surely as if he’d been lashed with a bullwhip. His face froze masking interior, prickly heat pain. He looked down into his coffee. He stood up and walked to the back door, a cross between the sad sack and Gomer Pyle. The dogs rose after him and crowded around his legs. Hank lit a cigarette and opened the door. Yelping appreciatively, the dogs ran down the wooden steps into the tire littered yard.

Ernie saved inner tubes and talked about going up to the lakes and selling them to the bathers for 75 a piece. He never did get up to the lakes, but continued to save and inflate the inner tubes. Lately he’d taken to stacking them and stuffing the centers with newspapers and old rags. He put old lawn cushions on top of the rags and called them “Ernie chairs.” Myrtle first showed Hank and Jo Lee the creations with pride. There was another stack of tubes with a board across it that he called an “Ernie table.”

Hank dropped his cigarettes down onto the Ernie table and dropped into one of the Ernie chairs. He panned the back yards of the other houses with the phrase “nestled in the hills” in his mind. He thought about why people should have to work for anything. They didn’t and the alternative was welfare. Why was he, all of a sudden, feeling so grimy and cheap? This is what it feels like to be colored, he thought to himself. He thought sadly of how he now knew why people shot dope, or sold themselves, or just gave up in order to escape this experience. He wondered if there was any real difference between Ernie and himself, not just a variation of personality, a deeper, more profound distinction. If they weren’t a different species, he felt there was no hope for mankind.

He focused his eyes on the rims of his glasses, which if he dropped his head to the side, he could see as an all-encompassing blur. From a distance it gave him the odd appearance of someone who’d been hung. “No wonder I’m crazy,” he thought to himself, as if in some secret way, it had been his glasses that were responsible for the way he was. “What can you expect from somebody who sees the world through a cage,” he said.

The screen door slammed. Hank looked up and saw Jo Lee sauntering in his direction with a small smile on her face. She sat down on an Ernie chair and lit a cigarette. Neither of them said anything. A bumpy row of houses, all of the six-room variety and in various states of disrepair, stretched in both directions. Hank counted clotheslines and torn screens. Jo Lee thought the tangle reminded her of drunken hands trying to wrap yarn.

“Hank, I know that we didn’t plan on being here that long, but trying to collect some money wouldn’t be a bad idea. Hank continued to count as he listened. “Anyway, that’s not really why Myrtle asked you to go out tomorrow.”

Hank stopped counting. The answer was stuck in his head but he didn’t want to say it for fear that it would be an admission. He turned to face her. He could see that she’d taken a shower and stared in lost admiration at the perfection with which her ear curved down to her neck, where the hair was so white blonde that it reflected light like a finely spun web.

“Why did she tell me that she wants me to go out?”

“Tony’s coming over to talk to me.”

Hank couldn’t remember how many screens he’d counted. He turned away from her ear and saw the ramshackle row of pink and brown and green and blue houses. He felt tears burning in his eyes. His glacier-like sinuses shifted ominously. He concentrated on a TV antenna he’d located at the end of the row.

“Hank,” she said softly, he just wants to come over and talk to me. There’s not going to be any trouble. I feel like I owe him an explanation. I’ve been with him a long time, Hank”

He wanted to tell her that everything she said was true, but between the sinuses and the tears he was holding back, there was no way for him to speak. He slipped his fingers under his glasses and squeezed his nose. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he choked out over his shoulder and walked quickly to the bathroom.

Jo Lee watched the screen door close and thought that she’d never been in love with a man who was this much of a baby before. She immediately corrected herself saying that she’d never been with a man who was this sensitive before.

She sat waiting for Hank to return as Ernie waddled up alongside the house. He didn’t move around much and took on the look of an invalid after a long illness when he did. He chuckled when he saw Jo Lee. It always tickled him to see someone in one of the Ernie chairs. Jo Lee didn’t have much to say to Ernie. She had asked Myrtle, with a grotesque sense of curiosity, what it was like to do it with somebody who was that fat. She went on to say that she could take care of Ernie all right, whenever he wanted her to, and sometimes without him even asking her for it. But the truth was, she swore Jo Lee to secrecy, that Ernie couldn’t really lie down very well. She looked around conspiratorially when she divulged the information. She’d taken Jo Lee’s hand and led her into their room. Jo Lee felt very close to her sister when she took her by the hand. All of a sudden they were kids sneaking up into the attic. Jo Lee was frightened by what her sister was going to show her. Myrtle showed her another of Ernie’s chairs that was covered with a red and green flower print upholstery. The fabric had also been sewn around a hassock at the base of the chair. “I don’t really mind,” said Myrtle. “It would be tough on me to have him in the same bed. We tried it a while back and it didn’t work out, you know? Sometimes he can get it sort of half in if I bend over and he stands up but his stomach gets in the way and he’s been putting on more weight lately, so we don’t try it anymore. She got a naughty smile on her face and said, “A lot of times we play with these.” She walked to the bureau and pulled out two large dildos.

Jo Lee watched Ernie as he splashed into one of his chairs saying, “This is the kind of furniture that was made for a man of my quality.” Jo Lee hated him for saying that while she was thinking about Myrtle. She wanted to cry when she thought about what her sister had to look forward to. Tony wasn’t half as bad as this blob on his best day. She wasn’t living with Tony anymore. This was the first time she’d slipped like that since she and Hank came up here.

Hank came out the door and Ernie shouted to him. “Where was you, Hank? On the throne? You wouldn’t ever want to get off the bowl if they was as comfortable as Ernie chairs, would you?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” said Hank. He picked up his pack of cigarettes from the Ernie table. He waited to see what Jo Lee would do. He thought it was obvious that they weren’t finished talking. Ernie rocked back and forth in his chair.

“I didn’t think that what the two of you have been doing made it difficult to sit down, Hank.” Then he laughed and rocked harder.

Jo Lee waited to see what Hank would say. He certainly didn’t have a quick wit. She got out of the Ernie chair and started back for the house. Hank turned to follow her. The dogs, who had emptied themselves and scouted the yard, crowded around Ernie’s face wagging their tails and wanting to play biscuit ball.

Chapter 19

Ron listened to the radio broadcast with a dark look of despair. The world was a place of irreparable mutilations that cynically robbed victims of even their honor. It had been that way since John Kennedy had been killed. When Bobby had run for president, everyone said “Somebody’s gonna shoot him too.” Ron had been working the graveyard shift at IBM and waiting for the results of the California primary. He let out a war hoop of victory when Bobby made his speech and concluded with, “And now it’s on to Chicago and let’s win there.” A few minutes later he was shot. Ron had been changing stations, looking for analysis of the results. At first the words Kennedy had been shot were confused in his mind. He thought he commentator was talking about him shooting into the lead in the delegate race. The truth was a bizarre shock. He listened for the rest of the time, a dull monitoring robot. After work, his head hurt too much for him to sleep. He rode around in his car clinging to the announcer’s voice. He’d been with the same reporter for several hours and he was reluctant to turn the radio off, at least until the announcer had been replaced. It was his private way of keeping vigil at the spot where he had met Bobby Kennedy most often. The reporter was saying that with head wounds of this type the range of damage went from severe mental incapacity to the projected ability to be back on the campaign trail within six weeks. “At this point,” the announcer had said, “There was still room for guarded optimism.

It was bullshit. Robert Kennedy was already just about dead. The reporter had continued with a story about his mother Rose, who had been awakened and told that another son had been shot in the head. He had blubbered so uncontrollably that he had to pull the car over to the side of the road. Nothing had really made sense since either one of them had been killed. Johnson was a horror. The convention he had followed the path towards so fervently was a horror. The war was a horror. And there was no way to make the horror stop. There was no way to be sure that he wouldn’t be sent to Viet Nam and asked to be part of the horror. He really didn’t think he could bring himself to run away from his country. But it didn’t matter what he said now. If they really ordered him to go, he knew there was a force inside him that would demand to be right at the center of things. He knew he would get himself killed. It would be part of the plan. He knew his sense of reality wasn’t strong enough to stand up to that.

Today’s newscaster was talking about the execution of a prisoner. They held the poor bastard at the ends of four ropes with rifles arranged around him. They taunted him for hours and made him beg for his life and eat animal shit and lick their shoes. Then they blew his head off. Ron saw himself trapped inside the man. He knew now that flies were swarming over his body and that nothing else had changed or stopped. The man had just been used to make things more gruesome. Maybe I should just kill myself in some pleasurable way, he thought. He had never fit into the social scheme of things. If he could do one great thing before he killed himself, his life would be redeemed. He was sure the barker wouldn’t say, “Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

He turned off the radio, looked down at his note pad with the number 65, the list of candidates; names with all the circles around Cathy’s name. How the hell was he supposed to write an article based on that? “You’re stupid,” a voice screamed from inside him. “Not stupid,” corrected a second voice, “just immature.” Then the second voice added, “Don’t ever let anyone call you stupid.” It was almost time for him to leave for school. He had a class in less than an hour and wanted time to pick up a container of coffee.

During the first week he had the car, Ron tied the trunk down with an assortment of things. He’d started with twisted coat hangers, but the hadn’t gotten five blocks from the house when they’d pulled apart, sending the trunk bobbing up and down in the air. Next he’d tried a heavy-duty extension cord, which he’d taken from George’s workbench. By the second day, the cord had stretched and begun to rip. He thought of having it chained or welded shut but it never did occur to him. The trunk was just a pain in the ass. He ended up using rope that had to be retied every couple of days.

The drive to the college went as smoothly as a Sunday morning dream. He would finish writing his article after class, find Cathy and see if she wanted to go to the Birth of October Party that “The Commuter” was having. Ron liked his prospects for the day as he turned off the parkway and cruised down the road the led to the college. About six blocks outside the center of town, out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw what appeared to be a policeman waving for help. Ron stopped and looked in his rear view mirror. The cop was bent over the open hood of an obviously disabled vehicle. Ron figured the situation to be an off-duty patrolman who had broken down and was in need of a ride, probably back to the cop shop about a half mile down the street. Maybe he wasn’t even a cop, maybe he was a mailman or something like that. Ron parked his car and started back up the street to see what he could do to help. As he got closer, he saw that it was indeed a cop. on shuddered briefly but told himself that not every cop was the tank.

“Can I help you officer?” he said when he got to the hood.

To his amazement, he saw a breadbox sized electrical unit propped on top of the engine. “You were going 37 in a 30. License and registration.”

“Oh no!” screamed Ron. “That’s radar? You’re not stuck here?” You mean this is what you wanted me for?”

The cop grinned at Ron with an amused expression. “Get your license and registration out, please.”

Some last particle of Ron’s brain clung to the notion that everything was going too well for this to happen today. It held to the idea that this was really a misunderstanding that would be cleared up. “You mean you’re not kidding?”

“I wouldn’t kid you, kid,” said the cop with a snaggle-toothed grin that sent Ron back to his car muttering that he should just get in his car and take right the fuck off, that’s what he should do. But then again, how many cars looked like his? His eyes attached themselves to the battered trunk. “Cocksucker,” he said, “if I didn’t have to come this way every day for rest of the year.” He plucked the registration from his glove compartment and started back to the speed trap. The cop was already writing initial information on the ticket. Ron studied the cop’s face. His skin had a leathery look that reminded him of his father but Ron could tell by the swollen neck and forehead curves and red tinges around the bulbous nose that the pig was a drinker. He had been in too many bars with his old man not to be able to pick one out every time.

The cop compared the license and registration. “Who’s Marjorie Bombasco?”

Ron felt like he’d been answering this question all of his life. It never ceased to feel like an invasion of his privacy. “My mother,” he said looking at the cop in a way that wanted to slam the hood down on the black box and his fingers.

The cop wasn’t satisfied. “You say it’s your mother but it says here that your name is Ronald Tuck?”

If Ron had shown the bloated face bastard his hands, he would have seen that they were clenched and shaking. He bit on his words sharply as he spoke. “My parents were divorced when I was two. My mother remarried. I kept my name.”

The cop proceeded to write out the ticket. “Now Ronnie, this is a summons for driving 37 miles per hour in a 30 mile per hour zone. If you wish to plead not guilty, you must contact the court prior to the appearance date.”

“The town must definitely need the money, huh? I mean you guys must really be hard up if you’ve got to trick people to earn your salary.”

“You should move along now. If you’re unsatisfied, you can tell the judge about it.”

“I hope you got to be there on your birthday because that’s just what I’m going to do.”

“That’s fine,” said the cop turning back to the machine.

Impulsively, Ron jumped out into the street waving his arms like a distressed duck. The approaching car came to a stop. “Just wanted you to see this speed trap here,” shouted Ron pointing to the cop, who waved the motorist on.

“Look, you little prick, if you don’t get outta here right now, I’m gonna take you back to the station and personally kick the shit out of you.” The cop’s face had gotten a lot redder and Ron saw spit stuck in the corners of his mouth. Ron felt better. He looked down at the ground, turned and walked back to his car. A voice told him to go very easy because he’d pushed things to the point where they might go right over the edge.

He drove the rest of the way to the college in insulin shock. The ticket would probably cost at least $25. he voice inside him said, “Fuck it. You don’t have to pay it right now. You can stall it for weeks and weeks so that when you finally do have to pay, it’ll just seem like an old bill. So the truth is that it didn’t really happen.” Ron liked the rationalization and was beginning to feel better by the time he got out of his car again.

The class was English. The story was “Abraham and Isaac” and Ron was fuckin ready. He decided that he would like nothing better than to blow Warren Lashly’s version of God right out of the water.

Ron had listened to Dylan’s “Highway 61” until he got the first verse copied out verbatim. Since Lashly encouraged his students to write their reactions to the readings for each class on the side board, Ron decided to copy out the whole opening of the song. Lashly had started with the story of Creation and Fall from the Bible, then they read the Greek plays Agamemnon and Antigone and Ron had thought they were done with the Bible, but he’d gone right back for the “Abraham and Isaac” fiasco.

Picking up his coffee, Ron started for class. He’d seen the red haired girl drinking coffee and Lashly knocked out two containers during each class, so he guessed it must be ok. He put his container on his desk and went to the side board. It was the first time he could remember writing on the board since his 9th grade math class. He stepped back to look at what he’d done so far. is letters were very large and round. They were twice as big as anybody else’s writing. For a second he considered whether he should just erase the first line he’d put up and sit back down before anybody noticed, but nobody seemed to be watching him. There was a steady hum of normal conversation, which Ron decided wouldn’t be there if his writing was that laughable. He studied the line on the board, “God said to Abraham…” A voice in his head completed the line with, “…joke’s on you jerk-off.” That was a little different than the way Dylan wrote it. “…kill me a son,” went up and Ron’s interior commentary broke in. “Abe fell down thankful that God wasn’t for real.”

Ron looked up from the board in time to see Lashly enter the room carrying his books and one container of coffee, followed by the red haired girl, who carried two containers of coffee and her notebook. She tried to set one of the containers down casually on Lashly’s desk, but none of it was missed by any of the other girls in the class who had figured out what was going on already. Ron had also figured out what was happening. He cursed to himself. What kind of a democracy was it when the teacher glommed the best looking piece of ass in the class? He returned to the board and continued copying from his sheet of paper. He turned briefly to see if Lashly was ready to start. There was no sign of it. People were still coming into the room. He cramped, “Abe said ‘man you must be putting me on'” into the first line. “God said, ‘No. Abe said, ‘What?'” He was out of space. He looked over to Lashly, who’d taken the lid off his first container and moved over to the window sill from which he usually started things. There was no place to put the rest of it up. What should he do now? What he had up there made no sense, but it was too late to erase and write smaller, the way he should have done at the beginning. Lashly had a big grin on his face. He had recognized the song and the predicament simultaneously.

“Let’s begin by dealing with the problem right in front of us,” said Lashly.

Ron quickly scribbled, “could not finish” at the bottom and sat down. He tried to open his coffee but squeezed the middle of it too hard. Hot coffee ran out over his hand.

Lashly watched Ron and then looked back at his unfinished quote. “What really does that long thing over there stand for? I mean, it doesn’t make much sense to me.”
The teacher was staring right at Ron who knew he was speaking to him. “It’s from a Bob Dylan song.”

“I don’t really care where it’s from.” said Lashly, pointedly looking at the class for emphasis. Clarity meant more than source was the message he was trying to deliver.

“I copied this quote of Dylan’s,” said Ron determined to explain himself, “because I thought it was pertinent to our class. It wouldn’t fit into the space on the board and well…” Ron was becoming more flustered. “I’ve got the rest of the quote here, if you want me to read it.”

“The quote itself is unimportant,” stated Lashly categorically. “The more interesting question, and incidentally the question that Abraham had to ask himself, is what do you do when you’ve run out of space and it’s time to go. Abraham’s faith was tested to see if he had the will to follow his conscience.”

Ron didn’t understand and he felt used. “I started to put the quote up because I thought it would have some bearing on things.”

Lashly took a long pull on his coffee, stared back at Ron and then out at the whole class. “If you weight your thoughts down to a one-dimensional view of what happens to you, they will become old and stifled.” Ron had nothing to say. He stared at his sticky hand and waited for Lashly to continue. The professor opened his imitation horsehair vest and pulled out a small white box of cigars.

A chubby, brown haired girl, who’d been calling him Warren for the first two classes, said, “Oh no! Now you’re going to smoke cigars?”

A slow grin spread over Lashly’s face like honey. “You don’t want to let me smoke these?” he said in a high-pitched, whinnying drawl.

She brightened noticably at his attention. She shifted seat and to hold of her desk. “Maybe we should have a vote to see if we’re going to allow smoking?”

“You’re gonna make all these people vote on such a silly thing?” said Lashly with feigned anger.

Her smile grew so broad that it threatened to rip at the corners of her mouth. She straightened her army shirt and soaked in the pleasure of making this many people, especially him, do anything. “It’s not a silly question.” she said.

“It’s not only silly, it’s a stupid question for people to have to concern themselves with because it lacks form and a major concern. It’s like the Dylan thing.” Ron felt newly embarrassed.

Lashly tossed his head back in Ron’s direction. “The concern is limited and it avoids the larger issue. And that’s what I’m interested in, the larger questions behind these situations, not the petty concerns involved in them. If you take away the larger question, none of it becomes very interesting and there’s no need for these stories, unless you are obsessed with the details of history, which I’m not.” He’d said all of this very quickly and in the same breath. Several people in the class giggled when he took a badly needed deep breath. The chubby girl sat back, satisfied that he hadn’t lit the cigar, which had been her small but very necessary point. She smiled over at him like he’d given her a candy bar.

Lashly looked at her and spread out his best topping style grin. “You’re happy because you got what you wanted, right?” She felt gently exposed by him and was delighted again because he had tugged the idea out gently like he was taking off her blouse. He could do that any time as far as she was concerned. Lashly shifted back towards Ron with a harsher tone. “And you’re still upset because you didn’t get to finish your quote, right?”

“It’s not that I’m upset,” said Ron. “It’s that it seems foolish that you wouldn’t hear my explanation.” Ron knew he shouldn’t have said that the minute the words left his mouth. He felt a tightness in his throat and wanted a cigarette.

“It’s really that your ego is too involved for you to even know why you’re upset.” Ron’s face flushed again. He wanted to get up and leave but didn’t. Lashly saw that there were no more opening questions and raised the Lit book to commence his rendition of the book attributed to God.

The class couldn’t have ended soon enough as far as Ron was concerned. He was out the door before most of the students had gotten out of their seats. He swept down the hall like it was a runway he was using to build up speed. There was a clanging and shuffling of lockers being opened. Friends were calling to each other and doing imitations of what they’d just heard and were in the process of transcribing’ into their own language.

Ron made it across the quad and into the newspaper room in record time. The place was empty, populated only by stacks of books that people had left there on their way to class. Ron sat down. His eyes roamed the room and settled on two large manila envelopes marked Liberation News Service. Ron pulled out one of the envelopes and started looking at pictures and reading articles that were concerned with the war. He made a note to study theses things in the future but not right now. Right now, he needed another coffee and about six cigarettes.

Chapter 20

There were two places that served food at the college. One was the cafeteria where the usual mediocre assortment of burgers, dogs, chips and cold sandwiches was served. There was a long row of tables reserved for faculty and staff who seemed to be keeping a watchful eye over the other tables, and the kids who weren’t into anything, mostly the math and science students, dutifully did as they were told. Ron got his coffee there often and hated the place. Most of the conservative organizations, including GIA also had tables set up in the cafeteria. Somebody from their table tried to stare Ron down each time he was noticed.

Ron learned, since the publication of “Darker Shade of White”, that all the fraternities and sororities were all white. Supposedly, one of the sororities had a light-skinned pledge who quit after reading Ron’s article and talking it over with her friends.

The other place that served food was the snack bar. If you were cool or just wanted to look that way, you hung out at the snack bar. Music from the radio station was pumped in there at a louder volume and there was an adjoining lounge filled with plastic covered chairs and couches you could lie down on. The student council people, the newspaper people, the freaks, the jocks, and the unattached inhabited the snack bar. It was also the place where the dope deals were possible. It had never occurred to Ron that drugs were available at his college. He’d read about things that went on at college campuses around the country, but he’d never been involved with any of it and didn’t think that any of the people he saw around him were capable of pulling it off.

Vee Vee walked through the door talking. “I’ve got some many things to do and there just isn’t enough….Well that’s not your problem, right? Ron didn’t answer. “You’re going to do the article on the new student council reps, right?” Ron nodded thinking that this girl was just too annoying to fuck. “OK,” she said, spreading her fingers in the air as if she was trying to remember something important. Ron looked at her body, not bad but… “Peter told me that he assigned you to write the article that talks about the speeches, right?”

“That’s right,” said Ron.

“Well here’s the list of candidates that we want endorsed. Now it would be far out if these were the only names that you mentioned in your article. Chris says that if you really want to, you can stick the other names in somewhere down near the end. You know, also running are the following, but that wouldn’t really be as cool.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What don’t you understand?” she said turning her head sharply. Then she looked at the wall clock and checked it against her wristwatch. “Look,” she smiled, “it would be really far out to rap with you but I’ve got to run. We’ll try it once more quickly. Here is a list of the council’s endorsements for freshman representatives. If you have any questions, show the list to Peter or Julian and they’ll tell you want to do.” She smiled at him again.

Ron thought it was the phoniest smile he’d ever seen in his life. She would really look like a little plastic doll if she didn’t have such a plain to ugly face. “Look, I don’t know who Julian is and I don’t think anybody should be telling me who to write about in the article.”

The newspaper room door opened and a skinny, hawkish faced kid with horn-rimmed glasses entered. on remembered him vaguely.

“Vee Vee!” he said with a big grin and an open mouthed gesture.

“Hi Julian,” she said in a cheerful voice. “Julian, I’ve got to run. Do you think that you could explain what this guy doesn’t understand about this?”

Julian looked over at Ron and the back at Vee. He smirked. “What are you trying to explain to him?”

“I’m not sure what the problem is,” said Vee Vee. She scuffled quickly to the worktable where her stack of books was, pointed down at the list in front of Ron saying, “Julian’s on the Student Council too,” waved goodbye to Julian and was out the door.

Ron felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the birdlike face behind large brown frames that regarded him with a snooty expression. “What is it that you need to have explained to you?”

“I’m not sure,” said Ron, blowing smoke out through his nose.

Julian picked up the piece of paper Vee Vee had pointed to and read. “Oh,” he said in an obvious tone. “These are the people the Student Council would like to have join them from the freshman class.”

Ron detected a slight lisp in his speech when he said freshman class. “I thought the representatives were elected,” said Ron sarcastically.

The door opened again and Nan Timsek walked into the room with Sophie Warren. Ron watched with obvious delight the sway of Sophie’s peasant dress. Nan was Peter’s girlfriend. Everybody said hello and Julian moved to the side of the room opposite Ron, taking overly long strides with his arms held stiffly at his sides. Ron thought that it was an awkward sort of gait but that he seemed to do it smoothly. Julian stood watching Ron with his hands folded behind his back. Ron thought that he resembled the smart-assed lieutenant who always started trouble with the Indians by being a jerk-off. Ron stood up and moved over next to Julian. “Look,” he said, “I don’t believe this is any of your business. I mean this isn’t the fuckin’ two- party system.”

“No,” said Julian. “We’ve adopted the improved concept. We have one basic party, but it doesn’t seem that you were invited.”

“Hey man, I didn’t ask for any of this shit.” This was one too many times to be fucked over on a day that had been so promising. “I’m supposed to write a story about all the candidates, but I think Peter would agree that this would make much more interesting reading.” Ron glared at Julian’s throat as he answered.

“It just makes perfect sense for us to say who should get elected because we’re the only ones who pay attention to what’s going on. It will improve attendance at the polls if we tell them who to vote for. Most of them won’t vote at all or even know there’ s an election. There’s the explanation. It’s really as simple as the alphabet, which, by the way it would be a good idea for you to learn.”

Ron was ready to stomp on his Adam’s apple until it resembled a squashed acorn. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you should proof read. Do you even know what proof reading is?” Ron wasn’t sure that he did, but he knew that this wasn’t the time to ask.

“Look,” continued Julian, “why don’t you wait right here and work on your article, or your penmanship or something and I’ll send someone back who knows how to talk to you.” He slapped his hands down to his sides like a vehicle trying to cut wind resistance and headed for the door with splint-like steps.

Sophie swayed over sumptuously. “How are you, Ron?” Her eyes reminded him of Chipper but her hips did move so nicely. “Are you going to the party tonight?”

“I’m not sure,” said Ron remembering that he still hadn’t looked for Cathy. Ron looked over at Nan, who was standing quite still and straight without an expression on her face. “I probably will go,” said Ron. Sophie had large breasts and wasn’t wearing a bra. She watched Ron stare at her tits and wondered how long they would hold his attention. She and Nan were so stoned that she’d never be able to figure out how long it was.

“Nan and I are looking for Peter.”

Ron snapped his head up to her face. She frowned and realized that she’d distracted him.

“Are you gonna go?” said Ron.

Sophie raised the back of her hand up to her forehead the way he’d seen silent screen actors do. “Alas, no,” she said with exaggerated sadness and a large smile.

The door opened again and Chris Calvin came in led by Julian Willy. Ron was surprised that such a small thing could attract so much attention. There was the Student Council President in a different colored Nehru shirt, carrying a hard shell briefcase like a business man. “I’m Chris Calvin,” he said.

“My name is Ron Tuck.”
Chris said “Good to meet you,” but didn’t extend his hand. He did smile and the look put Ron immediately more at ease. “What’s the problem?” said Chris.

“I don’t know. It seems to have something to do with your people trying to fix the election of freshman representatives.”

Chris didn’t like the sensationalized way that Ron worded it. It sounded too much like a headline. Of course he could stop him from writing just about anything in “The Commuter,” but what about the other publication. The Paper would love to print something like this.

“These are just suggestions. They’re righteous endorsements based on who we think we do a good job.”

“Based on what somebody’s father does for a living?” Ron had noticed long ago that Cathy’s name definitely was not on the list.

“What is this idiot talking about?” said Julian. He walked around in a circle like a giant crane.

The door to the room opened and closed again. Vee Vee was coming back from her class with a surprised look on her face. Ron was beginning to feel outnumbered.

“It just doesn’t seem right,” he said shaking his head.

“There’s nothing at all wrong with it,” said Chris trying to be patient and not sound in the least upset.

Vee Vee had returned to the room. She moved forward and cracked her gum twice. “Why are you bothering to argue with him?” she said to Chris and Julian. “He’s absolutely nobody!”

Everybody in the room looked at Ron. He tried to appear nonchalant but it was useless.

Vee Vee started for the door again. “Well, I’m sure not going to stand around here doing nothing.” She enunciated the last word directly in Ron’s direction in a way that made Julian snicker.

“You know,” he said, “she’s obviously right.”

Chris didn’t like it. He looked at Julian nervously and then he said to Ron, “Do you have a class now?”

‘No.”

“Let’s go upstairs where we can talk a little more quietly.”

Julian sensed something was coming that he wouldn’t like one bit. “I’m on my way to Black Literature,” he said. Ron was sure that he was about to click his heels.

“OK Julian. What are you going to be doing later?” said Chris.

“I’ll call before I leave for the party.”

“Why don’t you just stop over on your way there.”

“I’ll call you first.” said Julian. He turned and looked Ron full in the face. “There are blackboards up in the student council room. Perhaps you could practice up there.” He turned quickly and was out the door in two crane-like strides.

“I’m gonna practice on his nose,” said Ron, moving after him.

Chris stood up in front of the door and burst out laughing. “Right. You’ll get used to him. It’s just his way.”

“That’s what they said about me I was a kid.” Julian’ s insults were still stinging him.

Chris laughed again. “Come on upstairs.”

Ron checked where his books were stacked, patted his breast pocket to make sure he had his cigarettes, picked up his pad and the list of endorsements. He felt like he was going to some kind of an interview. He’d never seen the upstairs portion of the campus center before. He hadn’t seen the black tubular pipe designed like an owl. As he rounded the first of two flights of stairs, he noticed that the people passing by on the other side of the double glass doors appeared to be fish moving in the corridor stream.

The second floor of the campus center contained the radio station, the student council room, an art gallery, and some teachers’ offices. There was also the formerly prestigious General Livingstone Room where the Board of Trustees used to meet before students were given access to the place.

Ron followed Chris into what used to be a classroom. It now was equipped with three long tables arranged in the shape of a C. There were about 15 chairs placed around the configuration. Old couches and folding chairs lined the walls. Metal filing cabinets topped with large stereo speakers stood in two of the corners. Ron lit a cigarette and offered one to Chris, who produced his own pack. Chris checked the memo pad next to his telephone to see if there were any messages, lowered the volume of the speakers and watched Ron soaking in the atmosphere of his set up. “What do you think?”

“What do ya mean?”

Chris quickly shifted back to his topic. “About the freshman reps?”

“It doesn’t seem to be fair,” Ron repeated.

“You were at the speeches, weren’t you?” Ron nodded. “What’s wrong with the people that I’m endorsing?”

“But why should you have the power to say who’s going to get elected?”

“Because practically speaking, they have to be people I can get along with. So that we can all do good things for the people in this school.”

“Like what?” said Ron, feeling like he was calling a bluff.

“This year, I increased the student activities budget from $4000 to $40,000. With that kind of funding, we can expand the newspaper and do a lot of things that we couldn’t even think about before.”

“But why can’t you do those things based on who everybody chooses to have elected? Look, I’m not stupid enough, despite what your friend Julian thinks, to really think that I have any power to keep you from endorsing anybody you want. I’m concerned about two things: why that screwy broad Vee told me I could only mention certain peoples’ names in my article and why you would lock somebody out just because her father’s a pig.”

Chris was absolutely sure that he wanted this guy to have no idea that pounds of pot were passed at the school every week. He was also sure that he didn’t want him to know all the reasons he had for carrying his briefcase. Ron noticed that Chris’ leg was tapping again. He stared at it. Chris flicked his ash awkwardly toward a silver paper ashtray. “I was elected through the agreement of a number of people last year. A coalition of different groups that shared the trust that I was going to do the right thing.” Chris hunched his shoulders, looked his fingers to represent the coalition and looked into Ron’s face.

Ron was impressed. Chris was telling him that he really did run the student segment of the school.

“Now the job of “The Commuter” is completely up to the people downstairs. I did some writing for the newspaper last year and I think I have its best interests in mind. Vee Vee and Julian are both sophomore reps. Vee Vee is also president of her sorority.” Chris was looking at Ron with assurance. Ron believed, on the instant, that Chris really would try to do the right thing. He wanted to say that he’d be glad to help but was hit by the realization that Chris didn’t need any help.

Ron looked at him with admiration. “The truth is, man, that there’s this girl who I’m desperately trying to fuck. She’s got the nicest… Well, she’s pretty anyway. I can’t write an article about the speeches and not include her.”

“Saying that her father was a agent for the FBI was terrible,” said Chris.

“I felt that too, but some parts of me are totally blind.” Ron flashed his grin for the first time.

“The idea is that we all like to party and, you know, really enjoy things.” Chris was bobbing his head as he spoke. “With a coalition, we can act as a single force. Look why don’t you just write an article about something else? We won’t put anything in “The Commuter” either way.”

“That sounds great,” said Ron. He hadn’t much liked the assignment anyway. He looked over at Chris who was playing with the end of his mustache and judging the effect of his words with pleasure. “I’d like to do an article about speed traps around the school.”

“Far out,” said Chris, bobbing his head in agreement.

“Well, I’d better start getting it together,” said Ron.

[Insert missing copy here.] to politics.”

“You move on to something else. Last year, when I was new to things, I worked on “The Commuter” a whole lot. I haven’t quite decided what I’m going to do this year.”

She tilted her head and Ron thought she was going to take off her glasses. Ron had trouble seeing the color of her eyes, but Jade’s face left him astonished. His eyes ran uncontrollably over her face and neck. They danced on her shoulders and made swan dives to her slender waist. They skated across her leather boots and curled between her thighs. When he returned to her face, he saw a small smile at the corners of her mouth and slightly colorless eyes that stared amusedly at him with a soft gray shimmering appearance. She knows that I’ve checked out her body and it’s ok, registered in Ron’s brain like the first day of spring. “Would you like to walk over and get some coffee?” he blurted out.

“I don’t think I want anything to drink right now,” she said and returned to her book. Ron’s spirit sunk like a paper plane in a thunderstorm, but then she added, “You go get what you want. I’ll be here.”

“OK,” he said. “I’ll be right back, but are you sure that you don’t want anything?”

“Not right now,” she said without looking up. As he went out the door she thought that he was easy to control, the type you get to run as fast as you wanted in any direction you pointed him. That was fine, she thought, smiling at the way Sophie had told her that he sounded smart when he talked. He was anything but smart, but he was certainly trainable.

Ron needed a strategy. She was gonna stay in the Commuter room and wait for him. He licked his lips thinking about the way the seam of her jeans ran right up to her cunt. She’d been sitting there with her legs open the whole time, he thought. He paid for his coffee and remembered to take a lid, happy that he was learning to stop spilling hot coffee on himself. He stopped in the hall with the thought that he couldn’t just go back in there and stare at her again. “Say anything,” he told himself, “But get the fuck back in there before something happens to ruin it.”

Jade saw Ron coming back and looked into her book. She glanced up and smiled quickly when he entered the room but returned to her page.

“This has been some day,” said Ron.

She closed the book on her finger again. “Why is that?”

“First I get a ticket for speeding from a cop I think I’m stopping to help and then I make a fool out of myself in English class.”

“I didn’t think you made a fool of yourself. I thought Warren was just being cruel.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open. She was in Lashly’s class! She smiled and held up the book she’d been reading. Ron saw to his further embarrassment that it was his English book. “Gee,” he said, “I never noticed you there. Jade didn’t think that was the most complimentary thing for him to say.

“Why do you call him Warren?”

“I don’t know. It seems more comfortable and natural. You know, why do I call you Ron?”

“But he’s the teacher,” Ron protested.

Jade thought that was a rather uncool remark but decided to overlook it. The conversation became less strained after that. They talked about the other classes they were taking. Ron finished his coffee and smoked two cigarettes. He was relieved to see that Jade also smoked. It always made things easier. Finally, Ron asked her if she was going to the Birth of October party.

“I might but I really don’t have a way to get there.” She was leaving him an opening big enough to drive a Mack Truck through.

“I’d really like to take you with me,” said Ron gallantly.

“You would?” She smiled and showed Ron the tip of her tongue. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I feel very comfortable with you. In fact I think you’re quite great.”

“Do you know how to get to Scotch Plains?” she said softly.

“I’ll find it,” said Ron.
“It might help if I drew you a map,” she said looking for a piece of paper.

Ron ripped a sheet out of his notebook and brought it over to her. Standing up, he felt a tightness in his pants that told him he had a hard-on. She could almost see detail on the tip of his cock as it reached out to her. For a second, she thought about rubbing the top of its head to say hello but decided against it. He hurried back to his chair and crossed his legs, hoping she hadn’t noticed. Jade held her giggle back and drew the familiar road map, automatically adding her address and phone number at the top of the page.

Ron felt a bit relieved when Peter and Nan came into the room. He wanted to go home and take a long shower so that he would look good that night. He made a quick exit.

Jade watched his big shoulders and little round ass as he strode out of the room. She wondered how strong his arms were as she gathered her legs together and smiled at Nan.

“Did he ask you?” said Nan.

Jade nodded her head and blew on the tips of her fingers. “Just like a homey little lamb.”

Nan laughed without moving her mouth

Chapter 21

Ron was up as he drove towards Jade’s house. Everything had gone well so far. He had discovered that he still had two joints in his dwindled seed stash and mixed them with the last of his hash. He was almost sure that she would enjoy getting high. He was certain that she was different from anyone else he’d ever met. He’d been too excited to take a long shower, too excited to dry himself off fully before he dripped his way to his room and slipped on his newly washed jeans. They fit him like a smooth glove and his stomach had disappeared.

When Hank called, he seemed like a visitor from another dimension. Ron agreed to get together with him at 2 o’clock the next afternoon. It meant that he would have to cut his math class. “Any excuse…” he told himself. But the best news of all was that his loan check had come through. He showed George the voucher and asked to borrow $20. He was surprised when George gave it to him easily. He had decided it was better to pay the speeding ticket without mentioning it.

He’d estimated almost perfectly how long the trip to Jade’s house would take. When he found the place, he was exactly seven minutes early. It was a Cape Cod with a dark screened-in porch. He rang the bell and shifted his feet. The woman who approached wore a large apron that covered most of the length of her dress. Her gray hair was pulled back tightly along the sides of her head. There was no expression in her eyes.

“Is Jade home?” Ron said politely.

“My daughter’s name is Clarisse. Come in.” There was an angry flatness in her institutional tones. She left Ron standing in the foyer and climbed the stairs that led to her daughter’s room.

She found Jade standing in her underwear, watching her hips in the mirror as she turned them from side to side. “Someone is here to see you,” she said, flashing her look of disapproval. She headed, as was her custom, to her room. She would wait there until her daughter had left the house.

Jade watched her go carefully. From under her blanket, she withdrew the antique tablecloth that had come from her father’s mother. She draped it over her shoulder in the style of a semi-transparent toga. She pinned it at the waist and folded it so that only a hint of her panties showed through. She decided that she still needed a half-slip and wriggled into one. She threw a sweater across her shoulders and went to meet him.

When they got into the car, she took off her sweater and spread the material out across her thighs. Ron couldn’t believe what he was seeing and smelling. Her perfume was magnetic. Her hair was combed, perfectly straight, down to the small of her back.

“Do you want to go to the party right away?” she said.

He didn’t care if they ever got to the party. He thought he should ask her to marry him. “Do you smoke pot?” he asked.

“Everybody smokes pot,” said Jade.

“I’ve got some hash joints rolled. Would you like to do them?”

“Let’s go over my friend Pearl’s house.”

“OK,” said Ron. “Who’s that?”

Pearl’s my best friend. She’s got a place in town. I stay there when I don’t feel like going home.”

“Does she like to get stoned?”

“Pearl and I? We’ve tripped together a bunch of times.”

“Great,” said Ron. He hadn’t ever tripped, and he hadn’t ever talked to a girl who made him feel this young and inexperienced.

Pearl’s apartment was located over a group of storefronts. Pearl looked like a faded flower. Her face was drawn and sunken and her body so spare that she couldn’t find clothes that weren’t embarrassingly loose. Jade led Ron through the rooms for her like he was a prize bull. Ron smiled unknowingly, hoping to please his audience. Pearl’s husband was in Viet Nam. They’d gotten married two weeks before his lA arrived from the Selective Service. He was gone within six months. They’d thought about having a baby but found that it was too late to matter.

“Did you think about leaving the country?” said Ron.

“You mean go to Canada, or someplace like that? Jimmy’s not the type who would let anyone think he was a chicken.”

Jade and Ron exchanged a look. Jade said that going to Canada was just as much an act of bravery as going to Viet Nam, that it was even harder to turn your back and try to start things over.

“He just wasn’t raised that way,” said Pearl.

“And where has that left you?” said Jade sharply. Ron saw a metamorphosis in her face, which hardened like a stone pillar as she spoke. Ron was about to break out the pot when Jade said that they had to be going and that they might be back later. When Ron turned his back, Pearl mouthed the word “fine” and pointed in the direction of the room that she could use. Jade shrugged her shoulders and softly said, “duh.” Pearl smiled in a “so what” way and Jade laughed as Ron turned back and said it was nice to have met her.
Ron lit one of the hash joints and handed it to Jade when they got back into the car. She took a long toke, feeling the smooth taste of the hash after the initial taste of pot. She rolled her head back against the seat and handed the joint back to Ron. He was alternating between the street and the whiteness of her neck and the way she stood out against the shadowy backdrop of the trees they were passing. After a few more tokes, she moved her head forward and let her hair hang down. Ron saw that it reached well below the car seat. She cupped the joint to her mouth with both hands and straightened up, exhaling and shaking her hair so that it hung in a freshly washed, slightly wild cascade.

“When we get to this party,” she began. Then she paused and started over again. “I’m going to this place with you and most likely, I’ll be coming home with you, but while we’re there, I don’t want to be attached to you all the time. Do you know what I mean?”

“Great,” said Ron, not knowing what else to say. “I’d like to get around and say hello to a bunch of people that I know too.”

“It’s not that I’m not there with you,” she said.

Ron smiled over at her. “I’ve never been out with someone who looked as good as you do tonight.” Ron flashed on his high school dates with their sticky teased hair and their panty girdles. Jade quietly traced her finger along the outside of Ron’s ear. He looked down at her thighs and thought that he wouldn’t mind getting three speeding tickets a day if they’d all end like this one.

They were pretty stoned by the time they got to The Birth of October party. From the outside, the place looked almost identical to the spot where the frat dance had been held. Veronica’s name registered in his mind. He looked at Jade. No comparison. He hadn’t even touched Jade and she’d excited him more than Veronica could have with the help of a storeload of aphrodisiacs. The porch was vibrating with music as they climbed its steps. Two sullen looking dark haired guys were smoking cigarettes and standing on opposite sides of the door. The guys said,” Hello,” to Jade. Ron opened the door and sound and smoke came out to meet them like a host welcoming them in.

Most of the people were sitting on the floor. Of the ten who were dancing, seven were women who held each others’ hands with a camaraderie that made them look like nymphs running over wild hills, picking berries. Jade had already spotted someone that she knew and was headed off with a good-bye that trailed back at him like an after-thought. Ron went looking for a spot where he could get something to drink. The joint had dried out his throat and he wanted a cigarette. At the back of the room, he found Nan and Peter serving wine, beer, soda and something called potluck punch. Nan was moving efficiently with the stylized gestures of a dispensing machine. Her face still hadn’t changed expressions. Peter seemed to know everybody who came back there looking for something to drink. He waved his arms and talked continually as he poured. Nan acknowledged her name with a flick of her eyes.

Ron waited for a quiet moment to go over there. “How’s it goin’?” he said.

Peter started to answer, but then he stopped. “Wow, look at Jade!” She was walking in their direction. She said, “Hello,” to Peter and Nan then she took Ron’s arm and brought him closer. he rubbed the tips of her breasts along his chest and asked if he would get her a drink.

“Anything!” his brain screamed. “Anything in the world that you want.

She was watching Peter. “What’s the punch got?”

Peter scrunched his mouth. “Straight.”

“I want a beer,” she said turning to Ron, drawing out the words.

“I’ll have one too,” said Ron. Ron handed him a bill in exchange for the glasses, but Peter shook him off.

“There’s no charge for you. You’re staff.”

Ron withdrew the bill and gave Peter a look that said Ron thought he was all right. A tall, slim dark-haired guy with a thin mustache had come up in back of Jade. He put his hands on her hips and drew her back towards him. He kissed her on the neck. She turned and kissed him on the lips. Ron rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He clenched and unclenched his fists. Then he put down his mug and moved off in a direction where he couldn’t see what was going on. This was what she had told him about. He could only look like an ass by getting upset.

The evening passed like a series of brief encounters. Ron and Jade threaded themselves through the group, touching each other with an increasing bit of sensuality when they met. After a while Ron enjoyed watching where she went. He got particularly excited when she rubbed against people. His eyes were drawn like a camera to the point of contact. When she danced, it was usually with Ron. There was no wild flailing of arms and legs. None of the twitchy jerkiness that resembled lurching. Her feet remained quite still as her hips and ass knocked out the baseline with a regularity that hypnotized him. Then they would drift apart in different directions.

Ron found himself against a wall, sliding down to the floor as he watched her. From this angle, the tablecloth was nothing more than a lightscreen that she used for the sake of mystery. The music ended and she walked over and stood in front of him. She was standing very close when he got up. Her tongue was sweet and thick as it stroked the inside of his mouth. His muscles tensed with an energy that flowed out through his hips and arms. She said, “I’m ready to leave if you are.” They moved to the door, a unit with a destination. Their steps were a singular sway joined at the hip. They got into the car, lit a cigarette and rolled down the windows. Jade sat facing him. “You know, I think I really had you all wrong,” said Jade with a devilish grin.

“How?”

“I was afraid that you were gonna make me nervous, but you were great in there.” She studied his face. “Have you ever tripped?”

“No,” said Ron. “Have you tripped a lot?”

“I stopped counting.”

It was there in the dark when he saw that her eyes were green. His mind repeated the racy report. The first time they had looked like a grayish shimmer.

“What color are your eyes?” he asked suddenly.

“The same as yours,” she answered. She grinned down to herself.

“Hazel,” she reassured him. “Don’t your eyes change colors with the seasons and moods and stuff?”

“I always thought they were brownish,” said Ron.

“No,” she said secretly. “They’re very green right now. People whose eyes change colors can’t get trapped into a single way of looking at things.”

“Come on,” he said. “That’s not true. How could you prove something like that?”

“That’s just it. You don’t have to prove anything. Things are always changing without anybody’s proof.”

He wasn’t sure that he understood what she meant. He asked her if she was hungry. She said she wasn’t. He asked her if she wanted to smoke the other joint. She said not right then. As he nosed the car onto the highway, she said that she just wanted him to drive. He asked her if she wanted the radio on. She said she didn’t care. He asked her if she would mind if he stopped to get another container of coffee. Annoyed, she said that she would have one too.

They sat in the diner parking lot for what seemed like hours. Jade answered all Ron’s questions about Woodstock and LSD. She was being patient with him, but she secretly loved the idea of someone being willing to listen insatiably to her and then ask questions about her experiences. She could never remember talking about herself this much. She loved the way he watched her face and always came back to things that he didn’t understand. It made what she’d done seem to have more value than she’d thought it did. Ron confided that he imagined tripping was just like getting stoned, only more intense. She shook her head with a derogatory smirk. “It’s totally different.” Ron tried to get specific about exactly how it was different, but she told him that it couldn’t be explained. “You can’t know what it’s like until you’ve tried it. What are you so afraid of?”

Ron said that he wasn’t exactly afraid. He was thinking privately about the shrinks they’d sent him to see after his shaking fits. “It’s just that you read all these stories about people thinking they can fly and staring at the sun until they go blind and, you know, not being able to get back.”

“You have to be together to enjoy yourself. If you don’t think you can relax with it, you should stay away.”

“But do you think that it can be really dangerous?”

“Anything can be dangerous if you let it get out of hand.”

Ron felt rebuffed and wondered if he’d fucked up. They talked about Woodstock for the rest of the ride back to her house. Ron told her straight off that his friend Hank had suggested going to this great concert but that he couldn’t get off from work that weekend. “And who knew?” he ended by saying.

She listened to him carefully and then began her story. “Mostly, I was tripping my brains out too much to remember what really happened. Everybody I met, it seemed, was saying ‘Want some of these?’ and I kept saying ‘yes.’ She told Ron that she was going back there with her sociology class research group to talk to the local residents and find out what their experience had been.

She showed Ron a place where they could park and smoke the other joint. Ron wanted to have a cigarette lit at the same time. Somehow, he felt like the cigarette gave him a plausible story that he could hand to the cops. He and Hank had decided that this was the best way to do things a long time ago. He was just about to light up when Jade said, “Do you want to go back to Pearl’s place and smoke it there?” A look of disappointment spread over his face. He didn’t want any more of the tragedy of Viet Nam. He shrugged his shoulders. She slid next to him and slid her fingertips across his chest. She undid his top button and pressed her palm against his skin. “Do you want to spend the night there with me?” she said.

It was a long kiss. He arched his body until it was diagonal to the seat. He drew her hips toward him. He squeezed her ass. She wrapped her leg around his. He could feel himself get very hard. He rubbed it against the front of her pelvis. She moaned and moved back and forth quickly. Then she stopped in mid-air and drew her tongue back into her open mouth. She settled back against the seat and opened her legs as wide as she could. The inside of her thighs was damp. He traced the slit of her cunt with his finger. She bit his neck and sent her hand out on a mission to find his cock. She got there and squeezed the whole area. She started plunking his cock from side to side.

He didn’t remember much of the ride to Pearl’s house, but the sight of her ahead of him on the stairs was too much for him to ignore. He put his hand under her tablecloth and lodged it where everything came together. She stopped climbing with her back towards him and reached around to bring him closer. He wiggled his fingers and she shook her ass and let a whispering moan escape from her. Ron picked up her scent and was more excited than he thought possible. They finally got to Pearl’s door and she slipped her key in quietly with the look of a thief on her face.
The apartment was dark except for a small shaded lamp that had been left lit on the kitchen table. Jade turned it off. It was her signal to Pearl that she had come back with him. In the parlor, they closed the door and pulled out the hide-a-bed. Ron knew his cock would hemorrhage if he didn’t get it out of his pants soon. He lit a cigarette and took off his shoes. Jade turned around with a worried look on her face and her tablecloth wrapped tightly across her shoulders. He got up and held her. He moved his finger down her spine and made slow circles on her behind. After a minute, he felt her fingers at the top of his thighs. She moved a hand to the center and traced along his zipper. Ron quivered. She pulled away and said, “I’ll be back in a minute.” She left the room without looking back at him. Ron tried to make himself comfortable in his pants, but things were too tangled to fix them without taking it out. He did it quickly, laying it flat against his belly. It was hotter than the rest of him and bulged its head out at his waistband. He closed up and finished his cigarette nervously.

Jade came back into the room after taking everything off except for the tablecloth. She uncovered her breasts and walked over to him. She went straight for the snap on his jeans, crouching over him and pulling on it with her teeth. When he felt her breath through his jockeys, he shivered again. Her hand slipped inside and took out his cock. She rubbed it up and down. “Do you want to get undressed?”

Ron pulled away from her and went to the other side of the room. He was ready to come. He tried to calm himself. Naked, he started back in her direction like he was trying to steady a pitcher that was filled to the brim. She didn’t take her eyes off it when he walked. It wagged like a pointer’s hungry tail. She put her hand back around it and drew him on to the bed. He felt the silk of her legs on his legs. She lowered her belly down against him. He began to shake convulsively and buck. At first she looked down at him with a sense of alarm. She managed to say, “Not yet!” as the first hot squirt of sperm splattered against her navel. It was exciting to watch, but the passion and expectation faded from her face as he continued to buck and squirt without her touching him. She wondered if it was the first time he’d ever been with someone. It would be okay, if that were true. She rubbed the throbbing dick and he moaned very loudly. She tried to forget about her own unrelaxed tension. His cock was getting softer and oozing clear drops now.

“Ron?”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out. “I guess I just couldn’t stand it anymore.”

“It’s okay,” she answered. “Don’t worry about it.” At the end of her words was faintly audible, completely disappointed sigh. She reached for some tissues to clean herself off. She handed some to Ron who had difficulty looking at her. The tension that spread between them now was thick and different. He was going to say that he was willing to finger-fuck her, if she wanted him to, if that would help… or if she would just wait a while, everything would be okay. He didn’t know how to say either thing. He wanted to light a cigarette, but somehow thought the satisfaction it would give him would be insulting. He lay there quietly, trying not to think about what had happened.

She thought that it would be easier if he said something and reached for her pack of cigarettes. When she moved, so did he. “I really am sorry,” he said exhaling smoke as he spoke.

“It’s really no big deal,” she said. “Ron, have you had many girlfriends?”

He raised his head and looked at her. “I don’t know,” he said and put his head back down.

“What I’m trying to ask is whether you’ve done this many times before.”

Embarrassment flushed over Ron like he was a bum lying in the street when the street cleaner rode by. His first thought was to find a way to get the fuck out of there. She was really telling him that he didn’t know how to do it. “Look,” he said with a soft anger, “the problem isn’t that I haven’t been with enough girls to know what I’m doing. The problem is that I’ve never been with anybody as exciting as you, ever before.”

They put their arms around each other and started again. His fingers found that her cunt was still wet. She bent her legs at the knee and spread them with her feet flat on the mattress. He moved his thumb around in her like he was making ice cream. He lowered his head toward her pussy. He tasted her juice and confirmed the idea that it didn’t bother him. He curled his tongue into a cylinder and pushed it in and out of her. She put her hands in back of his head and tried to guide him up to her clitoris. Then she took hold of his finger and tried to show him where she wanted him to rub, giving herself several long strokes with his finger. He rubbed and tried to shove his tongue as far in as it would go, brushing against her ass with his chin in a way that she liked. He felt his cock getting hard against the mattress. He had a rush of satisfaction that told him he was going to perform better this time. He slipped his finger around and rubbed the opening of her ass. She wiggled, delighted by the way it felt. Now he would fuck her good, he thought, getting up on his knees.

She took hold of his still sticky cock. It grew in her hand. She couldn’t say that he didn’t have plenty of energy. She lifted up and sent her head down to kiss it. He felt a quick, convulsive shudder when her lips touched him. He lay her back down and she opened her legs with an elegance that made him gasp. From the minute he was inside her soft, wet pocket, he knew he was in trouble again. His cock stiffened like a hose under pressure. He thrust deeply into her, hoping that he could just get it going and it would become accustomed to the tremendous feel of her. He was rigidly straight. She started moaning and rocking back and forth. Her cunt muscles flapped against him. When she took hold of his ass, he felt like a little boy holding his finger in the dike and being tickled at the same time. His hips began to move faster and his mind screamed, “No, not yet, not yet.”

She was moaning easily and building up to a wonderful rhythm. She first felt him come through the tightening of the muscles in his ass. She heard the voice that she usually kept inside of her saying “No Ron, please. Don’t come yet. Not again!” Frantically, she bucked at him in a vain effort to get there too. He was squirting again. She continued to roll her hips around on him. Maybe he would stay hard for a little while. A few strokes later, he withdrew his shrinking, wet, selfish, little prick. She looked down at it when it came out of her. She hated it.

Ron closed his eyes and concentrated on trying to disappear. After two long minutes, he heard her say that she was tired and wanted to get some sleep. He asked her if she would rather that he went home. She hated him for the question. What else could she expect from a specimen like this? “Do whatever you like,” she said into her pillow. She was looking at him sideways.

“Well,” he said, “I do have an early class. Maybe it would be better if I took off.” Ron put on his clothes quickly and she let him out the door without kissing him.

Ron beat his fist viciously into his leg as he drove up the highway. He called himself every name he could think of. He pictured the stupid look he’d had on his face each time he’d come too soon. “Taking a chance on me really paid off for her, didn’t it?” he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. He flashed on the beautiful images he had of her. Then he was reflooded with what she had said and the looks on her face and how she couldn’t even look at him after the second time.

He didn’t go to school at all the next day. It had taken him forever to get to sleep. When he woke up, he saw that it was after 11 o’clock. He slammed his hand into the pillow, angry that he’d allowed himself to miss an entire day of classes.

Chapter 22

On first seeing Hank at the door, Ron didn’t know how to react. Part of him wanted to grab Hank by the elbow and clamp him on the shoulder. Hank probably wouldn’t be comfortable with that anyway, and there was the matter of how he’d disappeared, no word from him, nothing. All of a sudden, he just wasn’t around anymore. Ron let this resentment cool his greeting. It was a bright autumn day with a chilling breeze and a still potent sun that was capable of heating things up by midday.

“What’s happening?” said Ron

“Ah, you know,” said Hank.

“No, I really don’t have any idea,” Ron shot back as he moved off his porch steps toward the bug. “See my car?” he called over his shoulder, pointing at the trunk of his demolition derby survivor.

“It doesn’t look that bad,” said Hank appraisingly.

Ron looked back at him and saw that he couldn’t see the trunk from his angle. “Walk round to the other side.” he said.

When Hank saw the trunk, he took two steps backward. “Jesus, that’s some dent.”

Ron examined the streaks of rust building up along the creases of the dent. They seemed to be worse than the last time he looked at them. “How long do you figure before it rusts out?”

“That depends on the weather.”

Ron liked hearing the sound of Hank’s voice. He felt an old comfort in having him around. It didn’t matter that were also a little rusty with each other. “What kind of a sloppy way is that to express it?” he heard an odd voice that had been speaking out of turn inside him say.

Less from hunger than habit, they drove to the Dairy Queen. Ron ran through the complete story of how he’d been arrested, embellishing the end of the story, where he got to tell the cops off and walk out on their shocked stupid faces. “So,” he said at the end, “What’s it like being with Jo Lee?”

“Incredible.”

“Is Tony still looking for you?”

Hank decided instantly that he wouldn’t tell Ron that Jo Lee was seeing Tony this very minute. “I don’t think so,” he answered.
“Did he ever find out where you were?”

“No,” said Hank, hoping the subject would soon change. But it was a tricky change to try and effect with Ron. Acting like you didn’t want to talk about something was like sending up smoke signals while surrounded by hostile Indians. What had to be achieved was a demeanor of boredom and a lack of available information on the subject.

“Do you think that he’ll try to see her?”

Hank almost swallowed his newly lit cigarette. “I don’t think that she’d want to see him,” he said quickly trying to sound as strong as possible. For a second it seemed like Ron’s fault that Jo Lee was seeing Tony, something that was forced upon her at Ron’s insistence.

They really didn’t have much in common anymore, he thought as he looked across at Ron. He was still living at home and all excited about school. Hank was sort of finished with that kind of life for right now. They ate their burgers, each with a private set of thoughts. Ron was feeling bad about having missed a day of school and trying to repress what had happened with Jade. He told Hank about his meeting with Chris Calvin and about his article on speed traps, but Hank didn’t seem too interested. He was just sitting there with his arms folded across his chest and a disinterested expression plastered on his face, which communicated the fact that he really didn’t give a shit about anything that was being said. Finally Ron stopped the school rap. ‘You get laid every night now?”

Hank continued to stare as if the question hadn’t penetrated his protective screens. Then he said, “What?” like he hadn’t understood or heard.

Ron wasn’t sure if the question had offended Hank, but he didn’t care. I said, “Do you tuck her every night?”

“Not always at night,” said Hank thinking of the incredible games which they usually played. The games that got skipped so Jo Lee could “get ready.”

“But you get it every day?”

“Yeah,” said Hank with a self-deprecating smile, “I get it every day.”

Somehow Hank had made it seem comical. Ron was out of control and laughed until coffee came out of his nose. Hank laughed too, as much from tension as from the one liner. The truth was that he got laid several times a day. Hank thought about how many people from Welmont would enjoy making that statement. He remembered Butchie saying that he was getting it from a couple girls on the side and banging his wife every night. “It don’t matter what I do,” he heard Butchie saying, “as long as I fill up my old lady’s snatch every night.” Hank wondered what Jo Lee was doing right now. He made a mental picture of her face and told himself that he absolutely and truly loved her.

“Where the fuck are you?” said Ron. “You sure ain’t here. I think getting laid every day has softened your brain.”

“What?” said Hank.

“Sleeping with Jo Lee all the time– has it changed your life that much?”

Hank believed that he hadn’t been alive before Jo Lee, but the truth was that he didn’t want to think about anything that had happened before he met her. A vision of his parents staring at him, as he sat in front of a soggy meal at the kitchen table, covered him like a cloud.

“Do you want to go back to my place and listen to some music?” said Ron.

“No, I’d better be getting back.”

On the ride back, Ron asked him what he intended to do about school. Hank said that he would probably get back to it sooner or later. Ron counseled him not to wait too long. Hank looked at his watch and decided that after he dropped Ron off he would go and hit some golf balls. Then he would visit his mother. After that it would be safe to go back.

They stopped in front of Ron’s house. Hank said that he would be sure to stay in touch. Ron was anxious for Hank to pull away and jumped out of the bug. The VW started to click away and Ron shouted, “Hey, take care of yourself, you know.” Hank stopped the car and backed up. Suddenly, Ron felt guilty about being glad he was going to split. “I said, take care of yourself. I really don’t have a way to contact you, so I’ll wait for you to call me.”

“That sounds good,” said Hank and started back down the street.

Inside his house, Ron was immediately bored. He took a half-gallon of milk and drank in huge, gulping swallows. Thin lines of excess milk ran down his chin and onto his shirt. He returned the bottle to the refrigerator, pulled off his shirt and used it to wipe his mouth. He decided that he was going to drive down to the college before anybody got home. His last class had been over for twenty minutes, but he would feel better if he at least got there.

The place was in the deserted hiatus between day and evening classes. He wandered the empty halls looking for a trace of what he’d missed. The Commuter room was empty. A couple he didn’t know was having coffee in the snack bar. He paid for his container and for the first time wandered into the gym.

Ping-pong tables were set up at the far end of the room. A group of about ten people was playing and watching the games. He sipped his coffee carefully and walked over. No one took notice of his presence, but Ron did see two frat sweatshirts in the group. After two or three points, he asked how he could get into the game. He was told that he had to wait his turn to get a crack at the winner of one table but that he could have the next game five winner at the other. He watched the second table’s volley and decided they weren’t any good. Sitting down with his back against the wall, he called the last game at the good table. It had been years since he’d played seriously but he could still give these guys a game. However, the next player up at the good table was excellent and played with his own paddle. Ron thought that even when he’d been playing every day, this player would have been tough to beat. His thoughts began rubber banding back to when he could really play.

He was at the Newark Boys Club and Joey Tracelli’s face popped up on the other side of the table. He’d beaten Ron for a lot of quarters while Ron was learning the game. This was about six months after that and Ron had been playing for at least three hours a day all summer. It was late summer, and Joey had recently come back from the shore. The match started with him spotting Ron his usual five points for twenty-five cents a game. Ron won the first two games and Joey cut the spot to three. Ron won the next two games and Joey said that he wanted to play even up for a dollar a game. A crowd developed. Some of the guys told Ron that he was crazy to play Joey for that kind of money. Ron told one of the doubters he could have a side bet for an extra twenty-five cents. Then he beat Joey ten straight with the last three games going at five bucks a piece. oey gave him all the money he had and let him have his bankbook as collateral for the rest. Ron was so excited that he went into the bathroom and vomited. He remembered how happy he was when he told his mother and George that he’d won over $30 playing ping pong.

At this point in their marriage, Marjorie and George were still thousands of dollars in debt due to George’s old, pre-marital, gambling debts. When Ron produced Joey’s bankbook as proof of his winnings, his mother jumped out of her chair and slapped his head from side to side like he was a ping-pong ball. They made him go back to the Boys Club and immediately return all the money. Then they grounded him for three weeks. He wished he could manipulate time the way he did in his memories.

The game he played in the gym was over quickly. He lost 21-12. He was surprised that he was able to hit the ball as well as he did. He was a couple of weeks’ practice away from being competitive. He put down his paddle and smiled. He walked out of the gym and down the hall at a good pace, with no idea of a destination.

Chapter 23

When Hank and Jo Lee left Myrtle and Ernie’s house, Jo Lee got a job at The Dover Inn, and Hank worked out a steady arrangement with his parents: they gave him $35 a week. Between the two incomes, they were able to pay rent and buy food. After a few days of having the basement floor to themselves, they decided to get married. It was an economical move. In the privacy of their underground rooms, Hank calculated that a marriage could net them about $3,000.

Hank told his mother that he intended to marry Jo Lee. She said that she was glad he was finally doing the right thing and invited them to dinner. Hank accepted the invitation and fell into a depression, the likes of which Jo Lee hadn’t seen since her meeting with Tony. She tried to cure it with an all night blow job. She wouldn’t let him do anything except lie back and be sucked. Even during his orgasms, he was inconsolable. Afterwards, he felt like he’d been treated for snake bite.

Jo Lee also seemed tense while they were dressing for the dinner. Her mouth was pencil-line tight and her eyes followed each of his movements around the basement like those of a child that knows punishment is at hand. Hank held her tits and said that everything was okay, and that he didn’t care if his parents liked her or not because she meant much more to him than they had ever meant to him, or wanted to mean. Jo Lee cried and told Hank she’d make him a good wife.

The introductions were tense. Hank’s mother said, “Hello,” with a cool politeness followed by nothing. Hank’s father had been drinking all day and, as always, his face was swollen and red. Jo Lee, frightened as a 17 year old, stayed glued to Hank. Her hands were sweaty and trembling when he held them. They were ushered into the parlor and sat on the couch where Hank’s father always fell asleep. A football game was on the TV set. After a few moments of stiff, uncomfortable sitting, Hank realized that his folks had left them alone there and had retreated into the kitchen where they were sitting with their heads down. The game banged itself out for them. Jo Lee leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I like the way the players pat each others’ rear ends.” Normally she would have said “asses.” Then she whispered again. “Hank, where are your mother and father?”

“I don’t know,” he said getting up and walking out to the kitchen.

“Dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes,” said his mother cheerfully, just as he reached the kitchen doorway.

“Great!” said Hank throwing a grimace at her.

“She’s a very nice girl,” said his mother without looking at him.

“How could you tell,” said Hank.

His mother and father exchanged meaningful glances and then she said, “Did I tell you that Ron called here the other day?”

“What did he want?” asked Hank, curtly.

“To talk to you I guess,” she said. “He’s a nice boy.”

Hank looked at her with disbelief and said nothing. His father leaned forward heavily as he got up. “Would you and Jo Lee like something to drink before we eat?”

“That would be good,” said Hank.

His father headed for the closet. “Find out what she wants.”

Hank went back to the parlor. He could tell that Jo Lee wanted to leave. Her chin was quivering. “Hank, how long do we have to stay?”

He studied his watch and tried to gauge how long the process would take. It had been a week since he’d gotten his allowance and no one had mentioned money yet. “About an hour more.” She closed her eyes and put her head back against one the white doilies that covered the backs of the couches and chairs. “Do you want a drink?” he said walking over and standing in front of her. “It will just make things easier if we get a little soused.”

The thought of getting drunk with these people was amusing, and she giggled with her first signs of loosening. Hank turned and went back to the kitchen without asking her what kind of drink she wanted. The image of her quivering chin was a vendetta stuck in his mind.

They saw him standing in his familiar sulking pose, his hands on his hips, waiting to see what they would say. His father said, “Did you find out what Jo Lee wants to drink?”

When Hank looked at him, he saw a dollar sign flashing on his chest like a tee shirt decal. The dollar sign was waving to him like a beckoning prostitute whose faceless body now added Jo Lee’s face. Hank shook the image off. Something about her being that close to his father’s skin turned his stomach. He was going to say, “Don’t you think everybody would be happier if we left?” But there was the $35 and not only that. There was the wedding present and the $35 next week.

Chapter 24

Early in November Ron got his notice to report for his draft physical. The letter scared him. On first reading it propelled him through the rooms, repeatedly stopping and staring incoherently at the notice. One voice inside him kept repeating, “This is our death warrant.” Another screamed in a strong, hoarse voice, “You fuckin’ coward! You slimy chicken!”

On the outside he kept repeating, “Why did this happen to me?” and thinking that if he was born at another time or born richer, it never would have happened. Ron was tangled in his web of contradictions when his letters occurred to him. They were the documentation of his two knee operations and would be enough to get him out, probably. He did remember one draft counselor saying that it all depended on how many men they needed to make their quota for that month. What would be enough to get you out one month, might not work the next. “It all sucks,” he had said bitterly.

Then he told himself that he was just scared shitless. Images of not being able to run fast enough when it was time to run, flooded him. He knew stories about how prostitutes booby- trapped their cunts with razor blades. The thought caused him to shake. It would just be all over before it had meant anything.

After reading the notice, the counselor at the college asked, “What happened to your 2S deferment?”

“I never got one,” said Ron.

“Why not?”

“I guess I didn’t think of it.”

The counselor’s mouth dropped open. He had been in the service and he had been in Viet Nam. He firmly believed that the fact he wasn’t dead was as coincidental as whether or not a rain drop rolled down your back while you were caught in the rain. “I don’t believe that you’re for real, man.”

The death warrant voice inside Ron began to shout that Ron was the world’s biggest jerk-off. “I’ve got these,” said Ron, producing his two doctor’s letters. The counselor looked at the envelopes and said, “What wrong with you?”

“I had these two knee operations,” continued Ron, trying to smile. He explained how the cartilage had been taken out of both of his knees. He watched the heavy, black eyebrows and dark expression on the counselor’s face. Ron knew the guy was sincere, but had the feeling that there was no one home in back of the guy’s eyes. Ron figured that maybe the guy was unbalanced. A thought crept in on him like a soft aroma. “I’m stupid and he’s crazy. Great!”

The counselor wasn’t any help. Ron left with the same feeling he’d had when his mother had sent him to the shrink. It was a sense of none of the possible answers fitting in with how he felt. The idea of his being irreparably fucked up and also a weird kind of explorer was what he carried around for his mental balance.

He stood in line and waited for his coffee. His first shrink’s name had been Minsky. “Why do you think you’re here?” said Minsky. He lit a cigarette and pushed back from his desk in his doctorly way. He routinely pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk and propped his foot up on it, using it as leverage to rock back and forth in his chair.

“I guess it’s because I had a fit,” said Ron.

What kind of fit do you think you had?” The shrink emphasized the word fit in a way Ron took to be a snicker.

“Well, my step-father came home one night. I think he had been working at the bar or out with his friends. I was sitting in the kitchen eating a sandwich. He asked me if I’d done something, I don’t remember what it was now, but I hadn’t done it because I’d hurt my knee again and was using a chair to get around. I don’t mean a wheel chair. I mean a regular straight back chair that I could rest my weight on when I took a step, like a walker I guess. He walks in and asks if I’d thrown out the garbage or something stupid like that and I tell him that I should have thrown it out the window or some smart-assed thing. He comes at me like a bull elephant. I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t run or fight back and my mouth was filled with food.”

Minsky joined his fingers at the tips and continued to rock. “What happened then?”

“I don’t remember,” said Ron.

Minsky noticed that the boy’s ears were large for the size of his head and jotted down his first entry in the personal notebooks he kept on his patients. The taping system would record the verbatim of the session, but the doctor’s personal observations were kept in his own handwriting in his own notebook. Minsky stared at his custom weighted, finely crafted pen. He ran his fingers up and down the golden shaft. He tried to bring his mind back to his patient. The boy wasn’t saying anything and was staring intently at him. His dumbo ears had gotten red and intensified his expression.

“People, like animals, often get excited when they eat,” began the doctor. For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off those ears. “If you bother a normally friendly dog during his meal, he may very well snap at you. You feel upset about being injured and you responded.”

“I told you before. He belted me and I spit the food out and he belted me again and I couldn’t stop shaking.”

“But the important thing is that you felt helpless.”

“That’s how I usually feel,” said Ron.
“Why is that?”

“Because I usually can’t do anything about what’s happening to me. At school, they hit us all the time and we can’t do anything about it.”

“Maybe we’ll keep you out of school for a while,” said Minsky.

Ron brightened. He was going to get help at last.

“But,” Minsky continued, “there is one thing that you can do for me. Your mother tells me that she can’t afford to pay more than $15 a visit. Now, since we’re keeping you out of school, I’d like you to look around for some kind of part-time job so that you can add another $10 a week on and be paying the normal fee.”

“Sure,” said Ron wondering how quickly he could be out of there and how long he could stay out of school.”

“Then I’ll see you next Thursday at the same time.”

“Okay,” said Ron.

He remembered going back twice more at the $15 fee, but he couldn’t remember telling Minsky anything else about his life. He did remember telling him that his real father loved to play golf and that he had developed a hatred for any mention of the game. It seemed to Ron to be the reason that he never saw his father any more. Weekends and golf matches were at the same time and Ron lost out again and again. He remembered Minsky telling him about the beauties of the game and how great it felt to get a feel for it.

He didn’t remember what else they talked about until the end of the third visit. Minsky told Ron that he or his mother had to find a way to come up with the extra $10. That was the last appointment. Ron flunked two courses and was thrown out of Catholic school. George and Marjorie bought their house in the suburbs. Minsky died of lung cancer two years later.

Ron decided to tell as few people as possible about his physical. He would have to tell his family and perhaps he would mention to the teachers whose classes he would be missing. That would be it. There was a certain feeling of maturity that came with being called for his physical that Ron was secretly enjoying. He could finally control the voice that said he was a slimy chicken. He would go and become a man. Chris and Vee Vee walked over to the snack bar table where he was having his coffee.

“Far out. What’s happenin’ in the snack bar?” said Chris.

“Hi Ron,” said Vee in a particularly friendly way that Ron thought was probably phony.

“I don’t know what’s happening. I’m sitting here wondering if I should go to Canada.”

“Excellent!” said Chris. “What’s up there?”

“Escape,” said Ron miserably.

“Uh oh. Did you hear from the government?” Ron nodded. “How did you lose your 2S already? The semester’s not even over yet.”

“I never got one. I guess it just slipped passed me.”

“That wasn’t too bright of you,” said Vee in her cheerfully admonishing tone. When she cracked her gum for emphasis, Ron wanted to dump his coffee on her. “Chris,” she said matter-of-factly, “I’m going over to the sorority table and see who’s coming to the shore house this weekend. Ron watched her faded, tight bluejean ass as it left. It didn’t matter how good her ass was. He could never put up with the rest of her.

“What do you think is going to happen?” asked Chris.

“I’ll probably get shot for one reason or another,” Ron answered morosely.

Two weeks after the dinner with his parents, Hank and Jo Lee announced that they were married. He bought a ring, which he put on her finger while he was inside of her. She claimed that it was the position from which all wedding vows should be exchanged. She asked Hank to make love to her until one of them passed out. The idea excited him and her pumped her vigorously. She raked his back with her nails and whispered fiercely that she wanted to see his blood when she came. She did. After what seemed like hours, they fell asleep. Hank tried to keep his dick stuck between her legs the whole time, but it must’ve come out while they were sleeping.

As he woke up, one of his first thoughts was that he was now living with her under the same arrangement that she’d had with Tony. He grimaced for a minute but decided that it didn’t matter. He was going to be happy and he was going to make his woman happy.

He smiled at her lovingly. Who wouldn’t give their left nut to be where what he was able to do, anytime he wanted. He was never going back to Welmont again. The only reason his parents had ever tolerated him was that he wasn’t a threat. They hadn’t understood how sensitive and real he was. If he hadn’t found her, he’d be a creep, just like the rest of them. He looked around the room and was surprised again at being underground. But it was cozy. They snuggled in a quilt, naked and he was soon asleep.

Chapter 25

Between the arrival of his notice and the date of his physical, Ron told everyone he met about his situation. It was also during this time that he joined the radio station and got to do his first program.

What was called the radio station at the college, was actually a PA system hooked up with about fifteen speakers. The station itself consisted of three railroad-like windowless rooms, but there were two sliding glass panels that opened on the auditorium. The first room served the dual purpose of being a control area for the auditorium’s lightboard and microphone systems. The second room was filled with tape decks, speakers and other audio equipment that Ron didn’t know about. The third room was cork-lined and equipped with two turntables, record racks, swivel chairs and a silver microphone. A thick, white shag carpet lined all three rooms.

Ron’s first program was between 9 and 10:30 in the morning. Thinking it was a good idea to let his audience know who was playing their music, Ron had prepared a short rap for his inaugural.

“Hey you, down there drinking coffee in the snack bar or cafeteria, you working on that paper or reading what you should have finished last night, this is Ron Tuck, who’s going to be playing music for you for the first time. I guess I should tell you right off that I like a lot of Bob Dylan because I think he’s important. So, what that means is that if you don’t dig Dylan, you better get your head buried, man.”

Ron turned off the mike and realized that he’d forgotten to cue up the record. He turned the mike back on. “I seem to be a little slow at this, so you’re gonna have to bear with me for a second. I’m sure I’ll be able to get it together.” Ron tried to remember how the station manager had showed him to cue up the record by getting to the first bit of music and giving the turntable a half turn backwards to give it time to pick up the necessary speed. When he felt like he had everything in place, he let it rip. The music whined into the cut. He’d started it too close and in his anger banged his fist on the table where the turntable sat. The needle jumped into the air and came down in the middle of the chorus.

Dylan was fuckin’ with him. He was sure of it. Dylan was trying to make him look like “Mr. Jones” for everyone else to see and hear. “I’m really sorry about that folks,” he said. Then he repeated the line with the mike switched on. “I don’t seem to be starting out too well, so let me tell you something about myself while I try to get this god damned thing to work.”

Ron flipped off the mike the second he realized that he’d just cursed through fifteen speakers that went into the snack bar, the cafeteria and who knew where else. “I guess the reason my head is so screwed up is that I just got a notice to report for my draft physical and it’s really got me feeling like shit… I mean lousy. Anyway, now I think I’m ready to give you Dylan.” Ron had cued up the first song on the record. He was too ashamed to go back to “Ballad of a Thin Man”. As “Motor-psycho Nightmare” crooned its way into the college, Ron lit a cigarette and tried to figure out what to hit them with next. There was a sharp knock on the door. Ron dropped his cigarette into the ashtray and froze like someone caught with his pants down. He moved to the door where he was greeted by Rebecca Renelli.

“Do you know that you’re piping the music into Professor Lanza’s class? He’s very angry and says that he wants it to stop right away.”

Ron didn’t know how to make it stop. “I’ll take care of it,” he said and abruptly closed the door in her face. He paced back and forth feeling the wetness of his sweat. He sat down and turned on the mike. “Sorry for the interruption down there in Professor Lanza’ s class, but at least it was better than the normal, dull grind. Wasn’t it? I’m gonna have to close the station down for a little while and try to figure out how to stop going places where I’m not wanted. And until then, what I said about the Dylan thing, that’s the only important thing that really happened.”

Ron walked out of the radio station and into the student council room. Julian Willy was sitting with Vee and three other very weird looking people. They all burst out laughing when Ron walked into the room. Julian came up to Ron and stood at attention like he was going to pin a medal on him and then snickered, “You were really cool under pressure in there. I’d like to congratulate you on how you handled that.” Ron was too nervous to pay attention to what Julian was saying or he would have had to rip out his throat this time.

Vee was right on Julian’s heels saying, “Do you want me to show you how to run the controls?”

Ron smiled and followed Vee out of the room with the look of someone who had just received a care package. “And a particularly good selection of cuts too,” added Julian as they left. Ron closed the door concentrating on at least turning that knob correctly.

As time got closer, the physical blotted out everything else that Ron thought about. Two days before he was to present himself for inspection, he got a call from Hank. They were going to get together the night before he was supposed to go.

“I’ve got a lot to tell you,” said Hank cryptically.

“What?” blurted Ron.

“I’m going to be living with Jo Lee for a long time.”

“I figured that,” said Ron trying to conceive how anything could be more important than the government getting its hands on him. “We can talk more when we get together. Have you got any pot?”

“Not a joint,” said Hank.

“Yeah, I haven’t been smoking the stuff either,” said Ron. “OK, I’ll see you about 6 o’clock tomorrow.

Ron had always liked the feel of Hank’s VW. It was tan with a fake wood interior and a walnut gearshift that Ron was crazy about. It gave the lever more substance than the little plastic thing that looked like a wheel off a kid’s toy truck. Ron had a similar attraction for Hank’s thick, brown watchband, which Hank had worn since Ron had known him. He watched the wrist and the gearshift moving as the car clicked down the street. Ron realized that he missed the security he’d once felt inside this car. It had been the place he first tried out his ideas. Hank had already been to college for two years and had done well. Ron was startled with the thought of how many times he must have seemed incredibly stupid to his friend. He’d only been a college a couple months and already he knew how flawed his logic and methods of expression were. It was that he’d never done that much in his life that had any meaning. It had almost always been to get over, or to earn money, or to impress somebody that he liked. Hank must have had to be very patient with him.

After Ron was in the car, Hank felt awkward. No one, except for Jo Lee, had ridden with him for a long time, and this reminded him of living at home and going to Welmont. Hank knew that Ron would be very into school and didn’t want to talk about that at all. After he’d run away with Jo Lee, he’d withdrawn from his classes quietly. Hank stared at Ron. He’d been hoping that he’d been able to score some pot. All along it had been getting stoned that had made Hank comfortable enough to get things out.

“It’s been a long time since we rode the loop together, hasn’t it?” said Ron when he saw Hank make one of the familiar turns.

“Fuck! I didn’t even realize that I was doing it.”

They both laughed. “The loop is something that’s in your blood,” said Ron. Do you want to go get something to eat?” Hank grimaced. “Do you want to go up to Welmont and see who’s around?”

“I’m never going in that place again,” said Hank emphatically.

“Let’s shoot some pool,” said Ron with a tone that indicated that was his last suggestion.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” said Hank.

“Sounds good.”

They drank the coffee and each of them seemed to have thoughts that were drifting away from each other. Hank snuck a glance at his watch and Ron, who was always attentive to the watchband, tried to read the dial from up side down.

“So you really love her?” said Ron.

“It’s not like anything that has ever happened to me before.”

“Have you thought about having kids?”
The question was a surprise because he hadn’t thought of it all. It didn’t seem that what he and Jo Lee were doing had any connection to the idea of creating a family at all. Then he wondered why the thought hadn’t ever occurred to them. Ron interrupted his thoughts by saying the waitress on the other side of the room had a beautiful body. Hank looked over, but she seemed like a little kid and her body like a bud that hadn’t begun to open. She looked puny compared to Jo Lee. “She’s pretty,” said Hank.

“Of course, as luck would have it, she’s in the other room and I can’t think of a reason in the world that could make me go there.”

Hank smiled and decided that it served Ron right that what he thought he wanted. “How’s school?”

“It’s where I should be,” said Ron. “Why the fuck is the government trying to get its hands on me?” “They try to get everybody I finally got myself to a spot where I’m going to stop acting like an insane lunatic who’s never comfortable with anything, and now they want to rip it away. Just when I was starting to get a good sniff of it, they shove pepper up my nose.”

“It sucks,” said Hank.

Ron raised his voice to an intense whisper that could easily be over heard. “I mean what do they want? They want me to slit throats. That’s what they’re really looking for! I’d rather do myself in than become a no good fuckin’ throat slitter!”

Hank looked around the room quickly. “We should go,” he said. He felt very far away from things like war and school. Somehow, he was sure that they were part of the same thing and it had nothing to do with him anymore.

When they got back in the car, Ron said, “She doesn’t like me, does she?”

Hank was relieved that the evening was almost even before the question came up. He would have enough time to drive Ron home and go have a drink at The Dover Inn before it was time for Jo Lee to get off work. “She doesn’t say that much about you.”

Ron felt that Hank was saying that he wasn’t important enough to come up in their conversations. “But what she does say isn’t good, is it?”

“She thinks that you don’t like the idea of her and me being together. She said that she thinks you’re too immature.”

“What the fuck does she mean, ‘I’m too immature!’ So she’s getting to choose your friends for you now, huh? Did you tell her that I used to have a job at IBM with an immense amount of responsibility? What does she mean, ‘I’m too immature?'”

“I don’t know,” said Hank, very amused. “She doesn’t know you very well.”

“I never did anything to her. Why does she think that?”

“Because of the things you said before we got married.”

Ron looked at him with an incredulous face. He wanted to say, “You’re not even really married, and she thinks I’m immature!” But he let his look say it for him and Hank was pleased that the subject was going to pass. They were quiet for a while.

“What things did you tell her that I said?” said Ron, finally.

Hank thought, Oh shit. He isn’t going to let it pass. He had just come up for air. He had fainted and was coming around in back of him with a rabbit punch. Hank was tired of blocking and ducking just because people were upset at the way he was living his life. “Look,” he said with profound conviction, “you’re probably not gonna be seeing that much of her anyway. It doesn’t really matter what she thinks of you.” Hank felt better. He’d thrown a good conversational punch and landed it squarely.

Ron decided that he didn’t have time for this petty bullshit. He was gonna take his physical in the morning. He slipped his hand down to the door handle when they turned on to his block. “I’d better get some sleep, so that I have some idea of what they’re doing to me tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” said Hank. “Good luck.”

Ron smiled because Hank had intoned the phrase with a Dylan accent that made it sound like the bad dream it was. “No wonder everybody’s gotta get stoned” he said laughing and heading towards his house.

Hank drove off thinking that he’d been hard on Ron, but that Jo Lee was right. He was immature.

Chapter 26

Ron was told to assemble with the other inductees at 7 a.m. He decided to walk up to the place where the bus would bring them to Newark. No one said anything special to him about the way things would go and he was feeling better off for the lack of information. His fear had disappeared during his sleep, and he’d decided that he wanted them to take him. At least he would be acceptable to someone. He couldn’t face trying to get out like some misfit. What if a lot of guys did hide out in colleges. That wasn’t his reason for going back to school. A determined calm was inside him. His voices spoke with soft advice. “If your country needs you, you have an obligation to go. That’s why we’re free and that’s the only way for us to stay that way. If it was different, the government wouldn’t spend all this money training guys to be soldiers.”

Ron thought about his high school history books: the picture of Douglas McArthur wading ashore with his sunglasses and leathery tanned face rose up in back of his eyes. Then it shifted and became the photo of a mushroom cloud that always appeared on one of the back pages as a portent of the future. His mind shifted again and it was “Back to Bataan” on “The Million Dollar Movie.” John Wayne and Anthony Quinn led a charge with their machine guns blazing. He’d re-enacted the scenes in his bedroom when he was a little boy, throwing himself across his bed holding his baseball bat while he tumblesaulted and came up shooting. He would get hit in the shoulder and fling himself back on the bed and then come back firing. But then he heard Dylan’s voice singing “Masters of War.” He tried to shake it from his head by walking faster.

He fingered the brown manila envelope that held the letters in his pocket about his knees. It always went back to football. The first day of freshman practice when he ran faster than anyone even close to his size and hit the blocking dummies with a vengeful pops that turned his coaches’ heads. He was immediately moved up to the junior varsity. He squinted when he saw himself bouncing off some guy’s hip in a full extension attempt to make a tackle. He hit the ground and heard his knee crack like a walnut. The next year of trying to play ball in between the doctor’s draining of his knee every couple of weeks. He saw himself spread out on the table with his pants around his ankles. The doctor was a mousy man with glasses. He rubbed alcohol on the leg.

“Is this gonna hurt?”

“You’ll feel the needle break the skin, but after that the pain will be minimal.”

When the doctor took out the syringe, Ron sat bolt upright. It was at least seven inches long. He’d never even imagined a needle that was that big. “Wait a minute! You’re gonna drill that into my knee?”

“We’re going between the plates of your kneecap. Under them is the sack that’s swollen up with fluid. We’re going to drain it.”
Ron began to sweat. He lay back on the table and stared at the ceiling. The doctor stood over him and rubbed his leg with a reassuring smile. “Now you’ve got to relax, so that the needle has a smooth path.” Ron panicked. How the fuck was he supposed to relax. He looked for his mother, who had crept into the corner and wasn’t watching. That was reassuring! He tried to relax. He told himself that he wouldn’t think about what the guy was going to do to him and then it would be over. When the needle entered, a scream burst out of him.

The doctor looked down with calm annoyance. “You’re not making this any easier.” He pressed on the needle and shoved it through. The doctor looked at the vial connected to the end of the syringe. It wasn’t filling up with anything but blood. He’d missed the sack and would have to try again. He withdrew the needle and looked down at his patient. Ron’s eyes were glassy. “Now you’ve got to relax so that we can find the sack.”

“You mean you’re not through yet!”

“It’s a very narrow shaft and when you tighten the muscles in your leg, you constrict it even more.” The pain in his leg wouldn’t go away. He clenched his fists and told himself to relax. Ron stared up at the way hair curled out of the doctor’s nostrils. Then the burning pain hit him again. He didn’t scream. The needle was in and the vials began filling up rapidly. There were eight of them that Ron counted. He was now able to tolerate the shaft being stuck in his knee. When Ron saw that the eighth vial had stopped filling, he smiled. It was over, he thought. Then the doctor said, “Now we’re going to milk the bursar.” He pressed his thumbs down on the areas around the needle. Ron’s brain became a fireworks display and tears rolled down his cheeks. When the doctor took the needle out, the knee felt like it was still in there. He couldn’t bend it. “That will go away in a few hours,” said the doctor. Ron stopped counting after the twentieth time the procedure had been repeated, and everybody agreed that he needed surgery.

The orthopedic surgeon said that the knee should have been cut a year ago. There was damage that was caused by re-injury and the constant drainings. He told him that the reason his knee kept filling up with fluid was torn cartilage. “Then, if I have the operation, it will be like it was before?”

“Probably not,” said the surgeon. “Ron, your knee won’t ever be a hundred percent again and you’ve got to learn to live with that.”

When he was alone in the hospital, he cried. “I’m crippled, “he said into his pillow. He saw images of himself hurling through the air and running with a joyous abandon and told himself that nothing would ever be the same.

His mind shifted to the day of the operation. In the recovery room, he told the nurse to “fuck yourself” when she tried to wake him up. Then there was the pain and the pain shots and how they made him feel dreamy while he was still awake. He remembered trying to tighten the muscles in his thigh and finding that nothing responded. His knee had been split open and they’d taken things out of him. Nothing would ever be the same. He remembered his mother and Uncle Mike coming to visit just after they’d brought him back to the room. From the way they looked at him, Ron knew that he must look bad.
“We brought you something to eat, and your Uncle Mike has a wonderful card for you,” said Marjorie.

Uncle Mike sat down on the edge of Ron’s bed and squeezed his toes, saying, “How do you feel?”

Ron screamed. It was an involuntary burst that came out before he had a chance to check himself. He tried to sit up and couldn’t. The leg was bandaged from the ankle to the top of his thigh. He tried to rock himself up and the split knee effect hit him square in the face. He screamed again. “Get offa my bed, goddammit!”

“Don’t you dare talk to your Uncle that way!”

“Get him off my bed!” hollered Ron and dropped back with his hands over his face. Letting them cut him open had been a mistake. It was only a year later when they had to do the other knee.

“It may have been a mistake,” he told himself, “but it’s all I got going for me today.” He stood in the doorway waiting and thought that it would be honorable if they didn’t take him because of his knees. They were something he’d really suffered through and had the scars to prove it. He wouldn’t be a misfit like he’d be if he told them about the shrinks. Then the door opened and he was brought inside.

Potential recruits were informed that transportation to the induction center would be arriving momentarily. The sergeant continued in a professionally dispassionate way with a toothy grin, “You will also be given tokens for return bus fare. Anyone who thinks he can cheat the army in regard to his physical condition will be sadly mistaken. Those of you who seek to have psychiatric evaluation will be the last to leave the center. If you breeze through the preliminary examinations with no trouble, you can expect to be on your way back by 2 or 3 this afternoon.”

The sergeant called names from a list. Most of the names responded. Ron’s ‘here’ was so weak that he felt he had to repeat himself immediately. He flushed when several heads turned in his direction. He’d spoken with a voice that sounded like it hadn’t changed. He’d begun to make a fool of himself already.

He got a window seat on the bus and watched the passing panorama. The Avenue resembled the huge bazaars and market places he’d seen in documentaries. He liked its familiarity and told himself that part of this country’s greatness was that its markets stretched on for miles. The bus passed by the Lowe’s Theater and Ron flashed back on seeing “Psycho” there when he’d been a kid. He remembered the gales of screams that came out of the theater as they waited in the lobby for the next show. He was still unable to take a shower without periodically peeking around the corner of the curtain. Ron watched people walking freely along the downtown streets and felt like he’d been arrested again. He was unable to pull the buzzer cord and join them on the streets. The only remaining question was whether or not he’d be thrown back as a defective catch.
The prospective inductees were met by Corporal Worsham. Service life had been good to the corporal except now he was stuck in this asshole city up North, but the army had entrusted him with a large responsibility and he’d was damned if he was gonna fuck it up and find himself back in Saigon with his ass in a sling. He split the draftees into two large groups. The first group was sent to begin their physicals. Ron moved with the second group into a classroom for their intelligence testing.

“For the period of time during which you are stationed here, you are under the control of the U.S. Army. During the course of this day, you will be exposed to a battery of tests designed to determine your fitness for military service.”

Ron listened to the corporal thinking that the guy must scrub himself with a wire brush every morning. His skin seemed clean to the point of being raw. Ron discovered a tattoo on Worsham’s left forearm. It resembled the kind of ink pad stamps they put on your hand at a dance and said only “U.S. Army.”

“These tests that you will be taking are cheat proof. It would take a real imbecile to fail the intelligence test and anybody who does fail will be taken off, retested, and then sent on for further special testing. Anyone who is sent off for special testing will probably have to remain overnight so that his test can be properly evaluated. Anyone turning up abnormal levels on the urine test will be kept overnight unless he can produce documented proof of a legitimate problem. Uncle Sam will always be fair to you, but he hates cheaters, and so do I.”

During the next two hours, Ron answered each question as well as he was able. He thought that some of the questions, like being able to distinguish between a cow and a wrench, were incredibly stupid but this was no place for complaints. Besides, the last thing Ron wanted was to be held over for special testing.

Worsham or his relief partner stayed in the room during the entire testing period. At one hour and eight minutes into the test, Corporal Worsham saw the hand of the potential inductee in the second seat of the fourth row go into the air. Ron stopped working and momentarily looked at the kid next to him sitting with his hand in the air like he was in school. Worsham gaped at the punk in the brown tee-shirt, who now was a distraction to others, and moved in to handle the situation quietly and with dispatch. He leaned over and read the name of the questioner. “What’s the problem, Henzel?” Worsham’s face scrunched when he said the name. He’d already decided that this kid was trying to become a pain in the place where the sun don’t shine.

“The correct answer to this problem is unavailable on this test.” Henzel showed Worsham the problem. The corporal stared at it blankly, seeming to be unable to comprehend the nature of the question. “You’re telling me that the test is incorrect?” he said finally. Henzel launched into a description of the nature of the question and the mistake he thought the army had made on this particular problem.

“I’ll tell the U.S. Army that in your opinion they are mistaken on this question. You should now resume working.”

“But what do you want me to do about this question?” asked Henzel. Ron stopped working and watched the disturbance to his left. He thought about what a jerk-off Henzel must be to think that it made any difference at all.

“I’ll have it checked. What else do you think I should do about it?” said Worsham. “I could arrange to have you wait and point this matter out to the Captain yourself. Would you like that?” Henzel shook his head and went back to work.

About forty minutes later the test ended. The group was led downstairs in single file. They stripped and placed their belongings into wire baskets that were then tagged. Ron felt stupid standing in his jockeys holding his manila envelope. He looked down with dismay at his stomach. It sloped and jiggled a little when he walked. He cursed the fact that he liked cake and sucked the thing in. That looked a lot better, but he wondered if people could tell that he was holding in his gut.

The next two hours consisted of endless standing in line with his arms across his chest. The only time Ron talked to anyone was when he said,” no,” to a kid who couldn’t piss in the bottle and asked to borrow some of Ron’s. The kid had been in there a while and they’d told him that he wasn’t allowed to move on until he’d filled up his cup at least halfway. It took Ron less than five minutes to conjure up the needed waste, but he saw that a lot of guys were having problems.

Ron liked the hearing test best of all. It was the way the earphones took away the constant noise of everybody talking and moving around. It was like being off by himself and fully alert at the same time. It was almost like being stoned.

At the conclusion of his physical, Ron was examined by a doctor. Every potential inductee had to be examined individually. Those who wished to mention specific handicaps were assigned to a second examination. If you wished to have a second examination, you had to wait.

Dr. William Stepfield was smoking a cigarette and wondering how many more he would have to check before he was finished when Ron entered his office. Ron tried to show Stepfield his letters but was told he would have to wait for his specialty examination to present those. Ron was frustrated. Stepfield told him to take down his shorts. Ron felt sick when the doctor took hold of his testicles. “Cough,” said Stepfield. Ron coughed. “Again.” Ron hated it. Why did they grab you by the nuts and order you to do things? “Again please,” said the doctor adjusting his grip to another part of the scrotal sack. Ron coughed loudly in his face before he realized the defiance of what he was doing. H e began to sweat. “Okay, now bend over and spread your cheeks,” the doctor was putting on a finger cot.

“What?” said Ron. Before he opened his asshole up to any weird government functionary, he was at least going to get an explanation.

“It’s a rectal examination,” said Stepfield, as he put his hundred-and-fifty-fourth finger cot of the day on and hoped against hope that this kid had learned how to keep his asshole clean. Ron did as he was told and concentrated on how the blood flowed into his face.

“Do you have a history of mental instability?”

“No,” said Ron folding his arms more tightly across his chest. The idea of asking for a quick smoke was impractical.

Then he was in the hall again, sitting on a wooden bench in his underpants, holding his manila envelope. No one seemed to be taking notice of him. The orthopedic appointment was over almost before it began. The guy read his letters and said, “Do you have any pain?”

“Sometimes. ”

He told Ron to lie down on the examining table. He twisted his knee from the ankle and Ron yelped. The doctor said that he was recommending that he be exempt from military service. Ron became confused by the sense of rejection and happiness. By the time his clothes were back on he was smiling. His life was going to go on like it was before today. He was humming along with the bubbly music that was playing inside of him.

Corporal Worsham was seated at a desk outside of the dressing room. He stared at Ron’s papers from the back of his metal type, standard issue desk. “You have been determined to be unfit for military service,” he said sharply.

“I know,” said Ron continuing to smile.

“Your new draft card will be sent to you in the mail. Until then you are to carry your old draft card with you at all times.”

Chapter 27

Hank and Jo Lee started furnishing their apartment with the first of the wedding gifts they received. She called him a “chicken livered asshole” for the first time about two days after the first of the money came in. The occasion was his suggestion that they ought to budget their money more carefully so that they wouldn’t have to ever be broke. She began mildly by saying that she intended to live things up as often as possible and budgeting was definitely not something she intended doing with the money she earned. Hank tried to reason with her. He told her that if they put something away each week they could live things up regularly.

“You don’t know how to live things up because you’ve never had it tough. You’ve been babied all your life and still are.” She had never talked to him that way. He was immediately crushed and took to silence. He got up and started looking for his cigarettes. “And why do you walk on your toes all the time? It makes you look like a weirdo as soon as you take your shoes off.”

“I don’t know,” said Hank. He bit down tightly on his and stared at the floor.

She smiled at him and walked over with the sweet elastic smile that he loved on her face. “I just don’t want you to keep on being a chicken livered asshole,” she said sweetly.

“You shouldn’t call me that,” said Hank dramatically. She rested her head on her shoulder, sighed and said she was going to take a bath. She closed the bathroom door and stared into the mirror until she was able to produce three tears that rolled down her cheeks. While the water swarmed into the tub, she thought about the jawline of the piano player at The Dover Inn.

Hank settled into their chair and thought about what had just happened. They’d had an argument but realized that they loved each other. He especially liked the way she rested her head on his shoulder. It had reassured him that she was always going to be his no matter what happened. He wanted to take care of her and he would be able to if only… He grimaced. He’d been in the midst of a crucial insight and now the fucking phone had rung it right out of him.

“Hey man,” said Ron “what’s happening? What happened to me is that I just got out of going into the fuckin’ army. I go right before the women and children and the way I figure it, that’s the only time it would really be necessary. What do you think of that?”

“That’s really good,” said Hank.

Ron waited for him to say something after that but nothing. “Want to get together and get blasted?”

“I don’t think so,” said Hank.

“Well, I guess I’ll catch up with you at some point later on,” said Ron, who was now sorry that he’d called and wanted to get off the phone quickly. When he got off the phone he told himself that he and Hank were going in very different directions. Hank was so caught up in Jo Lee that he couldn’t let himself think about anything else. Ron told himself that he’d just have to stop thinking about Hank in the present tense and that he really didn’t feel too bad about the development. It would be like resisting change and look what happened when you tried resisting change: you became a fossil. He told himself that he wasn’t fucking dinosaur and that if Hank wanted to walk around with his outdated “it’s my woman and me against the world” approach that was his problem. Sooner or later he would see that he was irrelevant.

Ron drove out to Quimpy’s house that evening. Quimpy had no phone, so the only way to catch him was to find him in. His feelings about his family were the subject of the thoughts he sorted out on the way. Their reactions were mixed. George was silent. Marjorie said, “Thank God.” Aunt Dottie said that she wouldn’t have wanted to go either if she’d been a man his age. Ron thought their reactions were a pretty good indication of how they felt about him. George wanted them to take me. My mother was just afraid that I was going to die. He thought about his Aunt’s reaction and smiled. She thinks like I do, he thought. Hers was the only reaction that made him feel better.

Ron piloted onto Quimpy’s street and was glad when he saw the lights on in the garage. Ron parked across the street in front of the factory and crossed over warily. This was one of the darkest streets he visited regularly and he was always a bit nervous about it. He threw glances over his shoulder while he waited for Quimpy to come to the door.

A small, white window shade went up and Ron could see the top of Quimpy’s head. Quimpy, raised on his toes, was sidling below the window, trying to determine the identity of the visitor. After about fifteen seconds of this, Ron began to get resentful. “Jesus Christ!” he said under his breath. “I get saved from the jaws of death and nobody gives a shit.” Quimpy opened the door and Ron said. “I hope I didn’t get you at a bad time.”

“Nah, that’s alright.” Quimpy stroked his beard and looked up and down the street before he closed the door in back of Ron.

It was a renovated garage filled with embracing clutter. A kitchenette that contained all the necessaries, plus a thirty-gallon fish tank that was stretched across the length of the table, a collection of a hundred dusty wine bottles stacked on top of the cabinets, walls filled with elementary school art and bowling sheets that displayed great games. The rest of the place was similarly packed with stacks of magazines and old newspapers and rugs laid over rugs–all threadbare. An American flag hung draped across the entrance to the bathroom.

“When did you get the aquarium?”

“I don’t remember when it was,” said Quimpy, who continued to stroke his beard and weave from side to side. Quimpy’s habit of weaving had actually become accentuated since Ron stepped inside the garage, so that now he was actually picking his feet off the floor at the end of each lean.
“Man, do you look stoned.”

“Not any more, but I smoked a bone this afternoon that had me flying. This black chick Laurie and I went apartment hunting.”

“Did you get anything?”

Quimpy smiled. “No. But we sure provided some people with anxious moments.”

“She didn’t feel insulted, huh?”

“Nah, she didn’t give a fuck.”

“I beat the draft today Quimpy”

His Ginsbergish face broke into delighted laughter. “Ah yeah.” He headed for his closet, reached into a sports jacket pocket and came out with some pot and a pipe. “That calls for a celebration. Did you have to tell them you were a crazy fag drug addict?”

“No, but I would have. My knees got me out.”

They sat down in front of the fish tank and Quimpy stuffed his pipe.

“Man,” said Ron. “When was the last time you moved anything around in this place?”

“Nothing needs to be moved,” said Quimpy, inhaling and passing the pipe to Ron. He sucked in deeply and began to cough with a radical baritone quiver.

“You’re too greedy. Take small hits.” Quimpy demonstrated and handed the pipe back to Ron.

After a tiny toke, Ron was amazed by how much smoke came out of him. He still liked joints better. After they had successfully knocked out the pipe, and Ron hadn’t coughed any more, Quimpy refilled. “See Fuck-up, all you got to do is pay attention.”

“You always say that,” said Ron.

“That’s because it’s true. It’s true at Welmont. It’s true at school. It’s true with broads.”

“But sometimes I get to paying so closely that I forget what’s going on.”

Quimpy thought that Ron was filled with contradictions. “You got to learn to pay attention to the right things in the right ways.”

Ron’s face was filled with anticipation. “How do you know what the right things are?”

“Pay attention,” said Quimpy. He laughed and lit the second pipe. Ron laughed too.

Chapter 28

Hank was pacing nervously. The club had been closed for over an hour and it had never taken Jo Lee that long to get home before.

The Simon and Garfunkel line, “Are you worried cause your girlfriend’s just a little late,” repeated in his head until he put the record on. “It isn’t good to get upset about absolutely nothing,” he told himself. Then he heard her on the stairs. She seemed to be in a happy mood when she came through the door.

“How’ve you been?” said Hank, trying to look happy too.

She came over and sat on the arm of their chair without taking off her jacket. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I haven’t been taking good care of you lately. I’ve been thinking about it all night and I think I know what the problem is.” Hank was getting nervous and his throat was dry. He got up and started across the room and stopped when he realized that he was walking away from her while she was talking. He turned around in the center of the floor and stood there looking awkward. “I want to love you and take care of you Hank.” He realized that she’d been drinking. “But you’ve got to stop living on the allowance that your parents give you and get a job.”

Hank grimaced. So that was it. Just a stupid thing like where his money came from. He didn’t understand why it bothered her, but he didn’t understand why a lot of things didn’t bother her either. Maybe they couldn’t have conversations that communicated the exactness of their feelings, but with some work they could do better than a country mile miss.

The truth of it was that Jo Lee didn’t like the appearance of Hank living off her. It made her feel desperate and taken advantage of.

“I’ll see what I can do about getting a job tomorrow,” said Hank with a soothing resignation.

“You will?” said Jo Lee. She smiled that smooth, elastic smile that was a little crooked on account of the booze. “You’re gonna be the best man I ever had. I know it.” She looked at him in a way that said she wanted to have her brains fucked out.

Chapter 29

When Ron next saw Rebecca Ranelli, he didn’t recognize her but she remembered him and smiled as they passed in the hall. Ron instantly changed his direction and started back after her. He caught a break when she went into the cafeteria. He scanned the hall closely and darted in. He stood in back of her in line and waited for her to notice him. She didn’t.

Ron fixed his coffee and watched Rebecca make her way to an empty table. He swallowed hard and thought what the fuck, she can always tell me to get lost. He presented himself at her table and said, “Hi, how are you doin’?” Subtlety, he thought. It was cool to just skip over the fact that he had no idea who she was. She looked up and Ron commanded himself to smile. “Can I sit down?”

“Sure,” said Rebecca, glancing to both sides to emphasize the fact that there were a lot of other empty seats and tables. Ron sat down feeling like he was on a tv game show. A voice in his mind said, “Now, you can stop here or try for the next plateau, but remember you risk the chance of giving up your winnings and the right to keep playing if you do the wrong thing. A first degree screw-up disqualifies you forever. A second or third degree screw-up can possibly be reversed into points scored.” Ron told the voice that he intended to keep playing. “Okay Ron, now we’re going to show the audience that word that’s going to be spelled out on your forehead.” A voice that Ron wasn’t supposed to be able to hear said, “The word is jerk.” “Remember, if you have more screw-ups than points scored and all the letters appear on your forehead, you will go off and never be heard from again.”

Ron pushed the daydream out of his mind telling himself that he was really losing it. He tried, for what seemed like an eternity of seconds, to come up with an opening line. ‘Why did you smile at me?’ seemed a bit abrupt, even to Ron.”I’m sitting her trying to figure out how to not sound corny, and the truth is that I can’t remember where I know you from.” he began. He detected a bit of movement at the edges of her mouth. “I’m a bit mad at myself for forgetting having seen you. That’s for sure.” Ron looked full into her face and grinned until he was sure that she could see his dimples. The announcer’s voice assured him that he still hadn’t received his first letter or committed any screw-ups.

She giggled, “I think it was at the radio station.”

Ron’s mouth dropped slightly as he stared at her with a sense of recognition. J E R K was spelled out in blinking neon across his forehead.

“Professor Lanza got really angry, but the rest of the class thought you were absolutely hysterical.” Her brown eyes were dancing and for a second Ron felt completely held by them. The announcer and game show faded under their gaze.

“I didn’t know what the hell I was doing up there.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I mean, it was my first show and I didn’t have anybody or any station hand there or anything.”

“Did you make out all right with your physical?”

Ron flashed on an image of himself bent over with his cheeks spread. “I was just being paranoid. I guess there really wasn’t much of a chance of them taking me and I should have known that. I had these two knee operations and well… They didn’t take me.”

“That’s good,” said Rebecca. “I’ve been trying to decide how I feel about the war and a lot of other things. Ron was intrigued by the cascading browns of her hair. “I used to go out with this guy who joined the Marines. I guess he must be over there right now.” She twined the end of her hair around her fingers. Ron stared at her chest. “When I was going out with him, I thought the war was necessary and all that, but since we broke up last April and I came to school, my opinions have been changing.”

“I know what you mean. For the last couple of years, I haven’t really thought too much about it either. I was too busy working or running around, but for the last six months I’ve been changing too. Now I think the whole thing stinks.” Ron saw Chris Calvin standing in the doorway of the cafeteria looking in his direction. He waved for Chris to join them. When Chris started over, Ron sat up a little straighter. Having the Student Council President for a friend meant that he was a member of the in group at the school. He would be viewed as someone who knew what was happening. He imagined this judgment of him to be passing through Rebecca’s mind.

“Far out,” said Chris as he sat down with them.

Ron watched the introductions, learned her name and, with a bit of envy, noticed the look of recognition in her face as Chris told her who he was. “So, I hear you made it through your physical ok?” said Chris.

“Yeah, I got lucky.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I’m just having coffee here and then I don’t know.”

Rebecca stood up and gathered her things. “It was nice to meet you Chris,” she said with a polite smile. She turned to Ron. “I’ve got a class that starts in five minutes.”

Ron was confused. He wanted to stay and talk to Chris but he wanted to get something started with Rebecca. All he could manage was a weak, “take care,” as she turned to walk away. “Hey, wait here a second, will you?” he said to Chris and found himself starting after her again. He caught her in the hall. “Are you doing anything later?” he said with a sense of urgency. When she didn’t answer right away, he continued. “I mean could I have your phone number and give you a call later on?”

Rebecca paused and then smiled at him. “My home phone number?” She paused again. Ron shifted from one foot to the other. Without actually saying yes, she took out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote her name and number on it. Ron smiled broadly and stored it in his wallet. “I’ll call you later on,” he said and walked away before she had a chance to answer him.

Chris was sitting at the table tapping both his feet to the radio station music and bobbing his head. Seeing Ron, he said, “Let’s go over to the Student Council Room.” Back at his office he softened his tones and spoke in a more congenial way. “Did you know that Peter was leaving school?”

“No.” That wasn’t good news. Peter had been the person who Ron had counted on to help him on The Commuter. He was the only person in a position of power that Ron knew would get his articles into the paper.

“He and Nan are quitting so they can get married. I was thinking. You know, last year I was on the staff and I need someone down there that I can depend on.”

“Margaret What’s-her-name is in charge, right?”

“I doubt very much that she’ll be back in school either. She’s been on an awfully long trip and there’s no telling where she is.” He played with the corners of his moustache as he talked. Ron couldn’t decide whether he was sinister or just looked that way, but figured that it didn’t matter. There was something about him that was easy to like. “So I think that leaves you.” Ron looked at Chris, his face in a question mark. “To be managing editor of The Commuter,” said Chris, bobbing his head.

“A lot of people down there have been on the staff a long time,” said Ron.

“Leave that to me. Julian says he’s gonna quit working on the paper anyway and everybody else down there seems to like you. I think you’ve got a good knack for stirring up the controversy that a paper needs.”

Ron was stunned. He couldn’t think of one reason in the world that this guy was doing this for him. The idea that everybody on the staff liked him kept repeating in his head like a happy tune. He couldn’t remember if there had been a time when everybody had liked him anywhere. “I’d be happy to do it.”

“Do you ever get stoned?” said Chris. He was bobbing his head again.

Ron was beginning to feel a little dizzy. He wasn’t sure how to answer this question but said, “Yeah, I have.”

“Why don’t we go over to my house and smoke a joint?”
Now it was Ron’s turn to bob his head. “Sounds great.”
Chris drove a red and white Plymouth with a push button transmission and no dents. Ron felt comforted by the piles of debris in the car that mostly consisted of Blue Castle hamburger bags and empty coffee containers, but there was also a healthy supply of mimeographed paper: some yellow and some crisp and smooth. Ron liked the contradiction with the briefcase image. “It’s better than throwing it out the window,” he said.

“Yeah, keep America beautiful,” said Ron.

Chris bobbed. “Are you from around here?”

“Newark,” said Ron automatically. He never told anyone he was living in the suburbs now until he had to.

Chris’ house was on a tree-lined street with no sidewalk. It was a two- family job that resembled the one Ron family owned. In the driveway was a contractor’s van that read,”T.B. Calvin, General Contractor.” Ron followed Chris along the side of the house. His room was off the back of the kitchen and had its own entrance. Ron envied the feeling of privacy. The room itself was gigantic. It held a double bed mattress and box spring, a full sized couch, two overstuffed chairs, a table piled with books and papers a stereo and a guitar amplifier. In the shadows of the corner of the room, Ron made out the doleful face of Julian T. Willy.

“Chris, you must be kidding,” said Julian’s disgusted voice.

“What’s up Julian?”

Ron felt instantly out of place and wanted to leave. The thought that he didn’t have his own car made him more uncomfortable.

“I stopped by to tell you that I’ve got tickets to see John Mayall. You and Vee Vee and Digby and I will go.”

“Who’s John Mayall?” said Ron.

Julian sneered. “An English blues band,” said Chris.

Julian got up and walked passed them toward the door with a smirk on his face. “What’s on your calendar for tonight?” he said to Chris.

“Listening to the tapes.”

“I believe I’ll abstain,” answered Julian. Ron noticed his lisp again and wondered if it might be his Achilles heel.

“So what are you doing?”

“Purple blotter acid,” said Julian quickly. “And I believe Laureen is coming over. You can come over late if you want to. There’s no telling when I’ll be peaking and I’ve got homemade pecan pie for the occasion.”

“Far out,” said Chris with a great deal of enthusiasm.

He got up and followed Julian out the door.

Ron fished for his cigarettes. When Chris returned, Ron said, “What’s the story with him? He acts like he’d like to kill me and I’ve got no idea of why.”

“Julian doesn’t like many people, but he’s a good person and he’s very intelligent.”

Something fished in Ron’s head and he knew that Julian didn’t like him because he thought Ron was stupid. Chris took out a bag with at least two ounces of pot in it. Ron watched with the look of a kid observing the preparations for an ice cream sundae as Chris rolled two fat joints. Putting out his cigarette, Ron lit the joint Chris handed him. He loved the sweet taste and smell.

“So what are you gonna do tonight?” said Chris. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve never been to a Student Council meeting, have you?”

“Well, I taped one yesterday and I’m having some people over to listen to it tonight. You know some of them and it would give people a chance to meet you if you want to come over.”

“Maybe,” said Ron. He wondered why anybody would sit around and listen to the tapes of a meeting. If you were there, you knew what happened. If you weren’t there, why would you care? Ron didn’t like tape recorders anyway. They made his voice sound like he was nine years old and he always seemed to have too much air coming out of his mouth. If he stayed there, he wouldn’t be able to call Rebecca and maybe she would want to see him tonight. Maybe she would even hint there was a chance that he could get laid. Maybe Jade would be at Chris’ house tonight. He wasn’t sure that he ever would be able to face her again, although he hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her since The Birth of October party. If he didn’t ask Rebecca out tonight, it would be too late to do anything with her this weekend. Chicks didn’t like to be asked out as late as Friday. It was a point of honor with them. They didn’t want you to think that they weren’t always busy, but maybe they didn’t think like that at all. Ron got stoned in the shady darkness of Chris’ roomwhile Chris rolled a supply of joints for that night’s company.

Hank had been sitting in so many bars that he felt his skin had turned a pale shade of amber. It had started because he liked to go out and have drinks with Jo Lee. She would nibble on his ear and play with his cock under the table, mostly while he was trying to talk to the barmaid. She was delighted by the flustered look it put on his innocent, child-like face while she was doing it. This week he had started coming to The Dover Inn while she was working. She told him that things were slow and that other people had their friends come in. Hank agreed willingly. Usually, the three hours he spent there flew. It seemed more like they were out together than it seemed like she was at work. She took good care of her customers and Hank brought a book with him. The house paid for most of his drinks, so what was the harm?

This particular Thursday night, she had only been a work for two hours when Hank felt the need to get out. He had intended to stay home and read or listen to records but none of those activities held his interest. He and Jo Lee wouldn’t have another evening together until Monday and he missed her already. He took a shower and got dressed. He felt dapper. That was the word and he liked the sound of it. It was a word Jo Lee used to describe him when she thought he looked good. He’d lost quite a bit of weight since he’d moved in with Jo Lee. His comfortable pudginess had disappeared and he was developing a lean look. He smiled to himself all the way down to the club.

The place was almost filled when he got there. He heard piano music and realized that this was one of the nights when The Dover Inn offered live entertainment. He was bit disappointed when she didn’t seem that happy to see him. She did smile and say, “;What a good surprise,” but he would have bet that the thought wasn’t genuine.

During his third gin gimlet, it occurred to him that he’d traded this place for Welmont. The first time Hank noticed the piano man put one of his hands around Jo Lee’s waist while he continued to sing, play the song one handed and smile at the crowd he thought it was good natured fun. He didn’t feel dapper anymore but by the 3rd gin gimlet, he felt soothed. Then he saw Jo Lee sneak the piano player a kiss on the neck. Hank grimaced sharply. That wasn’t for the crowd and she’d avoided looking in his direction after she’d done it. Hank lit a cigarette without finishing the one that was burning in the ashtray. He looked at his watch and saw that it was only 10:15. She wouldn’t be off work for almost 4 hours. He began to feel sick to his stomach. Coming here tonight had been a mistake and now he was going to have to find some excuse for sneaking out. He blew out his smoke and took a swallow of gin. It made him feel lightheaded. He tried to fasten his eyes on something stationary but couldn’t find anything that wasn’t too loud or moving too much. He was going to pass out, but maybe he would be okay if he could get to the mens’ room and put some water on his face. Jo Lee was too busy to notice what he was doing and for the moment he felt happy about that. He left his second cigarette burning in the ashtray and headed for the “Gents” sign. He saw that the musician was a greasy twerp as he walked passed him. He felt better for a second but the smell of urine caused him to vomit at once.

Ron’s finger started dialing Rebecca’s number three times before he was able to complete the sequence. He then decided that it was too early to call because she might still be having dinner and hung the phone up after the first ring. He paced through the rooms trying to think of what to say. She had to be a little impressed by the fact that he’d been made managing editor of The Commuter. Ron realized that he hadn’t told anyone in his family about what had happened on the newspaper either. Maybe he would just wait for the first issue he was doing to come out with his name on it. Besides, what would they really care about it? It wasn’t for a grade or for money, so they’d probably say, “that’s nice, and go on watching tv or playing cards, or whatever else they were doing.

The phone rang four times before somebody picked it up. A voice that was loud and grating said, “Hello.”

“Can I speak to Rebecca, please?”

He heard a wary, “Just a minute,” followed by a screeching, “Becky! Telephone!” It immediately showed Ron another side of the girl he’d met today

And then it was her voice on the line. Her, “hello,” sounded smooth and warm. Ron forgot about her mother or whoever it was that had answered the phone like a dockworker. “Hi Rebecca. This is Ron Tuck. What are you up to on this crisp, autumn evening?”

“Hi Ron. I’ve got some studying to do and then my aunt is coming over to get her hair done.”

He liked the cheerful sound in her voice. He was in. It was all right that he’d called.

“I was wondering if I might be able to talk you into a cup of coffee or something.”

“I can’t tonight,” she said with a slinkiness in her voice. He could picture her standing there curling that luxurious hair around her fingers. “But I’m not busy tomorrow night,” she added with a voice that he could hear smiling.

Ron couldn’t control himself. “Really?” he burst out. “Do you want to go see a movie or something?”

“Anyplace you’d like,” she said teasingly adding, “almost.”

“Great!”said Ron. Then he felt like he should have something else to say. It was for him an awkward period when calling for a date. He knew that the date really started on the phone and he’d completely missed the intonation of the tease. Rebecca was amused. The boy sounded nice. “You know what happened after you left for class today?”

“What?”

“They made me the managing editor of The Commuter.”

“That’s wonderful.”

Her voice was as smooth as a guitar run that makes you close your eyes. When he hung up the phone he was flying. Rebecca and being the managing editor of the newspaper in the same day. Ron felt fully involved in college life and loved it. Before, he’d felt like his generation had passed him by. Now, he’d caught up to it.

Hank never told Jo Lee about getting sick at the club. She didn’t mention his visit or abrupt departure when she came home that night. The next morning, while they were having sex, she screamed in his ear, “Come, you lousy bastard! Why does it always take you forever?”

He perspired heavily as he concentrated on making himself ejaculate. He didn’t care how it felt anymore, he just wanted it to be over. Jo Lee’s eyes were closed and her mouth was stretched in a tight slit. Hank wanted to stop and talk about things before the craziness that was overcoming them left nothing more to discuss. His thought pattern was broken by the insertion of Jo Lee’s finger and the raking of her long and sharply curved nail on the inside of his asshole. He yelped loudly and jumped off of her. The erection he had been straining to bring off, collapsed like a deflated balloon. They were both surprised at the rapidity of its descent. He needed to see if he was bleeding. Without a word, he moved with burning difficulty, towards the bathroom.

Chapter 30

The next morning Ron walked through the Commuter room door with the feeling that it was his. He removed the contents from the mail slot marked “Managing Editor,” finding that they mostly consisted of releases from various college press services. There were also four articles that had been submitted for publication. He took the pile over to Peter’s old wooden desk and read for hours. It was the first time since he was 13 years old that he remembered reading in such a way that he lost track of time.

His previous education about the war had come from mainstream media, but this stuff was appalling. He learned about the uses of tiger cages. He saw, for the first time, the ghetto into which Viet Nam had been transformed. And he saw the pictures of torture. The interrogation of a suspected VC sympathizer was particularly haunting. American soldiers were standing there watching a man who had been staked out on a tree. His interrogators were carving initials into his belly. Ron’s hands began to quiver as contempt blasted through him like a squall. He pulled his shirt out of his pants and began to pace as he read. He compared what he was seeing to his pre-existing body of information.

When he took a coffee break, the morning cafeteria laughter and conversation annoyed him with a force that turned his expression into a solid glare. He watched the middle-aged woman behind the counter with a stony bitterness. How the fuck could anybody laugh while they were scrambling eggs when people were getting their guts carved up because they wanted their own country left alone. He paid for his coffee and returned to the room without uttering a sound. He snarled because it was no longer empty. Without looking at whoever the person was, he headed for his desk and resumed his reading. He gulped coffee as he read.

After a few minutes, he heard a familiar voice say, “How are you, Ron?” Jade was watching him over the top of her book through a pair of pink sunglasses.

Ron stammered, “I didn’t see you.” He gulped the last of his coffee. “I got to get some more coffee before class starts.”

She gave him a half smile and looked back into her book. Ron felt compelled to get up and leave. The last batch of coffee was still fresh in his mind but he felt like he had to get another one. When he got to the cafeteria line, he saw Rebecca standing there with her back towards him. He moved in behind her and said, “Hi.”

She turned in a semi-startled way. “Oh, hi Ron.”

“You know, I forgot to ask you for directions to your house.”

“I thought about that.” She reached into her pocketbook and came out with a map that was complete with arrows. As he looked at it, the glare disappeared from his face. He saw two small flowers that she sketched at the top of the map. A nice touch. “What are we doing tonight, Ron?”

Without anything that could be called a thought, he said, “How about a play?”

Her face brightened. “That would be exciting.”

“About 7 o’clock?”

“That’s fine.”

Once in class, Ron tried to remember what he was supposed to have read for that day. So much had happened in the last 24 hours that he didn’t even blame himself for not knowing what was going on. It probably would have been better if he’d asked somebody. He certainly would have looked less conspicuous if he hadn’t forgotten his textbook, notebook, and pen.

Lashly came into the room his usual few minutes late. He was carrying two containers of coffee, a folder of papers, his book, his coffee mug, his pipe and pouch, and a package of small cigars called “Between the Acts.” Ron watched the elaborate setting up routine, not caring how long it took this time. Lashly began calling names. Ron’s was the second name he called. Lashly tucked his chin down and looked sternly at Ron as he returned his paper. Ron remembered it was a reaction piece he’d written about the two Greek plays they’d read. It contained a vicious and inescapable conclusion he’d reached about Greek drama. The two plays had convinced him that the whole of it was stale, stagnant, and without excitement. He remembered ending with the idea that people should just do what they felt like doing and not spend as much time on all the complaining about what had happened to them and worrying about what would happen next.

Lashly had rejected the paper and typed out a point-by-point analysis of why it was flawed. Ron read the first reason and felt the coffee start to come back up his throat. He choked. The coffee dribbled out the sides of his mouth and came out of his nose. He wiped his face with his sleeve and checked to see if anyone was watching. He looked at the first reason again:

“1. Your inability to accept characters is the result of your inability to see anything other than as an extension of yourself.” After a second reading of Lashly’s first reason, Ron was still asking himself what the fuck??? Ron was amazed. How could such a thing have happened? It didn’t sound like it was true. Ron looked back at his rejected paper:

“2. Learn to defend characters and artists so that you will be able to learn from them. You can never really understand what somebody is trying to say unless ‘you walk a mile in their shoes.'” He understood that one a little better, but he wasn’t sure how it fit with his paper.

By the time Ron looked up, Lashly was well into his second Pascal story. “… on this one night he claims to have seen God and begins to write about these incredible visions of the smallness of things through which he views his own significance.” Lashly stopped and took a deliberately deep breath. “I give you all of this as a way of introducing The Inferno.” Ron had no idea of what Lashly was talking about. “If there was a heaven and a hell and, according to your own rules of morality, you were to be placed in one of them; where would you find yourself?”

Ron returned to his paper: “3. Your language is obvious and uncreative because you use it to serve your own ego.” Ron read the line again. People were voting about whether they wanted to go to heaven or hell. He looked at the board: 4 hells, 1 heaven. He looked down the row of people who had voted. He didn’t know what they had said or how he would vote. He was sure that he had no feelings about the issue.

“4. You are hard and language is feeling.” Again he didn’t understand, but all of a sudden it was his turn to vote. “Everybody likes to think of himself as good,” said Ron, “but lately when I picture heaven, I get bored. I guess I’d like to picture myself in a place with more variety.”

Lashly looked his student square in the face. “You probably won’t have a choice,” he said and moved on to the next student. Ron’s mouth fell open. What the fuck did that mean? Of course he had a right to choose and at that moment his choice was to get out of there. There were five minutes left in the period.

“5. You have talent but abuse it with laziness. 6. You will have to learn to write well or we will both be broken on the wheel of trying. 7. Of those to whom much is given, much is expected.” Ron stared at the last two and read them again. They were compliments. At the bottom of the page was Lashly’s handwritten note that they get together to discuss his next attempt.

When the bell sounded, Ron literally bolted from the room. Lashly followed his progress and looked down at the first girl in the first row to see if she had also caught the reaction. “I guess it affected him,” he said and smiled in a way that conjured back the bed in his Manhattan apartment where he’d shown her what he’d written to Ron.

Ron walked directly to his car where he read his paper over. He winced at each of the numerous misspellings and grammatical errors that Lashly had painstakingly circled. He lit a cigarette and reread the list of criticisms. He sucked so hard on his cigarette that it seemed to be gone in less than ten puffs. He took hold of his steering wheel and thought about driving home to concentrate on his date with Rebecca. “I didn’t come to college just for pussy,” he said out loud and decided to go to Lashly’s office immediately.

He stopped in the cafeteria to get a container of caffeine courage and headed out to find Lashly’s office. It turned out to be in the student center, right down the hall from the radio station and the student council room. The familiarity bolstered his confidence. He knocked on the door and heard a drawling, “Come on in.” Lashly was seated in back of his desk smoking his pipe and reading his Lit book. “How are you?” he drawled. Ron thought his accent sounded comical.

“I’m ok, I guess. I came to talk about this paper. That is, if you can spare the time right now.”
Lashly looked over Ron’s shoulder into the corner, and Ron realized they weren’t alone in the room. “Irene, would you mind very much if I spent a few minutes talking to Ron here?” The girl looked at Ron and frowned. She gave what Warren liked to call “her dirty, little grin” to the professor and started to leave.

“I guess I’ll go have lunch and go to work,” she said.

Lashly protested. “I thought we were having lunch together.”

“You’re too busy,” said Irene, smoothing her jeans along her hips, then picking up her purse and books. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” she said to Lashly as she brushed past Ron. She was the short spongy type. Ron liked her because it was obvious that she loved to fuck. After she left, Ron apologized again for the intrusion. Lashly looked uncomfortable for a minute and then said not to worry about it.

“I’m not really sure what it is about this paper that you don’t like,” began Ron. “That is, aside from the grammar mistakes and the spelling errors.”

“They’re not very important really,” said Lashly out of the side of his mouth while he was lighting his pipe. “Your problem is more fundamental.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s more of a childishness that sees itself as the center of the world and is unable to admit anything except that which is feeding immediate needs.”

Ron’s face flushed. “Where do you see anything like that in my paper?”

“It’s more a question of what I see in you as a result of your paper. Finally, your paper isn’t very interesting because of your limited thinking patterns. The interesting question is why you’ve chosen to limit yourself like that.”

Ron was getting angry. “What do you mean, ‘limit myself’?”

“You don’t know how to give characters – or I suspect anything else – a chance to breathe. As a result, the things around you become earthbound.”

Ron was sure that he hated the idea of being earthbound. He stared into Lashly’s face. The guy seemed so damn sure of what he was saying; it must be the truth. He was sure that it would be useless to try to continue this discussion until he had turned in a “letter-perfect” paper. He wasn’t sure that he believed what Lashly said about the grammar and spelling not mattering. “I’m not really sure that I know what you’re talking about, let alone have any idea of how to control it or change it.”

“It might be that you want too much control,” said Lashly.

“Somehow, that seems doubtful,” said Ron. He was at least sure about being out of control most of the time.

“The road to self-knowledge seems to be the one you have been called to travel on.”

“I’m not sure what that means either.”

“You want instant illumination because you want to have it, but it doesn’t come that way.”

“Well, how does it come?”

“The first step is to learn to get off of yourself. Nothing positive can happen until you succeed with that and the way things stand right now, I have my doubts.”

Ron decided that a word of explanation was clearly in order. “I’ve been away from school for a while, and I’m just trying to get back into the swing of things. I was working at IBM until I realized that I would never be cut out for a 9-5 job. I wanted to do something with my life. You know, make some kind of a mark . I figured that in order to do that, what I needed was more of an education.” Ron gave his face the most sincere look that he could muster. He looked Lashly straight in the face as he spoke to him.

The professor relit his pipe. “You won’t be any more successful here than you were at IBM. You won’t be anymore happy anywhere else, if you don’t learn to stop trying to bend things to suit your own needs.”

Ron thought that it was about the tenth time Lashly had insulted him since he’d been in the office. “I don’t think that I do that.”

“That’s also a part of the problem because you do. If you can’t recognize it, things will be impossible for you.”

Ron was totally frustrated. There didn’t seem to be anything he could say to make things right with this person, and this had been the class he’d enjoyed the most. Imagine how he must be doing in his other classes! “I’ll redo the paper and try to keep what you’ve said in mind.” Ron wasn’t even sure how to make an exit. He stared nervously at the Lit book on Lashly’s desk. “I’ll have it for you next week, “he said and started for the door.

“By the way,” said Lashly stopping him in his tracks, “I thought one of those essays you wrote for the paper had some good points and showed promise.”

“Which one?” said Ron, turning around and being more than willing to discuss something that he’d done right – something that wouldn’t make him feel like a total baboon.

“I don’t actually remember if it was yours or someone else’s. Besides, you don’t really need the praise. He looked at Ron with the same stern expression that he’d given him when he’d returned his paper.

Ron came away from Lashly’s office desperate for an outlet. He found a ping-pong game and slammed at the ball for the next 90 minutes, playing and replaying the conversation in his mind. He tried to pay close attention to everything Lashly had told him. He came to the conclusion that he’d finally met someone who knew what was wrong with him, but wondered if it all was so visible to the outside world. Was he a glass door that could be opened, closed, or looked through at the discretion of the user? Fuck that, he thought as he won another game. He didn’t want anyone walking on him, but the more he thought about Lashly’s conversations, the more he saw his life as a string of carelessly done papers.

When he went home, he called Hank but there was no answer. He decided it was time to pick up the new pair of glasses that his mother had been reminding him about, octagon shaped steel frames with brown tinted lenses.

Before he left the house again, he went up to see his aunt. He knocked but there wasn’t any answer. He opened the door and entered the apartment. She was lying propped on a pile of pillows that was bigger than she was. She seemed to be sitting up, but she had taken her teeth out and it gave her face a sunken, deathlike look. He stepped closer, anxiously, and then relaxed with the sound of her sleepy breathing.

On his way out, he stopped in the kitchen. Dottie opened one eye and watched him grab two of her Malomars. She knew that she had another box, but it galled her when somebody depleted the supply of the only food that she still enjoyed eating. After he left, she got up and took a $20 bill out of her drawer along with an envelope on which she wrote out his name in her finest script. She studied her writing skeptically. It was shakier than it had ever seemed before. She would give him the $20 whenever he came back up. She lit a cigarette. It burned its way down her throat like charcoal. She shook her head and said, “what a way to go.” Then she took another puff.

The glasses cut into the back of his ears but he liked them. The tints gave the world a more removed look and he enjoyed the way the brown blended into his hair and made his face look. He ran his mind over what he knew of Rebecca’s body like a hot-to-trot butterfly. He wondered what she would have to say about the glasses. He brushed his teeth for the third time since he’d been in the bathroom. He decided that his face had definitely changed. It was more than just the glasses; it had something to do with the structure of his jaw and the area surrounding his eyes.

The name of the play he’d chosen was Endgame. Ron saw that it had been written by a guy named Beckett. Ron made a connection between the movie ‘Becket’ and the guy who’d written the play. It was in this way that he told his aunt about it before he left to pick up Rebecca. She said that she didn’t know anything about the play and hoped that he had a good time.

“I think I will,” he answered quickly. “This girl is really something special.”

“Don’t fall head over heels, or else you’ll never get her. You’ve got to let a girl do a little work before she lands you, or else she’ll never appreciate you.” She eyed him and wondered what a young man his age must feel like before a first date. Her mind skipped back to Mike Demonti and how strong he looked when he’d shown up at her house. Of course her father threw him out, but he was Italian and she’d expected her father to throw him out. sShe got fluttery thinking about all the excitement she’d caused. sHe sisters told her that he was handsome and started calling her Dottie Demonti when nobody else was around. She looked at Ron and for a second overlaid the image of her father shaking his fist on the porch and shouting that if that Dago ever came back on his block, he would break a railroad tie over his back. “Treat her to something after the show,” she said handing him the envelope. “Don’t be cheap with this and buy me a pack of butts once in a while.”

Ron took the envelope and smiled at the way his name was written across it. “You have the best handwriting of anybody I’ve ever seen,” he said.

She waved her hand at him. “It’s nothing but scribble anymore.” They put their arms around each other and hugged for a brief instant. Without knowing it, Ron shared a feeling of many men before him. He was just feeling that he’d gotten hold of her and she was pulling away.

“Are you taking her in that beat up wreck?”

“Yeah, I am, Aunt Dot.” He put his head down at the memory of her opinion of his kicked-in-the-ass buggy.

“She must be desperate,” she laughed.

“I’m sure she isn’t, but I might be,” he said happily as he headed for the door.

She tried to conjure back her image of Mike Demonti, but her mind tricked her by calling forth the picture of the blind old man living in a basement in East Orange. “Nuts to that,” she said and turned on the TV news.

While he was driving to Rebecca’s house, Ron tried to figure out how he could start seeing things as other than an extension of himself. He couldn’t figure out how to begin or what things he actually saw as an extension of himself. He concentrated on Rebecca but decided there was no way he saw her as an extension of himself. He would like to see her on the end of his extended cock but that was about the size of it. Still, he hoped that she had a good time at the end of his cock. He tried not to think about Jade. Right there was an example of him taking other people’s feelings into account. He resolved to forget about the whole Lashly thing and just pay attention to the evening.

He’d left himself 45 minutes to get to her house and the ride had taken just under a half hour. He drove past her white house with the green shingles. He tried to figure out what to do for fifteen minutes. He checked his gas gauge and saw that he was okay for the evening. Her heard the time on the radio. There would be just enough time to drive over to the college, turn around and drive back. At least it would give him a sense of destination. I f Lashly thinks I’m gonna just sit back and take it, he’s out of his mind. There was no way he could do that even if he wanted to. He didn’t understand how people could ever do nothing about things, why people like Hank allowed others to shit on them without making a sound. Ron wondered if Hank saw himself as someone who other people shit on. “No,” said Ron out loud,” he only gets laid six times a day. How would he know if other people shit on him?” Ron laughed with delightful envy. Whenever he pictured Jo Lee, he saw that long mouth and the way she rubbed her hands against her thighs inside her apron.

Butchy always said that her snatch probably stunk anyhow. He’d preface the remark by saying, “Now I ain’t saying that my old lady don’t get them fishy odors, too. The cleanest snatch gotta get fishy occasionally. What I mean is being downwind from skunk.” Ron laughed and shoved Butchy out of his head.

“At least,” he said out loud again, “I’ve never been that bad.” Then he told himself that Butchy was sick and stupid and he, himself, wasn’t too bright for wasting his time with this while he was on the way to Rebecca’s house.

He was less than five minutes early and decided to check himself in the car mirror and go in. A dough-fleshed woman in a flowered kimono opened the door and invited him in. She led him into the kitchen. Stuffed animal heads looked out from the walls. There must have been twenty of them. He looked away and glanced involuntarily at the enormous sway the kimono ‘s hips were making as he followed it through the hall.

The male members of the Ranelli family confronted him in the kitchen. Mr. Ranelli and his son Chuck wore work pants and tee-shirts. They smirked at the four-eyed freak with the funny glasses. The youngest Ranelli wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looked up from his 8th grade science book with the visitor came in.

“This is my husband,” said the kimono.

Mr. Ranelli was a small man. Ron realized how much taller he was than anybody else in the room when Rebecca’s father stood up. “How are you? I’m a butcher,” said Ranelli.

“This is Becky’s brother Chuck,” continued the kimono.

“How are you doin’?” said Ron nodding.

“And this is Robert,” said the kimono in a tone that wanted to jump for joy. Robert stuck up his hand without looking up from his book and continued to read.

“How’re you doin’?” Ron said waving at him.

“Robert where are your manners!” shouted the kimono. She was always embarrassed when he acted like this.

“I’m reading,” said the kid.

“Don’t ever let me hear you say that to your mother again.” said Mr. Ranelli with a look that froze Robert in his tracks. “Not while I’m here.” Robert sat with his head down, the now closed book in front of him. “Did you hear me?” demanded Ranelli, rising and taking a step in the direction of his son.

“I’m sorry,” said Robert quickly.

Rebecca came into the room as the kimono said, “You shouldn’t talk that way to him in front of strangers.”

Ron watched with the guilty feeling that he had somehow caused the kid’s trouble. Then he saw Rebecca; she was dazzling! They said hello and Ron found that he was unable to take his eyes off her. The kimono smiled when she saw the way the boy looked at her daughter. She asked Ron “Where are the two of you going?”

“To see a play in East Orange.”

“Parts of that city are a real jungle,” said Mr. Ranelli. Then he turned to his daughter. “What time are you coming home?”

Rebecca blushed and said she didn’t know. “Just have a good time and try not to be too late.” She nodded to Rebecca who seemed to understand that it was okay to leave now.

In the dark, Ron could hardly see the battered backside of his car and he was hoping that Rebecca didn’t notice it right away either. She said, “I hope my family wasn’t too strange for you.” He shook his head and she smiled at him in a delighted way. Ron thought that this was going to be one of the best evenings of his life.

He handed her his second map of the evening. “This one explains how to get to the Cafe Theater.” He kept the conversation light and topical while he put his arm around her shoulder. She had no obvious reaction and let it stay there, moving closer under its circle. She told him that this was a wonderful idea for something to do.

The theater was in a cafe with round tables, each covered with a red and white checkered cloth and in the center, an empty Mateus bottle that held a candle. Rebecca moved close to Ron’s ear and he could feel the aroma of her perfume stroking him. “This place is perfect,” she said.

Ron didn’t tell her that it was his first time here. He didn’t tell her that he’d seen an advertisement for the place in his daily paper. He decided that it would be pretty easy to just seem comfortable and familiar with whatever happened. He lit a cigarette and panned the room. Lighting equipment was suspended everywhere and the walls were painted or draped in black.

The curtain opened on an old man strapped into an ominous looking chair. He was questioning a jailor-servant who informed him that there was no sun, no moon, no stars anymore. The man seemed to decompose further as he heard each piece of news. Finally, he just resembled a large quiet scab. Rebecca stared at Ron with a complete lack of understanding. He felt the same way but leaned over and whispered, “It’ll become more clear as we go along.”

When two more characters began to pop their heads out of what appeared to be flour barrels, Ron began to see that this must be one of those new types of plays that didn’t really have a meaning until you read what the theater critics said about it. He looked at Rebecca, who was earnestly concentrating on the stage.

At the intermission, Ron asked Rebecca if she was enjoying herself. She said that she wasn’t sure but that she was determined to figure out what was going on. They went into the lobby and Rebecca excused herself to go to the ladies room. Surveying the crowd, Ron heard strands of conversation that sounded like broken radio signals as they wafted in to him. Rebecca was a very pretty girl and she was enthusiastic about things, but she approached stuff with a wholesome innocence that had Ron a little worried and kept him unsure of where he stood with her.

“Beckett is Kafkaesque but even more so than anything else that’s been created in the contemporary period.” The lady was dressed in a smart burnt orange skirt with a contrastingly lighter blouse – all of which complimented her naturally blonde hair and glittering jewelry. Her three companions were listening intently and trying to ignore the fact that they were in a local, New Jersey theater.

“But his sense of humor is much more slapstick, as if it might have been influenced by Chaplin. It has a belly laugh quality that adds to the absurd effect.” The man who was speaking held his all-weather coat draped over his arm in a studied pose.

“I’m enjoying him completely,” said the other woman in the group. She threw a quick glance to the man standing at her side. “The confusion is very appropriate to my life.”

Her companion in the group stared back resolutely. “I think the guy’s a nut. If this is good, then I have no taste at all.”

The confused woman took hold of his arm. “I might agree with the analysis of your taste, and tact as well, for that matter.

The burnt orange skirt said, “Don’t you see the relevance of Beckett right here?”

“Let’s go back inside,” said the all-weather coat, trying to shut his wife up. As they turned, Ron noticed that her burnt orange behind was pretty tight for a middle-aged babe. Ron saw Rebecca coming out of the ladies room and moved up to meet her.
The second half of the play did nothing to alleviate their confusion. Ron had grown bored and thought the whole thing had become tiresome. Maybe he just wasn’t ready for this sort of thing yet. He needed to do more reading and he needed to talk to a whole bunch of people. He looked at Rebecca and instinctively felt that she would never be ready for this sort of thing. He casually put his arm around her waist as they left the theater. He could feel the smooth circles that her hips were making as they walked. What the fuck did it matter if she did or didn’t understand something that he wasn’t even sure he would ever be able to comprehend.

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

“I’m not hungry,” said Rebecca, “but I would like some coffee.”

“That’s easy,” said Ron.

“We could have it back at my house.”

Ron thought about the kimono and the butcher and didn’t say anything right away. She noticed his hesitation and said, “My parents won’t be around, especially if they know I’ve brought someone home with me.”

“That’d be fine,” he said. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t be too bad and decided, as they got into his car, that it was time to kiss her. He reached across for her before he turned on the engine. She seemed a little taken by surprise but then melted into the kiss. She opened her mouth a little and he quickly ran his tongue across her teeth and gums. He squeezed her shoulders and pushed further into her mouth. She exhaled through her nose and opened her mouth wider. His body felt hot enough to boil water. She remembered, a moment later, that it was their first kiss and pulled away.

“Wow! That was some kiss!”

Ron blushed and wished she hadn’t quite put it that way. She sat close to him and alternately let him hold her hand and rub her thigh on the way back to her house. Ron had a hard-on. He wanted her to touch it and yet he was afraid to let her know that it was there. His body pissed him off sometimes. He wasn’t supposed to stand up like a flagpole after their first kiss.

Rebecca had been right. There was no one in the downstairs area of the house and they found a note on the kitchen table. “Your father and I are playing cards at Aunt Gib’s house. Your brothers are here spending the night with their cousins. We probably won’t be home until very late, so make sure the doors are locked before you go to bed. Love, Ma.”

Rebecca walked out of the kitchen toward the front door after she read the note. She put the night lock on so no one could walk in on them unexpectedly. Rebecca liked what she knew about Ron, but she stopped in the foyer before returning to the kitchen and asked herself, in a voice she acquired from her mother, “How involved did she really want to get with this boy?” She knew that he was at least as horny as the rest of the boys his age. She did want to make out and let him touch her. Nothing between my legs she thought to herself, and I’m not going to let him take anything off me either. She gave herself a little mischievous smile. She would let him unhook her bra, if he did it nicely.

Ron was smoking a cigarette when she re-entered the kitchen. She watched the way he looked at the floor and let his hair dangle in front of his face. She moved toward the refrigerator. “Would you like anything to eat?”

“I don’t know. What have you got?”

“Well,” she said in a proud voice that was in control of its subject, “There’s cold cuts, or cheesecake, or eggplant that I could heat up for you.”

“Eggplant would be great, but I’ll eat it cold.”

“That’s the way my father likes it,” said Rebecca excitedly. I could never stand it that way.” She paused. “Are you Italian, Ron?”

“No, but I was sort of raised in an Italian family.” His Aunt would die if she ever heard him say that.

Rebecca felt Ron move up behind her while she was taking the plastic wrapper off the leftover eggplant. She turned around, and they launched into another tongue twirling kiss. He pushed his front up against her, and she responded by moving her hips and sticking the tips of her breasts into his chest. He moved his mouth to her neck when they broke the kiss, and licked the area just below her ear. She shivered when he moved up a little and exhaled into her auditory canal. She giggled to herself thinking about the way she and her friend Lisa described ‘making it’ in purely biological terms. It sounded so funny then and right now it seemed exciting to think of the word biological.

Ron was proud of the way he restrained himself so far. He thought that it was probably a good time to cool it and have coffee. Then they could really get into it. Life with a woman like this would be okay, he told himself as she brought the plates over to the table. Ron liked her mouth. There was a certain wave her lips had and right now they looked just a little swollen, like certain parts of him felt. He needed an excuse to rub his cock just one time, but she was looking at him and he couldn’t figure out how to do it.

“Let’s talk about the play,” she said sitting down on the other side of the table with a piece of cheesecake and her coffee.

“I think it was frustrating.”

Rebecca smiled and felt relieved. “Did you understand what the point was?”

“Not really,” said Ron. He was eating this very good eggplant and relaxing, and he’d spoken before he’d thought about what he was gonna say. He realized it and drew inside to yell at himself. He was not to accept the fact that there was anything that he didn’t understand, not ever again. “I think,” he began again without knowing what he was going to say, “that he sees suffering in life everywhere, and so he says that’s all there is to it.” For a second he thought of an absurd song that he’d heard on the radio “Is that all there is?” The singer was someone his mother used to like, named Peggy Lee. He’d even seen Peggy Lee at the Copa while he was working for IBM. Whenever he heard her name, it reminded him of Porky Pig in tights, singing in a Disney movie. Suddenly he was identifying himself with Porky Pig and sucked in on his stomach muscles. “It’s like Bob Dylan,” he found himself saying more comfortably. Then he paused. “Do you know who Bob Dylan is?” he asked pointedly.

Ron would have liked for her to jump in the air, clasp her hands together and cry, “He is my favorite singer in the world and you’re just like him,” but that didn’t happen. The question seemed to come to her from out of nowhere, and she wasn’t quite sure what it had to do with what they were talking about. Ron took her silence to mean that she didn’t know who Dylan was and saw the chance to be evangelical.

“You know the guy who wrote “Blowin ‘ in the Wind” and “Mr. Tambourine Man”? You never heard of him, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, “I know who he is.” Rebecca felt a little insulted but decided to let it pass.

Ron wasn’t convinced. “Have you got any of his albums?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You should let me play some of my Dylan albums for you sometime. I think you’d really like them.”

“That would be nice.”

Ron continued, “Like what Dylan did in ‘Desolation Row’ is similar to what we saw at the theater, but Dylan’s better because he gives you something to hang on to.”

“Maybe we just didn’t see what the author was giving us tonight.”

Ron was in high gear. “I’m not sure that I want to see what somebody like that is saying. He’s just trying to make me feel rotten about being alive because he sees no point to it. Maybe he’d be better off dead but that’s no reason for him to drag me into the hole that he’s in.”

“Would you like more coffee?” Ron was hoping that they weren’t wasting precious time with all this talking, but he accepted. “What I don’t understand,” she said as she poured, “is why those people were stuck in the flour barrels.”

“It’s probably symbolic of old age,” said Ron, speaking without thinking and then deciding that what he said made absolute sense.
“You think so?”

“Yes, because that would explain why their skin was all white and why they couldn’t move and why they always seemed to be complaining.”

“I guess that is what it feels like to get old,” said Rebecca. Ron thought he detected an edge of worry in her voice.

She returned the coffee pot and Ron got up after her. She turned back around and caught him in an awkward middle ground. He didn’t seem to know what to do. Rebecca was amused and considered sitting back down and leaving him with the obstacle of the table to overcome, but she said, “Would you like to have coffee on the couch?”

He nodded his head eagerly and reached for his cigarettes. He followed her into the TV room staring at her ass and wondering how far she was going to let him get. Rebecca was going to suggest watching TV, but he was on her almost immediately. She was ready for his tongue this time and opened her mouth to let it scour her. She liked the feel of it, particularly when it brushed across the tip of her tongue. He rubbed her stomach and started his tentative journey to her breast. She didn’t do anything to stop him, but Ron thought he noticed a tightening in her body. It’s probably just my imagination, he thought to himself, adding that if she didn’t like what he was doing, she would say or do something. He squeezed her breast. He liked the large, firm feel of the softness underneath the material. He massaged her tit with a back and forth motion. Rebecca placed her fingertips lightly on the hand that was kneading her chest. At their feel, Ron stopped moving and waited for her to take it away. She kissed him harder when he stopped and he took it to mean that she was happier kissing him than having him play with her tit, but she hadn’t removed his hand.

After a minute he began to knead again. He moved his mouth up to her ear and found a large clump of hair covering it. He tunneled through with his tongue stuck out like he was aiming for a target. The sound and feel of the live thing in her ear was exciting. She thought about the tingly way it would feel to have the thing wiggle all over her. Ron put his hand on her hip and tried to draw her down on top of him. She thought that things had begun to move a little too much at his speed and stopped her slow descent by bracing against the back of the couch and trying to sit Ron back up. He took hold of her breast for assurance. She left his hand there and gave him a wistful smile. on tried to pull her back down at the sight of the smile. “Take it easy,” she said. “Don’t rush it.”

For a second, Ron felt like he was being told not to gulp his soda. Nobody understood that he liked it better when he gulped it. He let go of the breast quickly and lit a cigarette. He gulped some coffee and liked the way the hot liquid burned his throat. He took another drag on the cigarette and brushed the hair out of his eyes. He realized that he’d lost track of where he’d put his glasses but quickly remembered the image of them resting on Rebecca’s kitchen table. Now I have to put up with worrying about whether I’ve lost them all the time, he thought. She hadn’t said a word about them. He looked at Rebecca and was startled at the sight of her coming towards him. She put a hand on each of his shoulders and looked intently into his eyes. He was caught holding the coffee in one hand and the cigarette in the other. “Do you want me to kiss you with what I feel inside of me right now?” she said in a low voice that Ron thought didn’t sound natural.

He wanted to say, “Can you wait until I put these things down,” but was afraid to break her mood. She moved so that her face was just an inch from his. She brought a finger to his lips and traced the outline of his mouth. Then she took the coffee cup out of his hand. His heart was beating hard and held a drop of perspiration trickle down his back. She brought her hand to his chest and lightly rubbed the exposed skin just below his neck. She kissed him in a way that pushed his head back. He was looking at the ceiling. She pushed her knee between his legs and wedged it against his crotch. Her hands rubbed circles inside his shirt and her tongue softly lashed in and out of his mouth. After the kiss she put her head on his chest and purred in a contented hum. Ron was dumbfounded. He even forgot about the stiffness in his cock. He looked through her hair with soft eyes and put out what was left of his cigarette. He started to speak without knowing what he was going to say again. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

“Not in the evening.”

“Do you want to go to a movie?”

“Maybe,” she said, turning to face him. At close range, her features looked so perfect. He stroked her cheek. Her skin was nothing but smoothness.

While he was on his way home, Ron wondered if he’d fallen in love with Rebecca. He could still feel her knee between his legs, and it had felt indescribably good when they were standing on the porch kissing and she wrapped the ends of her hair around his head and said that now she could keep him there as long as she wanted. “Damn,” he said out loud. He thought about how she knew how to make a man want her. On the porch, she had let him touch her tits as much as he wanted to and seemed to like him doing it. He wondered how many guys she’d done it with. Then he thought, maybe she’s never done it with anyone before and I was the first person to make her feel this way.

Ron would have liked to believe that, but the voice he’d thought it in conjured him back to the images of the game show. There he was on stage again, and the professional voice was talking to the audience. “The new word for this contestant is S A P.” Ron saw the neon flash across his forehead. He had to give up on ideas like virginity. They were making him lose sight of the great thing that had just happened and he was too old for this sort of nonsense. It was like believing in Jesus, and he was too old for that sort of thing too.

His mind drifted to the flood of pictures he’d seen in The Commuter room that morning. He felt frustrated because there was no way he could make the experience of Rebecca and the way he’d felt about the war fit together. He lit a cigarette and turned up the volume on the radio. It made him feel isolated enough to view the problems in perspective. It’s because it’s war and peace, he said to himself with a sense of astonishment. Then he felt embarrassed to have thought such a thing. Of course it was war and peace. Just like this was night and next it would be day. Both realizations were in the same category. Julian Willy would have loved to have witnessed this little bit of logical reasoning. An image of how his face must have looked when he’d gone for help with his radio program flashed in his brain. All I needed was a banana. There was a part of him that wanted to laugh at that thought, but he wasn’t going to laugh about making a fool of himself anymore.

“I’ve got to stop being an asshole,” he said. He paid the toll and exited the parkway. He was becoming something different, and he wanted Rebecca to be a part of it. Ron felt confused again. Is that what Lashly had meant by seeing things as an extension of himself? It was. That meant Ron was more fucked up than he’d ever been. He parked the car at the end of the driveway and wondered if she’d noticed the bashed in rear end. “Fuck it,” he said and went into the house.

Chapter 31

Hank got a job driving the jeep that picked up balls at a combination pitch n’ putt driving range. The jeep pulled a contraption that looked something like a harvester. It scooped up the balls and funneled them into large cans. He was to spend the remainder of his work time taping club handles and keeping the pitch n’ putt course in shape. When he told Jo Lee about his job, he didn’t elaborate. He simply said that he was working at a golf course.

“Which golf course?” she wanted to know. Several of the girls she’d waitressed with had told her there was more action in those places than at any ten diners, and the men who went to those places couldn’t afford to be cheap because they had a lot at stake.

“It’s not exactly a golf course. It’s a pitch n’ putt place with a driving range,” he said with a smile that would have looked sheepish to her a month ago but now only looked stupid.

“Oh.”

“It’s full-time days,” said Hank proudly.

“When will we see each other?”

Hank felt touched by her need to see him. “We’ll work it out.”

Jo Lee was going to cry. She got up from the table and walked toward the bathroom. She wasn’t sure why she’d left Tony anymore. It didn’t seem to matter as much that he’d been a disgusting pig. Hank sat alone at the table wondering how he’d failed to make her happy this time. He had no idea why doing what she wanted him to do had made her want to cry. Maybe it was because she wanted to be proud of him, and he’d gotten a job picking up used balls.

She’d gone with Hank because he wasn’t a pig. There were things about him that made him different from any other man she’d ever known, and some of them were good things; but all of them had begun making her uncomfortable. She headed back to the table thinking that she had to learn to adjust to him better. He was still sitting in the same position. She wondered why he never moved. “Hank, do you want me to call in sick tonight and help you celebrate your new job?”

“That would be really nice.”

“How do you want to celebrate?”

“We could go to a movie.”

He did so remind her of a little boy. “I don’t want you to move, Hank,” she said kneeling in between his legs. She ran her finger up his zipper. She took out his cock and kissed the top of it. Hank felt like he should be doing something. He hadn’t even really wanted her to do this right now, but who was he to say no to this kind of treatment.

“This is a present for getting your job,” she said. She sucked his cock with a smooth steady motion that put it all the way into her mouth. After about five minutes, Hank started to worry about not having an orgasm soon enough. There she was on her knees and what would happen if he didn’t make it work. He tried to stop thinking and concentrate on how it felt.

“Here you are sitting in the kitchen, and Jo Lee is on her knees giving you a great blow-job,” he told himself. “It should be wonderful.” He repeated these things to himself for a long time.

Finally, with the pain of a hard wood floor on her face, Jo Lee said, “Do you want to fuck me, Hank?”

He was almost as anxious as he was on his first day of work. His boss, Joey, was a muscular man who was always spitting out ends of his cigar. He told Hank that starting him on a Saturday was like throwing him to the wolves, but that he had to learn the job sometime and this way he would learn quickly. “This fuckin’ job is as easy as shit,” said Joey, “but I want you sober when you’re here and here when you’re supposed to be here. I won’t hesitate to kick your ass right out if I ever see you giving a customer a hard time.” Hank said that he understood and extended his hand to shake on the deal. Joey looked at the hand from in back of his cigar, spit and took hold of it with a sneer on his face.

That Saturday he reported to work. Joey didn’t say good morning or give him a chance to sit down and get his bearings straight. “There’s about a thousand balls layin’ out there, and we’re gonna need em’ real soon. So get your ass movin’ on the jeep.” Hank walked off to the jeep without answering. It hadn’t been necessary to talk to him like that. The jeep rattled loudly as he set it into motion. All he would have to do was crisscross the field and hold a straight line. It was easy. Hank lit a cigarette and began to relax.

The first ball that hit the jeep sounded like an explosion as it whacked off the door. Hank was jarred from the daydream where he was being served pressed duck and champagne by a naked Jo Lee, who was telling him what a good provider he was to make it possible for them to eat like this all the time. Hank wasn’t sure where the explosion had come from. He stopped the jeep and got out to take a look.

Brad and Brian had each bought a bucket of 75 balls. When Brian bounced his drive off the jeep, he yelled, “Got it,” and raised a triumphant fist. Brad set himself with a look of determination. The bet was five bucks for each time one of them hit the jeep or the ball harvester. Brad was concentrating on whacking his shot smoothly and with everything he had. He was just bringing his club back when Brian stopped him. “Wait a minute!”

“What’s the matter with you?” said Brad angrily.

“The jerk-off driving the truck got out to see what the matter was when my shot hit.”
“It’s got to be five bucks if I can nail him.” Brad was gleeful.

Hank didn’t see the shot coming but heard it land about fifteen feet to his right. He started back to the truck when the next shot whizzed over his head and crashed against the wire mesh that covered the side window. Instinctively, Hank hit the dirt.

Brian cracked up. “That’s got to be worth something for making him fall down!”

When they saw Hank crawling back to the truck, they broke into new gales of laughter. “Look at that asshole!” said Brad.

When Hank got back into the truck, he was trembling, puffing. He was on a battlefield. He glared in the direction from the shots and saw the two boys laughing and pointing at him. He felt like the clown who sat on the bench over a vat of water. He grimaced deeply and put his head on his shoulder. He cried. No one should have to be humiliated like this. What right did anyone have to degrade him like this? Why didn’t people realize that all he really wanted was to be left alone.

“You scared the shit out of him,” said Brad. “Look, he doesn’t even know how to get the truck started again.”

“He’s too busy pissing in his pants,” said Brian.

Hank felt tears dripping from his chin. He didn’t know what was making him cry. What difference did it make if they were hitting golf balls at him? He was doing this to make Jo Lee happy. They would give a hundred buckets of balls to have her for five minutes. If she could wait on drunks, he could do this. He was no better than anybody else. Hank wiped his eyes and drove on bravely.

Ron was getting dressed for his second date with Rebecca when the call came from Hank. “Hey man, where have you been?” he said when he got the phone.

“No where,” said Hank.

Silence.

Ron decided that he really didn’t have much to say; and since Hank called, he must have something on his mind. Ron was determined to wait him out. He wasn’t going to suggest that they get together, which was what usually happened.

“Have you got any pot?” Hank finally managed to get out.

“A little,” said Ron. He’d been able to buy a dime from Chris Calvin.

“Are you going to be doing anything later?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I got a date. In fact, I was getting dressed when you called.”

Oh.”

“Look, I’ll probably be around tomorrow afternoon if you want to get together.”

“That would be good,” said Hank.

Ron thought Hank’s voice sounded funny. “Is something wrong, man?”

“It would be better if we talked tomorrow. Wait! Tomorrow’s no good. I got to work.”

“You got a job!” Ron blurted.

“Yeah, there a lot of stuff I got to tell you.”

There was a pathetic ring to Hank’s voice that made Ron want to shove it away. He was finished riding around, getting stoned, and moaning about how bad everything was. He was going to start doing something about the way everything was and Hank wasn’t a part of it. He wouldn’t be able to travel at the pace Ron intended to set. “Look, call when you can. I’ve got to get going. I don’t want to be late.”

“Fine,” said Hank quietly.

Ron clicked down the phone without saying anything else. He just didn’t have time right now. He didn’t feel like hearing about how wonderful everything with Jo Lee was, or how it was all fucked up with her or whatever it was with her. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference in how the world was.

Hank went to the kitchen cabinet and brought down the bottle of gin. He took ice cube trays from the freezer and set them next to a large glass. He dropped his pack of cigarettes on the table in front of the chair he’d chosen. He turned on the radio and let his mind pretend he was driving the loop. He visualized the turns and stops as he drank and smoked. After a while he could even feel the bumpy parts of the road. It was a clear night and he had as much gas as he would need. He could make all the lights and stop signs work just the way he wanted them to; and if he had decided to get into an accident, there would be nobody there to tell him he’d made a mistake.

Ron was a full ten minutes early to pick up Rebecca. She answered the door and came out on the porch. Before he knew what she was doing, she put her arms around him and launched into a long kiss. He stared at her face. There was a pimple on her cheekbone that he hadn’t noticed the night before. It was pointed at his right eyeball. Ron wondered if it had popped out all of a sudden. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a pimple and he was sure that he’d only had about five of them in his life. He found them to be curious and on occasion would make them a topic of conversation, but decided he was better off not mentioning this one.
She was wearing super tight jeans and a flowered peasant shirt that sprouted sprays of roses at the neck. She had a long red ribbon tied in her hair that bounced happily off the cheeks of her behind when she walked.

“What do you feel like doing?” he said on the way to his car. She couldn’t help but notice his dent this time but didn’t mention it.

“I brought the movie sheet with me, but I’m not really sure what’s playing.”

“Anything would be fine,” said Ron.

“Could we do something else then?”

“Like what?”

“Let’s drive until we don’t know where we are, and then let’s find a diner and have coffee and talk.”

“The idea of being lost didn’t really appeal to Ron but the rest of it sounded okay. He could pretend to be lost and she’d never know the difference. “Which direction should I go in?”

“Which one will get you lost the quickest?”

“West,” said Ron.

At Ron’s suggestion they stopped and got a couple of containers for the ride. He showed her how to rip a small piece out of the lid so she could drink it in the car without spilling it.

“What a great idea,” she said.

Ron couldn’t remember where he’d picked up the technique. He didn’t like the idea of copping credit for something he hadn’t really thought up, so he decided to make up something. “My parents were divorced when I was a really little kid and on Saturday or Sunday, I used to get picked up by my dad. He fixed juke boxes and pin balls for a living. Anyway, he had to leave me in the car a lot. I used to watch the people walking by and count cars. I felt like I could see everything but that I really wasn’t a part of it, you know? Well anyway, this one afternoon, I was sitting outside of a place he didn’t think it was a good idea for me to be in – sometimes I think he left me in the car when he was sick of listening to me – and I was watching this bunch of guys standing up against a wall outside the bar my dad was in. A real slick looking guy came around the corner in a long sleeve, silky shirt that didn’t have a wrinkle in it. He’d just gotten a container of coffee, and I saw him do it and I guess I’ve been doing it ever since.”

“My father carries a Thermos to work.”

“Do you ever bring coffee with you to class?”

“No,” said Rebecca. “I guess I just don’t feel free enough to do that in a classroom setting yet.”

“It depends on your teachers, too,” said Ron. They caught each others’ eyes and smiled.

When Ron wanted to light a cigarette, Rebecca could see it in his face. She took his coffee container so he had a free hand. Ron moved deliberately and was pleased with his confidence. Things were going smoothly and sometimes he even seemed coordinated.

When they crossed over the Watchung Reservation, Ron was comfortably lost. He knew that if he continued to work his way south he would eventually get back to the highway. The conversation continued non-stop. Rebecca told Ron about how her parents weren’t getting along because her father hit her brothers too much and made them help butcher the deer he sliced up for local hunters as a sideline. Neither of the boys wanted to do it, but the only choices were $15 for a day’s work or nothing and get picked on for the rest of the week. Mr. Ranelli always said that he wanted his sons to know the meaning of a dollar.

Ron said, “Let’s turn up the heat and roll down the windows.”

“Why?”

“I like the feeling of air and the sense of speed you get with the windows down and I don’t want us to be cold.”

Rebecca watched him for some very long seconds. She wanted to kiss him, but he was driving. She moved closer on the bench seat. He smiled and she stared at his white teeth that seemed so straight.

Her eyes followed the curve of his ear and the way his hair flopped over his collar. She saw a patch of skin on his neck that the razor had completely overlooked. She reached out to touch it.

Ron wasn’t sure what kind of message he was getting from Rebecca when she stroked his neck. He had the instinctive idea that it meant something. Possibly, it didn’t mean anything that big, but it couldn’t be that bad either. “Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“I’m not sure how comfortable you make me feel, but I enjoy being with you.”

Ron smiled his dimple-showing grin without planning it. “What I mean is, are you okay with the windows down?”

“It’s fine. After a couple of minutes, I didn’t notice anything different.”

“I wish I could find some place to stop the car.”

“Are you tired of driving?”
“No. I want to concentrate on you instead of looking where I’m going.”

For a second Rebecca felt sorry for Ron. Not that he wouldn’t find a place to stop the car and make out with her, she was sure he’d work that out. But not wanting to think about where he was going was true of him on a whole different level. “Where do you want to go, Ron?”

“Straight to your heart, or the vicinity around there.”

“Do you always try to make a joke out of things that bother you?”

Ron wasn’t sure what she meant, but he could be that way if she wanted him to. “Sometimes it’s just funny, you know? You’ve got to laugh to keep sane. Every time I take things for real, I get screwed.”

“So does that mean you don’t take me for real either?”

Ron felt a certain tension around him. He began talking without thinking. “We’re in this date situation and sometimes I feel that everything we do or say has been all laid out for us already. And that’s the way I think things are a lot of the time. It’s in the way.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “In the way of what?”

“You see what I mean. You just did it. We’re playing this game that’s all wrapped up in this boy-girl bit. What are we really going to find out about each other if we just fuck around?”

“I don’t think you have to put it quite like that.”

“It’s the way I really feel it.”

She paused. “Maybe I’m just not used to be talked to like that.”

“But don’t you see,” said Ron. “I feel like I just learned something real about you.” Ron’s mind felt sharp and alert for some reason that he didn’t understand. He felt like he knew what he was talking about. He liked the feeling and thought about how to pursue and elaborate on it.

“When I talk to you sometimes I feel like I’m being interrogated or tested.”

“I’m just curious about you.”

“With a vengeance,” she said.

Ron felt like his face had been slapped. She hated him. She thought he was a slob. As he sulked, he allowed the words D O P E and S A P to blink on his game show forehead.

“It’s not that I don’t like being with you.”

“What’s at all likable about what you’ve just described?” said Ron a tone louder than he’d said anything else in her presence. He looked at her impatiently. “What are you doing here if that’s the way you feel?”

“Everything changes,” said Rebecca.

“You’re here to change me? That’s just great!”

Rebecca looked at the rug underneath his dashboard. This wasn’t the way she wanted the conversation to go. “Are you afraid to change?” she said quietly.

“No,” said Ron without looking at her. “I’m goddamn angry that anybody thinks they have the right to tell me how I should be. You wouldn’t know that Dylan line that goes, ‘I try real hard to be just like I am, but everybody wants me to be just like them,’ but that’s how I feel.

There was a protracted pause. “How would you say we did at really talking, Ron?”

He didn’t know how to answer. He stared at her face and scoped in on the pimple. Maybe I should ask her where the scuz on her face comes from, he thought, but scolded himself for having such an immature thought.

They had been driving for some time; and when they reached Morristown, he started to work his way back without telling her. Driving without a place to go, trying to get yourself lost was stupid. He wanted to something but all his ideas seemed stale. There were movies, bowling, a diner, a bar, or finding a place to park. That was it. He could think of nothing else to do.

As if she was reading his mind, Rebecca said, “You know what I really feel like doing with you – since we’re not playing this dating game or anything – there’s a movie on TV that I always wanted to see that starts at 10:30. Did you ever hear of ‘Guys and Dolls’?”

“It’s a musical isn’t it?” Rebecca could have sworn she had visibly seen him turn his nose up at the idea.

“The people in it aren’t musical though. Marlon Brando, Frank Sinatra, and Jean Simmons,” said Rebecca recalling the program listing in the TV Guide.

Ron figured that his chances for the evening would be dramatically improved if he did something to make her happy. “That sounds fine,” he said “Let’s see it at my house””

Rebecca was startled. “Is anybody going to be there?”

“I don’t know; but if they are, they’ll leave us alone.”

Rebecca was sure that she wasn’t prepared to meet Ron’s family tonight, and especially not without some advance warning. Mothers always held stuff like that against the girl. It was an excuse to say that she should have had the decency not to show up when everything was a mess. She wasn’t ready for that. “I’m sure there’s nobody home at my house,” she said.

“That’s fine too.” At last Ron felt the relief of a destination. “Things really got going back and forth a few minutes ago,” he said.

He was being nice again. She took his hand. “It’s because you’re so intense about everything, Ron.”

“I can’t help the way I am. I only know how to go at things with everything I’ve got. Otherwise I get bored.”

“Don’t you ever enjoy slowing down?”

“It makes me feel like I’m less alive than I was when I was letting it go.”

“You just need to learn to relax,” she said putting her hand on his leg. He wasn’t sure whether or not he should tighten his thigh muscles. They could get really hard, but he wasn’t sure what signal he was supposed to give.

They didn’t watch much of the movie. Ron discovered that Rebecca got very excited every time he plopped his tongue in her ear. He did it constantly. Everything was fine with squeezing her tits, and he had begun rubbing her behind when they were still in the kitchen. There was only one area of exploration left before he would have scouted the entire territory. As he sucked her ear, he planned the assault. The plan called for tonguing her into enough of a commotion that she wouldn’t realize, or care, that he was going for her pussy.

First he positioned his hand on the inside of her thigh and squeezed so that she would get accustomed to him being there. Rebecca pulled away from him, and Ron cursed to himself. She was studying his face. She kissed him on the cheek. “You get me really excited, you know.”

“It’s good for you,” he said.

She pulled off her blouse and undid her bra. Ron’s eyes got wider. They were the most perfect tits he’d ever seen anywhere. “They’re really beautiful,” he said sliding a palm under each one.

“I’m trusting you to be nice with me, Ron.” She looked down at his crotch, brought her hands in back of his neck and drew his head down to her breasts. Ron started to suck the nearest nipple while she ran her hands through his hair.

When they heard the key in the door, Ron all but spit tit. “Your parents are home!” he said. Rebecca harnessed herself frantically and pulled the blouse back over her head.

“They weren’t supposed to be home until really late,” she said in a frightened voice. They sat like wooden statues with tense looks on their faces. As Mrs. Ranelli entered the room, Ron remembered he had an enormous erection. He crossed his legs quickly, but was uncomfortable and sure that he was going to hurt himself being all twisted up like that.

Mrs. Ranelli found her daughter and the boy sitting in the dark with their hair out of place and just the television light in the room. She turned on the bright overhead light. “It’s not good for you to watch TV in the dark, Becky. We just bought you new reading glasses and there you are squinting in the dark. Just what the doctor told you not to do.”

“We weren’t really watching TV,” said Rebecca with an undertone of defiance. As her mother’s face changed, she added, “We were talking.”

Mrs. Ranelli gave her a skeptical look. “Well, I’m going upstairs after I get your father and me a snack. Make sure the doors are locked before you come upstairs.” Rebecca got up and followed her mother into the kitchen. Ron lit a cigarette and watched the movie.

Marlon Brando was about to get laid in Cuba with Jean Simmons. Ron felt like he’d almost been there when the bimbos came home. He tried to picture Rebecca’s tits. They were plump and the nipple he’d been sucking had a hard little knot right at the tip. He rolled it back and forth in his mind. He uncrossed his legs and tried to untangle himself. It always seemed that his cock took a tremendous beating at times like this.

“Are you in trouble?” said Ron after Rebecca came back and turned off the overhead and turned on a table lamp.

“Nah,” she answered easily. “My mother is pretty understanding. We get along well.”

Ron stared in between her legs as new plans for the assault rose in his mind. “Will she be back down?” he said.

“No,” said Rebecca.

Setting his sights on the familiar area of her tits for starters, Ron leaned over to kiss her. She kissed him back easily but when his hand squeezed her breast, she stopped him.

“Why are you seeing me?” she said.

The question took Ron by surprise. She liked the dumbfounded look that came into his face. It was like seeing an infant who had been astonished. “I really like being with you.” She didn’t say anything. “You’re the most exciting girl I’ve ever been with.” She gave him a skeptical look and Ron caught it. “You don’t believe me! Damn! Next to being made editor of The Commuter, you’re all I’ve thought about since we met.” He stopped to consider what he’d said. “And not in that order of importance either,” he added.

“Do you know what happened kissing my neck? If I didn’t trust you, I would never let you suck on my ear again!”

“I want you to trust me,” said Ron in a small voice.

He’d made a jackass out of himself again, he thought. He cursed silently at his greedy, grubby hands. Rebecca watched his little boy show and smiled. She took her hair away from her neck and offered it to him. The first thing Ron saw was the brightening hickey he’d given her. He ran his finger along it. “I gave you a hickey,” he said. “I didn’t mean to.”

Rebecca winced. “I hate those things,” she said and got up to look at it in the downstairs bathroom mirror. Ron wondered how many she had before, but she returned quickly. “You sure did give me one,” she said happily. “Oh well.” She sat on his lap.

This is it, thought Ron instantly. He kissed her deeply and brought his hand up to her crotch. He felt the zipper on her jeans. She moaned and stuck her tongue in his ear. I’m there, Ron thought. He squeezed her zipper and listened to the aquatic show in his head. Rebecca pushed his hand further into her crotch and rubbed against it like it was a bedpost. Ron continued to squeeze and rub. She closed her eyes and moaned again. Involuntarily, Ron squeezed too hard. “Ouch,” she yelped, opening her eyes quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he said stopping at once.

“You’ve got to be more careful down there,” she said like she was telling him a secret. Ron reached out weakly and took hold of her breast. Rebecca didn’t react or look at him. Ron let go of her breast. He told her that he didn’t mean to hurt her. Rebecca wondered if she was going to have a mark there too. This boy was too rough and oafish. Ron lit a cigarette, and they watched the end of the movie.

“Would you like something to eat?” said Rebecca, looking for an excuse to move into the other room.

“I’d like some coffee,” said Ron. The ribbon was wrinkled and dangled in an injured way as he watched it leave the room. He apologized to her several times while they were having coffee. Rebecca watched him quietly. Inside, Ron was calling himself a jerk and conjuring back D O P E and S A P as further evidence against himself. Rebecca thought that he really seemed to care about what she thought of him as she listened to the apologies As he was talking, she wondered if she still wanted him – not that she was sure that she could have him. She decided that he was okay for right now. He was going to have to learn to be careful with her though. She hated the feeling of being treated clumsily.

“Are you doing anything tomorrow afternoon?” he asked.

“I have dinner with my family on Sundays,” she said with a note of finality.

“How about tomorrow night?” he said.

“What do you want to do?”

“I think I really would like to see a movie,” he said smiling.

“OK, maybe,” she said. “You’ll have to call first to make sure though.”

“That sounds good,” said Ron.

He drove home happy that he had a girlfriend. When he got into bed, he masturbated wildly. He conjured back images of the way she had shown him her tits. He created fantasies of her opening her legs and telling him to put it in fast and do it hard. It took him more than an hour to get to sleep. After the third time he’d come, he dropped back exhausted and told himself that maybe he’d get it for real the next night.

Chapter 32

On the second day of his new job, Hank called in sick. He was immediately fired. “If they don’t believe that I’m sick, then I don’t want to work for them,” he told Jo Lee.

At first she didn’t answer. Then she said, “You can get a job like that anywhere.” She thought about the amount of money she could make in a good week at the club. It made her feel superior to know that she was worth more on the open market than he was.

“I’m gonna take a ride down and see Ron.”

“What for?”

“He called last night and asked me if I would,” Hank said.

“Do you want to lie down for a little while first?”

“That would be good,” said Hank. She got up and he followed her into the bedroom.

Hank rode on the pleasurable sensation that he had satisfied her needs on the way to Ron’s house. He smoked a cigarette and settled into the comfort of driving. Alternately, he stared at the road and the way the sunlight was streaming into the trees. The radio had played nothing but Neil Young since he’d been in the car. Hank was floating on the music. He liked it when he didn’t have to say anything. The emptiness in the next seat felt as good as the sunshine. He could look in that direction without having to be careful of what was on his face.

Marjorie and Chipper answered the door. Chipper cried, wagged his tail and peed on the hallway carpet. “Jesus Christ!” said Marjorie, “The dog pissed all over the hall. Excuse me, Hank. What a way to be greeted!” Hank smiled and then grimaced when he saw a few drops on the top of his shoes. Chipper had slunk away at the sound of the “Jesus Christ” and had gone to let Ron know that Hank was here.

Ron was spread across the Sunday paper, which was spread across the bed. He hadn’t expected to be seeing Hank without hearing from him. Marjorie showed Hank into Ron’s room. “Look at this place! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No,” said Ron quickly. “Hey man, how are you doin’? I thought you’d call. Didn’t you have to go to work?”

“I just came down instead,” said Hank.

“Look at that paper!” said Marjorie. “How is anybody to read that thing now?”

“I’ll put it back together when I’m done.”
“Are you staying home for dinner?”

“No.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s very nice,” said Marjorie, walking out of the room and closing the door sharply for emphasis.

“Do you want to get fucked up?” said Ron.

Hank bobbed his head. “That would be really good.”

“I’ll roll up some joints, and we’ll head out on the road. It wouldn’t be good to smoke here during the daytime with them home.” He noticed that Hank was still standing by the door. “Sit down man. I’ll put some music on. It’ll take me a few minutes to get things together here anyway.” The easy chair in the corner of Ron’s room was piled high with a stack of books and papers. It seemed odd to be finding these things at Ron’s house.

Hank picked up the stack and put it on the floor. “How’s school?” he asked.

“It blows me away. I can’t believe it. I’ve been made the managing editor of the student newspaper, “The Commuter.” And it’s strange man. All of a sudden I can do whatever I want with this newspaper.”

Hank wasn’t expecting this. He’d read his college’s newspaper about a half dozen times in the two years he’d been there and he thought it was all bullshit stories about civil rights and cafeteria food. Ron showed him the issue with his latest article in it. Hank looked at the paper. It was a sixteen-page tabloid. He turned to Ron’s article. It was a four-paragraph opinion piece about the 18-year old vote being turned down. It began: “Once again the intelligent voters of New Jersey have shown their ignorance by keeping the rightful act of voting out of the hands of the people who have to fight their stinking war.” Hank started to say that Ron had spelled “intelligent” incorrectly but kept it to himself and scanned the rest of the essay. It ended with: “If they won’t let us take part in making the laws, then I say why should we bother to obey the sick things that are only evidence of how screwed up they are anyway.” Hank didn’t know what to think about it. He hadn’t ever thought that voting would change his life. If he had, he would start paying attention to all the rest of the stuff that the government was inflicting on everyone everywhere. He didn’t want to think about it. It had always been fucked up. Governments had always caused wars. Hank had decided that in his 10th grade history class and nothing had come along since then to change his mind. The only thing to do was to stay out of their way and not let them get their hands on you.

“This is really incredible,” he said to Ron.

“You like it, huh?” Ron had been standing there watching Hank read his article. It occurred to him at several points that Hank didn’t seem to be reading that much, but maybe he was just thinking about what he was reading. “I guess you didn’t read the other two that I wrote either,” said Ron suddenly scouring the room for the back issues of the paper. “I think you’re sitting on them.”

Hank was just leaning back but sat forward and reached under himself. “I put the pile of things you had in the chair right here.”

Ron dropped to his knees and sorted through the stack. “They’re not here,” he said looking up in dismay.

“Was one of them about the fraternities?”

“Yeah. Did that come out before you ran away with Jo Lee?

“I don’t remember,” said Hank. “Right about the same time, I think.” Hank wondered what Jo Lee might be doing and wondered why he’d left her alone. The answer hit him as suddenly as something Ron would say without thinking: to get away from her.

Ron sat down on the floor and took out his pot cleaning tray. “So what’s it like to live with her?”

“It’s really something,” said Hank.

“She’s making you lose weight, huh?” said Ron.

“She sure is.”

“I can’t believe it, man. It all happened so fast, you know?”

“I guess it did. ” It seemed to Hank like it had been going on forever.

“Does everybody still think you’re married?”

“I guess so. My mother said that a lot of them aren’t sending gifts because they weren’t invited to the wedding though. She said that it cost her part of the family but that was okay because she didn’t care much for them anyway.”

“Does she really believe you’re married?”

“It’s hard to say. The other day my father asked to see the marriage license.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘sure.’ I’ll just keep saying that and eventually he’ll drop it.”
“How’s the job?”

“It sucked. I quit.”

“That didn’t take long.” Ron remembered, with a swollen chest sense of pride, the jobs he’d stayed with in order to get money. He’d stayed at IBM a full year after he knew it wasn’t for him. He wondered if Hank would ever learn to do the things that needed doing. He thought that Hank was just lazy because he’d always had it so easy. “Are your folks still giving you money?”

“Sure. Every week.”

“Let’s get outta here,” said Ron. He was feeling the pressure of having people in the next room. He wanted to get a container of coffee and smoke the joints he’d rolled. He lit the first joint as soon as they got into the car.

“You’re not even gonna wait until we’re off the block, huh?”

“I’m not waiting for nothin’,” said Ron.

Hank took the familiar route to the loop. It wasn’t quite as comfortable during the day as it was at night, but the principle was the same: you could pretty much drive non-stop without going anywhere. They passed the joint down by the gearshift and each kept a cigarette lit.

“Did you really like the article or were you just putting me on?”

“No, it was good.”

“You don’t think that it matters about the words being misspelled?”

“No,” said Hank, “I could tell what they were supposed to be.”

“That’s what I figure.” Ron felt like his suspicion that grammar was for English teachers had been confirmed. “This guy Lashly has really been fucking my head up. I wanted to show you the letter he wrote me. It’s like I got every word of it burned into my brain.”

“You don’t have to bother listening to anything they say. Just get the grade and get out.”

“Not this time,” said Ron. “Whatever he’s got to say, I want him to hit me with, whenever he wants. Pretty soon I’m gonna go right for his jugular, and I won’t feel too bad if he gets his shots in too.”

Hank puffed the joint as he drove along the northern border of the loop. “I really didn’t miss this stuff but it sure is nice.”

“I do believe I could get hooked on it,” said Ron, “but it’s ok because you can take a vacation from it whenever you like.” He lowered his voice to do his “It’s 10 o’clock. Do you know where your children are?” imitation. “Until it leads to harder drugs,” he paused dramatically “like tobacco, alcohol and caffeine. Which is where it’s just led me.” He puffed greedily on his cigarette to complete the effect. “Do you want to get some coffee to ride around with?”

“Sure,” said Hank.

They stopped at a 7-11 and each got a large container.

“These places are like munchy heaven,” said Ron. “Designed with the mass consumption pothead in mind.”

“They know how to get you at every turn,” said Hank.

“I met this girl,” said Ron. Hank didn’t answer. “I think she’s going to be around for a while.”

“What’s her name?”

Rolling his R’s, Ron said “Rebecca Ranelli.”

“Rebecca Ranelli,” repeated Hank for emphasis. “Do you want to drive over to Welmont and see if Quimpy’s car is around?”

“Do you want to take a ride up through the Reservation?”

“Not especially.”

“Well, what do you feel like doing?”

“I don’t know.” Hank had a sarcastic pith in his voice.

“Hey man, I don’t really give a fuck what we do, you know? Up to you.”

“It’s up to me,” repeated Hank with a grimace that spread down through his arm to the walnut bulb which he jerked into a downshift.

“We could just smoke the last joint and ride back to my house and listen to some music.”

“That would be okay,” said Hank thinking that it brought him one step closer to having the seat next to him empty again. As they passed the joint, Hank got them back to Ron’s house quickly. When they got to his room, they found Marjorie stripping the bed and cleaning out his room.

She was surprised to see them back so soon. “As long as your room is in my house, I’m going to do my best to see that I don’t have bugs,” she said.
Ron paced through the rooms like a penned animal. He couldn’t believe that he had to put up with somebody deciding that it was time to clean his things. He strode back into his room. “Look,” he said to Hank, “I can’t stay here and there’s nothing that you really want to do, so I guess that I want to go up to Welmont and hang out.”

“I guess that I’d better get going,” said Hank. He didn’t want to arrive at the apartment before Jo Lee left for work. He sat down in Ron’s room to contemplate the problem. Ron stared at him.

Marjorie said, “I guess that I’ll have to leave this right in the middle.”

Ron glared at her. “I’ll do it.”

“When?” she said, turning for the door. “In six months?”

They sat in his room without saying anything for a long time. “Do you want to hear some music before you go?” said Ron.

“Not really.”

Ron gave him a look of exasperation.

Hank stood up. “I think I’ll go over my parents’ house and pick up some money before I head back,” he said. He started to walk and realized that his foot had fallen asleep and that he couldn’t really lift it off the ground. Hank set his jaw in a determined way. He looked like Bela Lugosi as he limped out of the room. Chipper trotted over to say good-bye. The tingling was jumping up his leg like a short circuit. Hank said, “So long,” to Marjorie with jovial difficulty.

Ron called Rebecca, but there was no answer. He decided to do some homework and opened his Lit book to the section that had ‘The Inferno’ in it. He read the first few lines and didn’t understand them. He read them again. They didn’t seem any clearer. He went again to call Rebecca. Still no answer. Back in his room, he wondered if college textbooks were designed to be harder as you went along. He started the first page for the third time. He told himself that he did understand and ignored the confused messages from his brain.

Some hours later, Rebecca picked up the phone on the first ring.

“Hi,” said Ron.

“I was wondering if I was going to miss your call,” she answered.

“This is the first time I tried to get you,” he said. “Anyway, would you like to get together and do something?”

“I haven’t done any studying all weekend,” she answered. “I’ve been trying to do some reading myself. “It’s not that I don’t want to see you,” she said. “I could drive down and bring my books with me, although I don’t think we’d get any work done.”

Ron smiled. She was right and she was also telling him what she liked to do with him. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow at school then,” he said.

Ron went back into his room and sat down with the book again. He skated in his other classes by just paying attention to what was being said, but he wanted to know this cold. He read it again. It was 11 p.m. by the time he’d finished the piece to his satisfaction. He was smiling. Except for a few words, he saw how it was supposed to fit together. He was too tired to be playing with the dictionary now. He was gonna go to sleep and be ready for the next morning.

An hour later, he was sure that he was never going to get to sleep. He turned on his light and rolled a joint. He opened the window over his bed and turned the light back off. The pot tasted better in the dark. e stared out the window. The air was getting colder each day. He blew smoke through the screen that he hadn’t replaced with a slide-down storm window for just this reason and peered into the row of hedges in his back yard. After his eyes became adjusted, they were clear. The next group of shadows was the garage. He fixed his eyes on it and waited for the details to come into focus.

Footsteps in the kitchen and the opening of the refrigerator tensed his body. He froze and waited for trouble. He was sure that they knew he smoked in his room and thought that some night they would decide that it was in his best interests to call the cops and have him straightened out. He wondered what they thought of him. It couldn’t be anywhere close to the truth. Maybe they just didn’t think about what went on inside of other people, only what came out and how well it fit into their idea of things. The steps went away.

He’d smoked the joint down two-thirds of the way and wished he was just starting it. The warm, good feeling had just filled him up and if he had just been starting, he would have the whole joint to look forward to. He put out the joint and began to roll another one. He wondered if he could put the music on very softly. It was too late and he was getting stoned. He decided to compromise and turn on the radio. It was Sunday night and the dial was virtually empty. Hoping for something he could stand to hear, Ron turned slowly from one end to the other.

Bob Fass’ voice put an immediate grin on his face. It was a whisper filled with tonality, resonant enough to be soothing and at the same time lively enough to contain a controlled excitement. Ron had stumbled into the very first words of the show. Fass had run twenty minutes of dead air to get rid of the unwanted. He knew his regulars would understand what was happening and be patient.

“Good morning Cabal,” began Fass. “It feels like it must be by some decree of nature that I’m here tonight. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be up at Woodstock.” He paused to call forth the sacred image. “Old Woodstock,” said Fass. “With a strange colony of artists and artisans and poets and perhaps even a couple of singers. But it didn’t happen. I thought it was going to happen when I went to bed last and when I woke up. But by the time the evening that has just passed into night arrived, I knew beyond a shadow of doubt and unequivocally that it was out of the question.” There was a pause. “Volkswagens,” he paused again. “They can be looked upon as German military machines or beetles,” he pronounced this last word with a combination of respect, sadness, and snobbery, “friends of man, necessary evils, toy cars and, yes by some– ” he lowered his voice to a paranoid whisper– “the invasion of foreigners.”

Ron could almost see the look of mock shock on Fass’ face. “Volkswagens,” repeated Fass sadly, adding with a sense of hurt, “That’s all I can say about it. That’s all I really need to say about it. That’s all my temporary state of equilibrium will allow me to say about it.” This was followed by 30 seconds more of dead air. Ron moved closer to the radio. “When I found myself at the station, there was, in my mail box, left by some anonymous personage of the night, this tape. I don’t know what this tape contains but we’re going to find out together.

It was a woman’s voice. She introduced herself as a member of the Weather Underground and went on to outline the disruptions that her organization was planning in order to topple the government of the United States. Ron listened to the tape for its full ninety minutes. The idea of bombing public buildings went against his grain, but as the night wore on, the tape communicated the idea that the only things Americans were willing to pay attention to were violent things – things that affected their comfort. “As long as Johnny Carson comes on every night and laughs about the good life, all’s right with the world. But if dear John was afraid of being blown up, he’d quickly change his attitude and find out what the story was. That would only be of interest to him and the countless millions like him if something was going to affect their own little island.” She concluded by saying that the Weather Underground could not be contacted, could not be joined. That you couldn’t write for membership and get a free tee-shirt or frisbee that told you who you were.

When Fass returned to the air, Ron could sense mixed emotions in his voice. Fass had been a pacifist all his life, but he had also been in Chicago and been beaten and arrested. He told his audience that although the ideas they’d just heard were misguided, violence was a natural reaction to being beaten. Fass put on some Dylan music, and Ron let it carry him to sleep.

Chapter 33

Ron overslept and missed his third consecutive Western Civ class. He looked at the clock and kicked himself out of bed. He wanted to know why somebody hadn’t gotten him up. He came into the kitchen after his step-father had left for the day and while his mother was having her morning coffee and preparing one of her endless lists.

“Why didn’t anybody have the common decency to wake me up?”

“I don’t know,” said Marjorie.

“You people never forgot wake me up when it was time for me to go to IBM,” he said and slammed into the bathroom.

“Look,” she shouted at the closed door, “don’t start your shit first thing in the morning. I don’t want to have my stomach frigged up for the rest of the day. You’ll just let off your steam and walk out of here with nothing bothering you. I’ll wind up with another ulcer.”

“I just asked why nobody woke me up,” he said coming out of the bathroom. “Did you ever see what you look like when somebody forgets to wake you up on time?”

“You’re gonna keep it up!” she screamed and slammed down her coffee cup so that the liquid spilled all over her list. “I asked you to leave me alone because I just woke up and I’ve got to get myself ready for the week. But I can’t even get a goddamned cup of coffee into me. Not me!” She raised her voice to a painful shriek. “Go ahead, Ronald! Run the house and have everything your own friggin’ way, you rotten little son of a bitch!”

He thought “that’s what I am for sure,” but he decided not to say any more and was out of the house in twenty minutes. They didn’t speak to each other again until he said, “good-bye,” and she barely answered him.

Hank got up before Jo Lee was awake and went out to get some breakfast buns and the newspaper. Monday morning was the beginning of her time off, and Hank wanted to treat her to a sense of holiday. He made coffee and opened to the classified section of the newspaper. He looked for openings under actuarial analysts. He wouldn’t like the work but the pay would be good, and Jo Lee would like seeing him putting on a suit every morning. The insurance men who came into Welmont for lunch had once told him that he would do very well in that field if he was interested. Hank saw himself nestled in the palms of the “good hands” people. Then he was sitting on top of a bronze horse, leading the charge to freedom and respectability. There were no openings for analysts without experience.

He turned to the “drivers” section of the classified listings. There was an opening for a delivery man to drive a light van. “Over 18, good driving record, must have knowledge of the area.” He grimaced when he read the last part. He was certain that he would get lost constantly.
His mother had given him the $30 his father had left for him and added $30 of her own to make sure that he had enough. Hank felt the money in his shirt pocket. If he really had a choice, he would like to work at Bell Labs. He knew that they paid people to do nothing but think up there. He was willing to think about anything that they told him to think about, as long as they left him alone and took care of him. He had always dreamed of working for Bell Labs. The only things he still needed were some kind of advanced mathematics degree and a more fluent knowledge of computers. That would be easy. He had learned RPG in an hour. By the end of the first day, he’d written four very simple and successful programs; and they had all run without a hitch.

Hank decided to drive out to the Labs and make a general application. Maybe they could find a place to start him, and he could finish the rest of his education on a tuition refund plan. Maybe he wouldn’t even have to go back to school. Perhaps they would take him under their collective wing and show him all that he ever needed to know about anything. Hank pictured himself in a study with a few small plaques on the wall, an honorary degree from M.I.T. and one from the University of Chicago in appreciation of his contributions in the field of the mathematical discovery of human good. Hank smiled to himself. That seemed admirable and yet vague enough not to be limiting.

Jo Lee came out of the bedroom hiding her face in a blank stare. She saw Hank had been out for breakfast stuff and had made coffee. She allowed her mouth to smile, rummaged through the bag of buns and poured a cup of coffee. When he was pretty sure that she’d fully woken up, he said, “Would you like to take a ride down to Murray Hill with me today?”

She smiled and thought that at least he didn’t plan to sit around the house and mope all day. She tilted her head to the side and took hold of his arm. “What are we gonna do down there?”

“I’m gonna apply for a job at Bell Labs,” he said with a tone of determination in his voice.

“OK,” she said happily bringing his arm to her chest and hugging it.

The breakfast was the best meal they’d had together in weeks. Jo Lee allowed herself to loosen up and comment freely with the sense of humor that Hank found delightfully contagious. They kissed with gentle lips that left them dizzy. Recently, when she wanted to get laid, she had mashed her mouth down on his like he was some kind of vegetable she was about to consume, but now they touched delicately. They made love rocking back and forth. She closed her eyes and cried softly about how good it felt. At the height of her moaning, Hank felt himself start to come. They were gonna get there together. Hank had made a hole in one. He held his body still while his hips bucked the sperm into her. She had her legs back as far as they could go and was sucking it out of him with her cunt. “You’re so good to me,” she said. She held him and patted his behind the way she’d seen the football players congratulate each other on TV. Hank felt so good. Sex should be peaceful, he thought, allowing himself to drift.

Ron carried the day’s first container into The Commuter room thinking about the tape he’d heard. He would have been smarter to have been taking notes than getting stoned. He couldn’t write a single line about it because he couldn’t remember the chick on the tape’s name.

He found the notification of the November 18 Moratorium included in a Liberation News Service press release that was in his mailbox. It was only five days from now. What was he supposed to have organized in five fucking days! He decided to call a staff meeting for that afternoon. Maybe not everyone would be able to get there on short notice but some of them could at least get started on something. The idea of a series of demonstrations designed to bring good information about the war to people was what he was after They were a newspaper. They were supposed to keep people informed about things. He posted a sign in The Commuter room that announced a 1 o’clock meeting.

Ron and his second container were waiting for class. Lashly entered the room, and Ron was surprised to see that he had chopped off most of the hair that had been curling down to his shoulders. He had also shaved off his chin bear and side burns. His clothing was the same jeans and vest get-up, but he’d exchanged his tiny square green lenses for clear lens, black-framed plastic ones. Ron wondered if pressure had been put on Lashly by the administration. He decided to find out after class. The full weight of The Commuter was behind Lashly if they were fucking him over because he wanted to dress in way that made him feel comfortable.

Lashly began his class. “I want to talk about Dante and explore a little of what he finds on the rest of his descent through Hell and his – for some reason not half as eloquent and passionate – ascent towards God.” The hand of the big blonde kid with hair down his back was raised. Lashly seemed a bit stunned. “I haven’t said anything yet,” he said looking at the kid.

The kid grinned broadly put his hand down and spoke anyway. “How come you look so funny?”

A relieved laughter smattered through the class. “Why do I look funny?” said Lashly. Irene, sitting in her usual seat in the front row, folded her arms across her chest and turned around with a smug look on her face.

“You know,” said the kid, making an imaginary scissor and cutting imaginary hair.

“I know,” said Lashly, “that I was at a party this weekend, a get-together with some of the students that I had last year and some of the students I’m teaching now. It’s a tradition I enjoyed very much when I was a student. The opportunity to sit around, drink some beer and wine with my teachers and friends. I can truly say that I learned as much, if not more, on these occasions than I learned studying or in class.” Ron nodded his head. That was how he learned best too, by listening to, and talking with other people. “Well this weekend we had a gathering at Jim MacFibber’s house.” Ron knew the name belonged to one of the other young teachers in the department. He looked around the class and tried to figure out who had been there. The people he suspected were mostly looking at each other and smiling when their eyes met. Jade was one of them. Ron looked away quickly, so that she wouldn’t see him looking in her direction. “What happened this weekend has convinced me that this generation has lost its sense of creativity and maybe its soul. Its members have certainly lost the desire to use their brains.”

There was a startled shifting of body positions that reminded Ron of the first class. “I know that this idea of drugs and the pursuit of the East is unhealthy and potentially fatal. The way this Love and Woodstock generation is frantically trying to become unconscious is sick. All any of my students wanted to do was get stoned to the point of physical and mental immobility. I tried talking to people who fell over in the middle of conversations. When I did bring them back to their senses, the first thing they wanted to do was knock themselves back out. You people can do that with your lives if you want to, but I want no part of it.”

The blonde kid brushed the hair from his eyes and spoke again. “I was there,” he paused and looked around the room, “and it seemed that everybody just wanted to have a good time.”

Lashly nodded at him emphatically. “If drugging yourselves into oblivion is the way you have a good time, then I don’t want any part of it.”

The kid turned around to look at his friends. Ron noticed red splotches on his face that seemed to justify what Lashly was saying. How could you believe somebody with a splotchy face as opposed to someone who had given a situation hard thought and come up with a solid conclusion.

A hand went up in the back of the room. Lashly pointed at it. “It’s just that not everybody is interested in getting into heavy raps all the time,” said a voice that Ron didn’t turn around for. He was too busy monitoring Lashly’s gestures.

“Then I don’t understand what being part of an academic community is about. It’s supposed to be a search for knowledge and experiences. I don’t know what college is for if it’s not to gather as much knowledge and experience as you can,” said Lashly.

“Some of us had good experiences,” said Irene, taking her hands away from her chest and smiling at Warren.

“I’m not questioning that,” he answered quickly after seeming to freeze on the instant of her statement. “I’m not questioning the fact that certain individuals might be serious people who have the capacity to learn and grow, but the environment of the society is a pervasive thing. It seems to be inside of us in ways that we aren’t aware of.” Lashly looked down at his desk and put his hand on the Lit book.

Ron raised his hand. He hadn’t been there but he wanted to say what he was thinking. “There is a sense where we all feel we’re in some kind of hell,” he said. There was a silence. Lashly stared at him and blinked. Ron figured that since he’d stopped the flow of the conversation, he’d better pick it up again. “I mean, how do you expect us to be sane when the truth is that everything around us makes no sense at all. Half of us are sitting in classrooms while the other half of us are carrying guns and dropping bombs for some unknown reason in some unknown country on an enemy that we don’t even know for sure.” Ron stopped and bit his lip. He decided to continue. “It doesn’t seem to me that running away from what’s happening and saying it’s wrong like you’re doing, makes any sense either.” He felt a pressure in his ears after he’d stopped talking. He waited to see how others would respond.

“When the cattle are charging over the hill,” said Lashly, “it’s not ‘running away’ to move off in some other direction.”

Ron thought about The Sheep, the title of an imagined book he had told his IBM manager that he intended to write about his experiences with the company. The thought that he had just moved from one herd to another flashed in his mind. He shoved it away, telling himself that he’d go crazy if he thought like that.

The class never really got started again. Lashly did a fast recap of what had happened to Dante on the rest of his journey and then announced that the reading for the next class would be King Lear, a play by Shakespeare. Lashly told them they would be responsible for the first two acts of the play. “Every word in this play is important. Don’t fudge on me or yourself by skimming it.”

The class was over. Ron had spent the last couple of minutes replaying his exchange with Lashly. Then he remembered that he hadn’t written the paper he’d promised to redo over the weekend. This wouldn’t be the best day to tell him that, but he had to tell him something. Why hadn’t he written the stupid paper yesterday? He was part of the herd. As the room emptied, Ron felt like he was being driven through a corral. The shuffling sounded like hooves, and the talking seemed more like grunts. He could almost taste the dust they were kicking up as they left. When he got into the hall, he stopped and turned around. Maybe he should go back and tell Lashly that he hadn’t meant to embarrass him with his comment about running away. Then he could move the subject around to the trouble he was having with the paper.

He waited by the door while Lashly collected the props from his desk. Irene hadn’t moved and appeared to be reading. Ron figured she was paying attention to everything that was happening at the desk and had only read enough to answer in case he asked her something.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” asked Ron.

“OK,” said Lashly, “but just for a minute because I’ve got to get back to my office and get some work done.”

“I don’t want to hold you up.”

“You won’t hold me up for long,” said Lashly, looking over at Irene, who was opening her legs ever so slowly for him.

“Maybe I should find another topic for my paper.”

“Fine. What?”

“That’s my problem. I’m confused about what I should be working on. It seems that we’re done with the Greeks, and I want to be working on something that’s coming up.”

Lashly reached for one of his small cigars. “Although what you write about is subject to my approval, the choice of topic must be your own.”

“What about a Shakespeare play?”

“I’m not sure that you’re ready to work on something like that yet,” said Lashly in a cold, flat voice.

Ron blushed. If the rest of the class was reading a Shakespeare play, why wasn’t he ready to work on one on his own. “I’d still like to try it.”

Lashly didn’t answer. He drew in on his cigar and motioned for Irene to get up. Ron stared at her thighs as she brushed the wrinkles out of her skirt. Then he looked at Lashly, who was watching him watch Irene with a comically strained smile. “I’ll be back in my office at 2:30. Why don’t you do some more specific research about what you want to write and bring it to me then.” He started walking towards the door and threw a comment back over his shoulder. “I suggest you come up with something of more interest to you than I think Shakespeare is at this point in your life.”

Ron watched them pass out of the room. It felt strange to be the last one in the class. He stared at the empty board. Except for the first day, this was the only time he hadn’t used it. Ron thought that he must’ve been very upset. He decided he needed some coffee.

He wanted to avoid Rebecca if he saw her. He was going to get his coffee, pick out a topic for his paper, and then see who willing to help on the Moratorium issue of The Commuter. He picked up his container and started for the library. He spied the card catalog and told himself it was a good place to start.

Sharply and in an official tone, a voice called after him. “You can’t bring that in here!” The desk revealed the top half of the librarian. She wore a dead flower print dress covered by a pipe-stitched, white sweater. Her gray hair was tinted silver and combed in a wave-like curl that broke right over the top of her nose. She picked up the glasses that hung on a beaded chain around her neck and placed them on the bridge below the wave. Ron looked down at his container which was bubbling up through the air holes and swirling around on the top of the lid. “You can’t come in here with food!”

“This is coffee,” blurted Ron. “What kind of a stupid rule is that?”

“It’s certainly not a stupid rule,” she said inhaling indignantly. Ron noticed that the veins on her hand stood out. “And it’s been the rule at every library that I’ve ever worked at in my life.”

Ron thought she was certainly a prissy old babe. “That doesn’t make it right,” he said. He thought of telling her about how this little encounter would make an interesting little editorial in the newspaper.

“You’re spilling it on the rug at this very instant,” she said pointing at him and raising her tone. Ron saw a man in a suit starting towards the desk.

“Well, can I leave this here while I look something up?”

“Outside the door!” she said with exasperation as the assistant dean arrived at the desk.

“Mrs. Giles, what’s wrong?” said the man. He looked at Ron with disgust. “Why are you standing in here with food?”

“That’s the problem we’ve been discussing,” said Mrs. Giles in her best Christian- suffering way. It told the assistant dean he was sure to hear her complaining about this for the next three days. At least three days of her telling every administrator she encountered how the place was being run more like a lavatory than a library.

“What is your name?” he asked Ron.

“Ron Tuck.” Ron pronounced his last name, slurring the first letter and accenting the rest of it just enough for Mrs. Giles to think that he was going to spit or say something obscene. He stared at her face after he’d said his name. She drew her sweater around her neck and started to walk away. When she was safely behind Mr. Barth, she turned around to see what was going to happen.

“That’s your real name?”

“What do you mean, is that my real name?”

“Can I see your ID card?”

“Yeah,” said Ron taking out his wallet. “I feel like I’m being arrested.”

“Oh,” said Mr. Barth. “Have you been arrested often?”

Mrs. Giles gasped audibly. They were letting killers into the college now. She felt tears starting to well in back of her eyes. She was going to quit. That was all there was to it. The trouble was that if she quit at her age, she’d have to take early retirement benefits because she was too old for anyone else to hire. I’m a librarian for hooligans, she thought, and they get worse each year – although this mutation was clearly an indication of things to come.

“That’s none of your business,” said Ron.

“What are you looking for here?” said Barth.
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I was walking in and she stopped me.”

“Because you had coffee.”

“Why can’t I have coffee while I’m studying?”

“The college provides,” said the assistant dean straightening his tie and handing Ron his ID card back, “lounges for that purpose. Can’t you simply take out the book you need, bring it to a lounge where you’ll be free to drink as much coffee as you please.”

Ron felt like an asshole. “I didn’t know which book I wanted,” he muttered.

“We must all learn to restrain ourselves for the general benefit of others on occasion,” said the assistant dean. “Now, if you would be so kind as to leave until you’ve finished your coffee and perhaps had a cigarette,” he gestured to the pack bulging Ron’s shirt pocket, indicating that smoking was also prohibited with a patronizing smile and a nod of his head, “you’ll be free to return.”

Ron just turned and walked out. If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t have to go back there ever again. He had liked libraries when he was a little kid. He went to the neighborhood library every day after school for a while. One day the woman there asked him why he didn’t like going home after school. Ron stopped going right after that.

Fuck it, he thought. This is stupid shit to get caught up in when I’m as busy as I am today. He headed for the newspaper room and saw Rebecca see him from halfway down the hall. “Ah shit,” he said under his breath. He looked down at the unopened container of coffee which had probably gotten cold by now.

“Hi Ron,” she said, “I was just wondering if I was going to see you today.”

“Yeah,” said Ron. “I was just thinking the same thing.” He felt far away from her. She looks really good too, he thought. “Do you have time to sit down with me while I drink this coffee?” he said.

“Can I get some too?”

They headed back into the cafeteria. Ron figured that he could give this a little time and then he would be clear for the staff meeting. Her eyes were sparkling as she stared at him.

“So,” she began, what have you been thinking about?”

Ron didn’t know where to begin. “A lot of things,” he said.

“Did you think about the play we saw?” she said enthusiastically.

“Not at all.” Ron stared back at her. She might as well know the truth.
“Oh,” said Rebecca, feeling like a deflated paper bag.

Ron sensed that he’d said the wrong thing. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind thinking about the play, but so many things are happening right now.” He paused and grinned. “I didn’t say that I hadn’t been thinking about you though.”

Rebecca smiled and let her eyes search his face. He wondered what their impressions were as he watched them. “There’s gonna be a Moratorium on the 18th.” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I’m trying to make it an effort to educate people about the war. Instead of Bio 101, you can learn something about defoliants and germ warfare.”

“Is the college going to let you do that?” she said opening her eyes a little wider.

“They’re not going to have any choice,” said Ron darkly. His mind went back to the tape he’d heard the night before. He couldn’t shake the feeling that The Weather Underground was partially right, and more than that. They were living it instead of just talking about it.

“Don’t get into trouble,” she said.

“Why not?” said Ron. “We’re already in pretty big trouble, don’t you think? Just because you don’t see it all around you all the time is no excuse for acting like it doesn’t exist. It’s got to be more than ‘Let’s talk about the war and other controversial issues.'”

“What do you think I should do?” she said defensively.

“Get involved,” snapped Ron. “Stop worrying about whether your father makes your brothers slice up dead deer, before they’re out there slicing up live people.” Ron gave her a hard look feeling that she was just as much a part of the problem as the Pentagon. Since she really didn’t care what was happening, she helped allow those military lunatics to do anything they wanted to do.

“I don’t think that my father and brothers have anything to do with it. I also think you’re in a mean mood.” Leaving her coffee unfinished, she started gathering up her books.

“My mood is fine,” he said, not quite sure why she was so upset.

“Isn’t that nice for you,” shot Rebecca. She started to walk away.

Ron stared down at the unopened coffee that he was sure he was never going to get to drink. “Wait a minute,” he said and started after her. She didn’t turn around. “Look,” he said, overtaking her at the door of the cafeteria, “something happens in my head once in a while, and I just get screwed-up about things. I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Don’t apologize unless you really want to, Ron.” She stared full into his face, turned and walked away.

He went after her again. “I said I was sorry. What do you want me to do?”

“It would help if you learned to be nice.” She walked away again.

He hesitated this time. Maybe he would be better of if he just let her go. Just when he was deciding that was the right thing to do, he found himself trotting along to catch up with her again. “Can I call you tonight?”

“If you want to,” she said without looking at him.

“Okay,” he said, trying to sound happy and showing her how nice he could be, “I’ll call you later.” He stopped and walked off in another direction. He needed to blow off some energy before he went back to the newspaper room.

Jade watched him walk into the room with a quiet annoyance. He went to the mailbox without speaking to her and took out the pamphlets on the Moratorium. “Who called the meeting for this afternoon?” she said icily.

“Me,” said Ron.

“Why?” Her voice was made of solid stone.

“Because there’s going to be a national anti-war action and maybe we should do something about it here.”

“Did you talk to Chris about it first?”

“Why should I?” said Ron.

“You’re hopeless,” said Jade. “Don’t you realize that we’re all together here and Chris needs to know what’s going to happen.”

“I’ll leave a note up in his office,” said Ron. He watched her smooth face and the overly exciting body that was stretched out across three wooden chairs. “You know,” he said, “I wanted to call you.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if you did,” said Jade.

Ron felt hurt. What had he done to her? Why was everybody mad at him all of a sudden. “Look,” said Ron. He hesitated, noticing that he seemed to be prefacing everything he was about to say with that word. He didn’t understand what the thought meant and dismissed it in confusion. “If I’m making mistakes, will you help me out?” He couldn’t help thinking that she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever been associated with and that she was sophisticated enough to make Rebecca look like she belonged at a high school hop.

“I’m involved in other things right now and other people. I don’t have time to look out for you, Ron.”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said.

“I don’t care what you meant,” she said pulling her pink sunglasses down over her eyes and staring back into her book.

Ron sat down to read through the pamphlets again. By noon time he was ready for the staff meeting. Jade had left the room but he hadn’t heard her go. “I fucked that one up real good,” he said out loud to himself. He went upstairs and found Chris sitting at one of the long tables. He was staring at his math book with a pencil in his mouth and a cigarette in his hand. His legs were tapping to the beat of the music. “How are ya doin’?” said Ron. “Would I be bothering you if I came in?”

“No. This room is for everyone,” said Chris. “Everyone we know, anyway.”

“Am I supposed to check with you before I call a staff meeting?”

“I don’t know,” said Chris. “Are you?”

“I didn’t know that I was really supposed to check with anyone.”

“I’m on the staff,” said Chris in an even tone, putting down his pencil. “So I guess I’d like to know about it. What’s it for?”

“There’s going to be a Moratorium next week.”

“Right,” said Chris.

“Did you know about it?”

“Yeah,” said Chris. “I’ve got a meeting with President Sewerman this afternoon to see about getting the day’s classes canceled so they won’t interfere with any of the workshops.”

“Wow! You guys got the whole thing organized already?” said Ron, feeling stupid for the 20th time that day.

“But The Commuter really isn’t doing anything, right?” Chris picked up his pencil and began tapping it to the beat of the Traffic song that had just come on Julian’s radio show.

“Right,” said Ron. “Do you know what happened?”

“It just got lost in the shuffle of Peter leaving and people not paying attention to details. So that’s the idea of the meeting, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Far out,” he said bobbing his head. “What do you want to do?”

“Print up a special issue, a small one, right away and get it out to the high schools on the morning of the event.”

“That could cause problems. If kids cut school to come here, the schools could say we distributed material that encouraged them not to go to school.”

“Just don’t sign anything and deny that we ever distributed off-campus. The paper is free around the school. We can’t help it if somebody else brings it to a local high school.”

“That’s pretty wild,” said Chris laughing, “But don’t tell too many people that you’re doing it.”

“Okay,” said Ron. He got the definite impression that Chris wasn’t going to be one of the people helping to do it, but that would be no problem at all. “By the way, do you know some guy named Lashly?”

“English, right?”

“Got any idea about a good topic for a paper in his class?”

“I’m not really sure. Ask Julian,” said Chris thinking that would be comical.

Julian T. Willy had just entered the room wearing a red and black scarf that he’d kept wrapped around him despite the 80 degree heat in the radio station. He wasn’t sweating. “How did you like the show?” he said, stopping so that his back was to Ron.

“Far out,” said Chris tapping his pencil like a short burst of applause. He ended the gesture by throwing his pencil in the air and leaning back in his chair to catch it.

Julian laughed and loosened up his scarf. Ron could see that he was wearing a shirt and a tee-shirt underneath his heavy sweater. He was painfully skinny.

What do you think Ron should use for a paper in Lashly’s class?”

“Some sort of primer,” said Julian quickly.

Ron got up and started out of the room. He had about a half hour before the meeting. “I announced your meeting on the radio,” said Julian, “but I’m planning on missing it.”

“Good,” said Ron.

After Ron left, Julian said, “Does he know that I’m the art editor?”

“I don’t know,” said Chris. “I don’t think so.”

“Let him do without an illustrator and tell him to find a new masthead,” said Julian.

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Chris, he’s a baboon. He predates higher thought.”

Chris laughed. “Maybe not.”

“Sometimes you’re a fool,” said Julian, throwing his scarf back over his shoulder.

Hank arrived at Bell Labs just after noon. He parked his car in the visitors’ section of the vast maze of lots that had been landscaped to be as unobtrusive as possible. The guard at the gate had directed him to the proper personnel area. Jo Lee kissed him goodbye like Donna Reed in an old movie where the star had played the part of a happy and supportive wife. He strode off toward the building in his brown corduroy jeans, his green checkerboard shirt, leather patched sports jacket and brown penny loafers. He turned around to smile and wave at her before he went in.

The receptionist was young and very pretty. Her face was a perfect oval and her clothes created the touch of class you would expect to find in a fashion magazine. She gave Hank her warmly professional smile when he approached her desk. He looked like a young scientist with his tightly curled reddish blonde hair that sprouted like a Scotch Afro. His thick glasses were a dead giveaway, along with the distracted way he stared at the floor while he was talking. “Can I help you?” she said.

“I’m looking for a job,” said Hank.

“May I see your resume,” she asked, telling herself that she’d been right and wondering if he was married.

Hank stared at her without saying anything. He was stunned. “Resume,” he said finally with a slow nod of his head.

“If you don’t have one, you can just fill out an application, but it would be better if you had one.” She smiled again.

“That sounds good,” said Hank, nodding to himself again.

He seemed to be a curious man, she thought. Probably like most of the other eccentric ones that came through. “In what area did you intend to apply for a position?”

“Mathematics.”

“Could you be a little more specific? In that general area we have dozens of openings.” She calculated that a PhD. in Mathematics would start anywhere between $ 18,000 and $25,000, depending on particular expertise. It was her pastime to sneak looks at all the salary scales and play out little fantasies about how she would fit into particular men’s lives. When she’d first started working there, she imagined herself to be the applicant, but as time passed she’d stopped doing that because it made her uncomfortable about her own inadequacies. It was much more fun to play this game, because the men were always trying to put their best foot forward whether they realized it or not. She was their first encounter with the company. She’d heard that phrase repeatedly endlessly in her training films.

This poor thing doesn’t know how to go about things at all, she thought to herself. He wasn’t handsome but she didn’t mind the way he looked. If he was older and thinner, he might look like Danny Kaye. She tried to picture him dancing and had to stifle a giggle. He really didn’t look that much like Danny Kaye at all.

“Do all the jobs that you have require degrees?” inquired Hank.

“Even maintenance,” she said changing her expression abruptly. Suddenly he was wearing fat greasy overalls and carrying a wrench. “Are you a student?”

“I was,” said Hank looking back down to the carpet.

“I don’t think that we’ll have anything for you until you finish school,” she said, sympathetically slinging a book bag over his shoulder and feeling like she was sending him off to class.

“Thanks anyway,” said Hank mixing a smile with a grimace and heading towards the door.

“What happened?” said Jo Lee.

“I have to send them a resume,” said Hank putting his key in the ignition and feeling her fingers curl the hair behind his ear.

“I like it around here,” she said. “What’s a resume?”

“Where I went to school, where I worked, and what I’m qualified for…”

“An application?” she said suspiciously.

“Sort of.”

“You didn’t even get to fill out an application?” she said clenching her fist and drawing tighter on his curls.

“Ouch.” Hank winced. He rubbed his hair. “They asked for a resume. Why did you do that?”

“Who did you speak to?” she said sarcastically.

Hank stopped the car in the right hand lane of the highway. He stared at her without saying anything. She thought that he looked creepy and felt a little frightened. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said quietly.

“Yes, you did.” Hank lit a cigarette, threw the car into gear and set his gaze on the road.

The meeting started late. Ron had panicked when it was 1 o’clock and no one had showed. Jade told him to relax. She told him that everything would eventually happen and that everybody was always late for meetings. Ron thought about the way she had looked with her legs open and her heels pointing toward the ceiling. He wanted to tell her that he had more control of himself now and would even get better in the future, but this wasn’t the time.

What Ron was thinking was written all over his face and pose . She wasn’t going to go to bed with him again, not unless she changed her mind and she couldn’t imagine what would make her do that. As he paced in front of her she thought that she’d tell him that, the next time they were together. She would also tell him that his hair was getting greasy because he needed to wash it more frequently now that it was longer. She remembered the feel of his hair. It was as fine as baby hair, which had highlights of blonde that had totally disappeared now. Rex was dark like the winter and had a silver chain hanging from his belt that she loved to watch swing. She saw that Ron was sweating and told herself that he had no idea of how to be cool.

When the meeting actually started, everything went smoothly. About twenty people were crowded into the room, and Ron started by briefing them on the Moratorium. Like himself, more than half the staff had been unaware of the whole thing, so there was a sustained level of interest. He told them he wanted to get something four to eight pages long to the printer in two days. He said that there wasn’t actually enough time to do the job properly, but that informing people about what was going to happen was their main objective. Ron stopped and looked at Chris who was bobbing his head and twirling his mustache. “Chris is going to write one of the articles and right now the rest of the space is up for grabs.” He pulled out a list of possible areas that he’d worked up. He passed around the picture of the interrogation of the Viet Cong prisoner that he’d saved. “I want to blow this up and use it for the cover.”

“That’s a bit heavy handed, don’t you think?” asked Ted Gleason, a cartoonist whose major themes centered around hairy arms projecting out of the inside of commodes.

“It’ll get their attention,” he answered.

Ron was amazed at how easily things had gone when the meeting broke up. He’d told some girl to prepare a list of activities going on at the college, and she just said that she’d do it. Several people had come up to Ron and asked what he wanted them to do and he’d assigned articles from his list. A thin girl with jet black hair and an awkward look on her face said that she wanted to do some of the writing. Her tone warned Ron that he’d better give her a good assignment, so he just showed her the list and told her to pick anything she wanted. Her name was Laureen. Ron felt like he should know her but he didn’t.

It was at the close of the meeting that Julian T. Willy burst into the room and announced that as his personal tribute to the Moratorium, he intended to wrap The Commuter room a la Cristo. Ron wasn’t sure what it had to do with the Count of Monte Cristo but figured it was because he had never been able to sit through the entire movie. Julian was excited as he continued, “I’m going to have to settle for masking tape as my primary material.”

“Where are you getting the money for all the tape?” said Chris.

“The Commuter budget,” said Julian, looking over at Ron with a gleeful smile. Laureen moved into the circle around Julian and Chris as they walked to the door.

Jade said “See there wasn’t any reason to get excited.”

Ron hated it that she kept referring to his penchant for getting excited. He wanted to ask her why she kept bringing it up, but instead he asked, “What’s Julian going to do?”

She shook her head at him and he felt embarrassed and gave his boyish expression. “He’s going to wrap everything up in masking tape.”

“Why?”

“It’s a form of art.”

“Yeah,” said Ron bewildered. “I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t think that you would.”

He asked her out and she refused. She did so quite convincingly.

Undaunted, he asked, “Why?”

She was angry when she answered. “I said no, Ron. That’s enough.” She left the room.

Ron had a little time before he had to go back and face Lashly. Country Joe and the Fish filled the snack bar, and there was no line at the counter. Ron plunked down his fifth quarter of the day and got a container. He saw Laureen sitting at one of the back tables by herself. She seemed to be straining to overhear a conversation that was taking place at the next table between a guy and a girl. He saw her notice him from about ten feet away, but wnen he got there she looked up and gave him a startled, “Oh hi.”

“Can I sit down?” he said.

“Sure.” She picked up her books from the seat next to her, but he’d already grabbed a different chair. They exchanged an awkward look.

Ron thought she had a crooked mouth. “What do you think you’ll write?” he said.

“You mean for the newspaper?” She lit a cigarette, holding her lighter in both hands for the operation. She exhaled in a large stream and stared up at the way her hair was curling down on her forehead. “The normal thing.”

“There’s a lot of that around,” said Ron.

She flicked her wrist out in a stylized gesture that resembled a branch snapping back after it had been pushed down. “When I was the editor of my high school paper, we did a lot of anti-war stuff. Did you ever see anything that the Rahway Rivulet turned out.” She was trying to sound more professional than he was trying to sound.

“I’m not from around here and besides, it’s been a long time since I was in high school.”

She shifted her eyes to the long line of people who were now waiting at the snack bar. “Class must’ve gotten out,” she said. She fixed her eyes on him. “What do you think I should write?”

“‘Well part of what we’re doing is trying to get younger kids in the high schools interested. Why don’t you write something geared to them?”

“I might,” she said.

For a long minute they sat without saying anything. Then Ron picked up what was left of his coffee and excused himself. He went up to Lashly’s office but nobody was there. He smoked a cigarette and waited. After he smoked another cigarette he left.

Chapter 34

“Why don’t you want to eat, Hank?”

“I’m not hungry,” he said after a pause.

She came into the room where he had been listening to Wes Montgomery’s smooth guitar. Hank was pretty sure that he’d never heard anybody play the instrument like that before.

“Can we go out tonight, Hank?”

“Sure,” he said with a grimace.

Jo Lee sat down and combed her hair with her hands. With all the shit that she’d pulled, he’d never abused her. She could always respect him for that. She thought that maybe he was afraid of her, but told herself that she had to stop being such a bitch. She wasn’t making herself at all happy. “Hank, let’s start over again.”

He looked at her for the first time. “How?”

“I think that we’ve made some stupid mistakes, and I know that I’ve hurt you. You must think that I’m pretty rotten and hate me. The problem is that I don’t know if I can do better. Maybe the truth is that you should get away from me as soon as possible.”

At first she was just sniffling in between sentences. Her face let go toward the end, and she started sobbing. He began to cry, too. Her eyes were red and her nose running when he took her in his arms. She cried into her shoulder until everything was dry and she got hungry. “Let’s get dressed and go out?”

Hank pulled himself away from her and took off his glasses. His sinuses were clogged, but it was the best he’d felt in weeks. She told him that she was going to take a shower and kissed him holding her lips like a puckering flower. He smiled at the sway of her hips when she walked away. “What music would you like to hear?” he called after her.

“Beatles.”

“Sure,” said Hank. It was a sure sign that everything was going to be okay.

By 3 o’clock Ron was ready to go home. He considered calling Rebecca and seeing if he could drop by her house on his way but dismissed the idea by telling himself that there really wasn’t much chance of getting laid on a Monday afternoon. Actually, he just wanted to talk with her but telling himself that there was no chance to have sex caused a loss of appetite for the meeting. He was almost out the door when he saw Chris Calvin wave in his direction.

“I came to your meeting. Are you ready for mine?”

“What meeting?” said Ron again appraising the attaché case that Chris never seemed separated from.

“The Student-Faculty Relations.”

“I’m not on that committee.”

“You are now,” said Chris. “It’s part of being an editor for the newspaper.”

“It’s a lot of work,” Ron replied, “ but I really dig it. It feels like it’s just got to be done.”

“Do you think we could do it just as well if we went to smoke a joint before the meeting?”

“Better,” said Ron.

“Do you think we should take anybody along with us?”

Ron wanted to say “no” but said, “Like who?”

“How about MacFibber and Lashly?”

Ron thought that sounded like pure lunacy. “Definitely not Lashly.”

“Okay,’ said Chris. “I’ll go ask Mac Fibber.”

Ron watched him walk back upstairs, feeling very uneasy. Maybe he would have been better off going to Rebecca’s.

Chris was back quickly. “MacFibber says that he couldn’t handle it but that we should go enjoy ourselves.”

Ron said, “Why would you want to take teachers with us?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it would be better for them to be with us in a more relaxed atmosphere. It makes it harder for them to assert college policy later on. Besides they’re both dating students and seem like they’re different.”

“It would be harder for them to give out fucked up grades after they got stoned with us wouldn’t it?”

“That’s certainly true,” said Chris,” but it wasn’t exactly my point.”

“You wouldn’t even consider it if you’d been in Lashly’s class today.”
“This pot is special,” said Chris. “It’s really good. The story is that it’s supposed to have been blessed by the monks that grew it.”

Ron watched Chris light the joint without answering. What Chris said seemed childish, but he was curious. By the time they’d smoked it half down, Ron could feel a cold tingling in his spine. He tried to pass the joint and realized his motions had been slowed to the comical. “Holy Shit!” he said. Chris twirled his mustache and bobbed his head as he drove. Ron was sure that he couldn’t speak a word when he put out the roach. He was amazed that he could still sit up. “What was this stuff?”

“Pot,” said Chris, thinking about how he loved understatement.

“I have never been this stoned in my life.”

Chris pulled his car into his reserved spot in the faculty lot. “You’ll probably have to give some kind of summation about what The Commuter’s activities will be during the Moratorium.”

“I can’t talk,” said Ron, laughing in a bubbly way. “Will other people have to talk too?”

“I’m sure that everyone will talk sooner or later,” said Chris.

Ron stayed in his seat after they had parked. “Who’s going to be there?”

“Marvel for the administration, Lashly, MacFibber, Weinstein and Dougherty for the faculty and me, you, Patti Thomas and Bobby Albano, and Tim Potter for the students.”

Ron knew some of the students vaguely. Patti was the editor of the daily announcement sheet and conservative answer to his paper. Bobby was the manager at the radio station. Bobby had longer hair than almost anybody else at the school. It was difficult to have conversation with him because he was always ready to say that he was tired of listening to people’s bullshit. Ron had seen Bobby say it to three different people and each time he was grateful that he hadn’t been one of them. He didn’t know Tim Potter. He knew Lashly for sure and had heard people talk– including Lashly in this morning’s class–about MacFibber. Marvel just seemed to be this black dude who smiled a lot when he talked and the others were names he didn’t know. “How long do we have before the meeting?” asked Ron.

“We can go over whenever we want.”

Ron was very interested in studying the bulging greens of the hedges in front of them. A person would occasionally walk out from in back of them and get into a car. It seemed like a mystery. The scene was as peaceful as a painting and Ron was happy to be part of it. “Can we get out of the car?” he said.

“Sure,” said Chris and opened the door. They walked upstairs to the student council room.
“It feels good to walk,” said Ron. He laughed. “I mean my body moves so easily.”

The radio station was blasting the “Crown of Creation” album, and Ron felt like a tourist who was seeing everything for the first time. It reminded him of monologues he used to do from the back seat of the car when he was a little boy, especially when they were approaching Newark from the south. “On the right we have the famous New Jersey smokestacks. Notice the way they populate the air with tiny puffs. Coming up on the left, we have miles of oil barrels, one of the finest collections of oil barrels in existence. Here are rows of weeds that house an healthy army of rats, snakes, dead Mafia victims, and the flamingos of the Garden State, here only for summer engagements, and mosquitoes.”

Marjorie was laughing very hard and said, “Stop it,” in a way that wanted him to continue.

He continued. “If we’re lucky, we’ll see and ask him about swamp life. But wait! There’s a man, a bum no doubt, a stinking slob for sure, but remember we’re all equal in the eyes of the Lord. Let’s hold our noses and go over to speak to the unfortunate.”

“That’s enough,” said Marjorie, thinking he had gone too far and that she had a headache and his voice was beginning to grate on her.

“I think we’re late,” said Chris.

MacFibber nudged Lashly with his elbow when Ron and Chris entered the meeting. “Feel better?” he said to Chris as they sat down.

Bobby Albano got up and extended his hand to Chris from the student side of the table. “I’m drunk as a skunk, and I don’t care who knows it,” he said. The students huddled at their corner of the table and waiting for the missing faculty members to arrive.

Chris looked at Tim Potter, a smallish kid with a Kirk Douglas face and a deep voice, “Are you straight, Tim?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Tim with a smiling chuckle. “Micro-dot washed down with boilermakers.”

“Let’s go out to my car and have a quick drink,” said Bobby. “It’ll smooth everything right out.”

“Why don’t you do the talking Chris,” said Tim. “I mean you start things and we’ll all contribute where we’re able.”

“Where you’re able,” said Chris laughing. “I’ve been smoking this knockout pot all afternoon and, well, I’m gonna need a little more help than that.”

“Down with the ship!” said Bobby loudly. He raised a clenched fist and tossed his hair from side to side so that it looked like a long mop.

Weinstein and Dougherty had arrived. “Look at them,” said Lashly. “They’re like a group of natives preparing for battle.”

“There is something primitive –and very much to the point– about the motivations for their behavior that we have to discuss in regard to the Moratorium idea,” said Weinstein. “This situation could very easily get out of hand and be a political embarrassment to those of us in the educational community who have lent it our good names.”

“What situation are you talking about, Oliver?” said Lashly with an undercutting tone in his voice. “They’re going to take a day off. They want to educate people about the war. We’re probably going to split and argue over the way we intend to react to them. That’s the problem. They’re going to be rightly shown as having better organization and more leadership on this issue than we do, and probably on any other issue that they want to bring up.”

“That’s precisely what I’m talking about,” said Oliver Weinstein. “The administration will accuse us of encouraging them to go out on a limb.”

“Oliver’s really afraid of being called a Communist,” said Lashly

Weinstein bristled. His bald head and wrinkled face showed the lines of experience and wisdom that was trying to convey to this particular Southerner. “If you had to live through the times that I’ve endured you wouldn’t be so glib,” he said sternly.

Lashly felt the need to back off. “I didn’t say that your concern wasn’t legitimate.”

Bertrand Marvel, the administration’s representative, came into the room holding a clipboard. He was well manicured and smiling. “Do you think that we could get started, Chris?” he called to the four students standing in the opposite corner of the room. They broke their huddle, after a quiet count of three, imitating various monster walks. Chris did Count Dracula, Tim the mummy, Bobby the Hunchback and Ron did Frankenstein. They had planned the illusion to last to no more than a count of 1,000 and 3, hoping that no one would actually be sure if they’d seen anything. Patti Thomas was sitting quietly at the meeting table not saying a word to anyone. Ron couldn’t remember ever playing pranks like this before. When they broke their characters and sat down at the table, he was still uneasy.

The fourth member of the faculty, Ernestine Dougherty, literally recoiled at the sight of them. She stood and looked around at the assemblage. “I’m not sure that I should be here,” she said hesitantly.

“Sit down and relax,” said Oliver, who hadn’t been looking at them.

“Excuse me,” said Professor Dougherty. She turned and Patti leaned across the table to Chris and said, “That was cruel.”
“We were only playing,” said Chris, “come on.” Oliver put on his glasses and read the minutes of the previous meeting. He was upset about three things: he had just received the minutes that day; his account of the meeting and Marvel’s notes differed in significant areas; the meeting time and place for this gathering had been incorrectly listed. He claimed that these examples of “neglect” were part of the administration’s entire attitude toward the committee in particular, and to the students and faculty in general.

Marvel responded. “The only possible neglect was my own, which was surely unintended. I was of the opinion that having the minutes delivered today would put everything freshly into people’s minds. The mistake about the time and place was obviously an oversight, but since we’re here, a moot point– unless there’s a pressing obligation for someone that I don’t know about. You’ll have to be more specific about your other objection.”

“Instead of various proposals being attributed to individual faculty members, I think the cause of solidarity and uniformity would be better served by simply attributing them to the faculty.”

“Why’s that, Oliver?” said Mac Fibber.

The reason was plain. Weinstein’s name was plastered all over the minutes of the previous meeting.

“It is because I have no intentions of being set up. If that’s what you had in mind, you’d better try someone else.” He closed his faculty-student relations folder and sat back waiting to see what kind of reaction his statement would bring.

“I don’t think that anybody intends to set anyone else up,” said Marvel with his serious smile.

“I would have no problem lending my name to any of the proposals that came from this committee; that is, the faculty portion of the committee,” said Lashly. It was an effort at consoling Oliver Weinstein.

“The question that we’re all here to discuss,” said Chris easily, “is how much support the faculty is going to give us with the Moratorium. Is the faculty willing to take part in workshops and cancel classes for the day?”

“We can’t speak for the entire faculty,” said Oliver. “Since Professor Dougherty has chosen to leave, we are, in fact, even less representative than we were before. It is my belief that any suggestions we make along these lines will be resented by our colleagues.”

“What the fuck would ever please some of the assholes you’re talking about?” said Bobby Albano. Ron and Chris smiled and watched Patti stiffen. Tim kept a straight face.

“You are certainly entitled to think of them in any way you choose, but calling them ‘assholes’ surely won’t enlist their support.”
“I vote that we totally ignore the faculty,” said Tim Potter. No one responded.

“I don’t recognize this person,” said Weinstein looking at Ron and closing his folder for the second time.

Chris introduced him. “Ron’s the new editor of The Commuter.”

“Ron Tuck,” said Professor Weinstein. “I’ve heard it said that you are the Mark Rudd of this college, Mr. Tuck. Are you also an anarchist?”

“A what?” said Ron.

“The question is clear enough. Are you part of what’s being called the New Left’s fascism?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He’s just a student, Oliver,” said Mac Fibber with a nasal voice. “Aren’t you? Although he’s a particular kind of student. You’re a bit older.”

“I suppose,” said Ron.

“What have you been doing since you left high school?”

“This isn’t what we’re here for, Oliver,” said Lashly abruptly. “He’s one of my students. I guarantee you that he’s just as confused as the rest of them.”

“That’s not quite necessary or true,” said Chris darkly.

“I’m speaking figuratively,” said Lashly quickly.

Without acknowledging Lashly, Chris continued. “The first order of business on today’s agenda was the faculty’s response to our requests about the Moratorium.”

“The faculty has responded by saying that they feel the issue really doesn’t concern them,” said Weinstein in a dejected voice. “They took the position that classes are always optional and will continue to be held for those students who wish to attend them, unless the administration directs otherwise.”

“What a scared shitless copout that was,” said Bobby Albano. Ron, Chris Lashly and MacFibber started laughing. Marvel smiled. Weinstein shook his head in a further show of disgust. Patti sat there tensely without a sound or an expression.

“The administration is open to providing facilities for the workshops, as long as they don’t interfere with the normal class schedules. However, if faculty members choose to teach their classes along a particular theme, that is always their choice.”
“And will the administration be monitoring classrooms?” said Oliver Weinstein.

Marvel smiled and looked at Chris, who shrugged his shoulders. The Dean of Students looked over at Weinstein. “As far as I know, the administration has the right to do that any day they choose to do so.”

“You people all talk like your thumbs are stuck in each other’s assholes,” shouted Bobby suddenly. “I resign from this fuckin’ committee.” He got out of his chair.

“Take it easy,” said Chris.

“No good,” he screamed. “They’re all full of shit. We’ve been jerked-off by this committee for almost an hour, and I’m through wasting my time worrying about whether the administration is going to observe classes.” He pointed his finger at Oliver Weinstein. “Is he willing to worry about what’s going to happen to me if I get caught drinking a beer in the parking 1ot? Fuck no! He’s going to toddle through his days worrying about whether the integrity of education is offended by his body odor.”

“That will be quite enough,” said Oliver Weinstein.

“You’re finally right about something, Oliver. I don’t belong here.” He left.

Ron admired him but didn’t want to go with him. Ron stared at the door for a few seconds while nobody said anything. The tingling in his body had stopped and he was able to follow everything that was being said now.

“What do the students plan to do with the Moratorium?” said Marvel.

“I’m not sure that we want to talk about that right now,” said Chris. “If you’d like to schedule another meeting before the Moratorium and develop something of a consensus among yourselves, it would be difficult to get together but not impossible.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about what you intend to do?” asked Lashly.

“There’s no reason to discuss our plans at this forum. Considering the fact that the faculty has more or less absented themselves from taking any real part in what’s going on, I don’t see the point.”

“What you’re saying is detrimental to the spirit of an educational community,” said Lashly.

“If you’d like to have some further discussions with other members of the faculty, we can have another meeting.” Chris looked directly at Oliver, closed his folder and returned it to his briefcase.

“I’m willing to discuss it further, if we’re going to talk seriously,” said Lashly.
The meeting was adjourned with the idea that Marvel would coordinate the time and place for another meeting in the next couple of days.

Ron was home eating dinner when he got a call from Rebecca.

“Hi, Ron.”

“Hi, how are you?” He felt lucky that she was calling him at all.

“I’ve been thinking about you all afternoon. How did your meeting go?”

“Things are pretty confused and crazy but I guess they’re going all right.”

“What are you going to do tonight?”

“I’m supposed to write an article for the newspaper.”

“Do you want to do it down here while I’m doing my homework?” There was an unmistakable overtone of sexuality in her voice.

“I can be there in a bout an hour,” he said. He was at least gonna spend part of the night squeezing a nice set of tits and from the sound of her voice on the phone, who knew what else might happen. He thought about stopping at the drug store to buy some rubbers, but the phrase “like taking a shower with your socks on” stopped him. He told himself that he probably wouldn’t need one anyway. His mug-hot book memory settled on Jade’s tight-lipped stare, and he decided that he might be better off if she didn’t want to sleep with him. He brought his half filled dinner plate into the kitchen and headed for the bathroom.

“That’s all you’re going to eat,” said Marjorie.

“I want to be thin,” said Ron. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Now?”

“I’m going out.”

“When do you study?” she yelled through the door.

“At school,” said Ron. “Why are you picking on me?”

“I thought you left IBM to get an education?”

“I did and I am,” said Ron.

“Let’s go over to Myrtle and Ernie’s for dinner,’ said Jo Lee.

Hank grimaced and continued to grimace until he shuddered. He could smell the dogs and see the Ernie chairs piled up around the house. “I can’t do it. Not there.” He knew he couldn’t willingly get into his car and drive over there.

“What would you rather do?” She had almost expected this kind of reaction because she knew how he felt about them, but if she had to go and visit his mother, she could drag him over to her sister’s.

“I would rather do anything, anything else.”

She didn’t answer. They each took a shower. Afterwards, she asked, “Want to go to New York City and eat at a French restaurant?”

“That would be fine,” said Hank.

They drove to the city in a happy mood. Neil Young’s “When You Dance” led the way. The rush hour traffic had just cleaned out and the night belonged to them.

“What were you like as a little boy, Hank?”

“How old?”

“I don’t know. What the youngest you can remember?”

“Eleven,” said Hank.

She laughed hard. “That old? Maybe you weren’t born the normal way, Hank. Maybe you’re a Martian.” She seemed carried away by her own giggles . “Do you think you’re a mutant, Hank?” She laughed harder. “I’m sure that you’re a mutant.”

At first he felt offended but eventually began to laugh along with her. “I always liked my favorite Martian when I was a kid.”

“You mean the show where the guy sprouts little antenna?” said Jo Lee. “You know where I saw that show for the first time? I was in a hotel room with this boy named Mickey. We were on vacation with our parents, and he and I snuck back to the room when we knew they wouldn’t miss us. He had the weirdest thing…” She stopped. “Hank, does it bother you when I talk about other guys?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Of course not,” she said laughing again. “You’re a Martian.

The car went through the tunnel and her transformation was immediate and complete. She’d forgotten to tell him that she’d much rather go over the bridge. She curled up into a ball and timidly reached for his hand. She brought it to her mouth and sucked lightly on her index finger. Hank had never seen her react like this before. He squeezed her hand and didn’t ask any questions. By the time they’d left the tunnel, he loved her more deeply than ever before. He asked himself what her childhood must have been like to cause her to react this way.

Ron made it to Rebecca’s in record time. When he didn’t think about the bashed-in trunk, he had to admit that he liked the way the car rode. She had her hair pulled back in a pony tail. Ron didn’t like the effect. It enhanced her little girlishness and revealed two more zits on her face. He liked it better when she looked full grown.

“Where are we gonna work?” said Ron hoping for immediate isolation from the Ranelli clan.

“Up stairs,” said Rebecca, showing her dimples.

“In your room?”

“No, in the attic.” he leaned against the fold-down ladder with a dreamy look. “This place was always very special to me. It’s where I used to go to be alone.”

Ron was anxious to get upstairs before he was intercepted by any of the Ranellis. The A-shaped attic had been furnished, carpeted and filled with enough stuffed animals and pillows to give it the appearance of a cross between a sheik’s den and a dollhouse. “It’s really quiet up here,” she said. Ron had just shaken his head in agreement when he felt someone shake the ladder and call up to them.

“Becky,” Ron recognized the kimono’s voice. “Would you like some brownies and coffee?”

“Do you want some coffee, Ron?”

“Do I ever say no to that?”

“I’ll come down and get it, Ma.”

She was gone a while and Ron settled into work on the article. She came back carrying a tray filled with fruit, cake, brownies, rolls, and cold cuts and a pot of coffee. “My mother gets insulted when people don’t eat,” she said, smiling.

“She probably jealous because they’re not fat,” he said

Rebecca didn’t like the comment at all. Her mother was generous with food and Rebecca had been raised to think it was important to be that way. “Why are you always so critical?”

“What do you mean?”

“Forget it.”
“I hate that,” said Ron dropping his spoon onto the tray for emphasis.

“Hate what?” said Rebecca with a glare.

“When people tease me. You know start to say something and then don’t finish it like it’s some sort of big mystery.”

“I don’t understand you. You can be really nice. Then it’s like you see yourself being nice and have to do something to change it.”

He spread his arms in a show of innocence. “What do I do?”

“Let’s not argue,” said Rebecca. “Let’s get to work.”

Ron lit a cigarette and tried to think about the article. He drew a blank, not an image, not a word. He looked over to see what Rebecca was doing. History. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d opened his history book, or his math book, or his psychology book. He’d dropped his language class so he wouldn’t have to walk around with the sinking feeling that he was sure to fail one. He tried to get back to work.

About forty-five minutes later, he had a draft of something that spoke in general terms about people’s need to become educated about the war. He liked the ending that he’d penned. “The only serious question that we must ask ourselves, is whether the good life is worth the slaughter. If your answer is yes, then all I can say is that some day I hope to be looking to slaughter you.” Ron reread it. It was very short, but all he really wanted to say was contained in that one line. It was the truth. He felt it with every part of him while he looked around Rebecca’s playroom.

He leaned back and watched her as she read. He thought it was odd the way her mind seemed only able to go so far with things.

After that something happened. It was like she went on overload. A voice inside reminded him that she would probably earn better grades than he would this semester. If grades are all I’m really interested in, I might as well go back to IBM and get evaluated every six months.

“What are you thinking about?” said Rebecca, noticing that it had been some time since he’d been writing or staring at her chest.

“IBM,” said Ron. He tried to catch her reaction. People always reacted to his association with the company. He thought he saw her eyes widen a little but nothing more.

“It seems strange that you came from there.”

“Don’t I look like the type?” he said with a conceited grin.

“It’s not that. It makes you seem like you should be more experienced than you are.”

Ron took her in his arms. “Don’t I seem experienced?” He decided that the last line of the article was a good one.

“Not really.”

Ron flinched and let go of her. “You’re so abrupt,” she said. Ron got gloomy as instantly as a damp cellar. Rebecca was sorry that she had hurt his feelings. She hadn’t planned for the evening to go this way. She looked around for some way to give things a different tone. “Do you want to listen to some music?” she said.

She got the reaction she was looking for. His scowl instantly disappeared and was replaced by curiosity. She smiled. “Let’s take a look.”

Ron settled on a Byrds album because it had two Dylan tunes that he wanted to tell her about. She didn’t bother to point out that it was her record as they talked. After “Mr. Tambourine Man” was finished, he said, “Did you ever want to die?”

“No,” said Rebecca. “I don’t even feel like I’ve begun to live yet.”

“I’ve dreamed of being dead a lot of times.”

She squinted her eyes. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron, “I’m pretty crazy, you know. I’ve been through three shrinks.”

Rebecca squinted again. She wasn’t sure if he was making it up and if she really should be seeing this person. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing contagious or harmful to anyone but myself,” he said, thinking that she wouldn’t think he wasn’t experienced now.

Rebecca was curious in a way she hadn’t felt before. She wondered why he was troubled. She wondered if she was fated to be the one who helped him. She wanted him, at that moment, to need her. She felt Ron squeeze her right breast and said, “You like to touch them, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see them too?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Turn your back a second.” She unbuttoned her blouse and slipped her breasts from their halter. She took hold of one in each hand and held them up, hoping he would be gentler this time. “Ron,” she said. Ron turned around and gaped. They looked great. He lowered his mouth onto the one he’d been squeezing. Rebecca thought he looked just like a little baby. She leaned back and let go of the breast in his mouth and continued to stroke the one he hadn’t gotten to. Ron sucked for all he was worth, wondering if he was doing it the right way and hoping it was getting her hot. He wanted her to touch his prick. Everything had been one sided up until now. If she would just rub his cock one time, it would be indescribably good. His crotch began to look for her hands to rub against, but it was too awkward when he located them. He let the tit come out of his mouth, leaned across her body for the other one and pulled it to him like it was made out of rubber. He straddled her knees and lowered his starch stiff cock onto them. The feel of her legs against his jeans made him quiver. He rubbed harder. Rebecca though he looked comical and was having trouble not bursting out in the gale of giggles that swirled around inside of her. He moaned and it was more than she could take. Because Ron was suctioned to her chest, he didn’t know what the shaking of her body was. He thought that she must be very excited and maybe even having an orgasm. He sucked steadily and waited for her to touch him. Then he heard her laughing.

He popped away from her and got off the couch. “What’s that matter?”

“I don’t know,” she said trying to compose herself. “Maybe I’m just not in the mood for this tonight.

He wanted to tell her that she looked stupid sitting there laughing with her tits hanging out and that he didn’t care if she touched his cock or not. She probably didn’t want to anyway. She’d probably never touched a cock in her life, he told himself while he lit a cigarette and tried not to let her see him staring at her boobs. He pictured her sitting at a reception desk at IBM with her boobs hanging out. He pictured his boss walking in holding his morning coffee. “Good morning, Boobs,” said his boss. Boobs smiled and squeezed her pride and joys.

Rebecca closed up her blouse loosely and sat up.

“Do you want to hear what I wrote?” said Ron.

“Yes,” said Rebecca, thinking that he didn’t have too good a sense of humor and wondering why boys didn’t understand that seduction is silly and happy, too. He finished reading it to her and she said, “Why are you so angry?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I guess it’s part of what I write about.”

“Don’t you ever write about other things?”

“Just things that are important,” said Ron. “You know,” said Ron, “I don’t spell that well, and I don’t have a good sense of grammar. It makes it sound pretty silly to want to be a writer, doesn’t it?”

She tucked in her shirt and sat up on her knees. “Did you always know what you wanted to do?”

“It changes,” said Ron. “Rebecca what’s going on with us?”

She took hold of his hands and stared at him intensely. “Ron, when a woman wants to be intimate, she let’s the guy know. A sign went on in his head. This was it. He began to breathe faster. “Tonight just doesn’t seem like the right time.” Ron stared at her and blinked. “It’s not that I don’t find you attractive.” She paused and could see that he was sulking. “Okay, don’t listen to me if you don’t want to.” She let go of his hands and began to gather up her books thinking that she hadn’t really gotten any work done.

Ron wanted to leave and it seemed like she was ready for the same thing. He inadvertently yawned. It was after 10 o’clock and he had to be back at school early in the morning and go to all of the classes he’d been cutting regularly.

Chapter 35

A bright sun shone on the morning of the Moratorium. Ron took it as a sign that the day was going to go well. At 9 a.m. he, the cartoonist and Laureen made a clandestine drop of five hundred Commuter issues at three local high schools. Everything went without a hitch. They simply walked in when they heard a change of class bell and left the materials in scattered piles around the hallways. They’d quickly tell anybody in the vicinity who looked cool to be sure that the word got around. They encountered several semi-startled teachers, one of whom Ron presented with a personal copy of the paper and a “just visiting” thrown back over his shoulder. Walking quickly, he made his way out the back door feeling like a commando.

The Moratorium program was in full swing when they got back to the college. Film clips by Viet Nam Vets Against the War were shown non-stop in the gym, followed by twenty-minute question and answer periods each hour. The social science teachers had come through in spades, providing a series of lectures that traced our history of involvement in Southeast Asia and projecting into the future, implications for global politics. A guerilla theater project was slated for the auditorium at noon, and the vets who still supported the war put on a program of opposing viewpoints in one of the larger classrooms.

The college was filled with strange, milling bodies. The snack bar and cafeteria ran out of food by noon and had to close. They reopened after some hasty and gleeful shopping. The administration took the occasion to set up a table outside the admissions office stacked with applications and booklets. Ron traveled from seminar to seminar with a notebook in which he made very few entries.

It seemed that he was always too busy to write anything down. He spent the day traveling alone and avoiding the newspaper room so that he wouldn’t come into contact with Julian’s wrapping ceremony. In his rush to get the last issue out, he’d neglected to assign any of the staff to cover any of the events. When the thought occurred to him, he dismissed the notion by thinking there was nothing he could do about it now. When he finally decided that it was safe to go to the newspaper room, he found it empty and untouched. He told himself that it was evidence that Julian was full of shit. The day had been successful. As far as Ron could figure, most of the faculty had canceled classes and were taking part in seminars that seemed to be happening everywhere or attending the ones at which their colleagues were speaking. Ron had even seen real newspaper people there.

Rebecca came into The Commuter room, and Ron felt uncomfortable about her being there. It didn’t seem like she belonged. He looked down into a group of pamphlets that were spread out in front of him and looked up again when she standing next to him.

“Are you very busy?”

“Not any more,” he said. “Do you want to get some coffee?”

“I can’t. I’ve got to go. I just wanted to stop by and say hello.”

Ron glanced back down at the group of things he’d been pretending to read and decided that he did want to read them. “Did you go to any of the seminars?”

“I went to see both groups of veterans,” she said.

Ron thought, “That’s all?” It sounded like she hadn’t taken full advantage of things.

“What did you go to see?”

Ron disliked the way she phrased the question. She made it sound like rides at a carnival. “I don’t remember everything. It seems like I was all over.”

“I know. Joan said that she saw you.”

“Who’s Joan?”

“One of my friends.”

“I don’t know her.”

“She knows you.”

“How?”

“A lot of people know you, Ron.”

He wanted to tell her how much he hated the idea that one of her friends had seen him and reported back to her. “Was I doing anything special when she saw me?”

“She didn’t say that you were.” Rebecca began curling her hair around her fingers. “Why? What were you doing today?” she said teasingly.

“What?” He escalated his voice so that his annoyance was unmistakable.

“I’ve got to go now,” said Rebecca.

She left the room and he began pacing. He lit a cigarette and headed to get some coffee. There were still plenty of people around but, for the most part, things were over. Laureen called to him from one of the snack bar tables. She was sitting with a guy that he didn’t know. When he arrived at the table, the guy stood up and said that maybe he would talk to her some other time. Laureen dismissed him and turned her attention to Ron. “So,” she said, “how are you doin’?”

“Good. Do you think any of those high school kids came?”

“Sure,” said Laureen. “A chance to get outta school with what they considered to be a good excuse. hey came.” She sounded like she was talking about a successful sale.

Ron didn’t think she was that pretty and he wasn’t even sure that he’d want to fuck her, but she was smart. “Are you doing anything on Saturday afternoon?”

“I don’t think so.” She looked at him sharply and wasn’t smiling.

“Did you know that the Jefferson Airplane was giving a free concert in Central Park?”

“I heard something about it.”

“Do you want to go?”

“All right.” She gathered her hair at one side of her face. He smiled his acceptance smile at her. She returned a quick grin that only drew her mouth into a momentary line, but the line never curved into the U of a smile. It just disappeared. He gathered that she had tried to smile.

“I’ll need to know where you live.” She drew a map on a napkin and explained how to get to her house. Ron didn’t pay much attention because directions never made any sense to him when people said them. He would just look at the map later and figure things out.

With that out of the way they talked about which people they both knew at the college. He noticed that her eyes lit up, and she was able to muster a smirk when he told her that Chris was one of his friends.

“He just tries to be everybody’s friend, doesn’t he?” she said, teasing.

“I guess so,” said Ron, feeling relegated. “I guess you also know Julian?”

“He introduced me to almost everybody I’ve met here.”

“He’s gonna love to hear that you’re going out with me,” said Ron.

“Why?” she said. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Ron smiled but she wasn’t looking. Ron could have sworn that she’d seen the smile coming and deliberately turned away.

They both looked up when Chris trumpeted his “All right!” and sat down with a can of soda. He was bobbing his head emphatically. He lit a cigarette and began tapping his foot.

“Why are you always so antsy?” asked Laureen, laughing for what Ron thought was the first time in her life. It was a stuttering laugh that resembled someone pronouncing the word “oh” and getting stuck in the middle of it. Ron and Chris watched her laugh for a few seconds.

“I don’t know,” said Chris, looking at his tapping foot without stopping the rhythm.

“Have you seen Julian? He was supposed to meet me here but there’s no sign of him.”

“Oh yeah,” said Chris snapping his finger and sitting up straighter. “He called me upstairs before and said that if I saw you, I should tell you to give him a call at home.” Chris was surprised that he’d seen her and even more surprised that he’d remembered to deliver the message.

“Is something the matter with him?”

“I think he’s crashing again.”

“Well I better go call him.”

Ron watched her ass as she walked away. It was nothing either. “Do you know her good?” he said to Chris. “She’s a friend of Julian’s”

“I’m taking her out on Saturday.”

“Well, all right.” Chris snapped his fingers again. “What do we do now?”

“I’m too tired to do anything else today.”

“Do you want to get stoned?”

“Always.”

Ron followed Chris back to his house, saying that he would leave for home from there. Chris had a joint rolled, and they smoked it as he rolled another one, which he lit immediately.

“This is pretty good pot,” said Ron. Actually it had the taste of low grade Jamaican, but he was getting pretty high. “It’s not the same stuff we smoked the other day, is it?”

Chris shook his head sadly. “That’s all gone.”

“That’s the way it always is. You start getting used to something good and then it isn’t there anymore.”

“The good pot will start coming in soon,” said Chris.

“What do you mean?” Ron knew about summer droughts but he never made a connection between time of the year and quality.

“The crops will be in. They been harvesting for a little while already. You can tell by the number of seeds and the amount resin whether or not they were mature when they were cut. The stuff we’ve been getting has very little seed in it.” Chris picked up his guitar and was strumming it as he talked.

“I guess I really don’t know anything about it,” said Ron. “Do you know any Dylan songs?”

“A couple” Chris broke into a series of chords that were nothing to brag about.

“It Ain’t Me Babe.”

“Give it a try,” said Ron. He watched the way Chris’ hands moved on the guitar neck with admiration. It was a Fender Stratocaster, but Ron didn’t know it.

Chris stopped playing and plugged the guitar into an amplifier. “Did you take lessons?” said Ron.

“2 years.”

“Why’d you stop?”

“Watch.” He played a scale. Then he played another. And another. “After two years this was what I was still doing.” He began to sing, “Go away from my window…” He shook his head. “What comes next?”

“Leave at your own chosen speed.”

“Leave…” he stopped again. The chord hadn’t sounded right. He tried again. “Yeah, that’s it. Leave at your own chosen speed.” He couldn’t remember anything past the first verse, but he played it three times and Ron was satisfied.

“Did you ever play?” said Chris.

Ron thought about Stanky Delvello. The guy was a midget. Ron had gone to his music shop to learn how to play the piano. He loved it and practiced whenever he could, but the problem was that nobody he knew owned a piano. He rented time on the one in back of Stanky’s shop, but it got too expensive and they never heard him play anything that resembled anything. They thought he probably wasn’t any good.

At one point, Ron tried drawing a keyboard on toilet paper. It took over an hour and it ripped immediately. The solution was simple; they got him an accordion. He told Marjorie and Stanky that he liked it alot. The truth was that he hated it more than anything else he’d ever seen in his life. It wheezed and reminded him of being sick. He found excuses to drop it and knock it over but the thing was as durable as steel. Then he just wouldn’t practice anymore. He told them that he wanted to play the saxophone. The doctor said that because of his asthma it was out of the question. So they gave him a coronet. He felt like he was in the army and practiced by waking them up with it. He tried the trombone briefly but bent the slide during a tantrum in his second week of practice.

“No,” he said, “I don’t play anything, but I love music.” Ron listened as he played soft blues riffs. “You need calluses for the guitar, don’t ya?” It was the one thing he knew about playing the instrument.

“Yeah, but they don’t hurt.”

“The real question is how they feel on tits,” said Ron with a mock seriousness.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” said Chris.

“Ah, but what about compliments.”

Chris broke into an instrumental version of “As Tears Go By” and Ron said, “How far can I go with the newspaper before I get into real trouble?”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke, right?”

“Within reason.” Chris played as they talked for a long time. Finally, he said, “What are you going to do now?”

“Head on home, I guess.”

“Do you want to stay for dinner?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve got to get some reading done for class tomorrow.”

“Are you going out with Rebecca tomorrow?” said Chris.

“Maybe.”

“I think I might take Patti out.”

“The girl from the meeting?”
“She’s friends with Rebecca, “Do you want to do something together?”

“That might be ok.”

“Where does she think you’re taking her?”

“I haven’t asked her yet.”

Patti was not the type of girl he would have pictured Chris with. Ron figured he had his pick of anybody he wanted and Patti had stiffened up every time Bobby had said anything off color. She looked okay but she wasn’t spectacular and there was surely no hope of getting laid anytime soon. “When do you think you’ll ask her?”

“Why don’t you call Rebecca and give me a call back later,” said Chris. “Otherwise there’s a party on Saturday night that I know she’ll be at. Want to take a ride down there with me?”

“Sure,” said Ron a little bewildered.

He was relaxed on the ride home. He pictured news of the Moratorium going out to each of the houses he drove past. He pictured families in heated discussions about the necessities of other wars. Then he pictured the responses of people from his generation talking about the horror of present and future wars. He pictured himself saying, “What do these people want that’s so different from what we wanted when we became a country?” There’s was never an answer to that. Older people just shook their heads and said that things weren’t like that now.”

Chapter 36

“Explain the difference between what is public and what is private.” Lashly divided a board into two panels and placed the key words on either side. Ron had finished the assignment but saw no connection between it and the question.

“Private is what you don’t want people to know and public is what it’s okay for them to know,” said the long-haired blonde kid who was always talking.

A brown-haired girl who wore a cape with a playboy insignia on it said, “Private is what you feel inside. Everything else is public.”

The girl with the longest red hair Ron had ever seen, said, “I don’t agree with that. My family knows a lot of things about me that I wouldn’t want to see published in a newspaper or even mentioned in this class.” Irene turned around to watch her when she spoke.

“If, at a party this weekend, your father turns to you in front of all his friends and allies and asks you how much you love him, what would you say?”

“That it was a stupid question,” said the redhead.

Lashly laughed. “Why would you call it stupid?”

“Because he should know how much I love him and not embarrass me like that.” The girl was almost indignant, and Ron agreed with her. Then she said, “I’d tell him, I guess.”

Lashly wasn’t finished. “Would you give him your private or your public answer?”

“What do you mean?”

Lashly returned to the board. “What is the difference between what is public and what is private?” No one’s hand went up.

He let the question sit like a fog moving in with the twilight. He lit his pipe and wandered over to the windows. Ron hadn’t taken his eyes or concentration off what was going on for a second. He was convinced that every action was in some way a tie into what he was talking about. “All right,” said Lashly, “let’s drop back some. A parent owes a child certain obligations. What are they?”

The tension was relieved when several people contributed with easy, rapid fire answers. Ron didn’t say anything. He waited to see if everything he thought of was brought out. It was. It surprised him. You could sit there quiet sometimes and still get your point represented. “Okay” said Lashly. “Now let’s go the other way. What obligations do children owe to their parents?”
The blond kid pointed to himself and said, “What do we owe them?”

Lashly sucked on his pipe and smiled condescendingly. “You got the idea.”

“I know what I owe my old man,” said the kid making a ‘one of these days I’m gonna get good and drunk and give it to him’ fist.

Lashly threw back his head and laughed his horse laugh. “That’s very good.” He picked up the tempo by speaking quickly. Ron watched about six quick words go up. “Is that all?” said Lashly rhetorically. “I guess so. Let’s see the hands of the people who put their answers on this side.” A group of hands, five female, one male, lifted into the air. Lashly made mention of it.

Ron stuck up his hand. “What’s that supposed to mean to us?”

“I suppose it could mean that women have a stronger sense of family responsibility than men do.”

“That’s ridiculous,” said Ron.

“Well just hang on for a minute there and we’ll see if we can make sense of it for you.”

Lashly never returned to Ron’s point. Ron waited for there to be some coming back to it for the rest of the class. The last minutes were taken up with a reading of the “Nothing will come of nothing” exchange that occurs during the first act. Ron felt tricked when the class ended. He told himself that what he’d said was too much trouble for Lashly to deal with.

“I decided on a topic for the theme of my paper.”

“Hadn’t you already decided on something?” said Lashly.

“No,” said Ron.

“What is it?” he stuck his pipe in his mouth and fumbled for his matches.

“I want to write about how different writers have reacted to wars,” said Ron proudly.

“What writers and what wars?” Lashly was leaning back in his chair and smiling at Irene who sat at her desk bolding up a book.

“What about people who are still alive and this war?”

“Nobody has really written about this war yet,” said Lashly.

“What about Dylan and Ginsberg?” said Ron like he held a trump card.

“Dylan’s not a poet at all, and Ginsberg’s second rate at best.” Lashly knew, of course, that several other writers had written about Viet Nam, but he was almost certain that Ron didn’t and the lesson was to have him work hard at something.

Ron thought about how to tell him that he thought he was a jerk-off. He decided to deal with the Ginsberg thing first. After he told him what he thought of his comment about Dylan, there wouldn’t be a lot more to say. “What do you mean by second rate?”

“He’s an imitation of Whitman and he’s not as good,” Lashly said crossly. He leaned forward and tamped down his pipe.

Ron remembered that Whitman had written a long thing about himself. Ron had been told to read it in high school, but it was confusing and he didn’t read it. Ginsberg was in the flesh now though. His brain was alive and reaching for answers that hadn’t been discovered. That was true of Dylan also. What he thought about The Civil War wasn’t going to change anything, but if more people didn’t wake up real the fuck soon. “Look man,” said Ron as Lashly sneered. “Ginsberg is a goddamned good poet and you just don’t understand Dylan at all.”

Lashly studied him quietly. “So what you want to write is a piece of research comparing Dylan and Ginsberg’s positions on the war?”

“Sort of,” said Ron. It sounded like what he wanted to do. But the way Lashly pronounced Dylan’s name left him feeling sure that they didn’t have the same thing in mind. Lashly made him sound stupid and taken for granted.

“I think it’s beneath your capabilities and that you really won’t learn anything but go ahead.”

Ron stared at his shoes. It was difficult for him to say, but he mumbled out, “Is there something else that you want me to do?” He looked up in time to catch Lashly grinning over at Irene. Anger flared up again but it was confused by the sense of embarrassment that he was feeling. He clenched his fists. He needed to hit something – the blackboard, the wall, anything to keep from hitting Lashly, he told himself. He couldn’t act like he used to. He remembered the time at D’Amato’s bowling alley back in Newark. He hadn’t thrown a strike when he needed to and lost the game for his team. The other team cheered when he put the ball right in the pocket and left a five-pin. “No ball,” they screamed. Ron headed for the stucco wall and pounded it until everybody was quiet. He put a large hole in the wall and his hand was dripping blood onto the alleys when he came back over to his lane. His friend Billy came over with a towel and told him to wipe his hand. Ron was surprised when he saw the blood. “You’re a fuckin animal,” said Billy.

“The topic has to be yours,” said Lashly.

“Look, I’ll just redo the other paper, ‘ said Ron.

“That’s fine,” said Lashly grinning. Ron hadn’t wanted to return the grin, but he did, without knowing why he was grinning.

On his way back to the newspaper room, he was stopped by Dean of Students, Marvel. He looked well groomed as always. “Ron, can I see you in my office for a few minutes?”

“Do you mind if I get some coffee first? I’m really draggin’, you know?”

“I’ll be waiting for you,” said Marvel.

The same smile that Ron had left him with still seemed to be on his face when Ron came into Marvel’s office holding his container. “Would you close the door, Ron?”

Ron sat down and took his pie slice out of his container lid. He wanted to be sure not to spill any coffee in Marvel’s office. “Do you know anything about this last issue of “The Commuter” being brought over to Westfield, Cranford, and Union High Schools?”

“I don’t think so,” said Ron. “It looked like there were a lot of high school students here and ‘The Commuter’ is free to anybody who takes it.”

“All three principals said that large bundles of the paper were brought into their schools on the morning of the Moratorium. They attribute the abnormal number of cuts they had to the paper’s unauthorized presence.”

“It would have been better if they’d canceled classes and sent their students over to learn something,” said Ron quickly. He took out his cigarettes and lit one. Marvel watched him light it. “Do you have an ashtray?” said Ron.

Ron took a drag on the cigarette and before he realized what he’d done, blew smoke at Marvel. “I think our discussion is over,” said Marvel without a smile.

Surprised by what he’d done, Ron left the office without saying another word. He saw a no smoking sign hung on Marvel’s wall. He wondered if he was in trouble. Marvel seemed to know that he’d done it.

Hank and his mother sat in silence at the kitchen table. She had been reading a book when he arrived. It lay face down on the table. She stared at the cover. Hank was watching her with a sense of calm within him. At the very quiet times, when they were alone, he liked her company. “Are you going to stay for dinner, Hank?” she asked without looking up.

His watch read barely 1:30. “I don’t think so.”

“Have you decided when you want to go back to school yet?” she whispered, sounding to Hank like a kitchen librarian.

“Maybe in January.”
“You know how your father and I feel about your education.”

Hank shook his head. “It’s not going to be a problem.”

Her face was pudgy and smooth. She had no chin. “Aunt Margaret was asking for you.”

“How’s Aunt Margaret?” he said in the sarcastic voice he always used when he talked about any of his relatives. She used to like it that he wasn’t taken in by them, but now it made her want to cry.

“I don’t like Aunt Margaret much either,” she whispered.

“You never did,” smiled Hank.

“She gave me $50 for you and Jo Lee.” Hank’s face got bright, and she stared into his eyes. “Are you really married to this girl?”

“Yes.”

She looked back down at the cover of the book and handed him two envelopes. One had Aunt Margaret’s $50. The other had $40 in it. That was from her. It was a $90 visit. His value was on the rise. Hank, your father wants to know if you want him to find you a job?”

“A job? With him?”

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” said Hank firmly.

She agreed. “But what should I tell him?”

“That it’s too far for me to travel.”

“I know.”

“Tell him OK, he’ll believe that,” said Hank’s mother.

Hank went into his old room to look around. She had already there. She fills up any crevice that doesn’t get used daily. Everything could be a closet. His father said that she’d always been like that. She would visibly squirm when he asked her about it. Hank saw his bowling ball in the bag and looked at it with disdain. “At least I’m not taking that with me ever again.”

On his way home, he stopped off and bought Jo Lee a pair of lace silky panties and a bottle of champagne. She was never sleepy when she just got home from work, and he was going to wait up for her.

They could live it up on the $20 he’d brought home when her days off came.
Ron heard the phone ringing as he opened the door. He heard Marjorie say, “Who’s calling please?” in the voice that meant it was for George or him.

“I’m home,” he called from the hallway.

“All right Chris, I’ll have him call you when he gets here.”

“I am here,” said Ron holding out his hand for the phone.

She waved him away and said, “So long.”

“What did you do that for?”

“I’m expecting an important call. You can call him back later.” She looked at the name she’d written. “Do you know him?”

“He’s the President of the Student Council,” said Ron trying to make the title sound as important as possible.

“He sounds like a little kid on the phone.”

Ron’s face hardened. “What call are you waiting for?”

“The place I called for dinner reservations tomorrow night said they would have to call me back to verify our seating.”

“That’s the important call?” He turned around and started to walk back out of the house.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“To use the phone booth on the corner,” said Ron dejectedly.

“Wait a minute. Here’s $5. Get me a box of Kotex from the drugstore.”

He stared at her in disbelief. Why did she do things like this to him. He’d never understand. He felt like she was making him into a pretzel. “I got to get outta here,” he said as he walked to the corner.

Chris had called to say that Rebecca and Patti had everything all set up. “Far out,” said Ron. Then he felt stupid for having said it. “Where do you want to go?”

“The traditional movies or bowling alley,” said Chris.

“They’re both fine.” It would be great if Chris picked bowling.

“You and I are picking them up at Rebecca’s house. I’ll drive,” said Chris. “Come on over whenever you want. We’re supposed to meet them at 7:30.”

Chapter 37

Ron drove to Chris’ house feeling a little strange about never having discussed the date with Rebecca. He wondered if he should have called her to check things through, but he hadn’t thought of it until he was on the road. She seemed secondary to the evening. I’ll tell her that it seemed romantic and exciting to meet her without having spoken to her first, he thought. Then he thought that if he said that it would be the first time he’d ever made up anything that stupid.

They’d smoked two joints by the time they got to Rebecca’s. Rebecca answered the door, and Ron greeted her with a stoned smile plastered on his face. He could see Patti standing at the other end of the room scratching one of her hands with the other. Chris hung off to the side and out of sight from the doorway.

Ron noticed that Rebecca was wearing these earrings that sparkled in the light. He thought they looked kind of stupid. “Hi,” she said. “Are you guys gonna come in, or do you want to leave right away?”

“I don’t know,” said Ron.

“Let’s split,” said Chris.

“Hi Chris,” said Rebecca with a charming smile. “Okay, we’ll be right back.”

“I hate parents,” said Chris.

“They never like me either,” said Ron.

“The worst.”

They were still consoling each other when the girls came out onto the porch. Ron couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was a little off and out of place. He was too old or not the right blood type or something. Patti and Chris fell into step behind Ron and Rebecca. “Where are we going?” said Rebecca.

Ron didn’t answer. It wasn’t like him to not have a solid plan, but this didn’t feel at all like one of his dates.

“What would you like to do?” Chris asked Patti.

“I don’t know.”

Ron thought that it might be the first time he’d heard her speak. He didn’t care what they decided to do as long as he could afford it.

“Nunzio and The Neurotic Nemesis is playing up in Morristown,” said Chris. “We could go catch some of that.”

“That sounds good,” said Ron. He was in the mood for live music.

“I would enjoy that,” said Rebecca.

“What about your vote?” Chris said to Patti.

“I don’t care,” she answered.

On the ride up to hear the band, Chris lit a joint and handed it to Patti. “This is pot!” she said loudly. She held it in front of her and stared at it. “I don’t take this.”

“That’s cool,” said Chris. “Pass it back to Ron. I think he’d like some.”

Rebecca was watching Ron closely as he took a hit on the joint. He stared back at her. “Do you want some?” She didn’t answer. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s not my decision,” said Rebecca.

Ron wondered why she had to express herself with such little cool. He wasn’t asking for her approval. He decided to offer it to her again.

“I don’t want it,” she said sharply. Ron wished they could dump the girls right there. He handed the joint back to Chris.

Jo Lee came home from work and found Hank sitting at the kitchen table with the champagne iced in a converted planter next to two glasses and a corkscrew. He’d wrapped the panties in fine, white tissue. “Hi,” he said cheerfully.

“Hi,” she said with a definitely restrained happiness. She walked slowly up to the kitchen table and didn’t sit down. She looked at the bottle and the tissue. “Would you mind giving it to me in the morning. I’m really tired right now.”

“Sure,” said Hank. He looked down at the bottle and the tissue. “What should I do with these?”

“We’ll have it for breakfast,” she said. She hugged him. “Come to bed with me, Hank.”

Once they settled into the double bed, Hank snuggled the covers over his shoulders so that he was warm and comfortable and they would stay there without him having to hold them. She was staring at the ceiling. “Hank, do you know how much I hate the job I do?”

Hank didn’t know what to say to her. Finally, he said, “Yeah, working sucks,” and went to sleep.
The date was a disaster. The music gave Patti a headache. Ron could think of nothing he wanted to say to Rebecca and even Chris stopped trying to perk the evening up when he realized it was doomed. On the way home Ron asked Rebecca if he should have Chris drop them at his car before he took Patti home.

“Patti is staying at my house,” said Rebecca.

“That figures,” said Ron before he was able to check himself.

“Your attitude is just wonderful,” she said.

“I’m glad you like it.” He’d been through enough of this. He didn’t care if she ever touched his cock.

There was a note on the table saying that there was something special in the refrigerator for them. It was Becky’s favorite box cake. Trying to manage a little privacy for Patti and Chris, Rebecca asked Ron if he would help her make some coffee. In the kitchen she imagined that Chris was asking her out. She would want to go out with him very much. She couldn’t figure out why he wanted Patti.

“What are you thinking about?” said Ron.

“Chris and Patti.”

Ron gave her a demeaning chuckle. Rebecca’s eyes flared at him. How crude he could be. It was almost as if no one had ever taught him anything. He stared at the floor for a long minute and then walked over and stood next to her at the counter. He blew in her ear. She flinched and moved a step away. “Things aren’t working out that great between us, are they?” he said grinning what he hoped was a sweet smile.

She turned to face him trying to remember what caused her to think this bastard was interesting. “No, they’re not.”

“I’m really fucked up,” he said in a self-pitying, bitter voice.

“The problem isn’t that you’re fucked up,” she said harshly. It was the first time he’d ever heard her use the word fuck. It intrigued him. “What do you mean?”

“We’re just different that’s all.” She’d been thinking about it for two days and it finally was clear enough for her to express. “We’re moving in different directions and rubbing each other the wrong way.”

“Oh yeah. Where do you figure you’re going?”

“I can’t talk to you at all any more.”

“That sounds like the solution to me,” said Ron.

Rebecca blinked. “What?”

“Let’s do it,” said Ron. He felt more confident with her than he had felt all week. “Let’s forget this… a…” He stopped and showed her a hard mask of a face. “What would you call what we have?” He spit the question at her with a voice that had lost all the restraint he’d been telling himself that he needed. He growled it.

Rebecca felt confusion. She had been more than prepared to let this thing go. It had only been a couple weeks. She hadn’t even slept with him yet. There had been a few good times when he brought her feelings alive with a tiny series of electric tingles that weren’t exactly in her body and weren’t exactly in her head. “I don’t really feel that we should be talking like this while we have friends over,” said Rebecca.

She’s treating me like I’m her fuckin’ husband, thought Ron. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

They had their coffee and cake with a smooth dullness. Each of them directed conversation at Patti and Chris and were very polite. They got in the car to leave and Chris said, “Pretty boring, huh?”

“Yeah,” said Ron. By this time he was just happy to be out of there. He would feel even less restricted when he had access to his own car. He thought affectionately about it. For all the abuse he’d heaped on the thing, it was coming through for him in spades. It was true that he’d never come up with a combination of ropes and wires that lasted for more than a couple days, but that was cosmetic. The important thing was that it never kept him from going anywhere.

“I feel like driving down to the ocean,” said Chris.

“When? Now?”

“Maybe not. Do you want to see if the frat party is still going on?”

“By now they should be drunk enough to be puking on each other, right?”

Chris laughed. “Some of them probably will be.”

“Yeah, I don’t care, let’s go.”

The party was at the Pi house in Roselle Park. Ron was amazed at how everybody seemed to know Chris so well. The living room fireplace bulged with a pile of empty cans that extended up the chimney. Four frat brothers were lying across two couches with beer cans in their hands. They weren’t talking or moving. Chris and Ron moved into the kitchen where an argument was progressing about whether the girl upstairs was spending the night.

“That whore has been bangin’ away up there since 11 o’clock,” said Bill who let a slight trail of beer dribble out of his mouth as he talked. “The bed is going to stink of cunt as it is. Real nice for Judy and me.”

Dave looked up from the Formica table with a tired disgusted expression. “Did you really expect to be able to spend a quiet night here with a party going on.”

“I don’t give a shit about the party. I’m paying a full rent and I want the room now!” he banged his fist on the table.

Dave didn’t look frightened. “I don’t know what to tell you. Chris,” he waved. “Come on in.”

“This is a friend from school. Ron Tuck,” said Chris.

Dave gave Ron a funny look. “The radical press, huh?”

Ron didn’t respond, but Bill wove his way over to him.

“You gonna write a story about how there’s no niggers here either?” Ron tensed and wondered if he should get the first shot in. He clenched his fists and hardened his face. He knew he could take this guy.

Dave stood up and moved in front of Bill. “Go back downstairs. You’re drunk and somebody’s probably down there playing with Judy’s tits, or trying to, while you’re up here fucking around.”

“This ain’t an open party,” said Bill. “What are these guys doin’ here?”

“They’re my friends,” said Dave. “We both lived at the shore house with Chris last summer.”

“You know I’m not talking about Chris.”

“Just go on downstairs.”

“Fuck everybody,” said Bill and slunk downstairs.

“The party’s really just about over anyway,” said Dave. They drank a beer and left. Ron was glad when they were back in the car. “Tonight was one huge success,” he said glumly.

“Fuck it,” said Chris. He rolled down the window to let the cold air in. Ron breathed deeply. Chris looked out at the clusters of suburban homes that spread for miles on all sides of them. “None of the people in these homes really want anything to change,” he said

“Then they’re useless,” snapped Ron.
“They’re just happy with what they have.”

“The price of what they have gets paid by other people who got nothing,” said Ron darkly.

“That may be true,” said Chris.

After Ron got home, he rolled a joint and went to bed. It was more of a ritual than a need to get any higher. He tried to sum up his relationship to the universe without the aid of a list or a common set of symbols. There may have indeed been a language through which he communicated with the images in the dark back yard, but he was never more than fleetingly aware of them. Whenever he tried to go back to what he thought was established between them, it changed. The eyes he stared with tonight would have made almost anyone ask him what the matter was, but he found a sense of comfort inside the dramatic intensity. The screen felt cold on his nose. When he blinked, his eyelashes brushed the wire. If I could just learn to be quiet, he told himself. Then the mood was broken and he went to sleep.

Jo Lee was gone when Hank woke up the next morning. The note said that she’d gone to her sister’s and would see him later. He went to the refrigerator to look for the champagne. It was untouched. Somehow, he wished she’d taken it with her. He drank a slow cup of coffee and chain-smoked until his sinuses began to clear. The slow moving mucus made its glacier-like move down the back of his throat until he could taste it. It would finally gag him, and he would run to the bathroom to spit it out. Then he’d return to the chair and repeat the process. An hour later he was ready to move around. He was usually sick to his stomach by then. Most of his days began like this, except for when he’d first gone to live with Jo Lee. It had almost completely disappeared. Now it happened every day again.

When he explained it to her, she screwed up her mouth and said, “That’s disgusting. I thought that you just got the shits.” After that, he tried to hide it from her whenever he could. If he could just stuff himself with enough coffee and tobacco, he could get along without it being noticeable, next to the pain in his chest that he got from all the coffee and tobacco. It might not have been the best solution but the operation to correct the problem was painful and Hank’s parents had convinced him that he didn’t need it because eventually it would just go away. Besides he didn’t ever seem to complain about it any more. Hank had learned to use it to keep them from coming around him. He could always drive them off by bringing up the presence of the slime. “The mucus,” he would say, putting his hand up over his mouth and nose. They would scurry off. He mostly used it to gain access to the bathroom where he could sit and wait for them to go out.

Chapter 38

Ron called Larueen to check on their date for The Airplane in the Park but got no answer. After the fourth call, he realized that he’d been stood up. He told himself that he really didn’t have enough money to be going to New York for any reason. He told himself that he was better off. She had only smiled at him one time in their whole conversation. That was probably why she was Julian’s friend. He wondered if Julian was behind him being stood up and decided that it wasn’t important. He was supposed to call Rebecca today anyway.

He spent the morning rewriting his paper. After a few hours, he felt good about the changes he’d made. It was closer to the way he saw things in his head than anything else he’d ever written. It bore a relationship to what he actually thought and described the process that brought him to his conclusion. It didn’t exactly look slick, but it sure as hell wasn’t sloppy either. There was just this one problem he had with pronouns. He was staring at the page in a state of complete immobility because he had no idea of the difference between its and it’s, or to and too for that matter. At least he knew they weren’t pronouns. Finally, he picked up his notebook and threw it across the room. It knocked over a glass of old water.

“What was that?” called Marjorie from the kitchen. She knocked quickly on the door as she opened it.

“I dropped a glass,” said Ron. He sat encased in a pile of crumpled papers and pointed to the overturned glass on the other side of the room.

“Aren’t you going to clean it up?”

“It’s only water. It won’t do any damage if I let it soak in. In fact, if I drop an occasional glass on different parts of the rug, it will eventually get washed.”

“You’re a son of a bitch.”

“That’s right,” he yelled as she closed the door. He got up to pick up the glass. He knew this wouldn’t be the last of it. He reached into his laundry bag and took out a dirty tee-shirt and stomped it into the wetness with his foot. Marjorie came back into the room while he was in the middle of the operation.

“You’re a pig.”

“Would you leave me alone so that I can get some work done,” he hollered.

“What work? Crappin’ up the house?” She raised her volume.” George, come here and see what he’s doing.”

“I’m leaving,” said Ron. “I mean for good. The hell with college. I can’t take living with you. You treat me like I’m twelve years old.”

“You got it pretty damn good here. Twenty years old and he quits a good job to go back to school. To learn what? ‘I don’t know’,” she said mimicking his confusion.

“You win,” he said speaking very slowly. “I’ll lap up the water if you want. Just go away and leave me alone. You’re right. I quit a good job and I’m not sure why. So you’d better hope that it works out or you’re going to have to buy padding for the walls in this room.”

“No,” she snarled back. “You’re the one that will drive me crazy. Then you can come and visit me at Overbrook on Sundays, and you won’t have to worry about what I say and what I don’t say.”

It was a standoff. She walked away and George came into the kitchen yelling, “What the hell is going on here?”

She’d wanted him five minutes ago to help her make a point. “Nothing,” she snapped. “You don’t care what happens here.”

“What did I do?” hollered George.

“What do you ever do?” she snarled back.

He turned red and hollered louder. “Don’t be treating me like an animal because you had a fight with him.”

Marjorie started to cry. It succeeded in making Ron feel guilty. He cleaned the room and they left him alone. While he was on his knees changing the mattress sheet, Chipper came over and licked his face. The dog always needed to be reassured after they hollered. Ron finished the cleaning and went out. He walked to the corner booth and called Rebecca. She was formal. “I thought about us last night,” she said. “Thanksgiving vacation starts on Tuesday. Let’s take a vacation from each other until after that.”

“Let’s just not see each other any more,” said Ron quickly. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit either.

“If that’s what you want.”

“You’re not leaving me much of a choice,” said Ron.

“Do you want to come down and talk about this,” she said.

“Not now,” said Ron. “I’ll call you again later if you want.”

“I don’t know,” said Rebecca. “I just don’t want to talk to you right now.”
“You called me!”

“Right,” said Ron, “Good bye.” He watched his hand hang the receiver up. He asked himself why he’d done that. He walked out of the booth and made a circle around it. He told himself that he was really going nuts.

Hank spent the day calculating the diminishing time he and Jo Lee had left before it was time for her to leave for work. She didn’t show up. He realized she wasn’t coming and he felt hurt, then angry, and finally worried. This last condition was the easiest for him to cope with. He spent the evening wondering if he should go down to the club or try to call her there. At midnight he realized that the only movements he’d made all day, that weren’t connected with the bathroom, had involved sitting in all four of the chairs around their kitchen table. He grimaced for what seemed like an hour and went to bed. He couldn’t sleep but it was quiet and he didn’t mind lying there.

He heard her come into the apartment, and he heard that she wasn’t alone. The refrigerator door opened and closed, followed by the popping of the champagne bottle. He flinched like he’d been hit and a tear squeezed out of his eye. She came into the room and turned on the overhead light. “We’ve got company,” she said. He squinted his eyes and sat up. “Don’t pretend to be asleep.” She smiled her elastic smile. “Come out and have a drink.”

“Who’s here?” said Hank.

“Vic, the piano player from the club,” said Jo Lee.

Hank flashed on how he got sick down at the club. “Why is he here?”

“Come out and have a drink,” she said firmly. “We want to talk to you.”

Hank didn’t like the way it sounded. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten to the other side of the “we” she had mentioned. “I’ll be right out,” he said.

When they were all in the living room, Hank in the armchair and the two of them on the couch, Vic casually draped his arm around Jo Lee’s neck. She moved out from underneath it. Hank watched her. She leaned forward and rubbed her palms on her thighs. “Do you want to do something exciting, Hank?” She had a secret smile on her face.

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s all go to bed together.”

Vic grinned and brought his arm back around Jo Lee’s shoulder. Hank watched as she let him hold her. “Have you been sleeping with him?” he asked weakly.

“We’ve slept together.” Her secret smile was fading. She leaned back against Vic, who was lighting a cigarette with one hand. “Come on Hank.” she said dreamily, “don’t get weird. It would be fun.”

“I’m going out,” said Hank. He walked into the bedroom to change into some reasonable clothes. She followed him.

“Are you leaving me?” she said.

“It doesn’t seem like you want me around.”

“I’d do this for you,” she said.

“I’m sure you would,” said Hank. The prisms of light that reflected down from the overhead were bouncing off his glasses.

“Where are you going?”

“For a ride.”

“Do you want me to come with you.”

Hank was flustered. He didn’t know why she was doing this to him. Everything that was supposed to make him happy was ripping at the inside of his stomach. She had twisted everything.

“You wait here,” she said. “I’ll tell him to leave. She left the room closing the door. Hank plunked down on the bed and stared at his toes. He hoped that he’d speak softly so that he wouldn’t have to hear what they were saying. Where had he thought she was when she was sleeping with Vic. She had wanted to compare them, right in his and her bed. He got up like he wanted to get away from the thing. He went to the door and put his ear against it. He heard her laugh and say good night.

Hank drove the VW smoothly. He didn’t know where he was going. They hadn’t exchanged a word since she’d gotten rid of Vic. He thought maybe he could just drive until he died.

Jo Lee had begun to watch him. The blondish-red curly hair was more of an uncombed tangle that she’d ever seen it before. His glasses looked like handcuffs on his eyes. His shirt collar drooped down like a noose. In short, he looked unhealthy and disheveled. “I haven’t been any good for you, Hank”

“I guess not,” said Hank. “Give me a cigarette, will you?”

“You hate my cigarettes.”

“I just want one because they’re yours. I’m not sure how to get close to you any more.”

The voice that came out him was sad but calm. “I couldn’t have been any good for you either.”

“What am I supposed to think of myself when I do something like I just did to you?”

“When did you sleep with him?”

“Today.”

“Are you gonna sleep with him again?”

“I don’t know,” she said in a self-disgusted tone.

“Promise me that you won’t sleep with him any more.” Hank said it and knew that it was what he felt, but could not for the life of him figure out where the words had come from.

“Can I touch you?” she said. Hank held out his hand. She put it between her legs and closed her thighs on it. “Do you want to have a baby?”

Hank straightened up behind the wheel. He pushed his glasses further up on his nose, cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I do.”

“I needed to do this, Hank. I don’t know why. Some kind of sick test that I wanted to put you through. Hank, I want to be a good wife. I want to spend afternoons thinking about you coming home from work and giving me a good fuck. I can make you happy, but I can’t handle the feeling that you just sit around all the time.”

“I can start working for my father next week. I can work enough so that maybe you’d only have to work part time, but let’s get away from here. It doesn’t feel right around here.”

When they got back to the apartment, she sat him down with the face of a geisha and did a modest striptease for him. Then he pounded into her like a piledriver. The harder he fucked, the further apart she spread her legs until she had her heels locked behind the bed post and was chanting, “Do whatever you want to me, baby.”

Ron’s eyes opened and headed straight for the door to get the Sunday paper. He put on some coffee, lit a cigarette and settled down to read. Most of what he saw disturbed him. Articles about the necessity of victory in Southeast Asia made him feel desperate and angry. He wondered if young people in Greece and Rome had felt the same way when their countries had gotten perverted. When he could smell the coffee perking from across the kitchen, he knew that it was done. He heard one of them moving around and beat it back into his room with the paper. The possibility of spending another day at home made him nervous. He got dressed and slipped out.

He hadn’t had a shower, or brushed his teeth, or combed his hair but he was on the road. He stopped an ordered some coffee at a diner and used the sink to wash and gargle and his fingers to straighten out his hair. He took a quick sniff under his armpit to see how objectionable he was and decided that it wasn’t bad at all.

He was taking the scenic route to the college but didn’t know why he was going there. The round trip would take about an hour and a half. It gave him a goal and a sense of destination, both of which were comforting. He flipped the radio dial between stations thinking about the way the streets were slow to wake up on Sundays. He wondered if he should call Rebecca and invite her to breakfast. Why not? It was almost 9 o’clock.

On the fifth ring a sleepy voice answered the phone. Oh shit, thought Ron. Against his better judgment he said, “Is Rebecca there?” A gnawing voice inside him was saying that he just should have hung up.

“Who wants her,” said Mr. Ranelli.

“Ron Tuck.”

“Oh yeah. Isn’t it a little early on Sunday morning to be calling her?”

The question amused Ron and he decided to run with it a little. “Just got back from Mass and Communion, you know. It’s a great way to start the day off right.”

“Wait a minute,” said Mr. Ranelli. He staggered out of bed and stuffed his hand down the front of his pajamas. He scratched and yawned until he got to his daughter’s door. He took his hand out and knocked lightly “Becky, are you awake?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He loved it when he heard her call him Daddy. It never ceased to impress him. “That turkey Tuck is on the phone,” said the butcher.

“I’ll be right there,” she said quickly. Mr. Ranelli’s smile disappeared. Her door opened and she ran passed him down the stairs to take the call in the kitchen.

They planned to meet for lunch, and Ron decided that maybe he’d better go home and take a shower. He replayed what he’d said to her. “We’re two pretty good people who like each other. We should be able to work this out better.” She had agreed. By the time he got back to his house, he was in a good mood.

“I want to talk to you,” said Marjorie. “It’s about Thanksgiving.”

“When is it?” said Ron.

“This Thursday,” she said trying to be patient.
“What about it?”

“I want to know if you’re going to be here.”

“Of course,” said Ron.

“For the whole day?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“For how long are we to be honored with your presence?”

“How should I know?”

I don’t want you eating and running out the door or standing in the kitchen and trying to hurry the meal up because you ‘ve got someplace to go.”

“I guess this marks the beginning of the holiday spirit,” said Ron.

“I can do without your lovely disposition.”

“I’ve got a great solution to that. I’m not eating here on Thanksgiving.”

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know yet.” He went into the bathroom. When he came out, she was still sitting at the table.

“Do you want some coffee?” she said.

Ron looked at the clock. “Maybe, quickly.”

“Why do you always have to watch the time?”

“I’ve got a date.”

“With that nice girl?”

“Which nice girl?” said Ron. “You mean Rebecca?”

“Would you like to bring Rebecca here for Thanksgiving?”

“I think she’ll probably eat with her family, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe that’s why you didn’t want to be here.”

“I’ll be here,” said Ron. “You know there’s no need to lay down rules and regulations about how I should act.” He paused and thought. “Who’s coming?”

The way she looked down at the table told him that they’d finally gotten to the point of the conversation. “I did invite some people that I haven’t told George about yet.”

“Who?”

“The new minister, his wife, and their two adopted daughters.”

Ron looked at her in amazement. “You didn’t even mention it to George?”

“No,” she said. “And unless I can count on you to back me up, it’s going to be very difficult. We’ll all be sitting at the table and nobody from our side, except Aunt Dottie, will have anything to say.”

“Have you told her?”

Marjorie looked down at the table again. “Not yet.”

“I’ll make sure that I’m here and in good form, but by evening I’ll probably have had enough.”

“Just make sure that dinner goes smoothly. You’re the only one in the family who can discuss religion with people like that and not look stupid.”

“I don’t know about that but I’ll be around.”

“Thanks,” said Marjorie.

Ron wanted to hug her but didn’t. He wanted to tell her that he knew her life was pretty boring most of the time and that she was always looking for ways to make it better.

Rebecca was wearing a turtleneck top and a suede skirt. Ron immediately told her how good she looked. He was glad that he’d gone home and changed. “Where do you want to have lunch?”

“I don’t know,” she said as they crossed the street.

“Let’s take a ride first,” said Ron.

“Okay.”

His idea was to go up to the reservation and walk on one of the paths that led back through the woods. He didn’t expect to get laid there or anything, but for some reason he wanted to see himself there with her.
He was sure that he didn’t want to break up with her by the time they went to lunch. The tension that was still between them for yesterday’s phone call gave them a newness around each other that had been lacking in the last week.

“Part of the problem,” said Ron, “is that I really want to sleep with you.” He watched her smile and decided to continue. “The truth is, that I’m sort of obsessed with the idea.”

“I just can’t plan to sleep with you, Ron. You make me feel excited and like I want to sometimes. It just hasn’t worked out yet. It’ll happen, if you would learn to relax and not try to push things. Just be a little patient.”

“I suppose I could tell you that it would be a lot easier for me to relax if we slept together. That’s what you mean by being patient, isn’t it?”

“That’s not quite it. It’s like you’ve got it on your mind all the time, and I can see it on your face most of the time you talk to me about anything. You aren’t gentle with me. It’s like you want it get it over with.”

“It must be awful for you,” said Ron feeling like he’d had just about as much of this as he was able to stand.

“You don’t make me feel comfortable.”

“I hope that I’m not comfortable until I’m dead,” said Ron.

Deciding to ignore his last statement, she said, “I know that sex is different for a man. Sometimes I feel sorry for you.”

He started to say that anybody’s pity was of no interest to him but lit a cigarette. “What are you going to do later?”

“I’ve got a paper that’s got to be done before vacation. n fact,” she said suddenly, “it has to be done by tomorrow because that’s the last class we’ll have before we leave.”

Ron saw that she had truly forgotten about it and was in a minor panic. “I’d better take you back,” he said.

Hank woke up with an erection that was ready to make babies. He told Jo Lee about it and she put it to work instantly. They stayed in bed until after 3 p.m. and then it was time for her to go to work. Hank was worried about the piano player. “Is Vic going to be there?”

She reached under his robe and stroked his cock. “He doesn’t stand a chance.” She got down on her knees and gave his dilapidated dick a goodbye suck. She left Hank grinning so much that his mouth hurt. Then he began to feel the mucus slide down the back of his throat and headed for the bathroom holding his book. Thirty minutes later he came out and called his parents.
“Do you want to come to dinner?” said his mother. “I can’t,” said Hank. He asked to speak to his father. There was an awkwardness on the other end of the phone followed by his father’s voice saying, “What can I do for you, Hank?”

“I need a job with you,” said Hank flatly.

“When can you start?” he said smiling at Clara. Not tomorrow, thought Hank. Jo Lee would be off and he still had a money in his pocket. “Tuesday or Wednesday,” he said. “I’ll see if I can have things arranged by then.” Hank wasn’t interested in what he would be doing or how much he would be making. He could tell Jo Lee that he’d gotten the ball rolling and that was all that mattered.

Chapter 39

Ron got himself to school in plenty of time for his first class. If there were only two days left before Thanksgiving, he could at least finish up strong. He got some coffee and went into the auditorium to begin working on the two hundred pages he’d fallen behind. Once he sat down and was doing his work, he was fine. The hard decision, he told himself, was getting himself to start. The auditorium was just warming up from the night, and Ron was enjoying his reading when he heard the back door open. “Do you now if there’s going to be a class here today?” said a tall girl with thick black hair. Ron wasn’t sure that he recognized her. It hadn’t occurred to him that there might not be a class. He turned around and looked at the time. The class was supposed to start in three minutes and they were the only two people there.

“I don’t know. I haven’t been here for a while.”

She said, “Thank you,” smiled and left.

Ron was out of his seat wondering which direction she was heading in before she knew. She decided to go to the cafeteria. Her stomach could use a little breakfast once in a while. Then she’d see if any of her other classes were going to meet today. Anthony had told her not to bother coming to school this week, but she thought it was just an excuse to get her to spend the night last night. She’d accused him of it openly. He’d flown into a rage that made all the cords on his neck stand out. He threatened to break her ass for being suspicious of everything he said. She thought that maybe he would break her ass someday. The idea was a lot cuter than the reality could ever be and she knew it. That was the problem with Anthony and that was why she had to expose herself to other people.

Perfectly on cue with her reflections, Ron called after her and trotted up alongside. He remembered her now. “Hey do you know if our Math class is canceled too?”

“I was just trying to figure that out.”

“Do you want to take a walk over and see if there’s anything up on his office door?”

“That’s a good idea.” She decided that the cafeteria could wait.

On his various walking loops of the college, Ron had located the offices of each of his teachers. It was an excuse to get him around the college and it was gonna come in handy right now. “What’s your name?”

“Irma.

Ron stared at her profile. It seemed to be all chin and eyebrows except for a ski slope that made its arc into outer space. This chick is really lucky she has a body, Ron thought. “My name is Ron Tuck.” he said.
“I know who you are,” she answered smiling.

Ron stared at her. He couldn’t believe that people kept saying that to him. He took an easy route to the math teacher’s office. She felt comfortable walking beside him and Ron decided that he would ask her out.

“My boyfriend said that there wouldn’t be much happening here today or tomorrow, but I thought he was just teasing.” She watched the look of disappointment that crossed his face when she mentioned Anthony. So he was interested in her. The office door was empty and there was no one inside.

“We’ll just have to see what happens tomorrow at class. I’d cut it but I’ve missed too many classes already,” said Ron.

“Do you know about the mid-term?”

“When’s that?”

“Next week.”

“Isn’t that a little early?”

“You mean late. We only have four weeks left.”

“Holy shit,” said Ron. “Are you kidding?”

“It goes fast, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not the word for it. Do you want to get some coffee?”

“Okay,” she said.

After they had settled in the cafeteria, Ron asked, “Are you really serious with your boyfriend?”

“We’ve been going out for three years, and he wants to get married when I’m finished here.”

“What I mean is, do you go out with other guys?”

“I haven’t but I suppose that I could.”

“Would you like to go out with me?”

“I think that would be really nice, but I don’t know how we could manage it.”

“You could give me your phone number, and I’ll keep trying until I hit on a time that’s good for both of us.”

“Don’t you go out with anybody?”

“Nobody special,” said Ron. “I like my freedom too much.”

“I wish I could feel that way,” said Irma. “Freedom sort of scares me, you know?”

“You just have to get used to it,” said Ron. He provided her with a pen and some paper. She recorded her address and phone number. He felt like a salesman who was closing a deal with an interested customer. “When do you think you might be free?” he said smiling.

“Not tonight or tomorrow.”

“How does Wednesday look?” He was staring at the pointed tips of her bra. He watched her see him staring at her chest. She moved her hands away so he could get a better view. It gave him an immediate hard on.

“It might be okay.” she said.

Things were at a touchy stage. He might be pushing it or he might be making it seem real and like something she was going to want have happen. “What would you like to do?” He hadn’t expected her to really have a suggestion. They never did. But if she would agree to whatever he was going to come up with, he would have secured a beach head.

“That could be up to you. I don’t get to go many places with my boyfriend, so anything you think of would be something I haven’t done for a while. She had a far away look on her face while she was talking. “You’re really easy to talk to, you know?”

“I am,” said Ron. He was liking her better all the time.

“It’s just that Anthony and I are stuck in a rut. The problem is that I think he likes it and I’m starting to want more.”

“How old were you when you met him?”

“Sixteen.”

“Are you anything like you were at sixteen now?”

“Only in some ways.”

“You owe it to yourself to find out what’s happening.”

“I’ve been reading some of the things that you wrote in the newspaper.”
Ron blushed. He put his head down and took hold of his elbow. “I don’t mean to pretend to know what’s happening,” he said smiling at himself. “I’ve spent the last two years of my life in corporations and bowling alleys, so what could I possibly know? It just feels like something important is happening, and we’re alive and shouldn’t miss it, you know?”

When she reached out and touched his arm, Ron tightened muscles he hoped he still had. “You’re a nice guy,” said Irma. “You don’t act like you’re God’s gift or something.”

“I can be like that,” said Ron. “Who I’m with makes a big difference in who I am.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“I know, but some people make you feel at ease and sure of yourself. You make me feel like that.” It was the truth. He did feel like he was talking to her more freely than anyone else he’d met there. It’s too bad about her boyfriend, he thought. Maybe it’ll clear up. He appraised the way her thick black hair tumbled down onto her shoulders like a Viking’s rug. He loved her dark tinted stockings and short black skirt. Most of all, she wasn’t thinking who she was either. If he hadn’t ever left Newark, this was the type of girl he would have. It was almost like her presence was reconnecting him back to that part of himself. She didn’t seem overly smart and was calm about it. Things were already established. He was the more aggressive, the smarter, the leader. She was kind, had a beautiful body and could talk to him. She seemed to fit into his strengths. Ron’s thoughts and feelings were running faster than he could contend with. Even his coffee was working against him this time. He lit a cigarette. “Ohhh!” he said. She was grinning when she asked him what the matter was. “I don’t think I’d better tell you.”

Her look became serious. “Don’t start not talking to me already.”

“It’s not that I’m trying to shut you out, believe me it’s not that. It’s just that I was getting these strong impulses about the way you make me feel.” She raised her eyebrows. “I don’t mean just sexually. I feel like you could understand me and enjoy me at the same time.”

“I don’t even know you, Ron,” she said softly.

“I know,” he said laughing. “I know. Do you see why I didn’t want to tell you?” She gave him an uncomprehending look and his sense of ease rapidly disappeared.

She told Ron that it would be better if they met at the college and that he should call on Tuesday night at 7 p.m. and she would let him know what was going on.

Ron watched her black-skirted bottom walk away with a hypnotizing wiggle. He walked to Lashly’s door and found a note that canceled his class too.

On Monday afternoon, Hank got a call from his father. Everything was set, but his father thought that Hank should plan on starting the Monday after Thanksgiving. “Everything is all screwed up here on account of the holiday.” Hank said that next Monday would be fine. “I’ll give your mother some extra money for you tonight.”
“That would be good,” said Hank.

“Are you and Jo Lee going to be at the house on Thursday?”

There was no answer on the other end of the phone. Hank stared into the receiver as the familiar grimace spread across his face. “Your mother told me to ask you.”

“I’ll let her know tomorrow,” said Hank. He had no idea of how he was gonna explain this to Jo Lee.

Hank went back into the kitchen and found Jo Lee making herself an afternoon drink. She was wearing sun yellow panties and had one of his plaid shirts tied at the waist so that her tits kept popping out. “My father,” said Hank, looking down at the table. “Are we gonna have drinks?”

“You’re gonna have a drink with me?” she said in her kitten voice.

Hank chortled, “Sure. I’m going to start work next Monday because of the holiday.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

Hank looked at his drink. He didn’t know. He hadn’t cared enough to ask. He still had no idea of how much he would be making. He’d sit in the washroom and clean out bowls if it would keep Jo Lee acting this way with him. “There are a couple of things that still have to be decided on. All the jobs down at that place are pretty much the same anyway.” Jo Lee didn’t understand how that could be but let it pass. My father wants to know if we’re coming to their house on Thursday for dinner?”

“I suppose we should,” she said easily. She wondered briefly what Myrtle would be doing but figured that whatever it was included Ernie and that meant they wouldn’t be going anywhere. Ernie had a lot of trouble sitting in cars. Myrtle had told her last week that it wouldn’t be long before he had to go to the hospital.

Myrtle’s voice had gotten strange. “When I look at him when he’s naked, it’s hard, at first, to remember that it’s a person.” She didn’t want to see Ernie and Myrtle.

“Maybe we should have Ron and one of his little friends come up at night,” she said. “The club is going to be closed.”

The Commuter room was empty and didn’t seem like it had seen much traffic that day. Ron went through the material from the news services. There was a striking similarity to what he’d read in other releases. Ron guessed it was because there wasn’t a whole lot of variety when it came to dealing with war. Laureen walked in and Ron said hello to her without remembering that she’d stood him up. He was reading an article about how some Vietnamese families were using downed aircraft for homes. The wrecked planes were sometimes fired upon because of the human activity. When they exploded entire families went up with them sometimes.
“I’m sorry about Saturday,” said Laureen.

“What was Saturday? Oh yeah. Where were you?”

“I guess that I just didn’t think it was a good idea for us to get involved that way.”

Ron looked at her, not really giving a fuck about what she thought of him. “Why not?”

“Usually, I wouldn’t tell someone this, but I think we would kill each other.”

“We’re the same. I can see it in you.”

Ron concluded that he didn’t really care what she was talking about. He felt pretty lucky that she hadn’t wasted his day. “It’s really a drag to get stood up.”

“I never did it to anybody before in my life.”

“That doesn’t make me feel a lot better.”

“I just wanted to tell you that it’s not because I don’t like you or anything. The truth is that I have a boyfriend that I love.”

“It’s good that you didn’t go out with me then.”

Laureen felt like laughing when Chris walked into the room. It seemed to her that every time she stopped to talk to anyone, he showed up.

Chris was giddy. “Good afternoon,” he said giggling.

“What’s happening?” said Ron.

“Snow is due any minute.”

Ron walked over to the window and looked out. “I don’t think it’s cold enough yet, man.”

Chris and Laureen laughed. “Not that kind,” said Chris. “The kind that goes up your nose.”

“I’d like some of that,” said Laureen.

Chris snapped his fingers. “All right. That’s entirely possible. Although I don’t think this is the most judicious place to do it.”

“That’s certainly true.”

Ron still had no idea of what drug they were talking about, but at least he’d figured out that they were talking about a drug.

“Let’s go back to my house in a few minutes,” said Chris.

“I’d like to but I don’t think I can,” said Laureen. “My brother is coming home tonight and I’ve got to be there for dinner.”

“Where’s he been?” said Ron.

Her face tightened and she spit out the answer “Away. Overbrook. He flipped out. He’s a junkie.”

Laureen looked at the bewildered expression on Ron’s face and was glad she’d stood him up. He looked a bit like a monkey. lian had been right. She looked at Chris. “If I came over for a while, could you give me a ride home?”

“You don’t have a car?” said Chris.

“Oh, I have a car. It’s just that I’ve got to bring it home so my mother can do some shopping.”

“So,” said Chris. “First you want me to follow you back to your house to get rid of your car and after we’re through at my house you want me to drive you back home?”

“Somewhere before 6 o’clock if it’s not too much trouble,” she said easily.

Chris laughed some more. “I suppose I could do that.”

“Let me call my mother first and make sure I’ve got everything straight.” She fished a dime out of her purse and went to make the call.

“How are you doin’?” said Chris to Ron.

Ron replied, “I’ve been here all day waiting for something to happen, but I met a good looking girl this morning.”

“Who is she?”

“Her name’s Irma.”

“Far out”, said Chris.

Laureen looked sickly when she returned. “Damn,” she said. Chris asked her what was wrong. “My sister found some of my brother’s old stash and brought it to class. Analyzed it in Chemistry.” Ron and Chris laughed. Laureen looked like she was going to vomit. “I’ve got to go,” she said .

Chapter 40

Hank didn’t know how long he’d slept or why he’d woken up. The depth of Jo Lee’s snores signaled that it was the middle of the night. He went out into the kitchen and found his cigarettes. He really didn’t mind being awake. The idea that there was nothing he had to feel guilty about not doing comforted him. About halfway through his cigarette, the notion that this baby thing was a desperate sham that could wind up getting somebody killed gripped him.

It was too bad, too. He’d felt healthier with her in the last few days than he had since the beginning. The question was how to tell Jo Lee that he didn’t want to go through with it. For courage, he told himself that she would be just as relieved as he now was, but he didn’t believe it. The quandry of his new worry was like nausea inside him. As surely as if it had been playing in the room, he heard the line from the song, “Did you ever have to finally decide?” echo in his mind. In the morning it would be Thanksgiving, and they were having dinner with his parents. That was depressing enough in itself, but suppose Jo Lee told his parents they were trying to make a baby. A little Hank running around… Hank grinned at the way their faces would look when they heard it, but the humor didn’t last. If she told them, it would almost be like it had already happened. It would be something else that would follow him forever. Hank made his way back to bed and fell asleep.

He woke up a few hours later to the steady slippery rhythm of Jo Lee’s mouth as it slid up and down his cock. Her hair was touching his balls and thighs like an elegant feather duster that was taking away the cobwebs. “I want to suck your cock all day,” she said when she saw that he was awake. “Just let me know when you’re gonna shoot your wad so that I can get it in between my legs.” Hank was speechless. “How many times do you think you can pop off, if you let me suck it as much as I want?”

“I don’t know,” he said. The words came out of him like billiard balls rolling across green felt, bouncing softly everywhere and not colliding in back of his closed eyes.

The horn sections first resounding blasts, as the band had its last warm up for halftime of the game, jolted Ron awake. He felt like he was being brought back from the dead for some unnecessary reason. He listened to the theme of “On Wisconsin” with a deep frown. The day wasn’t gonna be bad enough; it had to start like this. He staggered through the door scratching his crotch.

“Look who decided to roll out of bed,” said Marjorie, who was already dressed and in high gear.

Ron blinked and scratched as Aunt Dottie glared at the sight of him standing in his underwear in the kitchen and scratching himself to boot. “You’re a fine sight,” she said nodding methodically. Ron was now reeling from the aromas in the kitchen that gave smells that said it was dinner time to his body.

“Is there any coffee?”

“You can’t make a mess in the kitchen now,” said Marjorie.

“Isn’t there any coffee?” Ron said with a desperate, panting look.

“Yes, there’s coffee,” she said smiling and moving toward the electric urn she used on holidays.

Aunt Dottie waited until she figured enough time had passed for him not to know what was coming. “Do you always walk around scratching yourself like that?”

“What?”

Aunt Dottie got out of her chair and stood in the center of the kitchen. “I mean,” she said dramatically, “that you come out of the bedroom scratching yourself all the time.” She backed herself up in front of Ron’s door, yawned, staggered and scratched herself between the legs with long exaggerated motions.

Ron flinched at the image. Marjorie began laughing hysterically and Aunt Dottie joined her. She dragged herself across the room continuing to scratch her crotch. Ron wanted to disappear badly. “Give me a break, Aunt Dot. I gotta entertain the clergy today.”

“Don’t scratch in the middle of dinner,” said Aunt Dottie.

“I won’t if you don’t let on that maybe you’re becoming a little senile.”

“Senile,” Dottie raised herself into full battle posture “You slovenly lug,” she glared, “at least I don’t come out of my room scratching myself like this.” She returned to her imitation. Marjorie laughed harder this time.

“You win,” he said trying to skirt around her as he headed back for his room.

Aunt Dottie exchanged a smile with Marjorie. They’d spent plenty of time moaning about how he acted when he first got up. “The last thing I need is to have him in a bad mood today,” said Marjorie.

“Don’t worry about it. He’ll be fine. Besides, I’ve got some money to give him for the holiday.” They smiled again. It didn’t take much to buy Ron’s forgiveness.

Jo Lee and Hank were in the car on the way to his parents’ house. She was toying with his curls and whispering in his ear. “Any time you want. I’ll just take your cock out, get on my knees and suck it for as long as you want. I’m gonna be thinking about doing it all day, Hank.”

Hank smiled. He knew this must be the eye of some hurricane that would reburst its fury on him at any second, but he heard himself say, “Do it now,” as the trusty VW made its way to the turkey dinner.

“This fuckin’ sucks,” thought Ron as he set the table for dinner. Here he was, without a real girlfriend, wasting his time talking to a minister and his brood. He knew how dinner would go; he would eat too much. There would be no way not to eat too much. Everything would taste really good and even if you passed up all but your favorites, you spent the rest of the day trying to get comfortable with your bulk.

Willard Mueller and his family were a group of five. His wife and he were very tall and wore glasses. Their three children were adopted. The twins, girls of fourteen that the Muellers had taken off the hands of the courts, were the latest additions. Shannon had been adopted as an infant and was now almost eight years old. The Muellers hadn’t told her, or anyone else, that they met up North, that she wasn’t a natural child.

The arrived a festive ten minutes late. The adults, with whom Ron was uncomfortably included, had a drink. George was always happy when he was serving alcohol. Ron figured it was a holdover from his days as a bartender. Mr. Mueller announced that they didn’t usually drink but would join him in honor of the occasion . Mrs. Mueller reminded her husband of the presence of the children and Willard reassessed the situation. They would join George in a glass of cider to toast the holiday. George became instantly glum and turned to Ron with a sense of desperation. “Do you want anything?”

“I’ll have some wine,” said Ron.

Aunt Dottie made her entrance about fifteen minutes after the Muellers arrived. She was dressed totally in black and wearing nothing for contrast but diamonds. Her hair was tinted silver and even her glasses had diamond chips in the frames. She told George she would have a rum and coke. He rubbed his hands together and scurried off to pick up some ice.

“Before we begin to eat,” said Marjorie, addressing herself to Willard, “I would just like you to tell my son how you came to be doing this work with your life.”

Ron, who had been absently staring at the freckles on the arms of the twins, saw the girls exchange a quick look of disgust. Shannon looked up at the long face of her mother and asked if she could go to the bathroom. “Ask Mrs. Bombasco to show you dear,” said Mina Mueller. The twins giggled. Ron wondered how his mother developed her ability to embarrass other people.

“It’s not that I’m trying to put you to work,” she said to Willard. “It’s just that I think we can all profit from hearing about your experience and knowing that the world is still a place where miracles can occur.”

Ron lost his appetite as immediately as he found himself reaching for his cigarettes. He saw his aunt doing the same thing and wondered why his mother always set them up this way. Sensing some reluctance of the part of the Muellers, Marjorie added, “Perhaps after we’ve eaten.”
Willard did agree to say grace. Ron was waiting and hoping for some small reference to the fact that on this day of Thanksgiving we were slaughtering people on the other side of the world, but there was none. “We thank Thee for this beautifully prepared bird,” said Willard. Mina kept her eyes on her plate and gave a small Christian smile.

Marjorie said, “Thank you.. .I mean Thank God… .I mean A-men.”

George was unable to contain himself and laughed at Marjorie. Ron made the sign of the cross to piss Aunt Dottie off and to distance himself from the rest of the people at the table. Ron’s last Protestant minister had been Reverend Waldo. Ron was always bored when he and his mother went to church. He would count the number of people there as Waldo gave his sermon. He remembered how he hated to face his great grandmother, Aunt Dottie’s mother, when he came home. At the end she was always in bed, turned on her side toward the wall or on her back staring at the ceiling. She and Ron slept in the same room and it used to scare him to hear her breathe at night.

“Did you go to Sunday School, Ron?”

“We got there too late, Grandma.” A sweep of pain crossed the old woman’s face. “There were only 58 people in church today, Grandma.”

“Why did you count the people?”

“I couldn’t understand what the minister was saying.”

Her forehead wrinkled but her mouth remained soft. “If you listened, Jesus would help you to understand, Ron.”

“He doesn’t talk loud enough for me to hear him, Grandma.”

“I’m tired now,” she said. “I’m going to take a little rest.” Only 58 people. When she was a little girl and her father was preaching, they used to line the walls and afterwards everybody stayed and talked and shook hands.

Willard Mueller wasn’t wearing his minister’s clothes. He seemed reluctant to talk, but Ron sensed that he was just hanging back waiting for the best time to strike.

Marjorie asked him again to tell the story to her family – the story of how he found Christ. She even started it for him. “It began with your secretary coming in and announcing that you’d just become a millionaire.” Ron fixed his eyes on Mueller.

“I was a lawyer practicing in Alabama. Before I quit, I suppose it was actually worth closer to five million. But I had an ulcer and high blood pressure. I found myself delivering speeches at organized meetings of the Ku Klux Klan. My wife and I were talking about divorce because we were both so well aware of our marital infidelities. But instead of getting a divorce, we decided to take a good hard look at our lives from the perspective of our Christian morality. Neither of us liked what we saw, and it was time for action. The time for blaming and complaining was over. It was very hard to decide to give most of the money away but a lot of fun to do it. That was seven years ago and here we are.”

Hank and Jo Lee ate without speaking. Hank’s mother had tried preparing the turkey with a tomato sauce that she’d seen advertised with chicken in a magazine. Jo Lee forked at the meat with bewilderment. Hank’s father, who already two sheets to the wind, announced that it was delicious without eating any. Hank looked down at the mass of bird mixed with red tinged stuffing and thought that it looked disgustingly fresh killed. He never understood why his mother insisted on taking perfectly good food and ruining it. No one asked for seconds and about twenty minutes after the mess had been spread across the table, it was mercifully removed.

At that point all four of them began drinking. Hank felt the alcohol curl around his brain and watched the way his father leered at Jo Lee. He thought smugly that she was the finest piece of ass his old man had ever come into contact with. He appreciated the way Jo Lee was putting up with his father. She would smile and let the old man touch her shoulders and arms. Then the old boy blurted, “Have you and Hank gotten around to any serious baby making yet?”

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” said Hank’s mother, squirming one of her most uncomfortable squirms.

“What’s wrong with it? They are married. Hank does know how he got here, doesn’t he? You do know how you got here, don’t ya Hank?”

“It’s not the kind of thing I want talked about at my table. And it’s certainly not the kind of thing I want talked about on Thanksgiving.” She took a long swallow out of her drink and left her eyes down with the glass.

“Someone’s got to give thanks for it,” said Hank’s father.

Jo Lee giggled, and Hank’s mother looked up at her sharply. This was it. The old broad hated her and Jo Lee knew she was going to have to fight off at least one attack today. There was a long pause at the end of which Hank’s mother said nothing. She stared at them all for what seemed like minutes and remarked cheerfully, “I’d better get started on my pies.” Hank’s father squeezed Jo Lee’s arm and looked at Hank with a nod of approval before he got up to help with the pies.

“They’re weird,” whispered Jo Lee.

“They sure are,” said Hank.

Marjorie brought out apple, pumpkin and mince pies. She added a bowl of whipped cream and two coffee pots’ worth of coffee. Dinner conversation had been amiable and centered mostly on the food and New England, where both Dottie and Mina had been raised. Aunt Dot must be feeling good, thought Ron, as he watched her eat a1most everything on her second plate. Ron eyed the twins a few times and they were obviously interested in him, but the whole thing was too weird. They were fourteen and probably had trench mouth or something. Ron wasn’t actually sure what trench mouth was but he assumed it was something you caught that made your breath smell like you’d been caught in a trench for a long time.

“I understand that you attend college,” said Willard.

“It’s a small commuter school.” Ron tried to think of something that would keep the conversation moving. “So, how do you feel about Viet Nam?” he said abruptly.

“That does seem to be the topic on everyone’s mind,” said Willard. “There have always been wars, Ron. It’s not a fact but it is nonetheless true.”

“Do you think they were all as crooked as this one is?”

“The ones that were unpopular were thought of as such. I think, however, that the conscience of this country is being tested.”

Ron was almost exasperated already. This guy wanted to talk about abstract morals and ethics. These people all ended up the same way, doing nothing for any number of good reasons. “I think the soul of the country has been stolen myself.”

“I think that you’re a bunch of spoiled babies,” said George. The remark was unexpected. It was one of the first things George had said that didn’t have to do with what people were drinking. It threw off the rhythm of the interchange, and Marjorie was giving George dirty looks.

“I’m sure that for a man who had served his time proudly, it must feel that way,” said Willard.

“Yeah? Tell me what sense it makes to equate babiness with a desire to not kill people who want the same things out of life that I do.” interjected Ron.

George was silent.

“It seems,” said Willard, “that this is the test of conscience to which I was referring: the people who feel they’ve done their duty and the people who feel that it is their duty to say no.”

Marjorie bobbed her head in assent.

It wasn’t good enough for Ron. “It’s not that we’re just saying no. We’re trying to find better answers to things, including religion.” Ron felt like he’d thrown things back at Willard. He knew the guy had never really answered him about how he felt. It was an old minister’s trick to make everybody think that he agreed with them.

“A lot of what you say is really silly,” said Marjorie. “Like that guy you talk about all the time,” she paused… “Abbie Hoffman. Before him it was Bob Dylan.”
“You make it sound like we’re talking about Bing Crosby and Patti Page. These are important people. It’s not the same as ‘How Much Is That Doggy in the Window?'”

“There’s no need to get nasty,” said Marjorie with a mother’s threat in her voice that irritated Ron to the point where he wanted to scream or do something else that would drive the discomfort away. He settled for lighting a cigarette. “It’s usually when I make a good point that you accuse me of being nasty.”

Mina Mueller turned her head and patted the hand next to her of Aunt Dottie, whom she had learned had cancer. Aunt Dottie sneered at her. “I always swore that I never would want a son of mine to go. I’d tell him to get out of the country before I’d want to see them take him.

“I agree with you,” said Mina Mueller as her small, unremembered act of kindness for the day. Dottie wondered if she could get away with spitting at her and blaming it on her throat.

The twins asked if they could go for a walk. There was an uneasiness among the Muellers before they said yes. Shannon asked it she could stay behind and listen. Mina hugged her. Ron liked the twins more as they left. After they were safely out of earshot, Mina confided to the group, “Things are very much still on a day to day basis.”

Willard cleared his throat and looked down at Shannon. Mina reacted like she’d forgotten about the presence of their youngest. “It’s day to day living with Jesus in your heart that’s really important.” she said. Shannon seemed oblivious to it all.

“Hank, your mother and I have a little something for the two of you.” His father put his arm on his mother’s shoulder and squeezed a clump of puffy flesh. His mother squirmed. “Since you’ve gotten married and you’re going to start working, and the truth is that you’ve never really had a wedding at all, you’re going to need a nest egg Hank. Your mom and I would like to start you off with $500.”

Hank stared at him. They were obviously waiting for some reaction. “It’s really nice that you would do that for us.”

“We don’t want you to want for anything, Hank,” said his mother.

“And chances are,” his father went on with a sense of slurred joviality in his voice, “that advancements could come pretty quickly for you at work. That might not mean much to you right now, but when the eagle comes around, you’ll be glad the stuff lands on you.”

Jo Lee smiled at Hank’s mother. She didn’t return the smile. Before they left, Hank’s father pulled him off to the side and slipped him another hundred. “It’s good to always have some money the wife doesn’t know about. It saves the egg from getting cracked once in a while.”

“I’ll try not to let it crack right away,” said Hank.

Chapter 42

A cold rain dumped buckets of water against Ron’s windows. It was Saturday morning and he was on his way to Welmont, but he stopped the car at the recruiting station and decided to have a look at the place from the outside. The posters were like marquee pictures. Ron wondered why they didn’t show a picture of a guy with no legs or somebody who’d gotten his head blown off. That would sure bring the people in. He told himself that he should stay away from places like this one. He was afraid that somehow the tendrils could reach out and grab him. “That’s because you’re a fuckin’ chicken,” said a voice inside him. Ron recognized it as being the one that spoke with a newsreel kind of tone and narrated episodes from war movies.

“Fuck you!” he shouted at the voice and the building. “You didn’t get me and I’m not ever gonna be like you.”

“You sound like a baby having a tantrum,” said another he couldn’t dismiss because it looked and sounded like his father. He threw the car into gear.

There was one spot in the indoor parking lot, and Ron decided not to try to squeeze into it. He was embarrassed by the thought that someone who hung out there would see him punking down from the spot. He inched the car back and forward and tried to turn around. It took him five back and forths.

The instructor looked at Ron and said, “I’m afraid you didn’t pass. You failed to properly parallel park your vehicle and in my judgment you were driving too slowly.”

Ron had expected to fail parallel parking, there was no disgrace in that. He was driving this boat of an Oldsmobile that was at least twenty-five feet long, but how the fuck could the guy say he was going too slow? It took two problems to fail. If the guy just knocked him down for the parking, he would be in. “I was trying to be careful.”

“That’s the point,” said the instructor. “If you reacted this way on an open road, you could be a hazard.”

Ron studied his face. He wore reflecting sunglasses and had a mustache, which gave him a suave, well oiled appearance. If I was a cunt with my skirt hiked up around my ass and my legs open, you wouldn’t care what kind of hazard I was.

“I’m going to recommend that your permit be extended and that you be tested again in two months.”

“Great.”

About a month later he passed his test with the help of a friendly instructor from Jersey City who bought his clothes where Ron’s mother worked. During the test Ron knocked over several cones and almost damaged a vehicle that was peacefully making its way along the course. It happened because he made a U-turn without looking in the mirror and because he’d forgotten his glasses and had to borrow his mother’s boss’ extra pair. The instructor had to mash his foot onto the brake on top of Ron’s foot in order to avoid the collision. The car the instructor was trying to avoid was frozen about four inches from Ron’s rear bumper. Ron didn’t realize how close they were until he removed the borrowed glasses. He found himself transfixed by the pale, trembling face of the instructor, who managed to turn off the engine on Ron’s borrowed car. They didn’t finish the course but Ron got his license anyway. The pair of glasses had broken when they came off during his almost collision, and Ron apologized to his mother’s boss while thanking him for bribing the instructor.

Ron found an easy space on the street and went into Welmont through the back door. The same small group of heads stopped what they were doing and looked when the door opened. Ron smiled and thought that no matter what else happened in the world, this would always remain the same. He walked up to the counter from which Butchie and TJ surveyed the world.

“What brings you in here, Homer? I heard you was out demonstrating and gettin’ all that free snatch.”

“You don’t really think that anything comes for free, do you Butchie?”

“Well Homer, I don’t know. Some of them freaky lookin’ snatches I see walking around got to get rid of it for free because it’s so bad that not even you guys would want to be stuck into it for more than a few minutes.”

“How’re you doing TJ?” said Ron.

TJ nodded, looked at Eutchie and wiped away an imaginary line of sweat. “Have you heard anything from Hankie?”

Butchie burst like an over ripe fruit. “Hank’s got a tasty snatch to chew on,” he laughed. “You don’t see him out there demonstrating because he gets private demonstrations whenever he needs them.”

Ron liked the idea of being taken for someone who demonstrated. It made him feel like he was wearing a badge of courage. “He’s okay, T,” said Ron. He felt the back door open and his own head moved involuntarily towards it.

“Here comes the captain of the loony tunes crew now,” said Butchie as they all saw Quimpy make his way through the doors.

On Saturday afternoon, Jo Lee and Hank went out to shop for Hank’s work clothes. Hank felt alternately drafted and convicted as he stared at the brown khaki. Jo Lee was brimming with pride and patted Hank’s belly. “I’ll bet you get nice and flat,” she said.

“I’ll bet I will,” said Hank, not thinking about his stomach muscles. It was too much to bear. No matter what the stakes, he couldn’t figure out how he’d let this happen to him. Jo Lee loved the way he looked in work pants. They felt terrible, thought Hank. They were baggy and rustled like canvas sacks.

“Do you think we could go visit Myrtle and Ernie tonight?”

Hank began to get sick at the sound of their names but he said, “Okay.” and went into the other room to change back into his real clothes.

“Why don’t you leave them on?” said Jo Lee. She was picturing her father sitting around the house on Saturday afternoons in finely laundered work clothes.

“Because I hate them,” said Hank.

Jo Lee stared at the closed bedroom door and began to feel twinges of warning. This was like sending a child off to school. She remembered how Tony was always anxious to jump into his big rig and roar down the street for her.

Hank could smell the dogs as they waited for someone to answer the door. He was holding the bag of donuts that Jo Lee had suggested they bring. Myrtle opened the door and greeted them with a big “Guess who’s here to visit, Ernie?” greeting.

The dogs caught sight of Hank and in one startled moment he realized that the dual excitement of seeing him and smelling the donuts was going to be too much for them. The first dog to hit let out a whooping kind of yelp as she planted her paws on Hank’s chest. The second dog went straight for the donuts and unceremoniously ripped them out of Hank’s hand. As he fell down, Hank heard Ernie’s voice gleefully shouting. “Wowee! Isn’t everybody happy to see you?” The dogs took turns, alternately moving to the bag of donuts for furious sniffs and licking Hank’s face.

“Well give him a chance to get in the house first!” said Myrtle as she shooed the dogs. “Those animals really love you,” she said to Hank, who was grateful for being allowed to stand up.

Ernie’s newest game consisted of trying to work himself up to super duper burps. He said that it started because his diet soda gave him gas. He was trying to teach the dogs to respond to specific burp commands that he’d devised. Ernie was sure the act would be of interest to any of a number of variety shows that featured people like himself with unique and creative talents. Hank watched the demonstration through a mask of interest. On a few occasions, he felt his eyes stray to the closed door of the room where he and Jo Lee had stayed when they had first gotten together.

Hank was too depressed to get out of bed the next morning. How interesting could any place that made storm windows and screens be? His father was going to be his boss and he knew his old man would show him of like a little pet when old customers came into the shop.
Hank would be forever called into his father’s office to meet Bill Somebody or Harry Whoever. “Are you excited about starting work tomorrow?” Jo Lee had asked him as soon as he’d opened his eyes. Actually, she said it to him over coffee, but it was the first thing she thought to say to him that day.

“I haven’t been able to think about anything else,” said Hank.

“Do you think that possibly I could interest you in something else?” she said and reached for his cock.

“I don’t think so,” said Hank. He was sure his dead meat was in too deep a depression to do anything but slump over.

Jo Lee felt more twinges but she was going to try to remain cheerful in spite of them. At 2 p.m. she would be back on duty and work until 2 a.m. the next morning. “What are you going to do this afternoon?”

“I don’t know,” said Hank. “In a few minutes, I’m going to call Ron.”

Ron had abruptly said that he had no one to bring to their house and that the girl he was trying to date had just told him the night before on the phone that she didn’t think she was ever going to be able to sneak out on her boyfriend. Jo Lee thought he was even more of an asshole. She wondered when Hank was going to stop chasing after him.

Ron listened to Hank’s story without saying much. He could understand how Hank felt all fucked up from the amount of shit that was being dumped on him. “You ain’t got to do any fuckin’ thing that you don’t want to do.”

“It really is that simple, isn’t it?” said Hank.

They were sitting in Ron’s room in the midst of the piles of books and papers Ron had buried himself in for the last two days. Irma was already a memory, and he hadn’t called or heard from Rebecca, but he was catching up on everything that he hadn’t been doing. Marjorie and George were out for the afternoon and Hank had a joint that they smoked in slow appreciation. Hank felt warm and melancholy around so many reminders of school. He felt for the first time in a while that he belonged there. He decided to tell Ron everything about how he hated the idea of working for his father but how losing Jo Lee would be worse. The pot was giving Ron a comfortable distance from everything. He studied his pile of books and they looked back with a friendly spirit. “Why did you stop going to school, Hank?”

“Mathematics,” said Hank decidedly.

“Is what you got now better than mathematics?”

Hank repeated the question with a smile that showed his dimples. Ron had never noticed them before and figured that Jo Lee was somehow responsible for them being there now. “I don’t know,” said Hank. “Is it?”

Ron had the feeling that Hank was asking him if he had any idea of how good it was to get laid with a woman like Jo Lee every night. “Is she really that good a fuck?”

“All the time,” said Hank in a weary tone that Ron took to mean Jo Lee liked to fuck more than Hank did. He decided that was a big part of the problem that Hank really needed to talk about. “I get the feeling that they’re going to get me no matter which way I turn.”

“Why do you think they want to get you?”

“Because they get everybody,” said Hank, feeling like he’d been gotten so many times and in so many places that his mind and body were a mass of scar tissue.

“It’s probably because they don’t want to see us get anything they weren’t able to get away with. Well fuck ’em,”

“We don’t owe them a thing.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t be able to get me if I went back,” said Hank.

“I guess they can get you anyplace,” said Ron. “Do you ever think about the war anymore?”

“No,” said Hank. “Has it changed?”

Ron thought that Hank sounded like Dylan. He observed how Hank’s uncombed hair looked more and more like Dylan’s as it got longer. “Are you ever gonna comb your hair again?”

Hank tried to run his fingers through part of the reddish blonde tangle. “I never try.” They both laughed hard. “Sometimes though, it gets knots that really hurt if you don’t get rid of them.”

“Just like your life,” said Ron quickly.

“Just like my life,” repeated Hank.

“Do you like your knots?” said Ron

Hank grinned his “I really am crazy smile” and said, “Sometimes they sort of have intricate patterns in the curls.”

“Do the patterns tell you anything?”

“No. They’re just pretty.”

“We already know where your desire for pretty things has gotten you.”

Hank had the realization that for the first time in a really long time he was talking to another human being and not worrying about what Jo Lee was doing. He told Ron about it.

“It probably just means that you don’t love her as much anymore.

Hank was stunned and didn’t say anything.

Chapter 43

December passed like numbers on a dial. Ron made plans to attend a demonstration in Washington slated for the 15th of the month. He left three pages of the coming issue open for articles. He’d also gotten approval for five bus tickets that staff members who were going could use. Ron’s idea was to have it all laid out and ready to go to the printer before they left. Then they could break their asses and hope to have it back from the printer by the 19th. The semester was officially over on the 21st. Ron figured that he wanted the issue out a couple of days before they broke.

On the first Wednesday of the month, Ron attended a student council meeting. He’d missed the last meeting and decided that nothing of significance to him could have happened without him hearing about it. He listened casually to the proceedings and watched the way Chris Calvin directed things. His style called for sitting back and letting conversation take place. When discussion on an issue seemed exhausted, Chris would lean forward and state his mind. Ron noticed that the council seemed to always adopt Chris’ positions. Chris also smiled a lot and was polite and respectful to everyone.

Julian T. Willy was sketching in his artist’s pad with a bored look on his face. He was abstaining on every vote. Because all the issues were being decided by lopsided margins, Chris was into giggling at Julian’s abstentions.

Laureen and Jade were sitting at the wooden desk by the telephone. Ron looked away quickly when Laureen smiled at him. He wondered if she’d stood him up because Jade had told her he was inept as a lover. Fuck her anyway. He looked quickly back to Jade who was quite oblivious to his presence. Her attention was divided between Chris and Bobby Aletti, who claimed to be drinking nothing but red wine as a protest against the war. Ron had laughed with Bobby in spite of his resolution never to laugh at anything concerned with the war again. Ron wished he could have one more shot at Jade but it was hopeless. He was sure she saw the words “too soon” everywhere on his body whenever she looked at him. Ron squirmed uncomfortably. For a few seconds he believed that everyone in the room was aware of him not being able to control himself when it counted. A voice in his head said that he jerked-off too much and that he was a bit too old to still be doing that. Ron snapped out of it. He’d been hanging with Hank too long. Now he was sure they were all out to get him too.

John Cloane and Jim Durant were people that Ron didn’t know or care to know. They were they representing the conservative fraternities. There were about fifteen other students in the room.

About an hour into the meeting the topic of new business came up. “Resolved: That the council should allocate $250 dollars for the purchase of 10 round trip bus tickets to the Moratorium in Washington on the 15th of December.”

Chris asked casually whether anyone needed to be heard on the issue. Cloane and Durant raised their hands. Since Durant was the student council officer, Chris recognized him first. Jim Durant folded his hands on the table in front of him. “It is not the place of the student council to take a position on something like the war. We are here to resolve matters of school importance.

Ron’s hand shot into the air, and Chris recognized him with a half smile. “The question,” said Ron in a sarcastic voice, “is whether we are going to allocate funds to support an educationally related experience.”

“By supplying people with school funds so they can attend a protest,” said Cloane, “we are taking a position that is not in accord with the beliefs of the majority of the student body.”

“A representative democracy,” said Chris, “is one where the people elect representatives whose judgment they feel is sound.”

“Were you elected by a majority of the students enrolled in this college today?” said Cloane.

Chris looked at him with soft confidence. “Do you know who the last American president to be elected by a true majority of the people was?”

“That’s not the point,” said Cloane.

Ron saw the hand of an older guy, standing against the back wall in a suit, go into the air. Chris looked up cautiously. “Are you a student here?”

The man was small and Ron figured him to be about thirty-five years old. “Yes,” he said with a tight grin on his face.

“Are you a representative from any group on campus?” said Chris.

“Is that a requirement for speaking in this forum?” retorted the man.

“It just helps if we understand where you’re coming from,” said Chris bobbing his head.

“My perspective is that I don’t like the way I see my interests being represented by this group of people. I happen to be a part-time student who is also an elected member of the State Assembly.

“You are funded by public money and it seems to me that law makers have a right to see the way tax dollars are being used.” He held up a copy of the newspaper. “This piece of propaganda is representative of the worst of the points of view being expressed about the war, uninformed radicalism.”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Chris, raising his tone just enough to let the guy know that he wasn’t intimidated, “that it’s all the law maker’s money. Secondly, I don’t think we have any uninformed radicals here.”

“With possibly one or two insignificant exceptions,” said Julian Willy, looking up from his sketchpad to stare at Ron, who lit a cigarette and glared back at him.

The assemblyman raised his voice to match Chris’ level. “I think that you should know that I intend to bring to the light of public scrutiny the activities of this newspaper. I also intend to bring a motion before the assembly that would review your funding on a larger basis.”

“I’m sure that if that actually happens, we’ll hear about it through proper channels.” With that comment Chris seemed to dismiss the assemblyman. He was about to call for a vote on the matter of the bus tickets when Jim Durant raised his hand again. “Yes Jim,” said Chris with a feigned weariness.

“I think that what Mr. Slurp is saying is important enough further discussion. I move that we table the motion until when we can find out more about what Mr. Slurp is saying.”

“We’re about to take a vote on the motion before the council,” explained Chris.

“Roberts Rules of Order states that a motion can be made to table at any time,” said Jim Durant.

“Do you ever know what you’re talking about, Jim? asked Julian. “Roberts Rules of Order were suspended at the beginning of this and every other meeting that we’ve had this year.”

“Is that true?” said Jim Durant, looking very surprised and confused.

“It’s the first vote we take at every meeting, Jim,” said Chris.

“Then why did you give me Roberts Rules to read when I asked you to explain how the meetings were run?”

“I figured it would help you,” said Chris, shrugging his shoulders and smiling in spite of himself. Even Slurp smiled as Chris twisted the end of his mustache and stared at Jim.

Cloane raised his hand again. “I think that upset is that “The Commuter” doesn’t seem to be looking for of the story.”

Chris looked over at Ron, who realized he was supposed to respond. “We can only print what is submitted to us. I don’t ever remember telling anyone what opinion to express on any issue. I don’t even remember asking what their opinions were,” said Ron.

“But it all works out the same, doesn’t it?” said Cloane.

“I guess it’s sort of like a fraternity only attracting a certain kind of person.” Ron watched Cloane’s face get red.

“We’re a Veterans Fraternity!” screamed Cloane. He was clearly ready to jump at Ron or ask him to step outside. “You gotta be a veteran to qualify.” Ron’s article and the damage it had caused were well known to Cloane. He hoped Ron didn’t know that there were several black vets on campus and that none of them was a member of his group. He was also frustrated because he saw there was nothing he could do about the way this was being handled. Chris had all the cards and Slurp hadn’t made a dent in him. Cloane knew that Ron’s ideas and the rest of his friends’ ideas were sick but there was nothing he could do about it. Who were these ass holes to judge when they hadn’t done their time!

“You don’t seem to attract all the vets either, do you Jim?” said Ron. He was on thin ice, but fuck Cloane and the rest like him, thought Ron. Let them get their little soldier acts together and win the fuckin’ war.

“Now what does that mean?” said Cloane, smiling with the two other members of his group.

Ron was glad that he had been able to shift the focus of the meeting. “There are over twenty Viet Nam veterans attending this college who are not in your frat.”

“You can’t please everybody,” said Cloane. He wondered how he would best like to jack Ron up.

“Does it bother you that all of them are black?”

“First of all, I’m not sure that what you’re saying is accurate, but I know that it doesn’t have anything to do with what we’re supposed to be discussing.”

Ron wasn’t finished. “Is the assemblyman also interested in my little piece of news? Is he a member of this racially segregated group? Does he think we should do more articles on the nature of prejudice in our system of local politics?”

Chris decided to take a vote on Jim’s motion to table the discussion of funding for the bus tickets. Jim’s motion was defeated. Next Chris brought up the actual vote on the money for the tickets. Durant refused to vote for, against, or even to abstain on the issue, which easily passed.

By the Thursday after Thanksgiving, Hank was sure that if he had to continue to work with his father, he would just commit suicide. Jo Lee got up with him on Monday morning, but Hank didn’t tell her that he felt sick to his stomach. He convinced himself on the way to work that he would be happy to have a place to go every day. Jo Lee would love him and get pregnant. The owner and his father would retire and leave the thriving business to him. He could hire somebody else to run it and show up to sign cheques on Fridays. He would be fair to everyone that worked for him and they would see that you didn’t have to be a bastard to get ahead in life. It would change the way he looked at things too. Hank shifted gears easily on the VW as he drove to work and reran the scenario in his mind.

Hank’s father was waiting in the parking lot when he arrived.

“You’ve got to park your car around back,” he beamed. “You can’t be using the visitor’s spaces any more.” When they reached his father’s office, the old man sat in back of his desk. Hank stood there looking at him. “You may as well take a load off now. You never know when you’ll get another chance to sit while you’re working for me.” Hank hated the way the work clothes bunched on him when he sat down. He lit a cigarette.

“Storm windows are wonderful things,” began Hank’s father. “They allow you to see what’s going on outside while keeping everything that’s important in. They’re like friends or relatives to me.” Hank’s father patted his chest, thinking that perhaps his son would be able to understand being related to a highly durable, shock resistant, triple slotted housing with interchangeable panes. Hank stared at his father and tried to make him uncomfortable. “We make a lot of screens too, Hank. We are a company that employs about a hundred and fifty full time workers and actually hundreds of thousands of pieces are moved through this shop each year. On the other side of the building is the door area. You’ve probably never been over there, but that’s the other half of the business. Any company that makes protective windows must also make protective doors. The volume of business isn’t as high over there.” Hank’s father clasped his hands together and brought them up to his mouth thoughtfully. “I guess that the explanation of there being more windows in a house than doors has something to do with it, but there are more doors out there than we’re knocking on, Hank. And for now, that’s going to be your job.”

Hank’s mouth dropped slightly open and he saw his father break into a big grin. “You want me to knock on doors?” Hank had already decided that he couldn’t do that. He would not allow himself to be slammed on and insulted more than he had been already. This was it. This was his absolute last line of defense. He could say no whenever he wanted to.

“That was sort of a little joke, Hank,” his father said laughing at his son. “We’re not going to actually send you out to knock on doors, but you are going to be spending most of your time soliciting new business for us in both retail and wholesale. The old man got really excited and stood up. Hank stood up too. “You’re going to have your own office, Hank; and it’s almost going to be the same as mine.”
The office was a ten by ten by ten pre-fabbed cube. Wherever it was possible, the boss was sub-dividing his factory space with them. The boss’s office sported the latest in one-way glass joined together by metal frames. Hank’s father showed it to him proudly as they were on the way to Hank’s cube.

As soon as he started, Hank felt like the company’s pet turtle. He told himself that he liked the idea. He would only come out when he was forced to, then he would mysteriously creep back in, do a good job, and live to be two hundred years old.

On Tuesday, Hank said to his father. “What do you want me to say to people when I call them?”

“I want you to sell them our product,” said his father stiffly.

“You expect me to say, ‘Good morning, do you need windows or doors?’ I mean, is there something I could read that would tell me about the product?”

“You can’t get everything out of books, Hank.” The old man loved the chance to say that to him.

“I need some idea of what to say.” Hank was as determined as a tortoise.

“Charlie Hargrove is due in here next week. I’ll have him talk to you.” Hank’s father started toward his duties for the day.

“What do you want me to do today?” said Hank.

“You’ve got be a self starter, Hanky. You can’t be asking me what to do about everything. Do the best that you can and maybe you’ll pick up something on your own. Study the line of products. Fill in where you can; but for God sakes, don’t mope! I’ve got a reputation to keep up here. Hank, these men have come to feel a certain way about me. They’ll be watching my son to be sure that he earns his way. It’s all a question of attitude, Hanky. These people are all off the boat. Some of them can hardly speak the language yet. It’s your job, as well as mine, to set an American example for them.”

Uncontrollably, Hank thought of the stacks of screens and windows that his father brought home and doled out to those members of the family who had learned to appreciate what it meant to be related to a window man. Hank watched his father leave the office and wondered how much he was gonna get paid for all of this. It had better be a damn sight better than my allowance, he thought bitterly.

When Hank woke up on Wednesday morning, his sinuses were giving him a lot of trouble. The steady, glacierish movement of slime was especially uncomfortable as it made its way down the back of his throat. He tried to clear himself without success. Holding a handkerchief up to his mouth and nose, he drove to work. Soon the nausea that accompanied the condition began to take hold. Hank huddled into a deep grimace. He thought about turning around and going home, but how would he explain it to Jo Lee? And what about the meeting with Charlie Hargrove?

Hank’s father never fully believed that his son didn’t have control of his nose. When he saw Hank with the familiar look on his face and the handkerchief crumpled up to his mouth, he frowned deeply.

“What’s the matter, Hank? Have you got a little cold?”

“It might be the air conditioning system in my office,” said Hank.

“Charlie will be in about 11 o’clock, so make sure you’ve got your questions straight and know what you’re going to say.”

“I don’t think I can do it today,” said Hank.

“We all learn to put up with minor discomforts so that we can do our jobs, Hank.”

His father turned and walked away. Hank went into his fishbowl and settled down. He had no intentions of calling anyone. Hank began by counting the moments that went by, and then he just stared at the panorama. He felt unattached. They were like an intricate mobile that moved in accountable patterns. They always and never seemed the same. He wished that he could find out what the patterns were supposed to be. By the time Hank’s father came to tell him that Chalie would be a little late and that they would go out to lunch, Hank was paralyzed. He had only moved twice that day. One time he went to the coffee wagon, and once he went to the bathroom. “He’ll be going to lunch in about twenty minutes. We’ll pick you up on the way out.”

“I don’t want any lunch.”

“That’s when you’re going to meet Charlie Hargrove,” said his father.

“I’d rather not have lunch with you.”

Hank’s father froze and closed the door to his son’s office. “If you’re ever going to be anything Hank, you’ve got to learn how things work. Especially when somebody is trying to give you a break with some free information- which, by the way, nobody ever gave me.”

The father was incensed. Why had she raised him to dote on his own comfort so. They had a boy and he had been proud. Then he seemed to be out of things until Hank had become the way he was now. Hank’s father told himself that it was time for the baby to become a man, and working made you a man. Hank had better learn fast. A little snot never kept a man from doing what had to be done.

Hank knew that the meeting with Hargrove never really had a chance of being a success, but he was unprepared for total disaster. If he went out to eat in his present condition, he stood no chance. He had to move quickly. He strode over to his father’s secretary and said, “Would you please tell my father that I’ve left for the day on account of illness?”

Mrs. Preston knew about the meeting with Charlie Hargrove, as did everybody else in windows. Hank’s father had been keeping them posted on his son’s progress. “You want me to tell your father that you went home sick? Are you sure you don’t want me to get him on the phone first?”

“There’s no need to do that,” said Hank. By the time he was in the back parking lot he was moving quickly. He felt better already. He had just about made it when his father ran out the back door waving his arms and hollering. Hank either had to stop for his father or run him over.

The old man was breathing heavily when he got to the car. “You can go home right after lunch, Hank. But if you walk out on me like this, I’ll never be able to hold my head up around here.”

“I can’t talk,” said Hank. He had begun to sneeze when he saw his father running out the back door. There was now a constant leakage from his nostrils.

“Park the car and come to lunch,” pleaded his father.

Hank was thinking about giving it another try when a violent round of sneezing hit him. Huge amounts of snot overflowed his tissues and ran down his hands. His father watched in disgust as rubbery streams of the stuff bounced down to his son’s pants. Hank pushed one crumpled mass of tissues after another into his face. If his father had just let him go, this would have happened in private. Having it happen in front of his father and the two heads that watched from in back of office curtains was more embarrassment than either one of them was ready for. “I guess maybe you should take the rest of the day. I’ll explain it to Charlie Hargrove.

Chapter 44

“For any of the last part of this course to make sense to you, you have to understand that Shakespeare blew the seams off the worlds of art, philosophy and communication.” Lashly lit his pipe, took his coffee and moved to the window. “I’ve got this theory that I want you to listen to. I’m only going to try it for today, and I promise never to mention it again if absolutely no one knows what I’m talking about.” Lashly smiled, and there was a gentle laugh along murmur in the class. He listened to it like it was a body of water. He studied it and tried to perceive areas where the light of understanding, that his father taught him to look for, shone. Then he spoke softly.

“In King Lear, Shakespeare goes out the bottom end of the world of tragedy. He has a vision of existence more frighteningly real than the mind could tolerate. At this point in his life and writing, he undergoes a dramatic change. He begins to see the world as a magical place. He sees language floating off into a more pure form of communication, music. He envisions a place in creation where one can live, once again, beyond the realm of tragedy.”

Lashly made his now familiar journey back to the desk where he shuffled more papers and picked up his second container of coffee. He listened to the class. Again, he looked for the light. “Shakespeare writes four plays after Lear. King Lear was the last installment in a series of tragedies, which are generally considered the greatest plays in the English language; but each of these last plays is a radically different attempt to understand the nature of life itself. All of Bill Shakespeare’s work is highly treasured; but in the first three plays of this new series, it seems to me that he is unclear about what he is trying to say. He’s a rich man now with a large reputation, so we know that he is no longer writing for money but because he believes in the theater the same way a scientist believes in his laboratory. He has stretched the dimensions of his lab well beyond what was thought to be possible.”

“I can imagine him standing in the wings and looking out at his audience. He’s watching a mysterious woman about forty years old. He sees her face at the conclusion of Cymbelline and knows that she is confused. He goes off and writes Pericles and realizes that, for all intents and purposes, the second play is even murkier for her. She begins to have some flashes of understanding during The Winter’s Tale but she still doesn’t get it until he writes The Tempest.”

Lashly stopped for a disclaimer. “Now I know that someone is going to read that he wrote another play and perhaps portions of still another, but I want to tell you that those didn’t matter. What matters is whether or not this woman is finally able to understand. Shakespeare delivers his farewell to the stage at the end of this play. It is my belief that he is talking directly to this woman, and it is in that spirit that I want you to read this last piece of literature for the semester.”

As soon as Ron went home, he opened the book and began to read. At about 9 p.m. he started it for the second time. By 2 a.m. he had finished recording his journal entry and went to sleep.

He cut all his classes again on Thursday. The preparations for the trip to Washington seemed endless and not without impediments. Which people was he actually taking with him? What would be their role once they arrived? Were there certain events that must be covered? The school’s conservative daily ran two large articles which opposed student participation and funding because it would give the college a bad name and attract outsiders who would do the school no good. There was a letter from the President of the college, addressed directly to him, that stated any students arrested because of involvement in illegal activities would be candidates for the proper disciplinary action, which remained undefined. Chris advised Ron that everybody was just covering their bases and that there was nothing to be upset about.

When he ran into Rebecca, she told him that she wanted to be his friend. Ron answered that he had no time for the type of friendship she was talking about.

After reading the play again on Thursday night, Ron felt extremely confident about the next day’s class. He drove to school early and drank two containers of coffee in the newspaper room while he was waiting. Ron was nervous as he waited for Lashly to arrive. The long haired, blonde kid asked if anybody had read the assignment and received a series of “who had time to read” answers. Lashly arrived with an entourage. First Irene, followed by the red haired girl, followed by the clicking of Lashly’s heels in the hall which always seemed to be moving at galloping speed.

Ron had placed two questions on the side board. “Why isn’t Prospero guilty of the same kind of action the US is taking in Viet Nam?” and “What is the stuff that dreams are made of?”

Lashly placed his material in neat piles and moved over to the windowsill with his coffee. Ron liked the way he seemed to drink in questions along with the coffee and then use his pipe for the pondering process. Ron saw Lashly read his first question.

“Whose question is that about Viet Nam?”

“Mine,” said Ron.

Lashly took a long swallow of coffee and stared back at the board. “You didn’t understand the play at all, did you?”

There was a smattering of laughter and a smirk from the blond haired kid that Ron didn’t notice. Ron was busy blushing. “No! I guess I didn’t see the play the way you wanted me to at all.”

“It has very little to do with anything I wanted, except of course, your reading the play,” said Lashly, shrugging at the blonde haired kid, who shrugged back at him. Lashly looked back at the board and then back at Ron. “Your second question is genuine and therefore better. At least I think it’s genuine,” said Lashly raising an eyebrow at Ron. “Now the real question is what is Shakespeare after here?”

Ron raised his hand. “Isn’t that just your question?”

“That’s not the idea–whose question it is–but the more beautiful and greater questions of the play.”

Ron still felt insulted. “Where do you figure the answer’s questions are?”

Lashly moved quickly. “Let’s get rid of your first thing early so that we don’t have to talk about it anymore. Prospero is set adrift with his daughter, by the state, to be victimized or learn to survive in nature. The United States was driven to Viet Nam by different motivations. But what is the stuff of dreams?”

The beautiful, red haired girl laughed and said, “A bit of cheese or an undigested piece of beef?” The line seemed somehow familiar, but Ron couldn’t quite place it.

“In keeping with the season,” said Lashly smiling at her. “Yes, I’m sure that there’s some truth there, but that’s not the kind of answer Ron is looking for, is it?”

Ron was still fuming about why Lashly had avoided his question about the war. “I still don’t understand why my first question isn’t important.” Lashly sighed but Ron had the ball and he was going to run with it. “The island belongs to Caliban and Prospero conquers him and makes him a slave.”

“Caliban tried to rape his daughter,” said Lashly.

“There’s no excuse for slavery anywhere,” accused Ron. He felt that Lashly’s drawl hung out like a burning KKK cross in front of the class.

“What you mean to say is that Prospero conquers Caliban in order to enslave him? Caliban makes himself a slave.”

“That sounds an awful lot like the excuses that people use to justify slavery in this country.”

Lashly seemed to visibly straighten. “I know what most of the reasons and excuses for slavery are. They’ve been given to me all my life. What I’m trying to tell you is that this isn’t the place to ask those questions.”

“You have to ask those questions everywhere,” said Ron in a loud, victorious voice.
“I suppose that you do, if you don’t know where or when to best find the answers; but what I’m trying to talk about goes beyond the two-dimensional world of politics.”

Ron didn’t know what he meant by two-dimensional, so he decided he’d better keep his mouth shut. Later, Lashly ended the class by saying that he was gonna spend Monday on the same play and that he was also going to have some things to say about the final exam.

On Friday, Hank woke up just before dawn with the feeling that he had run out his string of options. He thought about pool. The grace of the way a good player separated his shots from the pack and lined things up just right was skill brought to perfection. A good pool game was the applied synthesis of mathematical principles coupled with fate and good fortune. It was exquisite. He wanted to go through life with the same feeling he experienced during a long run at the table. He would be fully alive and paying attention. Only he would decide where and when he should move. It would be he who held the timing of the world for as long as he could keep making shots. Hank closed his eyes. The problem was that things had become so complicated that every step he took began to look like a shot and trouble was that you couldn’t be sure of making them all.

The day before he had told Jo Lee that he was going to work and instead, had driven to his mother’s house. She was expecting him and had laid out a coffee mug and napkin next to his uncollected mail. He was surprised by her insight but didn’t mention it to her. The gist of things was that he could go back to work on Friday, but after that the job was gone. “Your father is very upset.” Hank started to say that he didn’t care but she cut him off. “He feels hurt and let down.”

“Does he?” said Hank. “It’s good to know that he feels things.” Hank told his mother that he would go back to work but it was like she didn’t hear him.

“If things don’t work out, you’ve always got a home here.”

Hank figured that he had about an hour to decide if he should go back to work there. He could really take any shot he wanted, as long as he could gain enough position to get him through the table.

“Hank, you’re gonna be late for work,” said Jo Lee shaking him. He must’ve fallen back to sleep. When he had come to his senses, he saw that she had made him breakfast and laid out his work clothes. Hank put them on quietly. He was a prisoner who lived behind his own thoughts because that was the only place that was his own.

Drinking his coffee and eating his buttered roll, he tried to figure out what he was gonna do with the day. The phone’s ringing caused his heart to beat faster. He was squirming by the time Jo Lee answered it. He couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she returned to the room quickly and announced that his father wanted to talk to him. Hank hadn’t expected his old man to call and his first thought was that he didn’t want to talk with him, but he found himself moving to the telephone. “Hello,” he said trying to sound bland and noncommittal.

“Hank, I’m getting ready to leave or work and I want to know if you’re gonna be there or not.”

“Probably not,” said Hank.

“Hank, has your mother explained to you that I can’t carry you beyond this week?”

“I know that.”

“And you’re telling me that you’re not coming in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t want to give it one more try?”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Okay Hanky, your mother wants to talk to you.”

Hank felt himself sweating.

“Hank?”

“Yes.”

“Will you be down to see us soon?”

“I suppose so.”

“I’ll be expecting you sometime next week then.”

They said good-bye and Hank went back into the kitchen. “What did your father want?”

Jo Lee was expecting to hear something about the business that required the old man’s checking with him.

“He called to tell me not to come into work.”

Her face became tight and hard. Hank saw the reaction and it made him angry. “Why not?” she said darkly.

“Because I’m fired.”

“Your father called up and fired you?”

“Sort of.”

“What happened, Hank?”

He didn’t care anymore. He felt the weight of it was just too heavy and didn’t care what that said about him or anything else. “I’m fired because I didn’t want to go back to work anymore.”

“What are you telling me? Are you telling me that your father up and fired you or that you don’t want to work?”

“What difference does it make? I don’t have a job anymore.”

“It makes a big difference to me, Hank. I want to know why your father called and what happened.”

Hank’s mind was running like a spinning carousel. “Why do you want to know? So you can belittle me and badger me about it? So you can tell me how Tony would have handled it and laugh because I’m a Martian?”

“I’m past the stage of laughing.” She sat down and didn’t say anything. She looked into her coffee and thought about where she would be living when all this was over. She wondered if she could afford to stay in this apartment. Hank was right about one thing; there was always Tony. She looked up and saw Hank smirking at her. It washed away her sadness with a burst of anger that seemed to come up around her from everywhere. “You’re always going to be a pathetic little worm, aren’t you, Hank?”

“It’s certainly a long way from being a big snake, isn’t it?

Hank’s sarcasm gnawed away a little at what was keeping her from battering him with something. She wanted to take a light bulb and crush it into his face. “I hate the way you make me feel.”

“So do I, but at least it’s good that we feel something.”

Jo Lee couldn’t hold it back any longer. “You worthless prick!” she screamed reaching up for two handfuls of Hank’s tangled reddish blonde hair. She shook his head back and forth trying to tear it out of his head. She was screaming and crying at the same time.

At first Hank thought that he was going to pass out from the pain, but if he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as hard as he could, it might stop. Jo Lee pushed him away, picked up her coffee cup and hurled it into the sink. It shattered. She screamed again. Picked up his coffee cup and threw it through the window, which also shattered. She reached for the chair and Hank tried to stop her. He wasn’t quick enough. She caught him flush in the neck and chest with the back of the chair and drove him into the refrigerator. “You’d be better off if I killed you, Hank.” There was only a trace of tears on her face now. “I should take a knife and stab you or bash your head in with a frying pan while I’ve got you like this.” Hank was gasping for air. She pushed the chair harder against his neck. “You’re even too sad to kill.” She released the chair. Hank grabbed it and threw it across the room. She cried with wrenching sobs that shook her body. “I loved you and you made a fool out of me.” Hank watched her with his eyes frozen on her words. “The joke is that you’re too big a fool to blame.”

“I guess I’d better leave,” said Hank.

“I knew that you’d say that.” She was still crying but softly now.

Hank went back into the bedroom and changed from his work clothes. A voice that said, “How could she do this to me?” pounded in his head.

Chapter 45

On Saturday morning, Marjorie asked Ron what he was going to do about Christmas. Specifically, she wanted to know about his father. Were they going to invite him over on Christmas Eve as the tradition had been, or was Ron going over to Freddy’s house to deliver his presents like he’d done last year?

“It doesn’t matter,” said Ron. “I haven’t got any money anyway.”

“You’ll just have to send cards and explain to people that you couldn’t afford to make presents this year. Everybody knows that you’re in school”

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas. I don’t care about those things any more.”

Marjorie said, “Well, that’s a very nice way to feel, Ron. What should I tell the people who have already bought you things? Oh, Ronald doesn’t care about Christmas anymore, so why don’t you take everything back?”

“I don’t care what you tell anybody.” Ron was now fully annoyed. “Tell them it’s hard to make presents while people are being bombed and shot daily.”

“You take the joy out of everything, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ron wished that she would leave him alone. He just wanted to get out the door and it seemed like she was working her way up to giving him something to do.

“Don’t you even intend to send Christmas cards?”

“I just told you that I didn’t have any money for those kinds of things, didn’t I?”

“It can’t be too expensive to buy a box of cards and sit down and write them out with a little message for everybody.”

“Okay, I just don’t want to do it. How’s that?” Ron knew he was taunting her now. He saw that her lip began to quiver.

“How did you get to become such a bastard?”

“Oh Christ! You never try to understand anything.”

When the doorbell rang Marjorie said, “Do you think it would be too much trouble to ask you to answer the door?”

Ron walked to the door with Chipper close behind him. When he saw Hank standing there, it didn’t make him happy. Chipper ran over to Hank leaving a trail of wet spots behind her. “What are you up to?” said Ron. Hank shook his head and walked past Ron and into the kitchen. Fuck me, thought Ron. He ignored the wet spots and followed Hank.

Thinking that Hank would lend support to her argument, Marjorie was happy to see him. She often found that Hank leaned toward her way of thinking when it came to Ron’s behavior. “How are you, Hank?”

Hank put his head down. “Not too good,” he muttered.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“That would be good.” Hank looked strained and pale. Each gesture that he made seemed to require a large effort.

Finally, Ron began to warm up to the fact that something was wrong with Hank. “What’s happenin’ man?”

Hank grimaced and tried to smile but the smile just became a larger grimace. “I don’t know,” he said shaking his head. Then he blurted, “I’d like to be able to stay here for a while.”

Ron and Marjorie exchanged a look of shock. “What happened, man?”

“I don’t know.”

Marjorie said, “You’re always welcome to stay with us, Hank.”

Hank looked at her with an extreme sense of relief. He bent down and began to pet Chipper. He looked into the dog’s eyes for a long time– long enough to make both of the observers uncomfortable.

Marjorie served them all a cup of coffee. Ron decided he had a little time before he was supposed to be at the noontime meeting at Chris’ house. On closer observation, Hank looked even worse had first appeared. Ron wondered if he was sick or if he’d snapped and was now unbalanced somehow. “Do you feel okay Hank?”

“I don’t feel much of anything.”

“Did someone die?” said Marjorie.

“Not exactly.”

She pressed. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“I think I might be.”

“Did you leave Jo Lee?” said Ron.

“She threw me out,” said Hank exhaling.

Marjorie tried her best to hide her amusement at Hank’s dramatics. “What did she say?”

“She said that I was a dirty little worm,” said Hank.

“She should know about dirt,” said Ron.

It took Hank about twenty minutes to sketch in some details of the story. He left out the parts about him quitting his job and Jo Lee pinning him against the refrigerator with the chair. He was too embarrassed to mention either event in front of Marjorie. By the end of the story, Ron had become impatient. “Hank,” he said, ‘look, I’ve got to get going. We’re going to Washington next week and this is the last real planning session before the trip.”

Hank didn’t say anything. Marjorie said, “Why don’t you take Hank with you to meet your college friends?”

“It wouldn’t be a very good idea,” said Ron. “This isn’t a social gathering. Hank wouldn’t know anybody there or have any idea of what we were talking about.” Ron put on his shoes. “I’ll see you when I get back,” he said as he left Hank and Marjorie sitting in the kitchen.

“Ronald, wait a second.” Marjorie’s voice grabbed him just as he was about to clear the door. She came out into the hallway and whispered. “What am I supposed to do with him? I’ve got to go to the cemetery to fix the graves with Aunt Dottie this afternoon.”

“Just leave him in my room. I’ll take care of him when I get back.”

“When is that going to be?”

“Probably not for quite a while.”

“Do you think it’s fair to just dump him on me like this?” Ron didn’t answer “He is your friend, you know.”

Ron knew, but he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t giving up his meeting to console Hank. “I’m sure that he won’t be here very long and I don’t think that he’ll make a lot of noise or cause any trouble.

“You say that now, but you won’t really be here long enough to know.” She had an idea and was heading towards it with a gathering momentum. “Why don’t you give me the number at Chris’ house, and I can call you there if anything goes wrong?”

Ron flushed and froze in the same instant. He could see himself sitting there trying to map out an important strategy that he was beginning to believe could change the world and then the telephone would ring and it would be his mother wanting to know what time he was coming home for dinner. “I won’t be that long. It’ll be okay, I promise.” Ron slipped out the door and she followed him onto the porch.

“Why can’t you give me Chris’ number?”

“What do you need it for?”

“Because I want it. I can’t understand why you’re so afraid that I’ll call you there. Is it now an embarrassment to talk to your mother?”

“You’re only using this Hank thing as an excuse to get the number so you can keep tabs on me. I don’t really know the number.”

“Then give me the address, and I’ll get the number from information.”

“I don’t know the address. I just know how to get there.”

The planning session was exciting. It reminded Ron of a marathon stickball game that went on until you couldn’t see what you were doing anymore. Ron was going to Washington in the second car. He’d thought that everybody would be traveling on the buses but learned that Chris was funding two cars worth of his friends out of miscellaneous student council funds. The coolest way to travel was in privacy. The cars were equipped with a supply of pot and an equal number of guys and chicks. Ron found himself unsolicitedly paired with Ronda Beamer.

She had a great body, but he never would have picked her out for himself.

He wasn’t really paired with her; but the other four people in the car represented two couples, and Ron felt sure he was being given a shot at Ronda.

“What are you going to do now?” said Chris when people started going home.

“I got a friend staying at my house who’s really on a bad trip. I guess I should go back and hang out with him for a while.”

Chris nodded. “We’re both invited over to Ronda’s house.”

For some reason, Ron didn’t like it. “Who else is going to be there?”

“Me, you-if you want- a couple of other people.”

“It sounds like it would be great. She’s got a fine ass, but I got to do this thing at home, you know?”

“Okay man,” said Chris.

Ron found Hank camped in his room reading the copy of The Hustler that he still kept by his bed. Hank was anxious to tell him the real story of what had happened. He went into all the details and ended by telling Ron how much better it felt not to be there anymore.

“She fucked you over,” said Ron. “What happened to the job with your father?”

“I can’t take working with him.”

“Do you think that’s what set things off between you?”

“I don’t know,” said Hank. “It seems now that anything might have set things off.”

“Tell me why it was so bad with your father,” said Ron.

“I couldn’t breathe in the office they stuck me in and my sinuses got clogged and after that everything was just a mess.”

Ron thought that it sounded like a piss poor reason for walking out on a job, but he kept it to himself. He told Hank about the planning session but left out the Ronda Beamer thing. He waited for Hank to say something when he was done talking, but Hank was quiet. Finally, Ron said, “Do you want to go down there with us? I think I can arrange things if you want to go.”

“I don’t think so,” said Hank.

“Why not?”

“Because those people don’t really know what they’re doing. There’s nothing they can do that’s going to change anything and people get hurt at those things.”

“Yeah? What about the principles involved?”

“Look,” said Hank, “I think the war is bad. In fact, I think it’s horrible but there isn’t anything that I can do about it.”

“That’s wrong Hank. There’s a lot we can do to take the place of sitting around and feeling sorry for ourselves.” Hank winced. Ron saw him wince and felt guilty. “The people involved in the peace movement need help. And really, man, what are we doing? Nothing. What have we ever done except make up a bunch of games and develop a bunch of habits to pass the time.”

“That’s right,” said Hank sarcastically.

“Well, this isn’t a fuckin’ game. This is trying to do what’s right and trying to save people’s lives.”

“You go ahead and try to save them.”

Ron knew Hank was telling him that he was being a sucker, but he decided he didn’t care as long as he was being a sucker about the right things. It was better than doing nothing and just dreaming about what things you might do. “I’m not trying to be an evangelist, man.”

“That’s certainly not how it sounds,” said Hank.

“How did it sound when Jo Lee called you a dirty little worm?”

At first Hank looked stunned. Then he managed to say, “Just like that.”

“That’s what I mean. If we get tangled up in this emotional crap, we lose sight of what’s important. Then anybody can come along and turn you into a frog, a worm, or anything else because you’re afraid to do anything about it.” Hank didn’t say anything. Ron wished that he could tell him to go home. “Do you want to take a ride or something?”

“That would be good,” said Hank.

Hank had Sunday dinner with Ron, Aunt Dottie, Marjorie and George. Marjorie said that it seemed almost natural having him there and that he should make himself at home and consider himself part of the family for as long as he needed to take to straighten things out. Ron wondered if he would have to move out to get away from it. After dinner, Hank sat and talked about Jo Lee with everyone except George and Chipper, who had gone to take a nap. Ron almost wished he could join them.

Marjorie said, “It doesn’t sound like the girl was for you, and that’s all there is to it.”

“That’s all,” said Hank pathetically. Ron wanted to kick him. He could understand why Jo Lee had ended up grabbing him by the throat.

“Hank,” began Aunt Dottie. She had listened to the story twice by now and had decided she needed to take some steps to insure against a third repetition. “If you want this girl, you’ll have to go out and get a job that you’ll be proud of. Either she’ll wait for you to get back on your feet or she wasn’t worth having around, but no woman likes a crybaby, Hank. A woman has to feel like she can respect her husband…” She paused and stared at Hank fixedly, “or boyfriend . She’ll never be happy if she feels she can walk all over you.”

“I guess you’re right,” said Hank.

“Don’t say that you think I’m right when you haven’t understood a word of what I’ve said. In Jo Lee’s case, even if you had clouted her, you would have been better off than running away like a little puppy, which is what you did.” Ron wanted to laugh but covered his mouth. Dottie wasn’t finished. “As things are, what have you got? You’re even afraid to go home because you haven’t stood up to anybody. It’s not my business what you do, Hank, but it seems to me there are plenty of fish in the sea.”

On Monday night, Marjorie asked Ron how long he thought Hank intended to stay.

“I don’t know,” said Ron.

That night at dinner, she raised the question of why Hank hadn’t called Jo Lee and told her that he wanted to make up.

“It doesn’t feel like the right thing to do,” said Hank squirming.

“What are you going to do, Hank?” said Marjorie. “Are you going to let her walk away from you like you don’t care?”

“It’s not at all that I don’t care.”

“How is she supposed to know that if you don’t tell her?”

Ron had seen the trap coming, but Hank just walked right into it. Ron felt like he’d paid a lot of dues to know it was coming. He decided not to rescue Hank from what he knew was the next step.

“How is she supposed to know that?” repeated Hank. Ron thought Hank looked like a holiday turkey.

“She’s not going to know until you make the first move and call her. You can go in the other room. No one is going to bother you.

“You mean right now?” said Hank.

“What are you waiting for?” pressed Marjorie.

“She wouldn’t be home now anyway. She’s supposed to be at work.”

“You’ll never know unless you call,” said Marjorie. “I’ll bet she is home.”

Hank was trapped but to Ron’s surprise, he didn’t seem to mind that much. Ron decided that his mother was just pushing Hank to do something that he really wanted to do anyway. It was useless to try to resist Marjorie when things had gone this far. Hank figured that he could go to the phone, dial the number and there would be no answer. Then they could spend some time talking about what she would have said, and Hank could feel more prepared for the time when he really did have to speak to her.

With a lilting “hello,” Jo Lee picked up the phone on the second ring. Hank was so sure there wouldn’t be any answer that he hadn’t even gone into the other room. He tried to move quickly but got tangled up in the phone cord. Jo Lee said, “Hello,” for the second time. Hank didn’t answer. She said, “Hello,” again and followed it by saying, “Is that you, Hank?”

“It’s me,” said Hank, still struggling with the phone cord and Ron, Marjorie and Aunt Dottie watched. Then Hank told Jo Lee that it was a bad connection and that he would call her right back. Aunt Dottie told him that he could use the phone up in her apartment so that he could have some privacy. Hank gratefully accepted the offer and hurried up the stairs. He sat with the phone in front of him for some long minutes. Then he dialed.

Jo Lee picked up the phone on the third ring and said, “I thought you chickened out, Hank.”

“I think that we should talk,” he said thinking that he deserved the line about being a chicken. He began to think that maybe he could go back and work for his father.

“We can talk,” she said pausing,” but I want you to come over in the next day or two and get your stuff outta here.”

Hank felt like she’d burned him with a match and what came out of him next was more of a reaction than something he thought about saying. “But that’s our apartment. It belongs to me just as much as it belongs to you.”

“You couldn’t afford the rent and besides, you don’t have a reason to be up here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” said Hank weakly. He was trembling.

“You make me feel like an awful person, Hank, and I know I’m not that bad.”

“I don’t think that you’re awful at all.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She paused again “Your things have to be out by Friday because starting this weekend somebody else is going to be staying here.”
Hank began to cry. “The piano player,” he blubbered.

“It’s none of your business anymore, Hank.”

“It is the piano player though, isn’t it?” Hank felt an adrenalin force its way through his words.

“No, it isn’t.” Hank quivered more violently. “I’ve decided to patch things up with Tony.”

Hank gasped and said, “You can’t go back to that. Hank saw images of Tony and the stains on their rug. They were etched in his mind, super-imposed on images of his mother and father.

“I’m tired of moving on to new things, and I know what life is like with Tony. I don’t want to be scared anymore, Hank, and you make me feel like an asshole.”

Hank was crying. “I guess I’ll get my things tomorrow,” he choked out.

“I’m not going to be here, but make sure you lock the door and leave the key.” Hank winced and there was a silence. “This way I won’t have to hate you anymore.” After a moment she ended the conversation with a quick “good-bye.” She felt very uncomfortable talking to him, and she knew that was the feeling she wanted to get away from.

Hank sat in Aunt Dottie’s kitchen crying. The front of his shirt was quite wet. Sunny flew over and landed on his shoulder. Hank moved his hand back to pick up the bird, and Sunny sunk his beak into the too quickly moving finger. He squawked, shit on Hank’s shoulder and flew back to his cage.

Ron saw the bird shit and tears on Hank’s shirt and knew that it didn’t look good. Marjorie was too anxious for results to notice Hank’s condition. “How did it go?” she said. “It wasn’t that hard, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t hard at all,” said Hank.

When Hank didn’t speak for a full minute, Aunt Dottie said, “She gave you the gate, didn’t she?”

“She gave me the gate,” repeated Hank nodding sadly.

“She probably didn’t mean it,” said Marjorie.

Ron figured that it was time for him to step in. Hank was his friend, and he couldn’t stand to watch the thing continue like this. What Hank needed was a couple of joints and a ride. “Let’s go for a ride, man?”

“I don’t think that I can drive right now,” said Hank.

Ron offered to drive the bug. Marjorie protested in a silent way. She thought that after all the time she’d spent with Hank that she at least deserved to know exactly what had happened.

Chapter 46

Chapter 2
Ron tugged the splattered sheet from the bed …balled it and through it into the corner of his closet. Then he slipped on a pair of fresh jeans and a dark blue, button down shirt. He combed his hair looking in the mirror. He brushed his teeth. Then he was out the door and into his car.
The summer night was warm and the breeze from the open windows of the moving car cooled him down. He felt his hands sweating and rubbed them on his jeans. Jesus, he was acting like a school boy. The drive was smooth. On Sunday nights most of the world was home, or headed there, and thinking about Monday morning work. Ron smiled and thought about how much he loved having the summers off. The parkway lights glowed yellowish, soft, and hazy. Ron glanced down at his hastily written directions. He couldn’t see them. He paid the toll and pulled the car off to the side of the road. He tried to read his scribble and cursed his handwriting. He couldn’t make it out. She’d never understand if he didn’t get there. He thought this was the right exit. He’d pulled off the parkway and looked for a phone booth. It was then that he realized that he hadn’t taken her number with him. Ron said, “I’m too stupid to live.”
He did have the address and so he decided that he would let his instincts take over. He drove towards his school. She did say that it was close to there in Fair Lawn, the next town over. He stopped at a light on Paramus Road and made a left. It felt right. The streets were dark. The road was wide and silent and winding
The he came to another light. Instinct told him to turn left. And there was something that he recognized. He knew where he was! Ron looked up at the twinkle of stars and smiled to them. They seemed to be giggling. He felt himself concentrating. He turned the Ford to the right, the springs squeaked. He hated that the springs squeaked so much. It felt like people could tell that he was coming and would refer to him as Squeaky. Ron saw the circle and knew it was her house. He felt his body begin to relax. At least he had gotten here. When he got out, he looked up and thanked the giggling stars.
Celeste came out of the door just as he moved towards her house. She looked gorgeous. She was wearing a long, flowing ankle length skirt and a white cotton top. He brown hair was below her shoulders and bounced as she walked. She took his hand quickly and turned him around. “Let’s go for a drink,” she said. “It will be easier to talk.”
They got into Ron’s car and he winced each time the springs squeaked. She didn’t seem to notice. He had the sense that he could feel her smiling next to him as they drove to the bar.
When the waitress came over to their booth, Ron really didn’t know what to order. Other than having naked women gyrating in front of him, his time in bars had been negligible. He always blamed it on the dives that his dad had taken him to when he was a kid, when his dad was fixing juke boxes and pinball machines and pool tables in Newark. A thought that the business for which his dad worked must have been connected to organized crime struck him, and for a second he fixated on it and then he pushed it away and grinned his best dimpled grin for her. She returned the smile.
“I don’t think that I’m much of an Arcosanti type,” said Ron.
“I really didn’t think that you were either,” said Celeste with a mischievous grin.
“Really, the reason that I was calling was that I wanted to see you and talk with you and the Arcosanti thing gave me an excuse.”
“Let’s forget about Arcosanti,” she said. “It was a pretty thin reason for giving you my phone number but it was all that I had.”
Ron felt his heart begin to pound. “You wanted to see me too?”
“Yes,” said Celeste. “I don’t know why but it feels like I know you.”
“We did meet a long time ago,” said Ron. “I mean, really a long time ago.”
Celeste said, “Quimpy told me that we had, but I must have had you mixed up with someone else. I thought you had thick glasses and blondish, curly hair.”
Ron was confused. She didn’t remember him. She was describing his friend Hank. Would she have been happier if it had been Hank who showed up?
“That was an old friend of mine. His name is Hank. I’m not sure what he’s doing these days, but I think Quimpy told me that he is a golf pro.”
Two glasses of wine appeared at their table and Ron reached into his pants and pulled out a wad of bills. He never had his money neatly arranged. He felt his cheeks redden as he fished for something other than a single. He wondered if all the singles would let on to her that he went to go-go bars and wondered if she would be disgusted by that and just want him to take her home. Then he sighed visibly with relief and saw a ten dollar ball and slipped it onto the waitress’s tray.
“But we did spend an afternoon talking at Quimpy’s garage,” he said.
She turned her eyes towards him and shifted her body so that it was angled to face him. He felt her foot touch his leg and then move away. “What did we do?” she asked lightly. She was still smiling. She had a great smile that spread from her mouth up to her eyes. They were large and brown and searching his face in the most delightfully teasing way.
Ron swallowed. “Um, we got high. We talked about politics. You told me that you were working on the Underground Railroad and helping guys to get to Canada. You told me that you were also writing to guys who were in Viet Nam because you didn’t think that it was their fault that they were there, and that you hoped that it helped that they had someone to write to.”
Celeste felt a jolt race through her body. He wasn’t fooling. He did remember her and he remembered details. That was such a long time ago. How could he possibly remember that?
“That must have been me,” she said.
Ron grinned to himself. He loved his memory. He could just picture things and bring back those pictures and his mind would move like a camera through the recollections and he could see himself and he could hear what people were saying to him. It didn’t happen all the time, but it happened often enough. He had decided a while back that he remembered the things that were important to him, even if he didn’t know why they had been important. It was like his memory was his guardian angel.
“You drove a red sports car,” Ron continued. “And you were working at this food company.”
“Nabisco,” she said. She wondered if she should feel uneasy, but she didn’t. She felt complimented. “How do you remember all that?”
Ron grinned again and put his head down. “I don’t know. Sometimes things just stick in my head.”
She smiled. “And I stuck in your head?”
“I guess so,” said Ron. He paused thoughtfully. “Well you did and then you didn’t. I’ve been thinking about you since we saw each other last and I guess that’s when I remembered those things.”
Celeste sipped at her wine. “Maybe Quimpy helped you fill in the details.”
Ron laughed. “Not exactly. He just got tired of me asking if it was ok for me to call you.”
Her eyebrows gathered. “Why did you ask?”
Ron was silent. He wasn’t sure how he should say this. How did he explain that in the code she still belonged to Quimpy? “I just felt like I should,” he said.
“Quimpy knows that I’m not going to go out with him under any circumstances. I made that clear from the start,” said Celeste.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” said Ron. “She looks at you and you know that she understands everything that is happening around her.”
Celeste offered another of those smiles that made him want to gaze into her eyes and bask in their light. “Of course I think she’s very special but I’m prejudiced.”
“Does she see her father much?”
“He’s allowed to visit in our living room. He stays a while and then he loses interest and wants to talk with me or my family, but no one is really interested in talking to him.”
“Was he abusive to you?”
“Not physically, but emotionally he was. He called me every day and asked me to have an abortion and then he had his father call and ask me to have an abortion and I wasn’t doing that again.” Celeste stared into Ron’s green eyes and wondered if she had said too much. She was more of a private person than this, but the way that he made her feel just put her at ease and caused her to want to open herself and answer honestly. She wanted him to know what he was getting into. Celeste was sure that this was going to be a summer fling, but from the time that he walked into her parents’ house with Quimpy, she had known that she wanted to sleep with him. It was really the first time she’d felt a strong sexual urge in a long time, and she knew that she didn’t deserve this but she wanted it. She knew that was not part of the deal that she made with her parents when she left Peter and came back home then found out that she was pregnant. They had been very clear. It was time for her to stop running around and start thinking of this child before herself. She had her fun, now it was time to settle into becoming a good mother. They would accept the humiliation of her dissolving another marriage but this was it. This was the end.
Ron let her words sink in. He waited for the alarm to go off in his head. It didn’t ring. He waited to feel the urge to get away. It didn’t come. He said, “We all say things that we don’t mean. I’m sure that he’s happy now. Is there any chance of reconciliation?”
Celeste’s face hardened. “No, not even a slight chance.”
Her mind flashed on her wedding day. Her cousin Janine was saying, “We can just walk out the back door and get into the car. You don’t have to go through with this.” If there had been a time when she should have rebelled that was it. Of all the times to pick to be the good girl and do what was expected of her, she picked that one.
She tried to see what was going on in back of his eyes. When she looked into them, it was as if she could see his mind working.
“Well, she’s a beautiful girl and you should be very proud of her.”
“I am. We all are. My whole family is. She is our princess.”
Ron smiled but he was sure that he didn’t know what she was talking about.
“So tell me about you,” she said.
“Not much to tell,” said Ron. He folded his hands on the table in front of his wine glass. “I live alone in a small apartment in Bloomfield. I’m off this summer. This school that I teach at now gives us 26 pay checks year round and so I’m not really looking for work. Quimpy was agonizing about how he was ever going to get this move done, so I offered to help him. He’s done a lot in the past to help me. This fall, I start my second year as a football coach. I’m not very political any more. There just doesn’t seem to be anything to be political about. I’m pretty certain that there isn’t anything that I can do to change anything anymore. But I can work with kids and try to help them to see the value of literature and being about to write and speak their minds in an articulate way. I’m thirty-two but it feels like I should be younger.”
As she listened, she thought that he sounded very free of entanglements. It frightened her that they would have this glass of wine and that he would promise to call and that she would never hear from him again. She knew that she could not bring herself to really chase after him.
“Do you enjoy your teaching?” she asked.
“More than I ever thought that I would. I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I left college. I wanted to be a poet.” He looked at her with a reflection of that grin in his eyes. “It didn’t take long to find out that there isn’t much work for poets.”
They both laughed. They both sipped from their wine. She slid a little closer to him and he found that he had reached for her hand and now they were holding hands. He hadn’t thought about doing it. How did that happen?
She said, “I’m not sure that I get poetry. I think it sounds beautiful but I’m never sure what it’s supposed to mean.”
Ron blushed. “I used to try to tell people what my poems meant. I even corrected them if the poem meant something different to them. How stupid was that?”
Celeste smiled. He felt himself melting. “It probably didn’t go over really well with them and they probably didn’t want to talk with you about your poetry after that.”
Ron grinned broadly. “You are a mind reader.”
They finished the wine and were back in his car. Ron didn’t wince at the squeaks. They didn’t say anything. The night seemed soft. Ron thought about John Keats calling the night “tender” and he felt that he knew what the poet meant.
They pulled up in front of her house. Ron said, “I’m really not ready for this conversation to be over but I understand if you’re tired.”
Celeste said, “Would you like to see my basement.”

The ceiling was low, the walls were paneled. The floor was carpeted. They embraced as soon as they entered the room. The kiss was a marathon of lips and tongues. Their sense of time disappeared. The tactile exchange became their language and they communicated longing and passion and although their minds could not quite fathom it, their bodies were in love.
They did not have sex or undress. They did not touch each other’s genitals. They hardly breathed. It was a slow, undulating dance and they felt revealed to each other. After endless kisses, they went outside and sat on her porch, so that they could talk again. The visibility to the community allowed them to keep their hands off of each other. It was about 4am when Ron said, “Do you think that we should get married?”
Celeste felt her head began to spin. The tightness in her belly threatened to double her over. She could see his eyes though the darkness and they were like searchlights that had found her in the night and would not release her. She was too frightened to speak. Then she said, “Don’t say that.”
“I think we should,” said Ron. He knew it with certainty that allowed for no doubts.
Celeste hoped that he couldn’t see her hands shaking.

Chapter 3

Ron was walking back from Branch Brook Park. It was cold. The sky was dark. Along Broadway, a steady line of car lights headed in both directions. The streetlights illuminated the side walk. He was trying to keep his jacket closed, but he was sweating underneath and the urge to pull it open was strong. His cheeks were flushed red. There was a friendly ache in his shoulders. It had been a great game, probably the last one of the season. They had worn the grass away and the ground was hard dirt. He could still see the play in back of his eyes.
Joey Pena had the ball curled into the crook of his left arm and when Ron put his shoulder into him, Joey left his feet and the ball bounced with the crazy agitation that only a football had. Ron rolled and was up and he had it in his hands and he was running. All around him the shadows of kids were changing direction and running after him. He smiled now, reliving the way that they had bounced off of him as he charged towards the goal line. He had been unstoppable. He pulled open his jacket and breathed deeply. The cold air dried the sweat on his body but he felt too good to shiver.
He turned into his alley way and smelled the aromas of cooking meat that filtered through the open kitchen windows. They always kept the apartments very warm. He burst into their basement apartment and Marjorie was sitting at the kitchenette table that was part of their living room, bedroom combination. When she saw him, she said, “You’d better not get sick.”
“I feel fine, Mom. I’m just going to go and clean up.”
While he was in the bathroom washing his face and trying to clean the cut on his elbow, he heard voices in the other room. He recognized Rocky’s voice but there were two others. He turned off the water and held some toilet tissue to his elbow. He watched it begin to turn crimson as he listened to what the voices were saying. It was then that he heard his mother begin to sob.
“Rocky, don’t do this to me. Don’t do this to us.”
“Marjorie, there is no more us and I’m doing this so that you know it and have no doubts or think that there is any chance that I will come back to you.”
His mother cried harder. “But I love you. You have your clothes here. We made plans. We have the bank that we were using to save for vacation.”
Donna said, “Can’t you see that he doesn’t want you anymore?”
Donna’s mother Clara said to Rocky, “This little run down hole in the ground is where you spent the last ten years? You’d better not think that my daughter will be willing to live like this.”
Marjorie looked up and said, “Did you know that he was here last weekend, and that we went away and that we made love.”
Rocky said, “Margi, don’t lie like that. No one is going to believe you.”
Ron bit into his finger. But his mother was telling the truth. They had all been together last weekend. He heard his mother cry harder.
“Well, “said Donna, “there really isn’t much more to say is there?”
“There is one more thing,” said Clara. “Tell her that you don’t love her and that you don’t want her to call you anymore and that you don’t want to ever see her. Tell her that you will have someone pick up your things.”
Ron heard Rocky say the unthinkable. “I don’t love you Margi. I haven’t loved you for a long time. I have my divorce now and I’m going to marry Donna.”
His mother’s voice was small and pathetic. “I know that you still love me,” she said. “And I want you to know that I love you and that I always will love you.”
Ron’s eyes were filled with tears. They had lived with Rocky since he was two years old. Next to his father, Rocky was the man that he admired most in his life. Rocky’s family had told him that he was one of them and that they loved him. They told him that he was family.
“I’m not staying to hear anymore of this nonsense,” said Clara.
Donna added, “Tell her that you don’t want to see her anymore.”
Rocky said, “We had some good times Marjorie, but I don’t want to see you anymore and I don’t want to hear from you.”
Marjorie cried very hard. She sounded like a wounded animal. Rocky turned to Donna, “Are you satisfied now?”
Donna smirked, “Yes.”
Rocky turned to Clara, “Are you satisfied?”
“For now I am,” said Clara.
Ron burst out of the bathroom and into the room. His eyes were streaming tears.
“Ronald,” wailed his mother. “I forgot that you were back there.”
Ron glared at Rocky, hot hatred mixing with confused love. “Tell me you don’t love me anymore.”
Rocky’s mouth dropped open at the sight of him. “Go on!” screamed Ron. “Tell me, I want to hear you say it.”
“This is no place for children,” said Clara.
Ron wheeled on her. “Shut up lady, or I will smack you. Shut up!” he screamed. His voice was deafening and shook the room.
Rocky took Donna by the arm and turned to leave. Ron ran up in back of him and pushed him as hard as he could. Rocky stumbled against the wall and whirled in surprise. Ron snarled, “She may love you, but not me. I’ll hate you forever. I want you to die.”
Then we went to his mother and stood there holding her as she sat bent over in the chair. “Get out,” he screamed. “Get out. Your clothes will be in the garbage, pick them out of the cans.”
“Ronald, you don’t understand this,” said Rocky.
Ron started to cry at the sound of Rocky speaking his name. “You’re nothing. Get out!”
As they went through the door, he yelled, “I was there last weekend too, wasn’t I, Rocky?”
No one said anything else and he held his mother as she cried for a very long time.

Chapter 4
When school was out, Ron walked along Summer Avenue to Grafton and then down Grafton to Broadway. He avoided friends and took streets where he knew no one he knew would be. The American Legion Hospital was at the corner of Grafton and Broadway. Her room was in the front, and if she was sitting up, she would wave to him. They said that she needed rest. He wasn’t allowed to visit her there. He stood at the chain link fence and smiled and waved. Sometimes he called out, but they didn’t like him doing that, and a nurse had come to the window and put her finger to her lips to quiet him. Ron saw the street sign that read, “Quiet, Hospital Zone” and put his head down. He stood with his fingers curled into the chain link fence that surrounded the very small hospital. He always waited a few minutes if she wasn’t at the window. Then he walked to his aunt’s house where he was staying until she got home.
Rocky’s friend Ray owned the Esso station that he passed, but Ray never seemed to be looking at the street when Ron walked passed, but he slammed his heels down on the pavement and balled his fists as he went by anyway.
Sometimes he went to their apartment and let himself in. It seemed lonely and happy to see him. It was as if the place knew something was wrong. Ron felt badly that his home had been called a hole in the ground. He would sit at the table for a few minutes and be very quiet. He didn’t want anyone knowing that he was there. He didn’t know how to answer questions from the neighbors about what he was doing there. Giving his aunt’s phone number to the school had been bad enough.
When he got to Aunt Dottie’s building, he always felt better. She always greeted him with a smile and a plate of cookies and some milk from one the tin cups that he liked because they kept the milk so cold.
“When do you think she’s coming home?” said Ron.
“Maybe next week, Ronald,” said his Aunt. Some women wore Rhinestones in the upper part of the frames of their glasses. His Aunt had real diamond chips embedded in hers and they sparkled in the light in a real and classy way.
“Do you think that she’s going to be ok?”
“Of course she is. She gets nervous and we both know that she’s a big baby, Ronald.”
“I hate him. I want to find him and do something really bad to him, Aunt Dot.”
“I know that you do. People will tell you that it’s wrong to feel that way. That it’s better to let go of bad feelings. I say don’t let go of them. Use them to make sure that you don’t ever get suckered again.”
Ron met her eyes. “You’re right.”
“That’s between us, Ronald. Don’t tell anyone that I told you that. They’ll just think that I’m being a bitter old woman, but the way this world is, whenever you let your guard down, you are one step closer to being a fool. Keep your private thoughts to yourself. Sometimes that’s the best way to be.”
When Marjorie came home, things were rough. She cried all the time and went to a bar every night. She played sad songs on the hi-fi and never laughed or smiled. They had no money and she was not able to work. There was only the $20 that came from his father each week.
Ron rang the doorbell to the landlady’s apartment. Mrs. Cody was a short, squat woman who wore her glasses on a chain around her neck. “Hello, Ronald.”
“Mrs. Cody, I’m here with the rent.”
“All of it, this time?”
“No Ma’am. We only have $50, but I’ll be back with the other $15 on Sunday, after I see my father.”
She reached for the envelope. “Alright, Ronnie. Please tell your mother that I hope that she’s feeling better.”
“Mrs. Cody, is there anything that I could do around here to earn some of that money?”
“I’m afraid that we aren’t allowed to do that with tenants, Ronnie, but if you get here very early when it snows, I’m sure that Mr. Cody could pay you to help shovel and…” The woman thought for a moment and then called over her shoulder, back into the apartment, “Could you use any help tying up newspapers and getting the garbage cans out, Dennis?”
“Who wants to know?” called a gruff voice that coughed after it spoke.
“Ronnie Tuck, Marjorie’s kid.”
“They ain’t got the rent again, huh?”
“Could you use the help?”
“Not really.”
Mrs. Cody turned back to Ronald. “Come and see me when it snows,” she said and shut the door.
Ron trailed his fingers along the rough plaster wall as he went back to their apartment, but instead of turning right to go in, he turned left and went to the washing machine room. He knew a trick, and sometimes it was worth thirty-five cents.

Chapter 5
As the pink Cadillac made its way across Paterson carrying a load of books, magazines and vinyl records, Ron told Quimpy that he was in love. Quimpy laughed at the impulsivity of his fucked-up friend. “Are you paying attention to yourself at all?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you know how stupid you sound, right?”
“Why?”
Quimpy’s sardonic grin stayed on his face as he formed his phrasing. “Let’s see, you know nothing about her. She has a kid. You’re barely able to take care of yourself. You’re a pothead. You’re thinking with your cock and you really don’t know how she feels. That’s just for starters.”
“It’s how I feel,” said Ron. “I’m not thinking with my cock. I’m thinking with my heart.”
“That might even be worse than thinking with your cock!” Quimpy laughed.
Inwardly, Ron smiled as Quimpy’s ridicule slid off of him like water on glass. Was this what it felt like when someone was jealous of you? Maybe Quimpy wasn’t jealous. He’d had his chance with Celeste. Ron had asked him enough times if it was ok if he called her. Maybe Quimpy thought he was looking out for him and that he was being a good friend. Ron didn’t care. What Quimpy thought about this was no longer a concern.
“When are you going to see her again?” said Quimpy.
“As soon as we’re done for the day.”
“I’m not saying that she isn’t ok, but I’m saying that you better think about the baggage that comes along with her.”
“Quimpy, we all have baggage.”
“Not her kind,” said Quimpy definitively.
Celeste Was conflicted. She wanted to tell someone about Ron but she wasn’t sure who she could trust to keep her secret. It was definitely too soon to say anything at home. Last night had been magical but like many magic things, maybe it was an illusion. There was risk involved. Her sister was out of the question. Number one, she wouldn’t approve. Sure she paid lip service to wanting to see Celeste happy, but Celeste really believed that she gloried in the status quo where she was the good daughter, the one who had a husband who was a truck driver and worked at the same plant as her father. She had a son and she didn’t need any help raising him. Secondly, it would take her about ten minutes to find some excuse to put their mother on to Celeste’s latest folly. She definitely wasn’t ready for that war.
She did have friends that she could talk to. There was Barbara from across the street and Jane from around the other side of the circle, but they weren’t family. When it all came down to it, she had been raised to be closest to her family. They were the ones who accepted you. They were the ones who you should be able to tell anything, except of course her mother and her sister. Really there were two choices: Cynthia and Janine.
Cynthia had been divorced and had gone through the added humiliation of everyone finding out that her husband liked to wear women’s clothes and probably was gay. Janine, had kept her marriage a secret for months. It was true that she was older and had two great kids, both of whom loved Angel, but she was also enough of a screwball so that Celeste felt comfortable talking with her. It was Janine that suggested that she slip out the back door a few minutes before she married her second husband. She dialed the phone.
“Hello,” said a low hard edged voice that paradoxically also sounded warm
Celeste responded in her Jersey Twang, “Janine.”
“What’s the matter?”
“He’s gorgeous.”
“He called?”
“Last night. We went for a drink after the baby was asleep and then we talked till five this morning.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“No, it might one of the best conversations that I ever had with a guy and when we kissed it was, you know, Janine it was great.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I wanted to.”
“In your mother’s basement?”
They both laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” said Celeste, feeling better and thinking that she’d made the right choice by calling Janine.
“Janine, I don’t know. I don’t think he wants a fling.”
“What’s wrong with him?” said Janine.
“I don’t know, but what we talked about was serious.”
“Serious how?” Janine was starting to sound frightened.
“Scary serious.”
There was a silence on the other end. Celeste could hear Janine lighting a cigarette. As she exhaled she said, “You know that you’re out of your fucking mind right?”
“There’s a way that I feel around him. I haven’t felt that way since Matt.”
Janine blew out smoke hard into the receiver. “Look you got a right to get laid and god knows you need to get laid, but please don’t go off the deep end.”
“I know what you mean, but suppose it’s the right guy. The one that I was sure was never gonna come along?”
“Do you want to come over and I’ll read your cards? Bring the baby. Stay for dinner.”
“I can’t, said Celeste. “I’m waiting for him to call.”
“Holy shit,” said Janine.

Chapter 6
A few months later Marjorie borrowed money from her Aunt Dottie and bought a car. She learned that Rocky had sold the ’56 Chevy that they had bought together in favor of a newer model and she tracked down the person that bought the car and overpaid to get it back. She was back to work now, waitressing across the street from their apartment. Her customers remembered her and welcomed her back with $.50 tips and sometimes an entire dollar. Life was developing a new pattern and Ron began to feel settled in.
One summer night when he got home from stickball under the parking lot lights of the Davis Pharmaceutical Company, Marjorie said, “Come on, we’re going for a ride.” They put the top down on the convertible and drove down up to Newark City Stadium and then across Roseville Avenue. Ron stiffened in the seat next to her when he realized where they were heading.
“Why are we going to the Catanzaro house?” he asked.
“Don’t you miss seeing Sally and Honey and Anthony?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “Why haven’t they called us?”
“They are in a tough spot. Rocky is their family.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “They used to say that about us too.”
“When they see you, that’s exactly how they will feel,” said Marjorie.
She didn’t tell him that she had been speaking to Honey Chapel and that she promised to be there when she and Ron arrived. There was a bond between Honey and Marjorie, and though she loved her Uncle Rocky with an undying loyalty and worship, it had been Marjorie who had gone to bat for her when she had gotten pregnant and her father Anthony wanted to ship her off somewhere, so that the problem could be taken care of. Then he would visit Vincent Chapel with his brothers and teach the young prick some manners.
Marjorie had stood up to Anthony in his own house. Honey’s mother wasn’t able to do anything but cry and say that her husband knew best. Marjorie had gone there night after night and reasoned and begged and had the audacity to say that it didn’t matter that Vincent was only half Italian, and that she knew that they were in love and that he would make her a good husband. Marjorie had even outflanked him by bringing Rocky’s mother into it by telling her that her grand-daughter wanted to get married, and that someone needed to talk sense into Anthony. What was done was done and there was no reason to make a mistake into a tragedy.
Rocky had quietly endured being told that he should tell his girlfriend to shut her big mouth and stop meddling in things that she didn’t understand. But Marjorie had prevailed and Honey was now married and her husband was back from the Marines and had a good job as an electrician. Honey promised that she never would forget what Marjorie had done for her. She’d just turned seventeen when it all happened and that was five years ago and something that had been rewritten in Catanzaro family history by everyone except Honey.
Sally Catanzaro’s face registered shock when she saw Marjorie and Ron at her back door. The back door was for family and no one ever rang that bell. They just knocked as they walked in. Sally forced a smile at them. She had been Ron’s favorite, and he felt the rush of good feeling when he saw her smooth face and wanted to feel her warm hands hugging him the way that they always had. He advanced towards her for his hug, but she took a step back and put out her hand to ward him off. Ron stood there with his arms open and wondered if she had a cold that she was afraid to pass along to him. It was awkward. Marjorie and Sally’s eyes met and then Sally looked over her shoulder almost fearfully and then at Ron. Confusion was spreading across his face like the stain of a drink that had been spilled on a dinner’s tablecloth. Finally, she hugged him stiffly and Ron felt the stiffness and pulled back. She did not meet his eyes either.
“Marjorie, we didn’t expect you.”
Honey came into the room and hugged Marjorie warmly. Sally retreated further back against her stove. Marjorie and Honey laughed and Marjorie said that Honey looked so good when she was pregnant.
“Vincent feels that way too,” laughed Honey.
Ron saw Sally flush with embarrassment and he understood that something was very wrong here. He wanted to leave but they hadn’t even really gotten into the house.
Anthony’s heavy footsteps plodded into the kitchen. He was still wearing his uniform shirt and pants from Mechanic’s Overall, where he was a route rider, and now had his brother-in-law Rocky for a supervisor. His eyes met Marjorie and he stopped in his tracks, unsure of what to do. He was on his way for a beer but the outsiders were standing in front of the refrigerator. Without greeting them, he said to his daughter. “Get me a Miller” and turned to go back to the TV.
Marjorie stood there stunned. Ron said, “Hello Anthony, don’t you see me?”
“I see you kid. You look ok,” he said, over his shoulder.
Ron was ill at ease and very confused. He saw Cookie by her dog bed and went to her. The dog wagged her tail and licked Ron’s face. He got down on the floor and nuzzled her. They women stood there watching him.
“I guess this wasn’t such a good idea,” said Marjorie.
Sally said, “Don’t feel that way. You know how Anthony is. He doesn’t like surprises. You should call first and maybe it would be better if you came during the day when he was at work. You know, just until he gets used to the idea.”
Ron wanted to ask if Connie, their younger daughter on whom he had a crush was in her favorite spot in the basement, but maybe that wasn’t such a good idea either.

Chapter 7
Celeste, Ron and Angel rode in the squeak mobile. They were on the way to the park so Angel could feed the ducks. In the last days, the three of them had been together every night, and though she had not yet said Ron’s name, she loved to hold his hand and ride on his shoulders. Before Ron, she had been afraid of the ducks because they were almost as big as she was and their beaks and their feet and the noises that they made frightened her. But from the safety of his shoulders, with his arms wrapped around her knees, she was taller than everyone.
Her tiny fingers stroked the sides of his face and rested on top of his head and outlined the curve of his ears. She weighed almost nothing. He held her by her ankles. Euphoria swept over them both. Ducks quacked and scuttled at his feet. Celeste watched, feeling her heart carried along with them. Sometimes a pang of how hard it would be on her if this came to an abrupt end made her shiver, but there were lots of people in Angel’s life. Ron was a newcomer. She didn’t even really talk to him yet. They just did things together and Celeste knew that Angel thought of him as a big, flexible toy. At least, she did so far.
Celeste was quickly considering him something else. After that first night there had been the second night and then, right away, a third night. That was when they slept together. He was gentle with her, until the passion drove them both into a worked up froth. Then the gentleness returned and the ache between her legs felt warm and good and she wanted him back there again, thrusting himself in and out of her until he was poking at her cervix and the sweet hurt caused eruption after eruption inside of her.
Back in the red Ford they went for ice cream and Ron asked Angel what she wanted.
She grinned and her huge brown eyes lit up his face when she said, “Strawberry.”
“Everything is strawberry right now,” said Celeste, who had taken Angel to meet Strawberry Shortcake at a breakfast the week before she and Ron had met.
Ron smiled, “Strawberry is the best,” he said.
Back in the car, face sticky, hands wiped clean but also almost like Velcro with everything that she touched Angel said, “Ron, the water tower,” and pointed.
Ron pulled the car to the side of the road and turned to face the two of them. Angel was pointing out the window to the water tower that announced the name “Fairlawn” in faded block letters.
His face was ecstatic and his reached back and lightly stroked her chubby calf. “That’s our water tower,” he said.
Celeste saw the pure joy on his face and knew that it was because she had finally said his name. When he dropped them off at their house, Celeste unstrapped Angel from the car seat and handed her to Ron so that she could take the chair out and bring it back inside. Angel threw her arms around Ron’s neck and hugged him as tightly as she could.
“I’ll call you when I get home,” said Ron.
Celeste carried Angel into her house and Ron squeaked around the corner and disappeared. They both watched him go and then the porch light came on and Barbara was coming out the door.
Barbara was Celeste’s cousin. She had been Celeste’s dance teacher and she loved Angel with the pure devotion of a spinster who saw her role as giving all that she had to this newest member of the family. “Where were you, young lady?”
Angel smiled and tilted her head to the side in a dreamy gaze. “With Ron. We had ice cream.”
Barb took the baby from Celeste’s arms and laughing in pure delight, repeated, “With Ron? And you had ice cream?”
“We fed the ducks,” Angel giggled.
“You are a sticky girl who needs a bath is what I think.”
And she carried her back inside with Celeste trailing behind. Celeste’s mother and Barb’s mother, Vivian were at the table drinking coffee. Celeste’s father was stretched out on the floor watching a blaring TV. All three shouted “There’s the princess,” not quite in unison.
“We’re very sticky,” said Barb and we’ll be right back after we have a bath. No one really said hello to Celeste but she didn’t mind. They were such a help to her. They had saved her life and she knew what the priorities were.
Celeste put down the ever present baby bag that she had learned to carry with here everywhere. “Do you want to undress her while I run the water?” she asked Barb.
After her bath, after they had passed her naked body around the table and took turns kissing her baby soft bottom, after Barb had gotten her dressed for bed and she had gone to lie on her Papa’s stomach and watch TV, Celeste’s mother said, “I suppose it’s time we met this Ron, before this little girl gets her heart broken.” Her mother was neither smiling nor happy.
Before Celeste answered, the phone rang and she felt herself jumping at it. “Hi,” she cooed into the receiver. “Give me as second to get downstairs.”
Vivian and her sister shook their heads as she disappeared into the basement and then called up, “Please hang up the phone.”
Barb went to the wall phone and clicked it off.

Chapter 8
Walking back towards the school after lunch, Ron felt the thick hard blade of the butcher knife that against his chest. He wasn’t sure if he was gonna need it, but he was sure that if it came down to anything, he wanted to have the biggest knife. His nervousness caused sweat to trickle down his back with an unamusing tickle. His friend were waiting in a loose circle at the corner.
“You got anything?” said Kenny Bonet.
“Yeah,” said Ron.
He slid the blade out from under his jacket and showed it to the other guys. There were the Zarro brothers, Jimmy Lucas, Kenny Bonet and him. They stared hard down Grafton Avenue, and waited for the kids from Broadway Junior High who had been there before lunch making dirty comments to some of the girls that Ron and his friends went to school with. There had been words and a stare down, but when they saw Mr. Boyden coming into the playground, the Broadway guys said, “After lunch, jerkoffs. We’ll see you then and make you eat shit.” They’d see about who was gonna be eating shit now. The Zarro’s each had a pocket knife. Kenny Bonet had an actual switch blade that he could snap open in one quick motion. Ron felt important.
Broadway showed just like they said. They were black. They walked with a hop in their steps. They fanned out as they approached. Ron stood in the center next to Kenny. “You mother-fuckers got some sweet little pussy in this school. Too good for your little dicks. They told us they want to see what it’s like when they meet somebody who can make them want to get on their backs and spread their legs.”
“Yeah nigger,” said Kenny. “Show us what you got and we’ll cut it right off, and then you’ll learn that you should be leaving white girls alone. Stay with you own frizzy headed, dirty pigs.”
Fists clenched, eyes darkened Ron opened his jacket and pulled out the butcher knife. The eyes of the boy glaring a few yards away from him got saucer big. Ron held it down low, blade pointed out. He prepared to rush in swinging it and slashing at anybody that came close to him. But in a moment one of the Black kids pointed over Ron’s shoulder, and the rest of the Broadway group froze and then turned and ran. Ron was too focused and he surely wasn’t gonna fall for the ‘look who’s in back of you’ trick. Then he heard Kenny say, “Cops.”
The boys scattered and ran through the playground as the two cars raced down the street and pulled up in front of the gate. Ron ran through the playground and out the other side. There was a chain link fence that was lined with high bushes just on the other side of it. He stopped, stooped down and slid the knife through an opening in the fence until he couldn’t see it anymore. The kids had scattered. He couldn’t see any of his friends now. He was panting and sweating. He heard the bell ring. He could go right in through this side door. No one had seen him. He was safe.
The afternoon in Mrs. Kennedy’s 6A class got off to a slow start. Ron looked around. Jimmy Lucas was in his seat but he had his head down and didn’t turn around to look at Ron, who only glanced at the back of Jimmy’s head and then looked away. The Zarro brothers were in another class but he didn’t see Kenny anywhere. His empty seat glared like an accusation. Ron was worried but he knew that Kenny was a tough kid who played hooky a lot. It wouldn’t be unusual if Kenny just took off and didn’t come back to school that day. It was probably the smart thing to do. It was what Ron should have done. He looked over at Valerie Scaretti and she smiled at him. Ron smiled back. Valerie knew what was going on. She had been one of the insulted girls. She was one of the girls that Ron was defending. The least she could do was smile for him.
There was a knock at Mrs. Kennedy’s door. She turned, looked down the aisle, nodded her head and made eye contact with Ron as she nodded her head. Ron felt his body go tighter. He had an urge to clasp his hand, against the edge of his desk like he was taught to do when he was being punished. He fought the urge. Nothing had happened. He hadn’t done anything. He tried to look innocent. Then he saw Mrs. Kennedy point to him and crook her index finger. Motioning him to come to the front of the room. He got up slowly.
“Ronald, you’re wanted in the main office,” said Mrs. Kennedy. There was a worried look on her face. She was Ron’s favorite teacher since 3rd grade. She wanted to skip him a half year because of his reading ability and his vocabulary. She had helped to get the “Y” on his library card that allowed him to borrow books from the adult library, as long as certain books were off limits. She told him that she couldn’t skip him because his asthma caused him to miss too many days. She didn’t know that some of the asthma days were times when his mother kept him home to help her go downtown and look for better jobs than waitressing.
Ron walked down the two flights of stairs to the main office. He would just play dumb. He didn’t know anything about anything. He had gone home for lunch and the come back to school like always. He was pretty sure that he could get away with it.
“Ronald,” said the principal’s secretary, “there’s a call for you from home. It’s a little unusual but I’m going to let you take it but I have to listen in on this line.”
“Sure,” said Ron. He picked up the phone.
Marjorie Tuck said, “Ronald, did you take a knife from the kitchen drawer at lunchtime?”
Ron closed his eyes. Busted by his own mother. How could she possibly have figured that out so fast? “Yes, Mom, I did.”
Marjorie’s voice was choked. “Why?” she managed to say.
“For protection,” said Ron, almost defiantly.
Then the door to the principal’s office opened and Ron saw the two policemen sitting there. They were listening too. Kenny Bonet was in the corner of the principal’s office. He looked like he was crying. The secretary took the phone away from Ron’s ear. Ralph Lattimere’s deep voice said “Come in here, Ronald.”
Ron felt himself moving towards the door at the same time that he wanted to turn and run. He could get passed the secretary. He could be unstoppable. The cops were smiling.
“Where’s the knife now Ron?” said principal Lattimere.
“I hid it,” said Ron.
One of the detectives stood up. “I’ll go with you,” he said. “Show me where it is.”
Kenny was looking at the wall. Ron thought that he looked like a little boy who wasn’t so tough after all.
Ron took the cop to the spot in the chain link fence and pointed. “In there,” he said.
“Get it for me,” said the cop.
Ron crouched down and worked it out from between the links of the fence, thinking that they never would have found it. They never would have known to look there. Why did his mother have to call?
He handed the knife over and the detective whistled as he saw it. “You know that you’re in big trouble, right?”
“I didn’t do anything,” protested Ron.
“Let me show you something kid. “The law says that anything with a blade more than four fingers long is illegal to carry.” He laid four fingers at the base of the blade. It extended out at least six more fingers beyond the detectives hand. Ron stared at it. “Still think that you didn’t do anything wrong?”
Ron shook his head.
“Do you know where Jamesburg is, kid?”
Ron shook his head again.
“Who else was with you?”
Ron didn’t answer.
“Did anyone have brass knuckles?”
Ron thought that he knew what brass knuckles were but he wasn’t sure. He shook his head.
“You really think that your mother needs this aggravation from you?” said the detective in a gruff, harsh whisper.
It was then that Ron began to cry.

Back at their apartment, Marjorie said little to Ron. She was terrified. The cops had been non-committal about whether or not there was a way that he could avoid charges. One thing was for certain; something had to be done. He couldn’t just walk away from this. Denny Galveston was a cop that Marjorie knew. He was a good guy. When he got free coffee, he left her a tip. “Some of your son’s friends are on a bad path, Margi. We’re gonna slam them before this gets any worse. Your boy hasn’t been in trouble before, but Jesus, he had a butcher knife.”
Marjorie winced and then she cried. “Isn’t there something that we can do? I need him Denny. He’s all that I have.”
“Maybe it would be better to straighten him out now. Six months in Jamesburg, and he would think twice about ever doing something like this again.”
Marjorie looked into his eyes with her own large hazel eyes. “Six months in there and he might never be the same. He’s a good boy. Can’t we do something?”
“No promises but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll stop by the diner tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I know something.”
Marjorie made two phone calls. The first was to Ron’s father. The second was to Mechanics Overall. She was convinced that what Ron needed was a man to talk to him. It was about time that she brought her ex-husband into this, and Rocky was someone that she always went to when she didn’t know what to do.
“I can stop over after work,” said Rocky, “but do you really think that Ron will listen to anything that I say?”
“I’ll try anything, “said Marjorie. “Rocky, they are talking about sending him away. I can’t bear the thought of him being in a place like that. It will kill me.”
She had difficulty contacting Harry. He was on the road and his boss said that he would get a message to him to call as soon as he called in. Marjorie explained that it was about Ron and that it wasn’t good news.
Ron was sitting at the kitchenette table in the living room looking down at the pattern on the table top when Rocky arrived. He didn’t look up.
“Ron, it looks like you gotten yourself in a bit of a scrape.” Ron didn’t answer. Rocky and Marjorie exchanged a look.
“You know enough to answer when someone is talking to you Ronald,” said Marjorie. “Rocky is here to try to help you.”
“I thought he promised never to see us again,” said Ron, looking only at his mother.
“Ron, sometimes adults say things because they have to say them. It doesn’t mean that they believe them,” said Rocky.
“So basically you’re just a liar, right?” said Ron.
There was a silence and then Marjorie said, “I’m going across the street to talk with John Pappas, maybe he can do something.” John Pappas was her boss and he liked Ron. He sometimes paid him a dollar to kill flies in the back section of the diner. Ron watched her leave and then he watched Rocky move over to the table and sit down. He sat in the chair that he usually sat in when they all had dinner together and Ron felt the hatred rise in him and blot of his fear.
“What were you thinking?” said Rocky.
Silence.
“Do you know what you were thinking?”
“Yeah, I was thinking that the Negro kid looked a little Italian and that if I couldn’t stab you, maybe I could stab him.” He watched Rocky’s face turn red with anger. He noted with satisfaction that it took Rocky a minute to compose himself.
“So you’re just going to make smart assed comments to me and make yourself feel better that way. Is that your plan? What about your mother?”
Ron felt the tears immediate rise to his eyes and threaten to fall. He bit off his words hard. “You got no right to talk to me about hurting her. You didn’t care what happened to her or what happened to me. Don’t be here now trying to make up for it, because I hate you. You want to know what my plan is? My plan is to hate you until you die. My plan is to hate your daughter, to hate your sisters, and to hate your whole lying family.” Ron stared at him. The tears were running out of his eyes now and he wiped them with his sleeve.
“I can’t talk to you,” said Rocky.
“That’s right, you can’t,” spit Ron.
Quietly, Rocky left and Ron looked up to the windows that were at ground level and watched him walk across the street.
Ron’s dad wanted to speak with him alone. Harry was careful not to show any sense of pride about what Ron had done, but the fact that he was standing up to the niggers was pleasing to him. He loaded Ron into his car and they went for a ride. It was where they had their best talks because Harry had an excuse for not making eye contact. Ron never seemed to notice, and the passing scenery seemed to allow Harry to open up more easily.
“Ronald, it was stupid of you to get caught. If you are gonna get caught doing these things, you’re better off not to do them, and since you seem to get caught as often as you get away with anything, maybe you are better off not doing them.”
“Dad, I didn’t get caught. I stashed the knife. They never would have found it. Mom came home and saw that it was missing from the kitchen drawer and called the school.”
Harry shook his head back and forth. “And you believe that’s what happened?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you believe that you mother came home and for some strange reason immediately checked the kitchen drawer and saw that the knife was missing?”
Ron stared straight out the window. He felt stupid because what his father had just said sounded stupid, and he felt more stupid because he didn’t know what the real answer was.
“Your friend Kenny ratted you out,” said Harry. “He gave your name to the police and they called your mother and she pretended to call the school.” Harry glanced at Ron and saw that his son was sitting there with his mouth hanging open. Harry knew that this whole thing was a tough lesson, and that it might even get tougher still but he believed that his son would learn. “Any time that you trust somebody, Ron, you leave yourself open. You need to learn to leave yourself open less often.”
“How do I do that, dad?”
“You keep your mouth shut and keep things to yourself. You don’t ever brag about anything. Bragging leaves you open. You let the other guy brag and you listen and size up where he is weak from his bragging.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
“I know that you don’t,” said Harry. “That’s why I’m telling you that you aren’t cut out to do the kind of things that you’re doing. Even now, you don’t know what to do, do you?”
“No,” said Ron quietly.
Harry debated telling his son that the next thing to do was to kick the shit out of Kenny and decided that it wasn’t a good idea. “When we get back to your apartment, tell your mother that I told you that you were too smart to be wasting your time with knives and gangs and that you have a better future than that.”
“Ok,” said Ron.
“Don’t tell her about the rest of what we talked about. It will only upset her.”
“Ok.”
“Ron, it isn’t a lie. You are too smart to be doing these things.”
“I don’t feel very smart at all, dad.”
When they got back home, Marjorie was smiling. “They’re not pressing any charges,” she said. “Ronald, you are going to Catholic school.”

Chapter 9
Angel sat waiting by the bay window to the side of the front door. Her mother was in the bathroom combing her hair and her grandmother was on the telephone in the kitchen. When she smelled her mom’s perfume, she decided that Ron must be on his way over, and she listened and watched for his car. It had been two weeks since they had met. Angel didn’t know that it was that long, but she did know that he liked to play with her and she liked to make him smile. In her play room, she had her tea party set all assembled. She heard his car come around the corner just as her mom went down into the basement to change her clothes.
She took Ron by the hand and used it to steady her walking as she brought him into the playroom. She was very quiet and Ron hadn’t said anything. She had been worried about how she would open the door but when he saw her on the other side of the screen door, standing there, smiling, he had opened it for her. When they got back into the playroom, she used her weight and both hands to shut the door. Now she had him all to herself.
Ron sat cross-legged on the floor and drank imaginary tea from a plastic cup. Then she served imaginary cakes. Her dark eyes were very serious, and Ron watched with a glowing warmth that spread through him like he was high. Angel was just over three feet tall and would be two years old next week.
“Would you like more tea?” she said in a perfectly enunciated sentence.
“Yes, please,” said Ron. He hadn’t really been around that many children in his life. He didn’t realize how extraordinary it was that she had gone from saying single words to speaking in complete sentences before her second birthday, but when she looked into his eyes with her huge brown windows, he felt himself absorbed.
After about fifteen minutes, the door opened. Angel frowned and Celeste came into the room smiling. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I was kidnapped,” said Ron shrugging his shoulders.
Angel got to her feet turned to her mother and pressed both hands on her thighs and tried to push her back out of the room. “No,” she said.

At dinner, Celeste’s mother Anna, a stout woman with short mixed red and grey hair, said, “Angel has become very attached to you in a very short period of time.” She sat hunched over her plate when she said it and raised her eyes up and turned her head only slightly to make eye contact with Ron.
“She’s just wonderful,” said Ron.
“I know that she is,” said Anna. “Do you really think that it is a good idea that you spend so much time together?”
Ron looked confused. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure that it’s good for Angel to become so attached to you,” said Anna.
“Can we talk about this later?” said Celeste.
Celeste’s father Mario said nothing as he ate. He had always opened his home for his daughters’ friends and tried to make them feel comfortable, but he could see that his wife was on a mission and decided to stay out of it.
Ron’s eyes moved from Celeste to Angel and then back to Anna. He was no stranger to dinner time confrontations, but he believed that if he could hold his own with Marjorie, he could hold his own with anyone.
“I think that we should talk about it now before Trudy and Angela come over.”
Ron met Celeste’s eyes and there was an imperceptible nod between them. He said, “I want Angel to become attached to me because I want to marry your daughter.”
Both Mario and Anna stopped eating. They turned to look at their elder daughter in unison. Celeste felt like she was going to swallow her tongue.
Anna’s voice was low and menacing. “And just when did the two of you decide that?”
“We’ve known it since the first night that we were together,” said Ron happily.
Anna felt like she was going to vomit. Mario looked at his wife. Images of the last two weddings and the last two divorces flooded his brain. Of course his daughter was still young, but she was a mother and he wanted his grand-daughter with him. He didn’t want upheaval. He didn’t like this guy with his light brown hair and green eyes and his squeaky wreck of a car. What kind of life was this going to be for Angel? She was happy here. Things were settled. There was no reason for this. He glared at Ron but Ron seemed oblivious. He was smiling at Anna, but Anna wasn’t smiling back.
Anna turned to her daughter. “And this is how you are going to take responsibility for your life and the life of your child now? You plan to rip her away from the only home that she has ever known. A home where she is happy and well cared for and run off with this.” At that she raised her fork from which hung a stray strand of dangling spaghetti, and pointed it at Ron.
Ron found himself staring at the saucy fork. “I think it’s going to be great for everyone, especially Angel,” he said.
He waited but no one answered him. Finally, Celeste said, “We’re going over to the park to feed the ducks. We’ll be back later.”
She dreaded what later was going to be, but she was going to have to address it eventually.

Chapter 10
“Mom, I met a girl and I think that I’m going to marry her.”
Marjorie Bombasco looked up from her coffee with a dazed expression. “Ronald, I just woke up.”
Ron continued, “I’m in love with her and I love her daughter too.”
“Her daughter? She has a daughter?”
“Yes, she was married before.”
“Why do you want a girl who was married before? You were never married before?” Marjorie could feel her stomach beginning to churn. She could tell that this wasn’t going to make her happy and the way that he was just springing it on her meant that there must be more.
“Technically, no, I wasn’t,” said Ron. Then he continued with his reasoning, “But I lived with Robin, I lived with Zoe.”
“Are you telling me that you would have wanted to marry the mouse?”
“I really wish that you’d stop calling her that. She wasn’t a mouse.”
“She squinted like a mouse.”
“OK, mom, there’s not need to argue about Zoe. That isn’t the question.”
“And how long have you been seeing this new love of your life and why is this the first time that you are telling me about it?”
“I’ve seen her almost every day for the last two weeks.”
“Two entire weeks,” said Marjorie. “Well then I’m sure that you know what you are doing.”
“You’re right mom, I do know exactly what I’m doing. And I’d like you to meet her.”
“Before you marry her? That’s very thoughtful of you, Ronald.”
“Is this how you’re going to be, sarcastic and unsupportive?”
“Just what is it that you would like me to support Ronald? You’ve met a girl. That’s wonderful. Of course it’s not a girl that I introduced you to or a girl that I even know, but that would be asking too much wouldn’t it?”
Ron said nothing. He stared into her eyes with resolve. She knew the look. He got it from his father. It meant that his mind was made up and Marjorie felt the room begin to spin. She put her hands flat on the table. “And just where did you meet this girl?”
“She used to be Quimpy’s girlfriend,” said Ron.
“So, you couldn’t even find a girl of your own. You had to steal your friend’s girlfriend that he didn’t want anymore. After she had gone off and gotten married and had a child. How old is this girl?”
“We’re the same age,” said Ron. He felt himself bristling from the Quimpy remark.
“And how old is her kid?”
“Angel is going to be two next week.”
Marjorie’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of a name is Angel?”
“They’re Italian,” said Ron. His eyes met his mother’s eyes. Their gazes held each other for a long time.
Marjorie felt her chin begin to quiver. “I thought you said that you didn’t want anything to do with an Italian girl? You’ve never even really dated an Italian girl.”
“I know, it’s funny isn’t it.”
A tear ran out of her left eye. “No Ronald, I would not say that it’s funny.”

Chapter 11

“Ronald, this is George’s Mother and his grandmother and his Uncle John. This is his sister Linda and her husband Robert and their children Roberta and Robert Junior.”
Ron tried to smile a hello to everyone and put his hands in his pockets and stood there looking at his shoes. His mother had married George Bombasco two months earlier but they had kept their marriage a secret, until George could find a way to break the news to his family. He had started spending some nights at their apartment and though Ron had kind of liked him initially, when George started telling Ron what to do, difficulties began.
“You can sit there until it’s time for dinner, Ronald,” said George’s mother.
Ron sat and watched women work at the table in the basement of the house. Uncle John had the newspaper spread open on one section of the table and he was looking at the ads from the food circulars. “Look here,” said John, “carrots for 12 cents for two pounds at Pathmark and bacon for 67 cents a pound at the Acme. We can go out and get both of those things tomorrow.”
“I saw a box of Cheerios for 24 cents at the A&P,” said George’s mother. “Isn’t that good?”
Ron listened and tried to find something about the conversation that was interesting.
George’s mother said more emphatically, “Isn’t that good?” She was looking at George. Her chins wobbled. She scrunched her glasses back up against her face with a questioning grimace.
“I think so,” said George, “but I’ll have the Foodtown circular tomorrow and you can see if it’s better there.”
Ron stared out the back window at the garden. He saw the plump tomatoes bulging the vines, and the white strips of cloth that were used to tie them to the wooden stakes fluttering in the late summer breeze. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of the tomato sauce and felt a little sick to his stomach.
When he stood up, it seemed to signal everyone to stop and stare at him. “I’m going to go outside for a little while.”
“Stay close,” said Uncle John. “The shines are out on their porches down on Broad Street.”
Ron looked at him with a quizzical expression. “I just wanted to see the garden.”
John shifted, a little uncomfortable with this information. His thin grey hair sprouted out to the sides over the top of the black rims of his glasses. “Be careful not to touch anything,” he said.
Linda came out of the back of the basement holding Junior in her arms. Roberta followed her with her hand holding her mother’s skirt like it was a reassuring tether. Ron did not make eye contact with any of them as he went out the door.
Ron had never seen a vegetable garden before, and he looked at it with some reverence. Then he found a spot in the shade back by the garage and squatted back against the wall. The garden was split in the center and had distinct rows on each side. It was very green. Ron saw the tomatoes and the peppers on the vine. He thought that they looked like magical apparitions. He had seen pictures on the early morning show, The Modern Farmer, but this was so much more real and alive. At least he had found one thing that he liked.

Chapter 12

Jake Clifford smiled broadly when he saw Celeste and Angel getting out of Ron’s squeak mobile. He walked towards them with an athletic glide in his step. “So this is the lucky guy that has you smiling,” said Jake. He extended his hand to Ron and they shook.
“How’s everything, Jake?” said Celeste.
“Things are great. I heard from Spalding and I think that they are going to buy it.” Jake grinned and put his head down and shuffled his feet back and forth a little.
Celeste turned to Ron with an excited grin on her face. “Jake has an invention that he’s about to become famous for,” she said.
“Why don’t you and Ron come over later? We can toot some lines.” He sized Ron up and asked, “Do you play ping pong?”

When school was over Ron was out the door like a sprinter. His book bag was slung over his shoulder and he was running south on Summer Avenue towards Bloomfield Avenue. He veered left at Elwood and then picked up speed when he got to Lincoln. He ran the length of Lincoln Avenue and right up the stairs and into the Boys Club.
Off to the back of the huge room, under a hanging cloud of smoke, the old men were playing chess. Ron’s book bag dangled from his shoulder as he walked over trying to look inconspicuous. He really wasn’t supposed to be there yet. On Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, the Club was taken over by the Retired Men’s Club and they played chess and pool and cards until 3 in the afternoon. The chess players were allowed to stay longer though. They were out of the way and brought their own pieces and plastic chess mats.
Ron was always very quiet and careful not to move around. The men were cranky and usually his presence was more tolerated than accepted, but he loved to smell their pipe smoke and watch the way that they manipulated the pieces and sometimes, if there was no one else to play, he was allowed to sit in for a game.
Some of the men were happy to teach him and it didn’t take Ron long to become a regular at the end of these Tuesday and Thursday gatherings. Ron thought that they played the game with an elegant flair and though he knew none of their names, he did have his favorites.
He was just settled into his second game of watching when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Ron, can I speak to you for a moment?”
It was Danny McCarthy, a short red faced man in his thirties who always wore a lanyard and whistle around his neck.
“Sure,” said Ron. He got up and walked past the pool table and towards the windows where there were six ping pong tables set up next to each other.
They sat on the low window ledge in back of the table and in front of the windows. Danny looked very serious. “Ron, you know that there is no gambling here, don’t you?”
Feeling the heat rise to his face, Ron tried to control his reaction. “Sure, I know.”
“Is it true that you beat Joey Baltiari for so much money playing ping pong that he gave you his bankbook?”
“I didn’t take any of his money,” said Ron.
“How much did you beat him for Ron?”
“I don’t know. I kept saying that I wanted to quit and he kept wanting to do double or nothing and he couldn’t beat me.”
“But you know that there is no gambling here. You told me that you knew.”
“I took $4 in cash and he owes me another $125,” said Ron. The guilt had overtaken him and he wanted to be rid of it.
“Ron, this is wrong. You know that it’s wrong. You knew it was wrong when you did it.”
“I gave him a spot,” said Ron defensively.
“But you knew that he couldn’t beat you, didn’t you?”
Ron nodded and hung his head.
“And now the boy is so upset that he got sick and wasn’t able to go to school today and finally he told his mother what you had done to him and she called me.”
Ron stared out the window. Then he looked over at the smoky cloud of chess players. He waited for what was going to happen next.
“I want you to return his bankbook, Ron and promise me that you’ll never do anything like this again.”
Ron reached down into his book bag where he’d kept the bankbook hidden. He fished it out and gave it to Danny without saying anything.
The Director took the book and opened it to look at the balance. He was interested to see how much Joey had, and he wanted to check to see that Ron hadn’t been able to make any withdrawls. “Ron, I want you to tell your parents what happened and I’m going to take your membership card until one of them comes it with you to get it back.”
Ron’s mind went blank. The words “Oh shit” formed in his brain. This was going to be bad. This was going to be really bad.
He didn’t eat much of his dinner. He sat across from George and Marjorie in their third floor apartment toying with his food. They didn’t seem to notice that he wasn’t eating and George was shoveling the food in at a rate that did not allow for conversation.
“Something happened today,” started Ron.
George stopped eating and Marjorie lit a cigarette. “What happened?” she said.
“Sometimes at the Boys Club we play ping pong for a dime or a quarter a game,” said Ron trying to ease into it. George and Marjorie exchanged a look that was a mixture of anger and fear.
“How much did you lose?” said George.
“I didn’t lose,” said Ron. “I beat this kid for all his money and he went home and told his mother that he had to give me his bankbook and she called the Boys Club, and now they won’t let me back in unless you go down there with me to pick up my membership card.”
“You’re just becoming a hoodlum, aren’t you?” said Marjorie. “Is this the way that I raised you?”
“Look, I didn’t try to take all his money. He kept wanting to play double or nothing and I kept winning.”
“Why didn’t you just say no and give the boy his money back?” said Marjorie. She began to cry. “Is this what I’ve raised you to be? Your grandmother would be spinning in her grave.”
George looked at Ron and gave him a disgusted grimace and before Ron knew what he did he said, “Well at least I won.”
George’s face got very red. Ron knew that they were still paying off George’s gambling debts. He knew that George had to work a second job just to keep up on the payments.
“You’re a bastard,” cried Marjorie.
“What you need is a good beating,” said George.
Ron had gone too far to quit now and he said, “Look my dad taught me how to gamble. It’s not my fault that I did it right.”
“Let your father go and get your card back,” said Marjorie. “I’m sure that he’ll be very proud of you.”

Chapter 13
Anna spent her mornings on the telephone. She sat in the kitchen with her Chesterfields and her coffee. She lived a sedentary life, but seemed to come very alive when she was on the telephone. It would not be unusual for her morning telephone marathons to go on for several hours.
There was a list of people with whom she spoke daily. These included her sisters, several cousins, and her daughter. The fact that she would see many of these people on a daily basis did not change the need for the morning calls.
Today’s theme was her outrage at the ungrateful Celeste, who never seemed to pass up the chance to find a new way to screw up her life. She began with Vivian.
“Can you believe the shit that she is trying to pull now?” said Anna in a rhetorical opening.
“What’s wrong with her?” said Vivian. “She has a nice home and a safe place for her daughter. There’s no pressure on her and she wants to throw all that away.”
“Stars in her eyes over another loser,” said Anna. “It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for Angel. That baby is happy here.”
“Wouldn’t you think that she would have learned to start putting her child first? She’s not twenty-one anymore. The party is over.”
Vivian had been a hard worker in her youth and it was true that Celeste had never been afraid of work either. But in their eyes she had thrown away nursing school, then married a photographer who considered himself too much of an artist to open a shop and take graduation and wedding pictures. She’d left him and hooked up with Angel’s father who they both knew was a humorless jerk the first time that they met him. At least he worked. She left him and found out she was pregnant and had run back home. Everyone in the family had pitched in to help her. Janine’s husband had redone what had been the girls’ shared room upstairs and turned it into a beautiful nursery. Tina’s husband had helped her refinish the basement. Mario had kept quiet about her being back home. Everything had been perfect, but now Celeste had dragged home this stray dog and his squeaky junk of a car.
They reviewed this litany together and Anna was sure that Vivian was on her side. “I swear that when I see my precious Angel strapped into a seat in the back of that deathtrap that my heart is in my mouth.”
“If you don’t think that his car is safe, you shouldn’t let her go,” said Vivian.
“How am I supposed to stop her?”
“Raise a stink,” said Vivian.
Anna laughed bitterly but thought that an event like that might drive Ron off.
Her conversation with Janine didn’t go as well.
“Is he cute,” Janine made the mistake of asking.
“I don’t know,” said Anna. “I can’t bring myself to stand to look at him. Besides, what difference does that make to me?”
“I’m not disagreeing, Anna, but if Celeste sees a future with him, shouldn’t you try to make the best of it?”
“No,” said Anna resolutely.
The she added, “Can Jimmy find out about this guy?”
Janine’s husband Jimmy was Angel’s godfather. He had a good job working in a school and he coached and knew other coaches.
“Find out what?” said Janine.
“If it turns out that this guy is a loser, like her other losers, maybe she would listen to Jimmy and not want to screw things up again.”
“I’ll ask him but you know how Jimmy is.”
Anna laughed, “Ask him after he’s just had a ride on that Napoli ass of yours.” Napoli was Anna’s maiden name and the power of their posteriors had been a running family joke among the women for a long time.
Janine and Anna giggled.

Chapter 14

Sister Wilma Dolores inspected the boy that the rectory had called about. She had been directed to accept him into the school, but she insisted that she wanted to meet him first. The idea of a non-Catholic boy in her school angered her and made her queasy at the same time. This one would be going into 7th grade, an age when things could get out of hand if the school wasn’t careful.
Ron sat in the hard wooden chair with his hands folded. He was nervous. He had never spoken with a nun before and their costumes made them look other worldly.
“What brings you to us, Ronald?”
“I’m not sure, Sister,” said Ron. He’d been told that he should call of them that. It was respectful and it saved having to remember their names.
“Why aren’t you sure, Ronald? This is no place for the undecided.”
“To be honest, Sister, it was decided for me,” said Ron, quite honestly. Then he hurried to add, “But I like to read and I think that I can be a good student.”
“You know that you’ll be expected to study Religion, just as all of the students here do and that you’ll be expected to take part in daily prayers and attend Mass.”
“I know, Sister.”
“Of course you won’t be allowed Communion and you’ll be expected to able to recite the necessary prayers, which you will learn as soon as possible.”
“I think that I already know most of them,” said Ron.
“Oh?” Wilma Dolores raised an eyebrow. She was wearing summer whites, but the tightly fitting, starched habit gave her face a puffiness in the heat. It fitted across the forehead and over her ears and under her chin. A round white heavily starched bib projected from under her neck and the black nylon strings that held her crucifix lay across it.
“I remember things easily,” said Ron.
“They aren’t just words to us, Ronald. They have a sacred meaning.”
“I can recite scripture too,” said Ron, trying hard to be cooperative.
This last piece of information was troubling to the school principal. She doubted if any of the students in the school had read the Bible. They read their catechism, lives of the saints, and the children’s book of New Testament bible stories. “That might be something that you should keep to yourself, Ronald. No one likes a showoff.”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Now, I know that you’ve been in trouble and that kind of behavior will not be tolerated here. You will be on a short leash Mr. Tuck and any whiff of incorrigibility and you will find yourself on the outside looking in.”
Ron thought that there wouldn’t be anything new about that, but it was the first time that he remembered anyone ever calling him Mr. Tuck. He kind of liked it.

Chapter 15
Dorothy Thomas told her nephew that she had something for him. She walked back through her kitchen and into her bedroom, the room furthest away from the place where her third and final husband slept. Even though it was midday and sunny, she needed to switch on the light to see. Ron had never remembered the drapes to his aunt’s bedroom being open. They were heavy drapes and contained multiple layers that both kept out light and muffled sound. They also blotted out the fact that this was a basement apartment that was given to the superintendent and family rent free.
Her bed roomset was pure and polished mahogany. It glistened under the overhead light, which she switched on as she opened her closet door. Ron’s eyes followed. There were two minks, one a full length coat and the other a jacket. Next to them hung a heavy black lamb’s wool coat. Dorothy pushed them to the side and revealed a stack of shoeboxes. The shoes, though not new, were in their original boxes and were still wrapped and rewrapped after each wearing into their tissue paper. Inside one of the boxes there was a velvet pouch tucked next black high heels. Ron’s eyes widened. It looked like treasure.
She opened the pouch and removed a set of black beads. It was a rosary. She slipped it into Ron’s hand and said, “Don’t tell anyone that I gave this to you. Your mother would have a fit.”
Ron’s family had always been staunchly anti-Catholic. When his great grandmother had been told that she had the “map of Ireland” on her face, she took it as a great insult. Dorothy was actually his great aunt. Marjorie had always suspected that she was actually her mother, but that family history had been so mangled over time, that there was no way to discover the truth. Dorothy certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone.
Ron fingered the beads. “Why do you have these?”
“When I was younger Ronald, I used to sneak into Catholic churches. I got these so that I wouldn’t look out of place.”
Ron was astonished. He stared down at the crucifix. She had kept them all these years. She was a woman of endless secrets. “Why did you go there, Aunt Dot?”
“Because they were beautiful and I loved the stained glass windows and all the gold. Our church was drab. I loved the smell of incense. I liked the pageantry. It was like going to a show and I didn’t have to buy a ticket.”
Ron smiled. He wanted to ask if it had anything to do with the religion but he didn’t. He didn’t want to spoil her secret by cluttering it up with facts. He slipped the beads into his pocket. She hadn’t given him the pouch, which she placed back into the box and then restacked with her other boxes. Ron wondered if more strangely wonderful things were concealed in them, but she was closing the closet door and turning out the light and then they were back in her kitchen and she wanted him to stay for dinner. Marjorie was working and she liked having him around.
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Go and say hello to your Uncle John,” she said.
Ron walked passed the birdcage and glanced down at the ceramic boxer that she kept of the floor guarding the entrance to her parlor. It was a long narrow corridor that led back to his Uncle’s room.
John Thomas was watching the Mets. They were an awful team and his love had been the Dodgers, but like his first wife, they had gone and he was stuck with this.
He didn’t mind the boy but when he stayed overnight John was forced into the twin bed in Dorothy’s bedroom, which only further reminded him of what he didn’t have.
“Hi, Uncle John.”
“Hello, Ronald.”
John was sitting in a Danish rocker and smoking his pipe. Ron slid down to the floor in front of the couch. He hated the Mets. He was a Yankee through and through. John disliked the Yankees and had tried to explain to Ron that they bought their success. Ron didn’t understand what that meant and rested his argument on his two favorite players, Mickey Mantle and Whitey Ford.

Chapter 16
Ron was invited to Sunday dinner with Celeste’s family. The men were in the backyard and the women were in the kitchen. Celeste came out to greet him when she heard his nearby squeaks. They kissed and he squeezed her ass. She grinned and said, “Not here,” smiling and looking around to see if anyone had seen. Then she said, “My father and Joey are in the backyard.”
“OK,” said Ron. He knew the drill but strangely he didn’t mind. “Do you want me to go into the kitchen and say hello first?” Then his face brightened. “Where’s Angel?”
“Barb came and got her this morning. She took her on an adventure. And yes, you better say hello first. They’ll say something to me if you don’t.”
Celeste led him around to the front door. Ron stared at the twitch of her hips as she walked. She didn’t wiggle or roll her hips. They seemed to snap from side to side, like a metronome. He gloried in the way that they moved.
The house was cool and the hum of the air conditioner was loud. Anna sat smoking her Chesterfields in her chair at the table. Tina was getting things out of the refrigerator and there was a pot of water being brought to a boil on the electric cooktop. The woman all hated the electric cooktop and longed for the days of fire. They complained that you just couldn’t regulate it properly, but they would work with what they had.
Celeste led him through the dining room and back into the kitchen. Anna looked up, saw Ron with her elder daughter, and reached for her cigarettes.
“Hello, Mrs. Brago,” said Ron.
Tina turned at the sound of his voice. She sized him up. She had been in love with Celeste’s first husband, David. She was still a girl then and David was dashing and exciting and funny. He’d taken Celeste to Europe and Tina had almost died with envy. Everyone in the family had loved David. They had hated her second husband, Norman, just as much. Tina had already decided that she wasn’t giving this one a chance.
Anna said, “I suppose that you’d better call me Anna. Mrs. Brago just sounds stupid.”
Ron took it as an act of conciliation, not noticing that Anna had avoided saying hello to him or using his name. Ron grinned his best dimpled grin. Tina turned away and rolled her eyes. “Anna” said Ron.
Anna looked at Celeste and said, “Janine and Jimmy are coming for coffee after dinner.”
Ron saw Tina’s back turned to him, inwardly shrugged and opened the back door to the yard.
Mario was stretched back in his hammock watching Joey play with his grandson, Little Joey in the above ground pool. Ron moved toward the Hammock and stretched out his hand to Mario. He wanted to avoid the name thing again and so he said, “How’s it going?”
Mario grasped Ron’s hand and they shook. He had large beefy hands. He was a big man with a barrel chest. Joey was the son that he never had and the kid had learned to drive a trailer truck in no time. Mario hated them and pretended that he couldn’t learn so that they would keep him with straight jobs.
Ron turned to the pool and repeated, “How’s it going?” in the direction of Joey, whose wet hands were holding his son. To his surprise, Joey curled young Joey under his left arm and extended his right hand towards Ron.
Ron said, “I think there’s a game on.” He hoped that they weren’t Mets fans.
“I don’t like sports,” said Mario.
“Me either,” said Joey.
It was gonna be a long afternoon.

Chapter 17
The classroom was arranged with boys on one side and girls on the other. The students were seated in the order of last year’s final grades. The best performing girls and boys were seated next to each other, the top rows. The arrangement was meant to be a constant reminder of performance and sent the subliminal message that only those who had proven that they could handle distraction would be allowed proximity to the opposite sex. Ron was assigned the last seat of the row furthest away from the center.
Sister Mary Salvatore was their teacher. She had been informed about Ron’s special circumstances. Ron had been staring at the girls’ heads on the other side of the room. He wanted to see more of them. Then, to his utter disbelief, the nun said, “Ronald Tuck, would you please stand up.”
Ron felt heat on his face as he stood. He had been thinking about the girls and he had an erection. It was tenting out the front of his pants and she was making him stand there. Everyone’s head turned to look at him. He had stashed Aunt Dottie’s rosary in his pants pocket. He put it there because it reminded him of his Aunt. Ron prayed that no one would notice how he was sticking out. He heard some of the girls giggle. Now he was blushing furiously. He cursed his penis and how often it became hard without him really realizing it.
“Ronald is a new student here,” said Mary Salvatore. “And it is important that we all help him to learn to be at home. Ronald isn’t a Catholic boy and so a lot of what we do will seem very strange to him. I am sure that none of you will hesitate to give him all the help that he requires.”
Ron prayed to be allowed to sit down. He wondered if he could get away with adjusting his pants, moving it to the side so that it didn’t stick out so obviously, but then he would be sticking the crucifix on the rosary with his penis. He wondered if that was a sin.
“Do you have anything that you would like to add, Ronald”
Maybe it was going to be over and she would let him sink back down into the oblivion of the last seat in the last row. “No, Sister.”
“Do any of you have any questions for Ronald?” said the nun. She seemed to want to prolong this and continue the torment. No one asked anything and mercifully, Ron sat.

Chapter 18
Ron wandered around the Brago backyard. He couldn’t remember having been in a place quite like this one. Their Cape Cod house was situated on a circle and from one back yard you could see into all the other back yards next to yours and those from the other side of the circle.
Sometimes they would cook the food on a grill that was linked to the house’s natural gas supply. Ron had never seen one that didn’t have to be refilled.
Mario was cooking at the grill and Joey was inside changing little Joey. Ron lit a cigarette and walked around the yard. In one corner was a large tree with a tire suspended from a rope. Ron looked at the makeshift swing and thought it had a friendly feel to it. Along the back of the chain link fence was an old grape vine. It was in bloom and Ron could see the deep purple luster of the fruit. He reached out and touched one of the grapes, thought about plucking it off to taste it, and decided it wasn’t a good idea. Along the other side of the yard was a vegetable garden. For a second, Ron was flooded with memories. They made him uncomfortable and he wondered if he knew what he was doing, but then Celeste was walking towards him and his doubts vanished.
She was wearing a sleeveless yellow top that tied in back of her neck. Her breasts jiggled as she moved. Her dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her tan skin radiated. She was carrying a clam on a half shell and held it out to Ron. He took it and slurped it down. The hot sauce had a sweet burn in his throat. They grinned at each other.
“You don’t fool around with the hot sauce, do you?” said Ron.
She shook her head from side to side with a wide grin. Then she said, “Do you like the garden?”
“I like gardens,” said Ron. He wanted to tell her what he had been thinking, but decided it wasn’t a good time. He didn’t understand this urge to just tell her everything. Could he really tell her everything? He wasn’t sure that he could ever tell anyone everything. If they knew what ran through his head, they would think him too fucked up for words. He had learned that from the few times, that he had taken a chance and revealed some of what he was thinking. People grew silent and sometimes horrified, or laughed uncontrollably and told him that he was crazy. Quimpy had referred to him as a “crazy fucked up kid” from the time that he was sixteen years old. Chris thought he was nuts. Robin, his first love, had said that he wasn’t real. Why did he feel this freedom with Celeste? His answer came in a flash. If I don’t tell her, I will never be able to really open up to her, and what kind of a marriage would we have then? If I do tell her, and it drives her away, maybe she would have left anyway and it would better if she found out before they were married. He resolved to tell her later, when they were alone and he could gaze into her face and see her reactions. He wondered if everyone who was planning to get married went through this kind of doubting about how much of themselves they should be revealing. He thought that they should. It also struck him that it seemed women wanted to know these things, but that didn’t mean that they were necessarily revealing the same kinds of things about themselves.
Celeste watched Ron’s eyes go a little dreamy and for a second he was lost in thought. She wondered if this family thing was just going to be too much for him, but wasn’t sure that she should ask. He’d told her that he wanted her to tell him everything, but guys just say that. What she believed was that they wanted you to tell them everything that they wanted to hear. Then she said, “We’d better go inside for dinner.”
“Aren’t we eating out here?”
“No,” said Celeste. “My mother doesn’t like to eat outside.”
This was very true. Anna was overweight and didn’t like to sweat. She had allergies and hated being around plants. And then there were the flies. Anna hated flies with a passion that bordered on obsession. Next to a telephone, a cigarette, or a cup of coffee in her hand, the thing that you were most apt to see there was a fly swatter. If one got into the house, she would hunt it to distraction, cursing it each time that she swung and the fly escaped. Anna did not move quickly and had to use stealth in order to be successful. Mario had bought her the fly swatter soon after they were married and he found her banging her shoe against the wall and crying. That had been many fly swatters ago.
Ron got to the door and held it open for Celeste.
“Don’t let the flies in,” hollered Anna. Ron didn’t understand and waited for Celeste to climb the three stone steps to the back door. Anna glared. Celeste hurried and shut the door in back of her. Just as Barb came through the front door with Angel. The house went into immediate celebration and the flies were forgotten.
Angel exuded the radiance of discovery. The world was always new, and then some parts were always the same. Her Grandmother’s face, soft and warm and sweet and waiting for her. Her Papa’s chuckle at whatever she decided to do. Her mother, her mother, her mother. And there was Ron standing in back of Aunt Tina, his hand on the door. He looked so happy to see her. He missed her being there. This was home. This was the warm place after adventures.

Chapter 19
Ron knew exactly one kid at Our Lady of the Forlorn, but luckily it was a good friend. Rich D’Orio and Ron played stickball or football or some kind of sport most days. Ron was often invited to the D’Orio house for dinner. The D’Orios were happy when they heard that Ron was going to Our Lady of the Forlorn. Richie hadn’t told them about the incident with the knife. He knew that would not go over well. Richie was popular in school and he introduced Ron to all of his friends. There was a tentative acceptance. Some of the girls even said hello to him now
Ron spent hours doing homework each night. As much as he didn’t care what his teachers at Elliott Street School thought, he found that he had this instinctual desire to please the nuns. He wondered if it was because they frightened him. Or if it was because of their strange costumes, or if maybe it was because of some dedication. But to what?

One afternoon during his second week there, Richie said, “The guys are going to the park to play football this afternoon. I told them that you were good, and they want you to play.”
Since George and Marjorie had gotten married and moved to an apartment over two miles away, Ron hadn’t been able to play with Richie in the afternoons. In order to get to the park in time, he would have to run home, change quickly and then make it double time up to the park. The rest of the guys would take their bikes. Ron didn’t know how to ride a bike. He didn’t want the other guys to know. He didn’t realize that Richie had already told them.
He was sweating when he got to the park. Dave Spenelli watched him arrive and laughed. “Long walk?” The other guys laughed and Ron, glared at Richie. Anger flashed through him like electricity. They chose up sides. Ron was picked somewhere in the middle of the pack, mostly because of what Richie had said and his size. He was tall, muscular and lean.
It was a tough game. They had no equipment. They wore sneakers, jeans and sweatshirts. There were always bumps and bruises and cuts after the game, but they were badges of honor.
Richie was faster than Ron but he was smaller. Baseball was really his game and he could pick it at shortstop. During football season, he played end and liked to catch the passes, fake like he was going to the inside and then dart along the sidelines. Ron knew the move. Richie had burned him with it enough times. When Ron saw the play developing, he sprinted from the middle of the field to the sideline. Richie caught it with his back to the defender and used his fake. The kid bit on it, and Richie pivoted to the outside and rammed face first into Ron’s thrusting shoulder. He left his feet and the ball flew into the air and rolled out of bounds. Richie lay on the ground, his hands covering the blood that spurted from his broken nose. At first Ron was sorry when he saw him there crying in front of his friends, bleeding and covering his face with his hands. Then he thought that his father would be proud. The game ended on the hit. Somebody had to take Richie home. He was bleeding too much to ride his bike. Ron didn’t volunteer to walk with him.
As they were walking away, Ron heard Dave Spenelli say, “That was some hit!”
He swelled with pride but didn’t turn over his shoulder when a faceless voice said, “I don’t want to get hit like that.”
Richie didn’t come to school for the rest of the week. Ron was ashamed and noticed that fewer kids were talking to him. He didn’t realize that they were frightened.
Word had gotten out. Ron was the kid who brought a butcher knife to school and threatened people with it. Maybe he was better left alone.

Chapter 20

Ron expected the meal to be noisy and it was. The air conditioner was a wall unit in the dining room and when they sat around the long table, it caused them to raise their already elevated voices. Ron was seated next to Celeste who had Angel, in her high chair, on her other side. Angel was not happy with this arrangement and started to cry.
Mario bellowed, “What’s the matter, Princess?”
Angel cried louder.

“Don’t let this baby cry,” hollered Mario. He was looking at Celeste. “Do something to help her.”
Celeste unstrapped her from the high chair and took Angel into her arms. She scrambled across her mother’s lap and held her arms up to Ron. Anna’s mouth dropped open. Tina grimaced. Mario grew quiet.
Barb said, “Oh she wants to be next to him,” and got up and moved the high chair so that it was between Celeste and Ron. Angel stopped crying immediately. Ron lifted her up and strapped her into the chair.
“Check those straps and make sure that they are secure,” Anna said to Celeste.
The hum of the air conditioner was now the only sound. Little Joey pointed at Angel and said, “Crying.”
Angel ignored him. Tina took Joey’s arm and said gently, “Don’t point at your cousin.”
After dinner, the men went into the living room to lay down and wait to be called back for coffee and dessert and for the arrival of the after dinner guests. Ron started to help clear the table. He had been taught that it was what he should do and the lesson had stayed with him. It made the women nervous. They were not used to him to begin with and now he was in their kitchen and doing things, like a woman.
Tina called Celeste into the dining room and whispered, “Tell him to go into the living room with Joey and Daddy.”
“Did you even bother to say hello to him?” said Celeste.
Tina turned and walked away. Celeste motioned for Ron, but he didn’t see her. “Ron, could you come here a minute?”
Ron put the plates on the counter and Tina quickly lifted them up and brought them to the sink.
Celeste said, “Do you want to go downstairs and have a cigarette?”
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”
This was going to be an afternoon of juggling, thought Celeste as she went back into the kitchen.
Anna was sitting at the kitchen table smoking and watching her kitchen be cleaned. “If he breaks that baby’s heart, I’ll beat him with a shoe.”

Chapter 21
It was a Monday night and Ron was stretched out on the floor watching TV and reading Damien the Leper for his English class. Then he saw President Kennedy’s face come on the screen. He began talking about missiles in Cuba and saying that the United States was placing a naval blockade around the island. Then he said that any attack on the United States by Cuba would be considered an attack by the Soviet Union and that we would respond by attacking the Soviet Union. Ron stared. Was the world going to end? Would he never get to grow up?
George was out working his second job as a bartender. Marjorie wasn’t home. Ron lay there listening to the President who didn’t smile once. Ron loved watching his press conferences because of the way that he joked with everyone, but he wasn’t in any mood to be joking tonight. He wondered if we could beat the Russians. He felt his anger begin to rise. He was too young to fight. He wondered if they would make an exception because of his size. He had broken Richie D’Orio’s nose. Would that make a difference?
After the president was done speaking, a commentator showed a map of Cuba and showed the places that the missiles could reach. New Jersey wasn’t on the map. Did that make a difference? Maybe New Jersey wasn’t important enough to be on a map of the United States when they showed it on TV. New York was there. So was Washington. Miami was there. Ron pushed thoughts of Miami out of his head. He had gone there with Marjorie and Rocky a long time ago and Rocky had taken him fishing. Ron felt something burning in his throat and then he vomited.
The next morning the world looked very different. There were lines outside of the church when he went to school. They said special prayers in the classroom and then Mary Salvatore said that they would be going over to the church to attend a special mass and pray for peace and for God to give President Kennedy the wisdom to do what was best. Ron stared up at the picture of Kennedy that was on the wall and wondered if the picture would be there if he was not a Catholic.
The church was warm and crowded. As the students were marched down the aisle, Ron thought that he heard someone gasp at the sight of them and then begin to cry. Then he saw that many of the women were holding tissues to their eyes. The nuns looked serene. Ron wondered if they were anticipating heaven.
The priest, Monsignor Gerard, was in the pulpit. Before the mass began, he said, “I’m sure that Our Heavenly Father is pleased to see so many of you in His house today. I’m sure that he wished that his house was this full when people were not frightened, but in His wisdom, he knows that we are weak.” Then he turned his back on them and began to celebrate mass. Ron thought, that sure will make folks feel better.
The days wore on and the tension built. After the first rushes of panic, a sameness set in about it, almost a grim acceptance. There was a spike in the construction of fallout shelters. In school they practiced what to do in the case of an attack. The nuns assured frightened children that the best place in the world to be was in the church. And then when things seemed to be inevitable, it was over.
The United States had prevailed. Kennedy had backed down the Russians. Ron got a copy of Profiles in Courage from the library and read it. Then he read Why England Slept, although he didn’t understand much of it. Then he read The Making of the President.
When report cards came out, Ron was moved from the last seat in the last row to the last seat in the middle row. He was seated across from Barbara Infante. She smiled at him. Sometimes when they exchanged papers, they graded each other’s papers. Her penmanship was beautiful and she wrote with a light touch. Ron’s handwriting was sloppy and he wrote hard.
Marjorie was thrilled with his grades. Of the 16 graded areas, Ron had earned an “E” in nine of them. “E” stood for excellent. Mary Salvatore gave him a “G” in religion. The nun knew that Ron had earned an “E” but she just could not bring herself to give it to him. He was a smart boy and she liked him, but she certainly wasn’t going to make the mistake of trusting him. Everything else was either a “G” for good or an “S” for satisfactory. Richie was in the first seat of Ron’s row. He had gotten straight E’s.
Things were different after Ron broke his nose. Richie was angry and embarrassed, and he was sure that Ron had done it on purpose. They never talked about it and Ron would have told him that it was just a play and that he didn’t mean anything by it.
After the Cuban thing and his impressive report card, Ron’s popularity began to rise again. He learned that while he hid his love of reading in public school because he didn’t want to appear to be brainy, in Catholic school, brainy was good.

Chapter 22

Janine and Jimmy arrived for coffee and the after dinner stupor seemed broken. Ron was still in the basement and Celeste was just finishing setting the table for coffee. Jimmy kissed Celeste on the cheek and said, “So where is he? You keep him chained to your bed downstairs?”
Celeste blushed. Janine came over and said, “Better to keep him chained than to have him chaining you.”
Mario and Joey came into the dining room and sat back down. Mario shook Jimmy’s hand and said, “Mr. Lattimore.”
Jimmy grinned, “So I hear that you are going to have a new son-in-law.”
Joey added, “Again.”
Anna tensed and put her head down. Mario just nodded. Janine said, “Well, three is a charm.”
Celeste knew that Anna had passed this information along during her morning phone calls and she was sure that it wasn’t accompanied by an endorsement.
The door to the downstairs basement opened and Ron tried to slide into the room unnoticed. That wasn’t going to happen.
“We need another chair,” said Anna.
Ron moved to get it and Anna thought in spite of herself that at least he tried to help. Celeste introduced Ron to Jimmy and Janine.
Jimmy smiled and stick out a large hard hand. It engulfed Ron’s hand but he tried his best for a manly shake.
“Good to meet you,” said Ron figuring a smile at Janine would cover his response to go along with the handshake.
“So,” said Jimmy, “you’re a football coach.”
“I’m just an assistant, said Ron. “This will be my second year.”
“Good money?” said Jimmy laughing.
Ron flushed. The money was awful. He calculated it last year to work out to be about fifty cents an hour. Ron laughed. “Not so much for the money. But it’s good to work with the kids that way.”
Jimmy didn’t answer. It had been a joke and Ron had given his a straight answer. Jimmy hoped that Ron had a sense of humor. He was going to need it in this house.
Neither Mario nor Joey understood why someone would work when the money wasn’t any good and the hours were long. But he was a teacher and they both had a mistrust of teachers. It was true that Jimmy was a teacher, but he taught drivers education and gym. That was different and Jimmy was family. He liked to work with his hands.
The last thing in the world that Ron wanted was a hot cup of coffee. He didn’t drink coffee after dinner. They had consumed too much food. He wished that he could go for a long walk and maybe even a run, but that was out of the question. Angel took his hand and Ron lifted her up onto his knee after he sat.

Chapter 23
Ron was invited to his first party. It was at Barbara Infante’s house. He took a very long and hot shower. He combed his hair about six times. He used some of George’s aftershave. He made sure that there was copious amounts of deodorant under his arms. He selected a white on white high roll and used gold colored cuff links with it. He slid on a pair of black mohair and silk slacks that had a knife sharp crease. His socks were thin and almost see through except for the black ribs that Ron made sure were very straight as they slid up over his ankles. He tied his feather-tipped shoes tightly and made sure that their shine was high gloss. Then he slipped on his three quarter length black leather jacket from Cooper leather, where his mother had taken him when he said that he needed to have one.
He wanted to slip on his sunglasses but it was night and George said that he was trying to look like a wise guy when he wore them. Marjorie said, “You look very nice,” when he came out of his room. Ron had the sunglasses safely tucked away in his inside pocket. “Do you have money?” she asked.
“I have a few dollars,” said Ron. “I don’t think that I’ll need any.”
“Where is this party?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he lied.
“How can you be going to a party and not know where it is?” said Marjorie.
Ron lied again. “I’m meeting Richie and some of the other guys up at the school. They know where she lives.”
It had been a pointless lie and Ron knew that it probably was, but the thought of her driving over there if he was late, or calling her house if she felt like it, was reason enough to keep her in the dark.
“Stay out of trouble,” said George.
“He isn’t going to get into any trouble!” snapped Marjorie. “He’s going to a party.” Then a thought hit her. “What is this girl’s name?”
“Barbara.”
“Does she have a last name?”
“Infante.”
“I know a Tony Infante from 4th Street,” said George.
Ron thought, who cares?
“Are her parents going to be at home?” said Marjorie.
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I’m sure that they will be.” And then he was moving towards the door. He needed to get out of there. He slid on his shades as he bounced down the stairs. The evening air felt like freedom.

Chapter 24
Later that night Ron and Celeste lay in bed talking. They had mastered the art of having quiet sex and Angel was two floors away in her bedroom. Celeste had an intercom set up so that she could respond if Angel woke up.
They were facing each other and searching each other’s faces as they spoke.
“Life is going to change a lot in a couple of weeks,” said Ron.
Celeste felt a quiver in her stomach. “Because of work?”
“Yes, and coaching and then tutoring. I get very busy and we have to plan for it.”
“Will I ever see you?”
“Every day,” Ron blurted. “As long as we can find a way.”
“At least we’ll be able to talk on the phone, won’t we?’
“Every night,” said Ron. “I know this is going to sound screwy, but I don’t think that I could manage to get to sleep if I hadn’t spoken to you.”
Celeste felt her heart swell. She decided that she needed a job and maybe needed to go back to school. She was going to have to do something to work towards their goals and keep from sitting by the phone or listening for his squeaks.
Ron drove home at about two am. He was smiling and at the same time he was worried. Her family didn’t like him. His family wasn’t ready for her. Did they have any chance that things would work out for them? What about Angel? This wasn’t like having a girlfriend or even someone with whom he lived. This was like acquiring an instant family, most of which didn’t like him. It confused him.
When he got home, the phone was ringing. It was Celeste calling to say good night. Ron was tempted to tell her about the doubts that he was having but decided that it was a conversation that was better had in person.

Chapter 25
The party bored Ron and he wondered if there was someplace else that he wanted to be. The girls were pretty and were wearing makeup. Some had their hair teased up. Ron danced with Barbara Infante. It was a slow dance and he could feel the buds of her breasts pressing against him and the motion of her hips pressing against him and he knew it was going to happen and it did. He was sticking out against her. He was sure that she could feel it. He blushed with embarrassment.
When the dance ended he gulped down a paper cup’s worth of fruit punch. It reminded him of the “bug juice” that they served on his one disastrous trip to camp. They had been on a hike and his asthma had kicked in and he had to be taken to the infirmary and the kids nicknamed him “wheezer” because of the sounds that came out of him when he tried to breathe. Marjorie and Rocky had come for him the next day, and he was able to sneak into his cabin while the other kids were at the lake. He was able to pack his things and slip out and never see any of them again.
It wasn’t like that here. If you made a fool of yourself, it followed you forever. He was pretty sure that his erection had gone unnoticed. Barbara Infante was whispering to her friend Carol that she had felt his thing get hard while they were dancing. Ron heard the girls giggle and his entire body stiffened.
He and Richie and Phillip and Dennis walked together after the party. They were talking about how boring it was and how they hated having adults watch them like they were swimming in a fishbowl.
Ron blurted, “Do you think Barbara likes me?”
When he heard the laughter from his friends he knew that he had done one of those stupid things that just wasn’t going to go away.
“So, you’re in love with Barbara Infante,” said Richie.
“No,” said Ron.
“Why did you ask that?” said Phillip.
Ron stammered. He was glad that it was dark and they couldn’t see the way that he was blushing. “I don’t know.”
They laughed again. This was just getting worse.
“Want me to ask her if she likes you?” said Dennis.
“Maybe we should all ask her,” said Richie.
When Ron got home, his mother said, “Ronald you are eleven years old.”
“I know,” said Ron.
“Ten-thirty is far too late to be coming home for an eleven year old boy.”
“It’s because I have to walk so much further than the other kids do,” said Ron.
“Then plan ahead,” said George. He had been drinking. Ron could tell from the red bloat of his face and the smell of beer. His father told him that fools got drunk. Ron thought, right again Dad.
Ron didn’t answer. He wasn’t going to give George the satisfaction of answering him.
“Did you have a good time?” said Marjorie.
“Up until now,” snapped Ron before he thought about it.
“What this kid needs is a good beating,” said George.
Ron snapped again. It was like his mouth was no longer attached to his brain. “Not from you.”
George got up. Marjorie screamed, “George don’t.”
“Go ahead,” said Ron. “I’ll tell my father.”
“You think I’m afraid of Harry Tuck?”
“Say it to his face,” said Ron.
Marjorie began to cry.
Chapter 26

Before Ron had known Robin and before he had known Zoe, he’d been with Julie. She had long straight dark hair. She loved Marjorie. They had a bond. When Ron left her, Marjorie had cried but then she had written and over the years she learned that Julie had won an award for being a reporter in Texas. She’d gotten a promotion to a station in Windsor Canada that broadcasted into Detroit.
Marjorie wrote, “Ronald is making a terrible mistake and I think that you are the only one who can save him. I know that he loves you and that you have never wanted anything but what was best for the both of you. I want you to come here. I’ve always wanted to embrace you like my daughter.”
When Julie got the message, she stared at it for a long time. Did Marjorie know that she had a daughter now? What was she asking her to do? She looked over at her sleeping child and felt a pang. She had dreamed more than once that it was Ron’s child, but she knew that it wasn’t. In the final analysis, he just hadn’t wanted her.
Maybe he would now? Maybe the years and the experiences had changed him. Maybe he was ready. If he was, she was too. She felt a fire inside of her when she thought about him. He was unabashed. She felt that tingle between her legs and cursed her pussy. Except that her vagina had produced her daughter. It wasn’t all bad. And if he saw her daughter and met her, he would be captivated. That was how he was and she knew it. But why was Marjorie so insistent and what was this mistake? It could only be another woman who was not Robin. Marjorie wouldn’t have written if it was Robin. She’d sent her into that battle before and hugged her after she was bruised and cut from previous skirmishes. Most of all, Marjorie knew that Julie couldn’t win. She wouldn’t do that to her again. She picked up the phone and dialed Marjorie’s number.
“Marge, it’s Julie.”
“I’m so glad that you called.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He wants to get married.”
“To who?”
“Some Italian girl that he hardly knows.”
“Why?”
“I think that he feels like time is passing him by, and he wants to start a real life.”
“I think that we all get that way sometimes,” said Julie.
“Do you still love him?”
“Yes.”
“After all this time and everything that he’s done?”
“I know I sound stupid Marjorie, but yes.”
“Then you’d better get out here.”
“How can I do that? I have no reason.”
“It’s going to be George’s birthday and you’re invited.”
“This is the last time that I’m going to do anything like this,” said Julie.
“It should be,” said Marjorie.
It was easy for Julie to schedule a flight. Her Dad was a pilot and she had a card that allowed her to fly for the price of the tax. Newark Airport was a hub. She thought about how she met Ron and the roller coaster that had been their relationship. She had been taking a summer course at the local community college when they met. By the time the fall began, they were an item and spent each weekend together. One weekend he would drive up to her college and spend the nights in her dorm room and the other she would drive down to his house and stay in his room. That was when she grew close with Marjorie. They played with each other’s hair. They shared secrets. Marjorie told Ron that as long as he was on the couch when she woke up in the morning that she wouldn’t give him a hard time. She stopped walking into Ron’s room without knocking on the door. He introduced Julie to Chris and Laureen and the four of them went places together. She gave him a guitar and he played it horribly. She smiled and grimaced at the same time thinking about the way that he abused that poor guitar. Then she remembered the feel of his hands and the incredibly long eye lashes that he had. She pictured the broadness of his shoulders and smiled. Warren Lashly had been the death of them. Maybe that was unfair but she had grown to hate Warren and his interrogations. She hated the way that Ron looked up to him and let Lashly’s words and ideas become his guiding principles.
Then she met Jeff. He went to her school and she began sleeping with him during the week. He knew about Ron but didn’t care. He managed the radio station and there were plenty of girls that he could have. If she wanted her shift to be regular, she knew what he expected. She brought Ron to the radio station and instantly the two young men took a dislike to each other. Ron had gone with her into Manhattan when she was getting her 3rd class broadcaster’s license. He quizzed her on the train ride in and then decided to take the test as well. It had amazed her that he passed and she let him talk on the air during her show.
Then they drifted. Every weekend became every other weekend and then it was one weekend a month and then he was gone. It had been tearful but she was relieved. She felt it was coming.
Years later he came to see her while she was doing news updates on the AM dial. She was lonely and he felt so good. He was working in a jail trying to teach kids to read and write, and she had just been named woman broadcaster of the year for a ten part series that she’d done on women in Texas. When he left, she cried and decided that their timing was just so bad that it just wasn’t going to work. Now they were in their 30’s and she knew that she looked good. It was time. She had a failed marriage and a daughter and he had been ripped apart by a relationship with a woman who enjoyed watching him suffer. She could see where that could become addictive.

Chapter 27

What actually happened was Phillip confided to Carol that Ron wanted to know if Barbara liked him.
Carol scrunched up her face and said, “I don’t think so but I’ll ask her.”
Among the girls it was known that Barbara really liked Richie, but that wasn’t something that she would share with a boy. It would be a betrayal that would make Barbara her enemy forever.
When she told Barbara, the girl let out one of her patented, “Eww’s”
Carol giggled. “Well you did say that his thing got all excited.”
“Exactly,” said Barbara.
The girls giggled again. Then a thought struck Barbara. “He sits right next to me. How am I going to look at him?”
“And not get his thing excited?” teased Carol.
“I’m serious, Carol. How am I supposed to look at him now and read his sloppy papers?”
“How bad are they?”
“The answers are mostly right and he studies but he writes like he is using some kind of tool and needs to cut the words into the paper.”
“In other words, he’s rough and careless?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe he’s just nervous,” said Carol. “Being the new kid and those rumors about him and then he broke Richie’s nose.”
“Did you know that he doesn’t know how to ride a bike?”
“You’re kidding!” said Carol.
“Nope, Richie told me that the guys all made fun about him because of it.”
Carol felt sorry for Ron but she could understand why Barbara didn’t want to be linked to him.

During the next day of classes, Barbara was careful not to look at him. He seemed oblivious. That angered her. She wanted him to look at her so that she could ignore him, but he didn’t seem to care. She thought of passing him a note that read, I don’t like you. Leave me alone. But he was leaving her alone and the note would look stupid.
All Ron was able to think about was how much he hated George. His mother had punished him for his outburst and he hadn’t been allowed to go out of the house the next day. He just stayed in his room and read. He came out for dinner and ate without saying anything. He helped to clean up and then he was back in his room.
Ron was wallowing in his reverie of hostility when he heard his name. He looked up to see the faces of the kids in the class turned in his direction. Mary Salvatore was coming down the aisle in his direction.
“So nice of you to join us, Mr. Tuck. May I see what you have been so absorbed with that you didn’t hear me call on you twice?” She picked up the book that was on his desk. It was the same book that they were all reading from and there wasn’t anything hidden in it but he was two pages behind. She stared hard at him. “So you’ve been daydreaming. Would you like to share what you were daydreaming about with everyone?”
“No, Sister.”
“Do you find what we are doing here so boring that you are unable to concentrate?”
“No, Sister.”
“That’s good. Then you’ll be happy to stand up and read for us.”
Carol wrote a quick note and passed it to Phillip. “Maybe he’s thinking about Barbara.” They both grinned.

Ron stood and read flawlessly. It was written in children’s language. It retold the story of the Prodigal Son. Ron almost stopped and asked if would be ok if he read it from an actual bible, but he knew that he was being reprimanded for not paying attention. It was time for him to learn how to make things easier on himself. Hadn’t his mother done that when she married George? At least, wasn’t that what she thought that she doing?
That night at dinner Ron announced, “I want to convert to being a Catholic.”
Marjorie looked stunned. George didn’t react. He was born Catholic. He was staying that way. That’s what you were supposed to do. You looked at your plate saw what was there and ate it without complaining.
“And just when did you decide this?”
“While I was walking home,” said Ron.
“Your grand-mother would turn over in her grave.”
“You’re the one who made me go to that school. It’s not my fault.”
“You know very well why you were sent to that school, Ronald. Would you have rathered that I let them send you to a reformatory?”
“Well, now I want to be a Catholic.”
“Do we have to have these conversations at dinner?” said George.
Marjorie took the opportunity to turn on him. “When would suggest that we have them? Whenever anyone starts talking about anything that has any importance, you get up and walk away. Maybe he figures that as long as there is food, at least you’ll stay and listen.” Then she turned back to Ron. “You’re not becoming a Catholic. You were born a Protestant. You were raised a Protestant and that’s how it’s going to stay.”
“No it isn’t, Mom. We have freedom of religion in this country.”
“I don’t know what’s happening to you,” she said staring into his eyes. “You used to be such a nice boy.”
“Look where that got me.”
“Why are you doing this to me? Why do you need to hurt me?”
“You said that I should think for myself and that’s what I’m doing.”
Marjorie hated it when he gave her that look and sounded like his father.

Chapter 28
Ron tried to be cheerful as he drove Celeste and Angel down to meet Marjorie and George for the first time, but he had a sense that it might be tense. Celeste was nervous about it. They had waited a while, but things were moving quickly now. It was hard to realize that she had only been with him for a little over two weeks. It seemed so much longer.
The plan was for dinner in the backyard and the weather was cooperating. It was a mild evening with a light breeze. Maybe that was an omen that everything was going to be ok, thought Ron.
Marjorie had cooked and the kitchen was very warm. She was sweating and she blamed it on Ron and this girl, whoever she was. He still had his key to the house, but it didn’t seem right to use it on this occasion. He walked up to the front door with angel in his left arm. Her hands were around his neck as he rang the doorbell. George came to the door. Dandy barked. Angel tensed. Celeste said, “I didn’t know your mom had a dog”
George opened to the door and said, “You forget your key?”
Ron shrugged. “George, this is Celeste and this is Angel.”
“Nice to meet you,” said George smiling.
They walked down the hall nest to the flight of stairs that led up to the second floor apartment. In the dark blocking the side door that was never used, Ron glanced down at his Aunt’s old record player. He missed her and sure could have used her help tonight.
“They’re here,” announced George as they walked into the dining room that had once been their bedroom when Ron still lived there. Marjorie came out of the kitchen and smiled politely.
“Mom, this is Celeste and this is Angel.”
The sight of the little girl in his arms made Marjorie want to cry. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Celeste.” Marjorie tried not to look at Angel who was waiting to be greeted and made a fuss over.
“I’m happy to meet you too,” said Celeste, noticing that neither one of them had said anything to Angel, who did not want Ron to put her down.
“We should go out into the yard. It’s too hot in this kitchen,” said Marjorie. She picked up her cigarettes and led them out the back door.
Celeste glanced around. It was a large kitchen, the kind that she loved. She could see immediately that a lot of time was spent there. They walked out into a backyard that was good sized, long and more narrow than hers was. Marjorie sat down at redwood table and lit a cigarette. Then she said, “Ron, would you go into the kitchen and get my Crystal Lite?”
“Sure.” Ron handed Angel to Celeste.
“Would you like something to drink, Angel?” said Marjorie.
Angel felt shy and a little frightened of the white dog who was energetically wagging his tail and wanting to play. She didn’t answer for a moment and then said, “No, thank you.”
“Oh you do know how to talk?” said Marjorie smiling. Celeste wasn’t sure that’s he liked the comment, but knew that Marjorie would find out soon enough how well-spoken Angel was.
“That’s a great tree,” said Celeste, looking at the massive oak that shaded the entire yard.
“It’s been here longer than we have,” said Marjorie.
Ron came back with his mother’s glass of ice tea in one hand and a pitcher of the stuff in his other. He set them down and said to Angel, “Watch this.”
He picked up a beach ball that was lying on the grass and Dandy barked and wagged his fluffy tail furiously. Ron tossed the ball to Dandy who perfectly head butted it back up into Ron’s hands. Angel giggled and said, “Make him do it again.”
Ron happily obliged as they all watched and Marjorie smoked. He was showing off for them. It was cute but she hated it.
“Would you like some Crystal Lite before dinner?” said Marjorie, looking at Celeste.
“Thank you.” Celeste put Angel down and reached for the pitcher but Angel clung hard to her back and Celeste dropped the glass. It spread across the tablecloth that Marjorie had laid out. George got up and hurried into the house for some paper towels. “I’m sorry,” said Celeste. “I guess she’s a little nervous.”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Marjorie in a tone that implied that there was. The Crystal Lite had almost reached the stack of paper plates, when George came out with a roll of paper towels. “Hurry up! We don’t want it to ruin them too.” George caught it in time. Ron dropped the ball and came over to the table. Angel clung to Celeste. Dandy followed him eagerly. Ron picked up the stack of plates as George wiped the table.
“You’ll have to wipe it down with a sponge,” said Marjorie. “Otherwise it will be a sticky mess.”
“I’ll get it,” said Ron.
Celeste wondered if they could just leave and come back again like this never happened. She said, “What a way to make an impression.”
Marjorie said, “Well, let’s eat.”

It took several trips in and out the backdoor to carry out the bowls and platter. George and Ron and Marjorie made the trips. Celeste sat there wanting to help but Angel was back in her arms. She wasn’t used to not helping.

“I made one of your favorites,” said Marjorie.
Ron smiled at the platter of pork chops mixed with sauerkraut and potatoes. “Did you use Aunt Dottie’s pot?”
“Of course I did. It won’t be as good as hers was though.”

Chapter 29
Ron stayed after school the next day and asked Sister Mary Salvatore what he should do if he was interested in converting. She looked very surprised and pleased.
“This is an important decision Ronald. Are you sure that it is what you want?”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“Why is it what you want?”
That was a good question and Ron wasn’t sure how to answer. He thought for a moment. Suppose he said the wrong thing and they wouldn’t let him. “This Church goes back to the time of Jesus,” said Ron. “It’s the religion that he wanted.”
“Well that’s a good reason. Is it your only reason?”
Ron decided that he would tell this nun the truth. “No, but it’s my best one.”
“What are your other reasons?”
“The Church I used to go to closed. I really don’t feel like I have a church now and I don’t think that’s good for me.”
“You don’t go to church at all anymore?” The nun looked concerned. No wonder he had gotten into trouble.
“At Christmas time and at Easter. That’s pretty much it.”
“Is there any other reason?” the nun probed.
Ron sighed. “I want to fit in.”
“That’s the first reason that you’ve mentioned that isn’t a good one. But you knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Have you spoken to your mother about this and your father?”
“I told my mother.”
“Does she support your choice?”
“She’ll get used to it.”
“Have you told your father?”
“Not yet.”
“May I ask why?”
“I don’t see him very much anymore. He plays golf now, and sometimes he forgets to come and pick me up.”
“Don’t you think that you should tell him?”
“To be honest Sister, I don’t think he’ll care. He’s not a religious man. He’ll say that I should do what I think I should do.”
“I’ll set up an appointment at the rectory for you Ronald.”

Chapter 30

After the dinner during which Angel pissed Marjorie off by being clingy with both Ron and Celeste, Marjorie caught Ron in the kitchen and said, “This girl isn’t for you.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Didn’t you learn from happened to me?” she said flatly.
“I learned,” said Ron. “I learned not to believe people’s promises. Is that how you want me to go through life, not trusting anyone?”
“I’m just saying that I know you better than anyone, and I telling you that you can do better than this.”
“It isn’t a contest, Mom.”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I love her and that’s what matters to me. She loves me as well.”
“She’s desperate and you’re her way out.”
“That’s unfair.”
“I might as well tell you now then. I’ve invited Julie to come to George’s birthday party.”
Ron was stunned. He hadn’t spoken to Julie in years. He didn’t even know where she was and he surely didn’t know that his mother was in touch with her. “That’s great Mom. I’m bringing Celeste.”
“Julie is a nice girl who cares about you.”
“Just stop it, OK?”
“Sure, I’ll just sit by and watch my only son ruin his life.”
Ron went out the back door and found Celeste sitting with Angel in her arms. She looked nervous and Angel looked sleepy.
His mother followed him out the door and Ron said, “I think we are going to get going. Angel needs to have a bath and she’s getting sleepy.”
‘Do what you want,” said Marjorie. “You will anyway.”
George said, “It was nice to meet you, Celeste. I hope that I see you at my birthday party.”
Marjorie looked at George like she wanted to spit on him. Ron decided that a quick exit was in order. Celeste thanked Marjorie for having her and Angel to dinner.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other sooner or later,” said Marjorie.

Chapter 31
The next day Ron was sent out of class and told to report to the principal’s office. This was never a good sign but Ron was pretty sure that he hadn’t done anything wrong. Sister Wilma Delores smiled broadly when she saw him.
“Ronald, Father Joyce is waiting to see you over at the rectory. Don’t be nervous and just tell him what you told Sister Mary Salvatore.”
Ron rang the bell and waited outside of the rectory. It was a long wait and he was unsure if the bell had rung or if he should ring it again. If he rang it again they might think that he was pushy and lacked patience. If he didn’t ring it again, he might just be standing here while the priest was inside waiting for him to appear. He rang it again. He could see motion through the small window in the center of the door.
Father Richard Joyce was disappointed by Ron’s age and size. Ron was almost as tall as he was and the priest did not get that powerful rush that he felt when he looked down at smaller, younger boys. A convert was a convert though.
“It’s my understanding that you have an interest in Catholicism,” said Father Joyce.
“Yes, I do Father,”
“And how did this interest arise?”
“I attend the grammar school.”
“What is your current religion?”
“I’m Protestant.”
“Which denomination?”
“Well I was Presbyterian, but my church closed and so I attended a Reformed Lutheran church for a while because it was the only one that I could get to.”
“Your parents didn’t attend with you?”
“No, Father.”
“And why was that?”
“My parents are divorced, Father.” Ron hated the endless repetition of this litany. He hated the way that people looked at him with baleful eyes after he said it. Joyce’s eyes and face showed no expression, except for a hint of disapproval.
“And how did you come to attend Our Lady of the Forlorn’s grammar school?” Joyce of course knew the answer to this question but he wanted to make the boy describe it.
“My mother got me admitted,” said Ron. He didn’t want to go through it again and was taking the chance that it was just one of the questions on the list and that Joyce really didn’t care about his answers.
“Why did your mother, a non-practicing Protestant, want you in a religious school?”
Anger flashed through Ron. He’s going to make me say it, he thought.
“I got into some trouble, Father and the police thought that it would be best if I didn’t attend Broadway Junior High.”
“Were you arrested?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You don’t know?”
“No one said that I was under arrest.”
“What had you done?”
“I brought a knife to school.”
“Did you hurt anyone?”
“No Father.”
“Well, everyone makes mistakes Ronald.”
That was the first really kind thing that he’d said to him. Maybe the worst was over.
“Thank you, Father.”
“A boy your age would have already been confirmed and would have studied his religion extensively.”
“I have studied religion a lot.”
“The Catholic faith, Ronald.”
For a moment Ron’s pride was stung. Part of him wanted to say, go ahead ask me things. That wouldn’t be a good idea. Ron didn’t answer.
“You’ve read the bible haven’t you, Ronald?”
“Yes.”
“Knowing scripture isn’t a bad thing, but it really has very little to do with being a good Catholic.”
“First of all you have to convince me that you are sincere. Then we can do the study together.”
“How do I convince you of that?”
“First of all by being patient.”
“Yes Father.”
“Secondly you will come here this Saturday and each Saturday after that until I feel that you are ready to be baptized.”
“What time?”

Chapter 32

Ron left Celeste’s house early that evening. He didn’t rush his departure, but there was something he needed to do. He parked the car in front of his mother’s house. Again, for maybe the one thousandth time, he wished that his Aunt Dottie was still alive.
You only get so many guardian angels. She had been his. They had blood between them and there was an acceptance and a soul to their connection.
Ron opened the door with his key. Dandy barked. Marjorie and George were in the living room watching TV. His entrance startled her.
George was half in the bag.
“Ronald, I didn’t expect you.”
“Would another time be better?”
“She got up and said, “Come into the kitchen.”
The settled in their customary chairs. The gazed into each other’s eyes and there was that love, that honey sweet flow of love that a mother and child share, if only sometimes.
Ron spoke softly. “I want you to know that this thing with Celeste is serious. She’s going to become my wife. She’s the woman that I’ve chosen.”
“What about Robin?”
Ron was shocked that she said her name. “It didn’t work. We tried. She tried more than you know.”
“What about the mouse?”
Ron could not help a grin. She refused to stop calling Zoe that. “Too crazy,” said Ron. He thought a moment. “Maybe she just scared me.”
“Sometimes it’s right to be scared.”
“I’m not scared of Celeste or Angel.”
“You should be.”
“I’m going to do this. Please don’t make me fight you for it tooth and nail.”
“What about Julie?”
Ron said, “Why did you do that?”
“She’s a nice girl.”
“I know.”
“She loves you.”
“I know.”
Ron looked deep into her eyes. “You know the feeling that you had with Rocky, before it went bad?”
“Of course I do.”
“Robin was like my Harry Tuck.” Ron smiled. “We should have had a kid but we didn’t want one. We thought that the world was full and that we needed to learn to take care of those who were already here. It still wouldn’t have worked and there would be a child who needed protection and raising.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” said Marjorie.
“This little girl needs protection and care too. The bonus for me is that I’m in love with her mother.”
“She has a family. Why don’t you want a family of your own?”
“The way that I feel about her is very special. I’ve been in love.” Ron tried his best to speak as earnestly as he could. “This feels more real and stronger than anything I have ever felt.”
“You’re making a mistake,” said Marjorie. “Please listen to me. I know that you’re sincere. And I know that you are making a huge mistake.”
“How do you know?”
“I feel it”
“I don’t trust your feelings about this. I’m going to marry her.”

End of Part 1

Chapter 33
The heat baked the asphalt so hot that Ron could feel it radiating up through his sneakers. He walked across the parking lot and into the back door of the school. It was the team entrance and opened into a low slightly darkened narrow hallway. To his left was the door to the boys’ locker room. Ron entered and walked through the empty room that soon enough would carry the sounds and the yearlong smell of perspiration soaked equipment and clothing of teen aged boys.
Steve Ferry was a bull of a man who did not seem to fit in the desk chair. He stood about six feet and three inches. He had a huge back and head that was covered with a baseball cap out of which stuck the ends of greyish white hair. He looked like he could pull a plow.
Laying on the worn couch that many people suspected was his only bed, Artie Harris looked up and opened his eyes at the sound of Ron’s entrance. “Hey Crazy Ron is here. Now things will get lively.”
Ron smiled. “Hiya, Artie. How was your summer?”
It was still the end of August but it was pretty much acknowledged that summer was over when practices began. There wouldn’t be any more quiet mornings. No more endless days that could be filled any way that a person wanted to fill them.
Steve turned from the clipboard that had multiple sheets of paper with templates for designing football plays attached to it. “Ron, it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too Steve. How was your summer?”
“They get shorter all the time,” said Steve.
Ron didn’t really understand that and just nodded. “Where are we going to meet?”
Air conditioned rooms were at a premium on this side of the building, but Artie knew where they all were and Ron was pretty sure that he had scouted out a room and turned the air on so that it would be cool.
Artie said, “They put air in the teacher’s room over the summer. That’s a good spot.”
Steve shook his head back and forth. “No chalkboard in there. We’ll need one.”
Artie looked crestfallen. There were no classrooms with air conditioners. Ron said, “We could bring in one or two of the rolling boards.”
“Fine with me,” said Steve, flicking his eyes over at the rotund and now happier Artie and then winking at Ron.
Ron and Steve were classroom teachers. They were not unaccustomed to oppressive heat. It didn’t really bother them as much as it did people like Artie who roamed the halls searching for any place to cool off on a day like this. Classroom teachers had to be models for their students or else the complaining and moaning would never allow them to finish or start the school year. No one was really sure what Artie did. He worked around the school. That was it. He coached Hockey. He got up and waddled out to find the rolling chalkboards and bring them to the magnificently cooled teachers’ lounge.
Larry Voila arrived just as Artie was leaving. They just nodded as they passed one another in the hall. Larry thought that Artie was bad to have around kids. Artie felt the same way about Larry.
Greetings exchanged. Ron was happy not to be working with Larry this year. Larry had gone to Steve complaining that Ron had undermined his authority last year. The truth was that Larry had never played the game and they all knew it. When he denied the freshman team water after a poor showing at a scrimmage, Ron had instinctively blown his whistle and called for a water break. It happened ten minutes after Larry said, “No, they’ve got to get tougher.” Larry had stomped off the field like an angry child who had his toy taken away. He was even more humiliated when Steve moved Ron up to the varsity staff. Steve was always politely condescending to Larry, who never realized it.
When Paul Pamenteri arrived, they were ready to start. It was a meagre staff for the one hundred players that would be in the program. They settled in the teacher’s lounge and drank cans of soda that Artie had pilfered from one of the soda machines for which he had a secret key.
Steve stood and passed out play books. “We need to go through it all,” said Steve. “I made a lot of changes over the summer.” Steve was a physics teacher and a farm boy. To him, football was purely a matter of leverage, angle, strength, speed and desire, but he did like to scheme. They would begin with the offense. This afternoon he would lecture on the defense. Tomorrow he would continue with the same pattern. The next day, his players would arrive and he would begin to see what he actually had.
Young men’s bodies changed quickly. A boy could go away for the summer standing five foot seven and come back a few months later at having grown inches and thinned out considerably and be in need of bulking up. You had to actually see them before you truly knew what you had. That kind of change might necessitate the need for changes in the scheme. His team was going to be white and slow. He didn’t expect a good year, but in his thirty-fifth year of coaching, his second after retiring from public school, taking a pension and coming to teach and coach here. It was just what he did. Besides, you could always be surprised.

Chapter 34
Ron knelt at the altar rail, opened his mouth and extended his tongue. His mouth was dry and the Communion wafer was dry. It felt a moment of panic as he walked back to his pew with his hands clasped and his eyes down. The wafer had stuck to the roof of his mouth. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t reach in and scrape it off. He wasn’t supposed to let his teeth touch it. He rubbed against it with his tongue and hoped that it would dislodge.
He wanted that magical feeling of having Jesus inside of him. When he had Communion in his former church they drank grape juice. It was made clear that this was a commemoration of what Christ had done. Ron knew about transubstantiation. This was really God that Ron had inside of him. His tongue couldn’t get the wafer to move. His mind said, Oh Fuck. Then he panicked. He had sinned while the host was in his mouth. There might be a special place in hell for people who did that. Maybe he was the only one who had ever done it. Maybe God didn’t realize. Another lightening thought hit him. He had just sinned again! God was supposed to know everything and here he was doubting Jesus who had bled every drop of his precious blood for him.
After Mass, Ron ran across the street to the candy store and bought a bottle of coke. He washed his Savior down with a long relished swallow. What a way to begin! Some first Communion he screamed at himself as he walked home alone.
George was spreading a dirty white rug across the living room floor of their apartment. Marjorie was watching him with a sick look on her face. It covered the hard wood floor that she loved with an ugly combination of white and stain. George contended that it would muffle the sound and that it was important to be considerate of the people downstairs.
Ron and Marjorie just stared at each other when he said it. They had lived in apartments all their lives. This was George’s first experience.
“Where did you get this thing?” said Ron.
“This used to belong to Wobbles,” said George proudly.
“Who’s that?” said Ron.
George smirked at Ron’s ignorance. “He’s a friend of George’s,” said Marjorie glumly trying to be patient.
“He’s probably the most important man in Newark and one of the most important men in the state,” George explained.
“Never heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t,” said George.
Marjorie stayed silent and Ron could see that she hated the thing. He said, “Why is he giving away his dirty rugs?”
“Maybe we can cover some of the stains with furniture,” said Marjorie.
George looked up, exasperated. Each stain felt like a thorn stuck up his ass and these two were going to mention each and every one. “Do you know how expensive this rug was?”
“You bought this thing?” said Ron.
George turned redder. “I mean originally.”

Chapter 35
Ron drove from the school to Celeste’s house. Anna heard his squeaking approach and saw the delight that spread across Angel’s face. Celeste got up and ran downstairs to change like a love sick school girl. What was happening to her house? He came and went like some storm that you could hear approaching and then had to clean up after.
Angel was running towards the picture window to look out. Anna waited in her chair at the kitchen table. She lifted her fly swatter and smacked it down at some imaginary bug. If only she could eliminate him the same way.
Before the doorbell rang Angel was pulling the door open. Ron scooped her up into his arms and kissed her. She squealed with delight.
Anna said, “Can’t you do something about that squeaking?”
“I tried. They told me that old Fords get that way but that there was nothing wrong with the car. It isn’t dangerous,” he tried to reassure her.
Anna didn’t answer. Danger wasn’t the only consideration. It was embarrassing to have the neighbors hear the squeaks and say, “Oh, Ron’s on his way.” She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction of saying that to him, but she had said it to Celeste.
Celeste hadn’t cared. She opened the door to the basement and came into the dining room. She embraced Ron. They kissed softly. Anna scowled. They did that right in front of the baby. Who knew what else they had done in front of her.
“Would you like to go for ice cream and to feed the ducks after dinner,” said Ron.
“Yes!” squealed Angel.
“You shouldn’t tell her that before dinner,” objected Anna. “Now she won’t eat anything.”
“If you want ice cream, you have to be a member of the clean plate club,” said Celeste.
“Ron already said that we could.”
“Well if Ron said,” Anna repeated bitterly staring at Celeste.
“Let’s go into the yard, “said Celeste.

Chapter 36

George took Ron to the Arrow Bar that afternoon. It was a place that he worked on the weekends and Ron hadn’t ever been there before. It was a long dark narrow place with a mahogany bar and some round tables set off opposite it. There was a group of men sitting around one of the tables and George lit up when he saw them. He left Ron standing at the bar. Ron’s eyes instinctively searched for the juke box or the pinball machine but he couldn’t find either. What kind of a joint was this?
The bartender was an old guy who wore an apron that swelled out over a large stomach. His beefy arms were partially covered by a long sleeve shirt that was turned up at the cuffs. “Ain’t nothing for you in here, kid.”
Ron didn’t answer. He gestured over at George who had his back to him and said, “I’m with him.”
“You’re with Father George?”
“Who?”
“George Bombasco. Around here everyone calls him Father George.”
“Why?”
“Just a nickname.”
“What’s it mean?”
“You better ask him.”
Ron had no intentions of asking George anything that he didn’t have to ask him and decided to just let it go. The bartender saw an opportunity for a little fun.
“Hey, Father George, kid here wants to know how you got your nickname.”
GimmeTwo laughed, “Because he was always preaching to everybody about how bad gambling was while he’s making bets.”
George flushed. It wasn’t information that he wanted Ron to have. He knew that the kid would throw it up at him.
GimmeTwo waved Ron over. ‘Come on over kid, let’s get a look at you.”
Ron walked over hesitantly. There were four men at the table and George was standing facing them. He half turned as Ron walked over. “Everybody, this is my son, Ronald.”
The shock of the words hit Ron like ice water being thrown into his face. They immobilized him. He had never once thought of himself as George’s son and George had never said those words before. Then it hit him. It was for show. But if it was for show, did that mean that he was proud of him? He never acted in the least bit proud.
George said, “Ronald this is GimmeTwo,” he stopped and looked confused, “I mean this is Mr. Rossi.” Everyone at the table chuckled and George laughed with them.
Babootz said, “I want to see you remember my name.”
Everyone laughed again.
George said, “Lemme think.”
Babootz said, “Call me Babootz, Ronnie. These guys won’t know who you are talking about if you call me Mr. Bontafacio.”
“OK, Mr. Bontafacio,” said Ron.
George said, “I never would have remembered it.”
Ron thought that Babootz made him sound like some kind of monkey and wondered if his hairy body was the reason that he got the name. That wasn’t a good question to ask.
Jimmy the Gigolo said, “Nice to meet you Ronnie. So, you’re George’s son?”
Ron felt trapped. If he said no it would seem like he was contradicting George and instinctively he knew that contradiction was either ball busting or an insult. Now the table was staring at him, waiting for him to respond. Saying yes would be betraying his dad. For the first time in his life he said, “I’m his stepson.” He felt nausea sweep over him when he said it.
George said, “This is Jimmy the Gigolo.” He was smiling. Ron hadn’t let him down or said anything smart-assed.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Gigolo.”
The table burst out in raucous laughter. Ron didn’t know why.
“Just Jimmy will be fine, Ronnie.”
Now Ron was confused again. He had been taught that it was impolite to address adults by their first name. “OK.” It wasn’t like he was ever going to be seeing very much of these men.
Now they were all having fun with this little game. A man with diamond rings on each of his pinkies said, “My name is easy. I’m just Whitey.”
Ron smiled. “Like Whitey Ford.”
The table exploded again. Whitey had earned his name by betting a bundle against Ford twice during the 1955 World Series. He’d lost both times.
“Yeah,” said Whitey, shaking his head with a self-deprecating grin, “just like him.”
“You want a soda, Ronnie?”
George spoke up and said, “Nah, we got to go. His mother will be worried.”
“She afraid that you’re taking him to the track, Father George?”
Ron could have used the soda but he was happy that they were leaving.

Chapter 37
Ferry lectured endlessly and Ron could tell that that Artie was having a hard time staying awake. He drank soda after soda and kept wiping his face with his hands. Larry pretended to understand and took lots of notes so that he could parrot back Steve Ferry’s words and sound like he knew what he was talking about. Paul did understand. He’s been a quarterback who was fast and smart. He’s just been too short and slow to play college ball.
It was the second afternoon and Ferry was talking defense. He was really talking about reads. His belief was that you could only coach the first couple of steps of a play on defense. It was read and react. He didn’t have the talent for an attack defense, at least he didn’t think he did. Ferry was talking about the strong side safety in a four/four alignment. The middle defensive back would always shade to the opponent’s tight end side. “This man has an excellent view of the field and can see how the play is starting to develop. He watches the strong side guard and if he pulls to the right,” Steve stopped and positioned himself in front of them with his knees bent and his hands in front of him elbows crooked. He moved his left foot forward and gave his body a quarter turn. “This is his first step. Now, if he sees the wide receiver release towards the middle of the field, he squares up and plays football from here. If that receiver tries to come towards him, he needs to be ready to cover or deflect a block, but he can’t lose sight of what’s happening in the backfield. This man is our last line of defense and no one is to get in back of him.”
Ron thought you could draw things up this way, but when you were on the field, you had to let your instincts take over. Sometimes you just knew what was going to happen. You couldn’t stop and think about all these things. You’d be standing there when the play flew by you.
Ferry looked at Ron’s face like he was reading his mind. “We have to train his instincts by doing it over and over in practice so that he no longer thinks about it.”
Ron and Paul nodded. Larry wrote down …train his instincts. Artie yawned and said, “I gotta take a leak.”
Ron stood up. He wanted a cigarette. Steve said, “I think we’re about done. Tomorrow, Ron, you take shoulder pads,”
Ron nodded.
“Artie, you handle girdles.”
“Paul, you and I will do helmets.”
“You got it,” said Paul.
Steve said, “I want you to lay aside about ten of the new ones. I don’t want the bench riders who are seniors to gobble them up. When we’re all done we’ll see what we have left and swap out some of the better helmets to the younger kids who will be on the field.”
All of the coaches nodded. They were interested again. This endless lecture was actually coming to an end.
“Larry, you handle pants and practice jerseys. Make sure they fit tight. Nothing looks worse that a football player with a saggy ass.”
Larry beamed. He didn’t realize that Ferry had given him the one area that did not include any real equipment. It had the least to do with football aside from the entertainment factor when the new players sometimes put in their thigh pads upside down. Everyone was sure that Larry had learned the correct way to insert a thigh-pad by now.
Out in the parking lot, Ron talked with Paul Pamenteri. “How’s married life?” said Ron.
Paul beamed. “Paula is pregnant. It’s a boy.”
“How do you know?”
“There’s this test.”
Ron grinned. He liked Paul and the rep among the students was that Mr. Pamenteri was ok. He didn’t rat kids out unnecessarily like it was a search and destroy mission, but he was smart enough to define boundaries. Ron was in the process of doing that but this was just his second year.
Perpetual Hope was a strange school in an affluent area of a wealthy county that was a combination bedroom community for New York City and wealthy people who had made small fortunes in New Jersey. If they were Catholic, they enjoyed the status of sending their sons to private school. It was would be necessary that the level of education at the private school be above average. There had to be some success with sports. The tuition was not a factor, unless expectations weren’t met.
Paul was from Paterson. Now he lived in Totowa. He was a history teacher who Ron had been told took it seriously and tried to get his students to see concepts in history, not just dates and names.
Ron said, “They gave me an honors class.”
“Hey Ron?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I tell you something without you saying anything before the announcement?”
“Sure.”
“They’re expanding the Guidance Department, and I’m in.”
“Is that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, I’m taking classes at William Paterson and getting my guidance certificate and now I’ll have the credentials and the experience to move over to a public school.”
“That’s what you want?”
“Ron, I got a wife and a kid on the way. I can’t work for peanuts anymore.”
“That makes sense,” said Ron. His brain was grasping at it. “So how many games do you think we win this year?”
Paul laughed. “Maybe three.”

Chapter 38
The apartment building where George, Marjorie and Ron lived was shaped like a U with a center court entrance. There were shrubs that grew on a dirt island and along the inner sides of the building. There was a backyard but it was dingy and littered with broken glass and very little grew there. But next door was a vacant lot where someone had planted grass at one time.
Then a Baptist Church bought it and mowed the grass. Now it was a perfect football field. Ron played with guys that he met from the Boys Club. It was before he had ever experienced an injury and the game showed him at his best. He played with abandon and fury. They would have games until it was too dark to see and then they would wander home tired, spent and dirty.
Tina Poleski used to watch them from the window in her room and when she saw that the game was breaking up, she would comb her hair out and run downstairs to be sitting on the steps when Ron came home.
“Hi, Ronnie.”
“Hi, Tina.”
“Was it a good game?”
“Yeah.”
“Ronnie, would you do me a favor?”
“Sure, if I can.”
“There’s a place in the backyard that frightens me. Would you take me there?”
“Why?”
“So I won’t be frightened of it anymore.”
They got up and walked around the side of the building and then opened the low chain link fence that led into the backyard. Tina reached out for Ron’s hand and he took it. As they were walking along the concrete pathway, a window opened.
“Tina Poleski, I told you that the next time that I caught you back here with a boy after dark that I was telling your mother. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Tina whispered, “Oh shit” to Ron and then called up. “Mrs. Kresge, we weren’t doing anything. We were just going in the back way.”
“Don’t give me that nonsense. Tina you’re a little liar. Does that boy even live in this building?”
“Hello, Mrs. Kresge. It’s Ronald Tuck.”
“Ronald, your mother is going to hear about this!”
“Hear about what? Tina asked me if I would show her something.”
“I’ll bet she did.”
Tina whispered, “I’d love to see it.”
Ron blushed. “We’re leaving Mrs. Kresge. Nothing to worry about.”
They both heard the window slam down.
“Would you show it to me, sometime, Ronnie?” Ron blushed again. “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.”
“We’d better go inside,” said Ron.
That night Ron lay in bed masturbating to Tina’s words over and over again. He would hear them in his head like a record that was stuck in a grove saying, “I’ll bet it gets really hard and big.” It was the first time a girl had ever said anything like that to him before.

Chapter 39
The first day of real practice was a scorcher. They baked in the sun and Ferry ended the practice session early when he saw that some of his players were starting to wobble on their feet. There would be a two hour break before they would start again. Ferry reminded them that they had to shower, they had to drink a lot of fluids but they should try not to gulp mass quantities down.
When they got into the coaches’ office, Artie peeled off his outer shirt revealing a Mizuna that was made of a rubberized material that didn’t breathe. He lifted it and several ounces of gathered perspiration splashed down onto the floor.
“That’s disgusting Artie,” said Paul.
Artie laughed.
Ferry gave him a disapproving look and said, “Either do that outside or in the shower room. Artie pulled the shirt up over his head and several more ounces of sweat splashed down onto the floor. Ferry raised his tone. “I’m not fucking around Artie. Do that again and I won’t allow you back in here.”
Artie Ferris slunk away.
Larry said, “Someone should tell Brother Ward about how disgusting that man is.”
The room grew silent. Larry Viola was actually saying that he was going to do it and they all understood that immediately.
Steve Ferry said, “It won’t be you. I’ll speak to Artie. Housebreak him a little better but coaches don’t squeal on each other Larry. There’s a code. And nobody works better with the grunts up front than he does.”
Paul added, “Artie’s alright. He just doesn’t have any manners.”
“He lives in a cave,” said Larry.
Steve said, “Ron, this afternoon, I want you to take the d-backs under those trees at the other end of the field and work the reaction to ball drill when we break off into groups.”
“Shorts and helmets?” said Ron.
“Yeah, I think so. It’s just too damn hot. Paul, how’s the wing?”
“It’s fine, said Paul. He rotated his arm up over his head and stretched it until he could touch the center of his back.
“Do some throwing with the qb’s and the ends. We’re going to be running a lot of crossing patterns and they have to learn how to lead the receiver and not telegraph where the ball is going.”
Paul nodded but he knew that it was probably beyond the quarterbacks that they had to be doing this kind of work this soon.
“I want you to set up the slap drill, Larry. Wait. We can’t run that one in shorts and helmets. Nevermind. Let me think about it and we’ll save that for tomorrow.”
“Whatever you want, coach.”
“I’m going to have the team report at 8 am. Maybe we should scrap the afternoon practice and try to do one long session that starts before it gets so miserable out.”
The coaches grinned.
Steve Ferry could do whatever he wanted to do with their schedules, but this sounded like an unexpected afternoon off in the precious dwindling days before classes started. Artie was waddling back into the offices naked. “Put something on,” shouted Ferry. “Anyone can come down here.”

Chapter 40
Ron drove home late. He was too tired to eat. He just wanted to peel off his clothes and crawl into bed in his tiny air conditioned bedroom that had a folding door to separate it from the living room and a sheet that was tacked over the entry to the living room to keep the cool air consolidated.
He’d wanted to run and tried to tell himself that he would gain energy from a run, but his body had whimpered back its response. He needed to call it a day. He stripped and climbed into bed and brought the phone with him for company. He dialed her number and closed his eyes.
“Hello?”
“Hi.”
They felt the mutual smile through the connection. “Did you have dinner?” said Celeste.
“I’ll have breakfast,” said Ron. He felt her wanting to feed him through the phone. “I was surprised. Ferry said we were going to send the kids home today after one session, then he sprung on us that we needed this marathon film session.”
“Are you exhausted?”
“Yeah. Listen I want to talk to you about something.”
“OK.”
“We’re going to need more money to live than we have.”
“I need to go to work,” said Celeste.
“What about Angel?”
“If I could get something part-time, there’s a day care center at the Community College.”
“How is that news going to be received?”
“Things are going to change,” said Celeste.
“That’s an understatement,” said Ron.
They giggled a mutual laugh that was more of a coo. Ron felt himself relax into the feel of her. The silence was warm as the night air.
He added. “After football, I’m going to take on a Forensics Team and between that and tutoring, I’ll make more.”
“We’ll have enough,” said Celeste. “We don’t need that much.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he liked the sound of that completely. He hadn’t given a lot of thought to money since he had worked at Our Lady of the Forlorn that first year and that summer had to live on Swiss cheese and pasta. He’d drunk tap water because he couldn’t afford coffee. He’d even tried flavoring it with condiments that he’d picked up at his mother’s house. He hadn’t liked feeling poor. It brought back hot memories that he needed to push away.
“I wish that I was there with you,” he said.
There was silence.
Celeste answered, “If you spent the night here, you’d be closer to work in the morning.
Energy that he didn’t know that he had, surged in him. “You think it would be ok?”
“I’ll make it ok,” said Celeste.

Chapter 41
Marjorie was tight lipped when she and George told Ron that there was going to be a baby. She tried to smile but Ron could see that her heart wasn’t in it. George didn’t know that though. He was worried about money. His gambling debts had worsened since he had the added expenses that came with not living at home. It was true that Marjorie earned a good salary for a woman. But each Thursday, George forked over half of his paycheck from the printing company to the two guys that showed up and were friendly enough but wanted to be paid.
“Who are these guys?” said Ron.
“They’re friends of George’s.”
“They don’t look like friends.”
“You’re better off not knowing some things Ronald.”
Ron felt stung. “Since when?”
Marjorie was at her wits end. She had already taken out two finance company loans. She couldn’t get a third. He had promised her twice that he was done gambling. Each time he had lied. Each time he’d promised that it would be the last time. Ron had listened to these late night confessions while they thought that he was sleep.
“I don’t know what to do, Margie. I just can’t seem to stop.”
“Don’t you care about anybody but yourself?”
“That’s not it.”
“It must be the case. Otherwise you wouldn’t do this to me.”
George said, “What about the other bankbook?”
Marjorie looked at him in shocked disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I’ve never touched that. Not even when we didn’t have the rent. It’s not my money.”
Ron knew what they were talking about now. When he was in second grade, they had begun a bank savings program in his school. Whenever he was given any money for birthdays or holidays, at least half of it went into the bank. His mother kept it for him. He didn’t know how much was there.
“We could use it to get out from under this,” said George.
“George, the two of you don’t get along. How can I ask him for this?”
“You don’t ask him, you tell him.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it used to be like between him and me. I can’t just tell him.”
“If I miss a payment, you know what will happen.”
“They aren’t going to damage someone who pays George. That wouldn’t be good business. You know these guys most of your life.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said George morosely.
Two days later, Marjorie told Ron what she needed to do. She had gone to see Vinnie Caputo, the shy. He tallied up George’s number for her. In addition to the one thousand dollar loan that they had at each of the finance companies, George was into Vinnie for fifteen hundred more. Ron’s bankbook could wipe that out. The vig was ten percent of the balance each week. That meant that on the fifteen hundred dollars, George was paying one hundred and fifty dollar a week in interest. It had to stop. The numbers would never allow them to climb out from under and George would keep dreaming for that big hit that would make everything even.
“If I pay it off, will you promise not to loan him anymore money?”
“I really can’t do that, Marjorie. George is a friend.”
The irony of this would not allow her to hold her tongue. “Is this what a friend does? What kind of a person ruins his friend’s life?”
Vinnie the Shy was a short squat man with salt and pepper hair. They were Caruso’s Ristorante. As a silent partner, Vinnie owned half of the place. It gave him a declarable income and a spot to do business. Marjorie sat in front of her cold cup of coffee thinking that none of these places knew how to make a good cup of coffee. She stared up at Vinnie the Shy. “If you loan him anymore money, I’ll leave him.”
“That’s none of my business,” said Vinnie.
For two days Marjorie agonized about what to do. She was sick in the mornings now. It was an effort to get herself to work each day, but George said that it would pass and that she would feel better soon.
“Ronald, I need a favor.”
“Sure.” He knew it was coming. He had heard the conversation. He could read the resolute look on her face.
“George and I need to borrow the money in your bankbook.” She said it flatly. She had forced the words out. She hadn’t wanted to say them but here it was and now she had said it. “I’ll make sure that you get it back,” she added.
Ron felt the anger rise up in him that George wasn’t even there. He’d left this shitty job to his mother. “Just take it,” said Ron.
“Ronald, I’m sorry.”
“It isn’t you. I know that.”
“Yes, it is. It’s me here asking you.”
“It’s your money Mom. There wouldn’t be a me without you.”
“Would you like to go and visit Aunt Dottie? See if any of your old friends are around?”
“Sure. When?”
“Let’s go now.”
From the appearance of the way that her life was now, a person who didn’t know would not think that Dorothy Thomas had any important friends. Sure she dolled up in her minks and diamonds on Saturday nights when they went to the corner bar, but that didn’t mean anything really. Dorothy had once been married to the president of the teamsters in Newark. She was on a first name basis with Newark’s mayor. She had been friends with Peter Rodino was a member of the House of Representatives.
Marjorie explained what had happened. Dorothy’s scowl was deep.
“What are you doing with this loser?”
“He’s a hard worker.”
“He’s dumb. He thinks being a hard worker entitles him to be stupid.”
“Will you make a phone call?”
“And say what?”
“Get them to stop loaning him money.”
“I’d rather get them to break his legs.”
“Don’t say that. Aunt Dottie, I’m pregnant.”
“Oh for Christ’s sake. Why did you do that?”
“It just happened.”
“It never just happens. Does Ron know?”
“Yes.” Marjorie paused. This last part was going to be more difficult. “He said that I could take his bankbook to pay off the Shy.”
Dorothy’s gaze felt like a razor blade. “You really should be ashamed of yourself.”
Marjorie wanted with all her heart to remind her aunt that she had been a little girl in a rooming house with her grandmother, Dorothy’s mother, when they were too poor to ride the bus and Dorothy was spending weekends on yachts.
Dorothy shook her head. “I’ll make the call, but Margi if a man is hungry to gamble, he’ll find a way to get the money.”

Chapter 42
“When’s Ron coming over?” said Angel.
“Not until much later. He’s working,” said Celeste.
“I don’t like it when he works. Why does he have to do that?”
“That’s what adults have to do.”
“Are you an adult?”
Barbara and Anna grinned at the precocious question.
“Yes,” said Celeste, ignoring the smirks.
“Why can’t you work? Ron can stay here and play with me.”
Part of Celeste had dreaded springing this information on her mother and cousin, but the time was right. “I am going to start working,” said Celeste.
Anna and Barb froze. What was she talking about? What kind of shit did she think she was going to pull now?
Angel wandered away to play with her tea set. She had wanted to play tea party with Ron. She didn’t understand the implications for her and Celeste had decided that she would explain all of that to her later. Right now, she had dropped a bomb and was waiting for the explosion.
Anna began slowly. “What do you mean that you are going to work?”
Celeste’s income consisted of her support checks from Angel’s father and her welfare checks. She hated taking public assistance, but Anna and Mario had assured her that was what it was there for. Mario had never been proud about taking handouts and this wasn’t even in his name.
“I’m taking a part time job at a doctor’s office.”
“You have a baby!” said Anna. Barb nodded in a very quiet and supportive way that told Celeste that she had no ally in this situation. “I’m sorry Celeste. I’m just not able to take care of her. She’s too much.”
“I know that Mom. I’m going to enroll her in daycare.”
“At her age? Are you crazy?”
Barb spoke up for the first time. “Horrible things happen at those places, Cele. It’s a bad idea.”
“I won’t allow it,” said Anna.
“It’s not your decision, Mom.”
“What kind of a mother are you?” said Anna.
“You always worked,” said Celeste.
“I had no choice,” glared Anna. “And you were never left with strangers. You were always with family.”
“It’s a good day care center. It’s right at the Community College. It will only be for four hours a day.”
“Four hours a day!” screamed Anna. In her younger days, Anna would have taken off her shoe and thrown it at Celeste. Now the pain in her back made the bending too difficult for it to be her response.
Celeste got up and left the room to check on Angel.
Barb said, “She won’t really do it.”
“Yes, she will,” said Anna. “She wants this guy and she is willing to anything that she has to do in order to have him.”
“Foolish girl. She has a beautiful baby. That should be enough,” said Barb.
“Nothing has ever been enough for her,” said Anna.

Chapter 43

Marjorie sat George down. Ron was with Harry. She’d called him and said that golf or no golf that he needed to see his son, and Harry had agreed. He’d stopped taking Ron to work with him on a regular basis. That had stopped a while ago. Harry was learning a new game. He’d gotten too old for softball. Bowling held limited interest. Then he discovered golf. He knew that he’d gone overboard. His new wife didn’t know how to complain as long as food was on the table and her bills were paid and her daughter provided for. Now she was pregnant with another one. But Marjorie was right. He’d neglected his son.
“George, I went to the doctor’s yesterday.”
“What did he say?” George’s tone and the expectation of the question telegraphed the need to hear that everything was alright. He wanted a rubber stamp. He expected it.
“George, there are problems. The doctor says that I’ve got to slow down and take it easy.”
“What does he mean?”
“He thinks that I should work less and spend more time in bed. He thinks that I shouldn’t be lifting things or scrubbing floors.”
“I’ll mop the floors,” said George. “I don’t think that we can afford to have you cut back at work.”
Marjorie agreed. She might lose her job.

Harry Tuck snapped a quick throw at Ron. He snagged it and whipped it back. Harry smiled. The throw stung his hand. His son had a decent arm. He blooped a toss. He watched Ron hold the glove up. He saw him squint, but he caught it and a grin spread from his face through his body as it winged it back.

“George, I’m not sure that I can do it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m tired. I’m trying. I don’t feel right.”
“You’ll feel better soon,” said George.

Chapter 44
The miscarriage hit the day before Ron’s birthday. It happened in the kitchen. Marjorie was on her knees with the pain. The blood was flowing out of her along with pieces of something else. She screamed but it wouldn’t stop and she couldn’t move and even though she was home, she was alone.
Marjorie clawed at the linoleum floor. George walked into the house and stood there horrified at the sight of her. He called an ambulance. He rode with her to the hospital.
It was officially determined that she’d had a miscarriage and needed what was known as a D&C. Marjorie, who was now more than half crazed, said no. It was her son’s birthday and she had to be there for him. She needed to see him. If he wasn’t there, she was alone in the world.
Against the objections of doctors, nurses and two hospital administrators, Marjorie signed herself out. They had her in an adult diaper because she was still leaking blood.
Ron was at home watching TV. It was late on a Saturday afternoon in June and he had been out all day. After dinner he wanted to go out again. These were the long days when summer had almost started. He could play ball until it was almost nine o’clock.
He looked up when they came in. Something was very wrong. His mother was walking very slowly and painfully. She was pale. George was holding her arm. Something was very wrong.
Ron was on his feet. “What happened?”
“They took me to the hospital,” wailed Marjorie.
Ron ran to her and then stopped. Would it hurt if he held her? “What’s wrong?”
“I lost the baby,” said Marjorie with a tint of shame.
“You’re hurt,” said Ron.
“They want me to have an operation.”
“Why?”
“Because I lost the baby.” Marjorie made it sound like it was a punishment.
George watched as a different kind of look overcame Ron. He became very composed. He straightened. His eyes were dark green when they flicked to George. “Why isn’t she still in the hospital?”
Marjorie seemed to shrink a little. George said, “She signed herself out.”
“You let her?”
“What was I supposed to do?”
The look of disdain that crossed Ron’s face reminded Marjorie of Harry and she felt, for that instant, safer. “You’re right,” said Ron. He turned to his mother. “We have to go back there right now.”
“Can’t we wait until after your birthday?”
Ron’s face softened when he gazed into her eyes. “No, we can’t.”
George was stunned when she just turned around and let them take her back through the door. She would have never done that for him.

Chapter 45
After baking in the sun for the last several days and spending most of the summer in shorts and t-shirts, Ron fidgeted uncomfortably in his jacket and tie. He had traded his over the shoulder, green canvas bag for a book salesman’s sample bag. It looked like a medium sized piece of luggage, but Ron found that if it stood it on his desk that it was the perfect height for a podium. It might weigh as much as thirty pounds at different times of the year, but it was durable and had room for everything that he needed.
He didn’t have his own classroom at Perpetual Help. There was no place to hang his Lincoln and he missed having it in the classroom. There were no pictures on the walls and no decorations of any kind expected or allowed and Ron was also pleased with this.
He undid he top shirt button and ran his finger around the inside of his collar as he watched the students for his American Literature class file in. They were not required to wear uniforms of any kind. They were expected to be presentable at all times.
There was little freedom in his curriculum and the finals were departmental so the pacing of what was covered when was also of some importance. He hadn’t chafed against these restrictions in his first year. He’d just been trying to make a good impression. He knew that this was considered one of the most academically challenging private high schools in the northern part of the state. If he didn’t cut it, they would cut him in an eye blink.
His class sizes were larger. The total number of students that he had in his five classes had climbed to a staggering one hundred and fifty students. It was almost twice as many as he had at his previous school and Ron had learned that a series of frequent vocab quizzes were essential.
Some of his students knew him as Coach Tuck and others just called him Mr. Tuck. Ron noted with some pleasure that their faces had the same eager looks that all the students he’d ever taught had.
“Good morning. My name is Mr. Tuck and this is American Literature Honors. Check your schedules and make sure that you’re in the right place.” He paused a moment as the students stared at the computer generated printouts of schedules that they received in the mail. “Some people believe that American Literature starts of slowly. That for the longest time, it was just a parody of English Literature. Early American settlers didn’t have much time or use for books and reading.” Ron heard a soft cheer go up from two guys sitting in the back of the room. He smiled up at them and made eyes contact. “Oh, so you both like that philosophy?” They grinned and nodded. “I see. You and I may have an area of disagreement there. Here is how we are going to resolve it. You will embrace literature like it was a pretty sixteen year old girl in a bikini.” The class laughed.
“What is your name please?” said Ron. He pointed. “You, cheerleader on the left.” The class laughed again.
“Mark Simon.”
“Would you like to embrace a pretty sixteen year old who was wearing a bikini?”
Mark nodded enthusiastically.
“Then you must learn to use the language properly and have some sophistication about what you read. Do you know why?”
Mark shook his head back and forth.
“In frontier times, you might need a good plow, a good horse, maybe a cow if you were lucky. Have you ever milked a cow, Mr. Simon?”
“No,” said Mark blushing and laughing at the same time.
“Neither have I. Now we have machines that milk them. Do you understand what that means?”
Ron let Mark Simon off the hook. He swiveled his head. “Cheerleader on the right. What is your name?”
“Paul Panini.”
“Do you know what that means?”
“You’re saying that the world has changed.”
“Very good Paul. The world has changed and now, in order to get the little passionate girl in the bikini, it’s better to be smart than brawny. Using the language helps you to get smarter.” Now Ron could borrow from some other openings that he’d used when he taught all girls. His class was grinning and interested. He had them. They had been easy.
Ron circled back to his book bag. “Literature book,” he held it up for them to see. “Vocabulary book,” he held up the thin, narrow paperback. “You are to have a notebook with you each and every day. I’ll tell you when we will be using the grammar books.” Ron paused and stared at them. “I would like to have to use the grammar books as little as possible, but that will depend on your essays. I’ll want a writing sample as soon as possible and so for tonight you will begin with this.
Ron read a poem that he’d found in a book of Native American Poetry. It was called, We The First People. Then he passed out a copy to each of them.
“I know that not all of you have your books yet, so we will start with them at the next class. For now, I would like a short five paragraph essay on your responses to this poem. That’s right guys, you are to write it tonight.”

Chapter 46
During the middle of his eighth grade year, students began talking about where they were going to go to high school. In Ron’s part of Newark, if you weren’t going to Barringer, you had to compete for entrance into a school.
“I don’t understand why he can’t go to public school,” said George.
“I don’t want him there.”
“How are we going to pay for it?”
“We’ll find a way.”
Ron listened to them talking and his face showed his utter contempt for George. George caught the look and said, “I’m just saying Ronald.”
“Saying what?”
“That Barringer is a good school.”
“It’s not as good as the private schools and they don’t put up with any nonsense,” said Marjorie.
George felt defeated. They never listened to him. He couldn’t even tell them that he’d won $50 in a card game because she would be crazy about him gambling.
The entrance exams were on Saturdays. They staggered them so that guys would have a chance to apply to the big three, which were Seton Hall, St. Benedicts and New Jersey Catholic. St. Peters was an even better school but it was in Jersey City and that thought frightened Marjorie.
The tests were long. At St. Benedicts, it was a three hour exam. Seton Hall and NJ Catholic were both two hours long. Each came with a $20 application fee.
For girls, the choices were more limited. Of course the nuns encouraged them to attend Our lady of the Forlorn, and there was East Orange Catholic but that was about it unless someone wanted the trek across the Passaic River to a co-ed high school called Queen of Peace.
His friends talked of little else. It caused a gender separation because none of them wanted to consider Queen of Peace.
Richie announced, “I’m going to Seton Hall.”
Dave Spenelli said, “I think I’m going to Jersey. My parents think it’s a good school and it’s the closest.”
Ron didn’t say anything. He’d been accepted into all three schools, but wasn’t sure if there was enough money for any of them. He would have liked to go to The Hall with Richie, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up.
“Ronald, I’m really proud that you did so well on the entrance exams.”
“Thanks Mom.”
“George is proud too,” said Marjorie. She was trying to cue George to say something. George nodded and grunted.
“New Jersey Catholic is a good school,” said Marjorie.
Ron nodded.
“The tuition isn’t a lot more than where you are now.”
“It’ll be fine,” said Ron. He was trying really hard to hide his disappointment. He was relieved that it wasn’t going to be Barringer.
He went into his room and tore up the acceptance letters to Seton Hall and Benedicts. Through the door he heard George’s muffled voice say, “I don’t know how we’re going to do it.” Ron punched his mattress as hard as he was able. He felt stupid. Why should he care if the sent him to Barringer or Seton Hall or New Jersey Catholic? Things still wouldn’t feel right. Right now the best thing about George that Ron could conceive was that he belonged to a club that had a rotation of paperback porn.
He found that certain lines excited him. He didn’t know why. He would just feel this rush after he’d read them and want to read them again and again, and then it would happen. At the same time that he loved his time alone with those books, they caused his disdain for George to even grow deeper.
He hid them, buried in the dirty clothes of the laundry basket in the bathroom. Ron would take them out and bring them back into his room and then return them. He knew that it was his mother who emptied the laundry. He wondered what she did with the books when she found them.

Chapter 47
Ron read and was impressed.
Paul Panini wrote: Not all Indian cultures were peaceful. Some were as brutal as the Europeans.
Mark Simon wrote: I liked the first part. How do you find a people?
Ron smiled. These two were smart and the classroom had been a catalyst. He thought, maybe a classroom has less to do with being a physical place than I thought it did. Maybe a classroom is only special for that time and those moments when it’s functioning.
His mind flashed to classrooms that he’s been in. The first one that he remembered was Mrs. Francis kindergarten class. It was a huge room with wooden floors that creaked and lots to do. He loved it. Things got darker. He saw himself in 4th grade hurling his books when he was told that he had detention for something that he didn’t do.
Ron glanced back at the papers. Edward Lang had written: Civilization comes at a price, but it’s good. Ron smiled and relaxed into his papers and forgot the time or where he was expected to be.
Celeste came into the basement quietly. Ron was sprawled on the bed and there were stacks of papers everywhere. His incredibly large and clumsy book bag was open. She smiled. She approached. He didn’t know she was in the room until a blur caught the corner of his eye. Now she was standing there naked. Ron scrambled to put the papers away. He knew that his boys would understand.
Celeste slept quietly and Ron put on the desk lamp. He finished reading William Bradford for the second time and tried not to hate it. Then he smiled. They would read it and hate it too. Maybe he could teach them to find a new perspective on the things that they seemed to hate but were forced to accept.
“This is what we have in our literature book as the first piece of reading. Let’s look at it. A hard crossing. Illness. Only a fragment left of what had come.
This is our fragment. Our piece of what has survived. That’s why I wanted you to read it,” said Ron.
Paul Panini said, “Don’t we have to read it?”
“That too,” said Ron. “I tried for a while to find some way to come here and tell you why I think that you should read this. It’s not great writing. It’s not even good. Why then? How can I stand here and expect you to trust me when I have to choose from a selected group of material? Answer is that I’m trying to work that out and giving it my best shot. Let’s see how it goes. I have an idea.”
Ron picked up their literature book. It was his copy. The pages were dog-eared. There were foreign objects slid between the pages. “I’ve taken a hard look at this and decided that it would benefit you to know what is in here.”
Ron looked out into the room. There were the two in the back, Panini and Simon, but there were two more. Sal Taleno could catch, He’d always been able to catch. He could run and he wasn’t afraid to take a hit, but he also was under some pressure to read. It was parentally induced. Ron understood that. But Sal was now in his class. Even though they had little contact on the field, they were on the team. There was a tentative bond. Sal looked up and met his eyes.
Sal grinned. “Tell us what it is.”
“This book isn’t what’s important here. It’s our minds meeting and exploring. There is some really good stuff in here. I’ll cut out the crap as best as I am able. This is what I want. You gotta read what I tell you to read.”
They were quiet. They weren’t sure what he was telling them to do. What was the assignment?
“I want you to read it until you understand it. When I assign too much, tell me. That’s what I want from each assignment.” Ron looked the football player in the eyes. “Can you do that Taleno?”
“Yes, Coach.”

Chapter 48
On the day that Ron graduated from Our Lady of the Forlorn’s Grammar School, his father and his mother and his Aunt Dottie embraced him with a warm feel of approval that was genuine.
His Aunt took him aside. “People seem to be pinning their hopes on you.”
“I know. What happens if I let them all down? Will my mother get sick again?”
She looked into his eyes. “Ron, it’s your life, not theirs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Their expectations don’t have to be your expectations.”
“Aunt Dot, I’m still not sure what that means.”
“That’s ok,” she said grinning.
They took photographs of him standing with each of them. There was always an arm around his shoulder. He was supposed to smile, but he was scared. What was he supposed to be?
Students who were accepted into Jersey Catholic were required to do summer reading. Ron smiled to himself as he scanned the list. He’d read four of the six. There was just these books called Lord of the Flies and another called Animal Farm.

Ron Tuck was an avid reader. He’d plowed his way through book after book that was supposed to be over his head and gleaned whatever he could and hoped that somehow, osmotically, enough would filter into him. He opened Animal Farm and began to read.
Neither book was long. He felt that they were his introduction to the high school. These books would tell him what the school expected of him. He grinned as he listened to Major. He wondered if pigs were that smart and told himself that he would look that up the next time that he was in the library.
When Boxer collapsed Ron’s heart sunk. He knew that horse was hurt and he believed so deeply in the farm and in the rights of the other animals to govern themselves.
Boxer had worked himself too hard. He needed to take more breaks and to relax once in a while. He wanted for the other animals to take care of their hero. His hands gripped the book tightly when he realized what was happening to the horse. Then he saw and felt his tears. They were rolling down his face and plopping onto the pages. He forced himself to keep reading. He couldn’t hear or see anything but the book which was now blurry.
His mind screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart that was taking him to the glue factory and to stomp those worthless, traitor pigs with his powerful hooves. It didn’t happen, and then they lied about what had become of Boxer. Some of the other animals knew but were too frightened to say anything. They had screamed for Boxer to break out of the cart.
The unfairness of it all seared into his brain as something that he couldn’t accept. He wanted to get it out of his head but it was stuck there and he was crying like a baby laying in his bed.
When he finished the book, his reaction continued. He couldn’t look at the cover without seeing Boxer too weak to break out of his confinement. His mind hadn’t processed Orwell’s ideas, but it felt the pain. Ron slid the book under a stack of others so that he wouldn’t have to look at it, but he still knew it was there. He fished it out of the pile and put it under the clothes in the bottom drawer of his dresser. Maybe he should toss it into the hamper with George’s porn. He pictured George as one of the pigs. His mind saw him sitting at their kitchen table shoveling food into his face. He did grunt a lot. Ron walked into their living room and stared down at one of the stains on the white rug. It was further evidence.
George looked up from his TV program and saw Ron standing there. His face was tear streaked and there was a sick look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” said Ron. He didn’t want to talk to the pig.

Chapter 49
The season opener was against Ridgefield. Larry volunteered to organize a pregame rally. Ferry looked at him with disdain. “You’re a coach, not a cheerleader.”
Larry Viola walked away, shoulders slumped. He stood next to Ron’s locker and mumbled, “He made it sound like an insult that I wanted to organize a rally.”
Ron pulled on his brand new coach’s game day jersey. It was gold with black lettering. His cap was black with an interlocking PH in the center of the front. When he and Larry had scouted together last year, Ron had been puzzled when Viola had said that he couldn’t wait for halftime because Bergenfield had one of the best bands that he’d ever seen.
None of the other teams scouting the game had coaches who watched the halftime. The stood in a circle eating hotdogs and talking about what they had seen in the first half. They tried to pick up on tendencies that the others had seen and maybe they had missed. It was friendly but competitive and no one ever showed anyone else what they had drawn on their play pads.
Ron stood towards the side of the circle of men who were wearing their team hats so that everyone knew who they were. He saw Larry up in the stands clapping loudly as the band finished a number. He was a good guy, thought Ron. He just wasn’t a football coach.
Ron was happy that he wouldn’t have to go to those games with Larry anymore. He’d been embarrassed to be seen with him. Now he felt sorry for Larry. He’d wanted to do it to make things fun for the kids and for him.
Ron would be in the booth wearing a headset that was connected to Steve Ferry. He was to tell him what the defense was doing and to make any suggestions that he thought would be useful. This would be one of the first times Ron got to see the varsity play live. Last year he was always out scouting with Larry.
Paul Pamenteri pulled Ron aside in the hallway. “Remember that I’m on the system too.”
“What do you want me to look for?”
“We can’t see the line splits from field level as good as you can see them from up top.”
“Got it.”
“Ronnie, listen sometimes during the game, Steve loses it. He gets disgusted by mistakes. He’s bitter about being overmatched. He forgets and starts calling plays that he hasn’t put into the playbook.”
“What do you mean?”
“Old plays from teams that he’s had in the past.”
“What do we do then?”
“I talked to him about it. This year, I’m going to send the plays that he calls in. I need you to be ready with something if he starts to lose it.”
“Ok.”
Paul looked at Ron seriously. “No one else knows. Not Artie and certainly not Larry. You can’t let Steve know that I told you.”
The game was evenly matched. In the first quarter, Ridgefield almost scored on a long pass play that was wide open but the pass wasn’t any good.
“What happened there?” growled Ferry.
“We bit on the short pass fake. It was wide open,” said Ron.
“God damn it! Why do we practice these things?”
Paul voice was composed. “Coach, we need a play.”
“Run the damn dive to the left. Maybe we can do that without screwing up.”
The blare of the loud speaker drowned out everyone’s voice. The play went for six yards. Ron said, “Paul, run it to the other side.”
Ferry said, “Ok, let’s see if we can educate them and get them to pack it in tight.”
The play ran for six more yards and they had a first down.
“Run that baby again,” said a gleeful Ferry.
This time the inside linebacker for Ridgefield anticipated the play and stuffed the hole for just a two yard gain.
“Linebacker cheated up,” said Ron.
“We saw it,” said Paul.
The quarter ended scoreless. Ferry said, “Now we fake the dive and run a toss to the same side. Go to the left, Paul.”
Ridgefield came out in an odd man front. Both guards were covered and when the onside guard pulled out to lead the sweep, the inside linebacker crashed the hole and blew the play up. The ball bounced crazily in the center of the field and then they were on it.
“Where the fuck did that come from?” screamed Ferry. “Ron didn’t you say that when you scouted the game scrimmage that they only ran an even front?”
“I wasn’t there, Coach. That was Larry.”
“Call a defense, Steve,” said Paul.
“Artie, set them in a 4/4.”
Ridgefield scored and then scored again. Perpetual Hope’s defensive back bit on the short pass fake again and this time the pass was true. It was 13-0 at the half because Artie had put in a play that defeated their second extra point attempt. It was an illegal play but Artie was betting that he could get away with it once a game. The defensive man over the center pulled his man forward just as he was snapping the ball. Things happened in the interior of the line. One ref was watching to see that the kick was good. The other was looking for an offside. They couldn’t see it.
At halftime, Ron came down to the locker room. The players ate oranges. There were no real injuries. The coaches gathered in the office. This had to be quick. They had maybe ten minutes and then they had to talk to the players.
Ferry said, “Well, we look as confused as a three legged cat on ice trying to take a shit.”
“We haven’t practiced against an odd man front all week,” said Artie. “Can’t blame the kids for being confused.”
“Can we protect?” said Ferry.
“Can’t run those sprint passes without exposing the backside and they have some speed. Now that the linebacker has a sniff of it, he’ll be up our asses every time,” said Artie.
“How do the flats look, Ron?’
“They’re packed in. If we can get it out there, there’s space.”
“Paul, two things. Get that fucking numbnuts who bit on that fake twice off the field. Sit him down. We’ll work with him this week.”
Paul nodded.
“Instead of carrying through with the fake on the dive, I want Scutero to teach that crashing linebacker a little lesson. Ring his bell.”
Artie laughed. This was his kind of football.
At the start of the second half Sal Taleno caught three passes in a row and when the defender fell on the third one, Sal scored. There was jubilation on the sideline. Ron pumped his fast from on top of the announcer’s box.
Ridgefield couldn’t move the ball. They went back to the wider splits of their even front. Scutero had rung number 51’s bell good. He was on the sidelines.
“Run the dive,” crowed Ferry.
“Stick it right down their throats,” screamed Artie. He had run over and yelled in Ferry’s ear. It was loud enough for Ron to hear. He looked down to see an animated Artie waving his arms and snorting as he stomped around in a circle.
On the third play of this drive, Perpetual Help fumbled again. This time they got it back but lost fourteen yards on the play. Ridgefield finally closed up the line splits and continued to sprinkle in the off man front. They were content to sit on their lead. The game ended 13-7.
Larry Viola walked into the coach’s room excited. “That was a great game. We almost had them.”
Ferry was in no mood. “It ain’t fucking horseshoes, Larry.”
Larry slumped again. Sure he could understand that losing wasn’t what they were after, but it was a sunny day. The stands were filled. Both bands sounded good. Didn’t you have to enjoy that?
Ferry picked up Larry Viola’s scouting report. “Didn’t you tell us that they exclusively ran an even front?”
“Yeah,” said Larry.
“Were you surprised today?” said Ferry with a note of menace in his voice.
Looking back on it, Ferry realized that he just should have said yes, but he didn’t. He was still stung about Ferry’s attitude about the rally. He blurted, “I didn’t notice.”
“That’s just great, Larry.” Ferry was already thinking about beer.
Ron needed Celeste and Angel. He didn’t shower or change. He drove to their house. Everyone was in the backyard. Ron walked around the side and up the driveway. Celeste loved the squeak mobile. It always alerted her. It was her friend.
Joey watched young Joey in the pool with Angel. She had water-wings. She was splashing. Joey cuddled his son and splashed back. He was getting soaked but didn’t care. Anna and Mario were watching. The garden was in full early September bloom. Tomatoes needed to be picked. There were peppers and zucchini. Tina was in the kitchen. The sauce was simmering. She added some fresh basil.
Celeste and Ron embraced. She felt ripe and warm and good. It stirred him. He wanted to take her into the basement and lay her face down and pump himself into her. The urge was strong. He resisted it.
Angel’s face lit up when she caught sight of him. She tried to climb out of the pool. Joey let his son flat in his tube and helped her. Then Ron was there and he swept her up into his arms and held her drippingly wet and her happy body clung to him.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he whispered.
She grinned with the feel of him. Lost herself for a moment in the embrace. Then she said, “I missed you.”
“I was working.”
She hugged him with her entire body. “Don’t work anymore.”
Ron’s heart was flipping in his chest. He lifted her back into the air and carried her to the pool. He plunked her squirmy little body back into the water and continued the embrace.
“I need some help to put dinner in the table,” called Tina.
Celeste went inside. No one asked if they won or lost. Ron didn’t care.

Chapter 50
Ron was nervous as he walked to school. It was the day after Labor Day and it was hot. Ron wondered why the weather always seemed to get hotter after school started. There would be those sometimes cool and rainy days of August and then he’d go back to school and SPLAT. Summer would seem to come back with a vengeance.
His blazer was gray wool and had the emblem of the school on its breast pocket. His slacks were black and his tie felt tight. After one block, he was sweating.
His books had been expensive and they were heavy. He thought that it was probably a mistake to try to cram them all into his book bag on the first day, but he wanted to make a good impression.
Although Jersey Catholic was one of the newer parochial schools in Newark, it was the largest. There were 2000 students and all of them were male. Students came from as far away as Cedar Grove and Verona to attend. Their bus ride was an hour long. Ron had a three block walk.
The school was housed in a huge stone building on Broadway that used to belong to an insurance company. Now it was run by the Christian Brothers. It was ten stories high and covered an entire city block.
The sight of it intimidated Ron. It was him feel small and weak. What was even more intimidating was the throng on young men who were gathered on the side steps waiting for the doors to be opened. They were packed in and all were wearing the same blazers. Ron tried to tell himself that he was one of them but it was a hard sell.
The way that the building was organized allowed for a floor for each year of students. Students were assigned a classroom and that’s where they stayed. Their teachers came to them. It had the unintended effect of making it difficult to get to know very many students outside of the ones that were in your class.
Freshman were assigned to the fifth floor. There were twenty-five freshman classes and each held thirty-five students. Ron looked at his schedule. Algebra was his first class, then French, then Latin, then History, Religion and English and Physical Education. Students were not allowed out of their rooms between classes. They were only allowed to visit their lockers before and after lunch. They were not permitted to use the elevators.
The room was hot and Ron tried to forget about the heat. Brother O’Shea was a short blonde man with a reddish tinge to his skin. Ron wondered if he was sun burned. He rocked back and forth on his heels as he spoke to the class.
“Take off your jackets men.” There was a wave of relief and activity as the guys removed their blazers and draped them over the backs of their desks. “After class make sure that you put them back on. It is the prerogative of each teacher to allow or not allow you this privilege.” He rocked back and forth on his heels. “My rules are simple. One chapter a week and a quiz each Friday. The only times that we will not have a Friday quiz is when we will be having a unit test. Your tests will be returned on Monday and then we will begin the cycle again.”
Rob thought that it seemed simple enough, but Algebra intimidated him. He’d never been great with numbers. He hadn’t really liked fractions and when Richie had tried to explain the concept of equations to him, his mind just went blank and wandered.
“Let’s begin,” said Brother O’Shea. “Take out your books.”
Now Ron was happy that he’d carried the heavy bag to school. He looked around. Not everyone had their books, and the kids that didn’t had this kind of frozen look on their faces and their bodies seem to have gone a little rigid.
O’Shea looked around and then he smiled. “Not all of you are prepared. What did you boys think we were going to do today? Did you think we were going to play Let’s Get to Know Each Other? We aren’t here to get to know each other. We’re here to get to know Algebra. You men without books, put your jackets back on.” Ron heard a groan from in back of him. He turned to see a slender kid with red hair in back of him outing his jacket back on. “Bookless boys, stand up!” said O’Shea. Move into the aisle and take a step either forwards or backwards and stand next to one of your classmates who did knew enough to come prepared. You can follow along.”
O’Shea ran his hands underneath the broad waistband that cinched his brown habit. “A quick review on the multiplication and division of fractions he said.”
Ron looked down. That was Chapter 1. His mind said, how do you review something that you never really learned the first time? Maybe he would get it this time. O’Shea spoke quickly but not loudly. He had the habit of sometimes speaking to the chalkboard instead of the classroom and this made him both difficult to hear and to understand. Ron did understand a lot of it. Maybe he would be ok. What O’Shea basically did for the rest of the class was say exactly what was in the book, using the exact words from the book, and writing the exact some examples that were in the book on the chalk board. He finished talking just before the bell rang. Then he quickly packed up and left.
They were alone. The guys looked around and grinned at each other. Somebody said, “Let’s get our jackets on.”

Two minutes later Brother Alvin appeared at the doorway. “Bonjour.” He said. The class silenced. He was a very tall man and he carried just his French textbook in his hands. “Bonjour, is the French form of greeting. Loosely translated, it means hello. It is expected that when someone says Bonjour, that you respond in kind.” He paused dramatically. “Bonjour!” There was a smattering of mumbled responses. He walked to the teacher’s desk in the front of the room and slammed the textbook down onto it. The sound was like the explosion of a gunshot and the boys jumped. They sat up straighter. “Bonjour!” he said loudly.
“Bonjour,” said the frightened students.
Brother Alvin did not mention their jackets and the temperature had risen. The students were sweating. The class seemed to go on forever. When it ended and Brother Alvin left…the students took off their blazers and fanned themselves with their books.
Ron barely tolerated Latin. There would be declensions and conjugations. His mind screamed, what the fuck for? Brother Delban was wirey. There was grit in his voice. He expected cooperation. The lack of it would result in punishment.
Ron’s mind ached. Was that the message? He was one of the animals on the farm. He’d be penned and instructed. His mind howled. It was time for lunch.

Chapter 51
Ron smiled as he saw his students enter. Their disheveled youth amused him. He felt kindly towards them. “So, good morning. I hope the weekend was good but good or not it’s over and time to go back to work.” He paused. He stared at them. They gazed back, proud and young and waiting to be filled. “Your responses were good. Some of you have learned how to write. That was satisfying to see. The others of you who do not, catch up. This is an honors English class. If you don’t know how to write, I’ll help you to find a more suitable placement. Otherwise, get to work.”
He passed on their essays complete with comments. He said, “Take a moment. If you have trouble with my handwriting let me see it. I didn’t take time writing those comments because I wish them disregarded. Your grades will be a reflection of how you perform on tests. But your learning will be a conversation between the two of us. Please read my responses to your papers.”
He waited and watched. They read. His heart missed his girls and their shyness coupled with their sometimes brazen approach. These guys deserved his best. He didn’t intend to short change them. One by one, their heads raised and let him know that they had read what he’d written. He surveyed them. “Questions?”
Mark Simon said, “What does suspend disbelief mean?”
“It means that literature requires imagination and that if you keep what you think weighted down by the hard facts of life that you will find it much harder to dream.”
He let that sink in.
Paul Panini said, “I don’t think that too much of that is any good.”
Ron tried to absorb that. It was an unexpected comment. He liked that it surprised and challenged him His mind reached back. Something that Lashly had taught him. “Balance is everything, Paul. But one person’s balance is another’s tipping point.” The look on Paul’s face told Ron that he didn’t understand, but Ron did.
Edward Lang said, I didn’t find William Bradford boring. I thought that the poem was boring.” The poem that Ron read that first class went:
We The First People

I’m proud to belong to one of the original clans
Whose Ancestors occupied all of these lands
Before we were “found” by some wandering seaman
Who knew just where he was and we became “Indian”

Talk to me of our victories, and I will listen
Tell me about our history, a tear will glisten
Stories of how life use to be, bring a rueful smile
Drums and flutes will find me dreaming all the while

In order to “save” us, they killed us
Our peaceful cultures were “dangerous”
And they thought they could just ravage us
But by fighting back, we became “savages”

Call us lazy indeed – we’re not driven by their greed
To gather “materials” about them
But my question is
How did we exist
For hundreds of centuries without them?

— Unknown

Ron picked up the book and read it again. He knew now that poems were like songs. The more that you heard them, the deeper their effect would be. “Why does this bore you, Ed?”
“When you read it, it didn’t. When I read it, it did.”
Ron thought hard about that. He had the sense that the information was important, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. When the class ended, he walked down to the teachers’ lounge with it still on his mind.
His department chairman was Sam Felice. Sam was hunched over a book and eating an egg salad sandwich at 10:30 in the morning. Ron slid in across from him.
“Hi, Sam.”
Sam looked up and wiped his mouth. He had dark hair and glasses that had slipped down his nose. He pushed them back. “How’re things Ron?”
“Kid just stopped me with a question.”
Sam laughed. “You’re letting them ask questions already?”
Ron grinned. They’d had many conversations about teaching. Sam was serious about it and Ron respected him. “Yeah well, it’s my honors class. You get them next year. I figured that I’d get all their questions out.”
They shared a chuckle and Sam said, “What did he say?”
“He said the poem wasn’t boring when I read it but that it was when he did.”
Sam smiled. “Did you tell him that it was because he didn’t know how to read?”
That comment hit Ron hard. They knew words but they weren’t sure how to hear them. He nodded. “Thanks Sam.”
Ron drank coffee while Sam finished his sandwich. “How’s the football team?”
“We lost on Saturday.”
“I know,” said Sam. “But how does it look?”
“Like we are 0-1,” said Ron.

Chapter 51
There were two lunches at Jersey Catholic. The cafeteria was vast and crammed full of long lunch tables that were set in identical rows spanning both the length and width of the room. Once you were down, getting up was a navigation. Ron sat with Phillip from Our Lady of the Forlorn.
Phillip said, “Seniors are allowed to smoke at their table.”
“Really?” said Ron. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I forget,” said Phillip. “But if one of us gets caught at their table we’re in big trouble.”
“I got no reason to be over there,” said Ron.
“No, but good to know, isn’t it? I mean suppose one of them invited us over there just to laugh at us when we get in trouble?”
Phillip was right. Anything that they could figure out about the way that things really were could be helpful. It would be like that until they had things figured out.
To some extent, seniors were allowed to pick on the freshman. It was considered a rite of passage. The younger kids stayed away from them and the seniors were always on the lookout for some easy fun during lunch. They had gone through it. Now it was their turn to be in charge. They’d looked forward to this for three years.
“You going to play football, Phillip?”
“I’m gonna try. Tryouts are tomorrow.”
Phillip and Ron were about the same size. They had been the best two players when their friends lined up. They were never allowed on the same team and now they would be. “We’ll both make it,” said Ron.
“I don’t know. I heard there are a hundred guys who want to play and the team only carries forty.”
That rumor was true, but it was hard to tell what was true from what was just a story. They ate quickly. Looking around at the noisy throng of guys and in the distance seeing the cloud of smoke that hung over the senior table in the low ceilinged room. From the corner of his eye, Ron watched one of the seniors walk passed. His mouth dropped open. The guy looked like he shaved every day. Ron had never shaved but he wanted to. Phillip shaved about once every two weeks. Ron wondered if that meant that he was less of a man.
Ron got his books from his locker with a feeling that he had gotten through the first morning and could see the pattern. It was simple. Shut up, stay put and do your work. That message was loud and clear.
History was taught by the first lay teacher that Ron had seen. He was a slight man with thin hair and a redeeming hairline. He appeared to be in good shape. He smiled at them and said, “My name is Mr. Connor. This is World History.” He paused for a moment and looked over the class. “There sure are a lot of you. Take your jackets off fellas, it’s too hot for this.” He stopped and removed his own jacket across the back of his chair. His students did the same thing.
Connor peered out into the class. “Are any of my runners here?”
Everyone looked around. Ron hadn’t known that Connor was a coach. Two hands went into the air. One was the red haired kid who sat in back of Ron. He’d been one the kids who had to stand during Algebra. Ron thought I guess that’s how it goes. You can be a jerkoff in the morning and distinguished in the afternoon.
Connor spent the rest of the class talking to them about why he felt history as worth knowing. “The President’s knowledge of history probably saved us from annihilation during this Cuban thing. He knew that the Bear had more growl than bite.” Ron wasn’t sure who the Bear was but he did like the easy way that Connor seemed to be running his class. They didn’t take out their books until the end when he provided them with an assignment. It was five pages of reading. Ron flipped through the pages. There were more words to a page on these books then there had been in the books that they used in grammar school. He took that to mean that he was growing up. He flipped through the pages delighted when he saw pictures that took up large parts of the page.
There were two of his classmates standing at the door waiting for a teacher to arrive to start the next class. Brother Cecil looked down at them from the doorway.
Tim DeFalco said, “Brother, can I use the bathroom?”
Cecil had arrived early and some of the students still had their jackets off. Brother Cecil had a baritone voice that spread out from his mouth like a rumble. “What a wonderful greeting. I walk into the room and the first thing that is said to me is ‘can I urinate.’ He eyed DeFalco. “I surely hope that you have the capacity to urinate. What is your name?”
Tim face was now fire engine red. “Tim DeFalco, Brother.”
“Do you think that you can urinate, Mr. DeFalco?”
“I don’t know, Brother, but I need to.”
“The proper way to express yourself is to ask ‘may I use the rest room?’ Saying can I use it implies that perhaps you don’t know how. I assume that you know how, or am I incorrect?”
“No Brother.”
The class had gotten back into their jackets as they watched DeFalco suffer. Ron could see that his hand kept starting to reach for his penis to squeeze it and try to hold it back, but he kept checking himself and stopping. Brother Cecil saw it too. “Hurry up, DeFalco, but I’m not waiting for you.” Brother Cecil turned to the class and said, “Welcome to our study of Christianity.”
Ron couldn’t help it and began to laugh out loud. Brother Cecil shot him a harsh look and Ron attempted to stifle his laughter. But the sight of Tim resisting the urge to try to squeeze his penis shut combined with the enjoyment that Cecil took in the exchange had him laughing and he couldn’t stop. He bit his lip hard. Cecil was walking towards him. “May I ask exactly what was so funny?”
Ron couldn’t help it. “Sure you can,” he said and the giggles erupted again.
Brother Cecil rocked back on his heels and slapped Ron hard across his face. His giggles vanished into shock. Ron’s eyes widened as they looked up at him. “I hope that I’ve been able to help you,” said Brother Cecil.
Ron couldn’t resist the urge to bring his hands to his face. It wasn’t fury or fear that raged in him. His reaction was mixed. He’d stopped laughing. His face hurt. The rest of the class faded back in his mind. He floated for that instant. “Thank you, Brother,” he said and lowered his eyes.
Cecil smiled. “What is your name?”
“Ron Tuck.”
“Where are you from?”
“I live about three blocks from here.”
“Not the first time that you’ve had your face slapped then?”
“No Brother.”
“Let’s make it the last time that I have to do that.”
Brother Cecil continued with his introduction.

Chapter 52
After the JV game on Monday, the coaches gathered to watch the game film of the varsity’s loss. If The varsity played at home, the JV played away. Some players participated in both games. It was a lot to ask, but Ferry wanted to give them a taste of victory and although it wasn’t really a second chance, it could be something. Paul Pamenteri was the head JV coach. Artie was his assistant. Artie also had the advantage of being able to do fast and good tapings and acted as their trainer. Ron broke down the film with Ferry and the starters who were beyond playing in a JV game.
Ron had expected Steve to rail, but the coach silently let the film run through most of the first quarter. Then he stopped it. “Watch here,” he clicked it forward again. “See this? We run the hell out of this dive to both sides. Let’s make it even better.” He let the film run. The players were viewing it intently. They either liked or hated seeing themselves but it was never a neutral reaction. Ferry stopped it again for the pass plays to the flat. Ron felt a rush of pride. Those were plays that he’d suggested. Well almost. Ferry had asked him about the flats and he’s been correct.
“Those are the things that we can build on men. We can run and we have a quarterback who can play catch with a wide receiver. We also have a pretty tough defense.”
Ron thought Steve Ferry was masterful and his respect for him deepened. It had been the first game of the year. They had been outflanked by a new defense. Maybe it was new. For now, Steve was giving that the benefit of the doubt. Ron tried to absorb that.
“Let’s stretch and jog a couple of easy laps and call it a day, boys.”

They sat in the coaches’ room with two pizza boxes in front of them and watched the game film for the second time. This time Ferry stopped it after each play and dissected what he saw. Ron watched as he ran it forwards and then backwards…in slow motion. Each play was dissected. Ron took notes. So did Paul. Artie tried to stay awake and ate one entire pizza by himself.
“We did pretty well up front,” said Ferry. “But we aren’t all coming off the ball at the same time. Artie, see how the left side is just a half step behind?”
“I see it,” said Artie.
“Time for more sled work,” said Ferry.
Artie grinned. He loved to ride the seven man sled. And you could feel the slightest variation when the players didn’t fire out together and put a shoulder into it.
“Paul, watch the quarterback’s feet.”
Ferry ran the play again. They all watched the quarterback. “He’s taking extra steps. It’s slowing the play down and the running back has to hesitate before he gets the ball.”
“I didn’t see it on the field,” said Paul. “I see it now.”
“I didn’t see it on the field either.

Larry Viola did not join them for this film work. He sat in Brother Howard’s office explaining his idea. “I think that pre-game rallies would help our attendance. It would get people to the games earlier and the concessions would sell more. Our students would feel like they were more part of the team.”
Brother Howard puffed on his after dinner cigar and listened. He could see the benefits. “What about your scouting?”
“I can still get to the games and three of the teams that we play have their games on Friday nights, so that won’t be a problem.”
Brother Howard rubbed the ash off into his ashtray. “What did Steve say?”
“He said that I wasn’t a cheerleader. But I am Brother. I’m a cheerleader for this school and you know that.”
“I do,” said Brother Howard. “I’ll speak to Steve. Our next home game isn’t until a week from Saturday, so you’ll have time to put something together.”
Larry Viola preened. This was going to be fun. He thought about whether it was a good time to bring Artie up and decided that it wasn’t.
“If this works out the way that you think it will, there will be a little something extra
for you Larry.”
Viola smiled. “Thank you Brother, but you know that’s not why I’m doing it, don’t you?”
“Everybody has to live, Larry.”

Chapter 53
The day seemed to stretch on forever. Mr. Wisnewski was their English teacher. He was tall, slender and had dark brown hair. What was striking about his appearance was that he taught in a long black, cap and gown style robe that was zippered up tight and revealed only the knot of his tie and the white, starched collar of his shirt. He spoke in clipped tones. He did not allow them to remove their jackets
The clock did not seem to be moving. Ron’s mind wandered. Wisnewski did not seem to ever look at his students. He kept his eyes fixed at a point on the rear wall up over their heads. He didn’t smile or ask for questions. When it was finally over, Ron felt like cheering.
Out as his locker, he noticed that several of the guys were hanging their blazers in the locker. That seemed like a good idea. At least he wouldn’t have to wear the thing to and from school.
Ron went home that night, ate dinner with Marjorie and George. They asked the obligatory questions about how his first day was. He didn’t tell them that he had been slapped in the mouth. He wanted to forget that it had happened. Besides, he wasn’t a baby. He could take it.
After dinner, he read. He was lying on his bed with a transistor radio playing Surfer Girl. His door was closed to blot out the sound of the TV and their voices. His eyes felt heavy. Then he was asleep with his book still open and still dressed.
The next day felt like a copy of the first. It was just as hot. It was just as interminably long. Gym at the end of the day felt like freedom. His mind was focused on the tryouts. He wouldn’t even have to change and he would be right there.
The freshman coaches lined them up on the track which was in back of the school and had once been a parking lot. The Brothers had dug up the asphalt and planted grass. The lot was surrounded by a pointy tipped, ten foot high, iron fence.
Ron’s belly felt like it was fluttering. He wanted this so badly. The coaches showed them how to stretch out their legs and arms. There were five coaches watching. They were going to run sprints, four across. Two coaches were at the starting line and three were at the finish. When it was Ron’s turn, he was placed in the lane closest to the school. He looked at the other three guys who also looked nervous. Coach Jensen said, “Ready,” He paused and then said in a louder, more urgent voice, “Go!”
Ron ran. He tried to run faster than he had ever run before. People were watching. He felt himself pulling ahead. When he crossed the finish line, Coach Peters said, “Good job.”
A few minutes later they had him lined up with another group. At “Go!” he felt himself flying. His arms pumped. The heat of the boring day in a jacket was behind him and he was putting as much distance as he could between it and him. This time it was a tighter finish, but he was still first. He felt Coach Peters’ eyes on him and then Peters turned to the other two coaches. Peters pointed at Ron and called him over. “Can you go again?”
Ron almost shouted his reply. “Yes, Coach.” He trotted back to the starting point. Peters signaled to Jensen to put him right on the track. Ron ran as hard as he could. This time he was second, just behind a lanky kid who really could fly.
Coach Peters called Ron over. “What’s your name, son?”
“Ron Tuck, Sir.”
“Ron, you’ve got some size and speed and endurance.”
Ron blushed.
“Do you love football, son?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Do you know how to use those shoulders?” Ron was confused and didn’t know how to answer. The coach waited for a reply. Were they going to cut him already? He won the first two races. Did you have to win three to make the team?
“I’m asking if you know how to block and tackle Ron.”
A light lit up Ron’s face. He smiled. “Yes Sir.”
“Wait over there.” Connors pointed to a spot on the grass on the field. Ron trotted over and sat down. Soon there were three other boys sitting with him. They watched the rest of the sprints. Then the other boys were taken into a group with Coach Jensen and Connors walked over to them with Coach Timlin.
“Well boys, got a little surprise for you. The sophomore team is a little light this year and we’re moving you three up. Go with coach Timlin and we’ll get you suited up.”
Ron’s heart sang an aria. He watched as Coach Jensen sent some of the other boys home and then started a second round of sprints.
The locker room that the football team used smelled of sweat and sweat soaked clothes and equipment. The Varsity had already been practicing for a week. Ron was fitted with a helmet. Coach Timlin picked up from a pile of neatly stacked helmets. It was a hard plastic and had a facemask with two bars running horizontally from ear to ear and two short, vertical bars that connected them. It was much heavier that the helmets that he had tried on in sporting goods stores.
Timlin said, “How’s that feel?”
Ron was almost giddy. “Heavy.”
Timlin grinned. “You’ll get used to it.”
Next they moved to shoulder pads. Timlin fitted him like a tailor. When the pads were on, he raised both of his fists and slapped them down hard on Ron’s shoulders. Except for the pressure of the contact, Ron hadn’t felt a thing. They shared a grin. Hip pads, thigh pads, knee pads, pants and a jersey went quickly.
“Get dressed and let’s have a look at you,” said Timlin and walked off to start with the next kid.
Ron stood in front of the mirror and looked at himself. He loved what he saw. He was still standing there when Peters walked into the locker room with a fourth kid. Now he had a team.

Phillip and Ron went to their lockers together. “I don’t know why they picked me out,” said Ron.
“You’re big and you’re fast,” said Phillip.
“I wish they picked you too,” said Ron.
“I’m glad they didn’t pick me, Ronnie.”
“Why?”
“They guys they picked you to play with are older and bigger and faster, and they’re gonna make you pay.”
“I figured that,” said Ron.
Chapter 54
Mr. Tuck picked up the literature book and skimmed passed Bradford.
“So now we know what it was like to get here,” he said. “And what they found after they arrived. For the most part they had nothing to go back to and so no choice.” Ron thought about his girls at Our Lady of the Forlorn. They would have understood exactly what he was saying. But they had also moved on with their lives and he had done that too. He felt a pang.
“Ben Franklin is something else. He may very well have been the most accomplished man in the world by the time that he died. People don’t talk about him the way that they talk about De Vinci, but they should. He had a wider sphere of influence.”
He had their attention. He walked to the window side of the room and sat on the combination heater and counter that spanned the length of the room. “Let’s start with this,” Ron read, “Observe all men, thyself most.” He repeated it and looked out to them. “Five words, easy enough. What do you think?”
The class looked down and read it again. They looked up. Mr. Tuck was waiting. Teachers normally hated silence in their classrooms. It gave them the uneasy feeling that nothing was happening. Usually they could wait a teacher out.
Ron was silent. Then he read it again. “What do you think?”
“Ok,” said Mark Simon. “I get it. Be aware of the people around you and what they do, but pay closer attention to what you do.”
Ron smiled. “Why?”
Chris Fortuna said, “What you do is more important.”
Mr. Tuck smiled at Chris. “Because?”
“Because you do it,” said Chris.
“Seems simple right? But is it? Is Franklin hinting that we need to both be aware of our environment and how we interact within it, but that personal growth increases from self-knowledge? Did that idea also lead him to take part in the Revolution?” It was a simple concept but he wanted them to see it. Who you were and what you did should be the results of self-awareness. “Now,” said Ron. He picked up the book and read, “Fish and visitors stink after three days.”
The class laughed and Ron laughed with them. He knew that if he repeated this line that they would just laugh again. “What do you think this means?”
Bobby Taylor raised his hand. “Well I know that my mom won’t even cook fish in the house. Either she buys it already cooked or they cook it outside.”
Ron thought about that. He wondered why. “And what does that have to do with visitors?”
The class was quiet. Ron paced back and forth rolling chalk between his palms. It clicked against his ring.
Chris said, “After a few days, you get tired of having them around.”
Ron nodded. Now back in the 18th century, it had more practical meanings as well. No refrigeration and so it was important to eat things fresh. They also didn’t know a lot about hygiene, and so visitors would probably not have bathed. That is one of the things that made Franklin uniquely American and popular. There was both wisdom and practicality in what he said and wrote.”
Back in the teachers’ room Ron huddled with Sam. “I want to skip over some of this stuff and go more in depth with other pieces,” said Ron.
“It’s your class,” said Sam.
“Yeah, I’m just concerned about the finals. But I figure that I did a couple of Native American things I’ll do Jonathan Edwards Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God, doing Franklin now, I’ll mix in some of Jefferson and Thomas Paine, but then I want to skip right to Poe and do a bunch of his things.”
Sam’s eyes got a little wider. “That’s a big skip, but I know why.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “The writing sucked and I’ll lose them.”
Father Tom Orecchio was sitting there listening to their conversation while he puffed his cigarette. There was something about Ron’s mannerisms and his patterns of speech that he found familiar. “Where you from, Ron?”
Ron looked up, surprised by the question and lit a cigarette. “Newark,” he said exhaling.
Orecchio smiled. “Whereabouts?”
“Broadway, Lincoln Avenue.” Then it dawned on him. “You from there?
“First Ward,” said Orecchio nodding.
Sam said, “So I guess the message here is to never let either of you get really pissed off at me.”
Tom Orecchio and Ron Tuck shared a grin. That was always the reaction from people who didn’t grow up there unless they grew up in Paterson or Jersey City. Father Orecchio said, “It’s not that we’re that tough, just that vicious.”
“Where’d you go to school Tom?” There was a slight pause. Ron had never called him Tom before, neither had anyone else.
“St. Rose’s grammar school, then Jersey Catholic.” He noticed a tension in Ron’s face.
Then Tuck said, “I went to Jersey Catholic too.” He added, “For a while.”

Chapter 55
The next day’s practice was hard. After classes, they changed into their uniforms, carried their cleats and walked the mile up to Branch Brook Park. It was a huge park, more than 360 acres big, and it skirted the border of Newark. Ron felt that the park was designed to keep Newark caged in. He walked up 2nd Avenue with the other players. The sophomores didn’t talk to the freshman that had been added to their team. They were embarrassed to have them there.
The team stretched and Ron smelled the freshly cut grass. When he lay on his back and did leg lifts, he stared up at the sky and felt like his helmet was a cocoon. He felt relaxed and yet tense at the same time.
Coach Connors said, “OK men listen up. You all know we have some new players. They didn’t ask to be here. We picked them because we thought they could help us. They are on the team and I expect them to be treated like everybody else.”
A large red headed kid named Allen muttered out of the side of his mouth, “Yeah, like shit.”
Connors heard the comment but didn’t respond. Ron tried not to laugh. “Well, let’s see what we’ve got.” Connors explained the drill. He lined the team up facing each other about ten yards apart. There were twenty-six of them. Thirteen on a side. “On my whistle, squad on my left runs like they have the ball. Squad on my right, you tackle them. The idea is to run straight ahead guys. Ron was on the left. He could do this. He felt determined. In front of him was Allen, who was bigger than Ron. For a second Ron felt fear. Then he tugged on his face mask and thought, fuck it.
He ran straight at Allen. The impact was not like anything that he’d ever felt before. He felt that he’d run into a car and then he left his feet and came down on his back with a thud that made his head spin. He closed his eyes and opened them again. It was still spinning. He heard Coach Connor’s whistle and his voice say, “Ok, pop up.”
Ron wasn’t sure that he could move but then he found himself on his feet wondering how he’d gotten there. Now it was his turn to deliver a blow and he couldn’t wait to wipe the smirk that he say on Allen’s face right off. The whistle blew. Allen ran with a galloping churn of his legs. Ron tried to aim himself at Allen’s waist but it was covered with his churning legs. He reacted by going low. He cracked into his knees and wrapped his arms around and hung on tight. He thought this is what it feels like to tackle a moose. Allen went down hard. Ron didn’t feel dizzy this time. He felt completely alive.
Coach Connors walked over to them. “That was two good hits men.” He looked right at Ron. “Do you know why you got creamed?”
Ron shook his head.
“You gave him too big a target. You let him get into you where you were soft. You need to run low and pump your knees higher.”
Ron nodded. He wasn’t sure that he could change the way that he ran, but he would try. At the whistle, he ran hunched and pumped his knees high. It felt like it slowed him down. He felt Allen grab at his ankles and he pumped harder and then fell flat on his face. There was grass sticking out of his facemask when he got up. He didn’t care. He wanted to smack into the moose again.
As they walked back to the school, every part of him ached. He was smiling. He stripped off his jersey and shoulder pads and sat in front of his locker. Allen and two of the other sophomores came over to four freshman and said, “You take your showers when we’re done.”
They waited together. One of the four had stripped naked and sat with a towel draped over his thighs. Ron felt the ache spread through him like ease. It took the edges away. He could relax. He didn’t mind waiting.
By the time they’d finished showering there were position assignments on the bulletin board. Ron was listed at linebacker and guard. He understood. He wouldn’t get to run with the ball anymore.
Having the ball in your hands or even touching it was so much more special in football than in any other sport. You held the ball. You squeezed it tight. You didn’t let go like your life depended on it. Ron walked the three blocks to his house. He’d have to be able to steal the ball.
Marjorie was waiting for him. She smiled when he came through the door. She didn’t tell him how hard it had been for her to get home from work and that Harry Tuck had detoured in order to make sure that she got there ok. She was working downtown in a clothing store now. She saw a chance at some advancement. She could sell. But the manager wanted her to learn credit and she saw him more than once leering at the fullness of her breasts and her behind. She didn’t mind.
She saw her son and the slight bruise on her chin and the way that he seemed to glow. “How was your day?”
Ron grinned. “I don’t know. I got knocked down a lot but I got up and I loved it.”
Marjorie said, “What about school?”
“I didn’t get into trouble,” said Ron.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s different there.”
“Why?”
Part of Ron wanted to tell her that they made you afraid to do anything but what they wanted you to do. He fought the urge to tell her. “I’m one of the little kids again,” said Ron.
Marjorie smiled and stroked her fingers lightly over the bruise. She rarely touched him. She preferred to look at him. She felt him pull back, like his father.
She took her hand away.
“Do you want to go for a ride?” she said.
“I’m supposed to read.”
“You can read later,” she said.
They drove north back to Broadway. She stopped the car in front of their old basement apartment in the five story building. Ron tried to look into the windows and see who lived there now. He wondered if those people were anything like he was.
Marjorie turned the corner and headed the car up Montclair Avenue. They parked in front of number 89. It was his Aunt Dottie’s building. She gave them iced tea that was fresh brewed. That told Ron that she had been expecting them. The ache was almost gone. He missed it. He realized that he was hungry when he saw the plate of homemade corned beef hash on his plate. He launched into it with gusto. The women ate more slowly and smiled as they watched him devour the food.
After dinner, they sat in the living room. Ron sat on the floor and tried not to touch anything. Dorothy sat in her fan backed chair. Marjorie sat on a couch with an enormous, white, goose-down cushion that would take an hour to re-fluff. The evening light hardly filtered in through the drapes and they turned on a lamp that had a Chinese design. He gazed at the centerpiece which was also Chinese and depicted a lone fisherman waiting for a fish that he would never catch, but eternally hopeful.
Dorothy said, “A man that works hard is an asset. It hurts when you can’t talk to him.”
“I know,” said Marjorie. “Sometimes when I talk to him, I wish that I hadn’t.”
Ron was silent and listened. He stared at the fisherman and felt wisdom in his gaze.
“Has he hit you?”
“No, but he’s punched things to avoid it.”
“That shows that he knows how to hold back,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t love him.”
“So what? You think I love the old fart that I’m married to?”
Aunt Dottie met Ron’s eyes and let him know that he wasn’t allowed to laugh. He’d wanted to and she knew it. But he couldn’t and her look was communicating that in the sternest terms. Ron held it in and it passed. Marjorie hadn’t seen it. She was absorbed in the thoughts of a loveless marriage.
“I have an idea,” said Marjorie.
Dorothy listened.
“I want to put him into so much debt that he can’t even think about gambling again.”
Dorothy was genuinely surprised. “How?”
“I want to buy a house and get out of Newark.”
Ron’s heart was beating very fast as he listened. He wanted to be on the island with that Chinese fisherman, and the dwarf tree and the moss and the water. He might as well be there as out of Newark.
Marjorie continued. “There’s trouble coming here. This isn’t going to be a good place to live anymore. I want to take you with me.”
At first Dorothy bristled and then she smiled. “We’re getting too old for keeping up with this.” She spread her arms upward to indicate the 22 apartments over her head.
He knew that something had happened and that his life was changing in some unexpected way, but he didn’t understand it. The light was soft but the air was heavy. He breathed in the scent of her carpet. Ron looked up and she was gazing back at him. How he loved her and everything that she was. If they could all live together, he could be happy.
Dorothy said, “That could be a long way off. A lot could happen between now and then.”
Marjorie nodded. “But that’s my goal.”
Ron’s eyes lifted to his mother. He could see determination and fear.

Chapter 56
The meeting between the Bombascos and The Bragos happened at Marjorie’s house. Harry Tuck was also invited. They sat around the table in the dining room. They were there to discuss numbers. Ron and Celeste were nervous. It was his first wedding and her third. Her parents had been here before and were embarrassed at the prospect of being here again. Marjorie had waited to be sitting at a table like this forever. But not with them.
George served drinks. Mario and Anna took Scotch on the rocks. George was shocked when Marjorie said that she would have some wine. Ron had what Marjorie did. Harry took Scotch straight up. Celeste had the wine. George fixed himself a Manhattan and sat down.
Marjorie tried to smile. She clasped her hands together on the table and said, “So they want to get married.”
There was nervous laughter around the table. Mario said, “God only knows why.”
Marjorie frowned. They should feel grateful at the chance of having her son who was making the biggest mistake of his life. “Yes, I’ve wondered why as well.”
Eyes were on Ron and Celeste now. They sat there looking down at the table and then Celeste spoke. “I didn’t expect to have your son come into my life. I’d lost hope that he was out there. But he’s here now and I can’t help but love him and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Anna just closed her eyes. How had she raised such a fool to believe in true love at her age? “We don’t have a lot and we’d like to keep this small for obvious reasons.”
“What are they? said Marjorie.
The two women eyed each other and just when Ron wished for it, he thought he saw his Aunt Dottie come into the room. He blinked and squinted and she was gone. She would have known how to handle this. But she was dead and wasn’t coming in the door anymore.
“Celeste has been married before, twice.”
Marjorie’s face was grim. “My son hasn’t. Why should he have to pay for your daughter’s mistakes?”
“We’ve all paid for Celeste’s mistakes,” said Anna.
Celeste wished that she could shrink down to nothing and just disappear.
“We’re straying from the point,” said Harry. “Marjorie was married once before. I was married once before. We know that not all marriages work out. No one needs to pay. I thought we were here to discuss this wedding.”
Celeste smiled at Harry. Marjorie capitulated. Anna sulked but did not respond. In the back of her mind, she hoped that if she started a big enough fight that Ron and Celeste would call the whole thing off. Marjorie has been a willing participant and things would have escalated. But this Harry guy had thrown a pail of cold water on that and now she was stuck, but only for a moment. “I understand that you had the privilege of meeting my grand-daughter. Isn’t she beautiful?” said Anna.
“She’s cute,” said George.
Marjorie’s head snapped towards him. He never opened his mouth at the right time and he never, never said the right thing. “She alright,” said Marjorie.
Anna and Mario recoiled like they had been slapped in the face. Their Angel was being called ‘alright.’
“I think that she’s a very special little girl and so very smart,” said Ron.
Anna nodded. He’d better say that or she was getting up and walking right out of here this instant.
“We’d like to get married at the end of March,” said Ron. “I’ll have Easter vacation and so I won’t need to miss any time from work.”
Marjorie said, “Are you both really sure that this is what you want to do? I mean there is more involved here than just the two of you. There is a child to think about. And all the expenses that come along with her.” She turned to her son. “Where are you going to get the money to support a wife and child? A few years ago, you were taking cans out of our pantry so that you could eat in the summertime.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to want to disappear as he saw Anna and Mario exchange a look and both shake their heads.
Celeste started to say that she was going to get a job, but Harry spoke up first. “We were poor when we got married,” he said to Marjorie.
“That was different,” she said. “Everybody was poor then.”
That had been true of Mario and Anna too but they weren’t about to wash those dirty clothes in front of these people.
Marjorie stared at Harry and then said in a defeated voice, “I think we can give them $5000.”
Harry said, “I can do that too.”
Mario and Anna had decided on $2000 but Anna said, “We’ll help all we can, but we don’t have that kind of money. Maybe we can go $3000.”
Mario spoke before thinking. “I thought that we decided on $2000.”
Anna wanted to kick him in his shins until he bled. She hated that he never minded looking cheap.
George said, “I can also get all of the printing of invitations done for nothing.”
Marjorie smiled. He finally said something useful. She would make their wedding favors at her ceramics shop, but she wasn’t going to say that just then.
Ron and Celeste smiled at each other. They had a budget and an uneasy truce, but they had make progress.

Chapter 57

The sophomore team’s first game was against East Orange. They had no game uniforms and were told the night before to take their pants and jerseys home and have their mothers clean them. Ron was in a quandary. His mother hated doing laundry. There was no laundry room in this building. He sat on the edge of the tub that he’d filled with hot water and detergent and bleach and soaked his filthy uniform. He took a scrub brush to the harder stains. When he was pretty sure that he’s gotten everything acceptably clean, he hung them up to dry.
George got home before Marjorie. When he saw the uniform dripping into the now filthy tub, he said, “What are you doing?”
George had an idea. He got a plastic garbage bag and loaded the wet uniform in it. He could not fault Ron’s desire to look clean. He would help him with that. Secretly, he’s told all the guys at work that his son was playing football on the JV as just a freshman. His chest had swelled when they congratulated him and said that maybe this would keep Ron out of trouble.
When Marjorie came home, George said, “Let’s have dinner at my mother’s house. She has a washer and a dryer. Ronald has a game tomorrow and this fabric will never be dry like this.
Ron felt touched. For George it was a win win. He’d get to eat dinner with his family, and he’d done something for Ronald that he could use when he and Marjorie argued about Ron’s lack of respect. Marjorie was glum but agreed. She was hot and tired and the last thing that she wanted to do was have a noisy dinner at her mother in law’s house where the women didn’t trust that she knew how to do anything in the kitchen.
They ate escarole and beans. George was in heaven. It was accompanied by a tomato salad from the garden and the tomatoes were plump and juicy and ripe and swimming in olive oil with some onion.
Ron picked at his food and was grateful to George for helping him out. After dinner and while the dryer was running, George snuck down to the Arrow where he placed a $20 to win bet on Touchdown, a colt who was running in a qualifier down at Monmouth.
The next day’s classes went smoothly. Ron had been prepared both times that he was called on. He’d taken his Friday Algebra quiz. He wasn’t sure about that. He barely passed the first two and they were review.
In English, his black frocked teacher had asked the class to explain the difference between an adverb and an adjective. Ron had been tentative but correct and concise.
He hadn’t been hit and so it was a good day, but he’d watched other get slapped. In Religion, Brother Cecil had rapped his knuckles down on the top of Anthony Malone’s head for speaking out without raising his hand. The sound had echoed and Anthony held a hand on top of his head for several minutes afterwards.
Brother Alvin had pinched his fingers into Malone’s neck earlier that day. He said that he was helping him with his accent. The class bonded. They were all going to take a beating once in a while but that was the way that it was.
Ron lined up on the receiving team for the kickoff. He was on the front line. Just before the whistle blew he felt his gazed pulled up and saw his father standing alongside his car. His body froze and his mind went blank. The ball was kicked to his left and his team mate covered it. Ron stood there in shock at the thought that his father was watching him play as a large black boy from East Orange slammed his body down on top of the Jersey Catholic player who lay on the ground with the ball curled into his belly.
Ron felt a surge rush through him and felt like a river in his ears. He was on offense. The same kid was lined up across from him. Ron’s assignment was to drive on him and he fired off with low slanted speed and the need for collision. It came. His shoulder bucked into the kid like a kick. He heard the grunt and the play ran for eleven yards. He looked for his dad. He was still there, standing and watching.
When he heard the same play called in the huddle, he grinned. He was gonna get to do it again. He fired out but this time the boy tried to circle him. Ron changed his trajectory and lunged and hit and kid went down on his back. Helmet to helmet, Ron looked into his face. He saw fear. He liked what he saw. Jersey Catholic didn’t score but they drove and when they punted the ball was deep in East Orange territory.
Ron was second string on defense. At least he thought he was. When he got to sidelines, Coach Connors put his hands on his shoulder pads and slapped his ass. “Linebacker on the left,” he said. He gave Ron a shove and sent him back out to play.
The perspective was different when you weren’t down in a stance. Ron bent his knees and coiled his torso. The play went the other way, but he sprinted and got there just as it ended. Coach Peters turned to assistant and smiled, “Ronnie likes to play football.”
The game continued and Ron flew all over the field. He loved to tackle. He was unstoppable. His dad was watching. His team was up by one score. Then Allen Watkins fumbled in back of the line of scrimmage. There was a pile and Ron was in it. The ball was wedged under him. A hand punched him in the stomach. A knee came up into his groin. Ron was clutching for the ball, but other hands were clutching for it too. They heard whistles but no one was letting go or stopping. And then it was gone. He’d lost his tentative grip on it. When he got up, the fat Black kid was smiling. He held out the ball. “Lose something?” he said with a smirk.
Ron was about to go for him when he heard another whistle and a ref was between them and a yellow flag was fluttering in the air. “Unsportsman like conduct,” said the ref.
East Orange was backed up. Ron felt a fury rushing through him like the sound of a train whistle in his ears. He wanted to hit. He saw the play coming right at him. It was a sweep to his side. He moved towards it and felt a sharp pain in his back knock him off balance and send him sprawling onto his face. He jumped to his feet with fury in his eyes and a throbbing pain at the middle of his back. He saw another yellow flag.
The East Orange player who was called for clipping said, “Oh fuck these white refs and this white boy Jesus school.”
The field erupted and players were grabbing at each other. Whistles blew loudly. The coaches were instructed to get their players to the sidelines. They met with the refs in the middle of the field. They stood there talking and the coaches were gesticulating at each other. The whistle blew again and the ref raised his hands in the air and waved them. He picked up the ball trotted over to the East Orange sideline tossed them their ball and then the two refs, still completely dressed headed for their cars.
Coach Peters’ face was very red when he got back to his sideline. “Gather up our stuff men. We’re going home. Game’s over.”
The players looked shocked. They didn’t realize what was happening. “Fellas, I want you to stay together on the way back to the school.”
No one said anything until Allen asked, “Did we win?”
“I’ll tell you when we get back to the school,” said Peters.
Ron looked for his father’s car but it was gone.
Coach Peters circled around the team with his car. His assistant walked back with the team. Everyone was eerily quiet. Back in the locker room Connors explained that because they had a lead and that they hadn’t instigated the trouble, they were declared the winners. The guys cheered and smiled. Connors said, “It’s a lesson in self-control boys. We had it, they didn’t. Anyone bloodied up or have an injury to report?”
Two hands went up into the air almost ashamed. Each of the coaches went to one of the boys. Ron stripped out his jersey and shoulder pads. He sat in front of his locker waiting.
Allen walked over and said, “Come on Tuck, you need a shower.”

Chapter 58
The next time that the Bombascos and the Bragos met was at Angel’s birthday party. Celeste had planned a lavish meal and everyone, including Angel’s father and his family, was invited. It was scheduled for a Sunday and Ron was relieved that there would be no pressure for him to be anywhere else.
Joey and Mario worked all morning to set up the backyard with tables and tablecloths and chairs that they borrowed from neighbors. Anna sat in her kitchen holding her fly swatter. With all the ins and outs through the back door, she was sure that her house was now infested. Celeste was at the stove. She had four burners going and she felt tense and happy. Her daughter was two years old.
Anna said, “Any chance that Ron is intending to lend a hand?”
“He’s working, Mom.”
“On a Sunday morning? And you believe that?”
“He does his papers and prepares for the week on Sundays.”
“Jimmy never had to work on Sundays.”
Celeste unsuccessfully tried to hide the sarcasm in her voice, “Jimmy’s a gym teacher.”
“Oh,” said Anna. “So now this Ronnie-come-lately is more important than your cousin?”
“I didn’t say that or mean that.”
“Who knows what you are talking about half the time.”
Exasperated, Celeste reached for the pot of boiling water without a pot holder or a mitten. The hot metal pot burned into her hands. She dropped it and screamed.
“Oh, for God sakes.” Anna got up with difficulty. “Go into the bathroom so I can take care of you.”
Before Celeste had become a nurse and before Tina had become a nurse, Anna had nursed during World War 2. She’d seen burns. She dressed her daughter’s hands efficiently. Celeste watched as her sedentary mother’s hands worked with agility. The burns were minor. It wouldn’t be a problem. Anna gazed into her daughter’s eyes and saw her dreams and felt a pang of jealousy. It wasn’t jealousy without love. Maybe it was envy.
Anna had settled on a life. Mario had hardly been her first and only choice, but he was sensible and romantic. Most of all, he made her feel safe. He didn’t play an instrument anymore, but he’d serenaded her outside of her window when he courted her. The difference was that Mario no longer had ambition. The war had taken that away. Being a paratrooper as part of the preparation for D-day had taken that away. The people that he’d had to shoot had left him incapable of wanting more. Being peeled out of the night ice at the Battle of the Bulge had convinced him that he wanted a warm and easy life, with easy comforts. They had two children. They made a life. Anna looked into her daughter’s eyes. She had given her a grandchild who was beautiful and who Anna could tell embodied her spirit. She felt that Celeste’s choices in men had been astoundingly abysmal. They were either both entertaining and good for nothing or cold fish.
“How does it feel?”
“I’ll be ok,” said Celeste.
“He should have been here.”
“You don’t know him the way that I do. He’s kind and good and he’s really smart. He loves the baby.”
“I still don’t think that this is a good idea,” said Anna. “I don’t think that you know what you are getting yourself into.”
“Why?”
“I want to read his cards,” said Anna.

People began arriving for the party and there was still no sign of Ron. Celeste slipped off to dial his number and when there was no answer, she felt a twinge. She came upstairs and broke into a grin as she heard him squeaking around the corner. Barb was dressing Angel, who insisted that she wanted Aunt Barb to do it because she knew how to make her look the prettiest. Barb had beamed.
Tina arrived with little Joey and hollered, “Where’s the birthday girl?”
Mario had come in the back door. He smiled and picked up his grandson. “She’s upstairs making herself bea-ut-ti-ful.” He enunciated each syllable and drew them out so that the word had a feel of cacophony.
Celeste kissed little Joey and opened the front door just as Ron was coming up the stairs. He immediately saw the bandage on her hand and said, “What happened?”
“A little accident,” said Celeste. “It’s nothing.”
Anna was back in her chair, she reached for her cigarettes and found that Mario had slipped the clear plastic off and turned it around so that it covered the open pack. She frowned and tore it off. “You know Mario, it’s doesn’t do anything but annoy me.”
Mario didn’t answer.
Ron said, “Tell me what happened.”
“I burned my hand reaching for a pot and forgetting that it was hot. It was my own fault.”
Anna waited for her to add that her mother had bandaged it, but she didn’t. She looked at her grandson in Mario’s arms and smiled. He was a big boy and very happy. He slept through the night. He entertained himself in front of the TV. In short he was ten times less demanding than Angel was. Publically, she credited Tina with this. Privately she knew that Angel was just more of a problem child. It was good to keep Celeste in her place though. Then she frowned with the thought that all of that would be changing now. She grimaced at Ron.
Barb and Angel came downstairs. Angel was wearing a pink dress with white hearts on it. Her hair had a pink ribbon and hung down passed her shoulders with delightfully bouncing twirling curls. “Here’s the Princess,” announced Barb.
Angel took hold of the hem of her dress and did a little half curtsey, just the way that she and Barb had practice upstairs. Anna smiled until she laughed. Mario repeated, “You look bea-ut-i-ful,” elongating the word even more than the first time.
Ron crouched down as Angel ran to him. “Do I look pretty?” she said.
“You’re the prettiest two year old in the entire world,” said Ron.
Then Angel ran to her grandmother, who leaned over and hugged her and whispered into her ear. “You are a knockout.”
Angel wasn’t sure what that meant, but she grinned with the faith that her grandmother always said nice things to her.
Tina smiled. “Hello gorgeous girl and Happy Birthday!”
There were about fifty people in the backyard, when the Bombascos arrived. Ron grimaced when he saw that Lois was with Marjorie and George. He hoped that he didn’t have to explain that. There was a polite reception for them and introductions were made. Marjorie went up to Angel and said, “Happy Birthday” and handed her an elegantly wrapped gift.
Angel took it and ran over to the stack of presents that was taller than she was and twice as wide. Marjorie waited to be thanked. Celeste came over and kissed Marjorie on the cheek and said, “Thank you very much and please enjoy yourself.”
Marjorie’s eyes were fixed on the huge pile of presents. She watched Angel toss it onto the pile and saw it disappear. Well so much for the time that she had spent wrapping that.
Ron said, “Come over here. Let’s sit in the shade.”
Andrew Canigliaro arrived with his mother and father. There was a clear awkwardness. There were exchanged looks among the guests. He had a lot of nerve coming here after the way that he’d acted. They all knew that while Celeste was pregnant that he had called her repeatedly and begged her to have an abortion. Then his father had called her and told her that she should have an abortion. The general consensus was that he should hang his head in shame for the rest of his life.
The sight of the child and feel of the tension was just too much for Andrew’s father. Donald Canigliaro clutched at his chest and collapsed. Rose Canigliaro screamed. Tina and Celeste ran. Angel had not seen what happened and discreetly Barb took her inside so that she would not be frightened. The sisters acted quickly. Tina loosened his shirt. Celeste took his pulse. Their eyes met and exchanged a troubled glance.
Donald was unconscious and he wasn’t breathing. Celeste did CPR. Tina ran to call for an ambulance. Anna’s belief in god was reaffirmed. Marjorie thought, what kind of a party was this? George watched the efficiency with which Celeste worked and admired it. Ron tried to stay out of the way. He was caught between wanting to go to Angel and wanting to help Celeste and knowing that he needed to stay close to his mother so that she didn’t lose it.
It seemed that everything was moving in slow motion and then the siren could be heard. A stretcher was rolled up the along the side of the house. Celeste backed away when she saw the EMT’s there. She had done all that she could. She hoped that it was enough.
As quickly as they had arrived, the Canigliaros left.
Mario said, “Is he OK?’
Celeste answered, “I think he’s having a heart attack.”
Anna patted Celeste’s hand. “You and Tina did very well and Barb got Angel inside so that she didn’t get scared.”
Ron sat there watching and then turned to Marjorie. “Celeste may have saved his life.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Marjorie. “It may just have been the heat. She isn’t a doctor.”
“You’re incredible,” said Ron. He got up and walked away.

Chapter 59

Harry Tuck was drinking coffee with Marjorie and George when Ron got home. Ron lit up at the sight of his mother and father together. He blocked out the existence of George Bombasco, or shoved him far enough away in his mind to make him irrelevant. It was the three of them. It was the way that it always should have been, without a Rocky and certainly without a Bombasco.
“How was the game?” said Marjorie.
Ron grinned and the two of his parents smiled at the way that his face dimpled. “Dad was there,” said Ron.
“I saw the way that those Coons tried to bully you,” said Harry.
Ron nodded. “But we won.”
“And they hate you all the more for it and will say that it was stolen from them.”
“They stopped the game because they were afraid,” said Ron. “We weren’t afraid. The kids on the field weren’t afraid.”
“I don’t know what they even play against a nigger school,” said George.
Ron ignored George. “I was excited to see you there Dad, thank you.”
Marjorie smiled. He’d always known what his father needed to hear and said it to him naturally. When would Harry realize that Ron only said the things that he knew that Harry wanted to hear because he was afraid of not seeing him anymore? Marjorie waited for Harry to say that he was proud of the way that his son played, but in her heart she knew that he wouldn’t say it. He just couldn’t.
Harry got up to leave. A look of disappointment spread over Ron’s face and then Marjorie watched him try to hide it. She hadn’t been wrong to leave Harry Tuck. She told herself that again. She was sure that it was what she had to do and it didn’t matter now anyway.
She both hated and loved Harry for the cool ease with which he slid out. She looked at George and closed her eyes. “Well, we better have dinner.”
Ron could feel that his teachers knew what had happened in the game yesterday. Each of the Brothers smiled at him. Nobody put him on the spot. Even Brother Cecil gave him a pass. Ron was doing his reading. His mind was not willing to submit to Latin or French. He did the assignments, but he just couldn’t commit the words to memory. They didn’t make sense to him. He had words. He was squeaking by in Algebra, but some of his classmates weren’t.
Brother O’Shea said, “Mr. Dalton, you got a 59 on the quiz didn’t you?”
Stan Dalton had been called up to the front of the room to receive his quiz. “Yes Brother.”
O’Shea rocked back on his heels. “And that isn’t good enough is it?”
“No Brother.” Stan Dalton’s left eye began to twitch.
“Would you prefer them on your palms or your backside?”
“I don’t understand Brother.”
Brother O’Shea removed a strap from his belt that looked like the one that Joe the Barber used to sharpen his razor when he was about to shave the back of Ron’s neck after a haircut. “Hold out your hands,” Mr. Dalton.
Stan Dalton extended his palms. They were shaking. The strap was a blur when it cracked down on the boys open palms. He yelped and pulled his palms back.
“One more,” said O’Shea. “You decide, which hand?”
Stan Dalton hesitantly extended his left hand, the one that he didn’t have to write with. The fingers were curled and O’Shea used the strap gently to straighten them. Then he raised it over his head and cracked it down on the trembling flesh. Dalton yelped and then whimpered. His shoulders slumped.
“You may take your seat, Mr. Dalton”
The class watched Stan Dalton meekly return to his desk. He was rubbing his hands on his thighs.
“Now,” said O’Shea, confident that he had their attention. “Let’s talk about Algebraic equations.”

Chapter 60
When it was time for Angel to open her presents, Celeste set up a lawn chair in front of the huge pile of gifts and placed her daughter between her thighs on the chair. Angel squirmed until she was comfy and then Celeste handed her the first gift. It was from her grandmother and grandfather and was a pink snow suit with a hood that had a fluffy white fringe on the top. Celeste smiled at her parents. It was just what she had asked them to buy. “Look,” she said, “It matches your dress.”
Angel couldn’t remember snow and didn’t know what the heavy garments were for but she said, “Thank you Papa. Thank you Nanna.”
There were smiles and a few “ohhs” from the party goers. Angel was on to the next gift. Celeste tried to fold the suit back up and get it into the box, but Angel was excitedly ripping into the wrapping paper of her next present. Barb came to help Celeste and took the snowsuit and box so she could re-box it and let Celeste concentrate on Angel. It was a summer dress. It was blue and had a huge pink heart on the chest with a picture of a kitten inside the heart. Celeste read the card to Angel. It was from Aunt Barb, one of the eleven presents that Barb had bought her for the day.
Ten presents into the process, Angel was bored. Everyone had gotten her clothes and they were nice but she felt hot and confined with her mother in the chair and wanted to run around. When Celeste handed her Marjorie and George’s gift, she said, “No more now,” and squirmed free.
Ron could feel the tension emanating from his mother. Marjorie turned to Lois and said, “They just let that child do whatever she wants to do.”
Lois nodded. “She spoiled and she’s too young for this kind of thing.”
Marjorie rolled her eyes and looked at Ron but directed her statement to Lois. “Oh no, she’s a prodigy. The smartest girl the earth has ever seen. Just ask my son.”
Ron’s green eyes flashed dark. “She’s two years old.”
“Then she should be treated like she’s two years old.”
“That’s enough now,” said George. His fear of embarrassment was one of his strongest emotions and Marjorie knew that he hadn’t wanted to be here in the first place.
Celeste realized her mistake. It had already been a long day for Angel and she had missed her nap. Celeste had let the party and the preparations and the tension of having the Canigliaros and the Bombascos there, along with her desire to just have the day run smoothly to cause her to forget the nap. Angel was cranky. She wanted Ron. She saw him sitting off to the side and ran over to him. She literally dove into his lap and Marjorie recoiled.
She turned to George and said, “You’re right, it’s more than enough.”
She turned to Ronald who was tossing Angel gently into the air and catching her and said. “We’re going to be going.”
“Just a second,” said Ron. “I’ll walk you to the car.”
“I think you should stay with what’s important to you, Ronald,” said his mother.
She and Lois walked away. George said, “You know how she is. Let her get over it.”
“Get over what?”
Angel no longer tossed and giggling ran off to find someone else to play with her. She was on overdrive and headed for a crash.
“You know how she is,” repeated George.
Janine had heard everything. At Anna’s request, she had positioned herself where she could hear what Marjorie and George were saying without interacting with them. It was going to be an interesting phone call tomorrow morning.
It was about eight o’clock in the evening. Just about everyone had left. Celeste brought Ron out of the basement where he’d been reviewing for the next day’s classes.
The dining room table had been cleared off except for the coffee that was in front of Anna along with her deck of Tarot Cards. Janine and Anna had taken classes together to learn how to read them and Anna was uncannily good with them. Janine’s mother Hannah was the best in the family, but her skills came from an old tradition of divining that was mysterious and involved pressing her thumb into the forehead of the person she was working with and sometimes stroking the tips of that person’s ears.
Ron sat down across from Anna. He didn’t tell her that he also had a Tarot deck and that he’d done readings and astrology charts in the past.
“Would you mind if I read your cards, Ron?”
“Not at all,” said Ron smiling.
She spread the cards on the table, face up. “Pick the card that you think best represents you,” she said.
Ron gave her his dimpled grin. “Well, let’s go with popular opinion,” he said. He selected The Fool. Janine giggled and Celeste smiled. Anna’s face was expressionless, except for the feel of a tired sadness.
She handed Ron the deck. “You shuffle them.”
Celeste and Janine watched along with Anna as Ron shuffled the cards again and again. Janine stared at his hands. They weren’t as big as Jimmy’s hands. She’d ask Celeste about his equipment the next time that they were alone.
Ron finished shuffling and laid the deck down in front of him. He waited.
“Cut them,” said Anna. Her short red hair was mixed with grey and white. Ron tried to read her face as she shuffled. He couldn’t.
Ron cut the cards and handed them back to Anna.
“Place them on the table,” said Anna.
“Do you know your question?” said Anna.
“Yes,” said Ron.
“Don’t tell me,” she said.
Ron obeyed and watched. Anna turned the deck towards her and picked it up. Slowly she laid the first card down, “This is in back of you.” The ten of Wands appeared. Ron stared at it. A man with his back turned was carrying a load of 10 wands or staffs. Out of the top of each one small green flowers were visible. In the distance was a house.
Anna turned the next card. “This covers you.” The ten of Cups came up reversed. Ron saw the cups in a semi-circle in the air. Underneath them a man and a woman were dancing. In the left corner of the card was the sun and it the other corner was the moon. Anna turned the next card saying, “This is in front of you.” Ron hoped that by doing this that maybe they would be closer together. Maybe she would give him a chance. The two of Swords was revealed. This depicted a blindfolded woman sitting on a rock with her arms crossed at her chest and a long sword projecting from each of her hands. She turned the next card. “This card indicates the emotional factors that are influencing you.” A Woman and a child were seated in a boat. A man standing behind them was using a staff to propel the boat and six Swords were lining the sides of the rowboat. Anna stared up at Ron’s face. She thought that she saw fear and that he was about to ask something. “Just wait until I’m finished” she said. Then you can ask questions. The fear seemed to vanish from Ron’s face and he nodded.
“This next card indicates the outside influences on you. The Queen of Swords came up reversed. A woman wearing a crown was seated on a throne and held up a single sword. “This card indicates your hopes and fears,” said Anna. She turned the card and The Hanged man appeared. A man with his hands behind his back was suspended upside down from a cross by one foot. His other foot was bent at the knee and in back of him. There was a halo around his head. “This last card indicates the outcome to the situation about which you have a question.” The Hierophant appeared. She looked like a priestess of a queen seated on a throne. Two monks were kneeling before her. In her left hand she held a scepter and right hand was raised in a symbol of peace.
Ron stared at the pictures. His emotional mind flicked from one to the other. He knew that The Fool meant hope. It was why he had chosen it. He wondered if there was any attempt to reach out to Anna that would meet with a measure of success. He tried again to reach into her.
“So what do you see?”
“A confused situation with a troubled past and influences that are stacked against things working out. Although, there is hope in these cards.”
Ron was drawn to the boat and the man standing with a staff, rowing a woman and child. He’d learned to trust what he saw in the cards as much as he trusted the written explanations of what was there.
Ho looked at Celeste. He saw that she didn’t see anything in the cards but was hopeful that maybe there was a place of agreement of peace. He felt the warmth of her there with him. Agreement and peace and a chance to make it work. That’s what they were asking for. Why was it so difficult to achieve?
Janine’s eyes flicked behind her tinted glasses from one card to the other. She knew what she saw. She didn’t need to be told, but it was Anna’s reading.
“The answer to your question is that there is a difficult path in front of you and no guarantee of success. You are haunted by a past that you could not control. You’re impetuous to believe that you can control your future. You’re wrong and you know it. But you want a fighting chance. You feel like you deserve it. That’s also wrong. You may get it but it won’t be because you deserve it.”
Janine felt her eyes widen. Anna truly was uncanny.

Chapter 61
It was a warm Saturday evening late in October. Ron was taking a walk up to Elwood Park to see if any of his friends were around. He was amazed at the reactions that people had to him playing on the upper level team. They seemed to look at him differently. He basked in the glow of it but not as much as he loved to play. He was as happy as he could remember being in a so long. He hadn’t been slapped since the football season had started. His grades had improved. He was evening passing French and Latin and Algebra, although the last was much in need of improvement and he hoped that somehow it would just begin to click for him.
The days were shorter now and it was dark early, but the streetlights that ringed the park created a twilight that allowed you to see. There was a large group of guys and they were playing football. Ron knew that he wasn’t allowed in these kinds of games anymore. It was against the team rules, but he wanted to play. He wanted be unstoppable and with these guys, he could still run with the ball.
He was invited into the game and quickly said yes. He’d dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt. If he had been honest with himself, he would have admitted that this was why he had come here. It was a seven on seven game. Ron was playing his position on defense, he was a linebacker. When his team had the ball, he was in the backfield.
On the sixth play of the game, he caught a short pass and pivoted the way that he had learned from Richie. The fake worked and he raced up the sidelines and scored. The elation sent waves of euphoria racing through him.
Instead of kicking the ball to the other team, these kids threw it. Ron was lined up on the left. The ball spiraled down the middle of the field. When it got higher than the lights, it couldn’t be seen. Ron raced to where he thought it would land and then it was coming down and bouncing and Larry Bonet picked it and ran up the middle of the field. Ron cut in towards him and lunged. As he lunged he planted his foot, the way that he did when he was wearing cleats. But he was wearing sneakers and they slipped and the lunge came up short and he felt his arm curl to grab Larry’s hip, but there was no force behind it.
Ron bounced off harmlessly and hit the ground hard. The pop that he heard was followed by electric jolts of pain. He’d never felt a pop in his body before. He tried to jump up and run after they play. He got to his feet, the adrenalin rushing through him, and ran. On the second step, her heard the pop again and went down hard, rolling and clutching at his left knee.
He tried to get to his feet but he was having trouble straightening his leg. It seemed to be bent like a dog’s leg and he couldn’t manage to straighten it out. He tried to take a step, but his leg wouldn’t move. He stood there with a helpless look of pain and embarrassment. “I don’t think that I can play anymore tonight,” he said.
His immediate problem was how to move. He couldn’t just stand there in the middle of the field. He needed to get home and look at his knee, but he couldn’t take a step.
Larry Bonet and Phillip Rolandelli, helped him to a car that was parked alongside of the park. He felt some relief when he leaned against it. Maybe if he just stood there until the throbbing went away, everything would be alright.
Ron felt his knee swelling. He looked down and to his horror it was pressing out against his jeans. They seemed trapped by the swollen knee. Ron leaned over and tried to pull the jeans down. Another wave of electric shocked rushed through him. This was bad. This was really bad. He watched the guys play a while longer and then the game broke up and the kids started home.
Ron found that if he pressed down on his toes when he tried to hobble that he could propel himself forward. Maybe if he had a stick, something to lean on when he stepped he could make it.
The six blocks he needed to cover to get to their apartment took over an hour. Once he sat down to rest on a porch, but the effort that it took to get back onto his feet convinced him that he shouldn’t do that anymore. He was sweating profusely. The pain just wouldn’t stop. When he reached the apartment he was shaking with the effort that it took to take a single step.
His mind went into shock when he looked at the steps. How the fuck was he supposed to manage them? He had an idea. He placed both hands on the railing and hopped on his good leg. The jolt squeezed tears out of his eyes. He had another idea. He sat on the steps, bent his arms and used them to raise his body to the next step. On his ass, he managed the two flights of stairs. The hallway of the apartment was dark. Ron could see the glow of the television coming from the living room. He hobbled slowly to his room.
Marjorie heard the noise and said, “Is that you Ronald?”
Ron tried to make his voice sound normal. “Yeah Mom.”
“Come in here a moment.”
“I can’t,”
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
“I fell. I’m having trouble walking. I think I did something to my leg.”
“Well, take your time. I want to talk to you.”
Marjorie had seen Ron come home bruised before. He always tried to hide his bumps and bruises so that Marjorie wouldn’t get angry with him. She waited.
Ron tried to take a couple of steps, but he had used all of his energy to get home and then to get up the stairs.
Marjorie heard it in his voice when he half cried, “I can’t.”
Marjorie and George left their TV program and the light went on in the hallway. Ron stood there hunched over. He was leaning against the wall and his left legs wasn’t touching the ground.
Marjorie gasped when she got closer. He was drenched in sweat. His hair was matted to his head. He had been crying. George moved towards him and Ron felt his supporting bulk. George said, “Just lean on me.” Ron could smell the beer on George’s breath as he half carried him into the living room. They laid him on the couch.
Marjorie said, “What did you do to yourself?”
“I don’t know. I tripped in the park.”
She suspected immediately. “Were you playing football?”
Ron shrugged.
“Don’t you get enough of football all week long? Now look at what you’ve done.”
Ron felt guilty, but angry too. Other kids’ mothers felt sorry for them when they got hurt. His mother took it as something that he had done to himself to hurt her.
George showed him how to use a kitchen chair to lean on when he tried to move. He would lean against the back of it and then slide it forward across the wooden floor, but it didn’t work on the stained, shaggy white rug. “I’m going to bed,” said Ron.
“Well I hope it’s better in the morning,” said Marjorie.
Ron slid his chair down the hallway and made it to his bedroom. When he finally got his jeans off, he saw that his left knee was twice the size of his right knee and it was hot to the touch.
Ron had trouble sleeping. Each time he turned in his sleep, the pain woke him up. In the middle of the night he sat up and rubbed his palms up and down the sides of his knee. It seemed ever larger and hotter. Ron knew that he was in trouble. He’d never been hurt like this before. The closest thing was when he fell from the top of a chain link fence and his right ankle had bounced up from the ground and been impaled on one of the twisted bottom ends of the fence. He’d hidden that one from his mother and still had a deep scar.
Why had he done it? How could he have been this stupid? Now he might have ruined everything.
The next morning was no better. They set him in the living room with his knee propped up on his chair and George covered it with an ice bag. Ron felt helpless. The least little thing that he tried to do was an ordeal. Trying to stand on one leg and urinate was impossible. He felt humiliated when he sat on the bowl to pee. He assured Marjorie and George that he was fine and they were to George’s mother’s house for dinner, promising to bring him a plate home for him. At least he’d gotten out of that.
Ron tried to do homework, but his mind would not allow him to concentrate. What was going to happen to him? What was wrong with his knee? How much trouble was he in? The questions tormented him as much as the pain.
After two ice bags, the swelling went down a bit and Ron was elated. Maybe it was going to be ok. He’d heard about sprained knees. Maybe that was what he had done. But in his ears, he could still hear that sickening pop.
On Sunday night, Marjorie said, “I don’t think that you can go to school tomorrow. I’m going to have to find some way to get you to the doctor. Of course I don’t know how I’m going to do that and I might lose my job, but I’m glad that you had fun playing football.” She spit the word football out like she hated it.
Ron kept the ice on his knee all night long. He listened to the radio, hiding it under his pillow and pressing his ear down to the music. Puff the Magic Dragon and You Don’t Have to be a Baby to Cry filtered up into him. He heard Louie Louie at least four times and still didn’t understand what the words meant. Every two hours, he used the chair and limped down the hall as quietly as he could and refilled the ice bag.
Marjorie thought she heard him each time but was too angry at him for getting hurt to get out of bed. He wasn’t supposed to get hurt and now she’d seen him hurt over and over. Was that the joy of being a mother?
By morning Ron said and showed that he could walk without the chair. He limped and he was tentative, but he was improved. “Mom, just let me stay home today, no doctor, you go to work. George was right. The ice is working.”
George had long since left for work. What Ron was offering made the day simple. It was routine. “Ok, but I need to call your father.”
Ron was watching a rerun of The People’s Choice when the phone rang. He liked that Cleo the dog talked. He wanted to see the mayor’s daughter without her clothes. Absently, he was stroking his penis when the phone rang.
“Ronald?”
His erection dissipated in an eye blink. “Hi Dad.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Ron closed his eyes. Now he needed to pee. “I was stupid. I got hurt because I was stupid again.”
“That’s how you learn,” said Harry. “How bad is it?”
“I’ve been putting ice on it. I can almost walk now. It hurts but it’s going to be ok.”
“I’ll call you later. Try not to be stupid again.”
Ron flushed at the admonishment. “OK.”
The receiver clicked. Ron looked back up at the screen to see the Mayor’s daughter walk away with her hips wiggling. He began to stroke it again.

Chapter 62

“Edger Allen Poe was way ahead of his time. So far ahead and so sophisticated that it took his country decades to really catch up to what he was doing. In France, he was loved and respected. Not here. He suffered from what he believed were certain demons inside of him and his stories always seem like an attempt at expiation.”
Ron turned to the chalkboard and wrote to expiate in block letters on the board. “What does this word mean?”
Mark Simon carried a pocket dictionary with his books. He fished it out of his bag and thumbed through pages. Ron saw him and waited. Other students tuned to a dictionary that was in the back of their literature books, but Ron doubted that they would find it there. Mark said, “To atone for as in atoning for one’s crimes.”
Ron smiled. “That’s right. Now after you read tonight’s story, I want you to give me a paragraph that discusses the connection between The Black Cat and expiation.” Ron knew that they had probably read the story before. He had been surprised to see it included in the book. It was something that was usually taught in middle school or perhaps ninth grade. It was a warm up to The Fall of The House of Usher. He gave them the writing assignment to assure that they would read and not try to rely on their younger memories of the story
.
Ron waited outside of Brother Todd O’Malley’s office. It was his prep and he had been given something shockingly disturbing in one of his freshman classes. A student, a rather strange, short and stocky kid named Carl Flack had signed his name in blood on his quiz. Then he’d announced it to the class as he walked his paper up and handed it in. Ron looked at the paper. The penmanship was good and perfectly in red was his name, written in blood. He had pricked his finger and managed to squeeze up a bubble of blood that he dipped his pen into as he worked the letters.
Brother O’Malley was a giant of a man. He stood six feet and six inches tall and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was in charge of disciple. His size, his demeanor, and his baritone voice made him feel imposing.
“How can I help you, Mr. Tuck?”
Brother O’Malley sat in back of his desk. He did not invite Ron to sit. Ron sat anyway and opened his large book bag. He extracted the quiz carefully. He had placed it between two blank sheets of paper. “A student, a freshman named Carl Flack, handed in this quiz and announced to the class that he had signed it in blood.” Ron extended the paper.
O’Malley’s eyes darkened as he took it. “I don’t believe that I’ve ever seen anything quite like this before,” said O’Malley.
“I haven’t either,” said Ron.
“Are you sure that it’s blood”
“Either it is or this kid has one heck of an imagination, Brother.”
Brother Todd O’Malley said flatly, “A diseased imagination.”
Ron’s mind flashed on Poe, but he wasn’t teaching Poe in this class.
“Let’s take a walk,” said Brother O’Malley. He stood heavily, and together they walked to the main office where he looked up the location of Carl Flack’s locker. Ron stashed his book bag in back of the counter and quietly followed O’Malley who was carrying a large ring of keys and his clipboard.
When O’Malley opened Flack’s locker, the disgusted look on his face caused its lines to deepen and become a menacing scowl. Hanging in Flack’s locker, on the hooks that were designed for coats or sweaters, were three strings. From each dangled a freshly amputated rabbit’s foot. He opened the door wider for Ron to see.
The color drained from Ron’s face when he looked. There was something seriously wrong with this kid. O’Malley shut the door without disturbing anything. He’d expected to find some kind of substance, but not this. He felt the anger rising in his massive body. Ron followed him to Flack’s class.
O’Malley opened the door without knocking, stood in the doorway silently. He’d looked at a picture of Flack when he found the location of the locker. Slowly his eyes panned the room. Students fidgeted and put their heads down. The teacher stopped speaking and stood frozen in the center of the class, half turned to the chalkboard. O’Malley’s eyes found Flack. He walked towards him, his long black habit swaying like the motion of a moving battleship. He towered over Flack’s desk. “What have you done?” rumbled the baritone voice.
Carl Flack tried to escape but he tripped and fell to the floor. Calmly O’Malley reached down, grabbed his heel and dragged him out of the classroom, holding his leg in the air.
Ron stood with his mouth open as O’Malley silently dragged the boy, still sprawled on his back, down the hallway to his office. He wasn’t invited to follow.

Chapter 63

On Monday night, Ron told Marjorie that his leg felt better and that he wanted to go to school. “Did you talk to your father?”
“He called. He told me to try not to be so stupid.”
“That sounds like him,” said Marjorie. She always pumped Ron for information about his conversations with his father. He always resisted, but she knew how to wear him down. Harry didn’t have the ability to express emotions like most people. He was uncomfortable with intimacy. He’d built walls around what was important to him for a very long time. Marjorie had been fool enough to think that she was inside those walls and that he trusted her. Now she knew that Harry wasn’t capable of trusting anyone. He had a good heart but he was short on trust and set in his ways. “No football practice.”
“I have to show up, but I’ll tell them that I’m hurt.”
“Will they know how you got hurt?”
“No.”
“Will you tell them?”
Instinctively Ron sensed the danger in the question. It invited conspiratorial confidence, but Ron didn’t trust it. There were always consequences. “Yes,” he lied.
Ron stood in front of Coach Peters in the coaches’ office.
“How did you hurt your leg?”
Ron had stripped off his shoes and pants but left his underwear and shirt on when he went to see the coach. He knew that Peters would want to see the knee. The day’s walking and the lack of ice had caused it to swell noticeably and it was warm to the touch.
“I fell.”
“What were you doing when you fell?”
“I was in the park running sprints, coach.”
“Were you alone?”
Coach Peters suspected that the answer wasn’t true but he wanted to know if any of his other players were involved. “No coach, I was with some friends.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No, coach.”
“Looks to me like it should be looked at. I can’t have you practice on that leg, Ronnie.”
Ron felt the ease of relief flow through him. Coach Peters would never have called him Ronnie if he was pissed.

Chapter 64
Reading the paragraphs that his students had written about Poe, Ron was surprised that they seemed incapable of separating the actions of the author from the actions of the main character. They write about Poe’s cruelty to animals and about how guilt had driven Poe to write the story as a confession.
Ron was feeling pretty guilty himself. The sight of Carl Flack being dragged down the hallway and then the notice in his mailbox to remove him from the class lists and determine a grade for the work that he’d down so far, left Ron feeling that he had done the wrong thing. At Our Lady of the Forlorn, Ron would have talked to the student. He would have had input into what happened. But his girls would never have acted this way.
Mark Simon had written, “Poe is trying to expiate his thoughts by revealing them and turning them into something better than they were.” Ron smiled. Well at least he’d gotten the difference between author and character.
When the phone rang, Ron expected it to be Celeste, but Elena, one of his former and best students said, “Hello, Mr. Tuck, it’s Elena Rodriguez.”
Ron felt his face break into an immediate smile.
“I hope that I haven’t reached you at a bad time, have I?”
“Not at all Elena. I’m just reading essays. I could use a break.”
“Are they as good as our essays used to be?”
Ron laughed. There was no reason to tell her that these boys had been better prepared than her classmates had been. That was surely true but she didn’t need to hear it. What was also true was that they were nowhere near as sensitive as his girls were. “I don’t think that anything will quite touch me the way that you girls did,” said Ron. It was an honest response and it avoided hurting her feelings.
“Mr. Tuck, I need advice.”
Ron’s mind flashed on when she had called him from a bathroom with a boyfriend waiting in the next room and wanting to have sex with her and her asking him what she should do. Ron laughed in his best teasing way. “I think that you’re old enough to make that decision for yourself now, Elena.”
He could feel the girl blush right through the phone. She laughed. “Not about that, Mr. Tuck. I have that figured out. I can’t believe that I did that and that I was actually able to look you in the eyes for the rest of the year.”
“It was fine Elena. How can I help you?”
“I hate it here, Mr. Tuck. I never knew what racism really was until I got to Princeton.”
Ron face grew troubled. His mind flashed on his old friend Sister Bernadette who had accused Ron of setting his students up for failure because he wanted to be special by making them be more special. “Tell me what’s going on Elena.”
“They look down on the scholarship students. They keep us in our own dorm. They treat us like we are charity cases who need to remember how lucky we are to be here. One of my classmates actually said that her tuition was so high because she was also paying off my tuition.”
“How are your grades?”
“My grades are fine. It’s the people who suck. It’s Americans who suck.”
“Come on Elena. I’m American and so are you.”
“I’m Puerto Rican, Mr. Tuck, and the more I learn about what was done to my country the more I hate being American.”
“Maria, if you lower yourself to that, they win.”
“They already won and they want to make sure that I know it and never forget it.”
“So what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I called you.”
“Elena you are succeeding academically. You are too tough to let prejudice stop you at this point in your life.”
“You don’t know what it’s like here. They look at you like you are a lower life form, someone who should be waiting on them in a restaurant if you are lucky enough to have a job. They don’t care how smart you are. They want you to know that you will never be as good as they are.”
“Elena, do you have friends?”
“Sure I do. I have the other scholarship students who live with me and eat with me and who go to classes with me and also get treated like shit.”
Ron hesitated. He wasn’t sure what to say to her. He didn’t doubt her voracity but he didn’t want her to be weak. “Elena?”
“Yes?”
“Stop whining.” He knew that she must feel like he’d slapped her in the face. “You’re there to get an education and maybe this is part of your education. Did you think that it was going to be easy to change the world?”
Her voice seemed to shrink. “No.”
“You’re letting it get to you.”
Her voice got stronger again. “Of course I am. I’m human and I’m sensitive and I don’t want to be treated this way.”
“You’re Puerto Rican and you’re from Newark. You’ve seen more of life than they have. You haven’t been sheltered.”
“Believe it or not I was sheltered from this until now.”
“So you want to give up. You want to have come all this way just to give up?”
“No, I don’t want to give up.”
“Then stop whining and get on with it.”
They talked for a few more minutes, but he could tell that she wanted to hang up the phone now. She didn’t ask any questions about his life and so he never told her that he was getting married. It was harder to get back to his papers after the phone call. Was it possible that Bernadette had been right?

Chapter 65
The doctor’s office was in an old home that had a fireplace that had been stoned shut. There was a perimeter of chairs that had varying degrees of comfort. Marjorie was thumbing a magazine. Ron was staring at each aspect of the room and rubbing his hands along his jean covered thighs. Most of the people were old and sat patiently. It seemed incongruous when someone was there alone. Everybody went to the doctor’s office with someone.
The wait seemed to go on forever. People judged how many others were in front of them by surveying who was seated in the room when they arrived. There were pocket doors that led into Dr. Polino’s office. His desk was visible each time they opened. There was a second door through which patients left. The examining room was off to his right and just had an open arch between it and the front, conference room. The office smelled of antiseptic alcohol.
Dr. Polino treated Ron when he had asthma attacks. Ron used to go to a doctor who had been one of Rocky’s family. He liked Doctor Merck, but that was just something else that changed when Rocky left them. “So what seems to be the problem Ronald?”
“I hurt my knee.”
“How did that happen?”
“I was playing football. I landed wrong.”
“Let’s take a look at it.”
Ron pulled down his pants while Marjorie waited in the conference room. She didn’t want to see his swollen knee again. It made her start to cry.
The doctor probed and bent and twisted Ron’s leg. He could feel it starting to swell again. The doctor was making it worse. Ron winced and when he couldn’t help it, he yelped. His eyes were involuntarily fixed on the distant figure of Marjorie and he watched her, after each yelp had passed, recovering from it.
“You have what we call a hot knee, Ronald. It’s swollen and there is fluid that has built up inside of it. Sometimes, with rest and elevation, it can heal itself. Other times the fluid needs to be drawn out.”
“Ok,” said Ron.
“You can get dressed now.” Dr. Polino walked to his desk, sat down and took out his prescription pad. He was pretty certain that the knee was going to need to be drained, but there was a chance of reabsorption because he was so young.
When Ron was dressed, Marjorie came out of the corner of the conference room and sat in one of the chairs facing Dr. Polino’s desk. Ron limped over and sat in the other chair. His knee had felt so much better before he came here. “This will help the swelling to go down. I need to see him again in two weeks. Until then I want Ron,” Polino turned from Marjorie and directed his words to Ron. “Until then, no strenuous activity, no sports and you are to sleep with a pillow under your knee. Avoid stairs whenever you can. Do not take gym.”
Ron felt like each statement was a punch in his stomach. “What about school?” said Marjorie.
“Keep him home for the next few days. That knee really needs to stay elevated if it had any chance of draining. Ronald, use ice whenever it feels hot.”
For the next three days, Ron felt like he was living in a cocoon that brought him back to a time when he was happy. There was no homework. There was no time to go to bed or to wake up. There were morning TV programs that he’d almost forgotten had existed. As the swelling went down and his range of motion improved, his hopes soared. Football players had injuries, but they got better. Even the great Frank Gifford had been knocked out of commission for a season. Maybe everything was going to be ok.

Chapter 66

It was a seven on seven drill, something that was done for the linemen to improve the crispness of their timing and to learn to move like a unit. Ron was running the drill with Artie Harris but he felt that the holes were opening too slowly. Finally he handed the center a ball and said, “Oh my count, snap it back to me.” The players looked confused. Artie looked confused. “I’m going to run through the holes, don’t tackle me,” said Ron.
He stood in a shotgun position that would roughly mimic how far behind the line the running back would be. He would wait a beat to simulate the handoff, and then he would run through the hole. He felt the rush of adrenaline rush through him as he ran and planted and cut up into the hole. The play got crisper. He did it again and again. Bodies were flying around him, he loved it! He’d forgotten what this felt like. He had been sure that he would never feel it again.
When the drill ended, the coaches gave the team a water break. Artie came over and said out of the side of his mouth, “You’re fucking crazy.”
Ron nodded and grinned. “So they tell me.”
“God-damned craziest, animal, English teacher I ever met.”
Ron laughed and felt his chest swell.
In the coaches’ room, Artie said to Paul Pamenteri, gesturing at Ron, “This maniac was taking the ball up through the holes in a seven on seven.”
Paul looked up at Ron in disbelief, “What for?”
“I think that it improves our timing,” said Ron.
“I can’t afford to have you getting hurt,” said Steve Ferry.
Ron nodded. He had almost felt unstoppable, but maybe they were right. He couldn’t afford him getting hurt either.
Ron showered and changed back into his street clothes and walked down to the teachers’ room where he’d left his book bag. Larry Viola was there and he was working some scissors on a piece of cloth.
“Hi Larry.”
“Hey Ron, what do you think?”
Larry draped what Ron now saw was a sheet over his head. He had been cutting out eyeholes.
“What’s that for?”
Larry beamed excitedly. “I convinced Brother Howard to let me try my pre-game rally idea. This is going to be for when we play East Side.”
Ron eyes got larger. “What do you mean?”
“They’re known as the Ghosts, so when their bus pulls in, I’m going to be there with a group that I get together to help me and we’ll be wearing these.”
“You can’t do that,” hollered Ron.
“Brother said I could try it out. I have his permission.”
“Larry, do something else.”
“Why?”
“Paterson East Side is basically an all-Black and Hispanic school.”
“So?”
“Are you fucking crazy? They are going to come to an all-White suburban school and be met by a group of people with sheets over their heads?”
“They won’t take it that way.”
“They sure the fuck will and they’ll never get off the bus and they’ll go to the newspapers and you will be so screwed that you won’t even know what hit you.”
“Well, I’m doing it. It’s all in good fun. They’re the Ghosts.”
“And you’re a moron.”
“Fuck you. I don’t need your approval.”
Ron was in a quandary. When he had gone to Brother O’Malley before, the results had been brutal. If he went to Brother Howard about this, Larry Vila could be in serious trouble. Why were these things finding him? He’d just wanted to change and go to see Celeste and Angel but now here he was stuck with this mess. Larry couldn’t be that naïve to think that he could do something like that, could he? He was a history teacher for Christ’s sake.
Ron saw Brother Howard walking back to his office puffing his after dinner cigar. He sighed and put the book bag down. Damn that thing was heavy. “Brother can I have a moment?”
Brother Howard smiled and said, “Sure Ron, come on in.”
Ron sat in the office as Brother Howard turned the lights on and slide down in back of his desk. “How was practice?”
“We’re getting better.”
“Are your classes going well?”
“Yes, Brother. I’m enjoying them.”
Brother Howard looked perplexed. Classes were going well. Practice had been good. He hoped that Ron wasn’t going to need time off or worse still have found a new job and need to leave them. “How can I help you Mr. Tuck?”
“Brother, I know about the pep rallies that you gave Larry Viola permission to organize.”
“Alright.” He puffed his cigar and scarped the ash into the ashtray. This wasn’t going to be some foolish thing about coaches being above all of this was it? No, Tuck didn’t seem like the type.
“Brother he’s planning to have kids wear sheets over their heads when we play East Side.”
Brother Howard’s laugh was more like a guffaw. “You’re joking right?”
“I wish that I was. He’s in the faculty room now, cutting eyeholes into sheets.”
Howard guffawed again. “Well, he can’t do that.”
“I tried to tell him Brother but I honestly don’t think that he believes that it is a problem.”
“Why don’t you just go on home now, and I’ll casually wander in to see what’s going on. We’ll keep this conversation to ourselves.”
Ron felt relief. “Thank you Brother.”

It was about eight o’clock in the evening when Celeste carried Angel, straight from her bath, down into the basement. She still wore a diaper at night, and she was wearing a lilac nightgown. She crawled into his arms with her brown eyes filled with wonder and wrapped her very small and fragile arms around Ron’s neck. Celeste slid in next to them and entwined her feet with Ron’s feet.
A surge of the need to provide and protect rushed through Ron’s body with one of the most delightful jolts that he’d ever felt. Angel purred like a cat and put her small hands up against each of his ears and leaned in to kiss him. Ron felt his spirit soar. She was magical at this moment.
Celeste watched the love affair with a warm and heartfelt smile. She wished with everything had she had inside of her that this had been his baby, and would be his child.
Angel nestled between them and wiggled her body from one to the other and then drifted off to a contented sleep. Celeste and Ron gazed into each other’s eyes and smiled.

Chapter 67
Ron was standing in the main office, on the first floor of Jersey Catholic. He’d never been here before. The female clerk said, “What is it?” Her tone wasn’t hostile, just businesslike.
“I need an elevator pass,” said Ron. He offered up the note from the doctor’s prescription pad.
She read it. Ron watched her hands and then her face. “One moment.” Her tone was clipped and she turned away from the counter to prepare the pass. Elevators were reserved for faculty and those students who had incurred some form of injury that would grant them a temporary privilege. Anyone requiring that privilege on a continual basis was not considered for admission.
Brother Kelly was the school principal. He made it a point of delivering each elevator pass personally. The elevators were old and elegant and Kelly wished to keep their usage to a minimum. “What seems to be the problem with you, Ronald Tuck?” Kelly glanced down at the card to be sure of the name as he spoke it.
“I hurt my knee. The doctor says that I shouldn’t climb stairs.”
“And how did you hurt your knee?”
“I’m on the football team,” said Ron.
Kelly handed Ron the signed pass. “Let’s hope your recovery is speedy, Ronald Tuck.”
The elevators had steel grates that slid closed and Ron stood towards the back trying not to be conspicuous as he rode up to his floor. Teaches got on and then got off. Some of them eyed him suspiciously. Ron fought the urge to hold up his pass each time one of them looked at him.
In the class, he found that the position into which one piece desk molded him was uncomfortable. He could bend it far enough to put his foot on the floor but after a few minutes it began to throb. He tried sliding down and extending his legs until they straightened. Then that became uncomfortable and he tried sitting up again. It was this progression of positions that filled his next few hours.
Because he had missed three days of school, he was behind with everything. As his assignments mounted, so did his sense of panic. By lunchtime, he was depressed and anxious. He got into the elevator while some students walked quickly passed him. He could hear their feet going down the stairs quickly, the way that he used to be able to go down the stairs. In the lunchroom, he tried to avoid being jostled. Dr. Polino had wrapped his knee in an ace bandage, but when he’d tried to do it, it had creases. All of the sliding down and straightening had made the creases worse and now they dug into the back of his knee. They made it sore and impossible for him to think about anything other than his knee.
When Brother Delban asked him to conjugate the verb to carry, Ron explained that he had been absent. Delban walked over to him and rapped his knuckles down on top of Ron’s head. He recited the first three variations of the verb, accenting each part of the recitation with a rap on the top of Ron’s head with his knuckle. Ron closed his eyes and waited for Delban to finish. Now there was a throb on the top of his head, and he fought the urge to rub it. He stared at the clock, wishing that by some miracle it would move more quickly, but it didn’t.
By the time he climbed the stairs to his apartment, his leg was throbbing and the knee had swollen up again and was hot. With some effort, he got his shoes off and pulled his pants down and unwrapped the badly creased ace bandage. His leg felt better after he took the bandage off, like it could breathe. Why did everything that the doctor told him to do make his knee hurt worse?
Ron tried to think of something to look forward to, but he couldn’t. The tension of this was building inside of him and he had no way to get it out. He lay on his bed and turned on the radio. The End of the World was playing. He closed his eyes as Blue Velvet played and then he was asleep.

Chapter 68
Celeste and Ron were talking on the telephone. “We should start looking for places to have the reception,” she said.
“Isn’t it too soon for that?”
“Some people book these things a year in advance,” said Celeste.
“Why?”
“They just do. There’s a lot to consider. Ron, I have something to tell you.”
“OK.”
“I’m going to have my marriage annulled.”
“How can you do that? I thought you could only do that if you hadn’t had sex.”
“In the Catholic Church you can do it if one of the people tries to avoid having children.” Andrew Canigliaro had surely qualified for that. The problem was that there was now a baby and he had accepted the responsibility to contribute to her support. But Celeste was willing to trade. She would allow him unsupervised visitation if he agreed to the annulment.
“Are we just going to have like a cookie cutter wedding?” said Ron.
“I hope not. I think that we can do better than that.”
“I do too. I think it’s why I have always hated weddings.”
“We’ll make ours special and memorable,” said Celeste.
“I think so too.” Ron thought and felt and spoke. “I don’t blame anyone for having doubts about us.” He stopped and smiled and then laughed. “That’s not really true.” He heard The Rolling Stones in his head and Mick Jagger singing those words. Ron said, “I said that and then I heard that Rolling Stones song that begins I’m a leaping screaming monkey. All my friends are junkies, but that’s not really true. Do you remember that song?”
“I remember it. Why did you think about that?”
“Just because of the words I guess. I’m not sure. Things pop in and out of my head all the time.”
“I don’t blame them for doubting, but I wish they could be more kind about it.”
“My dad’s been ok,” said Ron hopefully. “The only thing is that I’m not sure if it’s just because he doesn’t care enough about what happens.”
Celeste heard that and it caused a ripple to pass through her. She knew that her parents cared, didn’t she? She felt herself drawn to his voice when he spoke again.
“Part of me is like him. I used to think that part was cool and strong.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you can put yourself in a place where nobody can get to you.”
“I never wanted to be in that kind of place,” said Celeste. Another ripple. Was that as honest as she could be? “Maybe I did, a little, but I like people.”
“So, my mom wants to have the ceremony at her church.”
“Ron, there has to be a priest. There just does.”
“I thought about that. There’s a guy that I teach with. He’s from my old neighborhood. Maybe he would do it. He’s Italian. They could do it together, Protestant and Catholic.”
“I need to get the annulment for him to be able to do that.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” said Ron.
They listened to each other breathe for a while. It was comforting.

Chapter 69
It was a twist to the right that caused the pop to happen again. He pressed his foot down when he felt it and thought that maybe it had popped back into place. Somehow he had told himself that his knee was just out of place and could pop back at any time. He smiled as he felt the jolt. He’d seen things like that on TV where an arm or leg could just be popped back into place. Maybe that was what was happening. He wished very hard for that to be what was happening.
His first step felt spongy. But at least he felt stable. Maybe that was it. A few moments later he felt it starting to swell and reached down and felt the heat coming from it.
It went on like that for several weeks. Ron was now being given a hard time about the elevator pass and told that he would have to renew it every week and that he would have to produce a new note from the doctor each time that it had to be renewed. Life had changed dramatically. There were few days that went by without him getting slapped for one thing of the other.
He told Coach Peters that he was going to have to leave the team.
“That knee hasn’t gotten any better?”
“No Coach, it seems to be getting worse.”
“Tuck, you know you have to want it to get better.” The coach eyed him with an unsympathetic gaze. Injury was weakness and when a player couldn’t respond, Peters never lost the feeling that it was at least in part due to a lack of desire, a lack of toughness.
“I do want it to get better, Coach. Football was the best thing about my life and now it’s gone.”
“Clear out your locker then, Tuck.”
Ron felt slapped again. That was it? Just clear out your locker?
“Make sure that you’ve turned everything in. We have records of everything that we issued to you.”
That was so not how anyone who was on the team was spoken to. Ron felt the distance. The team had moved on. The coach had moved on. He was no longer a part of it. He sat in front of his locker and tried to sort everything out. When it was empty, a locker room felt like a deserted hovel. There were only a few things there that belonged to him. He didn’t want them anymore and threw them into the garbage.
The limp home was now something that he was used to. It was weird how the pain became more manageable as he became accustomed to it. He replayed the scene in his mind. He felt like the discarded soda bottle that he saw lying in an alley. Then an anger rose up in him and he thought to himself that he really didn’t need the team or football or anything.
His knee was tapped for the first time in late November. It was a Friday. He was being taken to his Aunt Dottie’s house. The rules were absolutely no stairs, no walking, he was to keep his knee elevated and stay off it completely. The doctor gave him a set of crutches. Somehow they felt comforting. They were proof of his injury. They would tell everyone that he hadn’t been faking or had wanted to not get better. There would be another few days away from school.
The trip home took him passed Jersey Catholic and Ron was shocked to see that the school was being dismissed. Marjorie was driving the Chevy that reminded her of Rocky. Ron slid down in the seat as they passed the school. He didn’t want anyone to see him.
“I wonder why school is being let out?”
Marjorie didn’t answer. The doctor’s visit had been expensive. She felt shaken by the size of the needles that the doctor had inserted into his leg. She knew that he must be in pain, although Dr. Polino said that he’d given him a cortisone shot and that in a few days that his knee should feel a lot better and that the swelling would go down for good.
When they were a safe distance from the school, Ron reached out and turned on the radio. Instead of music he heard the announcer say, “At this point there is no way to know how badly the President has been injured. There are reports that he was hit in his head. To repeat, shots were fired at President John Kennedy’s motorcade in Dallas about forty five minutes ago. There are reports of multiple injuries. The President is believed to be among those who have been injured. Texas Governor John Connelly is also believed to be among the injured. The President and Governor Connelly have been taken to Parkland Hospital. Defense Forces have been placed on alert.”
Ron turned to his mother but she didn’t seem to be reacting. “Do you think that he’ll be alright?”
“I’m sure that he will,” said Marjorie. “Those people are trained to take care of him.” Marjorie was only half listening. She was worried about the bill and what George was going to say.
Dorothy had the back room all prepared for him. The crutches were of no use in her house and so Ron left them in the kitchen and limped slowly back down the long hall to his Uncle’s room. Dorothy had pulled out the sofa bed and added extra pillows for his knee.
“I’m going to fix you a plate of cookies and get you some milk,” said his aunt.
Ron tried to smile. The feel of her apartment was comforting and no one was going to holler at him or slap him here. Dorothy turned on the TV as she left to get the cookies and milk.
Ron saw Walter Cronkite in his shirt sleeves. There were people moving around in back of him. Everyone looked tense and nervous and busy. The scene shifted to a larger room and in back of a scene of milling and crying people, Ron heard that there were unconfirmed reports that the President was dead. He sat up bolt straight in the bed. His knee didn’t seem to mind. He blotted out everything else in the room and stared hard at the TV. The camera shifted back to Cronkite who reported that President Kennedy was receiving blood transfusions in the emergency room. That must mean that he was still alive! Ron hoped with all his might that everything w aging to be ok. Then a voice from off camera said that there was a rumor that was circulating that the President was dead. Ron felt his mind go numb and waited to hear what Cronkite said. Until Walter Cronkite said it, it wasn’t true and rumors were just rumors. Then there was another report from the hospital itself that said one of the doctors was now reporting that President Kennedy was dead. Ron felt his eyes welling up with tears. Then Cronkite said that Father Hubert had been called into the operating room to administer the sacrament of last rites to the President. Then Cronkite said that there was a twenty five year old man who had been taken into custody at the scene, he interrupted himself to say that correspondent Dan Rather was now confirming reports that the President was dead. Tears were streaming down Ron’s face as his aunt walked back into the room with the cookies and milk. She placed them on the table and sat down with Ron to watch.
The TV showed pictures of the ball room where President Kennedy was scheduled to speak. People were praying. Cronkite said that Vice President Lyndon Johnson had not been seen at Parkland but that there were unconfirmed reports that he had been wounded slightly in his arm. Ron thought, why couldn’t they have killed him instead? His aunt was sitting hunched forward with her hands clasped. Marjorie had gone back to work as soon as she dropped Ron off. He was worried about her because her face had that tense look that it seemed to always have now. Then Ron realized that his Aunt Dottie was praying. He had never seen her pray before. Cronkite reported that some four hundred police officers in Dallas had been called in on their day off because there had been reports that there might be trouble in Dallas. Instantly, Ron hated Texas and everyone who was from there. Cronkite reported that it had only been in late October when United Nations Ambassador Stevenson had been assaulted in Dallas. Ron thought, why does anyone go there? Why don’t we just stay the fuck out of Texas altogether? Then Cronkite said it. It was official. The President had died thirty-eight minutes earlier. Cronkite took off his glasses took a deep breath and appeared to be crying. Ron cried too. His Aunt Dottie cried. They sat staring at the TV in disbelief, tears rolling down their faces. Cronkite gathered himself and said, Lyndon Johnson would be sworn in as the thirty-sixth President of the United States shortly.
Ron watched the TV endlessly. He couldn’t stop. A man who had been there with his son and was waving to the President and the President was waving back and then he was shot and the man saw the expression on his face and then he was shot again and he was gone down into the limousine. Ron cried again. Four years ago, before Rocky left, before George intruded, they had taken him to a rally at the Newark Mosque to see JFK. Kennedy was late. They waited endlessly. Just when Marjorie was saying that she had to go to work at seven am, he was there. He was tan, he was filled with a light that seemed to shine from him. Ron was transfixed. Understanding what he said seemed less important than being able to have been there. Now he was dead. People were talking about watching him die. There were pictures of his wife and then a photo was released inside of an airplane. Johnson looked flabby and old and grisly. Jacqueline Kennedy looked like she didn’t really know where she was or what was happening.
Dorothy had switched the channel over to NBC. Robert Abernathy was reporting on the return of the President’s body, along with the garish presence of the new man who thought that he was the president. There were a couple thousand people waiting. Many were members of Congress. Ron watched the mostly dark screen that showed the blinking lights of the plane’s arrival. Somehow those lights seemed sacred and important. Then the plane was visible and the words The United States of America could be seen lettered along the side of it. A row of small windows were visible underneath the words but nothing could be seen from them. Diplomats and Cabinet officers waited for the arrival. Ron believed with all his heart that they waited to be in the presence of that person who had been John Kennedy. Lyndon Johnson, in his mind, was merely a passenger. It was so very dark as the honor guard walked up to the plane. Ron was alone now. It was late. Everyone else had gone to bed. Then he heard a shuffling and Dorothy came in. She sat down without saying anything.
“I just can’t sleep, Aunt Dot.”
“Me either,” she said.
They moved a special piece of apparatus out to accommodate the coffin. The men struggled to remove the casket. Each jostle felt almost like a slap. The dark brown casket glistened in the dark and Ron felt that it must be that light that he had seen, the light in back of the words that had listened to and read. They reported that it was a bronze casket.
“This is so bad,”
“It almost reminds me of the war,” said Dorothy.
A Navy ambulance arrived to transport the casket. JFK had always been Navy. It was fitting. No one knew exactly where the body would be taken. One report said that it would be flown directly by helicopter to the White House. Another said that it was going to Bethesda Naval Hospital.
“How many times have you seen this now?” said Dorothy.
“I don’t know, a few. It just seems wrong to stop watching.”
And then Robert was there and he was holding her hand and helping her down. Ron watched it for the third time. It wasn’t going to be any different but it right to be here right now. She got into the ambulance with the casket. One man in a military navy hat was opening the door. People were milling around.
“She’s lucky to be alive,” said Dorothy.
“I bet she doesn’t feel lucky,” said Ron.
Dorothy felt a twinge and stared at him. At this moment he seemed much older than he was.
People moved in formation as the ambulance drove away. Then they showed Lyndon Johnson and his wife who was called Lady Bird. They looked like vultures to Ron as they walked out from the plane. People were shaking his hand. Ron felt anger. The congressman and cabinet members advanced. They were there to greet him. They hadn’t come to see if anything was left of the light that he had seen and knew was still there. Only his wife and brother still saw it. But Ron had seen it. His Aunt Dottie has seen it too. Then Johnson came to a group of microphones to speak. Ron didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Ron closed his eyes and didn’t want to listen.
When he opened them, a man with short brown hair and a bruise over his left eye requested assistance. He said that he hadn’t been charged with any crime and that he was requesting legal representation. He said that he’d been hit by a policeman. Ron lay there and watched. His knee was an afterthought.
It was reported that a rifle with a telescopic site had been found in the Texas School Book Depository. There were there spent cartridges and one shell left in the chamber.
Oswald was just wearing a t-shirt now and he said, “I’m a patsy.”
Ron didn’t know what that meant but he hated the sight of Oswald.

Chapter 70
“What is it about death that is so intriguing?” Ron Tuck looked out at his class. “That was one of the themes that Poe wrote about almost endlessly. In last night’s story, he used the word ‘House’ in several different ways. For instance. There is an actual crack in the physical structure of the house. The word house here can also be used to represent the word family. It was once considered that a family could be identified by the word house which actually referred to its bloodlines and the branches of its family. On top of that, the house in this story seems to have the attributes of a character in the story. The way that Poe explores all of this and wraps it into a story is the use of an extended metaphor.” He turned and wrote that on the board. His students took notes. “What is an extended metaphor?”
He watched while his students turned to the back of the book and looked up the meaning. Mark Simon, who was always the first to raise his hand when Ron asked questions like this, shot his hand into the air. Ron waited. Slowly two more hand raised and then a fourth hand went into the air. Ron smiled. Patience and silence were two of the things that he had learned could serve a teacher very well in the classroom. It was learning to trust the power of the room. Then it hit him. The house and the classroom shared a power.
“When you read this story again tonight,” he paused and waited for their reaction, the groan was audible. “I want you to pay particular attention to Poe’s description of the house and compare it with his description of Roderick Usher. However, in Usher you will see evidence of the House of Usher, meaning the entirety of his family line. I want you to find examples of this and to also find five vocabulary words that you think will be of use to you.” The class wrote down the assignment. Ron was pleased with them and he showed it. “From what I see in this classroom, college level work is not going to be a problem. I see smart and capable students who are ready to do their study.”
Back in the teacher’s room, Father Tom Orecchio was smoking a cigarette. Ron slid in across from him and said, “Tom, I’m getting married.”
Orecchio exhaled and said, “Congratulations.”
“I was wondering if you are allowed to do an ecumenical service?”
Because he was not affiliated with a parish, Tom didn’t get a lot of call to do weddings and baptisms. They were easy money and most always went to the parish priests. Sometimes, a family member would ask, but they would expect that it would be done for nothing, or at the family discount as they called it. “Sure, I can pretty, much do any fucking thing that I want,” said father Tom. He was fond of cursing and enjoyed the reactions that people had to hearing the word fuck come from a man in a collar.
“Well, here’s the thing. I was a convert and really I’m not the best Catholic in the world.”
Orecchio laughed. “No, really? You’ve got to be shitting me,” His receding red hair and freckles led the students to believe that he had a diabolical side to him. He had come to the priesthood late. He was almost forty years old when he was ordained. But he had been stupid and gone on a diet of grapefruit in order to lose weight for his big day. Something had gone wrong and now his kidneys had stopped working. Every third day he went for dialysis and the sessions left him worn old, cold inside, and cranky. He’d had dialysis that morning and was in no mood for bullshit.
“Celeste is Italian and it would mean a lot to her family to have a priest there.”
“Sure, why not.”
“Where’s the wedding going to be?”
Ron swallowed. He knew this part wasn’t going to go over well. “The Glen Ridge Congregational Church.”
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“That’s where my family moved to when we left the old neighborhood.”
“You must have fit in really well there, Ronnie.”
It never ceased to surprise Ron that people from Newark always slipped into calling him Ronnie. He hated the name Ronnie and when he went to college he made sure that people knew him as Ron. “Not so well, no.”

Chapter 71
Cronkite reported that Evangelist Billy Graham had a premonition that something awful was going to happen to Kennedy in Dallas and had tried to reach him and warn him not to go. It did not occur to Ron how convenient that was to say afterwards. He had been taken to see Billy Graham in Madison Square Garden with Rocky and Marjorie. His mother had urged him to go forward and declare himself as saved, but he didn’t. Now he wished that he had.
Then Cronkite said that a small blonde boy followed by two pretty girls had plucked hibiscus blossoms and laid them in the doorway to a home where Kennedy used when he was in Florida. Things like that were happening all over the country. Ron felt bitter that he had to stay here, but did admit that his leg was feeling better today, and it was cold out and raining anyway.
The TV scene shifted to Washington DC, where a reporter named Herman said that while the Secret Service knew, and President Kennedy knew, that it was impossible to protect him in a motorcade through a large city with thousands of windows, that if it had been raining it Dallas, if the rain had lasted just one more hour, that the president would have been underneath the large, plastic protective bubble that would have saved his life. They said that the Secret Service had always urged the President to use the bubble but that it liked to be seen by the people. Ron felt another wave of anguish wash over him. Maybe if he had listened, none of this would happen. Why would anyone want to be seen by the people in Texas? The reporters discussed the love that Kennedy had for going beyond rope lines to shake hands and let the people of America feel as close to him as possible and how his predecessor, President Eisenhower did not share that view and more often than not acceded to the wishes of the military. Ron felt anger mixed with his grief. Were they trying to say that the President had brought this on himself?”
Then Cronkite was back. Ron wondered how long it had been since Walter Cronkite had slept. He reported that people were gathered in front of the White House and were silently standing and watching dignitaries file in to pay their last respects to the President, who was now lying in state in the East Room. A man said that he was trying to picture JFK as the way that he was, a hero and an inspiration to people and that he just couldn’t see him anymore. He was a tough looking man with a hard face and yet it was creasing and tears were running out of his eyes as he spoke. Ron had never seen so many men cry in his life. It made him feel better that he couldn’t control his tears. Then a Black man who was smartly dressed and wearing a tight brimmed hat like Ron saw his father sometimes wearing said that he had no words to describe his feelings and that the White House now seemed empty and that no one could fill it the way that JFK had. Ron felt himself nodding. Certainly it couldn’t be filled by a guy from Texas of all places. It was then that the thought occurred to him that maybe Texas had wanted their guy to be President and that maybe Texas had put Oswald up to it. Reporters were saying that the downpour of rain had driven most of the people standing across the street from the White House away but that large numbers of people had stood there all night just staring at the floodlit north portico.
Almost on cue the scene shifted to Texas. Police Chief Jessie Curry was surrounded by a group of reporters in the hallway. He was asked a lot of questions about how he knew that Oswald was the man and how Oswald had been apprehended and about whether Oswald had a lawyer. Ron didn’t quite understand the answers and he could care less if Oswald had a lawyer. The scene shifted to Cronkite who said that Oswald’s mother had stated that her son was a good boy and that she was willing to pay for a lawyer. Cronkite added that Lee Harvey Oswald had been the youngest of three sons that Mrs. Oswald had raised on her own after the death of her husband. He died shortly after Oswald was born. Ron thought that they were saying that somehow the birth of Oswald had caused his father’s death. The grim thought that hit him next was that they were saying that it was because Oswald had been raised without a father’s influence, that this was one of the causes for what he had done. Why did they always make everything about broken homes? Did that mean that somehow he would grow up to do something awful because his parents had been divorced? Isn’t that what the cops had implied when he was caught with the knife? That he was damaged goods. He looked down at his knee. Well, they were right about one thing. That was for sure.
Cronkite then shifted the scene back to Dallas and Captain Glen King of the Dallas Police force said that a man who had been an associate of Lee Harvey Oswald had his house searched and that he had been invited in to be interrogated by police and that the interrogation was happening at that moment. He then said that the Dallas Police Force was asking that anyone who had been in the vicinity of the assassination and had taken pictures of it to please turn all of those pictures into the Dallas police department at the request of the FBI. King refused to identify the man who was being interrogated. Then a bombshell. Oswald had been interrogated by the FBI two weeks prior to the assassination. Ron wanted to scream. They had him and then they let him go?
Cronkite then reported that John Kennedy’s body was now lying in state in the East Room of the White House and that the casket was resting on the same structure that had been used to hold Abraham Lincoln’s casket after he had been assassinated. He then said that Jaqueline Kennedy had informed reporters that she had told her children, Caroline, age six, and John, age three, that their father had died.

Chapter 72
Celeste said, “I have a friend named Ricky, but everyone calls him Bottles. He’s a bartender and he could get us the alcohol for the reception at wholesale and he knows somebody who can tend bar.”
“That sounds great,” said Ron.
“There’s a catch,” said Celeste. “He’s my first husband’s best friend.”
Ron grinned into the pillow. He’d told her some about Robin and now he wanted to hear about Alex. “Tell me more about Alex.”
Celeste hesitated. Ron was surely one of the stranger people that she’d ever met. He wanted to know everything. She’d expected him to ask her to handle it, and he’d surprised her again. “Alex was exciting. Life was one long, large party and he changed the games often enough so that I was always interested.”
“What do you mean?” she could hear in Ron’s vice that he was grinning into the pillow.
“In our first apartment, we had a large room. It was in Kearny and we had this great apartment and instead of a living room we had these board games set up everywhere. Friends were always there and we moved from one board game to the other and then and then we’d go out and play softball and go to one or two or three of the bars and come back and play the games until Alex passed out.”
“Didn’t that get boring?”
Celeste hesitated. Should she really tell him the truth? Did she know what the truth was? “No it didn’t get boring because he kept changing things and he was so talented and big time people recognized his talent, but he couldn’t help submarining himself.” Celeste found that she was breathing easily into the phone as she told him these things. She knew that whatever she said, he would not think any less of her. What a strange feeling that was. It was almost disconcerting and she understood why women were attracted to Ron and then ran away from him. She understood in that instant that he would never stop. There would always be a probing and a searching and a next question and maybe more questions than she was ready for.
“I think that you loved him,” said Ron.
“I’m sure that I did.”
“Did he love you?”
Now that was a question that she hadn’t expected. She felt her heart beat a little faster. “I think that he thought that he did.”
“Robin said that about me. What does it mean?”
Danger signs blinked in back of her eyes. What was he searching for now? “It means that love has got to be more than just in your head and in your imagination.”
Ron felt a jolt. He let it pass through him and then he whispered, “I know.” There was a silence and while it wasn’t comfortable, it was necessary. The quiet electric hum of the phone lines between them, and the intimacy that it created, flowed. “I think that we can really love each other.” He said finally.
The words washed through her stronger than a blow of cocaine, which she loved.

Chapter 73

On the evening of the second day, it occurred to Ron that Jesus had been crucified on a Friday. He felt like he was observing John Kennedy’s descent into hell. Some miniscule insanely-faithed part of him, dreamed of resurrection.
From Dallas, Captain Will Fritz, chief of detectives, announced that they had the case cinched but would not go into details. Brook Benton reported that Lee Harvey Oswald’s wife and mother had been up in the jail to see him. Ron wondered if they called him Lee Harvey. Had he really gone through life being called Lee Harvey? The route that Oswald would be soon taken from an upper floor to the garage on the ground floor in order to be transferred to the county jail was broadcast.
The scene shifted back to a view of the White House and Cronkite’s voice said that John Kennedy’s son, who the President referred to as John John, and who would be three on Monday the day of his father’s funeral, was reportedly walking through the halls of the White House saying, “ I don’t have anyone to play with.” Cronkite said that he was reported to have said that his father had been killed by a bad man. Then it was back to Brook Benton and Captain Will Fritz was described as one of the most astute law enforcement officials in the south west. He wore glasses and a white cowboy hat. He said that he felt very confident that he had his man in both the killings of the president and the killing of Officer Tippet. Ron hated the look of him and hated that he equated the killing of John Kennedy with the killing of some Texas cop.
Cronkite finally signed off saying that tonight there would be a memorial concert in honor of the president that was being performed by the Philadelphia Orchestra. He also announced that coverage of these events would continue nonstop through the President’s funeral on Monday.
When Ron woke up on Sunday morning his leg felt much better. He walked to the bathroom without a limp for the first time that he could remember he was actually able to urinate while standing up. Ron wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t seen his mother since Friday afternoon. She tended to stay away from him when he was sick. He didn’t take this as a lack of love on her part, rather he felt that she was letting him heal and didn’t like seeing him injured. He would tell his aunt to call her today and say that he wasn’t limping anymore.
Back at the TV, Ron heard Harry Reasoner say that they were shifting away from the coverage in Washington to go to Dallas, where Lee Harvey Oswald was being moved to the county jail. Turmoil was breaking loose and the report was that Oswald had been shot. An ambulance pulled into the garage, Oswald was wheeled out on a stretcher. The reporter said that he was ashen and unconscious and not moving. They had to wait while the armored truck that was supposed to transport Oswald was moved out of the way. People climbed into the back of the ambulance with Oswald. There was shouting and the newsmen were being cordoned off away from the actual place where the ambulance sat idling.
Then the scene shifted back to New York and Reasoner said, “We have re-racked that video tape that shows that whole scene of confusion. We will now roll it and you can see it as it happened.” It was dark and a bit confused and two men led Oswald out when suddenly a man who was described as wearing a black hat and a brown coat rushed forward and shot Oswald in the stomach. Ron stared in numb horror. What was happening? Was the world completely crazy? He felt frightened. Ron heard the reporter say over and over again, “Oswald has been shot, Oswald has been shot!” Then Reasoner was there again and said they were going back to Dallas for live coverage. The reporter asked a man in a police uniform how many shots had been fired. The man said, “One shot.” The reporter asked if the man was known to him and he said, “Yes, he is.” The reporter said that he knew that the officer could not divulge the name but would he tell them what business the man was in. The policeman answered, “I’d rather not say.”
Abruptly, the scene shifted back to Washington and Jacqueline Kennedy was standing dressed in black with a black veil over her face. Her daughter Caroline was on her left and her son John was on her right. The casket was being loaded onto a caisson. They carried it out as band music played a mournful brass song that seemed to blare and echo in the halls of the building as the honor guard carried out the body of President Kennedy. Dorothy came into the room and sat down next to Ron.
“Someone shot Oswald.”
“I knew they would. They were never letting him out of Dallas alive.”
“It’s just crazy. I don’t know how I feel. I’m glad that he’d dead but Texas is just a bad place. They’re all crazy.”
“His wife looks beautiful,” said Dorothy. She was holding a cup of coffee in her hands and staring at the TV. She put her coffee down and lit a cigarette.
Jacqueline Kennedy walked to the casket and kneeled and kissed it while Caroline held the hem of the flag that was draping it. John wasn’t with them. The reporter said that she was saying her last goodbye for today.
“Why are they putting her through this?” Aunt Dot. “With everybody watching this way?”
“They don’t know any better,” she answered.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of it.”
“She’s numb. She isn’t feeling anything right now. Her grief will really come later. I was her age when your Uncle Charlie died. He just went out one morning and then his brother called me and told me that he was dead.”
“How did he die?”
Dorothy drew in on her cigarette and said as she exhaled, “He had a cerebral hemorrhage?” This of course wasn’t true but she had, over the years, made it true by repeating it and not varying from it. If she ever told anyone the truth it would probably be Ronald, but he was still too young and if she told him now, he would tell his mother and she would start in again with questions and wanting to know what had happened to her father.
Then they were showing the footage of Oswald being shot and Dorothy thought that they led him right into it like he was an animal that was about to be slaughtered, but that was how it was down there.
“Will you tell my mom that my knee feels better?”
Dorothy looked at him and laughed in spite of the situation. “You mean tell her that it’s safe to come out now?”
Ron laughed too, then he felt bad for laughing while people were being shot and kissing caskets and losing their father. “She just gets upset when anything bad happens to me.”
“I’ll fix you some lunch,” said Dorothy. “Do you want to try to come to the table and eat it?”
“Yes.”
When Ron got back to the TV, it was two thirty in the afternoon. Cronkite was back. Ron wondered if he hadn’t been there on Sunday morning because he went to church. Church seemed very far away right now. Walter Cronkite reported that Lee Harvey Oswald was dead and that he had died in a room that was just ten feet from the room where President Kennedy had died. Cronkite said that he was taken down but a single bullet. Cronkite said that the man who shot Oswald had been identified as Jack Rubenstein who was known in Dallas as Jack Ruby. He had moved to Dallas from Chicago and ran two nightclubs there. He was fifty-two years old and was balding with black hair. Dallas police were reporting that they would charge him with the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald.
The scene shifted back to Washington and a reporter said in a subdued voice that just as Walter Cronkite had just reported that word was coming through to people in the Capital Plaza, many of whom had transistor radios and that a cheer had gone up from the far right hand side of the plaza. Ron didn’t feel like cheering but wondered if he should.
Then they were back in the studio and Dan Rather was showing a picture of Jack Ruby who had moved to Dallas from Chicago in 1948, and left his real name behind. He said that they were going to run a film that had been taken by George Phoenix who was a camera man. Rather directed the audience to pay particular attention to a man on the right, in the lower right hand corner who was wearing a black hat. Ron wondered why all the policemen down there wore white cowboy hats.
Rather narrated the scene as they showed it slow motion. Ron felt sick to his stomach. Then Cronkite was back saying that here was an associated press still photograph of Oswald just a split second before he was shot. Ruby’s hat looked gray with a black headband, Ron thought. He guessed that things just got confused in the heat of the moment.

Chapter 74
Practice was going smoothly. Ron was standing next to Artie Harris when James Fitzpatrick knocked Kirk Hammerfield off balance and he staggered and crashed into the back of Ron’s legs. Ron never saw it coming or even heard it. He was concentrating on a chart that Steve Ferry had given them on new line splits for the upcoming game with the Ghosts.
Ron heard the pop before he hit the ground. His face was in the grass. Electric shocks were shooting up his leg. His mind screamed, “Not again! Not again!” Everyone crowded around Coach Tuck who lay on the ground and tried not to cry or scream or move. It was his right knee. The one on which he had the second surgery. How could this be happening again?
Steve Ferry blew his whistle and hurried over to see what had happened. He looked at Artie. “Was he doing something stupid?”
Artie shook his head. “No, it was an accident. We were just standing here.”
“Can you stand up, Ron?” said Ferry.
“I’m not sure,” said Ron. His entire leg was throbbing with that all too familiar pain. Ron wanted to pound his head into the grass. He felt Artie and Steve left him up between them. The two brawny men accomplished this with ease. Ron weighed 175 pounds but he was a solid 175 and it wasn’t that easy to just lift him that way.
When they got him into the coaches’ room, Artie said “I’ve got something here that will help you.” He produced an immobilizer and fitted it to Ron’s leg outside of his pants. “This will keep you from aggravating it further until you can get to a doctor.”
“Maybe I won’t need a doctor.”
Artie looked into his eyes. “I heard it, Ronnie. I was standing right there.”

Chapter 75
“This is Walter Cronkite back in our CBS newsroom in New York. Lee Harvey Oswald the twenty-four year old, Marxist, pro-Castroite, which the Dallas police said they had a cinched case against, accused assassin of President Kennedy, was himself shot to death in Dallas an hour and a half ago.”
Ron saw the photograph in his mind. The still picture taken just before it all happened. One policeman, wearing a white hat and on his right, had his arm held open. The other policeman was gripping his left arm. The gun got stuck right into his ribs. He was confused. It looked so brutal.
Ron’s attention drifted back to the TV. Cronkite was saying that Rubenstein or Ruby as he was known in Dallas had no expressed political affiliations. Cronkite shifted to an interview that Dan Rather was conducting with a comedian who had been employed by Jack Ruby. The comedian said that he was a good guy who had always done right by him. Rather asked what kind of place the Carousel club was and the Comedian said that it was a nightclub that employed five or six exotic dancers. For a moment, involuntarily, Ron tried to picture exotic dancers. Then the comedian said that he had seen Lee Oswald in the Carousel Cub’s audience about eight or nine days ago. The Comedian, who was also an MC, was doing a memory exercise and he asked for audience participation. He remembered Oswald because he had participated. Rather asked if Oswald had been seen talking to Jack Ruby and the Comedian said that was fairly certain that Jack never knew that he was in the club. The Comedian said that he was sure that Jack Ruby carried a gun in a bag that he carried with him, regularly. He’d seen it once. It was small and short-nosed. Bill Demar said, “He carried it with him because he had the money.”
Rather asked, “Do you ever recall seeing any unsavory characters around the club?
“No,” the man who was now described as an Entertainer and MC for Jack Ruby.
The scene shifted to Washington and the large crowd of people who had been waiting were allowed to file passed the coffin, two abreast One of the soldiers who stood guard was wearing a green beret and the significance of his headpiece was described. The paintings that hung from the walls were described as being done by an aide to General Washington. They depicted four events that led up to the formation of the federal government. Ron felt his chest swell with pride. His country. His history. The line of people was endless. It was reported that for the next six to eight hours that the people would have a chance to say good-bye to their president by following this path. It was an endlessly mournful progression. People’s hearts brought them there and they just kept coming. It felt like the outpouring of a sea. They had to change the plans to close the doors to the Capitol Rotunda and the White House announced that the doors would remain open as long as there were people waiting to say goodbye. A flag draped the coffin. The honor guard could not help but stand at attention, even though they were allowed to stand at ease. The crowd advanced slowly like small people with large hearts. Together, everything about them was large. It was reported that President Eisenhower had worn a black armband yesterday in honor of his successor.
Then Cronkite sent the coverage back to Dallas and Dan Rather reported that there was yet a different angle to show the shooting of Oswald and ran that tape. It was like they couldn’t get enough of seeing him shot over and over and Ron wondered if there was some solace in seeing him killed again and again. Rather reported that more and more comments were coming in from friends of Jack Rubenstein and that they were all shocked by the event and that Jack Ruby had been able to shoot anyone. It was also reported that Rubenstein was known to many on the Dallas police force. Rather said that the truth seemed to be that Ruby was so well known to the Dallas police that no one thought anything of him being there. Ruby had been around the police station each day for the last several days offering to give reporters free drinks if they came to one of his clubs. Then Cronkite reported that Captain Will Fritz of the Dallas Police Department was now saying that with the death of Oswald the case of the assassination of President Kennedy was now closed. Cronkite reported that the death of Oswald came almost exactly forty-eight hours after Kennedy’s assassination and that it happened while eulogies were being said over the casket of the late President as it lay in state in the Capitol rotunda.
The scene shifted back and showed that the endless line of mourners was continuing to wait for their chance to pay last respects to Kennedy and that the line was flanked by blue uniformed policeman who stood at parade rest. So many people thought Ron and they all loved him. He could not grasp how so much love could be mixed with such a violent act. He felt the sadness and grief welling up inside of him again and tried to force it back. Ron wondered if they were mourning the TV images that had led them to believe that they knew this man or if they were mourning the loss of hope that he seemed to embody. Cronkite was now reporting that numerous threats against various officials in Dallas were coming in from all over the country. Most notably there had been anonymous threats sent to the mayor of Dallas and to members of the Dallas police force who had been shown on TV and to a lawyer who had defended Jack Ruby at a time before the killings. He had said on TV that if asked, he would defend Jack Rubenstein.

Chapter 76

Ron was having difficulty driving. He stretched his encased leg out across the hump in the middle of the floor of the squeak-mobile. He tried to work the pedals for the gas and break with his left leg but he was unaccustomed to using his left leg and it caused his body to be at an angle that had him staring almost out the driver’s side window rather than through the windshield. His leg was throbbing and the squeaking of the car seemed to announce him as damaged goods. He definitely could not drive on the highway like this and decided that he had no option other than to go to Celeste’s house.
Then he pictured Angel being frightened by the way that he looked and Anna holding it against him and taking it out on Celeste. He pulled his car over to the side of the road and unstrapped the Velcro that was holding the immobilizer in place. He reseated himself and drove home, painfully. He reattached the immobilizer and found that the stairs that had so difficult when he had previously hurt his knee, were now manageable, one step at a time.
He lay on his bed and took off the immobilizer and his pants. The sight of his knee caused a grimace to wash over him. It was swollen to the point of looking distorted. He limped into the kitchen for some ice and then dialed Celeste.
“Where are you?” she said.
“I’m home.”
Her voice sounded hurt. “I thought that you were coming for dinner. Angel has been sitting by the window waiting and listening for you.”
“I know. I didn’t want to frighten her.”
“What do you mean?”
“I got hurt at practice. There was an accident and I hurt my leg.”
Ron expected this to be greeted by anger. It wasn’t that he thought that Celeste was anything like his mother, but it was what he was used to.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“I don’t know. I’ll give a day or so and see what happens with the swelling.”
“I’m coming down there,” said Celeste.
“It’s late,” said Ron. “What about Angel?”
“There are plenty of people here to take care of Angel. You didn’t eat dinner did you?”
“No.”
“I’ll bring you some food. Stay off of it until I get there.”
Ron felt himself smiling for the first time since the injury occurred. She wanted to take care of him. Ron rolled a joint and smoked it while he waited for her. He did not think about calling his mother’s house. He would have to take off from work tomorrow. His book bag was still in the car and he needed to prepare assignments that he could leave for his students. His mind whirled. He didn’t need the book bag. He could tell them what he wanted them to do. It would be simple. He’d assign a vocabulary lesson to each of his freshman classes. It would require them to write something that they had to turn in at the end of the class and so it would be easy for the substitute. He had Sam’s home phone number.
It took Celeste about an hour to gather the things that she needed and a plate of food. Anna’s mother said, “What happened to him?”
“He had an accident at football practice. He’s had two knee surgeries already Mom. This could be bad.”
Anna was different in an emergency than she was in everyday things. He nursing training kicked in and that part of her brain worked quickly and logically. “Make sure you bring him something for the pain. Call me when you get there.”
Celeste smiled and kissed her mother’s fleshy cheek. She looked more worn than she usually did.
She knew it was bad the minute she saw the knee. The swelling was much more pronounced above the knee than it was below the knee but she could feel the heat there too and the softness of the flesh told her that there was fluid buildup below the knee cap as well.
Ron didn’t own a bed. What he did have was a mattress and box spring that were on the floor. It made getting up much more difficult. The high that he felt from the joint along with Celeste rubbing and squeezing his thigh caused him to have an erection. They both laughed when they saw it sticking up. She took it out of his underwear and said, “You just lie back and relax. It will make you feel better.” Ron obeyed and closed his eyes as she stroked him.

Chapter 77

Dan Rather was reporting that there was going to be a news conference conducted by the Dallas County District Attorney that would provide every shred of evidence that they had gathered in their case against Lee Oswald. Ron was thankful that Rather at least left the Harvey out. He couldn’t help but picture Jimmy Stewart talking to his imaginary friend Harvey who was a gigantic rabbit in a movie that he half remembered.
“This evidence was gathered largely by the Dallas police department which has done an excellent job on this with the help of some of the federal agencies. I’m going to go through the evidence piece by piece for you. Number one some of this you will already know and some you won’t, I don’t think. As all of you know there are a number of witnesses who saw the person on the sixth floor of the book store building. Then there is the window from which he was looking out. Inside this window there were a number of bookcases and packages piled up, hiding someone who was at the window from people on the same floor looking in. There were some boxes in back of the bookcases where the person was apparently sitting because he was seen from that window. On this box that the defendant was sitting on, a palm print was found and was identified as his. The three ejected shells were found right by the box. The shells were of an odd caliber and found to fit the gun that was lying on the floor. The gun was hidden on this same floor behind some boxes and bookcases. As you know the gun was found to have been purchased through a mail order house under an assumed name, Hidell, and mailed to a post office box here in Dallas. On his person was a pocketbook and in that pocketbook was found identification with the same name on it. Pictures were found. Pictures were found of the defendant with this gun and a pistol on his holster. Oswald was brought to Dallas from Irving by a neighbor. Usually on Monday but this time he came home a day early and returned the next day and said that Oswald was carrying a package under his arm. He told his neighbor that it was window shades. The wife said that he had the gun the night before ad that it was missing that morning after he left.”
Ron felt his face harden. He had the gun. They had pictures of him with the gun. He brought the gun to work. Ron was glad that he was dead. He was glad that the police had him killed by their friend. The District Attorney went on to say that immediately after the assassination, a police officer had tried to arrest him but that the manager had said that he was alright, that he worked in the building. The District Attorney continued saying that after all of the other employees had been identified, a description of Oswald, who was no longer in the building, went out. Then Oswald was seen on a bus, laughing very loudly and saying that the president had been shot. He then got off the bus and caught a taxi. He went to his home in Oak Cliff, changed his clothes hurriedly and left. As he left, three witnesses said they saw a police officer, Officer Tippet, motion to him and say something to him. He walked up to the car and the police officer got out of the car and Oswald shot him three times and killed him.
He was just a madman, thought Ron. He half expected to hear that drool had been running out of his mouth after he killed the cop. He was then seen walking across a vacant lot and reloading his pistol. One of the witnesses reported seeing him go into the Texas Theatre. He was approached the movie theater and one of the arresting officers reported that he put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger but that the gun hadn’t been reloaded properly and that the shell didn’t come out. Ron almost smiled. He had been too stupid to load the gun right. The District Attorney then corrected himself and said that Oswald had placed the gun to Officer Mac Donald’s head when it jammed. There was some confusion about whether the gun had misfired or whether the officer had prevented him from pulling the trigger. Henry Wade, the District Attorney, had then given the press all of the information that they had collected in their case against Oswald. Then Dan Rather showed the film of Oswald being shot again. Ron wanted him shot over and over. He wanted him to suffer the way that he was suffering and the rest of the country was suffering over this thing, this horrible thing that he’d done. Rather concluded, “It’s been that kind of day in grim, shamed Dallas.”
Ron slept on the sofa-bed. The light from the TV illuminated the room. Marjorie hadn’t come there but she’d called and said that she would be there sometime on Monday. It was a national day of mourning. Everything was closed. Dorothy sat in her parlor smoking. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the same room as her third husband for one more night.
There had been times when she had thought about asking Marjorie to just let Ronald live with her, but she wasn’t sure that she had the energy for him. And Marjorie would never have agreed. There were few things that she couldn’t impose upon Marjorie. One was to stop asking questions about who her father had been and what had happened to him. The other would be to ask her to give up Ronald.
Dorothy’s first husband had been Mickey Fairmount. He was a boxer and she was twenty and wanting to escape the drudgery of caring for the young brothers and sisters that he father and weak mother were imposing upon her. She wanted out and she wanted better.
Mickey took her travelling with him. She met Jack Dempsey and George Bellows and Sugar Ray Robinson, who had the audacity to stare at the shimmy of her hips and lick his lips. Mickey was a lightweight and he took a lot of punches before he was able to use his hammer of a right hand to end a fight. Dorothy was excited by the sheer power of his masculinity and then she saw it decline and he started losing his eyesight. He only hit her once and it was out of frustration, but his blow had broken two of her ribs and sent her to a hospital. She had kept her mouth shut and sent herself flowers and when she was released, she left him. The cigarette smoke wafted over to encase the Chines man who was sitting by the pond with his ever hopeful fishing rod extended. She’d used nail polish to coat his fishing line in gold. It was just the right shade, a dulled burnish that fit with the muted surroundings.
Frank Hess had been another story altogether. She loved her second husband with a passion that caused her to accept whatever it took just to be close to him. Then the egotistical son-of-a-bitch had gotten himself killed. She lit another cigarette. This Kennedy thing had gotten to her in an unexpected way. Sure, she understood politics, but she understood it in a way that she could work it to her advantage. Frank had taught her that. He always told her that it was just a game about power and that power meant currency. That was his word, currency. She’d asked Frank if he didn’t just mean money. “There’s lots of kinds of money, Dot,” had been his answer. Frank was a gangster. She knew that. He had girlfriends and she knew that. The life that he showed her was an answer to her dreams and she knew that as well.
The procession came out of a gate that went passed Lafayette Park where a crowd had been waiting for several hours. Some of them had waited all night to file passed the President’s coffin and then they came here. The lonely procession carrying Jacqueline Kennedy, and Attorney General Robert Kennedy and Senator Ted Kennedy who stepped out of the black limousine. She wore a veil of heavy mourning and they wore formal mourning coats. She knelt. They stood. None of them tarried there.
A military guard brought the casket out to the east front. Behind the flag bearers walked two priests. The band played Hail to the Chief as the casket emerged. Ron felt his heart fill. That song was followed by a mournful version of Let Freedom Ring. The brothers and widow returned to their car. Robert was holding her hand. Ted walked a pace behind them. The sound of the hooves of the seven horse drawn caisson dominated. It was followed by a rider-less black horse. Then there were just muted drums. The procession made its way down Pennsylvania Avenue, which Ron heard called the Avenue of the Presidents for the first time. Then he could hear the drums and the hooves. The picture never changed. The casket was draped in an American flag. The caisson rolled smoothly. The pace was excruciating and Ron wanted to turn away but couldn’t. Then there were the sounds of coordinated boots marching. It blended with the hooves and the drums and the bells that now intoned with mournful remark. Then there were commands and a snap to of swords and guns was heard moving crisply from one position to the next. The bagpipes of the Black Watch drowned it all out in an eerie song of death.
The brothers and widow followed along behind on foot. They were followed by other members of the family and then President Johnson. Ron wanted to gag when he heard him called that. Dignitaries followed in no particular order. These were heads of state who had come to pay respect from their countries. Queen Fredrica of Greece was the only other woman who was scheduled to walk in the procession.

Chapter 78

Dr. Wilson Fulack was the first person that Celeste thought might be a good idea. After a night of ice, Ron made it downstairs with the immobilizer on his leg and then unstrapped it when he got into his red Ford. The ride up wasn’t horrible although pressing on the break caused him to wince and the position required of his leg caused it to throb by the time he got onto the parkway. At least there wouldn’t be any braking for a while. It was smooth shot to Bergen County.
Ron reapplied the immobilizer in front of Celeste’s house. She’d heard squeak and was out the door before he got himself out of the car. She walked over and said, “Can we take your car?”
“Sure.” Ron had never sat in the passenger seat before and it felt strange. The squeaks seemed louder. The ride seemed bumpier. It was a short ride to Fulack’s office.
The doctor removed the immobilizer and asked, “Where did you get this?”
“I’m a football coach,” said Ron. “We have a couple of them in case of emergencies.”
“This is an old style and the wrong size, but I have something that will help you.”
Ron knew what was coming and he wasn’t disappointed. Fulack pressed and twisted and bent his knee and Ron could not help but cry out.
“When did you have this open knee?”
Ron stared at the zipper on his right leg. The memories that it brought back were brutal. “When I was nineteen, that’s fourteen years ago.”
“And the other leg?”
“The year before when I was eighteen.”
“Things have changed quite a bit since then. We rarely cut into knees like this anymore, unless it’s a torn ligament or a reconstruction. Were they meniscus tears in both knees?”
“Yes,” said Ron, “but they also found bone chips and a benign tumor in my left knee.”
“Alright,” said Fulack. “I want to do an arthrogram of your knee. There is quite a bit of swelling so it will be necessary to do an aspiration first. Then we will inject the knee with a dye and use a fluoroscope to get a good look at it.”
Ron wanted to scream. He knew what an aspiration was. He had been subjected to more than twenty of them before surgery was done on his left leg. They were excruciating. He must have gone pale because Celeste said, “Will you be numbing his knee first?”
Dr. Fulack chuckled. “Of course. Why would anyone aspirate a knee without numbing it first?”
Ron stayed silent and Celeste spoke. “His was done repeatedly without anesthetic.”
“Well, surely we don’t do that anymore.”
Ron felt a sense of relief. Fulack walked to his phone and buzzed his nurse. The procedure was scheduled for the next day.
“Were you hurt on the job, Ron?”
“We were at football practice.”
“Are you a paid coach?”
“Yes, I get a stipend.”
“You’ll want to file a workman’s comp case then.”
“What does that mean?”
Celeste and Fulack exchanged a look. “If you are hurt at work you are entitled to compensation. Make sure that you have filed an accident report. It will all be paid for by your employer Ron.”
Ron felt fear. Suppose they fired him for getting hurt? Suppose they took away his honors class? “I’m not sure I want to do that.”
“Your employer carries insurance, Ron. They’ll expect it.”

Chapter 79
Luigi Vena sang Ave Maria in the church and underneath it the gritty voice of Cardinal Cushing could be heard praying in Latin. A group of priests with white lace tops covering their cassocks assisted. When it came time to read the gospel, a commentator in hushed tones, who was not Cronkite, told the people watching that this was the most solemn part of the mass and that all would stand in respect for the word of God. Ron wondered why he said that. The consecration was the most important part of the Mass. Ron felt Catholic.
The commentator translated. “As we offer our fruits and praise to God, we pray to God for John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the servant of God, that he may be given everlasting rest.”
The Communion precession began with his widow and brothers and then other moved up and opened their mouths and extended their tongues to receive the sacrament. They read passages from scripture that Kennedy loved and then the procession continued out of the church to Arlington National Cemetery, but first the Cardinal sprinkled holy water over the coffin and kissed the flag that draped it. Ron burst into tears when Kennedy’s three year old son saluted the casket of his father. It was explained that the children were deemed too young to attend the burial and that this is where they would say goodbye to their father. The tears were hot on his face and he didn’t try to wipe them away. He mouthed the words to the song that the band played. “Praise him all creatures here below. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.” St Mathews Cathedral was bathed in sunlight that contrasted with the black bunting that was draped over the door.
Then the tolling of bells and the distinct command to “Present arms.” The muffled drums began again as the caisson began to slowly roll. They moved down Rhode Island Avenue. People in overcoats lined the streets on both sides. Most of the women wore hats. Many of the men, in the fashion change popularized by Kennedy, did not. The funeral dirge moaned. The white gravestones of the cemetery stood in endless rows. The camera pulled back to show its proximity to the Lincoln Memorial and the Potomac River.
When the caisson was pulled to a stop, a band played, “Hail to the Chief.” Ron could almost feel the chill in the air as the brass notes rang out over the graves. Was there such a thing as another world? Was there an awareness? Ron wondered if this wasn’t what people did because, like him, they didn’t know what else to do. That song was followed by the Star Spangled Banner. Ron thought that it sounded proudly defiant. Everyone was standing still although Jacqueline seemed to be wavering just a bit. Ron wondered how much she was expected to take.
The bagpipes of the United States Air Force Bagpipe Contingent moaned and wailed as the men marched over the hill. They accompanied the casket as it was removed from the caisson. They carried it what seemed like a long way. Ron admired their strength and endurance and it caused him to look at his knee. Through his pants, it seemed just like the other. Jets in multiple combinations of threes flew over the grave. There were places for just a few people to sit while others stood in back of them. More jets flew overhead drowning out the voice of the commentator. The voice of Cardinal Cushing, in its rasping tone, invoked a blessing upon the grave. The flag had been stretched taunt over the casket during the blessing and now it was folded and music played again. The folds were precise and practiced. The flag changed hands many times and each time it was saluted before it was accepted. The music rose in a crescendo and Ron felt like he was watching a spectacle. It was a live and real spectacle, but that was what it was. Jacqueline, holding the folded flag under her arm, lit the flame. Holding her hand, Robert Kennedy led her away. The commentator’s simple statement was, “Now the president belongs to the ages.”

End of Part 2

Part 3
Chapter 80

Hank, Ron, and Robin sat in a circle on the floor around a coffee table smoking a joint in their apartment. It was very good pot, the kind with a golden tinge and a deep resin, which blackened the sides of the white Zig-zag in which it was rolled. They were listening to a new album from The Eagles. Hank bought it from the music store where he worked.
Robin stopped smoking halfway through the joint and sipped white wine from a delicately shaped pink glass that was shaped like a large V. She held it in both hands and grinned as she stared at their faces and listened to the music.
Ron rolled another joint as soon as they had finished the first. Hank said, “I can’t, man. I have to go to work.”
Robin smiled to herself and wished that they could get rid of him. It had been Ron’s idea to have him live with them. It allowed them to afford a much nicer apartment, but she didn’t like Hank and she hated the loss of privacy.
Ron lit the second joint and Hank walked on his toes to his room where he put on his shoes and walked down the stairs from their second floor apartment, got into his tan VW and was gone.
This was their third apartment together. The first had been when they decided to live together and spent a summer in Rahway, staying in Warren Lashly’s room while he was in Greece. Then they moved to Elizabeth and had a place that Robin loved in Bayway, but Ron hated it and found this place and convinced her to have Hank live with them. It was a nice apartment. Robin loved living with Hank’s two cats, Leni and Bob. She was going to school in New York City and working full time in Westfield. Her days were long and busy and she liked it that way. It made the weekends seem like so much more of a pleasure.
Ron was working an insurance scam that paid him $5000 a year, and was going to school at a State College. As he smoked the joint, he stroked the side of her face with the backs of the fingers of his left hand. Then he dipped his finger into her glass and coated her lips with the sweet, dry wine. He put down the joint and kissed her.
Robin moved into his lap and curled her arms around his neck. He felt the press of her breasts against his chest. The kiss was long. She gazed into his green eyes and saw them tinged with the red that came from the smoke. Then she stood up and slid her panties down as he watched her. She was wearing a light cotton summer dress that was loose and covered in small flowers. She straddled his lap, undid his belt, pulled down his zipper, found him hard and slid him into her. His hands squeezed her cheeks as she bobbed up and down like a happy cork on the ocean.
Then they heard the door open and heard footsteps on the stairs. Abruptly, she pulled off of him, picked up her panties and hurried into their bedroom while Ron fumbled with his pants. Hank didn’t come back into the living room but went to his room, picked up the check that he had forgotten and left the apartment again without a word.
Ron found her sitting on the bed.
“This isn’t working, Ron.”
“I know.”
“This is what you wanted. This is what you created. Fix it.”
“How do you want me to fix it?”
She fixed him with a hard stare. “Get rid of him or help me find my own place.”
Ron’s face looked hurt. His long brown hair was covering his right eye and he lifted it back over his ear. “You would want to live somewhere without me?”
Robin thought, how could he be so smart and at the same time so dense? She enunciated very clearly and spoke slowly in a very small voice. “No, Ron but I’m unhappy. You promised that if I was unhappy that I wouldn’t have to stick with it. When you were unhappy in Elizabeth, we moved, didn’t we?”
“He’s been my friend for a long time. I can’t just kick him out.”
“Do you love me?”
“You know I love you.”
“Do you like seeing me unhappy?”
“I didn’t know that you were unhappy.”
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Robin knew that last thing would stick in his head. He hated the idea that he might be missing something. She watched his eyes flicker and saw his brain working.
“Can we wait until after the semester is over?”
“Maybe you can. I can’t.”
Ron reached out for her, but she pulled away and got off the bed. “I’m really not in the mood right now, Ron.” She grinned to herself. Leaving him flustered like this was fun and he never saw her doing it until it was too late. “I’m taking a ride down to see my mother.”
Ron nodded. She knew that he wouldn’t want to go with her there. Let him think about what she had said a little bit.
Robin still wasn’t back when Hank came home from work. Ron had two rolled joints waiting. Hank made himself a cup of coffee. He didn’t ask where Robin was. He didn’t realize that he had almost walked in on them.
Halfway through the first joint, Ron said, “Hank, we gotta move.”
“Where do you want to go?” said Hank.
“It’s not where exactly. Robin and I need to be alone. This just isn’t working anymore. It isn’t natural. It isn’t fair to her.”
Hank stopped smoking the joint and lit a cigarette. Ron lit one too. “So it’s her idea?”
Ron tried to look him in the eye. He said, “No, it’s our idea.”
They heard the front door open and shut and heard Robin on the stairs. The cats ran to greet her, tails up straight. They heard her talking to the cats on the stairs.
“Robin, can you come in here a minute?”
She came into the room, smelled the pot and said, “Give me a few minutes.”
Ron said, “I was just telling Hank that we needed to live alone.”
Ron and Hank looked at each other as they waited. Their friendship had been long and strong. Hank was not doing well. He’d stopped confiding his feelings to Ron after he realized that Ron shared everything that he said with Robin. Hank understood that she wanted him gone. They’d lived together almost a year. They had both tried, but there was no place for them to connect other than Ron and she wanted him for herself. Ron’s face showed Hank that he just wanted to get this over with.
Robin put on the light flowered dress and took her panties off. Ron was going to go to sleep a happy boy tonight. He’d listened to her.
Hank said, “It’ll take me a while to find a new place.”
Robin slid down next to Ron and parted her thighs slightly. She touched his arm. “How long do you think it will take, Hank?” She tried to say it gently. She knew she was being impatient and that she had let it go on too long and that now what was becoming haste had really been pent up frustration.
“I don’t know yet. I’ll look around. I’ll keep to myself until then.”
Ron felt a pang but Robin squeezed his arm ever so promisingly.
Hank got up and put his cigarettes into the breast pocket of his button down shirt. “Goodnight.”
Ron and Robin exchanged a grin when he was gone. She said, “I didn’t think that you’d do it that fast.”
Ron put his head down. “You said that you’d live somewhere else.”

Chapter 81

The radio was playing Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Elton John sang, “Maybe you’ll get a replacement. There’s plenty like me to be found. Mongrels who ain’t got a penny, sniffing for tidbits like you…”
The music escalated and his voice rose. Ron thought about his class. He’d been reading Keats. He’d typed out a verse from Ode to a Nightingale and taped it over his desk on the wall. He wondered what Keats would have thought of the song. He wouldn’t have known about the Wizard of Oz.
Now the radio was playing Desperado and Ron rode along on the sound of the vocal and its simple words. He wasn’t getting any younger either. He was almost twenty-four and still didn’t have a degree.
Like it always was, the parking lot was packed. Ron searched up and down the long rows of cars and finally would up rolling slowly along next to a student who was on the way back to her car. The walk to the class was a long one and Ron slung his book bag over his shoulder and walked quickly. He liked to move at a good pace and especially liked blowing passed people who were meandering.
The class was on the top floor of a large square brick building. He settled into his desk and waited. The professor was a short, heavy-set man with very curly hair. His name was Grant Pritchard and his reputation for being a good history teacher was accurate. The class waited while he set up the projector.
“Abraham Zapruder purchased a Bell and Howell Zoomatic camera in November of 1962. The camera was relatively new and he didn’t use it much. This was the original cartridge that came with the film. The first twenty five feet of the film are family shots that were taken on his patio.”
Ron thought about the sheet that Rocky used to hang in their basement apartment so that they could watch the videos that he took with his camera. Then he shoved those memories away, like he always did.
“He told his family that he was bringing his camera to work that day so that he could film the president’s motorcade. It was quite by chance that he was there and the record that he made was a coincidence that has provided the most valid argument to date about the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy. We’re going to watch that film, which until recently has not been available to the public.”
Ron had seen the Zapruder film a few years ago in Quimpy’s garage apartment. It was Quimpy who had first told him about an author named Mark Lane. Quimpy had told him about Harold Weisberg’s Whitewash and Josiah Thompson’s Six Seconds in Dallas. Ron read all three books and knew where Grant Pritchard was going.
“At the time of the assassination, Zapruder screamed to his secretary, ‘They killed him. They killed him.’ Later he was heard saying, ‘I know he’s dead. I saw his head explode like a firecracker. It’s the worst thing that I have ever seen.”
Ron remembered the part of the film where Kennedy’s head exploded and a flash could be seen coming from the front of his brain when the bullet struck. He wasn’t sure that he ever wanted to see it again.
Pritchard stopped speaking and ran the film. The classroom was dark and silent. When the bullet hit Kennedy, he heard gasps coming from his classmates. Pritchard stopped the film and then ran it back to the seconds after Kennedy’s car emerged from in back of a sign. He painstakingly went through each frame, showing Kennedy grabbing both hands to his throat. Jacqueline was reaching for him. He slumped against her shoulder and then the shot blew his brains all over the back seat of the car and her. She tried to crawl out of the back of the limousine and a Secret Service agent climbed on the trunk of the car. The flowers that she had been carrying flew into the air. She fell onto the backseat floor of the car, which was now speeding off.
“This is what truly happened to our President,” said Pritchard. “Seeing this film makes it impossible to believe that the President was shot from the rear, where Oswald is said to have been. The question is why the government of the United States has kept these frames of the film a secret for the last ten years and why they covered up the assassination of the President of The United States.”
When the class was over, Ron stayed behind to talk with Pritchard. He told the professor about the books that he had read and that how his friend had been researching the assassination for more than eight years now.
“Would you be interested in doing some work for the Assassination Information Bureau?”
Ron thought about that. He was pursuing a degree in English. This wasn’t going to have anything to do with that. He was going to have to think about supplementing his income now that he and Robin were getting rid of Hank. That was also going to take some time, but Ron found himself nodding and saying, “Yeah, I’d like that a lot. The more people that know the better our chances of knowing what happened are going to be.”
“There’s a lot more information out there now than there was back in the ‘60’s,” said Pritchard. I’d like you to familiarize yourself with some of it. There will be a meeting of those who are going to work with the Bureau this Saturday night at my house.”
Ron looked at the list of books that Pritchard had given to him. There was one by Sylvan Fox. There was a book by Jessie Curry whose name and face Ron would never forget. It was entitled His Personal JFK File. The Assassination of JFK, the Reasons Why was a book written by Albert Newman. A Citizens Dissent: Mark Lane Responds to Defenders of the Warren Commission. Ron’s eyes scanned the list. He didn’t have time to read all of these. He wondered if he should just forget this idea and go back to his literature and poetry and the things that he had decided to do with his life.

Chapter 82

Paulo DeFreio sat his class in a circle. They were reading Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain. It was a strange story. Hans Castorp had gone to visit his cousin in a sanatorium that was designed for people who had tuberculosis. They had found symptoms of the disease on his lungs and he’d been invited to stay for the cure. He was falling in love with a Russian girl.
Ron’s mind whirled. He was in love with a Russian girl. Robin Ravelka was unmistakably Russian. Ron felt like Hans. Kennedy faded away. Herman Greenfield Horvack sat in the circle too. So did Anthony Fiangelo. And Victor Strauss. They read and they understood. Herman was in charge of the school’s literary magazine. Paulo DeFreio was the advisor. Ron’s finger followed along as he read.
His other classes included a seminar in the American Presidency and a Creative Writing class and a study of Western Drama. His Creative Writing teacher had recently published an article in Playboy. Ron thought that he was a lucky, self-centered, consumptive prick. The prick liked the way that Ron wrote and thought. Paulo DeFreio did as well, but he was experienced enough to dangle his approval and then withhold it.
DeFreio conducted close examination of the text, in some instances going line by line to point out nuances and help his students to see the way that the writer created a portrait. Ron was having trouble concentrating on The Magic Mountain. It was indeed a Mountain of a book with many long reveries that happened when Castorp lay bundled under blankets on his outdoor balcony, inhaling the cold, crisp mountain air that led him to dream. Ron’s mind kept wandering back to Grant Pritchard’s class and the Zapruder film and then it took a shift.
He’d been home with his mother and was watching an episode of Firing Line. It had been six or so years ago. Ron’s fascination with William F. Buckley Jr. had been something that he kept secret. His college friends would dismiss Buckley as a tight assed right winger who had defended racist points of view during the Civil Rights Movement, supported the unjust war in Viet Nam and literally looked down his nose at most people. Ron never mentioned his like of Buckley to his high school friends, who already thought that he was an alien that they had to tolerate. His pool hall buddies would not have had the slightest idea who Buckley was nor would they have cared, but Ron did like him. It was the only TV program that he ever watched with an open dictionary sitting next to him on the floor.
Buckley was interviewing Mark Lane who had written Rush to Judgment. Lane and he had jousted over the larger questions of trust and Lane had thanked Buckley for a favorable review of his book in Buckley’s magazine The National Review. He remembered two things that Buckley had said. The first was that the Right wished that Oswald had been a Communist agent sent by Moscow and that the Left wanted Oswald to be a southern racist. The second thing was that he cared much less about who killed Kennedy than the fact that Kennedy was dead. Wasn’t there a place where Ron believed that also? Then he remembered that Buckley also had supported the release of the autopsy photographs. He came back from his reverie to find the class staring at him.
“Ron,” said DeFreio, “you seem to be lost in thought.”
Ron blushed. “I am. I’m sorry. I apologize.”
DeFreio bristled quietly. He’d told Ron what he’d thought of him as a special student. He’d smoked pot with Ron at his house in Montclair. Paulo expected him to try to contribute to the class or at least to give it his attention.
DeFreio asked patiently, “What do you think Mann means by the tempo of experience?”
“I think that he means that our minds control the speed at which we experience time. I think that he means that some experiences repeat on us, like indigestion and that others are treasured and enhanced by the way that we feel about them and remember them.”
“And how do you see that portrayed in the novel?”
“I think that love makes him stupid and is ruining his life. He treasures an x-ray of her lungs as a token of her love for him.”
“Did it occur to you that Mann might be using a form of satire?”
Ron laughed. “I don’t find a nook that’s more than 700 pages long to be particularly funny.”
The class chuckled and DeFreio laughed along with them. He said in his best European accented voice, “Not everything is meant to be gulped down and chugged like beer. Some books are meant to be sniffed, sipped, and rolled around in the mouth before swallowing. You might think of it as a glass of brandy that is meant to last all night.”
“Ok,” said Ron. “I’ll try not to chug it.”
After the class ended a small group of them went for coffee. DeFreio went along with them and they seat around a table in the student center.
Herman Horvack was an emaciated blonde with a prematurely receding hairline. He had a love of decadence which he touted as the savior of the culture. “The magazine is almost ready to be proofed,” he said.
“Bring it by my office and I’ll take a last look at it when you have it ready,” said DeFreio. “Ron, can I bum a cigarette?”
It amused Ron that DeFreio refused to buy his own pack but always bummed smokes. He handed it to him and as DeFreio lit one, he said, “So what has your mind wandering?”
Another Fiangelo quipped, “Either drugs or some girl would be my bet.”
Herman looked at Ron, “You’ve got to stop smoking that crap. It clouds your brain.”
“It helps me to write,” said Ron. “I can block everything else out when I smoke.”
“You only think that it helps you. If you stopped doing it, you would remember your dreams better and they are a more fertile reservoir.” Hovack’s newest form of decadence was denial of any intoxicants of any kind. He talked about it before. Ron thought that it sounded boring. He justified his thinking by telling himself that Horvack had no girlfriend.
“Actually I was thinking about the Kennedy Assassination.”
“I truly believe that there is no more trite a subject upon which to waste your reveries,” said Herman.
Fiangelo said, “It’s all a crock of shit.” Fiangelo had been scrambled in Viet Nam. There was an undercurrent of violence in much of what he said and his typical line of dismissal was that the topic was a crock.
Victor Strauss looked over at Ron. “Why were you thinking about that?”
Ron shrugged. “I don’t know. Grant Pritchard showed the Zapruder film in his class and I’m thinking about doing some work with the Assassination Information Bureau.”
“A crock of shit,” said Fiangelo.
“Did you think that about the Pentagon Papers too?” said Ron.
“What I thought about them was that not fucking one of my friends was any less dead by knowing that we were fucked in the ass for having to go there. It didn’t get one person home safely. So yeah, it was a crock of shit too.”
Victor Strauss said, “But the assassination might make for a good science fiction story.”
Ron had no desire to write science fiction or prose of any kind. He hated writing essays. He was a poet. “So Herm,” Ron called Horvack Herm because he knew that it pissed him off. “Did any of my stuff make the magazine?”
DeFreio and Horvack exchanged a grin. “You know that I’m not supposed to tell you that.”
“Careful Herman,” said Fiangelo. “He’ll let Robin bite you again.”
That brought laughter from everyone. Robin found Herman Greenfield Horvack incredibly pretentious. During one of his one way lectures on the aesthetics of decadence, she has casually taken his hand and sunk her teeth into it while he was in mid-sentence. Herman had recoiled and now referred to Robin as “the little savage.”

Chapter 83
Robin let Ron sleep in. The night before, she had urged him to pound into her and met his need with the hot, frenzied thrusts of her hips. She’d slept on the wet spot that they’d created. She woke him with kisses between his shoulder blades. She brought him breakfast. “Do you know what you’re going to read?”
Ron felt his sleepy haze slowly disappear. “Yeah, I have about fifteen things.” He paused and watched her bite into a fig. Her teeth were sharp and fingers caressed the skin as she chewed in small bites. “Is there something special that you want to hear me read?”
“Leni’s poem.”
Ron smiled. “Ok, I’ll read that first.”
Ron was scheduled to do three sets. There was a rock band a comedian and him. He was paid twenty-five dollars. He stared out at the audience. There were more than sixty people. “This is a poem that I wrote about a cat who comes and goes as she pleases. The problem is that she is a black cat and causes people to have odd reactions.” Ron smiled. “We spend quiet time together, sometimes.” He glanced at Robin. “Sometimes” was their favorite word. It meant that sometimes I want to sleep with you. Sometimes I want you to leave me alone. Sometimes you make me angry. Sometimes I want to hurt you. She smiled up at him from her chair. He wasn’t sure what they had communicated, only what he felt.
He read Leni’s poem.
“A piece of cheese, very small, turned up on its end and stuck to the floor
Attracted a black cat with licked white paws.”
Ron smiled and paused to let the image sink in. “Raw chopped meat excited her more. She made sounds that I was attracted to.”
Ron blinked and heard Leni purr. “It sounded friendly, and I wanted to stay, so I gave her some more cheese.”
He pictured the kitchen where this had happened. He was barefoot, standing at the sink with a paring knife and a cutting board. “She licked it. She liked it.” His eyes searched for Robin and she was grinning for him. “More than the first piece she had seen.”
Ron stared out at his audience and tried to gather them all in. “I was ecstatic. I had made a friend that I could keep and tell her so, out loud. She would agree and nod her head and make such friendly sounds.” He had them. It was the erotic and playful nature of his words.
Ron took a breath, searched for Robin’s eyes and said, “I dropped some bread, and she gave it a clout, raised her head, licked her chin, turned around and walked out.” Ron quietly shuffled the pages to let them know that the poem was over and then he heard applause.
It was a long night. Ron had to read some things twice. He read stories a prose poem and ad-libbed an ending so that he had something new to read. But he saved one for the last set.
“This is a poem that I wrote in honor of the films of Federico Fellini. I don’t know why I have called him Fellinea in the poem except that the syllables sounded right coming out of my mouth.” Ron read.
“Fellinea wake, come close and hear. Your mind’s been rented for another year. To beat your breast and dance around with the confetti streamers of a priestly clown.” Ron saw the dance. He felt the dance. He breathed. “Life is a child that sucks and leaves life grown older, depleted and meek. Life in days worn cold and thin. Fellinea see? I’ve come home again.”
Ron had read this poem for the first time in a class he took at the New School for Social Research. His instructor, Adam Fitzgerald, was about to have poems published in The New Yorker. He smiled condescendingly and told Ron that his poem had a lot of life in it.
Ron felt and afterglow of excitement as he and Robin drove home. “So what did you think?”
“I thought you were great except I thought that they made you read too long. You read for almost two hours.”
Ron laughed. “I know. Kind of strange to be on the bill with a rock band and a comedian.”
Robin took his hand. “I think it was kind of a tribute to you that you were able to hold your own.” She slid his hand under her long suede skirt and between her legs. She knew that he enjoyed playing with her as he drove, and tonight she was proud of him and wanted to make him very happy.
Ron was feeling on top of the world. Maybe he had really, finally found his place in the world again. He hadn’t felt this good since he played football. Then Robin moved his hand away and reached down and lowered his zipper. He popped right out and she giggled. She liked looking at it. Every once in a while she stroked it just once. She liked it when he got this hard. He would do anything that she told him to do.

Chapter 84
Ron went back to school with yet another doctor’s note for an elevator pass. Brother Kelly said, “What seems to be the difficulty this time Tuck?”
“I had my knee drained, Brother. The doctor is hoping that this will be the end of the problems with it.”
Brother Kelly was not smiling when he said, “We are all hoping that will be the case Mr. Tuck. I see that you have been missing lots of school. You are probably way behind in all of your subjects.”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Keep your head down and your mouth shut and do your work, Mr. Tuck.”
Things were decidedly different at the school. The Brothers were based in Ireland and they were in a foul mood. The students had been cooped up in their houses for days. It just didn’t seem right to allow them to go outside and play while the country was in mourning, but now it was time to get back to work and get on with life, such as it was.
Brother O’Shea greeted Ron by showing him the last quiz that he had taken. Ron stared at the 59 that was written and red and circled at the top of the page. “You didn’t expect that I had forgotten about this, did you Mr. Tuck?”
Ron blurted, “I forgot about it, Brother.”
“Let’s see if I can help you remember then. Hands or cheeks?”
Ron looked at him with a confused expression that turned his face into a question mark. O’Shea pulled the strap from inside the cord that bound his cassock at the waist.. He closed his eyes when he heard the hiss. The smack of the belt turned his left hand white hot and then cold and numb. He teetered back and forth on his feet and watched this time as the strap came down on the palm of his right hand. He yelped when it struck. His palms were sweating profusely as he tried to rub feeling back into them on the sides of his pants.
“You’ll be ready to take the quiz that you missed tomorrow,” said O’Shea.
“Brother, I’m not prepared.”
O’Shea looked down at the red circled 59 on the quiz until he was sure that the boy saw him looking at it and was now looking at it too. “You’ve already demonstrated that, haven’t you Mr. Tuck?”
“Yes, Brother.”
Ron was having trouble gripping his pencil and he could feel the blood rushing in his ears which also felt hot and red. To make things worse, he didn’t understand any of what O’Shea was talking about. He was saying that if you did the same thing to either side of the equation that the equation remained the same and that by manipulating both sides that you could solve the equation.
Between classes Bob Foster said, “We’re all screwed now.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re pissed off about Kennedy.”
The motorcade and the drums and the bagpipes and the endless repetitions of Oswald being shot seemed to have happened in another world, a place where he felt loved and safe and ate cookies. In Latin, Brother Delban ran through endless declensions on nouns. They were boring and his mind wandered. He was lost in a reverie about being able to run and feeling unstoppable when he heard his name being said like it was being repeated. It startled him and the class laughed.
Brother Delban said, “Well, not only are you not here very often Mr. Tuck. It seems that when you are here do don’t feel the need to grace us with your attention. Delban rapped his knuckles down on the top of Ron’s head and said, “Pay” the knuckles raised and came down again, “attention” there were two more raps. His hands had just stopped hurting and know there was a throbbing pain at the top of his head. He rubbed it with his palm and tried to concentrate better.

Chapter 85
Ron awoke from the anesthetic with an immobilizer on his leg and it made him want to scream. He’d thought that somehow, because it was this new kind of surgery, that his leg would finally be free and that he would be able to walk. The hospital bed’s side rails had been pulled up and he needed to urinate. He pressed the buzzer. Celeste walked into the room. She looked radiant.
Ron said, “I need to get out of this bed.”
Celeste just nodded and lowered the side rail. She helped him to stand. He tried not to put too much weight on her as he hobbled. The immobilizer actually helped with his balance. Celeste said, “I’ll give you some privacy,”
Celeste convinced the doctor that he could go back to her house after he’d urinated.
The ride to Celeste’s house was slow and a bit painful. Ron felt every bump in the road shoot through his leg like a knife. Celeste tried to drive carefully as they squeaked back to her house.
Ron was quiet and stared out the window. It had been a never ending battle and he seemed to lose each one. Each time they went into one of his knees, he felt like he lost a little more. He could feel the dark cloud of it around him. Three surgeries were too many intrusions.
Celeste debated how to tell him what Dr. Fulack had said privately to her. She knew some of his history with knees bit this was the first time that she was experiencing it with him. She got him downstairs and brought him a plastic container that he could use to urinate. The look of sheer disgust that crossed his face when she showed it to him, told her that something deeper was going on with him. She gave him a pain pill. Ron grimaced at the sight of it.
“It doesn’t hurt right now.”
“And you want to keep it that way. The best thing to do is to stay ahead of the pain.”
“I’ll put up with the pain if I can get well faster,” said Ron.
“One thing has nothing to do with the other, Ron.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron shrugged. “They told me that the sooner I got off of the pain meds, the sooner I could get out of the hospital the last two times.”
Now it was Celeste’s turn to feel disgusted. The level of medical care that he had been given was slightly and she meant only slightly better than he would have gotten as a side of beef in a butcher shop. “That just isn’t true and they shouldn’t have told you that. I can’t believe that a doctor really said that to you.”
“A lot of things that I have been told about my knees are hard to believe. Did I ever tell you that I don’t think that I really needed the second surgery?”
Celeste looked a little shocked. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, I hurt it playing football up in Glen Ridge when I was a senior in high school. Up until then my right knee had been my good knee. The same doctor who did the left one, examined it and just scheduled the surgery. He never tried anything else. There were no x-rays. Nothing. Cutting it was his first option.”
“That’s what surgeons do, Ron. They solve problems by cutting and repairing. At least some of them do.”
“Is Fulack like that?”
Now was the time to tell him. “Ron, he told me that when you heal, he’s going to talk to you about having a total knee reconstruction.”
Ron felt his world spinning like he was on some fiendish amusement park ride. “Doesn’t that mean that they cut my knee out?”
“That’s over simplified, but essentially yes, that’s what it means.”
“I’m not doing it.” His voice was cold and the tone final. “I’ve had enough.”
“The doctor said that the deterioration of your knee is pretty bad. You are bone on bone and there is a lot of arthritis.”
“I’m thirty-three years old,” said Ron. “Arthritis?”
“It’s the repeated insults to your knees,” she said. She was speaking clinically now and Ron noted the change in her voice. It sounded professional. He didn’t like it.
“These fucking surgeries have taken something away from me each time that I’ve had one. I don’t trust them. I don’t trust doctors. I think they do it more for the money than they do to really help anyone.”
“They aren’t all like that.” She tried to sound sympathetic but she could see that it didn’t penetrate.
“I know this is your profession but they’re my knees.” Ron paused. “Can I tell you how I really feel?”
“Of course.” She saw that his eyes had grown darker. The brooding look on his face made him sound angry, like he was spitting out the words. His face looked hard and almost cruel.
“Doctors are no different from mechanics or carpenters. You hire them to do a job, but they work for you. You tell them what you want, not the other way around.”
Celeste almost felt slapped. Then she saw that what he said came from pain and bad experiences. She wanted to reach out and stroke his face, but something told her that touching him wouldn’t be a good idea right now.

Chapter 86
Ron’s first experience with detention, Jersey Catholic style, came when he forgot his Latin book. Brother Delban wrote out the jug slip like he was handing Ron a piece of candy.
At the end of the day Ron reported to jug. The boys were lined up facing away from the desk in the empty room. They were positioned in front of a clock. They were told to stand with their arms folded across their chests, their backs straight, and their heels at forty-five degree angles. It wasn’t uncomfortable for the first five minutes, but then Ron felt his left knee begin to stiffen and throb.
Brother Conrad was in charge of jug. The students called him the silver fox because his hair was silver and grey and he seemed to have the ability to sneak around silently and be just where you didn’t want him to be. The rumor was that he used to be a Marine.
About fifteen minutes into the one hour detention, Brother Conrad silently glided down the aisle between the punished students and found a boy who had been cradling a book between his folded arms. The room had been silent except for the ticking clock and Conrad had heard the turning of a page. There was a smirk on his face when he found the culprit. “What have we here?” he said in a deep booming voice that seemed to shatter the endless ticking in the quiet room.
Jimmy Rollins shrunk. Conrad’s hand slapped him on the back of his head and his hair stood up comically after the blow. Ron felt himself starting to giggle at the sight of the exaggerated cowlick that now stood up like an accusation. Conrad moved it front of the boy and peered into his face. “Did you really expect to be allowed to cheat my clock, Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“And now you are lying to me. Do you think that I am some ass of a fool, Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“Of course you do Rollins. You think that you are cleverer than I am. Let me show you where your cleverness has gotten you.” Brother Conrad extended both of Rollins arms out straight. He placed the history book on his left palm and then walked quickly back to his desk and retrieved another heavy book and placed it on Rollins right palm. “Each time you drop a book Rollins, you get the reward of another day of jug. Of course if you are strong enough to stand like this for the next forty minutes, you will have proven that you are indeed more clever than I am, but I sincerely doubt that.”
Now the boys could not help but stand there and stare at stare at Rollins. In a very short time, his arms started to shake and the double thud of the books hitting the floor could be heard. This time Conrad did not bother to get up from in back of his desk. “Two more days Rollins. Resume your position.”
A moment later the books dropped again. This Conrad came down the aisle again. “Now you owe me four days.”
Jimmy Rollins was shaking and he was fighting to hold back his tears. “I can’t do it, Brother.”
“Don’t feel so clever now, do you Rollins?”
“No Brother.”
“And not particularly strong are you?”
“No Brother.”
“Well Rollins, if you are neither clever nor strong what does that make you?”
“I don’t know, Brother.”
“Neither do I Rollins, neither do I.”
Conrad walked away without saying anything. Rollins was in a quandary. What was he supposed to do now? He timidly lay the books at his feet and resumed his original position.
The hour ticked passed. Ron was given his signed jug slip that proved that he had lived up to his obligation. His walk home felt triumphant.

Chapter 87

Robin and Ron walked up to the corner to buy a Christmas tree. The holidays had drained their pockets and they weren’t sure that they would have enough. Ron had a surprise. He had an extra twenty that he hadn’t mentioned to her. When they got to the tree stand, he picked out a perfect tree and said, “What about this one?”
He could see the sparkles in her eyes and then the doubt that crept along her face. “I don’t think that we can afford this one.”
Ron reached into his pocket and took out the twenty. “Yes, we can.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I was saving it.”
She reached into his pocket with her small hands and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “That’s very romantic, Ron.”
The tree was wrapped and Ron hoisted the trunk on his shoulder. She followed along, holding up the top of the tree. They had no decorations, and so they made them out of costume jewelry, cuff links, popcorn, and greeting cards. They admired their creation sitting with a glass of wine and smoking a joint.
The apartment was theirs now, although they were seldom in it except to sleep and on some weekends. During the week, she worked and then went into New York City for her acting classes. When Ron was finished with school and his part time job delivering drugs for a local pharmacy, he took a train into Manhattan to meet her. After her classes, they had coffee at one of the village bars and then drove home together.
Ron loved the pattern and spent lots of evenings walking the streets of the village while he waited for her. But now they were both on Christmas break and the apartment was warm and bright.
“Do you think that we’ll always be together?” said Ron.
“I don’t know. Do you think that you could ever pry yourself out of New Jersey?”
“It depends. I’d like to. Where do you want to go?”
Robin grinned. “Someplace warm.”
She cradled her glass of wine and feel the warmth of it mixing with the pot. “Do you know this song?” She began to sing in a soft voice that got louder. Robin sang, “I would die, I would die, I would strangle myself with my tie. If ever you said goodbye, then I’d die.”
She stopped and they both laughed. “Maybe that should be our song,” said Ron.
“You hate ties.”
Ron laughed, “That’s why I’d die.”
He got up to refill her glass. As she watched him she said, “You know you have a really nice ass.”
Ron felt himself blush but stood there with his back to her so that she could see it.
“Two of the gay guys at school were talking to me about it. They asked me if you were bisexual.”
Now Ron could feel his ears turning red. “What did you say?”
Robin grinned mischievously. “I told them that I hadn’t found a kind of sex that you didn’t like.”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because it’s true. You’d fuck me five times a day if I let you.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to grin. “Why don’t you?”
“Because I get sore.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No.”
“Tell me why?”
Robin laughed. “We’d never get anything done. What fun would that be?”
“I know, but eventually I’d weaken and we could do things.”
Her grin had a wicked tinge. “What kind of things?”
Her words flicked his switch. He knew what she was asking. They smiled as he paused before invoking their code words. “Other things.”
He watched her tremble at the sound of it. She had two glasses of wine in her and had smoked a joint with him. They decorated a Christmas tree with things that were unusual and what they had. Other things meant sex. Robin smiled an impish grin. “I love adventure.”

Chapter 88
Two days after the surgery, Ron showed up at the coaches’ office. “I’m back.”
Artie Harris and Steve Ferry looked at him with a startled faces. “You just had your knee cut.”
Ron said, “They don’t cut it anymore. Now they puncture it and suck things out. Then they pump things in. It’s like a lube job and an oil change.”
Artie Harris burst out laughing. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
Steve Ferry grinned but then his face got serious. He’d learned that Ron was considered a serious teacher of English. Steve believed in education as much as he believed in football. Besides, Ron’s girlfriend had a great ass. “Ron, you don’t have to prove anything to me. It’s a long year. You really want to do this?”
The smile that spread across Ron’s face was contagious. Ferry realized that it must be the expression that he used in his classroom. “I want to do this because it’s what we do. I want to be able to do what we do and I think I can.”
Paul Pamenteri said, “You taking drugs?”
Ron lied. “Just aspirin.”
Steve assigned Artie to watch Ron during practice. Ron was holding a clipboard now, and limping back out of the range of contact. Artie looked at his face. When Ron walked, Artie could see that he had pain. Then he watched him roll his neck and flex his shoulders and breathe. Ron called the next play.
After practice Paul Pamenteri asked Ron how he felt. Ron smiled. “I’m great. I’m getting married.”
Paul smiled. “When?”
“Late March,” said Ron.
“Might be nice to be able to walk down the aisle,” said Paul.
Ron laughed and made eye contact until Paul laughed as well. “I’ll be fine.”
After practice Ron changed his clothes back to his classroom apparel before he went over to Celeste’s house. He saw Angel’s face looking out from behind a curtain. He saw her smile light up her mouth and then her cheeks and her eyes. He saw her mouth form an O and then the curtain closed and she ran to the door.
Ron watched her expression change as he bobbled over with his immobilizer on his right leg. He sat down on the porch and she tentatively kissed his cheek and sat next to him. “I have to wear this because I got hurt.”
“Why did you get hurt?” Her tone had a glimmer of petulance in it. Ron felt its admonishment.
“It was an accident.”
“Why?”
“There isn’t a why about accidents. They just happen.”
“Why did it happen to you?”
Ron was totally flabbergasted. He was talking to a two year old child and felt outflanked. He didn’t realize that children her age weren’t supposed to make complete sentences and now she was refusing to look at his face and just staring at the thing on his leg. He unstrapped the Velcro and took it off. He placed it under them on the steps. “Does that make you feel better?”
The searchlight eyes lifted to his face. “Are you still hurt?”
Ron smiled his best dimpled grin. “Not right now.” He eyes looked at her hair, her curly light brown tangle of hair, and then her face. “I love you,” he said.
“I miss you here,” she said.
“I have to work.”
“Why?”
“We need money, but I’m a teacher and my students miss me.”
He was astonished as he saw two tears roll down her cheeks. “I miss you too.”
“Adults have to work.”
“Are you one?”
Ron felt a jolt strike him. “I think I have to be.”
“Why?”
Ron smiled and knew he had her. “Because of you.”
He expected her to grin and she did. Then she stretched her arms up and held his neck. Ron completely ignored the pain in his knee as she pressed on it.

Chapter 89
Ron could not pinpoint what he had done wrong. He was just walking home and his foot came down on a place where the sidewalk was lifted and split and his knee twisted and he felt it again. He tried to walk it off. It had just been a small twist. Maybe it would be fine in just a few minutes. It wasn’t.
Ron felt the weight of his leg as he limped up the stairs with his book bag slung over his shoulder. He got into the house and George said, “Would you run down to the corner and get some bread?”
“I can’t run anywhere,” he answered bitterly.
“What’s wrong now?”
“Same shit that’s always wrong,” said Ron.
George galloped from out of the kitchen with a menacing look on his face. “I don’t want you using that kind of language around here.”
“Nah, it’s only ok when you say shit huh?”
George backhanded Ron across the face. The rage boiled over in him and he forgot about his knee and lunged after him. He felt the pain shoot up his leg and he fell. This time what snapped was not in his leg. It was deeper inside and he found himself lying on the floor shaking uncontrollably.
George stood there looking stunned. Ron couldn’t really see and felt his lips trembling and a rushing in his ears that blotted out everything else. He was admitted to the hospital that evening.
He liked the hospital. The nurses smiled at him. He roamed the halls and talked to other patients. There was no one hitting him. There was no school. He thought that maybe he could just stay here until he was old enough to be somewhere else.
An upper GI series revealed that he had the beginning of an ulcer. His chart showed that his blood pressure was vacillating. He was easily set into a depth of not speaking or doing anything except staring at the wall and hoping to go back to sleep. When the nurses’ notations showed that he was often asleep during the day, eating little and talking less, it was decided that Ron should see a psychiatrist.
The man came to his bedside, and drew the curtains as Ron watched. “I’m Dr. Reed, Ronald. Would you prefer that I call you Ronnie or Ron?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Reed made a notation and Ron watched his silver pen flash as he wrote on his pad. He wondered if he had said something wrong already.
“Do you know why I am here, Ronnie?”
“No.”
“No one told you that I was going to be stopping by?”
“No.”
“You’ve been sick, Ronnie.”
Ron let his eyes roam the curtains. He was in a hospital. What kind of an observation was that? Was this guy a moron? Ron didn’t answer.
“Dr. Polino thinks that your ulcer may be the result of emotional distress. Do you think that is a possibility, Ronnie?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you been upset recently?”
“I guess.”
“Do you know what is upsetting you?”
“No.”
“You can talk to me in confidence, Ronnie. Anything that you say to me will be between us.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why don’t you believe me?” said Reed.
“Everybody lies to kids. I think it’s part of the adult code.” Ron bit his lip. He hadn’t wanted to say anything and then he just blurted that out.
“Who’s been lying to you Ronnie?”
“No one.”
“If you aren’t willing to work with me Ronald, I’ll simply tell Dr. Polino that I don’t think that I can help you and he’ll send home and you can go back to school”
Ron felt defeated. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you know what’s upsetting you?”
“I hate my life. I hate that my knee is hurt. I hate my step-father. I hate my school. I hate that I don’t see my father anymore. I hate that I’m too young to do anything about anything.”
“Everyone has those feelings sometimes, Ronnie.”
“Then I guess that I’m fine and just don’t know it.”
“There’s no reason for sarcasm, Ronald.”
“There isn’t?”
“It isn’t helpful.”
“It’s not?”
“Do you find that you are sarcastic often?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Do you think that you might be?”
“What I think is that people don’t really want to hear what I think. They want to hear what they think that I should be thinking.”
“You’re a smart boy.”
“Nothing that I say to you is going to make any difference.”
“Suppose I told you that I could arrange to have you stay home and rest for a couple of weeks after you got out of here.”
Ron’s ears perked up. Maybe this guy could help.

Chapter 90
Robin and Ron listened to the news intently. It was a Saturday night. It was still warm. Richard Nixon ordered the Attorney General of the United States to fire the special prosecutor who’d been hired to investigate the Watergate break-in. The Attorney General refused and resigned in protest. Nixon ordered his Assistant Attorney General to fire the Special Prosecutor. He refused and also resigned. Finally, Robert Bork, who was then the Solicitor General, agreed to fire Archibald Cox, the special prosecutor who been hired to investigate Watergate.
They held hands. She said, “Can we get some ice cream?”
“I think that it’s all coming apart and years ago I wanted that. I thought it had to come apart. Now, it’s scary as hell.”
Robin kissed his fingertips. “Do you want strawberry? Are you listening?”
“I heard every word that you said. They’re proving that they are as crazy as we always thought they were.”
“I know.”
“Are you frightened to be right?”
“I have to think about that.” The cascade of thoughts that flowed through his brain suggested that she might be correct. Hadn’t it been a lie since he was old enough to figure out what a lie was? Hadn’t Viet Nam been even a blacker and darker lie than he ever imagined it to be? Kennedy had whipped Nixon’s ass, well almost. But Kennedy was dead and Nixon was president. Johnson and then Nixon were like the nightmare monsters that were sent to make someone afraid of dreaming. “Yeah, I’m frightened that I’m right about this?”
She smiled and kissed his fingertips again. “Let’s get some ice cream. We can listen in the car.”
The radio news said that we were headed for a constitutional crisis. Ron looked over at her face as she licked her cone. He watched the relish that she took as her tongue swirled over the strawberry ice cream scoop.
Then the radio was reporting that agents of the FBI had sealed the offices of all three men. Cox’s staff was told that they would only be allowed to remove their personal papers from the offices. Richardson and Ruckelshaus, the former Attorney General and Assistant Attorney General, were not allowed to take anything with them.
“Do you think that he’ll try to destroy all of the evidence against him?” said Robin.
Ron thought about the Kennedy assassination again. Something inside of him clicked. “I’m not sure that he can. I mean, wouldn’t someone have to go over there and do it for him? The President can’t exactly go over there and do it himself? Besides, we never get to see the actual evidence. It all gets covered up and bleached or locked away so that the people will never know.”
“You think about things too deeply,” she said. “Sometimes it causes you to miss the simple things.”
She ran her foot along his thigh as he watched the TV. She wondered how long it would take him to realize that she wanted to get laid. Robin thought to herself. For someone who likes sex as much as he does, he is terrible at picking up on signals. It’s like he never learned that language.
“I don’t think I miss the simple things,” said Ron.
Robin laughed. “No Ron, you’re always right on top of things.”
Ron said, “I’ve been thinking about the Kennedy thing.”
Robin burst out laughing so hard that she snorted wine up her nose. “Of course you have.”
“There’s nothing funny about that,” said Ron indignantly.
She laughed again and Ron started to get angry. She spread her legs on the couch and lifted the hem of her dress up to expose herself up to her waist. “Is it clear enough now what simple signal that you might be missing?”
Ron grinned the dimpled smile that she loved. “Oh.”

Chapter 91
Dr. Reed’s office was a standard shrink’s room. There was no couch but there were big easy chairs. The doctor sat in back of his desk and secretly taped all of his sessions for later analysis and to have a complete record of what was actually said. The silver pen with which he took notes was only meant to give him prompts and actually he sometimes simply recorded the exact time that something was said so that he could access it later.
Ron didn’t tell him that this was far from the first psychiatrist’s office that he had been in. That would mean telling him about Marjorie and her agoraphobia and her emotional fragility. Ron was definitely not going to do that. But he could not help but compare this place to the other offices. This one was much more lavish than the clinic at Presbyterian Hospital had been. That one had wooden chairs and overhead lights. Here the lighting was indirect and soft. Ron wondered why their offices were not bright and cheerful. They always had a somber look and he always felt sleepy after having to be in them.
“Have you had any episodes this week?”
“Not really,” said Ron. He didn’t tell Reed about the two that he faked. He found that if he said that he felt like he was losing control, they left him alone and got worried looks on their faces. At least he had some control now.
“Are you ready to go back to school?”
“No.”
“You have to go back to school at some point Ron and I’m concerned that you are falling further behind. And that will only increase your stress.”
“When I go back to school, they’ll be angry that I was gone so long. Then they’ll hit me.”
“Maybe you should go to a different school.”
All of a sudden Ron felt very nervous and scared. “That would make everybody really mad at me.”
“Do they know that you are hit at school?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you tell them?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because my father taught me that if I got in trouble in school and came home and said anything that I would be in trouble there too.”
“Do you think that is a good lesson?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know.” Ron knew why. It was a good lesson because it came from his father and, secretly, he cherished everything that came from his father.
“Ronnie, it’s important that you value your therapy.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“Your mother says that she is only able to pay ten dollars an hour for your sessions.”
Ron shifted in his chair and didn’t understand and then it occurred to him. His father had taught him what a shakedown was. He didn’t say anything. There was a long moment of silence. Ron stared into Dr. Reed’s eyes and they were blinking like the ticking of a clock.
“I think that it would be good for you to contribute to your therapy.”
“Really? Don’t you think I might be better off in a clinic? You know, where they help you for free.”
“Well that would be a choice for your mother and for you.”
“Ya know, I really don’t like you very much.”
“Why is that Ronald?”
“You’re greedy.”
“I place a value on what we accomplish here and I want you to feel that sense of value.”
“Yeah.”
“I think it’s time for you to go back to school Ronald.”
“Sure.”

Chapter 92
Ron was able to walk without the immobilizer by the end of that week. Their game was against Passaic. They had a running back who was destined for at least Division 1, if not the NFL. Their coach kept it simple. There were ten plays to the right and the same ten plays to the left. A stop us if you can philosophy. Steve wanted Ron on the sidelines, and sent Paul upstairs. They ran the right plays but the guard, Vinny Farbritsio, came to Ron and said, “Coach, I pulled out and ran hard and I hit him as hard as I could and he just didn’t go down.”
Vinny weighed 165. The player that he was blocking weighed 220. They were both agile. Ron looked over at Artie. “We just can’t block it.”
Artie rubbed his face and said, “Tell him to go lower.”
Vinny should have been reporting back directly to Artie, but Ron was his English teacher and his coach. He just gravitated to him and Artie was OK with it. Ron was a maniac and Artie could respect that.
Ron said, “Let’s run the trap again,” into his headset, where Paul and Steve could hear it.
“They stuff it,” said Paul.
“We’re going low,” said Ron.
Steve growled, “Run it. Let’s see if we can do anything right.”
Artie held Vinny by the facemask before he sent him back in with the play. “Go low, he’s bigger, but you can get low on him.”
Vinny nodded bravely.
The block on Caesar McElroy flipped him into the air and play ran for six yards. Vinny’s nose was bleeding but he was smiling. Steve faked the dive and the sideline pass was open and there was connection. Rufus McElroy slammed hard into the pass receiver and the ball popped out.
Players dove. The ball squirmed like a hot worm. The coaches held their breath. Caesar McElroy’s large hand were on it as Vinny rammed his helmet into McElroy’s balls. The ball squirted into the air again. Ron could almost touch it, as it rolled out of bounds.
They lost 14-7. The coaches had never been more proud of their outmanned team. Everyone was drained and, while not happy, they had avoided embarrassment.
Steve said, “Well, boys, that was like watching a man playing against children.”
“I’ve never seen anyone that big and that fast at the same time,” said Paul.
“He’s a specimen,” said Steve.
“Looks like he came straight from the jungle,” said Artie.
Ferry growled, “I don’t want to hear that kind of shit in my locker room, Artie. Can it.”
With that Ferry walked off naked for his shower. Artie gave him the finger behind his back. Ron said, “It did sound racist, Artie.”
“I don’t really care what it sounded like. Don’t you start on me too, Pegleg.”
Artie had taken to calling Ron that when he wore the immobilizer. Ron grimaced and Artie, now jovial again, laughed.

Chapter 93
Ron met with Grant Pritchard in his office after class. It was a small room that had floor to ceiling bookshelves that were stuffed with an array of books and folders and mementoes from his teaching career. Grant dropped his satchel on the floor and slid in back of his desk. He ran his hands through his curly hair and said, “So, tell me again what you want to do.”
“I know that the version of the tapes that was released was redacted but what they show reveals the true quality of the man that we twice elected president. My girlfriend and I have some stage training and I’d like to make a recording of some of a reading of some of the conversations on the tapes.”
Pritchard nodded. “I can see some value to that. Which conversations do you want to record?”
“Well, March 21st I think is essential.”
“Obviously,” said Pritchard. “But I’d like what you do to reflect more than just the break-in. Some of the other shit that is on those tapes is far worse than that.”
“The March 13 tape goes into some of that,” said Ron. He’d devoured the book when it was rushed into print.
“Refresh my memory of what they talk about in that conversation,” said Pritchard.
“Dean talks about the infiltration of Peace groups and says that a story is out there about how CREEP had paid a minor to do that and that the kid had bragged about it at school. Dean told him that he had access to the IRS and that they could use it to apply pressure in the right places. He spoke with disdain about Hugh Sloan’s need to cleanse his conscience. They talked about the mistake that Liddy had made in using a third person to cash his cheeks from CREEP. He talked about the tail that had been placed on Edward Kennedy and how they had data that they had collected in their two years of following him. And he told Nixon that Haldeman knew about Donald Segretti and his pranks before they happened.”
“That’s all good stuff. Anything about the Pentagon papers?”
“I don’t think so. Not in that conversation.”
“Do you know what that one was?” said Pritchard.
“I think it was between Nixon and Mitchell, but I’ll have to look.”
There was a pause and the each sipped some coffee. “Do you think that this is more important that JFK assassination right now?” said Ron.
“Right now it is because Nixon is still the President. Historically though, what happened JFK was one of the largest events in the history of the country.”
“I remember William Buckley saying that he didn’t care who killed Kennedy as much as the fact that Kennedy was dead.”
“That’s because Buckley is an asshole,” said Pritchard.
Ron decided that it was best not to tell Pritchard that he still watched Firing Line and that he actually liked Buckley. “It just seems like we will never know what happened in Dallas,” said Ron.
“That’s probably accurate.”
“Isn’t it like beating your head against a stone wall and expecting the stone to break before your head does?”
“You can’t think that way.”
Ron didn’t like being told how he could or couldn’t think. He felt the same way about the war in Viet Nam now. He had tried. He had tried for years and it didn’t make any difference. Some people would never believe the truth even if it was right in front of them, and when you showed them things that were so clear that they couldn’t be avoided their response was that they were all a bunch of crooks anyway. That was short for saying that they wanted the conversation to be over.
That night Ron and Robin sat on the floor together. Now that Hank was gone, Robin walked around the house in her panties constantly and Ron found it incredibly distracting. He’d find himself staring at her ass and unable to take his eyes off of it. She sat cross-legged on the floor and now he was staring between her legs. He pretended to be looking down at the paperback book that had the transcripts of the Watergate tapes in it.
“You should be John Dean,” she said.
“What are we going to do about the stuff that is blanked out?” he said.
Robin smiled. “I think that I should just pause for a beat and then say clearly in my own voice, expletive deleted.”
“Let’s try it and see how it works.”
They read through the transcript with a cassette player between them. They read well together. They understood the cadences of each other’s voices and when to wait and when to move faster.
It occurred to Ron that they missed the stage and had been at their best performing with each other. When he told her that he wanted to write instead of act, she said, “You’re better at acting.”
It was true and he knew it. When he just relaxed and let it flow through him, he could feel and act like anyone, any character. He found it dangerous and exciting, but he also felt like an instrument and he yearned to be the composer. But a composer needed vision and where was his vision? What did he have to say that anyone would fine worth reading? Ron stared between her legs again. Nothing felt as good as when he was inside of her there. That wasn’t true. When he was there, he felt the need to perform and satisfy. When they dreamed together, he felt free and light. He thought about that and then looked up at her face. She had seen him staring. It excited her to act with him. There was an energy that sparked between them. It occurred to her for the first time that it wasn’t real. She didn’t really like the way that they fucked. He seemed to enjoy thrusting in so hard and then needing to turn her over and take her from behind in order to achieve orgasm. She didn’t understand why he didn’t want to look into her face when he came. It made her feel alone. She wanted to study the sparkle in his eyes and she couldn’t see them lying on her stomach.

Chapter 94
Returning to school, Ron found that he was helplessly behind in every subject. He was also isolated. It was a funny thing about guys in the school. If a person was away for a while, they became forgotten. People moved on without them. Ron didn’t have any friends in his class and was considered weird because he had been out of school so much.
Brother Alvin stood in front of his desk looking down at Ron as he stumbled through the pronunciation of some French. “You really are rather hopeless aren’t you, Tuck?”
Ron didn’t answer.
“Did you hear my question, Mr. Tuck? I said that you really are rather hopeless, aren’t you?”
“Not as hopeless as a man wearing a dress who is named after a singing chipmunk, Brother.” Ron braced himself for the slap, the kick or the punch that he knew was coming. He heard the class laughing hard. He saw the darkness in Brother Alvin’s eyes.
“Wait in the hallway, Tuck. You don’t deserve to sit in my classroom.”
“Yes, Brother Alvin,” said Ron, accenting the Alvin in a way that caused the class to laugh harder.
Ron stood against the lockers in the long, clean, empty hallway. Why had he done it? Why couldn’t he have just said nothing? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Maybe what Alvin would do to him would land him back in the hospital. The Brothers at Jersey Catholic did not believe in calling home. They did not believe in suspensions. This was something that gratified the parents of the students there.
Ron saw Brother Kelly turn the corner and see him in the hallway. When he saw Ron standing there a frown passed over his face and he moved towards him. Ron knew that this was going to be bad.
“What are you doing out here, Mr. Tuck?”
“Brother Alvin told me to wait out here.”
“And why would Brother Alvin need to remove you from his class after you have missed so much time already?”
“I don’t know.”
“Let’s find out, shall we?”
Brother Kelly opened the door to the classroom and Ron heard it go silent inside. Then Brothers Alvin and Kelly were standing in the doorway talking very quietly. They both came over and stood in front of Ron.
“Why don’t you repeat for Brother Kelly the foul things that you just said to me,” said Brother Alvin.
“I don’t remember,” said Ron.
Kelly backhanded him across the face and his head snapped back and bounced off of the metal locker with a loud clang. “Does that improve your memory, Tuck?”
Ron felt a hot trickle of blood run down from his lip and splash on his white shirt. He didn’t answer. The punch to his stomach that followed doubled him over. “Still experiencing memory problems, Tuck?”
Ron clutched at his stomach and tried to catch his breath. “We’ll give you thirty seconds to compose yourself, Tuck. You are wasting my time and Brother Alvin’s time and the time of your classmates. I do not wish to have my time wasted, Mr. Tuck.
“I got angry because he said that I was hopeless, Brother.”
“You do appear to be hopeless, don’t you Tuck?” taunted Brother Kelly.
“I guess so.”
Ron felt Kelly’s hand grip him like a vise between his neck and shoulder. He walked him down the hall holding him that way. Ron’s hands raised to try to move Kelly’s hand away and then he thought better of it and just winced a long, painful, silent gasp of pain.
They got into the elevator and rode down to the main floor. Ron knew that there were thousands of people in the building, but it seemed to have swallowed them and everything was very quiet.
Ron was not allowed to sit in Brother Kelly’s office. “Perhaps Jersey Catholic is not a good fit for you, Tuck.”
Ron felt hot tears in his eyes. He tasted his blood on his lips.
“Why have you missed so much school?”
“I was in the hospital,” said Ron.
“What was wrong with you this time?”
“I have an ulcer.”
“A boy your age with an ulcer? That’s ridiculous. Do you have a weak stomach?”
“I don’t know.”
“Were you disrespectful to Brother Alvin?”
“Yes, Brother.”
“Why would you ever fail to show respect to someone who was teaching you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry that you got caught.”
Ron looked into Brother Kelly’s eyes with real confusion. How could he have failed to get caught? “I don’t understand, Brother.”
“That much is clear, Mr. Tuck.”

Chapter 95

It was a Sunday and that meant that Celeste was able to come to Ron’s apartment. The almost had a routine now. First, they had sex like horny rabbits, then they luxuriated in each other over Chinese food.
“Where do you want to live?” said Ron.
“Where do you want to live?” said Celeste.
“My mother is willing to ask her tenants to leave and the amount of money that she wants for the apartment is ridiculously low.”
“Do you think that we can do that?”
“I don’t know but I do know that Glen Ridge has a great school system and that Angel would get a great education.”
“That’s a couple years away, Ron. Sometimes I think that you forget how young she is.”
“We don’t have to live there, but it’s safe and we would have support.”
He kissed her bare nipples and she shivered. Lips on lips they were fantastic kissers. Ron slid his hand down her back and she felt a spreading warmth. He was letting her know that he would be ready again soon.
He was asking a lot and he didn’t understand the ways that women dealt with each other. It was Marjorie’s house and if Celeste had learned anything it was that Marjorie didn’t get up what she thought was hers without a struggle.
“We played against a really good team yesterday,” said Ron.
Celeste asked, “How are your classes?”
“I made a mistake,” said Ron.
“A bad one?”
“Yeah,” Ron shook his head back and forth. “I told them that Walt Whitman was homosexual and now that’s all they think about and see.”
“Why did you tell them that?”
“It’s the truth. That’s the deal that I make with them. I always tell them as much of the truth as I can.”
“What will you do now?”
“I’m going to downplay it and try one more time with Crossing Brooklyn Ferry. It’s a great poem.”
Celeste stroked his eyebrows. “Then what?”
“Depends on how it goes. If they can’t get passed it, I have to move on.”
“To what?”
“I’m not sure. I should do Emily Dickinson but I never seem to arouse much enthusiasm for her.”
“Why do you think they don’t like her?”
“I’m really not sure but what I have come to learn is that if I’m not enthusiastic about a writer, my students never like the writer. And I think my lack of enthusiasm for her shows through.”
“So, if you like the writer and communicate that to them, they like the writer?”
Ron laughed and cracked open a fortune cookie. “I wish it was that easy. I’ve been teaching for years that The Odyssey is a great poem that is the foundation for almost everything that came after it. It and The Iliad. It’s hit and miss. Some years the students love it and other years they don’t care for it at all and find it boring.”
“Maybe they aren’t ready for it,” said Celeste.
Ron asked, “Did you like it?”
Celeste blushed. “I never read the whole thing.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t like it,” she said laughing.
Ron read his cookie to her. “Nothing good ever comes easy.” He looked into her deep brown eyes. “Do believe that?”
Celeste thought for a long moment and they each chewed half of the cookie. “I think that it’s true for some people and not true for others. Did you ever see the movie, The Way We Were?”
“I don’t think so. Who’s in it?’
“Robert Redford and Barbra Streisand.”
“I like both of them.”
“You’d like the movie too. I’ll look to see if it ever comes on TV. Anyway, for him things came easy and for her nothing came easy. I think it depends on what kind of person you are.”
Ron laughed, “We are definitely the kind that things don’t come easy for. Let’s play a game.”
Celeste grinned that smile that just melted him because of the way that it spread across her face and showed her enthusiasm. She snuggled down against his chest. His skin was very smooth and his muscles hard. She listened to his heart beating.
Ron said, “Ok, you have to answer fast, without thinking about it.”
“I’ll try.”
“Favorite author?”
“James Michener.”
“Favorite song writer?”
“John Lennon.”
They each felt the pang. It was still fresh for both of them. “Yeah,” said Ron. “I can understand that.”
“Why Michener?”
“He takes me places that I have never been. I can go back to those places each time I read the same book. I must have read Hawaii six or seven times and now it’s like an old friend.”
“I never read anything of his. He’s never taught in the schools and he never was on any syllabus for any of the college courses that I took.” In Ron’s mind that meant that he wasn’t good enough to be on those lists, but he didn’t tell her that just then.
Celeste said, “My turn. Favorite author?”
Ron laughed, “I don’t know.”
Celeste mock pouted. “You made me just say the first thing that I thought.”
“You’re right. F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“Songwriter?”
“Bob Dylan.”
“Favorite movie?”
“I think that I’d have to say The Godfather but it used to be The Hustler and when I was younger it was The Young Philadelphians.”
“I don’t know that one,” said Celeste.
“Paul Newman,” said Ron.
“He’s in The Hustler too isn’t he?”
“Yes, he plays Fast Eddie Felson.”
“So, he’s your favorite actor?”
Ron laughed again. She could hear the laugh rumble inside of him and it echoed in her ear. “Maybe, but I really like Humphrey Bogart.”
The game went on until it grew dark. They talked about food, clothes, flavors, times of the year, holidays, and heroes. They did not mention sports.
“Do you have a favorite way to make love?” said Ron.
Celeste reached down and squeezed him in her hand. “With you.”

Chapter 96
“Do you think it’s possible to know what someone else is thinking?”
Robin answered, “If you really want to, yes.”
Ron said, “I don’t understand.”
“If you really want to know my thoughts, they come with a price tag.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know. It depends on the situation. It depends on what I want you to know.”
Ron shifted in the bed. They were dressed. She was sipping wine and reading a play called Ring Around the Moon. “Suppose it’s something that you don’t want me to know?”
“Then either you won’t find out or the price will be higher.”
“Why do you want me to pay?”
Robin looked at him with the same eggshell blue eyes that he’d seen when he looked at his father. She smiled and said, “Because you fell in love with me.”
Ron tried to digest that. He loved her, did he? She held back from him. He mistrusted that. She wanted to exact a price for his trust. He didn’t understand but he should have.
“I think the recording sounds smooth and good. I like what you did with the mumbled words and the expletive deleted parts.”
Robin grinned. “You sounded just like a lawyer.”
Robin came to class the night that Grant Pritchard played their tape. She was wearing a white wool sweater that had small pearly buttons that she left open halfway down. She wore boots and jeans.
Ron was wearing yesterday’s clothing. He’d listened to the tape at least a dozen times. He wished that they had another shot at it but Robin told him to leave it alone.
The class listened very quietly. Ron and Robin looked at each other as the tape played.
When it ended, Grant Pritchard said, “I want you to notice some things before we listen to this again. Now remember, Nixon knew that he was on tape and he’s a skillful lawyer. Dean did not know that he was on tape and thought that he was speaking with attorney-client privilege. Nixon asks how much money they would need to pay off their blackmailers and Dean tells him a million dollars. Nixon very carefully says that it could be gotten, that he knows how to get it. Someone might leave that conversation and think that had been told to pursue that avenue, but Nixon never actually says that is what he wants Dean to do. He retains deniability.”
A student asked, “Wasn’t he just exploring options?”
Pritchard nodded. “That is exactly what he makes it sound like he is doing. Now in and earlier part of the conversation Dean talks about the things that the Plumbers have done. They mention the burglary of Daniel Ellsberg’s doctor’s office. The attempt here was to discredit the Pentagon papers, but it was only one of the things that they had done. They used prostitutes, buggings, and infiltration of the opposition’s organization. It is clear that they also infiltrated antiwar groups. In other words there was a wide spread attempt to compromise the opposition and dissent.”
Ron said, “So when we thought we were being followed and had people join us who were there to make trouble, we weren’t mistaken.”
Pritchard laughed. “No you aren’t paranoid if they are truly after you.”
The class laughed and Ron felt old. He’d been in college longer than most of the people in the room and many of them had been in high school when he was involved in the Moratoriums. He didn’t find it funny that he and others had tried to stop mass killing and had been characterized as anti- American. It made him angry. Watergate might be the biggest I told you so that he could have imagined but his classmates seemed to think of it more as a game.
Pritchard turned their tape on again and Ron and Robin found each other’s eyes. She had been tense during the laughter because she could see what he was thinking written on his face and she knew that he wasn’t above admonishing them and that was always counterproductive.
After class, Pritchard said, “Ron, you did a great job with that tape and Robin thank you so much for donating your time to the effort.” They both beamed the way that they did when they got applause.
On the way home in the car, Robin said, “That was a lot of fun.”
Ron smiled. “You were worried I was going to say something, weren’t you?”
“I’m always worried that you are going to say something. Accepting compliments isn’t exactly your strong suit. For someone who craves approval as much as you do, it amazes me that you respond so poorly to it.”
Ron grinned. “I’m better than I used to be.”
She shook her head and laughed again. “Yes, it wasn’t as bad as the drama festival when they gave us an award and you got up and told them that we flubbed the lines and jig sawed the scene back together.”
Ron blushed. “That was really stupid. You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Only if you promise to never do it again,” said Robin.

Chapter 97
Ron trudged home after his ninth consecutive day of jug. He only had one more day left. His mother and George were sitting at the kitchen table. She was smiling and he looked worried.
Marjorie said, “Ronald we’re moving.”
Ron’s mouth dropped open. “Where?”
“A beautiful little town called Glen Ridge.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s right off of Bloomfield Avenue. Wait until you see it. You’re going to love it.”
Ron stared at them in disbelief. “We’re leaving Newark? We’re leaving all my friends?”
“You’ll make new friends,” said Marjorie.
“I don’t want new friends.”
George said, “I just don’t see how we are going to afford it. What happens if one of us gets sick? How are you going to get to work in the morning?”
Marjorie’s face was resolute. “George, this is what I want. You promised that if we found the right house that we could do it. There is a tenant and that will help a lot with the mortgage.”
“You can’t count on that.”
“We have to count on it.”
That night, after a dinner that consisted of a green salad and steak, the drove down Summer Avenue, passed George’s family’s home and turned right onto Bloomfield Avenue. The Avenue ran like an artery through Essex County. It began in the north end of Newark and wiggled an almost straight line up to West Caldwell where it intersected with one of the highways that was constructed during the Depression, US route 46. There were farm stands out at the end of the Avenue and people lived very differently than they did at its base.
Marjorie had taken Ron to a pumpkin farm in Verona where they had swiped a Halloween pumpkin that they’d carved and lighted. Ron remembered the squishy feel of the pumpkin seeds and the long stringy tendrils that enveloped them. The further away from Newark they drove, the more the memory of the tendrils on his hands made him sick to his stomach.
The he saw a Woolworth’s to his right and a bank like the one that was down in Newark where Bloomfield Avenue began.
The road climbed and there were lots of oak trees. The Avenue broadened into a wide sweep and the air seemed cooler and fresher. They made a right hand turn by a small row or stores, a police station, two gas stations and a tiny A&P. It was a one block one way street.
A little more than halfway down the block, they stopped in front of a grey house. “Here it is!” said Marjorie.
It rose up slightly from the street. The top of the roof came to a peek. There were green bushes and no broken glass. Ron’s eyes absorbed. What had this place to do with him? How could he ever be more than a visitor to a place like this? Ron thought for maybe the first time that George might be right. They didn’t belong here.
When Ron went back to school, he felt strange. The time that he still had to go there had seemed endless and now he was unsure of how long he had left. Brother Alvin no longer spoke to him or looked at him. When he checked homework, he didn’t even pause at Ron’s desk. He just walked by like Ron was invisible. Ron didn’t know what to do and so he did nothing.
Brother O’Shea was still handing out the weekly smacks for failing grades, but Ron had managed to catch up to the point that he was barely passing each Algebra quiz.
Brother Cecil, who Ron had managed to impress with his knowledge of the life of Jesus, told Ron that he knew more religion that the other kids in his class and that Brother Cecil wanted him to stay quiet when he asked questions or when they had discussions in the room.
English and History continued to go well, but Ron was finding that he had to force himself to read the pages and was always looking ahead and hoping that large portions of the pages would be taken up by pictures. He seemed to forget what he read as soon as he was finished reading it. Sometimes it would come back to him and sometimes it was just gone.
In Latin, he was totally lost and stopped even opening the book. The days were very long and very quiet. The quieter they grew the more withdrawn Ron became. He stopped seeing the psychiatrist. Marjorie told him that they needed to save every penny they could now.
Between teacher arrivals, Billy Mitchell said, “I got indefinite fucking jug.”
“What did you do?”
“Didn’t go to school so that I could get laid.”
Ron was impressed. Billy grew in respect in his eyes. Ron had never gotten laid and he wondered if he would ever get laid.
“We’re moving,” said Ron. He knew that Billy took the bus down from Verona every day and thought maybe he would be able to tell him something about Glen Ridge.
“Where to?”
“Glen Ridge.”
Billy Jenkins laughed and said, “You’re fucked.”
Ron felt slapped. “Why?”
“Rah-rah heaven.”
“What do you mean?’
“That’s the land of madras shirts and penny loafers.”

Chapter 98
When the literary magazine came out, Ron was impressed by its size and cover. The cover was a high gloss explosion of fruits, flowers and birds that were arranged in the middle of a wooded scene with a hint of blue and white sky in the background. The yellows and blues and purples and reds sprang out at the reader.
Ron thumbed through it quickly to see which of his four submissions were in the magazine. When he saw his name in print a rush of adrenalin surged in him. It was his poem Leopards in the Temple. He’d written it about Franz Kafka and borrowed the title from one of Kafka’s Parables and Paradoxes. His eyes moved quickly over the lines. He liked what he saw. His was the only poem on the page. He winced when he saw the parenthesis that he’d grown too fond of using. He realized again that they added nothing to the piece. He wanted to erase them, but there they were in print. He heard Warren Lashly’s admonishment in his head about being foolish for letting things go before they were ready. He could hear his Southern drawl saying, “Your impatience causes your poems to be flawed. Well, it’s one of the things that causes them to be flawed.” Ron felt his ears burn.
He leafed through the pages and there was another of his poems. The title of this one was a line of French that he’d copied out of The Magic Mountain. When he wrote the poem, he pictured Robin and himself as figures in a painting. She was looking out at the world and he was staring only at her. But there were the stupid parenthesis again. Ron glared at them. Warren had been right. And now the way that he had placed the words on the page, the lines that he felt looked so elegant when he had written them with a quill pen on parchment paper now appeared to just be confusing.
Ron wondered if any of his other pieces had made it to the magazine. When he got to pages 54 and 55, his eyes grew larger. Herman Horvack had taken his other two poems and combined them into one very long poem. He’d changed the title of his poem. A look of horror twisted Ron’s face. He heard Melanie’s voice singing, “Look what they done to my song, ma.” He felt a rush of rage. He had an urge to find Herman and confront him about it. Then a voice in his head said that he should also remember that they had published every word that he had submitted to the magazine.
Later that night Robin read the magazine and said, “You turned your poems into a choo-choo train.”
“What do you mean?” It sounded almost childish but with insight.
“Your poems are strung together like railroad cars. Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t.”
“They changed your poems?”
“I don’t know if it was an accident or on purpose.” Ron knew. The title had been changed. He didn’t want to tell her.
The next day Herman said, “I saw a connection between the two poems and thought they would look great as a single piece.”
Ron’s anger had dissipated some. “I wish that you would have talked to me about it first. I see your point but I would have made it a part one and part two, not run them together.”
“Here’s the exciting news. The magazine is being considered for a national award.”
“Really?”
“The combination of artwork and poetry and prose and photography is getting a great reception,” said Herman. “Your poems look great.”
“So do yours, but one in English, one in French, and one in German without translations. Are you trying to be Thomas Mann?’
Herman laughed at Ron’s reference to the thirty pages of untranslated French that was in the middle of the Magic Mountain.

Chapter 99

Ron was tired. He went straight home from practice and stopped at his local deli and bought two rolls and some turkey breast and Swiss cheese and added some mayo. That was dinner. He just didn’t want to face papers tonight and he was enough on top of it so that he could let it go for a day.
Ron was watching this new show called Cheers that took place in a bar in Boston. He thought the blonde was hot and loved the way that she stood up so straight with her legs together. It gave her ass the cutest little wiggle when she moved her arms as she spoke. He turned the sound down when the phone rang.
Celeste’s voice made him smile. They talked briefly about their day and she told him that her friend the bartender was arranging for the alcohol for the wedding and that she had found a place called the Englehard Women’s Club.
“Wow, that’s a long way from Glen Ridge, isn’t it?”
“I just couldn’t find anything else on short notice.”
Ron didn’t understand how several months could be short notice but he trusted her that it was. He laughed, “You know more about these things than I do.”
“It’s going to start moving very fast now, Ron. It will be here before you know it.”
“I know.”
“Do you have the TV on?” she said.
“Did you see the special on the Kennedy Assassination?”
“No,” said Ron. “Why are they doing something about the assassination?”
“The anniversary of it is coming up.”
Ron grimaced. He hated the way they dredged it up every year now. He hated what it had done to the country. “I used to be really involved with looking at the conspiracy theories around it. But after the Church hearings, I just gave up. I knew that we were never going to know the truth and that it was so long ago that it didn’t matter anymore.”
“I don’t know why but every time I see something on TV or see an article in a magazine, I read it. I just can’t help myself. I feel like I am being loyal to his memory somehow.”
“I know what you mean, but it’s like banging your head on the wall. Walls don’t bleed but your head does.”
“Do you remember where you were when it happened?”
“I remember everything about it. That’s why I can’t watch those specials. It just dredges up all that pain and anger.”
“I know it does but it reminds me of a time before I knew that there was anything wrong in the country.”
“You knew it during the Civil Rights Movement,” said Ron.
“Yes, but it was getting better and JFK and Bobby and Martin Luther King were changing things. It felt so filled with energy and hope.”
“I know it did. Then we grew up.”
“Do you think that they three of them are connected?”
“I don’t know,” said Ron. “I would have said that we would never know the truth about anything until Watergate. I was pretty sure that we weren’t going to know the truth about that either, but then Nixon and his tapes.”
Ron lay his head back on the pillow. He closed his eyes and listened to her voice and heard his voice. Their telephone calls had a soft intimacy that had nothing to do with the topic but everything to do with the way that each of them sounded to the other.
“Did I tell you that I worked for the Underground Railroad?”
Ron’s grinned widened. “No you just told me that you worked for Harry Chapin and World Hunger Year. What did you do?”
“I drove guys from New Jersey up into New York State.”
“Then they met somebody else?”
“Yes.”
“Did you ever learn what happened to any of them?”
“No, we didn’t even know their names.”
“Did you talk to them much?”
“We weren’t supposed to. The less we knew the better.”
“How long did you do that for?”
“A year.”
Ron smiled into the phone. “Pretty risky stuff.”
“It didn’t seem that way then. Looking back on it, yeah. What do you really think about the assassinations?” said Celeste.
“I think it’s all really connected by Watergate and what it reveals,” said Ron.
Celeste felt stunned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Here is what I believe. Six months before he died, JFK said that he wanted American troops out of Viet Nam by the end of the year. That was 1963. There was ten more years of war to be waged. Profits to be made. Weapons to be tested.”
Celeste feel shivers as she heard his whispers. “What about Bobby?”
“That’s a tough one,” said Ron. “Here’s the common denominator. Bobby became a peace candidate. He was going to win. It had only been five years. Camelot was a dream that was not so far away. That’s how people were responding. Remember it was only 1968. We had five more years of war at stake.”
“Sirhan killed him,” said Celeste. “It might be the one time that it really was a lone assassin.”
“I don’t know or think that I will ever be able to know any of that. We got Nixon. He could never have beaten Kennedy. The Kennedys were his nightmare. They would have brought out the worst in him very early in in 1968.”
“What you’re saying is scary,” said Celeste.
“Fairly buried in Watergate is what Nixon did to the Peace Movement. They discredited it. They sabotaged it the way that Nixon sabotaged for his whole career. The Pentagon Papers,” said Ron. “They were a key. It showed that we knew how fucked up what we were doing was and didn’t care. It was a kick in the balls to every person who had supported the war. But you know what?”
Almost automatically, she said, “What?”
“They didn’t want to read it or know it. Then they shifted the focus to those gallant man who served their country. Private Benjamin and Officer and a Gentleman. They got away from Apocalypse Now. It was back to You’re in the Army Now.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Celeste.
“After I read 1984 and Brave New World, I knew about how propaganda worked. It was all about manipulation. Everything that is designed to affect our desires for a better world is manipulated but what we know and what we don’t know.”
“That’s very dark,” said Celeste.
“I’m sorry. Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” she said quickly like there was a scary movie in her ear and she wanted to hear where it was going.
“I think Howard Hughes had it right. Make movies that support what you want.” Ron laughed. “See Nixon is a key to it all. He was either there or a representative of what controlled him from the start.” Ron laughed. “But he’s fucked up. Or, they set him up because while he was useful, he wasn’t likable. His greatest nightmare, to be reviled.”
“You’re all over the place,” said Celeste.
“I know that it sounds that way. I really do. Here’s what I learned from Watergate. Follow the money. Translated that means follow the power.”
“That’s thinking the game is rigged,” said Celeste.
“I’m thinking that we don’t know what the game is.”
“You sound like Quimpy.”
“Quimpy is a very smart man.”
Celeste said, “He sure is but he’s also great evidence for brains not being everything.”
Ron said, “He and I go way back. I think I was sixteen when I met him.”
“At the bowling alley?”
“Yes.”
“That seems like such an odd place for you to hang out.”
“I was different then.”
“Do you mean you’re older now?”
Ron thought hard. “Maybe I do. Maybe it took me a long time to figure out what getting older really means.”
Celeste said, “I know what you mean, but I didn’t really learn it until I gave birth to Angel. It just changed everything. Do you understand?”
Ron murmured, “No.” He thought about telling her. He’d never told anyone about that conversation and how it made him feel. The he just found himself saying, “Robin and I never wanted children. I think, for me, I was just too young to understand. For her, it was something deeper and I don’t know what it was or is. Zoe wanted children and begged me to impregnate her.” Ron laughed as he remembered. “Can you believe that we had sex multiple times each day and used no birth control except for withdrawal and she didn’t get pregnant?”
“It depends on a lot of things,” said Celeste. He had caused her nursing brain to activate and give her multiple options of symptoms such as age and eating disorders to consider.
“Anyway,” said Ron. “I had this friend named Paula. She used to come over to see me before my apartment got burned out and when I lived in Elizabeth. We were friends and we liked sex. That’s how it was for me. Looking back, that was a stupid way to feel. I was staying in Rahway a couple days after the fire and she called me there. She told me that she’d been pregnant but had an abortion. She said it had been my child.”
Celeste winced. What had she told him that? The answer came swiftly. She’d loved him and he hadn’t recognized it and so she punished him with both the abortion and the call. Celeste conjured his face in her mind. Why did his lovers feel the need to punish him? Was it something that he was doing? She’d not felt that way. Did he pick women who liked doing that? No, that wasn’t it. What was it? “We all do crazy things sometimes,” said Celeste.
“Why?” His word was a plea to understand.
“I don’t know. There’s lots of evidence for it though.”
They laughed sweet and warm smiles into the phones.
“I think it’s because we live in the instant but then our brains keep recreating that instant over and over.”
Celeste’s voice was gentle and filled with understanding. “Not everyone’s brain needs to do that, Ron.”

Chapter 100
Looking at his grades, Ron felt his head begin to spin. He had never failed a subject in his life and there they were, two failures staring up at him. French and Latin had both turned out to be a mess.
Marjorie said, “How did this happen?”
“I just didn’t do well.”
“But you’re so smart. I never had to help you with homework. You never needed help before.”
“I know.”
“What happened this time?”
“I don’t know. Those subjects were hard and I missed so much time.”
“That’s a terrible excuse.”
Ron felt his ears begin to hum. She was right. He had given up on both of those subjects and he hadn’t liked the teachers very much. “I’m sorry. I know that you’re right. I just gave up on those classes.”
“You gave up?” Her face showed genuine surprise. “How could you give up?”
“I didn’t like them.”
“Do you think that I like all the things that I have to do, Ronald? What would happen if I gave up?”
Ron didn’t answer. If he answered he would have gotten into deeper trouble because the truth was that he had seen her give up and give into her fears all the time. So she was allowed to give up and he wasn’t?
“Well, you’ll do better in your new school.”
Ron looked shocked. “What new school?”
“There’s no reason to pay to send you back down to Newark to a school where you are failing when the public schools where we will be living have a great reputation.”
Ron felt confusion. Newark was all that he had ever known and now everything was going to be taken away. He knew the rules on the streets but this new place that he had only seen once and was now going to be his home was different. He didn’t know the rules and he would have no friends and he wasn’t sure that he would ever be able to play football again. “I guess not,” said Ron.
“I have something to tell you,” said Marjorie.
Ron listened.
“When I got your report card, I went to Jersey Catholic and met with Brother Kelly.”
Ron felt a flush of embarrassment. Why did she do things like that?
“I asked him why you had done so poorly and he told me that it was your attitude.”
Ron felt the buzzing in his ears again.
“He said that you had been insulting to your teachers and had missed a lot of time and showed no desire to be successful.”
Ron put his head down. He’d never told her that he was hit at school. He never told her any of what had happened to him there. She wouldn’t have understood and would have only made it worse.
“He did say that it was not unusual for a boy to have a rough transition from grammar school. I told him that you were a convert and he seemed surprised by that.”
Ron knew that his face must be very red now. He could feel the heat. His palms were beginning to sweat.
“I told him that it had been your dream to go to Jersey Catholic and would you like to know what he said to me?”
Ron didn’t want to know but said, “Yes.”
“He said that you were like an untrained animal that had no discipline.”
Now Ron felt his anger beginning to rise. He saw the hurt on her face. He knew how much she must have hated hearing that.
“I felt humiliated, Ronald.”
“I’m sorry, Mom. You shouldn’t have gone there.”
“I’m trying to figure out what’s happened to you, Ronald. You’ve changed. Something is going terribly wrong with you and I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s just been a hard year.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Sure,” said Ron. “It was going great until I got hurt. Then everything changed. I started worrying that I would never be able to play football again.”
“Football is just a game, Ronald.”
“I know, but I’m good at it. I was anyway. There aren’t that many things that I am good at.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re very smart.”
“Being smart and being good are two different things.”
“So this is all about football?”
“No,” said Ron. He wanted to tell her how much he missed his father but knew that if he did that she would call his dad and yell at him. Then his father would be angry with him. “I’m frightened about moving.”
Marjorie said, “Moving is going to be a very good thing. Newark is changing. There is trouble coming.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure, but it’s something that I feel.”
“Like what?”
“Tension and bad feelings,” said Marjorie. “George is carrying a baseball bat in the car. He doesn’t play baseball.”
In his mind’s eyes, Ron saw the image of his dad. His father could pick it at third base and had an elegant swing. The thought of George carrying a baseball bat was obscene to him. “Why does he have the bat?”
“He says that it’s for protection.”
“What does he need to be protected from?”
Marjorie looked into her son’s eyes. “I don’t know.” Then her voice got soft. “Every man I have ever known has lied to me.”
Ron winced and knew that included him. He said, “I miss Dad and since he started really playing golf, he never come to see me anymore. I know he’s busy but…” His voice trailed off.
Marjorie looked at him and felt sympathy. More than any other man, Harry Tuck had lied to her the most and, sadly, loved her the most. She thought about Rocky. She couldn’t help it. Was a lie different from a betrayal? Was every rejection a betrayal or maybe an acknowledgment of a person’s failings? “Your father had a hard life.” She wondered how much of Harry had seeped into her son.
“I just miss him,” said Ron.
Marjorie wanted to cry for him the same way that she had cried for Harry, but in some ways his connection was stronger than hers. He had Harry’s blood in him. He couldn’t help but have it. She wanted to kiss him but they rarely touched and it would have been awkward. “Well, you aren’t going back to Jersey Catholic. That’s over now.”

Chapter 101

“So where is this bar?” said Ron
Celeste said, “It’s right on Washington Avenue.”
It was a bar like that the hundred that Ron had been in with his father when Harry used to take him to work. It was long and dark with some filtered light that gave it a sullen feel. Ron wondered if bars did that on purpose like having no clocks in a casino caused you to forget about how much time you had spent there. Was the bar designed to make you feel sullen so that you drank more?
Bottles was a stocky guy with black curly hair and dark framed glasses. He saw Ron and came over to shake his hand. “Let’s go in the other room for a few minutes,” he said. Bottles motioned to the other bartender and jerked his thumb and then led Ron around a wall. There was another full bar there but if was very dark and almost empty. Sitting at the bar alone was Gregory Lumus, Celeste’s first husband and Bottles best friend.
Ron felt a moment of discomfort and scanned for exits. There were none other than the one that he had just walked through. OK, so here he was in this fairly isolated place with two men who might wish to do him harm. He felt his body tense a little. Bottles walked in back of the bar and refilled Greg’s glass with bourbon. “Can I get you anything, Ronnie?’
Ron felt back in Newark. “Just some water.” He didn’t want to tell them that he didn’t really drink. Gregory hadn’t looked up from his glass.
Bottles said, “Greg, this is Ronnie Tuck. He’s going to marry Celeste.”
Without looking at him, Lumus said, “Good fucking luck with that.” Then he laughed to himself and turned to face Ron. “So, you’re going to marry her now, huh?”
“Yeah,” said Ron.
“What’s that make you, number three?”
Ron ignored the barb. “She’s told me a lot about you.”
“Yeah,” said Gregory. “What did she say?”
“That you were exciting and talented. That you went to Europe together.”
“She tell you that she walked out on me without a word? Without any explanation?”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “She did.” Ron didn’t tell him that she left him because of his refusal to get a job, his endless drunken nights passed on the floor, and the generally chaotic life that he wanted to live.
Gregory went back to his drink and stared into the smoky mirror in back of the bar. All three men lit a cigarette. Bottles looked a little uneasy but then said, “So you want me to just order what would be standard for a wedding, or did you have something else that you needed?”
“I’d better leave that up to you.”
“Celeste said that you knew a guy who we could hire to tend bar?”
Greg Lumus reached for the bottle of bourbon and poured another two fingers worth into his glass. Ron still wasn’t taking his eyes off of him but was watching with peripheral vision so as not to appear to be staring.
“Yeah,” said Bottles with a gravelly voice. “I got somebody.”
Lumus said, “She’s not getting you to do it, huh?”
Bottles laughed, “I’m a guest.”
Lumus downed the bourbon. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
He walked away without saying anything to Ron.
Bottles looked relieved. He said, “Greg is alright.”
“Yeah,” said Ron. “He seems really nice.”
They both laughed.

When he got home, Ron called Celeste. “So I saw Bottles and we got the alcohol thing straightened out.”
“That’s good,” said Celeste.
“I also met Gregory Lumus.”
Celeste began to choke. She had been drinking a cup of coffee and was mid swallow when he said it. She could feel it coming out of her nose now. Ron was laughing.
Then he said, “Are you Ok?”
It took her another minute to stop choking. “Yes,” she managed to squeak as she fought for air. “What happened?”
“He wished me luck,” said Ron.
“He did?” Celeste sounded incredulous.
“Sort of,” said Ron. “What he actually said was good fucking luck with that.”
“That sounds more like him. Was he drunk?”
“On his way,” said Ron.
“Sure, Friday night. Let’s see he’ll get fairly plastered, sleep for a couple of hours, and then do some serious drinking.”
“Every Friday?”
“You can set your watch by it,” said Celeste.
“He asked if I knew that you left him without a word.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yeah.”
“It sounds like it was tense.”
“More it was just awkward after I figured out that they weren’t going to jack me up.”
“Were you worried about that?”
“It crossed my mind. That was just me. There wasn’t anything like that.”
Celeste smiled.
Ron said, “George had the invitations printed for us.”
“How do they look?”
“I haven’t seen them yet. I’ll stop by their house and pick them up on the way up to see you. I’ll get the list from my mom.”
“Ok, want to do them tonight?”
“Sure,” said Ron.
Marjorie was waiting for him. She showed him the invitations. Ron smiled up at George and said, “Thank you. They’re really beautiful.” They were printed in a script that Celeste and Ron liked and they were on a creamily white, fine paper that would accent her wedding dress. Ron looked at them again and smiled. “They’re really great George, thank you.”
George said, “I printed up enough thank you notes to last forever.”
The genuine kindness of the act touched Ron in a place that he never believed that he could ever be touched by George. Marjorie handed him the list. “It’s larger than what we expected.”
“We agreed on 100 people,” said Ron.
“This will only bring it to about 125 and these people are important.”
“Why?” said Ron.
George got up and left the table. He went into the living room and turned on the TV.
“I want to invite Rocky,” said Marjorie.
The cold gaze that came over Ron was almost frightening. “No.”
He knew that his mother still talked to Rocky on the telephone. For all he knew they may have met again. He hadn’t expected her to ask for this and his reaction was visceral.
“He was important in your life.”
“Pretty much the way that the bubonic plague was important to Shakespeare.”
“Don’t be a bastard, Ronald.”
“Mom, I can’t. I still hate him and I don’t want anyone that I hate there that day.”
“What about your father’s boss?”
“He was always good to me. If he wants to come, I want him there.”
“George’s family wants to be there.”
Ron felt a little stunned. He looked down at the invitations. “That would be nice.”
“What about your Uncle Mike’s family?”
Ron thought about his Aunt Dottie and her sister Anita who had married Uncle Mike. He wasn’t sure why they would want to be there. His uncle had died. “OK,” he said. He loved the Yankees because of his Uncle Mike. He’d ignored his uncle. Ron had the feeling that this would be a rerun of his life. He had very few vetoes and he’d already used the biggest one.

Chapter 102
They moved to Glen Ridge in early summer. Richie helped them with the move. The sense of space was shocking. There was a backyard without gravel and glass and in back of it was a football field that was ringed by a track. When they shook hands Ron said, “I not losing touch with Newark.”
Richie shook his friend’s hand warmly. “You will. Everybody who moves away does.”
“Not me,” said Ron. “I know where I come from.”
“You still want to play football?”
“Yes,” said Ron.
“Is your knee better?”
“Sometimes, but I can’t run the way that I used to.”
“I could always beat you in a race,” said Richie.
“You always did,” said Ron.
It was goodbye to Newark and Ron’s friends and everything that he understood. He wouldn’t miss Jersey Catholic, but right now he missed Newark very much.
His first walks were explorations that were filled with wonder. What struck him first was that there were no smells. You didn’t get that whiff of diesel when a bus rumbled its engine. The aroma of what your neighbors were cooking didn’t waft out to you as you passed their windows. The houses were set too far back from the street for any of that. The lawns were manicured and the wonder of flowers was everywhere. Ron had only seen flowers in a vase or when he visited Rocky’s sister who had rose bushes. These flowers bloomed everywhere and instead of diesel and cooking aromas he sniffed their scent.
Some streets were wide and some were narrow but they were all quiet. A dog’s bark rang out like a siren but without its implications. Instead of streetlights, there were gaslights that glowed but did not really illuminate.
When Ron realized that he could walk to his father’s house, he felt his heart beginning to race. It was a couple of miles but he could do it and wanted more than anything to be able to walk over and see him.
Newark was a bus ride away and when he took it back there everything felt strange. He could feel it on his skin and he wondered if it had always been there.
When Harry Tuck found out that Ron had been in the hospital he was shocked. It came in a phone call from Marjorie.
“I thought that you might want to know what is going on in your son’s life, since you seem to take no interest at all in it.”
“Don’t start with me, Margie. What’s going on with him?”
“He’s been in the hospital, not that you would care.”
“Why was he in the hospital?”
Marjorie’s voice was anguished. “Harry, he lost control and was shaking and twitching and the doctor wanted to send him to a psychologist and said that he has an ulcer from stress.”
“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he said that he didn’t want you to worry about him and that when you weren’t so busy that you would call. So I waited and you didn’t.”
Harry wiped his hand over his face. “How is he now?”
“He seems better. I don’t know. I know that he misses you and would rather die than bother you.”
“I’ll stop by tonight.”
“We don’t live there anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
The surprise in Harry’s voice caused a broad grin on her face.
“We have a house in Glen Ridge,” she said with a swelling pride.

End of Part 3

Chapter 103
The day before the wedding Ron picked up the boxes of alcohol from Bottles and drove them up to the Women’s Club. He was met by the caretaker, an older Black man, tall with gray hair. His name was Roy Miller and Ron called him Mr. Miller.

“There had to be some changes,” said Mr. Miller.
“What kind of changes?”
“Your guest list grew. We had to put in more tables and take away the dance floor.”
“Oh that’s not so good,” said Ron. “Is there anything that we can do about that?”
“Well,” said Mr. Miller, “if I move the bridal table to the other side of the room and we open the curtains and put it on the stage, there should be enough room.”
“Then let’s do that.”
“Just move the bridal table to the stage and leave everything else the same?”
“Sure,” said Ron, “that will be the easiest way.”
Roy Miller smiled his fake, fuck you smile. “Whatever way you’d like to do it.”
If Celeste and Ron had hired him to co-ordinate the event, as had been suggested, he would be looking out for their interests. But they had turned him down and said that they had it under control, so now he was just there to tend to the Club.
Ron loaded in the liquor while Mr. Miller watched. He liked the feel of the club and the room. He thought Marjorie would be happy with it too. “Is there anything else that I should know, Mr. Miller?”
Roy Miller smiled. “Not that I can think of right now.”
“Great,” said Ron nervously.
Ron drove to Roger and Rita’s restaurant. Roger was a former English teacher that both Ron and Celeste knew through Quimpy. He had left the profession, which Ron thought was the best move that he could have made and opened a place with his wife. It was a small storefront that served French style food. Rita was a trained chef and did all the cooking. Roger ordered the food and acted as a host. They put out a great meal and when Ron and Celeste had gone to them with the idea that they cater the wedding, they’d were excited. It would be their first catering job and a nice way to expand the business.
Roger smiled and shook Ron’s hand. He looked so much happier and relaxed now that he didn’t have to face the pile of papers that had begun giving him hives by the end of his career teaching.
Ron said, “Are you all ready?”
“We’ve got it under control,” said Roger. “It’s going to be great.”
Ron smiled. “Is Rita back there?”
“Yeah,” said Roger. “Go say hello.”
Rita was a short, Scottish woman with black curly hair and a winning smile that always put Ron at ease. She grinned up from a pot of a white wine cream sauce. “Are you nervous?”
Ron grinned his best dimpled grin. “About everything but the food.”
Rita handed him a cream puff. Ron smiled and it was gone in two bites.
“I know that you’re busy,” said Ron. “I’m just trying to make sure that we have everything in place.”
“You’ve done all the planning. Now you just have to sit back, let everyone do their job, and marry Celeste.”
Ron broke into a wide automatic grin at the sound of her name.
“Will Angel be there?”
“Yes, we hired her favorite teacher to be her companion for the day.”
“That was a good idea. Do you have music?”
“We have a piano player.”
“That’s great. I hate this new thing of using a DJ. Live music is the best.”
Ron and Celeste had painstakingly created a set list for Pipes, a friend the next door neighbor, Jake Clifford had found for them. Jake told them that Pipes looked a little strange but that he played great piano and his nickname was earned by his really strong voice. When Ron asked what was strange about the way that he looked, Jake had told them that Pipes was a dwarf. Celeste and Ron thought that was both funny and appropriate.
“See you tomorrow,” said Ron.
Rita kissed his cheek and Ron felt the dampness that came from working in the hot kitchen. “You just relax and enjoy.”
Ron shook hands with Roger again. Rita put him at ease but Roger didn’t.
When Ron asked Chris Calvin to be his best man, he felt good about the choice. It was true that he knew Quimpy longer, but Quimpy had been more of an early teacher and always looked at Ron as a crazy fucked up kid that he enjoyed helping. Quimpy had also been one of Celeste’s boyfriends. That would have been too weird. But things between Ron and Chris weren’t the same. Chris was married now. He owned a house in the same town as his parents. His wife was obviously pregnant. Ron had the sense that both of their lives had changed immeasurably.
Ron drove back to his apartment. He’d stopped staying there. He spent each night with Celeste, in her basement room. The basement touched something primitive inside of him. He felt it from the first time that he’d seen it. In spite of all the objections of Celeste’s family, Angel was thriving in day care. She accepted the way that things were organized and her pathway to approval was so easy. Ron filled the pitcher at his kitchen sink. He walked around the debris that had come down from the ceiling, through his bedroom and into the place where he kept his desk and had bay windows and music and his plants. He stroked the leaves as he watered them.
He felt that he communicated with his plants through music and emotion, thought and touch. His fingers strokes the asparagus fern that he encouraged to grow and touch the other potted plants and who had rewarded him with white flowers that were beautiful and delicate. His olive tree looked healthy and was coming through the winter chill and lack of light in good shape. The jade plant was plump although there were small wrinkles in the plump leaves that called for light. The spider plant was prodigious.
Ron sat in the fan back chair and lit a joint. The room felt happy to see him. There had been so many hours in this room. For almost all of them he’d been alone. He’d learned to be fully alone here. When he moved in, Chris said, “I think you’re going to stay here for a long time and it’s going to be good.”
Chris had been right. He had stayed a long time and it had been good for him. It occurred to Ron that whenever he lived alone, he’d been forced out of the apartment eventually, like something was moving him. In Elizabeth, it had been a fire. Here it was a collapsing ceiling in his kitchen. Ron sucked on the joint and laughed. That wasn’t true. Now there was Celeste and Angel. That’s why he was no longer here.
He finished the joint, resisted the temptation to light another and turn on his music, laid out his tux, locked the door and drove down to spend the night with Chris.
Ron turned down the barely paved one block, dead end, one house street. The house was small but surrounded by an enormous amount of property. The light inside the screened in porch was on and Chris was sitting in a chair on the side of the round, iron table. The window to the screened in porch was open. Chris was wearing a light jacket. The lights were lit on the second floor. Music filtered out from the adjoining living room.
Chris poured Ron a glass of red wine. “I think that she’s really great.”
“I do too,” said Ron. “It’s just not something that you get to fuck up and say oh well, and then move on.”
Chris grinned. “Don’t think about fucking it up. It’s going to be great.”
Ron said, “I invited Laureen and April. They never responded.”
“That surprises you?”
“I suppose that it shouldn’t.”
Chris sipped at the wine and smiled his contagious grin. “Celeste responded though, right?”
Ron lit a cigarette and laughed softly to himself. “Yes, she did.”
“That’s all you need.” Chris shifted his position and said, “Look, you’re getting married. After that, it’s just a party, right?”
Ron felt that confident warmth that Chris always inspired and said, “You’re right.”
Chapter 104

The morning was cold like winter. Ron cradled a mug of coffee in his palms on the screened porch of Chris Calvin’s house. The light was just coming up and birds were singing. Ron thought that he has never lived in a place where birds singing was the dominant music of an early morning. The coffee felt warm. He was getting married. His mind was pulled like a magnet, not to his mother but to his Aunt Dottie.
Last Christmas eve, he and Celeste had eaten at her family’s house. It was the first time in his life that he’d done that. Marjorie was almost too wounded to speak. She accepted that he would be there on Christmas Day.
Ron sipped the coffee and felt the bite of the air. It was going to be cold today. That night Celeste heard that her Aunt Minn had no place to be. It was the first time that Ron had seen her stand up to her mother and father. It was a sight to behold. She gave in about everything except the things that truly mattered to her.
A transformation took place when those things were somehow insulted or disqualified or ignored. That metamorphosis exuded a certain power.
Celeste said, “I’m going to bring Aunt Minn here. I won’t eat here without here.”
Tina objected. “No, it’s supposed to be just us.”
Celeste moved in closely. She was taller than her younger sister. It wasn’t a growl, but it was tending in that direction. “I’m bringing our Aunt Minn to dinner.”
Tina frowned but the look in Celeste’s eyes withered her mother and her sister. Mario was annoyed and proud.
They got into the car and Celeste drove. She said, “My Aunt Minn loved me like no one else has ever cared for me. She was just always on my side and she’s old and I don’t know how much longer she has.”
Ron loved her more deeply in that instant than he had ever loved a woman. “Let’s get her.”
Ron cradled the cup in his palms and held it to his mouth. Aunt Minn had white hair and smooth powdered cheeks when he first saw her. She was wearing a shawl over a soft print dress. She kissed Celeste and stroked her face and Ron watched Celeste beam and know that she had felt a kind of warmth that he was yet to experience.
Aunt Minn lit up the table when they brought her back. Anna basked in the glow of the older sister who had really been more of a mother to her. Tina felt the warmth of her loving eyes. Mario gazed at her and thought about Tony, her late husband who had been so strong and so important and so rich.
Ron sipped his morning coffee and closed his eyes. Then
he opened them and looked down at his left pinky. The ring that Aunt Minn gave him was there. It was copper. She told him that he had kind eyes. She told him that the ring would protect him. She’d smiled at Celeste after she said that. It was a blessing.
Ron stretched his legs out and felt the cold of the day again. It was the end of March what about the out like a lamb nonsense.

Chapter 105

Celeste and Anna got dressed to go to the beauty parlor where Janine worked. She had done Celeste’s hair for each of the her other weddings but teasing Celeste about it in front of Anna only elicited a stony gaze that said she was in no mood to laugh. Being at your daughter’s first wedding was an honor. Having to attend the third was an embarrassment. She communicated to Celeste with her facial expressions and body language that she just wanted this to go smoothly and be over.
Janine waited until Anna was safely ensconced under the hair dryer to talk with her cousin. “She is in one hell of a snit.”
“I know,” said Celeste, “but there’s nothing that I can do about it.”
“She thinks that you are taking Angel away from her.”
“I’m not. Angel will still be there every day.”
“I know that and you know that.”
They both looked at Anna was sat plump and sullen, her chin tucked down against her chest and her eyes in a magazine that she wasn’t really reading.
“Do you think that I should try to explain that again today?”
They both laughed. Anna could not hear because of the dryer over her head but she sensed the laugh and looked over at them. The no nonsense gaze caused them both to act like naughty school girls who had been caught doing something wrong.
“She can’t hear us, can she?” said Celeste.
“No, but she has radar. She knows.”
They tried to stifle their giggles.
“Are you excited?”
“I’m ready to jump out of my skin.”
“Where did he spend last night?’
“At his best friend’s house.”
“He’s the best man?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t he have a brother?”
“A half-brother, but they aren’t that close.”
“You’re going to look beautiful.”
“I just hope that he thinks so.”
“He’d be an idiot not to,” said Janine.

Chapter 106

Early in the afternoon, Ron drove back to his apartment to get changed. He was wearing a grey morning coat, dark grey slacks, a light grey vest, a carnation and a cravat. He pulled on the short silk grey gloves that matched the vest. His stomach was quivering as he looked at himself in the mirror. He felt like he was ready for the wedding and hoped that he was ready for marriage. If he wasn’t ready now, when would he ever be?
He met Chris at the church. The day had just grown colder and was overcast. Ron was chain smoking. Somewhere in his mind he worried if she would show up. Father Tom Orecchio was smoking with him and smiling and telling him that it was going to be alright. Chris Calvin laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “The Church is filling up.”
Ron lit another cigarette. The minister, Peter Fiesley, smiled at Ron from in back of his steel framed glasses. “I’ve practiced the poem that you selected, but I’m sure that I don’t read it as well as you.”
Ron smiled and said “You’ll do fine.”
Fiesley grinned back at him, “So will you.” He walked off to check on the bride’s arrival.
The Church was lit by candles that were on long thin poles down the center aisle. Ron and Celeste had been careful to order non drip candles at the request of Fiesley, but the wax was running down the sides and onto the red carpet.
Fiesley came back to them with a smile and clapped his hands together. “I think we’re all ready.”
Ron blurted, “She’s here?”
They all chuckled at him. Father Tom Orecchio said, “Yeah Ronnie, she wouldn’t take my advice. She showed up.”
This was Orecchio’s first ecumenical ceremony. He and Fiesley had worked through who would say what. They were both professionals. With Orecchio’s help, Celeste had gotten the annulment of her second marriage. Since Ron never mentioned the first one, which hadn’t taken place in a church anyway, he was free to bless the ceremony.
Ron went out with Chris and stood on the altar. He smiled his best dimpled grin and looked out at the gathering. Music from the pipe organ began. Angel truly looked like an angel as she walked down the aisle with her Aunt Tina. There were ahhs and ohhs from the bride’s side of the church. The first chords of “Here Comes the Bride” brought the people to their feet. Tina held Angel’s hand and looked a bit intimidated by the music and all the people.
When Ron saw her, he felt humbled. Her smile was huge. He hair hung perfectly curled down passed her shoulders. Mario looked debonair in his tux. But Ron never really made eye contact with him. His eyes were wide open. She carried a bouquet of white red and pink roses. There was a sparkle in her eyes and a beautiful cameo at her throat. She wore white open toes shoes with a thin strap at the ankle. She seemed to glide down the aisle.
When she reached Ron and they took each other’s hands, they felt lost and locked in their gaze. It was just then that Marjorie began to wail. These were not the soft tears of joy that someone hears at a wedding. They were more the piteous howls of grief that a person hears at the funeral of someone unexpectedly deceased.
As Fiesley began to speak the wailing grew louder. He raised his voice so that he could be heard. Celeste could hear it. She knew what it was. She knew who was doing it. She knew that each wail represented trouble in her future, but she could not turn away from his face and was pretty sure that he couldn’t hear anything.
Ron stood there mesmerized at the sight of her and the realization that she was going to be his wife. She was smiling back at him, confident and sure and frightened. Ron silently vowed to make her fears disappear.
Fiesley began to read, “Let me not admit impediments,” he paused and began again, “To the marriage of true minds, let me not admit impediments…”
The minister slaughtered the sonnet, but Ron didn’t hear it. He felt enveloped in the cocoon of warmth that shone out of her eyes.
The ceremony continued, as did the wailing. Anna heard it and while a part of her was offended by its implications, she respected its strength and simplicity. Tina heard it. She loved her older sister but hated being a maid of honor and now she was doing it for the third time. The first time she’d dreamed that Greg was hers. The second time, she understood what her sister was doing and accepted it. Now, she was more than skeptical. How many chances did you get? How many times could you put your family through this? Ron Tuck was not a factor in her thinking. She’d allowed herself to feel nothing from him.
George struggled with the urge to take Marjorie outside. He somehow knew that would make it worse. Harry Tuck heard her crying. He’d heard her crying like this just twice before. The first time was when she lost their first child. The next time was when she learned that he had been sleeping with one of her friends. Harry looked at his son and saw the blend of Marjorie and himself. It was still there. The distance mixed with the warmth. The brain mixed with the physical desire. If this was who he wanted, this was who Harry wanted for him. It was as simple as that.
Janine thought the wailing curious. She wondered what it meant and where it came from. She gazed at the solid figure of her husband and then over to her son and daughter and felt secure and safe.
Chis was fighting the urge to giggle. The enduring quality of the wailing was admirable. He could see that Ron didn’t hear it and thought that was a bit of a miracle.
Quimpy felt a pang in his chest. Celeste should have been his and now Ron had stolen her.

Fiesley said, “Ron, do you have words for Celeste?”
Ron looked into her eyes and grasped her cold hands. For the first time, he realized how nervous she was. He tried to exude the warmth that he felt in his heart through his hands and his eyes and then his words. “I promise to love who you are, not who I want you to be. I promise to be there for you no matter what happens. I promise to trust you and not doubt your love or your actions. I promise that I will never leave you. I promise to protect you and to protect Angel.” He saw her eyes open a little wider. Angel had not been in the original version of the vows that they created. “I promise to make our lives as full and rich as they can be.” They were simple promises and Ron knew that each and every word was a vow. He wasn’t sure that he’d ever understood a vow before, but now that he was taking one, he knew beyond doubt that he would live up to it or die trying. It had been a very long time since he felt unstoppable, but he felt that way now.
Fiesley turned to Celeste. “Do you have words for Ronald?”
Celeste said, “I love who you are won’t try to change you. I love with my whole heart that you want me and know that I want you just as much. I know that some people may think that we are crazy, and we are, and I know for the first time in my life that it doesn’t matter as long as we continue to love and support each other.”
People say lots of things at weddings. Sometimes they say them to sound good. Sometimes they say what other people have told them to say. Sometimes they just say what the priest and minister want them to say. Ron and Celeste’s vows were not identical, but they were the same.
Harry didn’t listen to the words that closely. Words were ok, but they didn’t really mean that much. Marjorie felt like the words stuck into her like knives. Her wailing had reduced to whimpers. The words were beautiful but in her heart she still thought that they were being said to the wrong person. It should have been Julie. She could have loved and embraced Julie. It could have been worse. He could be up there saying them with Robin, but she would have learned to accept Robin, eventually. The mouse would have been easy. No, he never would have accepted a girl that she introduced him to. But why did it have to be this one who already had a child?
The pictures went on endlessly. Ron had never posed for so many photos in his life and his face hurt from smiling. He was sure that he had closed his eyes for at least half of the photographs. It had always been an effort for him not to blink and he could do it some of the time, but not for all of this.
There were pictures with Celeste. Pictures with his father. Pictures with his mother. Pictures with Anna who never looked at him once. Then there were the group pictures. Every combination of people imaginable. The photographer and the camera seemed insatiable.
Celeste had to stand for even more pictures than he did. Ron thought, she better at this than I am. She’s better at a lot of things than I am. But she’s mine now. It felt so strange to have someone say that they wanted you and would love who you were, not who you could be or who that person wanted you to be.
Chris drove Ron, Celeste and Tina to the reception. It was cold and everyone except Chris wanted a cigarette. Ron and Celeste sat in the back seat holding hands. The grinned at each other. “The hard part is over now,” said Ron. “Now it’s just the party.”
He had just said that when Tina set fire to the car. She dropped a lit match onto some papers on the front seat and the started smoking and then a shot of flame flickered. Ron remembered the apartment that had caught fire while he was asleep and thought that the fire had come to his wedding. The candles had dripped when they weren’t supposed to and now this. Chris pulled the car to the side of the parkway. Tina opened the door and jumped out before her dress got singed. Chris came around and stomped and then got rid of the smoking papers.
Back in the car, Chris said, “Well that was exciting.”
Tina said, “I’m really sorry.”
“Did it get anything important?” said Ron.
“What could be that important?” said Chris.
Tina turned around to Celeste. “I’m really sorry.”
“You didn’t mean it,” said Celeste.
Chris said, “Are you sure that we are supposed to make a left here?”
“No, it’s a right,” said Ron.
“Directions say left,” said Chris.
Ron looked at Celeste. Celeste winced. One of the things that she hadn’t gotten around to telling Ron was that she didn’t have the best sense of direction when it came to writing them down. She could get there but sometimes left and right got mixed up in her head. They found their way to the Women’s club.
People who had chosen to skip the church were more successful than those who tried to follow the directions. The people from Bergen County had a basic idea of where it was. Ron’s Essex County people were totally lost, except for Harry who had driven the route yesterday and seen the mistake. He hadn’t bothered mentioning it to anyone else.
When they went inside the club they saw about 30 people sitting in a cold room huddled in their coats. They did not smile at the bride and groom. Ron went looking for Mr. Miller and found him in his overcoat.
“Mr. Miller, the room is freezing.”
Roy Miller smiled at the groom who had not hired him to coordinate the reception. “Some people likes it warm and some people likes it cooler.”
“They’re freezing in there. Could you please turn the heat on?”
“Are you sure that you wouldn’t rather do that yourself?” said Miller.
It was then that Ron understood. “No, I’d prefer that you did it. I’m really supposed to be greetings people and such.”
“Alight, I’ll make it warmer.” Miller went to the thermostat and turned it up to 85 degrees.
When Ron came back downstairs, he saw Celeste looking troubled and worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” said Clare.
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s see, everyone is lost. The room is freezing and the bartender just left.”
“What do you mean he left?”
“He got beeped and told Bottles that he was sorry and that he had to go.”
Ron sighed and said, “Ok, what do we do now?”
“Bottles said that he would tend bar.”
It wasn’t what either of them wanted. Bottles was a good friend to Celeste and they had wanted him there as a guest, not an employee. “That’s really nice of him.”
“There’s something else.”
“Roger said that two of the waiters they hired didn’t show up and that they will have to serve buffet style.”
“That’s not so bad,” said Ron.
“Rita said that the kitchen is not what she thought it was going to be and that it’s going to take a lot longer than she thought.”
Ron felt the tension starting to build inside of him. “Ok, tell Bottles to make the drinks strong. If they can’t eat, let’s get them warm and drunk.”
It was then that Ron saw Marjorie and George come through the door. Marjorie looked at him like she wanted to spit. “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” said Ron.
“It took us an hour and a half to find this place and it’s freezing in here. Look at those people shivering in their coats!”
“The heat’s on now.”
“Well isn’t that nice. Usually you turn the heat on before the people arrive.”
“Mom, it’s my wedding,” said Ron.
“If that’s what you want to call it. I call it a disaster.”
Ron felt slapped. “I’ll do the best that I can.”
“Yeah,” said Marjorie with a disgusted grimace.
Ron looked over at the long line at the bar and saw Bottles working feverishly. Part of him wanted to go over and help, but he wouldn’t have known what he was doing and that kind of a move might actually drive Marjorie over the edge.
The room seemed to be getting warmer. Except for the older women who still sat in their coats and appeared to be shivering, other people had taken off their coats and were moving around in relative comfort.
It was then that Ron saw Anna and Mario come through the door carrying Angel. Anna was moving more quickly than Ron had seen her move before. She marched up to Celeste and gesticulated and said something that made Celeste shrink. Ron watched from a distance.
When Anna saw where she was seated, she turned at glared at the bridal table from the other side of the room. Marjorie hadn’t made her way to her table yet and didn’t realize. When Ron had moved the bridal table, he’d neglected to rearrange any of the other tables. As a result, both his family and Celeste’s family were seated in the rear of the room and the friends that were supposed to be there were now up front.
It was just then that Pipes waddled out carrying a milk box that would help him to reach the keys on the piano. When Ron walked over to shake hands with Pipes, he realized that his fingers were webbed. He wanted to ask how he managed to play the piano but he guessed that he would soon see.
Ron and Celeste found themselves explaining to the guests that there was a mistake in the directions for the next hour. Those of them that knew Celeste, looked at Ron and said, “You let her do the directions?”
Ron felt her blushing next to him and realized that he felt more badly for her than he did for the guests. When he saw Harry, he said, “Did you have any trouble getting here, Dad?”
Harry Tuck smiled his impish grin. “Not a bit.”
Celeste physically relaxed next to him. He could almost feel the tension go out of her body. Harry added, “I made the drive yesterday, figured it out.”
That was his dad. He was never going to get caught being lost. If he did get lost it would be on his own so that no one would ever know.
Marjorie said, “Why are we sitting way back here?”
“That’s my fault,” said Ron.
Marjorie frowned. “Well I guess that shows how important I am in your life.”
“It wasn’t like that. Because of the extra guests they had to remove the dance floor. Originally the curtain were supposed to be closed and we were supposed to be at this end of the room. When I told them to put us on the stage, I didn’t tell them to rearrange the tables.”
“What a mess,” said Marjorie and walked off.
At ninety minutes into the reception, no food had yet been served but the room was now very warm and people had all been drinking. Roger and Rita, served the wedding table first but neither Ron nor Celeste felt much like eating. They had made their way around the room for the first time and people had begun to give them envelopes of money.
Quimpy took Ron off to the side and handed a bag stuffed with two ounces of the finest golden pot he’d ever seen. “Congratulations,”
Ron stuffed the bag into the inside pocket of his jacket. It bulged too much. He tried his pants pocket. It still stuck out. He walked back into the room where Celeste had hung her white fur coat and found that if he wrapped inside of the coat that it couldn’t really be seen. He just had to remember to tell her that it was there.
Pipes came over and said, “When do you want me to start playing?”
Ron said, “Now would be good.”
Ron and Celeste began to dance as the dwarf played Imagine. In the background they could hear the waiter saying, “Table Five, we’re ready to have you eat now.”
Pipes belted out, “Imagine no religion…” and Ron found himself drawn to look at the priest and minister who didn’t seem to notice. Ron held Celeste close and they swayed slowly to the song. It was the first time that they had danced together and she moved so smoothly while he felt himself to be awkward and tentative.
To Ron’s surprise there was applause when the song ended. Maybe everything was going to be ok. Most of the people had food now. The room was warm, maybe too hot, but Ron wasn’t going to encounter Mr. Miller again if he could avoid it.
Quimpy was looking around and seeing if anyone had noticed that he had slipped away. He had his eye on an antique chair that he saw in the vestibule. Quietly, he dragged the chair closer to the door. He took another surreptitious look around the room and quickly picked the chair up and was out the door. He loaded it into the backseat of his pink Cadillac and returned to the party. He made sure to lock the door because he didn’t really trust the neighborhood.
It was about two and a half hours into the party that the people who ate the undercooked chicken began to get sick. Mostly it was women and they blamed it on too much alcohol and not enough food at first. Then someone said that her chicken had been bloody inside. Ron closed his eyes and just wanted to disappear with Celeste.
He looked over at her with a stupid grin and said, “How long do we have to stay?”
Celeste’s eyes widened and she giggled. “They’d kill us if we left.”
“They’re going to kill us anyway,” said Ron.
Warren Lashly made his way over to Ron and Celeste. “Do you mind if I borrow your bride for a moment?” he drawled.
“Sure,” said Ron.
“Let’s go for a little walk,” said Warren.
“I’ll just get my coat,” said Celeste. When she found the pot tucked inside of it, she called Chris over and said, “Can you hold on to this for me?”
Chris grinned. “Absolutely, but I don’t think we should smoke it here.”
Celeste smiled and stroked his cheek. “I’m sure that Ron wouldn’t mind if you smoked one.”
“Marjorie might,” said Chris.
It was very cold outside when she and Warren got out the door. “You aren’t anything like I thought you’d be,” said Warren.
“What did you think I’d be?” said Celeste.
“Shorter and cold,” said Warren. “But you’re warm and friendly.”
Celeste felt his arm slide around her waist. “Thank you.” She realized that he was a little drunk.
“You know Ron and I were very close.”
“I know that he admires you.”
“We share everything,” said Warren.
He drew Celeste to him and kissed her. When he tried to make the kiss passionate and opened his mouth, Celeste pushed against his chest and said, “I’d better get back inside.” She turned and walked away. She wasn’t sure if she should tell Ron or not.
He was over at the table with Paula DeFreio and Herman Horvack and Anthony Fiangelo. Ron grimaced when he looked at their plates and saw that Horvack and DeFreio had chicken that was leaking blood. He took a deep breath.
“I’m really happy that you guys could make it.”
“I couldn’t resist meeting the beautiful woman who tamed your spirit,” said DeFreio.
Celeste and Lashly came up next to them. “And here she is,” said Fiangelo.
“I don’t want to tame him,” said Celeste.
“She just wants him all to herself,” said Lashly.
Ron made introductions. Lashly and DeFreio seemed to size each other up from a distance. Ron had told each about the other and he somehow thought that their mutual interest in him would create a bond. It did not. There was some slightly awkward chit chat and then Ron took Celeste’s elbow and led her off.
Ron whispered in her ear. “That was weird. I thought they’d like each other.”
“They just don’t know each other,” said Celeste.
Ron thought about that. In his naiveté he’d expected them all to hit it off. He liked them and somehow he thought that would translate into them liking each other. It hadn’t.
The people came up to them with gifts. Envelope after envelope was delivered as they sat at the bridal table in front of the meal that they hadn’t touched.
Ron embraced his great aunt Anita. Tears were in his eyes as he could see his Aunt Dottie, his Uncle Mike, his great grandmother Mina who taught him how to read and recite from the bible. He held Anita’s hands. “You gave me a lot by just staying alive to be here.”
She looked up from her white face and silver hair. “I love you. I have always loved you. Your Uncle Mike loved you. I’m sorry that I’m not your Aunt Dottie.” Celeste heard this exchange and wanted to cry for them both. It must be so hard to be the last of your generation and to be forgotten.
Jimmy and Janine came over and slipped Celeste an envelope. Janine whispered into her ear. “I hope that he’s an animal with you.” Celeste felt heat on her cheeks.
Jimmy shook Ron’s hand and said, “Good luck coach.”
Ron looked into eyes that had seen more football than he ever would. The game had taken its toll on Jimmy and left him proud but bitter. Ron wondered why he wasn’t bitter about it. Was it because it ended so early? What was the dream like when you almost made it to the highest level? Was there anything more that you could draw from the game after that? Ron wanted to know Jimmy better.
Paulo DeFreio was well manicured, formal and warm. He grasped Celeste’s hands and said, “Thank you for inviting me. I think that he will be a good man for you.”
Herman Horvack was more cautious with Ron’s women after Robin had bitten him. He was polite but did not touch her and hid his hands. Herman smiled at Ron. “Where to now?”
“Jamaica,” said Ron.
Herman was teaching as well. He’d stopped writing. He did translations only now.
Ron looked over at Angel and felt the need to hold her. She meant so much and had only a small part in the day. She was in pajamas now. Ron walked from the stage and gathered her up into his arms. He whispered, “Are you sleepy?”
Angel wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “No, I’m lonely.”
“You know that your mom and I are going away for a few days?”
“They told me.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“Why can’t I come?”
“We’ll be back soon.”
Angel didn’t respond. She just held him. In that instant Ron wanted all of this to be over and for them to be back in their basement and for her to be fresh from her bath. He gave her back to the teacher who they’d hired to be her companion for the day.
Celeste felt herself beginning to breathe again. It was almost over.
As the reception drew to a close, Ron and Celeste thanked everyone for coming. They tried to do it individually but some people left before they could get to them.
Mr. Roy Miller approached them as they were about to leave. “I wish you many happy years.”
Celeste said, “Thank you.”
Mr. Miller said, “There’s just one thing. It seems that something is missing.”
Ron looked confused and said, “What?”
“A chair that one of your guests was observed loading into the back of his pink Cadillac.”
Ron and Celeste felt a simultaneous wave of embarrassment. “I’ll make sure that it’s returned and I’m sorry. We should have hired you. We made a mistake.”
“People need to learn from their mistakes,” said Mr. Miller.

Chapter 107

They sat in the plane together and Celeste held his hand. Ron gripped hers tightly as the plane took off. It was only the second time in his life that he’d been on an airplane and the first time as an adult that he’d been on vacation. Celeste was an experienced traveler and assured him that everything would go fine.
Celeste had taken any money that she had and paid for this honeymoon. It was insurance money that she’d gotten from being injured in a car accident when she was run off the road and broke her collarbone. She knew that they would never have much money and she knew that Ron’s life was about to change in ways that he could not possibly imagine. At least they would have this.
Montego Bay was hot. Ron began to sweat almost instantly when they got off the plane. The resort was beautiful and Ron felt that glowing lightness inside of him that caused him to smile continuously.
The air conditioner in their room had been turned on and as soon as they put down their bags, they made love and then they made love again. After their third round of lovemaking Ron fell asleep.
Celeste quietly unpacked their clothes and put them away. She watched him as he slept and thought that he looked like a little boy. She ordered five pina coladas from room service and when they arrived she gently woke him up. The sat on their screened in porch and sipped them and played gin rummy while a steel drum band walked along the courtyard playing When the Saints Come Marching In. Then they had dinner under the stars and they felt like they were in a temporary heaven.
It was at the front desk that Ron heard the desk clerk say, “How can I help you, Mrs. Tuck?”
The words hit him like a jolt. This beautiful woman was his and it was his responsibility to care for her and make her happy for the rest of his life. Ron grinned.
The breeze was a teasing and delicate stimulation. They’d come farther than they realized with absolutely no idea how long the road really was. His palm was pressed to the small of her back. Almost involuntarily, it caused her hips to roll. Her skin was scented with jasmine. Her hair hung down naturally soft. The breeze didn’t lift it, but Ron’s fingers did. He held her hair to his face and inhaled. The smile was deep and satisfied.
Celeste and Ron didn’t speak of their wedding day very much at all. They journeyed into the mountains of Jamaica. Their smiles were so genuine and open and enthusiastic that they brought out the best in the people that they met. Except for at the hotel’s outdoor café.
They watched in horror as an American tourist called an old man boy and castigated him for a mistake that the tourist had made and would not own. Their bodies tensed. They felt the old man’s humiliation. Celeste went to him and hugged him and gave him some money. Ron glared at the Texan tourist. His fists balled. And then Celeste was at his side again and he said, “How do people live without respect?”
“That’s a great question,” said Celeste, “and I don’t know the answer.”
“I don’t like disrespect. I used to. I think I was foolish.”

Ron pulled gold Nissan into one of the spots reserved for administrators. They were close, alongside of the building. He walked through the kitchen entrance, the first door to be opened in the morning. Ron exchanged a silent wave with guys unloading the food trucks. Moving through the deserted cafeteria, Ron noted that the heat in the room was starting to be retained. He made a mental note to have the chief custodian look at the fans that they used in the cafeteria and the gym when the weather was warm.

The principal’s secretary was at her desk. Trudy Bennet was always the first to arrive. She coordinated the daily teacher absentee and replacement information that was called into the answering service. She smiled and said, “Good Morning Dr. Tuck.”

Ron grinned and shook his head. No matter how many times he asked her to please call him Ron, as she did during the first ten years of their acquaintanceship, she persisted with the formality since he became a Vice Principal. He countered by reverting back to calling her Mrs. Bennet as he had when he had first met her, and it had become a little gag between them. They had a bond. He had taught her son who was now thriving in college. Ron did not seem to realize that she liked calling him Dr. Tuck.
Ron gathered yesterday’s pile of discipline referrals. He had prioritized them before he went home on Saturday. It was an easy day, there were only twenty six referrals to address.

The first was Tiffany. The referral read fighting. Not disruptive behavior which was code for a fight that never really materialized, but fighting that carried a several penalty and for repeat offender including suspension and more. He would deal with this after he got through the routine stuff, that would take two minutes and he could get done during the homeroom period.

It was best to go to those students’ rooms during this time and just deliver the rule and infraction and penalty. Sometimes a teacher detention, sometimes a school detention, sometimes more. Ron saw the same students multiple times in a week and sometimes he never got to meet a student.

He scanned through and then his face darkened. There was a repeater than had been added to his mailbox after he went home. It was David again. The referral read, “I stopped the student in the hall and asked to see his pass his response was to say ‘Fuck you.’ And walk away.” This was going to be difficult. David was a special needs student who suffered from Oppositional Defiant Disorder. He should be in a residential program, which was where he was until this year when the Superintendent had brought back many of the out of district placements as a cost saving strategy.

Ron would see his counselor and she would give him some bullshit response like she would get David to say he was sorry. Ron wanted this to become a manifestation determination case. It was only then that there would be a hearing to determine whether an out of district placement was required. But the Special Ed department was under strict guidelines to keep the problems in house. It would be a battle and Ron was more than ready for it.

Joyce Garrett was standing in his doorway smiling and holding her morning coffee. “Good morning, Doctor Tuck.” She was Ron’s secretary and a well-organized woman who had the unruly task of keeping him on track. A feat in which she took pride.

Ron looked up with that expression that some believed was anger. Joyce had learned that it really meant that he was concentrating. She liked his ideas but they always meant more work, and he seemed oblivious to that. He would be willing to shoulder most of it, but not everyone had that kind of feeling about their job. It was a pain in the ass to work for him. The other secretaries had nicknamed them Beauty and the Beast, which she liked because she enjoyed thinking of herself as a beauty. He did pick her for promotion. She liked that grin that he had when he allowed anyone to see it. But he surely was different and the differences never allowed for peaceful coexistence with the other administrators.

“Hi Joyce, how was your weekend?”

“It was good. It was predictable. Cheerleading practice followed by taxi mom duty. The problem is that it is all almost over.”

Ron smiled. “That isn’t so bad. It’s been a long haul for you. Today is going to be busy, Joyce. When Frankie and Lois get in from morning rounds, let’s have a meeting.”

Joyce nodded. “Do you need me there?”

“Always,” said Ron. It was his way. He decided when he got this job that he needed someone he could count on to be in on most everything. That meant he had to trust that person. He had picked Joyce out of the secretarial pool when he got the job. She expected it to be more work because it was more money and a different salary scale. But the amount of work and time that he expected was unbelievable. Luckily, he was able to listen when she said that she was tired or needed a break.

Then Ron was out in the hall with his pile of referrals in his hand. It was a strange system. Although the high school had twelve hundred students, and two vice principals, Ron was in charge of all of the non-attendance related infractions. Some weeks that was more than 500 referrals. He started on the third floor and worked his way down.

When he stepped into the doorway of a class, the level of conversation would drop. He would nod to the teacher and call out a name. Sometimes there would be the obligatory laughs and snickers as a name was announced, and so Ron would try to make eye contact. Most kids figured he was coming, and he would nod them out into the hall. That was what happened with Bill Hancock.

Ron leaned his shoulder against the wall and read, “Says here Bill that this was the 5th time that you were unprepared for gym in two weeks. What’s going on?”

“I just hate it there and the teachers pick on me.”

“Why do you think that pick on you, Bill?” Ron watched his face and tried to project an attitude of wanting to know what the boy said.

“Because they know that I hate being there and make me pay for it.”

Ron knew it was true. Kids that did not get with the program were picked on. All of the gym teachers were also coaches. Ron had been a coach. He knew it was in their DNA. “Look, you gotta change for gym. Your graduation can be in jeopardy for not passing gym. I hated math. I still had to go to math class. You still have to take gym. You can’t win. You get screwed if you don’t do what the rules say. Right now I’m supposed to take one of your Saturday mornings away, but I’m going to give you a shot. Let’s say one warning, but you screw me, it’s two Saturdays and you make it to my ‘keep an eye on you’ list. That’s not something that you want.” Ron looked full into his face and waited till the kid met is eyes. “Understand?”

Bill looked a little rattled. He didn’t know Tuck, but had heard about “being Tucked” and he figured that was what the list meant. “I understand.” Ron gave the kid the referral to sign, took it back and was off to the next one.

Six into his group of eleven, the bell rang and the halls started to fill up. He would have Joyce look up the other kids’ schedules so he could pick them off later in the day.

Frankie Martin was a retired detective whose face led Ron to believe that he was a constant sufferer from prickly heat. Lois Mc Fee was a quiet woman who Ron tried his hardest to make laugh. Sometimes he could get her to loosen up and relax, but more often than not he could not accomplish it. They were waiting in Ron’s office when he got back. Joyce met him at the door and took the stack of referrals and handed him a fresh stack. He stopped and thumbed through them quickly. Nothing urgent.

Joyce asked, “Do you want a moment to get some coffee before we start?” She could read the answer on his face. He wouldn’t be stopping for coffee. He just shook his head no, and she followed him into his office.

“Hope you all had a good weekend,” said Ron in his halfhearted attempt to be casual. His weekend was not even a memory at the moment and, at the moment, unless something was terribly wrong, he didn’t care if they had good weekends or not. It had only been thirty minutes since he had actually asked that question of Joyce, but his transformation had been rather complete since then. He was all business now.

“The second floor boys room, Frankie, I just have this feeling that more is going on there between classes than the normal have a couple of drags before the next class action. Can you make a point to swing by there at two or three change of periods and tell me what you think at the end of the day?”

Frankie nodded. “I’ll make sure they know it’s not a free zone.”

Ron turned to Lois, “Where is the most heavily trafficked girls’ lav in the building?”

I’m not sure,” said Lois.

Ron expected her not to be sure but had the suspicion that guys were using girls to pass contraband in their lavs because he could not exactly barge into them, and felt weird hanging around them. If he told Frankie to hang around them, he would say that he would do it, and later tell Ron privately that he didn’t really feel comfortable doing that.

Lois brought Tiffany down to Dr. Tuck’s office. She sat her down in one of the waiting chairs, went over to Joyce’s desk and said, “Here’s Tiffany, I’m going to lunch.”

Joyce nodded and expected her to make sure she avoided being asked to sit in on the meeting. What she did not know was that Lois and Ron had an understanding. Ron wanted her to be as neutral a character as possible in students’ lives. They were both comfortable with this. The unspoken reason was that every once in a while she would hear something important and pass it along to Ron privately. It was an arrangement that suited her just fine, and it was what he said he wanted.

Joyce ushered Tiffany into Dr. Tuck’s office and sat down next to her. Ron wasn’t there. Tiffany took out her mirror and checked her makeup for the twentieth time that morning. She touched her hair and adjusted her skirt, which came more than half way up her baby fat thighs.

When Ron came into the room, Tiffany almost thought she caught the scent of cologne but wasn’t sure. He shut the door and moved in back of his desk.

“Tiffany, fighting again, really?” He held up his hands in a questioning gesture and a look of feigned confusion spread over his face. Tiffany stared back silently and defiantly. “Why were you fighting with Josie?”

Tiffany spit the words out. “She called me a bitch, a slut and a whore. I don’t let anyone get away with that.”

Ron cast a swift glance over at Joyce. He was happy that the language didn’t bother her, or at least she didn’t show it if it did. “Tiffany,” he began, “We are just into your sophomore year. You are a 10th grader. You are fifteen.” Tiffany instantly struck her pose of boredom and wondered why adults talked like this. What were they trying to prove?

Ron continued, “This is the fourth time you have been in here for fighting.”
Had it been four or was he making that up too? She tried to look more bored but stuck her chest out instead. Joyce noticed this but Ron seemed oblivious and was reading though her file.

“In May of last year, you were fighting with Angela DeMarco and the reason for the fight you told me, and I quote, ‘she called me a bitch a slut and a whore’. Do you find that odd Tiffany?”

Tiffany looked up at his face in a half startled way. “What do you mean?” Did he think that she was a bitch a slut and a whore too?

Ron continued. “In February, you were involved in a shoving match with Bonnie Pruitt. On that occasion, you told me that she started it by calling you, wait for it.” Ron paused in his theatrical way, “a bitch a slut and a whore. So my question is Tiffany, why do you think that the people with whom you have conflicts seem to have such a limited vocabulary?”

Tiffany was frazzled now. She didn’t understand what he was saying. She didn’t know what it meant. She was mad at herself. She had told herself that it didn’t matter what he said or did, she just wouldn’t let it bother her. “I don’t know what you mean. Are you saying that you think that I am those things?”
Joyce smiled. She was just a little girl sitting and dressing up like a slut, but defensive about anyone noticing and at the same time wanting them desperately to notice. Her clothes were way too tight and she did not have the figure for it. It was obvious that she didn’t exercise and she was on her way to the land of the plump. Once she started drinking regularly, she would be well on her way to some trailer park or whatever.

Ron put his head down and moved it back and forth slowly from side to side, and then looked up into her eyes, “On two of these occasions, including this time, the other girl said that you had stolen from her locker.”

“That’s a lie,” Tiffany almost shouted.

“But each time, you used the exact same words as the reason for the exchange.” Ron paused and softened his tone, “I think you make it up, Tiffany.”

Tiffany was pleased when she felt the tears on her cheeks. She had been trying. It was a lesson. If you felt one thing, you could pin it on something else. “You said that you believed me last year.” It was a shot, not a big one, but she had delivered it.

Ron knew he had said that. He knew that he wanted to believe her. He knew he didn’t anymore. “I’m going to suspend you for three days, Tiffany. You have to change your behavior here. Whatever the behavior is that is leading to this!” Ron realized that he had raised his voice and almost shouted back at her. He glanced at Joyce. The change in volume had blown them both back. He stopped himself. Lowered his tone. “Is anyone at home?”

Tiffany reached for the tissue that Joyce had instinctively provided. She knew it was an act too, but she felt sorry for Tiffany. “I don’t know.”

“Stay here with Mrs. Garrett and do your best to reach someone.” Ron stood up and moved from in back of his desk and opened the door. The immediate hum of noise and traffic seemed to break the mood of the meeting. “Joyce. I’ll be back in 10 minutes.”

Ron went off the find Frankie. He could have used the walkie-talkie, but had not been in the halls since homeroom and wanted to make his presence felt. He moved through the corridor whose walls were filled with posters. Some for the football team. Some were for bake sales. Some were announcements of meetings. Ron wasn’t looking for any of that. He was inspecting condition and date as he walked passed.
Across a wide, empty lobby that was lined with showcases, Ron glanced at the closed school store and then at his watch. He walked towards the nurse’s office and ducked in his head. It was empty except for the secretary. They exchanged good mornings and he learned that the nurse would not be in until noon, and backed out.

He liked touring the science wing because either he heard snippets of lectures or saw the bustle of the lab but it always felt like learning. The halls were empty and the lockers were closed.

Ron found Frankie outside of the cafeteria. “Come with me Frank, we have to drive a kid home.”

Chapter 2
Frankie drove and Ron sat shotgun with Tiffany in the back seat. It was a quiet ride. Ron stared out at the passing scenes. The one time farm land had been sold off and been developed. The new homes lacked uniqueness and were set in even geometric parcels. These lots were approximately an acre in squared dimension. They drove down the winding hill. The town had the highest elevation in the county and the high school had been built on top of the highest hill in the township.
They drove down to the man-made lake that gave the town an amount of notoriety in days gone. Yes, Jackie Gleason had a house on the lake and the town was famous for speakeasies, but that was all gone. The summer homes had been converted into cheap, year round, poorly insulated dwellings that attracted people of little means who could have their own house.
This section of town was nicknamed laketown by the locals. The streets were narrower and in sharp contrast to the more affluent sections of the vast and sprawling township that still did not have its own super market or movie theater. There had been a drive-in that was closed now and had been converted to a driving range.
Ron’s thoughts roamed back to when he first started teaching at the school a decade earlier. That had been chancy. He had uprooted Celeste and Angel on a one year contract that might or might not be renewed. For two of the first three years, it wasn’t renewed until June and Ron remembered the anxiety.
He also thought about the male students who were conspicuously absent at the beginning of deer hunting season and had chafed under the familial pressure that was placed on them to get their first deer. It had all been very new and strange to Ron.
Frankie pulled into the driveway of Tiffany’s home. Ron got out of the car and saw the discarded hot water heater and bathroom tub that seemed to almost be placed like lawn ornaments beside the house.
Tiffany followed and then moved ahead and wordlessly pulled open the screen door to the back of the house, hollering out, “Ma, the school is here.” Then she disappeared and left Ron standing in the kitchen. Ron tried to stand still and not touch anything. It was not a well-kept home and had a shabbiness that spoke not only of poverty but of neglect.
A bleached blonde woman, with roots showing through an old dye job, eyed him suspiciously.
“Mrs. LaFarr, I wanted to make sure Tiffany got home safely. She is suspended for three days and you or another guardian will have to accompany her to her reinstatement conference.”
“What am I supposed to do with her for three days,” said Tiffany’s mom. “The only peace I get is when she is up at that school.”
“She can’t be fighting at the school, Mrs. LaFarr.”
“Was the other kid suspended too?”
“I can’t discuss another student with you, but I can assure that I will deal with the situation fairly.”
“You’re Tuck?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m the vice principal.”
“Well, if it was up to me, I’d pull her right the hell of out that miserable school and put her to work. Those kids don’t learn anything anyhow.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way, and we can discuss her schedule at the reinstatement conference. I just wanted to be sure she got home safely.”
“Well, she’s here.”
“I’ll see you in a few days Mrs. LaFarr.”
Ron turned to leave. Moving alongside the house he heard the woman scream, “You ain’t gonna sit on your ass for three days. I did not raise you to be a bitch and a slut and a thief.”
Ron couldn’t get back into the car fast enough. “Get me out of here, Frankie.”
The detective shook his head knowingly and backed out into the street and pulled away with practiced swiftness. Ron lit a cigarette and rolled down the window. How was anything that he did going to ever have an impact on kids like this. It was a hard truth and it was breaking down his door of optimism. It wasn’t.
“This is a good community,” said Frankie. You’re always going to have to deal with the losers.”
Ron nodded and tossed the cigarette out the window.

Chapter 3

Ron was all over the building when he came back. He wanted to exhaust his stack of referrals and got the number down to two by the time he was ready for the meeting about David.
The meeting was in the guidance counselor’s office. Ron joined Shondra Peters, David’s case manager, and Bert Pouri, the guidance counselor. Each of the three had a thick file on David.
“I asked for this meeting today because we have an untenable situation here. David Carpenter’s behavior is totally out of control and unless we can come up with some kind of solution that is better than the one we have now, a kid who is totally unmindful of any boundaries will continue to have free reign to act out.”
His intro was followed by silence. Both of the counselors waited, as was their practice, to see if there was more coming. Ron waited too. He knew what the story was. He knew he was putting both of them in an uncomfortable position. He didn’t care. It was time for them to do their jobs.
“There haven’t been any problems yet today,” said Bert in a weak attempt at humor.
Ron was in no mood to laugh. “In the seven weeks of this school year, David has managed nineteen discipline referrals. Each time he has been given a teacher or school detention, he has cut it and just waited to be bailed out.”
Shondra Peters spoke in distinct clipped tones and her body posture was that of someone who did not wish to be there. “David is still adjusting to a new surrounding and a new set of rules. I think we need to give him more time to settle in.”
“And in the meantime, what do you suggest that I tell the faculty members that he tells to “go fuck themselves”?
Shondra at first was nonplussed. Then she said softly, “Tell them that this is a sick child who needs patience.”
Ron forced eye contact. “Even though we both know that he is in the wrong spot and, that as long as this situation continues, the chances of a real danger to David and others exists and is obviously extant, and we are doing nothing about it.”
“I don’t know that, Dr. Tuck. I know that you are saying it, but that doesn’t make it true.”
Ron began writing. They both watched. There was a stiffness in their posture. “So your expert opinion,” said Ron, “is that we do nothing?”
The obvious challenge to her showed no visible signs of impact. “That’s not what I said. What I said was that this new change in David’s environment requires an amount of creative thinking and a bit of patience.”
Ron finished writing and looked over at Bert. “Do you agree with that assessment?”
There was an air of conviviality that the guidance counselors always tried to convey when talking with other staff. It was part of the job description. They did not wish to appear too earnest. They felt that a relaxed atmosphere and tone was the best way to get things accomplished. Ron rarely exhibited a relaxed atmosphere and tone. There was an awkward friendliness between them, but they did not trust Ron, who might go off on some kind of campaign that never worked out well for them and always required more work. “I agree with Shondra that David needs a lot of patience.” Bert smiled and Shondra smiled. Ron did not. “But I could arrange for a parent meeting to try to get everyone of the same page.” He was throwing Ron a bone and if he did not take it, Bert would contend that Ron had rushed through the process.
Ron said, “Do you agree with that, Dr. Peters?
“I agree that relaxed communication is a good starting point,” said Shondra. “I’m not sure what we hope to gain by meeting with parents at this point.”
Ron stood. He closed his pad. “It is a way of avoiding a manifestation determination conference,” said Ron, “which is my next step if the behavior does not change.”
A manifestation determination conference was a big deal. It was an enormous amount of work. It required a meeting with the Learning Disabilities Testing Coordinator, the parents, the school principal, the student’s teachers and those of them in the room. Shondra felt Ron was using it as a threat.
“Set up the parent meeting, Bert. Have Joyce put it on my calendar please.”
And then Ron was gone.
Bert smiled at Shondra and said good naturedly, “You’ve just been Tucked.”

Chapter 4

Because the class day started so early at Oak Mountain, it also ended early. Buses for departure began lining up at 1:45 pm. It never ceased to surprise Ron now that he was in the main office. When he had been in the classroom, it was a different world in the same building. You adjusted your day to the order of your classes. Most every day was the same.
It had been before the then principal Adele Becker formed a team that restructured everything. It was a new way of dividing the schedule and creating a rotation of days and periods that drove most of the faculty crazy. What was your first period of the day became your second on the next day and so on. The goal was to create a schedule where a student had no morning class and no afternoon class that did not vary from one day to the next.
Research had shown the team that students learned differently at different times of the day. Some kids did better in the mornings and some did better in the afternoons. So the team instituted a rotation of classes. Even though the teachers understood the reasoning, by and large, they were disgruntled over it.
Some veteran teachers had secured prep periods at the end of the day and went home ridiculously early. They were not supposed to leave the campus until fifteen minutes after the class day ended, but this rule was largely overlooked. The rotation screwed them.
Coaches notoriously had the last period of the day free to change and get ready for practices. The new schedule made this impossible. Ron was widely seen as one of the architects of this change and there was no small amount of resentment towards those who were publically involved with it.
He was the public face of it as a teacher, but he left the classroom to become Vice Principal before it was implemented. That increased the resentment. “If he wants to run around the building all day like some ‘headless fowl’ that was his business,” said the Union President, “but it is unfair to expect the teaching faculty to do so.”
Dawn Flynn was obviously upset when she appeared at Ron’s door. She and Ron had been English teachers together. At times, they had shared the same classroom. There was a mutual respect between them. Dawn had encouraged Ron to take the VP job. “Someone has to step in Ron, and you are an obvious choice. The kids like you. The Administration likes you, for the most part,” she had laughed.
She was in no mood for laughter at this moment. She did not say hello. “Ron, I can’t have one of my students announce to the class that I am a ‘skanky bitch,’” she began.
Ron looked up from some state regulations that he was reading. “Come on in, close the door. Tell me what happened.”
“David Carpenter does not belong in my class is what happened. I told you this the first week of classes. You told me that you would look into it. I’ve given him two teacher detentions, both of which he has cut, and nothing happened. I know that he cuts school detentions and Saturday detentions and nothing happens. What are you doing?”
“I’m trying,” said Ron. “It’s not that easy. He’s classified but he’s bright. His test scores are actually above average. I know he’s a problem.” He wanted to say, you are totally right. He does not belong here and I am working to make that happen, but he could not. It would be unethical.
“You’ve changed. You used to understand. What would you do with a kid like that in your class?”
The idea struck him like a flash. “You may be on to something.” He moved the file on David from his outbox and looked through it. The incorrigible type of referrals had all come from his female teachers.
Ron felt a smile on his face. Shondra Peters wanted him to be creative? OK. He looked back up at Dawn. “I haven’t changed. I have this other job right now. I promise you, I am not doing nothing.”
It was something, but it wasn’t really enough for Dawn. “OK Dr. Tuck, I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Ron felt the pang. Why was everyone doing that to him? He hadn’t even wanted to be called Dr. Tuck. Silently he cursed Joyce and Celeste. They were the ones who kept telling him that he should be proud of the accomplishment and not be afraid to advertise it. Joyce had quietly had the school stationary changed without letting him see it. He knew that she and Celeste had talked about it on the phone.
Celeste, his mother, and his secretary were a force he could not stand up to, and so he caved. None of them was here when the title was thrown at him like a rotten tomato. “That’s the best I’ve got, Dawn. That and please write up the referral about being called a skanky bitch
“Oh yes Ron, I really want to put that in print.”
Then she was gone. But Ron was on the phone with Bert Pouri. “Bert I want to know how possible it would be to create a schedule for David Carpenter that is all male teachers.”

Chapter 5
One of the necessary, if sadistic, aspects of the school week was that many meetings were held on Monday afternoons. Full faculty meetings were held once a month. Before Adele Becker, most coaches had been exempt from those meetings. She changed that. If a team did not have a game, they could designate one coach to supervise the athletes while the others were required to attend the meeting.
The coaches had tried to revert back to their old way of doing things after Becker retired, but Ron had encouraged Muriel Bowser to keep the requirement in place. So the athletic department, were surly participants.
Adele had spread the requirement to include clubs and non-athletic organizations as well, so no one actually felt privileged or any more screwed than anyone else. Ron’s counterpart was in charge of attendance at the meetings. Samuel Dutchman found the assignment distasteful, and was as lax about as he possibly could be. Behind the back of other administrators, he made sure the teachers understood that he was not keeping a record.
Muriel called the meeting to order as Ron was having his first food of the day, a buttered bagel that had been fresh in the cafeteria that morning. Muriel was a well-dressed woman who had been a guidance department chairperson for the important part of her career. She was winding things down with this promotion and change of scenery. Her husband was a newly retired executive, who wanted to spend time on his yacht cruising up and down the east coast and eventually venturing into the keys and maybe even the Caribbean once he gained enough confidence. Muriel had assured him that this was just going to be three years and then she would have a retirement package that contained free lifelong health care for both of them, and a healthy monthly pension. He had agreed but said he was going to be taking the time to learn and would not be home every night. The unspoken message was that she did not have any longer than the three years to fiddle around.
“I’m happy to see all of you here today and thrilled that everything is running so smoothly.” There were eye rolls from the athletic department but Muriel was not aware of them. Ron was. He watched them as he chewed his bagel that felt spongy in his mouth but at that moment tasted so good to him.
Then she began to read the announcement sheet word by word. Ron watched as the announcements bled one into another but was searching the room for Shondra Peters. He found her siting off to the side with the rest of the child study team and wondered if she knew about his idea for David Carpenter.
Then Muriel said, “With that I would like to turn things over to Dr. Tuck to give us an update on discipline.”
Ron put down the half eaten bagel and moved to the podium and glanced out at their faces. Some teachers did not look up and spent their time grading a stack of papers and displaying their quiet protest about the need for these meetings.
“The halls at change of class, as you know, are our most vulnerable times of the day. I appreciate those of you who step into the hall during this time. Your presence is a calming influence. I do wish that more of you would do this when it is at all possible. Our number of referrals is about where it was last year at this time. I know it feels like more, but that is because we have many new additions this year and that is causing some confusion. But the rest of our student body, is getting fewer and fewer referrals and that is a credit to you.”
There were some smiles, some stony faces and some who just kept on doing papers. “I want to ask if there are any questions that you would like me to answer in public.”
Ron waited. He was comfortable with the quiet. He was about to say then lets wrap this up when he saw a hand. It was Donna Singletary from the art department. “Is there nothing we can do about the custodians destroying some of the student projects while they are cleaning the rooms?”
Ron did not know what to say. He had heard nothing about it. “Can you explain what you mean?”
“I’ve now had three student projects broken and thrown out by the custodians. I never leave my classroom unlocked, if I am not there to supervise, and there is no other reason that I can find for it.”
“Were the projects all stored away when they were vandalized?”
Donna was an emotional woman to begin with and this had been festering in her for a while. “Are you implying that I have done something wrong, Dr. Tuck?”
There it was again. He guessed that he would have to get used to it. Last year it was a novelty for them. This year it was a weapon.
“No, I’m just wondering how widespread it is.”
“These kids and I work hard on these projects Ron, it’s disheartening when our own custodial staff treats them like they are garbage.”
“I’ll get into it, “said Ron. “I promise to get back to you.”
Donna nodded but then shook her head in a negative way with her immediate circle of teachers. Another hand went into the air.
Paul Presti said, “I have students who cannot possibly make it from their previous class to mine on time. Did that even get considered when you folks were creating schedules?”
Ron looked over at the big Russian guy who was in charge of guidance. Karl Polemnic spoke in a voice that was thunderous, and that was his normal volume. He upped the volume for crowds. “There is no reason that a student cannot make his way from any spot in this school to any other spot in the school during the three minute change of class. I suggest that you are being given a line by a kid trying to get over on you.” Polemnic laughed in his self-amused way.
Presti did not back down. “Then I suggest that you come to the basement and wait for the bell and then try to make it up to the third floor and into my room through a crowded hallway and see if you can do it. I tried it, and I wasn’t carrying twenty pounds of books.”
Polemnic seized upon this. “If a student is not properly utilizing his or her locker then it is the student who needs a better organizational plan, not the guidance department.”
Ron cut in, people were squirming. They wanted to go home. “I’ll get into it Paul and I’ll get back to you. If there is nothing else, thanks for your time and I hope you have a good week.”
They dispersed quickly. Polemnic walked over to Ron and snorted, “That’s not the kind of thing that you should be letting go.”
“I won’t Karl, but they wanted to go home. It’s well after three. They’ve had a long day.”
Polemnic snorted again and stomped off.
Muriel Bowser said, “I have an appointment now Ron, but can you make time to see me in the morning?”
“Sure thing,” said Ron.
He walked back to his office. Joyce followed him in and handed the day’s stack of referrals. Ron asked her to have Frankie see him in the morning. He wanted him to walk a route during the change of class tomorrow and he also needed to make an early spot from Muriel Bowser.
Joyce made the notes on her ever present pad and said, “Done.”
“You heading home?” said Ron.
“Unless you need something.”
“No, I’m fine,” said Ron and sat down to review the referrals.

Chapter 6
It was late in the afternoon when Ron started home. He was tired but his body was aching for a run. There would be no time today, and he had not yet found a new gym since their move. The drive was an easy one. Down to the highway and west and then a turn-off and north.
The Nissan cruised and Ron was listening to the radio, smoking a cigarette and trying to let the day wash out of him. A run would do that but there just wasn’t enough time.
The greens of summer were being replaced by the astounding colors of autumn. The air was far from dirty at Oak Mountain, but this air had a cleaner, fresher scent. The sun roof was down and the windows open. The tension was beginning to fade.
Ron smiled when he saw his new house ahead on the road. It sat mostly camouflaged by bushes and trees and it looked so much smaller than it was. He liked that.
His house was the only one on the road. Across the small turn into his driveway, were trees and in front of him, a real city block away, was the lake. His property went down to the lake. Celeste’s car was sitting in the driveway. He had found a two door Mitsubishi and suggested that they buy it for her. She was so happy that she almost squealed. Ron stared at the rear end of the car and thought about his wife’s bottom. He laughed to himself over how one thing could remind him of another.
Celeste has owned sports cars. She had owned fast cars. She loved them, but their finances and the reality of having a child had reduced her motoring choices to reliable and clunky. Secretly, she despised reliable and clunky, but the ever ready aspect of reliable and the loading and unloading advantages of clunky had worn her down. This sleek little blue Mitsubishi was a step back in an older direction and Celeste felt love for a car rekindled in her.
When he got out of the car, Ron felt dazzled. In front of him was his barn. Had never even ever dreamed of owning a barn. He had slept in them. The mystery of what had been left there, and for how long and by which previous occupants who just did not move everything out, intrigued him like a mystery novel.
To his right was a lake. A medium sized body of water, a little too small for waves but large enough for a sailboat. It made him smile. He longed to see the changes that it would bring.
The foundation of the house was all fieldstone. He always wanted to touch it when he saw it. He wondered what would happen if he washed it. Would it be like wood that revealed its secrets of grain under a sanding? He smiled again and entered in the basement. On the inside he was greeted with the continuation of the fieldstone wall that he always wanted to touch. An old doorway had been cut into it. That led back to a tiny four room enclosure that begged investigation, but also held the powering equipment for the house.
Ron was intimidated by those strange contraptions. He’d never paid any attention in his parents’ homes. They had leaks in the basement was all he knew, and he would brush the water down the drain. But this was now his responsibility. Celeste came down here to do laundry. It had to be safe. People all came in this entrance. It shouldn’t look ratty. He needed to learn. Ron shook his head and started up the stone lined, magically and beautifully on both sides now, carpeted flight of stairs that led up to the livingroom.
It was all wood, glass and stone. It was huge and had a cathedral ceiling that was supported by two old hand-hewn beams, taken from some older place that had contributed their strength and the beauty of their survival marks to a new, decorative function.
Ron was out of his jacket the moment in hit the top of the stairs. His tie had been taken off and stashed in his jacket pocket during the ride. He could see a partial outline of her form from the top of the stairs. She was still wearing her shoes and the jacket to her suit. Ron grinned. She always needed to wait.
“Hi”
They both said it at the same time. They stopped and embraced. The smile on each of their faces was deep and they just felt each other’s bodies. How they fit, after so many years together, was just instant communication now. The kiss was warm and not in a tempo that either of them had used all day. Their kisses had a demanding tempo that just took over.
“You feel so good,” she said.
He just smiled and squeezes that magnificent bottom of hers and kissed her again. “Where’s Angel?”
“I don’t know. Her car isn’t here. There’s no note, no message.”
Ron nodded. He wasn’t surprised. She was at school. She was doing well. Things were better now. If Angel could come through this and be doing well, he would see one of the greater comebacks from a nightmare of a childhood and middle adolescence than he had thought possible. He was sure all in and rooting for it, but he just couldn’t trust it yet. But there was hope and some success.
“There is so much to do here, Cel! Everyplace I look I see a project. This place is just amazing.”
Celeste started back into the kitchen. “I can’t stop staring out of the windows. One wall of the oddly shaped elongated L of a kitchen was windows that also looked out on their lake.
They both stopped for a second to look out.
“I need to get out of these clothes said Ron.”
Celeste had a secretly naughty thought and wanted to say let me help you, but she was cooking dinner so she just grinned and gave the pot a stir.

Chapter 7
Ron came down stairs in a t-shirt, sneakers and his very first pair of coveralls. They were extraordinarily large on him and had the stiffness of being new and showing it. He felt the scratchiness of the fabric, hoped that Celeste would know of some way to make it soft. There was a blind faith that she just knew things like that.
“Have I got an hour before dinner?”
“We really can eat anytime. I just need about 15 minutes to boil some water.”
“What are we having?”
“The last of our garden sauce from last year at Height.”
“We have some meatballs?”
“Sausage, what kind of pasta do you want?”
“That thin stuff,”
Ron leaned in and kissed her neck and gently squeezed her breast. “Take some time to get into comfortable clothes.”
“Maybe Angel will come home for dinner,” said Celeste.
“I’ll be outside,” said Ron.
Ron walked back through his living room with his eyes trained on the ornately covered wooden door and full length enclosed window that looked out to the side of this place.
The House was constructed into the side of a slope that caused the necessity of the flight up, the foundation was deep. The previous owner and put in a wrap-around wooden porch that spanned the entire front of the house and around the side door from which Ron emerged.
He wanted to explore. About thirty yards in front of him was an outcropping of limestone and trees and bushes. It was a small island in the middle of his property. The land also gently sloped down on both sides of the island.
In front of it was a huge pile, stack on stack, of slate roofing tiles. They were all grey and a little brittle. They had been the roof of the house. The way they were stored was an eyesore. But someone had started to use them to deepen the outline of a large garden that had been left to go to brambles and weeds. The brambles were large deeply rooted stickers. There was no hope to do anything about them until it turned to winter. But he could work on the tiles.
It was exactly what he felt his body needed. A squat for a pile of tiles, a brisk fifteen yards to the far end of the perimeter, and then another squat and placing them, one overlapping the other. He had a plan that was in his eye. There was no sense in fighting these weeds. He would take it down to nothing and cover it with a growth cloth, encircle the garden with the tiles, and then load in topsoil and start over.
Ron grinned as his breathing found that comfortable aerobic rhythm that told him it was working. He could feel it. What would they plant in the garden? That was only nine months away. Ron smiled. It was a gestation.
Ron felt something sticky on his palms and realized it was blood. He would have to start remembering to wear work gloves. He knew that. How had it slipped his mind? He started thinking about needing some kind of wheel barrow.
Then he looked up, saw Celeste standing on the porch looking at him. She was hungry he was being selfish. When he walked over to her, he felt the euphoria that he got from running. Not as strong, but it was there. He looked down at his palms on the way over. She was watching and then she saw his palms.
He grinned his little boy grin. She took him by the hand and said, “Let’s get this cleaned up and have dinner.

Chapter 8
About half way through dinner, they heard the downstairs door close and Angel was coming up the stairs. Celeste was happy that she has set a place for her at the table. Angel reached the top of the stairs still carrying her books. She looked a little angry.
“Come and sit,” said Celeste. “I set a place for you.”
Angel put her bag down on the island counter that led into the kitchen. “If you wanted to eat with me you would have waited. I’m not hungry now.”
“Come and sit anyway,” said Ron. “Maybe the sight and smell of the food will make you hungry.”
Angel sullenly sit in front of empty plate. She watched them eating with a half look of disgust on her face.
“How was school?” said Ron.
“It was ok. Listen I want to move out into the barn. I think we’ll all be happier if I stay out there. I’ll be happier anyway.”
Celeste stopped eating. “There isn’t even running water out there.”
“I can come in here and I can get a little apartment sized refrigerator and use the bathroom downstairs.”
“I don’t think the barn is a place to live,” said Celeste. “You have a room upstairs with the most beautiful cross breeze and a great view with plenty of light.”
“I feel like I’m right on top of you. The barn has its own driveway and the office out there has heat and air conditioning and a carpet.”
“Won’t you feel very alone out there?” said Celeste.
“That’s the point,” said Angel.
Ron looked up and studied her face. Those eyes still had a searchlight quality. She had become a pretty young woman. Her hair was thick and lustrous and long and give her an almost wildish look. Ron thought, that was surely appropriate.
She turned her eyes on him. “What do you think Dad?”
“I don’t think it’s a terrible idea. We would have to do some things, like make sure the heat works and make sure there are no holes. This is the country, where there are holes you will find mice.”
A horrified look crossed Celeste’s face. “She can’t live with mice!”
“I think we need to do some things but it’s doable and if it is what she wants.”
“I can’t see my daughter living in a barn.” Celeste sounded resolute.
Ron would let it drop. Angel would not. “If I go out there and make sure it’s all cleared out and Dad says it’s OK, I want to do it.”
Ron quietly thought that he would have loved a place like that when he was in college, but he would not say that. He would not contradict her in front of Angel. That had been their agreement. She knew that Ron had a soft spot for the idea and in her mind that meant if was already done.
“I’m going to go out there and look around now.” Angel rose from the table and grabbed her bag and started out the side door.
“You know where the lights are don’t you?” called Ron.
“Inside the back door on the left,” said Angel quickly.
After she went to look, Celeste said,” You do realize that we will never know if she is here or not and who is there, right?” She was not smiling.
“She wants some privacy, Cel. This could be a really good thing. It will keep her happy here with us where we know that she’s safe. How often have we worried about where she is and whether or not she was safe?”
Ron stood up and brought his dish to the sink. Celeste followed with her dish and they cleaned the table, rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher together.
Celeste said, “I want you to go out there and have a really good look around. She won’t like it if I do it but if Dad says it’s OK?”
Ron finished washing the dishes and when he turned Celeste saw that the front of the overalls were wet from the sink and he had forgotten to button the fly. He was sticking right out. He looked ridiculously adorable.
“You better button that thing up before she gets back.” She pointed at his crotch.
Ron looked down and blushed brightly. He put his naked penis back into his pants and buttoned them up. “Oh Jesus, I had no idea they had that opening. “ He fumbled as he closed the buttons.
“You go and look, I am going upstairs and get out of these clothes and take a shower.”
Ron looked disappointed. “Ok I’ll go and look.”
Celeste gave him a little grin. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Chapter 9
Ron walked out into the barn. It was dark now and he made his way through this mysterious new part of his home. He saw her moving the more fragile boxes from the enclosed ‘office’ part of the barn into its general area. They were each marked fragile but she was tossing them.
“Wait!” said Ron.
Angel froze.
“See the fragile written on the side?’
“I was being careful!” she protested.
She wasn’t and he knew that if he made an issue of it there would be an argument. Celeste had told him that he just needed to let some things go. This was not easy for Ron, but he knew that his wife was correct.
“Let me come out here and help you on a night when I’m not so tired. This way we won’t have to move things twice.”
“I’m doing it now,” said Angel. “You said I could.”
Ron wanted to correct her by saying that isn’t what he said but that too would lead to an argument. Something had her riled up tonight. He knew that she was not going to share that with him. Not anymore. Becoming the school ‘Narc ‘as Angel had put it was the last straw. He could not be trusted. “Why are you in such a rush?”
Angel looked at him with an expression of pain. “Because I want someplace to sleep tonight?”
Ron was snagged. He found himself responding before he checked himself. “No one said anything about tonight.”
Angel picked up another box and moved it. “If I am not allowed to sleep out here, I am sleeping in my car.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t stand to sleep in the same house with the two of you. I can’t breathe around you.”
Ron suddenly felt very tired. He was not up for another battle today. He had gotten rid of the tension of work. But this was a tension that he felt like he would never lose. “I’ll help you clean out a spot and you can use your sleeping bag tonight.”
Angel smiled. She had won. She slipped into cooperative mode and they made a spot for her.
“Let me tell your mother,” said Ron.
She slipped right back into combative mode in an instant. “Go ahead, I have nothing to say to her.”
Ron shook his head. “Did things go ok at school today?”
“School was fine,” said Angel. “You already asked me that.”
“I need a shower and then I am going to bed,” said Ron. “My day starts early.”
Then to his absolute confusion, she kissed him on the cheek and said, “Thanks for helping me, Dad.”
The night air was cool. Ron looked down for that last view of the lake. It was inviting. He heard honking of geese across the water. He walked up the outside flight of stairs. He thought that he did not want to lock the door because suppose she needed to come in. Then another thought hit him. Did they have to lock their doors out here?

Chapter 10
Celeste Tuck slid into her sleek sky blue Eclipse with affection. She liked that she never had to adjust the driver’s seat. She was the only one driving this car and truly it felt like hers more than theirs. The distinctions were difficult to make sometimes, but not with her Eclipse.
She looked for Angel’s car and saw it in the barn driveway. She turned her head to the take and saw the mist rising on the water and two ducks paddling along. The Eclipse purred its hello. She did not have to attach her seatbelt and no one was going to guilt trip her about it.
Pelican brief started right where it stopped, the voice was warm and had a flavor of the South as she settled into her seat and then sprayed gravel on her way out of the driveway, and whipped onto the county road.
The words were soothing and she was listening as a person would to a conversation someone was having that you could stop replay, zip ahead or just relax into.
Ron had been like a little boy who could just not keep his eyes open by the time he came into the bedroom. She was reading but had the TV silently set to the news in the background. He wanted sex with her and she knew it, but he was just unable to stay awake. He was telling her about the barn in one second, and then he just put his head down and was asleep.
Celeste grinned and shook her head with envy. I mean who the hell did that? She gunned the Eclipse and rode on the sound of the voice and the cornfields that were becoming familiar and that she had learned to watch grow.
She slowed as she entered Hackleberg. She had lived all over this town.
It was familiar. She pulled her car up across the street from her favorite bakery. Peter smiled when he saw Celeste coming into his shop. They greeted each other warmly. “I always forget that Tuesdays are the first day of your week,” said Celeste.
Peter grinned and said, “I have some new pumpkin muffins,” opened his palms and raised them, “on the house for you today.”
Celeste reached into her bag and said, “And a large container of coffee,” she took the empty cup from the counter and walked to the urns.
Peter inhaled the scent of her perfume and the warmth of her eyes and the pleasing sight of her backside as she walked to get her coffee. She was a breath of fresh air.
He had the muffin in the bag when she came back. She took her coffee and left two dollars on the counter. When he turned to make change, she was walking away and calling a “see you tomorrow,” over her shoulder.
The placard over her parking space read, Celeste Tuck, Social Service Director, Heights Village.
Heidi Kliess was always the first at her desk and today was no exception. Celeste had to walk passed her office to get to her own. Everyone on the management team did. That was one of the ways that she or her secretary Vivian Florencola keep track.
Celeste wasn’t even passed sight of her doorway, when she heard Heidi. The sound of her voice had almost a sphincter tightening effect on Celeste. She froze and turned.
“Come in, Celeste, have a seat.”
“We’ve had an unfortunate incident last night and you are to do a full report that includes the gathering of the necessary paper work to track the last 12 hours of Doria Klepper’s life.”
Celeste was stunned. “The last 12 hours? She wasn’t critical yesterday. I looked in on her. She was disoriented by not agitated.”
Heidi did not look up until after she delivered her next line. “She went down the stairs in her wheel chair and since she was restrained the fall, severed her spinal cord and column.”
Celeste’s mouth dropped open. “She was decapitated?”
“Do not use that word in your report. Not anything like it. Keep the description vague to fatal head and neck injuries.”
“OK,” said Celeste. “I better get started. I’m sure you’ll want it as soon as possible.”
“Before you go home, Celeste.” And then she put her head down. Celeste had been dismissed.
She moved in back of her desk to find Doria Klepper’s file. She knew her children. They would be surpised but not find it tragic. Their mother had not known them in two years. She was slightly surprised to see that Heidi had notified the family at 4:15 am.
She put in the call anyway. “Janice, this is Celeste Tuck from Heights Village. I’m so sorry about what happened to your mom.”

Chapter 11
The accepted Heights Village response to this kind of an assignment was to spend at least an hour complaining about it and commiserating with other members of the management team about how unfair it was to pile an assignment like this on top of an already enormous workload.
Celeste was notorious for not doing this. She’s been given a large number of chances. but Annabel Pritchard was willing to give her one more chance to really join the team. She rang Celeste’s office.
“Social Services,” Celeste answered.
“Isn’t that something about what happened to Doria Klepper?”
“It’s very sad,” said Celeste.
She was about to tell Annabel that she would need to stop by her office and get chart notes on Doria when Annabel said, “And I think you’ve gotten a really unfair deal being made to do this report. I’ve got all that I can manage and still get home on time to have dinner ready for Joel, and I haven’t just moved into a new house like you have.”
Instead of taking this opportunity to vent and get some things off of her chest, Celeste said, “Thanks Annabel. I’d like to stop over and collect her chart notes in a few minutes.”
There was a long and distinct pause from Annabel’s side of the phone. She shook her head from side to side and then said, “Alight,” in a hushed and rebuffed tone.
Celeste didn’t pick up on it, although she felt it register. “I have to make two other calls and I will collect everything I need in one swoop and then I probably won’t have to speak to anyone as long as all the notes are in order.”
“Who would you want to speak to?” Annabel felt tension responding to Celeste’s plan.
“I don’t know yet,” said Celeste, “I have to read the notes. But I’ll be able to let you know by break.” Then she put the receiver down and
Annabel, heard the click in her ear. Who did she think she was, the FBI?
Break was a necessary pause in the day’s work. It was unusual for anyone to miss break, and they were always a topic for discussion if they were not there. Celeste was a regular but sometimes her attendance at break was spotty. On most days, there were six women who went on break together and they all reported to Heidi, who always attended break.
It would be kind to say that Heidi was portly, it would be more accurate to describe her as shapeless. She had come up through the ranks at Height and knew every aspect of its operation. She also made sure that in her building, or her team, she was the only one who had direct access to the CEO.
Height Village was an Episcopal facility, so there was nothing that she could do about the influence of the clergy, and Dennis Brennen handled the outside investment and fundraising and the all-important internal Friendship Fund, but Heidi Kliess ran all the rest. At break, she held court.
Celeste was teased about any number of things at break. Some of it, like her politics, was just for fun, but some of it, like her appearance had an edge that only a group of women could uniquely create.
Except for Heidi, whose fashion sense was not to be referred to, the women all dressed like a mixture of Martha Stewart and Christine Todd Whitman. As far at these women were concerned, Celeste dressed like Janis Joplin.
To top it off, she was forever spilling something on herself. She simply tried to do too many things at once, as far as they were concerned. It was inevitable that her result was often disaster.
The approved faire was tea or perhaps a yogurt. Celeste was not there for the start of break.
There was some initial talk about who was making what for dinner. Trudy had gotten a new set of Longaberger baskets and she described them and her options for enhancement to accent her new dining room furniture. There were appreciate oohs and ahs from around the table. Then Heidi said, “Anyone know if Celeste is coming?”
There was an amused silence. Then Alice Malone said, “Maybe she is cooing on the phone with Ron. They haven’t seen each other all day.” This was said to exaggerated eye rolls that brought chuckles from around the table.
Vivian said, “I don’t give Charlie any encouragement until Thursday night, then I make him wait. I get such good meals out on Fridays.” She grinned all the girls at the table laughed.
“I discourage Joel whenever I get the chance, and now he’s a good boy who takes the hint,” said Annabel.
More laughter as Celeste entered the room with her yogurt. “Hi everyone.”
Everyone took note of the flowered print loose skirt that Celeste was wearing with an autumn rust jacket. She was clashing seasons, didn’t she realize that?
Vivian said, “Did you have a phone call?”
More laughter that Celeste did not understand. “I just lost track of time,” said Celeste.
No one answered. Celeste ate her yogurt quickly. It seemed like four large spoonful’s finished it, and she took them one after the other. Then she turned to Heidi “I should have that report by 1:30.”
Heidi smiled and said, “That’s wonderful Celeste,” and then mimicking the words that Celeste had been singled out for by the last state inspection, “Highly efficient.”
It brought to mind for the rest of the girls that they had not been singled out and that she was the one protecting them. It kept everything the way that she liked it.
Celeste she turned to Annabel, “I just need to have a quick word with the charge nurse.”
“Just a small hole in the log sixty-five minutes before the accident.” said Celeste.
“Let’s refer to it as an incident,” said Heidi.” Accident could be construed as an admission of liability.”
There were bobbing heads and agreeing nods around the table. Then Heidi got up. Break time was officially over.

Chapter 12
“Dr. Tuck, this is Shondra Peters.” Her tones were clipped. They were not angry but gave off a distancing feel, with sometimes more than a hint of disapproval.
Ron had detected this about the third or fourth time they met. His responses were designed to be in comfortable language and say uncomfortable things. “Good morning, how can I help you?”
“An all-male schedule for David is out of the question,” said Dr. Peters.
“Why is that?” said Ron.
One of the things that Joyce did really well was research and he knew she liked it. Not all of the office computers had access to all of the departments like nursing and guidance and free and reduced lunches, and of course, discipline. Ron made sure that he and Joyce had access and was updated on all changes in these departments.
Joyce had done the work to create the possibilities for an all-male schedule and the ways that it could be juggled, so Ron had in front of him all the possibilities. He had been waiting for her call.
“David is more comfortable with female instructors.”
Ron was not quite prepared for this response. He was prepared for the mechanics of it. Shondra was taking a different approach.
“I am not quite sure how you came to that conclusion,” said Ron.
“For one thing, David feels intimidated by male teachers, he withdraws.”
Ron said in easy soft and even tones, “Perhaps it will be a catalyst that focuses his attention. Males sometimes need a hint of intimidation to gain a younger man’s attention.”
Dr. Peters was somewhat aghast. “You are actually suggesting that I place a troubled young man who is finding his way into a situation where he feels intimidated?”
Ron’s response was calming, for now. “He is comfortable with teachers that he verbally abuses on a regular basis.”
“For right now, that is true. But I think that as he feels more comfortable, he will not employ his inappropriate responses,” said Shondra.
“I agree with you,” said Ron “He is unable to control his emotional responses, be they defense mechanisms, or a prelude to more aggressive behavior, or both. He needs environmental modification.”
Ron quietly thought about how much he hated this vocabulary and was confused by how easily it came to him.
“I understand what you are saying, but it isn’t my first priority,” said Dr. Peters. “I believe that David can learn to thrive in this community and it is the community that needs to adapt their methods for these children.”
“Shondra,” Ron used her first name deliberately, “How do you think it goes over with teachers who David tells to “go fuck themselves?” And I tell them that David will say he is sorry, but before he gets to that he has told them to “Shut up Bitch,” as he interrupted them to deliver his apology.”
There was a sigh of exasperation from Shondra.
“I am responsible to see to the safety of a lot of people, Dr. Peters, which has to be my priority. And I agree, a more inclusive environment is belter. And being a little intimidated into be socially more appropriate is a price that David is going to have to pay right now.”
“I cannot concur.” Then she was silent.
“Well, there is just this one thing. David has more than exceeded the number of days qualified for suspension. So I can ask for a manifestation determination conference. You say that right now he cannot control his verbal responses to teachers. So his suspensions are a manifestation of his classified status.”
“He hasn’t exceeded the number of days that he’s actually been out of school yet.”
“Yes,” said Dr. Tuck. “Because the Child Study team has converted his out of school suspensions to in-school suspensions and not counted them as days of lost instruction.”
“He was at school,” said Dr. Peters.
Ron’s voice sounded like a snap. “And that is your idea of a more inclusive educational environment?”
Shondra stood up in back of her desk on the other end of the phone.
“You’re the one who put him there!”
“Because he can’t control the way that he acts here.” Ron loved to go under the raised volume of someone else in order to make his point. It had the dual effect of being in control and often causing a humorous response.
“Fine, I’ll take this back to my supervisor,” said Peters.
Ron thought, finally! But he wasn’t quite done. “The schedule changes?”
“I’ll have to discuss that with guidance.” Shondra figured that could buy a few days. Maybe David would start to get it.
“You know,” said Ron, “I have those schedule possibilities right here. I’ll drop them off with Bert and the two of you can pick from among them.”
Shondra thought, he really was a bastard! This wasn’t a real conversation. He had the schedules made already. He could have just started with that and saved her time.
Joyce was at Ron’s door. She came in when she saw the light go off on his line at her desk. Ron was smiling at her. “You did great research on David Mathers.”
Joyce preened.
“What have I got next?”

Chapter 13
Heights Village was a sprawling complex that included four levels of care. It was an exclusive facility. At entrance, a member would have to demonstrate financial liquidity and the current income, or assets, to assure that financial incapacity was not among those incapacities that would come with aging.
Residents could have private homes or condominiums. They drove their own automobiles, went on extended vacations, sometimes kept another residence, and generally enjoyed life as they would like it.
The added attraction of the gated community living, in Village dining privileges to supplement their own complete kitchens, the calendar of Village sponsored trips and activities made it an attractive place. It also offered the promise that when additional care was required it would be available in a variety of ways.
There was the hotel style living. This included accommodations not unlike one would get in a hotel. And added attraction of the hotel was the splendid entrance, the glass covered passageways, with handrails that almost gave it the illusion of a cruise ship, with the occasional office that seemed like cruise line offices.
These residents could eat in the dining room or have room service. At this level, note was taken about how much activity engaged the resident. This was done unobtrusively and with a casual air. These residents were also allowed to come and go freely, although note was taken of it twice daily. This was when Celeste became involved with most of the people that she saw regularly.
The next stages of care more resembled a convalescent center and finally a small hospital. Upon entrance, residents of Heights Village were assured of care for life assuming there was no financial catastrophe.
Celeste was out in the corridor, she was making her morning rounds. She held hands with people when she talked to them. She remembered what they said to her the day before. She knew the names of their children and spoke with some of those on the phone regularly. When she got a call from one of her regular children, she could always say, “This was how mom looked today…” They did not check on their fathers as regularly, and there were far fewer men on the unit.
Celeste was always happy to see Patricia Tallman. She was sitting up in her bed and reading. She smiled as she saw Celeste come in. “Dear girl, how nice of you to come to see me.”
Celeste smiled and took both of her hands. “How are you feeling?”
“Well, I am trying to conserve energy for tonight. I am meeting with our priest and also the bishop.”
Patricia was also an ordained priest. She earned that distinction at the age of 79. Celeste found her a true inspiration.
“And you know how meeting with men can be at any age, Celeste.”
“I am sure you have handled tougher cases than these,” said Celeste.
“Perhaps we can have tea tomorrow and you will tell me all about it.”
“I’d love that and I want you to meet both of them, Celeste. It is high time that you, and what you are able to do, was more integrated into our spiritual lives.”
“I’d love to meet them,” said Celeste.
Patricia smiled. “Shall we say two pm tomorrow?”
Now it was more than a polite wish. Patricia Tallman had something up her sleeve. Celeste was game.
And then she was back out into the hall and making her way to her next resident.

Chapter 14
On most days Celeste made it home before Ron did. Angel was out in the barn now. She had moved her things out there, including managing to drag her twin bed and box mattress through the house and out into the barn with no help that Celeste know of. Her car was in her driveway when Celeste pulled the Eclipse into what had become her spot. Celeste wanted to go and see the barn but she was unsure that she would be welcome. Ron has said that they had to make it feel like it was her own. Celeste thought that was a dangerous attitude to have with Angel.
When she entered, the now almost always unlocked back door, she heard the shower running in the sauna. Celeste stuck her head in the doorway without opening the door to the sauna and said, “I’m home.”
Celeste knew that she was always startled when she found someone had come home while she was taking a shower. Ron called it The Psycho Syndrome. She wondered if there was anything that he hadn’t given a nickname.
She moved in back of the door and knocked on it, “Angel, I’m home.”
The response was an exasperated. “All right mom, I heard you the first three times.”
Celeste did not answer, dropped her head and started up the stairs. The living room greeted her far more warmly than her daughter did. She smiled as she took off her heavier jacket that Ron had nicknamed frumpwear. She didn’t care, it was comfortable and allowed her to move while she was driving. He could make all the fun of it he wanted.
The smell of the electric crock pot greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. She picked up a potholder and took the lid off the pea soup to inhale the aroma. She loved the timer now that she trusted it.
She heard the downstairs door open and close and did not know whether Ron was home or Angel had left. She went to the bank of windows and glanced out. His car wasn’t there, it must be her.
Celeste fished the large chunk of ham out of the pot, added some heavy cream and plugged in her hand blender. The soup thickened rapidly. Then she shredded the ham and dumped it back into the pot and smiled. Dinner was ready. They could eat absolutely anytime. Angel could even take a dish out to her island if she wanted to.
She moved to her calendar. Today was Tuesday, the 21st of October. Celeste kept two running calendars, one at home and one at work. She wrote, she wrote in Thursday the 23rd at 7pm for dinner with the doctors. She smiled as she looked at the cryptic entry “party” for that Saturday night. Hs felt a naughty grin spread over her face and thought again about what she could wear this time.
She looked across the living room, saw the side door open. It was Angel. She wanted to see her after all. She moved the calendar to the side and put her purse on top of it.
Angel was wearing tight, hip hugging jeans and a white cotton blouse. Celeste thought she looked like a knockout. “Don’t think that I’ll be home until late tonight. Tell Dad the heat in the barn isn’t working properly.”
“Where are you going?” Celeste tried to sound cheerful.
“I’ll be out, mom.” Her response did not invite questions.
“Do you want some pea soup?”
Angel crinkled her face. “It looks like what they used in the Exorcist. It’s disgusting.”
“Do you want something else for dinner? I can make you some eggs?”
“It’s not breakfast, Mom and I don’t feel like eating vomit.”
They both heard the grumble of Ron’s car on the gravel.
Celeste smiled. Angel headed for the side door. “Don’t forget to tell Dad about the heat,” and then she was gone.
Celeste felt a combination of relief and sadness as she watched her pull the door closed behind her. Celeste moved to meet him at the top of the stairs. They kissed and she felt his hand on her ass and smiled. He just never seemed to get enough of her behind and she had grown to have an affection for that. She shared with the women of her family, the power of the Belmont ass.
He brushed his lips along the side of her neck and let her go. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes, we are alone for dinner, and Angel says she doesn’t have heat.”
“I saw her car, is she out there?”
“No, she is going out.”
Ron started back out the side door, he hadn’t even taken his jacket off.
“Ron?”
He stopped and turned.
“Do it later, she is in a mood.”
Ron reversed direction and started upstairs toward the bedroom.
“What else is new?”
Celeste felt rebuffed again. Someone could have at least been excited that she had managed an all-day dinner while working all day. Did he really have no sense of smell or was he just not paying attention. She felt herself sulk a little.

Chapter 15
Ron presented himself to Celeste wearing his overalls and announced, “The tile perimeter is finished.”
Celeste looked up from a catalog of fabrics and smiled, “I want to see it after dinner.” She looked at Ron. His face had that reddish glow and his hair was matted down on his head in a way that showed its thinning. Celeste was certain that baldness was a condition that Ron would despise and she wanted to put off mentioning it as long as possible.
“Come here, I want you to see this,” said Celeste.
It was a grouping of pictures that showed windows in various states of draping. Ron looked down with some interest. Celeste wrapped her hand around his thigh. Ron smiled. “I know we want to have as much light in from the windows as possible, and I know that you don’t care that the windows are bare, but look at this.” She squeezed his thigh and moved the finger of her other hand to point.
Ron looked and saw that they were just little transparent pieces of fabric that dressed the outside of the window frames. They were pretty. She squeezed again and he felt himself twitch. “I really like them, what color?”
“I think a burgundy.” Celeste looked down and saw the erection pressing out on the buttons of the overalls. She felt herself moisten.
It was Wednesday. Angel was in class until after 10 pm. Celeste just did not think about dinner. When the alarm woke them this morning, in those few seconds before he got up, they sometimes held and kissed. Then she would drift back off to the sounds of him in the bathroom, or the images from her dreams. He said, “Don’t cook tonight.” The idea had put her in a delightful mood.
“Show me where,” said Ron.
They went into the living room. They stood in front of a slatted wood bannister that spanned the length of five side by side windows that were above the entrance stairs up from the door that everyone used.
Their hips were touching side by side. She felt that thrill of standing next to him. He extended the arm closest to her. “You mean just treat it like one window?”
She grinned and said, “Yes.” She led him to the two single windows on the other side of the room, “And we can do the same with these, there’s no one to see in and everything to see out.”
And then he was kissing her, and because Heidi Kleiss did not allow the slacks that Celeste would have preferred to wear to work, she dressed daily in a skirt and his hands were up under it.
The embrace brought them down onto the couch. He was sticking out almost painfully now, and she was aching to have him inside of her.
Then he grinned up at her, “The bed. It’s so comfortable up there.”
He put his hand between her legs from the rear and squeezed her with every step, and she got excited and moved faster. They didn’t wait for much more to come off in the bedroom. He stepped out of the overalls revealing that he had nothing on underneath them while he was working. She pulled her panties off and lay under a pillow of her belly, the way that she knew he loved it.
She raised her hips when she felt his weight on the bed. And he rubbed himself on her. And then his hand was between her legs and his fingers were dancing their tips into her with the hand that he used to make finger strums on the guitar.
Celeste moaned and said, “Yes, yes, oh yes.” as he entered her. And then he was deeper inside and she was thrusting back at him. And then he was up on his toes and up on his hands and just dipping himself in and out of her. And she felt herself squirming beneath him, feeling just that part of him moving in and out of her and his breathing on her neck. Ron sunk down to his knees and let his hips begin to gallop. She felt the plunging weight of him now in and out of her.
The waves had begun riding in her when he went into that frenzy and swelled harder, her release flooded out of her and seconds later he squirted hot jolts of himself into her.
Ron and Celeste grinned and moved slowly together with slow drifting, like gliding on their lake, then they pulled apart and lay touching.
Celeste said, “What do you want to do about dinner?”
Ron said, “I want to have it later.”
Celeste said, “Well what do you want to do?”
Ron grinned. “Get the rest of the way naked and then take a sauna and shower together down there, and then have dinner.”
“We won’t make it, you know that. One of us will get distracted by something else that just seems to need to be done instead.”
Ron was grinning. “OK, I’ll turn on the sauna and go get pizza and you get naked”
Celeste ginned too and as he was on his way out the door she said, “Ron, I think I want a puppy.”

Chapter 16
Ron and Celeste’s days settled into their rhythms. Ron had the manifestation determination conference scheduled. Celeste met with and liked the clergy. Patricia moved her into a spot representing patients’ rights on a joint Board where clergy, and medical professionals meet with leaders from the Friendship Fund.
Patricia informed Heidi of her desire to have Celeste on this board and Patricia was a powerful woman. Her late, and never discussed philandering, husband was one of The Heights Village Founders. She had many friends and was now one of the clergy. This, of course, inserted a bug up Heidi’s backside, but she would take that out on Celeste in different ways.
Angel thrived in the barn. She brought Ron out to see it one afternoon while he was mowing grass. She had done a good job and Ron had shown her that the circuit breaker for her heat had been turned off, and now the baseboard was, while not hot, warming.
It was Sunday morning. But not like a normal Sunday. They were taking a long ride. Ron and Celeste did not enjoy driving into Pennsylvania. There were too many ghosts on these roads. Ron had a distaste for Pennsylvania since before Celeste met him.
For Celeste, it had always held good memories, except that in the summer time she found it very buggy. Then the nightmarish cloud of Angel’s deterioration descended on them, and this state with its horrible rehabilitation facility came into her life.
Celeste asked Ron what books he had in the car. He was listening to The Source. That would be perfect. “Just start it where you left off,” said Celeste, “I’ll fall right into it.”
Michener did his magic and Ron tried to follow the directions. They were going to get their first dog together. They had both done research. This breed was known as Irish Water Spaniel. They had found it because of Celeste’s allergies to dogs that shed. Water Spaniels were mostly all the same color. They were chocolate brown but were described officially as liver brown.
The ride was about two hours old when Ron said, “We need to turn off at the next exit and from there I need you read the directions.”
Celeste grimaced. This never went well. Why did he keep forcing her to do it? She couldn’t read a map and couldn’t read his handwriting. It never ended well. She braced herself and hoped the explosion would pass quickly like a thunderstorm but maybe she would get lucky this time.
After he had expressed his exasperation with her ability to decipher things, she could keep him in line by reminding him that he was acting like a Vice Principal. That got him every time and then he would become mostly cooperative, but some thunderstorms came in twos. They were the real pains in the ass because she would have relaxed thinking it was over, but then some new twist of fate might send him over the edge again.
She did have more of a chance on Sunday, because he would have burnt some of that energy off all day on Saturday and would also not be as pent up.
Ron tried the read the directions as Celeste held them up, but had to glance away from the road which made him tense. If only she would just read what was there. But, magically, there was the street for whose number they were looking. They had gotten there without difficulty.
As they walked up the driveway, that saw the paws and curious head of a beautiful dog, who wanted to see who was arriving, jump to the window ledge.
Ron rang the bell. Celeste was excited as the breeder answered the door flanked by two more of these wonderfully brown, curly coated, friendly, alert dogs.
“Come in,” he said. John Frances Reilly was happy to see them. His wife was so done with this litter that she was giving him an argument about ever doing it again. This pup had been returned after two weeks. He was the runt of the litter anyway, and the elderly couple who purchased him had used a tooth brush on his puppy teeth to make sure that he never had that bad breath smell that they hated in dogs. Then, they just brought him back. His name was Boo Boo but Ron and Celeste could name him anything that they wanted. They were both immediately smitten. Boo Boo curled right into their arms and was at ease.
“Yes,” they wanted him. “No,” they didn’t have a crate. “Yes,” they would take him now.
Ron was ready with the agreed amount. Celeste had already written the check before they’d left the house. The breeder’s wife even came down stairs and offered them coffee while her husband created the paperwork. Ron was busy signing the permission slips. Celeste was just holding their new puppy and feeling him breathe and looking into his eyes.
“What do you want to name him?” said Reilly.
“Keats,” said Ron.
He felt Reilly flinch at the name of the English poet as he said, “Keats it is.”
Chapter 17

The afternoon before the manifestation determination, Ron met with the principal, the supervisor of special services, and the guidance department chairperson. The principal had called the meeting.
Muriel Bowser sat with Karl Polemnic and Kristie Triano when Ron entered the room. He took a seat and Muriel was glad that he was there. Of course, she did not favor the returning of kids from outside placement but Ron was getting his hands dirty with it.
Superintendent of Schools, Rufus Finley, had made the decision and it was their job to implement it. Rufus would not really want to be bothered with the details, unless it was a political necessity.
Ron knew that tomorrow’s conference was really to inform the team what had been decided here.
Muriel smiled. “Does anyone need anything?”
None of them did.
“Ron, why don’t you bring us all up to speed?”
Karl resented the assumption that he needed to be brought up to speed by anyone, especially Ron. “I think we all know what’s going on. The kid’s acting out and Dr. Tuck wants to get him kicked out.” Karl looked around the room for agreement. He did not wait for reaction. “Doesn’t that about sum it up, Ron?”
Polemnic was the kind that you just had to stand up to and Ron knew it. Karl felt that most decisions were really simple, and the school made too much out of them. Ron knew that he had to throw Karl off balance or else he would just dominate the meeting, make his point of view the plan, and walk out.
“I really wish it was that simple, Karl.”
Polemnic was immediately defensive. “What’s complicated about it? I know you want to use all of your fancy language and keep us here forever and I’m just trying to cut through the crap.”
“The crap, as you so elegantly put it Karl, is that the kid belongs in a situation where he can get real help, which is not happening here.”
“I differ with that assessment,” said Kristie Triano. “Dr. Peter’s report indicates that David Carpenter has shown real progress.”
“We’ve got a band aid on the situation, but it won’t hold. Yes, we have him in classes with all male teachers and that has quieted things down some, but Lois Pasternak found David wandering the halls yesterday and when she approached him to ask to see his pass, she was greeted with David’s favorite response, “Go fuck yourself, bitch.”
Muriel and Kristie were offended by the words and had body language to indicate that. Karl said, “But after he made his wisecrack, he went back to class. I think that’s the progress that Dr. Peters is referring to.”
“That’s just great,” said Ron. “Let me go and find David and congratulate him on his newly found self-control.”
“Gentlemen, there’s no need for profanity or egging each other on. We are here to problem solve.” Muriel tried to sound in control of this meeting in her office.
“The problem is that Dr. Tuck does not like the Superintendent’s decision about the district and, instead of finding ways to implement it, he is intent on challenging it,” said Karl.
Muriel’s political antennae were up. She knew what Karl was doing. “No one opposes the decision, Karl, but we do have to find ways to make it work.”
“We’ve just about got a faculty revolt on our hands,” exaggerated Ron. “How many of our staff is trained to deal with kids who talk to them like that? They see nothing done to modify David’s inappropriate behavior. We need a better plan.”
Kristie Triano was ready for this and Karl had given her the perfect lead in. “Last year, David’s out of district placement cost the district $46,500. That is money that we just don’t have anymore.”
Ron knew it was true. The school budget had not passed. Cuts had been mandated. Rufus had gotten out in front of it all by placing a moratorium on the emotionally necessitated out of district placements.
“How do you suggest that we handle it, Kristie?”
“I think that we need to mandate some sensitivity training for the faculty,” said the Director of Special Services.
“With all due respect Kristie, that may create some eventual long term improvement in the way the faculty responds some situations, but it is going to take more than sensitivity training for our female staff to not react negatively to being told to go fuck themselves and being referred to as skanky bitches.”
Muriel stepped in. “I don’t think that we have to use David’s exact wording again and again, Ron. It’s offensive.”
Ron knew its impact and was repeating the language on purpose. “That’s exactly what the staff is saying to me, Muriel!”
It had worked. He had been able to deliver that line in a way that was inescapable. “Here’s the even greater problem. Because faculty doesn’t want to be treated that way, they have begun just staying away from David in the halls. The boy has sensed his impunity and will become emboldened.
“That’s not the worst thing that can happen,” laughed Karl.
Kristie Triano looked directly at Ron. “What is it that you suggest?”
Ron smiled. “Home instruction.”
“That is out of the question as a real education plan!” said Triano raising her voice with incredulity. “What does it accomplish other than getting Dr. Tuck’s headache out of the building?”
Ron spoke quickly. “The manifestation determination has made it a headache for all of us, Kristie. As you point out, we do not have the available funds for out of district placement, or we are being told that we don’t have them. I think that in this case we have to do what is best for the educational community.”
“Bedside instruction is for students who have suffered a serious injury and cannot attend,” said Kristie.
Ron had been a Home Instructor, not in this district but he knew how it worked. “Districts have used home instruction to get kids dealing drugs out of the building in the past. It has been used for kids who were school phobic. It is the best option that we have available.”
“And what about the burden that it places on the Carpenter family?” said Karl.
Ron’s face hardened as he spoke, “That’s not my problem.”
Muriel liked the idea. It was the simplest, no fuss, and no mess solution. Of course the situation was untenable, but she had used Home Instruction for similar purposes in her previous school.
“I cannot support this as a long term plan,” said Kristie Triano.
“It does meet all of the immediate criteria,” said Muriel. “Perhaps we should give it a try.”
Kristie Triano glared at Ron. Shondra Peters was right. He was just a cold hearted bastard.

Chapter 18
The manifestation hearing itself was an entirely different kind of meeting. The entire Child Study team, including the case manager, the learning disabilities testing coordinator, and the psychologist were there. Susan Carpenter was in attendance as well as Bert Pouri, Ron, and Muriel Bowser. David would be brought in at some point and there could be others who were invited to attend if their presence was considered necessary. Usually, at least one teacher on David’s schedule was asked to be there. Ron had been a fierce advocate of having the student be allowed to pick the faculty member that he wished to represent him academically. That had become established practice.
Kristie Triano chaired the meeting. Ron took notes, he wished for Joyce who could write as fast as anyone spoke and give it back, with at least the gist and many of the details. But he knew what he was looking for.
They listened as David’s recent standardized test scores, mandated by the manifestation hearing, administered by the child study team, were announced.
His IQ was 132. His hand eye coordination was above average. His hearing was well above average. His hygiene was passable, but revealed evidence of his oppositional defiance issues.
“They are mostly manifested by a resistance to authority, or perceived authority, by negative verbal signaling.” Ron listened as Shondra spoke and he wrote. He jotted down three quick questions.
“Upon confrontation David does not, at present, have complete control of his social acceptability, but we feel this is improving,” Shondra paused and added as she stared across the table at Ron, “because of David’s opportunities to adjust to socialization which will be significantly hampered by any aspect of isolation.”
Ron smiled over at Kristie Triano. Of course she had told Shondra. Ron expected she would, but Muriel didn’t like it. That was a private meeting in her office.
Kristie Triano thanked the child study team and welcomed Susan Carpenter. She asked if Susan had agreed with the picture that it presented of David.
Susan Carpenter was an immaculately dressed woman in a business suit. Her hair was sculpted to hang just to her shoulders. Her nails were manicured red and they rested on the table in front of her. She held her wrists together and gestured with her fingers. “David has never been an easy boy. I know what he’s like. I had no better luck with his older brother.” That surprised Ron he jotted it down and drew circles.
“Yes, I agree that he is a smart boy who does not like to be told what to do.” She paused like she was about to say something else but then didn’t. “He does seem happier here,” concluded Susan. Ron thought that her ability to understate was about as good as he had ever heard
“Are there any questions before were proceed to the next stage of this hearing?” said Kristie.
Ron indicated that had had a question by repositioning his pad and then pointing to it with his pen.
“Could you describe the negative verbal signaling, Dr. Peters?”
“Inappropriate responses,” said Peters, stiffening.
“Responses that include vulgarity and sexual innuendo?” said Ron.
“Yes, Dr. Tuck we all know how he responds.” Shondra wished that she could plant he sharpest heel so far up his ass that he hopped like bugs bunny.
“My point, Shondra is that the tension that is added to this room by even discussing the details of his behaviors makes it extraordinarily clear that they have a negative impact on a community as interactive as ours.”
Muriel Bowser said, “I think that it is about time that we hear from David.”
David Carpenter was a blonde-headed kid with a surfer look haircut that drooped into his right eye. Muriel Bowser tried to make eye contact with the one uncovered eye, but was unable. David sat in the chair staring at the table.
“David, do you know why we are having this meeting?” Muriel asked hoping it would raise David’s eyes. It did they were a sparkling blue, he brushed his hair back with his hand.
“People get pissed off at me,” said David. His tone was moderate.
“Do you know why?” said Muriel softly.
David’s eyes drew a little closer and his voice seemed more rehearsed. “There doesn’t have to be a why, bitch.”
Shondra Peters made eye contact with David. Imperceptibly she moved her eyes back and forth like she was shaking her head.
David nodded and put his hands in his pockets as he had been taught.
Susan Carpenter looked embarrassed and hardly for the first time.
Ron said, “Dave, why didn’t you want a teacher here to speak about your academics?”
The voice deepened again. “I’ve got nothing to say about any of them, don’t care what any of them has to say about me.”
Ron nodded, “So, you don’t feel bonded with any of them, you know, friendly?”
David smirked. “Just you Dr. Tuck, I just love our little chats.” He paused. Everyone listened. “You’re funny as shit.”
“Thanks David,” said Ron. It hadn’t been the first time that he’s said it to him.
Shondra spoke up. “David, will you excuse us a minute please.”
David was happy to get out of there. He hadn’t said anything that bad.
He hadn’t told the skanks about the stink of them.
After the door closed in back of David, Shondra said. “He obviously feels very threatened in this situation.
“That felt pretty much the way David is during his day to day interactions. That is why I am recommending that he be placed on immediate home instruction while psychological counseling is provided on a regular basis.”
There it was. The reports had been delivered.
Kristie Triano had one more detail to resolve. “The district cannot assume the complete cost of the counseling, Mrs. Carpenter.”
This was not a decision that Susan was allowed to make. She nodded her head and said, “I understand.” Ron thought he saw her close her eyes and swallow.
Triano added, “This is a temporary decision that will be reviewed in two months.

Chapter 19
Along the glass causeway that snaked its way from the beautifully appointed lobby, back through the ground floor of the facility, and eventually through the Residential Health Care Unit were some well-spaced rooms. The library, stacked with large print books, some audio books, and many Romance and crime mysteries sat across from the Chapel.
It was designed for meditation and faith. It was not normally set up for a service, but more a place to come and feel closer to God. Celeste met with the clergy in an antechamber of the chapel.
Duane Murphy smiled his natural and welcoming grin. He and Celeste were friends. He had inspired her to join their church. His attitude towards doing good in the community and creating Christianity through social fellowship inspired Celeste.
It was a song that she recognized. She felt its backbeat in her soul and could dance to it. He and Celeste held hands after a brief hug. Duane was sporting a very closely cropped, daily-manicured beard. He had confided with Celeste when he started to grow it. She always gave it a once over, like she was in on its conception and was pleased with its maturation.
Dennis Kincaid was an openly gay minister, who lived with his deacon and head of the choir, at a Parish about twenty miles to the West. He and his partner liked Celeste and her boyishly cute husband. And so they saw them socially as well.
Ron liked them but it was his affinity was for Duane’s wife, with whom he shared mutual and open affection. Duane leaned in and whispered into Celeste’s ear. “Do you and Ron want to have dinner with Mandy and me tomorrow?”
Celeste grinned and wrote it on her pad. “I don’t know what he has going on, but I’ll ask him and call Mandy later.”
“Or, you can call me later. I have some things to tell you.” said Duane.
Zin Walsh rounded out the meeting. His parish was just to the east of Height Village. He was a little thick through the waist while both Duane and Dennis were slender.
Patricia Tallman sometimes joined the group when she did not have something else planned. She had arranged for this grouping and the rotating cycle of Masses that the Episcopal priests now offered in the Chapel.
They met after lunch on Thursdays. Celeste had a list of new residents to the community. She often gave observations about residents that she thought might benefit from a visit. They, in turn, would offer an occasional observation about one of the private, residential villagers about whom they might have noticed something during their regular parish services.
It might have been surveillance and a subtle erosion of privacy, but it was mostly met with acquiescence, or a proud- if polite- assertion for a need of space. This team was not evangelically driven and so quite responsive to that. They were there to offer a type of community to those in need of it.
It was a relaxing, rewarding part of Celeste’s week. She liked these men. She wanted to stand with them with what they stood for. Because of their personal and public intermingling, there was always some gossip to be shared.
“Jack got his ass handed to him over in England. It’s going to be interesting to see how he responds,” said Dennis.
“I think he may have had enough,” said Duane.
Each of these men knew John Shelby Spong as their bishop. They had introduced him to Celeste.
Celeste was mesmerized by him. She found herself for the first time, in such a very long time, seeing in him, the embodiment of a life-walk to which she could aspire. “Do you think he’s in trouble?” Celeste was worried. “What happened in England?”
Zin gave an accurate account. “He was told that he has simply gone too far and was not acting in the best interests of the Church or Christianity. And that his positions were under review by the council of bishops who would provide a written review.” Zin shook his head but knew changes were going to be afoot, and it was up to him to stay nimble and be ready to respond to them.
Celeste communicated with Ron through Joyce. He needed nothing but short and to the point. “Just say…dinner with Duane and Mandy tomorrow?”
Joyce lowered her tone. “Should I say it enthusiastically?”
Celeste grinned. “Unless something has come up, he’ll be enthusiastic.”
She knew how much he enjoyed seeing Mandy and she wanted to hear more about what was going on about Jack.

Chapter 20
Ron ran the electric lawn mower rough-shod over what was left of the overgrown, thorn bush invaded space, inside of his slate lined perimeter. It was colder. He was wearing a sweater over the coveralls. His plan for the weekend was to rip it out, lay growth cloth, and then have two yards of top soil delivered on Saturday afternoon
Keats was sitting by his Chery tree watching from a fenced-in wire playpen area that Ron had stuck into the ground for him. His floppy ears went up when the mower connected with roots, but mostly he was watching Ron, or rolling on his back in the grass. Ron had given a sock to chew on.
Celeste was inside making dinner and talking to Duane.
Angel come up the outside stairs from the in back of the barn. Ron had shut off the mower and was lifting it over the slate so that it didn’t crumble. He had learned that his perimeter was fragile on top. Ron saw her and took off his gloves.
Angel came onto the front lawn and saw Keats wagging his tail. “Hello, Shitsalot! How are you?” She moved over to pet Keats. She knew that she had annoyed Ron. But the dog annoyed her, and was now in the house during the only time when they weren’t.
“What’s going on?” Ron hadn’t taken the ‘shitsalot’ bait.
“Something that could be special,” said Angel. “I could be getting a chance to work behind the scenes while somebody makes a film at the college.”
“That’s great,” said Ron. “What’s it about?”
“I don’t know,” lied Angel, “I don’t care. I get to work on it.”
There was a vulnerable challenge as she stood in front of him.
She really didn’t care what it was about, although she knew. She wanted it to not matter to him. She was waiting.
Before the mowing, his reaction might have been different. But he had a chance to be with Keats and let out some of the frustration, he needed to let it out as much as a drunk needs a drink. But she had come at a good time.
“What are you going to be doing?”
Angel grinned. “I’m just a go-for but I get to see what everyone else does and it goes on my resume.”
“That sounds really good. You’ve done it for plays. You can do this.”
“I know I can do it, Dad. Did you figure I felt that I couldn’t and needed a pep talk?”
“No Angel, I figured that if I get this done today I can turn it tomorrow, and I have top soil Saturday in the afternoon. Could you bring the growth cloth that’s on the bench in the barn up before then?”
“Sure Dad, That’s great! Where’s Mom?”
“In the house.”
Ron began walking the lawn mower down the slope that curled back down to the small road back to barn. Angel went in through the side door and slammed it.
Keats saw all his people disappearing and he was fenced in. He started scratching at the gate and then shouldered it to the side. He was out. The freedom sent an exhilarating shiver though him and then he began to puppy prance towards the garden, and the little wall that he wanted to climb over and see what was inside.
Angel struck a pose for Celeste who was putting down the phone and moving between her stove and her island. “Why is Dad always such a bastard?”
Celeste was grating cheese. “What’s got you riled up?”
“No, I want to know! Why he is always such a bastard!”
Celeste stared at her evenly. “I don’t think he’s a bastard and I’m not sure why you think he is.”
Angel looked at Celeste mockingly. “Why should I bother to tell you? It’s not like you are able to do anything about it anyway.”
Celeste looked back at Angel. “You have little idea of what I can or cannot do Angel. How could you? You would have to give me some credit and you would not dare do that.”
“Well, I’d like some credit too” screamed Angel, grabbing the cheese grater and throwing it towards the sink.
Ron found Keats playing in the garden and couldn’t help but laugh. The puppy ran to him and Ron lifted up into his arms and walked him back to the wire cage.
He kissed Keats on the side of his face and whispered, “Did you break out? Did you think I forgot you? Or did you just want to show how strong you are?”
He kissed and the puppy and Keats tried to lick. Angel flew down the stairs to the barn hollering, “Glad you love somebody, Dad.”

Chapter 21
Friday night was that kind of evening in late October that seems like a gift. The insects were mostly gone and the evening was warm with just a hint of cool. Celeste walked with Duane holding hands and talking. Ron walked with Mandy his arm comfortably circling her waist.
They were walking slowly, meandering their way back from dinner. The Church was on one of the prettier streets in Hackleberg, and Duane and Mandy’s house was two doors down from it.
Celeste said, “What will happen if Jack does retire? What will he do? What will you do?”
“It’s’ very up in the air,” said Duane. “I almost want to say that it is in God’s hands but you know that I don’t believe that.”
“You believe that it’s up to us,” said Celeste. “I agree with you.”
“Jack would say that we should not be as concerned for him as we should be about what his rebuke means for the future of the church,” said Duane.
Mandy was speaking softly because he leaned his head in when she did and she liked that. “It was a good summer for the roses. You have to let me show you one more time when we get back to the house. They are so strong even for now.”
Ron smiled and squeezed her waist. “I’d like to see.” What she had already shown him was a knockout and she was dedicated to her garden as something that could live on, be passed from priest’s wife to priest’s wife. This had been Duane’s fouth posting. There would be others.
“How is your garden?” said Nancy. “Have you had time to make progress?”
“Yes, “said Ron. “I will be able to plant in the spring. The top soil is coming tomorrow and you have to help me to design the garden.”
She smiled for him and almost wanted to kiss him but squeezed his hand around her waist instead.
The four of them sat on the front porch and drank coffee. They talked about the church and Celeste asked if Duane had his sermon ready.
Mandy giggled. “By Friday night? No chance. We haven’t gone through the tearing up of this week’s work yet, and having his Saturday surprise.
Celeste laughed. “Is he really like that?”
“No, he’s decidedly worse,” said Mandy.
They all laughed. Ron and Duane knew that they shared impulsivity, it was a bond and created a reason for respect.
“I don’t feel it sometimes and I would feel awful standing there on Sunday morning trying to say something that I don’t feel. Sometimes I get anxious about it.”
Mandy smiled, “But somehow when I walk in on Sunday morning, it’s all ready.” Duane and Many exchanged their look. Then Mandy said, “Doesn’t Ron ever get nervous about something that he has to deliver?”
Ron interjected, “I’m not trying to give the advice of God.”
Celeste laughed, “You don’t think that you are ever writing something that could come out of the mind of God, Ron?”
Her voice was teasing. The girls were laughing, Duane was grinning. Ron was stammering.
“Didn’t you want to show Celeste those brochures?” said Mandy. “I’m going to take Ron over to the garden.
Celeste and Duane huddled under a wicker shaded outdoor light as he showed her his designs for the new food drives for the holidays. Mandy took Ron to see the garden. She caressed the bushes carefully. She lightly squeezed the stems. “Here, feel how full these are.” Ron squeezed them for her. “They will be so ready to pop in the spring.”
They talked while she inspected. Yes, she was happy. Yes, she thought at least two more years here. They wandered back to the porch.
“Mandy is going to have some scar tissue adhesions taken out on Monday,” said Duane.
Celeste and Ron looked concerned. Duane and Mandy smiled. “Mandy explained it’s a simple thing. Scar tissue from a difficulty I had as a little girl. But after this I will really be able to work the garden better.”
After a little more time, they kissed and shook hands and said goodnight. As they drove home, Celeste missed the bench seats where she could put her head on his shoulder but instead held the hand that was squeezing her thigh.

Chapter 22

Three days into his home instruction, David Carpenter showed up in the Student parking lot carry’s a starter’s pistol. It was relatively harmless but looked very real. When he started pointing it at people, and laughing at their reaction, Frankie Martin subdued him. He used the walkie-talkie to call Joyce and tell her to notify the township police.
Joyce did and called to Ron that Frankie needed help in the front student parking lot. Ron dropped what he was doing in a flash and was out the front door in time to see Frankie walking David towards the school.
There was a crowd of gawking students around them. Ron strode into the group. He made eye contact with Frankie who was sweating as he held David. The boy had his head lowered and was repeating, “It was a fucking joke, you stupid pig.”
Ron hollered, “You don’t want to miss your buses or be part of this. Show’s over! Is anyone hurt?”
He looked around. There were snickers and some of the guys were talking about how Mr. Martin was a badass.
They started back into his office as two patrol cars with lights flashing headed into the school parking lot. “Take him onto my office, Frankie. I’ll talk to these guys.”
Ron approached the patrol car. “Would you guys mind coming into my office, we have a bit of a situation here.”
The policemen were getting out of their cars. Officer Bond said, “We had a report about a gun. Is that real?”
“Frankie Martin is in my office with the kid. There were no shots fired and no injuries. We need to just clear this area now,” said Ron.
The cops knew Ron. They had given him PBA cards. He had been with them when they did drug sweeps through the school. There was a sense of alliance between them.
In Ron’s office, Frankie said, “I’m going to take these off of you now David, don’t do anything else stupid or these guys might really hurt you.”
The cops stood over David to reinforce the idea that they would really hurt him. Ron opened the door to his office and came in.
“Do you have the gun, Frankie?”
Frankie looked up at Ron and smiled at the other two cops. “No, I think it’s somewhere out in the parking lot,” he said sarcastically and then saw the look of fear that passed over Ron’s face. He laid the starter’s pistol on Ron’s desk. The three cops chuckled. Of course, Frankie had secured the gun.
Herman Bond picked up the gun from Ron’s desk and looked at it. “What are you doing with something like this, David?”
“It was a joke,” said David. “It can’t hurt anybody.”
“But the other people didn’t know that, did they David?” said Bond.
“I don’t know what they knew,” said David.
Ron’s intercom buzzed. Joyce was on the line. “We are starting to get calls from parents about a shooting in the parking lot!” she said excitedly.
“Tell them there was no shooting,” said Ron. “Take their numbers and I will call them all back.” He looked up at the police officers. “Sorry about that, people get crazy when they hear guns and school.”
Bond took the starter’s pistol and handed it to his partner who produced a plastic bag and dropped the gun into it, then continued with his notes. “They sure do,” said Bond. “Where did you get this gun, David?”
“It belongs to my father,” said David putting his head down.
“We’re going to take you in, David.”
“Shit,” said David.
“Yeah,” said Bond “and you are in a world of it.”
“Can we wait just a couple of minutes before you leave?” said Ron. “I want to contact his family and see if they want me to accompany him.”
“Your call, Ron”
Ron came out of his office and motioned for Joyce. The buzz of the incident was still alive in the general office. The phones were ringing. Joyce came over. “I need you to do three things,” said Ron. “Get me David’s emergency contact number, find the principal and tell her we need to call the Superintendent, and see if the nurse is still in the building and send her to my office.”
“In that order?” said Joyce. Ron nodded and moved back into the office.
He was just in back of his desk when his phone buzzed. “Susan Carpenter,” said Joyce.
“Mrs. Carpenter, I am here with David and the police. He is being taken down to the police station now. Do you want to meet them there or do you need the school to accompany him until you can get there?”
“What’s happened?” said Susan Carpenter. Her voice showed tension and strain.
“He brought your husband’s gun to school.” said Ron flatly.
David looked up and blurted, “It was a fucking joke, Tuck.”
Ron ignored him.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” said Susan.
Ron didn’t care how much of a priority this was for Susan, it was no longer a priority for him. “Alright,” said Ron. “I’ll tell them they that you are on the way.”
Ron clicked the phone down. “She’ll meet you at the station.”
There was a soft knock on Ron’s door. “Yes?” he said.
Gladys Peterfritter was in the doorway. “Did you need something, Dr. Tuck?”
Ron looked over at David. “Are you injured?”
David didn’t answer.
Ron raised his voice, “I’m asking you in the presence of the school nurse and these police officers if you are injured, David?”
David bit off the word, “No.”
“Frankie, would you please let Gladys have a look at your hand, it’s bleeding.”
The township cops and Frankie shared a grin. “It’s fine Ron.”
The two cops left with David between them. Ron watched them load him into the patrol car. He was going to enjoy this conversation with the Superintendent.

Chapter 23

Ron and Celeste got home at the same time. It was a rarity. Each of them had their late nights, but never seemed to arrive home together. Celeste knew that the first thing that he would want to do was change his clothes. That was a constant, but this couldn’t wait for that. She was upstairs just a moment just before him. She put down her purse and sat at the kitchen table waiting.
Ron always moved heavily on the stairs when he came home from work. Sometimes by a weekend, he could almost skip down them softly, but when he came home his steps were always heavy.
He was trying to get out of his jacket and tie at the same time, when she called to him at the top of the stairs, “Ron, I have to tell you something.”
He finished struggling out of both and entered the kitchen with his eye on the flight of stairs, then he saw her and her words registered. He stopped and put his hand on the back of the chair.
Celeste said, “Can you sit with me?”
Ron sat. He saw that she had been crying. “What is it?”
“Ron, Mandy isn’t coming home from the hospital.”
He didn’t understand. “Why?”
“She’s going to die there.”
“What?” It wasn’t registering. The confusion on his face sunk into a dark look.
“She developed ARDS, Ron.”
“Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome. Fluid is leaking into her lungs from more places than they can contain,” said Celeste. “There should have been signs. This isn’t just supposed to happen.”
Ron was stunned. “She’s dying?”
“Yes,” said Celeste.
“How is Duane?”
“In shock,” said Celeste. “He’s saying that he knows she is dying, but I don’t believe that he know what he’s saying. I just left him.”
Ron exhaled. He was speechless. He sat back. He could not think of anything to do. He felt totally helpless, and then Celeste embraced him.
She felt cold and he tried to give her his warmth. They stood for a long moment before they heard Keats, pawing at the gate in the small enclosed room where he felt safe when they weren’t home. He was desperate for attention. They shared a grin and Ron went over to let him out.
The three of them sat on the rectangular rug that was stretched across old wall to wall that they would have to replace. They were both crying quietly as they gently took turns, cuddling and greeting Keats who was becoming affectionately known as Puppy Dog.
Celeste went to answer the phone when it rang. Ron cuddled Keats to his chest quietly. Celeste said, “Yes, I can come back.” Then she listened. “Ok, eat something to appease all the church ladies, and then we can go back to the hospital.” She put down the phone and looked over at Ron. “Are you ok for dinner on your own? There’s plenty to eat where I’m going and I know that you won’t want to be part of it.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Ron. Keats was chewing on Ron’s fingers now. “You sure you don’t need me?”
“You’d hate it and I want to do it,” said Celeste. Maybe some of that training that she had gone through again and again might help now. Then she thought to herself that Duane had been going through that with many other people. He’d know what people were going to say before they said it. He just needed a friend to help him through.
Celeste felt a pang and for a second stopped at the thought that maybe she should give Ron suggestions about what he could have, then she thought that she did not know where Angel was. Then she was out the door and starting her Eclipse.

Chapter 24
The snow had been coming down for a few hours. It fell straight down without even a hint of wind to blow it one way or the other. Celeste sat with her coffee staring out of the windows that watched over her lake. The house was quiet. Keats was lying on her feet and being very still. The bustle would begin when Ron got out of bed. It was a Sunday in December. Next Sunday would be her birthday. The house was fully decorated for the holidays.
Celeste inhaled the warming aroma of the coffee as she heard Ron stirring upstairs. Keats was the first to hear his sounds and made his way up the stairs one step at a time. He would place both paws tentatively on the step above and then jump with his stronger back legs. As he got more used to the repetition he moved faster and made it up to the top. He did not stop to admire his accomplishment, but hurried towards the sounds coming from the bathroom.
Celeste was grinning and huddled into the comforter that she had wrapped around her. She thought about whether her mom would be proud of her now. She had a home, she had a good job. She had a man who had been right for her and for Angel. Her poor mother, only 10 years older than she was now, and gone almost twenty years. The wall of windows was beautiful and she would not trade it for anything, but the house did get chilly as the cold seeped in from the little unseen places that an old house has. She felt very peaceful as she watched the snow.
She could barely see the lake now. The snow and the trees seemed to hide it. She knew it was very cold outside and did not want to move. Ron came down the stairs holding Keats in his arms. Puppy Dog was licking the underside of his chin and Ron was smiling.
The Puppy squirmed free when he bent over to kiss Celeste, and Ron lowered Keats gently to the floor. He slid his hands inside of her nightgown and squeezed her breasts after they kissed. Celeste jumped. “Your hands are cold,” she said accusingly.
Ron grinned, “Good morning, dear one.” He put his hands on his hips and looked out at the view. “This is just beautiful. Every day is a new picture.”
“Do you think you could light a fire later?” said Celeste.
“As soon as I come back from the store,” said Ron.
“You’re not going out there, are you?”
“We need the newspaper,” said Ron.
“You’re crazy! It looks frigid out there!”
“I’ll be fine. Are you gonna warm me up when I get back?” He was grinning that naughty little grin that promised fun in bed.
“Not on your life,” said Celeste. She involuntarily pulled the comforter closer around her but felt a shiver of delight at his words. “Let the puppy warm you up. He’s old enough to have a job.”
Ron’s response shocked her. “He’s coming with me.” He got his ‘moon boots’ out of the shallow living room closet. Keats saw him and started wagging is tail frantically. The enthusiasm of the wags and the size of his tail caused his entire backside to shift from side to side as he wagged. Ron stomped his feet down to make sure he was securely in his boots and the motion and sound caused the joyous Keats to turn in a wagging circle.
Celeste felt secure but a little worried as she watched him. “Dress in layers,” she said.
He grinned with expectation but did not answer. He looked down at Keats. “I’ll be back for you as soon as I get the car cleaned off.” The Puppy stared at his face and seemed to understand, but when Ron started down the stairs, he was right on his heels. He was out the door with Ron before Ron could stop him.
The two stood under the overhang of the deck outside the door. Keats was tentative about the sight of the snow everywhere, and at first sniffed it and then licked it. Ron looked over at him and said, “This isn’t so bad.” He walked to the car, opened the door and lifted Keats inside. The puppy put his two fore paws up below the window and watched as Ron cleaned off the car. The snow was not over the front of his boots yet, and the car eased out of the driveway normally.
Ron looked over at Keats. “Be a good boy or you can’t come with me to do this anymore.” The puppy seemed to understand and whimpered to have his window opened. “It’s snowing out,” said Ron. Keats whimpered again and Ron said. ”Don’t tell Celeste” and pushed the button to lower the window all the way down on the passenger side.
Keats looked out with his forepaws on the top of the sill and his tail wagging in a slower, more controlled fashion, as they drove down the road with snow whipping in the passenger side window.

Chapter 25
Angel came in the side door some moments after Ron and Keats left. Her voice was edged and she did not say good morning. “Where did Dad go with Shitsalot?”
Celeste felt determined to not let Angel break her reverie. “Good morning,” she tried to say sweetly. “Dad went to get the paper.”
“He does realize that there is a blizzard this morning, right?” spat Angel.
“Yes. Angel, I am pretty sure that he realized that it was snowing.” She could tell that Angel was looking for conflict.
Angel said, “Was he always this much of an asshole?”
The reverie was gone. Celeste said, “You didn’t think he was being an asshole when he was building you a snowman!”
“I was six years old!” shouted Angel.
“There’s fresh coffee,” Celeste tried to be conciliatory.
“Yeah Mom, I can see the coffee. I can smell the coffee. I don’t need to be told that there is coffee!” Angel poured herself a cup and said, “I’m going back out to the barn.” Celeste felt a knot in her stomach but was happy to see Angel go.
When Ron got back from the store, Celeste’s reverie had become a brooding about why she could not talk to her daughter. He came up the stairs with Keats who was happily flinging the snow from his curly fur with a series of shakes that were spraying ice crystals all across her clean living room. He put the newspaper down and Celeste hollered, “Do you see what a mess the dog is making on the floor?”
“It’s only water,” said Ron. “We’re going back out.” He dropped the paper down in front of her and started tracking ice and snow through her rooms and back down the stairs.
Celeste was exasperated. How could she ever be expected to keep a decently clean house with him! Then she heard the scrape of the shovel and realized that he was clearing the driveway. It was still snowing! Didn’t he know enough to wait until it stopped?
Because the driveway was gravel and Ron could not use a snow blower, his idea was, that if he kept ahead of the snow, things would be manageable.
Keats tried to help Ron by grabbing the edge of the plastic shovel in his mouth and pulling. It didn’t help at all but Ron found it amusing. After he’s walked the width of the driveway, pushing the shovel as Keats energetically tugged on it, he would lift the shovel and toss the snow to the side. Keats would jump in the air and try to catch the snow with his mouth and his body. Ron was laughing as he was shoveling. “You like that, huh Puppy?” He started back the other way and Keats charged to grab hold of the shovel and tug.
Celeste could not help but laugh as she watched this comedy from her windows. The she felt like a slug for not being out there. She could at least clean off the Eclipse.
Ron was just about done with this pass at the driveway when Celeste appeared dressed like a snowperson. Her winter jacket fitted her like an inflated tube that came down to her waist. She was wearing a brown woolen knitted cap with a fleecy red ball on top of her head.
“How can I help?” said Celeste, trying to sound eager.
Keats barked a “hello” to Celeste and came over to her and sat proudly. He was totally covered in snow and it clung to his curly brown fur. Celeste thought he looked absolutely adorable and then thought about the horrible mess that he was going to make in the house. “Ron, look at what you have done to this poor puppy! How is he ever going to get cleaned up?”
“He was helping,” laughed Ron.
Celeste started for the Eclipse. It did not look happy covered in snow. She wanted to uncover it. She opened the driver’s side, to the low sitting Eclipse and Keats surprised her by leaping into the front seat and tracking snow all over it. He turned to her and gave her one of his rare barks. She was horrified and laughing as she tried to shoo him, “get out of there,” she hollered.
Ron laughed at her and said, “I’m going to do Angel’s driveway.” He started off towards the front of the barn with Keats now happily trailing him and wagging his tail.
The Eclipse started right up for Celeste, but she was afraid to move it. She sat in back of the wheel and like a flashback she saw herself laying in the sloping snow-covered ditch with a broken collarbone, hoping to be rescued. She felt shaken and all of a sudden very cold. She wanted to go back inside the house.
Celeste sat on the living room couch while Ron laid of the floor in front of the newly ensconced Keats who was back in his little foyer room having been told by Celeste that he would not be allowed out until he was dry. Of course, this was after Celeste and held him in one of her fluffy towels and rubbed as many of the ice balls off of his small body as she could.
Ron looked up and said, “Listen to this.” He read an ad for an English Department Supervisor, for a regional high school district, who had managerial experience. “That seems like it was meant for me, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe you should look into it, but it would have to be some job to pry you out of Oak Mountain.”
Ron looked over at Keats. The dog’s eyes were on him. He whimpered to be let out and then moved away from the gate as he saw Angel come in the door.
Angel was dressed to go out. She was wearing the scarf that Celeste had knitted for her. First, she looked at her mom and said in an informative tone, “I’m not sure when I will be back, so don’t worry about me for dinner.”
Then she turned to Ron. “I don’t want to be forced to go to Marjorie’s house on Christmas Eve.” Then she was back down the stairs and out the door.

Chapter 26
Ron had spent the day watching football and having his mind restless, thinking about not having a stack of papers on a Sunday during football season for just the second time in the last twenty-five years. He liked to turn off the sound on the TV and listen music at a ridiculously high volume. He did not smoke pot anymore. He could not do that in any form of conscience, and be a vice principal. So now, as he listened to the music and watched football, he had a few drinks. Keats was on the couch with him. The fireplace gave the room a warm glow.
Celeste enjoyed Sunday afternoons in the kitchen. She always enjoyed making Sunday dinner, and she could experiment and mix and plan meals for the week. He was not totally oblivious as to how these meals appeared, but he really did not know what went into them. Sometimes she missed his stack of papers.
Ron watched the Giants win a close game with the Denver Broncos, and then came into to visit Celeste.
“I’m going back out to shovel again, but I’m going to put Keats in his little room. Please let him out after I’m gone.”
Celeste nodded and then said, “Taste this,” she held the spoon in front of his mouth.
Obediently, he tasted. Ron grinned. “What’s that?”
“Brown sauce,” said Celeste. “The Giants must have won, you’re in a good mood.”
Ron sighed, “It’s about time they won a few games.” He took the spoon from her and licked it again. “Have you had fun?”
She wouldn’t exactly call it fun, but it was interesting, and yeah, maybe this is one of the things that he would consider fun. Celeste grinned. “I’ll know after dinner.”
Ron was outside when Celeste heard Keats. She went to the gate and let him out. She would have sworn he was about to knock the gate down when she got there, but was happy to see her. He scampered out and down the stairs where he heard Ron go. She heard him down by the door and said, “Keats, I have for you.”
She grinned when she heard him hopping and running back up the stairs, which was still much more of an effort than going down. Lamb and rice was something that she cooked for his week on Sundays. It was the food the vet had recommended for his stomach. Celeste didn’t mind cooking for him.
Ron was just finishing Angel’s driveway, when she showed up. She smiled when she saw that he was clearing it for her. “Thanks Dad,” she said when she got out of the car.
Ron said, “Your mother has dinner just about ready.”
Angel was too hungry to be disagreeable. “Great.”
Ron stopped, to stow his shovel and get some snow off of his boots, while Angel went right up the stairs. “Hi Mom, can I set the table?”
Celeste was slightly shocked and then smiled. “Sure,” she said.
Keats was devouring his bowl of lamb and rice. Angel actually did not refer to him as shitsalot. The house felt warm.
Celeste carried the platter of pot roast and carrots to the table. She returned with a bowl of mashed potatoes. Angel and Ron took turns washing their hands in the small bath just off of the kitchen.
They each took a generous portion. Celeste said, “The Christmas store is this Tuesday. I hope the weather is ok.”
“It was stopping when we came in,” said Angel. “Everything will be fine by Tuesday.”
Ron said, “Are you having it in the dining room again?”
“It’s really the only room that is large enough to accommodate it,” explained Celeste.
Ron looked up serious and said, “I think that should use that grand concourse of a winding walkway. This time of the year, with snow on the ground on every side. It would be perfect! The vendors could set up little temporary shops.”
Celeste looked at Ron with an incredulity that was almost unimaginable. She started slowly. “Ron, at least twenty five of those people are in wheel chairs and there are at least that many that need walkers. Do you remember the slope of that walkway?”
Angel burst out laughing with a mouth filed with cider. Celeste continued, “It would be like geriatric roller derby.” Angel was now laughing totally out of control. Celeste finished by looking at him and asking, “Are you sure I should propose that idea?”
Angel could not stop laughing as the images of the wheel chairs colliding with each other and upending doddering residents needing walkers had totally overtaken her. Each time she thought it was over a new wave of images came to her and knocked her back into a fresh paroxysms of laughter.
Ron said, “Well you did say that there was a waiting list.”
This thought caused Celeste to burst into her own eruptions of laughter. Keats barked and wagged his tail, as the phone rang. There would be no school tomorrow.
“I can drive you to work in the morning,” said Ron. Celeste smiled. It really had been a great day.

Chapter 27
Ron and Celeste lay in bed watching Ali McBeal. Under the covers, they were naked and entwined with afterglow. He loved to be in control and she loved to be receptive. Ron was hot for Calista Flockhart and Celeste was attracted by “the biscuit” the character Peter MacNicol was portraying. Ron had such a thing for waifs, but she didn’t feel threatened by it anymore.
“Are you really going to drive me to work tomorrow?” she said softly as he muted the TV for a commercial.
He slid his knee between her thighs and raised it up against her. “Yes, we can stop for breakfast somewhere on the way.”
They lay that way for a moment after the show started again, but then adjusted. Poor little Ally was wandering down a rainy night street and he was transfixed by the image. Somewhere, Celeste felt she competed with this image inside of him.
She felt determined to look as little like a waif as possible. “You really don’t really have to drive me,” she said. “I’m just worried about getting out onto the road and then I would be fine.” She really hoped she would be fine, but she couldn’t say that she was sure.
She had made a lot of progress. She reassured herself. Absently staring at the biscuits firm buns that were once made a subject of the show and which now always drew her inspection.
And then Vonda Shepherd was playing her piano and singing a song and Celeste felt herself wanting the feel his hips bucking into again. Ron turned up the volume and they listened. It was old Mo Town and Vonda was giving it a lonely, yearning feel.
Celeste felt her hips move almost imperceptibly as she felt the music. Lonely yearning was another thing that attracted him was another of the things that attracted him.
The episode ended. Ron muted the TV. He grinned at her and said, “I could go downstairs and get us ice-cream.”
Celeste said, “It’s cold down there.”
Ron said, “I would go.”
“I want chocolate,” said Celeste.
Celeste snuggled under her lined Duvet and thought briefly if Angel was warm out in the barn. Maybe a blizzard wouldn’t be the worst thing.
Ron came back with two bowls of ice cream. She held the Duvet open as he got in, and then took her bowl. They ate ice cream and grinned. Then Ron planted his ice cold foot onto her inner thigh. The shock caused Celeste too literally, involuntarily, unexpectedly squeal.
Ron’s voice was soft. “Come on, you know the agreement.”
Celeste closed her eyes. She was half grinning and wondering if he had planned this since the ice cream suggestion. She said, “I hate you,” and brought her still not shocked, warm thigh down on the other side of his foot.
The agreement had been her idea when her feet were legitimately frozen, and his damn body was always so warm. She claimed that he should have to warm her whenever she needed him to. He had agreed, if it was mutual. But he was creating reasons and he was the one who always picked these kind of places where she had to warm him.
Ron finished his ice-cream. Celeste was still holding her half eaten dish and trying to adjust. Celeste said, “You are not going to do that with your other foot.”
Ron grinned. He withdrew his warmed foot. “You can finish your ice cream first.”
Celeste mock glared at him. “Get it over with.” She spread her thighs.
Ron placed the other slightly less frigid foot against her decidedly less warmed inner thighs. She closed them and he closed his eyes in pleasure as she warmed him. Then he withdrew his foot and held her thighs open. “Lay back for me,” he whispered. Celeste finished her ice-cream as he warmed her thighs with kisses.

Chapter 28
The small Chapel was at the back of the main church. On Wednesdays, Duane offered Mass for a small but reliable group. Celeste had been an occasional participant with the group before Mandy died, now she was a regular. There were only eight of them, but Duane was good at offering a streamlined service and then they could all talk.
They met at what would normally be dinnertime. Debbie Insolate and her husband Jonas came regularly. They were met by Herman Pierce and Martha Hagerty. Josephine Montgomery and Sylvia Bonami, were the most recent additions to the group.
Since Mandy’s death, Duane had been inundated with more food than he could eat if he were five men. The ladies of the church were very solicitous about his well-being to the point of a daily smothering him in offers to help clean his house, do his laundry, bring more food, tend to Mandy’s duties by hosting the events that she hosted.
Duane was withdrawing from it all. In second grade, Mandy had passed Duane a note in school. It read, “I like you.” They had been boyfriend and girlfriend since. There was never a time for Duane that there was no Mandy. He did not even want to get out of bed in the morning and he surely did not want to dream up some message of hope on Sundays.
The Congregation stepped up. Patricia Tallman contacted fellow clergy people and they covered Duane’s Sunday Masses. Other priests offered to make his visits to the sick. Celeste listened in confidence to his doubts and fears that he had lost his faith.
Wednesday service was the one function that she urged him to continue to perform, and Duane said that he would try. Instead of a homily, Celeste and the others there had short discussions about how they felt. Today’s liturgy was about the promise of Jesus.

Herman read, “…do not be anxious about how you should defend yourself or what you should say, for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour what you ought to say.”
Celeste could not help but look to Duane who was shaking his head back and forth. “It is hard for me to know what to say right now,” he continued. “I know that Mandy would want me to be grateful to each and every one who is trying to help me and I am trying to do that.” He put his head down and tears were brimming his eyes and Celeste knew what he was thinking. If you all could just let me alone to let me grieve, but he could not say that.
After the service, Josephine and Sylvia crowded too close to Duane to see if he was alright. Celeste could have sworn that she saw Josephine literally stick her chest into his arm. Celeste felt more than a little disdain for both women.
Duane just wanted it to be over. When Celeste signaled that’s she was leaving, Duane used her exit to make a break. “Can you give me those pamphlets that you have in your car Celeste?”
Celeste said that she could and they walked to her car. Duane had begun smoking again. He let a cigarette when they reached her car. “Can you give me something that I can just carry away?” he asked.
All Celeste had was a stack of the library’s audio books but she gave him half of them. “I know that you don’t believe me right now, and you may feel like you are doing a half-assed job, but you have to stay busy.”
Duane looked her full in the face. “I have absolutely no idea of where to go or what to do.”

Chapter 29
It was later than usual and Celeste was driving on the country road, her book was playing but she was only half listening. The road was cleared of ice and the cornfields wore a thick, cold blanket of snow. Celeste knew that it keep the fields warm under there, but it was cold snow that stretched out everywhere and covered everything and what did stick out had ice that made it glimmer like glass.
She had not talked to Ron, except in passing, in three days. The only time she really felt him pressing against her was when he was sleeping. She felt that though he loved her, she was the last thing on his mind. His attention would be a distraction that she would have enjoyed about now.
Patricia Tallman was taking another step in her slow and graceful decline. True to her nature she was trying to set things right. For Patricia, setting things right was as much about social interaction as it was about a personal reckoning.
Her children were who they were, and they loved her. That was enough for her there. She had presented her beliefs in a way that was encouraging but accepting of a difference in pathways. She had become a priest because she felt a true calling and refused to accept that it had come too late.
Socially, Patricia wanted propriety balanced with a hint of change. She had chosen Celeste to be someone who would make a difference. She felt her bishop was a radical but brilliant thinker from whom she felt the love of god and she trusted that feeling.
She wanted Celeste to find out what was happening. She had introduced Celeste to every bishop and priest and important parishioner that crossed her path. Because of her legacy as being a Founder’s widow, a woman from an established family of social means, and a wise and friendly person, she had more currency than one could imagine.
Patricia could no longer see out of one eye. She felt her other eye’s vision in jeopardy and used it sparingly. She smiled when she told Celeste that her ears and mind were just fine. Celeste was remembering that smile when a female deer raced out into the road and in front of the Eclipse.
Celeste stomped hard on her brake pedal. Tires screeched, she saw the hind quarters of the deer racing in front of the nose of her car and was slowing when she felt the thud. She screamed out like it was she that had been hit.
The car stopped. She could not see the deer. She was shaking. Because she was not wearing a seat belt, she had whacked the top of her head against the windshield when she stopped. She was a little dazed. She managed to put the car in park.
She could not find the deer, but there was a pathetically small patch of fur embedded into the front of her Eclipse. She gasped when she saw it and tears sprang to her eyes. She felt dizzy for a second. She looked around for some sign of the deer, but she could see nothing but snow and a few outcroppings of branches.
She was crying when she got into the car. She had her cell phone. Her mind went reeling back to a time when they lived in Hackleberg, and this deer had just taken a swan dive into the side of her car, jumping from out of nowhere. She remembered her revulsion as she watched the state trooper put the broken backed deer out of its misery. No, she would not call the police.
She started to put her car in gear and felt his voice in her head, “Put the fucking seat belt on.” She felt her head throb and whimpered a little as she slid it over her shoulder with begrudged obedience. She could do this. She switched off the book that had become a humming drone in her ears. She made her way home a bit tentatively and found Angel in the kitchen. Keats had been fed. Celeste felt safe and hugged her daughter.
Angel felt her shiver and said, “What’s wrong?”
“I hit a deer,” said Celeste.
“That sucks! Did you kill it?” said Angel with normalcy.
“I don’t know. I looked.” Celeste was a little stunned by the way that Angel took this in stride. It was the difference in where they had been raised. Out here there were dead deer on the sides of the road all the time. Angel was from out here and it showed.
Celeste was thinking it was a good way to have been raised, out here.
Angel said, “If it was just wounded, it will probably just starve or freeze to death. Wonder if she was pregnant?”
Now Celeste felt bitch slapped and wanted to slap back but did not want confrontation. “Thank you for feeding Keats.” Keats was now at her feet and wanted to be acknowledged and held and then taken out.
“Shitsalot hasn’t gone out yet. I’m sorry you hit the deer. Is the car damaged?”
Celeste picked the puppy up and held him close. “I don’t know. I’ll tell Dad and he can look at it.”
“Is he ever around here?” said Angel challenging.
“You know what it’s like. It’s Christmas for a month.”
As Angel went back to the barn she said, “I hate this time of year,” trailing her voice off as she walked away.
Celeste couldn’t quite catch the words but knew what she had said. She held Keats and really missed Ron.

Chapter 30
Ron was in the halls at the change of classes. They were buzzing louder than usual. It was Christmas. They kids were always crazy this time of year. It was hard enough being a teacher, but to try to keep tabs on the building was exhausting. Ron and Frankie and Lois and Joyce were sure trying though. Each was counting the days until the holiday but each at different times had lost track. It was that busy.
Ron was walking the halls when he saw Demetrius enter the boys room looking like he had a purpose. Demetrius was a tall lanky kid whose family had just moved up from Dover and gotten one of the cheaper apartments in the Oak Green complex. Demetrius was not going to fit in easily with his bandana and slacker pants.
Then Ron saw Harold Peters go into the boys room and it clicked. Peters had a loud mouth and Frankie had heard him talking about the darker element that was moving into his neighborhood, and about how his father was going to deal with the renting habits of these apartment complexes in their clean town.
He had been talking too much and too loudly. Ron walked into the boys room in time to see Harold at the urinal and Demetrius heading out of one of the stalls in Harold’s direction.
Ron’s voice was loud and he moved quickly. “Demetrius!”
He came up in back of Peters who involuntarily flinched and was pulling up his zipper. Ron was between the two boys. “What’s going on?”
Peters had turned around now and was whiter than usual. He was speechless.
“Ain’t done nothin, Mr. Tuck,” said Demetrius.
“Show me your hands,” said Ron.
Demetrius slipped his hands into his pockets. “I ain’t done nothin,” he repeated.
“Come with me,” said Ron.
“I have to use the toilet,” said Demetrius.
“You just used the toilet,” said Ron.
“I need to wash my hands,” said Demetrius.
Ron moved closer. “I said come with me.” His tone left no question as to his direction. The bell rang.
“I got to get to class,” said Demetrius and tried to step around Ron.
Ron blocked him and said softly but deadly serious. “Do not make me put my hands on you.”
Demetrius noticeably stiffened and took a half step back. It was like he was considering, sizing Ron up.
“Come with me,” said Ron again, and led Demetrius out of the boys room careful not to touch him. Ron kept his eyes locked on him as they walked down the now empty stairs.
He ushered Demetrius into his office and asked Joyce to get Frankie. Neither of the males sat while they waited. Frankie was there almost instantly. Ron said, “Frankie close the door.”
The two men flanked Demetrius. “Empty your pockets for me, please,” said Ron.
“I ain’t done nothin’ Mr. Tuck, why you giving me a hard time?”
Ron moved in back of his desk and sat down. Frankie moved in front of the door. “I hope I am wrong Demetrius. If I am, I will give you a pass back to class, apologize to you and call your mom and apologize to her. Now, empty your pockets.”
Things came out slowly. There was a couple of crumpled papers, some cigarettes and some matches. “There,” said Demetrius, “you got me. I was carrying cigarettes. I’m busted,” said Demetrius with an embarrassed looking smirk.
“Keep going,” said Ron.
It was then that the box cutter appeared. Ron looked down at it. “What you doing with that, Demetrius?”
“I’m supposed to be going for a job down at the warehouse by my new apartment, after school.”
“And you just carrying the box cutter in case you get the job?” said Ron.
Demetrius put his head down. “I feel safer around here with it.”
Ron could almost believe that, but he didn’t. His bet that was in Demetrius’ hand when he stopped him from teaching Harold Peters a little lesson.
Frankie was looking inside of the cigarette pack and was fishing something out. “Look what we have here,” said Frankie.
Wedged into the corner of the pack was a skinny joint. Demetrius face went into an anguished scowl. “You guys, just trying to fuck me up”
“No Demetrius,” said Frankie, “you did that all by yourself.

Chapter 31
Ron drove home annoyed with himself. He couldn’t stop thinking about Demetrius. How many thousand joints had he smoked? Maybe he meant no harm with the box cutter. Did Ron have the right to just pick him out that way? If Demetrius was someone Ron actually knew, would he had acted differently?
Ron was saddled with the deal that he and Frankie had made with Demetrius. It was a god-damned plea bargain on the high school scale. The weapon plus the drugs and the kid was out. Frankie told him that they could not look the other way on the pot, but they could ditch the box cutter.
What a fucking joke! The potentially lethal weapon could be forgotten but not the joint! How much of a hypocrite had he allowed himself to become? He felt his self-loathing grow. He had no business doing this job. Was there really nothing that he believed in anymore?
He tried to tell himself that he still believed in the education of kids, but there was the sight of Demetrius being loaded into the back of the police car. The school’s zero tolerance policy on drugs was clear. All violations of substance had to be turned over to local authorities for adjudication. Some fucking adjudicator he was!
Ron stomped on the gas and swerved cleanly into the left lane. The rushing of blood in his ears was like the rushing of his Nissan as he picked up speed. Then he glanced down at the speedometer, he was going 95 miles an hour!
He took his foot off the gas and felt the car slow its rush. He glanced in the mirror. There was no one in back of him. His eyes moved to the sides and then up in front. No, he was safe. Besides, he was Dr. Tuck and he had 4 PBA cards in his wallet. Great fucking example he was!
Ron had a scowl as deep as a canyon when he pulled into his exit lane.
Maybe there was something that he could do? He pulled the car over to the side of the road. He didn’t want to bring this home with him. He dialed in the number for the police station on his cell.
“Hello, this is Dr. Tuck from down at the high school.” Ron hated the sound of his own voice saying those words. “I was calling to check on Demetrius Brown, he was brought in this afternoon from the high school.”
Ron was put on hold. Then a familiar voice came on the line. “Dr. Tuck, this is Steven Hahn.”
“Hey Steve, how’s it going? I was just following up on Demetrius, has he been released?”
“He’s on his way to Juve, Ron. He had a prior from down in Dover. This kid is bad news.”
Ron felt crestfallen. “Thanks Steve, I’ll call back in the morning.” Ron sat there on the side of the road wondering what he had become. For that moment, he was disgusted with the answers.
When he pulled into his drive way, he saw Celeste’s Eclipse and realized that he had forgotten to look at it this morning as he promised that he would do. He saw where the nose of the car had hit the deer and reached into the grill and pulled out the fur and traces of dried flesh. The car was fine. He couldn’t say the same thing for the deer or Demetrius Brown.
Then he heard a puppy bark and was surprised to see Keats scrambling his way down the outside stairs. The sight of him was a cleansing, momentary wave. “What are you doing out?” said Ron smiling.
He crouched down to pick Keats up. He was getting heavy. The puppy kissed his face and then struggled to get down. “Oh, you’re a big boy now who doesn’t need to be carried around huh?”
He walked to the back door and opened it. Keats scampered in and then waited at the front of the stairs for Ron. Ron laughed. “Oh, sometimes it is OK to be carried?”
Keats wagged his tail happily.

Chapter 32
Patricia Tallman asked Celeste to arrange time for her to attend a holiday breakfast. Celeste responded that of course she would make time. Patricia was having a good day. She was up and dressed in her daily priestly garb and collar. She liked keeping the arrangement of things social and casual with underlying formality.
Patricia’s demeanor no longer showed a twinkle in her eye, but sometimes there were these signals that Celeste had seen from her mouth. Celeste had learned to assess her people as she spoke with them. She found the most successful approach was just getting to know them. Patricia had become more than just one of Celeste’s people.
“At this breakfast Celeste, it would surely be nice if you and I were able to determine what on earth is going to happen with Jack Spong.”
Celeste said, “I have heard a few things from Duane, but his thoughts about everything are just so dark right now. It colors how he feels.”
Celeste and Patricia were sitting in the Chapel. When she was able, it was where Patricia spent a good deal of her time. Celeste was a frequent visitor. “Duane thinks that Jack is being forced out and that the conservative bishops have had enough of his ideas and actions. They will threaten to publically enforce their beliefs as being more central and in keeping with Christianity.”
Patricia grinned, “I have no doubt that Bishop Spong has anticipated that.”
“Here’s where the dark part comes, Duane thinks that Jack is eligible for retirement and has had enough. I’m not sure if he’s talking about Jack or himself there.”
“A calling is a strange things Celeste.” Patricia spoke from the wisdom of her experience. “You are the only person who knows when you hear it and if it stops. We should say a prayer that Duane can hear his again.”
They held hands and prayed quietly in the Chapel.
“Now,” said Patricia. “Bob McElroy is just a great big huggable bear of a man isn’t he?” Patricia leaned in and almost giggled with Celeste, who felt herself wanting to giggle a little too. “But he holds all of his cards very close to his chest.”
“Zin Walsh will want to gossip,” said Celeste. One of the roles that Zin played was that he was the power of attorney for an ever steady number of the older female residents. He was compensated for this service of balancing their checkbooks and distributing their assets for a fee. His wife, Zoe, was an accountant. They supplemented their income with these proceeds.
“Yes,” said Patricia with some sarcasm. “Do see what you can get out of Zim Walsh, bless his heart.” Then she gave her private smile. She was from Virginia and wondered if people from New Jersey would ever grow to understand the real nuance of that expression. “We should also talk with Bishop McElroy.”
After break, Heidi Kliess asked to see Celeste in her office. “I think that you should start writing another monthly report to me Celeste.” Celeste had her pad and pencil. “I’d like a regular report on your meetings with the Clergy.”
Celeste was startled. “Which ones?”
Heidi looked at her with an incredulous expression. “Well, how many are there?”
“Clergy is represented on a lot of the committees that I am on Mrs. Kleiss.”
“I don’t mean those necessarily,” said Heidi. “But your name keeps coming up at Board Meetings, and it is usually mentioned by the representatives from the Clergy.”
“Well,” said Celeste, “I am on the Chamber of Commerce. I am a member of the Ethics Committee. I meet regularly with them when planning activities and events. So I’m not sure what you are asking me to write.”
“I see,” said Heidi. “Well, just forget about it then. That’s all.”
Celeste went back to her office a bit puzzled but definitely not forgetting about it.

Chapter 33
Ron and Celeste crowded into the meeting room at St John’s Episcopal Church. It was a Friday night and the room was packed. The Lanbeth Conference had only recently occurred and many thought that Bishop Spong would be silenced by the rebuke that he had received.
Spong thanked everyone who came. Ron was tired but he was listening intently. He had made it through the week. Two more days of school and they would be on vacation.
Spong began, “When we define God as being all knowing and omniscient, we are not talking about Jesus Christ whose birth we are about to commemorate. Jesus never actually says in the bible that he is God. I believe that this is actually somewhat of a miracle, considering how little of the New Testament words were actually spoken by the historical Jesus,” Spong paused, “In fact no words spoken by Jesus actually appear until he has been dead for more than twenty years. Then his words are somewhat shaped by the political beliefs of ensuing centuries. The version of the birth of Jesus that is told in Mathew and Luke was an attempt to refute the assertion that Jesus was illegitimate.
“I would urge you not to blindly subscribe to the misrepresented version of the birth of Jesus. On one hand, it shows disdain for the human act of reproduction, treating it as a sullied business, too common and base to be ascribed to God. On the other hand, it gives the impression that Jesus was God himself.
“Jesus never saw himself as an Almighty creator. I believe that we should be offended by this notion. What I do believe is that, in Jesus, we see the essence of what we come I have come to know as ‘Godness’”
When he was finished some 40 minutes later, Ron was convinced that he had just heard the most acceptable theory of Christianity that he had ever heard. He was very quiet and accompanied Celeste over to see Jack Spong.
Jack recognized Celeste and thanked her warmly for driving down to listen to him. Celeste introduced him to Ron who just shook his hand and said, “I found myself amazed by your lecture”
Spong smiled and thanked him and then Ron was lost in thought as Jack and Celeste chatted for a moment about when he would again be at St. Peters.
On the drive home Ron said, “I understand why he has your attention.”
“He was just wonderful,” said Celeste.
Ron felt his imagination and his spirit touched by the words of Spong and he would have walked, if not on water, over glass to have a chance to really have a conversation with him. He told Celeste and she smiled and said, “Right now he’s a very busy man.”
“I am certain that’s true,” said a slight dreamy-eyed Ron.
When they got home, they found Angel playing with Keats. Ron had suspected that Angel only put up her dismissive attitude and complaining nature about the puppy for their benefit.
“Surprised to find you home,” said Ron.
“No one goes out before 10 o’clock, Dad.”
Ron stopped her outside, on her way to the barn. “Can you leave Sunday night free? I’d like to take you and your mother to the Manor to celebrate her birthday.”
“Sure Dad,” said Angel.
“Do you have money to buy her a gift?” asked Ron.
“I’ve had her gift for weeks Dad, I don’t need you to give me money for my mother’s gifts anymore.”
“Hey, you’re in school. Your money is tight.”
“I know Dad you are always willing to give me money, except when I really need something, you are nowhere to be found,” snapped Angel.
“But I can count on you for Sunday?”
“I already said yes, Dad. I’m going out and it’s cold standing out here looking like two fools.”

Chapter 34
Dinner at the Manor was a good one. They all preferred the occasional Friday night Seafood buffet, but Angel had been going to fancy restaurants since she was a very, very young girl. She knew what a good meal was and liked it. She had ordered pressed duck and it was succulent and not a bit greasy. Celeste had introduced her duck and even though Angel did not think about it when she ordered, but Celeste did.
The three of them sat in the bar dining area next to a large, raging fireplace. Angel was meeting with success at the community college. She spent hours and days and the weekend in the studios. She had learned so much and Ron respected what she was doing. It was hard for Angel to acknowledge success unless it came with victory. Celeste felt that she got that from Ron and wasn’t sure it was a good thing.
“Where do you think that you’d like to study next?” said Ron.
“I don’t know,” said Angel. Then she offered. “I’m not sure that school is the best place for me to get the experience that I need.”
“What do you mean?” said Celeste.
“I’d learn a shitload more working on an indie,” asserted Angel.
Ron felt a warning signal. He hated that he felt it. Celeste had worked on independent films with her first husband. She knew that Angel wasn’t wrong.
“I know some people who want to do a documentary about Grateful Dead Concerts.” Angel stopped to gather her thoughts. She was drinking her after dinner coffee. “Obviously, Jerry Garcia is dead, but the band is still together and the parking lots are amazing.”
The warning signal grew louder as Ron listened to her voice. He had learned to be wary with Angel this time of year. Her history was incredibly regular and always over took her at some point during the holiday season. There was no telling when it would erupt but there would be a meltdown. It was almost easier when you could see it coming and so he was wary.
Celeste said, “How many people would be on the film crew?”
Angel laughed with a slight edge. “There isn’t even a film yet Mom, it’s an idea.”
“Ok,” said Ron. “So in the abstract, maybe you could pick up more skills working on a film, but you may still need more creds to get yourself involved with a legitimate effort.” For some reason he did know see how preachy he sounded. “Lots of idea start and then stop. It’s not writing or something like that. Your thing depends on lots of people and therefore lots of factors.”
“So, you’re saying my idea is worthless?” challenged Angel.
Light flashed in Ron’s head. Now he remembered. At fifteen, she had wanted to leave home and go on the road with the Grateful Dead and sell hemp bracelets in the parking lots. “No, I think it’s a good idea. Maybe it’s a story you should write, but …” Ron paused. He needed to be careful here. He was almost back over the border from no man’s land. He knew she would erupt if he suggested that she should write one more time and scream that she did not want to be a writer, “I’m suggesting you write it up as a film idea, maybe submit it.”
Angel smiled. That was a good idea. She liked it. Celeste felt herself able to breathe. They were right on the edge. She could feel it, but it got reeled back. She looked at Ron and Angel and said, “Thank you for a wonderful birthday dinner.”
Ron grinned. “You haven’t gotten your birthday present yet.”

They drove him with an anticipation. Angel wanted to see. He did give good presents and Christmas was just about here. They settled upstairs in the living room. Ron had a fire going all day, and it was still glowing. He added some wood and Angel poked at it with the prongs. They smiled when the first new flame popped up from the embers and soon it was totally rekindled.
Ron said, “Stay here.” He returned with a large, professionally wrapped box.
Celeste had no idea. This looked like something very special. It was a promise that he never failed to keep. Celeste told him how her birthday presents always got combined with her Christmas presents. He promised her without her ever asking that he would never do that.
When she opened the box and saw the silver tail mink jacket with a warm, warm hood, she felt her mouth literally drop open. He bought her a mink jacket? How much did he spend on this! She knew it would be weeks before he would ever let her ask that. The feel on her skin was luxury that she had only tried on in a store or felt on someone’s coat. It was unbelievably soft. It was made of beautifully stitched tails. It was the warmest coat that she had ever worn. Her arms swung free, the sleeves were a perfect length. Celeste got up and twirled in front of the fireplace.

Chapter 35
Angel had tears in her eyes as she sat in the barn. He had no idea how much she hated going to his mother’s house. How it had hurt her to know that she was not loved, not even liked. Anger seethed in her. She felt it like a storm inside of her, a turbulence that grew until it had to burst out. She needed to get out of the barn. She heard Ron’s voice in her head saying, ‘Don’t drive when you’re this upset,’ and she screamed “Fuck you,” across the snow covered lake.
She got into the car and started it. Then she saw Ron walking towards the mail box that was inexplicably set on the road by her driveway. He was waving towards her. “Shit!” she exclaimed. She rolled down her window.
“We’re going down to my mother’s about four o’clock, are you sure you don’t want to go?” said Ron.
“Yeah Dad, I’m really fucking sure!” She put the car in gear and pulled out of her driveway scattering gravel.
Ron thought, she drives like her mother, but he had heard the scream. He saw her face. Should he have gone after her? Should he try to call her? She wouldn’t answer. Would she get into an accident? The words of her therapist Jackie, tried to reassure him, ‘she isn’t suicidal, but she pushes those boundaries like she has to push at any boundaries.’ That was easy to say from an office but our here on Christmas Eve afternoon with his daughter off on winter roads maybe crying, maybe not, maybe thinking of wrapping her car around a tree, and maybe not.
Ron put his head down and closed his eyes. What was he going to say to Celeste? Ah the holidays! How times had changed so much about them. Ron stood looking at the lake, letting his eyes search the trees across the water. Staring down at the frozen wooden dock that was encased in a thin film of ice. Ron extended his hand and caressed a small frozen twig on the end of a branch. He looked up at the tree. “Are you sleeping or still awake?” He had begun to feel their presence when he was out playing with Keats or mowing the lawns or just wandering this property that claiming his love. He stared down the road where Angel’s car had gone. Having his love, was that a blessing or a curse? Which had it been for Angel?
And then he saw her car coming back around towards the barn. She parked, got out, looked at him and said, “I forgot that there was nothing open.”
They embraced. It was a hard embrace and he felt her body shaking against him. She was quivering like a frightened wild animal. They walked back to the barn together.
Ron pulled the wide swinging, wooden door closed in back of them and latched it shut from the inside. “I have to get you a proper lock.”
They went through another door into her room. Angel took off her coat and sat on her bed. “No one likes me at your mother’s house.”
Ron nodded, “Except maybe for your mother and I who love you.”
“You don’t love me enough to keep them from hurting me.” Angel felt the anger rising again. She did not want to feel that storm again. She did not want it to be Christmas. She never wanted it to be Christmas again!
Ron did not know what to say. He could no longer dispute with Angel about how she felt. His mother and George and Bumpy had not been kind. His mother had been downright cruel to both Celeste and Angel for years. With Celeste it had changed. With Angel, it had not.
There had been countless fights, countless hours of discussion and soul searching that had been an utter failure.
Marjorie Bombasco had become a formidable woman. Ron looked for Angel’s eyes and there they were. Large and brown, bright as searchlights, and glowing in the quiet room.
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go, I wouldn’t want to go if I were you. But she’s my mother. The holiday means a lot to her.”
“So Dad,” Angel gave off a smirk that if Ron did not know any better would have sworn that she got from him, “your advice is ‘sucks to be me,’ cause I don’t see much else.”
“My advice is the same,” said Ron. “Respect your family but do what you have to do for yourself.”
“That would be great if it wasn’t bullshit, dad. Because every time I do what I need to do for me, they all hate me more!” The words stung like ice whipping into his face. “I’ll go if you really want me to go, but I won’t like it.”