Read Online Fridays at Enrico's by Don Carpenter - Free Book Online
Authors: Don Carpenter
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Theyâll be sure to feel sorry for you.â
âGod damn it,â he said, and sat down on the freshly made bed. Jaimeâs bedding. And there was a big box of bedding and stuff over in the corner, taking up precious room. First she filled him with love, then she filled his apartment with stuff.
âIf you swear at them, theyâll probably be frightened,â she said, and came into the room. She looked at him fondly. âYouâre getting stage fright, arenât you?â
âIs that what it is?â Heâd felt this way in Korea, but in Korea heâd expected to. Here and now it felt bizarre that he should fear meeting three men he knew perfectly well liked him and had every intention of passing him through. These were the same guys who were pushing him toward Iowa, sothat he could be like them, respectable writers who also taught college. Ray West, Utah man, author of a book about the Mormons and a great short story called âThe Last of the Grizzlies,â which is exactly how Charlie was feeling tonight; Herb Wilner, author of brilliant stories published in places like Esquire; and old Walter Clark. Charlie rubbed his stomach, hoping to ease the discomfort.
âI have to go home and study,â Jaime said. âYouâre getting your masterâs, but Iâm probably going to flunk out.â She and Edna had moved to a big apartment on Sacramento Street, between Leavenworth and Jones. Charlie had helped them move in. It was kind of pathetic. All their good furniture was gone, and what was left didnât halfway fill the place. They had beautiful hardwood floors, which Charlie washed, waxed, and buffed for them with a rental buffer, but nothing to go on them except for some little rag rugs. Edna had obviously rented the wrong place. She should have rented a small furnished apartment and saved herself some money, instead of this ghost apartment, full of echoes. Charlie could tell Jaime hated to go home to it. But she was the only company her mother had. Edna didnât like her old friends anymore. Most of them were connected to the Chronicle , killer of Farley, and the rest were socialists, Marxists, communists, etc., and as far as she was concerned, a pack of fools. She wouldnât even go to Tosca anymore, not that it was a Marxist hangout, but the memories must have troubled her. Charlie hadnât known Farley very well, just one of the reporters who drank around North Beach, but heâd seemed like a nice guy, maybe a little tense about world affairs. He could imagine how Edna might miss him. But she just sat home in her expensive, under-decorated, ghostly apartment, swilling red wine.
âWe should all move in together,â he said again. Though he didnât particularly want to, it was better than this. But Jaime wouldnât have it.
âI donât want to become a cliché,â she said to him mysteriously.
The actual masterâs oral was comical, he decided, well after it was over. He was fine in the morning, attending classes, taking some books back to the library, eating a stuffed pepper in the cafeteria, but when he showed upat Wilnerâs office the stuffed pepper exploded or something and he had a terrible need to shit. Instead he knocked bravely on Wilnerâs door and clenched his buttocks.
Wilner opened the door and came out. He was a small mild-looking Jewish man who had been All-American in 1944. He smiled nervously at Charlie and said, âLetâs go for coffee.â As they were crossing the campus Wilner said, âI threw up a couple of times before my masterâs oral.â They sat in the cafeteria, and while Charlie sipped nervously at his bitter coffee Wilner told him stories of how the biggest bravest guys sometimes collapsed into terror at the thought of orals. âItâs really mysterious,â he said. âHow these big bruisers will turn white at the thought of exposing their
âGod damn it,â he said, and sat down on the freshly made bed. Jaimeâs bedding. And there was a big box of bedding and stuff over in the corner, taking up precious room. First she filled him with love, then she filled his apartment with stuff.
âIf you swear at them, theyâll probably be frightened,â she said, and came into the room. She looked at him fondly. âYouâre getting stage fright, arenât you?â
âIs that what it is?â Heâd felt this way in Korea, but in Korea heâd expected to. Here and now it felt bizarre that he should fear meeting three men he knew perfectly well liked him and had every intention of passing him through. These were the same guys who were pushing him toward Iowa, sothat he could be like them, respectable writers who also taught college. Ray West, Utah man, author of a book about the Mormons and a great short story called âThe Last of the Grizzlies,â which is exactly how Charlie was feeling tonight; Herb Wilner, author of brilliant stories published in places like Esquire; and old Walter Clark. Charlie rubbed his stomach, hoping to ease the discomfort.
âI have to go home and study,â Jaime said. âYouâre getting your masterâs, but Iâm probably going to flunk out.â She and Edna had moved to a big apartment on Sacramento Street, between Leavenworth and Jones. Charlie had helped them move in. It was kind of pathetic. All their good furniture was gone, and what was left didnât halfway fill the place. They had beautiful hardwood floors, which Charlie washed, waxed, and buffed for them with a rental buffer, but nothing to go on them except for some little rag rugs. Edna had obviously rented the wrong place. She should have rented a small furnished apartment and saved herself some money, instead of this ghost apartment, full of echoes. Charlie could tell Jaime hated to go home to it. But she was the only company her mother had. Edna didnât like her old friends anymore. Most of them were connected to the Chronicle , killer of Farley, and the rest were socialists, Marxists, communists, etc., and as far as she was concerned, a pack of fools. She wouldnât even go to Tosca anymore, not that it was a Marxist hangout, but the memories must have troubled her. Charlie hadnât known Farley very well, just one of the reporters who drank around North Beach, but heâd seemed like a nice guy, maybe a little tense about world affairs. He could imagine how Edna might miss him. But she just sat home in her expensive, under-decorated, ghostly apartment, swilling red wine.
âWe should all move in together,â he said again. Though he didnât particularly want to, it was better than this. But Jaime wouldnât have it.
âI donât want to become a cliché,â she said to him mysteriously.
The actual masterâs oral was comical, he decided, well after it was over. He was fine in the morning, attending classes, taking some books back to the library, eating a stuffed pepper in the cafeteria, but when he showed upat Wilnerâs office the stuffed pepper exploded or something and he had a terrible need to shit. Instead he knocked bravely on Wilnerâs door and clenched his buttocks.
Wilner opened the door and came out. He was a small mild-looking Jewish man who had been All-American in 1944. He smiled nervously at Charlie and said, âLetâs go for coffee.â As they were crossing the campus Wilner said, âI threw up a couple of times before my masterâs oral.â They sat in the cafeteria, and while Charlie sipped nervously at his bitter coffee Wilner told him stories of how the biggest bravest guys sometimes collapsed into terror at the thought of orals. âItâs really mysterious,â he said. âHow these big bruisers will turn white at the thought of exposing their
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