through the wrong end of binoculars. But there was the lawn, all freshly cut. By me. Yesterday.
I got a beer out of the refrigerator, took it into the bathroom, and finished it while taking off my clothes. The tape in my shirt pocket was labeled WEBB PIERCE in awkward handwriting. I stayed in the shower a good long time, soaping and rinsing everything twice. Then to the bedroom, where the Yahrzeit lamp was still going, pale in the late-afternoon sunlight. I gave the plastic rod a twist to close the blinds, then shut the door, and the candle threw a shaky shadow of me on the wall. I thought how amazingly sick it would be to jerk myself off, after this day, in this candlelight. Then I thought, You’d better stop scaring yourself. So I put on clean clothes, got another beer out ofthe refrigerator, went into the living room and turned on the tv. Another ballgame, with two thirds of the outfield in shadow.
I was still sitting there when Danny rolled in, during the Independent News. In fact, just as they were rerunning the highlights of the same ballgame, how about that. He sat down on the sofa, crosslegged, with his God damn running shoes still on. Though I don’t suppose I really gave a shit. He sank at once into the tv trance, as if that were his real life in there and the rest was shadows. Well, like father like son. Some commercials came on, then the weather, then the commercial where the pretty woman eats Frusen Glädjé and you wonder whether or not you’re supposed to think she really feels shame. Then the muffler strongman came on and Danny said, “So you going to see her again?”
What he was really asking, I imagined, was the following: A, was his father the kind of man who wouldn’t see a woman again after spending the night with her? B, was that the kind of man to be? C, how would this complicate his life? And perhaps D, was he going to get a new mother? Hey, I could have used the answers too.
“Well,” I said, “we certainly liked each other a lot—I mean, obviously.” Idea: Why not put it on the kid? “But how would you feel about it?” I said. “You and Clarissa? I mean, it’s sort of a strange situation for you to be in, right? All of a sudden your father and her mother.…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, at least unusual, okay? You’ll grant me unusual?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We kind of knew it would happen and everything. When we finally got you guys together.”
I stared at him. This was sitcom stuff. Well, of course. These were kids who’d spent their lives watching shit like this, widower with houseful of girls meets divorcee with houseful of boys, and some William Frawley type around too, in an oh-so-improbable apron.
“She’s real nice,” he said. “And you two have a lot of stuff in common, right?”
What, like being old?
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “I mean, it was a nice thought, but didn’t you think through the consequences? You know, suppose it really got serious with the two of us and then you and Clarissa brokeup. Or vice versa.” I was a great one to talk about thinking through the consequences.
Now he stared. “But Dad,” he said. “If you thought that way about everything, you wouldn’t ever do anything.”
Hey, welcome to Heritage Circle.
He got up off the couch. “I’m gonna go practice.”
“Fine,” I said. “Just use the things, okay? The earphones? And don’t stay up all night.” The shit you’re obliged to say.
After the news they had some paid program on about being an entrepreneur, with people like Famous Amos. I zapped the sound down almost to inaudible and picked up P. G. Wodehouse. If I ever needed Blandings Castle, boy, tonight was the night. The lawns and gardens that you could practically see before you as your eyes moved along through the words, and Psmith winning the hand of Eve Halliday entirely on charm and eccentricity. Without so much as a kiss.
6
Although I’d had enough of it by Sunday
I got a beer out of the refrigerator, took it into the bathroom, and finished it while taking off my clothes. The tape in my shirt pocket was labeled WEBB PIERCE in awkward handwriting. I stayed in the shower a good long time, soaping and rinsing everything twice. Then to the bedroom, where the Yahrzeit lamp was still going, pale in the late-afternoon sunlight. I gave the plastic rod a twist to close the blinds, then shut the door, and the candle threw a shaky shadow of me on the wall. I thought how amazingly sick it would be to jerk myself off, after this day, in this candlelight. Then I thought, You’d better stop scaring yourself. So I put on clean clothes, got another beer out ofthe refrigerator, went into the living room and turned on the tv. Another ballgame, with two thirds of the outfield in shadow.
I was still sitting there when Danny rolled in, during the Independent News. In fact, just as they were rerunning the highlights of the same ballgame, how about that. He sat down on the sofa, crosslegged, with his God damn running shoes still on. Though I don’t suppose I really gave a shit. He sank at once into the tv trance, as if that were his real life in there and the rest was shadows. Well, like father like son. Some commercials came on, then the weather, then the commercial where the pretty woman eats Frusen Glädjé and you wonder whether or not you’re supposed to think she really feels shame. Then the muffler strongman came on and Danny said, “So you going to see her again?”
What he was really asking, I imagined, was the following: A, was his father the kind of man who wouldn’t see a woman again after spending the night with her? B, was that the kind of man to be? C, how would this complicate his life? And perhaps D, was he going to get a new mother? Hey, I could have used the answers too.
“Well,” I said, “we certainly liked each other a lot—I mean, obviously.” Idea: Why not put it on the kid? “But how would you feel about it?” I said. “You and Clarissa? I mean, it’s sort of a strange situation for you to be in, right? All of a sudden your father and her mother.…”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, at least unusual, okay? You’ll grant me unusual?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We kind of knew it would happen and everything. When we finally got you guys together.”
I stared at him. This was sitcom stuff. Well, of course. These were kids who’d spent their lives watching shit like this, widower with houseful of girls meets divorcee with houseful of boys, and some William Frawley type around too, in an oh-so-improbable apron.
“She’s real nice,” he said. “And you two have a lot of stuff in common, right?”
What, like being old?
“You’re kidding me,” I said. “I mean, it was a nice thought, but didn’t you think through the consequences? You know, suppose it really got serious with the two of us and then you and Clarissa brokeup. Or vice versa.” I was a great one to talk about thinking through the consequences.
Now he stared. “But Dad,” he said. “If you thought that way about everything, you wouldn’t ever do anything.”
Hey, welcome to Heritage Circle.
He got up off the couch. “I’m gonna go practice.”
“Fine,” I said. “Just use the things, okay? The earphones? And don’t stay up all night.” The shit you’re obliged to say.
After the news they had some paid program on about being an entrepreneur, with people like Famous Amos. I zapped the sound down almost to inaudible and picked up P. G. Wodehouse. If I ever needed Blandings Castle, boy, tonight was the night. The lawns and gardens that you could practically see before you as your eyes moved along through the words, and Psmith winning the hand of Eve Halliday entirely on charm and eccentricity. Without so much as a kiss.
6
Although I’d had enough of it by Sunday
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