their door and pressed the bell.
Sitting in the Buick, moving through the late Sunday traffic at a comfortable fifty miles an hour, he looked across again at Oliver. I wonder what he would say, Patterson thought wryly, if he knew what I was thinking at this moment. What a marvelous thing it is that we can’t read our friends’ minds.
“Sam …” Oliver said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can get up to the lake again during the summer?”
“I’m going to try,” Patterson said.
“Will you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Leave Mrs. Wales home,” Oliver said.
“What in the world are you talking about …” Patterson began, with what he thought was an accurate imitation of surprise.
Oliver smiled at the wheel. “Now, Sam …” he said mildly.
Patterson laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Farewell, Mrs. Wales.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Oliver said. “But Lucy fired a shot.”
“Lucy,” Patterson said. “Oh.” He felt a warm flush of embarrassment and he knew, instantaneously, that he wasn’t going to come up to the lake again that summer, with or without Mrs. Wales.
“The wives’ benevolent association,” Oliver said, “protecting the other members.”
They drove without speaking for a few more miles. Then Oliver spoke again. “Sam, what did you think of that boy? Bunner?”
“Okay,” Patterson said. “I think he’ll be good for Tony.”
“If he lasts,” Oliver said.
“What do you mean?”
“Lucy’ll make his life hell.” Oliver chuckled. “I bet a week from now I get a letter saying he nearly let Tony drown or he taught him a dirty word and she had to fire him.” Oliver shook his head. “God, bringing up an only child is a touchy job. And a sick boy, to boot. Sometimes I look at him and a shiver goes over me when I think of the way he’s liable to turn out.”
“He’ll turn out all right,” Patterson said, defending Tony, but believing it, too. “You’re too nervous.”
Oliver only grunted an answer.
“What do you want?” Patterson demanded. “Do you want a guarantee that he’ll be elected governor of the state or win the heavyweight championship of the world? What do you want him to do?”
Oliver hunched thoughtfully over the wheel. “Well,” he said, slowing the car down a bit, “I don’t want him to do anything particularly.” Then he grinned. “I just want him to turn out lucky.”
“Don’t worry,” Patterson said. “With his mother and father, he’ll be lucky. It runs in the family.”
Oliver smiled, and Patterson was sure that there was irony and bitterness in the smile. “I’m glad you think so,” Oliver said.
Well, what do you know about that, Patterson thought, suddenly remembering the intuition he had had on the lawn several hours before, that Oliver was a disappointed man. With everything he has, he doesn’t think he’s lucky. What the hell does he expect out of this life?
5
A FTER THE FIRST WEEK, Lucy wrote Oliver that young Bunner was turning out very well, that he had won Tony by intelligently allowing Tony to make all the overtures in his own time. Young Bunner was very gay, she had written, and ingenious in keeping Tony from tiring himself. He had even managed to keep Tony happy on rainy days, she wrote.
At the end of the second week, Lucy was not sure what to write because Jeff had by that time told her that he was in love with her.
At first she had laughed at him, self-consciously playing the part of the amused older woman, something she had never had the occasion to do before. Then she had decided to write Oliver and ask him what to do about it, but had put it off because she was afraid that Oliver would make fun of her for taking something like that so seriously. Then almost patronizingly she had permitted Jeff to kiss her, to show him that it didn’t mean anything to either of them. After that she knew that whatever happened, she wasn’t going to write Oliver.
For
Sitting in the Buick, moving through the late Sunday traffic at a comfortable fifty miles an hour, he looked across again at Oliver. I wonder what he would say, Patterson thought wryly, if he knew what I was thinking at this moment. What a marvelous thing it is that we can’t read our friends’ minds.
“Sam …” Oliver said, without taking his eyes off the road.
“Yes?”
“Do you think you can get up to the lake again during the summer?”
“I’m going to try,” Patterson said.
“Will you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Leave Mrs. Wales home,” Oliver said.
“What in the world are you talking about …” Patterson began, with what he thought was an accurate imitation of surprise.
Oliver smiled at the wheel. “Now, Sam …” he said mildly.
Patterson laughed. “Okay,” he said. “Farewell, Mrs. Wales.”
“I don’t give a damn,” Oliver said. “But Lucy fired a shot.”
“Lucy,” Patterson said. “Oh.” He felt a warm flush of embarrassment and he knew, instantaneously, that he wasn’t going to come up to the lake again that summer, with or without Mrs. Wales.
“The wives’ benevolent association,” Oliver said, “protecting the other members.”
They drove without speaking for a few more miles. Then Oliver spoke again. “Sam, what did you think of that boy? Bunner?”
“Okay,” Patterson said. “I think he’ll be good for Tony.”
“If he lasts,” Oliver said.
“What do you mean?”
“Lucy’ll make his life hell.” Oliver chuckled. “I bet a week from now I get a letter saying he nearly let Tony drown or he taught him a dirty word and she had to fire him.” Oliver shook his head. “God, bringing up an only child is a touchy job. And a sick boy, to boot. Sometimes I look at him and a shiver goes over me when I think of the way he’s liable to turn out.”
“He’ll turn out all right,” Patterson said, defending Tony, but believing it, too. “You’re too nervous.”
Oliver only grunted an answer.
“What do you want?” Patterson demanded. “Do you want a guarantee that he’ll be elected governor of the state or win the heavyweight championship of the world? What do you want him to do?”
Oliver hunched thoughtfully over the wheel. “Well,” he said, slowing the car down a bit, “I don’t want him to do anything particularly.” Then he grinned. “I just want him to turn out lucky.”
“Don’t worry,” Patterson said. “With his mother and father, he’ll be lucky. It runs in the family.”
Oliver smiled, and Patterson was sure that there was irony and bitterness in the smile. “I’m glad you think so,” Oliver said.
Well, what do you know about that, Patterson thought, suddenly remembering the intuition he had had on the lawn several hours before, that Oliver was a disappointed man. With everything he has, he doesn’t think he’s lucky. What the hell does he expect out of this life?
5
A FTER THE FIRST WEEK, Lucy wrote Oliver that young Bunner was turning out very well, that he had won Tony by intelligently allowing Tony to make all the overtures in his own time. Young Bunner was very gay, she had written, and ingenious in keeping Tony from tiring himself. He had even managed to keep Tony happy on rainy days, she wrote.
At the end of the second week, Lucy was not sure what to write because Jeff had by that time told her that he was in love with her.
At first she had laughed at him, self-consciously playing the part of the amused older woman, something she had never had the occasion to do before. Then she had decided to write Oliver and ask him what to do about it, but had put it off because she was afraid that Oliver would make fun of her for taking something like that so seriously. Then almost patronizingly she had permitted Jeff to kiss her, to show him that it didn’t mean anything to either of them. After that she knew that whatever happened, she wasn’t going to write Oliver.
For
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