sure.”
And then she is gone. He sits awhile longer, palming the empty Coke glass back and forth between his hands. He had thought, this morning, that he would ask her to one of the swim meets. How stupid even to think that she would go for that. Dull stuff anyway, compared to A Thousand Clowns. Ah come on Jarrett don’t be a shit she is a nice girl and she is right it’s a dangerous business how would you like it if some screwed-up bastard kept coming around asking you for help asking you to make him feel Necessary?
There is a sign over the door: NO LOITERING. The counterman / waiter keeps glancing over, getting ready to catch him in the act. He carefully folds his straw into a small rectangle and drops it into his glass. Getting to his feet, he puts on his jacket. Okay Karen we’ll see you around who needs you anyway who the fuck needs anybody?
8
This Saturday he has repaired a broken doorknob, watched Michigan beat Navy on television, played two sets of tennis with Al Cahill, his next-door neighbor. A familiar and comforting pattern of triviality; the things that move time. First, sitting in the den with his feet up, a glass of beer beside him; then the tennis. He was even pleased about the doorknob; it gave the day that tiny period of purpose, and protected his soul from the sin of idleness.
He pours himself a scotch and water. This first drink of a Saturday evening, made for himself, and drunk in his own company is another pleasure. Later on, he may become bored and drink too much. Or else he will enjoy himself, relax, and drink too much. Another familiar pattern. He has noted this about himself lately: that he drinks too much when they go out. Because drinking helps. It has gotten him through many evenings, either deadening the pain or raising him above it to where small events seem pleasurable and worth recording. It isn’t likely that this will happen tonight. Tonight will not be memorable. He will have to take care not to get blitzed.
Waiting for Beth, he wanders into the den. Conrad lounges on the couch in Levi’s and a T-shirt, hands in his pockets, legs stuck out in front of him, his boot heels digging into the carpet.
“Your basic teen-ager,” Cal observes.
Conrad eyes the gray slacks, black turtleneck, gray plaid sportcoat. “Your basic suburban lawyer.”
He sits down beside him on the couch. “What’re you watching?”
“Dunno. Just got here.”
From the television set comes the fervent announcement: “Watch the Pete Pepper Show! Share the joys of family living!”
“Who the hell is Pete Pepper?” he asks.
Conrad laughs. “You got me.”
“Where were you today? I needed a tennis partner.”
“Over in Skokie.”
“Oh? Doing what?”
“Seeing somebody I know.”
“Anybody I know?”
“No.”
Period. A long way to go for friendship. All the way to Skokie. What happened to the people closer to home?
“What’re you doing tonight?”
“Studying. Got a history mid-term on Tuesday.”
Mid-terms already. He hopes Con is not uptight about the tests. Should he tell him not to worry? No, he will think it means something. Will think he, Cal, is worried. “How’s Joe?” he asks. “You see much of him?”
“Every morning on the way to school. At practice. On the way home.”
Not an answer, really, but it is conversation. Cal wants to keep it flowing between them. How to do this? Sometimes it is so difficult, feeling his way with this mysterious stranger, his son. He asks, “Why don’t you call him and see what he’s doing tonight?”
“I think I ought to study.”
“Can’t you study tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m planning on it.” His eyes have not left the set. “It’s a mid-term, Dad.”
“Okay. I guess it takes time to get back in the swing of it again, huh?”
Conrad looks over at him and grins. “You been hanging around with Grandfather again?”
Cal laughs. He will be eighteen in January, but he looks younger than that, and vulnerable; yet older at the
And then she is gone. He sits awhile longer, palming the empty Coke glass back and forth between his hands. He had thought, this morning, that he would ask her to one of the swim meets. How stupid even to think that she would go for that. Dull stuff anyway, compared to A Thousand Clowns. Ah come on Jarrett don’t be a shit she is a nice girl and she is right it’s a dangerous business how would you like it if some screwed-up bastard kept coming around asking you for help asking you to make him feel Necessary?
There is a sign over the door: NO LOITERING. The counterman / waiter keeps glancing over, getting ready to catch him in the act. He carefully folds his straw into a small rectangle and drops it into his glass. Getting to his feet, he puts on his jacket. Okay Karen we’ll see you around who needs you anyway who the fuck needs anybody?
8
This Saturday he has repaired a broken doorknob, watched Michigan beat Navy on television, played two sets of tennis with Al Cahill, his next-door neighbor. A familiar and comforting pattern of triviality; the things that move time. First, sitting in the den with his feet up, a glass of beer beside him; then the tennis. He was even pleased about the doorknob; it gave the day that tiny period of purpose, and protected his soul from the sin of idleness.
He pours himself a scotch and water. This first drink of a Saturday evening, made for himself, and drunk in his own company is another pleasure. Later on, he may become bored and drink too much. Or else he will enjoy himself, relax, and drink too much. Another familiar pattern. He has noted this about himself lately: that he drinks too much when they go out. Because drinking helps. It has gotten him through many evenings, either deadening the pain or raising him above it to where small events seem pleasurable and worth recording. It isn’t likely that this will happen tonight. Tonight will not be memorable. He will have to take care not to get blitzed.
Waiting for Beth, he wanders into the den. Conrad lounges on the couch in Levi’s and a T-shirt, hands in his pockets, legs stuck out in front of him, his boot heels digging into the carpet.
“Your basic teen-ager,” Cal observes.
Conrad eyes the gray slacks, black turtleneck, gray plaid sportcoat. “Your basic suburban lawyer.”
He sits down beside him on the couch. “What’re you watching?”
“Dunno. Just got here.”
From the television set comes the fervent announcement: “Watch the Pete Pepper Show! Share the joys of family living!”
“Who the hell is Pete Pepper?” he asks.
Conrad laughs. “You got me.”
“Where were you today? I needed a tennis partner.”
“Over in Skokie.”
“Oh? Doing what?”
“Seeing somebody I know.”
“Anybody I know?”
“No.”
Period. A long way to go for friendship. All the way to Skokie. What happened to the people closer to home?
“What’re you doing tonight?”
“Studying. Got a history mid-term on Tuesday.”
Mid-terms already. He hopes Con is not uptight about the tests. Should he tell him not to worry? No, he will think it means something. Will think he, Cal, is worried. “How’s Joe?” he asks. “You see much of him?”
“Every morning on the way to school. At practice. On the way home.”
Not an answer, really, but it is conversation. Cal wants to keep it flowing between them. How to do this? Sometimes it is so difficult, feeling his way with this mysterious stranger, his son. He asks, “Why don’t you call him and see what he’s doing tonight?”
“I think I ought to study.”
“Can’t you study tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I’m planning on it.” His eyes have not left the set. “It’s a mid-term, Dad.”
“Okay. I guess it takes time to get back in the swing of it again, huh?”
Conrad looks over at him and grins. “You been hanging around with Grandfather again?”
Cal laughs. He will be eighteen in January, but he looks younger than that, and vulnerable; yet older at the
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