Read Online The Funnies by John Lennon - Free Book Online Page B

heavy-looking, with her ankles popsickle-sticking out of it, sunburned to a lurid pink.
    â€œSo I guess you’re giving me a ride home?”
    â€œI guess I am.”
    * * *
    Susan Caletti drove a tan Subaru station wagon that looked to be from the early 1980s. It was in great shape. I told her this as we wended our way out of Trenton, the air conditioner gusting clammy warm air into our faces.
    â€œYeah, I had a boyfriend who waxed it every weekend, so I sort of caught on. It feels a little funny doing it out in the street, but whatever.”
    â€œWhere do you live?”
    â€œTriBeCa,” she said, and added—with a practiced, muted jubilance—“rent-controlled.”
    â€œThere’s no rent control in West Philly.”
    She took her eyes from the road to offer me a surprised glance. “No?”
    â€œOur rent’s gone up something like four times in the past two years.”
    â€œToo bad.”
    Her driving was quietly competent, a rare thing. She seemed even to be enjoying herself. As if reading my mind, she said, “I like driving in cities, especially non-New York ones.” We were getting on Route 29 via a narrow entrance ramp. She paused to jockey for position against a pickup with wooden fence rails. The pickup backed off and let her merge. “It’s funny, I don’t really think of it as a part of real life. It’s like a video game or something.”
    â€œThat could get you into trouble,” I said.
    â€œHmm. I suppose it could.”
    We rode in silence for some minutes, watching trees and houses creep by. Susan didn’t turn on the radio. We were coming into Washington Crossing when she said, “So have you given it some thought?”
    For a second I didn’t know what she meant. I had been thinking about Amanda’s car, and began to look for the service station where I’d left it. Then I remembered. “Oh, sure,” I said.
    There was the station, up ahead. The Chevette was parked outside in the sun, all the windows clamped firmly shut. “So?” Susan asked.
    I turned to her. “Are you kidding me? Of course not!”
    â€œAre you sure?”
    â€œYes, I’m sure! That strip has been the bane of my existence my entire life! It’s stupid!”
    â€œOkay, okay,” she said.
    â€œSorry.”
    â€œAll I’m saying is don’t be hasty. Your dad…”
    â€œDon’t tell me about my dad, please.”
    â€œRight, okay.” She opened her mouth, closed it again, then sighed. “Just let me say this. From the standpoint of publicity, it’s preferable for us to keep it in the family. It’s a family thing, you know?” We were on a straightaway past a meadow, and she took a moment to look at me. I kept my eyes out the windshield. “And the other thing is that it’s easy. There’s really not much you have to do. Your dad didn’t really do much except draw his daily strips. We just send you your checks.”
    â€œSusan, with all due respect, I’ve already made my decision.”
    She poised herself to speak, her shoulders pitched like a linebacker’s. But finally she relaxed into her seat, nodding. The willows and ranch houses of South Side Riverbank came into view.
    At the foot of our driveway, she stopped the car. The air conditioner had finally cooled it off, and I envied her the drive back to New York. She opened the ashtray and pulled out, from a pile of nuts, bolts, rubber bands and coins, a creased business card. She handed it to me.
    â€œIn case you have second thoughts. Your dad said….” She stopped short, her eyes on the river glittering in the distance.
    â€œOh, go ahead and finish.”
    â€œYour dad said it would be good for you. Maybe that’s true.”
    â€œMy dad has never known what’s good for me.”
    She met my gaze and held it, for the briefest moment, then put the car back into gear. “That