The Jack Finney Reader

by Jack Finney

  Yes. She nodded. Then she smiled at him and nodded again. Yes, it was; I enjoyed it.

  Well, he said, it's not over yet — you're still wearing your funny hat. And I'm the kind of guy who likes to get the best-looking woman at a party off alone.

  Ruth smiled and took off her paper hat.

  That won't help you a bit. Grinning, he slipped a hand under her neck, pillowing her head on his shoulder. A woman, he said, is God's gift to suffering man: wife, friend, sweetheart —

  — and stooge.

  No, he said, and smiled, you run the act, and you know it.

  Ruth smiled back. Give me a kiss, she said.

  Well, I don't know, now, he said consideringly. I don't mind, except that then you might want another. And first thing you know —

  She was pulling his head down toward her, and he turned to kiss her. You're sweet, she said. You thought up that telephone party just for my benefit, didn't you?

  He nodded, smiling.

  Because I was a little bored, and you wanted to entertain me.

  Again he nodded, smiling down at her, and she raised her face momentarily to kiss him. And you say I run the act.

  You do. His face was just above hers; he started to kiss her.

  Well, then — She put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him away as she sat up. Swinging her feet to the floor, she glanced at her watch. Come on, then; let's go.

  Still lying on the bed, Benjamin Callandar stared up at his wife, his face bewildered. Where? he said.

  She smiled down at him sweetly. To the movies, my embrangled and demotic didapper, she said. We can just make the first feature.

  Good Housekeeping, April 1957, 144(4):84-85, 300-312

  Expression of Love

  Sliding his tray along the metal railing of the long cafeteria counter, Benjamin Callander reached for a slice of pie on a plate. Then he walked on a step or two and stopped beside his wife at the big cash register; he was a tall, thin young man in a blue suit, his face lean, his black hair cut short. The white-capped girl at the register, fingers poised over the keys, glanced over his wife's tray and silently added up her bill. Ruth Callander stood waiting, a very pretty girl with dark-red hair; she was wearing a blue and gray ensemble with touches of green and a pert little jersey toque to match.

  A dollar forty-four, the girl at the register said.

  Ruth smiled pleasantly at the girl and picked up her tray, nodding over one shoulder toward Ben. I'm with him, she murmured and turned away toward the tables behind them.

  Why, Ben exclaimed, his voice loud and amazed-sounding, I never saw you before in my life! The cashier glanced up quickly, then turned, frowning, to stare at Ruth, who stood frozen in mid-stride. Ruth's head swung to look at Ben in astonishment; then her eyes shifted to meet the gaze of the cashier — several patrons in line behind them, as well as at nearby tables, were watching interestedly. Ruth tried to smile, failed, and then opened her mouth to speak.

  But Ben spoke first, quickly. Not that I mind, little lady, he said gallantly, reaching for his wallet. As he did so, he shrugged a shoulder in puzzlement and glanced around the cafeteria, even up at the ceiling, as though wondering what sort of place he'd come into. That is, he added, dropping his eyes to let them roam the length of Ruth's fine, full figure, if you don't mind a little company at lunch! He rolled his eyes in a Groucho Marx leer, then leaned confidentially toward the cashier, opening his wallet and saying in a loud whisper, Never set eyes on her before, but delighted to pay the little lady's check.

  Ruth, her face scarlet, hurried away toward the front of the cafeteria, coffee sloshing into her tray with every rapid step.

  Half a minute later Ben set his tray on the edge of the table for two at the front of the cafeteria by the big window; Ruth sat motionless, not glancing up, her face turned from the cafeteria, staring out the window at the street.

  Well, Ben said, drawing out his chair to sit down, this is an unexpected pleasure. Little lady, he added, and Ruth swung to face him, lips compressed.

  I'll kill you, she murmured. With my hands. I will absolutely — She stopped, struggling to keep her face straight. Then she began to laugh, silently, bent over the table, her shoulders quivering. After a moment she looked up, shaking her head, to smile at him. Ben, what in the world is the matter with you?

  He grinned at her, picking up his fork. Just in for our annual convention, he said. Delightful city, San Francisco. Wonderful hospitality. He leered at her again. And I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. You know, he said, leaning over the table toward her, my wife doesn't understand me.

  She certainly doesn't. Ruth shook her head. I never know what idiotic thing you're going to do next. Honestly, in front of all those people. How would you like it, she said, picking up her fork, if I did things like that? Or like last week.

  What was that? He began to eat.

  When we were out with the Weiners. Stopping on the street corner to paw through a city trash basket, shouting after me to come see what you'd found. She smiled.

  I'd love it.

  I'll bet. Now, cut that out! Ben was nodding and smiling, almost bowing from the waist, at a large middleaged woman walking past on the sidewalk. She stared at him for a moment, then shrugged a shoulder haughtily, and walked on.

  She was staring down my throat, Ben protested. Looking over my plate as though —

  I don't care! And I'm warning you; I'm not putting up with that kind of stuff all afternoon. Understand?

  Yes, ma'am.

  Then hurry up, and finish your lunch. We're meeting the Howsers at two, and it's twenty of now.

  They entered Union Square, two blocks away, at just a minute or so past two and sauntered along the wide concrete walk. The square is a solid block of grass, shrubs, wide walkways, and many benches, set in the very heart of downtown San Francisco. Today, with the temperature 65 degrees and the sun shining brightly, the benches were crowded with people, talking, reading newspapers, or just sitting, with faces lifted to the sun. The walks were alive with waddling pigeons. Ben and Ruth strolled slowly along toward the monument at the center of the square, enjoying the day, watching for any sign of Charley and June Howser.

  Then Ruth quickened her step, saying, There she is, and Ben saw June entering the square from the Geary Street side. She was wearing a green knit dress, which suited her tall, slim figure perfectly, and a small matching hat. She was a good-looking girl with magnificent, large eyes. Catching sight of Ruth and Ben, she smiled and hurried toward them.

  Hi, you two, she said as she reached them, and they all stopped on the walk to exchange greetings.

  Where's Charley? Ben asked.

  Oh, he'll be along; he's parking the car. Though if he never showed up, it'd be all right with me.

  What's he been up to? Ruth said.

  Oh — June shook her head as though too exasperated to discuss it. But then she sighed, and went on. We were sitting in the car, lined up along the curb on Geary Street, waiting to get into Union Square Garage; you know how busy it is Saturdays. And after a moment or so, Charley said, San Francisco, just murmuring it, you know, as though he were talking to himself, thinking out loud. Then he went on in this reminiscent kind of voice, You know, I haven't thought of this for years, but today for some reason I remembered this kid I went to grade school with back in Des Plaines, Illinois. The rest of us were all going to be policemen, or ball players, or millionaires, or something, but Dave was going to own an automobile agency. In San Francisco, where he'd visited relatives once. Be the biggest car dealer in town. He used to talk about it. Crazy about automobiles. Ransome, his name was — David Ransome. He was my best friend, and I never saw him again after we moved. Always wondered what happened to him, but I don't suppose he ever got out here. Or opened his car agency either.

  Well, June said with a shrug, he went on like that, and I was only half listening, just sitting there waiting, looking ahead through the windshield. Then I happened to glance up, and I actually grabbed Charley
's arm, I was so excited. Look! I said, practically shrieking and pointing to the top of a building. Oh, Charley, he did get out here! Look — he actually did get his agency! And Charley was saying, What? Where? What do you mean? and I actually had to tilt his head to show him the big sign up on top of a building. See Dave Ransome first! the sign said. San Francisco's biggest-volume car dealer! Most liberal trade-ins in town, or something of the sort. And I was saying, Oh, Charley, after all these years! You've just got to look him up! Your best friend in grade school! And Charley was saying, Dave probably wouldn't even remember me now, and I was almost shaking him, saying, Yes, he would, too! You've got to phone him, at least, Charley, and tell him how glad you are that he finally realized his ambition! And then I saw this funny look in Charley's eyes, and I could have crowned him. Or myself.

  Ruth said gently, He'd seen the sign first, it goes without saying. And made up this story knowing you'd eventually notice the sign, too?

  Naturally, said June. And then he sat there shaking with laughter, saying, Good old Dave! He made it at last. And so on, and so on. I finally just got out of the car and came on ahead to meet you. Maybe his merriment will have subsided by the time he gets here.

  Ben was grinning. Your husband is a brilliant man, he said. I think I'll wander over and meet him, and as Ruth began describing the episode in the cafeteria, Ben strolled down the walk to meet Charley Howser. He'd walked only half a dozen steps, when, perhaps 50 yards ahead, Charley appeared, a husky, wide-shouldered young man, bareheaded, his red-brown hair cut short and bristling. He was wearing a tweed coat and tan slacks.

  As he saw Charley, Ben started to smile in greeting, but at the same moment Charley Howser turned his head away and looked down at the grass beside him, as though Ben were some stranger to be given a casual, uninterested glance and no more. He didn't know why Charley had done this, but whatever his purpose Ben decided to go along with it. He walked on slowly, ignoring Charley, who was walking rapidly toward him and looking straight ahead as though Ben didn't exist.

  The two men drew near each other, Charley moving rapidly, Ben slowly; At the moment of passing, Charley leaned slightly to one side so that their shoulders struck, spinning Ben around so that he actually stumbled. Swinging to face Ben, who was glaring at him, Charley said loudly, What's the matter with you, stupid! Wake up, and watch where you're goin'! He was actually snarling, his upper lip lifted at one side to expose his teeth.

  Listen, you jerk, Ben said loudly, you think you own the whole sidewalk? You bumped into me!

  I'll bump into you, buddy! Charley answered, raising his voice still higher. He lifted a big fist under Ben's nose. Get smart with me, and you'll bump into this with your teeth! All along the benches that lined the walk for several yards, newspapers were lowered, and eyes turned to stare at the two men shouting at each other.

  Any time, buster! Ben said, Any time! I'll knock you right off the walk! His chin was thrust toward Charley's face, and the two men stood, fists clenched, chests arched and almost touching. It was your fault, and you know it!

  Charley's mouth opened in apparent surprise, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he turned to stare at the grass for a moment. Then, with his face suddenly lighting up, he looked back at Ben. By George, he said, you're absolutely right! You must accept my apology, old fellow. I was clumsy, stupid, careless —

  Not at all! Ben said, clapping Charley on his shoulder. It was my fault! I was strolling along, lost in meditation, eyes on I know not what. It is I who must apologize.

  No, no! Never! Charley was vigorously wagging a finger in protest. My oafishness is entirely the cause of this contretemps, and — he gripped Ben's arm, and the two turned to walk on together — I insist on your joining me for a flagon of ale. My treat, old man! Some of the onlookers on the benches sat staring after them; others, smiling weakly, turned to murmur to their neighbors; one old man raised his newspaper to his face again, rattled it vigorously, and actually snorted with indignation.

  Ben and Charley joined the two women, who were walking rapidly ahead toward the Post Street exit from the square. Charley stepped up beside June, and Ben took Ruth's arm.

  June turned to smile at Charley. Well, she said, was it fun? Did you have a good time?

  I hope they enjoyed it, Ruth said sweetly. Because we certainly did. We just laughed and laughed, standing there on the walk with everyone sharing our joy and pride in our husbands. She patted Ben's arm and smiled up at him. Just as long as you have a good time, she said, that's all that matters. Ben glanced questioningly over at Charley, who shrugged.

  They walked on down Post Street toward The White House, one of San Francisco's largest department stores. June was to select some new draperies; Ruth was to help her. After that Ruth was going to buy a new living-room chair, with June's help. Then, presently, the two couples would go somewhere for dinner. The two women began discussing draperies and furniture. As the sidewalks were crowded, Ben and Charley dropped behind. At Grant Avenue they all stopped at the curb. In the center of the intersection, today, on Saturday afternoon, a policeman stood forbidding left turns.

  Presently the neon signs changed from Wait to Walk, and Ruth and June stepped out into the street to cross to The White House on the far corner. Ben and Charley were just a step behind them. The two women approached the policeman, a tall young man now standing idly in the pedestrian lane; then, just a step past him, June swung suddenly around to face Charley and Ben.

  Will you stop following us! she said furiously, as Ben and Charley stopped abruptly to avoid bumping into her. We're respectable married women, she said indignantly, eyes flashing in apparent anger, and I want you to let us alone! Then she turned to walk on with Ruth, leaving Charley and Ben directly beside the young policeman, who stood looking at them, eyes narrowed, his mouth opening to speak.

  Explanations raced through Ben's mind, all of them, under the circumstances, sounding absurd and unbelievable. Pedestrians streamed around them, glancing curiously over their shoulders at the two men. With their faces a deep red, Ben and Charley stepped swiftly forward, rapidly overtaking their wives, and hurried through the glass doors of The White House. Open rebellion, Ben muttered from the side of his mouth. Can you beat that?

  Charley nodded grimly. Yeah, he said, stepping into the store. And it's got to be crushed. Ruthlessly.

  Ben nodded as they walked across the main floor of the store toward the elevators. Sure, he said, shrugging. But how?

  Well, they caught us flat-footed, Charley replied. Unprepared. But we've been warned now, so just keep your guard up. On your toes. They stopped to join a little knot of people waiting at the elevators. What floor are these draperies on, anyway?

  Ben glanced at the wall directory. Three, he said, then stood waiting. After a moment or so he was aware that Ruth and June had joined them, standing slightly behind them. But he stared at the closed doors of the elevator shafts, ignoring the two women. Then Ruth gasped — loudly — so that several heads in the waiting group swung to look at her, and Ben turned, too.

  She was staring up at him, her mouth open in an astonished smile, her eyes wide in a parody of delight. It's you! she said loudly. It really is! She lifted a finger to wag it roguishly under Ben's nose. Oh, don't try to deny it! she squealed. I'd know you anywhere! I've watched you on television every morning for months! June! — without taking her eyes from Ben's face, she nudged June in the ribs with an elbow — Look! It's really him! Isn't he wonderful! She brought up a hand, revealing a notebook and pen, which she habitually carried in her purse. May I have your autograph? she said, smiling in a grimace so wide it revealed all her teeth. Please? she added, fluttering her eyelashes. Every face in the waiting group was now staring at Ben.

  He smiled at her pleasantly. Certainly, miss, he said and took her notebook and pen. I'm surprised you knew me without my beard, and at this an elderly woman in the waiting group whispered something to her companion, who stared at Ben, as Ben wrote in Ruth's notebook. Here you are,
miss, Ben said, returning Ruth's notebook, and Ruth accepted it, smiling and murmuring her thanks. Two women near her edged closer, peering at her open notebook.

  Suddenly the two women swung their heads to stare at Ben openmouthed, and Ruth dropped her eyes to read what Ben had written. I'll bet, she read in Ben's large, legible handwriting, that you're a wonderful armful, honey. Meet me after the show! Her face reddened, and she snapped the notebook shut. Then, as the elevator door opened, she turned and walked swiftly away, with June and the two grinning men following.

  A dozen yards from the elevators and hidden from them by a tall display case, Ruth turned to face Ben. All right, she said grimly. Touché, or whatever you're supposed to say. Shall we call it a draw now? And declare a truce?

  Oh, Ben said, thoughtfully, I don't know. I rather hate to see budding talent nipped prematurely; I thought that gag with the policeman was terrific. You nearly got us arrested. Of course if you ladies admit defeat and you are begging for mercy —

  June sniffed indignantly. We're doing nothing of the kind. But I can tell you this much: I want those draperies, and I'm not going to have you wise guys turning the store into a three-ring circus. We're going up there alone; right, Ruth?

  Right. And that goes for my new chair, too. We'll meet you somewhere afterward — She raised a wrist to glance at her watch. At five o'clock, say. That time enough, June?

  I think so.

  Okay, Charley said. You needn't hint any more; we know when we're not wanted. How about the Top of the Mark? Is five o'clock all right?

  The women glanced at each other, June nodded, and they turned toward the escalators ahead. Your slip's showing, honey, Charley called after them softly, and June stopped, one long leg thrust slightly backward, to turn and peer over one shoulder down her back.

  Her slip was not showing, and she said, Oh, for heaven's sake, and walked on with Ruth.

  Grinning, the two men stood watching them, and as the women stepped onto the moving stairs and turned to glance back at their husbands, the men bowed from the waist, smiling and nodding, and the women shrugged and looked away.