“Lousy in the sense of inept is what I meant, if you can use lousy that way. I mean, look around you; only an inept whore would live in a place like this. Can’t he at least help you out a little on the rent, get you a decent place? Hasn’t he got any pride? How can he bring his friends to a place like this?”
Jenny could feel herself starting to go.
Tommy began to cry.
Then he left.
Then there was some time.
Then Charley came.
Jenny lay quietly on the bed. She smiled at him.
“I take it it didn’t go well.”
“Not so very.”
“It’s over; look on the bright side.” He sat down beside her. “I left work early because I had a feeling it might not go well because I had this overwhelming desire to tell you how much I love you. I love you.” He shook his head. “Nope. Desire’s still there. I love you! There. Better.”
Jenny reached up, lightly clasped her hands around his neck. “I’m so happy when I’m with you. That’s the most marvelous thing.”
“According to latest reports, I am much happier with you than you are with me. What’ll we do?”
“When?”
“Now. We owe ourselves some kind of celebration, right? Hey—let’s rent a car! Drive someplace. Like that? We could take in a movie maybe.”
“Sleep with me?”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Sure you feel up to it?”
“Please.”
He kissed her. “Don’t you ever dare say please. The pleasure, for God’s sake, is mine.” He ran his hands along her body. “You are a real piece and that’s the truth.” He got up and went to the closet and began to undress.
Jenny slipped out of her clothes.
Charley looked at her. “Don’t lose any more weight. That’s an order.”
When they were both naked she went to him. “Miss Devers desires to be carried to bed.”
“In a minute.” He kissed her for a while, running his fingertips along her skin. “God, you’re a hunk, you know that?” and he lifted her, carried her across the room, gently put her stretched out on the bed. He lay down beside her. “Strange, I have the feeling I’ve been here before.”
Jenny smiled. “How may I excite you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He reached for her breasts. “I’ll think of something.” They locked in an embrace. “God, I love you,” Charley said then.
“We’re happy together.”
“That we are.”
“That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t lie, do we? Not to each other.”
“I can only speak for myself. I don’t.”
“That’s what he objected to—Tommy. ‘Deceit,’ he called it.”
“Can we just not talk about him? What does he know?”
“Just for a little.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” She kissed him.
“All right. Just for a little.”
“Touch my breasts.”
“Aye, aye, skipper. Can I ask a question?”
“Don’t stop. You may.”
“What the hell has touching your breasts got to do with Tommy?”
“You enjoy touching me, don’t you?”
Charley laughed. “I’d say it’s reasonably pleasurable. If you pinned me to the wall.”
“Good; that’s what I’d always thought, because you see, that’s all to my advantage. And so is being here, lying where we’re lying.”
“Come again?”
“This is it, Charley. Choose.”
Charley smiled.
“Tommy—he said I’d never dare ask that. He said we were liars, that you’d never leave her and that I was afraid to ask, but I’m not afraid to ask, I just proved that. So he was wrong. He was wrong about everything, wasn’t he? Now I know this isn’t easy, but it had to happen sometime, Charley, so this is as good as any. I mean, we couldn’t go on like this forever—that wouldn’t have been fair to anybody—so choose.”
Charley opened his mouth to answer.
“There’s a couple of things I think I ought to say before you make anything final, so will you listen? Of course you will. I know everybody always says that divorces are terrible on the children and I guess that’s the truth but what nobody says is that it’s probably worse having them grow up in a house where you’re in love with me, so you bear that in mind when you make your decision.”
Charley started to speak.
“One more thing: you probably feel sorry for Betty Jane, but you’ve got to realize that she lived perfectly well before you came along and she’s still prettier than almost anybody, so I wouldn’t worry about her—I’d worry about me—of course I’m biased.” She gave a little laugh. “But I love you and you love me and we’re so happy together, we’re good for each other, you know that yourself, you say it all the time—you’re at your best when you’re with me—that’s important! We love each other! That’s important too. So what you’ve got to do is make up your mind one way or the other between Betty Jane and me and if I were you I know who I’d pick. Pick.”
Charley nodded.
“One final thing and I swear this is the end. If you pick her—I don’t mean this to be a threat, it isn’t, it’s just a fact and I swear I mean it—but if you decide to stay with her, well, I’m leaving. I have to. You understand that. You won’t ever see me again. I’ll go. I’ll head home. You won’t ever see me anymore. Or touch me. Touch me, Charley! Now, touch me, go on, you said it was pleasurable, go on!” His hands began to roam. “Go on, oh, I love that, I love you when you touch me, so touch me, touch me and choose, Charley, her or me, yes or no, now or never.”
“ ... never ...”
The green canoe seemed to be flying.
Jenny giggled.
She stood on tiptoe, staring down through the woods as the green canoe flew toward her between the trees. Jenny set her suitcase down on edge, then sat on it and waited, giggling some more. It was really so funny. She had not seen him for a long time, her father, and she remembered him as being particularly big and strong and she was afraid that perhaps her memory was a liar. But here he came, carrying the green canoe, swerving up, up from the lake, cutting through the trees. Jenny put her hand to her mouth, because if she laughed too loudly he might hear and would know she had come and spoil her surprise. Breathlessly, she waited. She could hear him now. Coming closer. Then the canoe knifed in toward her, forty feet away. Jenny sat very still. Twenty feet, ten. Jenny waited.
The canoe stopped, tilted to one side. A face appeared beneath it.
“Auh?”
“Auh.” Jenny giggled. “I just knew you were going to say that. I would have bet anything.”
“Auh.”
“I’m home.”
Carl nodded.
“Are you glad?”
Carl smiled.
“How do Hook?”
“Skinny.”
“Other than that?”
“Tired.”
“Other than that?”
“Beautiful.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Same.”
“I’ve been so miserable.”
“Shows.”
“Oh, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, take me home.”
Carl put the canoe down, picked up his daughter. She slumped against his chest. Carl turned his body, protecting her eyes from the slants of the afternoon sun. Her breathing grew deeper. Deeper.
Soon she slept in her father’s arms.
She woke in her own bed and Tommy was standing over her.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“You were right, Tommy. He wouldn’t have me.”
“Can’t we forget about that?”
“Oh, what a wonderful idea,” Jenny said. Then she slept a day.
Tommy paddled toward the center of Cherokee Lake while Jenny lay on the bottom of the canoe, sunning. �
�So I know what I’m gonna be,” Tommy said.
“What?”
“Lawyer.”
“You sure got the mouth for it,” Jenny said.
Tommy lifted the paddle and dripped water on her stomach. When she had squirmed sufficiently he put the paddle back in the lake. “I sure do like funny women,” he said.
Jenny rolled onto her stomach. “Where?”
“I guess Harvard. You’re a good color now. You looked like hell when you got back.”
“I was under severe strain. I can’t remember why.”
“Could we talk?” Tommy said.
“Huh?”
“Privately, I mean.”
Jenny looked around. “Are you crazy? We’re all alone right here.”
“I sure do wish I could think of someplace private to talk,” Tommy said, and he began rocking the boat.
Jenny sat up. “What are—”
“Rocking the boat,” Tommy replied, and then he tipped it over.
Jenny dived into the cool water, came up, looked around, saw nothing. She dived down again, surfacing under the canoe.
Tommy was waiting for her. “Glad you could come,” he said, his voice echoing softly.
“Boy,” Jenny said, “when you say private, you’re not kidding.”
“I think this is pretty romantic,” Tommy said. “Ever since we were kids I’ve always thought so. And that’s fitting. Henceforth, what I am about to say will be referred to as UTC. Under the Canoe, Up the Creek—take your pick.”
“Under the Canoe,” Jenny said. Her hands rested on a thwart.
Tommy pulled himself up alongside, put his hands next to hers. Their faces were very close. “This is just to find the mood,” Tommy said, and he kissed her gently. “O.K. Here’s the thing. I don’t expect to get married while I’m in law school. That gives you three years to screw up your life. Have all the breakdowns you want, try suicide, shoot the works, go. But—notice I underlined that—but if at any time, during that three-year period—I won’t wait any longer than that—but if during that time you happen to decide that you’d like to marry a brilliant, handsome, reasonably rich, all-around great guy who loves you, I know where you can find one.”
“Aren’t you the nicest boy,” Jenny said.
“Close your eyes.”
Jenny closed her eyes.
He ducked her.
She came up furious but he was gone, so she moved outside the canoe and he was beaming at her from the other side.
“You’re bu-tee-ful in your wrath,” Tommy said. “I learned that line from a John Wayne picture.”
“You’re gonna get it.”
“I meant what I said. You know that.”
“I’m gonna really give it to you,” and she dived under the boat, coming up on the other side to find they had changed positions. “Come back here.”
He started swimming away. “Nobody calls me the nicest boy and gets away with it.”
She started to follow him.
“I’m a faster swimmer than you are.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jenny said and she returned to the canoe.
Tommy swam close to her. “Hey—what would you do if he called?”
“Who?”
“Don’t give me that. Your fink editor friend.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“What if he did?”
“Wouldn’t bother me.”
“He called. Earlier.”
“Doesn’t bother me,” Jenny said.
No sooner had her parents left for the lodge, leaving her alone in the house, than there was a knock at the front door. Jenny opened it, found Tommy. “Yes?”
“Hi.”
“What is it?”
“I just thought I might want to talk to you,” Tommy said.
“I told you; I feel like sewing tonight.”
“Crap.”
“You watch—”
“You’re crazy, Jenny.”
“For not wanting to spend the evening with you? Has it ever dawned on you that you might just possibly bore me?”
“You know he’s gonna call again and you just wanna be here and take it. Now admit that.”
“I’ll do no such thing.”
“You’re gonna get involved again. I’m telling you—”
“You gave me three years! That’s what you said. Well, if I wanna get involved again, I will.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Then what do you wanna talk to him for?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m pretty dumb.”
“I want to listen to him squirm,” Jenny said.
“Why? Why do you care?”
“I don’t care.”
“Then why bother talking to him?”
“I told you you wouldn’t understand.”
“Revenge involves desire,” Tommy said.
“Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned.”
“Scorned.”
“Either! Both! Get out.”
“Temper!”
“Smarty pants!”
Tommy smiled.
“Stop that.”
“You care for me. You haven’t called me that for years.”
Jenny went into his arms. “Of course I care. Now please get out.”
“She’s using her feminine wiles. Look out.”
“He hurt me, Tommy. I want to hurt him. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. Actually, I think it’s kinda noble.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“That’s what Custer said.”
Jenny kissed him. “I hate you.”
The telephone rang.
“Lemme stay.”
“Get out.”
“Moral supp—”
“Get out. Out! Out! Out! I mean it. Go!”
Tommy went.
Jenny smoothed her hair.
The telephone rang for the third time.
“All right now,” Jenny said. You do this right and he’ll squirm. This is like class. It is an exercise. This is an exercise in craft and that is all, so get it and get it right. She picked up the phone and after the operator’s “Go ahead, please” she said “Hello?”
“Jenny—”
“Oh, Charley, Charley, thank God!—”
“I’ve been going crazy—”
“I’ve been just praying for you to call—”
“I called once already.”
“Nobody told me. Oh God, Charley—”
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“I’ve been going crazy, Jenny.”
“I haven’t stopped crying.”
“Oh, Jenny—”
“Tell me, tell me—”
“I love you.”
“Oh yes.”
“I love you, I love you—”
“Charley?”
“Yes?”
“Charley?”
“Yes?”
“Go to hell, Charley.”
There was a considerable pause on the other end of the line.
Jenny giggled. “My, that felt good. Ummm-ummm.”
“Come back,” Charley said.
“Whaat?”
“I said, come back.”
“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you. Come back.”
“To quote Charley Fiske:’ ... never
“Don’t you understand? Everything’s different now. You win.”
“What do I win?”
“Me. I’ll divorce her.”
“So divorce her.”
“Will you come back?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I won’t divorce her.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes. Yes. So much.”
“If you love me, how can you stand living with her? If you love me, you’ll divorce her anyway.”
“You’re very young. There’s something you don’t know yet: anything is better than nothing.”
“Jenny, I made a mistake—don’t hang me! Come back.”
“No.”
“Come back.”
“No!”
“Jenny—”
“Divorce her.”
“I won’t divorce her until you come back.”
“I won’t come back until you divorce her.”
“Then you will come back.”
“No. No.”
“I knew you would.”
“I won’t.”
“You want me.”
“So what?”
“That makes all the difference.”
“I want Cary Grant too. It means nothing.”
“We love each other.”
“Loved each other. Duh-duh.”
“Will you take the bus or fly?”
“Canoe.”
“Come tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“No, not tomorrow.”
“Get here by Thursday. I’ll send her out to Long Island early.”
“No!”
“You’re protesting too much.”
“I’ll whisper it, then: no. Better?”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“That’s funny.”
“It’s true. If you come back I’ll get divorced and then you’ll have to take me. I’ll be free. You don’t want that, though. All you want is the lying and the sneaking around—”
“That’s not so!”
“Isn’t it? Isn’t it?”
“Please. No.”
“Admit it.”
“I admit ... nothing.”
“The deceit. You loved it. It, not me.”
“No; I loved you.”
“Then come back.”
“How do I know you’ll divorce her?”
“You don’t. Come back.”
“You can’t talk me into this.”
“Nobody can talk anybody into anything. You want to come back.”
“Charley—”
“Bus or plane?”
“Neither.”
“You’ve made me suffer. You’ve said your ‘go to hell.’ That’s enough revenge. Come back.”
“I don’t know.”
“My God don’t you want to be happy?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.”
“Bus or plane?”
“I don’t know.”
“Make up your mind. If you want to be happy, come back. If you love me, come back.”
“Do you think we could be happy?”
“How could we miss? Bus or plane?”
“I need time to think.”
“We’re fresh out of time. Bus or plane?”
The Novels of William Goldman: Boys and Girls Together, Marathon Man, and the Temple of Gold Page 71