City Light

by Harry Mazer

  I whipped through the house, checking to make sure the phones were all on the hook, testing each one for a dial tone. I paced the house like a lion guarding its young. If anyone made a move to a phone, I growled. There was the phone and modem in my sister’s room, a Princess phone in my parents’ room, a wall phone in the kitchen, the old-fashioned two-piece phone in the living room, the really old one in the basement. We even had a goddamn phone in the garage. When the phone rang in our house, you went into instant destruct. Your hair went straight up and your fingers stiffened, and you went, “Yaaawwwww!”

  “What time are we going to the game?” Joanne said, looking up from her computer.

  “What’s with the ‘we’ stuff?”

  “Mom said you should take me. Didn’t you hear her?”

  “No. You want to come?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Okay, but you got to be ready on time.”

  “George! Look at this!” She pointed to the computer screen. “TOP HAT CALLING BEAUTY PARLOR.”

  I sat down at the terminal. “It’s for me.”

  “Who’s Top Hat?”

  “A dressy dude.”

  “What’s a dressy dude want to talk to you for?”

  I pointed to the door. “Go.”

  “You’re kicking me out of my own room?”

  “You want to go to the game?” As soon as she left, I typed.

  “BEAUTY PARLOR HERE. HELLO, TOP HAT.”

  “OH, I’M SO GLAD I GOT YOU. CAN YOU TALK?”

  “I’M GOING OUT SOON, BUT I HAVE A FEW MINUTES. I’M WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO CALL ME.”

  “SOMEONE IMPORTANT?”

  “RIGHT. THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON IN MY LIFE.”

  “LUCKY YOU.”

  George, why is she sitting home alone? A girl who’s five feet eleven-and-a-half and dances and enters wet T-shirt contests?

  “LUCKY ME, TOP HAT, BUT ONLY IF THE SOMEONE IMPORTANT CALLS.”

  “OH, HE WILL! WHICH ONE IS IT? PIANO PLAYER?”

  “NO. WALSH.” As soon as I typed it, I was convinced that Julie was trying to get through, and as I thought it, every phone in the house started ringing.

  “TOP HAT, SORRY, NO MORE TIME. THAT’S MY CALL.”

  I picked up the phone. “Hello, Julie, hold on a second.”

  “TALK TO YOU TOMORROW, TOP HAT.”

  “Julie? Troy is going to be here soon. We can swing by and pick you up and we’ll all go to the game at—”

  “George. This is Troy. I’m leaving right now.”

  “Okay.” That was that. Julie wasn’t calling.

  Joanne and I were outside when Troy drove up. “Hi, Troy,” she said. “I’m going to the game with you.” She looked pretty—her straight black eyebrows, her lips, her burning cheeks. You’d never guess that she spent half her life in front of the computer.

  Troy pointed at me. “Do we have to take him, too?” He winked. “You want to be my girlfriend?”

  Joanne’s cheeks got even redder. “Thank you for not patronizing me,” she said furiously. She pushed past me, went into the house, and slammed the door.

  I got into the truck. “She’ll never come out now. Let’s go.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “For a smart guy, you can be awfully dumb sometimes. One thing about Joanne, she hates anybody kiddy-talking her.”

  “I was just teasing. I didn’t mean anything.”

  “You were flirting with her.”

  “I don’t flirt. Girls flirt.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  At the gym, Troy and I stood up when the Panthers came out. They all looked leggy and tall. We gave them a little cheer. They were girls, weren’t they?

  Then our team came out, wearing red knee guards and red-and-white shirts. Troy slapped his big mitts together. Chris jogged by, biting her lip. Troy knew all the girls on the team. “Take it to the hoop, Chris,” he yelled. “Dunk it, Paulette.… Come on, that was a foul,” he yelled at the referee. “Denise was fouled.”

  Our Growlers were scrappy, fast, and tough. They went to the floor for the ball and crashed to the boards. The Greenfield Panthers had the height, though, and a lead at halftime. Troy went off to talk to someone. I stood up to stretch. That’s when I saw Julie coming into the gym with a guy who had red hair tied back in a ponytail. I felt as if someone had grabbed me by the throat.

  Julie and the redhead sat down on the other side of the court. I watched them leaning toward each other, smiling. Was that Rockport? Her cousin? When I’d heard cousin, I’d thought of someone younger, somebody with glasses maybe, some little overweight kid from the shore at Rockport.

  The game started again, but I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t see anything. After about ten minutes I walked over to where Julie and Rockport were sitting.

  Julie, let’s start all over again. Let it be as if we never met. A new story. It’ll go like this: One day I saw you walking into an apartment building. Let it be the day I climbed the fire escape and saw you through the window. And let it be that I didn’t know your name, and I went down and read your name on the mailbox. And let it be that you came along and saw me and invited me up to the house. And your family was there, and it was awkward. We didn’t know what to say to each other. But when I left, we both knew it wasn’t an ending. And let it be that I started calling you and you called me and we talked and we liked each other more and more. And let it be that we saw each other at this basketball game and I came over and sat with you.…

  “Oh, hi, George,” Julie said. “Cheering for your team? You’re losing.”

  Close up this way, I could see her cousin had pimples. Lots of them. Still, he looked pretty confident, like somebody who thought about cleaning up the environment.

  “George, this is my cousin, Martin Herlahan. He’s from out of state.”

  “Boston,” he said, putting out his hand.

  I looked at his hand, I looked at him. I didn’t like his face, I didn’t like the way he talked or the color of his hair or the way he shook my hand. I sat down on the other side of Julie. “Keep your eye on Chris.”

  “Who’s that?” her cousin said.

  “Chris Roth,” Julie said. “She’s number ten.” Then, to me, “We drove all over Clifton Heights today in Martin’s car.”

  He leaned across Julie, smiling. “That took all of five minutes. No, I’m kidding. This is a really exciting burg.”

  Sarcastic bastard. What if I said, Take a walk for yourself, this is my girl and I don’t want you hanging around her. Even if you are her cousin from Rockport. Which I don’t believe for a second.

  “But you really like it, Martin,” Julie said. “Come on, admit it, you think Clifton has charm.”

  “Proletarian charm,” he agreed.

  They exchanged smiles.

  Rockport started talking about Boston, what a great city it was and the great things you could do there and the great fishing in the Atlantic Ocean. And Julie was lapping it all up, as if we weren’t across the river from New York and didn’t have the greatest fishing and the greatest everything in the world right here.

  “Julie,” I said, interrupting something about all the concerts you could go to in Boston, “remember the hayride we went on the year we were in eighth grade?”

  “What about it?”

  “Remember Pink Rabbit? Every time I went to your house she had fits.”

  “How could I forget her? She still lives there. What’s the point, George?”

  “Remember the tree house, Julie? Remember the time we went to the midnight movie?”

  “Of course!”

  “Who’s Pink Rabbit?” Martin asked.

  “A busybody who lives in our house.”

  Remember kissing, Julie? Remember taking off your shirt? Remember the way we loved each other?

  I sat with my elbows on my knees, staring at the game. On a time-out, I stood up, stepped in front of Julie, stepped on Rockport’s Nikes, and left.

&n
bsp; I made my way out behind the stands. I was acutely aware of the game, the bouncing ball, the squeaking shuffle of feet across the floor, the calls and cries of the crowd. And I was aware of myself, the wounded warrior holding himself bravely upright.

  I walked down a corridor. Green walls. A hall monitor’s chair. Suddenly I had an image of Julie’s cousin putting his hand on her knee. And I saw myself reaching over, slapping his hand away, and saying, Cousins keep their roaming hands to themselves!

  You slap the wall. You want to scream. You want to grab something and break it. You want to punch someone. And you can’t do anything, because you’re not that kind of person. So you punch the wall. It’s block, it’s brick, it’s stone. You punch the wall again. It’s iron and cement. You’re hurting yourself and it feels good.

  I found Troy’s truck in the parking lot. The doors to the cab were locked. I climbed into the box. The sky was dark. I heard the referees’ whistles from the gym, the blare of the band. My knuckles burned. I lay down and fell asleep.

  A movement of the car woke me, then voices and sounds. I sat up. Troy and Chris were in front. I rapped on the window. “Hey, guys, I’m back here.” I gave them a minute to pull themselves together. When I climbed in front, they both started to laugh. They were wearing their red team jackets. They made me think of a couple of kids in red pj’s. “I thought you left,” Troy said.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything here.”

  “No sweat. Let’s go get something to eat.”

  Everything was bright, loud, and crowded when we went into Staggs. It looked like everybody who’d been at the game was there. I had a hand on Chris’s shoulder. We found a place over by the wall. “Let’s split a pizza,” I said. “How about a pitcher of beer?”

  “Not me,” Troy said. “You guys go ahead, but I’m driving.”

  I recognized some kids at the next table. “Hey, Patsy! Ralph, how’s it going? Ginny, looking good.”

  Julie and her cousin walked in. “There’s Julie,” I said to Chris. “That’s her cousin with her. That’s her story, anyway.” I was talking too much. I stood up. “Julie, over here,” I yelled. “You guys like pizza? Come on, we’ve been waiting for you.”

  Julie started to protest. I found a couple of chairs and pushed them to our table. “Sit down, Marian. Marian and Martin, meet Chris and Troy. Marian and Martin are cousins,” I explained. “You don’t see the resemblance?” I took Julie’s chin and turned her head.

  Julie shook me off. “George, you’re being obnoxious.” She looked across at Chris. “Hi, I’m Julie Walsh. We met once, remember? I thought you played a great game.”

  “Thanks,” Chris said. “I was only two for eight from the foul line.”

  I jumped up and started serving them pizza. “One for you, Maid Marian.” I gave her my plate. “And one for you!” I slapped a slice of pizza, cheese side down, into Martin’s hand,

  “George!” Julie looked furious.

  “Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I handed him a bunch of napkins. “Sorry, old Rocksport.”

  “You want to leave?” Julie asked him.

  “No, that’s fine. If your friend here can restrain himself—”

  “Oh, he can restrain himself, if he wants to,” Julie said.

  I sat back and nursed my beer. I was impressed with my restraint. Here was Cousin Martin right across from me, and the worst thing I’d done was give him a little cheese in the wrong place. I was remarkable. I was letting him live. I felt generous to an unbelievable degree.

  “Hey, Marian, remember those afternoons in the apartment? One time her sister came in on us and caught us. You know what sly dog Beth did? She panted. Panted like a dog!” I pushed the pitcher of beer across the table. It sloshed toward him. “Drink up, Martin. Slurp it up. Don’t waste it. Maid Marian doesn’t like beer, but I can tell you do.” I admired my cleverness.

  Then I started beaming mental messages to Julie. Julie, do you see me? Look up. Look out of the window of your eyes. Princess Julie. Maid Marian. I’m down here in the dust, waiting for you to recognize me. Hello, hello. Are you there? Are you home? What are you thinking about? Martin? Is he calling you, too? Are you aching to kiss Mr. Martin’s pimply face? Are you getting all excited by Señor Martin’s deep voice and smart talk? Where are you going when you leave here? Driving away in his car?

  The thought of Julie in Martin’s car, in Martin’s arms, made me writhe and burn. I got so hot I couldn’t sit still. The seat burned under me. I leaped up from the chair. “Julie!” I was on the George Washington Bridge again scrawling her name in Magic-Glo. George loves Julie forever and ever and ever. I leaped into the air. “Julie!” A couple of kids in the next booth stood up and looked at me. They recognized a psycho when they saw one. “Julie! Julio!” I howled. “Juuuuuu-lissimo!”

  When I looked again she was gone. “Where is she? Where’s Julie?”

  “Gone. Sit down, George,” Troy said. “You’re drunk.”

  Driving home, Chris held my hand. “I feel sorry for you, George. I know you’re acting like this because of you and Julie breaking up.”

  At my house, Troy got out with me. “You okay?”

  “Give me a cigarette,” I said. He lit a cigarette for me. I took a couple of puffs.

  “You’re going to be all right,” Troy said. “Don’t take it so hard.” He patted my shoulder.

  “Good friend,” I said.

  “She’ll come around. You’ll see.”

  I threw the cigarette down. I didn’t want to be around him anymore. When you’re miserable, you don’t want to be around successful people. They’re stupid because they think everyone else can be as happy as they are.

  I went inside. Everyone was asleep. I sat in the kitchen and slowly chewed a leftover chicken leg. I stared at the second hand on the clock. Would Julie call me? Had she said she’d call me? I tried to remember. Call me tomorrow, I’d told her. Was it now or was it tomorrow? I squinted at the clock and decided it was tomorrow. Which meant I could call her. I sat on the counter and chewed and dialed her number.

  The phone rang once. Twice. Three times. “Hello, hello,” I said. It rang again.

  “What?” someone said. It was Beth.

  “Julie?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Who is that? This is George calling Julie. Over.”

  “George! Do you know what time it is?”

  “George calling Julie. Over.”

  “George, your voice sounds funny. Are you bombed?”

  “Is Maid Marian there? Over. Is Martin there? Over.”

  “George, hang up and don’t call again. Nobody’s going to like you if you do.”

  Beth hung up. I went upstairs. The night-lights along the baseboard threw up a yellow glow. I steadied myself against the wall. A red eye gleamed from my sister’s room. She was asleep with her head under the pillow. I went in and sat down in front of the red eye. “Hello, computer,” I mumbled. I started typing.

  “DEAR TOP HAT. THE PERSON I CARE ABLOUT MOST IN THE WORLD HS DITCHED ME AND I’M FEELINGMISERABLE. MN SORRY TO TO DO THIS TO YEOU, DON’T HAVE TO ANSWER THATS OKAY.

  “DEAR ICEBOX, I DONT KNOW IF YOU’VE EVER HAD THIS HAPPEN TO YOU, BEING DITCHED, DUMPED, DISCARDED. THE THREE TERRIBLE D’S. DITCHED, DUMPED, AND DISCARDED. I FEEL LIKE A CARTON, TORN OPEN, EMPTIED OUT, KICKED ASIDE. YOU KNOW WHAT, TOP-BOX, LOVE IS DUMB. WHEN YOU LOVE SOMEONE YOU’RE NOT SMART. I’M NOT SMART.

  “HOW ABOUT THIS, ICEHAT, THIS IS BRILLIANT AND EXPLAINSIT ALL. LOVE IS A FALL. FREEFALL WITH NO GRABONS, NO QUICK EXITS. WHEN IT FLIES IT’S ITS FANTASTIC. BUT WHEN IT FALLS WHEN YOU FALL AND CRASHES IT’S IT’S … I CAN’T TELL YOU WHAT IT IS … IT’S SO BAD I CAN’T EVEN SAY IT. AND ANYWAY I’M SLOSHED.

  “I DON’T UNDERSTAND IT. DON’T UNDERSTAND.

  “I HOPE THIS NEVER HAPPENS TO YOU.”

  I sat there for a while, staring at the screen. Then I erased everything and went down the hall to my room.

  Chapter 13


  “Wake up, wake up. Come on, open those eyes.”

  I stared through gummy lashes, then sat up, thrashing aside the covers. Something with wild red hair and hot round eyes like Little Orphan Annie dug a finger into my chest. “Joanne?” I blinked at her. “What the hell …?” My mouth was dry, my stomach roiled around like soup.

  “What’s the matter with you?” She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off the red wig.

  “Don’t ever drink.” I could barely lift my head.

  “You got bombed? George, you’re stupid. What do you feel like?”

  “Like my brains are spilling out of my ears.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “Sick and sorry,” I said hoarsely, trying to remember last night and what I did.

  “Want me to tell her to call back?”

  “Who?”

  “You’ve got a phone call. It’s Julie.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I staggered to my feet, and almost fell. I had to take small careful steps. Sudden movements made the liquid in my head rush to one side and then the other.

  Julie calling me? There was something wrong with that. It should have been right, but I knew it was wrong. Some profound problem existed if Julie was calling me. Some awful question.…

  “Julie?” I licked my lips. “What time is it?”

  “One o’clock in the afternoon. Why did you call me last night? Do you know you woke my father and my mother and my sister? That was incredibly inconsiderate.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What did you have to say to me that couldn’t wait?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember? You wake up the whole house and you can’t do any better than that?”

  “I wanted to sing you a song. Is that nicer? Does that make you happy, Julie?”

  “George, what’s the problem? You act like you’re going over the edge. Last night—”

  “What’d I do last night? I wasn’t responsible. Whatever it was, I’m sorry.”

  “George.…” She sighed.