"Why?" asked Dave. "You don't act like you feel old."
"Well, thanks," said Larry.
"Is it the age difference?" asked Dave. "Is it because we're all younger than you?"
"Maybe," sighed Larry, and then he started to slowly turn again, still looking to the stars. "Maybe that's part of it."
"You shouldn't feel old," said Darlene. "I don't think anybody here considers you old."
"Yeah," joined Dave. "It's like you're just one of the gang. Everybody really likes you."
"Do they?" Larry stopped turning again, this time facing Dave and Darlene, and he smiled at them. "Well, that's nice to hear."
"Maybe that's why you feel young," suggested Darlene. "Being around us."
"Yes," said Larry, turning his gaze to the windows of the trailer, the party within. "That might have something to do with it."
"Well, that's good, then," smiled Darlene. "If we make you feel young, and we make you feel old, too, we'll just have to work harder to make you feel younger."
"No no no," laughed Larry. "You're all doing just fine. Don't go out of your way to make me feel like a kid again, or I'll really feel old." Grinning, he crossed his arms and looked down at the ground.
"Do you want to be a kid again?" Darlene asked sunnily.
"God, yes," chuckled Larry Smith. "Too bad you can't stay young forever."
"Who says so?" piped Dave. "I'm planning to."
"Well, I hate to break the news to you," Larry said lightly, "but you'll never pull if off."
"Stranger things have happened," smiled Dave.
"That's for sure," chuckled Larry. "I've seen quite a few strange things in my time."
"Like Jeff's Hawaiian shirt?" laughed Darlene.
"Well, that's definitely one of them," conceded Larry. "He sure seems like he's one of a kind, all right."
"He's pretty goofy," said Dave, "but he's not a bad guy."
"Reminds me a little of my old buddy Butch," smirked Larry. "He's a loudmouth, but he doesn't mean any harm."
"Huh," said Dave. "Whatever happened to Butch, anyway?"
With a sigh, Larry uncrossed his arms and clasped his hands behind his head. "He died. Died young."
"That's too bad," offered Dave.
"Well, everybody dies young, in a manner of speaking," Larry said slowly. "Once you get to a certain age, the person you started out as dies off, and someone completely different takes over."
"I guess you're right," said Dave, and then he fell silent. Larry's words had really hit home, pinpointed the exact struggle that Dave was experiencing in his life. With graduation approaching, he was faced with important decisions and new responsibilities; his life was about to change, and he wasn't sure what form it would take, and he was frightened of that impending metamorphosis. Indeed, he felt as if the original Dave Heinrich was about to die, and a strange, different person was waiting to replace him.
Dave was amazed at how deftly, and seemingly without meaning to, Larry had summed up his personal conflict. Just like that, in a casual, off-the-cuff comment, Larry had zeroed in on Dave's central dilemma, and he didn't even seem to be aware of the effect of what he'd said. There was wisdom in that guy, wisdom that emerged in even the most impromptu and incidental of his words.
"So," Darlene said pleasantly. "Are you having fun tonight, Larry?"
"Oh yeah," nodded Larry. "It's been a good party. Good people, you know? People make the party."
"Crazy people," smiled Dave. "They're really a bunch of nuts."
"Yeah," laughed Larry, "but they're good nuts. Out of everybody I've met so far, I haven't met one bad apple."
"I haven't known them as long as Dave has," said Darlene, "but I think they're all pretty nice, too." Smiling affectionately at Dave, she slid her arm around his waist and tugged him tightly against her.
"That Billy's sure something," grinned Larry, shaking his head. "Seems like he lives for these parties, huh?"
"Definitely," Dave nodded emphatically. "He's been having parties out here for years, just about every week, and he never gets sick of them."
"Ernie's a nice guy, isn't he?" said Darlene.
"Oh yeah," smiled Larry, sinking his hands into the pockets of his bluejeans. "He's really intelligent, but he doesn't act like an intellectual. Doesn't try to make everyone else feel stupid."
"You know he wants to be a doctor, right?" said Dave.
"No," said Larry. "I didn't know till now, but that seems about right for him. He seems like he'd be a good doctor."
"What do you think of Jack?" asked Darlene.
"A real tough-guy," smiled Larry. "Comes on kind of strong, but you can tell he's a decent guy."
"What about Morris?" Darlene asked breathlessly, grinning mischievously.
"Boris?" chuckled Larry. "He's a few bricks short of a load, I'd say."
"Yup," Dave nodded with a grin. "That's pretty accurate, all right."
"He just says the most bizarre things," said Larry. "I honestly don't know where he comes up with some of that stuff."
"He's really out in left field," smirked Dave. "He can get on your nerves sometimes, but he's usually a lot of laughs."
"He tries hard, doesn't he?" asked Larry, sounding a bit more serious. "He wants attention, don't you think?"
"Uh, I guess so," shrugged Dave. "I haven't really thought about it, but yeah, that's probably why he's always clowning around."
Larry nodded thoughtfully. "Y'know, I haven't known Boris for a long time," he said, "but he seems a little depressed tonight, I think. Did you notice that?"
"Well, no," said Dave. "He seems okay to me. Same as always."
"Huh," said Larry, cocking his head to one side. "I don't know, then. He just seems a little...preoccupied or something. Like he's got a problem."
"I don't think so," frowned Dave. "He's been acting just like he normally does."
"I was watching him while he was sitting there," Larry said slowly. "He'd say something goofy, and everyone would laugh, and then he'd just sort of withdraw. He'd slump down in his chair and just stare at his beer...and his eyes looked sad. It's hard to put my finger on, but I felt like there was something really bothering him."
"Really?" said Dave. "I didn't pick up on that at all." Thoroughly reexamining his memories of the evening, Dave was unable to recall a single moment when Morris Blovitz had behaved abnormally (abnormally for Morris, that is). As far as Dave could remember, the heavyweight lunatic had stayed true to form all night, indulging in a steady stream of beer and typically bizarre pronouncements.
Dave found it hard to believe that Larry had actually glimpsed storm clouds in Boris' eyes. Larry must have been mistaken; never, in all the years that he'd been friends with Blovitz, had Dave known the guy to have the blues. Boris had always been eccentric and unflappable, harebrained and wild, never despondent. He seemed to have an ego as large as his sizable frame, a cockeyed confidence sturdy enough to deflect all dejection.
Then again, Larry had been a damn good judge of character so far. After knowing the members of the Wild West gang for less than a week, he'd already assessed their personalities with remarkable precision; he'd even sensed that a traitor lurked in their ranks, though none of the gang's longstanding members had suspected a thing. Maybe he was right; maybe there was something eating at Boris.
"Darlene," said Dave then, reaching back to touch her hand where it rested at his waist. "Did you think Boris seemed depressed or anything?"
"No," she shrugged. "I mean, I've only known him a few months, but he seemed the same as always tonight."
"Well, I don't know," said Larry. "I could be wrong, but the guy seemed upset for some reason."
"Hmm," said Dave. "Was there something he said that gave you that idea?"
"Nope," replied Larry. "Like I told you, it was just his body language, the look in his eyes."
"He seemed okay to me," said Darlene.
"Maybe it's nothing," shrugged Larry, but his expression remained grim. "I could be re
ading too much into this." Rubbing the back of his neck, Larry began to pace slowly over the yard, wisps of breath rising and trailing behind him. "Still," he said, concern in his voice, "I really got a feeling that something was wrong with him. It's hard to describe, but I...I had the impression that Boris was really down."
"Well, maybe he is," conceded Dave. "I mean, maybe he really does have some problem on his mind, but he doesn't want anyone to know."
"Like what?" asked Darlene.
"Beats me," admitted Dave. "He's seemed just fine lately, y'know? Then again, we usually just kid around a lot. We don't talk about serious stuff."
"Do you have any idea what might be bugging him?" Darlene asked Larry.
"None at all," said Larry. "I just met him a few days ago. We've spoken, but he hasn't told me anything of a personal nature."
"So what do you think we should do?" wondered Dave. "Should I try to talk to him about it, maybe?"
"I don't think so," said Larry. "He probably doesn't want to discuss it, or he would've come to one of you guys already. Or would he?"
"Would he have talked to us about a problem?" asked Dave, and Larry nodded. "Geez, I don't know. He's never done it before, that I can remember."
"Maybe he's just the type of guy who likes to keep things to himself," suggested Larry. "I mean, in all the years he's been friends with you guys, he must have had some problems, right?"
"I don't know," frowned Dave. "I guess so."
"If he didn't come to any of you to talk about them," continued Larry, "then he probably won't want to talk about whatever's wrong now. If there's anything wrong, of course."
"So what do you think we should do?" asked Darlene.
"Maybe you ought to just keep an eye on him," Larry said as he stopped pacing. "Just check on him every now and then and see if he looks like he needs to talk to somebody."
"Okay," nodded Dave. "That makes sense."
"Just keep an eye on him," said Larry.
"Yeah," said Dave. "I can handle that."
"It's probably nothing," said Larry, brushing his hand through the air. "Still, it's better safe than sorry, right?"
"Right," nodded Dave.
*****
Billy's party continued, actually becoming noisier and gathering momentum. More people arrived, and the influx of new blood seemed to energize those who were already there. Beer flowed freely, pouring from the keg in an amber fall of release; each time the tap hissed to fill another cup, the laughter seemed to grow a bit wilder, the trailer seemed to oscillate a bit more emphatically.
The group in the kitchen played drinking games, hollering and applauding more jubilantly with each passing round. The games weren't contests, and there were no winners or losers; they were just simple, silly exercises designed to make everyone drink more.
The most popular game was called "quarters," and it involved bouncing coins from the kitchen table into a tumbler. Each person had a turn, and if he or she didn't succeed in projecting the coin into the tumbler after one bounce, that person had to down a great gulp of beer. If the person did manage to get the coin into the target, he or she could pick some other participant from the group, and that person would have to drink. If someone bounced the quarter into the tumbler three successive times in one turn, he or she could make a rule that everyone had to follow, such as "No one can say any numbers," or "No one can point at anyone else." Each time someone broke a rule, they had to drink more beer, which naturally made them more disposed to breaking the rules again and having to drink again.
During the first games, Dave Heinrich had done a good job of keeping his eye on Boris Blovitz, watching him as Larry had suggested. As often as he'd checked on Boris, however, Dave had been unable to detect any irregularities. Each time that he looked at the guy, he'd searched for a hint of depression, anything unusual in his movements or expression; each time, he'd seen nothing out of the ordinary. Boris hadn't said anything significant, either, anything that might indicate that he felt out of sorts.
As the drinking games progressed, Dave became more inebriated, and stopped watching Boris Blovitz so closely. Caught up in the boozy shenanigans, Dave gradually became less worried about his friend; by the time he plunged into the latest game of "quarters," Dave wasn't giving Boris any more attention than he normally would.
"Damn!" he bellowed after failing in his latest attempt to bounce the quarter into the tumbler. "That should'a been in there!"
"Yeah," chuckled Jack Bunsen. "You sure spent enough time settin' up the shot!"
"I thought I had it!" whined Dave. "I mean, it was aimed perfect."
"What's the matter, Dave?" Ernie asked slyly. "Are you starting to lose your touch for some reason? Have you had a little too much of this, maybe?" Raising his cup of beer, Ernie wagged it in the air, letting the amber fluid swish back and forth.
"Nah," dismissed Dave, rubbing his hand over the tabletop, squinting at its smooth surface. "I think this table's warped, though."
"I think you're warped," laughed Jack.
"Hey hey hey!" interjected Jeff Tressler. "Ain't you forgettin' something', Davey-boy? You gotta' do some drinkin', bud! You missed your shot!"
At that, the kitchen went wild. In a sudden explosion, everyone hooted and laughed at once, burst out in a mad ruckus. Some of the gang clapped, some stomped their feet, others thumped their fists on the table...and they were all grinning at Jeff.
"What?" shouted Jeff, frowning in confusion, teetering where he stood. "What the hell's goin' on?"
"Looks like Dave isn't the only one who needs more beer!" hollered Jack.
"What're you talkin' about?" grimaced Jeff.
"You broke a rule," explained Ernie. "You said the 'D' word."
"Huh?" burbled Jeff. "What 'D' word?"
"You know," said Billy. "That thing you do when you put some beer in your mouth and then you swallow it."
"You mean 'drink'?" asked Jeff, and the gang went wild again.
"That's two!" hooted Becky D'Amoto. "You said it twice!"
"Aw, c'mon!" protested Jeff. "There's no rule for this! You guys're puttin' me on!"
"No no," pipped Jane with a toss of her head. "There is a rule for the 'D' word! Billy made it, remember?"
"Bullshit," snorted Jeff.
"Jeff," broke in Billy, his tone amused but exasperated. "A couple turns ago, I hit the glass three times, so I made the rule that you can't say the 'D' word. Okay?"
"What're you talkin' about?" wavered Jeff. "There's no rules yet. I been standin' here playin' this game for how long now, and I should know if there's any rules."
"Jeff, you have a memory like a steel sieve," smirked Ernie.
"What're the rules again?" frowned Jeff.
"Aw, just drink," commanded Becky D'Amoto, and everyone went bananas again. The kitchen roared with laughter and shouts and applause, but this time, it was all directed at Becky; she'd broken a rule herself, made the same slip for which they had been chastising Jeff. "Damnit," she cursed, shaking her head. "I don't believe I did that," she said disgustedly.
At that moment, there was a knock at the front door, loud enough to interrupt the proceedings and nab everyone's attention.
Turning, Dave saw the crowd in the living room look to the door. The knock repeated, louder this time, and some of the guests moved toward the front window.
"Now who the heck could that be?" chuckled Billy. "Nobody knocks at this place...they just walk right in!"
"Maybe it's your mom and dad, Billy," Jack rasped in a mockingly ominous tone. "Maybe they decided to drop in for a surprise visit!"
"Did anyone order a pizza?" asked Ernie.
Everyone shook their heads and shrugged, and the knock repeated.
In the living room, someone peeled back the curtain and peeked out the window.
"Aw, it's probably someone playin' games," dismissed Billy. "I bet it's Keith or Terry tryin' to make a big entrance."
"Did anyone send out for Chinese?" asked Ernie, and everyone laughed
.
Suddenly, the people at the window sprang back, stumbling over each other, letting the curtain flap back into place. The guy who had been at the head of the group swung toward the kitchen, a look of panic twisting his features.
"Cop!" he exclaimed, his voice hushed but loud enough for everyone to hear.
For an instant, everyone froze, casting frantic stares at each other. Someone turned down the volume of the stereo, and nervous whispers rose through the trailer.
There was certainly reason to worry about a visit from the police. Though Billy and Dave and Ernie and the rest of the Wild West veterans were all of the legal drinking age, many people at the party were under twenty-one years old. If the cop decided to check I.D.'s and search the premises, there would be big trouble.
The cop knocked again, and everyone drew back from the door. Most of them looked toward the kitchen, toward Billy and the old-timers of the gang.
Dave just looked at Larry. Though he was worried about the situation, he was more affected by the incredible coincidence of it all. Never before had the police stopped at Billy's trailer, not once in all the years that Dave had gone there; now, on this night, after Larry had discussed just such an occurrence, there was a cop at the door.
No doubt sensing that his charges were all looking to him for help, Billy Bristol rose from his seat at the kitchen table. Coolly, he gazed around at his cronies and followers; he looked no more upset than he would if the man at the door was indeed delivering a pizza.
Straightening his rumpled T-shirt, Billy left the table and nonchalantly ambled through the gathered gang. He stopped by the counter between the kitchen and living room and raised his arms in the air to signal for attention.
He started to say something, but the cop knocked again, so he waited. After three loud knocks, Billy addressed the anxious crew.
"Okay, listen up," he said in a low but clear voice. "This is no big deal, all right? Everybody be cool." Calmly, Billy looked around at his comrades, swung his gaze around the living room and kitchen. "Now, all I want is for everyone who's underage to go out the back door. It's right through the spare room there." Slowly extending one arm, Billy pointed toward the room in question. "Take your time and don't make any noise, okay? I'm gonna' stall this guy, so there's no rush. Once you get out, just head back to the woods, and we'll give you a yell when the coast is clear."
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