Boys and Girls Together: A Novel

by William Goldman

  They blocked out the sun.

  “Always been big. I had it figured once—all scientific—that if I flapped them fast enough, and got a good running start someplace high, that maybe I couldn’t fly so good but I could sure glide a long ways.”

  Jenny listened to her father.

  “My father—he died before you—he said he had no objection to me flapping, just so I did it on the ground. I told him I needed a high place like the roof of the house. One-story house. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet high.” Again the ax enlarged the “V.” “Flat roof. Perfect for a takeoff, I told him. He said no. I explained—all scientific—about my big hands and I told him I was going to do it regardless. He said, O.K., do it. I did it. I waited till I had a good strong following wind, then I ran across the rooftop flapping like crazy.”

  “What happened?”

  “I did good at first.”

  “Then you fell?”

  “Broke two arms and a foot.”

  “He shouldn’t have let you do it.”

  “That’s what I thought. Told him, when I came to. I was all trussed up, casts all over. Couldn’t move much. When I told him he just looked at me and shook his head and said, “Well, now we know the most important thing in life.”

  “What’s that?”

  “ ‘Who the horse’s ass is,’ my father said.”

  The first thing Jenny saw when she got off the bus in Manhattan was three fags and a cripple.

  I’m sure it’s a great place to visit, she thought, but I’d hate to five here.

  Charley met her. They taxied to the Plaza Hotel, where Charley had taken a room in Jenny’s name. When they pulled down the shades and turned off all the lights, the room was very dark. She was tired from the trip and when he started pulling off her clothes she sort of wished he’d go easy, but when her clothes were gone and his fingers began lighting on her flesh, she became, quite suddenly, equally filled with enthusiasm. Together, they stripped him down. They grappled for a moment in the darkness. Then her arms went around his neck, her legs around his body. They made it to the bed just in time.

  Dot. Dot. Dot.

  “I’m not really sure about the calf,” Charley said. He ran his hand along her leg, pinching her calf experimentally.

  Jenny flicked on the bed lamp and looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  Charley closed his eyes and pinched her other calf. “No; I wouldn’t be sure. Now, the thigh—” he placed his hand there—“the thigh is something else again.”

  “What are—”

  “The thigh I’d know anywhere. The curve of the hip, too.” He moved his hand upward. “There is a particular angle to the curve of your hip that makes it absolutely distinguishable from any other—”

  “Idiot,” Jenny said. She switched off the lamp.

  “The gut’s easy too,” Charley went on.

  “Please. Stomach.”

  “I’m very happy,” Charley said. “Are you aware that there is a difference in the circumference between your left and right breast?”

  Jenny laughed. “No.”

  “At least half an inch. Damn—” he snapped his fingers—I left my caliper at the office. Come to work tomorrow at your own convenience. I should judge the difference is closer to three-quarters—”

  “You mean I can have my job back?”

  “Apartment too. Now your shoulders are very commonplace. I would have a helluva time telling your shoulders—”

  “How’d you manage that?”

  “Everybody takes two weeks’ vacation in the summer. That’s what I told them at the office. Your landlord too. He’s a very nice man.”

  “You knew I’d be back?”

  “I suspicioned. So everything’s just like it was. Now your neck—”

  “Except that it’s different.”

  “Huh? I’m sorry; your neck had my attention.”

  “Everything’s different.”

  “That’s what I said,” Charley said.

  The next morning Charley paid the bill in cash and put Jenny in a taxi. He went to the office; she went home. The blue walls greeted her. As she looked at them she felt something but decided not to find out what. She took her time, unpacked, got settled, ironed a white dress, put it on. Then she subwayed down to Kingsway. Everyone was glad to see her—Mr. Boardman, Mr. Fiske, Mr. Wesker, all the other girls. Even Mrs. Fiske sounded pleased to hear her voice when she called in from Long Island that afternoon to speak to her husband. As the afternoon was about to end, Jenny went in to see Mrs. Fiske’s husband. He seemed a bit under the weather.

  “Do it beautifully,” she said.

  The train trip out to his mother-in-law’s house on Long Island was not much fun for Charley.

  He had to tell Betty Jane, she had to be told, and if only he could do it without seeing her face, he would have felt a lot better. Hers was such a pretty face, too pretty really, and it did not suffer anguish at all well. If only she were stronger, Charley thought (for she was weak), stronger and not so pretty. Of course, if she had been, he never would have married her; he knew that much.

  Charley sat sweltering in the clutches of the Long Island Railroad and wondered just how to do it, tell her, get it done. Fastest equals best, no question; in and out, tell the truth, not the whole truth (but nothing but), good guys don’t lie, never the good guys. I’m a good guy, Charley Fiske is a good guy—

  Ask anybody.

  The thing that he knew that nobody else did was that, without him Betty Jane was helpless. That was what made telling her so hard. She had based her life on his, and now, with him about to pull out, he knew there was nothing left for her to do but stumble, tumble and fall and that sounded like a law firm: Stumble Tumble & Fall.

  Hands in his lap, eyes staring, Charley laughed out loud.

  The lady in the adjoining seat immediately edged as far away from him as possible.

  She thinks I’m crazy, Charley thought, and that only made him laugh all the louder. When he stopped laughing he went back to Betty Jane—pretty, sweet, helpless, loving and dumb. No, not dumb. Not really. And maybe she’s not helpless either. Maybe she’s strong enough to come through this fine. With her looks she could remarry anytime she wanted. If I think she’s strong enough, Charley thought, I’ll just tell her right out.

  What if she isn’t strong enough? he wondered.

  What if I tell her and she splits into little bits and it’s all my fault and I’m supposed to be a good guy, goddammit, so bring me a new jigsaw puzzle somebody, my pieces don’t fit. Charley closed his eyes, tried getting relaxed, but after a moment he gave up the thought of relaxation. He was just too nervous, too upset.

  He was aware, then, of a certain unhappiness, but the full extent of it escaped him until when he was just a few minutes from his stop, he got up and walked to the men’s room, found it in use, the door locked, shrugged, started back for his seat and had gone several steps before he realized he had to hurry, so he whirled and plunged headlong into the ladies’ room, falling to his knees in front of the toilet, where he vomited and vomited until his throat was raw.

  As soon as she heard Jenny’s voice that afternoon, Betty Jane started getting ready. Her first reaction was panic. (When Charley mentioned casually, a few weeks before, that Jenny had gone home, Betty Jane joyously assumed she had her husband back.) Now she assumed that Jenny’s return must somehow signal a change in the entire operation. Faced with the reality of losing her husband for good and all, Betty Jane killed her panic, paced and smoked and thought, called her friend Penelope several times to discuss what to do, reached certain conclusions, and that evening after dinner, when Charley said “Let’s talk,” Betty Jane was able to answer, “Good, good, let’s” and actually mean it.

  “I’ll watch the kiddies,” Mrs. Bunnel said. Mrs. Bunnel was just like her daughter, only withered.

  “Thanks, Mom. C’mon.” Betty Jane held out her hand for Charley and they walked together out of the house down to the shore of Great P
econic Bay. It was dark and warm and there was little wind. “Hold me,” Betty Jane said, and she fled into his arms.

  Charley held her. “What is it?”

  “I’m just so upset,” Betty Jane whispered.

  “Why?”

  “I hate myself when I act this way,” she said, and she slipped free and took off her sandals, walking into the water.

  “What’s upset you?”

  “Penny.”

  “Penny?”

  Betty Jane nodded. Then she held out her hand. “Take it?” They started walking down the beach, holding hands, Betty Jane in the water, Charley on the beach. “I love her, you know that. How we’ve always been so close?”

  Charley nodded.

  “Well, when she gets rattled—when something happens to her, it sort of happens to me too. Oh, Charley, I feel so sorry for her.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing really. It’s just that she’s a friend of mine and I can see what’s happening to her. There’s this buyer in town and she’s going off with him for the weekend. That means sleeping with him—everything.”

  Charley nodded.

  “Oh, it’s so dirty. Ever since she got divorced from Ferd, it’s gotten dirty. Her whole life. She’s sleeping around, she says so herself. She’s practically a whore, she says. I grew up with her and I can’t help her when she needs me. She never should have gotten divorced from Ferd. Do you remember how when we got married she said we didn’t even know each other and she and Ferd went out for years before they got married and look—look who’s lasted. Oh! Oh! It’s just like a funeral!”

  “What is?”

  “The way I feel. You know how at funerals when people get upset they’re upset for themselves. That’s how I feel now. All I can think is thank God it happened to them and not us. I know what I’d do if it happened to us.”

  “That’s enough,” Charley said.

  Betty Jane shook her head; her body started to shiver. She locked her arms across her chest and stared up at the dark sky. “Crack!” she said.

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Charley said.

  “I would and you know it. Wide open.” Betty Jane continued to shiver.

  “No, you wouldn’t.”

  “That’s right; I’d be fine. Charley—”

  “Take it easy.”

  “Why do we torture ourselves?”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “It’s Penny’s problem. It’s her life she’s ruining.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You can’t help your friends; you can only help yourself.”

  “That’s right,” Charley repeated, and then he said “Stop!”

  Because Betty Jane had started to cry.

  “I don’t like you to get all upset,” Charley said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t like it when you cry, Betty Jane.”

  She shut her eyes and bit down hard on her lower lip and groped for him.

  She was like a little blind bird. He sheltered her in his arms. “Thank God one of us is strong,” Betty Jane said.

  “Jesus!” Jenny exploded.

  “Take it easy,” Charley told her.

  “I will like hell take it easy.”

  “All right. Scream.”

  Jenny screamed at the blue walls.

  Charley put his hands over his ears.

  “You had the whole weekend.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?”

  “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “I didn’t, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  “The time wasn’t ripe.”

  “Tell her.”

  “I will.”

  “Tell her!”

  “When the time is ripe.”

  “Tell her!”

  Charley reached out for her body.

  She slapped his wrist. “Fat chance,” she said.

  “What do you think about Robby?” Betty Jane asked her husband.

  “What do you mean, what do I think about Robby?”

  “He’s been acting funny.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “He doesn’t eat, he’s nervous, he cries for no good rea—”

  “He’s fine!”

  “Whatever you say, Charley.”

  “I’m going to lose my temper, Charley.” Jenny put down her dictation book.

  “Keep your voice—”

  “I don’t care if half of Kingsway hears. I’m getting angry.”

  “How do you think you’ve been acting?”

  “That was nothing,” Jenny said.

  “Ouch,” Betty Jane said.

  Charley walked into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s this darn can opener.” She held up a bleeding finger. “I just can’t make it do anything but cut me.”

  “Here.” Charley took it, opened the can, handed it back.

  She kissed him quickly, saying, “Husbands. No home should be without one.”

  Charley walked in to work and looked at his secretary. Then he shook his head.

  His secretary made a sad smile.

  He walked into his office and sat behind his desk. She came in a moment later and closed the door. “What’s today’s reason?” she said.

  “No reason.”

  “But you just didn’t tell her.”

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  Jenny sighed and sat wearily down in a chair. “Oh, Charley.”

  “I keep thinking she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Meaning I have?”

  “Meaning I have.”

  “Charley, you told me on the phone in Wisconsin you’d get a divorce. You promised me.”

  “I know what I said.”

  “I’m not a bitch. I don’t much like acting like one.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Then please tell her.”

  “I will, I will.”

  “How do I know you mean it?”

  “I always mean it.”

  “How do I know you’ll do it?”

  “There’s no way.”

  “Please, Charley.”

  “I said I would.”

  “Don’t make me act like a bitch.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Don’t make me be the one to tell her.”

  “Wow,” Charley said.

  “Don’t make me do it.”

  “Would you?”

  “If pressed.”

  “And I’m pressing you?”

  “You are.”

  “I don’t think anybody would be very pleased if you did that.”

  “I’m so tired, Charley, I don’t care anymore who wins, just so everybody loses.”

  “I don’t think you’d tell her.”

  “Bet me.”

  “I love you so much. Don’t let me ever think why.”

  He entered his house angry, slammed the door, listened for a feminine voice, heard it in the kitchen. Starting there, he determined to tell Robby to leave and then just let Betty Jane have it quickly and efficiently, because in the long run that was the kindest way. He walked into the kitchen, started to speak, stopped.

  “Hello, Mr. Fiske,” Mrs. Catton said, sipping tea.

  “Where’s Betty Jane?” Charley asked the sitter.

  “She’ll call at seven,” Mrs. Catton replied. “Any minute now.”

  “She’s not here?”

  Mrs. Catton nodded and continued sipping.

  At seven, Betty Jane called.

  “I’m with Penny,” Betty Jane explained. “You remember that talk we had the other night? Well, she’s in sort of a bad way and wondered if I could keep her company. Wasn’t I lucky Mrs. Catton was available?”

  “Then you won’t be home tonight?”

  “That’s right. I told Mrs. Catton to make you a steak. There’s one in the icebox. Are the kids asleep? They should be. Mrs. Catton can sleep in with Paula.”

  “You’re not coming h
ome at all?”

  “Tomorrow sometime. You tell Mrs. Catton—what’s the joke?”

  Charley just couldn’t stop laughing. “It’s this terrific mood I’m in.”

  “Oh,” Betty Jane said. “Just my luck to miss it. Gotta go, g’bye.”

  Charley put the phone down and went out to the porch. He sat, staring alternately at Carnegie Lake and his hands, his thumbs in particular, the nails in his thumbs, the edge of the tip of the nail. At some time or other he said, “No, I’m really not hungry, thank you,” to Mrs. Catton, and a while after that, “Good night, yes, I’m fine.” It was dark on the porch. Charley got a book and, bringing it very close to his eyes, began to read:

  So he was to be deaf. A cripple. Stunned, the old man sat alone in the dark delicatessen, surrounded by tinned fish and memory, his great nose motionless, ignoring the aromatic overtures from the friendly pickle barrel. So he was to be a cripple! What he feared most was to be. For he had failed, failed a private image of himself, and though the failing was neither his fault nor of his choosing, it was still his. How could you do this to me? he said, speaking to himself. All this time I thought I knew you; I thought we were friends ... Charley put the book down and rubbed his eyes. It was a hot June night and his eyes hurt. He got up and found his flashlight and went outside, feeling under the porch where the lumber was stacked. Selecting three fine logs, he carried them into the living room and set them in the fireplace. He took the morning paper and folded it and wedged it around the three logs. Then he lit a match and had a fire. It crackled quite properly, was properly red, and he watched it until the logs were spent. Then he went upstairs and shook his son. “What shall we play?” Charley said.

  Robby rubbed his eyes.” Wuzzatime?”

  “Recess.”

  Robby picked up his clock with the luminous dial. He looked at it, then at his father. Then he put the clock back and lay down again. “ ’Night.”

  “You just name the game,” Charley said, “and we’ll play it.”

  Robby shook his head.

  “Why don’t you eat more? You’re too thin.”

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Catton said from the doorway. “I heard voices.”

  “I was just telling him to eat more,” Charley said, and he brushed by her and headed downstairs, picking up a deck chair from the porch, taking it outside. He sat down in the middle of the lawn and waited without sleep for the sun to rise. When it did, he got up and stretched and went inside, shaving, cleaning up, downing an entire pot of coffee. Just before he left for the train Robby came up to him and said, “Sorry.”