Authors: Evan Hunter
Sons (27 page)
“So you went by the river for a few minutes, and now it’s ten o’clock at night when you should have been here by six-thirty.”
“We didn’t stay by the river.”
“Where’d you go?”
“Wat, I’m very tired. I really would like to put on my nightgown and go to bed. Can’t this wait until morning? Nothing so terrible happened, believe me.”
“What
did
happen?”
did
happen?”
“We went up to Max’s room, and we had a drink.”
“And then what?”
“And then we had another drink.”
“Did he try to lay you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you let him?”
“No.”
“Why’d you go up there, Dana? Didn’t you
know
he’d try?”
know
he’d try?”
“No, I
didn’t
know he’d try. I wanted to
see
if he’d try.”
didn’t
know he’d try. I wanted to
see
if he’d try.”
“You were sleeping with the guy for a month before we met, did you expect him to get you up in his room and discuss the weather?”
“I didn’t know what to expect. I hadn’t seen him since December, when we ended it, and I was surprised when he called and... I was curious, all right? I wanted to see.”
“See what?”
“I wanted to see if... there was anything there any more.”
“What did you expect to be there?”
“Damn you, Wat, I loved him once!”
“The way you love me.”
“Yes. No. Right now, I hate you.”
“Why? Because I don’t like you kissing around with your discarded boyfriends?”
“We didn’t... oh, all right,
yes,
he kissed me, all right? He kissed me several times, all right?”
yes,
he kissed me, all right? He kissed me several times, all right?”
“Good old trustworthy Max.”
“You’re a riot, do you know that? You even expect
Max
to be faithful to you!”
Max
to be faithful to you!”
“I expect Max to get run over by a bus!”
“Go make a little doll, why don’t you?”
“I’ll make two while I’m at it.”
(The image on the screen, the Victorian strait-laced stuffy impossible image of Walter Tyler, Esquire, is amusing even to himself. He cannot believe the soundtrack, he cannot believe that these words are issuing from his mouth, and yet the camera never lies, and he can see his lips moving, he can hear the words tumbling sternly from his prudishly puckered mouth, what docs he expect from her?)
“I expected more from you.”
“More? Than what?”
“Than... whatever you want to call it. An
adventure
in some guy’s room. Kissing you and... getting you drunk...”
adventure
in some guy’s room. Kissing you and... getting you drunk...”
“Oh, crap. Wat, I’m not drunk. Do I look drunk?”
“You look like a cheap cunt.”
“Thank you,” she said, and rose suddenly and swiftly from the bed, and walked immediately to the lone dresser in the room where she began pulling out slips and bras and nightgowns and stockings, flapping each garment angrily into the air like a battle Hag.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I said.
(The words are familiar and clichéd, they suddenly reduce this love affair to the absurd, taking from it even its dullness, its lack of uniqueness. His face in closeup is clichéd, too, it expresses the emotional range of a stock company James Garner. He looks by turn indignant, terrified, self-righteous, and a trifle ill.)
“I’m going back to Boston,” Dana said.
“You just got here,” I said.
“Yes, and I’ll get back, too.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“You don’t own me,” Dana said.
“I don’t own you. but I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you, but you don’t own me.”
“Well, stop flapping your goddamn clothes around like that.”
“They’re
my
clothes, I’ll flap them however the hell I want to flap them, you silly bastard,” she said, and burst out laughing.
my
clothes, I’ll flap them however the hell I want to flap them, you silly bastard,” she said, and burst out laughing.
In bed there was no quarrel, there was never any quarrel.
(There is no film, either. There is no second Wat Tyler when he is in bed with her, no alter ego, no schizophrenic super-image hovering somewhere in the air-conditioned spectator darkness.)
The long limp line of her lying still and spent against the rumpled sheet.
I came out of the bathroom and was surprised anew by her, each fresh glimpse a discovery. One arm raised above her head, elbow bent, hand dangling, she lay on her side with eyes closed and lips slightly parted, distant, oh so distant from me and the apartment and Providence and the world, cloistered in whatever sun-dappled female glade we had led her to together. I stood with the bathroom door ajar behind me, one hand still on the knob, and watched her quietly, and knew something of her selfsame mood, felt it touch me from across the room to include me in a sweet and silent private peace.
The first time she blew me, I yelled when I came and the guy next door banged on the wall.
“Who taught you that?” I whispered later. “Max?”
“Oh no, sir,” she said. “That was my very first time.”
“Sure,” I said and smiled. Max could not have mattered less. We were still discovering each other, Dana and I. We were falling in love over and over and over again.
JuneDear Will,I met a girl last night who said she knew you. (Actually, what she said was “Your brother and I are acquainted.”) Anyway, I gave her your address, and she said she might write. Her name is Margie Penner, are you “acquainted”? She seemed a bit
fast,
brother dear.So now what? I swear, Will, I’m having the darndest time trying to keep up with your meanderings. You left Mississippi on the sixth of May, and this is only June 11th, so I guess you’re still in California. But when do you go into the pilot pool, and where
is
the pilot pool (Are enlisted men allowed to swim with you guys, hee-hee) and does this mean you’ll be going overseas before long? (Daddy says I shouldn’t ask you about when you’re going overseas because you can’t answer me, anyway, but how about a little hint, huh?)I guess you’re just panting to know what’s new here in the Windy City, ho-hum. Iris and I went to see Vaughn Monroe at the Chicago Theatre Tuesday night, he of the gravelly tonsils and the lunar speed contest. He’s got a pretty good band, though I must say l’s reactions were largely glandular, swooning and flopping all over the place like a salmon going upstream to lay her eggs. (Oh my! Naughty naughty Lindy!) She’s been dating a boy who works in the grinder room at Daddy’s mill. Actually she met him here one night when we had some kids over listening to records and he came to deliver some papers Daddy had left at the office. He’s 4-F because of a heart murmur. It’s my guess that I is developing a heart murmur of her own, though, judging from the way she talks about him all the time. But V. M. gave him a little competition Tuesday night.I am now busily reading
A Tale of Two Cities
in
Classic Comics
for a test coming up next week in Miss Lougee’s English class. (I think you had her when you were a junior, she’s the one with the long nose and the teaspoon figure, a charmer altogether.) She marks on a curve, and the highest grade on the last quiz she gave was a 47! I guess that gives some indication of the wisdom she’s distributing to us little adolescent minds, huh? Speaking of little adolescent minds, Dumbo, how about writing once in a while? I know you’re a very big officer now in charge of Air Force personnel, planes, landing fields, bases and parachutes (not to mention that big pool where you won’t let the enlisted man swim, shame on you!) but perhaps you will now and then think fondly of your bratty little sister back here in Chicago and drop her a line other than those change-of-address cards you’re always shooting off.Guess who’s home?And guess who went out with him?Me!And I won’t tell you who.Your mysterious sister,Lindy
P. S. Who’s Ace Gibson, he sounds a dream! Bring him home on your next furlough!
That’s an order!
6/12/44
Dear Will,Remember me? I’ll bet you don’t. We met at Michael Mallory’s house one New Year’s Eve, and spent a little time together, remember? I guess you’re wondering how I got your address. Well, I’ll tell you.The U.S.O. on Michigan and Congress has this system where girls who want to help out can give private parties in their houses. There has to be a chaperone, of course, and whoever's giving the party has to provide for refreshments and all that. It’s a very nice way for servicemen to meet people in a homey atmosphere. There are so
many
servicemen in Chicago these days. Anyway, I have a week’s vacation (I’m working at The Boston Store now, and my mother said it would be all right if I contacted the U.S.O. and arranged for such a party, which I did). But I was short of girls because I needed around a dozen, so I asked the U.S.O. if they could help me get some nice girls for the party, and they gave me a list of about ten names, three of which came. Well, one of the girls was an attractive little blonde, seventeen years old, with a very cute figure and blue eyes that reminded me of a fellow I had met one New Year’s Eve. We got to talking and her name turned out to be Linda Tyler. Anybody you know? It was, naturally, your sister, and when I told her I had once met you, she said you might like to hear from me, and she gave me your address. I hope she was right.Well, well, so you’re a lieutenant now! That’s very exciting. What kind of airplanes do you fly? Your sister wasn’t sure. She said a P-38, I think. Is there such a plane? She also told me you’d be spending some time in California, you lucky thing. I’ll bet you’re as brown as a berry. I’ve never been to California. I’ll bet it’s very nice out there, though the weather here in Chicago is pleasant just now. Even got over to the lake for a little swimming the other day.Before I forget, I’m not sure this will reach you at the address your sister gave me because she didn’t seem to know how long you would be in Transition Training before you were shipped overseas, so I’m just taking a chance sending this to you at the Santa Maria Army Air Base, and hoping it will be forwarded to you if you’ve already left there. There was a boy I was corresponding with in the Marine Corps before he got killed, and they were very good about forwarding his mail to him wherever he went, though he had an F.P.O. address, and I see that you don’t have an A.P.O. yet. Well, I’ll just hope you get it, that’s all. I’ll hope, too, that your sister was mistaken about your being sent across. Now that we’ve landed in Normandy, the war should be over soon, don’t you think?Do you hear from Michael Mallory? Your sister said that he was a pilot, too. Well, I don’t seem to have much more to say. I hope you receive this letter, and I hope you’ll remember me, and answer it if you can.Yours truly,Margaret Penner
P. S. We don’t live on Halsted any more. My new address is:Miss Margaret Penner5832 South Princeton AvenueChicago, Illinois
I can’t wait for you two guys to get together. My brother’s about as big as you are, Will, maybe an inch or so taller, with blond hair and brown eyes and
my
dumb buck teeth, only on him they look good. Are you an athlete? He was an athlete back home, a four-letter man, his sports were baseball, basketball, soccer, and track. Baseball was really his game, though; he pitched a no-hitter in the Little League when he was only ten years old, I’ll never forget that day as long as I live.
my
dumb buck teeth, only on him they look good. Are you an athlete? He was an athlete back home, a four-letter man, his sports were baseball, basketball, soccer, and track. Baseball was really his game, though; he pitched a no-hitter in the Little League when he was only ten years old, I’ll never forget that day as long as I live.
My mother came over to the field in the seventh inning, wearing jodhpurs and flicking her riding crop against her boot. I told her Skipper had a no-hitter going, and she said, Really, what’s a no-hitter? She was there to pick us up after the game, and she was pissed oft because it wasn’t over yet. She kept telling me about a dumb mare named Peony who’d developed a capped hock. I wanted to say Listen, go to hell, you and Peony both, my big brother’s got a no-hitter going, can’t you understand that? They carried him on their shoulders after the game, he was all covered with sweat, his face all flushed, and he looked around — he was on his back, you know, legs up in the air, arms waving for balance — he twisted his neck and spotted me in the crowd and yelled Hey there, Ace, we did it, huh?
We
did it.
We
did it.
He was in college when this thing started, you know, he could have gone in as an officer, but he didn’t want to. I told him he was crazy. Look, I said, get the most out of it, Skip, get the good chow and the broads and the easy times, why knock yourself out? No, he couldn’t see it my way. He enlisted in the Navy, so now he’s a big deal Gunner’s Mate/Third, what’s that the equivalent of, Will? A buck sergeant? He’s wasting himself, he really is. And with that Navy officer’s uniform, he could be getting more tail than he’d know what to do with, not that he’s making out too badly as it is. He’s got himself a little nurse off the hospital ship out there, she’s risking decapitation for fraternizing with an enlisted man, but she just can’t keep her hands off him. She goes around in a fog all day long, just waiting to get ashore to be with him, No, no, Miss Abernathy, I told you to prick his boil, do you know that one? You do? There’s this new nurse at a hospital, you see, and on her first day the intern tells her...
Dear Will,The picture on the front of this card is me at Cape Cod. (Ha-ha) Here with Mommy alone just now, but Daddy will join us on the Fourth. How come the Air Force never sends you home? They sure are keeping you flying, lieutenant. (Ho-ho!) Our address here is: c/o Lambert, Truro, Massachusetts. Write, right?Love & stuff,Charlotte Wagner
June 14, 1944
Dear Will,I’m writing again because I thought my last letter might not have reached you.I guess you’re wondering how come all this activity when we haven’t seen each other for almost a year and a half now, and hardly knew each other even then. Well, I found you very interesting to talk to that night, and I thought it might be fun for both of us to start a correspondence. There are no ulterior motives involved here, Will, as I have a boyfriend at the University of Ohio who is in the Navy’s V-12 program there, and he knows I’m writing to you. I told him so when I spoke to him on the telephone last night. His name is Frederick Parker, Freddie for short. He’s from Edison Park, perhaps you know him.Well, enough about Freddie.I’m dying to know what it feels like to fly an airplane. Perhaps, if you have the time, you might describe it to me as I’m truly interested. I would imagine a person would be scared to death up there. Suppose you run out of gas or something? Do you fly with another person in the airplane with you, or are you all alone up there? Is it difficult to read all those instruments? In pictures I have seen, it looks like there’s a hundred of them.I suppose you’re very handsome in your lieutenant’s uniform, though Freddie would kill me if he could read that. (I won’t tell him if you won’t.) In case you’ve forgotten what I look like, I’m enclosing a picture I took at the lake a few Sundays ago. (Don’t mind the girl clowning around in front. She’s my girlfriend Louise.) I got a terrible burn the day the picture was taken, you should have seen me. I’m a redhead (I
guess
you remember) and it’s true what they say about redheads having very fair skin that boils in the sun.Well, I guess that’s all for now.
I Love A Mystery
goes on in about ten minutes, and I don’t want to miss it. Please tell me all about flying.Fondly,Margie
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