Boys & Girls Together (101 page)

“
Turn around. Branch. Now. Look at me
.”

Branch turned. “Yes, Mother?”

“Don’t make me get upset. Please.”

“All right, Mother.”

“Where is he?”

“Out.”

“Good.”

“He should be back in a while.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Branch looked at her.

“We’ll be long gone,” Rose said.

Branch leaned against the window.

“Get in there and pack,” Rose said, and she gestured with her thumb toward the bedroom.

“How did you find out?”

“Never mind. Get in there and pack.”

Branch ran to her. “Now you listen, Rosie—”

“Branch—”

“
Rosie
,
you’ve got to listen!
”

“All right, hon; go ahead. Rosie’s all ears.”

“I didn’t think there was any reason to tell you. He’s just been here a little, that’s all. He’s going to be in my play.”

“I know, hon. Go on.”

“How did you know?”

“Go on, hon. You’ve got your mother’s attention; take it while you got it.”

“He’s very inexperienced. Brilliant, but everyone thought it would be a good idea if he were here for a little where I could help whenever he needed—”

“I knew it was a mistake letting you come here in the first place. Sometimes I think I should just have my head examined for—”

“There’s nothing wrong with taking in a roommate, Rosie.”

“That’s right, hon. Let’s go pack.” She stood up.

Branch stood beside her. “You don’t mean go home, do you? You can’t mean leave town. Not now!”

“Just take enough to scrimp by on. I’ll take care of the rest later.” She started in toward the bedroom.

Branch followed her. “This thing is all out of proportion in your mind, Rosie. My God—”

Rose opened the first closet she came to. “Good,” she said, and she picked out a canvas suitcase. “This’ll be fine.”

“Rosie, you’re acting silly—”

“Look!” Rose whirled. “Ya see? Ya see my hands?” She dropped the suitcase, held her stubby fingers before her child’s eyes. “Tell me what they’re doing.”

“Shaking.”

“That’s right. They are shaking! And I am trying to keep them under control! I am trying to keep them still but I can’t. I can’t control my hands! Now I’m asking you, Branch, as a favor—don’t make me get upset.
Please!
” She grabbed the suitcase, hurled it onto the bed.

Branch stayed in the doorway, staring at it.

“Honey,” Rose whispered. “Please do as I say.”

Branch moved to the bed.

“Mother knows best,” Rose said.

Branch opened the suitcase, spread it flat. Then he said, “I’m not a kid anymore, Rosie. You can’t just order me around any way you like.”

“You’re only wrong for one reason,” Rose said.

Branch waited.

“Money,” Rose said.

Branch said nothing.

“As long as Rosie pays the bills, Rosie gives the orders.”

“I’ll pay you back every penny.”

“No need, hon. I do with my money what I want. I don’t put my son in debt. I just look out for his well-being, that’s all.”

“My God, Mother, eighty trillion guys in Manhattan have roommates. It’s no sin.”

“Pretty view,” Rose said, staring out the window at the Hudson. “I’ll watch it while you pack.”

“I’ve got some little stocks. I’ll sell them.”

“Sure you have. Sure you will.”

“I don’t need your money, Mother.”

“We’re having kind of a cool May,” Rose said. “Pack accordingly.”

“Mother, you can’t make me go home just because I’ve got a roommate for probably a few days at the outside. You just can’t.”

“Branch, please pay attention—I don’t like losing my temper. It frightens me when I do. I mean that and you know I do. I hate it. I hate it. Please. For me, Branch, look at my hands—see?” The hands were trembling worse now, and Rose’s face was starting to drain of color. “It’s not on account of roommates—” she started moving in on him—“and you know it and I know it and there are some things you just don’t say and they will not be said now.” She was almost on top of him, circling around the bed, advancing while he backed away. “And I like being a woman and when I lose my temper I feel almost like a man and I hate that,
so do as I say
,
Branch
,
or dare the consequences
!”

“All right,” Branch whispered. “All right.”

Rose smiled.

Branch closed his eyes. “I never could fight you.”

Rose gave him a quick hug. “That’s because when we argue—not fight, baby—we don’t fight, we just argue sometimes—but when we do, Rosie’s right and you know it and that’s why you give in to Rosie, ’cause she’s right, baby.”

Branch nodded and started opening his bureau drawers.

“I’ll fill you in on gossip from home,” Rose said, crossing the room, returning to the window.

Branch took socks and underwear and folded them into the blue canvas case.

“Mother’s taking to her chair just like a duck to water. Wait till you see her scoot around corners and things. I tell her I’m going to enter her at Indianapolis for that speedway and she just laughs and laughs.”

Branch got some handkerchiefs and neckties and pressed them down on top of the underwear.

“And business. Well, West Ridge, you’d think it was Valhalla or they’d just discovered oil. People are moving in from all over. There’s that new factory out at the edge of town—isn’t that silly, I forget what it makes, but they’re responsible for some of the growth.”

Branch was perspiring from the effort and his shirt was soaked in the middle of his back and under his arms, so he ripped it off and got a towel, drying his skin before going back and packing some more.

“Then, of course, there’s the developers,” Rose said.

Branch was having difficulty breathing.

Rose noticed it. “What’s the matter?”

Branch shook his head.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“I just did,” Branch gasped. “No.” He sat down hard on the bed.

Rose went to him and put her hand to his forehead. “You feel hot.”

“I’m not going with you, Rosie.”

“You shouldn’t sit around half naked like that. You’re just asking to catch something.”

“I’m not going with you, Rosie.”

“You just rest. I’ll help you pack,” Rose said. She unbuttoned her green silk jacket.

“Hear me!”

“Now, you’ve got socks and ties and hankies. Shirts. Shirts you need. Which drawer do you keep—”

Branch put his head in his hands. “I’m not going,” he whispered.

“That’s right, hon; you just rest.” She got some shirts, started to fold them into the case, paused, took off her jacket, tucked in her blouse.

Branch stood up. “I’m not leaving.”

“That makes kind of a stalemate, hon. ’Cause I’m not leaving you here.”

“I’ve got enough money for a while. I’ll be fine.”

Rose smoothed her blouse, running her hands over the curve of her breasts to her flat hard stomach. “I’m not leaving you here,” she said.

“Goodbye, Rosie.”

“Not with him,” Rose said.

“
Goodbye
, Rosie.”

“Not with the likes of him. Your father and I didn’t work all our lives so our money could be spent on people like him.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know enough.”

“What do you know?”

“Let’s not go into it, Branch.”

“
What do you know?
”

“You’re supporting a pervert,” Rose said, “and I’m not leaving you here.”

“You’re funnier than Jackie Gleason, you know that, Rose?” He started to laugh.

“Shut up.”

“What kind of a pervert is he, Rose?”

“I said shut up!”

“Is he a peeping Tom, a
voyeur
? Is he—”

“Branch, stop!” Rose cried. “Now.” She ran at him, her stubby hands searching for his mouth.

Branch fought her off. “He’s a fag, that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t know that word—”

“Ho-mo-sex—”

“
Some things are not said!
”

“
He’s
not—
he’s
not. I am!”

“Never!”

“Always—” Branch said.

“The girls are crazy for you—”

“Never—”

“Always—” Rose said.

“Watch me walk, Mother—watch me swish—I can swish if I want to—I’m good at it—” he dropped his wrist, shot a hip out, started to walk—“See?”

“STOP.”
Rose closed her eyes.

“WATCH!”

Rose’s eyes opened.

Branch paraded for his mother.

“I’ll kill him,” Rose whispered.

“You will?”

“I’ll kill him with my hands.”

“Why?”

“He did this to you. I’ll kill him.”

“Now, Rosie,” Branch said, “we all know who did what to who, don’t we?” He started toward her.

“Branch—”

“Remember when you put me in your clothes? Fun? I’ll tell you something—”

“I brought you up to be a man. Like your father. That’s all I ever did, I swear to God.”

“The last guy I
kept—
”

“Big and strong,” Rose mumbled. “I swear.”

“Aaron—anyway, old Aaron, he kept trying to make me admit that I had an Oedipus complex—you understand, don’t you?—that I wanted my mother. Well, I used to deny it because frankly, Rose, you fill me with the shudders—every time you’ve touched me, every time you’ve ever pinched me or patted me or run your stubby hands across your goddam breasts it has filled me with such revulsion—”

“Some things ... are ... not spoken aloud ...”

Branch grabbed her. “Let’s face the music and dance,” he said, and with that he began to spin with her, out of the bedroom and down the corridor, around and around and around.

Rose began to cry.

“
Put your arms around me
,
honey
,
hold me tight
.” Branch bawled the words out. “Sing, Rosie. We’re together at last, Rosie. You’ve got a real shape, you know that, Mother? It’s too bad I’m queer, Mother, or I could go for a mother like you, Mother,” and he whirled her into the living room. “Do you know how I have felt year after year cowering in front of you, Rosie?”

Rose slipped to her knees.

Branch dropped beside her. “I don’t think the orchestra’s quite finished, Mother, sweet Mother, come home to me now, Mother, sweet Rosie o’mine, stop crying, stop crying, listen, you should be happy I’m queer, I mean never any daughter-in-law problems, look on the bright side.” He shook her with his hands. “Touch me, go on, don’t you want to sure you do all these years admit it go on I’m here no one can see go on touch me touch me—”

“
Jesus!
” Rose screamed and she shoved at him, pushing him back and down, and she tried scrambling to her feet, but he recovered and pulled at her, pulled her down, his hands grabbed and she struggled but he was strong, too strong, and for a long moment their mouths were very close—

Branch gagged.

Rose ran screaming.

Branch doubled up on the living-room floor, his hands around his knees.

W
ALT LAY IN HIS
bed, trying not to sneeze, but as the urge grew he sat up and began grunting, “Huh-huh-huh—”

“Quick put your finger under your nose!” Tony said.

Walt quick put his finger under his nose, held it there until he sneezed. “You’re what they call a help,” he muttered then. “
Merci
.” He was wearing red-striped pajamas and he lay down flat again, listening to Tony doing things in the kitchen. His Greenwich Village apartment consisted of a living room-bedroom, a kitchen and a bath. The bathroom was small, but it was bigger than the kitchen, and the two of them together were almost equal in square footage to the living room-bedroom. His lease described the place as a 3½ and Walt wondered for a long time what that could possibly mean, before he finally decided it referred to the distance in feet from the floor to the ceiling.

Tony shrugged. “Sometimes it works.”

Walt pulled the quilt up to his neck. “Who gets colds in the middle of May? Ridiculous.”

“Fools and Kirkabys,” Tony told him, and she hurried to the bed, holding a large steaming glass. “Drink this.”

Walt took it, looked at it dubiously. “What’s in it?”

“Tea and honey and sugar and brandy and lemon.”

“No saltpeter?”

“You poor feeble creature, your body supplies enough of that naturally.”

Walt slapped the empty side of the bed. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Tony sat down in the one overstuffed chair. “Drink the drink.”

Walt slapped the bed again. “I dare you.”

“Oh God,” Tony said. “Ever since I was
fool
enough last fall to let you spend the night you haven’t given me a moment’s peace.”

Again Walt slapped the bed. “A moment’s piece—that’s what I’m talking about.”

Tony got up from the chair. She wore a white blouse and tight black slacks and sandals. “If you’re not going to drink that, I’ll take it back to the—you should pardon the expression—kitchen.”

As she reached the bed, Walt grabbed for her.

“Now, dammit! You get me to come down here tonight because you’re so sick. All right, I came. That’s my part of the bargain. Now you act sick, phony.”

“I
am
sick,” Walt said. He coughed for her. “Hear that?” He took a sip of the drink. “Yum.”

Tony went back and sat down. “Your apartment depresses me.”

Walt glared at her. “It so happens I’m not a big-deal copywriter jingle girl.”

“I don’t mind that it’s small. I don’t even mind the corny way you’ve got it decorated.” She gestured to the Lautrec prints and the bullfight posters. “I simply object to the dirt, Walt. Is that so terrible?” She shook her head. “I mean, I passed my Village phase. Why can’t you?”

“You’re no Jane Russell,” Walt said.

“What?”

Walt sighed. “Nossir, you haven’t got half the compassion Jane Russell had.”

“What are you talking about? I said that you should grow up and get out of Greenwich Village and live someplace
clean
and—”

“Jane Russell had heart.”

“
Will you shut up about Jane Russell?
”

Walt locked his lips and threw the key away.