Boys & Girls Together (72 page)

“I’m a woman,” Betty Jane said. “I just needed reassuring.”

“We’re both grownups. You come to me, tell me you’re beat and suggest you might go relax with your mother. I offer a few other possible alternatives and then finally decide to let you go. How in the hell am
I
getting rid of
you
?”

“Yelling is not the same as reassuring.”

“I wasn’t yelling.”

“You weren’t reassuring either.”

“I don’t understand women,” Charley said. “I offered a baby nurse—”

“Let’s forget the whole thing.”

“No. Let’s be honest with each other. And I mean honest. I’ll swear to tell the truth. If you will.”

“All right, but—”

“Is there somebody else? Some other guy?”

“My God, of course not. Now let me ask you something.”

“Anything,” Charley said. “Ask.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“Do you want to go?”

“I don’t care. It’s completely up to you, Charley.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

“Good,” Charley said. “Then you were lying before.”

“I was not. When?”

“I don’t care if you were. It doesn’t matter.”

“
When?
”

“You were talking about how exhausted you were. That was lying.”

“No.”

“You are exhausted?”

“Well, exhausted, that’s a pretty strong—”

“Are you tired? Could you use a little rest?”

“Of course. Probably. Who couldn’t—”

“Would it be relaxing for you? At your mother’s?”

“I guess so. But—”

“Then shouldn’t you go?”

“Well ...”

“I’m not asking you to, understand. I don’t want you to; we’ve decided that. But what I want isn’t always what’s best. What’s best, Betty Jane?”

She said nothing.

“You don’t have to decide now, honey. Tomorrow’s just as good.”

“I guess I ought to go,” Betty Jane said.

“If it’s just ‘ought,’ forget the whole thing. It’ll be drudgery for you. You won’t relax a bit. And don’t go because of the kids either. You’re not a rotten mother; put that out of your mind. You’re a terrific mother and you know it. Nobody works as hard on the second kid as on the first. That’s the truth; you know that too. So it’s what
you
want. Forget about the kids.”

“Well ...” Betty Jane said again.

“We all hate making decisions. I don’t blame you a bit.”

“I’ll go visit Mother.”

“Sure? We’re telling the truth now, remember.”

“I want to go.”

“I’ll miss you.”

All in yellow, Jenny stood alone beneath the movie marquee. When Charley turned the corner, she waved and said, “Why, Mr. Fiske,
hello
.”

“Hi, Jenny. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I never miss an Alec Guinness movie. Where’s Mrs. Fiske?”

“Visiting her mother on Long Island. Has been for over a week.”

“Of course; I forgot.” She smiled at him.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Relax,” Jenny whispered with a bigger smile. “You’re doing fine.”

Charley grinned at her. “This was a mistake.”

“Oh, do you think so?” Jenny clapped her hands softly. “I don’t. I just wanted once not to feel scrummy. Another evening staring at those blue walls—”

“We might be seen.”

“We used to be seen. All the time.”

“That was lunch.” Charley beamed. “And we were innocent then.”

“I love your choice of words,” Jenny said, laughing lightly.

“If Betty Jane finds out, you think this will have been worth it?”

“The moonrise no longer makes me a virgin, Mr. Fiske. I felt the need of a little something to make me go on. Incentive, I think, is the word.”

“I’m sorry,” Charley said. “I’m a little panicky, that’s all. Forgive me. You look lovely.”

“I tried very hard. I spent over an hour getting ready.” She touched her yellow dress. “New. Do you like it?”

“Aye.”

“I love you.”

“Bless you for that.”

“Do you know, it’s really exciting? We’ve never done this before. Talked like we were human beings, I mean, in front of God and everybody. I keep expecting Archie Wesker to put in an appearance.”

“Shall we go in?” He opened the door for her.

“I’m going to hold your hand,” Jenny whispered. “Once it’s dark.”

“Have you your ticket, Miss Devers?”

“No, Mr. Fiske, but—”

“My pleasure.” He paid for them, smiled, walked to the ticket-taker. “Really the most marvelous coincidence, running into you like this,” Charley said, loud, for the ticket-taker’s benefit.

“You’re indicating,” Jenny told him. “Actor’s term. Quit it; relax.”

“We’ll find our own way,” Charley said as an usher approached them. They started along the aisle, toward the blank screen. “Here?” he asked, halfway down.

Jenny sat.

After a moment Charley sat beside her.

“I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking,” Jenny said then. “You’re thinking, ‘Why is it so
bright
in here?’ ”

Charley nodded.

“Your hand, please,” Jenny said, reaching out, taking it. “It gets darker when the feature goes on.” She rubbed his palm. “Dampish.”

“One of us is.”

“I’m really happy, Charley.”

“Good.”

“This is really fun.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you glad I talked you into it?”

“Of course.”

“Then quit looking around.”

“I wasn’t looking around.”

“Your head was turning and your eyes were open. I call that looking around.”

“I’m sorry. I keep trying to think of this like you told me to—an acting exercise—but—”

“You’ll get better with practice. And stop being silly about this. I mean, what are the odds against your running into someone you know? Enormous. At least.”

“What are we doing, Jenny? Have you any idea?”

“You mean now?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”

“What are you getting angry about?”

“Nothing. Nothing.” Charley took a deep breath. “I’m sorry—for the eight hundred and forty-fifth time.”

“I’m big on forgiveness.”

“I care for you, Jenny.” He paused. Then he added, “God damn it.”

“Miss Devers is touched, she thinks.”

The lights got lower; the movie began.

“Dark enough for you?”

“Where’s the cartoon?”

“This is an East Side art house; are you mad?”

“In Princeton we get a cartoon.”

“Very academic town, Princeton.”

A couple sat down across the aisle from them.

Charley froze.

“What—” Jenny began.

“I know them,” Charley whispered.

“You can’t.”

“They’re the Hagners. He teaches at the university; she’s a friend of Betty Jane’s. They live down the road, so—”

“Are you sure?”

“You want me to go over and introduce—”

“I just want you to be absolutely—”

“Now you lower
your
voice,” Charley snapped.

“I was whispering.”

“What were those odds you were talking about? How high were they?”

“I’m sorry.” Jenny got up and moved back two rows. “God forbid you should be seen with someone like me.”

Charley sat very still.

The couple across the aisle stood, looked at him, moved two rows closer front.

Charley watched them go.

Jenny stared at the silver screen.

Charley turned toward her. “Jenny?”

She looked at him.

“It wasn’t who I thought.”

She nodded.

“I thought it was but it wasn’t.”

She nodded.

“Shut up,” a nasal voice from behind them said.

Charley faced front.

Jenny’s head began to shake.

“Come back?” Charley asked, turning to face her.

Jenny’s head continued to shake from side to side.

“Are you still mad?”

Jenny shook her head.

“What is it, then? How do you feel?”

“Negroid,” Jenny said.

“I’m gonna call the usher,” the nasal voice said.

Charley faced front.

When he looked back again, Jenny was gone.

“I’m packing now,” Charley said. “I no sooner started than you called.” He tucked the receiver between his chin and shoulder and continued folding a shirt.

Betty Jane said, “What did you see last night?”

“Some Alec Guinness picture.” He sat down on the bed, gazed out the window at the setting sun.

“Any good?”

“I can’t remember it today, so I guess it wasn’t.”

“Remember now: bring your swimming trunks
and
your tennis shorts. You’re always forgetting one or the other.”

“Nag.”

“We’re all so excited you’re coming.”

“I’ll leave straight from work tomorrow. I’ll catch the four-o’clock. Meet it?”

“If you’ll blow me a kiss.”

“Ye gods—”

“Well, it’s not as if I asked you in public. You are alone, aren’t you, Charley?”

“Aye.” He blew her a kiss.

“You should hear my heart,” Betty Jane said. “This has been very good, this separation. I feel I’ll be better able to endure you now.”

“Well, aren’t you feeling frisky.”

“I ought to. My husband’s coming tomorrow. On the four-o’clock train. Goodbye, husband.”

Charley hung up. He stood, folded his shirt, then tossed it into his suitcase and left the bedroom, walking downstairs to the screen porch. He sat stiffly down, staring out at the sloping lawn and, beyond it, Carnegie Lake. At the bottom of the lawn was a man-made waterfall. Charley listened to it rumble. He closed his eyes. The rumble grew. He touched his fingertips to his closed eyes and rubbed and rubbed. When the phone rang again he sighed and stood and went inside and answered, saying “Where have you been?” as soon as he heard Jenny’s “Hello.”

“Here and there. Around and about. Hither and yon.”

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you since last night.”

She made her voice very English. “I stayed with an acquaintance—a fellow thespian.”

“You could have at least called in at work today; let me know you were all right.”

“Who said I was all right? We’ve got to talk, Charley.”

“When? You know I’ve got to go to Long Island tomorrow.”

“How about now? I could come out to Princeton.”

“Gee; that’s a swell idea.”

“We might be seen; is that it?”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Same old song. Goodbye, Charley.”

He hung up, shook his head, smiled, stepped to a small mirror and put his fist through it. A moment later there was blood on his big hand. He stared at it, licked the cuts, then held his hand high over his head until the blood dried. He went to the kitchen, got a broom, swept up the splintered mess. His hand was swelling slightly. He made a loose fist, tightened it until he winced. Then he went upstairs to the bathroom and soaked his hand in cool water. After that, he came back downstairs to the porch and was in the act of sitting when Jenny said, “What happened to your hand?”

“Son of a bitch,” Charley said.

Jenny hurried on. “Pretty here—view of the waterfall. There’s a gas station a little ways back. That’s where I called from. What happened to your hand?”

“I cut it.” He sat very still, eyes closed.

“Oh. That accounts for the blood.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t say it.”

“Don’t say what?”

“ ‘How could you come?’ ‘What are you doing here?’ Any of those. The point is, I came.”

“That’s the point, all right.”

“Rest easy: no one saw me. I took the bus to New Brunswick and taxied from there. I got off two houses down. Clever?”

The doorbell rang.

“Son of a bitch,” Jenny said.

“Excuse me,” Charley said. He got up and moved to the front door. “Who is it?”

“Me, Charley. Mac Clendennon.”

Charley opened the door. “Hi, Mac.”

Clendennon gestured across the street to his house. “Milady said you was taking off. Want me to look after anything?”

“I’m just going the weekend.”

Clendennon shook his head and gestured again. “Milady got things a little screwy. She thought you was gonna be gone a while.”

“No—just the weekend.”

Clendennon shook his head again. “My wife has this thing about being neighborly. Sorry, Charley.”

“ ’S all right. Thanks, Mac.” See ya.

Charley watched the other man walk across the street. Then he closed the door, locked it and returned to the porch.

“I think I was just explaining how clever I was,” Jenny said.

He made no reply.

She went right on. “This chat. My reasons for having it. Some things have happened. For example, I’m changing roles. From Whore—”

“Dammit, Jenny—”

“Whore to Other Woman. See, we’re changing pastimes. Fun in Bed is over. From now on, Divorce is the name of the game.”

Charley nodded.

“What does that nod mean?”

“That I heard you.”

“Well, hear this: Last night, after fleeing the cinema, I decided to stretch my giant brain. I tried figuring, since I’m an actress, how I’d play me. And what I found was I couldn’t, not really well, because I’m inconsistent. Look at it this way. Here I am, in love with you and wanting to marry you, except all I do is lie there flat on my back in bed and get used. Now I know that there are a lot of things a girl can get by lying flat on her back in bed, but a husband isn’t one of them. So if I want you for a husband, why am I acting in the best possible way not to get you? Answer? There isn’t one. I’m inconsistent. That’s when I decided to change roles.”

“I liked you the way you were.”

“Enough to marry me? Don’t answer; let me. Because you’d answer ‘No,’ but you’d be wrong. The correct reply is ‘Not yet.’ I’m gambling you’ll switch. In time. And in order to hurry that time I am going to summon up all the little bitchy wiles of the Other Woman, but subtly. My life is dedicated to making you choose me, so look out!” She started into the living room.

“Where are you going?” He hesitated a moment, then followed her.

“Do you remember once telling me about your father? About how he didn’t have any favorite things. Is she like that?”

“Make sense.”

“Well, this nice green chair, for instance. Does she always take it?” Jenny sat down. “How does it look with me in it?”