Boys & Girls Together (78 page)

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wickersham, but—”

“Miss Wickersham.”

“
Excusez-moi
,
mademoiselle
,” Aaron said. He reached for a cigarette and lit it. “But your reservation for seven o’clock. I cannot honor it. We are not open at seven o’clock.”

“Oh,” the girl said. “Well, what time are you open?”

“Just for two hours. From eight until ten.”

“Oh,” the girl said again.

“In the morning,” Aaron said.

“What?”

“Something is wrong,
mademoiselle
?”

“You mean you’re only open in the
morning
?”

“That is correct,
mademoiselle
.”

“What kind of French food do you serve?”

“French breakfast food,
mademoiselle
.”

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know. I mean, I thought you were a regular French res—I mean, well, it all sounds just fascinating.”

Vassar, Aaron thought. Definitely Vassar. “It is a good deal more than just fascinating,
mademoiselle
. It is what makes us unique. We are the only French restaurant in all of Manhattan that is only open for breakfast. There is a Spanish restaurant in Queens that is only open for breakfast, but we do not consider them competition. Who can eat
paella
in the morning? The very thought is barbaric, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely, I absolutely agree. And what do
you
serve?”

“Just the one dish,
mademoiselle
, the one that made us famous. The
spécialité de la maison
.”

“What is it?”

Aaron closed his eyes and made French sounds. “
Rue de veau de oiseau sans beaudouisleaioux
.”

“My French is a little rusty. Could you please trans—”

“Intestine with orange sauce,” Aaron said.

“Intestine—?”

“With orange sauce.”

“In the morning?”

“You drink orange juice in the morning, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, orange juice, orange sauce, it all comes from the orange.”

“Of course it does,” the girl said. “Now I see.”

“Then would eight-fifteen on Monday be suitable? I can give you two nice seats at the counter.”

“Well, speaking for myself,
I’d
love to, but my roommate, I don’t know if she likes intestine, so—”

“It has an exquisite flavor,
mademoiselle
. Very like truffle hound. Tell her that.”

“Yes,” the girl said. “I’ll tell her. And then I’ll call you back.”

“
Au revoir
,
mademoiselle
.” Aaron dropped the phone into its, cradle and fell back diagonally across the bed. Then he started to laugh. He had not laughed full out in several days, and he had almost forgotten how good it felt, so he lay for a while on the bed, laughing, he thought, as hard as he could because when the phone rang again it was all he could do just to pick up the receiver and say “Château de Lille,” but a moment later, after Branch had hung up with a muttered, “I’m sorry, I must have the wrong number,” Aaron really started to howl. He lay shrieking on the bed, his hands slapping the mattress, tears filling his eyes, so when the phone started ringing again he was much too weak to answer it at first, but it kept on ringing, nine times, ten times, eleven and twelve, so finally he was able to pull the receiver to his mouth and say “United States Weather Bureau forecast for New York City and vicinity—”

“Aaron?”

“The ten
A.M.
temperature is hot as a bitch, the sky is falling, and it is raining cats and dogs.” Then he hung up and collapsed again, whooping and holding his sides. When the phone rang again he picked it up and said, “Good morning, this is your long-distance operator.”

“Aaron—”

“To whom did you wish to speak?”

“Aaron, what’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sorry, but I cannot give out that information,” and he hung up, his hand resting on the receiver until the next call. “Good morning,” he said then, “this—”

“All right now, Aaron, just quit it and—”

“This is Radio City Music Hall.”

“I’m in a phone booth, Aaron, and I’m running out of dimes.”

“This week, by popular demand, we are having a Vera Hruba Ralston festival.”

“Aaron—don’t hang up, Aaron—”

“Thank you for calling, goodbye,” and he sat hunched over the silent phone, staring anxiously down at it, a mother with a strange child, and when it rang he picked it up, listening to the frantic voice on the other end, listening with a smile.

“This is my last dime, Aaron, and it’s hot in this phone booth, so—”

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said. “Don’t get upset. I apologize.”

“O.K.,” Branch said. “Forget it.”

“Where are you? What are you doing in a phone booth?”

“I just took an apartment. The phone doesn’t get installed till tomorrow. Besides, my mother’s still here. She helped me pick the place. She’s up there now, unpacking my stuff; she’s leaving tomorrow morning and I wondered if you were free tomorrow afternoon, cocktails, maybe. We might have a drink, christen the apartment, that kind of thing.”

“You out of change?”

“Yes.”

“Then you better let me call you from here before we get cut off. What’s your number?”

“It’s Endicott 2-7299.”

“Endicott 2-7299,” Aaron said. “Gotcha. Call you right back.” He hung up and stretched out on the bed, closing his eyes, wondering how long it would take Scudder to realize no call was going to come. Quiet, Aaron waited with a smile. As the wait grew, the smile grew, and seven minutes later when the telephone rang Aaron answered it with cheer. “
Hello
.”

“You didn’t call me back,” Branch managed, the hurt in his voice genuine and lingering. “And I only called you this time for one reason. And that’s to say goodbye. You went too far, Aaron. I’m not a kid anymore. You can’t treat me like that. You didn’t call me back. You just let me sit there. Well, this is goodbye.”

“Who is this?” Aaron said. “Who am I talking to?”

“It’s too late for games, Aaron. You went too far and—”

“I want to know who I’m talking to.”

“Dammit, Aaron—”

“
Who is this?
”

“It’s Branch and you know it and—”

“Who?”

“
Branch. Branch
Scudder.”

“Oh my God,” Aaron said. “
Branch
Scudder. Now I understand. I thought I was talking to Branch
Scudder
. Don’t you see my mistake? I never much liked Branch
Scudder
and—”

“If you hang up one more time, Aaron—”

“Shut up. You love it.”

“I don’t! I don’t! Not anymore.”

“
Branch
Scudder, well, what do you know. And all the time I thought I was talking to Branch
Scudder
. Well, how are you,
Branch
Scudder? I haven’t seen you since my Army days.”

“I won’t call you back again, Aaron. I promise.”

“Oh-oh, I just remembered something.”

“I mean it. You hang up again and we’ll never see each other. Not ever. I swear.”

“What I just remembered was I never much liked
Branch
Scudder either.”

“
I’ll
hang up on you, Aaron. I will. It’ll be goodbye. I’ll never call you back and you’ll never get a chance to hang up on me again and I’m not kidding either so just—”

“Toodle-oo,” Aaron said and he hung up. Licking his lips, he sat huddled over the black phone, his knees pressed against his thin chest, his fingers caressing the receiver. Aaron waited. The phone did not ring. Aaron smiled. You’ll call, he thought. Fight the good fight, but you’ll call. The phone did not ring. Aaron stood up and stretched. Across from him, the wastebasket had stopped smoking, so he approached it, staring down at the black ashes. He prodded the basket with his foot. The ashes stirred, resettled. Call, Aaron thought, and he smiled again, because Scudder was just so feeble. That was the only word for him. Feeble. Aaron stuck a cigarette in a corner of his mouth and began to pace. Call, dammit. I mean it, Scudder. I don’t like being kept waiting, so you better call. Nobody keeps me waiting. Nobody keeps ...” Aaron stopped pacing and began to laugh, because for a moment he pictured Scudder in the phone booth, bald and sweating, feebly trying to keep his feeble hands off the phone, and that picture was so ridiculous he just had to laugh. Here he was, he, Aaron Fire, getting a little worked up over something like that. Tsk-tsk, for shame. Aaron stretched lazily and returned to his bed, lying flat, watching the smoke rise. Poor Scudder. Poor feeble Scudder. Every second he could postpone the call was a minor triumph for him, the closest he would ever come to glory. Scudder, I salute you, Aaron thought, and he raised his fingers in the gesture. He tossed the cigarette onto the floor. He felt relaxed, completely relaxed, except for a vague burning deep behind his eyes. The start of a headache maybe. Too much smoking and not enough sleep—that’ll do it every time. Aaron rubbed his eyes. He heard the phone, or thought he did, so he rolled up on one elbow, looking at it, waiting for the next ring, but it didn’t come, so it must have been his imagination. Aaron lay flat again, rubbing his eyes harder, because they hurt, but the rubbing only made them worse, so he rolled up on one elbow again and glared at the phone. Scudder, I pity you, you have my pity, a drop of my pity, but, goddammit, call! Call! Call! And he was up again, walking again, smoking again, kneading his hands before him as he went. He hated waiting, hated it, and I’m warning you, Scudder, you just better make the damn call if you know what’s good for you. Aaron began clapping his hands out of rhythm with his walking: step-clap-step-clap-clap-step-step—what was it Scudder had said? That he had changed, that he wasn’t like that anymore? Impossible. Scudders never changed. Scudders were Scudders. If you pinched them they smiled and you could count on that; it was a given, permanent, a rock resisting the sea.
So why didn’t he call?
Aaron ran to the wastebasket and reached down, grabbing out a handful of ashes. He would have looked at them longer had there been something to see, but there wasn’t, so he began to rub his hands along his thin arms, blackening his skin. He grabbed another handful of ashes and when his arms were black and his hands were black he set to work on his face, rubbing his tender eyelids much too hard, trying to reach his brain. He didn’t want the call, it wasn’t that; he just hated being kept waiting. It was the waiting that got to him, the waiting. Aaron dropped to his knees beside the phone, lifted the receiver and started to dial. What was the number Scudder had said? Endicott? Endicott three? No, two. Two and then three. Or was it five? Seven? Aaron held the receiver until he remembered that if Scudder was trying to call, the line would be busy, so he plunged it back into its cradle and waited on his knees. The waiting. The damn waiting. That was what hell was. Waiting. Just waiting. He didn’t want the call. He knew what would follow it and he didn’t want that. I don’t want it, Aaron thought. I honest to God on my sacred word of honor cross my heart and hope to—“
No!
” Aaron cried and he closed his eyes, blind now, blind and kneeling over the phone.

Because he wanted the call.

He wanted the call.

God, are you going to pay. Scudder, I promise you, I swear, Scudder, on my father’s grave, Scudder, you are going to feel regret, Scudder, such regret that I cringe for you, Scudder, for you will writhe, Scudder, I promise you that, endless writhing. That I promise you, and more. The telephone rang. Aaron, on his knees, opened his eyes and slowly lifted the receiver.

“I called you back,” Branch whispered. “I called you back. I didn’t mean to but I did. I tried not to. I couldn’t help it. But I called you back. Here I am. Now what do you want from me?”

“Aaron!” Aaron said. “Aaron, it’s me Branch. Branch Scudder.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Didn’t you hear me, Aaron? This is me. Branch. I just got in town and I thought I’d call you.”

“Whatever you’re doing, Aaron, don’t,” Branch said.

“Say hello to me, Aaron. Say hello to Branch.”

“Don’t,” Branch said.

“Say hello to me, Aaron.”

“Please.”

“Aaron, this is Branch. Say hello.
Say hello!
”

“Hello,” Branch whispered.

“Not just ‘hello,’ Aaron. Say ‘hello, Branch.”

“Hello, Branch.”

“Hello, Aaron,” Aaron said. “How are you? I’m pretty good. I mean I’m still the same little swish I was in the Army, but other than that I’m pretty good.”

“What do you want from me?” Branch said.

“I loathe you, Aaron, do you know that?”

“No.”

“But you cause me pain and I love pain.”

“Not anymore.”

“Will you hurt me, Aaron, if I say please? Pretty please. Pretty please with sugar on it if you hurt me.”

“Aaron—”

“And you hate me too, don’t you, Aaron? Way down deep, you hate me.”

“No.”

“Yes, you do. Say it. Say you hate me.”

“No.”

“Say you hate me or I won’t let you hurt me anymore. And you know how you love that. Say you hate me.”

“I hate you. I hate you.”

“We hate each other, don’t we, Aaron?”

“Yes.”

“Then will you marry me, Aaron? Will you come and live with me and let me keep you like a whore except you’ll be my wife?”

“Aaron—”

“Will you marry me, Aaron? Say you’ll marry me.”

“Please—”

“This is a proposal, Aaron. Will you be my wife? Say it.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“Aaron, don’t, for God’s sake, Aaron, please don’t make—”

“
Say it!
”

“All right. I’ll say it.”

“You’ll come and be my wife.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Then repeat after me: for richer or richer.”

“Yes.”

“In sickness.”

“Sickness.”

“Forever and ever.”

“Forever.”

“From now till doomsday.”

“Doomsday.”

“O
F COURSE HE’S QUEER,” TONY
said. “My God, how can you even argue the point?” She lay on the sofa and slowly raised her legs until they formed a right angle with her body. Then, effortlessly, she lowered her legs to the cushions, paused a moment, then raised them again.