The Great Santini (46 page)

The day after Christmas Sammy Wertzberger picked Ben up in the early evening and sped quickly out of Ravenel toward the Charleston highway. Sammy was wearing a new Gant shirt, an alligator belt, Weejuns, a London Fog raincoat, cuffless pants, and Gold Cup socks. He had applied an overdose of English Leather and Ben rolled down the window to cut the power of the scent. Ben had never seen Sammy dress with such an obeisance to the totems of fashion.

"O.K., what's the big surprise Christmas present?" Ben asked when they had broken out of Ravenel County and in a hauntingly crepuscular light were shooting across a causeway where the locks and sluices of an old rice plantation were still visible.

"I don't want to tell you just yet, son. Oh, what the hell!" Sammy said. "For my Christmas present to you, I'm going to let you play with my pecker any time you want to from now until graduation."

"Thanks, Sammy. Can I start right now?"

"Naw, I don't want to take it out in the car. Some passing motorist might call the highway department and claim he saw two men wrestling an anaconda."

"Where are we going?"

"Hold your thanks until I finish talking. I, Sammy Wertzberger, have set us up with a date in Charleston with two good-looking college girls."

"College girls!" Ben said breathlessly.

"That's right, son. Goddam, one hundred percent, second semester freshman, college girls."

"Do you know them?"

"Naw. That's a long confusing story. My mother knows this woman in Charleston she roomed with at Winthrop who knows a lady who has a daughter who brought a friend home for Christmas vacation. They haven't been out on a date once since they've been in Charleston. That's where superstuds Sammy Wertzberger and Ben Meecham come into the picture."

"I've never dated a college girl before," Ben said.

"Hell, you've never even dated high school girls. But we don't have to let 'em know that. I figure tonight we act sophisticated. Real men of the world. You can't act like high school Harry and score big with college girls."

"I guess you're kind of an expert in the field, huh, Sammy?" Ben grinned.

"Laugh now, son. But after you've buried your head in the huge bosoms of your date tonight and she's begging for more, you just remember that it was suave Sammy that put you in the driver's seat."

"What are the girls' names?"

"My date's name is Alicia West. Your date's name is Becky Bonham. Now remember, Ben, these are college girls, son. College girls. Now I shouldn't have to tell you that college girls are not like high school girls. These are grown women. They've been around. They have incredible sexual appetites just like you and me. And I mean huge appetites for the performance of the evil deed. You know what I mean."

"That's what I've heard about college girls," Ben said. "No preliminaries. They just like to get down to business fast. I've heard they actually get insulted if you don't try to make the big move on them."

"Well, some of them are pretty shy, Ben. Just like any other kind of woman. They need a firm, experienced masculine hand to guide them," Sammy said. "Others are just frigid and a man simply has to take the bull by the horns and almost be rough. That's why I developed my own personal technique. It's called the Bohemian Mountain Approach."

"What's that?"

"Well, I don't like to give away trade secrets but since you're my best friend I'll let you in on it. It can start off this way. Now this is just hypothetical, you realize."

"Of course," Ben answered.

"You treat the girl very kindly and softly during the whole drive-in movie. You're very considerate of her needs. You light her cigarettes, buy her Coke and popcorn, and talk about how beautiful she looks in the moonlight. Very suave, very cool. Then, when you've lulled her into a false sense of security, and just when she trusts you and knows you respect her for what she really is and that you're not just dating her for her body, you point to a scene on the movie screen and when she looks up, the very moment she looks up, you ram your hand up her dress and stick your index finger up her twat."

"That's very suave, very cool," Ben said, watching the moon light up the black waters of the Edisto River as they traveled toward Charleston going seventy-five. "By the way, Sammy," he said turning to his friend," that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard of."

"It's not ridiculous. It's the Bohemian Mountain Approach. Girls can't resist it."

"Have you done that, Sammy? Honestly. Have you ever done that in your life?" Ben asked.

"No."

"Then how do you know it works?"

"I've been around, son. It's a strategy worked out over the ages. Jewboys like me have studied the ways of seduction for centuries because we know that little goy girls are saving their star-spangled banner for their blond husbands."

"Thus we have the Bohemian Mountain Approach," Ben said.

"There are variations of course.

"Of course."

"This is one of my personal favorites. You pick a girl up. Right?"

"Right," Ben said.

"You meet her parents and act like a perfect gentleman. You tell her parents how much you like classical music and poetry and going to art galleries. Then you escort your date out the door all dreamy-eyed. You speak in a gentle, well modulated, restrained voice. You open the door for her and lightly touch her on the elbow as you help her in. You walk slowly around to your side of the car and remove your leather driving gloves. You get in the car, then in a flash you leap at her from across the car, pin her arms to the seat, and rip her panties off."

"A very versatile thing, this Bohemian Mountain Approach."

"It is a way of life, son. It is simply an application of firmness that utilizes the element of surprise. Once you have begun the Bohemian Mountain Approach, there is no turning back. It takes a genius in the art of love to use it properly and that's where I come in," Sammy said.

He pulled the Rambler into a country gas station, left Ben with the car still running, disappeared into the dimly lit depths of the store and returned carrying two paper sacks.

"Here's a little liquid courage," Sammy said, handing Ben a Budweiser.

"I'm in training," Ben protested.

"One beer's gonna cause you to fart out a kidney? Drink it," Sammy ordered resuming the trip up Highway 17. "We'll be there in a half hour and I still haven't prepared you properly for the night."

"What else do I need to know?"

"Plenty. There's one favor I'd like to ask of you, Ben."

"Sure, Sammy."

"You promise you won't laugh."

"I promise."

"If you laugh, can I use all the blood of your Christian children for terrible Jewish ceremonies? That's what Red thinks Jews do."

"I've heard that too."

"It's true. We pass the little fingers and toes of Christian children around on hors d'oeuvre trays. No, seriously. You promised not to laugh. But I didn't tell Alicia West my real name when I called."

"Fine. I'll go along with that. What name did you give her?"

"Rock."

"Rock!" Ben screamed.

"You promised you wouldn't laugh."

"I'm not laughing. I'm screaming."

"Rock Troy."

"Rock Troy!" Ben screamed even louder.

"Go ahead. Laugh. Get it out of your system, because when she gets in the car I don't want to hear any whooping and hollering when she asks ol' Rock Troy to unzip his britches."

"Rock Troy," Ben repeated.

Sammy took a long pull on his beer, then another one. "You can imagine a girl getting fired up to date a guy named Sammy Wertzberger. This adds a little class to it. This will only be a one-night stand anyway. Oh, and there's one other small favor."

"You told the other girl that my name is Hymie Finkelstein," Ben laughed.

"That wouldn't have been a bad idea. No. I told Alicia that I was a hotshot guard on the basketball team. Is that O.K. with you?"

"Sure. You and I are in the backcourt together. That's fine. I like it."

"Hey thanks, Ben. That's one of my great fantasies. Do me just one other favor. Please. Sometime during the night, and you can choose the time, say to your date loud enough for Alicia to hear in the front seat, 'At basketball games people are always pointing at Rock Troy and saying, "I wonder what that little fucking wizard is gonna do next."'"

"Sure, I'll say that."

"That will be the greatest moment of my life. I'll probably just lay my head back on the seat and bask in the glory. Hey, which reminds me. Did you finish
The
Sun
Also
Rises
for Mr. Loring's English class?"

"Yeah, I read it the first or second day over the holiday."

"I guess ol' Jake sort of reminded you of sophisticated, yet cynical, Sammy Wertzberger."

"No, he reminded me of the little fucking wizard of the backcourt, Rock Troy."

"You son of a bitch."

"No kidding, Jake did remind me a lot of you, Sammy. Especially the part about having no balls. How did you like Cohen?"

"Hemingway hated Jews, no doubt about it. Hell, Ben, the whole goddam world hates Jews. I was sitting there reading that book and I was hating Cohen's guts myself. I can't figure out what everybody's got against Jews."

"It's because they're stingy and have funny shaped heads and ugly looking Jew noses," Ben said, leaning across to poke Sammy in the ribs.

"It's like my father says, Ben. Thank God for the schwartze. If it wasn't for the schwartze, they'd be screwing the Jews. If it wasn't for the niggers, my father wouldn't stay in Ravenel for five minutes."

Again they crossed a river and Ben wondered how many rivers and saltwater creeks one would cross traveling along Highway 17 through the lowcountry. This river had the deep wild odor of swamp water about it. Cypress trees towered to the left of the car, an ink-black creek paralleled the highway, full of rotten winter vegetation.

"Now for the final test before we pick up our dates, Ben," Sammy said. "You pretend you're my date, Alicia, and I'm going to show you how I am going to take advantage of what I learned in
The
Sun
Also
Rises
. Mr. Loring would be proud of me."

"What do you mean, pretend I'm Alicia? You want me to hold your hand?"

"No. Just pretend you're Alicia just getting in the car for her date with the most exciting man she's ever seen. This will be a real test. You ask me questions and really pretend you're a girl."

"Oh, Rock," Ben said in a high-pitched voice, sliding across the seat and throwing his arms around Sammy," please take me someplace quick and screw my college brains out."

"Be serious, son," Sammy said, knocking Ben's arms off him. "Here, let me start it off," he said, reaching into the pocket of his London Fog and producing a package of cigars.

"Cigars!" Ben said retaining the girlish voice.

"El Producto Cigars, my dear. I had them imported from Spain," Sammy said suavely.

"Cigars smell nasty and poopy," Ben trilled.

"In Europe, during my many visits there, I have learned that European women smoke cigars along with the men."

"My mommy would just die if she knew I was smoking El Producto Cigars," Ben said.

"You probably haven't dated too many men who were as oriented toward the European way, Alicia. I can teach you many things."

"Have you really been to Europe, Rock?"

"Ha! Have I been to Europe? Ask me how many times I've been to Europe," Sammy said, lighting a cigar from a dashboard lighter.

"How many times have you been to Europe, Rock?"

"Four or five. I can't remember precisely."

"Did you go to Gay Paree, Mr. Troy?" Ben asked breathlessly.

"Did I go to Gay Paree," Sammy said with a sneer. "Alicia, darling, I invented Gay Paree. But here, you try an El Producto, Alicia. Don't be afraid. I ordered these cigars from Barcelona, Spain. I met the man who made them when I went to the bullfights with Ernest Hemingway."

"You know Ernest Hemingway?"

"Papa?" Sammy answered imperiously with a gesture so dramatic a cigar ash flew across the car toward Ben. "He's like a father to me. He taught me everything there is to know about bullfighting and big-game hunting. And of course, women."

"Can I sit in your face, Rock?" Ben said, then screamed with laughter.

"You are breaking character. No fair breaking character," Sammy scolded.

"What was the most exciting thing you did in Europe, Rock?" Ben said in Alicia's voice.

"I think it was when Papa and I ran with the bulls at Pamplona during the El Producto festival. Racing through the streets of that ancient city, the bulls thundering behind us, young señoritas dropping their handkerchiefs to us from balconies. The excitement came from facing Death. Yes, Death in the Afternoon."

"Hey, Sammy, you are really good at that. I'm not kidding. That is really good."

"Tonight, the master leaps into action," Sammy said, puffing on his cigar.

They crossed the Ashley River bridge and headed parallel to the river until they reached Broad Street. The girls were staying in a house south of Broad Street in the muted, elegant old section of the city. The spires of St. Michael's Church shone in the half-mist slipping in from the river. The houses they passed were many-tiered, exquisitely simple, and superbly crafted remnants of a lost society. In front of a house on Tradd Street, Sammy parked the car. He and Ben slapped each other's palms and punched each other on the shoulders before they left the car and brushed back their hair with nervous fingers. Sammy knocked at the door, using a shining brass knocker that drummed nicely on the oaken door.

A black man answered wearing a dark suit. "Is one of you gentleman a Mr. Troy?" the man asked, reading from a small, white card.

"I am," Sammy said.

"Miss West offers her sincerest regrets. But Miss Bonham's fiancé arrived unexpectedly today with his roommate from Yale. She tried to contact you in Ravenel, but no one at your number had ever heard of a Mr. Rock Troy."

"Yeah, they probably got the wrong number or something. Thanks a lot, you hear. I appreciate it. Tell Alicia maybe some other time."