We'll Always Have Paris (10 page)

Why Joseph Kirk did what he did, on impulse, he could not immediately say.
He could only recall, instantaneously, similar incidents that had caused him to erupt years
ago.

At a small private dinner, when an obnoxious film producer had bragged about
‘selling out,’ implying that
everyone
did, Joseph Kirk had put down
his knife and fork and ordered the producer away from the table. The producer obeyed.

On another occasion, when a film actress verbally whiplashed her husband for
half an hour in front of guests, Kirk had jumped up, told her how awful she was, and walked off
to the next room to read a book. On the way out, later, she apologized and he looked the other
way.

Now, tonight, it had happened again. He
heard himself saying an incredible thing. It was as if someone had handed him a grenade and,
thoughtless, he had yanked the ring and gripped the damned thing, staring, as it went off.

He was browsing at a newsstand in the early evening, leafing through a few
magazines, when he heard angry voices approaching. One high, shrill, and derogatory; the other
smothered, half mute, already defeated. The newsstand was south of Hollywood Boulevard, and the
voices came from that direction.

Joseph Kirk glanced from the corners of his eyes. What he saw was one
handsome young man striding along, hurling insults as if they were favors over his shrugged
shoulder. He seemed to be wearing an invisible cape. He seemed to be wearing a mask. But that
wasn’t true, either; it was just the way he held his face, in a frozen grimace of hauteur as he
manufactured his diatribes.

Behind him, smaller, meeker, and most certainly not louder, came his friend
with an equally handsome face, but no invisible cape, no mask, just a face like someone out in
the rain and bewildered by the storm.

‘My God,’ cried the first young man, glaring at the street ahead, ‘you never
do
anything
right!’

‘What did I do now?’

‘Last night, this morning, just now. You behave like a cow. Can’t you be
polite? Can’t you act properly? At that
party, my God! Can’t
you smile, or laugh, or make small talk? Stood around like a damned wooden Indian!’

‘I—’

‘And today at lunch, with Teddy trying to amuse us, hilarious, and you just
sat there. Jesus! You—’

The parade of two went by, the first part pompous, tall, and glorious in its
feline display, the second part defeated, dragging, and lost. The hackles on the back of Kirk’s
neck rose and rippled down his back. He found himself grinding his teeth and shutting his
eyes.

‘Then this afternoon. Do you know what you
did
this
afternoon?’

‘What did I do, what did I
do
?’

‘You—’

‘Oh, shut up!’ cried Kirk.

The world froze. The parade stopped. Its pompous half whirled as if shot
through the heart. His defeated friend stood motionless, slowly lifting his head with a look of
dismay mixed with curious relief.

‘What?’ cried the man with the invisible mask.

Kirk felt his mouth move and, still disbelieving his own outburst, continued.
‘I said shut up.’

‘And who the hell are you?’ cried the first young man.

‘Nobody at all, but damn it all to hell!’

Where am I going with this? Kirk wondered. And then he looked at the second
young man’s face and saw an answer. There was a burgeoning of hope there, a wonder, and a need
to escape.

‘Look,’ said Kirk. ‘You’re coming with
me
.’

‘What?’ said the second young man.

‘You don’t really want to be with this monster, do you?’ said Kirk. ‘No. No,
come along. I’ll make you happier than he can. I’ll start by leaving you alone. We’ll go on
from there, yes? Well? Him or me?’

The second young man stood riven, blinking from his friend to Kirk, and then
at the ground, unable to choose.

‘Look here,’ said the first young man, his mask beginning to melt. ‘You—’

‘No.’ Kirk put his hand out to touch the second young man’s elbow. ‘Freedom
at last. Isn’t it glorious? Get out of the way,
you
! Come along,
you.
’

He stepped between them quickly, and spun the second man about and walked him
off.

‘You can’t
do
that!’ cried the other, stunned.

‘Watch my dust!’ shouted Kirk.

And he kept walking with his captive to and around the corner, swiftly, with
the cries of the cormorant or the shrike or whatever it was, echoing behind.

‘Keep walking,’ said Kirk.

‘I am.’

‘Don’t look back.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Faster.’

‘I’m running.’

‘Good.’

They made it to the next corner and
stopped for a moment, staring at each other.

‘Who are you?’ the second young man asked.

‘Your savior, I guess.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I don’t know. I had to. It was awful.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Kirk. Joseph Kirk.’

‘I’m Willy-Bob.’

‘Jesus Christ. You
look
like a Willy-Bob.’

‘I know. Will he come after us?’

‘He’s probably in shock right now. Let’s keep moving. My car’s down
here.’

They made it to the car, and while Kirk was unlocking the passenger-side
door, Willy-Bob said: ‘Lord, you’re not even one of us! You’re not even…
you
know.’

There was a long silence while they got into the car. Before Kirk started the
engine, he heard Willy-Bob say, ‘
Are
you?’

Kirk turned to look at him, laughing quietly. ‘No.’

‘Then, why,
why
?’

‘Letting you go on down the street with that son of a bitch drove me wild. I
couldn’t let it happen.’

‘I love him, you know.’

‘Yeah, and more’s the pity. But, you’re with
me
now.’

‘What are you going to do with me?’

‘I’m a man without a nose. You’re a box of Kleenex. I’ll think of
something.’

Kirk began to laugh. Willy-Bob joined
him.

‘Oh, this is incredible. This is rich!’

Tears ran down both their faces.

‘Isn’t it?’ said Kirk, and drove away with his captive.

They found a drive-in and finished their laughing there. They ordered two
hamburgers, french fries, and two beers and sat waiting to let the laughter die.

‘My God, his face! Christ, I feel good,’ cried Willy-Bob.

‘That’s what I intended,’ said Kirk.

‘It’s the first time, the first time I ever spoke up in my life!’

But you didn’t, thought Kirk, but let it go.

‘I can just imagine him, right now, stomping up and down the boulevard,
trying to find me, furious…’

Willy-Bob’s voice began to fade. ‘Jesus, when he
does
find me! All my stuff is back at his place.’

‘It’s not
your
place, too?’

‘We share an apartment over on Fountain.’

‘How much junk you got there?’

‘A lot. Change of clothes. A toilet kit. Beat-up old typewriter. I guess
there’s nothing there.’

‘Not much,’ said Kirk.

The hamburgers arrived in time to interrupt a growing silence. They ate
quietly. Half through his sandwich, Willy-Bob swallowed hard and said, ‘Well, again, what are
you going to do with me?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You can, you know. I owe you.’

‘You don’t owe me anything. You owe yourself something. To get the hell out,
to get the hell away.’

‘You’re right. Still, I don’t understand, why did you do it, why am I here
with you?’

Kirk took another bite and ruminated, his eyes on the windshield, where bugs
had struck and died. He tried to read their dried juices.

‘Two dogs get joined, middle of the street, can’t get free, I run out, hose
them down. Barn owl in a field, fallen from a tree, took it home, gave it warm milk. Hell.’

‘Am I a barn owl out of a tree?’

‘There’s a remarkable resemblance.’

‘I still can’t fly.’

‘That’s why I spoke up.’

‘But you didn’t know anything
about
me.’

‘Yes, I did, seeing you go by.
Listening
to
you.’

‘You didn’t know anything about
him.
’

‘I did, seeing
him
walk by, hearing his whole life,
and yours.’

‘You’re awfully good at seeing and hearing.’

‘It’s no virtue. Makes trouble. Look at us here, me and you. What next?’

They finished their sandwiches and worked on their beers, and Willy-Bob said,
‘Maybe we could have a life together…’

‘No way,’ said Kirk abruptly, and stopped. ‘I mean, I’m just a
down-at-the-heels analyst, a damn-fool
ham-fisted do-gooder,
in this up to my chin and as uncomfortable as you are. We have no true use for one another. The
only thing holding us together is my pity and your fear.’

‘That’ll have to do,’ said Willy-Bob. ‘Do I go home with you tonight? That
is,
if
I go home with you.’

‘You’re sounding more doubtful every second.’

‘I’m scared as hell. Feel as if I had thrown up in church.’

‘God will
never
forgive you, will He?’

‘He never has.’

Kirk drank his beer. ‘Your guy isn’t God, he’s Lucifer. And his apartment is
hell on Earth. You might as well blow your brains out as go back.’

‘I know.’ Willy-Bob nodded, eyes shut.

‘Yet you’re thinking about it, right now?’

‘I am.’

‘Let’s find you a room for the night. Being somewhere different may give you
more—’

‘Courage?’

‘Hell, I don’t want to preach.’

‘God, I
need
preaching. A hotel, yes. But I’ve no
money—’

‘I think I can afford it,’ said Kirk.

Kirk started the car and Willy-Bob said, ‘On the way, if it isn’t far, could
we drive by your place, so I could see—’

‘What?’

‘From outside, the house you live in, you
are
married, aren’t you? It would be nice to see some place
permanent. I mean, just drive by, okay?’

‘Well,’ said Kirk.

‘Okay?’ said Willy-Bob.

They drove, circling, through Hollywood. Along the way, Kirk said, ‘You have
a job? No. I’ll bring you the want ads tomorrow, so you can live alone awhile and find out who
the hell you really are. How long you been living, if you can call it that, with that son of a
bitch?’

‘A year. The greatest year in my life. A year. The most horrible year in my
life.’

‘Half and half. I know the feeling.’

They arrived at and moved slowly past the front of Kirk’s small white
bungalow. An apricot-colored lamp shone in the front window. It looked warm, even to Kirk, as
they almost stopped.

‘Is that it, your window?’ asked Willy-Bob. ‘It looks great.’

‘It’s all right.’

‘God, you’re a nice man. What’s wrong with me I can’t relax and be saved?
What’s wrong?!’ Willy-Bob wailed, and burst into tears.

Kirk handed over a Kleenex and then impulsively leaned across and kissed
Willy-Bob on the forehead. Willy-Bob’s face, tear-streaked, came up swiftly, surprised.

Kirk pulled back. ‘No offense. No offense!’

They both laughed and circled back through
Hollywood to find a small hotel.

Kirk got out of the car.

‘You better get back in,’ said Willy-Bob.

‘You’re not staying here now?’

‘You know I can’t.’

Kirk stood waiting. At last Willy-Bob said: ‘Did you have a lot of
girlfriends?’

‘A few.’

‘I should think so. You’re nice-looking. And you behave nicely. Is your
marriage happy? Does niceness help that?’

‘I’m all right,’ said Kirk. ‘I miss the way it once was, when we started
out.’

‘Oh, I wish I could miss
him
sometime and get it
over with. I’m sick to my stomach now.’

‘It’ll pass, if you give it a chance.’

‘No.’ Willy-Bob shook his head. ‘It will never pass.’

That did it.

Kirk climbed back in and sat for a moment watching the young, fragile man dry
his tears.

‘Where do you want me to take you?’

‘I’ll show you the place.’

Kirk put the keys in the ignition and waited. ‘The hotel is here. Last chance
for life. Going, going, gone. Nine-eight-seven…’

Kirk looked at the beer Willy-Bob was holding. Willy-Bob laughed quietly.

‘The condemned man drank a hearty meal.’
He crumpled the can, threw it out. ‘Now it’s just junk, like me. Well?’

Kirk swallowed a curse and started the car.

‘There he is!’

They had driven along Santa Monica Boulevard and approached a place called
the Blue Parrot. Out front, half in, half out the door, stood the man with the invisible mask
and the unseen cape. Right now his mask hung half off his face, his eyes damaged, his mouth
wounded, but there he stood, anyway, arms crossed over his chest, foot tapping impatiently.

When he saw Kirk’s car slow and saw who was in the passenger seat, his whole
body toppled forward eagerly. But then his mask sank back in place, his spine straightened, his
arms crushed his chest firmly as his chin came up and his eyes blazed in silence.

Kirk stopped the car. ‘You sure you want to be here?’

‘Yes,’ said Willy-Bob, eyes down, hands tucked between his legs.

‘You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? It’ll be hell for the next week,
or, if I read him right, the next month.’

‘I know.’ Willy-Bob’s head nodded quietly.

‘And yet you want to go to him?’

‘It’s the only thing I can do.’

‘No, you can stay at the hotel and I’ll buy you a compass.’

‘What kind of future is that?’ said
Willy-Bob. ‘You don’t love me.’

‘No, I don’t. Now, jump out and run like hell,
alone
!’

‘Christ, don’t you think I’d
like
to do that?’

‘Do it, then. For me. For you. Run. Find someone else.’

‘There
is
no one else, in the whole world. He loves
me, you know. If I left him, it’d kill him.’