Читать книгу SQUIRRELY - John Mahoney - Страница 7

Spring was off and running. In May, the weather had finally reached a constant setting: warm and pleasant. I don’t know if it had been a particularly harsh winter or if I just wasn’t used to the cold. But once the leaves were back on the trees and the grass was green again, I felt better all over except for my hormones which were shouting out to me, “Hey, Bozo, we want some action!”

Every day that I saw Cathy Jordan’s perfect half moons in her tight jeans reminded me that I hadn’t done the horizontal polka since leaving Vietnam. She still hadn’t come on to me, so I would have to make the first move. But exactly when that first move would take place I had no idea. She continued to pretend I didn’t exist. The only time she initiated a conversation with me was the time I dropped my sandwich on the swing room floor and after she stepped on it she said, “Oops, sorry, Peck.”

June was a very good month. I had completed my ninety day probation period, and even though I was still a Sub, I was allowed to join the American Postal Workers Union. I still had no regular starting time, and I was not guaranteed a forty hour work week, plus, I did not get paid for holidays. But because I was a member of the union, management couldn’t fire me just because they didn’t like my looks.

Go-Go convinced me to join the credit union and also sign up for the savings bond plan. Both were payroll deductions. Go-Go said that while retirement may seem an eternity away, it was best that I begin putting aside extra savings at an early age. Each bi-weekly pay stub listed gross pay, taxes, allotments, deductions, union dues, and net pay. By the time I slipped my mom a few bucks for household expenses I had enough money left over for a six pack of beer and a pretzel stick.

Well, okay, it wasn’t quite that bad. But I knew buying a car was out of the question until at least October. Fortunately, that problem was solved in late June. Fred, of Fred’s Exxon, was selling a ‘67 Chevy four-door sedan which still had it’s original factory paint job. My dad wanted that car for himself, and he only needed two weeks of overtime to buy it, then he promised me I would get his multi-layered, oil leaking, seat stuffing missing, ‘61 poor excuse for a car. He handed me the keys for the old Chevy one Sunday afternoon, but not before he had given it a final coat of paint. He had intended to paint it red, but he only had a little bit of red and a little bit of white.

What I ended up with was a pink ‘61 Chevy. I didn’t care! I had wheels! The first day I drove it to work I had the windows wide open and the AM radio turned up high. The warm breeze floated over me like a silk sheet. The bouquet of hops from the nearby Rheingold brewery filled my senses. I was alive!

Since Christmas I had not seen John at all. I had seen Bill only a few times until he graduated from Rutgers, then I saw him almost everyday. I had told him about the tiff between John and me, and he was not very understanding. He said I should apologize to John and Birdie, and I said I would if John apologized first. I felt bad about the fight I had with John, and the possibility that I would never again be his friend, but the real agony was that I was no longer welcomed at Henry’s.

Bill finally had his graduation party around the same time that I received my dad’s car. Bill called to invite me to the party at his house Friday night, seven sharp. I told him I had to work until eight thirty, but I would definitely be at his party. I asked if John was going to be there. Bill said John was in Baltimore attending some kind of management seminar.

By the time I finished work and drove to Bill’s house it was 8:50. The street was lined with cars and I had to park a block away. I parked under a street lamp, and when I was standing on Bill’s front porch I turned to look at my car. The light shining on that pink paint made the car stand out like a beacon in a cavern.

I rang the doorbell and in an instant the door flew open and there stood a short, blond-haired girl I had never seen before, holding a bottle of beer.

“Hi!” she said, with a wide drunken smile. “Are you here for Billy’s party?”

“Uh, yeah, that’s right.”

She put her arms around my neck and gave me a kiss on the mouth.

“I’m Judi,” she said. “That’s Judi with an ‘i’. What’s your name?”

“I, uh, it’s, Mackenzie. Mackenzie Peck. I’m a friend of Bill’s.”

“Aren’t we all?” Judi said as she pulled me into the house.

She led me into the living room where I had been a thousand times before, only this time all the faces were strange to me. There seemed to be an equal mix of guys and girls, all in varying degrees of drunkenness. The talk was loud. The laughter was loud. Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young were loud.

“Hey, everybody!” Judi yelled, “This is…what did you say your name was?”

“Mac,” I replied.

“Oh, right.”

Judi pulled me into the kitchen crowded with more people I didn’t recognize. There was a keg of beer on the kitchen table, and on the floor next to King’s water dish was a washtub full of ice and bottled beer. An assortment of wine and liquor bottles stood like a miniature city skyline on the counter top. Judi pointed it all out to me.

“Here’s the beer. We have Budweiser, Rheingold, and Schaffer. There’s Mateus wine and some Boone’s Farm. Do you want me to get something for you?”

All this time Judi had a grip on my hand. I almost told her right then that that was the hand I once broke. But I figured I would get my beer first, get her into some unoccupied corner, and tell her all about it.

I opted for the kegged beer and was drawing myself a large cup’s worth when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” Judi shouted. And she rushed off.

I heard her shriek some guy’s name in the front hall and I knew right away I had seen the last of her.

I squeezed my way out of the kitchen and back into the living room. I thought it funny I hadn’t seen Bill yet. I was beginning to think I was at the wrong party. I had been to great beer bashes before, but never a college party. I couldn’t help thinking that all the guys there went to college for the sole purpose of evading military draft. They were all about the same age as me, and even though they were more educated than me, I felt more mature. I had experienced life. What did college kids know about life? What did they know about anything except getting drunk and barfing their brains out? Bunch of knotheads is what they were. I stood in the middle of the living room holding my plastic cup and wearing a hardened scowl on my face. Just let anybody look at me sideways, I thought, and I’d send them home crying for their mommies.

I wished I had worn my field jacket or a fatigue shirt so that everybody, especially the girls, would know I had been in the Army. Then the girls would ask me questions and sit and stare at me while I told them horror stories and made them squirm and cry and feel sorry for me and pat me on the back and stroke my thigh and press their soft cheeks against mine and hold my hand.

But not one of those morons gave me a second look!

Actually, one girl finally did approach me. She was built like a plank, with long curly hair that must have worn out ten curling irons to get into that condition. She wore a strip of rawhide around her head, tied in the back, with a single feather pointing downward. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes behind her rose colored glasses. Instead of a drink in her hand, she held a daisy.

“Have you seen Allison tonight?” she asked me.

“I don’t know any Allison.”

“She’s tripping bad.”

“What?”

“She came tonight dressed in tears.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“She’s bummed out, man.”

I wanted this girl to leave me alone. I didn’t need any flower children hanging around me. “Do you want to see my tatoo?” I asked.

“You have a tatoo? Where?”

“I have it at home. In a jar.”

“Far out!”

“Yeah, I keep it on the mantle, right next to my grandmother’s head.”

“Oh, wow, man. That’s really far out.”

I gave her a big, toothy grin and the evilest chuckle I could conjure. She looked all around. Maybe she was looking for Allison, or maybe just looking for someone to rescue her from me. She handed me the daisy and walked away.

And where the hell was Bill? Several beers and a dozen cigarettes later there was still no sign of the future corporate leader. Maybe he forgot to invite himself to his own party.

For at least the tenth time I made my way to the kitchen and back to the living room. There was a coffee table in front of the couch with a platter of potato chip fragments and a half empty bowl of dip. I suddenly realized I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since my five thirty break, and beer and cigarettes did little to quell the need for munchies.

The couch was already taken by a bell-bottomed couple sucking the fillings out of each other’s mouth, and next to them was a half-dead hippie who looked like he hadn’t seen a barber since Westmoreland was a boy scout.

So I knelt in front of the coffee table and scooped out the thick dip with my fingers. No one seemed to notice what I was doing. When I was down to the last finger licking mouthful I heard a voice behind me.

“That would be so terrific with Cheese Doodles.”

I looked up to see the first familiar face of the evening.

“Nancy!” I said, getting to my feet. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. What were you doing there? Eating or praying?”

I laughed. “I was a little hungry.” I wiped my fingers on the inside of my hip pocket. She was beautiful. We met for the first time at two dimly lit bars, and although I thought she was attractive then, seeing her at Bill’s was like seeing her for the first time.

She said, “I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“Oh, sure, wouldn’t miss it. You should’ve been here for our high school graduation party. I got so drunk I…well, that was a long time ago.”

“I heard you’re working at the Post Office now. That’s great.”

I was surprised—no, shocked—that she would know that. Had she been thinking about me these past few months? Had she been asking questions about me? Was she warm for my form?

“Yeah,” I said, “it’s a pretty good job. At least it keeps me off the streets at night.”

She giggled and touched my arm. I felt my pulse jump. I asked her what she was going to do now that she was a college grad.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “Actually, I am sure, but my parents are against it. They want me to go to graduate school.”

“What is it you want to do?” That’s what I asked her, but what I really wanted to ask her was, Do you want to get naked?

“You’ll laugh,” Nancy said.

“No I won’t. I promise,” I said, holding my hand over my heart.

“I want to be a home decorator.”

“You mean an interior decorator? Someone who tells people where to stick the sofa?”

“No, not like that. I want to…decorate. You know, wallpaper and paint.”

“You want to paint houses?”

“Just the insides. And wallpaper.”

I nodded. “Sounds great.” I said that, but I really didn’t believe it. I couldn’t imagine anyone hiring a girl to hang wallpaper for them. It wasn’t that I doubted her or any other girl’s talent, but I didn’t think we lived in an age where women could be trusted to do what was traditionally a man’s vocation. “What did your parents say about that?”

Nancy shrugged. “They think I’m kooky.”

That’s about what my parents thought about me when I told them I had joined the Army. I didn’t like not having their support. And I didn’t like the idea of Nancy’s parents not supporting her.

“Well,” I said, “I think if that’s what you want to do, Nancy, then you should go ahead and do it. Don’t worry about what your parents say, or what anybody says. It’s your life, you have the right to live it as you want. I’m sure you’d make a fantastic decorator.” As enlightening as that was for me to say, I couldn’t believe I actually said it.

She touched my arm again. “Thank you, Mackenzie. You’re the first person who didn’t laugh at my idea.”

I didn’t understand the attraction I felt for Nancy. I had known other girls, even though I hadn’t dated many, but I never felt for them the same way I felt for Nancy after being with her for so short a time. We went into the kitchen together, each drawing a full cup from the keg. She smiled at me as she raised the cup to sip her beer. I wanted to kiss her right then, before she had the chance to lick away the beer from her lips. I ached for the slender fingers that held her cup to touch me. I wanted to touch her too, and I did, sort of. I just guided her out of the kitchen and into the living room with my hand lightly touching the small of her back.

“By the way,” I said, “have you seen Bill tonight?”

Nancy gulped and pointed her thumb to the ceiling.

“He’s upstairs?”

She nodded.

“What’s he doing upstairs when everybody’s down here?”

“He’s with Susan.”

“Well, what are they doing…oh. They’re upstairs.”

Nancy blushed. I suppose I should’ve been embarrassed too, but I knew Bill. I wasn’t surprised to learn he was upstairs, or in the basement, or in the back seat of his mother’s Country Squire. The big difference between Bill and me was that he never had trouble going “upstairs”. I, on the other hand, might as well have worn a DON’T TALK TO THE LEPER sign around my neck.

A thought flashed through my mind that it might be a nice idea to go upstairs with Nancy, but I quickly dispelled the notion of her and me in bed together. I shouldn’t have even been talking to her. I wasn’t worthy. Here was this smart, good looking, sweet, innocent college graduate talking to the biggest phony in Orange. She was so perfect there could be no way she didn’t already have a boyfriend. I knew that at any moment Mister Captain of the Lacrosse Team would come in and put his arm around Nancy’s waist. And Nancy would introduce him to me. “This is my boyfriend—Bradley Pennington-Smythe of the Newport Pennington-Smythes.”

I was just wasting my time, and hers, by sticking around. There was no sense in getting my hopes up with a dozen or more campus heroes around the house.

“Well, Nancy,” I said, “it was nice seeing you again, but I gotta go.”

“You have to leave?”

“Yeah. I’m tired. Got to get up early. Have to work. See ya.”

I left her standing there with her mouth open. It was better that I left quickly. I put my empty cup on the umbrella stand near the front door. I brushed by two oafs who were standing on the porch and walked down the street to my car. A light rain was falling, and as I got to my pink monstrosity I ran my hand over the fender. House paint didn’t much care about being a part of an aging car.

I sat behind the wheel looking at my pink palm, then at Bill’s house. Something was not right. I should’ve been happy that Nancy would never have the chance to shoot me down. But I had a funny feeling in my stomach, or maybe it was my bladder. It was the same feeling I had when the airplane was about to touch down in Vietnam. I was scared back then, excited, sick. I wanted to go back to the house. I had to go back, didn’t I? Wasn’t it the right thing to do? I needed a sign from Heaven. Anything. A dove carrying an olive branch. A lightning bolt. Paint. That was it! There was paint on my hand! Nancy wants to be a painter! We belong together! But did I have the guts to go back? Cliches rushed into my head: Nothing ventured, nothing gained; Take the bull by the horns; The mail most go through.

I started the car and drove past Bill’s house, turning around at the end of the block. I double parked in front of his house and walked quickly, defiantly up the walk. The same two muscle heads were standing on the porch, watching me approach.

“Nice car, Ace,” one of them said.

I ignored them and went inside.

The noise in the house had died down some as alcohol consumption caused an outbreak of libidinal behavior, leaving very few of the guests standing. I saw Judi with an ‘i’ sitting on someone’s lap on the stairs. She waved to me.

“Did you see Nancy go upstairs?” I asked Judi.

“No. Just Sid and Carol, and Buck and Carol, and Frank and Carol, and Tony and Carol, and…”

“Right. Thanks.”

I went from kitchen, to dining room, to living room, to den, but there was no sign of Nancy. I saw a line of girls waiting to use the bathroom, but not one of them was Nancy. But maybe she was in the bathroom. I banged on the door.

“Nancy! You in there?”

A girl’s voice, not Nancy’s, boomed out, “Beat it, asshole!”

Nancy was gone. Damn!

Then I noticed some people on the screened-in back porch. I walked slowly toward the back door. What were the chances Nancy would be there? One girl had her back to me. Her hair was dark and long like Nancy’s. Her arms were folded in front of her, shielding her from the rain’s chill. I stepped out onto the porch. It was Nancy!

“Nancy?” I said.

She turned quickly around to face me. She looked surprised, and happy.

“Mackenzie! I thought you left.”

“Do you want to go to O’Leary’s for something to eat?” The words just came out. I hadn’t planned on what I would say if I found her, but having said those words I felt instantly relieved. I waited for Nancy’s response. If she was going to reject me, so be it. Let’s get it over with. I can hack it.

She smiled. She was thinking, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. This guy’s lame. He’s a loser. He’s dirty and he stinks and he’s stupid.

“That’s a great idea,” she said.

I led her back through the house, out the front door, and past the small crowd who had gathered on the porch to watch the Incredible Melting Chevy.

Nancy did most of the talking during the ride to O’Leary’s. I had to concentrate on seeing the road through a paint streaked windshield. I don’t know all of what she said, but I enjoyed just listening to the sound of her voice.

We sat at a small corner table in O’Leary’s. We were lucky to get it. We had just beaten the movie and bowling crowd. There were only two chairs at our table so I didn’t have to worry about sharing table space with anyone but Nancy.

Ugly brought us our burgers and beers, and we talked briefly about the Post Office. Other letter carriers were also there and they passed by our table with a quick hello. Nancy told me how glad she was that I had landed a good job and had such good friends. Of course, she didn’t know what my job was really like, and I refused to ruin the evening by telling her what actually went on behind the swinging doors.

Rather than talk about my job, I asked Nancy to tell me more about her plans of being a paper hanger and painter. And she did. In great detail. I was surprised to learn how much a history major knew about color and technique. She was so happy and animated about her dream, that I pictured her someday wallpapering every room in the White House, whirling from room to room, while the President and First Lady applauded.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Nancy seemed to actually like me. I didn’t think I could get any girl to like me. Up to now, Quasimodo and I had the same success ratio with girls. I felt comfortable with her, like I had known her for a long time.

When Ugly brought us our second round of beers I moved over to Nancy’s side of the table so that our backs were to the wall. I laid my arm on the back of her chair and lightly caressed her back with my fingers. I moved a little closer. It felt natural being next to her. She turned her head to face me and I gently pushed aside the wisp of hair hanging over her cheek. She looked into my eyes; and I into hers. Our faces moved slowly toward each other, slightly cocked. She closed her eyes. There was no sound. There were no people. There was only the two of us, warm lips pressing, hearts in unison, minds chasing colors.

We separated, after what seemed minutes, and her eyes were at once wide open.

“Listen!” she said in a rushed whisper.

“What?”

“Wayne Fontana.”

“Who?” I said, looking around.

“The jukebox,” she said. “It’s Wayne Fontana and the Mindbenders. Groovy Kind of Love. It can be our song.” She paused, then she said, “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.” But something was wrong. It wasn’t that she picked the wrong music to be our song, even though it was a strange choice. But I suppose it was better than In A Gadda Da Vidda. The burgers weren’t wrong. The beer wasn’t wrong. The kiss certainly wasn’t wrong. No, the problem was something else; something I had no control over. Something that heretofore had only happened in my wanton imagination. I had a king size boner! Added to that was the fact that I had to take a godawful piss. Why did I drink so much beer? It felt like I had a broomstick in my pants. I had to go to the men’s room, but I was in so much pain I didn’t think I could stand up. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead.

“Are you all right?” Nancy asked.

“Oh, yes. I’m fine. Is it hot in here?”

I had to think of something to make the swelling go away. Dentist’s drills, vomit, dead squirrels. Then Nancy leaned over to kiss me again. And she put her hand on my knee! Oh, God!

I jumped up from the table. “I gotta go!”

“Where are you going?” she asked, surprised.

“Gotta shake the snake. I mean…I’m sorry. I’ll…uh, I’ll be right back.”

I don’t know how I made it to the men’s room without doubling over. I was in there for five or more minutes. When I finally came out and returned to the table there were two fresh bottles of beer waiting. Nancy was smiling.

She said, “One more for the road, then, as much as I hate for this night to end, I’d better be getting home.”

We had our last beer and I drove her home. She sat right next to me, sometimes resting her head on my shoulder. When I stopped the car in front of her house I went to open my door so I could walk her to the porch.

“Wait,” she said, “my father’s waiting up for me. If he sees you he’ll make the Spanish Inquistion look like a cub scout picnic. There’s something I want to tell you before I go inside. Bill said you were a nice guy, and I think you’re a nice guy, too. I talked a lot about myself tonight, so I’d like to get to know more about you, Mackenzie. Do you think that’s possible?”

“Sure. Now?” “No. Not now. But tomorrow maybe?”

“Okay. Sure. But I have to work until eight thirty. Maybe after work we could get a…I don’t know. A hamburger?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

Nancy put one hand behind my head and pulled me to her. We kissed long and hard. I ran my hand down her back and felt her bra underneath her sweater. She ran both her hands up and down my back. We came up for air and she put her finger to my lips.

“We better save some for tomorrow,” she said. “You don’t have to walk me to the door. My father’s probably waiting right inside, ready to throw open the door and snatch me from your evil clutches.”

“Well, he’s right. I am evil.”

“No you’re not, Mackenzie Peck. You’re special.”

She gave me one more quick kiss and got out of the car. It had stopped raining, but she still bounded up the walk. She stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to wave at me. Then she went in the house and the porch light went out.

There have been times in my life when I’ve been positive about certain things. I just think of something I really want, and I get it. Maybe not right away, but someday. Or if I really and truly want something to happen, it happens. It’s not wishful thinking, it’s positive thinking. Wishing comes from the mind, positive thinking comes from the heart. And if you know in your heart something is going happen, it will happen. As I watched Nancy run to her house I was positive about one thing: this girl, with her softness, her melodious laugh, her bright eyes, would be my companion through life, my other self, the keeper of my soul; this girl, with her passion, her fervor, her big ideas, would someday be my wife.

And thank God I didn’t have to walk her to the door.