“Don’t see what?”
“Oh, nothing—just that my daughter reports that all the girls in high school are very big on this ball boy.”
“You just never stop, do you?”
“Rudy Miller, I think she was talking about. That one. There.” She pointed and laughed.
Dolly Marks said nothing.
“They’re maaaaaad for him, so I’m told.”
Dolly Marks examined her fingernails.
“Have you?” Fran asked.
“Have I what?”
“Initiated proceedings with the subject under discussion.”
Dolly sighed.
“I know, dollbaby; you’re gonna start something, I know all the signs, but I’m warning you, you wait much longer I might just take the play away from you. What do you think my chances might be with the ball boy?”
“You’re too fat to be a cradle robber.”
“Merci.”
“Ask a question, get an answer. Gimme a cigarette.”
“Why do you smoke? You don’t inhale.”
“Same reason I cheat on my husband: gives me something to do with my hands.” Dolly grabbed the cigarette from Fran. “I hate hearing old women mooning over infants. How old is he? Eighteen? Seventeen? Well, you’re forty and so’m I. I’m forty and my husband’s fifty-five and there’s no law against that, but when we’re alone he acts like he’s a tired seventy, and that’s all right too, except whenever we’re in public he goes around playing like a Yale freshman and he married me because I was pretty and I married him because he had loot and in this world you get what you pay for and forget what I’m saying, I must have gotten up out of the wrong bed this morning; let’s play tennis.”
They played for an hour, hitting the ball like men, and then they decided to play some cards by the pool, but almost before they’d started over Dolly said, “Wait for me here” and hurried back to the tennis shack.
“Good luck with the infant,” Fran called after her.
“Yes, Mrs. Marks?” Rudy said when Dolly entered the tennis shack.
“I was just wondering if you thought my racket needed restringing.”
The boy examined it. “It’s fine, Mrs. Marks.”
“You’re sure?”
“I restrung the racket myself, Mrs. Marks. It was just a few weeks ago.”
“Oh, no; it was much longer than that.”
“I guess you’re right, Mrs. Marks.”
She headed for the door. “It must really get brutal here in the afternoons. It’s much nicer playing at night, don’t you think?”
“I guess it would be.”
“Our court’s lit, you know. We play there at night all the time. If you’re ever in the neighborhood, feel free.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Marks.”
“I mean it. It’s all very casual. Just come.”
“If I’m ever in the neighborhood,” Rudy said.
At supper a week later, Sid made an inquiry: “What about Dolly Marks?”
“Who?” Esther asked.
“Lou Marks’ wife. Tell me. A bitch? What?”
“She’s very nice,” Rudy said.
“I’ve heard wild stories,” Sid said.
“She’s really very nice,” the boy repeated. “She even invited me to play tennis at her house if I ever wanted to.”
“When was this?”
“Last week.”
“And you didn’t go?” Sid said.
“Why should he?” Esther wanted to know.
“Lou Marks ain’t on the board at Greentree?”
“And you didn’t go?” Esther said.
The Marks estate spread for twelve acres along the shores of Lake Michigan. The house was enormous and old, four-storied. There was a formal garden and next to that a pool and next to that an en tout cas tennis court. From there the lawn swept in an unbroken line to the bluff.
In the midst of serving, Lou Marks stopped. A reedlike man with an incongruously deep voice, he bellowed, “Who’s this? We’ve got an intruder.”
“Rudy, hi,” Dolly called from net as Rudy got out of the car and walked toward the court.
“I was in the neighborhood,” Rudy said.
Dolly took his hand. There were half a dozen people present and she introduced them quickly, saying, “Let’s see now, you can play next set—you and I, we’ll take on the winners—all right? Fran, take my place, be a dear. I’ll give you the fifty-cent tour, Rudy, come on.” And she whisked him away. “I’m a marvelous hostess, don’t you think? Didn’t I do that well?” She laughed and, when she was done, smiled. “What would you like to see?”
The boy gestured across the lawn to the bluff.
They started to walk. “I’m really surprised you’re here. I never thought you’d come.”
“It’s the most beautiful place.”
“Thank you, I guess it is. I have to ask you some questions now, do you mind?”
The boy shook his head.
“You don’t talk much, do you? Aren’t you even interested in why I have to ask you some questions?”
“Oh yes. Very. Why?”
“So that later, when Lou asks me about you, I can tell him. Lou’s terribly curious. And I don’t know much about you, actually, except that you work at Greentree. You haven’t a cigarette, have you? I’m really delighted you came. And surprised. Nothing quite so dull to the young as the old, don’t you think?”
The boy said nothing. They continued walking across the lawn to the bluff.
“Where do you live?”
“Over near the high school.”
“Brothers and sisters? Now, don’t think I’m nosy, I told you, I have to ask this—well, I suppose I am nosy. I like gossip, don’t you? Except when it’s about me of course. Have you ever heard any gossip about me?”
“No brothers or sisters.” He moved a step or two ahead of her to the edge of the bluff. Rudy stared into the darkness.
She moved in, standing close beside him. Below them the lake rumbled. “How did you lose your hearing?” Dolly said.
“Down there.”
“Down there?”
“Somewhere. I ran away. I was very young. I got sick and ...” He indicated his earpiece. “I can remember running and looking up. To the top of the bluff. Sometimes I could see the houses.”
“Why did you run away?”
“For the fun of it. Everybody should once. I never had. So I did.”
“Your parents must have been in a panic.”
The boy continued staring down. “Oh yes. We’re very close.”
“Your father sells, doesn’t he? Insurance?”
“Yes. And my mother is a housewife.”
“Sounds wonderfully American. A Collier’s short story. Sometimes I think wouldn’t it be wonderful if life were like a Collier’s story? And we could all be young doctors and nurses and find happiness in fifteen hundred words.”
The boy said nothing.
“Dah-lee!” Lou’s voice boomed out across the lawn.
“Coming,” Dolly answered. “Lover.”
“Go on—” Sid said.
“—Tell us—” Esther said.
“—Did you play?—” Sid said.
“—Of course he played, fool—did you win, Rudy?—”
“—Who cares if he won? The important thing is did you enjoy yourself—?”
“—Of course he enjoyed himself, fool; did they ask you back, Rudy—?”
“—Why shouldn’t they ask him back? When are you going—?”
“—Yes, Rudy; when, Rudy—?”
“—When, Rudy, when—?”
Later. Upstairs.
SID
It’s a real break, they’re taking an interest in our Rudy
ESTHER
It does him good to associate with people like that.
SID
That’s all I care about: that Rudy associates with the right kind of people.
ESTHER
You can tell a man by his friends.
SID
The club means nothing. Who cares about the club?
ESTHER
Not me.
SID
Not me.
ESTHER
I just want Rudy to be happy.
SID
(Nodding) A man wants the best for his son.
The second time he went to play, Rudy and Dolly stood Lou Marks and a blond man named McCandless, who had been there the first night too. Rudy and Dolly won and Rudy suggested a second set but Lou said no, he wanted to play singles instead, and McCandless said I’ll take the winner and then he and Dolly were gone, so Rudy and Lou began to play. They split the first six games and then Lou beckoned Rudy up close to the net and when Rudy got there Lou said, “Try.”
“I am.”
“I said ‘Try!’ ”
Rudy won the next three games and then suggested that they sit a while, but Lou said no, another, and Rudy looked around for the blond McCandless but he was still gone and Dolly was still gone, so Rudy raced through the next six games, but they returned in time to watch the last few points of the set. Lou was panting and flushed and Rudy said, “Thank you. Really very much. Thank you.”
“I hurt my foot,” Lou Marks said.
“Oh, Jesus, Lou,” Dolly said. “You and your lousy alibis.”
“I hurt my foot!”
“It’s true,” Rudy said. “If he hadn’t it would have been a much different story.”
“Sure, sure,” Dolly said.
Lou limped off the court. “Listen, why would I alibi? He’s not that good. When I was his age—”
“You were never his age,” Dolly said.
“Yeah?” Lou said. “Yeah?”
Rudy turned to Dolly. “It doesn’t matter. I was very lucky. It’s just a game.”
Then, from behind him, Lou Marks was screaming “Can you do this? Can ya? Can ya?”
He was trying to stand on his hands.
“Please,” Rudy said when he saw. “Please.”
Lou fell down, tried again, fell again. “I can do it! I can do it! You watch! Hurt foot and all. Let’s see you do it!” He kept falling, kept trying.
“I could never do it,” Rudy said, and he ran to the fallen man. “Please. That’s wonderful. Please stop. Please stop.”
“You think I can’t do it!” Lou fell down, hard this time, his shoulder slamming the ground, and he lay still a moment before trying again, kicking his feet high into the air, trying to walk on his hands.
“Please,” Rudy said. “Stop it!”
“Hurt foot and all!” Lou Marks cried.
Rudy knelt beside him. “Please. Please!”
Lou fell again, very hard, lay still. “Hurt foot and all,” he whispered.
Rudy thanked the host, thanked the hostess, ran.
“What do you mean, you’re not going back?” Sid said the next morning.
“Don’t ask me,” the boy said.
“Of course you’re going back,” Esther said. “We’re all going back.”
The boy watched his mother. “All?”
“Saturday night,” Esther said. “We’re all invited to a party. Mrs. Marks herself just called to make the invitation. She insisted on us all, Mrs. Marks did.”
“Please, Tootsie,” Sid said. “Dolly.”
“Oh my God,” Esther said as they drove up the driveway to the Markses’ house. “Such riches.”
Sid whistled.
The boy sat in the back, quietly watching as a uniformed attendant stepped into the driveway ahead of them.
“I look all right?” Esther whispered. She was wearing a blue silk dress, new, and so well was she girdled and coiffed that from time to time the girl of nineteen made brief appearances.
“Delicious,” Sid said. He stopped the car, looked at himself in the rearview mirror, gave a final quick tug to his bow.
The attendant opened the door for Esther. “Such riches,” Esther whispered to Sid before she got out. The attendant took her arm, led her to a path that wound around to the rear of the house. Then he got into the Cadillac and drove it away.
“Lead,” Sid said to Rudy. He took his wife’s hand.
The boy followed the path around until it widened and the expanse of lawn opened to them. The lawn was lit by great flaming torches burning in the night. The torches stood at the top of long stakes and they flickered and shifted before each tiny puff of wind, casting kaleidoscopic shadows. A large tent stood near one end of the formal garden and music emanated from it, and couples danced, and more couples danced around the swimming pool and a few danced beneath the torches on the green lawn. There were other tents, for food, for drink, each tent a different size, a different color. From the people, from the hundreds of people, there seemed no sound; they seemed content with the silent grace of their movements, and as the Millers watched, a puff of wind came, and with the wind came sudden noise, a burst of laughter, a snatch of song, and with the noise came different shadows, the suntanned faces changed, but when the wind died the noise died, the faces reverted, until the next puff, so that the entire party seemed a gigantic dance, choreographed by the mindless wind.
Sid tightened his grip on Esther’s hand and said “Lead!” to his son.
The boy took them to the host and hostess, made introductions, lingered for the next awkward dialogue until his father began the joke about the peanut-butter sandwiches that always got a laugh, and as his father said, “Lou, you listen; Dolly, you might enjoy this too,” he slipped away, moving between the torches to the edge of the bluff, then following it, away from the pool, the colored tents, the silent dancers. He was alone now, in starless night, and he lifted his hands to the cooling wind. He spun with quick grace, then, as the wind stopped, he stopped, and continued along the perimeter of the great lawn. At the far end he turned, watching the pretty dumb show. Then he continued, on, ambling until he found what once had been a path, following it in among trees until he reached its end. He saw a tiny house, dark; a teeter-totter, a swing. He walked around, trying to see into the windows of the house. Then he pushed the swing, hopped onto the teeter-totter, began walking from one end of it to the other, balancing gracefully, arms out, knees bent. “I always meant to pitch this stuff,” Dolly said from the path.
“You have a child?”
“Had. I always meant to pitch it. I will too, someday.” She sat in the swing and stared up at the boy through the darkness. “Careful you don’t fall.”
The boy continued pacing the teeter-totter, one end to the other. “This is a skill of mine. As a child I was brilliant.”
“Who are your friends? I might know some of them.”
“Well, I stay to myself a lot.”
“Why is that?”
“Oh, it won’t make any sense to you. It’ll sound funny, but people, sometimes they ask me for things. And it doesn’t usually work out so well. I can tell this to you because I know you wouldn’t ever do anything like that. You’ve got so much here.”
“What kind of things?”
“What kind? Oh, whatever they want, whatever they need, they ask me for.”
“And it ends badly?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because I try to give it to them.”
“Always?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Oh, because just once, one time, I’d like to succeed.”
“You weren’t gonna come back, right?”
“Right.”
“On account of Lou?” Yes.
“I hate that phony act of his. Can you hear the music?”
“No.”
“It’s a wild scene. Kid on a teeter-totter, old broad in a swing, faint music. All kind of erotic.” She was wearing a sheer red dress and her black hair was piled high and her perfect tanned skin seemed to glisten. She began to swing. For a moment she threw back her head and closed her eyes.
“It’s too bad I can’t hear the music,” the boy said.
�
��It makes me out the bitch, you understand that?” She opened her eyes. “That’s why I hate it. Old Lou falling all over on the ground and there’s that bitch wife of his watching and you know she’s driven him to it. I don’t like being made out that way. You got a cigarette?”
“No.”
“I don’t inhale anyway.” She stopped swinging. “You remember McCandless?”
“Yes.”
“Shut up when he gets here.”
“How do you know he’s coming?”
“Didn’t you know I was?”
Rudy adjusted his earpiece. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This instrument of mine.” He shook his head.
“I don’t drive Lou to it. You remember that. I’m not saying that to get out of being a bitch. I am. But I’m a bitch on my own terms and he does what he does without any help from me.”
“He seems very nice.”
Dolly watched him. “You’re very graceful.”
The boy shrugged. “I’m small.”
“You may not!” Dolly said before McCandless said anything.
He ran his hands through his blond hair. “May not what?”
“Talk to me.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re dismissed.”
“What does that mean?”
“Shoo.”
McCandless took a step toward her.
“Shoo!”
The blonde retreated, disappeared.
“I told you I was a bitch,” Dolly said then.
“I’m getting so sick of this instrument,” Rudy said.
“You didn’t hear any of that?”
“Any of what?”
“O.K.,” Dolly said. “O.K.” She pushed hard at the ground, then lifted her long legs, pointing her toes, swinging back and forth, back and forth. “Your father’s a very funny fella.”
“Oh yes.”
“And your mother must have been lovely—she is now, of course, but you know what I mean.”
“So my father says.”
“Think they’d like to join Greentree?”
“Did they mention it?”
“In passing. Your father did.”
“Who knows what people want?” Rudy said, and he jumped high into the air, landed silently on the soft ground, pointed toward the path, started that way.
Dolly got out of the swing. “I play around a lot,” she said.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Stories.”
“What do they say?”
The Novels of William Goldman Page 41
