The Novels of William Goldman

by William Goldman

“Go home,” she answered.

  “You got it,” I said and we started off, walking even faster than before. We walked through Patriot’s Square, passed the college buildings, right up to her dorm, without a word.

  “ ’Night,” I said at the door and walked away.

  “Wait,” she called. I stopped, turning. “What day is today?”

  “Blue Monday,” I answered.

  “I’ll go out with you again next Monday,” she said.

  I couldn’t help laughing. “What makes you think I’ll ask you?”

  “Oh, you’ll ask me,” she said, and hurried inside.

  It being still early, I headed for a bar and stayed there, drinking until it closed. Then I went home and had a few glasses of dry wine. Then, finally, to bed. But sleep was a long time coming, because I kept thinking of Annabelle and seeing her face, her throat, the way her sweater quivered when she breathed. For like Harriet had said, Annabelle was a beautiful girl.

  The next day, I gave Harriet a blow-by-blow as we walked down for lunch. “And the hell of it is,” I finished up, “that I’m going to take her out next Monday.”

  “It’s understandable,” Harriet said.

  “But we can’t even talk to each other.”

  “A very old story, Euripides. You’re just being torn between the flesh and the spirit. I,” and she curtsied, “represent the spirit.”

  “Who wins?” I asked her.

  “The spirit hasn’t got a chance,” she answered, and with that we went in for lunch.

  So things went along as usual for the next few weeks. With just one exception. Monday nights I took out Annabelle, and I still don’t know why, exactly, seeing as our evenings together weren’t too hot. As a matter of fact, they were awful, with little talk and much tension. I took her to the movies twice and dancing once, which was really bad, seeing as she wore high heels that night and consequently was taller than I was. But I kept on, losing interest in her I suppose, though you can never be sure.

  Then, toward the end of March, something special happened. Harriet had a birthday. That was the beginning. After a lot of talk, we decided not to make a big deal but just to spend a quiet evening, maybe having a decent dinner in one of the restaurants outside of town. I was to pick her up at seven, wearing a necktie, and please, would I shine my shoes. That was all she asked. Everything was set.

  At about 6:30 I was getting dressed, alone in the house, when the front doorbell rang. I went to the landing and yelled that it was open and to come in. A second later, Annabelle was standing in the hallway.

  “What’s up?” I asked her.

  “It’s Monday,” she answered, walking up the stairs, stopping close by me, on the landing.

  I fidgeted awhile. “Jesus, Annabelle,” I said finally. “I’m sorry. I’m busy.”

  “But it’s Monday night,” she said again.

  “I told you I was sorry.”

  “Busy how?” she asked.

  “Harriet’s birthday. We’re going out.”

  “I suppose that takes precedence?”

  “It sure does,” I said, starting back to my room. “If you want to wait around a little, I’ll drive you home.”

  “If she won’t mind,” Annabelle said, following me up. The first thing she did when she got to my room was to take off her camel’s-hair coat and fling it across the bed, tucking her sweater inside her skirt. I watched. Then she hurried across to my dresser and picked up the stuffed dog I’d bought as a present for Harriet. Which are good things to give women, stuffed animals, being cheap, but sentimental, and therefore much appreciated.

  “For me?” Annabelle asked.

  “Fat chance,” I told her.

  “I bet it’s a present for Harriet. For her birthday.”

  I nodded.

  “Sweet,” Annabelle said. “No one can deny that.”

  “Listen,” I told her. “If you don’t like it, walk home.”

  That shut her up for a while, so I went on getting dressed, which took me longer than it should have. I was nervous, shaking some, because for once she was looking right at me, watching me close. I didn’t stare back, but whenever I passed the mirror above my dresser, I glanced in. Our eyes met in that mirror every time.

  I was brushing my hair before she spoke again. “You look very nice,” she said. “Just like a gentleman.”

  “Thanks.”

  “But then, you’re a handsome boy, aren’t you, Trevitt?”

  “Sure,” I said.” I’m a beauty.”

  “Don’t go,” Annabelle whispered, out of the blue.

  I turned and stared back at her.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  I turned away, not answering. She came up behind me, put her arms around me, running her hands over my body, barely touching. I just stood there. She went to the door, flicked out the light. “And you won’t, either,” she whispered. “Not for a while.” We waited in the darkness, neither of us moving, getting accustomed to it. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing.

  Then she was on me.

  I don’t know why or because or what or anything else. It just happened. But I do know I’ll die before I ever find anyone like her again. And it wasn’t the sex alone, though I have no complaint whatever on that score. It was what came after. That was the important thing.

  Because, suddenly, all her tenseness was gone.

  We were lying there, me with my eyes closed, holding her, when for no reason, she started to talk. About her family; their home in Connecticut, their summer place in Maine. About her past, her future. About what a good and faithful wife she was going to be. About her trips to Europe; about her room at home. On and on she went, whispering, sometimes almost laughing, sometimes serious. And then, after a while, she started humming a song I’d never heard. It was her bed song, she told me, and she’d made it up herself, long before.

  I opened my eyes and looked at her as she lay there, beautiful, pale-white, her long black hair outlined around her face like a dented halo. And as I watched, she raised one of her perfect legs straight up into the air, pointing her toes. She ran her hands along that leg, just as high as she could reach, touching it gently, skimming it, humming all the time, almost smiling.

  Annabelle belonged there, in bed. She was always happiest then, and I sometimes thought it was a shame she couldn’t stay there, live out her life there, from first to last.

  I wasn’t exactly miserable either. Even if I’d wanted, I couldn’t have stopped looking at her, she was that lovely, pale-skinned and naked in the moonlight. I felt like taking a deep breath and hollering Hallelujah! For I’d had more than my share of women by that time, except that with the others, as soon as it was over, I only wanted to tuck in my shirt, zip up my pants, and run. But not with Annabelle. Beautiful she had always been. But carefree, calm; that was my doing. I had done that for her. And right then I just knew I could take on the whole civilized world single-handed and come out smelling like a rose.

  I had no idea what the time was, but when I finally did force a look at the clock, it was way past when I told Harriet I’d meet her.

  “Annabelle,” I whispered. “I’ve got to go.”

  She shook her head.

  “Please. I’ve got to. I’m late now.” I could feel her starting to tense. After a few seconds, she nodded. We got dressed fast. By the time we were in the car, she was staring at that third man again.

  Ten minutes later I parked outside Harriet’s dorm and ran up the walk, holding that stuffed dog behind my back. She was downstairs in the parlor, waiting.

  “I’m sorry,” I said right off. She didn’t answer but just looked at me. “I had to get a book from the library,” I explained. “For my father.”

  She smiled. “That was nice of you.”

  “Sure. I’m a regular prince.”

  “Tell me then, prince. What was the name of the book?”

  Which took me by surprise. “I don’t know,” I said. “I forget. But listen, Harriet...”


  “No,” she interrupted. “You listen. I’ve been sitting here over an hour. But that’s all right. I don’t mind that. It’s your lying I mind. I don’t like being lied to. Not by you or anyone else. I don’t—”

  I quick grabbed her, pulled her to her feet. “You shut up,” I said. “You shut up and listen. There’s just one thing. One thing I want to know. Do you love me?”

  And now it was her turn to be surprised. “I can’t say,” she answered after a while.

  “Sure you can. Yes or no?”

  She was quiet for a long time, looking straight at me. “I guess no, then,” she said.

  “O.K.,” I said. “All right. Fine. Then you got no strings on me. Here,” and I tossed her the stuffed dog. “Happy birthday.”

  She held onto that dog for all she was worth. I put my arm around her, whispered in her ear. “Come on, baby,” I said. “Come on now. Let’s go. It’s time to eat.” I led her out.

  The next morning I phoned Annabelle and asked to see her that night. She hemmed and hawed awhile, finally accepting. And that night again we went to bed, the two of us, up in my room. Then afterward, after she’d talked some and hummed her song, she pulled me close.

  “No more Mondays,” she whispered. “From here on, it’s every night. You’ll see me every night, starting now.”

  “Is that so?” I answered, going along with her.

  “Yes. And you won’t see her any more.”

  I sat up in bed. “You’re kidding.”

  “I never do,” she whispered.

  “Well, you got the wrong guy, Annabelle.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to,” she said. “But it’s going to be one of us or the other.”

  It was Harriet that went.

  Actually, I let her break off with me, which she did one terrible night full of tears and parting, her crying, calling me about every name in the book, staring at me, never taking her eyes from my face. I didn’t say a word, seeing as most of what she called me I deserved, but only stared back at her since I felt at least I owed her that much. And when she ran away from me, I figured it was over. But it wasn’t. For she took to following me around campus, whether I was alone or not, it didn’t matter because wherever I went, there, half-a-block behind, would come Harriet. Eventually, though, she got hold of herself and we had a pleasant chat, laughing and talking. Then I didn’t see her for a while, since she was always at The Athenian or rehearsing in the theater, getting ready for the spring play.

  But I was busy, too. Because, when you went out with Annabelle, you were with her all the time. I took her to classes, met her after them, walked her everywhere, was with her every night. And mostly it was just the two of us, for she wasn’t the kind of girl you liked being with in company.

  So I began checking up on what my folks did. Which was funny, because all my life until then, I hadn’t cared how they came and went. Now I followed their every move. My father was never home during the day, so he was no problem. Sometimes my mother stuck around the house, but more often she had meetings to go to. I got so I knew her schedule by heart and even today I can still quote the hours the PTA met, and the teachers’ wives, and the Red Cross. And when my mother left the house by the front door, Annabelle and I would sneak in the back.

  Which was all right with me. Even though being with her was usually pretty dull, seeing as she was most always tense and quiet. But the times in bed made up for all that. I never knew when it would happen and I suppose I liked it that way, for it was the same as a year-round birthday party, with presents being showered on you when you least expected. And up in my room, it was perfect. For when she’d start to hum, raising one of her long legs straight into the air, I knew there couldn’t be a canary left alive in this world, because I’d swallowed them all.

  So everything went along fine, until the night of the opening of Harriet’s play. First we had an argument. She didn’t want to go. I told her she didn’t have to. Then it turned out she didn’t want me to go. I told her I was going whether she liked it or not. Finally, she came along, being late when I picked her up and nasty all the way over.

  Once we got there, though, I didn’t mind. Because of Harriet. I’m not a judge of acting and don’t pretend to be, but just the same, I know that Harriet was an actress that night. Her part called for her to be in love with a doctor, a nice enough guy but who didn’t care a hill of beans for her. It was so sad watching her eating her heart out that I wanted to jump right up on that stage and make him propose. And that night, in spite of her too-big nose and her too-close-together eyes, Harriet was beautiful. On the stage, she was something to see.

  But Annabelle didn’t think so. During intermissions, all she said was how terrible the ugly girl was playing the daughter. She knew Harriet’s name all right, but she never used it, never called her anything but “the ugly girl.” I just let her talk, not answering. With Annabelle, it was the best way.

  Then afterward, I pulled her off to a corner of the lobby. “I’m going back to see Harriet a second,” I told her. “Wait for me here.”

  “Don’t,” Annabelle said.

  “I won’t take long, I promise.”

  “I don’t want you to,” she said. “I forbid it.”

  Which was a little too much, even for her. “Come again?” I said.

  “You heard me,” she whispered. “If you go, I won’t be here when you get back.”

  “I may never get over it,” I said, walking away. Which sounds as though I was pretty sure of myself. Actually, I just knew Annabelle well enough to realize she could never bring herself to walk home alone.

  There were a lot of others crowded around Harriet when I got there, so I stood off in a corner until they were gone. She didn’t see me come in and when she started for the dressing-rooms, I called to her. “I think you’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.”

  She didn’t turn but only muttered thanks and kept on walking.

  “Hey,” I said, running up and grabbing her. “This is me.”

  “What do you want, Euripides?”

  “To tell you how wonderful you were,” I began. “To—”

  “You just told me,” she cut in. “Now—”

  “Be a nice girl,” I whispered. “Or I’ll tell the whole world you’re cross-eyed.”

  With that she slapped me hard across the face. And ran.

  After a couple of minutes of just standing around, I walked back to the lobby. Annabelle was there all right. Talking and laughing with Professor Janes, who taught English, and his dipsomaniac wife, who looked to be pretty in her cups right then. I came up, said hello, and the four of us chatted until Mrs. Janes began twitching some, losing control. He excused himself, smiling as if nothing in the world was the matter.

  “I suppose he must be used to that,” I said.

  “Who?” Annabelle asked, staring off some place.

  “Him. Professor Janes.” She nodded. “Thanks for waiting,” I said.

  At which Annabelle laughed out loud. “The pleasure,” she told me, “was mine.”

  She was in a good mood that night and the days following. Spring was starting to make its move, so we went on long walks in the woods or along the beach, me talking with sometimes her joining in, but more often just nodding, a half-smile turning up the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t as tense as she’d been before and once in a while she almost got playful, skipping on ahead of me as we moved along.

  Then one night, the second week of April, we were up in my room, lying together, talking quiet. All of a sudden, the front door opened.

  “I wonder who that can be?” Annabelle said, as calm as you please.

  “Shhh,” I whispered. “They’ll go away.”

  Somebody yelled my name. “Euripides!”

  And before I knew it, I answered back. “Zock! Zock! Hello.”

  He started coming up the stairs.

  “Why don’t you wait in the living-room?” I called out to him.

  “Why should I?” he
asked, his footsteps getting close.

  “Zock,” I yelled. “For chrissakes go wait in the living-room.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, walking right in, switching on the light.

  Nobody said anything. He looked at me. Then he looked at Anna-belle. Then back at me. Then at her. It was like a five-set tennis match watching him as he stared, his mouth wide open, from one of us to the other, beet-red. Some things though, once you’ve started, you just have to finish. So he went on with it.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Zock,” I said. “This here is Annabelle. Annabelle, meet Zock.”

  “Hi,” he said.

  She didn’t answer, but nodded politely, the covers pulled up to her neck.

  “I’ve told Annabelle all about you.”

  “Hi,” Zock said.

  “What’s new?” I asked.

  “Not much. What’s new with you?”

  “Not much. What are you doing home?”

  “Spring vacation.”

  “How’s Harvard?”

  “Can’t complain.”

  “Zock goes to Harvard,” I said to Annabelle. She nodded again.

  “I thought I’d stop over to say hello. I just got in a few minutes ago.”

  “Glad you did.”

  “I guess I’ll wander home,” he said. “Stop over sometime.”

  “Conceivably,” I answered, imitating him.

  “A pleasure to have met you,” he said to Annabelle, and with that he took off down the stairs out of the house.

  The minute he was gone I grabbed hold of her and squeezed her as hard as I could. “Annabelle,” I said. “You were just great.”

  She squirmed free. “It’s time I went home,” she said.

  “Did you like him?”

  “It really doesn’t matter,” she answered. I hugged her a few more times, then we got dressed and I walked her home.

  Zock was waiting in the living-room of his house when I got there. The minute he saw me, he started to laugh. I fought it as best I could, but it beat me. So in a second we were both laughing, tears rolling down our faces. He went on and on, still going strong long after I’d stopped, my stomach aching. I went over and poured us each a drink.

  “Well,” I said, when he’d finally calmed down. “How do you like her?”