Segal, Jerry
Page 12
Henry threw the wet towel back at him. “So you don’t like my clothes, huh?”
“You’re a frigging mind-reader. The ones you got in. your closet in the room are worse than what you’re wearing now.”
“Will you go shoppin‘ with me? I don’t know much about clothes.”
“I’m going to dress you like a member of the L.A. Studs, Unlimited.”
They both laughed.
“I’m ready,” Henry said.
“And this party will be buzzing with chicks like you never seen in Gilroy.”
“Elroy.”
“Gilroy, Elroy, whatever. You’ve never seen chicks like these.” Tom strutted like a pimp and crowed. “You’ve got to dress mighty fine to sip their wine.”
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By sundown, Henry owned a silk print shirt, a skintight pair of pants with no back pockets and a pair of $85 boots made in Switzerland. A few hours later, they drove in Henry’s car to a luxurious apartment complex overlooking the ocean, and parked in the basement parking lot.
In the elevator, Henry said, “Wow, nineteenth floor! They sure live up high.”
“Man, that’s low compared to how high we’ll be flying in a little while.” Tom sniffed. “How much cologne did you use, man?”
“It slipped,” Henry answered with a shy smile.
“Well, at least I’ll be able to find you when it’s time to leave.”
They got off the elevator, and Tom rang the bell at the entrance of an apartment. An incredibly beautiful girl opened the door. Her huge, chocolate eyes looked glassy to Henry.
“Enter,” the girl said.
“Hi, honey.” Tom embraced the girl; their lips met in a long soul kiss. At last Tom let her go and led Henry on into the apartment.
“Who’s she?” Henry whispered.
“Don’t know, man. Never saw her before in my life. Some party, huh?”
Only candles and indirect red lights illuminated the dark, smoky apartment. Dimly, Henry saw people, furniture. At the far end of the living room, through open doors, he saw a terrace; beyond that harbor lights.
“Hey, Tom,” he said. “Smell’s like someone’s burnin‘ old leaves.”
“You’re kidding.” Tom stared at him. “You don’t know what you smell?”
“Uh-uh.”
“It’s leaves, all right. The kind of leaves that make you feel like you’re Kareem Abdul Jabbar and Dr. L, all at the same time.”
Tom led him to a group of men in the corner of the room. “This is Henry, guys,” he said. “Henry, this is Jeff. He plays football. This is Max. He plays tennis. And this is Angelo. He plays with himself.”
Laughter. All three of Tom’s friends looked very much ‘alike—thick jock necks, huge jock arms and shoulders. Angelo, a gargantuan linebacker, wore a cast on one arm and a neck brace. He was smoking a joint, which he offered to Henry.
“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t smoke,” Henry said.
Tom explained, “Henry’s kind of green, if you know what I mean.”
“I can dig it,” inhaled Angelo.
“Hey, Henry,” Tom said, “why don’t you get yourself a coke, if they got one, and sit on the sofa over there. Maybe something nice’U plop down next to you.”
“Sure,” Henry said amiably.
He found the kitchen, poured himself a coke, and, sipping it, wandered through the crowded apartment with growing fascination. The party-goers, bizarre as Fellini extras, were too stoned or preoccupied to notice his unabashed inspection. He saw two black dudes in a corner sniffing coke and wondered what they were doing. Passing an open bathroom door, he saw a couple screwing in the tub and a girl vomiting in the toilet. Young people, beautiful in body, face and garb, danced, talked, touched, stared dreamily into nothingness.
A girl approached him. “Are you football?”
“No. Sorry. Basketball,” Henry said.
“Too bad. I feel like a football player tonight They’re super in the kip.”
“Oh.”
“If I don’t find one, I’ll be back - You stay right here.”
He rejoined Tom, who was talking to his friend Jeff at the other side of the room. A moment later, B.J. Rudolph’s drunken voice erupted over the murmur of the party.
“Ha, ha, ha! Get it?” she blatted. “Athletes run in my family. Get it? Athletes RUN in my family! Hahahahahaha!”
B.J. staggered in from the kitchen, clutching a drink, and lurched up to them. Tom and Jeff watched, grinning, as she rubbed her hip against the embarrassed Henry.
“Henry Steele! Henry, you are so adorable!” she gurgled. “You have nice legs.”
“Ma’am?”
“In your uniform. Coach Smith films all your scrimmages, did you know that? And I watch them with him. The films. I watch your legs.”
“Oh. Uh, well, uh, thank you, ma’am.”
B.J. gulped her drink. “I need a refill. Can I get you a drink?”
“Oh, no, thank you.”
“Don’t move, or I’ll be very mad at you. I’ll be back in a sec.”
B.J. staggered away.
Jeff gave Tom a heavy wink, then turned to Henry. “Hey, man,” he said, “Um, would you do me and Tom a favor?”
“Sure. What?”
“Miss Rudolph is gonna screw up this party like she always does. She’s already so looped she can hardly walk. Since this ain’t your kind of scene, will you do us all a big favor and drive her home?”
“We’d sure appreciate it, man,” said Tom, grinning. . “Okay,” said Henry uncertainly, as Tom moved away.
“Thanks, ;nan,” Jeff said. “We really appreciate this. Oh, gimme the keys to your car and Tom’ll drive it home for you.”
Henry extracted the car keys from the front—and only—pocket of his new, tight trousers and handed them over. He saw Tom, at the bar, whispering into B.J.‘s ear, saw her set down her glass, and turn, smiling, to look at him.
B.J. beckoned drunkenly for him to come along. Shyly, he went to her. Hooking her arm in his, she led him out of the apartment.
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Henry guided B.J.‘s car out of the basement garage and turned into a wide street, uncrowded at this hour of night. On the seat beside him, B.J. moved closer until her body touched his. She put her hand in Henry’s hair, played with his ear. Henry, concentrating on his driving, began to perspire.
“You have beautiful hah”,“ B.J. murmured.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He was finding it difficult to breathe.
“And beautiful eyes,” she whispered. “Ever since I saw you, I’ve wanted you.”
“Ma’am?”
Suddenly she was all over him. Her hands, her body, her legs, her lips. “You’re so young, Henry. Your skin is so smooth. I’ve fantasized about you. Now I want you.”
Her hand slipped down, explored his crotch.
“Oh!” said Henry.
“Don’t you want me, too? Don’t you want to give me some? Please.” Her voice became a sing-song, drunken moan. “Please. I want it. I need it.”
She unzipped his fly.
Henry stopped for the light. The driver in the car alongside them glanced over. Henry tried to behave as if nothing were happening. The light changed. Henry drove on, struggling to ignore the fact that she had opened his shirt and was licking his bare chest. Down, Down. Her tongue discovered his navel, flicked in and out of it. He tried to make conversation.
“Um, that’s a very interestin‘ nickname you got yourself, ma’am. Why do they call you B.J., anyway?”
Her laugh was fiendish. Suddenly she had exposed what she wanted. She went down on him,
“Oh, Jesus!” said Henry hoarsely.
The car accelerated. To fifty. “Oh, oh, Jesus!” he said.
The car was up to sixty. Sixty-five. Seventy. OHHHH, God! he croaked.
Sirens wailed behind them, and he saw flashing red and blue lights.
“OH, CRUD!!!” he screamed. “COPS”
Slowing the car, Henry grabbed B.J
. by the back of the neck and attempted to push her away.
“Get up!” he pleaded. “Get up, please! They’re gonna throw us in jail! Goddammit! How fast was I goin‘? Oh, Jesus, I must’ve been doin a hundred!”
He pulled over to the curb. BJ. was like an infant unable to sit up by itself. Her head wobbled from side to side and her backbone seemed made of gelatin. She flopped sideways and lay on the seat, licking her lips.
“Please, I want it. I need it. Oh, I need it,” she mumbled.
“Oh, ma’am, please shut up! I gotta think!” Henry zipped up his fly and tried again to sit her up. As soon as he released her, she fell back on the seat.
The police car had pulled up behind them. Two cops got out and came up to them, one on each side of their car. Henry rolled down his window and smiled at the policeman peering down at him.
“Your driver’s license, please,” the officer ordered.
As Henry’s hand went to his back pocket, he remembered that these pants had no back pocket! His heart began to pound.
Wide-eyed, he said, “One second, sir. I, uh, can’t seem to find it.”
“Step outside the car, please.”
He got out. Speaking faster than he had ever spoken in his life, he explained, “I thought it was in my back pocket. But I don’t have any back pocket. You see, I left my wallet on the desk. Officer, you’re not gonna believe this, but I’m not from here, and I didn’t have any nice clothes, so I went shoppin‘ with my friend, and we bought me these pants here, and these pants don’t have any pockets, so I left my wallet on the desk with my driver’s license in it. I never had pants without pockets.”
“You were going seventy, kid. What’s your hurry?”
From inside the car, BJ. moaned, “I need it. I need it. Oh, I need it.”
Henry said, “My mother—uh, my mother is very ill. She’s sick. And, uh, I’m takin‘ her home. She left the house without her medicine. She’s out of her head, sir. She needs her medicine.”
“Oh, I need it. Give it to me. I want it,” B.J. groaned.
The cop shone his flashlight into the car. “Your mother doesn’t look too good, kid,” he said. “Maybe I’d better escort you to a hospital.”
“Oh, sir, I think I’d better get her home.”
“I don’t know, kid.” The policeman stared at Henry.
Summoning his courage, Henry took the plunge. “Officer,” he said, “I play for the Western University basketball team.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, sir.” He felt faint. “And, uh, I can get you two tickets for next month’s Notre Dame game.”
“The Notre Dame game?”
“Yes, sir. What’s your name?”
“O’Donnell. Jack O’Donnell.”
“Jack O’Donnell. Right. There’ll be two tickets for Mr. Jack O’Donnell at the main ticket booth at the Western gym.”
“Oh, I need it,” BJ. mumbled loudly.
The cop looked across the top of the car at his partner, who nodded.
“Okay. Get moving. But take it easy.”
“Oh, yes, sir,” Henry breathed. He scrambled back into the car. “Thanks a lot, Officer O’Donnell. Thanks a whole lot. Nice meetin‘ you.”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you play,” O’Donnell said.
As the policemen returned to their patrol car, Henry rested his head on the steering wheel, fighting to regain his composure.
He felt BJ.‘s hand on his shoulder. Forcing himself to look at her, he realized that through her drunken fog, she had sensed his horror, that she vaguely understood what had transpired. Her eyes, though having difficulty focusing, said that she understood and was sorry.
Calmer now, he started the car and pulled away from the curb.
“May I put my head on your shoulder, Henry?” B.J. said thickly. “All I want to do is just put my head on your shoulder. Okay?”
Tenderly, he said, “Sure.”
She rested her cheek softly against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He glanced down at her. At rest, her face was feminine, sweet.
When I get her to her house, he thought, I’ll help her get her clothes off and into bed, and then I’ll leave. Her skirt, pulled high, revealed most of her legs, and he felt the heat from her body. Maybe I’ll leave, he thought.
* * *
IX
The following Friday after practice, he went to B.J.‘s office to pick up his paycheck, wondering what sort of a reception he would get.
The last time he had seen her was a week earlier, at her apartment door. She had gently kissed him good morning as he left, but the night before they had gone at each other like animals. She had taught him, babied him, ravaged him. He had explored her, learned from her, discovered pleasures he had never before imagined. But her morning kiss was cool. The fires in her eyes were banked. They had nothing more to offer each other. It was over.
Now, in her office, her smile was friendly. Her face demanded nothing of him. Relieved, he smiled back.
“Here’s your check,” she said.
“Thanks, Miss Rudolph.”
“You’re welcome. And Monday’s practice has been changed to eleven in the morning, Henry. Coach Smith has to leave town for a speaking engagement Monday night.” .
“Oh. Thanks.” Turning to leave, he remembered something. “Uh, Miss Rudolph, I have an English class at noon Monday. We’re havin‘ a big test.”
She picked up a pen. “Who’s your professor?”
“Dr. Whitman.”
“Everything will be taken care off.”
She smiled at ‘his innocence. “You just go to practice,
Henry, and don’t worry about the test. You’ll make a fine, passing mark.“
“Ma’am?”
“Everything will be taken care of. Now amscray, Henry. I have work to do.”
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The next day, Saturday, was ‘’Homecoming.“ In the afternoon, Western’s football team would play its chief rival before 80,000 devout followers and a national tv audience. In the morning, before the game, Henry was invited to an alumni ”Homecoming Tea“ at the home of his Big Brother, Howard Brunz.
Subdued by the grandeur of Brunz‘ mansion on Sunset Boulevard, Henry followed meekly as his host led him from group to group of prominent alumni.
“Look around you, son,” Brunz told him when the introductions were over. “We’re the spirit and the substance of this university. Always have been. Always will be. Coaches come and go. Hired hands. But the alumni, we’re family. Western forever. Someday, after you graduate, you’ll be one of us, Henry. Then you’ll understand what I’m telling you today.” With a fatherly smile, Brunz added, “Come on in my study now, son, and let’s get our business over with.”
In the paneled study, Brunz closed the door, and asked, “Did you bring the tickets to the A M game, as Miss Rudolph instructed?”
“Yes, sir.”
Henry took two tickets from his pocket and gave them to Brunz, who tossed them absent-mindedly into a desk drawer, then handed Henry an envelope from the stack upon his desk. As he looked into the envelope, Henry’s eyes widened.
“Sir, there’s, uh, two hundred dollars in here.”
“One hundred dollars a ticket,” Brunz said matter-of-factly. He grinned beneath his perfectly trimmed mustache and put a paternal hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Just keep up the good work.”
He led Henry toward the door. “Now let’s enjoy our-r, selves. Have some tea and cookies and talk about the good old days. Did I ever tell you about the Fordham game in ‘39, when Bootsie Ramsden scored twelve points in four minutes and…”
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On Monday morning Smith drove the squad through a grueling scrimmage. The season’s opener was only three weeks away. Two freshmen, Jomo and Wheeler, had obviously made the starting team—a remarkable achievement, since Smith’s smooth-working teams were normally constituted of experienced juniors and seniors.
Floyd, a senior, and Jomo were the two sta
rting guards. Tom, Cranston and Henry made up the balance of the guard contingent on the twelve-man varsity squad. But each boy knew that Smith substituted liberally, that the number three man behind Jomo and Floyd would play a great deal. Each scrimmage was more grimly fought than the preceding one, as the boys vied for the coach’s favor.
At a little past twelve, after more than an hour of vicious, virtually nonstop play, Smith nodded to Phillips and stalked from the gym. Phillips5 whistle shrilled.
“Okay, you turkies! Coach Smith’s got to leave and wants me with him, so you bums get a break. Take five fast laps, and that’ll be all for today.”
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Just before noon, as Henry scrimmaged with the team, a young man bearing absolutely no resemblance to Henry entered a large classroom. The young man carried an empty exam bluebook and several ballpoints. He went to a seat near the back of the room, watched calmly as other students took their seats. The bell rang; the room grew silent. An instructor entered and printed on the blackboard, “Departmental Mid-semester Exam, English 101.” He began to scrawl the test questions.
The young man opened his bluebook, raised a ballpoint and printed at the top of the first page, “HENRY STEELE.”
He glanced at the first test question, smiled confidently, and began to write.
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Janet remained constantly in Henry’s mind. He had never experienced a relationship with a woman in which he was regarded as just a human being, rather than as a celebrity. All of his prior strengths—his physical skills, his varsity status, his schoolboy basketball fame—these were demerits in Janet’s eyes. To impress her required sensitivity and intellectual acumen. At first, when she had humiliated him, he had flown at ‘his books in order to salvage his own ego, to “show her.”
Now he found that the more he studied, the better they got along. Suddenly he found himself trying to please her rather than show her. And he was discovering the fascination of the learning itself. For the first time, he realized he had a brain, a good one—receptive, retentive, inquiring.
Because of Janet, Henry gradually awakened to a vast, uncharted world outside the gym.
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It was a few minutes after twelve when he left the gym after practice. On impulse, he headed toward the psych lab. If Janet were free, he would ask her to have a burger and coke with him.