Going in Style

by Robert Grossbach

  In the limousine, on the way to the cemetery, he pointed out at the rain. “Look at that!” he said disgustedly. “Some lousy day to go in the ground, huh?”

  “Don’t bother Willie none,” said Al. “He don’t know nothin’. Only people disturbed is the living.”

  Joe twisted around. “There’s hardly any funeral procession. I think there’s only one car behind us.”

  “When you get old, that’s the way it is,” Al said. “Old people are supposed to die. Chances are, half their friends went before ‘em, and their relatives—well, it’s like the death of somebody old ain’t that much of a tragedy. If a young person goes, then you see a procession stretch back for blocks. But, like I said, doesn’t make no difference to the person gettin’ buried.”

  Joe mumbled something, then withdrew into deep thought. As the hearse pulled into the cemetery, he piped up again. “Wasn’t much of a speech that priest gave.”

  Al raised his eyebrows. “Wasn’t supposed to be a eulogy. And besides, you yourself told him to keep it short.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Joe. “But there’s short and sweet, and short and empty. That was just a lot of gabble.” He sat back as the cars wound their way through the aisles of the cemetery. Soon they stopped near a low wire fence, and Al and Joe got out. They saw patches of straggling weeds separated by clumps of fuzzy crabgrass. The rain was coming down more heavily now, and Joe turned up the collar of his light jacket.

  “I hope the grave ain’t too far away,” said Al, as they walked round to help unload the coffin.

  “Terrible section here,” said Joe. “They don’t even take care of it. What kinds crummy cemetery is this?”

  Al shook his head. “Joe, you anlt said one kind thing the whole day. Nothing works out perfect, Joe. It don’t matter spit whether it’s raining, or whether the procession had only one car, or whether there’s dandelions growin’ on the graves. All that’s important is that the people who truly loved Willie are here to say their final good-byes. That’s the only thing that counts. Willie’s in our memories now, not in this box. The box holds only the shell where he used to live.”

  Joe nodded grumpily. At the grave, he listened dazedly to the brief committal prayer, then lingered a bit as the small group of friends and neighbors began to depart. The gravediggers were lowering the casket into the rain-softened hole, balancing it on two pieces of heavy white cloth slipped under the ends.

  Joe felt Al’s hand on his shoulder. “Seems a shame,” he said.

  “What?” said Al.

  “The coffin. Two thousand dollars, used one day, then buried.”

  “It’s not a shame,” said Al. “It’s a symbol, a sign of our respect.”

  Joe turned, his eyes tearing. “I wanted him to have one nice thing,” he said. “One show of class.”

  “It’s a beautiful coffin,” said Al.

  The gravediggers pulled out the cloth slings. They began to fill back the hole from the nearby mound of dirt. Joe and Al returned to the limousine.

  “It had ten separate coats of stain,” said Joe. “Imagine, ten separate coats.”

  12

  Only Young Once

  They made the limousine driver let them off at the park. The rain had stopped during the ride back, and the sun now peeked through large rents in the cover of gray clouds. Joe and Al crossed slowly to their usual bench and found it unoccupied. Al pulled a newspaper out of a garbage can and used it to wipe the droplets of water from the slats of the bench. Both men sat down heavily.

  “Whew!” said Joe. “Am I glad that’s over with.”

  “Me too,” said Al. “Well… I suppose it had to be, one way or another, sooner or later.”

  “Ah, but it could’ve waited,” said Joe. “Poor Willie didn’t even get to spend any of the dough.”

  “Yeah, true. But what’s there to do with all that money anyways?”

  “I dunno.” Joe yawned. “You wanna go to the movies?”

  “I don’t mean what should we do with it right now,” Al clarified. “I mean… you know…”

  “No, I don’t know,” said Joe with surprising vehemence. “What, twenty years from now? When I’m ninety-eight? I don’t think they show movies in hell.”

  Al shrugged.

  “Maybe you want to go out to the track and bet a couple of races?” Joe suggested.

  “Too tired.”

  “How about OTB? There’s an office two blocks away.”

  “Ah, that’s no fun. If you don’t see the actual horses, what’s the point?”

  “How about bowling?”

  Al grinned. He and Joe together could barely lift one ball. “I think I’d rather take a snooze.”

  “Maybe you oughtta take some vitamins instead,” said Joe. “You’re always tired lately. Now that we got some money we can afford it.”

  “They don’t really do nothing, do they?”

  “I hear they do,” said Joe. “Like vitamin C. They say it prevents colds.”

  “Mrs. Spelios said it gave her diarrhea,” said Al.

  “Ah, you know her,” scoffed Joe. “Ask her about vitamin E.”

  “What’s that do?”

  “Supposed to be good for the heart. Also helps your sex life.”

  “I don’t got a sex life,” said Al, “so how’s it gonna help? So far, these vitamins don’t seem worth a damn.”

  “Vitamin B,” said Joe. “That’s the one for you. Keeps you alert, stops you from goin’ senile.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Old guy in the luncheonette. You know, works sometimes behind the cash register. Seymour, his name is.”

  “Him? His brain’s gone to mush. He’s got more loose wheels than the Long Island Rail Road. Don’t see where vitamin B done him any good.”

  “Oh, he knows that,” countered Joe. “Said that’s because, till now, he ain’t been taking enough.”

  “Ah, that’s what they always say.”

  “Who?”

  “Whoever’s tryin’ somethin’ that don’t do ‘em no good. Pill poppers, joggers, dieters—it’s never enough.”

  Joe grinned. “Listen, I now what we both need, a real lift for the two of us.”

  “What’s that?”

  “For the first time in fifteen years, I really crave a vacation.” Joe’s voice became animated suddenly. “Hey! Why don’t we take some of that money and go someplace, someplace nice?”

  Al tilted his head. “Like where?”

  “Mmm, I dunno. How about Miami?”

  “Too hot.”

  “Canada?”

  “Ah, I ain’t one for touring. Besides, I read that Quebec is gonna revolt soon. I don’t wanna get caught in no fighting.”

  Joe looked at him accusingly. “You don’t wanna do nothing. You ain’t interested in the movies, you pooh-pooh every vitamin, the track is too far away, and no vacation place is perfect enough for your tastes. Fine. Then sit here on the bench and watch your fingernails grow.”

  “And what will you do?”

  Joe twisted his neck uncomfortably. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll go to Las Vegas.”

  “Vegas?”

  “Yeah, why the hell not? I’ve always had to be a two-dollar bettor. Now I can do some real gambling.”

  Al nodded slowly. “You know, that don’t sound too bad.”

  “Damn right. And you can get some rest besides. If you come along, that is. I mean, there’s no real touring around there, no sights. You just go, and you gamble, and then come home.”

  Al was nodding rapidly now. “All right, all right. Good. Real good. So how do we get there?”

  Joe grinned. “Well, we can eliminate boats. A car is out, since we don’t drive. I’d say the choices are plane, bus, and train.”

  “Let’s take a train,” said Al.

  “Plane’s better,” said Joe. “Few hours, you’re there. Train takes days. Also, it’s tough to sleep on a train.”

  “Mmm,” said Al. “Uh, trouble is, I never been on a p
lane.”

  “Me neither,” said Joe brightly.

  “And you ain’t scared?”

  Joe grinned. “Can’t be worse than pullin’ a bank robbery.”

  Al chuckled. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Besides, said Joe, “we’re only young once.”

  When the fourth knock failed to produce any response, Al pushed open the screen door and walked into the living room.

  “Hello-o? Anybody?”

  Colleen peeked out from the kitchen.

  “Hiya, sugar princess?” said Al.

  “Mommy’s not here,” said Colleen, seeming unsurprised by his presence. She fingered her hair. “I got a haircut.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh, huh. Mommy said my boddles were too long.”

  “Your what?”

  The little girl rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Boddle curls. Don’t you know what boddle curls are?”

  “Oh, bottle curls…”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Ah, I see. Your bottle curls were too long, so Mommy took you for a haircut.”

  “Mmmm, hmmm.”

  “Very pretty,” said Al. “You look gorgeous. Where is Mommy, by the way?”

  “She went next door.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “She said”—Colleen’s face wrinkled with the effort of concentration—“’If anybody calls, I’ll be right back.’”

  Al walked to the basement door. “That’s good. You wait up here, darling. I have to go downstairs and get something.”

  “I’ll come,” said Colleen.

  “Uh, no, no. You wait. I’ll be right up.”

  “But I wanna come,” insisted Colleen.

  “Well, if you do, who’s gonna be up here to watch the house if someone else walks in the door?” Al lingered while Colleen considered this.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “I’ll stay here.”

  “That’s a good girl.”

  “But you come up soon.”

  “Right,” said Al. He flicked on the light and started down the stairs. In the closet, he wrestled a moment with the suitcase before hauling it out onto the tiled basement floor. He pressed open the snaps, raised the cover, and removed the brown paper bag that held the money. He heard the screen door open upstairs and close. Footsteps drew closer overhead; he could make out Colleen’s voice. Then: “Al, is that you?”

  It was Kathy. Al took out three large stacks of bills. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he called. “Be there in a minute.”

  He heard her start down the stairs. “Can I help you with something?”

  He froze. Two more steps, and she would see himl For just an instant, he felt his throat go dry, his vision blur. Then, recovering, he yelled, “No, no, I’m coming up! I just came to get some of my stuff.”

  “Anything heavy?”

  He jammed wads of bills into his pockets. “Oh, no, just photographs, letters, that sort of thing.” His clothes were bulging. He crammed several hundreds into his sleeves, a few more into his shorts, tens into his socks. Then he returned the bag to the suitcase, and the suitcase to the closet. He felt like a scarecrow. I got more stuffing than a sausage, he thought. He walked stiffly up the steps and met Kathy at the top.

  “Willie’s daughter called,” he said. “She invited me and Joe over to her place for a few days.”

  “And you’re going?” Kathy said.

  “Yeah, well…”

  “After she missed the funeral and all?”

  Al winced. The logic of lying always required more untruth. Lies multiplied like living things. “She said one of her boys had a hundred-six fever, and that her husband was away at a dental convention. The kid had the measles or somethin’, and she was afraid to leave him.”

  He and Kathy walked into the kitchen. “They have shots now for measles,” she said.

  “They do?”

  She shook her head. “Kid probably never took them. Some people.… And imagine, her husband’s a dentist.”

  “Well, anyway, we’re goin’,” said Al. “It was nice of her to invite us.”

  “I suppose,” said Kathy. “Come, sit down and have some coffee.” She walked to the stove to put on a pot of water.

  As Al sat down, he heard what sounded like a thunderous crackling of crisp paper. Kathy turned to stare at him.

  “These poor bones,” said Al, “they just ain’t as young as they used to be.”

  Joe had been rushing around the apartment for a half hour, grabbing up underwear, shirts, pants, and toiletries. There was no method to his packing; he simply stuffed everything into an old piece of luggage and forced the lid down until it closed. A single suitcase sufficed for both his things and Al’s. When he’d finished, and checked that all the burners were out on the Stove, and that no water dripped in the sink, and that the windows were shut, he lifted his face to the ceiling and spoke to the air. “Willie, I didn’t pack for you, but I hope you’re gonna be there with us anyway.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he met Al in front of the house. “How much money’d ya get?” he asked.

  “I took around five thousand,” said Al. “You think that’ll be enough?” He had purchased two small burlap bags with draw-strings, the sort that are intended for children going off to summer camp. He handed Joe a bag.

  “I think we’ll be able to squeak by,” said Joe. “What’s this?”

  “Two thousand five hundred. Put it in the suitcase; we’ll keep the rest on us.”

  “You think it’s safe?” asked Joe, opening the luggage and jamming in the bag.

  “Safer than when it was in that bank.” Al stared at the single suitcase. “You got everything in there?”

  “Everything.”

  “You remember my shampoo? And my nail clipper?”

  “Everything,” repeated Joe, “Includin’ your Preparation H. I got us clothes, underwear, toothbrushes, the works.” He reached in his pocket. “And I picked this up for you.”

  Al squinted at the small bottle. “What is it, I ain’t got my glasses.”

  “Vitamins.”

  “What kind?”

  “B-complex plus pantothenic acid.”

  “You hold it for me,” Al said warily.

  They walked to Ditmars Boulevard and hailed a cab.

  “Where to?” asked the driver.

  “Airport,” said Joe.

  “Which one?”

  Joe had no idea. He looked to Al, who shrugged. “The big one,” said Joe.

  “Kennedy?”

  “That’s it.”

  The taxi eased out into traffic. A half hour later they were speeding down the Van Wyck Expressway, about to enter the airport. “What terminal?” asked the driver.

  “Huh?” said Joe.

  “The airline. I gotta know which building you’re goin’ to.”

  “I dunno,” said Joe. “We don’t have our tickets yet.”

  The cabbie shook his head. “Jesus!… Well, where you heading?”

  “Las Vegas.”

  “Vegas. Okay. You could try United, American, or TWA. Pick one.”

  “TWA,” said Joe. It was the airline whose TV commercial he’d seen most recently.

  The driver brightened. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

  Five minutes later they pulled up in front of a bustling terminal. Streams of people rushed by in all directions, while cabs, cars, and limousines jockeyed for position. Dozens of blue-uniformed skycaps pushed loaded baggage carts into and out of automatic doors.

  “You’ll like Vegas,” called the cabbie, as Joe retrieved the suitcase from the trunk. “They got a lotta nice strippers there.”

  When the taxi pulled away, Al said, “I think I’ll try one of those vitamins now.”

  Joe opened the bottle, handed him an aspirin-sized tablet. “These are chewable, you don’t need water.”

  Al put the pill in his mouth. “When are these supposed to work?”

  “I don’t know,” said Joe. “Give ‘em a coupla minutes.�
��

  A porter approached them. “Check you in, sir? Take your bag?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re fine as is,” Joe said, and Al and he shuffled inside. “You wait here,” he said. “I’ll get the tickets.” Leaving Al sitting on a bench, he strode to a mammoth counter whose sweep was broken by baggage weigh-in stations. “Two to Las Vegas,” he told the clerk.

  “What flight are you interested in?” asked the clerk.

  “Next one out.”

  “That’s Flight nine-one-eight,” said the clerk. “Leaves in six minutes. I believe you can still make it, if you hurry.”

  “Fine,” said Joe.

  “Just have to confirm there are seats available.” The clerk pressed a series of buttons, then stared at a small TV screen in front of him. “No problem. Will this be a check or charge card, sir?”

  “Cash,” said Joe. “How much?”

  The clerk told him, and Joe peeled off the fare from a big roll of bills. “Gate six, upstairs,” the clerk called as Joe hastened off.

  Al had moved. He was sitting in a special seat that had a coin-operated television attached to the front. “Look at this,” he told Joe. “For a quarter you get twenty minutes. Any channel you want. There was a woman here, but I seen her get up and leave, so I figured I’d use the rest of her time.”

  Joe shook his head and waved the tickets. “This is what you’re thinking of? TV? We’re on our way to Las Vegas here!”

  Al stood up. “That’s it? You just buy ‘em and that’s it?”

  “That’s it. Come on, we’ll drop off the suitcase.”

  “Amazing,” said Al. “You don’t need no reservations or nothing like that?”

  “Guess not.”

  “When do we got to be on the plane?”

  Joe grinned. “About three minutes.”

  Al blanched. “You’re kidding.”

  Slowly, the 727 taxied to the head of the runway. “… flying most of the time at an altitude of thirty-seven thousand feet,” the captain was explaining over the PA system. “The weather report ahead is good, and we expect little, if any, turbulence. For your information, it’s sunny now in Las Vegas, with a temperature of eighty-four degrees. We request that all passengers remain in their seats and refrain from smoking until the signs are no longer lit. Your flight attendants will do everything in their power to insure your comfort. We’ll be back to see you all later; for now, thank you, and we hope you have a pleasant trip.” Almost as soon as the voice clicked off, there was a loud roar from the engines. The seats and overhead racks began to vibrate.