Boys and Girls Together: A Novel

by William Goldman

  “ ‘I know about your difficulty,’ my father said.

  “ ‘Oh?’ That was all I could answer because I was so happy. Because I knew I was going to get punished. For what I had done.

  “He cleared his throat. ‘You should be more careful, Hugh.’

  “ ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, sir.’

  “Then, as I was watching, he turned and went to the door. He got it half open before he said anything more. Then, just before he left me, he said it. His back was to me and he said, ‘It’s all been taken care of.’

  “That was it. ‘It’s all been taken care of.’ And the next morning when I came downstairs it was. The chauffeur was gone. Deedee was gone. A new chauffeur came that afternoon. Life went on. I found out later that what happened was father had given Deedee’s old man a chunk of money and some reference letters and had paid for anything medical. As simple as that. Everybody parted happy. Nobody ever talked to me about it again. In a couple of months I began to wonder myself whether it had really happened or not.”

  “End of story?” Aaron asked.

  Hugh nodded. “But don’t you see? Why it’s hard? Everything’s been taken care of for me. I don’t have to want anything. I’ll get it anyway. That’s why I need a creep like you around.”

  “You go too far.”

  “Oh, let’s face it, Aaron: if they had a National Creep Championship you’d win in a walk. My God, walking around the way you do with your hair long enough to mow and that unbelievable yellow jacket. You might as well have ‘I am a creep’ sewed on the back.”

  “That jacket, knucklenose, happens to be a beacon of independence in a dark sea of Harris tweed.”

  “Only a creep would say a thing like that.”

  “Your mind is not at its best with subtleties.”

  “I need guys like you. It’s nutty but I keep hoping you’ll maybe help me. Osmosis, I don’t know. You want things, Aaron. I don’t. But I’d like to.”

  “That sound you just heard was my heart breaking.”

  Hugh White smiled.

  From the moment they began being seen together—and they were together constantly—Aaron’s position on campus abruptly changed. Boys who were never aware of his existence suddenly knew his name and called out to him as he passed; as he stood outside of classrooms, smoking, other boys came up to him and started conversations, asking questions about assignments. People were talking about him, nodding their heads in his direction. Of course he pretended not to notice and was as curt with everyone as he had been before, not returning their hellos, shrugging to their questions. He really didn’t care about the simpering bastards. What he did care about was Hugh. But that was not surprising.

  Twenty years had been a long time to go without a friend.

  One December afternoon, as they were walking toward the library, Hugh said, “You do like girls.”

  Aaron burst out laughing. “Do I like girls? You’re goddam right I do.” He lighted a cigarette, jamming it into the corner of his mouth. “What makes you ask a thing like that?”

  “No reason.”

  “Because I haven’t been dating much lately? Is that it? Well, hell, that’s just because I’ve been a little low on funds. Hell, I like girls as well as the next guy.”

  “Let’s double sometime then. O.K.?”

  “Great by me,” Aaron answered. “Let’s do that.”

  One night early in February they were studying in Hugh’s room, Aaron sprawled on the bed, Hugh at the desk, reading. Aaron stretched. “I ought to be getting down to the Food Shoppe.”

  Hugh looked up from his book. “Already?”

  Aaron nodded, sitting up. “It’s about that time.”

  “Hey,” Hugh said. “Your mother. What’s she doing Saturday night?”

  “Why? You want to date her? Don’t you think she’s a little old for you?”

  “Just tell me what she’s doing?”

  “Same thing she always does Saturday nights. Baby sitting with Debby and Dominic’s kid, over in New Brunswick.”

  “Then your house is available?”

  “Available?”

  “Empty.”

  “Yes.”

  Hugh nodded. “Excellent.”

  “Why?” Aaron began gathering his books.

  “Because we’ve got dates Saturday night, Aaron. You and me. It’s all fixed up.”

  Aaron smiled. “When did this all happen?”

  “I’ve been researching the subject for quite some time. Trying to find just the perfect maiden for a creep like you. At long last I believe I have succeeded.”

  “I wish you’d told me about it, Hubert. Dammit. I can’t go Saturday.”

  “Will it change your mind if I tell you this girl is absolutely guaranteed to do the trick, and no guilt feelings whatsoever?” Hugh laughed. “I ever tell you about this buddy of mine who was working in a bookstore—this is true, I swear—anyway, he answered the phone one day and there was this lady on the other end and she said, ‘Pardon me, but do you have Sex without Guilt?’ and my buddy said, ‘Sometimes.’ ”

  Aaron laughed and laughed. “No kidding? He really said that?”

  Hugh raised his right hand. “Word of honor.”

  “What a great thing to say,” Aaron went on. “That’s really funny. No kidding.” He burst out laughing again. “ ‘She asked if he had Sex without Guilt and he—’ ”

  “Quit stalling and tell me you’ll come.”

  Aaron put on his coat. “I’d really love to; I can’t.”

  “Aaron,” Hugh said, “this girl is right for you. I just know it. I’ve done a major screening process, Aaron. I wouldn’t get you with anybody you might get embarrassed about. I mean that. This girl is bright enough and terribly friendly. A little sick maybe, I’ll admit that, but that’s not the end of the world—so are you.”

  “It sounds like a lot of fun. I’m sorry.”

  “Aaron, I know you’re shy, it’s all right. I took everything into consideration, believe that.”

  “I said I’m sorry. I can’t go.”

  “Why?”

  “Busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “You’re scared, aren’t you? Don’t be. It’ll work out fine.”

  “No!” Aaron lowered his voice. “What the hell’s to be afraid of? I just don’t like blind dates. They bore me.”

  “Then you’re not busy.”

  “I am.”

  “Aaron ...”

  “Goddammit, goddammit, quit pestering me. I said I was busy and I mean it. Busy. Now let it drop.”

  “Sure,” Hugh said. He looked at the book he was reading. “It was a silly-assed idea, me springing it on you. Forget it.”

  Aaron opened the door. “Some other time we’ll double. O.K.?”

  “Sure. Great. Whatever you say.”

  “Coming down later for a Butterscotch Dream?”

  “I imagine.” Hugh waved.

  Aaron closed the door. He started to walk, then paused a moment, leaning against the wall. He looked at his hands. They were shaking.

  Why?

  What was he afraid of?

  Aaron lit a cigarette and decided to play Name That Fear. He walked slowly down the corridor, the cigarette jammed into the far corner of his mouth, his eyes half closed. Your friend fixes you up on a blind date, so why, Aaron old creep, do you become unstrung? Honest now. Let the studio audience hear your answer. Aaron left the building and stood outside in the chill air. He took a step, then stopped.

  It was his goddam passion for perfection that was screwing him up.

  Aaron nodded. That was why he was afraid. What if he tried hard to impress the girl and she didn’t like him? What if he broke his butt and then he didn’t like her? There were a hundred chances for disaster, few if any for success, so what was the point of getting involved in something if you knew ahead of time you were going to bomb? He had an image of himself, so what was the percentage in allowing some dumb bro
ad to shatter it?

  What if she didn’t like him?

  What if she didn’t like him?

  It was as simple as that, so he re-entered the building, hurried down the corridor to Hugh’s door, threw it unceremoniously open and said, “The thing is I hate blind dates. If I said yes, it would just be a fiasco—she’d probably hate me and I’d hate her and you’d feel lousy even though it wasn’t your fault. I want to really thank you, though. For thinking of me. That was nice and if I didn’t hate blind dates the way I do—”

  Hugh stood. “Aaron? You O.K.?”

  “For chrissakes of course I’m O.K., goddammit. I’m only trying to explain how I hate blind dates. She would probably abominate the hell out of me and vice versa. I can be very caustic, especially around blind dates and—”

  “Aaron, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to explain. It’s my fault. I should have asked you instead of sneaking around making surprises.”

  “How do you know she’ll like me? When you get right down to it, how can you absolutely prove she’s going to like me?”

  “I can’t prove it.”

  “Well then, see?” Aaron put his hand to the doorknob, started to close the door, stopped. “You’d be along, wouldn’t you?”

  “I usually am when I double date with somebody.”

  Aaron stood very still. Then he shook his head. “Nope,” he said, “It just wouldn’t work. I don’t know why I should feel sorry except I sort of feel sorry putting you out after you’ve gone all through this legendary screening process. If I said, ‘Hey, let’s go pee on Nassau Hall’ and you didn’t much feel like it you’d be kind of a creep to feel sorry about not going along, isn’t that right?”

  Hugh mimed a telephone in his hands. “Let me speak to Karl Menninger,” he said.

  Aaron roared appreciative laughter, quickly closed the door. In the hall he examined his hands. They were very wet and they would not stay still. Aaron closed his eyes. “Hubert!” He realized he was yelling but he just couldn’t care.

  “Yes, Aaron?” Hugh’s voice was muffled from inside the room.

  “About Saturday?”

  “What about Saturday?”

  Aaron paused. Then the words burst from him. “I’ll go, Hubert. With you, Hubert. I’ll go ...”

  There were twenty-five boys waiting at the railroad station on Saturday afternoon when Hugh and Aaron arrived. Some of the boys were walking; others stood alone or in groups. From time to time they all, casually, glanced at their watches.

  “We made it in time,” Aaron said.

  “Minutes to spare,” Hugh told him. They began to pace.

  Aaron stopped abruptly. “How do I look?” he said.

  Hugh smiled at him. “Not nearly as creeplike as usual.”

  Aaron was wearing a new pair of gray flannel trousers, neatly pressed and a new tweed jacket. “I should have worn my yellow cord. I would have felt better if I’d worn my yellow cord.” He ran his fingers through his hair. His hair was shorter—he had had it cut that morning, much against his better judgment. “I should never have let you talk me into a haircut. It makes my head look pointed.”

  “This girl loves pointed heads. She’s told me as much.”

  “You sure she wants to meet me?”

  Hugh put his arm around Aaron’s shoulder. “Yes, yes, yes, for the ninety-ninth time, yes. She’s crazy for writers.”

  “I forgot her name already.”

  “Shelly. Her name is Shelly.”

  “How do I look?” Aaron said.

  Hugh sighed.

  Aaron looked around. All the other boys were pacing now, back and forth along the platform, smoking cigarettes, staring out along the track. Aaron lighted a cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. It was a cool day, clear, but with a hint of approaching snow.

  Casually, Hugh stuck his right hand into his pants pocket.

  Aaron paused, then did the same. He looked around again. All the other boys had their right hands in their pants pockets. Hugh paced faster and Aaron hurried alongside.

  “Shelly what?”

  “Bingham.”

  “Shelly Bingham.” Aaron nodded. “And she’s pretty?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.” Hugh had his left hand in his left pants pocket now, so Aaron did the same. He glanced at the other boys. There was not a hand to be seen on the platform.

  Everybody stopped.

  “Train’s coming,” Hugh said.

  And suddenly the hands reappeared, flying through the air, tugging at trousers, straightening ties, smoothing down hair. Then, like dive bombers, the hands swooped low, disappearing again into pockets.

  The train was pulling into the station.

  Aaron grabbed Hugh, turning him. “It’s going to be all right,” he shouted over the noise. “Tell me that.”

  “What? Yes. Yes. Relax.”

  “Promise me.”

  Hugh looked at him. “I promise you.” There was a pause.

  Then chattering, shrieking, the girls swarmed from the train.

  She was really quite a pretty girl. Tall with long brown hair, she had a delicate face, an ample body. Aaron walked beside her, following a few steps behind Hugh and his date as they crossed from the station to the Princeton Inn. Hugh’s date, a dark, taut girl named Tony, clung to him as they moved, looking up at him, smiling. Aaron turned his attention to Shelly Bingham.

  Shelly was from the South, New Orleans, to be exact. She pronounced it “N’awlins.” And her “Daddy” was in the cotton business. She loved her daddy, her mommy, too. As he listened to her, Aaron realized that the girl seemed to love everything. She loved the East and she loved Sarah Lawrence, which was the most wonderful school in the entire world, didn’t he think so? Aaron nodded. Shelly and Tony were friends at Sarah Lawrence, but then everybody at Sarah Lawrence was friends with everybody else. That was what made it so wonderful. Aaron smiled as she rattled on. She was wild about Princeton and simply ecstatic about being back again and so glad to meet him, Hugh had spoken about him so much. Hugh was a dear, didn’t he think so? Aaron said he thought so. And she was so happy to meet a fellow writer. She herself was a poetess of sorts. She laughed. Poetess. Such a funny-sounding word. Aaron smiled. She loved Aaron’s name. It sounded like a writer’s name and that was probably why she loved it. “Ay-ron,” she said. “Ay-ron Fahstone.” Without warning, she smiled and took his hand.

  She liked him.

  She liked him.

  So why was he still afraid?

  They had cocktails at the Princeton Inn, two drinks apiece, and then slowly made their way into the main dining room. Shelly had another drink; Aaron joined her. He drank and he smiled and he talked, but all the while he was playing the game again, Name That Fear, and he was just finishing his shrimp cocktail when the answer came to him. She was a warm girl, a girl who was absolutely guaranteed to do the trick. Later, in his house, they would be alone; Hugh would go off to another room with Tony and then they would be alone, he and Shelly, and she would look at him and she would smile at him and she would expect things of him.

  And what if he couldn’t perform?

  He had heard stories about that. One concerned a Princeton boy who had pursued a Barnard girl for three years, always hoping, and then, then, the night she relented, that moment as she lay naked beside him, he couldn’t perform. Aaron sipped his water, put it down, picked up his drink, finished it off and ordered another. If he couldn’t perform, then Shelly might tell Tony and Tony might tell Hugh and Hugh wouldn’t tell but Tony might date other boys, Shelly too, and they would tell the other boys and then everyone would know and then everyone would laugh and I’m scared, Aaron thought. I’m just so scared.

  What if I can’t?

  What if I can’t?

  Please, God.

  As dinner went on, Aaron began telling tales about his mother, Charlotte Stories, most of them imaginary, and everyone laughed and Shelly was smiling at him almost all the time and he retur
ned it, talking and laughing, and when dinner was done he excused himself and fled to the men’s room, where he carefully washed his face, taking his time, pressing cool water against his fevered skin.

  “You really are shy around girls,” Hugh said, standing behind him, smiling. “One thing about you, Aaron, is you have absolutely no way with women.”

  “You know how it is,” Aaron said casually.

  “Just keep your hands off my date,” Hugh said. “I want to tell you that rarely have I met a creep so reeking with charm.”

  “She does like me, doesn’t she?” Aaron said.

  “No, she hates you.” Hugh slugged Aaron on the arm. “Creep.” Together they walked back to the girls, then made their way to Hugh’s eating club on Prospect. There was a dance that night, and Aaron watched as Hugh took Tony in his arms and danced away. Aaron paused, then took Shelly in his arms. He had learned to dance from his sister, who used him to practice with when no one else was available, and he danced well enough. Shelly’s body was heavy against his. Pressing. After one dance Aaron asked if they might sit, explaining about his legs, how they sometimes hurt. Shelly was immediately sympathetic, so they sat in a corner of the room, watching the others. Shelly was quite drunk and Aaron forced himself to listen as she explained that she really didn’t love her father because what he was was a no-good bastard and her mother wasn’t much more than that and she talked on and on and then Hugh was beside them, suggesting to Aaron that they take a little trip to Aaron’s house. Aaron stood. Slowly they climbed the hill from Prospect to Nassau Street, Hugh and Tony in front, Aaron and Shelly a few steps behind. Maybe his mother had come back early. Sometimes she did that. Once. Once she had done it. Perhaps tonight would be the second time. The lights would be on and she would be sitting in the living room, knitting something for Deborah’s child. A sweater or a pair of socks or—

  The house was dark.

  They walked inside. “Nobody’s home, I guess,” Aaron said. “How’s that for luck?”

  They sat in the living room a while, talking. Aaron asked if anyone wanted a drink and Shelly said she wouldn’t mind a wee one, so he went to the kitchen and slowly made two highballs. When he returned they talked some more. Tony was all over Hugh now, running her hands along his body, kissing his neck. Then Hugh stood. “Excuse us a while,” he said. He and Tony disappeared into Deborah’s old room. The door closed.