Brass Bed (4 page)

“I think I’d better go,” I said. “Could I drop you somewhere, Fran?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’ll just stay here and see if anything interesting happens.”

“I’ll go to the door with you,” Jolly said.

“That isn’t necessary. I can find my way out.”

“Just the same, I’ll go with you. It’s quite time someone around here started remembering his manners.”

I went out into the hall and down to the door with Jolly following. At the door, I turned, and we stood there close together but not touching. She looked somehow small and very sad with her fine black eye.

“I love you,” she said. “Darling, darling, I love you.”

“That’s nice,” I said, “but it doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere.”

“It’s because of Kirby,” she said. “It’s Kirby who keeps us from getting anywhere.”

“There is a legal and accepted way of eliminating Kirby,” I said.

“I know what you mean, and I have explained carefully that it is impossible.”

“I know you have, and so there is obviously no point in talking about it any more.”

“If only he were to die,” she said. “Everything would be so simple if he would only die.”

She said it quietly and wistfully, like a small child wishing for an impossible favor. I went on out to the Chevvie, which was still willing to run, and drove away.

W
HEN I GOT
back to the apartment, Harvey Griffin was there waiting for me. He’d brought six cans of cold beer and had plugged one and was sitting there drinking it and reading the printing on the can between swallows. He was a stocky guy with freckles and sandy hair that stood erect at the crown of his head and fell over his forehead in front, and he taught mathematics at the college and had an algebra class for the summer. The algebra class bored him considerably, and as a consequence his beer consumption had increased in proportion. He said it was surprising what a support beer could be to algebra. He was a bright, ugly, likeable guy, and next to the goliards he was the best relief I had from things, and I’m not so sure, looking back on it, that he wasn’t even better than the goliards.

“Hello, Harvey,” I said.

“Hello, old boy,” he said. “I just came on in.”

“Sure. That’s the way to do.”

“I brought six cans of cold beer. The other five are in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I took off my coat and tie and threw them on the bed and went into the kitchen. Getting one of the cans of beer from the refrigerator, I plugged it and carried it back into the other room. It was chilled just about right, and you could feel it drop and hit and start working for your welfare. I sat there with the cold beer working inside me and kept hearing Jolly wish quietly that Kirby would die.

“It’s good beer,” I said. “It’s good and cold.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “Every can is a good half-quart of cold beer.”

He emptied his can and sat rolling it around in his hands until I’d emptied mine and caught up with him, and then he took the empties into the kitchen and plugged two full ones and brought them back.

“How’s the algebra class going?” I said.

“To hell with the algebra class. I don’t want to talk about it. How’s the history class going?”

“I don’t want to talk about the history class.”

“I can understand your feelings, old boy, and I’ll certainly respect them. Do you suppose we could find a topic of conversation that neither of us would object to? How’s your private life these days?”

“Extremely dull. I’ve got more or less interested in goliards.”

“No fooling? How’d you happen to get interested in goliards?”

It was significant that he didn’t have to ask me what goliards were. As I said, it isn’t likely that most people know anything about goliards, and Harvey was a mathematician and couldn’t reasonably have been expected to know about them, either, but the point is, he did know about them, and he was a hell of a bright guy and knew a lot of things he wasn’t required to know.

“There’s a little about them in the history course,” I said, “and I just sort of picked them up.”

“That’s fine, old boy. It’s very good to be interested in something. Now that you’ve picked up these goliards, what are you going to do with them?”

“I’ve been trying to put one in a novel.”

“Oh, say, now. A goliard ought to go damn well in a novel.”

“That’s what I thought myself, but he doesn’t seem to be.”

“No? That’s odd. I’d think a goliard would go right along.”

“The truth is, I think it’s me more than the goliard that doesn’t go. I can’t seem to get into it the way I should.”

“I find myself very interested in this novel, old boy. Perhaps I could give you an idea or two that would shake you loose.”

“All right. What would you suggest?”

“Well, to start with, I’d suggest a sexy duchess.”

“There’s already a sexy duchess.”

“Really? And you can’t get into it? You’re in pretty bad shape, old boy.”

“Of course I haven’t actually reached the sexy duchess yet. I’m only on page fifty-four.”

“There’s, your trouble right off. No wonder you can’t get into it. All the way to page fifty-four and haven’t reached the duchess yet. You should have her in with a bang.”

“Is that a pun?”

“Damn good, isn’t it? I didn’t really intend it, though, to be perfectly honest about it. That’s the way with puns, I find. They just pop in unexpectedly. Who else is in the novel besides the sexy duchess and the goliard?”

“There’s the duke, of course. You have a duchess, you have to have a duke.”

“That’s logical. Very sound reasoning,” Harvey said.

“Then there are some university students and clerics and a fat tavern keeper.”

“Why a fat tavern keeper? Why
fat
, I mean.”

I said, “I don’t know. Fat tavern keepers are the usual thing.”

“Exactly. That’s my point. That’s exactly what you ought to avoid. The usual thing, that is. Make your tavern keeper lean, old boy. He’ll be a big hit.”

“Maybe you’re right. I can make him lean as easily as fat.”

“You working in any other sexy women?”

“No. Just the duchess.”

“That’s bad. You ought to work in another sexy woman.”

“I thought I’d make the duchess sexy enough to meet all reasonable requirements by herself.”

“It won’t do. The point is, you have to have competition, to say nothing of a little variety. You could have this goliard torn between these two women, and that keeps everyone reading along just to see which way he’s going to jump, if for no other reason.”

“Come to think of it, I believe you’re right.”

“Sure, I’m right. You need some contrast too. You could make the other sexy woman a lowly tavern wench. What do you think of a lowly tavern wench as the other woman?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Sure. The duchess and the lowly tavern wench. You could have this goliard try them both out for a while and then light on one for keeps. You can put a lot of suspense and sex into a situation like that, old boy. Of course you’d have to make up your mind which one you wanted him to light on. It would require pretty delicate handling, you know, to keep from offending everyone who had decided in the meanwhile that he should land on the other one.”

“Which one would you suggest?”

“Well, I go for the tavern wench myself. That’s because my heart is with the lowly. You’d be surprised how lousy lowly I am in my sentiments.”

“I expect you’re right. Most people would certainly be pulling for the lowly wench. Besides, I could make her single, and the duchess, being a duchess, would almost have to have the duke around somewhere for a husband, and it would simplify things not having the husband there to mess things up in the end.”

“That’s true,” Harvey said. “However, come to think of it, you might turn something like that into a pretty good thing. You could have this goliard land on the duchess, and it wouldn’t work out because of the duke, and then you could end it up with a lot of sad stuff by having the goliard renounce the world and go off to a monastery to be a monk or something. People really go for these tear-jerkers. Sad stuff is almost as good as sex, and when you throw in a little of both, you’ve really got something.”

“It seems like it. But I think I’d rather have him go for the tavern wench.”

“Why? Do you insist on a happy ending?”

“I wouldn’t say that I insist on it, but I think a happy ending might be permissible. In addition, it would be much simpler. Husbands can become quite complicating, you know.”

Harvey smirked. “That last remark had a bitter sound, old boy. Almost as if there were a certain amount of personal feeling in it.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, what I mean is, how’s Jolly these days?”

“Jolly is fine, but I don’t believe I care to talk about her.”

“Pardon me, old boy. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended.”

“It would probably be good for you to talk about her. A kind of catharsis or something.”

“Do you think so?”

“I really do. Would you care to tell me if you’ve seen her recently?”

“I have. I saw her this afternoon.”

“You don’t tell me. I thought you were resolved to stay away from her.”

“So I was. I was resolved, and for a long time I kept my resolution, and then she called and wanted me to come over and have a drink. I said I wouldn’t go, but then I called her back and said I would, and I went. In the end, I was a weakling.”

“Weakness is sometimes a great satisfaction. Was it good to see her?”

“No, it wasn’t good. It was bad. Sid Pollock and Fran Tyler were there, and everyone talked nonsense, and then Kirby came in, and everyone insulted someone else. Jolly has a black eye. Kirby hit her in it.”

“The hell he did! That’s pretty rough treatment even for Jolly, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m positive if I were married to Jolly that I’d frequently want to hit her in the eye, and now and then I might actually do it.”

“I can understand that, all right. You can’t deny that Jolly certainly has a talent for making you want to hit her in the eye. Among other talents.”

“Yes,” I said. “Among others.”

On the way to Nick’s Steak House, I thought about Irene. Irene was Nick’s daughter. She was tall for a woman, and she had a big, exciting body. I said as much to Harvey.

“Yes,” he said. “What a pity she’s married to that bricklayer.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Bricklayers are generally quite prosperous. On the whole, I’d say, somewhat more prosperous than mathematics teachers. Maybe you ought to take up laying bricks.”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d want to lay bricks, even for the additional income, but I sure wouldn’t mind Irene.”

“In this case, the two operations seem to be associated.”

“I concede that, but I find the thought repulsive. Don’t you find it repulsive?”

“Not particularly.”

“That’s only because you’ve got Jolly on your mind.”

“Forget it.”

“All right. I’ll forget Jolly and think about Irene, and you forget Irene and think about Jolly. Is it agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“You’ll have to confess, however, that I have all the better of it. Thinking of Jolly quite obviously makes you miserable because she’s all messed up with your nobler sentiments, as well as your baser ones, while Irene is with me strictly glandular and entails no pain. I feel sorry for you, old boy. I really do.”

“Oh, go to hell,” I said.

We walked on under the trees and cicadas in the stirring air and came pretty soon to Nick’s. We went inside and sat down at a table covered with a red-checked cloth, and Nick was behind the counter, and so was Irene. Nick’s friendly, fat, Greek face split and opened and exposed shining teeth, and he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hello, professors,” he said.

He always called us professor. We weren’t actually, not full ones, but he called us that, anyhow. To him it was a title of dignity and worth, which is something it usually isn’t to most people, and in response to this welcome esteem we were convinced in our minds that he was certainly the greatest Greek since Homer, and probably before. We said hello and sat at the table, and Irene came from behind the counter and across to us. She was truly beautiful in a large and lush fashion, and she had this nice movement Harvey had mentioned, but none of it meant anything to me. I was capable of being quite objective about it.

“Hello, Irene,” Harvey said. “You are very beautiful, and I love you.”

“Oh, you,” she said.

“No, really. You are truly beautiful.”

“I am pleased that you think so.”

“Only now I was telling Felix what a pity it is that you’re married to that bricklayer.”

“George? George is nice. A very fine husband.”

“Honestly? I’m sorry to hear it. Have you ever considered being unfaithful to him?”

“Only when I see you. You are the only temptation.”

“Now you are kidding me.”

“So now we are kidding each other.”

“You should take me seriously.”

“But I do. I take you very seriously. I take it seriously that you want to order something to eat, and for that reason I am here to serve you.”

“Well, if you ever decide to be unfaithful, you let me know, will you?”

“Yes, yes. At once.”

She was obviously quite pleased by all this, and maybe old ugly Harvey was just a little bit of a temptation to her, at that, but the truth was, he was a great respector of marriage and wouldn’t have had her at any price under the circumstances. Not, of course, that he didn’t want her, and probably if the circumstances had been different, he could have worked it out with her and his conscience.

“In that case,” he said, “I’ll have the Salisbury steak, provided it’s ground beef and not hamburger.”

“The best ground beef,” she said.

“I’ll have that too,” I said.

“And two bottles of beer,” Harvey said.

She went away with her nice, large movement and came back with the beer and two glasses. Harvey picked up a bottle in his right hand and a glass in his left hand and poured from the bottle into the glass, holding the glass at an angle so that the beer ran down the side and did not build up too big a head. I poured my own beer and began drinking it, and we sat there drinking the beer and not saying anything more, and after quite a while Irene brought the Salisbury steaks. They were really superior beef and well prepared, and besides the steaks there were golden french-fried onion rings and a tossed salad, but I was not hungry and had difficulty in eating.