In the Catskills: A Century of Jewish Experience in "The Mountains" (55 page)

“Oh,” Evelyn Lourie said. She smiled at me. Her eyes lingered, questioning.

“I’d love to,” Amy said cheerfully. She did not look at me, but she knew what Carter was doing.

That night, in The Cave, Carter leaned over from his top bunk and said, “I’ve been thinking about it, Bobo. You owe me for tomorrow night.”

“I know. And I’m sure you won’t let me forget it,” I replied.

“No, you don’t know. Not yet,” Carter said. “I plan to slit my wrists in front of both of you. You’ll be sorry when I’m dead.” He leaned back on his bed. I saw a cloud of smoke from his Marlboro rolling toward the ceiling.

“Carter?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think her mother believed it?”

“Believed what?”

“That story you fed her,” I said.

“Of course not. She’s a mother,” Carter answered.

I have never remembered the movie we saw, and even in my dream I knew nothing about it. We were at the theater, holding hands, and then we were walking at the base of the Belleayre ski lift, where we had been with Harry Burger’s nieces—Amy with me and a girl named Rene Wallace with Carter. Rene worked as a chambermaid at the Greenleaf Lodge. She and Carter had been dating since the first week of the summer season.

I did not know what happened to Carter and Rene. We were all walking together, and suddenly, they were no longer with us, and I said to Amy, “Maybe I should find them.”

“They’re all right,” she said. “They just want some time alone. Are you afraid of being with me?”

“Of course not. I just wondered—”

“Bobo, it’s all right,” she insisted softly.

We walked past the gate leading to the ski lift. There was a sharp chill in the air, like the late-autumn nights in Georgia. I thought I heard the call of an owl somewhere from below us. Far off, I could see the feathered rim of the mountains and the murky purple of the horizon under the moon. We passed a hemlock and Amy took my hand and pulled me into its shadows. She said, “I’m cold. Will you hold me for a minute?”

She moved to me and I embraced her. She curled her arms around my waist and rested her face on my chest. I could smell the delicate scent of flowers in her black-gold hair. Her breasts were soft against me.

“This is nice,” she whispered. “You’re warm.”

“You, too,” I said.

After a moment, she asked, “Do you have a girlfriend back home?”

I knew it was a test. Carter had told Amy about Carolyn, as he had told me about Adam. Carter loved the entanglements of romance.

“There’s a girl I dated when we were in school,” I answered.

“What’s her name?”

“Carolyn.”

“Oh. Do you write to her?”

“Some. Yes, some.”

“You must get lonely, being so far away from home.”

“A little,” I confessed. I added, “It’s not as bad as it was.”

“Do you think I would like your home?”

“I doubt it. It’s just a farm.”

“I’ve never been to a farm,” she said. “Not a real one.”

“What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

She lifted her face to me. “I don’t know,” she replied.

I tried to be flippant, as I thought Carter would be. “Did you forget?”

A tiny smile, almost a shadow, moved on her lips. “We had a fight before I left.”

“Why?”

“He’s spoiled. He thinks he can get anything he wants simply because he has money.”

“I don’t know anybody that rich,” I told her.

The smile moved again, off her lips, into her face. “It’s nothing special, Bobo. It’s just money.”

I did not speak and she again nuzzled her face against my chest. “He wouldn’t do this,” she said softly.

“Do what?”

“Hold me to keep me warm. He’d want to go to the car and turn on the heater. He’s not a warm person.”

“He’d miss a great view,” I mumbled.

I felt her mouth touch my shirt. “Of what?” she asked lightly.

“Well, a lot of things,” I replied. “The mountains.”

She raised her face and her hand moved from my waist to my neck and she pulled me gently to her and kissed me. I could feel the heat of her tongue tipping my lips and I turned my face away.

“Carter said I would have to kiss you first,” she whispered. “He said you would be afraid. Are you? Are you afraid, Bobo? Did I scare you?”

I shook my head.

“Maybe you’re not,” she said, “but I think I am. I think I scared me.”

“Don’t be,” I begged. “Please—”

She kissed me again, her tongue finding my mouth. Her body trembled. She pulled back and burrowed her face against me. I could feel her heart racing.

“Do you want to date me, Bobo?”

I nodded.

“It won’t be easy,” she said.

“I know,” I replied.

“There’ll be so many things against us.”

“What things?”

She did not answer. She stood close, holding me. Then she said, “I have something for you.”

“What?”

“It’s in the car, in my purse.”

“Your picture?”

She nodded. “I hope you like it.”

“Can I keep it?” I asked.

Her head moved against my shoulder.

“I mean, after you leave?”

Her head moved again.

Joel and Evelyn Lourie were sitting on the front porch of the Inn with Nora Dowling when we returned. I walked with Amy across the lawn to them.

“Well, here they are now,” Nora said in a relieved voice. “We were beginning to worry.”

“We got a Coke in Margaretville and then Carter had to drive a couple of the other kids to the Greenleaf,” Amy lied cheerfully.

“Did you have a good time?” her father asked.

“It was great,” Amy said. She turned to me. “Thanks for letting me tag along, Bobo.”

I was nervous and I knew it was obvious. I said, “Sure. Anytime.”

Joel Lourie reached for his wallet. “Well, let me pay for the tickets,” he said in a kind voice.

“No, sir,” I replied too quickly. “I couldn’t do that.”

“But I should,” he said.

“No, sir, I really couldn’t accept that.” I glanced at Amy. She was biting a giggle.

“Put the money away, Joel,” Nora said. She looked at me tenderly. “He’s a Southerner. They’re gentlemen. I think, next year, I’ll have all Southerners working for me.”

Joel Lourie laughed easily. He slipped his wallet back into his pocket. “I’m sorry,” he said to me. “I didn’t mean any offense.”

“There wasn’t any,” I replied. I again glanced at Amy. “See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Bobo,” Amy said.

I heard Nora Dowling say as I walked away, “Such a nice boy. So nice.”

Carter was waiting for me outside The Cave. He was smoking a cigarette and watching the smoke curl in blue ribbons against the haze of the sky. “Come on,” he ordered. “Let’s go for a little walk.”

I followed him across the street and beside the annex to the swimming pool. We sat in lounge chairs. Carter was in a languid mood and he did not speak until he had finished his cigarette and crushed it against the ground.

“Hell of a night, wasn’t it?” he said, leaning his weight against the back of the chair and gazing into the sky.

“Yeah, it was nice,” I agreed.

He rolled his head to look at me. “So, tell me: how did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what happened? Jesus, I gave you enough time, didn’t I? I almost froze my balls off.”

“Nothing happened,” I said. “What happened to you?”

“Got my hand on it,” Carter chortled. “God, Bobo, it was warm.” He paused and whistled softly and twirled his lucky hand in the air above his head. “And wet. I think I’m in love, Bobo.”

“I’m glad,” I told him. “Look, it’s late.”

An evil grin crawled into his face. “Yeah, I forgot. You’ve still got a letter to write, haven’t you?”

“What letter?” I demanded.

“To Carolyn.”

“Come on, Carter, Don’t bring that up.”

“A joke, Bobo. Just a joke,” Carter said. “Don’t be so damned tense. Tell me what happened with the most beautiful woman you’ll ever see.”

“We walked, we talked,” I said.

“That’s it?”

“I hugged her.”

“Did you kiss her?”

“Yes,” I said after a pause.

“You son of a bitch. I hope your tongue falls out,” Carter sighed. “Was it good?”

I smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?”

“Nice,” I repeated.

“That’s it? Nice? You kiss that woman and you call it nice? Bullshit,” he snorted. “Next thing you know, I’ll be renting a tux and standing up with you before your preacher brother and some pissed-off rabbi, and you’ll be seven months away from being a daddy.”

“Don’t start it, Carter,” I said.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled. “Joke, Bobo. Joke.” He laced his fingers in his lap and crossed his legs at his ankles, a pose imitating the old people who used the lounges in the heat of the day. “But we need to talk about something,” he added after a moment.

“And what’s that?”

“About Amy.”

“What about her?”

“I haven’t said anything about it, because I didn’t think I’d have to, but sometimes, Bobo, you’re such a goddamn hick you miss things.”

“And what have I missed?” I asked.

Carter again turned his head to me. “That little remark about your brother and the rabbi. I think you missed it.”

“What about it?”

“Bobo, Amy’s Jewish.”

His voice was uncharacteristically deliberate and serious, and it surprised and angered me.

“I know she is,” I told him.

He sat up on the side of the lounge, facing me. He rested his elbows on his knees and let his hands dangle between his legs. “Do you know why I want to be a politician?” he asked.

“No, I don’t.”

“Part of it is because my daddy’s a lawyer and I want to take it one step more up the ladder,” he answered. “But the real reason is because I think I can read people. It’s a little like you when you draw somebody. You see them from the outside, but I see them from the inside, see who they are. I think people who can do that should be politicians or priests, one of the two. I like politics better than pulpits.”