Seventh Avenue (54 page)

“
No, I don’t mind.” She moved up closer to him and rested her
head on his shoulder, “It’s a good sound, rain. The way it taps on the
window. I always liked it.”

“
I’ve never noticed it. But I think I like it too.”

She turned over on her side and held him. He didn’t move for a
minute
but continued to smoke and look at the window over her
shoulder.

“
This is the way it was meant to be,” she said, “Warm and safe.”

He put his cigarette out in the ashtray on the bedside table.

“
We’re in a cage together,” he said. “The difference is that we’ve
built it.”

“
Our own cage. Warm and safe.”

The summons from Uncle Carl sounded ominous to Neal. He wondered what the old fool had heard. He was certain that he hadn’t
been caught smoking in the
shower house,
because if he had been,
Uncle Don would have dealt with him. Uncle Don had a variety of
unpleasant punishments
that
Neal had discovered in his first week.
The least injurious of them was to be docked from swimming - the
sentence for boys who were heard swearing. Anyone who goldbricked
during bunk cleanup had his desserts taken away for a day, and as
desserts were the only reasonably edible courses in the insipid diet,
the loss of them was regarded as serious. Talking after lights-out
brought a more subtle and painful castigation: a boy would be told to
hold out his arms and was swatted on the backside with a broom
whenever he dropped them. Neal had held out for three minutes,
which was a
bunk
record. Uncle Don had narrowed down his antagonists to Neal and Bobby Fish. Bobby presented a
solid
,
but not impenetrable façade of tough-guy talk degenerating into total passivity when physical retaliation was threatened. So, Neal realized the
combat was really between him and Uncle Don. Uncle Don’s authority depended on the boys’ acceptance of it, and he was merciless
in securing this end. Neal had lost two days’ desserts, had his mouth
washed with soap once, been swatted with a broom a dozen times,
been docked from swimming three times, had lost his canteen (which
meant no ice cream or candy), and had finally been beaten with the
pride of Uncle Don’s small arsenal of corporal instruments - a fraternity paddle
that
had broken better and older boys than Neal.

“
You’re gonna get your ass beaten every day until you start listening,” Uncle Don said, scratching his crinkly hair
that
made the
same sound as water hitting a plastic shower curtain. Neal would
smirk and nod, and Uncle Don, his pallid, freckled
skin
assuming a
brightness
that
came close to fuchsia, would swat away. Artie
Kahn would
cry as
he watched the punishment, and Neal, after four
or five swipes, would say out of twisted white lips: “Shut your hole,
shitbag”; and Uncle Don with the diligence of a professional martinet
would bash him harder than before. It had been a full first week for
Neal, and as he walked up the sloping grass bank to Uncle Carl’s
headquarters, he decided to change his tactics because he knew that
Uncle Don could not change his. Uncle Carl, wearing white tennis
shorts, a green
sun visor
, and a powerful
sweat
smell, patted his head
and said: “Everything going fine, Neal? Yes, I can tell that you’re
destined to become one of the group leaders. Fine boy.” Neal wondered whom he was talking about. “Taking part in all the
activities
.
. . yes, I can see, a natural athlete. Good coordination. Well,
that’s that. Surprise for you. Your
mother’s
come up.”

Rhoda came out on the porch.

“
I’ll leave you to have your chat. Keep fit.” He turned to Rhoda.
“I play a great game of tennis for a fifty-six-year-old man. Perhaps
you’d like to watch me.”

“
Thanks,” said Rhoda.

Uncle Carl dashed off the porch with his racket and headed for
bunk inspection. He used the racket on the boys rather than the
court. But the parents were impressed. Out of the screen door a
strange figure emerged, which Neal could not at once identify. He
saw a man’s chest in one of those hideous print shirts of elongated
insects painted a rainbow of pastels, which he associated with captive
Indians on reservations after the cavalry rode off. Rhoda put her
arms around Neal and hugged him. He wanted to pull away. She
had on one of those sweet cheap scents
that
made him sick to his
stomach.

“
Hello,” he said.

“
Say hello to Sports.”

“
Hello, Sports.”

“
Hello yourself. How
you
keeping, Neal? It’s not so bad as stir, is
it?”

“
No, I like it.” He had a terror-stricken moment in which it occurred to him that they might take him out of camp.

“
How’re
they
treating you, son?”

“
Swell.”

“
Need any dough?” Sports inquired, fondling a bankroll.

“
Don’t be ashamed to ask if you need some,” Rhoda said proudly.
“You can ask Sports for anything you want now. He’s your stepfather.
It’s an awful word. He’ll be your second father. Pretty lucky to have
two fathers. None of the other boys do.”

“
No, they don’t,” Neal agreed.

“
It’s wonderful, Neal. Sports and I got married in Baltimore yester
day morning, and we decided that it would be best to tell you the
good news before anybody else heard.”

“
Why Baltimore?”

“
It was easier there,” Sports explained, without explaining a thing,
Neal thought.

“
Are you happy?” Rhoda asked.

“
If you are.”

“
Well, I’m thrilled. It’s wonderful. I’m a new person, Neal. We’ll
be a family now, not like when Jay was with us. We’ll go everywhere
together.”

“
You’re not upset you missed the wedding, Neal, are
yuh
?”

“
No, why should I be? I’m glad I did.”

“
See, Rhoda. I told
yuh
.”

“
Sports, you’re such a smart man. He’s a very good judge of people,
isn’t he, Neal?”

The
bunks
had grouped around the flagpole where they assembled
every morning after cleanup to be told of the day’s activities. Neal
decided that peace with Uncle Don was mandatory if he were to survive the summer. His mother’s lips were
moving;
the slimy, greasy,
scarlet lipstick made her mouth seem unreal.

“
Mom, I’ve got to get back to my bunk. I’ll miss the activities if I
don’t.”

“
You haven’t wished us good luck.”

“
Good luck,” he stammered, then added, “to both of you.”

“
Well, shake Sports’ hand and say: ‘Welcome to the family,
Dad.’”

Neal peered at him. Sports’ mouth curved
upwards
,
and his nose
twitched apprehensively as he waited for Neal to react.

Neal took his hand lamely and said: “Welcome to the family.”
Then he faltered. “I don’t think it would be right to call you ‘Dad,’ do
you?”

“
Naw, never mind, Neal.”

Rhoda restrained herself from shouting at Neal. She forced a smile
to her mouth and tried to kiss
Neal
,
but he moved out of the way with
agility.

“
We’re off on our honeymoon, Neal.”

“
Write me all about it. Have a good time. I’ve got to get to my
bunk
,
or they’ll think something funny happened to me.”

He didn’t look back as he walked off the porch, but he could
hear their voices in the background, and he knew they were waving,
but he couldn’t look back, not then, or ever again.

Terry opened the door to let the room-service waiter in with the
breakfast tray. She called out to Jay who was shaving in the bathroom.
He came out wiping the lather off his ear; in his vest, he looked slim
and muscular.

“
You don’t look a day over thirty,” she said.

“
I’ve got a special tonic.”

“
Have you?”

“
Women.”

“
Woman, my dear, woman. From now on, you’re doing a single.”

“
Well, yes. Yes, I think I am.”

“
I own the means of production and distribution.”

“
Sounds like a good business.”

“
It’s terrific. A monopoly.”

He had a clear head even though he had had a great deal to drink.
The shave and shower had refreshed him, but mostly he thought it
was Terry who had made waking up such a pleasurable experience.
She possessed an ineffable charm and style. What the style was comprised of he could not venture to guess, because the woman was
the style, and she was incomparably more than the poised manner,
the graceful movements, the brittle wit might indicate. There existed
between them a sensuous intimacy, which bordered on delirium. He
had to touch her, and she had to touch him, and the discovery of this
need tore through the layers of resistance
that
Jay had grown when
he had found out that sleeping with a woman had virtually no effect
on him. Familiarity did not breed contempt, only boredom.

“
I guess I better get the dirty work over with,” he said.

“
Yes, it’s a good day for laundry.”

“
You make a joke out of everything.”

“
You don’t expect me to become despondent, do you?” She
brushed her hair in bed and began to trill like a soprano practicing
her exercises. “Ah, Jay, it’s that middle-European sadness of yours,
that quite touching love of melodrama. Why get all worked up? I’m
going shopping for a bathing suit. I think we ought to go swimming,
then drive over to Gil Clark’s for lobsters, a cup of clam chowder. Oysters, large ones? We’ll get plane tickets tomorrow and fly to the
South of France. My father used to take me to a lovely little hotel in
Antibes.”

“
I’ve got a business to look after, and don’t forget Neal’s at camp. I
can’t just up and go.”

“
Why not? I’ll lend you the money.”

“
Very funny.”

“
Well, the business won’t fall apart without you. Your partner can
look after it.”

“
Harry’s retired. Marty’s just
the salesman.”

“
So for a couple of weeks American women will walk around in
the nude. It’ll save thousands of marriages.”

“
You’re crazy.”

“
I am. I agree. Now if you have to get your little Viennese operetta
over with, get started. Tears, strife, a scene of monstrous proportions, completely devoid of emotional content. Your wife will curse
me, both of us, and I’ll get us fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of traveler’s checks in the meanwhile and buy a knockout of a white bathing
suit - something that covers the least amount of me.” She hopped
off the bed and lifted up her nightgown. “Would you Like a little encouragement to bolster your courage? A short turn on a wide
bed .
. .
forget me not,
tra
-la-la-la-la-la, tiddly-dee-dee.”